Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Orm's POV

"Is there, you know..." he stops to think, scratching his neck, "any progress?"

"Our team won, thanks for asking, dear!", the irony leaves my mouth faster than I care to admit. I throw my sports bag away as I let myself drown in the sofa.

"I'm sorry. It's just..."

"I know, I know" I cut him off, "you need your space. So do I. Don't think I love seeing my ex's face every day"

"Thank you?" he frowns, sitting beside me and handing me a glass of water.

"You know it's hard finding decent apartments around. Give me a week or two" I take a big sip, "I've been checking every page and housing list you could think of"

Silence settles between us for a moment, wrapping our heads around the fact that we probably won't voluntarily see each other again. Weird, if you ask me.

Somyot and I have been together since before we were even born. My mom and his are childhood friends and everyone around always rooted for us, which eventually led to falling in love or, at least, that's what everyone told us it was.

I still don't know what it was. Maybe habit, convention. We got used to each other and never cared to change that. Until now that he's actually in love with someone.

Am I jealous? Yes, I'm jealous, not because I'm not the reason of his bright smiles and blushed cheeks, but because I've never seen him happier and I want that for me too. He's feeling actual love, and I've never had that. Not at that extent.

Something was off for the last year, not going to lie. We saw it coming. We barely had intimacy of any kind, we were just two people sharing space with someone we know from head to toe and inside out.

The night he confessed he was interested in someone else, a girl from his school, it shook me not in an "I'm losing my boyfriend" way, but in an "I'll have to rearrange my whole life" way. It happening in the last quarter of the school year stresses me out.

I'm also eager to know new things by myself. You don't get to choose where you live a lot of times through your life, that's why I'm taking my time finding a new place.

Bad is the least I feel. If he hadn't, I would've left him sooner or later. But lately, his insistence makes me feel smaller, like I'm intruding, like I don't belong in a home I helped building. With time, he became bigger and I just... I belong in a corner. Sometimes not even that.

Of course I asked why I'm the one who has to leave. He made the decision on his own, I had no choice but to agree.

"Have you had dinner?" I ask, heading towards the bathroom.

"No, I'm waiting for Mali" he utters from across the hallway.

And that's how I know it's better for me to make macaroni with tomatoes and just lock myself in my room, or go get something outside until it's late enough to not walk in to them in the living room. It's awkward because she doesn't like me, not because I give a damn.

As I undress, my phone screen lights up and I notice a text from Lookmhee.

LM: ssssssssup
LM: lets go grab some food

My savior.

Once I'm done washing up, casual clothes wrap around my body: perfect for a cool early spring evening.

I hear Mali coming in just as I'm about to dry my hair. The sound of the hairdryer mixes with Sabrina Carpenter's voice coming from my phone, volume up so I don't have to hear complaints.

Leaving the room, I have a glimpse of them sharing laughter in the kitchen.

"I'm leaving!" I advise, but they don't seem to care.

Trying to be polite doesn't work. I'm invisible long ago.

---------- ---------- ----------

"Okay, we're updated. Now, tell me what's actually happening, what is it that made you sigh heavily all along the past hour" Lookmhee, crossing her arms, leans back in her chair after wiping the corners of her mouth and throwing her napkin on the table, "you just won an important match and yet you're off".

"You already know... Somyot" I dismiss the matter.

"That idiot", she utters, rolling her eyes, "what did he do now?"

"Nothing... he's just insistent and I don't really know where to go", I lean on my elbows.

"You already know you can come live with me while you find a place", Lookmhee grabs my forearm.

"I don't want to leave my stuff and come back for it later. Once I leave, it'll be for good"

She sighs, staring at me with concern.

"You're strong for dealing with that, huh", she squeezes my arm, slightly smiling.

"I really, and I mean it, really don't care that he's dating. But the whole situation of him being the one that 'broke' the deal and me being who has to leave doesn't make sense. It's unfair and I feel like a stranger in my own house. You're lucky you don't have to deal with a man", I try to laugh it off. She laughs back.

"Well... You also know I wait for you on this side", I roll my eyes. She's told me to date girls an insane amount of times. I, from my nonexistent experience, don't think it'd make a difference. "I'll ask Sonya if she has any references or if she knows about something of interest".

I nod her thanks and drink my coke while she grabs her phone and sends a voice note to her girlfriend.

"Now, be honest", she looks at me with mischievous eyes, "I can't believe you're not interested in anyone. Maybe a classmate?"

"Believe it, because it's true. Even Friday night at that party", I sigh, "no decent man in sight".

"I don't doubt that", she clarifies and we laugh together, "but that's never been an impediment to any straight girl ever. Someone cute that can treat you as a person?"

I get lost in thought and end up frustrated. Not a single face shows up.

"I mean... there's cute boys I know but I wouldn't hit. Not now, at least", I shrug, "I think I need some alone time. I need to get to know me. Know what I truly like and-", the ringing of her phone cuts me off. I have a glimpse of the screen. Sonya.

Lookmhee puts the call on speakerphone so we can both participate.

"Remember Teerapat, my cousin that came to say hi at the party?" my friend and I nod, "he moved out on his own a couple of weeks ago. The area he lived in was quiet and safe, and I understand it's about the same distance from your school as your current apartment, just on the other side of town. Let me send the address", Sonya sounds enthusiastic and committed to the cause, "Does that place seem okay to you?"

Lookmhee clicks on the location sent by her girlfriend. I quickly notice it's an upper-middle-class neighborhood.

"I'm not familiar. Do you have any idea if it's expensive?" I ask eagerly. "It looks like a nice neighborhood".

"As far as I know, it's affordable, even more so if you're splitting in half with someone. He had a roommate. Maybe she hasn't found a replacement yet".

Lookmhee and I look at each other knowingly, raised corners and sparkly eyes.

"Do you, by any chance, have permission to give me his number? I'd like to contact him and ask about his past apartment"

"Of course. I'll send it to you shortly. I suppose he's asleep by now, but you should be able to contact him early in the morning"

I thank Sonya when I get her cousin's number and she stays on call with Lookmhee for a minute as I look the building up on my phone. Nice location, apartments big enough for two people to coexist, two bedrooms, one bathroom, one living room, kitchen, balcony and access to a terrace with a pool. Perfect.

My friend hangs the call up and looks at me with a corny smile.

"What?", I ask, oblivious.

"To my knowledge, Teerapat is single"

"Good for him? So am I a while ago", the disgust in my face makes her giggle. I put my phone inside my pocket.

"Come ooooooon", she insists, "he's handsome"

"I mean, if the lesbianest lesbian is drooling over him... but no, thanks. I want to be alone for some time. I've literally never been single"

"Don't tell me you didn't find him attractive. You don't have to make him your boyfriend. Just vibe, you know, get to know each other in every aspect", Lookmhee raises her eyebrows twice.

"You're being weird. Leave me alone. Drink your soda", I blush and try to hide my face behind my glass.

"Orm, let me ask you something. How long has it been since you got laid?", she waits for an answer that doesn't come, then laughs loudly covering her mouth, "Oh my God... Do you even remember?"

"I do. It wasn't good so I'd rather not", I sigh for the hundredth time tonight.

"My poor friend..." she jokingly reaches for my cheek and I try to escape her, "Thoughts and prayers. We'll find you someone. It's not fair that nobody's enjoying all of that"

"Leave. Me. Alone", I slightly hit her forearm before she can keep caressing my skin, and hide my face in my hands.

---------- ---------- ----------

Author's POV

Ling's phone wakes her up from a harmonious, peaceful, meaningless dream, one that she somehow didn't mind having. It was fine, better than nothing. Better than the usual nightmares that haunt her lately.

"God... What time is it?", she asks herself.

She checks the time on the screen. 9AM. Not early, not late. But right now, she'd like to keep dreaming about deer among wildflowers.

Unknown number. On a Monday.

Unknown Number: hello, this is orm
Unknown Number: i've been told that you're looking for a roommie. and i'm looking for a place haha

She frowns. "Where did they get that from?"

She stretches her arms and legs, breathing in and out twice before grabbing her phone again.

Ling: hello, good morning. i'm lingling kwong
Ling: may i know where you got my contact from? i don't remember it being out there on any page. i expected the real-estate to take care of it

Orm: your ex roommate gave it to me. i hope you don't mind

Ling: oh, you know him? then it's fine

Orm: kind of, yeah
Orm: so? what do you think? would you like to grab coffee? or something fresh given the current weather

Ling: i have another question

Ling: do you mind telling me how old you are? i can't quite figure it out from your display picture

Orm: just turned 23
Orm: do i look older? Haha

Ling: you don't! i'm sorry

Orm: no worries :) so, can i buy you a coke?

Ling: haha okay
Ling: i'll be home most of the time since i'm a freelancer. tell me when you can come see the apartment

Orm: you don't want to get to know me first?

Ling: i think it'd be convenient to do that while also walking you around

Orm raises her brows, pursing lips. "Good idea", she says while shrugging.

Orm: you're totally right
Orm: this afternoon?

Ling: that's fine with me. do you have the address?

Orm: i do, don't worry. what floor?

Ling: 8, door 211

Orm: cool. well, see you later lingling! thanks for responding

Ling: see you, orm

---------- ---------- ----------

Hours later, Orm is inside an elevator she's never been in before but that, beforehand, she hopes to use a lot.

So far, the inside of the building is beautiful, warm and welcoming.

Not knowing where to look at while she gets to the eighth floor, she's satisfied with the image reflected back to her by the mirror in the small compartment.

She didn't dress to impress. After all, she has to be her true self with the person she hopes will welcome her in her home. Wide-legged blue pants, white sneakers and a tight black top that covers her entire torso. Arms uncovered, only a gold bracelet around her wrist. A couple rings on her fingers and a golden chain with her initials around her neck. Her hair pulled back with a few loose, messy strands framing her soft features. Natural makeup, the same she wears every day: mascara, lip gloss and plumper, and a touch of blush.

She brought a generic snack that no one would dislike. Freshly squeezed natural orange juice with toast and quince jam.

The elevator doors open and she walks slowly down the hall, observing the framed numbers on the doors. Suddenly, unease grips her chest for the first time today, and it intensifies when she spots the number 211 at the end of the hall.

"Coming" said the last text Orm sent. She didn't get an answer, just a blue check mark.

When Orm finds herself standing in front of the door that will hopefully become the entrance to a new stage in her life, she takes a deep breath before doing anything else. She exhales lightly and proceeds to knock on the door.

15 seconds pass.

Nothing.

She knocks on the door again.

Nothing. No sounds coming from inside.

"Maybe she's not here. I should've asked", Orm whispers to herself as she steps back.

She grabs her phone and, just as she opens LingLing's chat, hurried footsteps and a throat clearing come from the other side of the wooden board that separates them.

The blonde can't help but smile. Cute, she thinks.

But her subtle grin slowly fades when the door is no longer an obstacle between her and LingLing Kwong.

Chapter Text

Ling's POV – Weeks ago

"All I had to do to see you cry was simply move out. If I knew sooner-"

"Asshole" I heartily throw a pillow to his face before taking a napkin from his nightstand. "Why would you want to see me cry?"

"I just want to make sure you're not dead inside. Come here" Teerapat opens his arms for me to come closer. He squeezes me against his chest as if it were the last time we'll see each other, "I'm not dying, Ling, you can see me whenever you want"

"Oh shut your mouth", I push him away, "you know it's not that. I'm happy I won't have to clean your toothpaste from the bathroom mirror anymore". He smoothly pushes me, making me fall onto his disheveled clothes on the bed. "Hey!"

"Stand up and help me finish this. The freight arrives in two hours. We have to have one last breakfast in our home before I go"

"I definitely won't miss you leaving everything to the last minute" I stand up, throw the napkin in the trash, and pick up one of my friend's shirts to fold it carefully.

"What's upsetting you so much? What's the real reason you're crying like that?" He, sitting on the floor, does the same with a pair of pants.

"I don't know," I put the shirt in a bag, "nostalgia, thinking about how fast time flies, that from now on we won't be sharing our lives and I'll probably have to get used to someone else." I think for a few seconds about what I just said and what that situation implies.

"You don't need to get a roommate. You know that, right?" Teerapat waves his hand in front of me to get my attention back.

"My pockets disagree" I laugh, more out of irony than because I've said anything funny.

"You can move somewhere cheaper" he offers, but the answer is simply no.

"It's non-negotiable. I like being here, it's my home and the surrounding area. I'm used to it. I know the ins and outs of this place, I don't want anywhere else" I shrug as I pack a pair of socks into a suitcase.

"I know!" A lightbulb seems to go off in his head, and I listen intently, "get a girlfriend already, Ling", he sounds frustrated.

"It's not a problem to me. It shouldn't be to you, fool", I hit his leg with my palm.

"Ouch!", Teerapat rubs the already red skin, "Doesn't seem like it. When did you get so strong?"

I simply roll my eyes and keep folding clothes, packing books and magazines as I listen to him rant about some girl he's seeing.

If I'm honest, I envy him. He has that game that makes girls want to be with him. Not that I'm desperate, but it's been so long since I last liked someone that I started idealizing how good it felt, forgetting how bad it hurt, and of course, craving it somehow despite knowing how not ready I am. But that's not something to be said out loud.

---------- ---------- ----------

I get used to my friend's absence quickly. I've never been much of a talker, so it's not a problem for me to only speak when I go to buy a pack of cookies and then return to the quiet of the apartment. It's crazy to think I can go days without saying a word unless I see my friends or have to talk to someone I work for.

Family doesn't count since they're kilometers away. I can text them every day.

As for a new tenant, I haven't heard from the real estate agency yet, and I don't know who to ask. The rent payment is due soon, and considering Teerapat was only here for one week this month, it's not fair for him to pay it all. He offered, and I told him not to. I can afford it, but money is tight since I'm my own boss.

My work depends on how much I promote it, and my salary isn't fixed. Anyway, I'm not willing to give up my space. I love it and I'm comfortable here. I love the afternoon sun streaming through the window and into the living room, and my studio in the mornings. I adore how cool it is in the summer and how warm it is in the winter.

I went to Teerapat's apartment to help him move, organize his clothes and furniture, give him my opinion on decorating, and memories of our first moments as roommates flooded back.

Eventually, that led me to think about what my life was like then, how hard it was for me to open up to him and why, and what a good friend he's been to me during my darkest times.

I've seen him through his ups and downs, too, and now we can lean on each other from a different place. We're not teenagers anymore (even though sometimes, most of the times, I still don't know where I'm standing); we're young adults navigating the dilemmas of our mid-twenties.

---------- ---------- ----------

Last weekend - Friday night

Charlotte and Teerapat invited me to a party, and since it's been a while since I've been to one, I said why not. I'm not swamped with work and can afford to postpone some things. The goal is simple: to have fun.

As soon as we entered the venue, Teerapat excused himself to go greet his cousin who told him she'd be in the VIP area.

"Is Engfa coming yet?" I ask Charlotte, who smiles instantly. According to her, they're getting to know each other. Sure.

"The idea is to meet towards the end of the night and leave together," she says, taking my hand and leading me to the bar to order a drink.

"I don't understand how relationships work these days," I mutter, raising my voice over the loud music.

"I know, you haven't touched anyone in two years," she spits, bumping me with her hip.

"Oh that hurt," I smile and order two shots of tequila from the bartender.

I look around and see the place is packed. Teerapat is nowhere to be seen. Being so sociable, it'll probably be a while before he's back.

I turn my gaze forward and my eyes meet a smiling barista pushing two shots of tequila into my hands. Then she extends one of her own and places a small slip of paper between my fingers.

"both are on me. instagram @srchafreen"

I look back at her and she winks gifting me a wide smile before redirecting her attention to another customer.

I stand still. Charlotte saw the exchange.

"This is your chance. Do it" she almost yells into my ear.

"What?" I shake my head, "you're crazy. I forgot how to treat a woman"

"I think she wants to treat you, actually", Charlotte gives a thumbs up to the girl that's now glaring at us. I scold her internally. God, how old is she? "Go talk to her. Tell her you'll meet her outside"

"Charlotte, she's working. Plus I don't know if I want to", I shrug, turning around, ready to head towards the dance floor. My friend grabs my arm.

"Don't be stupid. Take that shot now", she points to the little glass between my fingers, "you just have to be yourself. You're handsome and seductive without trying. You don't have to talk a lot, just enough"

I process her words, considering it a possibility. A little fun shouldn't hurt. Alcohol burns my mouth and throat.

"What do I do?", I raise my voice as an old Jay Z song starts playing, making the walls vibrate frantically.

Charlotte takes her shot as well.

"Text her. She gave you her insta, right? Ask her if she can meet you when her shift is over"

I gasp putting a hand above my chest, "to do what exactly?"

"Stop behaving like a teenager", she stops, "no, even a teenager has the guts to face this"

I roll my eyes. But she has a point. I need to get my shit together. It's about damn time.

"I want to see you happy, Ling", Charlotte takes my hand in hers, "please, just have fun. Don't overthink"

The sincerity of her words gives me the push I need to finally make up my mind.

Charlotte orders a couple of drinks, and then I follow her to the dance floor.

A few hours later, Teerapat, his date, Charlotte, her friends, Engfa and I, tired of dancing, decide to head for the exit.

My thoughts, though blurry and a little unsteady, remind me that I have something to do. Something I really want to do, especially seeing how affectionate my friends are with their dates. Teerapat putting a strand of hair behind his chick's ear, Engfa stealing kisses from Char as they danced.

As I reach for my phone in my purse, a guy stops in front of me.

"Can I have your number?"

I glance up, blinking a few times.

"I'm not interested, thanks," I quickly reply.

"Come on, I just want to have some fun. I couldn't stop looking at you all night."

Over his shoulder, I spot Charlotte and Engfa watching our exchange intently. My friend starts to approach, letting go of her partner's hand.

"Thank you, but no. I'm not attracted to men," I mutter, adding that he could have at least said hello and introduced himself first.

Acceptance takes hold of his expression, and, apologizing with a slight bow, he moves out of my sight.

"The sharp eyeliner and tight black dress were inevitably going to have side effects," my friend says, smiling as she comes to my side. "It's time you do something about it. Text the girl."

I follow my initial plan and contact her through Instagram.

Three hours later, Freen and I are saying goodbye at the entrance to my building.

Back inside my apartment, I close the door and lean back against the wooden frame, closing my eyes and sighing heavily.

She was amazing, it felt good, but... not as good as it should have felt. Definitely not like I remembered.

---------- ---------- ----------

Present time - Monday

After arranging to meet this girl named Orm, I jump out of bed and run a bath with warm water and violet-scented soap. Inevitably, flashes of the weekend come back to me from time to time. Freen and I exchanged a few messages, nothing concrete or that could lead to a long conversation. I think we both knew what we were looking for that night, and there's no conflict about it. But yes, she suggested it, and I said I was okay with it. I don't see why not.

I decide to skip breakfast since lunch is just around the corner, and after leaving the bathroom, I get some work done. A few animations for an independent children's clothing brand, and some individual commissions for drawings and portraits as gifts.

I eat lunch quickly and repeat to myself, as I do every day, that Teerapat's cooking skills are something I really need. Just as I remember this, I get texts from him asking if Orm contacted me.

After finishing washing the dishes, I get a text from the real estate manager, whom I, of course, forgot to tell that someone would be coming to see the apartment this afternoon.

"There's a potential new tenant. The appointment is scheduled for tomorrow at 5 p.m. if that works for you. Let me know if you want me to send someone or if you'll be handling it yourself." I choose to ignore the message for now.

I scroll through my phone while relaxing on the sofa and debate whether or not to text Freen. Living alone is certainly boring.

Would seeing her now involve anything more?

Finally, I choose to kill boredom by going for a run.

Black top, black shorts, white socks and sneakers, hair pulled back in a ponytail.

My usual route is slightly altered because, while other people exercise to occupy their minds, even though I do it with the same goal, I inevitably end up thinking the unthinkable. That's why I'm not such a big fan of exercise. I can't distract myself; I end up overanalyzing even more.

Time slips away, and when I regain awareness of my commitments, Orm is due to visit very soon. A few blocks from my building, I receive a text from her: "coming"

I get home and take a quick shower. The sweat leaves my skin, the thoughts leave my mind, and I manage to concentrate on what I have to do.

I get dressed in an oversized black t-shirt, wide-leg pants, socks and the slippers I wear around the house. I brush my hair, but there's no time to dry it, so I leave it loose and wet while I tidy up.

As I'm moving a chair under the table, I hear soft knocks on the door.

On my tip toes , trying not to make a sound, I pick up a coat from the back of the chair and carry it to my bedroom closet. Knocks again, I hurry to the door.

I clear my throat and only then do I become aware of the nervousness that has suddenly gripped my body.

I'm probably about to meet the person who will be living with me.

I try to settle the thought, take a deep breath and exhale, relaxing my shoulders and back.

I close my eyes and open the door.

Chapter Text

Author's POV

"Hi," they both say at the same time.

Standing tall, eyes wide with curiosity, their heads tilted back slightly in surprise, their lips struggling to form a circle at the unexpected view but forced closed by the established social conventions. At least the ones prudent for a first encounter.

Ling, knowing she's the older of the two, takes the initiative, nodding slightly with a smile. One corner of her mouth is raised, one hand still on the doorknob, a little slippery on her palm for reasons she can't quite explain.

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and then extends her hand toward her potential roommate.

"I'm Ling."

The dark-haired woman waits a few seconds for a reaction, a word, a move from the girl in front of her. Orm quickly puts her phone in her pocket and extends her right hand toward the woman waiting before her.

"I'm sorry. I'm Orm. Hi."

Lightly squeezing the hand in hers, she slowly shakes her arm.

Both know that now isn't the time to wonder "what was that?". It's time to let go before the sweat is noticeable.

Their hands fall to their sides. Orm scratches the back of her neck. Ling steps aside and, making way for the blonde, invites her inside.

"Come in, please."

Entering the apartment, Orm clasps her fingers together in front of her, and Ling closes the door behind her.

"Thank you"

As an extrovert, the younger doesn't understand what she's feeling, this sudden shyness, this need to please the brunette so she likes her and accepts her in a place she hasn't even seen yet.

"Take a look. I've tried to tidy up a little. Sorry if it looks a mess" Ling scratches her elbow, still behind the blonde. Her usual introvert becoming smaller as she takes the responsibility of anyone in her place.

"It doesn't. Don't worry"

Orm looks around. Everything is perfectly in its place. A scent of paint, room spray mixed with another floral fragrance she can't quite place, the natural light of the sunny spring day streaming through the living room window, and a gentle breeze making the white curtains flutter.

The girl stands observing everything, unsure of what to say. Still stunned by LingLing's undeniable presence behind her, and also by the aesthetic beauty of the place at first glance.

Her initial impression is that the space is large enough for two people.

"So..." Ling stands beside her, at a respectful distance, "as one would think, this is the living room. You'll see the dining room and the kitchen over here." Orm glances in the direction the brunette is pointing, approaching with small steps. "There's not much to see here. The hallway to the side leads to the laundry room where there's a washing machine and a sink for handwashing." The younger follows Ling into the room. A scent of soap fills her nostrils, almost transporting her back to her childhood days. "If you come, you don't need to bring these appliances."

Orm blushes, aware of the real possibility of living in this space. The natural way Ling speaks about it stirs something within her.

"There are dryers, and there's also space on the balcony if you like to save energy by drying your clothes in the sun. Come, I'll show you."

"In the city, I forgot drying clothes in the sun was a thing," Orm adds.

"Well, you have no choice but to remember when the power goes out for a week," Ling says, turning to look at her. "Don't worry, it only happened once, during the 2023 storms" she mutters at Orm's sarcastically concerned eyes.

The girls reach the floor-to-ceiling window. The brunette opens it, stepping onto the balcony where a rustic table and chairs await them.

The view of the city is spectacular. Orm spots her university in the distance, and that makes her heart race.

"We can have a snack here if you'd like," Ling, arms crossed, gives her a knowing look, seeing how captivated Orm is by the scenery.

"I'd love to," the blonde replies, never having had so little to say as on this afternoon. "Can I?" she gestures to her bag and the table, and Ling nods without hesitation. Orm places her bag on the table and turns to Ling.

"Now let's see what will be your room."

Probably Ling didn't notice. It just slipped.

Not "would". Will.

Composed, hiding a threatening grin, Orm glances around the living room again. The television faces the sofa, the sofa is against the wall, and at one end is the hallway that leads to where they want to go. Four doors line the way, two each side.

"Let's take it one at a time," the brunette says, seeing Orm's confused expression. "First on the left, a studio. I use it when I need to escape the noise. We can share that space too." She opens the door, and Orm understands where the smell of paint is coming from. Canvases, supports, watercolors, brushes—everything perfectly organized.

"Wow," is all she manages to say. "You paint?"

"I do it more digitally and on commission, but yeah. I do paint," Ling says, moving toward the next door. "Second door on the left, my room. We won't stop there." She turns to face the door in front of it and catches a glimpse of Orm's smile. "Second on the right, your room. Obviously, there's nothing in here." Ling opens the door, and they both enter. "You can still smell Teerapat."

"I didn't spend much time with him, but I believe you," the blonde remarks, catching a whiff of men's cologne.

"You know him?"

"I met him a couple of days ago, yeah. Well, we only said hi, actually." She shrugs, walking to the window with more confidence. "The view from here is insane too. Does this place have a bad spot?"

"I'm yet to find it" Ling sighs, arms crossed from the doorframe, feeling lucky that she found this apartment years ago. "As for furniture, you should only bring your bed, nightstand, and a desk if you want. The wardrobe is built into the wall."

Orm glances at the space she had previously ignored. Decorating ideas surge through her mind like a hurricane. She can already picture the plants in the window, the vinyl decals on the wall, the curtains that match the blanket, and the photos with her friends in the mirror.

The blonde finishes her visual tour and turns to Ling, expectant.

"From the interior, we only have the bathroom left to see. Follow me." She makes a slight nod, indicating to Orm that they should leave the room and head to the last door. "There's both a bathtub and a shower; you'll love it," Ling emphasizes as she opens the door.

Before she can even process the information she's taking in through her eyes, something in Orm focuses on the warmth that has enveloped her since the moment she stepped through the front door. Ling's gentle words, how at no point did she refer to her as a new tenant invading a place that did not belong to her, but as an almost certain companion who has just the same rights over the space.

Lost in her thoughts, almost dissociated by the warmth of the welcome, Orm is brought back to reality by Ling's waving hand, her worried gaze beside her as the blonde turns away.

"Are you alright?"

Orm shakes her head in denial. "Yes, don't worry. I'm delighted with the place."

The decorations, even in the bathroom—small potted plants, aromatic stones, a few small ceramic tiles on the wall that look like Impressionist paintings among the white ones—speak of home, of a place cared for and where a good deal of time was invested to make it inviting.

Through each little object and scent, Orm warns herself being drawn deeper into the universe that awaits her, that beckons her inside. She can tell it has capes and capes, it's profound and, strangely, being as curious as she is, she's never been so eager to dive and immerse.

"How long have you been here?", she can't help but wonder.

"I'd say around three years", the brunette does mental math, "yeah, I was freshly twenty one". The younger simply nods. Makes sense, she thinks. "All there's left to visit now is the terrace".

As they're about to leave, something slightly bursts the bubble created by the bathroom's acoustics. The strident rumble of the brunette's hungry stomach elicits shy laughter, and when she finally stops covering her face in embarrassment...

Ling's eyes disappear beneath Orm's gaze.

Two horizontal parentheses take their place. And the younger girl's distress only grows, amplified by her inability to understand what's happening within her.

"Would you prefer we have a snack first?" Orm seeks complicity and succeeds. "I brought fresh natural juice; it might go bad," she suggests, convincing the older girl.

They head to the kitchen, exchanging banal comments about the place. After asking Orm to grab and bring the little speaker that's on the living room table, Ling takes two glasses, a jug with ice, paper napkins, and a knife as the blonde tells her what she brought to eat, and then the two settle onto the balcony.

Just enough shadow to allow the sunlight to reach them without being bothersome. It harmonizes with the gentle breeze that sweeps through the area, making it impossible for them to want to be anywhere else. Having a snack on a cool balcony on a spring afternoon with good company; sounds good. Excellent, even.

After agreeing that they were going to listen to Olivia Dean's album, at least so there's something in the background, the girls resume their conversation.

"Sorry. I was going to grab something to eat when I got back from my run, but I got held up," the brunette mutters, handing her visitor a paper napkin. Orm dismisses the matter. "So... you're saying you know Teerapat?"

"That's right," Orm nods, watching Ling's delicate hands pour juice into her glass. "Well, you could say so. We said hello at a party this weekend, but that's about it."

"Really?" the blonde nods. "Well, we could have met." Ling considers the possibility of having seen each other, but an involuntary thought quickly crosses her mind: if she had seen Orm, she would remember her no matter how much alcohol was coursing through her veins.

She forces herself to dismiss such a thought.

"Did you go to the VIP area?" Ling shakes her head, "My friends and I were there all night. I think the general dance floor is more fun, but they don't know anything about parties."

"I don't know much about parties either, but I know the dance floor is more fun. No offense to your friends, but isn't it a bit pretentious to exclude yourself from a social gathering?"

"Right? Finally, someone who understands!" They both smile knowingly as Ling spreads jam on a piece of toast. "Don't you like parties?"

"Let's just say I get overwhelmed easily and I'm not very social. But I do like them," Orm nods in agreement. "Do you want this toast or would you prefer to make it yourself? I mean, in case you're squeamish about people touching your food."

"Don't worry," the younger makes a dismissive gesture, and Ling hands her the toast before making another. "And you? How did you meet Teerapat?"

"It's a funny story, actually," the older settles comfortably in her seat. "When I finished high school, I had a huge debate with my parents because I wanted to be an artist, and they kept telling me I should think about something that would allow me to live comfortably." She continues her story with calm gestures and expressions. "They won, so I studied at a technical college for a year. That's where I met Teerapat." She shrugs.

"And..." Orm, engrossed in the story, waits for her to continue. "How did you end up living together?"

"Well... there were only about five other women besides me in the whole institution, so all the guys were trying to get close to us. And when I say all, I mean him too," Ling smiles, recalling their first encounters. "Over time, with classes and group projects, we realized we made a good team, so I went to his house a lot and he came to mine." The brunette can see a grin slowly spread across Orm's lips, enjoying the gossip. "Until one day he told me he liked me, and I told him he would be perfect for me if he was a girl."

Ling blurts it out casually, without giving much thought to how Orm might take it. After all, if they're going to live together, they need to know such an important aspect of each other's personalities.

The blonde's jaw drops, her eyes wide, she covers her mouth and tries to hide a smile.

"No way! And how did he take it?"

Somehow, this gives Ling peace of mind and the courage to continue.

"Well, obviously, being a man, it was a blow to his ego. But, with time and seeing each other more often, he understood it wasn't personal," Ling shrugs and takes a sip of her juice. "We stayed friends. At the end of the year, I knew I didn't want to be a technician, so I dropped out of my studies and found a job. I didn't get my parents' support. A few months later, my roommate moved out, and Teerapat replaced her, and that was it," she takes a bite of her toast while waiting for a reaction.

"Wow... it must've been hard. But I think you should always do what you love and what makes you happy," Orm observes her with compassionate eyes.

Amid anecdotes and stories that foster understanding and knowledge of another person, the sunset falls upon the girls without them noticing. After gathering the dishes, Orm offers to wash them, but Ling stops her by saying she'll do it later. Together, they stroll across the terrace and watch the sun set by the pool. An urban landscape Orm won't forget, even if she ultimately doesn't end up living in that building. She already knows that, for her part, it's a resounding yes. But she has to wait for the agency to resolve the issue with the other potential tenant Ling mentioned.

Once in the elevator, a calm and comfortable atmosphere surrounds them. Ling promises to send Orm the rent and maintenance details as soon as possible, and they say goodbye at the building's entrance with a "we'll keep in touch."

By 8 p.m., barely having entered her apartment and picking up her phone for the first time in hours, Ling replies to the text the manager had sent her earlier.

Ling: i found a roommate. cancel tomorrow's appointment, please

Chapter Text

Orm's POV

Match day.

Resuming an old passion like field hockey was an excellent decision.

At first, a couple of months ago, I could barely remember how to hold the stick, but the weekly practices helped me get the hang of it right away. So much so, that the coach suggested I join the local university tournament as a substitute for the team's captain.

I won't lie. I saw it as a way to cope with the fact that my life seemed to be falling apart. I soon forgot about that and found myself training for the sheer joy of it.

Today it's our turn, the nursing university, against the Northern Veterinary University.

It's my third game, and I feel confident enough to have invited my friends over. Lookmhee, Sonya and Thana are probably already in their seats. I also invited Somyot, but, well... we all know his girl isn't keen on me. She showed up at the last minute at our apartment and stole his plans. I don't think he'd mind staying with her, anyway.

My team and I come outside a few minutes before kickoff to stretch, warm up our muscles, and mentally prepare for the match. The tournament's final prize is a good amount of money for our institution.

Our uniform consists of mostly black socks with white stripes that reach our knees, covering our ankles. The skirt and sleeveless shirt are the same colors. My hair is pulled back in a bun.

The opposing team wears grass green.

The coach has us jog two complete laps on our side of the field, and even though I look closely, I can't spot my friends.

After a few minutes, the referee starts the match. From my spot on the bench, I carefully analyze the opposing team's movements, studying their strategies to figure out the best way to gain an advantage.

Ten minutes remain in the fourth quarter, and the game is tied 0-0.

The coach tells me to get ready to go in, and I follow his instructions, loosening my limbs and taking a few sips of water.

"Sarocha! Your time's up," he says. Freen looks a bit disappointed as she leaves the field.

I enter, hoping to score points for my team. I quickly take her position since the game is still going, and I make my first move of the afternoon to the other side of the arena.

The ball comes to me repeatedly. I manage to make some precise passes, getting past opponents and recovering lost possession.

Our clearest chance comes. I pass the ball to my teammate forward and the opposing goalkeeper saves it, sending it out for a corner.

I look up and see my friends. Thana, Lookmhee, Sonya... Teerapat and LingLing? And another girl beside them who I suppose is with them. They're wearing green so I assume they're cheering for someone from the other team.

I raise my stick in greeting, and everyone smiles back. I guess they're all caught up now.

I position myself at the edge of the penalty area, waiting to receive the corner kick.

One of my teammates covers her mouth next to me and whispers, "I'll catch it, and you shoot." My nerves try to play tricks on me, but my confidence grows. "Don't hesitate. I've seen you in training. You have good aim." I simply nod in agreement and wait for the match to continue.

I don't overthink. I go where my body leads, and before I know it, my teammates are running towards me to celebrate.

I involuntarily look at my friends and they are all smiling at me again. And Ling... her eyes are gone once more.

1-0. The last few minutes feel like an eternity as we try to prevent the other team from tying the game, but we finally manage it, and before I know, my teammates and I are celebrating in the lockers, having advanced to the round of 16.

Before showering, I grab my phone and text my friends.

Orm: don't leave. let's have a drink

And I find myself wanting to share more time with Ling. So I don't think too much. All of us will be friends eventually.

Orm: do you wanna come have a drink with my friends? it shouldn't hurt on a friday evening

I rush to take a shower. I wash my hair, making sure to remove all the sweat, every limb, my fingers, and basically every inch of skin I can touch. Running for 10 minutes is one thing, but running for 10 minutes in spring in Thailand is another.

I get out of the shower, get dressed, brush my wet hair and grab my phone. A message from Ling.

Ling: i got invited before you did

I smile and finish putting away my clothes. As I'm about to head for the exit, Freen stops me.

"Are those people on the side of the field your friends?" she asks.

"Yes. Did they yell something at you? I'm so sorry," I reply, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks.

"No, don't worry about it. I was just curious because I know one of the girls," Freen says dismissively, and we start walking side by side.

"Well, we're all going out for drinks now, so... if you'd like to come, you're more than welcome," I suggest without hesitation.

She smiles and simply nods, continuing on our way.

---------- ---------- ----------

Ling's POV

"We bumped into each other at the entrance. I recognized Teerapat, so we went over and it turns out this girl here is the famous LingLing."

Next to me, Lookmhee is telling Orm how we ended up sitting together. They came for her; we came for Charlotte, who's already walking alongside Engfa.

Anyway, I'm more surprised that Freen is with us. From the introductions, I gathered she's not friends with anyone I just met, just Orm's teammate. What a coincidence.

It feels... strange. For some unknown reason.

The glances Charlotte is giving me aren't subtle, and Freen's instant closeness feels overwhelming.

Suddenly, we're a large group of people who know each other from afar and who will surely start hanging out.

"Does it bother you that I'm here?", despite trying to keep up with the simultaneous conversations unfolding between my future as Orm's roommate and the teasing of Charlotte for losing, I hear a whisper beside me that pulls me away from the collective din.

"Why would it bother me?", I inadvertently overact my response.

"I don't know, we're not friends, we're nothing, but Orm invited me and I didn't want to refuse," she shrugs.

"I'm totally fine with you joining us," I assure her with a fragile smile.

In front of us, Orm, Teerapat, and Thana are chatting animatedly. Orm turns to look at us from the side every now and then.

We arrive at a place with tables spacious enough for nine people. The couples sit together, then Teerapat next to Sonya, and next to him are Orm, me, Freen and Thana.

Once we've all ordered our drinks, the group quickly dives back into lively conversation, as if we'd known each other forever.

The extroverted personality Orm told me she had is immediately apparent, even more uninhibited than the day I met her. She has everyone at the table laughing at everything she says.

"So... you're going to live with her?" Freen calls my attention mid-story.

"That's right," I clear my throat, "well, we think so. We don't know for sure yet," I quickly return to the group.

A little while later, when Orm is listening without participating in the exchange between Sonya and Teerapat, I turn to her to update her on the rental situation.

"They're reviewing your paperwork and requirements. They'll most likely give you the go-ahead in the next few days," I tell her from beside her.

"Really? What happened with the other potential tenant?", hope flashes in her eyes.

"He stepped down", I look down and take a sip from my Bloody Mary.

"Oh wow. I must be the luckiest girl in the world, then", she gifts me the brightest smile, and we just stare at each other for a couple of seconds.

Teerapat calls our attention by informing everyone that we most likely will end up living together and raises a toast for the future ahead, for us as well as for himself and everyone on the table.

The conversations resume.

A considerable time later, when the alcohol took enough effect, I feel Freen's light caresses on my thigh. Not that I could ignore it anymore since she's been really touchy all evening. I look at her intently, and she simply smiles seductively, biting her lower lip.

"Come to the bathroom with me, please?" she asks, loud enough for one or two people to hear.

"Sure," I say, and I know it's not simply a matter of walking her to the bathroom, but I can't bring myself to refuse.

We stand up, and Thana stops me. "Ling, can you pay the bill when you get back? Then we can each transfer our part to you." I simply nod and go to the bathroom with Freen.

The taste of her wine mingles with my vodka as she bites my lip. I enjoy it, but I'm aware that this isn't the place or time when I hear her say "You're so hot" between kisses.

"Wait," I gently push her, squeezing her arms, "let's continue at my house, okay?" I suggest, and she nods giving me a kiss on the corner of my lips.

Just a couple of minutes later, we stop at the register and I ask for the check. While the cashier is doing her job, I feel Freen's hand go around my waist and slip into my front pocket. She rests her head on my shoulder and I just wait for the receipt.

Author's POV

A few meters away, some pairs of eyes watch the interaction intently.

"It's about time," Teerapat says.

"About what?" Orm asks, realizing her voice came out a bit too curious.

"About her connecting with someone," the boy shrugs, "it's been a long time. I hope it works out."

Beside him, Charlotte punches him in the arm.

"They've met once! Let her try," she crosses her arms, her eyes randomly settling on Orm, who's still watching curiously with her lips slightly parted.

The blonde clears her throat when she sees Ling and Freen approaching, even more so when she notices their flushed cheeks.

The group decides to end the gathering and plans to continue it over the weekend or some other time.

"Anyone want a ride home? I live south now," Teerapat winks and smiles charmingly.

"Us," Sonya says, pointing to her girlfriend. "but let Lookmhee drive. You drank. Orm, are you coming?" The blonde nods, her fingers interlaced in front of her.

Thana prefers to walk, and Charlotte and Engfa give Freen and Ling a ride. The latter doesn't comment on it, simply starting to walk with her arm linked to Freen's.

---------- ---------- ----------

char: update. now

ling: on?

char: your girlfriend?

ling: i dont have a girlfriend

char: can i call you? i wanna knowwww

ling: she's sleeping

char: omg tiger

ling: shut up charlotte

char: how do you feel?

ling: honestly i dont know. she's beautiful and all but i don't feel like there's a spark

char: you're so cute :(

ling: ??

char: i dont think there has to be a spark. i mean in the kind of relationship you both have. having fun is usually enough
char: unless you're not having fun at all, then we have a problem

ling: i am. i just dont know if this type of bond is for me ? idk

char: give it time. get to know each other, see if you actually wanna be around her

ling: what if i like it. if it's not mutual ?? what do i do

char: girl you're blind. you drive her crazy
char: look i know you got hurt in the past but that's it, the past. doesn't mean everyone will hurt you

ling: i know

char: give it a try. don't think about the future bc you can't control that. you only have power over the present. do with it what you think will take you to the best possible scenario in the future

ling: hhh ok. i'll try. i will be needing advice often

char: and i'll be here bc i loooooooove the gossip
char: and you of course my dear friend lingy <3

ling: go and drink engfa's saliva

char: delightedly <3333333 gn ily

Ling places her phone on the nightstand and, pulling the sheet over her chest, turns to stare at the ceiling.

Freen's calm breathing beside her, the dry sweat cooling her body along with the breeze coming through the window, thoughts of whether to continue this drilling into her mind, a desire to leave the past behind while simultaneously remaining comfortable in it without having to take responsibility for any kind of emotional connection.

The brunette, aware that overthinking the same things never led to any solution, decides to head to the shower. Somehow, it always works like a drain for negative energy.

Only one thought scratches at the back of her mind as she washes her hair.

I wish I had talked more with Orm this evening.

On the other side of town, there was a get-together at Teerapat's house. He, his date, Orm, Sonya and Lookmhee thought it would be a good idea to have some pasta after the game.

As the three friends walk home, the feeling they all had when Teerapat's date arrived inevitably comes up: she didn't like them.

"Very, very unfriendly. I understand we've only just started hanging out, but he's my cousin, God!" Sonya raises her voice, laughing ironically.

"Well, that and the fact that more than half of this group is a lesbian," Orm smiles at Lookmhee's gasp.

"All I can think about is how lonely I am, even though I just got out of a relationship that's older than dirt. Everyone—and I mean it, everyone except Thana and me—is in a relationship," she sighs, a certain discomfort that had been building for hours.

"Don't get frustrated, Orm. Give yourself time," Sonya pats her friend's back, "enjoy being single. You can date whoever you want, have fun with a thousand people before committing to someone again."

"I know. That's not going to happen again for a long time," the blonde looks down at the ground as they continue walking.

"By the way, LingLing's girlfriend? She's insanely beautiful," Lookmhee blurts out, earning a playful slap from Sonya. "Ouch! I'm kidding!"

"She's not her girlfriend," Orm mutters.

Her friends look at her, puzzled, then exchange glances.

"No? Then what is she?"

"I don't know, but they're not girlfriends. Freen told me they knew each other, that's all," she shrugs and looks at her friends. "What?"

"Nothing," Sonya clears her throat, "well, I thought she also was really unfriendly. She didn't talk to anyone, just LingLing."

"If by talking you mean groping her like a hormonal teenager, then yeah," Orm blurts out, and her friends burst into laughter.

"What's wrong, Orm? Why are you acting so weird?"

"I'm just pissed off. Now I'm going home, and I'll probably hear my ex and his new girlfriend laughing from my room," she says, gently kicking a rock in her path.

"You're still a kid. I don't know what you were doing in such a boring relationship," Lookmhee says, putting her arm around her friend's shoulders and pulling her close. "Someone who truly loves you will come along."

A few minutes later, their paths diverge and a single thought settles in Orm's mind: despite winning, the day fell too short. And she could swear that this discomfort wouldn't exist if she'd been able to talk more with Ling.

Chapter Text

Author's POV

The days pass, and Orm keeps busy. She's not really aware that the days are indeed passing. Between her part-time job and her final-year nursing internship, she has little time to be home during the week.

The weekend arrives again, and it passes so quickly that it's already Sunday. Somyot is out, Lookmhee and Sonya are on a date, and Thana has returned to his province for a couple of days. LingLing… she hasn't spoken to her much since last Friday. Just a couple of messages telling her to come to the agency to finalize the details. The move is practically a done deal.

If only she had a boyfriend to spend her days with.

The best idea she can think of is to go for a walk downtown and see where her eye is drawn. Ideally, something that won't cost her money.

Sunglasses perched on her face, her hair pulled back in a braid that falls over her shoulder, a brown leather bag, sandals, a jacket in case it gets too cool and a white dress with a pastel floral print that perfectly complements the sunny afternoon.

Orm scans the shop windows. She notes the displays of decorations, utensils, appliances and other household items, imagining places in their apartment where she could put them.

"Air fresheners. I'm nothing without air fresheners, although the place smelled lovely. I should ask Ling which ones she uses. No incense, though."

"Some succulents in a corner of my room to liven things up. I've been loving greenery lately."

"A record player. I didn't see one. Ling would definitely like one. I need to know which record she's most eager to hear."

After typing the last item into her phone, she puts it in her purse and spots a café across the street. Her thirst for freshly squeezed orange juice never goes away.

Focused on reaching her destination, it takes her a couple of seconds to recognize the male voice calling her.

"Orm! Over here!" Standing still, the blonde's gaze sweeps around her and finds Teerapat and Ling at one of the outdoor tables near the door, looking at her warmly.

They're sitting facing each other: Teerapat turning his torso to see Orm, Ling looking straight ahead.

He called me, but she must be the one who saw me.

She quickly shakes off that thought and heads towards her acquaintances.

"Hi! What a coincidence to find you both. Well, that you even saw me, because I'm so absentminded," the girl greets Teerapat with a gentle handshake. Then she leans in to greet Ling with a kiss on each cheek.

Perhaps a bit too familiar, maybe it's just instinct. The brunette simply inspires that kind of trust in her.

Her violet fragrance lingers in the younger girl's nostrils, and she has the urge to close her eyes and savor it a little longer. But she can't; that would be weird.

"What are you doing here?" the guy asks.

"I was bored, and none of my friends could see me, so I went for a walk. It's the second time we've bumped into each other unexpectedly since we met," she explains, not knowing why she chose to look Ling directly in the eyes when she made that remark.

She doesn't feel the need to dwell on it much, either. That's something she's been doing a lot regarding Ling.

"I guess it's fate," the guy raises his eyebrows, smiling. Ling rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "Sit down, unless you're in a hurry."

Orm struggles for a moment to choose where to sit while her acquaintances watch her expectantly, smiling. Finally, she sits next to Teerapat. Ling takes a sip of her smoothie.

"I just saw a lot of things we could buy for the apartment. I need your opinion. I want us to come together in the next few weeks," she says to the brunette excitedly.

"Okay. I like the idea," Ling nods readily.

"Am I invited?" Teerapat asks.

"No," the brunette replies firmly, though jokingly. "That's not your home anymore. Stick to your minimalist, PlayStation-obsessed lifestyle," Orm laughs loudly at the comment. The guy huffs under his breath, feigning offense.

Orm already has her juice in her hands. The atmosphere of camaraderie grows stronger with each passing minute, the laughter becomes more uninhibited, and the complicity between those gathered, especially between Orm and Ling, deepens.

As they realized the first time they met, they have many things in common, even though their differences have also surfaced. One of the things they share is a sense of humor. So much so, that at times Teerapat feels out of place and can only smile, repeatedly waiting for a joke he can understand. Girl stuff, he thinks.

Ling's story about an experience is interrupted by the sudden arrival of Teerapat's girlfriend.

"Why aren't you answering the messages?"

The three in the group are stunned. The girls can only look at each other as Teerapat slowly stands up.

"Don't do this, okay?" he raises his hands slightly, seeking reassurance.

"You again?" the woman looks down at Orm, who stares at her, puzzled, from her seat.

"Orm, excuse me," Teerapat politely asks Orm to move so he can leave. She stands up, and he leaves the seat. He takes his girlfriend by the waist.

"Aren't you going to answer?", she asks Orm again, who is already embarrassed by the stares on them.

"I don't know what you want me to answer. Yes, me again?" she shrugs. Both Ling and Orm are surprised by the certainty of her response.

"Oh, and you dare to confront me?" she raises her voice slightly.

"Calm down, the three of us are friends," the guy whispers through gritted teeth, aware of the audience the scene is attracting.

"I swear if you come near me again—", Ling interrupts her threat.

"Teerapat, take her away. Work out your problems at home," the brunette says. "You need to grow up," she adds calmly, addressing the woman. She's clearly annoyed by the manners.

Her friend apologizes slightly, bowing his head, and takes his girlfriend's hand as they leave together.

The girls notice the stares and whispers around them but don't pay them much attention.

"Are you okay?" Ling asks.

"Yes, don't worry," she gulps down the last of her drink, "it took me by surprise, that's all." Orm shrugs and watches the couple walking away with heavy steps and a noticeable argument.

"What did she mean by 'again'? You've had problems before?"

"No. She has a problem. Last Friday, after we left the bar separately..." the blonde recounts, suddenly thinking about Ling and... about her closeness with Freen. About how that, along with the other couples, made her feel.

She thought about it several times during the week.

She clears her throat and continues, "Sonya, Lookmhee, and I stayed for dinner at Teerapat's house. This woman arrived and joined the plan. He introduced us, and obviously, the possibility of me being a friend didn't cross her mind after learning that Sonya and Lookmhee are a couple." Orm rolls her eyes and crosses her arms.

"Did she say anything to you?" Ling's eyes widen in surprise.

"No. But it was obvious something was bothering her. And it was confirmed today."

Ling murmurs "wow" and takes another sip from her glass. She can't deny that her mind also drifted to Freen, to what happened afterward, and to the fact that they saw each other again that same weekend. That makes three times now.

"How long have you been with Freen?"

Orm's question almost makes Ling spit out the liquid that was just passing down her throat. She just coughs and answers when she recovers.

"Sorry," she clears her throat, "we're not together."

"What?" Orm asks, puzzled.

"We're not together. We just... met recently at that party where you met Teerapat. We got along well," Ling hopes that's enough. But she also knows Orm is curious.

"Are you serious about her?" the blonde can't fight her curiosity. She stirs her straw slightly as she asks.

"No, God. No," the brunette firmly denies, "why do you ask?"

"I don't know. I saw you two close. I was jealous," Orm shrugs and for some reason avoids the girl's gaze.

"Jealous? Didn't you say you recently became single?" Ling frowns.

"Yes, but it's more complicated than that... it's a long story."

"Well..." Ling sees the sun still in the sky, "we have plenty of time, right?", her genuinely curious gaze makes one corner of Orm's mouth lift. The two girls order more drinks.

Between one topic of conversation and another, the sun sets, the minutes tick by, and without realizing it, the stars and the moon adorn the sky of a mild spring night.

When it's time to leave, they both feel the meeting was too short. And it's strange because they talked about everything they couldn't discuss last Friday.

"Do you want to come to dinner with me?", Ling asks, scratching the back of her neck after paying the bill and leaving. Orm simply nods, smiling warmly.

---------- ---------- ----------

"Do you want pasta, something light, Chinese food...?"

Once inside the apartment, Ling opens the cupboard to see what ingredients she has while Orm watches her, leaning against the kitchen counter.

