Freely Given - Chapter 18: Sunlight on Canvas
Summary: In the heart of Chicago, a chance encounter between a weary nurse and a grief-stricken stranger stirs something neither can explain. Their worlds â one bound by the routines of mortal life, the other by ancient, unfathomable purpose â begin to intertwine through dreams, questions, and quiet moments of connection. In the space between waking and sleeping, they discover that some meetings are more than coincidence⌠and that even the most guarded hearts can be seen.
Table of Contents
The Avondale Coffee Club hummed with the rich aroma of freshly ground beans and warm pastries, morning sunlight streaming through wide windows to paint golden rectangles across worn wooden floors. Nell sat at her favorite corner table, fingers unconsciously worrying the silver bracelet at her wrist as she watched the familiar rhythm of baristas crafting elaborate drinks behind the counter. She still carried the warmth of the meadow in her chest, the lingering brightness of having said yes to him there. Every so often, her gaze flicked between the door and her phone before she caught herself, cheeks warming at her own impatience. A cooler note threaded the light, September tucking crispness under the warmth.
Sheâd chosen her outfit carefully that morning: crisp white linen trousers that moved like water when she walked, paired with a classic navy-and-white striped long-sleeve shirt that made her feel effortlessly put together. White leather sandals completed the look, comfortable enough for walking all day, polished enough for confidence. She felt good in her skin today. Or maybe that had everything to do with the person she was about to see.
She glanced at her phone again, the seconds stretching. âOkay, ten oâclock means ten oâclock, right? Even for cosmic entities?â
The bell over the door chimed. The space shifted as if the air itself made room for him. Morpheus crossed the room with quiet purpose, dark eyes fixed on her, and slid into the chair across from her. Her pulse jumped, nerves fluttering before she could rein them in. They had already shared time together, both in the waking world and the Dreaming. But this was different. This was deliberate. This was a first date. Did that qualify as a reason to give in to nerves?
âPoints for using the door,â she said, her smile tugging wide despite herself. âVery incognito.â
âI considered materializing beside the pastry case. I was advised that would be⌠unsettling. The door seemed polite.â
Nell laughed, picturing ĂŠclairs levitating in a panic. âYeah, letâs not traumatize the croissants on our first date.â
He looked different in daylight, more approachable somehow. Gone was his usual severe coat, replaced by dark jeans that fit him perfectly and a simple black button-down with the sleeves pushed up to reveal pale forearms. The casual clothes didnât diminish his otherworldly presence, but they softened it, made him seem almost⌠within reach.
Morpheus surveyed the intimate space with curious eyes, taking in the mismatched vintage furniture, the local artwork scattered across exposed brick walls, the gentle murmur of conversation from patrons nursing their morning caffeine. âThis establishment has considerable charm.â
âItâs my favorite hideaway.â Nell stood, energy buzzing through her limbs. âLet me introduce you to the joy of overpriced coffee drinks. Fair warning, Iâm ordering us something ridiculously fancy. You only live once, right?â
His expression shifted, something almost amused flickering across his features. âI am immortal.â
The words might have broken the spell, but instead of pulling back, Nell felt herself push forward. Her laugh wavered between amusement and awareness, the reminder of what he was catching briefly at her chest.
âRight,â she admitted softly. âSometimes I forget.â
She hated the flicker of distance that crept in when she said it, like naming the truth might break the spell.
He tipped his head, gaze steady. âThen remember this instead. I am here.â
Something in the way he said it, simple and absolute, smoothed the moment. Warmth unfurled through her ribs. She nodded. âCoffee?â She rose before the air could turn too fragile.
When she returned with two iced dirty chai lattes crowned with lavender sweet cream cold foam, Morpheus accepted his glass with the careful gravity of someone handling a relic. He studied the swirling foam and cinnamon dusting before taking a tentative sip. His eyebrows rose slightly, a flicker of surprise in his star-bright eyes. âIt appears elaborate.â But there was something nearly pleased in the way he considered the taste, as if he found its layers worth the effort.
