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The first time Namtan meets Film, she nearly dies.
Not in the dramatic, heart-stopping Oh my god, she's so hot way (though that’s definitely a factor). No, she almost literally dies—tripping over thin air and barely avoiding a faceplant right in front of Film.
It happens at the university library. Namtan, a chronic avoider of people, is just trying to mind her own business, clutching a stack of books like they’re a shield against the world. Film, as if the universe itself has decided to be cruel, is standing right in her path.
Film, the campus legend. The kind of woman people whisper about. The woman who wears red lipstick like a weapon and walks like she owns the ground beneath her feet. The woman who once shut down a fuckboy with a single glance and a perfectly arched brow. The woman who is completely out of Namtan’s league.
And, of course, Namtan, the human disaster, has to embarrass herself in front of her .
“Holy—!” Namtan stumbles, her foot catching on nothing. Her books fly. She flies.
Film, because she is unfairly cool, steps aside just in time, watching with vague amusement as Namtan barely manages to stop herself from eating the floor.
There is silence. Deafening silence.
Then, Film hums. “...That was a choice.”
Namtan, still recovering from her near-death experience, scrambles to collect her books. Her face is burning . She can’t even look up. “S-Sorry.”
She expects Film to just walk away. People like her don’t waste time on socially inept weirdos. But Film? She lingers. Tilts her head like she’s considering something.
And then she crouches down and picks up one of Namtan’s books.
Namtan stops breathing. Film’s perfectly manicured fingers brush against the cover. Her eyes flick over the title.
“Feminist philosophy?” she muses, a smirk playing at her lips. “Didn’t expect that.”
Namtan finally dares to look up, gripping her books like they might save her from spontaneously combusting. “Uh. Yeah.”
Film hands the book back. Their fingers brush for the briefest second. Namtan feels like she might die for real this time.
“You should watch where you’re going,” Film says, standing up effortlessly, like she didn’t just cause Namtan to have a minor heart attack. “I won’t always be here to witness your tragedy in person.”
And then, just like that, she’s gone.
Namtan sits there, dazed.
Her brain helpfully supplies: I just made a complete fool of myself in front of the hottest woman I’ve ever seen.
It’s fine. It’s totally fine. She’s never going to see Film again.
(Spoiler: She is absolutely going to see Film again. )
✦✦✦✦
Fate is a bitch.
Because two days later, Namtan finds herself in a café she usually goes to, having her normal coffee run—get her usual order, retreat to her safe corner, and leave unnoticed.
But, of course, life has other plans.
The moment she turns around with her coffee, she crashes straight into another person.
A very expensive-looking, very intimidating person.
The iced Americano in her hand tips forward, the plastic lid popping off, and a flood of cold coffee pours all over the woman’s crisp white blazer.
Time slows.
Namtan’s breath catches in her throat as she stares in horror at the unfolding disaster.
And then she looks up—
Into the sharp, familiar eyes of none other than Film .
The absolute goddess of a woman lets out a slow, deep sigh. Her expression remains unreadable as she glances down at the spreading coffee stain, then back up at Namtan.
“You again?”
Namtan panics. Her survival instincts take over.
She says, “No.”
Film blinks. “No?”
“I mean—” Namtan’s brain short-circuits . “Yes?”
Film, still the picture of effortless grace despite being drenched in coffee , raises a perfectly sculpted brow. "Right. That clears everything up."
Namtan’s soul actively leaves her body .
“I am so sorry—I didn’t mean to, I—oh my god, I—” Her mouth moves before her brain can stop it. "I—I swear I don’t do this on purpose!"
A beat of silence.
Then, to her absolute horror, Film smirks .
Namtan wants to evaporate .
And then Film speaks.
“I just bought this.”
Her voice is smooth, controlled, but there’s an edge to it that sends Namtan into full panic mode.
“I—I can buy you a new one!” she blurts out, waving her hands in frantic desperation. “I mean, not that I can afford it, but I can—I can try? Or like, dry cleaning! I’ll pay for dry cleaning—oh my god, this is the worst thing that has ever happened to me—”
Film finally lets out a small exhale, pressing her fingers against the bridge of her nose like she’s physically restraining herself. “Relax. I don’t bite.”
She definitely sounded like she bit.
Which, of course, does the opposite of making Namtan relax.
“Okay, okay,” she mumbles, nodding way too fast. “I’ll—um, I’ll just—go die now.”
Film raises an eyebrow at that, something flickering in her expression. Amusement? Pity? It’s impossible to tell.
"You’re not very good at damage control, are you?"
"I—I am terrible at it," Namtan confirms, nodding way too fast. "Historically speaking, I make everything worse."
"At least you’re self-aware," Film muses as she steps past Namtan, walking toward the exit.
Namtan stands frozen, her brain still buffering.
It’s only when Film reaches the door that she glances back, eyes scanning Namtan up and down before saying,
“You owe me a coffee, at least.”
And then she’s gone.
Namtan, still holding her now-empty cup, feels her soul escape into the void.
✦✦✦✦
Namtan lies face-down on her bed, groaning into her pillow.
She is going to die of shame.
First, she nearly dies in front of Film. Now, she’s managed to humiliate herself a second time.
She has officially ruined any chance of being a normal human being in Film’s presence.
Her best friend, Ciize, sits beside her, scrolling through her phone like this isn’t a life-or-death situation. “It’s not that bad.”
Namtan groans dramatically into her pillow, flailing one arm in the air like a dying fish. “ Not that bad ? I committed social suicide! I might as well change my name, move to another country, and start over.”
Ciize, unimpressed, doesn’t even look up from her phone. “You are so dramatic.”
