#youngmiko

"porque eres tan linda, que siento que te puedes llevar a zhamira sin tener que hacer nada." (because you're so pretty, i feel like you could take zhamira without even trying.) his voice was teasing. you watched as miko laughed and shook her head at her old friend, knowing the statement was nothing more than a compliment.

"no, no, jay, nunca." (no, no, jay, never.) "lo sé, amor, te estoy jodiendo, te quiero mucho, mamita." (i know, love, i'm just joking. i love you a lot, mamita.) he spoke genuinely, not as jay wheeler the singer but more as josé ángel, her friend. there was something about the comfortable vibe, the cozy atmosphere, that made her feel so at ease that without thinking she responded.

"ya tengo la mía, estoy bien." (i already have mine, i'm good.) the words caught both you and jay off guard. he had seen you both hanging out a lot over the past two years, but had assumed you were simply part of miko's team, especially knowing how professional you usually were.

"¿qué tú me dices?!" (what are you telling me right now?) he asked, very much invested in the gossip despite being a straight man. you sat still, holding your breath as if everyone might suddenly acknowledge your presence. miko just chuckled. "so, tengo pareja." (so, i have a partner.) jay's eyes widened in disbelief. "¡acho, chica! ¿cuándo me ibas a decir eso?" (damn, girl! when were you gonna tell me?) vicky kept laughing. "eventually! it's been under wraps." she explained with a soft smile, glancing over at you. your face was slightly flushed. there was nothing wrong with her confession. you had both talked about things like this getting out eventually, you just never imagined it would happen this way.

"baby," she called out. it took you a second to realize she was talking to you. looking up, you locked eyes with her and flashed an awkward smile, giving a small wave. "¿quieres salir en el video?" (you wanna be in the video?) her tone was soft and sweet, almost protective. it made you blush harder, she had always been so considerate. jay quickly waved you over. "¡sí, sí, ven pa'acá!" (yes, yes, come over here!) that encouraged you to get up and move your chair into frame beside vicky. you offered a shy hello to the camera before turning to jay. it was his podcast, after all. the hard lights and the camera on you felt uncomfortable. yes, you worked in the industry, but you were the one behind the so-called magic of it all. never in front of cameras, your face practically unrecognizable to the public despite all the song credits you had racked up in your late twenties.

"le vamos a dar la bienvenida a y/n! letrista, productora, e ingeniera de sonido. ha trabajado con muchísimos artistas, y probablemente ha trabajado en una de tus canciones favoritas." (i want to welcome y/n to the pod! lyricist, producer, and sound engineer. she's worked with tons of artists and has probably worked on one of your favorite songs.) jay introduced. you couldn't help but feel shy, no one ever introduced you quite like that.

"wow, that's so nice," you chuckled. vicky noticed your stiffness in front of the camera and cut in to ease the tension. "she's worked with jay before, too." "sí, en el último álbum. pasamos mucho tiempo juntos y la aprecio de verdad por eso. tú eres una dura, y/n." (yeah, on my last album. we spent a lot of time together and i truly hold her close to my heart for it. you're the best, y/n.) he praised.

"diablo, pero ninguna de las dos me iban a decir que estaban juntas, mano!" (damn, but neither one of you was going to tell me you two were together, man!) he teased. you laughed. "no, no- yo te dije que tenía pareja, jay." (no, no - i told you i had a partner, jay.) "¡cabrona, pero nunca dijiste que era young fucking miko!" (bitch, you never said it was young fucking miko!) the room erupted in laughter and the conversation kept flowing, the awkward tension in your body easing as the podcast started to feel like a chat between friends.

"tú no sabes cuántos tipos me han preguntado por y/n." (you don't know how many guys have asked about y/n.) vicky tilted her head slightly, as if turning something over in her mind. "¿quién?" she asked jay, her tone edging into something more serious. you could already feel her jealousy building.

"ay, casi todos, cada hombre soltero que entraba a mi estudio con ella salía de allí enamorao." (oh, almost all of them. every single guy that walked into my studio with her left falling in love with her.) all you could do was chuckle. you knew exactly how possessive and jealous your girlfriend could get, and you weren't even a public figure. with men, women, regardless of gender. she wanted everyone to know you were hers and she was yours, and moments like this were exactly why.

"pues se jodieron, tiene novia." (well, they're fucked. she has a girlfriend.) she cut in, the smile on her face fading just slightly. you rested a hand on her knee, a quiet reassurance. "shit, sí, y celosa." (shit, yeah, and a jealous one.) he laughed. you both cracked up. vicky blushed a little at being called out for her reaction to the idea of random men asking about you. even if deep down, she knew you were completely hers.

the podcast wrapped up not long after, the crew beginning to break down equipment around you while jay pulled vicky into a separate conversation, something about a feature he'd been sitting on for months. you slipped back behind the camera out of habit, fingers absently tidying the cords near the monitor even though it wasn't your setup to manage.

zhamira caught you doing it and laughed softly. "you can't help yourself, can you?"

"occupational hazard," you admitted with a smile.

it was another twenty minutes before vicky broke away from jay, and the moment she did, her eyes found you immediately, almost like a reflex. like you were the first thing she looked for whenever she entered a room, which you had slowly come to realize over the past two years was exactly the case. she crossed over to you without a word, arms slipping around your waist from behind as you were zipping up your bag. her chin came to rest on your shoulder, and you felt her exhale. long and slow, the kind she only let out when it was just the two of you. or close enough to it. "lo hiciste bien." (you did well.) she murmured against the side of your face.

"i barely said anything."

"exactly." you could feel her smile against your cheek.

"you were perfect." you laughed quietly, turning in her arms to face her. up close, away from the lights and the camera and the version of herself she performed for the world, she just looked like vicky. tired eyes, the little crease between her brows she got when she was finally coming down from social mode, lip gloss mostly worn off.

"you could have warned me," you said, though there wasn't any real weight behind it. she had the decency to look at least a little guilty. "i know. it came out." she searched your face for a moment.

"are you upset?" you thought about it. genuinely considered the question. the camera, the lights, the sudden spotlight on a life you'd carefully kept quiet. jay's wide eyes. the clip that was probably already being edited into something viral. "no," you said honestly. "i'm not upset."

the crease between her brows softened. she brought one hand up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear the way she always did when she didn't quite have the words. a small, practiced tenderness that she'd never once done for a camera.

"te amo," (i love you) she said simply.

"i know you do." you leaned in, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

"y yo a ti." (i love you too.) she pulled you in the rest of the way, and the kiss was unhurried and quiet, nothing like the loud, bright evening you'd just survived. when she pulled back, her forehead dropped against yours and she let out a soft laugh.

"jay is going to send me that clip every day for the rest of my life."

"probably," you laughed, knowing how jay loved to terrorize your girlfriend with embarrassing moments of herself. adding this jealous burst to the roaster was probably gold for him, and you, reminding yourself how cute vicky would get when jealous.

⋆˙⟡ miko is the type of girlfriend who falls asleep listening to your heartbeat with her nose nuzzled in the crook of your neck syncing her breathing with yours ᰔ ⊹˚₊

⋆˙⟡ miko is the type of girlfriend who wears your hoodies because they "smell like you" and "feel warmer" even tho you know that's not the real reason, you let her. because you know that you bring her comfort, your scent, your presence and your warmth is enough for her to feel loved ᰔ ⊹˚₊

⋆˙⟡ miko is the type of girlfriend who whispers a little "i love you" right before falling asleep while you brush your fingers through her hair ᰔ ⊹˚₊

⋆˙⟡ miko is the type of girlfriend who helps you take care of your hair whenever you're too tired, fingers gently massaging shampoo onto your scalp while you lean back against her chest dozing off to sleep while she takes care of you ᰔ ⊹˚₊

⋆˙⟡ miko is the type of girlfriend who studies your facial expressions, falling more and more in love with every little smile you show or every time you roll your eyes because of her playtul teasing ᰔ ⊹˚₊

⋆˙⟡ miko is the type of girlfriend who tucks you in your blanket when you're too sleepy to move, laying behind you pulling you close to her body so you can peacefully fall asleep feeling protected and adored ᰔ ⊹˚₊

⋆˙⟡ miko is the type of girlfriend who wakes up before you every sunday to make your favorite pancakes and bring them to bed to wake you up with a smile ᰔ ⊹˚₊

For the first twenty  four hours after Young Miko stopped responding, Solana convinced herself that she had not noticed.

