The Tree of Seasons, Part 3

The Forest of Beginnings was quiet, the hush after joy as complete as the hush before it. Andy and Emi lay side by side, skin pressed to moss, the taste of each other still bright in their mouths. Above, the glass leaves rippled with a slow aurora, blue shifting to violet, then a deep, impossible green. Emi’s breath was a steady pulse, her arms draped every which way—one under Andy’s neck, another slung heavy over his chest, the rest arrayed in lazy orbit, some open to the sky, some curled to hold onto his hands, some just resting, as if keeping the moment pinned in place.

Andy drifted, not quite asleep but not fully awake either. His mind floated somewhere between the feeling of her hands (always soft, always certain) and the memory of Emi’s laughter echoing through the clearing. There was a stillness now that wasn’t empty, just…full, in a way Andy didn’t have language for. The world outside their bodies could have vanished for all he cared.

But it was Emi who, eventually, broke the spell. She let the silence stretch as long as it would, then, with a shift of her arms and a gentle tug at his earlobe, turned his face toward hers. Her eyes were as dark as the Forest, and just as layered.

“Hey,” she whispered. “You’re thinking about Erin.”

Andy smiled, not caught so much as revealed. “I guess I am.”

Emi propped herself up, hair a mess, but her mouth curved in a small, knowing smile. “It’s not a great look, to be mentally somewhere else while you’re with me,” she said, but the amusement in her voice made it clear she wasn’t chiding him. She leaned forward and kissed him. “But I know that’s not what you’re doing.” She said it with zero blame—like it was the most obvious thing in the world, a fact of physics.

Andy exhaled. “I don’t want to be pulled away,” he said. “Not from you. This—” he gestured vaguely around them, “—this matters to me. A lot. You matter to me. I don’t want you to feel like I’m hitting the pause button while I deal with everything else.”

That stopped her. Just for a heartbeat.

Emi’s expression softened, something warm and unmistakably affectionate settling in. “I know,” she said, “I love that you care about everyone here. You’ve always had the biggest heart.” She leaned forward and kissed him, brief and gentle. Then, resting her forehead against his, she added, “But I can tell when someone you care about is sitting heavy in your chest. And I don’t want you carrying that alone just because you think staying would be ****.”

Andy hesitated. The air was thick with moss and heat and the memory of her laughter, and leaving—even briefly—felt wrong. “I just don’t want you to feel like I’m choosing her over you.”

Emi laughed quietly. “Andy.” She said his name like a fond correction. “It’s not about giving equal time to all of us, you know? It’s about giving us time when we need it.”

Andy hesitated. The air was thick with moss and sweat and the memory of Emi’s body, but she was right: he was thinking of Erin. Even now, after the delirious double handful of Emi, after the aftershocks that still quivered in his limbs, Andy’s mind kept flicking back to the look on Erin’s face at breakfast, the way she’d tried to stay strong and ended up just looking green and soft and heartbreakingly exposed.

He felt Emi’s fingers—three sets of them—drum a rhythm against his collarbone.

“You want to help her,” Emi said, rolling the syllables in her mouth like she was tasting them. “But you want to stay here, too.” She looked down at their bodies, tangled, and grinned. “That’s okay. You can have both.” She said it with an authority that was at once gentle and absolute.

He laughed, a little embarrassed. “What, you want to invite her here?”

Emi tilted her head, considering. “If you want to, why not? It’s the Forest of Beginnings. It’s big enough for three.” Then, softer: “I think she’d like it. But only if you want it, too.” She was right. Of course she was right.

He looked up at the sky, at the blue and green haze beyond the branches, and wondered if Erin was somewhere out there, pretending not to wait for him. “She’ll feel like I’m cheating,” he said, trying to make it a joke.

Emi shook her head. “She’s smart. She knows how you feel. Sometimes I think she knows before you do.” She reached out, brushed his cheek, then pointed—deliberately—at the little spade constellation she’d invented for Erin, hovering just above the horizon. “Why don’t you just… call her? Isn’t that what you’re both afraid to do?” Emi’s tone was easy, but she squeezed his hand, firm and steady.

He considered it. Then, with Emi’s arms as anchor, Andy closed his eyes and thought of Erin: her voice, her laugh, the impossible color of her skin, the hunger in her every word and gesture. He willed her there, willed her presence as hard as he could. Always On Time was supposed to answer. Would it?

There was a shiver in the moss, a quickening in the air, as if someone had suddenly inhaled all the oxygen. Andy opened his eyes just as a new shape resolved itself in the clearing, a ripple of color coalescing into a perfectly naked, perfectly confused Erin Delgado, body wet, hair damp, holding up an arm as if she was about to drink something, straddling his hips.

The clearing was all startled stillness. For a split second, nobody moved, not even the birds. Erin’s knees were astride Andy’s hips, her hands braced on the moss, a bead of water trickling down the inside of one heavy, mint-colored breast before spattering onto his chest.

