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It starts like this.
Harrow has been working so hard on her research project she forgets to take her meds. Not consistently, just once or twice, but it’s enough that it throws her off and disorganizes her thoughts. Her research partner tilts his head at her one day, concern and curiosity in his clear grey eyes, and asks, “Are you alright?”
And for some reason, Harrow answers. “Not particularly,” she admits. Perhaps it’s his genial, earnest manner, or the respect she has for his mind. But she finds herself saying, “I have a…condition, and the end of semester crunch hasn’t been particularly kind to me.”
“Oh, I have a good friend with a chronic condition,” Palamedes says, perhaps a bit too brightly. “I just mean…making accommodations when necessary is extremely important to me. Just tell me what you need.”
Harrow hesitates, hems and haws about how to confess that it’s not a physical condition, but a mental one. She reminds herself that Gideon tells her all the time that it’s just as valid and deserving of support, and though she doesn’t quite believe it herself, she believes that Gideon believes, so… “Schizophrenia,” she says finally. “I have schizophrenia.”
“Oh, okay,” Palamedes says. “How can I help?”
And so, without particularly meaning to, she has forged a bond through vulnerability with her research partner.
***
It starts like this.
The only person who seems to be at the gym quite as much as Gideon is a no-nonsense woman with a fantastic ass and a jawline that could cut glass. When Gideon casually offers to spot her one day, she quirks an eyebrow and her lips twitch into a devastatingly handsome smirk.
“Come here often?” Gideon asks between sets. She’s never quite been smooth, so she leans hard in the opposite direction and hopes it comes across as charming.
Apparently it works, because Camilla answers with a sardonic, “First time, actually,” and a sharp glint in her eye.
As the workouts continue and they perfect their banter, Gideon seizes the opportunity one day when Camilla mentions her partner. “Oh,” Gideon says. “Does he—she?—”
“He,” Camilla says with poorly concealed amusement. “But don’t worry, Nav. I’m bisexual.”
Back up against the wall of the locker room shower, Camilla’s mouth at her neck, Gideon says, “Poly too, right?”
Camilla snorts. “Yes, Gideon. We’re poly.” Gideon appreciates that Cam can read her well enough to realize that she needs a direct answer and not a joke.
“Oh good,” Gideon says, squeezing Camilla’s ass, “because I would hate to be a homewrecker.”
***
“I’ve been hooking up with someone at the gym,” Camilla says one night over a rare shared meal. Their busy schedules have them like ships in the night this time of year.
“Oh!” Palamedes says with interest. “At the gym, or…?”
“Mm,” Camilla says. “In the locker room mostly.”
Palamedes grins. “Rather daring of you.”
“She makes me feel a bit reckless,” Camilla admits. “Suppose it’s thrilling.”
“Well,” Palamedes says, “I, too, have met someone. Though our bond is mental rather than physical. She’s my research partner in physics and she seems to be my intellectual match.”
“High praise,” Camilla says.
“She’s earned it,” Palamedes says. “I’d love for you to meet her sometime.”
“Hope you can find the time before the two of you win the Nobel prize together.”
“Surely,” Palamedes says.
***
Gideon drags Harrow out for a drink—mocktails and good vibes—to celebrate the end of the semester.
“Yes,” Harrow says, “but my research isn’t finished. Our project is only starting to take off.”
“You gotta introduce me to boy genius one day,” Gideon says. “I want to shake the hand of the man who earned your esteem.”
“It’s not—” Harrow flushes. “He’s…a capable academic.”
Gideon snorts. “Come on, Harrow. You can admit you made a friend.”
Harrow supposes she has, at that. It’s a bit of a foreign concept to her, but he does make it rather easy. He occasionally forgets to feed himself, but he appears to have an extremely sharp memory where taking care of his friends is concerned. He’s helped her stick to a strong routine of medication and sleep, and has sat with her through some bad moments in the library without judgment or expectation. Harrow glares at Gideon. “Perhaps.”
“Oh!” Gideon says as she turns from the bar with their drinks in her hands. “It’s Cam!”
Harrow peers across the bar. “Your casual sexual acquaintance?” she asks.
Gideon makes a face. “Ew, don’t say it like that.”
“Is that not what she is?” Harrow asks.
“I mean, technically?” Gideon says. “But I don’t go around calling you my long term romantic partner. She’s my friend. My gym buddy. My bro. With benefits.”
“If you say so,” Harrow says.
Gideon weaves her way through the crowd with Harrow in her wake. “Cam!” she says as she approaches. “What’s up?”
“Gideon, hey,” Cam says with an upward nod of her chin. She’s standing at a tall table next to a tall skinny man with thick glasses and a face made of angles. “This is Palamedes.”
The man extends his hand in her direction, and Gideon hastily sets her and Harrow’s drinks down on the table to meet it with a handshake. “Gideon, nice to meet you,” Palamedes says. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Good things, I hope,” Gideon says.
“I told him you’re a bit ridiculous,” Camilla says.
“Extremely fair,” Gideon says. She turns and ushers Harrow toward the table with an arm around her shoulders. “This is Harrow.”
Harrow blinks. “Sextus?” she asks.
Palamedes’ face lights up. “Nonagesimus!” he says. “What are you doing here?”
Harrow looks up at Gideon, then across the table to Camilla and to Palamedes. “Gideon is my girlfriend,” she says.
The other three exchange confused glances as their brains fit the pieces into place. Gideon laughs. “No way!” she says. “Your boy genius is my gym bro’s partner?”
“I did not call him that,” Harrow mutters.
“What a delightful coincidence,” Palamedes says, looking extremely pleased. “Good taste all around, it seems.”
“More or less,” Camilla says.
“Hey,” Gideon says. “I resent that.”
***
Palamedes is over at Harrow’s house for a study session. Moving from the library to one of their houses, and extending their assigned research project beyond the confines of the semester, had made it impossible for Harrow to pretend they weren’t friends. This delights Palamedes, who had considered Harrow a dear friend for months.
Harrow is scowling at her textbook and intermittently scribbling in a notebook when Gideon walks in. She’s listening to music on her headphones, so she’s a little louder than necessary when she says, “Yo Harrow, not sure what your plans are for tonight but I think you should be prepared to watch—” Gideon stops when she sees Palamedes. “Oh, hey Pal,” she says.
“My plans,” Harrow says testily, “are to finish this assignment whether it kills me or not.”
“Okay, geez,” Gideon says, rolling her eyes. “Tomorrow though. You’ll never drive behind one of those trucks hauling logs ever again.”
Harrow grunts but largely ignores Gideon. “Oh, are you talking about that Final Destination movie?” Palamedes asks.
Gideon brightens. “Yeah!” she says. “SexPal knows what’s up. It’s the second one, which is almost as good as the first one. The third one is alright and then number four goes entirely off the rails… You seen it?”
“Only the first one. I can’t help but be fascinated by the Rube Goldberg machines that cause each person’s death. The improbability is compelling.”
“Yeah, it’s fucked up,” Gideon says, grabbing a drink out of the fridge. Palamedes would happily continue his conversation with Gideon, but he can see the furrow in Harrow’s brow deepening by the minute. He still isn’t entirely sure how Harrow and Gideon’s dynamic works, but knows that it does.
Gideon paces aimlessly into the living room as Harrow and Palamedes continue working. After about thirty seconds, she exclaims, “Oh! Palamedes!”
Harrow scoffs in frustration at the outburst. “Hi, Gideon,” Palamedes says, amused.
“If you’re here, that means Cam is free!” Gideon says.
“Not a guarantee, but quite probable,” Palamedes says.
“Fuck yeah,” Gideon says, skipping down the hallway to her bedroom.
