Lines That Blur, Part 1

VP and BP Standings
Erin - 63 VP - 2300 BP - 1 Achiev
Claire - 52 VP - 6200 BP - 2 Achievs
Marissa - 52 VP - 2300 BP - 1 Achiev
Emi - 36 VP - 4750 BP - 1 Achiev
Norah - 28 VP - 2550 BP - 1 Achiev
Sam - 18 VP - 3050 BP - 1 Achiev
Dawn - 11 VP - 3000 BP
Liesa - 10 VP - 3500 BP
Chloe - 4 VP - 3475 BP

Andy watched Norah go, the elevator door’s whoosh fading into the sound of distant waves and the low, relentless hum of the Suite’s HVAC. For a moment, he lingered in the entryway, letting the morning air drift in before the door swung shut on its own, slicing him off from the world outside. The night had not been what he had expected from her, but he felt awed, and honored, that she had let drop her defenses enough to be **** around him. He thought that, for the first time, he had seen who Norah truly was, beneath the "power career woman" mask she had grown used to wearing.

He took his coffee out to the observatory deck, a habit from his old life, the one with real apartments and mornings unmeasured by strange rules or transformations. The sun was already on the climb, throwing a neon corona over the manicured lawns and making the sea beyond shimmer so hard it looked fake. Even from here, the Inner Gardens drew the eye: paths of crushed gravel twisting through hedges of glossy, dark leaves, then vanishing behind a screen of ornamental grass. He could see two tiny figures through a gap in the canopy, moving slowly, and he could swear one of those two tiny figures had six arms.

He drank in the quiet, finished the mug, and decided he wasn’t about to let the day get away from him. Not today.

Andy pulled on sneakers, checked the bracelet on his wrist, and set off toward the gardens. But before that, a nagging thought led him to the Commissary. The round was almost over, but he would not miss the opportunity window to upgrade one of his Gifts.

The screen showed him the possible upgrades, and he considered briefly upgrading Console to receive more cheat codes. But thinking about it, he realized there was one Gift that was dangerous enough it needed to be upgraded as quickly as possible.

• Command (Gift): The Master’s voice must be obeyed. When Andy gives a command, the harem member to whom it is directed must obey. [UPGRADE] The Master must put intent behind his Command: casual sentences will no longer trigger the Gift.

Satisfied, he left the Commissary.

The paths in the Inner Gardens changed with the sun. Morning light made the winding gravel look sharper, each leaf-shadow crisp against the raked pebbles. By noon, the heat thickened the air until even the hibiscus seemed to sweat. Andy walked the main path, hands in pockets, letting the strange comfort of routine settle over him. Out here, he could almost pretend he was back in New York, heading through the Botanical Garden, looking for somewhere to lose an hour.

Instead, the first thing he found was Dawn.

She was halfway down a side trail, standing barefoot on a stone slab, arms overhead in a pose he half-remembered from college rec center yoga. She wasn’t alone. Emi was beside her, cat-crouched on a mat, all six arms flowing in perfect sequence. The sight made Andy stop mid-step, not wanting to interrupt. He leaned against a low garden wall and watched.

Dawn’s eyes were closed, her hair tied back and tamed. She moved with a steady, unhurried confidence, guiding Emi through a sequence that looked like it should’ve been impossible for anyone with fewer than eight limbs. Emi’s motion, settled into the rhythm, was almost hypnotic. Andy found himself mirroring their breathing without realizing it.

Dawn counted softly as they shifted poses: “Down, stretch, up—good. Hold. Now reach…” Her voice was like a metronome, gentle and constant. Emi’s response was mostly giggles—when she flopped out of a pose, she covered her mouth with two hands, using a third to steady herself on the mat. The fourth pointed at Dawn in mock accusation: “You said you’d go slow this time!”

Dawn just smiled. “If you can do the whole set with six, imagine how easy it’ll be in the real world,” she said, not missing a beat.

