Inactive For A Bit, Sorry!

The club was hot, the air thick with perfume and sweat and secrets. Strobe lights flickered across gold chains and smudged mascara, painting the crowd in a mess of movement and lust. You were halfway into your second tequila when you felt her presence like static, before you saw her, before you even looked.

Manon.

You didn’t turn. That would be too easy.

You leaned one elbow on the bar, chin tipped just slightly, hair up in a high ponytail that showed off the slope of your neck, on purpose. Your low-slung jeans clung just right, riding low enough to bare the twin dimples at the base of your spine. The ones she used to bite when she was in a mood. The ones you knew she couldn’t resist.

Your phone lit up beside you with a text.

🖤Manon: You're doing it again.

You smirked, didn’t answer. Swiped the notification away and took another slow sip of your drink. You wore the lip liner she liked, the one you once overheard her call “unfair” to someone backstage.

Your hips swayed slightly to the beat. Nothing overt. Nothing too obvious.

Except it was.

You were waiting for her. And you knew it was only a matter of time before she came to claim you.

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

You didn’t flinch. Her voice slid into your ear like velvet over a blade, laced with smoke and danger and the sharp edge of control she never lost for long.

You turned, finally.

Her jacket hung off one shoulder, effortless and deliberate, revealing just enough collarbone to make you ache. Sweat clung to her skin from the stage lights, catching the glint of her silver chains. Her dark hair was wild from dancing. Her jaw was clenched, sharp and tense, and her eyes… her eyes were darker than usual. Heavy-lidded, low and dangerous. 

You smiled sweetly. "Jealous?"

Her gaze dropped, slowly, sinfully, tracing every inch of bare skin she used to touch without permission. “You’re begging for attention.”

“And you’re giving it to me.” You raised your brows. “So what does that say about you?”

Manon didn’t blink. “It says I know a brat when I see one.”

You tilted your head, lip caught between your teeth. "Oh, so we're back to labels now?"

“I could give you a few more,” she said, inching closer until her hips nearly brushed yours. “Liar, tease, attention whore.”

You clinked your glass against hers without breaking eye contact. “Ex.”

That one landed.

Her eyes narrowed. You could feel the tension now, tight like the pause before a drop, like the stretch of a rubber band that was going to snap if either of you pulled just an inch more.

“I’m serious,” you said, softer, mock-innocent. “Leave me alone, Manon. I’m here to have fun.”

She stepped even closer. Her fingers curled around your waist, thumb slipping under your waistband with dangerous intent.

“You don’t want me to leave you alone.”

Her mouth was nearly on your ear now, voice dropping. “You want me to lose my shit right here in front of everyone. To drag you into the back room and bend you over the nearest surface. You want me to remind you why you keep coming back.”

God, you hated that she was right.

But you couldn’t let her have it. Not yet. That would be too easy.

You pulled back just enough to look her in the eye, smirk playing on your lips.

“I already forgot, honestly.”

There it was. That twitch in her jaw. That shift in her eyes.

She was pissed. Not enough to walk away, just enough to ruin you later.

You were counting on it.

“Enjoy the party, princess,” you said sweetly, brushing past her with a sway in your hips exaggerated just for her benefit.

You made it ten steps before her hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Bathroom. Now.”

“Say please.”

Her nails dug into your skin. “Don’t test me.”

You turned, slowly. Batting your lashes.

“But that’s all I ever do.”

She yanked you into the hallway like a warning, like a threat. And god, you were wet already.

The moment the bathroom door clicked shut, Manon shoved you back against it. Her mouth ghosted your neck without kissing. Just breathing. 

You whispered, just to needle her, “Thought I told you to leave me alone.”

She grabbed your face, fingers firm on your jaw. “Say it again.”

Your voice wobbled now, playful, but thinner. You were too turned on to keep pretending. “Leave me alone, bitc-”

Her kiss landed hard enough to knock your head gently against the door. It wasn’t gentle. It was filthy and furious. Her thigh wedged between yours and rocked you slow, even as her mouth devoured every last protest.

When she pulled back, you were breathless.

“You don’t want space,” she said, voice low and ragged. “You want a reaction.”

Your hands curled into her shirt. “Then fucking give me one.”

“Oh, baby,” she whispered, lips brushing your cheek. “I’m just getting started.”

The bass from the club still pounded faintly through the bathroom wall. Just enough to make everything feel dirty. Like the whole place knew what you were doing.

Manon’s hands were already under your shirt, roaming, rough, possessive. She palmed your tits without ceremony, thumbs brushing your nipples through your bra. “Lined your lips to match your nipples,” she murmured against your neck, biting hard, “and think I won’t notice?”

You gasped, legs twitching. “Maybe I wanted you to-”

Her hand clamped over your mouth. “Shut up.”

Your eyes went wide. Not with fear, but with want. It wasn’t the first time she’d shut you up this way. And she always meant it.

“I’m not interested in your little games tonight,” she growled, pressing her body flush against yours. “You wanna look like a slut in front of my friends? Dance like that where I can see you? Let people stare at you?” Her hand slipped down your jeans, bold, claiming. “Then you take what you get.”

You whimpered under her palm when her fingers slid against your underwear, already soaked.

Of course they were. You were waiting for this. You always were.

“Fuck,” she muttered, amused and annoyed all at once. “You’re so wet, you like this. Being caught. Being punished.”

You moaned into her hand, shifting your hips against her fingers, bratty and desperate.

Manon laughed, low and dangerous. “You act like a real bad girl,” she whispered, pressing her lips to your cheek. “But you’re such a good little slut when I touch you.”

Her fingers dipped beneath your panties, dragging through slick heat. Teasing your entrance, circling slow. Your hips jerked forward but she denied you, barely pushing in, then pulling away.

“Say it,” she hissed. “Say what you are.”

You licked your palm-muffled lips, eyes glassy. “Mmmph-”

She pulled her hand away.

“Try again.”

“I’m your brat,” you gasped. “I’m your fucking slut.”

She grabbed your throat, not choking, just holding. Just reminding you. “And don’t you forget it.”

She spun you around fast, your hands catching the edge of the sink to steady yourself. The mirror caught your reflection, pupils blown, lipstick smeared, hair a mess. Manon’s taller frame behind you, looming, one hand on your hip, the other sliding your jeans down far enough to bare you.

“Look at you,” she breathed, voice thick with jealousy and hunger. “Jeans so low, showing off for strangers. You want me to ruin you, right here?”

You nodded.

Her fingers thrust in deep without warning.

You cried out, grip slipping on the porcelain. Her free hand flew up and clamped over your mouth again, muffling the sound, eyes locked on yours in the mirror.

“Shhh,” she cooed, rhythm picking up, pumping into you mercilessly. “You said leave me alone, right? Said you wanted to have fun?”

She bent close, breath hot behind your ear.

“Well, this is fun, baby.”

You were panting now, trembling, each stroke hitting just right, her fingers curling deep while her body held you down, controlled every twitch. Your whines echoed beneath her hand, choked and needy.

“You think this is what fun looks like?” she hissed. “You think I won’t fuck you messy just because we’re not together?”

Your hips bucked. She knew how to talk to you like this. How to rip the defiance right out of you with every thrust, every word.

“You beg for this with your body,” she spat. “You tell me to leave, then wear this, act like you’re not mine anymore.”

Tears pricked your eyes from the pleasure, the overstimulation, the humiliation of how much you needed it.

Then she slowed.

Stopped.

You whimpered.

“Not yet,” she said darkly. “Brats don’t get to come when they’re this cocky.”

You looked at her in the mirror, dazed and flushed. “Please…”

She tilted her head. “Now you want me to stay?”

You nodded helplessly.

“Say it.”

“Stay,” you whispered, wrecked. “Please, stay. Please make me come.”

She smirked like she won. Like she always does.

She pulled your panties fully off, spread your legs further apart, and slid back in, two fingers, deep and unrelenting. Her pace was brutal now. Like she was proving a point.

“You wanna have fun, huh?” she panted, grinding her palm into your clit with every thrust. “Then come for me. Show me how much fun you’re having.”

You did, loud and messy, clenching around her hand, biting your own arm to muffle the scream. Her name left your mouth like a prayer. Like a curse.

When you finally stilled, she pulled out slow, watched you shake.

She pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “Still want me to leave you alone?”

You didn’t answer.

She tucked your panties into her back pocket like a trophy, adjusted her jacket, and whispered one final line before slipping out the door.

“Call me again when the fun wears off.”

And just like that, you were alone in the mirror.

Lipstick ruined. Eyes glossy. Jeans halfway down your thighs.

It was one of those rare off-days where the world felt like it was exhaling. The city’s usual noise softened by distance, no blaring sound checks and no paparazzi camped outside the gates of Katseye’s studio. Just you and Daniela ambling through a sunny park with no destination, no pressure. Only peace.

The sky stretched wide and warm above you, painted in pale blue with an orange and gold sun, the air heavy with the scent of grass and faint traces of flowers. A light breeze rustled the tree canopy overhead, shifting light through leaves that danced in quiet lazy patterns.

Daniela walked beside you in that way she always did, a little guarded at first but slowly melting into you as the minutes ticked on. Her hoodie was soft and worn-in, sleeves shoved halfway up her forearms. Her hair was loose today, a rare sight, falling over her shoulders in messy waves. She looked effortlessly beautiful, the kind of beautiful that made you want to stare even when you shouldn’t.

“Alright,” she said, her voice low and warm, nudging your arm with hers. “Important question. What’s for dinner tonight? And if you say cereal again, I’m taking away your grocery privileges.”

You grinned. “It was a one-time emergency.”

Daniela gave you a look, half amused, half exasperated. “It was the fourth time this month.”

“Then it was four one-time emergencies.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth betrayed her. Her eyes lingered on you a little longer than it needed to, like she was trying to memorize the way your smile looked in the fading light.

You reached for her hand without thinking, and she let you take it, fingers slotting easily between yours. She didn’t always like PDA, not when the cameras were around, but here, with only the sound of birds overhead and your shared footsteps on gravel, she didn’t pull away.

“I like this,” you murmured after a moment.

She glanced down at you, brow arching. “What, the flirting? Or the judgment about your cereal diet?”

You laughed, eyes squinting up at her. “No. Just… this. Us walking together, you being all soft.”

“I’m not soft,” she muttered, but her thumb rubbed absent circles against your knuckles anyway.

You were about to tease her again when someone called your name.

“Y/N?”

You turned instinctively.

And there she was, Shannon Beveridge.

Shannon stood just off the path, wearing a cropped workout tank and running shorts, earbuds tangled around her neck. Her skin glistened with sweat in the kind of effortless, post-jog glow that made her look like she’d just stepped out of a sunbeam. She hadn’t changed much, still impossibly cool, her smile wide and a little crooked, like she knew she’d caught you off guard.

“Wow,” she said, brushing a loose piece of hair behind her ear. “It’s been forever.”

You blinked. “Shannon! Oh my God, yeah. Wow. I didn’t expect to run into you here.”

Daniela’s hand slipped out of yours, casually, like it was nothing. But her posture shifted, chin lifting, arms folding, a subtle stiffening of her shoulders.

Shannon looked between you and Daniela, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “How’ve you been? You look good.”

“I’ve been good! You, too,” you said, your voice light but genuine. The breakup had been clean, even kind, but you hadn’t spoken in a long time. “Still making videos?”

She laughed. “Trying to. Started a podcast but the algorithm's been fighting me lately, but what else is new?”

“Ah I’ll have to check it out!” 

You turned to Daniela then, suddenly aware of the imbalance. “Ah yes, Shannon, this is my girlfriend, Daniela.”

For just a split second, something shifted in Shannon’s expression. It was subtle. A flicker of something unspoken behind the polite smile that followed. Surprise? Disappointment? Daniela couldn’t tell.

“Girlfriend...?” Shannon echoed, offering a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Daniela shook it, cool and civil. “You too.”

You smiled, oblivious to the spike of tension in the air. “Daniela’s in Katseye, the girl group?”

“Oh, no shit? That’s awesome,” Shannon said, nodding. “I think I saw something about you guys on my feed the other day.”

There was a brief silence.

You stepped in to fill it. “What are you doing here? Still live around this area?”

“Yeah, just a couple blocks over. I run here most mornings, but I’ve been sleeping in lately. Today felt right.” She looked at you for a beat too long. “Guess it was.”

Daniela didn’t say anything, but her jaw tightened just slightly.

You didn’t notice. You were still smiling. “We’ve been walking all morning. Daniela made me promise I wouldn’t make cereal for dinner again.”

Shannon snorted. “Some things never change, huh?”

There was laughter, yours and Shannon’s, and it was light, easy, familiar. Daniela stayed quiet. Watching. Studying. The way your eyes crinkled when you laughed, the easy rhythm of your words with Shannon’s. The history you didn’t have to explain. She hated how natural it looked.

After a few more exchanges about coffee spots and new places opening nearby, Shannon glanced at her watch. “I should keep going, but it was really nice seeing you.”

“You too,” you said. Then instinctively, you stepped forward and hugged her.

Friendly. Brief. But Daniela saw the way Shannon’s fingers curled just slightly into your back, not inappropriate, but not oblivious either.

And she saw the way you smiled afterward, a little soft, a little nostalgic.

As Shannon jogged off, earbuds back in place, you reached for Daniela’s hand again. She let you take it.

But her fingers felt colder than before.

You leaned into her shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Daniela murmured, eyes fixed straight ahead. “All good.”

But you didn’t see the way her jaw clenched, or the way her eyes narrowed whilst following Shannon until she disappeared down the path.

You didn’t notice the way something had already started to twist in her chest.

But she did.

The morning after the walk in the park, things felt... off. Barely. Just a ripple in the usual calm. You were still you, smiling at her over coffee, teasing her about the way she hoarded oat milk, draping yourself over the back of the couch while she scrolled on her laptop. But something about the way you lingered in your own head, even when the room was quiet, made her pause.

It had started small. So small Daniela almost convinced herself she was imagining it.

That night, you forgot to text her goodnight.

It wasn’t catastrophic, just a missed message. But in the year you’d been dating, you’d never once forgotten. Even on nights you were dead tired. Even when you were traveling. There had always been a sleepy, barely coherent “goodnight love u <3” blinking onto her screen.

This time? Nothing.

She stared at her phone well past midnight, waiting, the screen casting a soft glow against the ceiling, but there was nothing. 

Morning hit and she caved.

Dani: Morning. all good? Didn’t hear from you last night?

Ten minutes later, you replied.

Y/N: Shit sorry babe, fell asleep. Busy day. love you <3

Harmless. Daniela told herself it didn’t mean anything. That she was reading too far into it. That not everyone grew up bracing for disappointment before it landed.

She turned off her phone and rolled onto her side.

But the silence left behind didn’t feel like rest.

Two days later, the kitchen scene played out like something out of a movie, or a bad memory she couldn’t place.

It was midmorning. Sunlight spilled in through the wide windows, bouncing warm light off the countertops. Daniela had just walked in, hair still damp from a shower, hoodie sleeves rolled halfway up her arms.

And there you were, standing barefoot at the island, one of her oversized shirts swallowing your frame, phone in your hand, smiling. Not a wide, open smile. Not the kind you gave her after a kiss or when she said something dumb but sweet. This one was tucked in, secret. A smile that didn’t belong to the room you were in.

She stopped in the doorway, watching the curve of your mouth, the way your eyes didn’t even flick up to notice her presence.

“What’s so funny?” she asked, trying to keep it light.

You jumped slightly, fingers locking your phone like a reflex.

“Oh- nothing. Just a meme,” you said, shoving your phone into the pocket of your shorts too quickly.

Daniela raised a brow. “Show me. If it’s another one of those ‘cats yelling at salad’ edits, I swear-”

“It’s not that funny,” you cut in with a laugh. “Like, it was dumb. Just scrolled past it.”

She studied you for a moment, head tilted slightly. Your smile was still there, but tighter now. Like it had snapped into place.

She didn’t press. Didn’t accuse. But a dull, uneasy weight settled under her ribs and refused to move.

By the third morning, it wasn’t subtle anymore.

You were sitting across from her at the breakfast table, stabbing lazily at a bowl of cereal you weren’t really eating. Your phone buzzed once, screen lighting up with a soft chime. 

Daniela then instinctively reached for it at the same time to check the time as your phone was closer than hers.

You flinched.

It was a small motion. A blink-and-you’d-miss-it recoil. But it sent a sharp jolt through her.

She paused, hand hovering in mid-air.

The screen lit up again. This time, she caught the name in the banner at the top.

M: I think she’s starting to get sus

And then you slammed the phone face-down and forced a laugh.

“Sorry, just work stuff,” you said quickly, too casually. “It’s a mess right now. Nothing to worry about.”

Daniela blinked. “Who’s M?”

You didn’t look at her when you answered. “A friend. From back home.”

“You never mentioned her before.”

“Yeah, we… reconnected recently.” You waved your hand like it meant nothing. “Not like that, just catching up.”

Her cereal was getting soggy in the bowl in front of her, but Daniela didn’t move.

“You’ve been on your phone a lot lately.”

“I told you,” you said, standing up and reaching for your mug. “I’m juggling stuff... work stuff, life, you know how it is.”

“You never hide your phone from me.”

The words slipped out before she could stop them.

You looked up sharply. “I’m not hiding anything.”

You didn’t unlock your phone again. You just dropped it in your hoodie pocket and grabbed your empty bowl.

Daniela didn’t reply.

Ten minutes later, you excused yourself to take a ‘quick’ call. The bedroom door clicked shut behind you.

She sat at the table alone, fingers curling around her coffee mug like it might anchor her to something real. The tension had reached the part of her chest that burned now, not sharp, not loud, but heavy and familiar.

Her brain itched to fill in the blanks. The hidden messages. The quick laughs. The flinching. The way you didn’t look her in the eye when you spoke.

She didn’t want to assume. Didn’t want to be that version of herself again, the one who jumped to conclusions and cracked things open just to prove they weren’t stable.

But she couldn’t stop the creeping thought that maybe, just maybe, she was seeing the signs. Just like last time.

And this time, it would hurt even more.

That night, you curled into her like nothing had changed.

The lamp beside the bed was dim, casting a pool of golden light across the sheets. You nuzzled into her side, one hand slipping under her hoodie to press lightly against her stomach, your little habit on colder nights.

She curled an arm around you automatically, but her mind stayed restless.

She stared up at the ceiling, blinking into the dark. The sound of your breathing, soft, even, trusting, only made it worse.

Your phone buzzed again on the nightstand. You didn’t stir.

