Archive of Our Own

8.30pm

“Man, I haven’t been here in years,” Gideon says as she steps over the threshold behind Cam and Pal, already feeling lightly buzzed from the drinks consumed on the car ride over.

The bar is dark and dingy, the floor is sticky under her feet and the music is terrible. But it used to be their go-to haunt back in the day and nostalgia is hard to compete with. Gideon grins, inhaling the smell of puke-infused walls and alcohol-soaked tables.

“Me either,” Pal murmurs as they make their way to the bar, wincing at the loud music and choking on smoke. “Was it always this…?” he trails off.

“Shit?” Cam suggests, leaning against the bar with a small smirk. “Yes.”

She orders drinks for the three of them, turning to shout to the bartender over pulsing electronica while Gideon and Pal scan the room.

There’s a dancefloor in the centre surrounded by scattered tables and worn-out booths and, although it’s only early, there’s a hefty crowd of drunken teenagers grinding under the neon lights.

Gideon laughs. “We’ve gotta be the oldest people in here.”

Pal joins in. “Quite possibly.”

Hopefully not – that might be a little too tragic for Gideon to bear. And they’re not that old. It’s just that this particular bar was one of the few places that they could sneak into after school when they were kids since no one checked ID, which does feel like a lifetime ago now. Hangovers are harder to shake at the ripe age of twenty-seven than they were back then.   

Once they’ve secured a drink, the three of them shuffle over to the edge of the room and slide into a booth, watching on as people dance and drink and laugh.

“To friends reunited,” Pal says sentimentally, raising his glass for a cheers.

Gideon laughs, clinking her beer bottle. Since she moved away from their hometown a few years back, their drunken shenanigans have become a little less frequent – but that might not be a bad thing. “You saw me, like, a few months ago,” she points out.

“He misses you when you’re not here,” Cam smirks and Gideon laughs.

“It’s nice to be together, that’s all,” Pal smiles cheerfully.

“And in such a nice location,” Cam adds sarcastically.

They all drink and assess the room with a laugh.

“So,” Gideon says. “What’s new with you two?”

Cam shrugs. “Work’s fine.”

Gideon laughs once, dissatisfied. “That’s not an update.”

Cam takes a drink, staring at her with amusement.

“C’mon,” Gideon argues. “You haven’t seen me since Christmas, you must have some juicy gossip.”

Cam maintains her guarded expression. “I don’t.”

Gideon narrows her eyes, wondering why she’s being so evasive. “Are you dating anyone?”

“No.” Cam holds Gideon’s eye.

“That was suspiciously fast.”

“It's a one syllable word.”

Pal laughs as he watches the back-and-forth, drinking and swaying in his seat a little rigidly to the music. As they chat, the room seems to get busier, the crowd of bodies growing denser and expanding through the building. Voices and music rise, making conversation harder. Gideon looks at her friends as they drink and laugh, feeling a warmth spread through her chest.

Pal looks mostly the same as she remembers him from their youth. A little older around the eyes, maybe. Less stressed than he used to be. Back then, he’d always looked one deadline away from collapse. Cam, meanwhile, remains basically impossible to read.

She looks completely unfazed by the exchange, turning back to Gideon. “How’s your love life?”

Gideon rolls her eyes at the unsubtle subject change. “That’s not relevant.”

Cam nods. “Interesting.”

“Stop psychoanalyzing me, Hect,” Gideon demands.

Pal starts laughing again but Cam just raises an eyebrow.

Gideon sighs dramatically. “Fine. I went on a date last month.”

“How’d it go?”

Another heavy sigh, followed by a long drink. “Not bad.” She turns to Palamedes, a stupid grin spreading over her face. “You can tell your mom I said hi when you see her.”

Cam shakes her head in utter exasperation while Pal tries not to laugh as he protests, “Gideon, for crying out loud. You’re too old for your mother jokes.”

They replenish their drinks with another round, old stories blending into new ones as the conversation drifts to jobs and families and people they’ve lost touch with from childhood.

Cam takes another sip, a tiny shadow of sentimentality creeping into her tone as they all become a little tipsier by the minute. “I missed this.”

Gideon and Pal both raise their brows at the unexpected comment, but then Gideon smiles widely and she throws an arm around them both. “Me too.” She adds, “we should do this every night.”

“Not again,” Cam groans. “My kidneys won’t survive it.”

Sipping a beer, Gideon scans the area and can’t help memories flooding back from a simpler time in their lives. The conversation soon becomes less classy as drinks flow and they reminisce.

“Many interesting nights in this place,” Pal says wistfully, swallowing some of his drink. “Do you recall when Gideon –”

Gideon shakes her head at him dramatically. “I know what you’re gonna say and no, that’s not what happened.”

Pal’s defending himself, “you didn’t give me a chance –” and Cam’s laughing quietly.

Gideon insists. “I know you’re gonna have some embarrassing story about me and I don’t wanna hear it.” She chuckles to herself. “What happens at the bar, stays at the bar.”

Pal laughs. “You always did love to rewrite history.”

“I improve history,” Gideon disagrees.

Cam laughs into her drink while Gideon snickers beside her. It feels weird and comforting at the same time thinking about how carefree they used to be – and how reckless. Years disappear surprisingly quickly when you’re a grown up, so it turns out.

Pal looks around the room, then nudges Gideon playfully. “Camilla, do you remember the Halloween party where Gideon tried to flirt with that girl dressed as a vampire?”

Gideon groans immediately but Cam’s already nodding, “how could I forget?”

Pal continues, “I seem to recall you asking if she wanted to suck your blood... or possibly to suck your –”

“Okay, okay,” Gideon hurriedly interrupts. “You don’t need to finish that sentence.”

Cam nearly chokes on her drink, then chides, “Jesus Christ, Nav.”

Gideon avoids meeting their eye as she grows hot at the mortifying memory. “What? I was twenty-two! And shit-faced.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“I didn’t have the best moves back then,” Gideon admits sheepishly. “But I’m pretty sure she gave me her number.”

“Did she?” both of Cam’s eyebrows shoot up.

Gideon thinks back and realizes how the night ended that Halloween. “...no.”

Pal’s laughing a little too loudly.

Gideon glares at him. “This is why nobody tells you secrets.”

Pal just shrugs. “I have a good memory.”

“Besides,” Gideon adds, ignoring him as she remembers another detail Pal has conveniently left out, “you’re no better. You were all over that girl in the nurse’s costume!”

Cam smirks, “ha,” as Pal flushes and looks at his shoes. “Well, yes, that is true.”

“Sex Pal, you dirty dog,” Gideon teases with a snicker. She turns to look at Cam. “What happened to you that Halloween?” A moment’s pause, then Gideon clicks her fingers. “Oh, shit, I remember. You got wasted and made out with that creepy witch –”

Cam’s lip twitches in irritation as Pal begins to laugh, “oh, yes.”

Gideon’s still going. “And you got green face paint all over you –”

Cam looks unimpressed, then quips. “Yes, thanks. And I also remember the girl you eventually tried to leave with, the sexy nun –”

Gideon’s already groan-laughing, instantly recalling the tale. “Alright, we don’t need to –”

“What happened again? Didn’t you throw up all over her shoes?” Cam teases.

“Alright,” Gideon shakes her head in embarrassment. What a disaster that had been. Needless to say she went home alone that night. (Gideon often went home alone during her single era, falling to pieces when a pretty girl smiled at her and stumbling before she could reach the finish line).  

“You were a mess, Nav,” Cam smirks.

“I know.”

Pal chimes in, “there certainly seemed to be a lot of attempted… shall we call them, distractions, during that particular winter,” he puts delicately. “It must have been the year you separated from –”

“Holy shit,” Cam interrupts, her voice low and urgent, eyes widening uncharacteristically. “Is that Harrowhark?”

Gideon freezes at the name, an icy shiver shooting down her spine as the smile wipes instantly off of her face.

“What?” she squeaks, a little higher pitched than intended, spinning around to where Cam’s eyes have settled. “Can’t be. Why would she be… here?” Gideon mumbles, swallowing as she sees her ex-girlfriend standing across the bar.

Luckily, there’s a sea of people between them, filling the room, and Harrow seems completely none the wiser. But, still. Fuck!

Gideon’s mouth goes instantly dry as she appraises Harrow from a distance, overcome with a sudden nervous energy flipping around in her stomach. She chugs her beer to help settle her nerves, swallowing gulps of cold liquid.

Harrow looks… well, like Harrow. Same dark hair tucked behind her ears, same dark make-up, same dark lips twisted into a downturned frown. She’s wearing a black dress and huge, platform boots that she could probably snap someone’s leg with if she stomped at the right angle. Silver jewellery over her fingers and ears and face glint under the strobe lighting, flashing as she moves to speak with someone next to her and brings a drink up to meet her mouth as if bored.

Cam clears her throat and quietly asks, “you okay?” sensing Gideon’s startled reaction.

“Yeah,” Gideon nods, distracted. Then, “is that – Ianthe Tridentarius? From high school?”

All three of them squint over, probably far too obvious. Pal adjusts his glasses like it will help him focus.

“Yes,” Cam says, then jerks her chin to gesture to the left, “and Coronabeth.”

“Damn,” Gideon murmurs, “haven’t seen those two for a while.”

Gideon had always got on with Corona and still messaged from time to time, even now, to share a shit meme or comment on each others’ social posts. Ianthe… not so much. Gideon could never stand her, actually. She vaguely remembers a brawl that broke out once in the girl’s locker rooms after gym class when Ianthe made some goading comment in her direction. (Gideon can’t remember what exactly it was, but she definitely won the fight).

Pal observes for a moment, then adds, “I did hear through the grapevine that Harrow and Ianthe were… friendly. So perhaps the three of them are closer than we knew.”

“Friendly?” Gideon repeats without missing a beat. “What does that mean?”

Harrow and Ianthe? When Gideon left town, surely Harrow wasn’t that low on options.

Pal just shrugs, not giving any further details.

“We can leave,” Cam suggests. “If you want to.”

“What?” Gideon tears her gaze away from the group across the room, Harrow blending into the shadows while Ianthe and Corona stick out like two, golden thumbs. She looks back at Cam and shakes her head, “no. Nah. It’s chill. It’s fine.”

Cam arches an unconvinced brow. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Gideon decides, finishing her beer. “Came here to hang with you both and that’s what I’m gonna do.” She waves the empty bottle then sucks air in through gritted teeth, wondering exactly how this night is going to go. “Who wants another drink?”

~*~*~*~

9.05pm

Harrow never even wanted to go out.

It’s only been thirty minutes and she already regrets coming. She hasn’t been this bar in forever for good reason – it’s grotty as hell. Never mind the fact she worked here for a brief stint and has exactly zero good memories in the place.

Corona, meanwhile, appears to be having the best night of her life.

“Isn’t this nice?” Corona announces brightly. “Coming back here after all these years?”

“Mm,” Harrow says, trying very hard to remain pleasant on account of the occasion.

Corona pouts at her. “Would it kill you to sound happier?”

Harrow raises an eyebrow, considering. “Probably.”

Ianthe takes a sip of wine. “Harry, please don’t spoil my sister’s birthday by being a brat.”

“Play nice, please,” Corona shoots Ianthe a warning look.

There are people all around them; some random bar-goers who have joined the group, others people who Coronabeth invited to celebrate with her. Very few of which Harrow recognizes outside of a passing familiarity.

Harrow watches Corona wave enthusiastically at some girls at the next table and genuinely can’t work out whether they know each other. Corona has always acquired new friends easily; she charms every person she meets. It’s unsettling.

A tray of cocktails arrive and Corona gets to her feet, lifting one into the air.

“Happy birthday to us!” she announces, voice tinkling.

Harrow watches Corona’s unwavering confidence and can’t deny she’s impressed when everyone around her joins in with a drunken toast, cheering and shouting in excitement as if Corona is actual royalty.

Ianthe turns to Harrow out of earshot and says, “legally, it’s not her birthday until after midnight, you know. I was born first.”

Harrow’s mouth quirks into a small smirk at Ianthe’s unwavering pettiness. “So you’ve said.”

Corona notices them out the corner of her eye and stamps over to where they’re standing with hands on her hips.

“Why aren’t you toasting?”

Harrow shakes the half-empty glass in her hand defensively. She’ll never admit it to anyone but she’s a little bit scared of Coronabeth. Just a little. “I am.”

“I’m talking to you,” Corona narrows her eyes at Ianthe who is not partaking in the non-optional birthday drinks.

“Calm down, will you?” she drawls lowly, tutting. “Don’t make a scene.”

Corona sniffs indignantly. “You’re just jealous.”

“Of what?”

Corona’s pink lips purse.  “The attention.”

Harrow stares between them as Ianthe laughs; a truly haunting sound. “That’s the funniest thing you’ve said all night.”

Corona doesn’t find it funny. “I don’t know why you’re in such a terrible mood.”

“I’m in a perfectly good mood,” Ianthe says.

Harrow turns at the same time Corona’s pout deepens. “No, you’re not.”

“What makes you say that?” Ianthe asks.

“I overheard you telling one of my guests he looks divorced.” Corona rolls her eyes while Ianthe smirks. “How can someone look divorced? What is the matter with you?”

“He does. It’s the moustache. So tragic.” She flashes teeth. “Besides, they’re our guests.”

A beat of silence passes, then Corona starts laughing in spite of herself. “Will you just be nice, please? It’s our birth –”

“I know,” Ianthe cuts in. “Believe it or not, I know when my own birthday is. I just don’t need a song and dance about it.”

“You know you two have this argument every year,” Harrow points out – or as long as she’s known them for, anyway. Corona wants a big party; Ianthe wants to drink alone. Both of them want to be together.

Corona smiles, knowing it’s an argument she routinely wins. “It’s about time you get on board, then,” she tells Ianthe. “You can cancel my birthday party when I’m dead.”

Ianthe raises an eyebrow and doesn’t say anything. Harrow sips her drink and returns to the group, not wanting to get caught in the middle of any further disputes.

Across the table, somebody starts talking about work.

Corona groans as she approaches. “No work chat. It’s my birthday.”

“We know,” Harrow mutters.

“I don’t want to hear about spreadsheets.”

Harrow blinks. “Nobody was talking about spreadsheets.”

“They’d better not be,” Corona huffs. “One mention of something so dull and I’ll break out in hives. My nipples will actually invert, I’m telling you.”

Harrow has to choke back a shocked laugh at that mental image.

Corona slaps the table proudly, getting the attention of some of her other friends. “Did you see that? Harrow laughed at my joke.” Her voice is delighted.

Ianthe looks over and smirks. “You’re a hilarious bitch, that’s why.”

Two strangers at the end of the table turn to look, glancing between Corona and Harrow with confused smiles. Harrow rolls her eyes.

She doesn’t know exactly how she ended up here. Here in life, that is, but also here at this bar with two women she has very little in common with, other than the local high school they went to.   

She and Ianthe hadn’t interacted whatsoever as kids. It wasn’t until years later when they started training at the same hospital and became colleagues that a reluctant friendship was formed, built more on familiarity and shared trauma than any actual fondness for one another.

Ianthe’s always been an asshole, but Harrow doesn’t have many allies and at least they can complain about the food in the cafeteria at work, if nothing else. Harrow started hanging out with Coronabeth more recently by association and, although a bit full-on, she’s always been harmless enough.

Still, Harrow wonders how she’s managed to make it to twenty-seven without any real friends to call her own. She’s far too good at pushing people away.

Corona’s shocked gasp brings Harrow back to reality as she hears, “oh my God. Is that Gideon Nav?”

Harrow spins around, almost snapping her neck to turn in the direction Coronabeth is looking, the name sending a tremor through her. She feels instantly dizzy.

Gideon… doesn’t even live here anymore. What would she be doing at this disgusting dump, anyway?

Harrow squints through the hazy room, forgetting momentarily how to breathe as her eyes land on a familiar flash of orange hair in the dark.

“It is!” Corona continues. “And that’s Palamedes Sextus, do you remember him Ianthe? He was always hanging around in the science lab as a youngster. Sweet boy.”

Ianthe’s barely listening. “Not really.”