Emi pouted, then broke into a laugh. “When I go home, I’ll have to buy an entire new wardrobe. And a much bigger bed.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Dawn said, then added, “We'll all be with you, won't we? I got used to seeing you in the morning, too. It’s nice having someone else who’s up before breakfast.”

Andy waited until the end of the next set before approaching, not wanting to spook them. He cleared his throat. “Mind if I join?” he asked.

Dawn startled, then grinned wide. Emi made an embarrassed little yelp and covered her face with four hands, waving the remaining pair in greeting.

“You watched the whole thing, didn’t you?” Emi said, mock-accusing.

“Guilty,” Andy replied, raising both hands. “You two are way more coordinated than I’ll ever be.”

Dawn rolled her eyes. “If you want to try, I can teach you. Or we could just walk. Emi’s been showing me the best spots for birdwatching.”

“I’m not much of a birder,” Andy said, “but I’m up for a walk.”

Emi and Dawn packed up the mats—Emi handling both at once, a little flourish of her new abilities—and together they headed down one of the less-traveled paths, the one that wound around the ornamental pond. The world narrowed to the soft crunch of gravel, the chirr of bugs in the underbrush, and the occasional burst of song from the treetops. It was a nice silence, not the kind that needed filling.

Andy was the one to break it, eventually. “I feel like I’ve been neglecting you both again,” he said, keeping his eyes forward. “With everything going on… I guess I got caught up in my own head.”

Dawn shrugged, easy. “We noticed. But we figured you needed time. That’s why we let you do your thing.”

Emi nodded. “We talk about it sometimes. Not in a bad way,” she added quickly. “Just, like, wondering if you’re okay.”

Andy smiled, grateful and a little sheepish. “Thanks. I am, mostly. Just trying to keep up.”

Dawn stopped, turned to face him. “You don’t have to do it alone, you know. We’re all here for the same reason.”

Emi chimed in, “Yeah. It’s kind of nice, knowing everyone’s a little weird here.”

The words surprised Andy. He looked at them, really looked: Dawn’s wide, steady gaze, Emi’s soft smile, the way her extra arms hung relaxed at her sides now, no longer self-conscious. He realized how much he’d missed just… being around them. “I was hoping,” Andy said, “that you’d let me make it up to you. Maybe spend the day together, do something fun?”

Dawn’s smile widened. “Before Sam’s game, you mean? I’d love to. Can we ask Liesa to join? She’s been wanting to take us on an island hike for days.”

Andy nodded. “The more the merrier. Let’s go find her.”

They found Liesa exactly where Dawn predicted: stretched out under a cluster of banana trees, sketchbook balanced on her knees, one sneakered foot dangling in the air. She’d gone casual for the morning—shorts, a blue racerback tank, hair pulled up in a twist that seemed effortless but probably took twenty minutes and seventeen bobby pins. When she saw the three of them approach, she looked up, blinking as if waking from a much deeper dream.

Dawn waved first, Emi second (with three separate hands), and Andy just offered a sheepish smile.

“Hallo!” Liesa called, accent thick as fresh cream. She closed her sketchbook, gave Andy a quick up-and-down, and said, “You look like you have not slept in a month, schat.”

“Is that a Belgian thing or a medical assessment?” Andy replied.

She grinned, all teeth. “Maybe both. But you have good color, so you will live.”

Andy let the banter ride for a moment before he sat next to her, crossing his legs on the warm stones. He caught her looking at him, a subtle but searching look, and realized he’d never really apologized to her for getting so wrapped up in other drama that he’d barely seen her outside group meals.

“Hey,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I’m sorry for flaking on you. And for the last few days—”

She cut him off with a flick of her hand. “Andy, is nothing. Truly.” She leaned in, conspiratorial. “I have had many worse. My ex in Belgium once forgot my birthday and then tried to say it was because of the time zone difference.” She rolled her eyes, then looked at him again. “You are good man, I know this. So, we start again. Yes?”

He nodded, surprised at the relief he felt. “Yes. If you’re sure.”

