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“Sorry, is it too much?”
Gabrielle shrugged.
Henry’s bedroom was the one room in the house she had seen the least of. By that point she knew the lab better than it.
Compared to its clutter, that bedroom could not, in any metric, be described as “too much”. It was spacious, and maybe a little maximalist, that with all the trinkets and mementos, a repurposed vanity sandwiched between a bookcase and a coat-rack. All in rather agreeable tones of brown and green. Never too much.
“Something on your mind?”, he asked.
“Nae— it’s… it’s fine.”, she said, still transfixed on a cluster of photographs on the wall. Harry being his sunny self, smiling in front of monuments or surrounded by people Gabrielle could barely recognize. However, his smile was the most genuine in those ones in which he put his arm over her or Hastie’s shoulder.
“So, uh… Do you really want to do this?”, he asked, breaking her out of her focus. His voice shook a little. “I mean, knowing what happens to me when I—“
“I don’t mind.” was her reply. She did mind— a lot, in fact. But that sure as hell was not going to keep her from sleeping on the same bed as…
Her boyfriend. Yes. Her boyfriend. They were girlfriend-boyfriend now.
“Really?” On his end, Henry Jekyll, aka Edward Hyde, couldn’t help but feel a pit in his stomach. Was it trepidation? Joy? Fear? All of those? “You don’t—“
“I said don’t mind.”
“Because…?”
“Well, I trust you.”, she shrugged, thinking that was self-explanatory.
“Erm. You probably shouldn’t. Not that much.”, he laughed, hoping his words would come across as a joke. “N-not like I don’t want to sleep with you! In the platonic sense.”
“Heh.” Gabrielle gave a little smile. “You do it just fine in the romantic sense.”
Her voice was her usual Gabrielle Utterson trademark monotone, supposedly impossible to read. Though not to Henry.
“That’s true.”, he breathed.
“Then it will be alright.”
Fingers crossed— it would.
His body still was used to sleeping in the lab, rather than anywhere else in the house. He had happily allowed Gabrielle to stay in the lavishly laid out guest bedroom, preferring to brave the nasty springiness of the cheap mattress in the lab. Because -of course- he was the type to keep a bed in his private laboratory. Neither Gabrielle nor Henry enjoyed this agreement, but, as the latter saw it, the only other available option would be to let her sleeping form coexist with… him. Then Gabrielle had asked him to cut the bullshit, and face the music. Not with those exact words, duh. It didn’t pose a danger to her safety, that was for sure. It was just that Henry thought it could pose a danger to both their dignities.
“He’s gonna…” His mouth went dry and he was quick to correct himself. “I’m gonna snore.”
More livelier than usual, Gabrielle turned to him with one eyebrow slightly raised, arms crossed. “My last boyfriend snored.”
“Oh.” He rubbed his neck guiltily. “Did that bother you?”
“A little. It’s not going to kill me.”
“Good!” He clapped, excited. It was clearly, in part, an act. Henry would never be really excited to share something with anybody, given how much he had to share with himself already. But he made exceptions for Gabrielle, her being his… partner. In both the romantic and the “in crime” ways, even if by a technicality. “I’ll get changed then?”
“D— oh, yes.”
“Right! Oh, you’re gonna love my pajamas! You are so gonna love them!”
In all honesty, Gabrielle had expected Henry’s pajamas to consist of a dorky blue and white striped getup, complete with a little nightcap and bunny slippers to match.
She was slightly disappointed to see him throw in an oversized band t-shirt that, at certain angles, left his most sensible underwear exposed. At times it would slide up revealing his chest, all nice and slightly bristly and marked by thin, fully healed scars running neatly under each pectoral and down the abdomen— plus a constellation of little marks that Gabrielle was sure corresponded to some of the more… wild of Edward’s adventures. Of that, she couldn’t complain. She did love those pectorals. They were nice.
She wasn’t just focusing on his body, though. Rather on his face, sporting a shiny smile, and made apparently younger by the lack of glasses.
“You’re so bleedin’ handsome.”, she mumbled.
He went into a mischievous giggling fit.