Daniela didn’t move to check it.

But her chest felt tight.

She reached down, threading her fingers through yours beneath the blanket.

You squeezed once in your sleep, murmuring something incoherent, then stilled.

Daniela exhaled, but it didn’t help.

Because she wasn’t sure anymore if she was holding onto you... Or if she was holding on to the version of you that hadn’t already slipped away.

The late afternoon sun slanted through the windows of your apartment, casting long golden stripes across the wooden floor. Daniela’s footsteps were quiet on the threshold as she stepped inside earlier than expected, her Katseye meeting had been canceled last minute, leaving her with hours she hadn’t planned for.

She thought she’d find you out maybe running errands, or still inside curled up somewhere with your laptop, lost in a project. But the apartment was unnervingly silent. No music, no TV, no soft hum of your voice practicing lines or humming some half-remembered tune.

The bedroom door was ajar.

Her brow furrowed as she shrugged off her jacket, the fabric slipping from her shoulders and pooling at her feet. The hallway stretched out before her, a narrow corridor lined with photos of you both, pictures from holidays, awkward selfies, laughter caught mid-snap. All of it made the sudden stillness feel heavier.

Then she heard it.

Your voice. Low, cautious, almost a whisper. Coming from the bedroom at the end of the hall.

It was the kind of voice that immediately made her stop dead. The tone wasn’t your usual calm or warm. It was urgent and secretive. Like you were afraid of being overheard.

“…no, I can’t tell her yet,” you said softly, voice tight like a thread about to snap. “Just- if it blows up in my face, I want to be fully prepared.”

Daniela’s heart slammed against her ribs.

She pressed herself flat against the wall, breath caught in her throat.

“I know, I know,” you continued, voice dropping even lower, thick with tension. “But it’s not that simple. She already thinks I’m too much sometimes.”

Too much.

The word echoed inside Daniela’s head, sinking like a weight.

“Look, just don’t say anything, okay?” Your voice cracked slightly. “She can’t find out yet, not until I'm ready. Please.”

Daniela’s mouth went dry.

She wanted to scream at you, to demand what was going on, but all she could do was stand there, frozen in the middle of the hallway, her ears straining to catch every word.

The silence stretched, her heartbeat thundering so loudly she feared it might betray her presence.

Then, the faint click of your phone ending the call.

Daniela didn’t wait for the bedroom door to open. She didn’t give you time to explain.

When you finally stepped into the hallway, eyes wide with surprise at seeing her standing there like a statue, her face was unreadable, calm as stone, but her eyes burned.

“Hey! I didn’t know you were home-” you began, voice tentative.

Daniela cut you off, voice low, icy, and steady.

“Who were you talking to?”

Your smile faltered, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. “What?”

“Don’t lie to me.” The quiet in her tone was like a knife, cold and sharp. The kind of dangerous calm that hides a volcano beneath.

“I wasn’t. W-what’s going on?” you stammered.

Daniela’s gaze sharpened as she took a step forward, shrinking the space between you both. “You think I’m stupid?” she snapped, voice thick with pain and anger. “You think I don’t know what’s happening? The sneaking around. The secrets. Shannon.”

The name hit you like a sudden blow.

“Wait. What are you talking about? Shannon? Are you serious?” Your voice cracked with disbelief.

“I heard you,” Daniela said, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “Just now.” She shook her head slowly, eyes wet but hard. “’She can’t find out.’ ‘If it blows up in my face.’ God, how long has this been going on?”

Your mouth opened, words stuck, swallowed by the heavy silence that followed.

And in that instant, Daniela’s carefully constructed walls slammed shut around her heart.

“Don’t,” she said, voice fragile and breaking, like glass cracking. “I should’ve known. I knew it was too good to be true.”

“Wait...” you said again, breath catching, voice thinner than it had any right to be. “...You think I’m cheating on you?”

Daniela scoffed, a sharp, joyless sound, like she couldn’t believe you were even asking. “Don’t play dumb.”

Your heart dropped.

You took a shaky step closer, arms hanging uselessly at your sides, eyes wide and stinging. “You’re serious. You really think I’m cheating, with Shannon?”

“She was your ex,” she snapped, folding her arms tight across her chest like she needed to physically hold herself together. “And ever since we saw her, you’ve been lying. Sneaking off. Whispering on the phone like I wouldn’t notice.”

“I wasn’t- Daniela, that’s not what’s happening. I'm not cheating on you.” You reached out instinctively, but she flinched like your hands were fire.

She cut you off, voice rising, pitched with something close to panic. “Then what is happening, Y/N? Because I’m not in the mood for another gaslight-and-go.”

You flinched like she’d slapped you. “That’s not fair.”

“Fair?” She let out a laugh, hollow, raw, and started pacing the living room like her body couldn’t contain the pressure building inside her. “You think this is fair? You’ve been acting like a stranger all week. You barely look at me. You hide your phone. You leave the room to talk. You hugged your ex like I wasn’t even standing there, like I was invisible.”

Her voice cracked on that last word.

Your own voice shook as you tried to find footing in a conversation that felt like quicksand. “Shannon and I ended on good terms. I told you that. She doesn’t mean anything to me anymore. I am not cheating on you, I would never.”

“Oh, come on,” Daniela snarled, spinning to face you, eyes blazing. “You think I’m fucking stupid? You think I haven’t seen this before? I know what it looks like when someone starts slipping away.”

“I wasn’t-” Your hands were trembling now. “I wasn’t slipping away. I was planning something. For you. That’s what this was. A surprise. A fucking surprise.”

She froze mid-step.

The words seemed to hit her like a physical blow. Her expression faltered for the first time, doubt creeping in like a crack through ice.

You didn’t stop. Couldn’t. The dam had broken now.

“I didn’t tell you because I wanted it to be special,” you said, voice raw. “I’ve been working on something all week, trying hard to keep it secret. I even asked your friends to help. I kept it quiet because I wanted it to be perfect before I told you.”

Daniela’s mouth parted slightly, but no words came. The fight drained from her posture like someone had cut the strings.

Your chest was heaving now, vision blurred. “And you-” your voice cracked, “-you think I’d throw all of this away over a hug?”

Silence fell so suddenly it felt suffocating.

Daniela just stared at you, her face suddenly unreadable. No longer angry, just… hollow. Stricken.

She looked like she’d been slapped.

Like she’d just realized she’d set fire to the one thing she was trying to protect.

And for the first time since you met her, she looked genuinely afraid.

“I would never do that to you,” you whispered, voice hoarse. “I love you. I love you so damn much.”

Daniela’s eyes welled, lips parting. “I’ve been cheated on before,” she said finally, and her voice didn’t sound like hers. It was soft. Fractured. “I thought I saw it coming. I thought I’d gotten smarter. And I still didn’t.”

You took a step back like her words had hit you in the gut. “So now you think every girl you love is gonna do the same thing?”

Daniela didn’t answer. She didn’t move. She just stood there, rigid and broken, watching something inside you fall apart in real time.

You stared at her like you didn’t recognize her. Your chest ached like something sacred had been yanked away and ripped in half.

“I don’t think I can do this, I need some space” you whispered.

Daniela’s breath caught.

You turned.

And this time, she didn’t stop you.

The front door closed behind you with a dull, final click, too quiet for the way it shattered both your hearts.

The apartment felt hollow without you in it.

Too quiet. Too still.

Daniela sat curled on the edge of the bed, knees drawn to her chest, forehead pressed to her arms like the weight of the last 24 hours was physically pulling her in on herself. Your bedroom was dim, lit only by a half-drawn curtain casting faint stripes of light across the floor.

She hadn’t slept.

She hadn’t cried either. She just sat there. Numb.

Your scent was still in the sheets. A faint, lingering trace of your shampoo on the pillow. Your coffee mug still sat in the sink from the morning before, lipstick print barely faded. The air still carried the memory of you in it, laughter folded into the corners of the room, warmth in the way the blanket was still bunched where you used to sit.

And all Daniela could hear was the echo of your voice, cracked and trembling:

“I was planning something for you… I would never do that to you.”

She dug her nails into the fabric of her leggings.

She’d been so sure. So ready to catch the fall, to brace for the heartbreak she was certain was coming, so convinced that this time, she could get ahead of the wreckage.

It had been easier to believe you were leaving her like they all did… than to believe that someone actually wouldn’t.

Her phone buzzed against the nightstand, screen flashing.

Manon: heard what happened, coming over you still at hers?

Daniela replied with a simple Yes.

Somewhere across town, you sat curled into the far end of your friend’s couch, legs tucked under you, a hoodie pulled tight around your shoulders like armor. The TV played something in the background, a comfort show, maybe, something you couldn’t focus on even if you tried. The screen light flickered over your face, but your eyes never left your phone, which sat face down on the coffee table, untouched.

You hadn’t turned it on since last night.

The ache in your chest was dull now, hollowed out. But no less painful. If anything, the silence only made it worse.

She hadn’t trusted you. That truth hurt more than the yelling, more than the accusations, more than anything else she’d thrown in your face.

She hadn’t even let you explain.

She’d looked you in the eye and assumed the worst.

And still you missed her. God, you missed her.

The way she tucked your hair behind your ear without thinking. The way she’d lean into you on the couch, completely unguarded. The way her voice went soft when she said your name in the dark.

You closed your eyes. It was easier not to feel everything all at once.

Back at the apartment, there was a knock at the door.

Daniela didn’t move.

Another knock. Sharper. Familiar.

“…I know you’re in there,” Manon’s voice called through the door. “Don’t make me break in.”

Reluctantly, Daniela got up and opened it.

Manon breezed in like a storm, sunglasses perched uselessly on top of her head. She took one look at Daniela’s face and exhaled sharply, toeing off her boots.

“Jesus, you look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

“I said you looked like shit. I didn’t say you deserved to.”

Daniela slumped against the doorframe, arms limp. “You came to lecture me?”

“No.” Manon tossed her bag on the couch, turned, crossed her arms. “I came to figure out how the hell you went from ‘so in love I’d take a bullet for her’ to ‘I accused her of cheating without letting her say a word.’”

Daniela’s mouth pulled into a grim line. “I didn’t-”

“You did, Dani,” Manon said, gently but firmly. “And you didn’t just accuse her. You tore her down like you were waiting for a reason to.”

Daniela didn’t respond.

“You always do this,” Manon continued, voice low now. “When things get too real, too good, you find a way to burn it down first so no one else gets the chance. Like if you sabotage it yourself, it’ll hurt less when they leave.”

Daniela’s hands trembled. “She hugged her ex. She lied to me. She-

“She loves you,” Manon said. “She was trying to surprise you. She asked me last week to make sure she chose the right venue for your birthday. She’s been sneaking around because she didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

Daniela’s breath hitched.

“She told me to keep it secret. Because she knows you. She was trying so fucking hard to do it right. She wanted to show you she’s not like the others.”

“…And I threw it in her face,” Daniela whispered, voice broken.

“Yeah,” Manon said, softly now. “But you can fix it. If you stop letting your fear do the talking.”

Daniela sank onto the couch like her knees gave out.

“I don’t know if she’ll want to hear it.”

“Well,” Manon said, walking over, placing a steady hand on her friend’s shoulder. “That’s not your call, is it? You either fight for her now or lose her because you were too scared to try.”

Daniela wiped at her face.

“Get your keys,” Manon said, already standing. “And maybe flowers. Or cupcakes. Or, I don’t know, a handwritten apology letter sealed in blood. Whatever works, I know where she’s hiding come on.”

Despite herself, Daniela gave a weak laugh.

It was raining. Of course it was.

The knock came just as you were about to turn in for the night, soft, but persistent. The kind of knock that didn’t expect to be let in. The kind that hoped.

You opened the door to your friend’s apartment slowly… and there she stood.

Daniela.

Soaked to the bone. Hoodie clinging to her frame, rain dripping from the ends of her curls. She wasn’t wearing makeup, not even her usual mascara, and her eyes were red-rimmed, raw, and impossibly vulnerable.

She looked like a girl who hadn’t slept. Like a girl who had lost something and realized far too late how much it mattered.

“I’m not here to fight,” she said, voice hoarse. “I just- I needed to see you. Please.”

You stood frozen for a moment. Then stepped aside without a word.

She shuffled in, dripping quietly onto the rug. Her arms wrapped tightly around herself like she didn’t know what to do with them, or maybe like she was holding herself together by sheer will.

The silence stretched long. She didn’t sit.

Finally, Daniela spoke. “You were right. About everything.”

You didn’t speak. The lump in your throat made it impossible anyway.

She swallowed hard. “I panicked. I saw things that weren’t there. I-” Her voice broke, and she squeezed her eyes shut like it physically hurt to say it. “I let old shit in my head take over. I didn’t even give you a chance to explain. I just assumed the worst and lashed out. And that’s on me.”

A tear slipped down her cheek.

“I’ve never had something like this before,” she continued, voice shaking. “Not like you. I’ve only ever had… toxic. Controlling. My last girlfriend cheated on me with someone I knew. And when I found out, she gaslighted me. For months. Told me I was imagining things, that I was paranoid, that I was suffocating her. And by the time I figured it out-” Her voice cracked. “I didn’t know which way was up anymore.”

You blinked, chest tight.

Daniela sniffed and looked away, ashamed. “I’ve been carrying that into every relationship since. I assume people will hurt me. I prepare for it. And I hate it- I hate that it made me look at you and see her.” She looked back at you, eyes full of pain. “Because you’ve never been anything but good to me.”

Silence.

“I don’t know how to unlearn this. I don’t know how to stop expecting people to leave. But I want to. I want to try, with you. Because losing you felt worse than all the other heartbreaks combined.”

You let out a breath, quiet and shaky.

“I missed you,” Daniela whispered. “So much it makes me sick. But if you don’t want me anymore, if I ruined it, I’ll walk away. I will. Just… please tell me what to do. I’ll do anything.”

Your voice came out a whisper. “You hurt me, Dani.”

She flinched like you’d slapped her.

“I know,” she said, barely holding it together. “I know I did.”

There was a pause. Then, “I’m sorry for leaving like that,” you said, your voice trembling. “I- I shut down. I should’ve stayed. Should’ve talked to you. You had every right to react the way you did after what you’ve been through, and I just… ran. And I’m sorry for that.”

Daniela opened her mouth, but you kept going.

“I was just so hurt.” Your voice cracked. “I was planning something for you. Something big. And when you looked at me like I was nothing, like I was just one more person waiting to break your heart, it shattered me.”

Daniela stepped forward, guilt etched into every line of her face.

“I was planning your birthday surprise,” you said softly. “A girls trip. Barcelona. You, me, Manon, some of your other close gal friends. I’d been coordinating flights, talking to your manager to see if you had time off, even called your mom to ask about your passport renewal because I knew you’d forget to check.”

Her hand flew to her mouth.

“And I didn’t tell you because I wanted it to be perfect. I wanted you to feel celebrated. Loved.” You looked at her, eyes shining. “Because you deserve that.” You took a deep breath, "And I am sorry for how I had been behaving this week, I think I was trying so hard to make it the perfect surprise, I forgot how to act around you."

Daniela was crying now, silently, her shoulders trembling as she closed the space between you. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “God, I’m so sorry.”

You took a shaky breath.

And then you stepped forward.

One step. Then another.

Until your arms were around her.

She collapsed into you with a breathless sound, not quite a sob, not quite a sigh, and held you like she didn’t believe she was real anymore unless you were in her arms. Her fingers dug into the back of your hoodie, face buried in your neck, and you felt her whole body tremble against you.

“I don’t want you to be perfect,” you whispered into her hair. “I just want honest.”

Daniela nodded against you. “I can do that,” she whispered. “I swear I can do that.”

She pulled back only slightly, eyes puffy and glassy, and pressed a shaky kiss to your forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you murmured, brushing your thumb across her cheek. “Even when you’re a paranoid mess.”

Daniela let out a watery laugh. “Even when you’re a cryptic little liar planning surprise vacations?”

“Touché.”

You drew her gently toward the couch, fingers laced, and she followed without a word. She curled into you the second you sat, knees tucked beneath her, arms wrapped tight around your waist like she didn’t plan to let go for a very long time.

You carded your fingers through her damp hair, pressing a kiss to her temple. She sighed, the first peaceful sound you’d heard from her in days and nuzzled in closer.

“I really messed up,” she mumbled into your chest.

You smiled faintly. “You kinda did.”

“Mm. Thanks for the honesty.”

“But you came back.” You looked down at her. “That counts for something.”

Daniela lifted her head just enough to meet your eyes. “I’ll keep coming back,” she whispered. “As many times as it takes.”

You leaned in, kissed her, soft, slow, no urgency. Just relief. Just love. Her hand found yours and squeezed it, grounding herself in the feel of your skin.

“I still want to take you to Barcelona, you know,” you murmured when the kiss broke. “I was thinking rooftop pools and romantic dates around town… your friends can also take you out clubbing.”

Her lips curved into a small, teary smile. “That sounds like heaven.”

You tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “We’ll go. We’ll dance, get tipsy on sangria, get sunburnt and lost and share a tiny hotel bed.”

Daniela rested her forehead against yours. “As long as it’s with you.”

The rain kept falling.

And in the warm hush of that quiet little apartment, tangled together on a friend’s too-small couch, you held each other like a promise.

Together.

“You know we should probably head back to my apartment, don’t think Jaz will respect me PDAing on her couch”

Manon woke to the kind of silence that didn’t feel peaceful, only heavy.

It pressed in from all sides, thick and unmoving. The kind of quiet that settled in the chest like smoke, dark and slow-burning. The sheets beside her were cold. The duvet twisted, barely disturbed. She hadn’t slept much. Just drifted in and out of restless dreams, half-hoping to wake up to a second chance, some reset button she could hit before everything cracked in half.

She dragged herself out of bed, muscles aching in that dull hollow way that had nothing to do with choreography. The floor was cold beneath her bare feet, the early morning light bleeding in weakly through half-drawn curtains. A grey wash painted the apartment. Muted. Lifeless. Her throat was dry. Her chest tighter than yesterday.

In the kitchen, she moved like a ghost, reaching for the kettle, pouring water, spooning in honey. All muscle memory. She made the tea without tasting it, her eyes fixed on the steam curling upward in lazy spirals. jasmine and lemon. The blend Y/N liked when her chest was tight, or her mood was low. Back when she used to curl into Manon’s side and mumble something soft like, "thanks, babe," before resting her cheek against her shoulder.

Now it just sat there in her hands. A peace offering she wasn’t sure would be accepted.

