Chapter Text
Idle movements pull Bérénice out of sleep.
An odd pressure around her waist and a featherlight tickling touch on her chest.
Bérénice groans, cursing whoever decided to cut short her first night of sleep before the beginning of the Pastry Days.
A sigh, dangerously close to her ear, and definitely not hers.
What the…?
She lazily opens her eyes and blinks severely to adjust to the sunlight, feeling abnormally warm for a winter night.
That’s when she understands.
Brown curls on her chest. An arm spread on her stomach, and an entirely new body pressed against her side.
Finally, her eyes fall on the woman’s face, and Bérénice freezes.
Carla.
Carla is in her bed. With her. Half-naked.
Bérénice closes back her eyes, convinced that she must be dreaming.
“Morning,” Carla mumbles, nuzzling further into her neck.
Bérénice leans into the touch, her body choosing before her brain to make the most of this dream.
“You’re quiet.”
Bérénice hesitates, a part of her thinking that she should rather fall back asleep and escape from this dream than entertain it further. The last time she did, it got her not to hold Carla’s eyes for a week.
“I’m just tired.” She ends up responding, meeting her best friend’s eyes.
Carla raises an eyebrow, a hint of mischief shining in her gaze. “Tired… tired? Or tired…” Carla’s hand travels down, dangerously slow and full of intentions.
Bérénice feels herself giving in to the touch, suppressing a sigh. “Carla…”
“Hm?”
“This isn't real,” she whispers, even though Carla’s touch sets aflame her skin, every press of her frame against hers turning her heart erratic.
“Yeah, I know.” Carla exhales, her breath tickling her neck. Bérénice fights a shiver. “Last night was a fever dream… having you like this again…”
Last night? Again?
This dream is getting out of hand.
Bérénice frowns. Nothing happened last night, she’s sure of it. No, she remembers walking home bashful only because Carla pulled her close in a reassuring hug. She remembers playing the moment way too much before falling asleep, wishing for Carla’s perfume to cling to her forever.
At no point did Carla get into her bed; she would have remembered that detail for sure .
But this dream, no matter how nonsensical it may be, appears more real with each second that runs out.
The brush of Carla’s fingertips against her side, the warmth of her skin.
It’s here, tangible, and there is no point in denying it.
“Bérénice?” Carla’s voice coaxes her out of her thoughts. “Is everything alright?”
Carla shifts and tilts her head up to look at her. There’s a strange glint in her eyes, soft .
It resembles a little how she sometimes catches her best friend looking at her, but more unguarded, intense, and deliberate.
Bérénice clears her throat, feeling as though the air she’s breathing is thickening.
She needs some air, now.
“Uh- I just-” She gets out of the covers in a whim, before Carla’s worried and puppy eyes can rush to her head. “I need some air.”
“Oh, okay.”
She senses her best friend’s gaze on her, suddenly hyper aware of the fact that she is half-naked, and hurries to put some clothes on.
I was in my pajamas when I got into bed last night.
Bérénice feels herself panicking.
Behind her, Carla’s silence is deafening, and Bérénice starts to feel remorse eating her insides.
If this isn’t a dream, what is happening?
“I’m sorry, um, I’m just stressed about today.” Half a lie, honestly, because the Pastry Days genuinely preoccupied all her thoughts until this happened.
She's out before Carla gets a chance to answer.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Descending the stairs hurriedly, she finds her sister in the kitchen sipping her coffee in silence.
Constance's eyes light up when she sees her. “Good morning!”
“Morning.” Bérénice smiles when her sister automatically pours her a cup of coffee and slides it to her.
At least one thing has remained normal.
“Slept well?” Constance asks, failing to hide a smirk behind her mug.
“Um, yeah,” She lies, starting breakfast with an announcement like ‘I think I lost my mind,’ appearing perhaps a little too abrupt.
Constance picks herself up a toast, spreading butter on it. “I’m glad things are working out between you and Carla.”
Bérénice chokes in her sip but masks it behind a cough. “Uh- What do you mean?”
“Didn't Carla sleep over?" Her sister frowns, though she doesn't look up from her now overly buttered toast. "I thought I heard her coming last night.”
This time, Bérénice doesn't find the strength to keep pretending.
She slams her mug on the table. “Okay, is this a joke or ? You guys decided to prank me?”
Constance simply stares at her, bewildered, and Bérénice can feel herself further growing insane.
“Constance, please, enough, I’m going crazy right now.”
Her sister opens her mouth, but whatever she is about to say is cut short when Carla’s steps echo in the living room.
“Good morning!” Carla greets, but there's a hint of forced enthusiasm that only Bérénice can notice.
