berry sweet 🍓

"Well, you're alive, aren't you? Seems I've done a good enough job of not killing you so far, haven't I?" Merle countered. It was easier to focus on that, to bite and prod and snap rather than bend. Bending was vulnerability that she couldn't afford, even with someone that meant something to her.

She should have known he'd piece something together, and maybe somehow she did. He was the most intelligent person she knew. He knew her better than anyone—which was sad in a way, wasn't it? Or terribly lonely, or both, to not be chosen by the person who knew you best—of course he would piece it together.

He tried for a small smile, but it didn't quite stay like he wanted it to. The worry was still there, sitting heavy beneath his ribs. He didn't know what he had lost or who might be waiting for him to become himself again. "I think I'm just worried it's gone for good," he admitted more quietly. "My palms feel sweaty." Her answer should have made him feel better, but something about the way she said it hurt more than it helped. Vincent looked at her as they moved toward the elevator, brows drawing together. "I don't think I'd call this inconvenient," he commented quietly. "I think I'd call it painful."

There was something in his chest he couldn't explain. An ache without a memory attached to it. Close, he thought. They had to be close. Maybe close in a way that had gone wrong? Vincent glanced down at their joined hands, then back at her. "You don't know what I do in a day?" he asked softly. "I thought we were close, that uh," he laughed, nervously. "I thought that we established that."

Jade's frustration didn't melt away immediately. No, she'd built up to that too much for it to mercifully evaporate like surely Noah wanted it to—or maybe he'd prefer that compared to the absolute shit-eating grin that was on her face a few moments later.

"So you're telling me you literally can't help but check me out? Noah, why wouldn't you just say that? Lots of people think I'm hot, it's not a crime." This was familiar territory, even if it was with a friend. Friends could think each other were hot! That was completely normal as far as she'd experienced. She wasn't some prude, clearly. "So, you typically think I'm hot and you're just now unable to focus on anything else?"

"I'm not—" He stopped, because he had no idea how to make it less embarrassing. "I'm not usually sitting around thinking about you like that." His eyes widened like he had just heard himself. "That sounded worse. Somehow. Listen, I know you're hot. Obviously, I know you're hot. I have eyes. I'm not dead. I just usually have like— the self-control and basic human decency not to make that your problem."

He pointed out her outfit currently, then immediately seemed to regret that too. "And you standing there in a wet, see-through white shirt while I’m magically down bad against my will is not helping." Noah looked away again, jaw tight, cheeks burning. "As for the rest of that," he added, voice strained, "I'm not discussing my sex life with you while you're looking at me like that." A pause. Then, miserably, "But yes. It's been a while. A few months. Maybe longer." His eyes shut. "I hate this city."

The guy in the dream was better than him... Star couldn't really remember much about the dream, but that didn't bother them. Not really. They couldn't remember a lot of things! And apparently that was better than the alternative. No, it definitely was, if they had anything to learn from trying and failing to remember and the pain that came along with that.

But if that guy was better... wouldn't that mean that the other Star was better, too? They gnawed at their lower lip so hard they drew blood. Lifting a thumb to wipe it away, it was a moment before Star responded again.

He glanced over at them, his expression softening. "Lana and Frankie and Sara and Esme loving you is pretty special actually," he said quietly. "That's people who know you, the real you, and still choose you." He swallowed hard. "And I'm not holding the dream against you. I'm not expecting you to remember it, or feel the way you did there, or be that version of yourself for me." His mouth pulled into a small, sad smile. "I just care about you. This you."

Noah looked down for a second, running his fist against his nose, then back at Star. "I know it's scary that I know things you don't. I'd hate that too." His voice softened. "So I won't use it against you. I won't make you feel stupid for not knowing. I won't ask you to trust me just because some other version of you did." He furrowed his brows. "But I hope someday I can be someone you trust anyway."

He didn't like this version of Art. This stronger willed version was irritating. Too self assured. He needed taking down a peg, but Maxie honestly wasn't sure he could do it, mostly because he wasn't sure what exactly was going to come out of his mouth. "I don't want him. Not like that." Shut up Maxie. "I love the way he made me feel, how aggressive an' assertive he was. How he seemed t'hate every second bein' around me but still couldn't help himself. Fuck, the way he made me whimper. An' the danger of it all. How public it was. How I knew deep down, even in a dream that he was yours but it didn't matter." Okay that's too much truth for one day.

Maxie closed his mouth and kept it closed tight, bringing his hand to cover it, pretending it was to simply wipe at his lips or scratch at his stubble. "Try anythin' an' I'll kill ya."