She hesitated outside the spare room, mug warm between her fingers. She knocked, gently.

“Tea,” she said softly. “It’s the one you like.”

No answer. Not even the rustle of movement from within.

Her fingers closed around the handle. She turned it, slowly.

The room smelled faintly like lavender and sleep. The curtains hadn’t been opened, the light was dim. Y/N lay curled under the covers, facing away from the door, her figure half-obscured by the folds of the blanket. 

Manon stepped in carefully, placing the tea on the nightstand. She didn’t sit right away. Just stood there, hovering near the edge of the bed.

“I didn’t sleep much,” she said finally. “I kept going over what I said. Over and over, like maybe if I think hard enough, I can reverse it. Make it disappear.”

Y/N didn’t answer. Didn’t turn around. The stillness was a response in itself.

“I’m sorry,” Manon said. “I know I said that already, but I need to say it again. And again. I didn’t mean it. I was exhausted and angry and I lashed out. You didn’t deserve that. You never do.”

A slow exhale came from the bed. Tired and wordless. Like all her energy had been siphoned out during the night.

Manon finally sat down at the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb the sheets. Her fingers twisted in her lap.

“I have to go,” she said quietly. “They’re recording the new track today. We’ve rescheduled it twice already and… I can’t get out of it.”

Still nothing.

Her voice faltered slightly. “I wish I could stay. I’d stay if I could.”

The silence was unbearable. Not loud, not cruel, just… resigned.

“I love you,” she whispered.

Y/N shifted slightly under the covers, just enough to sigh. Not enough to face her.

It broke something in Manon’s chest.

The studio lights were far too bright, everything felt too loud, too artificial. The coffee was bitter, the AC too cold. Her in-ears buzzed in a way that set her teeth on edge. Even the beat in her headphones felt wrong and off tempo.

They were recording a midtempo emotional track, but Manon’s voice kept catching. She wasn’t nailing the harmonies. Her pitch was fine, but her energy was flat and hollow.

“Let’s take ten,” the producer muttered over the intercom.

She pulled her headphones off, tossing them onto the console beside her. Her reflection in the glass was pale. Her hair still looked good, styling had handled that before she arrived, but her eyes were rimmed with exhaustion. Her expression didn’t belong to the fiery center performer of Katseye.

It belonged to someone unraveling.

Daniela, perched on the couch behind the soundboard, tilted her head. “Want to tell me what’s up or should I guess?”

Manon didn’t say anything for a moment. Then she sat beside her, elbows on her knees.

“I fucked up,” she said finally. “Last night, with Y/N.”

Daniela nodded, slow. “Bad?”

“I said something I didn’t mean. I hurt her, I made her feel like… like she was a burden.” Her voice cracked slightly. “And now I don’t know how to fix it, or if I even can.”

Daniela leaned back, thoughtful. “You love her?”

“More than anything.”

“Then maybe what you need right now isn’t fixing, it’s space to figure out how to be better. Before you hurt her more.”

That landed hard. But it rang true.

“Yeah,” Manon said quietly. “That’s what I’m scared of.”

Daniela looked at her for a long moment. Then she reached over and took one of Manon’s hands, threading their fingers briefly. 

“You’ve been going non-stop for months, Manon. You haven’t had a single break that wasn’t scheduled within an inch of your life. And then you come home and pretend like you're fine when you’re obviously not.”

Manon blinked hard. Her throat ached.

“I see it. The way you walk in with your shoulders locked up to your ears. The way you look at your phone like it’s going to bite you. You’re burnt out and when people burn out, they start to lash out.”

Tears pricked at the corners of Manon’s eyes.

“I didn’t want to lash out at her,” she whispered. “She’s the one person who never asks me to be anyone else.”

“But you did,” Daniela said gently. “And now you have to figure out why. Why you felt so cornered by love that you snapped.”

Manon nodded, but her lips were trembling. Her voice broke on the next words. “She looked at me like I wasn’t safe anymore.”

And that was it, the first tear fell. Then another.

Daniela shifted closer, wrapping one arm around her, letting her lean into her shoulder.

“I’m so tired,” Manon admitted. “I love her and I’m so fucking tired. I don’t know how to be all the things everyone wants me to be.”

“You don’t have to be,” Daniela murmured. “You just have to figure out who you are underneath all of it. And if you still want this love… if it’s still worth it to you, you go back. But not like this. Not broken. Not until you know how to carry it right.”

Manon nodded against her shoulder, sobs small but real. Her makeup was probably ruined, but she didn’t care. The guilt, the exhaustion, the grief of it all, it poured out in slow waves. And Dani held her through it.

When she got home, the apartment was dim and felt silent. Not the comforting kind of quiet, but the kind that felt abandoned. The hallway lights hummed faintly above her, casting long, thin shadows across the hardwood floor. It smelled faintly of lavender and lemon, Y/N's scent, but somehow, even that felt muted.

The living room was untouched. A throw blanket was crumpled on the couch the way it always was after movie nights, but there were no signs of life, no coffee mugs left half-drunk, no crumbs on the table from shared snacks. The plants by the window drooped slightly, like they too had been holding their breath.

Manon’s steps felt heavy. Like she was walking underwater.

The bedroom door was still half-shut, the way she’d left it. Her fingers grazed the frame as she pushed it open.

The mug was still sitting on the nightstand, untouched. The tea had gone cold, the lemon slice inside curling at the edges. The steam long vanished, leaving only the bitter scent of regret.

Y/N hadn’t moved. Her body was curled into the same tight shape as when Manon had left that morning, like her own bones were trying to shield her from the world. Her hoodie sleeves were pulled over her hands, fingers peeking out only slightly, legs drawn in like a question mark. There was something fragile about the way she laid there, like if Manon touched her, she might splinter.

A plate of food sat on the dresser. A sandwich. A few cut-up strawberries. Barely touched. Manon didn’t know if it was something Y/N had tried to eat and couldn’t, or something she’d made for Manon before giving up.

She stepped in quietly, like noise might hurt. The air in the room was thick with everything unsaid.

She stopped by the bed, kneeling down until she was eye-level with the girl she loved.

“You didn’t eat?” her voice broke around the edges.

Y/N didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Manon sat carefully on the edge of the mattress, her hands twisting in her lap. Her eyes stung with unshed tears, throat tightening.

“I shouldn’t have gone in today,” she whispered. “I should’ve stayed. You needed me.”

Still, silence.

She looked at the side of Y/N’s face, the dull sheen in her eyes, the redness around the edges like she’d cried in the afternoon and hadn’t had the strength to wipe the tears away.

Y/N finally spoke, but her voice was thin. Empty. “What difference would it have made?”

The words hit harder than anything Manon had braced herself for.

She blinked quickly, trying to stay steady. “I don’t know what to do anymore. Everything feels too loud, Too fast. Katseye, the interviews, the choreography, the livestreams, the fucking social media comments. I love it, I do. I worked so hard for it. But it’s… it’s swallowing me whole.”

Y/N turned her face to the wall.

“I feel like I’m drowning with a spotlight on me,” Manon said quietly. “Like I’m smiling in front of thousands of people but forgetting who I am backstage. And now… I’m failing at everything. At this job, at being someone you can count on, at being who I promised I’d be when we fell in love.”

Y/N’s voice was barely audible. “So stop failing. Stay. Fight for it.”

Manon let out a soft, broken breath. “I don’t know how. I feel like I’m falling apart in every direction, and I don’t even know where to start picking up the pieces. And if I stay like this… I’ll hurt you more than I already have.”

The silence between them stretched like a tightrope.

“I think I need time,” she said, voice cracking. “To breathe, to figure out how to be someone who doesn’t break the things she loves.”

Y/N was quiet for a long moment. Then, a single nod.

“Okay.”

No fight. No protest. Just quiet heartbreak.

It was worse than yelling, worse than tears.

Manon stood slowly, her knees trembling beneath her. She moved to the bedroom like someone who didn’t trust her own limbs anymore. She pulled a duffel bag from the closet and placed it on the bed. Then, she reached for her phone.

Her hands trembled slightly as she scrolled through her contacts and tapped on Daniela’s name. It rang twice before Dani picked up.

“Hey, you okay?”

“No,” Manon whispered, her voice breaking. “Can I… stay with you for a bit?”

There was no hesitation. “Of course. I’ll get the room ready.”

Manon closed her eyes, swallowing hard. “Thank you.”

She hung up and set the phone aside before moving through the room. She packed with quiet efficiency, hoodie, leggings, change of clothes, toothbrush, charger.

As she reached for her passport in the drawer, her hand brushed against something else. A folded polaroid. Her and Y/N, at the beach last summer, grinning into the camera. Wind in their hair, sand on their skin. They’d written a message on the back in matching hearts, forever with you.

Her breath caught.

She sat on the edge of the bed, holding the photo like it was something living. A single tear tracked down her cheek, leaving a cold trail. Then another.

She finished packing and returned the polaroid.

At the front door, she turned to look back one more time. The bedroom light was dim, casting soft amber over the walls. Y/N hadn’t moved. The blanket was pulled tighter around her, the curve of her shoulders small.

“I love you,” Manon said. It came out quieter than she meant it to. A confession. A goodbye. A plea.

Y/N didn’t reply.

She just clutched the duvet higher.

The door clicked shut behind Manon.

The hallway smelled like someone else’s dinner. A dog barked on another floor. The elevator made its usual groan.

The world kept moving.

You stood in the middle of it all like a queen holding court. Mini skirt, strapless corset top laced tight across your ribs, your skin glowing under fairy lights and LED strobes. Your lip gloss shimmered like fresh syrup, cherry red and kissable as sin. Hair glossy, lashes long, eyes sharpened with liner and just enough mean-girl smirk to keep people guessing whether they wanted to impress you or get wrecked by you.

Someone handed you another drink and you took it without looking, already bored.

“This party is dead,” you said, tone flat, voice syrup-sweet.

“It’s 11 p.m.,” Lara replied, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Half the freshmen haven’t even thrown up yet.”

You weren’t impressed. You scanned the room like you were hunting, because you were. You needed a distraction, a toy, a Friday night project. “Freshmen always throw up, I need something fun,” you replied, eyes already drifting. “I need a project.”

That’s when you saw her.

She stood by the drinks table clutching a red solo cup like a lifeline. Tall, slender, hoodie too big and glasses too crooked. The soft dark brown hairs of her bun were frizzing under the party lights. Her eyes darted everywhere except at the people dancing around her. She was like a deer in headlights, lost, confused and cute.

“Who the hell brought a nerd to my party?” you muttered, narrowing your eyes.

Daniela followed your gaze and snorted. 

“Oh, her? That’s Megan. Sophia’s physics partner. She dragged her here to ‘live a little’ or whatever. You know what Sophia’s like, always adopting nerds like stray cats. I give it ten minutes before we kick her out.”

You tilted your head, watching the way Megan flinched every time someone bumped her shoulder. She took the tiniest sip of her drink, then set it down like she regretted it instantly.

“No,” you murmured, lip curling, a plan forming. “No no no. She’s mine, she stays.”

You slinked across the room, dodging dance floor chaos and cutting straight through the crowd like you belonged everywhere. Because you did.

Megan saw you coming and immediately looked for an exit. Poor thing. There wasn’t one.

“Hey there” you purred, sliding in beside her. “Got lost on your way to the library?”

Megan blinked. Then blinked again.

“Uh… I- I was just… yeah. I mean, no. I’m just… standing… here.”

“Standing still? Well thats certainly new for my parties…,” you said, letting your eyes sweep over her hoodie with slow, deliberate disdain. “But I hate to break it to you, hun, you’re breaking the dress code.”

“There’s a dress code?”

“Not officially. But you’re supposed to look like you want someone to ruin your night.”

She made a noise in her throat, possibly a laugh, possibly a malfunction.

“I’m Y/N,” you said, cocking your hip. “You’re Megan, right?”

“You… know my name?”

“Oh sweetheart, I know everyone’s name, even if you’ve never  shown up to my parties.”

She cleared her throat. “Parties aren’t really my… thing.”

“Yeah. I can tell.”

Then, on impulse, you plucked her drink out of her hand, took a sip, made a face, and handed it back.

“Ugh. Jungle juice. That’s worse than I remembered.”

“I thought it was lemonade.” she said sheepishly.

You giggled, “You are adorable. Like a lost baby deer.”

Megan turned red. Deep, gorgeous, neck-to-cheek crimson. Her hand twitched like she didn’t know what to do with it. Then she tried to put the cup down, missed the table edge, and fumbled it onto the floor.

“Oh my god,” she blurted, mortified. “I’m so-”

“Relax hun,” you cut in, already crouching. “It’s not a real Delta Chi party unless something gets sticky.”

Your fingers brushed hers as you both reached for the same cup. You didn’t miss the jolt in her arm.

“Gotcha,” you whispered, hand still on hers.

She looked like she’d forgotten English.

You straightened, gaze catching hers, and nodded your head toward the kitchen. “Come on. You need a real drink.”

You dragged her into the kitchen, gently, insistently. The lights were dimmer there. Music still pulsed from the living room, but it was quieter, closer and warmer.

“I’ll make you something you’ll enjoy,” you declared, pouring something smoother into a clean cup. “One that doesn’t taste like it was made in a gas station.”

“I’m not really a drinker…”

“That’s okay. I’m not really a good influence.”

You poured her something better, fruit punch laced with enough vodka to count.

She held the cup like she wasn’t sure what it was.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked.

You tilted your head. “Doing what?”

“Talking to me. Being… nice?”

You laughed. “Sweetheart, I’m flirting with you.”

Megan looked stunned and uncertain. “But… I’m not really your type.”

“You don’t know my type.”

“I’ve seen your Instagram.”

You grinned. “Cute. You stalked me.”

There it was again, the blush creeping up like a sunrise. You stepped even closer, just brushing her knee with yours as you leaned against the counter.

You leaned in, brushing your knee against hers. “I like nerds. They’re so easy to fluster. And honestly? I’ve got a thing for firsts.”

“Firsts?”

You took her drink, set it down, and cornered her slowly, just enough to make her back up until the counter was at her hips.

“First time getting drunk. First party. First one night stand,” you whispered. “There’s something so hot about watching someone come undone for the first time.”

Megan made a tiny noise in her throat, almost a gasp.

You leaned one hand on the counter beside her, letting the other trail lightly down the edge of her hoodie. Just enough to ghost over her hip.

“I could ruin you,” you said, voice like velvet over a blade. “Wouldn’t even break a sweat.”

Megan stared at you, chest rising and falling faster. But she didn’t move away. She didn’t say no.

So you kissed her.

Soft at first. Just a brush of gloss, breath and temptation. She went stiff for a second, and then she kissed you back, awkward and warm and clumsy in the most delicious way. Like she didn’t know what to do with her hands.

You guided them to your waist.

“See?” you breathed, pressing in, deepening it.

She whimpered.

You smirked against her mouth and backed her toward the hallway, still kissing, still tasting her lip balm and nerves and surprise. The house blurred around you. You didn’t care who saw.

Her back hit the wall. Your hands slipped under the hem of her hoodie, just enough to feel the warm skin at her sides.

“You’re such a good girl,” you murmured. “Bet you’ve never done anything like this before.”

Megan swallowed, wide-eyed, lips kiss-swollen.

“No,” she whispered.

“Wanna break that streak?”

She nodded, helpless.

You took her hand and pulled her with you, past the hallway, down to the back staircase, laughter and EDM fading behind you.

“To my room,” you said, glancing back at her. “You’re my Friday night project, Megan.”

And judging by the dazed look on her face, she was more than ready to be studied.

The door clicked shut behind you with a soft finality. The hum of the party downstairs faded into muffled bass, swallowed by the stillness of your room, dimly lit, hazy with fairy lights, the scent of your perfume lingering in the air like a trap Megan had already stepped into.

She stood just inside the door, flushed and wide-eyed, still like a deer in headlights. You leaned back against your desk, watching her with that signature sorority smirk, like you already knew exactly how this was going to go.

"You can sit," you said, voice low, coaxing. "Or stand there and look like you're about to short-circuit. Your call."

Megan let out a breathy, nervous laugh and stepped forward, awkwardly perching at the edge of your bed, hoodie sleeves bunched in her fists. You followed slowly, your heels clicking on the wood floor, pacing a slow, deliberate circle around her.

“I’m not gonna bite,” you teased, fingers ghosting along her shoulder as you passed behind her. “Unless you ask nicely.”

She turned her head just enough to glance at you, her hair falling into her face. “This is, um… a lot.”

You knelt on the bed beside her, facing her, your knees brushing hers. “You can tell me to stop anytime,” you said, honest beneath the flirt.

But Megan didn’t pull back. She looked at you like she was still catching up, like she couldn’t believe she was here, in your room, with you. The popular girl. The one everyone wanted. And she was the one you’d pulled upstairs.

So you kissed her again, slow, deliberate, coaxing her out of her shell.

And she kissed you back like she was finally letting go.

Your fingers slid beneath the edge of her hoodie again, higher this time, palms grazing warm skin. She made a noise in the back of her throat that made your stomach flip.

You tugged gently at the fabric. “Off.”

She hesitated, just for a breath, and then pulled it over her head, revealing a plain tank top underneath that hugged her in all the right places. She looked down, self-conscious, but you hooked a finger under her chin and tilted her face back toward yours.

“God, you’re cute when you blush.”

You crawled into her lap, straddling her, letting your thighs settle around her hips as her hands fluttered awkwardly at your sides.

You took them and placed them where you wanted, on your waist, then your thighs, letting her hold you like she meant it.

“I can feel your heart racing,” you whispered, brushing your lips over hers again.

“I think I’m dying,” she mumbled.

You just grinned.

You then pulled her tank top up, kissed along the newly revealed skin of her stomach, slow and warm. She trembled beneath you, fingers tightening on your hips.

“You okay?” you asked, between kisses. “Still with me?”

“Yeah,” she breathed. “I just… I’ve never done this.”

“I know,” you murmured. “That’s why I’m going slow.”

You leaned back just enough to let her look at you.

“I want you to remember this,” you said softly. “Every second.”

Then you kissed her again, deeper this time, letting your hands roam as hers followed, uncertain but eager, curious and wanting. You pulled off your corset-style top in one fluid movement, watching the way her eyes widened.

Her hands brushed along your bare back, tentative and reverent, like she couldn’t believe you were real.

She kissed you harder after that, still clumsy, but bolder. Her fingers slid under the strap of your bra, her touch burning. You let her.

Every shift of your hips sent sparks between you. Every breath came heavier. Every sound she made went straight to your spine.

