Archive of Our Own

It had been some time since Nona, age four months, had last pressed her forehead up against the cool, tarnished glass of the bathroom mirror and attempted to kiss her own reflection. This wasn’t due to any lack of interest or desire on Nona’s part.

Nona was still grappling with the sharp humiliation she’d felt after watching Camilla scribbling away in her notebook. She’d wanted to love Cam much more than she’d wanted to be cross with her, however, so she’d reluctantly left her surreptitious smooching habit in the past.

She was much older now than she’d been then, which was important. She was old enough to do up her own shirts and go to school. She was even old enough to close the door behind her when she needed to use the toilet. 

Most significantly of all, she was now old enough that nobody grew suspicious and began calling her name when the flat seemed a bit too quiet in the afternoons. In fact, when Nona was quiet, the way Cam and Pyrrha’s shoulders dropped from beneath their ears suggested quite clearly that they were relieved . 

It was such a rare and wonderful posture (and Nona was so very hungry to be useful) that she’d occasionally begun closing the bathroom door behind her even when she didn’t need to use the toilet…and she hadn’t gotten herself trapped in the bathroom in at least a week. 

Likewise, it had taken her time to master dressing herself, but she’d never had a problem taking clothing off . And so, today, while Pyrrha was napping and Cam was talking, she’d pulled the bathroom door shut until it made a very nice clicking sound, and she’d stripped herself completely naked, all on her own. This, she’d decided, was helpful. 

Nona loved the way she looked, even if she didn’t always like her body—but a person didn’t have to like something to look very closely at it with a sort of disgusted, reverential awe. She’d learned that lesson at school when she’d caught the gang huddled around some unfortunate, maggot-infested creature who’d met its end in the lot behind the building. For one fleeting moment, she’d felt a heat deep in her belly, and she’d realized she was jealous of that cold, dead, writhing thing. 

Sometimes she knew she was beautiful, and she said so. Other times, she found herself ravenous for the acknowledgment that something about her was inherently repugnant and wrong. She wanted to be kissed, and she wanted to be called an abomination, and she wanted her body to be different, and she never ever wanted to change. 

She often wanted all of those things at the same time, which was confusing. 

Today, as she looked at her slender, brown, borrowed reflection in the glass, she thought about Crown. She’d thought about Crown’s body and its roundness—the softness of her hugs and the harshness of her laugh when she held her and guffawed directly into her ear. She liked to lean in close and tell Nona things that would’ve made Cam blink twice if she were to repeat them. 

Mostly, she’d thought about their most recent chat. 

Now, Nona hadn’t asked Crown for advice on wooing girls, but she’d offered , and Nona really did like watching her lips move while she talked. She’d taken in the words with a furrow-browed reverence as Crown explained how to get someone to want her . The goal had been to teach Nona what to say to the girl she fancied, but there had also been a demonstration, and Nona had forgotten all about the listening part once Crown had begun to move. 

Now, back in their dingy bathroom in The Building, Nona brought her hands to the place where her nice, round breasts would have been if she looked anything like Crown, and she massaged her little tan nipples with the textured pads of her thumbs. It felt nice, and she liked that, but it wasn’t enough. 

You see, Nona could speak any language perfectly if she could see a person’s lips and mouth, but that was because she had both lips and a mouth. At present, she was unsure if she possessed the correct equipment to achieve fluent sex appeal. Her breasts were small, and there was nothing to be done about the fingers, which were really only useful when it was time to clean off the whiteboards at school. 

Still, she did her best to make her body look just the way Crown’s had looked, folding her arms on the edge of the sink and leaning forward, chin up, her head cocked just so. She smiled at herself in the mirror in a very particular, Crown-like way, but she did not think she looked like Crown. She looked like Nona, only more convex and cockeyed. Rather than emphasizing her absent curves, the pose made her look sharper and more angular. One of her braids was swinging pendulum-like behind her shoulder, and her nipples were very erect, despite the heat. If someone saw her like this, they’d surely put an eye out on something . 

Maybe, with their remaining eye, that person might have looked at her and found her sexy, but she wasn’t sure who that person might be. 

