Work Text:
Ling had never been particularly emotional. She smiled modestly at New Year’s gifts when she was a child, quietly scolded her brother for his misdeeds, cried in silence, and then simply nodded when it was time to move to Thailand, clenching her fists when life threw another challenge her way.
Ling wasn’t a robot, she didn’t have a stone heart, but she had always found it easier not to express her emotions in front of others. The only people she was truly herself with were Judji and Fluke, her best friends. Occasionally, Khun Dew. Rarely, P'Mam. But even they didn’t know a fraction of her thoughts. She didn’t want to burden them with her problems, didn’t want to be inconvenient, didn’t want to cause any trouble, didn’t want to look foolish.
It was always easier to stay silent and accept life as it was. Not to add drama where it could be avoided.
Honestly, Kwong might have even considered herself boring. Just an ordinary person. Work – home – the gym – work. On weekends or in the evenings, she’d meet up with friends. A call to her mom at 8 AM, 4 PM, and before bed. Healthy, tasty meals for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. No alcohol. Just going with the flow.
Of course, she understood that her life wasn’t exactly standard. Fans, fan meetings, commercials, luxury brands, money. But it never felt strange.
What felt stranger was having someone like Orm in her life. No, wait. What felt strange was the feelings Orm stirred in her.
Excitement, no – desire. Desire to touch, feel, experience, have. Jealousy – all-consuming, uncontrollable, ugly. The urge to care – to give more than you have, more than anyone else can give. The latter was especially important.
Ling had known Orm for a long time, too long. They had witnessed each other’s transformations, changes. But if anyone had asked Ling if she had felt this way from the start, she would have certainly said no.
But now – for the last few months – it had become unbearable.
It all began in July. Actually, much earlier, but Ling – well, she was Ling. And it took her at least three months to have an internal dialogue with herself, convincing herself that her feelings were real.
In July, it happened. She admitted she understood her heart (Junji and Fluke had figured it out much earlier, but Ling always awkwardly brushed off their jokes).
There wasn’t one specific moment – just promotions, daily meetings, touches, whispers in her ear, long glances, goosebumps on her skin, and those damn butterflies in her stomach.
With Orm, it seemed nothing had changed. She was still the same – bright, emotional, loud, talking nonstop one minute, then sweetly yawning the next. And, of course, way too clingy.
Ling even got angry – how could someone act this way without romantic intent? How, without feeling anything, could they hug, kiss, touch, hold hands like that? But Ling wouldn’t be Ling if she didn’t keep just a little distance, building fragile walls around herself.
Not because she didn’t want the same with Orm, but because she wanted it too much. But Ling wasn’t a little girl, wasn’t a silly teenager, wasn’t an immature woman – she knew that Orm was doing her job, and… Orm was Orm. She was who she was. And Ling, with desperate determination, tried to accept that.
During one of their interviews, the girls were asked, "Can a screen couple become a real couple?" Ling’s heart started to beat faster – she didn’t want to hear Orm’s answer. She knew the answer was no. She had always known this. So, she had to respond herself – acting preemptively. “She’s young.” “She has plenty of opportunities to meet other people.”
Then, for some reason – Ling couldn’t quite understand why – Orm started to distance herself. And spending time with new friends. No. With one specific friend. With one specific famous friend. With one specific famous sporty friend.
Ling was torn apart. She rarely paid attention to social media, but no matter where she went, there was always Orm.
It annoyed her. Frustrated her. Drove her crazy. For the first time in her life, Ling was ready to speak up. To yell. To scream.
But all she did was quietly ask during one of the photoshoots:
“Will you tell me if you start seeing someone?”
She tried to pour all her hidden, secret, locked-away feelings into that one sentence. But she asked as if it didn’t matter—dryly, without emotion. Yet her heart betrayed her with how fast it was beating. And for some reason, it hurt.
“What?”
“You’ll tell me if…”
“I heard the question, P'Ling,” Orm said softly, smiling and tilting her head. She always did that when she teased or played. “I’m curious why you’re asking.”