“I think the woman they’re with is Camilla Hect. Her face is familiar.”

“Hm,” Ianthe doesn’t even bother to look up, scanning the dancefloor like she’s looking for something very specific as she sips wine.

“I think I’ll go and –” Corona steps forward, then notices Harrow’s frozen frame and hesitates. “What’s the matter Harrow, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Corona looks between Harrow and back at the others with a furrowed brow. “Oh, that’s right,” she realizes, “you used to be friends, didn’t you? With Nav?”

Harrow can barely tear her eyes away from the wide grin over Gideon’s face, the painfully familiar crinkle of her golden eyes. She thinks she’s going to pass out.

“We…” her voice is small; she can barely get enough air in her lungs. “We used to date.”

Date doesn’t really describe her relationship with Gideon accurately, but Harrow doesn’t know what else to say. After all, she can hardly announce that Gideon was – and still is – the only person she’s ever loved in her sad, little life. She doesn’t particularly feel like telling Coronabeth that Gideon Nav is everything she’s thought about every day since she moved away; sometimes with longing, sometimes with hatred and always with regret.

“You used to date?” Corona echoes back, surprised. “Oh my God, yes. I remember that.” She laughs once. “I always did like Gideon.” She looks over again and murmurs, mostly to herself, “she looks great, don’t you think?”

Ianthe pipes up, amused. “Ooh, is that Harry’s ex-girlfriend?”

Harrow would like to die now, actually.

“What happened with you two?” Corona asks, curiously.

Harrow remains silent, not willing to share the answer; not with Ianthe and a dozen strangers lingering behind her.

But, still, she contemplates the question with an aching chest.

Gideon and Harrow’s story is fairly underwhelming. When they turned sixteen, Gideon asked Harrow to be her girlfriend. It made sense at the time. Gideon was every one of Harrow’s firsts. Her first hand-hold, first crush, first kiss, first orgasm, first love. No one has ever known Harrow like Gideon does.

But she wouldn’t exactly use the term high school sweethearts. Harrow simply wasn’t ready to come out, let alone be in an actual relationship and – she mentally shudders – emotionally vulnerable. Gideon was impulsive and immature and used humor to avoid talking about her feelings. Truthfully, it was a shitshow.

When Corona realizes Harrow has set her lips into a hard, silent line, she asks instead, “but that’s all in the past. Surely you can be grown-up about it now?”

Unfortunately, swallowing her pride doesn’t come very naturally to Harrow.

It is certainly not all in the past. Gideon left town a few years after their rather messy break-up, and Harrow hasn’t spoken to her since. Not a word.

Gideon has texted from time to time. Judging by the typically late hour and creative assortment of typos, Harrow assumes these are usually sent when she’s been drinking. There’s nothing revolutionary, just a few messages to say hey, how are things. Sometimes fuck you. One thinking of you late last year.

Harrow’s never responded – she has no idea what to say. But she has stared at that last one more times than she’d ever admit.

Ianthe laughs once. “How deliciously awkward for you.”

Harrow shoots daggers in her direction, seething. Her entire body is suddenly too hot and she wishes she could lie on the ground, just for a minute. Just to catch her breath.

Instead, she finishes the rest of her drink, raising the glass to her lips with shaking hands.

“I think I’ll go and say hello,” Corona finally decides, as if the past minute of conversation hasn’t happened.

“Wh –” Harrow sputters, back in the room. “No. You can’t.”

“Of course I can,” Corona waves her off. “Don’t be silly.”

“Don’t,” Harrow pleads. “I don’t want to talk to her.”

“You don’t have to,” Corona replies dismissively. “But I do. And it would be rude not to say something.”

For fuck’s sake.

“Coron-a,” Harrow hisses in protest.

“Don’t be a baby,” Corona replies in that low, sweet voice that’s very difficult to argue with.  

“Your sister is a traitor,” Harrow mutters, turning to Ianthe for support.

Fat chance of that.

Ianthe just laughs once, cold and unsympathetic. “Get a grip,” she says. “Gonads probably doesn’t even remember you. She always was a bit thick.”

Harrow hadn’t even considered that; she falters momentarily. Is it possible that she really has just been a footnote in Gideon’s life, a one-off blip in a – she imagines – long list of sexual conquers? Is there a reality where Harrow has been thinking about Gideon every day with sheer malice and hot grief for years while Gideon has simply forgotten that Harrow even exists?

The concept is humbling. And humiliating. Harrow would never recover.

So, after this thought, she doesn’t know whether to be relieved or horrified when it turns out not to be true.

Harrow watches anxiously as Coronabeth sidles up to Gideon and wraps her into a warm hug, nodding with her head over to where Ianthe and Harrow are tucked away at the edge of the room. Gideon’s eyes travel over and land squarely on Harrow’s panicked face. There’s a distinct flicker across Gideon’s features as their eyes meet.  

Harrow feels a shadow of relief to see Ianthe’s footnote theory isn’t true, but horror follows quickly as Gideon’s smoldering stare stays on her for far longer than she was prepared for. Yes. The prevailing feeling is definitely horror.

Harrow snaps her mouth shut after realizing it had fallen open at some point, pressing her lips into a hard line. Gideon does a poor job of hiding the twitch of a smirk before she looks back at Corona and murmurs something. They exchange words, drowned out by the music, and then they both cast an eye over in Harrow’s direction again as they speak; Gideon with an eyebrow arched, Corona with a small smile on her face.

Harrow flushes deeper at the unwanted attention, sipping her drink and trying to pretend she can’t feel the heat of their eyes burning through her skin. She turns to Ianthe, hoping for a distraction.

“What’s –” she’d started speaking without much of a plan for the rest of the sentence, which becomes instantly clear. “Uh. What are you – what’s new with – how’s the…?”

Ianthe blinks at her. “Are you pretending to have a conversation with me so you don’t look like a lonely little loser?” she teases.

“No,” Harrow defends, a little too quickly. “I’m not.”

Ianthe just laughs that cruel sound Harrow has come to hate and sips her drink. “Pathetic isn’t a good color on you.”

Harrow scowls. As if she doesn’t know that.

“I’ll let you kiss me if you like,” Ianthe offers like this is some kind of self-sacrificing gift. “To make her jealous.”

“How noble,” Harrow mutters, rolling her eyes.

“You might even like it,” Ianthe drawls with a lazy smile.

Harrow shudders at the thought. Kiss Ianthe? She’d rather kiss Griddle.

Huffing out a breath, Harrow just swallows another gulp of her drink, wondering why the fuck she just made that mental comparison. She does not want to kiss Gideon. She does not still have feelings for Gideon. That chapter of her life is well and truly closed.

Even if she didn’t feel furious every time she thought about her, Harrow is positive that Gideon has absolutely no interest in her either. Why would she? Harrow broke her heart.

When Coronabeth returns, it takes all of Harrow’s restraint to act nonchalant. She doesn’t ask a single question, sipping the warm drink in her hand with casual disinterest.

Corona simply says, “what did I miss?” and “shall we get more drinks?” and “it’s my birthday!”

Not a fucking word about Gideon.

Harrow has a very real concern that she’s going to lose her mind tonight. 

~*~*~*~

9.45pm

Deep down, Gideon knew it was only a matter of time before she’d be reluctantly reunited with Harrow, but, still, she manages to be caught off guard.

She’s leaning over to speak to the bartender with her elbows propped on the counter, focusing far too intently on sounding sober, when Harrow’s painfully familiar profile comes into view in her periphery.

Gideon practically jumps like she’s being haunted and looks over. “Jesus, where did you come from?”

She angles her body round to face Harrow properly, still leaning one arm against the bar top. She’s not entirely sure what her face is doing. When their eyes meet, Harrow takes a reflexive step back, but it’s too late to walk away. 

“Griddle,” she greets sharply, recovering and rearranging her expression into vacant disinterest, and Gideon feels herself tense at the nickname she hasn’t heard in years.

Thick silence lingers between them as they stare one another down, unspeaking. A moment passes where all Gideon can hear is the pounding thrum of bass and overlapping conversations around them.

Gideon opens her mouth to speak again – trying to think the right thing to say – but Harrow beats her to it, lifting her sharp chin like she’s trying to assert dominance. Really, she just looks like a Chihuahua squaring up to a Great Dane.

“I see you got fat,” Harrow remarks, cutting.

Gideon’s so genuinely surprised at the comment that she falters and then lets out a breathy laugh. As Harrow speaks, she casts her eyes up and down Gideon’s body to emphasize the point but her breath audibly hitches in her throat as she does.

It’s true, Gideon has got… bigger. She always has been – definitely compared to Harrow – but when they were teenagers she was a lot more gangly about it. Now, Gideon’s vest shows off arms which have quadrupled in size since they saw each other last, her flexed bicep the size of Harrow’s entire head.

Gideon smirks when their eyes meet and allows herself to properly appraise Harrow too, now they’re closer. She’s still scrawny, though maybe a little less skeletal than Gideon remembers. The furious little pucker of her lips hasn’t changed at all. More piercings and the tattoos she’d always wanted; a skull and crossbones peeking out of her inner arm. Glancing down, Gideon absent-mindedly notices Harrow doesn’t have a bra on under her dress, pointed nipples visible under the fabric.

“I see you’re still three feet tall,” Gideon responds to distract Harrow from the way she was momentarily staring at her chest.

“Die,” Harrow sneers in her direction childishly and Gideon chuckles again.

“Yep,” she murmurs, “same old Harrowhark.” Then she pays for her drinks, thanking the bartender and sipping on a fresh beer bottle.

“What are you even doing here?” Harrow gets straight to the point, unable to hide the irritation in her voice. “I was hoping you’d moved overseas.”

Gideon snorts at Harrow’s bitter tone. It’s weirdly comforting. “I tried,” she sniffs. “They sent me back.”

Harrow’s face doesn’t change. “Yes but why are you here? Are you stalking me?”

“Yeah,” Gideon replies sarcastically. “Came back just for you. Couldn’t go another day without being verbally abused.”

Harrow just purses her lips into an expectant pout, waiting for the real answer.

Gideon rolls her eyes, looking down at Harrow over the raised bottle. “Home for the holidays.”

Harrow quirks a brow. “It’s June.”

“It’s an expression,” Gideon says. “I’m just visiting. Why do you care?”

“I don’t.”

A moment of tense silence passes, Harrow scowling as she mutters to herself, “as if this night weren’t bad enough.”

Gideon puts a hand over her heart, pretending to be wounded. “It’s good to see you, too.”

Harrow glares at her with eyes so unyielding Gideon’s sure they could slice straight through flesh if she focused hard enough. Then she turns to order herself a drink, having to reach up on her tip-toes to be heard by the bartender over the music. It might be the cutest thing Gideon’s ever seen in her life.

Harrow turns back once she’s ordered, arms crossed over her chest. “Why are you still standing there?” she demands coldly.

Gideon’s eyes roll. “We haven’t seen each other in years, can’t you just pretend not to hate me for one night?”

“No,” Harrow replies without missing a beat.

For some reason, it makes Gideon laugh. “Naturally.” She leans one arm on the bar and flexes unsubtly, loving how Harrow can’t tear her eyes away from the movement.

When their eyes meet again, Harrow’s glaring. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Whatever you’re doing.”

Gideon grins. “But you make it so easy.”

Harrow looks away as the bartender arrives with her drink. She grabs it immediately and has an urgent sip. They stand opposite one another uncomfortably.

“So,” Gideon says, not entirely sure how to proceed. “What’ve you been up to?”

Harrow just glares as her as if she’s offended by the question. “Are you trying to make small talk with me?”

Gideon shrugs. “Would you rather stand in silence?” Being this close to Harrow is setting her teeth on edge.

“Yes,” Harrow has another drink, looking bored. “Watching you flounder is off-putting.”

Okay, flounder is an exaggeration.

“You’re off-putting.” Gideon retorts,

“To think I almost forgot how immature you are,” Harrow mutters to herself.

Gideon grins then asks, “what’s new, then? You seeing anyone?”

Harrow falters as she sips her drink, evidently surprised by the question. “That’s hardly any of your business, Nav,” she mutters.

Gideon can’t help grinning, loving how easy it is to get under Harrow’s skin. The thing about Harrow is that she thinks she’s impossible to read. Spoiler alert: she isn’t. In fact, Gideon considers herself pretty fluent in Harrowhark Nonagesimus.

“Are you?” Harrow shoots back. “Seeing anyone?”

Gideon shrugs, hiding her delight at Harrow’s terrible attempt at nonchalance. Despite being hopelessly single, she decides to play it cool. “Sometimes.”

Harrow’s jaw tightens slightly. They stare each other down; Gideon smirking, Harrow glowering. The silence lasts maybe three seconds.

Gideon breaks first. “Bet you missed me,” she grins, just because she knows it will piss Harrow off.

“Yes, like a hole in the head.” Harrow offers one dry, sarcastic laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Gideon looks over Harrow again, feeling a bit light-headed. The cute little points of her ears, the angle of her cupid’s bow lined in black lipstick, the dark depths of her eyes. She’s the only person Gideon’s ever met who manages to strike a perfect balance between cute and creepy and sexy all in one.

She doesn't strictly mean to speak out loud when she hears herself say, “you look good.”

Harrow freezes, mid-drink and a pink flush spreads over her cheeks. She blinks a few times then bites on her lip.

Gideon regrets it so quickly adds, “y’know, for the devil incarnate,” sticking to the approved script.

Harrow takes another drink, pretending to be indifferent to this. “Is that your attempt at flirting?”

Gideon laughs in surprise at her direct question. “Is it working?”

Harrow looks unamused. “We’re not sixteen anymore, Griddle. You’re not as charming as you think.”

Sipping her beer, Gideon chuckles. She shoots Harrow an accusatory look. “Why you blushing, then?”

Harrow fully chokes on her mouthful, almost spitting her drink out, and her whole face darkens in embarrassment.

Gideon immediately starts laughing.

“Shut up,” Harrow hisses furiously.

Across the room, there’s a crash and series of cheers as Corona mounts a table and twirls around with a sparkler in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other. Gideon watches on with amusement.

When Gideon looks back down at Harrow, she’s less angry. For a moment they just look at each other.

Then Gideon finally steps back, collecting the two other drinks she’d ordered – what feels like hours ago – from the counter. “I’d better get these delivered.”

“Alright,” Harrow says simply, not giving anything away.

What else is there to say? It’s good to see you? No. It isn’t good. It’s a nightmare. A living, breathing nightmare. Seeing Harrow reminds Gideon of every shitty thing they’ve said to each other over the years; their messy, hateful breakup and her pathetic broken heart. It also reminds her of all the reasons she fell for Harrow in the first place; and how no one has ever come close to making her feel like this.

“I’ll, uh, see you out there,” Gideon says vaguely, then turns to go before she puts her foot in it again, leaving Harrow lingering by the bar.

She doesn’t turn back around – too scared to see Harrow’s expression.

When she arrives back in the safety of Cam and Pal’s company, she breathes an audible sigh of relief, handing them overdue drinks with an apologetic smile.

Pal’s frowning. “Oh no.” He sounds genuinely concerned.

“What?” Gideon asks.

“You’ve got that… look.”

Gideon laughs, a little hysterical. “What the hell does that mean?”

Cam takes a sip. “Speak to Harrow by any chance?”

Gideon groans, not answering.  

“How bad was it?” Pal asks.

Suddenly nervous, Gideon swallows, terrified she’s going to say something a little too honest. “Pretty terrible.”

“Define terrible.”

Gideon thinks. “She was mean to me for ten minutes straight.” She pauses. “Called me fat.”

Cam smirks as she says, “oh, she likes you,” at the same time Pal nods, “so she still has feelings then.”

Gideon’s glancing around the room nervously, wondering where Harrow has slithered off to. “How’d you figure that?”

Cam’s the one to answer. “If she didn’t, she’d have left after thirty seconds.”

“Exactly,” Pal replies.

Gideon hates this conversation.

“And…?” Pal leans forward, lowering his voice until Gideon can barely hear him. “Did you… flirt with her?”

“No.” Gideon’s voice is panicky. Cam looks up with pursed lips. “I mean…” she concedes, “not on purpose.”