She winces, her earlier sensation of guilt nagging back up at her. Constance's gaze weighs on her, but she pretends not to notice.
“Morning, Carla,” Her sister greets back when Bérénice remains silent still. “Coffee? Breakfast?”
Carla walks closer with a polite smile, tugging at the strap of her bag. “No, thank you, I have to go to the Institut.”
Their eyes meet for a brief second, but Bérénice glances away, the flicker of disappointment in Carla’s gaze unbearable to look at.
“Okay, have a good day then,” Constance says, though her reply falls into a heavy and suffocating silence when Carla makes no move to leave.
“Bérénice? Can we talk?”
Bérénice gulps, setting her mug back down on the table. “Yeah,” She blurts out, clearing her throat.
Carla leads the way outside, and Bérénice follows her, not missing the piercing look Constance sends her way just before the door closes.
_____________________________________________________________________________
The air is cold outside, but Bérénice is certain it's not as cold as her best friend’s body language.
Bérénice braces herself, unsure if it is to warm up or shield herself from a potential slap.
“Bérénice, I don’t understand,” Carla starts, her voice wavering in ways the blonde has rarely seen. “I thought that this time it was for real. You even told me so.” Carla rubs her forehead, avoiding her gaze. “I mean- I guess- I got carried away again, didn't I?”
Bérénice frowns, glancing down at her feet. “Carla- what are you talking about?”
“Seriously?" Carla scoffs, crossing her arms, eyes furious but expectant, like she still awaits something from her after all, but Bérénice feels the words sticking on the tip of her tongue. "You know what? Nevermind.”
Bérénice facepalms, watching as Carla strides a few steps away.
She has no idea of what the hell is happening, but there's no way she can lose Carla over this nonsense.
"Carla, wait!" She shouts, hurrying back after her.
Carla doesn't turn back, but Bérénice catches up to her, grasping her arm, a wave of relief crashing through her when her best friend doesn't push her away.
“I’m sorry.” She blurts out, breathless.
“Look, Bérénice.” Carla turns around, unshed tears shining in her eyes. “I know I put you through a lot, but please, if you don’t want me in your life anymore, just tell me instead of toying with my feelings.”
Bérénice feels her breath hitch at the raw confession. “It wasn't my intention, I'm sorry. I'm just lost.”
Carla swallows, avoiding her gaze, but ultimately nods, her voice nothing more than a whisper. “Okay.”
Bérénice feels a hole digging in her stomach at the realization that she’s behind the girl’s distress.
But she didn’t lie, didn’t she? Yesterday, everything was normal. She was pining over her best friend and preparing for the Pastry Days, and now she wakes up and nothing makes sense anymore.
Carla is in her bed and apparently has very real feelings for her. Bérénice doesn’t know whether to rejoice or to worry about the fact that something is terribly wrong.
It's almost as if she landed straight into an alternate universe or something.
Wait. Could it be it?
Carla’s trembling voice brings her back to reality. “I’m gonna go, I’m already late-”
“Wait! I promise I can explain all this just…” Bérénice's voice softens as she inches closer, instantly regretting it as she notices the tears spilling on Carla's cheeks. “Come back here after class, okay?”
Carla glances away. “Bérénice…”
“Please.” I need you. She swallows back the words.
Carla heaves a sigh, her eyes slipping shut, but nods at last. “Okay, I’ll be here.”
Bérénice smiles, her first real smile since she woke up. “Thank you.”
Carla doesn’t smile back, already on the go. Bérénice winces.
She needs to understand what’s happening, but she can’t do it alone.
She looks as Carla strides further away, and hopes that there’s one thing true in every universe: it’s that she can count on her.
_____________________________________________________________________________
After class, Bérénice directly returned home, hoping to find comfort there or some kind of familiarity she could hold on to.
Her theory about the whole alternate universe thing turned out to be right , and this version of Bérénice seems to have accomplished everything she actively dreams about night and day in her universe.
She’s respected, talented, and confident. Some students seem to admire her, envy her, even. She’s got great friends, a seemingly perfect life. Hell, Carla Furiani is her fucking girlfriend.
Bérénice doesn’t know what to do with all of that.
It’s everything she has ever wanted, but she can’t feel an ounce of satisfaction knowing she hasn’t earned it.
With a sigh, she opens the door to her bedroom, looking forward to catching a break before Carla arrives and she has to deal with all of this mess again.
That’s when she notices.
Her room is different.
She must have missed it this morning in her panic and quick escape, but the sheets are a different shade of color, her wardrobe looks fuller, and new photos are scattered everywhere in her room.
Apparently, she couldn’t run away from the ghost of the Bérénice she stole the life from.
