Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The late afternoon heat clung to everything around the hidden lake, making the air shimmer above the water's surface. Aubrey had claimed her usual spot on the old wooden dock, legs dangling over the edge as minnows darted between the shadowy spaces beneath the weathered planks. The dock creaked softly with each small movement, a familiar sound that had become the soundtrack to countless lazy afternoons spent here with Kim. 

Once a place special to many, it had since become theirs over the past few months as lives began drifting apart. To the two of them, the lake was a refuge tucked away behind a wall of overgrown cattails and twisted oak trees, where the rest of Faraway Town couldn't find them. It felt good to have somewhere that was just theirs, somewhere that didn't carry the weight of complicated history or remind her of how different things had been two years ago. 

Kim sprawled in the patchy grass a few feet away, systematically destroying a cluster of dandelions with the methodical precision she usually reserved for more questionable activities. Despite everyone drifting apart, Aubrey and Kim had stayed together, being one of the few people who chose to stay in Faraway Town after high school. Aubrey appreciated Kim's company as it still reminded her of the good old days, yet there were certainly times where Aubrey questioned Kim's mischievous behavior. Especially today, as her pockets bulged with the day's spoils from various shops around town—nothing too serious, just small things that wouldn't be missed. Usually. 

"You're being weird today," Aubrey observed, watching Kim fidget with something in her jacket pocket.

"I'm not being weird." Kim's response was too quick, accompanied by that particular grin that meant she was definitely up to something. "I just... found something cool earlier. Thought you might want to try it."

She pulled out a small piece of wrapped candy, though 'candy' didn't quite seem like the right word for it. The wrapper was an odd silvery material that seemed to shift colors in the light, and whatever was inside had an unusual weight to it—too heavy for its size. 

Aubrey raised an eyebrow. Kim was back to her old tricks again, but something told her that, this time, there was something different. "Where'd you get this?" 

"There's this new place downtown. Tiny little shop squeezed between the hardware store and that weird antique place that never has customers." Kim tossed the candy toward Aubrey, who caught it reflexively."The old guy running it was... I don't know. Really intense. Kept staring at me the whole time I was looking around." 

"And you decided to steal from the intense old guy." 

"I didn't steal it!" Kim's protest was immediate and indignant, though the slight flush in her cheeks suggested otherwise. "He... gave it to me. Sort of. Said something about it being 'exactly what I was looking for' even though I wasn't looking for anything specific." 

Aubrey turned the candy over in her palm, studying it. The wrapper felt warm, almost alive, and there was something written on it in a tiny script that seemed to move when she wasn't looking directly at it. "What kind of candy is it?"

"Gum, I think. He called it something fancy, but I wasn't really listening." Kim had moved on to braiding grass stems with unnecessary focus. "Look, if you don't want it, just throw it back. I thought it looked interesting, that's all." 

There was something in Kim's tone—a carefully casual note that Aubrey had learned to recognize over their years of friendship. Kim wanted her to try it, for reasons that probably had more to do with curiosity than generosity. 

Aubrey peeled back the wrapper, revealing what looked like an ordinary piece of chewing gum, except for its deep purple color that seemed to have actual depth to it, like looking into dark water. The moment the wrapper came off, a sweet, complex aroma filled the air around them—berries, but with undertones of something else. Something almost metallic. 

"Smells weird," she said, but she was already bringing it closer to her mouth. There was something compelling about it, a pull she couldn't quite explain. 

"Everything worth-while smells weird," Kim replied, and that was probably the most philosophical thing Aubrey had ever heard her say. 

Aubrey popped the gum into her mouth and immediately understood what Kim meant about it being intense. The flavor was unlike anything she'd ever tasted—sweet and tart and rich all at once, with layers that seemed to unfold the longer she chewed. It was like biting into the perfect berry, except the taste kept evolving, becoming more complex and concentrated with each passing second. 

"Damn," she said around the gum, closing her eyes to better focus on the explosion of flavor across her tongue. "This is actually incredible." 

"Right? I told you that guy knew what he was doing." Kim sounded pleased with herself, but there was something else in her voice now. A note of uncertainty that made Aubrey open her eyes. 

Kim was staring at her with an expression Aubrey had never seen before—part fascination, part growing alarm. 

"What?" Aubrey asked, but even as she spoke, she could see her reflection in the lake's surface, distorted by the gentle ripples but clear enough to show that something was very, very wrong. 

Her nose was blue. Not tinted or bruised-looking, but a vivid, unnatural blue that seemed to glow with its own internal light. 

"Kim." Aubrey's voice was carefully controlled, the way it got when she was fighting not to lose her temper. "What exactly did that old man tell you about this gum?" 

"I..." Kim scrambled to her feet, backing away from the dock. "He just said it was special. That it would give you exactly what you needed."

The blue was spreading now, flowing across Aubrey's cheeks like spilled paint, but paint that moved with purpose and intent. She could feel it—a strange tingling sensation that wasn't unpleasant but definitely wasn't normal. It felt like her skin was waking up, every nerve ending suddenly more alive than it had ever been. 

"What I needed?" Aubrey stood up too quickly, the dock swaying under her feet. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" 

But Kim was already backing away further, her usual confidence cracking as she watched the blue continue its relentless spread down Aubrey's neck and across her hands. "Maybe it'll stop," she said, but her voice was shaking now. "Maybe it's just temporary, like those mood ring things." 

Aubrey looked down at her hands, watching in fascination and mounting panic as her familiar pale skin disappeared beneath the creeping blue tide. It was beautiful, in a terrifying way—the color so pure and vibrant it seemed almost alive. When she touched her face, her fingers came away clean, but she could feel the change in texture, as if her skin had become something entirely different. The blue reached her hairline, and Aubrey held her breath as it began to seep through her pink strands. For a moment she thought her hair might turn completely blue, but instead it settled into something more complex—her original pink showing through like highlights, creating an otherworldly blue-violet that caught the afternoon light in impossible ways. 

"Kim, get help," she said to Kim. The tingling sensation was spreading everywhere the blue touched, flowing across her torso beneath her clothes, down her legs, transforming every inch of her into something that belonged in a fairy tale rather than reality. 

"But who?" Kim said, her voice cracking under her worry.

Kim was right. There was no one else in this town that would be willing to help them. Aubrey's mother certainly couldn't care less. Kim's parents would probably get upset that the two were still hanging out. Truly, there were only one person that could help them. Well, three, but Aubrey hasn't really talked with them in quite some time...

The tingling sensation stopped as the blue settled underneath her socks. For a brief second, it was just the two girls at the lake, Kim's panicking eyes staring straight at an Aubrey that was not completely blue. Then, a gurgling sound resonated through Aubrey's stomach as she felt her clothes tighten. 

"There's no other choice. You have to get Hero... Kel and Basil as well. Please!"

Kim was already moving, her panic finally overriding her shock. "I'll—I'll find them," she stammered, then turned and ran, crashing through the underbrush with desperate urgency. 

Alone by the lake, Aubrey tried to make sense of what was happening to her. A strange fullness came across stomach that felt like she'd eaten too much, but the sensation was spreading, growing stronger. She could feel her shirt getting tighter across her expanding midsection, her jean skirt becoming snug around her thighs. She tried to take a step back from the edge of the dock, but her balance was already different, her center of gravity shifting as her body began to expand in ways that defied all logic. She had to grab the railing to steady herself, and even that felt strange—her movements were becoming less precise, her body responding differently than it ever had before.

The expansion wasn't painful, which was perhaps the strangest part. It felt almost natural, like breathing, except she was growing larger with each passing second. Her torso was rounding out, becoming less defined, her waist disappearing as her body took on an increasingly spherical shape. She managed to make it to the grassy bank before walking became too difficult, each step requiring more effort as her legs grew thicker and her proportions shifted dramatically. By the time she lowered herself carefully to the ground, she was easily twice her normal size around the middle. It was a good thing she was away from the dock, as she suddenly felt herself stumbling forward. Upon looking behind her, she saw her massive rear stretching across her skirt, growing at a rate that matched the rest of her body. 

The swelling was now accelerating, but this time across her entire body, her clothes stretching impossibly to accommodate her changing shape. Somehow the fabric held, adjusting to her new proportions as if it too was part of this impossible transformation. As she continued to expand, Aubrey watched in growing alarm as her arms began to disappear into her swelling form. They weren't shrinking—they were being absorbed, pulled inward as her shoulders merged seamlessly with her increasingly spherical torso. Her range of motion was disappearing, her arms becoming shorter and less useful with each passing moment. Her legs were experiencing the same impossible transformation. Her thighs expanded until her legs looked like small, stubby appendages attached to an enormous blue sphere. She tried to move them, but they barely responded, too short now to provide any real mobility or support. She could feel her neck disappearing entirely, her head sinking deeper into her expanding body as it was absorbed into her spherical form.

The sensation was surreal—she could feel her entire face changing shape, her sharp features becoming soft and pillowy as her cheeks puffed out dramatically, swelling like balloons being inflated, growing rounder and fuller with each passing moment. She tried to touch her face, but her arms were so absorbed into her body they couldn't even move out of the divots where they now resided. Her perspective was changing too. As her body achieved perfect spherical proportions, her head became positioned at the very top of her round form, giving her a view of the world she'd never experienced before. She was getting taller as well as wider, her massive blue form dominating the small clearing by the lake. She could barely see past the curve of her enormously swollen form, but she could feel the completeness of the change. 

Then, just as she felt her body's swelling slowing down, she heard voices calling her name, getting closer. Kim had found them—found her old friends, at least. Relief and mortification warred in her chest as the voices grew clearer, Kim's frantic explanations mixing with expressions of disbelief and confusion. 

Then they were there, bursting through the wall of cattails like something out of a movie, and Aubrey found herself looking up at friends she hadn't all been together with since before Sunny left two years ago. 

Kel came through first, as he always did, moving too fast and stopping so suddenly when he saw her that his basketball bounced from his hands and rolled forgotten into the grass. The varsity basketball player's mouth fell open, and for maybe the first time in his life, he seemed genuinely speechless. "What the—" 

Hero appeared a second later, and Aubrey watched his expression cycle through confusion, recognition, and something that might have been clinical assessment before settling on barely controlled shock. He was taller now, filled out from his college years, and he kept pushing his hair back with one hand while staring at her impossible form. 

Basil emerged last, moving more slowly than the others, his camera hanging unused around his neck. He'd grown quieter over the years, more thoughtful, and his eyes widened once he saw her predicament, but he didn't look away. Instead, he studied her with the same careful attention he usually reserved for his flowers. 

"Jesus Christ," Kel whispered, and it sounded almost like a prayer. 

The silence that followed was deafening. Aubrey was no longer a person in any recognizable sense—she had become a massive blue blueberry resting on the grass, easily eight feet across in every direction. Her tiny arms and legs protruded from her perfectly round form like small afterthoughts, barely functional appendages on what was essentially a giant fruit. Her head was positioned at the very top of her spherical body, her face dramatically transformed by her enormously swollen cheeks that had puffed out like balloons, giving her an almost cherubic appearance despite her impossible size; her lips remained a bright red that contrasted surprisingly well with her darker skin. Her blue-violet hair cascaded down from the top of her round form, the only part of her that still looked remotely like the Aubrey they remembered. Her clothes had somehow stretched with her transformation, clinging to the upper portion of her body while her pants covered the lower section, exposing a wide band of blue skin around her middle where the fabric simply couldn't reach across her massive circumference.

She dominated the entire clearing, so large that the guys had to crane their necks to see her face properly. The sheer scale of her transformation was overwhelming—where moments ago there had been a young woman, now there was this enormous blue orb that defied all logic and reason. 

Hero stepped closer, his pre-med training overriding his shock. "Aubrey? Can you... how do you feel?"

"Like a balloon," she said, surprised by how her voice sounded—not muffled exactly, but different, as if it was coming from somewhere deeper than usual. Her enormously swollen cheeks made speaking feel strange, her words shaped differently by her dramatically transformed features. 

Kel walked slowly around her massive form, his eyes wide with disbelief. "This is insane. You're like... you're like a giant blueberry." 

"You're massive," Basil said quietly, with his usual blunt honesty. There was no judgment in his voice, just observation, but it still made Aubrey's round cheeks flush with embarrassment—though the blue color made it impossible to see. 

Kim hung back at the edge of the group, looking miserable. "The gum," she said in a small voice. "It was just supposed to be gum." 

Hero continued his examination, walking around Aubrey's spherical form and taking in every possible detail. Her tiny arms could barely move, her legs were practically useless, and her head was positioned at the very top of her round body like a human face on an enormous fruit. "This is impossible," he muttered."Biologically, physically impossible." 

"Yeah, well, tell that to my body," Aubrey replied, trying for her usual sarcasm but falling short. 

The silence stretched uncomfortably as her friends continued to stare, processing the impossibility of what they were seeing. 

"So," she finally said, her voice carrying a note of forced casualness, "this is a wonderful reunion, ain't it." 

"We need to get you somewhere safe," Hero said, his protective instincts kicking in as he processed the full scope of the situation. "She can't stay here for the rest of the day." 

