The first night, Hazel curls into as small a ball as possible on Moonstone's couch and reflexively squeezes the Professor to the edge of squeaking for hours, until Moonstone silently reappears with a weighted blanket.
"Is this going to help?" she says wearily, shushes Hazel's shamefaced apologies, tucks her firmly under it, and equally silently goes back to bed.
It helps. (Well; something about all that helps.)
Three days in, Moonstone ("I have an actual name and it's not Moonstone, Hazel,") opens the door to her apartment's broom closet, where Hazel is crammed under a low shelf, a loop of dental floss around the Professor's neck, just as Hazel's voice is rising in volume over the words "—INGRATE TROGLODYTE." The makeshift garotte is hardly denting his plastic; it's biting deep into her hands.
"Hazel," Moonstone says wearily.
Hazel stares out at her with wide, scared eyes.
"What's up?" Moonstone says evenly, and Hazel shakes her head emphatically.
"Hazel," Moonstone repeats.
"I'm fine, I don't need anything," Hazel says.
"Uh-huh." Moonstone slides down the wall behind her, until she's sitting on the floor opposite, looking Hazel dead in the eye the whole way. "Robotics, right? Lots of programming in that?" She points. "Rubber ducking. Explaining things out loud so that verbalising them clarifies them to yourself. Yeah?"
Hazel hides the Professor behind her back.
"So what happened? You were deliberately training yourself how to rant? And the duck was your audience, and you accidentally bricked him into your head's new basement?"
Maybe, Hazel reasons, if she sits very still and quiet, Moonstone will stop perceiving her and go away.
"Coping strategies all the way down," Moonstone says softly. "You're arguing with the duck because something's wrong. And you just denied you need anything, unprompted, so—"
Hazel clears her throat. "I don't need anything," she says.
"I'm Pilot Princess Soul Defender Moonstone," says Moonstone. "You think I can't win an argument with a five foot nothing robotics student in a cupboard?"
Hazel opens her mouth, then closes it, and Moonstone scrubs a hand across her eyes.
"Hazel," she says, very softly, and Hazel whimpers at how tired she sounds.
"I've, I've got a lot of sensory sensitivities?" she says in a small voice. "There are, like, five things I eat on a regular basis...."
"Fuck," Moonstone says vehemently, from behind her hand.
Hazel hesitates, then reaches out a shaking hand and tries to quietly close the cupboard door again.
"There's a shopping list on the fridge," Moonstone adds, more quietly. "Put the things you need on it."
"I'm sorry," Hazel whispers around the half-closed door.
"I'm just tired," Moonstone says, and—
"Oh, oh no, you have a weighted blanket for you," Hazel realises, "and I stole it," over Moonstone's groan. "I'll, I'll go online and buy myself one—"
"No," Moonstone says, and it's very swift and it's very serious, and she uncoveres her eyes. "I can't exactly discuss work details, but let's just say I wouldn't try touching any of your funds right now. No," she adds, as Hazel starts to say something, "not even what you're about to say."
Which is not a surprise, but it's not a nice feeling. Although Moonstone is looking after her, and that's new and different and kind of terrifying.
"I'm sorry," she whimpers, and pulls the cupboard door closed.
When she cautiously pushes it open again, later, Moonstone is stretched out on the floor, asleep. Hardly daring to breathe, Hazel sneaks past her; then pauses, very very carefully puts the Professor down next to her, then tiptoes the rest of the way to the kitchen and shakily adds a couple of things to the shopping list before sneaking back and taking the Professor away before Moonstone can wake up and notice him.
"You," Moonstone says later, after she's woken up and gone grocery shopping and watched TV, and crooks a finger at Hazel, who clutches the Professor. "There's one bed and one weighted blanket and I'm tired. We're not going to be silly about this. Put your pajamas on, it's bedtime."
"What no," Hazel says in an extremely high-pitched voice.
"What did I just say? We're not going to be silly about this."
"But—"
"But what?"
"What if I—"
"What if you what, Hazel?"
"I don't know!" Hazel says shrilly. "What if, what if, if I wake up with my face in your breasts—" and then stutters to a stop with her face burning, and Moonstone just gives her a tired, lopsided smile.
"That's it?" she says. "The dangerous imagination of Robo Grandmaster stretches as far as what if you slept with your head pillowed on my chest?"
Hazel makes a stranged noise. That is not exactly what she said, it's somehow worse and she's blushing harder and she thinks she might pass out.
"The fourth-favourite one's unremarkable tits would probably even survive," Moonstone adds.
"You're not my fourth favourite," Hazel croaks, before she can stop herself.
"Yeah, I've taken a shitload of jokes about inadvisable personal interest." The smile doesn't shift; Moonstone doesn't waver.
"I would build death rays to your tits," Hazel says with holy solemnity, and thinks for a moment she might have got through, because Moonstone blinks like she's startled.
"Wow," she says, hooks a finger into her neckline, and peers down the front of her own shirt. "You'll give the girls an ego, talking like that. I'm not going to make you, Hazel, but I am seriously exhausted, we'll both fit in the bed, and this is all totally unnecessary fuss."
"What if I don't?"
"Then I'll leave you the blanket and cope," Moonstone says gently, and Hazel screws her face up and tries not to start crying.
"But then you won't sleep and it's not fair—"
"Do you think," Moonstone says, still gently, "that I can kick you out of bed if you do something wrong?"
Hazel takes several deep breaths, and nods.
"Do you think I would?"
Hazel takes several more, tentatively nods.
"We're both tired, right?"
"Yeah," Hazel says, small and mournful.
"We can try this, and if you feel too awkward you can come back to the couch."
"Okay," she whispers.
Moonstone's groan, as she relaxes into the mattress underneath the blanket's weight, makes Hazel vibrate like a violin string. She will not, cannot, she thinks, possibly fall asleep; but it's so much more comfortable than the couch, and she's so cozy, and Moonstone's breathing is so relaxed....
