Ling pulled the mask away in one smooth motion.
Her face was revealed under the lights.
Sharp. Familiar. Devastating.
Rhea froze.
Her eyes went wide, breath leaving her completely.
No hallucination.
No doubt.
No escape.
It was Ling.
Alive. Real. Standing inches away from her.
Ling saw it then—the recognition.
The way Rhea's pupils dilated.
The way her lips parted unconsciously.
The way her hands trembled before she could hide them.
The world narrowed to that single reaction.
Ling's control fractured.
"Rhea—" she breathed before she could stop herself.
Too late.
The name hung between them like a confession.
Rhea's chest hitched violently.
Her hands came up, not to push away—but to grip Ling's vest as if she were the only thing keeping her upright.
"Ling…" Rhea whispered, voice breaking despite herself.
The judges leaned forward. The crowd held its breath.
Ling didn't wait.
She pulled Rhea fully against her, one arm crushing her closer at the waist, the other sliding up to cradle the back of her head. Not rough. Not gentle.
Desperate.
Their lips met.
The kiss was not slow.
It was not exploratory.
It was survival.
Rhea melted instantly, months of restraint collapsing in one breath. Her fingers clenched into Ling's clothes, grounding herself, needing her. Tears slid down her cheeks, pressed warm between them.
Ling felt it—and broke completely.
She kissed her like she'd been starving. Like she'd been holding herself back for too long. Like every night alone, every drink, every memory had been leading here.
The world disappeared.
The crowd blurred into noise.
The judges vanished.
Time lost meaning.
Ling's grip tightened reflexively when Rhea's knees weakened. She held her up effortlessly, refusing to let her fall, kissing her deeper instead.
Rhea sobbed softly into Ling's mouth, but she didn't pull away. She clung harder.
Seconds passed.
Then minute.
One pair broke apart early.
Another staggered back, breathless.
Only two remained.
Ling and Rhea.
Ling finally pulled back just enough to breathe, foreheads pressed together, noses brushing.
"You're real," Ling murmured, voice shaking for the first time in four months.
Rhea nodded, tears streaming freely now. "I never left," she whispered. "I just… couldn't reach you."
Ling kissed her again before she could finish.
Longer. Steadier. Possessive in a way that made the truth undeniable.
The host's voice eventually cut through, awed.
"We have our winners."
Applause erupted, wild and deafening.
Ling didn't care.
They stood there, exposed, victorious, undone.
And for the first time since the jet took off—
They were seen.
Ling pulled back.
It was instinct, not choice—the last shard of control she still possessed snapping into place. Her breathing was uneven, her hands still firm at Rhea's waist as if letting go might undo gravity itself.
Rhea's eyes were wet. Wide. Awake in a way she hadn't been for months.
For one suspended second, they stared at each other—barefaced now, exposed under the lights, the crowd roaring somewhere far away like a storm beyond glass.
Then reality crashed back in.
Rhea's expression changed.
The softness vanished.
The need folded inward, sharp edges replacing it—rage, hurt, betrayal all rushing in at once, too heavy to breathe through.
Rhea shoved at Ling's chest—hard.
"Don't," she said, louder now. "Don't touch me."
Ling staggered half a step back, shock flashing across her face before it hardened into something colder.
"Rhea—"
Rhea laughed once, sharp and broken. "No. You don't get to say my name."
The crowd was still cheering, unaware, intoxicated by the performance they thought they'd witnessed. Judges were on their feet. Cameras flashed.
Rhea ripped her hands away from Ling's wrists.
"You left," Rhea said, tears spilling freely now. "You disappeared. You chose to vanish and let me drown, and now you—now you do this?"
Ling's jaw clenched. "You promised to leave me forever. Don't rewrite history."
Rhea's breath hitched. "I did it so you could live."
"And I died anyway," Ling snapped.
"I hated you every day," Rhea said hoarsely.
Ling reached out without thinking.
Rhea stepped back instantly, panic flaring in her eyes.
"Don't follow me," she said. "Don't."
Ling's hands curled into fists at her sides.
Ling said, voice low, dangerous. "You always run."
Rhea's lips trembled. "Because staying with you destroys me."
For a heartbeat, neither moved.
Then Rhea turned.
She pushed through the edge of the stage, ignoring calls from staff, ignoring the confused shouts behind her. She tore the red band from her wrist and let it fall to the floor as she ran, heels slipping, breath tearing out of her chest. She took mask out and threw it away.
Ling watched her go.
Every instinct screamed to chase.
Her feet stayed planted.
The host's voice cracked through the speakers, forced cheer faltering. "Uh—ladies and gentlemen, please remain calm—"
Ling didn't hear the rest.
She bent slowly, picked up the fallen red band, and closed her fingers around it until it cut into her palm.
Rina appeared at her side, face pale. "Ling… that was—"
"Don't," Ling said sharply.
Rina fell silent.
Ling looked once toward where Rhea had vanished through.
Her chest burned. Her throat tightened. Her eyes stung—but she refused to let the tears fall here.
Not now.
Not in front of anyone.
"She's still running," Ling said to no one, voice flat. "And I'm still the mistake."
The applause faded into awkward murmurs.
The celebration died on its feet.
Somewhere, Rhea burst through the doors, gasping, hands shaking as she pressed them to her mouth to keep from screaming.
She didn't stop running until her lungs ached.
Behind her, Ling remained under the lights—unmoving, undefeated, shattered.
They did not make up.
They did not resolve anything.
They only proved one devastating truth:
Four months apart had taught them how to pretend to hate each other.
But one moment was all it took to remember how badly they could still lose control.