"Where?" Kel's voice cracked slightly. 

"Somewhere private," Hero said slowly, thinking out loud. "Somewhere isolated. But we'd have to wait until after dark. We can't risk anyone seeing us move her." 

"Sunny's house," Basil said quietly, so quietly they almost missed it. "It's been empty since he left. No one goes there anymore."

The mention of Sunny brought another moment of loaded silence, this time of reminiscence. Their missing friend's abandoned house—it was perfect, and somehow fitting in a way that made Aubrey's chest tight with emotions she couldn't name. Two years, and they still thought of it as his house. 

But there was still a big issue. "She's huge." Kel pointed out, "How are we supposed to move her?" 

The casual way he said it stung, but Aubrey knew he was right. She was enormous—a perfect blue blueberry that would be impossible to hide or explain if anyone saw them. 

The casual planning, the way they immediately shifted into problem-solving mode—it was so familiar and so strange at the same time. These were her friends, the people she'd grown up with, and they were talking about rolling her through town like a piece of furniture. But at least they were here. At least they hadn't run away. 

"I can't believe we're actually discussing this," Kel muttered, but he was already looking around the clearing, probably calculating distances and angles. 

As the sun began to sink lower in the sky, painting the lake in shades of gold and orange, the five friends settled into an uneasy wait. Kim sat apart from the others, picking at the grass and avoiding eye contact. Hero paced back and forth along the bank, occasionally stopping to check his watch. Kel threw rocks into the water with increasing violence, each splash echoing across the lake like a small explosion. 

Basil was the only one who stayed close to Aubrey, sitting cross-legged in the grass just within reach of her tiny arms. He didn't try to make conversation or offer empty reassurances. He just sat there, present and steady, the way he had always been. 

"Thank you," Aubrey said quietly, meant just for him. 

He looked up at her with those serious eyes that seemed older than the rest of him. "For what?"

"For not running away." 

Basil considered this for a long moment. "Where would I run to?" 

It wasn't an answer that made logical sense, but somehow it was exactly what she needed to hear. As the darkness finally began to gather around their hidden lake, Aubrey closed her eyes and tried to prepare herself for whatever came next. The waiting was almost worse than the transformation itself. 

"Okay," Hero said as the last traces of daylight faded from the sky. "Now's a good time." 

Getting Aubrey to Sunny's house proved to be more complicated than any of them had anticipated. Her perfectly spherical form made her difficult to grip, and her enormous size meant they had to work together just to get her moving. Kel and Hero pushed from behind while Basil guided from the front, with Kim nervously watching for any signs of other people.

Rolling her felt surreal—Aubrey could feel the ground moving beneath her as her friends carefully maneuvered her massive form through the back streets of Faraway Town. Every bump and crack in the pavement sent vibrations through her spherical body, and she had to close her eyes against the dizzying sensation of the world spinning around her. 

The journey seemed to take forever, though it was probably only twenty minutes. They had to stop several times when cars passed, hiding Aubrey behind trees or in the shadows between houses. At one point, they nearly got caught by Joy and her family who were out on a night-time stroll, and Aubrey held her breath—or whatever passed for breath in her current form—as they waited in tense silence for the woman to pass.

When they finally reached Sunny's house, the familiar sight of the empty windows and overgrown yard hit Aubrey with an unexpected wave of emotion. This place had been so central to their childhood, and now it stood abandoned, waiting to become her temporary refuge. 

Getting her anywhere inside proved impossible—at eight feet in diameter, she was simply too large for any doorway. But as they stood in the backyard trying to figure out what to do, Basil pointed toward the old oak tree in the corner. 

"The treehouse," he said quietly. "We could set her up underneath it." 

The wooden platform was still there, weathered but sturdy, casting shadows across the grass below. It had been their secret hideout for years, and now it would provide shelter for something none of them could have imagined. 

Rolling her into position took some careful maneuvering, but eventually they had Aubrey settled comfortably beneath the familiar structure. The wooden beams overhead provided protection from the elements, and the secluded spot felt private and safe. 

Once she was positioned there, a strange silence fell over the group. Moonlight filtered through the treehouse planks above, casting familiar patterns across her blue form, and she could smell the mustiness of old wood mixed with night air. 

"This is so weird," Kel said quietly, his voice echoing softly in the enclosed space. 

Aubrey looked around at the familiar space from her new perspective, seeing it from a height she'd never experienced before. The treehouse platform above her, the yard where they'd played countless games,the house where Sunny used to live—all of it looked different from down here, but it felt like home. 

"We should go," Hero said reluctantly. "It's late, and our parents will be wondering where we are."

One by one, her friends said their awkward goodbyes and headed home, leaving promises to return in the morning to figure out what came next. Kim was the last to leave, lingering at the edge of the yard with guilt written across her face. 

"I'm really sorry, Aubrey," she said quietly. "I never meant for this to happen."

"I know," Aubrey replied, and she meant it. Whatever Kim had expected from that strange gum, it certainly hadn't been this. 

Then she was alone beneath the treehouse, a massive blue blueberry surrounded by childhood memories. The night sounds were different out here—crickets and rustling leaves instead of creaking floorboards—but somehow more comforting. She could see stars through the gaps in the wooden platform above. 

As she settled in for what would surely be a very strange night, Aubrey found herself wondering what tomorrow would bring. She had no way of knowing that in less than twelve hours, Sunny himself would walk through that very backyard, returning to find his childhood home occupied by something impossible. 

The night stretched ahead of her, full of questions that had no answers and possibilities she couldn't begin to imagine.

Chapter Text

The sound of a car engine pulling into the driveway jolted Aubrey from the strange half-sleep she'd managed to find sometime after midnight. Morning light filtered through the weathered planks of the treehouse above her, casting familiar patterns across her massive blue form as she rested beneath the structure that had once been their childhood hideout. 

For a disorienting moment, she forgot where she was, forgot what had happened to her. Then the reality came flooding back with crushing clarity: the gum, the transformation, the way her friends had no choice but to treat her as something inhuman. She was eight feet of blue blueberry, massive and immobile, sheltered beneath the wooden platform where they'd once planned adventures and shared secrets. 

The weight of her new reality settled over her like a heavy blanket. Her body felt alien yet strangely right—perfectly spherical, her skin tingling with that electric aliveness that hadn't faded since the change began. Every breath felt different, deeper somehow, and she could feel the morning breeze against her blue surface in ways that seemed impossibly vivid. Even lying still, there was an odd sense of fullness, of being more present in the world than she'd ever been before. 

But beneath the strange wonder of her transformed senses lay a deeper unease. She couldn't walk, couldn't move on her own, couldn't even gesture properly with her tiny, shortened arms. The independence she'd always prized—her ability to stride through the world with sharp-tongued confidence—had been stripped away in a single afternoon. She was dependent now, vulnerable in ways she'd never experienced. The thought made her chest tight with something between panic and grief.

And yet, as terrifying as the helplessness was, there was something else lurking beneath the surface. A strange sense of completion, as if some part of her had been waiting for this transformation without ever knowing it. The sensation was unsettling in its own way—how could losing so much of herself feel like finding something she hadn't known was missing? 

The car door slammed shut outside, followed by footsteps on the front walkway. Aubrey's heart—wherever it was positioned in her new spherical form—began to race. It was too early for any of her friends to be back. Hero had promised they'd return after lunch, giving her time to adjust to whatever this was supposed to be now. 

But as the footsteps grew closer, she recognized something familiar in their rhythm. A particular hesitation between steps, the way someone moved who was lost in thought rather than walking with purpose. Her breath caught as understanding hit her like a physical blow. 

Sunny.

Of all the people who could have chosen this moment to visit his abandoned childhood home, it had to be him. The friend she hadn't seen in two years, whose departure had left a hole in their group that they'd never quite learned how to fill. The person whose opinion had always mattered more than she'd ever been willing to admit, even to herself. 

Aubrey's mind raced back to that last few days before he'd moved away, the first times she'd seen him outside his house in years—and the last time she thought she'd ever see him. The careful rebuilding of their friendship had happened so quickly, compressed into those few precious days when everything finally came back together. She remembered that last afternoon they'd spent together, sitting in the treehouse in comfortable silence, both of them knowing it might be the last time for a very long while. There had been moments—fleeting instances when she'd catch him looking at her with something that might have been more than simple friendship. Times when their hands would brush while reaching for the same thing, or when he'd linger just a beat too long after saying goodbye. She'd never been brave enough to name what she felt for him, never risked their fragile reconciliation by pushing for something more. Now he was going to see her as a massive blue blueberry, and whatever delicate possibility had existed between them would be destroyed forever. How could anyone look at her current form and see anything but a freak, a mistake, something to be pitied or feared? 

She could hear him fumbling with keys at the front door, and panic began to set in. There was nowhere to hide, no way to move herself out of sight. She was trapped beneath the treehouse in the center of his backyard, impossible to miss, impossible to explain. Aubrey squeezed her eyes shut and tried to make herself smaller, though she knew it was useless. There was no hiding what she'd become. 

Then, from the front of the house, she heard familiar voices raised in what sounded like forced casualness. 

"Sunny! Hey, what brings you back to town?" Hero's voice carried clearly through the morning air, pitched just a little too high with barely concealed panic. "We were just—" 

"Walking around the neighborhood," Kel jumped in quickly, his words tumbling over each other. "You know, getting some exercise, checking out the old stomping grounds. Nothing special is happening here at all." 

"Definitely nothing unusual," Hero agreed with desperate enthusiasm. "Just a perfectly normal morning in a perfectly normal backyard that you definitely don't need to check on." 

Aubrey would have rolled her eyes if the situation weren't so horrifyingly embarrassing. Her friends were terrible at subtlety even under the best circumstances, and this was definitely not the best circumstances.

She heard movement in the backyard and turned as much as her spherical form would allow to see Basil slip through the back gate, moving with the quiet intensity he got when he was focused on a particular goal. He took one look at her massive blue form and immediately began trying to figure out how to move her. 

"Come on," he whispered, positioning himself behind her and pushing against her spherical surface. "We need to get you out of sight before—" 

But it was hopeless. Aubrey was simply too large and too heavy to move quickly, and the sound of Basil's efforts—his feet scrabbling for purchase on the grass, the soft thump of his hands against her blue skin—seemed impossibly loud in the morning quiet. 

The voices from the front yard were getting closer, and she could tell from Hero and Kel's increasingly frantic tone that their distraction wasn't working. 

"Actually, Sunny, maybe we should head back to—" Hero was saying, but his words were cut off by the sound of footsteps entering the backyard. 

Aubrey's eyes flew open to see Sunny standing in the entrance to the backyard, his dark eyes taking in the scene before him: Basil crouched behind an enormous blue sphere, his hands still pressed against her surface in a futile attempt at concealment. 

For a moment that felt like eternity, nobody moved. Sunny's expression was unreadable as he processed what he was seeing—his childhood friend transformed into something impossible, massive and blue and utterly changed from the girl he'd said goodbye to two years ago. 

Hero and Kel appeared behind him, their faces undescribable as they realized their distraction had failed completely. 

"Sunny, listen," Hero stepped forward with gentle concern, his voice carefully controlled. "I know this looks overwhelming. Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?" 

"There's probably a perfectly logical reason for all of this," Kel added desperately, gesturing vaguely atAubrey's impossible form. "Like... uh... special effects? Or a really elaborate art project?" 

But Sunny wasn't looking at either of them. His gaze was fixed entirely on Aubrey, taking in every detail of her transformation with that same intense focus she remembered from when they were kids. Her blue skin, her spherical shape, her red lips being sandwiched between her dramatically swollen cheeks, the way her tiny arms barely extended past the curve of her enormous body. 

Aubrey felt heat rise in her round cheeks—mortification made physical, though the blue color hid her blush completely. This was worse than any nightmare she could have imagined. Being seen like this by the one person whose reaction mattered most, while all their friends watched in helpless panic. 

"Move aside," Basil said quietly, his voice cutting through Hero and Kel's increasingly frantic explanations.

"What? No, we need to—" Hero protested. 

"Move aside," Basil repeated, more firmly this time. There was something in his tone that brooked no argument, a certainty that made Hero step reluctantly away from Sunny. 

The silence that followed was deafening. Aubrey waited for the inevitable questions, the shock, the careful distance that would confirm her worst fears about how he saw her now. 

Instead, Sunny took a step forward. 

Then another. 

He crossed the backyard with that same measured pace she remembered so well, his expression changed as he approached her massive form. He stopped directly in front of her, close enough that she could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes, and looked up at her face positioned at the top of her sphere. 

Without a word, he reached out and stretched his arms around the curve of her blue skin. 

The touch sent electricity through her entire being. His palms were warm against her transformed surface, and there was something achingly familiar about the gentle pressure of his fingers. No hesitation, nor revulsion—just simple, direct contact. 

Before anyone could process what was happening, Sunny wrapped his arms around as much of her spherical form as he could reach and pulled her close in what could only be described as an embrace.

