Work Text:
1.
When Jancy told her she needed her to take on a case by herself, Rosé got seriously anxious. The only time she had worked on a case without her mentor had been - well, emotional would be an understatement, and even then she still had York and Grandma with her. A case all on her own felt like more than she could handle.
Or so she thought, until Jancy told her who had called. Jancy had tried her best not to sound dismissive, but with mixed results:
“Harper has contacted us because she needs our help with something, and I would appreciate it if you checked to see if the issue is manageable enough that you can solve it on your own. She’s already been warned, and only threw a minor fuss.”
Which was to say: Jancy was not wasting a whole afternoon because Harper lost her dog again. Even the Justice name couldn’t buy that much. So Rosé had written down the address, grabbed her bag, and made her way to the not-so-posh but still posh apartment complex where she was needed. When she knocked on her door, force of habit compelled her to check the lock to see how easy it would be to pick, before she reminded herself that she had switched to the other side of the law.
The door slammed open. “Finally you’re here!”Harper’s hair was thrown into a messy bun, and she was wearing a black lacy blouse that Rosé’s eyes lingered on for just a moment. “I could have died a thousand times in the time it took you to get here. Come in.”
Rosé stepped through the door. Harper’s flat was a one-bedroom, actually on the smaller side, but the decoration felt expensive. Probably gifts from her still well-off friends. Harper sat down in a kitchen chair and Rosé did the same, ignoring the pile of dirty dishes on the table - she was not one to talk.
“Okay,” Harper started, visibly trying to appear as serious as she could. “I’ve called you because a fucking cop keeps threatening me and I think that counts as police brutality.”
Anyone who knew Harper at all would be instantly doubtful of that claim. Harper was prone to exaggerating, for one, and threats would have to be pretty explicit to begin to be considered possible violence. On the other hand though, Rosé had a lot of experience with the cops, and she knew they weren’t above that type of stuff. And their threats were often just moments away from becoming actions.
She decides that it’s best to humor her for now, and she pulls out a notebook out of her bag to begin taking notes - or at least seem like she could be taking them.
“This one cop-” Harper pauses, clearly trying to build suspense. “He’s been asking me questions about my schedule, repeatedly, and I think he’s trying to investigate my whole thieving, criminal activities.”
“Ok…” Rosé nods. “And then?”
Harper looks at her like she’s just asked the dumbest possible question in this situation. “What do you mean ‘and then?’ I just told you, those are the threats.”
Rosé groans. If only York and Grandma were here, they could at least share this pain together. “Harper… I don’t think a cop investigating your very real, very public criminal activities constitutes any type of violence. I think that’s just him doing his job.”
Unexpectedly, Harper smiles out of the corner of her mouth. “First of all: you admit my criminal activities are notorious and worthy of investigation?
It’s supposed to be a ‘gotcha!’, but it actually makes Rosé hesitate. Nothing Harper has ever done has required a criminal investigation - that’s just one of the many ways she’s unlike her brother - so why would a cop ask her about her schedule several times?
“Actually, Harper…” she says, “Would you mind reminding me of your most recent thefts and various criminal deeds? I need to, uh… investigate possible connections.”
Harper’s smile widens, and Rosé can tell she made a mistake. She launches into a monologue, listing various petty thefts and drunk misconducts that definitely aren’t worth any attention from the police other than a slap on the wrist. Five minutes into it and Rosé stops pretending to listen, getting up to make herself a cup of tea and only nodding once in a while to keep her talking.
She makes a second cup of tea and puts it down in front of Harper, then looks around at her flat again. The decor is mostly non descript, with a couple of dead houseplants and an ugly avant-garde coffee table, but she spots a couple of pictures on the fridge that show Harper with a few people her age, all with dyed hair and fancy clothes. She looks a few years younger - college age, Rosé deduces.
“So, how do we stop this guy?” Rosé snaps out of her observations. Harper looks at her expectantly.
“Well…” She definitely needs to stall. “I need to think about it, there are a couple of elements that could, uh, all come into play.”
As she contemplates whether to seriously investigate why a cop would be investigating Harper, or to brush it off and just try to reassure her enough that she drops the case and lets her go home early, she’s interrupted by a low, quiet bark behind her. Harold comes out of the door to what Rosé can only guess is the bedroom, and butts his head against Harper’s leg.
“You need to grab a pupuccino, baby?” Harold whines. “Ok, let’s talk about the case while I walk Harold for a bit.”
If it had been anyone else, Rosé would have protested being told what to do, but she knows what Harper’s like. As she puts a leash on Harold’s collar, Rosé has to admit she’s surprised at how well the two are getting along. She thought for sure Grandma would end up doing all of the work, paid with exposure, but Harold seems to be doing just fine.
They grab a cup at Starhucks - iced latte for Rosé, vanilla bean frap with some fancy add-ons for Harper - and head to the park where they sit on a bench to let Harold run around. Harper somehow hasn’t brought up the case again, probably distracted by the dog, and instead the two of them start talking about pets in general. They end up on Binstagram, showing each other the pet accounts they follow, debating the cutest exotic animal you could safely get in Fancy Town.