"I'm not a fan of Chinese food, to be honest—" she says casually while pretending to admire her nails.

"Excuse me?" Ling looks back at her, offended.

"Oh, I mean—" Orm smiles innocently.

"I think I still have time to cancel the paperwork." Ling picks up her phone and looks up the real estate manager's contact.

"You wouldn't dare," the blonde challenges her.

"You think not? You don't know how stubborn we Chinese are." Ling dials the contact and puts the phone on speaker.

Hearing the beeps, Orm rushes over and tries to snatch the phone from the brunette's hands.

"I was just kidding! I love Chinese food."

Before they realize it, they're standing very close. One of Orm's hands is resting on Ling's shoulder for balance, while Ling holds her firmly by the waist, struggling to pull the phone out of the blonde's reach.

"LingLing Kwong!", Orm exclaims, still struggling with her gaze fixed on the older woman.

"You promise you mean it?" Ling pulls the phone even further away from Orm, her grip tightening to maintain her balance. Her voice drops several tones, becoming softer as she becomes aware of their closeness.

"I promise. Hang up." Ling pretends to doubt it for a moment, searching for a hint of deceit in Orm's expression with a suspicious grimace. Finally, she nods and hangs up.

She shows Orm the phone screen, and Orm relaxes her grip. Soon, they both realize there's no excuse for such closeness, so they move away, not with exaggerated speed, but slowly.

"You're lucky no one answered the call. What would you have said if they had?" the blonde asks after composing herself, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"Well, considering it's Sunday and the phone was ringing to a completely empty office... you're the lucky one," the brunette shrugs.

"Oh so you were teasing", the younger's jaw drops slightly as she crosses her arms.

"Get used to it", Ling opens the cupboard again as she smiles widely.

Again, for the thousandth time today, her eyes are gon–... What's wrong with you, Orm?

"Since you insist, it'll be Chinese food," Ling sticks out her tongue and then gathers all the necessary ingredients from the cupboard and the refrigerator.

She gets to work while Orm wanders around the kitchen telling her whatever comes to mind. Not everything, obviously, but she feels that Ling is building a safe space to express her worries, her future desires, her doubts.

Anyway, there's something that piqued her curiosity this afternoon, and since then she hasn't known how to bring it up again.

Why did Ling so categorically deny the possibility of getting serious with Freen? What's the obstacle? Maybe there isn't one, and she simply doesn't want to—

"Are you listening to me?" Ling asks, sitting down in one of the dining room chairs after finishing putting all the vegetables in the pot.

"I'm sorry. I got distracted," the younger girl shakes her head and turns her full attention to Ling. "What were you saying?"

"Are you okay?" the brunette asks, looking at her with concern.

"I promise. When I socialize for too long, I start to lose focus," she smiles, dismissing the matter with a wave of her hand.

"We can eat quickly so you can go rest. Let me put it on high—" Ling stands up, and Orm manages to take her hand before she can head toward the kitchen.

"Really, I'm fine. I want to enjoy this," she offers a gentle, sincere smile that reassures the brunette, who sits back down after noticing the grip on her hand and gently letting go. "Repeat what you were saying, please."

---------- ----------- ----------

Once they finish dinner, Ling clears the table and Orm offers to do the dishes. The brunette refuses, but the blonde insists, since she wouldn't let her do it last time. Finally, Ling politely agrees with a roll of her eyes.

She then announces she's going to the bathroom.

Orm can't escape the wave of thoughts she knows is coming. So many questions, but above all, it's been years since I've felt this good.

I'll ignore the questions.

Everything is new to me, everything is fine. I'm just learning in an unfamiliar world.

I don't want this night to end. Would it be too intrusive to stay a little longer? Maybe we can chat, watch a movie... after all, this is going to be our life, isn't it?

I don't want to be annoying.

When Ling returns, phone in hand, she has news from Teerapat.

"He says he broke up with his girlfriend," her raised eyebrows betray uncertainty.

"What?" Orm suddenly stops drying her hands.

"That's it. He can't stand extreme control and jealousy, and he didn't tolerate disrespect. Especially not in public." Ling puts her phone down on the table, leans back, and crosses her arms. "It's weird. They started dating very recently and he was excited. But I guess it's best to cut it off."

"Do you think I should apologize?" Orm asks.

"Why?" the brunette doesn't see the point.

"I kind of provoked it...", the younger looks down awkwardly.

"You didn't provoke anything. It's her problem. If anything, their problem. Not yours", Ling gets closer to Orm and grabs her forearm softly. "Don't worry. He said he's fine and that he could breathe finally"

Not so convinced, Orm takes her words and thanks her for them.

Minutes later, fully relaxed and after chatting a bit on the sofa, it naturally happens. None of them says a word about it, no one brought it up.

Ling turns on the TV as she comments about some clothes she has to give away while she looks for something to watch.

"What kind of stuff do you like?"

Orm pats herself on the back, even though she hasn't actually done anything to get what she wanted. It's more of a comforting feeling, knowing they're on the same page and want to keep spending time together because it's comfortable and they enjoy it.

"I like true crime, things based on real events or as close to reality as possible. I'm not that big a fan of fantasy," she replies from her spot on the sofa.

"Good answer," Ling winks and continues her search for something to watch.

The minutes tick by in silence. They occasionally comment on something happening in the documentary, share their impressions of the plot, and theorize about who the killer could be in a case with few, if any, suspects.

Halfway through the second episode of the miniseries, around 2:00 a.m., Orm realizes that several minutes have passed since she last heard Ling's voice. She glances down at her spot on the sofa bed, and sees her eyes completely closed, her lips almost parted, and her chest rising and falling slowly in relaxation, though Ling is curled up in a ball on her side with her hands on her chest.

Orm smiles slightly and understands it's time to leave.

She reaches for the TV remote and spots it near Ling's face, next to her on the sofa. She takes it carefully, listening to her almost imperceptible breathing as she turns off the device. That's the only sound she can hear.

She pauses for a few seconds and allows herself to look at her, to truly look at her as she wishes without being "caught."

Her skin looks incredibly soft, so much so that she feels like caressing it to see if it's as soft as it seems. Her straight, shiny hair is spread out on the surface; she wants to run her fingers through it.

Certainly, Orm has never met such a beautiful woman, and that's something she's known since the first time she saw her.

Seeing her position, she understands that the night is cool and will be even cooler towards dawn, so her best idea is to cover Ling with her own jacket. Going into her room for a blanket would be intrusive.

Orm puts on her sandals, picks up her purse, and looks around to make sure everything is in order.

She goes to the living room window to close it and pull back the curtains, and with one last look at Ling's calm expression, she leaves through the door.

Chapter Text

Ling's POV

How many hours have passed? My body feels light... though one side is cramped. My eyelids barely struggle to open: I've rested.

A warm, irritating light shines directly on my face, heating my skin as if it were already summer. I feel hot and smell... Orm.

I open my eyes abruptly and sit up on the sofa. I look around.

When did I fall asleep? And when did she leave?

I'm in my living room, the mid-morning light almost piercing the curtains and seeping into my pores. Orm's jacket is still covering my arms.

Instinctively, I bring it to my nose because of its fragrance, finding myself fascinated by it.

I take a deep breath and exhale sharply. Then sigh and lay back down, staring at the ceiling with my forearm resting on my forehead.

My eyes are now wide open. I glance at the clock on the wall above the TV. It's 10:00 AM. I slept for eight hours straight without waking up once.

I won't deny that I slept better than I have in a long time. I feel... peace.

I pick up my phone from the table. 26% battery. A few messages from the group chat, another from Charlotte, Gmail notifications—new orders, God willing—and a missed call from the real estate manager. He probably wants to know why I called him last night...

Last night. What happened last night? A constant state of high vibes, that's for sure.

I decide to text Orm to apologize for falling asleep and not walking her home safely so late at night.

ling: good morning. just woke up. i hope you made it home safely. please let me know about it

The answer comes right away. I rush to open the chat again.

orm: look who it isss sleeping beauty
orm: i'm fine. don't worry, ling. i was home by 2:30

ling: glad to hear that
ling: sorry for falling asleep. didn't mean to. though i like this new quilt i found covering me so

orm: yes. you'll have to give that back huh

ling: hmmm we'll see
ling: at work?

orm: yup
orm: two hours left and then i'll go take a nap

ling: how much did you sleep last night?

orm: enough
orm: GUESS WHATTTT

ling: speak your mind 👀

This conversation feels nothing like we've texted before. Like our bond is set already.

Well, normally one would expect some kind of change after a 9 hour long hangout.

orm: everything is set. just got a message earlier
orm: i'm your roommate 🥹🥹🥹

Though without teeth, a smile appears on my face because I truly think we'd make a good team.

ling: that's so cool!!!!!! finally :)
ling: when do you plan on moving?

orm: idk probably this weekend? it's impossible for me to do it in the next days. is that ok with you?

ling: of course, you don't have to ask. let me know if you need help

orm: don't worry 🫰🏻
orm: k i must go. they won't pay me for texting though i'd like to stay

ling: oh we'll have time to chat don't worry about that :) see you!

I turn my phone off and leave it on the table. Then run my fingers through my hair while sighing heavily and, as if coming back from a dream, I become aware I'm smiling... again. The smile fades and I quickly take the phone in my hands once more.

I read and re-read our conversation.

Are we... flirting?

No. This girl is straight.

Well, she only told me about an ex boyfriend. That doesn't mean...

Shut up, LingLing.

I shake my head in denial, as if that would make the thoughts go away.

It doesn't.

What if she's one of those straight girls who play other girls?

No. You don't even know her like that AND she has lesbian friends. She must know better. She's a good person.

Why are you even considering it? She will be your roommate and, let me remind you, you're not emotionally available.

Stop this nonsense. You're getting to know her, you're excited because you met someone nice after so long and you almost forgot how to act. You both seem to get along well. That's it. Nothing else.

I summon sanity and common sense from somewhere in my chaotic mind and remind myself that thinking without acting never leads anywhere, at least not where we want to go. And today is Monday, and I have work to finish, so the ramblings of a woman in her mid-twenties who just woke up have no place in today's schedule.

---------- ---------- ----------

char: busy?

ling: kind of. why?

char: wanna go have a drink to shorten the week? double date ;)

ling: if only i had a date

char: come oooon, you do

ling: i don't wanna make it more serious than it is, char. leave it alone. also i have a lot of work

char: please lingy 🙁 teerapat has no girls, i only have you

ling: look. what if you and engfa come have dinner this weekend after orm and i finish bringing her stuff? to celebrate
ling: that's what i can offer right now

char: mmmkay
char: but if we're gonna celebrate there has to be more people there

ling: who? freen?

char: maybe

ling: we'll see
ling: might as well invite orm's friends

char: i like the way you think, that's why you're my best friend 💞

I leave my phone aside and turn around on the bed. Again, as three other times over the past month, Freen's bare chest rises and falls calmly with her breathing beside me.

I thought it would only be the first time, maybe the second, but by the fourth attempt, I'm starting to hear my own questions and give them the room they deserve.

I can't finish. And when I'm done with her, I can't fall asleep afterward. I simply wait for her to wake up and walk her to the door, whispering sweet nothings that I don't really mean.

---------- ---------- ----------

Author's POV

After a busy Friday afternoon, Orm hangs the last jacket in her closet and closes it. Then, she hangs a mirror on the door and smiles at her reflection. Her new home.

From the doorway, Lingling watches her with a small grin. The blonde turns to face her and slowly throws herself into her arms, wrapping them around her neck. The brunette, unsure where to place her hands after such an unexpected gesture, opts for a fragile embrace around her waist. Both of them close their eyes and smoothly breathe in.

"Thank you for opening your doors to me," the younger girl murmurs softly, almost against her neck. "I really..."

"Where do I put the nuts?" Lookmhee calls from the kitchen, breaking their bubble. Orm opens her eyes and slowly releases Lingling.

"In the last cabinet on the left," the older raises her voice, still staring at Orm. "You even brought the nuts? You didn't want to leave anything for your ex, huh?"

"It's not that," she, pouting, pretends to playfully hit the brunette's shoulder, "I'm nothing without my nuts, and I knew it would get too late to go out and get more."

"So that's your late night snack? A healthy lifestyle doesn't really fit the first impression I had of you", the older crosses her arms above her stomach and looks down at Orm that's now lying down on her bed.

"I'm the star player of my team and almost a nurse, remember? I must be strong, especially for the next couple of months", she shrugs with a smug attitude.

"I'll make sure I cook with extra protein just for you", Lingling winks and turns around when she hears the other girls having trouble in the kitchen. She doesn't know, maybe Orm herself doesn't know yet, but that simple gesture and those words awaken something within the blonde.

When the four girls are done setting everything up, they're at the door ready to say goodbye.

"I forgot to tell you, and maybe I should've asked", the brunette addresses Orm, "but there will be something like a small reunion here tomorrow night. Of course you both are invited", she now looks at Lookmhee and Sonya, "I'd tell you to tell the rest of your friends. I invited mine"

"Oh I like that", Sonya mutters with her usual lovely grin, "I love parties"

"It's not a party", Lookmhee adds.

"Will there be alcohol?", her girlfriend looks at Lingling.

"I mean", the older gasps and gives Orm a 'why not?' look, "if you want, we can have alcohol"

"It's a party, then. See you tomorrow, thanks for the invitation!"

"Thank you for helping me. I love you both", Orm becomes small and opens her arms for her friends to hug her. Both of them do at the same time.

Lookmhee reaches out for Lingling to join the group hug with a thankful gesture on her face, "thank you for being kind to Orm".

Lingling doesn't know how to answer to that. She simply smiles and tightens her grip a little.

---------- ---------- ----------

Saturday arrives as quickly as one usually wishes it would, and the whole group is reunited again. The only difference is that this time Somyot joined the plan. After all, he was there for most of Orm's life, and they ended things amicably. She decided to ignore his constant disrespect and how small he made her feel when he wanted her to move out. He's in love, she excused him.

The building's WhatsApp group was notified that there would be a quiet celebration, but the volume of the music and the number of people in the apartment don't live up to that description.

Orm's first night in the apartment wasn't particularly noteworthy. To be honest, after saying goodbye to her friends, all she could manage was a shower and then passing out. Her body simply couldn't handle anything else. She apologized to Lingling for not having the energy to eat dinner with her, to which the older replied not to worry, that she wasn't hungry either, as they'd spent the entire afternoon moving boxes and furniture.

The blonde was surprised by how quiet that part of the city could be at night. That, combined with the soft moonlight filtering through the window, which was always open when she went to sleep, quickly lulled her into a deep sleep from which she didn't awaken until the following morning when the sun was high in the sky.

Now, unlike the quiet of the previous night, the murmur of the ten people inside the apartment, all talking at once, grew louder over the music.

Of those ten people, the one Orm hadn't expected was Freen. She wasn't a friend of Ling's, nor was she a friend of Orm's.

What exactly is their relationship if Lingling doesn't plan to make it official?

The blonde watches them talking closely as Lingling puts ice in her glass. Like last time, Freen can't keep her hands off the brunette. It's the first time she's seen them exchange more than five words.

"Earth to Orm Kornnaphat," Sonya waves her hand in front of Orm's eyes, "What are you staring at? I'm talking to you." She glances at the same spot her friend is glaring and then turns back to speak to her, "Don't tell me you're still jealous and, according to you, feeling lonely."

"I'm just trying to understand that bond," Orm takes a swig of her beer and shrugs.

"Freen has the libido that anyone who has the privilege of being two centimeters away from the human sculpture that is Lingling would have. That's the bond," Sonya rolls her eyes and leads Orm to the windows that open onto the balcony.

"I already know that," Sonya raises her eyebrows and hides a smile at the subtle confession and the tone in which Orm spoke, "What? I have eyes," again, her friend just drinks and listens, "Whatever. What I don't understand are Lingling's feelings. She never talks to me about her, only once and that was because I asked. Last time she barely paid attention to her even though Freen was rubbing her skin with hers the whole time."

"I think you're paying too much attention to something that shouldn't concern you. You've only known her for a month. Are you jealous because Freen has the same position as you on the team? Is there something that makes you feel like she's your competition?" Orm gasps.

"Of course not. It's just..." The blonde realizes she doesn't have the words to explain what she feels because she doesn't really know, "I don't know. I guess I just long to be closer to Ling. To get to know her and learn about her. That's all." Orm sighs heavily and looks down at her feet.

"Well, you can ask her about everything you want to know. You have plenty of time to get to know each other.", Sonya gives Lookmhee a knowing look across the room. Her girlfriend stands up from the sofa and comes closer to them.

"We've talked a lot about everything, but there are certain things she's very private about. I can tell she avoids topics like the one about Freen."

Lookmhee joins the group after leaving Thana, Teerapat and Somyot talking about car racing on the couch.

"What are you talking about? It sounds like juicy gossip. I want to know" the brunette says, grabbing the bottle from her girlfriend's hand when she offers it to her and taking a swig.

"You'll know all that in time, and only if she wants to share it. You can't force her," Sonya tries to reason with Orm. She doesn't (or pretends not to) understand her friend's urgency either. "Try creating a safe space for her, just like you said she did for you. Do it selflessly; she'll open up to you when she feels ready."

Just as Orm is about to add something, Lingling appears as if by magic beside her. The blonde clutches her chest and jumps.

"Wow, I'm sorry. I swear I did my best with the makeup," the brunette jokes. Sonya picks up her bottle again and hides her smile behind it.

"You look great, silly," Orm clicks her tongue, "I just wasn't expecting you to show up like this."

"Excuse me, girls. Can I ask you a favor, Orm?" Ling takes the blonde by the forearm to lead her a little away from her friends, "Freen seems a bit disoriented, and I was hoping to talk to everyone tonight. Do you think you and your friends could include her in some conversation? Since you know her..." The older girl scratches the back of her neck as she voices her thought. It sounds so... childish. This is one of the reasons she doesn't want a partner.

Of course, since she's not in love, she's unaware that if she were, she'd happily want her friends to include her partner in the group. She doesn't realize that everything is built little by little with patience, and that it's obvious you can't be patient with someone you don't like.

Orm looks at her somewhat bewildered, but she can't refuse after all.

Lingling heads towards the bathroom, and after Orm fills her friends in on the situation, she discreetly makes her way to the kitchen where Freen is leaning against the counter, phone in one hand, glass in the other. A casual outfit, but appropriate for the occasion; she's dressed to impress, clearly.

"Thanks for coming," Orm greets her with a slight bow. She really doesn't know how to break the ice now that she knows what she knows.

"You're welcome, I love the place", the brunette quickly corrects herself, "Well... I love the changes I've noticed"

"Have you been here before?" Orm frowns, and it only takes her two seconds to remember. "Oh, of course," she laughs awkwardly and opens the refrigerator to look for something. She doesn't know exactly what.

"I've come several times, yes," Freen puts her phone in her purse, "I think we'll see each other outside of training."

Orm is grateful the refrigerator is tall enough to hide behind the door. Why does that bother me? Do I feel like my space is being invaded? I don't even feel like this is my space yet.

Orm grabs a bottle of Sprite and slams the refrigerator door shut.

"Are you thinking about getting serious with Lingling?" she ventures. And she instantly regrets it because she already knows this relationship isn't going anywhere, but something inside her compelled her.

"If she wants, I'll even say yes to marriage," and the blonde can't help but chuckle inside, quickly cutting it off. What's wrong with me? "But we haven't talked about it. We're just having fun." Orm simply nods, pouring vodka into her glass, satisfied with the answer. She knows it's the truth. "And you?"

"Me?" She pretends not to understand the question and proceeds to get some ice.

"Well... We're talking about love life, right?" Freen raises her eyebrows, stating the obvious. "I've noticed most of your friends have partners. What about you?"

"I've been single for a while," she purses her lips, pours ice into her glass, and stirs the contents.

"And you're not seeing anyone?"

"No," she takes a sip of her drink to test if it's drinkable. A little too much alcohol. It's alright, I'm home.

"You should," Freen says casually. Orm glances at her, "What do you like?"

"Someone who treats me well. Anyway, I'm not interested in seeing anyone. I like my life right now."

"I mean, do you like men, women, both..." Freen looks at her expectantly.

"I don't know. I've been with the same person my whole life, so I didn't allow myself to question it," Orm shrugs and leans back on the counter, a safe distance from Freen.

"So... You like men," the brunette summarizes the message she gleaned from everything Orm said. The younger woman notices the hint of relief in Freen's posture.

When Orm is about to answer, she doesn't know what to say. Why can't I just say yes? Shouldn't it be like this?

Luckily for her, the competition of who gets more information disguised as a casual talk is over once Lookmhee and Thana approach and lead them to the chairs on the balcony. Freen's last statement keeps echoing in Orm's head, along with everytime Sonya and Lookmhee teased her about her sexuality.

The night goes on, the groups rotate, everyone chats with everyone, even Lingling with Somyot, whom she's never met in person.

The lights in the living room and dining room go out and are replaced by the light from the TV's music player. Most of those present have enough alcohol in their blood to be cheerful and having fun.

"Listen up everyone," Teerapat says, beer in hand, turning down the music and waiting for everyone to take their place on the sofa or the floor. "I have an 'uncomfortable truths or a shot' app and I want us to use it."

"We're not sixteen, Pat," Charlotte frowns from one end of the sofa, "stop being ridiculous."

"I think it's a good idea. It sounds fun," Thana says, and Somyot nods in agreement.

Everyone looks at each other, and it's clear the general thought is, "Why not?"

"Okay. You start, Thana. Tap the screen and read what comes up on the roulette wheel." Teerapat takes a seat and hands the phone to the guy.

"Have you ever had a threesome?" Thana's eyes widen in disbelief. "No. Not even close. I hope God sends me two beautiful women someday." His friends roll their eyes as he crosses his fingers. Thana hands the phone to Freen.

"Last time you had sex" Her voice isn't very loud, as she's still getting used to her presence among the two groups. Several people present let out a collective "woah," adding whistles. She responds by looking at the only person she trusts in the place. Lingling. Then says "Two days ago."

The older takes a sip of her beer, unsure how to react. As is well known, she doesn't like her personal bussiness being public, not even with friends. Freen tries to find complicity in her eyes, but finds none; their looks don't even meet.

Orm, as curious and strangely pending of Lingling as she is, watches the "exchange" intently.

"Orm, your turn," Teerapat, oblivious to the glances flitting around the living room, guides the continuation of the game.

The blonde touches the phone screen and freezes as the question appears.

"It's a repeat. The same question as Freen. I'll try again."

"Answer that one," Teerapat suggests, smiling mischievously. The blonde smiles uncomfortably and looks at Lingling for reassurance.

"Turn it over again," the brunette gently encourages Orm. The blonde nods and does it.

"That's cheating!" Teerapat protests loudly.

"She doesn't want to answer that one," Ling replies nicely, with a neutral expression.

"Then she must drink," he reasons, to which a couple of those present nod in agreement. Ling turns back to Orm's eyes, which tell her that everything is alright.

"I'll take the shot," the younger girl gasps, and, reluctantly, Teerapat prepares the drink for her.

She would have answered, but, at this moment, loneliness is one of Orm's greatest insecurities. And, even though it's only been months since she last slept with Somyot, she's been feeling alone for much longer.

Orm drinks the shot and, feeling the liquid burn her throat, her expression wrinkles and her body shrinks. The groups applaud and encourage the game to continue.

"My turn," Teerapat announces, proud and ready for anything, "of those present, who would you kiss?"

The group chants "oooooooooh" as the guy considers the question.

"Considering that I don't like men and that most of the women here like women, and that she's beautiful, of course... I would kiss Orm."

If someone makes a sound, if the music keeps playing, if Orm reacts in any way, Lingling is oblivious. Her ears stop hearing; all she can do is feel the burning sensation in her chest. Her fists clenching, her jaw hardening.

"Lingling!" Charlotte calls out, "It's your turn."

The brunette, taken aback and barely reacting, shakes off her thoughts and sits more comfortably on the sofa.

"I don't want to play, you go next, Char.", she finishes the rest of her drink at once.

Given her reserved nature, everyone should have expected a response like that. But it's still strange, because earlier, Lingling had seemed genuinely eager to have some fun.

"Come on, we all have to play. It's just one question," Teerapat insists.

"I choose the shot, then," the brunette shrugs, standing firm in her decision.

"Lingling, you're not the first or the last person to be cheated on. Nobody cares, if that's what you're worried about. Just answer your assigned question and that's it."

"Pat!" Charlotte's eyes widen at her friend's outburst, and she instantly reprimands him, "Shut up and stop drinking. You're turning into an idiot."

The faces of all of them are a picture. Freen covers her face and looks down, Engfa, Sonya, and Lookmhee are equally speechless and wide-eyed at Teerapat's statement. Somyot scratches the back of his neck, and Thana plays with peeling the label off his beer bottle.

And among them all, the only gaze fixed on Lingling is Orm's.

Chapter Text

Ling's POV

Rage runs through every one of my veins. The shared discomfort seeps into my pores. The heat rising from my anxious chest settles in my cheeks and shows itself in my glassy eyes.

Never, except for once, had I been so humiliated.

This is exactly what I wanted to avoid and, still, it happened despite my efforts. That's why the less people know about me, the better. And that includes my closest friends, even if it means hiding the truth from them sometimes.

Since the only sound for quite a while has been the background music and my best friend doesn't seem to feel even a hint of remorse –neither enough to apologize nor to pretend nothing happened and return to being the center of attention–, I slowly get to my feet, set my glass down on the table with a thud, take my time fastening the buttons on my shirt sleeves in an attempt to stay calm, and let everyone know I'm stepping out onto the balcony.

"I'm going to get some air." With that, I take the bottle from Teerapat's hand to bring it with me.

After muttering a quiet "asshole," which I hope he heard, I avoid the coffee table and the people sitting on the floor, who only manage to move aside to let me pass.

I slide the balcony door shut behind me and stop by the railing so the cool air can hit my skin. I finish the bottle in one go and fight the urge to throw it down to the street with all my strength.

My hands burn. My throat burns. My chest burns, and so do my eyes.

I'm not going to cry. If I did, it wouldn't be because of what happened two years ago, but because of how hard it is for me to be honest, to open up, and to have it thrown back in my face like this.

My feelings trampled, humiliated by someone I care about, yet again.

I grip the railing tightly, so hard that my knuckles turn white as my skin stretches. My feet lift off the ground, and my fingers and palms hold the weight of my body. I inhale deeply through my nose and release the air through my mouth.

I wish the alcohol were enough to keep this bullshit from affecting me.

I hear the slide of the window behind me, and I'm ready to raise my voice as I turn around.

"I really want to be alone–", but I stop when I see Orm.

Standing there with her feet together, her hands behind her back, her curious eyes full of innocence looking at me like I'm taller.

Behind her, through the glass, I can see they've decided to resume the game. Idiots.

"I'm sorry, I thought you were..." my tone softens as I take in how small and expectant she looks, illuminated and washed pale by the moonlight, "anyone else from in there."

She simply lowers her gaze, hiding a shy smile, and slowly walks over to stand beside me. She looks ahead, out toward the city. "I'm flattered."

I don't respond. I have nothing to say. I don't want to talk about what happened.

"I'd like us to celebrate in our own way," she blurts out suddenly. I lean forward to her level, facing the city as well.

"In our own way?" I frown and glance at her from the side.

"I'm grateful for everyone who came to be with us, but..." she turns her face toward me. Her eyes are slightly glossier than usual, and the tip of her nose grows red from the cold air brushing against her skin. The wind softly stirs her hair, and a few fine strands catch on her long lashes. "I'd rather be with you. Talk, laugh together." Orm shrugs, still keeping her hands behind her back. She looks toward the buildings around us again. She hasn't seen them at nighttime yet.

A few seconds pass in silence. I think about what she said, her calm voice a few tones lower than usual, and... I don't know. I wish I knew what she's thinking.

"What are you thinking about?" I finally ask her. Normally I would let it go because I don't really care about anyone. But she's Orm.

"Will you come on Friday to watch the match?" As if nothing, she turns toward me again, now fully, leaning sideways and resting her elbow on the railing.

I'm exhausted. I have too much work to do and shouldn't go out even if it's to buy food, but... I can get ahead a bit during the week.

"Of course. Count on me." I stand the same way she does. Looking at her, really looking at her for the first time; to appreciate her, and to appreciate that she wants to be here with me in this moment.

Her eyes look damp, a little unfocused as they reflect the city lights. Her skin is pale, and her soft features stand out gently against the contrast of her hair and eyebrows. Her lips look as if she wants to smile for real but can only manage the strength to lift one corner. So fragile.

"Do you remember that yesterday I was telling you something, and I couldn't finish because Lookmhee thought the placement of the nuts and almonds was more important?" I smile subtly at the memory and nod.

I stay quiet, waiting for her to continue, but she doesn't.

"I remember."

Orm steps toward me, pressing her chest to mine as her arms gently wrap around my neck.

I don't really know what to do, again. I'm not a physical person, but it just feels right to settle my arms around her waist and to close my eyes as I sink into the skin of her neck.

It's such an intimate touch that we might shatter if either of us moves.

One of my hands travels up and down her back, and just like that, we sway a little, almost imperceptibly.

"When I first saw you, I just knew you labeled every one of the jars in your pantry," Orm breaks the silence with a comment that makes me chuckle against her skin.

"And I knew you didn't own a single jar," the blonde giggles at my observation and slowly releases the hug.

"Touché" she clicks her tongue and winks before getting serious again. "You still intimidate me, and I know you don't usually show your softer side. But I also knew, or I assumed, that you could use a hug right now. And I wanted to give it to you." She shrugs lightly, as if trying to soften the weight of her words. "We're different, but I promise I'll do everything I can so we don't collide." Her palms slide from my shoulders down to my hands, and she holds them as she speaks.

"You just have to be yourself. This is your home," I mutter sincerely, hoping to give her the same sense of safety she gives me.

Author's POV

Inside the apartment, Sonya and Lookmhee, sharing a quiet complicity, finish placing a wager as they observe Ling and Orm through the window. They are so focused on watching the two of them hold hands that, by the time they realize the one who has stood up and headed straight toward the large pane of transparent glass is Freen, it is far too late to distract her.

"Damn it," Sonya mutters, pressing a palm to her forehead.

"Orm is an adult. She'll know how to handle it," Lookmhee insists, genuinely hoping to believe her own words.

Out in the open air, Ling and Orm slowly step apart upon sensing Freen's presence after she clears her throat.

"May we have a word?" With a demanding tone, Freen addresses Ling with strict precision. Orm understands immediately that she must withdraw.

The blonde clears her throat and exchanges one last look with Lingling. "I'm going to get a drink," she announces, retreating as she slides the window shut behind her.

Once inside, she draws in a breath and releases it sharply under her friends' watchful eyes. "What?"

They stare at her, amused and silent, prompting Orm to roll her eyes and head toward the bathroom.

The blonde shuts the door forcefully behind her and braces her hands on the sink, staring intensely at her own reflection. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair slightly disheveled.

Her heartbeat unsteady. Her arms still carrying Ling's lingering scent.

She hates not having the right to stay by her side.

She hates her friends' know-it-all attitude. Not because it truly bothers her, but because for the first time she admits to herself that, deep down, the seed was planted weeks ago; the doubt within her is growing, branching out, reaching places it shouldn't be allowed to go. Lingling cannot be the reason she begins to question everything she's ever lived. At least as long as there's Freen.

She turns on the faucet with abrupt force and splashes water onto her face, then presses her damp palms to her neck and her knuckles to her cheekbones to ease the sudden heat rising beneath her skin.

"Don't panic. Nothing is happening, and if something is happening, you won't be the first person to go through it. You'll learn how to endure it," the blonde whispers to herself before inhaling, closing her eyes, and exhaling loudly, relaxing limbs she hadn't realized were tense.

Back in the living room, the first thing she notices is that the window curtains are now closed. Even so, she can barely see the silhouettes cast by the moonlight, and that alone is enough to convince her to discard any idealized scenario she might have entertained in the last few minutes.

When she becomes aware that she has been staring far too long in a direction she shouldn't, she takes a few steps toward the fridge, retrieves a can of beer in record time, and brings it to her lips.

"Do you want to go see the pool?" Teerapat appears with a charming smile just as Orm lowers the can.

"Uh... I saw it already," she replies, awkwardly.

"I don't think you've seen it at night," he says, winking as he begins to walk, urging Orm forward with a hand on the small of her back. "By the way..." He opens the door so Orm can step through first. "I'm sorry about earlier. I was an idiot. I promise the alcohol's worn off."

Orm steps into the elevator, giving a slight nod. I don't think I'm the one you should be apologizing to, she thinks.

The few seconds of the ride feel interminable for her, who keeps her mouth occupied with her drink to avoid speaking. At what point did I end up in an elevator with Teerapat? Suddenly I don't want to be here, even though before tonight I liked him well enough and wouldn't have minded hanging out with him.

Before she can utter a word, the elevator doors open, leading them to the stairs of the top floor. They climb them, and Orm ignores whatever he is saying, too busy forming the words she intends to tell him about the earlier incident.

He opens one last door, one Orm knows, and lets her step through. The night air brushes against her skin again, this time noticeably cooler.

"I'm glad you wanted to come," he whispers.

"In fact, you brought me," she replies, meeting his gaze. Then she turns toward the pool and sees Engfa and Charlotte sitting at its edge, chatting and splashing each other playfully. "Thank God," Orm murmurs.

"It's true. Anyway, I wanted to talk with you for a bit." Upon seeing his friend with her partner, Teerapat frowns, visibly disappointed.

Orm's POV

Charlotte seems to notice our presence and shoots Teerapat a disapproving look; likely still angry about his behavior. She and Engfa share a serious, knowing glance before standing up and walking toward us. As she passes, Charlotte bumps her shoulder deliberately against her friend's without uttering a word. "Ouch," he mutters, turning to look at her until she disappears through the door.

Suddenly, we are alone.

"I think you should apologize to Lingling," I blurt out abruptly. He, already walking toward the pool, turns around but continues walking backward.

"I will. When she's free." He spreads his arms and shrugs. "I'm not going to ruin her first love in two years."

I feel like I'm hearing something I'm not supposed to hear, something I know should come from her, yet curiosity outweighs discretion. I walk toward him, and we sit on the lounge chairs beside the pool.

"Love?" I manage to whisper.

"Love, fling, one-night stand for several nights... whatever you want to call it. Not even she knows what it is." I notice a hint of frustration in his tone.

"I don't think you should talk about your friend that way."

"I'm mad at her. And I don't want to talk about it." Well, too bad, because I'm not interested in talking to you about anything else.

"You're mad?" I stare at him in disbelief, furrowing my brow.

"Yes. Not because of tonight; I know I was a jerk." He continues, "It pisses me off that she can't move on. That she misses out on experiencing things because she's stuck on that idiot who didn't know how to love her."

The dots begin connecting in my mind. A few of them, at least.

She was betrayed. She wasn't loved properly. It happened years ago. She can't, or won't, move on.

"Still, I don't think getting angry and speaking to her like that will solve anything," I say, trying to shift the focus toward their friendship. If I need to know something, I want to hear it from her.

"I know. I was just drunk." I offer him my beer; he refuses with a gesture of his hand. "We've talked about it many times. Every time she held herself back from feeling something because she was afraid of being hurt again, I was there listening to her ramble, lecturing her that the only way to move on is by facing what scares her."

"Maybe... she's still in love," I dare to say. "And that's what's keeping her from moving forward."

"No." Teerapat's tone is firm. "She hates her. She trampled on her feelings, her dignity, her self-confidence. What Lingling valued most, she offered it, and it was returned to her in pieces. And it still is."

The new information settles in my mind. It makes sense.

"Do you think Freen is the person who can help her?" I venture to ask.

"For now, no. But the simple fact that Lingling is trying to connect with someone is a good sign. She's the first."

I can't tell whether Teerapat is still drunk or simply always this loose-tongued. Either way, and God forgive me, I welcome the information with gratitude.

Ling's POV

As soon as Orm leaves the balcony, Freen casts a look at me that I cannot fully decipher.

"Is everything alright?" I ask, hesitant.

"Yes. Are you alright?" she replies after bringing a cigarette to her lips. She lights it, inhales, and exhales only after holding the smoke for a few moments. "You let yourself be hugged."

The remark catches me off guard. I detect a hint of poison in her words.

"I'm fine," I say, leaning once more against the railing. She offers me a drag and, although I don't smoke, I accept. I inhale from the cigarette between her fingers. Breathing air is definitely better.

"Are you sure she's your friend?" I see her eyebrows rise from the corner of my eye.

"Orm doesn't like women," I say, resignation coloring my tone.

"But you do."

I roll my eyes before responding. Yet another reason why I don't want to get involved in this.

"I know what you're implying. It's not like that," I shrug. "I've been alone for years because I didn't like anyone. I'm not about to juggle two people at once."

"You speak as though you and I were a couple," there's a faint trace of hope in her voice, one I have to cut off immediately.

"You're right, I'm sorry. I don't want misunderstandings. We're not a couple. We're just having fun." I hear her sigh softly beside me before taking another drag of her cigarette. "Are you okay with that?" I turn toward her.

"It's enough for me. As long as you tell me if there's someone else you like, then I'll step aside" Freen steps closer and rests her head on my shoulder. I lean my elbows on the railing. It doesn't feel the way it should. "Can we have fun tonight?"

"I don't know, there are too many people. I don't like putting on a show," I answer, indifferent.

"Are you going to let Teerapat be right?"

That question, instead of tempting me, drags me straight back to the scene in the living room. And I know it's her way of getting what she wants, but she's right.

I step back toward the window frame, slide the panel open, and lower the curtains from inside under the curious eyes of a few guests. I slide the glass closed again and take Freen's cigarette from between her fingers, extinguishing it against the railing before tossing it into the street. She smiles, her eyes dark with desire. I take Freen by the waist and kiss her fiercely.

After a few minutes, when I decide to stop kissing and touching her because everything is escalating, I suggest going inside and waiting for the guests to leave before continuing. She grumbles, asking for one last kiss, which I grant before we head indoors.

Soon, I notice that more than half the group is gone. Only Sonya and Lookmhee remain on the couch, scrolling through their phones.

"Where is everyone?" I ask, frowning.

"Somyot said he was sleepy, and Thana offered to take him home. Charlotte and Engfa went to the pool." Just as Sonya mentions their names, the couple walks in through the door, their clothes sprinkled with droplets of water. "Orm and Teerapat left, but we don't know where."

"They're on the terrace," Engfa adds.

I don't know how that makes me feel. Not good. I'm still very angry with Teerapat. And Orm... I don't know.

"We're leaving too," Lookmhee says as she stands and picks up a few things from the table. After tossing them into the trash, she approaches me, who has been silent for several minutes. "Thanks for having us. Say goodbye to Orm for us, please. And whatever you need, we're here" she whispers for me only.

I don't know why, but Lookmhee's words make their way into my heart. I can feel her honesty.

"I can drive you, if you want," Charlotte offers.

Okay, I get it. The party died. Honestly, my social battery is drained, so I don't mind.

Both couples tidy up a bit while I insist that I can do it. I look for water in the refrigerator and Freen sits on the couch. I take a sip from the bottle, then escort the girls to the door.

"You're welcome to come over whenever you'd like, and I mean all of you," I say to Orm's friends. "Orm loves spending time with you." I give a faint smile, and they return a gentle look.

We say our goodbyes, they wave to Freen from afar, and after I close the door, I sit beside her on the couch, exhaling deeply.

"Can we have fun now?" the brunette murmurs, tracing the tip of her fingers lightly over the exposed skin of my chest.

Honestly, I don't want to. I'm not in the mood, especially knowing how this always ends.

"Orm could walk in at any moment," I say the first excuse that comes to mind.

"You have a bedroom, and she has hers." Her fingers outline my jaw, forcing me to look at her. "She knows what we're doing and she knows what she's doing. She went off with Teerapat for a reason." Freen kisses me hungrily before I can protest.

Her last comment bothers me deeply. I've been angry for far too long tonight.

I catch her lower lip between mine, pulling her toward me as I take hold of her by the nape with one hand and by the neck with the other. I keep her still so I can take out my frustration however I want.

She unbuttons my shirt and leaves my black lace bra exposed.

"I want to do it here," she whispers, and I can only stare at her already bruised mouth.

No. That is a firm no.

I get the faint impression she has something she wants to prove. Why this urgency to perform, to display?

Her hand slides down my abdomen toward my lower stomach, and I stop her immediately.

"No. I'm tired. And this is a shared space now"

She rolls her eyes, "do you even like me?"

"I'm tired, Freen", my words come out firm, sharp. And I realize I was maybe too harsh on her when I watch her eyes wide open and her gesture taken aback.

I sigh, pressing my temples with my fingertips. We stay silent for a minute until I open my eyes. But I cannot look up.

"I'm sorry", I finally mutter, looking at an empty spot.

"Don't worry. I know", she gives me a pat above the chest and stands up energetically, like nothing happened.

When she's done fixing her hair and is about to reach the door latch, the door opens and shows Orm ready to knock on it.

"Have fun", Freen pronounces those last words to Orm and the younger looks at her obliviously. She frowns and, after making room for Freen to leave, she comes inside and closes the door behind her.

The tension in the air hasn't left the house.

Only then do I remember my upper body is almost uncovered so I quickly button my shirt under the blonde's eyes.

"Sorry", Orm dismisses the matter and grabs the water I left on the table.

"Everything alright?", she asks after swallowing her sip.

"I don't think anyone had fun tonight", I tell her my main worry. "Did you?"

"That's not our fault", Orm shrugs and sits beside me crossing her legs and looking out the window. "I didn't, but I do think we still have time to have fun. Our own way", she looks at me tenderly, referring to the conversation we had outside.

Chapter Text

Author's POV

Just like that, each one with their routine are waking up too early and bumping into each other in the hallway, still learning how to share the same narrow space. Ling is making coffee too strong while Orm is opening all the windows because she says the apartment "needs to breathe." They argue softly about whose turn it is to wash the dishes, then laugh because neither of them is actually mad. They are figuring out each other's rhythms, talking over the noise of the kettle, discovering small comforts in the other's presence. And without really noticing, they're syncing their steps and falling quietly, clumsily, for someone who is becoming home.

Orm is hurrying down the hallway, still pulling her hair into a half-awake bun, when she opens her door too fast and collides with Ling. It's a soft, warm bump, the kind that makes Orm mutter an apology while Ling steadies her by the elbow.

"Morning rush again," Ling says, smiling the way she does when she's trying not to laugh.

"I'm late," Orm groans. "I don't even have time for breakfast. And we're out of almonds, so my whole morning is ruined."

Ling tilts her head, amused. "We're not"

"Yes, we are." Orm steps sideways, trying to escape the gravitational pull of Ling's gaze. "I checked last night."

"That's because I hid them," Ling says, whispering like she's revealing a secret. "I bought more yesterday when you were at your practice. For you."

Orm freezes. "For me?"

Ling nods, already turning toward the kitchen, her voice light but her cheeks a little pink. "You're impossible without your almonds. Come on. Sit for five minutes. I'll make breakfast with the dry fruits and nuts you like."

Orm should say no, she really should. But the hallway suddenly feels too warm, and Ling's offer settles in her chest.

"Okay," Orm says quietly. "Five minutes."

Ling beams, and Orm follows her to the kitchen, pretending she isn't smiling too.

When the brunette starts chopping the almonds, Orm glances at the clock and sighs. "I really have to run," she says, grabbing her bag. Then, almost as an afterthought, too casual to be casual, she adds, "Hey, don't forget my match tonight. You said you'd come. It starts at seven."

Ling pauses, knife hovering over the cutting board. "Of course I'm going," she says, trying for neutral but letting too much warmth slip in. It comes naturally. "You think I'd miss it?"

Orm shrugs, pretending the answer doesn't matter as much as it suddenly does. "Just checking. It's... kind of important to me."

Ling's chest tightens in that maddening, confusing way it does whenever Orm says things like that, things that sound like friendship but feel like something else shimmering underneath. "I'll be there," she murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'll even get there early. Save you a little good-luck charm in the front row."

Orm laughs, though her cheeks heat. "Okay, that's... cheesy."

Ling grins. "You like cheesy."

"Not true," Orm lies instantly.

The kitchen settles into a soft quiet, comfortable but charged with something they both pretend not to notice.

Orm steps toward the door, then turns back, suddenly unsure what to do with her hands. "So... bye?" She lifts a hand in this awkward half-wave that makes her cringe at herself.

Ling mirrors it, just as awkward. "Bye. Have a good day at work. And don't, you know... sprain anything before the match."

"I won't," Orm says, though she immediately imagines herself tripping over a chair and wants to disappear.

Ling watches her go with an expression she insists is just fondness; friends care about each other's games, friends get nervous about seats in the front row. Nothing more.

Orm closes the door behind her and exhales, heart fluttering with a warmth she can't explain. It's just Lingling, she reminds herself. Just her roommate. Just her friend.

But walking down the stairs, she can't shake the strange brightness Ling left in her morning, something tiny and powerful, dangerous even, that she's trying very hard not to name. She doesn't know how to. She's never felt it.

In the kitchen, Ling rests her fingers on the counter, wondering why the thought of Orm looking for her in the crowd tonight suddenly makes her stomach twist in a way friendship never quite has.

It's eating her inside at a speed she didn't see coming.

---------- ---------- ----------

Hunched over her tablet, the morning light slanting across Ling's desk as she drags color swatches across a half-finished design. The apartment is quiet now, except for the soft clack of her stylus and the faint echo of Orm's goodbye still lingering in the hallway of her mind.

She's just settling into the flow of work when her phone vibrates. The name on the screen makes her shoulders stiffen. Pat.

Ling hesitates, thumb hovering, jaw tightening. It's been days of tension. She doesn't want to answer, but she also doesn't want this ghost hanging around her conscience all day.

She takes the call.

"Hey... thanks for picking up."

"I suppose you called because you want to talk", the brunette talks quietly.

"Yeah. Uh... look, I know this is late. But I've been thinking a lot, and... I owe you an apology"

Ling remembers. Of course she does, "For what?"

"Don't make me say it like that, come on. For humiliating you. For snapping at you in front of everyone last week. I shouldn't have done that. None of it."

"...I know."

"I was a jerk. I'm not trying to excuse it. I'm just... sorry. Really."

"Okay. I forgive you.", she sighs. What else can she do?

"Just like that?"

"Do you want a ceremony? I said I forgive you.", still, Ling is cold.

"No, no, that's not what I meant. I just... thought it would be harder."

"You were wrong, you admitted it. That's enough.", she shrugs, tapping her fingertips on her desk.

"Alright. Thank you. Seriously. It means a lot. I hated being distant this week."

"Good. Anything else?"

"Yeah... actually. Um. Don't be mad, okay?"

"That's never a good start.", she doesn't see anything coming. Really, she hopes it's not some burdensome thing.

"Orm told me to apologize.", he blurts out.

"...She what?"

"Not like... ordered me or anything. She just said I should fix it. That I owed you better."

"She said that?", a faint grin on her lips.

"Yeah. She was pretty... intense about it, actually."

"Hm.", Ling knows she must stay composed.

"Don't get mad at her, she wasn't trying to meddle. She just cares. A lot."

"I know she does."

She stays quiet for a second, doubting if she should let out what she's been wondering these last days.

"Is that what you talked about last weekend? When you were at the terrace."

"Part of it. Yes."

"Something else that concerns me?"

She must've known curiosity killed the cat.

"Not really... uh... I kind of like her."

The brunette gasps at her friend's sudden statement. She has to speak quickly. Pretend she doesn't care. Pretend she's fine with the fact that the chances of Orm feeling the same way about him are terribly high.

"That's fine. You're both single, as far as I know. I'll ask her."

Not a hint of excitement, teasing, nothing like what she felt every other time her friend told her he was pursuing a girl.

"I mean... we've been texting, but I was wondering if you could maybe help with that?"

Ling presses her fingers to her temple. Pat's honesty disarms her more than any argument ever did.

"I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you. So... we're good?"

"Yeah, Pat. We're good."

"Okay. See you, Ling."

"See you."

When the call ends, Ling sets her phone face down on the desk and lets herself sink back in her chair. The apartment feels too still again.

She stares at her unfinished design but can't focus; her thoughts drift back to Orm, her sleepy smile, her teasing, the way she said it's important to me like Ling's presence mattered in ways she couldn't articulate.

---------- ---------- ----------

The late-afternoon sun hangs low over the field, baking the turf in a warm gold as players run their warm-ups. Ling stands at the edge of the bleachers with Charlotte and Teerapat, absently twisting the strap of her bag while her eyes track one particular player weaving through orange cones.

Even from a distance, she moves with a kind of restless precision: quick feet, sharp turns. Freen jogs farther down the line, already laughing with a midfielder, but Ling barely glances her way.

"You're staring," Charlotte says, nudging her hip.

Ling startles. "No, I'm just... watching the drills."

"Sure," Charlotte says, clearly unconvinced.

Down on the turf, the coach blows the whistle, calling the forwards into a semi-circle. Orm rolls her shoulders back with an easy confidence. Freen steps up beside her, tapping her stick against Orm's like a pre-game blessing.

They're a mismatched duo but somehow, it works. They found out during training that the team works better when they play together, not when they play against or replacing the other. They leave behind whatever goes on outside of the pitch.

Still, they're lucky they don't have to be together at nursing practices.

The drill starts. Orm and Freen break out like they're attached by an invisible line. Freen darts left, her natural lane, drawing defenders with her, while Orm slips right, hugging the boundary. The moment Freen pulls the center back a step too far, she flicks the ball across the semicircle. Orm is already there. She's the powerhouse shooter: quick, landing the ball exactly where the keeper can't reach it.

Charlotte claps politely. "That's why Freen's left forward, right?"

Ling nods without taking her eyes off Orm. "She's stronger on the open side. She can bulldoze her way in and drag the defense with her."

"And Orm?"

"She reads the field better," Ling says instantly. "She knows how to disappear and then appear exactly where she needs to be. She's... clever."

"Clever," Charlotte repeats, amused. "Right."

Down below, Orm lifts her stick to Freen in a wordless nice pass. Freen smirks, brushing her shoulder against Orm's as they jog back.

It's a good dynamic. Maybe too good. Don't ask Ling what goes through her mind because it's a mess.

Orm shakes out her arms, looking briefly toward the stands. When she spots Ling, she brightens just a little. Ling lifts a small wave. Orm waves back, quick and shy, before pretending she hadn't.

Charlotte lets out a low whistle. "Okay. Yep. Definitely staring."

"I wasn't-"

"Ling," Charlotte cuts in, turning fully toward her. "Be honest with me. Are you dating Orm or Freen?", she asks under her breath for Teerapat not to hear.

Ling's breath catches. "What? Neither."

Charlotte raises an eyebrow. "Well, you're acting like someone who's dating at least one of them. I saw you with both last weekend and let me tell you-"

"I swear." Ling tucks her hair behind her ear, flustered. "Freen and I are... complicated. And Orm is... Orm."

"Which explains absolutely nothing," Charlotte says with a grin.

Ling looks back at the field, at Orm sprinting down the right lane, chasing a through-pass with that stubborn intensity.

"Yeah," Ling murmurs. "I know."

Charlotte watches her for a long moment, then sighs dramatically. "God help you, Ling. Love triangles are exhausting"

"It's not a love triangle," Ling hisses.

"Mm-hm," Charlotte hums. "Tell that to your face the next time Orm smiles at you."

Down on the field, Orm scores again. And Ling can't deny it. Charlotte is right. Something here is changing faster than light, and Ling is the last one brave enough to name it.