Andy had the presence of mind to realize he was still completely naked, Emi was half-draped over his thighs, and Erin—well, she’d been in the water seconds ago, clearly. Her skin glowed, cool and damp, droplets sheeting down every curve like a clear glaze. Her nipples were already hard, like a biological reflex, and her entire body radiated the same electric charge as the instant before a lightning strike.

She blinked, looked down, and then up at Andy, then Emi, then back at Andy, a dozen questions fighting for first place. “What the—” she managed.

Emi giggled, not unkindly. “Hi, Erin.”

The look on Erin’s face was a blend of offense, confusion, and a kind of stunned awe, like she’d just walked into a surprise birthday party in the nude and had no idea whose birthday it was supposed to be.

Emi, on the other hand, looked delighted. She propped herself up on two arms, bracing with a third on Andy’s shoulder, while the other three arms fanned behind her like the rays of a sun. “Sorry,” she said, voice soft and perfectly gentle, as if Erin might spook at any sudden movement. “Andy was thinking about you, and I figured… why not invite you here?”

Erin’s mouth made a small O, but she didn’t speak. For a long moment, her gaze flicked between Andy and Emi, then down at her own body, then back to Andy, as if recalculating reality in slow motion.

Andy found his voice. “Sorry. I summoned you. Literally.” He reached for her hand, not sure if she’d take it or pull away. “Are you okay?”

The question seemed to reset Erin’s brain. She looked down at him—really looked—and Andy felt the low, primal echo of what she’d told him: if he looked at her, she’d get wet instantly. The evidence was pretty conclusive.

She closed her mouth, swallowed, then said: “Uh. You did what?” Her tone was more baffled than angry, which was a win, considering the circumstances.

Emi let her smile settle. “It’s my fault, too. I told Andy he should see you—because I could tell he was worrying, and because I want him to be happy, not distracted. I thought it would be less weird if I was here, but… maybe it’s just more weird?” The last part was offered up as a question, with a kind of tentative hopefulness.

Erin let the logic wash over her, then flicked her gaze to Emi, who was sprawled in the moss, flushed and glowing and unmistakably postcoital. Then back to Andy, who was looking up at her with an expression that was half embarrassment, half devotion.

Andy reached up, thumb catching on a stray lock of wet hair behind her ear. “You look amazing,” he said, and only after it left his mouth did he realize how true it was.

The compliment seemed to do more than any argument or apology. Erin’s posture softened, and she looked at Emi, her voice almost shy. “You… don’t mind? I mean. Being interrupted.”

Emi laughed, a warm, full sound that curled the moss up around her. “It’s not an interruption. It’s a feature,” she said. “I can slow time if we all wanted. We could all be together, if you wanted.” Her voice didn’t dip into invitation or flirt; it was matter-of-fact, like she was offering tea.

Erin’s gaze lingered on Emi, then on Andy, then back. She wasn’t convinced—not yet. Andy could see it in the flex of her jaw, the set of her shoulders. But she didn’t get up. She stayed straddling him, her thighs hugging his hips, her hands planted either side of his neck.

Andy felt the need to clarify. “You don’t have to,” he said. “You could stay, or we could talk, or if you want, you could just go back. I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want.” He said it fast, afraid the moment might snap.

Erin looked down at him, the O of her mouth softening into a line. “I just— I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.” She looked at Emi, then at Andy. “Are you—? Is this a—?” She didn’t finish the question, but Andy got it. Is this a setup? Am I being tested?

Emi slid closer, her lower arms wrapping around Andy’s chest, the others splaying out in a gesture of surrender. “It’s not a trick,” she said. “I think Andy just needed to know you were okay. And I wanted him to be able to be with you, too. That’s all.”

Andy nodded. “I really wanted to see you. I just— I was afraid if I left, it would hurt Emi. But I don’t want to hurt you, either.” He reached for Erin’s wrist, letting her decide if she wanted contact. “I want you here. If you want to be.”

The offer hung in the air.

For a moment, Erin’s expression cracked. Andy saw it: the rawness, the fear of being second best, the need to be chosen. He could see her thinking of a hundred ways this could go wrong, and for a heartbeat, Andy felt that same sick swirl in his gut—the memory of every time he’d failed to choose, and someone he loved had gotten lost in the static.

But then Erin took a breath, and—slowly, deliberately—lowered herself onto Andy’s chest, laying flush against him, her cheek pressed to his collarbone. Her breasts, heavy and warm, flattened between them, and Andy felt her heart hammering against his skin.

“I’ll stay,” she said, voice muffled but certain.

Emi smiled, a beam of pure sunrise. “Good,” she said, and Andy could have wept with relief.

For a little while, there was nothing but the sound of their breathing, the three of them wrapped in moss and arms and the hush of the Forest. Andy stroked Erin’s hair with one hand, Emi’s bare thigh with the other. He felt Emi’s six arms encircling them both, holding the three of them together like a living blanket.

