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No matter how much you might try, there’s no fitting all of you into one bed. There are just too many bony elbows and knees, too many limbs draped off the edge, too many bodies crushing the air out of each other to be comfortable. It doesn’t take more than a minute of awkward shuffling to figure that out, and that’s with Odile still standing to the side watching, a judging brow raised.
So Bonnie suggests pulling the mattresses off the frames and laying them together on the floor. There’ll be enough room for everyone then. No one will even have to get kicked in the face! (Your chin still hurts a little from that. The kid has strong legs.)
Isa, savior of this sleepover, gets everything comfortably set up, even managing to shove the bed frames out of the way to make more space. You do your part too, collecting pillows and blankets. Mira smiles gently and helps you arrange them all into a comfy nest.
Bonnie’s the first in, rolling across the big expanse of mattress and fluffy blankets. When they stop to starfish out of the far side, you flop down too. Face-planting in the pillows feels better than you ever remember. The worst of the fever and crippling exhaustion from the trip through the house has subsided. Some food, water, rest, and pleasant company did you a lot of good. You’re still eager to pass out for a long while, though. Your body is tired. Your heart is tired. Your soul is tired.
Sleep sounds nice. Sleep that ends in a new dawn, a brand new day with your family at your side, sounds unbelievably incredible.
Then Isa ruins your plans.
“Nope, Sif. No can do. Get your butt up,” he says, a smile in his voice.
The most you budge is lifting your head. Only enough so you can look up at him with an annoyed squint.
You’re quickly becoming one with the jumbo bed. Moving sounds increasingly terrible with every passing moment.
“Why?” you ask suspiciously, eyes narrowing even more.
Isa chuckles, fond and amused, and decidedly does not answer. “You know, you look like an angry cat right now.”
Mira laughs too, even though she tries to hide it behind a hand.
You feel horribly betrayed. You also love them very much.
“Can I touch you?” Isa asks.
Letting him do what he wants sounds easier than being coerced into getting up, so you nod. He moves slow, a little like he’s approaching a hissing cat with its back arched and tail puffed. You don’t think you have bite enough for that kind of treatment, but it’s funny anyway.
Carefully, he scoops you up in his arms. There’s only a second for your stomach to swoop, your face to heat, for you to marvel at the safety and security that flood through you. After that brief heartbeat, he plunks you right back down on the bed. You land softly in a heap of blankets and pillows.
You blink up at him. “Isa, what was that for?”
“I was just putting you where you belong.” He glows a little with something like pride. Happiness.
You’re still confused, but his attitude’s infectious. You can’t help but smile along, just a little.
“And that is where?”
“The middle,” he says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “You had a rough day, buddy. A lot of rough days, from the sounds of it. So you get the spot of honor tonight.”
“Siffrin sandwich!” Mira chimes from his side. “As long as that’s okay with you, of course.” Her eyes soften in that familiar way of hers, hands clasped together. It makes your heart feel full. All of this does.
You’ve never slept in the middle before. No matter if you had your own bed, shared with Isa, or squeezed in with Bonnie and Mira, you always slept on the edge. Kept your back towards the center and faced the wall. It just felt… safer, somehow.
It doesn’t feel safer anymore.
“Yeah. Yes, please,” you say. Looking up at them, light wells in your chest, brilliant and content.
Everyone piles in then. Bonnie’s already asleep on the far side—they dozed off as soon as they settled down. You can’t blame them. Forging through the house, fighting the King, standing against you and the enormity of what your wish turned you into, must have been a lot for a kid. Stars, it would be a lot for anyone.
Odile picks up a few of their starfished limbs and scoots them to the side to make space. She doesn’t lie down yet, sitting on the edge and taking her hair down instead. Even when her pins have been set safely aside, she stays where she is.
Mira and Isa, on the other hand, waste no time diving beneath the blankets and getting comfortable. While they sort themselves out, you squirm to pull the blankets out from underneath you and tuck them up at your chin instead. Before long, you have Mira curled up by your side and Isa pressed to her back. He’s tall enough that, even around—or over—her, his legs can still brush yours.