“That’s worse,” Cam laughs quietly while Pal groans.

She’s right. Gideon is utterly fucked in the butthole.

~*~*~*~

10.30pm

After a brief visit to the ladies to dab cold water on the back of her neck and cheeks, plus another trip back to the bar for more emergency alcohol, Harrow returns through the crowds to the table. She’s fully preparing to let Coronabeth know she’ll have to duck out early from the birthday celebrations, something’s come up –

But is entirely horrified to see that the two groups seem to have merged into one in her absence.

Corona is in the centre of the booth with Palamedes and Camilla on her left, Gideon on her right, excitedly chattering between them and throwing her head back to laugh. The dead centre of attention in true Coronabeth style. From a distance, Harrow pales at the sight, her heart rate increasing.

A familiarly creepy voice is suddenly beside her. “Good news, Harry,” Ianthe drawls sarcastically from the dancefloor as Harrow passes. “Your ex has joined us.”

Harrow glowers at her but Ianthe just laughs as she melts back into the sea of bodies, pressing up against a stranger with confident overfamiliarity. Harrow’s nose scrunches up in distaste as she reluctantly drags her feet over to the table with a frown.

Gideon notices her before anyone else, nodding over Harrow’s head towards Ianthe. “You okay with that?”

When Harrow glances back, Ianthe has her hands buried in the hair of a stranger, their lips locked in a fervent kiss. Harrow turns to Gideon, shrugging questioningly.

“Why should I care if Tridentarius chooses to publically humiliate herself? She’s probably due a fresh venereal disease,” she says dryly.

Gideon laughs. “Isn’t she…? You know?” She clears her throat and asks, “aren’t you two…?” and makes an obscene gesture with her hands.

“Oh – ugh,” Harrow chokes on her drink in distaste. “No we are not. Don’t be disgusting.”

Chuckling, Gideon sips her drink and nods. “My bad,” she sniffs. “Just assumed.”

Coronabeth, having caught the end of the conversation, leans over to Gideon to say, “my darling sister wishes.”

Harrow scowls at her and Gideon laughs again, though it’s a tinged with a bitter edge. “Shouldn’t be surprised,” she says to Corona, “Nonagesimus isn’t exactly the relationship type.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” Harrow quips in agitation.

Gideon looks up at her with amusement. “I don’t?” she asks.

The question makes Harrow blush for some reason, reminding her of how much Gideon really does know. How Gideon has seen all her most vulnerable parts. How Gideon probably knows her better than anyone in the world.

Luckily, Corona cuts in bringing everyone’s attention to the tray of drinks in the centre of the table that Harrow hadn’t noticed straightaway.

“Everyone must do a shot for my Birthday,” she announces, beaming as she takes in everyone’s grumbles and protests. “I shall not take no for an answer.”

“What is it?” Camilla asks with narrowed eyes.

Corona’s smile widens, showing gleaming teeth and sparkling excitement in her eyes. “It’s roulette.”

Camilla doesn’t respond, just staring at her with an unimpressed expression while Palamedes and Gideon both laugh and shake their heads. Corona passes the tray around, insisting that everyone selects two glasses each.

“If I didn’t know you better,” Gideon murmurs as she selects hers, “I’d think you’re tryna get me drunk and take advantage of me.”

Corona laughs, a tinkling sound. “Here I was hoping you’d take advantage of me.”

Gideon snorts, then tips her head back to down the first shot, then the second. Harrow can see the edge of her tongue as she drinks, licking a drop liquid off of her lower lip and leaving a faint trace of saliva. Harrow’s eyes stay fixated on it, her throat growing dry at the mental images it conjures.

“Come on Harrow,” Corona interrupts, waving the drinks at where Harrow is still lingering beside the table, confiscating the half-empty drink from Harrow’s grip. “Time to cut loose.”

Harrow raises an eyebrow and considers arguing – not exactly in the mood to cut loose, whatever that even means – but decides against it, knowing it will be futile when Corona’s in this mood. So, with a heavy sigh, Harrow picks two of the glasses up at random and throws them back swiftly, wincing at the first then almost gagging at the second. Vile.

With a full body shiver, Harrow snatches her original drink back and gulps some down to recover. When she opens her eyes again, Gideon is watching her with an entertained look which is embarrassing.

“I’m going to dance now,” Corona announces. “Who’s coming with me?”

Camilla and Palamedes glance between one another shiftily until Gideon laughs and groans. “Cowards,” she accuses as she gets to her feet. “I will.” Then, to Corona, “coming, my sweet.”

Corona giggles and drags Gideon by the hand away from the table.

Harrow watches them go, feeling… well – actually she has no idea what she’s feeling. A million different things, all of them nightmarish. After a moment, she shuffles closer and sits down at the booth with Camilla and Palemedes. The combination of different spirits swirl around her stomach, instantly giving her head rush.

“It’s good to see you,” Palamedes says, raising his voice to be heard over the music. “You look well.”

Harrow turns to him, unsure exactly how to make small talk with the mood she’s in. She just nods at them formally, “Sextus,” and “Hect.”

“Alright, Harrow,” Camilla says, nodding in return. “Long time no see.”

“Yes,” Harrow agrees, wondering when exactly she last saw the pair of them. They’d always been closer to Gideon and, although not explicitly, it was clear that they had chosen Griddle’s side over hers during the break-up. And so their friendship, if you could have even called it that, had naturally dwindled over the years.

She wouldn’t admit it, but Harrow had always liked Sextus and Camilla. Of all Gideon’s idiotic friends, they were at least two people who had functioning brains and knew how to use them.

“Your hair’s longer,” Palamedes observes, awkwardly attempting conversation.

Harrow reaches up instinctively to push it behind her ears, raking fingers through the dark, choppy curls that hang just below her chin. She looks over Palemedes and Camilla; their consistent styles unwavering. “Yours is the same,” she responds.

Palamedes just laughs once. “I suppose it is.”

Harrow’s head is spinning as they speak, her eyes wandering over to the dancefloor where Gideon has an arm around Corona’s waist, twirling her happily while she tilts her face towards the ceiling and laughs. Gideon’s eyes crinkle into a fond smile as she sidesteps drunkenly to the music.

Watching Gideon dancing like a fool is so disgusting endearing, Harrow feels the corner of her mouth quirking into a tiny, private smile. Simply the fact Gideon’s the only one brave enough to act like an idiot with Corona just to make her happy on her birthday reminds Harrow of all the things she used to love about their relationship. Gideon’s inability to be embarrassed, her contagiously carefree attitude – it’s always been… attractive. 

Not to mention the way her hips are moving, not quite grinding against Corona, but lingering close and following Corona’s body with ease. Harrow wishes she didn’t notice but once she has, she can hardly tear her eyes away.

Allowing herself an indulgent ogle from across the room, Harrow’s eyes dart down lower and snag on the shadow of a slight bulge in Gideon’s jeans she hadn’t noticed before. Wait. Is she… packing? Harrow’s chest tightens and she fights to hide her reaction when she looks back up again, an obvious flush settled over her cheeks.

Fucking hell.

Camilla’s voice pulls Harrow back from her stupor, making her start with wide eyes. “When did you last see Gideon then?”

Harrow hopes it wasn’t too obvious that she was staring. The faintly amused glint in Camilla’s eye makes her doubt it. “What?” she asks stupidly before blinking and thinking about it. “Oh. Um. I don’t know.”

Camilla doesn’t say anything. Her silence makes Harrow nervous and she finds herself speaking again. “I suppose not since… it’s been…” she clears her throat. “Not since things… ended.”

Five years.

Palamdes speaks next, tentatively. “What, uh, exactly happened between the two of you?” he wonders aloud. “If you don’t mind me asking. Gideon’s always been vague.”

Harrow does mind but, luckily for Sextus, she is feeling drunker by the second and too inebriated to care as much as she usually would. So, instead, she finds herself mumbling, with a furrowed brow, “I don’t… know.”

It’s clearly unexpected. Camilla and Palamedes look between each other sharing a silent conversation. Harrow almost forgot how much they do that. It drives her mad.

Harrow’s heart aches absently in her chest as she hears the words, her brain cartwheeling back to that time in her life. There’s no one reason that things ended; closer to a hundred.

Mainly, Harrow was fucking terrified. She had been so afraid of letting her guard down – God forbid, falling in love with someone – and then, when it happened, she had absolutely no idea how to deal with it. She distanced herself from Gideon because every time they were alone she felt so wildly out of control it was petrifying.

Neither of them knew what the hell they were doing. But Harrow’s a little more experienced now and, give her some credit, was only a very hormonal teenager at the time. She’s at least twenty-five percent better at processing her emotions. Thirty percent better at expressing them. Probably sixty percent more comfortable in her own skin.

Her eyes flit up again to where Corona and Gideon are falling over one another laughing. Harrow’s grip on the glass in her hand tightens as she swallows a cold mouthful and winces at the sting.

One hundred percent still in love with Gideon Nav.

~*~*~*~

11.25pm

Gideon's night is growing more raucous by the minute. It’s not long until everybody is talking louder, gesturing more wildly. Pal and Cam have somehow become involved in an intense debate about whether a horse could beat a gorilla in a fight. Corona is dancing while Ianthe watches on with equal measures of encouragement and judgement.

When Gideon catches Ianthe’s eye from a distance, the pale freak shoots her an unprompted middle finger along with a cold, ingenuous smile. Gideon laughs to herself, wishing Ianthe was closer so she could give her a gentle shove and watch her slip on a spilt drink. Given the space between them, Gideon settles instead for mouthing fuck you and an aggressive jacking off motion until Ianthe’s smile drops.

God, she can’t stand that moron. She can understand Harrow getting chummy with Corona – even though it’s an odd pairing, at least it makes sense that Harrow’s gay ass would enjoy Corona’s company; everyone does. But Ianthe? A line has to be drawn somewhere.

As Gideon continues to scan the room, she spots Harrow standing near the corridor leading to the bathroom, looking annoyed at something as standard.

Gideon’s already decided that she absolutely will not wander over there as she watches Harrow disappear through the door. There’s no reason for them to speak again tonight. Hell, there’s no reason for them to speak again ever.

Unfortunately, Gideon’s a little drunker than intended and her legs start moving before her brain has fully given them permission to, heading straight towards to the spot she’d last seen Harrow. No amount of desperate mental reasoning seems to stop them.

She’ll just walk past casually, she figures; maybe find an excuse to ask if Harrow wants a drink or a game of pool. No, that would be insane. Harrow would never say yes to either of those things. Okay, scratch that. Maybe Gideon could simply wait until she sees Harrow and hold the door open for her or something, using it as a chance to flex her muscles.

It’s not like Gideon’s obsessed with Harrow. She just really wants to know what she’s doing lurking in the corners and can’t focus on anything else until she’s seen her again.

As she ponders these hypotheticals, she rounds the corner of the corridor. It’s quieter than the main bar, helping her focus a little better. Entering the ladies bathroom, Gideon hears metallic rattling sound. There’s no one else inside.

Then, “for fuck’s sake.”

Gideon stops, instantly recognizing the angry, little voice. “Harrow?”

The rattling stops and silence stretches for a moment. Then Gideon hears, “go away,” from one of the cubicles.

She starts laughing; she can’t help it.

“Griddle.” Harrow sounds violent. “It’s not funny.”

Gideon leans against the sink. “Are you trapped?”

“…no.”

Another loud rattling noise.

Gideon waits, grinning.

Eventually, Harrow sighs. “Maybe.”

Gideon bites the inside of her cheek to hold back laughter, genuinely fearing for her life if Harrow gets wind of it. This is the funniest thing that’s happened all night. Of all her imaginary scenarios, she could never have accounted for something so perfect.

“Is this real life?” she says, attempting to keep her voice level.

“Be quiet,” Harrow warns.

“You’re trapped in a toilet.”

“I’m aware of that.” A groan. Harrow mutters, “why couldn’t it have been anyone else?” followed by another rattling sound.

“I can leave. If you want,” Gideon suggests.

More silence. Then Harrow answers, “I don’t care.”

“Figures,” Gideon sighs fondly, “you always were shit at asking for help.”

Harrow doesn’t reply.

Gideon continues, “alright, I’ll go then.”

She wonders if Harrow will give in. Probably not. She’s so fucking stubborn. Gideon gives her a few minutes, leaning casually where she stands and waiting. But no. Nothing but Harrow’s angry breaths.

“What’s your plan, Nonagesimus?” Gideon asks finally. “You gonna live in there forever?”

Harrow exhales sharply. “Yes. Perhaps.”

The door shudders as Harrow gives it another unsuccessful shove.

“Just say the word, princess,” Gideon smirks from across the room. “I’ll be happy to help.”

A long, reluctant pause.

Finally, Harrow audibly growls and says, “fuck you, Griddle. Will you just…?”

Gideon waits for her to finish the sentence and laughs when she doesn’t. “This is painful.”

“Shut up.”

“Use your words,” Gideon encourages, accidentally turning herself on a little at the implication. How she always loved making Harrow beg for it.

A girl who can’t be any older than nineteen enters the bathroom at that point, walking in and looking between Gideon and the occupied stall questioningly as they pass.

“My ex trapped herself inside,” Gideon explains casually with a wave of her hand. “Nothing to be concerned about.”

“I didn’t trap myself –” Harrow is hissing from inside, “the door is jammed.”

“Told you not to panic, mistress of gloom,” Gideon teases in response. “I’m here to help you.”

The bystander shrugs, completely uninterested as she shuts the door of a stall behind her. “Okay.”

Once Gideon’s alone again, she adjusts her position against the sink, folding her arms over her chest. “I could do this all night,” she warns.

No response but Gideon can imagine the seething scowl making Harrow’s little mouth pucker. So adorable. Gideon leans against the basin, drunkenly letting her mind wander.

“Y’know,” she muses, “since you’re stuck, maybe it’s a good time for a heart to heart.”

A beat. Then, “… a what?” in a quiet voice.

“Yeah,” Gideon sniffs. “We haven’t spoken in forever.”

“I’m aware,” Harrow rebuts. “It’s intentional.”

“You never respond to my texts,” Gideon says, sounding a little pathetic.

“I changed my number.”

Gideon rolls her eyes at the obvious lie. If the concept of being avoidant was a person, it would be Harrow.  

“I think we should just address the elephant in the room. Get it all out in the open.” Gideon is met with silence. “C’mon. You liked me once,” she points out gleefully.

“You can’t prove that,” Harrow argues but both of them know it’s a ridiculous claim.

Gideon laughs. “Reckon I could,” she contends thoughtfully. “There’s plenty of times –” Gideon pauses as the girl in the stall comes out and washes her hands silently, ignoring the scene playing out around her completely. Smart. Gideon smiles and nods, “have a good night,” as she turns to leave. Then she clears her throat, re-addressing the closed door Harrow’s imprisoned behind. “Plenty of times that come to mind. Like that year on my birthday in the back of the car, when you –”

There’s a strangled sound followed by a hefty exhale and the stomp of a boot hitting the tiled floor. Did she actually just stamp her foot?

“We are not having this conversation,” Harrow interrupts firmly.

“Why not?” Gideon asks, keeping her tone light. “I’ve got nowhere to be. You’re entombed in a toilet. There’s no time like the present.”

Silence stretches between them for a while until Harrow says, “that car sex meant nothing.”

Gideon grins, pleased to know Harrow’s thinking about having sex with her. “You’re a shit liar, Nonagesimus.” Generally speaking, she’s not – but Gideon can read her like a book. “You had the time of your life.”

An unamused scoff. “You did.”

“Yeah,” Gideon agrees. “Bet no one’s taking care of you like that anymore.”

“I can take care of myself,” Harrow snips.

Gideon laughs in surprise, now picturing Harrow’s late night masturbation routine which is all kinds of distracting. Fuck, what she’d give to hear one of those cute, little whimpers again.

Not because she likes Harrow. Just because, y’know. Old times sake.

“Set the scene for me,” Gideon replies excitedly. “Are we talking fully nude or just pants off?” she pauses, grinning. “Bet you still do it under your skelly blanket,” she chuckles. “Do you still have that thing?”

