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Aria Parkinson had never been particularly good at being quiet.
This was not, strictly speaking, because she couldn’t be.
She could be silent when she wanted to be. She could move like a draft slipping under a door, like a shadow peeling itself off the wall, like trouble with bare feet and a heartbeat. She’d snuck through enough corridors at enough ungodly hours to know where the floorboards complained, which portraits were light sleepers, which suits of armour had the rattly elbows, and which staircases had a personal vendetta against anyone who tried to cross them after midnight.
Aria could be quiet.
She just hated it.
Silence was boring. Silence sat too heavy on her shoulders. Silence made the castle feel like it was listening.
So she crept through the dungeons with both hands clamped over her own mouth, shoulders shaking with laughter she wasn’t letting out, eyes bright and green in the low torchlight as she ducked round the corner towards the Slytherin common room.
She looked wildly unprepared for the cold.
That was mostly because she was wildly unprepared for the cold.
Aria had snuck out in pyjamas that were, in the loosest possible sense, pyjamas. A tiny black cropped vest with a silver star printed in the middle, thin straps slipping slightly down her shoulders every time she moved. Shorts so small they looked like they’d started life as a dare, soft charcoal cotton with little uneven moons embroidered along the hem. One knee-high sock was black with silver stripes. The other was dark green with tiny bats on it. She had not bothered with shoes, because shoes were loud and also, apparently, optional if you were Aria Parkinson and fully committed to being a menace.
Over the whole thing she had thrown on an oversized zip-up hoodie that absolutely did not belong to her, hanging halfway off one shoulder and smelling faintly of soap, smoke, and someone else’s patience. She had zipped it about three inches, which defeated almost the entire purpose of wearing it, and the sleeves swallowed her hands so completely that only her fingertips appeared when she adjusted the bundle tucked under one arm.
The bundle was important.
The bundle contained bottles of alcohol stolen, bartered, borrowed, and in one case possibly won in a very confusing card game she had not understood but had somehow left richer. Under the other arm she carried a battered little black DVD player, its cord wrapped around it badly, several film cases pressed against her chest, and a folded page of instructions written in the neatest handwriting Aria had ever seen.
At the top of the page, underlined twice, Briar had written:
Do not lick the plug.
Aria had found this insulting.
Not inaccurate. Just insulting.
She reached the hidden entrance to the Slytherin common room, glanced behind herself, then whispered the password Dorcas had given her in a voice so hushed and dramatic she sounded like she was summoning something ancient and inconvenient.
The wall shifted open.
Aria slipped through.
The Slytherin common room had always looked to her like someone had decided rich people needed to be kept underground for their own good. Green light poured through the wide windows beneath the lake, rippling over dark leather sofas, carved stone, silver lamps, and polished tables. Everything was cold and expensive and slightly eerie, like a museum exhibit about emotional repression.
Aria loved it.
It made her feel like she was trespassing inside a jewellery box.
She tiptoed across the common room, hugging the DVD player to herself, her mismatched socks sliding over the stone. She made it halfway across before the cord slipped loose and dragged behind her with a soft little scrape.
Aria froze.
The common room stayed still.
She squinted at the cord.
The cord, obviously, did not apologise.
She gathered it back up with a scowl and hissed, “Behave.”
The cord continued being a cord.
Aria crept down the corridor towards the girls’ dorms, trying very hard not to cackle at the ridiculousness of the whole thing. It was too late. She was too cold. She was carrying illegal alcohol and a Muggle machine she did not know how to operate. She had instructions in her pocket telling her not to lick a plug. She had lied her way past at least three obstacles and possibly offended a portrait so badly it had turned around in its frame.
All for a sleepover.
A sleepover.
Aria’s grin grew so wide it hurt.
She stopped in front of Dorcas Meadowes’s dormitory door and knocked softly.
Once.
Twice.
A pause.
Then the door opened.
Dorcas stood there smirking like she had been waiting in exactly that position for the last ten minutes.
She was in her pyjamas too, and it was unfair, frankly, how casually she managed to look both relaxed and like she could win a fight against a wardrobe. Her baggy pyjama bottoms sat low on her hips, dark green and loose, covered in little silver constellations that shifted faintly whenever the torchlight caught them. She wore a black sports bra, plain and soft-looking, and fluffy socks so white they looked nearly luminous against the stone floor. Her braids were half-tied up, half-falling around her face and shoulders, neat at the scalp and heavy down her back.
Aria stared at her.
Dorcas stared back.
Dorcas’s smirk deepened. “Well, look at you.”
Aria lifted her chin. “I look normal.”
“You look like you got dressed in the dark.”
“I did.”
“That explains the socks.”
Aria looked down at her feet, then back up. “The socks are fashion.”
“The socks are evidence.”
“Of taste.”
“Of a crime.”
“You love crimes.”
Dorcas’s eyes dropped over her again, fond and amused, soft in a way she never looked for anyone else. “I love certain crimes.”
Aria’s grin split open before she could stop it. “Hi.”
Dorcas reached out, took the DVD player and film cases out of Aria’s arms, dropped them carefully onto the nearest trunk inside the door, then hooked both hands under Aria’s thighs and lifted her clean off the floor.
Aria shrieked.
It came out half-smothered, half-cackle, her arms flying around Dorcas’s shoulders as Dorcas pulled her close and spun her once, just enough to make Aria’s mismatched socks kick out behind her.
“Dorcas!” Aria gasped, laughing too hard to sound annoyed. “You absolute—put me down!”
Dorcas did not put her down.
Dorcas held her easily, arms locked around her, Aria’s legs dangling as if she weighed nothing at all. “You snuck all the way down here for me.”
“I snuck all the way down here because I’m a criminal genius.”
“For me.”
“For snacks.”
“For me.”
“For snacks and you.”
Dorcas made a thoughtful noise, then leaned in and pressed a kiss to the side of Aria’s neck.
Aria’s laughter snagged in her throat.
Dorcas smiled against her skin.
“Pretty girl,” Dorcas murmured, voice low and warm. “Look at you. Freezing your tiny self to death just to come see me.”
“I’m not freezing,” Aria said immediately, while clinging to Dorcas like a cold little bat.
Dorcas kissed under her jaw. “Your nose is cold.”
“My nose is always cold.”
“Your hands are cold.”
“My hands are dramatic.”
Dorcas kissed her jaw again, slower, making Aria tip her head back with a breathless little laugh. “And this outfit?”
“It’s pyjamas.”
“It’s three thoughts and a hoodie.”
“It’s my sleepover uniform.”
“It’s ridiculous.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
Dorcas’s arms tightened around her. “You’re so pretty it’s annoying.”
Aria’s smile softened at the edges before she covered it with a scoff. “That’s what everyone says when they’re jealous.”
“No one is jealous of your frostbite shorts.”
“They’re cute.”
“They are cute,” Dorcas allowed, kissing the curve of Aria’s cheek. “You’re still an idiot.”
Aria gasped. “You can’t insult a guest.”
“You broke in.”
“I knocked.”
“After breaking in.”
“Still polite.”
Dorcas finally lowered her, but only enough for Aria’s toes to skim the ground. Then she pulled her forward into the room, kicked the door shut behind them, and hugged her properly.
The dorm was dim and warm, a little green lamp glowing beside Dorcas’s bed. The curtains had been drawn around the other beds, though the room was unmistakably empty. Dorcas had clearly prepared for the evening with terrifying efficiency. Her bed had been transformed into a nest of blankets and pillows. A pile of snacks sat on a tray at the foot of it: crisps, biscuits, chocolate frogs, sugar quills, little cakes wrapped in napkins, a bowl of popcorn, a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries, and several tubs of ice cream kept cold with a charm that shimmered faintly blue over the lids.
Aria froze.
Her eyes went huge.
Dorcas watched her face with obvious delight.
“You went to the kitchens,” Aria breathed.
Dorcas shrugged. “Maybe.”
“You smuggled snacks.”
“Maybe.”
“You love me.”
Dorcas lifted an eyebrow. “Maybe.”
Aria launched herself at her.
Dorcas caught her with a laugh, stumbling back one step as Aria wrapped both arms round her neck and squeezed. “You got ice cream.”
“I did.”
“And strawberries.”
“Chocolate-covered ones.”
Aria pulled back, scandalised. “Dorcas Meadowes.”
“What?”
“You’re going to make me propose.”
Dorcas’s smirk returned. “I’ll need a better ring than a bottle cap and a stolen sock.”
Aria looked down at herself. “I can offer a sock.”
“One of those? Absolutely not.”
“They’re limited edition.”
“They don’t even match.”
“That’s the limited part.”
Dorcas shook her head, laughing under her breath. “Come here, menace.”
Aria let herself be tugged towards the bed. She dumped the alcohol onto the covers with a triumphant flourish, then pulled the folded instruction page out of her hoodie pocket and held it up.
“I also brought technology.”
Dorcas looked at the DVD player. “You brought a DVD player.”
