Rhea moved.
She leaned down — fast, furious, reckless — and pressed her lips against Ling's.
Not soft.
Not loving.
A collision.
Ling's breath left her lungs in one sharp gasp. Her eyes flew open, wide with shock.
For a heartbeat, time snapped.
Ling didn't move.
Didn't respond.
Didn't push her away.
Her hands hovered in the air, unsure — like touching back would break something irreversible.
Rhea pulled away just as abruptly.
Their faces were inches apart. Both breathing hard.
Ling's voice came out hoarse. "What the hell was that?"
Rhea's lips trembled — anger, not weakness. "That was me shutting you up."
Ling laughed under her breath — broken, disbelieving. "You think that worked?"
Rhea released her collar and stepped back. "Now you listen."
Ling stood slowly, eyes dark, pulse visible at her neck.
"You don't want the ring because you bent it," Rhea said. "You want it because you can't stand that something mine you are losing."
Ling snapped, "You don't know what I can't stand."
Rhea shot back, "Then stop kneeling."
Silence crashed between them again.
Ling closed the box with a sharp click.
Her voice was cold now — rebuilt. "Wear it or don't. I__ ii _ don't care."
Rhea's eyes glistened. "You care too much. That's the problem."
Ling turned away — but her hand clenched so tight her knuckles whitened.
She walked off without looking back.
Rhea stood alone by the bench, heart racing, fingers brushing her own lips — angry at herself, angry at Ling, angry that for one reckless second…
Ling didn't pull away.
And Ling — walking down the corridor — touched her mouth once, briefly, like checking if it was real.
Her breath still hadn't fully come back.
And that scared her more than anything.
Ling didn't realize she was smiling until her cheeks burned.
She stopped in the empty corridor, hand still brushing her mouth like it had betrayed her. Then she laughed — low, breathless, almost annoyed.
"Idiot," she muttered to herself.
She leaned back against the cold wall, eyes closing for a second. The image replayed — too close, too fast, too real. Her heartbeat refused to calm.
She pressed her forehead to the wall.
"Absolute fool," she whispered, laughing again, softer this time.
Rhea sat alone on the bench long after Ling disappeared.
Her anger faded first. Pride followed. What remained was something warm and stupid.
A small smile curved on her lips before she could stop it.
She covered her face with her hands, shaking her head.
"Moron," she murmured — to herself, not Ling.
Her heart still felt too loud in her chest.
Two different places.
Two stubborn souls.
Same warmth. Same foolishness.
Both convinced they were winning.
Both losing control.
Both fools — and neither willing to admit it.
Back in class, Ling dropped into her seat with a sharp scrape of the chair, jaw tight, knuckles still warm from things she refused to name.
Rina glanced at her once and sighed. "Don't start."
Ling leaned closer anyway, voice low and dangerous. "Plan. How do I get the ring back."
Rina didn't even look impressed. She flipped her pen between her fingers. "You don't."
Ling's head snapped toward her. "What do you mean I don't?"
"I mean," Rina said calmly, finally meeting her eyes, "you're acting like a teenager fighting over a bracelet. Forget it."
Ling scoffed. "I don't fight over things I don't want."
Rina raised a brow. "Liar. You want that ring more than you want air right now."
Ling opened her mouth, then shut it, irritated. "It's not about the ring."
"Sure," Rina said dryly. "And I'm the campus saint."
Ling leaned back, crossing her arms. "I just need one move. One clean move. I'll win."
Rina smirked. "You already lost the moment you knelt."
Ling shot her a glare sharp enough to cut glass. "Say that again. And how do you know?"
Before Rina could reply, Mira leaned in from the other side, voice soft, teasing. "Ling… you look tense. Want help relaxing?"
That was it.
Ling's chair screeched as she shoved Mira back without even looking at her, eyes blazing. "Don't touch me."
Mira stumbled, catching the desk behind her. "What's wrong with you?"
Ling turned then, expression cold, lethal. "Everything."
The class went silent.
Rina exhaled slowly, rubbing her temple. "Great. Queen's in one of those moods."
Ling's gaze drifted, uninvited, to the back of the room — to where Rhea sat, unreadable, untouched.
Ling looked away instantly, jaw tightening again.
"Plan later," Ling muttered. "I'll get it back."
Rina watched her for a second longer and said under her breath, "Yeah. From yourself."
The café buzzed with noise — laughter, cutlery clinking, people whispering Ling Kwong's name like it was a habit. Ling sat sprawled on the couch, one arm thrown over the backrest, coffee untouched in front of her.
Rina, Jian, Rowen, Mira — her usual circle. Power at one table.
Ling's eyes weren't on any of them.
They drifted, uninvited, to a memory — a bent ring, warm skin, a kiss that shouldn't have happened.
I'll steal it, she thought suddenly, sharp and instinctive.
Just take it. End it.
Her jaw tightened.
Then she scoffed internally and leaned back further.
Pathetic.
She shook her head once, as if shaking the thought out.
Rina noticed immediately. "What are you thinking."
Ling didn't answer.
Rina nudged her foot against Ling's shin. "Hey. Queen. I asked you something."
Ling blinked, eyes refocusing. "Nothing."
Rina's lips curved slowly. "That's never true."
Ling took a sip of coffee she didn't want. "You're imagining things."
Jian leaned forward, smirking. "She's thinking about committing a crime."
Ling shot him a glare. "You talk too much."
Rowen laughed. "She's been quiet since the locker room."
Mira tried to lean closer again, softer this time. "Is it about R—"
Ling slammed her cup down. Not loud enough to cause a scene, but enough to end the sentence.
"Don't," Ling said flatly.
The table went still.