Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hey, Harrow, can I see your schedule?” Gideon asked in lieu of a greeting as she fell into step beside Harrow.

“Why?” Harrow kept her focus ahead as she weaved through the crowd of students during the passing period rush. There was no reason for Gideon to ask this of her; for better or for worse, she had Gideon’s schedule memorized, and Gideon had hers memorized.

“Because I think we have chemistry together,” Gideon said, and although Harrow was looking decidedly away from Gideon’s face, she could tell that the redhead winked.

Harrow didn’t dignify that with a response.

“Come on, that was good,” Gideon insisted, nudging Harrow with her elbow gently.

“We’re already a month into the semester and you’re just now making that joke? Forgive me if I’m unimpressed, Griddle.” Harrow did her best to sound bored to hide the fact that she had been waiting for Gideon to make a joke in that vein ever since they registered for classes. If she was being completely honest with herself (a luxury she rarely indulged in), the potential for such horrible jokes was part of the reason she specifically signed up for the same organic chemistry lecture and lab section as Gideon. Not that Gideon knew that, of course. She thought it was a happy coincidence.

“A joke like that is funny no matter the timing,” Gideon insisted as she held the lecture door open for Harrow. “I bet Corona would have found it funny.”

Harrow stormed past Gideon and settled herself in their unofficial seats. “Coronabeth still finds ‘your mom’ jokes amusing, so that’s quite a low bar.”

Gideon looked like she was going to respond, but at the front of the room their professor began the lecture, and Harrow began taking notes. She was unsurprised when, as she glanced at Gideon beside her, her friend hadn’t done the same.

No, Gideon was scanning the crowd for the less repulsive of the Tridentarius twins. Whether or not she found Coronabeth in the audience, Harrow didn’t know. Because she was paying attention to the lecture, obviously.

About five minutes in, Coronabeth waltzed into the lecture hall. Her perfect hair shone in the fluorescent lecture hall lights and the scent of lavender and daisies followed her as she descended the stairs. A choir accompaniment wouldn’t have been out of place.

Predictably, Gideon’s gaze followed her resplendent path to her seat, which was conveniently only two rows ahead of where they were sitting. Harrow indulged a fantasy where she tripped the vibrant twin on her way down the stairs.

Her hatred of Cononabeth was, of course, borne out of her concern for Gideon’s orgo grade. Ever since she transferred into their lecture section on the second week, Gideon hadn’t payed attention to a single lecture. Harrow had seen her notebook. Not a single mark adorned its pages.

There was a multitude of reasons for Harrow to care about Gideon’s orgo grade. The most important being that Harrow needed Gideon to pass orgo 1 so she could take orgo 2 and its concurrent lab next semester, when Harrow was taking it. This was because orgo 2 had a famously difficult lab and culminated in a partner project worth 70% of their grade. And, for whatever reason, Harrow was convinced Gideon was her key to getting an A in both.

She knew how ridiculous it sounded. Gideon—only able to attend the same university as Harrow because of her fencing abilities Gideon—her best shot at academic success? But for some sick, twisted, reason it was true. Gideon was the perfect lab partner. She let Harrow make all the decisions and followed her directions with limited protest. The same went for projects. She didn’t mind Harrow micromanaging the entire thing, and on rare occasions she even provided some meaningful input.

Anyways, none of that mattered if Gideon had to retake orgo 1 for Coronabeth related reasons. Hence the hatred of Cononabeth.

(It also didn’t help that she was her ex’s sister. Harrow would pay good money to never lay eyes on a Tridentarius again.)

“Harrow,” Gideon whispered next to her, “Shouldn’t you be taking notes?”

Harrow looked down at her notes, which stopped at slide 12, and then up at the lecture, which was on slide 20. Shit.

“Shouldn’t you be taking notes?” Harrow hissed back.

“Well I was planning on borrowing yours.” Gideon shrugged.

Harrow turned to glare at Gideon, “Why would you plan on that?” She let her voice get shrill, earning her an angry shhhh! from her classmates. She gave up on their budding argument to actually pay attention to the lecture.

With great mental fortitude and devotion to chemistry, Harrow took high quality notes for the rest of lecture. She was so in the zone that she even color coded as she went. It wasn’t until their professor had wrapped for the day and they were packing up their belongings that they spoke again.

“Yours are better,” Gideon said as she unzipped her backpack and began the arduous task of putting exactly one notebook into the empty pocket. Harrow noticed Gideon’s notebook lived to see another day unmarred by unsightly pen marks.

Harrow placed her highlighters back in her pencil case with great care, not bothering to look at Gideon. “What?”

“To answer your question,” Gideon clarified as she stood and lifted her backpack over her shoulder, “I was planning on borrowing your notes because they’re better.”

Harrow stood abruptly and turned away from Gideon to hide the smile that was spreading over her face with an inexorable force. Maybe there was more than one reason she was so invested in Gideon’s schedule.

---

Harrow rubbed her eyes as she closed her laptop. Her orgo study session was being rudely interrupted by her feeble eyes, which stung with the effort of remaining open. It was as if her body was trying to tell her something, although she wasn’t sure what; she slept four hours each night and ate at least twice a day thank you very much. As far as she was concerned, this is what peak performance looked like.

With a sigh, she decided that her body’s cries for help were really only cries for coffee and ventured out from the comfort of her room and into the lawless domain of her dorm’s kitchen.

Although it was actually quite clean right now. Gideon must have finally done her week’s chores.

“Welcome back to the world of the living, my raven queen.” Speaking of Gideon, there she was sitting on their university-provided plastic couch playing some sort of video game. Harrow hadn’t seen her play this one before.

Harrow didn’t dignify Gideon with a response as she turned on their coffee maker. The layout of their dorm allowed Harrow to see the TV from where she was standing, behind the kitchen island. Gideon swore as her character was slain on screen.

Living with Gideon hadn’t been Harrow’s plan, but she didn’t really have a choice in the matter. Their university did upperclassman housing on a lottery system, and Harrow had the misfortune of being one of the last 100 students able to choose housing. Gideon’s number, on the other hand, was 12. So Harrow was forced to choose between sharing the nicest dorm on campus with Gideon (who for some reason asked Harrow to live with her) or living in a freshman dorm.

All things considered, Harrow couldn’t complain. Gideon spent most of her time at the gym or at fencing practice anyways, and for the most part she was clean. Sure, she sometimes had girls over but they were usually quiet enough. And she even cooked for Harrow sometimes, which, when she was stressed, was the only reason Harrow ate at all.

“Shouldn’t you be studying?” Harrow broke the silence to ask as she poured her nightly coffee into Gideon’s women want me, fish fear me mug.

“Nah. I got better things to do.” Gideon propped her feet up on their coffee table and somehow managed to lounge on the couch that Harrow secretly believed was made of concrete. “Like, you know, not studying.”

Harrow blew on her coffee as she considered whether or not she wanted to pick a fight tonight. After she settled on the affirmative (rather predictably, she had to admit), she asked, “Have you studied at all?”

“Nope.”

“Griddle!” Harrow glared at the back of Gideon’s head in the hopes that the action would somehow communicate her ire to Gideon’s soul.

“Don’t know why you care, my emo empress.” Gideon sounded bored already. A You Died message flashed across the TV screen for the second time.

“I don’t,” Harrow lied, her voice a practiced performance of indifference. If Gideon discovered she was Harrow’s ideal lab partner it would go to her head in the worst way, “I just figured that because you have absolutely no inner discipline, I would do you a kindness and provide some guidance.”

“Well your ‘guidance’”--here Gideon raised one hand above her head so Harrow could see the air quotes she put around the word--“is not necessary. I’m doing fine.”

Harrow scoffed, “Oh, really? Name one functional group.”

There was a silence. And then, “I’d appreciate it if you refrain from this line of questioning.”

“You can’t be serious!” Harrow put her mug down on the kitchen counter before cradling her head in her hands. She took a deep breath, held it for a count of four, and let it go.

“I said don’t worry about it. I have it under control,” Gideon said with an air of finality. Onscreen, her character died again.

“Under control?” Harrow exclaimed with the gall of someone determined to get the final word in at all costs. “Griddle, if you somehow manage to get a passing grade on tomorrow’s test, I’d personally kiss you.”

That got Gideon’s attention. Her head whipped around so she could make eye contact with Harrow, a lopsided smile on her cocky face. “Oh yeah, wanna bet?”

“You’re on, Nav,” Harrow held her gaze, willing her face into bored neutrality. She really shouldn’t be making this bet. The last thing she wanted was to kiss Gideon; she honestly had no idea why that suggestion had even left her mouth. But the risk of actually kissing Gideon was minimal, and she couldn’t afford to back down from a challenge she issued in the first place.

“Okay,” Gideon stood up and walked to the other side of their kitchen island. She extended her hand to Harrow, “Shake on it.”

“Shake on it?” Harrow demanded, glaring at the hand presented to her, “Are you actually serious?”

“Unless you’re planning on chickening out.” Gideon nodded. “If I pass the midterm, you’re going to kiss me on the lips—”

“—Funny, I don’t remember saying—”

“—On the lips, Nonagesimus, we both know that’s what you meant, don’t pretend otherwise.” Gideon was staring her down with that intense stare that always caught Harrow off guard.

“Fine.” Harrow crossed her arms and shrugged. “If you pass I’ll kiss you on the lips. But if you fail…” Harrow paused to mull it over “…If you fail, you’ll have to admit I was right.” An admission like that would surely bring Nav’s disproportionately large ego to its knees.

“Deal. Not that I’m going to fail,” Gideon agreed, and stretched her hand out as if to remind Harrow they had not yet sealed the deal.

Harrow grabbed Gideon’s hand, which dwarfed Harrow’s own, and they shook on it. Their joined hands moved up and down one, two, three, times before Gideon finally released Harrow from her death grip. God, those hands were strong.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a bet to win,” Gideon said with a wink before turning around and shutting herself in her room.

“You left the TV on!” Harrow yelled at the door, but there was no response.

Harrow groaned in performative exasperation as she walked over and turned off the TV. She comforted herself with the fact that no amount of last-minute studying would grant Gideon a passable understanding of the last four chapters. There was no way she was going to lose this bet.

Chapter Text

“61 percent! Suck it, Nonagesimus,” Gideon bragged as she shoved her test in Harrow’s face. Something inside Harrow died at the sight of the 61 clearly written and circled in red ink at the top of Gideon’s midterm. Maybe it was her will to live.

“A 61 is not a score to be celebrated. I got a 95,” Harrow crossed her arms and turned up her nose to more effectively communicate her disgust at Gideon’s idiocy. This had the unfortunate side effect of placing her line of sight directly at Gideon’s face—why did she have to be so much taller than Harrow, it wasn’t fair—and gave her a front row seat to Gideon’s smile. Radiant, some might call it. Dazzling, even. But it would take more than that to impress Harrow.

“A 61,” Gideon said, unaffected by Harrow’s posturing, “Is a passing grade.”

Yes it was. Harrow couldn’t believe her misfortune. “61 percent is two percentage points away from 59 percent, which is a failing grade.”

“That’s a really roundabout way to say I passed. By a two whole percentage points, even. I really outdid myself this time. Do you think the honor’s program is still accepting applicants?” Gideon was gloating now. Harrow envisioned the eulogy she would deliver at Gideon’s funeral. She would wear her most dramatic black dress and delicately wipe her cheeks with a black handkerchief as she recounted Gideon’s tragic tumble from their living room window.

Harrow needed an out, and she needed it now. “But technically if you average a 61 percent for the semester you’ll have to retake the class. D s count as failing for college of science classes.”

“My penumbral princess, do you require assistance with that huge stick up your ass?” Gideon asked with faux concern, “Because if I remember correctly, our agreement was about whether or not I passed the midterm. Whether or not I pass the class doesn’t matter.”

“But can we even be sure that’s your test?” Harrow mused. She doubted Gideon was competent enough to forge a test, but maybe she could get out of this on a technicality, “How do I know you didn’t steal Camilla’s test and write your name on it instead?”

“Masterful topic change, but it’s not going to get you anywhere. You and I both know Camilla would never agree to switch tests. And my name’s at the top in pen.”

Damn, Gideon was right. There was no way Camilla would entertain Gideon’s antics. “So? Just because your name is at the top in pen doesn’t mean you couldn’t switch the test with someone else who took it in pencil, erase their name, and replace it with your own. I’m sure you’d be able to find some poor, love struck girl to do it for you.”

“I’m going to ignore the implication that I’m using women for their mediocre test taking skills and direct your attention to the rest of my test, which is also written in pen,” Gideon placed her test flat on the table and began dramatically flipping through the pages and pointing at all of the pen marks.

“So you asked someone to write their name in pencil but complete the test in pen before we took it and then replaced their name with yours after we got them back,” Harrow said as if that was the most logical explanation and not some batshit conspiracy theory.

Gideon looked like she had won the lottery. Without a word, she marched into her room and returned with her backpack. She then unzipped one of the front pockets, where she revealed a singular pen. The pen Harrow had “lent” Gideon during their first lab when Gideon had been taking notes in the notes app of her phone.

“This,” Gideon announced proudly, “Is the only writing utensil I own. Feel free to search my bag or my desk if you don’t believe me. But you and I both know this is it.”

“That’s a strange thing to boast about, but okay,” Harrow said, “Is this going to be relevant?”

“Oh, it is,” Gideon nodded, “If you’d be so kind, my lady of the night, consider the following scenario: You are me, Gideon Nav. Blessed with the world’s sickest biceps, drowning in pussy, and skilled enough to stand up without almost passing out.”

“Please get to the point.”

“But try as you might, your natural good looks and insane rizz—”

“—you did not just say rizz in an actual conversation—”

“—don’t shelter you from the horrors of organic chemistry. So you’re sitting for the midterm like everyone else. And, of course, when taking this midterm you will need something to write with. So what do you do?”

Harrow massaged the bridge of her nose and sighed, “Take out a pen?”

“Take out the only pen in your possession. The pen I am holding. The pen you saw me using when we took the midterm because we sat right next to each other,” Gideon said as if she had just dealt a verbal death blow.

“Yes, yes, okay. You took the test in that pen. So what?” Harrow was quickly losing interest in this argument.

“So, if the ink of my pen matches the ink on this test, it stands to reason that this is in fact the test that I took,” Gideon insisted. If Harrow wasn’t the one who started this debate she would have called Gideon insane. Unfortunately, Gideon was arguably the more reasonable one here.

There was a pause before Harrow answered, “Unless someone used the same brand of pen on their own test.”

“Bullshit! You told me yourself this pen is limited edition from some fancy pen nerd store. I’ve never seen anyone else with a pen like it, except for you,” Gideon crossed her arms triumphantly. Harrow busied herself picking nonexistent dirt out from under her meticulously groomed fingernails.

“Fine. If the ink matches, I’ll accept that it is in fact your test.” Harrow yawned theatrically.

“Drumroll please,” Gideon said, like a dork. Harrow watched as Gideon removed the cap of her pen and drew a line down the side of her test. It was a perfect match. Harrow would never live this down. The most reasonable option for her now was to feign her death and start a new life off the grid.

Gideon looked like she had just beaten Naberius Tern in a fight, even though, as far as reveals go, this one was pretty anticlimactic. It was, after all, a line of ink on a relatively unimpressive midterm. A midterm that Harrow never actually doubted belonged to Gideon. What a waste of five minutes.

“Okay.” Harrow finally said. Somewhere in the process of their argument they had managed to position themselves shoulder to shoulder, crowded over Gideon’s test. So when Harrow straightened her posture and turned to face Gideon, their bodies were much closer than she had anticipated.

“Okay,” Gideon parroted. She too had turned to stare at Harrow.

The silence turned awkward in record time. Gideon looked at Harrow’s lips, but made no move to progress things. Harrow ignored the fact that she could feel Gideon’s body heat because they were standing so close. Their noisy neighbors opened their windows and started blasting EDM.

“So, I seem to remember you promising to kiss me if I passed,” Gideon finally said, breaking the silence.

Harrow couldn’t seem to take a deep breath. It was as if the weight of every bad decision that led to this moment was sitting directly on her chest. “You remember correctly.”

“On the lips, if I recall.” Was it getting hot in here?

“That was the agreement.” Harrow’s heart was beating mercilessly fast.

“…Are you okay?” Gideon asked. She was shifting her weight and frowning at Harrow slightly.

That snapped Harrow out of her brain. “Yes, I’m perfectly fine, Griddle. Stop looking at me like that.”

“Sorry, sorry. My bad.” Gideon raised her hands in surrender. “But… um, you don’t have to do this because of some stupid bet we made last week.”

“I said I’m fine. It’s just a kiss,” Harrow snapped, “We shook on it and I fully plan on delivering. It’s just…” It’s just the first time she’d kissed someone since Ianthe. She hadn’t liked kissing Ianthe.

“It’s just…?” Gideon prompted.

Oh fuck it. She wasn’t about to get into this with Griddle of all people. “Nevermind. Let’s do this.”

With no fanfare, Harrow closed the tiny gap between their bodies and wrapped her arms around Gideon’s neck. Gideon was staring at her with wide eyes. She seemed like she didn’t think this would actually happen.

Harrow took one steadying breath—which wasn’t all that steadying because her chest was still in a vice grip—and lifted herself up on her tiptoes. Gideon snapped out of her shock and seemed to get the hint because she leaned down to meet Harrow in the middle. The world went into bullet time as their faces closed in on each other. Harrow closed her eyes and braced for impact.

Oh. Kissing Nav actually wasn’t all that bad. She was softer than Ianthe, and less aggressive. Kissing Ianthe felt like something was being taken from her. Kissing Gideon felt like there was something being shared between them.

And then the kiss was over. Gideon immediately went in for a second one, and Harrow almost let her. Almost.

“I believe kiss was the official wording of our agreement,” Harrow said as she placed a finger on Gideon’s nose to stop her advancement, “As in the singular noun.”

Gideon looked like they had closed the athlete's gym for renovations. “We could amend the agreement?”

“After both parties fulfilled their ends of the deal?” Harrow stepped back so she could cross her arms. “I don’t think that would hold up in a court of law.”

“A handshake is hardly a legally binding agreement, my lugubrious lawyer. We don’t even have a written contract.” A written contract, now that was an idea! They could type it on that ancient typewriter in the library and then sign it in their blood. Maybe they could get fingerprints involved somehow—

—Wait a minute. “Why do you care anyway?”

It took Gideon a few moments to make a sound that wasn’t “um” or “well.” She finally settled on “Remember my New Year’s resolution?”

“Bench more than Camilla?” Harrow guessed as she leaned against their table.

“No, the other one.” And then, as an afterthought, “I can do that though, if you were curious.”

“Fuck bitches get money?” Harrow injected the phrase with as much venom as possible. Every year Gideon made that resolution and every year she, objectively, failed.

Gideon smiled at that. “No not that one either.”

“This is an excessive amount of resolutions,” Harrow complained, “Okay, let me think… Listen to and cherish your roommate, Harrowhark Nonagesimus, who sacrifices so much to ensure you don’t fail organic chemistry?”

“Don’t think I said that,” Gideon shook her head.

Harrow groaned, “Then what is it?”

“Make out with every gay girl on our floor,” Gideon said, as if it was obvious.

Harrow found that she didn’t care for that reason much at all. She had been under the mistaken impression that Gideon wanted to kiss her because she was her, not because she met the illustrious criteria of “gay girl on my floor.”

Although, in hind sight, that was a stupid thing to believe. If Gideon had possessed any desire to kiss Harrow, she would have had ample time to do so. Like in high school when they were in each other’s faces yelling more often than not. Or during freshman year, when they had developed an unspoken truce when they realized they had accidentally landed themselves in the same friend group. Or the night they moved in together and Harrow apologized for terrorizing Gideon all their lives, complete with a singular tear.

No, if Gideon was interested in Harrow in any capacity greater than this stupid resolution, something would have happened by now. Right?

Not that Harrow wanted to kiss Gideon for any reason other than the fact that she was hot. She wanted to grab her stupid arms and run her hands along that stupid back and see how long the stupid idiot could pin her to the nearest stupid wall.

It wasn’t her fault that she was plagued with this infatuation. Not really, at least. Until they were permitted to attend a religious private high school, Gideon and Harrow had been home schooled by her parent’s church. And, because Gideon was the only living, breathing person who was anywhere even remotely close to Harrow’s age, when Harrow started feeling the insistent rush of desire and the demanding heat of arousal that marked the adventure that was puberty, Gideon was the only person she could really direct it towards.

Maybe one day Harrow walked in on Aiglamene—one of the only members of the congregation who actually gave Gideon the time of day—introducing Gideon to fencing. Maybe she noticed, in the few seconds before she turned around and stormed out of the room, that Gideon had bulked up considerably in the short time since Aiglamene had started training her. And maybe that same day Gideon made a crude gesture with her fingers and maybe Harrow found it more arousing than annoying. And maybe that night she let her mind wander to red hair and strong arms as she clumsily navigated her own body.

Sure, she could have turned her affections to the saints that adorned the walls of their church. She did, sometimes. She was particularly fond of the blond one that watched over the catacombs with a serene expression and sword in hand.

But the stained glass wasn’t going to fuck her. Gideon, on the other hand, might one day. At least, that’s what she told herself when she needed that release, when she needed to push herself over the edge and no amount of conceptualizing how those stained glass hands would feel on her body could get her there.

Gideon had simply been Harrow’s only option during her formative years, so it stood to reason that Harrow would consider it. And now she considered it out of habit, nothing more.

It was better this way, with no emotions attached.

Harrow realized belatedly that she hadn’t responded to Gideon aloud. “That’s a moronic New Year’s resolution.”

Gideon shrugged. “I’m sorry my life’s goals don’t measure up to your scholastic standards. Not all of us can get off reading our anatomy textbooks.”

“You have no proof of that,” Harrow reminded her. Yes, she had needed some help to understand the…. mechanics of things at first, but that was completely different. “And whatever. If you’re so desperate to kiss girls, I guess I’ll assist you.”

“You will?” Gideon narrowed her eyes.

“Yes, I will,” Harrow said primly, “If you agree to go to study group.”

“I’m sorry, I think I just started hallucinating,” Gideon scrunched her face up in confusion, “You want me to go to your orgo study group?”

“Technically it’s our orgo study group. You verbally committed on the first day of class. You’re still in the group chat,” Harrow pointed out.

“Yeah, okay. That still doesn’t answer my question though. Your condition for making out with me is me going to study group?” Gideon actually sounded surprised by this.

Harrow nodded. “That is what I said, yes.”

“Why?”

“My motivations are not your concern.” Feeling suddenly cornered, Harrow fled to the kitchen where she busied herself with unloading their tiny dishwasher. “Every week you show up to all three sessions prepared and ready to contribute I’ll make out with you. Are you in or not?”

“Every week?” Gideon echoed dumbly. She followed Harrow and stood in front of the cupboard Harrow needed to put the plates in. What an asshole.

“I said what I said. I’d suggest getting your brain checked if any of these concepts are too complex for you.” Harrow leveled Gideon with her finest glare. “Are you ready to shake on it?”

“All right, Nonagesimus,” Gideon extended her hand, “For every week I show up to and participate in study group you will make out with me. Which means multiple kisses with tongue.”

“Deal.” Harrow grabbed her hand with more confidence than she had the last time. “See you around, Nav.”

And then Harrow spun around on her heel and marched into her bedroom, leaving the dishwasher half unloaded and Gideon standing there with her mouth open like an idiot.

---

The first day of study group Harrow wasn’t surprised to see Gideon. Their Monday meetings were right after lecture so it was easy for Gideon to walk with her back to Camilla and Palamedes’ dorm. If the duo was surprised to see Gideon, it only came off in the way they quickly shoved their precarious pile of textbooks and notebooks off of their fourth chair and onto the ground.

Harrow was surprised to see Gideon came prepared. Did she answer almost every one of their practice questions wrong? Yes. But did she sit there and listen to Harrow and Palamedes explain the correct answers? Also yes.

Harrow could have sworn she even saw Gideon take a note in her notebook. She made a mental note to visit an optometrist at her earliest convenience.

“So are you wowed by my commitment to orgo yet?” Gideon asked as they walked back to their dorm together.

“Once is not a trend, Griddle,” Harrow chided, “It’s going to take a lot more than that to impress me.”

Gideon smiled confidently. “Oh just you wait.”

---

Harrow thought the chances of Gideon showing up on the second day were about 50/50. It would be a pitiful showing if Gideon only managed to attend the first meeting, but Harrow doubted the incentive was strong enough to encourage repeat attendance. Perhaps she should have put some smaller reward for each session.

Not that Harrow cared either way. She wasn’t even thinking about whether or not Gideon was going to show up as she discussed her most recent genomics reading with Palamedes. She and Palamedes had their own Wednesday routine where they grabbed lunch and worked on their other classes while they waited for Camilla to be ready.

They both looked up as Camilla opened the door to the room and hauled her equipment inside. Their Wednesday meeting time was half an hour after fencing practice, which meant Camilla had likely come straight from the gym.

“Gideon claims she’s coming again today,” Camilla announced as she entered their dorm. “She says she has ‘a newfound appreciation for carbon and its many forms.’” She raised her eyebrows at this, as if subtly asking Harrow for an explanation.

Well she certainly wasn’t going to get one. “Is that so?” Harrow said.

“Excellent. I’ll clear the chair then,” Palamedes nodded. Camilla shot him a thumbs up before retreating to their bathroom to shower. Palamedes gave Harrow a calculating glance as he did this, but didn’t prod, which she appreciated.

Sure enough, Gideon was there, exactly on time. She was welcomed by a smiling Palamedes, who promptly directed her to sit in the seat next to Harrow. She mentally rescinded any positive remarks she had ever made about Palamedes.

At their last meeting, Harrow had purposefully arranged the seats so that Gideon sat diagonally from her. This was so that she wouldn’t be distracted by any strangely intense eye contact that would result in Gideon sitting across from her and to mitigate the risk of accidental touching that would be incurred by sitting next to each other. Now she was defenseless against the occasional knocking of hands that occurred during heated debate.

And then Gideon leaned into her personal space, touching their shoulders gently, to ask her a question. Harrow hadn’t even considered having to defend against such an onslaught. She was so surprised she jumped, earning her concerned looks from the whole table.

She was able to answer the question, obviously, and Gideon listened to her explanation with rapt attention. It was rare Harrow earned Gideon’s undivided focus, and she found herself suppressing a smile when Gideon asked her a question that proved she was paying attention.

“Are you impressed now?” Gideon asked on their walk back.

“Twice is a coincidence,” Harrow recited, not looking the other woman in the eyes. “We’ll see how you do on Friday.”

---

The third day of study group was where things got dangerous. Not only would Gideon’s attendance mean Harrow owed Gideon a make out session (oh the horror!), but it would also mean that Gideon actually did have some sort of odd commitment to their deal.

Fortunately, Harrow estimated the probability of Gideon’s attendance to be around 10%. This was primarily due to the fact that their third meeting of the week occurred on Friday night, a time Harrow was positive Gideon would rather spend doing anything else.

So when Palamedes opened his dorm door to reveal that Gideon was already inside and ready to go, Harrow had a difficult time hiding her shock. This earned her an eyebrow raise from Camilla and a gentle nudge to her shoulder from Palamedes. Gideon knew better than to react when Harrow showed vulnerability and therefore greeted her as usual.

“My tardy tyrant! I am overjoyed at your arrival.” (Harrow was on time, thank you very much) “You see, I have a pressing question for you about substitution reactions,” Gideon said with a good-natured smile. She pulled out a piece of paper with her notes and questions outlined (quite sloppily) and began going into depth on a subject that she had clearly known nothing about less than a week ago.

Fuck.

Chapter Text

To the outside eye, study group was uneventful. To Harrow and Gideon, study group was a battlefield of posturing, a push and pull of challenges that couldn’t be answered with Camilla and Palamedes present.

Gideon leaned in just a little too close when asking Harrow a question. Harrow let their hands brush as she corrected Gideon’s diagrams. Gideon stared at Harrow with those intense eyes and Harrow held the eye contact with ironclad resolve.

The whole experience was enthralling. She was preaching the beauty of chemical reactions and Gideon was a new convert in the crowd, holding on to her every word with awe. Harrow found that she didn’t even care when Gideon asked some of the stupidest questions she had ever heard because the questions meant she was paying attention. There were few moments where Harrow had the opportunity to showcase her intelligence to Gideon, but this was one of them.

How Gideon had discovered that paying attention was all she needed to do to melt Harrow’s brain to mush, Harrow would never know. She simultaneously loved and hated that dumb jock for figuring it out.

Study group ended in record time, and yet somehow seemed to have lasted a lifetime. They said their goodbyes to Camilla and Palamedes and soon found themselves being ushered out of the duo’s living room.

“I didn’t expect to see you here today,” Harrow told Gideon once Camilla had closed the door behind them and they were in the relative privacy of the hallway.

“Why not?” Gideon fell into step beside Harrow as they began their trek to the stairs, where they had to climb one whole flight before reaching their own room.

Harrow sighed, “I figured you would have other plans. I wouldn’t blame you. Consistent commitment to academics isn’t for the faint of heart.”

“It would be super fun and cool if you didn’t insult me for doing the thing you asked me to do in the first place,” Gideon said. She sounded sad, almost defeated. Harrow felt a queasy pang of guilt deep in her gut and quickly suppressed it.

“I’m not insulting you,” She backtracked, “I’m simply surprised you’re still coming. You never went to study group before this week.”

“I didn’t know you cared about me going to study group before this week,” Gideon replied.

Harrow unlocked their door with far too much force. Things had been far too familiar between them today. “I care about you not dropping out. I’d hate to have to search for another roommate, that’s all.”

“Sure. Hey, did you hear that I was recently elected president of the celibacy club?” Gideon laughed bitterly, “You know, while we’re spouting bullshit.”

“I don’t want to talk about this, Griddle.” Harrow threw her bag on the floor of their living room unceremoniously. She pressed her back against the wall, crossed her arms, and glared at her feet. She hated being called out.

“Yeah, sure, talking is overrated anyway,” Gideon said. She was out of Harrow’s line of sight, but she was standing close. “Should we make out instead?”

Harrow looked up to see Gideon smiling at her, wiggling her eyebrows in the way that occasionally succeeded in cracking Harrow’s resting bitch face. Judging by the way Gideon’s smile widened, this was one of those successes.

“Fine,” Harrow relented, as if she hadn’t been thinking about this moment all week. She pushed herself off the wall with her hands and walked over to where Gideon was standing.

“Nice.”

“Shut up, you’re ruining it.”

Instead of responding, Gideon leaned down and wrapped her arms around Harrow’s lower back. Harrow tipped her head back and slung her arms around Gideon’s neck. They stared at each other for a few moments before Harrow closed her eyes and leaned in.

The kiss was chaste at first, as if they were both nervous to take the next step. But then Harrow angled her mouth differently and Gideon let her lips part slightly and their tongues were touching.

Gideon tasted faintly of those peanut butter protein bars she was always eating. The ones that she always gave Harrow a piece of, because Harrow secretly liked them too. Her tongue was soft, pliable under Harrow’s, as if she was waiting for Harrow to take the first move.

Harrow made it. She pressed into Gideon’s mouth with more force, her tongue mapping the roof of Gideon’s mouth. Gideon shifted her grip on Harrow and stepped forward slightly, slotting their bodies together. Gideon’s body was warm against Harrow’s, a solid force, a grounding constant in the chaos that was the kiss.

They pulled apart for air, and then they were kissing again. This time, Gideon licked into Harrow’s mouth with confidence. She certainly knew how to kiss. The slide of tongues was making Harrow dizzy. It was difficult to focus on anything other than the intensity with which Gideon kissed her, as if kissing Harrow was her life’s purpose.

Harrow moaned into the kiss, quiet but certainly audible, and was rewarded with a groan from deep in Gideon’s throat. The noise had Harrow’s hair standing on end. Any capacity she had for rational thought was discarded to make space for her new mission: make Gideon make that noise again.

Turns out, it wasn’t that hard. All it took was Harrow’s hands threaded in Gideon’s hair, not even pulling really, for Gideon to make a shuttering sigh. Harrow dragged Gideon’s face closer to her, as if she could get their bodies closer than they already were.

She needed more. She needed to be lying down, with Gideon’s body weight on top of her. She needed to be naked, to be feeling the shift of Gideon’s muscles under her hands as Gideon touched her exposed skin.

The kiss ended. Harrow almost leaned in to initiate another, but her thoughts, her desires, scared her. They were larger than anything she’d ever felt before, so large that she couldn’t quite gain an understanding of exactly what they were at all. It was like attempting to identify a stranger using only a picture of their pinky finger. If only she could take a step back and get a more comprehensive picture.

These tremendous emotions weren’t new, at least not when it came to Gideon. She’d never felt anything halfway when it came to Gideon: one day she hated her with the fury of a monster truck driver stuck behind someone driving at exactly the speed limit and the next day she would miss her with the desperation of an animal who didn’t know when their next meal was coming. But somewhere along the way all those distinct emotions got mixed up into a hideous amalgam that she simply didn’t have the energy or desire to untangle.

But this kiss had added a new emotion to the mess, making it just that much harder to decode. And Harrow suspected if she examined this too closely, she wouldn’t like what she found.

Or maybe she would like it too much.

She rested her forehead on Gideon’s shoulder, not wanting to look up and risk meeting her eyes. Gideon’s hand made its way between Harrow’s shoulder blades, rubbing up and down rhythmically while simultaneously encouraging Harrow to stay where she was.

Harrow took a few deep breaths, banishing that emotion back into the depths of her soul, before finally lifting her head to look at Gideon. The other woman was looking at the wall in front of her, looking as shell shocked as Harrow felt. It had been intense for Gideon too, Harrow realized.

She wasn’t sure if reciprocation made the situation better or worse. Part of her wished Gideon had been unaffected, if only to help her with her own self control.

Noticing the weight of Harrow’s head was no longer on her chest, Gideon looked down at her. She had a small smile, small enough that Harrow wasn’t sure if Gideon was aware she was smiling at all. It was an intimate moment, serene and content in a way that was rare for them.

And then Gideon ruined it. “Wow. How’d you learn to kiss like that, sugarlips?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, you brain dead swine,” Harrow snapped. She narrowed her eyes into a glare and stepped back, forcing Gideon’s hands to drop uselessly to her sides.

“Alrighty then. Good to know I didn’t accidentally find myself in an alternate universe where your presence was tolerable.” Gideon crossed her arms and glared at the air over Harrow’s head.

“Likewise.” Harrow crossed her arms and straightened her posture, as if adding another half an inch would make any difference in Gideon’s presence.

A charged pause. Then Gideon said, “So… same time next week?”

“Well, aren’t you presumptuous!”

“That wasn’t a no.”

“Same time next week. If you uphold your end of the deal,” Harrow nodded curtly before fleeing to the safety of her room.

Harrow slammed her door behind her before throwing herself on her bed dramatically. She was fortunate that in that ephemerally soft moment between them, her brain defaulted to insulting Gideon. Because the alternative was her admitting she had enjoyed that. And the last thing Harrow wanted was Gideon knowing she was a good kisser.

Or worse, knowing that Harrow was looking forward to kissing her again.

Chapter Text

Things were different this week. Gideon was being nice to Harrow. Too nice. On Sunday morning, Harrow had awoken to the smell of pancakes cooking and the gentle sound of music, too quiet for Harrow to make out the exact song, but comforting nonetheless. When she had finally managed to extract her body from her bed and journey to the kitchen, she was greeted with Gideon happily stacking pancakes on two plates, one taller and with multiple toppings and the other shorter and left plain.

“Morning, sunshine! Did you sleep well?” Gideon had said with a smile, before pushing the smaller plate in her direction. “I trust that these will be sufficiently bland enough for your delicate palette.”

“Call me delicate again and I’ll smother you in your sleep,” Harrow had threatened, “Why the pancakes?”

Gideon had shrugged, “Dunno, just felt like it.”

They had eaten in silence after that, Gideon’s eyes locked on Harrow as if trying to gauge her reaction. The entire experience had been strange, but, then again, there were few things Gideon did that couldn’t be considered strange, so Harrow ignored it.

On Monday, they hugged. Harrow shuddered as she recalled her monumental lapse in judgment.

They had returned from study group, and Harrow, in a moment of weakness, had asked, “Why are you still attending the meetings?”

Gideon had stopped in the middle of unlacing her boots and looked up at Harrow. “We made a deal, Nonagesimus, and I intend to reap the rewards as much as possible.”

“You don’t even care about your grade in organic chemistry,” Harrow had deflected, resolutely ignoring Gideon’s admission that she did, in fact, want to kiss Harrow again.

“You do,” Gideon had said simply, “I don’t know why, but you do.”

Harrow had wanted to yell at her, to hurt her for considering Harrow’s desires, which was a kindness Harrow didn’t even afford herself. She had wanted to force a fight, to make Gideon so angry at her that she could no longer indulge in the fantasy where Gideon didn’t hate her, where Gideon actually liked her and where Harrow was allowed to like Gideon. She had wanted to make Gideon slam the door that was slowly opening between them shut.

Instead, Harrow had said, “Stop making noise. I have a migraine.”

Gideon had felt it appropriate to respond by opening her arms in a clear invitation for a hug. And for some reason, Harrow had stepped into Gideon’s personal space and allowed the taller woman to wrap her arms around her. She almost flinched as Gideon’s strong arms squeezed her, more protective than threatening. She almost cried as she smelled the subtle smell of Gideon’s cologne, a smell that carried emotions and memories as complex and confusing as the woman it was attached to.

She allowed herself the tenderness of the moment, before pushing Gideon away and stalking to her bedroom without a word.

On Tuesday they reached for the down button of the elevator at the same time, and their fingers brushed. Harrow had felt her breath catch in her chest and glared at Gideon a moment too late for it to be convincing.

But now it was Wednesday, and Gideon was late to study group, and Harrow was sitting on her hands to prevent herself from biting her nails anxiously. They had a nice run—a longer run than Harrow had initially anticipated—but it was over now. The promise of touching Harrow wasn’t tempting enough to encourage Gideon to focus on academics after all.

Harrow couldn’t stress enough how unaffected she was by this realization. She had known this was a casual agreement from the start, and had of course prepared herself accordingly. Gideon owed her nothing, much like Harrow owed Gideon nothing, so if Gideon was done with the agreement so be it. It wasn’t Harrow’s job to care about who Gideon spent her time with behind closed doors anyways. She was just glad it would no longer be her.

Which is why, when there was a knock at the door, she felt no relief. And, when the nonexistent relief subsided, she felt no rush of anger at Gideon for making her wait, for scaring her, for making a mockery of their tenuous agreement.

And when she heard Gideon’s voice, she was an emotionless void who certainly didn’t have to suppress a smile. She was Harrowhark Nonagesimus, and Harrowhark Nonagesimus didn’t smile.

“Cam! SexPal! Literal personification of the nine circles of hell! How are we all doing today?” Gideon waltzed into the cramped living room, blissfully unaware of Harrow’s internal debate about whether suffocation or stabbing would be a more satisfying method of murder.

“Hello, nice of you to join us,” Palamedes greeted pleasantly, ignoring the nickname.

“You’re late,” Harrow snapped in lieu of a greeting.

“I know, I know. I’m a whole ten minutes late. Society as we know it is crumbling,” Gideon said, like a sarcastic little shit, “But, good news, I brought snacks!”

Gideon set her backpack on the table and produced two boxes of cookies.

“I swung by Issac and Jeannemary’s bake sale earlier today. Who knew the esports club was short on cash?” Gideon smiled like a cat who had dumped a dead mouse at her owner’s feet.

“Nice,” Camilla said as she reached for a chocolate chip cookie the size of her face.

Palamades followed suit and grabbed a cookie decorated in ornate pink frosting and sprinkles. “Thanks, Gideon. These are great.”

Harrow scowled at the cookies, refusing to be swayed. She didn’t like baked goods all that much anyways; they were always too sweet for her.

“Aw, don’t look like that, doom mistress, I thought of you too.” Gideon opened the second box of cookies. “Their finest, blandest shortbread. I even had them scrape the frosting off for you.”

Gideon grabbed a plain cookie form the box and presented it to Harrow. There was a brief standoff as Gideon shoved the cookie in her direction and Harrow constructed a mental pros and cons list of accepting it.

Pro: It was endearing that Gideon had thought of her. Declining would discourage Gideon from doing such things in the future. It would also make her look needlessly cruel in front of Camilla and Palamedes.

Con: Harrow didn’t want Gideon to think that a shortbread cookie would erase the fact that she was late. Accepting would set the dangerous precedent that Harrow’s mercy could be won with small gifts or acts of kindness.

In the end, Harrow decided that maybe she wouldn’t mind Gideon attempting to win her over with material goods in the future, so she accepted the cookie and nibbled on it cautiously.

“I’ve had worse,” Harrow declared after a moment’s silence. It was actually quite nice, not too sweet or overwhelming like most cookies she’d tried. And there were no chunks from mix-ins, which she hated because they made the texture inconsistent.

Gideon was smiling at her, one of those genuinely happy smiles that always overwhelmed Harrow in the most exciting of ways. Harrow couldn’t have that.

“But you’re still late,” She continued, “And have you even completed the practice questions?”

Gideon deflated visibly. “I’m gonna be honest, these questions are really kicking my ass this week.”

“That’s alright, we can help you,” Palamedes said. And then, with a pointed glance at Harrow, “That’s what study group is for. What’s important is that you’re showing up and making an effort.”

Harrow disagreed, but then again, Palamedes wasn’t the one who had stumbled his way into a sexual favors contract with the enemy so his perspective might differ from hers slightly.

