Aelith

At first, there’s nothing. No light. No sound. No sense of up or down, of body or breath or anything that feels remotely like me. Just… blank. Which, for the record, is not my favourite experience.

I’d like to say I handle it well. Stay calm. Assess the situation. Remain rational.

But I don’t. Because the second I realise there’s nothing, my brain goes, Oh cool, we’re dead. That’s it. Game over.

Which feels unfair, considering I don’t even remember what happened.

I try to move, but nothing happens. Not even a twitch.

Okay. Not ideal.

I try again, harder this time, like effort alone might kick-start whatever system has clearly failed me.

Still nothing.

Right. So either I’m dead—which rude, right?—or I’m… somewhere.

Trapped.

That thought lands differently. A little less final and a whole heap more uncomfortable. Because being dead is one thing. Being aware and stuck? That’s a whole different category of nightmare.

I focus, or at least, I try to.

There’s a presence there. It’s faint and distant, like a pressure just outside of reach. Not a sound exactly, but not nothing.

“…son…”

The word brushes against me, soft and warped, like it’s travelling through water. I latch onto it straight away because it’s real. Real means not dead, right? Which, gotta take one where I can get one, big win.

I reach for it—or try to. It’s hard to tell what reaching even is right now—but the effort seems to change things. The darkness isn’t as solid anymore. It’s still there. Still thick and heavy, but not absolute.

“…stay with me…”

That’s clearer… closer.

The voice is low, rough around the edges, like it’s being dragged through something sharp before it reaches me. There’s another sensation beneath it.

Heat…. It’s faint, like a steady pulse, right in the centre of… me.

Huh. That’s new.

I focus on it instead. On the warmth and the way it spreads just noticeably enough to make me feel like I’m not completely gone.

It’s… nice. Comforting, even. Which, honestly, surprises me as I wouldn’t have thought mysterious disembodied warmth would be comforting.

“Dawson.”

That gets me. Not just because it’s my name—though, yeah, it’s reassuring—but because something in the way he says it hits differently, like a recognition.

Like it belongs to me.

Or maybe I belong to it.

That’s… a thought—a strange one to be fair, but it sticks.

I try to focus on the voice itself now, pulling it closer, letting it anchor me to more than empty space and questionable life choices.

He sounds—

I pause.

Because I know this. Not logically. Not in a neat, tidy way I can explain. But I know him.

It’s recognition that doesn’t come from memory so much as… instinct. A truth older than thought. It settles into that warm place in my chest and says, this matters.

He’s important.

If I could, I’d shake my head, as he’s more than that.

Mine.

Okay. That’s… hell, that’s definitely new.

I’d like to unpack that, but I’m currently stuck in what might be the void, so we’ll circle back.

“You should not be alive.”

Well… rude.

I would object, but I’m still working on the whole existing in a functional way thing.

There’s a pause after that. A long one. Then, quieter, the words “You will stay that way.”

Huh. Okay.

I like that tone better, and then another voice bleeds in. It’s faint and a little, I don’t know… messier. Not like him.

“…still not stabilising—”

That voice is different. It’s lighter and faster. A little panicked under the surface.

I frown. Or at least I think I do.

“…you need to stop—”

Another voice cuts in, sharper. More controlled. Like someone trying very hard not to lose it. That one feels wrong. Too sharp. Too worried.

I drift back towards the first voice—the rough one, the one that feels like it’s hooked directly into my chest.

Safer.

Better.

“…killing yourself—”

That panicked voice again. It’s closer now and so much louder.

Wait.

What?

I try to follow it, but it slips, like it’s not meant for me. Like it’s happening somewhere else, just out of reach. Which is frustrating because I would very much like context.

“What the hell does that even mean?” I try to say.

Nothing comes out. Because, again, no body, which is still seriously rude.

The warmth in my chest pulses suddenly, stronger this time, and everything else fades out again. The other voices blur, become distant and muffled, like they’ve been pushed behind a wall.

Only he remains. Just his steady, grounding presence.

“You will not leave me.”

Bloody hell. Those words hit harder than they should.

I don’t fully understand why, but some deep, instinctive part of me answers anyway, like it recognises the promise in it. Or the demand. Or both.

It’s all a bit intense, honestly, but also, it’s kind of nice.

