while brushing your teeth in the morning, you told (convinced) yourself that there would be nothing to worry about since the rest of your friends would be going too. even when an uneasy feeling crawls up your back, you tell yourself it’ll be fine.

the last time you went to the beach was when your best friend yunjin invited you to tag along with her friends from home that you’ve met with a few times prior. the day was easy and light. you all sang along to music on the way to the coast, struggled to find a spot to park and settle on the beach, tanned, played with the volleyball kazuha brought, swam and splashed each other until you were too tired to keep messing with each other, took at least a hundred pictures, and walked around until the sun set before you took turns driving home.

you figured today would be similar—fun and simple.

you pray that it’s simple, lighthearted, and relaxing once you’re out the door and on the way to meet up with minji and the rest.

(you shake your head once you find yourself thinking of hanni being part of 'the rest')

once you’ve reached a point where it’s too late to turn back home, you realize you forgot your sunscreen. one of the most important things you needed. you groan at the red light when the realization hits, and once the light turns green, you tell yourself that it’ll be fine—again. someone has to have some sunscreen at least. 

you park your car down the road, a secret spot minji knows where they won’t ticket or tow you. you grab your bags, walk over to minji’s place, and catch everyone outside the apartment she shares with hanni. everyone is already in light, summer clothing with their bags hanging on their shoulders looking tired and ready to go.

“there she is,” minji says, turning her head in your direction, everyone following her gaze as well. “took you long enough.”

“i’m two minutes late.” you roll your eyes, “you’ll live.”

“whatever. alright, we can put the bags in the trunk and then get going. the sun is about to rise.” minji adds, gesturing to the youngest of the group so she can help them out first.

you glance over at hanni once minji heads to the car. she has a tote bag hung on her shoulder, a white off-the-shoulder t-shirt on, and a nice flowy, long blue skirt too. her hair is flowing down her shoulders and there’s a hairtie she borrowed from you a few months ago (not that it's important or anything. you just happened to notice) on her wrist that you assume she’ll use later. 

hanni looks stunning in the light of dawn. she always looks stunning, and right now she looks especially stunning because you catch the small lines under her eyes and the slight squint that hint at the lack of sleep. she smiles when she greets you.

“hey,” her voice is soft, tired. 

“hi hanni.” you grin easily at her. “you look exhausted.”

“i couldn’t sleep,” she sighs, rubbing her eyes. “i tried sleeping at eight. it worked, but i woke up at twelve and couldn’t sleep until thirty minutes before we had to wake up.”

“maybe you’ll get some more sleep in the car?”

“i’d hope so.” 

“yeah.” you nod. you both stare at each other for a good two seconds. it spikes your heartbeat. then put your hand out. “let me help you with your bag.”

“what? no, it’s fine.” she tells you, “it’s not that heavy.”

you shake your head, already slipping your fingers underneath the straps of the bag and slipping it off her shoulder. she frowns playfully before you head over to where minji is, helping her load the trunk.

everyone is already situated in the car by the time you and minji are done loading. she closes the trunk and heads toward the drivers seat. danielle is sitting in the passengers seat, haerin and hyein are in the middle, and you’re—

left with hanni.

you blink.

there’s a bag taking up one of the seats on the side, so you’re left in the middle. you take a small breath before squeezing through the small space to get into the back, settling down next to the girl who makes your words fizzle in your throat. 

your legs brush against each other and your arms are mildly squished. the proximity screws up with your composure, making you momentarily flustered and unable to think straight.

“it’s a little cramped, isn’t it?” you joke. it’s lame, but hanni’s lips twitch into a small smile.

“dani was complaining about car sickness even though i called shotgun… and so did the other two. were shoved in the back for now.”

“ah,” you don’t know what else to say except for, “i hope you’re able to sleep comfortably.”

“oh definitely.” she laughs softly. “i hope i don’t take up much of your personal space while i’m out.”

you smile, shrugging. “i don’t mind.”

a soft flush graces hanni’s cheeks at your response. she smiles and rests her head against the seat, her blinking slowing down every few seconds.

minji fixes the rearview mirror, then turns up the sound of the music. something easy going and summer-like plays. you assume hyein is on aux.

“okay, everyone, sit tight. we’ll refill gas and grab breakfast in an hour or two.” minji says.

with that, hanni nods, then nudges your shoulder. you tilt your head and she moves her arm to link it with yours, muttering quietly, “so we’re less squished,” before closing her eyes and leaning her head against your shoulder.

you’re stiff at first, although very briefly. your whole body relaxes not so long after, and you find yourself drifting off into sleep as well.

hyein and haerin turn around thirty minutes into the car ride to find you two asleep together. your mouth is parted a bit and hanni is practically hugging your arm now. the two grin at each other, hyein snaps a picture, and when they show it to danielle everyone is content.

“it’ll work out.” minji grins to herself.

—

hanni wakes up feeling completely disoriented.

the car is moving slower than before. she glances out and finds that they’ve already taken an exit out into some small town, probably for gas and breakfast. she blinks a few times before rubbing her eyes with her free hand, trying to bring herself back to reality after her nap.

when she scans the area after gaining full consciousness, she notices that your arms are still linked. you’re asleep, loose and comfortable against her, your neck angled questionably. she links your arms tighter as she stares out the window, the filtered sunlight kissing her features softly.

minji turns into a gas station that looks a little run-down after a few minutes down a small road. the feeling of the car slowing down wakes you up. you mumble something incoherent and groan, lifting your head up and resting it against the headrest tiredly. 

haerin catches your groan and turns around to see you struggling to open your eyes. hyein follows, giggling at the sight of you two, but for the most part you, with an expression comparable to a newborn kitten.

“wakey wakey!” hyein beams, making you groan again—louder this time.

“are we here?” you ask in a drowsy voice.

“minji’s getting gas.” haerin says flatly. “bathroom break, snack splurge, and dani’s finding a cafe on the way for us to eat breakfast at. we have like, an hour and a half.”

your body goes limp again as it rests against the seat. “great. i’m going back to sleep.”

“you should probably go to the restroom.” haerin suggests.

“i might pass out on the toilet.” you joke. 

danielle pokes her head through the open door in the passengers, turning to you and almost ordering, “you guys should go to the restroom just in case! and grab some snacks.”

hanni yawns, then nudges you.

“well you’re going to have to get out regardless so i can go.”

you groan again. 

hanni’s teasing tone is evidence that the nap worked. she’s back to the hanni you’re used to, the hanni that’s relentless when it comes to poking at you and throwing snarky remarks.

you scramble out into the gas station and end up going to the restroom too, even buying a little protein bar to snack on once you’re back in the car. minji turns up the music as she drives out the small lot and danielle finds a place to grab a quick breakfast before the beach.

“thirty minutes away there’s a…” you catch danielle squinting just barely before she continues, “cafe! it’s close to the beach too. we can take pictures before we swim!”

hanni turns to face you, stifling a giggle at her energy. you bite the inside of your lip to keep yourself from smiling too hard—not necessarily because of danielle.

you and hanni aren’t linking arms the rest of the car ride. her arm still rests against yours, which is inevitable due to the bag taking up a whole seat, but you don’t mind. 

the sun splays out across hanni’s features gently as she stares out the window. your eyes trail down the slope of her nose that shines softly and lingers on the strands of hair brushing against her cheek. you stop yourself then, turning to face the road and the dangling charm hanging from the mirror of minji’s car.

—

you’re completely awake once you reach the cafe. the exterior of the building is modern looking, but it’s vintage aroma and cozy interior reflects the comfort and authenticity of the place. the employees are around your age, maybe a little older. their smiles light up the area even more. 

minji is the first to walk up to the counter and read off the menu. her eyes widen and a small smile graces her lips.

“everything sounds good—it smells good here. do you guys know what you want?”

you squint at the menu for a moment before nodding, “i’ll just share food with someone. get me an iced tea, though.” 

“we can share then y/n. i’ll get the classic breakfast with bacon and an iced latte with whole milk.” hanni says matter-of-factly.

danielle glances at minji and it’s weirdly mischievous. she turns on her heel to meet you and hanni face to face, grinning wider.

“since you two know what you want, why don’t you grab us some seats?”

“um, okay.” you say, shrugging.

now it’s just you and hanni walking around the area. it’s not too busy, but a handful of seats are already taken. hanni points at the table outside, something similar to a table you’ve seen at camping sites. the only thing different about it is that it’s really nice looking. the table is marbled and not decade-old wood with moss growing on it.

you stretch your arms out and a hint of your skin peeks out when your shirt lifts. hanni pretends she doesn't notice.

“it’s nice here.” hanni says as she settles down. she’s gazing out at the small town ahead, mixed with hues of green and birds soaring above it freely. “it’s beautiful.”

“yeah.” you agree. it’s not one of those cliche rom-com moments where you’re staring at her while you agree. it’s truly beautiful out there. “it’d be nicer if i had a meal…”

“oh my god,” hanni scoffs as you sit down in front of her. “you’re unbelievable.”

“yeah and i’m also the person who’s going to down half your breakfast.”

“of course you are.”

“...what’s that supposed to mean?”

hanni raises her brows, giving you that look. 

you roll your eyes, looking out the distance long enough for hanni to study the side of your face (and if there were a quiz for each feature memorized, she’d ace it). she takes in the view for a bit longer before speaking,

“you look cute by the way,” she says nervously, unable to look you in the eye. “fitting for the beach.”

you long to reach your hand out and simply rest it against her face, but you hold back. your lips lift up into a smile.

“i think that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me this month.”

“hey!” 

you laugh, teeth showing and all. “you look beautiful too, hanni.” you say after a beat. 

before either of you can hang on to whatever stills in the air, the rest of the group finds you two together and situates themselves. minji hands you both your drinks and tells you that the food will take a few minutes before they serve it to you. hyein doesn’t stay in her seat for long, immediately standing up to take in the view. 

danielle grabs her camera and suggests taking pictures while the food is being prepared. none of you shut down the idea.

first it’s a few solo pictures of everyone, then duos and group pictures. minji and hanni pose together, making a stupid face when danielle takes the picture. hyein and haerin take a picture with you next, all of you smiling like it’s a family photo and it's as cute as it is ridiculous. then it’s danielle, minji, and hanni bunched up together cutely for the next photo.

the session is interrupted when one of the employees brings out the food, placing it on the table before offering to help take a picture of all of you. and after that, just when you think you can finally eat, minji pushes you to hanni, who’s being pushed by danielle.

“now a picture of you two!” minji suggests. it’s not really a suggestion, more of an order.

“okay, okay.” you respond, giving hanni a small grin.

your hand slips down to right above her waist, resting lightly as you nudge her just a bit closer. she tilts her head a bit, smiling softly. you do the same, then the flash on danielle’s camera goes off.

“cute,” danielle mumbles, glancing at the picture. “okay, let’s eat now.”

—

the drive to the beach isn’t long, but the journey to a spot that’s not taken up by families is. it's awfully crowded for a wednesday.

you have your totebag on one arm and hold a bag that minji forced you to carry with the other. it feels as if the bag you’re holding will slip from your fingers any second, or maybe that’ll be you with how much scorching sand sneaks into your slides and hinders your ability to walk. the sand burns your feet here and there, but you push through and end up finding a nice spot that had been a seven-minute walk from parking. 

the sun tickles your skin. it’s quite hot, obviously, but it heats you in a way that kind of burns you while also bringing you a feeling of peace. you feel alive.

everyone takes part in setting up their spot. hyein and haerin lay out the blankets with danielle and hanni while you and minji struggle to plant the big umbrellas. once you set up a spot for shade, hyein lies right in that spot and sighs like she’s just lugged a cart full of weights. 

“it’s so hot.” she groans, “i need to lie for a bit.”

“put on sunscreen at least.” you scold lightly. you tug on her arm, urging her to get up before squeezing sunscreen on your palms. you rub your hands together before applying the sunscreen on hyein’s arms, legs, and back. you also leave a very noticeable white cast on her face with how messily you’ve applied it. it makes her look stupidly adorable, so you snap a picture and chuckle at it. “the sun is scared of you now.”

“i look like a clown." she pouts, "of course it is."

“it’ll go away,” you assure, rubbing your thumb on her cheek to blend it in a bit nicer. “it’s only bad on your cheek and forehead.”

“your turn.” she says mischievously.

you huff.

hanni watches you slip off your tank top swiftly—in an oddly enticing manner—leaving you in swim shorts and a sports bra. hanni tries to look away but it’s impossible when the curve of your back meets the sun in such an alluring way. you’ve probably worked out a little extra in order to look like this for the beach trip. it’s safe to say that the work paid off.

“nice view, huh?” danielle’s words rip hanni’s gaze from the back of your arm. 

hanni meets danielle’s eyes, a glint in the way she’s looking at the older girl. hanni knows what she’s thinking, but she doesn’t want to face it.

“stop it.” hanni sighs. 

“i think today is the day for it.”

“for what?”

“oh han, you know.” danielle raises her eyebrows as she looks back over to you. you’re making a face while hyein puts sunscreen on your cheeks a little too aggressively. “you can’t hide your feelings forever.”

“no.” hanni replies almost immediately. she nearly laughs at the way you look with sunscreen smeared all over your face so unevenly. “today is supposed to be normal… relaxing and whatnot. i just want to have a good time—i want y/n to have a good time.”

“she’ll have a good time as long as you’re here hanni. please, trust me.”

“i just—i love her too much. i’m too scared.”

“i’m sure she feels just like you do, and one of you has to face that eventually.”

danielle doesn't give hanni a chance to process her words; she turns hanni into a flustered mess without warning her.

danielle calls you over and insists that you help out hanni with putting on sunscreen. it’s embarrassing how hanni can tell her cheeks are burning through the heat of the sun, amplifying the feeling. it’s even worse when you agree like it’s nothing. 

your hands spread sunscreen across her arms and legs with ease. when you tell her to turn around so you can apply it on her back, she finds herself nodding even when her heart is racing and telling her to run away.

the chill of the sunscreen clashes with the warmth on her skin. she instinctively moves away from your touch.

“sorry.” you mutter.

with a turn of her head, no further than where you can see the side of her face, she responds, “no, it’s fine. it just caught me off guard.” 

you nod before continuing. your hand is soft against the skin of her back, trailing up the back of her ribs to where her shoulders are. everything is awfully intimate and there’s a thrill in both of your guts that neither of you can suppress.

hanni feels your hand linger on her shoulder before you softly say, “done. did you want me to get your face?”

she wants to simultaneously dismiss and accept the offer. the thought of your hands caressing her face excites her, but the proximity and intimacy of it all makes her heart tumble in her chest.

“it’s fine, i—” she pauses, her brows furrowing when she catches something on your face. “hold on, you missed a spot.”

there’s a small area of sunscreen on your cheek that hanni wipes over with her thumb and it dissolves into your skin easily. she willfully ignores how the glow of your skin under the sun makes you so undeniably cute. 

“thanks.” is all you can say to keep you from doing something stupid.

both of you purse a forced smile at the same time before redirecting your attention to something else—anything that’s not each other. 

today is going to be a wonderful day, you both tell yourselves. everything will be fine.

—

all of you tan for an less than an hour before actually getting up. you nearly fall asleep and risk a sunburn, but hyein is there to snap you out of your drowsiness and flips you over like a sausage on a grill. you nearly fall asleep again.

minji had been sitting in one of the beach chairs you brought, her cap sitting on her head in a way that made her look like a father. danielle had fallen asleep with the book she was reading on her face. haerin was there next to her not far from passing out. hanni was laid next to you, reading a book, and it was odd that she had always been there. always nearby, always close. 

you didn’t mind. 

it isn’t long before you finally get up, dusting sand off your legs, and urge minji to play volleyball with you. the two of you share a soda before peppering and it brings enough energy to keep you two shouting at each other to keep the ball up in the air. the rest watch you two run around desperately—minus haerin, who’s still lying down and half-asleep—and are impressed that you’ve kept the ball up for so long. minji slips up and hits the ball too far off to your left, which reels a groan from you once it hits the sand.

hanni decides to get up and join, determined to do better than both of you. you try to keep your eyes off her figure and how great she looks in that two piece of hers. you try your very best not to daydream about kissing every inch of her that the sun touches, to have your hands trace the outline of her body.

you all start a triangle of peppering, but the spikes, bumps, and sets all fall out of pattern when it turns into a scramble to keep the ball up. 

it’s nice to spend time doing the most mundane, simple things with your friends on the beach. you can’t remember the last time you felt this relieved. the vitamin d from the sun seems to be working.

it’s even better when danielle decides to dip her foot in the water, letting the waves that hit the shore soak her feet. it’s even better when minji screams and runs into the water, falling in and wailing on about how cold it is.

the best part, however, is when hanni feels a surge of confidence to take your hand and lead you toward the water. both of you laugh the whole way down, you shiver when the water hits your abdomen, and hanni crosses her arms when the chill reaches her whole body.

when you manage to tackle her into the saltwater, soaking her completely and earning a playful jab to your shoulder, you can’t help but fall a little more in love with her. she pushes her wet hair back and looks at you like she’s going to kill you. before you know it, hanni lunges forward and takes you down with her.

maybe she did it because you did it to her first. maybe it’s because she likes the feeling of being close to you.

and maybe you don’t mind at all. 

maybe you swim over to the deep end and tease her for not being able to stand there without half her face being submerged, just to see the annoyed look on her face. maybe you like the way it makes your heart flutter. maybe you carry her through the water and keep her on your shoulders while playing chicken, staying skin to skin because you like it too. 

for the next few hours a cycle starts. it repeats three times.

you play around in the water, swimming and splashing each other like little kids before returning back to the towels to reapply sunscreen and tan while someone’s queued song plays on the speaker minji brought. after a good amount of time being slow-cooked by the sun, you all play with the volleyball again before returning back to the water. the day is filled with laughter, stupid inside jokes, sand finding shelter in your hair and ears, and hanni lingering closer and closer.

—

you and minji take the reigns when it comes to packing everything up. you take pity on the rest, more so the youngest of the group, who are all out of energy and gawking at their very noticeable tan lines.

hanni bumps your shoulder and tells you she can carry one of the two bags that you’re carrying. you tell her it’s fine. she shakes her head and does what you did that morning; she slips her fingers under the strap of the bag carrying the towels and gives you a shit eating grin that might just make you combust.

“i can hear the wedding bells already,” minji mutters from behind into your ear, “with all the flower girls and bridesmaids and—”

you elbow her shoulder and roll your eyes. “the water is right there, i could throw you back in.”

“whatever. go get her.” you can tell she’s winking at you when she says it with that snarky, knowing tone.

you miss when you try to elbow her again.

the sand had burned your feet the whole way back to the restroom area and the strap of the umbrella bags rubbed against your skin so much that you might mistake the red mark as a sunburn. everyone is exhausted by the time you’re back at the car. you and minji were the last ones to rinse yourselves off and change, so you two are extra tired. 

you and hanni find that the back seat has a little more space now. the bag that took up an extra seat somehow found shelter in the trunk. you can’t tell if this is a good thing or not.

hanni’s arm isn’t brushing against yours anymore until she goes limp and is leaning against you. maybe you didn’t need the tight space to be near her. 

—

all of you find a place to eat lunch in no time. everyone is hungry and severely dehydrated, so while everyone looks at the menu and finds a seat outside, minji asks you to help buy some water for the cooler you brought.

you’re not sure why minji wanted you to tag along to buy water, but you go regardless.

you find out why the moment you’re away from the group.

“so what are you going to do about hanni?” minji asks.

your head jerks to face her. “do what?” you question, acting stupid.

minji shakes her head. “you two are the most oblivious idiots i’ve ever met.”

she’s right, you know she’s right. 

minji’s been one of your closest friends since you started university. she’s seen you at your lowest when you had been fighting with your parents for a month straight for changing your major. she's been there at your best when you received that internship you had been fighting for. she’s even seen you when you were drunk, confessing that you had been in love with hanni the month after you met her. minji knows you like the back of her palm.

“you guys have been lingering near each other the whole day,” she remarks, kicking a pebble on the ground. “she’s been checking you out the whole time. you have been checking her out as well.”

a blush creeps up your neck and tightens up your throat.

“i’m just scared—”

“i know you’re scared, but there really isn’t anything to be scared of. the feeling is mutual, i promise.” she stops talking for a moment to gaze out at the scenery in front of you. the late afternoon sun is shifting into something a little more golden—slowly but surely—and the trees are practically sparkling because of how vibrant they are. “look at how beautiful today is. everyone is happy and tan and all that. today is the day.”

“i’ll think about it.” you say, staring out at the road and the two birds that fly past. “i will.”

—

lunch is filled with laughter, satisfied cravings, and more pictures. you spend an achingly large amount of time smiling at hanni, making eye contact with her, and forcing yourself not to stare at her longer than you should.

(long enough to the point where one of your friends would notice and call you out.)

haerin suggests walking along the boardwalk and you all follow. you all explore a few little shops and danielle spends a little money on a small trinket from one of them. hanni branches out and finds a little display with cute shell bracelets, all with different colors. you wind up following her.

“these are so cute,” she says, picking up a bracelet with pink charms. she finds another one, handing it to you and adds, “look, this one is your favorite color.”

she grabs your wrist and puts it on you, smiling at how nice it fits.

“this is really cute.” you bring your wrist closer to examine it. 

“maybe we should get matching ones.”

“do you want to?” you say, quiet and casual, but your eyes are warm, serious. 

“yeah, i really like these ones.” hanni decides, but she likes the idea of having something that connects her to you more than the bracelet itself. 

the rest of the group watches you both from outside the shop. through the window they catch you two giggling about something as the cashier checks your purchase, and when you’re back out to meet them, they all grin at the sight of your matching bracelets.

“when is the wedding?” minji questions, only half-joking.

hanni rolls her eyes. “it’s just a bracelet. i know you’re jealous.”

minji just laughs, then looks you in the eye and raises her brows, clearly amused.

—

you all end up back at the beach after walking around and talking about anything and everything because it’s been so long since you all were normal, real people and not prisoners to an academic institution.

danielle is taking a few more pictures of everyone, but mainly haerin because she’s been too timid to put herself out there. danielle is determined to curate an instagram post for haerin that will shake everyone to their core. 

hyein leans against your shoulder, using you as a pillar for support while she watches minji and hanni play around with the volleyball. your hands are planted behind you as you stare out at the ocean, finding comfort in the sound of the waves crashing and the occasional sound of hyein sipping on her soda.

“y/n?” hyein asks quietly.

“hm?”

“what’s with you and hanni?”

“what do you mean?”

“i can’t tell if you guys are dating or just oblivious.”

you can’t help but laugh. “you sound like minji.”

“ew, don’t say that.” she groans. “but seriously, what’s with you guys? minji said she had some sort of plan for you two but i never really got details…”

of course minji had a plan. danielle was probably a part of it too. 

you don’t know how to explain your feelings for hanni. she’s the type of person you look forward to seeing everyday. no one had ever made you feel all giddy like she has, not even your stupid crushes when you were a teenager. 

hanni has a smile that kind of steals your breath away. she’s the kind of girl that makes you grin and cackle like an idiot without trying. she laughs hard at your jokes and moments of stupidity and it almost makes you feel like you’re in an alternate universe where she loves you just as much. she’s real and raw with you, letting her voice crack when she’s upset and being that burst of unique energy when she’s on top of the world. you love her for who she is and whatever she feels.

there’s so much warmth that seeps out of her and so much you don’t understand. there’s a lot of things you don’t understand and it’s scary how badly you want to know every inch of her.

you don’t know how to explain the complexity of how your heart pounds in your chest when it comes to hanni. instead, you say, all so casually but genuine in the way your tone softens, “i love her a lot.”

hyein sips on her soda again, then hums. “does she know it?”

you sigh, biting your lip before saying, “i think she will soon.”

—

“oh my god, you’re sunburnt.” hanni says as she returns to the beach towel you’re sat on.

everyone else is god-knows-where and hanni always finds herself drawn back to you. she sits down and examines your cheek.

“no i’m not.” you defend, “i’m sunkissed.”

“sure,” she giggles. she absentmindedly plays with the end of her hair, a habit that stems from her being a nervous wreck. “i think the sun made out with your face.” 

a suggestive remark catches in your throat. you decide to have some decorum instead of opening your mouth.

you turn to her finally and the sight of her staring at you with so much care and intimacy makes you feel light and relieved. her cheeks are also a hue of red—like an apple—worse than you for sure.

“i would be more focused on your face. that’s a burn.” you snicker, reaching out to place your fingers on her skin. her cheek is warmer than it should be, not just because she’s burnt. “you look like rudolph if his nose were his cheeks instead.”

“you sound ridiculous.”

“you get what i mean.” you respond bashfully. 

hanni melts when you flash that lopsided grin at her. it’s golden hour, the light hits you so perfectly, and all hanni can think of is how nice it would be to kiss you right now. she makes the mistake of glancing down at your lips—for a second—and you catch it. she speaks before you can say anything.

“today has been fun.” she breaks eye contact and plays with her hair again. her knees move to her chest and she hugs them close as she watches the sky dim. “i haven’t had this much fun in a while.”

“not even during the movie night last month?” you giggle at the memory of minji and hanni crying while half-drunk to some romcom danielle put on. the video still lives in your favorites.

“okay, well—you know what i mean. the weather is perfect and everything is going well and, i, well,” her teeth trap her bottom lip and she looks at you shyly. “i’m just really happy to be around you. everytime we’ve been left alone i just—i don’t know. it feels right. it always does.”

your world stops for a moment. your world, usually equally as busy as it is overstimulating, goes silent. hanni has that effect on you, like when she came over to drop off something during finals season to find you freaking out and calmed you down with a soothing, warm hug. or when you had just gotten into a fight with your mother for the second time in the week during lunch with your friends, then brought you back to the ground with a simple hand only our shoulder and the look in her eyes. but now? everything goes still. it’s almost unsettling.

you can only laugh. hanni puts a hand on her forehead and cringes.

“sorry, that sounded so sentimental.”

“no, no. hanni, it’s fine.” you reassure.

a surge of confidence spreads through your body like a wildfire. maybe today is the day.

“i can’t believe the sun got to kiss you and not me.” you sound like a lead in a romcom. your words are corny and make you cringe, but the way you say it sounds awfully genuine and lovestruck. 

“what?” she almost chokes on nothing. 

“i– sorry. i’m not good with these things.” you pinch the bridge of your nose.

you gulp when she looks at you with those sun-soaked eyes, they’re gleaming like the ocean in front of you. 

“minji has been trying to get me to tell you how i feel for a while… and then this trip happened and i realized that i’m too deep into everything i feel for you to keep beating around the bush.”

“you like me?”

you shake your head.

“i love you, hanni.”

she gulps, opens her mouth to say something, but she can’t. it’s impossible after you’ve just said the words that hanni has been wanting to say since you carried her home after one too many drinks at a house party. or maybe it was when you two snuck out to go on a walk late at night, sharing stories that were simultaneously heart-warming and heart-clenching. or maybe it was when she first laid eyes on you. she can’t remember when she figured out she loved you because it feels like it's always just been... there.

“i love you too, y/n.” her words are nearly a whisper.

“oh, okay, i’m really glad.” you exhale heavily, closing your eyes from pure relief and clutching your chest like you’ve just had a heart-attack. this is pretty comparable though. “because you looked so good all day and i seriously felt like an idiot this whole time trying not to look at you too hard.” it spills out your lips like a ramble, but it’s jumbled up enough to convey everything hanni needs to hear.

hanni laughs at how cute you are with your hand still clutching your chest. 

“i’ve felt the same.”

“yeah?” you tilt your head, unknowingly shifting a little closer. “minji told me you were checking me out.”

“okay, don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“i worked out a lot for today. did you like the view?” 

“shut up before i kiss you.”

your lips relax and you swallow hard.

“i won’t shut up then.”

“then i’ll do it myself.”

it’s not until that moment that you realize that your lips are already a breath apart. hanni tilts her head a little to match you, and her lips search for yours, pressing eagerly once they meet.

you pull away first just to take a good look at her. she stares at your lips the whole time you stare at her face, lit up perfectly by golden hour. she practically launches herself back onto you, cupping your cheek and kissing you again. her mouth presses softly, firmly, warmly. you can feel her smiling into the kiss and she feels you doing the same.

your fingers rake into her hair, tugging gently as you deepen the kiss. you sigh into her like it’s a dream come true. 

and it is.

—

the rest of the group walks back to where you and hanni are to spot your hand on her jaw, her fingers twirling your hair, and lips locked from afar.

haerin laughs out of surprise and amusement. “it worked out.”

“finally,” danielle sighs.

“i told you it’d work out.” minji shrugs. she walks past the group and toward you two to purposefully break you apart—she likes embarassing both of you. 

—

everyone is completely dead once you’re back in the car. hyein is already asleep on haerin’s shoulder and minji hasn’t even left the parking lot (she’s downing an energy drink to prepare for the two and a half hour car ride).

danielle is looking through all of the photos and a few minutes later a notification pops up on your phone with all the photos danielle uploaded. before you open it up, hanni moves your arm so that it’s around her.

“wow, you’re bold. we just made out and now you’re—”

“i’d shut you up like before, but i’m not going to be an asshole and traumatize anyone today. and i’m tired, move over.” she almost sounds cranky. you find it adorable.

“okay, okay.” you extend yourself so that hanni can lay in your arms. the back of her head is on your chest and she’s holding onto your forearm. the position isn’t the most comfortable—you can feel your butt numbing from the weird angle you’re sitting at, and your legs don’t even extend fully across due to your height—but hanni is. you don’t complain.

hanni whines when you move the arm she had clung onto like a teddybear, but you feel her soften up as soon as it moves over so you can massage her scalp. 

“get some sleep.” you insist, pulling out your phone to check out the photos from danielle. they’re really great. you sort out the ones of hanni, then the ones of you and hanni, saving them all before looking over at the rest. 

fifteen minutes pass and by then you grow drowsier and drowsier. you place your phone in the cup holder and try to shift as unnoticeably you can to ease the numbing in half your limbs and ass. hanni groans when she feels you move, but you scratch her scalp again and she resumes her slumber.

a soft sigh—relieved, lovestruck, and content—leaves you as you settle down. your arms wrap around hanni, your eyes close, and everything feels perfect. you still wonder if you’re dreaming.

—

by the time minji’s back at her place, everyone is passed out. it’s jarring how full of energy minji is once she’s back home despite the ache in her upper body from repeatedly racing you in the ocean.

(she takes pride in the fact that she won, so it doesn’t matter if her limbs are burning from her freestyle.)

she shakes danielle awake and she murmurs something that’s most definitely a gibberish. but once danielle is awake, she turns to see the youngest of the group passed out cutely and haerin’s head completely covered by her hair. 

danielle snaps another picture.

“look here,” minji laughs lightly, turning on the light in the backseats. 

you and hanni are cuddled up, the dim light spread across every tangled limb and linked finger. minji and danielle wonder how you two are even comfortable like that, but they brush it off as soon as danielle pulls her phone out to take something candid.

minji laughs. low and soft. “we have to save that for the wedding.”

her father, the king, looked at you with approval.

"arthur’s daughter," he mused, pleased. "you will make a fine knight, just like your father."

your father kneeled before him, his fist over his heart. devotion, loyalty. "she will learn well, my king. one day, she will take my place and serve you loyally. she will protect what is most precious to you and she will serve your daughter until her dying breath."

sophia watches as you bow your head, murmuring a quiet, "your grace.” acknowledgement.

you did not meet her eyes like she wanted you to. you barely even looked at her. and sophia, who was used to attention, finds herself frowning at the lack of exchange.

later, sophia finds you in the courtyard. you’re sitting alone on the stone bench, the quiet space overlooking the training grounds where the knights practiced. the air was was thick with the sound of clashing swords, the loud shouts of young men sparring, and the laughter of the nobility’s sons racing across the field, poking fun at pretending to be knights. 

but you’re not like them. you wouldn’t be. you sat still, perfectly composed, your hands folded neatly in your lap, watching the knights with an intensity far too strange to be seen in a child.

the boys run and play, their laughter echoing in the distance, but you don’t join them. you don’t laugh. (why would you?) you don’t even smile. 

instead, you watch the knights’ movements. the way they wield their swords with practiced ease, the way their feet shifted against the dirt, the way they carry themselves like warriors in their peak. 

sophia decides that it was your father’s influence.

sophia approaches you, her cheerful voice piercing through the quiet. "hey, you’re the commander’s daughter," 

you glance up, your sharp gaze catching hers for just a moment before you returned your attention back to the knights below. "and you are the princess," you replied, your voice steady.

she beams at you, completely unbothered by the formality in your words. "uh-huh!" she exclaims, plopping herself down beside you without asking. 