The brief contact was everything—acceptance, warmth, the promise that nothing fundamental had changed between them. When he pulled back, he looked around the yard thoughtfully, then disappeared briefly into the house. He returned carrying an old wooden chair from what had probably been the kitchen, positioning it carefully beside her massive form. Without ceremony, he settled into the chair and leaned his head against her blue surface, his dark hair soft against her transformed skin. 

Yet again, no one knew how to react to Sunny's unexpected actions. 

"What the hell—" Kel started, his voice cracking with disbelief. 

"Sunny, what are you—" Hero began, then stopped, apparently unable to finish the question. 

Basil had gone very still, his camera forgotten around his neck as he watched the scene unfold with wide eyes. 

But Aubrey couldn't hear any of it over the sound of her own pulse thundering in her ears. Sunny was accepting her. Not trying to fix her, not asking what had happened, not treating her like a problem to be solved. He was treating her transformation as something to be embraced rather than feared.

She could feel the warmth of his body pressed against her blue surface, could smell the familiar scent of his soap and something uniquely him. It was the first truly gentle physical contact she'd had since her transformation, and it made her want to cry with relief. 

"Sunny," she whispered, her voice smaller than she'd intended. 

He turned his head slightly to look up at her face, and the expression in his dark eyes made her chest tight with emotions she couldn't name. There was no shock there, no pity, no disgust. Just a quiet acceptance that seemed to encompass everything she was now. 

Around them, her friends were struggling to process what they were witnessing. 

"I think I'm having a stroke," Kel announced to no one in particular. "This is it. This is how I die. Confusion stroke at age twenty. Goodbye state championships!" 

"Sunny, are you feeling alright?" Hero said slowly, his voice gentle but bewildered. "This is... this is a very unusual situation." 

Sunny glanced at him briefly, then back at Aubrey. He didn't speak—he never had been much for words—but his continued presence spoke louder than any explanation. 

"And that's... not concerning for you?" Hero pressed, clearly struggling to understand such matter-of-fact acceptance of the impossible. 

Basil, meanwhile, had finally remembered his camera and was quietly taking pictures of the scene. "The morning light is beautiful on her skin," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "The way it catches the curve of her form..." 

"Basil," Kel said weakly, "please tell me you're not having some kind of artistic awakening about our friend being a giant blueberry." 

"I'm documenting," Basil replied with quiet dignity. "This is... extraordinary." 

Aubrey felt a flush of something that might have been pride at his words. These were her friends—the people who'd known her since childhood—and instead of treating her like a circus attraction, they were starting to find ways to see beauty in her impossible transformation. All thanks to Sunny.

Well, most of them were adapting. Kel was still staring at the scene like he'd wandered into a fever dream.

"Okay, but seriously," Kel said, his voice pitched higher than usual, "how are we all just... okay with this? Yesterday she was normal, and today she's a massive blueberry, and we're all just going to pretend that's not completely insane?"

Sunny's response was to reach up and gently stroke the curve of Aubrey's surface, his touch light and reassuring. 

"She's still Aubrey," Basil said quietly, lowering his camera. "Just... more of her." 

It was an echo of something she'd said herself the day before, but hearing it from Basil—spoken with such calm certainty—made it feel like truth rather than desperate rationalization. 

"But she can't walk," Hero pointed out gently, his concern evident. "She can't fit through most doors.There are practical considerations we need to think about." 

"So we'll adapt," Basil replied simply. 

"Adapt," Kel repeated faintly. "Right. Adapt to our friend being a giant blueberry."

"Kel," Aubrey said gently, and his attention snapped to her immediately. "It's okay to be freaked out."

"Thank you! Finally, someone acknowledges that this is completely—"

"But it's also okay to accept that this is just how I am now," she continued. 

Kel stared up at her, his expression cycling through disbelief, frustration, and something that might have been grief. "But you're... you were..." 

"I'm still me," she said firmly, borrowing Basil's words because they felt right. "Just differently shaped."

Sunny made a sound that might have been an agreement, his breath warm against her skin. "Hey Sunny," she said quietly, when the others seemed lost in their own processing of the situation. "Mm?" 

"I'm glad you came back." 

His hand found her surface, warm and sure, and when he spoke, his voice was soft enough that only she could hear. 

"So am I."

Chapter Text

The morning sun was already warm when Hero arrived with a thermos of coffee and what appeared to be the contents of his dorm kitchen stuffed into a backpack. Aubrey watched from her position beneath the treehouse as he approached with that particular expression he got when he was trying to solve a problem through sheer preparation. 

"I brought options," he announced, setting down the bag and pulling out various items. "Water bottles with straws, different kinds of food, some basic supplies. I thought we should figure out what works for you now." 

Sunny was still there, of course, settled in his chair with his head resting against her surface. He'd briefly went to his car and had come back with a small duffel bag that suggested a longer stay than anyone had expected. Somehow, his quiet presence felt more useful than Hero's careful preparations. 

"You know, you could have just asked what I needed," Aubrey said, though she was touched by the effort.

Kel arrived as Hero was arranging supplies, dribbling his basketball with one hand and carrying a paper bag with the other. "Please tell me if someone brought actual breakfast," he said. "I'm starving, and Mom only had those weird protein bars that taste like cardboard." 

"I brought fruit," Hero offered. 

"Real breakfast," Kel clarified, then stopped short when he got a full look at Aubrey in daylight. "Jesus. You're really blue." 

"Thanks for that astute observation," Aubrey replied dryly. 

"I mean, I knew you were blue yesterday, but seeing it in actual sunlight..." Kel walked slowly around her spherical form, still absently dribbling his basketball. "You're like, aggressively blue. Super blue. Maximum blueness achieved." 

"Kel." 

"Sorry. It's just... you're really, really—" 

"Blue. Yes. We've established this." 

Kel grinned at her tone, some of his nervous energy settling. "There she is. For a second I thought the attitude might have gotten lost in the transformation."

He continued dribbling as he talked, the rhythmic bounce-bounce-bounce filling the comfortable space beneath the treehouse. Without really thinking about it, he let the ball bounce a little higher, and it grazed against Aubrey's blue surface on its way down. 

"Oh shit, sorry—" he started, then stopped when he saw her expression. 

"That actually felt kind of nice," she said, surprised. "Like a massage." Kel's eyes lit up with the particular gleam he got when presented with new possibilities for mischief. "Really?" 

"Kel," Hero warned, recognizing the look. 

"What? I'm just curious about the therapeutic applications of—" 

"Don't even think about it." 

But Kel was already thinking about it. He bounced the ball gently off her surface again, watching her reaction carefully. When she smiled instead of protesting, he grinned and tried a different angle. 

Basil appeared through the back gate carrying his camera and a small folding stool. He set up quietly at the edge of the group, already studying the way the morning light fell across her surface. 

Hero was taking notes about Kel's basketball experiments when he remembered his original purpose."Okay," he said, opening the thermos. "Let's start simple. Are you thirsty?" 

Aubrey tilted her face toward the morning sun filtering through the treehouse planks, feeling something she hadn't noticed yesterday. The warmth on her blue skin felt different now—not just pleasant, but nourishing somehow. "I don't think so, actually." 

"You should still try to stay hydrated," Hero said, holding up a water bottle with a straw. 

"No, I mean..." She paused, trying to find the right words for what she was experiencing. "I can feel the sunlight on my skin differently now. Like it's... feeding me somehow." 

Hero's eyebrows shot up. "You think you're photosynthesizing?" 

"Maybe? I know it sounds crazy, but I feel more energized in the sunlight. Like I'm absorbing something from it." She considered this. "I don't feel hungry or thirsty at all. Just... satisfied, I guess." 

"That's fascinating from a biological standpoint," Hero said, already reaching for his notebook. "We should still test your responses to traditional nutrients, just to establish a baseline—"

"Hero," Aubrey interrupted gently. "I really don't think I need food anymore." 

"But what if you're wrong? What if you become malnourished?" 

"Then we'll figure it out. But right now, the sun feels like enough." 

What followed was perhaps the strangest game of basketball ever played. With Hero's concerns about her nutrition temporarily set aside, Kel's experiments with her spherical form became more elaborate. He would bounce the ball off different parts of her surface, trying to predict the angles while Hero called out mathematical calculations that nobody listened to. Basil documented everything with quiet dedication,and Sunny remained close enough to monitor her reactions. 

"This is ridiculous," Aubrey said, but she was laughing as Kel's latest attempt sent the ball careening into the treehouse ladder. 

"This is adapted recreation," Kel corrected. "Very advanced stuff. You wouldn't understand."

"I'm the equipment in your adapted recreation." 

"The best equipment. Premium quality. Top-of-the-line spherical sports apparatus."

"I'm going to roll over you." 

"You can't roll. You need us to move you, remember?" Kel's teasing was gentle, familiar. "You're completely dependent on our good will and superior mobility." 

"Kel," Hero warned. 

"What? It's true. She's basically a really pretty blue boulder now."

"A really pretty blue boulder?" Aubrey repeated. 

"The prettiest blue boulder. Five-star boulder. Would recommend to friends." 

Despite everything, she found herself smiling. This was Kel being Kel—finding ways to make the impossible feel normal through sheer determination and questionable humor. 

"Auberry," he said, trying the nickname out experimentally. 

"Absolutely not." 

"Auberry the berry. It's perfect." 

"I will find a way to crush you." 

"Auberry's got attitude. I like it."

Sunny's shoulders were shaking with silent laughter, his face pressed against her surface to muffle the sound. The vibration of his amusement traveled through her blue skin, creating a sensation unlike anything she'd ever experienced. 

"Are you laughing at me?" she asked him. 

He turned his face up to her, eyes bright with humor, but didn't speak—just smiled in that way tha tmeant he was enjoying himself. 

"He's being ridiculous." 

Sunny shrugged slightly, as if to say that was just Kel's way. 

"Same thing." 

The morning continued with more experimentation. Hero tested her skin's sensitivity to temperature and pressure, cataloging her reactions with scientific thoroughness. Basil moved around them like a satellite, capturing moments from angles that made even the strangest interactions look natural. Kel invented increasingly elaborate games that involved her spherical form, each one more absurd than the last. 

Through it all, Sunny stayed close. Not hovering, not making a show of his attention, just consistently present. His hand would find her surface during conversations, his shoulder would brush against her when he shifted position, his presence steady and reassuring. 

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, Aubrey became more convinced of her theory. The warmth felt genuinely nourishing, and she could swear she felt more energized as the morning progressed. 

"You were right," she told Hero during a quiet moment. "About the photosynthesis thing. I can actually feel it working." 

Hero looked fascinated despite his earlier concerns. "Any side effects? Discomfort?"

"The opposite. I feel more alive than I have since this started." 

"I need more film," Basil said all of a sudden, as the sun reached its pinnacle. He had been moving around them like a satellite all afternoon, his camera clicking steadily as he captured moments from angles that made even the strangest interactions look natural. 

"We could go get some," Hero offered. "There's that shop downtown—Hobbeez, right?"

"Yeah, but..." Basil glanced at Aubrey as the group went silent. Getting film meant going into town. Really going, not just sneaking through back streets at night. Which means the public will be seeing Aubrey as a blueberry for the first time.

Kel stopped bouncing his basketball. "We'd have to roll her through the middle of town in broad daylight."

"People would see her," Hero said slowly, his tone carefully neutral.

"People are going to see her eventually," Kel pointed out. "Can't exactly keep an eight-foot blueberry hidden forever."

"That's not the point," Hero said. "The point is whether Aubrey's ready for that kind of attention. You know she doesn't have the greatest reputation in town."

Kel went silent, knowing Hero had made an unfortunate point. 

Aubrey felt the brothers' eyes dart away from her as she felt her chest go hollow. She had made many mistakes during the angst years of her life. The neglect, the anxiety, the loneliness that had led her to seek the company of the local Hooligans and release the angst into bullying, stealing, and violence which terrorized the citizens of Faraway Town. Even after she finally abandoned her Hooligan side for a more hopeful future, rumors remained about her rascal, slacking nature. How her mother does not care for her anymore. How she never actually graduated from college. How she is nothing more than a bum around town with a future that does not want her, either.

She knew that the rumors would only get worse if the public learned of her plight. There's no sympathy for the local troublemakers in this town; only shame and disdain, the very things that drove her to the pond in the first place.

"You're right," she said quietly. "People already didn't like me much before this."

"That's not what I meant—" Hero started.

"But it's true." Aubrey looked at the familiar back fence of Sunny's yard, remembering all the times they'd played here as children, before everything fell apart. "I gave them plenty of reasons not to like me."

She paused for a moment. "But I also don't want to stay here for the rest of my life. I can't just stay hidden from the world just because I don't look normal anymore... you know what? I'm tired of being afraid of what people think of me. They can spread all the rumors they want, and it wouldn't change a damn thing. I'm a blueberry now, and if I just stay hidden, the rumors are going to spread anyways. At least this time, I can confront them directly."

"Even if they say cruel things?" Hero asked gently.

"Who cares." Aubrey turned her head slightly to point at Sunny, "Why do I care what they say when I know you guys will never abandon me?"

Sunny stood from his chair and moved to stand directly in front of Aubrey, his hand finding her surface. He looked up at her face and nodded once—a gesture that carried more weight than words. Trust and support and quiet certainty all wrapped into a single movement.