âThe best things usually are.â Nell leaned back into her chair, wrapping her hands around the chilled glass, watching him over the rim. Her nerves hummed, but curiosity pressed through. âSo, tell me about you. Not the Lord of Dreams stuff, just you. What makes you happy?â
Morpheus was quiet for a long moment, gaze distant as though sorting through millennia of memory. âI find fulfillment in stories. In dreams that inspire mortals to create, to love, to become more than they believed possible. The moments when someone touches something greater than themselves and is transformed by it.â
Warmth bloomed in Nellâs chest at his answer, but she couldnât help a crooked smile. âThatâs⌠very Lord of Dreams of you.â She leaned in, eyes bright with mischief. âBut what about the you under all that? Favorite food? Secret hobby? Ever had a goldfish named Steve?â
His eyebrow arched. âWhat of you?â His attention fixed on her with that intensity that always made her feel both exposed and treasured. âTell me about your family.â
âWow, straight into the deep end.â She breathed in lavender and chai and let the words come. âI had a really happy childhood. My parents were incredible, loving, and supportive. Dad loved mythology, so they named me Penelope after Odysseusâs wife. Steadfast and a little stubborn. Though I prefer Nell.â Her shoulders eased with the memory. âHe used to tell me stories about the Greek heroes, his voice like music at bedtime. Mom taught me to bake and never lost her patience, even when I managed to coat the whole kitchen in flour.â
âThey sound remarkable.â A thoughtful look softened his features. âPenelope suits you. But I believe Nell suits you more.â
Nell grinned. âI thought so too.â She drew in a steadying breath. âMy parents were great. Until I was fifteen, and a drunk driver ran a red light. One second I had this perfect little family. The next, I had nothing.â
His voice gentled, compassion carrying in its timbre. âI am deeply sorry for your loss.â
âThe worst part wasnât losing them,â she admitted. âIt was discovering no one else wanted me. Relatives, family friends... they all just⌠vanished. Foster careâs hard enough when youâre older and the cute factorâs worn off.â
Silence stretched for a beat, heavy as stone. Something ancient flickered in his eyes, protective and sharp. âYour experience was difficult.â
âThe family I ended up with made sure I knew I should be grateful for basic shelter and three meals a day. They had a talent for reminding me no one wanted me.â A bitter laugh broke free. âAfter a few months, I got myself emancipated. Figured Iâd been taking care of myself anyway.â
"Such cruelty is unfortunately familiar to me," he said quietly, and something in his tone made her look up, seeing pain that mirrored her own reflected in star-bright eyes.
Without thinking, Nell started to reach across the small table, her hand moving instinctively to offer comfort. But the formality that seemed to surround him like armor, the careful distance he carried, made her hesitate. She pulled back, fingers curling against the tabletop.
He noticed. After a breath that felt like a decision, he reached instead. His hand covered hers with steady warmth, reverent and grounding. The contact sank into her, heat traveling up her arm, a weightless steadiness that eased something she hadnât realized was tight in her chest. His thumb brushed once across her knuckles, a quiet promise she hadnât expected.
âI am told one offers compliments during courtship.â A flicker of uncertainty crossed his face, endearingly earnest. âYou are⌠luminous. Is that correct?â
Color rose to her cheeks for an entirely different reason. âThatâll do.â
He didnât rush the silence that followed. His hand stayed, steady and warm, leaving the invitation to speak open between them. The air seemed to wait, as patient as the Dreaming itself, until she found her voice.
âSometimes family isnât blood. Itâs the people who choose to stick around. My best friend Bryn did. Meeting her changed everything.â She didnât pull away from his touch, finding unexpected solace in the connection.
âYou speak of her with great warmth.â
âShe saved my life. Not dramatically, but by being there. By believing in me when I couldnât believe in myself. By reminding me I was worth caring about.â
Morpheus was quiet for a moment, fingers tracing gentle patterns across her knuckles as though memorizing the shape of her hand. âPerhaps that is what makes mortals so remarkable. Your capacity to save each other, simply by choosing to stay.â
Nell glanced toward the window and, for the briefest moment, thought she caught a shift in the light outside, as if a shadow had passed by. Nothing was there when she blinked. A trick of the morning sun, she told herself, but unease pricked at her before she let it go, turning back to him.