Harrow says nothing, but Palamedes watches her chew on the inside of her cheek. Gideon must have gotten ahold of Cam because she emerges from her room ten minutes later wearing a different outfit and says, “Harrow, I’m gonna go see Cam. Be back later.” She kisses Harrow sloppily on the top of her head.
“Yes, fine,” Harrow says. “Have fun.” When the door shuts behind Gideon, Harrow sighs. Palamedes can’t tell if it’s relief due to the sudden drop in stimuli or something else. He watches her surreptitiously as they continue to work. She’s definitely more agitated than she had been before. Is it due to being interrupted by Gideon, or something more? Camilla has always told him he meddles too much, that he’s too nosy, but this is Harrow.
After a couple minutes of this, Harrow abruptly puts down her pencil. “You can stop looking at me like that, Sextus. I’m fine!”
The declaration does more to inform Palamedes that there is something going on than anything else. “Alright,” he says mildly. He returns to his work. Harrow doesn’t pick up her pencil.
“I want her to have friends!” Harrow bursts out defensively, as if Palamedes had suggested otherwise.
Palamedes interlaces his fingers on the table and looks up at her. “Reasonable,” he says.
“And God knows attempting to put a leash on the sex drive of that woman would be an exercise in futility.” Harrow rolls her eyes and scoffs, but Palamedes knows her well enough by now to see the undercurrent of fondness in her expression.
“She’s slept with other people before,” Palamedes says, half question, half statement.
“Of course,” Harrow says. “It never bothered me, it—” Harrow stops talking abruptly and presses her lips together, a flush rising in her cheeks. Palamedes patiently waits for her to say whatever it is that she’s having trouble with. “I did not dislike hearing about her experiences,” she finally says primly.
Palamedes can’t contain the briefest of laughs. “Alright,” he says. “Sounds like you’ve got it worked out.”
“Exactly!” Harrow says. She picks at one of her fingernails and squirms in her seat.
“But this feels different,” Palamedes says gently after a few moments of silence.
“It doesn’t make any sense, Sextus!” Harrow says. “It’s…unreasonable.”
“Feelings can be like that,” Palamedes says.
“Well, I refuse,” Harrow says. “I want her to have friends, and I don’t care who she sleeps with, so…it’s fine. I’m fine.”
Palamedes feels that telling Harrow she is very obviously not fine would be something like banging his head against a wall. So he tries a different tactic.
“Camilla and I have been close our whole lives,” he says. Harrow says nothing, but he can see that she is listening intently despite her lack of eye contact. “It was never really a question that we loved one another. We shared our first kiss at a perhaps embarrassingly early age. But when I was sixteen, I fell in love with someone else.”
Harrow has her pencil in her hand again and is doodling intently on her paper, but her brow furrows slightly.
“Cam and I always sort of had other interests off and on, and it had never been a problem. But this was different. We met at a college early admissions tour. She was an upperclassman, and I was smitten. We were penpals, mostly. I asked her for school advice. We began talking about my interests, my extracurricular studies. I waxed poetic to Camilla about her frequently. She never seemed to mind—in fact, she proofread most of my letters and formed a bit of a parenthetical relationship with her herself.
“I knew she’d never take me seriously, at least until I’d turned eighteen. So I waited, and I studied. Made myself as worthy of her as possible. I got a bit obsessed, actually. Camilla was by my side the entire time. She never said a word.”
Palamedes frowns. It still hurts to imagine Camilla’s silent turmoil, his unthinking disregard for how it might have been affecting her. “On my eighteenth birthday, I propositioned her. It was absolutely unrequited, of course. She saw me as a sweet, gifted child. She turned me down as gently as possible, but it still devastated me. Camilla remained steadfast through it all. She dried my tears.
“It wasn’t until her sister nearly decked me that I realized anything was wrong. Cam had been agonizing to her for months. Kiki said I’d been taking her for granted, and I suppose I had. It just never occurred to me that Camilla would think anything other than that she was the most important person in the world to me. I thought we were both confident in our love for one another.
“We talked. I won’t share too much as it’s her business, and she’s more private than I am—”
Harrow scoffs slightly. Palamedes smiles. “I realize I seem like a bit of an oversharer. I promise it is only with people I am close to. You just so happen to be one of my dearest friends.” Palamedes politely ignores Harrow’s deep flush at this.
“Anyway. The point is: I would give anything to go back and get her to tell me how she was feeling, from the beginning. As soon as we talked, we worked things out. We always work things out, together. I have utmost faith that you and Gideon can, as well.”
“But it’s not—logical,” Harrow says, picking dried skin off her lips with her teeth. “I shouldn’t feel this way. I don’t know why I feel this way.”
“If anyone can help you figure it out,” Palamedes says, “it’s Gideon.”
Harrow sits silently for a long moment. She’s scribbled so much on her paper that she’s made a hole in it. Finally, she looks up at him and makes her rare but intense eye contact. She nods once, and it feels as though she’s given him a hug. He isn’t expecting much in the way of verbal affection from her, but he feels her appreciation.
***
When Gideon comes out of the shower, Harrow is sitting cross-legged on their bed, waiting for her. Her hair is damp and tousled, sticking up haphazardly. She has pulled on a pair of boxer briefs and a ribbed black tank top with no bra underneath. She looks extremely good, but Harrow is not so easily distracted.
“Griddle,” she says, in a tone that she intends to be calm and welcoming, but must come across otherwise because Gideon stops in her tracks and looks at her with concern.
“What’s up?” Gideon asks warily.
Harrow sighs and attempts to relax her body. “I need—I want to talk to you.”
“Yeah, okay,” Gideon says. She comes to sit down on the edge of the bed, facing her girlfriend. “Is everything okay?”
Harrow’s heart is hammering in her chest. This is Gideon. They’ve gone through so much together, worked through so many misunderstandings. She really feels like they have a handle on their relationship, and she’s terrified to mess it up. What if Gideon is hurt? What if she’s so upset she doesn’t love Harrow anymore and— Harrow takes a deep breath. “It has been made clear to me that I need to express my feelings.”
Gideon snorts. “Novel concept.”
Harrow glares at her. “You’re not particularly adept at it yourself,” she says.
“Fair,” Gideon allows. “Alright, my midnight hagette. Shoot.”
“Earlier today,” Harrow starts, “when you left to go see Camilla…”
Gideon sits up straight and her eyes widen. “Oh,” she says. “Oh, Harrow, I—”
“Let me finish,” Harrow says.
Gideon nods vigorously and watches Harrow with apprehension in her eyes. Harrow hates seeing it there, so she closes her own.
“I felt…something,” Harrow says. “Jealous, I think.” She opens her eyes again to see Gideon fidgeting and chewing on her lip as if it’s necessary to keep herself from talking. “And I don’t know why.”
“Okay,” Gideon says. “Okay. I’m sorry. Harrow, look, I never want to make you feel bad. I can stop. I can stop talking to Cam, I can—”
“No,” Harrow says emphatically. “That’s not what I want, for several reasons, not the least of which is that she is inextricably linked to Sextus, who has become…rather important to me.”
Gideon grins slightly at this. “I like that for you,” she says. “You guys have this nerd bond that, like, I don’t know…completes something for you that I can’t.”
Yes, Harrow thinks. That’s precisely what Hect does for Gideon. So why can’t she be happy for her?
“But I don’t think she’d mind,” Gideon continues. “If we stopped sleeping together. I don’t think she has any trouble getting laid or anything. I’m just, like…” Gideon shrugs self-deprecatingly.
