The days that followed their rooftop night seemed dipped in sunlight.
Iris and Luna moved in a rhythm that felt natural—sharing morning coffee, teasing each other while doing groceries, sketching together in quiet afternoons. The apartment, once filled only with Iris's scattered brushes and the hum of her laptop, now held Luna's laughter, her soft humming as she cooked rice, her clothes folded neatly beside Iris's in the cabinet.
It was domestic, ordinary—and yet, to Iris, it felt like a dream.
One Saturday, Iris tugged Luna toward a small café tucked in a quiet corner of Makati. The walls were covered with framed sketches and paintings from local artists.
"Exhibit-slash-coffee shop," Iris explained. "I thought you'd like it."
Luna arched a brow. "You're mixing your worlds now—art and food."
"Exactly." Iris grinned, pulling her toward the counter. "Two Spanish lattes, please. And a slice of cheesecake."
They settled into a corner table, sunlight spilling through tall windows. Iris sipped her coffee, watching Luna study the artwork on the walls.
"Do you ever get jealous?" Luna asked suddenly.
"Of what?"
"Of other artists. The ones who hang their work here. The ones already recognized."
Iris tilted her head. "Sometimes. But… then I remember I don't want to be them. I want to be me. Even if it's slower, harder."
Luna smiled faintly, eyes soft. "I envy that certainty."
Iris reached across the table, brushing her fingers over Luna's. "You'll find yours too. And if you don't, then… we'll create one together."
Luna looked at her, startled. Then her hand tightened around Iris's. "You don't even know what you're offering."
"Maybe not," Iris said gently. "But I know I want you."
Their gaze lingered, long enough for the barista to cough politely as he set down their cheesecake. Both girls laughed, cheeks warming.
But in Luna's eyes, Iris caught something else—something almost like fear.
After the café, Iris insisted on walking instead of taking a cab. They passed a small crowd gathered around a street musician. He strummed a guitar, his voice rough but soulful.
Luna slowed, her hand tightening around Iris's.
"You okay?" Iris asked.
"Yes," Luna whispered. But her gaze stayed fixed on the guitar, her face unreadable.
The man sang of longing and distance, of stars as silent witnesses. And for a moment, Luna's expression cracked. A shadow crossed her eyes, one Iris hadn't seen before.
Iris squeezed her hand. "Come on. Let's keep walking."
Luna nodded quickly, almost too quickly.
That night, Iris painted the scene from memory—Luna's silver eyes shimmering with something unspoken under the glow of streetlamps.
Later, they lay side by side on the rooftop blanket. Luna was quiet, unusually so.
"You've been far away tonight," Iris said softly.
Luna turned her head. "Iris… if there are things about me you don't know, would you still—" She stopped herself, biting her lip.
"Still what?"
"Still want me around?"
Iris shifted closer, cupping her cheek. "Luna. You could tell me you've lived ten lives, or that you've been running from the moon itself, and I'd still want you. Do you hear me?"
For a moment, Luna looked like she might cry. But instead, she kissed her—soft, slow, like a silent vow.
When they parted, she whispered, "You'll regret saying that."
Iris frowned. "Never."
But in Luna's eyes, there was a flicker of sorrow Iris didn't understand.
The following week, Iris returned from a grocery run to find Luna standing by the apartment window, pale and stiff.
"What's wrong?" Iris asked, dropping the bags.
Luna's gaze was fixed on the street below. "Someone was watching."
"Watching?" Iris rushed over. "Who?"
"I don't know," Luna whispered. "But… I've felt it before. That shadow. It's never far."
Her hands trembled. Instinctively, Iris pulled her into her arms.
"No one's taking you away," Iris said fiercely. "Not while I'm here."
Luna clung to her, burying her face against Iris's shoulder. "You don't understand. If it's who I think it is… they already know where I am."
Iris's pulse raced, but she held her tighter. "Then let them come. We'll face it together."
For a long moment, neither moved. Only the sound of their breaths, steadying in unison, filled the room.
But outside, in the shadows of the street, a figure lingered briefly before slipping away into the night.
And though Iris didn't see, Luna did. And she knew: her past was catching up.
That night, Iris insisted they sleep close. Wrapped in each other, Luna finally whispered, "Iris… if I have to leave one day, will you—"
"No," Iris interrupted firmly. "Don't say it. You're not leaving. Not unless I'm leaving with you."
Luna trembled. Then, almost desperately, she kissed her—no hesitation, no restraint. The kiss deepened quickly, filled with urgency, heat, the kind of intimacy born not just of desire but of fear of losing.
Iris responded in kind, pulling Luna closer, until the world outside didn't matter. The night became theirs, a fierce promise carved into touch and breath.
