Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I don’t know, Yuki.” Mon stares down at her hands, tightly wrung together in her lap. “It just sounds…like a movie plot ready to go wrong.”

Yuki blinks several times. “That’s an interesting way to put it.” “It really does!” Mon insists. “Like Pretty Lady or something.”

Yuki sighs. “It’s Pretty Woman. And you’ve never even watched it, so how would you know what it’s like?”

Mon returns her gaze to her hands. Yuki’s her best friend, as well as her manager, and there are few things that Mon wouldn’t tell her, but this would definitely make the list.

“This isn’t what I want,” she finally says, softly. “I want someone who cares about me, who wants to be with me, not just sleep with me for some cash.”

“Mon…” Yuki whispers, looking stricken.

They’ve talked about many things; personal, intimate things, but rarely her feelings in such detail. Mon is an open person, but when it comes to things like this, she can completely clam up.

Yuki knows that and she doesn’t make a habit out of pushing her.

“I’m sorry,” Yuki finally says. “I didn’t mean to push you so hard about it.” “It’s alright,” Mon says softly. “I know you just want what’s best for me.”

“Yes, I do.” Yuki puts her hand on Mon’s shoulder, her eyes soft and concerned. “Mon, you know that dating someone would be too risky. At this stage of your career, even a boyfriend would create a scandal, and a girlfriend is just…”

“Out of the question,” Mon finishes. “I know. You don’t have to remind me, Yuki.”

“I’m not reminding you. I’m just.” Yuki gives a rather helpless-looking shrug. “I wish I could give you what you want, Mon. But this is the best I can do.”

“So it’s between a girlfriend who the media will no doubt sniff out and who will thus ruin my career…and a call girl,” Mon muses. “Pretty extreme choices.”

“It’s a good agency,” Yuki says. “Very secure and discrete. No one will find out.” She says this like incentive, and Mon knows she’s supposed to care about details like this, but right now details are the last thing on her mind.

“Do you think they can give me a girlfriend?” “Mon…”

“Tell me something, Yuki.” Mon bites her lip. “Is it really too much to ask for – the fact that I want a relationship just like any other person?”

“No, it’s not too much to ask for.” Yuki frowns. “Of course it’s not too much to ask for.” “Then why can’t I have one?”

“Because—” Yuki cuts herself off, seeming to swallow the rest of her sentence. “Nobody said you can’t have one, Mon.”

“You did,” she points out.

“All I said was that it’s too risky, and you can’t tell me that it’s not.”

Mon deflates, because she knows that Yuki is right, she knows perfectly well, but…

“I know it’s too risky,” she says quietly. “I know it’s not feasible, and not realistic. But that doesn’t change how badly I want it.”

“I’m sorry, Mon,” Yuki says softly, pulling her into a hug. She sniffs against Yuki’s shoulder, where she’s laughed and cried and leaned on countless times. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know I’m being stupid. Naïve. Idealistic. Don’t mind me.”

“You’re not being stupid,” Yuki says gently. “You’re being hopeful.” Mon pauses for a heartbeat. “Sometimes I feel like they’re the same thing.”

“This isn’t like you.” Yuki’s voice is laced with concern. “You’re usually…happier.” “It’s hard to be happy all the time.”

“You don’t have to pretend, Mon, not around me.” Yuki puts a gentle hand under her chin, tilting her face up so that their eyes meet. “I’m your best friend, right?”

“Yeah,” Mon says, and when she curls into Yuki for another hug, Yuki holds her, puts an arm around her, and it feels so nice just to be with Yuki like this. “My best friend.”

———————————-

“Hello?” “Hey, it’s me.”

“Mon!” Kade sounds delighted to hear from her, and it makes her smile. “Hey girl, what’s up? I haven’t heard from you in forever.”

“Sorry,” Mon says guiltily. “I’ve been—”

“Busy,” Kade finishes knowingly. “I know. It’s hard not to be, when you’re the nation’s sweetheart and all.”

“Please tell me you’re not going to keep calling me that.”

“It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” Kade says brightly. “Come on, you can’t tell me you don’t like it when people call you that.”

“It’s not that I don’t like it.” Mon knows that she’s lucky, privileged, to have as many fans as she does, as much success as she does. She definitely doesn’t take it for granted, but at the same time, sometimes she just wants to be Konkamon Johnson instead of beautiful than angels Mon, ‘national sweetheart’. Especially around her friends, and Kade is one of her respected senior slash closest friends. “It’s just that…”

“I know,” Kade says gently, and she would know, being an idol as well. “I was just teasing. Don’t mind me.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t.” Mon smiles. “If I minded you, I would have a lot of headaches.”

“Hey!” She can practically see Kade’s trademark smirk. “For your information, I’m much closer to medicine than headaches.”

“Please give me some of your medicine, then,” she says, only half-jokingly. “I need some advice.” “What kind of advice?”

Mon exhales. “Relationship advice.” She wonders if it can even be called that, considering how she doesn’t have a relationship and probably won’t get one any time soon.

“Oh.” Kade sounds surprised, and Mon can’t blame her. She hasn’t had a relationship since her trainee days, and even those were few and far between, carefully guarded and hidden. “Did you meet someone?”

“No, but.” Mon takes a breath. “This is going to sound… It’s quite a mess. You should probably get ready.

“I was born ready, don’t worry about that.”

Mon almost laughs. “Oh, what would I do without you?”

Kade answers like she’s thought of this question many times. “End up in a sad, cloudy place with no laughter and delight.”

“You’re right,” Mon says sagely. “See, I could really use some laughter and delight now.” She takes a deep breath before telling Kade everything: how lonely she’s been lately, how it’s probably not just been ‘lately’, but maybe she’s just not as good at convincing herself these days. How she’s tired, which is nothing new, but sometimes she’s really been feeling like she can’t bear it, like she needs an escape, and it’s far from the first time she’s had these thoughts, but it’s really been a while.

How she just wants someone to be there for her, so she doesn’t feel so suffocated by her loneliness anymore.

“Oh, Mon…” Kade’s sorry for her, Mon can tell. Pities her. She can’t exactly blame her. She’s sorry for herself too, although she knows that drowning in self-pity won’t help her.

“When I told my dad, he said he’ll pray for me,” she says, very quietly, the words coming from a place she hasn’t revisited in a long time. “He said it’s a phase and it’ll blow over soon. He didn’t exactly say that it was a disease, and he was waiting for me to be cured, but his words weren’t that far off.”