Bérénice begins to roam in her room, observing the new pictures left on her desk.
A new photo of her and Solal dressed in their cooking uniforms, smiling side by side with a giant pastry behind them. She turns the image, finding a quick note which reads: ‘With Bérénice, the boss! Can’t wait to partner with you again. S.’
She stares at her other self, how happy and content she seems to be in that captured instant, and feels a new rush of envy consuming her. She drops the frame before the thoughts get too much to her head.
But new pictures are everywhere.
A selfie Carla took with her in her room, arm around her neck, kissing her cheek while the other Bérénice smiles bashfully at the camera. She can’t help but frown at how short Carla’s hair is in the picture compared to now.
How long have they been together?
Next to it stands a family photo of the whole Teyssier family. She finds the other Bérénice with Théo, Axel, and Charlène, their arms around each other as they smile.
A small polaroid is nearby; it was taken on New Year's Day from the signing at the bottom. Among all the students posing with her, Bérénice recognizes the girl with chubby cheeks who greeted her with high spirits earlier this morning and whom she hadn’t dared to ask her name.
Bérénice loses count of all the new memories her double seems to have made, but one catches her attention more than the others.
In a huge frame hung on her wall.
It's the menu for the 2024 Pastry Days edition, with signatures from each member of the team. Bérénice searches for her name, but fails to find it.
If she hasn’t signed it and it’s in her bedroom, does this mean that she was the one who crafted the menu? Was she the chef?
A swirl of pride and admiration invades her. She wishes she could embrace it, but those accomplishments belong to someone else.
In her universe, the event is supposed to begin today, and if she ever returns there, she doubts the outcome would be the same.
She'll be lucky enough if she gets to stay on the team and attend the presentation.
At least one Bérénice got her happy ending.
But still, if this Bérénice had been capable of accomplishing that, shouldn't she be too?
She shakes her head, almost laughing at herself.
Stop dreaming, Bérénice.
Deciding she has seen enough, she flops on the bed, exhausted. She ponders taking a nap, sleep her only possible evasion of this nightmare, but with a tilt of her head, her eyes fall on the picture resting on her bedside table.
Bérénice feels her breath stuck in her throat at its sight.
It's a candid photo of her and Carla on a beach at sunset.
They’re wearing nothing more than swimsuits, loose shirts, and radiant smiles. Carla’s starry eyes ever focused on her, well, not her, the other Bérénice, the true one, who has her eyes closed mid-laugh.
Bérénice finds herself unable to take her eyes off the picture, fascinated by the carefreeness of her double, the utter happiness in her smile.
She looks so beautiful.
She has a hard time swallowing the lump forming in her throat as she flips the photo and finds a handwritten note from Carla on the other side, saying, ‘Happy birthday, my love. I love you <3. C.’
Bérénice drops the frame down, her vision blurring.
She stares at the ceiling, cursing whichever entity brought her here.
Why did she have to end up in this universe? Is this a way of mocking her? To make her realize everything she could have but never will?
What has she failed? What is so wrong with her that she can't also have this?
"Bérénice?" Constance's muffled voice from the other side of the door cuts her spiral short. "Carla was at the door, I let her in."
Bérénice blinks back her tears, clearing her throat. "Okay, I'm coming!"
Lifting herself from her bed, she opens the door, finding a concerned Constance still standing on her doorstep.
"Has she been here long?" she asks, in hopes of avoiding the questions written all over her sister's face.
"No, just a few minutes only." Bérénice moves, determined to end this conversation before it could start, but Constance gently stops her. "Are you okay? You seem off since this morning."
The question brings new tears to her eyes, but she looks away before her sister can notice.
"Yeah," she lies, swallowing thickly. "I didn't get much sleep, that's all."
Constance doesn't seem to buy her excuse, but thankfully doesn't comment.
"She's waiting for you in the living room."
Bérénice smiles, brushing past her to descend the stairs.
Eventually, she'll have to tell Constance, too, but her sister already worries so much about her on a daily basis that she wouldn't want to become a further burden.
She has to fix this before it's too late.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Bérénice senses Carla's presence more than she hears it, her perfume tickling her nose the second her feet reach the living room.
The same she had inhaled just yesterday when Carla had whispered 'It'll be okay' in her hair before they parted ways.
Some things never change, even from universe to universe.
Carla hears her steps and turns around, her eyes softening instantly when laid upon her. Bérénice feels her knees weaken.
"Hi," She breathes, cursing the slight shake in her voice.
Carla smiles, though it doesn't fully reach her eyes. "Hey."
