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The sun beat down on the Earth as if it had a specific grudge against those who dared enjoy the summer breeze.
The park was full of those typical sunbathers that one so often sees when the weather is agreeable. A particular couple stuck out like a sore thumb — even more than they usually did. Gideon was enabling Harrow, carrying around her partner’s oversized and frankly quite dramatic black shade umbrella that resembled a peculiar little mushroom, to shield the goth woman from the sun beating down on her. Harrow refused to wear anything but black, save for the white of her accessories, and Gideon had her ripped sleeve flannel on, which, coupled with shaggy red hair and hand-me-down jean shorts, made her look like a discount werewolf.
But did Gideon care? Absolutely not. If people stared, for all that mattered to her, more people could see the hot piece that dangled off her arm. And she reveled in that.
Gideon was riding the high of the honeymoon phase. It had been nearly a month since she finally got the courage to pop the question, after spending untold months skirting around each other without saying what they meant. Lab-Partners? Obviously; it’s how they met. Friends? Agreeable, especially with someone you work so closely with and see damn near everyday. Weird in-between dating but also skirting around the question since you’re both girls and you’re both not sure if one is just being friendly and oh my god no wait I think I have a crush oh god oh fuck? Yeah, that tracks. It was like a dance that both of them refused to lead, but so much worse — if it was a dance, Gideon would have understood it.
One of those moments came too much for Gideon to bear in particular, where Harrow had casually sat next to her on the longue chair of their common room, and gotten a bit too comfortable next to the other, laying her head down on Gideon’s toned yet well-cushioned thighs. Like a cat that chooses to sit next to the warmth of their owner instead of being alone.
And that had basically been the nail in the coffin for Gideon, and she finally remarked, still in her casual, joking demeanor to save face, the question of “Geez, Nonagesimus, at least buy me dinner first.”
She really didn’t expect it when Harrow replied with “Sure. When?” And the rest is history.
They hardly ever left each other’s side. If they were gone for more than a couple of hours from each other, Harrow would send quiet hearts of texts that would buzz Gideon’s cell, and she would return the favor. It was cute, it was mushy, it was god-awfully disgusting in that saccharine way. Gideon wondered if it was serious though. She fucking hoped it was.
“Nav. Bench? These boots are not made for extended walks.” Harrow broke the silence, which finally broke Gideon out of her stupor.
“Right! Sorry, babe. Head’s in the clouds right now.” Dusting off a bench for them both, the two sat in a comfortable silence. Gideon automatically rested her free arm along the top width of the bench, and when Harrow fit in next to her, dropped it to rest along the smaller women’s bonier shoulders. It all came so naturally to them, their bodies speaking faster than their words ever could, saying things that would have embarrassed them both. It was those tiny things that made Gideon really wonder if Harrow ever thought the same.
Probably not, Gideon’s mind worked hella differently than others did, in her own words.
“You’ve got that glazed look in your eyes again. You’re thinking much harder than you have any right to be. What is it, Griddle?” Harrow said, and only then did Gideon notice that her partner was at the perfect angle next to her to see underneath the aviators she eternally wore, betraying any sense of private thought she might have had.
So naturally, Gideon started to choke on nothing. The raucous heave of her chest and guttural signs of near asphyxia startled Harrow enough that she seriously considered getting some help — or at least slamming two fists to the back of her partner’s ribs. But before she could, Gideon put her hand up, her pointer finger bent down to touch the flat of her thumb, signaling an OK to Harrow. It was unconvincing.
When Gideon did finally stop her sudden heaving, her face was beet red, which Harrow might have thought endearing under any other circumstances. Gideon haltingly spoke out of the corner of her quirked mouth.
“Well, when you’re right, you’re right, Nonagesimus,” she said with a half-hearted chuckle, knowing that the formal address of her girlfriend’s last name would cause her to scoff that all too familiar sound. When Harrow obliged her prediction, a small rush of pride filled the taller woman’s cheeks, curling the quirk into a sly smile.
The expression let Harrow relax again, just a bit, leaning back into the taut muscled arm of her partner. The movement, however, was not enough to completely settle Gideon back into the familiar pattern of movement, react, speaking complete .
And that’s exactly what Gideon was intending to talk to Harrow about. Well, considering the damn words didn’t cement in her throat again. She let out one long, airy sigh, hoping it would air out her mind to figure out just how the hell she wanted to put this.
“Well, Harrow… um, well. You see, I’ve been thinking and you know, I think uh... yeah. I sure have been thinking. Ah…” She stuttered out, making even less sense than she did while she was hacking up her lungs. Harrow continued to wait patiently, giving Gideon a raised eyebrow, and a cute pout as she listened. It was so fucking cute on her, that stupid little pout that absolutely ruined her, so Gideon shot up from her seat just to stop looking at the damn cute fucking face! She had to abort, abort, abort, NOW, before the rush of blood to her face caught up to her.
“WELL, Harrow, I WOULD tell you what I want to say, but Christ it sure is loud ‘round here ain’t it? C’mon, let’s go somewhere quieter, yeah?”
Harrow collapsed on the bench, as Gideon was the only thing supporting her body weight, and now craned her neck from left to right to survey the empty park. With an irritated huff, she began to sit up.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Griddle,” she remarked, shifting into the shade that Gideon so generously provided with the umbrella still. She looped her arm into Gideon’s flexed one, an all so natural and fluid movement that one could have sworn was practiced with how well they fit together. Seeing the way Harrow glided underneath her, Gideon continued to blush and look away, taking Harrow anywhere but here.
Gideon didn’t take too long to lead Harrow to a cozy cafe that happened to be packed with loudly typing students, business people talking into wireless ear-pieces about god knows what, and the violent screech of the blenders making people their overly sugary caffeinated drinks. Harrow only ever wanted the blackest coffee that could legally be provided for her, and Gideon was kept away from any source of caffeine lest she wanted her heart to pound out of her chest. It was hammering against her ribs hard enough already, what with the way her mind refused to cooperate with her mouth.
But that’s exactly what the problem is, Gideon thought to herself as they sat in a semi-secluded corner that offered some respite from the noise that surrounded the both of them. Words just won’t do with letting her know I’m serious.
“Gideon,” Harrow blurted out simply, startling her partner out of her thoughts yet again. “Your sunglasses.”
Gideon blinked a few times behind the shades, staring at those dark, black eyes that peered expressionless back at her. She was still baffled at how pretty Harrow looked with her hair growing out a bit longer, the ends that were just barely beginning to split brushed ever so slightly over the top of those small shoulders. Gideon’s mouth went dry again, and she mentally scolded herself for not at least ordering a water to wash her anxiety down her throat.
“Right.” Gideon responded uncharacteristically weakly, placing the glasses down on their table, her last line of defense from that god-damned soul-piercing glare reaching into her soul and dissecting every inch of her.
