Dinner had been... surprisingly peaceful.
Elena had devoured everything Yuuta placed in front of her—rice, fish, even the vegetables he'd expected her to reject. She ate with the enthusiasm of someone who'd never tasted human food before, which, he realized with a strange pang in his chest, she probably hadn't.
Now she sat on his living room floor, tiny wings drooping, eyes growing heavier by the second. The remnants of her meal still dotted her cheeks like tiny rice constellations.
"Mmm..." she mumbled, her head bobbing. "Papa's food... so good..."
And then—just like that—she was asleep.
Curled into a tiny ball on the floor. Tail wrapped around herself like a blanket. Silver hair spilling across the worn tatami. She looked like a sleeping doll. A perfect, impossible, adorable sleeping doll.
Yuuta smiled.
Kids, he thought. They really just... turn off, don't they?
He reached for a cloth to clean her face, then stopped himself. Let her sleep. The rice could wait.
When he looked up—
Erza was asleep too.
The Dragon Queen. The woman who'd threatened to kill him twice. The ice-cold monarch who'd wrapped a chain around his throat and spoken of kingdoms and judgment.
Asleep on his living room floor.
Curled in a position almost identical to her daughter's. Knees drawn up. Arms tucked close. Her silver hair fanned around her like moonlight made solid. The imperial dress had shifted slightly in her sleep, revealing the elegant line of her neck, the delicate curve of her shoulder.
Her face—usually sharp with disdain or cold with judgment—had softened completely.
She looked...
Yuuta blinked.
She looked young.
Not the ageless queen who'd stood in his doorway radiating centuries of power. Just... young. Tired. Vulnerable in a way he hadn't thought her capable of being.
He smiled without meaning to.
Erza is just like Elena, he realized. Just a bigger version.
They slept the same way. Curled protectively. Tail wrapped around themselves. Wings tucked close like shields. Like cats, he thought. Cats who happened to be dragons.
Like mother, like daughter.
The warmth in his chest surprised him.
Then reality crashed back in.
"Shit."
Yuuta crossed his arms, staring at the two sleeping figures in his living room. His very small, very cramped, very one-bedroom living room.
"Wait a second..."
He looked at the bedroom door. One room. One bed.
One bed.
His bed.
The bed he'd bought secondhand from the guy downstairs. The bed that creaked when he rolled over. The bed that was definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent not designed for two sleeping dragons and one very confused human.
His imagination, because he was twenty years old and biologically incapable of stopping it, supplied an image.
Erza in his bed.
Beside him.
Sleeping.
No. No, no, no.
Yuuta grabbed his own face and shook himself violently.
"NO," he whispered harshly. "I cannot be deceived by her body. If I do anything stupid, I will be killed. She made that very clear. Multiple times. With ice."
He looked at Elena.
In her sleep, the little girl shifted. Her lips moved.
"Papa... cannn..." she murmured, her voice soft and dreamy. "You make... more food... yum..."
She smacked her lips once and fell back into deeper sleep, a tiny smile on her face.
Yuuta's heart melted.
"Okay. Okay. Focus." He took a breath. "Child first. Child first is always the answer."
He crossed the room and knelt beside Elena. Gently—so gently, as if she were made of glass and starlight—he slid one arm beneath her shoulders and the other beneath her knees.
She weighed nothing.
Like a bundle of feathers wrapped in silk. He lifted her carefully, cradling her against his chest, and carried her toward the bedroom.
She stirred once, nuzzling against his shirt.
"Papa..." she whispered.
"I'm here," he said quietly. "Sleep, little one."
She did.
Yuuta placed her in the center of his bed. Dead center, like a tiny queen claiming her throne. He pulled the blanket up to her chin and tucked it around her small body. Her wings shifted once, settling, and her tail curled around the blanket like she was hugging it.
For a moment, he just... looked at her.
This child. His child. A daughter he'd never known existed until tonight.
How was this his life now?
He shook his head and turned away. One down. One to go.
---
The living room was bathed in silver when Yuuta returned.
Moonlight spilled through the window—the same window he'd crashed through hours ago, now covered by a taped plastic sheet he'd found in the closet. The light fell across the floor in a wide, pale beam.
And Erza lay within it.
