Rhea entered fast, breath uneven.
"Are you hurt—"
She stopped.
Ling was standing straight. No blood. No injury. Just that dangerous stillness.
Rhea's mouth twisted. "Liar. Always."
She turned on her heel.
Ling moved in one step.
Her arm wrapped around Rhea's waist from behind—tight, instinctive, grounding more than trapping. Rhea gasped, startled more than scared.
"Let go," Rhea snapped, trying to wrench free.
Ling didn't.
"Rhea," Ling said, voice low, pressed close to her ear, "stop."
"Don't touch me!" Rhea struggled harder, elbowing back. "You lied just to drag me here—again—"
Ling tightened her hold, forehead dropping to Rhea's shoulder. "You were walking away."
"So what?" Rhea shouted. "You don't get to decide when I leave!"
"I do when you're spiraling," Ling said, control fraying but still intact. "And you are."
Rhea froze for half a second—then exploded.
"Oh, so now you diagnose me?" she laughed bitterly. "You ignore me, accuse me, humiliate me in public—and I'm the problem?"
Ling didn't answer immediately. She inhaled slowly, deliberately, like she was counting her breaths.
"I watched you walk out with him," Ling said quietly. "After everything. After last night."
Rhea went still. Her hands curled into fists.
"You don't own me," she said, voice shaking. "You don't get to punish me because you're jealous."
Ling's grip softened—just a little—but she didn't let go. Her thumb pressed unconsciously into Rhea's side, a familiar anchoring touch.
"I'm not punishing you," Ling said. "I'm trying not to lose you."
Rhea scoffed. "Funny way of showing it."
She twisted again, finally breaking half-free. Ling's hands slid from her waist to her wrists, holding them gently but firmly, forcing Rhea to face her.
Rhea's eyes were bright, furious, wet. "You dragged me here to yell at me."
"No," Ling said immediately. "I dragged you here so we wouldn't destroy each other in front of people."
Rhea laughed once, sharp. "Too late."
Ling searched her face, jaw clenched. "You disconnected my calls."
"I needed space," Rhea shot back. "Something you keep demanding but never giving."
Ling flinched.
"That's not fair," Ling said. "You told me to leave."
"And you did," Rhea said. "So easily."
Silence slammed between them.
Ling released Rhea's wrists slowly, hands dropping to her sides like letting go physically hurt. "I left because you asked. Because I didn't want to cross another line."
Rhea's voice cracked despite herself. "And I stayed because I didn't know how to stop wanting you."
Ling stepped closer again—not touching this time. "Then don't use him to test me."
Rhea's chin lifted defensively. "I didn't."
"You nodded," Ling said. "You let him handle your mother. You trust him with things you won't even talk to me about."
Rhea's breath hitched. "That's not true."
Ling's voice dropped, raw. "Then look at me when you say it."
Rhea tried. Failed. Looked away.
Ling exhaled, slow and heavy. "I won't let go next time if you keep running like this."
Rhea snapped back up. "You don't scare me."
Ling met her gaze fully now. "I'm not trying to."
Rhea inhaled shakily, shoulders rising like she was bracing herself for impact.
"We should give space to each other," she said finally.
The words landed heavy.
Ling didn't react at first. Her face stayed still, but something dark shifted behind her eyes.
"Space," Ling repeated slowly.
Rhea nodded, forcing steadiness. "Yes. We keep hurting each other like this. Maybe… maybe we need distance."
Ling let out a quiet, humorless breath. "And in that distance—" she stepped closer, voice dropping, "—who exactly do you think will fill it?"
Rhea stiffened. "That's not what I meant."
"It's exactly what it means," Ling said. "Space is never empty. Someone always steps in."
Rhea snapped back, frustration boiling over. "Not everything is about possession, Ling."
Ling's jaw tightened. "It is when it's mine.
Rhea's eyes flashed. "You see?" she said sharply. "This. This is why you're too selfish."
The word hit harder than any slap.
Ling blinked. Once.
"Selfish," she echoed.
"Yes," Rhea continued, voice trembling but relentless. "You don't trust me, you don't listen—you just pull me back whenever you feel insecure. You want me close, but only on your terms."
Ling laughed softly, bitter. "I pulled you back because you were walking toward someone who wants to hurt you."
Rhea shook her head. "You don't know that."
"I know enough," Ling said. "And I know you let him in just to see if I'd bleed."
Rhea's voice cracked. "I wanted to see if you'd fight."
Ling's expression hardened, pain slipping through the cracks. "I've been fighting since the day I met you."
"Then why does it feel like I'm alone in this?" Rhea demanded.
Ling stepped back for the first time.
"You're not," she said quietly. "You just don't like how I stand beside you."
Rhea wiped at her eyes angrily. "I don't want to lose you."
Ling looked at her then—really looked—eyes dark, voice steady but fraying.
"Then don't ask me to disappear."
Silence stretched, thick and suffocating.
Rhea whispered, almost to herself, "I don't know how to do this without hurting."
Ling swallowed. "Neither do I."
They stood there, the word space hanging between them like a blade—sharp, tempting, and capable of cutting them both if either stepped the wrong way.