Harrow, on the other hand, sipped rather nonchalantly on her coffee, fluttering her eyes downwards to the liquid in order to not stare too directly at Gideon’s golden irises. That was like looking directly at the sun, and Harrow was in no mood to be blinded in public.
Gideon took the opportunity to clear her throat, only mildly fiddling at the loose skin on her thumb to maintain some level of focus.
“So,” she began, “as I was saying earlier, or like trying to say… was like utterly fucking failing at as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Well, like, you know I like you Harrow. Like, I like you a lot. Just so much. And uh. I want you to know that.”
Harrow finished sipping her caffeinated brake fluid and responded with a quick, “I know you do, Griddle. I like you too. Was that so hard to say?”
“Well, no. But that’s the thing! It’s not as simple as that. I mean I really like you. I know it hasn’t been so long since things got official. But I know I’ve got a reputation that precedes me with girls and I just… I want to clear that up, yeah? I’m not… things are just different now! And if you’d let me, I’d love to show you. Without words! Fuck words!!”
Gideon was starting to get too excited, her bouncing leg shifting the table enough that Harrow had to clutch her drink off of it. Harrow tried to signal this with a shushing hand motion, noticing how Gideon’s raucous nature was starting to garner attention from those around them.
Without noticing any of this, Gideon continued. “I’m serious! Fuck words!! I want to show you with my body!!”
Harrow felt her cheeks start to burn as she tried to hide her embarrassment by sinking into her seat, the cafe falling silent and all turning their attention to the secluded little table in the corner of the establishment. Gideon only realized how loud she’d been talking as she watched Harrow sink, feverishly grabbing at the shades on their table to hide the shame of her blush.
Harrow motioned with her neck to the door, and as quick as they came, they left the cafe, leaving behind the most confused baristas this side of town.
The sun began to set over the city’s skyline, the aging and yellowed street lights began to shudder on, illuminating the couple’s path, fingers intermingled without a second thought to it, once again exemplifying how their bodies were saying so much more than Gideon could ever hope to mutter. The rest of their date was spent in a mostly warm silence, the embarrassment from earlier fading away like the twilight melting down for the stars to take its place.
They stood at the steps of Harrow’s apartment complex, the street quiet and peaceful, and Gideon saw this as her last true shot to say her feelings out loud. She opened her mouth to speak, looking down at her shoes instead of Harrow, and—
“Griddle.” Harrow interrupted, causing Gideon to slap her jaw shut before getting a single word out. “I don’t think… I’m quite ready with the whole… body… showing… quite yet…”
Gideon lifted her head to look at Harrow palming the back of her neck and staring off somewhere along the curb. The shorter woman had a red tint to her light brown skin that was easy to miss, but all it did was give Gideon butterflies in her stomach.
But then the gravity of what Harrow was suggesting in her misunderstanding finally hit, and Gideon made an expression that she was glad she couldn’t see reflected back at her, as she reached out to Harrow, clutching her skinny wrists gently in her hands, their skin balancing each other’s cold and hot.
In a rushed and most likely harsher tone than she intended, Gideon blurted out, “NO I DID NOT MEAN IT IN THAT WAY, NONAGESIMUS, I WANT TO DANCE WITH YOU!”
Harrow was stunned, her wide eye shock staring back at her thanks to Nav’s aviators. If she peered a bit deeper, right into those honey-amber eyes that would one day undo her, she saw the journey they went through; Gideon’s eyebrows first stitched down in fierce determination, and eventually softened out as she realized how loud she was being again. Volume control was definitely not the woman’s strong suit.
“Harrow, I am so sorry I grabbed you like that. I am so—”
“Dance? Nav, have you really been dragging me around this entire city just so you could ask to dance with me?” Harrow interrupted. She was really making a habit of that.
“I… yes.” Gideon responded. “It’s… the only way I can show you, really show you how I feel. It may sound crazy, but I’m crazy! It’s how I talk!”
Harrow saw the sincerity behind those glasses, she felt the way those words came out shakily in a usual confident voice. It was admittedly the most vulnerable she’d ever seen the seemingly indomitable woman. There was no questioning it. She was serious.
“Nav, I…” Harrow timidly began, pulling away from the larger woman’s grasp ever so slightly. She sighed as she felt Gideon assist her, completely loosening her grip around her feeble wrists. “I don’t dance. I can’t see myself doing it in 1000 years. And in 1000 years, if you asked me to dance again, I would respond to wait 2000 more, and perhaps then I’d be ready.”
Gideon couldn’t help but smirk at her girlfriend’s propensity to speak in hyperbole. She knew that she shouldn’t be smiling, since she was getting terrifically rejected, but if she didn’t, God knows that she would tear up.
“I just would not be able to keep up with you, Griddle. I’ve seen the way you move. You’re full of… energy. You flail with all this life that I can’t hope to match. I’m sorry.” Harrow punctuated the evening with a quiet goodnight, a kiss on the cheek, and then she was gone, leaving Gideon alone at the threshold of muteness.
When Gideon Nav got back to her own apartment, sleep was the furthest thing from her mind. She tossed and turned around the words that Harrow left her with, and even the sweetness of her sugar lips on her cheek began to turn sour. She clutched onto her pillow, going over and over the damn words like a prayer in her head.
You flail… can’t keep up… can’t match.
She shot up on her mattress, sending blankets and dirty laundry flying off on the wooden floor beneath her.
"But if we could match! If we could match I’d at least have a shot." She reached for her phone, scrolling through the search results of the various dance studios that taught sets of ballroom dancing around the city, until she settled on one that was located on the west-side of town, infamously known for its poshness.
It was the Tridentarii Studio for the Performing Arts. That was the one. Gideon had her determination back. She was going to dance in ways that Harrow understood. Precise, controlled, measured. She had to.
She would set out tomorrow.
----
When Gideon Nav had arrived at what she had hoped to be the Rosetta Stone for her relationship, she couldn’t help but feel as small and insignificant as a mere pebble before the gilded building before her. Gaudy in gold, yet minimalist and sleek from what she could see from the outside, and trimmed with just enough purple-lavender trimmings to add some texture, the Tridentarii Studio was as intimidating as it was inviting. Her gym bag slipped from her grip a bit, telling her that she had been staring too long at the bleach-walled interior, home to rows and rows of mirrors that helped to put some class where the glaring gold could hurt her eyes. From her view, the place was empty, tucked away on the better part of town off of a main road that was sleepy compared to just a few blocks over. Gideon wasn’t sure if it was intentional or not, but she knew it probably didn’t get a lot of business.
That, and the fact that it looked like the tackiest fucking eye-sore that a building could be.
With a heaving breath, she readjusted the strap across her chest, pushing open the glass and slightly-tinted double doors, where she was met with the same empty, spacious, main room that she saw from the outside.
“Heeellooo? Is this place open?” She asked to the empty air. Her only response was the hum of the cold air the AC unit was blowing. She huffed loudly, ready to accept defeat and a wasted day away from Harrow, when heard a slight thump against the door leading to what she assumed was the back room to the place. She approached it, the brown polished wood frame was silent again, before another THUMP startled her back a bit with a quick yelp. It was only then she heard the voices muffled behind it start to emerge; two belittling tones of women, who sounded eerily similar.