---

Gideon didn’t do much better on Friday. She showed up late again, forgot her notebook at home (admittedly, not that big of a loss because there wasn’t all that much written in there), and Harrow could have sworn she even zoned out at one point.

And then she had the audacity to walk home from study group with Harrow, smile on her face, as if she were about to experience a repeat performance from last week.

Well, Harrow wasn’t about to let that slide.

“Goodnight, Griddle,” Harrow began marching to her room, “If you need me for anything please hesitate to ask.”

“Wait,” Gideon called behind her, “What about our agreement? It’s Friday night!”

Harrow stilled before turning around slowly to face the redhead, one hand still on the doorknob of her door. “Our agreement centers around you upholding your end. Which you failed to do this week.”

“Excuse you, I did not! I showed up to your stupid study group every day this week! I bought expensive ass highlighters! I listened to you talk about nucleophilic substitution for like five hours!”

The lecture in question had realistically lasted around five minutes and had been gravely needed. Harrow mercifully allowed Gideon her exaggeration.

Harrow lifted her hand with her index finger extended, as if she were about to launch into lecture. “The handshake laws dictate—”

“—Oh, don’t cite the handshake laws to me. I was there when we shook on them.” Gideon scowled. Her arms were gesticulating wildly around her as if trying to communicate a complex message to Harrow via interpretive dance.

“Then you agree that you didn’t fulfill your end this week.” Harrow allowed her voice to grow acerbic. If Gideon wanted to kiss her, she would have to earn it.

Gideon’s lips formed a swear but it wasn’t loud enough for Harrow to hear. “No I don’t! I showed up, I made an effort, and I participated. What more do you want from me?”

“You’re clearly too agitated for a complex philosophical argument right now—“

“—Oh suck my dick, Nonagesimus—”

“—So I will break down my grievances into categories. Category one: attendance. You were late both Wednesday and tonight. In fact, you were twenty three minutes late tonight.”

Gideon seemed stunned into silence. She was staring at Harrow as if she had just suggested they buy salsa to pair with their low sodium tortilla chips.

“Category two: effort.” Harrow continued, indifferent to whatever crisis Gideon was currently undergoing. “I categorize effort as completing the practice questions before we meet. I don’t think I have to remind you that you completed exactly zero questions this week.”

This seemed to get Gideon’s attention. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but Harrow lifted a warning finger before continuing, voice louder.

“And category three: participation. Although I must give you credit for asking questions, that’s about the sum of your participatory efforts this week. You were unable to explain any of the concepts discussed in the reading and spent more time taking advantage of Palamedes’ unfortunate last name for your own entertainment.”

“I think you mean for the entertainment of the entire group,” Gideon argued.

“I wish I could. Some of them were horrible stretches,” Harrow wrinkled her nose, “I’ve fortunately blocked most of them out, but I seem to remember a pronunciation of ‘Sextus’ as ‘sex to us’?”

“You’re being unnecessarily cruel,” Gideon accused.

“I had to hear the phrase ‘little Sextus’ with my own ears this week so I don’t think I’m the cruel one.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Gideon was cracking her knuckles, a nervous tick she’d had for as long as Harrow had known her. “Look, Harrow, I get that you made some sort of ritual sacrifice over the summer and now you have orgo superpowers. The problem sets probably only take you a few hours and I bet your freaky ass even likes doing them.”

“Please leave my butt out of this,” Harrow said when Gideon paused. This was, of course, meant to be encouraging.

Gideon rolled her eyes, but continued, “You and Pal even have your little nerd club. You willingly scheduled study group on a Friday night because, and I quote here, ‘there’s nothing more fun than the pursuit of knowledge, Griddle!’”

Harrow had to admit that was a pretty spot on impression of her. That couldn’t go unpunished. “I’m assuming this is building to a point? Perhaps even one that is relevant to the conversation?”

“Yeah,” Gideon huffed, “Yeah it is. Basically, I’m trying my best here and you’re treating me like shit. You know I’m not as smart as you, I know you do because you fucking remind me of it all the time, so stop pretending like I am. I do swords. That’s my thing. Not molecules, that’s your thing.”

There was a silence. A long, horrible silence as Gideon waited for Harrow to talk. She had that resigned, almost patient look on her face, the one that meant that they would stand here until Harrow decided to talk, even if it took all night. Harrow was starting to feel an uncomfortable heat build up right below her skin, the itchy kind that made you want to break something or hide under your comforter for hours.

The problem was, the right thing for Harrow to do in this moment was admit that she was wrong. Gideon was not her, and even if she did possess Harrow’s scholastic gifts many of her expectations were still too harsh. Even Palamedes came to study group unprepared occasionally. But there was no way in hell Harrow would admit to that unless under duress.

“Griddle, I realize this is hard—” Gideon grinned and Harrow instantly realized her mistake “—I mean difficult for you. But if I just start kissing you even if you don’t hold up your end than soon enough you’ll just stop coming to study group altogether.”

“I still don’t know why that’s a bad thing for you.” Gideon, for her part, sounded genuinely confused.

Harrow watched her hand fidget with her doorknob as she flirted with the idea of just leaving the conversation. “And I still don’t know why you can’t get it through that thick skull of yours that my machinations are complex and must, as a necessity, remain a mystery to you.”

“Maybe its because nobody uses the word ‘machinations’ in a normal conversation, Merriam Webster!” Gideon was sounding considerably less patient with each passing moment.

“We are deviating from the point,” Harrow took a deep breath in an attempt to suppress the jumpy feeling that had been building up inside of her since the argument began before meeting Gideon’s eyes again, “For the sake of argument, let’s just say I’m… invested in your success.”

“Only you could make an actually very touching statement sound like a thinly veiled threat,” Gideon said as she crossed her arms. She wasn’t quite glaring at Harrow, but her expression was closed off and harsh in a way she only looked when they argued.

Harrow ignored her. “I want you to do well. I think you’re capable of a solid grade, if you apply yourself. But you refuse to apply yourself under normal conditions so I had to intervene. Hence the agreement.”

“Do you think the words you’re saying with your mouth right now are normal?” Gideon let her head fall back dramatically as she asked the ceiling, her voice getting high pitched with exasperation.

“No, but neither of us have ever pretended to be normal,” Harrow shrugged, trying to downplay how vulnerable that statement felt.

Gideon seemed to be in intricate psychic contact with the ceiling. It was Harrow’s turn to wait as Gideon closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and lowered her chin to look back to her.

“I’ll do this stupid agreement thing, but you have to make it easier. I have better things to do with my semester than drawing a million hexagons, and unlike some inhabitants of this apartment I actually do have a soul, so blood sacrifice is out.”

“No blood sacrifice? You truly have no commitment to academia,” Harrow deadpanned. That earned her a small smile from Gideon. Good. “But if you insist, we can ease the conditions. The attendance requirement holds, but preparation can mean attempting the problem sets instead of completing them. Likewise, participation can mean asking questions and remaining on task instead of textbook readings.”

Gideon nodded. She looked strangely relieved. “Wanna shake on it?”

Harrow extended her hand in response, and Gideon grabbed it. Harrow was a bit concerned that this was their third handshake in as many weeks. Maybe this wasn’t the healthiest way for the two of them to begin exploring this new facet of their relationship.

Although, when had they ever done anything in the healthiest way? Better to stick to what they knew.

There was a silence after they shook on it, and Harrow was filled with the urge to fill it for some reason. “Also, Griddle? Ask me for help. I can help you if you get stuck on the practice questions.”

“And get roped into your underground bone cult? No thank you,” Gideon said with a shake of her head.

“Don’t be ridiculous, we meet at the abandoned warehouse. However would we get underground?”

“Bone magic, duh.”

“Goodnight, Griddle. May your imagination never falter,” Harrow said with an eye roll as she opened her door.

“Wait, what about the agreement?” Gideon placed her body in the opening of Harrow’s door, preventing her retreat.

“What about it?” Harrow raised an eyebrow, interested to see where Gideon was going with this.

“Well, according to the new terms, the argument could be made that I met your standards this week,” Gideon argued, “So I think I should get a kiss.”

Harrow considered the argument for a moment. “You should have argued for the updated terms to be retroactive if that’s what you desired.”

“I’m not talking a full makeout or anything, although I certainly wouldn’t say no to that.” Gideon winked. “But I think a kiss would be fair.”

“A kiss?” Harrow echoed.

“Just a small one,” Gideon nodded.

“And then you’ll let me go to bed in peace?” Harrow asked.

Gideon nodded again. “Yup.”

That seemed agreeable. Harrow reached out and cupped Gideon’s cheek, allowing herself a few moments to appreciate the strong jawline and smooth skin underneath her fingers. Gideon leaned into her touch, her eyes half shut and fixed on her lips.

Harrow lifted herself up on her toes and angled Gideon’s face down gently before she pressed her lips squarely in the middle of Gideon’s left cheek. If she had wanted a kiss on the lips, she should have specified. Gideon’s eyes widened as she realized her mistake.

“Fuck you,” Gideon huffed, but she moved out of Harrow’s way as agreed.

“You know that’s not in the agreement, Griddle,” Harrow smirked as she walked past Gideon, but she grabbed Gideon’s arm before she left. Gideon stopped her retreat, and there was a moment where both of them stared at Harrow’s bony fingers, which were making a valiant effort at wrapping around Gideon’s wrist.

Then Harrow pulled and Gideon stumbled back towards Harrow, invading her personal space with a confused smile. Harrow rolled her eyes before bunching her hands in Gideon’s shirt and pulling her down for a real kiss.

Gideon made a confused noise before melting into the kiss. Their tongues met in a gentle exploration, starting slowly but quickly escalating into something more intense. Gideon sucked on Harrow’s lower lip for a moment as they separated, both more out of breath than the situation called for.

“Are you going to be good next week?” Harrow asked. Their noses brushed against each other as she spoke.

Gideon licked her lips and swallowed before saying, “Yes ma’am.”

Harrow pulled the redhead down for a second kiss, this one short and without tongue.

“Good,” Harrow said before taking a step back and pushing Gideon away from her gently, “Now get out of my room.”

“As you wish, my lamentable lady.” Gideon winked and shot Harrow finger guns before retreating to her own room. Harrow hated being winked at almost as much as she hated the finger guns, which is why she thought about them for the rest of the night. Because the mere thought of finger guns made her livid.

Chapter Text

Harrow didn’t care for parties, and she especially didn’t care for parties on weekdays. But observing “Thirsty Thursday” was apparently high on the list of Gideon’s priorities, so here she stood in the Tridentarius condo with a red solo cup filled with a mystery liquid that somehow managed to taste like nail polish remover while simultaneously tasting like someone had invented condensed high fructose corn syrup specifically for the occasion.

She remained dubious that this was a legitimate holiday, but Gideon and that annoying freshman Jeannemary had cornered her in the library two days ago and insisted she come. Even Judith was going to attend, they said. Surely Harrow didn’t want it to become public knowledge that she had a bigger stick up her ass than Judith.

Harrow had reminded Gideon that that was the second comment about her ass in as many days and she was in danger of sounding like she actually thought about Harrow’s ass on a regular basis. Gideon reminded Harrow that the leftovers in the fridge could magically disappear at any moment should the culinary gods be angered. Jeannemary spent the entire conversation looking like she was in grave need of popcorn.

So here Harrow was, loud music pounding in her ears, watching her friends become more and more incoherent with each passing minute. She did her best to drink her mystery concoction—which was also carbonated, did she mention that?—and try not to look overly bored. If she was bored then Coronabeth would force her to mingle in a malicious act of hostessing.

She let her eyes sweep over the gathering, taking a mental inventory of who was in attendance. Almost the entirety of the fencing team was here, likely due to Cornoabeth and Naberius’ invite, as well as a fair amount of the pre-medical society, thanks to Ianthe. And then there was Harrow, who was a member of the pre-medical society but was not here at Ianthe’s invite. Not that being here at Gideon’s invite was much better, but even Gideon ranked higher than Ianthe in Harrow’s mental ranking of her peers.

Speaking of Ianthe, Harrow caught a glimpse of dull blonde hair, like a store brand dupe of Coronabeth’s designer waves. She froze, as if motion would keep Ianthe’s pale eyes from detecting her in the crowd. It didn’t work. Ianthe’s eyes locked onto hers, and a cruel, hungry smile spread across her face, giving her the appearance of a banshee.

Harrow scanned the room for the nearest exit, but it was behind Ianthe. She was cornered with no hope of escaping. Her only saving grace was the crowd that separated her from Ianthe, forcing the ghoul to slow her advance as she weaved and dodged. This gave Harrow ample time to strategize.

Unfortunately, Harrow had consumed more of the mystery concoction than she cared to admit, and her only idea was to throw her drink in Ianthe’s pallid face.

That would have to do. Her solo cup was still around half full, and the sugar content of the drink would definitely leave a sticky residue on the blonde for the rest of the night. Harrow took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and readied her weapon.

“Ah, my noxious nunlet! Just the woman I wanted to see.” Gideon’s voice came from above Harrow’s head before a strong arm wrapped around her shoulders and steered her to face the opposite direction, saving her.

Harrow instinctively tried to shove Gideon’s arm off, but the redhead didn’t budge. “Get off of me you bumbling fool. Don’t you have better people to harass?”

“Nope! I’m all yours tonight,” Gideon said brightly. Harrow allowed Gideon to shepherd her out of the living room without so much as a glance behind her.

“Lucky me,” Harrow deadpanned. She refused to look at Gideon, afraid that eye contact might prolong the conversation. Or worse, prompt her to admit that Gideon had just saved her from her evil ex.

“Try not to sound so enthusiastic or I might start thinking you’re actually enjoying yourself at a party.” Gideon laughed as if she had just said something funny. “God knows how embarrassing that would be for our resident wet towel.”

Harrow rolled her eyes. “Is there a reason you’ve decided to torment me or is the universe finally punishing me for my wrongdoings?”

“This might blow your mind, but sometimes people spend time with each other for fun and entertainment.” Gideon tightened her arm around Harrow, pulling their bodies even closer together.

“Nav,” Harrow warned. She didn’t think anyone had ever described her as fun or entertaining. At least, not without several layers of irony attached.

“I know! Imagine spending time with people willingly! And with absolutely no ulterior motive!” Gideon exclaimed with mock scandal, “I told Sex Pal he was full of crap when he told me that, but lo and behold this party is crawling with freaks who enjoy social interaction.”

“Then why don’t you go interact with them?” Harrow realized she had no idea where Gideon was navigating them. The Tridentarius condo had two stories and multiple living areas, and despite spending a fair amount of time in it last year she really only knew the path from the front door to Ianthe’s bedroom.

“Because none of them have your very specific, very terrifying skillset. You see, Harrow, while the competition’s been fierce, I have to stick to my roots. So it should come to no surprise to you that I’ve hand selected you to be my partner in the most prestigious of competitions—”

“—No.” Harrow knew where this was going. Unfortunately, Gideon had started and she showed no signs of stopping.

“Harrowhark Nonagesimus, will you do me the honor of being my beer pong partner?” Gideon asked with a dramatic flourish.

Harrow finally allowed herself to look at Gideon’s face, if only to fix her with a death glare. The other woman had clearly had a few drinks: her smile was more lopsided than usual, her cheeks were flushed slightly, and her hair was artlessly disheveled.

“I’m not in the mood to play tonight,” Harrow lied. She was always in the mood to crush the spirits of anyone who made the mistake of underestimating her in beer pong. As much as Harrow liked to pretend that beer pong was beneath her, her competitive nature loved it. Especially because it was all skill based. A moment of focus and a quick flick of the wrist sent the light little ping pong ball exactly where Harrow wanted it to go.

“Well if you say no there’s a nonzero chance Ianthe tries to talk to you. So, you know, decline at your own risk,” Gideon argued, clearly undeterred by Harrow’s rejection.

She was right. Using Gideon as a human shield in the beer pong tournament was one of the only ways she could guarantee an Ianthe-less night. Which was unfortunate, because she was still mad at Gideon for being late to study group last week, so she was avoiding her on principle (no, she had not been very successful, but it was the thought that counted).

“Is this absolutely necessary?” Harrow put on a show of reluctance, complete with a swirl of her drink and a longing glance at the exit.

“We’ve been ride or die beer pong partners for like two years now. It’s practically tradition at this point,” Gideon said.

The night Palamedes had taught Harrow how to play, Gideon had challenged Harrow to a game. And then to a rematch when Gideon lost. And then Harrow challenged Gideon to a re-rematch after she lost the rematch, and Gideon then charged her to a re-re-rematch after she lost the re-rematch, and then Harrow barely made it to the bathroom before vomiting up the watery contents of her stomach.

Harrow had awoken the next day with a hatred of beer and a string of angry texts from Gideon accusing her of vomiting to stop the re-re-rematch before her inevitable loss, cementing them as beer pong rivals.

They eventually branched into pairs beer pong—Harrow partnered with Ianthe (which always pissed Gideon off) and Gideon with Cytherea (which was more vomit-inducing than the beer). But neither Ianthe nor Cytherea were proficient enough at beer pong to be of any assistance, and Harrow was forced to admit that Gideon would be the better partner.

So now Harrow and Gideon played beer pong together at every party they attended. It was, as Gideon said, tradition.

This history, of course, meant nothing to Harrow. Harrow shrugged and made a noncommittal hum.

“You’ll get to spend your night intimidating frat boys,” Gideon added. This was the exact right thing for Gideon to say. Harrow loved intimidating frat boys. Or anyone, really, but frat boys always assumed that she was bad at beer pong due to her frail stature and antisocial tendencies and were therefore were an easy target.

Harrow rolled her eyes theatrically. “Fine.”

“Fuck yeah,” Gideon said as she pumped her fist, “We’re going to kick so much ass, Nonagesimus.”

Harrow couldn’t help but smile. No matter what was going on between her and Gideon, they were an unstoppable beer pong team.

She allowed Gideon to guide her to one of the living areas, where two tables were set up for beer pong. Coronabeth seemed to be in charge of the competition, and she lit up when she saw Gideon advancing.

“Gideon! Will you be joining our little competition after all?” Coronabeth greeted with a saccharine smile.

“You know it, Corona! Just had to hunt this one down.” Gideon jabbed her thumb in Harrow’s direction.

Coronabeth laughed, low and musical, “Glad you could join us, Harrow. And Gideon, if you ever find yourself without a partner, you know where to find me.”

Harrow was filled with the sudden and inexplicable urge to sew Coronabeth’s mouth shut or cut her tongue out with a knife. Really, anything that would shut her up.

But before Harrow could think of an appropriate insult, Gideon said, “I’m truly flattered, but I couldn’t pong without Harrow. She’s my secret weapon.”

Harrow had certainly had too much to drink. That was the only explanation for the warm feeling that was bubbling up in her chest and spreading to the rest of her body like an aggressive virus. It had even reached her face and was tugging the corners of her mouth up in a smile.

Deflect! Deflect! Deflect! “God knows you need a secret weapon,” Harrow said.

“And she keeps me humble,” Gideon said with a shrug, “Truly the full package.”

“Indeed.” Coronabeth nodded, her eyes flitting between the two of them with amusement. “Well I wish you the best of luck! You’ll be starting at the first table.”

They proceeded to the first table, as instructed. As promised, the bracket consisted of primarily frat boy teams, which meant Harrow had ample time to glare, glower, and grimace at them from their side of the table.

She could never tell exactly what was so intimidating about her and Gideon. Was it her dramatically black eye makeup and the spiked earrings that lined both of her ears? Was it the fact that Gideon could easily bench every person at this party? Was it the way they communicated in a mixture of facial expressions, complex hand gestures (from Gideon only, thank you very much), and whispers?

“Whatever you’re doing to the blond one is working, he’s scared shitless of you,” Gideon whispered lowly in her ear as she passed her a ping pong ball. Their fingers brushed indulgently during the handoff.

Harrow nodded as if Gideon had just imparted key information in a murder investigation before turning to the table and landing a bounce shot. The frat boys groaned as they removed two cups from their side.

“Fuck yeah! That’s my girl,” Gideon said before pulling Harrow into an excited hug. It was a quick hug—Harrow barely had enough time to wrap her arms around Gideon before the taller woman was pulling away—but victory hugs from Gideon always held a special place in Harrow’s heart.

When Harrow started playing beer pong with Gideon, she decided to continue because it was the only time they hugged.

They continued the tournament in much the same way, with Harrow intimidating frat boys and landing difficult shots. Oh, and Gideon landed most of her shots, too. As the tournament progressed and both of them had consumed more alcohol, their touches lingered for longer and their hugs became more indulgent. As they watched the semifinal match from the other side of the bracket conclude, Gideon’s arm found its way around Harrow’s waist.

Harrow let her head rest on Gideon’s shoulder, but only because she was a bit drunk and feeling drowsy. Part of her wondered if the onlookers who didn’t know them personally thought they were a couple. Part of her wanted them to think they were.

---

They won the tournament, obviously. Coronabeth presented them with their prize, a six pack of Corona Extras.

“Think of me when you drink them,” Coronabeth said with a wink when she presented them to Gideon.

Gideon handed the prize to Harrow before replying, “I’m sure we will.”

Harrow grabbed Gideon’s arm and pulled down until Gideon bent over to her level. “It’s time to go home,” Harrow yelled in her ear, hoping it could be heard over the music.

Gideon nodded before turning back to Coronabeth, “Well, looks like we’re going to head out. Thanks hosting, Corona, you’re truly a natural at it.”

“Oh, you flatter me,” Coronabeth made a dismissive hand motion, “I’ll see you at practice?”

“You betcha,” Gideon nodded before finally turning away from her and bringing her attention to Harrow, “Wanna get out of here, cutie?”

God, Harrow was too drunk for this. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m leaving on my own, don’t bother coming with me.”

“As if I’d let you walk back alone.” Gideon followed Harrow as she began weaving through the crowd.

It was too difficult to hold a conversation as Harrow navigated the dense party, dodging their friends like Neo dodged bullets, as Gideon would say. And then she would say Harrow was the Trinity to her Neo and Harrow was too drunk to go down that line of thinking at the moment.

With a little skill, and an insane amount of aggression, Harrow and Gideon escaped the party and found themselves illuminated by street lights as they walked back to their dorm.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. It’s almost 2 am and I have class at 9:15 tomorrow,” Harrow lamented.

“Oh, like you’ve never pulled an all-nighter before your 9:15,” Gideon scoffed, “Come on, Harrow, live a little. Tonight was fun!”

“Yeah, I bet you had fun with all the eyes Coronabeth was making at you,” Harrow huffed.

Gideon made an offended noise. “We’re just friends.”

“Does Coronabeth know that?”

“Remind me why this is any of your business?”

Harrow let out a long-suffering sigh, “A word of advice from someone who has dated a Tridentarii: Don’t.”

“Wow, brevity really is the soul of wit.” Gideon rolled her eyes.

“I’m serious, Griddle! They’re both bad news.”

“You’re just being all pissy because you know I’ve been coming to study group this week.” Gideon elbowed Harrow, which caused her to stumble slightly.

Harrow glared at the sidewalk. “I fail to see how your commitment to academics would make me upset.”

“Because it means you have to kiss me,” Gideon sang in an off key tune, adding syllables to “kiss” that had no business being there.

“Shut up,” Harrow snapped.

“That’s it? No insult? No threat?” Harrow could feel Gideon’s eyes examining her. She forced her face into her default scowl, the one she used when Gideon was at her default annoying.

“Would you prefer I insult you?”

Gideon sped up and moved in front of Harrow, so she was walking backwards. Harrow almost warned Gideon that walking backwards wasn’t safe in her impaired condition, but then she remembered that she didn’t care if the redhead brained herself on a pole.

“Nah. I’m just saying, I really expected you to be way more bummed by this whole thing.” Gideon paused and rubbed her chin as if to imply she was having a thought. “It’s almost as if you want to kiss me.”

Harrow tensed. “You’re drunk, Nav.”

“That’s not a no.” Gideon looked like Coronabeth has just announced she would be hosting her next party naked.

“Trust me, I would rather peel off my own skin than kiss you,” Harrow deflected.

“Kinky,” Gideon winked, “I can work with that.”

“Has anyone ever told you that speaking to you is like placing a needle under your toenail and kicking the side of a building?” Harrow had become fascinated with the composition of street lights. She stared at each one they passed, attempting to parse the structure.

“God you want to kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid.” Gideon’s voice caused Harrow to abandon her inquiry into civil engineering and stare at the other woman. That lopsided smile was back on her face and her chest was puffed out slightly.

Caught like a deer in headlights, Harrow had no choice but to insult the redhead. “You didn’t even come up with that on your own.”

Gideon stopped abruptly, forcing Harrow to crash into her. This meant that Harrow was forced to tip her head upwards to glare at the other woman. Which, because Gideon had leaned down slightly, meant that their faces were mere inches away from each other.

“That doesn’t make it untrue,” Gideon retorted. Harrow watched Gideon’s lips form the words. Not that she was looking at Gideon’s lips; they just happened to be attached to Gideon’s face, which was currently invading Harrow’s entire field of vision.

“I hate you.” There was a slight tremble in her voice she desperately hoped Gideon was too drunk to pick up on.

Gideon raised a smug eyebrow. "Didn’t seem that way last Friday.”

“That was just to motivate you,” Harrow said. She forced her eyes away from Gideon’s lips and up to her eyes. She expected to meet Gideon in the world’s tensest staring contest, but instead she was treated to the sight of Gideon looking at her lips.

“Oh, I was certainly motivated.” Gideon’s eyes darted around Harrow’s face, from her lips up to her eyes and then back down to her lips again. Harrow’s traitorous stomach swooped at the attention. “But I don’t think a little more motivation would hurt.”

Harrow let the moment sit between them, the tension and anticipation ratcheting all of her senses to maximum awareness. It was almost electric, the way their bodies were centimeters apart. She could hear Gideon’s breath, could almost see the amount of restraint required to wait.

But Gideon was being good, and she waited for Harrow to make the next move.

“If you continue behaving, I think tomorrow will be motivation enough,” Harrow smirked as she stepped back slightly.

Gideon groaned, but Harrow had already resumed her journey down the sidewalk, indifferent to Gideon’s struggle. By the time Gideon had sprinted to catch up to her, the moment was lost and the walk home was concluded in silence.

---

Gideon behaved on Friday, just like Harrow knew she would. In fact, she was the most animated of the four of them at their admittedly fairly hungover iteration of Friday study group. Gideon did wonders for the study group dynamic, Harrow decided.

They made their way back to their dorm in silence. Excitement was radiating off of Gideon, who was strutting down the off-white halls like a peacock on display. It was such an entertaining sight that Harrow couldn’t find it in her to insult the other woman.

It wasn’t until they had entered their apartment that they spoke again.

“So, was I good enough for you this week, my strict sovereign?” Gideon asked with the voice of someone who already knew the answer.

Harrow nodded as she closed their door. She hadn’t expected that comment to stick with Gideon, but if she liked it Harrow certainly had no complaints. “You were good, Griddle.”

She turned to look at Gideon, who was looking at her. Neither of them had bothered to walk very far into the room, so Harrow’s back was only a few steps away from their door. Gideon was only a few steps from her in the other direction. She felt a bit caged in and it should have activated her fight response but something about it being Gideon made it feel exciting.

Then Gideon stepped closer to her and their bodies were almost touching. Harrow instinctively let her head tilt back to meet Gideon’s eyes. She watched Gideon’s pupils dilate and contract as they focused on her, and imagined Gideon watching the same phenomena in her eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” Gideon asked, voice barely louder than a whisper. She cupped Harrow’s cheek with her hand.

“Yes,” Harrow answered, and Gideon responded immediately. Their lips met in a desperate kiss, their tongues sliding together, exploring each other in the uncoordinated way people kissing for the first few times always did.

It felt like relief, like downing a glass of ice water on a summer day. The traitorous voice in the back of Harrow’s head was astounded that she had been able to go a full week without this and wondered if she would ever be able to go that long without it again.

She wasn’t sure who initiated it—did Harrow take the first step backward or did Gideon push her with a step forward?—but her back collided with the door. She was pinned, with the cold metal of the door to her back and Gideon’s warm body to her front. It was driving her a bit insane, so she bit the bottom of Gideon’s lip in an attempt to find release, which earned her a sharp inhale from Gideon.

Gideon ended their kiss to trail her lips down Harrow’s throat. Harrow let her head fall back against the door and arched her body up against Gideon’s. In response, Gideon pushed more of her weight against Harrow, forcing her back against the door.

Not one to be outdone, Harrow buried a hand in Gideon’s hair before pulling her back into a kiss. Someone was making noises, small, desperate little moans. Harrow’s other hand grabbed Gideon’s bicep and squeezed, desperate for something to ground her. Gideon flexed in response, and the whimper Harrow made in response was downright embarrassing.

Gideon didn’t seem to mind though. Gideon was letting her hands wander down to Harrow’s thighs. They moved to the back of her legs before squeezing and, getting the hint, Harrow did a little jump.

Gideon’s hands were strong under her thighs, and she guided Harrow to cross her feet at the small of her back. Now Harrow was pinned to the door, held up only by Gideon’s hips against her hips and Gideon’s hands on her ass.

Harrow broke their kiss to catch her breath. Their foreheads were pressed together, noses inches apart as they both panted. It took a few moments for Harrow’s eyes to focus on Gideon again, and when they did any logical thoughts still in Harrow’s brain were banished.

Gideon’s eyes were wide, dark with want and intense with desire. Her lips were slightly parted and puffier than usual, and there was a faint blush dusting her cheeks. She looked both beautiful and handsome in that moment.

There was a brief hesitation, a brief “are we really doing this?”, from both parties before they both leaned in and were kissing again. This one was deep and slow. It could almost be described as soft, although the incessant drum of her heartbeat in her ears was far from soft.

Harrow’s hands were everywhere: In Gideon’s hair, on her biceps, squeezing her shoulders, mapping her back, caressing her sides. She could feel the muscle under her fingers, could tell which muscles Gideon was using to hold her up. She spent extra time touching those, showing her appreciation for Gideon’s hard work with the pads of her fingers.

Then Gideon adjusted and Harrow was sitting higher, pinned by Gideon’s waist instead of her hips. The new position put her head above Gideon’s, which allowed her better control of the kiss. She licked into Gideon’s mouth, delighted to hear some low moans in response.

Eventually, they parted. Gideon rested her head against Harrow’s chest and Harrow let her head fall back against the door as she fought to catch her breath. Gideon rubbed circles into the back of her thighs with her thumbs, and the rhythm helped Harrow return to herself.

“You’re good at that,” Harrow said, finally breaking the silence. She had a rule against complimenting Gideon for fear that it would cause her ego to swell so much it exploded, resulting in ego death, which Harrow really didn’t have the capacity or desire to deal with. But even she had to give credit where credit was due.

“Which part?” Gideon asked. Harrow could hear the smirk on the other woman’s voice despite not seeing her face.

Harrow rolled her eyes, “Don’t push your luck, Nav.”

“No, really, I mean it. According to Busty Babes Bimonthly, feedback is essential for a healthy sex life,” Gideon said, “So, how was it? Five stars? Four and a half? Any questions, comments, or concerns?”

“Well, unfortunately for your argument, we’re not having sex,” Harrow pointed out.

“Yet.” The statement was so simple, and yet it crashed through the conversation like a bowling ball through a pane of glass. Now there were shards of glass everywhere (her body’s involuntary reaction to the statement) and a bowling ball on the loose (Gideon’s comically large ego) and Harrow had to decide which one to get in check first.

Actually, her body decided for her. Gideon’s body was warm between her legs—because she was having this entire conversation with her legs wrapped around Gideon’s waist because she was still being pinned to the wall—and she shifted her hips eagerly at the thought. So much for her nonchalant facade.

She would have to go for the ego then. “Even if we were, I wouldn’t fill out your post-coital survey.”

“I prefer the term post-nut commentary.” Gideon moved her head back to make eye contact with Harrow. There was mischief in her eyes that implied that she did in fact feel Harrow’s hip shift.

In that moment Harrow knew time travel wouldn’t be invented in her lifetime, because if it had her future self would have traveled back in time and shot her the second before she heard that phrase, so that she could die untarnished.

Gideon continued, as if a lack of understanding was why her joke didn’t land, “You know, instead of post-nut clarity? Post-nut commentary?”

“My lack of response to the initial statement was intentional.” That statement would have been much more convincing if Harrow wasn’t actively looking at Gideon’s lips.

“I thought it was funny,” Gideon pouted.

Harrow would rather be kissing Gideon than continue this conversation, so she leaned down and joined their lips again.

Gideon didn’t seem surprised by the kiss and responded eagerly. She shifted her hands so one was holding Harrow up and the other was inching under her shirt. Harrow wasn’t sure which was more arousing: the fact that Gideon was supporting her weight with one hand or the direct contact between her midsection and Gideon’s hand.

Either way, Harrow responded to the new development by kissing down Gideon’s jawline until she was nipping at her earlobe. Gideon’s hand moved up slightly in response, but still remained beneath Harrow’s ribcage.

“You’ve been so good for me,” Harrow whispered in Gideon’s ear, “Better than I deserve.”

There was a moment where Gideon wrinkled her eyebrows as if formulating a response, but Harrow leaned in for another kiss and whatever Gideon had been thinking was lost.

This kiss was slower, less desperate and more intentional. It was emotional and comforting and good in a way that Harrow only ever felt around Gideon. It was dangerously good; it was the kind of good Harrow never let herself bask in for too long because it would leave as quickly as it came.

She let the moment linger for longer than she really should have. She indulged in the tenderness, in the care that Gideon showed her. Then she pulled back, leaving Gideon flushed and dazed.

“Let me down,” Harrow commanded after giving Gideon a moment to recover.

Gideon nodded before sliding Harrow down the door until her feet could reach the ground. She hovered over Harrow for longer than was strictly necessary as Harrow rediscovered her footing, then she took a few steps back. Harrow instantly missed the sensation of Gideon’s body pressed against hers.

“So that happened,” Gideon broke the developing silence with her eloquent charm.

“Oh really? How can we be sure?” Harrow drawled as she rolled her eyes, “Perhaps it was simply a shared hallucination.”

Gideon ran a hand down her face and sighed. She was clearly considering something, and it looked as if the action pained her.

“We’re not going to talk about this,” Gideon finally said. It was more to herself, as if she had just run all the scenarios in her head and arrived to that conclusion. She didn’t sound happy about it; in fact, there was something in her voice that bordered on resentment.

Gideon was, of course, correct. “There’s nothing to talk about.” This was a lie, a blatant lie, but it was one that Harrow was currently still forcing upon herself. This was Gideon. Their relationship remained the same.

They were two ions, their opposite charges (Gideon’s desire for adventure and connection and Harrow’s commitment to routine and solitude) forever pulling them closer together, attracting them to each other. Gideon represented what Harrow could never be, and vice versa. But every time they got too close, every time they let this attraction boil over into something that could be good, they were repelled by what was underneath. The nucleus, in the literal comparison, which has a net positive charge in all atoms. In the more figurative sense, it was their inherent similarities, their stubbornness, their shared pain, their capacity to hurt, that drove them apart.

They were destined to dance around each other, always pulling each other closer together and pushing each other away when the pain of existing in the other’s orbit was too unbearable. It was Gideon trying to leave their church when they were young, trying to abandon Harrow. It was Harrow giving Gideon the silent treatment for weeks, knowing the effect it would have on her. It was Gideon smiling and making jokes despite the pain Harrow endured. It was Harrow forcing Gideon’s hand, damning her to attend the same college as her. It was Gideon flirting with other, more emotionally available, girls.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Harrow repeated, when Gideon looked unconvinced. Gideon was slamming at their tenuous truce with a bettering ram, and reinforcing the barrier was the only thing Harrow could do to protect both of them.

“Fine.” Gideon stormed into the kitchen.

It wasn’t fine. Harrow was comfortable with that; things between them were very rarely fine.

“I’m cooking dinner,” Gideon called from the kitchen, “I’ll save some plain noodles for you before I put the pasta sauce on.”

Why Gideon was so nice to Harrow when Harrow was nothing short of terrible to her she would never understand. Sometimes Harrow wanted to break the other woman, to yell and kick and scream and make her hurt until she finally reacted, until she hurt Harrow even a fraction of the way Harrow had hurt her. She wanted to push and prod until Gideon finally left Harrow too. It’s certainly what she deserved.

It was only a matter of time. Gideon had been planning her escape from their state for years. Once she had her degree, she would have no need to stay in their hometown anymore. She would have no need for Harrow.

“I already ate,” Harrow lied.

“The funny thing about eating is its not a one time thing,” Gideon said as she began rummaging around the kitchen for supplies.

Why Harrow waited at their table for Gideon to finish cooking, she would never know. Why Gideon brought her food, prepared the only way she would eat it (with butter and the smallest pinch of salt) she would never know. Why Gideon sat in the seat across from her with her own pasta and why they ate together in the tense, angry silence that Harrow had become accustomed to, she would never know.

Sure, Gideon slammed the bowl of noodles down on the table as if Harrow had blackmailed her into cooking it and forced Harrow to get up and walk back to the kitchen for a fork and left her dirty dishes spread out across their kitchen for Harrow to clean up later. But they both knew it was kinder than Harrow deserved.

Chapter Text

As a rule, Harrow tried to make as little noise as possible when doing anything physical. Gideon was making that really fucking difficult right now. They were both sitting on the couch, with her straddling Gideon, and one of Gideon’s hands had made its way under her shirt to rest on her lower back while the other one was rubbing small circles on her exposed thigh. Her only saving grace was that they were kissing, and whatever noises she was making were quiet enough to be lost in Gideon’s mouth.

But then Gideon shifted her focus to kissing Harrow’s jaw and used her grip on Harrow to pull their hips closer together and Harrow was too surprised to stop the quiet moan that came from her mouth. The other woman hummed in response before trailing her lips down Harrow’s neck and pushing her loose t-shirt collar down and out of the way.

The noise that left Harrow’s mouth as Gideon bit down on her collarbone gently was horribly humiliating. It was made even more humiliating by the involuntary roll of her hips down into Gideon's lap. She could feel herself getting wet already just like she could feel the tension in the pit of her stomach building.

Naturally, Gideon did it again. Harrow’s reaction was only marginally more composed the second time.

Gideon’s hand was traveling up her back slowly, gently pushing their bodies closer together as it did. Her other hand made its way to Harrow’s waist, then down to grab at her butt. Harrow almost teased the redhead for getting handsy with her but Gideon’s other hand was still moving up, up, up, and oh shit...

Gideon made a quiet groaning noise before shifting her hips underneath Harrow. She was realized what Harrow had just remembered: Harrow wasn’t wearing a bra.

It had all happened so fast. Gideon had left right at the end of study group, whispering “see you at home sugarlips” in her ear before leaving. Harrow had stayed around for another 10 minutes, pretending to discuss one of her other classes with Palamedes, before making her way back to their dorm.

Gideon had been waiting for her, pretending to organize their kitchen. The moment Harrow closed the door, Gideon had grabbed her hand and led her to the couch, where Harrow had immediately climbed into her lap and buried her hands in Gideon’s hair before capturing her lips in a heated kiss.

So yeah, no time to get changed before this. Which, because she had gone to study group in her pajamas, meant she was wearing an oversized shirt that Gideon always insisted was hers (no matter who had originally purchased the shirt, it had ended up in Harrow’s laundry over a year ago so it was hers now), some bike shorts, and nothing else.

Gideon’s wandering hand had made its way from Harrow’s back to her side, with her thumb brushing the sensitive skin right under her chest. Their mouths were rejoined now, and Gideon was doing everything in her power to map the inside of Harrow’s mouth. Harrow was making more of those small noises—there was nothing she could do to stop it—and she was mentally willing Gideon’s hand just a little bit higher.

They pulled back from the kiss, foreheads resting against each other as they panted. Harrow moved her hands from Gideon’s hair to cup her jawline, and she stroked Gideon’s cheeks with her thumbs. Gideon’s eyes were closed, and she took a deep breath before sighing, a full-body sigh that had Gideon’s body relaxing under Harrow’s.

The silence that stretched between them wasn’t quite silent, because Harrow was exhaling sharply as Gideon traced patterns along her ribcage with the pads of her fingers. Gideon opened her eyes—the intensity of that gold caused Harrow’s breath to catch for just a moment—and watched Harrow, simply observing her reactions as her hand explored the area just below where Harrow wanted her.

“You wanna go to second base?” Gideon broke the silence, and the moment, to ask. In retaliation, Harrow hit her with the nearest pillow.

“We’re not sixteen anymore, Griddle!” Harrow glared at the other woman, which was hard to do because she had that dumb smile on her face that really did suit her.

“So is that a no?” The offending hand splayed flat on her rib cage and flexed just a little bit. “Because I think you will find that people in their twenties can also go to second base.”

Harrow groaned, but she could still feel the smile on her traitorous face. “If you promise to never refer to it as second base again, then yes. We can.”

“Hold up. You can’t just ban calling it second base and not provide me with an alternative,” Gideon protested. Instead of moving her hand up like Harrow had just asked, Gideon started stroking her sides gently. The hand that had been indulgently on her ass had abandoned its post to join its partner in the creation of Harrow’s own personal hell.

“I think you’ll find I just did.” Harrow raised her eyebrows at Gideon pointedly. “Get on with it.”

Gideon smiled her patented fucking with Harrow smile. “Get on with what?”

The hands on her sides were making their way back up, so close that for a moment Harrow thought the redhead was going to drop it and touch her. Every shift of Gideon’s hands were sending sparks through her and causing heat to build deep in the pit of her stomach. If only Gideon would touch her where she wanted some of this building tension would snap. But the hands stopped just short, and her torment continued.