---------- ---------- ----------

At night, once the group had dispersed and everyone had gone home, Ling finally allowed herself to think about everything she had felt throughout the day. Especially after the match ended; how a hug for one of the players could not wait, while the other had felt like an obligation. Ling and Freen hadn't talked since last weekend.

Thankfully, there was no post-game gathering, and the brunette didn't have to deal with Orm and Freen sharing the same space again. She just came back home when Charlotte left and, with her meddling, Teerapat got Orm to leave with him to have a drink.

The blonde looked stiff, stunned, but Ling insisted that she should go. That she'd have fun.

She longs with every fiber of her being for that discomfort in her chest not to be what she fears it is. She wants to justify it by telling herself she is still angry with him, that she simply doesn't want him near Orm. But she would be far too naïve to believe that.

Back home, as Ling reheats the pizza for the second time, and before she can keep drowning in her thoughts, her phone vibrates on the kitchen counter.

"Ling?" Freen's voice is softer than usual, almost cautious. "Hey. Can you talk?"

Ling exhales slowly. "A little"

"I know," Freen murmurs. "I just... I owe you an apology."

Ling closes her eyes. She wasn't expecting that.

"I'm sorry I acted weird," Freen continues. "I... I really liked what we had. No pressure, no expectations. Just... fun. And I pushed too hard last time. I made it awkward, and that's on me."

"It's fine," she says quietly.

"I want things to go back to how they were," Freen says. "If you're okay with that."

Ling hesitates. She doesn't know what she wants, not with Freen, not with the blurry warmth she's been feeling every time Orm brushes her hand or says something small and soft that burrows under her skin.

But there's something that weighs more than that, and it's that she can't allow herself to like Orm, not like that. And as immoral as it is, getting distracted by Freen is a good way to avoid it, or so she thinks.

"Okay," she finally says. "We can do that."

There's a sigh of relief on the other end. "Good."

"I'll still be near Orm," Ling says, pushing gently but firmly. "I mean, inevitably. She lives with me."

Another pause. Ling imagines Freen's expression: that barely-there frown, the flicker of jealousy she tries to hide but never quite manages.

"That's fine," Freen says finally. "Really."

She's lying a little. Ling can hear it. But Freen's willingness, despite her jealousy, makes something in Ling soften.

"Okay," Ling says.

Just as the brunette hangs the call up, Orm walks in the apartment. They look and wave at each other, but it's... odd.

Orm just arrived from being with Teerapat and didn't text Ling all night long to let her know if she should wait for her.

Ling just made up with Freen while the pizza she made for Orm is in the oven. Not because she's hungry, but maybe because she wants to share one more moment with Orm before going to sleep.

Orm says hi with a little wave. Ling half-waves back.

"Hi", the blonde breaks the awkward silence set between them.

"Hi", Ling responds, her voice soft, tender, as always. The blonde points to the hallway and heads towards the bathroom.

This day brought her joy and chaos equally. Everything was fine until after the match, to be exact.

Her date, she knows it was a date, was fine. But now she feels empty. She can't help but feel lonely, even being surrounded by people.

She's thinking about how she dated the same boy for years, how that comfort slowly frayed until the relationship ended without drama, without fire, just habit and absence.

She's telling herself she should want a partner again. She's imagining the idea of it, a person to tell about practice, someone to talk to until late at night, someone who remembers what her favorite food is.

She's wanting that, she really is. She just can't imagine wanting it with anyone.

Except Ling. She already has that with Ling.

It isn't romantic, she is reminding herself. She is repeating it so much it is becoming automatic, something she is swallowing down before feelings can rise. She is just... understood around Ling. Seen in a way that is rare.

Ling is becoming her favorite person. Orm is sure of that. She is not sure what that means, though. She doesn't have the words for the light that flickers under her ribs when Ling's arm brushes hers or when Ling laughs and something in Orm expands.

She is not queer. She is repeating that like a mantra, steady and defensive. Like she didn't feel anything when she walked into Ling with her shirt unbuttoned. Like she could remove that picture from her brain.

And yet... every time Freen is coming close to Ling, leaning on her shoulder or placing a hand on her knee too casually, something hot is twisting inside Orm. A tight curl in her stomach. A clench in her fists she is hiding behind her back.

She is calling it protectiveness. She doesn't want her hurt again.

She is never using the word jealousy. She won't, not even in her head.

Because if she does, if she admits that the sight of Freen near Ling is making her pulse jump and her chest squeeze, she will have to admit other things too.

Things she is not ready to unpack. Things that could shift the ground under her feet. Things she is scared to want.

So Orm is staying in the same in-between place, between truth and denial, holding on to blurred lines where longing can look like friendship and loneliness can hide in plain sight.

She isn't ready for a partner. But she is ready, though she is refusing to face it, for Ling.

Orm shakes off all of those thoughts when she hears Ling closing the oven. She comes out of the bathroom and sees the brunette grabbing two glasses.

Ling is slicing the pizza she made unsure if Orm would come home hungry. She's keeping her eyes on the cutting board, pretending she isn't hyperaware of the blonde's presence.

Orm is lingering by the balcony after hanging her towel outside, pretending to scroll through her phone. She hasn't eaten all night. Told Teerapat she wasn't hungry. The truth is she kept hoping Ling would text her, would want to have dinner together, would choose, whatever it is they keep choosing without naming it.

"What's... that?" Orm finally asks, nodding toward the pizza. Her voice is softer than usual, too careful.

"Dinner," Ling says, keeping her eyes down. "I made pizza in case you didn't eat."

Orm blinks. "I didn't.", she hesitates. "Did you?"

Ling shakes her head. "No. I waited."

Silence wraps around them like a too-tight blanket.

"You didn't have to," Orm murmurs, stepping closer to the counter.

Ling shrugs, pretending nonchalance. "I wanted to."

Their eyes meet for half a second, one half-second too long, and Ling's breath catches. Orm looks away first.

Ling clears her throat. "Um... by the way. Pat called."

Orm stiffens, throat tightening. "He did?"

Ling nods, slicing the pizza again even though it doesn't need it. "Yeah. He apologized for humiliating me. And he said that you told him to."

Orm flushes, embarrassed. "He was being an idiot. Someone had to say something."

Ling looks up, and something warm flickers in her expression. "He likes you."

"I don't want him to," Orm blurts. Then winces. "I mean... I don't know what I mean."

Ling's chest tightens.

"Um," Ling says quietly, "Freen also called earlier. We made up"

Orm's jaw tenses, subtle but unmistakable. "That's fine. It's totally fine."

But Ling sees the way Orm's hand curls slightly on the counter. And Orm sees the way Ling swallows, like she's guilty for something she can't explain.

"Do you think I should start dating?", the blonde suddenly asks. Ling widens her eyes and tries hard not to choke with her own air.

"Pat?", the brunette gives her her most displeased face.

"I supposed you had something to do with him showing up tonight. I had fun but..." Orm smiles faintly, "No. I'm saying, in general"

She doesn't name how Ling trying to pair her up with her friend makes her feel. But not good.

"Why do you ask that? Only you know that"

"Just a thought", the younger drops the topic with a shrug.

Ling finally pushes a plate toward her. "Eat with me?" she asks, barely above a whisper.

Orm nods, relief and something else flickering in her eyes. They sit side by side, far too close and not close enough, both pretending the air isn't buzzing between them. Both pretending they aren't wondering the same impossible thing:

Why does it hurt so much when someone else gets near you?

Chapter Text

Like this, time keeps passing between them. Neither of them is making any move bold enough to cross the boundaries of companionship, of friendship; but the small teasing remarks, the quiet gestures, the palpable discomfort that settles between them whenever Freen is mentioned or comes near, all of it is making the lines blur more and more.

They slip into downtown the way they slip into each other's space. Naturally, without talking about it too much.

It's a sunny afternoon, warm enough that Orm is walking with her jacket tied around her waist while Ling is carrying a mental list of everything they want for the apartment. A record player, plants that won't die, throw pillows that match nothing but somehow match them.

They walk side by side, brushing shoulders every now and then, each touch feeling like an accident neither of them is in a hurry to avoid.

"Okay," Orm says, looking at her phone, "there's a vintage shop half a block from here. The pictures look cool, but the reviews say the owner is kinda weird."

Ling shrugs lightly. "We can handle weird."

"You can handle weird," Orm teases. "I just panic and smile too much."

Ling laughs. "You smile too much anyway."

"Because you say stupid things on purpose."

Ling nudges her. "You like it."

Orm doesn't deny it.

They push open the shop door, greeted by a bell and the dusty scent of old wood and vinyl. Ling heads straight to the record players, fingers grazing the polished surfaces, eyes bright with curiosity. Orm watches her, pretending not to.

"This one looks good," Ling says, bending slightly to inspect a turntable with copper accents.

Orm stands behind her, leaning closer than necessary. "We could get it. It matches your weird aesthetic."

Ling arches a brow. "My aesthetic? You literally picked it."

"Yeah, but only because you'd hate it if I didn't."

Ling smirks. "You know me too well."

"Somebody has to," Orm says, too soft, too honest.

Ling straightens, caught off guard. For a moment, their eyes hold like they're waiting for the other to look away first.

They don't.

Ling clears her throat. "Let's test it."

They ask the owner to play something, and soon an old jazz record crackles through the speakers. Orm bounces her shoulders to the rhythm, exaggerating it to make Ling laugh. She succeeds.

"You're insufferable," Ling tells her.

"You're smiling."

"Stop being charming."

Orm grins. "Make me."

Ling pushes her lightly and heads toward the decoration shelves before she can think about what she just said.

They pick things up together. A ceramic cat Ling says Orm can't buy (because "it's haunted."), a cactus Orm insists Ling must adopt (because "it's you as a plant."), fairy lights that Orm touches with a softness that catches Ling completely off guard.

"You want those?" Ling asks.

Orm shrugs. "Only if you help me hang them."

The brunette feels her pulse skip. "Obviously."

They leave the store with two bags and a boxed record player. As they walk back to the bus stop, Orm hooks her pinky around Ling's for half a second while adjusting her grip on the box. It's casual. It's nothing. But Ling feels it spark all the way up her arm.

"You okay?" the younger asks lightly.

"Yeah," Ling murmurs, keeping her eyes ahead. "I'm good."

They keep walking, close enough that their arms brush again and again, enough that neither of them wants to step away.

---------- ---------- ----------

They start in Orm's room, both barefoot, just two girls trying to make a bedroom look less like a dorm and more like a home. Orm is holding the box of fairy lights. Ling is standing on Orm's desk chair. Wobbly, dangerously so, stretching to hook the first string onto the wall. "This chair is going to kill you," Orm mutters.

Ling glances down at her with a grin. "Then catch me."

Orm rolls her eyes, but her hands hover near Ling's thighs anyway, just in case.

Ling reaches up again, her shirt lifting slightly with the movement, revealing a strip of her stomach. Smooth skin, toned lines, the hint of abs Orm has absolutely never noticed before. Except now she does. She sees everything. The small curve of Ling's waist, the soft shadow where her ribs outline gently under her skin, the way the light hits her back, warm and golden. Orm's breath catches; just a tiny, betraying hitch. She hopes Ling doesn't hear it.

"Pass me the next hook?" the brunette asks, still reaching. Orm doesn't move. She is busy staring. Or rather, not staring, but trying not to stare so hard she forgets how to function. "Orm?" Ling looks down, brow raised.

"Oh- yeah. Sorry." Orm fumbles, almost drops the hooks, hands them up with a clumsy laugh. "Here. I spaced out."

Ling smirks. "You always do that."

"No, I don't."

"You do," Ling insists. "Sometimes I think you're trying to study the molecules in the air."

Orm doesn't answer. She can't. Her heart is knocking against her ribs like it's trying to escape. Ling stretches again, leaning her weight forward, and Orm instinctively puts a hand on her hip to steady her.

They both freeze. Ling looks down. And Orm looks up. Their eyes meet in the half-lit room, fairy lights dangling between them like a line neither should cross but both keep walking toward.

"You okay?" Ling asks softly.

The blonde nods too quickly. "Yeah. Totally. Just... safety."

Ling's voice is a little breathy when she answers. "Right. Safety."

She finishes attaching the lights, then hops down too suddenly. Orm steps back to give her space, miscalculates, and bumps into the wall.

Ling laughs gently. "Relax. It's just me."

That's the problem, Orm thinks. Ling shouldn't be the person who makes her stomach twist and her thoughts scatter.

The lights flicker on, glowing in soft warm colors across the room, wrapping them in something quiet and intimate.

Ling turns around to see Orm's reaction. "Well? Do you like them?"

Orm looks at the lights. Then at Ling, standing so close she can see every detail. Her long dark lashes, the tiny mole on her cheek, her soft smile.

"I love them," Orm says.

Ling beams, pleased. "Good. They suit you."

Orm swallows. "Yeah. I... I think they do."

The room is warm, glowing, too small for all the questions suddenly blooming inside her. Things she never had to ask, until Ling walked in with her black hair, her soft voice, her gentle chaos, and made her world tilt off its axis.

Ling flops onto Orm's bed with a sigh. "We did good."

Orm sits beside her, careful not to touch her thigh even though they're only a breath apart. "Yeah," Orm whispers, staring at Ling's profile.

---------- ---------- ----------

[Lookmhee, Sonya, Thana and Orm's groupchat]

Orm: im going insane
Orm: ASFSLDVKNDFJKN

Sonya: why are you banging your head against your phone

Orm: idk which one of you will win the bet but for now SHUT UP AND DON'T SAY SHIT

LM: what bet?

Orm: im not stupid
Orm: whatever. i wanna know if i like women...
Orm: how do I Do That

Thana: hi?

Sonya: WHAT THE HELL MCNBJBHJ

Sonya: @LM you owe me 20 baht

LM: what happened omg

LM: I KNEW ITTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Orm: i said i wanna know...
Orm: help me please im about to jump.

Sonya: would it be so bad? i mean look at us

Orm: well

Sonya: -.-

Orm: im joking. im nervous
Orm: it wouldn't be bad but i CANT like the woman i think i like

LM: yeah lingling scares me too
LM: i wouldn't know how to handle all that

Sonya: hello?

Thana: What the hell is going on

Orm: its not lingling omg
Orm: its... someone from the hospital

LM: sure. whatever, you just know
LM: what do you feel?

Orm: i don't know

Sonya: what do you think when you're with her or what do you like about her

Orm: uhm
Orm: this is embarrassing im gonna kms

Sonya: go ahead nobody will judge you

Orm: i wanna try. i wanna experience being with a woman just to know if i like it

LM: girl
LM: shut up

Orm: what?

LM: just say who it is. you don't need to put yourself through that with someone you don't know just to see if you like lingling like that

Orm: its not lingling
Orm: lets go out. i wanna see if i can handle it

Thana: orm is getting a girl before me. Wth

Sonya: i think that's not necessary but if you say so... okay. i get its risky to just go ahead with ling in case you regret it

Orm: bye

LM: fine. This weekend, only us three

Thana: sorry?

LM: you have nothing to do at a lesbian bar

Ending the conversation, the blonde hid her phone under her pillow as if it held a secret no one should know, as if it burned.

After dinner, she had told Lingling she was going to bed early because she was too tired. But the truth was, she couldn't bear the thoughts of being near her for another second. The brunette said goodnight to Orm, wishing her a good rest, and told her she would stay up organizing the cupboard since there were too many things everywhere. From her room, the younger girl could hear the clinking of jars and some soft taps on the counter. She knew Lingling was still awake despite having said goodbye a couple of hours ago.

Even so, Orm needed to see her. She wanted to be with her even if they weren't going to talk, even if it was just breathing the same air or watching her.

With a heavy sigh, resigned to the exhausting desire for closeness, she walks from her room to the kitchen, pretending she's going to get some water.

It's past midnight, the apartment quiet in that soft, reliable way it gets at the end of a long day. Ling is tying her hair into a high ponytail, sleeves rolled up, focused on the bowl in front of her, moving quietly, whisking almond batter in a glass bowl. Humming under her breath.

The brunette keeps checking the recipe she saved, one she bookmarked the day Orm said almond anything reminded her of home. The whole thing is supposed to be a surprise. Something small, tender.

She's slicing the nuts when she hears Orm's steps dragging down the hallway. Orm is walking in slowly, rubbing at her eyes, wearing an oversized shirt. She's drowsy, warm from bed, and stops besides Ling.

"What are you doing?" Orm asks, voice soft.

"Nothing," Ling says too fast, shielding the bowl awkwardly. "Just... couldn't sleep."

Orm frowns. "You're baking."

Ling tries to shrug, but she looks guilty. "Maybe."

Orm steps closer. The smell hits her: sweet, nutty, familiar. It's almond cake. "You made this... for me?" Orm asks, blinking, caught off guard.

Ling stiffens. "I... well... yeah. You had a rough week."

Orm feels something bloom inside her chest, warm, almost painful. A tenderness that knocks the air out of her a little. "Ling... that's really sweet." She gives the older a quick backhug since she knows Lingling doesn't really enjoy physical touch. The older looks everywhere except Orm.

"Anyway," Ling says, "what were you doing awake? Thought you were sleeping."

Orm hesitates. Then she sits on the counter beside Ling, swinging her legs slightly.

"I was texting the girls," she says, staring down at her hands.

She feels like she has to tell her. Just in case. Just to see if she objects.

"About?", Ling glances over her shoulder, "You're quiet. That's suspicious."

"I'm... thinking," Orm says.

Ling hums. "Dangerous."

Orm laughs under her breath. "Probably."

She grabs the knife and hands it to Ling without being asked. Ling takes it, only half paying attention because Orm is close enough that her perfume mixes with the smell of almonds.

"So," Orm starts, suddenly awkward, "I'm going out this weekend."

Ling doesn't look up. "With Sonya and Lookmhee?"

"Mm.", the blonde looks at Ling's hands work. Ling nods, "And we're... going to a bar."

"That's nice," Ling says, still calm, focused on chopping. "Don't get too drunk."

"It's a lesbian bar."

With that, the knife slips.

"Shit!", Ling hisses, jerking her hand back. A thin line of red appears across her finger.

"Ling!" Orm rushes forward, grabbing her hand gently. "Are you okay? Oh my god. Why would you cut toward yourself-", Orm moves to the sink, pulling her along, running cool water over Ling's hand. She's too focused and gentle; Ling feels dizzy.

"You surprised me," Ling snaps, more flustered than hurt. Her cheeks flush a fast, bright pink.

Orm frowns but doesn't push. She studies the cut, then says, "Stay here. Don't move," and rushes out of the kitchen. Ling blinks, confused, until Orm returns with the little plastic first-aid kit they keep in the hallway drawer. "It's small," Orm says as she opens it, "but it's enough." She gently takes Ling's hand again. The touch is careful, clinical, but still impossibly tender. "Does it hurt?"

"A little."

"I'll fix it."

Ling watches her work: the way Orm dabs antiseptic with steady fingers, the wrinkle of concentration between her brows, the soft breath she lets out when she's sure the bleeding has slowed. Orm wraps the tiny bandage around Ling's fingertip with a kind of reverence.

"There," Orm whispers. "All good."

Ling's heartbeat is embarrassingly loud. "You didn't have to..."

"Yes, I did." Orm looks up softly. "Let me take care of you." Ling looks away quickly.

Orm closes the kit, sets it aside, and only then returns to the counter, back to where the smell of almond fills the kitchen.

"Thank you." Ling steps back, clearing her throat, embarrassed. "Let me... finish the batter."

"You're not touching a knife," Orm says firmly, taking it away. For the first time that night, Ling laughs. Nervous, breathless and warmly.

"Fine," she says. "You can cut. I'll stir." Orm joins her behind the counter, close enough that their shoulders brush. Ling pretends she's focused on the bowl. Orm pretends she's focused on the cake. "Anyway... why are you going to a lesbian bar?"

"Because I... I wanna know if I like women." Ling freezes. The kitchen goes silent except for the hum of the fridge and Ling's uneven breathing.

"Oh," Ling says softly, eyes flicking up to Orm's. "So... how are you planning on knowing?"

Orm swallows. "I asked the girls. They said to go. Try it. To... see."

She knows that's not true. And she knows that it doesn't make a lot of sense.

Ling's expression shifts to something unreadable, too raw. "You could've just... talked to someone you trust."

"I am," Orm whispers.

Ling looks away too quickly, "And... who do you think you like?"

Orm stiffens. "No one."

Ling raises an eyebrow, tone soft but sharper than usual. "So you're going to a lesbian bar with no experience just to test something... for someone who doesn't exist?"

"It makes sense in my mind. I'm open to trying things" Orm mutters. Ling's pulse jumps, visible in the line of her throat. "I just... need to know. Loneliness has been one of my biggest complexes, seeing all of you with someone everytime we gather... maybe... I want to see. Before I do something stupid."

Ling breathes out slowly. "Going to a lesbian bar isn't stupid. Hurting yourself trying to figure out yourself is."

Orm looks up at her, eyes soft, unsure. "Then what do I do?"

Ling opens her mouth, closes it, then looks down. "You find out what you want," she says quietly. "But don't use strangers to hurt less."

Orm nods, not trusting herself to speak.

Neither mentions the quiet ache settling between them like a third heartbeat. But both feel it. Everything.

---------- ---------- ----------

The following night, Orm is getting ready in her room, and Sonya and Lookmhee are sprawled across her bed like two judgmental cats who own the place. "NO," Sonya says as Orm steps out of the closet wearing a black crop top and jeans. "Too basic. You're going to a lesbian bar, not a supermarket."

Lookmhee nods solemnly. "Next." Orm groans and disappears back into the closet.

Ling, in her own room, had planned to read, maybe sketch, maybe anything other than thinking about Orm at a bar full of women. But the doors are thin and every word reaches her with surgical precision. She adjusts her pillow, tries to focus, but-

Sonya: "Okay but that top is ADORABLE."

Lookmhee: "But is it gay enough? ...mmm, it's kinda half-gay."

Orm: "Half-gay is fine! I'm half-figuring it out!"

Ling closes her eyes. Please don't be too beautiful. Please don't be too stunning. Don't walk out looking like someone everyone will stare at.

Orm tries on a third outfit.

Sonya: "Absolutely not."

Lookmhee: "Burn it."

Orm: "I hate both of you."

Ling presses a hand to her chest, annoyed at her own heartbeat.

Then suddenly, a knock on her door. "Ling?" Orm calls softly. "Can you come here for a sec?"

Ling freezes. She fixes her hair without thinking, checks her reflection, tells herself to breathe, and opens her door. And there Orm stands. Beautiful in a way that is soft and devastating.

She's wearing a deep sea-blue satin top, fitted but not tight, sleeveless with a delicate drape around her collarbone. It catches the light and makes her skin glow warm and golden. She paired it with high-waisted black trousers that hug her waist and fall loose over her long legs, subtly elongating her figure. Her hair is down, wavy from the heat of the room, brushing over her shoulders. Minimal makeup: mascara and gloss, enough to make her eyes impossibly bright.

It's not revealing. But it's stunning. Feminine. Sexy in a quiet, refined way. Lingling forgets to breathe. Her mouth opens but no sound comes out. Sonya and Lookmhee exchange a look behind Orm's back. Oh, they notice. They VERY much notice.

Orm notices Ling's expression too.

"Is it... too much?" she asks, suddenly shy, fingers brushing nervously against her trousers. "They said I should look a little... pretty. For tonight."

Ling shakes her head, still breathless. "You look-" Her voice cracks. "You look good. Really good."

Something flickers across the blonde's face. Heat, shyness, something she doesn't want to examine. Lookmhee whispers loudly, "She's blushing."

Sonya elbows her. "Stop being obvious."

Lingling's stomach twists. Her eyes linger too long on Orm's neck, her lips, the way the satin catches the light when she shifts. Orm looks down, suddenly unable to hold the brunette's gaze for more than a second.

"Well," Orm murmurs, "I just... wanted your opinion."

Ling swallows. "It's perfect."

Sonya grins like an idiot. "PERFECT, SHE SAID!"

Lookmhee fans herself dramatically. "The lesbians will fall at your feet, Orm."

Orm's cheeks go crimson. Lingling's chest hurts.

---------- ---------- ----------

Later, as the apartment door closes and Orm leaves with Sonya and Lookmhee, Lingling stands in the hallway, staring at the empty space she occupied only seconds ago.

She tries to read. Fails. Tries to watch a show. Fails. Every time she blinks, she sees Orm in that satin blue top, flushed and beautiful, nervous and shining under her gaze. Please don't let anyone touch you. Please come back the same. Please don't fall for someone tonight.

Ling's POV

Since I can't seem to concentrate and I don't have plans, the best thing I can do is take a bath and try to sleep. The water is hot enough to sting, but I sink into it anyway. I want the burn. Something I can name, something simple. Heat. Skin. Breath. Not this other thing that keeps scraping at the inside of my ribs.

I close my eyes, slide down until the water covers my ears, and I tell myself the truth, the one I never dared to say out loud. I can't fall in love with her.

First of all, I don't even know if she'll ever like women. Let's start there.

Then she's my roommate. My roommate, for God's sake. If I fall for her, then what? Every corner of our home becomes a landmine. If I lose her, there's no door far enough to run to. No room that isn't hers, too.

Then she's too soft, gentle and breakable. She's all warm eyes and careful hands, someone who apologizes before she even knows what for. People like her don't hurt, except they do accidentally, because they don't even realize the power they have. And I've already been on the other side of that softness. I've already watched it turn into indifference overnight. I've already had someone swear they'd never leave... right before they did.

And I'm not doing that again. I'm not handing over the sharpest parts of myself to someone who might drop them. I'm not compromising, not bending, not lowering defenses. Compromise means trust, and trust is just an invitation to destroy me. Trust is giving someone the weapon, steadying their hand, and asking them, begging them, not to use it.

Orm doesn't know any of this. She just smiles, and touches my elbow when she wants my attention, and looks at me like I'm something soft too. As if I'm someone she'd never harm.

She doesn't know I'm still standing in the wreckage someone else left behind. She doesn't see the broken edges I keep turned inward. She doesn't understand that I've been cheated on, lied to, made a fool of, and that every time my heart stirs in her direction, it feels like I'm stepping back into the same fire that burned me.

I lift my face out of the water, inhale, exhale. The heat isn't helping. If anything, it's loosening something in me. "I can't love you," I whisper into the empty bathroom.

Not because she isn't worthy, but because if I give in, I won't know how to survive her.

Chapter Text

The bar is warm and buzzing, shadows pulsing with purple lights that slide across faces and glasses. Orm stands at the counter with a drink she's barely touched, shoulders slightly hunched, fingers tapping anxiously against the condensation on the glass. Sonya and Lookmhee hover nearby like two bodyguards who gossip more than they protect.

Then a girl steps into her orbit. Long brown hair, soft eyeliner, a denim jacket littered with pins and patches.

"Hey," she says with a slow smile, resting one elbow on the bar. Her voice is low, confident. "I like your top."

Orm blinks rapidly, three times, because compliments still catch her off-guard. "Oh- um... thank you."

The girl's smile widens. "I'm Becky." She extends her hand, palm warm when Orm takes it.

"Orm," she replies, cheeks heating. She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, almost shy.

"Cute name," Becky says, leaning in slightly.

Orm laughs nervously, a soft sound that disappears under the music. "Thanks."

"You come here often?" Becky tilts her head. "Oh god, I sound like a cliché," she groans immediately after saying it, laughing at herself.

But Orm laughs too, genuine this time, and the tension melts. They drift into small talk.

Orm keeps adjusting the strap of her top, twisting it between her fingers. Becky taps the bar in rhythm with her sentences, leaning closer each time the blonde speaks. When Becky laughs, she touches Orm's shoulder lightly. Just two fingertips, testing.

Orm smiles politely, nods at the right moments, sways gently to the music when the silence stretches. She looks at Becky's eyes, then at her drink, then at the blinking neon sign behind the bar, anywhere but at the girl's mouth.

Because she feels... nothing. No flutter. No warmth. No spark. But she tries.

When Becky asks, "You wanna grab coffee? Maybe an actual date-date tomorrow?" she says it with a hopeful tilt of her head, a teasing curl at the corner of her lips. Orm hesitates, her hand tightening around her glass, nails pressing faint crescents into her palm. "Only if you want to," Becky adds softly.

Orm swallows and hears herself say, "Okay. Yeah. A date sounds... nice."

Becky beams, her eyes bright. She reaches out to brush Orm's arm gently, testing again, and Orm freezes for half a second before forcing herself to relax. They exchange phones. Becky walks off. Orm lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding and slumps slightly against the counter. That's when Sonya and Lookmhee descend.

Sonya leans her hip against the bar, arms crossed, giving Orm The Look, the one she uses when she knows she's about to cause emotional damage. Lookmhee stands beside her, sipping her drink with the air of someone who has already formed ten opinions.

"So," Sonya says slowly, "that was definitely flirting."

Orm hides behind her glass. "Maybe a little."

Lookmhee scoffs. "Girl. She touched your shoulder like three times."

Orm's ears turn red. "I noticed."

"And you said yes to a date." Sonya raises a brow. "Tomorrow."

Orm groans and lets her forehead drop onto the bar. "Don't start."

Lookmhee pats her back dramatically. "We must."

Sonya leans closer, voice softening but eyes sharp. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

Orm lifts her head, cheeks flushed. "No! I mean, kind of. I thought maybe... I should try."

Lookmhee circles around to face her fully. "Orm, when you're into someone, you get all flustered and shiny-eyed and awkward cute."

"Awkward cute?" Orm repeats, horrified.

"Yes," both girls say in unison.

Lookmhee points a finger at her chest. "But you were calm. Too calm."

"Because I don't know her at all. How am I supposed to like her already?"

Sonya almost cuts her off. "No, it's because your heart's already somewhere else."

Orm stares at her. "What do you mean?"

Lookmhee shoots Sonya a look that says be gentle. Sonya ignores it. "Ling, babe. We mean Lingling."

Orm's breath catches. She shakes her head too fast. "No. No, we're roommates. She's just-"

"Making you almond cakes in the middle of the night?" Lookmhee counters.

Orm hides her face in her hands. "Stop."

Lookmhee leans in, quiet, almost tender. "When Lingling asks if you've eaten, your whole face lights up."

Sonya nudges her arm. "And when Becky asked you out, your face did... nothing."

Orm stares down at the bar, fingers curling and uncurling nervously. Her voice is soft when it comes out "I... just wanted to know if I could feel something."

Lookmhee tilts her head. "And?"

Orm doesn't answer, because the truth is sitting heavily in her chest.

Sonya touches her shoulder gently. "Don't use someone else to confirm what you already feel."

---------- ---------- ----------

Ling's POV

I'm lying to myself when I say I'm fixing this lamp because I'm bored. It's 3 a.m., the apartment is quiet in that way that makes every sound feel too loud, and I'm sitting cross-legged on the couch wearing one of Orm's T-shirts. Oversized, soft, smelling faintly like her shampoo. I told myself it was the first thing I found in the dryer. Technically true. Emotionally... questionable.

The lamp guts are spread across the coffee table like a patient on an operating table. A couple of wires, the loose socket, the little switch that got stuck last week. Orm had sighed, saying she'd take it to maintenance "one day." I went to technical school for a year; it's not rocket science. Still, my hands are shaking so badly that I grip the screwdriver like it's a lifeline.

I can't sleep. Not because of the lamp, but because Orm is out there, living, talking, laughing... figuring herself out without me. And something about that makes my chest tighten in this low, unbearable way, like I'm being stretched from the inside.

I'm connecting the wires when the door unlocks. My whole body freezes. Then her silhouette appears in the entryway, soft and sleepy and still glowing from the night air.

"Ling?" she whispers, surprised. "You're awake?"

I clear my throat, pretending this is normal. "Lamp surgery. Couldn't leave the patient unattended."

She smiles. Tired, genuine. "You should be sleeping."

"You should too," I shoot back, softer than I want.

There's a beat where she looks around the room and then at me. Her eyes land on the T-shirt I'm wearing and recognizes it immediately.

"Oh," she murmurs, cheeks lifting in a shy little smile. "That's mine."

"First thing in the dryer," I repeat, like a bad actor reading from a bad script.

Orm steps further inside, kicking off her shoes. "Do you... want some almond cake?" Her voice is uncertain, like she's not sure if it's the right thing to offer at 3 a.m., or if I'm the right person to offer it to.

My heart trips. "Yeah. Okay."

We end up on the balcony, two plates and cups of tea on the coffee table, the city spread out below us like a dull constellation. The air is cold enough to make us sit closer than we should. For a minute, neither of us talks. We just eat in the quiet, the sweetness lingering between us. Then I ask it. Casual. Not casual.

"So... the bar?"

Orm blushes. She never blushes. "It was fine. I met this girl, Becky. She was... nice."

Nice. Nice feels like a kick in the ribs.

"She asked me out," Orm adds, picking at her cake with her fork.

I swallow. Hard. "And you?"

"I said yes," she admits. Her voice is small, like she's afraid it'll break something between us.

My fingers tighten around the plate. "Right. That's... good. Nice." I hate the word. It tastes like metal.

"Mostly because, you know, seeing you- all of you dating... sometimes gets to me."

"It's fine. You don't have to explain", I choose reassurance rather than reasoning. If she has to learn that way, then... I have no right to intervene.

Orm looks at me then, really looks; her eyes soft, searching, confused. "You're wearing my shirt," she says again, quieter this time, as if that alone means something she shouldn't name.

"And you're eating my almond cake," I counter, because joking is easier than screaming. She laughs, but it's fragile.

Another silence settles, thicker now. The type that hides all the things neither of us is brave enough to say. Finally she whispers, "Ling... you didn't have to wait up."

I look at her, at her tired eyes, the smudged eyeliner, the piece of hair sticking to her cheek. "I know," I say. And it's the closest I get to telling her the truth.

Author's POV

"My graduation is around the corner," the blonde murmurs after a few seconds of silence so tense it feels almost fragile, as if any word could shatter it. She speaks just to clear the air that has gone too still. "Will you come?"

"If that is what you want, then of course I will," Lingling replies, watching her with a soft, almost hesitant smile. "Should I bring someone?"

The question reaches Orm unguarded, hitting her before she can prepare. What does she mean?

"Well... I don't know what stage you're in with Freen, but she's graduating too. She'll be there. You don't have to bring her," the younger girl answers, discomfort tightening her voice.

"That's not what I meant," Lingling says, shaking her head gently. She sets her plate on the small table, pulls her feet onto her chair, folding in on herself slightly. "I imagined you'd invite someone else. Should I bring my friends? Or... is it a small celebration, or...?"

"Oh-" Orm inhales sharply, heat flushing her face. "Well, bring them if you want. My friends will be there, and I think both groups get along. My parents will come too."

"We haven't talked much about them," the brunette notes in a quiet, deliberate tone.

"There isn't much to say," Orm remarks, almost dismissively. "Working-class, one daughter, enough to live with occasional comfort, and that's it. We haven't spoken much lately. They know I'm in the final stretch of my degree." The older girl studies her carefully from a polite distance. Orm exhales, the sound thin and weary. "They don't even know I moved in the middle of it all."

"What? Are you serious?" Lingling looks at her with amused disbelief.

"I wanted to avoid interference. To stop them from making decisions for me, as they always have. Somyot and I agreed not to say anything," the blonde lowers her gaze, shame softening her voice. "Imagine their faces when they learn I'm no longer with my lifelong boyfriend, but instead I'm-" Orm stops herself abruptly, as if the words have become too heavy to carry.

"You're...?" the brunette whispers, encouraging her to continue, her curiosity hushed but sharp.

"Living- living with a woman I've known for less than four months," she mutters, rubbing the back of her neck. Lingling releases a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "I'm sorry for putting you in that situation, I can tell them beforehand-"

"And..." Lingling clears her throat, interrupting with a small tremor, "do you think it will go well when they come?"

"Well, I've been fully independent for a couple of years... so any complaint would be pointless. It's already done. I've spent too long doing what others wanted."

Lingling senses, almost instinctively, that Orm is not speaking only about this particular situation. "Hm. I understand."

Silence settles again, thick and warm, broken only by the slow cadence of their breathing and the distant murmur of cars passing through the night. Then Lingling speaks, her voice low, almost cautious. "We're not in any stage."

"What do you mean?" Orm turns toward her, brow subtly furrowed.

"With Freen," the brunette says softly, as if stating something inevitable. "It's not a stage because there are no steps after this. It began this way, and it will remain as it is." A faint hardness threads through her tone, the kind that hides something wounded.

Orm waits. Quiet, patient, for Lingling to choose whether to go on. She knows how fiercely the brunette guards her privacy, and she treasures this fragile willingness to open up. For her part, Lingling feels quietly grateful for the space the younger has unknowingly carved out for her to breathe.

"I told her from the beginning and, although sometimes I think she's not entirely satisfied, it's what I can offer right now."

"Why do you think she's not satisfied?" the blonde dares to ask, voice barely above a whisper. "If you're okay saying it, of course."

"Well..." Lingling begins, her eyes drifting to the buildings across the street, their windows glowing faintly in the dark. "Let's say our connection is strictly... physical."

Orm swallows hard; she can't stop the knot forming in her throat.

"It's harder for me to enjoy it than it is for her, especially because lately I've taken it as something to complete, as if it were a duty, to satisfy her and stop her from reproaching me for other things. Like the fact that we never do ordinary things together. Which was never part of the arrangement from the very beginning anyway."

Orm pulls her feet up onto her chair as well, resting her chin on her knees while she listens to her friend. "Maybe she... developed feelings." She knows this, she sensed it in their brief exchange in the kitchen during her welcome to the apartment.

"She's free to tell me. I asked her to, but I think she doesn't want to end whatever this is."

"And..." the blonde tries to articulate her question carefully, "returning those feelings isn't a possibility?"

"No." Lingling's answer is sharp, cold, immediate. "Since my last relationship ended, giving my heart away willingly to anyone is not an option."

A faint shade of disappointment crosses Orm's face. Still, she understands why the older thinks that way. She cannot even imagine a pain like that.

"You haven't experienced it, but loving a woman is entirely different from loving a man. The latter has never happened to me," Lingling laughs softly at her own comment, "but I simply know. It shakes everything you are, everything you thought you were. It transforms you completely. And when it ends while you still have love in your hands, it's like... you have to be born again."

Those words echo inside Orm. All of them.

"To be honest, I don't think I've ever loved a man either," she blurts out suddenly.

"I'm sorry?" Lingling thinks she must have misheard.

"I did care for Somyot, the same affection I felt my whole life since we were children. How could I not care for someone who has been with me practically since I was born?" the blonde seems to be thinking out loud rather than stating something she's certain of. "But... it never felt..." And that is the moment to stop.

It never felt like this.

"Right?" the brunette attempts to finish her thought.

"Exactly." Orm seizes the escape route. And she wants to keep going, because now, though she will not say it aloud (and barely admits it to herself), she has new sensations and new emotions to compare that old love to. She now understands why she couldn't get the deepness of love they talked about in movies and books.

It was love, but not... that kind of love.

Lingling simply observes the girl beside her, her profile illuminated faintly, her gaze lost in the night as if searching for answers in the concrete silhouettes of the neighboring buildings. She seems disoriented, unraveled, questioning herself almost down to her own name. The brunette knows she can only stay by her side and help her understand herself where she can, offering advice without steering her path.

This explains why Orm sometimes seems so new to the world. Throughout her life she followed rules simply because that was how things were supposed to be, without knowing the reasoning behind them. Without wondering whether her actions came from her own will or from her desire to make someone else happy; her family, or society at large.

It also explains why she sometimes makes impulsive decisions, like not telling her parents about her breakup or her move. Like trying to discover whether she likes women by going out with a stranger, instead of talking to people she trusts. Like Sonya, Lookmhee, or Lingling. Her yearning for freedom and genuine happiness sits so close to the surface that it sometimes spills out through reckless impulses.

Even so, the only thing anyone can do is walk beside her instead of placing obstacles on her path or dictating where she should go.

Chapter Text

"Yeah, maybe... I'll let you know beforehand, don't worry. Anyway, if you want to do something else, feel free to make other plans." Lingling holds her phone between her ear and shoulder while preparing orange juice and avocado-egg toast for breakfast. She turns toward the table and catches sight of Orm at the hallway entrance from the corner of her eye, wearing loose sleepwear, slippers, her hair a little messy, rubbing one eye and squinting the other shut against the brightness of the room. "Let's talk about it in person, okay? See you." The brunette hangs up just as she finishes preparing everything.

"Morning," the blonde says in a raspy voice, approaching where her friend waits.

"How did you sleep?" Lingling quickly washes the knife she used to spread the avocado; she doesn't like seeing dirty utensils while she eats. As she does, she feels Orm move behind her. Then the blonde gives her a quick, playful bite on the shoulder. "I see... well?" Lingling freezes for a second, startled by the gesture, though she knows it's just Orm being Orm.

"Then you're seeing wrong," Orm replies, sitting in her usual spot at the table. "But for some reason, sleeping less gives me more energy in the morning."

"I don't know whether I should be happy or worried," Lingling says, taking the seat in front of her.

"I've never managed to wake up before you since I moved in. You can congratulate me whenever that happens." She grabs a toast and takes a bite.

Lingling laughs softly at the blonde's frustration. "It's fine, your routine is much heavier than mine. You should rest when you have the time."

"I'm still full from the almond cake from, like, four hours ago, but this is delicious. Thanks for breakfast every day." And the brunette remembers everything they talked about the night before, the explosive tension of the moment, as if something had been waiting to be confessed. "I love you Lingling", the blonde says with a tiny voice, swaying her head side to side.

Ling can only manage to look at her with soft eyes as she sips her juice.

"Were you making plans for tonight?" Orm asks, curious.

"Something like that. I don't know if I'll go out. I have a lot of work today." Lingling lowers her gaze, very aware that Orm does have plans.

"You can invite someone over so you don't have to go out," the blonde offers as a solution.

"Yeah, I'll think about it throughout the day," Lingling says, ending the topic and taking another sip of her juice. "Your date is still on?" she asks, clearing her throat.

"I think so," Orm says, drinking her juice as well. "Becky said she'd text me this afternoon."

"And... what do you think will happen?"

"She said it's an actual date, probably at night so... maybe the movies. Though I'd like to talk and, you know," she gestures as if it's obvious, "get to know her".

"Hm." The conversation feels heavier now. "Are you sure about what you're doing?"

Orm freezes halfway through lifting her toast again. Her jaw tightens. And in an attempt of convincing Ling and herself that she knows what she's doing, her voice comes out as arrogance.

Ling's POV

"Why wouldn't I be?" she asks, shrugging, but the movement is stiff, not natural.

"I'm just saying," I murmur, taking a sip of my juice, "you don't even like her yet."

Orm scoffs, a tiny, sharp sound. "You don't know that."

I lift an eyebrow.

She exhales, annoyed, but most of that annoyance is the kind you direct at yourself. And then, casually, too casually: "It's not like you knew Freen before deciding things with her."

My fingers still around the glass. "Excuse me?"

Orm's eyes widen a fraction. She didn't mean to say it like that. She didn't mean to say it at all.

"I mean-", she clears her throat, sitting up straighter. "I'm just saying people meet strangers all the time. It's normal. That's it." But her voice is too tight, quick and defensive.

I turn slightly toward her. "Why bring up Freen?"

She doesn't answer right away. She grabs her juice instead, takes a long sip, like orange juice can save her. Then, with a shrug so nonchalant it's almost theatrical:

"You talk to her. She's around." A pause. "I just assumed she'd count as an example."

The words are fine, neutral. But the way she says she's around, a little flat, a little bitter, makes something inside me twist.

"Right," I say quietly. "An example."

Orm nods, but she's avoiding my eyes now, staring at the table like it suddenly became fascinating.

Silence stretches between us. She taps her thumb nervously against her glass. Then again. And again. Three soft beats, a pause, then another. It's the rhythm she falls into when she's anxious, when her thoughts are running too fast for her mouth to keep up.

Finally, she exhales, long and shaky. "...I'm sorry." Her voice is low, barely above a whisper.

I blink, surprised. Orm almost never apologizes first, not because she's stubborn, but because she usually tries to laugh things off instead of naming them. She pushes her hair behind her ear, twice, even though it's already tucked.

"I didn't mean the thing about Freen," she murmurs. "I shouldn't have said it like that."

I stay quiet, letting her continue. She fiddles with the edge of her sleeve, pulling the fabric over her palm.

"I'm just-" she sighs again, frustrated with herself. "I'm nervous." Her eyes lift to mine for a moment, then drop to the table again.

"Nervous about what?" I ask softly.

She makes a helpless little gesture with her hands. "About today. About this date. About all of it." She laughs once, humorless. "It's the first time I'm seeing a girl like... like that. And everyone keeps acting like I'm going to screw it up or regret it or... I don't know." She looks up, her expression open in a way she rarely lets it be. "When none of you trust my decisions," she says quietly, "it makes me doubt myself even more."

Her shoulders slump the moment she admits it, like the words drain something out of her. My chest tightens.

She rubs her palms together, warming them, or grounding herself. "I know I'm not the most decisive person in the world, but I'm trying now that I'm free to do what I want. I swear I am. And when Sonya jokes about it and Lookmhee laughs and you..." She hesitates, biting her lip. "When even you look at me like you're waiting for me to change my mind... it makes me feel stupid." The last word comes out small, too honest.

Orm shakes her head, cheeks a little pink with embarrassment.

"I shouldn't have snapped at you. Or brought up Freen. That was... low." She takes a breath, deeper this time, like she's bracing herself. "I'm just scared," she finishes, voice soft. "I'm scared of getting this wrong."

I study her. Her tense jaw, her fingers twisting the hem of her shirt, her eyes shining with the kind of vulnerability she tries so hard not to show.

"Orm," I say gently, "I wasn't trying to make you feel judged."

"I know," she says immediately. Then she swallows, eyes flicking up. "That's why it scared me. Because if you don't think I'm making the right choices... then maybe I'm really not."

Her vulnerability is raw, almost shimmering in the morning light. And for the first time since this conversation started, she looks directly into my eyes, no defensiveness, no sarcasm, just quiet honesty. "I'm sorry," she repeats, softer this time. "I didn't mean to turn it into a fight."

The tension in the air softens, melting around the space between us; still charged, complicated, but finally gentler.

"Thank you for telling me how I make you feel", I grab her hand above the table, "and I'm sorry. I'll be more careful with my words. I just want you to be safe" Orm gifts me a subtle smile as I rub her knuckles with my thumb.

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Author's POV

The studio is warm with late-afternoon light, the kind that pours in through the tall windows in soft, honey-colored sheets. Dust is floating lazily in the glow, drifting between canvases propped along the walls and the small jungle of plants Lingling keeps insisting she doesn't have time for but is watering religiously anyway. A low playlist is humming from the speaker near the desk, something indie, something soft, a voice blending into the air like another brushstroke.

Charlotte is sitting on the tall stool near the window, one leg crossed over the other, her posture relaxed and practiced from years of letting Lingling paint her. She's wearing an oversized linen shirt and a half-smile that makes it impossible to hide anything from her. Not that Lingling ever really can.

Ling is standing a few feet away, brush hovering above the canvas. Her hand isn't steady. It hasn't been all afternoon.

"You're going to stab the painting if you keep gripping the brush like that," Charlotte is saying lightly, tilting her head. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Ling answers too quickly. The word falls sharp, wrong. She drags the brush across the canvas, but the color lands harsher than she intends. "Just tired."

Charlotte raises an eyebrow. "Right. And I'm the Queen of Denmark."

Ling exhales, long and slow, the breath wobbling at the end. She steps back from the easel, wiping paint from her fingers onto a rag already stained with the colors of a dozen other confessions. "Orm's going on a date with a girl tonight."

Charlotte blinks. "Ah." Then, after a beat, "So she's bisexual?"

"It looks like it." Ling presses her lips together. "And she went out to buy clothes for it." Her tone makes it sound like an unforgivable offense.

Charlotte tries, truly tries not to smile. "So she's... preparing. That's what people do when they like someone."

"I know," Ling mutters. She's fiddling with the ring on her finger, spinning it around and around, a nervous habit Charlotte has learned to track like a barometer. "I know. It's just..."

"You hate it."

Ling's eyes flick up, startled. "I don't hate it. I just-"

"Hate it," Charlotte repeats, gentler this time, not unkind. She shifts on the stool, leaning forward, elbows on her knees. "Ling, come on. You're anxious, you're just butchering that brushstroke- don't glare, it's true. And you've been pacing in your head since I arrived."

Lingling opens her mouth, then closes it. She looks at the canvas as if it's holding the courage she needs, then at the window, the sun catching her cheekbone, making her seem smaller than she usually allows herself to be.

Finally, she whispers, "She's going on a date. And I don't know why it... hurts."

Charlotte is softening instantly. She hops off the stool and crosses the room, stepping carefully around paint tubes and half-finished projects until she's reaching Lingling. She places both hands on her friend's shoulders, grounding her.

"It hurts," she says, "because you like her."

Ling lets out a small, helpless sound. Half laugh, half surrender. "Charlotte..."

"No, don't fight me on this. You do." Her voice is warm, steady. "You've been circling around it. The 'fake' flirtation, the morning coffees, the weird jealous face you made while you helped Pat with her- yes, that one, don't make it now."

Ling hides her face behind her hands, mortified. "It's not... I didn't want to-"

"I know." Charlotte gently pulls her hands down. "You didn't want to admit it because it complicates everything. But it's the truth, and you're allowed to say it."

Lingling's voice cracks as she says it, small and defeated: "Fine. I like her."

Charlotte smiles, squeezing her shoulders. "There it is."

Another question runs through her head, "Do you think Pat would mind..."

"Oh, no. Don't even think about it. And by the way he deserves it for being an asshole"

The music is shifting to another soft track, one with a slow guitar and a singer who sounds like she cried through the recording. Outside, the sun is dipping lower, warming the room in a deeper gold.

From the front door, Orm announces that she's home again. She hears music coming from the studio, so she walks toward it with shopping bags in hand and knocks. Lingling tells her to come in.

"I'm back," Orm says. Her face shows none of the excitement or nerves expected before a first date. Ironically, Charlotte is the one who notices this, while Lingling can only keep silently begging for that date not to happen. "Oh- hi, Charlotte." She lifts her hand awkwardly to greet her.

"Hi, Orm," Charlotte replies kindly. "Are you going out?"

Lingling shoots her friend a deadly glare.

"Yeah," Orm says, showing the bag in her hands. "I just came back from buying clothes. I'm not sure it fits the occasion, but..."

"What's the occasion?" Charlotte crosses her legs, rests her elbow on her knee and her chin on her hand, clearly interested.

"Well, I'm going out with a girl." Orm avoids both their gazes, even though Lingling is busy painting soft circles in the corner of the canvas, not looking at her. "I've never, literally never been on a date like this, so... I don't know what I'm supposed to wear, but I like what I got."

"So girls are your thing too? Wow, welcome," Charlotte says with a wink, making Orm smile faintly. "Will you show me what you bought?"

The whole situation is overwhelming for Orm, so she looks for an excuse to escape.

"Actually... I'm running late. I need to shower and get ready, so I'll head out. If you don't mind, I'm going to put some music on in my room." The blonde places her hand on the door handle, saying goodbye to both of them.

"Don't worry, Orm. It's fine. If you need help, let me know," Lingling finally chimes in. Orm simply nods and closes the door behind her.

Charlotte lets out the giggle she'd been holding in since Orm arrived.

"SHHHHHHHH!" Lingling scolds her. "Back to your pose, I want to finish this."