They’re scrolling through pictures of various types of snakes when they’re interrupted by a cheerful: “Hello!”
Rosé looks up to see a man standing before them. She has met him before, but somehow she still needs a few minutes to recognize him - probably because he looks so incredibly generic, with his boring brown hair, average build, and beady black eyes.
After this second of reflection, she finally answers, grimacing: “Hi Norm.”
She turns to Harper, trying to see if it took her as long as her to recognize him, but instead is shocked to see the other woman looking… nervous?
“Rosé, Harper, It is always a joy to see you! How are you doing?” Rosé shrugs, unwilling to engage conversation. Mostly, she wants to know what’s going on with Harper.
“Fantastic! Well I won’t bother you ladies too long, I don’t want to impose, that’s not how my parents raised me!” His too-cheerful tone is enough to give Rosé a headache. He turns to Harper. “I just wanted to know if you were free this Saturday? I know you were busy last Wednesday, but I have the evening off and I was planning to cook my signature green beans with rice…” He is smiling way too much for a guy who’s best meal option is probably-unseasoned rice with sad vegetables.
“I was busy Wednesday, yes.” Harper answers dryly. “I was out at a bar with friends, they can all confirm. And I will be busy on Saturday, also going out with friends. Normally.”
“I see.” For the first time since she’s met him, Rosé sees Norm’s smile falter just a second. “Well, have fun with your friends! Don’t get too crazy!” He waves them goodbye, and walks away. Immediately, Harper turns and grabs Rosé’s arm, so tight it hurts.
“See?? He’s harassing me, he wants to find out what I’m planning! I don’t know what to fucking do!”
Rosé feels like screaming. Instead, she mumbles: “Oh my God…” She breathes, in and out. “Harper. He’s not fucking investigating you, and he’s absolutely not threatening you”
“What? You just saw-”
“He was asking you on a date, you-” She stands up. This is why she wasted her afternoon? No wonder Jancy wouldn’t take the case herself. “He asked you about your plans to know if you would like to go have dinner at his place, which, granted, is a bit much for a first date, but-” She breathes in again. God. “Look, problem solved alright? Just catch up to him and accept his date, and live happily ever after, or something.”
“Gross!” Harper cringes. “First of all, bold assumption that it’s not a trick to get a confession-”
“It’s not.” Rosé cuts in.
“-Second of all,” Harper continues, “I wouldn’t go on a date with a fucking man, especially not a cop, and especially not Norm fucking L Man.”
Rosé definitely shouldn’t feel as surprised as she is by this revelation. Of course Harper is queer, the hair should have been a clue. But somehow, the information still shakes her enough that her righteous anger almost immediately disappears.
“Well, whatever,” she says, trying to go back to the matter at hand. “Don’t date him then. But go home, and revel in the safety of knowing you’re not being stalked by a cop.” Without waiting for an answer, she turns around and leaves the park, even forgetting to pet Harold on her way out.
Fuck. She’s never letting Jancy give her a case on her own again.
2.
Somehow, she doesn’t learn her lesson. It’s not a case this time: Harper DMs her on Binstagram to ask if Rosé would help her with a heist she’s planning. Rosé types a full paragraph about the dangers of discussing crimes on a public platform, then erases it all. Instead, against her better judgment, she replies “sure”.
It seems like a terrible decision, especially when she’s managed to go more than a year without getting in trouble with the cops, a welcome rest. Sure, she’s still on top of her game - she practices regularly with Jancy - but she can’t guarantee she won’t get caught, not with Harper with her.
But she can’t deny she fucking misses the business. There’s no satisfaction like pulling off a plan perfectly, or seeing the look on someone’s face when they realize their wallet is gone.
Surely, one minor heist can’t hurt.
An hour later, she’s in front of Harper’s flat, wearing thin gloves that don’t look suspicious but still avoid leaving fingerprints and a jacket with pockets even deeper than usual. Harper shows up wearing a very recognizable bright red top and skinny jeans that don’t look like you could store or hide anything in.
Still looks good, though.
“You’re here, great.” She grabs a mirror from her purse and starts adjusting her lipstick, without even looking at Rosé. “I could have probably handled the whole thing myself, but I figured having two people might be easier. Follow me.”
She takes Rosé by the wrist and gently pulls her along as she starts walking down the street. Rosé tries asking where they’re going, but Harper shushes her, claiming they have to be discreet. Finally, they reach a corner store that’s empty save for a bored looking teenage cashier.
“Ok, here we are.”
Rosé waits for Harper to say anything to clarify the situation. When she doesn’t, she has to ask: “Are we… robbing the corner store?”
“What? No, of course not.” Harper looks weirded out. “No, way too violent. I’m not gonna scare a teen, I just want to screw over the big corporation that’s exploiting him. Fuck over rich people.”
Rosé is pretty sure that store is independently-owned, but she doesn’t object. “What’s the goal then?”