“Am sure.” She knocked her knee gently into his. “Besides, I like seeing you suffer. Makes me feel tall.” Emi giggled. Dawn just smiled, content to let Liesa’s warmth fill the gap.

Once the group was assembled, Dawn took point, proposing the “hike-and-picnic” plan. “We could do the waterfall route,” she suggested. “Or the long trail that goes to the ridge overlook—Sam said the views are insane.”

Liesa perked up. “Oh, that is the one with the tiny lizards! And the stone steps. Sam and I found it yesterday, but I want to go back with company.”

Andy pretended to weigh the options, but the choice was already made—Liesa’s enthusiasm was infectious. He looked at Emi, who just nodded, her six arms folded in pairs across her front.

“Unanimous,” Andy said. “Ridge overlook it is.”

Dawn offered Emi her hand, and the two led off together, Emi narrating every bird she saw while Liesa fell into step beside Andy. The path was shaded, the air thick with the smells of green and the slow-cooked sweetness of ripening fruit. Andy felt his body loosen with each step, the weight of the last few days falling away in increments.

Liesa let him set the pace, which was her way of being kind without making a fuss about it. She pointed out interesting flowers, spiky seedpods, a line of ants hauling some dead insect up the side of a tree. Occasionally she’d sketch something mid-walk, her hands moving so fast the pencil was a blur.

It was easy, companionable. Andy realized he’d missed this version of himself—the one who just listened, who let the world happen without needing to control the outcome.

Behind them, Dawn and Emi walked in sync, Emi’s arms gesturing wildly as she explained the differences between “real” and “mythical” birds. “See, that one is a sunbird,” she said, pointing to a flash of blue. “If it were magical, it would be about twice as big and probably lay eggs made of pure gold. But the real ones are better, I think. They’re less likely to explode.”

“Wouldn’t the egg get too heavy for the bird?” Dawn asked, deadpan.

Emi blinked, then said, “I guess that’s why nobody’s ever seen a golden egg.”

They all laughed, even Liesa, who rarely did unless something was truly funny.

At the halfway point, the trail hit a steep incline. Dawn led the charge, Emi close behind, her arms swinging for balance. Liesa let Andy go first, then followed, feet finding every foothold like she’d done it a hundred times before.

At the top, the world opened up: the resort, the white curve of the beach, the thick green belt of jungle. The sea beyond was so blue it hurt to look at.

Liesa set her bag down and pulled out a thermos and four tiny paper cups. “We celebrate, yes?” she said, pouring a little for each of them. “Is just cold coffee, but I pretend it is champagne.”

Dawn took her cup, clinked it against the others. “To new traditions,” she said.

“To magical birds,” Emi said, with a little salute.

Liesa raised hers. “To the overlook,” she said, but then looked at Andy and added, “And to the people who climb it.”

Andy lifted his cup, feeling the knot in his chest loosen another notch. “To the people who make it worth climbing,” he said, surprising himself with the sentiment.

They drank, the bitter coffee cutting the sweetness of the air.

For a long while, nobody spoke. The wind moved through the leaves, a few insects sang out, and Emi tried (and failed) to whistle the theme from “Jurassic Park.” Liesa sketched the view, tongue between her teeth in concentration. Dawn picked a wildflower and tucked it behind Emi’s ear, which made Emi blush and giggle.

When they packed up to leave, Andy held back for a second, taking it all in. Liesa, seeing him linger, said, “You do not have to rush, you know. Sometimes is good to just… be here.”

He nodded. “Thanks for reminding me.”

She bumped his shoulder. “You remind me, too. Every day is new. Even when it feels like a repeat.”

They descended together, Emi and Dawn leading the way, Liesa and Andy following. The path was the same as before, but somehow it felt different. Maybe it was the company, or maybe just the promise of something better at the end.

By the time they reached the bottom, Andy felt almost light. The world hadn’t changed, but he had.

He glanced at Liesa, who just grinned and said, “You owe me a drawing lesson next time.”