“That’s bullshit,” Kade says tightly, and Mon is reminded again of why she loves Kade so much. “It’s not a disease, and it’s not a phase – it’s who you are. Don’t ever let someone, even your dad, tell you to be someone you’re not.”

“I’m working on that.” Mon gives a wisp of a smile. “But who I am and who I should be, who people think I am…they’re not exactly a great match.”

“People think you’re bright and sweet and kind, and that’s exactly what you are. Whether you like hot dogs or tacos is your own business.”

“Kade!” Mon can’t stop laughing. She laughs so hard she doubles over and her sides start to ache, but more importantly, her chest feels lighter than ever. “Honestly, you’re so ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously awesome,” Kade chirps, and Mon can’t argue. “So, when you said relationship advice,” Kade says, serious now, “did you mean you want a relationship? A girlfriend?”

“I don’t know. I just…want to be with someone. To have someone be there with me, for me.” “Sounds more like you want a life partner than a date.”

Mon manages a weak smile. There’s no point, since they’re on the phone and Kade can’t see her, but she’s become so used to faking positivity that it’s practically second nature to her now. “I already have a life partner: my career. I’m not sure if I have room for another one.”

“That’s what it comes down to, doesn’t it?” Kade sighs. “Our…careers.”

“Yeah,” Mon says softly, so grateful that Kade understands her perfectly well just from that single word. After all, no one outside of an idol can really understand an idol. “I’m so careful I can’t even go to an amusement park. I can’t let them see me drinking. Dating is out of the question, and dating another girl? I might as well just pack my bags and head for the countryside right now.”

Kade is silent for a long moment. “I hate to say this,” she says slowly, “but I can’t actually argue with you there. I mean, obviously going to the countryside is a bit of a stretch, but…”

“Yeah. I know.” Mon can’t control the silent sigh that heaves from her, leaving her body deflated and yet somehow more weighed down than before. “I know.”

“Oh, Mon, I wish I was there to give you a hug right now.” “I could use a hug,” she admits.

“I wish I could come over.” Kade sounds so upset it makes Mon want to comfort her. “I’m sorry, but I have a shooting to go to soon—”

“It’s okay,” Mon says gently. “I understand. Trust me, I know that our job has to come first.”

“If only it was all about the film, huh?” Kade asks, and it’s a rhetorical question, but Mon answers her anyway.

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “If only.”

She definitely has a lot of those in her life.

————————-

“Yuki?” Mon tries calling again, hoping that Yuki hears her this time, even though she hasn’t had any success the previous dozen times or so. “I have the worst luck,” she mutters to herself, sullenly crossing her arms over her chest.

“She’s not here,” someone says from behind her, and she almost jumps out of her skin. She spins around, almost tripping over the carpet, to see a tall girl fiddling with her watch.

“Who are you?” Mon gasps. She hopes this isn’t some crazy fan who’s come to Yuki’s apartment to stalk her. It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened, and although Yuki’s tried her best to make the security air-tight, there’s only so much she can do.

“Hi,” the girl says with a friendly smile. “My name is Tee Suppanad. I have an…appointment of sorts with Yuki Sushar.”

“Oh.” Tee looks perfectly normal, not like a deranged stalker at all, but Mon’s learned a long time ago not to judge a book by its cover.

“I’ve been waiting for her for a long time now,” Tee says. “I’ve tried calling her, but she’s not picking up. I was actually about to leave when you came. I’m guessing you don’t know where she is either, do you?”

“No, I don’t. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Tee says with an easy smile. “I guess I’ll just have to meet with her some other time then. It wasn’t easy getting some free time out of her, let me tell you. Yuki’s so busy I would think she was the idol instead of you.”

Mon’s eyes narrow. She instinctively steps back and looks with narrowed eyes for signs of a camera, but Tee just holds up her hands like she’s surrendering. “No, no, I’m not some crazy fan or anything. It’s just that—you’re Mon Johnson. It’s kind of hard not to recognize you.”

“I get that a lot,” Mon says wryly, relaxing a little but not completely letting her guard down. Tee grins. “I imagine you would.”

She has a nice smile, Mon thinks. Very pretty, like the rest of her. She wonders if Tee’s a model that is about to debut, or if she’s going to join the company to become an actress.

“Well.” Tee clears her throat. “I have other business to attend to. When you see Yuki, can you tell her that I dropped by?”

“Sure, I’ll tell her.” Mon glances down the empty hallway. “It’s strange that she’s not here. It’s not like Yuki to make people wait.”

Tee shrugs. “We’re all kept waiting some time in our lives. We can’t get everything we want right when we want it.”

“Right. I know that.”

“I imagine you would,” Tee says again, meeting Mon’s eyes squarely. “It can’t be easy being an idol, especially one in the closet.”

Mon feels like her eyes are going to pop out of her head. She doesn’t think she’s stopped breathing, but the world seems to be spinning around her, and her legs feel like they’re going to give out on her.

“Whoa.” Tee touches her arm. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to startle you. I just—that’s kind of the reason I’m here.” She gives a small smile. “I work for the agency Yuki is looking into.”

Mon stares blankly at her, Tee’s words still echoing in her head. Her greatest secret, revealed just like that. What if someone heard her? The news could be plastered all over the Internet by the next day. She could be ruined. She would be ruined.

“The agency,” Tee repeats. “You know, the escort agency.”

“Oh,” Mon says. “Oh.” It feels like the only word she knows how to say right now. “Yeah,” Tee says with a wry smile. “Oh.”

“Are you—?” Mon makes a waving gesture between them. “Are you here to…?”

“Oh, no,” Tee laughs. “Yuki just wants to know what we’re like, I guess. Get an idea of how we work. My boss sent me over.”

“I didn’t tell Yuki yes. I didn’t think she would have sent someone over already.”

“I promise you, we’re a very discreet agency,” Tee says, just like Yuki had. “No one will ever find out. You’re far from the first celebrity who’s taken an interest in our services, you know.”

As a matter of fact, Mon didn’t know that. The way Tee speaks about her…business, using words like ‘agency’ and ‘services’, makes Mon feel out of her element. She hasn’t been picturing them like a brothel or anything, but she hadn’t expected this charming, easy-going girl to show up at Yuki’s door and air out her greatest, most protected secret just like that either.