It was Emi who spoke first. “You know,” she said, “we could just be here. All together. It doesn’t have to be a competition.”

Erin didn’t answer, but she didn’t flinch or get up. Andy felt her body relax in increments, the slow release of tension as she let herself be supported, let herself want to stay.

He found himself half-laughing, half-crying. “This is the weirdest thing I’ve ever done,” he said.

Erin snorted against his skin. “You’re telling me. You summoned me like I was a genie from a lamp.”

Emi giggled, her hand finding Andy’s and giving it a squeeze. “It’s not so weird. Not if you let yourself like it.”

There was a point, after the trembling stopped and the laughter faded to small, embarrassed sighs, when the three of them simply lay together, fused by warmth and the impossibility of returning to any previous configuration. For a while, maybe for hours, that was enough: Andy, sandwiched between the soft press of Erin’s slowly unwinding body and the pillowy comfort of Emi’s six-armed embrace, felt the world slow around them, as if time itself had caught the mood and decided to lounge, catlike, in their clearing.

He recognized the sensation now: it was Emi’s Velvet Hours, the time-stretching stillness kicking in, the gentle, narcotic permission to sink into the moment as far as they dared. The forest itself seemed to know, its air growing thick and gold, dust motes suspended like tiny lanterns in the shafts of sun that filtered through the leaves. The moss, under his back, had acquired the cozy give of a featherbed. The air, usually brisk, was perfectly warm, a thermal blanket breathing over their skin.

For a long time, no one spoke. The world was their breathing, their shifting, the lazy repositioning of limbs and hands as one or the other grew restless, or wanted to touch, or simply needed to prove to themselves that the others were still real. Emi, for her part, became a sort of benevolent spider, her arms everywhere at once: one hand tracing circles along Erin’s spine, another combing gently through Andy’s hair, two more laced together under Andy’s head to cradle it, and the last two alternately running down Erin’s thigh and draping possessively over Andy’s ribs. She seemed happiest this way.

Andy wanted to hold onto it, wanted to memorize every second. Erin’s scent. The press of her body. The warmth of Emi at his back, her arms always moving, always adjusting to offer more comfort, more touch, more presence, her Hexasutra transformation also kicking in.

They didn’t speak much after that. Words would have broken the spell. Instead, they learned each other through touch: Emi’s hands, always sure, always gentle, mapping the shape of Erin’s back, her flanks, her thighs. Andy, pulling Erin closer, burying his nose in her damp hair and inhaling the sharp, earthy sweetness of her. Erin, at first rigid, then gradually melting, her hands sliding up Andy’s chest to cup his face, to cradle his head, to draw him in.

Andy cupped the back of Erin’s neck, felt the fluttering pulse just beneath her skin, and pressed his face to her wet shoulder. The aroma was new and old at once, all sunlight and green growth and the ghost of the spa’s mineral tang. He was careful with her, slow in every movement, as if she might vanish if startled.

Emi, to his surprise, did not **** herself into the center, but became the architect of comfort. She worked her hands gently over Erin’s spine and ribs, drawing patterns on her back that seemed to melt the last of her resistance. Every so often she would lean in and whisper something into Erin’s ear—sometimes a silly phrase, sometimes just a nonsense word, but always enough to coax a shy, **** smile from her. Gradually, the rigidity in Erin’s thighs and arms softened, her posture shifting from coiled readiness to a kind of tentative relaxation. Andy felt her body’s slow surrender, the way she let her weight settle into his lap, the way her hands stopped flinching and began to seek him out with uncertain curiosity.

There was no rush, no agenda. Emi’s presence was a balm. She never crowded, never pushed, just offered: a hand on Andy’s knee, a caress at the base of Erin’s neck, a soft word here and there. It was Emi who first bridged the gap between the two of them, drawing Andy’s hand to Erin’s face, then Erin’s hand to Emi’s own. The three of them formed a knot, a tangle of hands that wound and unwound with a kind of gentle inevitability. Emi’s fingers were deft and affectionate, and somehow she always knew when to guide and when to let go.

The intimacy built in layers. At first, it was just hands and mouths—kissing, touching, the warmth of skin against skin. But soon the closeness deepened, and Andy found himself wanting Erin in a way that was urgent but not ****, hungry but not consuming. He asked with his eyes, and Erin answered with her body, climbing onto him with a grace that surprised them both. Her legs wrapped around his hips, her hands bracing on the moss, her hair hanging wet and wild.

Emi shifted to support Erin, two of her arms entwined around Erin’s waist, another cupping the back of Andy’s head, pulling him up to meet her. They kissed again, slower this time, and Emi’s hands explored the line where their bodies met, each touch a question, each gasp an answer.

Erin’s body was an instrument, tuned to Andy’s frequency. When he looked at her, really looked, she shivered and grew impossibly wet; the effect was instantaneous, a direct line from his gaze to the deepest part of her. Andy marveled at it, at how her physical need was tied to her hunger for attention, for care, for being seen.

