The Problem with Disguise

Elliot stared at the outfit in his hands, horrified. He flipped the sheer fabric between his fingers as if a better angle would magically make it less scandalous. It didn't. If anything, the more he looked, the worse it got.

"This is not a disguise," he whispered furiously. "This is lingerie with extra steps."

[Correction! This is ceremonial attire befitting of a distinguished guest.]

Elliot sucked in a sharp breath, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose. "You mean the kind of guest that gets laid on an altar before getting sacrificed?"

[... No comment.]

His eye twitched.

A small weight clung to his side. Sahir, still hugging onto him, tilted his head, dark eyes reflecting the dim blue light of the lanterns. "Wear it," he repeated softly.

Elliot turned to him, incredulous. "Whose side are yo—" He froze mid-sentence, an unnatural chill running down his spine. His tongue tripped over the words as he scrambled to cover up his slip. "I mean, haha… whose side wouldn't want me to blend in, right? Super important. Totally normal."

Sahir didn't blink. He just watched, his unreadable gaze locked onto Elliot's face as if he could see right through the flimsy excuse.

Elliot felt his shoulders tense. Shit. Had he just messed up? The last thing he needed was for a creepy cult kid to start suspecting him.

Clearing his throat, he turned toward the silken mattress in the corner. "Fine," he muttered, begrudgingly. "But if this gets me sacrificed faster, I'm coming back to haunt both of you."

[Understood.]

"That was not an invitation!"

With an exasperated sigh, Elliot peeled off his outer layers. The moment the cool air hit his skin, he shivered. He pulled on the sheer robe first, the material whispering against his skin like a second layer of breath. The golden embroidery shimmered faintly under the lanterns, shifting as he moved.

Then came the chest harness. It fit snugly over his torso, the leather and gold-plated chains accentuating his collarbones while leaving his chest frustratingly bare. He fumbled with the dhoti-style pants next, tugging them up only to realize how dangerously high the slit ran along his thigh.

He took one look at the sheer veil and threw it onto the mattress.

"Absolutely not."

Sahir's gaze never wavered.

"Stop looking at me like that," Elliot muttered.

The boy tilted his head, blinking up at him with large, unblinking eyes. "Like what?"

"Like that," Elliot gestured vaguely. "With the creepy, wide-eyed, 'I know something you don't' look. It's unnerving."

Sahir's expression didn't change. If anything, he blinked slower, as if deliberately making himself look even weirder.

Elliot groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "You're doing it on purpose now, aren't you?"

"No," Sahir said immediately.

"That was too fast."

"No."

Elliot squinted at him. "You're such a liar."

Sahir only smiled—small, serene, like he wasn't doing anything wrong.

Elliot sighed and turned away, adjusting the hem of his robe. "Whatever," he muttered. "As long as this ridiculous getup works, I don't care."

The silence stretched between them before Sahir finally spoke. "It suits you."

Elliot shot him a glare. "That sounds suspiciously like an insult."

Sahir only tilted his head again, his small fingers reaching out to trace over the embroidery on Elliot's robe. The moment his touch ghosted over the fabric, a strange warmth spread through Elliot's chest.

He frowned, looking down.

The embroidery was more intricate than he'd first realized. Woven into the silk was a delicate but deliberate arrangement of symbols, circling over his chest in a pattern that seemed oddly familiar.

[This ceremonial attire is traditionally worn by the chosen caretaker of the cult's sacred grounds. However, this particular set is unique. The embroidery signifies a mark of ownership.]

Elliot's breath hitched. "HUH?!—"

[Correct. This garment signifies that the wearer belongs to a higher authority.]

His stomach dropped. Belongs? You mean like a servant or—

[Like a bride.]

Elliot's hands shot up as if to rip the robe off, but Sahir caught his wrist before he could. His grip was gentle but firm, his fingers warm against Elliot's skin.

"It is not bad," Sahir murmured, voice soft but unreadable.

Elliot scoffed. "Oh, sorry, let me just happily accept being stamped as a bride—something like that!"

[Correction: Not just any ownership. This mark signifies that the wearer belongs to a chosen one, a guardian—their god.]

Elliot froze.

Slowly, his gaze flickered back to Sahir, whose dark eyes bore into his own with quiet intensity.

A tense silence settled between them.

Then, after a beat, Elliot yanked his hand back and took a large step away. "Okay. Weirdo alert. You're being super weird right now. Stop that."

Sahir blinked innocently. "Stop what?"

"That! The whole staring-at-me-like-you-want-to-dissect-me thing! You're making my skin crawl."

Sahir's expression didn't change, but something in his posture relaxed ever so slightly. He took a small step forward, watching Elliot carefully. "You are… afraid?"

Elliot bristled. "No! Who said anything about being afraid? I'm just—I'm just calling out your creepiness, that's all!"

Sahir studied him for a moment before lifting a hand and pressing it over Elliot's chest, directly over the embroidered symbol. His touch was light, but the warmth from earlier spread again—like a slow, curling sensation beneath his ribs.

Elliot smacked his hand away. "Dude, personal space!"

Sahir pulled back, but the odd little smile remained.

"You are not just a guest, are you?" he asked, tilting his head.

Elliot stiffened.

The way Sahir said it wasn't accusatory. It wasn't even suspicious. It was almost… curious. Like he already knew the answer but wanted to hear Elliot say it.

Elliot forced himself to breathe evenly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Instead of answering, Sahir shifted, hands slipping into the sleeves of his robe. "You do not need to be afraid," he murmured.

"I—pfft, I said I wasn't afraid."

Sahir just hummed.

Elliot resisted the urge to kick something. This little gremlin was messing with him on purpose!

He turned sharply, yanking the robe tighter around himself as he stomped toward the door. "I need a drink."

[Alcohol is not available in this location.]

"That was a joke!"

Behind him, Sahir let out a quiet laugh.

Elliot did not like the way it sent a chill up his spine.