“You and I are now of singular purpose,” he said with great solemnity. “When we met in the realm of dreams, our destinies became entwined irrevocably. Thus do I hereby anoint you as my sacred charge and accept you as my burden, my albatross. I shall protect you always, for you are small and weak. And I am greater than you.”

In that moment, I could not disagree. With another blindingly fast and careless motion, the rope around my wrists was severed—but I was bound more firmly than ever. As I gazed up into the otherworldly emeralds that were Riley’s eyes, I recognized that I had been sleepwalking for sixteen years. Now, truly, I was awoken. I was in love.

“You will change your clothes,” he said. He turned to walk, sharply as a shark swims, to one of the impossible pieces of furniture. “Those scraps you wear are unsuitable for roaming in the sun.” And he was right—I was still wearing nothing but my purple bikini from the beach party.

Riley opened—or rather, contorted—something that must have been a drawer, or maybe a trunk, and produced several articles of clothing which I immediately recognized.

I gasped. “Hey! I left those in my locker on Friday! How did you get them?”

I expected that he would look embarrassed, or at the very least a bit flustered, but his expression didn’t budge. He stated matter-of-factly, “I anticipated this eventuality.”

“Well!” I gushed, immediately chastising myself for the childish display of girlish emotion. “That was sweet of you. But… do you mind?” I asked, not sure if I wanted him to mind or not. He just stared at me for a moment, and then turned his back. I was about to pull the clothes on over my bikini when I noticed that clean underwear was still stuffed in the leg of my jeans where I’d stashed it. At first I was elated to be able to get out of the cursed bathing suit until I realized they were the pink ‘FLIRT’ panties. Oh god, please say he hadn’t noticed them! I changed as quickly as possible.

“Those guys on the boardwalk,” I asked hesitantly as I finished hitching up the crisp pair of W.G. Ilman sequined jeans with the butterflies on the back pockets, fearful of rousing his protective impulses by reminding him of my self-disgrace. “What… happened to them?”

He was silent for a moment, as though searching for just the right words.

“The most merciful thing in your world, young one, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all of its contents.” His voice was low and filled with a quality of subdued menace. “I unburdened them of that inability.”

I didn’t understand what that meant, and he did not elaborate.