Harrow doesn’t answer the question or say anything else for a while, evidently not prepared to continue that particular conversation.

Gideon drops it and tries again. “You ready to admit you need my help yet?”

“No.”

“Then,” she shrugs. “I’ll just keep you company until someone comes to rescue you.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Harrow angrily mutters.

“Y’know, I was thinking recently about –” Gideon cuts herself off, not sure if she should finish the sentence and admit to Harrow how often she reminisces about their relationship. “Never mind.”

Gideon counts the seconds of silence in her head. One, two, three, four –

“…about?” Harrow asks.

Gideon grins and asks something else now she’s piqued Harrow’s interest. “When was the last time you thought about me?”

She hears Harrow scoff. “A rather self-indulgent question, no?”

“Self-indulgent?” Gideon repeats, teasing. “Are you trying to say you’re thinking about me when you self indulge?” She’s disappointed Harrow isn’t able to see her wink. “Never knew you were so obsessed with jacking off.”

“That is not what I meant and you know it,” Harrow fumes, interrupting before Gideon can get carried away. Boo.

Gideon laughs. “So you don’t think about me at all?”

“No.”

She tries a different approach. “Did you ever even cry over me?”

Gideon’s probably seen Harrow cry three times in her entire life. Once when she fell and fractured her ankle when they were little kids. Once when Gideon got in a super bad fight at college and Harrow was convinced she was going to die in hospital. And once when they had really, really, really mind-blowingly excellent sex. Gideon’s pretty sure Harrow would deny all of these occasions.

Only silence follows.

“Nah,” Gideon laughs to herself when she doesn’t get an answer. “’Course not. Would’ve ruined your makeup.” She gives it another moment, adjusting her feet to lean on the other leg. “Okay.” She thinks for a moment. “Fine. At least tell me I’m your favorite ex.”

Nothing.

“Harrow? Am I your best ex or not?”

Still nothing. Gideon harrumphs, “rude.”

A full minute passes, Harrow refusing to give in. The lock rattles a few more times as she attempts to break free from her confinement.

“Alright,” Gideon eventually gives up. “I won’t ask any more serious stuff.”

“You’re incapable of being serious,” Harrow grumbles.

“Just answer one question and then I’ll be happy,” Gideon pleads, determined to get through. “Just one question.”

“No.”

Gideon tries to think of something inoffensive. “Do you still take all the pickles out your burger?” She finds herself smiling as she reminisces, mumbling to herself, “damn, I miss those extra pickles.”

Even that doesn’t get a response and Gideon starts to seriously worry that Harrow might have fallen asleep on the toilet.

“No? Nothing?” Gideon’s keeps her voice light. “You’re really not giving me much to work with here.” She stifles another chuckle, deciding a sillier question might get her further. “Alright. Fuck, marry, kill. Me, Sex Pal and Cam.”

Harrow’s quiet voice drifts over the top of the door. “I’d kill you three times.”

Gideon grins, glad to know Harrow is still alive in there. “That’s not how the game works,” she points out. “And if you kill me then you have to marry –”

“I’d kill all three of you, then,” Harrow barks, exasperated. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Nope,” Gideon shrugs happily. “Aren’t you bored of living in a toilet yet?”

Harrow says nothing but Gideon can hear her fidgeting around; her breathing growing heavier and more impatient. Harrow’s really never been too patient.

“Alright,” Gideon resigns herself to the fact that Harrow is still the most stubborn person the entire universe. “I’ll leave. Since you don’t wanna talk to me.”

Harrow is mute for another few seconds. Gideon marches her feet in place as if she’s taking footsteps out of the room. With a heavy, drawn-out sigh, Harrow finally says, “fine. Fucking fine.” Gideon can hear the pain in her voice. “Will you… help me?”

Gideon beams, basking in her success. How she loves to feel needed by Nonagesimus. It’s a fatal flaw, she knows. “Was that so hard?”

Harrow grumbles, “yes,” which Gideon ignores.

Pushing off the sink and ambling forwards, Gideon  crouches in front of the lock, squinting like she knows what she’s looking at. “Okay.”

Harrow’s voice is louder now; closer. “What are you doing?”

“Saving your life.”

Gideon can practically hear Harrow’s eyes roll when she sarcastically says, “my hero.”

She smiles to herself as she examines the lock from the outside, tilting her head. “Hmm.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Just thinking.”

A breath. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Ha ha,” Gideon replies sarcastically. Then she gives up with the lock, far too drunk and heavy handed to get it working again. She straightens and braces one hand against the door. “I’m gonna – stand back a bit.”

“What are you –?”

Gideon shoves the door back with her shoulder, using her full body force to jam the lock open until the door swings backwards. Harrow squeaks in surprise and darts out the way, hopping out of the cubicle hastily.

Unfortunately, Gideon’s been working out a lot lately and is stronger than she’s used to. The entire door rips away from both sets of hinges, smacking down onto the ground with a loud thud and teetering against the wall of the stall.

They both stare at the mess, gob-smacked as the door finally stills, wedged at an angle over the toilet.

“Oops,” Gideon laughs nervously. She glances down at Harrow and realizes they are much closer than either of them expected.

Something unreadable passes across Harrow’s face, hot and flushed, as she takes a step back, breathing hard. “Jesus,” she swallows, looking rattled for the first time. “You’re… how did you do that?”

Gideon’s embarrassment quickly morphs into amusement when she realizes that Harrow isn’t upset about wrecking the place. She’s… impressed?

Gideon just winks at her, which results in a scowl and a satisfyingly deep blush, and says, “you’re free.”

Harrow smooths down her dress and tucks hair behind her ears, recovering. Reluctantly, she replies, “yes. Thank you.”

Gideon blinks. “What?”

Harrow looks annoyed instantly. “I won’t say it twice.”

Gideon just grins.

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” Harrow adds. When Gideon doesn’t respond, she growls, “I’m serious.”

“I physically cannot make that promise.”

“Griddle,” Harrow whines.

Gideon tries to ignore the physical effect it has hearing Harrow sound just a little bit pathetic when she says her name. “You got defeated by a toilet.”

“It was faulty.” Harrow crosses her arms, all pouty lips and pointy elbows. “See? This is why I didn’t ask for help.”

Gideon laughs. “You’re so dramatic.”

For a moment neither of them says anything, then voices drift down the corridor from the bar. Harrow exhales and Gideon takes steps backwards away from her reluctantly.

“Come on,” Gideon says. “Ianthe’s probably planning your rescue operation.”

Harrow actually laughs at that, coldly. “Oh yes,” she agrees, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because Ianthe’s so caring and compassionate.”

Gideon chuckles. “Point taken. Well – Corona will be missing you.”

“Only because it’ll be one less person celebrating her birthday,” Harrow rolls her eyes.

“You’ve got an answer for everything, huh?” Gideon shakes her head, amused.

“Generally, yes,” Harrow replies without missing a beat, offering a mocking smile in Gideon’s direction.

“Except the questions I want answers to,” Gideon highlights helpfully.

Harrow falters, not expecting that, and swallows. “Why do you care whether I eat pickles or not? Or about my skeleton blanket? Why do you care so much?”

Gideon shrugs. “Just do.” She thinks about the question, wondering how honest to be. “You’re like… my guy. My little guy.”

Okay, that didn’t come out right.

Harrow’s not impressed. “Excuse me?”

“I just mean,” Gideon tries again, “you’re… Harrow.” Not quite as articulate as she hoped for.

Harrow arches a brow. “Are you on drugs?”

Gideon laughs under her breath. She wishes. “I know you’re not my girlfriend anymore or whatever. But I can’t just stop knowing you.”

Harrow expression shifts, suddenly more serious, as she glares up at Gideon with those steely dark eyes. “Look,” she says quietly and urgently. “I’m only saying this because you helped me –”

“Saved your life,” Gideon corrects.

A sigh. Gideon waits, arching an expectant eyebrow.

Harrow says, “I haven’t contacted you because…” she looks at the ground, looking physically pained. A huff. “I can’t… trust myself around you.” She hesitates like she’s going to add something else but stops herself. “So it’s better to keep my distance. Are you happy now?”

Both of Gideon’s eyebrows have shot up her forehead as Harrow speaks, entirely shocked by this confession. Gideon had more or less accepted the fact that she would die without ever getting any form of honesty from Harrow.  

“You… what?” Gideon says stupidly, blinking back at her.

They just stare at one another for a little while; Gideon has no idea what to say. All this time she’s wanted closure, but it really never occurred to her that Harrow would still care.

The moment’s shattered when Corona appears suddenly, her golden glow illuminating the bathroom as she steps inside and excitedly grabs ahold of Gideon and Harrow’s wrists collectively.

“Oh, we’ve been wondering where you disappeared to!” she exclaims, glancing between them. “Look at you two getting along. It’s a Tridentarius birthday miracle!”

Gideon laughs sheepishly. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Now come with me,” Corona instructs. “I need a partner for the game.”

“…game?” Gideon parrots as her brain works overtime to keep up with Corona and check what Harrow’s doing with her face. Currently frowning, but that’s nothing new. Their eyes meet but Harrow looks away shiftily.

Together they start walking back toward the noise and lights of the bar while Gideon rethinks everything.

~*~*~*~

12.01am

When she’s back at the booth, Harrow’s entire body feels strange. She’s well on her way to being drunk which is… not ideal. She needs to keep her wits about her; now more than ever. With Gideon on the prowl she must remain astute.

The only saving grace is that everyone around her seems just as inebriated, in not more. Words are slurred and louder as people shout to be heard over pounding music. Palamedes is halfway through some story about a work conference he attended while Camilla listens with the expression of someone watching a documentary. Harrow is mostly pretending to pay attention while trying not to look across the room.

Gideon is over by the dartboard with Corona, both of them gesturing wildly and laughing hysterically. Ianthe’s nowhere to be seen which is probably for the best.

Harrow tries to focus but is fixated on the way Gideon’s vest shows off flexed biceps angled up into rippling shoulder muscles and defined lines across her chest. Every part of her seems to have grown since Harrow saw her last. She’s fucking enormous.

And that douchebag grin. It drives Harrow crazy.

Palamedes notices this. (Harrow had almost forgotten how, irritatingly, Palamedes always notices things).

“So,” he says.

Harrow immediately knows she doesn’t like where this is going, snapping back to the conversation around her. “What?”

“What were you and Gideon talking about?”

“What?” Harrow repeats, her pitch climbing at the mention of Gideon’s name.

“Earlier, by the bar,” he elaborates.

By the bar? Harrow can hardly remember it feels so long ago. She mainly recalls the smell of Gideon’s sweat and the piercing look in her golden eyes. “You’re drunk, Sextus,” Harrow snaps, refusing to entertain the conversation.

Camilla takes a sip of her drink silently.

“Perhaps,” Palamedes responds but proceeds regardless, always too curious for his own good. “However, as an outside observer –”

“You aren’t an outside observer.”

“Well, then as a general observer –”

“Unwelcomed observer.”

Palamedes ploughs on. “I believe you’ve looked at Gideon approximately forty-seven times tonight.”

Harrow nearly chokes on her drink, instantly feeling her face heat up at the unexpected announcement. Camilla raises an eyebrow while Palamedes smiles like he’s proud of himself.

Harrow decides in that moment that she really does hate him. And, unfortunately, has very little in the way of a defence. She opens her mouth angrily but can’t think of a single argument to help plead her case.

Across the room Gideon says something that makes Corona double over laughing. Harrow catches herself looking again and immediately looks back, realizing her mistake. Too late.

Palamedes leans closer to say, “forty-eight.”

Harrow seethes. “Have you really nothing better to do than watch me all night like some kind of possessed miscreant?”

As soon as she’s spoken, Harrow realizes how hypocritical that question is and winces.

Camilla rubs her forehead tiredly and nudges Sextus. “It’s not our place to get involved.”

“I’m not getting involved.” Palamedes looks a little sheepish, knowing when Camilla weighs in it must be bad. “I’m observing. I can’t help it.”

Harrow’s voice is measured when she says, “it’s none of your business who I look at.”

He sighs. “Okay, but –”

“No,” Harrow barks. “None.”

“But –”

“No.”

“You clearly still –”

“No.”

Palamedes and Harrow stare at each other, neither backing down. Harrow folds her arms over her chest petulantly. Palamedes waits but she doesn’t look away.

Camilla sips her drink, watching them like it’s a television show.

“You’re both exactly the same,” Palamedes finally drops his shoulders in defeat, breaking the glare. “You and Gideon.”

Harrow frowns. “What does that mean?”

Palamedes just looks at her pointedly without answering the question.

Harrow finds herself looking across the room at Gideon again – she can’t help it. Griddle’s still laughing; still somehow the loudest person in any group she joins. Some things never change.

Palamedes follows her gaze and asks quietly, “do you still love her?”

“What?” Harrow laughs on instinct; a sharp, humourless sound, intoxicatedly replying before she’s even thought about it. “You can be attracted to someone without being in love with them.”

She realizes her mistake when Camilla asks, all too seriously, “so… you are attracted to Gideon, then?”

“What?” Harrow repeats, panicking. Did she say that? “No.”

Camilla shrugs. “You did used to date. It would be fine if you were.”

Harrow offers a sarcastic laugh. “Me? Attracted to Griddle? That’s ludicrous. She’s – I mean… look at her!”

When she glances up, Harrow audibly gulps as she sees Gideon reaching up to remove darts from the wall, her vest hitching up a little. Harrow licks her lips when she faintly spots the sweaty trail of hair under her arm. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Forty-nine,” Palamedes murmurs into his drink.

Camilla’s smirking now. “Yes, you have been. That’s the point.”

Harrow huffs in embarrassment as she turns back to the table. “You two aren’t actually the repository of all knowledge, you know.”

Palamedes doesn’t look convinced. Camilla doesn’t look convinced either, which is irritating because she hasn’t even said anything.

“Will you drop it?” Harrow pleads, more quietly. This entire conversation is humiliating.

Palamedes softens slightly. “Harrow.”

She frowns at him weakly. “What?”

“…have you ever actually apologized?”

Harrow laughs again, this time tiredly. Apologize? She… can’t. “What am I supposed to say?”

“The truth is a good starting point,” Palamedes suggests. He looks at her and says, “look, maybe I’m drunk.”

“You definitely are,” Camilla murmurs under her breath.

“You think she hates you,” Palamedes continues. “But… maybe she doesn’t.”

Harrow says nothing – just lets out a long breath, reaching down to sip her drink and try to steady her nerves. Just when she thinks things can’t get any worse, she sees the glass is empty. Nothing about this night is going to plan.

“I’m getting a drink,” she announces and gets to her feet before Sextus or Hect can say anything else about Gideon or – about anything. She doesn’t want to hear it.

The bar is even busier now; Harrow has to squeeze through the crowd to reach the counter. She can hear her heart beating in her ears as she stumbles across the room, focusing on not tripping over any strangers or her own feet. Her limbs feel longer and heavy, her arms swinging by her sides.

When she finally pushes her way to the front, attempting to get the bartender’s attention to request something strong, she looks up and staggers, slamming directly into Gideon.

Gideon catches her own drink before it spills, while Harrow steadies herself on the edge of the bar. For a second both of them just stare at each other.

Then Gideon’s grinning like she’s actually happy to see Harrow; like Harrow hasn’t spent the entire night so far being cold and insolent. It’s… ridiculous, quite frankly.

Harrow blinks a few times. When her eyes open, Gideon is still standing there smiling.

“Hey sunshine,” Gideon asks with a waggle of her eyebrows. “Miss me already?”

Swallowing, Harrow fights the urge to be sick.

~*~*~*~

12.13am

Gideon has been standing at the bar for no longer than two minutes when Harrow appears miraculously, in the way she always seems to.

The air has shifted a little between them since the incident in the bathroom thanks to Harrow’s uncharacteristic moment of sincerity. But now, she isn’t giving much away and there’s a distracted expression clouding her face.

“I want to say something,” Harrow announces, her voice once again more serious than Gideon is used to. “To you.”

“Me?” Gideon says stupidly, a little nervous. Nothing Harrow ever says to her ends well if their history is anything to go by.

