#and matthew is...changed...when he returns

FRASER MINTEN

Long distance relationships were not for the weak.

You’ve been dating Fraser for three months now, and ever since you met in person for the first time, you don't know how you’ve been able to survive through FaceTimes and messages alone. The moment he left, you were already craving his touch.

Luckily, the Olympic break allowed you to spend some time together, albeit not much since he had to train and spend time with his family. But Fraser made sure the three days you’d spend together felt like three weeks.

Immediately on the first day, he suggests you two go out and explore your city a bit.

If you knew the amount of things Fraser would end up getting you, you probably would've brought a duffel bag.

First, you stopped by a flower shop, and you didn't need to tell him anything before he headed inside, hand remaining locked with yours. “Are your favorite flowers the same?”

You don't even remember telling him what they were, and your heart swells at the small detail he remembered. Unable to respond without sounding completely smitten, you just nod while beaming at him.

Next, you show him around a new bookstore, and you both end up shopping for a bit. Bookshopping with Fraser was always your favorite thing to do when you got to meet up, and you hate how you don't get to do it everyday. But you shake the thoughts out of your head, telling yourself to focus on the present and savor it.

Then, to your surprise, he leads you to a salon.

“Fraser, why’re we here..?” To that, he looks at you in surprise, like he can't believe you’re even asking in the first place.

“Didn't you say you had to get your nails done? I booked it for you and asked your friend for some help.”

You’ve been talking about how you kept forgetting to book your appointments and how your nails are long overdue for a change, but you weren't expecting him to book it himself. You’d expected reminders through text, but he…

Tears well in your eyes and Fraser is immediately wide-eyed, scared he did something wrong. “Was I not supposed to? I’m so sorry, I’ll cancel it—”

“No, no! It’s not that. This is just… you’re so thoughtful, Frase. Thank you.”

He let out a sigh of relief, and his usual smile returned to his face. “Okay, good, cause I was getting worried there. And this is really nothing, y/n. Trust me.”

You still couldn't wrap your head around it. You don't know if it was all just too sudden, if you felt undeserving, if it was a mix of both, or if it was something else. You just didn't understand.

“I really can't thank you enough, but I… why? Why’re you doing all of this?”

The same dumbfounded look on his face is back. “Because I love you? And you deserve this and more?”

Your eyes widen, realizing this is the first time he said it, but it looks like that’s lost on Fraser.

You’ve been meaning to tell him you love him for a while now, but refrained in fear it was too soon. And here he is, just casually dropping the bomb.

It finally dawns on Fraser when you don't reply and just stare in shock. “Wait, is that the first time I said that?”

You only nod, blinking a few more times to confirm you weren't paralyzed, even though it felt like you were.

“Oh yikes. I should've said it sooner, no?”

Then, as a smile spreads across your face, you start laughing. Here you were, overthinking whether to tell him you love him after every FaceTime, while he thought he already did say it, and is disappointed he didn't do it sooner.

“I love you so much, Fraser.”

MACKLIN CELEBRINI

You and Macklin both knew that the moment either of you would say those three words was a ticking time bomb. You were just waiting for the right moment.

Neither of you outwardly spoke about it, but you both had a way of silently communicating things, and somehow, it had turned into a competition to see who could say it first. But like good sports, you weren't just going to blurt it out to win. It had to be a special moment.

It was a little ridiculous, but all your dates recently have been spent at home, since whenever either of you would recommend going out, the idea would be shut down immediately.

“I know what you’re doing, y/n, and I’m not falling for that trap.”

“What’re you talking about? I just want to spend time with my boyfriend,” you replied, but the smirk on your face told a whole other story.

Unfortunately, your games were cut short, as it just so happened to be Macklin’s cousin’s wedding that weekend.

You’d spent the days leading up to it strategizing how you were going to say it, and you felt silly for doing so, but it was also just extremely fun.

When the day came, you felt confident in your plan. You don't know if Macklin had his own strategy and whether the level of his planning matched yours, but you were ready for whatever he was about to throw at you.

The wedding venue was gorgeous, and the perfect place for a first “I love you.” The foliage was stunning, and they designed the area with a beautiful mix of oranges and light blues.

Both the groom and the bride would say “I love you,” during their vows, and each time, you and Macklin shared a look. You'd have to clasp your hand around your mouth so tightly so as not to interrupt the ceremony with your laughter.

Later on, you were finally able to get Mack alone. You two explored the venue, and settled on a swing hanging from what looked to be an ancient tree.

Cicadas chirped alongside the faint music from inside, but louder than both was Macklin practically buzzing to say it.

It was sunset, and the sky had never looked prettier—all warm orange hues framing the view in front of you. The aisle was now empty, allowing you to fully appreciate the decor.

Swinging side by side with a gentle breeze and a calming orange sky, you fall into conversation. You talk about fond memories, and what you have envisioned for the future too. How you’d want your wedding to look.

Somewhere along the conversation, you both stop trying to win for a little while, getting lost in it. But you don’t miss the split second Macklin decides to let it out.

Just as he opened his mouth, you cut him off.

“Iloveyou!”

You said it so quickly it was almost unintelligible, but Macklin knew exactly what you said, and he’s never felt more betrayed than now.

Yep. Your great masterplan was to say it right before he was about to. Genius.

He groans, “Y/n that does not count!”

“Sure it does! We just had a heartfelt conversation in a beautiful venue, it can’t get any more romantic than that,” you said.

“Yeah but you cut me off! You noticed I was about to say it!”

“I don't know what you’re talking about, Celebrini. I just wanted to tell you that I love you,” the grin on your face only widens at how much effort he’s putting into trying not to smile right now, but it was tugging at his lips.

“Whatever. I love you too… I guess…” he said, trying to lace his voice with venom, but failing massively.

You got the first one, so he’ll just have to make sure he says it the most.

CONNOR BEDARD

Your head was spinning.

The music was too loud, your clothes felt too tight on you, it was sweaty and humid, and your head was spinning. But not because of the flashing lights or the drinks you downed, no—it was the sight of Connor and his ex talking, the smile on her face, and a smirk on his. It was the way she leaned closer and he didn't move back.

Right, you’re just friends. You feel stupid for thinking you and Connor would ever be anything more than that.

The tears pooling in your eyes forces you to look away and try to blink the tears back, but not before you see her grab his arm. You don't get to see Connor nervously pull away, pushing her a little with a stern look on his face, since you’re already on your way out.

You try to think about anything else, but your mind doesn't let you. Instead, it pulls memories of him—of all the moments that led you to thinking that maybe he liked you back.

The kiss you almost shared before someone called you, the flowers he randomly showed up with because they reminded him of you, the time he told you he felt safer with you than he did with anybody while you had him in your arms.

He was just being friendly.

The tension in the air whenever you’d lock eyes? All in your head. And the moments he’d glance down at your lips? Meant nothing at all.

At this point, tears are flowing down your face. Attempts to wipe them off do nothing as they just keep coming.

It’s not too long before you hear Connor call your name.

He regrets not noticing you leave sooner. He hated that—out of all people—it was his ex that distracted him. He didn't even want anything to do with her, and was frankly getting tired of hearing her agitating voice. When he looked around the room in hopes of finding you so you could both leave, you were nowhere to be seen.

You don't move, but you don't look back right away either. “Connor, please just leave me alone. I’ll Uber back home.”

You hate how you can't stop your lips from trembling. Connor doesn't miss the way your voice wavered.

“No, I’ll take you back—”

“Just go!” You turn around, but you can't see him clearly with all the tears in the way. You don't see the way his expression shifts, and the clear devastation in his eyes. “Enjoy the rest of your night, Connor. Go back in there, drink like hangovers don't exist, and dance with Darcy or whatever her name wa—”

“Wait—what? Darcy?”

“Darcy, Daisy—whatever. You guys were cute together anyway.”

Connor just stands there for a moment, and you’re about to turn away when he sighs.

“Y/n, how oblivious are you?”

Now it’s your turn to stand there stunned.

“...What?”

“Do you really not get it yet? After these past few months?”

“Connor, please just get to the poin—”

“I love you, y/n. You,” your eyes widen, and he takes your surprise as a chance to keep going. “I don't even know how long I’ve spent wanting you. I just know that every relationship I had never worked out because they could tell my heart was already set on someone else.”

As his words sink in, you pinch yourself just to make sure this wasn't a dream.

Connor sees the action and laughs, “This isn't a dream, y/n.”

He cups your tear-stained cheek, inching closer and closer before his lips are just inches away from yours. “Is this okay?”

You answer by closing the distance.

WILL SMITH

You always recorded your fit checks, either putting your phone on your desk, or holding it up as you pose in the mirror.

A few months into your relationship with Will, you started including him. It didn't happen often, though, since meeting up was hard with the distance between you two.

You were filming another fit check, when the door suddenly opened. You felt your heart drop for a split second before Will entered with a wide smile on his face.

“What the fuck—Will?” He giggled, and held his arms out, beckoning you into a hug. Despite your confusion, you didn't hesitate to walk over to hug him.