Bérénice notices the fiddling of her fingers, the vulnerability shining in her gaze, and can't help but feel endeared by it all. "Let's go."
They go up to her room, Bérénice closing the door behind her to make sure no one else could hear their conversation. If Teyssier ever stumbles upon her saying things like 'I woke up in another universe,' he wouldn't wait twice before having her locked up in an asylum, which wouldn't help her.
"So," Carla inhales, stuffing her fidgeting hands in her pockets. "What did you want to talk about?"
When she offered Carla to come, Bérénice had been sure it'd be a great idea, or at least that it was the best thing to do.
Now, facing her best friend—or girlfriend???—she's not so sure of herself anymore.
What if Carla thinks she has gone insane? What if she refuses to help her or even listen to her nonsense?
She'll have no one to rely on and be alone, trying to solve this mess she doesn't even know how she got into.
But at the same time, what if talking just transfers her problem onto Carla instead of solving it?
"Bérénice, you're shaking." Carla steps close, hesitating a millisecond before her hands seek hers in a familiar motion.
Under normal circumstances, the gesture would have calmed her, maybe this Carla—because this isn't her Carla, right?—has practiced this move a thousand times to soothe her, but in this case, it's not doing Bérénice any good.
She's living a life that isn't her own. She doesn't belong here.
But when Carla looks down at her with this softness and worry in her eyes, everything becomes more real. Bérénice could feel herself tipping over the edge, one that'd lead her to send everything to shit and stay.
This couldn't go on.
“Stop looking at me like this,” She whispers, her eyes slipping shut as if it could give her some composure.
“Sorry," Carla drops her hands as if burned, taking a step back. "I didn't mean to—"
Bérénice cups both of her cheeks and crashes her lips onto hers without a second thought.
Fuck it.
Carla meets her kiss fiercely, with an intent and passion that leaves her mind blank and eager for more, more, and more .
Bérénice pulls her closer, trapping her against the door, the moan Carla lets out against her mouth at the motion pushing all the right buttons.
She feels Carla’s fingertips sweeping underneath her shirt, and for a moment, wishes she could let her best friend strip her bare without hesitation.
But this is wrong, and she’s about to pull away, say whatever she’s supposed to say to make this stop, when Carla’s lips find her pulse point like nothing, like she has rehearsed this move a thousand times over, like she knows her.
The realization hits her like cold water.
“Carla…” Bérénice taps her chest, gently pushing her away.
“What?” Carla leans in to kiss her again, eyes ever fixed on her lips.
Bérénice glances away, thanking as much as resenting the last bits of self-control left in her. “We shouldn't.”
Carla purses her lips, her jaw clenching. “Right.”
“No, please don't take it like that.”
The brunette pretends not to hear her, escaping her grasp and turning her back to her. Bérénice feels the instant loss of the brunette’s warm hands on her, but brushes off the sensation.
She takes her face in her hands, sighing. “We shouldn't because I’m ninety-nine percent sure that I’m not your Bérénice.”
There, the truth was finally out of her mouth.
Carla whips around as if slapped. “What are you talking about? What do you mean you’re not my Bérénice?"
Bérénice bites her lip, crossing her arms.
"Bérénice, what is this about? You're worrying me."
Carla eyes her expectantly, her worry seemingly increasing with each second that runs out.
"I know, this is going to sound crazy, but," Bérénice takes a deep breath. "I think I'm not from this universe."
Carla stays impassible, almost as though she waits for the other shoe to drop, or maybe just for Bérénice to tell her that it's all for laughs.
When Bérénice says nothing more, glancing down at her shoes, her words seem to dawn finally on the brunette.
"Wow," Carla runs her hand through her hair, her eyes widening. "That's somehow worse than what I expected."
She watches as Carla begins to pace, her fingernails trapped in her teeth.
"I know, it's a lot." She swallows, a strong feeling of helplessness invading her. "But, yesterday I got home alone, you weren't in my bed, and we definitely didn't..."
“Had sex?”
“Yeah.”
"Bérénice," Carla says suddenly, stopping dead in her tracks. "I swear to god if this is some kind of lame joke to get back at me, I'll-"
"It's not," Bérénice interrupts her, looking her dead in the eye. "I wish it were a joke, but I'm telling the truth, I swear."
Carla holds her gaze, as if weighing whether or not she should trust her.
Ultimately, she scoffs, crossing her arms. “So what? You have no idea of our past, of everything we’ve gone through, not even the way we got together?” Carla says it like it’s ridiculous, unbelievable, but her voice shakes more with each added word, as if her body were aware of a truth her mind still refuses to accept.
Bérénice feels her heart tug. “No, I’m sorry.”
