Berries and Greed

Once that was done, I left my workshop and stopped on the third floor. After glancing nervously at the stairs, I crept toward the closed door and snuck into my Room of Shame, sifting through the mountain of boxes until I found what I wanted.

Clutching the mound of soft fabric, I made my way downstairs. The house was quiet, but I could hear the rustle of a page being turned in the living room. After casting a nervous glance down at myself, I took a deep breath and walked into the living room.

Beryl looked up from her book with a smile. It widened when she saw me in the onesie, but before she could say anything I lifted my chin in defiance and said, “You’ve already seen me in it now, so… you know. I want to be comfortable.”

“Don’t blame you.” She set down the book. “Your slippers look nice and warm as well.”

My ears fluttered wildly, but I cleared my throat and lifted the pile in my hands. “I thought, um, you said earlier you wanted… I have spares so I didn’t know if…”

Her gaze dropped to my hands. She sat up, green eyes sparking with excitement. “Is that a tent for me?”

I huffed, crossing the room to hand it to her. “Yeah. I ordered the wrong size at first. It’ll probably still be way too big for you, but…” Once she’d taken it, I cleared my throat and held up the fluffy slippers I’d also grabbed. “And these. If you want them. They’ll definitely be too big, but um…”

“Oh my god.” She stood up and immediately slipped the onesie over her head. I snorted as it fell all the way to the floor, her small hands completely swallowed up by the long sleeves. “It’s so soft.”

“Yeah.”

I watched as she tugged on the slippers, which were at least twice as big as her feet, but she beamed up at me with so much happiness that my throat closed up. I wanted to burrow under that onesie with her and wrap myself around her small frame like a second blanket.

She’d been here a day and a half, and I was already fucked.

After completing my soothing evening ritual of going around the house and lighting all the candles, we put on Our Neighbours the Humans and ordered dinner. Beryl chose Chinese food this time, and I might have gone a little overboard adding stuff to our order because I wanted her to try everything. And I was hungry as fuck.

She opted out of trying shade tonight, but didn’t seem to mind when I lit up a joint and relaxed back into the couch, three blankets already piled on top of me and one on top of her. Even before the shade hit me, I felt drowsy and content in a different way than usual. As much as I hated being out in public, it had been a good day. It had been amazing getting to show Beryl new things and give her new experiences, especially because she was so enthusiastic about it all. I felt like a grumpy old man most days, particularly when forced to be around other people, but it had actually been… kind of pleasant wandering around the city with her.

This was better, I decided, burrowing deeper into my blankets. Just the two of us, inside in the warm, with the TV on and food on the way and the room lit only by soft candlelight.

This was the best.

I was way sleepier than I usually was at this time, having got up so early, so the shade hit me harder than normal. I found myself snorting with uncontrollable laughter at all the unfunny shit going on in the show, which made Beryl start laughing even though she wasn’t high.

We calmed down when the food arrived. I grabbed us both forks from the kitchen, because I was terrible at using chopsticks—something else Agma had found embarrassing—and explained all the different foods to Beryl. We ate in contented silence, sharing dishes and watching TV. Once Beryl was finished, I smoked another joint and went back for seconds, which made her laugh.

Once I was finally full, I cleared up our mess and put the leftovers in the fridge, but only because Beryl went to do it herself. I almost tripped launching myself off the couch before she could, my legs getting tangled in the blankets and the shade making me uncoordinated. She’d looked so cosy and comfortable that I hadn’t wanted her to move.

“Are you sure?” she’d asked uncertainly.

After telling her I needed a drink anyway, I went into the kitchen and returned with water for both of us. Curling back up under the blankets, I hit play and we carried on watching in peaceful silence until, after a couple more episodes, a soft weight hit the side of my arm.

Going still, I glanced over. And my twin hearts practically fucking exploded. Beryl had fallen asleep, scrunched up into a little ball, half turned toward me, her temple resting on my arm.

I swallowed thickly, resisting the overwhelming urge to gently tuck the strand of hair hanging over her face behind her ear. No. Do not. You can’t touch her when she’s asleep.