As shaky as a withered touch, my hand—as feeble as it may have been—moved to push its palm against the length of his forehead. The shove was barely anything, similar to a light petal brushing against a cheek, a grin falling from the wonder of sleep, and a fluffy bow slowly unravelling. Morpheus fought to dig his shame into the crook of my neck, though his fight was rather weak with guilt.

As if we were merely playing a game, Morpheus tried to hide away in the cracks—without force nor fury.

Gentle was his action.

"I'm feeling a bit conflicted. Maybe. No. Yeah, no, yeah. That's what I'm feeling. Conflicted." The way his eyebrow raised at my echoing thought reminded me much of Viviana. Her character often featured calculated and posh movements, which were traits that I have long tied to feelings of comfort. There was a chance that it was because I heavily relied on Viviana to be a replacement—as selfish as that truly is.

The world felt complicated, evolving and altering with each step that I took. But, it is important to know that I am not alone, as that is the case for many. It seemed that years were turning into months, then months were turning into weeks, then weeks were turning into days, and so on. The cycle persisted. There was only one element of amenity that I held close to my being, and that was specifically the artificial taste of blue raspberry that still lingered on my tongue.

An urge to hide always glowed so brightly.

How long has it been? Since normalcy, since simplicity, and since rationality? Were those descriptors ever true to begin with?

Or, have I just been an abiding chess piece that was waiting for its turn?

How long have I been grieving?

Similar to other things that have been long deemed unhealthy, I shoved both the surviving and living thoughts to the back of my head. There was something new that was threatening to change the suffocating flow of pace. It was apparent that most of my life's complications now revolved around this beast of a man, and the line of priority was officially replaced the very day that I had met him. Though, one upcoming day, I will no longer have to suffer through such a restricting list.

My life will be mine to control—my father will not restrain me, my mother will not haunt me, and my mate will not be a curse.

In the meantime, it was now reasonable of me to either accept or not to accept what I have been presented. Not earned. Not deserved. Not gifted. Merely presented. My mind sunk low into a plunging well of curiosity.

'Where is a flower when I need one?'

My initial prayer was wasted. There was never really a need for a flower to begin with. My body was not inhabited by a young girl who was too afraid to make her own decisions, even though it certainly used to be, rather I was now a woman who knew exactly when to say yes and when to say no. For a long time, this was the truth that was being outshined by a top layer of longing for the praise of others.

Morpheus accepted my push. He was drawn to a new outlet—a better opening. And, with his own hand, he had engulfed mine to cradle it near his beating chest. His body turned to lay beside mine. Our differing forms were side by side with little to no distance, so tight that our noses were narrowly touching as we watched each other with delicate gazes. Morpheus did not calculate his response as he whispered, "You can confide in me."

My eyes drooped slightly. The dying energy left in my body relaxed and I found myself melting into his large form. There was a strong hesitation to cry as I released a long sigh.

The bond was riveting, exciting, captivating, emphatic, hypnotizing, and the details of it could spill until every possible word that I ever knew was mentioned. Yet, the bond was not meant to be fully understood by the likes of me, instead, it was meant to be understood by him.

Then, why does it feel so real?

"Yes. That would be nice. That would be so nice." In that moment of shared bliss, I poked the crumpled edges of his skin and watched as his bottom lip twitched. The temporary wrinkles from stress were oddly aging him. However, there were not many. There were barely any to mention, but the sudden darkness underneath his once youthful eyes were hard to ignore.

Did he ever notice anything different about me?

He spoke up. "My mate, as wondrous as you are, keeping up with you might be the end of me. To be truthful, one would assume that I would be at least prepared enough for you to tolerate me-"

My voice exaggerated the use of volume, "I do tolerate you!"

Morpheus curved his lip to reveal a smile that made my breathing leap. "Oh, really?"

"Well, of course. That should be somewhat obvious. But, I really didn't mean to shout like that." My cheeks heated up following the confession.

Morpheus laughed, soft and subtle. There was a light joke to his next comment, though, there was also an essence of truth that stained the back of his teeth. "I would not worry about little things like that. If you want to, you can shout, scream, wail—the people in this building are so used to the whispers of others that they probably appreciate the change of pace."

"Do you worry often?"

He didn't seem irritated by my question, but more so relieved with the inquiry. "I suppose I had more apprehensions when I was younger. Though, I must admit, I do feel that tension is picking at me more often than not these days."

"That sounds relatable."

"I wish that you did not agree with my statement. Not you, at least. Never you." Morpheus digressed, "I admit that I am not the greatest, but I will be better for you. If you allowed me to, I would do anything for you. If you want to leave, then I will follow. If you want to stay, then I will stand. As long as I get to be with you, there is nothing that I would not do."

My voice croaked, "I know."

"I wish we met naturally," he nearly mouthed, "as originally intended."

There were things that I could have replied with, of course, but I had a much better idea in mind. The pressure of my upset joints and spots of pain tumbled as I pressed my lips to his.

This was my answer.

💕