Carla swallows thickly, the last ounce of hope in her eyes extinguished.
"I guess you don't remember what happened yesterday either."
She can almost read the memories playing in Carla’s eyes, memories she doesn’t have any access to, that aren’t hers and never will be.
"No." She whispers, feeling her throat close up.
Carla starts pacing again, her face in her hands. “This is a nightmare.”
“Yeah.”
"How did this happen? Like you just randomly woke up to this?"
"I don't know, I just-"
Carla doesn't listen, her hand now clutched to her chest as if she were physically ill. "Is my Bérénice okay? Can she ever come back? I-"
Bérénice grasps both of her hands in hers, forcing her to stop rambling. "Carla, breathe." Carla's eyes lock on hers, the storm raging there piercing through. "Look at me, breathe in, breathe out."
Carla follows her instructions, matching her breathing to hers. After a couple of trials, the brunette visibly calms down, and Bérénice releases her hands.
She watches as Carla drops down onto the bed and tentatively sits beside her, careful not to invade her space. "Do you feel better?"
Carla offers her a tiny smile. "Yes, that helped, thank you."
Her pinky grazes Bérénice’s, as if itching to hold her hand, but Carla pulls away like she realizes a little too late her gesture, like she suddenly remembers that she’s a stranger. Bérénice's heart aches in her chest.
Carla clears her throat, folding her hands on her lap. “Um, do you think that if you fall asleep again, everything might go back to normal?”
“Well, I haven't tried, so I hope so, yes.” Bérénice bows her head, her voice dropping an octave. “I wouldn't want to steal a life that isn't mine.”
Carla winces. "I'm sorry, this must be awful to you, and I'm making this all about me."
Bérénice forces out a laugh. “It’s okay.” Of course, this Carla wouldn’t presume her life to be a failure; her Bérénice has it all. “I didn't get the worst trade."
She immediately hates herself for admitting it when Carla frowns, her attention so easily devoted to her. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing,” she waves off with her hand. “Forget it.”
“Doesn’t sound like nothing to me.” Bérénice senses Carla's gaze on her, but refuses to look up. “Béré, tell me, maybe it could help us.”
Maybe it could help us.
Help them in making her head back in her universe, of course.
It’s logical. Carla wants things to return to normal and have her Bérénice back. It shouldn’t hurt her, she should want the same thing, fight for it, even, because deep down, she knows that it’s the right thing to do.
But what if this is the closest she ever gets to having all she has ever wanted?
She shakes her head. “I don’t see how.”
“Well, that isn’t just for you to decide.” Carla crosses her arms. “We’re in this together, aren’t we?”
“Yeah.”
Carla raises her eyebrows expectantly, waiting.
Bérénice sighs.
Is she really about to spill it?
“It’s just…” She glances down at her hands, not wanting to face Carla's reaction. “In my universe, things aren’t great as here.”
“Define the things ‘not as great’?” Carla asks, making air quotes with her fingers.
Her shoulders slump. “Everything? This Bérénice is basically an upgraded version in every category.”
Carla hums. “I also tend to think she’s pretty amazing.” Bérénice huffs, rolling her eyes. “But you’re Bérénice, too. It’s in your blood to be amazing, so either you’re in your impostor syndrome phase or… very negative." Carla tilts her head to the side, squinting. "Maybe both?”
Bérénice sighs. “Carla, I’m being serious right now. All of this,” she gestures to the hung menu on her wall, the pictures, and happy memories all over her room. “I won’t have it where I come from, I can’t.”
“Alright, low self-esteem phase it is then,” Carla concludes, staring at her.
Bérénice blinks, not amused.
Carla's face softens. “Look, maybe everything here seems perfect and easy, but it’s not. Bérénice worked her ass off to come this far and went through some pretty bad shit along the way.” The brunette gesticulates with her hands as if hosting a presentation. “Think of this as an Instagram account, you just see all the good stuff but never the truth.”
Bérénice lets her words sink in, staring into space. “You really think so?”
“Yes! Bérénice, you used to think you could never attend a class because of your school phobia, and now you don’t miss one!” Carla pauses, as if growing self-aware of her passionate monologue. “Well, it was like this in my universe, at least. I don’t know if-”
“No, no, it’s the same.” Bérénice rushes to clarify, hope dangerously rising in her chest.
“See? I knew it!” Carla takes her hands in hers, looking straight into her eyes. “Bérénice, you can have all of this. Sure, it won't be easy at first, but you never stop trying, and that’s why I love you.”
Bérénice feels her heart stutter at the casual confession, more so when she realizes Carla didn’t specify which version she was talking about, as if it didn’t matter.