“I’ll bring the pencils,” he promised.

The four of them walked back toward the hotel, arms sometimes brushing, sometimes linked, but always moving forward.

The path home wove through a patchwork of palms, ferns, and glossy-leafed trees that arched so high they made even the tallest among them feel miniature. The hike was easier going down, but Liesa hung back, pace slowed to a careful shuffle. At first Andy thought maybe she was tired, but then he heard the rhythm of her breathing—steady, almost meditative. She didn’t complain, but she also didn’t fill the air with her usual running monologue of jokes and half-remembered trivia. She just… walked, hands in her pockets, eyes sometimes on the ground, sometimes scanning the treetops for birds.

With each step beneath the arching green canopy, Andy could feel the weight of the moment growing on Liesa’s shoulders. It wasn’t just the way her steps fell a half-beat behind his, or how her gaze drifted not to the horizon but to the shifting patterns her sneaker traced in the soft loam. There was something distinctly inward about her silence—a kind of quiet that Andy recognized from his own worst days, when words became too sharp to touch.

They slipped further behind Dawn and Emi, who by now had devolved into a full-volume debate about whether toucans were “real birds” or “the liars of the bird world.” Dawn, ever the practical skeptic, argued that the beaks were “stupidly big, like a cartoon character,” while Emi countered that evolution was full of surprises, and anyway, the beaks were hollow and lightweight, which was “objectively clever, not silly.”

Andy let their voices fade, content to watch Liesa from the corner of his eye. She was always in motion, even standing still—twisting a strand of hair, brushing a thumb over her knuckles, shifting her weight from foot to foot. But today, it was a different energy: less kinetic, more contained.

He cleared his throat, quietly, so as not to startle her. “You’re quiet today,” he said, keeping his tone gentle.

Liesa looked up, a split second of surprise giving way to a rueful smile. “Is unusual, yes?” She cocked her head. “I think maybe I have said enough for two lifetimes already.”

Andy shook his head, slowing his pace so they were walking shoulder-to-shoulder. “I don’t mind. I just wondered if you were okay.”

She considered the question with more gravity than he expected. “I am not sad, if that’s what you think,” she said. “Today is… good. I like this. I like you. I just…” She trailed off, searching for the word. “Sometimes it is hard to explain what is in my head, even to myself.”

Andy nodded, feeling a pang of recognition. “Yeah. I get that.”

They walked in companionable silence for a few more paces. The path narrowed, forcing them closer together. Liesa’s hand brushed against his, just a whisper of contact, but it was enough to make Andy’s chest tighten.

There was a time when he would have overthought it, retreated into his own head and waited for someone else to make the first move. But the last few weeks had changed him, made him braver in small, incremental ways.

He reached out, taking her hand. It was warm, slightly callused from hours of sketching and climbing, and it curled around his with surprising strength.

“Liesa,” he said, voice low. He stopped walking, letting the others pull ahead until even their laughter was just a suggestion in the air.

She paused, looking down at their joined hands, then up at him. “Yes?”

He waited until he was certain they were alone—no birds, no insects, not even the wind to intrude. There was a time when he would have asked, but his instinct told him not to, this time. He drew her in, at first tentative, the press of their lips as gentle as the hush of the jungle. Then, as if a dam had broken, the kiss deepened, became hungry. Liesa pressed herself to him, arms winding around his neck. Andy’s hands found the small of her back, then the curve of her hip, and she trembled in his grasp—whether from nerves or excitement, he couldn’t tell. When he broke away, breathless, she bit her lip and leaned her forehead against his. “Thank you,” she whispered, the words a flutter of air between them. “I was hoping you would do that.”

He could hear the desire in her voice, and it sparked something within him. Andy pulled her off the path, behind a screen of wild ferns and red torch lilies. The ground was soft here, blanketed with moss, and the air shimmered with the gold-green light of late morning.

He pushed her gently against a tree, and saw her face flushed with something between mischief and longing. “If you want me to stop, you should say so now,” he said, voice half-serious.

