(Nathan)

Hearing Dylan use that word again—died—had a sobering effect on Nathan. He clenched his jaw, hating himself for the lie he was about to tell, especially to someone as innocent as Dylan. But he had to protect himself.

“Almost died,” Nathan corrected, his voice more controlled. “I arrived in time to heal you.”

Dylan’s excitement faded, his head tilting slightly as his brow furrowed. “Why do you keep doing that?” There was no accusation in his voice, only a soft, curious patience that caught Nathan off guard. The maturity in Dylan’s words surprised him.

Nathan kept his guard up, though he hesitated. “Doing what?” He didn’t know Dylan that well, but a part of him wanted to trust him. Maybe then, he wouldn’t have to carry the burden alone. But sharing was dangerous. Dangerous for both of them. He couldn’t do that to someone else—could he?

Dylan’s expression softened. “Trying to gaslight me into believing that I didn’t die?”

Nathan blinked, unfamiliar with the term. “Gaslight?”

“Where I come from, it’s a form of mental abuse,” Dylan gently explained. “Trying to convince someone that their memory or perception of the past is wrong or happened differently. You seem like a nice guy—like you care. So I don’t get why you’re doing that.”

Dylan triggered an existential crisis in Nathan, his words like arrows, stripping away Nathan’s defenses and self-justifications, burying themselves deep into his heart. Stunned, Nathan didn’t know how to respond.

‘Am I abusive?’ he asked himself. His instincts screamed at him to keep lying or, at the very least, change the subject. ‘Is my mental health more important than his?’ The part of him that wanted to tell Dylan everything twitched. Nathan’s breath quickened, his pulse racing. He didn’t know what to do. ‘Lie? Omit? Or—?’

Nathan sat at the foot of the bed. “You’re right,” he muttered, lowering his head. ‘You’re right? You idiot!’ The words were already out, and no matter how badly he wanted to take them back, he couldn’t.

Dylan joined him at the foot of the bed—wide enough for both of them. “Thanks.”

A sudden wave of nausea hit Nathan as his carefully staged world crumbled around him. His eyes darted to the bucket under the sink. ‘He’s going to ask questions.’ Nathan’s mind spiraled, tangled in intrusive thoughts.

Then Dylan asked a question Nathan didn’t expect. “Is it important that no one finds out I died?”

‘He’ll find out, and then everyone will know.’ Nathan gave a small nod, fighting the urge to get sick all over the floor. His palms grew clammy as he wiped his brow with the sleeve of his tunic.

“Then we won’t tell them. If anyone asks, I didn’t die today.”

Nathan looked up, tears welling in his eyes. His voice wavered as he asked, “Why?” His thoughts raced, filling the silence. ‘Why do this for me? What do you want?’ He desperately needed to know.

Dylan shrugged, glancing away as if it were the simplest answer in the world. “I don’t know. It’s obviously important to you, and it doesn’t cost me anything to leave the whole dying bit out.” He gave Nathan a kind smile. “Plus, you’ve been really nice to me—even after I defecated in your office.” He chuckled. “I think you’re a good person, Nathan.”

Nathan felt a strange mix of gratitude and guilt. ‘You’ll change your mind if you ever find out the truth.’ His chest tightened as he wondered what it was about Dylan that made him want to risk exposing his darkest secrets. Marlin was right—Dylan was trouble. But Nathan had a job to do, and the next task was getting Dylan some clothes.

Dylan broke the silence with a soft question. “Can I ask you something personal?”

Nathan tensed. ‘Don’t ask about the ability. Anything but that.’ He forced a weak smile. “That depends.”

Dylan leaned in, squinting as he stared into Nathan’s eyes. “I thought your eyes were blue?”

A genuine smile tugged at Nathan’s lips as he blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, that…”

Realizing how close he was, Dylan straightened. “Yeah, I thought they were blue when we met. You’ve got kind eyes, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Nathan replied, resting his hands on his lap.

“But after you…” Dylan paused, remembering his promise. “Healed me.”

Nathan gave a small nod of appreciation.

“They were yellow, and since we arrived at the hospital, they’ve been blue—except just now, when they turned yellow again.” Dylan waited expectantly, looking to Nathan for an explanation.

[Moonstone Gaze] was the passive ability from his Prismatic framework. It shifted his eye color when he experienced powerful emotions.