What could Harrow possibly have to proclaim? Gideon’s scared. Very scared. They’re just about managing to get through this night without killing each other which, to be honest, is more than she could have ever expected. They probably shouldn’t push it with any dramatic confessions.

She notices Harrow swaying slightly, propping herself up against the bar for support. “How many drinks have you had tonight, Nonagesimus?” Gideon teases with a raised eyebrow.

Harrow pouts at her, looking irritated. Gideon wants to kiss that stupid pout off her face.

Wait – does she? No, she doesn’t want to kiss Harrow. Must have been a slip of the tongue. Kill. She wants to kill Harrow. Seeing Harrow’s puckered lips and wanting to kiss her is nothing more than muscle memory, Gideon tells herself.

“Yes, a few,” Harrow replies matter-of-factly. “But I expect you have too.”

Gideon considers, mentally trying to count – there was the first few cans round at Cam’s, then some bright, ketchup-colored rum-concotion Sex Pal had brought for the taxi ride over, then beer and another beer and then a shot, and another beer. Thinking about ketchup distracts her brain and, without meaning to, Gideon’s consumed by the thought of getting a hot dog on the way home. Yum.

“Earth to Gideon,” Harrow is saying, waving a hand in front of her face.

Okay, maybe she is a bit drunk.  “Huh?”

“I’m trying to say something,” Harrow reminds her impatiently.

“Oh, right, ye-ye-yeah,” Gideon nods, the edges of the room blurring a little. “What’s up?”

Harrow’s staring at her intensely, her black eyes darker than usual. Gideon gulps, nervous, trying to focus on Harrow’s face and not think about the hot dog.  

“I wanted to say,” Harrow huffs out, far too seriously, “that… I’m sorry.”

Gideon blinks in utter disbelief. “You’re… what?”

That’s a first. Harrow’s… never apologized before. For anything.

“For… hurting you,” Harrow finishes, now looking down at her feet awkwardly. “I… I’m sorry, okay?”

Gideon has no idea what to make of the declaration. This must be a dream. Gideon fights the urge to pinch herself.

“Are you getting soppy on me?” Gideon asks dumbly. “Who are you and what have you done with Harrow?”

“Quiet, Nav,” Harrow snaps, voice low. A pause. “Sextus stuck his big nose in and…” she trails off.

“And?” Gideon asks.

“He told me I ought to apologize.”

Goddamn Sex Pal. He never could help himself from meddling in the name of scientific curiosity.

Gideon backtracks, feeling a little deflated. “So you don’t actually mean it?”

“No – yes, I do,” Harrow pinches her nose, getting frustrated. “That’s not what I – he just told me to be… honest.”

They look at one another, Gideon’s brow starting to sweat.

Harrow coughs. “He said there’s a chance you don’t… hate me.”

Gideon has to stop herself from laughing now, totally confused. “Hate you?” God, how blind was Harrow? “I could never hate you. Even when I really tried to.”

Gideon really had tried; that’s what makes it even sadder. She’s been angry at Harrow, sure, sad and embarrassed over the whole failed romance thing. But she’d always have come running back if she called or responded to one stupid text message. Utterly pathetic.

“Oh,” Harrow’s lips part in surprise.

“I’m not mad we split. We were not good for each other back then. We should have been figuring ourselves out, not trying to settle down,” Gideon says, voice low and mortifyingly honest. “You just…never seemed that affected by it.”

“Griddle, don’t be a moron,” Harrow snaps, deeply offended. “I was pretending.” She barks out a laugh and sighs. “I’m quite good at it.”

Shit.

“Yeah,” Gideon agrees, slowly starting to realize just how misguided she’s been. “Right. Yeah.”  Then sighs wistfully. “We were just kids.” A tender look at Harrow. “We’re probably a bit less stupid now.”

Her mouth quirks into a tiny smile. “Do I need to remind you that you destroyed a doorframe under an hour ago?”

Gideon grins. “I did say less stupid,” she points out. “Besides, you’re the one who got trapped in there. That’s pretty dumb.”

Harrow rolls her eyes and ignores the accusation. Then she says, “I suppose. We might even… get on, now.” She glances up at Gideon from under her lashes, looking embarrassed. “If we tried to.”

That’s… unexpected.

“Harrowhark Nonagesimus,” Gideon asks, voice raising into a sing-song as she looks down at Harrow with soft eyes, hoping her words aren’t slurring. “Are you saying you wanna be friends?”

Gideon can tell the question is now what Harrow was expecting either and relishes the way she won’t meet Gideon’s eye, fiddling with one of the gaudy silver rings on her finger.

“I…” Harrow trails off, shrugging awkwardly.

Harrow doesn’t respond so Gideon just laughs, flagging down the bartender to break the suffocating tension that’s threatening to smother them both. “Guess you can’t resist me ‘cause I’m big and beefy now,” she teases, noticing how Harrow has looked at her arms for probably the tenth time tonight.

Harrow shoots Gideon an irritated look but doesn’t deny it, a faint pink creeping across her cheeks under the goth makeup she’s wearing. Fuck, that makeup. It makes Harrow look like a creepy little Victorian doll. Gideon’s always low-key been into it.

“You’re an idiot, Griddle,” Harrow retorts, but it’s slightly less biting than usual.

Gideon orders drinks for herself, then turns to Harrow expectantly. “What you drinking?”

Harrow seems taken aback by this for some reason, though Gideon thought it had been obvious they were waiting in line.

“You don’t need to buy me a drink,” Harrow says, biting her lip.

“I know. I want to.” She looks so cute Gideon could combust. Gideon fights the urge to pick her up and place her on the counter, just for fun, and grins. “We’re friends now.” Apparently.

Every time Gideon says the word Harrow blushes for some reason, but mumbles her order anyway, looking at the floor.

As their drinks are prepared, Gideon glances over at her. It might be the unexpected apology or it might just be the alcohol talking, but she feels all of the anger and resentment she’d been holding onto begin to lift off of her like a fog clearing. Underneath the mist, she’s met with nothing but nostalgia and fondness and – inconveniently – sucker punched in the gut with how attracted to Harrow she’s always been.

Gideon clears her throat. “I, uh, accept your apology. By the way.” Fuck it. All the resentment they’ve been holding onto just isn’t worth the energy anymore. “Sorry, too. For, y’know. Everything.”  

Harrow doesn’t smile; she doesn’t say anything. She just stares up at Gideon with those wide, glassy eyes until Gideon starts to sweat.

However many times she’s imagined her reunion with Harrow, it was never like this.

At that moment, someone walks past and bumps against Harrow with an obnoxious elbow so hard she trip a few steps backwards. Granted, it doesn’t take much to throw Harrow off balance – a strong breeze would probably do it – but Gideon sees red anyway when she clocks Harrow’s surprised face, moving instinctively forwards to grab the guy by the back of his jacket, balling the fabric into a fist and yanking him backwards.

“Hey, dickhead,” Gideon grunts.

The guy yelps in surprise, looking at Gideon with confusion and, quite quickly, fear. “What the fuck?”

“Watch where you’re going,” Gideon warns, nodding her head to gesture at Harrow who’s reached up to hold her shoulder. “And apologize to her, you asswipe.”

“What?” he blinks and nervously mumbles, “s-sorry,” in Harrow’s direction.

Harrow doesn’t say anything in return, simply offering him a trademark scowl. It’s immensely satisfying watching the guy visibly recoil in terror. Gideon finds herself chuckling quietly.

Satisfied, she releases her grip on the worn leather and pushes the guy forwards until he stumbles and hurries away. “Get outta here, loser.” His shadow disappears into the crowd.

As he retreats, Harrow watches with a poorly disguised smirk.

She looks at Gideon. “I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, I know.”

They stare at one another, faintly amused at the scene. Gideon desperately tries to ignore how much it turns her on being Harrow’s bodyguard.

Then the bartender bangs their drinks down on the counter and the moment’s gone.

~*~*~*~

12.52am

After finishing half her drink – the one Gideon Nav bought for her, she absently thinks with befuddlement – Harrow promptly makes a beeline for the bathroom, consuming far too much liquid in such a short span and, more unwisely, far too much alcohol.

She can’t stop thinking about her conversations with Gideon tonight. How she doesn’t seem even halfway as angry as Harrow always assumed she would be. How she graciously accepted Harrow's apology, even though it’s taken years longer than it should have. How she looks at Harrow like someone worth listening to, rather than the ghost of failed relationships haunting the bar.

Harrow truly never believed she’d reach a point where she even wanted to be in a room with Gideon again, let alone all the other sordid things she’s thought about tonight. She can’t help it. Gideon looks so fucking good. After all these years, she’d always pictured her as the same gawky teenager who ruined her life. But time’s been generous to Gideon. She’s broader, she’s chiselled in all the right places. She’s more… confident. Not that put-on bravado Griddle used to show off to impress women. No, this Gideon Nav is more authentic. More real.

It’s so disgustingly attractive to Harrow she wishes she could rip out her vulva and have a stern word with it. Perhaps a swift smack around the chops would knock some sense into the thing. After all, it makes no sense at all that she’s this worked up after nothing more than a few flirty conversations and prolonged eye-contact.

Perhaps it has to do with the years of unresolved tension and dirty, late-night thoughts about her devastatingly handsome ex-girlfriend.

Harrow’s probably only been waiting in line for a minute or so, fidgeting and tapping her foot impatiently as the ladies is suddenly fit to bursting with throngs of people waiting to use the facilities who weren’t there just half an hour ago. Orange hair catches in her periphery as Gideon’s walks by.

The neurons in Harrow’s brain activate like an addict who’s just been offered a line of coke. She feels her eyes widen and her heart rate increase absently.

“Grid–!” she opens her mouth to call out but instantly realizes she has no hope of being heard over the music.

So, instead, Harrow places two fingers in her mouth and whistles in Gideon’s direction like she’s calling a dog. It takes them both by surprise. She bites her lip nervously as a few people around turn to look at her questioningly, which she steadfastly ignores. Gideon’s head snaps up to the sound and, when she spots Harrow, her blank expression transforms into a curious smile.

Jogging over, Gideon joins Harrow in the line and enters the bathroom with her as the people in front shuffle forwards. Harrow can practically see her tail wagging.

“Hey,” Gideon greets casually, like coming running when Harrow clicks her fingers is entirely normal. Griddle always was so unwaveringly loyal. It’s always made it harder to be mad her. “What’s up?”

Harrow just stares, wondering why the fuck she did that. What now? What could she possibly say to Gideon that she hasn’t already? What could possibly justify needing to call her over to the toilets, for crying out loud?  

“Uh,” Harrow starts, racking her brains.

Luckily, at that moment, the line moves and a cubicle becomes free, the bang of the door distracting them both. Harrow doesn’t overthink it. Actually, she doesn’t think at all. She moves forward with urgency, Gideon in tow.

Gideon exclaims “what are you –? Oof!” as Harrow pulls her inside the cubicle with an insistent yank on the carabiner hanging from her belt loop, ignoring the attention from onlookers.

Once they’re both bundled inside, Harrow slams the door closed behind them and spins around, pressing her back against the cold frame. Gideon stands opposite her looking entirely dumbfounded.

“What are we doing in here?” she asks, voice low. “Thought you’d be traumatised from earlier.”

Harrow rolls her eyes, wishing that, for once in her life, Griddle could be a little more astute. She always was shit at picking up Harrow’s signals. The alcohol isn’t helping.

Harrow shoves Gideon backwards until she sits down on the closed toilet lid, looking up questioningly.

Gideon blinks down then back up at Harrow again. “What’s happening?” she whispers. “You tryna hate-fuck me in the toilets, Nonagesimus?”

Harrow’s eyes roll again – she can’t help it – and clambers forward to mount Gideon’s lap, holding each of her shoulders in a tight grip for support and straddling her thighs until their faces are almost level. Harrow lifts the skirt of her dress slightly to get comfortable, letting it drop around her parted legs. The toilet lid creaks under the movement.

“Yes, actually, Griddle,” Harrow replies lowly, their lips dangerously close, “I am.”

She knows she’ll regret this tomorrow but, right now, she can’t stop herself. Gideon drives her fucking crazy.

Fine! she mentally screams at her traitorous reproductive organs. You win!

Gideon gulps in surprise, golden eyes boring into Harrow’s like she can’t look away, then her hands reach up to hold Harrow by the waist, steadying her, as she shifts her weight underneath. Her breath fans Harrow’s face.

“Is that a problem?” Harrow murmurs, struggling to read Gideon’s expression.

She worries suddenly if she’s making a huge mistake. Gideon had mentioned that she’s seeing someone – maybe she even has a girlfriend. Or maybe she already promised Corona a night of birthday fun. Or maybe she’s actually back in town because she’s sleeping with Hect or Sextus – or both. It would have to be both, Harrow can’t imagine those two doing anything apart. Or, maybe, Gideon really does still hate Harrow for how things ended when they were younger and was only being polite earlier.

But she doesn’t say any of that.

Gideon simply shrugs, “surprised you’re into toilet sex, that’s all. Thought you’d find this kinda… unsanitary.”

Harrow’s so surprised that’s the only reservation, she hears herself actually laugh out loud; just once, and briefly.

Gideon looks freaked out by it. “You feeling okay, ice queen? You’re acting... weird. Like it’s good weird, just... weird.”

Harrow snaps out of her stupor, pursing her lips and staring down at Gideon fiercely. “No, I am not,” she answers, being truthful now. “Seeing you tonight has been extremely inconvenient.”

Gideon’s look of confusion very slowly morphs into a something slightly hungrier, the shadow of a smile playing on her lips as Harrow pushes down against her lap. Harrow feels the bulge in Gideon’s pants and shuffles forward, lining it up with the gusset of her panties until they touch and she feels a shadow of friction.

Sitting in Griddle’s lap like this – her thighs parted widely, their crotches touching like old friends reunited – is so horribly erotic, Harrow instantly feels her pulse jump between her legs. Wetness begins to seep into the fabric of her underwear the longer she thinks about how badly she wants Gideon, inhaling the familiar scent of her hair and sweat up close.

“How so?” Gideon asks with a raised eyebrow.

Harrow isn’t sure exactly how to answer that question. Instead, she leans in and closes the distance between them to capture Gideon’s smirking lips in hers. Gideon jumps in surprise but quickly recovers, leaning appreciatively into the kiss. Harrow’s lips part instinctively, her tongue seeking Gideon’s with hungry insistence. Gideon doesn’t seem to mind; eagerly accepting the offer with a contented hum of approval. She tastes so similar to how Harrow remembers, and different at the same time. Sweet like honey but there’s something so deliciously rough around the edges.

Harrow’s fingers tighten on Gideon’s shoulders, nails digging into flesh as she tries to hold back a relieved moan at the contact. Making out with Gideon Nav was not on her bingo card for tonight. Griddle’s hot, insistent breath and soft lips, kissing her like she’s starving, isn’t helping matters. The ache between Harrow’s legs only grows as seconds pass, arousal building deep in her core. Her hips stutter with longing.

“I’ve spent years,” Harrow breathes against Gideon’s mouth as she pulls back, her blinks becoming slower and longer, “trying to erase you from my brain.”

“You and me both, sugarlips,” Gideon murmurs, a little breathless. “Easier said than done.”

Harrow frowns, hating how quickly she’s losing all resolve in this grotty bathroom stall.

“You just show up here,” she accuses haughtily, “after all these years. With your stupid face and your – your slutty vest –”

“Slutty?” Gideon repeats, amusement seeping into her voice. As Harrow speaks, Gideon angles her hips up to press her packer against Harrow’s underwear until she shivers. “You’re the one in the short, little skirt, bone empress,” Gideon says, voice strained.

Harrow’s starting to get desperate. Her own hips roll, pushing down onto Gideon’s crotch to grind against the rough surface of her jeans without reserve. Harrow screws her face up and bites her lip to keep any sounds from escaping.

Truthfully, all the logic and reason flew out of her brain the second she mounted Gideon’s lap and felt the erection in her pants. She is absolutely fucked.

“Shit, Harrow,” Gideon groans and Harrow brings a hand up to cover her mouth with an audible smack.

