Ling told herself she wouldn't move again.
She failed.
The bus slowed suddenly — traffic, a sharp brake — and inertia did the rest. Rhea slid closer in sleep, the distance between them erased without consent or intention.
Her shoulder pressed fully into Ling's chest now.
Too close.
Ling's hand lifted instinctively, stopping just short of Rhea's waist — hovering there like a crime she hadn't committed yet. She froze, fingers curling into her palm instead.
Rhea murmured something incoherent, brows knitting faintly as if even sleep was uncomfortable for her. Her head shifted again — and this time, her cheek brushed Ling's collarbone, lips almost grazing skin.
Ling's breath caught.
Control. Now.
She adjusted herself, slow and careful, pretending it was about balance — but it wasn't. She angled her body just enough so Rhea wouldn't slide forward, her arm bracing along the seat behind her.
A cage.
Unintentional. Necessary. Dangerous.
Rhea relaxed immediately.
Her body softened against Ling's in complete trust — the kind Ling had never been offered and never allowed. Rhea's hair spilled fully now, curtain-soft, wrapping around Ling's jaw, her neck, her senses.
The scent intensified.
Ling swallowed hard.
Rhea's hand shifted in sleep — slid down, fingers curling lightly into the fabric of Ling's blazer.
That did it.
Ling's pulse spiked so violently it made her dizzy.
She looked down before she could stop herself.
Rhea's face was peaceful in sleep, lashes dark against flushed skin, lips parted just slightly. No armor. No ego. No fire.
Just her.
Ling looked away instantly, jaw clenched, throat tight.
She's not yours.
She's a threat.
She's a mistake.
Her arm tightened behind Rhea anyway, protective pressure increasing without conscious approval.
Rhea moved again, closer still — knees angling toward Ling, body fitting like it had been measured for this exact proximity.
Ling shut her eyes.
This wasn't desire.
This was worse.
This was the instinct to keep, to shield, to hold without permission — the kind that didn't ask for love because it didn't believe in choice.
Around them, the bus rolled on.
No one noticed how the space between two enemies disappeared completely — not by confession, not by decision, but by gravity and exhaustion and something neither of them was ready to name.
Ling stayed awake the rest of the ride.
Rigid. Silent. Trapped.
Letting Rhea sleep against her like a truth she refused to face.
Rina was mid-sentence, laughing softly, when Mira stopped listening.
Her gaze had fixed two rows ahead.
Ling.
Rhea.
Too close.
Mira's fingers curled slowly into the fabric of her skirt. She leaned forward just enough to confirm what her instincts were already screaming.
Rhea was asleep.
On Ling.
Ling's shoulder braced, arm caged behind Rhea, posture rigid in a way Mira had only ever seen when Ling was holding back violence.
Mira's smile didn't falter — but something inside it sharpened.
"That's interesting," Mira murmured.
Rina followed her gaze and went quiet. Her teasing grin faded, replaced by something unreadable.
Mira stood up.
She walked down the aisle casually, like she was stretching her legs, like nothing about this mattered.
Ling sensed her before she arrived.
Her spine tightened.
Mira stopped beside them and bent slightly, voice sweet, loud enough to carry.
"Rhea," she said lightly. "You should wake up. We're almost there."
Rhea stirred.
Ling's face hardened instantly — expression snapping shut like steel doors slamming.
Rhea blinked, disoriented. Her brow furrowed as awareness returned too fast. She realized where she was.
Who she was on.
She pulled back sharply.
Ling dropped her arm at the same second, reclaiming space like it had never existed. Her jaw was locked, eyes cold, distant — dominance reassembled in less than a heartbeat.
Rhea straightened, pride slamming back into place harder than necessary.
"I wasn't asleep," she said flatly.
Mira smiled. "Of course."
Ling finally looked at Mira.
The look wasn't loud.
It was worse.
A warning.
Mira held it — barely — then tilted her head, softening her tone. "Didn't want you uncomfortable, Ling."
Ling didn't respond.
Didn't thank her.
Didn't acknowledge her concern.
Her eyes flicked back to the window, dismissing both of them.
Rhea adjusted her jewellery deliberately — earrings first, bracelet second — armor back on. She didn't look at Ling, but the space where her warmth had been lingered like a bruise.
Rina watched all of it in silence.
Mira returned to her seat, nails biting into her palm.
Ling stayed perfectly still.
But inside, something ugly stirred.
Not guilt.
Not embarrassment.
Anger.
Because Mira had touched something she shouldn't have.
And because for a few stolen minutes, Ling had forgotten how to push Rhea away — and now she was being reminded, publicly, that she was losing control.
The bus rolled on.
Enemies again.
But the distance felt forced now.
And Mira knew it.
Then bus doors hissed open.
Heat, wind, and the raw scent of earth rushed in — not manicured lawns, not marble, not glass.
This was not luxury.
Students stepped down one by one, confusion spreading fast as they took in the surroundings: uneven ground, tall trees, a distant lake, nothing resembling a resort.
Ling stepped off last.
She scanned the area once — sharp, assessing — already displeased.
Rhea followed, sunglasses on, expression unreadable.
The dean clapped his hands, grinning like this chaos was intentional.
"Welcome," he announced, "to your accommodation."
Silence.
Then he gestured.
Tents.
Dozens of them.
Large, military-grade, pitched in neat but unmistakably primitive rows.
Someone laughed nervously. "Sir… where's the hotel?"
The dean smiled wider. "There is no hotel."
A beat.
"This trip," he continued calmly, "is about adaptability. Teamwork. Discomfort."
Groans erupted instantly.
Ling folded her arms. "You're joking."
"No," the dean replied pleasantly. "This is an adventure retreat."
Rhea removed her sunglasses slowly.
"Tents?" she said, voice cool. "You expect us to live in tents?"
"Yes," the dean said. "Four days."
Outrage buzzed through the group.
"And before anyone asks," the dean added, "each tent is shared by two students. Assignments are final."
Ling's jaw tightened.
Rhea's spine went rigid.
The dean handed out printed slips.
Names. Numbers.
Rina scanned hers and burst out laughing. "Oh this is going to be fun."
Mira read hers silently — then looked up, eyes already searching.
Ling unfolded her slip.
Her breath stalled for half a second.
Across the clearing, Rhea froze mid-step, eyes locked on the paper in her hand.
They looked up at the same time.
Their gazes met.
Unmistakable.
Unavoidable.
Tent 7.
Shared.
Around them, voices rose — complaints, laughter, disbelief — but everything else faded.
Ling's expression hardened into something unreadable, control snapping back into place like armor.
Rhea lifted her chin, lips curving into a sharp, defiant smile.
"Looks like," she said coolly, "your adventure just got uncomfortable."
Ling took one slow step toward her.
"Don't flatter yourself," she replied flatly. "I don't get uncomfortable."