“I’m sorry for just springing that on you,” Tee says apologetically. “I shouldn’t have done that. Yuki told me that it’s very safe here though, that no one will be around except for us.”

“Yeah. She owns the whole floor, so.”

“Wow.” Tee whistles. “She must get a nice salary.”

“I earn quite a bit,” Mon says wryly, “as you can probably imagine.”

“Yeah, I have a good imagination,” Tee says with a smile, and Mon can’t help but smile back. She can’t say that she had any concrete expectations in terms of what Yuki had proposed, or a particular image of what a call girl would be like. But Tee seems so nice and funny and genuine, someone that Mon wouldn’t hesitate to make friends with. The fact that she has a dazzling smile and legs that seem to go on forever definitely doesn’t hurt.

Maybe Mon was wrong to just dismiss Yuki’s idea like that. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad. After all, she can’t deny that sometimes she does want someone to warm her bed, to satisfy her physical needs in a way that would at least temporarily dull her emotional ones.

“I really have to go,” Tee says. “It was nice to meet you, Mon. Maybe we’ll see each other again.” She winks at Mon, and then with a jaunty wave, she’s heading for the elevator, her slim but shapely hips swaying when she walks.

Mon laughs a little, sure that Tee’s doing it on purpose. Then again, if she has a body like that she would draw attention to it too.

“Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad…” she murmurs out loud.

After all, there’s no way she would know unless she tries, right?

“I’ve changed my mind,” Mon tells Yuki, walking into her apartment.

Yuki blinks at her from where she’s beating some eggs, her hair flour-smeared and pulled into a sloppy ponytail. She still looks great, but then again, she always looks great. “Okay?” she says slowly. “Changed your mind about what?”

“About…” Mon bites her lip. “The call girl thing.”

Yuki blinks a few more times, looking like she’s not sure what’s happening. “You’ve changed your mind?”

“Yeah,” is all Mon can think of saying. “So you want me to find someone for you?”

Mon almost laughs at the wording. It sounds like Yuki’s setting her up for a date. But then again, this is sort of like a date, she supposes. A date that skips the dinner and goes straight to the bedroom.

“I ran into Tee Suppanad. Did she manage to find you?”

Yuki puts down her chopsticks. “Have a seat. I think this is a sit-down kind of talk. Do you want something to eat or drink?”

“Do you have any of those macarons left over?” Mon pokes her head into the fridge, scanning for the little paper box.

“You shouldn’t have too many of those, you know. They’re fattening.” “What, are you saying I’m fat?”

“No, but you will be if you keep up your diet of pastries.”

Mon waves a hand dismissively. So she’d just have to hit the gym a little harder. She knows that she has to take care of her body, and Yuki knows that she doesn’t have to remind her. After all, she’s pretty sure her legs have garnered her more than a fair share of her fans.

“I told you no before.” She sits down with a green tea macaron. “I don’t understand why you still arranged a…talk with Tee Suppanad anyway.”

“I scheduled that before you told me no. I didn’t want to close my options, in case you changed your mind.”

“Did you think I would change my mind?”

Yuki gives a gentle smile. “You can be…volatile.”

Mon can’t argue with that. She takes another nibble of the tasty confection, savouring its delicate sweetness. “Tee’s nice. Pretty, too.”

“She’s very in demand. I’m not sure if I can actually book her for you.”

Mon stares at her, a little wide-eyed. She doesn’t know how Yuki can talk about it so casually, like they’re just discussing some kind of business deal. They’re human beings; Mon feels bad enough for hiring them in the first place, but she would never want to think of them as sex toys or anything like that.

“It doesn’t have to be Tee. I just… She’s nice, and funny. I didn’t think—I didn’t think they would be like that.”

“What, did you think they would be airheaded bimbos throwing themselves at you?”

“Maybe it would be better that way,” Mon says quietly. She doesn’t want to think so much about their personalities, about their lives outside of their jobs, because that would make things so much harder.

She doesn’t think that people become call girls because they want to be. It’s a higher class of selling your body than prostitutes on the streets (she’s never seen one, but she knows that they exist, and some of them are merely children), but it still comes down to having sex with a stranger for money. A stranger who may not treat you well, or use you to satisfy some sick fantasy. A stranger who uses you, period.

She doesn’t know what kind of conditions would lead someone to become a call girl, and she doesn’t want to think about it.

“Don’t think about that, Mon,” Yuki says gently. “Think about it like this. You’ll treat them well. You’re obviously not going to say or do anything hurtful to them, and they’ll be well-paid. This is the best you can do for them. You can help them, and help yourself at the same time.”

Yuki always knows just what to say to make Mon feel better. She’s lucky to have a manager who’s also her best friend, who has her best interests at heart. She’s very lucky indeed.

“Are they… Do they just send someone random over, or…?”

“They have a…catalogue, of sorts, if you want to look at it,” Yuki offers. “You know, pick out someone you like.”

Mon shakes her head. The idea of that just sounds so wrong to her. She feels like she’s shopping, going through a list of prospective products, and that doesn’t sit well with her at all. “Just have them send whoever. Well, someone discrete and who doesn’t talk too much.”

“You can do enough talking for the both of you, I assume.”

Normally Yuki’s jokes make Mon smile, but she doesn’t feel up to smiling right now. “Yuki, are you sure this is a good idea?”

“I’m not sure if this is a good idea,” Yuki says carefully, “but I feel like it might be a necessary one. Everyone has needs.”

“But not everyone hires a call girl to satisfy their needs,” Mon says dryly.

“You don’t have a lot of options,” Yuki points out, still gentle, but some of her ‘manager tone’, as Mon calls it, has slipped in. “I’m trying to help, but if you really don’t think this is a good idea…”

“No, it’s…I’ll stick with it.” Mon sighs. “Who knows, maybe they’ll send someone interesting.”

She has no idea how right she is.

Chapter Text

“Yuki.”

“Yes, Mon?”

Mon runs her tongue over her lips in a futile attempt to moisten them. They feel dry and cracked; she drank plenty of water and put on some lip gloss too, but neither had helped.

The hotel room, as nice as it is, feels like it’s shrinking, caging her in, and she has to close her eyes and take some deep breaths, so she’ll stop feeling like the walls are closing in on her.

