Chapter Text
Bernadetta is in her normal spot on their red couch, leaned over the coffee table in a way that she knows is going to give her back problems, but there are more important things to worry about. She has to finish the pencil draft of this chapter now.
Then, after all of that writing, there’s the inking, which takes forever because she has to follow the lines precisely or everything will fall apart and be ruined, and wouldn’t that be just like her?
And then she has to enchant it quickly before the lines dry. If she doesn’t place the spell in time, it won’t stick to the dried ink, and then there’s no going back. She’ll be left with a totally plain, non-magical book.
And beyond the drafting and enchantment side of things, the story itself leaves a lot to be desired. A lot. There’s no believable plot, the characters are drabber than even Bernie, and the conclusion? It needs to be rewritten, edited, rewritten again, then torn from the book and burned. Bernie shouldn’t have tried this. She was never meant to be a writer. How could she think such a silly thought? Bernie, a writer. Silly Bernie, ridiculous Bernie!
This novel. Is not. Going well. Ashe has read the notes, the outline, the scribble drafts in her dollar store notebook and has said:
“It’s great, Bernie!”
Damn him. It’s not great. Yuri has watched her sketch the pictures she’ll add on, has traced his finger over the lines with a smile and has said:
“You’ve worked so hard, love.”
Damn him, too! She hasn’t worked hard enough. She’s faking it, and they don’t know it. Are they placating her? Why are they being so nice?
It’s because she’s fooled them, and she’s fooled her editor, Sylvain, and she’s fooled her publishers, and she’s fooled her audience and the world into making her first two novels popular and well-sold.
She’s been seen. And she has fooled them all.
She sits back with a groan and shakes her head, pulling her purple hair back into a ponytail out of nervous habit. No, not this again. Damn her, now, she is a twenty-four-year-old woman, she knows she deserves this, she knows she does, she works hard, it’s not her fault that it took her so long to get well again—
“Where is Ashe?” Yuri’s voice cuts through her panic as he walks through their kitchen into their living room, his soft fuzzy socks muffling the sound. She hadn’t heard him come into the apartment, but she figures she has been spiraling too much. She hopes she didn’t ignore him. She probably did.
He’s apparently been home long enough to come in, walk past her through their living room to the hall, head into their bedroom, and change into a comfortable set of clothes, lounge pants and a hoodie that may be his, or hers, or Ashe’s. They stopped caring after a certain point. They only buy one size now; one that’s big enough to fit Ashe comfortably and be just shy of oversized on Bernie.
Yuri hasn’t removed his makeup—he never does until he has to sleep— and despite the sharp eyeliner, the pink shadow he’s chosen today softens him, warms his lavender eyes. Yuri just looks so cozy, and like a sunflower to the light, or a mosquito to a Venus flytrap, she longs to lean into him—
No. No distractions, no matter how adorably comfy and inviting her lavender-haired partner looks, she has to focus—
“Bern?” Yuri asks again. She pauses in her thoughts and enchantments, having long mastered the ability to do both at the same time. The page flickers faintly, glowing with the gold lines of her magic. Waiting impatiently for her to imprint the image she wants.
She looks at the clock and realizes that nearly three hours have passed since she last saw their boyfriend. “Oh, he said he was going to read in the bathtub for a while. I guess it’s been a while…” she says as she bites her lip, “Was I supposed to get him? I hope he’s not mad…” She glances down the hall, but there’s no indication of Ashe. She can’t see the door from her position, but it’s probably closed, anyway.
She doesn’t even have to see Yuri to know he’s rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure Ashe is furious. Typical of him. Honestly, Bernie-bear, he’s probably fallen asleep and drowned. I’ll have to resuscitate him.”
Bernie narrows her eyes. “That wasn’t funny the first time, and it sure isn’t the tenth.”
“I think it’s pretty funny,” he says, waving a hand as he heads down the hall, opposite to the bedroom, and out of sight. The door opens with a click, and Bernie quickly waves a hand of sparkling magic over her page, saving it from her inattention. With a sigh, she leans back, and waits.
It starts soft, as always. She can hear Yuri’s murmuring, soft, sweet nothings. She can only imagine Ashe blinking his mint eyes sleepily as he smiles his goofy smile. He’s so in love and happy to see Yuri, brain fogged over with sleep, that he can’t connect what will happen next.
Until it does. The sound of rushing water, falling back into the bathtub and to the floor, soaking their rug, is so loud, like their own personal waterfall (and their downstairs neighbor’s, too, if it drips through like it has before. She’ll bake cookies as an apology to Dedue later.)
Ashe yells. Yuri laughs.
(Bernie twiddles her fingers, wondering if she should make ginger cookies for Dedue, and make something spicy for Felix and Sylvain just above them, who also have to listen to this racket far too often.)
And now Yuri must have thrown Ashe over his back, because here come the heavy footsteps and the bangs against the wall and floor from Ashe’s heavy, bulky tail.
(“It’s all muscle so that I can swim through the ocean currents!” he had said proudly in one of their early meetings.)
(Well, now it just causes damage to their walls. No return deposit, she guesses.)
Finally, after what took far too long for how small their apartment actually is, come her partner and boyfriend, into the living room, both soaking wet, but not as soaked as Ashe’s paperback, now soggy in Yuri’s hand after being rescued from the watery depths. Yuri dumps Ashe unceremoniously onto the floor, where Ashe props himself up on his silver-scaled arms, his green-silver tail swishing back and forth. He always looks like an angry cat when he’s like this. His sharp pupils, razor teeth, and piercing claws don’t help his case, either.
(Yuri once bought a costume set of cat-ears, placed them on Ashe, called him ‘their little catfish’. Ashe sulked for a week.)
Bernie gets up and settles on the ground beside Ashe, smooths his silver hair behind his ear, pointed and lined with more silver-green scales, and kisses his forehead.
“Sorry, was I supposed to get you?” she asked. “Really, I should’ve—”
Ashe smiles at her and she watches as the teeth change, go from sharp to human in a blink. “No, it was a good nap.”
Despite the two years they have been together, Bernie always jolts a little when Ashe changes from his mer-body to the human one so quickly. She hates when Ashe catches her shock, as he does now, and he gets that gleam of hurt in his eyes. It’s surprising! She can’t help it. But she should get better about it.
“Bern, if you don’t want to get soaked, I suggest you move back,” Yuri says, the magic spinning around his hands. The moment between her and Ashe passes, and Bernie moves away, towards their room. Ashe glares at Yuri.
“Let me change back, and then I can just use a towel like a norma—” is all he manages to say before Yuri’s wind magic hits him, sending water flying off Ashe, but all over the room.
(She swears to Sothis if he ruins her book, she’ll ruin him.)