“Well, I’m going to a party with some college friends tonight-” Rosé’s mind flashes back to that picture on her fridge - “and it turns out that alcohol is like, really expensive? So I came up with a daring plan to side step that hurdle.” She grins at her - a full, beautiful grin that is the only reason Rosé doesn’t immediately leave when Harper continues: “I’m gonna distract the cashier, and you’re gonna steal a couple of bottles in the meantime.”
Rosé briefly remembers that she once pickpocketed enough jewelry in one night to pay three months of rent, that she can deactivate most home security systems in only a few minutes, and that she hasn’t met a lock she can’t pick. She didn’t expect an actual big heist from Harper, but she was hoping the whole thing would be slightly more daring than the kind of shoplifting a high schooler with no fake ID would pull.
The realization that her talent is about to be wasted does not make her turn back and go home, though, partly because it’s better than nothing, and partly because Harper would manage to get caught without her.
“I’m in. What kind of alcohol do you want?”
After getting her specific instructions, Rosé walks into the shop and pretends to browse in the dessert aisle, as instructed. She checks the security camera - they often don’t work in stores like this, but if it is she would only have to angle her body to block its view. This one seems out of commission, so she won’t even have to put in that much effort. She resumes her browsing and keeps an eye on Harper as she confidently strides in, heading to the counter.
“Excuse me,” she starts, “I bought a sandwich here last week and yesterday I woke up feeling super sick, which never happens to me and the only difference was the sandwich…”
Rosé pities the poor teen.
She slides one aisle over, inspecting the collection of bottles. Thankfully Harper requested a brand with big pink labels, so it’s easy to spot. She pockets it confidently, checks around her, then grabs two more. The teen hasn’t noticed a thing.
The booze seems good, at least. She would hate to ruin a minimum wage employee’s day over bad booze.
Looking over at Harper, she estimates she has at least two more minutes of complaining in her. She goes back to the dessert aisle and takes three chocolate bars to bring home, then a pack of gummy bears for Eugene, then a box of those sort of healthy organic biscuits for Jancy.
Only then is she satisfied enough with her loot to leave. She shoots an encouraging smile at the teen as she exits the store. It’s the least she can do.
A few minutes later, Harper joins her in an alley a block away from the store, which she decided was a safe place to meet up. Rosé shows her the bottles, and can’t help smiling proudly, as if this is impressive in any way.
“Hell yeah, I knew my plan would work.” Harper grabs two of the bottles. “You did great, didn’t look suspicious at all.”
“Thanks, you were a great distraction. We make a great team.” They don’t, but at least they have fun. “Hey, don’t forget that third bottle.”
“No, this one’s for you. Always split the prize.” Harper inspects the label, thoughtful. “This is great, I would have gotten some serious side eyes if I showed up to a housewarming party empty-handed. I have a reputation to maintain.”
Rosé doesn’t dare ask what that reputation could be. Instead, she says: “The only parties I go to these days are with York’s modeling agency, so they only have fancy expensive drinks and no fun cocktails. I mean, you can still get drunk off of them, but I miss drinks that taste like strawberry and shit.”
Harper shakes her head. “I can’t believe they let Pissboy be a model. Hasn’t he ruined enough shoes already? How do they trust him not to piss on the runway clothes?”
That only happened once, and Harper doesn’t need to know about it. “He’s really good at his job, actually. I mean, you’ve seen his biceps, that sells.”
“Hmm, muscles are overrated.” Harper once again starts adjusting her lipstick. “Do the parties get really crazy?”
“Somewhat? Last time someone stole the cake and the three of us had to investigate. Turns out the sous-chef ate it so the chef would get fired and she would get his job.”
Harper frowns. “Well, I expected something funnier. At my last party we broke into a zoo.”
They talk a bit longer, leaning against the cold alley wall, swapping stories and trying to one up the other for craziest nights - Rosé somehow loses, despite having spent a full night in a ghost train run by a failed capitalist and a cat. When they part ways, Rosé finds herself wishing she had been invited to the same party so they could have talked a little longer.
3.
harper, 5:25PM
can you pick up food for harold on your way back from work
i dont have time to go grocery shopping
rosé, 5:29PM
u know that typically when ppl ask that its bc they live together
you live 15 minutes away from jancys office
in the opposite direction of my place
harper 5:30PM
is that a yes or a no?
rosé 5:32PM
…
its a yes
It isn’t actually unusual for Rosé to go to Harper’s place after work. Despite her protests, 15 minutes isn’t actually that long, and occasionally she’ll come over to listen to Harper complain about one thing or the other, or help her shoplift something small she could definitely just buy. At this point, it’s an established thing between them.
When she gets to her place though, she’s not welcomed by the usual sight of Harold asking for pets and Harper asking for her groceries while having a late afternoon glass of wine; rather, the apartment looks like a warzone, and after opening the door Harper can’t even say hi before she runs back to the kitchen, visibly panicked.
Rosé drops the bag of dog food by the door, takes off her shoes as fast as she can, then rushes to Harper’s side. She’s standing by the stove next to a smoking pan, apparently not daring to touch it.
“What’s going on? Is it burning?” she asks urgently.