"which means you must be my knight." her grin is wide, innocent.

you blink, taken aback, your eyes flicking to her for only a second. "i am no knight," you say quietly, turning your attention back to the knights on the field, feeling their movements etch themselves into your memory.

"not yet," she corrected, "but you will be. you’re going to be the greatest knight in the whole kingdom!"

you don’t respond to her excitement. you’re quiet, your thoughts heavy and focused on the distant sparring knights. sophia’s words hang in the air, and they don’t quite reach you.

 instead, you continue to watch the training grounds, fascinated by the fluid wave of the knights’ movements, wondering if you’ll be able to stand to their level one day.

"why are you here, princess?" you ask after a moment, the question simple but with a curiosity behind it that you don’t usually show.

she shrugs, looking at the sky above. "because you looked lonely."

because you looked lonely.

you don’t say anything in response. you simply keep your gaze on the knights below. the boys who were once laughing and playing are now just faces in the distance, you don’t bother familiarising yourself with them anymore. 

"why are you so quiet?" she asks, a little puzzled, her voice dripping with concern.

you turn your eyes toward her, noting the genuine curiosity in her expression. "why are you so loud?" you counter, your tone even.

she giggles, a light sound that rings through the silent courtyard, warming your chest as you shifted in your spot. 

"someone has to be," she says, nudging you playfully with her shoulder.

for the first time, the smallest of smiles tugged at the corner of your lips, but it disappeared almost as quickly as it came.

"i’ve decided," sophia says suddenly, her voice full of determination. "you will be my most loyal knight.”

you exhale softly, not surprised, but amused by her certainty and boldness. "it’s not your choice, princess. there could be someone much better trained out there, compared to me."

but she doesn’t back down. she never will, as you’ve come to realise later on. "no, there won’t," she says firmly. "because when i am queen, i will command it."

you don’t answer right away. you just stared at her, gaze softened. this time, you do smile. just a small thing, barely there. but it was real. 

in that quiet moment, you realized that she did seal your fate. though for now, you are just children. for now, she smiles at you like you are the only thing in the world that mattered. and for now, that is enough.

—-

you stood in the training yard, the sound of clashing swords ringing in your ears, the weight of the blade in your hand grounded you to the moment. your father’s approval was always there, a quiet pressure in the back of your mind, and the thought of it kept you moving, kept you focused. every swing of the sword, every calculated step was done with purpose. you were determined, relentless. there was no room for anything else. 

you must prove yourself.

the other boys laugh and joke as they sparred, their voices light and careless, and you knew you can’t afford to be like them. they move with the ease of someone who knows that there will be another chance, but you? you don’t don’t have that luxury. you must be better, always better. every strike, every movement is a step closer to something you can’t even name yet, but something that feels like the only way to survive.

your father watched from the sidelines, his gaze unwavering, and you could feel it, sharp as a blade like always. it’s all the validation you need, even if you’ve never heard a word of praise. that was the way it’s always been.

and yet, as you pushed yourself, you felt something in the air shift, an uneasy weight. it’s the feeling of never being enough, no matter how many times you proved yourself.

and then that’s when you saw her—sophia, standing off to the side, leaning against the stone pillar, her eyes fixed on you. her gaze was unblinking, and there’s something in the way she watched that made your heart stutter.

you don’t want her attention. it feels too soft, too invasive, too vulnerable, in a way that makes the air around you feel more suffocating, heavier.

when you stopped for a moment, sweat dripping down your brow, she spoke. her voice cut through the silence, light but pointed. “you’re trying too hard.”

you froze for a moment, the weight of her words settling over you like a blanket. your first instinct was to brush it off, to shrug and say nothing and ignore her. but you can’t. couldn’t. not this time. 

instead, you wipe your brow and glanced at her briefly, offering only the barest of responses. “it’s how i’m taught. because if i don’t, someone else will be better.”

she doesn’t look surprised by your answer, just studied you in the way she does, her gaze never faltered. she stepped forward a little, her voice quieter now, a hint of something softer behind it.

 “and what if it’s not enough? what if being the best doesn’t make you happy?”

you felt  the question settle in your chest heavily and unfamiliar. it’s not something you’ve ever really allowed yourself to consider. happiness isn’t something that existesd here, not in the world where only the sharpest and most disciplined survived.

you looked at her funny, but didn't answer straight away. instead, you turned your attention back to the sparring knights, needing the distraction. needing to bury the question before it took root in your mind.

“it will.” you mutter, and you don’t let yourself dwell more about it, even if it felt wrong and foreign in your tongue.

there’s a long silence. you can feel her watching you, but you don’t turn to meet her gaze again. you focused on the sword in your hand and the weight of it, the way it felt like an extension of your body. 

it was the only thing that made sense right now.

but behind you, sophia doesn’t respond. she doesn’t argue, doesn’t push. because knew better than to believe your words. but you know that lingered, awaited for something—maybe for you to look at her again, to actually hear her.

you kept moving, movements sharp and precise, but even as you fought, there was something unsettled, something more than just the burn in your young muscles. a small, quiet part of you that wondered if she was right. but you couldn’t afford to stop and think about it. you’ve wasted too much time talking to her. so, you kept going, because that’s all you knew how to do.

yet.

—

over the years, you and sophia had grown closer in ways neither of you ever expected. when you were younger, the distance between the two of you had always been clear—but that that divide blurred, softened, throughout the years.

sophia’s playfulness never truly went away, but it had deepened, matured. that much you expected.

and you? you stayed calculated, still planned three steps ahead, but somewhere along the way, you had learned to let her in past your defenses.

at sixteen, the two of you were no longer just the princess and the daughter of the commander. you had become something else. friends, yes, but possibly something more. 

sophia had become someone you trusted, someone who understood the quiet moments between words, the way your mind never really stopped moving even in moments of peace.

and she had learned to meet you there.

sometimes, when she laughed, it would remind you of the way she used to be when she was younger—loud, carefree, like she had no care in the state of the world. 

but now, there was a certain softness to her, a calmness that reflected in the way she had matured over the years. she still teased you—that, you were sure will never go away—still pulled you into moments of silliness and you’d begrudgingly let her pull you in.

one afternoon, the sound of your father, calling out commands, echoed through the open space. 

he was pushing you harder than usual, the drills grew more intense, more demanding. you stood tall, your posture unwavering, sweat dripping down your brow as you went through each movement with practice.

 there was no room for error—every strike, every block, every step had to be perfect. it had to be perfect.

sophia, manon, and lara happened to be passing by, and as they approached, they couldn’t help but pause at the sight.

“oh, wow,” manon said, eyes widening in dramatic surprise as she stared at you. “look at y/n. she’s, like, all muscles now.”

lara squinted at you, her face a picture of exaggerated thoughtfulness. “right? definitely all muscles. i wonder if you run into her that she’ll just end up feeling like a wall. not to mention, god, she’s so pretty.”

sophia’s gaze shifted towards you, following the movements of your body, the way you moved with such focus and strength. she hadn’t realized how much you had changed over the years. the lean muscles in your arms, the way your body had grown from the thin, aloof child into someone far more charming.

and for a brief moment, she found herself staring. but it was different this time. it held her prisoner in the moment, unable to look away.

however, she quickly snapped out of it, cheeks flushing a little as she tried to laugh it off, but her gaze kept returning to you. there was something about the way you moved—so disciplined, so intense.

“what are you staring at, princess?” manon teased, nudging sophia’s side with her elbow.

“nothing!” sophia replied a little too loudly, trying to mask her sudden fluster and red cheeks with a laugh. “i—i’m just... uh, just admiring the, uh… the…te.. technique! the technique! it’s impressive, okay?”

lara snickered, crossing her arms. “sophia’s got it bad,” she said in a sing-song voice. “someone’s in love.” the rajagopalan dynasty’s princess dragged out.

“i’m not in love!” sophia quickly protested, her voice a little too high-pitched to be convincing. “i’m just—look, it’s just hard not to notice, okay? she’s... all grown up. and... very focused.”

meanwhile, you were blissfully unaware of the ongoing conversation, too deep in your training to care. your father, watching from the sidelines, was doing his best to hide the smirk creeping onto his face.

 he crossed his arms, eyes twinkling with a mix of pride and mild amusement as he watched sophia try to hide her flustered expression from her friends’ teasing.

"y/n!" he called out, his voice thundering throughout the courtyard. "stop getting distracted. focus!"

confused at his sudden outburst despite the fact that you were focusing, you immediately snapped back to your drill, adjusting your stance and continuing the movements without a second thought. 

sophia quickly looked away, her face turning a shade redder than usual as manon and lara fought to keep their grins in check.

“yep, totally not in love,” lara whispered to manon with a wink.

“she’s definitely not in love,” manon whispered back, both of them now completely absorbed in watching sophia squirm at their words.

your father caught the exchange out of the corner of his eye once again, though he pretended to ignore it. his lips that had had let the smirk spread, but his gaze never wavered from you as he called out again, “again, y/n. one more time. don’t get sloppy now.”

you didn’t notice a thing, of course. you were too focused on keeping up with your father’s rigorous pace to pay any attention to sophia and her friends. but sophia? sophia would never quite forget the way she had found herself staring a little too long at the girl she had known since she was a child—the girl who was now possibly so much more than that.

and as they walked away, manon leaning in to whisper something to lara, sophia’s thoughts were a little scattered, her eyes flicking up to you one last time before she hurried to catch up.

your father watched her go with a raised eyebrow, amusement barely hidden. "you're doing well, y/n," he said, his voice steady, though there was a knowing glint in his eye.

you nodded, eyes trained on your sword. "thanks, father."

and somewhere, deep down, you couldn't help but wonder why everyone else seemed to be so focused on you all of a sudden.

–

a week later, sleep had evaded sophia. the nights seemed longer lately, and her thoughts tangled in ways she didn’t want to admit. the silence in her room only made the restlessness worse, so she decided to take a late night stroll through the castle’s endless corridors. 

wrapped in a loose nightgown, her bare feet were quiet against the stone floors, she wandered aimlessly, letting her mind travel wherever it pleased.

the castle at night was always quiet, eerily so, and sophia liked it that way. but tonight, there was something almost peaceful in the quiet. that was until she reached the courtyard.

through the large arched windows, she saw a figure moving against the night sky. it was you—no doubt about it—still training, despite the late hour. 

your tunic was soaked with sweat, clinging to your skin as you moved through the steps of another drill, oblivious to the time.

sophia stood there for a moment, watching you with furrowed brows. she could feel the cool night air brush her skin, but there you were, perfectly in sync with your movements, as if it was any other day.

she shook her head, biting back a smile. "this is ridiculous." she mumbled to herself.

with a deep breath—hyping herself up to talk to you—, she stepped forward, her bare feet making almost no sound as she moved through the dark courtyard. 

her eyes locked onto you, and she steeled her shoulders, walking up to you with the kind of authority only a princess could carry, even in her sleepwear.

"y/n!" she called, loud enough to break the quiet and peace of the night. "stop!" you didn’t hear her at first.

"sophia," you muttered to yourself, barely pausing to look in her direction, blinking confusedly. 

sophia raised an eyebrow, huffing with mock irritation. "i said stop." she repeated when she caught your arm attempting to swing again. 

this time, her voice had a firmness to it, and you finally turned, sparing her a glance. your expression was neutral, almost bored as you stared back at her.

"i'm not stopping," you said, the words clear and defiant as you wiped the sweat from your forehead. you changed stances, readying for the next move.

sophia crossed her arms, her lips curving into a smirk. smug. "you’ll stop because i’m ordering you to."

you narrowed your eyes, raising an eyebrow. "really? you’re going to pull rank on me at this hour?"

sophia hesitated, looking at you in disbelief for a moment before giving a dramatic sigh. "fine, i won’t ‘order’ you. but can you at least take a break? i’m surprised you even know how late it is now."

you didn’t immediately respond, and instead, you moved into another series of attacks, form still perfectly sharp.

"y/n," she tried again, this time with an exaggerated whine. "you’re going to wake the whole castle with your...your… clanging!"

surprisingly, you actually stopped. rolling your eyes as you set the sword down. you were beyond exhausted, but you refused to show it.

"whatever, princess. go ahead and get your beauty sleep," you said, feigning indifference. “don’t want to wake up the whole castle, after all.”

sophia couldn’t help but laugh at your sarcasm. "are you always this annoying?" she asked, her voice filled with teasing, though there was a glint of something else. something less playful, more... curious.

you turned your head just slightly, avoiding her eyes. "i’m not annoying. you’re just tired. go back to bed before you wake up your entire kingdom."

sophia blinked, suddenly remembering something that had been bugging her all night. "speaking of which," she said, "why are you even still training this late? don’t you know it's a new moon tonight?"

 she waved her hand vaguely toward the sky. "it’s literally so dark out here, y/n. like, how are you even seeing anything?"

you paused, staring at her. "are you... are you really asking me if i can see in the dark? do you not know that knights are trained to fight in all conditions?"

she leaned back slightly, exaggeratedly inspecting the sky. "yeah, well... i thought maybe you were secretly a bat or something. you know, like, using echolocation to fight? you could probably just echolocate the entire castle and then—"

you blinked, completely deadpan. "okay, no. what are you even talking about right now?"

sophia let out a snort of laughter at the absurdity of it all, her eyes lighting up as she giggled louder than she had meant to. 

louder than she expected, louder than what was probably necessary. for a moment, everything seemed to stop, until she could feel the sudden tension in the space between you two.

you stared at her, eyes wide in confusion, your face heating up with the weirdest mixture of annoyance and... something. 

 "what? why… why are you laughing?" you asked, furrowing your brows, your lips threatening to form a scowl, but failing.

"i just—echolocation," sophia giggled, clutching her sides, her eyes twinkling in the moonlight. "that’s just... i don’t even know where to start with that, but it’s so funny!"

you quickly turned away, trying to keep your expression neutral, but your face flushed a deeper shade of red as you mumbled, "shut up, sophia. you’re gonna wake the whole castle with that laugh."

but even then, your words felt weaker than they should have. there was no bite behind them—just a strange sense of vulnerability in your voice, something you weren’t sure how to hide at the sound of her giggles. at the sound of her.

the sound of her laugh, free and unburdened, caught you off guard. it wasn’t the carefree laugh of a princess anymore,  it was something more. it was real. had your gaze softening and your shoulders hunching in the slightest.

and that’s when it hit you. her hair, dark and shining under the moonlight, seemed to shimmer, like it was dusted with stars. the pale moonlight painted her skin a soft silver, and her eyes, her eyes seemed to glint with a hidden amusement, the sort of amusement you could never quite figure out even if you’d wanted to.

then you felt a sudden warmth rising in your chest, and before you could stop it, your face flushed with embarrassment. you quickly looked away, determined not to show it.

sophia, still giggling to herself, barely heard the softness in your tone. she was too lost in the moment.

"maybe i should wake them up," sophia teased, voice light. "imagine all the knights running in to see what’s going on, and then they see you, the stoic commander’s daughter, getting made fun of because you could echolocate your sword moves—"

you cut her off, giving her an exaggerated sigh as you walked back to your training spot, trying your best to ignore the lingering laughter—her laughter— that hung in the air.

she didn’t seem to care, still beaming at you (like always), completely unaware of how her teasing had managed to chip away at your usual composure. you felt that odd warmth again, but this time you didn’t bother hiding it.

“stop laughing. you’re actually going to wake the whole castle this time.” your words came out sharper than you meant them to, but they lacked the firmness they usually carried. 

you were only half-serious, trying to hide the way your heart had skipped a beat. “you’re truly annoying, you know that?”

"absolutely," she replied, grinning ear to ear. "but don’t worry, i’m going to let you get back to your echolocation training now. just try not to wake up the entire castle next time, alright?"

“you try not to wake the entire castle up with your laugh.”you just waved her off, though there was a softness in your demeanor now, a quiet that wasn't quite like your usual aloofness. 

when you picked up your sword again, you could’ve sworn she had already noticed—maybe she was even smiling to herself—but you wouldn’t dare let her catch the flushed look on your face.

sophia made her way back toward the castle, humming a tune to herself. she’d never know how her laugh had done something to you. 

but tonight, it didn’t matter. sophia had just managed to make you feel something that she didn’t even realise she'd been doing all along.

—---

finding herself in the ever-so-lavish solar room of the castle a week later after the midnight run-in with you who had never really ended up bringing it up again, sophia found herself stuck and confined in the silk-lined walls with thread spools scattered around her in every unimaginable colour as she sat stiffly across her mother in the embroidered velvet chaise, early sun filtering through the open windows of the castle.

her mother coughs softly. “fifi, sweetheart, your debut’s just around the corner,” her highness, queen laforteza started, lips quirked into a small, knowing smile.

sophia’s hand stilled on the embroidery hoop perched on her lap, halfway through finishing the attempt to embroider the laforteza house crest—though one of the griffins looked like a lopsided duck instead.

sophia didn’t bother to muffle the groan that escaped her lips, dramatically dropping her head back to meet the golden edge of the chaise and bringing the hoop up to cover her face. “please don’t call it that.”

“don’t call what what?” her mother said innocently, threading a new color into her needle. “your debutante ball? your formal entrance into society?” she gasped, feigning shock. “your grand unveiling?”

“my god,” sophia muttered, dragging the needle through the fabric with a little more force than necessary, brows furrowing as she stared back at her mother unimpressed.

sophia wasn’t dumb. far from that. give her some credit. she knew exactly where this was going. her mother was inching toward the topic like it was some diplomatic strategy that her father had given her the task to look over, all smiles and cunning eyes. 

and of course, the first dance was at the center of it. which, to be fair, any mother would want to know in order to guarantee the safety of her daughter—and in this case, it was the one and only princess of the laforteza kingdom. 

not to mention the suitors. oh, for god’s sake, the suitors. they seemed to multiply with every passing day, letters stacked in neat little piles outside her room after a worker had done their daily rounds droppiung mails to each royal family, always signed too formally and written too stiffly. she sat up, continuing to work on her shit attempt at needlework.

she loathed it. just the mention of it makes her shiver. by god, she can’t deal with them. doesn’t even want to think about them approaching her next year because she knows for a fact that they will, because their ego just truly is at an all-time high whenever they lay eyes on her when really, sophia only knows the only reason why they do is because they either see her as a trophy, or the siren call of the throne.

her thoughts somehow drifted to you.

queen laforteza continued, arching a brow. “and have you thought about who your first dance might be with?” she asked, the question light and playful, but unmistakably pointed.

sophia didn’t look up from her needlework. “mom, my debut’s not until next year.”

“and you say that as if that gives me no reason at all to start planning now,” the queen said, voice airy. “you do know who your dear mother is, don’t you?”

sophia rolled her eyes. “you plan things like they’re battle strategies.”

“well,” her mother said, threading a perfect knot into the fabric, “i did grow up married to a war general. was his assisstant for quite some while too… still kind of am.”

sophia sighed, lips pressing into a thin line. “i’d rather have a sword in my hand than dance with any of those obnoxious lords who can’t even look me in the eye without turning into a puddle.”

“then who can?” her mother said gently. “there must be someone who doesn’t turn to dust under your stare.”

sophia hesitated. her fingers slowed against the hoop. her thoughts drifted to you once more. 

because she was right. god, was her mother right. 

someone can keep their composure perfectly still under her stare and dish it right back, who, even after all these years, never once broke eye contact unless sophia showed signs of discomfort at the exchange—not even when sophia was being absolutely ridiculous or bratty (asking you to play with her dolls with her when she damn well knew you were born with a sword in your hand).

she stayed quiet, not daring to utter your name. she’d have otherwise, were she in the comfort of her own room, but not here with her mother to hear and her too keen eyes peering at her. 

so instead, she stabbed the needle through the fabric a little too hard, forcing a shrug. “i don’t know. maybe i’ll just pick randomly and call it a day.”

the queen gave her a long look but said nothing. only smiled to herself, as if she already knew the answer and was simply waiting for her daughter to admit it out loud.

“alright.”

—

sophia had felt suffocated.

it was only 5 pm in the afternoon and she had already felt the life sucked out of her being after the particularly long session of tea etiquette, posture corrections, and painfully long lessons on “how to cross one’s ankles like a proper lady.” 

which after being dismissed by her etiquette teacher—an old, stern woman who looked as though she’d been plucked from the dustiest corner of the royal library—she made a beeline to where she knew you’d be, eager to run away from the woman’s judging gaze and almost tripping over the skirt of her dress.

she needed air. so in turn, she needed you.

“hey, echolocating knight-in-training, come with me.” her voice was soft and amused as it echoed across the courtyard, breaking your focus just enough. 

you were in the middle of footwork drills as your eyes flicked up toward her, finding her leaning lazily against one of the stone pillars to your right, her silk, pastel pink dress catching the breeze.

she smiled at you, open and easy, albeit a little smug—and you had to suppress the involuntary shiver that crept up your spine at the sickly sweet sight.

you scoffed, unamused. “and why should i?” 

sophia chuckled, shaking her head as she pushed off where she’d been leaning on the pillar and made her way to you, footsteps light. 

you halted your practice, wiping your chin dry of sweat that ran down your cheek. “you forget yourself, y/n.”

“you forget your princess.” 

then, without explanation, she extended her hand out to you, palm tilted slightly upward, waiting. you stared at it blankly, caught off guard by the sudden movement. 

your eyes flicked between her hand and her face, trying to piece together what on earth she was doing. “what are you—”

“kiss the back of my hand, you idiot. gentlemen do it all the time as a greeting.” she wiggled her fingers impatiently, eyes squinting at you with a barely concealed amusement. 

“guess we can’t say the same for you.”

you groaned but took her hand anyway, your fingers rough and calloused from years of hard work—one she’d closely watched—asharp contrast to her soft, perfumed skin. 

you brought it to your lips with a gentleness that surprised her, brushing them across the back of her hand with the kind of reverence usually reserved for sacred things, or those in higher rank than you are.

sophia’s breath caught, just for a second.

she hadn’t expected that.

she’d thought she could handle it. it was just a joke, a moment of teasing. she didn’t except you to actually go through with it.

her etiquette teacher had done it to demonstrate, and sophia hadn’t blinked then—possibly because she was a fossil—. but this? this was you, and her heart had the audacity to trip at the way your lips touched her skin.

“i’m not a man,” you muttered, your voice low and even, but your grip on her hand stayed careful, firm. you paused, then added softly, “i’m a woman.”

it shouldn’t have made her stomach flip. but it did.

her cheeks flushed, heat crawling up her neck as she yanked her hand back, clearing her throat. “well. clearly.”

you shot her an ‘are you kidding?’ stare, sighing softly at her interrupting your practice once again. a daily occurrence that you should’ve been used to by now. 

“so, where are we going?”

sophia spun around before you could read her expression too closely. “the gardens,” she said over her shoulder, pretending like her face wasn’t on fire. 

“and the lake. i’m tired of breathing in dust and listening to lady maribelle complain about my posture.”

you trailed behind her as she walked ahead, arms swinging with a freedom that had you quietly smiling to yourself.

the gardens were nearly empty by the time you and sophia reached them, the sky shifting into shades of orange and yellow as the sun began to dip behind the castle walls. the breeze smelled faintly of roses and lavender.

but sophia didn’t stop to admire them—she’d seen them way too many times to gag over them. she kept walking ahead, skirts gathered in her fists, guiding you down the stone path that led behind the hedges and past the willow trees, straight toward the lake.

“...we’re not just going to look at the water, are we?” you asked warily, already eyeing the small wooden boats bobbing at the dock.

sophia glanced over her shoulder, her grin suspiciously wide, eyes crinkled into crescents. “nope.”

“please tell me you’re not expecting me to—”

“get in the boat,” she sang sweetly, already stepping onto the dock and reaching for the nearest one painted gold.

you didn’t move. “sophia, i’ve been training all day.”

“and this is me rewarding you.” she turned and held out her hand again—not to be kissed this time, but to tug you forward. “you can row me around like a charming little gondolier.”

you sighed, staring at her like she’d grown two heads. “i hate you.”

“and yet, here you are.” she tilted her chin with mock arrogance, eyes glinting.

you groaned under your breath but followed her anyway, climbing awkwardly into the boat while she settled into the seat like it was the throne/, fingers trailing through the water. you grabbed the oars begrudgingly, shooting her a tired glare that only made her giggle.

fuck.

“you know,” she said after a few minutes of quiet rowing, “you’ve got a nice rhythm. maybe you were a sailor in another life.”

you raised an eyebrow. intrigued. “a sailor?”

“mhm. gruff voice. tragic, tragic past. always looking at the horizon like you’ve got unimaginable memories out at sea.”

you snorted. “you’ve clearly read too many romance novels. now i know why you spend too much time in the library with your nose buried in a book.”

she leaned back in the seat, eyes closing for a moment as the breeze sifted through her hair. “and you clearly don’t row me fast enough.”

you splashed her with one oar, just enough to make her yelp and sit upright, eyes wide.

“y/n!”

“oops.”

sophia narrowed her eyes but was still smiling, wiping her now-damp sleeve with playful offense. “you’ll pay for that.”

“good luck,” you muttered, rowing a little faster, trying to ignore the way your heart kept doing jumping jacks at how pretty she looked when she was mock pouting, sunsett dusting her skin like gold, water around her glowing.

you told yourself it was just exhaustion. 

definitely not the way she kept watching you with that quiet amusement, like she could see right through you. like she always had.

—---

the solar room hadn’t changed at all. the same velvet cushions. the same lace-curtained windows. the same faint scent of lavender and rosewater that clung to the cushions, the walls, even the thread in sophia’s embroidery hoop. 

the only real difference was the tapestry she was working on—no longer clumsy or full of crooked stitches, but neat, straight.

and her mother, of course, still sat across from her, spine perfectly straight, pale blue gown immaculately laid around her, with her embroidery in hand and a glint in her eye that made sophia immediately suspicious.

“dearest, your actual debut’s around the corner now,” queen laforteza said, voice lilting and casual. too casual, she’d dare say.

sophia didn’t even look up from her stitching, words tugging at a memory she hadn’t planned on revisiting. 

suddenly, she was seventeen again, hands clumsy, posture slouched, hiding behind a half-finished crest while her mother teased her about first dances and suitors.

the memory irked her slightly. especially because nothing had changed, and yet everything had. if that made sense.

“have you picked out who’ll be your first dance now?” the queen added, sipping her tea like she didn’t already have a shortlist of eager young noblemen memorised from months ago as she requested for names of those interested.

sophia hummed, tying a knot in her thread with practiced ease. “i’ll just have basil as my first dance.”

that got her mother’s attention. the queen blinked, lowering her teacup mid-sip. “wait, but your brother—”

“i’ve already talked about it to him,” sophia said calmly. “he said he was fine with it. didn’t feel comfortable enough to have someone else dance me instead. i could’ve ask father to do it too, but i fear he’s already got too much on his plate. with the new knight recruits and all.”

her mother didn’t respond right away, which was rare. she simply studied sophia for a moment, as if trying to uncover whether her daughter was being genuine—or evasive.

“sweets,” she said after a beat, “are you sure you don’t want to pick a noble to be your first dance instead? i heard marquess barretto’s son leon, is interested.”

sophia groanef immediately, slumping slightly despite her attempt to stay firm. “mother, leon barretto wears more perfume than i do and nearly tripped on my gown last week trying to kiss my hand. i’d rather drown in the lake.”

her mother pressed her lips together, clearly trying not to laugh. “he’s not that bad.”

“he’s that bad,” sophia deadpanned, finally setting her embroidery hoop down in her lap. 

“besides, it’s not like the first dance has to be romantic. it’s ceremonial. traditional. it doesn’t mean anything.”

“it used to,” her mother said gently.

what she didn’t say was that the idea of dancing with a stranger made her skin crawl. that the thought of twirling in a room full of watching eyes, arm in arm with someone she barely knew, made her chest tighten.

and maybe there was someone else she’d rather offer her hand to. someone who stood steady in the moonlight and made her laugh when she wasn’t supposed to. 

someone whose hands were rough and real and held hers like they were afraid to hurt her, like she was the most fragile thing in the whole world.

she found herself unable to articulate it into words again with her mother in the room. 

her mother watched her quietly for a long moment, then gave a soft sigh and returned to her embroidery. “well,” the queen murmured, “if basil steps on your toes, don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

sophia cracked a small, lopsided smile. “he won’t. and if he does, i’ll blame it on the wind.”

–

the golden sun hadn’t even finished crawling its way over the castle walls when you were dragged—half-asleep and wholly unwilling—up and off the bed to stand barefeet in your chamber, marble flooring cold against your feet.

you hated breaks in your training. hated breaks in general. hated stillness. they made you feel like a blade left out in the rain, dulled and useless. 

but as the king’s guard’s commander’s daughter, and more importantly, as the personal guard to the princess herself, you were expected to be rid of all training and any hard work the day before the debut of the king’s only daughter. 

so, instead of sparring or drilling or doing literally anything useful, you were subjected to a full day of tailoring that commenced at the break of dawn. stupid, stupid, tradition.

the fabric was heavy and foreign on your skin. the uniform was modeled after your father’s—same deep navy blue tones, same sharp gold embroidery stitched along the lapel and hem—but unlike his, yours bore no jewels, no medals, no markers of great achievement. 

it was a blank canvas, clean and awaiting, quiet proof that your legacy had not yet begun.

it’ll have one, one day. i’ll make sure of it.

now, hours later, you were only half in it. your jacket draped halfway up your shoulders, the sleeves rolled awkwardly around your arm as you stood at the edge of the training grounds, watching the new recruits go through their drills.

 it should’ve been you out there. every muscle in your body ached to move, to sweat, to strike.

“that’s what you’re gonna wear for the princess’s debut?” yunjin called out, amusement thick in her voice as she twirled her practice sword lazily.

 “wow, so fancy, y/n. unlike you, we have to stay in these heavy, uncomfortable pieces of metal.”

keeho laughed behind her, clutching his stomach in mock agony. “how’s a man supposed to pick a woman up in this?” 

he groaned, dragging a hand through his sweat-matted hair and down his face. “at this rate, you’ll sweep every single woman in the vicinity.”

you scowled, arms crossed over your half-dressed chestplate. “you’re there to support and show your loyalty to the kingdom. that armour is there to protect you in case something happens. you’re not there to pick up women, keeho.”

he gasped, utterly affronted. “god, you sound like my mother. geez.”

“maybe she’s smarter than you,” you muttered, and yunjin barked out a laugh.

truth be told, the uniform felt strange. it fit, sure, it had been measured to the bone, trimmed and cinched and hemmed perfectly to your body, but it wasn’t you. 

it felt like wearing someone else’s skin. someone softer. someone still figuring out who she was underneath the polished buttons and polished roles, made to perfection as overlooked by your father.

tomorrow, you wouldn’t be in the shadows like you always were. not with sophia standing in the middle of the grand ballroom, not with every noble eye on her, and by extension, on you.

you didn’t mind being her sword. her shield. her quiet. but you just weren’t sure how to be seen. 

still, as you watched your friends spar, the laughter between them easy and real, your hand tightened slightly on the edge of your sleeve. you could do this. you would.

because tomorrow wasn’t about you. it was about her. your princess. sophia. the same one who’d slowly chipped at your walls ever since she barged into your life all sunshine and rainbows.

and you’d wear this damn thing like it was yours. because sophia deserved someone who could stand beside her without cowering beneath the pressure of legacy. even if your uniform didn’t carry medals, your loyalty didn’t need stitching or .

—--

this was it.

the music slowed to a hush as the double doors opened, and all conversation stilled. heads turned, gowns rustled, fans fluttered shut. the grand ballroom, lit by towering chandeliers and flooded with golden candlelight, held its breath.

at the top of the staircase stood sophia.

she descended like something out of a painting—dressed in a gown that shimmered faintly with every step, the soft blue silk catching the light like moonlit water. 

her hair was pinned with delicate gold leaves, and her gloves, the palest cream, trembled just slightly as she reached the last few steps.

you were already there, waiting.

my god, of course you were.

you stood at the foot of the stairs, back straight, gloved hands behind your back until you extended one forward for her. 

your uniform, tailored and formal, fit you like a second skin, and though the medals were missing, your presence felt like its own badge of honour. sophia’s eyes found yours immediately, her expression unreadable but drawn—always drawn—to you.

a faint smile appears in her lips at the notice of your uniform matching hers.

she slipped her hand into yours.

gloved hand in gloved hand, you escorted her across the ballroom floor, past suitors and murmured gasps. your steps were steady. hers were lighter now, as if walking beside you was enough to melt the nerves off her spine.

you led her to her brother—basil, dutiful and already stepping forward with an awkward smile. sophia hesitated, only slightly, before she turned to you once more, her voice low. 

for you and for your ears only.