Hero looked at all of them, then sighed. "If we do this—really do this—and it gets too overwhelming, we come back immediately. No arguments."

"Deal," Aubrey said.

"And we stay together. Nobody wanders off, nobody leaves her alone."

"Obviously," Kel said.

"I'm serious, Kel. This isn't a game."

"I know it's not a game." Kel's usual humor had faded for a moment, replaced by something more earnest. "She's our friend. We're not gonna abandon her."

The four boys positioned themselves around her spherical form. Aubrey braced herself as they began to push, but this time felt different from the desperate nighttime scramble to get her to safety. Now they had time to figure out what actually worked.

"Wait, hold on," Hero said after the first awkward attempt left them pushing at conflicting angles. "We need to coordinate better. We're pushing at different angles and it's not getting her anywhere."

"Hey, don't look at me." Kel retored defensively, "I'm the one who's actually pushing upwards. You know, the direction that actually causes her to roll."

"You're pushing straight up," Hero pointed out. "That just lifts her, it doesn't create rotation."

"Then what am I supposed to do?"

They tried again with adjusted angles, but the result was barely better. Aubrey felt herself shift slightly, the juice inside her sloshing uncomfortably as they struggled to generate any real momentum.

"This isn't working," Basil said quietly. "We're all fighting each other. We should push from the same spot."

"That'll just make her slide again," Kel said, frustration creeping into his voice.

They attempted several more formations, each one ending with Aubrey barely moving or tipping at awkward angles. The desperation through town at night had worked out of sheer adrenaline and necessity, but now that they had time to think about it, nobody seemed to know the proper technique.

Sunny had been quiet through all the attempts, studying Aubrey's spherical form with that focused attention he got when working through a problem. As the brothers were bickering and Basil was looking at them cluelessly, Sunny stepped behind Aubrey and placed both hands on her surface near the bottom curve. Instead of pushing straight forward, he moved his hands upward along her surface, the motion like rolling a ball away from himself. Suddenly, Aubrey felt herself actually moving, naturally and in the right direction. Sunny continued the motion, his hands pushing upward in a rolling gesture that kept her momentum going. Each upward push created proper rotation, causing Aubrey to move forward with a fluidity that had been completely absent from their previous attempts.

Aubrey found herself experiencing the rolling sensation in a completely different way than that first panicked night. Then, she'd been too shocked by her transformation to process what was happening. Now, she watched as the ground slowly tilted into view before she popped out on the other side of her body towards the blue sky above, her head sucked into her body enough to not even touch the floor. It was surprisingly not dizzying, and the gentle sloshing of the juice inside was almost soothing, like ocean waves contained within her spherical form. The rotation itself created a strange kind of rhythm, her perspective constantly shifting as ground became sky became ground again. There was something freeing about the complete surrender of control, trusting entirely in whoever was guiding her.

The three of them looked at Sunny, who simply shrugged. "One person is all it takes."

"It's about the angle," Hero said, understanding now. "We're not pushing her forward, we're rotating her. Like actually rolling a ball."

"One person at a time makes more sense too," Kel observed. "Less coordination issues."

Sunny gestured for Basil to try next. One by one, the other three boys mimicked Sunny's hand motions as they slowly moved Aubrey around the backyard. Their mimicking wasn't completely perfect: Basil had too little force, and Aubrey found herself moving too slow; Kel was too forceful, making it feel like he was trying to pull on Aubrey instead; and Hero was too gentle to the point where his hands often slipped around Aubrey's body. All three of them apologized repeatedly, but it was clear to everyone that only one person was right for the job.

When Sunny took his turn again, pulling her along the backyard with that quiet competence he brought to everything, Aubrey felt a flutter of something warm in her chest. The touch of his hands on her surface, the careful attention he paid to keeping her movement smooth and stable—it all felt more intimate than it probably should have. 

"You ready to try this for real?" Hero asked, gesturing toward the back gate.

Aubrey looked at her friends—at their determined faces and the care with which they'd worked to figure out how to help her navigate the world in this new form. "Yeah. I'm ready."

And thus, the four were off, into a familiar world where unfamiliarity now resides.

They moved through the residential streets at a steady pace. A few people were out in their yards, and Aubrey could feel their stares following her blue form as they passed. But nobody called out, nobody ran screaming. Just stares and whispered conversations she couldn't quite hear, but she also couldn't quite care.

They were passing through a familiar neighborhood when Hero slowed their pace.

"We should tell your mom," he said carefully. "Let her know you're okay."

Aubrey felt that familiar hollow sensation in her chest. "She won't care."

"We should still try," Hero insisted gently.

They positioned her near the front steps of the house that had never quite felt like home. The peeling paint and overgrown yard looked even worse in daylight. Hero knocked on the door while the others waited.

No answer.

He knocked again, louder this time. Still nothing.

Kel moved to the window and peered through the gap in the curtains. "She's in there. On the couch watching TV."

Hero tried knocking one more time, but the door remained closed. Through the window, they could see the flickering light of the television, Aubrey's mother completely absorbed in whatever was on the screen.

"She can't hear us," Hero said, though his tone suggested he knew that wasn't quite true.

"She doesn't want to hear us," Aubrey corrected quietly. "Let's go, please. There really is no point."

They resumed their journey toward the commercial district, leaving the house and its indifferent occupant behind. Othermart came into view as the afternoon sun climbed higher, and Aubrey could feel the warmth on her blue skin, energizing her in ways she was still learning to understand. The streets were busier here, more people out and about, and she could already see faces turning toward them. Within moments of their arrival, faces appeared at the windows—customers and employees drawn to the unusual sight.

Aubrey looked at the growing crowd gathering at the glass. "Go get what Basil needs. I'll wait here."

"You sure?" Hero's concern was evident.

"I'm sure."

The boys headed inside, though Sunny was the last to go, his hand lingering on her surface for a long moment before he followed the others.

Alone in the parking lot, Aubrey became the center of a slowly forming circle of curiosity. People approached cautiously—some taking pictures from a distance, others whispering to companions. Children stared openly while their parents tried unsuccessfully to hush them.

"Aubrey? Jesus, is that really you?" A voice emerged from the store near her.

The immediate recognition in her voice was jarring. "Hi, Mrs. Baker."

"What happened to you, honey?" Mrs. Baker set down her cart and moved closer, her expression caught between shock and genuine concern. "Does your mother know about this?"

The mention of her mother made Aubrey's chest tighten. Mrs. Baker would remember—the neglect, the times Aubrey had shown up places dirty or hungry. "She knows."

Mrs. Baker's mouth pressed into a thin line. "And she's not doing anything?"

"My friends are helping."

"Those boys you used to run around with? They're taking care of you?"

"They are."

Mrs. Baker studied her for a long moment, and Aubrey felt herself tense up as she prepared herself to be condemned.

Instead, Mrs. Baker reached out and patted the curve of Aubrey's blue surface, awkward but genuine. "You always were tougher than you looked."

More people had gathered while they talked, forming a loose ring around her. Most kept their distance, content to observe and photograph. A few worked up the courage to ask if she was okay, if she needed anything. The reactions were mixed—curiosity, concern, nervous laughter, worried whispers—but nobody ran, nobody screamed. Most surprisingly, nobody judged. When her friends emerged from the store with Basil's film, they found her surrounded by a small crowd that felt more curious than hostile. The relief she felt from them, especially Sunny, loosened the knot in her stomach.

They continued through town, stopping at Fix-It where the hardware store owner brought items outside for them to examine. At Gino's Pizza, diners stared through the windows while they waited for takeout, phones held up to capture the impossible sight. The park was quieter, with most people giving the group space to eat lunch while Aubrey absorbed the strengthening afternoon sunlight. The warmth felt more concentrated now, more nourishing.

"Hi," a familiar voice echoed from behind her.

"Kim." Aubrey was surprised to see her. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard you guys were out. In town." Kim's hands were deep in her pockets. "I wanted to see how it was going."

"Fine. People are mostly just curious."

Kim nodded, but her expression remained troubled. She lingered for a few more minutes, grumbling something under her breath, before excusing herself abruptly.

"I should go. I'm glad you're okay."

Their adventures continued after lunch as they continued to roll Aubrey around town. There was now a steady stream of visitors where every they go—children wanting to see the "blueberry girl," teenagers taking selfies, adults treating her like an unusual local phenomenon. They passed the narrow gap between the hardware store and antique shop, where Aubrey glimpsed the mysterious shop that Kim had mentioned. An old man stood in his doorway, watching with that same intense attention Kim had described. Their eyes met across the distance. He nodded once, then stepped back inside and closed the door.

The only tension came at the church, where a group had gathered with expressions notably different from the curiosity they'd found elsewhere.

An older woman stepped forward. "Are you the young people everyone's talking about?"

"Yes ma'am," Hero replied carefully.

The woman studied Aubrey. "Are you getting proper care?"

"My friends take care of me," Aubrey said.

"I'm sure they do their best." The woman's tone carried the suggestion that their best might not be enough. "Perhaps there are people better qualified."

Sunny stepped closer to Aubrey's surface, his hand finding her blue skin. The gesture was small but protective.

The woman noticed, glanced between them, then back at the church group. "Well. I suppose we'll see how things develop."

"We should head back," Hero said, the tone of his voice showing slight discomfort.

The return journey felt different. While there were still many who stared, others were excited at the sight of their new blueberry friend. The children especially reached out to her excitedly, forcing their parents to drag them away. The attention of the day had greatly embarrassed Aubrey, but it was nevertheless better than feeling shamed and unloved. When they finally returned to Sunny's house and positioned her under the tree house, she felt her entire group relax.

"How do you feel?" Hero asked.

"Tired. But good."

Basil showed her some of his pictures he had taken, and she was startled by what she saw. In his photographs, she didn't look like a victim or a freak. She looked otherworldly, fascinating in a way that belonged in fairy tales rather than reality. Her blue skin caught the light like water, her swollen features had a softness that seemed almost angelic, and her size gave her a presence that dominated every frame. No wonder no one in town was scared of her. She looked...

"Beautiful," Sunny said quietly, speaking up for the first time in hours. 

"I was going to say huge."

"Both," he replied simply. 

As evening settled in, the group's energy began to settle into something quieter. Hero packed up his supplies with satisfied efficiency while Basil folded his stool and shouldered his camera, but not before taking a few final shots of the golden light on her surface. Kel was the last to acknowledge the changing atmosphere. He'd been building increasingly elaborate trick shots with his basketball, but eventually even his restless energy wound down. 

"This is weird," he announced, settling cross-legged in the grass. 

"Weird how?" Hero asked. 

"All of it. This whole day. This morning I could barely look at her without freaking out, and now it feels like the whole town knows about her condition. It's weird how fast we adapted. How everyone adapted, really."

"If it's too much—" 

"No," Kel interrupted. "That's not what I mean. I mean it's weird that it feels right. Like this is how it was supposed to be all along." 

The silence that followed was comfortable rather than awkward. Around them, the summer evening was settling into its familiar rhythm—crickets beginning to chirp, fireflies starting to blink in the deeper shadows, the air cooling just enough to feel like a caress against her blue skin. 

"We should head home," Hero said eventually. "You went through a lot today. We should let you rest." 

"Yeah," Kel said, standing and stretching. "Mom's making her famous meatloaf, and if I'm late she'll give it all to my dad." 

"Auberry," he added with a grin. 

"Don't call me that." 

"Too late. It's stuck now." 

He jogged out through the back gate, dribbling his basketball and calling goodbye over his shoulder, while Hero followed more sedately. Basil lingered longest, taking a few final photos in the golden light, before slinking away as well.

Sunny shifted in his chair, with clear intentions on staying by her side. His head was once again leaning against her stomach, and the warmth of his skin on her's made her chest feel tight in a way that had nothing to do with her transformation. He reached up to trace one of his gentle circles against her surface, and the touch felt different tonight. More intentional, more meaningful. Like a promise neither of them quite knew how to voice yet.

"Thank you," Aubrey said quietly. "For today. For all of this."

He smiled, his hand still resting against her blue skin, and settled back into his chair for the night.

Chapter Text

Sunny had stayed.

That was the first thing Aubrey noticed when she woke that first morning—not the sound of a car pulling up, but the quiet presence already there. His duffel bag sat by the front door of his childhood home, his chair positioned under the treehouse where she could see it. He'd settled in like he'd never left, like the house had just been waiting for him to come back.

He was reading when she fully woke, the early morning light filtering through the treehouse planks above, casting familiar shadows across the grass. He glanced up, met her eyes, and the corner of his mouth quirked up slightly. 

"Morning," Aubrey said.

They sat in comfortable silence as the sun climbed higher, Aubrey absorbing the light, feeling it warm her blue surface in ways that were becoming as natural as breathing used to be. Sunny turned pages. Birds called from the trees. It felt almost normal.

Hero showed up mid-morning, notebook under one arm.

"Hey," he said, settling into the grass near her. "How are you feeling today?"

"Good. Same as yesterday."

"Any changes? Discomfort? Is the photosynthesis still working well?"

"I feel fine, Hero."