Sadly, it probably would not be Camilla. She’d seen Cam cross, and she’d seen Cam ebullient, and she’d seen Cam impatient, and tired, and sad. Sometimes she was very lucky, and it was a good day, and she got to see Cam happy for a beautiful, fleeting moment. 

More often, she’d seen Camilla angry and pretending she wasn’t… or amused and pretending she wasn’t. She’d seen Camilla pretending not to have just about every emotion a person could feel—except, of course, for the wanting . 

There had been flickers of it once when Camilla had looked at Pyrrha across the breakfast table, but there had been eggs that day, and Nona had more important things to worry about. 

Every other time she’d noticed the wanting, Cam had been all on her own, perched on the edge of the bed, her leg jiggling frantically beneath her. Sometimes Nona caught her taking five breaths, just like she’d taught Nona to do when she was getting upset—but upset was different from wanting, wasn’t it? It didn’t make sense ! 

The point was, Nona did not know how to make Cam want . She only knew that it was possible and that Crown had never done it. Then again, she wasn’t entirely sure Crown had tried, which didn’t make sense because who wouldn’t want to be wanted by Cam ? 

Nona sighed and stood up straight, her toes wiggling atop the cracked, mildewy tiles. While she dressed herself, she decided to take stock of the things she knew Camilla definitely liked. 

Number one, Cam liked it when Nona got dressed very quickly and without putting up a fuss, which she was doing right now (and Nona briefly wondered if she was wasting a perfectly good opportunity to see one of Cam’s tiny, perfect smiles). 

Number two, she liked it when Nona ate what she was given and when she was told, which was unfair because Palamedes often ate breakfast for Cam (and nobody ever ate breakfast for Nona…except for the one time she’d hidden a pikelet in her pocket and she’d had help from several hundred tiny, marching insects). 

Three, she seemed to like it when Nona said something that genuinely surprised her (which was difficult to replicate since everything Nona said was genuinely surprising to Nona on some level). 

Everything else Cam liked was a bit more nebulous. 

For example, Cam liked knives, but Nona didn’t have any knives that weren’t Cam’s to begin with, so that was neither helpful nor sexy. 

Also, Camilla sometimes liked reading notes from Palamedes, and sometimes they made her very sad, so that wasn’t reliable at all. Also, Nona couldn’t write a note, let alone a note from Palamedes, so that option was right out.

Finally, Nona remembered Pyrrha saying that Cam’s mood was Cam’s mood, and there wasn’t much to be done about it (even if Nona did something wild and dangerous, such as eating three pieces of melon without being told). 

By the time she’d finished thinking about these things, Nona had gotten herself entirely dressed, except for her shirt buttons, which were tricky. As she slipped tiny circles into tiny slots, she came to what The Angel would have called her hypothesis : The thing Cam liked most of all was when she told Nona what to do, and Nona did it. Perhaps, if she provided an opportunity for Cam to do that, she’d want her with her eyes and her mouth and her shoulders and her hips, the way the man at the Dairy had once wanted Nona. 

It did not necessarily have to be a sex thing , Nona thought—though, frankly, she wasn’t really sure what sort of thing she wanted it to be instead. The problem was Crown. The big blonde was simultaneously confusing and persuasive, and Nona really wanted to have an exciting update the next time she saw her, which could be any day. Nona wasn’t sure what she’d do if Crown was disappointed and decided not to give her a hug. 

The door to the bedroom was already open when Nona finally slipped out of the bathroom, her shirt all misbuttoned and her braids a bit mussed. Cam immediately spotted her through the open bedroom doorway, and her brows quirked upward for a fraction of a moment. 

“What happened to you?” Camilla asked mildly as she flipped through her notebook, the tape recorder sitting on the mattress beside her.

“Nothing!” 

“Buttons,” Cam explained succinctly, and Nona looked down, spotting the problem immediately. Perhaps this would be a good chance to test her hypothesis.  

Cam’s face was still downturned, reading or thinking, and her hair was getting a bit long, casting deep shadows on the page. There was, Nona noticed, the barest hint of the wanting in her shoulders. 

“What should I do?” Nona asked, which felt a bit silly, even to her—she was, after all, four months old now.