It’ll be fine, it’ll dry, Bernie tells herself as she heads back to their room to get Ashe a change of clothes. A navy-blue hoodie, some jeans? Or maybe sweats would be better? She takes both just in case, and some of his boxers. Or maybe Yuri’s? She doesn’t know.
She grabs Ashe’s favorite towel, a fully, plush purple one with an embroidered cat, given to him as a silly present half a year ago, just before Yuri moved in with them.
When she goes back out, Ashe’s legs have returned and the scales are gone, rendering him totally human. Without the scales, his freckles stand out far clearer. Yuri is blow drying his hair with much more care than the initial blast, though Ashe shivers, still on the floor. The apartment is kept warm, but Yuri’s wind magic has a touch of frost to it that is shockingly chilly even on warm days. Strange, considering how warm Yuri himself is.
She passes Ashe the towel, blushing as she does— she has seen him naked, there is nothing wrong with it, why is she like this— and she places the pile of clothes on the ground next to him.
“Thanks,” he says as he takes the boxers and sweats, and stands to get dressed, swatting away Yuri. His hair is mostly dried anyway, fluffed, and curling around his face as it does naturally. It’s so, so tempting to reach out and tousle it, mess it up again after it had been so carefully combed down.
Yuri moves on to trying to save Ashe’s poor, waterlogged paperback, but the pages are twisted and torn, and the ink has faded. No amount of wind magic can help this poor thing. Still, Yuri tries, knowing Ashe hasn’t finished it but will say buying another copy is just a waste of money. This is why they only buy secondhand paperbacks for him now, and why his hands will never be allowed to even touch an e-reader.
(“You can get water-proof cases for them now!”)
(“That’s not going to help when it sits at the bottom of the bathtub for ten hours!”)
Bernadetta cannot stop herself any longer. She runs her fingers through Ashe’s soft locks, messing it up and definitely tangling it from where Yuri had probably combed it out already. It feels so nice freshly washed, and it smells fresh, washed with Yuri’s flowery shampoo.
Ashe leans into her touch, then wraps an arm around her, pulling her close. She had forgotten he wasn’t fully dressed, so focused on his hair. His skin is warm enough for her to feel the heat through her shirt. She feels warm, too warm, and moves back away from him with a nervous giggle. Sometimes, it’s okay, sometimes it’s not, and today is a not.
“Sorry!” she squeaks.
He shakes his head, “No sorrys needed, Bernie. It’s okay.” His smile is so genuine, and it’s Ashe. Ashe doesn’t lie, and besides, she knows it’s fine, really. If there’s one thing she is sure and confident about, it is that her partners accept and love her for who she is.
He moves to put on his hoodie, (and maybe this one actually is his,) but Yuri stops him, hand on wrist, fingers gripping, tightening, and Ashe gasps softly.
The shift between them is so instant and elastic that Bernie has whiplash from the snap. Yuri’s eyes rove over Ashe, and Bernie can see the hunger, the ravenous desire in his eyes that drink in Ashe’s bare torso like it’s the only glass of water in a desert. The first few times this happened, near the beginning of their relationship, Ashe would flush, his whole body red, find himself unable to tear wide, unblinking eyes from their partner. Ashe was such a flustered mess when he first met Yuri.
Now, though, he matches Yuri’s gaze, fire against fire, heat spilling from his eyes. Desire matching desire in an even-footed gait. A taunt line, so strong it’s nearly visible, is pulled between them, drawing them into each other’s orbit. A silent question asked and answered between them, an unfamiliar-familiar language that Bernie isn’t fluent in like they are.
Yuri flicks those starving eyes to Bernie, throwing her the line, asking if she wants to be pulled in, and she does consider it, twists the idea between her fingers. But she drops it, lets it fall slack between the three of them, shakes her head. She’s not feeling it today.
“Have fun. I’m going to keep working.” She waggles her fingers at them for a goodbye, and the line is gone from her, drawn only now between Ashe and Yuri. Yuri’s brow bows, dipping into a slight frown before it’s wiped clean, his normal, salacious smirk repainted in a single smooth stroke.
“Well, you know where to find us if you find yourself wanting,” Yuri tells her as he pulls Ashe silently along behind him by the hand. Ashe casts her a worried glance.
“I’ll start dinner soon,” she answers, circling around back to the couch and setting herself back with an oomph. She hears the door close just as she slips on her oversized, noise-cancelling headphones. “I’ll start as soon as I finish this page,” she whispers to herself.
They have a pretty good balance in their relationship, she thinks. They each hold each other up, hold each other close, support each other. Bernadetta and Ashe have been good for each other from the start, complete and in perfect tune with each other. Yuri, when he came back into her life and Ashe’s for the first time, slotted in so naturally, so perfectly, like he had been with them all along. Not a missing piece, per say, more like the three adjusted to accommodate, to have each other in their shared life and space because they love each other, truly, dearly.
And, Ashe and Yuri had both not only been receptive, but supportive of her when she told them each of her demisexuality at the beginning of their relationships. When she met Ashe for the first time, she had only recently discovered the term, had only just begun to explore its relationship to her. Finding information about it had been an intense experience, like she was reading a story about herself. She worries sometimes that they don’t understand, not really. Still, they operate smoothly. Don’t worry, Bernie, she tells herself.
Of course, sometimes, she wants, really, really wants them. On other days, she would have said yes in a heartbeat, given herself up to them and taken just as much in return. She is attracted to them both, it’s undeniable at this point.
(Equally? Yes, she tells herself. Of course.)
But she rarely is the initiator. She loves them, loves them so much it hurts, but sex just wasn’t a key factor of that. Still, the intimacy could be addicting, inspiring, explosive. She has never not enjoyed herself when she sleeps with them, or even when they just mess around a bit. She thinks that her complete comfort with them, and therefore her occasional desire for them, is because of how little they pushed, how little they asked of her, letting her come to them whenever she wanted.
She can ignore them, leave them to roll around in the sheets all they wanted while she is productive and gets things done.
They’re getting things done, too, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Yuri whispers in her ear. She waves it off, annoyed as if Yuri himself had been the one to say it. Though, it has been a while since she joined them…
Not today. Not feeling it. She really needs to get at least this page finished, anyway. Sylvain has been subtly, in that Sylvain way of his, clamoring for at least a finished chapter for so long, he might actually, finally blow a fuse if she takes any longer. Sylvain is kind and patient and has never once been annoyed with her, but if anyone could push him to anger, it’s Bernie. Probably.
She raises a hand to her mouth to chew on her nails for a moment before slapping herself gently on the cheek.
Focus, Bernie!
She looks to the page again, reading it over carefully, choosing the words to enchant, the pictures to assign to them.
Her magic is connected to her writing: she can enchant any words she writes to show a mental image of the scene. She can also weakly invoke feelings, making the reader cycle through grief, joy, rage, at her whim. Senses fall into her domain as well, the taste of a shortcake, the smell of gardenias.