Though, to be fair, I think I might have questionable standards right now.

The other voices flicker again at the edges.

“…script—there has to be something—”

“—not enough—”

“—he won’t last—”

Right… so things aren’t going great out there.

Good to know. Love that for me.

I try to move again, pushing against whatever is holding me here.

Nothing.

Still nothing.

But then there are shifts. It’s small. Barely noticeable, really. Like a ripple through whatever this space is. The darkness loosens just a fraction, and for a split second, I almost—

Almost—

Feel something.

My hand, I think. Or at least the idea of one. It’s enough to make me try harder.

Come on. Just a little.

Nothing.

The effort drains out of me before it even really starts.

That’s… frustrating. I don’t like being stuck. I never have.

Then I become aware of another sensation. Not the voices. Not the warmth.

Pressure.

Like I’m boxed in. Not physically—not exactly—but contained. Held in place by something I can’t see or touch.

I push against it instinctively, but it doesn’t move.

Of course it doesn’t move. Why would anything be easy?

“Open your eyes.”

Ah. Right. That.

I’d love to. Genuinely. I’m a big fan of eyes.

I try, and for a second, the darkness fractures. Not fully. Not enough. But enough to let light in.

It’s faint and blurred… and wrong.

It vanishes just as quickly as it came, snapping back into that thick, endless dark. But it was there. Which means—

Okay.

Not dead.

Definitely not dead.

That’s progress, right?

I focus on that. On the voice. On the warmth in my chest that feels stronger now, steady and insistent, like it’s refusing to let me drift too far.

Whoever he is—

No.

Not whoever. I know him. I just… don’t know how I know him. But I do. And that’s enough for now.

I gather whatever strength I’ve got—whatever part of me is still listening, still trying—and push again.

Towards the voice.

Towards the light.

Towards him.

Because if there’s one thing I’m very good at, it’s not giving up. Even when I probably should.

I push, and the darkness gives. It’s not easy, and it’s not all at once. It’s more like forcing my way through thick water, like every part of me has to fight just to exist again. But the darkness cracks, splintering just enough.

Light floods in.

It’s too bright at first, too sharp. Everything is wrong—blurred edges, smeared colours, shapes that don’t quite make sense. I blink, or at least I think I do, and the world begins to sharpen.

A ceiling that’s high and, for some strange reason, glowing faintly.

But it’s not the void, so I’m definitely not dead.

Woohoo! Big win.

There’s noise too. A rhythmic beeping that feels like it’s drilling straight into my skull. Voices overlap, sharp and urgent, but they don’t line up properly in my head yet.

I turn—or try to—and the world tilts violently for a second before settling.

There’s someone near me. A woman. Dark hair pulled back tight, expression focused in that very specific way that screams doctor. I don’t think I’ve seen her before, but maybe I have. She moves like she knows exactly what she’s doing, even if everything around her is… not helping.

Because between her and me is him. The… prince. The blue one.

The very pretty, very intense, definitely-a-monster one with silver symbols glowing faintly across his skin like they’ve got opinions.

He’s… not calm, like… at all.

There’s a low, dangerous sound coming from deep in his chest, like a warning that hasn’t quite decided whether it’s a growl or a roar. He’s half turned towards the woman, body angled like he’s ready to block her from getting anywhere near me.

Which feels counterproductive.

“Move,” the doctor snaps sharply, absolutely not intimidated.

He doesn’t move. If anything, he leans closer.

Right… so we’ve got a standoff. That shouldn’t be kinda cool, right?

Hands grab at him from behind—and I realise now that there are other people, shapes I can’t quite focus on—which try to pull him back. He resists, muscles going taut, that low sound turning louder, making the air feel like it’s vibrating.

The beeping spikes.

Loud. Fast. Insistent.

Okay, I’m not loving that.

Everything starts to blur again, not visually this time but… emotionally? Like the room is tipping towards chaos, and I’m stuck in the middle of it with no idea how to fix it.

But I know him.

I know him.

And that matters more than anything else.

“Aelith.” The name scrapes out of me like it’s been dragged over gravel. It barely sounds like my voice, but it’s enough.

Everything stops.

Not gradually. Not slowly.

Just—stops.

Like someone hit Pause on the entire room.