“wait for me?”

you gave her a nod. “always.”

then she turned, and basil offered his hand. the music swelled, and sophia began her first dance under the eyes of the kingdom.

—-

time passed. champagne flutes clinked, music floated high into the domed ceilings, and laughter curled around crystal chandeliers. 

you had tried, god you had tried, to disappear into the crowd after your brief appearance at her side, but your father had other plans. like always.

“you will socialise, y/n,” he’d said, placing an annoyingly firm hand on your shoulder before nudging you toward a young noblewoman who looked just as uninterested in the conversation as you were. 

he wanted you to make a name for yourself.

gabriela, she introduced herself. from some lord’s house you didn’t care to remember. sharp eyes, sweet but cunning smile. she was fine. too curious, maybe. too flirty.

you were halfway through a polite excuse when the music shifted again, and she reached for your hand.

and somehow, you let her.

you weren’t thinking. you were tired. you were overwhelmed. and the thought of getting yelled at again by your father had already made your shoulders tense. so, you danced. you gave in.

your first dance, ever. not with the person you'd wanted, not with the person you’d imagined, but still, a dance.

across the ballroom, sophia had just finished her second spin in the arms of her youngest brother, oreo, whose too small tux kept making her laugh between steps. 

she ruffled his hair after the last note and watched him scamper back to where the rest of the royal family was seated, cheeks flushed with pride.

then her smile fell.

because there you were. dancing.

not standing off to the side. not waiting for her like you said you would. always, my ass. but dancing, with someone else.

gabriela laughed at something you said. sophia could only assume it wasn’t even that funny—god, you’re not even that funny—and your hands were still joined, her other palm resting on your shoulder.

sophia didn’t even wait for the song to end.

she marched straight toward the drink table, lips pressed into a thin line, her expression far too aloof to be casual.

manon, trailing behind with lara following suit, raised a brow. “that was quick.”

“i need a drink,” sophia muttered.

“you just had a drink,” lara said, nursing a half-finished flute of champagne in one hand.

“i need a stronger drink,” she said, already eyeing manon. manon caught the implication.

she didn’t bother saying a word. just reached into the inside of her embellished cape and handed her a hip flask with all the ceremony of a royal decree.

sophia didn’t even blink. unscrewed it. took a slow sip. let the burn bloom across her tongue and down like acid into her stomach.

lara watched her carefully. “everything alright, soph?”

 sophia lowered the flask, eyes sharp as they slid across the ballroom to where you and gabriela were still dancing.

“peachy,” she said flatly. 

hands off. she knew that this woman could have anyone else, nd god, why did she have to pick you of all people? fuck, she might end up begging if she doesn’t let go og you anytime soon.

manon didn’t bother asking. she knew. so she just handed her another sip. and the two of them shared a look.

—-

“you know, fifi’s fond of you. like, really, really fond of you.”

your head turns to watch oreo under the moonlight. you’d found the king’s youngest child in the balcony after seeking for coolness and peace after the dance with gabriela and the chaos of being surrounded by nobles desperately wishing for sophia’s hand in marriage or for just a mere dance—which props to her, she’s only danced with her brothers. 

the fact settles you.

“she shouldn’t be.” your reply garnered a laugh from the boy, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“but she is, though. it’s… unsettling, sometimes. makes me wonder if she’ll actually ever wind up finding a lord or something to date, because she spends too much time trying to, uh, what’s the word, have your friendship grow? i don’t know.. but you know, i just thought you’d want to know. ‘cause… yeah.”

you nodded, brows furrowing in thought as you leaned your elbows on the railing, lost as to why oreo, of all people, was telling you this. 

you’d barely talked to the boy before, and you’re more than sure that this is the first time you’d had a proper conversation—which just happened to be about sophia.

you weren’t surprised it was about her. not that you minded, anyway.

“i heard marquess barretto’s son might be a potential match.” you’d commented after a beat, and oreo hummed.

“yeah, i overheard them talking about it. don’t think fifi’s as fond of him as she is of you though.” he replies casually, like it wasn’t anything big of a deal.

the two of you stood outside for a few more moments in silence, comforted that you’d both reached an understanding and bridged a new friendship that was built upon the love and concern for sophia.

then he spoke. calm, slow, took his time. he wanted it to linger, that much you knew. every word enunciated firmly, yet heavily blanketed with warmth.

“i hope it’s you.”

—---

the ballroom had grown louder. brighter. unbearably warmer.

and somewhere between her second drink from manon’s flask and the half-glass of wine she’d sipped too quickly after, sophia lost sight of you again. she was a lightweight, surprisingly (not) enough.

the music spun and so did the chandelier, her steps a little less poised now as she slipped through groups of nobles, skirts brushing against her gown, their laughter buzzing like gnats in her ears.

her mind was foggy. her throat was dry. her eyes eere hazy. her head was a mix of bass, violin, and the sharp reminder of of your betrayal—irrational and sticky, crawling beneath her skin like fire. burning hotter than the liquor that ran down her throat.

you had danced with someone else.

her stomach twisted every time she thought of it. the way your hand had rested so easily on gabriela’s waist. the way you let her smile at you. like it was nothing. like it didn’t mean anything.

how dare you. 

how dare you dance with someone else that wasn’t her. it was her debut. her ball you were supposed to keep your eyes on her and her only. dance with her and her only. god, why didn’t you? you didn’t keep your promise.

you didn’t keep your promise.

her heel caught on the edge of someone’s coat and she stumbled forward with a sharp breath, hands out instinctively to grab onto something—and then—

“whoa—sophia—”

you caught her before she hit the floor, arms wrapping around her waist without hesitation. her gloved fingers curled into the front of your uniform, clinging, her cheek resting against your chest.

“you’re drunk,” you muttered under your breath, keeping it together like her close proximity didn’t do things to you. 

“am not,” she mumbled into your jacket, and then, louder, “you danced with someone else.”

you stiffened. “sophia—”

“you did,” she huffed, pulling back just enough to glare up at you. her eyes were glassy, but sharp with frustration. 

“i saw you. with that girl—gabby? gab—gabriela—manon told me.”

you hushed her immediately, grabbing her by the shoulders and casting a quick glance around. you’d already caught one or two nobles side-eyeing the princess in your arms, and the last thing anyone needed was this being tomorrow’s headline in the newspapers. 

no, your dad would kill you. the king would behead you. (you’re dramatic. but it’s a possibility.)

“we’re going,” you said, low and urgent, slipping an arm around her waist as she swayed again. “you’re done. come on.”

“don’t wanna go,” sophia slurred stubbornly, stumbling as you started to guide her through the crowd. “s’my party.”

“you can barely stand.”

“still mad.”

“don’t care.”

you maneuvered quickly, expertly, keeping your head down, fingers steady around her arm as you led her past the sweeping golden drapes and into one of the side corridors. 

the music dulled behind the ballroom doors. the cool air of the hall washed over you like waves, blessedly quiet.

sophia groaned dramatically as you pushed open the door to one of the unused sitting rooms. she sagged against you, like every ounce of tension had finally slipped from her bones the moment the door clicked shut behind you.

you helped her to the couch, kneeling in front of her to unclip her shoes as she flopped backwards, arms flung over the edge like a drowned, tragic poet. her tiara tilted sideways.

“you looked pretty,” she murmured suddenly into the quiet. “still look pretty.”

you froze. you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “…what?”

“in your uniform,” she mumbled, cheeks flushed from more than just the wine. her lashes fluttered. she wasn’t even aware she was saying this.

“made it hard to breathe, ‘cause you—” she made a vague gesture toward your body, eyes half-lidded as she watched you with softness. “just stood there with your jaw and your shoulders—and then you had to go and dance with someone who wasn’t me—”

you closed your eyes, took a slow, steady and calculated breath.

“i wasn’t thinking,” she continued, voice growing softer, more fragile around the edges, eroding like your walls around her. 

“and now i’m thinking too much and my head’s spinning and i hate that i care. i hate it. i hate it so much.”

you looked up at her.

and for a moment—just a moment—sophia laforteza didn’t look like a princess. she looked like a girl with a heart too full, slumped sideways in a chair that didn’t belong to her, whispering confessions she’d never dare say sober.

fuck.

“you need water,” you said finally, inhaling sharply.

“no. what i need,” she said, eyes fluttering closed again, “is for you to never dance with anyone else ever again.”

you blinked. your mouth opened. then closed.

“and, to kiss me.”

“what—”

too fast for how drunk she was, she grabbed  a fistful of your collar with ashaky, determined hand and pulled you down into her.

her lips crashed into yours—messy, heated, desperate. she kissed you like she was trying to memorise something with the urgency of someone afraid of forgetting. like she’d waited too long and couldn’t hold it in anymore. and for a second,

you kissed back. you actually kissed back.

because she was soft and flushed and trembling (scared you’ll push her off), and it was her. the girl who haunted your thoughts during drills. the girl who laughed like the world was hers, and somehow made you feel like it could be yours too.

that she could be yours.

but your hand caught her wrist gently, and you pulled away, breath uneven, your forehead resting against hers as she blinked in a daze.

she looked up at you then, hazy eyes widening, horror flickering across her expression like a crack in the sky. her lips parted, like she was about to say something—apologise, maybe, or backpedal into silence.

“hey,” you whispered, still close enough to feel the heat of her skin. “tell me who i am.”

she blinked, confused. “what?”

“tell me who i am, sophia. just…say it.”

she blinked once, then her brows furrowed with focus, her hand still twisted in your collar.

“y/n,” she said softly. “you’re… y/n. you’re my knight.”

“and your name is?”

she swallowed. “my name is princess sophia elizabeth guevara laforteza, 122th heir to the throne after my brother.”

and that was all you needed.

you exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “okay,” you mumbled, almost to yourself, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. 

“okay… you understand. you’re not fully drunk yet.”

“yeah, no crap i am. what are you doing?” she asked breathlessly, voice low, still dazed.

you stepped back, gently but firmly, slipping her hand from your shirt and keeping your voice as steady as you could manage.

“we shouldn’t be doing this here,” you said. “someone could see.”

she didn’t argue. she didn’t tease. just nodded once, slow and sure, trusting you the same way she always had.

you led her out of the quiet room with a careful hand on her back, her weight leaning slightly against your side, every step quick and quiet as you took the back corridors—the ones only you and the guards knew—until you reached her bedchamber.

the door closed softly behind you. the room smelled like garden roses and her. 

you helped her out of her gown without a word, careful, respectful. she helped you out of your uniform, clumsy fingers and sleepy sighs. neither of you spoke of what it meant and what it stood for next.

she curled into your side not long after, head pressed against your shoulder, bare legs tangled under silk sheets, devotion silent in the night.

—-

basil approached you the next day. you knew what he was there for before he could ask you. like oreo, you and him had a different kind of understanding. quiet and aloof, but close acquaintances. 

he’d told you about his distaste for becoming the king, and how he’d pass the throne onto sophia the moment he’d been deemed worthy enough to lead his own royal guard. 

“sophia disappeared sometime yesterday night in the party. were you with her?” always quick to the point, basil was. he never liked a chase.

you respected that about him.

you nodded curtly. you knew better than to lie. you watched him take note of the faint, dark purple mark on your neck, tucked away beneath the collar of your tunic. the corner of his lips curled up a fraction.

“i was with her, yes.”

“in more ways than one, i presume.”

your lips pressed into a thin line, throat bobbing. he chuckles softly. “it’s fine, y/n. ease up. i’m glad it was you, and not one of those snobby lords.”

a scoff was pulled from your throat, though it was more of an amused sound. “your sister knows better than that. she’s a woman that knows what she wants.”

“what she wants and what she gets.” he commented, and you nodded.

a beat passed. neither of you spoke. you both watch the movements of the knights-in-training. watched a younger knight fumble his footwork while yunjin shouted at him, keeho cackling in the background.

you don’t feel guilty about being interrupted.

then basil shifted beside you, voice softer. “i trust you wouldn’t break her heart.”

your brows furrowed, the thought that he’d even think that was insulting and offensive to everything you stood for. for the kingdom.  for oath. for her. 

you shot him a glance that morphed into a glare. “if anything, it’d be her that’ll be breaking my heart. she hasn’t said a word to me since we woke up this morning.”

his gaze followed yours and caught sight of sophia.

she was approaching the training grounds, walking with purpose, blue day dress trailing slightly behind her, sunlight wrapping itself around her like she were a daughter of the sun, glowing, radiant.

she didn’t belong anywhere near the battlefield. if anything, she looked like she belonged to you.

basil gave a low whistle, already stepping back. “then i guess i’ll leave you to it.” he gave your shoulder a brief, meaningful squeeze. “good luck.”

you swallowed, throat tight, and turned just as she stepped in front of you, her hands clasped neatly in front of her.

you opened your mouth, not knowing what to say—only for her to speak first.

“can we talk?”

you nodded wordlessly, following her as she led you away from the noise, around the stone corridor that wrapped behind the courtyard, until it was just the two of you. 

quiet, save for the faint echo of swords meeting shields in the background.

she turned to you slowly, nervous, but determined nonetheless. “you thought i wouldn’t remember.”

to be frank, you hadn’t expected her to come. not after how quickly she’d disappeared that morning. not after she couldn’t even look at you when she slipped out of bed.

you looked away. “you were drunk.”

“not drunk enough,” she said. “i remember all of it. i remember everything.”

you stayed silent.

“you looked like you thought it was a mistake,” you finally said, voice low. “and it’s fine, sophia. it was a mistake. a lapse in my judgement, and i shouldn’t have let it happen or initiated anything.

her brows furrowed, eyes darkening. not with anger, but something deeper. hurt.

“it wasn’t,” she said. “not for me.”

your breath hitched. she stepped closer, her voice quieter now, the words meant for your ears only.

“i tried so hard to remember everything, y/n. not because i was scared i did something wrong. but because i wanted to remember it. all of it. i was scared of forgetting the feeling of your warmth against mine, scared to forget how it felt like i truly did belong somewhere with someone.”

her hand hovered, brushed your sleeve. she gulped, eyes looking up at you with silent begging, desperation. she needed to hear you reciprocate the feelings that had been gnawing at her since your first meeting.

“i love you, y/n.”

she can’t be the only one who felt it. and she was right.

“i love you more, sophia. ever since that night in the courtyard, where you fucked around teasing me about echolocation,” she laughed softly at the mention, “i’ve loved you ever since.”

your hand moved, 

she leaned into your touch like she’d been waiting for it all her life—like your palm on her cheek was a missing piece she hadn’t known she was missing until it fit just right.

“say it again,” she whispered, barely audible. her lashes fluttered, her eyes on your lips.

you didn’t hesitate. “i love you.”

sophia smiled. soft, genuine. the kind of smile that stripped her of title, crown, and duty. just sophia. just yours.

then she surged forward, pressing her lips to yours in a kiss that felt like a promise kept. it was slower than last night. no desperation, no effects of wine. just certainty. it was clear and steady and warm, it was everything sophia is.

when she pulled away, your hand still holding her face like she might vanish, she exhaled shakily. “i thought you hated me this morning.”

“i thought you regretted it,” you said, your voice rough with emotion you barely understood how to carry.

“never,” she replied, and it was immediate. “i regret not doing it sooner.”

you let out a breath of disbelief, a soft laugh that cracked at the edges. “you’re a freak.”

“you love me for it.”

“unfortunately.”

she grinned and bumped your shoulder with hers, fingers drifting down to take your hand in hers, entwining them easily like it was something as natural as breathing.

you decide that honour and loyalty aren’t the reason to fight for the kingdom anymore. sophia is now everything you stood for.

—-

you were both twenty when the first declaration of war from a neighboring empire had been announced. it was everywhere. in the newspapers, down to the leaflets and the frantic whispers threading through the markets and corridors of the kingdom. the empire of eyekonia hath declared war.

it struck like lightning. swift, absolute, and deafening. the court held emergency councils. generals moved like shadows through the halls. flags were lowered, then raised again under tighter command. the world sophia knew shifted beneath her feet.

she didn’t care about strategy or supply lines or how many allies the crown could still call on.

all she could think about was you.

sophia had found you in the eastern wing, halfway through your patrol, and without a word, she grabbed the back of your tunic, dragging you quietly, urgently, through the stone halls, past startled servants and guards who knew better than to speak up. 

she didn’t stop until she found an unused meeting room, where the shutters were drawn and the heavy oak door groaned under the force she slammed it with. you stumbled inside after her, confused, the back of your shirt still wrinkled where her fingers had clutched it tight.

it had been a year since you both started seeing each other in secret. a year since that fated night that linked you together for an eternity, a year since she’d relished in the comfort of your presence. 

she didn’t say anything at first. just paced the room, fingers trembling ever so slightly, her breath coming in uneven bursts. and when she finally turned to look at you, her eyes burned—not with fury, but with something far worse: desperation.

“you’re not fighting the front lines, are you?”

you blinked. the question caught you off guard. truly. but then the weight of it crashed into you like a tidal wave. the news, the fear, the look in her eyes.

you stepped forward slowly, shaking your head. “no. my duty lies with protecting you.”

her body deflated in an instant, all the tension draining from her shoulders like a storm finally passing. she crossed the room in two quick strides, arms wrapping around your waist like she could shield you from the news of the war and the war itself.

she could stay like this forever.

“thank god,” she whispered into your chest. “i thought—”

“i know.” you murmured, pressing your lips against her hair.

you didn’t tell her how your father had been summoned to the war room before sunrise. how he’d returned with a rare look of relief in his eyes, saying that the king had other plans. that you, your father, and basil—who finally got his wish of his own royal knights and got the approval of the king to step down from becoming king—were to remain behind, at the palace.

“the frontline is no place for heirs or shields,” the king had said. “the royal family must be guarded. my blood must be protected. and sophia… she will need people she trusts.”

you had bowed. not for the kingdom. not even for the king. but because of her.

“i’m not going anywhere.” you’d whispered, feeling her arms tighten around you and nuzzling further into your neck like she’s trying to mold you both into one, warm breath fanning against your skin gently, grounding you. “i’m not going anywhere.”

“promise?”

“promise.”

—-

you were both twenty-two years of age—two years into the war with the empire of eyekonia, and the kingdom was bleeding. losing men like they were mere numbers on a scale, names carved into stone more often than into medals. they were dropping like flies on foreign soil, dying for oaths that no longer felt like promises, but debts too heavy to repay.

and you—ever composed, ever sharp—you were unraveling. slowly. quietly. like silk being pulled from the hem.

your restless nights didn’t go unnoticed. not to sophia.

she noticed the determination and focus in your eyes whenever you’d all meet up in the great hall to talk strategies for the way, the way your leg bounced up and down in an agitated tic,  barely perceptible beneath your uniform—too subtle for those who’d merely glance your way. but not sophia.

never sophia.

she’d prided herself with knowing you better than yourself. the rhythm of your breaths. the slight dip in your voice when you were trying to keep emotion at bay. 

the way you bit the inside of your cheek—not out of anxiety, but out of restraint—whenever someone proposed a strategy that would cost more lives than it should, before promptly leaning forward in your seat and shaking your head because the men aren’t just casualties that racked up numbers. 

and then you’d lean forward in your seat, voice calm but firm, always with that same line: "there has to be another way."

because to you, the men weren’t pawns.

they were names. faces. boys you’d trained with. soldiers who greeted you in the early hours, who held open doors and passed messages and laughed at keeho and yunjin’s bad jokes. men who had families, stories, dreams. they were men who you’d seen each day, given empowering speeches to and playfully cheering after. 

they were your men as much as they are hers and the kingdom’s.

and sophia—she would watch you from across the room, something tender and painful blooming in her chest. because she knew what it cost you to care this much. and she loved you all the more for it.

noticed the way you’d softened through the years, the way you’d let yourself feel and show more feelings, instead of casting them away in a bottle and hiding it under a chest you won’t ever open, leaving the lock for generations and generations to look for.

noticed the way you’d been treading carefully around the idea of joining the front lines, not wanting to sit back and watch as the kingdom fell apart around you that could potentially risk the royal family’s life. sophia’s life. 

noticed the way you steeled yourself whenever numbers of lives lost were brought back to you at the end of the way, and sophia could feel her resolve that hung by a thread shaking, because she just cannot afford to have you, the person she’d lost nights to, rolling in bed and giggling like a teenager in love. 

you, the person who used to be too scared to sleep in the same bed as her given the fact that you’d already slept together before, all unusually meek and unsure of your actions when you’d always been so sure of yourself. 

you, who she was sure she’d spend the rest of her life with, have a family, grow old together and die beside each other. you who she wanted to marry.

and you, who she cannot afford to be a mere statistic of the kingdom’s casualties in a war she didn’t want. a victim to her father’s ambitious plans.

she feels sick.

she cannot fathom the thought of you out there, all alone while you stood in foreign soil soaked with the kingdom’s blood, away from the castle walls where she could keep you safe, away from her, away from the promise of forever. of a life with her.

she knew you were trained for this. it was a huge factor as to how you’d reached the levels and earned your place in the kingdom—and more importantly, a seat in the great hall where the king and queen, their oldest son, close advisers and commanders, and her, the heir, all gathered. you got there not because your father is one of the king’s trusted advisor, but because you worked for it.

she couldn’t look at you properly that night. couldn’t even face you in the bed as you both laid next to each other, eyes wide open and sleep not planning on visiting your eyelids soon. a lump formed in her throat and her limbs moved before she knew it, propping herself up on her elbows to sit up on the bed, back flushed to the headboard. 

she watched you do the same. watched as you silently sat up next to her, adjusted the covers on top of her to make sure she’s hidden away from the cold. the action oddly spikes annoyance in her.

because how dare you. how dare you have thoughts of leaving the kingdom. leaving her behind to walk men to their demise because of her father’s foolish, ambitious plans that had dragged everyone into its whirlwind? how dare you have those thoughts and not tell her? how dare you ingrain the image of her waking up to an empty side of your bed, of leaving without telling her, just to hear word of your passing in her mind?

how dare you assume she doesn’t know you well enough not to notice.

“will you ever marry me?” 

the question lands flat. your lips parted in a moment of surprise, eyes widening slightly at how blunt she’d been. she looks tired of everything, and rightfully so. she’d been tired of the war, of the stench of male ego to strike up a treaty to stop the killing, and even so of the unnamed and unfinished promise of forever with you.

she doesn’t know how much longer she has you before you tell her you want to go to war.

her eyes tear up, hot tears rolling down her cheeks as you stayed silent, fingers twitching but not reaching out. just watching. just watching as the fabric of her nightgown dampened and grew darker in colour as tears fell. 

she hates how she leans in almost immediately at your touch on her cheek, pressing her face in your palm and god, she’d never been this vulnerable before. she gets why you hate it.

“of course i will.”

“but will you, though? because at this rate, i’m scared that i’ll keep waiting and waiting and waiting for you, and i will, because i love you—and i cherish you more than anything in this world—and that there’ll be a time that’ll come where you won’t—you won’t even be here, because i see it in your eyes. i see how much you want to fight the empire, even if right now, it seems like a lost cause. i see how much you look like you’re ready to choose the kingdom over me and i’m scared because i know that once you put your mind to it, that you will. and i’m scared because i know you have the capability to. and most of all, i’m scared that one day, i’ll wake up and you’re not even going to be here anymore. that you won’t be here to hug me when you know i need it without telling you to, to listen to me ramble on and on about something unnecessary, that you won’t be here when i need you the most. and i’m going to be stuck here, because god knows i cannot and will never find another to love. because you’d carved yourself into every. single. piece. of me. and i’ll never forget you. i don’t ever want to forget you.”

you don’t know when it started. sophia was too busy pouring her heart out to take notice, too, when you started pouring your eyes out. it hadn’t dawned on you, until now, that she’d always be waiting for you to come home, wherever you go, whatever you do. the realisation makes your heart weep.

you grasp her hands, tears streaming down your face just as much as the ones rolling down her flushed cheeks, hot to touch, and kiss her empty ring finger. 

“i promise to you, that when the war ends and we can breathe easily and freely again, that i will marry you. this is my oath to you, my heart, that i will make you my wife the moment i can, and we shall live the rest of our lives together. maybe build a family, even turn the garden much bigger as you wish. we’ll have the rest of our lives to figure out what we’ll do together.”

and sophia finally feels like she could breathe. 

—

you were both twenty-three when things had looked even more grim than before, and twenty-four when you decided that there was no better time than now to enter the battlefield, four years after the war had been declared. 

sophia sat stiffly. you both knew this day would come. it was just a matter of if or when, and you’d picked the day a week before your twenty-fifth birthday. sophia had wanted to spend time with you on your birthday, do as best she could while the kingdom slowly crumbled into shambles, try and focus on something else that wasn’t stained with blood.

but now here you are, dropping the decision on her lap like it wasn’t anything heavy. like you didn’t just tell her that you’ll be off to the thorny battlefield that swam with dead bodies. 

would she really ever have the chance to marry you? to slip the ring in your finger and for you to slip the ring in hers, branding you to have a lifetime of love ahead of you? would she ever see you grow old beside her, all wrinkles and gray hairs, and a tired yet content smile on your lips as you watched your grandchildren—if you somehow manage to have children—run around the garden, otherwise, you’ll be watching either basil or oreo’s grandchildren.

she doesn’t know what was worse, not spending a lifetime with you, or you wrapped in death’s embrace somewhere in a place she couldn’t reach.

she decides its both. because it doesn’t give her you, either way.

SOPHIA’S POV.

you tell me you’re leaving like it’s a simple thing, like the ground won’t open up beneath me the second you’re gone.

i don’t cry anymore. i just sit there, watching you, memorizing every detail—the slope of your shoulders, the way your fingers curl restlessly against your knee, like maybe some part of you is afraid too.

“don’t look at me like that,” you whispered.

but how else am i supposed to look at you? how else am i supposed to let you go?

when you’re gone, the earth will have you. it will hold you tighter than i ever could, wrap you up in its quiet, endless embrace. and i will be left here, hollow, staring at the ground beneath my feet and hating it for having what i lost.

if you must die, i'll envy even the earth that wraps your body.

—--

it had been a week since you’d left for the war. you’d already turned twenty-five.

 your father had struck up a deal with one of the advisors from the empire of eyekonia, and wished to send troops to seek if the empire will hold up their line of the bargain. and the king—after a lot of nagging and persistence on basil’s end—had begrudgingly allowed his eldest son to come with his troops on stand-by beside your own. 

keeho and yunjin looked uneasy and queasy on the way to the empire. the week had gone by quick, and thanks to your expertise and basil’s troops who had served as reinforcements, quickly wiped the enemy troops down, not a single knight sat on their horse unscathed or untouched by stains of blood. you yourself had suffered a deep gash wrapped tightly in bandage.

you stopped your horse just in front of the seemingly barren castle gates of the empire. it was daunting, the beheaded troops of your kingdom sat decomposing on pikes and up for display for everyone to see. you heard somebody retching behind you. basil rides his horse to stand beside yours.

“the sun is setting. we should set up camp near and leave this till the morning. i have a bad feeling about this.” you shook your head at his statement, wanting to get the whole thing done and over with, so you could go home to sophia and celebrate your twenty-fifth with her.

“no, stay here. i’ll go check it out.”

“absolutely not. i’ll come with you.” 

you stared at the eldest royal sibling with furrowed brows, and after coming into terms that he wouldn’t back down, you relented, sighing deeply and hopping off your horse, patting the animal and glancing at yunjin and keeho.

“keeho. come. basil, take four of your men. yunjin, i’ll leave you in charge of the rest, keep an eye out for anything and shout if something happens. we’ll go check what we’re dealing with.”

everything felt wrong. from the moment you, basil, keeho, and four of basil’s men stepped foot in the courtyard with the rest of the forces outside the wide open castle gates, everything felt damn still and wrong.

there were no guards who greeted you. no banners waved. the gates stood open like a mouth waiting to swallow. and the air—god, even the air was dead.

"stay close," you’d muttered, hand never straying from the hilt of your blade.

you didn’t like it. none of you did. but orders were orders. and your fathe had sworn the eyekonian emperor’s closest advisor was loyal to ending the four year long war. she had extended a rare, desperate olive branch: a treaty, drafted in secrecy and sealed with royal insignias.

she was supposed to meet you. and she did.

but when she appeared at the top of the stairs leading to the dining hall, something in your gut coiled. she was too poised. too calm. and her green, sharp eyes lingered on you just a little too long.

still, you followed her. you had no choice but to. for the kingdom and for sophia. through the dust-slick halls that seemed to have not had a single soul clean it since the start of time. through the grand entryway of the dining chamber where a feast had been laid but left untouched. like it was meant for someone else.

you could cut the tension in the air with your sword. basil’s fingers twitched. keeho’s jaw was locked. none of the other men spoke.

"the treaty?" she asked silkily, voice echoing around the stone chamber.

you reached into your coat, pulling the sealed scroll and stepping forward. “from king laforteza. a formal end to the war, by decree of both kingdoms.”

you extended it with care, but she didn’t reach for it.

instead, she smiled.

and in that smile, you saw everything unravel. too fast, too quick. 

too late.

a flash of sophia’s smile glinted behind your eyelids.

“poor child,” she said softly. “you should’ve stayed in your little castle with your little princess.”

before your sword could even clear its sheath, her hand shot forward, sharp and inhumanly fast—metal glinted under her sleeve—

and the blade plunged right through your chest plate.

you gasped as the steel cut through bone and heart and air, the force of it throwing you backwards as your knees buckled.

basil shouted. keeho moved.

the witch barely had time to twist the blade before basil was on her, fury igniting in his veins. he drove his sword through her neck, slicing with such force her body collapsed in a heap of blackened smoke. a whispered “long hail the eyekonian empire!” lingering in the air like a ghost.

you hit the floor hard, breath stuck in your throat, blood pooling beneath you, warmth draining fast from your limbs. you couldn’t breathe, the damage was far too severe for a quick movement, a rather large chasm where you heart laid and the surrounding areas.

coughing blood as it invaded your lungs, your blurry  eyes caught keeho hastily ripping the metal plate covering your chest while the other soldiers screamed for the troops outside to come in, feeling hands pressing to try and regulate the bleeding, even if it was a lost cause.

but the damage was too severe to resolve. blood dripped down your lips, splattering on basil’s chestplate. him and keeho had looked horrified, like it was hard to believe that you’re here, dying in front of their eyes when you were just fine a few moments earlier. that the years of your life spent in training had gone down the drain with a quick snap of a wrist.

sophia had appeared in your thoughts once more.

sophia, sophia, sophia.

sophia.

you wonder how she’ll react to your foolish decision of rushing things to get home to her. the lapse in your judgement and eagerness to leave costing you your life. she’d have scolded you if you’d lived. mumbling something along the lines of “almost losing my future wife.”

you wonder how she’ll cope. nights spent in utter silence, when usually you’d be there to fill it with soft murmurs of something dumb keeho or yunjin had done while training. you wonder if she could even stomach seeing your empty side of the bed that awaited your return, of the fact that you’d practically broken your promise of marrying her when the war ends. you wonder if she’ll even be able to forgive you.

you’ve broken her heart, her trust, your promise.

you wonder if she’ll marry. you know she won’t, but you wonder if she’ll even consider it. she won’t.

you feel someone lift you up, eyes droopier by the second. you don’t know how long you’ll last, hanging on by a thread in hopes to have at least the littlest consciousness by the time you arrive at the kingdom. the ride home is at least four days, and you’ve been stabbed through the heart.

sophia, sophia, sophia.

the girl who you’d swore to protect, to stand by her side till the end of time. and in by doing so, you’ve protected her and the kingdom. but at what cost?

she was right. it’ll always be duty that you’ll pick.