He nodded, making a note. "Do you mind if I take some measurements? Just basic stuff—I want to establish a baseline so we can track if anything changes. Make sure you're staying healthy."

"Yeah, okay."

Hero pulled out a tape measure and worked methodically, calling out numbers as he went. Eight feet, two inches across. Circumference at various points. He had her try moving her arms, her legs, documenting her limited range of motion with careful precision.

"Your mobility is actually pretty good," he observed, jotting more notes. "Considering the changes, I mean. That's encouraging."

It felt clinical, as if she was being probed by a doctor. But Hero was her friend. He was just being thorough. Making sure she was okay.

Kel arrived an hour later with his basketball and that familiar wide grin.

"Alright, so I've been thinking," he announced, already bouncing the ball. "We proved the basketball thing works, right? So what if we made it more interesting? Set up some challenges, turn it into an actual game?"

"Could be fun," Aubrey said, watching him setting up traffic cones and arranging them in patterns around her. "But just to clarify—"

"Right?" He said, completely missing out on what Aubrey was about to say. "It'll be good for you too—keep you engaged, give you something to do." The ball bounced steadily as he talked. "Plus it's exercise for me. Win-win."

He tried a shot that bounced off her surface at a weird angle, nearly taking out one of his own cones.

"Okay, the physics are definitely tricky," he admitted, chasing the ball. "But that's what makes it interesting!"

Basil showed up last, camera already raised.

Click.

"Morning," he said, lowering it briefly before raising it again to capture another angle.

Click. Morning light on blue skin.

Click. Sunny reading beside her.

Click. Kel adjusting his cone setup.

"Just documenting," Basil explained softly when he noticed her watching. "Want to have a record of all this. Just like the old times."

"I don't think I could forget it even if I want to," Aubrey said. 

She didn't mind this at all, at least that was what she was telling herself. This was just like what they used to do back when they were kids, capturing their everyday memories before they inevitably grew apart. Basil meant well. They all meant well.

By the end of that first week, a routine had established itself. Hero came in the mornings to check on her, taking measurements and asking questions about how she felt. Kel showed up in the afternoons with his basketball, his games becoming more elaborate each day. Basil drifted in and out with his camera, capturing everything from multiple angles at different times of day. 

And Sunny was just there. Reading, or listening to music, or sitting in silence. Not measuring, not photographing, not turning her into a game. Just present.

Attention started building up in the second week. 

Aubrey noticed it first online—Hero showed her on his phone. Photos of her from that first public outing had spread beyond Faraway Town. Posts on social media, articles on local news sites, people sharing the "blueberry girl" story with fascination and curiosity.

"You're kind of famous," Kel said, scrolling through comments. "People think you're cool."

"Great," Aubrey said flatly. "The former delinquent turned blueberry is now cool."

More people started showing up at the house. Not constantly, but enough to notice—tourists taking photos from the street, curious locals who'd heard about her wanting to see for themselves. Most were respectful, keeping their distance, but the attention was starting to get exhausting after a while.

"We should go into town again," Hero suggested one morning. "Get you out, maintain some normalcy. Can't stay hidden back here."

"Plus, I ran out of film again," Basil added on.

So there they went. Sunny, rolling her smoothly across the terrain, with her friends walking alongside her. This time, it seemed like they were all pre-occupied with their own thoughts, rather than observing the antics that were going on in town. Hero kept thinking about the logistics behind Aubrey's new form. Kel was talking about the trick shots he could be performing off of Aubrey. Basil was stopping on occasion to look at possible angles to take further pictures. Sunny's quiet presence remained the most welcoming out of the four of them.

They stopped at Gino's first, then Othermart to get the film. The crowds were bigger this time, more people recognizing her and wanting to take a picture with the blueberry girl. Most were friendly about it, asking permission, saying nice things. But there were also phones appearing without asking, strangers discussing her transformation like she wasn't there to hear it.

Hero took notes throughout. Nothing obvious, just occasional jottings about how she was handling the journey, how people were reacting, observations about the logistics of moving through town.

Basil photographed everything. The route, the crowds, the way light hit her differently in open spaces versus shade.

Kel engaged with people naturally, his energy drawing small groups. Before long he had a handful of kids trying his basketball game, showing them the theorized trick shots, using Aubrey as the centerpiece of it all.

She was finishing up at Othermart—Hero inside grabbing supplies while the others waited with her, Kel still distracted by the children, and Basil off to get even more film (How did he run out so fast? Aubrey had thought)—when a news van pulled up.

The reporter was young, eager, microphone already out. "Excuse me, are you the girl everyone's been talking about? The one who transformed? Can I ask you a few questions for—"

"No thanks," Aubrey cut in smoothly. "We're just here shopping."

"But people are really interested in your story! How did this happen? What caused it? How does it feel to—"

"She said no," Sunny said quietly, stepping between the reporter and Aubrey.

The reporter backed off, but the camera operator kept filming until they left.

Before long, Aubrey heard another woman approach her from behind.

"Do I have to repeat myself?" Aubrey snapped.

"Oh no, I'm not here to interview you."

The woman stepped into Aubrey's view. She was wearing professional clothes and carrying a leather portfolio, looking nothing like a reporter. The woman smiled, seemingly warmly, though Aubrey was still hesitant to trust her.

"I'm Dr. Elena Vasquez. I'm a researcher at the university hospital. I've been following the news coverage about you. I hope I'm not intruding."

"Kind of," Aubrey said bluntly.

Vasquez's smile didn't falter. "I understand. You must be tired of the attention. I promise I'm not here as a curiosity seeker. I specialize in unusual physiological adaptations, and I have to say, what you're experiencing is remarkable from a medical perspective."

"How are you feeling?" Vasquez continued. "Any discomfort? Changes in how your body functions?"

"I'm fine. Just... different."

"Of course."

Hero had just emerged from Othermart and caught the tail end of the conversation. Vasquez handed a business card to Sunny, and when he didn't budge, handed it over to Hero. "I'd love to talk more sometime, if you're willing. Understanding cases like this could be invaluable—not just for you, but for medical science as a whole. Nothing invasive, I promise."

"Maybe," Aubrey said noncommittally, but from the corner of the eye she saw Hero take the business card.

"I appreciate your time." Vasquez smiled again at Aubrey before leaving. "It really was wonderful to meet you."

"She seems knowledgeable." Hero said as Vasquez left. "Head of Biological Research. Might be worth talking to her."

"Might be," Aubrey said, but something about the interaction had made her uncomfortable. The way the doctor had looked at her—professional interest, clinical assessment, like Aubrey was a fascinating puzzle to solve. The plastic smile she wore the entire time only made her feel more unnerved.

Sunny rolled her home as the afternoon heat built, and Aubrey was grateful to get back to the shade of the treehouse.

"Sunny," she said quietly.

He looked up from his book.

"I think I'm getting bigger."

It had been a week since the encounter with Vasquez in town. Every morning, she thought her clothes were slightly tighter than before, but she waved it off as them finally giving away. Today, however, it felt unmistakable: her perspective was slightly higher when she looked around the yard, enough for her to notice.

Sunny stood, walked around her slowly, assessing. His expression was thoughtful, careful. He nodded once.

When Hero arrived an hour later, Aubrey told him immediately.

"Really?" His eyes lit up with interest. "Let me measure."

"You just measured me last week."

"Those numbers are outdated if you're actively growing. We need current data." He was already pulling out his tape measure. "Eight feet, seven inches. That's five inches since I started tracking. In less than three weeks."

He pulled out his notebook, started doing calculations before even asking how she felt about it.

"Hero."

He looked up. "Hm?"

"Maybe ask me how I'm feeling about this before you start doing your calculations?"

"Oh. Right." He set the notebook down, looking slightly sheepish. "Sorry. How are you feeling about it?"

"Honestly? Kind of freaked out." She said with genuine worry. "I don't know when it'll stop or how big I'll get. Or, why I'm growing in the first place."

"We'll figure it out," Hero promised. "That's why I'm tracking everything—so we can understand what's happening and help you through it."

They talked for a while, and Aubrey felt better. Hero cared. He was just being thorough, trying to understand so he could help.

A few hours later, a surprise visitor arrived. Aubrey first noticed a mysterious car driving towards Sunny's house. A few moments later, a familiar woman in a lab coat emerged from the front of the house.

"Afternoon, Aubrey." Vasquez's plastic smile returned, but Aubrey just looked away. Not her. Not again.

"Hero mentioned your growth," she said, already walking around Aubrey with assessing eyes. "That's extraordinary. The rate of expansion suggests incredibly adaptive cellular structures."

Aubrey looked at him. Hero had the grace to look embarrassed. "I emailed her. Asked for her professional opinion on the growth rate."

"Without asking me?"

"It was just general observations—"

"About my body."

Vasquez cleared her throat. "I apologize if I've caused tension. But Hero's instinct to seek expert consultation is sound. This kind of transformation—we have no precedent for it. Proper documentation and medical oversight could be crucial for your well-being."

"I'm fine," Aubrey said.

"For now. But continued growth without understanding the mechanism?" Vasquez pulled out her own notebook. "That's concerning. With proper evaluation, we could—"

"She's not interested," Sunny said quietly, but Vasquez ignored him. "The offer stands. When you're ready to take this seriously, please reach out."

Aubrey felt exhausted, even after Vasquez left.

Later that week they made another trip into town—Basil's film management being at an all-time low. Sunny rolled her through the familiar route, the journey feeling easier each time they did it.

She was there as they passed by Othermart.

"What a coincidence," Vasquez said, though her smile suggested it wasn't one. "I was just on my way back from break."

She walked alongside them as they browsed, talking to Hero about medical journals and research protocols, making suggestions about what kinds of documentation would be most valuable. She was professional, knowledgeable, and clearly trying to build rapport. Hero was too caught up in the medical discussions to notice Aubrey's complaints and Sunny's look of disappointment.

"Proper facilities could really help," she said as they were leaving. "Equipment to run actual tests, controlled environment, expert monitoring. I know it might seem overwhelming, but understanding your transformation could benefit so many people."

"Maybe," Hero said, and Aubrey felt something cold settle in her stomach.

They rolled her home in silence.

Kel's games had evolved. Now there were regular groups of neighborhood kids showing up every afternoon, and he'd developed elaborate rules and scoring systems. The games were fun, energetic, full of laughter. But Aubrey noticed he rarely asked anymore if she wanted to play—just set up and assumed she was on board.

Basil's photography had become constant. He'd show up at dawn for sunrise shots, during the day for different lighting, at dusk for golden hour. His camera was always clicking, always capturing, always documenting.

A brief break in the routine came one random afternoon. Kim walked into the backyard nonchalantly, hands in her pockets, watching from the edge of the yard as Kel ran another basketball game and Basil circled with his camera.

"Hey," she said, settling near Aubrey but not too close.

"Hey."

They sat in silence for a while. Sunny looked at her suspiciously but didn't say another word.

"This is weird," Kim said finally.

"Yeah."

"Everyone's so focused on you. But not like... on you, you know? On what you are. The blueberry part." She picked at the grass. "It feels weird."

Before Aubrey could respond, Kim stood up. "I should go. Just wanted to check in."

She left through the back gate, and Aubrey was left with the uncomfortable weight of her observation.

It was undeniable now—Aubrey had grown again. Nine feet tall, nearing a month after her transformation. She was larger, heavier, taking up more space under the treehouse.

Hero's measurements had become daily. He'd filled multiple notebooks with observations, charts tracking her growth rate, hypothetical projections about future development. He mentioned casually that he was corresponding with Vasquez regularly, getting her professional input on his documentation. "Just want to make sure I'm not missing anything," he explained. "She's got way more training than I do."

Vasquez's unwanted visits had become frequent. Sometimes she brought a colleague—another doctor who wanted to see the "remarkable case" firsthand. They'd observe Aubrey openly, discuss her condition within earshot, and refer her as a "specimen" and "unprecedented biological phenomenon."

"We really should be thinking about proper evaluation," Vasquez said during one visit. "Public health considerations alone—we need to ensure that whatever caused your transformation isn't a risk to others."

"I'm not contagious," Aubrey said.

"We don't know that definitively. That's the point. Proper testing in a controlled facility—"

"She's not interested," Sunny repeated like a silent parrot, but like every visit, his comments were ignored.

They made one more trip into town—no additional explanation needed. Aubrey was unwilling this time, knowing that a certain someone was already waiting for her there, but Hero mentioned having her move around, so her body doesn't settle in too much. Sure enough, as they arrived at Othermart that damn scientist was waiting for her, this time with who she claimed was a "specialist in the field". The specialist circled Aubrey like a hawk, his stare significantly more intent compared to any of the other colleagues.

"The rate of growth is pretty concerning," the colleague said to Vasquez, like Aubrey wasn't right there. "Without understanding the mechanism—"

"Exactly," Vasquez agreed. "Which is why I've been recommending proper medical oversight. A controlled observation period could—"

"I don't want to be studied."

"Studied makes it sound adversarial. We're talking about care. Proper medical care from people who understand what they're doing." Vasquez's tone was patient, reasonable. She turned towards the others. "Each of your dedications to your friend are admirable, but are you all really qualified to handle something like this?" She looked at Hero especially when saying that last part.