The beeping steadies. The movement halts. Even the air feels different, like it’s holding its breath.

I blink. “Did I… do that?” I mumble, my voice still rough and not entirely cooperative. “Do I have, like… remote control powers now?”

Because honestly, at this point, I wouldn’t even be surprised.

There’s a beat. Then someone huffs out a breath that sounds suspiciously like a laugh.

“That’s not exactly how I’d describe it,” says a familiar voice. It’s warm, Australian, and a little amused despite everything.

I drag my gaze towards the sound, and my blurry vision shifts until it lands on a blond guy with broad shoulders and a face that’s annoyingly good-looking.

Sonny.

Right.

That clicks into place with a soft oh in my brain.

“Hey,” he adds, softer now. “You’re back. Take it easy, yeah? You’re okay.”

I consider that.

Am I okay?

Debatable.

But I appreciate the enthusiasm.

The doctor—still there, still fierce—points an instrument sharp and glowing towards Aelith without taking her eyes off me. “If you interfere again,” she says, voice low and dangerous, “I will sedate you myself.”

Bold. I like her.

Aelith doesn’t respond. He’s gone very, very still, which is somehow more intense.

Slowly, like the world is catching up with itself, everything starts moving again. Sound returns. Breath. The faint shuffle of people shifting their weight.

And then his eyes find mine.

Everything else fades.

It’s not dramatic. There’s no big moment where the room disappears or the light changes. It’s just… him. And that warmth in my chest settles properly, like a compass finally finding north.

Oh. Oh, yeah. That’s mine.

I grin widely before I can stop myself, which is probably a little ridiculous given the situation, but I don’t care. My stomach chooses that exact moment to let out a loud, traitorous grumble, which is deeply unhelpful, but I ignore it.

Priorities.

I lift my hand slowly. It’s heavy, but it works—and hold it out towards him.

For a second, no one moves. Then he’s there.

Not fast enough to be alarming, not slow enough to be hesitant. Just… there. His hand closes around mine, warm and solid and very real.

Definitely not a hallucination, which is good to know.

I turn my hand slightly and tug his towards me. I press a quick kiss to his knuckles, because that feels right for reasons I absolutely do not have time to unpack.

“You need to stop being a menace,” I mumble, my voice already starting to drift again. “Let the nice doctor do her thing.”

A gentleness flickers across his face unlike anything I’ve seen from him before, but I don’t get to study it properly because everything goes heavy.

My grip loosens, and the last thing I register is the warmth of his hand tightening around mine as the darkness pulls me under again.

Still there.

Still holding.

Then—

Nothing.

When I wake again, it’s quieter.

It’s not the eerie, controlled silence from before. This is softer and a little dimmer. The kind of quiet that settles around you instead of pressing in from all sides. The lights are low, casting everything in a muted glow, and even before I open my eyes, I can tell the room isn’t full of people anymore.

There’s no rush of voices. No chaos.

Just… presence.

I feel it first.

A hand wrapped around mine. It’s strong and warm. Solid in a way that anchors me before my brain has fully caught up. It’s not a loose hold either. It’s firm, like letting go isn’t even an option that’s been considered.

Good. I like that.

My throat, however, does not.

“Water,” I croak, my voice rough enough to sound like I’ve been chewing gravel for fun.

The reaction is immediate.

A sharp inhale. A heavy swallow. Then quick but careful movement. An arm slides around my shoulders, lifting me with surprising gentleness, guiding me upright like I might fall apart if handled wrong.

There’s a pause, and then a straw presses lightly against my lips.

I don’t hesitate. I take a deep pull—and immediately regret my life choices as water rushes in too fast.

I choke slightly, pulling back before I drown myself trying to accomplish what should have been a simple task.

“Easy,” a low voice murmurs so close that I feel it more than hear it.

Right, pacing is important.

I try again, slower this time, taking measured sips until the dryness in my throat eases and my brain starts to feel like it belongs to me again.

“Better,” I manage, voice still rough but at least recognisable as human.

Well. Human-adjacent.

Only then do I finally open my eyes.

The world comes into focus more easily this time, less blur and more shape, and the first thing I see are his eyes.

They’re luminous and sharp and watching me like I might disappear if he looks away for even a second.

Aelith.