Some kind of gratitude rises up in you then, for the Siffrin of loops past who pushed through the discomfort to get you more used to touch. You can enjoy it now, even if it’s a lot, even if it’s a little overwhelming. Your heart feels like it might melt into an affection-riddled goop, but that’s not such a bad feeling, it turns out.
Familiar goodnights are tossed around from person to person. You yawn wide enough your jaw cracks. Isa shudders at the sound and says your name, unnerved. Odile huffs a quiet laugh. She gets up long enough to snuff the last light, then comes back and fills the open space beside Bonnie.
You close your eyes. Drowsiness washes over you like a rapidly rising tide. It won’t take long to fall asleep, you’re sure. You’re safe and surrounded by people you love. Who love you. You haven’t been this relaxed in a very long time.
Except, Isa throws an arm over Mira. His hand comes to rest on your shoulder.
In an instant, the weight of loops and loops and loops worth of waiting collapses in on you all at once. How many times did you stand there by that tree? You watched him raise his hand, hovering over your shoulder. You watched and waited and waited and waited until you were sick with it, your yearning for that touch festering like a raw wound. And it hurt. That wanting hurt in the pit of your stomach.
But now you have it: his hand on your shoulder. Just like that. Just that easy. It’s warm and solid and comfortable because it’s Isa and you wanted for so long. It feels good.
It feels good.
It feels precious. Like something to treasure.
Your breath hitches in your chest. Your heart trips and stumbles in its rhythm. Your face is very warm.
“Aw, Sif, hey,” Isa says. He keeps his voice low and soft. You can’t tell if he’s being careful not to wake Bonnie and disturb Odile, or if he’s being careful with you. “What’s the matter?”
Mira stirs too, tipping her chin to look at you.
You don’t even notice you’re crying until that solid, grounding hand is off your shoulder and on your cheek instead. Isa, propped up on an elbow, thumbs through the wetness clumping your lashes and dampening your cheek. He makes a concerned hum in his throat, and Mira mirrors the noise.
Instinct tells you to tip your hat down, but you don’t have it. You could hide in the blankets, or scrub at your eye, but you’re tired. And even if their worry feels a little sore on your heart, like pressing into a tender bruise, the care is good.
Why did you wait so long to tell them you wanted this?
The quiet, slow tears gradually give way to sniffles and hiccups. Foggy heat gathers behind your eyes. Your soft palate aches. The tears come a little faster.
Faintly, you try to stop. You’ve spent so much time fighting back tears, you should be an expert at this point. You got so practiced at it you couldn’t even cry when you wanted to, sitting alone on the House’s bathroom floor.
But the fight’s just… gone now. You don’t have it in you to do much more than lay here and cry.
Mira starts softly shushing you at some point, a soothing little sound. Her fingers lace with yours, and you hold on tight. You wish you were still wearing your gloves, though. Just to dampen the spark of sensation a little.
“Oh Change,” Isa murmurs under his breath, wobbly and watery. He brushes your hair back from your face. Lets his palm rest comfortably on your forehead. Warmth flares through you in response. Your next breath leaves in a whine you’d be mortified by if you had the energy for it.
“Sif, Siffrin, buddy, you’re breaking my heart.” Distantly, past the sound of blood whooshing in your ears and the breath in your chest, you think you can hear it. The pain in his voice.
“‘m sorry,” you mumble through the tears, squeezing Mira’s hand tighter.
“No, hey, none of that. Just—if you can, is this pain crying or sick crying or emotional crying or some other kind of crying?” The words all come in a rush of breath. His pinkie rubs very gingerly across your temple. “How not okay are you and how can we help?”
You don’t. You don’t know.
People can cry for entirely too many different reasons, you decide. Maybe it’s all of them. Maybe it’s the overflow of all the affection they’ve poured into you. Maybe it’s relief at finally being free. Maybe it’s grief for all the loops and all the pain. Or maybe your body just finally remembered how to cry and is making up for lost time.