By the time you leaned her back against your pillows, both of you shirtless and tangled in each other’s limbs, your lips swollen, your skin hot, you knew this was more than just a mean-girl game.

Because for all your teasing…

You kind of wanted to ruin her.

Slowly.

Thoroughly.

Completely.

But not tonight.

Tonight you just wanted to feel her underneath you, breath hitching, legs shaking, her mouth on yours like you were the only thing she understood anymore.

But instead you were very drunk. And Daniela looked too good. And the girls kept looking at you.

You leaned heavily into the arm of the couch, blinking slowly, trying to act casual while your eyes drifted to where Daniela was dancing with Megan and Sophia, laughing and radiant in a loose crop top and sweatpants that shouldn't be that unfairly hot.

Manon slid onto the couch beside you like a gossiping shark. “You’re being so obvious right now,” she muttered, nursing a vodka cranberry.

“Shh,” you hissed, smacking her arm. “I’m fine.”

“You’re blushing.”

“I always blush!”

“You’re staring at her mouth again.”

You groaned, hiding your face in a throw pillow. “I hate it here.”

Lara walked past and dropped a fresh shot glass on the table in front of you with a grin. “Liquid courage. Time’s ticking, loverboy.”

“I will throw hands,” you muttered into the pillow.

But you took the shot anyway.

Two hours and five more drinks later, you were slurring something about choreography and how hot it was when Daniela nailed that freestyle in the second chorus. You hadn’t realized you were rambling to her until you looked up and oh god.

Daniela was standing right there. Alone.

“Hey,” she said gently, her brows furrowed with concern. “Are you okay?”

You blinked up at her from your place on the floor near the couch, your head woozy and heart thumping.

She looked ethereal in the low lighting, her curls messy from dancing, her cheeks flushed pink.

You tried to stand. Failed. “I’m-” You paused. “I’m drunk.”

Daniela knelt down beside you, a small smile tugging at her lips. “No kidding.”

You stared at her. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Her eyes widened slightly.

“I’ve liked you for so long,” you continued, voice wobbling. “Like, since the academy. You’d walk in with your hair all perfect and your stupid little coffee and I’d just forget choreography.” You let out a laugh that broke mid-breath. “And I didn’t say anything after debut because I didn’t want to ruin this…thing we all have. This group. I didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable or mess it all up.”

Daniela blinked, stunned.

You smiled weakly, eyes glassy. “You don’t have to say anything. Just… please forget it.”

And before she could get a single word out, you’d staggered to your feet and practically ran to the bathroom.

The next morning, the hangover was brutal, but not as brutal as the memory.

You lay in bed, curled beneath the covers like they might protect you from your own humiliation. Your skull pounded with every heartbeat, mouth dry, stomach still queasy, but it was the flash of her face that truly made you sick.

Her eyes.The way she looked at you, caught between shock and something unreadable, as you confessed everything.

And then you’d fled like some tragic romcom cliché.

You groaned and buried your face into the pillow. You were never drinking again.

The avoidance started that morning.

You skipped the group’s traditional post-party breakfast, even though Megan had made pancakes and Manon had practically begged you to come downstairs. You claimed you needed “extra rest,” but in truth, your legs went stiff every time you heard Daniela’s voice waft in from the kitchen.

The next day, you stopped lingering during coffee runs and kitchen gossip, what Yoonchae affectionately called “girly time". You used to love those moments, but now you slipped in after everyone had left, hurried your coffee, and left the room if Daniela so much as looked up from her phone.

By the third day, you were full-blown ghosting.

You faked sleep when movie nights rolled around, despite Sophia dramatically pouting at your door like a romcom villain, holding popcorn and whining, “You always sit next to me during horror movies, traitor.”

You just couldn’t do it. Not with Daniela curled up in the beanbag beside the couch. Not with her laughter melting around the room and the risk of your eyes betraying you all over again.

During practice, it got worse.

You used to pair with Daniela during choreography run-throughs, she always offered gentle corrections and quietly counted you in under her breath when you lost the beat. Her presence calmed your nerves. Grounded you.

But now you slipped behind Lara without a word, pretending to stretch your ankle until the groups were sorted.

Lara gave you a subtle side-eye. Daniela didn’t say anything, but you felt her gaze the entire drill. Like a spotlight across your spine.

Every room you entered, your body went on high alert.

If Daniela was already there? Your breath caught.

If she walked in after you? Your skin buzzed like static.

Your brain screamed abort mission and your body obeyed. You’d find excuses, grabbed water, checked your phone, fled like a coward with a fake urgent text from management.

You knew it wasn’t subtle.

The girls knew it wasn’t subtle.

Even Daniela knew.

Still, she tried.

Her eyes met yours in the mirror during dance practice, soft, concerned, questioning, but you dropped your gaze like it burned.

She called your name once in the hallway. Just your name, barely above a whisper. You kept walking.

She texted.

Dani: Can we talk? Dani: I need to tell you something. Dani: Please don’t shut me out.                                                               Dani: It’s not what you think y/n/n, let’s talk                                          Dani: I won’t push but I do need to talk to you soon, please Y/N

But what could you say?

Sorry I drunk cried my feelings to you at 1am like a drama character and now I’m terrified you’re going to tell me you don’t feel the same?

You knew how Daniela was, gracious, poised, unfailingly kind. Even if she didn’t reciprocate, she’d let you down gently. Say something soothing.

 “I don’t want to hurt your feelings.” “You mean a lot to me as a friend.” “I hope this doesn’t make things weird between us.”

But it would, it already had.

You couldn’t bear to see the sympathy in her eyes. Couldn’t survive the soft letdown from the one person who made your heartbeat ache every time she so much as touched your wrist during choreography.

So you chose silence, and it was killing you slowly.

Four days later, it finally caught up to you.

You were walking out of rehearsal, towel slung around your neck, earbuds already in when Daniela grabbed your hand.

Firm. Unshakable.

“Seriously?” she said, standing in front of you, blocking the hallway. Her curls were pulled up in a ponytail, her eyes blazing. “You’ve been avoiding me all week. Enough.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

“I didn’t get to say anything that night,” she said, stepping closer. “Because you ran off. But you don’t get to decide how I feel.”

You looked down at your shoes. “I know. I just didn’t want to-”

“Mess things up?” she finished. “Y/N… you being honest with me could never ruin anything.”

You looked up, throat tight. “So… you’re not mad?”

“Mad?” Daniela laughed, exasperated. “I wanted to kiss you.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I’ve liked you since the Gnarly era,” she said, voice softer now. “I used to practice extra just to impress you. I’d get nervous when you complimented me, you’d brush past me backstage and I’d literally forget what city we were in.”

Your lips parted in disbelief.

“You made me feel things I didn’t think I’d feel again,” Daniela whispered. “You still do, and if you don’t feel the same way anymore, I’ll deal. But if you do, if there’s even a chance, then please stop running from me and let me try.”

Silence.

Until the hallway exploded behind you.

“OH MY GODDDD-”

“FINALLYYYYY!”

“I TOLD YOU!”

You whipped around to find the rest of Katseye huddled at the end of the hall behind a doorway, Sophia clutching Yoonchae’s arm, Lara mid-scream, Manon grinning like the devil herself. Megan just held out her hand to Lara smugly.

“Pay up,” she said. “I told you they’d confess before next week.”

Lara groaned and slapped a $20 into Megan’s palm.

Daniela sighed into her hand. You turned bright red.

Manon waved dramatically. “Can we PLEASE get a kiss for the group chat?”

Daniela just laughed, grabbed your hand, and whispered, “So... can I kiss you now?”

You nodded mutely, dazed.

And when her lips pressed to yours, gentle, slow, warm, you could hear the chaos down the hall, the cheering, the whooping.

But none of it mattered.

The studio buzzed with movement, sneakers squeaking across polished hardwood, the faint echo of harmonies bouncing off mirrored walls. The air was thick with energy and the citrusy tang of sweat and setting spray. Light poured in from ceiling windows, casting Katseye in golden halos as they ran through the bridge of gabriela.

The choreography snapped, spins, isolations, hips rolling on beat. Until the beat died. The music cut out with an anticlimactic blip, static buzzed, then silence.

Sophia skidded to a stop mid-turn. “Uhh… was that part of the remix?”

“Nope,” said Megan flatly, still going through the choreo without music.

Lara shook out her limbs, eyes narrowing at the silent speaker setup. “Great timing”

Their manager, Susan was already crouching by the control console, muttering to herself and fiddling with wires. “Okay… that’s not a quick fix.”

“You mean we have to rehearse in silence?” Yoonchae cried dramatically, already collapsing to the floor like a wilted flower.

“I’ll call someone,” Susan sighed, standing. “We need a professional for this one, we haven't got time to waste.”

Sophia perked up. “Oooh! Like one of those old-school audio guys?”

Megan smirked. “Definitely someone named Bob, bald and smells like cigars.”

“Crocs and socks,” Manon added, sipping her water. “He will call all of us ‘kiddo’ even though we’re adults.”

Lara smirked but stayed quiet, leaning against the barre and swiping sweat from her brow with her towel. She half-hoped the guy would be quick, they needed to drill everything before their weekend showcase at lollapalooza.

Susan stepped aside to take a call, and Dani, ever the problem-solver, pulled out her phone and loaded the backing track. “Alright, bootleg version it is.”

The speaker may have died, but Katseye never stopped. The track blasted from Dani’s phone, lower quality, but still loud enough to rehearse. They regrouped and dove back into formation.

Halfway through the second run through, just as Lara’s body dropped low into a hip sway, a sharp knock rang out against the studio door.

Everyone paused, again.

Susan opened the door.

And then, she walked in.

Not Bob. Not bald. Not even remotely old.

The woman who stepped into the room wore faded jeans, her thighs hugged tight by the worn denim, the waistband slung low beneath a loose work belt dotted with tools and clipped with coiled wires. A white work shirt was rolled up just past her elbows, exposing toned, grease-kissed forearms. Her boots were scuffed, her nails short, and her hair was pulled up, strands curling loose at her temples.

Lara felt her brain completely short-circuit.

“Hi,” the woman said casually, her voice warm and unbothered as she crossed the studio floor. “Heard you’ve got a sound system issue?”

The manager nodded. “Yeah, right over there. It just cut out mid-track.”

“Let me take a look.” She knelt by the wiring with a soft grunt, retrieving a screwdriver from her belt and cracking open the casing like she’d done it a hundred times. There was a subtle confidence to her, the kind that didn’t show off, but just was. Her focus didn’t waver, even when six pairs of very intrigued eyes watched her work.

Especially one pair.

Lara couldn’t stop staring.

Her throat went dry as the woman knelt, the sleeve of her shirt slipping up higher on her bicep with every twist of her wrist. Lara felt a prickle of heat rise in her chest.

Sophia whispered near her ear, “You’re not even blinking.”

“I’m just, observing,” Lara whispered back.

“You’re salivating.”

“I am not-”

She was quickly interrupted by the manager counting them back into the choreo, “five, six, seven, eight” and the music began.

It was going well until Lara caught the electrician's eyes looking at her, causing her to stumble over a turn and crashed into Megan, nearly knocking both of them over.

“Really Lara!?” Megan cried. “I love you, Lara, but my toes are suffering.”

Susan clapped her hands. “Alright, that’s a sign. Take ten, girls.”

As the rest of Katseye scattered for water and floor stretches, Megan looped an arm around Lara’s shoulders, dragging her to the corner.

“Explain,” she said, amused. 

“I don’t know,” Lara muttered, wiping sweat off her neck and watching the woman unscrew another panel. “Something about her eyes. Or maybe her arms. Or the toolbelt. Or the- okay, it’s everything.”

Dani sidled up with a smug grin. “You’re crushing hard.”

“Very hard,” Yoonchae agreed.

Manon tilted her head. “She’s hot. I get it.”

Sophia waved dramatically. “Go talk to her before Megan steals her from you.”

“As much as I think she’s hot… she’s all yours,” Megan said, shoving her lightly in the electrician’s direction. “Go get her number c’mon I’ve seen your game you got this.”

Lara approached slowly, the noise of her group’s chatter fading into a distant blur behind her. The electrician was still crouched by the sound system, wires spread like a metal nest around her, one knee bent and the other flat to the floor, shirt pulled tighter across her back with every reach and twist of her arm.

Lara cleared her throat softly.

Nothing.

She cleared it again.

Y/N looked over her shoulder, brows lifting just slightly. “Hey. Need something?”

“Uh- no. I mean. Not need need. I just- hi.” she was screaming internally, what the fuck was that.

Y/N’s mouth quirked at the corner in the subtlest of smiles. “Hi.”

Lara suddenly realized she had absolutely nothing to say. She hadn’t planned this far ahead. What was she doing again? Oh. Right. Talking to the electrician. Smoothly. Like a normal person.

“I’m Lara,” she blurted. “Sorry, I don’t think I introduced myself earlier.”

Y/N straightened up to her full height, brushing her hands on her thighs as she turned to face her. “Y/N.”

The handshake was brief, but Lara felt it all the way up her spine, Y/N’s fingers were rough with calluses, warm from working, and lingered just long enough to send a flutter through her stomach. She quickly dropped her hand before she made it weird.

“Y/N…” Lara repeated, like she was savouring it. “Cool name.”

Y/N tilted her head slightly, something amused in her gaze. “Thanks. You’re one of the singers, right?”

"Yes!" Lara said a little too loudly and eagerly, her voice ringing through the studio.

From across the room, Manon snorted, trying and failing to muffle her laughter.

Lara’s ears turned pink. “I mean… yes,” she repeated, this time more normal, more human. “Singer, dancer, unofficial comedian, sometimes the visual… depends on the lighting.”

Y/N’s mouth twitched in a smile, but she said nothing, letting Lara squirm a bit longer in her own words. Y/N bent back down to the wires.

Lara hovered beside her, rocking slightly on her heels. “So… do you, uh, always fix sound systems in places like this?”

“Studios, gyms, venues,” Y/N said, voice muffled slightly as she ducked under the panel. “Anything with sound that breaks.”

“Right. Makes sense.” Lara nodded, then winced at herself. Obviously that makes sense. That’s her whole job, dumbass.

Y/N kept working, fingers deft as she tightened a cable and tested a fuse.

Lara crossed her arms, trying to look casual and not at all like she was internally combusting. “You ever fix something mid-pop choreo before?” 

“First time,” Y/N said, glancing up with a faint smirk. “You all dance really well.”

Lara smiled. “We’re known for two things, flawless vocals and perfect choreo.”

Y/N made a humming sound of acknowledgment, then tugged gently on a cable until it clicked back into place. “Sounds about right.”

There was a pause. Lara caught herself watching the curve of Y/N’s jaw as she focused, the way her lashes caught the overhead light when she blinked down at the tools.

She spoke again, quickly, before she could think better of it. “So, uh… has anyone ever told you that you have really… intense eyes?”

Y/N paused, looking up with a brow raised. “Intense?”

“I mean- in a good way. Not in, like, a murder way. Just like… deep. Thoughtful. Focused. They’re just really… there.”

A beat passed. Then another.

Y/N’s lips twitched again, just barely, like she was fighting back amusement. “Thanks. I think.”

Lara groaned and covered her face with both hands, this was not her usual flirting game whats wrong with her. “Oh my God. I swear I’m not usually like this. You’re just very…distracting.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Distracting?”

Lara peeked at her through her fingers. “Okay, now you’re messing with me.”

“Only a little.”

Y/N went back to work, her mouth curved in that same small, teasing smile. There was something unbothered in the way she carried herself, like this kind of thing happened all the time, and she found Lara’s struggle mildly entertaining.

“So, like… is this a solo gig, or do you work for a company?” Lara asked, trying to sound casual again.

“I’m freelance. Contract jobs mostly, sometimes studios call when their usual techs are out.”

“Well,” Lara said, rubbing the back of her neck, “we’re definitely grateful they sent you, we were all picturing some bald dude in Crocs.”

That made Y/N glance at her sideways, a teasing glint in her eye. “I’ll try not to be too much of a disappointment.”

“Oh you’re doing more than fine, I mean look at you-,” Lara said before she could stop herself, her voice too cheerful.

Y/N didn’t reply, just offered a small, knowing smirk and returned her attention to the cables.

Lara swore at herself internally, heart skipping. For a second, she forgot what she’d meant to say, and definitely forgot how to flirt.

“I, uh-” she gestured vaguely at the electrician who was replacing a wire. “You’re amazing with your hands.”

Another pause.

“God, okay, I really didn’t mean for that to sound the way it sounded-”

Y/N straightened slowly, one hand resting on the speaker now humming gently with life.

“All done,” she said, saving Lara from herself. “Should be good to go. Let your manager know if anything glitches again.”

Susan overhead and crossed the studio, checking the system and nodding with clear relief. “Thank you. That was fast.”

“No problem.” Y/N started packing her tools.

Lara lingered, biting her lip. Her heart was thudding again, the moment slipping away. “So…” she said, stepping closer, voice softer now. “Would it be completely unprofessional if I asked for your number?”

Y/N paused with one hand on her bag.

“Technically,” she said, eyes meeting Lara’s, “I’m still on the clock.”

Lara flushed. “Oh. Right. Okay. Got it. That’s fair.”

But Y/N reached into her tool pouch and pulled out a sleek black business card, the edges worn like it’d been in her wallet a while. She held it between two fingers and offered it with a small smile.

“For professional emergencies only,” she said.

Lara took it, her fingers brushing Y/N’s for the briefest second. Her thumb passed over the name.  

Y/N L/N - Electrical Systems Consultant Fixing what sparks can’t. +1 xxx xxxxxxx

Her number was on the card.

And that smile again, small, teasing, unreadable.

“Maybe we’ll… break the speaker again sometime,” Lara said.

Y/N winked. “See you around, Lara.”

And with that, she was gone, leaving the door swinging gently in her wake.

A beat of silence.

Then chaos.

“DID SHE WINK AT YOU?” Sophia shrieked.

“How the hell did you manage that,” Manon said, hands on her hips. “You fumbled so hard I was cringing and you still got a number!?”

“She gave you her business card! That’s lesbian for ‘call me immediately,’” Megan laughed.

Yoonchae fanned Lara with a towel. “Breathe. Breathe!”

Lara looked down at the card again, then smiled, soft and dazed. “She totally winked at me.”

The girls erupted again, dragging her into a group hug and shouting over each other.

“Omg girl we need to work on your game before the date”

“Do electricians go on tour? She come with us!”

“I’m never letting you live that down, what the fuck happened to your flirting??.”