“Don’t sell yourself short,” Harrow snaps. How can Gideon not see how wonderful she is? How lucky Camilla is to be close to her? “Besides. I don’t even think that would…help.”
Gideon frowns. “Isn’t that what you’re jealous of?”
“I don’t really care who you have sex with,” Harrow says. It’s been true for most of their relationship. Sex for Gideon is something different than what sex is for Harrow. Harrow needs connection and deep trust along with attraction; something she’s not sure she’ll ever find outside of Gideon, or that she even wants to. Sex for Gideon is fun; a release. Like a sparring match with nudity. She’s attracted to basically anyone with a pair of tits, and Harrow likes letting her have that…and she doesn’t hate hearing all about it afterward. What she really needs—the thing she’s always guarded jealously—is Gideon’s heart.
“Okay,” Gideon says. Harrow can see her struggling to understand. “So what do you want me to do? Just tell me, and I’ll do it.”
Harrow makes a small noise of frustration in the back of her throat. “I don’t want you to do anything, I…” She throws her hands up in the air. “Forget it.”
“No,” Gideon says earnestly, scooting closer on the bed. She grabs Harrow’s hands in hers. “Look, Nonagesimus, the only way this works is if we’re honest with each other. Remember?”
Harrow does remember. Their relationship before they had started dating and shortly thereafter had been a bit rocky to say the least. It took them lots of work, culminating in—of all things—a heartfelt conversation in Gideon’s absentee tech-bro father’s backyard pool, but they’d made it to a very good place. She nods. “I suppose I don’t know why I feel this way. It’s not the sex. And it would be ridiculous of me to forbid you from having friends. I don’t know.”
Gideon makes a small noise of acknowledgment and scoots forward enough to wrap Harrow in her arms. Harrow appreciates the hug, but she can’t think properly like this, so she allows them ten seconds of embrace before pulling back out of it. “I love you, you know,” Gideon says.
Harrow smiles. “I do,” she says. But something twists in her gut at the words. “I mean,” she amends, “I do know. With my brain.” She looks up at Gideon a bit shyly. “Can you say it again?”
Gideon grins and Harrow realizes she’s about to start sounding as though she swallowed a thesaurus. “I love you, Harrow,” she says. “My angry little storm cloud. My gloom mistress. My penumbral lady. My cobalt concubine.”
Harrow rolls her eyes, but she can feel the blush high in her cheeks. Gideon grins wider and continues.
“You are everything to me. You are the blood in my veins. The strength in my arms.” Gideon flexes and Harrow laughs weakly, vaguely aware her eyes are tearing up. Gideon shifts off the bed onto her knees on the floor, still holding Harrow’s hands in hers. Harrow turns toward her.
“Griddle…” Harrow says unsteadily. “You don’t have to kneel.”
“But I do,” Gideon says. “Or, I want to, or something. Which is pretty huge, you know. All that time kneeling on those dumb little benches. None of that mattered to me. I know it did to you, or whatever, and I respect that because…The only thing that matters to me is you. It’s always been you, Harrow. Even when we were pulling each other’s hair and spitting curses…There is no me without you.”
“That is patently untrue,” Harrow says.
“Hey,” Gideon says. “Let a girl have her hyperbole.”
Harrow smiles down at Gideon. Her beautiful, ridiculous, earnest Gideon. Her golden eyes are sparkling up at her with adoration, and Harrow would have to be an absolute tool to disbelieve it. Harrow pulls one of her hands free of Gideon’s and pushes a lock of damp hair off of her forehead. “I love you, Gideon,” Harrow says. She’s suddenly filled with a deep longing to have Gideon in her arms. She pulls on her wrists and Gideon climbs up on the bed as Harrow lays back until Gideon is on top of her. She rests most of her weight on the bed—which is good, as Harrow would likely be unable to breathe otherwise—but settles just enough of it on top of Harrow that Harrow feels like she’s under the best, warmest weighted blanket.
“I love you too, my crepuscular queen.”
Harrow snorts at that—swallowed a thesaurus, indeed. Gideon leans down and kisses her mouth, filling Harrow’s body with warmth. She loses herself in Gideon’s embrace, in her kisses and in the warm weight of her for several minutes. When they still, Gideon sits up with her back against the headboard, Harrow curled up in her lap like a small kitten.
“Sorry,” Gideon says, kissing the top of Harrow’s head. “We were having a serious discussion and I got distracted kissing you.”
Harrow laughs and nuzzles her face into Gideon’s chest. “No, it’s okay,” she says. She considers. “I think it’s exactly what I needed, actually.”
“Yeah?” Gideon asks as Harrow lifts one of her hands and pulls it to rest on the small of her back. Gideon squeezes. “Do you want to talk about Cam? I never want to hurt you.”
“No,” Harrow says. “I think…” She considers again. She thinks about the way Gideon had bounded down the hallway earlier, the way her face had lit up. Here, with Gideon’s arms wrapped tightly around her, all she can make herself feel is happiness for her girlfriend, satisfaction that Camilla apparently appreciates her…and a bit of intense protectiveness for Gideon’s heart. If Camilla hurts her, Harrow will end her, Palamedes or no. “I needed this,” Harrow finished. “I needed you to…”
“Hold you in my arms and call you my twilit princess?”
“Yes, actually,” Harrow admits. “I missed you. I miss you when things get busy.”
“Did you miss me enough to watch Final Destination 2?” Gideon asks, waggling her eyebrows.
“Only if you don’t mind if I fall asleep in the middle.”
They cuddle in the flickering light of the TV. Harrow stays awake long enough to argue about the physics of elevator mechanics, and wakes again for an invigorating speech about why you don’t shock asystole!! She drifts off to sleep safe and warm in Gideon’s strong arms.
***
Two days later, when Harrow walks up to Palamedes and says merely, “Thank you,” she only squawks a bit when he responds with a hug.
***
Camilla is stretched out on her yoga mat with her legs wide when Palamedes enters. She’s been stretching out her inner thighs, thinking nebulously about Gideon’s hands on them. She smiles up at Palamedes as he enters and folds her legs back in, dropping into a brief counter-stretch before sitting back on her heels and looking at him.
Palamedes sits down on the couch. “You don’t have to stop on my account,” he says.
“I was finished,” Camilla says. She studies her partner as he takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. His shoulders look tight. “Headache?” she asks.
“Mm,” Palamedes nods. “Long day.”
Camilla gets up wordlessly and goes to fetch him a glass of water and painkillers. She sits sideways on the couch and watches as he takes the medicine then sets his glass down on the coffee table. “Thank you,” he says.
Camilla reaches out and runs a hand through his hair. He leans into her touch, nudging up against her hand like a cat as she plays with his hair. “That feels nice,” he murmurs.
“Good,” Camilla says.
Palamedes closes his eyes and rests his head back against the couch. “Did you have a good time with Gideon?”
“Yes,” Camilla says. Palamedes cracks an eye open and squints at her wordlessly. She lets out a soft chuckle. “Not much else to say,” she says. “We went for a walk. We had sex. She told a couple dumb jokes—”
“That you pretended weren’t funny,” Palamedes interjects.
“Mm,” Camilla says. “I think she likes having to work for it.”
“Makes sense,” Palamedes says, “given Nonagesimus. … Speaking of.”
Camilla raises an eyebrow in question.
Palamedes turns his head toward Camilla and sets his sincere grey eyes on her. “We had a conversation today that got me thinking. I want you to know, I’m happy. With you and Gideon. I’m glad you’re having a good time.”
“Alright,” Camilla says.
“I just wanted to—” Palamedes shifts his body so he’s facing her. “Wanted to make sure you knew my feelings. That I wasn’t hiding anything.”