Yuuta stopped breathing.
The moonlight hit her hair first. That impossible silver, now glowing like liquid starlight. It cascaded around her in waves, catching every glimmer, every strand illuminated from within. Her skin—usually pale as winter—seemed to absorb the light and reflect it back softer, warmer, almost human.
Her breath came slow and even. Not the rushed, anxious breathing of someone hunted. Not the cold, measured breaths of a queen holding court. Just... rest. Deep, peaceful rest.
She looked—
Beautiful.
The word arrived unbidden, and Yuuta couldn't push it away.
Not beautiful like a painting or a sculpture. Not the cold, distant beauty he'd registered when she first appeared in his doorway.
Beautiful like something divine.
Like a goddess who'd forgotten to be a goddess for a moment. Like a storm that had decided to become still water. Like every myth about moonlight and magic had somehow condensed into this single sleeping form.
Her wings had relaxed, spreading slightly against the floor. Her tail lay curled beside her. One hand had drifted near her face, fingers slightly curled.
She looked soft.
She looked peaceful.
She looked nothing like the woman who'd wrapped a chain around his throat.
Yuuta realized he'd been standing there for a full minute, just... watching her breathe.
Shit.
He shook himself. Forced his feet to move.
"Okay," he whispered to himself. "Okay. Royalty. Can't leave her on the floor. She'll kill me if she wakes up with a sore back. Or just kill me anyway. Probably both."
He approached carefully—as if she might wake at any moment and resume her campaign of icy terror.
She didn't stir.
Yuuta knelt beside her.
Close now. Close enough to see the individual strands of silver hair. Close enough to notice the faint shimmer on her skin—not makeup, but something natural, something other. Close enough to see that even in sleep, her brow held the faintest crease, like she carried worries even dreams couldn't erase.
His chest tightened.
I shouldn't touch her.
The thought arrived cold and logical. She'd made her position painfully clear. He was a disgusting mortal. Not her husband. Not even worth being her husband. Just a unfortunate accident she'd been forced to track down.
If he woke her now—if she opened her eyes and found him standing over her, let alone touching her—
She'd freeze him solid.
Then rip out his spine.
Probably in that order.
Yuuta swallowed.
But if he didn't move her—if he left a queen to sleep on a cold floor like some common beggar—
She'd kill him for that too.
Because royalty didn't sleep on floors. Royalty didn't wake up with stiff backs and sore necks because some idiot human couldn't be bothered to treat them with basic dignity.
He was trapped.
Damned if he did. Damned if he didn't.
Yuuta looked at her sleeping face. At the faint crease between her brows. At the way her hand rested near her cheek, fingers slightly curled.
Then he looked toward the bedroom door.
Toward Elena.
His daughter.
His family.
The word hit him like a punch to the chest. He'd never had family. Not really. Not since his mother disappeared, leaving him with nothing but questions and a pair of eyes he had to hide from the world.
Now he had a daughter.
And somewhere beneath all the ice and threats and disgusting mortal comments—
He had whatever she was.
The mother of his child. The woman who'd carried Elena for... however dragons carried children. The woman who'd crossed worlds to find him.
Yuuta made his decision.
He crossed the room slowly, quietly, each step deliberate. When he reached her, he knelt. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her skin. Close enough to see the individual strands of silver hair fanned across the floor.
He leaned down.
Pressed his lips near her ear.
Barely a whisper.
"My Queen," he said softly.
His voice was barely a breath. A prayer. A plea.
"Please forgive me. I'm going to lift you now. I'm going to move you to a comfortable bed. You can kill me in the morning if you want. I won't stop you. But I can't—"
He paused. Swallowed.
"I can't let my family sleep on the cold floor."
She didn't stir.
Yuuta took a breath.
Then he slid one arm beneath her shoulders and the other beneath her knees.
And lifted.
---
"Damm—!"
The word escaped before he could stop it.
She was heavy.
Not physically impossible—he could hold her—but wrong. Wrong in a way that made his muscles scream and his bones protest. She felt dense, compacted, like she carried the weight of something far greater than a normal body.
Dragons, his mind supplied. Different physics. Different rules. Different everything.
His arms trembled.
His grip slipped slightly.
For one terrifying second, he nearly dropped her.