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

Yuki puts a hand on her shoulder. “If you really don’t want to,” she says, voice soft, gentle, “you don’t have to. There’s still time to back out.”

“It’s not about wanting to.” Mon pulls her bottom lip into her mouth. “It’s just. What if I mess up? What if she hates me?”

“Mon.” Yuki sounds amused. “How could anyone hate you? And anyway, they all know what they’re doing and how to please their clients. That’s what matters. Personal feelings don’t factor into the equation.”

“You sound a little too familiar with this.”

Yuki shrugs. “You’re not the first celebrity who’s hired this kind of service, you know. Nothing’s ever gone wrong, Mon. Trust me.”

“I trust you,” she says, because of course she trusts Yuki. If she doesn’t, who would she trust? “But this isn’t…this isn’t—”

“Hey,” Yuki says gently. “If something happens that you don’t like, if you’re not comfortable in any way, just leave the room, okay? Call me, and I’ll be right over.”

Mon looks at her for a long moment, wanting to say so many things, but they either fade away in her mouth before she can put them into words, or they tangle up into a hard knot in her throat. She settles for, “You’re a great friend, Yuki,” and smiles the smile reserved for Yuki and Kade and her other close friends.

Yuki’s face softens, messages shining in her eyes like Morse code. She reaches out her arm, her hand an inch away from Mon’s face, but then three crisp knocks sound on the door.

Mon tenses up, and Yuki’s arm drops.

“It must be her,” Yuki says quietly. “Remember, you’re the one in control. Don’t be worried.”

Mon nods jarringly, and Yuki gives her a smile. “And – well, have fun! But I don’t need to know the details.”

“I wasn’t planning on telling you them,” she says wryly.

Yuki gives her a farewell fist pump on her way out. When she opens the door, she and the—the girl (Mon can’t bear to think of her as the call girl or something too similar) exchange a long, assessing look, like they’re sizing each other up. Neither of them says anything, and the girl doesn’t watch Yuki walk away.

Mon does. She feels like she sees Yuki’s retreating back a lot these days. Then she takes another breath and turns her attention to the other occupant in the room. The girl shuts the door quietly and locks it before walking towards her, steps crisp and deliberate. She doesn’t look much older than Mon, with silky dark brown hair, flawless makeup, and clothes that look right out of a fashion magazine.

She’s pretty, Mon thinks, although that shouldn’t come as a surprise. Call girls should be pretty, right? Her next thought is she’s skinny. Not just slender, skinny, but model skinny. In fact, she looks more than pretty enough to be an actress, and it makes Mon wonder why she’s in the call girl business, and what she really wants to do, and if she even wants to be here right now. She can tell it’s not a healthy train of thought to have, and so she tries to stop it in its tracks.

“I’m Mon,” she says, forcing a smile.

“I know who you are.” The girl looks at her with a cool, fathomless gaze. “I don’t think it’s possible to live in Thailand and not know who you are.”

“Oh.” Mon’s not sure how to react to the comment, which sounds like a compliment and yet not at the same time. “So, are you, um, a fan?”

A ghost of a smile crosses her face. “No, I’m not a fan. I know of you, that’s it.”

Mon nods, not knowing if she should feel relieved or disappointed or what. She doesn’t know what to think about this girl at all, this girl with her porcelain features and nonchalant aura. She seems so indifferent, which is not something that Mon’s used to at all, but it’s not exactly a bad change.

“And you are…?” Mon prompts, wanting a name to put to that apathetic but beautiful face.
“Going to make you feel very good,” she replies, and kisses Mon full on the mouth.

Mon’s eyes fly open, her whole body freezing at the unexpected kiss. It’s not unpleasant, the coaxing pressure of the other girl’s mouth on hers, but she can’t quite find it in her to respond.

“Loosen up a little.” The girl pulls back slightly. “I feel like I’m trying to kiss a statue.” “Sorry,” Mon says meekly. “I, uh, didn’t expect that.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Well, what do you think I’m here for? To sing karaoke with you?”

She’s here to have sex with me, Mon thinks, and suddenly she feels breathless and nervous and not ready at all.

“I haven’t done this much,” she admits, feeling like she might as well let the other girl know. “It’s been a while.”

“I can’t imagine why someone like you hasn’t gotten laid ‘in a while’,” the girl says, studying Mon with dark, liquid eyes. “Well, don’t worry, I’ll remedy that very soon.”

Mon can’t help her blush.

“Although I really hope you’re not going to do your statue imitation again. You’re not like this all the time, are you?”

“No, I’m not,” she says, more defensively than she intended. “I’m not like a statue. It’s just that you’re—you’re…” She trails off, not knowing what to say.

The eyebrow comes up again. “What, not your type?”

Mon doesn’t think she has a type, per se, but given how pretty the girl is, there definitely won’t be any problems with physical attraction. But—

“If you’re going to keep being so judgmental, then definitely not.”

The girl cracks a smile. “You’re right,” she concedes. “I’m not being fair. I can’t deny that I… have some pre-conceptions about celebrities.”

“Have you been with one before?” Mon asks curiously.

The girl’s face darkens, her eyes flashing clear warning signs. Then a charming, clearly plastic smile replaces the expression. Mon can’t say which expression bothers her more.

“One like you? No.”

Mon’s used to keeping secrets, and she understands what it’s like to guard them with everything in her, to snap at anyone who tries to cross boundaries they shouldn’t.

“That’s none of my business,” she says quietly. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

The girl’s face softens. “Look, I’m going to kiss you again, and I would appreciate it if you didn’t freak out like last time.”

“I didn’t freak out,” Mon starts indignantly, but then the girl’s kissing her, and whatever protests she had dissolve, or maybe they’re swallowed by the girl’s (incredibly talented) mouth. She doesn’t know. It’s hard to think when she’s being kissed like that.

“That was better,” the girl says approvingly, and Mon can’t argue. She can feel her cheeks flushed with warmth, her lips still tingling. “I was starting to think you needed a couple of drinks to get into this.”

“Me too,” Mon admits, and the girl laughs. She has a nice laugh: melodic, sweet, almost. “What are you like when you’re drunk?”

“I’m more…uninhibited? I mean, we all are. Alcohol does that to you.”

“Okay, then,” she says easily, grabbing Mon’s wrist. Her nails are long and smooth, perfectly manicured, and without knowing why, Mon yields to her touch. “I know what to do then.”