—--

the troops arrived a few days later, just before the sun set.

the people gathered in hushed clusters near the gates, whispers trailing behind the guards who bore the burden of grief on their shoulders, despite the victory of the empire and the end of the five year war.

at the very front, a body lay still atop a wooden cart, draped in the laforteza colors—deep navy and silver, lined with the kingdom’s sigil. the cloth covered everything, but it did nothing to hide the shape beneath it. nothing to dull the cold finality of it.

sophia stood at the castle steps, hands clenched at her sides. she didn’t need anyone to speak. didn’t need the confirmation of names or reports or letters from the front.

she knew.

she knew the slope of those shoulders beneath the fabric. knew the way the blade of your nose had always cut sharp and proud, even in rest. she knew the stillness wasn’t sleep—it was silence. finality.

“no,” she whispered, barely audible.

“no.”

no one dared stop her when she stepped down the stairs. not even the guards dared look her in the eye.

she stopped at the cart, breath trembling, heart thudding violently against her ribs as if it could somehow drum you back to life.

“please,” she murmured, to no one and nothing. “please don’t do this.”

her hands lifted, shaking as she reached for the cloth.

and when she peeled it back—

her knees buckled.

a choked sound tore out of her throat. her hand flew to her mouth, as if she could stuff the scream back inside. you were pale. still. lips tinged blue. your armor had been cleaned, but the dent at your chest plate was still there. and your sword—your favorite—rested by your side like it belonged with you in death, too.

sophia dropped to her knees beside the cart, clutching the edge like it could hold her upright. she could hear basil somewhere behind her, voice low and broken as he tried to explain. but she wasn’t listening.

she was supposed to marry you.

you had promised.

and now, the war had taken what even time dared not touch. basil wrapped his arms around her from behind, trying to hold her upright as wails so painful and gut wrenching pierced through the air, your father freezing in place at the sight.

he’d unknowingly lead you to your demise.

you were newly twenty-five when you’d died, and sophia never married. never planned to if it wasn’t you, anyway. she kept sleeping on your side of the bed no matter how painful it was, kept the blood-stained letter found in your pocket framed on the bedside table as a remembrance. kept your sword as a remembrance. kept everything you had as a remembrance.

because she was starting to forget you as time passed. was starting to forget how you felt, how you smiled, how you moved, how you looked at her like she was worth dying for and did. she was starting to forget.

and she wanted to remember.

she wanted to remember everything, down till the last pulses of her heart weakly pumped blood and basil and oreo’s children had gathered around her bed to say goodbye, a privilege you never got to have. she wanted to remember everything down to her last breath, how warm your skin felt beneath her fingertips, memorising and mapping your skin like it was the last thing she’ll ever do.

she never married. until death, she waited for you. waited for ninety years, if it meant coming home to you. she ruled with the strength you left her, carried the weight of the crown like your blood hadn’t been spilled across the kingdom’s soil to make peace possible. 

she turned her pain into purpose, rebuilt a world you could’ve lived in—should’ve lived in—and still, every night, she slept facing your empty side of the bed. made it possible for the end and the start of something new. she died on your side of the bed, your letter addressed to her clutched to her heart. creased, worn, and faded.

“the queen walks beside her knight again.”

a/n. finished in time for beautiful chaos release🙂‍↕️ did not mean to write this long but oh well yall have to deal w this now. will fix thr layout of the pairing nd shit in the morning. this was NAWT proofread ts was long asl im highk not bothered to look for spelling mistakes nd shi💔🥀🥀🥀🥀 ts also took THREE gruelling months to finish🥀🥀🥀 its the reason why the mamma mia updates hv been locked in the basement

everything’s still there, her laugh, her hoodie draped over a chair, the late-night snacks she picks at in the green room. but now, there’s something missing.

the warmth that used to live in the silence between you. the comfort of her hand brushing yours when no one was looking. the secret you used to share like a song only you two could hear.

you still talk.

you still work together, still dance, still stand next to each other in interviews.

you still laugh when she says something stupid and roll your eyes when she steals the last fry. and every so often, she slips.

a look that lasts too long.

a text at 2:14 a.m.

a kiss behind a locked bathroom door in a hotel in korea.

you let her. every time, you let her. because you want to believe maybe this time will be different. that she’ll wake up and finally say it out loud.

choose you out loud.

but she never does.

instead, she pulls away before the sun comes up and says, “we should keep this between us,” like that’s love.

—

you start pulling back. not all at once, but in tiny pieces.

you answer her texts slower, you start sleeping with your door locked, you stop waiting for her to choose you.

and one day, you realize it’s not even anger anymore. it’s grief. grief for the version of her you thought might fight for you.

—

it’s been three months. enough time to fake some kind of peace.

you’re sitting on the floor of the dance studio with lara, scrolling through photos between run-throughs. she’s got her head on your shoulder, watching your screen.

you swipe past a blurry selfie, sunlight and someone else’s smile tucked into your neck.

“who’s that?” lara grins.

you hesitate for half a beat. “oh, uhm. her name’s mia,” you say finally. “we’ve been seeing each other a little.”

lara blinks. then smiles softly, genuine. “you look happy.”

you do. or maybe you're trying to be.

you don’t look up at her, but someone else hears.

across the studio, daniela freezes mid-step, she wasn’t supposed to be listening. she wasn’t supposed to care.

but she does.

“you’re seeing someone?”

you look up. your stomach sinks. dani’s standing there, arms crossed, trying too hard to sound casual.

lara stands, sensing the tension and quietly backing away.

you nod. “yeah.” dani doesn’t say anything, just stares.

“what’s her name again?” she asks, tone sharp. “mia.” “right.” she scoffs. “that was fast.”

your jaw tightens. “it’s been three months, dani.”

“so what, you’re just over it now?” you blink. a bitter laugh leaves your chest. “over what?” she doesn’t answer. “over you pretending i didn’t exist? or you only wanting me when no one else was watching?” daniela’s face hardens. “you know why it had to be that way.”

“no,” you say, louder now. “i don’t.”

she steps closer, arms falling to her sides. “i had to protect myself. my image. if i say something, if we confirm anything, it turns into a headline, a scandal. not a relationship.”

you shake your head, voice shaking. “you didn’t have to protect yourself. you just had to keep me hidden.” her eyes flash. “that’s not fair-” “you’re right, it’s not.” she swallows hard. “you think i don’t care about you?” you laugh, dry and tired. “you care about the version of me that lives in secret. you care about me in hotel rooms and locked bathrooms and 2 a.m. phone calls. but you don’t care about me when people are watching. you never have.”

“that’s not true.” “then why-” your voice breaks, and you try again, quieter. “why did you let me sit there on that livestream while you called yourself straight? while everyone watched and knew and you still couldn’t even look at me?”

she looks like she might cry. but you’re already past the place where that changes anything. “i was scared,” she says, barely above a whisper. “i didn’t know what would happen if i said it.”

“i know what happened when you didn’t.” your voice cracks. “i sat there like a ghost. like i didn’t matter. like i wasn’t the one you’d been crawling into bed with for months. like none of it was real.”

she’s shaking her head now. “it was real.”

“then why couldn’t you say it?”

“because i’m not you,” she snaps suddenly. “i don’t know how to be that brave.”

and that, that’s what does it. you go still.

you look her dead in the eyes and say, “i wasn’t brave, daniela. i was in love. there’s a difference.”

her breath catches. her lips part and she says nothing.

you stare at her for a long moment, and then, quietly, “i needed someone who wouldn’t hide me.”

you turn, walking away slowly, not out of drama but out of the weight of finally putting something down.

and her voice follows you, cracking in the silence. “is this really it?” you stop at the door.

“you made it ‘it’ the second you cared more about being seen as straight than being seen with me.”

and this time, you don’t wait for her to follow. you don’t want her to.

because loving someone isn’t supposed to feel like disappearing.

and you’re done being invisible.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the night air in your grandmother’s backyard was thick with smoke and laughter. anthony was sitting in the corner, half-cross-legged on a cracked monobloc chair, his old ibañez propped over his knee as he strummed through a chord progression he never quite finished. his fingers moved like habit, a little drunk and careless, but familiar in the way things were when you’ve known someone since you were nine.

diana had claimed the role of drink master again — her term, not anyone else’s. she poured red horse into mismatched glasses like she was tending bar at a family wake, wrist flicking slightly each time she tipped the bottle. kyle was by the plastic table, already halfway through the pulutan, a lazy grin on his face as he picked at the sisig you made earlier.

“this shit’s good, y/n,” he mumbled, mouth half-full. “you should serve this at concave.”

you shrugged, one leg drawn up against your chest as you nursed your drink. “too much prep. and people in makati want it artisanal now like, ‘elevated street food,’ whatever the fuck that means.”

someone snorted. you think it was anthony. maybe diana. the laughter came in waves tonight, a rhythm of remembering and forgetting, pausing just enough for something real to slip through before it got drowned again in the next joke.

the group had thinned out over the years; some moved abroad, a few married, one had a kid — but all four of you were still here.

even though diana was getting married.

“speaking of elevated,” she wiggled her eyebrows, wiping her fingers on a paper napkin before reaching for the bottle. “did you guys see sophia’s post last week? they were at some awards show in america. full glam, backless dress, the whole thing.”

there was a short silence; just enough for the name to settle in.

“she really made it, huh?” anthony strummed a few soft notes, like background music for the weight of it. “used to sit on that same stool you’re on, y/n, crying over her trigonometry homework.”

you smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “yeah…she would act like it was the end of the world if she got anything below ninety.”

“remember her driver?” kyle grinned. “the old one who always got lost in pasay? guy called her ten times a day like he was in a hostage situation.”

“well, remember when sophia tried to say kwek-kwek in that american accent?” diana added, slurring a little but still sharp, still loud. “kwek-kwAAAK,” she mocked, holding her nose and puffing her lips like a bad parody.

the group cracked up. even anthony barked a laugh, though he kept plucking at a loose tune; probably something from a parokya song, low and familiar.

kyle choked a little on the spoonful of sisig he scooped straight from the serving dish.

your head tilted back as you laughed, really laughed, and it sounds like it came from somewhere buried.

sophia has always been different in so many ways, but you were close. painfully so. you still remembered the softness of her voice when she would call your name, the smell of her mum’s perfume on her school jumper when you hugged goodbye after visits. she used to send you voice notes even after she transferred schools, even when you couldn’t relate to her stories about cafeteria fights and international school problems, you would still reply.

“what a time,” anthony murmured.

no one said anything, the silence that followed wasn’t loud; instead, it was thick.

everyone knew it was coming, that someone was going to bring her up eventually. it was inevitable — like how you could you not talk of your childhood without mentioning the girl who made it out?

“katseye,” kyle broke the quiet, rolling the name in his mouth like he was still getting used to it. “my niece has her face on a pencil case, she won’t believe that i knew sophia.”

knew.

anthony chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “i saw her in an ad. some korean skincare thing, couldn’t tell if it was her at first. she looks different now.”

your fingers tightened slightly around your bottle. the condensation had already soaked into the tablecloth, leaving a pale ring where your drink sat.

“did she ever…reach out to you?” diana asked, careful this time. her voice softer. “you were pretty close.”

you shrugged. “once or twice. birthdays. new years. the usual.”

you didn’t say more, didn’t say how the last time she messaged was two years ago. how it was just a short, clean: happy birthday, hope you’re well. no warmth to it.

and it’s not like she owed you anything than that…but you thought you were more important than a short sentence.

but sophia, she was always looking past the gate; over the rooftops, past the wires strung like spiderwebs in the sky.

and you — well, you looked at her.

then, like someone flicked a switch, the memory passed. kyle reached for more sisig, diana lit a mosquito coil under the table and conversation shifted without ceremony.

she turned to you, refilling your jar before you could decline. “you working tomorrow, chef?”

“nah,” you replied, voice low, eyes still on your lap. “sunday crew’s got it.”

“concave’s always packed, huh?” anthony grinned, adjusting his grip on the guitar. “saw someone post about the wagyu kare-kare last week.”

“that’s leo’s recipe,” you said, leaning back and finally meeting their gazes. “i just plated it.”

“bullshit,” diana shot back. “kristoff says you make everything in your head.”

you shrugged; it didn’t feel like bossing.

it was more like waking up too early and going home too late, keeping inventory on your phone while waiting in line for rice deliveries and never having time for yourself, let alone anyone else — but they didn’t need to hear that.

not tonight.

they laughed at something stupid anthony had said, but your eyes had drifted to the bamboo fence, where the light from your grandma’s kitchen filtered through in weak slices. you could still hear them talking: about kyle’s ex who showed up at his gym, about some basketball game, about whether anyone wanted to go to tagaytay next weekend…but it blurred around the edges.

you took a sip of beer and leaned back in your chair as you thought about the last time you really saw her — before the debut, the contracts and when she stopped replying. she had red-stained lips from a street barbecue and her hand around your wrist, tugging you toward her car, saying you had to try the new taylor swift song on her aux.

she said she’d always write. that she wouldn’t become one of those people.

and just like that, sophia laforteza faded from the conversation. but not from your mind, not really, not in the way you hoped.

the red horse was beginning to settle in your chest, warm and heavy. the buzz in your ears had dulled the voices around you, just a little, like a layer of gauze had been pressed over the moment.

then kyle, mouth full of sisig, glanced your way. “hey.”

you looked up, startled by how gently he had said it. “yeah?”

“you got quiet,” he said, eyes narrowing in a mock squint. “what, are you still in love with her or something?”

you scoffed, too quickly. shook your head like it was reflex.

all eyes were on you. anthony had stopped playing and now your song by parokya ni edgar was spilling out into the yard, a little tinny through the old speaker. the intro played soft, like a memory you didn’t know you still knew.

and somehow it fit like it always did.

“come on,” anthony teased you in that tone. “it’s just us.”

you wiped the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, heart thudding quietly. the air was thick again, the kind that stuck to your skin and made your shirt cling slightly to your back.

“it’s nothing,” you murmured, but your voice caught in your throat. “i mean — it was a long time ago.”

“that doesn’t make it nothing,” diana said, not unkindly. “i think deep down, we all knew. she was always fucking holding your hand and you chased her around.”

you stared down at your lap, fingers playing with the frayed edge of your shorts. you hadn’t thought about this in a while. not like this; with witnesses.

“when we were kids,” you started, voice quiet. “it was just easier to…watch her from afar. you know?”

the group went still in the way only close friends could. not exactly dramatic, they were just present.

“she was always…hard to reach. not because she was trying to be. she just was. always got picked up early, going to dance classes, international school. she’d come around in the summers and hang out like nothing changed, but each year…it did.”

you paused, scratching at a mosquito bite on your ankle, feeling the dull sting of it.

“i knew there was no point, not really. there were always boys, older ones, cooler ones. and i was just — me; just a girl in boy clothes who made her laugh sometimes, i carried her backpack when she’d forget it. told her which vendors had the best mangga’t bagoong.”

you shrugged, trying to bury something under the motion before continuing.

“i never said anything. what was the point? she’d never look at me like that. she was the kind of person you tell stories about, not someone who stays. even now…she’s like a ghost. just — shows up on my screen sometimes; all glammed up, perfect hair, perfect lighting. and then she disappears again.”

you felt the words dig into you on their way out. they didn’t sting exactly. they were just real in a way you’ve been avoiding.

“these days, i don’t think about her much. i’ve got the restaurant, i’ve got bills and staff to worry about. my back hurts from standing too long — real life’s really fucking loud.”

you took a breath. slow and steady.

“but every now and then — she shows up. and it’s like nothing ever happened, like i’m fifteen again and i still don’t know what to do with the way she smiles at me.”

the words sat there. no one moved to fill the silence. the night buzzed around you: cicadas in the tree, a distant karaoke machine somewhere down the street, the faint rustle of the neighbour’s curtains.

anthony strummed a slow chord again, soft and out of tune. it lingered.

“that’s some indie film shit,” kyle muttered finally, rubbing his chest like he didn’t know what else to do. “damn, red horse does that to you nowadays? you’re getting old.”

you laughed through your nose. “shut up.”

you leaned back in your chair again, glass cool against your palm. the love you had for her, it was all still there. not overwhelming, maybe a little suffocating.

and that was okay. maybe it didn’t need to go anywhere.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

five years ago

the rain had started somewhere along españa. one of those annoying late afternoon drizzles that came without thunder, just a quiet soaking that crept into your shoes and made the air feel heavier than it needed to.

the jeep you were riding moved in fits — start, honk, pause, inch forward, then brake again. the kind of crawl that made you check your watch three times a minute, even though you already knew you were running late.

by the time you got to the lafortezas’ house in forbes park, your hair had dried in uneven patches, your uniform smelled faintly of garlic and onions from lunch lab and your lanyard with your university ID stuck awkwardly to your chest.

the guard let you in without a fuss, he remembered you from before, gave you a small nod like he felt bad about how out of place you looked.

the house was alive with sound too and not just the sharp clang of glasses or the soft bass of music vibrating through expensive outdoor speakers — but voices; loud ones.

laughter that rang out from the pool area, old relatives talking over each other inside, the kind of family gathering that reminded you that sophia’s world was always louder, always busier, always somehow more than yours.

you stood near the archway for a second, unsure if you should walk in like you used to, back when you didn’t need an invitation, back when you were just there, all the time.

there was a part of you that waited for someone to stop you, they didn’t. one of the servers walking by gave you a polite nod.

you spotted her dad, godfrey, first. he was manning the grill like always, even with his button-down shirt slightly open and a cigar resting in a glass tray nearby. he looked up and grinned.

“look who finally showed up,” he said, flipping a skewer. “traffic?”

you nodded, stepping into the light as you bowed, the back of his hand briefly touching your forehead. “yeah, sorry tito.”

“no worries, kid. you hungry?”

“a little,” you admitted and he just laughed.

“you came straight from school?”

you glanced down at your stained shirt, your scuffed shoes. “yeah.”

“hardworking as ever,” he teased, not unkindly. “you’re doing good over there at ust, huh?”

“really trying to.”

he nodded, like that was enough; trying meant something. “she’s out back. by the pond. look after her!”

you chuckled, heels turning away from him. “i always do, tito.”

you knew exactly where he meant as you followed the path to their enormous backyard.

and there she was.

sophia sat on the edge of the stone walkway, her legs tucked beneath her, a nearly-empty flute of champagne in her hand. her hair was longer than you remembered.

she turned when she heard you, her face lighting up in the same way it always had, as if you were the only person she had been waiting for.”

“i thought you weren’t coming.”

you dropped your bag to the grass and sat beside her. “i was stuck on the road for hours. i left early but the jeepney broke down somewhere in quiapo — i’m sorry, piya.”

“classic, but still late,” she teased, nudging your knee with hers. “i’m glad you’re here.”

you looked at her profile, soft and strange in the warm light. she was beautiful without even trying.

“you look like a celebrity already,” you mumbled, brows furrowing.

she laughed quietly, sipping the last of her drink. “it’s the makeup.”

“nah, you’ve always looked like this; maganda.”

she glanced sideways at you then, her expression unreadable. you looked away first.

the koi stirred beneath your feet, rippling the water. you could hear the faint clink of cutlery behind you, the celebration continuing without her. or maybe without the both of you.

she leaned forward and fixed your collar, not even hesitating, her fingers brushed your neck and it made your breath hitch.

“you smell like garlic.”

you gave her a look. “you’re welcome.”

she laughed. then — without warning — she pulled you into a hug. and it wasn’t for show. not like earlier with her titas or the camera flashes or the formal poses. it was just her, warm and tight and real.

“i thought you really weren’t gonna make it,” she murmured. “i needed to see you.”

you didn’t answer.

there was a long pause when she pulled away; a silence where you could feel everything pressing up against the surface, but no one was brave enough to say it first.

“so…dream academy,” you said eventually, trying to keep your voice light. “sounds fake.”

she snorted. “i know, it feels fake to me but i’m going — i have the ticket and all that jazz. y/n, i’m really going.”

you nodded, a fond smile plastered on your face. “i know.”

and you did. and it was exciting. and you were proud.

but at the same time, something inside you folded a little. it felt like something had creased your chest without permission because this was it.

this was the before. and everything after this would be new and distant.

she looked at you then, like she could feel the same thing.

“i’m scared,” she admitted, voice low.

you swallowed the lump rising in your throat. “piya, you’ll be fine. you were born to do this.”

“promise me something,” she bit her lip, nudging her knee against yours.

you glanced at her, waiting.

“don’t forget me, y/n.”

you blinked, surprised by the way it stung, it was getting too real. “piya —”

“i mean it,” she cut you off. “when i come back…you know. if i come back…i don’t want it to be weird. i don’t want us to be strangers.”

you wanted to say something honest: that you were already strangers in some ways. that you had spent the last few years slowly drifting, seeing each other less, learning how to fill your lives with other people, other stories. yet, she was looking at you like the girl who used to cry over algebra and make you listen to her sing in secret, like the friend who once stood outside your house with a stolen umbrella just so you wouldn’t walk home in the rain.

so, you nodded. “i won’t forget you.”

and you meant it, too. because how could you?

and then she reached up and tugged your lanyard over your head.

“hey —”

“i’m keeping it.”

“soph.”

“souvenir.”

“i’m gonna get in trouble.”

“worth it.”

you stared at her as she smiled, lanyard in hand, your face on the ID still as awkward as ever. and you let her have it because it felt like something small you could give. something real. a piece of this version of you, before everything bent into something else.

someone called her name from across the lawn. tita carla, probably. there was cake to be cut and photos to take.

she looked at you one last time. “i’ll see you soon, yeah?”

you nodded again, even though you didn’t believe it. even though you already knew — you would never see her quite like this again.

and then she was gone; taken by the crowd. and you were left standing under those lanterns, hands in your pockets, garlic on your clothes and a phantom weight where your lanyard used to be.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

makati at 4am was quieter than most people would believe. the usual heat had not yet risen from the pavement and the sky still held onto its last shades of dark blue as if it didn’t want to let go of the night.

the air smelled cleaner somehow: fewer cars, fewer cigarettes, less of everything. you liked this version of the city. no sharp edges, just soft engine rumbles and the occasional flick of a lighter from a security guard somewhere down the block.

you lived just a few minutes away from your restaurant, on the second floor of a quiet building tucked between a shuttered nail salon and a law office that hadn’t opened since the pandemic. your apartment was two bedrooms — too much space for one person, but you needed it. one room was mostly office and storage. the other was yours and in the living area sat your aquarium, humming low in the corner. a slow, glowing square of water filled with plants and one stubborn betta fish named pansit who outlived all the others. he swam lazy laps as you passed by, grabbing your apron off the back of the couch.

concave sat in one of those narrow alleys just off the high street, in between a luxury flower shop and a tailoring studio that catered to wedding clients and politicians. it was a location most restaurateurs dreamed of: central, walkable and expensive as hell.

the rent made your head spin sometimes.

the district lights always flickered too bright, and the kind of people who walked by at night never looked like they worried about money.

still, you liked being there, becoming a part of something that looked clean from the outside even if your hands smelled like vinegar and fish guts most days.

the delivery truck arrived a little after five like it always did.

the driver, tonio, though you weren’t sure if that was really his name — nodded in your direction. he never said anything more than what was necessary, same as he had every morning for the past three years.

there was a rhythm to it now, something almost respectful in the silence.

you opened the metal back door and started unloading: kangkong, eggplants, calamansi by the kilo, three trays of bangus on ice, a bag of frozen ube, half a sack of garlic, pork belly in clear packaging and two boxes of duck eggs, stacked and tied with orange twine.

no lemongrass — you stared into the crate where it should’ve been and let out a quiet curse.

“tangina,” you muttered, rubbing the back of your neck. “of fucking course.”

but you didn’t panic, you and leo would have to figure something out. one of you (was always him) would run to the market before it got too hot, haggle a bit, text the other something dumb about how god’s testing them again.

you started prepping before the sun had fully risen; chopped onions, boiled pork bones for broth, mixed vinegar and soy into plastic tubs for later. your body moved on memory.

your brain stayed somewhere else — thoughts mostly quiet, save for a dull reminder that you had only slept four hours again.

by the time the sun hit the windows, the others started trickling in. leo was first, as usual — his hair still wet from the shower, plastic bags in one hand and an old insulated mug in the other.

“guess what,” he said, holding up the lemongrass like a trophy.

you raised your eyebrows and gave him a tired thumbs up. “legend.”

kristoff came next, with his usual coffee order in one hand and a tray of eggs in the other. aira followed soon after, lipstick already on, humming something that sounded like ligaya as she unpacked tupperware full of garlic rice from home.

the playlist kicked in around 6:45, old eraserheads at first before bleeding into rivermaya. the speakers crackled a little when the volume was too high, but no one minded. leo started singing along without meaning to.

lunch service opened at eleven-thirty sharp.

you barely looked up from the grill when yohan came in, there’s a burn on your forearm from last week that hasn’t scabbed properly but you had no time to worry about it. tickets rolled in and stacked fast.

people asked for things that weren’t on the menu, pointed at photos on their phones, laughed too loud over iced tea. you worked through it, answered questions and nodded when you needed to. instructions were yelled at when something started to burn.

the kitchen was a flurry of heat and noise and movement. and through it all, you stayed planted. solid and sweating.

by two, the noise thinned, tables cleared and the room exhaled.

the team ate standing, as always — no time to sit, they reckoned. kristoff scraped the last of the kare-kare straight from the pot. aira found a pack of chocnut near the register and handed them out like party favours before leaving to see her boyfriend. leo held up the receipt from one of the tables.

“make sure yohan gets a thousand from that,” you sighed, shaking your head at thought of the shy kitchenhand as everyone else cheered for him.

“thanks boss,” yohan gratefully tapped your shoulder.

“five thousand pesos,” leo grinned, waving it. “cash. no note, just pure vibes.”

“well shit,” kristoff said. “guess we didn’t fuck up today.”

you watched from the doorway of your office, legs folded beneath you as you sat on an upturned crate, still wearing your apron, your ma’s pancit bihon in a container beside you. untouched. your hands were resting in your lap, wrists sore, fingers stained slightly orange from atsuete.

you heard the chime of the front door open, kristoff went out to check as your eyes curiously followed him.

after a second, he came back, hesitated before walking over to you.

“chef,” he said softly. “there’s someone here. umm, i think it’s chef godfrey.”

you looked up real fast; it took a second to register “what? seriously?”

“yeah.”

you got to your feet slowly, wiped your hands on a rag that didn’t help much and stepped into the dining area.

he stood near the window, wearing a button-down and linen trousers. same gold watch. in his hands, a small box. he smiled like he was surprised to be there too.

“tito,” you greeted. “you didn’t text.”

“didn’t want to give you a chance to say no.”

you walked over and gestured toward a table. “want anything? we’ve got some sinigang left. or i can get you something from the bar.”

he placed the box on the table, pulled out a chair. “red horse is fine, if you have any.”

you raised a brow. “oh? at this time of day? does tita carla know you’re here?”

“brought pulutan,” he added with a laugh, opening the box. “and she won’t know if you keep your mouth shut.”

you leaned over and laughed, he brought cheese rolls. the ones from that bakery in greenhills, the same ones sophia used to beg for after school like she didn’t have a fridge full of imported snacks.

“they’ve gotten smaller,” he frowned. “but more expensive like everything else in this damn country.”

you sat down across from him, both of you cracking open bottles like you had done this before, though you hadn’t for a while really.

you talked about concave, mostly. the insane rent. the stress of keeping a small team happy. your hope to maybe move it someday, maybe somewhere a little quieter; in quezon city, just somewhere with better parking.

he nodded through it all. sipped his beer and listened. then, halfway through the second bottle, he said it.

“sophia’s coming back.”

your shoulders stiffened before you could hide it. “yeah?”

“just for a few days. there’s a brand deal, promo rounds and she’s filming something at home — she was asking about you.”

“that’s good,” you stared at your bottle, the condensation on your fingertips.

“i told her i didn’t know if you’d want to see her. after all these years.”

you said nothing.

“i figured it was better to say this in person,” he continued. “there’s an intimate dinner at the end of the week. family, mostly. i think you should come. her team’s going to film it.”

you reached for another cheese roll, tearing a piece slowly between your fingers. “i don’t think she even remembers me.”

“you’re wrong about that.”

you looked up. “tito…i doubt it. we haven’t spoken in years.”

“and yet, she still asked.”

you didn’t reply. just took a bite. let the silence rest between you.

“just think about it,” he said gently.

you both sat like that a while longer. the beer was warm now, the box half-empty, the afternoon light softening into gold. you didn’t say yes and you didn’t say no either.

and neither of you rushed to leave.

some things were easier that way.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the next morning, the kitchen still smelled faintly of fried oil and last night’s vinegar, clinging to the walls like a memory that refused to clear. you opened earlier than usual. the silence helped. your hands moved on muscle memory, chopping onions into uniform pieces, brow furrowed, mouth set in that same neutral line you wore when something was stuck in your chest but you didn’t want to talk about it yet.

leo was already there and he was peeling garlic, badly. half the cloves still had skin on them and you were trying not to notice. or crash out over it.

“you’re unusually quiet,” he began, not looking up. “like…extra quiet.”

“you yap enough for both of us.”

he let out a soft cackle. “true, but you usually complain about something by now.”

you didn’t answer, just kept chopping carefully as your hands moved automatically. there was a pot simmering behind you and a container of cleaned bangus on the counter. you could feel leo watching you now.

“did you get laid or something?”

“leo,” you groaned, voice flat.

he whistled. “not a no.”

before you could respond, aira burst through the back door, her hair already up in a messy bun, eyeliner on point like always. she dumped her tote on the bench and grabbed a spoon from the drying rack, immediately dipping into one of the sauces without checking what it was.

“oh my god,” she muttered, licking her finger. “what is that? it’s like…happiness in liquid form.”

“sinamak,” you replied. “don’t drink it.”

“you didn’t eat your ma’s pancit yesterday,” leo pointed out, not leaving the topic alone.

“wasn’t hungry.”

he made a face and returned to peeling garlic, slower this time. you felt his eyes flick toward you again but he didn’t push it.

“so, uh…” he started, deliberately casual. “that guy yesterday.”

you paused for a moment. your knife hovered above a clove of garlic as you waited for him to finish the thought.

“older, gold watch, smelled like old money and dental appointments.”

you huffed out a quiet laugh despite yourself, but refused to say anything.

“was that chef godfrey?” he added, and this time he turned properly to face aira, who was unloading vegetables from the delivery crate. “as in godfrey laforteza.”

aira froze mid-crouch, holding a bundle of kangkong like she had just discovered fire. “wait, sophia laforteza’s dad?!”

you sighed; there it was.

“oh my god, oh my god,” she stood up straight, practically vibrating. “are you telling me that the godfrey laforteza was here and no one told me? you let me go see my stupid boyfriend?”

leo shrugged, grinning now. “i didn’t realise until he left — his back was facing the kitchen so we couldn’t see and kristoff didn’t say anything.”

aira placed the kangkong down like it was sacred. “do you know who his daughter is? she’s literally the reason i started contouring. i watched one fancam and it changed the shape of my face. oh my god. oh my god.”

you wiped your hands on a towel and leaned against the counter like it was no big deal. “we used to be friends.”

she blinked at you in disbelief. “you…what?!”

“me and sophia,” you repeated, voice flat like you were talking about the weather. “we sort of grew up together…but like different tax brackets and all that.”

she made a noise somewhere between a squeal and a choke, placing both hands on the edge of the counter. “i need you to repeat that sentence. slowly. with emotion.”

you raised an eyebrow. “we. used. to be. friends.”

“holy shit,” she whispered. “like, close friends? or like…you-commented-on-each-other’s-posts kind of friends?”

you reached for a pot behind you, pretending to focus on something else. “close like her snotty ass was over at mine all the time and the guards at forbes park knew me.”

leo leaned in now, voice teasing. “she stole her college ID too, as souvenir.”

“leo,” you muttered, warning him because she was definitely going to flip out.

she gasped so hard she nearly dropped the carrots. “wait — are you being serious? like she physically stole it? like in a cute way?”

“she asked if she could keep it,” you mumbled, smiling shyly. “i let her.”

her jaw dropped and she looked physically pained.

“why are you still here?” she asked, scandalised. “why aren’t you in an airport chasing her down with a bouquet?”

leo let out a laugh. “i’ve been asking myself the same thing.”

you felt heat rise to your neck and busied yourself with lighting the stove. the gas hissed, caught the flame and you stirred oil into a pan without thinking.

“it’s been years,” you said finally, voice quieter now. “we haven’t spoken since she left.”

that sobered the room a little. aira glanced at leo, then lowered herself onto a bench, the excitement in her face softening into something else.

“but…she’s back?” she asked.

“for a few days. a brand thing, plus her dad said there’s a dinner.”

no one said anything for a while. its been way too long now and you began to wonder what her voice sounded like these days.