Fine. If that’s how Gideon wanted to play it.

Harrow lifted her hips so she was towering over Gideon and used her hand in Gideon’s hair to pull her head back ever so slightly.

“Grab my tits, Nav,” Harrow said, summoning all of the authority she had ever possessed to get the words out. Gideon looked at her like she was the hottest thing she had ever seen in her life.

“Fuck, Harrow,” Gideon groaned before joining their lips in a frantic kiss. Harrow returned the kiss with equal intensity, letting the slide of their tongues against each other eradicate the memory of Gideon uttering the phrase “second base” from her mind.

Harrow was being pulled back down to sit in her partner’s lap before Gideon’s hands finally made their way up to where they were supposed to be this whole time. Gideon cupped each breast with a hand and squeezed as she moved her mouth back to kissing Harrow’s neck.

Gideon timed a nip at the base of Harrow’s ear with a squeeze of her tits and Harrow felt like she was on fire. She moaned, louder than she cared to admit, and grabbed Gideon’s biceps to ground herself.

“Feels good?” Gideon mumbled against her jawline with the smug tone of someone who already knew the answer to that question.

It took a few moments before Harrow could compose herself to breath out, “Yes.”

Gideon’s thumbs made their way to her nipples, gently rolling each one.

“Like this, baby?” Gideon’s voice was lower than usual. Harrow was going to be replaying that moment for the rest of her life.

Harrow tried her best to ignore the use of the pet name, but the strangled noise she let out in response was a clear sign she failed. Gideon smiled against her neck before biting down and sucking gently.

“Pinch them,” Harrow instructed, her voice breathy.

Gideon pinched her nipples. Too hard, too overwhelming.

Harrow winced, “Oh, not so hard.” Gideon adjusted. The new pressure had Harrow gasping for air. "Yeah, just like that Griddle. So good.”

“Fuck,” Gideon was mumbling into Harrow’s neck. “You’re so fucking hot, baby. Holy shit.”

Harrow wasn’t entirely sure she was meant to hear that. Her body responded anyway with enthusiastic intensity anyway. She could practically feel the blood pulsing through her body, congregating in between her legs.

It was getting too intense. Every movement of Gideon’s fingers, every change in pressure or adjustment of position, was sending heat directly to her core. She felt like she was going to explode. Harrow was practically panting and she could feel her wetness even though nothing was between her legs.

She wanted to continue. Wanted to let Gideon’s hands explore everywhere on her body, form her chest to her legs to the space in between her thighs. But the mere thought was too much, too vulnerable. Too far from the agreement, too uncharted of territory.

“Wait, wait, stop,” Harrow finally composed herself enough to say. She put a hand on Gideon’s chest and pushed her back gently.

Gideon stopped immediately, and dropped her hands from Harrow’s chest to her outer thighs. Harrow mourned the loss and part of her wished she hadn’t said anything. But she was still breathing too hard and not in the fun, sexy way but in the scary, overwhelmed way.

“Everything okay?” Gideon asked. She was studying Harrow’s face with concern, as if the answer to her question would be written in the way Harrow creased her brows.

They knew each other so well that for Gideon it might have been.

“Yeah, I’m good. It was good. I just wasn’t prepared for things to get so…” Harrow struggled to find a word. “…Intense.”

Gideon nodded, “I guess I got a little carried away.”

“We,” Harrow corrected as she slid off Gideon’s lap to sit next to her on the couch. They were both breathing a little heavy and a bit dazed by the recent turn of events.

“We got carried away,” Gideon amended.

There was a silence as they both stared at the black TV screen in front of them, catching their breaths and composing themselves. It was honestly a bit embarrassing that something so juvenile as getting felt up had this effect on Harrow, but it was Gideon. She always made everything much more intense than it ought to be.

“It was good though, wasn’t it?” Gideon asked as she turned her head to look at Harrow. “I mean, you had a good time, right?”

Harrow had to suppress a laugh. She thought she had made it obvious just how much of a good time she was having. “Yes, Griddle, I had a good time. Trust me, you would have known if I didn’t.”

“I know,” Gideon smiled at her, “I just wanted to hear you say it.”

Instead of responding, Harrow shoved Gideon’s arm lightly (even though she put force behind it Gideon didn’t budge an inch) and let a peaceful silence surround them.

It was strange. Things had been so fragile between them since their fight last week. They had barely talked and when they did it was in short, aggressive sentences with insults in place of commas. Doors had been slammed, music had been blasted at unholy hours of the night, and the TV remote had been moved approximately ten different places in a truly impressive showing of passive aggression on both ends.

Yet now Harrow could feel the corners of her mouth fighting for their right to smile and had to stamp out a rebellious urge to laugh at Gideon’s antics. Gideon was smiling at her—at her!—and Harrow’s desire to sabotage the one good (she used this word loosely) relationship in her life had yet to kick in.

So unprecedented was this situation that when Gideon faked a yawn and stretch that “casually” ended with her arm around Harrow’s shoulders, Harrow let her do it.

In fact, to her horror, Harrow laughed at it.

And then, as if laughing wasn’t bad enough, she leaned into it.

If Gideon was surprised at Harrow’s newfound position curled practically into a ball and wedged into Gideon’s side, she didn’t show it. She was too busy entwining their fingers with one hand and grabbing the TV remote with the other.

Gideon turned on some documentary. Harrow had never heard about it, but it ended up being about forensic science and had an entire section on dental reconstruction, so she had no complaints. She could feel Gideon’s eyes on her during that section, but she resolutely ignored it.

It wasn’t until about halfway through the documentary, after they had moved on from the fascinating topics of teeth and bones and ventured into far inferior topics such as fingerprinting, that Gideon spoke. “You’re probably going to call me a pervert for this, but do you want to go to third base next time?”

Harrow wasn’t entirely sure how to react. She was viscerally opposed to Gideon using such crass slang when talking about intimate acts, but she was also extremely interested in what “third base” traditionally entailed. She decided that pausing their documentary was the best first step.

“I won’t consider any type of progression or amendment to our agreement until your proposal is presented to me in less vulgar terms,” Harrow said, hiding her enthusiasm behind elevated diction.

“Have I ever told you how much the thesaurus act does it for me?”

“Flirtation will get you nowhere,” Harrow lied.

“I disagree, but that’s a different argument.” Gideon’s arm squeezed Harrow slightly, as if to point out how far flirtation had already brought her. “You banned second base. I’m still well within my rights to say third base.”

“I’m banning the whole baseball analogy, effective immediately,” Harrow declared, “Besides, it kind of breaks down after second base anyways. What even is the difference between third base and a homerun?”

Gideon laughed. It was a nice sound. “As much as I would love to sit here and debate the specifics of a banned analogy with you, you’re avoiding the question, Nonagesimus. Any interest in going below the belt?”

“Please just say fingering like a normal person.”

“Harrowhark,” Gideon gasped with mock offense, “There is a myriad of things I could do between your legs and only a small fraction of that could be described as fingering. I refuse to be caged in by such narrowminded and uncreative vocabulary. What if I wanted to—”

“—Okay, okay I get it. Shut up now. Let me think.” Harrow shoved Gideon’s shoulder lightly. She sat up, no longer leaning into Gideon’s side, and placed a small amount of distance between them as if physical distance could protect her from her unfortunate attraction. Gideon made a motion as if she was zipping her lips before staring at Harrow expectantly.

Harrow had much to consider. On one hand, it had been a long time since she’d had sex and the thought of company other than her hand was enticing. And Gideon had effectively demonstrated that she was good with her hands. And her tongue. She was also, unfortunately, Harrow’s type.

On the other hand, vulnerability was difficult for her, and Gideon already knew Harrow better than anyone else. She didn’t know if she could handle one person knowing her so well, understanding both her mind and her body. Especially not when it was Gideon, whose goal in life for their formative years was to get as far away from Harrow as humanly possible. This relationship was already fragile, and adding sex to the top of an already haphazardly constructed structure of bad decisions they had made together could cause the entire thing to collapse.

She looked at Gideon, who was patiently waiting for her decision with no complaints, and a wildcard third hand came into play. She trusted Gideon. Gideon was a good person, she always listened to Harrow’s boundaries and would never push her into anything. When Gideon held her, she felt safe. Gideon might leave someday, but she didn’t seem to have any plans to leave now.

She shouldn’t be entertaining this, shouldn’t be allowing herself to even consider the thought of exploring what she wanted. Harrow never indulged in what she wanted; she only did what was needed. In her childhood, she did what her church needed of her, stepping up after her parents untimely death. Now, she pressed forward, hoping her successful future would allow her to save her hometown.

Gideon had no place in those plans. She had decided long ago she would let Gideon go after they graduated. She would return to Crux and Aiglamene alone, and Gideon would live the life she deserved to lead.

And yet…

She took a deep breath to ground herself before making her declaration: “If you keep up your study group habits, meaning both stellar attendance and participation, for all three days next week then we can progress things.”

“And by that you mean…” Gideon gestured her hand, inviting Harrow to fill in the verbal blank.

“Touching allowed all over our bodies. Underwear stays on, but otherwise clothing can be removed. No physical contact with genitalia, but touching through our underwear is acceptable. Preferably in a bedroom.” It was a compromise. It was a test. Would the world as she knew it end if Gideon saw her bra?

“Wow, you really know how to make a lady blush.” Gideon fanned herself comically. “Have you ever considered a career in audio erotica? I think you have a real gift.”

“Clarity is sexy in its own way,” Harrow argued.

Gideon leaned in, bringing their faces close together. “You think you can resist me all week?”

Harrow rolled her eyes to hide the fact that, to her horror, she was unsure if she could.

Chapter Text

Harrow had lived with Gideon for over a year and been attending schools with her since they were infants. She knew this was the most Gideon had ever studied for anything. This was possibly the only time Gideon had ever studied for anything.

She found herself strangely sympathetic to Gideon’s plight. She had learned how to study around the same time Gideon was learning to do the monkey bars and had only been improving since then. Even she occasionally found orgo hard, so she couldn’t fathom the difficulty of learning to study while simultaneously attempting to master the material. Gideon was truly faced with an uphill battle.

So maybe she could use a bit of extra motivation, Harrow thought as she watched Gideon frantically flip through the pages of her textbook. Their kitchen table was a mess, covered in flashcards and half-completed notes and diagram after diagram. Harrow impulsively wanted to complete Gideon’s poorly illustrated figures, but she refrained.

Instead, she sat at the seat across from Gideon and watched her silently for a few moments. Gideon was so engrossed in the practice questions that she didn’t even notice Harrow’s presence.

Harrow cleared her throat. “What are your thoughts on lace?”

Gideon put down her highlighter (her collection of writing utensils had increased considerably since the handshake laws had been established) and looked at Harrow with a small frown. “What?”

“What are your thoughts on lace?” Harrow repeated, “I’m planning my outfits for the week and thought I’d get your input for Friday.”

The taller woman seemed to accept that. She nodded for a few moments with that cute frown still on her face before she said, slowly, “You own lace.”

It was more of a statement than a question, but Harrow decided to answer anyway. “Yes, I do. And some mesh. And of course, the normal material, I believe it’s cotton, but those aren’t very interesting so I don’t think you should choose that.”

“I never thought I’d see the day the bone empress herself asked me for fashion advice.” Gideon was smiling now. That and the ridiculous nickname almost made Harrow smile back. Almost.

“It’s not fashion advice,” Harrow corrected, “I’m simply asking what material you prefer: lace or mesh. Or I guess cotton if you want but I really do think you would find that disappointing.”

“But you’re not really asking that, are you?” Gideon rested her chin on her hand and let her eyes roam over Harrow’s form, analyzing it as if she was trying to imagine something. “What you’re really asking is what material I’d prefer seeing you in.”

“I don’t understand why that distinction is necessary, but yes,” Harrow said with a small shrug. She was doing her best to appear unbothered by Gideon’s searching eyes. They were a darker gold than she was used to seeing, and something about it was making her heart pound and her breath catch in the back of her throat.

There was another pause before Gideon sat back in her seat and said, “I think you’d look good in lace.”

“Lace it is then.” Harrow nodded curtly, as if they had just completed a business transaction.

“Do I get a choice of color?” Gideon asked as Harrow pushed her chair back.

“No.” Harrow stood up.

“You only have one color, don’t you?” The redhead smiled as if she’d caught Harrow in a trap. Harrow smoothed her clothes as if sitting down for mere seconds had caused wrinkles to form.

“That’s none of your business.” Harrow crossed her arms and did her best to not sound like Gideon had just read her like a book.

“I bet it’s black.” Gideon stared at her with the confidence of someone who had just read her like a book.

“…It’s a surprise.” Harrow turned to leave.

“My lady of the shadows, black on you could never be considered a surprise.” Gideon Nav was very conspicuously staring at her ass. “But black lace? I could definitely be into that.”

“Why do I even bother?” Harrow said, quiet enough to make it seem like it was to herself but loud enough for Gideon to certainly hear, before storming back to her room.

---

Harrow was becoming increasingly concerned that their newfound familiarity was becoming detectable to outside eyes. Namely, the watchful eyes of Camilla and Palamedes, who unwittingly had a front row seat to their rapidly changing dynamic.

Case and point: it was Friday night, and Harrow was sitting at the study group table, dressed in an outfit that had previously been reserved for date nights (the shirt happened to be the only article of clothing in existence that gave her the appearance of cleavage), with Gideon’s hand on her thigh. And she was arguing with Gideon with an explosive ferocity that would frankly be embarrassing if she wasn’t having so much fun with it.

“There is no fucking way the answer is A,” Gideon was saying as she jabbed her pencil at the subject of their debate, “You literally just got done giving me the world’s most pretentious lecture on condensation reactions so I know it can’t be that.”

“And if you possessed the brainpower to listen to my explanation you would know that this is a special case,” Harrow crossed her arms, “C is here as a distraction for illiterate students such as yourself.”

“You’re so fucking sure of yourself all the time that you never even stop to consider that you might be in the wrong, do you? The second half of A isn’t even true.” Gideon was now circling parts of each answer choice dramatically and adding arrows to the portions she believed to be incorrect.

Harrow faked a yawn as she idly observed Gideon’s handiwork. “It says most correct, Griddle. A is clearly more correct than C.”

“Well maybe if you could find it within yourself to get off your fucking high horse and listen to me you would see that C is just as correct, if not more, than A.” Gideon’s hand was squeezing her thigh now, just above her knee, and Harrow let her legs part slightly.

“Why would I listen to you when you clearly have nothing relevant to say?” Harrow dismissed, a cruel smile playing on her lips, “You have no hope of understanding what’s happening here.”

“Oh, and you do?” Gideon challenged, her hand moving about halfway up Harrow’s thigh. Harrow felt her heartrate skyrocket and grabbed Gideon’s wrist before shoving the hand back down to just above her knee. While she was fairly sure Camilla and Palamedes couldn’t see Gideon’s hand from their position, the close proximity of their bodies likely looked odd during an argument of this caliber.

Palamedes cleared his throat pointedly. “While this has been enlightening, you’re both wrong. The correct answer is D.”

Gideon said, “Bullshit!” at the same time as Harrow said, “Check it again, Sextus.”

“It’s true. The answer key says D,” Palamedes said with a shrug, “You can see for yourself here.”

There was a silence as both Gideon and Harrow stared at the answer key, which proudly proclaimed that the correct answer to question 15 was D.

“That’s utterly ridiculous,” Harrow finally broke the silence, “I would sooner believe A is correct. D was clearly the red herring option.”

“As much as it pains me to say it, I’m with the bone freak. D is like the worst option of all of them,” Gideon agreed with a nod.

“D is the only option that addresses the first half of the question,” Camilla explained, underlining the first portion of the question for emphasis.

Gideon shook her head. “Not you too, Cam!”

“I’m simply stating the facts,” Camilla shrugged.

“Perhaps we should call it here?” Palamedes asked with a raised eyebrow. His eyes were tracing the path of Gideon’s arm, and while Harrow doubted he could actually conclude exactly where Gideon was touching she knew she needed to shut down that line of thinking immediately.

“Yes, that would be for the best,” Harrow agreed as she stood up abruptly before looking at Gideon pointedly.

Gideon pushed her seat back and stood up with much less urgency. “Sounds Gucci. I’ve got better things to do anyways.”

“Have a safe night, you two,” Palamedes said, which further cemented Harrow’s suspicion that he knew. She might as well be wearing a name tag that said I’m better things.

“You too, Sex Pal,” Gideon winked, before shooting those horrific finger guns in Palamedes’ general direction, “Wrap it before you tap it, my man.”

Palamedes laughed for a moment before opening his mouth to respond, but Camilla cut him off, “It’s time for you to leave.”

“Gladly,” Harrow agreed, before grabbing Gideon’s wrist in a vice grip and dragging her to the door. “Goodnight, Camilla.”

“Goodnight, Harrow, good luck with that one,” Camilla replied as she closed the door behind them. Harrow paused for a moment, hearing Palamedes’ muffled voice saying “Come on, Cam. You have to admit that was funny,” before turning to Gideon.

“Have you told Camilla or Palamedes about our arrangement?” Harrow asked, suddenly suspicious that Gideon was sharing details with her private life to anyone who would listen. It’s not like she ever asked Gideon to use discretion, and there really was no reason for Gideon to hide who she was messing around with. Harrow herself had heard stories of a few of Gideon’s more awkward hookups in the past.

“No, I haven’t told anyone,” Gideon said as she began the walk down the hall, “I don’t kiss and tell, Nonagesimus.”

“That’s blatantly untrue. You’ve forced me to sit through some very graphic descriptions.” Harrow wrinkled her nose at the thought. Gideon had always been more open with her desires and sexuality, and with that came the willingness to talk about things, to share stories about the funny and the awkward and the creative and everything in between. Sometimes Harrow wished she was comfortable enough to reciprocate, to laugh with Gideon about her own awkward moments, but she never did.

“Those were with people who I knew would be fine with me talking about it,” Gideon replied, “And given that you can’t even talk about what you’re doing with the person you’re doing it with, I just kind of assumed talking about it with others was a no go.”

That was a subtle dig. Harrow could respect the tact. “As I’ve said before, there’s nothing to talk about.”

They were standing in front of their door now. Gideon placed her key in the lock as she hummed, “Have you ever considered that I might have something to talk about?”

“I find it unlikely that you would have anything to add to the conversation,” Harrow shrugged as she entered their dorm.

“And I find it unlikely that you could enter someone’s house uninvited or stand in direct sunlight without turning into ash and yet both of those things have happened,” Gideon argued as Harrow leaned down to untie her shoes, conveniently avoiding eye contact with the other woman. “What crawled up your ass and died, sunshine?”

Harrow didn’t respond as she lazily unlaced her boots, taking the careful time to properly loosen the laces, and placed her shoes in the appropriate spot by the front door. She could feel Gideon’s energy radiating from a location further into the living room. She could see the redhead bouncing on the balls of her feet in her peripheral vision.

Finally, she stood up to her full height (not very impressive in present company but she didn’t let that stop her) and marched over to Gideon, invading the taller woman’s personal space and pushing a finger onto her chest. “Move.”

Gideon hesitated and looked for a moment like she might argue. Harrow couldn’t have that.

“Be good for me, Nav,” She commanded, her voice firm with the self-assured authority of someone who had never been told no, “Move.”

Gideon’s eyes widened and she swallowed thickly as she obediently stepped back. Harrow guided them through their apartment, until they reached Gideon’s room. Harrow backed Gideon up against her bed, holding her eye contact. Then in one fluid motion she pushed her down to sit on the mattress and climbed into her lap. There was no way Harrow was actually strong enough to push Gideon around like that, but the redhead was being a good sport about it.

She didn’t sit directly on Gideon’s lap; instead, she lifted her hips until she was (finally!) taller than Gideon. She brought one hand up to cup Gideon’s chin, stroking her strong jawline for an indulgent moment before forcing Gideon’s head back.

“You want to talk? Let’s talk,” Harrow said, staring down those beautiful golden eyes.

Gideon made an undignified, surprised noise that approximated the notes of Harrowwhatthefuck but didn’t quite have the correct cadence.

“The way I see it, we have something good right now,” Harrow began, “I’m having fun. Am I correct when I say you’re having fun as well?”

An eager nod from Gideon, paired with the sensation of hands on her thighs, dulled by the fabric of her jeans.

“Then why, Griddle, do you insist on complicating things?” Harrow asked, allowing herself an indulgent glance at Gideon’s lips.

Gideon wrinkled her eyebrows and her lips pressed together in an unsatisfied frown. “Why do you think talking would complicate things?”

“Because talking has never made things less complicated!” Harrow exclaimed incredulously. Her voice was an octave higher than normal, betraying the act of unemotional control she was trying so hard to maintain.

The truce they currently enjoyed had been built on a foundation of sand. There were things they couldn’t talk about: Harrow’s parents, their church, Gideon’s post-graduation plans. Whenever they did they fought, and whenever they fought about those things they aimed to hurt.

This talk Gideon continued to insist on—the one where it would be revealed that Harrow wasn’t nearly as in control of this situation as she was pretending to be, the one where Harrow would be forced to undergo introspection (a lobotomy would be preferable) and admit that she had failed to suppress her own desires in this one particular arena, the one where her world would turn upside down and Gideon would be presented with the choice of making things better again or abandoning her in the aftermath—was a great storm. One that would wash away the foundation of their truce and leave them with nothing once more.

“So you don’t want to even try?” Gideon asked. Her eyebrows were creased slightly, as if she were tying to decode an encrypted message.

“No, Griddle, I don’t,” Harrow agreed, “There are two options: we don’t talk about it and you get your reward, or we talk about it and we likely never touch like this again. Which one do you want?”

There was a pause. A long, horrible pause where Harrow regretted placing the power of this decision into Gideon’s hands. Of course she would ask to talk. It was a horrible deal and Gideon was clearly at the end of her rope. Harrow doubted even Coronabeth could get away with such an unfair request.

“I’ll drop it,” Gideon’s voice cut through Harrow’s downward spiral, “We don’t have to talk about it.”

Harrow, who had been poised for a fight, felt like she was being hit with a bucket of ice water. She had expected some sort of fight, or at least an insult. She certainly hadn’t envisioned receiving everything she wanted without having to give anything in return.

Fortunately, she was able to quickly recover from her shock. She smiled, a small celebration of her victory, and said, “Good. I was getting concerned that I wouldn’t be able to reward you. That would have been a shame, because you’ve been incredibly well behaved this week.”

Gideon’s eyes opened, and there was a moment where Harrow could almost see the transition from frustrated and confused to horny. It was in the way her eyes dilated, the way her lashes moved as she glanced at Harrow’s lips, the way the hands on her legs tightened their grip. It was thrilling to behold.

“What can I say? Turns out I’m not too shabby at this whole studying thing,” Gideon joked, but her voice was just a tad too strained. To the untrained eye she may have appeared nonchalant, relaxed even. But to Harrow she was blatantly nervous.

Harrow let their foreheads rest together and kissed Gideon’s nose before whispering, “Are you ready for your reward?”

“Do your worst, my lamentable lady.” Gideon closed her eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again. After opening her eyes she looked so eager, waiting for Harrow to make a move with bated breath and the beginnings of a smile on her face.

“You’ve been impressively patient,” Harrow observed in the way a scientist observed a higher than average growth rate on a petri dish. She let her thumb rest on Gideon’s bottom lip and pulled gently, causing the other woman’s lips to part slightly. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

As if Harrow hadn’t had a mental countdown to this moment for the past week. As if Harrow hadn’t planned her outfit down to the underwear for the occasion. As if Harrow’s body wasn’t already buzzing at the mere thought of Gideon touching her.

“I’m full of surprises,” Gideon said with a wink. The slight tremor in the words betrayed her, however. As of right now, Harrow had the upper hand.

Harrow leaned down to finally join their lips. Gideon made a surprised noise but returned the kiss eagerly. Her hands flew to Harrow’s shoulder blades and she pulled down as if trying to get Harrow to sit in her lap, but Harrow quite liked her position above Gideon. It gave her control, and Harrow loved control.

In the interest of maintaining the power dynamic, Harrow pulled back far too soon. Gideon whined and chased Harrow’s lips, but Harrow stopped her with the hand on her chin. She wanted to drag this out a bit.

Instead of rejoining their lips, Harrow kissed Gideon’s cheek, then the base of her ear, before whispering, “Do you want this?”

“Yeah,” Gideon said, nodding eagerly and smiling. Her eyes were like black pools, ringed with a thin band of gold, and she stared at Harrow.

It felt nice, to be wanted. It made Harrow want to smile, it made her stomach flutter and the skin of her cheeks buzz. It was a warm feeling, one that was so soft it scared her.

“Okay,” Harrow nodded before kissing Gideon on the lips gently, “Show me what you want.”

Gideon nodded before leaning back and rolling over, taking Harrow with her. In a matter of seconds, Harrow was on her back in the center of the bed, with its owner looming over her with a satisfied smile. A rush of electricity pulsed through her body at the change in positon.

“How are you feeling down there, sugarlips?” Gideon gloated, like the asshole she was.

Instead of dignifying that with a response, Harrow looped a leg around Gideon’s waist, grabbed Gideon’s shoulders, and pulled her down for a kiss.

Things progressed rapidly after that. Harrow grabbed Gideon’s shirt and pulled it off as if the garment was on fire. Gideon was pulling down Harrow’s pants and they were soon joining her shirt on the floor. Harrow mirrored the motion on Gideon, and in the span of about a minute Gideon was down to her sports bra and her boyshorts and Harrow was down to her lace underwear and a t-shirt.

Gideon was making fast work of the t-shirt though. Her hands were warm as they pushed the shirt up Harrow’s midsection, up past her bra and over her arms. Harrow suppressed a shiver as her skin was exposed to the air of Gideon’s bedroom.

“What do you know? Black. Called it,” Was all Gideon said as she flung Harrow’s shirt to the side, revealing her black lace bralette.

“I believe you meant to say, ‘Thank you for allowing me to see you in lingerie. I know you’d kill most people if they saw this and yet you’ve decided to spare me,’” Harrow deflected.

In response, Gideon leaned in to kiss her. It was sweeter, deeper and almost sentimental. As if Gideon was trying to commit the feeling of kissing her to memory.

The hand that Gideon wasn’t using to hold herself up was now trailing down Harrow’s exposed abdomen lightly. Harrow let her body press into the touch, back lifting off the bed.

“If you killed me for seeing you like this I’d die a happy woman,” Gideon whispered when she parted from their kiss.

Harrow suddenly felt exposed. “There’s no need to exaggerate.”

“I’m serious, Nonagesimus. You look like a wet dream.” Was Gideon’s idea of a proper response. It was vulgar and a tad objectifying. It was also making her skin hot in the best way.

It’s not that Harrow was insecure about her body. It was more that she simply never thought about her physical appearance. Sure, she had a body, but she had no strong opinions regarding it. It was small and scrawny and paled in comparison to her brain. As long as Harrow’s body could keep up with her mind, she didn’t care at all what it looked like.

But here Gideon was, in all her handsome glory, complimenting Harrow’s body. She was giving her body some sort of purpose beyond being the vessel for the spongy tissue in her skull. So yeah, maybe she shouldn’t have been surprised that something deep inside her wanted to hear Gideon talk to her like that.

Something about Harrow’s reaction must have gave her enjoyment away. She had no idea what; it couldn’t have been the way she started rubbing her things together, or the satisfied sigh she let escape her lips. It certainly wasn’t the way Harrow leaned up to capture Gideon in a desperate, uncoordinated kiss.

Whatever it was, when they parted form the kiss, panting, Gideon took it upon herself to continue. “I’ve been driving myself crazy thinking of you like this since you mentioned the lace. I got myself off just picturing it.”

Now there was a thought. Gideon, lying in bed, in the same spot Harrow was lying now, hand down her underwear thinking about Harrow. Harrow had never considered herself a voyeur, but there is very little she wouldn’t do to see that moment.

“You’re a pervert,” Harrow said with no bite. She guided one of Gideon’s hands to cup her breast through her bralette.

“You don’t seem to mind.” Gideon let her thumb brush over Harrow’s nipple through the lace. Harrow arched her back, pushing her chest into Gideon’s hand. She let her eyes fall closed as Gideon’s lips were on hers again.

For a moment, Harrow allowed herself to forget about the power dynamic she’d been trying to maintain. Gideon’s hands on her chest and tongue in her mouth just felt too good. It was so easy to just let Gideon take care of her.

Gideon was focusing on her with an intensity Harrow had only ever seen the few times she sat in on fencing practice. She noticed every twitch of Harrow’s hips, every breathy moan that Harrow failed to hold back. With very little direct guidance from Harrow, Gideon had already figured out how she liked to be touched. Harrow could get used to this.

Harrow really shouldn’t let herself get used to this.

She pushed on Gideon’s shoulder and started rolling over, switching their positions so she was on top again. She leaned down for another kiss, but she was stopped by a surprised moan that left her lips as something made contact with her core.

Somehow, in their transition, Gideon’s bare thigh had made its way in between Harrow’s legs. And now it was pressing up against her, and there was no way in hell Harrow would be able to hide how wet she was from Gideon.

Gideon moved her thigh forward slightly, increasing the pressure between Harrow’s legs. Her eyes were locked on Harrow, watching her in fascination. She moved her thigh again, in what Harrow decided to interpret as a challenge.

Not one to back down from a challenge, Harrow shifted her hips against Gideon’s thigh slightly. She was instantly rewarded with an addictive pulse of pleasure, the kind that made her want to do what she just did again. Her hands flew to Gideon’s shoulders to brace herself as she swore under her breath.

Harrow shifted her hips, more rhythmically this time. Her breath was coming in sharp inhales when the friction hit her just right and shuttering exhales as she eased off on the pressure. It was quickly becoming impossible to think of anything other than the flexing of Gideon’s leg under her and the demanding heat that had rapidly built itself in her core.

“Harrow,” Gideon said eloquently.

“Is this all it—ah!—all it takes to shut you up?” Harrow’s voice was breathy and strained. She couldn’t bring herself to care.

“Fuck, babe, I’m trying but you’re kind of blowing my mind right now.” Gideon trailed her hands down her sides before bringing them to rest at her hips, encouraging Harrow to pick up the pace. “I mean, shit. You should fucking see yourself, baby.”

“Call me that again.”

“What, baby? You want me to call you baby?” Harrow moaned quietly in response before she nodded. She let her eyes fall shut to avoid making direct eye contact with the redhead.

“Yeah, whatever you want, baby.” The pet name was setting Harrow dangerously close to the edge. “I’m not exaggerating when I say this is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Gideon was just a step away from babbling at this point, but it fucking worked. Harrow opened her eyes again.

Gideon was staring at her, eyes blown out and cheeks dusted pink. Her mouth was slightly open in what could only be described as awe. One hand was down in between her legs, touching herself under her underwear. Harrow could see the movement of her hand shifting in time with the movement of Harrow’s hips.

Harrow held the eye contact for a few moments before Gideon winked—Harrow was riding her thigh and she fucking winked—and for some reason that’s what did it. Harrow’s mouth fell open in a silent moan as her body tensed and her clit throbbed. Her orgasm washed through her violently and left her winded.

She gave a few shallow rolls of her hips as she worked her way through the aftershocks before collapsing over Gideon. She buried her face into the side of Gideon’s neck as she caught her breath. Gideon wrapped her arms around Harrow in a protective hug.

“I had no idea you liked my thighs so much, Nonagesimus,” Gideon said before Harrow had recovered enough to defend herself, “I’ll have to start wearing shorts more often.”

“Shut up,” Harrow groaned into Gideon’s neck.

“That all you got? Did I fuck all the mean out of you?” Gideon teased with a poke to Harrow’s side.

Harrow rolled off of the redhead reluctantly so they were both lying on their backs, shoulder to shoulder. The cold air of the apartment was soothing on her flushed skin. “No. I hope you die in a ditch.”

“You wound me.” Gideon did not sound wounded. “Is that any way to talk to the person who just made you cum?”

“I made myself cum. You just happened to be there.” In all honesty Harrow hadn’t gone into the night thinking she was going to cum at all. It just… happened.

“There is a wet trail on my thigh. It’s not small.” Harrow could feel Gideon’s eyes on her and kept her own gaze fixed determinedly on the ceiling.

“Circumstantial evidence,” Harrow said primly.

Gideon laughed, “Yeah, if the circumstance is you cumming your brains out while riding my thigh.”

“Disgusting.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who literally mounted my thigh, which, holy shit by the way. Where did that come from?”

Harrow shrugged, before rolling on her side to look at Gideon. “I just wanted to. Heat of the moment.”

“Didn’t know you had that in you.” Gideon’s eyes locked onto Harrow’s. Harrow lowered her gaze, looking at her hand, which was tracing patterns in Gideon’s sheets.

“You’re not the only one who gets horny, Nav.”

“I’ll fucking say.” Harrow looked back up in time to see Gideon’s eyes roaming over Harrow’s body in what could only be described as appreciation.

It occurred to Harrow that she had yet to check in on Gideon. She reached out a hand and placed it on Gideon’s stomach gently as she asked, “Was that satisfying for you? Do you want me to do anything?”

“Nah, I’m good. You’re not the only one who came her brains out.” And then she winked again, because apparently Gideon decided today was the day she would actually make good on all the death threats she’d issued to Harrow throughout the years.

“Don’t make me ban another phrase,” Harrow warned. She felt a familiar flash of heat at the thought of Gideon getting off while watching her, but she shut it down. She didn’t want to be responsible to whatever happened to Gideon’s ego if she asked the idiot to go again. At least, not today.

“Ah, speaking of banned phrases,” Gideon’s eyes lit up, “We haven’t had our post-nut commentary yet.”

Harrow closed her eyes and begged whatever higher power existed in the universe, whatever god was out there, to grant her better taste in women. “Griddle, it’s important to me that you understand that the next time I hear that phrase leave your mouth I will become so sexually repulsed by you that I will need to move to another country before I can get wet again.”

“What if I abbreviate it to PNC?”

“What if I stabbed you with a knitting needle?”

“Violence is never the answer, Harrow,” Gideon said sagely, “I learned that in my philosophy of peace elective.”

“For fuck’s sake, just ask me if I liked it like a normal person.” Harrow shifted her body closer to Gideon’s, so that her front was pressed against Gideon’s side. “And don’t pretend like you understand philosophy, I have it on good authority that you spent the entire semester staring at the professor’s chest.”

“Palamedes told you that? God, nothing is sacred anymore,” Gideon whined, “For the record, he was totally checking her out too!”

“I’m sure. Would you like to spend the night discussing Palamedes?” Harrow asked with faux sympathy. She let her hand map out Gideon’s stomach lazily.

“No, I would like to spend the night listening to you tell me how awesome I am at sex.”

Harrow rolled her eyes. “You were fine.”

“For some reason I find that hard to believe,” Gideon said dryly.

“Fine. Griddle, it was good.” Harrow rolled her eyes as slung one leg over Gideon’s hips, shifting her weight so that she was now lying on her stomach on top of Gideon, with their hips pressed together.

One of Gideon’s hands found its way to Harrow’s hair and started tracing nonsensical patterns along her scalp. “Like, next time we can be completely naked good, or…?”

The obvious answer was yes. Because Harrow hadn’t cum that hard in a very long time and there wasn’t even any direct contact between them. She could only imagine how much better Gideon’s fingers or tongue would feel on her.

But Gideon couldn’t know how easy of a decision it was, so Harrow stalled. “I don’t know, that’s a big step. I think you’ll have to earn it.”

“Of course, how could I forget.” Gideon sounded a little annoyed. Harrow ignored it.

Harrow took a few moments to decide what her condition was going to be. She honestly hadn’t expected to get this far in the first place, and she certainly wasn’t anticipating Gideon asking for another escalation. Surely there were other woman out there who wanted to have sex with Gideon who wouldn’t make her jump through all these hoops?

That line of thought made her picture Gideon fucking another woman, which made Harrow’s skin crawl. Maybe she should make this condition a bit easier to discourage such activities.

Or not. “You have to get a B on the final.”

Gideon laughed bitterly. “Very funny. What’s your actual condition?”

“That is my condition.”

“You know you can just say no, right?” Gideon’s eyes searched Harrow’s face as if trying to pinpoint her ulterior motive. “I wouldn’t be offended.”

As if Harrow could ever say no to Gideon. Not that Gideon needed to know that. “I’m not saying no. I think you can do it.”

“That makes one of us.” Gideon let her head fall back on the mattress so she was staring at the ceiling. “You remember the midterm, right? The one I barely passed.”

“Everyone says the final is easier than the midterm, and it’s going to be curved,” Harrow reasoned, “Plus you’ve been studying a lot more for the final.”

“A curve isn’t going to save me, you know that.” Gideon’s hand fell out of Harrow’s hair. Harrow put it back absently.

“You got a C minus on the last practice test we took,” Harrow continued, “We have two weeks to study before the final. I’ll be able to help you, and I’m sure Camilla and Palamedes will do the same.”

“So what, I either devote the next two weeks of my life to studying my sexy ass off in the hopes that I somehow magically get a B on the final or I never get to touch you again?” Gideon asked. Harrow got the distinct impression that the only thing keeping Gideon from crossing her arms angrily was the fact that Harrow’s body was currently pressed against her chest and thus preventing the motion.

She made a valid point. Those stakes were far too high. “If you get a C, we can do this again. If you get a D you’ll get nothing, and if you fail it I’m kicking you out of the apartment.”

“Fine,” Gideon groaned as she rubbed her eyes with the hand not currently in Harrow’s hair, “So what are we going to do for the next two weeks?”

Harrow creased her brow. “What do you mean?”

“Do I get a reward for going to study group like normal?” Gideon elaborated, her eyes once again on Harrow’s face in that intense, searching way.

“Oh.” Harrow hadn’t though of that. “No. You’ll have to wait the full two weeks, plus the time it takes to get the grades back.”

“We have to wait two whole weeks?” Gideon complained as if Harrow had told her she was confiscating her magazines or banning her from attending fencing practice. “Harrow, that’s a fucking long time.”

Unfortunately, Harrow agreed. That’s why they needed to wait, so that Harrow could attempt to not be so dependent on spending her Friday nights with Gideon’s hands on her body. She feared that two weeks wouldn’t be long enough to kick the habit, especially not with Gideon in her living space every day, running her hands through that soft, curly red hair and wearing those shirts that showcased her unreasonably toned muscles.

But she had to try. “I know for a fact you’ve had dry spells that lasted for longer than two weeks. I think you’ll survive.”

“Barely. I’ll be a mere shell of my former self. I will wander the halls of our apartment, directionless, so deprived of a good fuck that I might not even be able to make a dick joke. Is that what you want, Nonagesimus? Is that the reality you want to live in?” Gideon said with the dramatic flair of a former high school theater kid trying out for their college’s improv team.

The idiot was so distracted that she hadn’t even realized that if she wanted a “good fuck” she could likely get it at any of the nearest sorority houses or bars. Not that Harrow was going to remind her of that; this perceived scarcity raised the stakes of their agreement wonderfully.

“That actually sounds preferable. Perhaps I should make you wait three weeks.”

“Harrow,” Gideon whined, “Don’t you want to get laid?”

“Yes, I do,” Harrow nodded, “Which is why I have plans to have sex with you in two week’s time, after you get a B on your final.”

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

“You’re welcome to back out of our agreement at any time, Griddle.”

“No, I’m still in,” Gideon sighed, “Doesn’t mean I’m happy about it, though.”

“Well, if that’s settled,” Harrow said briskly before sitting up and scooting to the edge of Gideon’s bed, so her feet were dangling off the side, “I’m going to go to bed. It’s late.”

Gideon’s hand wrapped around her forearm gently. “You know you can stay if you want.”

Harrow looked back at Gideon. The other woman looked almost hopeful. Her mouth was slightly upturned, as if her face aimed to foreshadow a smile. Her eyebrows were raised just a touch, so subtly that Harrow was concerned about the implications of her being able to pick up on it. This caused her eyes to widen, and gave her a sort of puppy look.

It was quite endearing. Unfortunately, Harrow had experienced enough emotional turmoil for one day, and she was not ready for the chaos that would ensue if she spent the night in Gideon’s bed. What if it turned out they were able to amicably share a blanket? What if she found the sound of Gideon’s breathing to be relaxing? What if—and Harrow had to suppress a full body shutter at the horror this thought conjured—what if they woke up the next morning cuddling?

Absolutely unacceptable. How dare Gideon even suggest it.

“And why would I do that?” Harrow asked with an indifferent glare. This was different from both her pointed glare and disgusted glare, and she knew Gideon could detect the nuances between the three.

Gideon’s face fell just a touch, and Harrow understood what it would feel like to kick a puppy. Not nearly as satisfying as she had expected.

“Right. Forget I asked.” Gideon’s hand fell from Harrow’s forearm. A horrible, undisciplined part of Harrow hated the loss.

“Goodnight, Griddle,” Harrow said, as she turned her back on Gideon, stood up, quickly gathered her clothes, and walked out the door.

Gideon didn’t say goodnight back. Something about that made Harrow’s eyes sting. She ignored it.

Chapter Text

Much to Harrow’s horror, going without touching Gideon for two weeks was proving to be excruciatingly difficult. It had only been three days (three days! Even if they had maintained the original agreement she still wouldn’t be able to touch Gideon yet) and Harrow was a mess.