Liesa giggled. “Not a chance.”

He closed the space between them, kissing her first on the mouth, then along her jaw, then down her neck. His hands were everywhere—shoulders, chest, waist, moving with the confident urgency of someone who knew exactly what he wanted and had spent years missing it.

She matched his intensity, tracing the line of his spine through the thin fabric of his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin and the contour of his muscles. His hands slid beneath the hem of her shirt, fingers splaying over her ribs. She gasped, biting his lip in response, and Andy felt himself harden in an instant.

There was nothing tentative now. The world had telescoped to the patch of jungle they occupied, the dance of their bodies, the pulse of need that had been building.

Liesa hooked her fingers in the waistband of his shorts, pulling him closer. “You are sure?” she asked, one last time, eyes searching his. As if she didn’t believe he could want her.

He nodded, unable to form words.

In a blur, his hands were on her, sliding up her thighs, finding the edge of her underwear and tugging it aside. His hands groped her ass, and she moaned, the sound muffled by his mouth. He pressed a finger inside her, slow, testing, and she bucked against him in a way that made his knees weak.

She was wet—soaked, even—and the knowledge sent a jolt of electricity through him. He moved his hand in slow, deliberate circles, learning the architecture of her pleasure.

Liesa clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders, breath coming in ragged gasps. “Do not stop,” she hissed, the words almost a plea.

He didn’t. He added another finger, curling them just so, and she came apart in his arms, body shaking with the **** of it. When her climax subsided, she held onto him, breathing hard, eyes closed.

Andy kissed her temple, then her cheek, then her lips. She tasted of sweat and salt and something wild.

When she could finally speak, Liesa said, “I have waited so long for someone to do that and mean it.”

He smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I meant it.”

She laughed, a sound that was both relief and triumph. “Good. Because I will expect it again and more.”

He grinned, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. “Anytime.”

They straightened their clothes, sharing a conspiratorial smile. Liesa was radiant, practically glowing. They walked hand in hand back to the trail, where the voices of their friends were starting to carry back through the trees.

Master touched her boobs! +2 VP

Master brought her to orgasm! +2 VP

Groped by the Master! +2 VP
First! x2

From somewhere up ahead, Dawn called out, “Are you guys coming, or do we send a search party?”

Liesa pressed a finger to Andy’s lips, shushing him, and then called back, “Is safe! We just got lost in the wild!”

Emi’s giggle echoed back, accompanied by the sound of leaves slapping together.

They caught up to the others, and Dawn raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Emi just grinned, four of her hands waving hello at once.

The group made it back to the trailhead, where a little stone bench overlooked the resort’s back gardens. They sat, sweaty and tired, but in the way that made food taste better and water feel like a miracle.

Emi produced a bag of dried fruit from somewhere—she always seemed to have snacks—and passed it around. Andy tore into a strip of pineapple, then offered the bag to Liesa, who accepted with a mock-solemn bow.

The bag of fruit went fast. Dawn ate only the green pieces, “the color of energy,” she claimed, while Emi tried to balance dried papaya on her nose, earning a round of applause when she managed it for three full seconds. Liesa sketched in her book—quick, slashing lines that caught the slope of Andy’s profile, the curl of Emi’s smile, the way Dawn’s wrists flickered like birds as she talked.

When the bag was empty and the sun had edged toward the top of the sky, Dawn stretched and said, “There’s a shortcut to the inner overlook. We can still make it by lunch if we move.”

The path beyond the bench turned from stone to fine crushed coral, snaking up through a series of shallow switchbacks lined with wild hibiscus and canna lilies. At first, they walked together, Andy and Liesa side by side, Emi and Dawn leapfrogging ahead as they hunted for lizards or odd-shaped leaves. The heat wrapped around them, but the ocean breeze kept it comfortable, and in the shade of the big-leafed trees it almost felt like a different season.

