Chapter 27 Fragile Peace
(Arlo)
Three weeks had passed since the kidnapping. Three weeks since I had curled over Berrie, pressing her head to my chest. The memory I had almost lost her again still haunted me every day.
I sat cross-legged on the floor of Levi's apartment, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes that already felt ironic.
I'd officially moved in, but Levi had basically moved out, spending most of his time at Asa's place.
So really, this felt less like moving in and more like squatting with emotional permission.
The door clicked open.
"Hey," Levi called, far too cheerful for someone abandoning his own apartment. "I'm just here to grab some clothes. Don't panic."
"Wow," I muttered, not looking up. "How generous. The landlord himself has returned."
He snorted and stepped inside, then halted. I don't know what he saw in my face, but instead of heading for the bedroom he let his bag fall, crossed the room, and sat beside me on the floor. Without a word, he studied me for a moment, then leaned over and rested his head against my shoulder.
We had never been like this. Levi was affection-through-insults. Support-through-snacks. Physical closeness was new territory.
"I don't know if this is Asa's fault," he said, voice muffled against my shoulder, "or if my feelings for him have chemically altered my brain. But I'm about to say something emotionally competent, so brace yourself."
I exhaled a weak laugh.
"I know you feel like you let Berrie down," he continued. "And yeah, you did. Congratulations, Gold star. But you're also allowed to feel like crap about it. You're not a villain in a movie. You're just... you. Pain included. So, be kind to yourself, okay?"
I swallowed. "Thanks, Levi. You're getting sappy."
"Don't get used to it," he said. "This is a limited-time offer. I'll soon revert back to sarcasm and protein shakes."
I nudged him with my shoulder. "So, how is it with Asa?"
He lifted his head instantly, like I'd pressed a button. His smile was soft, dazed and borderline stupid.
"Oh, it's terrible," he said. "I'm happy. Disgustingly so. I see him and suddenly I want to be a better person. I mean... recycle now, Arlo!"
I laughed despite myself.
"No, but seriously," he went on. "It's this weird feeling. I'm excited, like heart-racing, stupid-grinning excited, but also calm. Like my nervous system finally unclenched."
I glanced at him. "We've known each other for years. You were never into men before. At all."
"Nope," he said easily. "I mean, I can appreciate beauty. Henry Cavill? Objectively unfair. But attraction? Nah. Just Asa. Which is deeply inconvenient for my identity crisis."
"That's actually really sweet," I said. "Take your time. Enjoy it. Please don't ruin it like I did."
He scoffed. "Hope not. He's gentle and shy and cute in a way that should be illegal. I kiss him like I'm running out of oxygen. I've never been like this. Ever." He leaned in conspiratorially. "And do you want to hear something that will permanently ruin my reputation?"
"Always."
"I love being the little spoon."
"Levi," I gasped. "The internet will never recover."
"I am dead serious," he said. "I've always been the big guy. Always the protector, the wall. Even with Asa, I'm still bigger, but he asked me to try it."
His voice softened. "I slept in his arms and it was like every negative voice I've ever had just... shut up. Like my past finally let me rest."
I blinked hard. "I'm really happy for you," I said honestly. "You deserve that."
"So do you."
The words landed heavier than he probably meant them to.
"I had it," I said quietly. "And I ruined it."
My voice barely carried, as if speaking any louder might break what was left of the memory.
"I couldn't wait to finish work," I went on, "couldn't wait to be back in her arms. The feelings of calm and of serenity were so new to me and so strange, but at the same time unbearably soothing. Beautiful."
I swallowed and kept going. "Every time I opened the door and found her sketching, a pen between her teeth and another in her hand, it was like being hit by this sudden wave of peace.
Comfort. Happiness. Things that felt completely foreign to me.
All I ever wanted in those moments was to pull her close, to bury my face in her hair and just breathe her in. "
A faint, broken smile crossed my lips. "She would laugh every time, pushing me away, telling me to get off her because I hadn't showered yet.
And the moment I did, she'd drag me back and kiss me until I couldn't think straight.
" I exhaled shakily. "After that, there was only quiet.
Calm. New sensations I didn't even have words for. "
"It's kinda weird," he said, "how you never let yourself fully love her, even though it was obvious to everyone.
Like stopping mid-ride 'cause you spotted something she'd dig, or skipping getting out of bed when she felt off.