“Okay.” She smiles, resenting her now burning cheeks. “Thank you.”
Carla gives a dismissive wave of her hand. “Don’t thank me, you’ll thank me once you’ve gotten back to your universe and start kicking some ass.”
“I don’t see how I could do it.”
Carla frowns, a hint of fear and worry crossing her eyes.
“To thank you when I’m back, I mean, I don’t see how I could contact you,” Bérénice rectifies, realizing her words may have come off with a much darker meaning than she intended.
“Ah!" Carla huffs out a laugh, though Bérénice can't help but find it forced. "Much better answer." The brunette shrugs. "I guess you could always tell your Carla, we never say no to gratitude for our existence.”
Bérénice chuckles, shaking her head. "That's for sure."
“What is she up to, by the way?" Carla asks, resting her head on her palm. "I’m just curious.”
Bérénice bites back a grin. “You’re impossible.”
Carla squints, smiling. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
“Well, she’s about to do the Pastry Days with me.” A flash of recognition passes through Carla’s eyes, though she remains silent. “We got in together, and it was actually supposed to start today." Bérénice grimaces. "I must have missed it by now.”
Carla nods. “Okay, interesting.”
Bérénice frowns when the brunette doesn't say anything more. “What?”
Carla shrugs. “Nothing.”
“No, you’re being weird. What?" Bérénice thinks back to the Pastry Days menu on her wall. "It happened here, too, didn’t it?”
Carla shakes her head, her face remaining imperturbable. “Keep dreaming, I won’t tell you anything.”
“That’s not fair! I told you-”
Carla ignores her. “Are you looking forward to it? The Pastry Days, I mean.”
Bérénice sighs in defeat, realizing Carla won’t tell her anything more. “Yeah, even though Cardone handles the whole thing and I’ll probably die from anxiety, I think it might be a great way to learn things.”
“Well…” Carla nudges her shoulder against hers. “That’s the spirit!”
“It’s actually you who convinced me, I mean, my Carla.” Bérénice can’t help but smile as she remembers how her best friend advocated for this opportunity on her behalf. “She didn’t leave me much choice, could have dragged me to apply if I didn't."
“Okay, this is actually scary, though.”
Bérénice whips her head to look at her, alarmed. “What?”
“You have the exact same dreamy eyes as my Bérénice when she talks about the things she loves, including me , duh,” Carla says, pointing at herself. “At least, glad to know that this ,” she gestures between the two of them, “is a thing in every universe. If you'd have dared to tell me about another girl, I might have had to slap some sense into you.”
Bérénice snorts. “Yeah, no need.”
Carla gasps, covering her mouth with her hands. “So you guys are together!”
“ Oula , no, and I don’t think it’s happening any time soon.”
Carla's smile soon falls into a pout. “What? Why?”
“For obvious reasons,” Bérénice says with a self-deprecating laugh.
The brunette frowns. “I don’t like the implications of that sentence.”
“Come on." Bérénice huffs, lowering her head. "We both know I don’t stand a chance.”
“Hello?” Carla waves her hand before Bérénice's eyes. “Did you forget where you are or something?”
“Yeah, I know that you guys are together and everything, but it’s probably an exception, not the rule.”
Carla scowls, crossing her arms. “Well, don’t hold your breath.”
The door swings open with a bang, almost making Bérénice jump out of her seat.
Teyssier’s head peeks. “Dinner’s ready,” He mumbles, about to close the door as fast as he opened it, when his eyes fall on Carla. “Furiani, and here I thought we were free of your presence.”
He heaves a sigh, shutting the door before any of them can reply.
Bérénice glances at Carla, who doesn’t seem surprised but rather unbothered, rolling her eyes.
She opens her mouth, curious to know the obvious history behind this exchange, but Carla talks before her.
“Let’s not make him wait.” She says, already standing up.
Bérénice nods and imitates her, lifting herself from the bed.
They head downstairs in silence, Bérénice having a hard time containing her smile when Carla laces their hands together like nothing as they approach the kitchen.
_____________________________________________________________________________
The dinner goes well, surprisingly pleasant for Bérénice, who had grown used to holding her breath in her universe in case Teyssier might want to dig the way she inhales.
Instead, they talk about everything and nothing, the rare silences never awkward. Teyssier seems relaxed in a way Bérénice has never thought possible until now, even if his antics resurface from time to time.
It’s comfortable, and Bérénice can feel her desire to stay here creeping back. She knows Carla told her she could have this life, but everything is simpler in this universe. Why should she have to go back and try so hard to obtain something she already has served on her plate right here?
“Bérénice, I tasted your baklava yesterday,” Teyssier announces, immediately commanding the attention of everyone.