When Emi touched Erin’s breast, the nipple already tight from Andy’s gaze, Erin let out a gasp that vibrated through Andy’s whole body. Emi grinned, delighted, and kissed Erin there, then guided Andy’s mouth to take over. Erin’s hands dug into Andy’s back, her nails scoring gentle lines down to his hips. Emi, always attentive, caught the moment when Erin’s arousal peaked and slid one hand between their bodies, finding the slick heat there and teasing it, slow and careful at first, then with a growing confidence as Erin surrendered to the sensation.

Andy had never felt anything like it: the press of Erin’s body, the heat of the moss under his back, the grounding, omnipresent touch of Emi wrapping around them both. When Emi’s hand found him, the shock of pleasure was almost overwhelming; she guided him to Erin, aligning them, her grip firm but tender. Erin’s eyes found his, wide and ****, and he paused, waiting for her nod before he entered her.

For a moment, there was only stillness—a heartbeat in which all three of them inhaled together, as if entering a shared dream. Then Erin moved, slow at first, rocking against him, Emi’s hands guiding the rhythm. Andy matched her pace, letting her set the speed, the depth. Erin’s hair was a wild tangle, her lips parted, her breath coming in sharp, hungry bursts.

Emi’s role was a puzzle: sometimes holding Erin open for Andy, sometimes pressing her own body against theirs, sometimes just watching, her eyes shining with joy. She was everywhere at once, but never intrusive. She made it safe for Erin to open, for Andy to want, for both of them to need.

"Look at him," Emi whispered against Erin's ear, her free hands stroking Andy's chest, his neck, his face. "See how much he wants you?"

The sex itself was slow, almost hesitant, as if all three were afraid to break something fragile. Andy tried not to lose himself in the sensation, tried instead to memorize each detail: the quiver of Erin’s thigh under his hand, the way Emi’s fingers laced with his as she braced him, the soft, wordless noises that echoed in the clearing.

Erin came first, with a shudder that seemed to ripple from the soles of her feet up through her scalp. She buried her face in Andy’s neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark, her whole body clamping around him. Emi grinned at Andy over Erin’s shoulder, then kissed the mark herself, soothing the sting. Andy waited for the tremors to pass, held Erin as she came down, and only then allowed himself to let go, his own orgasm muffled by Emi’s hand pressed gently over his mouth.

Emi shifted, kneeling at Andy’s right. She took a long, lingering look at Erin—her face, the flush of her cheeks, the soft tremble in her thigh where it pressed against Andy’s own. Then Emi kissed Andy on the cheek, and then Erin on the shoulder, and then, with a little hum of satisfaction, rolled Erin over so the three of them formed a lazy braid, every limb overlapping someone else’s.

Erin’s eyes fluttered open, and for a moment she looked at Emi with raw gratitude. Emi just grinned, then, without a word, took Andy’s hand in hers and guided it down her own side, over the curve of her hip and between her legs.

She was already wet, but she wanted more.

Emi straddled Andy, careful not to disturb Erin, and pressed her body to his—this time with a purposeful slowness, each movement deliberate, as if she’d thought about it a thousand times and wanted to get every detail right. Andy’s cock, still slick from Erin but flagging, perked up at her touch, and Emi used three hands to guide him in. It was different from with Erin: Emi was tighter, hotter, and her hips moved with a control that bordered on choreography. She didn’t just ride him—she used him, every muscle tuned to draw out the maximum pleasure for both.

Andy watched the way her six arms mapped onto his body, the way she braced herself on his chest with two hands, grabbed his wrists with another two, used a fifth to toy with his nipples, and the sixth—Emi reached over, found Erin’s hand, and pulled it to her breast, letting Erin squeeze and knead as she rode Andy with increasing urgency.

With her third hand, Emi captured Andy's free hand and brought it to Erin's breast. His palm cupped the soft weight, thumb brushing across her nipple. Erin's breath hitched, her eyes finding his. The moment their gazes locked, her pupils dilated, a visible wave of arousal washing through her.

Emi's pace picked up, hips grinding with a precision that was almost clinical at first, but quickly built to a fever pitch. She leaned forward, hair in a shimmering curtain that tickled Andy's nose, and kissed him hard. Andy's hands found her ass, squeezed, and Emi moaned into his mouth, a raw, animal noise that made him want to give her everything she could take.

Erin, still dazed but coming back to herself, pressed her cheek to Andy's shoulder and watched, transfixed, as Emi fucked him with a passion that was pure joy. Emi leaned down and kissed her—soft at first, then hungrier, her tongue darting out to taste the sweat on Erin's upper lip. As she did, Emi slid two fingers between Erin's thighs, massaging her clit in slow circles that matched the rhythm of her hips.