On Saturday, Gideon returned from fencing practice when Harrow was watching TV in the living room. Harrow watched with horror as a bead of sweat rolled its way down the side of Gideon’s neck and was subjected to a fantasy so horny that she stood up, marched out of the living room without so much as a word to Gideon, and took a cold shower.

On Sunday, Gideon helped Harrow return her substantial backlog of books and Harrow spent the entire journey from their dorm to the library staring at Gideon’s arms. It didn’t help that on their walk back, their hands brushed exactly 17 times (not that Harrow was counting or anything).

And now it was Monday after study group and Gideon was lounging in the living room in a muscle tank and some ridiculously short running shorts that left nothing to the imagination. One of her hands was under her head, which had the unfortunate side effect of showcasing just how big Gideon’s biceps were. Harrow had of course been treated to more hands-on demonstrations of this strength in the past, but the reminder always made her pulse quicken and heat build below her skin.

“You good?” Gideon asked, which is how Harrow realized she had been staring.

“I’m fine. What are you watching?” Harrow asked as she perched on the edge of the couch, as far away from Gideon as was physically possible.

“Aliens,” Gideon said, “You’ll probably like it. It’s the sequel to Alien.”

Harrow did like Alien. The body horror aspect of it appealed to her.

“Alien was quite good,” Harrow agreed as she scooted back on the couch in a pathetic attempt to get more comfortable. She likely would have had more success if their couch cushions were stuffed with broken glass.

“You’re such a freak.” Gideon smiled. It was a compliment.

They watched the movie in silence for some time before Harrow decided enough is enough and that she really was entitled to one of the four pillows Gideon was using. She did help pay for them, after all.

“Give me a pillow,” Harrow demanded. Gideon was cornering the market on an extremely scarce and valuable resource.

Gideon adjusted herself, shoving the pillows deeper underneath her as if Harrow was going to attempt to remove them by force. “In your dreams, Nonagesimus.”

“You’re using all four. That’s an excessive amount,” Harrow argued.

“You’ve sat your bony little butt on this couch. You know four is barely enough,” Gideon said, “Plus I got here first. You snooze, you lose.”

“Fine then.” Harrow stood up. As much as she was enjoying the movie, she would much rather avoid the inevitable backache tomorrow.

“Hey, hey wait,” Gideon grabbed her wrist and pulled her back down, “Just come here for a second.”

Harrow allowed herself to be pulled down flush against Gideon's body, so her front was pressing against Gideon’s back. Their hips were in line with each other, with Harrow’s butt pressing up against Gideon’s pelvis. Harrow leaned back so the back of her head was supported by Gideon’s chest.

“Better?” Gideon asked.

Harrow paused to evaluate the comfort of her current position. This arrangement still had the side of Harrow’s hip making contact with the couch, which was unacceptable. The only way she would be comfortable would be if she were lying on top of Gideon completely.

“No. Move,” Harrow commanded before pushing Gideon so she was halfway between lying on her back and her side. Gideon raised an eyebrow at her as she climbed into Gideon’s lap, her legs bracketing Gideon’s hips and her front pressing into Gideon’s abdomen. She had to turn her neck to avoid getting a face full of Gideon’s tits.

“You’re comfortable?” Harrow asked after she finished her adjustments.

“Yeah,” Gideon said. She sounded a bit shell shocked, as if she had just witnessed a group of swines mastering aviation. Harrow had to keep herself from laughing; was this truly all it took to fluster the insufferable redhead?

They had cuddled three times before. Once, on the tenth anniversary of Harrow’s parent’s death, once after Gideon got in a fight and had a horribly swollen black eye that Harrow had to clean up, and once after they had sex. Just like everything else with them, they never talked about it.

“Good.” Harrow let herself relax into her new position and brought her arms around Gideon’s body in a hug. She shifted her hips a few more times to find the optimal position and sighed in contentment.

Gideon swore under her breath, but Harrow ignored it.

The movie continued, but Harrow was unsure if either of them were actually watching it. Gideon’s eyes were glued to the screen, but her hands were testing the boundaries of this new position. At first they were stroking up and down her back gently through her shirt, and then they were inching under it.

It felt nice. It might have been calming, if Harrow hadn’t allowed herself to become so worked up in the past two days that her thoughts instantly strayed to how Gideon touched her during sex. Her hips involuntarily moved at the memory, and although it was a small motion that she stopped as quickly as possible, she heard Gideon’s shaky exhale as she registered the movement.

There was a pause as Gideon’s hands stilled on Harrow’s back, and then they were moving to her hips. They rested there, in the same position they had rested when Harrow was on top of her on Friday, before applying a slight pressure, as if encouraging her to move.

There was no way Gideon was watching the movie. Harrow lifted her head to look at Gideon, and was greeted with wide, golden eyes trained on her. She looked as out of her element as Harrow felt, her eyes darting across Harrow’s face as if trying to decipher a code written on her cheekbones.

Whatever she saw gave her confidence, because her eyes returned to Harrow’s and her hands flexed on Harrow’s hips again. For a horrible, terrible moment they stared at each other as Harrow performed the world’s most subtle hip roll. Gideon was smiling, a delighted, almost predatory, smile.

Harrow held the eye contact for a terrifying moment. She listened to the incessant drumming of her heartbeat in her ears, she fought to keep her breathing even, she felt the heat in her core build with such speed and intensity that she worried she would explode.

She let her eyes drop to Gideon’s lips and watched Gideon lick them with morbid fascination. There was a moment where she considered it. She could almost see it in her mind’s eye. It would be so easy to just lean in, to capture Gideon’s slightly parted lips in a kiss and let their bodies fit together the way Harrow now knew they could.

As much as Harrow wanted it, she had to be realistic. Harrow wasn’t sure exactly why Gideon was still here, but she knew deep down it was temporary. Their arrangement wouldn’t last forever, and if she let this situation spiral more than it already had it would only end up hurting her more in the end.

Also, with the current trajectory of her and Gideon’s relationship one of them was going to be forced to turn to Palamedes or Camilla for advice sooner or later, and in doing so would have to summarize their actions thus far. She would very much like to leave the “fucking while Aliens played in the background” interlude out of the final story.

So she backed off. She let her head fall back down on Gideon’s chest and did her best to watch the movie and pretend like nothing had happened.

She thought she had succeeded in her deception, until Gideon broke the silence. “Harrow, why are you torturing yourself?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Harrow lied as she resolutely stared at the screen. She wasn’t entirely sure what was happening, but the scene looked intense and she devoted her mental energy to attempting to piece together the core conflict of the movie.

A frustrated sigh from Gideon. “I mean if you want to fuck someone so badly you can just do it. You don’t need to wait for me to jump through the hoops you set up.”

“I’ve already explained why my requirements are a necessity,” Harrow deflected. She needed to avoid a discussion about the fact that she wanted to fuck with Gideon at all costs.

“Right,” Gideon sounded unconvinced, but continued, “I’m trying to tell you that you don’t have to worry about my orgo test grade. Even if we fuck right now I will continue to study for the final.”

Now that was an interesting proposition. “Really?”

“I pinky promise.”

“And why would you do that?” Harrow finally lifted her head to look at Gideon again.

Gideon shrugged, “Mainly because you promised I could see you naked if I did. I have found that to be extremely motivational.”

The thought of Gideon wanting to see her naked that badly made Harrow’s skin hot. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And you’re benefiting from it.”

Time to change tactics. “I don’t want to fuck you.”

Gideon’s eyebrows shot up, and her face contorted into something almost excited. Like Harrow had just announced that she was going to attempt to follow Gideon’s workout schedule for a day. “Oh really?”

“Really,” Harrow nodded primly, “The mere thought of kissing you makes me want to vomit.”

Gideon’s eyebrows inched their way higher. “Is that why you’re straddling me?”

“The couch is uncomfortable and you refuse to share pillows because you’re barely one step away from being a neanderthal,” Harrow explained evenly.

“And my hands under your shirt?”

“It’s cold. Your hands are warm.”

“What about when you did those sexy little hip rolls directly into my lap?”

A pause. “Those were adjustments and not sexual in nature.”

“Right, right,” Gideon nodded with faux acceptance, “Quick tip: don’t lie about something the other person has firsthand experience in.”

“I’m not lying,” Harrow lied.

“Harrow, I have had the distinct pleasure of being on the receiving end of your sexual hip rolls. You might remember that from three days ago? When we literally had sex?” Gideon’s voice was exasperated bordering on accusatory.

“This was different.”

“Didn’t feel that way to me.”

The silence that descended upon the room was heavy, almost suffocating. Part of Harrow wanted to ask why Gideon cared at all; what was Gideon getting out of this? She almost did, she went so far as to open her mouth and take a breath in, but the words died in her chest.

Instead she said, “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“The truth would be nice.” Gideon’s voice was quiet now, soft in a way that almost hurt Harrow to hear. Harrow dropped her gaze to stare at Gideon’s shoulder. “Why are you keeping us in this limbo? Why can’t you just let us have this?”

Something clicked in Harrow’s brain. She knew why Gideon wanted this. It was like a mirror to what she wanted, a complimentary motivation.

There was always a push and pull between them. Gideon pushed forward, Harrow pulled away. It had always been that way. Gideon tried to do something stupid like invite Harrow to sit in on fencing practice, and Harrow kept her in check by only showing up for the last ten minutes. It was Gideon’s job to push the boundaries of their relationship, and it was Harrow’s job to remind Gideon when she went too far.

But now the balance was shifted, and Harrow hadn’t been keeping Gideon in check the way she was supposed to. So of course Gideon was going to test it, the same way a toddler tests whether or not that stove top is actually hot. Because she could. Because she was waiting to see when Harrow would stop her. Every broken barrier Harrow failed to repair was a victory for Gideon, and there was nothing Gideon liked more than holding her victories over Harrow.

She couldn’t let Gideon know that she was rapidly losing the part of her that wanted to keep Gideon at an arm’s distance. “Because we have to keep to the agreement.”

“Amend the agreement then,” came Gideon’s response, blunt and pragmatic.

Harrow couldn’t. She had already given too much of herself to Gideon. She had promised things she never should have promised and had already compromised their fragile relationship. The further they progressed things the clearer it was becoming that they might never come back from this.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Harrow ducked down to bury her face in Gideon’s shoulder. This had the added benefit of muffling her voice, so Gideon hopefully couldn’t hear the way it broke ever so slightly at the end of her sentence.

“Why? Are you afraid I’m going to fuck you too good and you’ll be forced to have a healthy conversation with me?” Gideon’s voice had a hint of a laugh to it, but Harrow could feel the way her body had tensed in the last few minutes. They were fighting, she realized belatedly, although this was the calmest fight they had ever had.

The problem was, that was exactly what Harrow was afraid of.

She looked back up at Gideon, hoping her years of experience in the field of indifferent glaring would keep her face appropriately unreadable now. “Don’t be stupid. You’re not that good.”

“Then what’s the big deal, babe?”

There was no winning this. She either had to progress things further, or tell Gideon the truth about why the recent changes in their dynamic scared her.

Fortunately, the decision between self-destructive sex and practicing healthy communication was an easy one.

“You know what? Fine. Let’s amend the agreement.” Harrow sat back on her heels, essentially straddling Gideon’s prone body and pinning her to the couch with her hips. “After every successful study group meeting, we can be physical.”

Gideon’s hands made their way under her shirt again, and Harrow let her eyes fall shut for a moment as her fingers stroked her midsection. “Is that Harrow speak for we can fuck three times a week?”

Harrow nodded. If she was going to fuck this relationship up, she might as well go all in. “As long as everything is through our underwear, nothing is off limits.”

“Starting tonight?” Gideon asked as her hands migrated to Harrow’s shoulders and pulled Harrow’s body flush against Gideon’s own.

“Starting tonight,” Harrow agreed. She brought up a hand to Gideon’s cheek and directed her face down for the optimal kissing angle. Gideon’s lips parted slightly again and she waited for Harrow to make her move.

Harrow kissed her. She helped Gideon remove their clothes and allowed Gideon to carry her to her bedroom. She sucked dark marks all along Gideon’s throat as Gideon’s hand made it between her legs and they both discovered that Harrow could cum from a hand stroking her through her underwear and a considerable amount of dirty talk whispered lowly in her ear.

After Harrow left, she tossed and turned in her own bed unable to find sleep. Her mind lingered on the way Gideon looked at her when she called her baby, the way she called her beautiful and made her feel wanted. It didn’t add up. Gideon hadn’t wanted her before their arrangement started, so why did she want her now?

---

“No,” Harrow crossed her arms, “I’m not doing that.”

The smile on Gideon’s face deflated slightly, but she pressed on, “Awe, ‘cmon bone babe, live a little.”

“You have a perfectly good bed, Griddle. I see no issues with using it,” Harrow raised her chin primly. She also mercifully did not comment on being called “bone babe.”

“The bed is boring,” Gideon whined as she dramatically leaned back on their closed door. She was tall enough to almost knock their precariously hung room number off its screw. “Let’s do something more adventurous.”

“We always do rewards in the privacy of our dorm,” Harrow reminded her.

“There is no rule that says we have to do it in our dorm.”

“I will not allow myself to become a player in your exhibitionistic fantasy.”

“I haven’t even told you what I want to do yet!” Gideon groaned before rubbing her eyes with the palms of her hands.

Harrow shrugged. “You don’t have to. Knowing you, it’s exceptionally perverted.”

“For the love of all things gothic and bony, can you please listen to me for ten seconds?” Gideon’s voice was exasperated in a way it only got when they argued like this. “I’m not asking for anything scandalous.”

“‘Harrow, I would like to have my reward on the rooftop tonight,’” Harrow quoted, “Is that not what you said, Griddle?”

“Technically yes.” Gideon winced, as she undoubtedly realized that Harrow would not be pulled into her kinky fantasy, thank you very much.

Harrow nodded, “And how do you suggest I interpret an obvious attempt at cajoling me into public sex as something not perverted?”

“I want to watch the sunset and hold your hand,” Gideon said, hurt in her voice. As if Harrow had just grossly overreacted and insulted Gideon for no reason. Obviously Harrow was not in fact overreacting or doling out undeserved insults, but she could think of no other way to describe Gideon’s voice.

“Excuse me, what?”

“Harrow, I would like to have my reward on the rooftop tonight. I want to watch the sunset and hold your hand and maybe kiss a little if you’re comfortable with that,” Gideon repeated with a shrug. If voices could bleed, Gideon’s would be crimson. “You didn’t let me finish.”

Harrow frowned as she processed this new and unexpected piece of information. “Is ‘watching the sunset’ an obscure euphemism for sex?”

“Not that I know of,” Gideon frowned for a moment, likely going through her mental rolodex of sexual innuendos, “And even if it is, I meant it in a non-sexual way. I do not want to fuck you on the rooftop.” A beat. “At least not tonight.”

Perhaps Harrow had slightly overreacted. “Okay. We can watch the sunset on the rooftop this one time. This will not be a regular occurrence.”

“Why? Are you scared of sunsets or something?” Gideon raised her eyebrows.

“I am not!” Harrow protested. Although watching a sunset with Gideon was a bit closer to panic inducing than she cared to admit.

“You can tell me if you are. This is a safe space,” Gideon said, already laughing at her.

Harrow made a frustrated noise before taking a deep breath. “It’s just a bit… romantic.”

There was a horrible silence. A silence so long and so incredibly weighted that Harrow considered retreating down the stairwell, exiting the building, and just walking away until her legs gave out. Gideon’s mouth seemed unsure whether it should be open in shock or frowning in disappointment.

“It doesn’t have to be romantic if you don’t want it to be,” Gideon finally broke the silence to say, “I mean, romance is kind of a subjective thing, right?”

There was, of course, the unasked question of if Harrow wanted it to be romantic, but Harrow wasn’t exactly in the position to answer that at the moment. Instead she said, just a moment too late, “Right.”

“...So can we go? If we wait too long we might miss it.” Gideon was standing upright now.

Harrow nodded, “Lead the way.”

“My pleasure. Shall we, my stunning sovereign?” Gideon prompted as she extended her hand. Her face was an unguarded picture of excitement, complete with a wide, lopsided smile. It was one of those infectious smiles that Harrow could feel her own face mirroring.

Harrow couldn’t help it, she laughed. It was a brief moment, a mere crack in her facade, but the way Gideon’s smile widened made Harrow’s stomach swoop and something almost giddy bubble up in her stomach.

So Harrow took her hand, and Gideon made a big show of kissing it before interlacing their fingers and leading Harrow back to the stairwell. Harrow could feel the ghost of Gideon’s lips on her hand as they climbed the stairs, traversed the hallway of the upper floor, and opened the door labeled “NO ENTRY. ALARM WILL SOUND.”

The roof was a common enough spot for the residents of this building. It was never locked on the assumption that the alarm would catch any delinquents, and it was never alarmed under the assumption that the sign would be an effective deterrent. At some point someone had brought a shitty plastic lawn chair out there. It stayed on the small stretch of roof, a lone testament to the roof’s normal purpose of being the best place to cry when you share a living space and sometimes even a bedroom.

The only issue with the rooftop was that the door locked from the outside, so if someone were to forget to use the roof brick (origins unknown) to prop open the door slightly—as Gideon was doing now—they would be locked out. The roof brick had the added benefit of signaling to the other residents of the building that the crying spot was in use, which prevented anyone from being walked in on.

Fortunately for them, Wednesday evenings were not a busy time for the rooftop.

Satisfied that the roof brick was properly in place, Gideon waltzed to the lawn chair and flopped down in it unceremoniously. Harrow, a bit offended that Gideon hadn’t even asked if she wanted to sit, leaned against the safety railing that separated her from a many-story drop and looked out at the cityscape below her.

“Get down here, my pocket-sized gremlin,” Gideon said, and Harrow turned just in time to see her making a grabbing motion in Harrow’s general direction.

“There isn’t room for two,” Harrow said.

“Sure there is,” Gideon smiled with the blind confidence of someone claiming they had broken the laws of physics, “You just have to sit on my lap.”

Harrow sized up Gideon’s lap. She was unconvinced. “I don’t think I’ll fit.”

“Sure you will.”

“It’ll be uncomfortable.”

“Last time you sat in my lap you seemed extremely comfortable.” This was followed by a horrendous eyebrow wiggle that had Harrow looking out at the view to hide her smile.

Much like everything else with Gideon, there was no winning this. So Harrow rolled her eyes and sat directly on Gideon’s lap, so her back was pressed into Gideon’s front. Gideon laughed behind her before pulling her body, gently manipulating them until Harrow was sitting perpendicular to Gideon, with her body weight resting on one of Gideon’s thighs and her legs slung over one of the arms of the chair.

Gideon’s arms were wrapped around Harrow’s waist lightly, and Harrow brought an arm up and around Gideon’s shoulders to support herself. Gideon rested her cheek against Harrow’s shoulder and looked out to the horizon.

“Look, it’s setting now,” Gideon said, quietly. Harrow followed her gaze and was treated to the watercolor hues of the sunset spilling over the city’s skyline. It was beautiful, the way the reds and oranges and yellows yielded to the darker purples and blues. It covered everything in a slightly golden glow.

Harrow dared a look at Gideon. She was still looking outward, at the sunset. She was handsome in the dwindling light. It highlighted the set of her jaw and reflected off of the gold of those eyes. It brought out the vibrant red of her hair and contrasted it with the darker hues of her skin. It made something inside of Harrow scream, something that she had taken great lengths to silence.

She had no idea how long she stared at Gideon, but at some point Gideon turned to look at her. “I know you’re in awe of my naturally good looks, but I really did take you up here to watch the sunset.”

Harrow didn’t care. That thing in her chest was now screaming too loud for her to bear, and the only immediate solution that didn’t involve a murder/suicide was leaning in and capturing Gideon’s horrendously inviting lips in a kiss.

Gideon sighed into the kiss as she brought a hand up to cup Harrow’s cheek. At some point they deepened the kiss, but it still managed to feel chaste. They were gentle with each other in a way they never allowed themselves to be. It made Harrow want to cry, want to shove Gideon down and bite her lip and pull her hair.

Instead, Harrow mumbled “handsome” under her breath and prayed to her favorite nebulous idea of a higher power that Gideon didn’t hear it (and reminded them she was still waiting on that “better taste in women” request to be granted).

But the next time their lips parted slightly Gideon mumbled “Harrow” and Harrow felt something break within her when their lips brushed together as Gideon spoke. There was something holy about this, something special and untarnished and Harrow should not be touching it because she was going to cover it with fingerprints and scratch marks and bloodstains.

She couldn’t pull back though. Try as she might, every time they parted for air Harrow dove back in, like an idiot walking past the “hot lava beyond this point” sign and getting burned to death by a volcano.

“Holy shit,” Gideon breathed into the space between them when she finally broke the kiss. Harrow was grateful one of them had the strength to do it. She hated that it hadn’t been her.

“It’s just a kiss, Nav. We’ve done it before,” Harrow deflected, unable to share in the vulnerability of mutual awe.

Gideon looked up at her, dazed. During their kiss the sun had set entirely, and now Harrow could barely make out the other woman’s features in the dim moonlight. “Has anyone ever told you you’re an excellent kisser?”

“I am excellent at most things I do,” Harrow said, attempting to hide the bubbly static that had amassed in her chest and made her want to smile.

Gideon laughed at that, and Harrow listened to the sound as if it was her favorite song. Then Gideon’s cheek found her shoulder again and they looked out onto the skyline, now illuminated with thousands of tiny pinpricks of light shining out of far away windows.

It was somewhere between a few seconds and days before one of them spoke again.

“Hey, so I’ve been meaning to ask you…” Gideon began, and suddenly it all made sense. The sunset, the hand holding, the kiss. Harrow had unwittingly found herself in the middle of a confession. She had to stop it before she was forced to come up with an answer to Gideon’s confession, but she was currently too busy being sucker punched by the entire spectrum of human emotion to stop the inevitable.

No no no no no. Don’t do it Nav don’t you fucking dare I will end you, I will end us and we will never be the same again. “... I was thinking, if I’m really going to be serious about getting a B on the final, I might need some extra help,” Gideon continued, blissfully unaware of Harrow’s panic. 

Oh. Well now Harrow was a bit disappointed. Part of her almost wanted Gideon to do it, to rip the bandaid off. A small part of her, one that hadn't even had a voice until just this moment, wanted Gideon to fight for her, to convince her that if they tried they might make it. That part of her was promptly silenced and thrown into the same mental cage as the scream she felt when she looked at Gideon for too long.

Harrow hummed, calming her palpitating heart under the guise of considering Gideon’s proposal. “What kind of extra help?”

“Do you think you have time to tutor me?” Gideon asked, somehow managing to sound genuine despite the obvious ulterior motive in the suggestion.

Harrow made another hum, doing her best to sound noncommittal. “I might be able to find some time.”

“Nice.” Gideon did a fist pump. “Can you do next Sunday, right before the final? So I’m ready?”

“I suppose,” Harrow said, making a big show of thinking it over despite the fact that her plans for next two weeks consisted solely of study, study, and study (but this time in the living room), “As long as you promise to stay on task for the entire session.”

“Despite the belief of some people on this roof, I am actually in possession of an average attention span,” Gideon said as if this was a feat that should be rewarded.

“Very impressive. Do you want a sticker?” Harrow asked dryly, and she rolled her eyes even though it was almost too dark for Gideon to see it.

“…Do you have a sticker?” Gideon sounded genuinely curious.

Harrow scoffed, “No, I’m not a child.”

Gideon poked Harrow’s cheek with her finger. “Is it difficult to manage being allergic to fun, or does your naturally depressing aura kill anything joyful before it comes into contact with you?”

“I am fully capable of having fun,” Harrow argued, “My definition of fun has simply changed as I matured.”

“That’s exactly what someone who is allergic to fun would say,” Gideon pointed out.

“And that’s something a five year old would say,” Harrow shot back, “I mean it, Griddle. We will actually be studying.”

“Of course,” Gideon nodded. Harrow couldn’t tell if Gideon was playing dumb, or if she was actually agreeing to study. She certainly had a serious enough expression plastered on her face, but then again, Gideon being serious was such a rare sight that Harrow doubted it was actually possible.

Harrow turned her upper body so she could glare at Gideon, hoping to convey the importance of this condition with the power of nonverbal communication. “I’m being serious. Do yourself a favor and get your head out of the gutter now.”

“Hey, you’re the one who brought it up.” Gideon lifted her hands in mock surrender.

“I suppose I am.” Harrow turned back to her original position, satisfied that her message had registered with the redhead. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

“As am I. I’m looking forward to studying with you, my learned lover,” Gideon said with a wink.

Nope. The word love and any of its variations wasn’t allowed anywhere near this relationship. Not on Harrow’s watch.

Harrow stood abruptly, ready to evacuate the premises. “Don’t call me your lover.”

“Harrow, wait,” Gideon called as Harrow opened the door and stepped back into the building, “Where are you going?”

“Inside,” Harrow said, turning back to look at Gideon, “I’m cold.”

Gideon looked a bit panicked as she removed the roof brick from its location and followed her back into the building. They walked back in tense silence, Gideon trailing behind Harrow as Harrow did everything in her power to walk quickly enough to prevent Gideon from catching her.

Unfortunately for Harrow, Gideon was the only one who took a key to study group, so she was forced to wait for the redhead in the hallway when she arrived at their door.

Gideon gave her an insufferable smirk as she gently pushed Harrow aside and opened the door. She had no business looking as good as she did as she held the door open for Harrow to storm through.

“We’re not lovers,” Harrow insisted as she kicked her shoes off.

Gideon sighed as she followed suit. “I don’t think they have a word for whatever we are.”

“We’re roommates. Friends even, on a good day,” Harrow said simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. The truth was, she thought Gideon was right. Whatever was happening between them had transcended the limitations of language.

“Friends,” Gideon echoed, sounding as if the word had personally promised to cook her dinner before ditching her to eat alone at a fancy restaurant. “On a good day.”

“On our worst days I consider us enemies,” Harrow added helpfully.

“So what are we today?” Gideon asked, sounding a bit lost.

As far as Harrow was concerned, it was an unfair question. “I don’t know. Today was complicated.”

Gideon flipped her off. “Your face is complicated.”

“I suppose we could be considered friends,” Harrow said, before adding a pointed, “Is that acceptable?”

“Yeah. Totally. I’m over the fucking moon about it, actually,” Gideon nodded as she crossed her arms.

“Good,” Harrow said, ignoring the sarcasm in the redhead’s voice. And then, because she couldn’t bear the thought of sitting in comfortable silence with Gideon Nav of all people, “Did you finish the practice test yet?”

“No orgo talk. Let’s just call it a night, baby.”

The pet names were becoming a bit too casual. Harrow would have to nip that habit in the bud right now. “If you ever call me baby, or any equally sentimental diminutive, outside the privacy of our dorm I will buy a series of fencing swords with various weights. Over the course of the season, I will switch out your sword with a sword that is heavier, but not significantly so, so you won't notice I've changed them. Over time you will be training with a sword considerably heavier than regulation. Then, on the day of the regional championships, I will switch your sword back to the original sword, which will now be far too light for you, causing your technique to become subpar and sabotaging any chances you may have had at winning.”

“Damn, did you come up with that on the spot? Or have you been planning this?” Harrow opened her mouth to answer, but Gideon stopped her. “Wait, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know and I’m threatened either way. Baby is officially off limits.”

“…In public.” Harrow didn’t know what she would do if Gideon never called her baby again.

“As much as I love a good game of ‘read the tortured and tragically repressed mind of Harrowhark Nonagesimus,’ I am notoriously shit at it and would very much prefer it if you just told me what you wanted.”

Gideon was actually quite good at reading her mind. Not that Harrow would ever let her know that. “Fuck you.”

“Maybe later.”

There was no winning with Gideon. Harrow groaned, “Forget it.”

“Harrow, come on. Your mysterious act, while titillating—” Harrow raised her eyebrows and made an impressed noise at the word choice “—Yes, I know what titillating means, the word tit is literally part of it. Have some faith in me. Anyways, while the mysterious act turns me on in the worst of ways, it’s getting us nowhere.”

Harrow sighed a long-suffering sigh, “You can call me baby when we’re alone and being… intimate.”

“I can do a lot of things while we’re fucking. Doesn’t mean I will.” If it was possible to cross one’s arms with emphasis, Gideon was doing that.

“There’s no need to be so obtuse, you know what I meant.”

“Nope, I don’t think I do,” Gideon shook her head, “I’m stupid, remember? I don’t even know what titillating means, apparently.”

Harrow groaned as she rubbed the palms of her hands into her eyes. “Fine. I want you to call me baby. Happy?”

“Very,” Gideon smirked, aware that she had won that particular bout, “I’ll catch you on the flip, baby.”

At least the finger guns didn’t make an appearance this time. “See you tomorrow, Griddle.”

As Harrow laid in her bed, alone and missing Gideon more than she could care to admit, her mind was spinning. She felt wanted when she was with Gideon, but it didn’t make sense. They hated each other. Gideon hated her, Gideon wanted to leave her. So why did she want to watch the sunset with her and kiss her like she needed it just as much as Harrow did?

Harrow fell asleep hours later, failing to solve the puzzle in a way that didn’t match the picture on the box. But there had to be another solution, because Harrow hated that picture. No matter how many signs pointed to Gideon wanting more, there had to be another, safer option.

There had to be. Otherwise they were fucked.

Chapter Text

Things changed after the sunset. Gideon was behaving differently; she was quieter, less touchy, and initiating things less. She hadn’t even reminded Harrow of her reward the past four study sessions, which forced Harrow into the humiliating position of asking Gideon if she still wanted her reward.

It’s not that Gideon didn’t want her anymore, at least not as far as Harrow could tell. Gideon was always happy to see her, when Harrow swallowed what little remained of her pride and knocked on Gideon’s door, like an addict looking for her next fix. Gideon would always open the door with a guarded expression and wait for her to speak. And then Harrow would stumble through an inelegant proposition, her voice so tellingly stilted, and Gideon would hear her out.

Gideon would always say yes. Even that first night, the one where it had taken Harrow over a minute to say something that wasn’t an insult (although Gideon’s choice of music had been atrocious that night and she had been staring at Harrow like a drugged baboon, so as far as Harrow was concerned she couldn’t be blamed for simply observing as much), Gideon remained silent in her doorframe, watching Harrow trip over herself like a baby bird attempting its first flight. But when Harrow finally asked if Gideon would be interested in receiving her reward, Gideon’s face lit up.

After the successful asking of The Question, the worst part of the entire change would happen. Gideon would lead her into the bedroom, and then she would compliment her. And it was never a shallow compliment either. It was one of those awful, specific compliments that made Harrow feel as if she were being observed under a microscope.

“You did something different with your eyeliner today. It matches your outfit and brings out your eyes,” Gideon said.

“I honestly never understood why you got so stressed during finals week. I’m pretty sure you’d still ace all these tests even if you didn’t study at all,” Gideon said.

“Sometimes I think the only reason you refuse to laugh in front of most people is because you’re afraid they’ll learn it's one of the most beautiful sounds in the world,” Gideon said.

The Compliment—as Harrow was now calling it—was always met with a shocked silence. Again, Gideon would wait for Harrow to respond. If Harrow tried to deflect or accuse Gideon of hyperbole, Gideon would double down, and continue to do so until Harrow accepted the compliment with a forced “thanks.”

After Harrow endured The Compliment, Gideon would finally touch her. But just because Gideon’s hands were on her didn’t mean her torment was over. The rewards were becoming so soft . They would cling to each other as they kissed, both so desperate for the other’s presence that they were too afraid to let go. Sexual touches and hands under their clothes were exchanged for heavy eye contact and conversations between stolen kisses. Harrow now knew more about the history of sword fighting than she ever wanted to and in retaliation she had forced Gideon to sit through a technical rant about osteoblast differentiation.

(“You’re such a nerd,” Gideon had teased her after her rant, before kissing her gently on the lips.

“It takes one to know one,” Harrow said, because she had been spending far too much time with Gideon, and the first symptom of dumb redhead overexposure—brain degradation—had already begun. The admittedly meager insult was further weakened by their positioning; she was lying on her side, front facing Gideon, her arms were wrapped around Gideon’s shoulders as if the other woman was a pillar and Harrow was being swept away by a flood.

“You calling me a nerd, Nonagesimus?” Gideon mumbled against the sensitive skin of Harrow’s neck.

“Yes,” Harrow said, realizing with a shock that Gideon was, in fact, a nerd, “There is simply no reason for a normal person to possess an encyclopedic knowledge of swords. You are a nerd, Gideon Nav.”

“Shit, you got me.” Gideon’s laughter tickled against her neck. “You’ve looked past my devastatingly sexy jock exterior and found my endearingly charming nerd interior.”

Harrow, in an idiotic display of affection, nudged Gideon’s jaw up so she could join their lips in a soft kiss. Their tongues met in a slow, exploratory dance that made something bubbly grow in her chest. When they parted, she had to fight the urge to laugh from sheer contentment.

“Nerds can be sexy, too,” Harrow said, because the way Gideon’s face lit up when she talked about the difference between greatswords and longswords could only be described as sexy.

Gideon’s smile was so bright Harrow was worried it would blind her. “Yeah, I know. That’s why I put up with you, my noxious nerd.”

And then the conversation was lost as Harrow kissed her again, desperate to get as close to Gideon as was physically possible. She spent hours in Gideon’s bed that night and yet she never removed a single piece of clothing.)

Harrow was pointedly not thinking about the change. They were entering finals week and she simply didn’t have the time to think about why things were developing in such a terrifying way. She had better things to do than analyze and re analyze Gideon’s word choice and body language and lingering touches until they were so over analyzed they had become devoid of meaning.

She had better things to do than admit to herself that the only thing stopping her from having what she truly wanted was her fear—no, her conviction—that, in the end, she would fuck it up.

So, as they sat down for their pre-final study session, Harrow’s goal was to maintain some sort of normalcy. She craved a return to their original dynamic, the one where Gideon was the initiator and Harrow was resisting her. Where she could pretend that each change in their relationship was solely Gideon’s fault and she could lie to herself and say that she was perfectly capable of walking away if she so desired. Where she could imagine a world where they could safely go back to the way things were before the whole ordeal began.

Gideon, blissfully aware of Harrow’s internal debate, was being a model student. She actually listened to her, asked questions, and in general made attempts to learn. They had drawn diagrams, labeled and color coded them together (although there was a five minute intermission as they argued about the correct color scheme for said color coding), and even created a stack of flashcards.

They had spent most of the session sitting at the dining table together, shoulders brushing as they talked and the backs of their hands accidentally knocking against each other. Typically, Harrow would blame this on Gideon, but she was just as much at fault for the “accidental” brushes as the redhead. Each time their skin brushed, Harrow felt a pleasant jolt in her stomach that reminded her it had been over a week since her and Gideon last had sex.

Eventually they finished with the diagrams and migrated to their couch to quiz each other with flashcards. They had made it through about half of the stack when Gideon groaned, “Harrow, I’m bored.”

“That’s strange, I seem to remember someone bragging about their attention span last week,” Harrow recalled, unimpressed with her study partner’s mental endurance.

“Oh, we passed average attention span territory ages ago, my focused friend.” Gideon leaned against the arm of the couch and brought her feet up so they were resting on the couch between her and Harrow.

Harrow clicked her tongue. Hearing Gideon refer to her as a “friend” felt incorrect, like someone calling her a name that wasn’t her own, but she was unable to consider Gideon giving their relationship any other label. She had been the one to reject lover, after all.

Still, she said, “That wasn’t one of your best, Griddle.”

“Oh bite me, like you could do any better after going through the world’s fattest set of flashcards,” Gideon groaned, “My brain is turning to mush as we speak. Any second now you’re going to see it dripping out of my ears.”

“I don’t think you have enough brain matter for it to be dripping. At best your ears would get mildly blocked,” Harrow stopped to consider it for a moment, and then gave a small shrug, “I doubt the difference would be noticeable.”

Gideon crossed her arms in performative annoyance. “Excuse me, I think you would notice if I literally lost the ability to perform higher brain functions.”

“You seem to have done just fine without them for the past 23 years, I don’t see why that would suddenly become an issue now,” Harrow reasoned. She had mirrored Gideon’s positioning, so they were facing each other with their toes inches from each other.

Ever the picture of maturity, Gideon flipped her off. “Every night I dream of strangling you under the moonlight, bone hag.”

“Careful, Griddle, too many declarations like that and I might start thinking you actually like me.”

A bitter laugh from Gideon. “Oh, that’s what would tip you off?”

Harrow’s brain temporarily stopped working. Gideon was supposed to respond with an insult or a graphic description of what things Gideon would rather be doing than spending time with Harrow. This was unprecedented. This was bordering on a challenge.

Unfortunately, the only thing her brain could think to say in response was, “What?”

“Forget it,” Gideon shook her head and quickly moved on, “I just think it’s time to mix it up a little.”

Part of Harrow didn’t want to forget it. Maybe it would be easier to be vulnerable with Gideon if Gideon was vulnerable first. Maybe this was their moment. They could start from here.

But there was something inside Harrow that stopped her. It wasn’t insecurity—at least, not entirely. It was fear. She was terrified that she would get what she wanted and she would love it; she would come to need it, only for her to lose it. She never got what she wanted, so why should this time be any different?

So she forgot it. “Studying is not the appropriate time to ‘mix it up.’ The best results occur when you are consistent and remain dedicated to the strategies you know work.”

“You,” Gideon said as she leaned forward to poke Harrow’s shin, “Are no fun. I’m tired of doing boring flashcards, let’s up the ante.”

Harrow sighed, “What exactly do you have in mind?”

“I am so glad you asked,” Gideon smiled as if she was about to introduce Harrow to the concept of shutting herself in her room for days on end with no other human contact, “For your scholarly consideration: strip flashcards.”

“Strip flashcards?” Harrow echoed skeptically.

“It’s like normal flashcards, which is what you want us to do, but we take off our clothes, which is what I want us to do,” Gideon said with the pride and showmanship of a peacock.

“You truly are a champion of compromise,” Harrow said dryly, “Unfortunately for you, I seem to recall agreeing that this time would only be used for studying.”

“Okay, one, it’s strip flashcards. We will be studying. And two, we’ve been studying for almost an hour so you could make the argument that this is after study time, and we both know what happens after study time.”

Yes, Harrow was well aware of what traditionally happened after study time. That didn’t mean Gideon had to sound so smug about it. Or have that stupidly attractive smirk on her face.

She considered fighting it. Traditionally, she would have. Strip flashcards was certainly not in their agreement and she still knew that deviations in their agreement brought them closer and closer to the point of no return, closer to the point where when they inevitably failed they would be unable to recover what they had before.

But Gideon was smirking at her as if she had already won this argument and Harrow’s brain was helpfully supplying her with a myriad of techniques that could be used to put the insufferable redhead in her place, and shockingly few of them involved either party wearing clothes.

Harrow sighed, “I suppose you make a convincing point. As long as our underwear remains on I see no reason not to participate.” It was a pedantic hill to die on but Harrow had to cling to some illusion of boundaries.

“Sweet,” Gideon nodded, smile on her face. She looked a bit like a puppy visiting a dog park for the first time. “I think that I should get to go first, as the genius who invented this game.”

“Heathen is the term I think I would use, but I suppose that is only fair.” Harrow scanned both of their bodies for a moment, taking stock of what clothes they were wearing. “The only issue is I am wearing socks and you are not.”

“And that’s an issue because?”

“Because you’re going to take off your clothes faster than I am and you’re wearing less clothes to begin with.”

“Fine. Let me fix this,” Gideon said before standing up and disappearing into her room. She returned with a baseball hat that said “Sexpert” in bold writing on the front.

“Who is responsible for the existence of that crime against humanity?” Harrow demanded as Gideon returned to her seat.

“I found it in the fencing storeroom and Coach Dve said I could keep it,” Gideon said. And then, when Harrow failed to hide her horrified expression at the existence of such an accessory, “Why are you looking at me like I’m covered in vomit? I fixed the problem.”

“Let’s just get this over with.” Harrow looked down at the top flashcard on the stack. “Is anisole an activator or deactivator?”

“Activator,” Gideon answered, “It’s like you want to take your clothes off, Nonagesimus.”

“Don’t get too confident,” Harrow warned, before looking at the clothes she was wearing, “I suppose I should start with my socks?”

Gideon nodded, “Unless you want to take your shirt off first. I certainly wouldn’t be opposed.”

“Keep it in your pants, Griddle,” Harrow said with a roll of her eyes in what she hoped looked like casual disapproval. The reality was she was still adjusting to the fact that Gideon seemed to want to see her in various states of undress.

But if she was going to get to the end of this study session with her dignity intact (a lofty goal but Harrow liked a challenge), she was going to have to ignore the light flutter in her stomach that began every time she remembered the way Gideon looked at her when she was shirtless. So she banished any recollection of Gideon complimenting her appearance from her mind and reached down to take off her socks.

“Wait.” Gideon tapped on Harrow’s wrist lightly to get her attention. “Can I suggest a new rule?”

Gideon hadn’t removed her hand from Harrow’s wrist yet. Harrow let out a steadying exhale before she said evenly, “Depends on what it is.”

“The other person has to take our clothes off.”

Gideon’s eyes were locked on hers, gauging her reaction. Harrow thought of their past encounters, remembered the feeling of Gideon’s hands pushing up her shirt, tracing the path of her body. She bit her lip in what she hoped was a subtle way. “That’s acceptable.”

“Then allow me, my penumbral lady,” Gideon said before sliding off the couch. Harrow pivoted her body so her feet were resting on the floor, and Gideon knelt at Harrow’s feet. She reached for a sock before removing it slowly, letting her fingers brush against the skin of Harrow’s lower leg and ankle in a way that could reasonably be played off as incidental if anyone but Gideon had been doing it.