Miko was busy. Solana was busy. They were both artists preparing for a summer that had been scheduled down to the minute by people who carried two phones and treated sleep like a personal weakness. It was perfectly reasonable that Miko might read a message, become distracted by something more important, and forget to answer.

It became slightly less reasonable after the second day.

By the fourth, Solana understood that she was being ignored.

The conversation remained pinned near the top of her messages, ending with the same exchange she had read often enough to memorize despite refusing to acknowledge that she had returned to it at all.

MIKO: I’m bringing a sign.

SOL: that’s cute.

MIKO: and panties.

SOL: make sure they’re pretty.

Miko had read the final message at 11:42 that night. The small word beneath it said Seen, which Solana found more irritating each time she looked.

She had not texted again. She had pride, responsibilities, and an entire debut album to finish. More importantly, she refused to give a twenty  eight  year  old woman the satisfaction of watching her double  text after an argument about underwear.

For the next several days, Solana threw herself into work with enough determination to alarm everyone around her. She completed two choreography rehearsals, rewrote the bridge of a song her label had already approved, attended a vocal session on what should have been her day off, and stayed inside the studio until Simone arrived personally to remove her. None of that stopped Solana from checking her phone whenever it vibrated. The messages came from everybody except Miko. Her stylist sent potential festival looks. Nara sent behind  the  scenes photographs from the Fenty set. Bella Kay forwarded edits from the interview accompanied by increasingly dramatic voice notes. Chase Infiniti sent a screenshot of Miko’s face during the FaceTime call with the words this woman was fighting demons, followed by seven crying emojis.

Miko remained silent.

The internet did not.

The week after their interview became an endless public autopsy of interactions that had lasted less than fifteen minutes. Fans replayed the moment Miko moved the phone away from the interviewers, arguing over whether the gesture had been protective, possessive, embarrassed, or some combination of all three. Other accounts focused on Solana’s robe, the way she had said María Victoria, or the speed with which Miko called her beautiful after pretending the outfit had not affected her.  The unofficial Solko account added more than half a million followers and changed its biography to:

acquaintances with boundary issues.

Then the account noticed that neither woman had publicly mentioned the other since the interview.

Theories appeared immediately.

SOLKO DIVORCE ERA AFTER SIX DAYS OF MARRIAGE

Miko hasn’t liked a Sol edit in eleven days. Everybody remain calm.

Sol posted three thirst traps and Miko ignored all of them. Something happened …..

Maybe they are actual people with jobs.

The final suggestion received significantly less attention than the others.

Solana found herself reading the posts late one night while sitting in the vocal booth between recordings. She had meant to search for reactions to the teaser of her new song, but one click became another until she reached a compilation titled THE COMPLETE SOLKO TIMELINE: WHERE DID IT GO WRONG?

“Nothing went wrong,” she muttered, watching herself accuse Miko of showing her off for the fourth time that week. “There was nothing to go wrong.”

Her producer pressed the talkback button from the other side of the glass. “You ready?”

Solana locked her phone and set it facedown beside the lyric sheet. “ ready.”

She recorded the next verse in a single take, although she had to do it again because the first sounded angrier than the song required.

Miko, meanwhile, had not forgotten to respond.

She had typed several answers to Solana’s final message on the night of the interview. Most were jokes. One was far too direct. Another invited Solana to continue the conversation somewhere without cameras, which Miko deleted almost immediately because it sounded too much like an admission.

She eventually decided not to reward the behavior at all.

Solana enjoyed reactions. She collected them, tested them, and pushed until she located the exact pressure point that made somebody lose composure. The FaceTime call had made that clear. The robe, the softened voice, the repeated use of Miko’s full name every detail had been selected to make Miko flustered in front of an audience.

Miko knew she should have been annoyed.

She was annoyed.

She was also aware that Solana had looked incredible.

That second fact was precisely why she stopped responding.

Tour rehearsals made the silence easier to maintain. Miko’s days began with production meetings and continued through sound design, choreography adjustments, band rehearsals, costume fittings, vocal training, interviews, travel plans, and the thousand small decisions required to make a large performance feel effortless. By the time she returned to the hotel each night, she was exhausted enough to read Solana’s last message without answering it.

Mariana noticed on the third day.

“You’re still doing that?”

Miko looked up from her phone. They were sitting inside a rehearsal space after midnight, waiting for Mauro to finish discussing a transition with the band. Miko’s dark  brown hair had been cut shorter for the summer, resting in loose, slightly damp pieces around her face now that she had removed the extensions worn during filming earlier that day.

“Doing what?”

“Opening the same conversation and staring at it.”

“I’m not staring.”

“You haven’t moved your thumb in five minutes.”

Miko locked the phone. “She said something stupid.”

“Two days ago?”

“It’s still stupid.”

Mariana smiled as though Miko had confirmed exactly what she suspected. “Answer her.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because she wants me to.”

“That is generally how texts work.”

Miko leaned back against the folding chair and crossed her arms. “She likes making everything a challenge. I’m not participating.”

Mariana glanced toward the phone in Miko’s lap. “You are participating. You’re just losing privately.”

Miko told her to mind her business.

Mauro was less subtle when he learned that the two women had not spoken.

“You ghosted her?”

“I did not ghost anybody.”

“Did you answer?”

“No.”

“Then what do you call it?”

“Peace.”

He laughed hard enough to attract the attention of the drummer across the room. “You’re scared.”

“Of Sol?”

“Of liking Sol.”

Miko’s stare made him raise both hands, but his smile remained.

She told herself the silence was temporary. The two of them would eventually see each other at an event, exchange another round of insults, and resume whatever had begun on Kai’s stream. There was no reason to force it. They had known each other properly for less than a week.

Then the festival schedule arrived.

Solana Williams was listed for the main stage at 1:25 in the afternoon.

Young Miko would perform on the same stage shortly after sunset.

Mariana forwarded the schedule without commentary.

Miko responded three minutes later.

MIKO: she performs that early?

MARIANA: She’s a newer artist.

MIKO: I know that.

MARIANA: Then why did you ask?

MIKO: just checking.

MARIANA: Her set ends at 2:10. Your press begins at 3:00.

MIKO: I didn’t ask.

MARIANA: I know.

Miko attended three rehearsals and one wardrobe fitting before admitting she intended to watch Solana’s performance. Even then, she claimed professional curiosity. Solana had spent the entire stream boasting about choreography, vocals, and the amount of work she put into her shows. Miko merely wanted to determine whether the result justified the attitude. Mauro listened to this explanation while helping Miko paint block letters across a piece of yellow poster board.

“Professional curiosity,” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“That’s why you bought glitter?”

“The sign looked empty.”

“And the little sun?”

“That was Mariana.”

Mariana, sitting on the opposite side of the hotel suite with a laptop balanced across her knees, looked up. “It was not.”

Miko ignored her and examined the finished sign.

BE GOOD, BABY ☀️

The letters were black and pink, with the sun painted in one corner and several small stars scattered around the border. It looked like something an excited fan had made on a bedroom floor the night before a concert, which was exactly the effect Miko wanted despite refusing to admit that she had spent forty minutes perfecting it. Mauro took a photograph before she could stop him.

“If you post that, I’ll kill you.”

“I’m saving it for your wedding.”

“You’re not invited.”

“To whose wedding?” Mariana asked.

Miko stood and carried the sign toward the door. “Both of you are irritating.”

The festival took place on a wide green stretch outside London, where temporary stages rose above thousands of people, food trucks lined muddy pathways, and the summer heat settled over the grounds with surprising intensity. The sky remained pale blue and almost cloudless, leaving the crowd to gather beneath hats, scarves, and whatever scraps of shade could be found between sets.

Solana arrived before ten in the morning.

Her team had spent weeks preparing for the performance because it would be her largest European festival audience to date. Although her name appeared lower on the lineup than many of the established artists performing later, the success of her EP and the attention surrounding the unreleased album had drawn more people toward the main stage than organizers initially anticipated.

By noon, fans were already pressed against the front barricade wearing yellow, white, and gold. Homemade signs filled the first several rows. Some carried references to her lyrics; others asked for the album, requested specific songs, or declared themselves proud members of the Solmates.

One sign read:

SOL, MIKO  MIGHT OF LEFT YOU BUT I NEVER WOULD.

Simone spotted it during the preshow walk  through and immediately stepped in front of Solana.

“Do not acknowledge that.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You’re smiling.”

“It’s funny.”

“It will become less funny when somebody posts your reaction.”