Camilla looks at him fondly, a smile quirking the corners of her mouth. “Not sure you could keep your mouth closed long enough to hide anything.” She strokes the side of his face.
Palamedes grabs her hand in his and turns his head to kiss her palm. “Well,” he says. “Just trying to set a good example. So if anything comes up in the future, you remember to tell me how you’re feeling too.”
“Sure,” Camilla says.
Something in her face or her body language must have shifted because Palamedes frowns. “Are you hiding anything?” he asks.
“I don’t hide things from you,” Camilla says. Palamedes arches an eyebrow. “You don’t need to hear about all my irrational thoughts.”
Palamedes sits up a bit straighter. “Oh, I love irrational thoughts.”
“I didn’t tell you,” Camilla says, “because I wanted to work through it first. Understand what I was even feeling.”
“Did you figure it out?”
“Yes.” Camilla looks at Palamedes and his furrowed brow, the creases at the corners of his eyes. She reaches forward and smooths his forehead. “It’s good, actually,” she says. “Stop worrying. You’re going to give yourself a migraine.”
Palamedes leans into her touch again and sighs. “Will you tell me about it if I put my head in your lap and let you rub my temples?”
“Deal.” Camilla likes not having to stare him in the eyes when she talks about her feelings. It makes it easier to think. Once they’ve settled into position, she says, “The other day when Harrow was here, you went somewhere I couldn’t follow.” Camilla is used to engaging with Palamedes about his studies. He loves to explain things to her, to teach. He says it helps him learn. “I was following along until Harrow got excited about anti-quarks and mesons. The two of you were pinging back and forth so quickly I couldn’t keep up.”
Palamedes shifts in her lap. She feels his whole body frown. “I didn’t mean to leave you behind.”
“It would be extremely selfish of me to ask you to temper your intellect to spare my ego,” Camilla says. “I love your brilliance. I wasn’t hurt.” That was why it had taken her so long to understand what her feelings were. She wasn’t hurt or jealous precisely, so what was it? “Your connection with Nonagesimus has just been…surprising. That’s all.”
“For me too,” Palamedes says. “I’ve never met someone I connect with so well in this way.”
Camilla smiles. “I’ve always been only half a step behind you with people you meet. But the first time I met Harrow, you were already talking to her as if she were a colleague you’d known all your life.”
“It felt like she was,” Palamedes says. “And the feeling seems to be at least mostly mutual. She shies away from saying it, but I get the impression she trusts me more than she trusts…well, anyone besides Gideon.”
Camilla runs her fingers through Palamedes’ hair. “Seems to,” she murmurs. Camilla knows she’s earned a small portion of that trust as well by proxy. She recognizes it as the honor that it is. “I’m glad you found each other.”
Palamedes ducks his face into Camilla’s thigh a bit. “She’s my best friend. Who’s not you, of course.”
“Don’t worry,” Camilla says wryly, “I wasn’t threatened.”
“I wish we lived closer,” Palamedes says. His voice is getting a bit softer, a little drowsy. “My brainstem would appreciate the decrease in travel time.”
“Mm,” Camilla says. She supposes that would mean she’d be closer to Gideon as well. Beyond the benefits part of their arrangement, she enjoys the other girl’s friendship quite a bit. It’s nice to connect with someone who understands the healing properties of physical exertion. “That would be nice.”
***
Camilla crunches the numbers. Palamedes prepares a presentation laying out the idea. He only makes it a quarter of the way through it before Harrow interrupts.
“Yes,” she says. “I have come to the same conclusion. It would be very logical to share living arrangements.”
Gideon snorts. “How romantic,” she says.
“Data can be extremely sexy,” Camilla says.
“Ooh, let me see it then,” Gideon says, lunging for her laptop.
“We are together nearly all the time as it is,” Palamedes continues, unable to be derailed from making his full argument, “in one configuration or another.”
Camilla slaps Gideon’s hand away before she can screw up her spreadsheet. Gideon brings her hand to her mouth and gives Camilla an exaggeratedly wounded expression. Harrow rolls her eyes.
“The only issue is finding a place big enough,” Palamedes says. “I think it would be wise for us each to have our own space.”
“Absolutely,” Harrow says immediately.
“With all four of us, it will likely widen our budget,” Camilla says, “but—”
“Yo,” Gideon says. “My sperm donor’s been trying to ply a stupid old house he owns off onto me. It would make me feel like a douchebag to live somewhere like that with just me and Harrow, but with four of us…”
Three sets of eyeballs blink at Gideon. “I mean, it wouldn’t be free, but…”
“I thought you didn’t want to accept anything from that—” Harrow clears her throat, “slutty old piece of shit with a God complex.”
Gideon shrugs. “Yeah, well, if it’s for you guys. It’s the least he can do after seventeen years of jack followed by another five of bullshit.”
Camilla looks vaguely disappointed she does not have to do any further data analysis, but she gets over her disappointment quickly when she learns there’s good space for workouts in the basement.
***
Harrow sticks mostly to her room for the first week. After living with her parents for most of her life, and then living with Gideon after that, it’s comforting to have a safe place that’s all her own. Even Gideon agrees to knock before entering if the door is closed, despite sleeping in the bed with her half the time.
Harrow recognizes her tendency toward isolation, however, and Gideon has warned her that if she eats in her room she’ll get ants. So she eats in the kitchen, even if there is no one there hassling her to join them. She’s never been very good at eating, and the only way she manages to tolerate it at all is if she has something to occupy her mind at the same time. One day she gets so absorbed in the article she’s reading on her laptop that she remains at the table long after she has given up on her half-eaten sandwich.
She doesn’t realize that Camilla has entered until she hears the sound of the ice maker spitting ice into a glass. Harrow jumps and looks up.
“Sorry,” says Camilla.
“It’s fine,” Harrow says. She hopes she doesn’t sound angry. She’s not angry, just unsettled, but she’s often been told her default tone reads that way.
Camilla, mercifully, does not elaborate on her apology or ask Harrow if she’s sure she’s fine, or something equally tiring. She just takes a drink of her water and stretches her arms behind her back.
Harrow is distracted. Should she return to her room? She considers it before she remembers her half-eaten sandwich. If she gets up, she’ll have to clean that up lest she become the slovenly roommate that invites ants into the kitchen. Maybe it would be alright if she finishes what she’s reading.
Camilla crosses into the adjacent living room and does a few stretches. It seems as though she’s not going to make Harrow talk to her, so Harrow returns to her reading. She’s not really sure what it is, but the presence of the other woman is calming somehow. Perhaps she’s just so confident and level-headed that it oozes into the air. It’s enough that when Camilla gets up and heads down the hallway into her bedroom and then the bathroom—Harrow hears the shower running—Harrow misses it. She finds that when Camilla has finished showering and dressing and returns to the living room with a book under her arm, she’s quietly pleased.
But all Camilla does is fill up her water glass and turn to go back down the hallway.
“Hect,” Harrow says quickly, impulsively.
Camilla turns around and raises an eyebrow questioningly.
“You don’t…have to leave,” Harrow says, feeling her cheeks flush. “If you want to read. Out here.”
Camilla blinks a couple times, which Harrow takes as great surprise coming from the other woman. Then she smiles a tiny smile. “Okay,” she says.
Harrow accomplishes more in that afternoon than she has in any other recent study session, barring the ones she spends with Palamedes. But those are different—theorizing and picking each other’s brains. This is a nice deep solo dive into her work.
They make it an unspoken habit after that. Sitting on opposite ends of the couch or in the kitchen. Palamedes understands what they’re doing quickly, but Gideon takes a more explicit explanation.
“Hey, Cam,” she says one day when Camilla and Harrow are both in the living room.
