sei

The motel room smelled like lemon-scented cleaner and regret. Faded yellow wallpaper, buzzing overhead light, one chair in the corner, and—

“There's only one bed,” Nymphia said flatly, her voice strained with exhaustion and the tail end of annoyance.

She didn't need to say it like it was a personal attack, but she did.

Jane didn’t flinch. Instead, she tossed her bag by the door and flopped dramatically onto the mattress with a bounce. “Well, darlin’, I’m not sleeping on the floor, so I guess we’ll have to share.”

Nymphia rolled her eyes, arms still crossed, still fuming a little from the argument earlier.

The drive had been hell. Jane refused to let her navigate, insisting the GPS had it handled—until they ended up stranded outside a town Nymphia swore didn't exist on any map she knew.

Xunami, Morphine, and Mirage barely held back laughter when they offered to bunk together in Room 103, leaving Jane and Nymphia standing awkwardly in front of 104.

“They’ll be fine,” Mirage had said, not even whispering.

“They’re already basically married,” Xunami added.

Now here they were.

One room. One bed.

And one very stubborn silence.

“I'll take the side by the wall,” Nymphia muttered after a moment, setting her bag down and refusing to meet Jane’s eyes.

Jane raised a brow from the bed, head propped up by her arm. “Suit yourself. Just don’t kick me in your sleep again.”

“That was one time, and you stole the blanket.”

“Allegedly.”

Silence stretched. The heater kicked on with a wheeze.

Nymphia sat on the edge of the bed, back still to Jane. She could feel the warmth of her behind her, barely inches away. Too close, but not close enough.

They were always like this. Hovering on a line neither of them dared to cross. Close enough to feel it burn, too scared to name it.

Jane yawned behind her, casual and easy. “You still mad?”

Nymphia scoffed, lying down stiffly. “Maybe.”

A pause. Then, softly—

“You still dizzy?”

That made her pause. Jane’s voice had dipped into something gentler. Something real.

“A little,” she admitted, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “You drive like you’re being chased.”

Jane chuckled under her breath. “I’ll slow down next time.”

Another pause. The heater hummed. The bed was too small.

Nymphia turned on her side, slowly, finding Jane already facing her. Too close.

Neither moved. Neither blinked.

“Goodnight,” Nymphia said, quietly.

Jane smiled. “Night, darlin’.”

The plan was dumb. But in the best way.

It started with Kori leaning across the table at lunch, whispering like she was offering government secrets instead of gossip she heard from someone. “What if,” she said, practically bouncing, “we hid the whole day? Like really hid. No classes. No attendance. Just stealth. And we only come out when the school’s about to lock up.”

Lana gasped dramatically " And! we don't get to be in Mr. Castro's class"

“Exactly,” Kori beamed. “just one last prank before graduation. Come on, it’ll be fun!"

It was absolutely Kori logic, and that meant Jewels was immediately in. Lydia groaned but didn’t say no. Suzie Toot just sipped her apple juice quietly and didn’t look at Jewels, which meant she was thinking too hard about it—which also meant she’d definitely end up doing it.

And now here they were.

7:53 AM. School had just begun.

Their circle—Kori, Lydia, Lana, Jewels, and Suzie—plus a few scattered seniors who joined in for the thrill, were weaving through the hallways in loose formation, ducking past classrooms, library doors, and suspicious staffroom corners.

It was Lana who shouted the warning.

“TEACHER! TWELVE O’CLOCK!”

Instant chaos.

Hands were grabbed. Feet slapped on tile. Bags bounced. Kori squealed in pure adrenaline. Lydia swore under her breath. Jewels let out the kind of laugh that sounded like a firework misfiring.

And Suzie—sharp, stage-trained Suzie—jerked open the side door to the theater room like she’d rehearsed the motion a thousand times. “Here!”

Jewels didn’t hesitate.

Suzie’s hand curled around Jewels’ wrist, warm and firm. And then: darkness.

Inside the theater room, there was a smaller door—half-hidden behind a tall rack of tattered curtains and broken lighting rigs. A place no one but techies ever really entered.

It was the prop closet.

Tiny. Dusty. Chaotic. Full of fake swords, foam apples, and abandoned Halloween wigs. And as soon as Suzie tugged Jewels in, the door clicked shut.

Silence.

And a smell like mothballs and glitter.

Jewels blinked. “Uh. This is—this is not a room. This is like… half a coffin.”

Suzie’s shoulder bumped hers. “Would you rather be in detention with Ms. Visage?”

Jewels grimaced. “Touché.”

A beat passed. It was quiet—eerily so, considering the rush they’d just come from.

Their bodies were so close that Jewels could feel the heat radiating from Suzie’s arm. She turned her head slightly and accidentally bumped her nose against what she hoped was a feather and not some extinct creature.

And then she said it.

“Is it a bad time to tell you I’m claustrophobic?”

Suzie froze.

Jewels could hear it—the inhale. Sharp. The kind of breath Suzie took when she was about to go full musical-theater hero mode.

“Oh my god,” Suzie whispered. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“Because I didn’t realize until I was sandwiched between a fake tombstone and your hip,” Jewels hissed back.