He’s close. Really close. Close enough that I can see the subtle shift of colour beneath his skin, the faint shimmer of those silver markings that seem to move when I’m not quite looking at them directly.

And yeah, he’s still stupidly pretty.

I can’t help myself. I squeeze his hand and use my free one to lightly bop him on the nose, croaking “Pretty.”

He startles.

Actually startles.

It’s small, just a flicker of surprise across his face, but it’s there, and it’s adorable.

His gaze drops to my mouth, probably checking if I’m about to say something deeply concerning, but all he finds is my very wide, very pleased grin.

His lips curve, just a little, but it’s enough.

“Hi,” I say, because that feels appropriate.

He doesn’t answer straight away. He just… looks at me. Like he’s confirming I’m real by cataloguing every tiny detail and committing it to memory.

“You’re beautiful,” I add, because also appropriate.

That gets a reaction.

His cheeks darken, the blue deepening in a way that’s very noticeable, and the markings along his skin shimmer faintly, as though they’re responding to whatever he’s feeling.

Oh. Oh, that’s interesting.

And also very, very pretty.

He finally speaks, his voice low and rough. Careful. “You are awake.”

“Observant,” I murmur.

His expression doesn’t quite change, but relief flickers beneath everything else. Or maybe I just want it to.

“Are you in pain?” he asks, the words measured, controlled.

I consider it. “My head feels like it lost a fight,” I admit. “And my throat is staging a protest. But I’ve had worse hangovers, so… overall, not terrible.”

His brow furrows slightly at that, like he’s trying to decide whether that’s a serious medical assessment or not.

It isn’t.

“I can get you more… hydration juice,” he says carefully.

I blink at him. “More what?”

A hint of uncertainty crosses his face. Or maybe confusion. It’s quick, but I catch it. “Hydration juice,” he repeats, a little more firmly this time. “It is what Australians call it.”

There’s a beat.

“…According to Sonny,” he adds, and now there’s a definite edge of suspicion there, like he’s only just realising this information might not be entirely reliable.

I stare at him for a second. “Oh my god,” I breathe, delighted. “Hydration juice is amazing.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “It is… correct?”

“Completely,” I say with absolute sincerity. “Best term I’ve ever heard. Ten out of ten. No notes.”

He studies me like he’s trying to determine if I’m making fun of him.

I’m not.

Well. Maybe a little. But also not.

“It’s very efficient,” I continue, nodding seriously. “Hydrates you. It’s juice. Hydration juice. Honestly, I’m kind of mad the whole human world doesn’t call it that.”

He looks like he’s trying very hard to accept this while remaining at least a little annoyed about it. His cheeks darken another shade, and the silver markings along his skin brighten for a heartbeat.

Adorable.

“I will… continue to use it,” he says, like he’s committing to a strategic decision.

“You absolutely should,” I reply. “You’re leading the charge on that one.”

He exhales softly, possible embarrassment flickering across his features, but there’s a hint of satisfaction there, too, like he’s pleased he got it right—or at least didn’t get it wrong.

He brings the straw back to my lips, his other arm still braced around me, steady and unyielding. I take another drink, slower this time, letting it settle before pulling back with a small, satisfied sigh.

“Okay,” I say, voice already sounding a little more like mine. “That’s significantly better. Hydration juice for the win.”

There’s a faint movement behind him, and Aelith goes still. Then he growls. It’s low, quiet, and definitely dangerous.

Apparently my brain—or whatever part of me is making decisions these days—likes the sound, which is new, and honestly a little concerning. I lean slightly to the side to see past him, and sure enough, the doctor from earlier stands a few steps away, arms crossed, expression unimpressed.

“Iris,” she says, introducing herself like we’re not in the middle of a territorial standoff. “You’re conscious. Good.”

“Hi, Iris,” I say, because politeness is important. “Big fan of your work so far.”

She inclines her head slightly, accepting the praise in a way that suggests she has no time for nonsense but will tolerate it.

Aelith, however, doesn’t move.

“Hey,” I say, nudging his arm lightly. “Be nice.”

His sharpened gaze flicks back to me. “She will examine you,” he says, like it’s a statement of fact rather than anything open for discussion.

“Yeah,” I agree. “That’s generally what doctors do.”

He doesn’t look convinced.