“Technology.”
“And films.”
“Moving picture discs.”
Dorcas stared at her.
Aria stared back, utterly serious.
Dorcas slowly took the instruction page from her hand. “You don’t know what a DVD is, do you?”
“I know it’s a shiny circle with entertainment trapped inside.”
“That’s almost impressive.”
“Briar said I’m not allowed to touch the inside bit.”
“Good.”
“She also said I’m not allowed to lick the plug.”
Dorcas glanced down at the page, then burst out laughing.
Aria narrowed her eyes. “Why is everyone assuming I lick plugs?”
“Have you ever licked a plug?”
“That is not the question.”
Dorcas’s laugh got louder.
Aria lunged for the paper. “Give it back.”
Dorcas held it above her head.
Aria jumped. Missed. Jumped again. Missed again.
Dorcas looked down at her with lazy amusement. “Tiny.”
Aria gasped. “I’m average height in spirit.”
“You’re short in every measurable reality.”
“I’ll bite you.”
“You always say that.”
“Because one day it’ll happen.”
Dorcas lowered the paper just enough for Aria to snatch it, then caught her by the waist when Aria tried to dart away.
Aria squeaked. “Trap!”
“Yes.”
“Rude.”
“Effective.”
Dorcas dropped onto the bed and pulled Aria down with her, making the blankets bounce. Aria landed half across her lap and instantly scrambled upright, kneeling in front of her with the DVD player between them like they were about to attempt a ritual.
Dorcas leaned back on her hands. “All right. Let’s see the instructions.”
Aria unfolded the paper with grave ceremony.
Her eyes moved over the writing.
She frowned.
“Briar writes too politely,” she said.
Dorcas peered over. “That says, ‘Plug the cable into the wall.’”
“Exactly. Why is it worded like a threat?”
“Because you’re involved.”
Aria pointed at a small diagram Briar had drawn of the ports. “This bit looks like a little screaming mouth.”
“It’s where the cable goes.”
“Why does Muggle technology need so many holes?”
Dorcas choked. “Aria.”
“What? It’s a fair question.”
Dorcas pressed her mouth into Aria’s shoulder and laughed until her shoulders shook.
Aria looked intensely pleased with herself.
Eventually, with both of them crouched on the rug by the bed and Dorcas doing most of the sensible work while Aria offered commentary that was both confident and almost entirely useless, they managed to connect the DVD player.
Dorcas turned the page over. “She wrote more on the back.”
Aria leaned closer. “What does it say?”
Dorcas read aloud, “‘Do not panic if the menu starts moving. That is normal.’”
Aria looked suspiciously at the blank screen. “Why would the menu move?”
“Because it’s a film menu.”
“Menus are for food.”
“You’re going to struggle tonight.”
“I never struggle. I adapt.”
“You threatened a cable three minutes ago.”
“It was misbehaving.”
Dorcas pressed the power button.
The DVD player whirred.
Aria threw herself backwards onto the bed with a yelp.
Dorcas stared at her. “Did you just try to flee the machine?”
“It growled.”
“It turned on.”
“It growled on.”
Dorcas crawled up onto the bed beside her, still laughing. “You brought the thing.”
“I didn’t say I trusted it.”
“That’s very brave of you.”
“Thank you.”
Dorcas propped herself against the pillows and opened the first film case. “What are we watching?”
Aria rolled onto her stomach beside her, kicking her feet up behind her. “I brought options.”
“You chose films?”
“Briar chose films.”
“Of course she did.”
“I said I needed sleepover films, and she started doing a face.”
“What face?”
“The one where she looks quiet but you can tell her brain’s building a whole civilisation.”
Dorcas nodded. “I know the face.”
“She gave me romance, horror, comedy, and something with singing.”
Dorcas hummed. “Which one first?”
Aria snatched the horror case and shoved it towards her. “This one.”
Dorcas took it. “You’re sure?”
“I fear nothing.”
“You jumped when the DVD player turned on.”
“That was tactical.”
“You threw yourself backwards.”
“Defence roll.”
“You were on a bed.”
“Luxury defence roll.”
Dorcas slipped the disc in, then climbed properly into the blanket nest and opened her arms. Aria immediately crawled into them as if she had been waiting all night for the invitation. She tucked herself against Dorcas’s side, one leg slung over Dorcas’s thigh, head tipped onto her shoulder. Dorcas pulled a blanket over them both despite Aria’s earlier insistence that she was not cold.
Aria burrowed deeper.
Dorcas kissed the top of her head. “Not freezing, are you?”
“No.”
“You’re shivering.”
“I’m vibrating with excitement.”
“Sure.”
The film began.
For approximately four minutes, Aria was quiet.
Then she pointed at the screen. “She shouldn’t go in there.”
Dorcas sighed. “It’s a horror film.”
“She’s going in there.”
“Yes.”
“That’s stupid.”
“It’s the point.”
“No, the point should be not going in there.”
“If no one went in, there wouldn’t be a film.”
“There could be a film about everyone making good decisions.”
“That sounds awful.”
Aria considered this. “True.”
Another minute passed.
Aria pointed again. “He’s definitely dead.”
Dorcas leaned her head back. “Baby.”
“What?”
“Watch the film.”
“I am watching it. I’m improving it.”
“You’re talking through it.”
“I’m contributing.”
“You’re narrating.”
“Someone has to. These people are stupid.”
Dorcas shifted, grabbed a pillow, and lightly hit Aria on the head with it.
Aria went still.
Very slowly, she turned her face up.
Her eyes narrowed.
Dorcas’s mouth twitched. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”
Aria sat up.
Dorcas sat up too.
For one charged, ridiculous second, they stared at each other over the blankets while the film continued ominously in the background.
Then Aria lunged.
She grabbed the nearest pillow and swung it with both hands. Dorcas caught it against her arm, laughing, and Aria scrambled onto her lap with the wild determination of someone entering battle against impossible odds.
“You attacked me,” Aria accused, whacking Dorcas’s shoulder.
Dorcas blocked with one forearm. “You deserved it.”
“I am an angel.”
“You brought alcohol into my dorm.”
“A festive angel.”
Dorcas reached for another pillow.
Aria saw it and shrieked, “No!”
Dorcas swung.
The pillow hit Aria’s side with a soft thump, and Aria collapsed sideways dramatically, clutching her ribs. “I’ve been slain.”
“Finally, peace.”
Aria popped back up instantly and tackled Dorcas around the middle. “Never.”
She managed, through sheer enthusiasm and surprise, to push Dorcas backwards into the pillows and clamber on top of her, straddling her waist with a triumphant cackle. Her hoodie slipped off one shoulder entirely, hair falling around her face in a wild pale curtain with the old dyed ends brushing her cheeks.
Dorcas looked up at her with one eyebrow raised, not even slightly threatened.
Aria lifted the pillow over her head. “Beg for mercy.”
Dorcas’s hands settled lightly on Aria’s thighs. “You’re very confident.”
“I have the high ground.”
“You’re on my ribs.”
“Same thing.”
Dorcas smiled slowly. “You sure you want to do this?”
Aria brought the pillow down.
Dorcas let it hit her once.
Then she caught Aria by the waist and tickled her.
Aria made a sound somewhere between a scream, a laugh, and a dying kettle.
“No!” she shrieked, immediately losing all command of the situation. “No, no, Dorcas, no—”
Dorcas sat up, relentless, fingers dancing at Aria’s sides. “What was that about mercy?”
“I hate you!”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do! I do, I swear I do!”
“You’re laughing.”
“I’m suffering!”
Dorcas flipped them with terrifying ease, rolling Aria onto her back in the blankets and pinning her there with one knee on either side of her legs, careful but firm. Aria thrashed, cackling so hard she could barely breathe, her hands grabbing uselessly at Dorcas’s wrists.
“Say Dorcas is the best,” Dorcas demanded.
“Never!”
Dorcas tickled her again.
Aria squealed. “Dorcas is evil!”
“Wrong answer.”
“Dorcas is pretty!”
“Closer.”
“Dorcas is the worst!”
Dorcas leaned closer, grinning. “Try again.”
Aria gasped for breath, cheeks flushed from laughing. “Dorcas is the best.”
“And?”
“And so annoying.”
Dorcas tickled her once more.
Aria shrieked. “And gorgeous! And strong! And unfair!”
Dorcas stopped, looking satisfied. “Good girl.”
Aria lay there panting, glaring up at her with absolutely no menace at all. “I’m going to put ice cream in your shoes.”
Dorcas glanced down at her fluffy socks. “I’m not wearing shoes.”
“I’ll find some.”
“You’re very committed.”
“To revenge? Always.”
Dorcas leaned down and kissed her cheek. “You talk too much.”
Aria immediately turned her head and kissed her properly.
The horror film screamed behind them.
Neither of them paid it any attention.
Dorcas smiled into the kiss, one hand smoothing Aria’s hair back from her face. Aria made a tiny pleased noise and wound her arms around Dorcas’s neck, pulling her closer until Dorcas laughed softly and braced herself above her.