Camilla looks up. “Mm?”
“Wanna go do something? It’s too quiet.”
“Excuse you,” Harrow says irritably. “We are in the middle of something.”
Gideon looks back and forth between Harrow and Camilla. “But you’re not even…you’re just…”
Camilla shrugs. Gideon snorts. “Weirdos,” she says affectionately. She leaves them alone after that.
***
Palamedes is sitting on the couch with bottles of nail polish on the coffee table before him when Gideon sits down next to him.
“Uh, hey,” Gideon says, a bit awkward.
“Hi Gideon,” Palamedes says with a smile. “How's it going?”
“I dunno,” Gideon says. She's restless, and while she doesn't quite seem upset, he can see that she needs…something. “You mind if I turn the TV on?” she asks.
“Go ahead,” Palamedes says. “It's your house too.”
“Yeah I guess,” Gideon says. Palamedes has the distinct impression, both now and from previous observations, that she doesn't often feel at home anywhere. He frowns. He's going to have to fix that.
Gideon puts on women's basketball. Palamedes was never particularly interested in sports, but as he uncaps a deep red bottle of nail polish, he supposes he can see the appeal. He assumes Gideon likes it as much for the sweaty muscular women as for the sport itself.
Gideon jiggles one of her legs and taps her fingers on the arm of the couch as she watches. Palamedes bends one of his legs up, knee out to the side, Camilla's voice in the back of his head chiding him for overextending his joints. As he paints a coat of red polish on his toenails he notices Gideon glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.
“Would you like to join me?” Palamedes asks.
Gideon grins a lopsided grin, a bit self deprecating and hesitant. “I mean…” she says. “I've never painted my nails before.”
“Oh, you should definitely try it,” Palamedes says. “I have black.” He feels a bit like he's coaxing a shy cat out from under a bed. He knows she's known Harrow all her life, and with Cam—well, he imagines it's easier for her to connect with someone on a physical level. Weightlifting and slaps on the back and what seems to be rather excellent sex. He's unsure how many good friends she's ever had otherwise.
Gideon looks at his nails a bit suspiciously. “Yeah, okay,” she says. “But if I’m doing my toes…do you have something…gold?”
Palamedes grins and goes to grab an assortment of colors. Gideon chooses one with glitter in it. “This is impossible,” she says after sloppily applying polish to her big toe. “I’m not this bendy. I can move your couch for you, but it’s Cam that can do the splits and stuff.”
Palamedes laughs. “Give it here,” he says.
Gideon is uncharacteristically silent and completely still as he paints a thin layer of gold polish on her toenails. She squints at it when he’s done and he says, “Don’t worry, it’ll be brighter when we put a second coat on.”
“Yeah,” Gideon says. “Cool.”
Palamedes thinks for a minute, then holds out a bottle of polish in Gideon’s direction. “Here,” he says. “You do my fingers.”
“What?” Gideon says, looking way too panicked for such a simple request. “Bro, I’m gonna get it everywhere. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Palamedes grins. “Only one way to learn!”
Gideon paints his nails very carefully, with so much focus it’s adorable. “Shit,” she says when she gets polish on the skin of his finger.
“It’ll wash off,” Palamedes says. When she’s done, he returns the favor, this time with black for her fingernails. When he holds her hand in his Gideon flinches briefly and watches him silently, like she had before when he did her toenails. It’s as though she both craves and is terrified of the touch.
“What do you think?” Palamedes asks when they’re all done.
“I think…” Gideon grins. “Harrow is going to lose her shit. Not in a bad way,” she adds hastily. “She’ll just be extremely suspicious. It’ll be cute.”
Palamedes settles back against the couch and turns his gaze to the TV. “Alright,” he says. “While we wait for it to dry, you tell me the rules of this game.”
Gideon loosens up as she explains the game to him, names her favorite players and tells him her predictions for the season. When Palamedes casually grabs her hand to apply a second coat, she allows it but keeps talking. When he’s finished, he doesn’t let go of her hand.
After a few more minutes of game-watching, Gideon looks down. “You’re still holding my hand,” she says.
“Yes,” Palamedes says.
“For nail painting purposes?” she asks.
“No,” Palamedes says. “For friendship purposes.”
“Oh,” Gideon says. She seems to cycle through several thoughts in rapid succession.
“Do you want me to stop?” Palamedes asks.
Gideon furrows her brow. She looks down at their hands. She curls her fingers a bit around his. “So, this girl is like a three-point champion,” she says. “That’s that line on the court right there…”
Palamedes smiles and leans into his friend.
***
Gideon enters Camilla’s room with no fanfare and flops prone onto the bed. “Caaaaammm,” she groans.
“Gideon,” Camilla says, not looking up from her work.
“I think Harrow hates me,” Gideon moans into the pillow.
“Oh?” Camilla asks, unconcerned. Her friends are nearly as devoted to one another as she and Palamedes are. Nearly. Not that it’s a contest.
“She won’t even talk to me,” Gideon groans. She rolls over onto her back and stares at the ceiling, arms wide. “My life is over.”
Camilla glances up at Gideon and sees from her face that while she is exaggerating for dramatic effect, she is also genuinely upset. She sets her homework aside and turns to face her friend. “What happened?”
Gideon groans and covers her face with her hands. “I was stupid. I’m always stupid. I always say some damn thing without thinking and she gets mad and then she goes away and hides and won’t come out and let me explain.”
Camilla gets up and flops down on the bed next to Gideon. “Hm,” she says. Gideon rolls towards her and smooshes her face into Cam’s shoulder, flopping an arm across her waist.
“Can you talk to her for me?” Gideon asks.
“Absolutely not,” Camilla says.
“What? Whyyyyyy? Come on Cam, my life depends on it.”
Camilla smiles a bit. “I’m sure you’ll work it out.”
“Not if she hates me forever.”
“She doesn’t hate you forever.”
“Then why won’t she talk to me?”
“Maybe she doesn’t know what to say.”
“But it’s me,” Gideon says. “She doesn’t have to like…curate her thoughts for me. She can tell me anything! I want her to be honest.”
“It’s not about that,” says Camilla, who understands the need to be careful, to make sure she’s expressing herself accurately. “Some of us just really need to think before we speak.”
Gideon rolls her eyes and rolls away from Camilla. “Yeah, yeah, I know I’m a big moron and opening my mouth is what got me into this mess and I should think before I speak more, but—”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” Camilla says, rising up on her elbows. “You’re like Palamedes.”
“Palamedes?” Gideon asks skeptically. “He’s smart.”
“Yes,” Camilla agrees. “And so are you, incidentally. But he needs to talk things through. He needs to write all over the walls,” she nods at the mass of post-its stuck on the wall above the desk, “and tell me all about it before he can come to a conclusion. He organizes his thoughts by talking about them. Like you.”
Gideon frowns. “Isn’t that a bad thing?”
“No,” Camilla says. “It’s just different.”
Gideon rolls this around in her head for a minute. “Huh,” she says after a while. Camilla hates that her assertion that Gideon is not inferior based solely on the way her brain works appears to be news to her. “So what does Palamedes do?” she asks. “When you guys argue, and you don’t want to talk about it yet?”
“You’ll have to ask him,” Camilla says.
Camilla hears them later, in Palamedes’ room—just the low rumble of their voices, not the words. She can hear Gideon periodically tossing a ball against the wall and both of them pacing. She smiles and sips her tea, reading her book on the couch. After several minutes, Harrow comes into the living room with her laptop under her arm. She squints suspiciously in the direction of Gideon and Palamedes’ voices before sitting on the other side of the couch. Camilla nods to Harrow silently, who responds in kind.