At the next bend, Emi spotted a flash of blue in the branches overhead. “Kingfisher!” she yelled, and every head snapped up to follow her finger. Andy squinted. Sure enough, a tiny blue bullet perched on a stick, feathers so neon it looked photoshopped. Liesa was already scribbling its outline in the sketchbook before anyone else could comment.

Dawn wiped her brow with the hem of her t-shirt, smiling at Emi’s excitement. “You ever think about being a park ranger?” she asked.

Emi shook her head. “Too many bears in real parks,” she said, “and I think I’d get distracted and forget to save people. I could draw them warning posters, though.”

They laughed, but Andy noticed Liesa had gone quiet again. He caught her gaze, then looked forward, letting the silence stretch until they hit a patch where the trail widened. Dawn and Emi darted ahead, probably planning to scare the next bird they found, and Andy slowed his pace so he and Liesa were alone.

He waited for her to speak, but she just walked, the sketchbook now closed and tucked under one arm. Her brow was furrowed—not upset, just deep in some inner puzzle.

He said, softly, “You doing okay?”

She glanced up, startled as if caught in a daydream. “Oh, yes. Just—” She waved her hand vaguely. “Is nothing.”

He didn’t believe her, but didn’t press.

They walked a few more paces. Then Liesa stopped, set the sketchbook on a low stone, and faced him. “Is okay if I tell you something a little bit weird?”

“Of course.”

She fidgeted, a rare thing for her. “Since the first week, the transformation makes it so I cannot say if I want… you know. Anything.” She made a face, then tried again. “If I want to be close to you, or even just say something flirty, I cannot. Is like the words turn to dust in my mouth. I can answer, if you start. But I never get to go first.” Her hands worked the air, frustrated. “It is silly. I know it is only a game, and maybe even good for me. But sometimes I feel a little bit invisible.” She smiled. “But earlier, was good.”

Andy listened, guilt blooming in his chest. He realized how easy it was to overlook that Liesa’s breezy warmth was, in part, an armor she wore because the show made it so she couldn’t say what she wanted. And with everything else going on, her need had only occurred to him today. She deserved more.

He took her hands—cold, despite the heat—and squeezed them. “I’m sorry I forgot how hard it was for you. Sometimes I think you’re so easygoing, you don’t need me to check in. But you do. And I want to.”

She looked at their joined hands, then up at him, eyes wide. “You do not need to feel bad. I should have told you. I just thought maybe you would notice by yourself, eventually.”

He winced, but she smiled, softening it. “But I am glad you notice now.”

He kissed her. Just a quick, gentle thing, but she leaned in hungrily, arms going around his neck, and for a moment the rest of the world dissolved into sunlight and the taste of her mouth.

From up the path, Emi’s voice carried: “Hey! Group hug time or we leave you behind!”

Andy broke away, grinning, as Liesa laughed—a pure, delighted sound. Dawn and Emi descended on them, Dawn grabbing Andy in a side hug while Emi enveloped Liesa with all six arms, nearly lifting her off the ground.

“We are a very sticky bunch,” Liesa said, breathless.

Dawn said, “That’s how you know it’s a good day.”

They continued up the trail in a knot, arms around each other’s shoulders, the awkwardness gone. As they did, Andy took Liesa’s hand. “I won’t forget,” he told her quietly. “Especially not tomorrow.”

Her bright smile, for a moment, eclipsed the sun.

The inner overlook sat on a rise above the highest part of the gardens, a wide slab of sun-bleached rock with an iron bench and just enough railing to discourage reckless selfies. The view was ridiculous: every angle of the resort, the spread of the sea, a patchwork of tree canopies teeming with birds and, occasionally, the glint of a pool or the flash of a golf cart far below.

Dawn unpacked a tiny backpack—she’d smuggled a cheese plate, crackers, and a thermos of lemonade from breakfast. Emi produced a handful of origami birds (which she’d made from napkins) and set them in a row on the bench. Andy helped her, prompting a yelp of surprise. “You were never good with origami!” She exclaimed, lower left hand covering her mouth in shock.