"This is the funniest thing that's happened in all the years we've been friends. You were frozen, girl," Charlotte says as she adjusts herself again. "You lose your whole Lingling Kwong aura around her. You're doomed."

"Tell me about it",  Lingling exhales heavily, rolling her eyes.

"What's the plan to get that date cancelled?", her friend blurts out.

"What?", the older looks at her incredulously.

"You're not letting her go... right?"

Nonchalantly, Lingling responds, "She can do whatever she wants."

Charlote rolls her eyes and snorts, "don't come at me with that stupid statement. You like her, do something about it. I'm not friends with cowards"

"It's more complicated than that. Let her be sure she likes women, and then we'll see"

"Then will be too late", Charlotte tries hard for Lingling to wake up, "also the only people who aren't sure are you and her"

The older, despite it all, can't help smiling at her friend's comments. And even though the chances of being reciprocated feel unreal, something inside her sparks at finally understanding that, after all, she's capable of wanting someone.

---------- ---------- ----------

Orm is stepping out of her room just as Lingling opens the bathroom door. For a second, neither of them moves.

Orm is fully ready: straighter hair than usual, the softest makeup brushing color into her cheeks and giving her eyes a gentle glow, and a black dress that hugs her waist and falls mid-thigh, elegant but undeniably flattering. She looks like she's trying not to look like she tried.

The brunette, instead, looks like she wasn't trying at all, and it's worse. Or better. Orm can't decide. Her roommate is fresh out of the shower, dark hair dripping in smooth strands down her shoulders, a white towel wrapped around her body. Just enough fabric to keep things decent, but not enough to calm Orm's pulse. Droplets roll down Lingling's collarbone, making their way through the valley of her chest and disappearing under the edge of the towel, and Orm's eyes betray her for half a second. Half a second too long.

Lingling's breath catches. Because Orm looks beautiful, too beautiful. The kind of beautiful that makes her stomach clench and her mind whisper, 'please don't be like this, don't look like this for someone else'. She swallows, gripping the towel a little tighter.

"Oh- hey," she manages, stepping aside to let Orm pass. "You're... all ready."

Orm nods, but her throat is dry. Lingling is close enough that she smells like warm skin and shampoo. Part of Orm's mind tells her to look away, be her friend, be straight, be anything that doesn't betray how badly she wants to touch the water still clinging to the other girl's skin.

"Yeah," the blonde says, lowering her gaze to somewhere safe. Lingling's shoulder, the floor, anything that isn't the line of her collarbone. "I'm done. I thought I'd wait on the couch until it's time."

The older nods, though her chest feels strangely tight. She hugs the towel to her body, feeling suddenly exposed, not because of her state of dress, but because of the way Orm looked at her. The way she didn't hide it fast enough.

"Okay," Lingling says softly. "I'll... get changed quickly."

"Right," Orm murmurs. But she still hasn't walked away. She shifts her weight from one leg to the other, eyes flicking up just once more, catching the curve of Lingling's neck. It's a mistake. Her stomach flips; desire hits low and warm and terrifying.

Lingling feels it. Or thinks she does. And that scares her most of all.

"You look..." she starts, then stops, because finishing that sentence would ruin everything. 'You look like someone I'm afraid to lose. You look like someone I want'.

Orm waits, hopeful without admitting it.

"...nice," Ling finishes, weakly.

Orm's lips part, disappointment and longing tangled together. "Thanks. You do too. I mean-" her face burns instantly, "not like that, I just meant... fresh. You look fresh. Clean. I mean-"

Lingling laughs under her breath, saving her from total collapse. "I know what you meant."

Orm nods once, hard, and retreats a step. "I'll be in the living room."

"Okay."

She turns and walks away, the back of her dress curving perfectly with every step, and Lingling closes the bedroom door behind her, leaning her forehead against it, heart pounding.

In the living room, Orm sits on the couch, fingers trembling slightly as she adjusts her dress.

I can't want her, she thinks. I can't.

Chapter Text

Lingling steps into the living room dressed and composed, her hair drying naturally, a soft natural makeup smoothing the tension from her features. She isn't trying to impress anyone, but she does. A fitted black top tucked into loose black trousers, a thin necklace catching the warm apartment light. She looks calm, gentle, put-together.

Orm is the opposite. She sits on the couch like she's forgotten how to have a spine; stiff, knees pressed together, fingers twisting lightly in the skirt of her dress. She jumps a little when the brunette enters, eyes darting up before she can school her expression. They go wide. Then soft. Then she looks away too fast.

"Nervous?" Ling asks lightly, walking toward her.

Orm inhales sharply. 'Yes. Because of the date. Only the date. Definitely not because I saw you half-naked and almost fell to my knees like an idiot.'

"Yeah," she says, trying to smile. "Just... nerves." She's so stiff she looks like she might snap in half.

Ling tilts her head, studying her. "Your shoulders are tense."

"I... uh- yeah. Probably."

"Do you want a massage?"

Orm blinks. Once. Twice. Her brain short-circuits. But her mouth betrays her instantly.

"Y-Yeah. Sure. That'd... that'd help."

Ling moves behind her, gathering her hair to one side so it doesn't fall forward, an accidental gesture that makes the blonde's stomach flip. Then Ling's hands settle gently onto her shoulders.

Orm stops breathing.

Ling starts slow, warm palms pressing in small circles, loosening tightness she hadn't realized she carried. Or maybe she did realize, maybe all of it is just the tension of wanting someone she shouldn't want.

"So," Ling says, voice calm, fingers working carefully at the knots near her neck, "will she pick you up?"

"No," Orm manages, her voice embarrassingly tight. "I'm meeting her there."

"Mm." Ling slides her thumbs down the line of Orm's shoulder blades, and the blonde's head nearly drops forward. "Where are you going?"

"A bar near downtown," she murmurs, swallowing hard. "I think. She chose it."

The brunette nods, her touch slow and thoughtful. "Did she give you her Instagram? Can I see her?"

Orm nearly chokes. Ling wants to see her? Why does that make her feel like she's being ripped open and warmed at the same time?

"Uh, yeah. I mean... I think I have it. I can show you later."

Ling hums as if this is casual. Orm is melting internally, her legs pressed tightly together.

"And let me know if you're sleeping over," Ling adds, hands pausing but not lifting. "So I don't worry."

Orm's heart slams. Not because Ling said anything romantic, she didn't, but because the thought of sleeping anywhere other than here, away from her, feels suddenly unbearable. Because only now she's being aware of what this date implies.

"I'll text you," she whispers.

Ling's hands finally withdraw, and Orm lets out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

"Better?" Ling asks, stepping around to face her.

'No,' Orm thinks. 'Worse. So much worse.'

"Yes," she says aloud, standing too quickly. "I should... I should go. Before I- before I'm late." Before I do something stupid. Before I grab your wrist and tell you not to let me go.

She moves toward the door, trying to breathe normally.

"Wait," the brunette calls behind her. Orm turns.

Lingling approaches, holding a denim jacket. Orm's jacket, the one she usually keeps near the front door. The older lifts it gently and helps her into it, like it's nothing.

"Almost summer," she says softly, smoothing the shoulders. "But still cool at night."

Orm's breath catches. Ling's fingers graze the back of her neck for a second too long.

"Thanks," she whispers.

Ling nods. Orm steps out into the hallway before she can ruin her life.

Ling closes the door softly after her, pressing her forehead to the wood for a moment.

Both of them breathing too fast. Both of them too aware.

---------- ---------- ----------

One hour and a half later, Freen is lying in Lingling's bed, naked, wrapped in the soft half-light coming from the bedside lamp. The room smells like recent sex and expensive perfume, but Ling doesn't feel any of it. She's on her back, one hand resting on her stomach, staring at some invisible spot on the ceiling. Freen, propped up on one elbow, traces the outline of Ling's chest with her fingertip, drawing shapes that spark absolutely nothing.

"You're really quiet," Freen murmurs, but her voice sounds muffled, like it's coming from another room.

Ling barely blinks. Her mind is not here. It's somewhere in the city, where Orm must be smiling nervously, saying clumsy things, laughing softly... with another girl.

Ling thought this would help. That inviting Freen over would distract her enough, anchor her to her own body instead of letting her fall into that ridiculous spiral she'd been trapped in ever since Orm closed the door with that guilty half-smile.

But the moment they hit the bed, the moment Freen kissed her, Ling knew she was doomed.

Orm was everywhere. In the brush of a thigh, in the breath that wasn't hers, in the mouth she didn't want, in the way her own skin had reacted earlier when she saw Orm coming out of her room. She was in Ling's tongue, in her hands, in the way her body had answered without permission.

Freen sighs, letting her hand slide down Ling's waist, "I get the feeling you're thinking about something else."

Ling swallows. She says nothing. Because if she opens her mouth, she's afraid the wrong name will slip out.

The word Orm hammers behind her forehead with a rhythm she can't stop. 'Is she okay? Is this girl treating her right? Is Orm having fun? Will she like her?'

A sting hits her chest. It's pathetic. Embarrassing to feel like this, as if someone is ripping away something that was never hers to begin with.

She invited Freen the way someone takes an aspirin, to stop thinking. But in the end, she only thought more. Freen's movements were nice, yes; her skin always soft, her mouth always eager. Ling made her come twice, almost mechanically, like someone completing a task.

But her own body... nothing. No spark, no build-up, no point of return. Only emptiness, only distraction that didn't work, only the stubborn desire for something she knows she shouldn't want.

Freen traces another vague shape across her stomach, "Ling... are you here with me?"

Ling closes her eyes for a second, breathing deeply.

No. She's with Orm walking out of her room in a black dress that stole her breath, smelling like perfume and nerves. With Orm staring at her wet body like she didn't want to, but needed to.

And she's with that stupid, sharp fear that right now, in this exact moment, another woman might be making Orm laugh.

Ling opens her eyes again, stares at the ceiling, and finally admits something she didn't want to face: she's jealous down to the bone.

Freen shifts closer, her warm skin brushing Ling's side, and reaches an arm over her waist in a slow, practiced movement meant to be comforting, familiar. But Ling's body reacts before her mind does, going stiff, inching away just enough for the hug to fall apart mid-gesture.

Freen freezes. "...Right."

Ling sits up, pulling the sheet off her body and scanning the floor for her underwear. She's cold, she notices. Or maybe that's guilt. She grabs her top from the chair, slipping it on with a haste that screams escape.

"You're... getting dressed?" Freen asks, still half lying down, her voice tight, already knowing the answer she doesn't want.

Ling nods without looking at her, "I think you should go home."

A humorless laugh slips out of Freen, "Of course. Because God forbid I stay to, I don't know... cuddle a little? Close the night like two normal people? You've never even let me hug you!"

Lingling, avoiding Freen's eyes, mutters "that's not the nature of what we have. You know that."

"Do I?" Freen sits up too, the sheets falling from her chest. "Because it kind of feels like you decide the nature of it every single time."

Ling exhales sharply. "Freen-"

"No. Seriously." Freen swings her legs off the bed, standing, grabbing her bra from the floor. "We have fun. Fine. But every time I try to just, touch you after, or stay the night, or even exist next to you for five extra minutes, you kick me out."

"It's better that way," Ling mutters.

"For who?" Freen snaps, hooking her bra behind her back. Then, quieter, with a bitterness that lands deep: "For you? Or for her?"

Ling's chest tightens like something has locked from the inside.

"This has nothing to do with her," she says, too fast and defensive.

Freen stops mid-movement, staring at her like she's finally reached the rotten core. "You won't even say her name," she says softly, but the softness is razor sharp. "That's how I know it has everything to do with her."

Ling crosses her arms over her chest, "I'm not having this conversation."

"You already are." Freen pulls her skirt up her legs, zipping it with more force than needed. "You can't even stay in your own body long enough to finish."

Ling's cheeks burn; shame, anger, exposure tangled together, "Freen. Stop."

"Tell me I'm wrong," Freen challenges. Ling opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. She looks away at the floor instead. Freen laughs; a wounded, disbelieving sound. "Right. That's what I thought."

Ling swallows hard. "I'm sorry, okay? I couldn't help it."

Freen picks up her purse, gripping it like it's the only thing keeping her from screaming.

"Yeah," she says with a cold, small smile. "When it comes to me, you never can."

Ling flinches. Freen walks to the door. For a second, Ling thinks she might look back but she doesn't.

The door slams so hard the frame rattles. Ling stands alone in the quiet that follows, the air still trembling from the impact, her own chest trembling with something much worse.

After some seconds, the brunette steps out of her bedroom and the apartment is already silent. Freen is gone. No soft apology hanging unfinished in the air; just emptiness.

Ling lets out a long, slow sigh, rubbing her hands over her face as if she could erase the last twenty minutes. It doesn't work. Her skin still feels hot with guilt, with anger.

She heads to the bathroom. The cold water shocks her awake when she splashes it over her cheeks, her jaw, the back of her neck. She watches droplets slide down the porcelain sink, her reflection a blur she doesn't want to focus on.

She's pacing before she even realizes. Kitchen, fridge, water bottle, a gulp she barely tastes. Her breath tries to steady, but doesn't. She turns back toward her room.

And stops dead.

Because she walks right past a denim jacket hanging neatly from the entrance rack.

Orm's jacket. The same one Ling handed her earlier, the one she left wearing on her date. Her stomach drops.

Orm is home.

Which means she might've heard all of it. Every raised voice, accusation, ugly truth that spilled out. Ling's pulse jumps painfully. She stands frozen for a moment, then slowly turns toward the hallway.

Orm's door is closed. But under the small gap between the floor and the door, the familiar warm glow of her fairy lights pulses gently on and off, on and off like a heartbeat. Ling swallows, her throat tightening. She's awake.

Ling walks closer, each step sinking her deeper into dread. She stops in front of the door, lifts her hand, hesitates... and knocks softly.

Nothing.

She tries again, a little firmer, "Orm? ...Are you awake?"

Silence. Ling exhales shakily. Her palm rests on the door for a moment, as if she could feel her through it.

"I'm coming in, okay?" she whispers, more plea than warning.

The door opens with a quiet, slow creak, and her heart cracks.

Orm is curled up on her bed, fairy lights painting soft, warm colors everywhere. She's pulled the quilt over her face, hiding everything except a few strands of pale hair spilling onto the pillow. Her shoulders are tense, too tense for someone asleep.

The older steps inside, her breath catching at the sight. Orm is trying not to be seen, not to let Ling see that she's hurting. And Ling has no idea if she has the right to get closer, but she does anyway, one careful step at a time.

---------- ---------- ----------

The moment Orm steps outside the apartment building, the night air feels strangely denser; cool, but heavy, as if the world itself is exhaling while she is forgetting how. She walks quickly, as though speed alone might keep her thoughts from overtaking her. But they trail her anyway, quietly relentless.

She had cried in the shower, hands braced on the tile, steam curling around her like a fog she couldn't escape. She sobbed in silence, letting the water disguise the sound. There was a moment, one foolish, fragile moment, when she pressed her forehead to the wall and whispered to no one: I don't want to do this. Then cried again before doing her make up.

But the night had already been arranged. She needed to pretend to be a girl capable of wanting someone else, of going ahead with her own choices.

And then Ling touched her, she massaged her shoulders with slow, grounding pressure, breathed warmth against the back of her neck, spoke in a voice soft enough to make Orm's pulse stutter. For a handful of minutes, Orm felt so absurdly cared for that the idea of leaving the apartment became almost grotesque. Everything in her resisted stepping away from that moment, from that closeness she had no right to want.

Yet she left anyway. She walked toward a date she already regretted.

The bar is loud, but Becky greets her with a hopeful smile that makes Orm feel undeserving. Becky's kindness, her attempt to be charming, her gentle questions, they only deepen the tightness in Orm's chest. She orders them drinks, not because she wants to stay, but because she needs to soften the blow of what she came here to do.

She explains carefully, trying to assemble honesty without cruelty. Becky listens, shoulders drooping only slightly, and Orm's heart sinks with guilt. Becky deserved someone willing to try. Someone whose heart wasn't already tangled in the patterns of another woman's voice, laugh and hands.

When Orm steps out onto the street again, she feels hollow but clean, like she finally chose the path that hurt least, and all she wants is to go home and see Ling sitting on the couch, hair still damp, oversized shirt slipping off her shoulder. Maybe they could sit side by side, pretending not to study each other's faces. Maybe Orm could breathe again.

She unlocks the apartment door softly, almost timid. The living room is dark, empty.

She frowns.

There's a pair of shoes beside the entrance. Not hers, and not Ling's.

Her heartbeat stutters; first in confusion, then in dread.

She walks toward Ling's room with small, deliberate steps, as if the floor has suddenly turned fragile. Halfway down the hall, she hears it:

A breath; low, weighted. Followed by a sound unmistakably intimate, a kind of sigh that belongs inside a bed, inside a body, inside a moment she has no right to witness.

Her entire body goes cold. Something sharp and merciless blooms under her ribs, not a metaphorical ache but a true physical pain, deep, nauseating, like someone hooking a hand inside her chest and pulling. Her fingers tremble against the wall. Her throat closes.

She tries to step back quietly, but her vision has already blurred. Tears fall without warning, hot and humiliating, sliding down her cheeks so fast she can't breathe between them. She stumbles into her room, shuts the door without noise, and immediately clamps a hand over her mouth.

She collapses onto the bed, curling around herself with the desperation of someone trying to hold their own pieces together. She cries until she is shaking, until breathing feels like swallowing glass and her pillow is damp beneath her cheek.

It is in this painful, vulnerable unraveling, somewhere between the quiet sobs and the suffocating realization of the shoes beside the door, that Orm finally stops lying to herself.

She loves Lingling violently and undeniably. With a longing that had been blooming for months behind every look, touch, accidental brush of fingers across her skin. She had tried to deny it, to stifle it, to bury it beneath the insistence that she was confused, inexperienced and unsure.

But the truth is merciless in its clarity: she has been in love all along.

She presses her face into the quilt, trying to muffle her trembling breath. She manages to steady herself just enough to lie still, staring into the darkness, eyes raw.

For a brief, terrible moment, she wishes she could unfeel everything. But then Freen's voice rises sharply through the hallway, loud enough to cut through the apartment walls:

"You've never even let me hug you!"

The words hit Orm like a blow; not because she wants to hear any of it, but because the tone is jarring, almost furious... and oddly revealing. It suggests a disconnect, a reluctance, a boundary Ling refused to cross.

Orm shuts her eyes. A complicated, devastating mixture of grief and hope twists inside her.

Chapter Text

Ling pushes the door open just enough for a thin ribbon of hallway light to spill inside the dark room. The quiet hits her first, dense and unmoving as if the air itself had absorbed the echo of something that had already hurt too much. She sees the small mound on the bed: Orm completely buried under the comforter, motionless except for the faint tremor of breath beneath the fabric.

"Orm..." Ling calls softly, more breath than voice.

Silence. Then the slightest shift.

Ling steps inside, closing the door behind her with a muted click. She walks slowly, barefoot, each step a cautious attempt not to disturb the fragile atmosphere she's walked into. She sits at the edge of the mattress, sinking it just enough for the shape under the comforter to recoil ever so slightly.

"Are you awake?" she whispers, though she already knows the answer.

Another silence. Then a tiny, muffled little noise from under the covers; half protest, half heartbreak.

Ling sighs softly, something tender and anxious tightening inside her. "Orm... can I at least see your face?"

Nothing. So she slides her hand along the edge of the comforter, pretending to search for an opening. And then, without warning, she lightly tickles the lump where she guesses Orm's stomach might be, the most gentle, almost playful touch.

Under the blanket, something catches. A startled breath, a tiny half-laugh instantly smothered.

Ling tries again, another tickle, feather-light. Orm squirms the smallest bit, the comforter loosening near her cheek.

"Ling..." she grumbles, her voice thick and shaky beneath the quilt.

One more tickle, and a soft, helpless giggle escapes; brief and broken. And then Orm surrenders, pulling the comforter down just enough for her eyes to peek out.

Lingling freezes.

Orm's eyes are swollen, lashes wet, skin flushed from crying. The brunette feels the shock physically. Her mouth parts, her breath catches, and a knot of guilt rises fast in her throat.

"Oh my god, Orm" Ling breathes. "What happened? Why are you crying?"

Orm swallows hard, lips trembling out of her control. "I... canceled the date," she manages, her voice raw. "I didn't want to go. I didn't want to be with anyone. I wanted to stay home with you."

Melting, Ling leans in before she even knows she's doing it. She can smell Orm's perfume still clinging faintly to her skin, something soft and flowery, now mingled with the warm salt of her dried tears. The scent is devastating. Carefully, Ling lifts her thumb and brushes under Orm's eyes, wiping what little moisture remains there.

"Orm... what happened?" Ling repeats, softer this time. "What made you cry like this?"

Orm can't tell her the truth, not entirely. She can't say that the moment she realized her heart had broken was also the moment she admitted to herself she's in love with her. Painfully, hopelessly and breathlessly in love.

She lowers her gaze as she uncovers the rest of her face. "I don't know," she whispers, the lie small and shaking. "I just wanted to come back. I didn't want to be out."

Something in Ling unravels quietly. She moves closer, instinctively, and lays her cheek against Orm's stomach through the blanket, as if she needs to feel her breathing to steady her own. Her arms fold over the comforter, but the gesture radiates intimacy, a familiarity born of a hundred nights of almosts.

Orm stiffens for a second. fear, longing, everything tangled too tight, but then her hand hesitantly rises and slips into Ling's hair. Her fingers comb through it slowly, delicately, as if the touch itself is both a relief and a wound.

"You look exhausted," Ling murmurs, eyes closed against the warmth of Orm's body. "Did something hurt you?"

Orm lets out a tiny, broken laugh, more air than sound. "Maybe," she says. "It was just... a long day."

Ling inhales deeply and catches more of Orm's scent, her perfume, the faint trace of tears, the sweetness of her shampoo. It pulls something inside her painfully taut. She lifts her head just enough to look at Orm again.

"I really thought you'd stay out longer," Ling admits softly.

Orm threads her fingers deeper into her hair, a slow gentle motion that nearly undoes Ling. "I thought I'd stay out too," she whispers. "But I couldn't."

Ling's expression shifts, something tender and guilty passing through her eyes.

"Then I'm glad you came back," she murmurs, as if the words escape from someplace too vulnerable to name.

Orm wants to tell her everything. She wants to say she came back for her. That she thought she'd find her on the couch, that she had planned, needed, to fall asleep beside her the way she did in dreams she never admits to having. That hearing Freen felt like her world collapsing. That she loves her, fiercely, unbearably, and she doesn't know how to survive that truth.

The brunette hesitates only a moment before lifting the edge of the comforter. Warmth pours out from underneath, carrying Orm's soft, familiar scent. Orm doesn't object; she only shifts a little, making room as though her body anticipated Ling's closeness long before her mind could process it.

Ling slips under the quilt quietly, the bed dipping as she settles on her side, facing Orm, their faces separated by barely an inch of warm air. The intimacy is instant, quiet, unfiltered and almost dangerous.

Orm tries to swipe away the remnants of tears with the back of her hand, but Ling gently intercepts her, lowering Orm's hand and taking over with her own fingertips.

"Did you... hear something?" Ling whispers, cautious, as though the truth is something fragile suspended between them.

Orm stiffens for a fraction of a second, a tiny flinch, but Ling catches it. Still, the blonde lowers her gaze and murmurs, "No. I didn't hear anything." The lie tastes sharp and metallic in her throat.

Ling breathes out, her breath warm against Orm's cheek. "Orm... I'm sorry," she says, voice tight with regret. "I shouldn't have brought Freen home."

Her hand rises, trembling just slightly as she uses her fingertips to trace the faint paths the tears left on Orm's face. She starts at the temple, brushing along the cheek, down the jaw. Her touch is light, almost reverent, like she's studying her.

Orm closes her eyes at the contact, not to block anything out because the lights reflecting in her eyes are hypnotizing, but because it feels overwhelming to be touched so gently by the person she aches for.

Ling keeps tracing: the curve of Orm's brow, the line of her nose, the soft edge of her mouth. Each slow stroke quiets Orm's breathing, grounding her until the shaking subsides and the tears stop spilling.

"I shouldn't have done that to her," Ling murmurs like a confession. "I was hoping I could feel something eventually, but..."

Orm opens her eyes, lashes still damp, confusion knitting her brows. "Ling..."

Ling swallows, gaze lowering to Orm's lips before returning to her eyes. "She deserved honesty. And I didn't give it to her. I led her on. And then I shut her out." Her voice tightens with shame.

Orm's expression softens, even as her heart twists painfully. "Are you okay?"

Ling nods faintly. "Not really, I'm disgusted at myself" she admits. "But... I'm better now." Her fingers drift across Orm's cheek again, slower this time, more certain. "Better now that I'm here."

Orm feels the air leave her chest, too quickly and sharply. Ling notices; she always notices. So she touches Orm's face again, thumb lingering in a soft, cautious caress.

"I didn't want you to cry," Ling whispers, guilt saturating every word. "If I had known..."

Orm shakes her head, wiping a tear before it escapes. "It wasn't because of you."

A lie she wishes she had the strength to turn into a truth. Ling moves closer, until their foreheads touch. Warm, grounding and intimate for both.

"Come here," she breathes, hand sliding to the back of Orm's head. The blonde does. Ling stays close, her voice softer now, almost afraid. "I'm sorry Freen was here," she murmurs. "I know it probably made things... weird."

Orm swallows hard. "She won't come back?"

Ling's eyes drop, guilt tightening her expression. "No," she says quietly. "Not after tonight. I pushed her too far. I hurt her. And... she deserves better than that."

The silence that follows is heavy, warm, and full of everything they aren't saying. Orm inhales Ling's scent, something uniquely hers, and feels her chest loosen just a little.

Ling inches even closer, their noses nearly brushing. But neither of them says what they truly want. Only their bodies know, pressing closer under the quilt, sharing breath, sharing warmth, sharing a fragile, aching truth neither is ready to name out loud.

In the next minutes, sleep refuses to come.

The blonde lies on her side, facing Ling in the soft glow of the fairy lights, their breaths mingling, their legs brushing beneath the quilt. Ling's heartbeat echoes faintly where their chests almost touch.

But Orm's mind is a storm.

'Who is "her"?', The word won't stop circling her thoughts like a moth hitting glass. The way Freen had spat it, hurt sharp in her voice: "Is this about her?"

Orm had flinched at the memory every time it replayed.

Her.

As if the silhouette of that unnamed girl stood between them like a wall Ling didn't try to move.

Who could "her" possibly be?

Orm's stomach twists. Ling's ex?

Or... could "her" be-

No.

The thought is too hopeful. It almost hurts more than fearing the worst.

Ling shifts slightly, drawing Orm back from her spiraling thoughts. "Is something wrong?" she whispers, voice low, still thick with the kind of softness she shows only in the dark.

Orm swallows, her voice wobbling. "I just..." She exhales hard through her nose. "I still feel bad."

Ling's brows crease gently, thumb brushing Orm's cheek. "Bad about what?"

Orm closes her eyes, shame flooding her. "Hurting myself tonight." Her voice cracks on the last word. "Doing something I didn't want to do just because I was too stubborn to admit it. To... to prove something. And now I just feel... immature."

Ling's breath catches, and for a moment Orm thinks she's about to be scolded, or talked out of her own feelings.

But instead Ling's arms slide around her waist, pulling her closer in one slow, tender movement that steals the air from Orm's lungs.

"Come here," Ling murmurs.

Orm doesn't resist; she melts into her, forehead pressing to Ling's collarbone, legs tangling instinctively. Ling holds her as though she's something breakable and precious, a contradiction that makes Orm's throat tighten.

Their hearts pound. Ling's against Orm's chest, Orm's against Ling's ribs. They're both loud, enough that each girl can hear the other's pulse racing like it's trying to escape.

Neither mentions it.

Ling only lowers her chin to rest atop Orm's head, fingers slipping into the blonde hair and combing gently, rhythmically, until Orm's breathing steadies. Her other hand drifts across Orm's cheek, her jawline, the curve of her brow. Slow, tender strokes that feel like something between love and mourning.

The blonde's hands, timid and unsure, settle around Ling's waist. She responds by pulling Orm closer still, their bodies fitting together like something inevitable.

Ling keeps stroking her hair, tracing her features, not looking away even once. Orm's breathing softens. Ling's heartbeat slows. And without another word, without answers, courage, or clarity, they fall asleep wrapped around each other, clinging to the one thing that feels like home even as it breaks them.

---------- ---------- ----------

Ling wakes before the sun finishes climbing, her mind still heavy, her body warm from the shape Orm left beside her. She slips out of bed with the kind of care one uses when handling something fragile. For a moment she just stands there, looking at Orm's sleeping form, arms tucked near her chest, hair spilled over the pillow like something spilled and precious, before turning away as if the sight is too much.

Outside, the air is crisp and colorless, the kind that makes every inhale sting just a little. She starts running immediately, welcoming the burn in her legs, the cold on her skin, the harsh rhythm of her breath. Anything is better than being trapped inside her own thoughts... though, of course, she carries them with her anyway.

Freen's voice still rings somewhere in her head, tangled up with her own sharp replies from the night before. She should apologize, she knows that. Freen didn't deserve the way she cut her off. Ling tells herself she has to make it right, but the intention dissolves each time Orm's face comes to mind. That quiet devastation. Those tear-wet lashes. The way Orm had leaned into her touch as if she were something safe.

Every street she turns onto only tightens the knot in her chest. What is she doing? What is she supposed to do with this... this feeling that keeps expanding, pressing against every boundary she's tried to construct? She's terrified of wanting too much, of crossing a line that can't be uncrossed, of losing the one person who feels like home without ever having been named as such.

By the time she reaches the small plaza near the river, she slows to a walk, breath shaking, sweat cooling on her skin. She looks at the ground, then at the empty path ahead, and the only conclusion that lands with any solidity is a bitter, reluctant compromise: she has to keep things as they are. She has to hold herself together, swallow the words that keep rising like tides, and treat Orm the same way she always has: gently, playfully, protectively, but never beyond that invisible edge.

If she holds Orm too tightly, she could break everything. If she speaks, she could lose her. And Ling would rather carve herself into something smaller, quieter, than risk watching Orm walk away from her life.

So she keeps running, not toward clarity, but toward the version of herself she thinks Orm needs: a friend who knows her, listens to her, comforts her, and stays. Not someone who complicates everything with the truth trembling in her chest.

She turns back toward the apartment, trying to settle her breath, trying to reenter the world where silence feels safer than honesty. Where Orm can stay beside her, even if Ling has to pretend her heart isn't already choosing her with every step.

---------- ---------- ----------

The café is warm in the lazy afternoon light, all amber reflections and the low hum of weekend chatter. Lookmhee is already waving both arms as if Orm might miss her, while Sonya sits with an iced latte and a raised eyebrow that promises she's about to interrogate someone.

The blonde slides into the booth, burying her face in her hands before either friend can speak.

"So," Lookmhee says, leaning forward with the excitement of someone about to hear gossip that will nourish her soul for weeks, "you're going to tell us why you look like you've lived fifteen romance novels in twelve hours."

"I hate it here," Orm groans into her palms.

Sonya sips her drink. "Great. Start talking."

The blonde inhales sharply. "Fine. I... cancelled my date."

Both friends nod immediately, as if this is the most serious confession they've ever received.

Orm swallows. "I cancelled because I didn't want to go out. I just... wanted to stay home with Lingling."

Lookmhee and Sonya exchange a slow, knowing look that makes Orm want to crawl under the table.

"And then," Orm continues reluctantly, "I heard... things."

Sonya squints. "Things?"

"Ling... with Freen."

Lookmhee's face lights up like she's been waiting for this plot twist. "Like... moaning things?"

"Yes," Orm mutters into her sleeves, mortified. "Moaning things. Just once, though."

Lookmhee claps once like she's been blessed by the drama gods.

"I literally almost threw up and then I cried in my room," Orm adds, voice small, "and Ling came in and found me under the quilt."

Sonya leans forward, suddenly invested. "And?"

"And she... crawled under the quilt with me," the blonde says, cheeks warming instantly. "We talked. She held me. We slept like that."

Lookmhee gasps so loudly the barista looks over. "I'm sorry. WHAT?"

Sonya sets down her drink, stunned. "You slept... with Lingling?"

"Not like THAT!" Orm hisses. "Just... holding. Like... cuddling. Kind of."

Lookmhee practically vibrates. "Oh my GOD, you're in love with her."

The blonde freezes. Her friends stare at her, waiting. Orm's voice comes out like a whisper dragged through a storm. "Yeah. I... I think I'm in love with her." The blonde sighs dreamily before she can stop herself. "She is gorgeous. She's... luminous. And so soft in the mornings. And she smells good even after running. And her hair... god, her hair-"

Both friends stare at her like they're watching a nature documentary about a newly discovered species of hopeless romantic.

Lookmhee snorts. "You're down bad, aren't you?"

Orm hides her face behind her latte. "I'm not that bad."

"She said 'luminous,'" Sonya whispers loudly. "I've never heard a straight person say that about their roommate."

The blonde kicks her under the table.

Lookmhee grins. "No, keep going. What else do you love about her? The arms? The voice? The way she could probably fold you like a towel?"

"Lookmhee!" Orm sputters, nearly choking.

Sonya laughs. "Oh come on, Ormie. You said she held you. Did you melt? You melted, didn't you?"

Orm does not answer. She doesn't have to. Her face answers for her.

Sonya takes a triumphant sip of her drink. "She melted."

"I hate you both," Orm mutters.

"No you don't," Lookmhee sings. "Because deep down you know we're right. You're in love with your roommate, you cuddled all night, and now you're acting like a Victorian maiden who just saw an exposed ankle."

Orm slumps against the seat, defeated. "What am I supposed to do?"

Sonya shrugs. "Step one: breathe."

"Step two," Lookmhee adds, "stop lying to yourself."

"Step three," Sonya says with a smirk, "maybe stop moaning over Ling in a public café."

"I DID NOT-"

"You kind of did," Lookmhee says cheerfully.

Orm groans, burying her head in the crook of her arm. Her friends laugh, warm and relentless.

Outside, the afternoon keeps glowing. Inside, Orm realizes, with equal parts terror and dizzy happiness, that she has said it aloud. She has finally admitted it. And now it's real.

The café hums softly around them, spoons clinking, someone laughing too loudly in the corner. But the blonde sits with both elbows on the table, buried in the scandal of her own life, while Lookmhee and Sonya stare at her like analysts who've just discovered a nuclear reactor in her chest.

"So," Sonya says slowly, "you're telling us you cancelled a date, cried in your room, and then slept wrapped around Ling like a koala."

Orm grimaces. "Why do you say it like that?"

"Because that's exactly what happened," Lookmhee replies, sipping her smoothie dramatically.

The blonde rubs her forehead. "I just... I've never felt like this."

Both friends perk up instantly.

"Like what?" Lookmhee leans in, chin on her hands.

Orm hesitates. "Like... nervous. Or warm just because she looks at me. Or, God... like my chest is going to burst when she touches me. I've loved before, you know? But it was never, never anything like this."

Sonya raises an eyebrow. "You mean because your ex was basically a childhood neighbor with the sexual passion of a dying plant?"

Orm covers her face with both hands. "Don't-"

"No, no, we absolutely WILL," Lookmhee interrupts, delighted. "Orm, baby, you were with him since what, sixteen? Seventeen?"

"Fourteen," the blonde mumbles.

"There you go," Sonya says, pointing her straw at her. "You basically started dating before your hormones even downloaded properly. That relationship was built on routine. On habit. On being comfortable."

"And on him being terrible in bed," Lookmhee adds brightly.

Orm drops her forehead to the table with a soft thud. "Please don't-"

"'He only cares about himself,'" Lookmhee recites in a dramatic imitation of Orm's voice. "'He finishes in two minutes and then asks if I'm done.'"

Sonya bursts out laughing. "I still can't believe it. Twenty-three years without an orgasm."

"That's not true," Orm hisses, cheeks red enough to heat the table. "Stop!"

"No," Sonya says kindly but mercilessly. "This is an intervention."

Lookmhee nods solemnly. "We're proud of you. You finally found someone who activates your brain and your hormones at the same time."

"I am NOT talking about this," Orm insists.

But neither friend is listening.

"You told us," Sonya continues, "that kissing your ex felt like brushing teeth. Necessary but boring."

"And sex," Lookmhee adds, "felt like watching someone else eat your dessert."

Sonya snaps her fingers. "Perfect metaphor."

The blonde groans, throwing her head back. "Okay, YES. Fine. My past relationship was routine. Comfortable. Predictable. He knew me too well. I knew him too well. Nothing ever changed. Nothing ever felt new or... dangerous."

Lookmhee grins. "But Ling...?"

The blonde goes silent. Her voice, when it comes, is barely a breath. "She makes me feel like my whole body is... awake."

Sonya whistles low. "Oh she's GONE gone."

"And it scares me," Orm adds, trembling just slightly. "I don't understand why she affects me like this. Why I'm suddenly-" She gestures vaguely at her chest, her face, the air around her, "this."

Lookmhee smiles, fond and teasing at once. "Because you like her. Not the idea of her. Not the routine. Her."

Orm swallows hard.

"Because," Sonya adds, leaning back with a smirk, "for the first time in your life, someone touches you and you actually feel something."

"Sonya-"

"Not my fault you spent twenty-three years orgasm-less!" she fires back, laughing.

The blonde hides behind her latte again. Her friends keep teasing her, softly, lovingly, as only people who have known her for years can, but behind their jokes sits a truth so warm it almost burns.

Orm has never felt like this. Never been this undone by someone. Never wanted someone this fiercely. And saying it aloud still feels like peeling back a layer of skin... terrifying, embarrassing.

Chapter Text

A couple weeks pass quietly, yet with the weight and warmth of something that feels like the slow unfolding of a bloom. Nothing dramatic happens, nothing explosive; the world simply rearranges itself around the gravitational pull between two women who keep pretending nothing is happening.

There is no Freen in the hallway anymore, no Beckys wanting to take Orm out in a date, no dates to cancel or return from in tears, Orm finished her practices. Just the soft domestic hum of life lived in proximity: shared mornings, crossed paths, accidentally intimate routines. And at the center of it, Ling and Orm orbiting each other with an intensity that neither has experienced.

In the mornings, Ling prepares juice while Orm slices fruit, both half-asleep, both barefoot on the cold tile. They move around each other like they've lived together for a lifetime. Silent, synchronized, brushing hands as they reach for the same glass. And Orm blushes every single time.

Ling pretends not to notice, but she always does.

By noon, the brunette sits with her sketchbook spread over her lap, half-pretending to work while the blonde sprawls lazily across the couch with her laptop. Sometimes Ling glances up to study the light on Orm's cheekbones, or the way her hair falls over one shoulder, or the delicate, unconscious pout she makes when focused. Maybe sometimes she uses her as inspiration. Lingling thinks she's doing it subtly, until she finds Orm staring back.

Orm always looks away first, flustered and glowing. Ling always looks away last, scared she's been caught loving her.

Evenings become a ritual: music playing low, both doing different tasks in the same room, sharing bowls of fruit or instant ramen, involuntarily drawn together like magnets that keep pretending to resist. They talk about everything and nothing: music, movies, Ling's unfinished paintings, Orm's playlists, whether it's going to rain, why the sofa blanket smells like Ling's perfume, if the final match of the hockey championship is winnable or not.

Sometimes they talk too softly, too fondly, with too much warmth in their voices. Orm catches Ling watching her mouth. Ling wonders if Orm realizes how deeply she is wanted.

They bicker gently while brushing their teeth side by side, exchange clothes more often: Ling wearing Orm's hoodie, the blonde wandering around in Ling's oversized shirts. Their knees touch while they eat dinner, Orm starts sitting closer on the couch without thinking about it, and the brunette lets her.

When Orm laughs too hard, Ling can't look at her directly; it feels like staring at the sun.

When Ling compliments her, even something small, innocent, Orm loses her train of thought for minutes afterward.

They don't talk about it, don't name it, simply fall deeper.

Each night before falling asleep next to Ling, her warm breath against her neck, Orm replays their day: every glance that lasted a little too long, every touch that lingered, every moment she felt Ling's eyes on her skin. She's not delusional, she knows something is there. Something warm and patient and waiting. Something mutual.

She hopes so fiercely it aches.

Sometimes she wonders if she's imagining it, if being in love makes her see more than what's real. But then Lingling will brush a piece of hair behind her ear, fingertips grazing her neck, and Orm's breath will stutter. Ling will sit too close, smile too softly, stare for too long.

The hope expands inside Orm like a living, trembling thing.

Ling feels like she's walking a tightrope made of fire.

She wakes up thinking about Orm, goes to sleep thinking about Orm, speaks to her like she's afraid to bruise her, touches her like she's porcelain and flame at once.

But fear gnaws at her constantly, the quiet, hollow kind:

Orm didn't want to date a girl. She had to force herself to even go on that first date. She said she was figuring herself out. What if I'm reading everything wrong?

Sometimes Ling's hands burn to hold her, she looks at Orm's mouth and has to physically turn away, she imagines what it would be like to kiss her, and it scares her how much she wants it.

She worries that if she confesses her feelings, she'll break whatever fragile, sweet, growing thing lies between them.

So she hides it, tries to hide it. But her eyes, her voice, the way she leans in when Orm speaks give her away.

There they are: brushing past each other in the hallway, sharing the same sofa blanket, exchanging shy glances over breakfast. Weeks into this quiet routine, this closeness, this unspoken tenderness that feels like the beginning of something enormous.

---------- ---------- ----------

Orm is late. Very. It sends her pacing between the mirror and the chair while Lookmhee tries to pin back a rebellious strand of hair and Sonya dabs highlighter onto her collarbones with the precision of a surgeon.

"Stop moving," Lookmhee scolds, holding Orm's chin still. "You're going to look like a stressed squirrel in all the photos."

"I am stressed!" the blonde hisses. "We need to go!"

"You need to shut up and let me fix your hair," Sonya replies, eyes narrowed as she adds a final soft shimmer above the dip of Orm's clavicle. "Also... holy shit, this dress? It's illegal."

Light blue, silky, thin straps that leave her entire neckline exposed. The soft slope of her collarbones, the gentle valley between her breasts hovering just above the seam, the clean line of her shoulders. It hugs her body perfectly from ribcage to hips, passing through a dangerously high slit along her left thigh and reaching her ankles.

In the living room, Lingling is sitting on the edge of the couch, one leg nervously bouncing, one hand running through her straight black hair as if it might magically calm her pulse.

She looks devastating. A two-piece navy blue suit: loose high-waisted trousers, and a fitted cropped jacket hugging her torso in all the right places. Minimal gold jewelry, a bit of eyeliner, and the quiet, steady elegance that always makes people stare twice. Most of all, she looks restless.

Charlotte, lounging with her legs crossed beside Engfa, watches the scene with an amused smile. "She's going to combust," Engfa whispers behind a manicured hand.

Charlotte snorts. "Oh, she's been combusting since Orm told her the dress had a slit."

Thana and Teerapat are at the balcony checking the time on their phones. Engfa adjusts her green dress. Charlotte brushes lint from her matching one.

But Lingling keeps clenching and unclenching her hands. Her jaw tightens each time she glances toward the hallway. She tries to look nonchalant and fails miserably.

Charlotte leans forward, chin resting on her palm. "You know, Lingy," she begins sweetly, "if you bounce your leg any harder, the floor might file a harassment complaint."

Ling freezes. "I'm not bouncing."

"You're basically vibrating," Engfa adds, "At this point, I'm worried you're going to sprint down the hall, kick open the door, and drag Orm out yourself."

Lingling turns scarlet. "I'm just making sure we're not late."

Charlotte gives her a long, pointed look, and Ling avoids it.

"You're excited," Charlotte sing-songs.

"I'm not."

"You're nervous."

"I'm not."

Charlotte grins. "Then why are you swallowing like your throat is made of sandpaper every time someone mentions Orm?"

Ling opens her mouth to deny it, again, but the air catches in her throat because then... Orm walks with the sort of hesitant bravery of someone who knows she's walking straight into a moment that might undo her. The soft click of the door barely registers over the quiet hum of conversation in the living room, and yet the second she appears, everything, voices, laughter, the restless tapping of heels on the floor, cuts off as though someone pressed pause on the world.

Her dress, that delicate light blue that glows faintly under the apartment lights, clings to her just enough to make her look like she's stepped out of another life. Her shoulders are bare, her collarbones catching the light, her skin warm with the faintest blush of nerves. Lookmhee and Sonya drift behind her with the satisfied expressions of friends who were fully aware of the effect their work would cause.

But none of that compares to Lingling's reaction.

Ling, who has spent the last twenty minutes pretending to scroll through her phone, pretending not to check the hallway every twelve seconds, pretending her heartbeat is not currently drumming against her ribs like something is trying to escape.

She looks up. And the moment she sees Orm, it feels like the floor shifts.

Her breath stutters; not in a dramatic, visible way, but in the subtle, devastating way her eyes soften and widen, as if something has taken hold of her from the inside. Ling rises from the couch slowly, like she's afraid any sudden movement might shatter whatever delicate thing has just appeared between them. Because her suit sleek, tailored, chosen in a rush because she didn't trust herself with anything flashier, glimmers under the same light. And suddenly, impossibly, it matches Orm's dress.

Two shades of the same evening sky.

Orm notices it the same instant she sees Ling's face change. Her steps falter, her fingers curling slightly at her sides, and for a brief, traitorous moment, she looks as though she might step back into her room and hide. The brunette looks... God, she looks good. The cropped jacket hugging her shoulders, the loose trousers flowing around her legs, the perfect heels to match her own height, her dark straight hair perfectly parted in the middle, just enough to reveal the delicate line of her jaw. She looks too composed, too magnetic, too breathtaking in that shade of blue that echoes Orm's, and Orm's heart leaps so violently she almost hears it.

The air between them thickens. A color palette neither of them planned, yet somehow feels inevitable.

Charlotte is the first to break the silence, though she tries unsuccessfully to whisper.

"...holy shit." Engfa snorts, covering her mouth with a hand.

Lookmhee mutters, "Okay, that's actually insane," while Sonya just lets out a low whistle of approval.

But Ling and Orm don't hear any of it. Their eyes remain locked, suspended in something too charged. The blonde's lips part softly as if she's trying to speak but can't quite find the beginning of a sentence. Ling's jaw tenses; it's the only sign she's trying to keep her composure from slipping entirely.

Ling takes a slow, controlled step toward her. Then another. Orm mirrors her without realizing it, her movements small and careful, like she's being drawn forward by something she doesn't dare resist.

They stop an arm's length apart, close enough that Ling can see the shimmer of highlighter on Orm's cheekbones, close enough that Orm can smell the faint trace of Ling's perfume.

When Ling speaks, her voice emerges low, unsteady, almost reverent. "You look... beautiful."

The compliment isn't loud, but it lands with the weight of something Ling didn't intend to confess. Orm feels it in the soft tremble that ripples through her shoulders, in the heat creeping down her neck, in the sudden urge to look anywhere but at the woman standing in front of her.

But she doesn't look away. She can't.

"You too," she replies, and her voice is barely stronger than Ling's. A small smile pulls at her lips, fragile and glowing all at once. "You look... incredible, actually."

Ling lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. Her eyes flick down briefly; at the dress, the slit, the exposed collarbones, before she forces them back up with admirable effort. She clears her throat, the sound sharp in the quiet room.

Orm, feeling her own pulse flutter wildly, glances down at their outfits, then back at Ling with a shy, stunned laugh.

"I guess we, uh... accidentally matched?"

The words come out softer than intended, tinged with disbelief and something dangerously close to hope.

Ling's smile is small but uncontrollable, the kind of smile she usually buries but can't suppress now. Her eyes linger on Orm's dress a moment too long before she manages to answer.

"Yeah," she murmurs. "We did."

Engfa claps her hands. "Photo. Now. Before the tension kills us."

But nothing, not the teasing, not the laughter, breaks the quiet electricity drifting between Orm and Ling. In that suspended moment, neither of them can quite decide whether the coincidence terrifies them... or feels like a promise.

---------- ---------- ----------

The graduation party thrums like a heartbeat, the bass vibrating through the soles of their shoes and into their ribs. The venue is packed; bodies moving against bodies, heat rising in visible waves, lights strobing in shades of electric blue and blood-warm red. Their little group sinks right into the center of it, letting the sound swallow them whole.

Lookmhee and Sonya are already screaming the lyrics to whatever track is playing, arms in the air, glitter under the lights. Charlotte and Engfa dance with the easy confidence of people who know exactly how much attention they draw. Orm lets herself be pulled in every direction; first Thana spins her, then Lookmhee drags her into the middle with a dramatic bow, then Charlotte bumps her hip into hers until the blonde nearly stumbles from laughing. Each friend takes a turn claiming her, making her blush, making her move. The room is hot enough that sweat glows on everyone's skin, and Orm's light blue dress catches every bit of it, shimmering like she's made of moonlit water.

Through it all, Ling watches. She steals glances every time she thinks she can get away with it, but she's terrible at pretending. Her heartbeat jumps every time Orm throws her head back laughing, every time her hair brushes against her bare shoulders, every time the slit of her dress parts just enough with a spin to show a stretch of thigh. Ling's mouth goes dry. Her hands stay clasped behind her back like she's afraid they'll act without permission.

The two men leave to get more drinks. And Ling doesn't know why, but Pat liking Orm still lives in the back of her head.

"Come on," Charlotte shouts into her ear during a lull, nudging her insistently. "This is literally the perfect song for you two." Then, as if summoned by deity or devil, House Tour by Sabrina Carpenter blares through the speakers.

Ling freezes. "No," she says, but it's weak, barely audible under the music.

"Yes," Charlotte argues, already pushing her forward. "Stop being a coward. She wants you to."

Orm, mid-spin, turns and that one accidental glance undoes whatever resistance Ling had left.

For a second everything slows: Orm's chest rising with her breath, her cheeks flushed, the thin straps of her dress glinting like delicate threads of light. She looks so happy, so impossibly radiant, that Ling feels something inside her surrender.

She steps forward. Right then the song shifts, an abrupt, delicious transition into something deeper, darker, the bass sinking low and slow. The lights tint crimson, bathing the room in a color that feels like a secret. The air thickens with heat, with proximity.

Orm sees Ling approach through the smoke, and her breath stutters. She slows her dancing but doesn't stop, just tilts her body in invitation.

Ling's hand finds her waist. It isn't careful or hesitant. It's instinct.

Orm turns, gradual, fluid, until her back rests against Ling's chest, her shoulder blades brushing the fabric of the navy suit, her body aligning with a precision that feels stolen from a dream. Ling inhales sharply at the contact, at the impossible softness of Orm's skin, at the warmth seeping through the dress and straight into her palms.

The beat pulses up through their legs, into their hips. They move together without speaking, without even thinking, as if the music has threaded them into one shared rhythm. Ling's fingers tighten at Orm's waist, guiding her subtly, reverently. Orm lets out a small, involuntary breath, almost a sigh, her head tipping back the slightest bit, exposing the line of her neck.

Ling swears she can feel every beat of Orm's pulse through the sliver of air between them.

The room disappears.

Their friends freeze at the edge of the circle. They should look away. They try. But the sight is magnetic, unrepeatable: two people giving in to gravity after weeks of pretending it wasn't dragging them together.

Heat coils low in Ling's stomach. Her chest is tight, too tight, because Orm moves with her like she knows exactly what she's doing to her. Her hips meet Ling's in slow, suggestive patterns that make the DJ's bassline feel like an afterthought. Ling's breath comes rough against Orm's ear; Orm's skin breaks into goosebumps instantly.