“Unbutton them all and start over,” Cam offered, not even bothering to look up, “Remember what the Warden showed you. Count down from the top.” 

“Would you like it if I did that, Cam?” Nona asked, scratching her ankle with the opposite foot, hope shining from her uncanny egg-yolk eyes. 

“I’d be overjoyed,” Camilla affirmed, her voice a perfect monotone.

“Would you like to watch?” 

“No, I wouldn’t.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes.” 

“Are you really sure, though, Cam? I’ll do it just like you told me to, I promise!” 

At that, Camilla finally looked up, a touch of a wrinkle in her brow, and Nona took the opportunity to undo her buttons at a supernaturally speedy clip. Cam, of course, was faster, turning her whole body away and shutting her eyes (which was, as far as Nona could tell, the exact opposite of wanting in every conceivable way). 

“I’m undoing all the buttons just like you told me to, Cam,” Nona narrated, a frantic, desperate note in her voice as her unsteady fingers fumbled over the little plex circles. “Yes, all of the buttons, just like you said. I’m doing it quickly, Camilla, and just because you asked.” 

Nona briefly paused in her pursuit because it was challenging to undo buttons very quickly and talk and watch Cam at the same time. There was nothing happy in Cam’s posture, however; likewise, there was no appreciation or praise. It seemed to Nona that what Camilla most wanted was to disappear. 

A moment later, when Camilla’s eyes fluttered open to reveal familiar earth-pale irises, it became clear that she had . 

“Palamedes,” Nona sighed, a note of disappointment in her voice.

“Pleasure to see you, too, Nona,” he snarked only a touch sardonically, “Do you need some help?” 

“I’ll wait for Cam, thank you,” Nona announced decisively, standing boldly with the entire front of her shirt undone.  As she curled her toes against the threadbare bedroom carpet, it occurred to her that no alarm had gone off to trigger this transition. 

The same thought must’ve occurred to Palamedes because he was staring at the wall, deep in thought. After a few seconds that felt like an eternity, the warden spoke. 

“Nona, do you remember why Camilla finds it uncomfortable to look at your body when you don’t need her help?” 

“Yes,” she said at once, because she did remember. “Because it wasn’t my body originally,” she parroted, “And the person who the body belonged to first might not like her to look. But, Palamedes , Cam told me to button my shirt.”

“And I notice you haven’t done it,” Palamedes observed, his steady tone and patience infuriating. He moved his hands like he was about to push something up his nose, but there was nothing there to push, so he abandoned the maneuver. 

“Because Cam asked me to,” Nona emphasized once again, “Cam likes it when I do what she says, and I wanted her to see me do it.” 

She very bravely waited a full two seconds before saying, “Oh, dear. I think it might be time for her to come back now. Yes, it seems like it’s just about time.”   

“ Nona ,” Palamedes said gently, and there was nothing threatening about his tone at all, but it still felt punitive, somehow. “Why is it so important to you that Cam sees you doing what she asked?”

“I thought it would make her happy, Palamedes, that’s all - I promise.” 

For some reason, those words seemed to shoot through Palamedes like the shock of a cold sponge to the face first thing in the morning. Suddenly, there it was again—the desire to touch, to hold, to comfort. It was wanting, clear as day…just not for her. 

“Has she been unhappy? Moreso than usual?” Palamedes asked gravely, looking at Nona with an intensity that made her visibly squirm. He sighed through his nose, however, and shook his head. 

“I’m sorry, Nona. You don’t have to answer that.” 

The helpless silence that followed made Nona want to do something , but her eyes didn’t want to cry, and the body he wanted wasn’t hers, so she merely stood there stupidly with her tits on display, gnawing uselessly at her lower lip. It was her least favorite thing, to feel useless, but she felt that way often. 

“I love you, Palamedes,” Nona said very quietly.

“I love you, too, Nona,” he replied automatically, moistening his lips and refocusing. “Do you think there might be a way to make Camilla happy that doesn’t involve doing up your shirt where she can see?”

Happy was probably the wrong word, but Nona didn’t have the right word, so she nodded. “I think so.” 

“Wonderful. Now, do you remember how to count your buttonholes from the top, or would you like my help?”

“I can do it!” she insisted, sitting beside him on the bed as she began to repeat the tedious process for the third time that day. 