“You’re missing the film,” Dorcas murmured.
Aria kissed the corner of her mouth. “I improved it again.”
“How?”
“Less stupid people. More you.”
Dorcas looked at her for a second, that smirk softening into something quieter.
Then she kissed her again.
By the time they remembered the film existed, at least one character seemed to have died, another was crying in the rain, and neither Aria nor Dorcas had any idea what was happening.
Aria pointed at the screen. “Called it.”
Dorcas looked at her. “You don’t even know who that is.”
“Dead man.”
“He’s not dead.”
“He’s emotionally dead.”
“You’re unbearable.”
Aria nestled back against her. “And yet.”
Dorcas pulled her closer. “And yet.”
They opened the first bottle after that.
Dorcas did it because Aria struggled with the cap, declared it cursed, and tried to bite it. Dorcas took it away before Aria could test her teeth against glass, earning herself a wounded gasp and a long accusation about betrayal. Then the bottle popped open and Aria immediately forgave her.
They drank from mismatched cups Dorcas had nicked from somewhere in the common room, eating crisps straight from the bag and spilling popcorn into the blankets. Aria kept leaning forward to grab biscuits and coming back with three at a time, one in her mouth, one in each hand. Dorcas watched her with increasing amusement.
“Are you saving those for later?” she asked.
Aria, cheeks full, looked down at the biscuits in her hands.
Then she slowly tucked one into the pocket of her hoodie.
Dorcas stared.
Aria held eye contact while tucking the second one into the other pocket.
“Emergency biscuits,” she said thickly.
“You’re going to sleep on those and wake up covered in crumbs.”
“That’s tomorrow Aria’s problem.”
“I feel sorry for tomorrow Aria.”
“Tomorrow Aria is powerful.”
“Tomorrow Aria is going to have biscuit dust in her hair.”
Aria looked delighted. “A snack for later.”
Dorcas covered her face with one hand. “Merlin.”
The film ended in a dramatic burst of music that made Aria jump again. She immediately pointed accusingly at the screen.
“See? It hates me.”
“It’s the credits.”
“Menacing credits.”
Dorcas pulled the blanket higher around them. “Do you want another one?”
“Yes.”
“Romance, comedy, or singing?”
Aria’s eyes sharpened. “Singing.”
Dorcas swapped the discs while Aria lay sprawled across the bed like a victorious cat, one arm thrown over her eyes, cup balanced dangerously on her stomach.
“Don’t spill that,” Dorcas warned.
Aria lifted one finger. “I’m stable.”
“You’re lying at an angle.”
“Emotionally stable.”
“That’s worse.”
Dorcas took the cup from her.
Aria made a wounded sound. “My drink.”
“Your future laundry disaster.”
“You’re so controlling.”
“You tried to lick the plug.”
“I did not!”
“You considered it.”
Aria opened one eye. “For science.”
Dorcas slid back beside her as the next film started, music bursting bright and cheerful from the little speakers.
Aria sat up immediately. “Oh, this one has vibes.”
“You haven’t seen it.”
“I can sense vibes.”
“Can you?”
“Yes.”
“What are the vibes?”
Aria squinted at the screen. “Everyone is about to be very dramatic in coordinated outfits.”
Dorcas glanced at the film, then back at her. “That’s not bad.”
“I’m gifted.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Both.”
The film had barely reached its first song before Aria started singing along despite clearly not knowing the words.
Dorcas gave her a sideways look. “How are you singing along to a song you’ve never heard?”
“I’m guessing.”
“You’re not guessing words.”
“I’m spiritually aligned.”
“You’re singing nonsense.”
Aria lifted her chin and sang louder, confidently replacing half the lyrics with sounds, rhymes, and one dramatic line about biscuits that made Dorcas choke on her drink.
“Stop,” Dorcas laughed. “You can’t just make it about biscuits.”
“I can make anything about biscuits.”
“That is not a talent.”
“It is my gift.”
A dance number started.
Aria gasped like she’d been personally summoned.
“Oh, we have to.”
Dorcas narrowed her eyes. “Have to what?”
“Dance.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I’m comfortable.”
“You’re boring.”
“I’m warm.”
“You can be warm and dance.”
“That’s not how dancing works.”
Aria climbed off the bed, nearly tripped over the blanket, recovered with a dramatic arm flourish as though the stumble had been choreography, and pointed at Dorcas. “Get up.”
Dorcas leaned back against the pillows. “Make me.”
Aria’s grin turned dangerous.
Dorcas immediately looked suspicious. “Aria.”
Aria grabbed the bowl of popcorn.
Dorcas sat up. “Don’t.”
Aria lifted one piece.
“Don’t you dare.”
Aria threw it.
It bounced off Dorcas’s chest.
For one second, everything went silent.
Then Dorcas moved.
Aria screamed with laughter and bolted, slipping on the rug as Dorcas lunged off the bed after her. She made it exactly three steps before Dorcas caught her around the waist from behind and lifted her again.
“No!” Aria laughed, kicking her feet. “I’m an artist!”
“You’re a pest.”
“You love pests.”
“I tolerate one.”
Dorcas spun her once, then set her down in the middle of the rug but kept hold of her hands.
Aria beamed. “Dance with me.”
Dorcas looked at her, at the screen, at the snacks, then back at Aria.
“No choreography,” she said.
Aria’s eyes shone. “Some choreography.”
“No jumping on furniture.”
“One jump on furniture.”
“No.”
“Half a jump.”
“That’s just falling.”
“I’m good at falling.”
“I know.”
Aria squeezed her hands and started bouncing to the music. Dorcas resisted for all of three seconds before she let herself be pulled into it.
They danced badly at first, because Aria’s version of dancing involved too much spinning, too much pointing, and absolutely no sense of personal space. Dorcas moved with more rhythm, laughing under her breath as Aria twirled herself under their joined hands and nearly walked into the bedpost.
“Careful,” Dorcas said, pulling her back.
Aria spun into her chest instead. “Caught me.”
“I keep doing that.”
“You’re obsessed.”
Dorcas’s hands settled at her waist. “A bit.”
Aria’s face changed at that, all bright mischief flickering into something softer and pleased.
Then the song kicked up again and Aria grabbed Dorcas’s hands, jumping in place.
“Again!”
Dorcas groaned. “You’re going to make the floor collapse.”
“We’re in the dungeons. It can’t fall far.”
“That’s not comforting.”
Aria hopped onto the rug’s edge, then spun again, hair flying, the old dyed tips catching the greenish light. Dorcas watched her with a helpless fondness she did not bother hiding.
Aria danced like she had no bones and too many ideas. She threw her whole small body into it, all elbows and laughter and sudden dramatic expressions, mouthing lyrics she didn’t know, turning every beat into an excuse to spin closer, then away, then back again.
Dorcas eventually caught both her hands and pulled her in slow, making Aria stumble into her.
The music kept going.
Aria blinked up at her. “You stopped.”
Dorcas swayed them both gently. “I changed the dance.”
“This is barely dancing.”
“It counts.”
“It’s slow.”
“It’s nice.”
Aria wrinkled her nose. “Nice is suspicious.”
Dorcas laughed softly. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You’ve said that already.”
“I’ll say it again.”
Aria slid her arms around Dorcas’s waist and swayed with her, cheek pressed against her shoulder. “Fine. This is okay.”
“Just okay?”
“Maybe more than okay.”
Dorcas rested her chin lightly on top of Aria’s head. “That’s glowing praise from you.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“Too late.”
Aria closed her eyes for about four seconds.
Then she bit Dorcas’s shoulder through the strap of her sports bra.
Dorcas jerked. “Ow!”
Aria dissolved into giggles and tried to flee.
Dorcas caught her by the hoodie.
The rest of the song ended with Aria being dragged back onto the bed, laughing so hard she could barely fight, while Dorcas threatened to roll her up in a blanket and leave her there until morning.
“You wouldn’t,” Aria said, breathless, hair in her face.
Dorcas grabbed the edge of the blanket.
Aria gasped. “Dorcas Meadowes, don’t you dare.”
Dorcas rolled her once.
Aria shrieked.
Dorcas rolled her again.
By the time she finished, Aria was wrapped from shoulders to knees in green blanket, lying stiff as a bundled caterpillar while Dorcas sat beside her, deeply pleased.
Aria glared up at her. “I hope you know this is illegal.”
Dorcas patted her head. “You look peaceful.”
“I am full of rage.”
“You look adorable.”
“Rageful adorable.”
Dorcas leaned down and kissed her nose. “My rageful adorable menace.”
Aria stopped glaring for half a second.
Then she started wriggling.
Dorcas watched.
Aria wriggled harder.
The blanket did not loosen.
“Help,” Aria said.
Dorcas tilted her head. “What was that?”
“Help.”
“I don’t know. I quite like you like this.”
“I have emergency biscuits in my pockets and I’ll crush them.”
