I wake up slowly, awareness returning in comfortable layers.
Warmth on both sides of me. The steady rhythm of Dylan's breathing. The weight of Keith's arm across my waist.
Dylan's room. We fell asleep in Dylan's room.
The thought brings a small smile to my face even before I open my eyes.
I stretch carefully, trying not to wake either of them, and that's when I feel it.
A strange tingling sensation on my left wrist. Not painful, exactly. Just... present. Noticeable in a way that makes me pause.
I blink my eyes open in the dim morning light filtering through Dylan's curtains and lift my wrist to look at it.
And freeze.
There's a flower on my wrist.
An actual flower.
White petals, delicate and ethereal, glowing faintly against my skin like it's lit from within. It's beautiful—intricate and perfect—but also completely impossible because flowers don't just *appear* on people's skin.
I stare at it for a long moment, my brain struggling to process what I'm seeing.
Is this a tattoo? Did I somehow get a tattoo in my sleep? That doesn't make sense.
Is it a rash? Some kind of allergic reaction?
But it doesn't look like a rash. It looks exactly like a flower. Perfectly formed, almost three-dimensional in its detail.
My heart starts to race.
Something is wrong. Something is very wrong.
"Aethera?"
I reach out through the mind link—something I've only done a handful of times since moving in, usually when I'm panicking or need urgent help.
This definitely qualifies as both.
"Aethera? Is... is everything alright with me?"
There's a pause. Then her presence floods the connection, warm and immediate and focused.
"Cecil? What's wrong?"
"This... there's a flower. On my wrist. It just appeared and I don't know what—"
Another pause. Longer this time.
Then, with a weight I can't quite interpret: "I'm coming over. Right now. Don't panic."
"Don't panic? There's a mysterious flower on my wrist that appeared overnight, how am I supposed to not—"
But she's already gone, the connection closed.
I stare at the flower again, my mind racing through possibilities, each more alarming than the last.
Is this some kind of celestial disease? A curse? Did I accidentally trigger something?
Beside me, Dylan shifts in his sleep, his arm tightening around me briefly before relaxing again.
I need to get up. Need to be in the living room when Aethera arrives so I don't wake Keith and Dylan with whatever conversation we're about to have.
I carefully extract myself from Dylan's embrace, then from Keith's arm, moving with the kind of stealth that comes from weeks of early morning tea sessions with Dylan.
Both of them remain blissfully asleep—Keith's mouth slightly open, Dylan's expression peaceful in a way he rarely achieves while awake.
I slip out of the room and close the door softly behind me.
The apartment is quiet in that particular way it gets in the early morning—peaceful, still, waiting for the day to begin.
I move to the living room and settle on the couch, staring at my wrist.
The flower is still there. Still glowing faintly. Still completely impossible.
A knock at the door makes me jump.
That was fast. Even for a goddess.
I cross to the door and open it to find Aethera standing there, looking concerned but not panicked. She's dressed casually—jeans and a soft sweater—like she grabbed the first thing available and came straight over.
"Show me," she says without preamble.
I hold out my wrist.
Aethera takes my hand gently, examining the flower with careful attention. Her expression shifts through several emotions I can't quite read—surprise, understanding, something that might be approval.
"Ah," she says finally. "I see."
"You see? That's all you're going to say? Aethera, what is this?"
She looks up at me, and there's something soft in her expression. Almost... proud?
"This is good news, Cecil. Very good news."
"How is a mysterious flower appearing on my body good news?"
"Because it means you've achieved something important." She guides me to sit on the couch, settling beside me. "Do you remember when I gave you the ability to conceive? When I first brought you to this world?"
My stomach does something complicated. "Yes. You said it was a gift. That I could... that I could have a family someday if I wanted."
"Exactly." Aethera's voice is gentle. "But what I didn't tell you—what we didn't tell you—is that the power has a safeguard built in."
"A safeguard?"
"The Celestians were concerned that you might feel pressured to use this ability before you were ready. That you might try to force yourself into something you weren't comfortable with just because the power existed." She gestures to the flower. "So they added a gate. A lock, essentially."
I stare at her. "A lock."
"The power can only fully activate when you've found someone—or someones—that you trust completely. Someone you feel safe enough with to be that vulnerable. To build that kind of future." Her smile is warm. "The flower is the key. It appears when that trust has been achieved."
The words take a moment to sink in.
Trust.
Complete trust.
Safe enough to be vulnerable.
"Keith and Dylan," I whisper.
"Yes." Aethera squeezes my hand. "You trust them. Completely, genuinely, deeply. Your soul recognizes them as safe. As home. And so the gate has opened."
I look down at the flower, seeing it differently now.
Not a curse or a disease or something wrong.
A symbol.
Evidence of healing. Of trust built carefully over weeks of patience and care and choosing each other again and again.
"I trust them," I say, and the truth of it settles in my chest like warmth. "I really, really trust them."
"I know." Aethera's expression is impossibly tender. "I'm so happy for you, Cecil. You've come so far."
We sit there for a moment in comfortable silence.
Then Aethera stands, smoothing her sweater. "I should go. Let you process this. And probably explain to Keith and Dylan what this means, when you're ready."
"Wait—do I have to tell them? Can't I just... keep wearing long sleeves?"
Aethera gives me a look. "Cecil."
"I know, I know. No more hiding." I sigh. "But what do I even say? 'Hey guys, so a flower appeared on my wrist because I trust you enough to potentially have your babies someday'?"
"Maybe with slightly more tact than that," Aethera says, but she's smiling. "But yes. Eventually. When you're ready."