Solana adjusted the in  ear pack concealed beneath the waistband of her performance outfit. She wore a golden cropped jacket over a fitted ivory bodysuit, with thigh  high boots and small mirrored details designed to catch the afternoon light. Her curls had been pulled into a long, high ponytail that moved dramatically whenever she turned her head.

She looked toward the stage entrance, pretending to inspect the positions of her dancers. “Did she confirm she’s here?”

Simone did not need to ask who Solana meant. “Young Miko is scheduled to arrive for soundcheck.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“No, she has not personally informed me of her movements.”

“I was asking because our schedules overlap.”

“Of course.”

“I don’t care whether she watches.”

“Then why did you ask?”

The stage manager signaled that they had three minutes. Solana shook out her arms, rolled her shoulders, and drew several slow breaths while the introduction video began playing across the large screens. The crowd reacted to the first image of her silhouette, the noise rising with every beat until the ground seemed to vibrate beneath her boots.

Whatever irritation had followed her through the previous two weeks disappeared when she stepped into the light.

The opening song began with a sharp burst of drums and a wall of golden visuals. Solana emerged at the top of a raised platform, one hand wrapped around the microphone while the dancers moved beneath her. She stood still for the first eight counts, allowing the audience to recognize her, then descended into the choreography with the kind of confidence that made every movement appear spontaneous despite the hundreds of hours behind it. Miko finished soundcheck early.

She had worn an oversized black shirt, loose jeans, dark glasses, and a baseball cap pulled low over her short brown hair. The outfit might have concealed her from a distance if she had not been carrying a large sign bearing a phrase that half the internet already associated with Solana.

Mauro walked beside her, grinning at every person who recognized them. Mariana followed several steps behind with Miko’s younger brother and two members of the tour team, all of whom had agreed to accompany her under the pretense of ensuring she returned in time for press.

“You know we could’ve watched from backstage,” Mauro said as they approached the VIP barricade.

Miko adjusted her sunglasses. “She’d expect that.”

“So you want her to see you.”

“I want to see the whole show.”

“You could see it from backstage.”

“Not the same angle.”

Mauro nodded solemnly. “Professional curiosity.”

“Exactly.”

They found a place near the side of the VIP enclosure where they could see the full stage without immediately becoming part of the main camera shot. Miko folded the sign beneath one arm and looked toward the stage.

Solana was in the middle of her second song.

Miko had seen clips of her performing before. Everyone had. Solana’s label invested heavily in presentation, and her team understood how to build moments for social media: strong choreography, elaborate styling, live vocals polished enough to silence accusations that she relied on backing tracks. Watching her in person was different. Solana was taller than most of the dancers surrounding her, giving her movements a natural authority even when the choreography softened. Her voice carried more weight live, particularly in the lower register she rarely showcased on her radio singles. She danced without losing the emotional shape of the lyrics, alternating between precision and the loose, joyful movement that appeared whenever the audience surprised her by knowing every word.

Miko watched through two full songs before Mauro nudged her.

“You gonna use the sign?”

“I’m waiting.”

“For what?”

“The right moment.”

“You made a sign that says ‘Be Good, Baby.’ There is no right moment.”

Miko ignored him.

Onstage, Solana finished a bright pop song and moved toward the band while the dancers cleared the center platform. She removed the cropped jacket, handed it to someone offstage, and returned wearing only the ivory bodysuit beneath it. The audience screamed.

Solana laughed into the microphone. “Y’all are nasty, and it is one in the afternoon.”

The crowd screamed louder.

She walked toward the front of the stage, shielding her eyes from the sun as she surveyed the audience. “I can see some of these signs now. ‘Drop the album.’ That’s rude. We just met.”

Her gaze moved across the barricade. She read two more signs aloud, teasing the fans who held them, before looking toward the VIP section.

She saw Mauro first.

Then Mariana.

Then the bright yellow edge of the poster Miko had not yet raised.

Solana stopped walking.

Miko unfolded the sign and lifted it above her head.

BE GOOD, BABY ☀️

The reaction moved through Solana in stages. Surprise widened her eyes. Recognition followed. Then she smiled so slowly and with such open satisfaction that the camera operator immediately turned toward the VIP barricade to capture whatever had caused it.

The sign appeared on the side screens.

The crowd lost its mind.

Miko lowered it just enough to see Solana’s face. Her sunglasses concealed part of her expression, but the slight lift at one corner of her mouth betrayed how pleased she was with herself.

Solana paced toward that side of the stage, shaking her head. “Oh, now she wants to show up.”

Mauro began laughing. Mariana covered her face with one hand.

The audience did not need clarification. Thousands of phones turned toward Miko at once.

Solana rested one hand on her hip. “Two weeks.”

The crowd booed dramatically.

“She leaves me on read for two weeks,” Solana continued, allowing the accent in her voice to grow warmer as she leaned into the complaint, “and then pulls up to my job with arts and crafts.”

Miko shouted something from behind the barricade, but the distance and screaming made it impossible for Solana to hear.

Solana tilted her head. “What was that? I can’t hear you. You should’ve texted it.”

The audience erupted again.

Miko folded the sign and struck Mauro lightly with it when he laughed too close to her ear.

The band began the introduction to Solana’s next song, a bass  heavy record from her EP known for its breathless prechorus and unapologetically suggestive lyrics. Solana recognized the timing immediately and looked back toward Miko.

“This next one is for all the girls who don’t text people back for two weeks and then show up looking this fucking good.”

The first beat dropped.

Miko removed her sunglasses.

Mauro yelled so loudly that a nearby camera captured him doubling over beside her. Mariana leaned close enough to say, “This is your fault,” while Miko continued staring at Solana as though she had not heard.

Solana performed the entire song toward the VIP enclosure.

Not every lyric. That would have been too obvious. She moved across the full stage, interacted with her dancers, and allowed the cameras to follow her through the choreography. Yet every time the song became suggestive, every time her voice lowered or her hips settled into the slower rhythm of the chorus, her gaze returned to Miko.

The crowd began anticipating it. Each time Solana turned toward that side, the screams rose before she even completed the movement.

Miko had arrived expecting to embarrass her.

Instead, she spent three and a half minutes being publicly serenaded while holding a handmade sign.

“She’s gonna make you late for your interview,” Mauro said.

Miko did not look away from the stage. “I have time.”

“You said we were only staying for two songs.”

“She has a short set.”

Mariana checked her watch. “You now have thirty  eight minutes to cross the grounds, change, and reach press.”

“That’s enough.”

“It is not.”

Miko raised the sign again during the final chorus. Solana caught the movement and laughed without missing a lyric, pointing directly toward her before turning into the last piece of choreography.

The resulting clip was online before the song ended.

SOL DEDICATING THE HORNY SONG TO MIKO AFTER TWO WEEKS OF SILENCE

“YOU SHOULD’VE TEXTED IT” SHE IS SICK

Miko arrived with BE GOOD BABY and got publicly disciplined instead

Solana finished the set beneath a burst of golden smoke and confetti. She thanked the audience, introduced her band and dancers, then returned to center stage for one final bow. Before leaving, she looked toward Miko and raised an imaginary phone to her ear.

Miko folded her arms.

Solana mouthed, Call me.

Miko lifted the sign again.

BE GOOD, BABY.

Solana smiled and disappeared backstage.

Miko remained at the barricade for several seconds after the stage went dark.

Mauro touched her shoulder. “Professional curiosity satisfied?”

Miko refolded the sign. “She missed a transition in the third song.”

“She saw you.”

“Still missed it.”

“She sang an entire song to you.”

“She was performing.”

Mariana began walking toward the exit. “You have twenty  nine minutes.”

Miko followed, although she glanced back at the stage once before the crowd blocked it from view.

Behind the stage, Solana descended the steps glowing with sweat and adrenaline. Her team surrounded her immediately, offering water, towels, congratulations, and several contradictory directions about where she needed to go next.

Bella reached her first and nearly tackled her with a hug.

“You dedicated that song to her!”

“I dedicated it to women who don’t communicate.”

“You stared at one specific woman the entire time.”

Solana accepted a bottle from Nadia and drank while Simone approached with the expression of someone attempting to remain professional despite the phone vibrating continuously in her hand.

“Congratulations,” Simone said. “The set was excellent.”

“Thank you.”

“The sign interaction has already passed three million views.”

“That’s fast.”

“You knew it would be.”

Solana wiped beneath her eyes carefully, protecting the makeup. “I didn’t know she was going to bring a sign.”

“You did know she was coming?”

“No.”

Simone studied her. “You asked me four times.”

“I asked whether her schedule overlapped.”

“Four times.”

Bella appeared over Solana’s shoulder. “Did she text you?”