“I don’t know?” Harper points to the pan on the stove: it’s full of a yellowish bubbling liquid that is starting to brown at the edges and smells like it’s about to burn. Acting with the instinct of someone who has had to deal with various fires before, Rosé immediately turns off the stove, grabs the pan, and throws its contents into the sink. She runs some water over the pan to cool it, which causes a somewhat unusual high pitched noise.
She turns to Harper. “What the fuck was that?”
“Butter?” She sounds unconvinced. “I was trying to make cookies.”
She sits back on a kitchen chair and rubs her face in her hands. Rosé sits next to her, and awkwardly pats her on the back. She’s not sure how to approach the situation, because Harper is usually blissfully unaware of her own failures, and therefore doesn’t get frustrated or upset when they occur.
“I thought you were supposed to melt the butter first.” There’s something missing from her usual nasal tone.
Rosé shrugs - she wouldn’t know. “I’m sure those things happen a lot.”
“I guess.” Harper pouts sadly, and it’s more than Rosé can bear.
“Ok, let’s look up a recipe. Maybe we can give it another try.” She tries to muster a tone of confidence, even though she cannot imagine why it would go any better on a second attempt.
Harper looks skeptical as well, but she does get up and nod. “Thanks. Look up one for peanut butter cookies,” and the commanding tone is familiar enough to be reassuring.
Rosé was supposed to go home and clean the flat, but she’s glad she has an excuse to hang out with Harold and Harper instead, and earn some cookies as part of the deal. She’s sure Grandma and York will be forgiving if she tells them she was helping a friend in need - although they might be less forgiving when they learn who the friend is.
Their second attempt at baking does not go well. Turns out Rosé’s enthusiasm isn’t enough to make her a baker, which shouldn’t come as a surprise to her since she has never baked in her life - really, having access to a stove at all is still a relatively new development in her life. She also hasn’t done enough math in her life to measure shit correctly. And although she’s better at not starting fires - a low bar to clear - she still doesn’t know how to check how under or overcooked something is. Despite being in her own kitchen, Harper manages to not know where a single ingredient is, or even if she has them at all.
It does go better than the first attempt though, in that it does not cause any smoke and ends up producing a total of five cookies - all burned except for one lonesome survivor that’s merely overcooked. Rosé makes some tea to hopefully soften them, then the two women settle on her couch together. They get two burned cookies each, and split the overcooked one, accidentally spreading crumbs all over Harper’s fancy white couch.
“My mom probably knows how to clean that,” she dismisses the concern with a wave of the hand. “While she’s here, I’ll probably also ask her for a full batch of cookies, hers are better.”
“Ask her for her recipe too, I’m not giving up on learning. The power to get good cookies without having to spend a fortune at a fancy coffee shop is too good to abandon.”
Harper shakes her head. “It’s never gonna be as good as those expensive ones.” She pauses, eyes lost for a second, and when she speaks something feels different. “My mom and I have been baking together recently. She has some old cookbooks from her own mom. I was hoping I could remember enough to make stuff on my own.”
Rosé pushes away the hint of envy the mention of mother-daughter bonding time incites in her. Instead, she smiles: “Aww, I’m happy you two are getting along so well. We could have called her, she might have given us tips.”
“Can’t.” Harper shifts uncomfortably, then sits up. “She’s busy today.”
“Oh.” Rosé feels like she shouldn’t press. She definitely shouldn’t press. But she loves to hear about Lotta, and she’s terrible at keeping her mouth shut. “Busy with what?”
Harper glares at her, but softens after a second. “She’s visiting my stupid brother in jail. She went a couple of times already, and she keeps asking me to go with her, and I keep telling her absolutely not.”
Well, shit. Guess she really shouldn’t have pressed. “I didn’t even realize he could get visitation.”
“He can, apparently. My mom told me the only people he sees are her and a few people he knew from the East.” She pauses. “Or West. Wherever he was, it’s not like I ever cared. Anyway, I don’t know why she visits him. He’s just an entitled rich prick.”
She won’t point out the hypocrisy - instead, she racks her brain for something appropriate to say. What would Jancy do? She would have something wise and reassuring ready for sure.
Well, here’s trying. “Sometimes… you can’t stop loving the people who did fucked up shit-” well, Jancy wouldn’t say fucked up shit “- because you’ve spent your whole life thinking they weren’t the kind of people who would do that kind of, uh. bad stuff.”
Not her best, but somehow not her worst.
Harper nods. “Then maybe she needs to open her fucking eyes.” Harper gets up and heads to the kitchen. The coldness radiating from her is enough to let Rosé finally drop the subject, at least.
That night, when she’s back at home, she tells York and Grandma about the conversation, hoping they’ll tell her she didn’t totally fuck up everything. They both attempt to reassure her, but it’s not enough for her to stop worrying. The idea of having fucked up everything between her and Harper feels like being stabbed with an icicle right through the heart.
4.
It turns out she doesn’t need to think about it, because the next times they see each other Harper acts aggressively normal, like nothing happened at all. She doesn’t mention her mom at all, or the rest of her family. In fact, she stays away from any emotional topic in general.