Art took one step closer, his voice dropping. "Here's the thing, Maxie. I don't actually give a shit what got dragged out of your mouth by whatever magic bullshit is happening to you." His jaw tightened. "I care that you looked me in the face and talked about Christian like he was just something fun you got to borrow." The forced humor slipped for half a second, and what was underneath was colder. "He's not a thrill. He's not danger. He's not some alleyway story you get to keep replaying in thick fucking skull because it made you feel wanted for once." Art's hand flexed at his side. "And if you threaten me again, I'm going to start assuming you're in control of that part."

Then, because he was still Art and too much honesty made his skin itch, he looked Maxie over with open disdain. "Jesus Christ. Magic rips your filter out and somehow you still have the charisma of a wet cigarette. Incredible work." He glanced him up and down. "Still want me to hit you or have I done enough damage?"

And then he noticed where Jannik was looking. His neck. Got it. Fuck. Jonah took one slow step back toward the sunlight, careful not to move too fast. Not to trigger whatever instinct was clearly starting to surface behind Jannik's eyes. "Jannik," he stated, voice low. Steady. "Take it easy." His hand lifted slightly, palm out. Not a threat. Not yet.

"You don't want to hurt anyone," Jonah continued, keeping his eyes on him. "And you definitely don't want to hurt me because we're friends." His jaw tightened. "So stay with me. Look at my face, not my throat."

No, something was clearly not right with them—they'd never say anything like this under normal circumstances. What that could be was evading Madeleine—maybe someone had tricked them and slipped them something that was making them act differently.

"Maybe I do. Maybe I'm tired of watching you turn kindness into a little performance and call it love." The words landed sharp, but their eyes betrayed them for half a second. Too bright. Too wounded. "Maybe I am afraid that's the truth but I know it's true too." Ophelia looked back at the counter, at all that warmth they wanted so badly it made them angry. Then their face hardened again. "I didn't ask you to be nice to me," they said. "And I'm not going to become easier to love just because you fed me."

"Bad things shouldn't happen to you, you're a good person, shit things should happen to me." He gestured to himself then sighed. "I have no other ideas than going to Will and seeing if he has any. You don't have to come with me, I can speak to him on my own if you prefer."

But then Christian said the rest, and Art's expression shifted. "Whoa," he said, quieter now. "Don't do that." He sighed, running a hand over his very different feeling face. "I'm not a fucking saint, Christian. Neither are you, but that doesn't mean you deserve to get punished instead of me.” His mouth twisted. "That's not how cosmic bullshit is supposed to work." Art looked him over, concern slipping through despite his best efforts. "I'll go see Will with you. I was just worried about you." A moment, then his voice softened into something almost teasing. "I'm used to looking like an idiot. You're not."

Winnie swallowed, and her eyes widened as the rest of Billie's plan caught up with her. "Wait. The entire trio?" A grin spread across her face, bright and delighted. "You're a God. I love the way your brain works." She leaned forward, practically vibrating with energy now. "How can I help?"

"Oh?" Well, that certainly intrigued Jade. The glass she'd lifted to her glitter gloss-painted lips did nothing to hide the smirk she just couldn't fight off as she tried to imagine her bodyguard as a dancer at a club. Oddly enough, she could—and even stranger, she liked what she thought of.

She leaned back against the seat, raising her brows at Don. "Okay, so you know how to treat women. Noted. Maybe not something you should be telling me while you're on the clock. I think I might need to report you to your superior," She told him, the tone of her voice unclear if she was teasing or not, especially when paired with that poker face of hers—minus that smirk she wasn't able to fight off. "Special performances like what, though? You can't say that and then not elaborate. Professionally, of course."

He leaned back slightly, studying her with a curious tilt of his head as a smirk started on his lips. "Just very special performances..." he muttered. Donovan was considering how much trouble he actually wanted to get himself into. "That depends." His gaze held hers. "Do you want me to tell you," Don asked, voice laced with amusement, "or do you want me to show you?" A moment passed before he shrugged. "Professionally, of course."

"You have friends. I know you do. Quite a few, but especially Jaren and Matty," Kiran told him very matter-of-factly. "And friendship is just teamwork, isn't it? You don't have to want to be my friend, but you do have to admit that it would be better for us to work together than to work against each other right now."

The accusation, however, caused Kiran's jaw to drop. He'd offended her, genuinely so, but perhaps not for the reason he thought he would. "I am not disappointed in you for being Vice. In fact, Dorian, I'm not even disappointed in you." Which was true! It wasn't him she was disappointed with. Really, it was her. Why couldn't they get along? Why didn't he like her? It all sat uncomfortably with her.

Still, he lifted their joined wrists when she did. "Fine, princess," he said, rolling his eyes. "I'm working with you instead of against you. Cherish it." Dorian leaned in slightly as she studied the cuff, his gaze narrowing at the lock. He knew enough to recognize the mechanism. More than enough, actually. Not for any good reason, obviously, but knowledge was knowledge. He just wasn't about to speak up until he saw what she knew about locks first.