Solana finally checked her phone.

No new messages.

The excitement left her face so briefly that only the people closest to her noticed.

Bella leaned over. “Nothing?”

“She’s getting ready for her own set.”

“That woman had time to buy glitter.”

“She was carrying the sign. That doesn’t mean she made it.”

“You think somebody else wrote ‘Be Good, Baby’ for her?”

Solana locked the phone and passed the empty water bottle toward an assistant. “I don’t care.”

Simone sighed. “Every time you say that, something expensive happens.”

The first interview after Solana’s set lasted twelve minutes and included six questions about Miko. Solana redirected the first two toward the music, joked through the third, and informed the interviewer during the fourth that Miko had attended because she needed lessons in live performance.

“What did you think of her sign?” the interviewer asked.

“I thought it was adorable. She probably spent all night coloring it.”

“Do you plan to be good?”

Solana looked directly into the camera. “No.”

The clip became another problem.

By the time Solana reached her trailer, the public had transformed the afternoon into a competition. Half the posts declared that Miko had reclaimed control by arriving with the sign. The other half insisted Solana had won by making Miko watch an entire performance dedicated to her silence. A third group had begun calling Solana Miko’s “little girl,” an interpretation that irritated her more than the others.

One tweet read:

Sol acting brave but the second Miko held up BE GOOD BABY she started smiling like she’d been praised. That’s somebody’s princess.

Another replied:

She is TWENTY. Please stop acting like Miko adopted her.

The argument grew from there, stretching into discussions of age, experience, power, and which woman seemed more affected by the other. Solana read too much of it while changing out of her stage outfit.

She knew the age gap was visible. Miko had been working professionally longer, touring internationally longer, and navigating fame on a scale Solana was only beginning to approach. That did not make Solana helpless. It certainly did not make her somebody’s baby merely because she enjoyed getting under an older woman’s skin.

Nara entered carrying the white dress selected for the evening.

It fell from narrow straps into a softly fitted bodice, then loosened through the waist and hips before ending just above Solana’s knees. The material was light enough to move with every step, with small embroidered flowers along the neckline and a low back that made it feel flirtier than its otherwise innocent shape suggested.

Solana stared at it.

Nadia held it against herself. “Cute, right?”

“Very.”

“Why do you look dangerous?”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

Solana changed into the dress and stood before the mirror while Nadia loosened the stage ponytail, allowing her curls to fall around her shoulders. The white fabric made her skin appear deeper and warmer, while the short, airy skirt moved each time she turned.

Bella, seated on the makeup counter scrolling through her phone, looked up and whistled. “Miko’s not surviving today.”

“She survived my set.”

“Barely.”

Solana sat while Nadia softened the stage makeup into something more appropriate for the festival grounds. Her phone remained beside her hand, still silent.

She opened Twitter.

“Don’t,” Simone said from the doorway.

“I’m posting about my performance.”

“You have a social  media manager.”

“It’s my account.”

“That has never stopped you from creating my problems.”

Solana ignored her and typed.

no panties, mommy? disappointing. don’t worry, I’ll help you later 

Bella read it over her shoulder and released a scream so sharp that Nadia nearly dropped the makeup brush.

Simone crossed the trailer in three steps. “Delete it.”

“It’s funny.”

“You have seven million followers.”

“They like jokes.”

“They like chaos. You provide too much of it for free.”

The post had already been published.

Within seconds, the notifications became impossible to follow.

EXCUSE ME????

SOLANA MARIE WILLIAMS YOU CANNOT SAY THIS AT TWO IN THE AFTERNOON

Miko please collect your acquaintance

“mommy” oh the allegations will never end

this is no longer a ship this is an active emergency

Solana placed the phone facedown and smiled at her reflection.

Simone stared at her. “What exactly are you planning?”

“Nothing.”

“You are wearing that expression.”

“What expression?”

Bella raised her hand. “I would also like to know the plan.”

Solana crossed one leg over the other and allowed Nadia to finish her lip gloss. “Miko promised panties. She arrived empty  handed.”

“And?”

“And I believe people should keep their word.”

Miko saw the post while sitting in hair and makeup.

The stylist had added longer dark extensions to her short hair for the performance, pulling them into a high ponytail that fell down her back. She wore black stage pants, a fitted sleeveless top, and layered chains that would be adjusted again before she went on.

Mariana stood behind the chair when the notification appeared.

Miko read the post once.

Then again.

Her ears turned red.

Mariana saw the reflection in the mirror. “What happened?”

Miko locked the screen. “Nothing.”

Mauro entered carrying a garment bag. “Why are we saying nothing like that?”

Miko handed him the phone.

He read the post aloud, barely reaching the final word before laughing.

“She’s doing too much,” Miko said.

“You told her you were bringing panties.”

“As a joke.”

“She appears committed to accountability.”

Miko reached for the phone. “Give it back.”

Mauro held it away from her. “Are you responding?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“She wants me to.”

Mariana folded her arms. “That strategy worked beautifully for you this afternoon.”

Miko took the phone and tucked it beneath her leg. “I have a show.”

She did not respond publicly or privately.

But when the wardrobe assistant opened a drawer to retrieve a spare wireless pack, Miko noticed the unReleased red Do Not Disturb thong included in the merchandise samples her team had been reviewing.

The phrase was printed in white across the front.

Miko looked at it for several seconds.

Then she slipped it into the inside pocket of her jacket before anyone noticed.

Solana reached the celebrity barricade twenty minutes before Miko’s set. Bella accompanied her, along with Chase and two friends from Solana’s team. Simone remained nearby but refused to stand directly beside them, claiming she wanted plausible deniability if Solana attempted anything requiring an apology.

The evening heat had softened without disappearing. The sky was turning gold behind the stage, and the crowd stretched across the field in every direction, packed tightly enough that the open space Solana had seen during her own performance no longer existed.

Fans recognized her almost immediately.

People shouted her name from the general  admission section, lifting phones over their heads to capture her reaction. Several held up the BE GOOD, BABY phrase on freshly made signs, despite having only a few hours to create them.

Solana waved and smiled, then turned toward the stage as the hotel  themed introduction began.

Miko appeared beneath dark red lighting.

The crowd reacted with a force that surprised even Solana. Her own afternoon audience had been large, but this felt different the unified noise of people who had waited all day for one particular artist. Miko walked to the front of the stage with the confidence Solana privately envied, not rushing to fill the space or prove that she deserved the attention. She simply stood there and allowed the audience to come toward her.

Solana understood, suddenly, why Miko had tried to advise her about the album.

That did not mean she planned to admit it.

The performance moved through the opening records with a full live band, layered visuals, and transitions built around the hotel world of the new project. Miko’s public persona shifted easily between playful and commanding. She joked with the front rows, moved through choreography with a loose confidence that never appeared rehearsed, and allowed the songs to determine how much of herself she gave the crowd.

She noticed Solana during the first track.

Sol knew because Miko’s eyes stopped for a fraction of a second when they reached the celebrity enclosure. The pause was so brief that most people would not have recognized it, but Solana had spent two weeks watching slowed clips of Miko’s face. She knew precisely what it looked like when Miko was surprised.

Solana smiled and waved.

Miko looked away.

For the next several songs, she gave Solana nothing.

She interacted with every section of the crowd except the one where Solana stood. She accepted a flag from the front row, read two signs, laughed with Mauro near the side of the stage, and walked past the celebrity barricade without allowing her eyes to settle there.

Solana became more irritated with every minute.

“She’s ignoring you again,” Bella shouted over the music.

“She’s performing.”

“She looked everywhere except here.”

“She saw me.”

“Exactly.”

Solana folded her arms and continued watching. Miko’s refusal to acknowledge her felt intentional, which meant Miko was thinking about her. That should have been satisfying.

It was not.

The set moved into “COLMILLO.”

The lighting darkened, shifting toward deep violet and red as the bass rolled across the field. Miko took the microphone from its stand and began the section of choreography Solana had seen repeatedly online: the controlled drag of the mic through one hand, the way she settled into the beat, allowing the movement of her hips to turn the object into something much less innocent without ever becoming completely explicit.

The audience screamed in anticipation before Miko completed the first motion.

Solana stared.

Bella leaned toward her. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

“You stopped blinking.”

Miko finally looked toward the barricade.

She performed the next section without breaking eye contact.

Solana felt the challenge immediately. After ignoring her through most of the set, Miko had chosen this song to acknowledge her—chosen that particular movement and that deliberate, knowing expression.

Solana reached beneath the skirt of the white dress.