Orm feels it, every trembling inhale, every shift of Ling's hands, every second they pretend they're just dancing and not falling apart. The brunette feels everything; Orm's back rising with her breath, the faint tremor in her thighs, the heat burning through thin fabric, the scent of her perfume blooming hotter with sweat. Their bodies fit too well.

Orm's fingers reach back, sliding along Ling's forearm, featherlight. The brunette nearly forgets how to breathe. It's too much, but not enough. Neither pulls away. They just move slow, sensual, devastatingly close until the rest of the world finally manages to bleed back into existence.

The song ends slowly, and yet Orm and Ling remain there, bodies still angled toward each other, breath still warm from the nearness. When the lights shift from red to a soft gold haze, they finally meet each other's eyes. It's a collision.

Ling's gaze burns open, raw, unable to hide the hunger she's been trying to swallow for weeks. Orm doesn't look away; she stares right back with an expression that makes heat bloom under Ling's skin. There's mischief shimmering at the corner of her mouth, the kind of smile that knows exactly what it does to Ling, that sends her mind spiraling and her pulse skyrocketing.

It drives Ling insane. Orm tilts her head slightly, that teasing glint deepening, and Ling feels her self-control stretch thin, dangerously thin.

A slow song, tender, romantic, piercingly sweet, the kind meant for declarations in soft corners or for heartbreaks that never got the chance to speak. The crowd softens, movements slowing, and their circle opens just a bit as people pair off.

Teerapat appears almost out of nowhere, breathless from pushing through dancers. His black suit is creased at the sleeves, hair a mess, expression hopeful in a way that is entirely too earnest.

He turns to Ling first, and his voice is almost pleading above the hum of the speakers.

"Let me dance with her," he asks, eyes wide, almost desperate. "Just this once."

Ling freezes, throat tight. Her first instinct is no. Loud, visceral, terrified of letting anyone touch Orm after what they just shared. Orm turns to her, eyes big, silently asking her to stay. It's a tiny, begging look, barely a crease in her brows, barely a parting of her lips, but it hits Ling's chest like an arrow.

Stay. Please stay.

Ling wants to. She aches to.

But she steps back anyway.

A retreat disguised as permission. Teerapat doesn't wait for her to change her mind; he reaches for Orm's hand and places his other palm lightly on her waist. Orm's jaw clenches for a second, irritation flickering across her face. She lets herself be guided, though her body is stiff, resistant, and the moment she turns with Teerapat, her eyes snap toward Ling again: annoyed, mad, confused, wounded. And powerless.

Chapter Text

N/A: before you start reading, let me remind you that votes and comments and suggestions are greatly appreciated, so i can know where to lead the story depending on what i see you like better (of course it's already made but maybe there's some things i can add/suppress). the idea is to have a fun time and no story can be made without the reader so 💞💞 that's it for now. enjoy! 💐

---------- ---------- ----------

A slow song, tender, romantic, piercingly sweet. The crowd softens, movements slowing, and their circle opens just a bit as people pair off.

Teerapat appears almost out of nowhere, breathless from pushing through dancers. His black suit is creased at the sleeves, hair a mess, expression hopeful in a way that is entirely too earnest.

He turns to Ling first, and his voice is almost pleading above the hum of the speakers.

"Let me dance with her," he asks, eyes wide, almost desperate. "Just this once."

Ling freezes, throat tight. Her first instinct is no. Loud, visceral, terrified of letting anyone touch Orm after what they just shared. Orm turns to her, eyes big, silently asking her to stay. It's a tiny, begging look, barely a crease in her brows, barely a parting of her lips, but it hits Ling's chest like an arrow.

Stay. Please stay.

Ling wants to. She aches to.

But she steps back anyway.

A retreat disguised as permission. Teerapat doesn't wait for her to change her mind; he reaches for Orm's hand and places his other palm lightly on her waist. Orm's jaw clenches for a second, irritation flickering across her face. She lets herself be guided, though her body is stiff, resistant, and the moment she turns with Teerapat, her eyes snap toward Ling again: annoyed, mad, confused, wounded. And powerless.

Ling feels the sickness of jealousy coil in her stomach, low and hot. She hates it. She can't stop it.

Teerapat seems oblivious to the danger of the moment. He sways with Orm gently, smiling in a way that might have charmed her any other night.

"You look beautiful," he says loudly over the music, leaning in just enough for the words to reach Orm's ear and, unfortunately, everyone else's.

Orm doesn't look at him. Her gaze remains locked on Ling across the dance floor, sharp and stormy. "Thanks," she mutters, distracted, barely polite.

The rest of the girls cluster together behind Ling, pretending to dance but actually listening with the intensity of spies on a mission.

Teerapat clears his throat, trying to find her attention, his hand tightening slightly at her waist. "I kept waiting for you to text me," he says, voice hopeful but awkward. "You know... for another date."

Orm finally looks at him, only to deliver the sentence with perfect, pointed volume:

"Maybe I'll text you once the night's over."

It's almost theatrical, the way everyone freezes. Engfa's mouth falls open. Lookmhee lets out a strangled sound. Sonya nearly chokes on her drink. And across the small space between them, Ling and Orm stare each other down like they're on opposite ends of a blade. A killing look. A devastating look.

Ling's breath slips out in a shaky, furious exhale. Her throat burns. Her ears ring. She cannot bear another second watching someone else's hands on Orm's body.

She grabs Charlotte's wrist. "Come with me," Ling says, voice low but sharp enough to cut. "Bathroom. Now."

Charlotte doesn't argue, just raises her brows, glances once at Orm (who is now actively scowling at Teerapat), and follows Ling off the dance floor as the slow, romantic song continues to smother the air around them.

Orm watches her leave. Jaw tense. Eyes bright with something hurt and furious and terrified all at once. Her heart pounding like it's trying to break free.

The bathroom is loud with the muffled bass of the party outside, but inside it feels colder, too bright, like every fluorescent tube is determined to expose the chaos beneath Ling's ribs. She leans on the sink with both palms pressed flat against the porcelain, breathing hard as if she'd run here instead of walked.

Charlotte closes the door with her hip and crosses her arms.

"So," she says, "you're dying."

Ling doesn't answer. She stares at her reflection: flushed cheeks, pupils blown wide, hair sticking to her temples. Her suit jacket feels too tight, like it's strangling her. Or maybe that's just jealousy, thick, acidic jealousy, climbing up her throat.

Charlotte steps closer. "Ling."

"What?" Ling's voice cracks quietly.

"You look like you're about to murder Teerapat where he stands."

Ling squeezes her eyes shut, jaw tightening. "I'm not- I'm not angry at him. He's harmless." She forces a shaky breath. "I'm angry at her."

Charlotte blinks. "At Orm?"

Ling presses her thumb into her brow as if she could press back the ache behind her eyes.

"She said she'd text him to make me jealous." A humorless laugh slips out. "And it worked. It fucking worked. I want to-" She stops herself, swallowing down a curse. "God, Char. I can't do this. I can't watch people touch her. I can't watch her smiling at someone else"

Charlotte places a steadying hand on Ling's shoulder.

"She said so because you passed her on to Pat.",  she squeezes her shoulder with a little too much strength, "And, by the way, you feel like that because you're in love with her."

Ling's breath stutters. The room spins a little. "I- no..." But the denial is weak, pathetic. "It's not that simple."

"It is exactly that simple." Charlotte steps in front of her, forcing Ling to meet her eyes. "You're in love with her. And she's in love with you. And you two keep dancing around each other like idiots while the rest of us are developing high blood pressure."

Ling lets out something between a groan and a wounded laugh, rubbing her face with both hands. "I can't tell her. I can't ruin what we have. What if I say something and she freezes, or pulls away, or decides she doesn't want to live with me anymore? What if she doesn't want to date a girl? What if-"

"What if you lose her because you keep pretending you don't feel anything?" Charlotte shoots back, not unkindly. "Because that's what's happening tonight."

Ling swallows hard. Her heart is a riot, a storm breaking against her ribs.

Charlotte squeezes her arm. "Go find her. Tell her. Or at least make sure she doesn't leave with Pat."

Ling shakes her head, the panic rising. She pushes past Charlotte, her steps unsteady as she exits the bathroom and back into the heat of the party. The air feels thick, every light too bright, every sound too sharp. She grabs a drink from the nearest tray, doesn't care what it is, and downs half of it. Then another.

Charlotte trails behind, calling her name, but Ling keeps moving, weaving through bodies and lights. And then she sees Freen. Standing near the edge of the crowd, arms crossed, watching her with something unreadable in her eyes. Ling freezes mid-step, the cup trembling in her hand before she lowers it. She's about to walk past, pretend she didn't see her, pretend she doesn't exist, but Freen catches her wrist. Not hard, but firm enough to stop her momentum. "Ling," she says, voice low, steady. "Hold on." She tugs, just slightly, guiding Ling away from the dance floor, the crowd, and from Charlotte's worried gaze.

Toward the bleachers at the edge of the gym, dimly lit and mostly empty. Ling lets herself be pulled.

The bleachers are cool under Ling's thighs as she sits. The lights from the dance floor don't reach this far; everything here is darker, quieter, like a pocket of air carved out from the noise. Freen settles beside her, leaving a respectful space between them.

Ling exhales, shaky, staring at her hands. They smell faintly like alcohol and perfume and sweat. "I didn't mean to ignore you," she murmurs. "I was just-"

"Spiraling?" Freen finishes gently. "Yeah. I noticed."

Ling lets out a thin laugh. It dies in her throat.

Freen watches her for a moment, her expression unreadable but calm, the kind that comes after giving up the right to be hurt. "You're in love with her," she says quietly.

Ling's breath catches. She doesn't deny it. "I'm sorry," she whispers, voice trembling. "I really am. For... dragging you into something I never really gave you clarity about. For being selfish."

Freen nods once, slow. "Yeah. You played me a little." Then she shrugs. "But I also let you."

Ling turns her head sharply. "You didn't deserve that."

"No," Freen agrees softly. "But look, I'm not innocent here. I kept coming back even when I knew you didn't want anything real. I knew what this was. I just didn't know how to walk away yet.  Freen stretches her legs out, leaning back on her palms. "I don't hate you, Ling. You're not that easy to hate. You're just... messy. Confused. And maybe a little destructive without meaning to be."

Ling's throat tightens. "I didn't think I could hurt you. I have a hard time believing that, you know... someone wants me."

"I know." Freen glances toward the flashing lights of the dance floor. "And I'm not going to pretend I wasn't hurt. But it's not... rage-hurt. Not betrayal. Just... the kind of hurt you need to choose better next time." Ling nods, "But," Freen continues, pushing herself to her feet, "I think this is where we stop. For real this time. No more hookups, no more 'maybe,' no more you pretending I don't want more than you can give."

Ling finally looks at her. It's like a weight, the long, confused, tangled thing between them, finally settles into its real shape, and it's heavy in a way that brings relief and sorrow in equal parts.

"Are we okay?" Ling asks, small, like a child wondering if forgiveness is possible.

"We're fine," Freen says immediately, gently. "We're okay. I promise." Then she adds, "But we shouldn't see each other again."

Not cruel. Just final.

The club feels different when Ling looks for her group. It's louder, hotter, too fast. The moment she rejoins the circle, she instinctively scans for soft blue, for blonde hair glowing under neon lights. Her eyes dart from face to face, from Charlotte's raised brows to Lookmhee's concerned look, to Sonya's crossed arms and unimpressed stare.

But no Orm.

Ling sobers up, her stomach drops. "Where is she?" she asks, trying to keep her voice steady, but her pulse is hammering. Sonya only narrows her eyes at her, clearly picking up on the adrenaline leaking through every word.

It's Charlotte who tries to stall with a shrug. "She was dancing with Pat..."

"And?" Ling snaps sharper than intended.

Sonya sighs, judgamental. "And they left like ten minutes ago."

Ling stops breathing. "Left where?"

Sonya hesitates, swallowing the urge to scold. Ling can see it, the frustration, the protectiveness. Finally, she caves. "Parking lot," she mutters. "Probably talking. They were... close."

Ling doesn't wait for more. Her body moves before her brain catches up, cutting through the crowd. Her breath is shallow, her heart slamming in her chest as she bursts through the doors to the cooler night air.

The parking lot is quiet, lit by a deep orange streetlight. And there they are. Orm and Teerapat stand a little too close, his hand hovering at her waist like he's trying to find the courage to touch her, her head tilted slightly as she listens, polite, gentle, always gentle, leaning on his car. She looks beautiful.

Ling's jealousy ignites like someone struck a match against her ribs. "Orm." Her voice cuts through the air, sharper than she meant.

Both of them turn. Orm's eyes widen a fraction; Teerapat's mouth tightens.

"There you are," Ling says, already striding toward them, already reaching for her. "You're too drunk. We're going home."

"I'm not-" Orm begins, but Ling's hand circles her wrist before she can finish, warm and claiming in a way she doesn't examine.

Teerapat scoffs, stepping forward. "She's fine. We're just talking."

"Yeah," Ling fires back without even looking at him, "and now she's leaving."

"Maybe let her decide?" he snaps.

Orm blinks between them: two people pulling, one quietly, one fiercely. For a second, Ling fears she'll stay, that she'll let him touch her waist and murmur compliments and spin a future Ling isn't brave enough to offer.

But Orm gently shakes her head. "It's okay," she says to Teerapat, offering him a soft apologetic smile. "I think I should go."

He stares at her, hurt flashing across his face, then turns that frustration toward Ling.

"You can't just drag her around like that."

Finally, Ling meets his glare, voice low and trembling. "I'm taking care of her."

Teerapat lets out a bitter laugh. "Right. Because that's your job."

Orm squeezes Ling's wrist lightly, a silent plea to stop fighting. Ling exhales, jaw clenching.

"Goodnight, Pat," Orm murmurs.

Ling gives him one last look: territorial, completely unguarded, before turning, tugging Orm with her. She doesn't loosen her hold. If anything, her grip tightens as they walk away.

Orm doesn't protest.

The night swallows them as they leave the parking lot behind, Ling pulling her home with a kind of desperation she can't hide, can't swallow down anymore.

The walk home is a long, thin wire stretched between them. Ling keeps her hand around Orm's wrist out of pure panic, not force, but it still looks like she's hauling her through the empty street. She only realizes when Orm jerks lightly, shaking off the grip.

"I don't need to be dragged," Orm says, voice low, tight. "I'm not drunk."

Ling stops. Just stops. Her fingers release immediately, like they've been burned. "I know," she answers, staring ahead instead of at her. "I know you're not."

Silence spills between them again. Orm crosses her arms, out of pride, out of cold, out of confusion, Ling can't tell. The night wind brushes her hair forward and Ling watches, helpless, as Orm tucks a loose strand behind her ear, pretending she's perfectly fine, pretending her eyes aren't still a little glassy from whatever almost happened in that parking lot.

They start walking again, slower now, side by side but never touching. Ling's mind keeps tripping over images she doesn't want: Orm leaning in toward Teerapat, Teerapat's hand too close to her waist, Orm letting it happen because why wouldn't she? Because Ling never gives her a reason not to.

She digs her nails into her palm and keeps staring at the sidewalk.

Orm shivers. It's tiny, barely there, but Ling hears it more than she sees it. A breath that trembles. The older hesitates only a second before slipping off her jacket.

"Here."

"I'm fine," Orm replies instantly.

"You're cold," Ling insists. "Just... take it. Please."

Orm looks at the jacket, at Ling, at the ground. She sighs, quiet and defeated. Not at Ling, but at the night, at herself, at everything that refuses to straighten out. She takes it.

And the moment she pulls the jacket around her shoulders, something in her melts. Her shoulders drop. Her posture softens. Her breath warms. Ling sees all of it, even though Orm tilts her chin up like she's unaffected, like she's wearing armor instead of Ling's favorite item.

"Thanks," she murmurs, barely audible.

Ling nods once. Orm keeps walking. Ling follows.

They push the apartment door open with the silence you use in a church, terrified of disturbing something sacred you're not sure you have the right to touch. The soft click of the lock echoes too loudly in the dim hallway, and both of them freeze for a second, as if the night might break if they move too fast.

Orm steps in first. Ling closes the door behind them, slow, almost shy, like the cheap wood knows too much about what happened outside. They toe off their heels and leave them side by side by the door. Two pairs leaning into each other, closer than the girls who wore them.

After hanging her purse, the blonde lingers there, fingers brushing the strap of her shoe, hoping ridiculously, painfully, that Lingling will say something. Anything. A word. A sound.

But Ling doesn't.

The moment stretches thin. Ling walks to the couch, throws her purse somewhere and sits heavily with her elbows on her knees, fingers intertwined, staring at an empty spot on the wall as if it might offer her some instruction. Her mind is a fast, collapsing loop: I shouldn't have taken her away, I shouldn't feel all this, I can't call this friendship, I can't call it anything else, I don't have a name for it.

She stays silent.

Orm watches her from across the room. Watches her stare at nothing. Watches her do nothing. And something inside her cracks in a way she can't hold together anymore. She exhales sharply, a sound half-sigh, half-surrender, and turns toward the kitchen.

Fine. If Ling won't speak, she will move. If Ling won't do something, she will at least try to breathe.

She opens the fridge, grabs a bottle of water with a shaky hand, the cold plastic slick under her fingers. But her breath catches suddenly, violently. Her chest tightens. Ling's jacket still weighs warm on her shoulders. She hadn't realized how much she'd leaned into that warmth until it wasn't comfort anymore, but proof of everything she wanted and everything she didn't get.

She pulls it off with a jerky movement and throws it on the kitchen table. It lands with a soft slap, but it feels like it should have shattered glass.

Then she breaks.

Her hands grip the edge of the counter, knuckles whitening. Her forehead drops forward until it nearly touches the cabinet door. Her breath stutters. A deep, trembling sob escapes her chest before she can swallow it down. Then another. And another.

Only then does Ling see her.

The sound of Orm crying slices through the living room like a blade, and Ling stands so fast the couch groans. She hesitates, halfway between fear and instinct, before stepping toward the kitchen.

"Orm..." she whispers, voice thin.

It's enough to detonate everything.

Orm spins around, tears streaking down her cheeks, eyes swollen and furious and heartbreakingly vulnerable. Her chest rises and falls in unsteady waves that have been building all night.

"You ruined my night," she cries, voice cracking open. "Do you even get that? You just- left me there. You disappeared. And I tried to dance, to be fine, but all I wanted-" Her breath falters, the truth clawing its way out, "was to dance with you."

The brunette freezes, a hand drifting uselessly toward Orm.

"But you left," Orm continues, harsher now, shaking her head in disbelief. "And then I find out you're talking to Freen. Someone you used to sleep with, Ling. And then you drag me out of my own graduation party just to come home and pretend none of this is happening."

Ling's lips part, but no sound comes out.

Orm presses the heel of her palm against her forehead, as if holding herself together requires physical force. "You're such a coward," she whispers, then louder, broken: "You're a coward, Lingling."

Ling flinches like she's been hit.

"You act like I'm the problem. Like I'm confused. Like I don't know what I feel." Orm wipes her cheek roughly with the back of her hand, her whole body trembling. "But I know. I know because it hurts. So much that the only name I have for it is love, because nothing else feels this awful."

She shakes her head, sobbing harder.

"And the worst part is that, tonight, you haven't done anything to earn that word. Nothing notable. Nothing gentle. Nothing comforting. You didn't do anything lovely, Ling." Her voice breaks into a whisper. "I just... feel it. Because it feels like dying, and that's the only way I know it must be true."

The kitchen goes unbearably still. Orm stands there crying, breath unsteady, body shaking, looking at Ling like she's asking her to say something that will save them both.

Ling stands there, stunned, her heart pounding against her ribs, realizing that silence is no longer something she can hide behind, that Orm's tears have finally dragged her to the edge where she has to choose between stepping forward or losing her entirely.

Chapter Text

Orm doesn’t stop. The dam has already cracked, and the love and desire she held back all these nights comes as rage flooding out in a torrent she can barely steer. The sleeping together with the intimacy and tension it implied, adjusting their schedules so they could spend more time together, to work on their respective tasks sharing space without talking and stealing glances every now and then… it should’ve meant something to Lingling. There’s no other possibility, Orm isn’t crazy.

"I spent weeks hoping you’d be the first one to do something. Anything." she chokes, wiping her face with trembling fingers. "I gave you every chance I could without throwing myself at you like some idiot." Ling takes a small step closer, but Orm barrels forward, breath hitching, hands shaking. "I kept us alone on purpose," she confesses, "I made it easy. I cleared the whole world around us so you’d finally make a move. But you didn’t, not even tonight when it was so obvious I was right there waiting in front of all of our friends."

Ling’s hand twitches, as if she wants to reach for her, but fear anchors her feet. She steps forward again, instinct pulling her closer, but Orm is spiraling, exhausted and furious at once.

"So don’t act like you’re confused, and don’t act like you never saw it. You did. You saw everything. You just didn’t do anything. You let me stand there waiting like some-", she stops herself too late. "…like some pathetic, desperate girl hoping you’d finally care enough to do something."

Ling’s breath leaves her in a wounded sound. "Orm, don’t-"

"No," Orm pushes on, though her voice wavers. "Because that’s what it felt like. Like you were just waiting for me to fall apart. Like it didn’t matter to you unless I-"

"Stop," Ling says. But Orm doesn’t.

"…unless I begged for it. And that’s not fair, Ling! It’s not fair because-"

"Orm." Her name lands differently this time. Heavy, low, like a trembling warning.

Orm finally lifts her head, and Ling is right in front of her now. Very close.

The counter presses against the small of Orm’s back as Ling steps forward without hesitation, caging her in with her body, her arms, her presence. Not aggressive, but intense enough that the air shifts.

Orm freezes. She doesn’t move, she can’t. Lingling is suddenly there, all heat and closeness and maybe anger pressed into restraint.

"Enough," Ling says, not loud, but edged. Orm’s breath catches. "You really think you understand what’s going on with me? You think you’ve figured out some grand truth about what I feel because you waited around and I didn’t jump on you the second you made space for it?" Orm opens her mouth, but Ling steps in closer, crowding her into silence. "You have no idea," she says, voice tightening. "Not a fraction." Her hand lifts, slow, deliberate, and catches Orm’s jaw between her fingers. Not harsh, but firm enough that the blonde forgets how to breathe. "You stand there calling yourself desperate, calling me a coward, talking like you’ve been the only one drowning in this," the brunette goes on, her tone sharpening with each word. "But you don’t know what’s happening on my side. You don’t see it. You can’t, because you’re so focused on what you feel that you’ve decided that’s the whole truth."

Orm blinks hard, tears still clinging to her lashes. Ling leans in, her voice a low, furious whisper.

"You think I did nothing because I don’t want you?" A small humorless laugh escapes her. "Orm, if I didn’t want you, I wouldn’t be standing here right now trying not to lose my mind." The blonde’s fingers curl against the counter’s edge, powerless against the sudden heat in Lingling’s words. "You stood there saying I let you do all the work," Ling says, her grip on Orm’s jaw softening but her tone anything but. "But how is it my responsibility that you decided to stay home, or cancel dates, or orbit me like I was the only thing in the room." Orm’s breath stutters at the word, because that’s exactly how it felt, like she was pulled in by gravity she couldn’t defy. "I noticed," she says. "Of course I noticed. I wasn’t sure, but tonight you made it impossible not to. Still, noticing doesn’t mean I was ready to act on it."

Orm’s voice breaks in a whisper. "Ling-"

"Listen to me." It comes out sharper, almost pleading under the steel. Ling’s fingers slide from Orm’s jaw to the counter beside her hip, caging her in fully, her body close enough that Orm feels the tremor of her breath. "I wasn’t silent because I didn’t care," Ling says. "I was silent because I was terrified of what would happen if I let myself want you the way I do." The younger’s lips part, trembling, and Ling exhales, long and unsteady, her eyes never leaving Orm’s. "So don’t stand there talking like you’re the only one who feels something. Don’t pretend you know the whole picture when you’ve barely seen a corner of mine. I’m scared," she says, sharper, like it costs her something to say it out loud. "Not empty. Not indifferent. Scared."

The word hangs between them, fierce, truer than anything she’s said tonight. Orm’s breath shudders, and the tension snaps into what feels a lot like inevitability.

The blonde opens her mouth to defend herself, but the words come out disassembled, like they’re tripping over one another on their way to the air. “Ling, that’s not… I wasn’t…” She tries to gather the pieces, but Ling’s gaze is already cutting through her excuses, razor-clean, refusing to let anything half-formed linger between them.

“How do you think I would throw myself at you,” the brunette murmurs, voice low but steady, “knowing you dated a man for almost a decade… then suddenly want to try with women… and at the exact moment you’re about to go for it, you hold yourself back?”
Every syllable lands with the precision of someone who has had too many nights to think about this, pacing in her own head.

Orm’s breath stutters. The kitchen feels smaller, like the walls are leaning in, waiting for her reaction.

Ling steps closer, slow, not looming but steadying herself in the space between them. “I knew there was something there between us. I felt it all along.” Her voice softens, but it doesn’t lose its bite; the softness is simply truer, more exposed. “But let me remind you that I’ve been betrayed by someone I loved dearly. You know that. So tell me, how was I supposed to believe you actually felt something for me? How was I supposed to trust it?”

Orm’s pulse turns unsteady, something inside her folding in on itself. She tries again, tongue heavy. “Ling, I never wanted to make you-”

But the older shakes her head, just once, silencing her without touching her. “And then,” she continues, “I didn’t want to be your experiment. Not when I already…” She stops, jaw tightening, swallowing down something that threatens to spill too fast. “Not when my feelings for you were already too much.”

Orm feels that sentence hit her straight in the chest.

“And take into account,” Ling presses on, “that I stop giving you attention for one second, and you’re already throwing yourself at Teerapat. Even if it’s just to make me jealous.” She doesn’t sneer the words; she says them like an uncomfortable truth she had to rehearse to avoid breaking while speaking it. “How do you think that makes me feel?”

Orm tries to respond, “It wasn’t like that-”

“To you,” Ling interrupts gently but firmly, “does it still seem like a good idea for me to just go ahead and confess my feelings first?”

The question lands with a weight that wipes every defensive thought from Orm’s mind.
Ling isn’t punishing her; she’s exposing the architecture of her fear, of her hesitation, of the quiet grief she’s been dragging behind her. The air settles between them, and for the first time tonight, Orm really sees it: not the jealousy, not the sharpness, not the possessiveness simmering under Lingling’s ribs, but the terrified, fiercely loyal heart beneath it all, beating in a rhythm that had been waiting for Orm’s to match.

Slowly, Orm’s shoulders loosen, her chest unlocking around a long, unsteady exhale.
“Ling…” she whispers, voice stripped clean. “I… I’m sorry”

Lingling’s expression doesn’t soften completely, but the frost that had been clinging to her edges begins to melt, just a little, as Orm finally begins to see her motives not as walls but as shields she hadn’t known how to lower until this very moment.

The blonde’s lips part as if to say something steady, something composed, but the moment she tries to speak, her breath trembles and the words unravel in her throat.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers again, and it fractures instantly into a sob. “Ling, I’m sorry, I- I didn’t mean to make you feel any of that. I didn’t know how to… how to selflessly handle all of this.” Her hands rise halfway, unsure of where to land, then fall back to her sides in a defeated little drop. Her eyes brim, then spill, hot and helpless.

Ling’s expression shifts into something gentler. She steps closer, slow as a tide, giving Orm space to pull back but praying she won’t.

Orm keeps talking even though her voice is barely holding itself together. “I never felt like this before. Not this much. Not with anyone. I thought I knew myself, and then suddenly-” Her voice breaks. “…suddenly it’s you. And it’s everywhere. And it’s terrifying because I never thought I’d fall in love with a woman, and it’s all too much, and I don’t wanna ruin it, and I- I think I messed everything up.”

The confession spills out of her like she’s been trying to hold back a flood with her bare hands.

Ling reaches out, just touching Orm’s cheek with two fingertips as if requesting entry into her distress. When the blonde doesn’t pull away, Ling cups her face fully, lifting it gently; steadying, grounding her.

And then, slowly, Ling leans in. Orm inhales like she’s about to speak again, but her lips barely part before Ling kisses her. It’s not fierce at first. It’s a hush pressed to the blonde’s mouth, a gentle sealing of all the places her fear was spilling through. A kiss soft enough to say breathe, deep enough to say I’m here.

Orm melts forward with a tiny gasp, her fingers curling in the front of Ling’s shirt as if to keep herself from dissolving entirely. The brunette deepens the kiss with exquisite patience, guiding rather than taking, brushing her thumb along the younger’s cheekbone in slow, soothing arcs.

But the tenderness doesn’t stay quiet for long. They pause to look at each other for a couple seconds, and then Orm leans in harder, a helpless, trembling sound escaping her. Ling answers by pulling her closer by the waist, their bodies fitting together like they’ve been searching for this exact shape.

The kiss gathers intensity by degrees, a little more pressure, a slow inhale shared between them, the younger’s breath catching as Ling tilts her head and kisses her deeper, warmer, certain now.

Every time Orm tries to speak, Ling kisses the words right out of her, not to silence her feelings but to show her she doesn’t need to explain them to be understood.

Orm’s hands rise, fingers threading into Ling’s hair, pulling her closer in a rush of relief and longing. Ling’s lips soften, then press, then soften again, as if memorizing her mouth one tender, aching kiss at a time.

Orm’s tears slip free, not from pain but from the enormity of being held like this, wanted like this.

Ling kisses those too, the corners of her mouth, the damp path on her cheek, the trembling edge of her jaw, whispering against her lips: “Look at me.”

The blonde shakes, collapsing into her arms, and Ling holds her steady, kissing her again, slow and overflowing. Then, the older presses a kiss to the wet track of tears on her cheek. “It’s okay,” she says. “It’s okay to not understand what’s happening. It’s overwhelming for me too.”

Another tear escapes, and Ling kisses it away like she’s learning a language written in salt.

“You didn’t mess anything up,” she continues, thumb stroking lightly along Orm’s jaw. “You’re feeling everything for the first time. How could you possibly get it right from the beginning?”, she gives a faint, tender exhale. “And I’m scared too, because what I feel doesn’t have an off switch.”

Orm closes her eyes and leans into Ling’s touch, shoulders trembling as the last of her defenses collapse. Ling brings their foreheads together, her voice barely a breath. “We’re figuring this out. Both of us.”

Orm’s sob softens into a fragile, grateful sound, and Ling gifts her a soft grin to tell her she’s held, she’s heard, and she’s safe in a love neither of them fully understands yet.

The brunette takes her hand again, fingers lacing tightly, almost anxiously, and pulls her out of the kitchen. The apartment is soft and dim around them, shadows stretching long on the floor, the air heavy with everything unsaid.

Orm follows without protest, her steps unsteady, her heart still pounding from the fight, the confession, the talk, and her stomach aching from the kisses. Ling’s grip is firm but trembling, and for the first time tonight, Orm sees panic in the line of her shoulders.

Ling kneels in front of their vinyl stand, hands moving through the sleeves with a restless, almost desperate precision. The blonde stands behind her, arms crossed lightly over her ribs, watching Ling’s back rise and fall with hurried breaths. She’s still confused, still hurting, but also unwillingly hopeful.

Then Ling freezes, fingers brushing a familiar cream-toned cover. Orm recognizes it instantly.

Ling doesn’t speak, but the small, reverent care with which she places Everybody Else Is Doing It, So Why Can’t We? on the turntable is enough to make Orm’s stomach twist. The soft crackle blooms through the speakers, that hazy prelude of vinyl dust and nostalgia, and then… “Linger” begins to play.

Orm’s eyes widen. Ling finally stands, turns, and looks straight at her.

There’s nothing defensive in her now. No distance. Only a raw, stripped sincerity that makes Orm’s knees weaken.

The brunette steps close, close enough that Orm can feel the warmth rolling off her skin, close enough to smell the faint mix of her perfume and the night air. She reaches for Orm’s hand again, more carefully this time, sliding her palm against hers and guiding it up to her shoulder as her other hand finds the blonde’s waist. The contact is gentle, tentative, as if she’s asking permission with every inch of touch.

“I hope you still want to dance with me”, Ling begins to sway, slow and patient, drawing Orm with her into a soft, rocking motion. There’s no choreography, no intention except holding onto the moment and each other. Orm lets her, her cheek brushing Ling’s hairline once, her breath catching every time their bodies close the slightest gap.

The tension from the night lingers between them -the fight, the jealousy, the kiss- but around it, something tender grows.

Ling keeps her eyes on Orm as if she’s afraid to blink. Orm tries to keep her expression steady, but her lashes glisten again in the warm living room light.

“I’m not good with words,” the brunette says, her voice low and uneven. “I never know how to say things the right way.”

Orm’s throat tightens, but she waits.

Ling’s thumbs brush slow circles at Orm’s waist, grounding herself in the feel of her. “I made everything worse tonight, I know that. I’m sorry I left you alone. I’m sorry I let you think you didn’t matter to me.”

Orm inhales, shaky, lips parting slightly, but she doesn’t interrupt.

Ling moves a little closer, their foreheads almost touching, the long fabric of her trousers brushing the smooth blue of Orm’s dress. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just… don’t know how to handle what I feel.” Her voice cracks on the last word.

Orm’s hand slides from Ling’s shoulder to her neck, her thumb grazing the edge of her jaw. Ling’s breath stutters. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers again, a second apology heavier than the first.

Orm’s eyes flutter shut for a moment, absorbing every word like something she has needed for weeks. When she opens them again, Ling is still looking at her like she’s afraid the blonde might vanish. The blonde looks down at Lingling’s lips, then her eyes, then her lips again. She wants to feel them once more, so she leans in slowly and the puffy flesh fits perfectly between hers.

The living room is shaped by sorrow and relief, by everything that almost slipped through their fingers tonight. Orm’s fingers tangle in Ling’s hair as Ling’s hands tighten at her waist, holding her as if anchoring her to the floor, to her.

They stay wrapped in the last fading notes of the song, the room bathed in warm, golden lamplight, their chests rising and falling in the same rhythm.

Orm’s tears are barely there anymore, just a shine at the corner of her eyes, and Ling smooths them gently with her thumb, her touch tender, apologetic.

The vinyl spins on, the song lingering exactly as its name promises, and for the first time all night, neither of them feels like running.

Chapter Text

The morning doesn't ask permission to arrive. A thin blade of sunlight slips through the curtain and lays itself across the couch, catching the two of them in a quiet, living portrait. It takes Ling a moment to surface, but Orm has been awake for a while, curled against her, warm and loose-limbed, wearing a smile that looks like it was painted on by someone who knew exactly where tenderness belongs.

Between Lingling's arms, Orm watches her for a few seconds, tracing every line of her face with an attention that feels almost reverent.

The brunette stirs. Her eyelids lift slowly, and the first thing she sees is Orm's face inches from hers, glowing with that lazy morning innocence.

"Are you still mad at me?", Ling murmurs, voice heavy with sleep and something like fear.

Orm shakes her head, her forehead brushing Ling's. "No... not after last night." She shifts closer, draping a leg over Ling's hip, wrapping around her with no hesitation, no leftover anger, just breath and skin and warmth.

"About what happened...", Ling begins, fumbling for words she never learned how to use.

But Orm interrupts her, her voice soft but playful. "Let's let it be." Ling blinks. Orm bites her lip, tracing slow shapes on Ling's stomach with her fingers. "We can keep kissing and cuddling and spooning until we figure this out"

Ling flushes, warm, startled, helplessly red. Orm sees it and laughs under her breath before hiding her face in the older's neck. Ling breathes in sharply, heat and affection sliding through her in one confused wave. "Taking into account... this,", she looks down at their hands joined above her stomach, having slept on the couch after dancing and kissing several times, "I think it's all very clear", she laughs.

Orm tilts her head up, eyes steady, full of boldness, youth and honesty.

"Will you teach me?", she asks. Not shy. Not hesitant. Certain that this, whatever this is, won't be a one-time moment lost to the night. That she wants to learn how to love.

Ling's mouth opens, a yes ready to pour out despite the chaos in her chest, but then... Orm's phone starts ringing. It already did but she couldn't bring herself to care enough. A shrill, demanding sound that feels like the outside world kicking down the door. Orm groans, burying her face in Ling's collarbone like she might negotiate with fate.

"I don't want to get up"

Ling strokes her arm, slow and steady. "Go", she murmurs, "it might be important."

Orm looks at her sleepy, affectionate, still glowing from the night before, and finally slips out of her hold. Before she leaves, she presses a lingering kiss to Ling's jaw.

Ling stays in the warm dent Orm left behind, heart pounding, skin buzzing, and one trembling question hanging unfinished between them: what happens now?

The ringtone keeps slicing through the quiet apartment like an impatient knock, and by the time Orm reaches her phone under the brunette's gaze, still in her dress, hair an adorable mess, she freezes at the screen.

MOM (3)
DAD (2)
MOM (1) — CALLING...

Her stomach drops. "No. No, no, no, no", she whispers, tapping decline like it might reverse time.

Ling, now sitting up with her hair everywhere, watches Orm rush back with the panic of someone who has just remembered an exam halfway through summer.

"What's wrong?", Ling asks, already getting worried.

Orm presses her palms to her temples, "I thought it was early morning but it's not early morning, Ling, it's almost lunchtime. My parents are downstairs. They were supposed to come tonight for the graduation ceremony"

Ling blinks. Then the realization hits her in a slow, dreadful wave. "Your parents... now?"

Orm nods frantically, cheeks turning crimson. "Help me. Please. Help me pretend I'm a functioning adult who didn't just roll out of the couch after- after... after that."

Ling stands up immediately, the protective impulse kicking in so fast she nearly trips on her own trousers. "Okay. Okay. You shower. I'll... I'll figure everything else out. Go."

Orm darts into the bathroom, calling out mid-run: "Make coffee! Or tea! Or something that smells like we've been awake for HOURS!"

Ling grabs the first appropriate clothes she finds in her room, a soft cream shirt, black jeans, hair brushed back with quick, trembling fingers, a splash of perfume and mouthwash, and then the doorbell rings. The sound knocks the air out of her lungs. She smooths the shirt, inhales, opens the door.

There stand Orm's parents, bright, polite. The mom is carrying a tray of food; the dad has that quiet, observant nod that sees too much.

Ling musters a smile that feels like walking a tightrope without a net. "Good afternoon", she says in her sweetest, calmest tone, "Orm will be ready in just a minute. Please come in."

They enter. The apartment still carries the faint warmth of last night; a misplaced heel, Ling's jacket on the table and her purse on the floor.

Orm's mom beams. "We hope we're not too early."

Ling swallows. "Not at all", she lies with the grace of someone praying Orm will exit the bathroom looking like she hasn't been tangled up in her all night. The shower starts running behind the closed door.

Oct and Koy step inside with warm smiles and a kind of parental curiosity that feels like a flashlight aimed straight at Ling's soul. "You must be Lingling", Koy says, already scanning the apartment with the trained precision of a mother who knows when something is off. "I'm Koy, and this is Oct."

Oct gives a polite nod that could soften mountains or interrogate them depending on the need. "Orm sent us the address last week", he adds, "though... she didn't explain much. Just that she and Somyot had broken up and that she was living here now. That was shocking"

Ling's pulse pirouettes into unease. She forces a gentle smile. "Right. Yes. I'm Lingling. Or Ling." A pause too long. "Orm's... roommate."

The word lands in the space between them like a pebble dropped into deep water, small, but echoing. She gestures them toward the dining table and turns around facing the cupboard for a moment of oxygen. She reaches for the bag of tangerines on the counter, grateful for something to do with her hands. The citrus scent rises sharp and bright as she slices, squeezes, mixes, building something normal to offer Orm's parents while their daughter showers off everything that happened last night. 'Just some kisses, I didn't defile their daughter', she thinks to calm herself.

Oct takes a seat. Koy remains standing, watching Ling with a keen, unblinking interest.

"So", Koy begins, in the tone of someone warming up for a subtle interrogation, "how did you and Orm meet?"

Ling pours the first glass of juice, using that moment to buy herself a breath. "We met through my previous roommate", she answers calmly, "some months ago."

"Only months?", Koy presses, eyebrows subtly arching, "And already living together? Also on the other side of the city. We almost got lost coming here"

Ling keeps her hands steady, though her heart is trying to climb out of her chest. "We... She needed a place near campus. And sharing rent made sense financially for both of us."

Koy hums, unconvinced. "And why did Orm decide to move away? She never told us the details."

Ling freezes for a fraction of a second. That question is a minefield, one she cannot walk through on Orm's behalf. She places a glass of juice in front of Koy and chooses her words carefully.

"I think... that's something Orm should explain herself", she says softly, respectfully, "It isn't my place to speak for her."

Silence. Not a peaceful one. Koy's smile thins, almost disappears. Oct glances at her, as if checking the temperature of the room.

"Hmm", Koy murmurs, sitting down at last, posture straight as a ruler. "I see."

She does not, in fact, "see." The disapproval radiates off her like a low hum. Ling swallows and forces another smile, placing the rest of the glasses on the table.

---------- ---------- ----------

Orm appears at the end of the hallway with her hair still dripping in straight, wet strands that cling to her bare shoulders. She has dressed in white from neck to knee, linen shorts, a loose blouse, soft fabric that glows faintly in the afternoon light. She looks painfully angelic, deliberately harmless, the image celebrities curate when they've been caught doing something spectacularly stupid and need public forgiveness. It would be funny if it weren't so tragic.

They sit at the dining table, Orm and Ling side by side, their knees touching under the surface; Oct and Koy across from them, stiff-backed, holding their glasses of tangerine juice as though evaluating it for poison. The tension in the room is a living thing: warm, breathing, sprawled across the chairs and pressing on Orm's temples. She tries not to look toward the kitchen counter, because the second she does, last night appears so vividly; her lower back against the marble, Ling's mouth, the heat of it, the sound of her own breath, that she nearly flinches.

Koy folds her hands in her lap and looks directly at the brunette. "So, Lingling," she begins with cool politeness wrapped around sharpened interest, "what do you do for a living?"

Ling sits straighter, suddenly all careful posture. "I'm an artist," she replies, her voice gentle but confident, a small tremor in it only noticeable to the blonde beside her.

Koy tilts her head. "An artist. I see." She takes a sip of juice, as though preparing her next sentence like one chooses a blade. "Very different from Somyot. You know, he's about to become a doctor."

The comparison lands like a slap. Orm feels Ling tense, so she turns sharply to her mother.

"Why are you comparing them?" she asks with barely controlled irritation, her jaw tightening.

Koy shrugs lightly, as though she has stated something casual and not deeply insulting. "Well, he was also your roommate. I'm saying that there was a certain stability. Practicality."

"Mom, shut up," Orm snaps before she can stop herself. The words burst out, hot, unfiltered. Ling immediately places her hand on Orm's knee under the table, not forceful, not warning, just a steady, grounding pressure that vibrates through Orm's skin. The gesture is protective, pleading, and intimate enough that Orm's breath stumbles.

Koy's eyes widen, more offended by the tone than the substance. Oct clears his throat quietly. Ling withdraws her hand from Orm's knee only slightly, her fingers still brushing the fabric of Orm's shorts as if she doesn't want to leave her completely untethered.

Koy smooths the front of her blouse and forces a thin smile. "Since you want me to stop talking about Lingling," she says, "perhaps you can explain something else. What happened with Somyot?"

The blonde stiffens. She feels Ling's hand inch back onto her knee, firmer this time. Not restraining, but supporting. Orm inhales sharply, chest rising in a trembling wave. Her fingers tighten around the cold glass of juice, her throat working as she swallows the ache rising in it. She forces a faint smile that fools no one and says, quietly, "Can we not talk about this?"

Oct leans forward, elbows on the table, voice calm but insistent. "We need to understand, Orm. You broke up suddenly. You moved out. There was no explanation. We're not asking to pressure you, only to know what happened."

The blonde shakes her head, eyes flickering toward the window, anywhere but at them. Her voice comes out thin and frayed. "That was months ago, I'm fine, I just graduated. You didn't even congratulate me or gave me a hug. This isn't the time to talk about it."

"Then when?" Koy presses, her tone deceptively soft, threading admonishment through each syllable. "You left a long relationship and now you won't even address it. Your father and I are worried. And if you won't explain, I have to ask...", she glances briefly at Ling before returning her focus to her daughter. "Is there a chance for you and him to get back together?"

Silence drops heavy and immediate, like a curtain.

Orm doesn't answer. Not because she wants Somyot, the thought alone makes her stomach twist, but because she suddenly sees the futility of trying to argue with parents who have already written the ending of the story for her. They've known Somyot since he was a child. Knew his family. They approved of the life he'd mapped for himself. To them, that was enough. That was security.

Today's battles (falling in love with a woman, breaking up for reasons they'd never fully understand, risking her heart for something fragile and new), those weren't battles she knew how to fight. Not here. Not now. Not with Ling seated beside her like a loaded confession. So the blonde only lowers her head, eyes burning, lips pressed shut so tightly they turn pale.

Beside her, Ling feels the shift instantly. Her hand, which had been resting gently on Orm's knee like some quiet promise of protection, slips away without resistance. She sits straighter, colder, folding her hands on her lap. Suddenly she feels like an intruder at her own dining table, someone who misread a signal, someone foolish enough to believe she belonged.

Koy sees Orm's bowed head and interprets it as permission, for the wrong thing entirely.

"Fine," she says, as if concluding a deal. "If you're too upset to talk, I'll speak to him myself."

Orm's head jerks up. "What?"

"Somyot," Koy repeats, unbothered. "Maybe I can help him reconsider, help-"

"Mom, no," Orm breathes, but it's too quiet, too exhausted, too defeated for anyone to stop.

Koy waves a hand as though the matter is settled. "It's for your own good, dear. Someone has to help get things back on track."

Ling's jaw tightens, so subtly that only Orm sees it. Or maybe Orm just feels it, like a thread pulling taut between them, threatening to snap.

---------- ---------- ----------

The apartment door closes behind Oct and Koy with the soft thud of a curtain falling after an unwelcome show. Their perfume lingers in the air a bit too long. Ling exhales, a slow spill of breath. Orm stands by the counter, shoulders squared as if bracing for a storm she thought she'd already survived.

For a few heartbeats, the silence is a tightrope between them.

Ling stands by the door, arms loosely folded, not defensive, just holding herself together. The apartment feels too quiet, as if even the furniture is tiptoeing around what's about to happen. Outside, the sky is turning the shade of late afternoon that hints at ceremony lights and camera flashes waiting somewhere in the near future, but here, in this small pocket of space, time hesitates.

"Orm," Ling says, not angry, simply steady. "I want to talk."

Orm turns from the counter where she's been pretending to sort things that don't need sorting; keys, receipts, her phone, anything to avoid the tremor in Ling's voice. She looks tired in a way that sits behind the eyes.

"Can it wait?" Orm asks, voice thin. "Just... can we get through graduation without-"

Ling shakes her head softly. "I'm not here to fight. I'm not even upset. I just..." She exhales a breath that seems to have been stored inside her chest for hours. "I felt small today."

The words land gently, but they land all the same. Orm's shoulders drop. The guilt that's been shadowing her since the encounter flickers across her face. She steps closer but not close enough to touch. "Ling..."

"I know Somyot is harmless," Ling continues, her voice quiet but unwavering. "But when your mom brought him up, and you didn't-" She stops, searching for a way to phrase it without sounding wounded. "You didn't even show that you didn't want it. You didn't have to make a scene or anything like that. But just... something." Her gaze dips for a moment. "It made me feel like I had no place beside you."

Orm bites the inside of her cheek, the words stinging not because they're sharp but because they're true. "I wasn't thinking," she murmurs. "Everything was happening at once and I... Ling, I don't know what we are. I thought it was better to let her talk until we see what we do with this."

Ling's expression softens, but the ache remains present beneath it, like an echo that hasn't quite faded yet. "I wasn't asking for a label in front of them, not even between us," she says. "Just... to not feel invisible. Not next to you." Her voice folds a little here, as if she's admitting something she wishes she didn't have to.

Orm's breath shivers out of her. "I know, I messed up. I know it hurt you." She drags a hand through her hair, a gesture of surrender, of confusion, of wanting to fix what she doesn't know how to hold. "I promise we'll talk about it. I want to. I just..." Her voice cracks faintly. "Not today. Not before everything. Please. Can we call a truce until after graduation?"

Ling stays still for a moment, weighing the plea, tracing the trembling edges of Orm's eyes. A truce isn't what she wants. But she also knows that forcing a resolution when both their nerves are already stretched thin would only bruise what they're trying so hard to protect.

Finally, she nods. "Okay." The word is soft, but it carries the weight of restraint, of love that knows when to wait. "A truce."

Orm exhales like she's been underwater and has finally surfaced. "Thank you."

Ling gives her a gentle, fragile half-smile. "We should... start getting ready. It's getting late."

Orm mirrors the smile, though hers wavers like candlelight. "Yeah. We should."

They stand there for a heartbeat longer, suspended between unresolved fears and the fragile promise of later, before drifting to their separate rooms, carrying with them the quiet hope that tonight, under the glow of celebration, they'll find their way back to each other.

Chapter Text

Lingling stands before the mirror. The room is quiet except for the soft clink of her earrings, small silver hoops tonight, elegant and unassuming.

She slips one hoop through her ear and exhales. 'Maybe her mom's right. Maybe I'm not what she needs.' The thought blooms uninvited, her fingers move automatically.

But then the next thought curls in, sharper. 'It hurt. That she barely said anything.' Standing there like a shadow beside Orm's parents, tasting that strange, familiar feeling of being "almost," of not having a place. It wasn't jealousy; it was like standing in a doorway that never opens all the way.

She taps foundation into her skin, feather-light. 'We haven't even talked about what we are.' A half-laugh slips through her nose. 'There is nothing to rush. Nothing to complicate. We're still friends. That's supposed to be enough.' But the words taste thin.

Ling brushes a soft glow across her cheeks. She's going for a clean, luminous look, something that says she's holding it together.

She smooths down her trousers, crisp and tailored. The black vest fits her like a promise she hasn't said out loud. She steps into the heels, straightens her posture, lets her hair fall in waves over her shoulders. The mirror approves in silence.

A knock breaks the moment. Two knocks, actually, firm but hesitant.

"Ling?" Orm's voice floats in, soft enough that it asks permission by its tone alone.

Ling's pulse betrays her. She opens the door, and there she is. Dressed for the ceremony, glowing without even trying. Beautiful in a way that feels almost unfair. Ling's frustration melts, caught helpless in the gravitational pull of the girl standing in front of her. She can't stay mad. She knows it. The universe probably knows it too.

"Wow," Orm whispers, eyes widening at Ling's outfit. "You look..."

Ling raises a brow, waiting for the word Orm won't say.

"...ready," Orm finishes, quiet but sincere.

They fall into a shared silence as Ling returns to the mirror to fix the last touches; gloss, a final blend, a breath. Orm sits on the edge of the bed, hands twisting in her lap, stealing glances at Ling as if looking directly might break something.

When the brunette caps her gloss and steps back, Orm stands.

"Ling," she begins, voice fragile but determined, "can we talk before we go? We've still got time."

Ling swallows, nodding once. "Okay."

Orm's apology arrives in the same breath, small and trembling around the edges. "I'm sorry. For earlier. For... all of it."

Ling doesn't answer right away. But she turns toward Orm fully, giving her the attention she didn't demand but quietly needed.

Orm's shoulders rise and fall once before she speaks again, as if she's bracing herself for the shape of her own honesty. Her voice comes out low, tender.

