The three of them shared a taxi back to the hotel.
Lin sat beside Yeh. Yeh noticed that Lin had drunk quite a lot tonight.
Maybe the alcohol had finally taken hold. Somewhere along the ride, Lin fell asleep, her head slowly tilting until it rested against Yeh's shoulder.
Lin's arm brushed against hers. Bare skin touching bare skin.
The warmth wasn't the polite kind that exists within careful distance.
It was direct. Tangible. Impossible to ignore.
For the first time, Yeh realized something.
She had always believed what she felt for Lin was purely spiritual—an admiration built on understanding, on resonance of mind. Something that could safely exist at a distance.
But now, sitting there in the dim taxi light—
she felt something else.
A physical pull.
Yeh slowed her breathing, afraid that the slightest movement might wake Lin.
Yeh glanced at Lin's sleeping profile. Soft, unguarded, unexpectedly disarming.
Her heart tightened.
She forced herself to look away. One more second, and she might fall again.
When they reached the hotel, Lin's steps were unsteady. Yeh instinctively reached out and held her by the arm.
In that moment she realized she was the only one still completely sober.
Their rooms were on the same floor. At Lin's door, Yeh tapped the keycard and pushed it open.
The room was dark except for a single bedside lamp.
Yeh guided Lin to the bed and slipped off her shoes.
The moment Lin touched the mattress, she sank into sleep, her breathing deep and even.
Yeh stood beside the bed for a while, watching her.
The makeup on Lin's face looked uncomfortable to sleep in. Yeh could almost feel the irritation herself just imagining it.
Maybe it was because of what she'd said earlier that night—I don't like women in real life.
The sentence now felt like a strange shield.
If Lin believed that, she wouldn't read anything into this.
After all, this was just taking care of a good friend.
Girls helping girls remove makeup—there was nothing unusual about that.
Yeh found makeup wipes in the bathroom and returned quietly.
She crouched beside the bed and began wiping Lin's face, slow and careful.
Eyelashes. The corner of her eyes. The edge of her lips.
Lin frowned faintly in her sleep, then relaxed again.
Yeh replaced the wipe with a warm towel and cleaned the last traces away. Every movement restrained, almost reverent—like handling something precious that didn't belong to her.
Lin was still wearing her dress.
For a moment Yeh stood there, fully aware of the boundary in front of her.
That was one line she wouldn't cross.
Changing into sleepwear was something Lin would have to do herself when she woke.
When everything else was done, Yeh switched off the bedside lamp.
The room fell back into darkness.
She stood there a moment longer, making sure Lin was sleeping deeply, before quietly pulling the door closed behind her.
Only then did she allow herself to acknowledge the truth.
No matter how she tried to define herself,
no matter how carefully she explained things with reason—
that moment of attraction had been real.
Not imagination. Not projection.
Her body had answered before language could.
And that was the most dangerous part.