Bella’s eyes widened. “Oh my God.”

“Cover me.”

“Sol.”

“Cover me.”

Bella and Chase shifted in front of her, laughing in horrified disbelief as Solana disappeared behind them for several seconds. From the stage, Miko noticed the movement. She watched Solana duck from view, then reappear looking slightly disheveled, one hand smoothing the skirt of her dress while the other remained closed around something black.

Miko nearly missed the next lyric.

Solana stepped toward the barricade and opened her hand.

The black thong carried the same deep  pink Do Not Disturb lettering as the official merch.

Miko’s eyes widened.

Solana held it up between two fingers.

The camera found her.

Her image appeared on the side screens, white dress glowing beneath the evening light while the black fabric swung from her hand.

The crowd understood before Miko did.

The noise became deafening.

Simone, standing several feet behind Solana, placed both hands over her face.

Miko’s mouth fell open.

Solana drew her arm back and threw.

The underwear rose above the barricade, turned once through the air, and came down near the front edge of the stage. Miko moved instinctively. She reached out with one hand and caught it without interrupting the song.

For a full second, she stared at what she held.

Then she looked at Solana.

Solana stood with one hand resting against the barricade, smiling as though she had not just created tomorrow’s largest entertainment headline.

Miko pressed her tongue against the inside of her cheek.

The microphone remained near her mouth, but she stopped singing long enough for the backing vocals to carry the line. Every camera onstage seemed to recognize that something more interesting than the choreography had happened.

Miko lifted the thong where the crowd could see it.

The field exploded.

She walked toward the microphone stand, looped the garment securely around the metal near the top, and tightened it with one deliberate pull. Then she resumed the choreography, using the stand exactly as she had moments earlier, only now Solana’s offering moved with each controlled motion.

Bella grabbed Solana’s arm. “You are going to hell.”

Solana did not look away from Miko. “Worth it.”

Miko reached the edge of the stage during the instrumental break. She lowered herself into a crouch, bringing her face closer to the barricade while security held the crowd behind it.

Solana leaned forward.

Miko mouthed, You’re in trouble.

Solana pointed toward herself, then toward the underwear tied to Miko’s microphone.

Text me back.

Miko’s jaw tightened.

She stood and continued the performance, but the composure had shifted. There was more force in the choreography now, more deliberate emphasis whenever she moved toward Solana’s side. The playful confidence had become something sharper.

Solana had wanted a reaction.

She had one.

The remainder of Miko’s set became an escalating conversation conducted through songs neither woman had written about the other. Miko directed suggestive lyrics toward the celebrity barricade. Solana sang along without embarrassment, holding Miko’s gaze whenever the cameras turned away. During one chorus, Miko pointed directly toward her and changed enough of the delivery that the surrounding fans erupted despite not understanding the private argument.

When the set reached “BnB,” the visuals shifted toward a dark hotel room, and Miko’s voice softened into something more intimate. She stood nearly still during the opening, one hand wrapped around the microphone while the stage lights traced the line of her shoulders.

Solana’s smile disappeared.

For the first time that evening, she watched without planning her next retaliation.

Miko looked beautiful beneath the low lighting. Not in the polished, public way Solana had already recognized, but in the smaller details the cameras did not always capture: the concentration in her brow, the slight movement of her fingers against the microphone, the way her face changed when the crowd sang a line back to her.

Solana understood why people loved her.

The realization felt inconvenient.

Miko completed the song, then immediately ruined the moment by walking toward Solana’s side of the stage and tapping the Do Not Disturb thong tied near the microphone.

“This belong to somebody?” she asked the crowd.

Solana raised her hand.

Miko laughed.

The field erupted again.

“I’ll keep it safe,” Miko said, looking directly at her.

Solana shouted, “Can I get a response now?”

The microphone did not pick it up, but Miko understood.

She smiled and turned away.

Still no answer.

By the time the performance ended, NO PANTIES MOMMY and TEXT HER BACK were both trending. The photograph of Miko catching the thong circulated beside screenshots of Solana’s afternoon post, while slowed footage of Miko’s initial reaction gathered millions of views before either woman left the festival grounds.

The final headline from one entertainment account read:

YOUNG MIKO AND SOL TURN UK FESTIVAL INTO THEIR PERSONAL FLIRTATION ARENA

Below it, the replies split predictably.

Some fans treated the entire day as proof that the chemistry was real. Others accused both women of manufacturing a relationship to promote their projects. A small but loud group insisted that Solana’s label had planned everything, including the sign, the tweet, and the thrown underwear.

One post read:

This is so obviously promo. No two people behave like this naturally.

Another responded:

Have you ever met lesbians?

Solana read that reply while being driven back to the hotel.

She liked it from her private account.

Miko still had not texted.

The official after  party occupied the upper floors of a converted hotel near the festival grounds. The main room had been transformed into a club with low amber lighting, mirrored columns, velvet booths, and a DJ platform overlooking the dance floor. Artists, producers, influencers, athletes, actors, and people whose professional purpose remained unclear moved through the space while cameras waited beyond the entrance.

Solana arrived with Bella, Chase, and two members of her team shortly before midnight. She still wore the white dress, now paired with gold heels and a small matching bag. The light fabric moved around her knees as she walked, giving the outfit an almost innocent quality that made the afternoon’s incident seem even more absurd.

Simone stopped her before they entered.

“Please behave.”

Solana looked wounded. “Why does everyone keep saying that to me?”

“Because you threw your underwear at Young Miko in front of seventy thousand people.”

“She promised to bring some and didn’t.”

“You removed the only pair you were wearing.”

“Allegedly.”

“Solana.”

“I’m going to dance with my friends.”

“On the floor.”

“That sounds limiting.”

Simone pointed toward her. “On the floor.”

The first hour passed without Miko.

Solana spoke with other artists, accepted congratulations on her set, and allowed Bella to introduce her to three people she had already met at separate events. She drank slowly, conscious of the cameras that appeared whenever a recognizable group gathered in one place.

Every few minutes, her attention shifted toward the entrance.

Miko arrived at 12:47.

Solana noticed because the room seemed to notice. People moved toward her, greetings passing through the crowd while Miko entered with Mauro, Mariana, her brother, and several members of her tour team. Her performance extensions had been removed, leaving her natural dark  brown hair short and slightly tousled around her face. She wore loose black trousers, a fitted sleeveless top, and a dark jacket over her shoulders.

Solana waited.

Miko greeted the DJ. She hugged two artists near the bar, stopped to speak with a producer, and laughed at something Mauro whispered beside her.

She looked directly toward Solana.

Then she turned away.

Solana’s drink paused halfway to her mouth.

Bella noticed. “Oh, she’s evil.”

“She didn’t see me.”

“She looked into your soul.”

“She’s busy.”

“She is punishing you.”

Solana took a longer drink. “She is not in a position to punish me.”

Chase leaned across the table. “That sentence made it sound like you want her to.”

“I want her to stop acting weird.”

“You threw underwear at her.”

“She stopped texting first.”

“So this is about the text.”

“It is about manners.”

Bella laughed. “You performed a horny song at her, tweeted that she was mommy, threw your thong onstage, and asked for a response in front of the UK. You might have exhausted the subtle options.”

Solana looked across the room again.

Miko had taken a place near the bar with her back partly turned. Every so often, she glanced toward Solana and looked away before their eyes properly met.

The deliberate avoidance began eating through Solana’s patience.

“She wants you to go over there,” Chase said.

“I’m not.”

“Then stop staring.”

“I’m not staring.”

Bella followed Solana’s line of sight. “You haven’t heard a word we’ve said in five minutes.”

Solana turned toward her friends. “Fine. What were you saying?”

“That you need to make her jealous.”

“No.”

“Yes,” Bella replied, leaning forward with the confidence of someone who would not personally experience the consequences. “She thinks she has you figured out. You spent all day trying to get her attention, so now she’s withholding it because she knows it bothers you.”

“It doesn’t bother me.”

“Then dance.”

Solana glanced toward the crowded dance floor. “I have been dancing.”

“Where she can’t see.”

Chase nodded toward the long velvet booth beside their table. The raised platform behind it was wide enough for people to stand and dance, although Simone had specifically told Solana to remain on the floor.

Solana looked toward Miko.

Miko was speaking to Mariana, apparently unconcerned.

“Watch my drink,” Solana said.

Bella began laughing before Solana stood.

The DJ had shifted into a fast, bass  heavy track that filled the room with enough energy to make the platform seem less like a reckless decision. Solana stepped onto the booth, then climbed to the low table behind it, steadying herself with one hand against Bella’s shoulder.