"It's just... it's really hard for me to face them," she says, eyes flicking away, then back, as though she's afraid the truth might sting if she looks directly at Ling for too long. "There's so much happening inside my head. It feels like I'm trying to hold a whole storm in my hands and pretend it's only a breeze. I'm discovering things about myself that I never thought I'd have to look at. And I'm trying to sort them out, to understand what matters most and what can wait, but everything is tangled. Everything feels urgent. And I... I need time. I need more time than I thought I would. When we're together, alone, we're in a bubble, but there's a world outside. I just-" She swallows. "I hope you can be patient with me."

Ling lets the words settle, each one slipping into the room like small, fragile creatures seeking a warm place to rest. She stands still, hands lightly touching the edge of her vanity.

When she answers, her tone is soft but steady, like someone trying to offer a path rather than a solution.

"There's no rush," Ling murmurs, the words rolling out slowly, carrying a calm she's trying very hard to maintain. "I don't want you to feel pushed or cornered. I can give you the time you need, and the space you need, to figure out what's going on inside you and around you. Everything is already complicated enough, and I don't want us to add more weight on top of what you're carrying."

She hesitates then, not out of doubt but out of care, choosing each phrase like she's afraid the wrong one might bruise.

"We don't have to call this anything right now. We don't have to define it or name it or place it anywhere. We can let it be whatever it is while you figure yourself out and I overcome my fears. And... I'd rather we keep this" her eyes flick to Orm, then lower, "between us. For now. I don't want anyone gumming it up before it starts."

The silence that follows isn't heavy, but it stretches long enough for Orm to feel each syllable lodging itself somewhere in her chest. She nods once, slow and mechanical, though she isn't sure what part of Ling's answer she's responding to.

Because something inside her recoils and softens at the same time. Ling's kindness lands gently, but the last bit, the request for secrecy, the suggestion of staying unnamed, unfurls a discomfort she can't quite grasp. She doesn't know what to call the sensation. She doesn't know whether it hurts or simply warns her.

The blonde forces a breath through her lungs and nods again, though her face doesn't match the gesture. And in the quiet that pools between them, Orm wonders whether taking time will help untangle things, or if this unnamed thing between them has already begun to knot itself in ways neither of them can see yet.

---------- ---------- ----------

The auditorium swells with applause, a rising tide of sound that should have lifted her straight off the ground, but Orm stands there with her diploma in her hands and feels strangely suspended between pride and a kind of quiet, throbbing ache. Her chest doesn't bloom the way she expected it to.

She forces a smile that feels almost real as she bows slightly, stepping off the stage with the weight of her nursing degree warm against her palm. It should be the happiest moment of her life, she should be basking in the glow of it, inhaling every second like it's the air she's been waiting for. But liminality clings to her like perfume that won't wash off.

Because she can feel Ling somewhere behind her in the crowd. The knowledge of it pulls at something deep and helpless in her.

She's in love. Madly, astonishingly, embarrassingly in love. And for the first time in her life, that love has settled into her whole body like it finally found a place to rest. But she cannot touch it. Cannot name it. Cannot even let it soften her features when her eyes accidentally brush Ling's across the room.

How is it possible, she wonders as she takes her seat, heart tripping over its own rhythm, that she's loving this fiercely for the first time... and she has to keep it folded into the smallest, hidden corner of herself?

The thought sticks like a thorn, especially when her friends storm her after the ceremony, all perfume and excitement and too-loud congratulations.

"So?" one of them demands, nudging her shoulder. "What happened last night? You disappeared with Ling and didn't come back."

"There was tension," another singsongs. "What did we miss?"

Orm's pulse jumps. She grips her diploma a little too tight, afraid it might slip from her damp palm.

"I just..." She summons a practiced tone, breezy, harmless. "I talked to Ling. Cleared up the misunderstandings, that's all. We're still the same as before."

The lie sits on her tongue, bittersweet and stubborn.

Her friends exchange knowing looks she wishes she could erase. They keep pressing; small questions, teasing guesses. She dodges every one, building walls out of half-truths, changing the subject whenever she feels her throat tightening.

All the while, Ling stands a short distance away with her hands clasped behind her back, watching the ceremony with an expression that looks serene to everyone else but feels unreadable to Orm.

Her friends keep laughing. Photos keep flashing. Her parents keep whispering to each other. And Orm keeps wondering how she's supposed to celebrate her life beginning at the exact moment she has to hide the part of it that feels the most alive.

---------- ---------- ----------

The full moon leans high melting into the shimmer of the pool like someone spilled silver across the water. Orm tries to pretend her heart isn't trying to climb out of her ribcage.

Her parents already left for their hotel, relieved and exhausted, and the whole building terrace feels suddenly too free. Everyone is stripped down to swimsuits, bikinis, neon shorts, tanned shoulders, wet hair slicked back.

Ling is at the far corner, half-submerged in the pool alongside Charlotte and Engfa. Their conversation drifts in lazy arcs, something about makeup brands, something that makes Ling laugh softly, the laugh that ripples through Orm's nerves even from a distance.

On the opposite side, Sonya, Lookmhee, and a couple of Orm's childhood friends are gathered in a messy constellation of floating limbs, pool noodles, and gossip energy.

The boys, Thana, Teerapat, Somyot, are oblivious, splashing each other like golden retrievers that learned how to walk on two legs. They have no idea that the world has tilted.

She steps down the pool stairs, letting the water curl up her thighs, her stomach, her chest. It's warm. Or maybe she's just burning from the inside.

Sonya is the first to glance her way, pushing her sunglasses up.

"Well, look who finally joined us," she says, grinning. "Will you tell us what happened last night now?", Orm rolls her eyes and swims toward them.

"Nothing happened."

"Orm. Sweetheart." Sonya taps the water. "You came home 'drunk'. Ling carried you inside. You two look like you survived an apocalypse together." She pauses, savoring the moment. "Draw your own triangle."

Lookmhee adds, "Also you literally cannot look at her without panicking."

Her gaze flicks automatically toward Ling, still in the corner with Charlotte, moonlight kissing her cheekbones, hair up and some loose strands dripping like dark ink, smiling at something her friend just said. It lasts exactly one second. And Orm spins back around, sinking deeper into the water until only her nose is above the surface.

Sonya and Lookmhee stare at her. Then they howl.

"Oh my God, they totally did."

Orm groans into the water, bubbles rising like a confession. She wants to deny it again. She wants to swim away. She wants to teleport to any place where her pulse isn't tap-dancing against her skin. But her friends keep circling, their joy loud and bright, their teasing merciless but full of affection.

---------- ---------- ----------

The night unfolds in slow, stubborn loops, music thumping from the poolside speakers, friends weaving through conversations like lazy fireflies. And in the middle of it all, Orm and Ling orbit each other like two stars refusing to admit gravity exists.

They haven't spoken since the ceremony. Haven't even brushed shoulders. Every time one turns toward the other, someone new intercepts. Fate has a cruel sense of humor tonight.

Orm ends up leaning against the pool railing, knees dripping from her last swim, talking to Somyot. He's polite, earnest, familiar. He asks about her degree, about her plans, tells her about Koy wanting to talk to him. And Orm nods along, offering neutral hums, resisting the urge to look behind him where she knows Ling is pretending not to watch.

Somyot eventually gets pulled away by Thana, and Teerapat slides into the vacant space beside her with a grin that's half-sunshine, half-trouble.

"I didn't get to talk to you alone earlier," he says, brushing a wet strand of hair from his forehead. "But... maybe we could hang out sometime? Just us. Celebrate properly."

Orm hesitates. Just a breath, just long enough for her heart to remind her who she wants.

And then she sees Ling, across the terrace, leaning against the doorway, pretending to laugh at something Charlotte said while her eyes flick toward Orm.

Orm remembers the sting of the secrecy. The feeling of wanting and not being wanted publicly. So she nods. Not because she wants Teerapat. Not at all. But because the tiny, wicked part of her wants Ling to feel the heat she's been carrying alone.

"That sounds good," Orm says lightly.

Teerapat beams.

Ling's face... changes. The smile she was performing collapses. Her hand tightens on the doorframe. And in the next heartbeat, she steps away from her friends.

"I think I'm gonna throw up," Ling announces loudly enough for everyone to hear. "Too much alcohol."

Charlotte moves toward her. "Do you want-"

"No," Ling says quickly. "I'm fine. I just... need a minute."

Minutes later, inside her room, fury and longing twist in equal measure. She paces, then sits, then stands again. She rubs her palms over her face, mutters under her breath. It's ridiculous how much it annoys her, how much last night keeps replaying in flashes she can't shut off.

And then... footsteps. Voices.

The door to the apartment opens again, and Ling freezes. Orm and Teerapat walk in.

Ling can't see them directly from her room, but she can hear everything; the wet shuffle of their feet, the awkward little laugh Teerapat makes, the nervous exhale Orm lets out.

"So... you really meant it?" Teerapat says, voice warm and hopeful. "About hanging out?"

Orm hums; not a yes, not a no. Just a tight sound lodged in her throat. Ling stands perfectly still, every muscle pulled taut.

Teerapat laughs again. "You look good today, you know. I mean- you always do, but today... I don't know. Something's different."

Orm doesn't answer. Silence stretches. One of those heavy, uncomfortable ones that exposes the seams of a conversation.

The brunette stands in her dark room, feeling fear, longing, regret press against her like a wave that might finally swallow her whole. She forces out a cough, a clear signal that slices through the living-room silence. Teerapat stops mid-sentence. Orm jolts, shoulders tightening, eyes darting toward the hallway like she's been waiting for any excuse to get away.

Ling coughs again, louder this time, and pushes her bedroom door open with the kind of theatrical sluggishness a bad actress might envy. She doesn't even look at them. Just lets her hand brush the wall as she half-stumbles toward the bathroom.

Orm can't help following her with her gaze, relief pouring over her expression like she's been holding her breath since she walked into the apartment. Teerapat watches too and sighs, huffing disappointment through his nose.

"Seriously?" he mutters. "She's okay, you know. People act dramatic when they drink."

The blonde doesn't answer. She's watching Ling disappear behind the bathroom door, the faint click of the lock snapping into place echoing in her chest.

Teerapat steps closer again, tone turning half-playful, half-serious. "Anyway... I was saying. Maybe we could hang out this week. Just you and me. Talk. Eat something. I feel like we left a lot unsaid."

Orm steps back, hands gripping the ends of her towel, pulse skittering. "I... I think you should go," she says finally, voice unsteady but firm. "I'm going back to the pool in a bit. It's better if you... go ahead. Bring beer cans."

"Oh." Teerapat blinks, caught off guard. "Right. Yeah. Sure." He runs a hand through his hair, trying to find some dignity in the sudden dismissal. "Just text me... if you want. Or whatever."

Orm nods, offering a small, tight smile. He leaves without looking back.

The moment the door shuts behind him, Orm exhales and turns toward the bathroom. The hallway feels impossibly narrow, her footsteps impossibly loud as she approaches. She taps the door, knuckles soft against the wood. "Ling?"

Silence.

Orm leans closer. "It's me. Can I... please?"

The lock clicks open.

Ling doesn't say anything, just steps aside to let her in. And when Orm closes the door behind them, the whole apartment seems to fall away, leaving only the tight, fragile air between the two of them as they face the storm finally catching up.

Orm tries to lighten the weight in the room with a brittle laugh. "Nice acting, by the way."

Ling lifts her chin, eyes still shimmering from whatever storm she'd just waded through alone. "Thank you," she answers, a thin blade of irony slicing through the air. "I'm glad it worked."

Before Orm can reply, Ling steps forward decisively closing the distance and easing Orm back until her spine meets the cool bathroom door. Her hand lands on the lock behind Orm's shoulder, clicking it shut with a soft finality that sends a pulse through the tiny room.

"Ling..." the blonde warns, though it sounds more like a plea. She tries to summon that earlier resolve, to put distance between them, to reclaim the upper ground she never really had. "You can't just-"

But Ling's fingers slide to her jaw, featherlight at first, then fixed with a confidence that unravels Orm's protest. Her thumb rests at Orm's chin, tilting her face up, guiding her into stillness.

She leans in, her lips brushing the shell of Orm's ear.

The blonde's knees go weak, not from fear, not from pressure, but from the recognition of something she's wanted yet been terrified to claim. Her resistance falters, dissolves, then disappears entirely the moment Ling's hand slips to her waist to unwrap the towel around it.

Trying not to look at the blonde's body yet, Ling guides her gently toward the sink, lifting her just enough to settle her there. Orm's breath hitches, her hands instinctively finding Ling's shoulders for balance.

Ling stands between Orm's knees, running her fingertips through her thighs. "Look at me," she murmurs. And when Orm does, the party, the jealousy, the confusion fall away, leaving only the fierce, trembling truth suspended between them. The blonde catches Lingling's eyes running through her exposed skin and she could swear she'd never seen such adoration in someone's gaze.

Then, suddenly, Ling kisses her much hungrier than last night. There's a new fire in her, quiet, focused, almost frightening. Ling's hands settle on her hips to pull her closer, as close as she can, their chests almost becoming one.

The brunette wants to be unforgettable out of fear that Orm could drift away or pretend this thing between them is smaller than it is. Her touches promise: 'You won't have to look anywhere else. I'm right here.'

For her, it isn't just desire, it's the terrible realization that she cannot bear the thought of being replaced. She wants to be the place Orm returns to, the thought that interrupts her days, the name she whispers when she's half-asleep. Each kiss deepens with a vow she hasn't dared say aloud. Her hands tremble against Orm's waist, need, fear, relief, all tangled together. When she meets the blonde's amber eyes, there's an intensity there that could burn down a city if someone gave it shape. Her fingers cradle Orm's jaw as though she's holding something sacred, but her voice is low, unguarded, almost feverish when she whispers:

"You don't understand what you do to me... but I'll make you. I'll make you know."

Orm feels the shift: Ling is unraveling openly, fiercely, surrendering all the vulnerability she's been hiding under coolness. And instead of fear, the blonde feels something warm bloom in her chest. She's realizing she doesn't want anyone else to matter like this.

She tangles her fingers in the older's hair; she accidentally unties it, slightly pulls it into a fist when the brunette leaves a trail of kisses from her mouth, down her jaw and reaching her neck. Ling's hands go up Orm's chest, and she abruptly breaks the kiss with an apologetic look, her arms falling to her sides.

"Sorry."

Orm melts and smiles at the sudden innocence in Ling's dilated, jet-black eyes. The blonde takes her wrists and guides Ling's hands right back to where they were. The brunette freezes for a moment, shocked by Orm's boldness.

"Touch me", the blonde begs in a whisper. She sees hesitation in Ling's eyes, so, placing her fingers on her jaw, she pulls her closer and kisses her again, seeking out her tongue for the first time.

The brunette ventures to touch, somewhat hesitant at first, then with more boldness as her lip bites make Orm sigh, almost moan against her lips. At that sound, the heat in their bodies rises to an impossible level, one that can only be extinguished in a dangerous way. One from which there is no return.

The blonde's hips move impossibly close to Ling's abs, and she wraps her thighs around her. A very slow, almost imperceptible sway is drawn by their bodies, seeking any contact that can soothe the heat that has built from the core of Orm's and needs to be quelled. Lost in the blonde's panting, Ling raises one of her hands to her neck and wraps her fingers around it, squeezing lightly to keep her steady. Her mouth goes down her neck, then the valley of her chest making Orm lean back slightly. She tastes the salty skin, which pours her lips with fragrance and barely sweat.

Her other hand slowly slides down along the skin of her stomach, to the elastic band at the edge of Orm's underwear. Her fingers play there, testing, waiting for the blonde to resist, but nothing happens.

Right when she's about to go under it, three knocks on the door. Orm's jaw drops, her lips visibly mistreated. She covers her mouth as her eyes widen. Lingling leans her forehead on the blonde's shoulder, breathing heavily and trying to keep herself from cursing. Orm hugs her to keep both of them steady, silent.

"Ling? Are you okay?", Charlotte's voice breaks from the other side of the door.

The brunette clears her throat. "Yes, Char. I'm fine." She grabs Orm's waist, looks at her chest while recovering consciousness and considering that, maybe, it's good that this happened. The subtle red marks all over the blonde's chest make her eyes go wide.

"Do you want me to come in? Did you throw up? I have water"

Before Lingling can answer, Orm covers her mouth and smiles mischievously. "She's fine, Char. I got it." The brunette bites her palm as a reprimand.

"Oh... my god...", they both laugh at Charlotte's realization. "I'm sorry. I didn't know Orm-"

"She's helping. Give us a minute", the brunette looks straight at Orm amusedly, pointing to her chest. When the younger sees a couple marks on her pale skin, she has to stop herself from slapping Ling's shoulder.

"I'll... be at the pool", they wait for Charlotte's steps to go away and burst into laughter together, picturing her faux pas face.

"I'm going to kill you. Are you a teenager?", the blonde grabs Lingling's face and pulls her closer. "What is this?"

Ling puts her hands on Orm's thighs. "I guess I lost control... I mean, can you blame me?", she looks down at the blonde's chest with an incredulous look. Orm kisses her, softly this time, with no other intentions than to convey affection. "Go put on a shirt. I will wait for you at the door. Away, far away from this body."

The blonde laughs out loud and gets down the sink, also aware that Charlotte interrupting was the best scenario right now. 

Chapter Text

The night breaks with quiet normalcy. Ling and Orm stop ignoring each other completely; even under the suspicious, teasing stares of their friends, they allow themselves small exchanges of affectionate, knowing glances, soft words from time to time, Orm climbing onto Ling's back in the pool, wrapping her arms around her from behind and tracing her fingers along her jaw as Ling tries to stay focused on the conversation. Just like they were before being too aware of what there is between them. The reason why the teasing from their friends started.

Inside, the brunette remains painfully conscious that they left an unfinished conversation behind, an untouched subject waiting for them. But being like this, so familiar, so accustomed to Orm and yet craving more of her, she tells herself it can wait. There is no need to ruin the moment.

With the privilege of letting her hands wander along the backs of Orm's thighs while the blonde loops her arms around her neck, Ling forgives that her job had been disregarded earlier, at lunch, even if no one apologized for it.

---------- ---------- ----------

In the morning, after Orm's friends have already left to catch their flight back to the province and the farewell breakfast with her parents is done, Lingling excuses herself under the premise that she is "tired and going to take a nap until lunchtime," after gathering the leftovers and cleaning the used utensils.

Orm knows that isn't true, that Ling cannot endure another minute in the charged atmosphere that has lingered ever since Oct and Koy walked through the door.

Out on the balcony, mother and daughter sit in silence, watching the sunlight reflect off the windows of the building across the street.

"Will you come visit us in the summer? Why don't you spend a couple of weeks with us? To disconnect from the city," the woman begins gently.

"Because I want to start working in what I studied. I'm going to resign as soon as I get accepted at a hospital or a community clinic," Orm replies with a hint of disdain.

"Are you comfortable here? I mean... are you sure that's the real reason you're staying? Your grandmother wants to see you," Koy watches her with quiet firmness, the steady gaze of a mother who understands exactly what hides behind her daughter's evasive eyes.

"I want to see her too. I'll call her. I'll visit as soon as I can, but right now I need to establish some financial stability as quickly as possible," she sighs heavily before continuing, "and yes. That is the reason. What other reason would there be?" And she instantly regrets asking that question.

"I feel like you're being influenced by your friends. You and I never had conflicts, and now you get defensive every time we speak."

"Because I already know what you're going to say. And I disagree with what you want me to do. It's time for me to take control of my own life. Breaking up and moving here were the first steps, and I'm satisfied. I don't regret them," she maintains a neutral tone, trying not to reveal how deeply the subject affects her. "And Somyot has a girlfriend, so don't even try."

Koy remains still, silent. Sorting through her thoughts. She finally exhales, slow, knowing she's stepping into a conversation she already knows won't end well.

"You had everything set up, Orm," she says quietly. "A stable home, a partner, a future already outlined. And now you're... starting from scratch."

Orm presses her lips together, eyes fixed on the street below. "I'm fine, Mae."

"You say that, but you're working part-time, living with friends, finishing your degree without a plan for what comes after-"

"I am planning," the girl insists, jaw tight, aware that her mother skips certain things just to add weight to what's really happening. "I told you already. I'm doing it at my own pace. That's all."

Koy turns toward her fully, the morning light outlining her concern. "Listen to me. You need stability. You're not a child anymore. Find someone who can accompany you. A man with a decent profession, someone who can support you while you build your career."

Orm swallows, long and hard. "I don't need that. I can support myself."

"Orm," her mother sighs, "you think you don't need it now because you're hurting, but eventually you will. And it would help to find someone... appropriate."

"I'm not hurting, not looking for anyone," she mutters. "I don't have time for love."

Koy gives her a look that is far too knowing. "Are you sure about that?"

Silence, thick and immediate. Orm doesn't move, doesn't blink. She just breathes, once, shallowly, because the implication lands with pinpoint accuracy. Her mother watches her reaction, confirmation settling heavily in her eyes even though nothing was said.

Koy turns forward again, elbows resting on her knees, voice low but firm. "You may not want to talk about it, but I see things, Orm. And I don't agree with... what's going on. You're confused. You're emotional. You're vulnerable. This is not the moment to make decisions you'll regret. Go for what's steadier."

Orm's fingers curl into her palms. She wants to defend, herself, she wants to reject every word, but she's exhausted, overwhelmed, and the certainty in her mother's tone feels like a wall she cannot climb right now.

So she cuts the conversation short, almost defeated. "Okay, Mae," she says softly. "Fine. Okay."

Koy nods once, satisfied enough to let it go. But Orm's stomach twists, because she didn't agree, she just surrendered. And her mother, mercifully, says nothing else. They sit together in silence as the city bustles far below.

---------- ---------- ----------

Orm closes the apartment door behind her with a shaky exhale. The moment her parents disappear down the hallway toward the elevator, she lets her spine sag against the wood, eyes briefly shutting.

And then she moves quick, almost frantic, like a girl who's run out of places to hide from herself.

Ling's door isn't fully closed. Orm nudges it open with the softest push, careful, as though crossing a threshold that has reshaped her entire world.

Ling is lying on her back, eyes unfocused on the ceiling, hands folded on her stomach in a stillness that's too pondered to be sleep. The tension in her jaw, the slight rise and fall of her breathing, she's been awake the whole time. Of course she has. The balcony is next to her room.

Orm doesn't ask permission. She doesn't speak at all, she slips under the blanket, cupping the warmth Ling's body has left in the sheets in contrast with the coolness that comes out of the air conditioning. She slides closer until her forehead brushes Ling's shoulder, then her cheek, until finally she tucks herself into the familiar hollow of Ling's neck like she's returning home.

Her hand slips under the brunette's shirt slow, seeking, timid in its urgency as she wraps her arm around her waist. Her fingers splay across Ling's bare skin, trembling, as if to say 'don't pull away, don't disappear, don't ask me to talk yet.'

And then she kisses her. A soft, aching kiss against the corner of Ling's lips, feather-light at first, then again, just a little firmer. Not hungry, just needed. Ling doesn't move. She breathes in slowly, as if to keep herself steady.

She heard everything. Every word on the balcony, every silence that meant more than the sentences. Orm knows she did.

So she kisses her again, this time on the lips, barely there, like a plea wrapped in tenderness: 'please hold on. Please stay with me. Please wait.'

Ling's hand lifts at last. It hovers uncertainly in the air, suspended in a battle between instinct and fear, before finally lowering to Orm's back. Her palm rests there, warm, tentative. The touch is small. But the acceptance in it is not.

Neither of them speaks. The room feels like a fragile truce made of shared breath and the quiet thudding of two anxious hearts trying not to fall apart. Orm presses closer, as if closeness could stitch the morning shut. Ling's chin touches Orm's hair for a second and the blonde feels her own chest break open at the gentleness of it.

They don't solve anything. They just stay there, wrapped around each other beneath the blanket, pretending the world outside the room can't reach them, that holding on is enough.

---------- ---------- ----------

Days later, Orm emerges from the bathroom with her hair still dripping at the ends, leaving small, uneven trails of water down the cotton of her shirt. She pads barefoot into the kitchen expecting to find Ling halfway done with her usual nighttime routine, maybe leaning against the counter scrolling through her phone, maybe already waiting for her on the couch. Instead, Ling is standing in front of the stove, drying it carefully, methodically, using slow circles as though the metal might bruise if she pressed too hard.

Orm watches her for a moment, struck by how quiet the apartment feels.

She steps forward and slides her arms around Ling from behind, letting her forehead rest against the curve of her shoulder. It isn't playful, it's instinct, seeking warmth, closeness, reassurance. Her mouth brushes Ling's cheek with a small kiss. Her fingers clasp each other over Ling's stomach, wanting to keep her in place, that she's still there.

But Ling doesn't soften. The muscles under Orm's hands remain tense, her posture unmoved, her gaze fixed on the stove's spotless surface as if she can't afford to look anywhere else.

Orm senses it immediately. She lifts her head, her voice hushed, careful. "Is something wrong?"

Ling sets the cloth down beside the stove and, without turning around, says quietly, "No. I just... I'd like it if you could wash your cup after you use it. Please. You know I like to keep the place clean"

Orm blinks, her arms loosening. 'That's all? A cup?' She pulls back a little, feeling something cold slip through her chest. "I'm sorry," she murmurs. "I'll wash it now."

But as soon as the words leave her mouth, something else pushes up: what she's been trying to swallow for days. "You've been really distant, Ling. We barely spend time together anymore. Every time I ask if you want to watch something or eat dinner or even sit with me for a bit, you say you're busy. And then you close yourself in the studio for hours." The questions arrive softer than her fear deserves, wrapped in an affection that sounds increasingly like desperation. "Have I done something wrong?"

Ling closes her eyes for a moment before turning around. She leans back against the stove, crossing her arms, her expression guarded in that precise way that tells Orm she's been thinking about this far longer than she's been willing to admit.

"I need to be alone," she says, not harshly but firmly, the words landing with a weight Orm instantly understands but doesn't want to accept. "I need space to think. And I think it's better if we stop the physical affection for a while. At least until we're ready to face what being... whatever we are... actually means."

"But my parents are gone. There's no pressure. You said you'd wait." Her voice trembles at the edges, her eyes searching Ling's like she might find the missing answer there.

Ling's gaze flickers, pained. "I did say that. And I meant it. But I can't wait peacefully when everything around us still feels unstable. If we make it through, there will be pressure eventually." She presses her lips together, steadying her breath. "I don't feel safe, Orm. Not with Somyot still being an option, apparently. Not with Teerapat still orbiting your life like he's waiting for a chance. You say they don't matter, but they do. They're still part of the picture. They still have claims on you that you haven't ended properly."

"They're nothing," Orm insists, her voice cracking despite the firmness she tries to put behind it. "Ling, I don't care about them."

"It's not about caring," Ling interrupts, but gently, like she's cushioning a blow she knows is going to hurt no matter what. "It's about reality. They exist. They talk to you. They matter to people around you. And I feel like-" She stops herself, correcting her tone, grounding her words into something steadier. "I feel like I'm just... an escape. A soft place you fall into when the important people aren't here to see it."

Orm looks stricken, shaking her head immediately, lips parting in disbelief. "You're not..."

"You said you needed space," Ling continues quietly. "And I respect that. But I can't be the person you hide with when you don't want to deal with your life. I can't be a character occupying the space between all the male names your mother thinks fit your future."

Orm inhales sharply, the words hitting deeper than she expected. "You said you'd wait," she repeats, softer now.

Ling's eyes soften, but her voice does not waver. "I can wait, because I'm not ready either" she says. "But I can't wait while pretending none of this affects me. And I can't wait while feeling like I'm only allowed to be real in the parts of your life hidden from everyone else."

"We said we'd keep this between us." the blonde says.

"You know it's not about that. I want to protect us, not hide"

The kitchen hums with the refrigerator's soft drone. The scent of dish soap lingers between them. The steam from Orm's shower cools against her skin, turning her shiver into something personal.

Neither of them raises their voices. Neither of them steps back. But the argument thickens the silence.

---------- ---------- ----------

Orm lies curled on her side, facing the wall instead of the empty space beside her. The hollow left behind feels larger with every minute she spends not crossing the hallway to go to Lingling. Her hair is still damp from the shower she took, her skin cool, her eyes stinging. She hates that she's crying again. She hates even more that her chest aches like she's grieving something she hasn't even had the chance to lose.

The phone buzzes once on the pillow. Lookmhee's name glows. The blonde's voice is barely a whisper. "I think I ruined everything."

Lookmhee doesn't bother with greetings. She knows her too well to pretend this is a casual call. "What happened?"

Orm lets out a breath that sounds like it's been trapped inside her ribs for days. "We talked. Again. And I hate it because I didn't even want to fight. It wasn't a fight..." she sighs, "I just wanted her. I just wanted to go to sleep next to her like we've been doing."

The silence on the line is gentle. Then Lookmhee asks, carefully, "...Somyot?"

Orm's throat tightens. "Not directly. But... everything ends up there somehow."

Her friend exhales sharply, the sound of someone pinching the bridge of her nose. "Orm. Cut him off. He pushed you out of your own home, started dating before you even left."

"It was an agreement," she mutters, though she hears how flimsy it sounds spoken aloud. Like she's defending something long dead.

"Yeah, but..." the brunette pauses, searching for the right balance between honesty and kindness. "Look, you don't have to keep him in your life after the way he treated you. It doesn't matter how much history you shared. He's a problem now. Ling is your present. Make her feel safe. Give her the place she deserves." Orm's breath catches, a small hiccup of pain. "He doesn't even count on you for plans the way you do," Lookmhee adds, voice softening.

She shuts her eyes, fighting tears. "It's not that easy."

"Is this about your parents?" she asks, and somehow that question breaks something in Orm more cleanly than the argument with Ling.

"I need him close in case things get harsh," Orm confesses. It feels ugly to say it out loud. "Not to get back with him. Just... as an alibi."

Lookmhee sighs, a long, exhausted sound that she's sure she's been holding back for weeks. "Orm... he has a life. He moved on. He doesn't need you, not even for that because his parents did understand the break up. And you shouldn't need him either."

Orm presses her forehead into the mattress, letting the tears gather and slide down. She tries to stay quiet, but a tiny sound escapes her, betraying just how lost she feels.

"There comes a time," her friend says gently, "when you have to start thinking for yourself. Stop living in reaction to what everyone else expects from you. And if you're not ready to choose yourself yet... then at least try not to hurt people like Ling on the way."

The blonde swallows hard. Her heartbeat echoes in her ears. Lookmhee last words land like a soft but solid truth: "Cut him off, stand up for yourself... or let her go."

Orm doesn't answer. She can't, because she knows which one she wants, and how terrifyingly big that want is.

---------- --------- ----------

Charlotte's building is quiet at midnight, the sound of Ling's knock feels loud. When the door opens, Charlotte is barefoot, wearing an oversized T-shirt that definitely belongs to someone else. She squints at Ling, then smirks.

"I seriously hope this is important," she mutters, stepping aside to let her in. "Because I was about to have a really good night with my soon-to-be girlfriend."

Ling rolls her eyes, resisting the urge to smile. "It's important."

Charlotte sighs dramatically but softens as she shuts the door. "Alright. Sit. Talk."

Ling sits on the edge of the couch like she's afraid it might collapse under her weight. She rubs her face with both hands. The skin beneath her eyes is puffy, not from sleep. Charlotte notices immediately and drops the joking tone.

"What happened now?" she asks, settling into the armchair opposite her. "Orm?"

Ling doesn't even try to pretend otherwise. "We fought," she admits, voice low. "Again."

Charlotte leans forward, elbows on knees. "What about?"

Ling exhales a long, shaky breath, like she's been holding it in for hours. "Everything. Nothing. She feels suffocated because I pulled back from touching her, and I feel-" She stops, pressing her lips together. "I feel small. Like she doesn't stand up for me. Like she only wants me when no one else is looking."

Charlotte hums thoughtfully. "That sounds familiar."

Ling glares weakly, but the fight drains fast. She sinks deeper into the couch, staring at the carpet. "This is nothing like Freen, and I have accepted that I have feelings and they must be talked about," she rolls her eyes. "Orm needs space and time, she keeps saying that. And I'm trying to give her that, but then her mother shows up in the middle of her life again, and Teerapat is always there orbiting her, and I..." She shakes her head. "I don't feel safe. Not in the way you're supposed to feel when someone wants you."

"Well... you still haven't talked about feelings, right? You don't know what her plans about this are"

"No need. If you only saw how we kissed in that bathroom...", Charlotte giggles, "you wouldn't have a doubt. We both want the same. And... she did say she's in love." Her friend widens her eyes, but Ling continues before she can start teasing. "I didn't. Not the time yet. I still feel like I can save myself the humilliation."

Charlotte disagrees with that, but she won't say it. She considers Lingling saying out loud what she's saying, opening up about her feelings, is enough for now.

After some seconds, Charlotte tilts her head. "Speaking of Pat... does he know? That the girl he likes is into his friend? And that it's mutual?"

Ling's face tightens. "I haven't really seen Pat," she says quietly. "I forgave him for that time he humiliated me, though I feel like he apologized only for me to help him with Orm, but something shifted after that. We only see each other when there's her in the middle. And he still doesn't know about me and her."

Charlotte raises a brow. "She didn't tell him?"

"I asked her to keep this between us," Ling admits, guilt dripping from every syllable.

Charlotte sits back, crossing her arms. "She doesn't need to confess her feelings, Ling. She just needs to cut him off by saying she's not interested."

Ling looks at her friend, and something inside her cracks open. "I know," she says, voice barely a whisper. "But she hasn't. And I don't know if it's because she's scared... or because she's keeping him there as some kind of insurance."

Charlotte watches her carefully. "And what do you think?"

Ling rubs the heel of her palm against her forehead, suddenly exhausted. "I don't know," she murmurs. "I just know it hurts. And I can't keep pretending that it doesn't."

Charlotte nods slowly, her voice gentle. "Then tell her what you need. And if she can't give you that... you'll have to decide whether holding her is worth breaking yourself."

Ling closes her eyes, shoulders trembling with the weight of loving someone who doesn't know how to choose yet.

Charlotte reaches out and squeezes her hand. "You're not wrong for wanting to feel safe," she says softly. "And you're not wrong for wanting her. But she needs to meet you halfway."

Ling nods, barely, but it's enough.

Chapter Text

N/A: long chapter. enjoy 🫶🏻

---------- ---------- -----------

The days arrange themselves into a strange, delicate routine. There are no arguments, but there is distance. They move around each other softly, politely, almost tenderly, but they never collide. They never risk the heat of proximity.

With no classes, no training a while ago, Orm still wakes early, padding through the apartment in soft socks to prepare for her shift at the small community clinic that called her two days before her dissertation was signed. The job isn't glamorous, but it's real, and it's hers, and the staff already likes her. She comes home exhausted but quietly proud, dropping her bag on her bedroom floor with a practiced sigh. Ling hears it from her studio every time, even if she doesn't open the door.

Ling's days unfold behind the glow of two monitors and the scratch of stylus against tablet. The company that hired her for their rebrand is demanding, which helps; she can bury herself in work, let hours slip past in the comfort of precision and design. It's easier to illustrate interface icons than to sit with her own thoughts. Every now and then she emerges to refill her water bottle or pick at leftovers, and she always finds an extra portion Orm left in the fridge "just in case you're hungry." Ling still bakes for both of them, always leaving a little note: For tomorrow. Don't forget to eat.

They take turns buying groceries. Orm buys Ling's favorite soy yogurt even though she hates the flavor. Ling buys Orm's shower gel because she knows that smell keeps her grounded after long days at the clinic. They don't talk about this quiet caretaking. They don't talk about anything that matters.

They're careful, kind. They're killing themselves with clampdown.

And yet the apartment hums with a tension that refuses to fade, a magnetic bruise beneath the floorboards. Some mornings, they run into each other in the kitchen half-asleep, eyes soft, and they freeze, caught in a silence that could end everything if they let it.

But they don't let it. They survive each day by orbiting the other too closely to detach but too far to touch.

A week passes. Then another. Eventually, the calendar runs out of excuses not to feel: Orm's birthday arrives like a spark in the dark.

By evening, their apartment fills with the familiar warmth of their little chosen family; even Pat slips in with an awkward bottle of wine he pretends he picked out thoughtfully. Music pulses through the living room, something bass-heavy and nostalgic, lights flickering from the cheap LED strip that Orm taped to the wall months ago. Someone has spilled something sticky near the coffee table. Someone else is yelling over a story that doesn't need yelling. Everyone is tipsy, laughing too loudly, leaning on each other with that loose, easy affection only late nights can grant.

Ling stands by the balcony window, a slice of chocolate cake in one hand, Charlotte draped dramatically over her shoulder. Orm is on the couch crushed between Sonya and Thana.

They both share glances too loaded, gone in an instant. No one notices, but both of them feel the thread tug. The distance of these weeks is taking its toll.

The apartment blurs with warmth and noise, cups clinking, a half-burnt candle leaning sideways in the cake that's already missing two slices. Everyone is loudly, messily celebrating Orm.

And the whole time, without touching, without speaking, without daring to acknowledge it, they ache for each other.

Orm is warm with wine, that soft, gauzy warmth that makes the world feel a little less sharp and a little more possible. Her birthday has brought everyone in: her friends, a couple of coworkers, a handful of ex-classmates, all of them loud and laughing. It should feel festive. It does, on the surface. But underneath, she feels hollowed out.

For days now, weeks, maybe, Ling has been nothing but polite distance and immaculate calm. They talk. They share the same air. They sleep in different beds. And it kills Orm slowly, the way quiet things often do.

She sips more wine, and something starts to form in her mind, that strange, reckless reasoning alcohol brings: the awareness that both times Ling had reacted, truly reacted, had been when Teerapat entered the picture. Once at the graduation party. Then again there in the kitchen. Jealousy had cracked Ling open where patience could not. It had been messy, painful and wrong. And yet... it had worked.

She hates that this conclusion comes so naturally. Hates it even more that it feels logical.

Her gaze drifts across the room to Ling. She's now leaning against the kitchen counter, wine glass in hand, wearing a black pleated skirt and a fitted sleeveless crimson shirt. Moonlight spills from the window behind her, dusting her straight hair in silver. She looks breathtaking... appetizing, in a way.

Orm's chest squeezes. The urge to go to her, to hold her, to be held, is so sharp she almost stands. Instead she forces herself back, pressing into the couch cushion like it might hold her steady. Her visage is definitely not matching with this special date.

And then, as if summoned by the reckless thought she hasn't even voiced, Teerapat appears in front of her, hand extended, smile crooked, eyes glassy with drink.

A fun, upbeat song starts playing. The room cheers. Bodies move toward the improvised dance space in the middle of the apartment.

"Come on," Pat says, offering his hand more confidently. "I hope this is the night you finally stop running away from me."

Orm stiffens. She opens her mouth to refuse, but the wine speaks first. Or desperation. Or that foolish, aching wish to make Ling look at her.

She takes his hand. Not because she wants to, but because she wants Ling to want her.

Pat leads her into the small sea of dancing bodies, turning her lightly by the waist. He's careful, always careful, hands hovering rather than grabbing, eyes searching hers. Orm lets him guide her, lets the music fill the silence she cannot bear. She swings her hair back, letting the little black slip dress she's wearing catch the room's blue and pink lights. She smiles for him, faint, automatic.

But her eyes never leave Ling.

From across the room, Ling watches her over the rim of her wine glass, expression so perfectly neutral that it's almost cruel. Not a flinch, not a shift of her jaw. Nothing.

A pulse of frustration rushes through Orm's chest, hot and bitter. Why isn't Ling reacting? Why isn't she doing anything? Why isn't she coming to get her, pulling her away, kissing her like she had in the bathroom that night?

Pat leans a little closer, his voice warm with hope. "You look beautiful tonight."

Orm swallows, throat tight. "Thank you," she murmurs.

He tilts his head, studying her. "You sure you're not running from something?"

She shakes her head. She feels Pat's hand settle gently, respectfully, around her waist. A place she doesn't want it. She breathes out slowly, then leans in just enough that only he can hear her.

"Pat," she says softly, "you're so kind. Really. But... I'm not interested. Not the way you want." She pauses, searching for a way not to crush him. "We can still dance. Just... this is all I can offer."

He blinks, fading into a resigned, bittersweet smile. "Okay," he says quietly. "Dancing's enough."

She nods, grateful for his grace. He respects the boundary, keeps his touch feather-light, almost professional. They sway with the beat, two friends pretending they're not standing in the middle of a complicated storm. But Orm's gaze drifts again, always, inevitably back to Ling.

The brunette still isn't reacting. She's just standing there, elegant and composed, watching the room as Charlotte exaggerates an anecdote, probably.

Her panoramic view spots someone approaching. A girl. An ex classmate of Orm's. The moment the blonde realizes something is wrong is not because of the girl's laugh, but because Ling smiles back. Not a full smile, not the one Orm knows like her own heartbeat, but enough for her stomach to twist.

She's still slightly dizzy from the wine and the heat of Teerapat's hands around her waist - hands she allowed only because she thought, foolishly, that jealousy worked like a key for Lingling.

And now, some girl is standing inches from Ling, cheeks flushed with alcohol and courage. She's an ex-classmate. She touches her hair behind her ear and shifts her weight like she's trying to appear taller, more confident. Her dress is satin, forest green, low-backed. She holds her phone in one hand and gestures animatedly with the other, the way girls do when they're flirting and trying not to show their nerves.

Orm can't hear the words, but she doesn't need to. She sees the way the girl's fingers tremble slightly as she speaks. The way she leans in just a bit too close. The way her body angles toward Ling like every instinct is pulling her there.

Teerapat notices her attention drifting and follows her gaze. He raises an eyebrow.

The girl is not introducing herself anymore. She's pulling out her phone. She's tapping something on the screen. She's showing Ling, smiling shyly, waiting. And she is being polite, gracious. Being the version of herself she shows the world. She tilts her head slightly, a small, soft expression reserved for strangers she wants to make comfortable.

A look the blonde has never been jealous of before. Until now. Because now Ling is nodding. Nodding. The girl shows her screen. Ling bends slightly to look.

Orm takes one step forward before she even realizes it. Teerapat notices. "Orm?"

She swallows hard, forcing herself to steady. "I just... I need a drink." She slips away before he can offer to follow her, away from the living room lights, from the music, but she can't stop watching. Her eyes track Ling instinctively, helplessly.

----------- ---------- ----------

The door clicks shut behind Sonya, Lookmhee and Teerapat, their laughter fading down the hallway until the apartment sinks into a quiet so sudden it rings in Orm's ears. The music is still humming low from the speaker, but Ling lowers the volume until it's barely a ghost of sound.

She moves slowly, as if waking from a dream she didn't want to be in, a little flushed from the wine, but already sobering. She drops onto the couch with a soft exhale, phone in hand, thumb scrolling through her notifications.

Orm stands in the middle of the living room for a moment, pulse pounding, watching Ling's face illuminated by the dim screen-light. Watching the faint smile tug at her lips when she reads something. Watching her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear in that quiet, delicate way Orm has memorized too well.

And she hates it. She hates that she recognizes the shift, the subtle lightness Ling wears when she's flattered. She hates that she wasn't the one who put it there. She hates that someone else tried.

Her jealousy gnaws a hole straight through her composure.

"Did you have fun?" Ling murmurs, still scrolling, not looking up. The words sound normal. They shouldn't hurt. But they do.

Orm walks toward her, slow at first, then with more purpose, stopping just in front of the coffee table. "Yes," she says, her voice a little too sharp. "You?"

Ling hums. "It was a good night."

"Yeah." Orm swallows. "Looked like it."

Ling's thumb pauses for half a heartbeat before she resumes scrolling. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Orm's jaw works, trembling with the effort of keeping herself in check. "Nothing. Just... saw you talking to your little fan."

Ling finally looks up.

Her expression doesn't change much, only a little smirk appears, and something tightens in her eyes; cold, controlled, which always makes Orm feel like she's the one being childish.

"She was just being polite," Ling says quietly.

"Oh, polite," Orm laughs under her breath, too breathless to sound amused. "Right. She looked like she wanted to climb into your lap."

Ling's stare hardens. "And Teerapat didn't?"

The words land like a slap Orm didn't see coming. She inhales sharply. "That's different."

"How?" Ling asks calmly. "Because it was convenient for you? Because it served a purpose you don't want to admit?"

Orm steps closer, defensive heat rising in her throat. "I told him I wasn't interested."

"But you still danced with him. And stayed with him the rest of the night."

"He asked nicely."

Ling scoffs softly, eyes returning to her phone. "Right. Nicely."

Something in Orm snaps.

"I only danced with him because you didn't even look at me," she blurts. "You didn't care. You didn't react. Not even once."

Ling lifts her gaze again. "So you needed me to get jealous?" She asks, voice low and deceptively calm. "To prove something to you?"

The blonde opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.

"That's not loving, Orm," Ling continues, standing now, placing her phone face-down on the coffee table. "That's sabotaging the very thing you say you want."

Orm's breath trembles. "I wasn't sabotaging anything."

"Yes, you were." Ling's voice is firmer now, but not loud. Never loud. "And you know what hurt the most? Not Pat's hands on you. Not you looking at me while dancing with him like you were waiting for me to snap." She shakes her head, lips pressed thin. "It was realizing you still don't understand what I need to feel safe with you."

Orm flinches, because she feels that one. "Safe," Orm repeats, voice shaky. "I'm trying-"

"No." Ling steps closer, closing the space between them inch by inch, their breath nearly mixing. "You're trying to get a reaction. That's not the same as trying to love me."

Orm's eyes fill with sudden heat. "You think I don't love you?"

"I think," Ling says, barely above a whisper, "that you love the version of us you want in your head. Not the one that requires patience. Or honesty. Or letting go of the people you keep as safety nets."

Orm's chest rises sharply, pain and anger and yearning all twisting into one unbearable knot.

"That's not fair. Somyot wasn't invited, Teerapat knows he's not an option." she says, voice breaking. "You have no idea how much..."

Ling cuts her off gently, but with steel. "Don't tell me how much you feel."

Something inside Orm shatters open at the sharp tenderness in those words. At the challenge, at the invitation, at the way Ling's eyes flicker down to her mouth for a split second, betraying her restraint.

Orm doesn't think. She surges forward, grabbing Ling's face in both hands, "I'll show you, then." Then the blonde leans in, kissing her with all the frustration, longing and love she's been choking on for weeks. It's fierce, trembling, desperate, less a kiss and more a collision born from too many days of distance and too many nights pretending she didn't ache for this.

Ling gasps against her mouth, surprised, hands flying to Orm's lower back, not pushing her away, but pulling her closer, answering the kiss with the same intensity, hunger and relief.

The argument burns away in the heat between their mouths. For a moment, they stop orbiting. They collide.

Something in the air shifts: something warmer, bolder, that comes only after breaking a dam. Ling draws a shaky breath, and before Orm can ask what's wrong, Ling breaks the kiss.

She sighs, "I hate that you were with him again", her chest rising and falling profoundly.

"I wanted your attention. It's my birthday. And I was jealous." Orm admits, "Because I don't want anyone flirting with you. Because I want you. And I hate that you don't even-"

Ling cuts in, sharp but quiet. "Don't say I don't want you."

"Then act like it!" Orm bursts, barely a breath between them. "You pull away from me. You avoid me. You won't touch me, won't sleep next to me, won't even look at me when I'm trying... trying so hard to make this less painful."

"You're making it painful," Ling says, her voice trembling now, "because you're doing the one thing you know scares me the most."

Orm's breath catches. "What am I doing exactly?"

"Making me feel replaceable," Ling whispers. "Making me feel like the second you get scared, or bored, you'll run to someone safe. Like if I don't give you exactly what you want, like my attention all the time, you'll look for it somewhere else."

Orm stares at her, stunned, her hands still on Ling's cheeks, suddenly afraid to move. The word replaceable feels like a knife turned inward, because she never meant it, because she didn't know she was doing it.

"Ling..." Orm breathes, the tension in her voice collapsing into something small.

Ling exhales shakily, eyes closing for half a second as if bracing herself. "I know you don't think you're doing it," she says, softer now, but no gentler. "But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. Watching you panic and reach for the easiest proof of affection in the room... it makes me feel like I don't matter as much as whoever you might need next."

"I don't need anyone next," Orm whispers. "I want you."

Ling opens her eyes again, and there's something blisteringly vulnerable in them, something Orm hasn't seen in weeks, not since the early days of waking tangled together, not since the warmth didn't have to be earned.

"Then why do you keep showing me the opposite?" Ling asks, voice breaking at the edges.

Orm steps closer, forehead nearly touching Ling's again, their breaths threading together in the dim light. "Because I'm scared, I feel too much and I don't know what to do with it. And no one warned me that loving you would feel like this." she admits, barely audible.

Ling's throat tightens, her hands slowly releasing the fabric of Orm's dress but not letting her go, fingers lingering at her waist like they're torn between retreat and surrender.

"I am too" Ling murmurs. "I've been trying to hold myself together while you figure your life out. While you decide who you are. While you choose what you want. And I kept hoping you'd stop looking for reactions and start looking at me."

"I am," Orm pleads. "I'm looking at you right now."

"You're trying now," Ling says, not unkindly. "But minutes ago you were letting him hold your waist while you stared at me like I owed you something. Weeks ago you said what others wanted to hear, things that excluded me when I'm supposed to be important."

Orm's face crumples, shame burning hot under her skin. "I know. I know I messed up."

Ling swallows, gaze flicking down for a moment, as if gathering strength. "I just need to feel chosen," she admits quietly. "Not cornered into being the person you run to when there's no one else around."

"I'm not running," Orm says, stepping even closer, closing the last inch between them. "I swear I'm not running. I'm just... trying to get to where you already are."

Ling's breath catches, a tiny, unintentional sound that betrays the armor she's trying to keep up.

"You hurt me tonight," Ling whispers. "You really did."

Orm nods, a tear slipping down despite her effort to keep steady. "I just danced and talked. I didn't go kiss someone else. I kissed you."

"Because you're angry," Ling says.

"No," Orm corrects softly, touching her jaw again. "Because I can't not kiss you anymore."

Ling's eyes flutter shut and for a breathless second, Orm sees the crack in her restraint, the place where love and fear and longing meet. When Ling opens her eyes again, they are softer, wounded, wanting.

"Orm..." she murmurs, warning and invitation at once.

"Please," Orm whispers, brushing her thumb along the brunette's cheekbone. "Let me fix at least this. Let me show you that I'm not going anywhere."

Ling's lips part; not quite a yes, not quite a no. Just need. Orm steps into that need, into the fragile distance between them, waiting for the moment Ling decides whether to lean forward or lean away. The blonde cups Ling's jaw with both hands. The brunette looks startled, wide-eyed, breath shallow, but Orm doesn't let her overthink. She kisses her again, her cheeks first, softly, then her temples, her forehead, the tip of her nose, and last, her lips.

Ling responds gently, almost surrendering to the younger's will. Because she'd be lying if she said it's not her own will.

Then, when Orm lowers her hand to Ling's neck, the brunette reacts like something inside her finally snaps free. Her hands explore the lines of Orm's body; one sliding up her spine, the other slowly descending until her fingers brush the slit of Orm's dress and the soft skin of her exposed thigh.

Orm's breath catches violently, her entire body tightening in one helpless, electric pulse. The room tilts. The floor might as well vanish. "Ling..." she whispers, barely a voice at all.

Ling swallows, her forehead resting against Orm's, her thumb tracing small circles on the warm skin she dared to touch.