Dorcas immediately started unwrapping her. “Absolutely not. I refuse to sleep in crumbs.”
“See?” Aria said smugly as she emerged, hair wild and hoodie twisted. “Power.”
“You’re a nightmare.”
“I’m your nightmare.”
Dorcas paused.
Aria paused too.
The words sat between them, unexpectedly soft.
Dorcas reached out and fixed one of Aria’s hoodie sleeves, tugging it down over her cold hand. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “You are.”
Aria’s face pinked a little.
To cover it, she launched herself at the snacks.
“Ice cream,” she announced.
Dorcas let her.
The ice cream became a whole event.
Dorcas opened the tubs. Aria claimed all of them.
“That’s not sharing,” Dorcas said, watching Aria arrange three tubs in front of herself like treasure.
“I’m sharing the experience of watching me eat ice cream.”
“That’s not sharing.”
“It’s intimate.”
“It’s theft.”
Aria dug her spoon into the first tub. “You can have some.”
Dorcas reached for it.
Aria pulled it away.
Dorcas lifted an eyebrow.
Aria stared at her, spoon in her mouth.
“You said I could have some.”
“I panicked.”
“You panicked?”
“You moved too fast.”
“I reached for ice cream.”
“Like a predator.”
Dorcas sat back, arms crossed. “Fine. Keep it.”
Aria narrowed her eyes. “You’re doing a voice.”
“What voice?”
“The secretly not annoyed voice.”
“I’m openly annoyed.”
“No, you’re pretending to be annoyed because you think I’m cute.”
“I can be annoyed and think you’re cute.”
Aria considered this. “That’s fair.”
She scooped up a spoonful and held it out.
Dorcas leaned forward.
Aria ate it herself.
Dorcas stared.
Aria smiled slowly around the spoon.
Dorcas grabbed a pillow.
Aria pointed the spoon at her. “No violence near dairy.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You love me.”
Dorcas took the spoon from her hand, scooped a bite for herself, and ate it while maintaining eye contact.
Aria gasped like she had witnessed murder.
“Mine.”
“You offered.”
“I rescinded.”
“You were too late.”
Aria clutched the tub to her chest. “Thief.”
Dorcas reached for the chocolate-covered strawberries instead. “Fine. Eat the whole tub, then.”
Aria’s eyes darted to the strawberries.
Dorcas noticed immediately.
The plate had been arranged carefully, each strawberry dipped in glossy chocolate, some with little white stripes over the top, others rolled in chopped nuts or tiny sugar crystals. They looked absurdly pretty on the plate, too pretty for a midnight dorm-room sleepover, which meant Dorcas had very obviously done it on purpose.
Aria’s voice went small with delight. “You got these too.”
“Mhm.”
Aria picked one up carefully. “They’re fancy.”
“They’re strawberries in chocolate.”
“That’s fancy. Fruit in a coat.”
Dorcas snorted. “Fruit in a coat?”
“Yes.”
Aria bit into one and immediately made a sound of happiness so sincere Dorcas looked away for a second, smiling before she could stop herself.
“Oh,” Aria mumbled, eyes bright. “That’s good.”
Dorcas leaned on her hand. “Yeah?”
Aria nodded and held it out. “Try.”
Dorcas shook her head. “You have it.”
“No, try. It’s good.”
“I’m fine.”
Aria frowned. “You don’t want one?”
“They’re for you.”
“But you got a whole plate.”
“For you.”
Aria blinked at her.
Dorcas looked too calm.
Aria narrowed her eyes. “Do you not like strawberries?”
Dorcas said nothing.
Aria sat up straighter. “Dorcas.”
“They’re fine.”
“You don’t like strawberries.”
“I like that you like strawberries.”
Aria stared at her for a long moment.
The film music played softly behind them.
Dorcas shrugged as if it meant nothing at all, as if she hadn’t smuggled an entire plate of something she did not even like just because Aria did.
Aria’s face did something complicated.
Then she crawled across the blankets and shoved herself into Dorcas’s lap.
Dorcas blinked. “Hello.”
Aria wrapped both arms around her neck. “You’re stupid.”
Dorcas’s brows lifted. “That’s what I get?”
“You’re stupid and sweet and stupid.”
“I’m hearing a lot of stupid.”
“You got me strawberries.”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t even like them.”
“No.”
“You hate fruit in coats.”
Dorcas laughed. “I don’t hate them.”
“You hate them emotionally.”
“I don’t emotionally hate strawberries.”
“You emotionally don’t like them.”
“Fine.”
Aria pressed her face into Dorcas’s shoulder. “Stupid.”
Dorcas’s arms slid around her. “You’re welcome.”
Aria stayed there, clinging, quiet for once.
Dorcas rubbed her back gently.
Then Aria lifted her head and said, “I’m still eating all of them.”
Dorcas burst out laughing. “I expected nothing less.”
They put on another film after that, a comedy this time, though Dorcas quickly discovered that watching a comedy with Aria was less like watching a film and more like sharing a room with a second, much louder soundtrack.
Aria talked constantly.
She commented on costumes. She argued with characters. She accused one man of having “cheating eyebrows”. She predicted a plot twist incorrectly four times and then insisted the film had changed its mind. She laughed before jokes were finished, then laughed again when she realised what the joke actually was.
Dorcas tried, heroically, to watch the film.
She lasted twelve minutes.
“Aria.”
“What?”
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Talking through the film.”
Aria looked genuinely confused. “I’m responding to it.”
“You’re debating it.”
“It started.”
“It’s a film.”
“Exactly. It’s not answering back. Someone has to carry the conversation.”
Dorcas closed her eyes. “You’re impossible.”
Aria leaned closer. “You said that already too.”
“I’m running out of words.”
“Try complimenting me.”
“You’re quiet when you’re asleep.”
Aria threw popcorn at her.
Dorcas tackled her.
The cup nearly went over. The popcorn definitely went over. Aria’s laughter cracked sharp and bright through the dorm as Dorcas wrestled her carefully into the pillows and pinned one wrist above her head.
“Take it back,” Dorcas said.
“Never.”
“You threw popcorn at me.”
“You insulted me.”
“I told the truth.”
Aria grinned up at her, breathless. “You’re so obsessed with me it’s embarrassing.”
Dorcas leaned down until their noses almost touched. “It really is.”
Aria’s grin faltered into something softer.
Dorcas kissed her.
It was sweet at first, warm and slow and a little clumsy because Aria was smiling too much. Her free hand curled against Dorcas’s shoulder, fingers pressing into warm skin. Dorcas kept her touch gentle, thumb brushing over Aria’s wrist before she let it go and cupped her cheek instead.
The film kept playing to nobody.
Aria murmured, “Your mouth tastes like chocolate.”
“You taste like ice cream.”
“That’s because I’m better.”
Dorcas smiled. “Better than chocolate?”
“Obviously.”
“Bold.”
“Correct.”
Dorcas kissed her again, then shifted off her before Aria could tangle them into another losing battle. “Facemasks.”
Aria blinked. “What?”
Dorcas reached over the side of the bed and pulled up a little bag. “Facemasks.”
“You planned facemasks?”
“You said sleepover.”
Aria sat up, delighted. “You planned a proper one.”
Dorcas shrugged, suddenly pretending to be casual. “It’s nothing.”
“It is not nothing. It’s a whole thing.”
“It’s a few snacks.”
“And films.”
“Borrowed films.”
“And ice cream.”
“Stolen ice cream.”
“And strawberries you don’t even like.”
“Smuggled strawberries.”
“And facemasks.”
Dorcas avoided her eyes. “You came all the way down here.”
Aria softened.
Then, because she was Aria, she crawled forward and poked Dorcas in the cheek. “You’re romantic.”
Dorcas caught her finger. “Say that louder and I’ll deny it.”
“You’re romantic.”
“I deny it.”
“Too late. Witnessed.”
“There are no witnesses.”
“The DVD player saw.”
“The DVD player is Muggle technology.”
“All the more trustworthy.”
Dorcas opened one of the little packets and held it up. “Do you want the green one or the glitter one?”
Aria’s eyes locked on immediately. “Glitter.”
“I knew it.”
“I am a creature of taste.”
“You are a magpie.”
“A pretty magpie.”
Dorcas squeezed the packet into her hand and started spreading the glittering mask across Aria’s face with careful fingers. Aria held remarkably still for exactly ten seconds before her nose scrunched.
“It’s cold.”
“Don’t move.”
“It’s slimy.”
“Don’t move.”
“It smells like flowers.”
“Aria.”
“I’m moving emotionally.”
Dorcas caught her chin gently. “Stay still.”
Aria froze.
Dorcas’s fingers moved across her cheeks, over her nose, along her forehead, smoothing the mask in thin silver-glitter streaks over her pale skin. Aria’s eyes tracked Dorcas’s face the whole time, too bright and too soft.
Dorcas noticed. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“You have a concentration face.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You do. It’s cute.”