“No, no, no, Babs. You have to do it again and this time it has to be perfect. We aren’t going home until you get this you know?”
“I am not even a dancer here, for God’s sake. Why the hell are you both doing this to me?”
This time it was a male voice speaking, with a certain tone about him that one can only call defeated. It was a type of tired husk that had resigned to his fate of being a human punching bag. But he also sounded like a bit of a pompous dick.
“We here at the Tridentarii Studio pride ourselves in all our staff being trained professionals. Even the purely-for-muscle storage handling hires.” A different female voice spoke that time, sounding a bit more fatigued and listful than the other. “Now up, Babs! Before a customer comes in and sees you like this.”
“What customers?” He spat back. “There hasn’t been any new sign-ups in weeks. We all know this place is about to go under.”
Gideon heard another, her hand on the door handle by this point, and was ready to barge in before she heard the male voice speak that revelation. Now she wasn’t even sure if she should stick around if this place was just going to go out of business soon. Still though, maybe this could work out to a more favorable deal if she had a bit of leverage. She decided to listen for a moment more.
“Oh hush, Babs.” The louder female voice spoke, and Gideon heard her strain herself slightly to pick up this sorry oaf off the ground. “Keep a positive attitude. Maybe your sad lack of any dance ability has been driving the customers all away. Really, I expect more out of you.”
Gideon then realized these two sounded like absolute bitches. But there was also something kind of hot about that.
At that, Gideon did open the door to the other room, with a hushed and uncertain “Uhh, hello there, hi… This place open?”
She surveyed the room she just walked into, an identical studio dance room with rows of mirrors lining the walls that she was just in. It seemed so extra.
Two blonde women were in the middle of the room with a brunette man being tossed between them, performing what Gideon could only recognize as a type of altered quickstep. The moves were short, the footwork nothing short of dizzying. The poor dude didn’t stand a chance. The two women danced like demons, a hostile and biting performance that he was very obviously not leading. When he had just barely gained control of his hips along with his feet, he was thrown back towards the other woman, and he would start over again. He was completely at their mercy, until finally—
THUMP!
He went against the oak door again, and Gideon had barely been able to move out of the way, nearly hypnotized with how elegant yet brutal the quickstep had been.
She felt eyes on her, the taller woman was looking her up and down, while the other, a more desaturated version of the taller one, was already walking away with a low “Pathetic.”
Gideon only had one thought come to mind when she realized that she had stumbled upon twins in the wild: “Score.”
“Ah, ha! What did I say, Babs. We’ve got a live one. I told you to keep a positive attitude,” said the louder twin triumphantly, making her way to Gideon, who was trying to help this ‘Babs’ up. He stood up with her help, looked at her indignantly, and muttered a sarcastic “Good luck,” before walking away like a beat dog.
Gideon turned and was faced with the taller twin right in front of her, causing her to blush profusely at their proximity. Oh, fuck, oh god, I didn’t count on them being this hot was the last inner monologue she had before she spoke.
“Um… yeah… yeah hi. I um. I came looking for some dance lessons and the like. You know for like… some fancy pants dance. Like foxtrot maybe, or quickstep. Though I’m not sure if I can do a quickstep that quick, really.”
The woman before her only had a smile creep along her face before turning back to her sister, who was staring down at her nails indifferently, leaning cooly against one of the many mirrors.
The lithe twin’s purple eyes shot up when she felt her sister’s gaze on her, and Gideon noticed that it only took an instant for them to share a thought between them, as the more frail twin shared a deadly smirk with her sister. It was scary. Must’ve been a twin thing.
“Oh, you’re in the right place… what is it?” the woman in the background started, and Gideon realized she didn’t even know their names either.
“Oh uh, Gideon, miss! Or is it ma’am? Uh. Not sure how to talk to a dance professional and all.”
“Mistress Ianthe is fine.”
Gideon swallowed hard.
“And that is Coronabeth. So, Gonad. You want to learn how to dance fancy pants then, in your words. Well, we are a very exclusive establishment.” Ianthe slipped a hand onto Coronabeth’s shoulder, leaning lightly against her sister, but Gideon could tell that was for Coronabeth’s sake, who relaxed visibly with her sister’s touch.
“Yeah, that’s true, we don’t accept just anybody you know? You can’t just walk off the street and expect to be accepted so easily. We have a reputation and all!” Coronabeth placed a hand on her chest to punctuate the sentence, in a mocking display of hurt.
Gideon felt like a prion being examined under their collective microscope; lilac eyes had never looked so threatening. She was ready to back off but then remembered what the bullied ‘Babs’ had said when she hid behind the door. They weren’t exclusive, they were dying for business. She had them by the metaphorical balls really, and they were bluffing.
Gideon put a thoughtful chin between her thumb and index finger, matching the twins’ smirks and stares.
“You know from the outside… it didn’t look all that busy. Customers weren’t exactly beating down the door to get in. And this sleepy street tells me it’s probably like that most days.”
She noticed Ianthe’s smirk faltered just a bit, in a blink and you’d miss it split-second, and her eyebrow raised only slightly. She was intrigued that Gideon was matching her and calling the bluff. Coronabeth on the other hand let all her emotions show on her face, and pouted with an adorable “Rude!”
Gideon raised her hands in mock innocence before finishing with a pointed “I’m just saying, babes. Looks like you might need me more than y'all are letting on.”
Ianthe blinked slowly and prettily at the ginger-haired stranger who had just walked in. Gideon couldn’t tell what that woman was thinking, unlike her sister, whose face was scrunched up with a cute frown.
“You’re not half as dull as you look, Goblin.” Ianthe remarked, and somehow Gideon just knew that was the closest thing to a compliment that she’d get out of the lesser twin.
Ianthe pushed herself off of her sister, extending out her hand that Coronabeth took gratefully, already being calmed yet again at the touch. “What do you say, Corona? A test then? Let’s see if she’s actually worthy of our time.”
Corona spun herself into Ianthe’s body without another word, and Ianthe reciprocated the motion placing her hand on her sister’s hip, once again pushing her away with a strength that Gideon didn’t expect from the frail limbs that sprouted out of that woman. There was no time to think, Gideon could only drop her gym bag and kick it away somewhere in the spacious room, before Coronabeth came flying at her with an adjusted pirouette, like a demon gliding at her ready to snatch her to hell.
Gideon did catch her though, an embrace that caught the both of them off guard. Her legs were steady, though her calves heaved to allow her balance to keep her feet planted to the polished floor.
“Oh, not bad, pretty eyes! Show me some more!” Coronabeth squeaked out in a near giddy way, as if she was a child that had just discovered a fun new toy to play with. With the way this was going, Gideon felt like she was being toyed with.
