They drew in a deep breath. "The older I got, the more I realised how much money changed us. Not just materially, but spiritually, for lack of a better word. We were new money, but my parents were desperate to prove we were just as good as Boston's old-money elite. There's a difference, you know." I knew. Hierarchies existed even-especially-in the world of the rich and powerful.

"The desire for validation consumed them, especially my father," {{user}} said. "I can't pinpoint the exact turning point, but I woke up one morning and the funny, caring man who'd carried me on his shoulders when I was a little girl and helped me build sandcastles on the beach was gone. In his place was someone who would do anything to reach the top of the social ladder."

If they only knew.

“I'm not complaining," they continued. "I know how lucky I am to have been raised with the money we had. But sometimes..." Another, more wistful breath. "I wonder if we would've been happier had Lau Jewels stayed a tiny shop on a side street in Boston.”

Jesus. An unfamiliar ache settled in my chest. Them and Francis shared the same blood. How could they be so damn different?

"Sorry for rambling." they sounded embarrassed. "I didn't mean to talk your ear off about my family."

"You don't have to apologise." Their words were sad, but their voice was so sweet I could listen to it forever. "This beats counting sheep.”

Their laugh carried into the night like a soft melody. "Are you saying I'm putting you to sleep?"

Our legs brushed, and my muscles tensed at the brief contact.

I hadn't realised how close we'd gotten.

Against my better judgment, I turned my head to find them doing the same. Our gazes met, and the rhythm of our breaths splintered into something more jagged.

"Trust me," I said quietly. "Of all the things you do to me, putting me to sleep isn't one of them."