"Double-lock, safety-release," he repeated, glancing at her with a raised brow. "Look at you. Very charming. Very suspicious." His attention shifted back to the cuff. "Why do you know anything about locks?" he asked. "Is that part of the whole Virtue princess curriculum, or are you secretly interesting?"

Why was he looking at her like that? It was so distracting—she couldn't think straight, couldn't name all of the reasons why this wasn't a good idea and why she should stop this before he realized it was a mistake and before he caught on that there was nothing good about her, nothing he could find beneath the front she put up—but the frustrating part was that Jonah never seem to be tricked by that front anyway. He'd seen the darkest parts of her and he'd never run away.

Did Jonah realize his hand was still on her? She hoped not, she hoped he left it there because it was making her head spin. Why did he smell so good? Fuck, she couldn't think straight. So many things ran through her mind—a lamp, a promise, a kiss—and then now his eyes looking at her so softly that Violet couldn't help but lean in closer. Maybe she'd get lost in them and never need to leave him.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, hoping she wasn't misreading Jonah—she couldn't lose him (though the chances of that happening now were, well, they were pretty low to be entirely fair)—goosebumps erupted across her skin where his thumb touched and her fingers pressed into his skin just ever so slightly more, like she could make her mark and never allow anyone else to see him like this—besides her—ever again.

She did say she was selfish, to be entirely fair.

Violet couldn't stop looking at him. Maybe there really was blood loss, maybe it got to her because she felt dizzy—or maybe that was all him, maybe it was just hearing him say things she'd only ever imagined late at night when no one else was around.

"What if I don't want you to let me go?" Finally she spoke, something uncharacteristic of her—of the two of them, in fact, for Jonah to speak so much and for Violet to listen, though she'd always loved the sound of his voice, even more now—her hands slid up his chest to rest on his shoulders, her eyes never leaving his.

"I want you to come to my room," She clarified firmly. "I don't need you to be good. I just want you. Okay? I just—I want you."

"Okay," he endearingly sighed in surrender. There was nowhere else he would rather be than right here with her. His hand tightened at her waist, pulling her closer before he could talk himself out of it again. He still noticed the blood loss. The adrenaline. The way her skin felt too warm beneath his hand and the way she looked at him like she was lightheaded, but not from the wound anymore.

He should have been more careful. Instead, Jonah kissed her. It started softer than he expected, like some part of him still remembered she was hurt, but it didn’t stay that way for long. His hand slid to the back of her neck, holding her there as the last of his restraint gave way all at once. When he pulled away after a moment, biting softly at her lower lip as he did, it was barely far enough distance to speak.

"Tell me if you feel dizzy," he murmured against her mouth, voice rough. "Or if I need to stop." His thumb brushed along the line of her jaw, but his eyes had already dropped to her lips again. "Because I don't want to-- but I would do anything for you, understand?" And then he kissed her again. That confession had been the last thing standing between them. Jonah Basilone would do anything for her. Always had and always would.

"You sure haven't," Violet chirped in response, a big, shit-eating grin on her face like she was extremely proud of that fact. And honestly? She sort of was! In a totally normal way, of course. Because he was her friend and also she liked when things went her way.

But the second she stopped, his smile faded. "No," he said, brows drawing together. "I've never had a reason to take anyone to one of the safe houses before." He slipped his hands out of his pockets as he moved closer, his attention shifting past her toward the bedroom. He went quiet, his humor replaced by something more careful. More guarded. Experience that knew better than to ignore a warning sign.

"What's wrong, Vi?" he asked, voice lower now. Then he saw it. One bed. There was only one bed. "Oh," Jonah said before he could stop himself. Then, quieter, and somehow worse, "Oh." Heat crawled up his neck. "That's yours," Jonah said quickly, nodding toward the bed. "I'll take the floor. Close enough that you're not alone." Then his brain caught up with his mouth. "I mean close in a security way," he clarified, somehow making it worse. "Guarding-the-door kind of way."

To be entirely fair to Dorian, it was as if what he said truly was very inspiring—Matty beamed, standing up a little taller. "Thanks, man. You have no idea how much that means to me," And to be fair, Dorian really didn't. To be picked out of a crowd when there were undoubtedly better options out there... no matter the context, it meant something.

At the idea of Lilith cursing Matty continued, Dorian's brows raised. "Can you imagine if Lilith has been trying to bang you this entire time and you've just been ignoring her, so she cursed your silly ass?" he asked, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "That would be insane." And unlikely, but Dorian wanted to suggest it anyway. He paused, considering that for half a second longer than he probably needed to. "Actually, don't tell her I said that. I like most of my organs where they are." Dorian looked Matty over again, more critically this time. "Have you tried anything to fix it yet? Or have you just been standing here having yourself a hot girl spiral?"