Ling turned away. She felt uncomfortable looking Orm in the eye. She was afraid that Orm could read all her thoughts from her gaze. The same thoughts.
Her mouth was, of course, lying.
“I’m just asking. Don’t take it seriously.”
“Yes, Ling, I’ll tell you. But actually…” Orm giggled, “If it happens, I hope you’ll know for sure.”
Ling didn’t pay attention to what came after the “yes.” That was the most important part. She would tell her. That meant there was nothing to talk about for now. Ling reassured herself with those thoughts.
Days turned into weeks, and the girls lived in their rhythm—the series had ended, and work increased.
They kissed a few times while filming the pilot episode of Only You, and Ling would often return to those moments in her thoughts late at night, feeling a strange tug in her stomach.
But she was a professional, and high-ranking actors should be ashamed of themselves for not separating themselves or their partners from their characters. There, on the roof, it wasn’t Ling and Orm kissing, it was Tawan and Ira.
Ling tried—honestly tried—to just exist. The way she was used to. Without drama. Without complications.
But at the end of August, the second wave of rumors about Orm started.
Ling got even angrier. She was angry at the haters, angry at the girl who seemed to do nothing but provoke anti-fans, angry at herself for feeling this way. She was even a little angry at Orm. Not much, just a little, but she was.
She pulled away from Orm.
On purpose. Again.
It was easier that way. It was better that way.
She greeted her before events, tried to turn off her brain while working, and after, she would grab P'Mam’s hand, hold onto it like a lifeline, and leave. She ignored social media, didn’t read comments, and tried to create a safe distance. Instead of being a safe zone.
Ling really wanted to support Orm. She wanted to tell her not to pay attention, to keep fighting, to stand against the hate with her head held high. But Orm seemed like she didn’t need any help. At least, she wasn’t asking for it.
But they had a big fan meeting coming up in Thailand, and there was nowhere to run. During rehearsals—Ling was thankful for the crowd around them for the first time—it was easier. People were always surrounding them, distracting Ling from even thinking about giving a glance to her colleague.
In the first few days of rehearsals, Ling focused on her solo song and spent most of her time in a small room next to the rehearsal hall, strumming her guitar. She no longer liked the chosen song—it felt like it was too obviously showing her feelings.
Ling wasn’t used to doing that. She wanted to hide this silly infatuation deep in her pocket, far from prying eyes, gossip, fans, and even Orm. She didn’t want to show it, she wanted to keep it safe inside her.
“Ling?” Ling turned when she heard Koy’s voice.
Orm’s mom entered the room and gently closed the door behind her. The woman smiled widely, and Ling felt a little calmer. She missed her own mom, and with Koy—so caring, attentive, and sincere—it felt a bit easier.
“Is something wrong?”
“I wanted to talk about Orm.”
Ling swallowed but quickly put on her mask of total calmness—something she’d done hundreds of times before.
“Of course, I’m listening.”
“Your opinion means a lot to her. And right now, she’s struggling with everything that’s happened. Could you support my daughter, Ling? I think she would listen to you.”
Ling nodded. If she spoke a word, her voice would betray her.
Koy smiled even wider, took Ling’s hand, and led her to the exit. Ling didn’t think “talk” meant “right now.” But there was no choice—she couldn’t refuse either the daughter or the mother of this family. It was as if her genetic code had the small letters “don’t refuse Sethratanapong” written in it.
Koy gently pushed Ling towards the door, where Orm was supposed to be.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t the big rehearsal hall. It was another small room, just like the one where Ling had been playing her guitar.
When Ling entered, her heart clenched so tightly that she wanted to turn around immediately, run far away, preferably to Kalsin, crawl under a blanket with her dogs, and never come out.
Orm was sitting on a chair, resting her head on her hands. She was absent-mindedly staring at her phone screen, with a silly blanket draped over her shoulders.