None of them had a good answer to that.

That evening, Vasquez returned, her lab coat hastily moving across the grass. "I apologize for showing up unannounced," she said as she arrived, slightly out of breath. "But your situation... We've been discussing the best approach for your ongoing care, and we agree that proper medical oversight is becoming crucial. You're now over nine feet in diameter. You're continuing to grow. We need to understand what's happening."

"She's fine."

"For now." Vasquez acknowledged Sunny for the first time. "But what happens when she's twelve feet? Fifteen? Twenty?" Vasquez's tone was ever clinical, even in spite of her haste. "What happens if the growth doesn't stop? We're talking about potential intervention before the situation becomes unmanageable. You think a simple backyard and a treehouse would be able to fit something like her?"

"Something?" Surprisingly, Kel spoke up. "She's our friend, not a situation—"

"Of course she's your friend. But she also went through an unprecedented biological transformation that no one understands. That carries risks—to her, potentially to others. Proper evaluation isn't optional at this point."

"It's not your decision," This time Basil spoke up.

"If it comes to it, yes it is. If you refuse voluntary evaluation, we can pursue mandatory intervention. Public health law allows for it in cases where there's potential risk to the community."

The words landed like a threat.

"Are you seriously suggesting she's dangerous?" Hero demanded, his tone carrying anger for the first time in a while.

"We're suggesting we don't know. And until we do, caution is warranted." Vasquez pulled out her phone, showed them something on the screen. "I've been in contact with the health department. They're prepared to authorize mandatory evaluation if necessary. I'd prefer to do this cooperatively, with Aubrey's willing participation. But one way or another, proper medical assessment will happen. Please think about it, and when you agree, you know where to find me."

The silence that filled the backyard after Vasquez's departure felt like it went on for ages.

Eventually, Sunny got up. He walked over to Hero's notebook and picked it up, flipped through several pages of measurements and calculations. Set it down in front of Aubrey. Picked up Basil's camera, looked at the screen showing hundreds of photos. Set it beside the notebook. Picked up Kel's basketball, held it for a long moment. Set it with the other items.

Aubrey looked at the items that laid in front of her.

"You've all been treating me the same way she does," Aubrey said, the weeks of words finally flowing out of her. "You guys were upset at Vasquez's intrusion, but look at this. Taking measurements. Photographs. Using me for games." Her voice was steady but tired. "Treating me like something to study and figure out instead of just being with me. You claim you just do it because you care. But it feels the same."

Hero stared at his notebook like he was seeing it for the first time. 

"I was trying to help," he said weakly.

"I know. But you never asked if it felt like help." Aubrey looked at Basil. "All those pictures you took. I liked them at first. But is that all you think of me as? Just a wonder for your next shot?"

Basil lowered his head in silence.

"And Kel, you built entire games around me. Just assumed I wanted to play."

"Hey, you thought it was fun!"

"Initially, but did you ever ask afterwards?"

Kel went silent, the first time Aubrey had got him to shut up in a long time.

Hero's hands shook slightly. "We need to do better. No more measurements without asking. No more treating you like a project."

"No more photos without permission," Basil added, voice barely audible.

"No more games unless you actually want to play," Kel promised.

"We'll do better," Hero said firmly. "Starting now. I promise."

Sunny nodded, glad that they were finally noticing.

The group spent the rest of the night talking about fond memories and experiences. Hero explained a different biological phenomenon that he had studied in a previous semester. Kel explained, in many unnecessary details, how he led his team to win a rival match. Basil mostly stayed silent but was willing to show Aubrey some of his other photos. Sunny stayed silent as always, but was actively listening to the conversation. Aubrey, however, was still unwilling to contribute much after all that had happened. When they left, Aubrey was still unsure whether she could trust them as much as before. But this was a start.

Aubrey woke to the sound of vehicles.

Not one car pulling up—multiple engines, the crunch of gravel, doors opening and closing with efficient purpose. The sounds were coming from the front of the house, but from her position under the treehouse in the back, she couldn't see what was happening.

Sunny was already on his feet, moving toward the corner of the house to look. Voices carried across the yard. Vasquez's voice, clear and professional: "—authorized by the health department for mandatory medical evaluation. The subject exhibits non-human biology with unclear patient status, and continued growth without proper oversight constitutes a potential public health concern—"

She heard a door in the distance fly open as two people rushed out of the neighboring house.

"She has rights! She's a person who can make her own decisions!" Hero shouted, his voice desperate.

"You can't do this! She doesn't consent!" Kel's voice followed.

Personnel appeared around the side of the house—men in uniforms, as if they belonged from a facility. The type of people that would follow Vasquez and her colleagues around. Desperation began setting in. "Guys—"

Aubrey suddenly felt a shove behind her, one as forceful as when she was being pushed her first night as a blueberry. She rolled forward, the uneven force of the push causing her to tilt slightly sideways until half of her vision was obstructed by the fence nearby. Another further push corrected her path, but their mechanical movement remained ungentle, yet she was still moving forward towards the front of the house at a quick pace. 

"Bullshit! You're just—"

A sound of scuffling. Kel's voice: "Get off me! Let me—"

The front yard came into view. Kel was being held back by two security personnel. Hero was still arguing with Vasquez, his face the reddest Aubrey has ever seen it get, gesturing wildly at papers she was holding with calm detachment. Vasquez's usual plastic smile was nowhere to be seen, instead replaced with a strict, unwavering demeanor as she refused to budge.

Sunny stood in the yard, hands clenched into fists at his sides, watching with an anguished expression.

"Sunny!" 

He took a half-step forward, but the security personnel shifted, ready to intercept. All he could do is stand there as he watched Aubrey being taken away by Vasquez's cronies. Aubrey met his eyes for a moment—the helplessness she saw in his eyes broke her heart. Then they rolled her past and toward the industrial vehicle. The back was open, a ramp leading up, space inside designed for exactly this kind of transport.

"Sunny!" she called again as they rolled her up the ramp, desperation making her voice crack.

She could see him over the edge of the ramp—still standing in the same spot, surrounded by officials and vehicles and the machinery of institutional authority that he couldn't fight. Still watching her disappear.

Then they rolled her fully into the vehicle and secured her position with straps. Vasquez appeared at the door.

"The facility is thirty minutes away. We'll get you settled and begin preliminary evaluations this afternoon." Her tone showed a fake sense of kindness and concern. "I know this is frightening, but I promise we'll take good care of you. I'm sorry it came to this. But this is necessary."

The doors began to close. Through the narrowing gap, Aubrey could see the yard—her friends still trying to argue for her or being helpless towards her plight. Then, darkness. Aubrey felt the vehicle move as small safety lights came on, but nothing could light up the darkness that filled her blueberry body.

She was alone with the sound of the engine and the feeling of rolling through turns she couldn't see.

Thirty minutes to the facility. Thirty minutes away from home, from her friends, from Sunny.

She closed her eyes and tried not to cry.

Chapter Text

Thirty minutes. Thirty very long minutes sitting in the truck, the juice in her body shifting with every turn and bump. Thirty minutes where Aubrey could do nothing but sob.

The tears were drying up by the time Aubrey felt the truck stop. The door opened in front of her, and she was met with a blinding light. Blinking several times, she realized this wasn't just light.

Everything was white. White walls, white floors, white ceiling tiles with fluorescent lights that hummed with a frequency that made her teeth ache. The air smelled like disinfectant and something else, something chemical she couldn't name. As the men in uniform took off the straps and forcefully pushed her out of the truck, Aubrey watched as people in lab coats moved around the facility with professional efficiency, speaking to each other in low voices punctuated by medical terminology she didn't understand. They spoke about her, around her, but never to her.

"The blueberry has arrived," she overheard one of them said.

The blueberry. Not Aubrey. Not even "the patient." Just the blueberry.

They rolled her down a long corridor, her movement a lot more smooth due to the flatness of the entire place. They eventually reached a research room as white as anything else Aubrey has seen since she arrived, dominated by large monitoring equipment, with cameras in every corner observing her and microphones set up to capture every sound she makes. In the middle of the room stood a weird platform with some kind of sensor on the floor. The workers pushed her towards it until she was positioned right above it. As she slowly rocked back and forth on the platform, a humming sound emerged from it as Aubrey saw a screen next to her blink on. Numbers began ticking upwards—her measurements, to be more exact. Aubrey felt the workers stick something cold and adhesive around her blueberry body as the other monitoring equipment around her came to life, blinking and beeping in a steady rhythm. On the other side of the room, she made out an observation room and workers scrambling to set things up. Standing right in the middle of the room was a familiar researcher in a lab coat, her detached smile doing nothing to placate her angst.

"Welcome, Aubrey, to your new home." Vasquez's voice echoed across the room. "I know this seems overwhelming, but I promise we're going to take excellent care of you while we conduct our evaluation."

"I want to see my friends," Aubrey said.

"That's not possible during the evaluation period. We need baseline readings without external variables. I'm sure you understand—scientific rigor requires controlled conditions." 

Numbers settled onto the screen next to her, though Aubrey was in a position where it was hard to read. Not like she needed, though, as Vasquez was able to confirm them from her observation room.

"9 feet 2 inches. Weighing in at around 23,800 pounds. You're an impressive specimen. I can't wait to take a look at what you actually are."

"I'm not a science experiment."

"Of course not. You're an unprecedented biological phenomenon that we need to understand." The distinction seemed meaningful to Vasquez. To Aubrey, it felt like splitting hairs. "Now then, what should we do first?"

The first test started within an hour.

Time became meaningless in the windowless room.

Aubrey tried to track days by the rhythm of tests and meals, but the schedule was irregular. Tests happened at all hours, and slowly but surely Aubrey began losing track of the time. The fluorescent lights never fully turned off, just dimmed slightly during what the staff presumably considered night.

They took samples constantly. That's what they called it—"taking samples"—like it was routine, unremarkable. Tissue samples from her blue skin. Some fluid samples as well. It took a few tests before they were able to extract just a bit of juice from her, in a way that made Aubrey slightly lightheaded, in addition to feeling very much violated. Not like it matters, anyways. Any requests from "the blueberry" is ignored, or sidelined in favor of further tests to her biological makeup.

The sleep deprivation was worst. Every time she started to drift into actual rest, someone would arrive with equipment for another test, another measurement, another set of questions she was too exhausted to answer properly.

"Subject is displaying decreased cooperation," she heard someone note on what might have been the second or third day.

"Expected with current stress levels," another voice replied. "Continue monitoring."

She was so tired. Tired in a way that went beyond physical exhaustion, seeping into her thoughts until even forming words felt like moving through thick mud. Her limbs—already small and mostly useless—became harder to move. Keeping her eyes open took effort she didn't have.

On what she thought was maybe the third day, she thought she overheard two technicians discussing results.

"The fluid in the blueberry—it's chemically consistent blueberry juice. It seems like that's the only thing coursing through her veins... and most of her body, actually."

"What about her tissue?"

"Near-perfect DNA match. It's remarkable—the blueberry retained consciousness and cognitive function of a human, but biologically speaking, she's a blueberry."

The words settled into Aubrey's chest like stones.

Biologically speaking, she's a blueberry.

She wasn't expecting herself to be fully human anyways, if it wasn't obvious by her appearance. But she had hoped that there were still traces of her humanity left in that big blue body of her's. Nope, she was just fruit that happened to think and feel and remember being a person. She tried to push the thought away, but it was all she began thinking about during the endless hours of testing. If her blood was juice, if her tissue was fruit, if her body had nothing human left in it, then maybe that's all she is. The memories felt human. The thoughts felt human. But maybe that was just echoes, remnants of what she used to be before the gum changed everything fundamental about her existence.

Every day, Vasquez tried talking to Aubrey from the observation room. It was her only form of human connection, yet it barely amounted to anything humane.

"How are you feeling today?"

"Tired."

"Any discomfort? Changes in sensation?"

"Everything hurts."

"Can you be more specific?" Aubrey can hear Vasquez scribbling across her notepad. "Sharp pain? Dull ache? Localized or general?"

"Does it matter?" Aubrey's voice came out flat. "You're going to keep testing either way."

"Your well-being matters to me, Aubrey. That's why we're doing this—to understand how to properly care for you."

But the care never came. Just more tests, more questions, more musings regarding the giant blueberry they were now in charge of. 

Aubrey stopped asking to see her friends after the first few days. The answer was always the same—no visitors during evaluation period, scientific protocols, baseline readings. Maybe they will be invited after all testing is done, but there will be no guarantee that it will happen anytime soon. She wondered if they'd tried to visit. If they'd been turned away at the door, or if maybe they hadn't tried at all. Maybe they figured the facility knew best. Maybe they were happy to leave her in the facility for the rest of her life, relieved that someone else was handling the complicated problem of what she'd become.

The thought hurt more than the tests.

By what might have been the fourth day, Aubrey felt herself fading. Not physically smaller, but she might as well have been drained of everything inside her. Everything was effort. Existing was effort. Her exhaustion made it harder to care about anything. Harder to insist on being called by name when they said "the subject" in their notes. Harder to remember why it mattered when she was so, so tired. Maybe she wasn't human anymore. Maybe she was just a biological anomaly that used to be a person...