Dorcas’s mouth twitched. “You’ve got glitter on your nose.”
“You put it there.”
“And it’s cute.”
Aria smiled so wide the facemask nearly cracked. “You think my nose is cute.”
“I think all of you is cute. Unfortunately.”
“Unfortunately?”
“It’s inconvenient.”
“For your reputation?”
“For my blood pressure.”
Aria cackled, then immediately gasped. “Wait, did I ruin it?”
Dorcas inspected her face seriously. “Only emotionally.”
“Good.”
Then it was Dorcas’s turn.
Aria selected the green facemask with great ceremony and squeezed far too much into her palm.
Dorcas eyed it. “That’s enough for my whole body.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“My face, Aria.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“You absolutely do not.”
Aria climbed into Dorcas’s lap again because apparently that was where she did her best work, then leaned in with her tongue tucked between her teeth in deep concentration. She touched the green mask to Dorcas’s cheek and dragged it very slowly towards her ear.
Dorcas stared at her.
Aria frowned. “Don’t move.”
“I’m not moving.”
“You’re judging.”
“With my face?”
“Yes.”
“You’re painting my jaw.”
“I’m following the line.”
“It’s a facemask, not portraiture.”
“Shut up. I’m creating.”
Dorcas held still, visibly fighting a smile, while Aria smeared the mask across her face with an artist’s seriousness and a toddler’s restraint. She got it across Dorcas’s nose, cheeks, chin, forehead, and somehow one tiny streak on the side of her neck.
“There,” Aria said, sitting back proudly. “Perfect.”
Dorcas grabbed the little mirror beside the bed.
She looked.
Aria bit her lip.
Dorcas slowly turned her head.
Aria’s expression burst apart into laughter.
“You said perfect,” Dorcas said.
“It is perfect.”
“I look like I lost a fight with a pond.”
“A glamorous pond.”
“You got it in my eyebrow.”
“That was intentional.”
“It had better not be.”
“It was a creative risk.”
Dorcas set the mirror down. “Come here.”
Aria immediately scrambled backwards. “No.”
Dorcas advanced.
Aria grabbed a pillow as a shield. “No, you’re green. You’re swampy. Stay back.”
Dorcas leaned closer, deadpan. “A glamorous pond, wasn’t it?”
Aria squealed when Dorcas grabbed her around the waist and dragged her down beside her, threatening to rub her cheek against Aria’s hoodie. They ended up collapsed together in the blankets, both laughing, facemasks tacky and shining under the lamp.
“Don’t get green on me,” Aria begged, pushing at Dorcas’s shoulder.
“You deserve green.”
“I’m glitter. We’re different species.”
Dorcas nuzzled close just enough to make Aria shriek again. “Sparkly nuisance.”
“Pond girlfriend.”
Dorcas stopped.
Aria grinned.
Dorcas narrowed her eyes. “Say that again.”
Aria whispered, “Pond girlfriend.”
Dorcas reached for her sides.
Aria slapped both hands over them. “Truce!”
Dorcas paused. “Terms?”
“No more tickling.”
“Rejected.”
“No more green attacks.”
“Accepted.”
“And I get the strawberries.”
“You already have the strawberries.”
“And the ice cream.”
“You already have that too.”
“And one kiss.”
Dorcas leaned in. “Accepted.”
They sealed the truce carefully, because facemasks made everything suddenly complicated. Aria kept giggling against Dorcas’s mouth, and Dorcas kept telling her not to crack the mask, which only made Aria laugh harder. By the time they pulled apart, Dorcas’s green mask had a faint glitter smear along one cheek, and Aria had a tiny green mark on her jaw.
Aria pointed at her. “You’re sparkling.”
Dorcas wiped at her cheek. “You contaminated me.”
“You’ve been improved.”
Dorcas touched Aria’s jaw lightly. “So have you.”
Aria crossed her eyes trying to see the mark. “Where?”
“Here.”
Dorcas kissed the spot instead of wiping it.
Aria went quiet again.
Dorcas drew back with a soft, victorious little smile. “There.”
“That didn’t clean it.”
“No.”
“You’re terrible at this.”
“I know.”
They washed off the facemasks with water from a basin Dorcas had set out, though Aria made such a mess of it that glitter ended up in her hairline, on Dorcas’s wrist, and somehow on the sleeve of the hoodie. Dorcas helped her wipe her face properly, one hand under Aria’s chin, cloth warm and gentle over her cheeks.
Aria let her.
For once, she didn’t wriggle or talk or make trouble.
She watched Dorcas through her lashes, uncharacteristically still, while Dorcas cleaned the last of the glitter from the bridge of her nose.
Dorcas’s expression softened. “What?”
Aria shrugged. “Nothing.”
“You keep saying nothing.”
“Maybe I’m full of nothing.”
“You’re full of biscuits.”
Aria smiled. “Emergency biscuits.”
Dorcas tapped her chin. “Done.”
Aria reached up and touched Dorcas’s cheek where one spot of green remained. “You missed some.”
“Where?”
Aria leaned in and kissed it.
Dorcas blinked.
Aria smiled, smug again. “Done.”
Dorcas looked at her for a long second, then shook her head. “You’re very pleased with yourself.”
“I should be.”
“You kissed my cheek and acted like you invented romance.”
“I improved it.”
Dorcas laughed and pulled her back onto the bed. “Come on. Hair.”
Aria immediately perked up. “Hair?”
“Hair.”
Dorcas sat cross-legged against the pillows and tugged her braids over one shoulder. “You said you wanted to learn.”
Aria crawled closer with sudden intensity. “Yes.”
“You have to listen.”
“I always listen.”
Dorcas gave her a look.
Aria amended, “I sometimes listen to you.”
“That’s more accurate.”
Dorcas turned so Aria could sit behind her. Aria tucked her legs on either side of Dorcas’s hips and leaned forward, inspecting the braids with open fascination. Up close, she could see the neatness of them, the careful partings, the pattern where each strand crossed under the next. Dorcas’s hair was beautiful, dark and heavy and precise, and Aria touched it with more care than she gave almost anything.
“So,” Dorcas said, taking one braid and placing it in Aria’s hands. “Start with three sections.”
Aria stared. “It already has three hundred sections.”
“This one. Here.”
“I’m frightened.”
“You fear no DVD player.”
“I fear this. This is advanced.”
“It’s not advanced.”
“It’s architectural.”
Dorcas laughed. “Just hold these.”
Aria held the three strands.
“Right under the middle,” Dorcas said. “Then left under the middle.”
Aria moved very slowly.
“No, under.”
“I did under.”
“That was over.”
“That was morally under.”
“Hair doesn’t care about morals.”
“It should.”
Dorcas reached back, guiding Aria’s fingers. Her hands were warm over Aria’s, steady and sure. “Like this.”
Aria watched closely, then tried again.
“There,” Dorcas said. “Good.”
Aria sat up straighter. “I did it?”
“You did one cross.”
“I’m basically a professional.”
“You are not.”
“I can open a salon.”
“You’d shut it in a day.”
“Not if I served alcohol.”
“That would make it worse.”
“That would make it popular.”
Dorcas shook with quiet laughter as Aria continued, tongue peeking from the corner of her mouth, brow furrowed in deep concentration. The braid she produced was not neat. It had strange tension in places, a little loose near the top, tight in the middle, and slightly chaotic at the end.
Aria tied it off with a little band and sat back.
Dorcas turned her head. “How bad is it?”
Aria gasped. “It’s beautiful.”
“That bad?”
“It has personality.”
Dorcas took the mirror.
She looked.
Aria held her breath.
Dorcas’s mouth curled. “It’s not terrible.”
Aria launched herself forward and hugged Dorcas from behind, cheek pressed to the back of her shoulder. “You love it.”
“It’s crooked.”
“You love crooked.”
“I love you.”
Aria went utterly still.
Dorcas froze too, though Aria couldn’t see her face.
For a moment, the dorm seemed very quiet. The film had returned to its menu, music looping softly. The lamp glowed green-gold over the blankets. Somewhere beyond the stone, the lake shifted against the windows of the common room, black water full of moonlight no one could see from here.
Aria’s arms tightened around Dorcas.
Dorcas reached up and touched her wrist. “Was that all right?”
Aria pressed her face harder into Dorcas’s shoulder. Her voice came out muffled. “Say it again.”
Dorcas’s thumb brushed slowly over her skin. “I love you.”
Aria exhaled.
It shook a little.
Then she said, very quietly, “Good.”
Dorcas laughed, soft and breathless. “Good?”
“Yes.”
“That’s all I get?”
Aria’s voice was still muffled. “If I say something nice I’ll die.”
“Tragic.”
“Very.”
Dorcas gently tugged her forward until Aria climbed back around into her lap, sitting cross-legged over Dorcas’s thighs. Aria’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright, but her expression was stubbornly fierce, as if daring Dorcas to tease her too much.
Dorcas didn’t.
Dorcas just cupped her face and waited.