“Jeje?” Orm’s face lit up with a smile. “Did you mix up the doors?”
“Why would you think that?”
“I thought we were playing the ‘ignore your Nong’ game for the last few days.”
“Orm,” Ling scolded her—straight in the eyes, almost brazenly, but with the sweetest smile. She lowered her gaze but stepped into the room. “I’m not ignoring you.”
Orm patted the chair next to her, inviting Ling to sit. As soon as Ling sat down, the younger girl immediately moved her head onto Kwon’s shoulder. The warm breath brushed against the most vulnerable spot on Ling’s neck, and goosebumps ran down her skin.
She so badly wanted to distance herself, to stay strong, not to give in to the touch, but the desire to be close was stronger. Ling raised her hand and gently stroked Orm’s hair, so softly that it was barely noticeable.
“Why is everyone so interested in my personal life?” Orm said calmly, making Ling feel uneasy for a moment. “I mean, if they attack me, I can handle it, but it’s worse when fans go after someone who’s done nothing wrong, you know?”
“Yes.”
Orm pulled away slightly.
“Are you jealous?”
"Nonsense."
"I'm joking, don't be so serious," Orm giggled into her fist, completely distancing herself. Ling lowered her gaze again and felt that familiar pain deep inside.
The girls were silent. They often did this—when the younger chatterbox ran out of stories and Ling couldn’t offer anything except her presence. But for some reason, the silence felt not calming, but thick, sticky, unpleasant. Maybe it only felt that way to one of them.
Several minutes passed before Ling finally managed to gather her thoughts.
"Be honest, Orm. I think that’s one of your best qualities. You’re sincere. Stay like that, and it’ll get easier."
Orm nodded—at moments like this, she especially resembled a puppy. Or a kitten. Or any other cute animal. Ling turned her gaze away, grabbing her colleague's hand.
"Don’t listen to stupid people. Be thankful for them—they have their own lives, but they choose to spend them watching yours."
That’s how the unspoken truce came about.
Orm did a live stream, urging people to be kind and not believe in rumors.
Ling watched the short clips over and over, clinging to the phrase "we’re just friends." She gripped the pillow too tightly, giggling into the silence of her apartment.
In September—two months after Ling admitted to herself what she felt—she was finally able to say it to her friends.
When Orm had a solo event, Ling had a day off. She spent the entire day with Junji, and in the evening, met with a group of colleagues and friends to celebrate Fluke’s recent birthday. After the gathering, the three friends—traditionally—went to Junji’s.
Mario, being a good partner and person, went to another part of the house as soon as Ling hinted that she wanted to talk. Of course, he knew what she was about to say, just like Fluke and Junji did.
Ling stared out the window, stroking her friend's dog.
The friends didn’t push her, silently exchanging glances. Fluke tried to hold back a smile, and Junji nudged him under the table.
Inhale.
Exhale.
"I think..." Ling paused, feeling incredibly vulnerable. She hated that feeling—as if she were naked in front of a thousand-person audience, as if she were about to jump off a cliff, as if the world would collapse if she said it, as if by saying it, she would admit defeat.
But Ling was ready to lose.
She had already lost.
"I like Orm."
Junji exhaled loudly, as if it were she who had been gathering her thoughts for half an hour.
"Finally."
"Our little one is all grown up," Fluke theatrically wiped away an imaginary tear, but seeing that Ling was still staring out the window, the friends, without saying a word, hugged her.
That night, Ling finally spoke.
She talked.
Talked.
Talked.
About her eyes, her character, her hair, her jokes, her habits, her skin, the veins in her hands, her smile, her laugh, her tears, her contradictions, her thoughts, her behavior, her preferences, her quirks, her superstitions.
She talked so much about her.
Junji sent her and Fluke home when it was already around 4 a.m., hugging them tightly as they said goodbye.
"Talk to her. Be honest," her friend whispered into Ling's ear, and Fluke nodded in agreement.
But Ling was used to staying silent.
And she stayed silent.
She simply continued going with the flow.