Andy felt himself building toward release, but couldn't tear his eyes from Erin's face. Her lips parted, eyes half-lidded but locked on his, her body responding to both his touch and Emi's skilled fingers. He knew instinctively what she needed—his complete attention. He gave it freely, watching every flutter of her eyelashes, every flush that deepened across her chest.

Emi sensed the change, her body tightening around Andy as she orchestrated their shared pleasure with inhuman precision. Her fingers quickened between Erin's legs, her other hand guiding Andy's to mirror her movements on Erin's breast. The three of them moved as one organism, breathing in unison, building toward something that felt like falling and flying at once.

"Look at me," Andy whispered to Erin, and when she did, her entire body convulsed. She came with a silent cry, eyes never leaving his, the intensity of her gaze pulling him over the edge. Emi followed a heartbeat later, her many arms tightening around them both as the three shuddered together in perfect synchronicity.

When Andy came, Emi gasped and shook, her own orgasm rippling through her body. Her arms tightened around both him and Erin, her own need evident in the tremor of her hands and the flush in her cheeks. Andy reached for her, and Erin slid forward, so all three were pressed together, three bodies forming a closed circle of touch and trust.

Threesome (Instigator!) Emi: +5 VP

Achievement Unlocked! Hex-Machina +5 VP

They rested like that, a tangle of limbs and hair and moss, the air thick with the aftermath of pleasure and the sense that something fundamental had shifted.

The light in the Forest of Beginnings shifted gradually, darker dusk rolling off the moss in lazy sheets, the stars above glimmering brighter. The three of them—Andy, Emi, and Erin—drifted apart by mutual, silent agreement, neither regretful nor **** to go, just aware that the magic of Velvet Hours had spent itself, and time was trickling forward again.

Andy sat upright, the moss cool against his back, and watched as Emi, still gloriously unashamed in her nakedness, gathered the discarded picnic blanket and began picking stray petals from her arms and hair. She did it with a deliberate slowness, as if each action was a meditation on not rushing the moment away. She stayed close, but not close enough to listen in if Andy and Erin needed to talk.

He glanced at Erin, still beside him, knees drawn up, hands wrapped around her own shins. For a long minute she just stared at the ground, the tiniest crease between her brows. When she finally spoke, her voice was smaller than he expected.

“I know you didn’t do anything wrong.” She didn’t look at him when she said it. “But that’s not what it feels like.”

Andy’s first instinct was to reach out and touch her, but he held back, letting the words breathe.

Erin’s eyes fixed on a spot in the moss. “I should be happy for you. And I am, mostly. I know it wasn’t easy, what happened with Laura. I know how much it meant to you, to have her back. It’s just—”

She made a sharp little noise in her throat, frustration at not being able to say it cleaner. She started over. “Last night, when she didn’t come back to the room… Claire and I both knew where she was. And I knew it was probably the right thing, for you and for her. But I couldn’t stop thinking that it was the start of something I couldn’t control. Like I was being quietly moved to a lower shelf and nobody wanted to say it out loud.”

He waited, giving her as much time as she needed.

She glanced at him, finally, and her jaw twitched with the effort of holding herself together. “It’s not about Laura being back, really. I get it. If I could bring someone back from the dead, I would do the same thing. It’s just…” She let the words dangle, then shrugged, giving up on finishing the sentence.

Andy took a breath. “Is it Laura herself? Or is it the idea that something you thought was safe, wouldn't be?”

That landed. She turned her face to him, lips pressed tight, and nodded. “Both. I guess.” She looked away, then back. “She’s not even trying to— I mean, she’s not cruel. She’s just Laura. She doesn’t have to fight for space. But it’s like every part of her just fills up a space I didn’t even know I was saving for myself.”

He nodded, letting her know he understood.

Erin’s voice went soft. “It’s stupid, right? Wanting to feel special, in a place like this?” She let out a huff of breath, bitter and amused at the same time. “I knew what I was getting into, Andy. Arabella made it clear in the intro. But… there are parts of me that still expect to matter most, I guess.”

Andy turned and, gently, this time, rested his palm on her knee. “You do matter,” he said. “You’ve never stopped. You matter to me, a lot. Nothing about how I feel about you has changed, not since the beginning.” He paused, considering the weight of what he wanted to say. “And I still want what we talked about, Erin. I want to marry you, if you’ll have me. None of this changes that. Not Laura, not anything.”

For the first time since they started talking, Erin let the words actually hit her. She closed her eyes, took a breath, and let herself believe it—if only for a second.

But Andy wasn’t done. He took another breath, and asked the harder question.

“But what if,” he said, careful not to make it sound like a trap, “I wanted to marry Laura, too? Not instead. As well. If that was what she wanted?”

The air went still. Emi, from her spot a dozen feet away, seemed to freeze in place, hands poised above the blanket, as if the world itself was waiting for Erin’s answer.

Erin didn’t answer right away. Her knees drew up, tucking her legs under her, which had the effect of pressing her breasts together in a way Andy couldn’t ignore even if he’d been blind. She looked at her hands, then at the moss, then off to where Emi, suddenly bashful, was fussing with the picnic blanket, studiously picking off petals and bits of moss and giving them space.