They have mostly kept to the same few places: Harper’s place, the park, Starhucks, and occasionally the cinema right by Jancy’s office that has good chick flicks. On one occasion, they tried switching to a supposedly cooler independent coffee shop, but both of them ended up missing the weird syrups and fancy alternative milks.
Today, though, Harper texts her to ask if she can come over to Rosé’s own flat for once, after she’s done with work. She frowns as she reads the message. Harper must know she lives with York and Grandma, right? Supposedly she wouldn’t want to run into the guy who ruined her shoes, something she reminds her of regularly. And doesn’t she prefer when it’s just the two of them? Rosé certainly does.
She doesn’t feel brave enough to ask that question though, so she comes up with an alternative plan. She switches conversations, and messages Grandma:
Rosé, 3:11PM
can u and york leave the flat from like 6 to 8 txssss
granmasranaanna’, 3:11PM
Oooh, got a hot date?
Rosé, 3:13PM
if i say yes will you leave
granmasranaanna’, 3:13PM
I’m just taking an interest in my friend’s life
But sure, I’ll take York to that construction site where he has fun lifting rocks
Rosé, 3:13PM
thanks, love u, own u one
Rosé gets home just in time to hide part of the mess - or at least, shove Grandma’s weed stash in a closet and their old takeaway containers in the trash can. She considers doing the dishes, but realizes they’re out of dish soap, so she just fills the sink with water to make it look like they’re soaking. Right before Harper knocks, she miraculously remembers to take down the framed article about their first case together, which unfortunately has a picture of Emery’s mugshot.
She opens the door, and Harper walks in confidently.
“Hey, great to see you, do you have some water? It’s such a long trip to your place, I’m all winded.”
Rosé grabs their last clean glass and fills it as Harper looks around the room, no doubt judging how cheap it looks next to hers. Somehow, even on York’s model salary, they still ended up somewhere with water damage, cracked walls, and windows that don’t open all the way. They tried to make it homey, or at least put up trinkets and cushions, but there’s only so much you can do on a small budget, and when you all have vastly different tastes.
Harper drinks the whole glass in one go, clearly relieved. “Thank god. Hey, did you notice you have cracks in your wall? You should probably fix that.”
Why Rosé even likes Harper at all remains a mystery to her.
They sit on the couch together and catch up as they always do. Rosé describes the new case Jancy is working on, and Harper helpfully guesses at who could be the culprit - she’s betting butler, because “it’s so cliché it becomes a good twist again.” As they talk, they naturally shift into the position that has become usual for them when they hang out: one on each side of the couch, turned towards each other, legs tangled together.
After they spend a good half an hour chatting, Rosé finally remembers what she had been wondering before, and asks: “By the way, any reason you wanted to meet up here and not at your place? You could have saved yourself that incredibly painful walk.”
Harper’s eyes widen, and she stands up suddenly. Rosé does the same, reflexively. “Oh, fuck! I forgot! I actually wanted to borrow some clothes from you to go to a concert tonight.”
She frowns. Harper has a very different style from her, not to mention a bigger closet. “I mean, sure, but why? You have a bunch of outfits that are better than mine.” She thinks for a second. “That strapless top, the black one, would be really great, and maybe your ripped acid jeans…”
“Yeah, yeah, they look great on me,” Harper brushes off. “But I need something new.” She hesitates. “My friends have been teasing me for repeating outfits, but I can’t actually afford any new fancy clothes right now. I’ve tried stealing some but, well, this security guy was really on to me…”
Rosé nods. The security at expensive clothes stores is always hard to bypass, she tried many times. “Well, you’re welcome to my closet. But next time we hang out, I’m teaching you how to use Bepop to sell your old fancy clothes so you can buy more.”
“I’m not selling anything, everything I have looks too good on me to part with.” Rosé has to admit she’s right.
She sets Harper loose in her half of the wardrobe - the other half is Grandma’s, and York’s clothes are all in a separate dresser because he has too many to share the space. She casts aside Rosé’s hoodies and sweatpants, and starts digging through her tops. She pulls out her signature turtleneck, and holds it again herself, judging its size.
“That’s probably not going to look as tight on you as it does on me,” Rosé warns her.
“Yeah, but you’re just the right size for your clothes to look fashionably oversized on me,” she replies.
Rosé makes a noise of vague offense - she’s been gaining a bit of weight, sure, but that’s because she’s not used to having easy access to good food.
“What,” Harper answers, “I said you’re the right size? It’s a compliment. Besides, aren’t we all about body positivity now?”
It’s a vague approximation of an apology, and she’ll take it. Jancy told her once that she lets Harper bully around her too much, but mostly it’s just that Rosé can recognize when Harper means to be hurtful, and she almost never does. She supposes there are healthier bases for friendships than that, but fuck it, she likes it that way. It makes her feel special to be one of the only people who can see through Harper.
Harper puts on the turtleneck on top of the tanktop she’s already wearing, and she was right, it does look fashionably oversized. She looks at herself in Rosé’s wall mirror, lifting one eyebrow, before shaking her head and taking it off. She turns around to look through the tops again, and pulls out a crop top.