Just like she was used to.
Maybe—just maybe—Ling had finally stopped running. She didn’t see the changes in herself, but Dew noticed it during one of their trips.
Ling giggled at another joke from Orm, getting dangerously close. Orm was gesturing excitedly, but Ling quickly grabbed her hand, intertwining their fingers.
"Wow, girl, when did you start liking touches?"
Ling blushed, looked away, and was ready to pull her hand out of Orm’s, but the younger girl held on tightly.
"This is an exception, mommy," Ling giggled.
"Yeah, I’m the exception," Orm looked way too happy, wearing her signature confident expression.
But, to be fair, Ling had changed. She could feel the changes in herself. Others could feel them too—her mentors, colleagues, friends, even fans. She had stopped being shy about her jokes, her laughter, her weirdness.
She was still far from fully revealing herself to the world—too far—but this progress was an absolute success for someone like her.
And it was all thanks to Orm.
Only because of her.
Ling wanted to joke so that Orm would smile more often, laugh at her jokes, her quirks. Orm admired them and giggled at them. All these changes were because Ling was in love.
Ling even stopped being afraid of that word.
Infatuation.
Love.
Now, it seemed like something that was always with her. Always nearby. A warm, pleasant, enveloping feeling. Although, a little painful. But Ling had gotten used to tolerating it, so she quietly ignored this little detail.
Fluke texted Ling every day. His messages were exactly the same, as if he was just copying them and sending them again.
"Admit it."
"Admit it."
"Admit it."
At first, Ling was annoyed. Then, she giggled. By the third week, she gave in and—possibly for the first time—thought about not confessing but hinting at her feelings.
It all happened too suddenly.
Orm was mindlessly scrolling through Instagram while Ling was telling something to her colleagues in the channel’s building. She was smiling sweetly at the girls listening to her, mouths open in awe. But Ling ignored these glances.
She wasn’t stupid—she saw how people reacted to her—saw the admiring gazes, heard the awkward or outright bold flirting, nodded at the compliments. But she had never paid much attention to it.
Before, because she wasn’t interested in relationships. Now, because of Orm.
It felt wrong—almost sinful—to even react to attention directed at her.
Ling was very good at setting boundaries. And despite becoming much more open and friendly, no one could cross that line.
"Yeah, you should go there," Ling was describing the restaurant she had recently found, "the chef is a real master of his craft."
"Maybe we can go together?" one of the girls smiled.
Ling glanced at Orm. The girl was still typing something on her phone, seemingly uninterested in what was happening around her. Ling’s heart clenched.
"I’m not sure," Ling replied with her signature smile of refusal, perfected over the years.
"Why not?" Orm finally spoke up, "Go ahead. I think you'll have a great time."
Orm smiled, and the other colleagues didn’t notice anything off. But not Ling. Ling knew that look—the fake politeness—Orm used it when someone annoyed her.
"N’Orm?"
But Orm didn’t answer—she just smiled again and walked out of the room.
"I need to make a call."
Ling apologized with a slight bow to her colleagues and followed the girl. Orm hadn’t gone far—she was just standing by the door, as if waiting.
"What happened?"
"They were flirting with you, P’Ling."
"I know, but…" Ling didn’t know how to continue.
But what?
But I’m in love with you, so I don’t care?
But I’m not interested in anyone but you?
But I’m still waiting for our Omakase?"
"You know?" Orm was genuinely surprised.
"It doesn’t really matter. I don’t respond to them."
Orm rolled her eyes—her annoyance was obvious. Ling wanted to reach out and touch Orm’s cheek, but her body wouldn’t respond. She just stood there, looking into eyes that expressed disappointment.
"Why not? Maybe you should."
Ling took a step back.
"I don’t understand."
"What don’t you understand? That it bothers me to see them flirt with you? Or do you not understand why I’m reacting like this?"
"To be honest, all of it."
"Great, LingLing Kwong, just great," Orm dramatically threw her arms up, "You notice the flirting, but you don’t notice me."