Gideon and Palamedes eventually move downstairs and turn on the TV, arguing good-naturedly about sports statistics. After nearly an hour has passed, Harrow closes her laptop and gets up off the couch. “Thank you, Hect,” she says.
Camilla looks up at her and smiles. “Any time, Nonagesimus.”
***
“Nonagesimus.”
Something in Palamedes’ tone makes Harrow snap to attention. “What is it?” she asks.
They’re in a private study room of the library, sorting through the mountain of data they’ve gathered in their recent trials. Harrow is beginning to despair that their concept has no merit after all. But Palamedes looks up at her, his entire face alight and his eyes sparkling. “I think we’ve done it,” he says.
Harrow moves instantly to his side and practically shoves him out of the way to look at the model he’s working on. “Are you sure?” she asks. Her heart is pounding in her chest, excitement flooding into her fingertips.
“I think so,” he says, “but you’re of course welcome to check it yourself.”
Harrow does. She checks his work once, twice. Palamedes quivers next to her like the lid on a simmering pot. She’d tell him to knock it off, but his excitement is contagious and she can’t find it in her. She checks his work herself. Then again. Finally, she turns to him incredulously. “You’re right,” she says. “Oh, my God.”
Palamedes laughs and runs a hand through his hair, making it stand up in odd directions. “All right,” he says a bit unsteadily. “No, I did not actually think that was going to happen. Masterful work, Nonagesimus.” He bows with a flourish, so excited by their success he has become a bit ridiculous.
Harrow can’t find it in herself to mind. “Yes,” she says. “Congratulations to you also, Sextus.”
Palamedes surges forward half a step, then catches himself with obvious difficulty. “Sorry,” he says, though he hasn’t even done anything. “Overcome by the moment.”
Harrow rolls her eyes and feels her cheeks flush, but she ultimately shrugs awkwardly. “Oh, go on,” she says.
Palamedes steps the rest of the way forward and pulls her into a wild embrace. He lifts her up off the floor in his enthusiasm, and Harrow squawks indignantly, holding onto his shoulders for dear life.
When he sets her down, he laughs again. His smile and the light in his eyes make him lovely to look at, and Harrow is suddenly acutely aware of how grateful she is to have him as a friend.
But then he ruins it.
“Well,” he says, “I suppose I shouldn’t be quite so surprised. I have always been the best student in my year.”
Harrow snorts. “Like hell,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. “You were just lucky to meet the actual best student in our year.”
“We’ll take it as a tie?” Palamedes asks, holding his hand out for a handshake.
“I will concede no such thing.”
“Ah, that’s why I love you, Harrow,” he says. “You never back down.”
Palamedes returns to his seat, but Harrow finds herself unable to move. It’s not that she doesn’t know, on some level, that there is some kind of love between them, something familiar and safe, the connection of two minds that vibrate at the same frequency. But the way he says it, so casually, as if it’s easy, throws her off. It doesn’t even feel that nonchalant for her to tell Gideon that she loves her.
Harrow returns to her seat as well, and she feels Palamedes glancing at her as they finish their work. She should have said something casual and flippant like Gideon might have; or even a patented Camilla Hect grunt would have surely sufficed. She feels like an idiot for not knowing how to behave like someone normal; for not even knowing how to receive affection without making everything uncomfortable.
Palamedes fortunately picks up his typical stream of consciousness as they finish their work and pack up to go home. It isn’t until they get off the bus at the stop near their house that he says something mortifying again.
“I’m sorry if I caught you off guard,” he says.
Harrow considers playing dumb, but knows he wouldn’t fall for it. “I didn’t know how to respond,” she says.
“I know,” Palamedes says. He lets that sit for a beat. “But it is important to me that you know. That I love you. That you mean rather a lot to me.”
Harrow is glad that it’s dark and they’re walking, so she isn’t forced to look at him, or to watch him look at her. “It should go without saying,” she says stiffly, “that I hold you in high regard.”
“Oh, it does,” Palamedes says. “I am well aware how hard it is for you to trust. I don’t take the trust you place in me lightly. It’s an honor.” He pauses again. She can practically hear the words straining to fight their way out of his mouth. “I feel grateful to have met you. Talking with you lights my brain up in new ways, like you’re opening up pathways I never would’ve known were there if not for you. I’m not bragging when I say I’ve never felt on such even footing with someone intellectually.”
“More or less even,” Harrow says. She can’t help herself. She laughs shortly as the words come out of her mouth.
Palamedes grins and nudges her shoulder. “More or less,” he says.
“I don’t trust,” Harrow says. She’s still not quite sure why she trusted him all those months ago, why she let her vulnerability come pouring out of her mouth like that. And she’s not about to go around trusting people all willy-nilly. But, “I’m glad I trusted you.”
Palamedes beams. She can feel it even in the darkness. “Me too,” he says.
***
It quickly becomes apparent that if left alone for any significant length of time, Gideon and Camilla will end up having sex.
The first time Harrow points this out, Gideon protests that “having sex” is a bit strong. Sometimes they just end up making out on the couch. Harrow rolls her eyes and tells Gideon she’s not beating the accusations by arguing semantics. By the time Harrow and Palamedes come home from a walk down to the bookstore to discover Camilla and Gideon having just gotten out of the shower, no one can argue her point.
Gideon feels a little self-conscious about this for a while. It’s just that she seems to always be ready to go, and Camilla is effortlessly sexy, and what else is she supposed to do? It’s not her fault that Camilla rarely says no.
“You know, you can say no to me,” Gideon says one afternoon, panting as Camilla slips her hand down the front of her pants.
“Trust me, I would if I wanted to,” Camilla says, nibbling at Gideon’s collarbone. “You’re just so cute. Desperate. A little pathetic.”
“Hey,” Gideon protests, though she certainly has nothing to complain about at the moment. “I think what you mean to say is—ahhh—that I’m so charming you can’t not fuck me. … Fuck.”
“Something like that.”
Gideon worries at first that her obvious insatiability will bother Harrow. But Gideon has affection to give in spades, and Harrow has no shortage of public bear hugs and top-of-the-head smooches to contend with. No matter how much she puts up a show of protesting, no one in the household truly believes they annoy her. Harrow has also seemed to develop some sort of silent friendship with Camilla that Gideon can’t quite understand. But as long as everyone is happy, she supposes she doesn’t have to.
And Gideon is very happy. She sometimes can’t believe her luck. She has Harrow, who has been a part of her since basically forever, and they’re in a really good place. She has one roommate who seems to be teaching her the joys of friendship—one that involves sports debates and nail painting and leaning into each other comfortably on the couch. And she has another roommate who is smoking hot and smart as hell and who for some fucking reason wants to have sex with her. Sometimes she’s afraid if she makes one wrong move she’ll lose it all. She certainly didn’t get here on her own merit.
One Saturday afternoon, she’s sitting on the couch with Camilla. Harrow and Palamedes are at the library, as they often are. They’ve just gotten home from the gym and have showered and they’re making out a little bit, as a treat. Gideon is too worn out to actually have sex, plus she has a bit of a headache, but she likes to touch Camilla and to kiss her, and feels like the luckiest guy on the planet that she can do so casually like this.
Gideon reclines back on the couch with Camilla half on top of her and closes her eyes. She considers getting up to get herself something for her headache, but the warm solid weight of Camilla is far too comforting to give up so she sighs in defeat. Camilla makes a small hum of a question. “Oh, nothing,” Gideon says. “Just a stupid headache.”
Camilla twists a bit on the couch to look up at her. “You take something for it?” she asks.
“Meh,” Gideon says, waving a hand in front of herself. “I will eventually. It’s fine.”