“You have to be quiet,” she instructs, feeling the skin of Gideon’s face heating up under her touch. She always did like being bossed around. “People will hear you.”

Harrow feels wetness continue to pool at the sight of Gideon’s helpless expression as she nods her head obediently. Oh God. It turns Harrow on more than she could ever admit to see how easily the big, tough Gideon Nav submits to her. How desperate she always is to please.

Choking back a sound she’ll definitely regret making, Harrow pushes down harder, sliding her hands up from Gideon’s shoulders to lace through her hair instead, gripping fistfuls as she shamelessly humps the packer below. She can feel the firm ridge of denim rolling against her clit through her panties – which are now absolutely soaked through. Harrow shudders, tipping her head back and letting her mouth drop open silently.

“Harrow,” Gideon groans lowly against her palm, rolling her hips in time, “fuck.”

Harrow’s entire body trembles at the sound, but she soon realizes Gideon may need some help to stay quiet.

So, being the considerate person that she is, Harrow reaches one hand down and snakes it up her flayed skirt, finding the waistband of her underwear quickly. She can feel Gideon watching on with dazed confusion. Harrow stills her hips for a moment to slide two fingers through her dripping folds, whining quietly as she coats them and rubs her clit a few times for good measure. Then, pulling her hand free and grinding down again, Harrow shoves her glistening fingers into Gideon’s open mouth.

“I said,” she huffs out, “be quiet.”

Gideon moans around them – a sound which would have been far too loud if it weren’t for the obstruction. She sucks Harrow’s fingers dry, her tongue swirling over the skin dutifully.

Pleasure rolls through Harrow’s stomach as she watches the way Gideon’s brows knit together and a fresh surge of wet arousal pools.

When Gideon looks up at her, she feels like a fucking goddess.

~*~*~*~

1.20am

Harrowhark Nonagesimus is grinding on my packer.

This is not a sentence Gideon thought she would be thinking today. Or any day, actually.

She’s not entirely sure what point tonight Harrow decided they would be having sex, but Gideon’s very happy she did. Ecstatic, even. To be honest, it crossed Gideon’s mind from the first second she saw those big, stompy boots, but she’s not sure she would have had the balls to make a move, not with all the shit still lingering between them.

Thankfully, it turns out Harrow can’t resist her. Gideon feels herself smiling absently at the thought.

Harrow’s breaths are getting shorter by the minute as she grinds against Gideon’s lap with determination. Her eyes are currently screwed shut in concentration, giving Gideon freedom to admire her without getting told off. And she does; letting her eyes trail over the strained expression on Harrow’s face, the rapid rise and fall of her chest. She looks hotter than a flaming cheeto.

How Gideon has missed this. Harrow trying desperately to stay in control but so, so hungry for more. The way her eyebrows quirk up and her lips part into the perfect circle and the pink flush spreads down her neck and across her chest as she gets more and more turned on. The tiny sounds spilling out of her dark lips, even though Gideon knows she’d deny making any if questioned. The manic writhing of her hips, desperately seeking friction and working against Gideon’s cock with absolute determination.

Harrow might not say it out loud, but her body tells Gideon everything she needs to know.

Meanwhile, Gideon’s feeling pretty fucking fantastic herself. She’d only started wearing the packer in recent years; not intended as a sexual apparatus but simply a gender affirming tool that makes her feel hotter and taller and butcher, which she loves. It feels like an extension of her body at this point, so seeing Harrow go nuts grinding on her fake-cock is unbelievably hot. Gideon swears she can feel her erection growing with every stroke of Harrow’s hips as if it’s sentient.

Admittedly, the particular model she’s sporting tonight is dual purpose; flexible enough to tuck neatly into the pouch in her pants, but firm enough to deliver as satisfactorily as any strap-on would. What? She’s single and wanted to keep her options open tonight. She regrets nothing.

And anyway, erotic imagery aside, the packer itself is pressing against Gideon’s actual clit with each thrust in a way that has her unravelling fast. Each jolt of pleasure makes her lower lip tremble and she’s pretty positive her boxers are soaking wet by now.

“You feel,” Gideon mumbles encouragingly, barely above a whisper, “so good.”

Gideon can sense Harrow starting to get frustrated by all the layers of clothing in the way, her motions becoming more urgent and her breathy whimpers becoming more frequent.

Gideon slides her hands up Harrows frame, almost laughing at the size difference; how easily her fingers can wrap around Harrow’s tiny waist. She stops when she reaches Harrow’s tits, squeezing one in each hand and circling a thumb over her nipples. She’s been thinking about them all fucking night.

Harrow moans, then bites her lip like she’s committed a crime, her back arching to push her chest further forwards. Gideon squeezes her nipples until they’re hard and Harrow is groaning.

Every noise Harrow makes sends arousal shooting through Gideon’s core and it isn’t long before she feels herself losing control as well, wondering if she’s going to blow her load right here in the fucking toilet cubicle, right into her jeans. She’d never live it down.

Unfortunately, Gideon’s always been pretty pathetic when it comes to Harrow.

The thought makes Gideon wonder if she can make Harrow finish from this, too. Whether rubbing against her cock is enough to send Harrow over the edge. The idea of that is so hot Gideon feels her own clit throb and threaten to bust on the spot.

Reaching up to kiss Harrow’s neck again, Gideon moans quietly at the mental image of Harrow orgasming in her lap. Nothing would be sweeter.

Harrow angles her head to allow better access to her neck which Gideon gratefully accepts, grazing her teeth over the sensitive skin behind her ear, under her jaw. Harrow's squirming as Gideon’s lips suck and latch onto the sweat-covered skin hungrily.

Suddenly, a harsh, hammering on the door makes them both jump as someone bangs against it, knocking aggressively. Gideon leaps into the air comically and almost throws Harrow to the ground. Harrow covers her mouth to muffle a startled shriek.

“Shit,” Gideon gasps, grabbing onto Harrow and sitting back down. “Sorry!”

“Is anyone in here?” a voice shouts from outside. “There’s a line. Can you go fuck somewhere else?” An annoyed sigh. “There’s no stalls free. Someone busted the door on one of them.”

Gideon has to muffle her laughter in Harrow’s shoulder.

“Just –” Gideon calls back, trying to keep the amusement out of her voice. She’s audibly out of breath. “One minute! Just – finishing up!”

There’s an outraged series of expletives followed by stomping footsteps receding.

After the interruption, Gideon shoots Harrow an awkward smile. Now reality’s catching up with her, she has no idea what to say. Should she offer to get Harrow off quickly so they can both get on with their night and pretend this never happened? Or should she simply avoid eye contact as to not spook Harrow, like a stray cat? Maybe she should crack a joke to break the tension. 

Thankfully, she doesn’t get the chance.

“I know somewhere we can go,” Harrow says, voice low and urgent and serious, which is amusing to Gideon for some reason. Like she just can’t wait another minute without Gideon touching her. Ha. “Griddle, stop fucking grinning like an idiot – are you listening to me?”

“You want me bad,” is all Gideon says, smiling even wider as Harrow flushes dark red.

“What? Shut up.” She crosses her arms over her chest, covering her adorably erect nipples which Gideon is devastated by. “This is a nightmare,” she whines. “I still need to fucking pee.”

Gideon smirk grows of its own accord. “Hot.”

“Oh, ugh!” Harrow scrunches up her nose in disgust. “Don’t be vile.”

“What?” Gideon snorts. “I’d let you piss on me. If you wanted to.”

The sad thing is she would. She really would.

“I do not want to,” Harrow retorts. “What is wrong with you?”

“I dunno. You make me feral, Nonagesimus. Unfortunately, everything you do is hot,” Gideon just shrugs, laughing at her.

Harrow doesn’t seem to know how to process that so she just looks away and attempts to scowl, failing to hide the tinge of pink over her cheeks.

There’s more movement outside. Stall doors opening and closing with echoing bangs. People may start wondering where they are soon.

Noticing Harrow’s deepening frown, Gideon shifts her weight and says, “we need a plan.”

Harrow nods, “yes.”

“You stay here and pee,” Gideon suggests, attempting to come up with an idea. She needs to get Harrow off soon or she may actually pass away. “I’ll go and find an excuse to leave. Then –”

“No,” Harrow interrupts, cutting Gideon off like second nature. “That will take too long.”

Gideon waits. “Go on.”

“There’s a storage cupboard behind the bar we can use. If you keep going through the hallway on the left and then take a right, you can’t miss it. Black door. It has a sign that says supplies. The code used to be four zeroes and I bet they haven’t changed it.”

Realization dawns on Gideon while Harrow’s speaking. “Holy shit, I forgot you used to work here for like two weeks.”

“Six months,” Harrow corrects with an eye roll.

“Why did they fire you again? Always beefing with the customers or something?”

“I got fired because my bonehead girlfriend kept asking me to steal alcohol for her stupid little frat parties.”

Gideon laughs a little, feeling guilty and groans. “Shit, yeah I did do that. Sorry. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble for it.”

Harrow sighs reluctantly. “It’s fine. I hated working here anyway. And… there may have been some customer complaints.”

Then Gideon’s snickering again and even Harrow threatens to smile before she catches herself and continues. “So. You go find the closet. Wait there. I will meet you inside in five minutes. Now what?” she demands when Gideon can’t keep a straight face.

“Nothing,” Gideon sniffs, smirking. “Just thought my days of being shoved back into the closet by you were over.”

Harrow rolls her eyes at the terrible joke and demands, “will you focus?”

“I’m focused, I’m focused,” Gideon insists, biting back a stupid smile as best she can. “Just one quick question.”

“What?” Harrow snaps like she’s starting to regret the entire thing.

The conversation is made noticeably more amusing by the fact that she is still sat on Gideon’s lap.

“When we get to the closet,” Gideon asks, arching a suggestive eyebrow, “then what happens?”

She’d asked the question as a flirtation tactic; to hopefully rile Harrow up or make her blush or mumble something like please fuck me, Griddle, all of which Gideon would have enjoyed immensely.

Instead, and to her surprise, Harrow sets her jaw and tilts her chin, looking down at Gideon with firm, dark eyes and the corner of her mouth pulls up into a taunting smirk.

“Oh, didn’t I say?” she asks coolly. She pauses for dramatic effect, looking Gideon up and down slowly. “I’m going to suck your cock, Griddle. Please ensure your pants have been removed by the time I arrive.”

All the blood drains from Gideon’s face and travels down between her legs as her smile drops in surprise. She feels herself twitch in anticipation under Harrow’s body and audibly swallows at the thought.

Fucking hell.

Harrow’s full on smiling now, seeming pleased with this reaction, which is terrifying in itself.

“Ha,” Gideon chokes. “Thought you just wanted to be friends?”

Harrow considers the question before she responds. “Perhaps I changed my mind.” She pauses for a moment, the evil smirk growing.  

Gideon’s suddenly worried she may not survive this night, but does as she’s told without another word, leaving Harrow in the stall and making her way to the secret hook-up spot, forcing her drunken brain to remember the directions. It was either one left and a right or two rights and a left. Or something.

As she’s darting through the bar, glancing around like she’s committing a crime, she walks straight into Camilla who’s alone, a fresh drink in each hand which she’s presumably delivering to the booth.

“Gideon?” she asks.

Gideon looks at her, distracted and suspicious despite her best attempts to act normal. “Huh? Oh, hey Cam. What’s up?”

Cam’s mouth quirks into a small smile as she appraises Gideon silently.

“What?” Gideon asks, feeling hot and sweaty and hoping she doesn’t look too guilty.

“You’ve got a bit of…” Cam gestures vaguely. When Gideon’s hand comes up to wipe her chin, she realizes Harrow’s stupid black lipstick is smeared over her fingers and laughs sheepishly. Shit.

“…busted,” she rubs the back of her neck, shooting an embarrassed smile in Cam’s direction.

Cam, in typical Cam fashion, says nothing; simply biting back a tiny smirk.

“Get off my dick, Hect,” Gideon says, feeling defensive by the judgemental silence.

Cam’s eyes shoot down to Gideon’s crotch and her eyebrows raise questioningly.

Gideon laughs in embarrassment, a little hysterical, hoping desperately that it’s dark enough in the bar to hide the wet patch that’s formed on her jeans thanks to Harrow’s enthusiastic handiwork. “I didn’t mean literally – don’t look at it!”

Cam laughs, “I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gideon rolls her eyes.

Cam’s struggling to hide her immense entertainment. “You coming for a drink?" she asks, nodding over at the table where the rest of the group are larking about drunkenly.

“Uh,” Gideon just gestures vaguely in the direction she had been heading in. “Nah. I’ve gotta… I’ll, uh… I’ll be back in a minute, I’ve just gotta…”

Her useless brain fails to come up with any kind of reasonable excuse so she just trails off hopelessly and prays Camilla will drop it.

Luckily, Cam doesn’t push further; she doesn’t need to. “Alright,” she nods in understanding. “Catch you in a bit.” Then, for good measure – and because, despite her good traits, she’s still an asshole – she adds, “say hi to Harrow.”

Gideon flips her off but she’s already turned around.

~*~*~*~

1.40am

Admittedly, this isn’t how Harrow saw the night playing out but she’s all out of self-restraint.

Gideon’s always been her weakness. She was doomed from the moment they locked eyes earlier.

When Harrow slides through a crack in the storeroom door, she’s immeasurably grateful for the bar’s shit security protocols. Gideon is standing in one corner, leaning up against a wall with a beer bottle raised to her lips, a little flushed and very sweaty. Harrow’s entire body goes up in flames at the sight. She looks so hot it should be a crime.

“Hey,” Gideon says casually, that annoying smirk playing on her lips.

“Griddle,” Harrow greets as she shuts the door behind her, crossing the room. It’s a fairly small space, about the size of three bathroom stalls (ergo, immediately an improvement from before), shelves lining the walls stacked with cleaning supplies and blue roll and spare napkins.

She closes the gap and reaches up on her tip-toes to pull Gideon into a kiss, her lips warm and sticky. It breaks some of the building tension; both of them melting into each other instinctively.

Harrow breaks away and looks up at Gideon with pursed lips, glancing at her crotch and back up. “I specifically told you to take these off.”

Gideon laughs nervously, wringing her hands, “I’m not a gigolo,” she says lowly, “you can’t just –”

Harrow sighs in interruption. “Must I do everything myself?” she mutters, her hands drifting down to the buckle on Gideon’s belt.

Gideon just stares at her, watching on speechless. Harrow maintains eye contact as she unfastens the mechanism, metal jangling in her fingers, and undoes the button beneath, lowering the small zip with force. Then her eyes flick down as she shoves Gideon’s jeans to the ground, letting them bunch around her ankles.

Harrow tries not to get distracted but is immediately thrown off by Gideon’s legs; thick, muscular and covered in fair hair that thickens as it travels downward. She’s pretty sure Gideon could use those legs to put someone in a headlock with ease. Harrow dreams that it could be her if she plays her cards right.

“See something you like, Nonagesimus?” Gideon teases, noticing her stuttered breath.

Dammit.

“The last thing you need is your ego stroked,” Harrow quips.

“Maybe,” Gideon shrugs. “I’ve got something else you could stroke, though.”

Harrow doesn’t laugh. Her lips pucker as she looks back up, capturing Gideon’s golden eyes in hers and holding them hostage as she brings a hand forward to cup Gideon’s crotch. Harrow delights in the way Gideon’s face contorts as she palms the bulge in her boxers and squeezes a few times gently, letting her fingers massage the packer through damp fabric.

“Is this all for me?” she drawls huskily, tilting her head.

Gideon swallows, taken aback. “W… what?”

Harrow feels a small smile grow on her face. “I said,” she repeats, squeezing her fingers, “is this all for me?”

Gideon’s cheeks and ears burn red as she nods. “I… oh. I mean, yeah.”

After a few more gentle touches, eliciting stifled sounds from Gideon’s lips which have Harrow’s pussy twitching, Harrow asks, more seriously, “is it… functional?” eyeing up the packer. She mentally pleads for a yes.

Gideon’s licking her lips, staring at Harrow with the kind of look you’d expect to see from a predator stalking prey. “Yeah.” A breathy laugh. “It’s your lucky day.” She pauses, then the grin is back. “Not that I need it to fuck you so good you’re limping.”