But Lara just laughed, the card still clutched in her hand like a lifeline, heart hammering against her ribs.

Maybe she’d call.

The afternoon sun draped the city in warm gold, the kind of hazy summer light that made everything look softer and dreamier. The streets were buzzing with life, but for Daniela and Y/N, it felt like the world had slowed just for them.

They strolled through a quiet part of the old town, hands clasped, Daniela’s thumb gently brushing over the back of Y/N’s knuckles. It was instinct by now, how easily their fingers fit together. Every so often, Daniela would tug her a little closer when the sidewalk narrowed, or lean in with that lazy, flirty smile that still made Y/N’s stomach flutter.

“Okay but hear me out,” Daniela was saying, eyes bright with excitement, “What if I wrote a song entirely in Spanglish? Like, one verse is all dreamy English romance, and the chorus hits in Spanish like a punch to the chest.”

Y/N laughed, bumping her shoulder into Daniela’s. “You mean like a musical identity crisis?”

Daniela grinned, that slow, smug kind of grin that always meant she was about to say something sly. “Exactly, I’d name it Gabriela. After the lady who gave me my gay awakening.”

Y/N raised a brow. “Oh?”

“She was our neighbour,” Dani said, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder dramatically. “Had this long, silky hair and these hips that swayed like music. She used to sunbathe on her balcony in a red bikini and call me Querido, which is darling.”

“Oh no,” Y/N giggled, already shaking her head. “You were so doomed.”

“Completely,” Daniela said solemnly. “One day she asked me to carry a watermelon inside for her and I nearly proposed on the spot.”

“Carrying a watermelon? That’s very Dirty Dancing of you.”

“I was twelve, babe.”

Y/N burst into laughter. “Twelve and already ready to risk it all for a woman in a bikini. That tracks.”

Daniela gave her a mock-offended look. “Excuse you, it was not just the bikini. It was her presence. Her power, and her hair smelled like coconut and roses.”

Y/N wiped a tear from her eye from laughing. “God, you’re were down so bad”

Daniela leaned in close, nudging her temple against Y/N’s. “Well, for the record, you’re my actual gay awakening. Gabriela may have walked so I could panic through puberty, but you? You made me fall in love.”

Y/N blinked, cheeks going pink. “That’s… surprisingly sweet, actually.”

Daniela smiled. “I have my moments.”

There was a pause, warm and content, as they continued walking slowly down the path.

“Okay but seriously,” Y/N said after a beat, lips twitching. “You’re gonna write a song called Gabriela and it’s gonna be about some woman who probably doesn’t even remember you carrying her watermelon?”

Daniela gasped. “She definitely remembers, I dropped it on her foot.”

Y/N snorted so hard she had to stop walking. “You’re so embarrassing.”

Daniela beamed. “Embarrassingly gay for you, though.”

Y/N gave in with a helpless grin, looping her arm around Dani’s waist this time. “Good! Then you’re allowed to name a song after me instead.”

Daniela leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Deal. But be warned, it’ll be so sappily romantic the label will threaten to revoke my cool points.”

“Bold of you to assume you had cool points to begin with.”

Daniela gasped again, clutching her chest. “Rude!”

Y/N just laughed and kissed her anyway.

She was radiant in the sun, eyes sparkling, that slight rasp in her laugh, confidence woven into every movement. Y/N didn’t even care about the song idea. She just liked watching her talk, she liked the way Dani’s hand tightened just a little when she got excited. She liked this. Just them out of public eye.

But then, around the corner, voices.

A group, four of them, crossed their path with loud laughter and the kind of ease that only came from years of shared memories. And before Y/N could even register it, Daniela’s body tensed beside her.

“Oh my god… Daniela?”

Y/N turned to look, and felt Daniela’s hand slip from hers.

Gone. Just like that.

Like it hadn’t even been there at all.

Her arm hung awkwardly at her side, fingers still curled from where they’d been holding onto someone who wasn’t holding back.

Daniela stepped away, casual, almost practiced, like a scene she’d run through before.

“Holy shit, Valentina?” Daniela’s voice was bright with shock and that specific tone reserved for people from the past. “I haven’t seen you guys since, what, graduation?”

The girl beamed, pulling her into a tight hug. “You look so different now. I almost didn’t recognize you!”

The others chimed in, two guys, another girl, each throwing in their own memory, teasing, complimenting. Daniela laughed, joining in, slipping so easily into their rhythm.

Y/N stood frozen beside them. She wasn’t introduced. Not even glanced at.

And then, casually, one of the guys nodded her way. “Hey, friend of yours?”

Daniela didn’t hesitate. “Yeah…just a friend.”

Y/N blinked.

Just.

The word hit like a slap. A sharp, quiet sting that left her breathless.

She didn’t stay. She didn’t make a scene. She just smiled, thin, barely-there and murmured, “I’ll give you some space, see you later Dani.”

Daniela glanced at her briefly but didn’t stop her. Didn’t say her name, and didn’t reach for her.

Y/N walked away before the tears could start.

The apartment was quiet when Daniela finally came home.

It was late. The hallway light buzzed softly, casting her in shadows as she closed the door and stood there, uncertain. Y/N was curled on the couch, blanket pulled over her lap, scrolling absently through her phone like she hadn’t been waiting, heart bruised and twisting, for hours.

“Y/N…” Daniela’s voice was soft.

Y/N didn’t look up. “Hey.”

Daniela crossed the room slowly, sitting on the edge of the coffee table so they were eye-level. “Can we talk?”

Y/N’s eyes flicked up, unreadable. “Sure.”

There was a beat of silence.

Daniela took a breath. “I messed up.”

Y/N gave a small, humourless laugh. “Yeah. You really did.”

“I didn’t mean to make you feel unseen, or erased. It wasn’t about you, I swear, it was about, me. Them. I panicked.”

Y/N didn’t say anything.

Daniela continued, her voice trembling now. “I haven’t seen them since high school. Back then, I wasn’t out, not even close. They’d make jokes, bad jokes, about queer kids. About anyone even a little different. I wasn’t ready then andnd when I saw them today, it was like, I was sixteen again. My brain just shut off, I went into defense mode.”

“You let go of my hand like it was burning you,” Y/N said, voice quiet but razor-sharp. “You called me just a friend. Do you know how small that made me feel?”

Daniela’s eyes filled with tears. “I know. And I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I never think of you that way, you’re my girlfriend, my partner. You’re the person I think about before I fall asleep. The one I write songs about when I can't sleep. You’re not just anything.”

Y/N looked down at her lap, her voice was barely above a whisper. “I understand how scary it can be… coming out. I do. I’m not mad at you for being scared.”

Daniela looked up, hopeful. “You’re not?”

Y/N shook her head. “But it didn’t hurt any less.”

Daniela’s heart cracked open. She reached for her, slowly, resting a hand on her knee.

“I should’ve introduced you, I should’ve said your name. I should’ve done anything but what I did.”

“I’m not asking you to be out before you’re ready,” Y/N said, finally meeting her eyes. “But if that happens again… just say, ‘this is Y/N.’ You don’t have to label me, just… don’t pretend I’m no one.”

Daniela nodded, fast, eyes wet. “I promise, I swear.”

A long pause.

Y/N studied her for a moment, then sighed. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Daniela’s lip trembled with the beginning of a smile. “You like me? That’s it?”

“Mm. And maybe love you a little.”

That broke the dam. Daniela leaned forward, wrapping her arms around Y/N and burying her face in her neck, breathing her in like she’d been holding her breath for hours.

Y/N let herself melt into it, hands sliding around Daniela’s waist.

“I’m so proud of you,” Y/N whispered. “And I’ll wait as long as you need. Just don’t shut me out, okay?”

“I won’t,” Daniela murmured. “I won’t let go next time.”

“You better not. I like our handholding.”

Daniela chuckled, pulling back just enough to look her in the eyes. “It’s kind of my favourite thing.”

Y/N brushed a curl behind her ear, her thumb tracing Daniela’s cheek. “You’re still grounded, though.”

Daniela gasped. “What?!”

Y/N smirked. “One week. No kissing privileges. You’ll have to earn them back.”

Manon was prepared for the celebrity life. The headlines, the cameras, the fake rumors, the endless thirst edits. She’d built armor for it, layer by layer, through dance studios, spotlight interviews, and a carefully managed Instagram feed. The noise never truly stopped, but she knew how to navigate it. She even knew how to play it.

But Y/N didn’t.

Y/N preferred a quiet life. She had never asked for fame, just Manon. Just the real version of her behind cameras, the one that didn't have to perform for a camera.

That was why Manon had picked this. An early morning date in the LA canyons, but far from the usual trails tourists clogged for selfies. The air was warm and dry, full of chaparral and wild plants, the city just a soft hum somewhere far behind. No makeup, just leggings, old sneakers, and a baseball cap tugged low.

Y/N was in one of Manon’s hoodies, sleeves pushed up, hair tied messily back. She had this look on her face, peaceful, soft, like the world was finally quiet enough to breathe, she was safe to breathe next to her girlfriend.

They moved slow along the dusty trail, fingers laced. Every so often, Manon would tug her close and press a kiss to the side of her head, just because she could.

“This is the best idea you’ve had all month,” Y/N murmured as they reached a shady overlook, surrounded by eucalyptus and golden brush. “No fans, no screaming, no, what’s that word you used the other day? Parasocial chaos?”

Manon snorted. “I say a lot of words. But yes, no parasocial chaos.”

They sat on a flat rock, legs dangling over the edge. From here, they could see the skyline through a soft haze, downtown buildings like tiny toy blocks in the distance. Manon leaned back on her hands, stealing little glances at Y/N as she let the sun warm her face.

Y/N caught her staring. “What?”

“Nothing,” Manon said, smiling. “Just wondering how I got so lucky.”

Y/N made a face. “Gross.”

“Can’t a girl appreciate her beautiful girlfriend.”

“Hmmm i’ll tolerate it, I guess.”

They kissed slow, easy. The kind of kiss that wasn’t meant for show or performance. Just two girls in love, tucked away in the hills, invisible for a little while. The kind of moment that made Manon wish time could just… pause.

They started their descent back down the trail, fingers still linked whilst arms swung, Y/N’s head resting briefly on her shoulder, it still felt like the world hadn’t caught up to them. Like maybe they had stayed a secret a little longer.

But apparently, the world had other plans.

That night, Manon sat on her bedroom floor, applying moisturiser in the mirror when her phone buzzed with a text from Lara.

Lara: girl have you seen this??? [link]

Thinking Lara had sent her a cringey thirst trap edit, she set down the cream and opened the link with a faint smirk.

Her smirk quickly fell and her heart dropped.

The shot was from behind, grainy footage and shaky hands, framed by plants and overexposed light. But even so, there it was. Her curls bouncing lightly with Y/N’s frame beside her, their hands clasped between them. A fifteen-second clip of them walking like no one was watching.

The caption made her stomach twist.

“Is Manon from Katseye soft-launching her girlfriend?! 👀👀” #Katseye #ManonSpotted #CanyonCuties

Her phone buzzed again.

Y/N: um. why did i just get like 1000 insta follow requests??? There are clips of us from behind?? how did they even FIND ME???

“Fuck,” Manon whispered.

She facetimed immediately. Y/N answered on the second ring, curled up on her couch, wrapped in that same hoodie from earlier. She looked startled, her phone balanced against her knees.

“Hey, hey,” Manon said, trying to keep her voice level. “I just saw, someone must’ve followed us and filmed us. It’s going around.”

“They found me from behind, though?” Y/N’s brows drew together. “I don’t use my name on Instagram, or a profile pic of my face. I didn’t even tag anything.”

“They’re obsessive. Parasocial fans, stans, sleuth accounts, sometimes they match shoes, tattoos, hoodie sleeves. They zoom in, screenshot, reverse image search. It’s weird i know . And it’s not okay.”

Y/N was quiet. Then, softly “I didn’t even see anyone or hear anyone, I thought we were safe for once.”

And that’s what broke something in Manon, because she had seen Y/N relax today. She had seen the tension leave her shoulders. She had seen her trust the moment, the space, her. But now it was tainted.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Manon said, jaw tight. “This shouldn’t have happened. I should’ve clocked the trail better. I should’ve walked behind you. I-”

“It’s not your fault,” Y/N cut in. “It’s just… I don’t want people knowing things about me. It feels…violating.”

Manon stood, pacing her room like a storm trapped in a small space.

“I’ll get it taken down,” she said. “I’ll call my manager, get legal on it. We’ll flag it for copyright. Uh I’ll make a statement, no names, just something to distract them.”

Y/N looked unsure. “What if they already figured it out?”

“They didn’t,” Manon said sharply. “They don’t know you. They know a blurry outline of a girl in a hoodie, and I’ll make damn sure it stays that way.”

Y/N blinked, lips parted.

Manon softened, “I’ll protect you. Every step, If that means I can’t post anything again, I won’t. If that means we only date in forests at 5 a.m., I’m game. I just-” She sighed, pressing her fingers to her temple. “I love you. And no headline is worth making you feel unsafe.”

Y/N’s face cracked into the smallest smile. “You love me?”

Manon froze. Then cursed under her breath, realizing what she’d said.

“…Yes,” she admitted. “I do, I love you.”

There was a long pause.

“I love you too,” Y/N said, a little breathless. “Even if your fans are terrifying.”

Manon barked a laugh, and a bit of the tightness in her chest released.

The next morning, the video was gone. The original uploader claimed copyright strikes. Fan accounts lost interest fast, especially after Manon posted a random photo dump that included an ambiguous snap of the ocean and a blurry shot of Dani.

She captioned it simply:

“Not everything is for the internet.”

Y/N’s follow requests slowed. Her account stayed private. And Manon?

She held her tighter now. Her protection came in subtler ways from walking behind her when they were out, scanning every room, muting every keyword.

Manon never stopped being in the spotlight, but she made sure Y/N never had to stand in it with her, and even if she couldn’t give her full anonymity forever, she could give her safety and privacy. A love that didn’t need to be proven, posted, or performed.

At first, she would phone every night without fail, sometimes even twice. Once when she woke up, once before you’d go to bed. Asking about your day, what you ate, if your cat Tigger was still trying to chew through your charger cable. You’d fall asleep to the sound of her voice like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Then the calls started coming every other day. Then once a week. Then… nothing.

At least she still texted. Usually little things, sent between soundcheck and sleep.

Megan: Morning my love 🫶🏼  Megan: [Image sent] Saw this and thought of you 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 Megan: Night baby, thinking of you 💤

But even those began to fade. First they lost the detail, then the emojis, then the nicknames. Then they just… stopped altogether.

You told yourself it was the time zones, busy rehearsals for concerts, or it was jet lag from the constant flying, oh and the press interviews make her very busy. But even the reasons started to sound like apologies and bad excuses you were making for her.

Now all you had were ghost messages. Unanswered bubbles hanging heavy in the thread.

Y/N: How was rehearsal today? 💞 [read] 7 days ago Y/N: Miss youuu🫂 [read] 5 days ago                                                      Y/N: Great performance today Mei! [read] 2 days ago

There was no reply straight away but then it turned into two days, four days, a week. Tonight, you didn’t even try to message, there was no point in trying.

You curled deeper under the duvet, phone pressed against your chest like some last desperate attempt to hold her warmth. But all it held was silence. And the ache, that gnawing, rotting ache felt deep in your stomach, all came from not knowing if you were still hers.

You’d seen her livestream earlier that day. It was supposed to comfort you, maybe give an insight into why she had been distant.

Instead, it cracked something open.

She was on a backstage couch, legs draped over Manon’s lap, both of them giggling into the camera. Daniela leaned in from behind and fluffed Megan’s hair, and Megan had laughed so hard she’d nearly dropped the phone.

It didn’t help that she looked good. Glowing. Her voice was hoarse from the show, but her smile was full, eyes bright. Like the girl who used to cry when leaving your bed for early morning dance practice had never even existed.

You watched her read fan comments aloud. “‘Are you dating anyone?’ Nahhh,” she’d grinned, tossing her head dramatically. “You guys know the only relationship I have is with eyekons and the stage.”

That stung, there was no hesitation, no joke like usual that hinted towards a secret partner, just a clean perfect answer that did not consider you.                

You wanted to be happy for her. She was on a world tour, living her dream. But weren’t you part of that dream? Hadn’t she once promised you that “no matter where I am in the world, you’ll always be home”?

Two years. That’s how long you'd been together.

You remembered her whispering forever into your neck during that final night before she left for tour. Fingers tangled in yours, pinky promises made under covers. She’d kissed your tears away and said, “I’ll never make you feel like you’re not loved, not once.”

And yet here you were, trying not to cry over a phone that hadn’t lit up in days.

You woke up the next day debating whether it was worth it, whether you could take it any longer.

Evening hit and you came to a decision.

By the time your voice note started recording, your hands were shaking. Your voice came out so quiet, so raw, it didn’t even sound like you.

“Hey,” you started, barely louder than a breath. “I don’t even know if you’ll hear this. I don’t know if you check anymore. Or if you even care to.”

Your lip trembled, and you bit down hard to stop it, but the tears came anyway.

“I don’t want to be mad at you,” you whispered. “I don’t. I know this is everything you ever worked for. I know this is what we talked about, what I swore I’d support.”

The next words were harder.

“But I didn’t think supporting you meant losing you. I didn’t think I’d be the only one holding on while you got… brighter without me.”

The screen blurred as your tears fell, dripping off your chin.

“I feel like I’m yelling into a void, Mei. Every text, every missed call, it’s like I’m talking to a ghost. And I told myself it’s okay, that you’re busy, that I could be patient. But now I’m just… hurting.”

You paused, voice breaking into a sob you couldn’t swallow.

“I don’t want to be the girl who begs to be remembered. So I won’t. I love you. Fuck, I love you so much. But I think I need to let you go now… Good bye Mei.”

Your thumb hovered.

Then, before you could take it back-

[Voice Note sent]

And then you turned your phone off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Backstage, Megan was still catching her breath. The lights had just gone down, the echo of fans still vibrating in her chest. Sweat clung to her skin as she peeled off her in-ears, heart still racing from the final dance break.

She should have felt high. Alive. Unstoppable, but instead, she felt empty.

Her phone buzzed in her jacket pocket.

Y/N 🖤 — Voice Note (1)

She froze.

Her thumb hovered, breath caught in her throat. Something in her gut twisted. She knew this wasn’t a “miss you” or a “good luck tonight”.

She pressed play.

And everything stopped.

The dressing room blurred. The voices faded, and the adrenaline drained from her limbs.

