By the time Juniper got back to Manhattan, The Sanctuary had escalated the situation into a full emotional intervention.
Which felt dramatic.
Even for them.
"It was one weekend," Juniper argued while climbing the apartment stairs carrying three tote bags and one morally expensive candle Reggie had apparently "insisted matched his energy."
The second he opened the apartment door, ten people turned toward him simultaneously.
Like witches sensing blood in water.
Courage shrieked from atop the refrigerator.
"Oh my God," Nova whispered. "His aura changed."
"My aura did NOT change."
"It's more organized now," River said suspiciously.
"That's horrifying."
Sage appeared from the kitchen holding incense like a weapon.
"We need immediate recalibration."
Juniper dropped his bags.
"You people are acting like I joined a cult."
Elias looked up from the couch.
"You literally disappeared into the Hamptons with a billionaire Aries tech mogul who owns a helicopter."
"That sentence sounds fake when you say it out loud."
"Juniper," Sage said gravely, "you haven't posted on TikTok in forty-eight hours."
The room fell silent.
Juniper froze.
Oh no.
That actually was serious.
Because Juniper posted constantly.
Astrology.
Poetry.
Fashion sketches.
Three-minute emotional breakdowns set to Phoebe Bridgers songs.
His followers were already theorizing:
- rehab
- death
- secret marriage
- cult recruitment
- ketamine
One commenter had correctly guessed:
"he definitely met a rich man and lost cognitive function"
Which Juniper deeply resented.
"Okay," Juniper sighed. "Fine. Recalibrate me."
The room erupted into movement immediately.
Apparently, they had prepared.
Candles lit.
Meditation bowls appeared.
Someone dimmed the lights.
Sage placed a crystal directly into Juniper's hands.
"What is this?"
"Rose quartz."
"It feels expensive."
"It's infused with intentionality."
"That's not a real sentence."
"You're resisting healing."
"I'm resisting nonsense."
"YOU SELL SPELL JARS ON ETSY."
"THAT'S DIFFERENT."
Twenty minutes later Juniper sat cross-legged in the middle of the living room while The Sanctuary circled him like emotionally unstable druids.
"This recalibration exercise," Sage explained, "is designed to sever unhealthy energetic attachments."
Juniper rolled his eyes.
"There IS no attachment."
"Then this should be easy."
Exactly.
That's what Juniper kept telling himself.
Because this was absurd.
He barely knew Reggie Vale.
Sure:
- he was devastatingly attractive
- weirdly attentive
- secretly funny
- emotionally intense in a terrifying way
But none of that meant anything.
Right?
Right.
Juniper closed his eyes dramatically.
"Begin," he sighed.
Nova struck a tuning fork.
Someone started chanting.
Courage stole a grape from the ceremonial snack plate.
Sage lit another candle.
"Now," Sage said softly, "picture Reggie Vale leaving your energetic field."
Easy.
Juniper imagined Reggie walking away.
Unfortunately his brain immediately supplied:
- Reggie laughing in the Hamptons kitchen
- Reggie handing him coffee
- Reggie staring at him like he was something rare
Juniper frowned.
"Your heartbeat changed," River accused instantly.
"That's invasive."
"You're spiritually loud."
"Can everyone stop saying sentences like that?"
"Juniper," Sage said carefully. "Have you considered that maybe this is becoming emotionally singular?"
Juniper's stomach dropped slightly.
"No."
Because singular was dangerous.
Singular meant:
- choosing
- limiting
- needing
The Sanctuary believed love expanded infinitely.
Love was abundance.
Communal.
Shared.
Fluid.
Not possession.
Not exclusivity.
Not one person becoming the center of your emotional universe.
And yet—
Juniper thought about the way Reggie looked at him.
Like everyone else in the room disappeared.
Which should've terrified him more than it did.
"Okay," Juniper announced abruptly, standing up. "Exercise complete. I'm cured."
"Juniper—"
"I'm serious. Nothing is happening. He's just some billionaire with unresolved emotional issues and terrifying shoulders."
The room stared.
Juniper grabbed his phone from the coffee table.
And froze.
One new message.
From Reggie.
The entire apartment went silent instantly.
Slowly—
very slowly—
Juniper opened it.
Reggie:
Dinner tonight.
8 PM.
Kai's.
Juniper blinked.
Another message appeared.
Reggie:
Wear something irresponsible.
The Sanctuary exploded.
Sage screamed into a throw pillow.
River collapsed sideways onto the couch dramatically.
Nova whispered:
"Oh my God. That's the hottest thing anyone's ever texted."
Juniper's pulse was suddenly catastrophic.
"This means NOTHING," he announced to the room.
"Juniper," Elias said gently, "you're blushing so hard you look feverish."
"I am NOT."
Courage crawled onto Juniper's shoulder and made a tiny concerned noise.
Juniper looked back down at the text.
Then typed carefully:
Juniper:
You're aware this is how people develop attachment disorders right
The response came instantly.
Reggie:
I already have one.
Juniper stared at the screen.
And somewhere deep inside him—
something quietly, terribly shifted.