The biggest challenge is to decide how sparingly to use it. Books aren’t movies, and they aren’t real life. She tends to shy away from showing characters in detail, hinting, but allowing the readers to fill in the blanks with their imaginations. Alternatively, the enchantments give readers an immersive experience that’s hard to replicate with any other medium, something unique and within their own heads.
Of course, she’s not the only such writer in the world. But she has begun to make a small name for herself. Nothing big— no movie deals or anything! Not that she thinks her stuff would translate well to film… but she does have two fairly popular novels published. She should be proud of herself, for coming as far as she had after she left home. She had felt, at the time, that the damage on her writing ability would be irreparable. But look at Bernie now! She’s not failing!
(Yet.)
She casts her eyes to the hallway. If she were to stand and peek around the corner, she would be met with the closed door to her bedroom, where her loves and inspirations were probably still tangled up in each other.
Good, she has plenty of time to work, then.
She leans over her work again, and focuses on the flow of the words, the feel of the pencil in her hand, lets the soft music in her headphones keep her on task and oblivious to the world.
As she is nearing the end of the second chapter, purple hair falls in front of her eyes, a kiss planted on her head.
She screeches and jolts, bumping her head against Yuri’s chin.
“Yuri! I’m so sorry!” she exclaims as she moves around the couch to his side.
“No, sorry, I know better than to touch you when you’re so focused,” he says as she runs her fingers along his jawline, checking for injury. “I’m fine, you didn’t get me that bad.”
She drops her hand from his jaw, steps away, and takes his hand and squeezes it. He raises his other arm, a breath away from reaching for her, but something glints across his expression, something unsure, and he drops it, settling with a sigh.
What was that about?
Before she can question it, the expression is gone. “So, what’s for dinner?” he asks, teeth glinting in his smug smile. She groans.
“I’m so sorry— I got totally focused and forgot—”
“I got it!” comes Ashe’s voice from the kitchen, raising itself over the sounds of drawers opening and closing, the clinking of silverware, a slam of a pot or pan. She can already smell the garlic and onions sizzling— when had he started cooking?
Yuri drags Bernie by the hand to the kitchen where they find Ashe already at the counter, leaned over a cutting board and a variety of vegetables. He’s put on his thick-framed glasses, which he by no means needs, but claims it helps him make more precise cuts.
(“And it’s so human!”)
Yuri lets go of Bernie to move behind Ashe, pressing close and wrapping his arms around Ashe’s waist. He kisses the blossoming bruises on Ashe’s neck that his shirt doesn’t cover. Yuri looks to Bernie, calling her over with a gesture of his head.
They look so cozy, she can’t say no. She slides under and between Ashe’s arms, inserting herself between him and the counter. She reaches to grab on to the sides of Yuri’s sweater, and Yuri pulls her closer in turn, flush against Ashe between them. She tucks her head under Ashe’s chin, trying to stay out of his way even while she invades his space. Cuddles are always welcome and very, very necessary. Ashe tilts his chin just enough to lightly kiss her head but continues to otherwise chop in silence. It’s cozy. It’s home.
They are a strange trio: a story enchanter, a wind mage, and a merman, but it makes sense to her, it makes sense to them.
Does anything else matter?
(The book that she’s not working on now.)
(You don’t have time for this, Bernie! She tells herself.)
She shivers, and Yuri grips her tighter.
---
She’s happier. Happier than she’s ever been. Her life is going well. She and Ashe found each other, and Yuri came back into her life after such a long absence. She’s semi-successful, somehow. She shouldn’t be, not at all. Not her.
Just remember, Bernie, she tells herself that night as she’s wrapped in between the two of them. They’re fast asleep, Ashe to her right, on his side, cuddled close to her, Yuri to her left, on his back, gripping her hand.
(Something could always go wrong.)
She whimpers under the weight of the words.
“You awake, Bernie?” Yuri asks in a quiet whisper. Even with the softness, she startles a bit, not realizing he was awake. “Can’t sleep?”
“No, you?”
“Nope. Bad dreams.”
Bernie smiles in the dark. “Want me to fix that?”
Yuri’s reply seeps with relief. “Yes, please.”
While Bernie tries to adjust herself in Ashe’s arms without waking him, Yuri reaches across the bed, trying to quietly rummage through the mess on their nightstand before finally procuring the marker, pink and peach-scented, uncapping it, and handing it to Bernie. Ashe shifts in his sleep, pulling himself closer to her, but doesn’t wake. He doesn’t ever need this, not really. He sleeps deeply and soundly, his traumas, fears, and memories staying out of his dreams, unlike Bernadetta and Yuri’s. He never has to ask.
Yuri, on the other hand, asks her to enchant his thoughts on a near weekly basis.
It still amazes her that he trusts her with this after what she did to him all those years ago.
“What do you want to see?”
“Hmm… something colorful?”
“Got it,” she says, drawing a cute little heart on his hand before passing him back the marker. Her fingers tips glow with magic as she lays the enchantment, thinking of a flowery field laden with pink cosmos, sweet cherry blossoms, bright red and yellow tulips, and huge orange daffodils that they had visited together last spring. It had been a pleasant day, the sun bright and soaking into their skin, the spring air fresh and full of flowers. It had been nice to be outside with the two of them, taking away her stress from drafting and outlining. She remembers Ashe’s overjoyed smile, Yuri’s relaxed shoulders, none of them carrying any burdens for that one afternoon.
The memory helps her wind down, too, and by the time the enchantment is done, Yuri is already fast asleep, and she is quick to follow.
(Still, the voice follows her down into the darkness.)
(Wrong, wrong, wrong.)
---
In five weeks, Ashe will be going home, deep, deep within the sea, to visit his family. In five weeks, she and Yuri will be alone for the first time in four and a half years. In five weeks, she will understand why she felt like something was so terribly, terribly wrong.
________________________
It was two years ago that she first met Ashe. After their awkward first meeting, it was a miracle that he even wanted to see her again. It was a miracle that they did see each other again.
(She had no idea what he saw in her that first time.)
(She was so glad he saw it, though.)
Bernadetta was stuck in her writing. Again. No matter how she twisted and turned the plot or flipped the characters inside out and back again, nothing seemed to work. And so, it piled up— stress on stress on stress, weighing her down, pushing her pencil to the floor and her heart to her stomach. And not to mention how her eraser and back space key had found themselves in her dreams, possibly in a romantic relationship together. She was happy for them, really.
Sylvain had read her first few edits, and sighed. He didn’t say, “This is awful, terrible Bernie, almost as terrible as you.” No, just a sigh.
A sigh.
She was really the worst, wasn’t she, to make happy-go-lucky Sylvain Jose Gautier sigh.