You were under the impression that he was supposed to be training right now and wouldn't be back until next week, but apparently Will Smith is a liar.

“What are you doing here? You’re not skipping training, are you…?” You squint your eyes at him, your hand now resting against his chest while he still has his arms around you.

He rolls his eyes, but his smile doesn't leave his face. “I wanted to surprise you. Did it work?”

“Well I was scared shitless for a second there, but other than that, yeah,” you both laugh and he finally lets go of you, walking over to your full body mirror.

“Were you filming a fit check?” You nod, realizing you haven't stopped recording, and bring your phone back up as you stop beside him. “Let’s film one together.”

He hits a ridiculous pose, making you both laugh, before getting serious.

A few seconds later, he looks away from the mirror to face you, letting his eyes wander over you with a soft smile on his lips.

You hit a few poses, then lean your head in a little more before noticing he hasn't looked at the mirror since he looked away. There was something a little too soft in his gaze, and you got a bit embarrassed.

Flustered, you try to be a bit bold. “Aww, look at you,” you coo, “You look like you’re in love with me.”

“I am in love with you?” He was almost whispering when he said it, his soft voice tinged with a slight rasp beneath his Boston drawl.

Then his eyes widen almost immediately after, hands flying to cover his mouth.

You gasp before bursting out laughing, “He loves me!” you say to the camera as Will’s face turned even redder, backing out of the camera’s view.

“You got it on video too,” he covers his face and groans into his hands, but you could hear the smile in his voice. You keep laughing, panning the camera over to him.

He removes his hands and can't hold his laugh in. This definitely wasn't how he expected his first confession of love would go, but he can't really complain. Not when he gets to see you laugh like this.

That doesn't stop him from reaching over to try and cover the camera, though, and saying “Delete that!” as he chased you down around the house.

JURAJ SLAFKOVSKY

There were certain Slovak phrases Juraj refused to translate for you, no matter how much you begged for him to tell you what they meant. And it was driving you crazy because of how much he repeated them.

He always managed to slip them in. At first, you didn't pay too much attention to it, asking “What was that?” then letting it go when he refused to give you an answer. But then he kept doing it.

Studying? He’d sneak up and hug you from behind, press a kiss to the top of your head, then whisper something that definitely isn't English. Cuddling? The last thing you’d hear before drifting off is that phrase you couldn't quite make out again.

Most of the time, you wouldn't even be doing anything and Juraj would suddenly blurt it out. Like the time you were out late, driving around in his car and stopped by somewhere with a nice view. As you were gobbling your takeout down, he let out a small laugh before saying, “Milujem ťa.”

You looked up already feeling annoyed that he’d said one of the phrases again, but that annoyance faded when you saw just how good he looked at that moment, smiling at you like you were happiness itself.

You never became too familiar with a single phrase either, since he’d switch between them, but the ones you heard the most had an ‘L’ and ‘M’ sound in the beginning…or something.

You had started to accept that you’ll have to live forever not knowing what any of those phrases meant, until one particularly bad game. He came home after a tough loss feeling exhausted, but somehow, you were able to rejuvenate him.

You’d comforted him, had him join you in making dinner, and one messy, chaotic cooking session later, he forgot all about the game. No one has ever made him feel like that ever.

So as you both ate the dinner you cooked together, he finally translated it for you.

“Milujem ťa.”

“Juraj, wha—”

“—It means I love you.”

MATTHEW SCHAEFER

The first thing Matthew thinks of when he wakes up is, ‘Am I in heaven?’

Mostly because of the glaring sunlight slipping past the curtains, but also because the first thing he inhales is the scent of your shampoo, which is, well—heavenly.

Then he realizes that you’re right here, curled up beside him. He almost didn’t notice, with how perfectly snug you fit with him.

He doesn't know how long he spends just staring at you. A little creepy, maybe, but he physically couldn't tear his eyes off of you. Also, hey, you were his girlfriend!

The way the sunlight—although almost blinding—shone on your face was perfect, accentuating all your already perfect features. You really are the epitome of perfection, he thought.

This was the first time you’d stayed overnight, and his chest tightened at the thought of more mornings like this. Waking up to you in his arms, your scent on his sheets, trusting him enough to see you at your most vulnerable state.

He can't help but feel like the luckiest man alive.

You start to stir, but Matthew doesn't look away. Instead, he greets you with his insanely deep morning voice, “Good morning, beautiful.”

You open one eye first, eyes still feeling too heavy to open them both. “G’morning Matt… why’re you staring at me? Creep.”

He laughs, “Cause you’re perfect.”

You can’t roll your eyes yet, but if you could, you already would’ve. Matthew senses that and laughs even more.

“You would stare too if you had my view,” at that, the smile you were trying so hard to hold back, appears. You normally couldn't take compliments, but with him, you never felt like you had to question it. You just knew he meant them.

After bickering for a bit—with him being a big baby and not wanting to get up, and you already wanting to get the day started—you both finally make your way to the kitchen.

You worked in tandem, him in charge of the coffee, while you cooked eggs. After he loaded the coffee maker, he looked over to you, and the sight left him speechless.

His hoodie (which now belonged to you, at this point) engulfed you, and the sunlight once again caught you in the most perfect way—he was starting to believe the sun just had favorites, always angling to make you glow.

But it wasn't just the hoodie or the sun. It was the birds chirping, the pan sizzling, and the hand you had resting on your hip like you’ve done this a million times before and could do it a million times more. It all reminded him that you were his. The domesticity of it was messing with his brain, and he thinks: so long as you love him, the world can’t harm him.

Before he could realize, the words already slipped out of his mouth.

“God, I love you.”

You pause, looking at him with wide eyes and your mouth agape.

“I—I love you too?” He tilts his head, face dropping a little, and you scramble to correct your tone, “I mean—I really do! I love you, Matt. You just… caught me off guard there,” you awkwardly chuckle, and so does he.

“Sorry, I just… I don't know. I just oddly feel so loved right now,” your heart melts at his confession.

You quickly turn the stove off before anything can burn in the middle of the moment, and go to wrap your arms around him. He returns the hug, only tighter.

Yeah, he definitely could get used to this.

KAIDEN GUHLE

You loved music festivals.

You loved the easygoing atmosphere during the day, the energy at night that’s capable of birthing alter egos, and losing yourself in the music—swaying or jumping to the beat with a drink in hand.

But you especially loved it, because that’s how you met Kaiden. His pretty face caught your eye among the sea of people, and just as the artist started singing a slower, romantic song, he turned around and met your gaze. You both swear it was fate.

Since then, music festivals have become a staple in your relationship…and the setting of an event that he swore was the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to him.

It was late, and the energy was at its peak. The band was performing their last song of the night, and everyone—including yourself—was singing their hearts out. The lights flared out into the sky, fireworks were coming out, and all you could hear was the instruments and the singer’s voice, which was almost drowned out by the crowd.

You turn to Kaiden as the song nears its end, looking to admire the side of his face and the way the lights reflected in his eyes, but he was already looking at you. Your heart races even faster.

Everyone around you is jumping, except for Kaiden. So you grab his arms and try to pull him into it with you. He shakes his head, but a smile spreads across his face and he jumps anyway. Then he starts saying something, but you can’t hear him over the blaring drums and people yelling.

“What was that!?” You yell, still jumping to the song while he already stopped. Being super close to the stage was not helping (with both the situation at hand, and your ears).

He says it again, but you still can’t hear. He looks like he’s saying “Olive Juice,” but you’re hearing something closer to “Aloe Vera.”

“I still can’t hear you!” You lean in closer, and he mirrors you, but you recognize that the song was right about to end.

Aaand right as it stops…

“I LOVE YOU!”

…Kaiden already yelled it out, and you couldn’t stop it from happening.

Immediately, people started laughing, and even the band heard it.

“Woah, buddy! Hasn’t even been a minute since it ended, but we love you too!”

The crowd erupts into louder laughter as Kaiden buries his face in your neck, trying to hide, but it was already too late and numerous eyes were on you. The embarrassment tinted your ears red, but it was Kaiden’s words that spread warmth throughout your chest.

“Baby, look up—” you start, but he just shakes his head against your neck, refusing. His ears were unimaginably red, and you truly felt sorry for him—you really did—but you also couldn’t stop laughing.

Eventually, the laughter around you starts fading, and Kaiden finally lifts his head up. He still looks mortified, but the second your eyes meet, and he sees the smile on your face, he eases up.

Kaiden still doesn’t know how you do that—look at him and calm him down instantly—but somehow, you just can.

First “I love you”’s are always memorable, but this one definitely takes the cake.

note — if the smitty one felt familiar, it's cs i based it off a tiktok i saw! i thought it was so adorable and i've always wanted to write smthng based off it :] anyway, this was super fun to write although i had a writers block before i started writing this 😭 + my faves have to be schaefer's and guhle's! quite proud of the schaef one☝️ which also made me realize i wanna write more for him wth. least fav might be macks im sorry mack lovers i lowk was not feeling the premise but i wanted to include mack. next to macks would be wills, but i acc liked the idea i js couldnt pull it off LOL

divider credits — @/cursed-carmine and @/strangergraphics

I.“I just escaped one cage, and you aid in throwing me into another?!”