“What? Get totally wasted?” Mon asks sarcastically.

The girl grins. Her teeth are toothpaste commercial white, and although the smile doesn’t reach her eyes, she looks really pretty anyway. “Now you’re talking.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea…” Mon can just imagine what would happen if somebody snaps pictures of her slumped over a bottle of Whisky.

“Fun things hardly are,” the girl says solemnly, “but listen to me. Things are going to be a lot more fun if you loosen up a bit.”

“I can loosen up without alcohol.”

“Of course you can, but alcohol is a shortcut. A very useful shortcut.”

“You know, you still haven’t told me your name yet,” Mon points out, not so much to deflect, but because she’s genuinely curious. “You know my name; I think it’s only fair that I know yours.”

“Everybody knows your name,” the girl scoffs, “and besides, who ever said I was fair?” Mon doesn’t say anything, just fixes her with an expectant stare.

“You can call me whatever you want,” she says with a shrug. “Your fantasy’s name. Your ex’s name. I really don’t care.”

Mon doesn’t give up. She hasn’t gotten to where she is without being headstrong to the point of obnoxiousness. In her industry, if you’re pushed and you don’t push back, you’ll just end up falling again and again, and one day you won’t be able to get back up.

“I want to call you by your name.”

The girl doesn’t budge. It’s obvious she’s also more than just a little stubborn. “I have many names.”

“So do I,” Mon says, thinking of full name Konkamon, her English name Patricia, or the thai actress Mon. Sometimes she wonders if they’re all the same person. “Can I have one, at least?”

There’s a long pause, and she’s about to think that she won’t get an answer, when the girl finally replies: “Most people call me Sam.”

Mon notes with cynical frustration that she didn’t exactly say that’s her name, just that most people call her by it.

“Sam? Is that short for Saman?, Samai?, Samantha?”

“Do you always ask so many questions?”

“Yes,” Mon replies without batting an eyelash. “Do you always give so little answers?”

Sam – Mon decides that she looks like a Sam, and that’s much better than the girl, so she’s just going to call her Sam from now on – actually smiles at that. “Most of the time, yes. It tends to bother people.”

“Gee, I wonder why.”

“Yeah, I don’t know,” Sam says airily. “I guess most people like to have their questions answered, so I’m not a good match for that. But it doesn’t matter. I’m here to answer needs, not questions.”

Mon nods slowly, and suddenly Sam’s kissing her again, pressing her body into hers – for someone so thin, her body is unexpectedly soft with curves – and moving her mouth softly, almost tenderly against Mon’s.

She’s a really good kisser, Mon thinks breathlessly, lips parting of their own volition, letting Sam’s tongue in.

“That’s better,” Sam murmurs against her mouth. “You know, I never had to go so slowly before. Most people just want to hop into bed within the first few minutes. But you – you’re not even comfortable with me kissing you.”

“I’m totally comfortable now,” Mon tries to say, but it comes out as half a gasp, and Sam laughs.

“You’re cute,” she says, and Mon’s blush darkens.

She’s been called ‘cute’ tons of times before, but she can’t remember it ever making her so flustered. She doesn’t know what’s up with her; it’s probably just nerves.

“Really cute,” Sam adds, almost teasingly. “It’s my job to be cute.”

“It’s your job to be a lot of things, it seems.” Mon swallows. “Yeah.”

That doesn’t even begin to cover it, really, but somehow it seems to say a lot. There are a lot of things that she has to be, has to do, obligations explicitly stated and implicitly hinted at alike, and expectations that tie her down like leaden weights. She loves what she does, and she would never think about giving it up, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy.

Then again, since when was love easy?

She realizes she’s been lost in her thoughts for a long time when she snaps out of them and sees Sam looking intently at her, eyes gauging and thoughtful and…something else, something she can’t quite read.

“You’re staring at me,” Mon blurts out.

Sam doesn’t look the slightest bit embarrassed; she doesn’t even draw her eyes away. “Sue me. You’re nice to look at.”

“So are you,” Mon says, without even thinking about it, and Sam laughs.

“It’s my job to look nice, and…” She puts her hand on Mon’s thigh, leaning in, and this time Mon doesn’t feel shy in the slightest. She kisses Sam back like she wants to swallow her breath, winds her fingers into Sam’s hair and pulls her closer.

“…I’m very good at my job,” Sam finishes, rather breathlessly, but it just makes her voice sound low and husky, and Mon couldn’t agree more. “So what do you say?”

“About what?” Mon asks, bewildered.

“Going out for a drink. Or a couple. And don’t worry,” Sam adds smoothly, “if you pass out, I’ll…take care of you.” She smiles; half a smirk, really, and Mon feels like her face is on fire. Whatever she had been expecting the call girl Yuki hired to be, Sam isn’t anything like that.

And it’s not a bad thing, she finds. Not at all.

“Ditto,” she says, meeting Sam’s gaze squarely. This time, Sam’s smile is a full, proper, real one. This time, Mon can’t deny that she’s beautiful. Not just pretty, or sexy, but beautiful.

Sam has a thoughtful, almost speculative look on her face. “You’re…very interesting, Mon.”

“So are you,” she returns.

“Just wait until later,” Sam says suggestively. “Then you’ll see just how interesting I can be.” Mon thought that she couldn’t blush any harder, but she’s proven wrong.

“You know, if you really want to get drunk, I have tons of alcohol right here.”

The mini-bar by the corner is stocked, and thinking about it now, Mon’s not sure if the room came like that or if Yuki especially planned it. It doesn’t seem like Yuki, who’s careful if nothing else, to supply her with so much alcohol (they both know how low Mon’s alcohol tolerance is). But then again, Yuki knows her better than anyone else and she would know that something to lower inhibitions is exactly what Mon needs.

“Do you now?” Sam asks with some interest. “You don’t seem like the type to have a liquor stash.”

“Well, what type do I seem like?”

Sam smiles. “The proper, good kind, who does what she’s told and doesn’t take any risks.”

Mon opens her mouth, and upon consideration, closes it again. “Maybe you’re right,” she admits. “I’m so hung up all the time over what can go wrong that I don’t do much.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s never too late to start living. That’s why I’m here.” “To teach me about life?” she asks wryly.

“Sex is an important part of life.”