Harrow’s eyes widen at that, giving her away for just a moment before she recovers. “Honestly, Griddle,” she pretends to be offended, “do you have to be so crude?”

“Yeah,” Gideon doubles down. “I need you to know that I’m gonna wreck you until you forget your own name, hell – until you can’t speak. Remember when I used to do that?”

A whimper escapes Harrow’s lips; entirely subconscious. She curses herself, feeling wetness pooling, soaking through her already ruined underwear. She paws at Gideon's bulge, trying to find an opening in the material.

Being wrecked by Gideon Nav is rapidly becoming a medical necessity.

“Allow me,” Gideon reaches down with a wolfish smirk on her face.

Harrow admits she’s not an expert in this area, so waits patiently to be assisted in her mission. Gideon reaches into her pants and untucks the appendage from its pouch and feeds it through an O-ring built into her boxers. The phallus straightens, pinging into an erect right-angle once it’s been freed, sitting neatly between Gideon’s legs. It’s almost the exact same tone as her skin.

“Jesus,” Harrow feels her mouth watering as she slowly lowers down to her knees, as if on instinct.

“Yeah,” Gideon agrees, strained. “You got me bonering out here.”

Harrow’s chest heaves hungrily as Gideon looks down at her. Deliberately, Harrow reaches up to hold onto Gideon’s hips, staring up from under her lashes with blown out pupils.  She blinks a few times, lining up with the silicone erection.

“You’re so… big,” she murmurs hoarsely, swallowing as she brushes her thumb over the end. Yes, it’s a stupid cliché but she’s too inebriated to keep her thoughts from spilling out and, honestly, Harrow doesn’t remember ever using a toy this size before.

Gideon twitches like Harrow’s actually touching her.

Harrow parts her lips and take the tip between them, slowly at first to test the waters. It’s warm and tastes like Gideon’s salty sweat. She moans as she moves further forward with a full mouth. Gideon groans from above, her legs immediately shaking as she reaches down and wraps a hand around the back of Harrow’s head, grabbing a fistful of hair.

“Shit,” she grunts thickly. “Harrow, you – you’re…” she trails off in disbelief.

Harrow look up with innocent eyes, continuing to move her tongue down the length of Gideon’s cock. Griddle appears to be in a state of shock, leaning back against the shelving behind her, using an arm to steady herself on it. Her hips buck at the movement and Harrow can smell the arousal pooling in her boxers.

“F-fuck,” Gideon stutters, staring down with a tensed expression, one hand fully gripping onto the shelf now, knuckles tight. “Fuck.”

As she bobs her head, moving back and forth, Harrow trails her fingers over Gideon’s underwear, sliding underneath the packer to rub circles around the wetness gathering between Gideon’s legs. With a firm thumb, she caresses Gideon’s clit through the fabric in deliberate, languid strokes until Gideon’s full-body shuddering.

“Ha-Harrow,” Gideon stammers, jaw slack. “Y-yeah. Yeah. Just like that.”

The encouragement sends desperate pangs of exhilaration shooting through Harrow’s center and she moans again against faux-skin of the saliva-coated cock, relishing the way it makes Gideon vibrate with pleasure.

“This is – like,” Gideon narrates, “every wet dream I’ve ever had. By the way.”

Harrow sucks enthusiastically and curls her fingers in response, sighing and wondering how she’s made it through so many years without this.

Eventually, she slows back down, needing to come up for air. She clutches and squeezes Gideon’s thighs as she gradually pulls away and gets back to her feet, a little dizzy as she does. Gideon wraps a warm arm around her waist to help keep her steady. 

Harrow wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, looking down to tug the waistband of Gideon’s boxers questioningly.

“May I…?” she asks politely.

Gideon nods so rapidly Harrow almost laughs, surprised she hasn’t given herself whiplash.

She carefully pushes a hand down inside the tight material against Gideon’s hip, cold fingers meeting the flushed skin below. Harrow bites back a sound as she combs through the drenched mess to gather slick and use it to tease Gideon’s clit. The sensation must have been far stronger without boxers in the way because Gideon’s whining instantly, grinding down against Harrow’s hand.

“Fuck,” Gideon sucks in a sharp breath. “I’m – please –”

Harrow uses her other hand to take Gideon’s cock, now wet and warm, closing her fingers around the shaft and pumping back and forth while she increases pressure over Gideon’s clit inside the boxers.

“Griddle,” Harrow’s voice is soft and teasing. “You’re so hard for me.”

Gideon’s eyes practically bug out of her head at the sight before she screws them shut, knees juddering like she’s struggling to stand. Harrow, drunk on power, leans up to capture Gideon’s parted mouth in a sloppy kiss, hungrily sucking on her lower lip while she moves both hands in tandem.

Breaking away from the kiss, Harrow pants, but stays close to Gideon’s face, allowing Gideon to watch herself getting jerked off and feeling every nerve in her clit pulse like her cock is connected to it.

“You like that,” Harrow observes; a statement rather than a question. “Don’t you?”

“Harro-o-ow,” Gideon whines sweetly. “Pl-please don’t stop,” she whispers against Harrow’s mouth. 

Gideon trails off, out of breath, and Harrow delights in the instruction. Picking up the pace, Harrow adds a little more pressure and kisses Gideon’s jaw.

Leaning back to look her in the eyes, noting the deeply furrowed brow and sheen of sweat, Harrow whispers, “such a good boy.”

And that does it. Gideon lets out a splintered cry, thumping a fist down on the shelf as she tenses and grabbing a handful of Harrow’s dress with the other.

“Fuck – Harrow – fuck.”

She comes undone with a full-body jolt and rides her orgasm out with a series of quakes and staccato breaths, shuddering into Harrow’s ear. Gideon slumps forward, resting her cheek on Harrow’s shoulder for support which, to an onlooker, would have been quite amusing given their size difference.

Harrow does her best to hold Gideon upright but isn’t feeling her most stable either, so encourages Gideon’s legs to fold and her body to slide down the wall. She pushes Gideon down into a sitting position, resting her back against the shelves and lolling her head back. Harrow joins, sitting beside Gideon and wiping her sticky fingers against the discarded jeans in front of them. Gideon’s cock stands proudly upright, making them both laugh breathlessly as they recover.

Gideon works to catch her breath, staring up at the ceiling for a few minutes. Harrow watches her, feeling a faint sense of pride, knowing how well she can make Gideon fall entirely apart, even after all this time. Less faintly, she’s aware of her own spoiled panties and desperate need for friction between her legs. She’d accidentally edged herself almost all the way to orgasm in the bathroom stall and she’s struggling to ignore the deprived throb echoing from under her dress. 

“You’re tryna kill me,” Gideon accuses as she comes back to, glancing at Harrow with a flushed face. “Where did that come from?”

Harrow just shrugs her shoulders innocently. “I presumed you wouldn’t wear a dick to the bar if you didn’t wish for it to be played with.”

“Played with –?” Gideon repeats, cutting herself off with an aroused puff. “Christ.”

“Am I wrong?” Harrow asks.

“No,” Gideon laughs, laced with disbelief. “No. Loved seeing you play with my dick, as you put it. Ten out of ten. Would play with again,” she murmurs, still slightly dazed.

Harrow sniffs. “Good.”

Gideon looks over at her again, then pushes to sit more upright, tugging on Harrow’s arm and encouraging her over. “C’mere,” Gideon instructs, pulling Harrow to sit on her lap.

Harrow does as she’s told; clambering aboard and straddling Gideon for the second time that night. She sits over Gideon’s bare thighs, the silicone shaft propped up in between their bodies.

Gideon reaches forward and pulls Harrow in for a kiss, more tenderly than before. Their lips graze together and Harrow sighs into the motion, relishing the flavor of Gideon’s mouth like it’s her favorite meal.

“To think,” Gideon mumbles as she leans back, “you hated me, like, thirty minutes ago. And now here we are,” she marvels, grinning. “You sucking me off in a supply closet.”

“Griddle,” Harrow groans disapprovingly at the word choice.

“And me,” Gideon continues, ignoring her, “fucking your brains out in said closet.”

Harrow raises an eyebrow, her breath catching. “You…?”

“You heard,” Gideon flashes teeth, proud of herself. “Don’t act coy.” A pause. “Unless… you don’t want that?”

Harrow’s pussy aches to be filled, her orgasm within very close reaching distance. She doesn’t dignify the question with a response but, instead, reaches in to kiss Gideon again; hungrier and more urgently.

Gideon seems to get the message, chuckling against Harrow’s mouth and sliding her hands under the dress to squeeze her thighs. Harrow squeaks and curses her drunken brain for not filtering it out.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Gideon mumbles into another fervent kiss. “But first,” she breathes. “I’d really love to eat you out. For research purposes.”

Harrow shudders, squeezing her hands into fists until her nails are digging into the skin. At this rate, Gideon’s idiotic dirty talking is going to make her cum before she even has a chance to be filled or touched or licked at all.

“Research?” Harrow forces through tight-lips, voice tense.

“Yeah,” Gideon elaborates. “I wanna know if you taste different now to how you used to.”

Harrow rolls her eyes but her hips jump traitorously, making Gideon grin in triumph. “You already had a taste in the bathroom.”

Gideon blows out a breath. “Pfft. Hardly. Need a bigger sample size.”

“So stupid,” Harrow mutters, but her heart clearly isn’t in it.

Gideon’s hands have begun to explore her body in the meantime, roughly grabbing her tits, her waist, the curve of her ass from under the skirt. Harrow can feel goosebumps rising over her skin, beginning to fidget in Gideon’s lap.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Gideon interrupts suddenly, with a deadpan expression. “Before we do this, I need to know one thing.”

Harrow arches an expectant eyebrow. She waits.

With a deeply unserious smirk, Gideon finally asks, “have you really never slept with Thing Two?” she checks. “The creepy twin?”

It takes Harrow a minute for her brain to catch up. “Tridentarius?” Harrow clarifies. “God no.”

“Because I don’t think I could ever look your pussy in the eyes again if you had,” Gideon teases.

Harrow has to hide her own amusement, biting back a smirk. “You’re an idiot.”

Gideon resumes what she was doing, seeming happy with that. She reaches either side of Harrow’s hips to hook thumbs into her panties and shimmy them off. Harrow lifts up to aid the motion, allowing Gideon to glide them over one leg, then the other, then toss them across the room. Harrow doesn’t bother checking where they end up, simply sucking in a breath and grinding down against one of Gideon’s legs desperately.

Pausing momentarily, it’s Harrow who interrupts now, placing her hand over Gideon’s to still the movement and narrowing her eyes.

“Wait,” she breathes heavily. “What about you?”

“…have I slept with Ianthe?” Gideon sputters, barely containing a laugh.

“No, you halfwit, the other twin,” Harrow rolls her eyes. “You know, the one you’re always fawning over.”

Harrow realizes as she speaks that Coronabeth and Gideon have always been friendly. A drunken sex-capade isn’t entirely out of the question. (A bit like the one she and Gideon are having right now, come to think of it).

“Corona?” Gideon blinks and tilts her head as if imagining it. “Nah. I wish.”

“Griddle!” Harrow exclaims, irritated by the response.

“Kidding!” Gideon laughs as she receives a sharp slap on the shoulder. “No need to get jealous and protective over me.”

She probably said it as a joke but Harrow meets Gideon’s eye, she swallows and feels her legs clench instinctively around her. When it comes to Gideon, she doesn’t think she’s willing to share at all, actually.

“Good,” Harrow says simply.

Gideon notices her reaction and grins. “So you are feeling jealous and protective over me?” she asks, eyebrows shooting up her forehead.

Harrow doesn’t respond, getting more flustered and agitated by the minute, finding it exceptionally difficult to hear anything over the thundering pulse in her pussy.

“Just…” she demands in a huff, “lie down so I can have my way with you, pervert.” She twists Gideon’s torso to improve the angle and pushes her away until she’s resting back on her elbows on the ground. Harrow shuffles higher so she’s straddling her stomach.

“Pervert?” Gideon murmurs under her breath, doing as she’s told.

Harrow lifts the vest out the way and grinds down on the soft surface of Gideon’s midriff a couple of times, leaving a smear of sticky residue in her wake, before she shimmies up further, clambering over Gideon’s shoulders.

Gideon falls back flat and snakes a hand over each of Harrow’s thighs, guiding her forward towards her awaiting mouth.

“Fuck yeah,” she mumbles, eyes wide with hungry anticipation.

Her enthusiasm has always been contagious. “Hmm,” Harrow hums in anticipation.

Gideon sighs dreamily, “I’ve missed you,” as she pulls Harrow’s crotch onto her face.

It’s almost sweet, really. Harrow doesn’t have time to bask in the romance of it all as Gideon’s eager tongue curls up through her folds, parting slick-soaked wisps of hair with an enthusiastic groan.

“Oh!” she gasps, reaching down to hold into Gideon’s shoulders for balance. “Oh, God.”

Gideon’s hands on her legs tighten. Harrow rolls her hips and pushes down in response, her thighs tensing when Gideon’s tongue circles her clit.

“Ah!” her voice is high-pitched and broken already, which is utterly humiliating.

Gideon seems to enjoy her reaction so works hard to elicit another mortifying squeak by licking up and around Harrow’s most sensitive spots with repetitive movements, squeezing the flesh on Harrow’s thighs so hard she’s sure to leave bruises. Harrow aids the rhythm, rocking her hips in time with the flicks of Gideon’s tongue until they’re working in perfect harmony and Harrow’s head has tipped back to freely allow the ah-ah-ah-ah’s to spill out of her mouth like a chorus.

She can feel Gideon almost growling into her, sounds vibrating through her tensed frame.

Harrow thinks for a moment that this is strangely familiar, taking her back to those early days when they were dating and figuring out what sex even was. Back when it was nothing more than an awkward series of fingers in the wrong place and shy attempts at new positions.

But this is a far cry from what she remembers. Gideon was never this good with her mouth.

“You’ve been,” Harrow breathes hard, giving credit where it’s due, “practicing.”

Gideon says something muffled and garbled and entirely incomprehensible. Harrow’s sure it’s something stupid along the lines of practicing on your mother – or equally as juvenile.

As she moves, Gideon attempts to pin Harrow’s thighs in place to reach deeper and eat with abandon. But Harrow doesn’t want to be pinned. The opposite. She wants Gideon to be immobile beneath her while she rides her tongue exactly how she needs to, until she’s twitching and coming over Gideon’s obedient mouth. She attempts to manage the pace but flails a little as their motions start to clash.  

“Stay,” Harrow tries to keep her voice level and regain some semblance of command over the situation, “still.”

Gideon laughs into her, breath tickling her skin and making her jolt.

“Shit, Harrow,” Gideon breathes, pausing momentarily to speak. “Has anyone ever told you you’ve got control issues?” She pauses and adds, “apart from me every day since I’ve known you.”

Harrow pouts in anger at the accusation. “It’s not my fault you’re such a natural bottom.”

Gideon’s expression turns amused beneath her. “Sorry, you think you’re topping me right now?”

Harrow exhales heavily, trying to get her brain in gear as she wonders why the fuck Gideon has stopped. “I’m sitting on your face, Griddle,” she says hoarsely. “I’m riding you.”

Gideon laughs again at this, looking up at Harrow like she’s trying to decide something.

Harrow continues, “now, if you’re quite finished – ah! What are you –!” she squeals as Gideon unexpectedly sits up, knocking Harrow backwards in surprise.

With a fierce look in her eye that, quite frankly, makes Harrow shudder with arousal, Gideon pushes Harrow onto her back and lunges forwards. Holding Harrow’s ankles in her hands, Gideon slowly pulls them apart, watching as Harrow’s knees obediently fold towards her of their own accord and she spreads wide open, exposing her dripping pussy like a prize. The warm air in the room meets the wet mess and she shivers.

The floor is hard and cold under Harrow’s back but she barely notices.

“Interesting,” Gideon murmurs casually like she’s checking the weather. “Now correct me if I’m wrong,” she says, hoisting Harrow’s hips off the ground and holding her up by the ass, “but you seem to be underneath me.” Gideon throws Harrow’s legs up over her shoulders and her face lowers to meet Harrow’s hot cunt, “which, by your own logic, makes you the bottom.”