When she spoke, her voice was barely there. “I don’t know,” she said. Not defensive. Just honest. “I don’t know what that would do to me.”

Andy waited. The stars overhead seemed to flicker in time with her heartbeat.

Erin kept her gaze away, and when she did look at Andy, she didn’t look at his face but at the line of his collarbone, the dark marks where Emi had left a trail of kisses. “I keep telling myself this is how the game is supposed to work. Arabella said as much. You’re going to end up with all of us. It’s not like I ever thought it would just be you and me.” She paused. “At least, not after Claire made me think about it.”

She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead, smearing away a bead of water. “But it’s not about the harem. Not even about the rules. It’s about… fuck, I don’t even know.” She let her hand fall. “Last night, when Laura didn’t come back, I lay in bed for hours. It made me feel like I was back in the old days, just waiting for you to remember I existed.”

For a while, nobody moved. Emi, catching the direction of the current, eased herself up from the moss and shifted a little farther away, still within reach, but giving them space. She was present, not watching, close enough to catch Erin if she splintered, but far enough to let Andy and Erin breathe in their own gravity.

Andy sat cross-legged, bare skin prickling in the air. He wanted to reach out, but held the moment still, his hands anchored to the moss between them. Erin hunched in on herself, arms folded, legs drawn in, posture the perfect circle of someone daring herself not to run.

“I’m not mad at you,” Erin said at last, her words so soft Andy had to lean forward to catch them. “Or at her. It’s not even about me not being the favorite anymore,” Erin said, and this time she almost managed a laugh, though it sounded more like a bark. Andy’s heart twisted at that off-handed remark. “I mean, maybe it is, but not in the way you’d think. I’m used to being backup. I just don’t know where I go when someone else takes up that much of you.”

That was the truth at the center of it.

“I used to be proud of how easy I was,” Erin went on. “How little I needed. How fast I could make myself useful.” She laughed quietly. “I don’t know how to be important without becoming a problem.” She snorted. “Super healthy, I know.”

Emi, still pretending to be invisible, hummed a tiny, encouraging note from her corner of the blanket. Erin’s hand in Andy’s was cool, almost plant-slick, her skin drawn taut over the long, elegant bones. She squeezed back, harder than necessary, then eased off, as if recalibrating the pressure every half second. He watched her, letting the silence build a wall against the chaos of the morning.

“I keep telling myself I should be over this,” Erin said, low and shaky. “Less… scared.” Her thumb drew tiny spirals on his wrist, restless energy escaping through contact.

Andy waited. The Forest seemed to slow with her every exhale.

She breathed in. “You know what really got me? Last night, when Claire and I realized Laura wasn’t coming back. We both just… knew. Like we’d spent weeks preparing for it, but when it finally happened, it still knocked us on our asses.” She snorted, half-amused at her own vulnerability. “I didn’t sleep at all. Catgirl just buried her face in the pillow and trembled like it was a blizzard, and I—I just lay there, thinking maybe if I got up early enough, I could win back some ground.”

Andy’s jaw tightened at that. He pictured Claire—so composed that morning, so quietly efficient—hiding her face in the dark. “I didn’t realize she was that shaken,” he said softly. “I have a date with her tomorrow. I’ll talk to her. I should have checked in sooner.”

Erin winced, as if she’d revealed a secret she wished she hadn’t. “She’s been trying her best.”

Emi, curled just to the side, traced invisible patterns in the moss. She didn’t look up, but her body language radiated quiet support, the way only a person with six arms could.

Erin’s voice was flat. “You’re going to tell me I didn’t lose anything.”

Andy considered, then shook his head. “I won’t, if that’s not what you want to hear.”

She laughed, brittle. “You always do that, you know. Give me what I want even if it’s going to make things worse for you.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I’m tired of pretending everything is simple.”

Erin sat back on her heels, and for a second, the posture reminded him of the Erin from sophomore year, auburn hair and all, leaning in from across the study room table. Only now, every line of her body looked coiled, alert, like she was bracing against a storm she couldn’t see coming. Her breasts rested atop her thighs, nipples as green as the leaves in the island’s jungle.

“I want to matter to you,” Erin said, softer now. “I want to be the one you choose, even if you’re not supposed to choose. I want to win.” She looked up, eyes flaring with challenge and shame in the same breath. “But I don’t want to hurt Claire, or Laura. Or you. Or any of the other women, really. I just… don’t want to be left behind again.”

Andy squeezed her hand. “You won’t be left behind,” he said. “Not by me.”

Her expression flickered, as if she’d just found the seam in his resolve. “What if she asks you to marry her? What would you say?”

He didn’t answer immediately. He wanted to lie, or at least to soften the impact, but the only answer worth giving was the truth.

“I’d say yes,” he said. “If that’s what she truly wanted.”