She was twirled 180 degrees, and she saw the expression on her face, in the mirror opposite the wall of her. She looked like a deer caught in headlights over Coronabeth’s shoulder, but gulped dryly at the way Corona swayed her hips against her. She didn’t have time to keep staring dumbly though, as Coronabeth’s hand swept off of Gideon’s hip, and she leaned back towards the mirror, forcing Gideon to flex her arm to support the pressured weight now. Corona’s face was visible now on the mirror, and she slyly winked at Gideon, which did not help at all.
Corona flexed her abdomen up, leading Gideon back into the quickstep-left that she recognized they had been tossing that Babs guy with. Gideon had her hand on the small of the golden-haired woman’s back, the edges of that beautiful mane tickling Gideon’s knuckles as she was barely able to match where Corona was stepping.
Before she had time to gain her speech back, her dance partner loosened her grip, then regripped her forearm, extending her other arm up and out, leaving Gideon in a dizzy haze where she could not even think about striking any sort of pose with her free arm. She didn't have time to mention it before Coronabeth completely let her go.
Gideon would have stumbled, fallen straight back on her ass, if she hadn’t been caught by Ianthe, who quickly placed her right hand over Gideon’s waist, and started to sway her hips in a lull from left to right. Her left hand scraped over Gideon’s jaw, a tender touch, so tender that Gideon had to stifle a whimper that dared to escape her lips. It deflated into an awkward huff, and she felt an airy hum on the back of her neck that made her curse Ianthe in her head. She would be lucky to get out of here alive, let alone be allowed to enroll.
Ianthe lifted her arms, spinning Gideon back to face her. She had the most shit-eating grin on her face and if Gideon wasn’t being led at that moment, there’s no guarantee she wouldn’t have smacked it off her face right then and there. Ianthe placed her hand on Gideon’s hip and interlocked fingers with her with her other hand. There was a pause, and that out of everything caught Gideon off-guard the most. Ianthe finally showed some teeth, blindingly white, as she resumed leading Gideon back-foot center. It was all out of Gideon’s hands now, and if she missed one step of where Ianthe led her, she would drop down.
Yet, even as she was barely keeping up, it felt like it was getting a bit easier. It was a toss, yet rhythmic. The space below her feet became more important than where her body was meant to be going. The prioritization of that was the only thing keeping her hanging on by a thread. It’s where Babs had failed. She wasn’t going to be like fucking Babs.
Ianthe stepped forward-right, an adjustment meant to throw Gideon off again, but Gideon responded in kind with a flexed knee that led Ianthe back to center. The look on that pale twin was all worth it. Ianthe called. Gideon responded.
Suddenly, Gideon felt Ianthe disengage in a similar way that Corona had, but this time felt Ianthe’s hand slip away from her hip, towards Gideon’s navel, which caused Gideon to stop breathing for a moment, before she was shoved back to Coronabeth.
Coronabeth didn’t catch Gideon immediately, instead opting to let Gideon stumble past her slightly, before grabbing her by her wrist, Gideon half-way to the floor already. Coronabeth smiled proudly, and Gideon couldn’t help but let a lop-sided grin sneak onto her features. There was no pause with the golden twin however, quickly taking Gideon by the hands and changing the style of dance to a more calculated show of footwork instead of fluid movement. Coronabeth was threatening to step on Gideon’s toes if she didn’t match the steps exactly. Even if she placed her feet away from Coronabeth but in the wrong position, her legs would tangle and her knees would give out. She needed to be perfect, and fast, and calculated. Yet once again, Gideon had accounted for a shift like this, thinking less of memorization of patterns and more of what Coronabeth was saying to her with the style.
Follow me.
Coronabeth called. Gideon responded.
The movements became more fluid in her mind, though any onlookers would be deceived that she had simply practiced it for hours. It caused Coronabeth to laugh, and remark, “Good girl! Much better!”
Gideon went red, but wasn’t allowed to be ashamed, before being pushed back to Ianthe, yet this time it was more like she was pulled in by Ianthe, her slender arms snaking around Gideon’s bicep and then grabbed harshly out of Coronabeth’s grasp. She winced a bit as Ianthe spun her again — she was so god-damned dizzy at this point — and placed her elbows at the top of Gideon’s shoulders, making sure that Gideon looked directly at her eyes, pushing up slightly on her toes to press their chests together, causing Gideon to just about short-circuit before she latched onto one coherent thought: This is not fucking fancy pants dancing.
This wasn’t just a dance, nor a conversation. This was an initiation.
The push-pull motions that Ianthe shifted to were much easier to keep up with, and once again, Gideon surprised her with how fast she was able to pick it up. This was more of the style Gideon was familiar with, with her placing her hands on Ianthe’s hips, in a move she could have swore elicited a gasp from the slightly shorter woman. Gideon grew more confident, slowly beginning to gyrate her hips, which Ianthe was forced to match despite her efforts. A knowing smirk found its way on Gideon’s mouth, causing Ianthe to tsk and spread some distance between them. She slipped away from Gideon like a caught mouse wiggling away from a trap, easing her hands to replace their position to where her elbows were. Gideon didn’t protest, too focused on where she wanted to move, and how she wanted to move Ianthe. She went forward, centered-right, then back-left, in an effortless display of control.
Gideon heard Coronabeth go “Ohhh!” behind them, but she was too focused on sliding her hand down her dance partner’s arm, extending herself out, knees slightly bent, her torso turned to the side. Ianthe had been checkmated, forced to mirror Gideon, as the red-head placed the back of her hand on her forehead; a rather dramatic way to say, ‘ Got you.~’
Gideon saw Ianthe scowl, knowing she had been bested, forced to cling onto Gideon’s toned forearm lest she fall on her own bony ass. Coronabeth golf clapped as they stared each other down.
“Match to the mysterious stranger who wandered off the street! Never would’ve thought a ruffian like this could best you, ‘Anthie’.” She said in both an impressed and slightly mocking tone.
Ianthe placed one foot on the space behind her, steadying herself up and snatching her hand back from Gideon’s grasp as a bad loser would do.
Gideon didn’t have the energy to gloat, opting to place her hands on her knees and double over instead, taking in as much of the conditioned air in her lungs as she could. In between gasps she weakly muttered, “So… this mean… I’m in?”
Coronabeth noticed that Gideon was waiting on her for an answer, but instead of responding, she looked to her sister for guidance. Ianthe, meanwhile, went back to leaning cooly on one of the mirrors, not even acknowledging the glance from her sister.
“Sure, why not? We’re desperate for business anyway.” Before Coronabeth or even Gideon could respond, Ianthe finished her thought with, “And that’s the only reason I’m letting you in.”
Gideon kept staring down the blonde twig, eyebrows scrunched in annoyance of how this sore loser acted, while Coronabeth simply rolled her eyes, obviously more used to the moody behavior.
She placed a hand on Gideon’s shoulder, giving a reaffirming squeeze. “Come on, let’s get you signed up. I’ll give you a special ‘fun to play with’ deal.” She winked, and Gideon’s blush returned with a vengeance. It was nothing short of a miracle that she didn't pass out already on account of all the blood rushing to her head.