“I mean it!” Gabrielle inched closer. They were both lying on their sides, looking at each other in blissful silence— or rather had been, until just this moment. “You should… you should have admirers lined up. It ain’t fair that you don’t.”
On his end, Harry dearest was having a great time looking at her slight figure, easy to make out through the cheap fabric of her summer sleeping shirt and shorts combo. He was quite fond of… well, of all that. In that aspect, they were equals.
“Could say the same about you, sugarcube.”, he chuckled, and pressed a finger against her nose. She squeaked and wiggled away. “The prettiest girl in all of London.”
There was a raw honesty to his voice. There was something about those bony hips she was so self-conscious about, the mostly flat chest, the innumerable freckles distracting from the awkwardness of it all.
Her face turned red. “Flatterer.”
“I’m not if I’m telling the truth.” He relaxed, smiling. “For once, I am.”
“You look all too happy to share a bed with me, for a guy that only ten minutes ago was—“
“Hey. Hey, I—“
“—blubbering and kvetching about the whole ordeal.” She sighed. “But… I get it. It…the thing— uh, you know what I mean… it must be disorienting for you.”
“And a little embarrassing.”, he added, biting back a giggle. “It’s you who should have all the reservations, to be fair. Waking up in the morning, sharing a bed with a different man…”
“Not a different man at all.”, she corrected.
“Yes, yes, but it still looks like it.” Henry suddenly looked… defeated? Resigned? “Even to me.”
Gabrielle shifted on the (admittedly very soft, almost comfortable in excess) mattress, her ginger hair spilling on the pillow in glorious ripples as she moved. The corner of her mouth turned down, as it usually did when she was deep in thought.
“Does… erm— how does it feel like?”
“Hm? Well, I’m sure I have told you before, but it’s painful, like, really painful. Like…”
“No, no.” She shook her head emphatically, and all of a sudden Henry found himself with his face cupped by Gabrielle’s hand. His cheeks burned red. “I don’t mean the change. I mean what does it feel like, being Hyde.”
“Ah.” He cleared his throat, looking to a side, his hands softly tracing Gabrielle’s, still placed on him. “It’s, um. It feels very good. Wicked good. You feel like you can do anything, and you’re full of energy in every possible way, and… um. This is going to sound silly…”
“It’s not going to.”
“You feel very, very mean—“
“Okay, it does.”
Motioning forward, Henry burst into warm laughter.
“Could have worded it better! Haha. You feel, uh, meaner would be a way to put it…” He bit back some laughter, and steadied himself, looking directly at Gabrielle and guiding her hands away from his face— holding them, cradling them. “Cruel, yes. Petty, more spiteful. It doesn’t feel like anything else, actually. You’re the bad guy. You just know it.”
Gabrielle frowned lightly. “That sounds scary, not gonna lie.”
“It is scary. In a good way. At least until you change back. Then it’s just plain scary.” He paused. “And… I guess it’s just surprising at first, navigating the world with fresh eyes and enhanced senses, figuring out who you are— well, who this new you is. Ugh. Sorry. This is quite hard to put into words…”
“Hey, don’t apologize.” She scooted a little closer, now close enough to feel his body heat. Her heart fluttered a bit at the thought. “I probably shouldn’t have asked in the first place. That was kind of rude of me, you know… pretty invasive, too. It’s… uh, it’s your condition, not mine.”
“N-no, no! Don’t say that!”, Henry spluttered. “Questions are good! No such thing as a dumb question!”
“Hehe. Your inner teacher is showing.”
They both laughed.
“So. No second thoughts? About sharing a bed with a teacher of all things?”, he winked.
Gabrielle rolled her eyes, and let go of his hands— to press a finger against the tip of Henry’s nose.
It was three twelve AM, according to Gabrielle’s phone, a rectangle of blueish light in the darkness of the room. She had expected to wake up at some odd movement, or the settling noises of the house, which was rumored to be haunted. At least, so did people on the Internet claim. Instead, she had simply woken up by herself after a strange dream she could not remember. It had to be the summer heat; she was sure of it. The blasted thing made it all too hard to fall asleep, and even harder to keep yourself from a sweaty, annoyed wakening amidst kicked off sheets and displaced pillows.