When Harper begins to take off her tank top, Rosé makes a point of looking away, staring right at the Gabbago plushie on her bed.
“We’re not 13 years old in a locker room, you know. I don’t care if you see me in my underwear,” Harper says.
Rosé feels herself blushing a little bit, but she does look back to Harper. She still stops herself from looking away from her face.
Harper tries a good number of outfits and Rosé is content to just observe and occasionally provide feedback. Eventually Harper tries on a gray tee shirt that is mini-dress length on her with a thick black belt, a trendy mix of casual and sexy that draws attention to her thin waist. This time Rosé doesn’t even try to stop her staring.
“That one with fishnets?” Harper asks.
Rosé nods. Harper reaches for a few accessories in her bag - apparently, she came prepared - and messes with her hair for a second to make it look fashionably tousled. She turns around to pose, hands on hips, and Rosé gets to admire her fully for a moment.
“You look really great.” She hopes she isn’t blushing again.
“I know,” she answers. She looks around the room that is covered in discarded clothes, hesitates, and turns around somewhat reluctantly. “I’ll help you put those other options back in your wardrobe.”
They spend a few moments collecting every item thrown on her floor or bed, then fold them in peaceful silence, only interrupted by Harper occasionally complaining that it’s impossible to fold them cleanly.
“By the way,” says Harper. “I wanted to invite you to the concert, but a friend gifted me my ticket, and by the time she told me about it, the show was sold out so we couldn’t have gotten you one.
She feels just a tinge of jealousy at the idea that Harper has a girl who’s willing and able to get her a bunch of concert tickets. “Oh yeah, that’s fine,” she replies, “I, uh, have plans anyway tonight. Grandma has a…” She rakes her brain. “Dog walking competition.”
“See!” Harper smiles triumphantly. “I told you guys those were a real thing, and you made fun of me. Wish Grandma luck for me, but also remind her I was right.”
By the time they’re done cleaning up, it’s time for Harper to leave for the concert. The two of them get up so Rosé can walk Harper to the door, like a gentleman. Before leaving, Harper turns around to thank Rosé and, like it’s a normal thing, gets up on her tiptoes and kisses her on the cheek.
Rosé doesn’t know how to respond, but thankfully Harper just turns around and leaves. She raises a hand to her cheek, her fingers grazing where Harper’s lips touched her face. Fuck. Does she do that to all of her friends, or was that a signal? And is Rosé’s very, very minor crush on Harper turning into more than she can handle?
5.
Harper hasn’t texted her in a few days, which worries Rosé more than it should. She still posts on her Binstagram stories - mostly pictures of expensive-looking cocktails - so she knows she’s alive and well. If she’s not texting her, it’s probably just that she doesn’t need her help anymore, which should be a relief but obviously fucking isn’t, because Rosé is starting to daydream about being asked to carry Harper’s groceries.
That day at work, Jancy gently calls her out for making even more mistakes on her paperwork than usual, but Rosé can’t make herself focus on anything. She gets home an hour later than normal, having had to fix all of her “oopsies” - a word that Jancy still politely pretends not to hate.
Once she gets to the apartment, she falls on the couch next to Grandma, and declines the joint they hand her. They grab leftover Thai and put on the newest episode of the dumb reality tv show they’ve been watching, where twelve contestants are left alone in the woods in the East and must find their soulmate while surviving the wilderness. They only watch it when York isn’t with them, because he tends to forget how TVs work and shout advice at the contestants. The neighbors have complained.
Suddenly, as one woman is trying to run from a massive three-headed deer while writing a love poem, she gets a call on her phone. Who the fuck calls anymore? She looks at the screen, expecting to decline a spam call from someone trying to sell her insurance for a car she doesn’t have.
“harper is calling”
She has never answered a call faster in her life.
“Harper? Harper what’s going on, it’s past midnight?” She doesn’t even try to hide her worry.
“Rosé?” The slurring of her voice betrays how drunk she is. “Rosé, I need you, I have a…” She stops, and for a second Rosé thinks she can hear tears in her heavy breathing. “My mom, I’m scared for her, I need you to come here…”
“Your mom?” It’s hard to imagine anyone being scared for Lotta Justice, who always seemed to Rosé to be able to get out of any threats. “Ok, tell me where you are, I’ll be right there.”
“I’m at… at Crescent Hill.” Again, she swears she could hear quiet sobs. “Listen, listen… please be quick.” And she hangs up.
She doesn’t even tell Grandma where she’s going or put on her jacket before running out the door. She starts by sprinting, then reaches a bigger street and hails a cab. She’ll figure out how to afford it later.
It’s only about ten minutes until she reaches Crescent Hill - she keeps asking the driver to go faster - but it feels like an hour. She spends the whole ride checking her phone obsessively, messaging Harper to ask for updates, ignoring Grandma’s worried texts.
She jumps out of the cab before it even fully stops, and runs to the door when she can see a small, crumpled silhouette with horns and messed up purple hair. She falls to her knees and, without any second thoughts, takes Harper in her arms to hug her tightly.