A weighty silence filled the air as Gideon moved to Harrow’s other sock. Harrow, for her part, was focused primarily on keeping her breathing in check and schooling her face into an unaffected expression. Internally, Harrow’s brain had become stuck on the fact that Gideon was on her knees in front of her, and that Harrow quite liked the way she looked down there.

“Wow, even your toes are bony,” Gideon broke the silence and snapped Harrow out of her train of thought. The excited heat that had begun building in Harrow’s core instantly migrated to just under Harrow’s skin in an itchy and uncomfortable way.

“I seem to remember this being your idea,” Harrow deflected, hoping her embarrassment wasn’t detectable to outside eyes, “If you’re unsatisfied with the game I will gladly stop playing.”

“Noooo, don’t stop playing,” Gideon pouted as she leaned forward to rest her cheek on the inner side of one of Harrow’s knees, which caused Harrow’s legs to part slightly, “We haven’t gotten to the fun part yet. Here, gimme the flashcards.”

Harrow’s brain helpfully supplied that Gideon’s head was literally in between her thighs so they were already at the fun part.

“Fine.” Harrow handed the cards to Gideon, who seemed content to remain kneeling.

Gideon took the flashcards and leaned back before propping her forearms on the tops of Harrow’s legs, as if Harrow was a coffee table Gideon was leaning on. This motion meant that Gideon’s face was no longer between her thighs (sad) but meant that Gideon was generally more in her personal space (unfortunately sexy).

“Okay… What is the formula for pKa?”

“The negative log of Ka, which is the acidity constant,” Harrow replied smoothly.

“Correctamundo,” Gideon gave Harrow an impressed smile, as if Harrow had just solved a complex differential equation and not recalled a flashcard from unit 3, “And you didn’t even have to talk about the acidity constant, you showoff.”

“Only you would think such a simple addition was noteworthy,” Harrow shrugged.

“I dunno, going above and beyond is always impressive. Maybe we should give you some kind of bonus reward,” Gideon said, before making a finger gun with the hand not currently holding the flashcards.

There was that now familiar but still traitorous swoop from just below Harrow’s stomach. “Removing that wretched hat will be reward enough for me.”

“Then by all means, remove away,” Gideon said.

With no fanfare, Harrow grabbed the offending hat and threw it as far away from them as possible. There was a pause as she stared at Gideon, taking in the slight dusting of pink on her cheeks and the uncharacteristic flatness of her hair.

Gideon’s hair was awkwardly still slightly holding the shape of that accursed hat, so Harrow laced her hands in it, running her hand through the soft strands and fluffing it. It was a nice visual, the brightness of Gideon’s red hair contrasted nicely with the dark skin of Harrow’s fingers. There was a moment where Harrow forgot what she was doing as she played with Gideon’s hair as if in a trance.

When she finally snapped out of it and looked down to Gideon’s face, she saw that Gideon’s eyes were fixed on her lips.

There was a moment where Harrow considered giving into her jumpy pulse and the electric tension surrounding them, but she had to stay strong. She was, after all, meant to be helping Gideon study. “Give me the flashcards, it's your turn.”

They continued like that for a few rounds, Harrow getting more of the questions correct than Gideon. But Gideon was certainly holding her own.

When it was time for Harrow to remove Gideon’s pants, Gideon stood in between Harrow’s legs and let Harrow run her hands over the warm softness of her stomach indulgently before she grabbed Gideon’s waistband and pulled. Gideon’s athletic shorts were easy to remove, but Harrow allowed herself a moment to let her hands linger over Gideon’s thighs. Gideon watched her with unblinking golden eyes.

Next, it was time to remove Harrow’s pants, and Gideon knelt back down between her knees before reaching for the button on her jeans. They both watched as Gideon’s hand slowly undid the button and Harrow held her breath as the sound of a zipper being slowly undone filled the silence of the room.

Then Gideon’s thumbs tucked into her waistband and her hands brushed against Harrow’s lower back, over the swell of her ass and down the backs of her thighs as Harrow rolled her body with the motion, assisting Gideon in the garment’s removal. There was a moment as Gideon carefully unhooked the jeans from around Harrow’s ankles, and then they were staring at each other.

Gideon kissed the bare skin of her inner knee without breaking eye contact. Harrow remembered how it felt to have Gideon’s fingers touching her through her underwear and wondered if a tongue would have the same effect. They held their eye contact for a heated moment as Harrow debated suspending the game to find out.

But something in her wanted to sit with the tension, and she handed the flashcards back to Gideon so the game could continue.

Next was the removal of Gideon’s shirt, and Gideon once again stood in between Harrow’s legs as Harrow let her fingers trace up Gideon’s stomach. She bit down a breathy laugh as Gideon flexed, clearly for her benefit, and kissed the skin above her navel after the shirt was forgotten on the floor.

“Shit, Harrow,” Gideon breathed, “It’s like you’re trying to kill me.”

“Focus on the game, Nav.” Her voice was muffled as she smiled against Gideon’s skin.

Gideon took a deep breath, one that caused her entire body to rise and fall with the effort, before gently pushing Harrow away and returning to her position on the floor. She handed Harrow the flashcards and waited patiently for Harrow to continue.

This was it. If Gideon got this question correct Gideon would take her shirt off and then who knew what would happen. “What is a Bronsted-Lowry acid?”

Gideon scrunched her face in concentration, clearly also understanding the stakes. “It donates a… proton I think. Which means it has a hydrogen.”

A technically correct answer, but Gideon was missing one small detail.

“Not quite.”

Gideon shook her head, “No, I’m pretty sure that’s right. Acids are proton donors, I remember we talked about that.”

“You didn’t answer the question completely,” Harrow insisted, because she liked being difficult.

“Go take a long walk off a short pier, Nonagesimus. I know I’m right. Let me see the card.” Gideon reached for the stack of flashcards, but Harrow anticipated the move and raised them above her head, just out of Gideon’s reach.

Instead of dropping it like a mature adult, Gideon rose from her knees and crowded into Harrow’s personal space on the couch, trying again to grab the cards. Fortunately, Harrow saw it coming. As Gideon’s hand made its way to the back of the couch for support as she reached for the cards with her other hand, Harrow slid across the couch until she was pressed against the armrest on the other side.

“You’ll have to be faster than that, Nav,” Harrow gloated from the safe end of the couch.

“Seriously, Harrow? Just let me see,” Gideon complained before launching herself in Harrow’s direction, presumably with the intent of pinning her to the couch.

Again, Harrow dodged, flinging herself off the couch and crumpling unceremoniously on the ground. She only had moments to react before Gideon was on the ground beside her, and there was a confusion of limbs and motions as Gideon grabbed for the cards and Harrow yanked them away.

Deciding to change strategy, Gideon stopped reaching for the cards and instead set out stopping Harrow’s retreat. Harrow had been making great progress crawling away, inchworming out of Gideon’s considerably longer grasp. But Gideon grabbed an ankle, and then a thigh, and then strong hands were grabbing her waist and flipping her over.

And then Gideon climbed on top of her, straddling her hips and pinning her in place with her body weight. Harrow tried to squirm, to move out of it, but the thighs around her waist held firm. She was pinned.

Every thought about what they had been doing before this moment disappeared like dandelion fluff in the wind.

Gideon leaned over Harrow, slowly, with that self-satisfied grin on those soft lips and all Harrow could do was hold her breath in anticipation. She closed her eyes, ready for the inevitable impact of their mouths.

But instead, something was removed from her hand and Gideon shifted her weight back. Harrow opened her eyes to see Gideon towering over her, flashcards in hand.

Oh right, studying.

“Very interesting,” Gideon was saying, her brow raised as she read the back of the flashcard they had been debating, “According to this, the correct answer is: proton donors containing hydrogen, H-A. Sounds like I was right.”

“You didn’t say H-A,” Harrow argued with the cockiness of someone who wasn’t currently pinned to the ground by someone twice their size.

Gideon crossed her arms. “It was implied when I said they contained hydrogen.”

“Try using that argument with our professor.”

“Fortunately for me, you’re not my professor.” A thoughtful pause. “Unless that’s something that you’re into.”

Harrow sensed where this was going. “Nav.”

“No, wait, this totally works,” Gideon adopted her crooked smile before leaning over Harrow and continuing, low and flirtatious, directly into her ear, “Oh, Professor Nonagesimus, my orgo grade is so low—”

“—You can’t be serious—”

“—And the course material is so hard ” (here there was a subtle roll of Gideon’s hips) “but I need to pass this class to maintain my scholarship—”

“—This is horrendously stupid—” (the last word caught in Harrow’s throat as Gideon’s hand inched up the material of her shirt slightly)

“—So if there’s anything I can do to raise my grade, it would be my pleasure to do you—I mean it.”

“Are you quite done?” Harrow’s shirt was now pushed about halfway up her midsection, and Gideon’s hand was resting on her lower stomach.

“Done? Baby, I’m just getting started.” Gideon rolled her hips down into Harrow’s for a second time. It took a considerable effort on Harrow’s part to not shift her own hips in response.

“Oh, really?” Harrow raised an eyebrow, “Is that why I’m still wearing a shirt?”

Gideon made an offended noise. “So now my answer is good enough for me to take your shirt off? Someone’s being inconsistent.”

“If you don’t do it I will,” Harrow shrugged, or at least did the closest thing to shrugging she could with her body pinned to the ground.

“Well we can’t have that, now can we?”

Gideon pushed Harrow’s shirt up, letting her hands drag along Harrow’s skin as she went. Harrow lifted her arms and arched her back up to assist Gideon in her task. Gideon leaned forward to untangle the material from her arms, and there was a soft thump as Harrow’s shirt landed on the living room floor, forgotten.

Instead of straightening back up, Gideon braced one of her arms at the side of Harrow’s head and leaned in, clearly expecting a kiss.

Harrow stopped her with a finger to her lips. “I don’t remember agreeing to that when we established the rules of strip flashcards.”

Gideon furrowed her brows in confusion. “So we took our clothes off just to stare at each other?”

“No. I just think that you should answer one more question for me before we kiss,” Harrow argued. She liked making Gideon work for it.

“Fine. Hit me.”

Harrow’s mind blanked. Everything she knew about organic chemistry had been replaced with everything she knew about having sex with Gideon. It was admittedly a more enjoyable set of facts, but largely unhelpful in her current task.

“How many carbons are in a cyclohexane?” It was a horribly obvious question. The answer was literally in the name. Harrow might as well have asked Gideon what time lecture started or who else was in their study group.

Gideon smirked. She knew Harrow had given her the easiest question possible. “Six.”

Instead of answering, Harrow pulled Gideon down for a kiss. They were becoming familiar with each other now, thanks to their new arrangement. Harrow knew just the right way to run her fingers down Gideon’s back and exactly how to time it with a bite to Gideon’s lower lip to make her groan. Gideon knew exactly how to cup Harrow’s breast through her bralette and what pressure to place on Harrow’s hips to make her pulse quicken and her breath hitch.

“Fuck, Harrow, I missed this,” Gideon groaned as they parted for air.

Harrow could have admonished Gideon for being too eager, or pointed out that it had been less than two days since they had last kissed. Instead, she gasped, “Me too.”

“Really?” Gideon pulled back to smile down at her. Her voice was laced with surprise and just a touch of excitement.

“Don’t fish for compliments, it’s a bad look,” Harrow chided, despite the fact that she was smiling back like a lovestruck fool.

“It’s not fishing if you’re giving them out for free, babe,” Gideon’s mouth migrated to the side of Harrow’s neck, and then down to the sensitive skin exposed by her bralette. Harrow made small noises in the back of her throat as Gideon nipped and sucked at her skin. She laced her fingers through Gideon’s hair to hold her there.

Then Gideon’s mouth was kissing her breast over the fabric. They made eye contact as Gideon licked her nipple, and the warmth of her mouth combined wonderfully with the roughness of the lace. Harrow let her eyes fall shut as she moaned quietly.

“Keep doing that, Griddle,” She directed, tugging on Gideon’s hair to punctuate the point.

Gideon groaned and repeated the motion, before taking Harrow’s nipple in her mouth and sucking. Even through the fabric the sensation had Harrow squirming and gasping for air. It was electrifying and intense and Harrow could feel the pounding of her heart throughout her body. But their dorm’s carpet was scratching at her back each time she shifted and whenever she opened her eyes she could see their horrible couch, which was the opposite of an aphrodisiac.

So she used her grip on Gideon’s hair to pull Gideon off of her chest and she took a few deep breaths to steady herself.

“Everything okay, bone empress?” Gideon asked, her forehead creased in concern.

Harrow nodded, “Take me to bed, Griddle.”

“Yes ma’am,” Gideon said, theatrically enthusiastic, before giving her an exaggerated salute, standing up, and walking to Harrow’s side. She picked Harrow up with one fluid motion, with one arm supporting Harrow’s upper back and the other supporting her legs in a princess carry.

Harrow spent the short journey debating whether the fact that Gideon could carry her with such ease was irritating or arousing. She decided it was somehow both.

They made it to the bed and Gideon lowered her down gently before climbing on top of her, mirroring the position they were in on the living room floor. Harrow brought her hands up to Gideon’s shoulders and rubbed circles from her shoulder to her biceps, delighting in the firmness under her fingers.

“What do you want, Harrow?” Gideon asked, with a voice so open it felt like Harrow could ask for anything and Gideon would do it. It made Harrow want to push, want to give Gideon a taste of her own medicine and test the boundaries a bit.

“Flip us. Lie on your back,” Harrow decided, after a moment of consideration.

Strong hands gripped her hips and before she knew it her front was pressed against Gideon and her back hit the air as Gideon rolled them. Harrow captured Gideon’s mouth in a kiss as she planned her next move, her next test. Gideon, blissfully unaware of the plans Harrow was concocting, moaned eagerly into the kiss.

Harrow ended the kiss and pulled back to sit herself on Gideon’s waist, so she was towering over the other woman. Gideon was watching her, patiently waiting for her to act. Her eyes were dark, her chest was rapidly rising and falling with the effort of breathing, and her lip was swollen slightly from where Harrow had bitten it in the living room.

Typically when they were like this, the focus was on Harrow. And as much as Harrow enjoyed that, it meant that she hadn’t had the opportunity to explore Gideon’s body the way Gideon had explored hers.

She would change that now. She began with light fingers tracing the features of Gideon’s face, feeling the sharpness of her cheekbones and the strength of her jawline. She brought her middle and index fingers up to Gideon’s lips.

“Suck them,” Harrow instructed, curious to see what Gideon would do. She half expected Gideon to laugh at her for thinking that she had the power to make such demands of her. That’s certainly what Harrow would have done had the roles been reversed.

But Gideon had always had an obedient side. She nodded, almost imperceptibly, before dutifully closing her mouth around Harrow’s fingers. There was a high, strained noise in the back of Gideon’s throat as she licked at the intruding fingers, a noise Harrow mirrored when Gideon finally sucked at them as instructed.

She remembered the sensation of Gideon sucking her nipple and pictured that same sensation between her legs. Gideon was looking at her with half-closed eyes as she sucked again, moaning around the fingers.

Harrow pushed into the heat of Gideon’s mouth, gently but with clear purpose. Gideon made that strained noise again, that infuriatingly arousing noise that made Harrow’s heart rate spike and her muscles tense.

“Okay?” Harrow asked, removing her fingers from Gideon’s mouth so she could speak.

Gideon nodded eagerly. “Please.”

So Harrow did it again, this time a bit harder. Gideon moaned around her fingers, letting her tongue lap against them in a way that could only be described as enthusiastic. It was one of the most sexual sights Harrow had seen; Gideon’s eyes had fluttered shut and there was subtle flush to her features. The tiny moans she made every time Harrow pushed her fingers farther into her mouth were stroking a fire deep within Harrow. Harrow could feel her insides burning and fought the urge to rut against Gideon’s thigh to relieve the tension.

On a particularly deep push, Gideon gagged slightly around her fingers. Harrow almost lost her cold control and pushed even harder, even deeper, to see just how far Gideon would go. Instead, she pulled back.

“Good,” Harrow said as she removed her fingers from Gideon’s mouth, “You’re good at that.”

Gideon sighed contentedly in response, her now open eyes slightly unfocused. Harrow could feel the shift of hips underneath her.

The other woman looked like she wanted to be kissed, so Harrow leaned down and captured her lips. Gideon allowed Harrow control of the kiss and Harrow explored Gideon’s mouth with a sigh. Part of her wanted to stay like this, chest pressed against Gideon’s with their hips rocking in tandem, but she had better things to do. Gideon was being so delightfully obedient and Harrow needed to explore this further.

So when they parted—Gideon gasping for air and chasing Harrow as she left—she whispered “Put your hands by your head” into Gideon’s ear.

She pulled back to gauge Gideon’s reaction, and for a shocked moment Gideon stared at her, mouth slightly open and chest heaving with the effort of breathing. She had the wide-eyed, awed look of someone having an epiphany.

And then Gideon’s hands moved until they were flat on the bed, bracketing her face.

“You gonna tie me up, Nonagesimus?” Gideon asked, a beat too late and a touch too shaky to be the nonchalant tease that she clearly hoped it would be. Harrow was overcome with the singular urge to rip Gideon’s undergarments off and fuck her until she couldn’t speak. But she had to be patient, had to draw it out. Everything was better after making oneself wait for it.

“A tempting offer, but I don’t think I’ll have to.” Harrow drawled as she let her eyes wander across Gideon’s body slowly, indulgently, “I think you’re going to keep your hands right there for me, don’t you?”

“Fuck.” Gideon’s eyes fell closed and her chest arched off the bed. But her hands remained where they were supposed to be.

Harrow clicked her tongue. “That’s not an answer, Griddle.”

“Yes,” Gideon groaned, “I’ll keep them there.”

“Good answer,” Harrow leaned down to whisper in Gideon’s ear as her fingers, still wet with Gideon’s spit, trailed down Gideon’s abdomen. She could feel the involuntary flex of muscle as she journeyed down to the waistband of Gideon’s boyshorts.

“Keep your hands there.” Harrow let her fingers tease at Gideon’s waistband for a moment. “If you move them, I’m afraid I’ll have to stop.” Harrow’s fingers moved on, cupping Gideon’s crotch through her underwear. Gideon bucked her hips into the touch and moaned. “And I don’t think either of us wants that.” Harrow began rocking her hand in time with Gideon’s motions. “Do we?”

“Don’t stop,” Gideon begged, “Harrow, please don’t stop.”

Harrow leaned down to kiss Gideon’s throat, pausing to nip and suck as she pleased. “I won’t, baby. Just keep being good for me.”

Gideon choked out a string of expletives as Harrow began exploring the space between Gideon’s legs. It was difficult to navigate someone else’s body without seeing the relevant landmarks. It was made more difficult when Gideon had soaked through her underwear. Harrow’s hand slid through Gideon’s folds clumsily for a few moments before she found the spot that made Gideon’s legs twitch when she touched it.

“Harrow,” Gideon was begging, mistaking Harrow’s clumsiness for purposeful teasing, “Harrow, please.”

Harrow took a deep breath before responding in the hopes of keeping her voice steady. “If you want something Griddle, you really ought to ask for it.”

“Higher,” Gideon breathed. Harrow moved her fingers higher, now able to feel the bud of Gideon's clit through the layer of fabric. “Faster,” Gideon instructed, and Harrow sped up.

Gideon moaned again as her entire body rocked with the motion. Her hands shifted with her body and slid down to grab the sheets by her hips.

“Hands,” Harrow reminded with an edge of a threat to her voice. This would be Gideon’s only warning.

Fortunately for Gideon, her hands were back by her head in a matter of seconds. Unfortunately for Harrow, the threat of stopping seemed to have sharpened up Gideon’s mind enough for her to say, “God, you’re so fucking bossy.”

Harrow was aware of her controlling tendencies. Most of the time it wasn’t even a conscious decision, it was just in her nature. Most people complained about it. Nobody had ever moaned about it like Gideon had, voice rough with sex and eyes full of lust.

“Just for you, baby,” Harrow said like a prayer, one hand picking up its pace between Gideon’s legs and the other bracing itself on Gideon’s shoulder, nails digging into the skin enough to leave marks but not enough to draw blood.

She could do this forever. She didn’t care about the burn in her wrist or the complaining of her thighs. Gideon was falling apart under her, eyes unfocused and body rolling against Harrow mindlessly.

Gideon was loud (Harrow, admittedly, should have expected that), and the bedroom was filled with a combination of swears, pleas, and Harrow’s name. Only about half of the words that left Gideon’s mouth were actually said in their entirety, the other half were cut off by moans, each one louder than the last.

And then Gideon’s body tensed and her mouth fell open as she moaned Harrow’s name as she came. It was a sight to behold. The blissful expression on Gideon’s face, the music of her voice, the strength of her body. It was so real and alive and Gideon that Harrow had to look away.

Because shit, that just happened. How could she let that happen? She was supposed to be enforcing the distance between them, reminding Gideon why they couldn’t be vulnerable with each other. This was supposed to be a temporary, casual arrangement, just until the end of the semester.

But that wasn’t the kind of sex you had with someone you had plans to leave. That was the kind of sex you had with someone you trusted, someone you wanted to be intimate with. That was exactly the kind of sex Harrow was afraid of.

Logically, Harrow had known this was far from casual for both of them for some time now. But she had used every tool in her arsenal—lying to herself, procrastination, and, especially these past two weeks, stubborn refusal to think of it at all—to keep herself from admitting it.

She could no longer deny it. Not with the events of the past few weeks, not with Gideon placing her trust in Harrow. Harrow could have broken her, could have taken advantage and tore her down while she was vulnerable. Part of her was afraid she would, if given another opportunity, that she would lash out in a misguided attempt to quiet the questions in her head.

How deep were Gideon’s affections? What if she actually cared for Harrow the way Harrow cared for her? Could Harrow let herself accept the crushing weight of Gideon’s affection? Could she do it without ruining Gideon in the process? What if, when Harrow finally opened herself up to Gideon, it wasn’t good enough?

She was staring down the barrel of Gideon’s emotions, with her own emotions pointed at Gideon’s heart like a threat. They were in a gridlock, a horrible standoff of mutually assured destruction. Harrow couldn’t exist without Gideon, but she wasn’t worthy enough to have her in the way she needed.

“Harrow,” Gideon’s voice broke Harrow out of her thoughts, “Are you okay?”

“I should be asking you that,” Harrow said hollowly. She glanced down at Gideon, whose eyes were more focused and whose breathing was slowly coming under control. There was a faint ghost of a smile on her lips that contrasted sharply with the concerned crease in her forehead as her eyes scanned Harrow’s body.

“I’m fine,” Gideon said gently as her hand found one of Harrow’s, “You zoned out on me for a bit. Talk to me.”

“Don’t concern yourself over it. I was just lost in thought.” Harrow let herself fall next to Gideon on the bed and propped herself up on her side so she was looking at the other woman. “I’ve never done anything like that before.”

Gideon rolled on her side and pulled Harrow into her chest, her arms circling Harrow’s waist. “Me either. At least, not on the receiving end.”

“Did I harm you in any way?” It was a pointless question. Harrow had been harming Gideon for as long as she could remember.

“Nah,” Gideon shrugged with the shoulder not resting against the bed, “The only thing you harmed was my ability to get off without picturing you bossing me around. That was really fucking hot.”

Harrow was not picturing Gideon touching herself to this memory, and she certainly wasn’t realizing that she was going to do the same. “You’re actually aroused by being told what to do?”

“No Harrow, I hate it when you’re in control,” Gideon said with fond exasperation, “That’s why I just faked one of the hardest orgasms of my life. You know, for shits and giggles.”

“You have known problems with authority,” Harrow frowned as she remembered all the times Gideon had fought back against her, or a church elder, or a teacher, or anyone who had the audacity to tell Gideon what to do, “You despise it when I give you instruction.”

“This is different,” Gideon insisted. Her voice was quiet but urgent, as if she was confessing a secret. As if it was imperative that Harrow heard and understood that secret.

Harrow wasn’t sure if they were talking about sex anymore. “Why?”

When she was little, back when her parents were still alive, the three of them went on a trip to see the ocean. While they walked along the coast, she saw a sea otter; a mother with a pup. The mother had anchored the pup in a shallow kelp bed and she dove, presumably for food. Without fail, the second the pup’s mother dove beneath the waves, the pup cried. It was a pitiful sound, so small and feeble that it was lost to the crash of the ocean and the screaming of the seagulls. Harrow was the only person in the world who had been close enough to hear that pup’s cries.

Her voice sounded like that pup’s, alone and scared and drowned out by something too big for anyone to truly understand.

Fortunately, Harrow wasn’t the only one who was terrified by the smallness of her voice.

“Figure it out,” Gideon challenged, her voice a hard and confident contrast to Harrow’s unsure question. It snapped her out of her headspace.

“Excuse me?” Harrow demanded, vulnerability gone.

“Figure it out, Nonagesimus,” Gideon repeated, “I tried to tell you but you didn’t want to listen. If you want to know, you’re going to have to use that big brain you’re always going on about.”

This was familiar territory. This, Harrow could do. “Next time we take the underground together I’m going to push you onto the tracks and step on your fingers if you try to get back up.”

“Be still my heart. You’ve always been such a romantic,” Gideon accused.

“And you’ve always been an insufferable fool,” Harrow shot back.

“Bone freak.”

“Illiterate peon.”

“Repressed nunlet.”

“Peabrained boar.”

“Fuck, you’re sexy when you’re mean.” Gideon’s voice was low with a hint of rasp due to its overuse.

Harrow stumbled on the insult she had prepared. Her words came out as an inelegant sputter, somewhere between an offended scoff and a surprised squeak. Gideon was laughing at her, a full body laugh that gave Harrow the dangerous urge to join in.

“That’s what makes you shut up?” Gideon wheezed out between laughs. Harrow, whose forehead was pressed to the area above Gideon’s heart, could feel Gidon’s chest heaving with the effort of her laughing fit. “Is it really so hard for you to believe I’m into mean chicks?”

“Yes,” Harrow said, “You deserve more than to be torn down at every turn. You should find someone who can truly appreciate you.”

Harrow didn’t have to look at Gideon’s face to tell she was raising her eyebrows. “And is this mysterious someone in the room with us now?”

Harrow wanted to say yes. She wanted to promise Gideon she could do better, she could try to love her the way she deserved. That she had no idea what she was doing but she wanted to try . She would try and keep trying for as long as Gideon let her, for as long as it took to get it right.

But her body wouldn’t let her. She could feel her heartbeat in her throat, she could count how the beats were frantically increasing in tempo. There was a tension in her chest, one that made her want to scream. It was like yelling into a pillow; no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t make a noise.

So she said, “I don’t know.”

“I know you don’t,” Gideon sighed, but the arms around Harrow’s waist tightened an almost imperceptible amount, “Let me know if you ever figure it out.”

And there it was, the actual worst part of this change. Even worse than the casual vulnerability, even worse than the lingering touches, even worse than The Compliment. It was becoming clear that any progression in their relationship would have to come from her. The thought hit her like a wrecking ball, sending shockwaves of nausea and panic rippling through her body.

“I’m tired,” Harrow announced to the room in the hopes that changing the subject would dull the sense of impending doom that was settling deep in the pit of her stomach.

“Well good news, my sleep-deprived sovereign, I have just the invention for you,” Gideon said as if she were a salesman pitching a convoluted contraption, “It’s called getting a full eight hours of sleep. It sounds crazy, I know, but it’s got 4.5 stars on amazon.”

“Not even 5 stars?” Harrow mused, “Your consumer base is quite harsh.”

“Hey, gotta keep it real,” Gideon shrugged, “Some people, not naming any names here, left a 1 star review because it gets in the way of their study time.”

“What can I say, academics prevails over all else,” Harrow said unapologetically.

Gideon withdrew her arms, presumably to allow Harrow to leave without having to detangle herself. Something desperate in Harrow’s chest was frantically begging for Gideon to hold her again. “Well not tonight. You’re getting a full eight hours, maybe more.”

“Are you serious?” Harrow huffed. She still had a paper to write and she wanted to study for orgo for at least two hours—maybe closer to three, because she would have to spend one of them unassociating the word “cyclohexane” with the memory of fucking Gideon.

“Deadly. As your roommate, do you know how poorly it would reflect on me if you collapsed from exhaustion during the final tomorrow?” Harrow rolled her eyes, and despite being pressed up against Gideon's chest Gideon must have somehow picked up on it because she continued, "Look, if you collapse tomorrow I'm going to be forced to carry you back to our dorm, and while it will be incredibly chivalrous and definitely a panty dropper literally no one is going to be paying attention to that because they're going to be concerned for your health."

For once, Harrow agreed with Gideon's insane hypothetical. Gideon carrying her back to their dorm would be a panty dropper. "I'm not going to collapse at the final tomorrow, stop being so absurd."

"No, you're not going to collapse at the final tomorrow," Gideon agreed, "Because you're going to stand your delicate little bird body up and march to your gloomy cult cave, where you will sleep or meditate or do whatever weird shit demons do instead of sleep for a full eight hours."

"It's not a cult cave," Harrow protested, despite the fact that the entirely black upholstery and bone themed decorations did certainly give it that appearance.

"You've never let me inside and I can see a collection of teeth on one of your shelves from the doorway. It's a cult cave," Gideon said with an air of finality.

Had Gideon truly never set foot inside her room? It seemed unlikely, especially with the amount of times Harrow had been in Gideon's room, and yet as she racked her brain for any memory, no matter how insignificant, with Gideon inside her room she was coming up blank.

Harrow couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"All of the teeth are ethically sourced."

 A concerned hum from Gideon. "I find it concerning that you felt the need to specify that."

"I just resent the implication that I'm some sort of depraved grave robber," Harrow clarified, "My bone collection is purely for academic purposes."

"What a coincidence. So is my porn collection," Gideon nodded in sarcastic agreement.

Harrow sighed. If she took Gideon's bait they would be arguing all night, and while Harrow did love bickering with Gideon, she should be studying instead. "Why are we even talking about this?"

"Because you're procrastinating going to bed," Gideon reminded her.

Right. Going to bed. Leaving Gideon's bed and going to her own. Sitting in her bed in confused loneliness, when the person she wanted to be next to was literally down the hallway. Maybe she didn't have to put herself through that torture tonight. Maybe she could grant herself one night of rest.

“Can I—” Harrow’s voice began to waiver, so she cut herself off with a deep breath before continuing, “Can I stay?”

“Can you stay?” Gideon echoed, “As in, sleep here?”

They weren’t touching at all. They were just lying next to each other on Gideon’s bed, staring at each other. Gideon was staring at Harrow, brow creased and conflict and confusion behind her eyes. Harrow could only imagine how lost her own expression looked to Gideon.

Harrow took another deep breath, but that did nothing to stop her voice from breaking when she forced out, “Yes. Can I sleep here?”

Gideon hesitated. Gideon hesitated and the corner of Harrow’s vision was blurred with the beginnings of tears. Gideon hesitated and Harrow’s eyes stung with the effort of holding back tears as she realized that Gideon was going to say no and her only response would be to cry at her.

Gideon opened her mouth to speak, and Harrow closed her eyes so Gideon wouldn’t be able to see the hurt in them.

“Sure, if you want,” Gideon said into the silence, her voice a practiced example of nonchalance that Harrow was beginning to suspect was a coping mechanism. Because clearly Gideon cared, or she wouldn’t have followed up with a quiet and feeble, “You can stay.”

“Okay,” Harrow said dumbly as she grabbed blindly for Gideon (her eyes were still closed because she knew whatever facial expression Gideon was making would be too much for her to bear). Taking pity on her, Gideon’s hands found Harrow’s shoulders, and she encouraged Harrow to roll over before slotting her body behind Harrow’s.

Harrow let her body relax. Gideon’s bed was considerably more comfortable than hers, with its fluffy duvet, excessive amount of pillows, and soft sheets. Gideon’s body was warm against her back, and when Gideon brought an arm around her midsection to rest on her stomach, her body buzzed with a gentle warmth, a contented feeling of safety. She was having a hard time remembering why she had been so opposed to sharing beds with Gideon in the past.

Gideon hummed, “Goodnight, baby.”

Harrow buried her face in one of Gideon’s pillows (this was not because it smelled like Gideon, it was simply comfortable). “Goodnight.”

---

It usually took Harrow at least an hour to fall asleep. Her mind was simply too loud, and solving her various problems typically took priority over a need as basal as sleep. So when she awoke, some indeterminate amount of time after saying goodnight to Gideon later, she was shocked.

She was shocked and more well-rested than she had felt in years.

Gideon was no longer pressed against her back. At some point in the night they had migrated, so Gideon was now lying on her back with one hand lazily flung over Harrow, more resting on Harrow’s shoulders than actually holding her. Harrow was on her side, front pressed against Gideon’s side and leg slung over Gideon’s hips.

Harrow wasn’t sure what time it was, but there were beams of sunlight emerging from the cracks of Gideon’s curtains. The light danced around the silent room peacefully. It felt like purgatory, like the world was holding its breath and waiting. Like time had frozen and Harrow was the only person who hadn’t stopped.

The sunlight flitted across Gideon’s features, and Harrow couldn’t help but look. The other woman’s face was relaxed, almost peaceful. It might even be described as trusting. It was a beautiful sight, one that should have melted Harrow’s icy heart and convinced her that having emotions wasn’t the end of the world.

But all she could see was Gideon lying beneath her last night, ready to give Harrow complete control over everything. And in that moment she knew this was going to end them; how could Gideon possibly trust her when all Harrow knew how to do was hurt?

Harrow didn’t know the first thing about how to have a healthy relationship. She sometimes locked herself in her room for days at a time, she was a known control freak, and her first instinct when cornered was to lash out. Her brain wasn’t on speaking terms with her emotions and she had quite honestly never attempted to express said emotions in a way that didn’t involve insults. In terms of emotional support, she had nothing to offer.

Any relationship with her was doomed to fail. Harrow wasn’t ready to give herself to someone else, and she certainly wasn’t ready for the responsibility of having someone. Especially when that someone was Gideon—bright, beautiful Gideon. Gideon, who was so easy to hurt, who Harrow had been squeezing the life out of for years.

They needed to undo what had been done, and they needed to do it now. They knew how to be friends. They had done it for the better part of two years with limited complications. It was the safe option, the option that Harrow knew she could handle. She couldn’t in good conscience let them continue this trek into the nebulous unknown. Not when she knew she would do something to sabotage them halfway through.

She would rather have Gideon in her life as a friend than not have Gideon at all. So she carefully extracted herself from Gideon and left, silently. She set a timer for half an hour and sat on her bed, mourning a relationship that had never truly taken flight.

And then her timer went off, and she stood up and sat at her desk, letting her studies distract herself from the fact that something deep down within her knew that she was making the wrong decision. She ignored her doubt, she shoved it into the dark, cobweb-filled corners of her brain and barricaded it with a wall of vocabulary words and scientific papers and physiological diagrams.

Because she was Harrowhark Nonagesimus, and she was never wrong.

Chapter Text

Harrow had been wrong. Oh, she had been so wrong. She knew the moment she saw Gideon’s face that morning. It was like a dam had cracked, and all of the emotions came spilling out. She wanted to kiss her. She wanted to trace her lips with her fingers and whisper secrets in her ears and hold her as she fell asleep. She wanted to tell Gideon her hopes and her fears and every other emotion she felt on any given day and listen to Gideon talk about hers in return.

It felt like she was flying. It felt like she couldn’t breathe. She wanted Gideon to look at her, she wanted Gideon to see her, but she had no idea if Gideon would like what she saw. She was broken, she was scared and she was hurting, and she had no idea if Gideon would be willing to deal with it. The thought of baring the entirety of herself to Gideon and being rejected made her throat threaten to close up and her stomach drop out of her body.

But she was also hopeful. It was strange; hope wasn’t an emotion she was used to feeling. But she saw that shock of red hair and those golden eyes that were more familiar to her than her own, and she felt calm. She felt like maybe, if she just did everything right, it could work.

Harrow took a deep breath in an attempt to quell the panic that was building in her chest at the realization. She needed Gideon, she always had, and she needed her in a way that was raw and open and vulnerable. In a way that could break her beyond repair if it went wrong.

Gideon appeared to have gone through the opposite transformation, if her appearance this morning was any indication. Her features were blank, her face so closed off and unresponsive Harrow wondered for a moment if she was sleep walking. But if she was somambulating, she was masterful in her navigation of the kitchen. She ambled around where Harrow was sitting at the counter working on her literature review and made a direct path to the fridge. Once at the fridge, she grabbed their communal milk and began drinking it straight from the carton.

If you had told the Harrow of last year that the sight of Gideon mindlessly chugging milk in their kitchen would fill her with a sense of existential dread, she would have laughed you out of the room. And yet here she was, a void where her stomach used to be, convinced that Gideon’s unanimated breakfast antics were a harbinger for the impending death of their relationship.

And seconds after Harrow had decided to try and fix them, too. Her luck had always been foul.

“Could you possibly refrain from slobbering over our shared groceries?” Harrow, who had paid for half of the tarnished milk, quite reasonably asked. She wished she hadn’t. She wished she had said good morning or last night was wonderful or I enjoyed waking up next to you even if it scared me. But here she was, picking a fight because she didn’t know how to say those things.

Gideon closed the fridge door before turning around and leaning on it. Her dull eyes met Harrow’s own as she lifted the carton to her lips a second time. There was a pause as Harrow watched the unsanitary scene unfold with disgust.

“Didn’t realize my slobber was so repulsive, my absent academic,” Gideon finally said, breaking the tense silence. Even her voice was lackluster, devoid of its usual humorous cadence. It sounded like an actor rehearsing their lines for the first time, like she was going through the motions without yet understanding why.

“It’s unsanitary,” Harrow argued. She mentally braced herself for Gideon’s response, for Gideon to point out that their tongues had been in each other’s mouths for extended amounts of time and if Harrow was truly upset by the sharing of saliva those events would not have occurred.

But instead Gideon just shrugged. Gideon shrugged as if she couldn’t be bothered to listen to what Harrow was saying and Harrow could taste her panic mingling with bile in the back of her throat. She didn’t know what to do, didn’t know why Gideon had withdrawn, and didn’t know how to go about fixing it.

Gideon turned around to return the milk to its home on the door of the fridge, which gave Harrow a few seconds to orient herself in this unknown dynamic. She took a deep breath, and pictured the article Palamedes made her read on healthy communication freshman year, after a fight before her and Gideon had spiraled so far out of control a handle of vodka was smashed in the process. Step one was listening to the other person. So all she had to do was get Gideon talking.

Unfortunately, the only way Harrow could think to do that was to ask condescendingly, “Is there something wrong, Griddle?”

“I don’t know, is there?” Gideon shot back as she slammed the fridge door and turned so her back was against it again. At least she seemed angry now, which was a vast improvement over blank.

So Harrow tested her luck. “You’re sulking like a grounded adolescent.”

“Okay, one: I do not sulk, that’s your thing. I am a proud wallower, thank you very much. And two: I’m literally older than you so, you know, not an adolescent.” Gideon was glaring at her now, and it felt like relief. Harrow knew what to do with this.

“Neither of those points addresses why you’re throwing a juvenile pity party in our kitchen,” She returned, allowing the adrenaline in her veins to push them towards a fight. Sometimes a fractured bone had to be further broken before it could be set properly.

“Am I not allowed to have a bad morning in peace?” Gideon crossed her arms, the tension in her shoulders indicating that she too was preparing for a fight.

“Not when you take it out on our communal purchases, no.”

“I will buy you another carton if it bothers you so much.” A thoughtful pause. “And I’ll shove this one up your ass for good measure.”

“A tempting offer, but I would much rather you just answer my question.” Harrow examined her nails with the kind of faux indifference she knew made Gideon’s blood boil. “What’s wrong, Nav?”

“I could ask you the same thing, Nonagesimus.” Harrow looked up and raised a curious eyebrow, prompting Gideon to continue, “You agree to strip flashcards, which I honest to God thought that stick you so enjoy wedging as far up your ass as possible would keep you from doing. Then you fuck my brains out and ask to sleep in my bed, which, honestly no complaints but way out of left field. And then I wake up in the morning and where the fuck are you?”

There was the anger Harrow was once on the receiving end of almost daily. It never got easier, to stand firm and appear unaffected when the voice in her head was screaming with fear, but she had to. “I had to leave.”

“You had to leave?” Gideon echoed, “What, did you have a hot date with a summoning circle?”

Harrow took a deep breath and said through gritted teeth, “When I woke up, I was… overwhelmed. I needed some space, so I returned to my room and started working on my literature review.”

“Why were you overwhelmed?” Gideon sounded fed up. She sounded like she had been stuck in a time loop, doomed to have this same conversation with the same ending for eternity. It felt like Gideon had resigned herself to a certain ending, one that Harrow needed to avoid at all costs.

“I don’t know.” Gideon opened her mouth to interject and Harrow held a finger up to stop her. “I know I’ve said it before but I truly don’t know. All I know is that it scared me.” Harrow’s voice wavered ever-so-slightly on the word scared.

Gideon’s features softened a bit. “You’re scared?”

“Yes, that’s literally what I just said Griddle, if I wanted someone to blindly echo me I would have replaced you with a parrot long ago.”

“That would drastically reduce this apartment’s sex appeal.” Gideon winked and Harrow could have kissed her.

But Harrow was trying to talk for the first time in possibly her entire life and Gideon was cracking jokes. “You’re insufferable. I’m trying to have that talk you’re always going on about and you’re humiliating me.”