I turn my attention to Iris. “Can you check me out?”

“Yes,” she says at once.

“Great,” I reply. “Love that plan.” I shift slightly, trying to sit more upright. “You can let me go.”

Aelith’s arm tightens. “No.”

A flicker of memory from when I first woke in this strange place slots into place in my brain. Right. Prince mode. I seem to get a much friendlier version than everyone else.

“I need to examine him,” Iris says, her tone taking on an edge.

“He is fine,” Aelith counters.

“I’m not fine,” I interject. “I just woke up from what I’m assuming was a very dramatic sleep. I feel like a checkup is fair.”

His jaw tightens. “He remains with me.”

“That’s very romantic,” I say, “but also medically inconvenient.”

When he doesn’t budge, I sigh, tempted to lift my hand again and bop him lightly on the nose again. I don’t. Instead, I offer a soft smile.

He blinks.

“You’re a sweetheart,” I tell him, completely serious. “But you need to sit back on that chair and let the professional do her thing.” A beat follows before I add, “You can still hold my hand.”

That seems to do it.

Slowly—reluctantly—he does as he’s told, guiding me back against the pillows before stepping away just enough to sit exactly where I pointed. His hand never leaves mine.

Huh. Well, that was easier than expected.

I glance at Iris. “See? Teamwork.”

She doesn’t respond, but there’s the faintest hint of approval in her expression as she steps forward.

Aelith’s grip tightens slightly around my hand.

Still there.

Still watching.

Still not letting go.

Yeah. I can work with that.

Iris moves closer, all sharp focus and quiet authority, and begins her examination without hesitation. Her hands are efficient but not unkind as she checks my pulse, my eyes, then moves a faintly glowing apparatus over my chest, presumably scanning for hidden problems.

I try to stay still. I really do. But I’m also me.

“So,” I say, watching her work. “How long was I out? Like, a solid nap situation, or did I accidentally commit to a full hibernation?”

There’s the faintest pause before she answers. “Twenty-three days.”

I blink.

Then I blink again.

“Twenty—” I push myself up a little more, earning myself a sharp pulse of pain behind my eyes. “Twenty-three days? As in… over three weeks? With bonus days?” My heart constricts. Panic crowds my chest, making it difficult to breathe.

I press my hand against my chest and drag in a breath. Twenty-three days. I'd lost three weeks.

Shit, am I having a panic attack… or maybe a heart attack? What if it’s both? I struggle to drag in oxygen, and I’ve parted my lips to speak—not quite sure what yet—when a noise comes from across the room, distracting me.

I turn my head just enough to see Sonny, who’s studying me carefully. He catches my eye. Thank fuck. A familiar face. But also, holy shit, does that mean I was in a coma?

“Twenty-three days, Dawson.” Sonny’s voice cuts through my spiral, but it’s how he’s bouncing his brows up a down that captures my attention and distracts me enough to drag in a solid breath. “Dawson—mate—you’ve been lying there for over three weeks. Do you know what that means?”

I frown, taking another breath, liking this air in my lungs gig a lot. “That I’m well-rested?”

“It means you need a shower.” He’s all wide-eyed, and I think I see a teasing smirk, but I can’t quite be sure, especially because I freeze, completely horrified by the thought. And then he winks, which is weird because why would he wink over something as godawful as my butt stinking?

“Bloody hell,” I whisper, a different kind of panic setting in. “Do I stink? I stink, don’t I? I absolutely stink. I’ve been unconscious for weeks. Of course I stink. That’s basic biology—”

“You do not,” Iris cuts in, voice calm but firm. “You’ve been cleaned regularly.”

I stop mid-spiral. “Oh.” Relief washes through me so fast, it’s almost embarrassing. “Oh, phew,” I breathe. “Okay. Great. I’m a big fan of hygiene.”

Then a new thought hits.

I go very still. Slowly, I turn my head back towards Aelith. “Wait.”

He’s already watching me, expression carefully neutral, which absolutely makes me suspicious.

“Did you—” I gesture vaguely towards myself. “Like… was it you? Because I just want to clarify expectations moving forward—”

His reaction is instant. “No.”

The word comes out sharper than expected, and embarrassment slips through before he can hide it. His markings pulse softly beneath his skin.