She moves toward the door, and I follow to let her out.
She's just reached for the handle when footsteps sound in the hallway.
We both freeze.
"Cecil?" Keith's voice, sleep-rough and confused. "Who are you talking to?"
The hallway door opens and Keith appears, his hair even more chaotic than usual, wearing only pajama pants and looking adorably confused.
Then Dylan appears behind him, more alert despite also clearly having just woken up.
They both see Aethera.
"Mum?" Keith blinks. "What are you doing here?"
Aethera's expression shifts to something between amused and resigned. "Good morning, boys."
"It's six in the morning," Dylan observes. "Why are you here at six in the morning?"
"I was just—" Aethera glances at me.
And I realize I have a choice here.
I can deflect. Make up some excuse. Hide the flower and the truth for a little longer.
Or I can trust them.
Actually, genuinely trust them with this.
No more hiding.
"There's something I need to show you," I say quietly, holding up my wrist.
Keith and Dylan both move closer, their eyes focusing on the glowing white flower.
"Whoa," Keith breathes. "That's beautiful. What is it?"
"It's a sign," Aethera says before I can figure out how to explain. "A very good sign."
"Of what?" Dylan asks, his analytical mind clearly trying to categorize this new information.
Aethera looks at me, eyebrows raised. Your choice. Your information to share.
I take a breath.
"It means I trust you," I say simply. "Both of you. Completely."
Keith's expression does something complicated. "You... got a magical trust flower?"
"Essentially, yes."
"That's the coolest thing I've ever heard," Keith says, and he sounds completely sincere.
Dylan is still staring at the flower, his expression unreadable. "What else does it mean?"
Trust Dylan to catch that there's more to the story.
"We can talk about that later," I say. "When I've had coffee and am more awake."
"Fair enough." But Dylan's eyes are warm when they meet mine. Warm and knowing and something that makes my chest feel too full.
Aethera uses the momentary distraction to edge toward the door. "Well, since everything is explained, I should—"
"Wait," Keith says, suddenly more alert. "You haven't explained anything. What is the flower? Why did it appear? What does it do?"
"I'm sure Cecil will explain everything when he's ready," Aethera says, her hand on the doorknob.
"Mum." Keith's voice takes on a warning tone. "What aren't you telling us?"
Aethera sighs. Then, with a subtle gesture, she tries to use her powers.
I recognize what she's doing immediately—the slight shimmer in the air, the way Keith's eyes start to glaze slightly, the divine influence pushing toward sleep.
It's the same thing she did once when I was having a panic attack, helping me calm down enough to rest.
But Keith just blinks and shakes his head, completely unaffected.
"You forgot they don't work on me," he says dryly.
Dylan snorts. "Did you just try to put him to sleep?"
Aethera has the grace to look sheepish. "It was worth a try."
"Mum!"
"Oh, fine." She crosses her arms. "The flower is related to Cecil's ability to conceive. It appears when he's found someone he trusts enough to potentially build that kind of future with. Happy?"
The apartment goes very, very quiet.
Keith stares at Aethera. Then at me. Then at the flower. Then back at me.
Dylan has gone completely still, his expression carefully blank in that way it gets when he's processing something significant.
"I—" Keith starts, then stops. Starts again. "You can—"
"Yes," I say quietly. "Aethera gave me that ability when she brought me here. But it's not—I mean, I'm not—" I'm stumbling over my words, heat rising in my cheeks. "It doesn't mean anything has to happen. It's just. The power exists. And apparently now it's unlocked. Because of the trust thing."
I'm definitely babbling now.
Dylan moves first. He crosses the room and takes my hand—the one with the flower—and examines it carefully.
"This appeared because you trust us," he says, not a question.
"Yes."
"Completely."
"Yes."
He looks up at me, and there's something in his eyes I can't quite name. "That's... that's incredible, Cecil."
Keith appears on my other side, still looking slightly shellshocked but also—
"That's the most romantic thing I've ever heard," he says, his voice rough. "A magical trust flower."
"It's not romantic, it's biological," I protest weakly.
"It's both," Dylan says firmly.
Aethera clears her throat. "On that note, I really should be going. You three clearly have things to discuss."
"Mum—" Keith starts.
But Aethera is already out the door with the kind of speed that only a goddess can manage, leaving the three of us standing in the living room in the early morning light.
With the flower on my wrist glowing softly between us.
And everything it means hanging in the air, unspoken but present.
"So," Keith says finally. "Coffee?"
"Please," I manage.
"And then we're talking about this," Dylan adds, his hand still holding mine carefully. "All of it."
"Yeah," I agree quietly. "Yeah, okay."
Because no more hiding.
No more keeping secrets.
Just trust. Complete, genuine trust.
Even when it's terrifying.
Even when it means revealing things I never thought I'd tell anyone.
Especially then.
Keith heads to the kitchen, muttering something about needing coffee before processing "magical reproductive flowers."
Dylan stays beside me, his thumb tracing careful circles around the flower without quite touching it.
"It's beautiful," he says quietly. "And I'm honored. That you trust us that much."
My throat tightens. "I do. More than I ever thought I could trust anyone."
"I know." He squeezes my hand gently. "Come on. Let's get that coffee. And then we'll figure out what this means. Together."
Together.
The word settles over me like a promise.
And I follow Dylan to the kitchen, where Keith is already wrestling with the coffee maker, the flower on my wrist glowing softly in the morning light.
A symbol of trust.
Of safety.
Of home.
And maybe—someday, when we're ready—of something more.