By the time Ling entered the classroom, the lecture hadn't started yet—but the room was already alive with noise.
Zifa and Rowen were arguing quietly over something on a tablet. Jian and Rina sat a row behind, heads close together. A few others laughed, bags half-open, phones out.
And then Ling saw her.
Rhea sat near the window.
Straight-backed. Composed. Mask on perfectly.
Roin was beside her, leaning in slightly, saying something low enough that only she could hear.
Rhea didn't look up when Ling walked in.
Not even for a second.
Ling felt it like a hit to the ribs—but her face stayed unreadable. She walked down the aisle without hesitation, stopped beside their row, and looked directly at Roin.
"Stand," Ling said calmly.
The word wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
Roin looked up, startled. "What?"
Ling didn't repeat herself. She just held his gaze—cold, flat, unblinking.
The room around them quieted without anyone realizing why.
Rhea stiffened. "Ling—"
Roin glanced at her, then back at Ling. His jaw tightened, but he stood anyway, pushing his chair back. "I was sitting here."
Ling finally spoke again. "You're not anymore."
Roin scoffed under his breath. "You don't own—"
Ling leaned in just enough for only him to hear. Her voice was low, precise, dangerous.
"Move. Before you embarrass yourself."
Roin clenched his fists, eyes dark with resentment—but he stepped aside.
Ling took the seat without another word.
Close.
Too close.
Their arms almost touched.
Rhea's gaze stayed forward, fixed on nothing. Her jaw was set, lips pressed together like she was holding something back.
Ling sat straight, bag placed neatly at her feet. She didn't look at Rhea at first. Didn't reach. Didn't speak.
The professor walked in.
Still—nothing.
Then Ling leaned slightly, just enough that only Rhea could hear.
"You didn't sleep," Ling murmured.
Rhea's fingers curled around her pen. "You shouldn't be here."
Ling's eyes stayed forward. "Too late."
Rhea finally turned, just a fraction. "I said I needed space."
"And I gave it," Ling replied quietly. "I didn't follow you. I didn't text."
Rhea swallowed. "Then why are you sitting here?"
Ling turned her head then, meeting Rhea's eyes fully for the first time that morning.
"Because I'm not giving him the space you asked for from me."
Rhea's breath hitched—but she didn't look away.
Around them, the squad exchanged glances.
Zifa leaned back slightly, murmuring to Rowen, "Oh, this is bad."
Rowen muttered, "No. This is personal."
Rhea faced forward again, voice low and tight. "Don't make this a scene."
Ling's knee brushed hers—intentional, grounding. "I won't," she said. "Unless he tries again."
Rhea whispered, barely audible, "You're impossible."
The lecture began.
No one took notes properly.
And between Ling and Rhea, the air stayed taut—thick with everything they hadn't said, everything they still wanted, and the very real knowledge that neither of them was ready to let go.
The lecture ended abruptly.
Chairs scraped back, voices rose, the room loosened all at once like a breath finally released. Ling turned slightly toward Rhea, already about to speak—about anything, even something stupid, just to bridge the silence that had sat between them for two hours.
She didn't get the chance.
"Coffee?" Roin asked casually, already standing, already leaning a little too close.
Rhea didn't look at Ling.
She nodded. "Yeah."
That was it.
She started to gather her things, movements efficient, detached—like this decision had been made long before the question was asked.
Ling's hand shot out before she could stop herself.
Her fingers closed around Rhea's wrist—not rough, not gentle either. Just firm enough to be unmistakable.
"We'll go together," Ling said.
The room hadn't fully emptied yet. Zifa noticed. So did Rina. So did Roin.
Rhea froze for half a second.
Then she turned, eyes flashing—not angry, not cold, just painfully guarded. "I can go myself."
Ling's grip loosened instantly, like she'd been waiting for the refusal. "Rhea—"
Rhea pulled her hand free. "Don't," she said quietly. "Not here."
She didn't wait for an answer.
She walked past Roin, then paused just long enough for him to fall into step beside her. They left together, disappearing into the corridor filled with noise and movement and distance.
Ling stayed where she was.
Her jaw tightened hard enough that it ached. A muscle ticked in her cheek as she watched Rhea's back disappear—not once turning around.
Zifa exhaled slowly from a few rows away. "Oh, that was… bad."
Rina glanced at Ling, concern etched across her face. "Ling—"
"I'm fine," Ling said automatically.
She wasn't.
Her hand curled into a fist at her side, nails digging into her palm, grounding herself through the familiar sting. She didn't move. Didn't follow. Didn't call out.
Because Rhea had asked for space.
And Ling Kwong, despite everything, was still trying to respect it—even as it burned.
She picked up her bag and walked out.
She went to the café with the squad because stopping would've meant thinking.
The place was crowded—students laughing, cups clinking, music low and irritatingly cheerful. Ling ordered black coffee she didn't want and stood off to the side, posture rigid, expression unreadable.
Zifa watched her carefully. "You look like you're one comment away from committing a felony."
Rowen muttered, "Or three."
Ling didn't respond.
Rina stayed close, quiet for once, like she knew words would only snap something thinner than it already was.
They had barely sat when Mira appeared.
Perfect timing. Of course.
"Ling," Mira said brightly, sliding into the empty space beside her without asking.
Ling didn't look at her. She lifted her cup, took a slow sip, eyes fixed ahead.
Mira leaned closer anyway, voice lowering. "You disappeared last night. I was worried."
Ling finally turned her head—just enough.
"I didn't ask you to be," she said flatly.
The table went still.
Mira blinked, a smile faltering but not disappearing. "I just meant—"
"I know what you meant," Ling cut in, tone calm but sharp enough to draw blood. "And I'm not interested."
Zifa raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. Rina stiffened, already bracing.
Mira laughed lightly, trying to recover. "You don't have to be so cold. I was only trying to keep you company. You seem… stressed."
Ling set her cup down slowly. "Then don't add yourself to the list of problems."
That did it.
Mira's smile finally cracked. "Wow. Someone's in a mood."
Ling leaned back in her chair, eyes finally meeting Mira's—dark, controlled, warning-clear.
"This isn't a mood," she said quietly. "It's a boundary. Respect it."
Silence stretched.
Rowen coughed into his sleeve. "Uh—coffee's great today."
Zifa smirked. "Exceptional."
Mira stood abruptly. "Fine. I was just..."
Ling didn't respond.
Mira walked away, heels sharp against the floor, pride wounded but not gone.
Rina exhaled slowly. "You didn't have to go that hard."
Ling's fingers curled around the cup again. "Yes. I did."
Zifa studied her. "You're holding back."
Ling's jaw tightened. "If I don't, I'll break something."
Rina followed her gaze instinctively—toward the café window, toward the path that led to the other coffee shop across campus.
Where Rhea might be.
Ling looked away first.
She finished the coffee she hadn't wanted, bitterness sitting heavy on her tongue, and stood. "I'm heading out."
"Where?" Zifa asked.
Ling paused. Just a second.
Then: "Anywhere that's not here."
She left before anyone could stop her, control wrapped tight around her like armor—cracked, dented, but still holding.
For now.