Ling furrowed her brows—she rarely saw Orm in this mood. And honestly, Orm had never, ever, projected this behavior onto her.
"Talk to me if something’s bothering you."
Ling hated talking about her feelings. She didn’t understand other people’s feelings very well. But she was ready to talk to Orm—to listen, hear her out, and try to understand and accept whatever she said.
When they first started working together, they promised each other they would discuss problems, issues, or any misunderstandings. But that rule had been broken so often that now it seemed empty.
"What do you want to talk about, P’Ling? I don’t know what to say without it sounding stupid. Without me looking stupid."
Ling looked into her favorite amber eyes.
Inhale.
Exhale.
"Orm, I don’t choose them. None of them. I’ve already chosen you."
Now Orm took a step back. She looked at Ling with concern, and her lashes fluttered, as if she was about to cry.
"P’Ling..."
Ling stayed where she was.
She wanted to disappear, fly away, crawl away, leave. Vanish. The pause stretched on, and neither of the girls said a word. Orm looked at Ling in a way she never had before.
She looked at her with pity.
"Orm, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. Forget it. Let’s pretend like nothing happened," Ling would have gotten on her knees if she had to. "Please."
Orm finally stepped closer, as if the thoughts in her head had finally sorted themselves out. But the look—the one that made Ling want to cry—it didn’t disappear.
"LingLing," she began speaking so softly that Ling clenched her jaw tighter, "Am I understanding correctly that you just confessed your feelings to me?"
Maybe that was the tone people use when they reject someone.
Maybe that’s how all those people felt when Ling turned them down.
For the first time, the belief in karma was physically palpable.
"Yes."
Orm sighed loudly. She took Ling’s hand, squeezing her fingers gently.
For a moment, Ling felt like she was a child again—five years old, and her mom was trying to explain the death of her grandmother. Ling felt her shoulders drop.
"I don’t know what to say," her colleague tried to speak softly, but Ling already knew where the conversation was going, "You’re very important to me, very. You’re one of the closest people to me, really. I can’t imagine a single day without you. And I want to move forward with you. But this… it’s too much, you know?"
And Ling understood. Orm’s voice seemed muffled, like she was in a vacuum, but Ling withstood the blow.
"You’re incredibly important to me. You’re one of the closest people to me, really. I value you and everything we share. And I want you to know that what we have—it’s something special. But now that it’s real, I don’t know. We have so much work, so many things going on. And I… my age. I don’t think I’m ready. I have so many responsibilities—contracts, shoots, university. I’m just learning how to handle it all. And relationships, Ling, relationships would add stress, not make me happier right now."
Ling lowered her gaze.
It hurt so much.
And for the first time in a long, long time, there was nothing left of her love for herself.
How could she have done something so foolish? How could she have ruined their connection? How could she have let her emotions take over?
Why?
Why?
Why?
“I understand,” Ling still didn’t lift her head. “I’m sorry again, N’Orm. I hope we can get through this.”
Ling was already ready to turn around and leave, but Orm’s hand didn’t let go.
“You’ve already jumped to conclusions, as usual,” her colleague smiled for the first time during the whole conversation, reproaching Ling like a child. “I said ‘now.’ Maybe now is not the right time… but that doesn’t mean it will never happen. I just need a little more time to sort out my feelings, to figure out what I want. If you’re willing to wait and give me time, I would be grateful.”
Ling looked at Orm for the first time in the whole conversation.
Her soul was in chaos, her mind a swirl, but one feeling stood out — strange, unsettling, obsessive.
Hope.
“Patience, huh?” Ling smirked, and Orm returned the warmest smile she was capable of.
“Exactly.”
They fell silent again.
One thing was clear — nothing would ever be the same. Now, they had to build a new reality.
“Can I hug you?”
“You don’t need to ask, P’Ling.”
Orm wrapped her arms around Ling’s neck, inhaling her scent.