Aria swallowed, then whispered, “I love you too, obviously.”
Dorcas smiled.
Aria frowned immediately. “Don’t look smug.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. I can feel it.”
“I’m happy.”
“That’s worse.”
Dorcas kissed her forehead. “I’m allowed to be happy.”
Aria grumbled, “Fine.”
Dorcas kissed her nose.
Aria’s mouth twitched.
Dorcas kissed her cheek.
Aria gave up and smiled.
“There she is,” Dorcas murmured.
Aria shoved her lightly. “Shut up.”
Dorcas caught her hand and kissed her knuckles, one by one, until Aria looked ready to burst out of her own skin from trying not to melt.
Then Aria ruined the moment by reaching into her hoodie pocket and pulling out a crushed biscuit.
Dorcas stared.
Aria held it up. “Emergency.”
Dorcas closed her eyes. “I cannot believe I said I love you to someone storing biscuits on her person.”
“You chose this.”
“I did.”
“And you’re happy.”
Dorcas opened her eyes. “I am.”
Aria offered her half the biscuit.
Dorcas took it.
They ate it solemnly.
Then they dyed Aria’s hair.
Dorcas had smuggled the dye too, which Aria found both thrilling and slightly suspicious.
“You planned this,” Aria said, sitting on the rug with a towel around her shoulders.
Dorcas knelt behind her, unpacking the little pot and gloves. “You said your ends were boring.”
“I say many things.”
“You said that one three times.”
“They are boring.”
“I know.”
Aria twisted to look back. “What colour?”
Dorcas held the pot where she couldn’t see it. “I get to choose.”
“That’s terrifying.”
“You agreed.”
“I agreed before I knew you were going to be powerful about it.”
Dorcas smirked. “Too late.”
Aria faced forward again, vibrating. “Is it pretty?”
“Yes.”
“Is it green?”
“No.”
“Is it black?”
“No.”
“Is it blood red?”
“No.”
“Is it snake colour?”
“What is snake colour?”
“Devious.”
Dorcas laughed. “It’s not devious.”
“Is it pink?”
Dorcas paused.
Aria gasped. “It’s pink.”
“It might be pink.”
“What kind of pink?”
“You’ll see.”
“Dorcas.”
“You said I could choose.”
Aria gripped the edge of the towel. “If you make me look stupid, I’ll haunt you.”
“You already haunt me.”
“Romantically.”
“Exactly.”
Dorcas sectioned the pale ends of Aria’s hair with careful fingers, clipping some of it up, smoothing the rest over the towel. Aria sat shockingly still, only bouncing slightly where she sat.
“You’re good at this,” Aria said.
“I’ve done hair before.”
“Mine?”
“No.”
“Then it’s not the same.”
“Because you’re dramatic?”
“Because I’m special.”
Dorcas’s hands paused.
Then she bent and kissed the crown of Aria’s head. “Yes, you are.”
Aria stared at the floor, smiling so hard it looked painful.
“Don’t be nice while holding dye,” she muttered.
“Why?”
“It’s too much power.”
Dorcas opened the pot.
The dye was a deep, warm pink with a violet undertone, bright enough to glow against Aria’s pale hair but soft enough to look almost like crushed berries in the low light. Dorcas worked it into the tips slowly, gloved fingers gentle as she painted the colour through the ends.
Aria tried to look down.
“Don’t move,” Dorcas said.
“I’m trying to see.”
“You’ll ruin it.”
“I need to supervise.”
“You need to sit still.”
“Cruel.”
“Accurate.”
Aria huffed, but obeyed.
Dorcas kept going, and the silence stretched into something comfortable. The film menu looped again. The snacks were scattered across the bed. Their cups sat on the bedside table, half-empty. The whole dorm smelled like sugar, chocolate, clean water, dye, and the faint mineral coolness of the dungeons.
Aria leaned back slightly into Dorcas’s knees. “I like it down here.”
Dorcas’s fingers kept moving. “The dungeons?”
“Mhm.”
“It’s cold.”
“So am I.”
Dorcas glanced down at her. “You’re not cold. You refuse clothing.”
“I refuse boring clothing.”
“You refuse sleeves.”
“I’m wearing sleeves.”
“You’re wearing half a hoodie.”
“That counts.”
Dorcas twisted a section of dyed hair carefully. “You like it because no one expects sunshine down here.”
Aria went quiet.
Dorcas looked at the back of her head. “What?”
Aria shrugged. “That was pretty.”
“It was true.”
“Still.”
Dorcas smiled faintly and continued working. “You do look like trouble someone left under the lake.”
“That was less pretty.”
“It was affectionate.”
“I’ll accept it.”
When the dye had to sit, Aria was instructed very firmly not to touch it.
Naturally, she touched it within thirty seconds.
Dorcas caught her wrist. “No.”
“I was checking if it was still there.”
“Where would it go?”
“Magic.”
“It’s dye.”
“Magical dye.”
“Aria.”
Aria sighed dramatically. “Fine.”
To distract her, Dorcas dragged out the nail polish.
This worked instantly.
Aria’s entire face lit up.
“Oh.”
Dorcas placed the bottles on the floor between them. “Pick mine.”
Aria stared at the collection with religious focus. There were deep greens, blacks, silvers, dark reds, one shimmering gold, a bright blue, and a few tiny charms to seal designs in place.
“You trust me?” Aria asked.
Dorcas looked down at her. “No.”
Aria grinned. “Correct.”
Dorcas sat opposite her on the rug, holding out one hand. Aria took it with exaggerated gentleness.
“You have nice hands,” Aria said.
Dorcas blinked.
Aria immediately looked annoyed with herself, as if the compliment had escaped without permission. “For nails. I mean. Obviously.”
Dorcas’s smile turned slow. “Obviously.”
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You smiled.”
“I’m allowed.”
“Not like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’ve won.”
Dorcas leaned closer. “Haven’t I?”
Aria dipped the brush into black polish. “You’re getting skulls.”
Dorcas laughed. “That’s revenge?”
“That’s art.”
Aria painted Dorcas’s nails black with surprising care. She was messy at the edges, but precise when it mattered, tongue between her teeth again, one hand holding Dorcas’s fingers steady while the other moved in tiny strokes. Once the black dried, she added little silver stars on two nails, then a tiny crooked skull on Dorcas’s thumb that looked more startled than threatening.
Dorcas inspected it. “Is my thumb haunted?”
“Yes.”
“It looks concerned.”
“It’s seen things.”
“It’s seen you do nail art.”
“Exactly.”
Dorcas studied the full set. The black suited her. The silver stars caught the lamplight. The little skull was, undeniably, terrible.
“I love them,” Dorcas said.
Aria’s face lit up. “You do?”
“Yeah.”
“You have to keep the thumb.”
“I’m keeping the thumb.”
“If anyone insults it, tell me.”
“What’ll you do?”
“Bite them.”
Dorcas hummed. “Naturally.”
Then Dorcas did Aria’s.
Dorcas picked a polish the same deep pink-violet as the dye now sitting in Aria’s hair. Aria demanded glitter. Dorcas pretended to object and added it anyway. She painted Aria’s nails carefully, making them glossy and bright, adding tiny black hearts on two fingers because Aria wanted “romance but evil.”
“They’re not evil,” Dorcas said, painting the second heart.
“They’re emotionally evil.”
“They’re hearts.”
“Exactly. Dangerous.”
Dorcas laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You need new words.”
“I’m drunk.”
“Still.”
Dorcas blew gently over Aria’s nails to dry them.
Aria went very still.
Dorcas glanced up. “What?”
Aria swallowed. “Nothing.”
Dorcas’s smile sharpened. “Again?”
“Your face is close.”
“It is.”
“And you’re doing hands.”
“I’m painting your nails.”
“And being all soft.”
“Would you like me to be mean?”
“No.”
Dorcas’s gaze warmed.
Aria looked away first, scowling at the wall like it had personally embarrassed her.
When her nails were done, she held them up and wiggled her fingers. “These are gorgeous.”
“I know.”
“You’re good at everything.”
“Not everything.”
“Name one thing.”
Dorcas thought about it.
Aria watched expectantly.
Dorcas said, “Letting you have only a reasonable amount of ice cream.”
Aria nodded. “True. You’re terrible at that.”
“You ate most of it.”
“I ate a heroic amount.”
“You ate enough to change the weather.”
“I’m small. I need fuel.”
“You need supervision.”
“I snuck here successfully.”
“You nearly lost a fight with a cable.”
“The cable cheated.”
They washed the dye out in the basin after that, which involved Dorcas kneeling behind Aria again, pouring warm water carefully through the pale ends of her hair while Aria leaned back with her eyes closed and made little pleased sounds every time Dorcas’s fingers rubbed gently against her scalp.
“You’re like a cat,” Dorcas said.
Aria’s eyes stayed closed. “Don’t tell anyone.”
“You’d deny it?”
“I’d hiss.”
“That proves it.”