“you thinking of going?” leo asked again.

you stared into the pan and watched the garlic start to colour. “i don’t know.”

she tilted her head. “you want to?”

you didn’t answer right away because you didn’t know how to explain the weird ache that came and went whenever you heard her name. how some days it barely registered, and others it clung to you like heat in the back of your shirt.

how you weren’t sure what was worse — seeing her again or not seeing her at all.

“i’m busy,” you muttered, not quite meeting their eyes. “we have a business to run.”

leo snorted. “cop out.”

“maybe.”

aira leaned her chin into her hand. “just wear something nice. you don’t even have to say anything, go see her.”

you stirred the garlic again, let it brown.

“just think about it,” she added, softer now. “you owe yourself that much, yeah?”

the smell of burnt garlic filled the room.

“shit,” you muttered, turning off the heat. you scraped the pan out into the compost bin and started again, slower this time.

no one pressed further. they didn’t have to.

the kitchen was loud again within minutes —spoons clinking, water running, someone restarting the playlist. rivermaya this time. hinahanap-hanap kita played low beneath the noise, as if the speakers knew something you weren’t ready to say yet.

and you let the thought of her linger, unspoken, like the smell of something once sweet still hanging in the air.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

five years ago

the weekend after sophia graduated, the sky above manila looked unusually clean - cloudless, wide, almost smug in how blue it was. your lola, alongside your parents, had left for the province earlier that day, which meant the house was yours for the weekend.

the family house in quezon had the kind of roof that wasn’t really meant for lounging, just concrete and rusting rebar poking from the corners, but you claimed it years ago with foldable chairs and old blankets, a spot to sit when the house felt too full or the night too quiet.

sophia had arrived just after seven, wearing shorts and a loose t-shirt that hung slightly off her shoulder. her driver had dropped her off at the corner because she insisted on walking.

she came bearing gifts: one large jollibee bag, four smirnoff mules sticking out the top and a plastic container of gravy she insisted was worth the spill in her bag.

“you told your lola?” she asked, stepping out of her shoes by the back door.

“that you’re crashing the night?” you returned a question, reaching for the bag of fries. “nope.”

“perfect,” she grinned.

you both carried the food and drinks up the narrow stairs to the roof, a towel tucked under your arm, a blanket you pulled from the cabinet smelling faintly of mothballs. the rooftop was still warm underfoot, the cement holding onto the last heat of the day. your neighbours’ radio played something low — maybe kitchie nadal, the echoes of someone else’s happiness.

“we’re celebrating,” she announced, grinning as she pulled the food out one by one on the roof, the stars above just starting to show. “high honours. second highest in the whole school. can you believe it?”

you shook your head and passed her a spoon. “i would’ve believed it if you passed math without crying.”

“that was character development, asshole,” she shot back. “besides, crying builds humility.”

you laid the blanket down between the water tank and the clothesline as you laughed at her, surrounded by rusting steel bars and old satellite dishes.

“cheers,” sophia said once you’ve settled down, cracking her bottle open against the metal pipe and raising it toward you.

you tapped yours against hers and took a swig. it was sweeter than you remembered. “this shit’s nasty.”

“well, can’t be picky, i brought the gifts and your only job is to consume them,” she snarked.

you both ate like you hadn’t had fast food in weeks, spooning rice straight from the paper containers, sitting side by side on an old blanket with faded cartoon characters printed across it.

the drinks were warm, but they still fizzed when opened and you continued clinking bottles like you were pretending to be older than you were.

“what now?” you asked, wiping gravy off your chin with your sleeve. “what’s next?”

she leaned back on her elbows, looking up. her hair spread out against the blanket like ink in water. “i don’t know. maybe take a break.”

“from what? being pretty and smart?”

“exactly.” she laughed, then glanced over. “i’m thinking of trying something…different.”

you raised a brow. “like what?”

she hesitated and you noticed it — not nervous, exactly, but something quieter. something still forming.

“i dunno yet,” she hummed. “something big.”

“whatever it is, you’d be good.”

“i might suck.”

“you won’t.”

she tilted her head toward you, her ponytail brushing the blanket. “you’re always sure about me.”

“someone has to be.”

you lay side by side on the blanket, her legs brushing against yours occasionally. the stars weren’t as sharp as they were in the province, but they were enough. the city around you still hummed: buses in the distance and a dog barking.

you didn’t talk much; not at first. your arms were close, then closer. and then her fingers found yours and didn’t let go.

her hand was warm and a little clammy from the bottle, but you didn’t mind. you didn’t even breathe too hard, afraid it might ruin the moment. she didn’t say anything either. just let the space fill with sound and the night stretch over both of you like a quiet promise.

you could feel her thumb moving in soft circles against yours.

“i still can’t believe i graduated with medals,” she murmured after a while.

“you say that like you were failing all year.”

“i mean, i wasn’t trying that hard. they just like me.”

you turned your head to look at her. her eyes were fixed on the sky, lashes catching the light of the nearest streetlamp. she looked older than she did last summer, but still had that same uneven tan on her arms from volleyball tryouts, nails still painted light pink and chipped at the edges.

she turned her face toward you now, the stars catching in her eyes.

“do you ever feel like you’re standing at the edge of something?” she asked. “like something big is about to happen and you can’t tell if it’s good or bad, just that everything’s going to change?”

“yeah,” you said. “i do.”

sophia smiled, slow and real. “good. then we’ll be scared together.”

you wanted to kiss her right then, but you didn’t - couldn’t. all you could do was squeeze her hand a little tighter and memorise the way she looked with the city lights flickering below her and the whole night sky above.

neither of you moved.

you finished your drinks and shared the last peach mango pie. one of your neighbours yelled for their kid to come inside, the air cooling down. you stayed on the roof until you both started to shiver, until the stars faded behind the first pale streaks of morning, until sophia fell asleep with her head on your shoulder, fingers still loosely laced with yours.

you didn’t sleep, just watched the sky change and wondered how long before you would lose this version of her.

before whatever was coming finally arrived.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the team had just settled into their usual late-morning rhythm when anthony showed up, slouched and sunburnt, with a guitar strapped to his back like it was a medical condition he refused to treat.

“oi,” he called out as he pushed through the front door, sweat already glistening along his hairline. “you still feeding stray musicians or what?”

you glanced up from where you were marinating pork belly, salt crusted on your fingertips, elbow-deep in prep bowls. “what time’s your gig?”

“twelve and nearby. rooftop bar in legazpi. they said there’s free iced tea, which means it’s gonna be a nightmare.”

you smirked and went back to massaging vinegar into the pork. “you just want free food.”

he gave you his best impression of innocence. “nooo, i want your company.”

“you wanna scab off my company,” you corrected.

“and your company.”

aira, who had been julienning carrots with the intensity of someone seeking vengeance, glanced over and groaned. “for fuck’s sake, him again?”

“hello to you too,” he grinned, leaning against the counter like he owned the place. “still can’t cook eggs without burning them?”

“still can’t sing without pretending it’s 2007?” she bit back, raising an eyebrow. “get the hell out of my kitchen.”

“i came for peace and nourishment.”

“you came to freeload.”

leo, somewhere behind the fridge door, coughed out a laugh. kristoff didn’t look up from stirring the adobo, but his shoulders shook with quiet amusement.

you shook your head and went back to slicing, but you were smiling now. there was something about anthony that always shifted the air when he arrived — like someone had opened a window and let in a breeze that was equal parts annoying and familiar.

aira sighed dramatically and reached for the leftover chorizo in the cooler. “you’re getting fried rice. no substitutions. no complaints. and i’m adding egg even though i know you hate egg.”

“can’t wait,” anthony chuckled. “truly, this is a restaurant built on spite.”

“you’re welcome.”

he slid into the bar stool by the pass and began unloading the contents of his pockets: a capo, his wallet, half a cigarette in foil. the guitar remained slung across his chest, awkward but somehow fitting.

you rinsed your hands and leaned against the sink, watching the chaos unfold with a quiet sort of fondness.

then, mid-moan about a previous gig that involved a flooded stage and a broken amp, anthony looked at you and went suddenly quiet.

“hey…umm, piya messaged me on facebook last night.”

your chest didn’t tighten immediately. it moved slow, like something thick dragging its way through water.

“piya?” you asked, like you hadn’t said that name aloud in years. which, technically, you hadn’t.

“sophia,” he clarified, more careful now. “she asked if i’ve heard from you because apparently…she hasn’t.”

silence fell like a dropped plate. even the pan aira had been rattling on the stove went still.

yohan emerged from the walk-in cooler with a crate of eggs and a raised brow. “who’s sophia?”

kristoff, ever the bearer of pop culture, didn’t even blink. “sophia laforteza.”

yohan stared. “as in katseye sophia?”

“yep,” he replied, flipping a slab of meat in the pan.

aira dropped the spatula. you didn’t say anything, your mouth had gone dry.

he was still looking at you, not accusatory, just curious. and maybe - maybe a little worried. “you haven’t checked your phone, have you.”

you looked down at your apron, then your hands. the faint cuts on your knuckles, the turmeric stain beneath your thumb nail. you hadn’t brought your phone, again.

it’d been three days now. you kept leaving it in the same place, on the corner of your dresser under a half-folded shirt, turned face down.

“i haven’t,” you admitted.

“y/n,” anthony winced, voice a little firmer now. “come on.”

you shrugged. “i didn’t feel like it.”

“she’s looking for you — she’s trying.”

“yeah, well.” you ran a hand through your hair. “she knows where to find me.”

aira leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. “babe, i know you’re mysterious and deep and have a whole torpe heart thing going on — but that’s sophia laforteza. why are you trying to fumble so bad?”

leo chimed in from behind the fryer. “what if she’s standing outside the restaurant right now? what if this is like, her kilig moment?”

“don’t be weird,” you muttered, though the thought twisted somewhere low in your stomach.

she wouldn’t show up, would she?

anthony slid the plate of chorizo fried rice toward himself, but didn’t touch it yet.

“listen,” he said, more gently this time. “you don’t have to talk to her. or see her, but you should at least know what she’s trying to say.”

you nodded slowly, not agreeing; more like acknowledging. kristoff turned the stove off, someone turned the playlist down.

the kitchen didn’t resume its usual volume right away. everyone hovered in that pocket of quiet, watching you in the way people do when they’re not sure if you’re okay.

you looked out toward the front window, where the morning light was already starting to glare off the tiles.

sophia’s name sat in your chest like a coin pressed flat under your ribs.

maybe the message was nothing; maybe it was too late to matter; maybe it mattered anyway.

you stepped back toward the sink and turned the tap on, cold water rushing over your hands, grounding. you closed your eyes for a moment and let the sound fill the room.

behind you, anthony finally took a bite of the fried rice.

“aira,” he called through a mouthful. “this is surprisingly edible. are you okay?”

aira launched a spoon at his head.

the kitchen laughed once again, tension cracked open just enough for the morning to keep going. you dried your hands and walked back to the prep table.

you still weren’t ready to check your phone.

but maybe you were getting close.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

it was just after eight in the morning and the kitchen was already hot and humming, the scent of garlic and bagoong thick in the air. kristoff was slicing tomatoes at the speed of a man who had nowhere else to be, while yohan fiddled with the fan in the corner that never pointed in the right direction.

you were leaning against the sink, phone pressed between your shoulder and cheek, stirring sinigang broth while staring at nothing in particular.

the line rang twice before godfrey picked up.

he answered on the second ring. “hello?”

“tito,” you began, voice still scratchy from sleep. “hi, it’s y/n.”

a pause, then the warmth you expected. “anak, good morning. i was just about to call you to confirm.”

you cleared your throat. leaned against the bench. “i, uh…i just wanted to say thank you again for the invite.”

he waited because he knew there was more to come. “everything alright?”

“yeah, yeah - nothing serious. one of my chefs, aira, is down with something. food poisoning, maybe. someone needs to cover service so i can’t make it tomorrow night.”

you heard a chair scrape in the background, faint clinking of glasses — probably preparations for the dinner you were bailing out on. he didn’t say anything at first, just let out a slow breath.

“that’s…a shame,” he replied eventually, voice still gentle. “i was hoping she’d get to see you.”

you looked down at the broth, watched the thin film of oil ripple as you stirred it slowly.

“thank you for letting me know,” he added. “you should see her this week, if you can. i think…it would mean a lot to both of you if you talked.”

his tone stayed polite, but you could feel the weight shift. something a little sad.

“yeah,” you muttered like a promise. “i will.”

you weren’t planning to, not really. the thought alone made your pulse skip and your stomach knot. not in a sweet way, not in a maybe-it-could-work way — just fucking tight and heavy.

like too much time had passed and the wiring inside you didn’t know what to do with her anymore.

still, you said yes because it was easier. and because godfrey sounded like he still believed in whatever you and sophia used to be.

you hung up after a few more words: safe, formal ones — and stood there in the kitchen, staring at the phone like it owed you something.

you didn’t feel relieved. just…stalled.

aira stood directly behind you, holding a bag of spinach. you turned just in time to get hit in the chest with a plastic bag. it bounced off harmlessly, but she looked like she meant it to hurt.

“you absolute fucking liar!” she hissed as she hit you once more.

you turned, blinking. “what the hell —“

“food poisoning?” she narrowed her eyes. “from what, y/n? the rice i cooked myself this morning and ate in front of you?”

you opened your mouth to speak, she smacked your shoulder again with the spinach bag.

“i didn’t think you’d hear me!” you put your hands up in defeat.”

“you used me,” she said, dramatically. “like a prop. like a false witness.”

“aira —”

“to lie to sophia laforteza’s dad. you’re going to hell.”

you put the ladle down and started laughing. “you’re being ridiculous.”

“you used me?” she gaped. “me? your innocent, hardworking, full-of-life staff member?”

you raised a brow. “you’re the one who took a three-hour break yesterday to go get lash extensions.”

“irrelevant,” she snapped, pointing at you dramatically. “you really lied to sophia laforteza’s dad and dragged my good name into it. that’s a sin, y/n. a literal sin.”

you pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh again.

“you’re going to hell,” she continued. “straight to the deepest, hottest level — no aircon. and i hope they only serve watered-down matcha.”

you let out a quiet snort. “i wasn’t planning on going to heaven anyway.”

she placed a hand over her heart. “you don’t deserve nice things.”

you rolled your eyes and went to the fridge, pulling out the tub of leftover atchara. “he said i should see her sometime this week.”

aira’s voice jumped an octave. “then can i go? text him! say your loyal, honest employee is free to represent you.”

you ignored her, opening the lid and giving the contents a stir.

“seriously,” she said, planting herself beside you. “i have an outfit picked out already. it’s tasteful but flirty. i’ll call him ‘tito’ and everything; maybe he’ll adopt me.”

“aira.”

“yes, ma’am?”

“i have a lot to do today.”

“you’re hiding,” she pointed out, softer now. “you’ve been hiding.”

you didn’t say anything, just closed the tub and placed it back in the fridge.

from the other side of the kitchen, kristoff called out: “what’s happening?”

she spun around. “chef y/n lied to god.”

“which god?”

“godfrey.”

the kitchen erupted into laughter as you let the noise fill the space again. it was warm and familiar — just loud enough to cover whatever it was you were still trying not to feel.

even yohan peeked around the shelves, smiling behind the fan he was still pretending to fix.

“god,” aira muttered, turning back to you, hand over her heart. “i would’ve died to go. you should’ve asked him if i could take your place. my body is ready.”

“you don’t even own a blazer.”

“i have a linen vest,” she feigned offense, insulted. “and a perfectly respectable skirt.”

you shook your head, trying not to smile. “i’ve got things to do, aira. it’s payroll day. i need to sort everything by lunch.”

she sighed, deflating, then threw the spinach onto the prep bench. “you’re a coward,” she yelled out. “and i say that with love.”

the rest of the boys chuckled, the tension melting back into the usual mess of clanging pots and overlapping instructions.

everyone moved around you again, the rhythm of the morning returning. you leaned back against the counter for a second, letting the noise swirl around you.

for a second you had opened your phone last night just to check your email, you told yourself. but there they were; texts from an unknown number…short ones.

“heard from dad you’re still in makati. didn’t know if you’d want to see me, but i’d really like to see you.”

“even just for coffee. no pressure.”

“there’s a lot i probably don’t have the right to say. but i hope you’re okay.”

the first message had come four days ago. you hadn’t answered any of them.

every time you read her name, your chest did that same thing: tightened, skipped, clenched. it was stupid. you weren’t sixteen anymore — you had rice to steam and salaries to divide, but still.

aira nudged your hip with her elbow as she passed by. “hell,” she mumbled under her breath. “straight to hell.”

you laughed again, low and dry, and reached for the spinach she’d abandoned.

“then at least i won’t be cold.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

seven years ago

it was too bright inside newport world resorts. you hadn’t known a mall could shine like that; every floor glossy, every piece of light somehow staged to make everything look more expensive.

sophia walked ahead of you, her arm looped through leon’s, her heels clicking softly against the marble. you trailed just behind them next to sophia’s mum, carla, close enough to hear snatches of their conversation but far enough not to be in it.

leon was one of sophia’s best friends, tall and confident in that quiet, magnetic way. he had that hair that always looked good no matter how humid it got and a voice that sounded like he had grown up near a mic. when he smiled, people looked.

you hated that you noticed.

“you alright?” carla asked, reaching a hand to your back. her voice was gentle, but her bracelets clinked as she moved, always sounding like she was about to announce something.

“yes po,” you answer, even though your knees felt a little weird and you kept adjusting the strap of your shoulder bag like it was a nervous tic.

she gave you a kind smile, one that felt different from most adults. it was like she noticed you. “you can drop the po, y/n. we’re not at school.”

“we’re going to the steak place upstairs,” sophia said over her shoulder, her voice light. “dad booked the private room.”

you nodded; didn’t say much. you’ve never been to a place with private rooms before. most of your lunches were in food courts or karinderyas, you almost wore your school shoes today out of instinct.

“we’re early,” carla murmured to sophia as you reached the escalators.

“he’ll make us wait anyway,” sophia replied, pulling her sunglasses up onto her head. “he always says twelve and then shows up at twelve-thirty.”

you didn’t know if she was annoyed or just amused. it was hard to tell with her; always had been.

leon waited for you as you reached the top of the escalator. “he’s a chef, you know that? her dad?”

you nodded. “yeah, godfrey laforteza.”

“have you met him?”

you smiled. “only at their house.”

he grinned. “this’ll be interesting then, i’m stoked to try the food.”

the restaurant was tucked into the corner of the resort’s ground floor, behind a set of frosted doors and a name you couldn’t pronounce. a host greeted you all in english, bowing slightly before gesturing toward the private dining room.

it was dim and warm inside, golden light spilling from above like syrup.

godfrey stood as you entered; gold watch catching the light. he smiled wide when he saw sophia, then clapped leon on the back with a kind of easy affection that told you this wasn’t the first time they’d met.

then he looked at you.

“y/n,” he said, more warmly than you expected. “you look taller.”

your ears went hot. “hi po, tito.”

“come, sit next to me,” he patted the seat next to him. “we’re trying the new lunch menu. i want to hear what you think.”

you didn’t move until carla gently nudged your back. “go on, love.”

you sat between godfrey and carla, across from sophia and leon. she looked at you briefly, smiled; her teeth were perfect.

the waitstaff came in like a small parade — trays of soup poured from porcelain teapots, vegetables arranged like ikebana, fish so delicate you hesitated before touching it.

godfrey talked about everything. the plating, the temperature, the timing. he said things like mouthfeel and balance of acidity, and you tried to keep up but mostly, you watched his hands as he sliced through a duck breast with practiced ease.

“you like food, don’t you?” carla asked beside you.

you nodded, wiped your mouth before answering. “yes po.”

“she makes mean pancit at home,” sophia added. “and mango float.”

godfrey leaned in slightly. “you wanna learn how to cook?”

“a bit,” you looked around, unsure. “not like this, i don’t think i could ever be this good.”

“this is all technique,” he waved a hand. “the heart’s what matters. you’ve either got it or you don’t.”

you didn’t say anything. but you felt something click quietly into place, right behind your ribs.

you looked at him. then at your plate. then at your hands. and just like that, without drama or realisation or applause — you knew.

you wanted to cook.

“you’d do well in a kitchen,” he mentioned, sipping his wine. “smart hands and curious eyes.”

carla beamed at you like she had already decided this could be your life if you wanted it.

you were still thinking about it: about the feel of the fork in your hand, the way the food made your chest open up — when sophia leaned into leon and whispered something that made him laugh. she touched his arm lightly, leaned her cheek against his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

you blinked.

something tight twisted in your stomach, sharp and unfamiliar. it wasn’t anger. not quite. it wasn’t sadness either. just a kind of…displacement. like you lost something before you even knew you were holding it.

you stabbed your fork into the plate a little harder than you meant to.

“y/n?” sophia turned to you, concerned. “you okay?”

you nodded. “yeah. just hot.”

leon passed you a napkin, still grinning. you took it, barely looking at him.

she turned back and you felt the moment leave you.

the rest of the lunch passed in a blur; you listened when they talked, laughed when you had to, but your mind had split. half of you sat at the table. the other half had already started picturing a kitchen of your own: the heat, the knives, the smell of onions hitting butter. the fire.

and somewhere deep inside that heat, you imagined sophia again. her hand not on leon’s shoulder, but yours.

you didn’t know what that meant. not yet.

but the ache stayed with you. it still does.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

saturday nights at concave always felt like a controlled collapse. the kind of exhaustion that made your fingers ache and your lower back throb with every step, but somehow still left you wired from the chaos.

tonight had been one of the busiest yet—valet queues doubling up, someone asking for a private dining room that didn’t exist, and a family of seven who insisted they were promised a window seat by ‘the guy who owns the restaurant’ despite not having a reservation at all.

it was past ten when the last table finally cleared.

aira was singing off-key into her phone, facetime angled towards the ceiling while she wiped down the counters with rhythmic aggression. her boyfriend’s laugh filtered faintly through the screen, followed by a dramatic “babe, i’m working!” which none of you believed for a second.

the rest of you sat on plastic crates near the back door outside, backs against the wall, the night air heavy with heat and frying oil. kristoff lit the last cigarette and passed it around, all of you taking slow drags like it was communion. there was a quiet bond that came with being this tired at the same time as other people.

“i still can’t believe she dropped that bottle,” leo began laughing, his voice hoarse from yelling over the pass earlier.

“ten thousand pesos,” yohan added, exhaling smoke through his nose. “and she cried like her dog died.”

you winced, leaning your head back against the concrete. “i felt bad. she was shaking.”

leo nudged your foot. “you told her it wasn’t coming out of her pay.”

“of course i did.”

he grinned. “see, that’s why you’re a terrible boss.”

“wow, thanks.”

“you care too much,” he continued, flicking ash off the side. “it’s gross.”

“good bosses don’t cry in the dry storage,” you muttered.

“you cried?”

“it was humid.”

they all laughed.

kristoff took a final drag from his cigarette, then flicked it into the old tin can near the door. “you know what’s worse?” he shook his head. “diana and i fighting last night.”

that got everyone’s attention as you all turned your heads slightly.

“about what now?” yohan asked.

he dragged a hand down his face. “i put her water bottle in the freezer. just the regular way. and apparently that’s…how you destroy the lining? or the metal? or our future children? i don’t even know.”

leo blinked. “damn.”

“she said it’s proof i don’t respect her stuff. then she said we should do separate laundry from now on.”

“over a bottle?”

“over a bottle.”

the sound of tyres crunching against gravel pulled everyone’s attention. it wasn’t loud — but sharp enough to cut through the rhythm of the moment. you all turned your heads in unison, squinting toward the end of the alleyway where the staff parking lot sat mostly empty.

“customer coming back for vengeance,” yohan muttered, flicking his cigarette over the side rail. “you know that lady who said the bangus was too bony?”

“lock the doors,” leo added. “she’s probably got a weapon.”

“the gun’s in the safe,” kristoff mumbled carefully, not missing a beat.

you were about to say something — something dumb, something to diffuse the rising tension when the driver’s door opened.

and godfrey stepped out, casual as ever in slacks and a light button-down, waving toward you like this was the most normal thing in the world.

but you weren’t looking at him.

your eyes were fixed on the passenger door: on the way it opened slowly, deliberately. on the figure that stepped out and stood for a moment, as if she was letting her eyes adjust to the light.

the yankees cap, the face mask, the black hoodie pulled tight around her. but the way she stood, slightly tilted to one side, one foot angled out like she might run at any second — it was all her.

you knew those eyes.

no one could hide that shade of brown from you. the way they scanned, half-expectant, like they were always waiting for a sign.

your stomach dropped, hard and low like it had missed a step.

“holy shit,” leo whispered, nearly dropping the cigarette.

“is that —“

what the fuck, you thought.

“yeah,” kristoff breathed. “the hell?”

yohan stood up so fast his crate tipped over. “i’m not ready for this, bye!”

then, like a well-rehearsed act, all three of them turned and made a mad dash for the back door; grown men scattering like roaches.

a bunch of traitors.

kristoff stumbled on his way in but still managed to shout, “aira!” and a split second later, you heard her scream. then the door slammed shut, the metal rattling in the frame, leaving you alone with her outside.

you were still sitting on your crate, legs suddenly unsure if they remembered how to work.

she started walking to you.

slow, steady steps that felt too loud in your ears. she lifted a hand and gave a small wave, a little awkward, like she didn’t know if it would be received.

you stood, finally, your knees feeling loose and unreliable. the heat from the kitchen behind you met the cool of the alleyway and it made your skin prickle.

the world shrank.

you could hear your own heartbeat now, thudding somewhere in your neck. the sharp scent of garlic still clung to your shirt; your hands, stained with soy and calamansi, hung at your sides.

and there she was.

sophia stopped a few steps in front of you. not close enough to touch, but enough to undo you completely — you saw it in her eyes.

the softness; the nerves; the weight.

neither of you spoke.

the streetlight buzzed above you. someone’s stereo played a slow opm song in the next building over. back inside, you could hear aira saying something very loud and incoherent, followed by someone — probably kristoff —shushing her in vain.

but none of it mattered.

you stood in front of each other, the past folded neatly between your bodies like a letter you had never opened.

she stepped closer, and in the light, harsh and flickering from the mounted alley lamp above the staff door — she looked older. more refined around the jaw, a little sharper in the cheekbones. the years had carved something into her face, but

it wasn’t unkindness, but time. it was a life you hadn’t been part of, filled with late flights and green rooms and a thousand versions of her you would never get to meet.

a breeze pushed through the alley and caught the edge of her shirt. her hat dipped slightly forward as she pulled her mask down with careful fingers, revealing a soft, tired smile.

“hi,” she spoke, her voice small and steady.

you swallowed as you nodded once, your throat felt dry.

she glanced behind her toward the street, then back at you. “i didn’t mean to show up like this. i kind of forced dad to bring me, he said you didn’t want to see me yet,” she scratched the back of her neck, then added. “we had a whole argument about it in the car. like, full-on telenovela volume.”

her laugh was breathless, a little shy. “i hope you’re not mad at him.”

you shook your head, though your voice hadn’t found you yet. it felt like all your thoughts were stuck behind glass: still moving, but quiet.

“i just needed to see you,” she continued, taking a step closer. “i needed to hear your voice.”

the words landed hard. not cruelly, just…directly. she always had that way of talking — like if something sat on her chest long enough, it had no choice but to escape.

you felt like you were eighteen again, standing in a doorway too narrow for everything you wanted to say.

“how’ve you been?” she asked, her voice a little uncertain now, as if startled herself with the silence that followed.

that pulled you out of it.

“i’ve been good,” you managed to answer, though the word felt strange coming out. “busy, tired. you know, kitchen stuff.”

she smiled, nodded quickly, hands playing with the hem of her shirt.

you pointed to the stack of crates near the door. “you wanna sit?”

“yeah,” she exhaled like she has been holding her breath the whole time.

you both sat side by side on one crate, knees brushing slightly. her hands were in her lap. yours were still trembling faintly, so you pressed them into your thighs, grounding yourself in something solid.

you talked, slowly at first. about small things. safe things.

anthony still came by to steal food. she laughed, really laughed and said she wasn’t surprised. you told her about kyle, still waiting on his contract so he could go back out on the ships. she asked if he still sang backstreet boys during karaoke.

he still did.

you told her kristoff worked here now. “he’s marrying diana,” you added and her eyes lit up.

“no way,” she breathed out in disbelief. “they actually made it?”

“somehow.”

“who’s managing who?”

“depends on the day.”

she laughed again, covering her mouth. you watched her and felt something shift in your chest. not new, not really — it’s familiar in a way that made you ache a little.

your feelings for her weren’t coming back, they truly just hadn’t left.

they had gone quiet, buried themselves beneath years of busyness and the slow accumulation of adult life. but sitting here beside her, the memories began resurfacing — old pages being turned back over, softer with age.

sophia looked down at her hands. her voice was quiet when she spoke again.

“i cried when i saw the photos from your opening,” she continued. “i saw your mum. your lola. some of the old neighbours. even my parents. it looked like home.”

you didn’t speak.

“i’m sorry,” she added. “for not looking back.”

the silence stretched between you.

you looked at her, and the guilt in her eyes was real. it was…honest like she finally let herself feel it.

you nodded in quick understanding. “life happens sometimes.”

she turned her face toward you, brows furrowed like she didn’t expect you to let her off that easily.

“no, really,” you pushed. “you were chasing something; something big and real. and you got it. i don’t think you could’ve looked back even if you wanted to.”

her eyes glossed, just a little.

“i’ve always been proud of you,” you said, voice steady now. “even if we’re no longer a part of each other’s lives.”

she let out a breath, shaky and soft.

you leaned back against the wall, looking up at the empty stretch of sky.

“you’re everywhere now,” you added, smiling faintly. “can’t even get away from you if i tried. the billboards alone are stalking me.”

sophia laughed through her nose, wiping at her cheek. “those were terrible photos.”

“your face is literally flawless.”

“you’re delusional.”

“you’re still annoying.”

she grinned as reached her eyes and lingered.

neither of you spoke after that. you just listened to the low rattle of a tricycle turning into the alley, the soft clatter of dishes being washed somewhere inside, the low hum of the world continuing just beyond the corner of this moment.

you shifted slightly, looked at her. “you want a mule?”

her face broke into another smile. “yes.”

you stood slowly, legs stiff from the day. the city didn’t feel as loud anymore. the ache in your chest had settled — not gone, but softer. more in the lines of something remembered than lost.

then, you motioned toward the kitchen doors with a nod. she looked at you with curious eyes.

“you want to meet the team?” you asked, dusting your hands off on your apron. “if you don’t mind…they’re scared of you.”

she laughed, light and surprised. “i saw them run inside.”

you grinned despite yourself and pushed open the kitchen door, holding it open for her as she followed. and you felt it…that part of you that had never really closed the door on her.

the second you stepped in, everyone suddenly became very busy. kristoff was wiping down a perfectly clean shelf, leo had mysteriously found a clipboard to stare at like it held the secrets of the universe, yohan, as expected, remained hidden in the washing station, clanking plates like his life depended on it.

and aira - bless her soul - stood frozen in the middle of the room holding a bag of mangoes.

you looked around, unimpressed. “really?”

they all avoided your gaze, except aira. who continued to stand like a train was about to hit her at full speed.

“everyone, this is sophia, or piya, like i used to call her,” you introduced, voice dry.

sophia raised a hand, smile soft. “hi, sorry for barging in at the last minute.”

aira still didn’t move, the mangoes swaying in her hand.

thankfully, kristoff recovered first and stepped forward quickly. “it’s so nice to see you again, soph. been years, no?”

“way too long,” she responded, smiling at him. “i think the last time was…diana’s birthday party? the one where you both got food poisoning?”

“yes,” he nodded, grinning. “bonding through suffering.”

you caught a glance at aira, jaw slightly slack and eyes suspiciously glassy.

leo wiped his hand on a towel before offering it to her. “it’s nice to finally meet the legend,” he said, which earned a quiet groan from you. “i’m leo.”

sophia chuckled as she shook his hand. “you guys run a tight ship back here.”

“depends on the day,” he laughed. “today we survived.”

she turned to aira next, who hadn’t spoken or blinked. she approached slowly, like one might approach a deer in a clearing.

“hi,” she said gently. “i’m sophia.”

aira’s mouth opened but no sound came out. just a small, strange breath. she nodded once, violently, like she has been programmed under poor wi-fi.

