She kissed her again lips lingering, forehead resting against Rhea's between kisses, breath warm, familiar. Her hand slid to Rhea's waist, steady, grounding. Rhea's fingers curled into Ling's shirt, pulling her closer instead of away.
"You're not pulling back," Ling murmured.
Rhea shook her head slightly. "Because I don't want to anymore."
Ling kissed her jaw, her cheek, the corner of her mouth, each touch deliberate, never demanding. Rhea let herself feel it the warmth, the closeness, the way Ling never crossed a line without being invited.
Rhea whispered, almost to herself, "I didn't know it could feel like this. Calm."
Ling smiled against her skin. "That's what it should have been for you from the start."
Rhea's hand slid up, cupping Ling's face. She kissed her again, longer this time, with a quiet confidence that surprised even her. When they finally parted, their foreheads rested together, breaths uneven but unafraid.
"No running?" Ling teased softly.
Rhea smiled, brushing her thumb along Ling's jaw. "Not tonight."
Ling's attention drifted lower, eyes fixing on the navel piercing now visible where the robe gaped slightly. "This is too distracting." She leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the skin around it, lips warm against the cool metal.
Then, with careful precision, she tugged it lightly with her teeth just enough to elicit a gasp from Rhea, the pull sending a jolt through her without pain, a teasing claim that echoed their earlier angers and affections.
Rhea's hand tangled in Ling's hair, holding her there for a beat longer, the room filled with the quiet rhythm of their breaths, the weekend's secrecy wrapping around them like the robes they wore.
Ling lay beside her then, pulling Rhea into her arms. Rhea fit there easily now, like she had always belonged. She rested her head against Ling's shoulder, listening to her heartbeat, steady and real.
"I trust you," Rhea said quietly.
Ling's arms tightened just a little. "I won't waste that."
They stayed like that kissing when they felt like it, talking in low voices, sometimes saying nothing at all.
Rhea reached to the side of the bed and picked up a pen, twirling it between her fingers like she was plotting something dangerous. She reached to Ling robe tie.
Ling noticed immediately. She froze, then gasped dramatically, throwing an arm over her chest.
"Oh no!" she said loudly. "This woman is trying to untie my clothes. Someone save me."
Rhea burst out laughing. "Idiot. So dramatic."
She leaned forward anyway, fingers moving to the loose tie of Ling's robe. Ling watched her with exaggerated fear, then peeked through one eye as Rhea untied it slowly, carefully not rushing, not teasing too much.
Instead of doing anything else, Rhea simply pushed the robe aside enough to see Ling's chest.
Ling blinked. "Oh. That's it?"
Rhea smiled to herself and placed the pen down against Ling's skin, just above her heart. Ling went still this time not acting, not joking. She felt the cool touch of the pen, the gentle pressure.
Rhea wrote slowly, concentrating like it mattered because it did. Each letter careful. Each stroke deliberate.
Her own name.
Rhea
When she finished, she sat back slightly, looking at it. Her handwriting real. Present. Claiming without owning.
Ling looked down, then back up at Rhea. Her voice came out softer than usual. "You wrote it over my heart."
Rhea nodded, suddenly shy. "So you don't forget."
Ling let out a quiet breath, one that sounded suspiciously like emotion. She caught Rhea's wrist gently and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "As if I ever could."
Rhea leaned down and kissed the spot where her name rested, just once. Ling's eyes fluttered shut at the touch.
"You know," Ling murmured, half-smiling, "if this washes off, I'll be offended."
Rhea laughed softly. "Then I'll just write it again."
Ling pulled her closer, foreheads touching, her hand resting flat over her heart over the ink, over the promise. "Stay," she said quietly.
Rhea didn't answer with words. She kissed her instead slow, warm, unafraid and stayed exactly where she was.
Ling smiled slowly. That quiet, dangerous smile Rhea knew too well.
"My turn," Ling said.
Before Rhea could react, Ling gently guided her back onto the bed. There was no force in it only certainty. Rhea let herself be laid down, heart racing, eyes fixed on Ling's face.
Ling leaned over her and carefully untied the robe, fingers steady. The fabric loosened, slipping aside just enough. Rhea's breath hitched despite herself. She turned her face away for a second, then looked back.
Ling noticed everything. Always did.
She took the same pen, held it up between them. "If you get shy now," Ling murmured, "I'll tease you forever."
Rhea scoffed weakly. "Just… don't tickle."
Ling laughed under her breath and shifted lower, resting beside Rhea's hip. Her hand hovered for a moment, giving Rhea time. When Rhea didn't pull away, Ling's fingers settled lightly on her waist grounding, warm.
"Right here?" Ling asked softly.
Rhea nodded.
Ling bent closer and began to write on Rhea's right hip, slow and careful, like she was afraid to smudge something sacred. The pen traced letters with deliberate patience. Rhea felt every movement the pressure, the pauses, the warmth of Ling so close.
Her breath stuttered, but she didn't stop her.
When Ling finished, she leaned back slightly, examining her work with mock seriousness. "Perfect," she declared.
Rhea lifted her head, twisting just enough to see.
Ling's name.
Written cleanly against her skin.
Rhea swallowed. "You picked my hip."
Ling shrugged lightly. "Closer to where you stand strong," she said, then added with a grin, "and also where you'll never forget it's there."