Andy grinned. “You taught me the basics, remember? I just kept practicing. Sam kept finding my birds around the apartment, when we were roommates. Used to drive her insane.” Emi giggled and hugged him with her patented six-armed hug that felt inescapable, but in a good way.

They sat, eating and watching the world. Emi tried to feed crackers to the paper birds, giggling when Dawn played along and pretended to chomp them with birdlike precision.

Liesa sketched the coastline, her pencil flying, and after a few minutes she tore out the sheet and handed it to Andy. “For you,” she said. “So you do not forget this day, if the show makes you forget again.”

He tucked the drawing into his shirt pocket, and said, “I don’t think I could ever forget you.”

She beamed, cheeks pink.

They picnicked until the sun chased them into the shade. On the way down, the group spread out again, Emi stopping every few feet to identify a plant or collect an interesting rock, Dawn hanging back to shepherd the slower climbers. Andy and Liesa took the middle, moving at a lazy pace.

Halfway down, Dawn said, “I’m looking forward to tonight, if you’re still up for it.” She said it casually, but Andy heard the anticipation in her voice.

He nodded. “I’d love to. And maybe next time, I can make breakfast for you.”

She grinned, “If you can beat Emi to the kitchen.”

Emi, who had ears like a fox, said, “I can always get up earlier. It’s science.”

Liesa smiled, but Andy could see her watching Dawn and Emi, a strange, fond look in her eyes.

He pulled her aside when they reached the flatter stretch near the bottom. “You ever think about talking to Sam?” he asked.

Liesa hesitated, then shrugged. “Sometimes. I like her. She is strong, and beautiful, and also a little bit sad. But with my transformation, I could never say if I wanted more.”

Andy thought about it, then said, “What if you told her, and if she wanted, I could be there with you? Or even just support from a distance.”

She looked at him, eyes wide. “You would do that?”

“Of course. I mean, I’m probably in love with at least half my harem at this point, so who am I to judge?”

Liesa laughed, covering her mouth with both hands. “You are very silly, Andy Cooper.”

“Maybe. But I’d like to see you happy. It doesn’t have to be with just me.”

She nudged him, then took his hand as they walked the last stretch to the hotel. The others waited by the entrance, Emi making birds from the pamphlets in the lobby, Dawn looking up at the sky as if tracking the weather for later.

They all went inside together, sweaty, tired, and full in every sense of the word.

A different kind of quiet ruled the Inner Gardens when Erin walked there. She liked the way the high walls of green channeled her movement, how the paths were precise and deliberate—no surprise turns, no sudden ambush by a swan or an overzealous Mildred with a clipboard. You could chart the whole maze from a single glance at the map kiosk, and she appreciated that. Predictable. Safe.

The air was sticky with the scent of loam and something sweetly rotting, the sun a blur through the branches. She found Claire on a side bench beneath a pergola, notebook open, shoes off, toes dug into the cool moss, tail swishing lazily behind her. For a second, Erin just watched her. In sleep or deep thought, Claire always looked peaceful, but never totally at rest—like a cat that might bolt if the wrong leaf rustled nearby.

Erin sat, careful to keep a polite gap between them. She adjusted her shirt over the massive breasts her second transformation had given her, then said, “I wanted to say thank you. For two nights ago. And for including me, I guess. You didn’t have to.”

Claire blinked, then picked up her pen. She wrote fast, tearing the page and handing it over before Erin could look away:

You’re welcome. It would have felt wrong not to. Also, you’re much easier to sleep next to than Marissa. She snores.

Erin snorted, rolling her eyes. “Figures. She looks like she snores.”

Claire’s mouth twitched at the corner—a smile, in her way. She scribbled again, then showed the note:

I wasn’t jealous, you know. I’m not jealous now.

Erin read the words twice. “Really?” She didn’t mean to sound suspicious, but it was her default.

Claire nodded. She drew a quick cartoon of two stick figures, each with a heart balloon overhead. She circled both, then underlined them, writing: Andy loves us both. It’s not a contest.