“aira,” you winced in embarrassment. “say something.”

“is this real life?” she finally croaked.

sophia laughed again and, to everyone’s horror and delight, pulled her into a hug. aira’s arms hung limp for a moment, then she clutched her like they had known each other for a decade. over sophia’s shoulder, she mouthed oh my god at you.

“i love you,” she blurted.

you groaned. please no. “don’t be fucking weird.”

everyone laughed. sophia pulled back, still grinning. “and i love you too.”

aira looked over at you and added, “y/n loves you too.”

“aira!” you barked, already turning away. your whole body flushed hot, ears burning.

“i love y/n too,” sophia was trying not to laugh, her head bowed, lips pressed together in a losing battle.

you muttered something incomprehensible and walked off to grab the mules, still mentally screaming. your hands were shaking slightly as you popped the bottles open. you weren’t even sure from what — embarrassment, maybe. or something deeper. like your chest had been cracked open and every feeling you buried decided that tonight was the night to come home.

from the kitchen, you heard sophia’s laugh, low and warm. then her voice, teasing: “aira’s not sick.”

“she lied to you!” aira shrieked. “she was just too nervous to come.”

“you absolute snakes,” you muttered to the mules, then carried the bottles back out, just in time to see kristoff and sophia mid-conversation.

“so how’s diana really?” sophia asked.

“terrifying. but in a hot way,” he responded. “we’ve already got the wedding date. she’s in full planner mode, i just show up.”

“you guys are really getting married, that’s huge.”

“yeah, diana and i are doing the civil wedding first, we don’t have time to plan a big thing with all the restaurant shit going on.”

“i’m so happy for you guys!” she squealed, clapping her hands together.

“you’re next,” he said, looking past sophia, then directly at you.

fuck off, you mouthed.

sophia raised an eyebrow. “i’d need a girlfriend for that. at least.”

“head chef is single!” aira yelled out, a little bit too keen. and so much for promising yourself you wouldn’t go red.

you looked up. then immediately looked away, the bottle nearly slipped out of your hand.

“you good?” leo asked, grinning.

“chef hands,” you wheezed. “tired hands.”

it was a dumb joke, maybe. or maybe it wasn’t. you never really asked, never dared her. the memories of your hands touching hers, of sleeping shoulder to shoulder, of quiet moments on rooftops — those were things you kept somewhere safe, under glass, labelled friendship.

it never occurred to you that maybe…she saw it differently.

you took a slow sip from your bottle, unsure whether to laugh or pretend you lost hearing altogether.

the rest of the team had found their courage again. kristoff pulled out his phone and suggested selfies, to which sophia nodded without hesitation. they huddled in tight near the prep bench, yohan even emerging from the dish area —though he refused to make eye contact, hovering awkwardly in the background like he was summoned against his will, which she found charming and weird in equal measure.

then leo said: “okay, now just you two.”

you blinked. “what?”

“just you and sophia,” aira repeated, already motioning with her phone. “hurry up, chef, i got places to be.”

“i reek,” you mumbled. “i’ve been over a stove for twelve hours.”

kristoff frowned. “just put your damn arm around her and smile; be respectful.”

“i’m literally a health hazard.”

before you could argue further, sophia stepped in beside you, her body warm and familiar. without warning, she reached for your wrist and guided your arm around her shoulder like it had always belonged there.

you didn’t breathe, just smiled the most awkward smile you could ever let out.

your hand rested there: awkward, hesitant, too aware of her warmth. sophia’s body leaned just slightly into yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

snap. the photo was taken.

you stepped back so quickly you nearly dropped the bottle.

the team took a few more photos, then began to peel off one by one. kristoff was the first to wave goodnight, followed by yohan who mumbled something and disappeared again. aira said goodbye three times before finally leaving, and leo, as always, made sure the lights were off in the storage before stepping out with a tired salute.

you walked them out, flipped the sign to closed, and turned the lock.

the kitchen felt impossibly still after they left. the kind of quiet that only came after a long shift and a longer night. your muscles ached and your heart hadn’t stopped racing.

“i’m just gonna get changed,” you cleared your throat. “these clothes have seen horrible things.”

“okay,” she replied, voice soft now. like it was only meant for you.

you slipped into the staff bathroom, peeling off your apron and tossing it into the laundry basket. your shirt clung damp to your back. you washed your face with the cheap peppermint cleanser you kept in the drawer and stared at yourself in the mirror.

she was here.

sitting in your restaurant.

laughing with your friends.

you were halfway through drying your hands when the thought hit you full force: this wasn’t a dream. and you had no idea what it meant, for you.

you pulled on a clean white shirt, ran fingers through your hair and stepped out.

the kitchen was dim now, lights off except for the soft glow spilling from the bar. sophia sat alone at the counter, her bottle in front of her, fingers tracing the label.

you moved quietly to the stool beside her.

the hum of the fridge, the soft buzz of the light overhead…everything felt so much louder in the quiet. she looked at you, then looked away. but her smile stayed.

something inside you; something buried and stubborn, stirred like it had been waiting for this. for her.

and now it’s just the two of you.

alone again.

you swirled what was left of your mule, the ice melting slow against the glass. it only tasted good because of who you were drinking it with.

“so how did this place happen?” she began, gesturing vaguely at the restaurant around you. “concave - when?”

you leaned back against the stool, exhaling slowly. “three years ago.”

“i always wondered,” she hummed, eyes watching you fondly. “how?”

“dad got a payout,” you replied, fingers tapping lightly on the bar. “he was working in australia, had injury on site. slipped, messed up his spine. they paid out this ridiculous sum. more than any of us expected. he didn’t want to keep it.”

she turned toward you, her chin resting against her hand. “i didn’t know that.”

“he asked me what i’d do with it if it were mine,” you said. “i didn’t even think about it. just said, i’d build a place where i could cook whatever i wanted. and he said okay.”

her brows furrowed, soft with concern. “is he okay now?”

“he’s alright. limps a bit and retired earlier than he wanted, but he likes it. spends most of his time annoying my mum,” you looked down into your drink. “i still don’t think i deserved it.”

“i do,” she said, voice low before sipping her drink. “you’re always working hard; even when we were kids.”

you smiled and it surprised you how much it meant to hear that from her.

“lola’s still the same,” you added, shifting the subject. “stubborn. refuses to let the kasambahay do the laundry. still insists she’s stronger than all of us combined.”

“she probably is,” sophia chuckled.

“she probably is.”

“and your mum?”

you shrugged, but it came with a warmth you couldn’t quite hide. “she still makes me lunch. insists i don’t eat enough. dropped off sinigang last tuesday and then took half of my pantry in her bag.”

“that’s so her,” she giggled, shaking her head. you could feel her shoulder brush lightly against yours now, whether from the way she leaned or the narrow space between the stools.

you watched her as she spoke, the way her eyes lit up when she remembered things, like they lived in her just as vividly. it made something inside you tug gently at its roots.

“she always liked me.”

“she still does,” you answered, taking another swig at your bottle. “she saw you in a tvc last week and said, ‘that girl used to steal our shampoo.’”

“i did,” she admitted, not even sorry. “your mum had the expensive kind.”

you tilted your head, smiling into the rim of your bottle. “she still does.”

“you kept all of them,” she said. “everyone that mattered.”

you didn’t know how to explain that they weren’t just yours to keep…that they stayed because something about the way you lived didn’t demand that they love you from afar. but instead, you smiled and said: “yeah. somehow.”

for a moment, the silence returned — soft, comfortable. you watched the way sophia’s fingers turned her bottle slowly, the condensation pooling beneath it, catching the light.

then she looked at you, eyes curious. “so…is there anyone?”

you blinked, letting the question sit for a second longer than it should’ve.

“not really,” you shook your head too fast. “i think i’m too emotionally unavailable for that.”

she laughed, a small puff of air. “you? you’re being dramatic now.”

“i’m bad at saying things out loud,” you explained. “i think too much, miss my moments. then think about them for five years straight. not exactly a dream package.”

she looked at you like she wanted to argue, but only said: “you can cook. you’re a chef. you own a restaurant with a good bar. what else could a girl want?”

you gave her a look. “a girl who’s not afraid of commitment?”

“minor detail,” she chuckled, raising the bottle to her mouth.

you shook your head, but it was hard to hide the way your chest buzzed. not nervous exactly, the air shifted and you weren’t quite sure what it meant yet.

“what about you?” you asked. “anyone?”

sophia leaned her arms on the bar; just like you, her fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the bottle. “there was someone for a while, but it didn’t work out.”

right.

the words stung in a quiet, unexpected way. not jealousy, but the faint ache of knowing someone else had been where you once wanted to be; that someone got to hold her in the ways you could only imagine and dismissed as daydreams.

it shouldn’t hurt, but it did.

you tried to mask it by swallowing another sip. the bottle was nearly empty.

your mind caught on the earlier moment — her casual joke about needing a girlfriend. the way she said it so easily. it hadn’t left you since. your thoughts kept replaying all the times you held hands when you were younger, how it never felt weird, but maybe it was always almost something.

maybe you were just too much of a coward back then to let yourself name it.

she was much closer now. not in an intentional way, but enough to feel it. your knees brushed and her arm warmed the air between you. the room was so quiet it felt like even the walls were listening.

“have you seen the letter?” she eventually spoke, voice softer.

you blinked, caught off-guard. “what letter?”

her fingers curled slightly around the base of the bottle. “before i left…i wrote you one. i didn’t know how to say everything, so i wrote it instead. tucked it in your recipe book with the red cover. the one you always carried.”

you paused.

the memory flooded back fast: the airport, that day. you remembered it in pieces; how you refused godfrey’s offer to drive you home, how you cried in the terminal bathroom and then boarded a jeep half-blind from tears. your hands trembling.

you groaned, running a hand through your face.

“i left the bag,” you said, burying your face in your hands. “soph, i left the fucking bag in the jeepney. i was crying like an idiot and i got off without it. my notes and my book with your letter.”

she went still beside you.

“i’m so sorry,” you added, looking at her. “i had no idea.”

her expression changed. not anger, not disappointment; something you couldn’t name. a bruise behind her eyes like she had just lost something all over again.

you wanted to reach for her.

“it’s fine,” she quickly dismissed. “it doesn’t matter anymore.”

but it did, you could see that it did. and you didn’t want to ask what the letter said, not tonight because her voice had gone fragile in that particular way people get when they’ve decided not to cry.

and you knew sophia — when she closed a door, she didn’t open it again unless she wanted to.

you both sipped the last of your drinks. the silence felt like it had weight to it; carefully holding something between you.

she began to talk again….about the summers you used to spend barefoot, catching dragonflies, the time she dared you to eat a siling labuyo straight and you cried for twenty minutes and your old teacher who threw chalk with military precision.

you laughed, reminiscing.

you didn’t say everything you wanted to say.

but she stayed and that had to mean something, too.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Japan in the 1500s was a completely different era from modern times. Almost all of the country’s power was decentralized, leading to many conflicts throughout the years. 

However, one consistent thing was that women weren’t treated respectfully unless they had power.

A clear example of this is your current situation.

You were from the Takeda Clan, a growing group of recognized Samurai within the Japanese military. Being in a clan like that sounded great, but… you were a woman. 

Your fellow Takeda men didn’t exactly take too kindly to their counterparts, and being the alpha males in sectors, they can be.

Why? Well, because Takeda’s are low-ranked in the noble hierarchy, although you were somewhat lucky in life. 

Your mother is a baroness from a higher family who married into the Takeda family, and your father is Japan’s famous general known as ‘The Oni.’ So, by age thirteen, you had particular duties and a reputation to uphold. Many servants would gossip, saying you were important but not important enough. 

Just to a certain extent.

That was something you always heard, especially when meeting other royalties. 

“Y/n? She’s the girl with an overprotective father. You can’t be friends with her.”

“Don’t expect so much from that one; she just has to sit there, represent her family, and look adorable.”

“Poor child has no future for her.”

It was tough being in a family known for male dominance while being a woman of higher rank. So you steered clear of most people, trying to take on caretaking instead.

Walking through Kyoto's extensive gardens, you made your way to the training grounds near the barracks. You stabilized the large woven basket on one side of your waist, hooking your arm under it for support.

Your eyes travel inside the large container, the warm batch of bread still steaming from the cloth covering it. The sweat on your forehead granted a break on the nearby bench, fearing you’d drop the delicacies.

Sitting on the upcoming bench, you hoped for the shade to come above while wiping away any sweat using a washcloth. “This damn heat,” you mumble under your breath. 

Your body was never one to cooperate with the heat, becoming sick often after a tiring day out. Rather than being able to complain about the heat in peace, you hear a pitchier voice coming towards you near the camellia bushes.

“Mother would love the vibrance of these,” the girl knees down, her beautiful white and gold kimono grazing the grass. She kept her hair up in a large bun with a large white ribbon keeping it together.

Her delicate fingers touched the flowers, lifting them to her nose. She tried to smell the camellias' aroma. Then, she took the gardening shears, snipped long stems, and placed the flowers in a small bamboo basket.

Your eyes travel back to your basket of bread, thinking the kinder thing to do was give an extra piece, just for some energy. “Uhm, excuse me?”

Her neck whips to turn her head, her face full of surprise. You see her eyes dart down to the small piece of bread in your hands. “You seem to be working hard in the heat, and I had some extra so here.” 

She stands up as she takes the bread, a cute smile forming. The bright smile almost took you aback, her adorable squirrel-like cheeks expanding. “How kind of you,” she mumbles, taking a small bite. You hear a muffled squeal, making you giggle lightly.

“Uhm, uhm,” she looks around frantically, trying to find a quick gift. Once her eyes land on her own basket, her eyes grow wide with a bright idea in mind. “Here, please accept this as gratitude,” her small hands hand you the pink flower, and you bow, accepting it graciously.

“You didn’t have to.”

“You were looking out for me. It’s the least I could do,” She expresses, her bubbling personality showing with the next bite she took, stuffing her mouth. She then began to wonder, “Is that for the samurai?”

She sees your eyes grow wide, “Yes! This is. Thank you for reminding me, actually. I shall be on my way.” You bow, and as you rush off, a servant rushes past you out of breath.

“Sana-sama! I told you not to go on without me at your side!” Your brain couldn’t even process the words as you dashed all the way to the other side of the garden.

Your trembling breath had you almost gasping for air, but when the large doors opened, you strained yourself at seeing your father. “Father,” you bow, and he stares at you for a minute before having a servant take the large basket.

“You’re late, Y/n,” he stands there, and all you can do is a deep bow. “I apologize, Otou-san. I took a quick break and suddenly had a run-in with…” you take a deep breath, knowing the reaction you’d get.

“The princess.”

You wouldn’t dare look into his eyes, but you heard the grumble that came out of his mouth. “We’ve spoken of this. You shouldn’t be in the vicinity of the princess! If you hadn’t taken a break, this would’ve been avoided!” You feel the anger radiating off of his voice.

“It will never happen again, Otou-san,” he sighs heavily but nods. “Good. Now, prepare in the next room. Your training will begin shortly.” 

Without another word, you went into the next room. It was an open dojo-like space; you take off your getas, placing them outside the room. You feel the texture of the tatami flooring under your feet. The cushioning makes you feel bouncier.

“We should check on your conditioning today. Kimono off,” your father authorizes. As you remove the basic gown, you reveal that you are wearing a thin black tank top.

Your father’s eyes trail down to your arms; the short bruises of yellow and green can be seen forming over older scaring. “Are you feeling rigid?” He asks with a gentle touch, lifting up your arms as he scans you. “No, I feel good.”

“Perfect answer,” he says, grabbing a large wooden stick that was close to his height. “You're 16 now, Y/n. People may say you don’t have a responsibility, but I will not let my own child be a pushover.” 

You nod acceptingly, “I understand, father.” People may not view you as anything but a mere woman, but despite your father’s brut nature, he was always willing to protect you and your mother.

He’s a gentleman, the only one you know personally. “Now take stance,” he announces.

Your knees bend slightly, head leans slightly forward, and your left arm is in front of your body. While taking place, your father jabs the stick forward, causing a speedy reaction from you. Instinctively, you lean your body to the left as quickly as possible, then use the palm of your hand to push it away.

“Good,” your father states, but you knew it wouldn’t end there. He began moving the stick quicker and quicker. Your body could keep up with the fast pace as it was your usual routine. 

There were times when you would get hit, hence the small bruises you would receive. Your father intentionally did this. He believed that at least, in the future, your pain tolerance would be high enough to be able to endure many.

The training is followed by giving you a kendo stick to stimulate katana practice. Due to clan regulations, women could not be samurai, nor could they hold a weapon. Many men believed women should stay pure, and if not, they weren’t worthy of marriage. 

Despite your father being the head, an entire force of men wanting this rule was something he couldn’t oppose as it was also a long part of their history. Women were also quite accepting of the rule because of that.

Your body felt much more exhausted due to the heat, yet it never stopped your father with his relentless training. But after six hours, he made you go home as time struck five in the afternoon.

You quickly dash home, trying to beat the thirty-minute mark. Before six p.m. hit, you needed to clean yourself up, start cooking dinner, and make tea.

It was a tiring routine, but something you’ve become used to since the age of ten.

Your days were lengthy, but it was the usual. Before dawn, you would have to get up and get ready for the rest of your day. Then, in the next hour, you cook breakfast for your family and eat in the same hour. While your parents do their duties under royalties, you clean the house for two hours, then study the two hours after. 

At ten, you’d have to make your way to the servants' quarters for the batches of bread for the samurai. After delivering, there would be one-on-one training with your father for six hours. It also doesn’t just stop at the shower, dinner, and tea; there is also extra studying about herbs and first-aid due to your mother.

It was a strenuous lifestyle, but you were somewhat fond of it. Everything you were taught, you believed, would make you a better person as you were pushing yourself to find new skills.

Back to the task at hand, you washed up quickly and changed. Then, you prepared a quick meal of miso soup, rice, and fish. When your mother and father came home, you all had a meal together.

“Have you begun your studies today, Y/n?” You hear your mom. You nodded and sipped green tea, “I began while preparing for dinner.” Your mom looked at you with her sweet eyes, a proud smile.

“Just get thirty minutes of herbal studies in tonight. Your father told me you had an unusual day today.” Your eyes flash up to your dad's face, who is focused on his soup, and your eyes travel to your mother, whose brows are raised.

“It was an accident, okāsan-”

“Y/n,” she gives a stern voice, cutting you off. “It’s okay. I promise.” Your father looks at her with furrowed brows, giving her a ‘don’t encourage the child look.’ 

Her eyes soften at her husband, “Princess Minatozaki is a wonderful child, the complete opposite of the queen. I assure you she won’t tell her mother.”

“We can’t assume that she just won't find out,” he declares, and your mother looks slightly conflicted. “You know that better than anyone, Reiko.”

“I will keep our child safe, Hideo. Even if it takes my life,” you and your father go silent at your mother’s heavy words. Having a loving family in this lifetime has its ups and downs. It made you often wonder if you could ever truly be happy in a world like your own.

Your appetite suddenly changes, and your parents look at you as you stand from your spot. You bow out of respect and excused yourself to study and get into bed. You weren’t about to deal with that conversation.

It was something your parents always talked about, becoming a constant broken record in your mind. You knew there would come a day when your mother’s words would actually come true.

‘Even if it takes my life.’ Somewhat becoming your parent’s motto.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, the background consisting of your bed, side table, and little vase faded behind you. The words of your parents clouded your mind once again, but you felt a switch in your mind go off.

If you had the power to change the fate of your life, you would do so… even if it takes your life.

Today was the eighteenth birthday of the princess, and it had been two years since you first met her. Your mother, fortunately, was correct.

The princess was a kind young woman who never mirrored the queen's personality. Though you only had a handful of instances of interacting with the princess, your family would be invited to her birthday.

It was only right as your father was their famous general, and your mother was their trusted right hand. You stood near the far right of the large room, away from the crowd of royalties who would just gossip about you. 

Your body was adorned in a beautiful deep violet, the color that represented the Takeda clan well. The kimono hugged your waist, the cute silver bow in the back cinching it to a tea. 

No one dared to bother you, your eyes roaming around the large hall instead. Everyone wore elegant kimonos, and the young men especially wore bolder colors to catch her attention. She was turning of age, after all.

It would be assumed that the king and queen would find her the most fitting partner as her husband. 

Thinking about it only caused your brain to grow exhausted. Every ‘man’ that lingered around her, was an ignorant, arrogant, and naive noble that chased for that small taste of power.

You were well aware that the princess didn’t deserve someone like that. You could count your interactions on one hand, but her honest nature made you feel like you could’ve been friends in some other lifetime.

After giving her the small piece of bread all those years ago, you did your best to avoid her. Although, to your own dismay, it seemed like fate had other plans for the two of you.

The second instance had you stunned. It was on a cold night, and your father seemed to be in a sour mood. The day was harsher for you, which led you to get punished.

Your father wasn’t so harsh, but as a ‘normal’ punishment, he would hit you five times with the wooden staff. At that point in your life, it wasn’t painful anymore, your body getting used to the feeling.

You were near the pond, using a wet washcloth to help soothe the bruising and bleeding on your shoulders. Your kimono was slid down on your arm ever so slightly, the moonlight shining upon the pond’s waters.

Regardless of what occurred, at least the night was soothing in your mind. “I didn’t expect anyone to be here,” you flinched at the voice and quickly hid the cloth as she came into your view. 

You stood up quickly and bowed, “Princess,” and Sana shook her hand in a wave. “Please, sit down. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

To your surprise, she sat next to you as if it were merely nothing, “I just needed some time away from my parents.”

That night, you got to know a different version of her. Given that everything you heard by now was only hearsay, this was something raw and vulnerable. Without even knowing it, that night went on with the princess expressing her struggles to you.

As she rambled, you just listened. Every interaction after that was the same way as well. You liked to think that you became her ‘once in a blue moon secret therapist.’

The thought always made you chuckle a little. She didn’t know you, know your status compared to her… nothing. Yet every time you coincidently saw each other, she seemed to not mind any of that.

Your eyes traveled to the large crowd forming in the middle, surrounding the royal family. Instead of watching every noble declare some form of their love to her, you decided to slip out of the palace.

You breathed in the fresh air, closing your eyes as you felt the sensation of the cold wind against your skin.

You always favored this time, where it usually held a peaceful silence. Your long days of work were hectic, always consisting of training and studying nowadays. This was a need in your routine. Not only that, a year ago, your father had made sure you’d begin shadowing him and his work.

He told you, “No matter the laws of this clan, you will always be my successor.” It made you stay diligent, aware, and colder than everyone else. They never valued you anyway, so you didn’t see the harm in your change.

“You're very good at escaping places you don’t want to be, huh?” You heard that voice yet again. You knew who it was, even if your eyes were shut this entire time. “Somehow, you always find me, princess,” you open your eyes to find her standing on your right.

Her large, layered kimono swept the flooring. The white fabric and its gold trim decorated her body. You watched as her fingers traveled toward her hair, taking the pins out of the large bun and making sure her hair flowed down instead.

She seemed to let her hair down every time she saw you, saying, “She felt more comfortable this way.” Sana seems to follow your actions, eyes looking far into the distance. “What did it feel like?”

You look at her curiously, not understanding the question, “What do you mean, princess?” 

“What did it feel like when you officially turned into a young woman?”

The question had you freeze like a storm and had your brain brewing in thought. Were you to answer her honestly or sugarcoat it? “I would like you to be frank with me,” she stated kindly as if she were reading your thoughts.

You chuckled, and her eyes glinted with a touch of surprise. She had never heard you have this sense of happiness, “When I turned into a young woman… it was brutal. We live different lives, princess. That’s the harsh reality.”

After you spoke, the tranquility filled the air again. Sana knew her life was privileged, but between you and her, she believed you two weren’t so different. Maybe that was her own fault for being so uneducated about you. She was the one who always spoke in comparison to you, and she realized that now.

“Can you please tell me more?” You heard the hesitance in her voice, her eyes looking down. 

“Well, otou-san began training me properly without a care. He told me of the plausible future our nation has and how I should be ready for it. Okāsan, on the other hand, made sure I studied a variety of things. My education mainly consisted of herbs, first aid, medicine, and our history. I also tended the house the majority of the time.”

Sana listened to the list in silence and felt the exhaustion weigh her body down. She didn’t even live your life nor get to experience it, but it just sounded physically straining. 

“Do you ever wish… we lived in an equal world, Y/n?” 

Your eyes widened at her suddenly saying your name. She knew of it? Maybe you kept telling yourself that she didn’t that you began believing it. “Uhm—y-yea. I do.”

You wanted to punch yourself at the stutter. “I want to create a nation where our foundation was equality.” Her words surprised you and made your heart swell. For nineteen years of your life, the looming thought was always in the back of your mind. 

‘You would always be nothing as a woman.’ 

But Sana’s kind heart gave you some hope, and you were willing to hold onto that for as long as you could.

You close your eyes again, thinking of the future that she envisioned, “I’ll wait for that world. Even in the afterlife.” 

Sana felt her feet grow heavy as if it was impossible for her to move after that. She couldn’t fathom the pressure of your words. The princess bows deeply towards you, her eyes brimming with tears. You look around frantically, knowing you’d surely be in trouble if anyone saw the sight, but when she raises her head, and you see her face, you instinctively relax.

She looked at you with a bright smile, her eyes glistening more under the dark skies. “I appreciate your support. It means a lot to me,” she voiced. Your heart raced as she stared into your eyes, feeling your body heating up. You forced yourself to look away.

“As the future of the nation, I will, of course, trust you,” you mumble, but you made it clear to her. After the elongated stillness, she excused herself, stating she had to be somewhere before the end of the night. Deciding to head off to sleep with an early morning ahead of you, Sana was escorted to a slim tower at the edge of the land. 

Her men helped her out of her palanquin, and she paces herself to the front door. She took a deep breath and then knocked in a specific pattern. The princess waited a few seconds until she heard a voice behind the door, “You may enter.”

She pushed the heavy door open, a man's back coming into view. “I have been waiting for you, Princess Minatozaki,” the depth of his voice made him feel a rumble beneath her feet. 

The “wizard,” or Onmyōji, is known in Japan. They were known for being tasked with things like keeping track of our calendar, warding off evil spirits, and being protectors for the people as well. What civilians didn’t know, though, was that Onmyōji worked closely with the royal family.

They would read their prophecies.

This enabled royalties to prepare properly for their futures. This would be done every ten years of their lifetime. The royalty was told to do this with the high possibility of the prophecies changing over time, as age and experiences were a large factor.

When Sana stepped foot in the tower for the first time when she was eight, her father had accompanied her. The first reading was always a big accomplishment for any royal, and he wasn’t willing to miss it.

The only thing was Sana’s prophecy was… dark. Her father did her best to cheer her up, telling her there were always more chances in the future for something different. So she waited and waited for this day to come once again.

She stood there, a sense of uncertainty looming over her. The elderly-looking man faced her, her large beard and tall hat covering any sign of emotion or proper facial features. “I am glad to see you doing well,” she said, bowing at his kindness. He gestured his hand toward a plush chair. “Please take a seat.”

Sana sat down slowly, the eerieness of the tower making the palms of her hands sweat. “I am aware that our meeting last time… wasn’t so pleasant for you, young one.”

She looks up from her seat, debating whether or not she should voice out her concern. “Do not fret, young one. Prophecies always change,” he circles back, behind a large podium that held an equally large book. “This shall be quick, so you may go on and have a nice rest.”

Sana could only nod, her throat feeling dry at the aura of the place. “We will begin now,” he announced, taking a deep breath in. She could never see his emotions as his hands hovered over the book as if he were casting upon the dead. It took a minute, but it felt like an eternity until she heard a deep breath.

She had never heard the Onmyōji make that sound. They were always straight to the point with things and never showed any other emotion, but his hands fell onto the book, the tips of his fingers feeling heavy than usual.

“How odd…” His voice felt like it faded through her ears. “I have never seen something like this in my lifetime,” and Sana’s heart dropped at that. She already knew the unfortunate words that were awaiting her.

“Your love will stretch for all eternity,” he spoke slowly.

It stayed the same.

Sana’s fist clenched against the armrest, “this cannot be true,” her voice weak. Her anger could be felt, but Sana wouldn’t dare blame the older man for this. “You should not let this dictate you. It can always change-”

“You may not tell me that. You may not act like a light in the darkness when I have been told the same thing from ten years ago,” her words hung heavy on the heart of the old man, who couldn’t help but feel sorry for her.

“I will take my leave now,” she rushed out, seating herself back into her palanquin. “Back to the palace, now!” She spoke frustrated to her men, who carried her without question.

Once Sana got back to her home, her mother and father waited at their thrones, seeing their daughter walk past in a hurry. “Halt in your steps, Sana,” she heard her mother’s authoritative voice, having her pause in her position.

“What’s the rush?”

She couldn’t bear to look into her mother’s eyes, knowing she would probably break. On the other hand, her father stared for about thirty seconds before realizing her dark mood. “Is it-”

Before he can finish his sentence, Sana shakes her head slowly. All his father could do was leave his throne and give her a warm hug. “Everything will be okay, sweetie. Go forth to your room and get some rest for tonight,” Sana nods, and he whispers, “I’ll take care of your mother; do not worry.”

Sana bows and heads off, “Hold on now, young la-”

Her stern voice is cut off by her husband's gaze. The usual warm and loving king had a hardened look on his face. “Let our daughter breathe, Hotaru. She’ll tell you when she’s ready.”

“The last time you guys said that I never found out!”

“Well, maybe if you weren’t so hard on her, you would’ve known the moment we came back home all those years ago!” He argued back, which quickly shut her up. She knew she wasn’t the greatest mother, but she did her best as a leader and a mom.

She watched as her husband left the room, likely to check on their princess, the harsh reality of his words sinking in. 

Sana curled herself in bed, changing into a long night down, which helped settle her anxiety even a little. The soft knocks on the door had her look up, seeing her father peek his head into the room.

“I hope I’m not intruding, sweetie,” he comes in, shutting the door quietly as he sits next to her. “Otou-san, he said for all eternity,” she whispers, her eyes tearing up once again. “Sana, you know that isn’t always going to say the same.”

“But it hasn’t happened for hundreds of years!” Her father listened, his child’s desperation breaking his heart. 

“Will no one ever love me?” She whimpers, hugging her knees even tighter. The king shakes his head, taking her into his arms. Sana felt the soothing head pats and rubs on her shoulder, “Impossible. You're too beautiful inside and out for no one to notice.”

The comment made the girl smile, but as silence went on, it got her thinking. “What if it becomes too late?”

“It’s never too late to be in love, Sana,” her father told her with a grin, but she knew he meant every word.

From that night onward, Sana couldn’t help but bury herself within her princess duties. The both of you seemingly stay busy and find no room to breathe. Yet, since the night you talked to each other, neither of you seemed to mind.

You pushed yourself hard through training and studies to avoid ever thinking of the beautiful woman. Meanwhile, Sana did it for the sake of her fragile heart.

It was a sunny day about four months after the birthday celebration, and you were in the training grounds with your father. As you were becoming more serious in your efforts within the Takeda clan, your father gave you the liberty of training with a real sword two months ago.

The sword you usually used was a simple katana, just something to work with in the meantime. Here, you breathed harshly as you trained, your dad staring at you pleased. “You always improve at such a rapid pace,” the both of you sheathed the katanas on your waists.

You bow to him with a proud smile on your face, paying no mind to some of the samurai around you. Many of them usually gossiped or had disdained faces due to the sight of you with a weapon. That, however, quickly shifted when a man declared a duel.

With your father observing and maintaining the fight, you quickly proved them wrong. They still felt some way, which you couldn’t blame them, as it was a custom for thousands of years in the family.

But they couldn’t do anything about it.

Your father looked at you as you walked towards the exit, “Have you had rest, my child?” He sees your brows raised, looking at him in curiosity. “Whatever do you mean, otou-san?”

“You’ve been going at this routine for months, Y/n. Have you been taking care of yourself?” You didn’t say anything, not even moving, and you heard him sigh. “Come with me. I shall show you something.”

He led the way toward home, and the sun shined brightly as usual. You couldn’t help but shield your eyes with the sleeves of your kimono. Your eyes followed your father, but you got a glimpse of the camellias. Those same flowers that caused the first interaction between you and the princess.

The flowers were still bright, but you noticed the leaves looking… sick? You then looked ahead as the sun blinded you, realizing rain hadn’t fallen in a while.