From the corner of her eyes, Bérénice notices Constance beaming. “And?” she asks, mentally bracing herself.
Her brother-in-law opens his mouth, but Constance speaks before he can.
“He finished the entire plate!” her sister claims, grinning. “Could have licked his fingers if other students hadn’t been there.”
Teyssier scoffs. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, okay?
“Come on!” Constance shoves his elbow playfully. “Admit it, you adored it.”
Teyssier rolls his eyes, though the tiniest smile stretches the corner of his mouth. “It wasn’t bad, that’s all I’ll say before she starts sleeping again.”
“That means he found it amazing,” her sister adds, whispering.
Teyssier hears her and starts protesting, but Bérénice can’t listen to them.
The floor might have dropped beneath her feet.
She just received a compliment from Teyssier, one of the most, if not most brilliant, pastry chefs in the industry.
Teyssier complimented her dessert, her baklava .
Bérénice supposes she should grin, so hard it’d make her cheeks hurt, but finds herself not having the strength to smile, nor rejoice.
The other Bérénice might have worked to death for this dessert. Maybe she spent days crafting each of its details, pulling an all-nighter to perfect it, failing, redoing endlessly. But how could she know? This isn’t her work. If Teyssier hadn’t mentioned it was a baklava, she wouldn’t have even known which dessert he was talking about.
This happiness, this praise, she has no idea what her double went through to earn it. How could she pretend to call it hers? How could she have dared to even consider keeping it all to herself?
She is nothing more than an impostor, stealing recognition that belongs to someone else.
Carla’s hand covers hers beneath the table, her eyes seeking hers, concerned, and Bérénice feels herself growing sick.
This Carla looks out for her, unaware that she had been tempted to screw her over just minutes ago.
Bérénice offers her a curt nod to reassure her, but immediately withdraws her hand.
Carla frowns, but saves face in front of the others.
The rest of the dinner goes smoothly, though Bérénice doesn't utter another word, impatient to see it end and head to bed.
All along, she has known that this life isn’t hers, but now, she couldn’t ignore it any longer, not if she still wants to look at herself in the mirror.
As she puts her plate in the dishwasher, Bérénice knows that one thing is certain:
She can’t stay here anymore.
_____________________________________________________________________________
The kitchen is mostly silent as Constance, Bérénice, and Carla finish cleaning up. Teyssier already slouched on the couch, reading a newspaper in the living room.
Even as she wipes the counter, Bérénice can’t bring herself to stop thinking about how she almost let herself stay in this universe. She feels pathetic, dirty, but no amount of showers could ever wash away the overbearing guilt in her chest.
She hasn’t dared to meet Carla’s gaze since earlier when she dropped her hand impulsively.
She may not have betrayed her, but to her, just considering it meant all the same.
“So when are you gonna tell me what’s going on with you?” Constance prompts gently, nudging her side. “You didn’t even crack a smile when my demoniac husband complimented you.”
Bérénice swallows thickly, her hands briefly stilling during her task.
“Is this about…” Constance trails off, nodding towards Carla’s direction, whom the blonde highly suspected of spying on their conversation.
Bérénice stays silent, neither denying nor confirming.
“Bérénice, you know you can tell me anything, right?”
Another wave of guilt hits her, but Bérénice knows that she shouldn’t involve her sister in this mess. Not now, not when there’s still a chance for her to go back as easily as she came, or at least she hopes so.
“This just feels surreal,” Bérénice whispers under her breath, not wanting to lie anymore.
She is unsure whether Constance understands what she means , in fact, it’s almost certain she doesn’t, even though her sister smiles, like everything just clicks . “I think you mean deserved.”
Bérénice forces a smile, the irony of it all making her feel like a science experiment.
Constance lays a comforting arm on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You deserve to be happy, Bérénice.”
Oh.
Bérénice gulps, words feeling hard all of a sudden.
She blames Constance and her tendency to perceive what she hides even from herself.
“Yeah, I know,” she blurts out finally, the gentle rubs on her back from her sister not helping her struggle to keep her voice even.
“I better go,” Carla says, just on cue, and Bérénice mentally thanks her for spying on them. “I’m on breakfast duty at La Coloc tomorrow, so I shouldn’t get home too late.”
“It was a pleasure as always, Carla,” her sister says, smiling. “Get home safe, okay?”
“Yeah.” Carla offers Constance a smile, draping her coat around her shoulders. “Goodbye, chef!” she shouts as she grasps the doorknob.
Teyssier merely groans in response, but Carla pays him no mind, too focused on Bérénice.
Their eyes meet a second too long.
