#c: berlioz beaumont

[happiestmariebeaumont]

“Don’t worry,” Marie said, offering a small, reassuring smile. “I won’t tell poor Berlioz. He’s an even bigger worrywart than I am.” Her tone was light, but the weight of her promise lingered. The mere thought of breaking the news to Berlioz made her stomach twist—he already had too much to deal with. Adding this would only pile on more stress, and the last thing any of them needed was for him to spiral.

She turned her attention back to Toulouse, her gaze softening as she took in his expression. He didn’t deserve feeling like that.

“Don’t blame yourself,” she said gently, her voice carrying the warmth of a sister’s unconditional care. “You can’t know what you don’t know, after all.”

Marie let out a sigh, one of many that day, as though the weight of their shared predicament was pressing down on her shoulders alone. She reached out, giving his arm a light squeeze, a quiet gesture of comfort.

When he mentioned something about her eyes, she tilted her head slightly, curiosity flickering across her face. “My eyes?” she echoed, her lips quirking into a thoughtful smile. “Oh, yeah. I get told all the time they look like Mom’s. Maybe that’s who you’re vaguely recalling?”

Her smile turned bittersweet at the mention of their mother. It wasn’t the first time someone had pointed out the resemblance, and she wasn’t sure whether it brought her comfort or an ache she couldn’t quite name. Still, if that tiny thread of familiarity could help Toulouse find his way back, she’d cling to it with everything she had.

She leaned back slightly, studying his face for any flicker of recognition, any sign that her words had sparked something. “Does that feel familiar at all?” she asked softly, hoping for even the faintest glimmer of connection.

The last thing Toulouse wanted was for anyone to see him like this and feel poorly. He hated the fact that he couldn’t remember anything, and every time someone new came to visit, that familiar pang in his chest started to flare up again. A wave of sadness hit him as she mentioned someone being disappointed. That’s what this whole experience felt like so far; one big, tragic disappointment. “Tell him I’m sorry… or don’t tell him anything, if that’s better, I don’t know…”

His brows rose upward at this information. Something like that… something so intimate and personal, if he could forget those things, well… he just couldn’t believe it. “Shit… I don’t know what to say- I just keep apologizing to people I can’t remember and it feels like I’m lying to them because even though I feel bad, it doesn’t feel genuine.”

Sighing, Toulouse flopped backward onto the bed, and covered his face with his hands. “This fucking sucks….” It took him a while to say anything else, or sit up, but when he did, he looked at his sister with almost a new set of eyes. Eyes. He knew those eyes. Where did he know them? How? Why? “Your eyes… they seem… familiar.”