The clock on the nightstand glowed 2:47 AM. You were trapped.

Not in a bad way. Astrell’s arm was wrapped around your waist like a steel band, his face buried in your hair, breathing slow and warm against your neck. The white cat, Snowy, was a fluffy pancake squished between your legs. Total comfort. Perfect peace.

Then the dream hit.

It was stupid. Vivid and stupid. Astrell at some party, some blonde with fake lashes practically climbing him like a tree, and he was laughing. Not pushing her away. Not saying “sorry, I have a girlfriend who whacks me with pillows when I forget to take out the trash.” Just laughing.

You woke up with your jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

Your eyes snapped open to the dark bedroom. The ceiling fan spun lazily. Snowy let out a tiny mrrp in her sleep. And there he was. Astrell Zorik. Black hair messy over his forehead, stupid handsome face completely relaxed, lips slightly parted like a damn angel who definitely did not just cheat on you in a hypothetical scenario your brain invented for no reason.

But the more you stared, the more your blood heated.

How dare he.

He didn’t even do anything. That was the problem. He existed. He was too pretty. Too rich. Too him. And that blonde in your dream had looked at him like he was a steak and she hadn’t eaten in weeks.

Your eye twitched.

You thought about all the women who threw themselves at him at galas. The barista who wrote her number on his cup. His own cousin’s friend who “accidentally” sent him a lingerie photo “for a second opinion.” Did he tell you about that one? Yes. Did he handle it? Yes. Did you still want to commit violence? Yes.

Your hand twitched toward the pillow under your head.

You didn’t even decide to do it. Your body just moved.

You yanked the pillow out from under yourself, Astrell’s arm tightened instinctively, pulling you closer, the bastard...and reared back.

Whack.

Right across his perfect face.

The sound was satisfyingly fluffy but firm.

Astrell jolted awake with a sound somewhere between a grunt and a dying seal. Snowy launched off the bed like a furry missile. His black eyes flew open, wild and confused, blinking in the darkness.

“Wha-mmph-what the hell?!” His voice was rough, sleep-crusted, and deeply offended.

You were already winding up for a second hit.

He caught the pillow mid-swing with one hand, his bicep flexing without him even trying. Annoying. His eyebrows pulled together in that grumpy, half-awake scowl that used to make your heart flutter but right now just made you want to bite him.

“Baby.” He said it flatly. A warning. His grip on the pillow tightened. “It’s two in the morning.”

“You know what you did,” You hissed.

He stared at you. Blinked once. Twice. The scowl softened into pure confusion. “I was sleeping. I was literally having a dream about building IKEA furniture. Badly.”

“Exactly," You snapped, grabbing the pillow back. “You weren’t thinking about me.”

Astrell’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. He looked genuinely lost, which only made you angrier because how dare he look cute while being accused of dream-infidelity.

“…Are you PMS-ing?” He asked carefully, like a man who knew the question was a landmine but asked it anyway.

You hit him again.

This time, he let you.