He rubbed the back of his neck.
"And you're very kind about it. But sometimes you might want quiet, and I never want you stuck listening just because you're too polite to stop me."
He lifted one hand between us and demonstrated a small motion: palm facing down, gently lowering, like pressing the air.
"This," he said, "is a super useful sign. In ASL it's used for things like 'calm' or 'settle,' but we can officially make it our 'pause button.' You do this, I power down. No hurt feelings. I will immediately stop talking."
He did it again, slower this time, his eyes tracking me to make sure I caught it.
"Okay?"
I paused, took a breath and, as usual, he noticed the small hesitation, the quiet effort to speak.
"Okay," I said.
A wide smile spread across his face. "Okay," he echoed softly, just for me.
Then, like he'd almost forgotten, he reached into his pocket. "Oh — before I forget. I've been carrying this around like a tiny emotional support mineral."
He placed a small warm-orange stone on the table between us.
"Sunstone," he said. "Found it near the ridge trail." He hesitated, then gave a small, bashful smile. "I kept it because... it kind of reminded me of you."
I looked up at him.
"Just the way it catches the light," he added gently. "Warm and beautiful."
I picked it up carefully and whispered, "Pretty."
His face lit up. "Yeah," he said, looking at me. "Gorgeous, I'd say."
The restaurant door opened and I noticed him before I consciously registered why my body had gone rigid. Ellis stepped inside, shoulders tense, his expression drawn and unsettled, like he hadn't slept or had been carrying something heavy for too long. He spotted me quickly and walked over, offering a quiet hello that was meant to be casual but landed with the weight of everything unsaid between us.
The warmth that had settled so gently in my chest moments ago slipped away, replaced by that all-too-familiar tightening that began low in my throat and crawled upward, making each breath careful, deliberate. I could still hear the words about the sex with me—"It's bad. The worst, actually."—echoing in my mind, and the heavy cloak of shame pressed down on me.
Bramwell went still across from me, his posture shifting in that subtle, attentive way he had when he sensed something was wrong. His eyes moved from Ellis to me, his easy expression softening into quiet concern without him saying a word.
I wanted to stand, to step outside, to put space between myself and the sound of Ellis's voice, but my limbs felt heavy and uncooperative, like I was rooted to the chair.
Instead, I just looked at Bramwell.
"I've got you," he said gently.
Chapter 15: Metamorphic
"I've got you," Bramwell said gently.
Then he turned. His smile, when he faced Ellis, was polite and composed. He stood just enough to be courteous, one hand lifting in a brief greeting.
"Hello," he said. "I'm Bramwell. I'm here with April."
The phrasing was deliberate. Ellis blinked, momentarily wrong-footed. "Ellis," he said. "I—uh—April, I didn't realize you were—"
I didn't look at him. The silence held. I focused on the table, on the steady warmth of the sunstone beneath my fingers. My chest was tight, but Bramwell didn't rush to fill the space. He let it stand.
"Yes," he said evenly,"We're in the middle of lunch." He gestured to the plates with a calm and unhurried motion. "And we're keeping this time to ourselves," he added. "It's been a long day."
Ellis shifted. "I just wanted to talk for a second."