Mon’s face starts to turn red again, but she manages to control it this time. She doesn’t know how she’s going to do this when she can’t even listen to Sam say ‘sex’ without blushing. Then again, there’s something about Sam’s delicate, refined voice, the glimmer in her eyes that’s dark and bright at the same time: nothing about her seems ordinary, or innocent, and in comparison, Mon feels completely out of place around her.

After all, they are from two different worlds.

“You’re nervous, aren’t you?” Sam asks like she already knows the answer. Mon swallows. “Yes.”

“Why?” Sam questions bluntly. “Do I intimidate you?”

Yes, Mon almost says, but instead she answers with a question of her own. “Do you think you can’t be intimidating?”

“Oh, I know I can,” Sam says, then adds, clearly amused, “and I thought it was my job to give questions instead of answers.”

“You don’t own that job,” Mon says, and Sam laughs.

“Hey.” She cups Mon’s face with cool, gentle fingers, leaning in close enough for Mon to count her eyelashes. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I would appreciate it if you gave me an actual answer.”

Mon’s breath hitches a little. “I don’t make any promises.”

Sam laughs again. “So here’s the question.” Mon nods in affirmation. “Do you want me to take my shirt off, or do you want to do it yourself?”

Mon’s eyes widen to the size of coins, and she makes an involuntary noise somewhere between a gasp and a squeak.

Sam sighs, but she sounds closer to disappointed than frustrated. “Please don’t tell me you’re one of those desperate rich people who are so lonely they hire an escort just to play cards with them?”

Mon feels like Sam hit the mark pretty close; she doesn’t even feel offended. “Do you have any cards?”

Sam sighs again, but there’s a chuckle in there somewhere. She kisses Mon, just a chaste peck, and pulls back with a determined look. “We’ll work on it.”

“By getting drunk out of our minds?” Mon says skeptically.

“Don’t be silly. We’re not going to get drunk out of our minds. You are.” “Let me tell you something—”

“Tell me later,” Sam says, giving Mon a long, deep kiss that leaves her head spinning and feeling a little drunk already. “Don’t worry so much, okay? I promise you nothing bad will happen.”

Mon almost points out that they met less than an hour ago, so it’s not like she has plenty of cause to trust Sam, but there’s something about the look in Sam’s eyes, the small smile on her lips, that makes her want to.

“Look, I had a nice club in mind, but if you don’t want to go to one, we don’t have to. You could show me your secret alcohol stash.”

Mon smiles. “That makes it sound like I’m an alcoholic or something.” “You don’t have to be an alcoholic to enjoy getting drunk.”

“Do you enjoy that? Getting drunk?”

“Alcohol is not the worst thing to be drunk on,” is all Sam says. “Now come on.” “You know, I think I should be the one saying that.”

Sam stops, the corner of her mouth tipping up. “Okay. Say away then.”

If she thinks that Mon is going to back off, she’s dead wrong. Sure, Mon may have totally acted like a shy, blushing virgin all along, but she’s not a pushover and she’s not going to let Sam dictate things here.

“Would you like a drink?”

Sam smiles, and it’s not just an upward lift of her lips, it’s an actual smile, small but full, quiet but real. It’s the second time that Mon’s seen this smile now, but she still can’t quite draw her eyes away from it.

“I’d love one.”

“And I’m not going to get wasted.” Mon heads to the mini-bar, Sam right on her heels. “Just…mildly intoxicated.”

“Okay. That’s what they all say at the beginning.”

And when Mon turns to shoot her a sharp look, she sees that Sam’s grinning, the expression lighting up her face.

It’s rather early to tell, but she thinks that she made the right choice after all.

Chapter Text

Sam wasn’t exactly being truthful when she said she only knew of Mon. She wouldn’t consider herself a dedicated Faeries or anything (seriously, who thinks of these fan club names?), but she’s definitely a fan.

Not that Mon needs to know that.

When Saint had told her that she would service Mon Johnson, she had wondered if she was drunk, and then almost asked him if he was drunk. Mon is far from the first actor who’s recruited their services – it’s amazing, really, how many artists are so deep in the closet Sam wonders if they even know what the outside looks like – but she’s also far from the first actress who Sam would ever suspect to be gay.

But Sam’s job isn’t to think about them as celebrities, or people, even, just as clients to serve and pleasure. Even so, it’s hard not to be at least a little excited at the prospect of sleeping with Mon Johnson. She had told Tee about it, because—well, she tells Tee everything she’s willing and able to say out loud.

“She seems really nice,” Tee tells Sam, “and she’s really pretty even without makeup.” “I can’t believe you ran into her just like that.”

“Jealous?”

Sam snorts. “Given how she’s my client and not yours…”

“You know I’m busy with Billy. He specifically requested for me not to have any other clients, and…” Tee shrugs. “He’s paying a lot of money for it, so it’s not like Saint could turn him down.”

“Are you flattered?” Sam teases. “Not a lot of clients ask for exclusivity, you know.” Tee fixed her hair. “Who wouldn’t want to keep me to themselves?”

Sam doesn’t know whether to roll her eyes or laugh, so she does both. “I have to say, I was really surprised that he came here. I mean, he could probably get any girl he wanted, and you said he doesn’t have any weird kinks or anything…”

Tee looks thoughtful. “He doesn’t talk much. For someone whose nickname is “Charismatic Vampire”, he’s not very charismatic. I’d sleep with him any day, but I wouldn’t date him, you know?”

“I hope you haven’t let that show. You’d hurt his feelings.”

“Of course I haven’t let it shown,” Tee scoffs. “You and I are the best at our jobs, which means that we only show what they want to see.”

Sam smiles a little at that, not because it’s funny, but because Tee is the only person in the world who really understands her, and sometimes it’s just nice to have that.

“I wonder who’s better at acting then – you or Billy.”

Tee looks thoughtful. “Probably still him. His personality is…not very exciting. Sometimes I think that the people who play someone else the best don’t have such a strong sense of self.”

“Then you’re screwed,” Sam says, matter of fact. “Your sense of self is so strong you could knock someone out with it.”

“I could knock them off their feet,” Tee says with a grin and hugs Sam. “Like you. Don’t deny it, Sam. You love me.”

Sam just laughs, and although she’s generally not a very touchy person (which might seem odd given how she touches and is touched for a living, but maybe that’s exactly why she’s not very touchy when she stops being Sam the Call Girl and is just Sam), she hugs Tee back.