She was sliding the final button into the final hole when Palamedes turned to her and said, “I have an idea if you’ll indulge me.” 

Nona’s head popped up at once, her eyes round and hungry. Nobody knew Cam better than Palamedes, after all. 

Gently, he took Nona’s hand in his and lifted them both to his lips. He placed a kiss, chaste but felt, between two of her knuckles. The heat of it lingered even after he removed his lips and he gave her tiny hand a soft squeeze. 

“Will you give that to Camilla for me?” he asked.

Nona only had time to nod a bit dumbly as he shut her eyes. When lids fluttered open to reveal Cam’s crystal-pale irises, Nona was already holding her hand. 

Before Camilla could ask for an update, Nona delivered Palamedes’ simple poem in translation. It was like singing a song in her first language—an aria that needed neither words nor notes to color the air and send a visible chill down Cam’s spine. 

And there it was—the wanting—fleeting as a heartbeat. The moment Cam looked up and met Nona’s eyes, it was gone, and with it, every shred of composure the grieving cavalier had managed to gather in their terribly brief months together. Nona was still holding that strong, hot hand as she watched Camilla Hect break in slow motion. 

Cam excused herself, rising with a terrible suddenness. Cam was the widest, sturdiest brick of a human being that Nona knew. Somehow, she slipped out the door like a specter. Cam, too, could be trusted to close the door behind her when she needed to use the bathroom. The lock clicked into its tidy hole, and Nona was, once again, alone.

She hadn’t heard Pyrrha rise from the couch, and she certainly hadn’t seen her lingering just outside the door, watching the strange scene play out in the bedroom. She didn’t see her in the aftermath, either, watching as Nona played with her fingers, and bit her lip, and allowed her legs to swing a bit morosely below her. 

That look, that deep brown gaze, was an ancient, complicated sort of wanting, and it lingered, unnoticed, until Pyrrha spoke. 

“Hey, Kiddie,” she said, her deep, lovely voice snapping Nona out of her strange, quiet grief, “I think we should give Cam a minute, eh? It’s nearly laundry day if you can believe it. Why don’t you help me strip the bed?”

Nona cracked a smile, then released a giggle, which emerged wild and dizzy, like a butterfly trapped between cupped hands. 

“What did I say? Strip?” Pyrrha scoffed, shaking her head, producing a grin to match Nona’s even as she rolled her eyes. 

The repetition of the word made Nona laugh even louder. Ultimately, she gave up completely and fell worm-like on the bed, silly and squirming. The sheets, she noticed, smelled strong and heady, like Camilla. 

“I thought you were helping me,” Pyrrha remarked, looming over her shrimp-like form like a grinning goliath. 

“I am!” Nona insisted, scrambling upright, nearly taking half the sheets with her in her mad haste. They made quick work from there (since the sheets were clearly very eager to be stripped). When they were done, the bed was fresh and extra soft, and Cam collapsed into it at the end of the night with the gracile force of a raindrop disrupting the face of a puddle. Nona, of course, crawled in next to her, shaking the entire mattress in the process. 

Maybe, Nona thought, as she blinked sleep away in the darkness of their little room, she should have taken Crown’s actual advice. She supposed it wasn’t too late. She listened to Cam’s breathing for a few moments to confirm she wasn’t sleeping before she made one final attempt. 

“Camilla?” she whispered in the dark.

“Mm?”

“How do you feel about girls who make the first move?” 

“What?” she asked groggily, “In a duel?”

“I’m not sure.” 

“Go to sleep, Nona.” 

“Is it true that blondes have more fun?” 

“Ask Crown the next time we see her.”

“I will. I love Crown.”

“Good for you. Go to sleep.” 

“I don’t ever get tired of looking at you.”

“Do you ever get tired at all?” 

“Yes! Sometimes!”

“Then go to sleep.” 

Nona yawned despite herself. 

“I love you, Camilla.”

“I love you, too, Nona.” 

When Nona scooted closer to Cam on the bed and took in her exquisite warmth and the sensation of the dark, coarse hair of her legs, Cam didn’t push her away. 

Maybe, for today, it was enough not to be unwanted .