The sound of your voice, shaking, broken, on the verge of collapse, hit her like a knife to the chest.

She staggered back, hand gripping the edge of the table. “No. No. No, no-”

Daniela glanced up from across the room. “Megan?”

She didn’t answer. She was already typing, calling, leaving messages, but your number was off. Dead. Gone.

“Fuck I need to get to LA,” she said, grabbing her bag with trembling hands.

“Megs- what? Seoul’s in less than twelve hours, we haven’t even-”

“I don’t care,” she snapped, voice cracked and frantic. “If I wait another day, I’ll lose her.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was raining by the time you opened the door. Of course it was. Cold, unforgiving sheets of rain that soaked your socks through the welcome mat. Wind curling into the doorway like it, too, wanted a front-row seat to whatever this was about to be.

But none of that mattered.

Because there she was.

Megan.

Hoodie drenched. Shoes caked in mud. Hair plastered to her face in dark, heavy strands. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days, eyes bloodshot, cheeks hollow, mascara smudged. Her chest heaved like she’d run the whole way from the airport just to get to you.

You stared at her, unmoving. Fists clenched at your sides, jaw locked tight. Every part of you screamed to shut the door and run.

But your heart, traitorous, stupid heart, stayed exactly where it was.

She looked at you like she was seeing you for the first time, like you were oxygen.

“Don’t say anything,” she choked out, voice barely holding together. “Just, please let me talk first.”

You nodded once, sharp. Arms crossed over your chest like armor. The kind you’d had to build up every day she didn’t call.

“I messed up,” she started, stepping into the light. “I thought I could juggle it all. The tour, the fans, the chaotic days… and still keep us safe. Keep you safe. But somewhere along the way, I started dropping the wrong things.”

You scoffed, sharp, bitter. “Yeah. Like me.”

She winced. “I didn’t forget you.”

“You didn’t have to forget me,” you snapped. “You just had to ignore me until I felt like I didn’t exist.”

Megan stepped forward, cautious, like approaching a wounded animal. “Every time I didn’t call, it wasn’t because I didn’t want to. I was drowning. I didn’t know how to talk to you without-”

“No,” you cut in, voice rising. “No, I want a real answer. Why did you stop messaging me? Why did the texts stop, Megan? Why didn’t you call me back?”

She faltered. Her lip trembled.

“Because every time I picked up the phone,” she said, voice thin, “I felt like I couldn’t be enough. Not for you, not for everything. And I know how that sounds, I know it’s selfish. But I was so tired, Y/N. I was scared if I let you hear me like that… tired and numb and bitter… you’d hear something in me that you didn’t love anymore.”

You stared at her, stunned. Your heart cracked just a little wider. “You thought I’d stop loving you because you were struggling?” you whispered, disbelief laced with hurt.

She nodded helplessly, eyes glossy. “I thought… if I kept quiet, if I could just push through, I could come back when I was better. Put the smile back on, be the girlfriend you deserved again.”

“But I didn’t want better, Megan, I wanted you.” Your voice broke. “Even if you were tired, even if you were falling apart. That’s what you promised me, you don’t shut me out.”

“I know,” she said. “And I broke that promise.”

“You didn’t just break it,” you snapped. “You shattered it. I was sitting here, sobbing into texts and phone calls you weren’t even opening. I was begging for connection while you were livestreaming and laughing like I didn’t exist. You made me feel small, invisible.”

Her eyes flooded. “You were never invisible to me.”

“Then why did it feel like it?” you demanded, chest heaving. “Why did I have to keep reminding myself I wasn’t being dramatic? That I was allowed to be hurt that the person I love just… went silent?”

Megan’s voice was barely a whisper. “Because I was scared that if I showed you how broken I felt, you’d realize I was too much.”

“You don’t get to decide that for me,” you said, voice shaking. “You don’t get to protect me by erasing me.”

She stepped forward again, just close enough that you could feel the rain dripping off her sleeves onto your skin.

“I didn’t need you to protect me from the mess,” you said, low and sharp. “I just needed to feel like I still mattered.”

Silence. A beat. Then another. And then-

“You should’ve dragged me in,” you whispered. “You didn’t have to do it alone.”

That was all it took.

Megan surged forward, crossing the threshold, wrapping her arms around your waist like it was instinct. Her face buried in your neck, her tears hot against your skin, mingling with the cold rain already soaking through your shirt.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “y/n/n, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize how much I was hurting you. I just… I was holding it all in and by the time I looked up, I thought I’d already lost you.”

Your hands hovered in the air for a moment, uncertain. Then you caved, sinking into her like she was the only home you’d ever known.

Your fingers tangled in her soaked hoodie, and your voice came out in a hoarse whisper. “You could’ve just called.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I should’ve. I should’ve done a hundred things. But I’m here now, and I swear to you, I’m not letting go. Not again.”

You finally looked at her.

Swollen eyes, red nose, lips trembling. The rain was clinging to her eyelashes.

“I hate you,” you muttered, voice cracking, “for making me feel like I didn’t matter.”

“I know,” she said again, broken and honest.

“I cried, a lot.”

“I know.” Her hands tightened at your waist.

“…I still love you.”

“I’ve never stopped.”

And then you kissed her.

Messy. Desperate. Rain-drenched. Angry. Soft. Everything at once.

And when she kissed you back, it wasn’t just an apology, it was a vow.

Later, curled up in bed under dry sheets and even dryer laughter, she traced your face like she was memorizing it all over again.

“No more missed calls,” she whispered.

 You smiled sleepily, tangled in her arms.

“No more one-word texts.”

“No more livestream lies?” you teased.

She laughed softly. “Never again my love.”

She caressed your face, “You know I’m going to get in so much trouble for missing tomorrow's concert but… there’s no place I’d rather be than here.”

You looked at her, and for the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel forgotten.

It started out as a joke.

Lara had found a basketball behind the practice studio, it dusty, half-inflated, definitely cursed, and somehow convinced everyone that a “quick game” at the park would be good for bonding and would be hilarious. “Like that one L Word scene” she’d said.

That was the first mistake.

None of them had played seriously before, though that didn’t stop them from acting like this was the WNBA finals. Manon rolled her tracksuit bottoms up trying to look like a professional. Sophia kept muttering “ball is life” even though she’d tripped on her shoelaces twice. And Yoonchae was dribbling the ball like maybe she had played before, elbows flying, focus terrifying.

Daniela brought a whistle and declared herself the referee instantly, stating “I don’t play with balls.”

That earned a few giggles from the group, mainly Megan, with Dani fighting for her life trying to remind them “I’M STRAIGHT GUYS.. ugh”.

You walked behind the group, clutching your water bottle and hovering on the edge of the court, unsure where you fit in. You weren’t in Katseye, but somehow they'd absorbed you in to the group anyway, inside jokes, hangouts, late night group FaceTimes where Megan would always ask if you'd eaten.

Megan. You had been friends with her for a year now and definitely had a crush on her for half of that but telling her that could ruin everything and besides how do you tell the most gorgeous girl that ‘hey awkward shy me has a big fat crush on you… my closest friend’...

She was on your team, of course she was, she never left your side, and you were trying really hard not to stare as she adjusted her ponytail and flashed you a grin.

“Y/N, you ready?” she called, bouncing the ball between her hands. “C’mon, I need your muscles and height to win this!”

You ducked your head, already flustered. “Um. I-I guess so, I’ll try.”

Lara let out a dramatic groan. “Hey, that’s not fair! They got Y/N. They can easily dunk hoops, this is so rigged.”

“You drafted Yoonchae!” Sophia called back, hands on her hips. “You don’t get to complain.”

Yoonchae, bouncing on her toes, pointed at you. “We need height too. I call dibs on Y/N next round.”

Megan stepped forward, mock-offended. “Absolutely not. They’re mine.”

Your face went hot. “I- I’m not very good though. I’ve never really- um- played before.”

Megan just grinned and bumped her shoulder into yours gently. “Doesn’t matter, you’re on my team. Just stand there and be tall and intimidating. I’ll do the rest.”

“Oh my god,” Manon muttered. “You’re too cocky.”

“You’re just jealous,” Megan sing-songed.

Daniela blew the whistle, loud and shrill. “Okay, positions! Megan, Y/N, Sophia, you’re Team Hot. Lara, Manon, Yoonchae you’re Team Delusional.”

“Excuse me?” Manon drawled, raising a brow.

“Delusion builds character,” Yoonchae chirped, grabbing the ball and sprinting to center court like her life depended on it.

You hesitantly shuffled into place next to Megan, still blushing. “Um. Do we… have a strategy?”

“Yup.” She gave you a wink. “Pass me the ball, look cute, and don’t let Sophia fall over. That’s it.”

“I heard that!” Sophia yelled from the other end.

“Good!” Megan called back, and then leaned in to whisper to you, “You’ve totally got this.”

Your stomach fluttered. You weren’t sure if it was the game or the way she was smiling at you again, like you were the only person in the world.

The game started with Daniela’s dramatic whistle and it descended into chaos immediately.

Sophia shrieked every time the ball came near her. Yoonchae blocked people like she’d been training for it her whole life. Manon got called out twice for “illegal levels of smirking.” Lara kept calling fake fouls, and Megan, well Megan somehow managed to look hot and athletic while passing the ball to you with a wink.

You, meanwhile, tried your best not to panic every time Megan brushed your hand or yelled “Y/N, go long!” like you had any idea what that meant.

“Watch out!” Sophia shouted as the ball came sailing toward you. You lunged for it- just in time to trip over your own feet.

The world tilted.

You hit the pavement hard. A sickening crack echoed, sharp and sudden.

Everything went quiet.

“Y/N?” Megan’s voice cut through the ringing in your ears. She was already at your side, kneeling beside you, eyes wide. “Hey, hey, breathe. Talk to me.”

You blinked, trying to sit up. Pain bloomed in your arm, bright and blinding.

“I- I think I broke it,” you whispered, tears springing to your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry,” Megan said softly, already helping cradle your injured arm. “You’re okay. We’re gonna fix this, alright?”

“Holy shit,” Daniela muttered. “Okay, game over. I repeat, game so over.”

“I told you this would happen,” Sophia said, arms crossed. “Basketball is cursed.”

“Do not blame the sport,” Manon drawled, crouching nearby. “Blame Sophia’s bad passing.”

“Excuse me?” Sophia snapped.

“Guys, focus,” Daniela said, kneeling with her phone already in hand. “Hospital. Now.”

“I- I can walk,” you stammered, cheeks burning. “I’m fine. I’ll just-”

“You’re not walking anywhere on your own,” Megan said firmly, slipping an arm around your waist. She helped you stand, steady and gentle. “You’re hurt. I’m taking care of you.”

You looked at her, startled. “I… okay.”

[Three Hours Later]

Your arm was wrapped neatly in a soft blue cast, signed by everyone. Manon had drawn a surprisingly detailed cartoon cat sipping an espresso, complete with sunglasses. Lara’s message took up half the cast in glittery pink Sharpie and read: “HEAL FAST MONARCHY (Ruler of My Heart?)”.

You were tucked on your couch now, knees pulled up, oversized blanket cocooned around you even though you weren’t cold. The lights were low, a comfort movie playing quietly in the background, long forgotten.

“You didn’t have to stay with me,” you murmured, staring down at the mug of tea Megan had just handed you. You gripped it with your good hand, wrist trembling slightly.

“Of course I did,” she said softly, settling in next to you with the kind of easy closeness that still made your heart flutter. “You’re my favorite.”

You glanced up, startled. “Wh- what?”

She smiled and reached up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear, fingers brushing your cheek.

“My favorite person to flirt with,” she said. “My favorite person to see after rehearsal. My favorite person in general.”

You stared at her, blinking like your brain was buffering. “Megan…”

“I mean it.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “You got hurt, and all I could think about was how scared I was. Watching you on the ground like that, I wanted to cry and I never cry, ask Manon, she’ll back me up.”

You laughed, a breathy little sound, and immediately winced as the movement tugged at your arm. Megan’s hand flew to your shoulder.

“Careful!” she scolded gently. “You’re still hurting, you need to rest.”

“I’m fine,” you whispered, even though you clearly weren’t. “I- I’m sorry I ruined the basketball game…”

Megan’s brows furrowed. “No, you don’t apologize for getting hurt. That’s not how this works.”

You looked down, cheeks burning as you tried to focus on the mug instead of the way she was looking at you, like you were made of something precious.

“I’m just… not good at being the center of attention,” you admitted. “Or, um, being taken care of.”

“Well,” she said, nudging your knee with hers, “you better get used to it. Because I’m gonna take very good care of you. Cast and all.”

Your heart gave a nervous little kick, and your hand fidgeted under the blanket.

Megan noticed.

She reached for your free hand and laced her fingers through yours, warm, steady, grounding.

“I like you, Y/N. Like, really like you,” she said, her tone impossibly soft. “And not just because you’re strong enough to carry me like a sack of potatoes. Though I am into that.”

You let out a shaky laugh, face burning. “I like you too. I just… I’m kind of a mess right now.”

“You’re my mess,” Megan said without missing a beat, and leaned in to press a featherlight kiss to your cheek.

You turned red instantly.

“I- uh- I’ve never really dated anyone before,” you mumbled, eyes on the blanket. “And I’m not very smooth, or, you know… flirty like you.”

Megan’s thumb brushed gently across the back of your hand. “That’s okay. I’ve got enough flirt for the both of us.”

You looked at her, shy smile tugging at your lips. “You’re really not gonna let me go back to pretending this is casual, huh?”

“Nope,” she said, popping the ‘p.’ “You got injured playing because of our shenanigans. That makes you legally my responsibility now.”

“That’s… not how that works.”

“Too bad,” Megan grinned.

A little while later, once the tea had cooled and your nerves had mostly settled, Megan glanced toward the corner of the living room.

“We should play something,” she said suddenly. “What about a board game.”

You perked up. “Um, yeah. That sounds… nice.”

“I haven’t kicked anyone’s ass at Scrabble in a while,” Megan added with a smirk.

You flushed. “They're on top of the cupboard,” you said, starting to shift the blanket off your lap. “I can get them.”

“Nope,” Megan said immediately, standing up and gently pressing a hand to your good shoulder to keep you seated. “Absolutely not. You’re on injured cutie duty.”

“I- I can reach though,” you mumbled, embarrassed. “It’s just one arm. I’ll be fine.”

“Nope,” Megan repeated, heading toward the wardrobe. “You sit there and look adorable and broken, let me be useful.”

You watched helplessly as she reached the cupboard and immediately realized the flaw in her plan.

“…Okay, rude,” she muttered, staring up at the shelf where the stack of board games teetered far above her head. “Why are these stored like they’re in a medieval tower?”

You shifted, awkward and pink-cheeked. “That’s, uh. My fault. I can just reach them without y’know, anything.”

Megan turned back, hands on her hips. “And normally I love that for you. But you’re benched, I’m getting them.”

You opened your mouth to protest again, but she was already walking into the kitchen, returning a second later with a wobbly little step stool.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, pulling the blanket halfway over your face in secondhand anxiety. “Please let me do it. You’re going to fall. Megan-”

“Relax,” she said with exaggerated confidence, climbing up a step. “I’m light and nimble. Like a cat.”

“You’re going to die.”

“Then I die doing what I love,” she said, reaching dramatically. “Caring for my favorite person.”

You groaned, equal parts flustered and mortified. “This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Worse than breaking your arm?” she called, straining to nudge the edge of the box closer.

“Emotionally? Yes.”

Megan snorted, tongue poking out in concentration as she finally got her fingers under the edge of the top box. She pulled it down slowly, wobbling for just a second before regaining her balance.

“Victory!” she beamed, stepping off the stool with a dramatic bow and holding out the game box like a trophy. “And no one fell.”

You sagged into the couch with a sigh of relief.

She flopped down beside you, triumphant. “See? I can be tall. With props.”

The café was closed on Saturday, of course it would be.

You stared at the “CLOSED” sign taped to the inside of the glass door with a sharp inhale and the quiet, creeping dread of someone who had actually planned to study this time. The café had been your compromise, a public, neutral space where you could focus on Spanish and not on your incredibly hot tutor’s body.

But Dani had other ideas.

Dani [14:20 PM]: “We can just do it in my room, easier that way. I won’t bite... unless you ask nicely ;)”

You stood outside her dorm now, regretting every decision that had led to this point.

The knock on Dani’s door echoed in the hall, sharp and twice too loud.

You nearly turned around, heart thudding in your throat. But then the door creaked open and there she was. Hoodie slipping off one shoulder, sports bra visible, sweatpants low on her hips, lip gloss glinting from the hallway light. She looked every bit like a distraction.

“Well, look who actually showed up,” she drawled, leaning on the doorframe. “Didn’t scare you off last time?”

“I figured if I’m going to fail,” you said, trying to sound chill while your pulse went feral, “I might as well enjoy the view while it happens.”

Her brow lifted, amused. “¿Así que vienes a coquetear ahora?”

“I understood coquetear,” you muttered, brushing past her into the room. “Progress, right?”

Her dorm was exactly what you expected. Messy, lived-in, too cool without trying. A record player hummed something low and jazzy. Rings and earrings were scattered across her desk beside half-filled notebooks and a wine glass with lipstick still on the rim. Her bed was unmade, duvet bunched like it had recently been rolled through.

She shut the door with a soft click, and you heard the lock turn.

“Relax,” Dani said, strolling toward you, “this is still a study session.”

“Sure,” you said. “Totally normal place to conjugate verbs.”

“Tonight,” she said, lips twitching, “we’re learning commands.”

You sat down on her desk chair, trying very hard not to imagine her pulling you into that unmade bed.  “Like… formal ones?”

She gave you a slow, deliberate grin. “Like ven aquí.”

“That sounds familiar…”

She took a step forward. “Means Come here.” Another step. “Your turn.”

You swallowed. “Ven aquí...?”

She moved closer until her knees brushed yours, her voice a murmur. “Again.”

“Ven aquí.”

“Good girl,” she said, low and warm.

Your brain did something unhelpful like short-circuiting.

She tapped a finger against her lip, pretending to think. “What else... Tócame means ‘touch me.’ But that one’s maybe a little advanced. Quítate la ropa, ‘take off your clothes’, is probably too advanced.”

You blinked. “Those are in the curriculum?”

“Only mine,” she said with a wink. “Wanna learn one more?”

You hesitated, pulse climbing. “Go on.”

She leaned in, both hands on either side of the chair now, caging you in.  “Quiero besarte.”

You met her eyes. “That sounds dangerous.”