“Bérénice?” Carla lingers by the door, her right hand toying with the handle. “You’re not walking me out?”
“Um.” Bérénice swallows, glancing at Constance, who grants her approval, nodding. “I’m coming.”
She quickly grabs her trench coat and joins Carla's side, who waits for her to have properly covered herself before opening the door.
_____________________________________________________________________________
The cold air outside soon invades them, and Bérénice lets her gaze dart around her surroundings in a vain attempt not to meet Carla’s eyes.
Her exploration is soon over. Nothing much happened to the garden, which tracks, since her sister and Teyssier seem as busy, if not busier, in this universe.
She doesn’t know why Carla made her come outside, well, she assumed it was to free her from a potential public breakdown, but now she wonders if there’s a different reason.
She prays it's not to explain her strange behavior during dinner.
“Felt like you needed the breather, back there,” Carla exhales, her breath drifting in white puffs.
Bérénice shoves her hands in her pockets, seeking a little warmth. “Yeah, thanks.”
“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay," Carla says, clasping her hands together. "You were weird almost the whole dinner.”
“Yeah, um,” She clears her throat, though it doesn't make talking any easier. “It’s just a lot, you know? Being here and everything.”
She doesn't say more, not feeling like she needs to. They already had this talk.
“You...” Carla dances around the words, shifting her weight from one foot to another. “You considered not going back, didn’t you?”
Bérénice winces.
Maybe she should lie, but she’s pretty sure it’s already written all over her face anyway.
“Maybe? For a second?" Bérénice ducks her head, wishing for the ground to swallow her whole. "I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Carla offers her a compassionate smile. “It was pretty obvious.”
Bérénice huffs out a laugh. She should have known that she's always been an open book to Carla, no matter which versio n. “Your tendency to read my mind is concerning.”
“What can I say? Years of practice, baby.” Carla smiles, her eyes shining with everything unspoken.
Bérénice holds her gaze, wishing to save in a precious corner of her memory the unguarded affection it reflects, the warmth it elicits in her chest.
Will she ever have this again?
“I’m terrified,” she blurts out under her breath, the rest of her sentence left unsaid.
Of going back. Of failing in her universe. Of losing this .
“Me too,” Carla whispers, slightly breathless, as if the words physically cost her, or maybe it's the culmination of everything.
Either way, one second Carla’s hand tentatively reaches for hers, an unspoken demand for permission, and the next one, Bérénice falls into her arms.
Carla squeezes her tight. “It’ll be okay.”
It's unclear who she aims to reassure.
One last time, Bérénice thinks back to that hug outside the Institut’s walls by the portal. How the rest of the world faded when Carla had held her, her steady heartbeat against her cheek, the ghost of her lips in her hair as she muttered the same words: ' It'll be okay. '
It had been the only thing that had reassured her, for a breath, for a few seconds that went on too fast before she returned home, the knots in her stomach rekindling.
Her chest aches for that same closeness, for her Carla to be here instead.
Bérénice exhales shakily. “And what if I wake up here again tomorrow?”
The thought alone awakens all the fears she has brushed off since this morning.
Carla pulls back just enough to look at her, her expression hardening with a determination that Bérénice knows to be fragile. “Then, we’ll find something.”
“Yeah.” She nods, praying to god they won't have to.
This Carla deserves to find her way back to her Bérénice.
"I'd better go." Carla turns around, but not without giving her one last smile. "Goodnight, Bérénice."
"Goodnight," Bérénice whispers as she watches her walk away.
It never occurred to her that goodnight could mean so many things.
_____________________________________________________________________________
As she takes the stairs to her bedroom, Bérénice feels her heart lighter in her chest.
And when her eyes lay upon her room full of happy memories and pictures, a different type of envy seizes her.
She wants to know what it’s like.
To make her own memories, to be able to tell what happened in between each of these captured instants, the story of each encounter, the references of each handwritten note, the reasons behind all of her smiles.
Bérénice wants to live, no matter what her universe has got to offer her. No matter if the outcome is the same as here or not at all.
Because at the end of the day, she could still call her life hers, and hers alone.
She flops down on the mattress and closes her eyes, letting a cocktail of fear and anticipation shake her insides.
There, lying on the other Bérénice’s bed, she can’t help but think about the way Carla looks at her in this universe.
There are months and months of history behind that quiet blaze of adoration in her eyes.
Bérénice finds herself wanting to witness everything that shaped Carla’s gaze on her, all the events, the good, the bad, one, at a time, until she has the right to say she has gone through all the different variations that live up to this one special stare.
If it’s ever possible.
But weirdly, it has never seemed more possible.
That night, she drifts to sleep with a smile on her face.