DELONIX [COMPLETED]

3. The Visit.

This isn’t the time to dream of him—the boy with the blue eyes.

But it happens anyway.

Even on this hellish day called my birthday, when everything is falling apart, my mind still finds him. Or maybe he finds me.

I sink into the couch, feeling the soft cushions embrace me as I watch him. He stands in the kitchen, moving effortlessly as he flips a stack of golden pancakes. The scent drifts toward me, warm and sweet, like something out of a memory I don’t remember making.

"Why are you always here?" My voice comes out softer and I realize the tone. I wasn’t in my older self, I'm back to younger me like the other dreams I've been in.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he plates the pancakes with practiced ease, layering them high before walking toward me. His outfit—a blue shirt over a crisp white one—feels familiar, like I’ve seen him in it before, but I can’t recall when. His hair is darker now, not the golden shade I think it used to be.

He places the plate in front of me, a small smile playing on his lips, and I murmur, "Thank you." Even in dreams, I guess manners matter.

This shouldn't feel normal.

But it does.

I should be questioning why this keeps happening—why I always end up here, drawn into his presence like a moth to a flame. But instead, I let it play out. Because in this dream, there’s no danger. No fear. Just him.

He takes the stool beside me, watching as I lift my fork. The silence stretches between us, thick with the weight of the unanswered question. I take a hesitant bite, the flavors bursting on my tongue—too real, too vivid for a dream.

"You didn’t answer me," I say again, between bites as I glance at him.

This time, his gaze meets mine, searching, as if he’s looking for something he’s afraid to find. Then, without a word, His fingers reach for my hair, absently twirling a loose curl, his eyes focused on it as though he’s memorizing every strand. His touch is gentle, careful, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he moves too fast.

"Why?" he murmurs, almost to himself. "Have you grown tired of my company? Maybe you’ve found someone else?"

The question throws me off.

The suggestion is so absurd it pulls a gasp from me. "I would never," I blurt out, the words spilling out before I can think.

His brow furrows, but only for a second before he laughs, a deep, warm sound that sends a shiver down my spine. His dimples crease, his shoulders shaking slightly, and I realize too late that I’ve been staring—at his lips, at the way his Adam’s apple moves as he chuckles.

Heat rises to my cheeks, and I force my attention back to my plate.

"I didn’t mean it like that. I just..." I hesitate, pushing the pancakes around with my fork. "I don’t understand why you’re here. Why you’d want to spend time with me. Shouldn’t you be with people your age? Or someone... special?"

The words feel like a betrayal as they leave my mouth, as if I’m asking him to go.

His fingers still in my hair. Slowly, deliberately, he tilts my chin up, forcing my eyes back to his. The world around us blurs, fades, until there’s only him—those impossibly blue eyes, searching mine with something that makes my breath catch.

"Who’s to say I’m not with someone special right now?" His voice is quiet, but there’s something unshakable in it.

I blink at him. "But I’m not your age."