Harper slowly wraps her own arms around Rosé’s back, and starts crying loudly.
“Rosé, it’s my mom, she…” She struggles to get the words out, the alcohol and sobs both affecting her ability to think and speak.
“Shhh, tell me everything, it will be okay.” It’s a promise Rosé might not be able to keep, but she desperately wants Harper to stop crying. She prays she was right to assume Lotta can escape any problem.
Harper clutches Rosé’s jacket. Her crying calms down just enough for her to talk. “I’m… I’m trying to go home but my mom isn’t answering… The lights are all off, she should be home…” Harper points her hand at Crescent Hill’s large wooden door. “I don’t know where she is…”
Oh. Oh. Rosé’s heart shatters right there. She tries to tighten her hug around Harper, but the other woman gets up, walking towards a window, trying to peek through the blinds. Rosé has to get up to grab her, she seems like she could fall over any minute.
“Harper…” It’s her time to struggle with speech. “Lotta moved, remember? She has a flat now, she doesn’t live in Crescent Hill anymore.”
Harper raises her head to look at the door again. Her eyes widen, and she tilts her head to the side. It would be adorable if it wasn’t so tragic. Then, all at once, she starts sobbing again.
“Hey, hey, breathe…” Rosé hates herself for not knowing what to do. “Do you have your phone? We can call her…”
“I did… I called the landline already.” If Rosé didn’t know any better, she would swear Harper was getting heavier as she talked. “She didn’t… she didn’t pick up.”
“The landline doesn’t exist anymore, I think. Does she have a cellphone?”
Harper doesn’t answer, instead just reaching into her bag and slowly rummaging to find her own phone, which she hands to Rosé. Thankfully, she already told her the code a while ago, when she needed Rosé to read her her texts while she was giving Harold a bath.
Rosé goes into her contacts until she finds Lotta’s number, and calls. It rings a few time, before finally:
“Hi baby, you’re calling pretty late.” Lotta’s voice sounds much less sad than the last time Rosé saw her, but it’s still somewhat heavy, marked by time and trials.
“Lotta, uh, Mrs. Justice…” Shit, what did she call her usually? “It’s Rosé, I’m with Harper…”
A sharp breath. “Harper?” She’s terrified. “Is she… is she ok?”
“She’s… very drunk.” Better start with that. “She tried to go see you but went to Crescent Hill instead of your new place, and she got scared when you weren’t here.”
“Oh, baby…” She sighs, and Rosé has never heard a heavier sigh. “Can you give her the phone?”
Rosé nods and does so. Harper clings to the phone like it’s a raft as she’s about to drown.
She decides to take a few steps back, giving the two of them some privacy. It seems like she only ever talks to Lotta to give her bad news about her children. She must hate the sound of her voice by now, it rhymes with tragedy.
After a minute, Harper calls out for her.
“Rosé?” She’s hesitant, but not as sad. “My mom… my mom is asking if you can take me to her flat. She says she can pay the cab.”
“Of course, honey.” That last word slipped out, but she has more serious worries right now - and Harper will probably have forgotten about it by tomorrow. “Here, grab my arm.”
She helps her up, then hails the cab which is miraculously still there - probably waiting to be paid, Rosé realizes.
The two girls get in the back, and Rosé can’t resist holding Harper against her as they drive away from the mansion. She has moved on from distressed to somewhat dazed, not paying attention to the world around her. But when Rosé gently caresses her hair, Harper leans in.
About halfway through the ride - which is a lot slower and quieter than her last one - Harper whispers: “You’re sure she’s alright?”
“I am.” This time, she doesn’t doubt her answer.
“Good.” A pause. “I couldn’t stand if… Not again.”
Then she closes her eyes and rests her head on Rosé’s shoulder.
When they reach their destination, Lotta is already standing outside, wearing an old thick dressing gown. She hurriedly hands a few bills to the driver, before opening the door and grabbing Harper in her arms.
Rosé is ready to leave the two of them together and walk home, but Lotta calls to her. “Come in love, you must have been scared as well.”
The two of them help Harper lie down in her mother’s bed, removing her jewelry and shoes before tucking her in. Lotta thoughtfully puts a water bottle and a bag by the bed in case she throws up.
Lotta invites her in the kitchen; Rosé sits down as the older woman makes her a cup of tea. It’s warm and comforting; just like she always imagined things made by your mother must feel.
“You were such a precious help tonight Rosé.” Lotta sits down next to her. “I hate to imagine what would have happened if you hadn’t been there.”
She shrugs awkwardly. Better not to imagine. “She’s lucky to have you.”
“Is she? I haven’t been a great mother to her - to them both.” She sighs again. “God knows I tried, but…”
She wishes she could offer some comfort but, just like when Harper mentioned her brother, she has no idea what to say.
“Anyway,” Lotta moves on. “She talks a lot about you. I’m told you’re a great support for her. She has not been arrested so often since you two started stealing together.”
“Oh, uh…”
“It’s alright, I’m not one to judge. Really, I admire your skills, you could have made a career of it.”