You'd pull all-nighters just so she could finish that book she was obsessed with.
We all saw the little things like quietly hyping her wins, learning her favorite songs or whipping up recipes to see her grin. "
I didn't feel the tear when it slipped free. It was only when my voice wavered that I noticed it. " I know, that's why I am telling you, guard what you have with Asa with all your heart, Levi." I whispered, bitter and aching all at once.
Levi didn't contradict me. He just sat there, solid and present. Then, gently:
"What do you want right now, Arlo?"
I thought for a moment. "I want Berrie to heal," I said. "Even if it's without me. I just want her to be okay."
He smiled, proud and annoying. "Look at you. Emotional maturity and shit."
"I found a therapist for her," I added. "I called March and asked her to convince Berrie to go. I offered to pay for everything but I couldn't do it anonymously."
Levi nodded. "Good." Then he smirked. "Growth. Disgusting. Asa really is contagious."
I huffed a laugh. He stood, grabbing his bag. "Alright. I'm stealing clothes and then I'm going back to my emotionally supportive and gorgeous twink."
"Please don't call him that."
"I absolutely will, he loves it," he said, pausing at the door. Then, softer, "You're gonna be okay, Arlo. You're not alone, I promise."
I smiled as he left. A few minutes later, my phone started ringing. It was Berrie.
I answered, already bracing myself. "March just told me you're paying for my therapy," she said. "I didn't ask you to do that."
"Please don't be upset," I said quickly. "I promise it's a good thing. I owe you, please. You don't have to do anything except go. Just try it. Let me help."
"I told you to leave me alone Arlo."
"I will," I said, keeping my voice steady even as something tight and painful drew itself around my chest, making each breath feel measured and deliberate.
"You won't have to see me at all.. Just go on your own, and let me take care of it.
" I hesitated, then added more softly, "Let me pay.
I know you can't right now, and when you finally can, I'll stop.
I promise. Please, Berrie, forget the money for now.
Let me help mend a small part of what I broke. "
She was quiet, so I went on.
"Please," I said softly, swallowing hard. "I know I made things worse. I know I played a part in everything you've been through. But I promise, this will help. You won't have to lift a finger. Just say yes."
There was a long pause. I could hear her breathing, slow and controlled, like she was holding herself together one breath at a time.
"...Okay, I think I need it." She said at last, her voice fragile.
Then the line went dead. I exhaled, leaning back against the couch, letting the tension drain from my shoulders.
For the weeks that followed, I built myself a routine and held onto it with both hands, dividing my days so there was never too much empty space to think.
Some mornings were for cooking: I'd lose hours in the kitchen, working through simple, grounding recipes, hearty beef stew, loaves of fresh sourdough, turkey sandwiches stacked with the crisp lettuce she liked.
I packed everything carefully into Tupperware and passed it to March, always reminding her not to tell Berrie where it came from.
March was perpetually busy, always moving between obligations, and I trusted that the food would reach its destination quietly, without my presence complicating things.
After dropping off the meals for the day, I often headed straight to the women's shelter to cover Berrie's shift, knowing Berrie couldn't bring herself to go back there yet.
I rolled up my sleeves and fell into the familiar rhythm of the place: organizing the regular volunteers for meals and playtime, checking supplies and medication, noting that we were running low on infant formula and fixing that with a quick trip to the store.
I touched base with staff about the new family who had arrived that week, still shaken and withdrawn, helped sort intake forms and housing paperwork, and stayed late to handle extra cleanup so nothing fell behind.
Other days were simpler, quieter in their own way, spent entirely in my shop from open to close, the hours blurring together as I worked on autopilot.
I'd check in with March like clockwork, making sure everything was all right, asking if they needed anything, keeping the thread of connection alive without overstepping.
By evening, I'd make my way back to the apartment, exhausted but somehow lighter, as if the steady motion of the day had taken some of the weight off my chest. Couch, notebook, pen—my nightly ritual: Therapy session confirmed, ride arranged.
Meals prepped through Friday. Shelter shift covered.
One box after another checked, a rhythm I didn't dare interrupt.
I'd lean back then, letting my eyes wander as the day finally settled into silence.
Sleep would come soon, and with it dreams of her dark, beautiful eyes and that gorgeous smile.
Before drifting off, a quiet, almost automatic prayer would slip from my lips, hoping she was finding peace somewhere and that, little by little, the hurt was beginning to ease.