Nathan hesitated, then said, “That’s one of my passive abilities.”

Dylan sighed in relief. “So I wasn’t just imagining it. Thank Mother.”

Nathan gave a small smile, but his gaze dropped. “My eye color changes when I get… emotional.

‘What’s the matter with me?’ Nathan wondered. ‘We need to go before I tell him too much…’ Dylan was too easy to talk to, and that was dangerous. There were things Nathan hadn’t even shared with his best friend, Meekan.

Nathan clapped his thighs and stood, hopping off the bed. “Well, I can’t take you to dinner tonight half-naked.”

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Dylan hopped down after him, a grin spreading across his face. “Only if we get them from Charles,” he insisted.

“You want to go find your injured friend, whose home and shop you burned down?” Nathan asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not sure if he has any wares left, but we need to reimburse him for his losses anyway.” He shrugged and headed toward the door. “Okay, let’s go.”

Concern flashed across Dylan’s face. “Oh no.” He froze for a moment, realization dawning. “I forgot about the treehouse! Wait!”

Nathan and Dylan made their way from the hospital to Merchants’ Circle without incident. When they arrived, Charles’ lot was still empty, and none of the other merchants had seen him since the fire.

Nathan frowned, glancing around. “Charles hasn’t returned, and I don’t have anything that’ll fit you. Would it be okay if we got you a shirt from another vendor?” He noticed the growing attention Dylan was attracting.

People stared openly at Dylan as they walked. Nathan knew it was a combination of his robust frame and blunted ears—neither of which were covered.

‘He needs to feel safe,’ Nathan thought, his concern deepening. ‘All this attention is making him feel even more alienated.’ This would only make it harder for Dylan to integrate into society.

Dylan huffed, clearly unhappy. “Yeah… Okay.”

Nathan’s brow furrowed. ‘He’s probably still worried about his friend.’ He recalled a shop just down the road that might have something to fit Dylan.

A bell chimed as they stepped into Big, Tall, and Small.

“Watch your step in here,” Nathan warned, glancing at the floor.

A moment later: “Excrement!” Dylan yelped, accidentally punting a short wooden stool across the shop. “That’s gonna leave a mark,” he groaned, bending to rub his bruised shin.

“There are a lot of tripping hazards in here,” Nathan added, this time more specific.

“Okay,” Dylan mumbled, straightening. He turned and nearly ran into someone half his height. “Ah!” he yelped, stumbling back as he found himself belly-to-face with a female gnome.

“Dylan, meet Lady Buttercup Belltower Bitterbunch of the Waxford Conglomerate,” Nathan said, gesturing toward the proprietor.

Buttercup gave a slight nod. “Thank you, dear Nathan.” She tilted her head, her gaze lifting to Dylan. “But you, tall, wide, and handsome, may call me Buttercup.”

Transfixed, Dylan stared down at the gnomish woman, his gaze flicking between Nathan and Buttercup. “She’s so small,” he muttered.

Buttercup grinned up at him, her smile curling wider. “Compliments will get you everywhere in this shop. What can I do for you?”

“I was hoping you might have a shirt that fits him?” Nathan asked.

“Nope, all out of shirts.” Buttercup smirked, her eyes trailing over Dylan. “And jackets, vests, capes, cloaks, tunics—whatever you might be thinking of to cover up this hunky man.”

Nathan blinked, stunned by Buttercup’s sudden change in demeanor. She was usually far more formal. ‘Is she hitting on him?’ Nathan wondered.

Buttercup’s gaze drifted to his pants, noting the stains. “Oh my,” she said with mock concern. “Those pants are filthy.” She glanced at Nathan. “He should probably take those off too—I could wash them for him.”

‘She’s definitely hitting on him.’ Nathan gave a slow nod.

Dylan raised his hands, taking a step back. “No, no, that’s okay.”

Buttercup sighed and shrugged, barely concealing her disappointment. “I suppose he does look a bit cold.” She pursed her lips, squinting at Dylan. “I might have something in his size.”

Dylan glanced down, hastily covering his chest with his arms.

Buttercup retrieved the stool Dylan had sent sailing across her shop, along with a couple of tunics. Climbing onto the stool, she held the first tunic against his self-covered chest, her expression contemplative, then swapped it for the second to compare.