Suzie shifted instantly, her hands brushing Jewels’ shoulders, checking, grounding her. “Hey, hey. We can leave. I’ll sneak us out.”

But Jewels shook her head. “No, it’s not—bad-bad. Just… small.”

And Suzie’s voice softened. “Okay. Then I’ll stay right here. And distract you.”

Jewels blinked again, adjusting to the dark. Suzie’s voice had that calm clarity now—the one she used during dress rehearsals when everyone else was melting down and she was calmly fixing mics.

“Distract me how?” Jewels mumbled.

Suzie didn’t answer right away. Jewels could hear the smirk before she saw it.

“Want to guess what prop is touching your left foot?”

Jewels made a strangled sound. “I swear to god if it’s that fake head with maggots that Lydia made-"

Suzie giggled. “It’s not. I think it’s a rubber chicken.”

“Oh, much better,” Jewels muttered, but a smile tugged at her lips anyway.

The closet somehow felt less suffocating.

They passed time like that. Quiet guessing games. Suzie softly humming showtunes. Jewels tossing sarcastic remarks to mask the fact that her heart felt like it was doing a whole gymnastics routine of its own.

Somewhere between teacher impressions and debating whether the feather boa touching Jewels’ elbow was haunted, Suzie’s hand brushed hers.

Neither of them moved away.

Jewels tilted her head slightly. She could barely make out Suzie’s profile. But she could feel her. Every breath. Every small shift.

And Jewels, in a whisper so small it could’ve gotten lost in the dark, said, “Thanks. For grabbing me.”

Suzie’s voice came just as soft. “Anytime.”

Another pause.

Then Suzie added, quietly but clearly, “Also, I wasn’t going to let anyone else hide with you.”

Jewels looked at her.

“Wait—what?”

Suzie laughed under her breath. “I saw the teacher, and I panicked. My legs were running, and my brain was screaming ‘you better grab Jewels Sparkles right now or regret it for the rest of your senior life.’ So I did.”

Jewels’ heart tripped.

The closet wasn’t big enough to run from that kind of honesty.

So she didn’t.

Instead, she bumped her shoulder against Suzie’s. “I’m glad you did.”

And then, with all the courage that hiding in a dark room full of wigs and rubber chickens could muster, she laced their pinkies together.

The closet stayed quiet.

"What do you mean there's only one sleeping bag? You had one job."

Kori’s voice ricochets through the trees, half-laughing, half-accusing, as she gestures toward the lone sleeping bag laid out pathetically in the corner of the tent. Behind her, a chorus of crickets hums, indifferent.

Lydia stands a few feet away, arms folded over her hoodie, looking every bit the unimpressed academic introvert. “I said I would check the packing list. You said you’d bring the sleeping bags.”

Kori opens her mouth. Pauses. Closes it again.

Okay, yes. That did happen. In her defense, she'd been busy cramming trail mix into ziplocks and triple-checking if Lydia remembered her allergy meds. And also, it’s not like this trip was her idea.

They were here—deep in some vaguely educational nature reserve—for the school’s Environmental Science overnight field trip. Forty students. Six chaperones. Twelve tents. And one very cruel group assignment draw that paired Kori King, loud, curious, terminally enthusiastic, with Lydia B. Kollins, silent observer of all things mildly annoying.

“Okay, but still,” Kori says, flailing her arms toward the tent like it might help her case. “We’re in the woods. In June. It’s freezing. What are we gonna do, cuddle with a pinecone?”

Lydia raises an eyebrow, her expression infuriatingly calm. “It’s a double sleeping bag.”

Kori blinks. “That’s not better.”

Lydia’s already turning toward the tent flap, nonchalant. “We can share. Or you can sleep outside with your pinecone.”

Kori sputters. “You’re weirdly okay with this.”

“I’m just realistic,” Lydia says, disappearing into the tent like this isn’t the most emotionally compromising situation of Kori’s entire seventeen-year-old life.

Kori stands in the dark for a second, processing. She can hear Lydia adjusting inside. The crinkle of the sleeping bag. The soft zip. The way she says we can share like it’s no big deal. Like they aren’t two near-strangers with polar opposite vibes who’ve only really started talking since they got paired last week.

Well. Talking is generous.

It was more like Lydia stared blankly as Kori narrated their entire packing process. And Kori… kind of liked the blank stares. They made her want to fill the silence. With stories. With jokes. With questions Lydia sometimes actually answered.

Kori shakes the thoughts off and crawls into the tent.

Inside, Lydia’s already nestled into one side of the bag, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands. Her dark hair spills across the pillow in neat waves, somehow unbothered by nature itself. The sleeping bag lies open like an awkward dare.

Kori stares at it. Then at Lydia.

“You sure this isn’t like... crossing a boundary?” she asks, voice quieter now that they’re in close quarters.

Lydia doesn’t even look up. “Do you want hypothermia?”

“No, but I also don’t want to get emotionally naked in front of you.”

That gets the tiniest quirk of a smile from Lydia. Not full. Just a soft flicker.