Rhea laughed softly, emotion threading through it. "You're impossible."
Ling leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss beside the ink. Just enough to mean something.
"Now we match," Ling whispered. "No erasing. No running."
Rhea reached out, pulled Ling closer by the collar, forehead resting against hers. "I'm not going anywhere."
Ling smiled.
Rhea smiled too, the tension easing from her shoulders. "Mom will be late tonight," she said, almost casually, like it was no big thing. Then she reached for Ling's hand. "Come. Let's explore my home."
Ling raised an eyebrow, amused. "Explore? Like a guided tour or an adventure?"
Rhea tugged her up from the bed. "Adventure," she said, already pulling her toward the door.
They moved softly through the hallway, Rhea leading like she'd done this a hundred times alone but never like this. The house felt different with Ling there warmer, lived-in, like it was finally being shared.
"This is the living room," Rhea said, gesturing around. "I grew up doing homework on that couch. And getting scolded for sleeping there."
Ling flopped dramatically onto the couch for half a second. "I can picture little Rhea, stubborn and grumpy."
Rhea scoffed. "I was not grumpy."
Ling sat up, smirking. "Liar."
They wandered into the kitchen. Rhea leaned against the counter, fingers brushing over familiar surfaces. "Mom drinks tea here every morning," she said quietly. "She pretends she doesn't worry, but she does."
Ling stepped closer, voice softer now. "You're like her."
Rhea looked at her, surprised. "How?"
Ling smiled. "Strong. And always pretending you're fine."
Rhea didn't argue. She just reached out and squeezed Ling's hand once.
They peeked into rooms a study filled with old books and framed certificates, a guest room that smelled faintly of lavender, a small balcony where Rhea used to stand at night when she couldn't sleep.
"This is my favorite spot," Rhea said, opening the balcony door. Cool air brushed past them. "When everything felt too loud."
Ling stood beside her, shoulder to shoulder. "And now?"
Rhea glanced at her, then leaned her head briefly against Ling's arm. "Now it's quieter."
Ling smiled, not teasing, not dramatic. Just present.
They walked back inside slowly, fingers still intertwined.
Ling slowed as they walked, her fingers still loosely linked with Rhea's. She hesitated — just enough for Rhea to notice.
"Can I ask you something?" Ling said quietly.
Rhea nodded. "You always ask anyway."
Ling smiled faintly, then grew serious. "Your father. You never talk about him."
Rhea stopped walking.
For a moment, she just stood there, staring at the wall as if something invisible was written on it. Then she exhaled, slow and controlled.
"I don't know anything about him," she said.
Ling turned fully toward her. "At all?"
Rhea shook her head. "Nothing real. No memories. No stories. Not even a photo."
She leaned back against the wall, arms crossing over herself not defensive, just holding herself together. "Mom never talks about him. And she doesn't let us either."
Ling didn't interrupt.
After a few seconds, Rhea continued, her voice steady but thin. "She only told us once. Just once. That he cheated on her." Her jaw tightened. "And that he's no more."
Ling frowned slightly. "No more… as in—"
"Dead," Rhea said simply.
The word fell heavy between them.
Ling searched her face. "How did you feel when you found out?"
Rhea let out a small, humorless laugh. "I didn't feel anything. That's the worst part, right?" She looked up at the ceiling. "People talk about missing their fathers. Wanting answers. Closure." She shrugged. "I don't even know what I'm supposed to miss."
Ling stepped closer, her voice careful. "And your mom?"
Rhea's expression softened immediately. "She changed. Not in front of us, she's strong. Always has been." She swallowed. "But I've seen her late at night. Sitting alone. Silent. Like she's holding a thousand things she refuses to say."
Ling's hand lifted, hesitated, then rested gently on Rhea's arm. Rhea didn't pull away.
"I think," Rhea said slowly, "she buried him long before he actually died."
Ling nodded, understanding more than she said.
Rhea looked at her then, eyes searching. "That's why I don't ask. And why I don't push her. Some wounds aren't meant to be opened again."
Ling squeezed her arm softly. "You grew up faster than you should have."
Rhea gave a small smile. "Someone had to."
Ling leaned in, resting her forehead briefly against Rhea's temple grounding, steady. "Thank you for telling me," she said. "I won't ask again unless you want me to."
Rhea closed her eyes for a second. "With you," she murmured, "I don't mind the questions."
Ling followed Rhea down the hallway, clearly not done with the conversation. Her steps were light, but her intent was obvious.
"So," Ling said, tilting her head, "tell me your childhood stories."
Rhea didn't even slow. "There aren't any."
Ling scoffed. "Liar. Everyone has embarrassing stories. Especially someone who pretends to be this serious."
Rhea turned around, narrowing her eyes. "You will make fun of me."
Ling lifted both hands in surrender. "I swear. I won't." A beat, then she grinned. "Okay, maybe a little. But lovingly."
Rhea crossed her arms. "No laughing."
Ling nodded far too seriously. "No laughing."
She was already smiling.
Rhea sighed, defeated. "Fine. But you promised."
They settled on the edge of the sofa. Rhea leaned back, staring at the ceiling as if searching for courage.
"When I was six," she began, "I was convinced there was a monster under my bed."
Ling's lips twitched.
Rhea shot her a warning look. "Don't."
Ling pressed her lips together, nodding vigorously.