He had suggested she take a break for a while (probably so that he didn’t have to deal with her anymore) and leave her room. Go see the sights. Enjoy the outdoors. Leave her room.
That was how she found herself seated on the dark sand of the beach, the smell of the ocean all around her, water and sand made muddier by the snow falling far too lazily to be sticking to the ground, yet here it was, sticking in some places, solidifying to icy patches in others. She shivered non-stop in the past few weeks since the temperature had dropped several degrees, and she had to dig out her thick, navy blue, woolen winter coat from the depths of her closet.
Despite the warmth of the coat, the cold still found its way in, sinking into her bones and chilling her thoroughly from the inside out. She wasn’t built for this, and regardless of the few years she had spent in Fhirdiad, she didn’t think she ever would be built for it. Back home—
She shook her head, sending a flurry of snow flying to the ground that had built up on her hat. Don’t think about that, she told herself.
She stood, dusting snow off her grey skirt and her coat. What had she been thinking, wearing a skirt in the middle of a Fhirdiad winter—
A splash caught her attention, drawing her eyes to the sea. A fish? She scuttled to the shoreline to look.
It was not a fish that she saw. Instead, she was met with a glowing pair of sea-green eyes, peeking out from the water under dark grey curls.
Merperson?
She screamed, back-peddling away. Merpeople were incredibly uncommon to see, as they tended to keep to themselves under the ocean waves.
Except for the stories, of course. Taking humans away, dragging them to the bottom of the sea, eating them for dinner. Those were the kinds of stories her father shared after he had found (and subsequently destroyed) the book she was reading about merpeople. The image of this person grabbing her by the ankles, dragging her under, was bright and clear in her mind. Oh, she could taste the disgusting seawater now.
(Honestly, it would probably be fair retribution from the universe, considering those few years in her childhood, she thought. It hadn’t been her fault, she reminded herself. Still, it had happened, she reasoned.)
Her father’s voice rang loud and clear. She was going to get killed, here and now, on this beach in the middle of Fhirdiad winter, her book left unfinished. When they cleaned out her apartment, they would find it, and flip through it, and laugh at how terrible it was.
Sylvain would sigh again.
Not today. She had to fix this terrible plot before she dies. She wouldn’t be Berna-dead-ta until this novel is published!
“I am not dinner!” Bernie yelled at the merperson, suddenly finding herself frozen with fear at the thought. She couldn’t move back anymore, her limbs immobile, and oh, if she knew herself, and she did, that meant that she was going to pass out. The nausea hit her at the same time as the ringing in her ears began.
Eyes widened, the merman shot his head out of the water, “Wait—” he shouted as he started to move towards her. She couldn’t run, she was trapped.
Anything else he said didn’t matter. She couldn’t hear any longer. Bernie felt the darkness creeping in before she saw it dancing on the edges of her vision.
She fainted, landing on the soft, cold sand.
When she awoke again, she couldn’t remember where she was, or what had happened. All she felt was her head on a hard pillow, no blanket, but her back was against something warm, so she wasn’t all that chilly.
Hey eyes blinked blankly into the sky. It had at least stopped snowing, and most of the clouds had cleared, opening like curtains for the beautiful sunset. How long had she been asleep?
Why had she been asleep outside?
“Oh, you’re awake! I was worried!” said a voice from above her. She tilted her head back slightly, and her vision shifted from pink sky to mint eyes, silver hair, glittering, fish like scales arranged around a sharp, young face dotted with freckles.
She screeched and jolted to move away, but her position of laying along the merperson’s body (her head had been on his tail!) was awkward, and she couldn’t find her balance to get up. His hands landed gently on her shoulder without force but stilled her, the fear icing over her veins again.
“Wait, wait, please calm down!” he said, “Please don’t faint again, I’m not going to hurt you.”
She tore herself away and tried to stand, but her legs, having been still for so long, were numb and weak, and she ended up stumbling into the sand once again. His eyes were on her, brow furrowed, watching her like a predator would a poor, defenseless rabbit. And she was definitely a rabbit.
(He had been concerned for her, he would say later.)
(Well, so was I, she would say back.)
“Merpeople eat humans, don’t they?” she accused.
“I mean, sometimes, they used to, but nowadays—”
“You’re going to eat me!” she screamed, trying to pull herself away, put more distance between them, but she was freezing up again. If she ever needed to fight, she would be in trouble.
He blinked, and the confusion on his face, his cocked head, suddenly made him seem so much less intimidating. A trap, most likely. “Umm, no, I’m not.” He looked her up and down, meeting her eyes again with a small grin that almost was friendly, if it hadn’t been a trick. “Besides, you’re way too skinny. I doubt you’d taste good.”
She blanched and scrambled backwards as much as she could. “You’re a fiend!” She wondered how she could fight him off because if she was going to die, she was going down swinging.
“No, oh Goddess, I’m sorry, that was a joke, a terrible, terrible joke. Just, look around you!” he said, gesturing widely, “I’m not in the best position to fight, or eat you, or whatever you’re thinking of!” He thumps his tail in the sand for emphasis.
She did look, and they were higher up on the beach, away from the shore, near the dunes where flecks of grass spring up in small patches. They were hidden, just barely, within the dunes. He would have had to drag her here. But— “Why did you bring me here? Couldn’t you have dragged me into the ocean, made me a drowned Bernie?”
“I suppose I could’ve,” he paused to let her whimper again, “but I didn’t. Want to know why?”
“Why?”
He leaned in conspiratorially, speaking in a sharp whisper. “Because I don’t. Want. To hurt. You,” he replied, thumping his tail in time with each emphasized word.
Bernie thought about it for a moment. She did suppose it made sense, as much as she still was hesitant to believe it. He had brought her away from the shore, hadn’t hurt her. Maybe he was just curious about her? Or maybe he wanted to tease her before he ate her? Did fear add flavor? She hadn’t gotten too far in that book, but it had never mentioned merpeople eating humans.
Or maybe, she thought, he was just a nice person who wanted to help her. She had been meeting a few of those the past couple of years. It didn’t always, always have to be like before, with her father, someone who had only wanted to use her for his own personal gain.
(Though, the person who had helped her escape her home back then also ended up abandoning her.)
(Maybe, she thought, this merman wasn’t like that.)
(And, having a merman friend would be pretty cool.)
“Oh,” she said as she crossed her legs to make herself more comfortable. “Okay.”
“Okay? Really?” he said, sharp pupils fixated on her in narrowed eyes. Sharp, but not unkind. If anything, they reminded her of a curious cat.
“Really. Sorry, you must hate me. Am I the first human you’ve talked to? I swear, everyone on the planet is better than ol’ Bernie. Seriously, I’m the worst.”
