✩ ━━━ spring of 1996, matsuoka family home. ❝the silence of this night, the door in the darkness has opened.❞

HIDDEN UNDERNEATH THE DINING ROOM TABLE, FIVE-YEAR-OLD HIKORI MATSUOKA LISTENED TO HIS PARENTS ARGUE OVER HIS HAPPINESS. His mother never approved of his favorite hiding spot before, claiming it is unclean and showed lack of manners, but lately, she stopped reprimanding him; she doesn't make him sit in the corner for playing too harshly with Naoki anymore, or discipline him for using his wings inside the house, or give him that disappointed stare that used to make Hiroki cry when he doesn't clean his toys after playing. He hasn't touched his toys in a long while, though, so it might be that.

His mother isn't the only one acting weird. A lot of things had changed after Yangyang died. His older brother even offered to play with him yesterday—something Naoki only agreements to when he's bored because as an older boy, he doesn't enjoy his baby brother's childish games anymore—but Hiroki refused and told him he wanted to sleep instead. His brother did not mock him for needing to take naps.

"He lost weight," Hisa listed, desperation masked as anger. "He refuses to go outside because he believes something will attack him. He doesn't sleep anymore, or—Or sleeps for days, Hypnos! He has nightmares." The tense silence that replaced his mother's usual sweet hums made the ache in Hiroki's chest worsen; he stayed quiet, barely breathing, as his mother's voice broke. "He tries to be quiet, but I hear him cry. I hear him cry every single day."

His father—the adult one, the one who has strong arms and fast legs that catch him within seconds when they play tag and the one who has the same nose and lips Hiroki sees each night when he brushes his teeth, but unlike him, this version of his father has curly white hair that's just like starlight, the color Hiroki wishes he had instead of his mother's, since Hiroki's wish is to be just like his father—replied quietly. "Children deal with trauma in different ways. There's no way to make him forget what he saw. I'm sorry, Hisa."

His father's tired voice made Hiroki hunch his shoulders.

That's another difference; his father never sounded unhappy before, either.

Hiroki knew it was all his fault.

"Don't apologize!" His mother snapped, loud enough to him flinch. "Instead, tell why my five-year-old son thinks he has to be quiet when he cries, Lord Hypnos."

His father always said he got her temperament from her—Hiroki never understood how he resembled her when he tries his hardest to be just like him, brilliant and captivating and always smiling, but now he wishes he could be angry like her if it took away that part of his chest that hurt.

He didn't want to hear anymore. Hiroki crawled out from underneath the table, keeping his steps soundless with soft flutters of his wings as he rushed back to his bedroom; there, inside the canopy that hid his bed from a world filled with monsters that kill his friends, he would be safe.

His room is always dim because Hiroki's pupils are too small, like the tips of needles, and too much light will make him dizzy. His mother says that's the reason why he can't go without her or daddy, in case he gets sick from the sun, but Hiroki now knows he can't go outside because the monsters will get him the same way they got Yangyang. Hiroki doesn't ask to go to the park anymore, or the candy shop with the nice lady who used to sneak him extra treats for being polite. Besides, his room is better, filled with toys and treasures, a place where he'll be safe when his father is around, because his father is a god, meaning he is very old and very strong and very rich.

His father is the god of sleep. He is not popular enough to appear on Disney, like Zeus or Hades, but Hiroki promised to become a hero even more famous than Hercules so he can have his own movie with his father. Hiroki would be the best half-blood ever live so his father can be celebrated. He doesn't understand what being a half-blood meant yet, other than he was different than Naoki and all the other kids at school, but Hiroki knew he would be the best one. He will be strong enough to fight off the monsters. He'll be super smart, like his father, who knew a lot of stories—myths, as Naoki called them—about everything. Hiroki did not know the myths yet, because he is too young to truly understand them, or so said his mother. One day he will, though, and he'll be able to protect his father and his mother and Naoki, and all of his future friends.

But for today, he'll hide in his room until he is brave enough, holding Kerberos, even if the worn fur isn't soft like his other new toys, or encrusted with pretty jewels or gilded to shined like the shimmering gold light underneath his father's skin.

Hiroki held his breath as the door to his room unlocked. Instead of stumping of one-eyed monsters or the hiss of snake-headed ladies like he expected, his father's familiar dragging steps sounded throughout the room. He pretended to knock on the yarn canopy, and in a silly voice asked, "May this humble servant see the little prince today?"

His fists gripped Kerberos' paw for comfort. Hiroki waited before probing; "Are you my daddy, or are you my friend today?"

"Hmm," his father hummed thoughtfully. "Which would you prefer?"

Hiroki thought about it carefully. When he is Hiroki's friend, Hypnos is just like him, small with filled cheeks and bony wrists, a juxtaposed, which means to different things together to show their difference, as Naoki taught him, but when he is his father, he is tall enough to reach the moon and his chest is broad like a comforting pillow and his hands are large enough to cover Hiroki's entire face like he had when Hiroki went to the park looking for his friend but found Yangyang floating in—

Hiroki's breath hitched. In a small voice, quiet in case there's a monster in his room waiting to hear his voice, he answered truthfully. "I just want my daddy right now,"

His father parted the yarn canopy, the soft light from the countless magical flowers spilling into Hiroki's safe space. Those don't hurt his head the way the light in Naoki's room does. Lately, their glow doesn't bring comfort anymore.

