Sage

The sun filters through the trees, dancing across the rippling stream beside us. It’s one of those rare, beautiful days that almost makes me forget the weight of camp life. Almost, until I look at Greg, who’s sitting across from me, his expression shifting between curiosity and something sharper.

“Sage,” he begins, his voice carrying a hint of amusement that feels out of place here. “How are things with Dash? You two seem… functional.” He emphasizes the last word, like he’s setting bait on a hook.

I take a slow breath, letting the warmth of the sun settle me. “Today’s about you, Greg. Let’s keep the focus there.” I nod toward him, maintaining a steady, professional tone. “Last time we spoke, you mentioned feeling disconnected in camp. How has that been affecting you this week?”

Greg’s smirk flickers, and he leans forward, his eyes narrowing in on me. “Funny you should ask about connection,” he says slowly. “It’s hard to connect with people when they’re not being… honest.” His gaze sharpens, locking onto mine. “Don’t you ever feel like you’re putting on an act?”

I keep my posture calm, letting his words pass without a reaction. “My role here is to help you, Greg. I want to keep our focus on you and your experiences.”

He chuckles under his breath, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Sure. But you know, it’s hard to take advice from someone who’s pretending.” He pauses, studying me. “I’m just saying, I get it, Sage. You don’t have to admit it to me, but I know an act when I see one.”

I hold his gaze, unwavering. “What I know, Greg, is that you’ve mentioned struggling with feeling isolated in camp. That’s valid, and I’m here to work through that with you.” I say it as gently as I can, hoping he’ll accept the redirection.

Greg’s mouth twists, and he looks out over the water, shaking his head. “Maybe I don’t need ‘therapy,’” he mutters. “Maybe I just need a friend who isn’t pretending.” He glances back at me, his expression hard to read, but there’s a challenge in his eyes, an unspoken dare.

I stay rooted in my role, my voice even. “Friendship is important, but our work here is therapeutic. That’s my role with you. Let’s stay focused on that. Do you want to talk about how you can make some meaningful friendships within the camp?”

Greg’s eyes flash with frustration, a shadow darkening his expression, and he chuckles under his breath, his smirk edged with something almost mocking. “Alright, Sage. Have it your way. But just remember, I see things.” His tone is loaded, and he’s watching me carefully. “I can tell who’s genuine, and who’s not.”

I let his words roll off me, keeping my voice calm. “I’m here to help you, Greg. Let’s make the most of our time.”

For the rest of the session, he answers my questions shortly, clearly irritated by my refusal to engage on his terms. I can feel his eyes on me, like he’s waiting for me to break, to give in to whatever game he thinks he’s playing. When he finally stands to leave, he flashes me a smirk that feels both irritated and triumphant, as if he’s won something I don’t understand.

The warmth of the sun returns as he walks off, leaving me alone by the stream, and I let out a long breath. Greg’s persistence, his disregard for boundaries, lingers like a chill, cutting through the sunlight. I shake it off, grounding myself in the sound of the water, reminding myself of my own steady presence. As a clinician, I’ve always been bound to a strong ethical code and one of the most important of those is confidentiality. But, for the first time I’ve been practicing since the bombs, I consider talking with Dash about Greg’s persistence. I shake my head, knowing I can’t do it, but maybe there is another way.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

As I make my way back to the main camp area, I see Dash. He looks my way and I sign How are you?

He signs back that he is fine.

I tilt my head indicating he meet me near a copse of trees and he nods in understanding. Dash steps up to the trees, his expression curious but calm, as he waits for me to continue. I take a moment to gather my thoughts, reminding myself to stay clear and direct, especially with Dash.

“I wanted to talk with you about something,” I start, glancing up at him. “Do you think we could be a little more… couple-like around others?” I force a small smile, feeling a bit awkward even asking. “Maybe, you know, small things. A hand on my back, or… well, little gestures like that.” I’m sure my face is flaming red at this point.

Dash’s brow furrows slightly, his attention sharpening. “Of course, what brought this on?” His voice is low, controlled, but I don’t miss the curiousity.

I nod, taking a deep breath before adding, “There are a few people who might need a clearer picture that… I’m unavailable.” I don’t name Greg, but I see understanding and irritation settle into Dash’s gaze.

“Who?” the question is fast and direct.

“I can’t tell you, confidentiality. Remember?” I say, grudgingly, wishing I could let him in on the situation. Over the last couple years I have missed having colleagues I can share the burden with when it comes to our job, but now more than ever, I wish I had a fellow therapist I could talk to about this.

A quiet protectiveness flickers in his expression, the irritation lingering but tempered by something else. “If it helps keep those few people at a distance, consider it done,” he says firmly.

Relief settles over me, and I nod. “Thank you, Dash. I know it’s a lot to ask.”

He watches me for a moment, his eyes steady. “It’s not a lot to ask, Sage. It’s very little in fact.” He looks at me seriously, and I can see his sincerity. “Just… let me know if anything else comes up.” His hand reaches out, briefly touching my shoulder before he steps back, and for the first time, I feel that small, protective gesture working in a way I hadn’t anticipated—steadying me, reassuring me.

As he walks back toward the camp, I let out a breath, hoping that just maybe, this small change will make a difference.

Hours pass, and by the time the sun dips low in the sky, camp is bustling, people moving around to prepare for the evening meal, and I’m caught up in it, talking with a few others near the main fire pit.

Then, out of nowhere, I feel it—a warm, solid hand resting on my lower back, steadying and grounding. My skin tingles under his touch, and it’s all I can do to keep from reacting. My heart skips, betraying me, even though I’m the one who asked for this. He steps up beside me, casual and calm, his fingers just barely brushing the fabric of my shirt.

Dash’s face is impassive as he stands beside me, as if this is the most natural thing in the world, but his eyes flick to mine for just a moment. There’s a glint in his gaze—something knowing, something that says, You asked for this, remember?

I manage a small, almost imperceptible nod, swallowing back my surprise, and trying to manage my face so I don’t look like a deer caught in headlights. But I can feel the heat creeping up my neck, embarrassment and something else mingling, a quiet thrill that I shove away before it can show. I force myself to keep talking to the others around the fire, hoping my voice sounds normal, but the feel of his hand lingers, a steady presence that’s both grounding and completely unsettling.

It’s subtle, just enough for others to notice without drawing direct attention, and it works exactly as intended. I see a few curious glances our way—one lingering look from Greg across the fire, his expression flickering with something I can’t quite place. Satisfaction? Annoyance? Whatever it is, he knows the message is clear.

Dash’s hand stays where it is, resting comfortably against me, and even after we move from the fire, I catch myself noticing each subtle touch he offers—his hand brushing my arm, his shoulder aligning with mine as we stand side by side. He doesn’t overdo it; there’s nothing exaggerated or forced. Just small gestures, little reminders that we’re aligned, that we’re a team, and that whatever interest anyone else might have had in me… well, it’s not an option

By the time the night winds down, I realize two things: the subtle defenses Dash and I have woven today have worked seamlessly. And that there’s a part of me, a part I won’t admit aloud, that’s enjoying it.