Blackberries
She reached among thorns, picking blackberries for the two of them, weaving her hand between the canes.
She was careful – avoiding thorns, gently tugging berries.
Ripe ones fell without pulling into her hand.
She extricated her hand, palm up, for him to see.
Juice from ones she'd tried not to crush stained her fingertips, for a moment he feared it was blood where thorns had pricked her fingers.
She smiled, held the largest, ripest berry up and offered it to him.
His lips closed around her fingers, tasting salt and sweet and bitter at the same time.
He hated Hiashi.