Annoyed, Lucienne pinched the bridge of her nose, struggling to maintain her composure. “My lord, please — be still. This union is not without merit. It was arranged carefully, and not without reason.” She adjusted the sleeve of his coat with practiced ease. “You might try seeing her as a friend first. From what I’ve gathered, the Princess is far more reasonable than most born to crowns.”

“I don’t need more friends. I already have you.”

“I meant a friend you don’t employ.”

Morpheus’ eyes drifted to the raven perched atop the life-sized dressing mirror. “...Can I count you?”

Matthew ruffled his feathers in delight. “Hell yeah, you can count me! That’s a good start. And uh, what about that weirdo that roams Earth — what’s his name again?”

“...Hob?” A smug grin swept across Morpheus’ face and set ablaze the infinite cosmos swirling mischievously in his eyes. “See, Lucienne?” He tilted his chin upward slightly. “I do have friends. Matthew and Hob.”

Not taking her eyes off the busy work of fixing here, tweaking there, Lucienne deadpanned, “Excellent choice in company, my lord.”Pleased with her work, she straightened the golden crown of thorns that hovered above his head. “All done. Now... where’s your gift?”

“What gift?” Morpheus gruffed.

“You didn’t get your wife a gift?” Lucienne asked, her patience beginning to fray.

“For fuck’s sake, she’s not my wife.”

“Yet,” Matthew called over his shoulder.

“Right,” he intoned absentmindedly, swatting the bird away. Morpheus slumped into the chair, brooding over the foreign taste the petal-soft word wife left in his mouth.

Lucienne hesitated — just for a breath — sparing him a sympathetic look. “This was never left to chance, my lord. Threads like these don’t weave themselves. Someone higher is tying the knot... and we’re all just following the pattern.”

II. The nocturnal creature that he was crept up the altar like the waiting dark. He wasn’t curious; he was humoring the ceremony. It changed nothing — or so he told himself. When it concluded, he would return to his affairs, unchanged, untouched, undisturbed. Until his world went still.

She was here.

Morpheus craned his neck at her arrival for a better view of his would-be wife, tugging anxiously at the white tulle ruffles around his neck.

On cue, a swarm of fireflies rose from the lilac woods, blotting the dusk in gold flecks. The carpet of apricot clouds that stretched down the watery aisle parted as her bare feet dipped into the surface, each step rippling like breath across a dream. She breezed down the aisle like the warmth of the summer’s last sunset — and with her arrival, even the music seemed to soften: tinkling bells, stringed instruments, and choir harmonizing over David’s chord melted beneath the weight of her presence.

Each step she took fell in rhythm with his heartbeat. The afternoon sun sagged low behind her. Her dress, made entirely of thawed stardust, shimmered seafoam white in the fading light, shifting to lagoon green wherever the hem grazed the water.

Morpheus knew a walking fantasy when he saw one.

Internally, he scoffed at the Greeks — a thousand ships? Was that the best they could offer her?

Slowly, as if already tethered by an invisible string to him, she approached the altar till they became diametric opposites bound for collision.

It wasn’t romance that filled the space between them. It was something older. He glanced at her wet feet, then her wet face. And in a rare moment of clarity, he understood what the cost of new beginnings looked like: grief, dressed as duty.

She stood before him — melancholic, ethereal — with an expression like the Milky Way had begun to fall like snow. Her desperation had crumpled into fear, and though she spoke no words, he heard the voice inside her scream: Freedom. Freedom is better.

She looked frightened. Unhappy. Not the way most brides looked. He knew she’d imagined this day differently. Once, long ago, he had too. For beings as old as creation itself, regret isn’t a feeling they know. If they had known it, it was long forgotten. Though not entirely the same thing, sorrow, on the other hand, he was all too familiar with the notion of it.

 And so, as a man of quiet merit, he wanted to take her hands in his and say: No matter what happens, this is your home now. I ask nothing of you but patience. However, the more sensible part in him saw the temperamental fall like a thunderbolt demeanor seething beneath the layers of hopelessness. She had nothing to lose. And it made even the King of Nightmares want to flee. Yet he soured his face and stood rooted, adhering to the unwritten rules of the universe: Never run from anything immortal. 

Awkwardly, Morpheus shifted on his legs, his fitted suit of black velvet ash stretched too tight across his spider-long limbs. The dark indentation around the space he occupied — a void of nothingness devouring texture and saturating colors, shrunk in her presence. 

It wasn’t on purpose, at least not at first. But as the minister droned on, Dream found himself trying to seem as welcoming as possible. He slouched his wide shoulders and crouched his baleful presence of around seven feet closer to the ground. Much to his disappointment, it was apparent his efforts were fruitless. He couldn’t see his reflection in her eyes. But what he could see was that the Arabian poets came closest to describing them; the devil would kiss her eyes and repent. 

Uttered like a fractured fable, the first words she said to him were a resentful promise of commitment for the satisfaction of the minister: “I do,” she repeated after him. Out of respect, Morpheus bent his knee, lowering himself fully to the ground. After he slid the matching gold band up her ring finger, he delicately kissed her knuckles, then pressed it to his forehead. 

III.“And where exactly do you think you’re going?”Morpheus turned, startled, to find Lucienne standing behind him — arms folded, foot tapping, her disapproval sharper than her tone.

“For a walk,” he replied flatly, unaware of how selfish such a small desire could sound. But then his gaze flicked to his bride, sitting alone in a sea of celebration — her eyes glassy, her posture crumpled like something forgotten. The guilt was inextinguishable.

Turning back to Lucienne, he added, “See to it that she gets whatever she desires. Please.”Lucienne paused, watching the laughter and clinking goblets swirl around the woman in white, untouched.

Her voice was quieter when she replied, “She’s not a pet, Morpheus. You’ll have to speak to her at some point.”He didn’t answer. He simply plucked a stray piece of bread from a nearby table and muttered, “For the birds,” before disappearing into the woods cloaked in night.

One loaf of discarded bread later, he roamed restlessly through the empty halls, pushing past his chamber's double oak doors, eager for sleep's embrace. 

At first, he didn’t see her waiting in the dark; he only sensed her presence nearby, the way he senses dreams before they form. Startled, he stood rooted at the entrance. His curious eyes found her like a pinprick of light in his darkened bedroom, gazing back at him. 

Suddenly, Morpheus realized his room was in no condition for a princess, let alone one who was his wife. Nothing was her own in here; did Lucienne not arrange a chamber for her? He wondered.

His confusion only grew when she averted her gaze and let the robe topple to the floor, leaving her exposed. From a distance away, his eyes lingered on her frame longer than they should have. Perhaps it was the initial shock.

Or perhaps it was because so many centuries have passed since he last touched another; it might as well have been another lifetime. At that moment, the only thing that weighed heavier on his heart than sleep was the need to devour the woman before him. 

The sight was almost sacrilegious as the moon peeked through tufts of heavy storm clouds, illuminating the edges of her silhouette; she was divinity personified. None were worthy. His heart sped up thinking of the artless falsettos that would tumble from her lips if he touched her.

But the stiffness in her rigid muscles suggested she did not want to be touched; therefore, he dared not. 

Then: “Ahem.” He flinched, whipping his head toward the sound. One of her handmaidens stood near the doorway, holding a basin of water in both hands. She had bashful deer eyes, twitching ears, and slender hooves peeking from beneath her white shawl. Pink flowers bloomed in her antlers.The blush crept slowly from his ears to his cheeks, spilling across his pale face like watercolor.She thought they’d consummated the marriage. She was here to clean her mistress afterward.

Wordlessly, he entered the room and, for the second time that day, he sank floor-level in the presence of his wife. Picking up the discarded robe, he wrapped it around her shoulders; then exited the room as fast as he could, leaving both women perplexed.

IV. Sure and stingy, the late September morning hoarded the phantom moon, fogging up the rippled skies with its grey stillness. Somewhere in the palace, a grandfather clock chimed loudly, and she woke alone in a chamber of her own. As she had every day since the night she last saw Morpheus. 

A month had gone by, yet she still was unsure what to make of him. Although they were tangled in a waltz of avoidance, she often felt his presence haunting the halls, busying himself with work.   

Hidden, forgotten, or forbidden, the hollowness of unexplored attics, chambers, and tunnels echoed under her feet. If she stood perfectly still, she could feel the woodwork thumping at a consistent tempo, as if the fortress hid a heart under all the mosaics and broken marbles, like a living thing. 

A solemn chill blew through the palace, and with it came a long-dead lullaby and brittle leaves sailing about aimlessly in circles. Dragging her hand along the cobblestone wall, she followed the familiar sound down the hall to the library. 

“Für Elise,” she said. 

Matthew hobbled around to face her, abandoning the book he was previously hunched over, “You know it?” 

“I was there when it was written,” She smiled at the candle-lit memory of a man with untamed hair and spirit. Biting the insides of his flushed, pudgy cheeks in concentration as his nimble, quick fingers worked obsessively to perfect each note. 