Ling closed her eyes, feeling her heart beat so loudly.
She would go through all nine circles of hell again if it meant ending up in these arms at the end.
The days after that conversation were strange.
An invisible wall seemed to stand between Ling and Orm, but at the same time, something new had appeared — intangible, but palpable. It was as if every conversation, every glance, every smile gained more meaning.
Ling started noticing the little things she had never paid attention to before. How Orm adjusted her hair before speaking. How her fingers trembled when she was nervous. How her eyes sparkled when she talked about her ideas.
They began to talk more — not just about work, filming, food, or mutual acquaintances. They started opening up to each other in new ways — talking about childhood, parents, crushes. Ling even told Orm about her first and only relationship, which ended when she dumped the guy at his graduation. They spoke about dreams — not career-wise, but how they imagined the future many years from now. They shared their values and beliefs, unshakeable principles and doubts. About religion, worldview, society.
All of this intertwined with acting masterclasses to prepare for their roles as Ira and Tawan.
Everything aligned so that they grew closer both physically and spiritually.
One day, when the masterclass ended early, Ling suggested,
“Do you want to grab a bite together?”
Orm looked at her in surprise but nodded.
“I’ll just tell my mom.”
They went to a small café nearby. Ling ordered curry, and Orm chose soup. The conversation flowed easily, without tension. They laughed at ridiculous situations on the set, shared childhood stories, and discussed future plans.
“You know,” Ling suddenly said, leaning back in her chair, “I’m glad we talked.”
“Really?” Orm tilted her head, playing with her spoon in the soup.
"Yes. I’ve been thinking a lot about this. You’re right — sometimes it’s better to take a break and figure things out. And you know what? I think I’m learning to be patient."
Orm smiled, lightly touching Ling’s hand.
"It shows."
They shared new memories together.
Ling kept them so carefully and tenderly that anyone who knew her would have been surprised.
Orm’s graduation, Japan, Macau, every day of filming — everything felt like a new step in their relationship.
Ling didn’t push.
She was simply there, sharing joy and sadness with Orm.
They moved at their own pace, and that suited Ling perfectly.
On December 29th, Ling was in the studio at her next pilates class — her muscles pleasantly aching, her mind switching off from all thoughts. After the workout, she calmly drank coffee, checked the event calendar, and was about to head to work when suddenly P’Mam called.
"Orm’s not feeling well. She’s been taken to the hospital."
The world seemed to freeze. Ling said something about being late, forgetting even to ask for permission. She got in the car, dictated the hospital’s address, and asked the driver to hurry.
When she entered the room, Orm was lying on the hospital bed, hooked up to an IV. Her skin looked pale, and her face was drawn. Ling quietly approached, afraid not to disturb her.
"P’Ling," Orm said weakly, noticing her. "You’re here?"
"Of course, I’m here. How are you feeling? What did the doctors say?"
Orm smiled faintly.
"Just exhaustion. Overwork. And my stomach hurts. But it’s nothing serious."
"Nothing serious?" Ling raised her voice slightly, but then calmed down. She sat next to Orm, taking her hand. "You need to take care of yourself. You... you’re so important to all of us."
Orm didn’t answer but squeezed her hand.
"I… I can’t see you like this," Ling whispered, gripping Orm’s hand tighter. "You mean more to me than I can say. Do you understand? You’re important to me."
Orm closed her eyes for a moment, as if trying to come to terms with this confession. She slowly lifted her head, looked at Ling, and smiled faintly, as though thanking her for these words.
"I don’t want you to worry about me," Orm said softly, barely moving her lips. "I’ll be fine. Everything will be fine."
Ling felt her heart start to beat faster, but instead of pulling away, she leaned closer to Orm.
"I can’t just stand by and watch you suffer." Ling tilted her head slightly, her eyes filled with determination. "I want you to be happy. I want you to take care of yourself."
Orm sighed and slowly, carefully lifted her hand. Her fingers touched Ling’s cheek, as if trying to feel that she wouldn’t leave.