His expression was blank, the corners of his lips twitching like they couldn’t decide how to react. “Oh, um, actually, you are the first, and I don’t hate you— I don’t even know you!” He lifted his hand, staring at it like it was a puzzle he couldn’t figure out before thrusting it at Bernie. “I’m Ashe. Am I doing this right?”
She took a beat to stare at the long, sharp claws, the webbed fingers before taking his hand in a shake. “Bernadetta.” He was surprisingly warm, which made her think— “Were you cuddling with me?”
His entire face and neck flushed red with blotchy patches forming on his chest. He dropped his hand, bringing it in a fist to his chest. “N-no. I was keeping you warm, it’s freezing out, and I couldn’t really take you anywhere or get help.”
She giggled nervously, “Thank you. You probably saved my life, even though it is your fault I fainted in the first place.” She stood, finally able to feel her legs again, and brushed off her skirt. She looked him over, from his scale tipped ears to his tail glittering in the sunlight. “Wow, you really are a merperson,” she said.
“Merman. And you’re really a human!” he replied, “I didn’t think I would actually get to talk with you when I saw you here!”
She blushed, “How long were you watching?”
He didn’t answer, averting his eyes to the sand, curling his fingers in it. The flush from earlier hadn’t yet settled, but it didn’t matter; he would have probably blushed anew.
“Ashe, that’s creepy,” she said as she dropped to a crouch. “Are all merpeople so creepy?” She had meant to tease him, but his expression dropped into a sad smile.
“No, I think I’m the only creepy one who’s interested in surface life. In my home, at least,” he answered, “Though my adoptive father is supportive, and my younger siblings are curious.”
“Oh? Why? Are you interested, I mean.”
This brought a smile back to his face. “My older brother used to come to the surface a lot! And he’d come home and tell us all the stories. My younger siblings liked them enough, but I took them to heart, it all sounded so exciting! I wanted to see it for myself. I want to be like he was.” The smile faltered once again.
Bernie didn’t miss the past tense, didn’t miss the whiplash of his emotions. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and now, that sad smile became something just shy of bitter.
“He just didn’t come home one day. The leader of our village had warned us all about the surface, that we are taken and killed up here. Something about our blood, or maybe our scales? I don’t know.”
Bernie shivered with memory, with the mention of the mer-blood. The memory of what her magic used to be.
(She wondered if she were somehow connected.)
Not now, she told herself, that was far in the past.
Focus, Bernie. Ashe was still talking.
“Christophe didn’t care, and well. Now he’s just a warning—” Ashe cut himself off suddenly. “I’m sorry, we literally just met and I’m dumping all of this on you. That’s enough of that.”
Bernie took the cue to change the subject. “So, you can come on land?”
“Oh, well, it’s kind of secret. Our disguises are usually pretty foolproof.”
“How do you hide the tail?” Unless— “Do merpeople swim through the sewers?”
“The what? No, we can transform, you know, legs and all, with practice.”
“What.”
“What?”
“That’s so cool!” she exclaimed, “Can you show me?” It might be something she could use in this damn draft!
Oh, drat. His face fell again before he plastered a fake looking smile over it. “Christophe was teaching me. I haven’t really practiced lately. And it’s even more frowned upon now than it was before. I’m not outright forbidden, my father still supports me, but I don’t want to cause trouble.”
That resonated with Bernie as she thought back to her own father.
She thought back to his magic training, back when she was being taught a different kind of magic.
She shook her head, patting her cheek to get rid of those memories. Bad Bernie, no good Bernie, we’re moving on from that.
“I mean…what if you keep practicing, and come talk to me?”
He hummed, crossing his arms, “Why can’t we just keep talking like this?”
“Because…Because…from now on, I’m going to stand farther and farther from the shore! And eventually I’m going to stand so far back that you’ll have to walk to me!”
Ashe watched her with eyes growing wider and wider until the sun broke through and his smile flashed brilliantly. “Okay, but what if I just shout across the beach?”
“Then I will faint, Ashe, and you’ll have to keep me warm again,” she said, poking at the scales on his cheek with each word. “You’re…really not going to eat me though, right? Like you’re not even tempted?”
He grabbed her hand where she was tracing the scales, gripping it tightly, making her squeak. “One, I will always keep you warm when you faint,” he said, the redness dusting his cheeks again, “Two, no, I’m not going to eat you.”
A moment passed.
“Three?”
“Three, I’m not tempted—” he said in a low voice, cutting his eyes. She wrenched her hand from his again. “No, Bernie, I’m joking again I swear!”
Bernie shot upright, began striding away. “Nope, don’t believe you.” She said, spinning with a mischievous grin. “I’ll see you in…three days? Also, I’m going to start back farther away now. Just in case you’re not joking. Bye for now!”
She turned, not waiting for him to answer, but she thought she could feel his eyes on her.
Whatever that meant.
---
This was how their meetings began, stretching out over the course of a few moons. Every three days shifted to every two, slowly becoming every day. She found her writing came more easily with the set break every day, and Ashe was slowly becoming a kind of…inspiration. Seeing him filled her with a gentle warmth. She looked forward to leaving her room just to see him.
He was dedicated, that was for sure—it only took four meetings before he was able to change to legs, at least for a short while.
(And after the first time, and Bernie embarrassing herself, she learned to bring him clothes. She stocked up at the thrift store, bringing him something new almost each day. He was slowly becoming a doll to dress up and she loved it, even if she wouldn’t admit it, and somehow, even though he had never left this beach, pieces of him, his life, were amassing in Bernie’s apartment.)
(It felt good to see his things there.)
And, true to her word, she moved back slowly, little by little each day as he clumsily learned to balance on legs. She did take pity on him when he eventually stumbled and fell to the sand, going out to meet him so they could exchange stories, anecdotes. Her writing eventually came up.
“And it was the swordsman all along?” he asked as she told him her latest story.
She nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! You know, you’re good for bouncing ideas. Do you read a lot?”
“Oh, no. In fact, I can’t read at all. I grew up on being told stories. I love hearing yours.”
Bernie sputtered for a moment as she hid her face. “No, you don’t. They’re terrible. Besides, you don’t even get the whole experience like this… I could bring one for you!”
“I can’t read,” he repeated, “But, if you could teach me…”
From there, their meetings became classes. Ashe was incredible, Bernie thought, soaking it up like a sponge. A sea sponge.
With every letter he learned, every combination of sounds, every word he recognized in written form was followed by another step taken forward on the beach as they moved farther away from the shore in the slowest game of chase Bernie had ever played in her life.
(Not that she ever had friends to play with when she was younger.)
And every step forward was a step deeper into her heart, where, as they came to know each other more, Ashe dove deeper and deeper, entrenching himself in the coves.
Oh, Bernie. Bernie, Bernie, Bernie.
She had gotten a crush on a merman.
