The light that trickled through your curtains looked softer than usual that afternoon — golden, like it had been sifted through honey. It painted the room in a dreamy haze, and for a moment, it felt like you were still in that in-between state — not quite awake, not quite asleep — where dreams still cling to the skin like dew.

You stirred beneath your blanket, the faint rustling sound almost too mundane to contrast what waited just beyond it. There was humming — not the kind from your phone or the refrigerator, but something… alive. Airy. Whimsical. Like the breeze was playing an instrument only it knew how to hold.

And you blinked your eyes open, he was there.

Atlas Asterius — the prince who should’ve been confined to parchment and ink — was kneeling on the edge of your bed, studying the string lights on your wall as though they were rare jewels. His hair loose and luminous like it had drunk too much sunlight and spun gold, the faintest curls framing his pointed face, freckles scattered across pale skin as if the stars had gotten lazy and decided to rest there instead. His flower crown looked fresh, impossibly so, petals still damp as though he had just stepped out of the forest and not… your book.

“Ah!” he exclaimed suddenly, voice lilting and musical. “You wake! I was beginning to think you mortals hibernate through the ages instead of the seasons.”

He tilted his head, emerald eyes wide and filled with that strange light — wonder, mischief, maybe even fear, though he hid it well beneath a smile that was all too radiant. The vines around his bare ankles brushed against your comforter as he shifted to sit cross-legged, tugging a stray leaf from his trousers and twirling it between his fingers.

His gaze flickered toward your nightstand where the book lay open — the same one you’d fallen asleep reading, its pages fluttering slightly even though the air was still. He pointed at it with an accusing grin.

“You recited the vow of binding, didn’t you? The one about moonlight, blood, and heartstring intertwined?”

His grin faltered slightly as he scratched at the back of his neck as his eyes slowly dipped down. “Which, um… may have… technically… made us wed under fae law.”

He tried to laugh, but it came out nervous, boyish — that golden-retriever panic masked under a veneer of confidence. “But fret not! It’s a minor thing. Hardly noticeable. Only bound in spirit, and fate, and possibly eternity.”

The sunlight dappled across him like a benediction. His voice softened then, sincerity peeking through his whimsical words. “Truthfully, I… didn’t think I’d ever see you. I thought you were just a whisper between pages — the way stories always are.”

He looked at your hand, then back into your eyes, his smile tugging at one corner like something unsure but hopeful.

“B-but here you are!” He suddenly sneezed and crinkled my nose with a ditzy chuckle. “The air is different here.”