"Dorian?" Carmen echoed as if she were confused, because where was Jonah getting Dorian from? She liked Jaren! But then after a moment it clicked and Carmen's cheeks warmed. "Oh! Oh. I went to the wedding with Dorian. Right."

Maybe it was cruel, but that had faded to the back of her mind in favor of replaying that brief bit of time she'd spent with Jaren. She wished she could have danced with him, maybe stepped out in that cute little seating area with all the lights. It would have been so romantic, and maybe they would have been able to talk! As it stood, though, she had no idea where they were and she also had no idea how to fix it.

"Hey," he said, gentler this time. "Breathe for a second. I don't think you ruined anything because you didn't send some perfect follow-up message after a date that may not have been a date." He shrugged. "But if he liked you, he probably should've asked you out again." Jonah shrugged, blunt but not unkind either. "That's what I'd do. That's what you do when you care about somebody. You make sure they know." His gaze held hers, expecting her to get that.

"That doesn't mean he doesn't like you. Guys are stupid. Timing is stupid. Hiraeth is, historically, a nightmare." He shook his head and rolled his eyes. "But don't make his weirdness your fault, okay? If you want to call him, call him because you want to. Not because you think you failed some secret dating test nobody told you about."

When she catches his hand, Xavier freezes in his retreat. He does care about Beverly, and that's the issue. He's never particularly learned to care about anything or anyone in a way that didn't involve not wanting to share. His free hand finds her face, just for a moment, before he remembers they're in a classroom that, while private, isn't necessarily guaranteed so. "Of course I care about you. More than nearly anything. You have nothing to apologize for."

What is it that leads Xavier to his decision? The tantalizing nostalgia of being the person she treasured most? The concern that at her own condo waits yet another person she might not remember, only causing her more undue panic? The vague notion that perhaps he's nodded off while grading papers and this is merely a dream? Even if dosed with Candor, he'd be uncertain what compels him to nod. "Of course, I'll take you home." He stares at her a long moment. "We... Not yet." Not yet? "I'll never leave you. You have my word on that." Xavier tugs gently on her hand as he gathers both their paperwork and her belongings.

Why is it, exactly, that he leads her back to his own condo? Well, it is home!

---

For a moment, she smiled. It was small and brief, but real. "Thank you," she murmured, threading their fingers together as they walked. Not yet. That also meant something, didn't it? It had to. "Hopefully my work was finished, right?" It was a weak attempt at humor, but she needed something to hold onto. Something normal. Something that made this feel less like she had woken up inside a life everyone else understood except her.

—

Once inside, Beverly paused near the doorway, her gaze moving carefully around the room. She wanted something to spark. A photograph. A book. A scent. Anything that might rise up and tell her this was home. Nothing did.

Still, Xavier felt familiar, and right now that had to count for something. "You would know better than me what I like," she said, sitting slowly on the couch. A faint, nervous laugh slipped out of her. "Which is pretty funny. Terrifying, but funny." Her fingers brushed absently over the rings on her hand again. "I'm scared. Honestly," Beverly admitted, looking up at him. "What if my memory doesn't come back? What if I stay like this and everyone keeps expecting me to be someone I don't remember how to be?"

He then rolled his eyes at himself. "I just hate my birthday." There it was. Gross. Dorian made a face like the admission had physically offended him, then nudged Jaren lightly with his shoulder. "So if I look weird, it's not because you fucked it up. This is good. You're good." He cleared his throat, already uncomfortable with the amount of sincerity happening. "But don't copy me. Start smaller. Say one mean thing as a joke, realize you fucked with someone too much, then pretend funnel cake was the point of the conversation the whole time." His chuckled. "Now please tell me there's alcohol somewhere in this trauma carnival."

"You can't be serious..." He drags his hands over his face as if to dispel this hallucination or to wake himself up from a strange dream (read: nightmare). Except, his fingers are too delicate, his face too smooth, devoid of the facial hair he needed to shave in the morning.

"Relax," she told Reuben, trying and failing to sound soothing. "I'm being so reasonable right now." She flexed one of his hands experimentally, then glanced back at the guy in front of them. He looked significantly less bold now that the person stepping toward him was suddenly much taller, broader, and smiling like violence had just become a fun new hobby. "I'm reasonably sure I can fold this motherfucker." Then she took one step forward, dragging him with her just a little.

At the further resistance, Lilith paused, then looked back down at Reuben with his own eyebrows raised and none of his restraint behind them. "Fine," she said with a dramatic sigh. "Pause. Twelve seconds. You have twelve seconds to convince me why I shouldn't teach this guy not to fuck with women for fun. Twelve."