The words hung there, suspended in the breathless hush of the Forest.

Erin nodded, just once, eyes not leaving his. “And if I asked you?”

He smiled, small but real. “You know my answer.”

She did. But she needed to hear it. “Say it anyway.”

“I’d say yes. Every time.” He held her gaze, letting the words settle between them like new roots. Not a promise to choose her over anyone—just a promise to keep choosing her.

For a long moment, they just stared at each other, neither looking away, both daring the other to blink.

It was Emi who broke the tension, rolling herself closer and wrapping her lower two arms around Erin’s shoulders in a gentle, supportive hug. The gesture wasn’t possessive—if anything, it was a way of holding Erin together while she waited to see if her world would fracture.

“Can I ask you something?” Andy said, voice gentler now.

Erin braced, shoulders drawing tight. “What?”

“If you could have anything you wanted, right now, what would it be? For you, not for anyone else.”

She flinched at the directness, but let the question bloom. “I want to feel safe,” she said, after a minute. “Like there’s a version of this story where I’m not just backup, or the transitional chapter before the real romance resumes.”

Andy nodded. “I want that for you, too.”

She studied him, searching for the lie. When she didn’t find one, the muscles at the corners of her eyes relaxed a little.

Andy went on. “If you want to be the only one, I could try. But I don’t think it would give you the safety you’re asking for. It would just make you wonder who I was missing.”

Erin exhaled, a sharp, bitter sound. “You mean it would wreck us.”

He shook his head. “I mean it wouldn’t be honest. Not with you. Not with me.” He reached for her cheek, brushing a lock of damp hair behind her ear. “You don’t have to be the only one to be real to me. And you don’t have to pretend you’re okay with this if you’re not.”

She didn’t answer, but her hand reached up, holding his against her skin, as if anchoring herself to the truth she was still learning how to carry.

For the first time in a while, Erin looked like she might cry. “You make it sound so simple,” she said, but the edge in her voice was gone.

“It’s not,” Andy said, honestly. “It’s the hardest thing in the world.” He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers, letting the heat and sweat and the memory of their bodies anchor them to the present.

She closed her eyes, letting herself rest there for a beat. When she pulled back, the panic was gone, replaced by a quiet, unfamiliar calm.

“Thank you,” she said. She didn’t have to say more.

Emi gave her a squeeze, then released her, all six hands busy fixing Erin’s hair, picking moss from her back, and generally fussing like a mother hen. Erin didn’t protest; if anything, she leaned into the attention, as if Emi’s touch could siphon away the last residue of self-doubt.

They sat in companionable hush, just three bodies on a mossy floor, the world outside the Forest forgotten.

Erin was the one to break it, eventually. “I should get back,” she said, though she made no move to stand. “I think Norah’s planning some kind of coup in the kitchen, and if I don’t show up, she’ll rope Marissa and Liesa into it.”

Andy smiled. “Want me to walk you?”

She looked at him, eyes luminous in the dim, then at Emi, then back. “I’m good,” she said. “But… can I ask you one thing?”

“Anything.”

“If I ever say I can’t do it, if it’s too much… will you promise not to hate me?”

Andy shook his head. “Never. You don’t lose me just because you’re honest.”

She nodded, once, then let herself stand. For a moment, she towered over the other two, the muscles in her calves and thighs flexing with the effort of keeping her balance. The moss stuck to her feet, leaving greenish prints behind as she picked her way to the edge of the clearing. Andy watched the sway of her hips, the bounce of her breasts, the way she held herself like someone walking forward even when she wasn’t sure of the ground yet.

Before she left, Erin looked back. “Thanks, Emi,” she said, voice a little thick. “For… giving me this time.”

Emi beamed, three arms waving, three giving a thumbs up.

Erin grinned, then ducked her head and vanished down the glowing path, each step sending up a little pulse of blue-green light. Andy let himself fall back onto the moss, arms spread. Emi snuggled into his side, all six arms making sure he knew he wasn’t alone. They listened as the echo of Erin’s steps faded, replaced by the high, sweet hum of the glass trees overhead.

“You did good,” Emi said, after a while.

He snorted. “I did nothing.”

“You listened,” Emi said, rolling her head to meet his eyes. “Sometimes that’s all we need.”

He watched the stars, letting the spiral of the day unfurl around him. “Do you think she’ll be okay?”

Emi considered, then nodded. “She’s always okay. She just needs to be reminded that she’s loved, even when it’s complicated.”

Andy nodded. “You’re really good at this,” he said.

Emi smiled, soft and sly. “I had a good teacher,” she said, and squeezed his hand, as if to prove her point.

The world felt different, now. Not fixed. Not easy. Just more real, more possible. Andy lay there, surrounded by glass and moss and light and the warmth of someone who believed in him, and let himself believe that, maybe, they’d all find a way through.