Bernie had really done it now. She wasn’t sure if she could feel like she had before, the last time she had feelings for someone.
But these feelings felt too good to pass up and ignore.
She cradled them close to her and decided.
---
The winter moons slowly faded into the spring, dancing through it on flower petals as the weather heated up on its upward slope the summer. The smell of sun and warmth and returning life twisted in the air.
Bernie gulped as she waited, seated on a rock so far away from the shore sand had become soft, green grass. It was growing warm enough for her to start wearing dresses again, today’s being grey plaid with tan sandals. She thought it looked good with her grey eyes. She smoothed the wrinkles in her skirt out of nerves. She hoped her make-up hadn’t run.
Ashe appeared from the water and completed the easiest change he had made yet. He looked around, trying to find Bernie as he dressed. She was right – the lavender collared shirt and forest green cardigan really suited him. She was beginning to pride herself on how handsome she could make Ashe look, though he did that plenty on his own.
When he spotted her, his sunbeam smile was so bright she could see it from where she waited. After the moons of practice, it became near effortless for him to walk up the beach, almost to her—
“Stop!” she yelled as he toed the line between sand and soft grass, Ashe froze, the easy joy sliding off his face. “I need to say something before you come any closer.” So that when he hated it, and hated her in turn, it wouldn’t hurt as much when he turned to leave. She wouldn’t feel the loss of his warmth so suddenly if he was already a distance away from her.
“O-okay?”
She breathed in, let it out. The tension in her shoulders didn’t abate, and her heart was pounding hard enough that it might have left her chest. With every beat, her head spun, and she was having trouble focusing.
Get it out, Bernie.
“You’re really not as scary as I thought you were at first.”
Ashe’s eyes widened as he took a tentative step forward, only leaning his full weight on it when Bernie didn’t reprimand him. She was powerless, it seemed, to be away from him, and he seemed to be equally drawn to her, his eyes laser focused on her. “I’m sorry I frightened you.”
She twisted her fingers into her shirt. “It’s okay. You don’t anymore. In fact, I look forward to seeing you.”
Another step. “Yeah? Me, too. Nothing is better than when I can come and see and talk with you.”
She swallowed the urge to stop him when he took another step. It’s Ashe, it’s only Ashe, and the closer he got to her, the better.
She stood so that she could meet him equally, looking him down, trying to wipe the fear off her face so that he didn’t misinterpret it. “At some point, my fear became friendship, and that friendship became trust. I really trust you, Ashe.” She finally wavered, cutting her eyes to the ground, afraid of what she might have seen.
His voice was nearly to her now. “I’m glad, Bernie. I trust you, too.” Something she was happy to hear, after the stories Ashe had told her of his village and their distrust of surface life. She hadn’t earned it. She wouldn’t ever betray it.
“I’ve been thinking about something, if you think you could stand it.” She smiled to the ground. “Pun intended.”
She wasn’t looking at him, but she could imagine the roll of his eyes. “I’ve been thinking that it would be nice to show you more of the surface. Like the city, and parks, and forests, and… my apartment. My room. You could see my books and where I live and… I don’t know. Experience human life. With me. With me.” She was breathless by the time she finished, her nerves prickling at her skin. Her head was roaring, she had made a mistake, hadn’t she? This was a terrible idea, what was she thinking, he would never care for her in the same way.
His bare feet came into her vision, and she looked up slowly, inch by inch, her vision dragging through the mud as she reluctantly brought her head up to meet his disappointed, pitying stare.
How wrong she was.
If she thought his smile was radiant before, then the one he showed now must have been all the stars in the galaxy pressed together in one luminous glow, blinding and beautiful. She almost wished she had a journal so she could write down the words for it, a camera so she could remember it for her enchantments.
Or, maybe it was better this way, so that this smile would be for her and her alone.
“I’d like that. I’d like to go with you to all those places. I’d like to see what you see every day, I’d like to read the books you’ve made, see where you work your magic.” He paused. “I’d like to… I want to be with you, if that’s okay.”
Bernadetta couldn’t stop the huff that escaped her lips. “I’m the one asking you that!” she exclaims. “Or…was I not clear? I’m sorry, I’m messing this up, aren’t I?”
“You’re not, you’re not, Bernadetta. You’re wonderful. I’m just as nervous. I…I want to kiss you. If that’s okay—”
He was cut off as Bernie lifted to her toes, one hand on his chest, the other gently cupping his cheek. She stopped a scant few inches from his lips, close enough to feel his breath, to feel her lips brush his when she whispered a breath of a word.
“Yes.”
His lips were so gentle, she barely felt them, unsure, like he was still asking if it’s okay. His hands settled on her hips, steadying her and holding her up. Her knees shook so hard, she thought she might have fallen to the ground without his support.
They broke away after that brief touch, but… she felt something from it. Not strong, not yet. The potential was there.
And judging by his glistening eyes, it seemed he felt something as well. “Okay?”
“Okay,” she replied, thinking. Would now be a good time to say it? Was it too early? But he was waiting for her to say more, say something, biting his lower lip. “Can we sit? I want to tell you something important.”
After the first time her heart had been broken, she stopped to think, to consider her feelings. She had felt terrible, but it had given her a chance to really think about and understand herself.
So, with her hand in his, she explained how she was demisexual. How she liked him, she really, truly did, but she may or may not ever want a more physical relationship. She explained how her attraction and desire was focused on trust, on an emotional bond, and while she was sure she felt romantic attraction for him, she wasn’t sure how deep her physical attraction would go. If he wanted more, she might not be worth his time—
“Nope, stop,” he said, cutting her off. “You’re worth so much more than my time, Bernie.”
“Rude,” she huffed, even around her shy grin. He gripped her hand tighter, lacing their fingers together more closely.
“Don’t talk about yourself like that, like who you are is something to be ashamed of. I love you for you, and—”
A beat passed.
“L-love?”
“Ah.”
---
Only a few weeks after that found Ashe saying tearful, painful goodbyes to his family, giving and receiving well-wishes from the home he had grown up in. An agreement to visit every few moons, a promise from his siblings to practice and visit him someday, on the surface.
Bernie was still afraid, afraid that they were moving too fast, that Ashe would change his mind about moving in with her, but on that first night, when they did nothing but cuddle together on her couch, trading soft words and softer kisses, she was so sure.
She was sure about the warmth in her chest that dripped down to her belly when Ashe looked at her with that look.
It was a look she had only seen directed at her once, before. It was only a feeling she had reciprocated once, before.
Ashe brought those feelings to the surface again, and this time, when his mouth moved to hers, she didn’t dare stop it, didn’t dare slow it down.
He tasted like the sea, and she wanted to drown in him.
---
For over a year and a half, they lived together, just the two of them.