“Apologies, my proud princess,” Gideon put her hands up in mock surrender, “But saying your scared doesn’t really give me all that much to go off of.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, I’m trying! Stop mocking me, you can’t possibly understand what I’m going through,” Harrow’s voice has risen, and she took a deep breath to even out her tone, “You know how to do this. It’s easy for you. I woke up this morning afraid because this has never been intuitive for me.”

Gideon blinked. “Nonagesimus, you scare me shitless on the daily.”

Harrow should probably examine why she found that complimentary at a later date. “I have been told I’m naturally intimidating.”

“I’m not talking about your bitch face. I got over that years ago,” Gideon shook her head, “I’m talking about the fact that I have no fucking clue what I’m doing. It’s not like they make a handbook for how to navigate a situationship with your childhood enemy turned friend and now roommate who you never really hated but you’ve spent most of your life pretending you do and now you’re forced to contend with the fact that she’s actually attractive despite being a tiny little sack of bird bones with eyes whose only settings are fuck you in the mean way and fuck you in the sexy way.”

Yeah, Harrow wasn’t ready to unpack all that just yet. “Situationship?”

“Is there a different word I should have used?” Gideon raised an eyebrow in a silent challenge.

“No, I suppose not.”

“Right.”

There was an awkward silence as Gideon stared at her. Harrow was filled with the horrible feeling that she was supposed to be saying something, but she had no idea what to say. The seconds stretched on, and her brain scrambled to find a sentence that wouldn’t make things more awkward than they already were. But they were all unintelligent drabble that would make things worse, and the longer she allowed the silence to sit between them the worse it became.

“I never considered that you might be afraid as well,” Harrow finally settled on. She said it to Gideon’s knuckles—which Gideon was currently cracking nervously—but she said it.

An unimpressed sigh. “Well surprise, surprise, other people have emotions.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Harrow huffed in frustration, both with herself and with Gideon. This was like pulling teeth. Why did people subject themselves to this? “I meant you have an abnormally large ego. It tricked me into thinking you were more competent than you perhaps were.”

“Pretty sure that’s Harrow-ese for you find my confidence sexy.”

Unfortunately, Gideon was entirely correct. “I did not say any of those words.”

“Well not literally, but I am the world’s leading Harrow-ese translator and I’m pretty sure that’s what you really said.”

“Even if that were true—” Gideon adopted her stupidly attractive shit-eating grin and Harrow looked at her pointedly “—If. You are avoiding my point. You are also scared. Elaborate.”

“Elaborate? You are really not beating the professor kink allegations right now.” If possible, Gideon’s dumb grin got wider and more attractive.

“I am one quip away from flushing your protein powder down the toilet.”

“Fine,” Gideon said placatingly, “Yes, I’m scared. Whenever I make a move you act like I’m forcing you into something you don’t want and I have to read your body language which you’re usually also going out of your way to make as unreadable as possible. You’re like if mixed signals and Catholic guilt had a horrible little gremlin child.”

Harrow’s stomach dropped again as she realized just how royally she had fucked up. “I was unaware you were thinking about my signals that intensely.”

“You’re unaware of a lot of things,” Gideon shrugged, as if this was something she had accepted long ago, “So? I showed you mine. Now you show me yours.”

Where to begin? Harrow took a deep breath and organized her thoughts and prepared herself to venture into the unknown. “I don’t know what I’m doing. My mind is often not in sync with my physical or emotional needs and it scares me. I’m not sure what we are doing or what I want us to be doing, but I don’t think a situationship is what I want.”

There was a pause where Gideon looked at her as if she should continue. So Harrow took a deep breath and forced the words out, despite her hair standing on end and her voice failing her and every warning sign in her mind telling her not to say it.

“I would like to figure out what the appropriate word is, if you will let me.” It was robotic and possibly the least romantic way to phrase her desires, but it would have to do. Her hands were shaking and her voice wavered at the end, as if she had lost the strength to speak mid-sentence.

“Shit. Please don’t cry on me, Nonagesimus. Come here,” Gideon said, and she opened her arms for a hug.

Harrow rose from her seat and touched her cheek, which was slightly damp. As if she had been sweating in a crooked line down one cheek, from her itchy eye to her chin, where she could feel this singular collection of sweat beading. She wiped it away as she approached Gideon.

She expected a pause. She though Gideon would hesitate or attach a condition to the hug or tell her she was joking. But the second Harrow was within grabbing distance Gideon lunged at her and pinned her in place with her strong arms. Harrow had no choice but to tuck her head under Gideon’s chin and return the hug.

It was like an oasis in the desert. It was cathartic, it was comforting, it was safe. Gideon smelled like cologne, like wood and musk and a slight floral undertone. It put Harrow at ease, it calmed the war that had been raging in her stomach since she woke up this morning and slowed her perpetually elevated heartbeat.

Someone was spraying her face with a spray bottle, and a second person was flooding her sinuses with mucus. A third person was playing quiet, barely perceptible, sobbing noises in the background of the entire ordeal.

Gideon held her as she sobbed. It wasn’t particularly loud or violent, but it was unstoppable. Harrow couldn’t remember the last time she cried, but now they had been standing in their kitchen for what felt like hours as they waited for the deluge of tears to end.

At some point, Gideon had moved a hand to cup the back of her head, holding it in place against her chest. It occurred to Harrow that Gideon likely had no idea what to do, because Harrow had never cried in front of Gideon before. The thought made her cry harder, which in turn made Gideon’s arms tighten around her.

Eventually, Harrow got her body under control again and the tears stopped. Part of her suspected she only stopped because she hadn’t consumed any liquids in the past 12 hours and her body was simply conserving her tears for more vital functions.

Whatever it was, the tears finally ended and Gideon pulled back to look at her. Part of Harrow wanted to hide her face an run, because there was no way she looked even moderately put together at the moment. But there was nowhere to go and even if there was, Gideon was here. She felt safest here.

“It’s going to be okay,” Gideon said gently, as her thumbs brushed against Harrow’s cheeks, “We’ll figure this out. We’re the most badass beerpong team this city has ever seen. We’re not going to let being scared stop us.”

I think I’m in love with you. “Thank you, Gideon.”

“Anytime, beautiful,” Gideon gave her a small, genuine smile. “Now, I hate to be the bearer of bad news but there’s a final whose due to get an ass whooping in an hour. And I, unfortunately, need to spend some time studying or I might be the one whose ass gets whooped.”

“Okay.” Harrow wiped her nose on her sleeve because to her knowledge they didn’t own tissues. “Can you study on the couch?”

“I guess?” Gideon said, confusion in her voice.

Harrow nodded. “I can sit with you on the couch. If you want.”

“Yeah?” Gideon asked cautiously, a smile playing on her lips. She grabbed Harrow’s hand and squeezed it gently.

Harrow raised herself to her tiptoes and pressed a chaste kiss to Gideon’s cheek. “Yeah.”

---

The walk to the final involved five “accidental” hand brushes until Harrow decided to just suck it up and grabbed Gideon’s hand with the tact of a wrecking ball at a demolition site. It had about the same impact as well. Gideon stopped mid sentence to stare at their hands, before looking at Harrow with the astonishment of a child who had just been gifted a bb gun for Christmas.

Harrow wished she could say that she wasn’t blushing as they entered the lecture hall, but she would be lying.

They walked to the seats they had claimed all semester, Harrow staring at Gideon out of the corner of her eye because after the initial shock Gideon seemed to be handling this far too well and how could she be so collected about it when Harrow was experiencing the mental equivalent of a tornado picking up your house and dropping it the next town over. And then Gideon would give Harrow a sidelong glance and they would both awkwardly look forward again as if it hadn’t happened and Harrow would freak out a bit more before looking to Gideon again, perpetuating the cycle.

Even so, they made it to their seats. Gideon moved to sit down, but Harrow was filled with a sudden rush of confidence. Maybe it was the fact that she cried this morning. Maybe it was the fact that they held hands in public and nobody died a bloody and tortured death. Whatever it was, Harrow had to act on it.

“Wait,” Harrow said. And Gideon dutifully stopped, hand still in Harrow’s.

“What’s up, my bodacious braniac?”

The nicknames were getting out of hand. Unfortunately, Harrow found them too amusing to put an end to them.

“I want to kiss you.”

Gideon’s eyes widened and she looked around, as if Harrow had just revealed classified information. “Here?”

“Isn’t a kiss for good luck customary?” Harrow shrugged, attempting to appear unaffected by the whole ordeal.

“Well when you put it like that, it would be stupid not to kiss,” Gideon nodded eagerly as she tipped Harrow’s head back with a gentle brush of fingers under her chin. Harrow brought a hand up to Gideon’s jawline and let their lips brush together gently.

And they kissed. They kissed like the world was ending and this would be the last thing they did before they died in a blaze of flames. Harrow was panting when they separated, and Gideon looked like she had just had a revelation.

“Good luck on your test,” Harrow said, hand still stubbornly on Gideon’s jawline, “I’m looking forward to celebrating.”

“You’re unreal,” Gideon breathed, lips still parted slightly.

“And you’re more than I deserve,” Harrow said, before sitting down and bubbling in her student ID number on the test’s answer sheet.

---

“Professor Mercymorn is homophobic,” Gideon announced as she refreshed her phone for the fifth time in as many seconds.

“You think everything is homophobic,” Camilla pointed out, from her spot across the food court table. Gideon, Harrow, Camilla, and Palamedes had gathered for lunch as they waited for the much-anticipated orgo test scores to be posted.

“Yes, but consider: She said the results were going to be posted at noon on Tuesday, which is over a week since we took the damn thing. And do you know what time it is now, guys? 12:03. Which means she’s fucking late,” Gideon lamented, “And do you want to know whose suffering most from this? Me. And guess what? I’m a raging dyke. Ergo, Mercymorn is homophobic.”

“I think it’s more likely that Mercymorn hates the entire student body equally,” Palamedes offered, “She once responded to my email with ‘go back to preschool, infant.’”
Harrow scowled. “I once went to office hours and she left her office in the middle of my question because she couldn’t be bothered to listen.”

“To be fair, your voice can be a bit shr—Oh shit! It just posted,” Gideon started frantically scrolling on her phone to the bottom of the page, “Fuck yeah! 81. Suck it, bitches.”

“Congratulations, Griddle.” Harrow gave Gideon a small smile as she resolutely stopped herself from pointing out she got a 95, “Turns out you’re more than an attractive face after all. I’m glad Crux didn’t do permanent damage that time he dropped you on your head as an infant.”

“Oh, come off it, Nonagesimus,” Gideon teased, “You’re just jealous I managed to look like this while also having unparalleled intelligence.”

Gideon flexed with one arm and rested her other hand on Harrow’s knee beneath the table. Harrow suddenly became very interested in stealing Gideon’s unseasoned french fries in an attempt to hide her reaction.

It had been longer than Harrow cared to admit since they had last touched with intention. Despite their heart-to-heart, they hadn’t spent much of the past week in each other’s presence. Harrow had spent the days shut in her room, studying for her genomics final that was cruelly scheduled for the last slot of finals week. Gideon had been rotating between studying for her physiology class (Harrow avoided her when she did this because she looked distractedly attractive when she focused) and the gym (Harrow avoided her when she did this because if she watched Gideon work out she was fairly certain no studying would happen for the rest of the day and a considerable amount of the next day).

So Gideon’s hand, despite its modest placement barely above Harrow’s knee, was incredibly distracting.

“Forgive me for being unimpressed by such a superficial display,” Harrow scoffed.

Gideon grinned at her. The hand squeezed her thigh pointedly. “That’s funny. Your mom said the exact opposite last night.”
The table groaned. Camilla shook her head in disappointment as Palamedes threw a french fry in Gideon’s general direction. Harrow simply rolled her eyes and nudged Gideon’s leg with her own under the table.

They engaged in under the table warfare for the better part of an hour. Gideon’s hand would move up, Harrow would shove it back down. Gideon would loosen her grip on Harrow’s thigh, Harrow would knock their legs together as a reminder. Gideon would trace teasing patterns with her fingers, Harrow would kick Gideon in the shin lightly.

Above the table, they were keeping appearances by catching up with Camilla and Palamedes, chatting amicably about their other classes and their schedules for next semester. Much to Harrow’s delight, she would be sharing two classes with Gideon. Orgo 2 (as planned) and art history (an unfortunate necessity for Harrow’s general elective requirements).

She couldn’t even focus on how excited she was for next semester, though, because Gideon’s hand had been stubbornly inching up her thigh. It was now about mid thigh and Gideon’s thumb was rubbing horribly distracting circles through her jeans.

“I for one am excited to look at paintings of naked women for a semester,” Gideon was saying casually. Harrow wanted to pull her into the nearest bathroom and make her forget that paintings even existed.

Palamedes laughed, “I’m fairly certain renaissance art centered more on religious themes. Nudity was less common, especially for women.”

“So paintings of nuns then,” Gideon nodded, “I can work with that. Harrow gives off nun vibes already, anyways.”

“I am far from a nun,” Harrow complained.

Gideon’s hand moved again, flirting with upper thigh territory now. “Oh trust me, I know.”

And now there was eye contact on top of the hand on her thigh and it really was cruel that Camilla and Palamedes were also here because otherwise Harrow would have dragged Gideon to the nearest room with a lock.

But also, Camilla and Palamedes were watching the scene unfold with neutral interest (Camilla) and scientific curiosity (Palamedes), so Harrow had to put a stop to it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well you drink alcohol, for starters. And I’ve convinced you to smoke a few times which isn’t very nunly at all,” Gideon reasoned, “Also I can see your hair and right now your shirt is black and red which I’m pretty sure wouldn’t fly in a convent.”

“You also swear when you’re angry,” Camilla added helpfully.

Palamedes nodded, “And you believe in evolution. And heliocentricism.”

“I actually think that’s allowed now,” Harrow said thoughtfully.

“Well obviously I was talking about a medieval or renaissance nun,” Gideon rolled her eyes.

“Obviously,” Camilla said flatly.

“Shut up, Cam,” Gideon scowled, “You’re just pissed I would be a better nun than you.”

Palamedes raised an eyebrow. “Now hold on—”

And so the conversation devolved into who was the most nun-like (Harrow, despite the list of evidence to the contrary), who would enjoy being a nun the most (Palamedes, because it would allow him to devote his life to reading the entirety of the church’s archive), and who would look the best in a nun’s habit (Gideon Camilla, because she could pull anything off).

They were in the middle of discussing who was the most likely to get kicked out of a convent for bad behavior (this was not so much a discussion and more of a listing of all the ways Gideon could possibly get excommunicated) when Camilla checked her phone and addressed Gideon. “It’s almost 1:30, we should probably get going.”

“Yeah, sounds good.” Gideon nodded before squeezing Harrow’s thigh. Harrow’s mind screeched to a halt. Gideon had just spent the past hour sending Harrow every signal in the book that they were going to sprint back to the dorm and spend the rest of the day having sex, and the whole time she had plans?

Under the table, Harrow knocked her leg against Gideon’s pointedly before standing up and grabbing her tray. She stormed over to the trashcans and was angrily sorting her waste into recycling, compost, and garbage when Gideon came up next to her.

“Harrow, what the fuck?” Gideon asked.

“Why do you have plans with Camilla?” Harrow threw the paper liner of her tray into the compost bin with as much malice as she could.

Gideon reached across Harrow’s body to throw something in the trash bin. “It’s just a fencing team meeting, so you can calm your tits. I have eyes only for you, my morose monarch.”

“I’m not jealous of Camilla if that’s what you’re implying.” Harrow hadn’t even considered that Gideon would have plans with other girls today, but the idea (despite already being debunked) made her retroactively angry. “I just assumed you’d rather spend your afternoon doing other activities.”

“It’s only going to take an hour. We’ll have plenty of time.” Gideon’s voice was low in a way that was probably meant to be reassuring but was honestly just making Harrow want to drag her back to their dorm even more.

Harrow glared at the wall in front of her and took a deep breath. “Skip it.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“You spent all lunch riling me up on purpose, knowing you had plans,” Harrow pointed out. “Skip it.”

“Harrow, look at me,” Gideon said. Harrow turned to look at her. “I can’t skip it. It’s a mandatory meeting. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get you all worked up.”

She studied Gideon’s face. She did appear to be sorry. “Fine. But don’t leave me waiting for too long. I might change my mind about our deal.”

“Copy that, babe,” Gideon said with a wink and a quick but not at all subtle grab of Harrow’s ass, “You’ll be moaning my name by 3, and that’s a Gideon Nav guarantee.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Harrow said, despite the fact that she could feel herself getting wet at the thought.

Chapter Text

Harrow was meticulously cleaning and reorganizing her display of carpal bones (which really needed to be cleaned, just like her bed needed to be made and her textbooks needed to be organized by title, and then by subject, and then by color, and then by author’s last name, and finally by title again) when she heard the front door open and the telltale signs of Gideon’s heavy footsteps.

“You’re finally back,” Harrow said. She opened her bedroom door but didn’t move out of the door frame. She was still upset at Gideon for making her wait.

“I left as soon as I could,” Gideon dropped her bag on the ground at her feet. It would definitely be a tripping hazard later. “Cam gave me a weird look. She’s definitely going to ask questions later.”

Gideon sounded almost out of breath. Harrow ventured out of the doorway to get a better look. Sure enough, Gideon’s chest was rising and falling with some effort and her cheeks were subtly pink. It’s almost as if…

“You ran up the stairs,” Harrow realized. She was standing in the kitchen now, the kitchen counter digging into her back as she leaned on it. The mild discomfort helped ground her.

Gideon smiled sheepishly. “You told me not to leave you waiting for too long.”

“You’re utterly ridiculous.” It was actually quite endearing. Harrow felt the beginnings of a smile threaten to appear on her lips.

“Oh come on, this is a Harrowhark special.” Gideon winked as she walked into Harrow’s personal space. Harrow allowed Gideon to cup her cheek in her hands, allowed her to tilt her head upwards. Their lips met for a fleeting moment in a chaste kiss full of promise. It made sparks fly in Harrow’s stomach.

“Entirely absurd,” Harrow continued when the kiss ended, as if they hadn’t kissed at all. She could feel herself smiling now.

Gideon laughed, “I’m serious, I don’t pull these moves for just any girl. These just for my beloved bone empress.”

This time Harrow pulled Gideon down by her shirt. Gideon came to her happily, meeting her for another kiss. This one was deeper, messier.

“Absolutely outlandish,” Harrow whispered as they parted. She was already breathless and Gideon hadn’t even touched her yet. Gideon smiled as she leaned down again.

Their third kiss had an intention behind it that the other two didn’t. Harrow allowed herself to get lost in the slide of their tongues and barely even noticed when Gideon lifted her so she was sitting on the counter.

Harrow squeezed her legs around Gideon’s waist, preventing Gideon’s escape. Not that Gideon seemed like she had any intentions of escaping, if the hands trying (and failing) to untuck Harrow’s shirt were any indication.

When Gideon pulled back to breathe, she rested her forehead against Harrow’s. Her hands found the small of Harrow’s back, where her thumbs rubbed small circles. Their noses brushed as Harrow stared at Gideon. The other woman’s eyes were wide expanses, alert and trained on her. There was an underlying current of desire in Gideon’s expression that put every part of Harrow’s body on high alert.

“Anything else you’d like to add, my sexy thesaurus?” Gideon asked. Harrow pulled back slightly to watch Gideon’s chest rise and fall with the effort of her breathing. Her lips were slightly parted and a bit pinker than usual and Harrow needed to kiss them again.

“You took too long,” Harrow said with the nonchalance of someone stating a mundane fact, “I was bored.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you complain about being bored.” Gideon raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, but I was so horribly bored, Griddle.” Harrow watched her hand trace a path from Gideon’s shoulder down to her forearm. “I even considered taking care of myself just to pass the time.”

“Holy shit, Harrow.” The hands on the small of her back pulled their bodies closer together. Harrow’s breath hitched and her legs tightened their grip on Gideon’s waist. “You can’t just say shit like that. What the fuck.”

“And yet I remain understimulated,” Harrow sighed with mock disappointment. She stroked Gideon’s forearm with her fingertips, allowing her nails to scratch the soft skin lightly. “I’m beginning to think you’re all talk and no action.”

“I sincerely apologize for my transgression. Let me make it up to you, baby.” Gideon’s lips were on hers again, her tongue was in her mouth. Harrow nipped at Gideon’s bottom lip, just to be difficult, and was rewarded with a small, strangled noise somewhere between a gasp and a groan.

Harrow let her hands slide under Gideon’s shirt and was immediately greeted with the toned muscles of her abdomen. She bit down a gasp of her own as she mapped Gideon’s body with her fingers, reveling in the way the muscles tensed when she used more pressure. She broke their kiss in favor of nipping at Gideon’s jawline.

“You’re wearing far too many clothes,” Harrow whispered in Gideon’s ear. She let her hands wander back down to the hem of Gideon’s shirt and tugged. Gideon lifted her arms obediently and leaned back slightly to allow Harrow to take the shirt off. She threw it back into their living room and promptly forgot about the offending garment.

Gideon was standing in front of her in only her sports bra and jeans that strained over her thighs. She looked like a carved statue, and the sight sent heat pulsing throughout Harrow's body before coming to rest in her core. She needed her own shirt off, and she needed it now.

Her partner would be no help in this endeavor. Gideon seemed more interested in kissing Harrow like the world would end the moment they stopped. Harrow had only ever been the center of someone’s attention like this when she was with Gideon, and it was exhilarating. It felt as if there was a hummingbird flitting around frantically in her chest, sending her blood roaring throughout her veins and stealing the breath from her lungs.

Harrow felt Gideon’s hand slide down her front, past her stomach and to the button of her jeans. There was a pause as Gideon fumbled with the button and then there was the quiet noise of a zipper being undone and Harrow felt her waistband loosen. Finally.

She lifted her hips in the universal “take my jeans off” signal, but Gideon seemed to have confused it with the “fuck me now” hip roll because instead of grabbing for Harrow’s waistband, her hand was reaching its way into Harrow’s pants.

Harrow gasped against Gideon’s lips as she felt the pressure of Gideon’s hand between her legs, on the right side of overwhelming even through the layer of her underwear. Gideon moved to kiss down her throat, pausing occasionally to leave marks. One of Harrow’s hands made its way to Gideon’s hair, holding her in place, and the other braced itself behind her on the kitchen counter.

Harrow was moaning at each shift of Gideon’s hand in her pants, little “ah!”s that were only serving to spur Gideon on further. The other woman seemed ready to fuck Harrow right here, on their kitchen counter, with all of Harrow’s clothes still on. And while the idea was incredibly sexy, Harrow had plans.

Then the heel of Gideon’s palm brushed against Harrow’s clit, forcing a breathy moan from her throat. She decided her plans could wait.

Encouraged by Harrow’s reaction, Gideon added more pressure, almost pushing Harrow down into the kitchen counter. Harrow met the pressure with a roll of her hips, chasing the friction of Gideon’s hand through her underwear.

She was a mess. She had most certainly already soaked through her underwear and her jeans would definitely need to go through the wash before being worn again. All the layers that she was still wearing where causing her to sweat, but removing any of them would mean stopping, and stopping wasn’t an option.

And then Gideon—evil, horrible Gideon—moved her hand up to rest on Harrow’s lower stomach, and that deliciously addicting friction was gone. Harrow rolled her hips pointedly, attempting to remind Gideon that she had been doing something and she really ought to be getting back to it. Instead, Gideon leaned down to kiss her gently.

“You’re sure about this?” Gideon asked into their kiss. The tips of her fingers made their way under the fabric of Harrow’s underwear, not touching anything yet but full of promise.

Harrow pulled back from the kiss to glare at Gideon. The other woman’s eyes were trained on her, as if trying to catalog her every reaction. “Gideon, if you stop, I’ll take that dumb sword of yours and throw it out the goddamn window.”

The whole thing would probably have been more threatening if Harrow didn’t conclude it with a loud moan as Gideon’s fingers dipped down and parted her folds.

“There’s my girl,” Gideon whispered in Harrow’s ear, sounding almost proud. Harrow bit down an embarrassing noise as the phrase “my girl” sent heat pulsing straight to her core.

Gideon’s fingers explored her, gentle at first but quickly gaining confidence. They dipped down, teasing her entrance for a brief moment before moving back upward and finding her clit. Harrow let her head fall back as she rutted her hips up to match the pace of Gideon’s movements.

“You like that, baby?” Gideon’s voice came from against her ear. It was low and ragged, as if she had just run a marathon.

Harrow had an excellent comeback planned for that. It was clever and cruel and would have put Gideon in her place. Unfortunately, the barb was lost to time as Gideon has chosen that exact moment to circle her clit in just the right way and Harrow let out a high pitched noise somewhere between a whine and a scream.

Harrow’s not sure how long she spent there, pants haphazardly unzipped, Gideon’s hand shoved down her underwear, reacting to Gideon’s every move as if she didn’t care so so much about what Gideon thought of her. It felt like hours, it felt like seconds. It felt more vulnerable and unrestrained than she had ever dared be before.

All she knew was that one particularly aggressive roll of her hips caused Gideon to moan directly into her ear, as if Gideon were the one on the receiving end.

That’s what did it. Her body tensed up as the pleasure that had been slowly but consistently building within her core pulsed throughout her body.

It was one of the most intense orgasms she’d had. She could feel the muscles of her cunt spasm around nothing as her legs trapped Gideon in a vice grip and she gasped for air.

“Holy shit,” Gideon said as she slowed the pace of her fingers, stopping after Harrow pushed her forearm away.

“Yeah,” Was all Harrow could bring herself to say. “Fuck.”

They sat there for a few moments in silence, the sound of Harrow’s breathing slowly evening out filling the room. Gideon’s arms were around her waist in a protective hug, and Harrow leaned forward to rest her forehead on Gideon’s shoulder.

For a lazy moment they sat there, arms around each other, basking in the other’s presence. It was nice, it was warm and safe, but Harrow was still worked up. They were far from done.

“Don’t think just because you made me cum I’ve forgotten about how long you made me wait,” Harrow said, edge to her voice. She lifted her head to kiss along the side of Gideon’s throat.

“I told you I didn’t mean to get you worked up.”

Harrow laced a hand in Gideon’s hair and pulled, forcing Gideon’s head back. “I don’t care. I don’t like being teased.”

“I won’t do it again,” Gideon promised. Harrow could feel the muscles of Gideon's throat tense against her lips as she swallowed.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Gideon tried to nod but Harrow’s grip on her hair stopped her. When she spoke again, it was almost a whine, “Pinky promise, baby.”

“Do you want to know what I think?” Harrow mused, tracing the line of marks she left on the expanse of Gideon’s throat with the pad of her finger. Gideon’s eyes fell closed as she swore under her breath.

Harrow continued without waiting for an answer. “I think you need to be punished for it. I’m going to make you wait for it, so you know exactly how I felt.”

“Oh.” Gideon’s eyes shot open and the hands around Harrow’s waist tensed.

“Yeah?” Harrow asked.

“Yop. Yes. Definitely. Absolutely. I’m into that, one hundo p. Let’s do that,” Gideon stammered, before finishing lamely, “I mean, yeah.”

“We don’t have to if you’re nervous,” Harrow said, suddenly and belatedly realizing that she was nervous. She hadn’t taken control like this in the bedroom before, and she had relatively limited data on what Gideon enjoyed. What if Gideon disliked it? What if she acted on her desires and Gideon didn’t desire the same?

“I’m not nervous. I’m stupidly turned on.” Gideon’s voice returned Harrow to herself. She was going to be okay. It was just Gideon, after all.

“Can we keep going after, though? I haven’t made you moan my name yet,” Gideon requested with a tacky wink that Harrow ignored.

Harrow considered it for a moment before leaning forward and whispering in Gideon’s ear, “When we’re done I’ll let you do whatever you want to me.”

“Fucking shit, Harrow.”

Harrow smirked as she pushed Gideon away from her and primly slid off the counter. She grabbed Gideon’s hand and navigated them to Gideon’s bedroom.

“Close the door behind you,” Harrow said as they crossed the threshold, not bothering to look back as she said it.

Sure enough, there was the sound of the door clicking shut behind her. Only then did she turn to look at Gideon. The other woman was already ruined. Her eyes were wide, her hair was standing up in strange directions, and she was shifting her weight on her feet slightly.

“Pants off,” Harrow directed, “Then sit in the middle of the bed.”

Gideon nodded, before dutifully removing her pants—Harrow took a moment to mourn them, because those jeans really did make Gideon’s thighs look spectacular—before sitting on her bed.

Harrow offered Gideon a small smile as she removed her own pants and horribly stuffy shirt before climbing on the bed after her. She sat in Gideon’s lap, straddling her hips, and immediately pulled her down for a messy kiss.

Harrow let herself get lost in the kiss, let her body roll against Gideon’s as Gideon’s hands frantically grabbed every bit of exposed skin she could reach. Gideon’s hands were broad, slightly rough with calluses, and warm. Harrow wanted Gideon to never stop touching her.

“Tell me what you want,” Harrow mumbled against Gideon’s lips.

“Whatever you want,” Gideon returned, almost automatically.

“It’s your reward,” Harrow reminded her with a lazy roll of her hips, “You’ve been so good. Let me give you what you need, my dear.”

Gideon licked her lips and swallowed, nervousness and excitement mingling on her face. Harrow’s fingers inched under Gideon’s sports bra and Gideon let out a shaky exhale.

“Can you keep being bossy?”

Harrow let her fingers inch further under Gideon’s bra as she pretended to consider Gideon’s question. Gideon’s eyes were wide and dark as they watched her, patiently awaiting her answer.

“I don’t know, can I?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re the worst. I hope your phone batteries never hold more than four hours of charge,” Gideon said, “May you be bossy? Wait, that’s not even grammatically correct, what the fuck. How do I even say that, oh pedantic one?”

Harrow rolled her eyes and did her best to bite down a laugh at Gideon’s antics. “Try ‘will you be bossy?’”

“Fine. Will you—stop laughing at me doom princess we’re in the top ten Gideon Nav vulnerable moments right now—Will you boss me around again?” Gideon was smiling at her with bravado, but Harrow could see the way it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Perhaps Gideon was also afraid to ask for what she needed.

“Of course,” Harrow nodded, before kissing the bridge of her nose gently. “Help me take your bra off.”

Gideon lifted her arms and Harrow pulled the sports bra up, over Gideon’s breasts and off her body. And then she was confronted with Gideon’s chest. Her breasts were much larger than Harrow’s, with dusky, hard nipples that Harrow wanted to put in her mouth.

But that was going to have to wait. She had other plans first.

“Lie back,” Harrow ordered. She pushed Gideon’s shoulder, forcing her to fall back against the pillows. “Good. Now touch yourself.”

Gideon’s eyes fluttered shut as she made a strangled noise in the back of her throat. One of her hands inched up to rest just under the swell of her breast and the other rested on her lower stomach. There was a moment where Gideon’s stomach rose and fell with the effort of her breathing.

But she didn’t move, and Harrow had a sudden rush of panic that she had asked for too much.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Harrow added, voice barely above a whisper, as she traced Gideon’s sides with the pads of her fingers.

“It’s not,” Gideon shook her head as her eyes opened lazily. They were wide and just a touch unfocused, “It turns out I’m really fucking into this.”

“Good. Tell me if that changes,” Harrow said. She sat back on her heels, so she was towering over Gideon with her weight resting on her hips. There was a tense moment before Gideon’s hand moved to her chest and started massaging one of her breasts gently.

Harrow watched in fascination as Gideon’s eyes fell shut and her hand increased its pressure. Her fingers started playing with her nipple, gently rolling it under her thumb before pinching it lightly and twisting. She brought her hand up to Gideon’s other breast to mirror the motion, which earned her a low gasp from Gideon.

“What do you think about when you do this?” Harrow asked, voice quiet as if speaking too loud could shatter the moment.

“Fuck, baby, I think about you.” It came out strained and breathy. Gideon’s eyes were open again as she observed Harrow’s reaction.

How Harrow remained composed after being on the receiving end of such an admission was a miracle that may never be fully explained. But instead of moaning like a horny teenager, Harrow rolled her hips down into Gideon’s before leaning down and kissing the sensitive skin of Gideon’s ribcage.

“I think about you too,” Harrow admitted, returning Gideon’s gaze with a similarly uncertain expression, “About having you like this.”

“Fuck. Shit, suck my tits, babe,” Gideon babbled. And while Harrow was technically supposed to be the one giving the orders, she simply couldn’t resist a request like that.

So she licked at the nipple before bringing it into her mouth and sucking. Gideon moaned and pushed her chest further into Harrow’s mouth, which caused Harrow to suck harder. The heat that had never quire dissipated from deep in Harrow’s core was now back with a vengeance, and it was all Harrow could do not to touch herself.

But it was Gideon’s turn, and Harrow was going to devote every fiber of her being to making that annoying, infuriating, handsome, perfect woman fall apart.

Harrow kissed Gideon’s nipple, then the space between Gideon’s breasts, then just above her ribcage. She mapped a line from Gideon’s sternum to the area between her legs, kissing with the occasional pause to bite and mark. Gideon’s abs, covered by a soft layer of fat but very much still there, flexed at the attention and one of Gideon’s hands found purchase in Harrow’s hair.

Harrow paused when she reached Gideon’s underwear, looking up at the other woman for confirmation. Gideon nodded frantically as she shifted her hips and spread her legs slightly. Harrow could see a wet patch on her underwear and the sight was threatening to snap her tenuous grip on control.

She took a deep breath in an attempt to quiet the blood rushing in her ears before hooking her fingers in the band of Gideon’s underwear and pulling them down. There was an awkward moment where it got caught on Gideon’s ankles, but with some maneuvering, and some extremely unhelpful kicking from Gideon, they were removed and Gideon was laid bare in front of her.

Gideon was watching her every move, swearing like a sailor and shifting as if she couldn’t get comfortable. Her hands gripped the bedsheets and twisted them impatiently.

“Relax, Nav.” Harrow let her hands trace Gideon’s inner thighs with just a hint of nail. “I’ve been told I’m quite good at this.”

Gideon swore and rolled her hips as Harrow parted her folds with her fingers and licked up Gideon’s sex. Gideon was wet and Harrow could taste it on her tongue; a heady mixture of salt and what could truly only be described as the taste of pussy.

“Tell me when you’re close,” Harrow pulled back to say before returning her mouth to Gideon’s center.

Harrow liked giving head. More accurately, Harrow liked being good at things, and one of the things she was good at was giving head.

Most of it was intuition. She began with broader motions, starting near Gideon’s entrance and moving up to the bud of her clit. Then she focused on the clit more, first with gentle licks and then with light suction.

The rest was observation. When she used the tip of her tongue to swipe across Gideon’s clit, Gideon breathed heavier. When she circled her clit, Gideon’s hands grabbed the sheets with more force. And when she sucked on it with intention, Gideon made a broken noise in the back of her throat that Harrow wished she could hear on loop for the rest of her life.

She closed her eyes as she worked, immersing herself in Gideon’s noises and motions and taste and smell. It was the right type of overwhelming; the kind of overwhelming that shut out the outside world and allowed Harrow to be here, in the moment, giving Gideon the pleasure she deserved.

“Close, close,” Gideon gasped as if she had been holding her breath.

Harrow pulled back and kissed Gideon’s inner thigh. “Good job. How are you feeling?”

Gideon groaned and rolled her hips. Her eyes were hazy as she looked at Harrow and the skin of her face was subtly red. She was even pouting slightly, which was quite a sight.

“Use your words, Nav,” Harrow instructed.

“Feels good.” Gideon took a deep breath. “10/10 would let you eat me again.”

Clearly Harrow hadn’t ruined her enough yet. With no preamble, Harrow returned to her task, earning her a delightfully strained groan from Gideon. They continued the cycle, with Harrow driving Gideon as close to the edge as possible and backing off the moment Gideon showed signs of reaching her peak.

Gideon’s control of her body was rapidly deteriorating. Noises that were quiet or bit back at the beginning were loud and unashamed, hip rolls that were small and polite were now aggressive and demanding. One of Gideon’s hands found its way back into Harrow’s hair and pulled, which sent sparks dancing through Harrow’s body. Her other hand found one of Harrow’s, and their fingers intertwined on the bed beside her hip.

Harrow devoted herself to her task with the one track mind of an academic falling down the rabbit hole of research. She wanted to break Gideon. She wanted to see Gideon at her most vulnerable, wanted to see her beg for what she wanted and earn Gideon’s trust by giving it to her.

“Harrow,” Gideon sobbed, loud and desperate, signaling to Harrow that her goal was in sight, “Harrow, please.”

Harrow replaced her tongue with her fingers and let them slide through Gideon’s folds lazily. “Please what?”

“Harrow,” Gideon repeated, and Harrow thought for a moment Gideon was going to cry.

Harrow’s fingers bracketed Gideon’s swollen clit as she mumbled against her thigh, “I got you, baby. All you have to do is ask.”

“Fuck. Harrow, let me cum,” Gideon pleaded. And then, after Harrow raised an eyebrow, a broken, “Please. Please, I need to cum.”

Harrow didn’t waste time responding. Gideon had waited long enough, and hearing her wrecked voice was the world’s strongest aphrodisiac. She sucked on Gideon’s clit and flicked it with her tongue as she let her free hand scratch lightly on Gideon’s thigh.

Gideon’s legs tensed around her and the hand in her hair spasmed as Gideon moaned her name, voice breaking on the second syllable. Harrow licked her through it with light pressure. Eventually Gideon let her hand drop from Harrow’s hair and she pushed her back gently.

Harrow rested her head on Gideon’s thigh as she panted as though she was the one who just achieved orgasm. They stared at each other as they came down from the high. It was a perfect moment, one that Harrow wished she could photograph and frame.

“Hey,” Gideon said, after a few moments. Her hand squeezed Harrow’s, “Come up here.”

Harrow obliged, crawling up Gideon’s body until she was lying on top of her. Gideon kissed her, slow and dirty, as her hands rand down the length of Harrow’s exposed back. Then her hands dipped down, to the band of her underwear, and Harrow’s hips rolled involuntarily.

“I can’t believe you’re still not naked,” Gideon mumbled against her mouth, a hint of amusement in her voice.

As a rule, Harrow didn’t get nervous. She wasn’t naturally self-conscious, she didn’t have any deep-rooted insecurities (about her body, at least), and she logically understood that there were people who would go so far as to call her body attractive, despite her own self-image being firmly neutral. But for some reason as Gideon’s fingers toyed with underwear Harrow was hit with a wave of anxiety.

Picking up on her discomfort because she was annoyingly attentive, Gideon sat them up using the strength of her core (unfair, Harrow was already soaked through her panties) and asked, “Everything okay, gorgeous?”

Gideon’s eyes were locked on her, and Harrow had to look at the now-crumpled sheets to avoid the concern in those golden eyes. “You can leave my underwear on. I quite like this bra.”

“Baby, are you nervous?” Gideon asked, her hands trailing up and down Harrow’s thighs comfortingly, “You don’t have to be, you know. I’m like, embarrassingly attracted to you.”

Harrow hesitated. “I just think you may be underwhelmed.”

“Look, if you really don’t want to we don’t have to. We both know I’m skilled enough to blow your mind even through your little emo panties,” Gideon winked, “But I seem to remember you saying I could do anything I wanted to you when we were done. And I kinda want to take your clothes off.”

Harrow closed her eyes and took a deep breath before nodding. “Okay.”

Gideon smiled at her and Harrow’s stomach filled with butterflies. Then Gideon leaned in and kissed her.

As they kissed Harrow felt Gideon’s fingers playing with the clasp of her bra, and then her chest was exposed to the cold air. Then, without breaking the kiss, Gideon’s hands cupped Harrow’s breasts, giving her an illusion of modesty.

Then Gideon pulled back and let her hands drop. There was a horrifying moment where Gideon simply stared at her and Harrow recalled Coronabeth, Cytherea, and all those models Gideon fawned after. Maybe her chest could be considered passable when she was wearing her push up bra, but now that it was just her naked chest and there was no way it could compare.

I don’t care what Gideon thinks of my body. I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care. Harrow reminded herself. She had never cared, why would she start now?

“Fuck, Harrow.” Gideon’s eyes followed the path of her thumb as it brushed over a dark nipple gently. “Why’d you never tell me you had the world’s best pair of tits?”

It lessened Harrow’s panic, but Gideon had always had a penchant for exaggeration. “I wasn’t aware anyone would consider them worthy of that title.”

“Are you kidding? They’re like the perfect size.”

“They’re small,” Harrow stated the obvious.

“Mmm,” Gideon hummed in agreement. She pinched Harrow’s nipple in just the right way and Harrow let out a surprised gasp. “And perky. I bet they’ll bounce when I fuck you.”

God, there was an image. “You’re irredeemably horny.”

“Well, in the spirit of irredeemable horniness, wanna sit on my face?” Gideon wiggled her eyebrows, which unfortunately made Harrow laugh.

“I can’t believe I have sex with you,” Harrow shook her head with fake disappointment.

“Is that a no?”

As if Harrow would say no to an offer like that. Harrow may be repressed, she may self-sabotage like it was a sport and she was an Olympic athlete, but she was not an idiot.

“It’s a yes,” Harrow said, “Proceed.”

“Yes ma’am,” Gideon said with a faux salute.

Gideon kissed her again, and this time her hands were slipping under the band of her underwear. Harrow shivered involuntarily as Gideon’s hands caressed her ass, down the backs of her thighs, and to her knees. They had to break the kiss for Harrow to shift her weight and kick her underwear off, but then they were kissing again and Gideon was leaning back on the bed.