For a few minutes after Erin was gone, the world in the Forest of Beginnings was so still that even the glass trees seemed to hesitate, unsure if it was safe to resume their quiet singing. Andy lay sprawled on the moss, half-cradled in Emi’s embrace, letting his heart ratchet back to normal. Above, the dusk-light softened to a bluegray wash, the constellations Emi had mapped for him blinking gently overhead, their patterns as steady and strange as his own thoughts.

Emi rested her head on his chest, her six arms arranged around them both in an artless tangle. She played with his hand, curling and uncurling his fingers as if counting down to a secret zero. After a while, she said, “That went better than I expected.”

He huffed a laugh. “You mean, we survived?”

Emi grinned into his shirt, the motion tickling his ribs. “I mean, you didn’t break her, and she didn’t break you. Or me.” She propped up on an elbow, her face close. “You get that, right? You can’t solve everything. Sometimes it’s enough to just… hear the other person.”

He nodded, the motion small. “I think I’m learning.”

Emi kissed his jaw, then disentangled herself and sat up, starting the process of putting herself back together. Two hands braided her hair, two more buttoned her shirt, the rest dusted bits of moss from Andy’s arms and then from her own thighs. She didn’t rush, but she also didn’t linger. When she finally stood, she offered Andy her hand.

“Come on,” she said, her voice still velvet-soft. “We’re going to be late for dinner if you keep lying there feeling things. And I need to drop by my room to change before the meal.”

He took her hand and let her haul him to his feet. His knees wobbled—a combination of spent arousal, adrenaline, and the letdown of finally letting himself breathe. Emi steadied him, then drew him into a quick, fierce hug. “You’re a good man,” she said, the words muffled against his shoulder. “Don’t forget it.”

Andy almost said something clever, but stopped himself. Instead, he hugged her back, just as tight. “You, too.”

They followed the spiral path out of the Forest, the world sharpening around them as Velvet Hours faded and real time crept in. At the threshold, Emi squeezed Andy’s hand and slipped away toward the Contestants’ hallway, humming under her breath. She looked back only once, her hair a tangled halo, and gave him a thumb’s up. Then she was gone.

Andy waited until her footsteps faded before heading toward the main building. He passed through the gardens, through the soft hush of the lobby, and paused at the bottom of the stair. His first thought was to take the elevator to the Suite, but he hesitated, the echo of Erin’s voice still in his bones. So instead, he detoured into the Banquet Hall, its hush and golden light a welcome change after the sensory overload of the Forest. The place was set for dinner, but empty, the white tablecloths glowing in the lamplight and bowls of fruit placed with almost artificial symmetry along the center. Andy made himself a coffee from the silver urn, poured it black and added a sugar cube, then cradled the cup between his palms and stood for a minute, just breathing in the steam.

He wandered out onto the terrace, then changed his mind and ducked into the Sunroom. The chairs here were rattan, low and perfectly uncomfortable, but the smell of jasmine and the last gold warmth of daylight made up for it.

He picked a chair by the far window, set the coffee on a table, and watched the world outside as the light slipped from afternoon into real dusk. The Inner Gardens were empty. Andy’s mind wandered. He thought about the conversation with Erin—how raw and honest she’d been, how brave it was to stay in the pain instead of running from it. He thought about Emi, who never let her own needs get in the way of helping others feel at home. He thought about Laura, doubled and complicated, and how it somehow made his own fractured self feel more complete.

But mostly, he just let his brain go quiet, letting the day settle into the crevices it had left behind.

The coffee cooled. The gardens went dark, and the first lamps flickered on, casting blue shadows up the white walls. Andy liked it here, alone but not lonely. He felt the day’s edges softening, the anxiety of “what next” replaced by something almost like acceptance.

He closed his eyes. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t run the math on who would be hurt next, or what perfect phrase could stitch everything up. He just listened to the sound of insects outside, and the faint clink of glassware as someone—probably Norah—reset the tables in the Banquet Hall. Time passed without anyone asking anything of him.

Eventually, when the world outside had gone properly night-blue and the lamps inside the Sunroom blinked themselves awake, Andy stood, finished his coffee, and headed out to meet the evening.

Recurring Author's Note: Remember to check out the wiki at: https://hhnetwork.miraheze.org/wiki/Harem_Hotel:_The_HH

Aside from info on the contestants, the locations, and so on, a new section - the Marginalia - highlights Easter Eggs, deep cuts, foreshadowings and hidden elements in previous chapters. The same section is also present as a thread on the Discord channel (the Marginalia Discord thread is usually updated more often).
BEWARE! There are no spoiler tags in the wiki, so the Marginalia chapter includes spoilers up to the last published chapter!

Likes and comments (or DMs) are always welcome!

Also, don't forget: you're welcome to propose TF ideas for Contestants via the anonymous link here: https://forms.gle/NY5MbGrvv2ZkUknn9 While I can't guarantee they'll all be used, or that they'll be used at the next available TF vote, I look at all suggestions and will try to fit them in where necessary.

Thank you for reading!