“What do you think?” Buttercup asked Nathan. “Olive or ginger?”

Nathan scrutinized the tunics as she swapped between them every few seconds. The silence stretched until Buttercup broke it.

“I like them both,” she said to Nathan. “They complement his short brown hair.”

She turned to Dylan. “Is it dye or gel? How do you get such a rich, loamy tone?” Tucking both tunics under her arm, she ran her hand through his hair, lifting it to inspect the roots.

Dylan shifted uncomfortably, and Buttercup, realizing this, quickly stopped running her hand through his hair. “Sorry,” she said earnestly. “I’ve just never seen hair like yours—I couldn’t resist.”

“They both look good,” Nathan agreed with a nod. He turned to Dylan. “Do you have a preference? I know you only wanted one, but we could get both if you’d like.”

Dylan stood with his arms still crossed and gave a simple nod.

“Will you need anything else today?” Buttercup asked Nathan.

“No, just a shirt for dinner tonight,” Nathan replied.

Buttercup’s gaze flicked between them, her brow lifting. “Dinner? Are you two…?” She gestured between Nathan and Dylan.

Nathan waved his hands, shaking his head quickly. “Oh, no. Nothing like that.” A blush crept across his cheeks at the thought.

Dylan shivered, hugging himself tighter. “It is cold in here, isn’t it?”

Buttercup stepped over and handed Dylan the olive tunic. “Here, dear.”

“Mind if I warm up outside?” Dylan asked, pointing toward the door.

“Of course. I’ll be right out,” Nathan replied.

The bell chimed again as Dylan stepped out of the shop.

Buttercup folded the other tunic. “Does Dylan have any family nearby?”

“I highly doubt it. Why?” Nathan asked as he pulled out his gem pouch.

“Well…” Buttercup hesitated, looking away briefly. “Let’s just say I’m a city girl, but that’s a mountain I’d love to climb.” She peeked at Dylan through the glass door. “If you catch my meaning.”

‘Oh, my.’ Nathan chuckled. “I think everyone caught it.”

“I’m familiar with elven courtship—kinship, I think you call it?” Buttercup asked, checking she had it right.

Nathan gave a slight nod.

“And I was wondering if he had any family nearby who could introduce us.” She stepped behind the counter, climbed onto a stool, and placed the folded tunic on top.

Elves had exceptionally close family bonds, looking after and caring for one another. It was customary for a close relative to make formal introductions to initiate courtship. Part of the vetting process involved ensuring the suitor had a loving, caring heart and would take good care of their family.

“Dylan isn’t an elf.”

“Oh? I should’ve guessed. None of you are so well-proportioned, and those ears are far too adorable. And that hair? Mother,”—she bit her lip—“his hair is simply irresistible.” She paused, pondering. “Was I too forward?”

‘Definitely,’ Nathan thought. Blunting the blow, he said, “A little. How much for the tunics?”

Buttercup flashed him a sly grin, leaning casually against the counter. “Invite me to dinner tonight, and they’re on the house.”

Nathan blinked, caught off guard by her request. “I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I can’t do that.”

Buttercup raised an eyebrow. “Can’t do what? Invite me to dinner or accept the discount?”

Nathan scratched the back of his head, uneasy with the conversation. “Neither,” he said, stumbling. “Either?” He winced inwardly. “Both,” he finally settled, knowing haggling with a gnome never ended well.

Buttercup chuckled. “Listen, dear Nathan, I was going to give you the tunics for free anyway. People pay good gems to watch well-endowed, shirtless men wander around. And to think, it only cost me a couple of tunics—I made out on this deal.”

‘No charge?’ Nathan hesitated, unsure how to handle the situation. “I’m sorry, Lady Buttercup, but Dylan is a refugee, and I’ve taken a contract to help him.”

Buttercup tilted her head, her expression softening slightly. “Ah. And you don’t want to take advantage of him.”

“Correct,” Nathan said with a small nod.

Buttercup’s playful smile returned. “Well, that makes one of us. But the price remains—no charge.”

‘There’s a first time for everything, I guess.’ Nathan decided not to argue further about the discount. “Thank you, Lady Buttercup.”

“You’re welcome, dear,” Buttercup replied. She sighed wistfully, her eyes glazing over. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to daydream about that short, brown hair a little longer.”