No.
He tightened his hold. Ignored the burning in his biceps. Ignored the way his spine protested. She was warm against his chest—so warm, like a furnace wrapped in silk—and her hair brushed against his arm like liquid silver.
He took a step.
Then another.
The bedroom door loomed ahead. Open. Waiting. Elena's small form visible on the bed, still curled around the blanket like a tiny dragon guarding treasure.
Yuuta moved slowly. Carefully. Each step measured, deliberate, praying she wouldn't wake.
She didn't.
Her head rested against his chest. Her breath came slow and even. Once, she shifted slightly—and his heart stopped—but she only nestled closer, her cheek pressing against his shirt, one hand curling into the fabric.
She feels safe, he realized.
The thought did something dangerous to his chest.
He reached the bed.
Elena had claimed the center, as expected. But there was space on her left side—enough for Erza, if he placed her carefully.
He lowered her.
Slowly. So slowly. Like she was made of glass and starlight and everything fragile.
Her body touched the mattress.
He released her shoulders first, then her legs. For a moment, she lay still—then, without waking, she shifted. Adjusted. Her body seemed to recognize the bed, the comfort, the warmth of her daughter nearby.
One hand found Elena's in the dark.
Their fingers curled together.
Erza's face softened completely. The crease between her brows vanished. She looked... peaceful. Happy, almost.
Yuuta stood there, frozen, staring.
They're beautiful.
The thought arrived unbidden and undeniable. Mother and daughter. Silver and silver. Moonlight painting them both in shades of dream.
He reached down slowly—carefully—and pulled the blanket up.
Over Elena first. Tucking it around her small shoulders. Then over Erza. Smoothing it across her, making sure she was covered, warm, safe.
His fingers brushed her shoulder through the blanket.
She didn't move.
Didn't wake.
Didn't freeze him solid or rip out his spine.
She just... slept.
---
Yuuta stepped back.
Then back again.
Until his legs hit the desk in the corner—his study desk, where he spent hours reading, researching, trying to understand a world that had never made sense to him.
He sank into the chair.
From here, he could see them both.
The bed. The moonlight. The two figures curled together in sleep. His daughter. His... whatever she was. His family.
The word echoed in his chest.
Family.
He'd never had this. Never imagined he could have this. Twenty years of loneliness. Twenty years of hiding his eyes, hiding himself, hiding from a world that would never accept whatever he was.
Now this.
A dragon queen who wanted to kill him.
A dragon daughter who called him Papa.
A bed full of people who—for this one moment, this single breath of night—belonged to him.
Yuuta's eyes burned.
Is this real?
He didn't know.
He couldn't know.
Everything about tonight felt like a dream. The kind of dream he'd had a thousand times—vivid, impossible, beautiful. The kind of dream he always woke from with empty arms and a heavier heart.
What if it is a dream?
The thought settled into his chest like ice.
What if he woke up tomorrow in his empty apartment? Alone? What if Elena was just another fantasy his broken brain had conjured to fill the void? What if Erza had never existed at all?
His hands gripped the arms of the chair.
No.
He looked at them again. At the rise and fall of their breathing. At the way Elena's tail had wrapped around her mother's arm. At the way Erza's face held none of the cold disdain she wore while awake.
If this is a dream...
Yuuta leaned back in the chair.
His eyes stayed fixed on the bed.
On them.
If this is a dream...
"I don't want to wake up."
The whisper escaped him without permission. Quiet. Broken. Honest.
He didn't care anymore.
Didn't care if she killed him tomorrow. Didn't care if this was real or illusion or some cruel joke the universe was playing. For the first time in twenty years—
He had a family.
A daughter.
And somewhere beneath the ice and the threats and the disgusting mortal comments—
A woman who'd crossed worlds to find him.
Yuuta's eyes grew heavy.
He fought it at first. Fought the sleep pulling at him. He wanted to watch them longer. Wanted to memorize this moment—the moonlight, the silver hair, the peaceful faces.
But exhaustion was a tide, and he was already drowning.
His eyes closed.
His last thought, before sleep took him:
If this is a dream... let me die here. Let me never wake up.
And in the chair by the desk, with his daughter and his queen visible in the silver light—
Yuuta slept.