“This is the part where you sit on my face,” Gideon whispered as if she were a stagehand reminding an actor of their blocking from off stage. She was lying completely prone on the bed with Harrow comfortably on top of her.

Harrow flicked Gideon’s forehead. “I’m well aware of the mechanics, thank you.”

“Then saddle up, sunshine,” Gideon said, “You’re in for a wild ride.”

“You need an off button,” Harrow complained, more to herself than to Gideon, as she crawled up Gideon’s body. Gideon gave her a proud grin.

There was a pause as they awkwardly maneuvered themselves in a comfortable position. Gideon propped her head up slightly with a pillow and Harrow had to change the angle of her legs so her hips didn’t give out halfway through (“and this is why we don’t skip leg day,” Gideon lamented as Harrow explained why the change in positioning was necessary), but in the end Gideon’s head was directly underneath Harrow and Harrow was using every ounce of self control she had left to keep her from smothering Gideon with her cunt.

“Hey, cutie, come here often?” Gideon smirked up at her from between her thighs, before she kissed Harrow’s inner thigh and sucked lightly.

Harrow rolled her eyes. “It would be more often if someone would do what she promised.”

“So true, queen,” Gideon said with a wink. And then the hand on Harrow’s hips pulled her down, and Gideon’s mouth was on her. Harrow gasped and grabbed at the headboard in front of her as Gideon’s tongue found her clit.

Harrow close her eyes and let her head fall back as the tongue on her clit found a rhythm with the hands guiding her hips. Every movement of Gideon’s mouth against her was sending jolts of pleasure up her spine and forcing involuntary noises out of her throat.

Gideon’s tongue explored her, first licking along her labia and then venturing down to her entrance. Harrow (very nobly and authoritatively) whined as the tip of Gideon’s tongue pushed in her, lazily fucking her. It was divine, it was stealing the breath from her lungs and causing her legs to shake.

And then Gideon’s tongue was moving back up, leaving her clenching on nothing. She made a frustrated groan and tried to shift her hips up a bit so Gideon’s tongue was back in the correct place, but Gideon’s strong hands prevented her movement. She tried to move again, but again Gideon stopped her, this time with an amused chuckle that vibrated in a wonderfully torturous way against her clit.

It was a testament to how worked up Harrow was that she considered begging Gideon to fuck her again, but before she could one of Gideon’s hands moved down from where it was guiding her hip to in between her legs. Her fingers played with Harrow’s entrance. The pads of her fingers dipped in slightly, but she made no move to properly fuck her.

“Don’t tease me, Nav,” Harrow warned, despite being in the worst possible potion to make threats.

Gideon seemed to buy into Harrow’s fantasy, thought, because a thick finger slid into her, eased by Harrow’s wetness. Gideon groaned against her and immediately added a second finger, before curling both in time with her tongue.

“Yes, Gideon,” Harrow moaned. There was just the slightest burn of a stretch as Gideon moved her fingers, and it felt so fucking good. Gideon hummed around her clit as the pace of her fingers increased, and Harrow’s entire body shuttered and she laced her free hand in Gideon’s hair to help ground herself.

Gideon’s tongue was flat against her clit now, and Harrow was grinding down into the wet heat with reckless abandon, using her grip on Gideon’s hair and the headboard for leverage. The fingers inside of her were hitting just the right spot with each thrust and the two of them were setting a rhythm that was quite possibly their most effective collaboration to date.

And then Gideon added a third finger and Harrow could feel the way she was dripping into Gideon’s mouth and onto her fingers. The thickness of the newly added finger had her dangerously close to screaming; the feeling of being filled so satisfying she couldn’t help but roll her hips back into it

“Fuck, Gideon, so good,” Harrow gasped, barely able to get the words out between her shallow breaths, “Just like that baby, I’m so close.”

In response, Gideon increased the strength of her thrusts in a way that turned Harrow’s insides to putty. She saw stars behind her eyes as she rode Gideon’s tongue.

It wasn’t gentle. Harrow was rutting against Gideon with reckless abandon, chasing a peak that was so tantalizingly out of reach. Gideon’s fingers were pistoning in and out of her with equal desperation, as if she could make Harrow cum with sheer force of will.

The grip on Harrow’s thigh was bruising, and the hand in Gideon’s hair yanked every time there was a particularly hard thrust. Then tension between them was building, stretching and so close to snapping Harrow was practically burning with the anticipation of it.

Gideon shifted under her and her fingers were reaching deeper, hitting a spot that had Harrow's body shuttering and her breath coming out in heavy gasps. Her perception of the world narrowed to the feeling of Gideon's tongue on her clit and Gideon's fingers taking her apart from the inside out. And then Gideon curled her fingers, and then Gideon groaned against her cunt, and then Harrow rolled her hips with just the right angle and touch of intensity.

And Harrow came, one hand white-knuckling the headboard, one pulling Gideon’s hair, Gideon’s mouth on her clit and fingers in her spasming cunt, with Gideon’s name on her lips in a desperate cry of pleasure. It was intense, it was liberating. It was like someone factory reset her body.

She sat back against Gideon’s chest, arms resting on the headboard to keep her from completely collapsing. She barely registered Gideon’s fingers leaving her as she returned to herself, and she allowed Gideon to guide her body down so she was laying on her back in the bedsheets.

“Told you I’d make you moan my name,” Gideon bragged, lying on her side and stroking Harrow’s outer hip with her fingers.

Harrow couldn’t help it, she had just had one of the hardest orgasms of her life and her natural defenses were down. She laughed and said, “I never doubted you.”

Gideon preened at that before manhandling Harrow so she was lying on her stomach with her front pressing to Gideon, who had rolled on her back. Harrow nuzzled into the skin of Gideon’s neck and let her eyes fall closed.

“You’re cute when you’re fucked out,” Gideon observed as her fingers lazily traced Harrow’s spine.

“Shut up,” Harrow complained, voice muffled by Gideon’s skin. She found that she didn’t mind being called cute when it was Gideon saying it, which was concerning to say the least.

“You’re like a little kitten,” Gideon continued happily, not heeding Harrow’s warning, “All hissy but not actually big enough to hurt you.”

Harrow reluctantly pulled her face from Gideon’s neck to pout, “Stop. You’re being mean.”

“Sorry,” Gideon said, clearly not sorry about it at all, “I just like seeing you like this. Less prickly.”

“You like that I’m prickly,” Harrow pointed out, letting her head fall back against Gideon’s skin because she was too tired to hold it up any longer.

She could feel Gideon’s shoulders shifting beneath her head as Gideon shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I can’t like you when you’re soft too.”

“Sap.”

“Takes one to know one.”

Touche. Harrow let the room fall into silence. She shifted her body against Gideon, ran her fingers over Gideon’s arms and rubbed her legs against Gideon’s. She enjoyed the sensation of their exposed skin brushing together, of their shared body heat.

She wasn’t sure how long they sat like that, in quiet, agreeable bliss. What she was sure of, thought, was that it was Gideon’s fault the silence was broken.

“Babe, I think it’s time to talk about this,” Gideon said with that low, comforting voice.

Harrow, still enjoying her post-orgasm haze and buzzing with endorphins, was too content to give the words the consideration Gideon had probably been hoping she would. Instead, she rubbed her face against the side of Gideon’s neck and slung her leg over her hips. She sighed as she melted into Gideon’s warm skin and let her eyes fall closed.

“Harrow,” Gideon tried again, voice more firm, “We have to talk.”

“No, it’s okay,” Harrow mumbled against Gideon’s skin, slurring the words ever so slightly as she felt herself inching closer to sleep, “I feel good about this.”

“I need us to talk,” Gideon’s voice was a bit urgent now, “Can you please talk to me.”

“Later,” Harrow sighed as she buried herself deeper into Gideon’s body, “Too tired.”

“It’s always later with you,” Gideon teased with a poke to Harrow’s exposed side, but when Harrow looked at her face she wasn’t smiling, “Harrow, we’ve hardly seen each other all week, and when we do you barely talk to me because you’re so busy using me as a human pillow.”

Harrow finally found the energy to raise her head and look at Gideon. “I don’t understand what the problem is. Everything’s been good.”

“Everything's good?” Gideon demanded, voice calm but forceful enough to snap Harrow out of her lingering contentment, “I don’t know what fucked up definition of good your dictionary has, but everything is not good.”

Gideon sat up, unceremoniously dumping Harrow’s head on the pillows beneath her. Gideon was towering over her now, and—in a feeble attempt to regain some amount of dominance—Harrow pushed her body up with her arms so she was sitting on the side of her hip with her feet splayed out to one side. She looked up at Gideon in the hopes of encroaching on her personal space.

She partially succeeded. In reality, she was closer to Gideon’s chest than to her face, but thanks to their positioning her face was close to Gideon’s. Gideon was glaring down at her, an expression that Harrow hadn’t had the misfortune of being on the receiving end of in quite some time. Gideon’s features were stone as they stared at her, and Harrow realized—perhaps much later than she should have—that Gideon was furious.

“What do you mean?” Harrow asked, the quickly vanishing heaviness of sleep mingling with confusion in her voice, “That was good. I enjoyed myself immensely, and I’ve enjoyed our time together for the past week as well. Hasn’t it been good for you?”

Gideon threw her head back and groaned. “This isn’t about sex, Harrow. It’s about us.”

“Us?” Harrow echoed, her brow creased. As far as she was concerned things between them had been improving. There was no need to talk about something that was mutually beneficial. “Didn’t we already talk about it last week?”

“Holy fucking shit, I’d be better off talking to a wall. At least if you throw spaghetti at it some of it sticks,” Gideon rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands, “Harrow, what are we doing? What is this? Where is it going?”

Harrow reached out a hand to grab one of Gideon’s wrists, pulling her hand away from her face. She tried to interlace their fingers but Gideon’s hand was unresponsive. “We’re us. We’ve been learning what works for us.”

“You said you were tying to figure what we are,” Gideon said, her voice remaining clam despite the emotions rapidly crossing over her face, “I need to know what you’re thinking.”

“I don’t know yet. I’m still figuring it out,” Harrow admitted feebly. She let her eyes drop to their hands; Harrow’s hand was clinging to Gideon’s as if it were a life jacket in the middle of the ocean and Gideon’s was lying on the bed dormant, as if Harrow’s didn’t exist at all.

Gideon massaged the bridge of her nose with her free hand and groaned, “I thought we were done with this. I thought we were going to start being scared together.”

The threat of confrontation spooked Harrow’s brain like a horse after a gunshot. Every intelligent thought in Harrow’s head paused their normal intelligent thought duties in favor of helpfully telling her Gideon was angry and she had to do something about it before something catastrophic happened.

Unfortunately, Harrow’s plan for doing something about it appeared to be stammering, “We are. It’s just—I’m just—” she took a deep breath “—We’re friends. We have sex. We cuddle.”

“All factually true but oh so conveniently lacking emotion.”

“I don’t know how to say it any other way!” Harrow stared into the golden expanse of Gideon’s eyes, trying to ground herself in the familiar color. “It’s complex and confusing and I could write a novel about it and be no closer to nearing my point.”

“Make it simple then. Give me a word. Just one. What am I to you?” Gideon’s features were guarded and unreadable. She looked like a stranger wearing her lover’s body.

“I really don’t know,” Harrow shook her head, embarrassed that she couldn’t answer such a simple question, “I’m just as confused as you are.”

Gideon laughed bitterly, and when she spoke again her voice was a hair louder than before. “Oh come on. You’re telling me that you can’t find a single word in your infuriatingly self-important vocabulary to describe me?”

“I can’t,” Harrow stammered. She forced the words out of her throat, which was closing with the effort of holding back tears. She grasped at the loose threads of her brain, trying to find a word—any word! It didn’t even have to be polysyllabic at this point—to encompass the vastness of what Gideon was to her. She couldn’t produce a single one. There wasn’t a word in the English language that could accurately convey all that Gideon was to her.

“You can’t or you won’t?” Gideon’s voice had an edge to it now. She pushed Harrow’s hand away, and Harrow devoted all of her mental faculties to ensuring that her breaths were deep enough to provide her with the oxygen required to live. “It’s not that hard, Nonagesimus. Just a word. Shit, you can use more than one if that’s what’s tripping you up. Who. Am. I. To. You.”

You’re everything to me I can’t live without you. I love you I love you I love you I love you. “Gideon, please. I don’t know how to do this.”

“What, talk? I have sat through one too many of your patented Nonagesimus lectures for that to be true.”

If only Harrow’s mouth and brain were on the same page. If only she could open her mouth and say the words she had been wanting to say for longer than she could remember. “You’re putting me on the spot, how can I possibly—”

“—I’m not fucking putting you on the spot, you’ve had half the semester to think of this. You promised me you were going to think about things over a week ago. I’m so fucking tired of waiting for you to be ready. Newsflash, asshole, I have emotions too.”

“Safe,” Harrow choked out, as if the word was a rose and the thorns cut her throat on its way up.

“What?”

“My word for you. You’re safe.” She couldn’t look Gideon in the eye, couldn’t even look in her general direction as she spoke. She was failing. She showed vulnerability and it wasn’t going to be good enough.

“Oh, that’s fucking great.” Harrow could see Gideon throwing her hands up in exasperation out of the corner of her eye. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with that? I’m going to have to introduce you like: ‘Hey guys, this is Harrow. Yes, the girl who bribed me to study for orgo by promising to kiss me. Yes, also the girl whose been using me for sex under the guise that we’ll talk later. And yeah, she’s also the girl who once called me a swine after kissing me. But, hey, don’t worry! She feels safe around me so it’s all sunshine and rainbows now.’”

“Stop yelling at me, I’m trying!” Harrow yelled.

“Well you’re not trying hard enough!” Gideon yelled louder. Stupid athletic lungs.

Harrow was trying. She was trying so hard to not lash out, to diffuse the situation and facilitate a healthy conversation. But Gideon’s words were pounding on her skull and with each attack her tenuous commitment to self-improvement came closer and closer to breaking. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I don’t want to—”

“—Oh, save it, we both know you did. You’ve meant every fucked up thing you’ve done this semester, haven’t you? Were you ever planning on thinking about us, or was that just a lie you told me so I would fuck you?”

“No!” Harrow shook her head violently, “I would never—”

“—I bet it’s been so fun for you, stringing me along like a dog on a leash. Did you mean any of it? Or has this just been your fun little Friday night entertainment? Or maybe your little science experiment: how long can I trick Gideon into thinking I actually like her before she discovers I was faking the whole thing?” Gideon’s voice was so loud and overbearing Harrow almost missed the way Gideon was rapidly blinking her eyes, as if there was something stuck in them.

“Stop,” Harrow was cornered and she was running out of ideas on how to resolve this. She felt something in her brain snap, something horrible and ugly. And then she went on the offensive. “Don’t pretend like this has meant anything to you. You would fuck anything with breasts and the ability to consent, don’t pretend otherwise.”

“Well I just fucked you, so we both know that having breasts isn’t on my list of requirements,” Gideon returned, rising to her challenge the way Harrow knew she would. Because they really were made for each other, in every fucked up, grotesque, disgusting way possible.

This statement didn’t affect Harrow, because Harrow didn’t care what Gideon thought of her body. She didn’t care at all, she reminded herself with a mental chant so aggressive it brought tears to the corners of her eyes and made her stomach drop with an intensity that made her nauseous.

She took a deep breath and let her fear and helplessness freeze into icy anger in her veins. “An excellent point. Perhaps it would have been more accurate of me to say that you would fuck anything that looked in your general direction for more than five seconds.”

“Okay, sure, whatever,” Gideon said in a voice aggressive enough to imply that it was not sure whatever, “If being horny is a crime I belong in a maximum security prison, everyone knows that. But at least I have the humanity to talk to the people I’ve been fucking.”

“We talk all the time. We’re talking right now,” Harrow shrugged nonchalantly, letting Gideon’s words glance off her icy exterior.

“The next time you deflect I’m going to grab all of your textbooks, even that limited edition anatomy textbook that I know you jerk it to sometimes, cover them in gasoline, and set them on fire.”

“I do not—”

“—Don’t make me do it Harrow, I fucking will.”

They looked at each other for a moment. Gideon’s eyes were fever bright, wide with adrenaline, and wild. She was passionate and fiery where Harrow was detached and cold. Her voice grew louder as Harrow’s grew quieter. Always opposite sides of the same coin, always saying the same thing but unable to understand the other.

This was a dance, a challenge that they used to indulge in all the time. It was like fucking; it was an emotional release that had Harrow’s body on high alert. It was vulnerability, it was knowing Gideon better than she knew herself, it was a combined effort.

Harrow had to admit that it was much more enjoyable when they turned this energy to sex, but something about fighting gave her the temporary relief that picking at a scab did. They were in an unsalvageable tailspin, and it felt so fucking good knowing that Gideon was in the wreckage with her, that even in the fallout she wouldn’t be alone in her pain.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Nav,” Harrow said with a cruel smile, and she felt like a child again, mocking Gideon moments after pushing her off the jungle gym, “I wasn’t aware casual sex required conversations afterwards.”

“Bullshit,” Gideon snapped, and Harrow was almost relieved by it. Even in the heat of argument, in the tangled confusion of lies and barbs, Gideon knew Harrow cared.

Harrow arched an eyebrow condescendingly, “Really? I would argue that the lack of conversation is a cornerstone of a casual—”

“—Bullshit this was casual sex. You moaned my name when you came. My name. You let me hold you when we’re done and you’ve cried in my arms and you certainly don’t kiss me like this is casual.”

They were so close. They were teetering on the precipice. All Harrow needed to do was say yes, was to admit that Gideon was right and that this hadn’t been casual for a long time and that she had caused the both of them needless amounts of pain. They were standing on the deck of a ship and with one word Harrow could plunge them into the dark, frigid depths below. Neither of them knew how to swim, but they could cling to each other until they figured it out.

“I need space to think,” Harrow announced, before abruptly shifting to the edge of Gideon’s bed. This wasn’t a plunge she could take today, not when she was already raw.

“Harrow—” Gideon began, moving with her. She sounded a bit desperate, as if she was pleading with Harrow to just sit down and talk this out.

But it was all too much for Harrow.

She launched herself off of Gideon’s bed and set about gathering her clothes. She didn’t bother putting any of them on—she was definitely in need of new underwear and everything else was a wrinkled mess—but she also didn’t want to leave them here and risk having to make a return trip.

“Harrow, come on,” Gideon tried again, “You know we have to talk about this.”

Harrow looked at Gideon in the eyes, mainly to avoid looking at her body which was still very naked and distracting. “Talk about what, Griddle?”

She must have looked ridiculous. Standing there, naked, in Gideon’s room, holding her clothes in one hand but not even bothering to cover herself, denying that anything had happened between them.

“Fine.” Gideon was glaring at her now, and Harrow found she much preferred any other expression on her face. “I’m done waiting for you to get your shit together. If you need a sex toy so badly you should just suck it up and buy one.”

It was finally happening. Gideon had finally given up on her, was finally leaving her. She had tried to show herself, to be vulnerable, but she hadn’t been good enough. It was too little too late, and now she would finally be free of this whole mess. The feelings, the yearning, the desire to posses and be possessed. It would be like draining a blister: painful at first but better soon after.

But it didn’t get better. The rush of relief never came. She was just alone now, abandoned and scared and with no one to blame but herself. The only thing she could do now was make Gideon hurt just as much.

Good thing she knew exactly how to do it. “You seem to have spent a considerable amount of time thinking of me, Griddle. It really is a shame you’re so invested. Sometimes I think that if we weren’t living together I would have forgotten about you long ago.”

“Get the fuck out of my room before I find an alternate exit in the form of throwing your breakable hag body out the window.”

“With pleasure,” Harrow returned, voice betraying how close she was to breaking down and sobbing.

But she wasn’t going to give Gideon the satisfaction of seeing her cry. She stormed out of Gideon's room, slamming the door for good measure, before entering her own room, throwing herself on her bed, and breaking down into full body tears.

She needed Gideon. She needed to cry in her arms and apologize and listen to the redhead tell her everything was going to be okay. She needed to be forgiven. She needed to talk, to sit down and explain her emotions even if it left her a shell of herself. Gideon had already left her, so it’s not like it could get any worse.

But she couldn’t stop crying. The lingering adrenaline of confrontation was causing her body to shake uncontrollably, and all she could do was let it happen. She was broken, they were broken, and she was finally facing the consequences.

Alone.

Chapter Text

Harrow eventually gathered herself enough to change her clothes, wipe her tears, and venture out of the dorm. She slammed the hall door shut with as much residual anger as she could muster—this was difficult because she was experiencing the start of emotional burnout and was beginning to struggle with feeling much of anything at all—and was confronted with a sterile silence as the slam echoed down the hallway. It felt final, it felt ominous.

Unwilling to dwell on it, Harrow marched down the stairs and to the door of the only other people she knew in the building. She took a moment to steady herself, to ensure that yes, talking to a third party about my problems is preferable to dropping out and living a life off the grid before knocking.

She must have looked terrible, because the instant Palamedes opened the door he said, “Oh shit, Harrow. Come inside, sit down. When’s the last time you ate?”

“I appreciate your concern but I am physically fine,” Harrow deflected as she made her way into Palamedes’ dorm and made herself comfortable on one of their chairs.

“You don’t look it,” Palamedes argued as he rummaged around his kitchen, presumably for something for Harrow to eat.

There was the sound of the door to Camilla’s room opening, and she was promptly scanned with solemn, searching eyes before Camilla turned to Palamedes and asked, “Why is Harrow about to pass out in our living room?”

“Dunno. She hasn’t said yet,” Palamedes shrugged before returning to Harrow with a bowl of carrots and a glass of water.

“I’m not about to pass out,” Harrow reiterated, “I am simply experiencing a bit of a predicament and need a second opinion.”

“You fought with Gideon,” Camilla stated, as if it were obvious. Harrow stared at her, attempting to decipher how she could possibly know that. Unless Gideon had already called them, had already explained her side of the story and painted Harrow to be the villain. A low blow, but after all Harrow had done to Gideon throughout the years she supposed she deserved it.

In an attempt to save face, Harrow sputtered, “Is that what she told you?”

“No. She just asked me to meet her at the gym,” Camilla shrugged, and Harrow realized belatedly the brunette was in fact wearing athletic clothing and carrying a gym bag, “There isn’t a workout on our program tonight, which means she needs a distraction. She was in a fine mood when she left the meeting today and she said she was going to talk to you about something. Now she’s upset and you’re here.”

Right. Camilla researched cold cases in her free time. “Yes, you’re right. I fought with Gideon.”

“Are you leaving now?” Palamedes asked Camilla, concern laced in his voice. Harrow felt an uncharacteristic pang of guilt about involving both Palamedes and Camilla in two separate sides of her and Gideon’s interpersonal drama.

Camilla nodded, “You stay with Harrow. We’ll swap notes later.”

“Deal,” Palamedes agreed, before turning to Harrow, “Harrow, are you okay?”

Harrow waited for the click of the door and listened to the sound of Camilla’s footsteps walking down the hallway before responding. She didn’t want anything she said tonight to get back to Gideon. “I feel a bit like I’ve been run over by a bus.”

“What happened? You and Gideon have been…” He paused to find the correct word. “Getting along this semester.”

Harrow took a deep breath, reminded herself that she didn’t give a shit what Palamedes Sextus thought of her, edited her story so it was half as embarrassing and a quarter as emotional, and steeled her resolve.

“I know that up to this point in our friendship I have maintained an image of… competency,” Harrow began. Palamedes’ eyebrows raised and for a moment he looked like he was going to say something, but decided against it. “So what I’m about to say may surprise you.”

“Try me,” Palamedes said as he leaned against the kitchen counter, no doubt in preparation for a long story.

Harrow took a deep breath. “I’m sure you’ve noticed Gideon’s uncharacteristic devotion to her academics this semester.”

Somehow Palamedes’ eyebrows made their way higher. He nodded, encouraging Harrow to continue.

“Nav and I made a deal. Each week she attended study group we would kiss.” Harrow kept her eyes glued on her feet. “Over the course of the semester, things progressed. I’ll spare you the details but we had a deal regarding her final test grade as well.”

“Harrow,” Palamedes said with an even voice, “Are you making a joke?”

It seemed to be a genuine question. There was a small smile on his face, a bit of amusement. Leave it to Palamedes to be entertained by her plight. “No. I’m being entirely serious.”

“So, just for the sake of clarity: You and Gideon are not dating.”

“No,” Harrow nodded, “We are not involved romantically.” That was factually correct, but it somehow felt like a lie when she said it.

“Okay. Instead of dating, you have been bribing Gideon to attend study group.” He took a steadying breath. “With… your body?”

Maybe it was a mistake coming here. Harrow really didn’t need others knowing about this. “That is unfortunately correct.”

“Shit. I owe Cam $20. She knew it was going to be something crazy,” Palamedes said under his breath, just loud enough for Harrow to hear. And then, to Harrow, “Why would you do that?”

Harrow groaned as she buried her face in her hands, “I wanted her to pass orgo 1 so we could take orgo 2 together and she could be my partner on the final project.”

“Hm,” Palamedes sounded unconvinced by this, but didn’t press the issue. “So what went wrong? Do you want to back out of it?”

“No. We already…” Harrow trailed off as her brain grasped for the right words. “The deal’s already been completed.” She could practically see Gideon’s offended scowl at her clinical phrasing.

She glanced up at Palamedes. He was cleaning his glasses, sparing Harrow the humiliation of eye contact. The corners of his mouth were twitching as he fought back a smile.

“Well then I suppose congratulations are in order. For both you and Gideon.” This was followed by an amused laugh.

“I need you to understand how incredibly embarrassing this is for me,” Harrow said, glaring at the man she called her friend before this conversation started.

Palamedes put his hands up in mock surrender. “Of course. I withdraw my congratulations. Please continue.”

“That’s it. We… celebrated Gideon’s good grades, we fought, and now I’m here.”

“Well that’s obviously not it, otherwise you wouldn’t be here telling me this story,” Palamedes pointed out, “What did you fight about?”

Harrow sighed and took a moment to collect her thoughts. Because while she understood the superficial elements of their argument, it was never that simple. “Gideon has maintained for quite some time now that we should talk about our deal and what it means for us. I have maintained for an equal amount of time that discussing it isn’t necessary.”

“So you want different things?” Palamedes asked. If only it were that simple.

Harrow nibbled on a baby carrot in a futile attempt to appear unaffected by the vulnerability she was showing. “I’m not sure. We haven’t actually discussed what we want.”

“Are you afraid that Gideon wants something different than you?” Palamedes guessed. It was becoming apparent to Harrow that they were just going to talk in circles unless she gave Palamedes more to work with.

“I don’t know what I want,” Harrow clarified with a shake of her head, “I can’t put it into words. I’ve tried and failed on multiple occasions.”

Palamedes seemed to understand that. He nodded and made an analytical hum under his breath, as if Harrow had just revealed a new set of data that needed to be compared to the existing dataset before anything could proceed.

“Okay,” Palamedes nodded, before locking his eyes on Harrow, “You’ve tried to express yourself. What have you said?”

“Tonight I told her she made me feel safe. In the past I have also told her that I am invested in working on our relationship, although I wasn’t ready to label anything.”

“And that’s it?” His voice was a flat, unimpressed voice that was typically reserved for classmates who didn’t cite their sources properly during class presentations.

As far as Harrow was concerned, that was indicative of a herculean attempt at emotional maturity on her end. “That’s it.”

Palamedes removed his glasses and ran a hand over his face, as if he could physically wipe the disappointment from his face. “Harrow, please tell me Gideon knows you have feelings for her.”

“Of course she knows,” Harrow scoffed. They had been far too vulnerable with each other, had said and left too many things unsaid for Gideon to not know about Harrow’s feelings. It was entirely possible Gideon knew before Harrow did.

“And you’ve confirmed with her that she knows?” Palamedes prompted, the raised eyebrow returning with a condescending edge.

“She should know! It should be obvious!” Harrow exclaimed, as she threw her hands in the air in frustration. She had been opening up, she had been letting Gideon into facets of her life that were previously reserved only for herself. Surely Gideon knew that. Surely she understood what that meant.

“She should know?” Palamedes echoed, incredulous, “You mean you haven’t told her?”

“I told her that I didn’t want a situationship and promised to be emotionally vulnerable with her,” Harrow said, “I don’t understand why I would need to use words to express my interest on top of that. It feels redundant.”

“Okay, there’s a lot of things wrong with that statement.” Palamedes crossed his arms and rested more of his weight on the countertop behind him. “You can’t just assume Gideon understands you’re interested because of some indirect signals she may or may not have picked up on. Using words is a key part of emotional vulnerability, you can’t just skip that step.”

“Emotional vulnerability doesn’t come naturally to me,” Harrow deflected, with a glare to the half eaten baby carrot in her hand. It was difficult to hear someone who wasn’t Gideon criticize her, and she didn’t care for it at all.

“There’s no need to get defensive. You came to me,” Palamedes said with the stern patience of a parent scolding their misbehaving child.

The hot and uncomfortably itchy, feeling of shameful defensiveness Harrow felt spreading in the area under her ribs reminded her why she was so against asking for advice in the first place. “I’m just saying if I wanted a lecture on my inability to talk to Gideon I would have gone to Gideon.”

“My advice is twofold. First, you should be nicer to your friends who are just looking out for you and have your best interest at heart.” This statement was made very pointedly, in a way that implied that Harrow wouldn’t be receiving the second piece of advice until she had demonstrated mastery of the first.

“I apologize. I’m under a lot of stress,” Harrow said, and shocked herself by actually (for the most part) meaning it. She met Palamedes’ stormy eyes for the first time in quite awhile in an attempt to communicate her goodwill.

“I understand but that doesn’t make it okay.” Palamedes gave her a soft smile, one that told her that she was forgiven. “But my main advice is this: for the love of God just tell her how you feel.”

Well that certainly wasn't the advice Harrow was hoping to receive when she came here. In fact, that was the opposite of the advice Harrow was currently looking for. Palamedes was supposed to tell her that she was doing everything right and Gideon was being unreasonable by pressuring her into talking about something so basal as emotions.

“I can’t. If I tell her how I feel and things go poorly, we will never be the same again,” Harrow said as she realized just how visually appealing the baby carrot she was holding truly was. It was hard to believe nature could create something so orange without the aid of artificial dyes, something so orange that even as the edges of her vision blurred with unshed tears she could still tell she was looking at a carrot. “If we stay like this we have plausible deniability. We can go back to how it was before.”

“Do you really think you could actually go back? I’ve seen the way you two look at each other, I can tell that things have changed for both of you,” Palamedes said quietly, gently. As if Harrow was a fragile piece of glass and breathing too aggressively in her direction could fracture her.

Harrow thought about it. She thought about eating breakfast and seeing Gideon across the counter, about wanting to touch her or compliment her but not being able to. She thought about Gideon moving on, about Gideon bringing another woman over, about seeing hickeys on Gideon’s neck and knowing that someone else had left them there.

She thought about Gideon never taking her to see the sunset again. They would never have impromptu movie nights turned makeout sessions, Gideon would stop touching her when they were in public. She may never eat Gideon’s cooking again. They wouldn’t hold hands and she would never see Gideon’s stupid, self-satisfied smile as she came up with yet another ridiculous nickname.

Harrow couldn’t do it. She couldn’t live like that, not knowing how good things could have been. She couldn’t spend her life looking at Gideon’s lips, knowing how they tasted but never tasting them again. She couldn’t sleep knowing that Gideon wasn’t sleeping next to her because Harrow was too afraid to try.

“We can’t go back,” Harrow said after a long pause. It was a terrifying thought, more terrifying than her love for Gideon, even more terrifying than that one time she was forced to do bicep curls for a physical elective requirement freshman year.

There were stakes here. They were in the final inning, Harrow was up to bat, and she had already struck out twice (Gideon had played softball for a season in high school and Harrow had attended all the games for the sole purpose of obsessively rooting against her and cursing the stupid uniforms their school had given them and the fact that Gideon’s pants were clearly a size too small). She had to stop fucking this up, had to start getting serious.

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Palamedes reasoned, his voice a calm contrast to Harrow’s panicked internal monologue, “You two have been dancing around each other for as long as I’ve known you. You’re drawn to each other, but you can’t quite seem to figure out how to exist together. I think you’ll both be a lot happier when you work it out.”

“But what if it’s different for both of us?” Harrow asked, “What if one of us is more invested than the other? What if one of us changes our mind?”

“I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but you won’t know until you ask,” Palamedes replied.

“And if I ask and the answer is bad?” Harrow asked, panic in her voice. The mere thought of not being able to give Gideon the relationship she needed, of Gideon not being able to give Harrow the relationship she wanted, made Harrow sick to her stomach. If they weren’t on the same page, they would have to live knowing the person they needed most couldn’t be there for them in a way that mattered.

Palamedes sighed. “Am I correct in saying Gideon is your best friend?”

“Unfortunately.”

“If she’s truly your best friend, she won’t leave you out of nowhere. Even if you both want different things she should be willing to work it out. Don’t you think she’s also terrified of losing you?”

Gideon had spent their formative years doing everything in her power to lose Harrow. She ran, she lied, she begged, she stole. There was a time where one of the only constants in Harrow’s life was her hatred for Gideon and Gideon’s hatred for her.

And yet, Harrow remembered the way Gideon blinked too quickly during their argument, the way her words reflected insecurities Harrow herself was all too familiar with. She remembered Gideon’s plea to hear what Harrow was thinking, her insistence that she was scared too.

“Fuck. She’s been freaking out this whole semester too and I’ve been telling her how little I care,” Harrow realized. That’s why they fought, why Gideon needed to talk, and why she was so hurt. Harrow had been fucking Gideon like they were together while simultaneously telling her she didn’t even value her enough to hold a conversation.

Whatever was happening on her face must have concerned Palamedes, because he shook his head and said, “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“No, I mean that she’s been telling me how much she cares this whole time and I’ve been ignoring it. I’ve been actively telling her not to care about me, actually.” It all made so much sense. The way Gideon was patent with her, the way she always asked for more and did whatever Harrow asked, and the way she looked crushed whenever Harrow told her they didn’t need to talk. “Shit. I would have murdered her if she tried to do that to me.”

“I’m not quite sure I follow,” Palamedes said, rudely interrupting Harrow’s epiphany.

“The specifics don’t matter, Sextus. But Gideon has been pursuing me for quite some time now, and I have been using her for physical comfort.” Harrow shot up, motivated to spring into action and fix things. How she was planning on fixing it she wasn't quite sure, but she was smart enough. She’d figure it out.

“Harrow, wait,” Palamedes pushed himself off the kitchen counter and followed Harrow on her path to the doorway, “What are you planning on doing?”

“I don’t know,” Harrow admitted, “But I’m going to talk to her. And I’m going to apologize.”

Palamedes nodded, “If what you’re saying is true, you’ve been a callous asshole for quite some time now. If you want to fix this, you’re going to have to do more than apologize. You’ll have to prove to Gideon that you’re going to fight for her.”

“I will,” Harrow promised, with a nod and a confident hand on the doorknob to the outside world, “I’ll make it up to her, Sextus. I have to.”

“Good luck, Harrow,” Palamedes said, before leaning down and crushing her in a hug. It was short, more of a comforting squeeze than anything else, but it still caught her off guard. And yet, somehow, it grounded her. If Palamedes could hug her casually, show his affection for another in such an easy way, maybe she could do the same with Gideon.

So when Palamedes released her from the hug, Harrow gave him a curt nod before launching herself back into the hallways of the dorm. She power walked back up the stairwell, scheming and drafting an apology that was just the first step in her master plan for fixing this mess.

Because she needed to fight for Gideon, and Harrow never backed down from a fight.

---

Unfortunately for Harrow, the adrenaline that pushed her out of Palamedes’ dorm and down the hallway died out before she reached the door of their dorm. She was just tired again, scared and intimidated by the fact that fight for her wasn’t actually an actionable plan or an appropriate apology for Gideon.

But at least she knew what she did wrong. At least she knew how to stop that from happening again.

She was much quieter on her reentry than she was on her exit in the hopes that she wouldn’t have to deal with Gideon again tonight. With any luck, the redhead would be giving her the silent treatment for long enough for Harrow to brainstorm how to fix years worth of hurt in one conversation. And she wouldn’t say no to some sleep, either, if the way her eyes struggled to stay open and her feet dragged was any indication.

But she had never quite managed to get the trick to closing their front door silently—according to Gideon you had to somehow simultaneously push one part of the door while pulling the other and it was all too much of an ordeal for Harrow to bother learning it—so her entrance was announced with a proud click.

Harrow paused, but there was no response. Perhaps Gideon was still at the gym or she had already fallen asleep. Whatever the reason for the silence, Harrow decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth and began her silent skulk to her bedroom.

“Harrow?” Gideon’s voice came from her room, and Harrow’s seemingly eternal torment continued. Harrow froze in the hallway, a teasing ten footsteps from the safety of her bedroom door. She tensed as the door opened, revealing Gideon in a compression tank top and soft athletic shorts. Her hair was damp from what Harrow presumed was a recent shower, her eyes were bloodshot, and the hickeys Harrow had left along her neck had darkened slightly.

“You look like shit.” Harrow regretted it the moment she said it. That was truly uncalled for.

“You should see the other girl.” Gideon leaned against the doorframe and gave her a guarded smile. “Have you been crying, ice queen?”

Harrow took a deep breath, held it, and let it go. “I don’t want to—”

“—Talk about it, I know. You were pretty clear about that.” Gideon's features hardened. Her smile was gone.

“I don’t want to make things worse by talking about it tonight. I’m tired and Palamedes called me a callous asshole.”

Gideon laughed under her breath. “You deserved that.”

“Yes, well, deserved or not I didn’t care for it,” Harrow said, “But more to my point. I can’t do this tonight. I have felt more emotions today than I have in the past year.”

“Being tired isn’t going to get you out of talking about this. You literally fled my room to avoid talking about us.” Gideon crossed her arms. “Like it or not, we got into this mess together and we’re going to have to get out of it together.”

“We will,” Harrow promised, testing the feel of such a confident statement—one that implied effort and commitment and unity—in her mouth, “Tomorrow.”

And then Harrow truly proved that she had overexerted her capacity for emotion and had started going insane by stepping closer to Gideon and wrapping her arms feebly around the other woman, face buried in her chest.

There was a pause, presumably for Gideon’s brain to catch up to the reality that Harrow was in fact actually hugging her in this moment. Harrow braced herself for Gideon to push her off, to yell at her and tell her she didn’t deserve to be comforted in this way, not after all she had done. She realized that her arms were shaking slightly, her hands balled into fists in the fabric that rested above Gideon’s shoulder blades.

And then Gideon hugged her back, strong arms wrapped around her in an embrace that felt like waking up with the sunrise on a lazy day, and Harrow felt like a kid again. She was ten, discovering that her parents would rather kill themselves than live with her, she was eight, realizing that she couldn’t discuss her fears or doubts with anyone in their church because they all viewed a child as their superior, as their golden ticket to a better life. She was six, walking in on Gideon packing her suitcase in what would be the first of many attempts to leave her. She was 21, but she was just as small and helpless and alone as she had been since she was a child.

“I’m sorry,” Harrow said, voice muffled against Gideon’s shirt. She was proud that she wasn’t crying, although she was fairly certain that was because her body was incapable of producing more tears than it already had.

“Thank you,” Gideon said, and Harrow could feel the vibrations of her voice in her chest. “I’m still pissed at you though.”

“I understand.”

They stayed there for some time, Harrow basking in the warmth of Gideon’s arms and the relief of not having to meet her eyes. They stayed there so long it almost felt awkward when Harrow dropped her arms and stepped back.

“Goodnight,” Harrow whispered as she took a step backwards. Her eyes were fixed on the empty floor in front of her, unable to handle the turmoil of looking at any part of Gideon.

There was a pause where Harrow thought Gideon might say something emotional, but instead she said, “Get some sleep, my exhausted empress.”

Harrow might have smiled at that. She wasn’t entirely sure, and she was far past the point of trying to control her facial expressions around Gideon. All she knew was that she turned around and took a begrudging step to her door. It felt like her feet were made of lead, like she was walking in molasses. Just fifteen more steps and she would be back in the known emptiness of solitude, in the comfort of the uneventful and predictable.

But Harrow felt so alone. She had been alone her entire life, forced into a life of independence that left her unable to connect with those around her. She was tired. Life was so overwhelming, so intimidating and long and she no longer wanted to bear the weight of it on her own.

So she took a deep breath, turned back around, and blurted with the eloquence of an infant: “CanIsleepinyourbed?”

“What?” Gideon blinked at her, still in her spot in the doorway. Her face was so horribly neutral, as if she were indifferent to what Harrow just said.

“Nevermind,” Harrow turned her back to Gideon and restarted the trek to her own room. At least she tried.

“No, say it again.” Gideon’s voice came from behind Harrow.

Harrow shook her head, in desperate need of crawling under her duvet and hibernating for at least 24 hours. “It’s fine, just forget it.”

“Say it again or I’m crashing on Cam’s floor.” This caused Harrow to pause and turn around. Gideon smirked at her, as if proud that got a reaction. “That’s not a bluff by the way. She has a sleeping bag and a yoga mat and she offered.”

“Fine. Can I sleep in your bed?”

“Why?” The question wasn’t unkind, but it also wasn’t gentle. It was prodding, as if there was a right and wrong answer and while Gideon was hoping Harrow would answer correctly, she was prepared to shoot her down should she fail.

“I said we should forget it. I’ll just—”

“Why?” Gideon asked with more force.