"I’m trying. You make me better. I eat a lot. And I sleep enough. Thank you."
Orm closed her eyes, and Ling felt her hand in hers growing a little warmer.
Her heart squeezed so tightly. She wanted to hide Orm from everyone, wrap her in a blanket, and give her all the time she needed to recover.
But Ling wasn’t omnipotent.
And their industry didn’t allow for real rest.
It was impossible to refuse the New Year’s event. Ling almost insisted that Orm skip it, but the girl, understanding her responsibilities, just shook her head in refusal.
The event was grand — the hall was filled with the lights of garlands shimmering to the rhythm of the music. The host’s final words echoed on stage, and the air was filled with anticipation. Explosions of confetti and bright fireworks outside only intensified the sense of celebration. Ling felt strange. Usually, such events brought joy, but tonight everything felt different. She watched Orm from the corner of her eye, who was standing nearby, slightly apart, smiling at the audience.
Orm looked incredible, even though she had only recently been in the hospital.
Ling saw how the fatigue softened her movements, how her smile sometimes became forced, but she held on. It amazed Ling and, at the same time, worried her.
"Ten... nine... eight..." — the crowd began the countdown.
Ling felt everything inside her tighten. She glanced at Orm. Her gaze was focused on the hall, but for a brief moment, she turned around. Their eyes met, and for an instant, it felt as though the noise around them faded, as if the world belonged only to them.
"Three... two... one! Happy New Year!" — the hall exploded with cheers, applause, and fireworks.
Ling felt warmth spreading through her chest. This moment felt priceless — they were celebrating the New Year together, hand in hand.
Together.
That word was too pleasant.
The evening was full of laughter, toasts, and hugs, but Ling could feel how she was struggling to breathe. Orm no longer hid her exhaustion, and that troubled her.
"Do you want to get some fresh air?" — Ling moved closer to her, asking softly.
"With you, yes," — Orm replied with a slight smile.
They stepped out onto the terrace, where it was quiet. The starry sky and the cold air brought a sense of peace. Somewhere in the distance, fireworks still thundered, lighting up the dark sky with colorful bursts.
"You look tired." — Ling leaned against the railing next to her.
"I am tired," — Orm admitted honestly, smiling slightly. — "But you know how I hate missing these moments."
"That’s foolish," — Ling frowned.
Orm smirked.
"Maybe it is. But I know you’d be here, and… I wanted to be here."
These words made Ling's heart skip a beat. Her gaze softened, but inside, everything felt like a volcano.
"You care so much about everyone. But who cares about you, N'Orm?"
"You do, P'Ling," — Orm replied quietly, and Ling felt the ground beneath her feet vanish.
"You’re important to me," — it slipped out before Ling had time to think, but there was no going back.
Orm looked at her in surprise, but there was no judgment in her eyes. Instead, there was something else — warmth, tenderness, and something that took Ling’s breath away.
"I know," — Orm whispered.
She took a step closer, her fingers barely brushing Ling's cheek. In that moment, the world ceased to exist. Ling could only feel the warmth of Orm's hand, her gaze penetrating deep into her soul.
"Orm..." — Ling whispered, unable to look away.
"Happy New Year, LingLing Kwon," — Orm said softly.
Before Ling could respond, Orm leaned in and kissed her gently.
The kiss was warm, like a winter star, and so light, as if afraid to break something fragile. Ling closed her eyes, feeling how the world around them disappeared, leaving only the two of them beneath the starry sky.
When Orm pulled away, Ling stood still, unable to move. Her gaze was full of emotions — surprise, happiness, and that very hope that had been quietly hiding deep inside her all this time.
"You..." — she began, but Orm interrupted.
"I want this year to be special for us. Just give me a little time."
Ling smiled.
"I have as much time as you need, N'Orm."
They stood side by side, gazing at the night sky.
The New Year had just begun, but Ling knew: everything would truly be different.
Not just the date had changed.
She had changed.
They had changed.