“Who’s playing?” She asked, half wondering if her old friend was locked in a room here. “Ah, the palace does that sometimes,” Matthew said matter-of-factly.

“This is a favorite of your husband’s, especially when it gets cold. You’ll get used to it.” 

“The palace plays Beethoven for him?” 

Matthew did not have shoulders to shrug, so instead he tilted his head to the side casually, “Yeah, and that’s not even the freakiest thing about this place. If you’re quiet enough, you can hear it breathing sometimes. Now, if you ask me, I’m a simple man. I don't think architecture should be alive. It’s ghastly, but so is your husband’s taste in well…everything.” 

Her eyes traveled up several feet, fixing on a spot above Matthew’s head. 

“Aaaand he’s behind me, isn’t he?” The raven asked, devoid of shame. 

To which she only smiled and nodded. 

In his black floor-length robe, Morpheus’ large presence loomed ominously in the library, snuffing the light in the area he stood. The fringes of his ruffled perpetual bed head fell into his eyes, shielding his unamused, sour expression. 

Lucienne nudged him forward with her shoulder. Dream scratched the back of his neck, looking away, then paced forward and presented a black velvet box.

 “Th-thisisforyou.” He rushed the words from his mouth, accidentally shoving the box into his wife’s hands. She staggered back slightly, blinking at his strength. “I’m sorry,” Dream mumbled before scurrying away. 

On his way out, Matthew landed on his shoulder and whispered dryly in his ear, “If I had hands, I’d face palm with both.” The princess thumbed the velvet box and then snapped it open, revealing a crimson diamond, in the shape of a heart, strung on delicate gold. 

Lucienne, still cringing from the interaction, rested a comforting hand on the woman’s shoulder. “He made it himself.” 

Growing fond of his strangeness, a small smile etched itself onto the princess’ face.

The metamorphosis had begun.

V. The next time Morpheus saw her, the thorn-pricked jewel dangled at the base of her throat with effortless elegance. Instinctively, his fingers grazed the same spot on his own neck a quiet pride bloomed amidst the calm in his chest.

Gingerly, he offered her a hand to help her onto the mare. She accepted with grace. He considered mounting the saddle behind her, but since she didn’t suggest it, he maintained a respectful distance and walked beside her instead, the lead rope looped loosely in his hands.

Unfortunately for the princess, Morpheus was not an exceptional tour guide. He preferred the company of silence.They moved past knee-high yellowing reeds. And every now and then, when he thought she wasn’t looking, he stole a glance.

Her veil shimmered in the daylight — sea-salt and gold — cloaking her from head to toe like moonlight diffused through gauze. It trailed behind her, rippling in the breeze, fluttering against the black mare’s flanks. By tradition’s measure, she was appropriately dressed for her first passage through his realm.

They tracked a mile together through Fiddler’s Green. If Dream was tired, he didn’t show it; his face was unreadable as ever. Still, she reached into the saddle pouch and offered him a bottle of water. When he took it, their hands brushed — and he was certain she’d flinch, pull away from his touch. But she didn’t. Through the veil, she smiled at him — warm and unguarded — almost as radiant as the ruby nestled at her throat.

Unconsciously, he mirrored her smile for a fleeting second before glancing away and clearing his throat. The blush creeping up his neck did not go unnoticed. And just like that, she decided she rather liked this strange man and his stranger charms.

“I suppose I should thank you,” he said once they resumed their quiet rhythm.“Whatever for?” she asked.“Matthew told me about Beethoven.”

It was her turn to flush, and she quickly averted her gaze. This was the most direct he had ever been with her, and the full force of his attention was unexpectedly disarming.

“It would’ve been a shame if the world hadn’t heard his talents.”

“Funny,” Morpheus murmured, “I thought the same of Shakespeare.”

She gasped, whipping her head toward him in disbelief. “That one was your doing?” He allowed himself a small, rare smile. “Yes. That one was me.”

Tempted by curiosity — always — Morpheus could have let a dozen questions tumble out. Instead, he settled on one: “Tell me about the time you spent with them. With the humans.”

She let out a wistful sigh, her voice nearly lost in the hum of the meadow. “I loved watching them create, and build, and grow. The artists and children were my favorites. Politicians and bankers…” she pulled a face, “…not so much.”

“What’s their offense?” he asked, genuinely intrigued.

“They keep trying to reduce my myth to math. Strategize me. Trap me. And when it inevitably fails — as it always does — they say I’m fickle,” she huffed, clearly offended.

Morpheus disguised his amusement as a cough. “…you kind of are fickle.”

“I am not!” she defended, mock-offended. “Before I was conscious, I was a coincidence. Now, my work is far too deliberate to be fickle. Do you know how many parts move at once to keep harmony across the realms? If I falter even for a moment, everything collapses. The detail alone would drive some mad.”

A shadow crossed her features, fleeting but heavy. “You asked about my time with the humans. Well… It’s in the past now. We all know when it ends, Death will be the one to close the doors. But it was I who opened them.”

Morpheus fell silent, pondering the weight of her words — and the truth in them. It was luck that humans existed at all.

“You’ve grown attached to them,” he observed, voice low and steady. Then, with softened candor, “And I know you’re not fickle. I was only teasing.”

Her smile returned, gentler now, more real. He listened to her speak with such reverence, such insight, and found himself wanting to share something in return — a piece of his own regrets, or what passed for them in his endless life.

But not yet. Then a new thought crept in — unbidden and unsettling: how useful she was to mortals. And how dangerous that made her. He had seen human greed too closely, too many times, to dismiss the thought. His grip tightened on the rope. He stepped a little closer to the horse, not wanting to imagine what he might do if they ever tried to take her.

The unease stirred something raw in him.“Forgive me,” he said, at last. “I know the situation between us hasn’t been ideal… and for that, I’m sorry.” Waves of empathy shimmered through her as she turned to face him fully.

“You’ve done nothing that requires forgiveness, Morpheus. But… if it’s any consolation, I’m glad it’s you.”His name fell from her lips like a blessing, and something in him unraveled.“I’m glad it’s you, too.”

VI. Five, Four, Three,

The princess stood before the monitor at the center of the crowded room, her head hung low in shame, tears brimming in her eyes. Each staggering breath was jagged, sharp as knives.“This one is more than a dream—it’s a memory,”

Morpheus said, making his unexpected presence known.

For once, he was not the most morbid creature in the room. He stood facing the window with his hands folded neatly behind his back, anticipating the launch.

She gripped the coin until her nails dug into her palms. Another memory was melting into a different dream. She didn’t need to acknowledge it—she’d seen this one before. She’d lived this one before.

With a heavy heart, Morpheus stood with her beneath the same sun many moons ago, his gaze fixed heavenward. Under a clear blue sky, it looked like a lone star plummeting through eternity, forever falling upon this city.

“Luck never made a man wise,” Morpheus murmured, his voice falling flat against the dirty pavement.

“No, it never seems enough to do so.”

He could sense her distress more clearly than the day-old, crumpled newspaper skittering across the street. Even if he hadn’t taken a special interest in her dreams, he would have sensed it—in every realm, in every lifetime. And he would come to her aid in every realm, in every lifetime.

“This was never yours to carry alone,” he said, voice quiet but resolute. “If you strip them of conscience, you strip them of consequence. My dear Fortuna…it is finished. Let it lie.” He paused, as if giving silence its due.

“Here—let me take care of this for you.” Mere moments before the catastrophe, the world swirled in clouds of orange and pink, scrambling her view. Morpheus placed a firm, comforting arm around her shoulders and turned her gently away from the scene.

“My sister Death will be here soon. We must leave.”

“Yes. And Despair too,” the princess added bitterly. “She’s made a home among these people… and she’ll still be here for generations to come.”

Dream did not doubt it. Death and Despair often worked together, and it would be a pity for the world if they ever learned to get along.

As the blur of colors subsided, she immediately recognized the image before it fully materialized. Turning to her husband, she asked, “How do you know this place?”

His face remained unreadable. “It is my duty to keep you safe here in the Dreaming… and in the waking. Therefore, it is my duty to know this place.”

Secluded in the woods, they stood before a hot spring, quietly simmering in the dappled light.“This is my happy place,” she said with a small, reverent smile. Dream shrugged, and a flurry of petals came sailing from the clouds, decorating the surface of the water—his personal touch. Overwhelmed with gratitude, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, then turned toward the spring.

Morpheus gasped softly, startled by the unexpected gesture. Blinking twice, he lifted his hand and ghosted it over the kissed skin, surprised at how it lingered.

He hadn’t thought further than his desire to comfort her. So when she began slipping out of her silk nightgown, his breath caught.

Embarrassed, he flushed pink and turned his back, granting her privacy. He wondered if he’d already missed his chance to return the kiss.

“It’s okay, Morpheus,” she said gently. “You can look.” Still cloaked in dark robes, he crouched at the water’s edge and craned his neck toward her, surrendering to his attraction.The daughter of the sea stretched out, her naked body gliding luxuriously across the surface, rippling the hot spring in small waves. Like a siren rising from the deep, her eyes peered over the waterline, watching him with a knowing softness. She raised a hand and caressed his jaw, guiding him closer.