Aria smiled lazily. The alcohol had softened her edges by then, turned her movements looser, her laughter slower, though her eyes were still bright whenever she opened them.
Dorcas towel-dried her hair, then cast a small warming charm through the towel so the damp ends dried faster. When the colour finally showed properly, Aria scrambled for the mirror.
She stared.
The ends of her blonde hair were now berry-pink, vivid and soft at once, fading slightly unevenly in a way that looked deliberate because Aria somehow made chaos look styled. The colour brushed her jaw, her shoulders, the front of her cropped vest when she leaned forward.
Her mouth opened.
Dorcas sat behind her, suddenly quiet. “Well?”
Aria touched the ends carefully.
Then she looked at Dorcas through the mirror.
“I love it.”
Dorcas’s shoulders relaxed.
“I really love it,” Aria said, turning to face her. “It’s so pretty.”
Dorcas smiled. “Yeah?”
Aria nodded fast, hair bouncing. “You made me look like a poisonous little dessert.”
Dorcas laughed. “That was the goal.”
“A dangerous sweet.”
“Exactly.”
“A strawberry with crimes.”
“You did eat most of the strawberries.”
Aria lunged forward and kissed her.
Dorcas caught her automatically, one hand at her waist, the other careful not to smudge either of their still-drying nails. Aria kissed her in quick little bursts at first, smiling too much to do it properly, then slower, softer, fingers curling carefully at Dorcas’s shoulders.
When she pulled back, she whispered, “Thank you.”
Dorcas brushed a freshly dyed strand behind Aria’s ear. “You’re welcome.”
Aria looked too happy to hide it.
So she grabbed a pillow and smacked Dorcas with it.
Dorcas blinked.
Aria scrambled backwards, laughing already. “Emotionally overwhelmed. Had to.”
Dorcas’s expression went flat. “You had to?”
“Yes.”
“You’re blaming your feelings for the assault?”
“It was self-defence.”
“Against gratitude?”
“Very dangerous feeling.”
Dorcas stood.
Aria’s eyes widened.
“Oh no.”
Dorcas took one step.
Aria grabbed the remaining ice cream tub and held it hostage. “Don’t come closer.”
Dorcas stopped. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
“You’d waste ice cream?”
Aria looked at the tub.
Dorcas saw the flaw in her plan at the exact same moment Aria did.
Aria whispered, “Damn.”
Dorcas lunged.
Aria shrieked, dropped the tub safely on the bed, and bolted across the small room. Dorcas chased her around the rug once, twice, both of them laughing too hard to move quickly. Aria tried to climb over the bed and got tangled in the blanket. Dorcas caught her around the waist and hauled her backwards.
“No!” Aria cried, giggling. “I’m delicate!”
“You hit me.”
“With softness!”
“Repeatedly.”
“For love!”
Dorcas pulled her down into the blankets again. “That is the worst excuse.”
“It’s true.”
Dorcas pinned her lightly, careful of the nails. “Say sorry.”
Aria pressed her lips together.
“Aria.”
“No.”
“Say sorry.”
“No.”
Dorcas leaned close. “I’ll eat the last strawberry.”
Aria gasped. “You hate strawberries.”
“I’ll do it out of spite.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
Dorcas reached towards the plate.
Aria grabbed her wrist. “I’m sorry.”
Dorcas smirked. “That was fast.”
“You threatened innocent fruit.”
“Fruit in coats.”
“Exactly.”
Dorcas kissed her once, then rolled off and stretched beside her. “You’re very easy.”
Aria shoved her shoulder. “Shut up.”
“You are. Strawberries and ice cream. That’s all it takes.”
“And kisses.”
Dorcas turned her head.
Aria stared at the canopy above them as if she had not said anything.
Dorcas smiled. “And kisses?”
Aria shrugged.
Dorcas shifted closer. “How many?”
Aria’s mouth twitched. “Depends.”
“On?”
“How sorry you are for threatening my strawberry.”
“I’m devastated.”
“You don’t sound devastated.”
Dorcas leaned over her. “Absolutely heartbroken.”
“Better.”
Dorcas kissed her cheek.
Aria lifted one finger. “One.”
Dorcas kissed her other cheek.
“Two.”
Dorcas kissed her nose.
Aria giggled. “Three.”
Dorcas kissed her forehead.
“Four.”
Dorcas kissed her jaw.
Aria’s counting got softer. “Five.”
Dorcas kissed the corner of her mouth.
Aria turned her head and caught the next one properly.
They lost count after that.
The second bottle was opened sometime later, though neither of them drank very much from it. Mostly it sat between the snacks while they returned to the films, tucked together under the blankets, Aria half-lying across Dorcas’s lap while Dorcas played with the newly dyed ends of her hair.
Aria did not stop talking through the films.
Dorcas did not stop pretending she minded.
“That man,” Aria said, pointing at the screen, “is lying.”
Dorcas sighed. “He’s ordering coffee.”
“Men who order coffee like that are liars.”
“How can someone order coffee like a liar?”
“Watch him.”
“He’s adding sugar.”
“Deceptively.”
Dorcas looked down at her. “You have invented a whole crime.”
“Sugar fraud.”
“That is not a thing.”
“It is now.”
Five minutes later, Aria gasped. “See! He was lying.”
Dorcas stared at the screen.
The man had, indeed, been lying.
Aria sat up, triumphant. “Sugar fraud.”
Dorcas grabbed a pillow and pressed it over her own face.
Aria leaned over her, grinning. “Say I’m clever.”
Dorcas’s muffled voice came from under the pillow. “You’re loud.”
“Clever.”
“Loud.”
“Clever.”
“Infuriating.”
“Clever and infuriating.”
Dorcas removed the pillow. “Fine. Clever and infuriating.”
Aria beamed. “Thank you.”
Then she stole the last strawberry and ate it in one bite.
Dorcas watched her chew with a soft sort of amusement. “Was that good?”
Aria nodded.
“You’ve got chocolate on your lip.”
Aria immediately licked the wrong side.
Dorcas shook her head, smiling. “Other side.”
Aria licked the wrong side again on purpose.
Dorcas leaned in and kissed the right side clean.
Aria blinked at her, stunned for half a heartbeat.
Then she whispered, “Oh. That was smooth.”
Dorcas looked far too pleased with herself. “I have moments.”
“You should do that again.”
“You don’t have chocolate there anymore.”
“I can get more.”
“There are no strawberries left.”
Aria reached for a chocolate frog.
Dorcas caught her hand. “You are not smearing chocolate on your face for kisses.”
Aria frowned. “Why not?”
“Because I’ll kiss you without bribery.”
Aria paused.
Dorcas waited.
Aria slowly lowered the chocolate frog. “Oh.”
Dorcas’s voice gentled. “Yeah, oh.”
Aria leaned in, quieter this time, and Dorcas met her halfway.
After the comedy came another musical, because Aria insisted she had not finished spiritually aligning with the concept of people bursting into song. This one had even more dancing, which meant they inevitably ended up on their feet again, though Dorcas made Aria put the blanket down first to avoid another near-death experience involving fabric and enthusiasm.
Aria grabbed Dorcas’s hands and pulled her into the centre of the room.
“You’re leading,” Dorcas said.
“I always lead.”
“You do not.”
“I lead emotionally.”
“You cause chaos and expect everyone to follow.”
“That is leadership.”
Dorcas laughed and spun her under one arm. Aria whooped, hair fanning out, pink ends flashing. She stumbled at the end, but Dorcas pulled her back in before she could fall.
“My hero,” Aria said dramatically.
“My hazard.”
“My love.”
Dorcas’s steps faltered.
Aria noticed and grinned.
“Oh,” she said. “That one got you.”
Dorcas recovered too quickly, pulling her close. “You’re drunk.”
“And correct.”
“You’re always correct, are you?”
“Yes.”
“About sugar fraud?”
“Especially.”
Dorcas spun her again. This time Aria came back laughing and crashed fully against her, both of them stumbling into the bedpost. Dorcas caught the post with one hand and Aria with the other.
Aria looked up at her. “We’re amazing at this.”
“We nearly died.”
“Dramatic dancing.”
“Dangerous dancing.”
“Romantic.”
“Concerning.”
Aria stood on Dorcas’s fluffy socks with her own mismatched ones, grinning wickedly.
Dorcas looked down. “Are you standing on me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“So you can’t escape.”
“I wasn’t escaping.”
“Good.”
Dorcas looked back at her face, at the bright mess of her hair, the pink tips, the glitter still caught somewhere near her temple, the tiny vest and ridiculous shorts and stolen hoodie. She looked like she had fallen out of a different world and chosen Dorcas’s room as the place to land.
Dorcas’s expression softened so much Aria noticed.
“What?” Aria asked, suddenly wary.
“Nothing.”
“No, that’s my line.”
Dorcas tucked a strand of Aria’s hair behind her ear again. “You look happy.”
Aria rolled her eyes. “Obviously. There’s ice cream.”
“The ice cream’s nearly gone.”