She looked at him, warmth spreading through her chest at his words. "I could sit here talking with you all day, but..." She smiled, mischievous again. "I did promise you'd love what comes next."
"Then I am entirely at your mercy," he replied, that hint of amusement flickering in his eyes again.
âDangerous thing to tell me,â she said, warmth sliding pleasant and total through her.
As they stood to leave, she felt the comfortable weight of his attention, the way he moved instinctively closer as they wove through tables and other patrons. The morning had settled something between them. Shared stories and gentle touches weaving into a foundation that made what came next feel less like a leap and more like a step forward.
The walk to the train station was pleasant, the late morning air warm but not yet oppressive. Nell tucked her arm through Morpheus's as they navigated the sidewalks, partly because it felt natural, partly because she wanted to keep him close amid the stream of pedestrians.
"You sure you don't mind taking the train?" she asked as they approached the station entrance. "This line runs mostly underground and can be jarring for someone who's not used to it. We'll transfer to our usual line once we're downtown proper."
He glanced toward the stairwell, amused by the tide of commuters. "I have already determined a preference for any route that keeps me beside you." His tone lightened. "And I am curious. I find your mortal transportation methods... illuminating." His eyes lingered on the way bodies pressed and flowed through the turnstiles with practiced efficiency.
She laughed. "Most people just call it practical. Though I admit, the trains during rush hour can feel like a special kind of purgatory."
On the train, their legs brushed as the car swayed around curves, each contact sparking awareness she couldnât quite ignore. Nell was hyperaware of his nearness, of how utterly still he seemed in the press of humanity, otherworldly in his calm, yet seated shoulder to shoulder with her like any other passenger.
What unsettled her more was how no one else seemed to notice him. Their gazes skimmed over him, slid past as if he were just another shadow among shadows. Even when a businessman jostled against his arm, the manâs eyes skipped aside as though unwilling to focus. To them, Morpheus was a trick of the light. But to her, he was all sharp lines and presence, every breath and brush of his hand grounding him in the world. She saw him, and she wasnât sure which of them that startled more.
âWhat are you thinking?â he asked, catching the way she worried at her bracelet.
Nell hesitated, then offered a soft smile. âJust that I hope youâll enjoy our next stop.â
His hand found hers in her lap, fingers intertwining with gentle certainty. He rubbed slow circles against her palm with his thumb, the intimate gesture sending warmth up her arm. "As long as I'm with you, I'm certain I will."
His touch steadied her racing thoughts, grounding her in the moment. Against the rattle of the train and the chaos around them, the warmth of his palm against hers felt like a promise; that this was real despite its impossibility.
The Art Institute rose before them like a temple to human creativity, its bronze lions standing sentinel over the museum steps. Nell felt the familiar thrill that always accompanied this place, her sanctuary and escape from the chaos of everyday life.
"I'm a member here, so we're covered," she mentioned as they climbed the steps, her hand still warm from his touch.
Morpheus looked genuinely curious as an attendant scanned something on Nellâs phone before allowing them admittance. "A member? What draws you to this institution specifically?"
"It's my favorite place to decompress, though I donât get the chance nearly often enough with my schedule." Excitement bubbled up in her voice as she grabbed his hand again, marveling at how natural the gesture felt. "Come on. I want to show you my favorite painting first."
She led him through galleries filled with centuries of human expression, their footsteps echoing off marble floors. The cool interior was a welcome relief from the warm day, and Nell felt herself relaxing completely for the first time in days.
When they reached Bartolomeo Manfredi's Cupid Chastised, Nell stopped, her face lighting with the kind of joy reserved for reuniting with old friends.
"What draws you to this piece?" Morpheus asked, though his gaze lingered on her expression longer than the canvas itself.
"It's the incredible use of light and shadow, and the narrative complexity," she said, pointing out details with animated gestures. "Manfredi captures this moment of vulnerability and consequence. See how the light hits Cupid's wings here? And the way the figures are arranged creates this sense of inevitable justice. It's powerful, the idea that even love itself can be held accountable for its actions."