“The physician performed those tasks,” he adds, more controlled now. “I would not touch you without your permission.”

There’s a pause before I let out an “Oh.” Relief washes through me again, which hits differently this time. “Okay, good,” I say, nodding. “Consent is sexy. I’m a super big supporter.”

Sonny snorts somewhere to my left. Iris doesn’t react at all, which I respect deeply. Aelith, however, looks like he’s trying to process several things at once and not enjoying any of them.

His grip on my hand tightens slightly. I squeeze back. Yeah, that feels right.

“So,” I continue, since apparently, I’ve decided I’m just saying everything that comes into my head now, “how am I awake? Not that I’m complaining—very pro-being-conscious—but last I remember, things were… not great.”

I deliberately try not to remember landing in this strange world, then being attacked, then waking up in a weird bowling alley. If I do, that strange spiral thing might happen again, which I’m not a fan of. Being slammed by fear and memories is crazy exhausting. I don’t invite any of that bad energy into my good juju vibes.

Iris straightens slightly, her attention still on me but her expression turning more thoughtful. “We’re not entirely certain,” she admits. “The scripts retrieved from the archive referenced a combination of methods. Stones, herbs, energy channelling. We attempted all viable options.”

“Plus human tech,” Sonny adds. “Whatever we could salvage. It was a bit of a… throw everything at the problem and hope something sticks situation. That and your Prince Arsehat—”

I cut Sonny off. “Hey.” I frown. It’s true that the prince definitely seems like an arsehat, but he also feels like mine, and I recall enough discussion before I hit coma land to know that he strangely is—assuming any of that was really real. But still, it’s not nice to be mean.

“Right, sorry.” Sonny doesn’t look exactly repentant, but he smiles brightly, which makes me forgive him and think about what he said about fixing me.

My gaze drifts around the room, taking in the mix of things that don’t quite belong together. Strange glowing instruments sit alongside what looks suspiciously like repurposed human equipment. Nothing matches, but somehow it all works.

“This place is wild,” I mutter, not for the first time. I vaguely remember saying something like that when I initially woke up after being attacked by that freaky monster. “Monsters, magic-adjacent energy, and scavenged tech. Have I missed much while I was busy being unconscious?”

“A little,” Sonny says noncommittally.

When he doesn’t expand, I follow Iris’s instructions to sit up so she can listen to my breathing. She seems satisfied, as she then heads close to the door and starts writing on a chart.

A moment passes, but then a new reality hits. “Oh. Erm….” I shift slightly, and my body files a new complaint. “Okay,” I say slowly, “new development. I really need to pee.”

Silence.

I glance between them. “And I would strongly prefer not to use a bottle, if that’s on the table. Because I have dignity. Some of it. A little.”

“There’s a restroom,” Iris says.

“Yes.” I nod eagerly. “I remember. I’ve used it. Big fan. Five stars. Would visit again.” I look at Aelith. “However,” I add, “I’m about 90 percent sure my legs are currently decorative. So I’m going to need some help.”

His attention sharpens. “You should remain in bed.”

“I would love to,” I say, “but my bladder has other plans, and I feel like ignoring that is a bad life choice.”

“You are weak,” he insists.

“Accurate,” I agree, not even offended. “Which is why I’m asking you to help me.”

That stops him. I can practically see the moment the argument shifts in his head.

I soften my tone a little. “We’ll go slow. You can hover dramatically the entire time if it makes you feel better.”

Sonny snorts again.

Iris exhales, clearly weighing the options. “He should not exert himself—”

“I won’t,” I promise. “Minimal exertion. Maximum teamwork.”

There’s a pause. Then, reluctantly, she nods. “Carefully.”

“Carefully,” I echo. Smiling, I turn back to Aelith. “See? Official approval.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he stands anyway, still holding my hand. “I will escort you,” he says, voice low and steady, “to the long drop.”

I blink.

“…The what?”

“The long drop,” he repeats, completely serious.

I stare at him for a beat. Then I peer past him.

Sonny is very deliberately not looking at either of us, his shoulders just a little too tense, his mouth pressed into what might be restraint or might be the worst attempt at innocence I’ve ever seen.

Aelith’s eyes narrow. “There is confusion?”

“No, no,” I say quickly, squeezing his hand.