Camilla squints at her for half a second then gets up all at once. “Be right back,” she says.
Gideon furrows her brow and watches her go. Maybe she shouldn’t be surprised that when she returns, she’s holding a glass of water and a bottle of medicine. “Oh,” Gideon says as Camilla sits back down and hands it to her. “I wasn't asking you to—”
“I know,” Camilla says.
Gideon frowns a bit but takes the meds. She feels uncomfortable in her chest somewhere, vaguely guilty. Camilla leans against her and pushes the hair back off of her forehead. “You know,” Gideon says, “you really don't have to be nice to me.”
Camilla's hand stills. “What?” She asks.
“I just mean…” Gideon says. “You don’t have to go out of your way. I’m fine. I can take care of myself.”
Camilla is silent for a few seconds. “Nav,” she says deliberately. “What do you think we’re doing here?”
Gideon wonders if this is a trick question. “Uhh…I don't know, you're…you think I’m hot I guess, and—”
“Is that it?” Camilla asks. “You think I—?”
Camilla's upset. She's hard to read, but that much is obvious. “I don't know!” Gideon says. “I'm sorry, I just mean, like…it's not like you need to…be nice.”
Camilla furrows her brow and stares intently at her hands, fidgeting in her lap. “I thought I'd made myself clear.”
Clear? About what? Gideon is suddenly panicked that she missed something.
“And I didn't realize you thought so little of me.”
This knocks Gideon completely off her composure. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she says. “I don't think little of you! Cam, you're…you're incredible. You're funny and smart and badass and I just…” Gideon shrugs. “I dunno, I'm just some idiot. You don't owe me anything!”
Camilla studies Gideon for a few seconds, hot and unyielding. Gideon tries not to squirm. “I’m not being nice to you because I think I have to, or—” Camilla frowns again. “I like you,” she says. “I thought that was clear.”
“Oh,” Gideon says. She’s not sure how to respond. The words ‘you don’t have to’ spring to mind, but she’s at least smart enough to realize that would be the wrong response. She likes hearing Camilla say it, but it makes her skin feel itchy at the same time. It feels like a trap.
Camilla is still studying her in that hard, undressing way she has. “The Warden is right,” she murmurs, as if to herself. Then she addresses Gideon. “I think you're great, Nav. As a person. Glad we're friends. I would prefer it if you didn't have a headache.”
For Camilla, it's effusive. Gideon feels her entire body turning a surely embarrassing shade of red. Her mouth opens and closes a couple times but no words come out.
Then Camilla lands the final blow. “Someday you’ll believe it.” She kisses Gideon on the cheek.
Gideon fumbles for solid ground, searching for somewhere safe to land, and comes back with, “So why do you call him Warden, anyway?”
Camilla snorts. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
***
Harrow rubs her hands up and down her arms as if attempting to warm them. She’s not cold, she’s just—
Harrow sighs irritably and paces across the room. She feels as though she has expanded beyond the confines of her body, that her thoughts and her essence are leaking out of her skin and spreading out into the air like a dye tablet in water. There’s too much in her head, too much inside of her, and she can’t even contain it, much less consider making any sense of it. She smacks her hands against her upper arms again, attempting to reboot her skin’s impermeability.
She knows she’s not really dissolving past her skin, but that’s how it feels and it’s making her feel untethered, adrift; frighteningly susceptible to becoming lost. She’s been lost before, but not in a long time, and she doesn’t want it to happen again.
She doesn’t hear the front door open, but she hears the strong, even footsteps of boots across the floor. When she looks up, Camilla is crouching by the closet and untying her boots. “Hey,” she says.
Harrow mumbles something in Camilla’s general direction, or at least she thinks she does. She’s not in any state to feel self-conscious in front of most anyone right now, and though Camilla is the member of their little group that she feels the least close to, there’s an unspoken solidarity there, a familiarity borne from hours of quiet companionship while their partners cause a ruckus in the basement. If she had any neural real estate to spare at the moment, she might be surprised to realize that Camilla feels like home now as much as either Gideon or Palamedes do. As it is, she can only wrap her arms around herself and attempt to stay grounded.
“Are you alright?” Camilla asks, putting her boots in the closet and stepping closer.
“Fine,” Harrow says tightly, shaking her head once. She frowns. “No,” she amends. “Just—” She gestures vaguely. “Unsettled.” She realizes it’s not clear at all, especially as a first attempt to explain to someone with words what being inside of her body and her brain is sometimes like. “It’ll pass,” she finishes. She wishes Gideon were here.
Camilla stands near Harrow quietly for a moment. Harrow realizes on some level that she’s being scrutinized, but it doesn’t feel invasive or rude. Harrow squeezes her eyes shut—no, that’s worse— She opens her eyes wide and forces herself to study the painting on the wall in front of her.
“Would it be alright if I touch you?” Camilla’s voice is low and steady. It’s extremely solid, the way it usually is, while also being quietly soft. Harrow feels her body reaching toward it like a houseplant searching for light.
She nods as she shifts her gaze from the painting, trying to find something else to focus on. Camilla’s hand rests firmly on her back and every one of Harrow’s senses hone in on its grounding presence. “Hect, I—” Harrow starts. She’s not quite sure what she’s about to say. You don’t have to do this? You don’t have to feel sorry for me? I’ll be fine, there’s no need to go out of your way? She knows what Gideon would say to that, what Palamedes would say. That she doesn’t have to struggle alone when there’s someone reaching out their hand.
“Say the word and I’ll let go,” Camilla says, her voice smooth and gentle. Harrow knows it’s true.
“No,” she says. She hasn’t come far enough to ask for what she needs, not with words, but she turns toward her housemate and curls her shoulders inward, dropping her head down onto her collarbone.
Camilla is no idiot, and she brings her other arm up and pulls Harrow into a hug. Harrow nods against her chest, encouraging, and Camilla squeezes. Harrow feels her body relaxing into the embrace, and she can see all the bits of herself that were seeping out from between her pores becoming anchored, as if Camilla is squeezing them back in. She’s shaped differently than Gideon but she’s just as strong, or as close as makes no difference, and Harrow focuses on the sensation of her strong arms against her back, of the solid form of her chest under her head. Harrow breathes in Cam’s smell, and it’s at once both new and familiar. She smells not dissimilar to Palamedes, and Harrow smells something of Gideon on her jacket, as though it may have been borrowed at one point.
Harrow isn’t sure how long they stand like that, with the unrelenting deep pressure of Camilla’s body wrapped around her, but eventually Harrow’s legs almost give out and Camilla asks, “Would you like to sit down?”
They sit, and Harrow gradually untangles herself from the other woman, grateful when she leaves one arm heavy on her back. Now that she feels more grounded, she has the capacity to feel self-conscious.
“Sorry,” Harrow says. “Thank you.”
Camilla smiles softly. “You're welcome,” she says. “I think it can be grounding sometimes. Squeezing, or being squeezed. Thought you might agree.”
“Suppose you're usually the one doing the squeezing.”
“Usually,” Camilla says. The twitch of her lips sends a strong emotion deep into Harrow's stomach. Gideon.
Is she jealous? Harrow checks herself. It's not a bad feeling, just a strong one, unfamiliar. Does she wish Gideon wouldn't squeeze Camilla? No, she likes that, actually. She likes Camilla. She also knows how much Gideon loves being useful, loves helping people she cares about. She loves knowing that Gideon is the one who put that fond expression on Camilla’s face, that Gideon’s heart would swell with the knowledge. It’s a strong, yearning feeling, but it’s not dissimilar to the love she feels for Gideon.
