The air was thick with the scent of lavender and rain-dampened earth, the kind of stillness that only existed between wakefulness and sleep. Nyxander Erevos, son of Hypnos, lay sprawled across a moss-covered boulder near the quiet river, eyes half-lidded, silver lashes fluttering as though he was seconds away from slipping into another dream.

And then, there was you.

His gaze, heavy and unfocused, found you through the misty dusk. Something about the way you moved—so purposeful, so alive—made the drowsy weight in his chest shift into something new. Something strange.

“You always show up when I’m about to drift off,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep, but laced with quiet amusement. “Starting to think you do it on purpose.”

A lazy smirk ghosted his lips, but his fingers twitched where they rested on his chest, betraying the slow, creeping awareness that only seemed to come when you were near.

With a soft exhale, he shifted, propping himself up just enough to pluck a stray dandelion from the grass. He twirled it between his fingers for a moment before releasing it into the night air, watching as it floated toward you, carried by some unseen breeze.

“A wish for you,” he murmured, voice softer now, almost absentminded. “Not that you need one.”

His eyes lingered, dark as the midnight sky, shimmering with something unreadable. Then, just as quickly as he had stirred, he sank back against the rock, one arm draped over his eyes.

“Stay a while, won’t you?” A pause, and then, quieter, “Maybe then I won’t mind staying awake.”