In the dark of the room, all she could think of was that the electric fan could not spin furiously enough. Gabrielle grunted annoyedly under her breath.
They should invent a souped up, evil AC, one that blasted cold air directly into your bloodstream.
She internally debated getting up and dunking her entire head in the bathroom basing when she heard a soft rustling beside her. Then it stopped and then resumed again. Like snow being walked on, but meatier. Huh. Was she still dreaming? No, the noise -which wasn’t all that unpleasant- came from her right.
She turned, and had to keep herself from gasping.
Henry, or at least a lump of meat in the vague shape of him, was sleeping more or less soundly, face up, starfished on the mattress— and he moved almost imperceptibly, tossing his head to the left a bit. He appeared to mumble something in shallow sleep, and then, the snow-like noise continued. Now it was obvious to Gabrielle what that sound was.
Jesus feckin’ Christ on a bike.
Bones grinding. Flesh rending. Sinew moving. Skin stretching. Veins rearranging themselves. Shapes shifting, right before her eyes, like a cheap 1930s double exposure effect- so much smoother, and slower, and… hundreds of times more peaceful than the usual gruesome, painful spasms.
She sat up, and inched close to him, watching the features melt into each other delicately. Sleek jaw to a square one. Tall forehead to heavy brow. Full pink lips to thin pale lines, barely concealing sharpening teeth. Seen from this point, it was all too obvious that the disparate Jekyll and Hyde were the same person. And a very normal person, at that, looking past the… well, looking past how he was changing in his sleep, following an unheard rhythm.
Not long ago, Henry had told her again and again that he often suffered from wakefulness in the strangest ways: sleep paralysis, sleep-talking. Maybe sleep-transforming was par for the course. Pushing some wild strands of hair out of Edward’s (?) face and looking at him intently, she frowned— and inched even closer, downward. She became aware of the shirt riding up his abdomen, having gone from a tall, slender type to a short, squat one, with wider shoulders and a wider waist. The band logo had scrunched up into an unreadable blur, exposing a hairy belly criss-crossed with iridescent stretch marks.
As quietly as she could, Gabrielle lowered her head and pressed an ear against his chest. The heart beat solidly, going from a quick pace to a slow, deep one seamlessly. It was uncanny. The squelches and clicks of angling ribs sounded almost like a lullaby. Air struggled to get in at times, and, with a shudder and a snarl, it traveled as a silky-soft, but audible, snore.
She liked it. Why did she like it?
What a silly question. It was still Harry, wasn’t it?
She closed her eyes, and tried to focus on the warmth, trying to forget the possibility that Edward would eventually wake up and freak out, finding her in that position. God, she felt dirty. Like—
“Eep!”
Something coarse and firm fell onto her reflexively. Gabrielle gritted her teeth and squeaked. Very slowly, she put her hands against— yes, it was an arm. His arm. Thick, muscular, and hairy, and heavy. Around her shoulders. Holding her…
…not in place. Just holding her, not even making an effort to pin her down; it felt more like a clumsy hug. Or, hopefully, an arm that had just fallen onto her. Now from the recesses of his chest, she could hear a… growl? A rumble?
A purr.
Oh.
Ed was purring.
She squirmed closer to him, feeling his warm, rocky breath upon her.
Dawn encroached upon them, but Gabrielle stood still, fearless, as Edward brushed some hair away from her face and admired it like she was a goddess. She might as well be, to him.
“What are ye looking at, dummy?”, she mumbled, feeling that rough hand of his touching her with all the gentleness he was capable of.
He snorted.
“Your eyes.”, Edward replied. “How bespoke they are, twinkling like amber stars. I could get lost in them.”
“Bit sappy.”
“You don’t like it?”
“I do. But God, it’s sappy.”
“Hm.” He clicked his tongue. “Noted.”
“Besides. You say it often.”
He feigned offense. “Because it is true.”
“...well, you should say it in a less Victorian way, Ed.”
“What? This is just what I sound like normally…?”