“Then I’m happy because there was ice cream.”
Dorcas hummed.
“And because of you,” Aria added quickly, like throwing something fragile before she could change her mind. “Mostly. A bit. A normal amount.”
Dorcas’s smile grew.
Aria pointed at her. “Do not make it a thing.”
“It’s already a thing.”
“Dorcas.”
“I love you too.”
Aria groaned and buried her face in Dorcas’s chest. “You’re so embarrassing.”
Dorcas laughed, arms wrapping around her. “Me?”
“Yes. You make everything soft.”
“You brought a romance film.”
“Briar brought a romance film.”
“You brought yourself to my room at midnight.”
“For snacks.”
“And me.”
“And you.”
Dorcas kissed the top of her head. “Mostly me.”
Aria made a vague noise of complaint that sounded suspiciously like agreement.
They danced until the song ended, then danced through the next one because Aria demanded “one more” and Dorcas was apparently incapable of saying no when Aria looked at her like that. By the time they collapsed back onto the bed, they were breathless, warm, and dizzy with laughter, the room slightly messier than before and somehow better for it.
Aria lay on her back across the blankets, one arm flung above her head. “I might be dying.”
Dorcas dropped beside her. “You danced for six minutes.”
“Heroically.”
“You’re not dying.”
“I need medical ice cream.”
“You ate it.”
“All of it?”
“Nearly.”
Aria lifted her head in alarm. “Nearly?”
Dorcas reached over and picked up the last tub. “There’s a little left.”
Aria made grabby hands.
Dorcas held it out of reach. “Say please.”
Aria narrowed her eyes. “You’re abusing power.”
“Say please.”
“I’m weak and vulnerable.”
“You’re dramatic and sticky.”
“Please.”
Dorcas handed it over.
Aria sat up and ate the last of the ice cream with deep seriousness.
Dorcas watched, pretending not to smile.
When Aria finished, she scraped the spoon against the bottom of the tub, sighed, and whispered, “Gone but not forgotten.”
Dorcas took the empty tub from her hand. “Are you holding a funeral for ice cream?”
“It gave its life bravely.”
“It was stolen from the kitchens.”
“A tragic hero.”
Dorcas placed the tub aside. “You’re never meeting sugar unsupervised again.”
Aria leaned into her side. “You’ll supervise me?”
“I clearly have to.”
“Forever?”
Dorcas looked down.
Aria was looking up at her with a half-smile, trying to make it sound like a joke and failing at the edges.
Dorcas’s hand found hers under the blanket. Their painted nails brushed, black and silver against pink glitter, different styles touching in the soft green light.
“Forever,” Dorcas said.
Aria’s smile went small and private.
Then she nodded once, as if this had been decided properly.
The night loosened after that.
The films blurred together: music, dramatic kissing, terrible decisions, someone running through rain, someone else singing on a rooftop, credits rolling in colours neither of them paid much attention to. Aria kept curling closer until she was practically tucked under Dorcas’s arm, head on her chest, one leg thrown over her. Dorcas kept pretending she wanted more space, then pulling the blanket more securely around Aria every time she shifted.
“You’re stealing all my warmth,” Dorcas murmured.
Aria’s voice was sleepy but smug. “You’re tall. You have extra.”
“That’s not how warmth works.”
“You don’t know.”
“I do know.”
“Have you tested it?”
Dorcas glanced down at her. “Tested being tall?”
“Yes.”
“I live it daily.”
“Sounds fake.”
Dorcas rubbed a hand down her face. “You’re impossible even half-asleep.”
“I’m gifted.”
“You’re something.”
Aria tipped her head up. “Pretty?”
Dorcas didn’t hesitate. “Beautiful.”
Aria blinked, caught off guard.
Dorcas kissed the bridge of her nose. “Pretty too.”
Aria tucked her face back down, hiding. “Fine.”
“Fine?”
“I accept.”
“You’re welcome.”
Aria yawned and then immediately looked offended by her own body. “I’m not tired.”
“You’re exhausted.”
“No.”
“You’ve stopped forming proper insults.”
“I’m saving them.”
“For?”
“Morning Dorcas.”
“Morning Dorcas will be delighted.”
“Morning Dorcas will have to explain why my hair is pink.”
“You love it.”
“I do.”
“Then morning Dorcas is safe.”
Aria hummed, fingers tracing idly over Dorcas’s arm. “Your nails look nice.”
“The haunted thumb?”
“Especially the haunted thumb.”
Dorcas lifted her hand, inspecting the tiny concerned skull. “It’s growing on me.”
“It has charm.”
“It has anxiety.”
“Same thing.”
Dorcas laughed quietly. “Sleep, baby.”
Aria lifted her head immediately. “I didn’t come here to sleep.”
“You came here for a sleepover.”
“Sleepover means staying awake.”
“It has sleep in the name.”
“That’s propaganda.”
Dorcas pulled the blanket up to Aria’s shoulder. “Five minutes. Close your eyes.”
“No.”
“Just five.”
“No.”
Dorcas began stroking Aria’s hair.
Aria’s eyes fluttered.
She frowned. “That’s cheating.”
“I know.”
“You’re using tactics.”
“I am.”
“You’re evil.”
“A glamorous pond.”
Aria smiled without opening her eyes. “Pond girlfriend.”
Dorcas kissed her forehead. “Tiny menace.”
Aria’s hand curled in Dorcas’s waistband, loosely holding on. “Don’t let me fall off the bed.”
“You’re in the middle of it.”
“I move.”
“I know.”
“I fight furniture in my sleep.”
“I’ll protect the furniture.”
“And me.”
“And you.”
“Mostly me.”
“Mostly you.”
Aria seemed satisfied with that.
For a few minutes, she was quiet. Properly quiet this time. Not plotting-quiet, not sneaking-quiet, not holding-in-a-laugh quiet. Just soft, warm, drifting quiet.
Dorcas looked down at her and kept stroking her hair, careful fingers sliding through blonde and pink. The berry colour suited her too well. It looked like trouble and sweetness, like a bruise pretending to be a flower, like one of those dangerous little desserts Aria had declared herself to be.
Aria’s eyes opened suddenly. “Dorcas.”
“Hm?”
“Did we watch the romance one?”
“Half of it.”
“What happened?”
“They got together.”
“Obviously.”
“And then you started explaining why the side character had better hair.”
“She did.”
“She did.”
“And then?”
“You threw popcorn at me.”
“I don’t remember that part.”
“That’s convenient.”
Aria smiled sleepily. “Sounds like me.”
“It does.”
“Did I win?”
“No.”
“I think I won.”
“You were pinned in under three seconds.”
“Spiritually, I won.”
Dorcas’s thumb brushed over her temple. “Of course.”
Aria’s eyes closed again.
Dorcas thought she had finally fallen asleep.
Then Aria whispered, “Best sleepover.”
Dorcas’s hand stilled for a moment.
Then she leaned down and kissed Aria’s hair. “Best sleepover.”
Aria smiled against her.
Outside the dorm, the dungeons stayed cold and green and silent. The common room beyond the corridor rested beneath the lake, its windows full of shifting dark water, its stone floors empty, its sofas abandoned to the night. The castle breathed around them in its ancient way, all secrets and staircases and sleeping portraits.
Inside Dorcas’s room, everything was warm mess.
Empty ice cream tubs. Crushed biscuit crumbs. A plate with smears of chocolate and no strawberries left. Cups half-full and forgotten. Film cases stacked crookedly beside the DVD player. Briar’s instructions folded neatly, the warning about the plug still visible. Pillows everywhere. A towel stained faintly pink. Nail polish bottles lined up like tiny soldiers. Dorcas’s braids slightly crooked where Aria had practised. Aria’s hair newly dyed and drying soft against Dorcas’s shoulder.
Two girls in the middle of it all, tucked into the same blanket.
Aria stirred again, because apparently even sleep had to negotiate with her first.
“Dorcas.”
Dorcas smiled into the dark. “Yes?”
“If the DVD player growls again, you fight it.”
“I’ll fight it.”
“And if the plug tries anything—”
“The plug won’t try anything.”
“You don’t know.”
“I’ll protect you from the plug.”
Aria nodded, serious even with her eyes closed. “Good.”
A pause.
Then, quieter, “Love you.”
Dorcas’s smile softened into something that belonged only to the dark.
“Love you too.”
Aria finally slept.
Dorcas stayed awake a little longer, holding her, listening to the tiny sounds she made when she dreamed, watching the green light ripple over the room and the pink ends of her hair.
Eventually the DVD menu timed out, leaving the little screen dark.
The dorm fell quiet.
Dorcas reached carefully for her wand, flicked the lamp lower, and settled back into the pillows without letting go of Aria.
Aria shifted in her sleep, pressing closer.
Dorcas closed her eyes.
Above them, the lake moved silently over the windows.
Below it, in a room full of stolen snacks and sleeping laughter, the night held.
And for once, nothing else tried to interrupt.