Eventually, Gideon did get all that pesky paperwork sorted (and honestly she was astounded that the twins didn’t even ask her for her first born with it) and she would start coming into the studio to practice a new style of dancing that reflected what she wanted to say to Harrow about their relationship. She had made it abundantly clear to Coronabeth that none of that sassy shit that they just pulled on her would work with what she wanted to learn. Coronabeth in response stuck her right hand up in an “I pinky promise” salute, but Gideon just knew she was crossing two fingers behind her back with it. She would come up with an excuse to Harrow that she had a new workout routine that would separate them for a few hours 3 times a week, which wasn’t entirely untrue, and she cursed herself after every practice on how many leg days she skipped.
‘Babs,’ or Naberius, as she had learned, would watch Gideon in the back of the studio on the days she would come in, grunting a bit in dismay of her horrid forms that she held between Coronabeth. He would sometimes comment on it, and one day in a huff, Gideon asked him to show her how to lead with a fucking ballroom space if he was so good at it. And damned if he wasn’t good at it when he boldly took Ianthe’s hand and led her into the five positions with an effortless display. He smugly would grin with it, but it left pretty quickly as Ianthe elbowed him swiftly in the breadbasket. He was a great dancer, but definitely could not adapt to the quickstep that Gideon had survived her first day in the studio.
Which was great for her, since Ianthe especially was no stranger to shifting things up to throw Gideon off her legs and onto the hardwood. What Gideon lacked in poise, she made up for in flexibility. The speed at which she would adapt to the glide of the loose dances that the deflated twin would improv would always miff Ianthe. Meanwhile Coronabeth would simply laugh at how her sister was, in her words, “The most alive she had seen her since Babs had fallen flat when he was going for some advanced four corners moves that left him with a fake tooth.”
The rest of the practices and time at the Tridentarii Studio were spent perfecting a certain posture that kept eluding Gideon. She was able to get the range down, the spatial awareness was the most improved from when she first stumbled in off the street, and her confidence in leading the dance without jerking around either of the twins. It was a mutual agreement in where they were being placed in the space around them, how they would get there together, and what they wanted to say with it. She became soft, but not subtle. Each move a direct invitation to follow, an invitation that Coronabeth was more welcome to take than Ianthe, but even by the fourth week into their sessions, Gideon noticed a give to that iron will, and she knew instinctively it was not something she achieved easily. So mentally, one point to Nav.
When one practice ended and Gideon, like always, was exhausted, her legs feeling like swollen balloons and the balls of her feet calloused yet bruised, Ianthe leaned on one of the mirrors that hardly bent to her weight. Gideon was always in awe how that woman who looked perpetually jaundiced was able to dance hours on end without breaking a sweat.
“You still amuse me with how you come to us to be abused time and time again,” she said, her grin being slight enough to show that amusement, yet it did not reach her eyes. “Do you do this for the punishment, Nav? There’s easier ways to get that sort of thing.”
Gideon didn’t let herself budge. She was even getting the hang of not blushing like a maniac when the twins would tease her like this incessantly.
Coronabeth barged in behind her sister, slinging a long arm around the frail shoulders of Ianthe, causing the pale one to hiss ever so slightly.
“She’s got a point! This type of dancing just does not seem like your style, babe!” she beamed, pulling Ianthe a bit closer to her to punctuate the sentence, to the inevitable sigh that escaped her sister’s lips, sounding almost like air escaping a depressed balloon animal.
Gideon did look up after stretching her hamstrings thoroughly, with that lopsided grin that she so famously wore, eyeing over the both of the twins and Babs, who was listening as always but was too busy scrubbing at some mirrors that the Tridentarii made him polish religiously.
“If you must know,” she began, placing her arms at her hips, “I’ve got a hot piece, and I intend to let her know how serious I am with this schtick. No fucking around anymore.”
There was a veil of silence that fell in the studio that left the red-head feeling a bit more uncomfortable than she usually did. Pin-drop quiet was broken at Babs chuckling into his fist, trying not very hard to make it obvious that he was laughing right at Gideon.
Ianthe broke before him, and it was the first time Gideon had ever heard her laugh, a shrill sound that resembled that of a guinea pig dying and a dentist’s drill hollowing out your teeth. It was cruel things that escaped that pretty mouth and nothing else really.
Gideon pouted, a reaction so very well-practiced whenever she talked about how she ‘talked’ to others. She used to laugh at being so easily misunderstood. She really didn’t expect this time to be any different.
“Look, whatever. I’ve gotta meet Harrow at her place in like half-an-hour. Bye, ya tall glasses of skanks.” Gideon shifted her gym from her hip to the middle of her back, ready to leave the three with a view of her ass as she walked away, when Coronabeth, who was suspiciously not laughing, quietly remarked “Makes sense to me.”
Gideon pretended she didn’t hear it. But she left the building with a small smile on her face, nonetheless.
------
During one of those cool twilight sunsets, where rancid heat would finally give way to a welcome breeze, Coronabeth was doing what she did best: leaving hot takes on Instagram and giving opinions about air-fryers that were absolutely incomprehensible. Still, the people needed what they wanted. Ianthe played with her hair as she did, watching her sister tap at the phone and every so often gave a suggestion on a brand new insult to call someone who was pestering Corona in her DMs. It was a sisterly ritual, and it was intricate.
Babs was the one who first noticed the stranger walk into the studio as he swept, muttering under his breath about hopefully finding someone to marry and get him away from his employers sooner rather than later.
“Hey,” he began, “we’re closed, you know. Come back tomorrow.”
Harrow kept her hoodie up, concealing her face mostly in black shadows, the dim mood lights of the studio barely able to pierce onto her features. She squinted at him, a silent glare that sent a shiver down his spine, signaling him to become more brutish and demanding than before.
“I said—” he started, but was cut off.
“I am here for lessons.” Harrow spat, now turning her attention away from him to the two women who leaned on each other and against the mirrors that reflected back the black void shape that made up Harrow.
Babs clicked his tongue to try and heal his hurt ego, but didn’t say anything more. He figured that whatever the twins could come up with to berate this stranger would be enough to drive her off. He was counting on it.
Coronabeth did take her eyes off of her little screen to see the stick that just walked in. Dressed in all black, very tragic, she ruminated. She would never do numbers on the feed looking like that.
“Oh, Ianthe, look. A gray rat has found its way in.” She smiled, sickly sweet saccharine.
Ianthe did glance up, and what she could see from under the hood was a ragged excuse for a woman, barely able to afford the mass that attached itself to her. She still couldn’t rightfully make out what she was seeing, except a few bones in a hoodie and slim jeans. She glanced back down at her Coronabeth’s hair, probably making more tangles than she was fixing.
“Really, we need to get a lock for that door, poor little mouse looks lost,” Ianthe remarked, not bothering to keep her eyes anywhere else but the hangnails that threatened to peel back and reveal the hot pink flesh underneath.
