Caught.
She turned halfway, then fully, eyes meeting Ling's. For a moment, neither of them said anything. The room felt smaller now, charged, like it had shifted around them.
Rhea's gaze flicked not shy, not bold just searching Ling's face for something she couldn't name.
Ling took one slow step forward.
Then another.
Her eyes never left Rhea's.
"Were you planning to let me admire you," Ling said quietly, "or was this supposed to be a surprise?"
Rhea swallowed. "You weren't supposed to come in that fast."
Ling's mouth curved, just slightly. "You were facing the wrong direction."
She reached out not touching yet fingers hovering near Rhea's exposed back, close enough that Rhea felt the heat before the contact.
Rhea didn't move away.
Ling's thumb finally brushed skin, just once, light, controlled tracing the line of Rhea's spine as if committing it to memory.
Ling leaned closer, voice dropping near Rhea's ear.
"You look like a decision," she said. "And I don't think I'm supposed to pretend I don't want to know what it is."
Rhea exhaled, slow and unsteady.
She guided Ling toward the small table near the window, the one she usually used for late-night studying. Tonight it looked different cleared, polished, a single bottle waiting like it knew its purpose.
"Sit," Rhea said, trying to sound confident, though her fingers betrayed her as they brushed Ling's wrist.
Ling obeyed, leaning back on the chair, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, eyes never leaving Rhea. There was something unreadable there not cold, not distant just focused.
Rhea poured the wine into two glasses. Her movements were careful, deliberate, as if she needed the ritual to steady herself. She handed one to Ling. And took sip from her own.
Ling didn't take it.
Instead, she tilted her head, a slow smile tugging at her lips.
"I don't need a glass."
Rhea frowned slightly. "Then how—"
Ling reached out, fingers closing gently around Rhea's wrist before she could finish. She pulled her closer, rough, rushed.
Rhea's breath caught.
Ling leaned in and kissed her.
It was deep, hungry, almost teasing. Ling's lips lingered, soft but intentional, and then Rhea felt the warmth of the wine as Ling took a sip directly from her mouth, careful not to spill, like it was a secret they were sharing rather than a trick.
When Ling pulled back, her forehead rested lightly against Rhea's.
"See?" she murmured. "Much better."
Rhea laughed breathlessly, cheeks flushed, heart racing. "You're impossible."
Ling's thumb brushed along Rhea's jaw, slow, grounding. "And you planned all this anyway."
Rhea didn't deny it. She set the glass down, her other hand coming to rest on Ling's shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of her blazer.
The room felt warmer now not because of the wine, but because the air between them had shifted. The lights glowed softer. The world outside the window didn't matter.
Ling looked up at her, eyes steady, voice low.
"So," she said, "what were you really waiting for me to notice tonight?"
Rhea swallowed, courage gathering in her chest like a held breath the kind you take right before you jump.
Rhea walked to the speaker and turned the volume low, just enough for the music to seep into the room rather than announce itself. It was slow, warm the kind of song that wrapped around you instead of pulling you to dance. Soft lights reflected off the flowers and ribbons she had spent hours arranging, shadows moving gently across the walls.
Ling extended her hand without a word.
Rhea hesitated only for a second before placing her fingers into Ling's. The moment their hands touched, Ling tugged her closer, not abruptly, but with quiet insistence. Rhea found herself standing far nearer than necessary, her chest brushing Ling's, her breath already uneven.
They began to sway.
At first it was awkward Rhea's steps unsure, her mind too loud. But Ling's hand settled firmly at her waist, thumb pressing just enough to guide her, to tell her I've got you. Rhea's other hand rested on Ling's shoulder, feeling the steady strength beneath the blazer.
"You decorated all this," Ling said softly, her voice close to Rhea's ear. "Why?"
Rhea swallowed.
She tried to answer, truly tried. Her mouth opened, but no sound came. Her thoughts tangled the fear of saying too much, the fear of saying it wrong, the fear of losing this exact moment if she named it.
Ling noticed.
She pulled Rhea even closer, closer than the slow song required, closer than politeness allowed. Their foreheads nearly touched now.
"Hey," Ling murmured, not teasing this time. "You don't have to rush."
Rhea's fingers tightened in Ling's blazer. Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs. She shook her head slightly, frustrated with herself.
"I had things planned," Rhea finally whispered. "Words. Timing. Everything."
Ling's brows knit together, her tone gentler. "And now?"
"And now you're looking at me," Rhea said, voice breaking just a little, "and I forgot how to speak."
For a moment, Ling didn't say anything. She simply moved her hand up Rhea's back, slow and grounding, matching the rhythm of the music. The room felt suspended in time no past, no future, only the quiet space they were sharing.
Ling leaned down just enough for her forehead to rest against Rhea's temple.
"You don't need perfect words," she said. "I'm already here."
Rhea closed her eyes, breathing her in, letting the music carry what she couldn't yet say. Her body relaxed despite her racing thoughts, trusting the closeness even as her heart ached with unsaid truths.
They kept swaying, slow and close, the decorations glowing softly around them a confession waiting patiently in the air, unfinished but alive.
They danced for a while longer, the music looping softly as if it, too, didn't want to interrupt them. Ling's movements were relaxed, confident, but her eyes wandered not out of boredom, not out of distraction out of instinct.
Dance ended.
That was when she noticed it.
A small velvet box, deep and muted in color, resting near the edge of the table. Too deliberate to be decoration. Too careful to be random.
Ling's steps slowed.
Her gaze flicked from the box to Rhea's face, searching. Something shifted in her expression curiosity first, then a quiet, unreadable stillness. She loosened her hold just enough to lean sideways, reaching toward the table.