Without even realizing it, you and your father reach home, where both of you take off your tabs. You follow him to the back room, where a large open space is. “Take a seat,” he says, quickly kneeling on the cushions. He then takes out a long box from the closet and sets it down on the table in front of you.

“Open it,” he says as he sits in the same position in front of you. You stare at the long, hefty-looking box, not knowing if he was being for real. For the first time in a while, he gave you a smile and nodded as a sign to do so.

Your fingers felt the smooth finish of the wooden box as you opened the lid. You found thick piles of straw surrounding a beautiful katana. The weapon was in a black scabbard, but your eyes trail to its handle.

The cool-toned silver had your eyes twinkling as the cord wrap designed around it took over the clan color of a deep violet. While admiring it, you wouldn’t dare touch such a beauty.

Looking back at your father, you couldn’t even think straight, “May I ask why you’ve shown me this?”

“It’s yours,” those words had you straighten your back quickly, “W-what?” 

He delicately picked up the weapon with two hands and presented it to you with a smile, “It was supposed to be for your twentieth birthday, but you’ve been working hard these past few months. I had to reward your hard work promptly.”

You hesitantly take the katana and stand up. Taking a deep breath with your eyes closed, you unsheathed the katana and stared at the beautiful, long silver blade. “You must use this for good, Y/n.”

You nod at your father furiously, and he chuckles, “But in a serious matter, you know you may not carry this on your person.” The sad reality is that it crushed your happiness within a few seconds. You took the acknowledgment of your father and his gift as a win, just bowing in agreement.

Later that night,, you sat in the center of the garden, the beautiful greenery turning dark andas the sun set. You sat on the stone benches, looking at the plain dark blue sky like you usually did.

“We seem to always meet during these hours and in odd places,” you hear to your far right. You look over and see Sana in a light blue kimono. “You’d be right on that,” she heard as she sat beside you. On the other hand, you shut your eyes, just listening to the hushed wind.

“It’s been a long time since we have last seen each other.”

“We’re at an age that gives us less freedom, princess,” she nods in agreement and stares at the dark garden. “Is something on your mind?” She asked with her sweet voice, and you smiled thankfully.

“The world is just unfair,” you say tiringly, and Sana frowns, “tell me about it.”

Her grumpy tone had your brain screaming at you to ask what was wrong, but you wanted her to tell you when she was ready. That’s how it always had been between the two of you, but Sana’s question catches you off guard instead.

“What caused you to be out here?”

You blink your eyes open for more clarity, the dark scenery flooding your eyes once again. “Just the reality of my life. I feel it is changing, which is a win, but not quick enough for people to realize there has to be a change.”

Sana listened to the quick summary, just nodding her head. “The Takeda’s have always been ruthless when it comes to women. I’m sure it’ll change someday,” you can only bite your lips bitterly, thinking, ‘Hopefully you’re right.’

“How about you?”

Sana pauses, thinking clearly for the first time in months. “I… want to change my fate, but I’m not sure it’s possible,” she says, which intrigued you. Your eyes become drawn to her figure, and she looks at the sky like she did a few minutes ago.

“Fate is never final,” your voice was barely above a whisper as you stared at her face. A cheeky smile formed, which made you blush, but you couldn’t look away from the beauty beside you.

“Those are some buoyant words.”

“Your heart… is too kind to fear what life throws at you,” you express, and Sana closes her eyes. With a smile still on her face, you see a tear cascade down her face.

Your fingers worked on their own, wiping the diamond-looking tear away, and she didn’t even jolt at your touch. “We live in a time where many changes will need to be made, and many changes will happen. It’s a matter of how we go about it day by day.”

Sana opens her eyes and turns her head, making eye contact with you for the first time tonight. You freeze, but your face doesn’t betray you as your eyes look at her longingly. 

“You’re very good at this,” you look at her confusingly. “Good at what?”

“Making me feel better.”

She looks away, reminiscing about the first time you met. “Even when we first met, Y/n. You knew what to say, what to do, just making me feel… happy again.”

Your heart races at her words, and you want to smack yourself. You couldn’t fall any more than you already have for her. Rather than saying anything more like advice, your eyes stare at the flowers in front of you.

“I’ll always be here if you need it then. I’ll do my best to always make you feel happy.”

Later that night, after escorting Sana to the front of the palace, you lay in bed. Staring at the ceiling, you could only think about Sana, causing you to cover your eyes with the palms of your hand as you feel the flush rising on your face once more.

“I may be done for in this life.”

A year later, you find yourself in a large hall within the royal palace. You stood behind your father, who was seated at a table with higher-ranking nobles. 

The day you realized the rain hadn’t poured in a while had become a curse amongst the entire country. You all had fallen into a country-wide drought, and it had been so long that many nations were becoming desperate.

And desperation would lead to dangerous people.

“What do we do about Kyushu?” An older woman asks, and she looks at the queen. 

Your mother also stood in the room behind the royal, who kept her eyes shut. “What do we know right now?” She voices and looks at your father.

“My men informed me yesterday night that Kyushu has been making moves amongst the southern nations without any breaks. Many have been massacred for the sake of poultry and crops. In terms of deaths, my men could only account for approximately forty thousand, but they believe the number is far larger than that.”

“So Kyushu is coming up from the South? Surely Kyoto will be next,” an old man voices out his concerns. “With the pace they’re going at, it will take some time. We have about three more nations in between us, which garner up to eight hundred thousand men.”

“So it sounds like they’ll take about two months before getting here,” another older woman in glasses says. “That’s if they don’t hold other samurai hostages,” the queen says sternly, and everyone goes silent.

Your father looks at her, determination in his eyes, “I assure you we’ll be ready, your highness.”

“All one million, five hundred thousand of you?”

He gives a kurt nod, and she sighs. “Well then, you're in charge of that anyway. Make sure we’re prepared, and at the next meeting, we’ll speak of economic stature next time. Meeting adjourned.”

Your father stands up, and both of you bow, then walk out. As the two of you stroll the hallway, he expressed that he planned on announcing new regimens at the barracks, but he wanted to speak to you at home.

You decided to go into the library, wanting to study while you had the time. Being in the library seemed to always be an exciting experience for you, always finding something new in another book you’ve never read before.

Sitting down with a new book in hand, you open it and see the pages full of drawn pictures. It seemed to be a newly added book that was freshly written, finding the name of a well-known doctor of the royal family. 

Your eyes would focus on reading each page of the book, pictures of stitching, herbs used as plasters, and cleaning wounds. Despite them just being drawings, it was descriptive and quite graphic but not anything you couldn’t handle.

After two hours, you were a little more than halfway into the book when an unexpected visitor walked in.

“Takeda-san,” you hear, looking up to find Doctor Koharu… the exact woman who wrote the book you were currently reading.

“Koharu-san,” you bow. “May I ask what you are here for?”

“I am… here for some books. I need them for the Princess’ medical training,” she spoke slowly, and you nodded, deciding to focus back on your book. The well-known woman went about her duties, and you thought about the last time you saw Sana.

The year seemed to pass by as quickly as light, seemingly losing track of time. You had been so focused on your priorities while you heard Sana had much to do in preparation for learning how to be a queen.

You believed it was for the better, though, as it helped you keep a clear mind.

But anytime someone brought her up, it seemed like you pictured her in your mind with sparkles behind her. It was always a refreshing sight in your mind, a nice change to your rugged reality.

As you think about her, you can only imagine her brown doe-eyes that could make you melt every time. The look they had in them when they saw something cute or pretty, the bright look on her face and glimmer could be seen.

Her contagious smile gave you butterflies and a different sense of warmth. The gracious curve that formed on her lips had you feeling a genuine innocence, a rarity from royals.

But lately, the memory of her smile felt distant, like something from a dream that was slipping through your fingers.

Almost drifting into a daydream, the drop of heavy books slamming on the floor snaps you out of your trance, and your body jolts up.

“I apologize, Takeda-san. I didn’t mean to startle you,” she bows, and you shake your head. You get up and help her pick up all the material, shaking your head again, “It’s no worries, it was only an accident.”

Standing up, your arms lifted half the heavy stack of books, and you looked at the professional. “Would you like some assistance bringing these, Koharu-san?”

“That would actually be quite nice. I would highly appreciate it,” she bows and leads you through the halls as you walk side by side with her. She had informed you that they would be going to the study room, which was on the other side of the palace, so you had a ways to go.

“Were you enjoying the new book?” She asks out of pure curiosity, a peak of interest painting her face. You nodded enthusiastically, “I always loved reading your new releases, especially for my studies.”

You heard an elegant chuckle escape from the older woman, knowingly telling you, “So I’ve heard over the years.”

“I never understood the discourtesy towards you. It’s clear you are a hard-working young woman.”

You bow in honor, but she hears a sigh beside her. “Sometimes it can’t be helped with a societal hierarchy.”

The sad smile was telling, and Koharu began to think of a simple solution. “You’re able to understand my current release, right?” You nodded in confusion, but she continued, “That would guarantee your knowledge to be light years ahead for your age. Maybe you can help the princess with her own studies?”

The question had taken you aback with the reassuring smile Miss Koharu gave you. You shook your head with a soft stare, “That wouldn’t be a good idea. I’m sure the queen would heavily be against it.”

“You have a good point,” she grumbled, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the reaction.

“The princess is always so kind, but she’s stuck with a strict mother. She has no childhood to even recollect,” you look around cautiously, worried someone may hear the negative words against the grand woman.

“It makes sense. She’s a queen who has to protect her daughter and uphold a family name. It’s probably the only thing she ever knew growing up,” you express, and the doctor could only nod as it made sense.

“Well, we’ve arrived. She’s been practicing hard, so no distractions. We head in, leave the books on the table, and walk out right away.”

You give her a curt nod as if it were a secret mission, and she opens the sliding doors, where you find Sana’s head buried in a large textbook. Her back was somewhat facing away from the entrance, so the two of you were able to set the books down swiftly.

As you make your way out, you can only quickly glimpse her face. Her focus felt immense as she bit her lip, trying to understand new information from the book. This caused you to look away quickly, feeling your heart racing all over again.

‘She’s too adorable…’ you thought but scolded yourself instantly. ‘It’s never going to happen, Y/n! Get ahold of yourself and your feelings!’

While exiting the room behind Koharu-san, Sana catches sight of your lavender kimono as the door slides shut. Her curiosity took over for a quick second, as she was aware of the doctor wearing a white one when she first visited the room.

And yet, as much as she tried to focus on her studies, her mind betrayed her.

The lavender fabric lingered in her thoughts, wrapping around the edges of memories she had tucked away for the sake of duty. She wondered if it was really you, knowing you only ever wore shades of purple, or if her mind was playing cruel tricks on her.

For a fleeting moment, her fingers hovered over the page, her vision blurring slightly. It wasn’t from exhaustion. It wasn’t from frustration over her studies.

It was the realization that she hadn’t seen you—truly seen you—in what felt like a lifetime.

A small smile graced her lips, one of quiet fondness. You had always been there, hadn’t you? The only constant in her life. The only person she could call a true friend.

She had no time for love, nor did she desire it. The weight of her future pressed on her shoulders, the crown already waiting for her, heavy even in its absence. But she cherished you in the way one cherishes a childhood memory.

And though she did not realize it, that was what made it hurt the most.

Because for you, she was not just a memory. Not just a fleeting dream from another lifetime.

For you, she was everything.

“Did she come to visit?” She mumbles to herself but shakes her head as she feels the soft pages of the book on the tips of her fingers. “You have to finish, or else Mother will get mad at you again, Sana,” She said, whining to herself.

“I should head home now, Koharu-san. My father will be home soon,” the older woman nods, patting your arm as she thanks you for your help.

Making it home before sundown, you find your mother cooking this evening. “Well, you’re home early,” you look at her in surprise, and she smiles at you. “The royal family had dinner today, so the queen let me go home early.”

You settle your katana in your room and change clothes, “I’m assuming you came from the library since your father was busy today?” You nod at her assumption as she puts all the food on the table.

Settling in your spot, your father also enters the home, just in time for the food. Disregarding the good mood he had given you the past few months, after putting his own things away, he settles down with his brows furrowed.

You began serving everyone, even your own plate, and began eating. Before any one of you could pick a piece of meat up with your chopsticks, your father looked a bit worried, “We shall talk after supper, Y/n.”

You first looked at your mother, who looked as equally worried, then nodded towards your father, who began eating messier than usual. ‘He’s stress eating,’ you thought to yourself, feeling the nerves building up between both your parents.

After dinner, your dad couldn’t, stringing you away as your mother told her she’d clean up instead tonight. 

“What’s with the worry, father?”

The two of you sat in the dimly lit room, the same room you remember him giving your sacred weapon. He sat across from you in silence, his face full of contemplation as you felt the anxiety creeping up on you rapidly.

“There is a big chance we go into war,” he began, pausing again, and you nodded in understanding. You were aware of Japan’s current status, as you were the new right hand of your father during official government meetings.

This war was something inevitable, and you knew that.

“I have something to ask of you, Y/n.”

Those words had the palms of your hands sweating despite them laying comfortably on your kimono, but you listened intently.

“If anything ever happens to me… I want you to fight for our nation. Protect the royal family at all costs.”

Your eyes widen at the sudden responsibility. “Father, you-”

“You and your mother. The two of you are the things I hold dearly in my heart, and I’d never want to leave you both. But it’s my obligation and duty to put my life on the line for this nation.”

You sat there, head hanging low, trembling under the weight of his words. Your eyes shut tightly as if blocking out his voice could make the moment vanish. But it didn’t. His words were final, heavy like a sword hanging over your head. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the faint sound of your tears hitting your lap.

Your father, the man who had taught you strength, discipline, and the way of the blade, now stood before you looking more fragile than you’d ever seen him. His sigh was deep and heavy like it carried the burden of centuries. His chest rose and fell unevenly as he noticed your tears, and for a moment, it seemed as if he might falter. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

“I love you and your mother, but don’t let our name go in vain,” he said, his voice softer now, almost breaking. “You and I have done much in our lifetime in preparation for this, and you know that. Just keep our tradition alive, sweetie.”

The endearment, one you hadn’t heard since childhood, struck you harder than any blade could. It clawed at the edges of the walls you’d built around your emotions, unraveling you completely. The tears fell faster, uncontrollable now, and your chest tightened as if the very air was suffocating you. You clutched at your clothing, your fingers trembling, as the realization of what this truly meant sank in.

For the first time in years, the room echoed with your wails—raw, unfiltered grief spilling out in a way you didn’t think possible anymore. You didn’t care about composure or pride. Not now. Not when the man who had been your shield, your guide, your everything, was speaking as if this would be his last farewell.

He stood there, silent and unmoving, his own tears now tracing a path down his weathered face. His hands twitched slightly as if resisting the urge to comfort you, knowing that this pain was necessary for you to carry the mantle he would leave behind. 

His voice, steady as it had been, was now thick with emotion as he waited for your cries to subside. He hated seeing you like this—his strong, capable child who had grown into a warrior under his watchful eye—but he also knew this was a wound he could not shield you from.

When your sobs finally quieted into soft, broken breaths, his voice came again, quieter this time, almost a whisper. “You will understand, my child, why I told you this now, why I cannot falter. Because if I don’t return... the weight of our name, of this family, will rest on your shoulders.”

The words hit you like a second blow, leaving you gasping for air. His unwavering faith in you, in your ability to uphold everything he had spent a lifetime building, felt like both a blessing and a curse. You wanted to scream at him, beg him not to go, but you knew the truth. You always had.

“Fine. I shall protect the royal family in our family name, father. Even at the cost of my life.”

There were those heavy words again, the ones you hated ever since you could even understand a single sentence as a child. But you could only despise the fate your family holds. One that you couldn’t do anything to change.

After a long two months, Kyoto seemed prepared for the violence to come. Everyone within the noble area had stocked up on food in case any homes in areas of poverty were ransacked. Every samurai under your father seemed to wait with an eerie patience that always made you uneasy around them.

All of the Takeda clan stood in the palace in front of the royal family, with you and your father standing in the frontlines. Sana looked at you, her eyes full of panic once she heard the platoon of enemy samurai had reached Kyoto’s borders.

“Today is the day. The day we fight for our nation,” the queen announces as she sits comfortably on the luscious throne, not a worry in sight. “You will all do your duties and protect the people of Kyoto at all costs.”

You all bow in loyalty at her words, hands on your sides as you feel your weapons caressing each of your forearms.

Everyone beginning to separate with the words of your father quickly trickling out of the palace. You and your father stay behind for a quick second as he leaves a hand on your shoulder.

“Stay nearing the palace.” It was all he said before he ran off, unable to even respond to him. You couldn’t help but feel her eyes lingering on you, so you looked back, bowing toward her and her only.

As if you were making a silent promise to come back safe.

The streets of Kyoto were unrecognizable beneath the thick veil of smoke and bloodshed. 

The scent of burning wood mixed with the sharp smell of iron in the air, making it nearly impossible to take in a full breath without choking on the stench of war. The sky, once a peaceful shade of blue, was now darkened by the plumes of fire devouring homes, the screams of the fallen echoing between the palace walls.

You had been fighting for what felt like an eternity. 

Your sword arm was heavy, aching from the countless enemies you had struck down, but war didn’t care for your exhaustion. The southern samurai, dressed in dark blue armor, poured into the city like a relentless tide, their manly yells ringing through the battlefield.

You stayed near the palace as your father had ordered, your katana carving through the enemy with ruthlessness. Each strike was deliberate, honed from years of training under his watchful eye. The world around you blurred into a haze of crimson and steel as you parried, countered, and killed without hesitation.

Yet, despite the chaos, your mind flickered back to earlier that night—his previous words flickering in your mind.

The tears you both shed that night. The pain your chest felt. 

You fought harder.

Blood splattered against your cheek as your blade found another throat, the gurgled gasps barely registering in your ears before you turned to the next opponent. You could not afford to think of anything else—only the battle, only survival.

Then you heard it. "Commander!"

The voice cut through the battlefield, filled with panic and urgency.

Your breath hitched, your heart beating out of your chest.

No.

Your body turned before your mind could catch up, your eyes scanning frantically through the sea of armor and bodies. And then—

You saw him.

Your father, the man who had shaped you into the warrior you had become—stood surrounded. He fought as hard as he could, his blade a blur as he fended off multiple enemies at once. But there were too many. 

Too many.

"Father!"

Your scream caught in your throat as you sprinted forward, pushing through bodies, cutting down any enemy that dared step in your path.

One of the southern samurai lunged at him, his sword striking against your father’s armor. He swayed but didn’t fall, retaliating with a swift swing that sent the enemy to the ground. But another followed in his place. Then another.

Your father was fighting with everything he had, but the force and strength of many men… he didn’t stand a chance.

You were almost there. Almost—a glint of steel. Two blades struck him at once.

Time seemed to slow, the battlefield noise softened into a distant hum as you watched in horror. The swords impaled him clean through, one piercing his stomach, the other driving into his back.

He staggered, blood dripping from his lips and from the blade, staining the purple armor covering his body. His knees buckled, his body trembling, but still—he did not fall.

A warrior to the very end.

"NO!" The word ripped from your throat, raw and unrestrained.

Something inside you snapped.

Rage surged through you, feeling blinded and consumed. The world looked painted in red as you charged forward, your grip tightening around your sword.

The first enemy barely had time to turn before you sliced right through his torso, his body collapsing with a slam on the ground. The second raised his blade in a weak attempt to block, but you were quicker—your sword plunged into his neck, severing his head in one clean strike.

Their bodies fell beside your father.

You dropped to your knees, trembling hands reaching for him as his body finally gave out, collapsing into your arms. His breath was shallow, his skin deathly pale, but he still had enough strength to speak to you one last time.

"F-Father—" Your voice broke, your tears mixing with the blood on his armor.

He lifted a shaking hand, grasping onto yours with the last of his strength.

"You… must go," he rasped, each word a struggle. "Protect… the nation."

Your vision was blurred, tears falling freely now. "No, no, please—just hold on, I can—"

A weak, knowing smile graced his lips. "You are so strong, Y/n… stronger than you know." His grip weakened. "Do not… waste time… mourning me." The light in his eyes faded.

His body went limp.

You gasped, a choked sob tearing through you as you clutched him tighter as if holding him close would somehow bring him back.

But he was gone.

The battle still raged around you, but it felt distant and insignificant. The world had collapsed in on itself, and all that remained was the lifeless body in your arms.

Then—

Voices. Urgent whispers. “The princess—she’s helping in the aid tent!”

Sana.

You inhaled sharply, the weight of your father’s final words sinking in. There was no time to grieve. No time to break.

Your fingers trembled as you reached up, closing his eyes before rising to your feet. Your hands clenched around your sword, blood still dripping from its edge.

Your father was gone.

But you were still here.

Your legs felt heavy, weighed down by exhaustion, by grief, by the blood of the fallen that stained your once-pristine armor. The weight of your father’s final words pressed against your chest like a boulder, suffocating, unbearable, yet you forced yourself to move.

You had no time to feel anything.

With a final glance at his lifeless body, you swallowed the sob rising in your throat and pushed forward. Your hands gripped the hilt of your sword so tightly that your knuckles burned. You couldn’t stop here. The palace stood strong, for now, but the fight was far from over. You had to ensure the royal family's safety—the safety of your people.

Your mind wandered briefly to Sana. You had overheard the maids whispering about how she had chosen to aid the wounded in the first aid tent rather than remain inside the secured palace walls. 

Even amid war, she chose kindness. It was foolish, reckless even, but it was Sana.

The first aid tent was near the forest’s edge, away from the main battlefield but still within reach of danger. You pushed past your own pain and made your way there, ignoring the sharp sting of cuts across your arms and the throbbing ache in your shoulder where an enemy blade had just missed its mark.

As you neared the tent, something in the air shifted. A gut-wrenching unease crawled up your spine, and you halted in your tracks, eyes scanning the surrounding area. Then you saw them.

Dark blue armor, barely visible between the trees. Southern samurai.

Their movements were calculated and silent, their eyes fixed on the tent filled with wounded samurai and unarmed medics. They were waiting, lurking, preparing to strike. Your heart pounded as you realized their plan. An ambush.

“AMBUSH!”

Your voice rang through the air, sharp and commanding, piercing through the relative calm of the medical tent.

There was a moment of panic inside as medics and wounded alike scrambled for cover. Your body moved on its own, surging forward to meet the approaching enemies before they could reach the defenseless inside.

You barely caught Sana’s wide eyes through the opening of the tent. She saw you—saw the desperation in your face, the aggression in your gaze. You gave her a single, firm nod that silently said, ‘Believe in me.’

And then you turned, sword raised, to meet the first enemy head-on.

The clang of steel rang in your ears as you parried a downward strike, twisting your body to avoid a second attacker. Blood splattered across your face—yours, theirs, you didn’t know. Your focus was only on keeping them away from the tent.

One enemy lunged, but you ducked, slicing cleanly across his abdomen. Another swung for your neck, and you barely managed to deflect the blow, feeling the sting of the blade grazing your shoulder. Pain registered, but you ignored it. You had to lead them away.

Gripping your sword tightly, you took a step back, drawing the enemy toward you. One by one, they followed, their frustration growing as they realized you were keeping them from their actual target. But you didn’t care about their anger. You cared only about winning.

The fight was brutal. Every move burned, every breath was labored. Your arms ached, your vision blurred, but you did not falter. You cut through the group and fought through the exhaustion until, finally, the last enemy collapsed at your feet.

For a moment, all you could do was stand there, chest heaving, your entire body screaming in protest. You had won—but at a great cost.

“Clear! They’re all down!” A rush of relief washed over you, but it was short-lived. Your knees buckled, the world tilting dangerously, but before you could collapse, hurried footsteps approached.

“Y/n!” Sana’s voice.

She was running toward you, her hair slightly disheveled, her pristine robes smeared with traces of blood—assumingly not her own, you hoped. When she reached you, her hands immediately grasped your arms, steadying you as she frantically looked you over.

“You’re hurt!” she breathed, her fingers ghosting over the fresh wounds on your arm, the gash on your side. “I’m fine,” you muttered, even as the world blurred slightly.

“You are not,” she snapped, the rare sharpness in her voice catching you off guard. “You need to rest—”

“I need to go back.” You tried to move past her, but she tightened her grip.

“You are in no shape to fight anymore!”

The intensity in her eyes made you falter. Sana was never this forceful, even this emotional. You had always known her to be composed, gentle in her words and 

mannerisms. But now? Now, she looked furious.

Furious… and terrified. Before you could argue, she wrapped an arm around you, supporting your weight as she all but dragged you toward the palace. You didn’t have the strength to resist.

From your position, the palace was closer than the medical tent, and Sana wasted no time finding an empty room. She guided you to a futon, carefully lowering you down before immediately gathering supplies. 

Her hands trembled as she unrolled bandages and mixed herbs for medicine.

“You shouldn’t be doing this, more… men… out… side…,” you mumbled, watching her fuss over your wounds. “I don’t care,” she retorted, pressing a cloth against your shoulder wound. You hissed in agony but didn’t pull away.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The only sounds in the room were Sana’s careful movements, the lack of rhythm of your breathing, and the distant echoes of battle still happening outside.

Then, without warning, she stopped. You glanced at her and saw something shift in her expression. Her eyes, those beautiful brown eyes, softened as she looked at you. There was something different in her gaze, something you had never seen before.

“Sana—?”

Before you could finish, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against yours.

The kiss was soft yet full of emotions you couldn’t quite comprehend at that moment. It was not just a gesture of gratitude—it felt like she was trying to tell you something without saying it. 

When she pulled away, her eyes shimmered, her breath uneven.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Not just for saving her. Not just for protecting the palace. “Thank you for everything.”

“For standing by her my since we first met. For watching over me, for always being my shield. For being my only friend in the world.” You stared at her, your heart pounding for a different reason now. The country was still in chaos. But in that moment, all that existed was Sana. And you.

And the undeniable truth that had been there all along. Sana realized she finally loved you. “I’m not sure if I’m delusional from all the bleeding or if this is real?” You joke, and she smiles but stops as you cough in pain. “I’m the delusional one for not seeing what’s in front of me.” Your smile softens, and she kisses you again.

Your breath hitched as her lips met yours, softer than the first this time, lingering as if she were afraid you would slip away if she let go too soon. Sana cupped your cheek, her touch featherlight, as if trying to memorize the warmth beneath her fingertips. You felt her exhale against your lips, shaky and uneven, before she pulled back just enough to meet your gaze.

“I wish we could be like this forever,” you exhale, speaking truthfully. But both of you knew well enough that the possibility was impossible. Sana knew it even better than you did… the prophecy foretold her future, after all.

The ache in your body never fully faded. 

Every movement sent sharp, burning pain through your limbs, a constant reminder of the battle fought just days prior. The deep gashes along your arms, the bruises along your ribs, the healing wound near your shoulder—were a reminder of all the trouble the southern of the samurais. 

But despite it all, you endured. You had to. But Sana made it easier.

She had been by your side in the palace infirmary, tending to your wounds with a quiet look. There was no smile, no playful teasing. Only a focused, almost desperate energy as she worked, her hands trembling when they touched your bandages.

She never spoke of the kiss.

You didn’t either.

Maybe because neither of you knew what it meant. Maybe because it was easier to pretend it hadn’t happened than to acknowledge the weight of what it could become.

But the air between you both had shifted.

She lingered a little longer when she came to check on you. She made excuses to see you, even when the palace healers could more than treat your injuries. Some nights, when the pain made sleep impossible, you’d find her sitting beside you in silence, the dim glow of candlelight casting soft shadows across her face.

And they honored you when you were finally well enough to stand before the royal court.

The grand hall was filled with nobles, warriors, and servants alike, all gathered as the queen herself acknowledged your service. The words meant nothing. 

The praise felt empty. The only thing that mattered to you was Sana, who stood behind her mother, her expression unreadable, her hands clasped in front of her as you bowed before the throne.

You dared to steal a glance at her.

She met your gaze, and that was all you needed.

A week passed, and it became a dangerous cat-and-mouse game between the two of you. You and Sana were careful, and you had to be. The palace was no place for whispered affections or stolen glances, not when eyes were everywhere. But even knowing the risk, you still found yourselves being drawn to her, and Sana would never deny it.

Late at night, beneath the quiet hum of cicadas, she would sneak away from her chambers, slipping through the shadows without ever getting caught. You’d meet her in the palace gardens, hidden beneath the sprawling sakura trees where the moon would shine bright.

You didn’t usually speak about love. But the way she looked at you said enough. The way she reached for your hand, hesitated, then finally intertwined her fingers with yours. The way she leaned into your touch, closing her eyes as if savoring the warmth of your palm—it was enough.

For a moment, in the beautiful cold of the night, you could pretend. But that would never last.

The queen summoned you the week after, and you weren’t aware of what it was for. You had already been honored, given your father a proper burial, and were granted a larger house for your efforts.

The cold fury in her gaze, the barely restrained disgust twisting her features as she sat upon her throne. The court was silent. Servants lined the hall, their heads bowed, afraid to meet your eyes.

Then you realized the situation you were in… they found out about you and Sana.

And then the words came. All the accusations seemed to be an extreme twist on the relationship between you two.

“She suggested they run away and elope.”

“Sana got dragged by her into another room.”

“She would grab on the young lady's hand and yank it!”

You stood there, back straight, jaw clenched, as she condemned you for what you were. For what you had done. For what you had become to her daughter.

She called it unnatural. She called it shameful. She called it punishable by death.

You had expected her to exile you. To strip you of your title, your honor, your name. But she did worse. She made an example of you.

Deciding on public execution.

Not even a swift beheading. No. She wanted you to suffer. To bleed. To die beneath the very sky, you had once sworn to protect. 

Your heart stopped, and your mother tried stopping her efforts. She stood up in front of everyone, yelling to stop this, explaining how loving someone shouldn’t be a crime. She basically ensured you wouldn’t die alone.

You should have known. She had been the queen’s right hand for as long as you had lived, but she was still your mother. And she would not stand for this. She pleaded. She begged. She offered her own life in exchange ,wandthe queen granted her wish.

But with the queen's cold heart, she would be killing two birds with one stone. The moment the order was given, you knew there was no escaping this.

No blade in your hand. No armor to shield you. Nothing but the suffocating weight of Sana’s silence as she stood frozen, her lips parted in horror, her hands trembling at her sides.

She couldn’t speak, move or do anything. She could only watch.

The guards took your mother first. You couldn’t scream but tried to lunge forward, but the grip of three men held you back. Her eyes met yours in that final moment, and she smiled.

“I love you,” she whispered before the katana struck. The world blurred as you were shoved forward, forced to your knees as the executioner raised his blade. You wanted to fight, but how could you? Your injuries still pained you, which caused you to lack any movement.

Sana.

You turned your head, meeting her gaze one last time, seeing her cry. She barely cried. Not the princess who was taught to never show weakness. But for you, she did.

You parted your lips, searching for something—anything—to say, but before the words could leave you, the blade came down. Pain exploded through your body, a deep, burning agony that stole the breath from your lungs. 

You could feel it—your blood pooling beneath you, staining the pristine stone of the palace grounds.

Your body collapsed, and you heard Sana’s deafening screaming. You wanted to tell her it was okay, that you weren’t afraid. That maybe you could find her in another life.

But the words never came.

Darkness consumed you, the weight of the world slipping from your shoulders.

And then—nothing.

Sana didn’t move. She couldn’t even breathe or blink.

She only stared at the lifeless body before her, at the blood that soaked into the earth, at the face she had memorized all her life now frozen in eternal stillness.

This wasn’t happening.

“No… no, this can’t be possible,” she mumbled.

She dropped to her knees, her hands trembling as they reached forward. Pulling you into her arms, she ignored the warmth that still clung to your skin and refused to accept that it was fading.

“Wake up.”

Her voice was barely a whisper, her fingers brushing over your cheek, smearing the crimson that painted your face.

“Please… wake up.”

She shook you, her grip tightening, her nails digging into your bloodstained garments as her breath hitched. “You promised—”

Her words broke, a sob catching in her throat as she cradled you against her chest, rocking you back and forth as if the motion alone could bring you back. But there was no warmth in your embrace anymore. No teasing remarks, no laughter, no whispered affections.

Just cold silence.

Sana lifted her head, eyes wild with grief as she turned toward her mother, her voice cracking under the weight of her agony. “I hate you.”

The queen said nothing.