Harrowhark, irritated, snatched the hood from her head rather harshly, finally revealing the short black hair that framed her bony features. Even the mood lighting, however dim it was, was able to pull the chocolate from her eyes, traces and flecks that made the rest of her black iris look at least a little bit alive.
“I am to believe that this dance studio offers lessons in a variety of styles. I am here to procure teachings from whoever runs this establishment. Have I made myself clear enough, or shall I walk in again and be blinded once more by the travesty that is your exterior decorating?” She spoke eloquently, the tone adding insult to the mockery of her words.
Coronabeth made a very low, offended, “Eugh!” that resonated from the back of her throat.
Ianthe finally stopped picking at the loose skin dangling off her fingers, and shot her eyes back up to get a much better look at this sharp tongued gremlin of a stranger. She wasn't much to look at, but Ianthe found that even more intriguing. She stood up fully, untangling herself from her twin, and loomed over the dark haired woman who would not break her gaze. Ianthe spoke slowly.
“Clear as crystals. And who do I so graciously have the pleasure of teaching then?”
“I am Harrowhark Nonagesimus. And I will begin my training in these arts tomorrow night. Only at night. I will not be seen otherwise.”
The sound of the broom dropping to the floor echoed violently across the spacious studio. Harrow looked over at it briefly and noticed that the man who was sweeping had a stupefied look on his face that wasn’t all that unbefitting on him. Coronabeth inhaled a breath that Ianthe knew was going to lead to the most rapid talking that anyone would ever hear, but before she could get a word out, Ianthe quickly signaled behind her back to her. A harsh, closed, fist. It made Coronabeth slap a hand to her mouth, another move that dumbfounded Harrow, but she still refused to break the gaze of lackluster liliac that reflected back at her.
Ianthe grinned finally, tearing the tense air apart between them with those flashy white teeth. “As you wish, crazycakes,” she curtsied, noticing that she drew the ire of the shorter woman when she raised an eyebrow harshly. “If of course, you can afford me.”
Harrow kept her face neutral for the most part, but rolled her eyes at that kind of assumption. “Money is of no issue,” she turned, her slightly heeled leather boots clacking away harshly on the hardwood, “I will be seeing you tomorrow, at this time. I expect no other students will be here, and you better all keep it that way.” She pushed out of the glass door, and left the trio speechless.
Save for Ianthe, who simply remarked: “Oh, I just love happy coincidences.”
The next few weeks went by in a blur. By the standards of the Tridentarii Dance Studio, it was peak season, and they were hammered with work. The days where Gideon trained in the afternoon, left them little respite as the next day’s evening brought them Harrow, who was even more of a headache to train than Gideon.
The black-clad little princess, as Ianthe had so adamantly begun to call her, was not familiar in any style of dancing that either of the twins nor Babs had seen. It’s almost like she had gone through her whole life without a lick of elegance, grace, not even a god damned relaxed muscle. She was as stiff as a board and neither Coronabeth nor Ianthe (and occasionally Babs) would let her hear the end of it.
Still though, she was oddly dedicated to learning bachata, one of the most energetic and loose dances that one can dance with a partner. She lacked the looseness, but she did at least have a sense of rhythm down, keeping counts of steps and never once missing it once she had practiced enough. It was almost religious to her, a prayer she repeated over and over to herself, as she silently kept pace by muttering a bit under her breath, “Boxstep… turn… hammerlock… rebound.”
The way Harrow moved was uncertain, it was hesitation, as if she was expecting herself to fall and fail before she even moved to the space that she was allowed to occupy. There was a surer sense about her once she kept up devoutly with the practice. Ianthe would lead her across the floor, turn her around, and glide against her onto the next step. When Coronabeth danced with her, it was more of a push-pull game, to see who would lead and who would follow. Harrow honestly preferred to dance with Ianthe, but she would never admit it out loud. She did spend more time with Coronabeth however, as she assumed that it was better practice with how Gideon would move if this was the real thing.
With the way Harrow danced, she was telling her partner that underneath all that raw bitterness, was shame at vulnerability. Here, she was dropping the facade, little by little, and getting better at it each time. She would probably never reach the levels of confidence that she knew Gideon possessed with physicality, but by god she was going to try, and fall, and try again.
Because Gideon was worth it.
One night after a rather frustrating session of going over basic cuddle turns (a title that she dreaded to even speak aloud), Harrow lingered outside the studio longer than she usually did to catch her breath. She admitted the exercise was good for her, but going from zero to one hundred had taken a heavy toll on her. She placed a sneaker against that god awful yellow paint that nauseated her, stretching out a nagging calf, when suddenly she felt finger tips play at the back of her neck ever so softly. She lurched away from the touch like a startled cat and hissed like one too.
“Easy, Harry. It’s only me.” Ianthe half-heartedly grinned down at her customer. She lifted an unlit cigarette to her mouth, taking immense satisfaction in the fact that she was the cause of Harrow’s broken and bruised body. She began to smoke, dragged and puffed out into the night air. “I do require breaks too, actually. Dealing with your flailing is tiring work.”
Harrow made a sound between disgust and stuttering, but ultimately decided against arguing further. Ianthe was not worth the effort. She returned to stretching against the wall that was a monument to tackiness. She hoped Ianthe would silently continue her routine and Harrow would be on her way without any further incident. Funny thing is, Harrow hardly ever got what she wanted when Ianthe was involved, as she had so rudely discovered over the last four weeks of knowing her.
“You are inspiring, you know? In a masochistic sort of way,” Ianthe began, burning both her lungs and the night air with nicotine that made her head spin. “But if I were you, seemingly starting from nothing, I probably would have taken the easy way out and cut my losses with this thing. But you’re as stubborn as a tumor.”
Harrow still didn’t speak, letting the silence speak for itself on how she would rather be anywhere but here. Talking to anyone else but Ianthe. Wanting this moment to end forever. Ianthe only saw it as a sign to keep flapping her chapped lips.
“You never did tell us why you came here in the first place. Did you have a calling? Did the art of movement just speak to you like a prophet and you just had to see what the hell it was talking about?” Ianthe asked, more to the empty street than to Harrow. But then she coyly turned her head to face the shorter woman and said: “Oh, Harry, don’t say you’re doing this for me. Did my picture on the website get your attention? I wouldn’t blame you if it did, it has fantastic lighting.”
Harrow gritted her teeth, at her absolute limit of the irritating pest on her life that was Ianthe Tridentarius, and just when she was about to lash out a thousand creative insults on her mannerisms and appearance, she was interrupted by her phone buzzing in her jacket pocket. Judging by how high the moon was in the sky, she automatically assumed that Gideon was probably making sure she was at home safe for the evening, and she didn’t want to worry her partner anymore than she probably already had. She tore her gaze away from Ianthe and placed it on her phone, a move that hurt the blonde more than anything Harrow could have said.