A sudden brightness jolted Aubrey out of her stupor. Brightness eclipsed her vision as she thought that she had finally passed into a different life. The light felt good, natural, significantly better than the artificial fluorescent glare she'd grown numb to. It took her a while before she realized what it was.

Sunlight. All natural, pure sunlight. The golden ambrosia that gave her life.

As her vision adjusted to the sudden brightness, Aubrey observed that entire wall of the research room had been replaced with floor-to-ceiling windows, morning light streaming through in sheets that made her blue skin seem to glow. Additional UV lamps had been installed in the ceiling, supplementing the natural light. Overnight (or whatever time she spent unconscious), the workers have installed windows that allowed the sunlight to filter into her room. Slowly but surely, Aubrey felt the life in her return. Warmth seeped into her surface, not just heating her skin but feeding something deeper. Energy flowed back into her like water into parched earth. Her exhaustion didn't disappear, but it became manageable. Her thoughts cleared. Her awareness sharpened. She could think again.

"Much better, isn't it?"

Vasquez appeared on the observation room that was now surrounded with windows. "Your color is already improving. More vibrant."

"Why didn't you do this before?" Aubrey's voice was stronger than it had been in days.

"We needed baseline readings in controlled conditions. Now we can study how solar exposure affects your biology." Vasquez's pen moved steadily. "I hypothesized that proper sunlight might improve both your physical condition and your cooperation. It appears I was correct."

Aubrey wanted to argue, to tell Vasquez that she wasn't going to cooperate no matter how good the sunlight felt. But the truth was, she did feel better. Strong enough to be angry again, which was something.

"I'm still not interested in being studied."

"Noted." Vasquez made another mark on her clipboard. "But you're here regardless, so we might as well make you as comfortable as possible."

Testing resumed, as did Aubrey's resistance towards the researchers.

When a technician tried to take another tissue sample without explaining the purpose, she refused outright. 

"The blueberry is being non-compliant," the technician reported.

"I have a name," Aubrey said firmly. "And I want to know what you're doing before you do it."

Vasquez's expression flickered with something that might have been surprise. "Of course. We should be keeping you informed. Explain the procedure to Aubrey before you proceed."

It was a small victory, but it mattered. They started using her name more after that. Started explaining tests before running them. She could refuse some things, though anything "medical necessity" overrode her objections when they deemed it important enough.

The days started to blur again, but just a bit. With sunlight, Aubrey could actually keep track of time properly. Five days passed. Six. Seven.

Aubrey was definitely growing, this time much faster than before. She noticed it on day seven as her perspective was much higher. Her clothes further stretched, though surprisingly showed no signs of ripping. She had overheard some researchers hypothesize that her "blueberry essence" had somehow provided her clothes with elasticity, allowing them to stretch as much as possible, even to unreasonable standards. The concern wasn't whether the clothes would rip, but rather they would become uncomfortable soon.

"Amazing," Vasquez murmured, looking at the new dimensions from the monitoring screen. "Nine feet, seven inches. Nearly six inches of growth in a week. The solar exposure is definitely accelerating the process."

"Is that good or bad?" Aubrey asked.

"It's data." Vasquez made another note. "Though I'll admit, I'm concerned we don't fully understand the mechanism. If growth continues at this rate..."

She didn't finish the thought, but Aubrey understood. If she kept growing, she'd eventually be too large for them to handle. Too big to house, too big to study, too big to control.

Good, she thought with grim satisfaction.

On what she'd counted as the eighth day, they moved her platform to a different location in the research room.

"Optimizing your solar exposure," a technician explained. "And better angles for monitoring as well."

The new location put her facing the windows directly.

Aubrey looked out at the view for the first time—a parking area below, vehicles arranged in neat rows, the facility grounds stretching beyond. Normal. Mundane. Nothing particularly interesting about—

She froze.

That car. Third row, slightly off-center. She knew that car.

Aubrey stared, her heart suddenly pounding in a way that had nothing to do with her transformation. It couldn't be. They wouldn't have—

Movement. The driver's side door opened and someone emerged, stretching like they'd been cramped in there for hours.

Sunny.

It was Sunny.

He looked up toward the building, his face too distant to read clearly but his presence unmistakable. Then he got back into the car, disappearing from view.

But he'd been there. He was still there.

Aubrey's mind reeled. How long had that car been there? The windows had only been installed a few days ago, so she couldn't have seen before, but—

She noticed several security notes tucked under the windshield wiper. The kind that probably said "unauthorized parking" or "you need to move." Which meant he'd been there long enough for security to notice. Long enough to be a problem.

"That boy's still here, huh," she heard one of the workers mumbling. "That's, what, five days now?"

Five days. Five days of waiting outside of the prison that held his blueberry friend. Five days where he did nothing but stay.

He stayed. Sunny had stayed. And even if it was on the other side of a room of windows, Aubrey felt a humanly connection for the first time since she had arrived. Knowing that there was someone close by who cared for her was a change in pace that made her even more defiant than before. 

"I need to go home," she said when Vasquez came in for the afternoon assessment.

"You know that's not possible yet. We still have—"

"I need to go home," Aubrey repeated, louder this time. "My friend is out there. He's been waiting for me. I want to see him."

Vasquez glanced toward the window, frowned. "We've asked him to leave multiple times. He refuses to comply with facility regulations."

"Because he cares for me." Aubrey did her best to meet Vasquez's eyes, and she let all her exhaustion and frustration and determination show. "For who I am, and not what I am.  I'm done being studied. You can't keep me here forever."

"We can keep you as long as the evaluation requires." Vasquez's voice was beginning to lose some of its certainty. "For your own—"

"My own what? Well-being?" Aubrey laughed bitterly. "I'm stuck in a place with nothing but assholes who would rather prod me with their stupid equipment than call me by my name. You kept me out of sunlight for several days, and look what happened to me. Do you expect me to believe you're doing this for my well-being? To appreciate everything that has happened to my miserable life?"

No response, just the sound of scribbling. But the silence was all that Aubrey needed to hear. 

Aubrey turned her attention back to the window. She couldn't see Sunny anymore—he'd gotten back inside the car, probably trying to rest or escape the heat. But knowing he was there changed everything.

She wasn't alone.

She was never alone.

She will never be alone.

Nine. Ten. Eleven days now.

Everything remained the same. Workers continued to cycle through the chamber to perform tests. Vasquez continued to scribble on her notebook afterwards. Some workers continued to call her "the blueberry". But her resistance never wavered now. Every test was questioned. Every procedure was scrutinized. Every time someone said "the blueberry," she corrected them immediately.

She caught glimpses of Sunny occasionally through the window. Sometimes sitting in his car. Sometimes standing outside, just being present. And then one day—maybe the twelfth day—she saw another car pull up.

Hero and Kel exited from the second vehicle and greeted Sunny, who just nodded in acknowledgement. Soon, the three of them sat together, Hero having packed some lunch for the three of them, and they ate in silence, Kel occasionally throwing a tennis ball against the wall of the facility. Security eventually came out to try and shoo the three away, but all they did was drive a few feet back. When security left, they drove back to their original position.

They hadn't given up. Hadn't decided she was better off here. They were out there, right now, refusing to accept what had been decided for her.

The fact that there are three people outside the facility now has not gone unnoticed by the staff. Workers complained about the "neat" one who had repeatedly tried to interact with them as they were leaving, or the "crazy" one who would throw a tennis ball in their direction, the fence being the only thing keeping them from getting hit. The most notable change, however, was Vasquez herself. After Aubrey's outburst and seeing more friends arrive, Aubrey felt like there was something starting to change between the two of them. Vasquez still asked questions, still recorded observations, but there was something different in how she looked at Aubrey now. Less like a fascinating puzzle, more like... something else.

"Ten feet two inches," Vasquez observed. "34,260 pounds. You've grown alot since you got here."

"When does it stop?"

"I don't know. That's what concerns me." Vasquez sat down in one of the observation chairs, which was unusual—she typically stood during evaluations. "We don't understand the mechanism driving your transformation. We can't predict the endpoint."

"Maybe understanding isn't the same as controlling," Aubrey said quietly.

Vasquez paused again. "Maybe," she silently whispered, just loud enough for the microphone to pick up. 

The next day brought visitors into the research room—Vasquez's colleagues, observing Aubrey up-close, speaking in low tones. One of them kept glancing toward the window, toward the parking area.

"How long have they been out there?" the colleague asked Vasquez.

"Nearly two weeks now. Security has asked them to leave multiple times. They refuse."

"Why not force them out? This is private property. They aren't supposed to be here."

"They'll just return," Vasquez said, looking out at the three boys. "And besides, the data shows it's making Aubrey feel more comfortable."

When the colleagues left, Vasquez turned towards Aubrey. 

"Tell me something," Vasquez said. "When you know they're out there—your friends—how does that make you feel?"

"Like I matter," Aubrey answered, her honesty coming out much easier than her resistance. "Like I'm not just a thing to be studied."

"And when you couldn't see them? When you didn't know if anyone was coming?"

Aubrey thought about those first days, the exhaustion and isolation and creeping doubt. "Like maybe you were right. Maybe I'm just a giant blueberry who doesn't deserve to be loved or cared by anyone."

Vasquez made a long note, her pen moving steadily. "Thank you for your honesty," she said. For the first time ever, Aubrey thought she caught a tone of regret in her voice, but before she could say anything, Vasquez left without another word.

A loud noise woke Aubrey up from her sleep.

Voices in the hallway, more than usual. Movement, hurried footsteps. In the observation room, she could see staff members gathering, looking toward the front of the building with expressions she couldn't read.

"Something's happening outside," someone said, unaware their voice was picked up by the microphone.

"What...?"

Aubrey strained looked outside the window. Instead of three boys sitting at a car, Aubrey saw a large crowd. Not just a crowd, people from Faraway Town. Mrs. Baker standing next to some shop owners. A group of kids with their parents. The Fix-It owner. People she'd seen around town and people she'd never met, all of them there, all of them gathered outside the facility. All of them calling out for one thing.

"Free Auberry! Free Auberry! Free Auberry!"

"It seems that your friends have organized a demonstration," Vasquez said, her eyes glued to the protest outside as she spoke through the microphone. "A peaceful one, but..." She trailed off.

She stood there for a long time, just watching. Aubrey couldn't see her face, but she saw the way Vasquez's shoulders changed, the way she held her clipboard differently. 

"I need to review my data," she said, and excused herself out of the observation room.

Hours passed. The crowd outside didn't leave—if anything, it seemed to be growing. Aubrey could hear their voices faintly through the windows, nothing aggressive, just the steady murmur of people who'd decided to be present and weren't going away. All those people. They'd come for her. Not because they knew her well or because she'd done anything to earn it. They'd come because they'd seen her in town, because she'd become part of their community, because she mattered to them.

The morning stretched into afternoon, and the crowd remained. Guards were now stationed outside, protecting the entrance from anyone who dared tried to enter, but doing nothing to quell the mob. Staff members kept glancing toward the windows, their attention away from Aubrey as no one seemed interested in doing any testing. Vasquez eventually showed up, entering Aubrey's room carrying a stack of files. Gone was the clinical demeanor she had been presenting herself. She looked tired, like she'd spent the past few hours confronting something difficult and fundamental. 

"I've been reviewing everything," Vasquez said without preamble. "Two weeks of observations, test results, behavioral patterns." She set the files down on a desk and spread them out. "The data is undeniable. Nothing about you physically makes you human. However," Vasquez paused for a second. "Ever since our conversation a few days ago, I've been thinking about how you've been feeling. The relief you showed when you saw your friend waiting outside. The determination in your friends' faces. The fact that an entire town would show up for a biological anomaly like you. You have great relationships with everyone out there." She looked outside at the crowd. "A relationship that only a human would have with another."

Vasquez looked at Aubrey. "You think like a human, you act like a human, and people treat you like a human. Even if you aren't one biologically, that's more than enough to think of you as a person. A person who deserves to be free. I'm sorry it took me this long to see what your friends were talking about."

Aubrey couldn't speak. The words were sudden, a complete 180 from who Vasquez was just a week ago. There were no questions about her well-being. No discussions regarding her measurements. Just brutal, complete honesty. As if she is talking with a human.

"I'm releasing you"

"You're... what?"

"Releasing you." Vasquez managed a small smile. "I should have done it days ago. Your friends are waiting. Your community is waiting. And I suspect if I don't let you go voluntarily, they'll find a way to make me regret it."

Aubrey didn't know what to say. Part of her wanted to be angry, to make Vasquez feel the full weight of two weeks of isolation and doubt. But mostly she just felt tired, and relieved, and desperate to see Sunny's face up close instead of through a window. After a while, there was only two words that she could muster out.

"Thank you."

Within minutes, workers entered the room. The sensors were gently removed from Aubrey's skin as workers shut down the monitoring equipment. A physician came in to check on her status one last time.

"You'll want to get proper rest," the physician said, meeting her eyes. "Your body has been under significant stress. Plenty of sunlight, minimal activity for at least a few days."