Kori exhales and climbs in beside her. Careful. Delicate. Her arm brushes Lydia’s, then her thigh. Warmth pools between them, instantly electric.

Lydia doesn’t flinch.

They lie there in silence. Tense. Still. Kori counts ten seconds, then twenty. Then a full minute of trying not to think about how they’re in a zipped-up nylon tube, lying next to someone she once described to her friends as “mysteriously intimidating but like, hot in a Wednesday Addams kind of way.”

Then—

“You’re shivering,” Lydia says, voice a whisper.

Kori laughs softly, breath fogging slightly. “No, I’m just… vibrating with enthusiasm.”

“Come closer.”

Kori goes still. “For real?”

“It’s stupid to freeze just to be polite.”

Kori hesitates. Then scoots a little closer. Then a little more. Until it’s undeniable: her head’s inches from Lydia’s shoulder. Her hoodie brushes Lydia’s sleeve. Their legs bump.

Lydia’s hand finds Kori’s wrist under the sleeping bag. Not holding it. Just… resting. There.

Kori forgets how to breathe.

“Your heart’s going fast,” Lydia murmurs.

“I’m just excited about the long ass walk we'll have to endure tomorrow.”

A beat. Lydia shifts her head, close enough now for Kori to smell her shampoo. Lavender. Sharp and calm. Everything Lydia is.

“I hope this isn’t weird,” Kori says, softer now.

Lydia turns her face just enough to meet her eyes. “It’s not weird.”

Kori swallows. “You’re hard to read, y’know.”

“I like it that way.”

“But you did smile when I almost set the Jetboil on fire.”

Another ghost-smile. “Only a little.”

Kori grins in the dark, heart beating somewhere above normal human range.

“You did this on purpose, didn’t you?” she whispers. “Forgot the second sleeping bag scheme or whatever"

Lydia blinks slowly. “You’ll never know.”

To Nymphia Wind, being social was a chore.

People exhausted her. Small talk made her skin crawl. Eye contact? Ugh. And now, this? Having someone follow her around like some weird golden retriever with muscles and a scowl? It was hell.

“Quit following me!” she hissed, spinning around in the hallway of her university like she was in some dramatic K-drama. Her black hair swished over her shoulder with flair.

Jane, the infuriating blonde shadow behind her, didn’t even flinch.

“I was hired to follow you, princess,” she said, her voice dry and annoyingly smug. “Better get used to it.”

Princess.

That nickname. That voice. That stupid smug expression.

Nymphia glared at her, arms crossed in her usual bratty fashion. “I told you not to call me that.”

Jane gave her a one-shoulder shrug. “And yet, here we are. Princess.”

Nymphia groaned loudly. She was this close to committing a felony.

It hadn’t always been like this.

Six months ago, Nymphia was sneaking out of her house every other night like a pro. She’d slip past the sleeping maids and the six layers of security like a cat burglar—only to walk to the nearest 7-Eleven and drink banana milk in peace.

That was the first time she felt alive.

She wasn’t proud of how it escalated. Bookstores. Cafés. Hanging out with new people. A rooftop party. Okay, maybe two. Or five. Whatever.

And then her father found out. Of course, he did. The man was practically Taiwan’s answer to James Bond with stock options.

Their argument had been loud enough to shake the mansion.

But surprisingly, he gave in—somewhat. He let her enroll in a college to take the fashion atelier program she wanted, but she knew it wasn’t for free.

Because ever since that day, a new problem had appeared.

Jane.

The human migraine.

Tall, sharp-jawed, blue-eyed, and with an attitude that screamed I’ve tackled someone before breakfast. Apparently, her dad hired her to keep Nymphia “safe.” (Translation: babysit.)

And Jane was everywhere.

Café? She was there. Bookstore? Lurking in the mystery section. Campus library? Sitting three tables behind with a magazine she never read.

Nymphia even caught her at her Pilates class once, pretending to stretch.

It was… insane.

Her friends teased her constantly.

“Maybe she’s in love with you,” one of them giggled during lunch.

Nymphia gagged into her boba.

Today was no different.

She walked through campus with heavy steps, Jane exactly six feet behind like a loyal—but extremely suspicious—duckling.

Nymphia turned around again.

“I swear, Jane, one more step and I’m calling the police.”

“I am the police,” Jane deadpanned.

“You’re not!”

“Try me.”

“Are you even real?” Nymphia whispered, staring at her like she was a government experiment gone rogue.

Jane smirked. “You tell me, Princess.”

Ugh.

Nymphia turned back around, walking faster. She mumbled to herself. “This is a nightmare.”

But truth be told, Jane wasn’t all bad.

She never overstepped. Never judged her when she had panic attacks in crowded places. Never asked why she skipped parties after ten minutes or why her hand trembled when too many people looked at her at once.

Once, during a study session, Nymphia forgot her notes at home. She was ready to spiral into a full breakdown.

Jane had silently handed her a file, already printed and color-coded.

Nymphia blinked. “Wait… how did you…?”

“You always forget stuff on Wednesdays,” Jane said casually, sipping her black coffee. “Pattern recognition.”

It was the weirdest, warmest, most annoying thing anyone had ever done for her.