Harrow’s feeling too muddled to follow the sentence, drunk with arousal and, well, alcohol.

“I –” she tries to respond but Gideon doesn’t give her the chance, burying her tongue between her legs once more until she’s keening and her back arches completely off the ground. “Oh fuck.”

Harrow really wishes she could keep it together. Had she been even ten percent less inebriated, she thinks she might have been able to keep her mouth shut. But, alas, in her current state, she’s moaning incoherently within minutes, her palms slapping down against the solid floor either side of her body seeking something to grip onto. She can’t quite reach Gideon’s hair so she settles, instead, for raising her hands over her head and raking her trembling fingertips through her own hair, pulling fistfuls taught from her skull.

As she whines, unable to hold back, Gideon grows more eager, focusing attention on Harrow’s clit until she’s shaking. With her legs hooked over Gideon’s shoulders and spread wide, Gideon can easily slide a finger inside at the same time.

Harrow sees stars, almost blinded by the white-hot pleasure that rolls through her stomach as she pushes down against Gideon’s hand.

“Fuck!”

The rough digit curls inside Harrow as she writhes on the ground, wailing desperately.

“M-more,” Harrow forces out, using her hips to plead for another finger. “Need – more.”

“So demanding,” Gideon teases, angling her face up for a moment to appreciate the tortured arousal on Harrow’s face. “You ready to admit you’re a pathetic little bottom for me, yet?”

Harrow’s entire body burns red at that, sweat forming on her temple and chest and behind her knees.

“I – fffffuck,” she stutters, brow knitted together. “I…”

“That’s not an answer,” Gideon pants with a smile in her voice. “How bout this. Tell me how much you love getting fucked by me,” she instructs. “And then I’ll give you what you want.”

The sadistic edge to her words sends Harrow insane, her hands flying automatically down to squeeze her own tits in response, unable to process the harsh surge of arousal in any other way. Harrow rolls a thumb over each nipple and squirms. When she opens her eyes, Gideon is looking down at her with her jaw dropped open.

“Shit,” she groans, fixated. “Fuck.”

Harrow’s pleased, momentarily, that she’s regained an iota of control and pushes her luck by wheezing, “put another finger inside me right now, Nav, or I’ll…” she trails off, wishing she hadn’t started the threat. “I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” Gideon recovers, shaking her head while she lazily pumps her index finger in and out of Harrow’s spluttering hole without a care in the world. Harrow fidgets beneath her, angling her hips forward to feel more. One of her legs drops down from Gideon’s shoulder and she uses it to push off the floor, leveraging her hips down harder and opening up as wide as possible.

“I’ll tell everyone you’re terrible at sex,” she insists.

Gideon laughs. “No one would believe you.”

“Fine,” Harrow growls. “I’ll… I’ll tell everyone you have a tiny cock.”

Another amused laugh. “You have to come up with something people will believe, Harrow.”

Harrow whimpers at the sound of her name on Gideon’s lips, longing to be pounded into oblivion.

“Besides,” Gideon continues. “Then you’d have to explain what you were doing looking at my cock, so that wouldn’t work.”

Restless, Harrow’s barely listening. “Griddle,” she cries, not caring in that moment how pitifully guttural her voice sounds or how weak she seems. “I’m dying.”

Gideon just looks at her, a punishing smirk on her face, waiting to hear what she’s asked for. “Just fess up. You love it when big Daddy takes control and puts you in your place.”

Harrow’s equally turned on and horrified as she screws her eyes closed and clenches her pussy around Gideon’s finger.

“Don’t call yourself Daddy, Nav,” she protests in a whine.

Gideon laughs, “yeah. That didn’t feel right.” A pause. “Mommy isn’t great, either though.”

Harrow’s halfway between laughter and moaning when she says, “gross.”

“Alright, alright, scrap those,” Gideon decides, then her tone lowers into something rougher. “My point is – maybe you’re the boss when you’re with Ianthe or –”

“– I told you we’re not –”

“– or whoever the fuck, it doesn’t matter.” A heavy, ragged breath. “All I know is. You are a whiny, needy little bottom for me, Nonagesimus,” she concludes. “And I want you to admit it.”

The woeful, broken whimper that comes out of Harrow’s mouth will haunt her for the rest of her life, she’s sure. She feels her legs tremor, the walls of her pussy spasm and slick dribble down her leg in response. Pleasure floods her brain in a thick haze and incapacitates her brain entirely.

Harrow throws her head back until it hits the floor – ouch – unable to meet Gideon’s eyes when she speaks. Like she’s been shot with a truth serum, she finds herself answering in a defeated babble, her words slurring together as she crumbles helplessly.

“I – y-yes, fine, fucking fine,” she mumbles hurriedly, “I’m – I love it when you fuck me – I… always have – I love your stupid hands and your big fucking mouth,” she gasps for breath. “No one’s ever made me feel like – like this or make me – sound like –” she cuts herself off with a humorless laugh, wondering why she can’t seem to shut the fuck up. “So please – can you just…”

Before she’s had a chance to peek up at the reaction to her confession, Gideon’s angled her hips forward and the tip of the packer is pressing against Harrow’s drenched entrance, replacing the her finger. Gideon pauses to let Harrow adjust to the girth for a second, then finally buries her cock inside.

“Oh fuck!” Harrow yowls as Gideon drives forward, bottoming out, then rolls her hips to repeat the motion.

“Fuck,” Gideon marvels in awe. “There you – yeah.” She exhales, focused. “Knew you could take me.”

“Grid – hnnnng – mnnff,” Harrow whines nonsensically, throwing an arm over her face to try and muffle her embarrassingly loud moans as Gideon moves carefully back and then thrusts forward again. Harrow could scream. She might.

The feeling of Gideon’s cock inside her sends pleasure swelling through Harrow’s very core, the slow, steady plunges making her want to weep. Oh, Griddle is very annoyingly good at this.

Then the teasing voice returns as Gideon huffs and puffs over her. “Now where’s your off switch again? I’m sure I remember there being one… maybe right… here?” she mumbles, sinking forward with force and reaching Harrow’s g-spot with ease.

“Yes, God!” Harrow cries out, far louder than intended, ignoring the taunt. “Just – right – yes –”

Gideon fills her in a way that is so mouth-watering; literal drool pooling at the corner of her parted lips as her eyes roll back in her head. Harrow covers her mouth to hold back the high-pitched wails attempting to spill out.

“Yep. Still works,” Gideon observes happily.

Gideon’s free hand trails down, her thumb reconnecting with Harrow’s swollen clit eagerly until the muscles in Harrow’s center are rippling in response.

“Oh!” she yelps as the combination activates every pleasure point Harrow has. She’s entirely overwhelmed by it; Griddle is everywhere. “Oh! Ohh-hhhh-fuck.”

“Did I break your brain?” Gideon asks, all-too sincerely.

“Fffff-fuck,” Harrow spits out in between fractured moans and gasping breaths, “fuck y-you – fu – Grid – fuuucck!”

“Definitely broken,” Gideon chuckles.  

The waves of bliss begin to build inside, a tight coil of pleasure in Harrow’s core threatening to snap. She clenches every part of her body as the tidal wave forms; huge and unforgiving and completely out of control. Her hips lift higher and higher to prepare for the approaching peak. 

“Damn,” Gideon groans, getting breathless. “You look so pretty like this.”

Harrow whimpers, pulling Gideon down towards her, burying even deeper. She kisses her ravenously, their spit mixing and guttural moans meeting in their mouths.

“W-wait, wait, wait,” Harrow feels herself panting, panic rising in her chest as erratic whines tumble out of her lips.

Gideon blinks down at her, slowing a fraction. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Oh no. Oh no.

Harrow feels insane when she bites her tongue to hold in a scream that’s building in the back of her throat, “I’m – fuck!” she’s so garbled she’s almost laughing hysterically when she looks at Gideon with wide, panic-stricken eyes, like something terrible is happening. “I’m gon – I’m gonna – no, wait, I’ll –”

Gideon seems to understand what she’s trying to force out and a sleazy grin spreads over her face, along with a short, bemused laugh. “What’s wrong, you don’t wanna cum?”

Harrow does want to – very badly. However, for some, stupid reason, this feels different to normal. This feels… big.

“You can do it,” Gideon grunts without sympathy, her thumb pushed down against Harrow’s clit between their hips.

“I can’t –” Harrow weeps. “I – fuck! Fuck!”

“You can. Come on, baby. Show me what you got.”

With one final thrust deep inside, Harrow clamps around Gideon’s cock and falls apart with a cry.

She tenses her entire body as she finishes, the broken sob tearing through her chest carrying on for what feels like a full minute as she rides out her orgasm like she’s ascending to heaven. Tears seep out the corners of her eyes, squeezed shut, and liquid gushes down her thighs – far more than usual; far more than ever. Sticky fluid trickles over the curve of her pelvis, down onto the ground underneath. 

Harrow collapses flat on the floor, her head rolling to the side. She feels her entire body floating above her as she stares into the bright lights, blinking with immense effort.

She's pretty certain she just died. This must be the afterlife. It can't be possible to experience that much pleasure in one go and still be mortal. 

“Holy shit,” Gideon expression is completely dumbstruck as she stares down at the ground in amazement. “Did you just…?”

Harrow rubs her eyes and blinks into focus after numerous attempts, a clipped gasp leaving her lips as she realizes she’s just fucking squirted all over the floor of this dingy storeroom – and all over Gideon Nav.

“Oh,” she squeaks as she sits up, turning bright red, completely mortified.

“Holy shit,” Gideon says again, her brows pulled together in hopeless arousal. “That’s... so fucking hot.”

Harrow barks out a surprised laugh; though she supposes she shouldn’t be surprised. Griddle has always been a perverse freak when it comes to this kind of thing. “Hot?”

“Yeah,” Gideon nods fervently, releasing her grip on Harrow’s leg and carefully lowering it back down while Harrow winces at the ache in her muscles. She reaches down and kisses Harrow softly, tasting like sweat and slick. “So fuckin’ hot,” she mumbles against Harrow’s lips.

Although she’s flattered, Harrow is still very, very embarrassed. “If you tell anyone about this –”

“Relax,” Gideon interrupts. “That was amazing.”

Harrow sighs, breath shaky, shuddering at Gideon’s movement. “Do you think,” she breathes, looking up with half-lidded eyes, knowing definitively that her make-up is smudged to oblivion and hair is stuck to the sweat on her cheeks, “you could remove your cock from inside me now, Nav?”

Gideon laughs in surprise but does, gently easing out while Harrow winces and pretends not to notice the surplus of fluid that leaks out with it, adding to the puddle on the floor, hastily soaking into her skirt.

Harrow’s head drops back down onto the ground with a thoroughly defeated thud.

~*~*~*~

2.45am

“You know this bar closes at three!” Corona’s waving her arms manically, her once-perfect hairdo now unravelling. “I was about to call security to sweep the building.”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Gideon apologizes profusely, offering the puppy-dog smile she knows Corona can’t be angry with. “We… lost track of time.”

Gideon tries not to notice Pal laughing out the corner of her eye or Cam shaking her head in amusement, an incredulous smirk on her face.

“Well you missed all the fun,” Corona declares, gathering the remainder of her new friends and ushering them towards the exit before they get kicked out. “But I suppose I’ll let you off.”

“As long as you had a good birthday,” Gideon replies, blowing her a kiss which is well received.

“Where’s Ianthe?” Harrow asks.

Corona waves a hand, dismissive. “She left hours ago with some rando. Good for her, I say.”

“And, uh,” Cam pipes up, rocking on her heels drunkenly. “Where exactly have you two been?”

Gideon looks guility between Cam and Pal, her bestest friends, her confidants, eyes darting like ping pong balls as she tries to keep her mouth shut. Then she glances at Harrow, praying everyone else is too intoxicated to notice how she’s wiped most of her makeup off on Gideon’s vest; how her skirt and Gideon’s jeans are both soaking wet; how neither one of them can stand particularly well or speak particularly coherently or keep their eyes off of each other.

It’s Harrow who answers the question. “Oh, do piss off, Camilla,” she says. “Please don’t act as if you’ve never fornicated in public before.”

It’s so out of character, Gideon, Pal and Cam all burst into stunned laughter.

Finally, Cam recovers enough to reply, “well no, not at this age.”

“Well then,” Harrow sniffs indignantly. “You really ought to live a little.”

Cam blinks at Gideon in bewildered amusement. “Nav, what did you do, give her a lobotomy out back?”

Gideon snorts. “Yeah. Somethin’ like that.” She can’t help herself and adds, “really reset her brain, if you know what I mean.”

“Griddle!” Harrow rolls her eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she laughs hysterically as Harrow shoves her without mercy, “I’m just excited!”

Cam’s back to smirking. “Glad you two kissed and made up.”

“Yes, we don’t need any further details,” Pal chimes in, looking a little embarrassed. “As long as you had fun.”

“Oh, she had fun,” Gideon grins, gloatingly.

“I will smite you where you stand, Nav,” Harrow threatens through tight lips, sounding terrifyingly sincere.

Cam shakes her head again, thoroughly entertained, while Pal covers his face.

“Camilla,” he decides as the group disperses, “you better take me home before Gideon conjures a mental image that scars me for life.”

“I’ll call a cab.” Cam laughs and shoves Pal towards the door, giving Gideon a lingering look as she disappears from sight.

“So,” Gideon says, feeling a little nervous now she’s alone with Harrow again. This night has been the definition of unexpected. “Do you wanna… come back to mine?”

She’s not sure if she’s being too forward. Maybe Harrow only wanted one night of drunken fun.

Harrow raises an eyebrow, but she’s fighting a small smile. “You don’t live around here anymore,” she points out. “Remember?”

“Yeah. I’m, uh, staying on Sex Pal’s couch,” Gideon admits. “But I’m sure he won’t mind if you wanna crash.”

Harrow rolls her eyes, flashing a shadow of the tiny smirk. Even Gideon has to laugh at the mental image of curling up with Harrow on Pal’s pull-out sofa-bed, then catching up over coffee and eggs in the morning.

“No, thank you,” Harrow responds and Gideon feels her chest tighten. “I don’t think I need to see Sextus drunkenly pass out in his underpants.” True. No one needs that. Then she says, “you can come to mine, though. I live in a grown-up apartment on my own so there won’t be any… interruptions.”

Gideon perks up instantly, a grin spreading over her face. “Awesome. Yeah. Yes. Please.” Too eager? She rubs the back of her neck awkwardly. “I mean, yeah. Whatever.”

“The bed’s only small,” Harrow warns, keeping a straight face. “And my air conditioner is broken.”

“If you want to see me naked, you just have to ask,” Gideon winks.

“I’d like to see you naked,” Harrow replies, calling her bluff.

Gideon blushes, “ha,” and stammers as she tries to think of a response. “O-okay. Cool.” She curses herself for being such a total fucking simp while Harrow just smirks.

But who can blame her? The Harrowhark Nonagesimus, elusive, hot goth chick, most intriguing girl at school, her childhood crush, just sucked her cock and then squirted on her in a broom cupboard. How is Gideon supposed to think straight after that?

As they slowly head towards the exit, Harrow glances up and says, “oh, one other thing.”

Gideon raises an eyebrow, “hmm?”

“Do try not to fall in love with me, Griddle.” She smiles widely at her own joke, smudged lipstick framing razor-sharp white teeth.

Gideon laughs and shakes her head, placing a hand absently against the small of Harrow’s back to guide her out.

“Shit, wish you said that earlier,” Gideon sighs drunkenly, thinking about all the different ways she’s going to fold Harrow up like a pretzel and make her scream. Right after a solid twelve hour sleep with Harrow snugly pressed against her chest. And maybe a hot dog. “Too late now.”

Harrow doesn’t reply but Gideon can see she’s smiling to herself as they walk out into the cool night. She drapes her arm around Harrow’s shoulder to pull her in close.

And, maybe, Gideon thinks, there is some bizarre, fucked-up, perfect universe where they have the chance to try this all over again.

~*~*~*~