"I'll try," Aubrey said, though she suspected her friends wouldn't let her do anything else.

The monitoring equipment powered down with a series of beeps and clicks, the constant background hum she'd grown numb to finally going silent. The research room became just a room with windows and furniture.

Vasquez signed several forms, spoke briefly with the staff about proper documentation, gave instructions about preserving her research data "for the record, not for publication." When workers came to roll Aubrey out, Vasquez shooed them away. 

"I'll need to do that myself," Vasquez said as she positioned herself properly. "I've seen how your friend pushed you. It's best I follow his example."

Carefully, Vasquez pushed her hand upwards in a familiar motion and Aubrey felt herself roll smoothly forward. Vasquez's technique was bit more hesitant and less fluid, but it was effective. 

They moved slowly through the research room door, out into the corridor Aubrey had only seen once before. Staff members paused in their work to watch them pass. Most of them looked tired, probably from having to monitor her for two weeks straight, or because of the heckling from the mob. No one stopped her, told Vasquez that she was wrong. Everyone just let her roll Aubrey away from the testing room and through that long hallway. Through the glass doors ahead, Aubrey could see the crowd more clearly now. So many people waiting. And at the front, three figures she'd been seeing through a window for days, now close enough to touch.

Sunny saw her first. Even through the glass, even at this distance, Aubrey saw the moment he registered her presence. Saw his expression transform from patient waiting into something that looked like relief and joy and recognition all at once. 

Sunlight poured into the room as the facility doors finally opened. Following the light was a series of cheers and applauses, voices calling out in celebration.

Vasquez rolled her forward, out into the parking area, into the midst of the crowd that parted to let them through. Hands reached out to touch her surface—gentle, reverent, welcoming. Faces she recognized from town, people who'd decided she mattered enough to come here and demand her return.

"Welcome back!"

"We missed you!"

"You're home, Auberry!"

She never thought she would be glad to hear that stupid nickname. The voices washed over her, and Aubrey felt tears she couldn't shed pressing behind her eyes.

Vasquez rolled her to where Sunny, Hero, and Kel were waiting. She looked at the visible exhaustion in Sunny face. He looked back at her, his expression unreadable but his presence unmistakable. Vasquez nodded once. Not quite an apology, but an acknowledgment. Of what he'd done. Of what she'd finally understood because of it. Then Vasquez stepped fully aside, and Sunny's hands found Aubrey's surface immediately. The touch made sense to her: warm, certain, grounding, everything she missed dearly. Real in a way nothing in the facility had been real.

"You got bigger," Hero said quietly. He looked older somehow, worn down.

"Yeah."

He didn't say anything else, but she saw him take in her new size, saw the way his jaw tightened. Whatever he was thinking, he kept it to himself. 

"Welcome back, Auberry!" Kel said, trying for his usual teasing, though the dark circles under his eyes told a different story. "Took you long enough."

"Wasn't exactly my choice," Aubrey replied.

Around them, the crowd was still gathered—dozens of people who'd shown up that morning. Someone in the back called out: "Let's get her home!"

The suggestion rippled through the group, people already starting to move, forming up around her.

"Come on, everyone!" another voice added.

"Looks like everyone want a parade." Hero asked, looking at Aubrey. "Are you fine with it?"

"Sure." She said. "They all came out for me. We should all go home together."

Sunny was already positioning his hands to roll her. Kel moved to walk alongside, and the crowd followed without anyone giving instructions.  The crowd was spontaneous and joyful, calling out greetings as they made their way toward Faraway Town. The trip back took longer than she expected, maybe an hour with the size of the group, the frequent stops, the way people kept joining. But she didn't mind. Every minute was freedom, was sunlight, was proof that she hadn't been forgotten.

Faraway Town came into view finally, familiar streets and buildings that Aubrey had thought she might never see again. More people had gathered near Sunny's house, waiting at the treehouse to welcome her home. Among them was Basil, his camera around his neck but not raised. When he saw her, his eyes widened as he took in how big she had become.

When Sunny rolled her into position under the familiar wooden structure, the cheering intensified. People gathered around the yard's perimeter, calling out welcomes and well-wishes from a respectful distance. Some waved, others just smiled, but they kept their space, leaving just the five of them in the backyard. The celebration continued for a while—people talking among themselves, sharing the relief of seeing her home safe. But gradually, as evening began to approach, they seemed to sense that the group needed time alone. One by one, families started heading home with promises to check in tomorrow. Shop owners waved goodbye. The energy slowly wound down. Eventually, the five were all that remained.

Nobody seemed to know how to start. They just sat there looking at each other in silence for a while. Then Aubrey spoke up.

"It was bad in there. The testing, the exhaustion, all of it." She paused. "I don't know where to start."

"It's alright," Hero said. "We have all the time to talk now."

So Aubrey detailed everything that happened during her time at the facility. The windowless room at first, the constant fluorescent lights, tests at all hours that made sleep impossible. The way staff called her "subject" instead of her name. The samples they took, the discussions about her cellular structure like she wasn't there to hear them.

"They found out I don't have blood," she said quietly. "Just juice. And my tissue is all fruit cells. They kept saying 'biologically speaking, she's a blueberry.' Like that was all I was."

Hero's expression darkened. Kel's hands clenched into fists. 

"For a while, I believed them," Aubrey continued. "Thought maybe they were right. That I wasn't really human anymore, just something that used to be."

"But you are," Basil said firmly, surprising everyone with his intensity. "Even if you aren't one biologically."

Aubrey managed a small smile. "Thanks."

She told them about the sunlight deprivation, how weak she'd gotten in those first days. Then about the windows being added, the UV lamps, how they'd tried to use her own biology against her to make her cooperate.

"That's why I grew so much," she explained. "They gave me way more sunlight than normal. Made me grow faster. I went from nine feet to ten in less than two weeks."

Hero looked like he might be sick. "God, Aubrey. I'm so sorry. This is my fault. I shared information with Vasquez, I treated you like a research project... if I hadn't been documenting everything, maybe she wouldn't have even known about you, or—"

"Hero." Aubrey's voice cut through his spiral. "You showed up. You stayed outside for two weeks. That's what I'm going to remember."

"But—"

"You showed up," she repeated, looking at all of them. "All of you did. That's what matters to me."

Hero went silent, the guilt still stuck on his face, though he showed a hit of reassurance.

"How did you even get me out?" Aubrey asked. "I saw you guys outside sometimes, but I didn't know what was happening until today when everyone showed up."

"Sunny went first," Kel said. "Same day they took you. Just drove there and refused to leave. We joined him after a couple days. Had to get some food prepared for the first week."

"And I spread photos," Basil added quietly. "Around town, online. Showed people you were part of the community."

"Support started building," Hero continued. "People stopping by, showing up online. But it was scattered until someone organized everyone to come on the same day."

Kim.

They didn't need to say her name, but Aubrey already knew it was her. It just made sense. She felt something warm settle in her chest: the person who'd caused her transformation had also been the one to free her from it. She'd have to thank her next time they saw each other.

"Then, today happened." Kel said. "You know the rest."

"Thank... thank you all so much—" Aubrey could barely say anything as tears welled up. "For saving me. For everything."

The five of them chatted briefly, but it was beginning to get late. Hero glanced at Sunny, then at Aubrey, and seemed to understand something.

"We should head out," Hero said. "Let you rest."

"Yeah," Kel agreed, stifling a yawn. "We've been sleeping in a car for two weeks. Actual beds sound amazing."

Basil nodded, already gathering his things. "I'll come by tomorrow. With your permission."

"Permission granted," Aubrey said with a small smile.

They said their good nights—Hero and Kel heading back to their house next door, Basil disappearing through the back gate. Until finally, it was just Sunny and Aubrey in the gathering darkness.

"Missed you," Sunny said quietly, his hand resting on her surface.

"I missed you too." Aubrey paused. "I could see you sometimes. Through the window. Your car in the parking lot. When I saw you were there, it changed everything. Made me remember I wasn't just... what they said I was."

"You're not."

"I know."

The two watched the moon slowly rise in the sky.

"Two weeks," Aubrey said finally. "You really stayed out there the whole time."

Sunny nodded.

"Why?"

He looked at her, and his expression was so open, so certain, that it made her chest ache. "Where else would I be?"

It was such a simple answer. So perfectly Sunny. No grand declarations, no elaborate explanations. Just the quiet truth that there had never been another option.

"I can't really see you from up here anymore," Aubrey said, trying for lightness. "Ten feet is apparently too tall for proper eye contact."

Sunny stood, walked around to assess her size. Then he looked up at her, a question in his eyes. "May I?"

"May you what?"

Instead of answering, he carefully positioned himself and climbed up onto her surface, settling near the top where her head was. The weight of him right next to her was everything she'd been missing in that sterile white room.

"Better?" he asked.

"Much better." She giggled.

They sat like that for a while, adjusting to the closeness. Aubrey could see every detail of his face now: the dark eyes that had watched for her through facility windows, the familiar way his hair fell across his forehead, the quiet determination in the set of his jaw.

"You look tired," she said softly.

"So do you."

"Two weeks of terrible sleep will do that." She paused. "You too?"

"Car seats aren't comfortable."

You could have gone home. Come back during the day."

"Could have," Sunny agreed. "Didn't want to."

"Why not?"

He was quiet for a moment, his hand tracing circles on her body. "If you were in there alone, didn't want you to be alone."

Aubrey felt tears she couldn't shed pressing behind her eyes.

"Sunny..."

He looked at her, waiting.

"When I saw you were there—when I realized you'd stayed—it changed everything. Made me remember that what they were saying about me... it didn't matter. Not if you were still there."

"It never mattered." His voice was quiet but firm. "What they said. What the tests showed. How big you grew. Doesn't change anything."

"It should though. I'm not... I'm not what I was. I'm a ten foot blueberry filled with juice, and—"

"You're Aubrey," Sunny interrupted gently. "That's all you've ever been. That's all that matters."

The certainty in his voice, the unwavering acceptance—it was too much and not enough all at once.

"I love you," she said, the words spilling out before she could stop them. "I think I have for a while now. Maybe since you came back. Maybe before that, in some way I couldn't name. But I love you."

Sunny looked directly into her eyes, his expression softening into something tender.

"I love you too."

"Really?"

"Really."

The confession hung in the air between them, years of unspoken feelings finally given voice. Aubrey's heart was pounding hard, every beat vibrating through her entire body. After two weeks of being told she wasn't human, of doubting everything about herself, this simple truth felt like an anchor to reality. Above them, stars were beginning to emerge through the treehouse planks, faint at first, then brighter as her eyes adjusted. The sky was deepening from purple to navy, that in-between time when day became night. Crickets started their evening song. Somewhere down the street, a dog barked. The old house settled with familiar creaks and sighs. It was a beautiful melody for Aubrey's first night back.

Sunny's hand rested against her surface, warm and steady. His thumb was still tracing her body, as if he was nervous. Or excited. She watched him in the gathering darkness. The way the fading light caught in his dark hair. The familiar slope of his shoulders. The quiet certainty in how he held himself, even exhausted after two weeks of waiting. He looked into her eyes again, and she saw the question there before he even moved. Saw the hope, the vulnerability he rarely showed. She just let out a shy smile—one that told him that she did not mind.

Slowly, carefully, he shifted closer. Sunny's hand lifted from where it had been tracing patterns, moving to touch her face. He traced the curve of each swollen cheek, tenderly, like they were the most natural thing in the world. She leaned into the touch, and that small movement was all the answer he needed. Slowly, he laid himself across her body and scooted closer, until all Aubrey could see was his face. His dark eyes met hers, and for a moment they just looked at each other. Taking in this new closeness, this new possibility between them. His lips quirked into that small smile she loved, the one that was just for her, that she'd been seeing since he came back to town. Since before, maybe, in those last days before he'd left four years ago. He leaned forward slowly, his hands dropping into the divot where her neck used to be, circling around whatever the equivalent was for a blueberry girl. Then she felt his lips touch hers, his soft, warm cheeks pressed against her blue, plump ones.

It was different than she'd imagined. Her swollen cheeks were slightly in the way, making the angle awkward at first. But they adjusted, both of them learning this new geography. Sunny tilted his head slightly, and she shifted her face in response, and suddenly it worked—their lips meeting properly despite her transformed features. Aubrey felt his warmth against her, the solid reality of him after two weeks of sterile emptiness. She couldn't move her arms to hold him back—they were too small, too absorbed into her body. But she pressed into the kiss with everything she had, trying to convey what her body couldn't express. How much she'd missed him. How much she loved him. How grateful she was that he'd never stopped seeing her as human.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathing hard. Sunny's forehead rested against hers, and they stayed like that, eyes closed, just existing in each other's presence.

"Thank you." Aubrey whispered quietly, not just for the kiss. For everything.

They stayed like that as darkness settled fully around them. Tomorrow would bring new challenges: figuring out her continued growth, rebuilding trust with her friends, adjusting to this strange new life. But tonight, they were together. Tonight, she was loved and home and human in all the ways that truly mattered.

Tonight was enough.