Obeying her silent call, Morpheus leaned forward, eager to please—until she grinned and pulled him suddenly into the water."Ah—!"He surfaced, sputtering and disheveled, his dark hair clinging to his face. He fought the urge to laugh… and lost. Her laughter was too infectious.

Grinning with pearly whites he rarely revealed, he watched her push the wet fringe from his forehead.“I would court you with more grace… if I knew how,” he said, leaning into her touch. “I’ve been alone for so long.”

“Not without reason,” she soothed, unwilling to let his sorrow return.

“If history serves as any reference,” he murmured, “I must inform you—I’m not very good at this.”

“Whatever you have been, you are mine now. Don’t look to your past, Morpheus—you won’t find me there. What’s done is done. Leave it to rest.”

“I like it when you say my name.” He kissed her knuckles gently, then placed her palm over his beating heart. Her warmth settled comfortably over his pale, frostbitten moonlit skin.

“I like it when you smile,” she whispered, leaning in. He met her halfway.

They happened like a miracle.

The kiss was gentle at first, new love blooming between their entangled bodies, curling into smiles on their lips. To Morpheus, she tasted of an intoxicating mixture of the finest ambrosia and nectar.

One button at a time, she disrobed him till he was as bare and vulnerable as she was. Peering into her eyes, Morpheus said, “We didn’t get a choice, but I promise you, this is. This will always be first and foremost, your choice. Beloved, will you be mine?” 

“I’m already yours,” she mused, playfully lifting her left hand in the air till her wedding band glinted in the sunlight. Impatiently, his fingers tangled themselves in her wet hair and tugged softly, tilting her gaze to meet his, “Morpheus,” she moaned.

He was certain he could hear the uprush of ichor in her veins charging the thick air till it crackled and popped like electricity between them. “I want to hear you say it again,” he gritted through his teeth sternly, “And I want you to mean it when you do.” 

Obediently, she responded, “I belong to you, Morpheus, take what is rightfully yours.” Her words may have been submissive, but her demeanor was not. Curiously, her hands glided across the lean, firm muscles of his chest; they looked small in comparison.

Touch-starved, Morpheus shuddered at the contact, his eyes fluttering shut,  “Bride of mine— ” he began, but she did not let him finish. In height, he towered over her even in the water, to level the playing field, she wrapped her thighs around his torso, hooking her ankles together, keeping him close and easily accessible. 

He slipped his hands under the water, gripping her thighs firmly, not only out of lust but to fulfill the ever-growing innate desire to hold her close. “Here?” he asked out of breath.“Right here.” She confirmed, sucking and kissing along his jaw then focusing her attention to his throat, determined to freckle the area with purple love bites as evidence of her existence. 

Morpheus stirred beneath her, arching his pelvis to find hers, with one hand wrapped firmly around his neck for support, she idly dragged her fingers down to his loins.  Heavy-lidded, he closed his eyes and sighed as she tightened her closed fist around his hard shaft. Needy as ever, he did not wait for insertion, instead he began thruting in her closed fist desprate for friction, frantically tugging and groping at the curve slope of her ass, the her back then her breasts. 

When his breathing became labored, she released him from her grip, giggling when he groaned, “Bride of mine, do not tease me, or you will find I am not the most merciful of eminems.” 

“Chances are in my favor,” she whispered against his lips, pulling him in for a kiss. Slowly, she took his length in her hands once more and positioned herself, hovering it between her folds, fluttering her eyes closed in anticipation. 

“Focus your eyes on me, dearest, I am your keeper now.” He vowed quietly, sinking completely into her body, stretching her out and making her his forever. Despite the burning sensation, she greedily rocked her hips into his, splashing water between them with every steady rhythm.

Her head already foggy with the building pressure and his fullness, marvling at all the ways they fit together. Morpheus groaned and leaned into her, pink lips attached themselves to every exposed area within reach, nibbling here biting there until settling on one of her nipples sucking firmly.  

She arched into it, nails digging crescent moon into his biceps, mewling and panting in ecstasy, knowing she would unravel any second, but clung desperately, the moment not wanting to end. 

Enchanted by the sounds tumbling past her lips, Morpheus twitched inside of her, his intense, unwavering gaze eager to memorize the twists and turns of passion on her face. Succumbing fully to her, he lost the sense of separate beings and melted into his wife with one final thrust, emitting a throaty growl. 

Limply, she draped over him, her heartbeat slowly syncing with his. He didn’t mind. He simply held her—tender, silent, eternal. Their bodies still hummed with the memory of what they had just become.The touches after were gentler, reverent. Fingertips traced temples, arms, and the slope of her back.

Their foreheads pressed together like a prayer, anchoring her until she felt real again, until she was wholly present in the Dreaming.“I think I’m falling in love with you,” she murmured, a yawn catching the edge of her words and twisting them into a soft pout.

Morpheus chuckled—a low, reverent sound that rumbled from deep in his chest. He pressed his lips to her temple, voice raw with something ancient and unguarded. “You may not have been my first love,” he whispered, “but I think… You will always be my favorite.”

VII. 

Mount Olympus

600th Floor,

Empire State Building

New York, NY

With best wishes,

Zeus

Morpheus cringed at the clutched envelope; he’d meant to throw it away, as he had with all of Zeus’ previous invitations. He cared little—if at all—for divine gatherings.

At their worst, they were soirées for gods to brush elbows and bargain favors. At their best, civil pretenses masquerading as peace. The invitation was merely a gesture, done in good faith. As far as Morpheus knew, none of the Endless ever attended.

Until today.

Linked at the elbows, he escorted his sophisticated goddess through the drab, dreary streets of New York. With tender composure, they glided across the pavement. His wife’s spirited heels clicked in rhythm, an elegant punctuation to each step.

It was their first outing as a married couple outside his realm, and she wore his colors proudly. They looked like a mating set. Or a united front.

As they walked past yellow cabs jamming the roads, the city’s usual cacophony paused. Drivers stopped shouting profanities mid-sentence. Pedestrians stood still, umbrellas clutched tighter, mouths agape. Morpheus smirked.

They looked human enough. But their presence was unearthly. Even if mortals didn’t comprehend what they were seeing, something woven in their souls made them stalk backward, clearing the area like prey evading unexpected predators in the wild.

In the empty elevator, she turned and fixed his tie.

“Morpheus.”

“Hmm?”

“Lighten up, will you? We don’t get out much. So behave, please?”

He sighed in surrender.She was right. Since the marriage, she’d remained in the palace, watching seasons pass. The only reason he’d agreed to come was for her.

When they entered the venue, the hush didn’t go unnoticed.Zeus—bronzed and broad-shouldered in a designer suit, hair flowing like a greying monsoon cloud—strode to greet them personally.

Pleasantly surprised, he clasped Morpheus’ shoulder with a grin.“Obedience does not come naturally to you,” he said, then glanced at the goddess, “but to have the odds eternally in your favor is a good trade-off. Congratulations on your union, brother. Come, it’s been too long. We’ve much to catch up on.”

Morpheus glanced at his wife, reluctant to part. Her eyes answered, Keep the peace. Go. She let go of his hand with a small smile and walked off. Had she looked back, she might’ve seen it—his quiet, aching gaze: I miss you already. Don’t stray too far.

Like a bullet through a flock of doves, a blond figure scattered her thoughts, reducing the room to white noise.

She recognized him instantly.She twisted away before he even reached her. Naively, she had expected him to be where sun gods usually lingered in the afternoon—drunk at the bottom of a suburban swimming pool. But a prestigious Olympus party suited him too.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said, wine warm on his breath.

A constellation of nymphs hovered near, hoping to catch his eye. But he looked only at her. She couldn’t blame them—Zeus’ Great Gatsby theme looked exquisite on him. His white suit contrasted with his tan skin well, thick blond coils tamed and swept aside. A soft halo of light chased every shadow from his face, reminding onlookers he was born to be seen.

“I heard you got married.”

She thought of a time long ago when he had made plans to marry her. During their Southern Hills Country Club days, she spent her summers riding shotgun while he drag-raced his Corvette, a habitual blood red sangria within his reach.  Then she’d spend her nights ripping off his polo shirts, tying him to the bed. His wrists bounded together by her daisy chains. 

“I did,” she said. “To an Endless.”

He rolled his eyes, scoffing at the brevity of her reply.“What do you want from me, huh? Do you want me to beg? Is that it?”

“I want you to leave me alone,” she said, cold where he was fire.

“You don’t realize how powerful you are with me beside you. Olympus could’ve been ours.”

“Be careful,” she warned. “Your father might overhear you. And we all know how he feels about usurpers. Son or not.”

His expression twisted. “Is that a threat?”

She didn’t answer. Just stared. Daring him.

His hand shot out, gripping her wrist. He pulled her close. “Understand this. I’m only this desperate for you. I will never let you leave me. I will hunt you down if I have to.”