(Ashe, to her surprise, found assistant work with Sylvain, of all people, after an interview which took place over dinner in their home:
“Can you read?”
“Yes! I learned two months ago!”
“You’re hired.”)
Their relationship was easy, relaxed, with no tension, no pressure. Something Bernadetta desperately needed.
That changed one summer day when Yuri blew into their lives, a tornado swathed in soft breezes.
_______________________________
Bernie stares at her book. Her book, had it a pair of eyes, would be staring back, and they would be in a staring contest that Bernie would be losing because this book is far more powerful than she is. But she is halfway through it; the end is nigh, book.
The weather today is nice and warm, and they have their windows open to let the breeze into their apartment, strong enough to push their red curtains in and out, rustling along the floor. The smell of sun soaks into their walls, their carpet, and Bernie loves it.
They are curled up on their living room couch again, each relegated to their place: Ashe, curled up in one corner, glasses low on his nose as he flips through his newly replaced paperback. Bernie, in the center, the book wide open in front of her, where she can see it, and it can see her. And Yuri in in his own corner, sitting closer to Bernie than Ashe is but still not quite touching. He’s leaning over her shoulder, checking out her work, and Bernie can feel the tension building in her shoulders. Sometimes Yuri can be far too curious for his own good, far too curious to be anything but annoying.
He doesn’t say a word as his eyes flick between her and the book, but his thoughts are so loud and palpable that she’s afraid they will smudge the ink. He’s thinking of something. And when Yuri thinks of something so hard, it usually isn’t great.
If he’s holding back, today’s something will probably end up causing a fight. He’s good for holding his tongue when he thinks it’s a problem he can solve on his own (common). Though, sometimes, he’ll swallow that pride of his and actually speak to Bernie and Ashe (rare).
It’s a problem they need to work on.
(Aren’t I also a problem you need to work on? the book taunts Bernie.)
She loves Yuri. She really, really does. Their history is far too deep for her to not hold affection for him. But man, if he does not drive her bonkers sometimes.
And has he ever been making her nuts the past couple of weeks. Bernie is busy, busy trying to finish this book.
(She can’t even look at Sylvain when they pass in the hallway, not matter how friendly of a front he puts on over his clear irritation and disappointment in her. She suspects that he’s complaining to Dedue about her, too, because the way Dedue says ‘hello’ to her just screams ‘I’m disappointed in you.’)
(She bought Dedue a pitcher plant as an apology. Ashe, upon delivering it during one of his cooking nights with Dedue, reported that Dedue was grateful, but confused. Of course Bernie would make it worse.)
Between her book, only half-finished, and the pressure from Sylvain—
(If he asks, ‘how’s it going?’ one more time she might explode.)
Well, she is wound up, clock ticking down, a veritable Bernie-bomb ready to explode, to destroy everything around her—
“So, how’s it going?” Yuri asks.
Bernie bites down a scream.
So many possible replies bubble to the surface at once, and she finds her mouth opening and closing like a fish. Anger? Laughter? Does she curl deep into the couch, meld into the cushions, become part-couch, part-human, a sofa-monster unleashed upon the unsuspecting world—
“Bernie-bear, I think you need a break,” Yuri says softly, reaching out and taking her hand.
She wrenches it from him with a huff. He recoils back, face flickering, shock and sadness flipping back into practiced neutrality in an instant, but she absolutely cannot be interrupted right now, not when she’s so close. She can’t give into the temptation.
“I’m fine, Yuri,” she says, her tone sharper and snappier than she had intended. Yuri lifts a brow.
“That doesn’t sound fine, love. Seriously, I think it’s time for you to put down the pen. Let’s go on a walk,” he says as he stands and reaches for her again.
She isn’t sure why she does it, what specifically is grating against her right now. Maybe it’s Yuri’s patronizing tone, or maybe it’s that he just doesn’t get it, that she needs silence and focus right now. A break does sound like a good idea, and she knows it, but the fact that Yuri is pushing it makes her not want to take it.
“I said I’m fine!” she shouts this time, the yell punctuated by a loud pop as she slaps his hand away.
She and Yuri stare at each other in shock for a moment. She immediately wants to apologize, but at the same time, Yuri is to blame as well. So she says nothing, answered equally by Yuri’s silence. Ashe is the one who shifts, putting his book down on the table and breaking the silence.
“Guys,” he says, his voice cautious like he’s speaking to the feral cats he likes to feed around their neighborhood, “Let’s just calm down—”
That gets him two steely glares, warning him to back off. He doesn’t because he is Ashe, and it is like he must drown the world in positivity. “We’re all tense here, so Yuri, maybe leave her alone for now, and Bernie, don’t slap our partner and try to take a break soon, hm?” He smiles softly at them, bats his eyelashes, which is how he usually gets his way.
Whatever he intended to happen here, though, does not happen. Instead, he gets two simultaneous shouts of “Stay out of it!”
“Right, right, okay, I’ll just…” he trails off, curling back into the couch, arms wrapped around a cushion as he watches with wide eyes.
“Bernadetta, you need to take a break,” Yuri starts again. He can’t see what Bernie sees: too much work, left undone and messy, disapproving eyes on her always. Always. Her father would laugh at her if he saw her like this. He would revel in her failure. “You’re going to burn out.”
“You don’t know what I need, Yuri! I’m beginning to think you don’t know me at all!” If he did, he would know to leave her alone right now.
His eyes harden, his irritation simmers, but he doesn’t let it boil over. “Bernie, I know you, I promise. And I know you’re tired and—”
She won’t let him finish that patronizing thought. “I still have work to do, Yuri. You don’t get it, neither of you do! Your work doesn’t define you, isn’t all that’s good about you!” Not fair, as Ashe has no other options and to be honest, she doesn’t even know exactly what Yuri does.
(Neither she nor Ashe want to know.)
But still, she bulldozes through. “No one will be disappointed if you make a mistake! I have to keep going or I’m going to let everyone down!”
“You won’t let me or Ashe down—”
“You don’t matter!” she yells, then slaps her hands over her mouth as she realizes what she has said. “I don’t mean it like that, I just mean—”
Yuri lifts a hand, the same one she slapped away, to stop her. “I’ll get out of your way. Sorry for bothering you,” he says, spinning on his heels, grabbing his key and wallet from the kitchen table, hand resting on the door as he slips on is shoes.
“Yuri, where are you going?” Ashe says, weary and tired, as he leaps from the couch, padding softly after him.
“Stay here. I just need to clear my head. I’ll come back soon.”
“Yuri…” Bernadetta whispers, just quiet enough that he barely hears it, a chance for him to answer or ignore it.
He sighs, then hums, discontent. “I have stuff to take care of, anyway. I’ll come back,” he says, opening the door. Stuff to take care of doesn’t mean anything good, making both Ashe and Bernie pause. Ignoring the nature of Yuri’s work is an unspoken rule to maintain the peace in this house. “I love you both.”