They kiss again, deeper, messier, Ling's fingers tightening at Orm's lower back as the blonde pulls her closer by the nape. The world shrinks to the hot press of their mouths, the taste of wine and earlier tears still lingering on Orm's lips, the faint echo of music behind them.

Without breaking the kiss, Orm walks Ling backward, step by stumbling step, her hands guiding, her mouth never leaving Ling's. The brunette's back brushes the wall once, then the doorframe, and Orm doesn't stop.

Ling's breath hitches as she realizes Orm is leading her to her bedroom.

The younger's hand finds the doorknob without looking, fingers tightening, and the door gives way with a soft click as they cross the door frame together. The kiss deepens again, and the room swallows them whole, closing gently behind them.

They stop in the middle of the room, between the bed and the mirror hanging from the wardrobe door. For a moment, they simply look at each other in the darkness, breathing deeply, becoming painfully aware of the moment they are about to cross into.

Orm steps away for a few seconds to open the window so the light of the full moon can wash over them. She returns to Ling with the natural sensuality that defines her gait.

Ling takes her by the hips and turns her toward the mirror, her chest pressing against the blonde's back. Orm feels a wave of embarrassment at seeing herself like this. So ready, so offered and undone.

The brunette caresses the exposed length of her thigh; Orm trembles softly.

"I need you to tell me that you truly want this," Ling whispers, her voice low and tender.

She is fully aware that this would be Orm's first time with a woman, and that all of this is unfolding in the wake of anger and tension. She has to ensure that this is a conscious choice, not one made recklessly in the heat of the moment.

"Lingling... please," the younger breathes, unable to withstand the heat coiling low in her body, "do something. Whatever you want."

Her pleading voice unravels what restraint Ling had left, just as the younger's blazing eyes, locked with hers through the mirror, send her into a trance of intoxication from which she will not return until Orm is fully, undeniably satisfied.

---------- ----- ⚠️​+18⚠️​ ----- ----------

Lingling slowly runs her fingertips along the blonde's arms until she reaches her shoulders. There, she pauses for a moment to lower the thin straps of the dress, leaving them at the level of her biceps. The brunette licks her lips and leaves wet kisses on the exposed skin. With one hand, she takes Orm's jaw, tilting her head to gain better access to her neck, where she also kisses her way up to her ear, whispering, "I won't let anyone touch you." The blonde shiveres at that promise, then places her hand on the back of Lingling's neck for support, compelling her to continue kissing her.

While she continues working with her mouth, the older slowly unzips Orm's dress down her back, revealing her pale, soft, and smooth skin.

Orm turns around, causing Ling to sigh before pulling her closer for a passionate kiss. The blonde dares to bite Ling's lower lip as Ling lowers the straps of her dress completely, then gently breaks away and pauses to watch as the fabric falls to the floor. They both step out of their shoes as if they're mirroring.

The brunette is mesmerized by the beauty before her eyes; nothing she could have imagined compares to reality. Over Orm's shoulders, she can see the back of her body in the mirror, and she can no longer contain herself. The blonde feels somewhat embarrassed at being so exposed, but seeing Ling's yearning eyes gives her confidence.

Lingling pulls her close, feeling every texture and contour, and Orm moans at the contact and as she feels the brunette's hands on her lower back, her fingers tracing the stretchy fabric of her underwear.

The blonde brings her fingers to the lower edge of Ling's shirt, but Ling stops her. "Tonight's your night. Your birthday"

Orm looks at her with a pout and sparkly eyes. "I wanna see"

The brunette considers it for a couple of seconds, then gives in. That's the only way Orm can learn. "Okay," she lets her continue. Orm slowly lifts the fabric that obstructs her view and contact, and is pleasantly surprised by toned abs, a black lace bra covering Ling's breasts. She runs her hands over the exposed area, as if exploring. Ling's skin prickles at the touch as she pulls Orm a little closer, taking her with her until her legs hit the bed and she falls back onto it. Orm straddles her carefully, then takes her jaw and makes her look up at her before devouring her lips again, her fingers tangling in her black hair.

Lingling slowly moves down to the blonde's chest, who lets her explore her sensitive spots with her tongue, massaging them alternately. Orm is burning with desire, her head thrown back, enjoying the wetness of the brunette's mouth, and yet she thinks about how cared for she feels.

It's never been like this. This doesn't feel like a performance just to get to a certain point, but a real appreciation of her body.

When the younger is satisfied, she grabs Ling's hair in a fist and forces her to look at her. Orm kisses her again, tugging at her hair. Caught up in the heat of the moment, the blonde begins to rock back and forth, trying to relieve the heat building in her body, but she can't, especially when Ling plays with the elasticity of her underwear without actually touching her.

"Please," the plea is heavy with breath and desperation, "do something. Touch me." Ling smiles slightly against Orm's lips. But she knows better, and knows she has to drive her crazy first.

Hesitant as to whether she really is allowed to do what she wants, the brunette carefully touches Orm's core over the fabric in case she can catch a hint of regret in the blonde's gesture.

She doesn't, so she goes ahead.

Lingling is not pushing the underwear aside, not putting her hand under it, only drawing circles above. The blonde snorts, closing her eyes and rocking her hips a little more intensely, and Ling can only bite her lip at the sight of Orm's desperation.

Orm barely opens her fierce eyes, inches away from the brunette's face, her arms around her neck. She kisses her once more, biting her lip each time she pulls away, until she does it a little too hard and Ling looks at her with a frown, surprised by the intensity.

"Touch me." And it's more of an order than a plea. She tucks a strand of hair behind Ling's ear, who's now beaming at her fierceness.

Lingling brings her working hand on Orm's jaw, then forces her mouth open with her middle finger and inserts it. The blonde sucks it staring into the dark eyes of the woman beneath her, who then inserts her ring finger as well, following a rhythm of slowly pushing them in and out as deeply as she deems appropriate.

Orm's cheeks are flushed, her breath ragged, and her body throbbing with desperation.

Lingling pulls her fingers from her mouth, and slowly ventures between the fabric of her underwear and Orm's most sensitive spot. When she touches it, she sees her close her eyes and watches as the younger bites her lower lip, letting out a gasp. The brunette, her hand in the space between their bodies, slowly traces circles with her fingertips, moistening them.

She plays with the folds, and little by little, carefully and slowly, they are inserted. Orm moans against Ling's lips, and Ling captures her next breaths with a kiss. As she gets used to Ling being inside her, the blonde begins to rock again, rubbing against the brunette's palm, Ling's fingers curving as they slide in and out. The sway of her hips is slow and intense, physically similar to things she's already done, but something completely different emotionally because of how it's done and who's doing it.

Lingling can't believe what she's witnessing. Orm is practically surrendering on top of her, her cheeks flushed and her lips chafed, her nails digging into her back to maintain her balance as she moves against her hand, the speed and the intensity of her moans gradually increasing.

Orm looks into her eyes, her movements almost becoming a bounce as she feels herself on the verge of exploding. Lingling notices the firmness of the younger's moves, so she holds her by the neck, forcing her to keep looking as she penetrates her even deeper. She wants to see her completely collapse, and Orm wants to be seen, so she grips the older firmly by the jaw.

The hip movements become rough, intense, trembling, firm, and unsteady. "Open your eyes," Ling whispers when she sees the blonde threaten to throw her head back, "Look at me," and those are the only words Orm needs to dissolve onto Lingling's legs. Her thighs tense, her breath is stuck down her throat, and all of the tension she's been choking up gets released. Her eyes narrow but remain fixed on Ling, her hips slowing down as the brunette continues to move her hand to prolong the moment as much as possible, until Orm breathes heavily and, smiling, rests her cheek on the older woman's shoulder, letting all the weight of her body fall on the brunette.

Lingling pulls her fingers out of her, tracing a few more circles before pulling her close and kissing her shoulder. She gives the blonde a few seconds to compose; their breaths synchronize, and Orm finally looks at her again as she regains her balance. She caresses Ling's face, running her eyes all along her moonlit skin.

Meanwhile, the brunette observes her flushed cheeks, her glassy eyes, the subtle marks on her breasts, her mistreated lips, and decides that this is the moment when Orm is most beautiful. Not with every hair in place, with clean skin, with moisturized lips. Like this. Having been loved.

"What?" the blonde asks, embarrassed, regaining her senses.

"Nothing, I'm just looking at you." Ling knows Orm is embarrassed, so she kisses her gently again, hugging her lower back, pulling her as close as she can and kissing her collarbones and cheeks.

Orm slowly pushes the brunette back and lies down on top of her. They stay silent, only their still unsteady breaths and the faint sound of wet pecks can be perceived.

Taking advantage of a moment of relaxation, Lingling flips their bodies over and ends up on top, so that her weight pins Orm to the mattress. She lays on the edge of her bed, legs slightly parted for Lingling to fit between them, chest rising too fast, her hands gripping the blanket because she's trying not to tremble.

Ling starts kissing down her throat, down the line of her collarbone. Orm's hands shake from how intensely Ling is looking at her, like she's trying to memorize every small detail.

When the brunette slips her fingers under Orm's elastic band, she pauses again, her forehead against Orm's sternum, her voice trembling. "Tell me if you don't want something. Tell me anything"

Orm nods, breath hot, eyes already half-closed because she knows this isn't over. "I trust you."

The brunette starts kissing down Orm's stomach still careful, still gentle where Orm needs gentleness, looking up at her. She pulls her underwear off with a controlled urgency, fingers sliding along the inside of the blonde's thighs as if she is trying not to throw herself at her.

But seeing Orm, she can't hold back for long. Her delicate legs slightly parted, like she's ashamed, almost hiding herself. Lingling crawls up on top of her just to grab her wrists that are covering her breasts, and pins them against the mattress by each side of Orm's temples. "Let me see you", then she kisses her softly once more. The blonde can only nod with pleading, yearning eyes.

Going down again, Ling lows herself between Orm's legs. Kneeling on the floor, she pulls her towards her, grabbing her thighs. And the moment her mouth is on Orm, she licks her like she's trying to make up for every night she pretended not to want her. Her tongue is intense, focused, desperate, and Orm gasps, grabbing the sheets, her hips lifting involuntarily.

Ling grabs Orm's hips, holding her steady, her movements stay delicate even when they're overwhelming. She kisses and sucks and slides her tongue against her with a precision that makes Orm's breath break in half. The blonde whispers her name, again and again, her voice cracking, and Ling is working harder, sharper, faster, until Orm is begging without realizing it.

"Please... don't stop."

Ling loses control completely. Her taste, the way Orm is shaking for her, the way Orm is looking down at her with stunned eyes and then leaning back, arching her body... she's getting lightheaded with need.

Orm comes fast, with a sudden cry that surprises them both. Ling doesn't stop, doesn't let go until Orm's legs are shaking. A final heavy sigh lets the brunette know that Orm is done, so she leaves kisses over and around the blonde's sensitive spot, one last slow lick before pulling up. Her lips glossy, her breath unsteady, Ling climbs up to kiss her again. Orm pulls her close with trembling arms, her whole body feeling warm and shocked and open.

The younger kisses her slow this time, tasting herself now in Lingling's tongue.

Lowering herself, her face at Orm's chest level, the brunette runs her fingers through every inch of the exposed skin, stomach and back, then grabs one of her still weak legs and places it over her own hip. As Orm brushes her hair with her fingers, Lingling leaves tender kisses on the red marks that are still showing on the blonde's breasts, and relaxes there because she knows there's no other place she'd rather be. It's here, hugging, kissing and loving Orm.

Chapter Text

The morning doesn't arrive with heaviness. It's Sunday, so no one has to rush out of bed against their will. Even so, Lingling carefully slips out from under the comforter to look through the drawer of her nightstand. When she returns, Orm is waiting with one eye half-open, her fist rubbing the other, and a smile on her face.

"Happy birthday." The brunette, hands hidden behind her back, climbs into the bed again, where her spot hasn't yet cooled. "I brought you a present."

"Good morning." Orm kisses her cheek. "Let me see." The excitement in her eyes warms Lingling's heart.

Lingling shows her a small, long silver box and an envelope. Orm, sitting up against the headboard, takes the box into her hands.

"What is it?" she asks, feeling around the wrapping.

"Open it," Lingling urges, impatient.

Orm carefully separates the pieces of the small box, and instantly her eyes reflect the shine of the pendant on a gold chain.

"It's an infinity knot. I don't really know what it means, but giving it to you feels right in this moment," the brunette explains, a little nervous about how appropriate a gift like this might be. "You can give it whatever meaning you want."

Without meaning to, Orm notices the little 24k engraved on one end of the chain, and her lips and eyes widen in surprise. "Lingling... you didn't have to, really." She strokes the tiny diamond in the center of the knot. "Thank you so much, I... " She stops herself, then looks at the woman beside her with bright, glowing eyes. "I appreciate it a lot, truly." Orm sets the box down on her nightstand and wraps her arms around Ling. The brunette blushes and lowers her gaze, focusing on the envelope still in Orm's hands.

Inside: a Spotify code to scan, and a small card that says "make three wishes."

"It's a playlist. Songs that remind me of you or that I want you to hear. And the other thing... well... you know I'm not good at expressing myself, words don't come easily to me. So today, you can ask for three things, whatever you want, and I'll do them." As she speaks, Lingling immediately regrets her offer the moment she sees Orm's evil little grin.

Too much power in her hands. Dangerous, but she likes it.

"Whatever I want? Anything?" the blonde raises her eyebrows, teasing.

Lingling massages her temples and then pats her own forehead. "...Yes. Anything you want," she mutters through her teeth, not actually annoyed.

"Alright." Orm places the envelope next to the box on the nightstand. She takes a breath, then sighs before speaking. "I want last night to happen again."

Lingling's eyes fly open, the words completely unexpected. Orm bursts into laughter when she sees the brunette's cheeks turn instantly crimson again, her arms instinctively covering her chest.

"And I'm the childish one," the blonde shrugs, lying back down and pulling the blanket up to her neck.

"It's not childish, it's just... I didn't expect that answer." Ling settles down beside her, staring up at the ceiling. Orm looks at her profile from the side. "Do you mean it?" she turns her face toward the woman beside her.

"I do." This time her expression is serious, sincere. Not a trace of joking. If anything, a bit of shyness, but her eyes rest softly on Lingling's deep black ones, which watch her with curiosity. "But I want..." Orm covers her face with the sheet, now completely embarrassed.

"You want...?" the brunette searches for her beneath the blanket, smiling at Orm's sudden change of attitude. "Orm."

Orm wraps her arms around Lingling's waist, practically laying her whole weight on top of her and resting her head on her chest.

"I want to do it. I mean... do what you did." The brunette raises an eyebrow, tilting her head even though Orm can't see her. She gently pulls the sheet away from between their eyes. "Do it to you."

Lingling doesn't react right away, which makes Orm panic a little. The older notices the shift in Orm's expression, so she rushes to say something before there's room for any misunderstanding.

"I'm glad you liked it," she jokes, earning a light smack from the blonde. "Really. And that you trust me enough to tell me."

Shyness takes over Orm again. "Will you let me do it?"

"I'm not sure that's how it works," Lingling laughs softly at the woman beside her, not wanting to make her feel bad. "I think it just... happens. But yes, we can."

"Now?" the blonde asks, hopeful, waiting for a positive answer.

"I was ready to keep going last night, but you fell asleep. You'll have to wait," Ling keeps teasing as she slips out of bed. "I'll take a shower and make breakfast while you make your wishes."

Orm watches the brunette walk to the edge of the bed to pick up her shirt and shoes, still wearing her bra and skirt. A few faint marks from her own nails on Lingling's back pull her into quick, vivid flashbacks from the night, and her body feels everything all over again.

"I have a wish", the blonde says, suddenly. Ling stops, paying attention. "Let's shower together." She mutters as if it's nothing, as if it doesn't mean seeing Ling naked for the first time.

"Will any of your wishes include something that doesn't imply me being naked?" she jokes. "You're taking advantage of me, Orm."

"Don't act innocent now." The blonde rolls her eyes, sitting on the bed as she watches Ling approach slowly and leave her stuff on the bed. The brunette climbs on it and, unexpectedly, straddles Orm. The latter's lips part at the sudden attitude.

Lingling uncovers Orm's chest just to check if there's still trace of last night, and there is, slightly.

"I like that you did that again", Orm confesses under her breath. "Even if I have to wear a shirt to the pool or go out covered up to the neck at forty degrees." She wraps a strand of black hair around her finger.

And for the brunette, for some reason, hearing that is like music for her ears. "I promise I don't do it on purpose. I guess you have really vulnerable skin." That is half-true. The other half, she knows, comes from the need of claiming her. Somehow, leaving her own trace on the younger's body makes her feel better.

They stay like that, just looking at each other, stroking each other's cheeks carefully. It's like both of them want to say too much but don't know how, or don't know how to do it without ruining the moment with a conversation that never ends well, never ends with an agreement with which they're both satisfied. So, again, it's better to leave it for later.

Orm realizes she's not the only one thinking so, so, before Ling slips away, she runs her hands under her thighs, her fingers under her skirt and pulls her impossibly closer. Her hands linger there for a moment until she gets the courage to kiss her for the first time in a situation that doesn't imply a previous fight.

It's weird at first, because there's not the usual rage and hunger that makes them them. It's a small touch of their lips, tender, a kiss that comes from love and not from fury.

Orm doesn't know how to hold herself together in moments like this, when Ling is so close she can feel the quiet warmth of her breath, when her fingers are still curled gently around the older's thighs, when the room feels like it's holding its own inhale, waiting for them to name something they've been running from. The kiss hasn't even faded from her lips, and yet her entire body feels rearranged, like everything she used to know about love has been picked up and moved somewhere new, somewhere softer, terrifyingly soft.

She's never been in love like this. Never been in love this way. With a woman. With this woman. It hits her hard, sharper than she ever expected, like falling into warm water and realizing too late that you can't touch the bottom anymore. It's dizzying, a storm that's become her daily weather, settling somewhere between her stomach and her throat. Some days it feels like hunger, like she needs Ling in a way that makes no sense, like her hands were built just to hold her. Other days it's pure anxiety, a tightening in her chest every time she imagines losing her.

It scares her how much she feels. How much she's come to depend on the sound of Ling's voice softening when she speaks to her, on the seconds of silence that stretch between them before one of them gives in and reaches for the other. It scares her how Lingling can be both the calm and the chaos, how she can soothe her and unsettle her in the same breath. It scares her that after almost a decade with someone, a man she knew, a life she understood, this is the first time she's felt anything real. Anything dangerous that could ruin and save her all at once.

But the fear is strangely sweet. It pulls her in instead of pushing her away. Because when she kissed Ling just now, with no fight behind it, no anger, no leftover tears, she felt something she didn't know she was allowed to feel. Love that was quiet. Intentional and unexpected, as contradictory as it is.

And in that instant, with Ling's lips barely brushing hers, Orm understands something that makes her breath catch: there isn't a universe where she could feel this with anyone else. Not after Lingling.

Ling feels it almost before she can name it: the shift inside her, as if a lock she's been guarding for too long has finally snapped open without her permission. Orm's kiss lingers on her lips like something warm and shaking, something too earnest to brush away with a joke. And it horrifies her how much it affects her. How much Orm affects her.

The night before comes back in flashes; not the sweetness, but the fury that pushed them there. That sick, pulsing jealousy that crawled into her throat and made her do things she wasn't planning to do. She had touched Orm like someone possessed, desperate to claim her. And now that the anger has washed out of her blood, what remains is clearer and much more dangerous.

If they hadn't argued, if she hadn't felt that familiar, unwelcome fear of losing Orm to someone else, maybe she would've stopped herself. Maybe she would have stepped back before making everything between them even more fragile. But she didn't. She didn't stop. She needed her. And Ling knows herself enough to recognize that this is exactly the place she promised she would never return to: the place where someone else's absence feels like a bruise, where love is less like a feeling and more like a knife she keeps pressed against her own ribs.

She looks at Orm and feels that quiet panic spreading under her skin. Because now she knows: Orm has too much power over her. More than anyone has ever had, more than she ever intended to give. Ling knows the signs; she knows this territory too well. She's been here before, letting someone in just enough to let them break her. And Orm, with her softness and her contradictions and her infuriating ability to get under Ling's skin without even trying, now holds every weapon that could destroy her if she ever decided to use them.

It scares Ling senseless, how much she cares. How much she feels. How much she's already given away without realizing it because it's drop by drop, in brushstrokes, in dribs and drabs. But each one counts and, in the end, it adds up to a lot.

In any case, the brunette is mindful that today is Orm's birthday. Nothing can ruin it, nothing should outweigh making her feel special on her day. She only needs to focus on fulfilling the blonde's wishes and doing whatever else comes to mind to convey the warmth that has filled her heart since they met, as if the outside world didn't exist or have any weight.

Lingling stands up and extends her hand to Orm, who looks at her expectantly, but finally takes it and lets the brunette lead her to the bathroom.

Inside the shower stall, she starts running the water and returns to the blonde's side, who waits with her arms crossed over her chest, still naked from last night. Lingling takes her hands and unlaces them, guiding them to the button of her skirt. The blonde understands what she has to do; therefore, her hands tremble slightly, but she manages it slowly under the dark eyes and with her ragged breath.

Next, Ling turns around and sweeps her hair over one shoulder, giving Orm access to her bra clasp. Taking her time, she unhooks it and slides the straps down the brunette's arms, pressing her body against hers and stealing a kiss on her cheek as she tosses the bra somewhere on the bathroom floor. Then, the blonde pulls her skirt down, Ling nudging it aside with her feet as it falls, and then Orm's hands rest on her hips, somewhat hesitant, not firmly, but purposefully.

The brunette takes Orm's fingers and brings them to her underwear to encourage her to remove it, which she does slowly.

The younger turns Ling around and pulls her closer, placing her hands on her buttocks in a somewhat rough, commanding motion. Orm drags her right hand forward, along the brunette's abs and then over one of her breasts, where she feels goosebumps rise. She continues upwards, passing over her neck until she reaches her cheek, where she holds Ling still to kiss her with much more intensity than in the room.

They walk towards the shower until Ling's back finds the cold tiles, contrast with her warm, heated skin. She sighs heavily, feeling much more now than she did last night.

The brunette walks them under the rain, just looking at Orm's lips and letting the moment sink in as she catches her breath. Just like that, she decides alone that one of Orm's wishes can wait. That all of the tension she feels at the center of her body will be released, she knows it will finally happen after two and a half years of not being able to, there's no way it won't; but not now.

The water falls in a steady, muted rush, and the air fogs almost instantly, softening the edges of their bodies until they look like two silhouettes drifting toward each other. Ling steps fully under the shower first, tilting her head back, letting the warmth run down her hair, her shoulders, the curve of her spine. When she opens her eyes again, Orm is standing hesitant, almost shy in a way she never is with anyone else.

Ling lifts a hand, a small gesture that says 'come here' without a single word. Orm joins her, slow and careful, as if she's afraid the moment might dissolve if she moves too quickly. When the water reaches her skin, she exhales, and Ling watches her like she's watching something fragile she's not supposed to touch yet.

They stand close, foreheads nearly touching, the steam wrapping around them like a blanket. Ling reaches first, sweeping Orm's wet hair back with both hands, fingers tracing the line of her scalp with a tenderness that startles even her. She gathers the shampoo and lathers it between her palms, then gently works it into the blonde hair. Her movements are unhurried, and Orm's eyes flutter shut, her lips parting slightly as she leans into the touch. Every now and then, the younger's hands shift as if wanting to slide down Ling's waist, to pull her closer, to take this touch somewhere deeper, but Ling redirects her with the softest of gestures: a guiding hand to her elbow, a turn of her shoulders, a kiss to her temple meant to soothe rather than ignite.

When the brunette finishes, Orm takes her place behind her, washing her hair with the same slow, studying patience, as if she's learning her by heart. Ling keeps her eyes closed through most of it, because looking at Orm while feeling her hands might undo her. Orm massages her scalp gently, carefully, like she's afraid of hurting her. The water runs in rivulets down Ling's neck, her collarbones, and Orm follows their path with her fingers almost unconsciously. When her hands start to slip lower, Ling catches them, intertwines their fingers, and places them around her own waist instead. A sweet misdirection, a limit wrapped in affection.

They trade places again, and Ling takes the soap, working it onto Orm's arms, her shoulders, the slow sweep of her back. Orm looks at her with that unguarded expression she never shows the world: eyes wide, soft, almost pleading. There's hunger there, yes, a desire she doesn't bother hiding. But there's also awe, and fear. Every time Orm's hands try to settle on Ling's hips, Ling finds a way to change the angle of her body, lifting her arm, turning to grab more soap, brushing their noses together just long enough to distract her. It's gentle, almost playful but unmistakable: not now.

When it's Ling's turn to be washed, Orm's touch grows careful again, slow circles of soap over her stomach, her ribs, her arms. Ling keeps stealing glances at her, at the pink flush across her cheeks from warmth and nerves, the way her throat bobs when she swallows hard because she wants so much more than this. And Ling feels it, all of it, every tremor of wanting in Orm's hands, every breath she tries to steady. It sends a pulse through her too, sharp and insistent, but she holds it back.

They stay like that under the shower: two bodies close enough to burn, choosing instead to care for each other with a sweetness neither of them is used to.

Chapter Text

Ling cuts the avocado slowly, as if the motion itself could steady her pulse, and Orm watches her from the other side of the counter, rubbing her damp hair with the towel Ling wrapped around her. The kitchen still smells faintly like their skin warmed under the shower, like citrus shampoo and steam that refused to leave the apartment. When Ling squeezes the orange, Orm's eyes soften because that smell, that exact smell, takes them both to the afternoon they met, the careless sunlight of a day that was never supposed to mean anything. Ling hands her a slice without a word, a small, shared ritual neither of them planned but both somehow expected.

They sit close enough that their knees brush under the table, and neither moves away. Ling takes a bite and pretends she isn't staring at Orm's mouth. The birthday cake between them, just a thin slice they "shouldn't be eating for breakfast". Ling smiles without meaning to. 'I never expected for that girl I knew out of nowhere to become so important,' she thinks.

Orm thinks the same, but hers comes with a rush of pride, like she knows something no one else in the world gets to know. She brushes crumbs from her fingertips, looks up at Ling, and says quietly, almost shyly, "I know what my third wish is." Ling freezes just a little; she remembers the first two.

Orm inhales, tries to sound casual, but her voice betrays something trembling underneath. "My wish is... that we pretend nothing exists outside. That the world doesn't affect us. That what happened before doesn't decide what happens now." She searches Ling's eyes, not demanding agreement, just hoping for it. "Just... let's treat each other the way we want, without thinking what it means. Like we did before. But without worrying about if it makes us something... more."

Ling's heart tightens painfully, because it sounds so innocent and so impossible at the same time. She doesn't notice right away that all three wishes Orm has made revolve around her, or maybe she notices and chooses not to think too much about it. Orm doesn't notice either, how each wish circles back to Ling, how her life seems to orbit around what Ling feels, what Ling allows, what Ling might someday choose.

Ling takes another sip of juice to buy herself a second before she answers. She nods slowly, and for now, because it's morning, the sun is gentle on Orm's shoulders and the world hasn't asked anything of them yet, she pretends she believes that wish is possible for a day.

---------- ---------- ----------

Evening settles over the pool, the water turning a deep blue that mirrors the sky, just a shade darker. They float near the edge, arms spread, letting the silence say for them. Ling's sunglasses reflect the orange sun as it lowers, and her hair twisted into a lazy, imperfect bun, still smells faintly like the lemon soap from the shower. Orm keeps her distance for a moment, pushing the water with slow kicks, her navy bikini glistening where the sun still reaches.

Ling breaks the quiet first, dragging her fingers along the pool's surface. "I think I'm gonna buy a car," she announces, as if it's the most ordinary thought in the world.

"A car?" Orm laughs, pushing closer, water rippling between them. "You barely leave the apartment."

"I know," Ling admits, shrugging with one bare shoulder, "but lately I want to. If I want ice cream at midnight, I don't want to think twice."

Orm smiles with that soft admiration she doesn't bother to hide anymore. "So you can drive us anywhere, right?"

Ling scoffs playfully, "So I can drive myself anywhere." Orm rolls her eyes. "But yes. You too."

The water keeps them buoyant, keeps reality just far enough away. They pretend there isn't a future they're both terrified to ruin. For a little while, they just drift, shoulders brushing, knees accidentally bumping.

Eventually, Orm moves closer, slowly, the way she always does when she's unsure of the temperature between them. Her legs brush Ling's underwater, then wrap around her waist like it's the most natural thing she could possibly do. Ling's amrs find her waist almost instinctively, steadying her, pulling her closer until they're sharing the same breath.

"You always find a way to do this," Ling murmurs, voice low.

"To do what?"

"Get closer than you should."

Orm leans her forehead against Ling's sunglasses, gently pushing them up just enough to see her eyes. "I don't think there's a 'should' when it comes to you," she whispers, and Ling feels that sentence somewhere deeper than the water can reach.

They start to float together, tangled and weightless, Ling holding her like it's the easiest thing in the world. There is something undeniably romantic in the quiet between them, something risky too, like they're suspended between choice and fate and one tiny movement could make everything collapse or finally begin.

Ling traces a wet curl behind the blonde's ear and, just as she opens her mouth to say something, Orm's phone rings from the edge of the pool.

They freeze, both looking toward the distant ringtone, as if the world outside has just reached in and touched them again.

Orm lifts the phone just a little above the water so she can fit in the frame, her chest under the water, of course. She begins with a bright, practiced smile. "Hi, mom, hi papa."

Koy and Oct appear on the screen, sitting on their couch at home. They sing "happy birthday" half–off key, waving at the camera like she's somewhere terribly far away.

When they finish the usual catching up, Koy immediately asks, "Why wasn't Somyot in your pictures last night? I didn't see him in any of them."

Orm's face stiffens just a little; Ling sees the change in her body, even underwater. "We don't have any kind of bond anymore," she answers, trying to sound casual. "There was no point in him being there."

Oct nods, but Koy squints, suspicious in the way only mothers can be with their grown children. "Who were the other boys? Those you were with? And that one who was also at your graduation... what's his name?"

Orm blinks, suddenly aware of Ling's breath a few meters from her. "Some ex classmates. And he's... a friend of Ling's," she says, careful, slow. "Teerapat."

Koy frowns. "Then why was he with you if he's not your friend?"

Orm holds the phone a little higher, as if the elevation could protect her. "Because Ling's friends are my friends too."

Ling's heart jumps at the casual certainty of those words. She tries not to move, barely breathing, watching Orm's profile, watching the brave but trembling line of her mouth.

Koy, completely missing the implication, moves on. "What are you doing now?"

Orm shifts the phone so the screen faces the pool, the towels, the soft blue reflection on Ling's sunglasses, and of course, Ling. "We're at the pool," she says, voice brighter, almost proud.

Ling gives a small wave through the screen, Koy and Oct do it back. "Ah! And where are your friends? Why aren't they with you?"

"I already celebrated with them last night," Orm says, and the sentence comes out softer, more honest. "I wanted to be with Ling today."

Ling hears it, every word sinking just under her ribs. She takes her sunglasses off. For a moment, she doesn't know if she's supposed to smile or pretend nothing in that sentence meant what it clearly meant.

On the screen, Koy is talking about something else already; lunch plans, the weather, but Ling barely listens. She's too busy watching Orm answer so confidently.

---------- ---------- ----------

Orm settles on Ling's body like it's the only place that fits: her cheek resting over the soft rise and fall of Ling's stomach, the quiet glow from the TV playing over their skin. It's peaceful in a way neither of them has allowed themselves to be in a long time, as if the whole day had been holding them in suspension and now, at last, gravity lets them land exactly here.

Ling's fingers slide lazily through Orm's hair, slow circles that draw heat down Orm's spine. Just a kind of quiet claiming. The day is almost gone; they know it. They've been pretending the world paused with them but night always returns. Tomorrow exists whether they want it or not.

Orm feels it tightening inside her. That impossible desire to hold onto this day before it slips through her hands. She doesn't fully decide to do it; her body just moves, like something small inside her refuses to let the moment end without marking it. She presses a soft kiss just above Ling's belly, testing the borders.

Ling's breath sharpens beneath her. Everything inside Orm goes still. She lifts the hem of Ling's tank top just enough to touch skin instead of cotton, and kisses again, slower this time.

Ling's body reacts first, a subtle shift so delicate it's almost nothing. The blonde feels the air change, heart loud enough she swears Ling can hear it. When she looks up, afraid of rejection, she doesn't find distance. She finds Ling watching her, eyes dark with something that isn't resistance.

Just... waiting.

The living room feels unusually silent, like the world has politely excused itself so they can have this moment without interruption.

Ling's hands pause in the blonde hair, the strands slipping slowly between her fingers as if she doesn't want to lose the sensation too fast. Her lashes are low, her mouth parted just slightly. Orm's heart trips, and this is exactly why she dares again placing a slower kiss, feather-light, closer to the hem of Lingling's sleep pants.

The brunette exhales, something closer to surrender, and that alone makes Orm's pulse stumble. Ling's fingers find the back of her neck, not guiding and certainly not stopping, just being there, letting Orm exist in that fragile closeness.

Something seems to click inside the blonde's mind, and she takes the impulse to match Ling's level, their bodies fitting together perfectly, legs intertwined and their chests almost competing over which rises and falls more intensely against the other. Orm carefully leans downward, asking for a permission that has already been granted as her lips meet the brunette's. The kiss is gentle, affectionate, and as tender as Lingling's hands resting on her lower back.

The only sounds to be heard are their breathing, the soft brushing of their pants, and the frantic pounding of their hearts, even though the television is still on. They stopped paying attention to it long ago.

Orm moves down to the brunette's neck, leaving soft kisses and delicate strokes of her tongue that make Ling lose her composure. The younger can feel it, Ling shifting between her legs reveals everything, and for a moment, Orm feels quietly proud of herself for being able to cause such a reaction.

The blonde returns to her lips, her forearms resting on either side of Lingling's face and one hand gently sweeping her hair back. Orm places a kiss on her forehead and then, without hesitation, whispers, "May I go down?"

And Ling, surrendered, can only nod slightly as she looks straight in her eyes. What else is there to do?

The blonde's eyes sparkle with consent, and she smiles slightly, giving Ling a quick peck before covering her face with tender kisses.

The contrast is striking when she moves back down to her neck, her jawline, and gently bites her earlobe, breathing there intentionally so the brunette can hear her.

She slowly lowers herself, shifting her weight onto her knees until she's face-to-face with Ling's lower half.

---------- ----- ⚠️+18⚠️ ----- ----------

Orm's POV

On my knees, I deliberately think about each of my movements. I'm nervous, I can't deny it. I'm just going to remember what she did to me, the way she moved against me, and think about what I liked to see if it works for her.

I bend her legs in front of me. Under her watchful gaze, I lift myself slightly to take hold of the hem of her pants and slowly pull them down, making her raise her hips. I remove her pants completely and watch what's before me.

Her hair spread out at one end of the sofa, her nipples almost piercing her tank top, one of her fingers between her teeth, her underwear waiting for me.

Never, ever have I felt myself so eager for something.

I approach her crotch, nervous as it implies doing something like this for the first time. I place a few kisses on the inside of her thighs, slowly moving up until I reach her underwear. I leave kisses there too, touching her with my fingers while gently biting her belly.

Looking at her again, just as I felt with my fingers, I notice the small damp patch through the fabric. I look up; she's still watching me expectantly, attentively, now with flushed cheeks and slightly more rapid breathing.

I lick the fabric and in return I get a moan that isn't a sigh, isn't just breathing. It's voice, and that drives me wild. I haven't heard her like that.

Finally, I take hold of the elastic of her underwear and pull it off, tossing it to the floor.

I part her thighs slightly and give her clit a single lick, tasting it for the first time, savoring both its wetness and the scent of her recent bath. Again, a moan. I give another lick, slow and deliberate with the tip of my tongue, and look up. Her chest rises and falls as if her ribs might puncture her lungs. Finally, I plunge completely between her folds, easily finding the way Ling seems to like it. I draw circles with my tongue, getting used to the texture and her fluids, then suck and release a little saliva onto her to wet her even more. Her hips move slowly in a swaying motion that contradicts the direction of my mouth, one of her hands on my head, pressing down to keep me from pulling away.

With one hand I pin her hips to the sofa, and I slip the other under her top and cup one of her breasts. Massaging, squeezing. Ling's back arches firmly, she throws her head back and holds her other one.

Her moans become ragged, louder but breathier, and I know I have to keep up the pace to make her come.

Something else flashes through my mind. I release her breast without stopping my sucking, her eyes meet mine, and when I feel her hips move a little harder against me, I slide two fingers inside her, curling them, pushing them in and out.

She rolls her eyes, bites her lip, and leans her head back again. Her moans are louder. She doesn't want me to stop, I can tell by the way her hips move as close to me as she can, a little firmer, faster, and more intense, and finally thrusts repeatedly against my mouth, moaning as she releases all the air she's been holding. Her trembling thighs squeeze my head, so I keep sucking until they loosen. I slowly insert and withdraw my fingers repeatedly, still licking her center, until she takes my wrist and pulls it out herself.

I lick my lips at the sight of her so undone, surrendered and out of her mind, and I climb up to kiss her so she can taste herself. She does so passionately, licking my lips as if she wants to clean her fluids from my face.

Her breathing becomes a little more even.

"I liked it," I'm the first to speak.

"Good to know," she cutely laughs at my comment. "Me too."

"I want to do it again," I confess. She smiles closing her eyes, and I can only watch her. "I mean it."

Slowly, she turns us around and now I'm underneath her. She smiles like I've never seen her smile before, never so genuinely, so caught up in the moment.

Lingling kneels on the sofa and pulls my clothes down until I'm naked. Just when I think she's about to go down, she makes me straighten one of my legs and takes the other, which is bent, to open it slightly.

She fits her body onto mine, taking her time, one of her hands on my lower belly, working to make sure we fit together perfectly. She pulls my thigh over hers and hooks my leg over her arm to hold me in position.

Our centers collide, and she comes to kiss me as she begins to move slowly. The friction is soft, pleasurable and gentle. Ling moves up and down, pulling me with her because my arms are wrapped around her neck.

Her mouth cradles my moans, and mine cradles hers. When my hips move faster to match her rhythm, she looks at me intently, her hand resting on my jaw. I stare at her, lost but expectant, because that's her most sincere, most honest look. I know she wants to tell me something.

In the rhythm, she parts my lips with one of her fingers and then whispers: "I want you to be mine." Her body rubs against mine a little harder, more desperately. I can only stare at her, dig my nails into her back and nod with pleading eyes as if begging her to take me. I can't speak.

Our hips become more unrestrained and, in a way, violent, competing to see who can give the other more pleasure, who can make the other more addict, just to make sure that this won't be a one time thing. That this is something we both desperately want, not just a birthday wish.

I kiss her, and she becomes even more aroused. I grab her neck to keep her from pulling away, and in that action, I find a way to express what I want. I gently tighten my fingers around her throat as she continues thrusting into me until we reach a point where neither of us can bear it any longer.

Ling's nails dig into my thigh, mine into the side of her neck, and in a few seconds, she collapses on top of me.  Her breath is warm against my ear, I gather her hair in a fist to free her shoulder and leave a few kisses there, then run my fingertips through her scalp.

She looks up after a few moments, and I could swear I see a plea in her eyes. I'm not sure what it is, but it's there.

She presses our foreheads together, breathes deeply with her eyes closed, and kisses me with the gentleness of someone who doesn't want to break a sheet of glass.

There's one last thing I want to say before the day ends, in case the opportunity doesn't arise again. You might wonder, "why not, if you live together?" Well, because after all these ups and downs, you never know. So I guess it's now or never. Take the risk, or risk having to keep it to myself for much longer.

"I love you," I whisper between ragged breaths, looking into her eyes, which change their expression with a blink.

That's it. That's what she was begging; for me not to say it.

There's no anger in her eyes, no sorrow or regret. I don't know what's there, but I understand she won't respond in kind.

Ling kisses my cheek in a sudden burst, then takes my hand and intertwines our fingers, pinning me to the sofa. She strokes the back of my thumb and begins to move her hips again, biting softly the skin of my jaw and neck.

All I can do is close my eyes and surrender to her once more.

Chapter Text

Some weeks pass slow, dangerously sweet, always on the edge of something they keep pretending isn't waiting for them. At first they live on the memory of that birthday: the shower, the pool, the breakfast, making love that night. But the quiet conversations they never promised they'd have start dissolving into silences, because every time Orm tries to carefully open a real subject, Ling feels her chest tighten and the words escape through some excuse that sounds gentle but is a cutoff.

One night, late, when they're already in the brunette's bedroom after having dinner outside, they're watching a movie they're not really watching. Orm is curled beside her, and Ling's hand is absentmindedly resting on her knee. It feels so much like her birthday, and Orm gathers her courage; not to beg, only to say something honest.

"You know," she whispers, brushing her thumb over Ling's knuckles, "sometimes I don't know what we are. And it makes me feel like I don't know where to stand. What I can do and what not."

Ling doesn't look at her. Her eyes stay on the TV, on the meaningless images changing in front of them. "We don't need to label anything," she says, and her voice is strangely soft, as if she's trying to calm a child. "Things are good like this. Let's... not complicate them."

Orm feels her throat close. She wants to ask, 'good for who?' but she swallows instead, nodding even though Ling isn't looking. "Right," she says, because she's terrified of ruining the delicate peace they've managed to build. "Right, I know."

Ling kisses the side of her head, as if that were enough reassurance, and turns her attention back to the screen. Orm leans into her shoulder and pretends the softness is enough to hold her together. She stays there until Ling falls asleep, her breathing steady and warm against her hair.

Much later, when she's sure Ling won't wake up, Orm quietly slips out of the bed and steps into the dark living room. She doesn't bother with lights; she just lets herself sink into silence, hugging her knees to her chest.

She knows she shouldn't cry, she told herself she wouldn't, but the tears arrive slowly, stubbornly, as if her body is finally admitting what she's not allowed to say out loud: Ling's avoidance feels like neglect, and the worst part is that she understands it. She forgives her instantly, without being asked, because loving her has become something Orm does as automatically as breathing.

When she goes back to bed, the brunette shifts sleepily, instinctively reaching an arm around her waist as if she'd never let her go. Orm lets herself be held, buries her face in the pillow, and tries to believe this is enough.

---------- ---------- ----------

Teerapat's apartment is louder than it should be for a Sunday night. The coffee table is overflowing with cards, dice, pizza, bowls of snacks half-eaten, cans of soda sweating over old coasters. Thana argues about rules he clearly made up, Sonya and Lookmhee yell at him in two different accents, Charlotte keeps score like she's refereeing a world championship, and Engfa films little clips for her story.

Ling sits close to Orm, legs touching, shoulders brushing every time one of them leans forward to grab a card. They don't even realize they're doing it until Thana blurts that they're cheating just by sitting like that. Orm laughs it off, cheeks warm, stealing a glance at Ling's hands instead of the board. Ling taps Orm's fingers lightly, a touch quick enough to pretend it never happened. Engfa notices. Sonya definitely notices.

They're all yelling when Teerapat drops a casual bomb, some joke about "Orm, I hope you don't think I'm beating your ass because you rejected me" and Charlotte almost spits her drink, eyes wide, because everyone who knows clearly knows, and Teerapat has absolutely no idea.

Orm forces a laugh, pretends it's funny, and Ling presses her lips together, as if she could physically stop the air in the room from changing. Sonya blinks between them, like she's connecting dots she'd rather not admit are obvious.

The game continues, but the energy shifts when Teerapat leans back and asks, half curious, half nosy, "so what happened with Somyot? Haven't seen him in a while."

Orm shrugs casually. "There's nothing else to do there. And of course there wasn't when you met him."

Silence edges the table, awkward in a way no one wants to acknowledge.

"So... are you dating?" Teerapat pushes, like he's just asking about the weather.

Orm freezes, feels Ling's knee bump hers, not on purpose, just a reflex, but it's enough to steady her for a second. "No," she answers, flat, almost defensive.

Charlotte looks down. Lookmhee coughs. Engfa suddenly checks her phone just to escape the moment.

Ling finally speaks, voice calm. "Pat, just play."

Another roll of the dice. Another burst of yelling. Noise floods back into the room, loud enough to drown everything else; but Ling's hand finds the edge of Orm's sleeve again, holding for just one second too long.

For the rest of the night, they keep stealing touches; tiny, impossible to hide while pretending that the game is all they care about.

---------- ---------- ----------

Teerapat's kitchen is half-lit, the soft hum of the refrigerator blending with the muffled laughter still leaking from the living room. Ling tosses an empty soda can into the recycling bag while Orm gathers the leftover pizza slices, trying to fit them into a plastic container that's a bit too small. They move around each other with that quiet synchronicity that only they understand, brushing arms, sharing small looks that would be impossible to explain to anyone else.

Ling closes the fridge with her hip and leans against the counter. She lets out a breath, eyes drifting to Orm's hands, to the tiny tremor in her fingers, to the way she keeps glancing at her mouth as if pulled by something magnetic.

The blonde sighs the biggest sigh she's ever let out. "I really want to kiss you right now," Orm says after some seconds of not standing the tension anymore. It comes out low, embarrassingly honest. She doesn't soften it, doesn't disguise it with humor. It's just the truth slipping through the cracks after hours of being in a rare bubble of romantic complicity.

Ling doesn't answer with words. Her gaze lifts toward Orm with a quiet, unmistakable invitation. And Orm steps into her like the air has been rearranged just for this.

The kiss is slow at first, a soft press of lips melting into something needier that feels like letting go after hours of holding back. Ling's hands slide to Orm's waist, drawing her closer, and Orm sighs into her mouth, relieved. For a moment they are alone in the world.

Then Charlotte's voice tears through the apartment, a shrill "LING!" that makes them jolt apart in pure instinct.

They barely manage to take one step back before Teerapat walks in.

He freezes in the doorway, holding a half-crushed beer can. His eyes flick between them. Orm flushed and breathless, Ling fixing her hair, and something shifts in his face. Not anger or shock. Something quieter that tightens his jaw.

"What's... this?" he asks, voice steady in a way that makes it worse. "You're together?"

The silence stretches raw and uncomfortable. Orm's throat locks. She looks to Ling, who seems composed only on the surface, like she's carefully holding herself in place.

"We're... figuring things out," Ling says finally. Her voice is calm, even gentle, but it doesn't hide the truth.

Teerapat exhales, long and heavy. "Amazing," he mutters with a humorless huff. "Thank you for confirming it. At least I know I wasn't going crazy."

Orm's heart drops. "Pat-"

"No," he cuts her off, but he's not yelling. "Everyone knew. Right? Everyone in that room." He tilts his head toward the living room. "They all knew. Back when I still-" he stops himself, shakes his head. "Doesn't matter."

"It does," Orm whispers. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"I know," Teerapat says, and that's what hurts. He believes her. He's disappointed. "But I need everyone to leave now. I just... need to think what kind of friends I have. Okay?"

The words land heavily. Orm nods, small.

The sound of chairs scraping and murmured goodbyes moves through the apartment as the group starts gathering their things, sensing the shift. It's not chaos, it's worse; it's quiet.

The blonde turns to Ling, unsure if she should stay, go, apologize again. She doesn't know what the right move is.

Ling steps closer, just enough to steady her without touching. "I'll catch you in the car," she says softly, voice meant only for her. It holds reassurance, a promise, or hope, that this moment won't follow them home.

Orm nods again, blinking too quickly. "Okay."

Teerapat avoids looking at either of them as they all filter out, and Orm carries the weight of his silence with her. Her guilt heavy and warm in her chest, chasing her down the empty hallway.

Ling stays behind for a moment, watching Teerapat gather the leftover pizza, his back turned, his shoulders tense. She wishes she could fix this with a sentence, a joke, a gesture. But it's not that kind of hurt and she knows it.

She wipes her palms on her jeans, trying to gather words that don't feel like a confession dragged out of her, but that's exactly what it is, there's no other way around it.

Teerapat stands at the opposite counter, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his expression wavering somewhere between confusion and genuine hurt. "So... you and Orm," he says, not even pretending it's a question anymore. "When did that happen?"

Ling looks down, because eye contact feels too revealing. "I don't know when," she admits. "It wasn't planned, I didn't... decide anything. It just happened, somehow." Her voice is softer than she wants it to be, like she's confessing a crime and not a feeling. "I'm still scared. I still deal with the consequences of the past, you know that. I'm still angry about some things. And yet... there she is."

Teerapat blinks slowly, frustration pushing into his posture. "But why did you let me chase after her? Why didn't you say something when I was literally trying to date her right in front of you?"

Ling lifts her head, something pained flashing over her features. "Because I thought she wanted you too." The admission feels like swallowing glass. "I thought maybe she needed someone safe, someone uncomplicated, a man, someone who wasn't... me."

He lets out something like a laugh but there's nothing funny in it. "So you thought I had a chance."

"I didn't really know what she felt," Ling insists. "And it didn't feel like my place to ruin something she might have wanted. I wasn't supposed to want anything from her because, well, she'd never dated women."

Teerapat shakes his head, pushing a hand through his hair with disbelief. "Why am I the last one to know? Everyone clearly knows. Even Sonya, my cousin, Ling. They all knew, and I... what?" His voice breaks a little. "I'm just the joke in the room?"

Ling's jaw tightens. "You're not a joke. And we're not official. That's why no one says anything. Because we're not... anything. Or we don't call it anything."

"You kissed her in my kitchen."

Ling closes her eyes, exhaling through her nose. "I know."

Teerapat leans against the fridge, looking away as if the tiles might offer him answers she can't give. "You could've told me a long time ago, Ling. I liked her. I really liked her. And it sucked, yeah, realizing she didn't like me that way. But it would've sucked less than being the only idiot who didn't know what was going on."

There's a thickness in the air that neither of them knows how to clear. Ling feels that old wound inside her pulse, resentment she never unpacked, humiliation she swallowed because she had no space to break down back then. "You exposed me," she says quietly, more a reminder than accusation. "That night... you told everyone what my ex did to me. Like it was a funny story."

Teerapat's face twists. "Ling..."

"I didn't forget," she continues, voice steady but trembling at the edges. "You didn't mean to hurt me, I know. But you did. And sometimes I think I never really forgave you for it."

Teerapat opens his mouth, then closes it, then presses his tongue against his cheek, wrestling pride and guilt all at once. "So what? This was payback? Keeping me in the dark?"

"No," Ling replies firmly. "This wasn't about you. This was about not knowing what to do with... whatever this is between me and her. I didn't even admit it to myself until recently. But somehow... I didn't feel like you were a friend I wanted to talk about this with. We... drifted apart and you know it."

He looks away again, jaw clenching. "I need you to go," he says eventually, the hurt in his voice dulled but still sharp enough to cut. "I need to process this without you standing here."

Ling hesitates, because part of her wants to say she's sorry, that she didn't want things to turn out like this, but she can't. She can't force herself to apologize for falling for someone at the worst possible moment, for being messy and human.

So she simply nods, quietly, respectfully, and heads toward the door.

Teerapat doesn't follow. He doesn't ask anything else.

Ling leaves the apartment without saying another word, carrying a knot in her chest made of love, guilt, anger, and every feeling she's never learned how to hold without letting it turn into fire.

---------- ---------- ----------

The brunette keeps her hands tight on the steering wheel as they roll out of the building's parking lot, the neon light of the exit ramp brushing across her face, painting her cheekbones in cold blue for a second before fading into the dark. The engine hums low; the city outside is quiet in that Sunday-night way, streets half-asleep, the air strangely still. Inside the car, though, it feels like there's no air at all, just tension.