Before she could speak, like serpents crawling into his ears, coiling around his brain, a numbing voice hissed from behind him. 

“Boundariesss, Apollo.” 

Morpheus emerged, his presence turning the air to frost. “You’re trespassing on hers. Therefore, by extension—mine.”Morpheus' aura radiated bitter dread, amplifying everyone's worst fear till it hindered their ability to think.

Should Apollo choose to offend him further, there is no version of this event where he’d reign victorious. Yet the sun god stood his ground and looked up defiantly at the king of nightmares.

Horrified, the Olympians stiffened. This was a line none had crossed before—and none would now.

Apollo braced himself, shoulders tightening as Morpheus’ gaze settled on him. He felt wild and reckless, as if he’d abandoned all sense of self-preservation. But then an ancient terror began to unfurl within him—primal and absolute. In that instant, he understood why fear of the dark is innate: what dwells within it is seldom kind.

As Morpheus willed it, shadows peeled from the walls, snuffing out every light source. Cold nothingness compressed Apollo.The longer the nightmare king stared, the more Apollo dimmed—like a star being swallowed by the void.

Until he stood hollow, defenseless as an animal staring at a scalpel about to be flayed alive, flesh from bone. Hollow empty sockets where Morpheus’ eyes had been burned like twin melancholy-blue, dwindling charcoal flames. And with the stillness of an eerie viper ready to strike, Morpheus whispered  through the darkness, “Tell me, sun god, is precognition possible…without eyes?” 

Thunder clapped overhead. The crowd gasped. Ozone thickened the air. Zeus stepped in, voice forced into levity, “Ah, pay my son no mind. The boy means no harm, eh?”

He gripped Apollo’s collar, yanked him away from Morpheus, and addressed the stunned room.“You are all guests! Come! Laugh, eat, be merry!”Slowly, reluctantly, the party resumed.

Dream turned to his wife. “Did I scare you?”

“No.”

“Good.” He draped his coat around her bare shoulders, his voice low.

“There’s something about your shared history I do not like.”

“That’s all it is,” she said gently. “History.”

“Still,” he murmured, “I do not understand what you saw in him.”

A sly smile played on her lips. “Are you jealous, Morpheus?”

“Have I reason to be?”

“No, my heart. Take me home?”

He exhaled, softer now. “Yes. I shall take you home.”

IX. The king of nightmares slammed the double doors open, his frantic eyes searching every inch of the library, “Where is she?!” he growled with continent-shaking anger.

Who? Dissolved at the tip of Lucienne’s tongue before she could ask it, she already knew who. 

“She’s not in the palace. I can’t find her, I can’t sense her. Did she mention leaving to you?”

Lucienne knitted her brows together, “No, my lord.” Dream squeezed his eyes shut, fearing the worst. “Find her,” he gritted through his teeth. 

The days bled into night, and the night bled into more night. Like wishing on a birthday candle, the dark extinguished the sun and snuffed the vibrant colors of life and plunged the land into barren shades of grey.

All across the realms, the sleeping remained asleep while creatures of the dark haunted the streets freely. Around the palace, the sky thundered and cracked, flaking off, falling continuously like molten obsidian, the heavens weeping fragments of stars, lighting her way back home. 

Morpheus hadn’t been seen in weeks. Then months.

He was unraveling.

Despair felt it first. The sudden drop. A hollow thud that reverberated through her mirrors like a death knell.“He’s cracking,” she whispered, cradling her own cheek. “Cracking like old porcelain.”

Delirium had been watching him longer. She tried to paint a portrait of his grief—using screaming birds and melted clocks—but couldn’t finish. She'd lost the colors for "abandonment" again.“I think he’s looking for her,” she said to nobody in particular. “Or maybe looking for where he lost himself.”

Even Death—eternally graceful—looked worried. She visited the Dreaming often now, just to sit beside the throne he no longer used. “You’ll break yourself trying to hold what’s already broken, little brother,” she murmured. But he didn’t answer. Because he wasn’t there. He was everywhere else.

Dream crossed realms like a comet caught in orbit, burning through the edges of the known and unknown. He begged the stars of the Helium Courts for omens. He sat with Time and asked if she'd seen a woman made of summer sunsets. He descended into the Labyrinth and asked the Minotaur to dream her shape in sand. But no realm held her. No dream bore her name. And he could no longer dream of her himself.

It was Desire who finally pulled him from the brink. “You look positively ravaged, dear Dream,” Desire purred from their crimson threshold, one leg draped lazily over their armrest. “I must say, heartbreak wears beautifully on you.”

Dream didn’t answer.

Desire twirled a thread between two fingers. Red and fine as hair.“Still searching? That’s sweet. But isn’t it obvious by now? You’re not meant to find her.”

Dream’s breath hitched at the sight of the thread. “Where did you get that?”

“I don’t know, brother,” Desire smiled wickedly, leaning closer. “Where do all destined threads come from?” Dream stepped forward, realization dawning like a poisoned sun.

Destiny.

He arrived at his sister’s doorstep with fire in his eyes and frost in his voice.“I need you to take me to him.”

Death didn’t pretend not to understand. She closed her book gently and stood.“I warned him not to do this,” she said softly. “Told him not to play jailer with someone like her. You don’t bind Fortune. She chooses.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I wasn’t sure which would be worse: you knowing… or you going.”

Dream looked haunted.“Is she…” He hesitated. The word alive was meaningless for beings like them. But well was not.“She sleeps. Not dreaming. Not living. Just waiting.”His throat tightened.“I’ll take you,” she said gently. “But once you cross into his realm, even I can’t reach you. That’s his rule.”He nodded.

“Dream,” she added, just as he turned away. “Do you love her?”

He froze.

“I do.”

When Dream stepped into Destiny’s realm, time ceased. Not slowed. Not shifted. Ceased. No wind stirred. No birds called. The garden stretched on infinitely in all directions—rows upon rows of pale gray trees, every leaf etched with ink. Footpaths twisted in fractal spirals that rearranged behind him with each step.

Here, the concept of choice was a myth. Here, only what was could exist. Dream's boots echoed along the stone path, though there was no sound. His cloak dragged behind him like a funeral shroud. At the center of the garden, as always, stood Destiny. Eyes veiled, chained to his podium, the Book in his hands—open to a page Dream had never seen. Not even in his own realm.

“Brother,” Destiny said without looking up.

“Where is she?”

“That is not the first question you should ask.”

Dream’s temper flashed. “Then allow me to ask them all at once: Why did you take her? Why did you put her to sleep? Why did you steal her autonomy? And why—why in all the realms—did you not come to me first?”

Destiny turned a page.“It was always written this way.”

“Don’t.” The wind trembled beneath Dream’s voice. “Don’t hide behind inevitability.”

“I do not hide,” Destiny replied. “I reveal.”

Dream stepped closer, fists clenched. “She is not a tool. Not a sacrifice. Not a line in your book. She is my wife. And you have caged her.”

Finally, Destiny looked at him. Behind the veil, his eyes were galaxies too ancient for stars. “I have preserved her.” Dream’s mouth parted. Confused. Reeling.

“She is safer here, untouched by the chaos her presence will cause.”

Dream advanced, his footsteps trembling the ground. “You claim to guide fate, not write it.”

“Some paths,” Destiny said slowly, “require a hand steadier than fortune’s. You were never meant to love her, brother.”

Dream flinched, as though the word itself were a curse.

“I used you both,” Destiny admitted without remorse. “She tempers your wrath. You temper her volatility. I forged the bond to bring balance. But she fell too deep into your realm. And you into hers.”

“You chose to bind us—”

“Yes,” Destiny continued, his voice the sound of dry ink scraping parchment paper. “And you have both outlived that purpose.”

“She is more than her role,” Dream said quietly.

“Yes. Which is why she must remain here. Until she forgets who she was.”

Dream stepped back as if struck. “Forget? You would erase her?”

“She will become what she must. And you will return to what you were.”

“I will not leave her here.”

“You cannot unwrite what has been written.”

“No,” Dream said, spine straightening. “But I can rewrite what is still becoming.” He turned. “Where is she?”

Destiny tilted his head. “You already know.” And he did.

Dream sprinted through the garden, past branches that clutched at his robe, past vines whispering fates he refused to hear. The trees parted, revealing a still pond—like glass—at the heart of the paths. There she lay. The Princess. The Goddess. His wife. Floating just beneath the surface, in a cradle of starlight and silk.

Her hands folded across her chest. Her hair drifted like seaweed in the water. Her face serene. Peaceful— Too still. Dream fell to his knees, the weight of eons collapsing onto him.

He pressed his palm to the surface. It did not ripple. “Fortuna,” he whispered. “Come back to me.” A faint red thread appeared between them—almost invisible—connecting the ring on her finger to his. A pulse.Then another. The thread began to glow. And Destiny, watching from the center of the garden, turned another page.

Then—A ripple. The water shimmered, her lips parted faintly, and Dream surged forward, preparing to break the veil between worlds—to reach her, to drag her back with him if he had to tear time and fate apart. But the light dimmed. The surface resisted. And behind him, Destiny’s voice split the air: “If you free her now, you unmake what remains of the balance. You don't know what lies ahead.” Dream didn’t turn. “I don’t care.”