Rhea noticed immediately.
"Ling—" she said too fast.
Before Ling's fingers could touch it, Rhea moved, almost panicked. She stepped forward, grabbed the box in a hurry but her hand slipped. The velvet box slid from her grasp and dropped silently onto the carpet, disappearing beneath the table.
The room went still.
Rhea froze for half a second, then bent down quickly, her back turned to Ling as she knelt to retrieve it. The lights caught the curve of her spine, the open back of her dress revealing skin she rarely showed. Just above the small dip at her lower back, there it was the mole Ling knew too well, subtle and unmistakable, like a secret the body refused to hide.
Ling didn't think.
She stepped closer, the music still playing, her shadow falling over Rhea. As Rhea reached under the table and found the box, she felt warmth not imagined, not distant.
Lips brushed her spine.
Just once.
Soft. Unannounced. Exactly where the mole was.
Rhea inhaled sharply, her fingers tightening around the velvet box. A shiver ran through her, not from surprise alone, but from the intimacy of being seen so completely in such a small moment.
She straightened slowly, turning back to face Ling, the box clutched behind her as if it could disappear if she looked away.
Ling's eyes were dark now, unreadable but intense, her voice low.
"You hide things badly," she said, not accusing almost fond.
Rhea tried to smile. It came out shaky.
"It's not—" she began, then stopped. Her heartbeat was loud in her ears. "I wasn't ready."
Ling studied her face, then the way Rhea held the box as if it were fragile. Instead of pushing, instead of asking the obvious question, she lifted her hand and brushed a strand of hair away from Rhea's face.
"Then don't rush," Ling said quietly.
Rhea swallowed, emotions crowding her chest fear, hope, love, all tangled together.
She nodded once, holding onto that promise, even as the unopened box pressed warm against her palm, waiting for the moment Rhea would finally be brave enough to open it.
Ling spun Rhea once before pinning her lightly against the nearby wall, their bodies aligning Rhea's softness pressing into Ling's firm abs beneath the beige shirt.
"Tell me," Ling whispered, her free hand sliding up Rhea's bare back, fingers tracing the exposed skin from the nape down the spinal groove, feeling the subtle ridges of vertebrae under smooth flesh.
"Does this make your heart race? My touch here, where no one else gets to see."
Rhea's breath hitched, her body arching instinctively into the caress. "Y-yes... Ling, it's...."
"Good. I want you feeling every inch of me." She leaned in, lips brushing Rhea's ear. "You're so responsive."
Ling pulled her tighter, their chests brushing Rhea's fuller curves against Ling's athletic build. "Feel that?" Ling murmured during a dip, her face inches from Rhea's. "How we fit? Like we were made for this."
Rhea's breath hitched instantly.
Ling didn't kiss her. That was what made it worse the restraint. Her eyes searched Rhea's face, serious now, no teasing curve to her lips, no easy grin to soften the moment.
"You're shaking," Ling said quietly.
Rhea swallowed. "I'm not."
Ling didn't argue. Instead, her hand slid slowly down Rhea's arm, fingertips barely touching skin, as if mapping nerves rather than claiming territory. When her fingers reached Rhea's back, she traced upward, following the line of her spine with deliberate care.
Rhea's breathing turned uneven, shallow inhales that betrayed her far more than words ever could.
Ling felt it.
Her thumb paused at the small dip in Rhea's lower back, just where she'd kissed her moments ago. She lingered there, grounding, invading like she was reminding Rhea that she was present, real, steady.
"Look at me," Ling murmured.
Rhea did. Her eyes were glossy, emotions crowding behind them love, fear, anticipation, all tangled together. Her hands hovered uncertainly near Ling's chest, not pushing, not pulling.
Ling leaned closer, forehead resting against Rhea's, their noses nearly touching.
"You decorated all this," she said softly, not accusing. "You dressed like this. You hid something from me."
Rhea's chest rose and fell rapidly. "I wanted it to be perfect."
Ling's voice dropped even further. "For me?"
Rhea nodded. Once. Small. Honest.
Ling exhaled slowly, as if steadying herself. Her hand continued tracing Rhea's back, slow circles, staying where Rhea had allowed her before.
"I won't take what you don't give," Ling said, serious now in a way that left no room for doubt. "But don't pin all this inside your chest either. It'll suffocate you."
Rhea's fingers finally curled into Ling's blazer, holding on like she needed the fabric to keep her upright.
"I was scared," she whispered. "Not of you. Of ruining it."
Ling's grip softened immediately. She pulled back just enough to look at Rhea fully, her thumb brushing away the tension between Rhea's brows.
"You won't ruin us by wanting me," Ling said. "You'd only ruin us by not trusting me with it."
Rhea nodded again, a tear threatening but not falling. Her breathing slowly began to steady as Ling stayed there close, present, patient still pinning her physically, but giving her every inch of emotional space she needed.
The music kept playing in the background, forgotten, while the moment settled into something heavier than desire.
Something that felt like a turning point.
Ling yanked Rhea flush against her, one arm banding around her waist. "I wanna smear that maroon lipstick,"
Ling growled, eyes darkening with feigned hunger. "Make it mine."
She had barely finished the sentence when she leaned in and kissed Rhea.
It was sudden. Too sudden.
Her mouth was firm, overwhelming, driven by emotion rather than intent. Rhea's hands came up instinctively, pressing against Ling's shoulders, not in desire but in alarm. Her breath caught, chest tightening as the kiss stole air instead of sharing it.