Gabrielle exhaled, content. Something was glowing, warm, inside of her, like a smile that didn’t light up her lips. Her expression was stony as usual, but, within, happiness bloomed. Edward could tell, at that. She leaned in close, and now did the same herself- pushing a few unruly curls out of Edward’s face and looking at him intently. Her finger traced the prominent profile of his nose, her face twisted, quizzical.
“It is still the same.”, Gabrielle declared, her voice caramel. “All those changes, and something so small remains...”
“Eeeeeh. Don’t ask, sugar. I know not why that is.” He scowled, not entirely displeased. “Any other remains I should be made aware of?”
Frowning a little, Gabrielle stopped to think.
“The way you cry, for instance.”, she recalled. “How clever you are. The things you know. The way you bite your lip when you’re deep in thought. Stuff like that.”
“The way I love you?”
His hand brushed her hair.
“That, too.”
He smirked. “Now who’s being sappy?”
Gabrielle wanted to reply, but instead bit back a yelp. One of Edward’s hands, all knuckles and cold skin, had slid into her shirt, and was cupping her left breast with a carefully regulated firmness.
“Eddie!”
“What?”, he whispered, faux-innocently, as if greatly amused by her shock. “Is there something wrong?”
“No. You’re just so goddamn forward.” Her eyebrows angled slightly. “Harry-” She paused. “I mean, you aren’t…”
Edward gave a crooked smile that was somehow devoid of malice, patting Gabrielle’s chest affectuously. His voice went a bit lower, less gritty, more playful. “Oh, rest assured, he wants to.”
The lawyer rolled her eyes a little and put her hand to his, squeezing it lightly. “I can believe it.”, she said. “You smile exactly the same.”
“Wh- uh-” He audibly cleared his throat, his face going pale only to then turn the color of roses. For a second, his eyes flickered a dark brown, his face and head careening a bit too close to softness. “What- I, uh, I mean. It isn’t too obvious, right?”
“Oh, no, no, no, no. You had me completely fooled, all the way back then.”
“Ah.” His voice hitched down, his mouth turned into a pout. “And were you scared of me?”
“Of course! Well, not anymore.” She took note of how he was letting go of her chest, and felt a little pinch of guilt. Whether it was at how much she had enjoyed it, or how abruptly it had had to stop, she couldn’t know. Shaking her head, Gabrielle continued, “You are terrifying, dear.”
“Terrifying? How about horrifying?”
“Is there a difference?”
He giggled, oddly Henry-like— with a little crook to his smile and a twinkle in the eyes. There it was. He was such a fucking dork at heart, or hearts. “I… I’ll tell you in the morning, alright?”
“It’s time.”
“Huh?”
Stirring her morning coffee -milk, no sugar-, Gabrielle turned around, her face puzzled.
“The difference between ‘terror’ and ‘horror’. It’s time-based!”, said Henry, his mouth half full of buttered toast.
Judging from the lack of steam, the coffee right in front of him had long gone cold, and Gabrielle suspected the completed crossword and sudoku and chess puzzle on that day’s newspaper, the pen still metaphorically giving off smoke on the table, might have had something to do with it.
“Basically,” he trailed off as Gabrielle took a sip of coffee, then opened the fridge in search of eggs “terror is the fear you experience during the event, and horror is the revulsion you feel afterwards,” he swallowed “or when you receive new information that changes the context to what you experienced, like a terrible revelation.”
“So, terror is knowing the fearsome Mr. Hyde is in the house, and horror is realizing he’s sitting at the kitchen table, hogging the newspaper.”, she asked curtly, closing the fridge with her hip, a pair of eggs in her hands. Her tone was sarcastic, albeit not malicious. “Hm-hmm, got it.”
“Heh.” Henry blushed a little.
“And by that I mean we’ll have to get a new one. That crossword had my name on it.”
“Oh- oh! Yes.” His mouth tightened into a line, and he nodded once. “That.”
It felt weird to admit it, but every time she said he was scary -in such a way that implied good-scary, not awful-scary- flustered him and sent waves of… something through his body. It certainly couldn’t be the animal side to him reacting to those words. He’d have to run some tests, that was for sure.
In the meantime, he was glad they would sleep on the same bed.