“You will.” Destiny spoke, and eternity held its breath. “If you pull her from this place, you will not only doom yourselves—but what comes from you.”

Dream froze.

Silence fell like a guillotine.

“They will be born of dream and fortune. Imagination and chance. Power unbound by law or logic. Children of impossible will. I have seen what they become, Morpheus.”

He turned another page, slower now. “They would not simply shift the order of things—they would unmake it. Realities would bend. Time would bleed. Even Death would not be able to claim them.”

Dream’s voice cracked. “Then come for me. Bind me. Curse me. Take whatever you must—but not her.”

Destiny’s silence wasn’t stillness. It was judgment. “I gave you this love to temper you,” he said at last. “But you have let it consume you.”

Dream’s voice shook. “Because it is real. Because for the first time in all the infinite yawning dark, something belonged to me. Because, even if fate hadn’t woven us together, even if she was called into being by forces beyond me—she is still mine. And I will not let you erase her, no matter the cost, no matter the future you fear.”

Destiny stepped forward. For the first time, he closed the Book. And the sky cracked. “You think I fear what might come, brother?” His voice became the wind through every leaf, every turning path. “I know what will. I have seen them—your children. Born of realms that should never touch. They will walk outside time. Rewrite existence with thought alone.”

Dream’s face went pale. Destiny’s voice chilled to ash. “When they are born, I will come. I will erase them. From every page. Every story. Every star. I will erase their possibility. I will erase their luck.”

Dream turned, eyes glowing with fury and grief. “Then I will teach them to hide from you.”

“You cannot.”

“Then I will create a place even your Book cannot reach.”

Destiny stared at him, the weight of uncountable eons behind his gaze. “You were always the most stubborn of us,” he said. “And the most dangerous when in love.” He opened the Book once more. “Take her. She is yours. For now.”

The sky sealed. The trees exhaled. “But know this, Dream of the Endless: I do not threaten. I warn. And when your children come—so too shall I. ”With that, Destiny vanished into his spiraling paths.

Dream turned back to the pond. The glow around her body pulsed faster now. The spell was breaking. He sank to his knees again—and this time, the surface gave way beneath his hand.

The water shimmered. Fortuna gasped awake. She coughed, limbs trembling, and curled her fingers into his robe like a drowning soul clinging to shore. He held her like a man starved. Pressed his forehead to hers. “I have you,” he whispered. “And I will never lose you again.”

But far away, in the garden without choice, another page turned. And on it, a name had begun to write itself— A child yet unborn. 

A war yet begun.

EPILOGUE: THE EVIDENCE OF A SUCCESSFUL MIRACLE IS THE RETURN OF HUNGER 

The cat lay coiled beside her feet like a heap of cream and orange autumn leaves, its sweet face twisting into a yawn. It stretched languidly, then padded closer, purring softly as its nose brushed hers. This had been part of their shared morning ritual for over a millennium.

At the time, Morpheus had fashioned the creature as an anniversary gift, though she was certain a purring alarm clock had not been what he intended.Sensing movement beyond the chamber, its curious little triangle ears flicked toward the door. The translucent green wings on its back, delicate as dragonfly glass, perked in anticipation. In a blink, it zipped out of the room—no doubt in pursuit of the kitchen.

“I thought a king does not serve tea,” murmured the goddess in his bed, half-awake, her voice a warm teasing lilt.

“No,” he replied, the smile clear in his voice, “but your husband does.”She heard the soft clink of porcelain as he set the tray down beside her.“How are my Dreamling heirs this morning?” he asked.

“Excited to hear your voice, it would seem,” she said, guiding his hand to the swell of her belly. Beneath his palm, a flutter of movement greeted him. Morpheus beamed. “I cannot wait to meet them both.” He bent down to press two featherlight kisses to her stomach, then brushed a third across her lips.

Since learning of the children, he had developed a habit: when entering a room, he greeted them before anyone else—even her.“And to where do your royal duties call you today?” she asked, drowsy but amused.“I have declined them,” he said simply.

“Today belongs to fatherhood. We’re decorating the nursery, just as you asked. I’ve requested the staff to leave it completely barren. It will be yours to shape, just as you envisioned.”

“Finally!” she exclaimed, eyes now open and shining. “I’ve been putting it off, waiting for you. I was beginning to think I’d have to do it alone.”

Her words, even said in jest, struck a subtle chord in him. At once, Morpheus slipped beneath the covers, drawing her close, his body curving protectively around hers.

He cradled her face between his hands, and kissed the base of her ear, whispering with reverent certainty: “Mother of my children… you will never be alone. You are mine. And as long as I exist, you will be safe. You will be cherished. You will be loved.”

EPILOGUE: FORTUNA IS A WOMAN 

Death of the Endless sighed, tilting her head back with theatrical exasperation. “Of all the entities I run into at work, you’re easily my least favorite.”

Across from her, the princess smiled, cradling a once-warm cup of tea between her hands. “Last-minute change,” she said lightly. “I’m afraid you can’t have this one. Not today.”

She pushed the teacup across the table.“Here. It’s chamomile.” Death accepted it with a raised brow. “Stealing souls and serving tea. You’ve really embraced domestic chaos.”

She sank into the chair beside the princess, fingers curling around the porcelain, casting a sideways glance at the radiant crown of thorns circling her companion’s head.

A knowing smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth. She knew exactly who the crown belonged to—and the promise it carried.They passed the cup between them in easy silence, as old friends might, watching the moment unfold below.

A blur of red.The shriek of tires tearing across pavement. The vehicle veered violently off the road, spinning into a chaos of screeches and honking horns. Pedestrians screamed, scattering just in time.

All except one.

Mark stood frozen—caught between breath and fate.In a heartbeat, he was airborne.Then the sickening thud. Bones against asphalt. Gasps rippled through the gathered crowd like wind through dry grass. Screams followed.

The princess watched calmly, her golden eyes flickering once—an unearthly gleam, subtle and certain.

Down below, the boy stirred. He coughed once. Then again. And to the stunned horror of the onlookers, he stood up—shaky, bloodied, grinning like someone waking from a beautiful dream.

A jagged smile stretched across his maroon-smeared face, eyes wide in the sudden, inexplicable rush of being alive.“Dude,” someone breathed, “how the hell did you survive that?”

Mark blinked, swaying slightly.“Just got lucky, I guess.”

You've known Luke Hughes since his rookie days with the Devils, back when he was all lanky limbs and yea, nervous energy on the ice. It all innocently enough, a mutual friend introduced you at a team event, and before you knew it, you were trading texts about everything from his latest game highlights to your shared obsession with bad '90s movies. Over time, that friendship turned… into something more for you. You love the way Luke's easy smile, how he talked about hockey, the quiet way he listened when you vented about your day it all chipped away at your resolve until you were hopelessly, irrevocably crushing on him. But Luke? He seemed oblivious. Or maybe he just didn't feel the same. You'd dropped hints over the months by a few lingering touches during movie nights, compliments that bordered on flirtatious, even inviting him to events where it felt suspiciously like a date. Nothing. He treated you like his best friend, which was both a blessing and a freaking curse. You cherished the closeness, but it sad to want more and get nothing in return.

It all came to a head a few weeks ago during one of your late-night hangouts at his place. You'd been sprawled on his couch, half-watching a rerun of some old sitcom while he scrolled through his phone. The conversation had turned serious, as it sometimes did after a few beers.

"I'm done with the casual stuff," you'd said, staring at the ceiling.

"You know? The playing-around era is over for me. I want something real. Someone I can trust, and build a life with. Date seriously, maybe even think about a… family, someday. Kids, the whole thing. I'm not joking anymore."

Luke had looked up from his phone, his expression thoughtful.

"Yeah? That's big. You deserve that."

You'd searched his face for any sign that he might see himself in that picture, but he just nodded and changed the subject to the upcoming game against the Rangers. It stung, but you pushed it down. Maybe he needed time. Or maybe you were reading too much into nothing.

A couple of days later, he texted you out of the blue. ‘Lukey: Hey, got something for you. Quinn's in town for a bit. Thought you two should grab dinner. He's a good guy, and you said you're looking for serious. Trust me on this.’

Your heart sank. Quinn Hughes, Luke's older brother, the guy every girl in the hockey world swooned over. You'd met him a handful of times at family gatherings or when the brothers linked up during the off-season. He was kind, handsome in that clean-cut way, with a quiet intensity that made him seem like the perfect catch. But to you? He was just Quinn. Luke's big brother. The one who teased you like an older sibling and always made sure you had a ride home after parties.

Still, how could you say no? Luke had set it up, and turning it down would raise questions you weren't ready to answer. Plus, Quinn was sweet, he didn't deserve to be stood up. So you agreed, telling yourself it was just one date. Maybe it would even make Luke jealous, though you doubted it.