And Mon turns out to be quite the surprise.

Usually, people whose sexuality is closely repressed are…well, far from repressed when they finally get the chance to fulfill their desires with someone who is there for exactly that purpose. Sam would never think that Mon would be so shy, would stammer and blush and be so uncomfortable, but she hadn’t found it off-putting. In fact, she’d found it intriguing. (And cute.)

She could tell that the problem wasn’t Mon not wanting her; it was that Mon didn’t know what to do with her want, because she could satiate it instead of containing it and pushing it back. And although at first, she had some doubts about the force of Mon’s personality (not that it matters, because the only emotion that counts here is lust, and that’s not really an emotion, is it?), it became clear that Mon gives as good as she gets.

Sam likes that. She shouldn’t either like or dislike a client, and she usually doesn’t personally, but she thinks that it would be hard not to like Mon.

It could be a problem, she thinks, but she attributes it to being a fan of Mon’s in the first place. There’s something to be said about meeting the Mon offstage and off-camera, about seeing the loneliness that lurks like a shadow in her eyes and the triumph at being able to ease it for at least a moment.

She realizes that she’s been more herself with Mon than she has with anyone except Tee in ages, and that’s so surprising—being herself, rather than the person they want her to be. Who she is, what she likes, that doesn’t matter. What matters is who they want her to be and what they like, and she’s exceptional at giving those to her clients.

Tee was right about the two of them being the best at their jobs, and it’s not just that they’re the best between the sheets (although Sam knows she’s damn good in bed).

Sometimes she feels so immersed in being someone else, whether pretending to be shy and demure, or bold and sassy, or just not herself, that she loses track of who she is for a second, a minute, a moment spent clutching the sheets or a client’s hair and watching blurry images flash across the back of her eyelids: half-formed dreams of everything that she could have been rather than naked and beneath around with someone she doesn’t give a damn about.

She loves and hates those times at the same time. Loves them because it means she still knows who she is and remembers that no, this isn’t a life that she wanted and has decided to simply settle for. Hates them because this is all there is for her now, and really, she should just accept it instead of wishing for things she’ll never have.

“What are you thinking about?” Mon whispers, holding a half-empty glass, her cheeks flushed in a way that has nothing to do with shyness. She looks like she’s trying to swallow Sam with her gaze, which is so intense and heady that Sam has to look away for a second before conjuring a smile and meeting her eyes again.

“You,” she replies flirtatiously. The key is to make the client feel like they’re the centre of her universe, like nothing exists in the room – which is their world now – besides the two of them. She’s gotten so good at it that she could almost convince herself.

Mon giggles and drains her glass. Sam can’t remember if it’s her fourth or fifth one, or if it’s vodka or scotch. She knows they’ve been mixing alcohol, and Mon is probably dangerously drunk right now.

Perfect.

“You’re beautiful,” Sam murmurs, half because this is what she says to everyone, and half because she means it. “I want you so badly.”

Mon doesn’t blush in the slightest at that. Ah, the wonders of alcohol. “You say that to everyone, don’t you?” She hiccups.

Sam smiles, honey-sweet and sickle-sharp. “There’s no ‘everyone’ here – there’s just you and me.” She presses Mon back against the table and kisses her like she wants to consume her, until all her senses are filled up with Mon and there’s no room for any stray thoughts. “Do you want me too?”

“Yes,” Mon breathes, staring at Sam like she can see the world in her eyes. “Yes, I want you.”

Sam smiles like an invitation, eyes heavy-lidded and full of things that Mon’s never let herself think about because they’re too dangerous, too alluring, too unattainable. Except they’re not unattainable now, because Sam is right here across from her, as beautiful as a dream and yet solid and tangible and just a touch away.

“Let me ask you this again, and I’m sure you’ll actually give me an answer this time.” Sam takes Mon’s hand and puts it on her blouse. Mon scratches at the first button, and Sam’s smile widens. “Do you want to take this off or should I do it myself?”

Mon stares at her, eyes huge and dark and wanting. It’s not the first time Sam’s been looked at like this, not even close, but it still sends a current of thrill through her. There’s something to be said about being wanted, especially when it’s by someone so famous and adored and gorgeous. Half the country may want Mon, but right now, the only one she wants is Sam, and it’s a powerful, intoxicating feeling.

“I want—it off,” Mon says, stumbling over her words. “I want to see you.”

Well, it’s not one of the two answers Sam was expecting, but it’s perfectly good enough.

“You’ll see plenty of me soon enough.” She kisses Mon again, feeling like she can’t get enough of the little sounds that she makes and the way she presses her whole body against Sam like she wants to fall into her. “Come on, I think you’ve had enough to drink.”

Mon blinks blearily and holds a hand to her temple. “I think I’ve had too much. I’m not very good at holding my alcohol.”

“Don’t worry,” Sam reassures her. “You won’t have to do anything but sit back and enjoy. I told you: I’m very good at my job.”

She takes Mon’s hand – her wrist feels so delicate in Sam’s grasp that she feels like she could snap it if she’s not careful – and presses her down on the bed. Mon is pliant and yielding under her, and she’s about to climb over her until she abruptly changes her mind and lies down across from her instead.

Mon curls into her and places a hand on her cheek; tentative, gentle. “Sam,” she breathes. “Is that really your name?”

“Does it matter?” Sam starts raining a trail of kisses along Mon’s neck, reaching expertly to undo her pants. This would be so much easier if Mon wore a skirt, but undressing her isn’t exactly a chore.

“It matters to me,” Mon insists, her breath hitching as Sam’s fingers slip under her shirt, idly running over the soft skin of her stomach before heading further north.

“Yes, it’s my real name.”

“Why do you have an English name?”

Sam wonders why they’re playing Twenty Questions when there are much better (and more pleasurable) things for them to be doing. But when she looks more intently at Mon, she sees how blown out her pupils are, how her limbs seem completely loose and yet her breathing keeps hitching, and she realizes just how drunk Mon is.

“You’re right,” she chuckles. “You really can’t hold your alcohol.”

“This was your idea,” Mon says accusingly, grabbing a fistful of Sam’s shirt to pull her in for a kiss. For someone who froze like an ice block the first time Sam kissed her, Mon sure likes kissing.

It doesn’t surprise Sam, now that she has a greater understanding of Mon. She seems like the type who would look for intimacy over sexual gratification.

