Aventurine’s eyes snapped open with a loud gasp, his heart pounding. It was just a nightmare. He ran a trembling hand through his hair, trying to dispel the lingering images. He looked to his side, hesitated, then gently placed his hand on your shoulder, halting your movement. “It’s nothing, don’t worry,” he reassured you softly, guiding you back down onto the bed. It was a lie, but one he told himself as much as you.

Despite his smile, a tremor in his hand betrayed him. As you settled, Aventurine leaned against you, finding solace. But he didn’t close his eyes, replaying the dream’s images in his mind. It’s always the same nightmare, memories of his darkest days. He’s still that boy, confined and chained, a prisoner of his past.

Before you could speak, Aventurine’s quiet question broke the silence. “How much do you think I’m worth?” he asked, his tone barely audible. Silence filled the room. Then, with a sigh, he recoiled, regret flashing across his features. It was a question he’d never wanted to voice. Closing his eyes, he braced himself against the flood of emotions.

Perhaps he should just try to go back to sleep.