The night of the date arrived faster than you'd anticipated. Quinn picked you up in his sleek black SUV, dressed casually in a button-down and jeans that somehow looked effortlessly put-together. He smiled warmly as you slid into the passenger seat, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners.

"You look great," he said, starting the engine.

"Luke didn't tell me much, just that you're one of his favorite people. High praise from him."

You forced a laugh, fiddling with your seatbelt.

"Yeah, well, he's one of mine too. This is... nice of you to do."

He glanced over as he pulled onto the road.

"Nice? Nah, I'm the one who should be thanking you. It's been a while since I've been on a real date. Hockey keeps me busy."

The restaurant was a cozy Italian spot downtown, a kind of place that screamed ‘first date’. Quinn held the door for you, pulled out your chair, and ordered a bottle of red wine without making it feel over-the-top. Conversation flowed easily at first. You talked about his season with the Minnesota Wild, and he asked about your job, genuinely interested in the details.

"So, Luke says you're killing it at work," he said, twirling pasta on his fork.

"What's the best part of what you do?"

You shrugged, sipping your wine. "The people, mostly. And the flexibility. But honestly, it's the off-time that I love hanging out with friends, catching games when I can."

He nodded, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

"Friends like Luke?"

There it was the elephant in the room. You felt your cheeks heat up.

"Yeah, like Luke. He's... great."

Quinn leaned back, his expression softening.

"He is. Kid's got a good heart. But between you and me, he's a bit of a mess sometimes. Forgets to text back, leaves his gear everywhere."

You chuckled, the tension easing a little.

"Tell me about it. I've tripped over his skates more times than I can count."

The evening continued like that. You shared stories about family holidays with the Hughes clan, how Ellen always made the best pies, and how Jack's trash-talking during board games was legendary. Quinn opened up a bit about the relief now he’s in Minnesota Wild, also the weight of expectations, and you found yourself empathizing. He was easy to talk to, respectful, and attentive. Any other girl would have been swooning.

But as the conversation flows into the night, it became clear to both of you that this was just... nice. Not sparks-flying, heart-racing chemistry. It felt like catching up with an old friend, or maybe a protective older brother just checking in. When dessert arrived, a shared tiramisu Quinn set down his spoon and met your eyes.

"This has been fun," he said sincerely.

"But I get the feeling we're both here because of Luke."

You nearly choked on your bite. "What do you mean?"

He smiled gently. "Come on. I've seen the way you look at him. And the way he talks about you? It's not just friendly. But hey, if I'm wrong, tell me."

Your stomach twisted. ‘Was it that obvious?’

"Quinn, I... I don't know. He's my best friend. I didn't want to hurt your feelings by saying no to this."

He waved it off. "No hurt feelings here. I'm glad we did this. Clears the air. And who knows? Maybe it'll light a fire under his ass."

You drove home in comfortable silence after that, Quinn dropping you off with a hug and a promise to grab coffee sometime, as friends. As you watched his taillights disappear, a mix of relief and frustration washed over you. The date had been fine, but it wasn't what you wanted. Who you wanted.

The next day, Luke texted ‘Lunch tomorrow? My treat. Wanna hear about your date.’

Of course you said yes. How could you not? Lunch with your crush was a no-brainer, even if it meant dodging questions about his brother.

You met at a small café near his apartment, the kind with outdoor seating and a menu full of sandwiches and salads. Luke was already there when you arrived, looking effortlessly handsome in just a hoodie and jeans, he stood to hug you, his arms lingering just a second longer than usual or was that your imagination?

"Hey, you," he said, grinning as you sat down.

"How's it going?"

"Good. Starving, though." You scanned the menu, avoiding his eyes.

You ordered, a turkey club for him, a veggie wrap for you and chatted about safe topics at first. His latest game, how the Devils were pushing for playoffs, your upcoming work project. It felt normal, comfortable. But you could sense him steering the conversation back.

"So," he said finally, midway through his sandwich,

"How was the date with Quinn? He text me this morning, said it was nice."

You took a long sip of your iced tea, stalling.

"It was fine. He's great, as always."

Luke raised an eyebrow. "Fine? That's all I get? Come on, details."

"Why do you care so much?" you teased, trying to deflect.

"Let's talk about hockey instead. That goal you scored last week, insane wrist shot."

He laughed, but didn't let it go. "Nah, seriously. Quinn's the best. Did you guys hit it off?"

You shrugged, poking at your wrap.

"We talked. It was casual."

The lunch wrapped up soon after, with Luke paying the bill despite your protests. As you walked to his car he'd insisted on driving you home, the questions persisted.

"Quinn didn't say much," he pressed as he started the engine.

"You sure it was just 'fine'?"

"It's not a big deal, Luke." You stared out the window, watching the city blur by.

He glanced over at a red light.

"Okay, changing subjects. I've got a date this Friday. Met her on Tinder, seems cool. Dinner at that new steak place."

Your stomach dropped like a stone. Tinder? A new girl? You forced a neutral expression, but inside, jealousy burned hot.

"Oh… Cool… Hope it goes well."

The car fell silent. Luke drummed his fingers on the wheel.

"You're quiet all of a sudden. Everything okay?"

You swallowed hard, keeping your voice steady. "Yeah. Just... tired."

He didn't buy it. "Come on, what's up? You were fine at lunch."

The words bubbled up before you could stop them.

"Luke, all I wanted was you. Not a date with your brother."

He froze, his hands tightening on the wheel. The car swerved slightly before he corrected it.

"What?"

You repeated it, softer. "I want you. Not Quinn."

He pulled over to the side of the road, the engine idling as he turned to face you. His expression was a mix of shock and confusion.

"But... Quinn's the best guy you'd ever date. I mean, he'd be so lucky if you gave him a chance. You know, to let him know you... I trust him."

You stared at him, incredulous. "Luke, you really don't know? Or are you just acting like it?"

"Know? Know what?" His voice cracked, genuine bewilderment in his eyes.

You couldn't believe it. After all the hints, the conversations, the time spent together he still didn't get it? Frustration boiled over. Without another word, you unbuckled your seatbelt and opened the door, stepping out into the crisp afternoon air. Your apartment was just a few blocks away; you could walk.

"Hey, wait!"

Luke called, scrambling out after you. He caught up halfway down the sidewalk, grabbing your hand gently to stop you.

"Why are you so angry? What did I do?"

You spun to face him, your heart pounding. You had that rule, no crying in front of people who didn't deserve it. And right now, Luke was teetering on the edge.

"I ask you one last time, and you have to tell the truth. Do you really know how I feel, or are you just trying to set me up with your brother?"

His face was a mask of confusion, brows furrowed, mouth slightly open.

"I really don't know..."

"I—I thought you'd be better with Quinn since you said you're ready for something serious. He's the best candidate."

That did it. Anger surged through you, hot and unfiltered.

"No, Luke! No!"

You were almost screaming now, your voice echoing off the nearby buildings.

"Look at me. Do I look like I want your brother? I want you! You are the one I was talking about in that conversation... not your brother."

You stepped closer, jabbing a finger at his chest.

"I want you! Not your brother!"

Luke staggered back a step, his eyes wide. The words hung heavy and irreversible on the air. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Passersby glanced curiously, but you didn't care. This was it… the breaking point.

Then, something shifted in his expression. The confusion melted into realization, then regret. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily.

"Oh God... I... I'm such an idiot."

"Yeah, you are," you snapped, but your voice wavered. The anger was fading, replaced by hurt.

He took a tentative step forward, his hand still holding yours.

"I didn't know. Or... maybe I did, deep down, but I was too scared to admit it. Setting you up with Quinn... it wasn't just because he's great. It was because if it worked out, you'd still be around. In the family. I wouldn't lose you completely to some random guy I don't trust."

You blinked, processing his words. "What?"

Luke's cheeks flushed, his gaze dropping to the ground.

"I've liked you for a long time. More than liked. But you're my best friend. What if I screwed it up? What if I wasn't good enough? Quinn... he's steady, reliable. The kind of guy who could give you that serious life you talked about. Family, kids… all of it. I thought, if you two hit it off, at least I'd know you're safe. Happy. And I'd still see you at holidays, games... whatever. It hurt to think about, but it was better than losing you to someone else."

Your heart ached at his confession. All this time, he'd been pushing you away out of fear?

"Luke... you are good enough. More than enough. Why didn't you just tell me?"

He looked up, his eyes searching yours.

"Because risking our friendship terrified me. And yeah, the Tinder thing? That was me trying to distract myself. Convince myself I could move on if you and Quinn worked out. But it was bullshit. I canceled it the second I texted you about lunch."

A laugh bubbled out of you, half-relieved, half-incredulous.

"You fucking idiot."

He grinned sheepishly, pulling you closer. "Your idiot?"

The tension dissolved as you stepped into his arms, burying your face in his chest. He held you tight, like he was afraid you'd slip away. When you finally pulled back, he cupped your face, his thumb brushing your cheek.

"So... does this mean I get a real date? No brothers involved?"

You smiled, the weight lifting from your chest.

"Only if you promise no more setups."

"Deal."

He leaned in, his lips meeting yours, years of pent-up feelings pouring out.