Sure enough, it was from Gideon, a simple text that read: “Hey there gloom mistress. Got your fave music playing back at mine. Wanna chill and watch the stars or something?”
A soft smirk betrayed Harrow as she read the words on the screen, and Ianthe was certain it was the first time she had seen Harrow look so soft in all the time she knew her.
Harrow didn’t look up to Ianthe, and nothing could get to her at that moment. She did allow an answer to Ianthe’s question to finally leave her lips, however. In a quiet hush, almost like she was telling Ianthe a secret, she responded simply.
“I wanted to learn how to talk.”
------
Gideon Nav was never one for subtlety. Her existence was obvious, loud, and what one might call quite boorish, but Gideon Nav did not know the meaning of the word. Dictionaries were for nerds anyway.
So naturally, when that fated day had finally come, nine weeks from when Gideon had first started her training, she led Harrow to the studio to dance in a way that may have seemed familiar to her. There was no reason to lie to Harrow obviously, Gideon was not much of one anyways, so what she actually did was show up to Harrow’s apartment on their usual day out, hold up a thin piece of cloth with both hands, at the same time stating, “Don’t worry, on God, this is not a kidnapping you’re totally fine!”
Which of course, didn’t inspire much confidence in the shorter woman. Who would have guessed?
Harrow sighed deeply, her form deflating a bit and her back ever so slightly slouched as she spoke slowly, like she was hoping this was just another prank or a fever dream. “Nav, what are you on about?” She asked, pinching her nose and preventing a tension headache from taking hold.
“Come on babe! It’s all part of the surprise I got planned up for you. But you’ve gotta wear this! No buts about it.”
“But, Nav-”
“Ah, ah!” Gideon interrupted. “What did I say? No buts!”
Gideon strolled up closer to Harrow, meeting her at the threshold of her door and placed her hands on those bony hips that her girlfriend possessed. She felt Harrow ease into the touch, and she saw how she almost instantly responded to it by placing her hands on the top of Gideon’s strong shoulders. Gideon rewarded the affection in kind, placing her lips on the very middle of Harrow’s forehead, brushing away some of the longer black locks with her jaw. She couldn’t help but feel electricity run up her neck as she heard Harrow sigh against her chest, and they both allowed the tender display to last a minute extra right there at the doorway.
When Harrow fully placed herself in Gideon’s arms, fitting perfectly like a silhouette meeting its shadow, Gideon hushed out a gentle “Do you trust me, sugar lips?”
Harrow responded simply. “With my life.”
“Great! Then put this on!” Gideon boomed, breaking the trance that Harrow had been under while wrapped up in her partner’s familiar muscles.
Harrow grimaced, took the cloth in her hands rather weakly, and held it up to her eyes, before dropping it slightly, to get one last look at Gideon.
“Is this really necessary, Griddle?” She asked, though she already knew the answer. When she saw Gideon scrunch her face to form its best pout, eyebrows upturned and all, Harrow only sighed in defeat, turning and allowing Gideon to tie the fabric behind her head.
The little goth princess didn’t stop trying to deduce where they were going, trying meticulously to figure out where in the city she might have been based purely on the turns they took and by counting the steps it took to get there. It would have been a fun game to play if Harrow was literally anyone else.
She was, however, able to deduce that she was not close to home at all, possibly on the other side of town, a place that she never ventured too deep in, until… well, just recently.
No, this couldn’t possibly be—
Gideon snatched the thin material away from Harrow’s face in one quick flourish, accompanied with a “Ta-da!” to really stick the reveal.
Harrow’s eyes squinted to adjust to the light, but it didn’t do her much good as the building in front of her was just as sickeningly bright, catching and reflecting the light right back at her. Her face collapsed in absolute horror.
“What… are we doing here?” Harrow asked, through a row of gritted teeth.
“It’s the surprise! Ah, well, see it’s not the building that’s the surprise, that’d be a right nasty gift. I can explain more on the inside! You’ll see!”
Gideon pulled Harrow in by the hand through the tinted glass door, and if Harrow could, she would hurl up the entirety of her soul on the pavement before going inside. It’s as if this was some sort of terrible, cosmic, joke that was being played on her, and by God, it was not funny. There wasn’t enough time to think about how the universe was laughing at her, however, when she locked eyes with Ianthe Tridentarius, dutifully waiting to greet the both of them, with a customer-service grin that would easily disgust any who saw it.
The hardwood was shimmering in the daylight, the sun glaring through, despite the tinted windows’ efforts to keep it at bay, and Harrow could tell they had been recently polished, as if for some special event. A rogue ray of sunlight reflected off of one of the mirrors lining the walls, and it perfectly bounced on Gideon’s aviators, making her look like some kind of main character about to show off her hidden power.
God damn it, it was endearing.
The room was spacious, and as far as Harrow could tell, the only people present were Ianthe and Coronabeth, who was noticeably shifting her weight between her feet, the heeled booties she was wearing threatening to scuff the immaculate floors. She looked like a woman under a microscope, ready to burst, and Harrow’s one thought that she pleading to the stars above to reach into that radiant bimbo’s head was Do not blow my fucking cover.
Ianthe, poised as straight as an arrow, fist to the middle of her back, greeted the couple. She lifted her manicured hand — because of course she would be so damn extra for this — and scanned it over the empty studio.
“Welcome,” she said, not dropping her faux smile or tone of voice. “The floor is all yours for the afternoon.”
Gideon rolled her eyes at that, walking by Ianthe, still clinging to Harrow’s hand. “Drop the act, Tridentarius. I know you aren’t getting any other business besides me.”
Ianthe scanned the two like a vulture ready to pick at some delicious and inviting innards. “On the contrary, Gonad, you’d be awfully surprised who I have walking through those doors.” She smirked while placing a hand beneath her chin to scratch at it, and Harrow’s doe-eyed expression only made her revel in the moment more.
Gideon only grumbled in response — insulting Ianthe by comparing her to an albino stickbug of some sort — and Harrow was at least somewhat comforted in the fact that Gideon didn’t care much for her either.
Any thought of Ianthe Tridentarius that were still pestering Harrowhark’s mind evaporated when she turned back to look at Gideon, feathering her red hair back so it parted right down the middle, outstretching the hand now towards her.
“Nonagesimus, if I may, allow me to talk to you in the first language I ever learned?” Gideon bowed to meet Harrow at eye level. She was the most vulnerable she had ever seen her, and it made the rest of the world melt away. She was no longer in the view of the Tridentarii twins, she was no longer even a patron of their studio. When her dark eyes met Gideon’s gold, she was entirely hers, and if a black hole had opened up, swallowed them up, and spat them out in Gideon’s personal galaxy, Harrow would have been grateful to be there in that pocket of space.
Gideon called.
Harrow relaxed, her eyes glossing over and her eyelids drooped in a blink-and-you’d-miss it move. There was no hesitance in any fiber of her being when she reached back to grab that strong yet impossibly soft hand, the warmth of it reaching her bones.