Erin hesitated, then said, “How do you know he loves you? And me, for that matter. Sometimes he’s hard to read.”

Claire tapped her head, then wrote:

Silent Muse transformation. I can always sense how he feels. It’s as clear as if he said it out loud. Also, I think he’s incapable of lying to you, even if it would make things easier.

Erin wanted to roll her eyes again, but the heat in her chest made it hard to maintain her usual detachment. “That’s… comforting, I guess.”

Claire nodded, content.

They watched a lizard race up a tree trunk, then vanish behind a spray of pink flowers. Erin waited for the sense of awkwardness, but it didn’t come. She said, “He did tell me he loved me. Once. But back then, it was like—” She groped for the right words. “He was always holding something back. Like it hurt to say it.”

Claire wrote: It did hurt. The Laura thing.

“Yeah,” Erin said, voice softer. “I figured that out.”

She plucked a blade of grass, rolling it between her fingers. “It sounds weird, but… when we were together before, I could never really trust he wasn’t just going through the motions. I mean, the sex was amazing even then, don’t get me wrong, and we could talk for hours, but he never let me past the surface. Like he thought he’d drown if he really opened up.”

Claire considered, then wrote:

You’re not wrong. But he loves you. Even before we… you know. After I got my transformation, I could feel it. Last week, he ached with hurt every time you pushed him away.

Erin stared at the words, then looked at Claire. “You really can feel all that?”

Claire shrugged, as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

A silence settled between them. Erin wanted to apologize, but found it didn’t matter as much as she thought it would. Instead, she said, “I guess I was a jerk to him. Maybe to you, too. I’m sorry.”

Claire shook her head, wrote: We’re all jerks sometimes. Also, you were right about him needing to change. I think the show is doing that for all of us. In a weird way, it’s making everyone better.

Erin snorted, “Yeah, who knew magic sex games could be therapeutic?”

Claire nodded and scribbled: If you ever want to talk about feelings, you know where to find me. I never really had friends before this show.

The admission surprised Erin. “Seriously? Not even in school?”

Claire made a face, then wrote: I didn’t fit. I got diagnosed last year, after a bad week at work. Autism spectrum. Explained a lot.

Erin let out a slow breath. “Thank you for telling me.” She fiddled with her shoe, then grinned, a little sheepish. “I mean, I kinda guessed, but I didn’t want to be an asshole and say it out loud.”

Claire looked at her, eyes wide and a little hopeful.

Erin continued, “Andy didn’t tell me. I just… figured it out. Your date night, I tried really hard not to touch you the wrong way, or say anything too loud, or move too fast. I was worried you’d freak out.”

Claire wrote: You didn’t. I felt safe. Thank you for that.

Erin smiled, then, after a beat, said, “Can I be your friend?”

Claire’s tail flicked once behind her, slow and deliberate. She nodded, then wrote: I’d like that very much.

Erin said, “May I hug you? It’s okay if not.”

Claire’s pen hesitated over the page, then she wrote: Yes, but only for three seconds.

Erin laughed. “Three seconds, on the clock.”

She pulled Claire in, careful and light. The smaller woman hugged her back, arms squeezing tight, head tucked into the space below Erin’s chin. They stayed there for the full three seconds, then let go, both a little dazed.

Claire wrote: I have never been so relieved in my life. Or happy.

Erin ruffled her hair, making the cat ears twitch. “You’re the weirdest person I know, Catgirl. And that’s a compliment.”

Claire’s cheeks flushed pink, but her eyes were shining.

They sat for a long time, not needing to say anything, the hush of the gardens wrapping around them. Erin didn’t know what would happen tomorrow, or even at dinner, but for the first time in ages, she felt like she might be able to live in the moment.

She glanced at Claire, who was already sketching something—a pair of stick figures on a bench, their cartoon hearts floating in tandem overhead.

Erin smiled, then leaned back and let herself breathe, just existing together in the cool, sweet shade.