"My little prince," his father cooed, sitting at the edge of Hiroki's bed. The five-year-old didn't reply, just settled on his stomach and allowed himself to be tucked in, the cloud-like blanket soft against the feathers of his wings. Naoki told him adults find comfort in weird things like this, just the same way holding Kerberos and Orthrus and all his other stuffed toys made him feel safe.

All parents cared too much and fuzzed too much over their kids because they love them, Naoki told him; Hiroki wouldn't have questioned him before, but Yangyang never mentioned his mother doing anything like this to him, insisted he never met her because she's busy doing godly stuff like all the other gods, but Hiroki didn't believe him. His father woke him up each morning and he never skipped his bedtime story. His older brothers—not Naoki, but the very old ones, Morpheus, Phobetor, and Phantasos—visit his dreams occasionally and play with him, including the games that Hiroki can admit are for babies. Despite not knowing him, his Uncle Thanatos sends him gifts he finds when he has to travel for work. His grandmother Nyx even wrote him a letter once, to celebrate his birthday, but Hiroki is just starting to read properly so he can't understand it yet.

To someone who loves comes to so easily, it seemed impossible to not have a family. But now, with Miss Iris refusing to reply to his prayers about Yangyang leaving with his aunt Keres, it made him question if all parents were like Hiroki's.

When his father sat back, satisfied that he was comfortable and would not go cold throughout the night, the five-year-old remembered his father's miserable sigh from earlier; Hiroki waited for Hypnos to scold him because everything is Hiroki's fault, but his father just stared at him with soft sparkling eyes, a finger brushing aside his fringe with care.

"You didn't eat dinner," his father noted. When he didn't reply, a finger tugged on his ear playfully, "I know you heard us, little one."

The five-year-old shrugged. "I won't force you to eat," Hypnos continued, "I'm not here to punish you—that's your mother's job, to be the strict one. I just wanted to let you know that...Whatever you may be feeling, Hiroki, you can tell me, yes? Whatever it is making you believe you're deserving of nightmares instead of the pleasant dreams I send you each night, you can tell me. Nothing will change the way I love you, Hiroki. Even if...it is scary, daddy will make it okay."

Hiroki hid his face in his pillow. "I'm sorry," he whispered, wishing he could stop hurting people.

His father just smiled, thumb caressing his temple soothingly. He wished his wings had sprouted there instead of his back; maybe if he looked more like his father, he would be a little braver. "There's no need for apologies between father and son, Hiroki. I understand you are going through a hard time right now, and it's okay. You don't need to do anything you don't want to, little one."

It started as a small feeling in his chest; Hiroki bit his tongue, trying to hold the tears that filled his eyes. His chest ached and it felt like he couldn't breathe, stinging in his nose, throat started to tighten. Whimpering, he reached for his father as a sob racked his body. "I'm sorry!" He cried out, grasping his father's shirt as hard as he could.

Hiroki's mother explained the concept of death to him, but she used confusing words like 'decomposition' and 'reincarnation.' When he asked his brother, Naoki said Yangyang passed away and he is now resting in a better place without monsters; when Hiroki asked him why he couldn't come sleep in his room, like a sleepover where his dad can protect them, he said Yangyang couldn't because he would be gone for a long, long time. Hiroki waited a full day, then three more. The wait turned into a week-long, and now it's about to three but Yangyang still hasn't returned.

"Naoki said Aunt Keres took Yangyang because Yangyang's body stopped working," Hiroko told his father; in his lap, with his strong arms holding him tight, he felt safe enough to speak. He still trembled, breaths uneven, and hitched occasionally. "Do you think... Do you think if my body stops working, Aunt Keres will take me to see him, too? I just want to apologize to him; I told him we weren't friends, but we're actually best friends!" He blinked as his father's thumb brushed over his eye, palm warm as it cupped his cheek; his dad's eyes are beautiful, a bubbling color like liquid gold poured over the cracked crystal, the same eyes Hiroki had. "Do you think if I tell him we're best friends, Aunt Keres will let me have him again?"

His father's face twisted. His words were calm as he spoke, still, even if his words were filled with pain; "Hiroki, your wellbeing is the most important thing in the whole, whole universe. Don't you think, as your friend, Yangyang would prefer for you to be healthy?" Hiroki thought of Naoki's friends from his sports teams and the way they told him to be well after each game; he nodded, rubbing his tear-sticky eyes tiredly. Hypnos continued, a little more hesitant as if about to say a secret. "The things you need to do in order to be happy cannot be wrong. You may be a little too young to understand now, if one day in future, you find yourself needing to make a hard decision, remember your foolish father and pick your happiness—if not for yourself, then for me, little prince."

Hiroki didn't for a long time, the last tremors of his bodies evening as his breathing calmed. Hypnos shifted his son's small body, committing to his immortal memory the feeling of this weight in his arm and the sweet scent of his baby shampoo—He couldn't recall the last time he held such a small creature, loved someone as much as he loves his son—and felt his time-harden heart soften when Hiroki managed to remain awake long enough to speak.

"Not silly," Hiroki mumbled, eyes dropping. "Daddy knows everything,"

His grip on Kerberos slacked; Hypnos laughed a light, a hollow sound Hiroki will not understand for a few more years, hopefully, and placed back the three-headed toy in his son's embrace.

The god whispered. "If daddy truly knew everything, little prince, then he would know how to make you happy again,"

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