“Seriously?” Harrow asked, exasperated, “You’re going to make me say it?”

Gideon smiled. “Oh yeah. I wanna hear you say it.”

“Because you’re…” There were so many words that would fit: you’re my best friend, you’re the first person I’ve ever felt safe around, you’re my person. Harrow couldn’t go wrong here. “…warm.” Well shit.

“You want to share a bed with me because I’m warm,” Gideon repeated flatly.

What a horrible word choice on Harrow’s part. But now she had to double down on it. “Yes. You’re like a human furnace. It makes sleeping beside you a very pleasant experience.”

There was a silence as Gideon regarded her like she was a bug under a microscope. Harrow couldn’t take the crushing silence.

“And we didn’t really get a chance to cuddle after. I want to feel close to you,” She added quietly. Her throat tensed in anticipation of more tears. Gideon was going to say no, because of course she would. Why would she show Harrow compassion after what Harrow did? If the roles were reversed Harrow certainly would have left Gideon high and dry.

And then Gideon would go to bed, leaving Harrow alone. Alone and vulnerable, because she just asked Gideon to show her kindness. Now Gideon knew Harrow wanted to cuddle and could use it against her.

“Alright,” Gideon said, snapping Harrow out of her downward spiral.

Harrow rolled her eyes. “Don’t lie to me, Nav.”

“I’m not.” Gideon shrugged. “If it really means that much to you, you can sleep here.”

“Like I said, you’re warm. That’s all,” Harrow said primly as she crossed her arms. She hoped that her lie was so blatant it would signal to Gideon to read between the lines, that Gideon would know what she was trying to say even if she didn’t have the strength yet to say it.

“Right.” Fortunately, Gideon sounded unconvinced. “Well, I would be kicking myself if I passed up the opportunity to get a cute girl in my bed. Even if there’s a chance she just wants to wait until I’m asleep to cast a nasty bone curse on me.”

“No bone curse,” Harrow promised.

“Then welcome to the coolest room in the apartment. I believe you know your way around already,” Gideon said, with a dramatic flourish of her arm as if she was presenting Harrow with a penthouse apartment and not a shitty dorm room.

It was actually cleaner than when Harrow was here earlier, she noticed as she stepped inside. The magazines that she had noticed were strewn about Gideon’s floor when she was in here last (and then promptly forgot about because other, more important events were occurring) were neatly stacked on Gideon’s desk. Her clothes were collected in her laundry bin, and even her bed looked made.

“Well, I’m off to bed. Today was a fucking rollercoaster,” Gideon said, before dramatically flinging herself onto the bed and burying herself under the covers. And then she rolled over, leaving an empty space for Harrow. “You coming? Or are you just gonna stand there and glower at me until you collapse?”

“I still have to…” Harrow trailed off and motioned in the direction of their bathroom lamely.

“I gotchu,” Gideon nodded, “You do what you gotta do. Don’t worry about waking me up when you come back, I sleep like a rock.”

Unsurprising. Harrow nodded before scurrying off to the bathroom in record time. She splashed water on her face, brushed her teeth, and debated showering but decided against it because if she stood for any longer she was fairly certain she would pass out from dehydration or malnutrition or exhaustion or stress or some secret fifth bodily limit that she hadn’t yet discovered.

When she returned to Gideon’s bedroom, it was dark, so she used her phone light to navigate. Gideon was lying flat on her back, breaths deep and slow with sleep as Harrow shuffled to the bed. It was then she realized that she was wearing jeans and a rather stuffy t-shirt and there was no way she was sleeping in either of those articles of clothing.

She paused and looked at Gideon’s door in consideration. She should go back to her room and change into her own pajamas, like any sane and normal person would do. It was literally less than a minute’s walk; the whole ordeal would likely take her three minutes maximum.

But Gideon’s dresser was right there and her clothes were honestly much more comfortable than anything Harrow owned and three minutes spent not in bed with Gideon would feel like an eternity. So Harrow walked over to Gideon’s dresser, took a deep breath, hoped that she didn’t accidentally open Gideon’s sex drawer, and pulled one of the drawers.

Oh thank God, Harrow thought as she saw a selection of t-shirts in a gradient of folded and neatly organized on one side to chaotically thrown in a tangled heap on the other side. Harrow grabbed one at random, threw it over her shoulders, marveled at how it smelled just a little bit like Gideon , and finally made her way to Gideon’s bed.

As promised, Gideon didn’t stir as Harrow shifted around, trying to make herself comfortable. She started respectfully on her side of the bed, all her appendages pulled against her body to ensure no accidental touching in the night.

She stayed like that for two entire minutes before she stopped lying to herself.

Harrow rolled onto her side and scooted her body until it was pressed gently against Gideon’s, her nose almost touching Gideon’s ear on their shared pillow. Gideon shifted slightly then, and Harrow felt her heart lurch in anticipation of Gideon waking up. But instead, Gideon’s body relaxed slightly before throwing her arm loosely over Harrow’s shoulders and stilling again.

Harrow took a moment to take Gideon in. Her strong features, the softness of her hair, the slight parting of her lips. This was her person, the person who she knew better than anyone else and who knew her better than she had ever allowed anyone else to know her.

She was glad it was Gideon.

She could feel the tension building in her chest as she looked at Gideon. She could feel the fear, the anticipation of having to say those things that were so difficult for her to say. Part of her wanted to say something scary now, to practice being vulnerable while looking at Gideon, while being confronted with what she could lose if she did it wrong.

“Please don’t leave me,” Harrow pleaded with Gideon’s sleeping form, voice barely above a whisper and high pitched with fear.

Gideon, on account of being asleep, didn’t respond. Harrow took a deep breath in, held it, and exhaled, attempting to let the tension in her body leave with the air in her lungs. It partially worked, as she leaned forward to nuzzle at Gideon’s neck and tried to let the comfort of being with Gideon usher her into sleep.

And, just as she was crossing the threshold from awake to asleep, she could have sworn she heard Gideon mumble, “Never, love.”

Chapter Text

Harrow awoke to the feeling of a warm body pressed against her back and a strong arm wrapped around her. At some point in the night, Harrow’s shirt (or, more accurately, Gideon’s shirt that Harrow stole) had ridden up a bit, so Gideon’s hand was touching the skin of her stomach directly. Harrow shifted slightly, testing whether or not she could leave without waking Gideon, and Gideon’s arm tightened around her in response.

She didn’t deserve this. The arm around her midsection was laying across her very gently, and yet it felt like it was crushing her. Like when something was so sweet it hurt your teeth. A part of Harrow wanted to throw Gideon’s hand off of her, to shove Gideon to one side of the bed and cower on the other side with a pillow wedged between them for added protection.

But she didn’t want to wake Gideon, and a masochistic part of her wanted to wallow in this moment for as long as the universe would let her. The chances of her waking up like this again were very slim. Maybe if she just laid here, she could commit the feeling of being with Gideon to memory so well that she could call on it when Gideon was gone.

The thought of how alone she would be if Gideon left her threatened to bring tears to her eyes. Harrow’s shoulders shook slightly as her throat worked to force down a sob. The action was almost painful. Her throat was tired after a restless night of doing the exact same thing.

“Hey,” Gideon’s voice came from behind her. It was deep and barely louder than a mumble, a dead giveaway that Gideon had just woken up. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Harrow gritted out in possibly the least fine tone she had ever used. Her voice was hoarse and weak and broke ever so slightly at the end of her sentence.

Gideon made a low humming noise before scooting closer to Harrow, pressing the lengths of their bodies together tightly. Harrow’s body was caught between wanting to relax into the other woman’s warmth and wanting to throw her off and leave before Gideon was awake enough to tell her to do it herself. It settled on freezing, muscles tense and ready for a fight.

“It’s going to be okay,” Gideon reassured her, and Harrow could feel her lips brushing against the back of her neck. “You’re here. I’m here. We’re going to talk about it.”

It wasn’t reassuring. “Don’t pretend like things are okay when they aren’t.”

“Okay, I know this it’s probably like hardwired into your DNA or something, but can you cool it with the dramatics?” Gideon’s body was tenser now, too. “The sooner you stop being so melodramatic about everything the sooner we can actually talk to each other.”

“I’m not being dramatic. I’m being realistic.” Harrow buried her face in Gideon’s pillow (a decision she regretted immediately because it smelled like Gideon and made her desire to cry worse), so the response came out muffled.

“Oh, my mistake,” Gideon said dryly, “I forgot that effective communication was like a stake to your gloomy little heart. No wonder you avoid it like the plague.”

“You’re not funny.” Harrow told the pillow.

“Well now you’re just straight-up lying,” Gideon said, before rolling over and sitting up.

“I am not.” Harrow rolled onto her back and watched as Gideon lifted her arms up over her head and arched her back slightly in a stretch. The movement caused the muscles of her stomach to flex slightly, a sight Harrow could enjoy thanks to Gideon’s tank top barely covering more than a bra.

Gideon paused in her stretch and eyed Harrow curiously. “Enjoying the view, Nonagesimus?”

“In your dreams, Nav,” Harrow scoffed, wrinkling her nose in an approximation of disgust.

“Okay, well I’m going to make breakfast. You hungry?” Gideon asked as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up.

“No.” If Harrow ate something, the impending doom she was currently experiencing would probably force her to throw it back up.

“That, my surly sovereign, was a trick question. Unless you stormed out on me to enjoy a multi-course, candlelit dinner with Palamedes last night, I know you haven’t had a meal since lunch yesterday,” Gideon said as she sauntered over to the door of her bedroom. Harrow felt a pang of guilt deep in her stomach at the mention of last night.

She should apologize to Gideon, but instead she said, “Not all of us have the metabolism of a weightlifting hummingbird.”

“Breakfast is mandatory,” Gideon called over her shoulder as she left the room.

“You can’t mandate that,” Harrow yelled into the hallway.

“Fucking watch me.” Came Gideon’s voice, presumably from the kitchen.

Defenseless against such an eloquent and thoughtful argument, Harrow was forced to admit defeat. “If you make bacon I’m not eating it.”

“I know, you hate the grease. Don't worry your pointy little head, I know what you like.”

God, it was all too soft. They had had a knockout fight yesterday; they had played with the future of their relationship as if it were a toy and accidentally dropped it. It was fixable, it should be fixable (it had to be fixable) but it was going to take time. And here Gideon was, cooking her breakfast, as if they were a happy, domestic couple (Harrow somehow felt both nausea and relief at the thought of them as a couple) who weren’t one step away from leaving each other.

Also, Harrow’s head was not pointy, but she digressed.

She made her way to the kitchen, if only because she wanted to glare at Gideon for her frankly offensive attempt at making Harrow feel normal. Or maybe Gideon was trying to make herself feel normal. Maybe she, too, was granting herself a moment of reprieve, of domesticity, before their inevitable conversation.

There Gideon was, making what smelled suspiciously like an omelet on the stove, back to Harrow like a trusting fool. Harrow stood at the counter for a moment, waiting to see how long it would take for Gideon to notice her presence. Gideon turned around almost immediately.

“Should be ready in a few minutes. Smells good, right?” Gideon smirked at her, before her eyes dropped to Harrow’s chest. Harrow was about to chew Gideon out for checking her out now of all times, but then Gideon said, “Wait, is that my shirt?”

The shirt in question came down to just above Harrow’s knee and had a neck so wide one of her shoulders was completely exposed. “No.”

“So then you stand by what it says?” Gideon asked with faux innocence that was ruined by her grin.

Harrow looked down at the shirt, which proclaimed her the winner of the 69th annual pussy eating contest. Her jaw dropped.

Spurred on by Harrow’s shock, Gideon continued, “I mean, I’m certainly not arguing, especially not after yest—”

“—Nav! Why the fuck do you own this?” Harrow squawked, mentally kicking herself for not checking the design of the shirt before putting it on. In her defense, she had never once seen Gideon wearing this shirt so she had no idea this was a possibility she would have to defend herself against.

“I got it at a white elephant,” Gideon shrugged, “You can keep it if you want.”

“I will do no such thing.” Harrow said primly, wrinkling her nose at the very thought of such a garment plaguing her drawers. What if one day she were to reach for it, accidentally feel the surprisingly soft fabric that once belonged to Gideon? What if the smell of Gideon’s detergent lingered, even after she washed it? What if every time she wore it Gideon cracked a joke about its design? Disgusting. Horrifying. She banished the thought.

Gideon smiled as if she knew something Harrow didn’t. “Sure you won’t.”

“Whatever.” Harrow huffed, arms crossed as if her slight wrists could cover the offending pattern. “Is breakfast ready yet or not?”

“I thought you didn’t want to eat breakfast?”

“I’ve changed my mind.” Harrow decided, as the smell of hot food reminded her body that the last time it ate anything substantial was almost 24 hours ago at this point. “Chop chop, Griddle.”

“Of course, my vampiric liege,” Gideon said with a mocking bow before turning back to the pan on the stovetop. There was some rustling as Gideon poked at the omelet with her spatula and possibly did other cooking techniques Harrow had no familiarity with—she once set grilled cheese on fire and was therefore banned from the kitchen—before Gideon turned around with two plates in hand.

“One omelet, bland as I could possibly make it,” Gideon said as she walked past Harrow to sit at their dining table. She shoved a plate in Harrow’s hands on her way.

Harrow looked down at the omelet, which admittedly looked unoffensive, before joining Gideon at the table. There was an awkward pause as Harrow looked at Gideon, remembered why she was nervous in the first place, and felt nausea returning to her stomach. Gideon, either blissfully unaware of Harrow’s struggle or aware of it and attempting to make it worse, took a bite of her breakfast and made a soft moan of contentment.

“It’s really good,” Gideon said through her mouthful of egg, “Eat some.”

Harrow ate some. It was one of the best breakfasts she’d ever had—likely due to her accidental fast the day before, and not Gideon’s cooking skills.

Gideon seemed content to eat in silence, so Harrow followed suit. Her own mental state was swinging wildly between wanting to blurt out her deepest darkest secrets and wanting to lock herself in their bathroom and never see the light of day again. She decided that staying silent was better than either of those options—at least for now—and dropped her eyes to her food to avoid having to look at Gideon directly.

But an omelet only takes so long to eat, even if Harrow was taking the smallest bites she could manage in the name of procrastination. So she looked up, and was greeted with Gideon’s eyes on her, studying her as if trying to read her mind.

They stared at each other for a moment, and the longer Harrow stared the more she saw the anxiety in Gideon’s features. Gideon looked apprehensive. Her mouth was set in a tense line and her eyes couldn’t seem to decide if they wanted to look at Harrow or at the wall behind her. There was a tension pinching at the bridge of her nose that Harrow wanted to soothe with a kiss.

Instead, she decided to put them both out of their miseries by taking the first step. “I’m ready to talk.”

“Okay,” Gideon nodded, before sitting back in her chair and waiting.

There was an awful silence as Harrow realized that being willing to talk to Gideon and being able to talk to Gideon were two very different things. Finally, she glared at Gideon and huffed, “I want to talk! Ask me questions!”

Gideon crossed her arms. “You don’t have, like, a big speech prepared? No boom box? Do you need us to go stand out in the rain?”

“This isn’t a romantic comedy, Griddle. There’s nothing comedic about this.” This was a very serious, very normal scenario where two childhood not-friends-not-lovers-not-rivals accidentally started a sexual favor deal so one of them would pass a college course. It happens all the time in very serious, academically inclined social circles.

“But there is something romantic about it?” Gideon raised an eyebrow, and Harrow couldn’t tell if she was mocking her or genuinely asking her.

“I don’t know, is there?” Harrow shot back.

“You told me to ask questions! What’s the point if you don’t answer them?” Gideon threw her hands out in front of her in exasperation. She looked about ready to pull her hair out.

“That was a stupid question and therefore I refuse to answer it,” Harrow declared, “Ask me what you wanted to ask me yesterday.”

Gideon rolled her eyes and tapped her chin with her index finger in a show of intense thought. “Okay, let me think. Here’s a few: What the fuck? How is it physically possible for someone as tiny as you could to be such a colossal ass? Do you get off on stringing me along like a kicked puppy?”

“That’s not what I meant. Don’t pretend to be denser than you already are, it’s a bad look,” Harrow deflected, falling back on her default arguing posture of examining her pristine fingernails.

“You are literally the most annoying person I’ve ever spoken to and I have to talk to Tern on a regular basis,” Gideon accused. Fuck, they were bad at this. “Have you ever held a conversation in your life?”

Harrow rolled her eyes before glaring at the redhead pointedly. “I’m trying to have one right now, but my conversation partner won’t stop insulting me!”

“You started it! You called my questions stupid!” Gideon wasn’t yelling, but there certainly was a strength behind her words.

“They were stupid, Griddle!” Harrow returned, voice shrill and high.

“Okay. Timeout,” Gideon said, before rising from her seat and walking over to Harrow. She extended a hand and Harrow, curious, took it. Much to her surprise, Gideon grabbed her forearm before pulling, forcing Harrow to stand.

“The dining room clearly has bad vibes,” Gideon explained, as she led Harrow to her bedroom, “And I happen to know a palace with immaculate vibes.”

Gideon dropped Harrow’s arm as she opened the door. She then made her way over to the bed, before sitting on the edge, so her feet were on the ground. She patted the spot beside her in clear invitation. There was a smile on her face but it didn’t quite reach her eyes, and her shoulders were tenser than usual.

Harrow sat in the space next to Gideon and surprised them both by grabbing her hand.

“I didn’t mean to escalate things,” Harrow sighed, “I just… I’m sorry. I’m scared I’m going to do this wrong.”

“Do what wrong?” Gideon asked, eyebrows wrinkled in confusion.

“This! The whole thing,” Harrow took a deep breath and squeezed Gideon’s hand, “I have to apologize, but if I do so poorly you won’t accept it and we’ll make no progress. If I ask for what I want and it's wrong, we could lose what we have now.”

“Harrow, do you really think I’d throw this away just because you phrased an apology badly?” Gideon’s voice sounded a bit hurt, a bit resigned, a bit sad. “If being shit at apologies was a deal breaker I would have peaced out years ago, trust me.”

A fair point. Harrow closed her eyes and took a deep breath, focusing on the warmth of Gideon’s hand in hers. Gideon was here. Gideon knew she struggled with this; she would give Harrow the benefit of the doubt as long as she could tell Harrow was trying. She trusted Gideon, and that meant she had to trust that Gideon would be kind.

“I don’t know where to begin,” Harrow finally said, voice weak, eyes now staring at the tapestry on the wall in front of her.

“Okay. We can fix that.” Gideon’s voice sounded more confident now, which in turn helped Harrow calm the cacophony of thoughts in her mind. “What if I started?”

Harrow hadn’t thought of that. Maybe meeting Gideon halfway would be easier than trying to jump the abyss of her emotions on her own. She nodded, encouraging Gideon to continue.

“Alright, here it goes,” Gideon said, before taking a deep breath and beginning, “I’m sorry I said you had no tits yesterday. It was a lie. You do have tits. Very nice tits, in fact.”

“Must you use my chest in your attempt to begin a heart to heart?” Harrow lamented to the ceiling.

“I’m afraid I must.” Gideon nodded grimly. “I could tell it hurt you. And even if you didn’t have any tits—which, again, stating for the record that you do have tits and I would very much like to see them again because hot damn—it still wasn’t very cash money of me to bring it up during an argument.” Gideon continued, rambling nervously, “Especially because I knew you were insecure about it.”

It was a bit embarrassing just how much that simple (and rather crass) apology calmed Harrow. She could breathe easier, could sit up straighter. Gideon hadn’t meant it. Gideon found her attractive, at least in some capacity.

“In the interest of forward progress I will ignore the use of the term ‘cash money’ in your apology.” (“Fair enough,” Gideon said under her breath.) “Thank you. It is always difficult to hear criticisms of your body from a sexual partner. It’s comforting to know you were exaggerating,” Harrow said, trying to meet Gideon’s eyes but having to settle for her forehead instead.

“I wasn’t exaggerating. I was lying to make you upset, which I am also sorry for,” Gideon said, as she rubbed the back of Harrow’s hand with her thumb. Harrow realized belatedly that she had at some point in the last few minutes started crushing Gideon’s hand with as much force as her feeble grip strength would allow her. She eased off.

The part of Harrow that lived in a locked cage in the depths of her chest wanted to cry. She blinked her eyes hard and kept it together; it would be humiliating if Gideon discovered that something as inconsequential as Gideon’s opinion on Harrow’s chest held enough weight in Harrow’s psyche to reduce her to tears.

Instead, Harrow closed her eyes yet again and took another deep breath, under the delusion that this time it would make this conversation more bearable. “I appreciate it. We both said things we didn’t mean last night. I am willing to overlook it if you are.”

“Sounds Gucci, my lamentable lady,” Gideon confirmed.

“Eloquent as always,” Harrow sighed, “Unfortunately, I don’t think your plan worked. I’m still at a loss for what to say.”

“Okay, no worries,” Gideon—who apparently had the patience of a saint—shrugged, “How about you just word vomit at me.”

Harrow opened her eyes to look at Gideon, brow furrowed in confusion. “Excuse me?”

“You’re never heard of word vomit?” Harrow stared at Gideon blankly, which Gideon took as a sign to continue. “It’s what they tell you to do in school when you’re starting a paper but don’t know what to say. You just write whatever pops into your head and you don’t care if it's bad or not, your only goal is to put words on the paper.”

“I always know what to say when writing a paper,” Harrow said, because she was quite frankly at a loss for words.

Gideon rolled her eyes. “Yeah, okay, my eloquent empress. That’s literally not the point of word vomit, though.”

“Then what, pray tell, is the point?” Harrow asked, before adding sarcastically, “I’m on the edge of my seat, Griddle.”

“The point is you write a bunch of stuff and yeah a bunch of it is gonna be shit, but that doesn’t matter ‘cause the next step is editing. You wade through the shit and you delete most of it but you keep the good stuff. And then you use that to write your paper.” Gideon looked at Harrow proudly, clearly convinced she had just solved their problem. Harrow privately noted that this strategy explained a lot of Gideon’s more questionable jokes.

“So you want me to just…?” Harrow trailed off, before making a vague gesture with her hand to indicate random, directionless rambling.

“Just say words at me,” Gideon nodded, “And then we’ll wade through the chaos together.”

Harrow thought about it. She tried, she really did, but her chronically overactive mind had chosen this exact moment to become conveniently and entirely blank. “I really don’t know where to begin.”

“Just whatever pops into your mind first.” Gideon shrugged, clearly unperturbed by this obstacle.

“My mind is very disorganized at the moment.”

“Skill issue.”

“Griddle!”

“You are doing a lot of protesting and not a lot of word vomiting.” Gideon punched Harrow’s arm teasingly. “’Cmon, my petulant princess, spill.”

Harrow gave Gideon a substantial amount of leeway with the nicknames, but she had to draw the line somewhere. “Don’t call me princess.”

“You can stop me by sharing your deep dark secrets,” Gideon said, a teasing lilt to her voice.

Harrow sighed and rubbed her temple with her free hand. “I’m working up to it.”

“Well work up to it faster, sugarlips.” Gideon wiggled her eyebrows horribly.

Harrow groaned in frustration. “Just give me a moment to think.”

“No. Stop thinking Harrow, just say it.”

“Just say what?”

“You’re so bottled up it’s insane. You’re like a bottle of coke that got dropped out of an airplane,” Gideon said, more to herself. And then, to Harrow, “Don’t you just want to go ape shit?”

“I’m trying,” Harrow replied with the primness of someone who clearly was not trying to go ape shit.

“Try harder,” Gideon shot back immediately, with that horrible shit-eating grin she always wore when she was trying to get a rise out of Harrow.

Harrow made a very undignified noise in response. Whatever brain power she had been using to try to think of what she wanted to say had been diverted to stopping Gideon from being so fucking annoying.

“I’m so fucking serious Harrow just say it. Rip the fucking bandaid off! I know you want to,” Gideon urged, a gleam in her eye, “Give it to me. Hit me with your best shot.”

Harrow would really do anything to stop Gideon from pestering her. She wanted to yell at her for being so annoying, to explain to her exactly why this was all so difficult for her in the first place. And then it clicked. She could do exactly that. In fact, it was what Gideon wanted her to do. So she let go, she abandoned the filters she forced her thoughts to squeeze through on their way to becoming words. Her mouth started moving, saying words that she had been thinking for years but that she had never dared give a voice to.

“What do you want me to say, Griddle?” Harrow exclaimed incredulously, “That we’ve known each other for twenty one years and for eighteen of them you have tried to escape me with a single minded devotion that impressed even me? That I was convinced the second you walked on this campus you would drop me for the nearest warm body and never look back? That you didn’t, and that I have absolutely no idea why you stopped inches before you reached your goal? That every day I wait for you to get your head out of your ass and finish what you started?”

Gideon looked at her dumbly, as if she wasn’t actually expecting her plan to work. But they were in it now, they had started, and Harrow wasn’t stopping.

“I’m miserable, Griddle, and I take it out on you, and yet you keep coming back, keep letting me make it worse. I have spent the better part of the last two months toying with you, seeing how far you’d let me go, how far you’d let me push before you broke and cut me off. I called you a swine once, after you kissed me. I refused to talk to you when you clearly wanted to talk and you cooked me dinner. I yelled at you after sex and stormed out and yet you held me through the night. What am I supposed to make of that? How is that supposed to make me feel?”

Gideon opened her mouth to say something, but Harrow continued on, determined to get the words out now that they were finally coming.

“Sometimes when I see you smile it physically pains me. I can’t decide if I admire you for smiling despite everything or hate you for being stronger than I will ever be. I want to punch you and break you and make you bleed and suffer. I want to knock you down a peg, bring you to your knees and force you to understand that I’m the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. I want to ruin this so bad you’ll never forgive me, no matter how much distance and time separates us.”

Harrow took an uneven breath. Her hands were shaking, trembling. “But I want to kiss you, I want to run my hands through your hair and caress your cheeks. I want to make you feel good, bring you pleasure and comfort and be the partner you deserve. I want to be soft with you, make myself vulnerable and let you understand me. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, you’re the best thing that will ever happen to me, but I am the worst thing to ever happen to you. I have to let you go because I’m hurting you but I can’t let you go because it’s hurting me so much.”

There was a shocked silence, before Gideon began, “Harrow…”

But Harrow put her hand up, signaling Gideon to stop. She took a deep breath, and continued, her voice more controlled, almost methodical: “When we were younger I would steal your magazines sometimes. I would go through the pages, trying to find someone that looked like me. I never did. Every girl you go for is tall and soft and curvy and smiles like a superstar and laughs at everything you say. Yet you once said I was the hottest thing you’d ever seen. You touch me like you want me, you make me believe that you want me, and yet you’ve never wanted anyone even remotely like me. Twenty one years and you never made a move on me, but the second I became available to you you begged me for more. But only because I was part of your stupid New Year’s resolution, because I was a name on a list you had to cross off. How is that supposed to make me feel, Gideon?”

“I… I don’t know, Harrow. Holy shit.” Gideon stared at her, eyes wide, mouth hanging open stupidly as if she were a filter-feeding fish.

“Good,” Harrow dropped Gideon’s hand, stood up, and she swayed slightly before righting herself. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to vomit.”

And with that, Harrow sprinted into the bathroom and knelt in front of the toilet just in time to empty the contents of her stomach into the white porcelain bowl. It was like all the pride she had swallowed while giving her speech was coming back up with a vengeance.

She distantly heard the sound of heavy footsteps running after her, and then Gideon burst into the bathroom, saying, “Harrow? Oh my god, are you okay?”

Harrow ignored her in favor of gagging on bile, wincing as the acid of her stomach burned her sinuses. She could see Gideon’s silhouette in her peripheral vision, and vaguely registered the other woman kneeling beside her. She closed her eyes and waited for the next onslaught of vomit.

“You know, word vomit traditionally doesn’t involve actual vomiting,” Gideon said as she brought a hand to Harrow’s back. Harrow could feel Gideon’s body heat through the thin fabric of her (Gideon’s) shirt. Gideon moved her hand up and down rhythmically, and Harrow took a moment to ground herself and time her breath with the motion.

“I’ve always been an overachiever,” Harrow croaked into the toilet bowl, unwilling to lift her head until she knew the contents of her stomach were completely emptied.

Gideon laughed. Harrow dry heaved. They sat on the bathroom floor together, waiting for Harrow’s body to regain control of itself.

“Are you okay?” Gideon asked again, “I’m not a doctor or anything but spontaneous vomiting sounds concerning.”

Harrow took stock of her body. Despite the fact that Gideon—who was literally the only person on the face of the planet Harrow cared about impressing—just had a front row seat to her emptying the contents of her stomach into their shared toilet, she was actually feeling physically fine. Yes, her heart rate was accelerated and her hands were a bit clammy from the stress of the morning, but her anxiety-induced nausea seemed to have subsided.

“I’m fine,” Harrow decided, ignoring the fact that her best attempt at emotional vulnerability to date had landed her on the bathroom floor. “It happens sometimes when I get anxious, but it’s subsided. I’m no longer nauseous.”

Gideon hummed in acknowledgement before standing up (Harrow panicked for an instant at the thought of Gideon leaving the bathroom) and rummaging through their cabinet. She returned to Harrow’s side with a bottle of colorful liquid in one hand and a face towel in the other.

She shoved the bottle under Harrow’s nose and Harrow realized belatedly it was mouthwash. She mumbled a “Thanks” before standing up and rinsing her mouth off in the sink. Gideon was watching her with attentive eyes, as if Harrow was going to spontaneously pass out at any moment and Gideon would have to catch her.

Instead, Harrow spit out the mouthwash and Gideon handed her the towel. Harrow accepted it, buried her face in the cloth, and sat down on the bathroom floor, back to the wall and legs facing the toilet. She would have loved to leave their tiny bathroom, but Gideon had yet to respond to her proclamation and she was concerned whatever came next would cause a new wave of nausea.

She heard the sound of the toilet flushing, and then Gideon sat next to her, seeming to understand Harrow’s need to remain close to the toilet. There was a pause, and then Gideon cleared her throat and spoke. “Okay, I understand this has been a lot for you. You’ve clearly been bottling shit up since before either of us could say ‘world’s worst coping mechanism’ and now you’ve upchucked the very delicious breakfast I lovingly prepared for you. You’re having a shit day, and I’m sorry but I’m about to make it shittier.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible but you’re welcome to try.” Harrow’s voice was muffled by the towel. She could feel the press of the side of Gideon’s arm against her own.

Gideon took a deep breath. “Holy hell, Nonagesimus, do you know how much of this could have been avoided if you had just talked to me one fucking time?”

Harrow lifted her head and turned to look at Gideon, equal parts shock, fear, and relief. This confrontation had been hanging over Harrow for her entire life and they were finally going to get the closure they needed.

“Here’s a crazy suggestion: if you’re so terrified of me leaving why don’t you, oh I don’t know, ask me if I have plans to leave? Or, better yet, you could have told me that you didn’t want me to leave, and then I could have used that information and not wasted like eighteen years of my life trying to escape the moody bone bitch who hated me. Because apparently you didn’t hate me this entire time? Again, would have been really fucking dope if you could have ever found it in your frozen little heart to let me in on that little detail.”

“Like you would have listened. Like you’ve ever cared what I thought of you,” Harrow spat.

“Harrow, how much more obvious can I get?” Gideon asked, sounding near tears. “I care so fucking much what you think of me. I started studying for a class I hate so that I would have the chance to kiss you. I have been patient, I have waited for you to work through whatever shit is currently going down in your head even though you’re being a total dick about it. I cook you breakfast, I carry your books, I take you to watch the sunset. What’s not fucking clicking?”

Harrow winced, and she was unsure if it was at the distress radiating off of Gideon or at the realization that she had somehow been an even more colossal idiot than she had previously realized. “If you’ll recall, I just gave you an entire list of reasons as to why I’m conflicted.”

“Okay. You need direct? Here’s direct.” Gideon put her hand on Harrow’s cheek and tilted her head so they were making eye contact. Gideon’s eyes were intensely trained on her, like two small suns that would burn Harrow if she looked for too long. “Harrowhark, you’re it for me. You’re my endgame. I want to spend the rest of my life by your side in whatever way you’ll have me.”

Shit shit shit shit shit. This was it. It was never going to be the same after this. The thought excited her. The thought terrified her. The thought made her fall in love with Gideon just a little bit more.

“Please don’t lie to me, Gideon. Not about this,” Harrow said, because she had no idea what else to say. She had spent her life alone, she had spent her life so scared that showing who she truly was would drive people away. And here Gideon was—charismatic, strong, beautiful Gideon. Gideon, who was everything Harrow could never be. Gideon, who knew her better than anyone ever had. Gideon, who wanted to stay, despite it all. 

“I’m not lying,” Gideon said, voice firm, “I’ve been unsuccessfully trying to date you since the day we first kissed. Everybody fucking knows. I’m the laughing stock of the fencing team.”

Harrow just stared at Gideon, processing. She had, of course, managed to pick up on the fact that Gideon had feelings for her. What she had failed to detect, however, was the fact that Gideon apparently wanted to spend the rest of her life at her side.

But the second she heard Gideon say that, she understood. She knew that she wanted it too.

“I don’t want to put you on the spot. I don’t want to pressure you into to committing to something you don’t actually want or saying something you don’t actually mean,” Gideon was saying, and it sounded like a faraway echo in the back of Harrow’s brain, “But I need you to understand how terrifying it is to fight for a future without knowing it could ever actually happen.”

Harrow nodded mutely. Gideon clearly had something to say and she wanted to wait until she was done saying it.

“Harrow, this could be good. We could make this work, if we tried. Please tell me you feel it too.” Gideon’s hands found Harrow’s and she squeezed, as if the vastness of their future could be communicated in a simple touch. There was desperation laced in Gideon’s voice, a slight tremble at the end of the sentence that implied the possibility of tears.

“Yes. Yes, I feel it too,” Harrow said, and then she smiled. Because she did feel it too. All this emotion between them, so volatile Harrow thought it would end them, could be harnessed in a different way. All the knots that she had tangled in her head had somehow unweaved themselves, somehow arranged themselves into a neat path forward. “Gideon, you’re my best friend. Of course I feel it too.”

“Harrow…”

“Gideon. Gideon, I want that too. I want to spend my life with you.” Harrow had never felt giddy before, but she felt it now. Gideon was staring at her with a hopeful smile on her face, and Harrow wrapped her arms around the redhead in a crushing hug. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I can’t imagine my life without you in it. Please forgive me, I made you feel so unwanted. I was so afraid of losing you I couldn’t get out of my own head and see you for what you really were.” 

“And what am I?” They had pulled back from their hug, and Gideon looked at her softly.

“You’re my person,” Harrow said without hesitation. It felt so good to say aloud, so freeing to finally acknowledge what had been rotting away in the cage of her chest this entire time. She wanted to scream the words, to repeat them until her tongue could no longer shape the words.

Gideon smiled, wide and dazzling and full of joy in a way Harrow had never seen before. “You’re my person.”

Harrow wasn’t sure who initiated it, but suddenly they were kissing. Gideon’s lips were soft against her, her arms around Harrow strong and secure. Harrow let herself get lost in it. She reveled in the feeling of Gideon, in the feeling of kissing someone who she knew was going to stay.

“Gideon,” Harrow pulled back, suddenly aware that they had not touched on one critical thing, “Gideon, are we dating?”

“Yes.” Gideon shook her head and laughed, as if Harrow had just asked if the sky was blue, “Yes, we’re fucking dating.”

Instead of responding, Harrow launched herself into Gideon’s lap and captured her lips in a passionate kiss. Gideon responded in kind, one arm wrapping around Harrow’s midsection and the other hand tracing the path of Harrow’s arm until she found her fingertips. Harrow laced their hands together and laughed against Gideon’s mouth at the bliss of it all.

“This doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you for being an asshole,” Gideon said, after they parted for air again.

“I know,” Harrow replied, resting their foreheads together, “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

They kissed again, so excited by the idea of just existing together, in each other’s space, without the complexity of emotion that always surrounded them. She could feel the smile on Gideon’s lips as they explored each other’s mouths, occasionally pausing to stare at each other in awe or laugh with a mixture of relief and excitement.

At some point, they migrated back to Gideon’s bed, because the bathroom floor was quite uncomfortable. They laid next to each other, on their backs, looking up at Gideon’s popcorn ceiling as if they were stargazing.

There was a pleasant silence, and then Gideon laced their fingers together and said, “So, I’m almost afraid to ask, but what was with the whole orgo study group thing in the first place?”

“What do you mean?”

Gideon turned to smile at her. “Well surely there were easier ways to goad me into your kinky little fantasy.”

“I wasn’t trying to goad you into anything,” Harrow said, confused, “I really was attempting to encourage academic success.”

“No, you were totally goading me. Wasn’t this agreement like your weird version of foreplay?” Gideon rolled on to her side, looking surprisingly serious about the insane scenario she just suggested.

“You thought making you attend study group was arousing me?” Harrow reiterated slowly, with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t know! It just seemed like some sort of weirdly specific sex fantasy. I’d be all like ‘Oh Harrowhark I just don’t understand chair conformation please help me oh brilliant one’ and then you’d be like ‘Despite possessing superior intellect I will delineate to lecture you in my scholarly pursuits of cyclohexanes’ and then I’d be like ‘Wow you’re so smart’ and then we’d fuck.”

Well, that actually wasn’t all that far off from what happened.

Except for one minor error. “That’s not what delineate means. Are you perhaps thinking of deign?”

Gideon jabbed her hand in the air, as if accentuating her point to an invisible onlooker. “See! You get off on correcting me!”

“I do not,” Harrow scoffed, “And, more importantly, I resent the insinuation that I am incapable of engaging in roleplay without taking the time to establish proper boundaries and safety precautions.”

“Only someone who has put some serious consideration into roleplay would say that,” Gideon pointed out.

“What I mean is, why would you assume that I wanted to play out this hyper specific fantasy if I hadn’t talked to you about it first? I may struggle with communication, but I am able to make my needs known during sex.”

Gideon took a deep breath. “Okay I’m saying this in the most complimentary way possible but you’re really fucking weird sometimes Harrow. And that’s fine! It works for me. It actually really fucking works for me, like in a way that screams ‘get therapy.’ But like you collect bones and human teeth! You once described fingering as ‘physical contact with genitalia’! Honestly having a weirdly intense tutoring kink wouldn’t even be all that out there.”

Harrow gave herself a moment to consider this new perspective into how others perceived her. “I see.”

“Also the alternative, which is that this whole thing was serious and you were using your body to motivate me to go to study group for a class I was doing kinda okay in, is arguably more insane,” Gideon said plainly. And, unfortunately, when Harrow heard it aloud she did have a point.

“Well…”

“Harrowhark.”

Harrow threw her hands over her face to hide her shame. “It just happened! It was an accident! I didn’t think about what I had said until it was too late, and then we were kissing and I liked it and that scared me and you know the rest.”

“You’re saying I’m such a good kisser it undid your emotional constipation?” Harrow didn’t have to be looking at Gideon to know she had that impossibly attractive self-satisfied smirk on her face.

A pause. Unfortunately, Gideon was correct. “Please don’t let it get to your head.”

“Too late, my luminous lover. I’m making this my entire personality now.” Gideon’s voice had an almost wistful quality to it. “And to think, all that time you spent bottling up anything resembling a positive emotion, just for it to be thwarted by the sexiest redhead to ever grace this earth. I’m never going to let you live this down.”

“I take it all back. I still hate you,” Harrow made a show of rolling off the bed in contempt.

“Woah, okay. Let’s not be hasty, sweetcheeks. How about I tell you something embarrassing that you can hold over me for all eternity?” Gideon offered. Harrow stopped her—admittedly half hearted—attempt to leave.

Mutual blackmail. Harrow approved. “I suppose that would be acceptable.”

Gideon took a deep breath and then said, as if her admission was in any way on par with Harrow’s, “I don’t have to take organic chemistry.”

“You what?” Harrow turned her neck to stare at Gideon, who had returned to searching for constellations in the bumps of her ceiling.

Gideon shrugged. “Orgo isn’t required for kinesiology majors. It never has been.”

“When did you find that out?” Harrow’s heart sank. All this time spent making sure Gideon would make it to orgo 2 was wasted. Gideon didn’t even need to take the class.

“I knew the whole time.” Gideon told the ceiling.

What? “Why did you take it then?”

“Really, Harrow?” Gideon finally turned her head to make eye contact with her. “Because a cute girl who I had the hots for was going to be taking the class.”

“Me?” Harrow asked, and despite everything her voice sounded just a bit unsure.

“No, Corona,” Gideon rolled her eyes, “ Duh it was you, Nonagesimus. Or did you miss the whole ‘I want to spend the rest of my life with you’ speech?”

“No, I most certainly did not miss that.” Harrow could feel herself smiling, could feel the strain of it in her cheeks, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She had never felt more flattered by someone’s actions. She was giddy with joy, her body buzzing with validation. Gideon had made a plan to spend more time with her . Surely that was the highest form of compliment. 

Except for the fact that, upon further examination, it was actually a horrendous plan. “So just to be clear, you took a notoriously hard class that you didn’t have to take so that you could spend more time with me, the person you’re literally living with.”

“Yup,” Gideon drew out the word and popped the p. “Pretty much.”

Harrow blinked. “That’s the stupidest plan I’ve ever heard.”

“I know! It was truly a hail mary,” Gideon agreed. “But do you wanna hear the kicker, sugarlips?”

“Do enlighten me.”

“The kicker, my dear,” Gideon broke out into a wide smile, and in that moment Harrow could do nothing but smile back, “is that it worked.”