He studies my face, searching for mockery again. When he still doesn’t find it, his shoulders ease just slightly, though there’s a faint darkening of blue along his cheeks. “I was given this term.”

“Yeah,” I say, glancing back at Sonny. “I’m sure you were.”

Sonny raises his hands in surrender, still grinning, while Aelith looks between us again, clearly filing this away for later retaliation.

Honestly? Fair.

Sonny deserves it.

“You can keep using it,” I add, because I genuinely don’t want him second-guessing everything. “I like it. It’s got character.”

“It is accurate,” he says, a little more firmly now.

“It is,” I agree. “Very on brand for you too.”

He pauses at that. “…On brand?”

“We’ll unpack that later,” I promise.

Sonny snorts again while Aelith pointedly ignores him, though the faint shimmer of his markings gives him away.

Adorable.

Getting out of bed is… humbling.

That’s the polite way to frame it.

The more accurate description is that my body has apparently forgotten how to be a body.

Aelith moves in close, one arm braced firmly around my back, the other steadying me as I swing my legs over the side of the bed. The moment my feet touch the ground, my entire lower half protests like I’ve been asking far too much of it and it’s setting a boundary.

“Oh,” I breathe, wincing. “Okay. That’s—yeah. That’s not great.”

“You are weak,” Aelith says again, like he’s delivering a medical diagnosis.

“Helpful,” I mutter. “Very supportive.”

He doesn’t respond to that, but his grip tightens, adjusting to take more of my weight before I can even properly stumble. Which is good because I definitely would have.

I push myself upright slowly, leaning into him more than I intended, and for a second, everything sways. My legs feel shaky, like they’re not entirely convinced they’re part of the team yet.

“This is fine,” I say, mostly to myself. “We’re walking. Walking is happening.”

“You are not walking,” Aelith replies. “I am moving you.”

I huff a quiet laugh. “Team effort, then.”

We take a step, which isn’t graceful. My foot drags slightly, my balance wobbles, and I instinctively clutch at him, which only seems to make him more rigid and focused.

“Careful,” he murmurs.

“I am being careful,” I say. “This is my careful.”

Another step, which is slightly better, albeit still questionable.

I glance up at him, because distraction feels like a solid coping mechanism. “So. Quick question.”

He doesn’t look down, but I can feel his attention shift towards me.

“Those few days we spent together before I… you know.” I gesture vaguely with my free hand. “Collapsed dramatically. That was real, right?”

His body stills for just a fraction of a second.

“It was real.”

“Good,” I say, nodding. “Because I’d hate to think I hallucinated you and all the awesome chats we had. That would be deeply unfair.”

His grip tightens again, just slightly. “You did not,” he says.

“Excellent,” I reply. “Because I distinctly remember you being very grumpy and a little bit terrifying, and I feel like that’s important context for our relationship.”

“I am not—” He starts, then stops, like he’s reconsidering the accuracy of that statement.

I grin. “You’re a little terrifying.”

“I am not terrifying.”

“You growl at people.”

“They are often deserving.”

“Valid,” I concede. “But still terrifying.”

We reach the doorway, and I pause for a second, catching my breath. “Also...” I glance up at him. “I remember feeling weirdly certain about you.” A beat follows before I clarify, “That's normal, right?”

That gets his attention. He looks down at me properly now, eyes sharp and searching. “You are correct.” Absolute certainty colours his words.

Warm and steady emotion settles in my chest. “Cool,” I say softly. “Just checking.”

We make it into the bathroom—sorry, long drop—with minimal further incidents, which I’m counting as a win. Aelith doesn’t let go. Not even a little. Which is… nice. Also mildly inconvenient.

I glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “You planning to supervise the entire process?”

His expression doesn’t change. “You may fall.”

“I might,” I agree. “But I also have a strong preference for privacy during certain activities.”

A pause follows before he reluctantly loosens his hold just enough to let me stand on my own—while still hovering close enough to catch me if I even think about tipping over.

I consider this. “You’re going to stand there, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Right,” I say. “Okay. Boundaries. We’ll work on those later.”

There’s a faint flicker of confusion, possibly curiosity, in his expression, but he doesn’t move. I shake my head, still smiling despite everything.

Yeah, an overprotective handsome, blue prince. I can definitely work with this.