“Gideon really likes you,” Harrow blurts out. She’s not sure why she says it, but she needs to make sure Camilla knows. Because Gideon would want her to. Because Harrow likes her too.
Camilla blinks in surprise, then ducks her head slightly. Harrow watches, transfixed, as Camilla shows more emotion on her face than Harrow has ever seen from her before. A fond little smirk, a reddening of the tops of her ears. “I really like her too,” Camilla says.
“Good,” Harrow says. She leans a bit of her weight into Camilla, not quite ready to let go of her grounding presence. “You’d be an idiot not to.”
***
When Gideon comes huffing up to her at their meeting place in front of the gym, Camilla says, “You’re late.” As Gideon starts to open her mouth to protest, Camilla quickly takes in her puffy eyes, her red nose, and her pale complexion. “And you look like shit.”
Gideon scoffs. “Good to see you too, bro.” She squints at her. “You look like shit.”
“I’m fine,” Camilla says quickly. She’s been white-knuckling her way through what feels like the onset of some sort of virus all afternoon. Sinus pressure, scratchy throat, swollen lymph nodes. But she’s determined not to skip her workout.
“Yeah, well, me too,” Gideon says. She turns what seems like it would have been a cough into a loud throat-clearing sound. She nods toward the door of the gym. “Ready? Unless you wanna skip today.”
“Nope,” Camilla says, trying to sound convincing. “Just let me know if you do.”
Gideon snorts. “No way. No pain no gain, man.”
“Sure,” Camilla says, leading them into the gym.
As they start their workout, Camilla starts to really wish Gideon would say she’s ready to go home. Her head is pounding and her eyes feel hot. The nerve endings of her skin feel overly sensitive and fragile. Gideon doesn’t look a whole lot better than she feels. She’s soaking through her shirt by the time they’re done with their first exercise. They make eye contact several times, but neither speaks. Neither of them wants to be the first one to admit defeat.
After Camilla finishes a set of squats, her watch vibrates at her. She looks down to see she’s gotten a text from Palamedes. Using this as an excellent excuse to sit down on the bench and hide the way her legs are shaking, she gets out her phone and reads it.
Palamedes: cam i’m sick when are you coming home???
Palamedes: it’s possible i’m dying
Camilla feels a rush of concern for her partner immediately followed by a wave of relief. “Hey Nav,” she says.
Gideon leans against the squat rack. “What’s up?” she asks. Her voice is scratchy.
“Palamedes is sick,” she says. “He wants me to come home.”
Gideon collapses onto the ground as if all the bones in her body have suddenly disappeared. “Oh thank God,” she says. “If I had to do one more set I thought I was going to die.”
As they get dressed and head for the bus stop, Gideon finally admits, “Oh my God dude, I feel like shit.”
Camilla grunts.
“You can admit it now,” Gideon says. “You won Tough Guy Chicken.”
Camilla swallows and rubs her throat. “I suppose there’s no avoiding sharing germs with each other.”
Gideon chuckles. “Everybody’s on you about the STIs with poly, but nobody warns you about the rampant sharing of regular virus— Oh, holy shit!”
Camilla blinks at Gideon’s sudden shift.
“Harrow!” Gideon says. “That means she’s probably sick too, right?”
“Odds are good,” Camilla says.
“Fuck.” Gideon gets her phone out and checks it anxiously. “She didn’t text me. Ah, fuck. I hope she’s okay. If she’s sick, she’s probably fucking miserable right now. She can’t even take care of herself when she’s healthy, much less…. We gotta get home.”
“We’re working on it,” Camilla says.
“Yeah, I just—” Gideon makes a pained expression. “She hates to be alone when she’s sick. I should’ve thought. Instead of trying to be some sort of badass at the gym, I should’ve checked on her.”
“It’s fine,” Camilla says, giving Gideon’s hand a comforting squeeze. “I’m sure she’s okay.”
Gideon snorts. “You don’t know Harrow,” she says.
By the time they get home, Camilla wants nothing more than to lie down and close her eyes and go to sleep…as soon as she checks on Palamedes. Gideon seems to have worked herself up into a frenzy, and it’s making her head hurt even worse.
“Harrow?” Gideon calls as they walk into the house. “Are you here?”
Gideon heads for the living room and Camilla is close behind. Then Gideon stops in her tracks so abruptly Camilla almost runs into her. Before she can open her mouth to ask what the hell, Gideon reaches back and squeezes Cam’s arm. “Oh my God, oh my God,” Gideon whisper-squeals.
Camilla looks around Gideon’s shoulder to see Harrow and Palamedes on the couch. They’re both asleep and—
“Harrow’s head is on his shoulder!” Gideon squeaks. “Oh my God this is adorable. Cam, this is huge! She doesn’t cuddle easily.”
Camilla moves to stand next to Gideon. “I’ve hugged her a time or two,” she says.
“What?!” Gideon asks.
“Shh,” Cam chides. “You’ll wake them up.”
Gideon, seemingly bursting with emotion, turns and surprises Camilla with an intense squeeze around the waist that would nearly knock her over if Gideon wasn’t as sick as she was.
Camilla smiles. “Love you too, Nav.”
They only have to manhandle their partners a little bit to pull the couch out into a bed. Palamedes wakes up enough to pout at Camilla and say, “I feel awful.” Camilla kisses him on the forehead and says “Go back to sleep, Warden.”
They end up all on the couch-turned-bed together, in a we might be miserable but at least we’re miserable together lump. Gideon insists on leaving Harrow and Palamedes next to each other, and though Harrow wakes up enough to grumble at Gideon that she wasn’t cuddling with him, she was just delirious with illness, her protests are unsuccessful.
After she’s made sure everyone has a full water bottle and has taken antipyretics within the last hour or so, Camilla lets herself melt into the couch. Palamedes curls himself into her side. She reclines back and tosses an arm up across the back of the couch. Gideon has turned the TV on to something innocuous and vaguely soothing: a documentary about big cats. Camilla must be drifting off a bit herself, as she imagines the four of them like a pride of lions, napping in a big pile in the warmth of the afternoon sun. Or maybe that’s the fever.
Gideon shifts on the couch and Camilla looks her way. She’s lying on her side facing the others. Harrow has burrowed her way into her chest, her face pressed so firmly against Gideon’s shirt that Camilla questions how she’s able to breathe effectively. Gideon has a soft smile on her face despite the way she sniffs against the congestion of her reddened nose. She blinks slowly, only cementing the big cat analogy in Camilla’s head. Gideon scratches her ear and then flops her arm across Harrow, her hand coming to rest on Palamedes’ waist.
An intense surge of affection and warmth floods Camilla’s chest. She turns toward Palamedes, toward Harrow and Gideon, and slides her arm across Palamedes to rest her hand on Gideon’s forearm. Gideon starts slightly and blinks up at her. “Mmpf?” she asks.
Camilla can’t say what she feels, how much it means to her to be holding on to Palamedes and Harrow together with Gideon. She never feels warmer than she does when she feels like she’s protecting him, keeping him safe. Now he’s snuggled against her and even better than having a solid wall on the other side of him, it’s Gideon closing the circle. It’s not as though anyone is about to burst in and attack them, but Camilla knows that if they did, Gideon would be right beside her, protecting Harrow. Protecting Palamedes. It’s perhaps a bit of hyperbolic butch nonsense, but it feels good, and it feels right, and she feels comforted by her trust in the other girl, in the way that she knows she understands.
Even without the fatigue, without the fever, Camilla can’t put this into words. So she hums a bit and squeezes Gideon’s forearm. Gideon grins. “Back atcha,” she murmurs.
Camilla closes her eyes and falls asleep.