When at last they lay still, bodies tangled, Luna whispered, "You make me believe I deserve this."
"You do," Iris said, brushing her thumb over her cheek. "Every bit of it."
Luna smiled, faint and fragile. But in her eyes, Iris saw the storm gathering.
And she knew their love story was only beginning to be tested.
Sunlight filtered gently through the curtains. Iris woke first, her arms still wrapped around Luna, whose head rested against her chest. For a moment, Iris didn't move—just memorized the warmth, the way Luna's lashes curled softly against her cheeks, the subtle rhythm of her breathing.
She reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Luna's ear. Luna stirred, silver eyes blinking open slowly.
"You're staring," Luna murmured, her voice husky with sleep.
"I'm memorizing," Iris admitted. "In case the stars steal you back."
Luna gave a soft, sleepy laugh. "You're hopeless."
"Hopelessly in love," Iris corrected, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
Luna's smile faltered briefly, almost imperceptibly, as though Iris's words carried a weight heavier than Iris realized. But she didn't respond—she only snuggled closer, letting Iris hold her tighter.
Later that morning, they decided to do groceries together. Iris insisted on pushing the cart, while Luna scanned the aisles with surprising precision.
"You cook better than me," Iris teased, watching Luna select vegetables.
"I cook for survival," Luna replied. "You… paint for survival."
"That's romantic."
"It's true." Luna dropped a packet of noodles into the cart. "You live through colors. I live through silence."
Iris stopped, tilting her head. "But you're not silent with me."
Luna froze, then softened. "You're the exception."
The words made Iris's chest ache in the best way.
At the checkout, the cashier smiled at them. "You two look good together. College friends?"
Before Iris could answer, Luna said evenly, "She's mine."
Iris blinked, heat rushing to her face. The cashier laughed awkwardly, handing over the receipt.
The walk home was quiet until Iris finally teased, "You're possessive."
Luna's lips curved faintly. "Only when it matters."
That evening, they decided to cook instead of ordering takeout. Iris was tasked with chopping onions, though she quickly regretted it.
"My eyes are dying!" Iris groaned, blinking rapidly.
"Here," Luna said, gently taking the knife from her. "Let me."
Iris leaned against the counter, watching Luna's sure, graceful movements. "You look… natural like this. Like you've done it a thousand times."
Luna chuckled softly. "Maybe I have."
When dinner was ready—garlic rice, grilled fish, and stir-fried vegetables—they ate at the small table, legs brushing under the wood. Iris couldn't stop smiling.
"This feels like…" Iris trailed off.
"Like home?" Luna finished.
Iris's throat tightened. She nodded. "Yes. Exactly."
Luna's gaze softened, but a flicker of sadness lingered. "Iris… promise me something."
"Anything."
"If home changes… will you still stay?"
Iris reached across the table, holding her hand firmly. "Wherever you are, that's home. So yes. Always."
After dinner, Iris turned on her old speaker and let a playlist shuffle. A slow, mellow song filled the apartment.
"Dance with me," Iris said suddenly.
Luna blinked. "Here? In the kitchen?"
"Why not?" Iris tugged her gently. "Come on."
Hesitant at first, Luna let Iris guide her hands. They swayed between the table and the counter, bare feet brushing the tiled floor.
Luna's eyes softened as the music carried them. "I've never danced like this before."
"Then remember this one," Iris whispered, pressing her forehead to Luna's. "Because it's ours."
They moved slowly, wrapped in each other, until the song ended. But neither let go.
Instead, Luna kissed her, gentle at first, then deepening—hungry, almost desperate. Iris responded without hesitation, pulling her closer until the music and the world fell away.
When they broke apart, Luna's lips were trembling. "Iris… I don't know how long I can hold this."
"Hold what?"
"This life. This… peace."
Iris cupped her face. "Then we'll fight for it. Together."
Later that night, as they lay in bed again, Luna traced idle patterns on Iris's arm.
"I was alone for so long," Luna whispered. "I thought that was my fate. To just… exist, never belong."
"And now?" Iris asked softly.
"Now I feel greedy," Luna admitted. "Because I want more. I want mornings with you. Nights with you. Every stupid grocery trip and every messy painting you make. I want all of it. And that terrifies me."
Iris pulled her closer, pressing her lips to Luna's temple. "Then be greedy. Because I want the same. And I'm not letting you go."
Luna shut her eyes, a single tear escaping. "Don't say that unless you mean it."
"I mean every word."
For a long time, they lay in silence, holding each other. Outside, the city hummed with distant traffic. Above, the stars glittered faintly through the thin curtains—witnesses to their fragile, growing love.
And in the shadows of the night, something unseen stirred. Watching. Waiting.