Rhea took one step.
Then another.
The fabric resisted.
Hard.
She tugged once—annoyed. "Stupid—"
Pop.
The sound was sharp. Loud.
The top button of the jeans snapped open.
Then—
Pop.
The second one followed.
Rhea froze.
Then exploded.
"WHAT THE—"
She grabbed the waistband, face burning with pure fury. "This is YOUR fault. I told you they were tight!"
Ling stared for exactly one second.
Then she laughed.
Full-on. Head tilted back. Completely unrepentant.
"Oh my God," Ling said, wiping at her eyes. "They surrendered."
Rhea shot her a murderous glare. "Say one more word."
Ling stepped closer, still grinning. "I said your hips are wider."
Rhea clenched her jaw. "I will actually kill you."
Ling reached out instinctively—then stopped herself just short, hands raised in mock surrender.
"Okay, okay," Ling said, still amused. "Don't move."
"I can't move," Rhea snapped. "Unless you want a public disaster."
Ling's eyes flicked to the open buttons, then quickly back to Rhea's face—control snapping back into place.
"Sit," Ling ordered gently.
Rhea hesitated, then sat on the bench, arms crossed, furious and mortified.
Ling pulled off her jacket without thinking. "Tie this around your waist."
Rhea glared. "I don't need your—"
"You do," Ling said calmly. "And you know it."
Rhea yanked the jacket and tied it tightly, hiding the damage.
Silence fell.
Then Rhea muttered, "You enjoy humiliating me."
Ling crouched slightly to meet her eye level, voice low. "No."
Rhea looked up, surprised by the seriousness.
"I enjoy watching you lose control," Ling continued quietly. "Because it means you're human."
Rhea scoffed, standing carefully. "I'm leaving."
Ling stepped aside, letting her pass.
"Class is waiting," Ling said. "And no one will say a word."
Rhea paused at the door, not looking back.
"This never happened."
Ling smiled faintly. "Of course."
But as Rhea walked out—wrapped in Ling's jacket, wearing Ling's shirt, buttons undone beneath—
Ling stayed behind for a moment.
Breathing.
Then Rhea stormed back into the changing room, jacket still tied tight around her waist, eyes blazing.
"I'm not going," she snapped. "Give me another pair of jeans. I'm not taking this risk."
Ling looked up from the locker, arms crossed, utterly unbothered.
"I don't have any bigger ones," she said casually.
Rhea glared. "Then find something."
Ling's lips curved—slow, wicked.
"I didn't know I'd have to give my clothes to some fatty."
Silence.
Dead.
Rhea stared at her.
Then—
"What did you just call me?" Rhea stepped forward, fury sharp and regal.
Ling didn't back away. Didn't flinch.
"I said," Ling repeated calmly, eyes openly admiring despite the words, "your hips don't follow my measurements."
Rhea scoffed, hands clenching. "You're unbelievable."
Ling shrugged. "Accurate."
Rhea pointed at her. "You did this on purpose."
Ling stepped closer, lowering her voice. "If I did, you'd be naked by now."
Rhea's breath hitched—just for a fraction.
She recovered instantly. "You're disgusting."
Ling smiled. "And you're still wearing my clothes."
Rhea yanked at the shirt. "Only because I have no choice."
Ling leaned in slightly, voice soft but lethal. "You always have a choice. You just hate the ones that don't let you win."
Rhea held her gaze, chest rising fast. "I'll remember this."
Ling nodded. "Good."
A beat.
Ling turned and grabbed a belt from the locker, tossing it toward Rhea.
"Use this. It'll hold."
Rhea caught it, startled.
"You're still impossible," she muttered, tying it tight.
Ling's eyes followed the movement—then deliberately lifted back to Rhea's face.
"Class," Ling said evenly. "Now."
Rhea brushed past her, shoulder knocking Ling's deliberately.
"This isn't over," Rhea said.
Ling watched her go, smile faint, pulse loud.
"Oh," Ling murmured to herself,
"I know."
Rhea's eyes narrowed.
Slowly, deliberately, they slid past Ling—
Straight to the cupboard.
"Move."
Ling didn't. "What—"
Rhea shoved her aside without ceremony and yanked the cupboard open, rummaging through it like she owned the place.
Ling watched, arms crossed, amused. "You're invading private property."
"And you're a liar," Rhea snapped.
Her hand froze.
She pulled out a black trouser—soft fabric, elastic waist.
She turned, eyes blazing.
"This."
Ling's smile faltered—just a little.
"You knew this was here," Rhea accused. "You hid it."
Ling shrugged, entirely unapologetic. "I forgot."
"You forgot," Rhea repeated flatly.
Ling's gaze flicked over her—Ling's shirt, Ling's jacket, the chaos wrapped around her like a signature.
"You look cute in it," Ling said calmly. "Don't change."
Rhea's face flushed instantly. "Don't decide for me."
She stepped closer and pinched Ling's arm hard.
Ling hissed. "Ow."
Rhea smirked. "Deserved."
Ling rubbed her arm, eyes still on her. "You hit like you argue."
Rhea scoffed. "Meaning?"
"Precise," Ling replied. "And personal."
Rhea turned away to change, muttering, "You're unbearable."
Ling faced the wall again, hands in pockets, voice light.
"You're still wearing my shirt."
Rhea paused mid-change. "…I'm changing that too, when I'll get back home."
Ling smiled. "Sure."
A moment later, Rhea stepped back into view—elastic trousers fitting easily, posture restored, pride reclaimed.
She tossed Ling's jeans onto the bench. "Better."
Ling glanced at the shirt. Then at Rhea.
"Shame," Ling said softly. "I was getting used to it."
Rhea rolled her eyes, brushing past her. "Next time, don't lie."
Ling followed her toward the door. "Next time, check the cupboard first."
Rhea looked down at herself.
Ling's elastic trousers fit—too comfortably.
Ling's shirt still hung on her frame, sleeves loose, collar open.
She paused.
Rhea narrowed her eyes. "Don't look satisfied."
Ling smirked. "You're wearing my clothes. Satisfaction is unavoidable."
Rhea grabbed her bag. "You caused this."
Ling stepped aside, opening the door. "I facilitated it."
They walked out together.
Ten minutes late.
The corridor outside the lecture hall was silent—unnaturally so.
Rhea slowed. "We're late."
Ling didn't even hesitate. "I know."
She pushed the lecture hall door open.
Inside—
Students sat quietly.
Not a single notebook open.
The projector dark.
The professor stood near the podium, arms crossed, clearly waiting.
Every head turned.
Ling walked in like time bent around her.
Rhea followed—heart steady, chin high, wearing Ling Kwong's clothes like she belonged there.
Ling nodded once to the professor. "Glad."
That was all.
The professor cleared his throat immediately. "Alright. Let's begin."
Not a word of complaint.
Rhea's jaw tightened—not in anger, but disbelief.
They took their seats.
Whispers rippled through the hall.
Is she wearing Kwong's shirt?
Did Ling stop the lecture for her?
Since when does Ling teach someone?
Rhea leaned closer, voice low. "You enjoy this."
Ling didn't look at her. "I enjoy efficiency."
Rhea scoffed. "You enjoy control."
Ling finally turned her head, eyes calm, voice even quieter.
"And yet—you walked in anyway."
Rhea had no answer.
She opened her notebook.
But her pulse refused to slow.
Because sitting there, wrapped in Ling's presence, protected by Ling's authority—
Rhea realized something unsettling.