“I did, for a while,” Rosé admits. She doesn’t get into it, and Lotta takes the hint not to linger on the subject. “Harper really isn’t so bad herself, it’s just that she’s so hard to miss. And I mean that in a good way.”
Is this too much to admit to the mother of the friend you have a crush on, who is also the mother of a man you arrested, and the widow of a man whose murder you solved? Maybe, but Rosé has always talked too much for her own good.
Lotta nods. “She’s not afraid to take up space. I’m glad she isn’t, even if she might occasionally fall to the other extreme.” She frowns. “Can I ask you how you knew she was there?”
“Oh, she called me. She also tried to reach you, but she used the number for your old landline, so…”
Lotta shakes her head. “And was she alone?” When Rosé nods, she adds: “God, did the friends she was drinking with not do anything? Did they just leave her alone, as drunk as she was?”
Rosé didn’t think about that. Harper went out so often, but she never told her much about the friends she saw there. She’s not sure she even knows their names. Are there the same people in the picture on Harper’s fridge? Do they know how much she’s struggling?
A few days ago she felt jealous that another girl was giving Harper concert tickets. Now, as she finishes her tea, she feels herself getting angry at the idea that this girl and her other friends weren’t there with Harper tonight, when she desperately needed it.
Lotta offers to pay for a second cab to take her back home but Rosé declines - she doesn’t want to burden her too much, and besides a walk should help her clear her mind. God knows she needs it right now.
+1:
Rosé is walking to Harper’s flat and she’s not sure why. Harper didn’t ask her to, and they already had plans to hang out the next day. But she’s been feeling overwhelmed today, weighed down by too much paperwork and filled with too many memories of the past, and her feet naturally took her there.
She knocks on the door, quietly. Harper opens the door - she’s wearing a cute summer dress they got together at a thrift store and she’s eating a cookie that looks a lot more edible than their previous attempt.
“Oh, hi.” She frowns. “What are you doing here? I don’t think I called you for help today.”
“You didn’t.”
When Rosé fails to elaborate, Harper just opens the door wider and invites her in. As usual, they get on the couch. She gets a cookie and a mug of hot chocolate, and softly requests they put on a movie. Harper selects a comedy they’ve seen before, and Rosé grabs a blanket to wrap around them.
As the first jokes roll in, Harper asks: “Are you ok?”
She shrugs. “I will be.”
Harper nods, then opens her arms towards her: “Alright, come in. I owe you that after all your help.” The two of them hug, Rosé leaning on her just like Harper leaned on her in the cab on that horrible night.
“I like helping you, you know,” she confesses. “I never think about my issues when I’m helping you.”
“Great, you should do my dishes then,” Harper jokes, and Rosé laughs half-heartedly.
As the movie goes on and she slowly starts to feel better, she remembers her conversation with York and Grandma a few days ago. She had told her she had spent her afternoon helping Harper film BikToks for her burgeoning influencer career, and she had maybe let it slip that she thought Harper was pretty.
“Why are you saying that like it’s a secret?” Grandma had asked. “The two of you are basically girlfriends already.”
“Girlfriends?” had said York. “More like Rosé’s her servant.”
“Well, I have a feeling that’s just what being Harper’s girlfriend is like. But if you’re into that, I mean…”
Fuck Grandma for being such a smartass, and fuck her for knowing what Rosé was into.
But, somehow, with her defense lowered by Harper’s arms around her, she can’t help but say: “Grandma thinks we’re dating.”
She’s ready to add a joke to defuse the tension, but instead Harper replies: “I mean, we could be.”
“I’m… What?” What? Did those words really come out of Harper’s mouth? Is there another meaning that she’s not getting? Is “we could be” code for “I hate you and I want you out of my life”?
“Well,” Harper says. “Like, if we wanted to, we could date. Do you want us to date?”
Her brain short circuits. “Do… Do I?” She simultaneously wants to scream and also never say another word ever again.
Harper rolls her eyes and sits up. “Let me make this easier for you. You’re into me, aren’t you?”
It would sound completely self absorbed to anyone but Rosé, who can only nod, having lost any capacity to lie.
“Good. And I’m into you.” Before she can even process that, she puts a hand on Rose’s shoulder. “Let me make that easier for you.”
She leans in and - holy shit - kisses her.
For a second Rosé is too stunned to react, but then she melts into the kiss, feeling the slight taste of chocolate on Harper’s lips from the cookies, letting her hands slide to the other girl’s hips. It lasts just long enough for her to feel like she can’t survive without another hundred kisses exactly like this one.
When they part, Harper grins and ruffles Rosé’s hair. She needs a minute to regain the ability to talk.
“Holy shit, Harper,” she whispers. “You’re really good at that.”
“I’m good at everything.” Her grin widens. “So, did that help you to make up your mind about that dating thing?”
Sometimes, Harper’s overconfidence does come in handy. “Yes,” and she can’t help but repeat: “Yes, I want to. So badly.”
“Good.” Harper kisses her again, just a peck this time. “Now will you do my dishes?”
She might have been joking, but Rosé will gladly take a lifetime of doing Harper’s dishes if that means being with her.