Harrow responded.
Gideon placed her free hand on Harrow’s skinny hip, bringing her as close as the dance allowed. She wished it was closer, so much closer than what some damn rules of fancy-pants dance expected from them, but there’d be plenty more time for that later. Harrow correctly greeted her partner in kind, wrapped her arm to meet at Gideon’s back, when they took the first steps together.
Somewhere distantly, they were able to make out music. Neither of them thought much of it, only allowing it into their world enough to guide them through the motions. Gideon began leading, boxing Harrow along the center of the floor, a quick succession of steps that guided her partner to the right, then the left, then back again.
And then suddenly, in a move that neither of them really expected, Harrow began to lead the reverse weave of the next set, essentially tangling the two together in an unruly knot of limbs that led the both of them to break out of their mutual reverie, as Gideon clinged to Harrow as tight as she could and landed flat out on her back. She hissed feeling the weight of Harrow cascade on her ribs, and the air was pushed out of her in two directions. The music cut abruptly.
“Oh, god. Have either of you learned anything in the months and months of us teaching and sacrificing that we did?” Ianthe rolled her eyes, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Really, you’re both making this place look bad.”
Coronabeth was already half-way between cackling and gasping. “Oh my GOD, the look on your faces! I can’t even!” She said between heaves of her chest, making sure to snap a few pics before the moment escaped her. Oh those would be a hit for sure on the feed.
Gideon laid there, catching her breath, absolutely dumbfounded at what their words meant. She felt Harrow detangle herself off her, grabbing at Gideon’s forearm to help her up. A valiant effort that didn’t really matter much as Harrow had the raw strength roughly equivalent to that of a gust of wind. And not a very strong gust either.
Gideon laid out still on the hardwood, arm firmly in the grasp of her lover, and dumbfoundedly asked “Have you done this before?”
“Jesus Christ, Gideon, you beautiful idiot.” Coronabeth, still clicking pictures with her cell phone, answered quickly.
If the room had been any quieter at that current moment than it already had been, every one of them would have heard the gears grind, and scream, and creak, and beg for release, as they turned and finally shifted into place in Gideon’s head. She practically bounced up on the balls of her feet, exploding her arms outward toward Harrow that caused her to squeak weakly as she was pressed tightly against the woman who towered over her. The muscular woman spun Harrow around easily, hopping and laughing in Harrow's dark curls, kissing them with all the feverity that only someone horribly, inescapably, in love could muster.
“Oh my god?? Oh my GOD!! Harrow!!! You came here?! You came all the way out here , put up with these two AND Babs—” Gideon stopped talking briefly and scoured the room for any sign of the dark-haired bastard. “By the way, where is he?”
Both Ianthe and Coronabeth pointed their thumbs at the backroom, where a faint knock could be heard and a “I’m LOCKED in here!!!” escaped past the heavy wooden door.
Gideon turned her attention back to Harrow. “You put up with all THREE of them? For me?? To learn how to dance?! Babe… babe… I don’t even know what to say.”
Harrow was still slightly woozy from the approximately 10 rotations she was just subjected to, but blinked it away, placed a single finger on Gideon’s plump lips, and quietly replied, “Then do not speak, Griddle. Gideon Nav, may I have this dance?”
Gideon was left stunned, silent, wide-eyed, her golden eyes shimmering in the sunlight, which dissipated into Harrow’s eyes, the brown specks of her irises flickering back like burning wood. There wasn’t any time wasted when Harrow upturned her palm towards Gideon, as she grabbed the skinny phalanges and interlaced them with her own.
Any sort of decorum on how the two were supposed to be dancing together was ultimately thrown out the window as Gideon clinged to Harrow, and Harrow rested her full cheek against Gideon’s chest. One of the twins turned the music on again, sounding remarkably different than that of what was playing before. The decibels penetrating the space between them however was only a modicum of what was actually reverberating against the perfect acoustics of the room.
The two walked calmly against each other, forming a circle in place with their feet at the center of their own personal stage. Their hands stuck together like two puzzle pieces meeting their counterpart. The rotations were slow, an unspoken apology of how they constantly ran each other in circles to say what they meant.
I love you. I’m sorry. Thank you. You’re everything to me.
They were opposite. They were exact. They were magnetism — attraction and repulsion — in how they glided effortlessly away from each other, only to find the other again using nothing but the ways their bodies reacted to one another.
Never leave. You are me. I am you. Take me with you.
Harrow leaned back in Gideon’s sure arms, allowing her arms to extend as far as they were able. Gideon leaned into the move, smooth lips brushing delicately over the spot where neck and chest met. She let Harrow back into her, then left her again in a tight turn, a spin, and suddenly Harrow was arm’s length away from Gideon, both of them extending their free arms up in a dramatic wrist-flick that honestly did make the twins quite proud.
You are my mirror. My muse. Oh, god, I’m in love with you.
Harrow cuddle-turned back into Gideon, her back pressed against her partner, and Gideon couldn't help but laugh into Harrow’s tanned neck, lips and teeth finding the ticklish spots on that angular flesh. Harrow could not stifle the giggle that escaped her, though she did not try very hard.
Make me smile like this every day, and I’m yours. I’m yours, I’m yours, and you’re mine!
They both swayed their hips in rhythm with each other, echoing the movement in near perfect synchronicity. Gideon felt like she was the sun, and Harrow felt like she was floating. If they both had collapsed dead at this spot right here, they would do it with smiles on their faces and their hearts too fucking full to measure. As Gideon led Harrow back to a neutral position, they rearranged their feet into cursive, shifting with all the space that they were allowed. They wrote poems, they wrote prayers, and each word was dedicated for the other.
Marry me. This is my vow to you. And if I shall leave you, know that I fought the whole time away to get back to you.
The beauty came from their simplicity. Harrow was still stiff, Gideon was still sloppy, and if anything that only made the dance more profound. Harrow let herself melt completely as Gideon lifted her to meet her forehead, pressing Harrow’s entire body to her by the hips. She was a beaming, radiant, star, to Harrow. And to Gideon, Harrow was the water that cooled her down and gave her life. Neither of them spoke. They just laughed. They kissed. They moved, they moved, by god, did they move into, away, and against each other as a testament to everything they were to each other.
To say that I love you, is to say that I love life. I move because movement is life. I move with you because you are my life.
By the time the music cut out, there was nothing but giggles and the quiet meeting of lips that can be heard in the studio.
Cornabeth looked to her sister for guidance, since technically their time of renting the place out had expired, but Ianthe only shrugged and responded with, “Well, I’m not ripping them apart. That’d be a death sentence. Did you see the way they were dancing?”
Corona nodded in agreement, deciding to let them stay a bit longer, and to turn away from their displays for a bit of privacy. “True, I mean, they are our best customers.”
Naturally, Gideon and Harrow were deaf to them, as they were both love-struck messes at the center of the room. They locked hands again, and sealed it all with one final kiss.
I am undone without you.