The white dress moved around her legs as she began dancing.

People noticed immediately.

Phones rose across the nearby tables, and several guests joined her on the platform. Solana kept her movements playful at first, turning with the music while the light skirt floated around her knees.

Miko continued facing the bar.

Solana moved closer to the edge of the table.

The dress lifted with the next turn.

Miko saw.

Her entire posture changed.

She had been aware of Solana from the moment she entered the room. Ignoring her required constant effort, particularly after the festival set, the tweet, the thrown thong, and the message Solana had mouthed from the barricade. Miko wanted to speak to her. She also wanted Solana to understand that creating increasingly public spectacles would not force Miko into responding on command.

Then Solana climbed onto the table in a white dress with nothing beneath it.

Miko saw the first rise of the skirt and immediately understood.

She also saw the phones.

Several men near the opposite booth had turned their cameras toward Solana. Two influencers stood close enough to capture the movement from below. Bella attempted to hold the dress whenever it lifted, but Solana kept stepping beyond her reach.

Miko set down her drink.

Mariana followed her gaze. “Oh, no.”

Mauro turned. “What?”

Miko was already moving.

She crossed the room without acknowledging anybody who called her name, slipping between dancers and tables with a directness that made people move before she reached them. Solana saw her approaching and smiled, believing she had finally won.

The smile faded when she saw Miko’s expression.

Miko stopped at the edge of the booth and looked up. “Get down.”

Solana continued moving to the music. “Now you see me?”

“Solana.”

The full name carried enough warning that Bella moved aside.

Solana lifted her chin. “I’m dancing.”

“You’re getting down.”

“You don’t tell me what to do.”

The skirt lifted again as somebody bumped the table.

Miko reached up immediately, catching both the front and back of the floating fabric in her hands and pressing it firmly against Solana’s body before the nearby cameras captured anything more revealing. With the dress secured, she placed one arm around Solana’s waist and guided her toward the edge.

Solana resisted for half a second.

Miko tightened her hold.

“Don’t,” she said, quiet enough that only Solana heard.

Something in the command traveled straight through Solana’s body. She stopped fighting, although the sudden obedience embarrassed her enough that she attempted to disguise it as balance. Miko lifted her down carefully but without asking permission for every movement. One hand remained spread across the back of the dress, holding the fabric against Solana as the other controlled her waist. Solana’s body slid briefly against hers on the descent, the close pressure drawing a small sound from Solana’s throat before her heels reached the floor.

Miko heard it.Her jaw tightened.

Solana looked at her, breathing harder than the dancing justified.

For several seconds, neither woman spoke. Miko’s arm remained around her waist, while the hand holding the back of the dress rested low enough to make Solana intensely aware of exactly how thoroughly she had been gathered against Miko’s body.

Then Miko removed her jacket with one hand.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Solana demanded, although the question lost force when Miko wrapped the jacket around her waist and pulled the sleeves tight enough to secure it.

Miko’s eyes remained on the knot. “Where are your underwear?”

Solana glanced down at her with feigned innocence. “You have them.”

Miko went still.

The music continued around them. Nearby guests pretended not to watch while recording through phones held at chest height. Bella stood several feet away with both hands over her mouth.

Miko raised her eyes slowly. “Bathroom. Now.”

Solana’s pulse jumped. “You’re not my boss.”

Miko caught one end of the jacket and pulled Solana a step closer, forcing her to lower her voice unless she wanted the surrounding room to hear.

“Then stop making me take care of you like this.”

Solana stared at her.

The words struck harder because of the interview. The water. The sleep reminder. Solana’s joke about acts of service. Everything Miko remembered despite acting as though she had forgotten Solana for two weeks.

“I didn’t ask you to,” Solana said.

“No. You climbed onto a table with no underwear and waited until I noticed.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“You knew exactly where I was.”

“You were ignoring me.”

Miko’s expression changed by the smallest degree. “Bathroom.”

“I’m not following you around because you snapped your fingers.”

Miko leaned closer, her mouth near Solana’s ear while one hand remained firm at her waist. “You already followed me off the table, baby. Don’t start pretending you don’t listen now.”

Solana’s breath caught.

Miko stepped back before she could answer, keeping hold of one sleeve of the jacket as she guided Solana through the crowd.

The bathroom occupied a quiet corridor beyond the main party room. A security guard recognized them and prevented anyone else from entering after Miko pushed open the door. The music became a distant pulse when it closed behind them.

The room was large and unnecessarily luxurious, with dark marble sinks, gold fixtures, full  length mirrors, and individual stalls separated by heavy doors. Solana walked toward the counter and turned, immediately preparing to reclaim whatever control she had lost on the dance floor.

Miko locked the main door.

The click echoed.

Solana’s eyes shifted toward it.

Miko noticed.

She removed the sunglasses she had worn into the club and placed them beside the sink. Without the dark lenses, there was nothing playful in her expression.

“How much have you had to drink?”

Solana folded her arms. “Don’t do that.”

“Answer.”

“Two drinks.”

“Over how long?”

“Three hours.”

“Are you dizzy?”

“No.”

“Do you feel sick?”

“No.”

Miko moved closer, watching Solana’s face as though checking the answers for herself. “Did you take anything?”

“No, María Victoria.”

“Good.”

The small approval in the word irritated Solana almost as much as the relief it caused.

“You don’t get to disappear for two weeks and then walk into a bathroom acting like you own me.”

Miko stopped several feet away. “I don’t think I own you.”

“You’re doing a convincing impression.”

“I covered you because half that room had a camera pointed up your dress.”

“I knew what I was doing.”

“No, you knew what you wanted me to see. You weren’t paying attention to everybody else.”

Solana’s face warmed. “I can take care of myself.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

The question landed with enough accuracy that Solana looked away.

Miko exhaled and moved toward her, stopping close enough that the edge of the jacket brushed her leg. “You were so busy trying to get a reaction out of me that you didn’t notice who else was watching.”

“I noticed.”

“You didn’t care.”

“Why should I?”

“Because they don’t know you. They don’t care whether you’re drunk, whether you’ll regret it, whether the angle follows you around for the next ten years. They want a clip.”

“And you don’t?”

Miko’s brows pulled together. “What?”

“You liked the attention when it made you look good. You called me during an interview because you wanted everybody to know you had my number. You brought a sign to my set because you knew the cameras would find you. Then the second I do something you didn’t plan, suddenly you care about privacy.”

Miko’s mouth tightened. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No. I called because they challenged me, and I brought the sign because I thought you’d laugh.”

“I did laugh.”

“You also spent the rest of the day trying to punish me.”

Solana stepped closer. “You ignored me for two weeks.”

“There it is.”

“Yeah, there it fucking is. You wanted me to react, and now you’re mad because I did.”

“I stopped answering because every conversation turned into you testing me.”

“And every conversation before that turned into you telling me what to do.”

“Because you don’t know when to stop.”

“You don’t know me well enough to decide that.”

“I know you stayed in rehearsal until midnight, ignored your team, and got defensive when I told you to sleep. I know you saw I was doing press and arranged that robe before answering. I know you threw your underwear at me in front of thousands of people because I didn’t respond to one message.”

“Fourteen days.”

Miko stared at her.

Solana hated the small break in her own voice and hated even more that Miko heard it.

“You counted too,” Miko said quietly.

“Fuck you.”

“You counted.”

“Because you started a conversation and disappeared. Because you called me your friend in front of everybody, acted like you wanted to know me, and then left me sitting there wondering what I did.”

The anger in Miko’s face softened.

Solana looked away before she could see too much of it. “I’m not begging anybody to talk to me. I’m not chasing you. I just think it was shitty.”

“It was.”

The immediate agreement forced Solana’s eyes back toward her.

Miko rubbed one hand over the back of her neck. “I should’ve answered.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Because you make everything feel like a dare.”

“Maybe because you treat everything like you’ve already won.”

“I don’t.”

“You brought a sign telling me to be good.”

“You tweeted about calling me mommy.”

“You started it.”

“You threw your underwear.”

“You promised yours first.”

Miko almost smiled, but the expression vanished before it fully formed. “You don’t know when we’re playing and when we’re not.”

“Neither do you.”

“That’s the problem.”

The distant music filled the silence between them.

Miko moved closer until only a small amount of space remained. Solana could smell her perfume beneath the traces of stage sweat and the smoky air of the club. Without the jacket, Miko’s sleeveless top revealed the ink along her arms, every line shifting when she placed one hand on the counter beside Solana.