“It means,” she whispered, lips brushing the shell of your ear, “I want to kiss you.”

“Feels like you’re using me as a prop.”

“Oh, definitely,” she murmured. “The hottest one I’ve ever had.”

You barely got the words out before your breath caught, “Quiero besarte.”

And then she kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle but it was slow, like she’d been dying to do it since the first time she saw you. One hand cradled your jaw, thumb dragging softly along your cheek as her lips moved against yours with maddening precision.

Your hands curled into her hoodie, tugging her closer. She didn’t break the kiss as she guided you up, out of the chair, mouths still tangled as you backed toward the bed. You barely registered the soft give of the mattress against the back of your knees before she was climbing into your lap like it was second nature.

She kissed you again deeper, hungrier, biting softly at your bottom lip, swallowing the small sound you made. Her fingers slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, palms spreading across your waist like she needed to feel every inch of you.

“Dios mío,” you gasped against her mouth. “What’s the Spanish word for fuck?”

She laughed into the kiss. “Joder. You’ll be saying it soon.”

You moaned when she pressed herself flush against you, her hands sliding slowly up your sides, only stopping when her thumbs brushed the underside of your bra.

Your breath hitched. “Is this still part of the lesson?”

“Absolutely,” she whispered, lips dragging down to your jaw, your neck. “Immersive learning, remember?”

She kissed her way back up to your mouth, tilting your chin with practiced ease. Her knee nudged between yours, parting your legs slightly, and she smirked into the next kiss when she felt you tense.

“You’re learning so fast,” she whispered, voice dark with promise. “You might pass your oral skills tonight.”

You broke into a laugh that turned into a groan when she kissed you again, this time almost greedy. Hands tangled in her hoodie, legs wrapped loosely around her waist now, every inch of you burning.

Finally, when she pulled back, barely, her lips were swollen, eyes blown wide with heat. “Lesson three’s going to need less clothes.”

You swallowed, dizzy from the kiss, from her. “What happened to commands?”

Dani grinned, brushing your bottom lip with her thumb, gaze molten. “Oh, cariño. That was one.”

She leaned in to kiss you again. Her tongue licked into your mouth like she wanted to taste your laugh, your breath, the quiet whimper you let out when her fingers slid under your shirt and grazed skin.

She pulled back just enough to murmur, “Take it off for me, cariño.”

A command. One you didn’t hesitate to obey.

You sat up, tugging your top over your head, hair sticking up from the static. Dani looked like she’d just won a game. Like she’d been waiting for this moment and planned to savor every inch.

“You know,” she said, leaning down to press her lips just below your collarbone, “you’ve really improved your listening skills.”

“Maybe because the teacher’s hot,” you said, breath hitching when her teeth scraped lightly over your skin.

She grinned against your chest. “Careful. Flattery makes me generous.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but then her hands were sliding under your thighs, lifting you slightly so she could settle more firmly between them. Her mouth was back on yours before you could speak, tongue teasing, rhythm shifting into something that had your head spinning and your grip tightening on her hoodie.

Clothes started to disappear in pieces. Her hoodie. Your jeans. Her top. The temperature in the room had climbed without you noticing, or maybe that was just her.

She kissed you like she was claiming something. The kind of kiss that said she knew exactly what she wanted.

She hovered over you, elbows braced on either side of your head, hips pressed flush with yours. Her gaze flicked down your body, then back up, slow and unhurried. Like she was memorizing you. Or maybe just savoring the view.

“You good?” she asked, voice a little hoarse now, the playfulness still there but edged with something real.

You nodded, hand sliding up the side of her neck, fingers tangling into her hair. “Yeah. More than good.”

Her hand gently teased your hips, until her fingers dipped further down and slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear, slow and unhurried, like she had all day to explore.

You sucked in a breath, thighs tightening around her as her knuckles brushed lower, grazing sensitive skin. Dani’s lips found your jaw, then your throat, trailing heat with every kiss.

"Still paying attention, cariño?" she murmured against your skin, voice low and velvet-dark.

You barely managed a nod, the only Spanish you remembered right now being Dios mío.

She chuckled softly, her fingers tracing maddening circles just where you wanted more. “Might need to repeat this lesson,” she whispered, tongue flicking over your pulse. “You’re doing so well, but I want to hear you say it.”

Her hand dipped deeper.

"Say what?" you managed, breath hitching.

Dani kissed the corner of your mouth, smirk curving against your lips. “That you want me.”

And you did. Every nerve ending screamed it, every part of you arching into her like the answer had already been written across your skin.

It was a long while before either of you spoke again.

Your limbs were tangled. Her fingers were drawing lazy circles on your bare hip. The sheets were halfway off the bed, and you were still breathless, dazed, trying to remember what day it was.

Dani was smirking again, but softer now, hair mussed, lips swollen, and eyes unreadable in the dim light of her dorm room.

“You know…” she murmured, brushing a kiss to your shoulder, “for someone failing Spanish, you take direction very well.”

You groaned into the pillow. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Not a chance, cariño.”

You reached for the edge of the blanket and pulled it over both of you, hiding your face. “God. I’m supposed to be learning verbs right now.”

She laughed, warm and low. “We covered plenty of action verbs tonight.”

You peeked out from under the blanket just in time to see her wink.

“Stop,” you said, laughing despite yourself.

Dani rolled over onto her side, propped her head up with one arm, and grinned. “You want me to stop?”

Your smile faltered at the way she said it. Low and serious.

You looked at her. The soft flush on her skin. The way her fingers brushed over your wrist like she couldn’t stop touching you. The honesty in her eyes, buried under all that confidence and charm.

“No,” you said quietly. “I don’t.”

She leaned in, pressed her lips gently to yours, slower than before, more careful.

“Then we’ll keep going,” she whispered. “But next time, you’re going to practice saying what you want.”

You arched a brow. “In Spanish?”

Dani grinned.

1. The First Time: Interrupted by Nerves

It started the same way it always did, with Daniela backing you into her dorm door, a teasing smirk on her lips and her hands already slipping beneath the hem of your hoodie. You could still hear the echo of your laughter from when she’d pulled you out of the party early, claiming she needed “just a moment alone with her favorite girl.” Now your back pressed against the cool wood, and she was anything but subtle with her intentions.

“Lock it,” she murmured between kisses, voice thick with want. You reached blindly behind you and heard the quiet click just before her mouth found yours again, hotter this time, more demanding. Daniela kissed like she danced, confidently, effortlessly, every move with purpose.

Her tongue flicked along your bottom lip, coaxing a sigh out of you as her thigh slotted between yours. You were already warm, tingling from the way her hands splayed across your waist, tugging you closer. That thigh pressed higher, right where you were already pulsing, and your hips stuttered against it involuntarily.

“You’re so sensitive,” she whispered against your lips, smiling as if she already knew every part of you. “Bet I could make you fall apart just like this.”

You whimpered, an embarrassing, honest sound, gripping at the hem of her shirt like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

Her hand dipped beneath your hoodie and dragged slowly up your stomach, palm warm and fingers curling just beneath your bra.

That’s when your breath caught.

“Wait-” you blurted, voice a little too loud in the quiet of her room.

Daniela froze instantly. Her lips hovered near yours, swollen and parted, but her touch retreated without protest.

“Too fast?” she asked gently, brows softening, but her voice still low and teasing. “Or did I accidentally hit a ticklish spot?”

You shook your head quickly, eyes wide. “No, no- it’s not you. I just, um… I forgot I promised my roommate I’d help her with her psych notes tonight.”

Daniela gave you a look. One of those really? looks that only she could pull off and still make your knees weak. But she didn’t push.

“Okay,” she said, stepping back with a little curve of a smile. “But just know- next time I touch you like that? I’m not stopping unless you really mean it.”

You laughed nervously, heart pounding. “Noted.”

But as you gathered your things and slipped out the door, cheeks still flushed and lips still tingling, the guilt began to creep in.

You hadn’t told her the truth.

You hadn’t told her why you kept pulling away.

2. The Second Time: Interrupted by Excuses

You really should’ve known better than to sit on her lap.

It had started innocently enough, library date with legs brushing under the table while you both pretended to study. Daniela had been distracted the whole time, tapping her pen against her lip, eyes flitting between your mouth and your neckline. You could feel the heat in her stare every time you leaned over your textbook.

So maybe you’d been the one to nudge the door shut when you got back to her room. Maybe you were the one who’d let her tug you onto her lap with that signature smirk. And maybe, definitely, you were the one who ground your hips down just a little too eagerly when her hands found your waist.

“You’re making it very hard to behave,” she murmured against your jaw, lips brushing just below your ear.

“Who says I want you to?” you’d whispered, braver than you felt.

That earned you a low chuckle, the kind that made your skin buzz. Then her mouth was on your neck, hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing down from your jaw to the curve where your shoulder met your collarbone. Her hands tightened on your hips, pulling you impossibly close as her tongue flicked out, tasting, teasing, before she latched on and sucked hard.

Your breath hitched. “Dani-”

“Mmh?” she hummed, not stopping, already moving to a new spot, just below your throat this time. You felt her smirk against your skin. “You’re gonna have to wear a hoodie all week, baby.”

And gods, you wanted to let her, you wanted her to wreck you, mark you up, make you forget your own name. But as her hands slid under the hem of your shirt again, this time bolder, more confident, you tensed.

Not visibly, you hoped. But enough.

She paused for just a second. “Still good?”

You nodded too quickly. “Y-Yeah, just- just don’t leave an obvious one. My, uh… my parents are already suspicious.”

Daniela leaned back, cocking an eyebrow. “Suspicious that you’re dating someone?”

“Suspicious I’m uh... sleeping with someone.”

She smirked again, but this time her gaze lingered. “Are you?”

You swallowed hard, shifting in her lap. “Not exactly.”

That look again, half amused, half unsure. She didn’t push, just kissed you once more, softer now, and whispered, “Guess we’ll save the rest for later.”

You didn’t exhale until you were in the hallway, hoodie zipped up to your chin, the ghost of her mouth still burning on your neck. Your knees felt like jelly, your heart a mess.

3. The Third Time: Interrupted by Fear

It was raining outside.

Not a soft, romantic drizzle, but a full-blown downpour, thunder shaking the windows, the kind of storm that sent most of campus scrambling indoors. You’d barely made it to Daniela’s before the sky cracked open.

She’d greeted you with a towel, a warm hoodie, and a kiss that turned hot far too quickly.

Now you were straddling her on her bed, knees on either side of her hips, the hoodie long since tossed to the floor. Her room was lit only by the glow of a small desk lamp, soft and golden, casting shadows on her skin. And gods, there was so much of it, her shirt discarded, her toned stomach exposed, collarbones catching the light like a painting.

You weren’t exactly dressed either, just a thin bralette and damp leggings clinging to your legs.

She looked up at you like you were her favorite sin. “You’re killing me, sitting like that,” she whispered, hands roaming from your thighs up to your hips, fingers slipping under the waistband of your leggings, just enough to tease. “Is this on purpose?”

You bit your lip, trying to be bold. “Maybe.”

She laughed, low and pleased, before sitting up to kiss you again. This time, it was different, deeper, hungrier. Her hands moved with intent, dragging up your back, over your ribs, until they settled at the clasp of your bra.

“Can I?” she asked softly.

You nodded before you could think too hard. She made quick work of it, and then, fuck.

Her hands cupped your chest like she’d been dreaming about this, her thumbs brushing over your nipples in a way that made you gasp into her mouth. She kissed you like she wanted to devour you, like she already knew exactly how to make you come undone.

But as her hands started to explore more, tracing the curve of your breast, sliding down your sides, you froze.

It wasn’t even a decision. It was pure instinct. Your body stiffened, your mouth pulled away, and the panic clawed up your throat.

“I- I can’t,” you blurted out, breathless and ashamed.

Daniela immediately stilled, blinking up at you. “What’s wrong?”

You scrambled off her lap, clutching for your hoodie. “Nothing. I just remembered- I forgot I have that group project meeting tonight, and I-”

“Y/N.”

Her voice wasn’t annoyed. It wasn’t angry. Just… quiet. Tired, like she could see right through you.

You avoided her gaze, slipping the hoodie back over your head and trying to keep your hands from shaking.

“You keep doing that,” she said gently. “Right when we get close. Every time.”

“I know,” you whispered.

She didn’t say anything else, and the silence was heavier than the storm outside.

You left before she could ask the question you weren’t ready to answer.

But you knew it was coming.

4. The Fourth Time : The Truth

This time, there were no distractions. No parties, no rain, no invented excuses.

Just you and her, alone in her room, with the soft hum of music from her speaker and the warm glow of fairy lights overhead. You were curled up together on her bed, facing each other under the covers, legs tangled, foreheads nearly touching.

She’d been gentle tonight. No teasing smirks. No rushed hunger.

Just slow kisses.

Long, lingering ones, where her hand stroked your hair and her thumb brushed the apple of your cheek like she was memorizing you.

When she kissed you again, this time deeper, her tongue gliding against yours, it still set your body alight. Her hands wandered, stroking your bare arms, your waist, and eventually slipping beneath your shirt. You didn’t stop her when she pulled it off.

You didn’t stop her when she took off her own.

You didn’t stop her when she climbed over you, thigh slotting between yours again, just like that first night, only this time, you rolled your hips against her without thinking.

Her hand came to rest on your stomach, fingers pressing lightly into your skin. And then she shifted, thigh pressing between your legs, rocking against you slow and deliberate.

You whimpered into her mouth.

“God, you’re so hot like this,” she whispered, lips brushing your ear. “You want me, don’t you?”

You nodded helplessly.

Her hand slid higher, just brushing beneath the band of your bralette.

Your breathing hitched.

Her thigh pressed up again, slow, perfect pressure right where you needed it. You moaned before you could stop yourself, hips jerking against her.

And then, just like every time before… you started to pull away.

But this time, Daniela caught your wrist.

Not harshly. Not forcefully.

Just… enough.

She sat back slightly, her brow creased, her voice soft and calm. “Wait.”

You froze.

She looked at you for a long moment. “Am I doing something wrong?”

Your heart slammed into your ribs. “What?”

“You keep stopping me,” she said quietly. “Every time we get close. I’m trying to go slow, I swear, but… am I pushing you too far?”

“No! No, Dani, it’s not you, it’s not-” You sat up quickly, tugging the sheet up around your chest like a barrier. “You’ve been amazing. You’ve been so good to me. I just-”

She waited. Not rushing you. Not pressing.

You took a shaky breath.

“I’ve never done this before,” you said finally, barely above a whisper. “Any of this. You’re my first… everything.”

Silence.

You stared at your hands, unable to meet her eyes.

“I didn’t want you to think I was…stupid. Or inexperienced. I thought if I just kept going with it, eventually I’d… be ready. But every time, I just get scared.”

Still silence. Then, “Y/N,” she said softly.

You looked up.

Daniela’s face had softened completely. No teasing. No smirk. Just warmth and comfort.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, her voice barely above a breath.

“I didn’t want to mess this up,” you admitted. “You’re so confident and hot and experienced, and I’m just-” you let out a shaky laugh- “a panicking virgin girl who freezes every time you touch her boobs.”

That made her smile, even as she leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

“You’re not messing anything up,” she whispered. “I like you. All of you. If we wait, we wait. But if you want me to help you through it… slowly, carefully, I will. I want your first time to feel good. Not rushed. Not scary. Good.”

Your chest ached. With relief. With affection. With something dangerously close to love.

You nodded, throat tight. “I want it to be with you.”

Her hand brushed your cheek, her thumb tracing your jaw.

“Then it will be,” she whispered. “When you’re ready.”

You kissed her. This time not in panic or fear, but in trust. In promise.

And neither of you rushed the night after that.

5. The Fifth Time : No excuse

You weren’t sure what you expected when you knocked on Daniela’s door that night, but it definitely wasn’t this.

Her room looked like something out of a dream. Every candle flickered with soft amber light, throwing warm shadows on the walls. A slow R&B track played quietly, the kind that pulsed low in your chest. Her sheets were fresh and turned down like she’d been waiting for you.

She was waiting for you.

Daniela stood in the middle of the room in a deep red silk robe, tied just enough to leave things to the imagination. Her hair was soft, slightly tousled like she’d run her fingers through it a few too many times. She smiled when she saw you, like you were the only thing that existed.

“You came,” she said.

You nodded, heart pounding. “Hopefully again soon.”

That made her laugh, and the sound calmed your nerves like nothing else could.

She crossed the space between you, took your hands in hers, and looked at you like you were something precious. “We can still stop at any point. You know that, right?”

You leaned up to kiss her, soft at first, but it deepened quickly. The nerves were still there, fluttering in your stomach, but they were drowned out by the slow burn of need, the way her hands found your waist and held you steady.

She kissed you all the way to the bed, walking you backward with that signature Dani confidence, lips never leaving yours. When the backs of your knees hit the mattress, she pulled away just enough to speak.

“Let me undress you.”

You nodded, throat dry, and lifted your arms as she peeled off your hoodie, then your shirt, fingers brushing your skin as if she couldn’t help herself. Each layer gone revealed more of you to her, your bra, your flushed skin, the way your chest rose and fell with every shallow breath.

She made you feel wanted. Not just with her hands, but with the way she looked at you, slowly and deliberately, like she was committing you to memory.

When she slid the straps of your bra down your shoulders, her mouth followed, trailing soft kisses to each new inch of skin.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” she whispered, almost reverently.

You reached for her then, tugging at the sash of her robe. The silk slipped apart and fell away in one graceful motion. She was completely bare underneath, and the sight of her took your breath away.

She straddled your lap, skin flush against yours, heat radiating where your chests touched. Her breasts brushed yours, nipples brushing skin to skin. You gasped, your body already trembling from the contact.

Her hands moved slowly down your sides, then slipped beneath the waistband of your leggings. She watched your face as she eased them down, inch by inch, dragging your underwear with them. Her gaze darkened when you lay back, completely exposed beneath her.

She kissed down your neck, across your chest, pausing to take your nipple into her mouth, sucking gently, tongue flicking, while her hand teased the other. The feeling made your hips buck up, heat coiling deep in your stomach.

She smiled against your skin. “Still okay?”

You managed a breathless nod. “Yes. Dani, please-”

“Tell me what you want.”

You hesitated, cheeks burning. “I… I want you to touch me.”

Her hand trailed lower, between your thighs, parting them with a firm, steady touch. She kissed you again, muffling your moan as her fingers slid through your slick heat.

“Fuck,” she whispered, breath catching. “You’re already soaked for me.”