And Sana—Sana could only hold you tighter, pressing a trembling kiss to your forehead as fresh tears fell, whispering apologies that would never be heard.

Because you were gone.

And she was alone.

Remember those wretched words, ‘Your love will stretch for all eternity.’ Sana laughed hysterically as her tears fell over and over again. Her father ran over to her, trying to hug and calm her down like he usually did. Sana’s grip on your body tightened as she screamed her lungs out, feeling the pain hitting hard.

And for the first time, her mother felt a hint of sympathy. More than that, she was stunned at her daughter's actions. Sana looked a mess; the queen wouldn’t deny that, but then she thought… for the first time, maybe she was wrong.

“I’ll never accept you as my mother, nor will I ever be proud to be your daughter!” The young lady bawls as she clung onto your lifeless body, and your father held onto her hunched figure, tearing up in the state of his own child.

“You don’t deserve to be queen,” Sana said sadly, just crying as she stared at your lonesome face.

She tried her hardest to write you letters, struggling to spell out your name, rewriting words over and over just to get them right. She toned down her energy whenever you were too exhausted to deal with it. She listened when you were upset, curled up beside you when homesickness hit, stayed by your side whenever the other kids played their games.

Somewhere along the way, Megan stopped being just an annoying bunkmate.

She became your second home.

You wish you had told her how much that meant to you.

But summer doesn’t last forever. When it ended, you went your separate ways—her on one side of the country, you on the other. The first few weeks were the hardest. You missed her more than you expected, missed her laughter, her warmth. But distance wasn’t enough to break you. You called, you messaged, you sent letters. It wasn’t the same, but it was enough.

You kept this going for years, even into high school.

That’s when you started to realize something was different.

At first, you told yourself it was just a silly crush, something fleeting. You thought maybe it would fade.

You were wrong.

The moment you got your own phone, you were talking constantly. Calls, FaceTimes, texts—it never stopped. Megan always found a way to call, even when she was busy. And when you finally learned to drive, the first thing you did was go to her.

You drove miles just to see her smile.

You sacrificed sleep, time, money—anything, just to be there for her the way she had always been there for you.

And as you grew older, as you stood on the edge of adulthood, you realized something that terrified you.

You loved her.

Not in the way kids love their childhood best friends. Not in the way people expect you to love a friend you’ve known forever.

You were in love with her.

But you never told her.

Not even the night you made your pinky promise.

That night, you took her to your favorite place in the world, the first person you had ever brought there. Megan had never looked happier. Then she took you to hers. You sat together, watching the sun set, golden light painting her face like a dream.

“You know, I’m so lucky to have you,” she had said, turning to you with that soft, radiant smile.

You wanted to tell her then.

You wanted to say, Megan, I love you.

But all you could say was, “And I’m lucky to have you. I hope we spend more days like this, together, until we die.”

She laughed, holding out her pinky. “Then let’s pinky promise on it.”

You hooked your pinky around hers, sealing a promise you didn’t know you would break.

Then came the day Megan called you, her voice thick with tears.

She didn’t get into her dream university.

You didn’t even think. You just grabbed your keys, got into your car, and drove straight to her house.

When she opened the door, her face was streaked with tears, her shoulders shaking.

“Megan, darling, I’m so sorry,” you whispered, pulling her into your arms. She buried her face into your shoulder, crying so hard you could feel your heart breaking.

“But I really wanted to go there,” she sobbed.

“I know.” You held her tighter. “I know, love. But it’s their loss. You’re an incredible dancer, and if they can’t see that, they don’t deserve you.”

She sniffled, letting out a small, shaky laugh. “You always say the right things.”

“I just know you.”

To cheer her up, you took her to her favorite place, bought her ice cream, snacks—anything to see her smile again.

A week later, she called, screaming into the phone.

She got accepted into Dream Academy.

You were beyond proud of her.

But then came the worst part.

She told you that you had to cut contact.

The academy had strict rules—no outside communication, no distractions. You understood. So, you let her go.

You waited.

You watched her from a distance, following every update on her journey. When the finals came, you knew—you knew—she would win.

Then, two days after the announcement, your phone rang.

It was her.

“We can finally celebrate,” she said, her voice full of excitement. “Come over?”

You laughed, already grabbing your keys. “I’m on my way. Get ready.”

She giggled. “Hurry up, slowpoke.”

That was the last thing she ever said to you.

The roads were nearly empty that night.

You were driving, one hand on the wheel, the other checking your phone at a red light. Megan had sent a text.

Meg: hurry uppp, im waitinggg >:(

You smiled, typing back a quick reply.

You: five minutes, i promise.

You never made it.

The light turned green. You started driving again.

And then—

A flash of headlights.

A deafening crash.

Everything slowed down.

You felt the impact before you even realized what was happening.

Pain.

So much pain.

Your thoughts blurred, fading in and out, but you still saw flashes of your life.

Your parents.

Your childhood.

And then Megan.

The girl who was waiting for you.

She was probably texting you again, telling you to hurry up. Probably fixing her hair, too excited to sit still.

You wanted to tell her you were coming.

You wanted to tell her you were sorry.

You wanted to tell her—

I love you.

But you never got the chance.

They say when someone dies unexpectedly, there’s a moment—just a moment—when their soul lingers.

Long enough to see the aftermath.

Long enough to see who mourns them.

You don’t know if that’s true.

But if it is, then you know exactly what you would’ve seen.

Megan.

Sitting in her room, waiting.

Checking her phone every few minutes, frowning when you didn’t respond.

Calling you, only for it to go straight to voicemail.

Then, the next day, the call she never expected.

A voice on the other end, telling her the news.

You can imagine how she reacted.

Shocked.

Denial.

Then, the tears. The way she must’ve curled up in her bed, crying her heart out.

The way she must’ve whispered, No, no, no, they promised. They promised we’d have more days together.

The way she must’ve broken, knowing you never got to celebrate her win.

Knowing you never got to say goodbye.

Megan, darling.

You hope she knows how much you loved her.

You hope she knows how much you sacrificed for her.

You hope she knows, even in your final moments—

her phone is tucked awkwardly between her ear and shoulder, fingers tapping at the laptop keyboard while scrolling through lecture notes. “uh, yeah… chicken lo mein with extra chicken… and um also…” she squinted at the calendar on her screen. “what was i supposed to— oh, right… midterm next wednesday. right, cool.”

on the other end you listened patiently, smiling to yourself and holding back a small giggle as she mumbled half an order while clearly being busy with other things.

“wait, sorry!” she apologizes quickly, realizing she hadn’t ordered what minji and haerin had asked for. “also six steamed pork dumplings— no, twelve please. shrimp fried rice and… wait, i already said that, right? ugh—anyway, just, yeah, add that too.”

you ring it all up, smiling wider. “anything else?”

there’s a brief moment of silence until you hear, “huh? oh, no, that’s it.” she replies absentmindedly. she had been paying no attention at all, flipping through her notes and muttering to herself quietly about what she needed to review before the weekend. “uh, yeah, thanks—love you, bye.”

another beat of silence passes before you chime in, voice playful. “love you too.”

you could practically hear her freeze, the realization hits her. you hear a gasp on the other end of the phone, sharp and followed by a small curse.

‘w-wait, what?” hanni stammers, cheeks heating up like crazy. everything hanni had been bombarded with halts. her hands freeze on the laptop, her phone almost slips from her shoulder, and the papers she had been holding with the other hand have all landed on teh counter. everything hanni had been thinking about—midterm wednesday, lecture notes, module 2.2, chapter three reading—dissapear from her mind in a blink.

she hears a laugh on the other end, then a voice that sends a shiver down her spine. 

“your total is $28.41, by the way.”

“god, i’m sorry.” hanni rushes out the apology, face palming herself. “i didn’t mean it— not that i don’t love you! well, i mean, i don’t know you, so i don’t love you. not that i hate you! no hard feelings. i’m not saying you’re— okay i’m, i’m going to go. bye. thank you. sorry.”

hanni presses the red button on her phone, ending the call and cringing to herself. hanni is more than glad that her friends in the living room hadn’t heard the most embarassing phonecall of her life. if any of them were to witness it, she’d never live it down. her cheeks are fuming against her hand; she’s a mess, she really needs to stop tackling twelve things at once even though it brings her some type of comfort—less chaos during lots of chaos makes it seem like something manageable.

she clicks through a bunch of tabs, skims through a few lines on her paper, and then closes her laptop. she does this while being distracted by the whole one minute interaction from earlier, shooting herself in the head mentally everytime she thinks of it.

less than twenty minutes later, the delivery guy shows up. hanni knows it’s not the person on the phone, because when the man speaks, it’s not the same voice that sent a weird shiver down her spine when she realized they said “love you too” back to her.

she takes the two bags over to her living room, setting them down in front of two ravenous students—otherwise known as her best friends danielle and minji—watching their eyes sparkle just from the sight. she rolls her eyes at them, sitting down against her small couch and leaning against as they waste no time to dig in and unbox.

hanni’s the last one to reach in and grab something to munch on—mistake number one. mistake number two is catching minji furrowing her brows at a piece of paper, pickiing it up and reading, instead of stopping her before she can do any of that.

her best friend reads it outloud in a confused tone: “i put two extra fortune cookies in there,” minji begins, danielle scoots over to read too. “hope your fortune is as sweet as your voice. love, the girl you don’t hate, but don’t love :(“

“p.s. you sound cute when you’re caught off guard ;-)”

minji finishes reading, and then the two of her friends look up, staring down hanni.

“hanni, what’s this?”

“i— give me that!” hanni says, face burning up. she swipes the paper from minji’s hand, looking at the paper and covering it with her hand like her friends hadn’t just read it together. she cringes, closing her eyes and falling down on teh floor. “i’m an idiot.”

“hanniiiiii” danielle whines, scooting over to shake her by her shoulders while she’s on the floor. “what’s that about? do you have an admirer or something?”

“i can’t tell you, i just, i’m so stupid.”

“dude, what?” minji questions, completely ignoring the steaming, delicious food on the coffee table. “explain—now.”

hanni feels her heart beating like crazy, then she gives in and sits up. her face is most definitely beet red, maybe even worse when she glances at the note again.

“i accidentally said ‘love you, bye’ to the worker on the phone.” hanni says quietly, shaking her head. “and she said it back.”

“she what?” danielle and minji say in unison, looking at her in disbelief.

hanni lets out a weird noise, overwhelmed and flustered beyond words. she looks down at the note again through the spaces in her fingers as she covers her face, not noticing any name or anything that might lead to another encounter with the mystery girl on the other end of the line. this disappoints her a bit, but even if she were to have a name or number or anything, she wouldn’t be able to face you. 

after getting teased to death, the trio indulges in food after a very long and tiring study session. the conversation shifts to annoying professors, upcoming midterms, plans for when they all have free time—but hanni is still thinking of you, oddly enough.

—

a little over a week from that day, hanni orders takeout again. she’s somehow forgotten (for the most part) her embarrassing interaction, probably because her midterm is tomorrow and she’s completely forgotten to eat. her phone sits in between her shoulder and ear again, head tilted awkwardly to rush out an order. 

“alpha waves, altruism, anorexia nervosa… shit, sorry. um yeah, i’d like six steamed dumplings please, pork. umm… chow mein— no, scratch that. shrimp fried rice please.” her words are hurried out her mouth as she furrows her brows at her laptop screen, clicking through slides and trying to comprehend two units of psychology in one night. “that’s it, thank you, love you.”

hanni stops in place, frozen in shock. there is no way.

“wow, you must be smitten, huh?” she hears on the end of the line, followed by a small chuckle. “love you too, ‘hp.’” hanni had never used her full name when ordering things, well, only food. she always had this fear of sharing her legal name unless it was for unconsumable orders. “your total is $14.89 by the way.” 

you hear a groan on the end of the line, followed by what sounds like pens and pencils hitting the floor.

“...you alright?”

hanni, caught off guard by the whole conversation for the most part, but also the fact that you noticed how she had just spilled half her supplies onto her apartment floor, answers with a simple, “yeah.”

“that’s good to hear.”

“i’m really sorry, again, for the… you know.”

“your undying love for me?”

“what?” hanni says, completely disregarding the pens, pencils, and highlighters on the floor. “i- no! no. i’m not in love with you! i didn’t mean it—”

“i’m teasing, hp.” she hears the smile in your voice. “would you like an extra fortune? last time i had heard from you i remember something about a midterm.”

“you remembered?” it sounds a little pathetic, maybe desperate coming from hanni, but hanni couldn’t care less. she’s tired, overwhelmed, and has gone over so much work in the span of a few days that she really can’t think or function correctly.

“yeah, not many people sound as young as you. it’s usually a parent or something ordering for their family at this time. plus, you made my shift.” you confess, “i thought it was cute, you know, how frantic you had ordered your meal.”

“i’m really sorry about that, like seriously, i’m really, really sorry.”

“it’s okay hp.”

“right, yeah. i uh, i have to study. sorry— i don’t know why i’m saying sorry, ugh, sorry. thanks, bye.”

“no ‘love you?’” you ask, and before hanni can answer you respond, “kidding. i’ll throw in two fried wontons, have a good night hp.”

the call ends and hanni blinks a few times as she tries to process what just happened. she’s embarrassed beyond words, just as flustered too. there might even be a blush on her cheeks, she can’t stop thinking about how smooth you were with your teasing, plus the way your voice sounded. 

hanni thinks it’s the midterm getting to her, the stress. she cleans up the mess on the floor and goes through her vocabulary notes. she hears a knock on the door twenty minutes later which makes her jump in her seat.

she grabs the bag of fried rice and dumplings, placing it on the counter before taking everything out. hanni hears her stomach rumble a bit, she definitely underestimated how hungry she was.

before hanni digs in, she notices two fortune cookies and a note at the bottom. she completely ignores the cookies, grabbing the note and opening it up to see the same small handwriting from last time:

“i’m guessing your initials are hp? i could be wrong… 

hp like harry potter? it makes sense because you’re magical.

good luck on your midterm! hopefully you’ll order for a post-midterm celebration.

p.s. there are extra fried wontons ;p”

hanni smiles as she reads the note. pause. hanni stops smiling immediately when she becomes aware of the fact that she’s smiling because of a note. a note from a mystery woman on the other end of the line.

—

midterms are over, all of them. hanni had gone through all four midterms. all four. hanni’s burnt out to oblivion, finding comfort in her bed as soon as she gets back from her last midterm. she checks her messages and is greeted by the groupchat she’s in with danielle and minji.

minji: FINALLY i feel like a fish that’s been gutted out it’s not even finals lowk wasn’t even that bad actually how about you guys

danielle: my midterm is in an hour!  wish me luck :D how was yours hanni?

hanni: i’m about to PASS OUT why did i choose forensics

minji: because you’re a nerd don’t let one biology midterm screw you over who’s going to take care of my body parts when i suddenly get murdered

danielle: woah quite a situation, no?

hanni: uagghshhskafhjk i’m going to sleep GOODNIGHT do you guys want to come over later dani do you need time to unwind before you come over

danielle: no that’s alright! i find your apartment quite cozy i’ll just crash there right after, thanks han okay i’m going to review a bit more wish me luck!

minji: good luck mo dani!! you can do it  we love you

hanni: good luck! you’ve got this

danielle:  ❤️

hanni smiles at danielle’s message, she’s always so positive—even through text, even during these trying times. she decides to pass out for almost two hours, waking up groggy and finding herself almost tripping all the way back to her couch in the living room. she sighs as she collapses onto the cushions, waiting for minji and danielle to come over.

then her thoughts race back to you, embarassingly enough. she thinks about your stupid flirting, your stupid voice, and the stupid giggle she could hear through the phone. she thinks about how stupid she is for smiling, how stupid she is. everything is stupid.

hanni is fantasizing about some random person she’s ordered affordable chinese food from, she doesn’t even know her name. 

(hanni’s brain is mush.)

instinctively, she goes through her recent calls, dialing the number of the restaurant that serves her favorite dumplings. 

it rings for a few seconds before someone answers, “hello?”

the voice isn’t familiar whatsoever, hanni feels a strange discomfort in her stomach. 

hanni doesn’t realize that she hasn’t spoken a word until the second “hello?” is uttered. she breaks from her trance.

“hi, hello, yeah, hi.”

“hello, what can i get you?”

hanni purses her lips before replying, “oh, um.” she sounds like a sad child. “fried rice, i’ll do chicken. wontons, fried, twelve of them. could i also get beef-broccoli lo mein?”

she hears nothing for about three seconds, then a hum. “got it, could i get a name for that order?”

“hp.” 

“y/n’s ‘hp?’” who the hell is y/n? hanni thinks to herself. 

“what?”

“nevermind.” the worker says with her monotone voice. “will that be it?”

“yeah, thank you.” hanni doesn’t say ‘love you’ this time. she tells herself it’s because she’s not preoccupied with at least three things in that same moment, but a part of it is because it’s not the same voice that she had been expecting to hear. “what’s the total?”

“$24.12. it’ll be over in a little more than twenty minutes.”

“okay, thank you.” hanni says, and instead of hearing something snarky back—she hears a hum, and then the call ends.

…

you walk into work later than usual, one of your midterms had been pushed a bit later, so your hours were cut off. 

as you walk in, you catch your coworker’s head snap up. as soon as she realizes it’s you, she relaxes a bit.

“good evening haerin!” you beam, somehow upbeat and lively even after your grueling calculus midterm. “miss me?”

“just had to take more calls than i ever do in one week.” she sighs, watching you move over behind the counter and push your bag under the desk. “so maybe a little.”

“awww, you missed me so much.”

“shut up.” haerin groans, sitting down in the little chair where no customers can catch her. “you know what you missed?”

“what?”

“your girlfriend called—miss hp.”

“hp?!” you say it like you’ve just missed the train that comes every two hours. “seriously? did she say ‘love you?’”

“of course that’s what you’re so animated about.” haerin rolls her eyes at you, shrugging. “she didn’t.”

a sigh of relief escapes your lips, a very exaggerated one for that matter. then you frown, sitting down in the spinny chair nearby and rotating yourself in your seat like a little kid.

“i can’t believe i missed her.”

“you’re actually insane for flirting with a customer.”

“she has a cute voice.”

“you don’t even know her y/n.” haerin scoots over, but only to flick you in the forehead. she leans back in her seat, smirking. you rub your skin and pout at her, making her roll her eyes once more before she continues on, “she could be old, crinkly, and married or something. what if she’s like… balding? what if her teeth are falling out and she—”

“why are you assuming the worst haerin. you’re so— whatever. she sounds my age, i guess. it’s just fun to mess around, it’s cute.”

“i will never get you.” your coworker crosses her arms, jumping at the sound of the phone ringing. “could you get that? i’ve run out of social battery.”

“it’s a phone call haerin.”

“talking to you drained me already.”

you frown, making her giggle at you.

—

the next time hanni calls is two days later, because she’s a loser that can’t seem to get the thought of the chinese restaurant employee who keeps flirting with her (albeit smoothly) out of her head. the phone rings twice, then someone picks up, and hanni waits eagerly.

“hi, pledis plates, how can i help?” it’s you, it’s you. the memory of hearing ‘y/n’s hp?’ pops up in her head—could you be y/n? you have to be.

“hi.” hanni says simply, biting the inside of her lip. she hears a small chuckle on the other end of the line, slightly relieved.

“if it isn’t hp.” it comes out cheeky, making hanni blush. “missed you, you know?”

“what?”

“did you miss me too?”

“i–” yes. hanni did miss you, not like she’d admit it, at least out loud. “i’d like to order dumplings.”

“harsh.” you respond jokingly, “six, pork, and steamed, got it.”

“you memorized it?” 

“you ordered it last time.”

hanni can’t help but laugh, smiling as she holds the phone against her ear. “you must be head over heels to be remembering my order.”

“you’re the one who confessed first though?”

“that was a mistake.”

“uh huh.” amusement is laced in your tone. “it’ll be five dollars, should be there in less than twenty.”

“great.”

 hanni doesn’t know what else to say. you both pause, letting silence and the faint static ring in your ears.

“what happened to the usual goodbye?”

hanni feels herself shrinking in her bed, feet kicking slightly, blush forming. god, she’s head over heels, she’s insane, she doesn’t know a single thing about you other than the fact that you have a really endearing voice and that your flirting is enough to have her smiling like an idiot.

“thanks, bye.” neither of you hang up after hanni says it, knowing there’s something missing. hanni pinches the bridge of her nose, feeling her stomach closing in on herself and simultaneously doing a flip. her heart nearly jumps out of her chest as she chokes out, “love you.”

“i was waiting for that one.”

“a-are you— really?”

“yeah.” you simply state, and you say nothing else but, “bye hp.”

“you’re not going to say it back?”

you grin to yourself. hanni hears a small, amused laugh fromthe other end, sending a shiver down her spine. “i don’t fold that easy, maybe next time.” you hang up right after, leaving hanni dumbfounded.

hanni looks at her phone like you’re going to call back, but you don’t. she drops the phone on her bed, putting both hands over her face and feeling her skin burn against her palms. she groans, then groans again, and sighs finally. 

maybe next time. there’s going to be a next time—hanni has that at least.

—

hanni calls again the next monday, around two days after the last call. it’s the same day she had first said the infamous ‘love you’ to you on accident. she calls at around the same time, laptop on her lap as she taps lightly on the backspace key, though not enough to actually press it. she wonders to herself for a moment, is the dent in her wallet really worth it? has she really reached rock bottom?

“pledis plates, what would you like to order?”

it’s not you. hanni sinks into the cushion of her couch and feels herself deflate. she can’t always call with the assumption that you’ll pick up, there are other employees after all. this time, it’s the same monotone voice she had heard before, a stark contrast to your flirtatious, lively tone.

“hi, i’d just like—”

“ah, hp.”

“how did you—”

“i remember your voice from last time. y/n was quite sad when she realized she’d missed your call by twenty minutes.”

“what do you mean?”

“she came into work late, midterms or something.”

midterms. the information alone gives her the assumption that you’re also in college, maybe even in her grade, and if she’s pushing it maybe you even go to her university. she conjures up a better picture of you now, not quite clear or concrete, but it’s something.

“is she a student?”

“i don’t know if i can leak that, she told me to be very secretive about her. i don’t think you’ll have trouble finding out more though, she never shuts up.”

hanni snickers, so you’re a talker too. yeah, hanni’s into that.

“well now i know her name.”

“do what you will with that.” the girl mutters. hanni hears a small sigh, then another response, “hey, y/n was curious about you. are you in high school?”

“what— no! do i sound like it?”

“you sound young.” the girl on the end of the line—haerin—shrugs. she continues, “y/n thinks you’re the same age as her, she also assumes you’re cute. i guess no one will know until a miracle happens.”

“i can’t tell if you’re insulting me.” hanni chuckles awkwardly, but haerin doesn’t respond.  “but if it helps, anyway, i’m a sophomore in college. tell her i’m interested in forensics.”

“okay.”

silence follows again, but haerin hasn’t hung up, and hanni still holds the phone against her ear expecting something more. hanni decides to take another step, asking, “y/n, how is… could you like, describe her?”

“physically or…? well, i can do a brief description. to start off: annoying, jokes a lot, pretends to be all mopey when insulted. physically: taller than me—i’d say taller than a lot of women. she has a nice smile i guess, but it’s the kind you want to wipe off her face, ugh, it’s like she’s making fun of you when she does it. her hair is also always a little messy, she says its for the ‘appeal,’ but i see none.”

hanni fights back a giggle. this woman has just spilled a good amount, a perfect amount in hanni’s eyes (any amount is alright, anything more than a name). this ‘y/n’ is tall, taller than most women, and hanni is shorter than most; hanni is into that, she loves taller girls. and messy hair too? that’s cute, probably. as long as it’s not the same type of messy that men rock around—men that barely shower or do anything. essentially: compsci majors—then hanni will be alright. you sound wonderful.

“did you want to order anything? or are did you just want to flirt with the idiot.”

“hey! hey, hey. lets not— ugh, okay, could i just get um, six pork dumplings—steamed.”

“okay.” the girl says quietly, and then hanni hears some light tapping. “six dumplings for hp.”

“hanni. it’s hanni. my name is hanni.”

“got it the first time.”

“you’re bright, aren’t you?”

“your order is going to be there later, bye.” and then the girl hangs up, leaving hanni speechless.

—

hanni waits a few days to call, because she doesn’t remember dialing on tuesdays or wednesdays and hearing a voice that brings her a little thrill. she leans against her counter waiting for a response, then lights up when she hears,

“pledis plates, how can i help?”

“y/n.” hanni says, almost relieved. “hi.”

“hi hanni.” your coworker must’ve leaked that conversation, hanni thinks. “nice to hear from you.”

“likewise.”

“can i get six dumplings? pork and—”

“---steamed, yes.” you’re smiling as you say it, like an eager little child. “nothing else?”

“no.”

“alright.” you respond, clicking two tabs and ringing up her order. you don’t give her the cost or anything, staring at the screen and deciding to huff out, “forensics?” you’re starting a real conversion now, what a step.

hanni is smiling hard, she’s so giddy that she’s twirling a piece of hair around her pointer finger. 

“yeah, i think it’s nice.”

“cute.” you mumble, “i’m studying kinesiology.”

“is that so?”

“unfortunately.” you say lightheartedly. hanni doesn’t know what to respond with, she wants to continue the conversation and hear your voice longer, but there’s nothing she can think of. does she ask for your number? how you are? hanni is useless, she’s always been useless when it came to girls.

“hanni?”

“y-yes?” hanni cringes at the slight stutter.

“your total is five dollars. it’ll be there soon.”

“oh,” hanni says sadly, “i mean, um. okay.”

and then she hangs up, a little defeated, but there’s always a next time…right?

when her food gets there, she hurriedly pays the delivery driver, making her wallet cry even more. there’s a note in the bag, along with two fortune cookies. the note has your name and a number on it, making hanni gasp and smile to herself again. there’s a little ‘text me, miss hanni. i’m looking forward to it.’ and as soon as hanni reads it, she clasps her hands together, squeals quietly into them, giggles, and kicks her feet in the air.

hanni tries to do some schoolwork, managing to get ten minutes of reading down, a few sentences jotted down, and then the rest of the time she’s thinking about her new saved contact. she hasn’t texted you yet, mainly because she had been overthinking about what and when to text you. she contemplates texting danielle and minji about it, but she’d just be teased. 

this is the first time in a while since hanni’s gotten anywhere close to something romantic, or maybe this is platonic, but the flirting doesn’t support that idea. she’s tried tinder—once, once and never again—and going to parties. nothing works out, none of them make her giddy and giggly like this. 

before she knows it, two hours have passed, and so she decides to send a simple “hi, this is hanni!’ 

too enthusiastic? too bland? too basic? ugh. hanni groans, lying on her couch in an uncomfortable position.

you reply almost immediately with ‘hey, i’m off in twenty minutes. let’s call?’ and hanni has to put the phone to her chest, looking up at the ceiling in disbelief.

twenty minutes passes by too quickly, hanni hasn’t even figured out what to say. she looks at her phone, waiting for you to call, and when you do, she short circuits; hanni drops her phone on her face.

“hello?” it’s you.

it’s you.

“hey. um, how was work?”

“aw, even asking me about work.” she can hear the smirk in your tone, rolling her eyes as she smiles to herself. “it was fine, my favorite part was when this girl ordered pork dumplings though. she has a cute voice.”

“is that so?”

“yeah. hey, can i ask you something?”

“what is it?”

“i work tomorrow, but its the morning shift. i end at one, i was you know… wondering if you… wanted…” you sound nervous, this is a first for hanni. “if you wanted to share some dumplings, free of charge.”

hanni covers her mouth almost immediately, suppressing any signs of her freaking out.

“are you asking me out?”

“only if you say yes.”

you hear a giggle before you hear a “yes.”

“really?”

“mhm.” hanni smiles again, thinking of something that’ll leave you just as flustered. “okay, well… i’ll see your tomorrow. bye, love you.”

“love you too hanni.”

—

minji’s usually the one who picks up orders if it’s not delivery, and hanni is almost always taking the orders. so when hanni enters the shop for the first time, she’s quite fond of the smell of ingredients being stir fried or steamed, as well as the interior of the place. it’s very nice inside, hopefully the nice person she’s been meaning to see shows up soon.

there’s a girl by the counter, she’s only slightly taller than hanni, and her eyes are oddly cat-like. she looks up at her with those eyes, then shoots a small smile.

“hi, how can i help?” this is who the monotone voice belongs to. her image somehow matches perfectly with the voice.

“hi, i’m hanni.” as soon as she introduces herself, the workers eyes widen.

“woah, you’re real.”

“surprising, i know.”

“y/n is changing in the back—she was eager to get off fives minutes early so she wouldn’t be in uniform when you showed up.” haerin explains, shaking her head. “it’s nice to meet you, you’re very pretty.”

“thank you! i appreciate it. you’re pretty as well.”

haerin doesn’t get to respond. the person who does respond is the girl walking up to the register, scooting haerin to the side with her knuckles and tapping at the screen. the girl isn’t in uniform, and she’s also really good looking. 

you run a hand through your hair as you clock out through the system. “hey, did hanni ever stop by?” you ask haerin, not looking up from the screen because you’ve typed your code in wrong. 

“look up idiot.” your coworker snickers, and when you do, you’re met with the most gorgeous girl you’ve ever seen.

you notice her right away, hair flowing down past her chest, curtain bangs perfectly framing her face. her plump lips and striking features make you pause. sure, you expected her to be pretty—maybe even conventionally attractive, everyone is in their own way—but seeing her in person? she’s beyond that, practically model material. my god. your lips part slightly in surprise, and you catch yourself, quickly swallowing as you both smile at each other at the same time.

you clock out—thankfully not typing in the wrong code again from nervousness—and step out from behind the counter. a small tote bag hangs from your shoulder, and a plastic bag dangles in your hand. you glance down at it.

“twelve dumplings—steamed, pork, everything you like—for the pair.”

hanni’s smile lights up her face, and you can't help but think about how adorable she looks, how effortlessly charming she is.

“why thank you,” she says, her voice soft and playful. it sounds better in person than through the phone.

“you’re gorgeous, by the way,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself, still marveling at her. “like, i expected you to be pretty, but… wow.” you can tell haerin is fake gagging or rolling her eyes or something like that from behind, she’s probably already on her way to avoid witnessing this interaction.

hanni blushes instantly, the red creeping up her cheeks. if she were at home, she’d probably be giggling and kicking her feet, but for now, she just looks away shyly, smiling. “thanks, you’re really cute too.”

“you think?”

“yes.” she meets your eyes, still flushed. “can we eat? i’m hungry.”

“right, yeah. i hope it’s not too forward, but is the park nearby good? we can settle down and, um… talk more. you know, more than just about your usual order.”

hanni laughs—you might die right then and there—before responding, “that’s perfect,” and then she nods, looking at you. her eyes are soft and warm and wonderful.

“great,” you echo.

“great,” she repeats, a small laugh escaping her.

you both walk side by side, still a little stiff at first, the mutual attraction between you creating an unspoken tension. but as you settle into the rhythm of conversation, the initial awkwardness fades away, replaced by the easy flow of natural chemistry. each step feels lighter, the distance between you shrinking with every passing word.

—

—

—

hanni hears a knock at her door, confused because she hadn’t expected any guests other than minji and danielle—who are already in her living room leeching off her netflix account. 

she opens it to see you, which immediately brings a smile to her face. she almost leaps over to hug you, nearly making you drop the large bag in your hand.

“someone missed me.”

“shut up.” hanni says before pecking your lips. she looks at you, your dorky, adorable face, and then presses another longer kiss. “come in babe. i didn’t expect you to be here.”

“i got off early because i had to cover. i wanted to surprise you, and i know you had company over.”

“oh yeah,” hanni had almost forgotten that her best friends had been there.

she leads you over, helping you take off your tote and setting it on her counter. her friends catch the two of you from their peripheral and wave, then their eyes light up at the sight of the familiar bag in your hand. you set it down, placing a the container of fried rice, lo mein, and dumpling down as they treat you like a savior.

“thank you so much, i owe you my first born.” danielle says, giving you a playful pout.

minji snickers, scooting up to the coffee table. “you’re the best thing that’s happened to us—to hanni.”

you look over to your girlfriend, that’s right, she’s your girlfriend. hanni is rolling her eyes at you, pushing your shoulder, and then pulling you in by the wrist to sit next to her. she’s not one for pda—especially in front of danielle and minji—but under the table her fingers graze your skin, which makes you smile.