“I stopped texting because I couldn’t tell whether you actually wanted to talk to me,” Miko said, “or whether you wanted another reaction you could turn into a joke.”

Solana held her gaze. “I answered when there weren’t cameras.”

“You also left me on read first.”

“You were being bossy.”

“I was worried.”

The words came out quietly, without any of the confidence Miko usually wrapped around emotional admissions.

Solana’s anger faltered.

Miko continued before she could respond. “You told me you’d been rehearsing since six in the morning. It was almost midnight, and you said you hadn’t eaten. I wasn’t trying to manage you. I was trying to make sure you didn’t make yourself sick.”

“You could’ve said that.”

“I did.”

“You gave me instructions.”

“Because you would’ve argued with the softer version too.”

Solana could not deny it.

Miko lifted one hand and caught the knot of the jacket around Solana’s waist, checking that it remained secure. Her fingers moved slowly, tightening the sleeve before smoothing the fabric over Solana’s hip.

The gesture was practical.

It did not feel practical.

Solana watched her hands. “You still didn’t text me.”

“No.”

“Even after the interview.”

“No.”

“Even after I made you blush.”

Miko looked up. “You think you made me blush?”

“I saw your ears.”

“It was hot.”

“It’s hot now too.”

The bathroom was cool.

Miko understood the provocation. Her hand remained at Solana’s waist, thumb resting near the knot while she studied Solana’s face.

“You really need somebody to tell you when to stop,” Miko murmured.

Solana’s pulse moved against her throat. “Maybe I’m waiting for somebody capable of it.”

Something changed in Miko’s expression.

The playful rivalry, the public jokes, and the safe distance created by cameras disappeared. Miko stepped fully into Solana’s space, using the hand at her waist to guide her backward until the marble counter pressed against her lower back.

Solana’s breath caught.

Miko did not touch her anywhere else. She did not need to. The quiet authority of the movement, the certainty with which she placed Solana exactly where she wanted her, made every inch between them feel charged.

“You think this is funny,” Miko said.

Solana lifted her chin, although her voice came out softer than intended. “A little.”

“You think you can push and push until I react, then act surprised when I do.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“No?”

“No.”

Miko raised one hand and placed two fingers beneath Solana’s chin. The touch was not painful, but it gave Solana a clear choice: pull away or allow Miko to guide her face upward.

Solana allowed it.

Miko noticed.

Her thumb settled lightly near the corner of Solana’s jaw. “You climbed onto that table because you wanted me to come get you.”

Solana’s lips parted.

“You wanted me to see the dress,” Miko continued, voice low and even. “You wanted me to know you weren’t wearing anything beneath it. You wanted me angry enough to stop ignoring you.”

Solana tried to smile. “It worked.”

Miko’s fingers tightened by the smallest degree. “That isn’t an answer.”

“You already decided what the answer was.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

The demand moved through Solana like heat. She could have laughed. She could have insulted Miko, turned away, or reminded her that they were barely friends.

Instead, she whispered, “I wanted you to look at me.”

Miko’s eyes moved across her face. “I was looking.”

“You acted like you weren’t.”

“Because you don’t get everything the second you demand it.”

“Neither do you.”

“I know.”

Miko leaned closer.

Solana stopped breathing.

Their mouths remained separated by barely an inch. Solana could feel Miko’s breath against her lips and the controlled tension in the hand still holding her chin. The position felt like a promise Miko had not decided whether to keep.

Solana tilted forward.

Miko held her still.

The refusal was gentle and absolute.

Solana’s eyes opened fully. “What?”

“You’ve been drinking.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“You’re angry.”

“So are you.”

“Exactly.”

Solana tried to move closer again, but Miko maintained the distance with two fingers beneath her chin and one firm hand at her waist.

“You don’t get to wind me up all day and then become responsible now,” Solana whispered.

“I’m responsible because you spent all day winding me up.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“It does to me.”

“Miko.”

Miko’s eyes darkened at the shortened name. “When you’re sober, when you’re not performing for a room, and when you’ve decided whether you actually want this, you can try again.”

Solana’s pride rose immediately. “Who says I was trying?”

Miko’s gaze dropped to her mouth. “You did.”

“I moved.”

“You followed.”

Solana stared at her.

A slow smile appeared on Miko’s face for the first time since they entered the bathroom. It was not the playful expression from the stream. This one carried the quiet satisfaction of someone who had finally identified the exact point at which Solana’s confidence became uncertainty.

Miko loosened her hold and brushed her thumb once along Solana’s jaw before letting go.

The absence of contact felt abrupt.

Solana remained against the counter. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“And you’re still wearing my jacket.”

“You put it on me.”

“Keep it on.”

“Bossy.”

Miko picked up her sunglasses from beside the sink. “Reckless.”

“You liked it.”

“I liked catching the underwear.”

“You liked the table too.”

Miko looked toward her. “I liked getting you off it.”

Solana’s stomach tightened.

Miko placed the sunglasses back on, concealing whatever appeared in her eyes after the admission. Then she walked toward the door.

“You’re leaving?” Solana asked.

“I’m going back to the party.”

“That’s it?”

Miko looked over her shoulder. “Be good, baby.”

Solana folded her arms. “That wasn’t an answer.”

“You haven’t earned one yet.”

Miko unlocked the door and left.

Solana remained alone in the bathroom, wearing Miko’s jacket and attempting to decide whether she wanted to scream, laugh, or follow her back into the club and start the entire argument again.

She eventually chose the fourth option.

She opened her phone.

There were already twelve new videos of Miko carrying her through the crowd.

The internet had captured the moment from several angles. One clip showed Miko pressing the front and back of Solana’s dress down before lifting her from the table. Another zoomed in on Miko tightening the jacket around her waist. The clearest angle caught Solana’s face when Miko leaned toward her ear.

The caption read:

SOL WENT FROM BRAT TO SILENT IN 0.4 SECONDS

Solana closed the app.

“Fuck all of you,” she muttered.

When she returned to the party, Miko was nowhere near the bar. She had moved to a private booth with her team and did not look toward Solana again.

This time, Solana understood that the distance was not rejection.

It was restraint.

That knowledge made it worse.

The following morning arrived with sunlight pressing through hotel curtains and a headache pulsing behind Solana’s right eye.

She woke diagonally across the bed wearing a large T  shirt she did not remember changing into. Bella slept beneath a blanket on the sofa, one arm hanging toward the floor while the television played silently.

Miko’s jacket lay across the chair near the window.

Solana stared at it.

Fragments of the previous night returned in uneven pieces: the table, Miko’s hands securing the dress, the locked bathroom door, two fingers beneath her chin, the almost  kiss that Miko had stopped.

When you’re sober, you can try again.

Solana covered her face with both hands.

“Oh, my God.”

Bella stirred on the sofa. “You alive?”

“No.”

“Good. Simone wants us downstairs in forty minutes.”

Solana sat up slowly. “Where’s my phone?”

“You had it when we came in.”

“That is not helpful.”

She searched the sheets, the floor, and the bathroom before remembering that Miko had put the phone somewhere after securing the jacket. Solana crossed the room and lifted the dark fabric from the chair.

Her phone rested inside the outer pocket.

The battery was at fourteen percent. Notifications filled the screen, including messages from Simone, Chase, Nadia, and three people asking whether she and Miko had fought.

There was nothing from Miko.

Solana searched the second pocket for the room key she had also misplaced.

Her fingers closed around soft fabric.

She pulled out a clean red thong.

White lettering across the front read:

DO NOT DISTURB

Solana stared at it.

Bella sat upright. “What did you find?”

Solana held it up.

Bella’s mouth dropped open. “Those are not yours.”

“No.”

“Miko’s?”

“She brought them.”

“Wait.” Bella stood, blanket falling around her feet. “She actually brought panties to your set?”

“Apparently.”

“And didn’t throw them?”

Solana began laughing.

The entire day—Miko’s sign, Solana’s tweet, the black thong sailing toward the stage, Miko’s insistence that Sol cover herself—collapsed into one ridiculous conclusion. Miko had arrived prepared to fulfill the joke and lost her nerve, only for Solana to do it first.

Solana photographed the underwear against the white hotel sheets.

SOL: so you did bring panties.

She waited.

The message showed as delivered.

For thirty seconds, nothing happened.

Then the typing bubble appeared.

MIKO: I came prepared.

Solana smiled despite the headache.

SOL: prepared to throw them or prepared to make me wear them?

The typing bubble disappeared.

It returned.

Then disappeared again.