Isa’s waiting for an answer, but he’s patient. He watches you with worried eyes. He carefully wipes your tears every now and again, when they run a little too thickly. Though, he’s blurry behind all the liquid pooling in your eye.
You breathe in, and out. The breath wavers, but it helps a little. Gives you just enough clarity to try and piece together what’s going on with you.
“Everything’s just kind of… sinking in,” you manage. A sob catches on the last syllable. It feels foreign; you’re only accustomed to the kind of cries that come once in a shaded moon and can be kept secret behind a tipped brim. Not like this thing that empties your lungs and rubs raw against your vocal cords.
“Hm… sort of like catharsis?” Mira suggests quietly.
That sounds about right, so you nod your head and choke on another sob. It makes you curl a little. It’s hard to catch your breath.
On the other side of you, the covers tug when Bonnie shifts, slowly picking their head up. They rub their eyes, looking disoriented. Stars, you didn’t mean to wake them. You don’t want them, especially them, to have to worry about you. That’s burden enough for the adults in your family.
Still, now that you’ve started, you feel a little out of control of your body. Not in a scary, puppet-on-strings kind of way, but just. You can’t stop crying, even though you’d really, really like to. There’s too much emotion in the well that’s been drilled into your chest; it’s coming out one way or another.
“Frin…?” Bonnie asks, questioning at first, then alarmed, “Frin!”
They lurch to grab onto your arm, leaning over you, but come up short at the last second. They wait a good few seconds, gaze jumping from your face to your arm, and slowly telegraph their movements before they touch you. You didn’t even have that conversation this loop, and yet they still…
Despite yourself, you can’t help the wet, happy laugh that bubbles up. They’re such a good kid. Even if they’re gripping your arm hard enough it hurts a little.
“Is it more bad wish stuff? Forever school?” Their eyes are wide and earnest, fixed on you.
You sniff and swipe at your face with the back of your wrist—you have to let go of Mira’s hand to do it, now that Bonnie’s trapped your other arm. All your energy, of which there isn’t a lot, goes into trying very hard to get it together.
“Just feelings, Bonbon.” Your voice shakes, but the words come out clear enough. So, progress! Whatever control you have feels like it’s holding on by a very thin tether, though. And admitting to having feelings, especially bad ones, still feels supremely icky.
It’s worth it for the hesitant relief that trickles into Bonnie’s expression. “No more breaking the world?” they ask.
Your fingers curl tight in the blanket. Your heart feels like it thuds thunderously loud in your chest.
“No more,” you assure them.
With that, Bonnie’s pulled back by a hand on their shoulder, Odile sitting up behind them. “I was going to try to sleep and let the emotions experts handle this,” she sighs. She sounds about as tired as you feel. “But, come on, Boniface. Let’s get Siffrin some water for when they’re feeling up to it.”
Bonnie looks tentatively back at Odile. “And snacks too?”
She nods sagely. “And snacks too.”
Thank the stars for Odile. That little mission of hers takes Bonnie out of the room. You don’t have to worry about scaring them with your… breakdown? Is that what this is?
You feel like you can breathe a little easier, even if that breath comes wavering and clogged with emotion.
“It’s alright, Sif. Just let it out. We’re all here for you and we’re not going anywhere. That’s a promise,” Isa says, soft but resolute, and oh. Your chest aches horribly, like it’s trying to hold the words tight, stash them in your ribcage, so you’ll never forget them.
You press your face into a pillow and cry for every death. For silver coins and croissants. For the vile things you said to your very favorite people, and for the fact that they’ll remember those instead of the stargazing picnic and heartfelt conversations. You cry for the crushing weight of an unending day. For the King, and for yourself, for putting you through this. For stars and colors and constellations and languages lost. For a home you’ll never go back to and never remember.
You cry for Loop.
It’s not all gloom, though. Your family shines through it all, and that makes you cry too. They’re happier tears, ones that feel like release more than hurt.