Neither of them says anything for a long minute. Ling focuses on the road too intensely, shifting lanes even though she doesn't need to, putting distance between her and the apartment building as if running from what just happened. Orm's body is turned just slightly toward her, but she stares out the window.

Finally, she exhales. "What did you talk about with him?" Her voice comes out soft, just... needing to know.

Ling presses her lips together before answering. "I explained things. He got mad." A small pause. "More disappointed than mad, actually."

Orm nods, waiting for more. Ling hesitates, fingers tightening around the steering wheel as if she's trying not to break it.

"I think I broke something in him," she continues quietly. "Like trust. In me, in everyone. I didn't realize how bad it would be to... keep this from him."

Orm turns fully now, studying Ling's profile carefully: the shadow of her jaw, the determined line of her mouth. "We didn't keep it from him out of cruelty," she says, voice calm in a way she normally can't manage when things revolve around Ling. "It wasn't the plan to make him feel stupid."

"It doesn't matter what we meant," Ling replies, almost whispering. "What matters is how it looked. And I didn't even think of that."

Another silence, heavier this time. Orm swallows. "It would be easier if we just named what we are, or at least acknowledge that there is something going on. Then we wouldn't have to explain anything. Or lie. Or hide. Or pretend."

Ling sighs, and it sounds like she's been holding it for years. "Labels ruin everything," she says with that stubborn certainty she uses whenever she's terrified. "If we name it, it becomes something else. Something fragile. Something we can lose."

Orm shakes her head. "We already have something to lose."

That sentence hangs in the space between them like a confession neither of them ever dared to say aloud before. Ling's knuckles whiten on the steering wheel; her heartbeat stutters, just enough for her to notice.

"You think a label would fix us?" she finally says. "Like suddenly everything would make sense and we'd stop fighting and I'd stop panicking every time I feel too much? It doesn't work like that, Orm."

"I never said fix," Orm replies, no heat in her words, just quiet exhaustion. "I just don't want to keep pretending I'm nothing to you."

Ling's throat tightens. She forces her eyes forward, forces herself not to look. "You're not nothing," she murmurs. "You know you're not."

"But you keep acting like we're a secret," Orm insists. "Like shame. Or mistake. Or something temporary you don't want to think you're serious about."

Ling flinches, not visibly, but inside. "You don't understand," she says, almost begging. "Every time I try to give this a shape, it scares me because I'm not ready to lose you."

Orm feels something inside her twist painfully: it's love, and fear, and the memory of every night she has cried over this woman, knowing she'd still choose her the next morning. "We're already hurting each other anyway," she whispers.

The car stops at a red light. Ling rests her forehead against the back of her hand for a moment, eyes closed, breathing trembling for just one second.

"We can talk tomorrow," Ling finally says, even though they both know "tomorrow" almost always means "never."

Orm stares at her, heart breaking in that familiar, quiet way. "Sure," she says. "Tomorrow."

N/A: this might be my favorite chapter so far. hope you enjoyed. don't forget to leave your comments 💐

Chapter Text

Sonya raises her eyebrows, the blue light from the screen flickering on her cheek as she sinks deeper into her couch. "So... she just left? Grocery run at-" she checks her phone, "...almost midnight?"

Orm shifts, hugging a cushion against her stomach. "Yeah. She said she felt like eating noodles. I didn't feel like going. I'm exhausted, just finished my shift."

There's something small and wounded in her voice, and Sonya hears it. "I thought you two did everything together now."

"Yeah," Orm says, and it comes out like a confession. "Before any of us said anything about feelings. But lately... I don't know. Also it's just a grocery run, not that big of a deal."

Sonya hesitates, then says what she's been holding since the board game night. "Pat told me he feels awful. He misses her. He said he knows he screwed up, but he also said Ling never actually talked to him about how much it hurt."

Orm sighs, fingertips rubbing at her forehead as if she can erase the memory. "He's mad because he thinks Ling hates him. And maybe she does a little. She won't admit it. She just keeps everything inside and then explodes when she's jealous or scared. And I end up dealing with it because... I don't know." She tries to smile, but it barely happens. "Because I'm stupid."

"Hey," Sonya interrupts gently. "Don't say that." She studies her friend through the pixelated frame before speaking again, softer now. "Can I ask something? How's... all of that going with Lingling? Honestly."

Orm lets out a breath. "We never really talk about it, do we?" She laughs weakly. "Everyone notices, but no one actually says anything."

"Well I'm asking," Sonya insists. "You two were basically glued to each other at Teerapat's. Like..."

"We're basically dating, Sonya. We sleep together, we eat together, we plan things like... like a couple would. We do girlfriend things without really dating."

"That includes, you know, bed time?" her friend asks genuinely.

"It did happen, yes." Her voice lowers into shy heavyness. Sonya freezes, eyes widening slowly, the words landing like stones in her stomach. "Long story but it was on my birthday. And then... I don't feel like I have the right to go there again. Romantic bubbles happen randomly, and then it's all ice again."

"...and how does that make you feel? Really feel." Sonya asks, keeping to herself how strange it is that Orm is saying it like that and not giggling and kicking her feet like she would've expected.

Orm doesn't answer right away. Her mouth presses into a thin line before she finally speaks. "It makes me feel like I'm breaking some invisible rule. Like I want more but I'm not allowed to want more. I have to stop myself all the time. From saying things, from doing things, from asking too much. Just so she doesn't feel like I expect a commitment. Because I've seen her doubt if it's too much to just intertwine our fingers, but then she does it so naturally." Her voice trembles almost imperceptibly. "But I can't help waiting for her. I'm too in love."

Sonya blinks slowly, a mixture of affection and worry. "Orm... that doesn't sound right."

"I know." Orm's eyes shine, exhausted and helpless. "But she's already everything to me. I don't even know when it happened. I just woke up one day and realized there's no part of my day that doesn't involve her somehow. And I know she feels... something. But she refuses to say it out loud because then it becomes real. And official. Like we aren't already dating and sharing a life together, just without the label."

"Have you told her any of that?" Sonya asks, leaning closer to the screen.

"I've tried." Orm's voice grows quiet, almost fragile. "But every time I bring it up, she shuts down. She'll say something like 'we shouldn't complicate things,' and then she'll hug me, or start talking about something else, and I let it go because I'm afraid she'll pull away completely if I push."

Sonya swallows. "So... what are you two, exactly?"

Orm closes her eyes, letting the silence answer for her. She doesn't know. Not really. And yet she knows exactly what they are. Something deeper than friendship, that feels like love and heartbreak in the same breath.

"I don't know," she whispers. "I don't know what we are. And I don't know if she'll ever let us be anything more. But I can't seem to stop wanting her anyway."

---------- ---------- ----------

Ling grips the steering wheel even though the car is parked. Charlotte sits beside her. The radio is low, some melancholy guitar that almost disappears under the sound of their own breathing.

"I could ruin her life by saying what I wanna say, but it's better to keep it as it is," Ling finally whispers. Her voice sounds like she's been holding air in her lungs for hours.

Charlotte turns her head slowly, studying Ling and trying to understand the shape under the surface. "What do you wanna say?"

Ling's lips part, but she doesn't turn. She just watches the neon from the convenience store blink red over the hood. "That I love her." She says it like an admission pulled out of her, like something she has been avoiding even in her own thoughts.

Charlotte doesn't react right away. She blinks, eyebrows drawing together almost painfully. "And what would be the problem?"

"I don't think she chooses me," Ling answers. A small laugh leaves her in disbelief at herself, at the possibility that her fears might be louder than reality. "Not really. She has every reason not to."

Charlotte scoffs. "Are you insane? Of course she does. It's not easy, you know, but she's trying. She does it slowly. Somyot is gone, Pat is gone. The thing you told me she did during the call with her parents. Don't pretend that doesn't mean anything."

Ling's nails press into the leather steering wheel. "Well, maybe... I don't want her to choose me."

"What?" Charlotte turns fully now, her whole posture leaning into the disbelief.

"I might have used her initial... flaws? As an excuse to not take responsibility of my own feelings, after all, her parents aren't here so for now they're not really a problem. But," Ling murmurs, cheeks tense, shoulders tight. "If I tell her what I feel... there's no turning back. She'll give me her everything, and I can't do the same right now."

Charlotte breathes out, long, frustrated but soft at the edges. "She already gives you her everything, Ling. She's just asking for permission to do it properly, the way she wants, not the way you let her."

Ling finally turns her head, meets Charlotte's gaze in the dim light. And there's something terrified inside her eyes, like she's standing at the edge of a cliff she knew was there but hoped she'd never reach.

"Ling," her friend says softly, "you know this isn't sustainable, right? Not for you, not for her. You're both living in this illusion where everything's allowed only if you don't name it. That's not freedom, that's a cage you built because you're terrified of being let down again."

Ling presses her lips together, as if holding back something heavy. "I know," she whispers. "I know what I'm doing. I keep thinking if I don't say anything, then nothing can collapse. If I don't let myself want too much, then I won't lose everything all at once."

"But you already want too much," Charlotte insists. "You already have. Both of you have. And you keep pretending like you don't. And look at you, look how much it hurts. You can lose it by pretending it isn't there."

Ling looks away, blinking fast. "It's just- I don't know how to stop feeling like she's going to wake up one day and realize she could have someone easier, or better. Someone who isn't... all this mess." She gestures weakly at herself. "I'm scared she'll find something out there and I'll be left alone."

Charlotte breathes slowly, choosing her words. "That isn't fair. She's not the one who hurt you. And she shouldn't have to fight ghosts every time she tries to get close."

That's when Ling breaks. Her voice fractures, and her hands cover her face as if she's ashamed of being seen like this. "I want to give in. I want to just fall and not think about who comes next or what she could lose because of me. I want it to be easy. I want to be happy and calm and- God, I can't even remember the last time I felt safe loving someone."

Charlotte gently touches her arm. "You deserve to feel safe, Ling."

Ling shakes her head against her palms. "But what if... what if I give her everything and I end up being discarded again? I don't think I could survive that again." she trails off, breathing unevenly.

"Projected pain isn't love," Charlotte says quietly. "It's punishment. And you're punishing yourself and her for things she didn't do."

Ling looks up, her eyes red, voice barely steady. "She told me she loves me."

"...And?"

Ling laughs, painfully honest. "And I couldn't say it back. I couldn't even make a sound. Because if I say it, it's like giving her my throat. It's the most powerful weapon she could ever have. What if someday she uses it against me, even without meaning to?"

Charlotte's expression softens, almost heartbreakingly. "Ling... she already knows. She already has your heart. You're just refusing to admit it because admitting means surrendering control. And love isn't control. It's trust. And right now you're giving her everything except the one thing that matters, which is faith."

Ling breathes in sharply, then out, like something cracks open inside her chest. "I don't know how to stop being terrified."

Charlotte squeezes her hand. "Then let her help you. She's not your past. Stop making her pay for it."

---------- ---------- ----------

Lingling stands behind the couch for a moment before moving, watching Orm's small, curled shape on the cushions. The television's flickering light paints a soft glow over her, but her face isn't focused on anything. Her eyes look distant, as if she's been stuck in her own thoughts for far too long. Ling's chest tightens at the sight; Charlotte's words echo so loudly it almost hurts. 'You're hurting each other without meaning to. You're scared, she's waiting, and neither of you can breathe in this half-place.'

She walks around slowly and leans down to press a kiss on Orm's temple. It's soft but full of a guilt that's been gnawing at her for weeks now. Orm startles slightly, blinking up at her in confusion. Affection isn't rare between them, but gentle affection like this, offered without Orm having to ask for it, without earnestly reaching for it... it's new.

"Where are the noodles?" Orm asks quietly, voice hoarse, as if she hasn't spoken in hours.

"I didn't buy noodles." Orm looks at her, puzzled. "I went to see Charlotte."

"Oh." Orm nods once, small, turning her face back toward the screen. "You didn't have to lie."

Ling silently puts the carton of ice cream on the coffee table. "I know. I'm sorry." She lifts the lid, looking for spoons. "We talked about you."

"About me?" Orm's voice comes out curious.

The older opens a drawer, finding two bowls. "Yes." she says, softly but not open enough to invite further questions.

Orm nods again, slower this time. "Okay."

When Ling returns to the couch, she sits close. Their shoulders touch, then their thighs, the warmth spreads between them. Ling passes her a bowl and Orm takes it mechanically, still staring, still somewhere else. Ling watches her for a moment, studying the tension in her jaw, the way her fingers hover over the ice cream without eating.

'She's slipping,' Ling realizes, a painful pulse in her chest. 'I'm the one making her slip.'

"What are you watching?" She asks tenderly.

"Don't know." Orm shrugs a little. "My mind's somewhere else."

Ling shifts a little closer again, her knee brushing Orm's. "Do you want to talk?"

And Orm sits there, bowl in hand, not moving, not looking at her, just breathing a little too shallowly. Then she shakes her head. "I'm tired."

The brunette carefully places her own untouched bowl on the table and pulls the blanket over both of them. She hesitates, then slips her arm around Orm's shoulders, asking permission with her touch. The younger leans in.

They stay like that, the TV murmuring in the background, the spoons untouched, the ice cream melting slowly between them. Ling stares at the screen but doesn't see anything. She's too aware of Orm's breathing, of the sadness that radiates from her skin, of how much damage her own fear has done. And for the first time, instead of pushing the guilt down or disguising it with distance, Ling lets herself feel it fully.

She presses her cheek to the top of Orm's head. "I'm here," she whispers, barely audible.

Orm closes her eyes as she feels Ling's fingers through her hair, but she doesn't say anything back.

---------- ---------- ----------

The water is warm ib Thana's pool, lazily moving every time someone shifts. Orm floats near the edge, hair pulled up, fingers tracing idle circles while her friends bicker.

Sonya splashes Thana first. “You’re so dramatic. Being single isn’t a curse.”

Thana wipes his face. “Easy for you to say. You two have been disgustingly in love since high school.”

Lookmhee laughs, leaning her head on Sonya’s shoulder. “Disgustingly? I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“See?” Thana groans. “This is exactly what I mean. I need that. I deserve that. Why can’t I get myself a girl? It’s easier for girls to get girls.”

“Excuse me?” Orm raises an eyebrow.

Thana points at her. “See? See? You have Ling.”

Orm freezes at the name. Lookmhee swims closer. “Okay, but before we jump into that mess... Thana, maybe the reason you can’t get a girl is because you say things like it’s easier for girls to get girls.”

Sonya nods. “Yeah, babe, that sounds like a tweet that aged badly.”

They all laugh, Orm included, until the topic circles back where she knows it will.

“So, Ling,” Thana says, resting his arms on the side of the pool. “What’s… happening?”

Orm keeps her eyes on the water. “I don’t know.”

“Liar.” Sonya teases gently.

And she does. She knows exactly how Ling’s voice shakes when she’s overwhelmed, how she hides her panic behind forced calm. She knows how warm she gets when she talks about art, how her laugh sounds when she forgets to hold back. But she also knows how Ling pulls away. How she shuts her out without realizing it. How love feels like walking through a room full of broken glass barefoot, pretending she’s not bleeding.

“It’s complicated,” Orm says finally, sinking lower into the water. “There are times when… when I get her, you know? When I understand why she stays guarded. I see her trying.”

Thana listens quietly, for once.

“But then,” Orm continues, “I resent her. For not letting me help. For keeping me outside the door and expecting me to wait. And I do wait. But I don’t know if that’s healthy. Or stupid.”

Thana swims closer, pushing wet hair from her face. “Have you talked to her? Like… really talked?”

Orm shakes her head. “She gets overwhelmed easily. I don’t want to add pressure.”

“Orm,” Lookmhee says softly, “she might need you to say things she can’t say first. Sometimes love works like that.”

“But also,” Sonya adds, “you both might need space. Not breaking up or whatever... just breathing.”

Orm sighs, letting herself float on her back. The sky is almost purple now.

She envies them. All of them. The ease. The laughter. The kind of relationships that don’t feel like battles or delicate negotiations. Lookmhee and Sonya share a smile across the pool, one of those soft ones that come from years of staying, choosing each other even on bad days.

Orm wants that with Ling. She just doesn’t know if Ling can meet her there.

---------- ---------- ----------

Orm comes in just past sunset, the sky already dark but her cheeks still carrying the warmth of the afternoon she spent outside. She knocks gently on the studio doorframe instead of entering right away. It isn't her usual behavior; she always walks in, always sits on the couch behind Ling's easel, always waits for Ling to ask for her opinion even when she doesn't understand anything about oils and pigments. The fact that she's standing there, waiting for permission, already tells Ling something is different.

It was an impulse. Something Orm did to not have time to regret it.

She smells faintly of sunscreen and her hair is still a little messy. Ling notices all of it in the first second without meaning to. She's been painting since midday, shoulders stiff, eyes tired, but that first second before she even turns fully is enough.

"Can we talk?" Orm asks, almost too polite for them. Ling sets her stylus down and nods for her to come in. Orm sits on the couch, hands clasped between her knees, her posture unusually straight. There's a glow in her that Ling hasn't seen in weeks, that doesn't involve her at all.

"I'm leaving for two weeks," Orm says, not wasting time circling around it the way Ling immediately wishes she would. "To visit my parents."

Ling blinks slowly, her throat tightening in that quiet, invisible way panic always starts. "For two weeks," she repeats, as if the words might sound less heavy if she says them out loud. "Is that... possible? You just started working."

Orm nods. "I can transfer temporarily. Public clinics take rotating residents all the time. My supervisor already approved it."

There's a silence that expands like water filling a room. Ling looks at the nearly-finished canvas, an abstract commission she's been forcing herself to complete even though she's exhausted, and she suddenly hates it because instead of doing it, she could've been spending time with Orm.

"When do you leave?" the brunette asks, trying not to sound like someone who is suddenly twelve again.

"Tomorrow night," Orm answers. "I just bought the ticket."

The brunette nods again, like her body is relearning how to move. She doesn't ask why. She knows Orm needs air, space that doesn't smell like Ling's shampoo, nights that don't end with Ling deciding how close is allowed and how close isn't, mornings that begin with certainty.

She just didn't expect it to be a decision Orm made without telling her.

The blonde keeps talking. "I think it'll be good for me. To... breathe. You know?"

Ling looks at her hands, stained faintly with paint. She knows exactly what Orm means without needing the word "distance." She knows Orm is not saying the part that matters the most: I need to see if I can live without you. If I can remember who I was before us. She forces her voice to be gentle. "Two weeks isn't that long."

"It is," Orm whispers, and then corrects herself in a rush. "I mean, yes and no. But I'll still call. If... if you want."

Ling's heart clenches at the uncertainty in that last line. "Of course I want," she says, because it's the only thing she can say without breaking. She stands slowly and walks toward her, as if her body is afraid of what getting too close will mean right now. "Two weeks will go fast."

Orm gives her a tiny smile, tries to be reassuring but betrays herself in the eyes. "I hope so."

For a moment they just look at each other, the first real silence they've shared that doesn't feel like punishment. Ling knows that she should reach out, hold her hand, kiss her forehead, ask if she's trying to escape something. But she also knows that doing so would only make Orm's need for oxygen feel more justified.

"I'll help you pack," Ling murmurs softly.

Orm exhales, relieved and devastated in the same breath, and nods. "Okay."

For the first time in months, Ling realizes she has no idea what tomorrow will look like without Orm just a room away.

Chapter Text

A couple hours later, Ling hears the bathroom door open and the soft squeak of wet feet on the tile, but she doesn't look up immediately. She's stirring the sauce like it's the most delicate thing she's ever made. It isn't, but tonight everything feels unusually delicate.

Orm walks out with damp hair, wrapped in pajamas, expecting nothing more than to throw herself in bed after a long day. But she stops when she sees the small table Ling set outside: two plates waiting beneath the golden light of the balcony lamp, wine glasses half-filled, the scent of garlic and basil drifting in the cool evening air.

"You cooked?" Orm asks.

Ling simply nods, trying to look casual, pretending she didn't spend the last hour obsessing over every detail. "It'll be ready in no time," she says, almost hopeful, like maybe those words could pull Orm into her arms.

Orm stands there, hands awkwardly fidgeting against her thighs, her body screaming to move closer, to wrap herself around Ling's neck and bury her face against her shoulder just like she did before. But she doesn't.

They sit outside once the meal is ready, each bite tasting like something too meaningful for a normal Thursday night. The breeze carries the first hint of autumn. Still soft, still warm, but announcing the inevitable change. The trees rustle quietly, they're whispering that time is moving forward whether they're ready or not.

They don't speak much at first. They don't need to; everything around them is already speaking. The balcony where they had their first real conversation. The one night six months ago when Orm asked Ling something trivial and ended up telling her about her life. The first hug they shared out here, awkward, almost clumsy. Ling remembers it with an ache.

So much has happened since then: all the longing, all the nights spent too close or too far, all the words they should have said and didn't, all the love that keeps pushing through their walls even when they pretend it doesn't exist.

"So... two weeks," Ling finally says quietly, poking her fork into her plate. She doesn't look up, because she knows her eyes will give away every fear she's trying to hide.

Orm inhales slowly, staring at the city lights. "Yeah."

No one says 'I don't want to be apart', but it pulses in the space between their chairs, heavy enough to bend the air. Inside, both of them are counting the hours backwards instead of forward, each breath tied to a silent panic:

Will we be the same when you come back?

Will we still be an 'us'?

Will you miss me enough to return to me?

Will you change your mind and listen to your parents? What even am I offering you?

Orm finally meets Ling's eyes, and for just a second, everything softens again. Everything flashes there.

And the brunette thinks, painfully, that this is what loving Orm has become: holding her breath, hoping tomorrow doesn't take her away completely.

While Orm thinks: maybe distance is the only way to know if I can survive loving her without drowning in her.

Neither of them is ready. Neither of them knows how to say it, but the night before goodbye feels like standing at the edge of something huge: too early for the peak of heartbreak, but close enough to taste it.

---------- ---------- ----------

They move around the kitchen, plates passing from one pair of hands to the other, water running softly, the faint clink of cutlery almost sounding like a clock counting down the last minutes they have together. Neither of them talks much; Ling steals glances hoping Orm will meet her eyes first, but Orm keeps her attention on the soap suds, on the task, on anything that prevents her from falling apart right there next to the sink.

When they finish brushing their teeth, their reflections look strangely distant, like versions of themselves they're about to leave behind. Ling stands a little closer than necessary while she dries her face, and Orm feels her breath near her shoulder, a tug inside her chest she tries to ignore.

"My room tonight?" Ling asks.

Orm hesitates. She looks at the door, as if two weeks are already pulling her away. "I was thinking of sleeping alone," she answers. It's not meant to hurt, just a boundary she's trying to hold on to.

But Ling steps closer, close enough that their shoulders brush, and presses a tentative kiss to Orm's cheek.

When Orm turns her head just a little, watching the brunette expectantly because of the unexpected peck, Lingling leans in closer to make their lips meet and Orm doesn't, can't resist. Her willpower crumbles with one touch. She whispers like a sigh, "Don't do this to me...", so fragile that it's not credible, that it sounds performative. Ling kisses her again, a little deeper this time, guiding her softly toward the hallway as she grasps the blonde's lower lip between hers.

They fall on Ling's bed without rushing, like the sheets have been waiting for them. It isn't frantic, or hungry. The brunette touches Orm like she's memorizing her, like she's trying to hold onto every piece of her before she slips away. Breathing her in, running her hands all along the blonde's long legs that are on each side of her hips. Orm responds with the same quiet desire, letting herself feel everything she has been trying to hold back. Goosebumps soon appear.

But Ling is painfully conscious that the blonde is setting boundaries just to make them work, to feel better, to think, so she listens to her words instead of her body. She stops her hands from going under Orm's shirt, just to look at her eyes closely in case there's any signs of doubt, of regret, of not being here willingly.

The amber gaze analyzes her in search of answers, trying to understand what is going through Lingling's mind, and why there is anything else on her mind at this moment. Orm brings her hand to Ling's nape and pulls her closer just to whisper against her lips. "Please, keep going."

The brunette doubts before doing anything else. "Sure?"

And Orm can only look at her with pleading eyes and unsteady breathing. "Don't think too much about it," she strokes the mole on the older's cheek, "just do what you want to do."

Hesitation doesn't leave Ling's gesture, so Orm pulls up and kisses her slowly, lovely.

"I want this with you and no one else." The blonde reassures her through her voice. Lingling seems to let herself feel.

All along the night, there's nothing wild in the swaying of their hips, in their kissing, in their hands, but everything hurts. The heart. Because they both know that what they're sharing should be beautiful, simple, certain... and yet there's a knot in the middle of it that neither of them knows how to untangle.

They finally settle against the pillows, legs intertwined, breathing warm air against each other's skin and looking at the other's eyes.

Ling's hand slides slowly through the exposed skin of Orm's back, then presses her forehead to hers. She grabs her wrist right where the pulse beats and, without overthinking, without preparing the words, she whispers a quiet, fragile "I love you."

Orm freezes. She leans back just enough to look at Ling, searching her expression for the usual hesitation, the walls, the distance. But Ling's face is open, eyes glistening in the low light.

For a moment neither of them moves, and Orm, overwhelmed and stunned, can only stare because she had stopped hoping she would ever hear those words from Ling's mouth.

The brunette tries to hold her gaze, but the weight of what she just confessed crushes her from the inside. Her mouth opens as if she's going to repeat it, to make it sound intentional, not something that escaped her out of fear of losing Orm. Instead, her breath shakes, and suddenly she brings her hands to her face, hiding the flood she can't stop.

Orm freezes for a second, still stunned, still absorbing those three words like they were a blow and a blessing at the same time, as she watches Lingling's eyes dropping tears for the first time in half a year.

She pushes herself up on one elbow, worries filling her eyes even after everything she's forced herself to swallow. "Ling..." she whispers softly.

Ling only chokes on her own breath, shoulders trembling as if she'd been holding this storm inside for months and it finally found its way out. Orm reaches then, slowly, uncertainly, and pulls her into her arms, into her chest.

"I'm sorry," the brunette says through her hands, voice muffled. "I'm so sorry..."

"For what?" Orm asks quietly, brushing damp strands of hair from Ling's forehead, as if trying to see her again.

"I don't know how to do this," Ling sobs finally looking up, eyes red, lost and guilty. "I just... I don't know how to love you without being terrified."

Orm's heart splits. "You're trying," she whispers, her voice trembling but soft. "I know you're trying."

"I don't want to hurt you," the brunette murmurs, shaking her head like she's begging herself to wake up from her own fear. "But I keep doing it."

Orm presses a kiss to her forehead with heartbreaking gentleness. "You're not hurting me right now. And I hurt you too."

The older closes her eyes as more tears spill, letting herself sink into the blonde's arms like she's surrendering for the first time.

"You're leaving tomorrow," Ling says, voice barely there, "and I don't know what will happen next."

Orm holds her closer, swallowing her own ache. "We're going to be okay," she says, even if she isn't fully convinced. "Only two weeks. I'll count down the days."

Ling clings to her, and thinks about how much can happen in fourteen days. Orm getting used to peace, for example.

Orm kisses her temple and closes her eyes. "You love me," she says, almost to herself, barely breathing it. The brunette nods against her chest; admitting it is both a freedom and a wound.

---------- ---------- ----------

The next day, the city is still half-asleep when Ling drives toward the airport, the sky pale and undecided like it hasn’t chosen a color yet. The road hums beneath the tires.

The older’s right hand rests on Orm’s knee without thinking about it, as if it has always belonged there. Orm’s fingers play with the ring on Ling’s hand, turning it slowly, absentmindedly, like she is trying to memorize the shape of this moment. They talk about small things: what Ling plans to cook for herself, how Orm’s parents want to take her to the beach one afternoon, a show they might watch separately and then complain about together, but the words float, never fully landing. Every sentence breaks softly against the awareness of touch, of warmth, of how close they are.

They exist in a fragile bubble, careful and careless at the same time. All day they allowed themselves things they usually ration: leaning into each other, shared smiles that linger too long, knees brushing without apology. It feels like compensation, like they are trying to make up for the weeks and months spent pretending not to want exactly this.

Ling keeps her eyes on the road, but she feels Orm beside her so intensely it almost hurts. Orm feels it too, the way this quiet intimacy feels natural, the way it scares her how easy it would be to want it every day. 'Fourteen days isn’t that long', she tells herself, but it is long enough for doubts to grow, for courage to shrink, for this unspoken to harden into distance if they let it.

At the airport, everything becomes louder and faster. Rolling suitcases, overlapping voices, the brightness of departure screens.

Ling parks and steps out first, walking around to help Orm with her bag. Their hands brush again, deliberately this time, and neither of them pulls away. Ling lifts the luggage from the trunk, muscles tensing, and the blonde watches her with a softness she doesn’t try to hide. There is so much she wants to say, but all of it feels too heavy for the thin air between gates and goodbyes.

They stop near the entrance, facing each other. For a second, they just stand there, close enough to feel each other’s breath. Then Orm steps in and hugs Ling tightly, arms wrapping around her like she is afraid Ling might slip away if she loosens her grip. Ling holds her back just as firmly, chin resting against Orm’s shoulder, breathing her in like something familiar she’s afraid to forget. The kiss that follows is brief, careful, almost shy, a peck meant to say everything without saying anything at all.

The first time they do something like this outside of four walls.

When Orm finally pulls back, she smiles, a little sad and a little brave. Ling watches her go, suitcase trailing behind, and knows that fourteen days can hold a thousand possible endings and beginnings. She also knows, with a quiet certainty that settles in her chest, that this strange, aching closeness is something she wants to find her way back to.

---------- ---------- ----------

Ling spends the first three days convincing herself she likes the silence. The apartment feels cleaner, wider, as if walls finally exhale now that they are not filled with Orm's constant humming or the random way she leaves her socks near the couch, claiming she'll pick them up later but always forgetting.

The brunette wakes up, makes coffee, opens her laptop, and the quietness settles like a sheet over the rooms, familiar and yet somehow unbearable.

She's always liked quiet. She grew up in it, lived in it for years before Orm. Silence meant control, meant that nothing unexpected was coming to disturb her. Silence was safety, almost comfort. But now silence feels wrong, like a room that has lost its gravity. She catches herself thinking: 'I like quiet, but not this quiet. Not her quiet.'

She goes for a run every morning, before starting work, like she promised herself she would. She says she's running because it helps her anxiety, but she knows movement makes waiting easier.

Every time she stops, she feels the absence again, pressing against her ribs.

When she texts Orm mobile selfies post-run, cheeks flushed, Orm replies with little voice notes from her parents' house: good mornings whispered from her childhood bedroom; short updates about how her mother keeps feeding her nonstop; how her father insists she rest.

They're careful with each other, strangely polite. Good morning, good night, I miss you, I hope you slept well.

Orm's messages sound lighter, though she tries not to show too much relief. But Ling can feel it. Distance offers Orm the first deep breath she has taken in months. She doesn't have to worry if she's being too affectionate, or if she should hold herself back so the brunette won't feel pressured. For once, she doesn't have to read Ling's face every second to check if her desire is too much, if her love is leaking out more than she's allowed to show.

In quiet moments, when Orm sits outside under the fading light with her mother watering plants nearby, she realizes she isn't terrified every minute. She loves Ling fiercely, that hasn't changed and won't change, but she isn't drowning in it right now. She misses her, yes, terribly, but she can breathe.

And Ling, alone in their kitchen making dinner for one, suddenly misses all the things she used to complain about.

She opens the fridge and stares at the empty shelf where Orm usually keeps her dessert. She touches the spot, closes the fridge, and stands there, letting the apartment stay painfully quiet.

She whispers into the stillness, as if Orm could somehow hear it from kilometers away:

"Come home soon."

---------- ---------- ----------

Orm props her phone on a pillow and shifts onto her side as Ling's face fills the screen, framed by the dim light of their living room. There's exhaustion under Ling's eyes, hair in a loose bun like she hasn't bothered to brush it since her shower. For a second, neither says anything, as if they're both waiting for the other to break whatever fragile peace the distance has brought.

Orm forces a small smile, her voice low so she doesn't wake anyone in the house. "Hi."

Ling's gaze flickers off-screen for a second, like she's rehearsing how to sound casual. "Hi. You're home already?"

"Yeah. Just got in." Orm pulls the blanket up to her chin; her cheeks are warm from the wine she had, but mostly from how much she misses Ling's presence beside her. "We ate near the river. Long time since I've been there."

"I saw the stories," Ling explains, and there's no accusation in her voice, just curiosity tinted with longing. "Those people... are those childhood friends?"

Orm nods. "Yeah. Neighbors too. I haven't seen them in forever."

Ling hums, thoughtful. "They look nice."

"They are," Orm replies, eyes softening. She can read Ling even through pixels. "You don't have to worry about them, you know."

Ling swallows visibly, and the silence that follows isn't awkward, just full. "I'm not worried," she says, even though they both know the truth. "I just... like knowing about your life."

"You already know my life," Orm whispers. "More than anyone."

Ling's jealously isn't loud tonight. It's quiet, almost tender, rooted in the realization that she could have been sitting next to Orm at that table, learning stories about her childhood, hearing neighbors say out loud the things Ling has only guessed at. If they were official, if Ling hadn't built this strange almost-love around fear, they might be sharing more than video calls and longing. But she has left herself without the right to ask for more. Without the right to be jealous.

The brunette doesn't answer immediately. She bites her lip, as if holding back a feeling she's not supposed to say out loud. "It's strange. Seeing you with people I don't know. It makes me wish I was there, you know... if things were different."

"Yeah, I wish that too. But you are here," Orm says, turning her phone so Ling can see the soft sheets, the little lamp, the familiar necklace on the nightstand. "It feels like you're here."

Ling smiles this tiny, helpless smile. "Still..." her shoulders ease, but she still looks displaced, like she's watching Orm move further away without knowing how to follow. "Did you have fun?"

"I did, I needed that laugh." Orm says honestly. "But I kept thinking how you would've complained about the spicy food, or corrected my grammar in front of everyone."

Ling laughs gently, hand covering her mouth. "I would never."

"You definitely would."

They look at each other for a long moment, the video call slightly pixelated, but the affection cutting through it with painful clarity.

"I miss you," Ling says finally, almost like she's admitting defeat.

Orm's chest aches. She pushes her face deeper into the pillow. "I miss you too. I thought being away would feel very different... but most of the time it's just distance."

Ling exhales, visibly relieved. "Good. I was scared of... I don't know. Losing track of you."

"You won't," Orm promises, voice soft as a fingertip. "I don't go anywhere that far."

The brunette lets the silence hold them. "You look pretty," she murmurs suddenly, like the words escaped before she could check if they were allowed.

Orm blushes, grateful, aching. "Thank you." Her eyelids grow heavy. "I should sleep."

Ling nods, voice barely a whisper. "Can you stay for a minute? Just until I fall asleep?"

Orm hesitates, not because she doesn't want to, but because she's aware of how much power Ling still has with the smallest request. "Okay," she exhales. "Just a little."

Ling relaxes back into her pillow, eyes soft, watching Orm like she's afraid the screen might go black.

Orm listens to Ling breathe, lets the connection settle into something quiet and intimate that would feel like love if they were brave enough .

When Ling's eyelids begin to lower, Orm whispers, "Goodnight."

Ling's voice comes heavy with drowsiness. "Night... come back to me soon."

Orm ends the call with her chest burning, because Ling doesn't give promises, only longing disguised as requests. And she, foolish as ever, keeps accepting them as enough.

Since she's not sleepy yet, she keeps scrolling through her phone. Among all of the Instagram stories she doesn't care about, Teerapat's comes up. He's watching TV. And Orm remembers she owes him an apology, or at least a clarification.

may i call you?

hi, orm

everything okay? yeah, sure

She stares at Teerapat's name on the screen for a full five seconds before calling, like hesitation might still rewrite the past.

"Hey," she says first, carefully.

"Hey," he answers. He sounds tired, but calm. Not angry.

There's a pause that stretches longer than it needs to. Orm inhales slowly. She doesn't want to circle this forever.

"I wanted to call because... I owe you an apology," she says. "For not being honest sooner. About Ling and me."

He exhales on the other side. Not sharply. More like he's been holding that breath for a while.
"You don't have to," he says. "But go on."

"I should've told you there was someone else, and that it was your friend." Orm continues. "Even if I didn't know what it was yet. I shouldn't have let things stay unclear. I know I kept your hopes up."

She waits for him to interrupt her. He doesn't.

"I'm sorry for that," she adds. "Truly."

Another pause. Then Teerapat lets out a short, humorless laugh. "If I'm being honest?" he says. "I should've given up way earlier. Probably the second you never asked me out. Or invited me to eat. Or texted me for anything. I think I just liked the idea of trying," he goes on. "And I ignored everything that told me you weren't really there."

"I didn't want to hurt you," Orm says quietly.

"I know," he answers. "And you didn't do it on purpose. That counts for something. I suppose everyone's collective silence is what made it worse."

Silence again, but this one feels lighter. Less sharp.

"So," Teerapat says after a moment, forcing something casual into his tone. "Friends?"

Orm thinks about it, how "friends" could mean awkward closeness, shared spaces, old expectations dressed up as maturity. She knows, instantly and clearly, that she doesn't really want that.

"...Friends," she repeats slowly, more like a question than an answer.

"It doesn't have to mean anything big," he adds quickly. "Just... civil. Normal."

Orm swallows. Courtesy wins over honesty. "Okay," she says. "Friends."

He hums in acknowledgment, like he knows it's a compromise. "Okay," he echoes.

They don't talk much after that. A few polite sentences, a mutual "take care."

When the call ends, Orm lets the phone fall onto the bed beside her and stares at the ceiling, knowing she chose kindness over truth, and wondering how many times she's done that already.

Chapter Text

Ling wakes before the sun properly settles over the buildings. A pearl-colored quiet that makes her think the world hasn't decided who it wants her to be yet. She stares at the ceiling for a beat, then, without thinking, reaches for her phone on the nightstand. It's automatic, almost muscle memory by now. Her thumb wakes the screen before she's fully aware of what she's doing, checking notifications, checking messages, checking if Orm said good morning or sent a picture.

There's nothing yet.

And the absence hits her like a small drop of cold water behind the neck; nothing dramatic, just that tiny prick of discomfort that she doesn't like to acknowledge. She realizes her own behavior a second too late and the device suddenly feels heavy in her hand, as if it could reveal some embarrassing truth about her. Shame warms her cheeks, something too close to teenage insecurity, and she places the phone face-down, almost angrily, on the bed.

Why am I like this?

Her mind answers itself before she wants it to.

Why do I need to know every hour where she is? What she's doing? Who she's with? This isn't healthy. She's kilometers away, living her actual life, and I'm here trying to track her like she's something I could lose with the wrong gust of wind.

She sits up, pushes her hair away from her forehead, and stays still long enough to feel that pulse of anxiety low in her stomach, strangely tender, like something that shouldn't be touched too much. She inhales, long and slow, almost a plea for reason.

"Get up," she whispers to herself.

The morning air in the apartment is cool enough that she wraps her arms around herself while she walks to her closet, choosing running clothes without much thought: tight black leggings, a loose tank, the shoes she forgets she owns unless she's trying to outrun something that lives in her chest.

Her phone waits on the nightstand like an invitation she doesn't want to answer. She hesitates a moment, fingers hovering over it, tempted to bring it just in case Orm texts while she's gone, just in case she needs to know something urgently, just in case.

Then she doesn't take it.

She leaves it exactly where it is, facedown, untouched. A small rebellion, maybe even a fragile victory. Something inside her unclenches at the act of walking out the door without it. Maybe this is how you slowly begin to breathe again: one choice, nothing heroic, just distance measured in a few blocks.

Outside, the pavement is cool, the world still sleepy. Ling starts to run before her mind can ask her to look back, each step a quiet, stubborn promise to herself that she doesn't have to be someone's everything or watch every move they make to feel secure. She presses forward into the morning, into the air, into the possibility that she might learn to exist without constantly fearing absence, without confusing love with possession.

The sun rises a little more, and she runs.

---------- ---------- ----------

Ling gets home almost breathless from the run, skin still warm, hair sticking to her forehead. She drops her keys on the counter and heads toward the kitchen for a glass of water before even touching her phone. She sees the screen light up anyway, just a soft glow on the table, like it's calling her name, and she hates that she notices it from across the room.

Only after she finishes her water does she walk over and pick it up. One new message. Sent more than an hour ago. A picture of the beach near Orm's parents' house: pale sky, soft waves, a little sun flare. Under it:

good morning, ling. i hope you're having a nice friday. i'll call you later. miss you a little 🤕

The "a little" feels like a secret joke. Ling's mouth warms into a quiet smile. She sits down, still sweaty, still catching her breath, and lets the message settle in her chest like something she didn't ask for but needed.

Normally she would reply instantly, immediately, maybe too eagerly: ask what beach, who she's with, if she ate already, if she slept well. But she leaves the phone face-down and goes straight to the shower. Hot water loosens something in her shoulders, and for the first time in a while she realizes she feels... calmer. Not because she doesn't care, but because she cares too much and needs to learn how to breathe inside that feeling.

She towels off, dresses slowly, makes coffee. She stands at the window while she drinks it, watching morning light spill over the quiet street. Every now and then, she thinks about the phone waiting for her, about Orm's message waiting, about how easy it would be to fall right back into that anxious loop. But she doesn't. She finishes her coffee. She lets the silence exist.

Finally, she picks up the phone and opens the chat. Her thumbs hesitate only for a moment before she types:

good morning. it looks beautiful there. i'm glad you're having a nice day. call me whenever you can.

The message is warm but not clinging. She keeps it short, almost deceptively simple, and presses send before she can second-guess herself. Her chest aches a little with wanting more, wanting closeness, wanting to be there, but she lets the ache sit quietly instead of feeding it.

For the first time, she feels like she's choosing calm on purpose.

---------- ---------- ----------

Orm's face fills the screen while fluorescent lights hum somewhere behind her, probably the clinic's break room. She's smiling, hair tied back, a paper cup in her hand.

"Hi," she says.

Ling sits up straighter without meaning to, brushing a curl behind her ear, an old habit Orm always teases her about. "Hi," she says back, and her voice comes out steadier than she expected.

They talk about nothing at first: patients, weather, Ling complaining about a stubborn line in a painting she's been fixing. Then Orm casually mentions, "Tonight I'm going to a little party. My cousin's birthday."

There's a pause. A tiny pause that the brunette feels like a needle pressing against skin. She tastes jealousy immediately, acid, but she swallows it before it touches her words.

"Oh," she says, carefully light. "That sounds fun."

Orm blinks, almost suspicious. She expected questions. "Yeah, just... family and friends. Nothing big."

Ling smiles, though her stomach tightens. She can feel the instinct, the impulse to ask who, to ask will there be someone special, to say I wish I was there. But she catches herself. She breathes, lets the silence soften.

"I'm glad you're having a good time," gaze warm but controlled. "You deserve it."

The blonde exhales. Her shoulders drop, eyes soften; she almost looks relieved, and strangely, a little thrown off.

"You're... okay with that?" Orm asks, almost timid, like she's checking for hidden landmines.

Ling nods. "Of course. You should enjoy your time there."

Orm smiles gently, smaller now, like she's trying to understand this version of Ling; less anxious, less demanding. "I'll text you before the party starts," she says, almost offering reassurance without being asked.

Ling's heart pulls, but she nods slowly, steady. "I'll be here."

They linger longer than necessary. The camera shifts, Orm biting her lip like she doesn't want to hang up yet. Ling watches her features pixel in and out, feels something melt and ache at the same time.

"I miss you," Orm whispers, almost afraid of saying it too loudly in public.

Ling closes her eyes for one second. She keeps her voice controlled, careful not to cling: "I miss you too. Have fun tonight, okay?" the blonde nods.

When the call ends, Ling just stares at her dim reflection on the dark screen, realizing her heart is beating faster, not from jealousy this time, but from choosing not to feed it.

---------- ---------- ----------

Ling dices tomatoes on autopilot, the soft rhythm of the knife against the board the only sound in the apartment. She tosses them into a pan with olive oil and basil, something simple, something she'd make on any regular evening, but tonight feels strangely ceremonial, like feeding herself is an act of reclaiming space inside her own life.

When she sits at the table, the silence rushes in again. That familiar, heavy quiet. For a moment, she feels it like a punishment (her fault, her choices, her fear) but she breathes through it, lets her shoulders fall, and reminds herself that solitude isn't always a consequence. Sometimes it's a choice.

Later, she scrolls through the endless options of what to watch and chooses a movie she knows Orm would love. She presses play, but she doesn't reach for her phone. Not yet. She lets herself enjoy it by herself, lets herself say quietly inside her chest: I can like things on my own too.

Still, part of her aches. Her hand twitches toward her phone more than once, instinct like muscle memory. She imagines what Orm would say at certain scenes, imagines her soft laugh or the way she'd lean in closer, and the room feels warmer just from the imagining.

When the credits roll, she stretches on the couch and finally picks up her phone. She hesitates only a heartbeat before typing, choosing her words carefully.

last minute plan came up. going out with char, engfa and pat(?. have fun tonight :)

She stares at the message for a moment, noticing the strange pride she feels at not over-explaining, at letting the words be simple. When she hits send, there's a light flutter of nerves, but also, relief.

Far away, Orm's phone lights up. She reads the message, biting the inside of her cheek. A weird unwelcome twist moves through her stomach. Happy Ling's going out, but she still feels... uncomfortable.

---------- ---------- ----------

Ling snaps a mirror selfie before leaving: burgundy silk dress that covers just what's necessary of her thighs, soft waves falling over her shoulders, makeup clean and luminous. She stares at the picture longer than she should, feeling ridiculous for wanting one particular person to react. Still, she presses send.

what do you think?

Orm is leaning against a balcony rail at the reunion, drink in hand, music pulsing behind her. She opens the image and goes still. Something warm crawls up her neck. She doesn't know what she's allowed to say anymore, but alcohol softens every caution.

if i was there, i'd lift that dress up and do unholy things to you

There's a pause. A long one. Orm feels her heart drop, maybe too much, maybe she crossed a line, but then Ling replies:

hm, i wouldn't stop you

Orm exhales with a shaky little laugh, cheeks burning.

you look unreal. don't make me keep talking.

hahaha. i'll pick the guys up in a bit. should i change?

absolutely not

Ling smiles at her screen. She knows exactly what she wanted, this reaction, and the satisfaction glows warm under her ribs.

Their messages grow more heated, but not crude, just that electric language only they understand.

thinking about everything we haven't done yet

yet?

yeah. i don't think we even started. i still wanna learn

Ling feels her pulse in her neck.

i have to go. i'll text you when i'm home

leaving me like this... okay. be safe

i'll make it up to you. be safe too :)

Orm stays outside a little longer, staring at the city lights, overwhelmed by how her body responded to one photo. She's drunk enough to let her shoulders sag with honesty. Her mind drifts to those three nights with Ling, each one different:

The first: desperate, wild, almost accidental.

The second: intriguing, new, dreamy.

The third: sorrowful, slow, lovely... heartbreaking.

She realizes she remembers every detail. The way Ling looked at her, how her hands trembled a little, how Orm couldn't breathe whenever Ling allowed herself to be gentle. They were barely nights, tiny universes, unfinished, suspended. And somehow Orm knows there's more, so much more, a whole world they haven't touched yet.

Not just the physical things. The quiet ones, the morning ones, the sleepy ones. Ling letting herself fall in love without fear. Those are the things Orm wants.

Back inside, music is louder, conversations blur, but nothing really reaches her. When she takes another drink, she feels heat bloom behind her ribs again, leftover from Ling's texts, from imagining fingertips and half-whispered please. She grins to herself like she's carrying a secret.

---------- ---------- ----------

Ling is dancing, letting her arms float up while Engfa spins her in a circle and Charlotte screams-laughs at something Teerapat just said. The lights shift violet, then blue, and Ling feels, for a few seconds, almost normal. Almost someone who doesn't carry ghosts inside her ribs. One being right beside her, but she can actually share space with Teerapat. Not everything is lost.

Then her gaze snags on someone across the shifting bodies, as if her eyes were pulled rather than choosing.

A woman. One she wishes she didn't know as well as she does.

Mira stands by the bar, dark hair loose, mouth slightly parted, staring straight at her with a stillness that cuts right through the beat of the music. She looks older somehow, or maybe it's just Ling who feels like an entirely different person now. Mira doesn't look away, not even when someone touches her arm, not even when she notices Ling noticing.

The brunette swallows quickly, tries to smile, tries to pretend she hasn't seen her, turns toward Charlotte as if nothing has happened, but her hands start trembling almost immediately. Charlotte is oblivious, talking, joking, too close to notice the exact shape of Ling's silence.

Engfa notices though, just the flicker, but Ling shakes her head fast and forces a laugh she doesn't feel. The song drops into a heavier bassline, and the brunette feels her throat tightening with a panic she thought she'd buried.

Mira keeps watching like she knows something, like she wants her to remember.

Lingling needs air right now.

She taps Engfa's shoulder, leans close enough so her voice won't crack. "Do you have a cigarette?"

Engfa blinks, surprised since Ling never smokes, but nods and begins digging through her small purse. Ling keeps her eyes glued to the floor, terrified that if she looks up again, she'll crumble right here, under neon lights and too-loud music.

By the time they push through the people toward the terrace, Ling's breath is coming in small sharp bursts. She tells Engfa to stay inside. "I'm fine, just need a minute", and Engfa hesitates but nods, trusting her.

The night outside is cold against her overheated skin. Ling lights the cigarette with shaky fingers, inhaling too deeply, letting the smoke burn in her chest. And then it hits fast, violent, the memory of Mira's phone left unlocked beside her pillow. Her own sleepy fingers scrolling without thinking, and then thinking too much.

"Last time was amazing. I can't stop thinking about you."

The numbness that came first, then the anger. Then Mira crying, denying, insisting, until Ling kicked her out because she couldn't even look at her face without feeling her stomach turn.

A cold current runs through her now as she stands alone, smoke curling upward, music vibrating through the glass door behind her. She hates that her body still reacts, hates that something as stupid as being stared at can rip open every scar at once.

She closes her eyes, tries to breathe, wishes she had Orm's voice in her ear. But Orm isn't here. Mira is.

Her hands tremble as she types to Orm:

may i call you?

She hits send and waits. Not delivered. She locks her phone, unlocks it again, as if that could force something to appear. Still nothing.

She opens the chat window and notices the last-seen time: two hours ago. Her stomach drops. Her mind doesn't ask for proof; it just runs, instantly, toward the darkest corner. She feels her pulse climbing, the nausea rising, like she's about to relive everything she swore she'd never let happen again.

Before she can stop herself, she opens Instagram. A story she hadn't seen: Orm and several friends, laughing, someone pressed a little too close at her side. Too close for Ling's eyes, too close for whatever fragile thing she and Orm are pretending not to have. Ling zooms instinctively, as if closeness can be measured in pixels. She tries to be rational knowing this whole situation is rooted in wounds reopening, but she feels the world tilt into that familiar, terrifying place.

She calls: straight to bad signal. A soft beep and then nothing. Her phone screen becomes a blur. She rubs her eyes but the tears break through anyway.

She turns her face away from the doorway in case anyone comes out. She doesn't want her friends to see, or anyone. She just wants Orm to pick up, to say something steady, something that tells her she's not reliving that door slamming behind someone she loved.

Lingling presses her palm against her eyes. "Please, not again," she whispers to nobody as she takes a deep breath and exhales shakily.

A hand touches her shoulder almost careful. She turns around abruptly, heart in her throat, and Mira stands right there.