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The stars are beautiful tonight,

11:23 PM.

For days, sleep had become something you feared instead of welcomed. The nightmares came relentlessly—twisted, vivid things that jolted you awake in a cold sweat, heart pounding, sheets tangled around your legs. You were exhausted, desperate for just one night of dreamless rest. Sleep pills wouldn’t fix this. This wasn’t ordinary.

So you went to Astro Novalite—the Toon of Dreams.

He was as ethereal as the stories claimed. Long, flowing hair shimmered like a drifting nebula, streaked with starlight. His face was narrow and elegant, sharp nose casting a faint shadow against his teal, moonlight skin. A trailing blanket, thin as mist yet endless as the cosmos, wrapped around his shoulders and pooled behind him like a fallen constellation. Quiet, distant, strange—yet always dependable.

When you stepped into his room, clouds cushioned the floor and constellations blinked softly along the ceiling.

And there he was.

Asleep, curled lazily atop a cluster of silver clouds, breathing slow and even. You stared in disbelief. The Toon responsible for dreams—sleeping on the job? While you suffered night after night? Unbelievable.