Regardless of the reason behind it, ugly crying until you dry heave is remarkably unpleasant. And embarrassing.
No one judges, or at least not outwardly. Mira coaxes you out of your curl to sit up. Hand in a familiar position on her chest, she asks, “breathe with me?”
Funny, it should be Isa helping her with that. You’ve seen it dozens of times. But, you’re glad it’s different this time.
You go through the motions of slowly breathing in, and out. It’s like second nature at this point, after so many fights and so much fear.
It helps.
Eventually, you can breathe evenly again. The tears finally relent. Your head feels muggy, your throat sore, your face stiff, and your eye gummy. You’re still shaking; it’s exhaustion now, you think, not emotion.
But, despite it all, you feel better. A lot better, actually. Mira must be onto something with her whole ‘reading for catharsis’ thing.
All the same, you’d rather not have a reason to cry like that again for the rest of your life.
The world feels a bit distant and floaty. There’s a soft, warm glow lighting the room. Everything’s quiet save for Mira and Isa’s breathing, and your own stuffy sniffling. No one’s touching you anymore—you wonder if you flinched away from them at some point—and you think you’re grateful for that. Your heart feels raw, and even a good touch might be too much.
“Feeling a little better now, Sif?” Isa asks. But he’s got this knowing tilt to his head, his smile. He doesn’t need to ask.
There’s probably some kind of pun you could make here, if you thought about it long enough. But your brain feels a little emptied. So, you nod and duck your head low to your chest. It doesn’t help you hide as much as when you can bury your nose in your cloak and tug your hat’s brim over your eyes, but it’s something.
Mira and Isa both watch you with shiny eyes and warm expressions. It eases the prickly shame of… everything that just happened.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Isa says, entirely too earnest.
Your face heats up for a whole new reason.
Mira’s perceptive with that kind of thing, eyes hawk-sharp, and she hides another laugh behind her hand. When she settles, though, she tips her head curiously and asks, “would you mind if I fixed your hair?”
Absently, you reach up to pat down the unruly locks. Your hair has a bit of its own mind on a good day, curls and waves flicking off in whatever direction they like. It’s definitely worse now. Pressing your face to the pillows skewed it all back and away from your forehead.
You remember how happy smoothing out your hair made Mira in the house. Now, like then, she looks wholly like she’s expecting to hear a no.
“Please?” you ask, because you’re learning that that’s a thing you can do—ask for things you want. This one feels safe, because you know she wants it too.
Once the surprise wears off, she sets to work. Somewhere in there, the rhythm of her combing soothing you into a sleepy lull, Odile and Bonnie come back.
“You look better,” Odile observes, pressing a water glass into your hands. You have to blink the drowsiness away to keep from dropping it and making a mess of the bed.
Bonnie plunks down right by your side. They’re so close you can feel the warmth radiating off of them, but they don’t touch. That’s kind of nice.
They’ve come with gifts also. A plate stacked with a bunch of curved melon slices rests in their laps.
“You’re good enough to eat a snack now, right?” they ask, hope in their voice.
You’re not really all that hungry, which is foreign in and of itself. You’ve grown accustomed to starving no matter how much you eat. But Bonnie’s probably right when they say snacks make people feel better. Generally, you’ve found that to be true. Anything different from what you ate in loop after loop feels like a delicacy too.
“Yeah.” You don’t even have to try to bring a smile to your face; it just comes. “Thanks, Bonbon.”
They beam like the sun. That’s all the encouragement you need to eat a few slices. The melon’s cool and light. It helps soothe your throat, and the fever you’re suspicious you might have spiked again. And what you don’t eat is easy to pass around to everyone else. Especially because melon doesn’t have any crumbs, so no one complains about eating in bed. You have a feeling they’d let you have this anyway, though, even if you were crunching through flaky, sugared pastry and making a massive mess. Actually offering up your emotions—intentional or not—might come with hidden perks after all.
Later that night, you doze off with sticky fingers and a full heart, surrounded by people you love.
In that moment, you are very loved.