Solana’s smile widened.

Bella leaned over her shoulder. “What did you say?”

“Mind your business.”

“You spent yesterday making it everybody’s business.”

Miko finally answered.

MIKO: depends.

Solana stared at the single word.

SOL: on what?

MIKO: are you going to behave?

Solana settled back against the headboard, the underwear still gathered in one hand.

SOL: probably not.

MIKO: figured.

SOL: can I keep them?

Several minutes passed. Solana imagined Miko reading the question somewhere else in the hotel, remembering exactly how the jacket ended up around Solana’s waist.

The reply appeared.

MIKO: keep the jacket too, baby.

Solana read the message twice.

Then she opened the private photograph she had saved from the interview the one showing Miko’s ears turning red and placed it beside the new text.

Bella watched her expression. “You’re gone.”

“I’m hungover.”

“That is not what I meant.”

Solana folded the black underwear and placed it carefully on the nightstand. “She’s still irritating.”

“Of course.”

“And controlling.”

“Obviously.”

“And she left me on read for two weeks.”

Bella nodded patiently. “Terrible woman.”

Solana looked at Miko’s jacket draped across her legs. The fabric still carried a trace of her perfume.

Her phone vibrated again.

MIKO: how’s your pride feeling this morning?

Solana typed without hesitation.

SOL: better than yours did when you caught my underwear.

MIKO: I caught them though.

SOL: congratulations mami

Miko began typing immediately.

Solana waited, smiling at the screen as the bubble appeared and disappeared several times.

Whatever response Miko eventually chose, the silence between them was over.

And this time, neither woman intended to behave.

10.3k wrds

a/n:

“Will this be the last time?” you asked, your tone dripping with sarcasm. It was a question you asked every time, knowing damn well what the answer would be. Miko had a way of making promises she never intended to keep, and yet here you were, part of her revolving door.

She didn’t respond, instead lighting a blunt with an air of indifference, the flicker illuminating her features momentarily. She took a long drag, exhaling slowly as she sat on the edge of the bed, her body language closed off.

“Qué? Don’t feel like talking?” you shot back, propping yourself up on one elbow, irritation bubbling beneath your skin.

“I don’t feel like talking to you,” she replied flatly, her eyes avoiding yours.

“So saying dirty things in my ear isn’t talking? Fucking me isn’t talking?” you challenged, feeling the familiar mix of anger and frustration rise within you.

Miko remained silent, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond the walls of the room.

“Right,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Famous Young Miko gets what she wants and walks away without a second thought.”

“If you’re so hurt about it, why do you keep accepting it?” Miko finally replied, her voice sharp, the edge of annoyance creeping in.

You turned your head to glare at her, frustration boiling over. “I could say the same about you,” you shot back, your tone defensive.

“I’m not hurt,” she insisted, though the slight quiver in her voice suggested otherwise.

“Yeah, right. You come running to me every time you’re upset, just to fuck your feelings away.” Your words cut through the tension, puncturing the bubble of denial she’d built around herself.

Miko flicked the ash from her blunt against the wall, the sharp sound echoing in the silence as she stood up to wash her face in the bathroom.

“The least you could do is show some respect,” you called after her, your voice laced with resentment.

“I do respect you,” she mumbled, her voice muffled by the sound of running water.

You rolled your eyes, turning away from her. “Respect? This isn’t respect. This is a transaction.”

After a few moments, Miko emerged from the bathroom, her hair damp and falling into her eyes. She slipped under the covers next to you, instinctively seeking warmth.

“It’s always the same, Vicky,” you said, your voice low and tinged with disappointment, frustration bubbling up alongside the familiar ache.

“I know…” she mumbled, sounding almost defeated, her voice barely above a whisper as she curled up behind you.

- vicky is very much the type to surpise her girlfriend with anything that reminds her of them. like a dress, flowers, food, sometimes even more expensive items she knows you've been wanting.

- cuddles are everything. she gets cold very fast, before putting on a hoodie she'd probably nuzzle further into you and steal your warmth.

- food will always be a love language for her. it could be taking you out, attempting to cook, ordering in. it's one of her favorite things to do with you.

- lazy mornings together are a must. she's always so busy but, getting those days where you both can start the morning slow mean everything to her. warm cuddles, whispers about the weird dreams you had the night before, quiet scrolling on your phones, pouting about having to get up.

- vicky is very protective about things and people she cares a lot about, so she probably wouldn't publically post much about you or your relationship in hopes of protecting you from unsavory comments or privacy issues that may come from having a public relationship.

- the term private but not secret would be huge in this relationship. the world would now she's taken, might even know your name and seen a picture or two but definitely wouldn't feel the need to plaster you everywhere for people to get the point.

- nights out are not super often but not entirely rare. some light drinking and dancing is always fun especially for vicky that loves getting pressed up against you at a club or party.

- hardly ever uses your name for things, most common pet name she'd use would be "baby".

- she's puddy in your hands, absolutely whipped for you. her eyes and the way she looks at you gives it all away.

- vicky loves to touch you or be touching you in whatever way possible, sitting next to eachother and your legs touch, her hand resting on your thigh, your feet touching under a table, all of it she loves it.

- PDA isnt something she's big on unless she's around people she trusts. she'll usually be handsy and love on you around friends or family because she feels so comfortable.

- we all know vicky is someone who likes to be ontime for almost everything, but you two trying to get out of the house together on time would be extremelt hard. impromptu make out sessions that turn into more cause you guys to suddenly be 30 minutes to an hour late to something.

- sitting on the couch next to eachother and showing eachother tiktoks is something essential to your relationship

- vicky's not much of a texter, she loves putting her phone on 'DND' and disappearing for a bit. she'd probably give you a quick call before doing so just to let you know.

- late night 3 hour phone calls when she's far away is something that would happen probably every other day.

- these calls might even get a bit sexy if she's really missing you. she sounds so pretty on the phone it makes you go crazy.

- speaking spanish is vital. if you don't speak it she'll probably teach you. soon enough you'd be catching onto her slang and way of speaking.

- it's really hard to be away from eachother for long periods of time, after 2 weeks of being apart vicky's already looking for flights so you can join her in whatever part of the world she's at.

- arguments are rare, vicky doesn't argue. she refuses to. she's fairly passive and urges conversations. some conversations do get a bit heated, uncomfortable, and/ or awkward but she always says it's better to feel that way while conversing rather than yelling at eachother.

- with that said, vicky can be a very jealous person. she's normally fine with you doing what you like but if she senses a weird vibe coming from someone it's a wrap.

- on slower days, vicky would let you paint her nails, do her make up in a way she probably would never do it for herself, color in her tattoos, things like that.

- anime bed rotting days are a must.

- even if a little rusty, if you asked for a tattoo she'd probably be down to do it. she'd practice on herself or fake skin for a few days before ever touching your skin because he had been such a long time since she had last sat down and tattooed someone. she'd ask you a million times if you were sure about it. once it was done, she would be really proud to show off that she had tattoed her partner.

- sweet kisses that start soft would eventually turn into a heated makeout session almost every single time.

- you'd go to concerts together all the time for all types of music and have the best time singing and dancing.

- stealing eachother's clothes would probably be expected. vicky would probably get photographed in your clothes more than her own with how much she'd wear your clothes.

- dates to the beach in añasco and ríncon would be everything to her. bonus if you guys can spend the day on a boat or riding jetskis.

- late night smoke sessions in the dojo living room.

- vicky would constantly be checking you out regardless of what you were wearing. she'd be complimenting you all day no matter what.

- taking naila out to the dog park for a few hours would also be a fairly common date.

- multiple songs would be written about you or with you in mind, but vicky would never admit which ones were about you even if she sucks at hiding it.

- weekends with her family when in puerto rico makes her so happy, especially seeing how her parents have adopted you into their family. it means the world to her and she loves that they love you.

- sex in hotel rooms, studios, her bed room, kitchen counter, the dojo, car, anywhere you can imagine having a moment alone with her.

- vicky would leave cute little notes written on stickynotes for you to find. probably say something cute and have a little doodle on it.

- a perk would be getting the best candid photos of yourself because vicky takes the best pictures behind the camera.

- any funny typos in your chats would be pinned in whatsapp for her to giggle at later. the amount of stickers of you in her phone should be a matter of concern. when you least expect it she sends a random one because she thinks it's funny that it kinda annoys you.

- get a few drinks in her and vicky's singing you songs acapella, kareoke, whatever form there is.

- overall, a relationship with miko would be so cute and full of love. where ever you are is where she would want to be. <3