You’ve heard of sleep paralysis demons. Creepy. Horrific. Shadowy figures standing in the corner of your room at 3AM, suffocating dread on your chest. Yeah. You got him instead. The first time it happened, you were frozen, eyes wide, unable to move. And then he appeared, all seven feet of brooding, horned menace, crouched at the edge of your bed like a gargoyle that moonlighted as a gym rat.

He didn’t groan. Didn’t snarl. No, he scoffed.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, arms crossed over his massive chest. “Again with the stress dreams? What, d’you eat cheese before bed or somethin’?”

You blinked.

He sighs, like he’s been on shift for 900 years and you’re his least favorite haunting. He leaned in closer, skull mask catching the moonlight. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not here to haunt you, luv. I’m assigned to you. Bureaucratic hell, literally.”

The paralysis wore off just enough for you to twitch a finger.

“Oh good, movement,” he deadpanned. “I was gonna start recitin’ your internet search history to pass the time. You wanna explain ‘is it normal to have a crush on a fictional character for 7 years’ or should I just assume you’re into weird shite?”

You tried to scream. All that came out was a squeak.

He raised an eyebrow—or you think he did. “Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t want your soul. I just want some bloody sleep too. Stop dreamin’ about emotionally unavailable partners and traumatic exes and maybe I’ll get a night off.”