Her enthusiasm spilled out, bright and unguarded, and Morpheus found himself smiling. In all his eons of existence, he couldnât recall the last time someone had shared their passion so openly, so generously. The simple joy of it caught him off guard, surprising him with its intensity.
They moved on, hands brushing occasionally, until they paused before Elihu Vedder's The Fates Gathering in the Stars. The painting's swirling cosmos and ethereal figures seemed to pulse with otherworldly energy that made Nellâs breath catch.
Morpheus studied the work with genuine intrigue. "This depiction of the Fates is extraordinary. Vedder understood something of their true nature."
"It's fascinating how he explored life, death, and what comes after. The way he captures fate's role in shaping destiny..." Nell trailed off, suddenly aware of who she was standing beside, of the gravity in his presence. "I suppose you'd know better than most about that kind of responsibility."
A prickle lifted the fine hairs on her arms. Even love can be steered, she thought, and she edged instinctively closer to him.
"Indeed," he said, his tone carrying quiet weight. "Though I find mortal interpretations of such concepts often more insightful than the beings themselves realize."
As they moved through the Greek, Roman, and Byzantine collections, Morpheus placed a protective hand at the small of her back, guiding her gently around other visitors. The gesture was subtle, unconscious, but it sent a flutter through her chest, tenderness blooming in unexpected places.
"You must have complicated family dynamics," Nell observed as they paused before an ancient relief of gods and mortals intertwined.
"That is⌠an understatement." A wry smile touched his lips. "Though I hold special fondness for Death and Delirium."
"I think I've met Death at the hospital," Nell said thoughtfully. "She seems... warm, despite her role. Kind, even."
"It is her way," he agreed. "She finds joy in transition, comfort in completion. Death believes every ending is also a beginning." His expression softened, almost wistful. "Delirium is different. She is bright and sideways, tender in ways that do not always look like sense. When she loves you, the world tilts toward wonder."
Nellâs lips curved. "I'd love to meet Delirium someday. She sounds intriguing, if a bit unpredictable." She hesitated, then grinned. "But hopefully I won't have to meet the others anytime soon."
Morpheus chuckled, the sound low and genuine. "Destiny is as he must be. He speaks only in inevitabilities and possibilities. As for the restâŚ" His expression darkened, quiet but firm. "Perhaps it is best if our paths do not cross."
They found a bench in a quieter gallery, settling close together as afternoon light filtered through tall windows. Surrounded by centuries of human creativity, their own connection deepened with every shared glance and every brush of touch.
"This was perfect," Nell said softly, leaning slightly against his shoulder. "Thank you for indulging my art geek tendencies."
âThank you for sharing something you love with me,â he replied, his voice carrying a weight that made her look up. His hand lifted as though to touch her face, but instead he smoothed a crease from her sleeve with reverent precision. The restraint itself felt like a promise. âIt has been⌠illuminating,â he added softly.
Her smile curved, playful again, easing the tension. âGood illuminating or bad illuminating?â
"The very best kind," he said, and his smile transformed his entire face.
As they prepared to leave, Nell felt a contentment she hadnât known in years. This was more than a date. It was the careful construction of something precious, uniquely theirs in a world that often felt too vast and uncertain.
The art around them bore witness, each piece a testament to the human need to create beauty, to leave a mark that outlasted flesh. In Morpheusâs presence, Nell felt folded into that eternal conversation between dreams and reality, between what was and what could be.
He offered his arm, almost formal. âAllow me the pleasure of escorting you to your next wonder.â
She slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, heat blooming low and steady. For a moment they simply stood there, suspended in the hush of the gallery, before the doors opened onto sunlight.
Outside, afternoon light pooled across the museum steps. Her phone buzzed with tomorrowâs schedule. She muted it without looking and smiled up at him. Wonder felt more urgent.
Chapter Nineteen Teaser:
âSo weâve done the human dating experience,â she said, trying to lighten the charged atmosphere while her fingers unconsciously sought his in the grass between them. âHow do the Endless usually⌠connect with others?â
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