The door closes and locks with a resounding click.
Bernie holds back the first sniffle, and stifles the second with a hiccup, but by the third, a tear has rolled down her cheek. Ashe is looking at her, questioning, and she wipes the tear away and swallows the rest.
“I’m going to keep working for a while,” she says, before sitting back down and doing just that. Ashe doesn’t push and picks his book back up. Bernadetta doesn’t hear a single page turn.
---
Bernie has pushed her worries away enough to get back to work. Maybe she can do at least one thing right, though the nagging worry still sits in her gut. At some point Ashe gets up to make some dinner, and Bernie barely notices the lack of his presence, only hears the sounds coming from the kitchen.
Yuri is smart, and strong. He got himself out of trouble, had even saved her before. Yuri is so, so much more than her.
If he leaves, and Ashe goes with him—
Ashe has a sense for when she’s spiraling, she’s noticed. That, or he heard her panicked breathing from the kitchen. He sits silently next to her, shifting closer and closer until she can’t take it and closes the distance herself, flinging herself into his chest. He catches her and their arms wrap around each other. He runs a soothing hand up and down her back, whispering placations and sweet nothings.
“I ruin everything,” Bernie whimpers.
“You absolutely do not, Bernie. Yuri will come back, and we can talk.” He entwines his fingers in her hair, pulls her to the crook of his neck. She doesn’t have an answer for him, and they fall into silence, the only sound the shifting of his fingers along her spine.
Time seems to slips away, the last rays of the late afternoon dipping into total darkness as she’s cradled into Ashe’s warmth. She feels herself calming, slowly, fluttering heartbeats come more and more slowly. She’s almost totally relaxed, drowsy against Ashe’s chest when the lock clicks and the doorknob rattles.
Ashe twists, still clutching Bernie, and in comes Yuri carrying a white box. He sees them and freezes.
“Yuri?” Ashe asks like it could be anyone but him. Bernie shifts to let Ashe rise, leaving her alone on the couch as he strides to Yuri. His warmth lingers, and she wraps her arms around herself to try and hold it longer.
Yuri puts the box on the table and pulls Ashe close, pushing a hand against the small of Ashe’s back to kiss him deeply. Deep, deeper, his hold on Ashe tightens, and Ashe moves his hands to Yuri’s chest, pushing him back just a little, gasping for breath when they break apart. “You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Yuri replies, his eyes cutting past Ashe to Bernie. She stands as he comes to her.
“I’m sorry,” he says immediately. “I was pushy.”
“Me, too. Sorry. Seiros, I’m sorry I slapped you,” says Bernadetta. “I was snappy. You were right, I needed to take a break.”
He brightly smiles at that, making her want to snatch back the words before he can be smug about it. But instead, he says, “No, you told me to back off, and I didn’t listen. Your work is important. But, you’re more important, Bernie. Just… don’t hurt yourself over this. Look, I brought cake as a peace offering. Should we cut it now?”
She sighs, feeling the tension drain out of her as she takes a step closer to him. She isn’t disappointed when he opens his arms for her to fall into. He smells like lavender, his body wash of choice, and the sea, oddly enough. Bernie buries her face into his shirt to take in as much as she can.
She feels more than sees Ashe wrap himself over Yuri’s back, feeling the shift in weight, can hear Ashe whispering in Yuri’s ear. Don’t leave like that again.
Bernie feels a small pit of guilt open inside her.
Yuri ruffles her hair and deftly slips out of his partners’ holds, heading to the kitchen. “I’ll finish dinner, Ashe… unless you meant to leave half the potatoes unsliced and the chicken raw.”
“I did, Yuri. I did mean to do that,” Ashe huffs. “Sit down, you’ve been gone all day—”
“Nope, I’ve caused enough trouble,” he says with a wink as he sets a pan to warm on the stovetop. “You two have cake and relax.”
“Cake before dinner?” Ashe asks.
“Put away the older brother instincts for a moment, love,” quips Yuri.
Bernie shrugs. “We’re adults, and I recognize that box— he got the good stuff. Is it the strawberry? It’s the strawberry, isn’t it?”
“You’ll have to open and see,” he says with a barely concealed grin. It’s the strawberry, then.
She bumps Yuri with her hip as she sweeps past him to get plates. He bumps back and shifts away before she can get him again.
“Oh, this isn’t over,” she says, cutting and plating a slice of the soft, moist strawberry shortcake, the fresh sugary smell of it tickling her nose, making sure to get a perfectly red and round strawberry for the top. She then plops herself on the counter next to where Yuri is slicing vegetables. He hums, raising his eyes to her for a peeking glance before returning to his prep.
“You’re not going to smash that in my face while I’m making you food, are you?” he mumbles.
She sticks her tongue out at him, “Of course not! That would be a waste of cake.” She stabs a bite with her fork and raises it to Yuri’s mouth. “Say ‘ah’, sweet Yuri-bear.”
The flush on Yuri’s cheeks is instant and far too conspicuous— he can’t hide this one away no matter how hard he tries.
Ashe laughs from the kitchen table.
“Well played,” says Yuri, “but I’m not as easily flustered as you two.”
“The blush on the back of your neck says otherwise,” Ashe helpfully points out. Yuri flicks him a flat stare before finally taking the bite from Bernie.
“There, horrible punishment dealt,” Yuri deadpans.
Bernadetta readies another bite. “Oh no, my dear, it isn’t.”
---
By the time dinner is ready, cake eaten, and kitchen cleaned, the dark clouds from earlier have almost all but moved past, leaving them floating in cozy domestic bliss. They spend the evening curled up together again to watch a movie in their bedroom on her laptop balanced on Yuri’s lap while she and Ashe lie on his shoulders.
As they lay down to sleep that night, Bernadetta realizes she hasn’t thought about the book in hours.
The guilt punches her in the stomach.
And with that realization, another worry seeps its way through her subconscious, reminding her of something she felt, but didn’t notice.
Yuri, usually free and lax with his affection, hasn’t kissed her all day. His kisses are deep, consuming, make her toes curl in just the right way. Of course, she wasn’t vying for kisses, but she looks forward to the intimacy, the closeness.
And then, as she thinks, one more crushing worry adds itself to the top of the pile: she isn’t craving it, not his sensual affections. The attraction that simmered on low was there for Ashe, but if she reaches for Yuri’s, only a flickering spark remains.
She swallows a shaking breath, a stifled sob, and tries not to think about it. This is normal for her, right? It doesn’t mean anything.
(Yet.)
It’s hard to separate the three worries that have come together in one twisted knot. She’s letting Ashe and Yuri down. She’s going to hurt them.
She lies awake for hours, wracked with her thoughts.
__________________________________