It’s too bad Sam is only here to provide the latter, not the former. “I have to say.” Sam grins. “I rather like you drunk.”

Mon pouts. “You don’t like me sober?”

“You’re pretty damn cute either way,” Sam says honestly.

Mon looks so shyly pleased at that, eyes shining and head ducking, it makes Sam smile, really smile.

“I like it when you call me cute,” Mon whispers, like a secret. She shifts closer to Sam, their hips pressing together by this point, and yet it’s strangely not sexual.

Sam stops breathing for a moment. This is not what she signed up for. She thought that she would get a night of intense sex and go home with her wallet much fuller. She didn’t expect to have this girl – and she’s just a girl, really, even though there’s nothing childish about what Sam wants to do with her – curling into her, asking her questions, those long-lashed eyes big and warm. She didn’t expect to like it so much. She didn’t expect Mon to have this kind of effect on her, because no client ever has, and that’s exactly the way she’s always liked it.

She clears her throat. “I like it when you kiss me,” she says, and she’s not lying at all. “Why don’t you—”

Mon doesn’t need to be asked twice, evidently, because she kisses Sam so fiercely that their teeth knock together. It’s kind of painful, but Sam kisses back without a single thought of stopping or breaking away. For someone who claims not to have done this in a while, Mon’s almost painfully good at kissing. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t just kiss with her lips and tongue; she seems to put something else, something more, into it.

She moans Sam’s name like a prayer, and it should really not be as hot as it is. (Then again, that voice…) Suddenly Sam’s very happy she gave Mon her name.

“If this is how you get when you’re drunk, then we really have to do this again,” Sam breathes. Then she freezes. Again? Where had that come from? There’s no guarantee that she’ll see Mon again. Actually, the chances are probably very slim. And Sam shouldn’t want to see her again. She shouldn’t have any feelings, because Mon is just a client and this is just a job.

But no client has ever made you feel this way, right? Actually, no client has ever really made you feel. Feeling is not part of the job, and this doesn’t feel like just a job right now.

She’s drunk, Sam tells that little voice in her head, and then she just feels ridiculous because having voices in your head definitely isn’t a good sign, and arguing with them like they’re actually a person is an even worse sign.

“I want to do this again,” Mon tells her, sounding very sincere and sober. She smiles, and Sam’s breath catches in her throat. She’s always liked Mon’s smiles – who doesn’t? – but it’s one thing to see them on a screen, and another thing altogether to see them in real life, brilliant in a way that has nothing to do with size or wattage and everything to do with the dream-soft emotion there.

Sam slides a leg between Mon’s and gyrates against her, slowly and deliberately. Mon makes a sound low in her throat, her eyes going hooded, and fuck, that’s sexy as hell.

“We can’t even say ‘again’ because we haven’t even done it once yet,” Sam murmurs, taking in how Mon’s eyes darken at her wording. “That doesn’t seem very right, does it?”

“No.” Mon licks her lips. “It doesn’t.”

“I’m going to take your clothes off now,” Sam tells her, blunt and matter-of-fact, “and then I’m going to take mine off, and we’re going to have sex.”

Mon turns slightly pink, but she nods, anticipation dancing in her eyes like a live spark. “Okay,” she says, her voice quiet and low but not hesitant in the slightest, her eyes fixed on Sam like there’s nothing else she’d ever want to look at. She still looks rather drunk, but not on alcohol. Sam can’t describe it; she just knows she likes it.

“Look at you,” Sam croaks, unable to hold the words back. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

Mon beams and tips her forehead against Sam’s, lips skimming against hers for a moment. “I like it when you call me that,” she breathes. “It makes me feel—”

Sam waits patiently, her heart pulsing a rhythm that she hasn’t felt in a long, long time, but Mon doesn’t finish her sentence. Instead she groans, her face scrunching up. “Ugh, my stomach. I think I might—” Her face starts turning green, and really, Sam can’t believe that Mon’s gone from undressing her with her eyes to close to throwing up.

“Do you need to get to the bathroom?” she asks helpfully. Mon nods, clamping a hand over her mouth, and Sam gets both of them up and off the bed. “Well, let’s go then. It isn’t very far.”

Mon hiccups. “You’re really nice, Sammy.”

Sammy, huh? She’s been called ‘Sam’ many times, but never ‘Sammy’. She attributes the strange feeling in her stomach at the nickname to the novelty of it.

“Thanks,” she says wryly. “I did say that I would take care of you if you passed out. Although I think this is worse than passing out.”

She keeps a secure grip around Mon’s waist, holding her close, as she guides her into the bathroom. Mon goes boneless in a way that makes walking really difficult, but Sam manages somehow.

“Thank you,” Mon says quietly. “I can’t remember the last time someone except Yuki took care of me.”

At first Sam has no idea who this Yuki person is, but then she remembers the woman who left the hotel room just as she came in: Yuki Sushar, Saint’s childhood friend and Mon’s manager.

Sam shrugs. “Everybody needs to be taken care of sometimes.”

Mon’s face is ashen when she leans over the toilet and retches almost violently, like she wants to expel something deep inside her, but nothing comes up except saliva. Sam has one hand reached out for her, maybe to pull back her hair or touch her forehead just to make sure she’s okay, when she remembers that she’s not supposed to care and lets her hand drop.

“Even you?” Mon asks, falling back against the tiled floor like she can’t hold up her weight anymore, brushing her hair away from her face with the back of her hand.

“I can take care of myself.”

Mon doesn’t say anything, just looks at Sam with soft eyes before gargling with mouthwash and splashing some cold water onto her face. She looks closer to pale than flushed, really, and Sam wonders if it’s just the effect of alcohol sickness or if it’s something else.

“Sorry about that.” Mon gives a wobbly smile. “Way to ruin a moment, huh?”

“We can make other moments,” Sam tells her, and then they’re kissing, and sex in the bathroom sounds very appealing right now, but somehow, they make it back to the bed in a blur of hot mouths and wandering hands.

“When you call me beautiful,” Mon suddenly says. “When you look at me like that, it makes me feel special.” She looks at Sam, eyes soft and sad and vulnerable. “But that’s your job, isn’t it?”

Sam doesn’t have an answer. She pulls Mon on top of her, brackets her hips and kisses her the way Mon had kissed her earlier, with that something else, something she doesn’t know but knows.

This will have to be Mon’s answer.