Ling went beside rhea she lay down beside her.
Careful. Measured. As if the space itself might protest her presence.
The blanket rose and fell between them, shared now, warm with Rhea's quiet breathing. Ling turned onto her side, facing her, eyes tracing the familiar unfamiliar all over again.
So close.
Too close.
Her gaze drifted downward despite herself. She reached out slowly—hesitated—then began removing the jewelry one by one, gentle fingers working with an almost reverent restraint. Earrings first. Then the bracelet. Each soft clink sounded louder than it should have in the quiet room.
When her hand paused near Rhea's waist, her breath caught.
The faint glint of the navel piercing peeked from beneath the net fabric.
Ling froze.
A thought—uninvited, dangerous—slid through her mind which she thought in the same room a while ago. The image of lips there. Of warmth. Of closeness that had nothing to do with control and everything to do with surrender.
Her jaw tightened.
"No," she whispered to herself, almost angry. "I won't."
She pulled her hand back immediately, as if even the thought was a betrayal. Her rules snapped back into place, brittle but intact.
Instead, she lifted her hand higher.
She cupped Rhea's cheek.
Warm. Soft. Real.
Ling's thumb brushed lightly along Rhea's jaw, that softness she loved—no sharp edge, no armor. Just skin that gave under her touch. Her breathing slowed despite herself.
She leaned in before she could overthink it.
Their noses touched.
Barely.
Ling's breath mingled with Rhea's, shallow and unsteady now. Her eyes fluttered shut, not in sleep, but in surrender to the moment she refused to name.
So close she could feel the warmth of Rhea's skin.
So close she could ruin everything.
Ling stayed there, unmoving, holding herself back with every ounce of discipline she had ever mastered.
"I won't," she whispered, voice trembling—not a promise to Rhea, but a warning to herself.
Still, she didn't pull away.
She stayed—forehead nearly touching, noses brushing, heart pounding far too loud for someone who claimed she wasn't falling.
And in that fragile, breath-held space between restraint and desire, Ling Kwong learned the most dangerous truth of all:
Not touching her took more strength than anything she had ever done.
Ling drifted into sleep without realizing when it happened.
The tension finally loosened its grip, exhaustion pulling her under like a quiet tide.
Sometime in the night, Rhea moved.
Not awake—instinctive. Drawn by warmth.
She turned toward Ling, fingers curling into the fabric at Ling's collar as if searching for something solid, something safe. Her face tucked into the hollow of Ling's neck, breath warm and soft against her skin.
Ling stirred—but didn't wake.
Her body responded before her mind ever could.
An arm slid around Rhea's waist, firm, protective. Then the other. She pulled Rhea closer, tight enough to shield, gentle enough not to wake her. Her chin dipped, resting lightly against Rhea's hair.
In sleep, Ling held her like she was afraid the world might take her away.
Rhea's hand relaxed against Ling's chest, heartbeat steady beneath her palm. Her breathing evened, syncing unconsciously with Ling's.
Neither knew who moved first.
Neither would remember choosing this.
But by morning, they will be tangled together—Rhea curled into Ling's body, Ling wrapped around her like an unspoken vow.
No dominance.
No revenge.
No walls.
Just two hearts holding on in the dark—
long before either was brave enough to admit why.