She started slow, gentle circles over your clit with just two fingers, finding a rhythm that made you writhe beneath her. Her other hand stroked your thigh, grounding you while her mouth stayed busy on your neck, your shoulder, your chest.

Your hips lifted, chasing her touch. She gave you exactly what you needed,never too much, never too fast, but firm and steady and good. Your thighs trembled as she slipped a finger inside, testing the way your body gave way for her.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” she whispered, her voice like silk. “So good.”

Another finger joined the first, her rhythm slow but deep, her thumb pressing just right against your clit.

Your back arched. “Dani- I’m close-”

“Let go,” she said, kissing your jaw. “Come for me.”

And you did. With a gasp and a cry, thighs shaking, her name falling from your lips like a prayer. She held you through it, coaxing every wave until you were nothing but melted bones and breathless whimpers beneath her.

When your breathing finally slowed, she curled beside you, tucking your body into hers, your legs tangled and bare under the soft blanket.

You stared up at the ceiling, dazed. “Holy shit.”

She chuckled, brushing sweaty strands of hair from your cheek. “That’s what I like to hear.”

You turned to face her. “I’m really glad it was you.”

She kissed your temple, then your lips. “It always was going to be.”

The room was still warm, heavy with the scent of skin and sex, the candles flickering low now, casting golden shadows across the sheets. Your body felt spent, boneless in Daniela’s arms, but your mind was buzzing, heart full, blood still simmering with the memory of her fingers, her mouth, her voice.

You lay curled beside her, legs tangled, skin sticky with sweat, and a smile you couldn’t hide spreading across your face.

She noticed. Of course she did.

“You look proud of yourself,” she murmured, tracing lazy circles along your shoulder with her fingers.

“I am proud of myself,” you replied, leaning up on one elbow. “That was…” You couldn’t even find the words. You just gave a soft, overwhelmed laugh. “Fuck.”

Daniela chuckled, low and smug. “You were so good for me.”

You kissed her again, slow, deep, lingering. But this time, there was a different heat beneath it. Not nervous. Not shy. Curious. Wanting.

Your hand slid over her waist, then her hip, fingers ghosting down the curve of her thigh. Her breath hitched.

“You okay?” you whispered, lips brushing hers.

“Mmhmm.” Her voice had that breathy edge again, the one you now recognized as anticipation. “What’re you thinking, baby?”

You kissed her jaw. “I want to make you feel good.”

That got her attention.

Her eyes opened slowly, pupils blown wide, lips parted. “You don’t have to-”

“I want to.”

She exhaled, sharp and low, as your kisses traveled from her collarbone to her chest, mouth finding the swell of her breast and then lower. Her skin was warm beneath your lips, flushed and soft and perfect.

By the time your mouth reached her stomach, her breathing had gone uneven. Her legs parted instinctively, and her hand tangled in your hair.

“You sure?” she whispered again, voice hoarse.

You looked up at her from between her thighs and smiled. “Lie back and let me.”

She did.

You kissed the inside of her knee first, then up, slow and teasing, switching sides just as she shifted her hips closer. You could smell her already, the sweet, heady mix of sweat and arousal that made your mouth water.

When your lips finally brushed where she needed you most, her entire body jumped.

“Fuck-” she gasped, already breathless.

You started gentle. Slow strokes of your tongue, testing, tasting her. It was messier than you’d expected, wetter, more intense, but you loved it. The way she moaned, how her hips rolled toward your mouth, how her fingers tightened in your hair when you flattened your tongue and licked a long, slow stripe through her folds.

She tasted incredible. She sounded even better.

You focused on her clit, circling it with the tip of your tongue, then flicking lightly until her thighs trembled. You dipped your tongue lower, teasing her entrance, and she let out a whimper that made heat surge straight between your own legs again.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” she breathed.

You smiled against her. “That’s the plan.”

You kept going, slow, steady, building her up just like she had with you. When she started to pant and mutter your name, you reached up and slid two fingers into her, curling them just right.

That did it.

Her hips jerked, thighs clamping gently around your head, and she cried out your name in a broken gasp as she came. You didn’t stop, not until she was squirming, overstimulated, trying to pull your head away with shaking hands.

You finally surfaced, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, grinning like hell.

Daniela looked wrecked. Hair splayed across the pillow, skin flushed, chest rising and falling rapidly. Her eyes fluttered open.

“…holy fuck,” she said, voice raw.

You climbed up beside her, smug as hell, and kissed her cheek.

“I guess I learn fast.”

Daniela turned her head and kissed you hard, tongue, teeth, pure gratitude and heat.

“You’re in so much trouble,” she whispered. “You’ve awakened something.”

Manon was exhausted.

She’d been on set for twelve hours, her makeup clinging to sweat-damp skin, lashes heavy from blinking away artificial lights. Her feet ached from choreography. She’d been pulled aside twice today by her manager, once to scold her for swearing on a live interview, and another time to mention that her smile hadn’t looked “warm enough” in the latest photo set.

And still, through all of it, the only thing she’d wanted was to come home to her girlfriend.

She didn’t want to talk or think. Just wanted arms around her, maybe a lazy kiss pressed to her temple, a hand in her hair.

But when she walked in the door at 11:42 p.m., her girlfriend wasn’t in bed. She was on the couch, still awake in cozy loungewear, phone sitting facedown on the coffee table. It was clear she’d been waiting.

The look on her face wasn’t angry. But it wasn’t soft, either.

“Hey,” Y/N said gently. “You're home late.”

Manon paused in the doorway. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“I thought you’d be back by ten.”

“I had rehearsals.”

There was a beat of silence.

Manon dropped her bag onto the floor, shoulders still tense from the ride home. She didn’t look at her as she kicked off her shoes and headed to the kitchen.

Behind her, she heard the shift of movement on the couch.

“I left your dinner in the fridge. Just needs heating up, stir fry tonight,” y/n said quietly. “You didn’t respond to my texts, so I wasn’t sure if you’d eaten.”

Manon let the fridge door hang open a second too long. “I was busy.”

The microwave beeped and then hummed between them.

“I know,” y/n said. “I just… I worry.”

And maybe that was what did it, the way her voice trembled just slightly on the word worry. The way her concern felt like pressure, like weight on Manon’s chest instead of warmth.

She didn’t want to feel like she was failing her again. But her chest was tight, her head pounding. The heat under her skin wasn’t from the food.

“Can we not do this right now?” Manon said, sharper than she meant to. “I just got home.”

Her girlfriend blinked. “I’m not doing anything, Manon. I’m trying to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to talk,” she snapped. “I just want five minutes of peace.”

Shoulders pulled in slightly. “Peace doesn’t mean shutting me out.”

And God, Manon hated the look on y/n’s face when she said that. It made her feel like a villain. Like she was failing at something that should’ve come naturally, love.

“I’m not shutting you out,” she muttered.

“You kind of are.” Y/N stood up now, slowly. “I barely see you anymore. And when I do, it’s like you’re not here. It’s like you’re just going through the motions.”

Manon bit the inside of her cheek. She didn’t want to fight, she really didn’t. But the words were crawling up her throat like poison.

“I’m giving everything I have right now,” she said. “To Katseye, to the fans, to this whole fucking machine. I don’t have anything left when I come home.”

“Then why are you still in this?” Y/N asked, voice cracking. “Why are we even trying if this is what we’ve become?”

Manon turned sharply. “Don’t you dare say that.”

“Why not?” she shot back, heart in her throat. “You’ve already checked out.”

And that’s when it happened.

The thing Manon would never be able to rewind, she snapped. “Well, maybe it would help if you weren’t so fucking needy all the time.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Her girlfriend stared at her, unmoving. Like someone had hit the pause button on her whole body.

And Manon felt the regret hit her like a freight train. It wasn’t slow or creeping. It was instant.

“No- wait,” she stammered. Her breath was sharp, shaky. “I didn’t mean that.”

But the look on her Y/N’s face didn’t change.

Manon’s stomach twisted violently.

“I swear I didn’t mean that,” she said, voice cracking now, her hand reaching out instinctively, then pulling back just as fast when she saw her girlfriend’s jaw clench.

“I love you,” she said, panic rising in her chest. “I’m just- fuck- I’m drowning and I don’t know how to say it out loud without sounding like a mess.”

Her girlfriend stared at her, heart visibly breaking right in front of her.

“Then say that,” she whispered. “Say you’re scared. Say you need help. Don’t take it out on me like I’m some weight dragging you down.”

“I don’t think that- ” Manon’s voice broke. “I don’t think that at all.”

But she watched her girlfriend cross her arms. Defensive and Protective against her.

“And calling me needy?” Y/N said, quieter now. “That’s low, even for you.”

That was the final blow. The one Manon felt in her ribs, deep and echoing. The one she knew would leave a mark.

She could see the shift happen right in front of her, her girlfriend pulling away, not in body, but in trust. In the way she stopped looking at Manon like she was someone safe.

Manon’s heart climbed into her throat. Everything inside her screamed to fix it, to take it back, to rewind the last five minutes and choose silence instead. Or softness. Or literally anything else.

But her girlfriend took a step back. “No,” she said hollowly. “You meant it, or at least part of you does.”

“I was angry and overwhelmed. I- please y/n,” Manon whispered.

Her girlfriend shook her head. “It’s not just about the fight, Manon. It’s how you’ve been for weeks. You think I haven’t noticed? You come home late, you haven’t touched me in weeks and you just don’t talk to me. I feel like I’m living with a stranger I’m not allowed to ask questions about.”

“That’s not fair-” Manon tried.

But she didn’t stop.

“And calling me needy?” She gave a bitter, disbelieving laugh. “I wait for you every night. I cover for you when your manager texts me to figure out where you are. I make time for you even when you don’t make time for me.”

Manon swallowed the lump in her throat. “I know,” she said, barely audible. “I know. I’m sorry babe.”

Her girlfriend looked at her, eyes glistening but jaw set. “Do you even want this anymore? Or am I just another thing on your list to manage?”

Manon couldn’t answer. Not fast enough.

Y/N exhaled. “I’ll sleep in the spare room tonight.”

“You don’t have to-” Manon tried.

“Yeah,” she interrupted softly. “I do.”

She turned and walked away.

And when the door clicked shut, Manon stood frozen in the middle of the kitchen. The microwave beeped behind her, but she no longer had an appetite.

She had wanted peace and quiet.

Megan had seen Y/N lift heavier props than any of the crew combined.

She’d seen them hoist heavy gear cases like they weighed nothing, carry Megan herself bridal-style across a stage once, which had definitely started rumors, and be able to rep out pullups like it was second nature. It was obvious how strong Y/N is.

But today?

Today Y/N looked like a wilted houseplant.

Curled up on Megan’s couch under two blankets, hoodie sleeves pulled over their hands, tissues crumpled in a pile beside them, cheeks flushed with fever and eyes watery behind their glasses.

Y/N looked tragic.

Megan walked in from the kitchen holding a steaming bowl of soup, the smell of garlic and tomatoes filling the room. “Alright, champ. It’s not protein powder, but it is homemade,” she said gently, setting the bowl on the coffee table.

Y/N stirred, blinking blearily. “I can get it,” they murmured, already pushing the blankets down, trying to sit up straighter. “I’m not that sick. Just… a headache and a bit stuffy.”

Megan raised an unimpressed brow. “You almost sneezed yourself into another dimension earlier.”

“I’m fine,” y/n insisted, hoarse voice giving them away completely. They tried to puff up a little, shoulders squared, even as their nose twitched threateningly. “I never get sick, I’m tough.”

“You’re literally sweating and shivering at the same time.”

“It’s… muscle confusion.”

That made Megan snort. She dropped to sit beside them, carefully taking their hand, the one still half-hidden in the hoodie sleeve, and guiding it to the warm bowl.

"Let me baby you for once, okay?” she said, voice softer now. “You take care of everyone. Even when I say not to. You hold umbrellas for others when you’re the one getting rained on. You bring the girls coffee when you’ve barely slept.”

Y/N’s ears tinted pink.

Megan dipped the spoon into the broth and held it up.

Y/N blinked, startled, then glanced away, ears turning pink. “You really don’t have to…”

“Shhh.” Megan smiled, playful but firm. “Open up, baby.”

Their jaw clenched, before they finally obeyed, cheeks flushed all the way up to their temples.

“See?” she smiled. “Not so bad.”

“…Feels illegal,” y/n muttered, swallowing. “Letting you take care of me.”

Megan rolled her eyes, fond. “You’re not invincible, you know.”

“I try to be,” y/n whispered, quieter now.

Megan set the bowl aside and leaned in, brushing a hand through their hair, damp and tousled from fever. “I know. But you don’t have to be, not with me.”

That got y/n. Their throat bobbed with a swallow, and their head dipped against her shoulder again, heavier this time, like they’d finally let go of the effort it took to keep pretending they were fine.

Megan shifted to cradle them better, arms snug around their middle.

“You’re allowed to rest,” she whispered.

Y/N made a soft sound, then quietly mumbled into her shoulder, “Sorry, I know I’m being clingy.”

“You’re not,” she said immediately. “You’re perfect, and I like clingy. Especially when it’s you.”

Y/N didn’t answer. Instead, their head dropped to her shoulder again,  heavy, warm. Megan had to shift and tug at the blankets to get them to fully curl into her. It was like wrestling a very polite Great Dane into a nap.

They were long and broad and all muscle, but right now they felt more like a sleepy tree falling gently onto her.

Megan held them tighter.

And when y/n finally drifted off, heavy, warm, a little sniffly, she smiled to herself and kissed the top of their head.

You hadn’t meant to cry in your professor’s office.

It wasn’t a full breakdown, but there were definitely tears, and maybe a pathetic, “Please, I just can’t lose my scholarship.”

And that was how you ended up here.

Sitting at the corner table of the campus café, textbook open, fresh notebook page blank except the date, nerves churning in your stomach. You’d expected someone awkward and serious, probably a senior who took academia too seriously with a color-coded highlighter system and a strict attendance policy.

You were ten minutes early. She was fifteen minutes late.

You were rereading the same sentence in your grammar workbook for the fourth time when a shadow fell over your table, followed by a voice that was all heat and honey.

“¿Eres mi estudiante desesperada?”

You blinked up, and forgot how to breathe.

She was not what you expected. Not even close.

Tight black tank top. Loose low-rise jeans. Hoops that caught the light just right. Her hair scraped back into a high ponytail, sharp winged eyeliner, and lip gloss that glinted when she smirked.

“I- uh- maybe?”

She laughed, low and smoky. “That means, ‘Are you my desperate student?’ by the way.”

“Oh. Great.” You wanted to melt into the campus café floor. “Off to a strong start.”

She slid into the seat across from you and leaned back like she owned the place. “I’m Daniela. Officially your Spanish tutor. Unofficially…” She gave you a slow once-over, smirk deepening, “...we’ll see.”

You coughed, trying to remember how to speak.

She flipped open your notebook, scanned the pathetic scribbles of vocab and panic-highlighted verbs. “Dios. You really are desperate.”

You groaned and dropped your head in your hands. “If I fail this class, I lose my scholarship.”

“Then we better make sure you pass,” she said, tapping the notebook with her pen. “Let’s start simple. Hola, me llamo Y/N.”

You repeated it slowly.

“Cute,” she murmured, her voice just a little too soft. “Now try ¿Cómo estás?”

“¿Cómo estás?”

“Muy bien.” Her smile curled wider. “Now the fun part.”

You frowned. “The what?”

“I like to make lessons... immersive,” she said, her tone entirely not innocent. “So we’re gonna practice things you’d say in real conversations.”

You raised a brow. “Like, in a classroom?”

She leaned forward slightly, eyes sparkling. “No, like… on a date.”

That made your heart skip. “I don’t think ‘date in Spanish’ is in the syllabus.”

She grinned. “It is now. Repeat after me, Eres muy guapa.”

Your pen froze. “That doesn’t sound like ‘Where is the bathroom?’”

“Because it’s not,” she said. “It means ‘You’re very pretty.’”

Heat crept up your neck. You tried to keep it casual. “Is that something I’ll use in class?”

She tilted her head, voice dripping amusement. “Depends who you’re talking to.”

You scribbled it down anyway.

“Estás atractiva.”

You repeated it cautiously.

She leaned in again, smirking. “That means‘You’re hot.’”

“That feels… advanced.”

“Only if you’re shy,” she said, eyes flickering down to your lips for a second too long. “Now, picture this, you're on a blind date in spain and I’m your date. Let’s practice.”

You stared. “Wait, what?”

“Trust me. Language through context. Okay.” She cleared her throat theatrically and clasped her hands. “Hola, buenas noches. Me alegra verte.”

You fumbled the response. “Hola... um, igual...?”

“Igualmente,” she corrected, lips twitching into a smile. “You walk in looking like that, and I’d say Te ves increíble esta noche.”

You gave her a flat look. “What does that mean?”

“You look incredible tonight.”

You blinked. “Are you just flirting with me right now?”

She shrugged, entirely unbothered. “We’re practicing. You’re doing great. Tu sonrisa me vuelve loca.”

You hesitated, then repeated it, your accent clumsy but passable.

“Nice,” she said, voice suddenly lower, slower. “That means, ‘Your smile drives me crazy.’ Which it does, by the way.”

You choked on air. “Dani- ”

She cut you off smoothly, eyes glittering. “Estás coqueteando mucho conmigo. Repeat that.”

You gave her a look but played along. “Estás coqueteando mucho conmigo.”

“Good,” she purred. “That means, ‘You’re flirting with me a lot.’ Very useful for when someone like me is trying to seduce you.”

You bit your lip, unable to hold back your smile this time. “And what if I’m flirting back?”

She grinned. “Then I’d say Al fin. Pensé que no te dabas cuenta.”

You blinked. “That means?”

“Finally. I thought you hadn’t noticed.”

You could feel your face heating again.

The café’s closing bell chimed. You hadn’t even noticed the time.

Dani slid your notebook toward you and scribbled a short vocab list in looping, lazy handwriting. “We’ll pick up on Saturday. Read this over. Practice your pronunciation.”

She stood, slinging her bag over one shoulder. But instead of walking away, she paused behind you and leaned down, close enough to brush your hair from your shoulder.

Her voice dipped into a whisper, her lips just inches from your ear. “Si sigues mirándome así, no responderé por mis actos.”

Your skin lit up with goosebumps.

You turned to her. “What did you just say?”

She winked. “Guess you’ll have to learn that one next week, cariño.”

And just like that, she was gone, leaving behind your racing heart, a notebook full of suspiciously flirty phrases… and the very real motivation to study.