“I threw coffee on her, Ciize. On her. ” Namtan flips over onto her back, staring at the ceiling in pure defeat. “She looked at me like I was some kind of tragedy that she personally had to witness.”
Ciize finally puts her phone down, raising an eyebrow. “To be fair, you are a walking tragedy.”
Namtan gasps. “Why would you say that?”
“Because you trip over thin air , my love.” Ciize leans in, grinning. “ Thin air. ”
“That was once!”
Ciize cocks her head.
Namtan deflates. “…Okay, it was twice.”
Ciize just keeps staring.
“…Three times.”
Now Ciize looks impressed. “That’s a record , honestly.”
Namtan groans again, pulling her blanket over her face. “Why am I like this ?”
Ciize pats her knee with fake sympathy. “Okay, look. I mean, yeah, you did manage to dump coffee all over the hottest woman on campus after almost face-planting at her feet, so maybe it’s a little bad—”
Namtan lets out a pained wail and buries her face deeper into her pillow. “ Oh my god, shut up. ”
“I’m just saying.” Ciize shrugs, scrolling mindlessly. “You were just born that way, babe. Some people get good social skills, some people get an ounce of coordination.” She shrugs. “And then there’s you.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“ I do. ”
Ciize smirks. “If you really hated me, you wouldn’t have called me over just so I could tell you you’re being a dumbass.”
Namtan sits up, glaring. “I called you over for emotional support.”
“And I am supporting you. By telling you how much of a mess you are.” Ciize crosses her arms. “But honestly? This is kind of impressive, even for you.”
Namtan flops back onto her bed, groaning. “Please, just bury me now.”
“Look on the bright side. She told you that you owe her a coffee.”
Namtan glares. “And how is that a bright side?”
Ciize wiggles her eyebrows. “Because that means she wants to see you again.”
“No way. She hates me.”
“She does not hate you.” Ciize gestures vaguely. “If she hated you, she wouldn’t have asked you to buy her coffee. She would have said, ‘Stay the hell away from me, you clumsy freak.’”
Namtan stares at her ceiling in despair. “I’m going to embarrass myself again.”
Ciize ignores her dramatics, stretching out lazily. “So, what’s your plan?”
“…Plan?”
Ciize sighs, like she’s exhausted by Namtan’s entire existence. “For the coffee thing, dumbass.”
“Oh. That.” Namtan stares blankly at the ceiling. “I was thinking about avoiding her forever.”
Ciize deadpans. “That’s not a plan.”
“It’s my plan.”
Ciize throws a pillow at her face. “Try again.”
Namtan grumbles but grabs her phone. “Fine. I was gonna message her and ask if she wants a replacement coffee.”
Ciize perks up. “Oh? Progress. Let me see.”
Namtan immediately clutches her phone to her chest. “Absolutely not.”
Ciize rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. Like I don’t already know you’re about to type the most awkward text of all time.”
“I was not —”
Ciize snatches Namtan’s phone right out of her hands.
“CIIZE!”
“Let’s see…” Ciize hums, scrolling through the unsent text on the screen. She reads it out loud, dramatically.
“‘ Hi, Film. It’s Namtan. From the library. And the café. The disaster person. Um. Anyway, I was wondering if I could buy you another coffee as an apology for ruining your blazer. But also if you don’t want coffee I understand I will simply perish in shame. Haha. ’”
Namtan lunges for her phone. “GIVE ME THAT—”
Ciize dodges like an expert. “ Haha ?! What is this, an apology text or a cry for help?!”
“It’s both! ”
Ciize gasps dramatically. “Oh my god. You like her.”
Namtan immediately shuts down. “What? No. Absolutely not.”
“You do !” Ciize points at her, grinning wildly. “Oh my god, this is amazing. You, the human disaster, have a crush on Film .”
“I— I don’t! ”
Ciize smirks. “You’re obsessing over her.”
Namtan throws her arms in the air. “I am obsessing over the fact that I embarrassed myself in front of her twice in the most spectacular ways possible. That’s not a crush, that’s trauma .”
Ciize squints. “Mm. Sounds like a crush to me.”
“It’s not. ”
“Okay, fine.” Ciize shrugs, but the smirk on her face is anything but innocent. “But when you inevitably fall head over heels for her, just remember— I called it first. ”
Namtan groans. “Fuck you.”
✦✦✦✦
Namtan does not text Film that night.
Nor the next morning.
Nor the entire rest of the day, because every time she so much as glances at the message, her soul tries to physically escape her body.
But, of course, Ciize is not going to let her get away with that.
“You’re pathetic,” Ciize announces the next evening, slapping Namtan’s phone onto the table in front of her. “Text her.”
Namtan glares at the phone like it personally insulted her entire bloodline. “I will. Eventually.”
Ciize levels her with a look. “It’s already been two days.”
“Exactly. Maybe she forgot about it by now.”
Ciize raises an eyebrow. “Film? Forgetting something? Babe, she looks like the type of person who remembers every slight against her since birth. She’s definitely still waiting.”
That horrifying possibility has Namtan’s stomach churning. “You think?”
Ciize smirks. “Oh, absolutely.”
Namtan groans and drops her head onto the table. “This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me.”
“Oh, for god’s sake—” Ciize grabs her phone, unlocks it, and shoves it into Namtan’s hands. “Just send the damn text, or I’ll do it for you.”
Namtan snatches the phone back immediately. “Absolutely not. ”
“Then do it.”
Namtan inhales sharply. Stares at the unsent message. Rereads it about a hundred times. Grimaces.
And then, before she can second-guess herself, she hits send.
She instantly drops her phone like it’s radioactive. “Oh my god. ”
Ciize grins. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”
“I think I’m gonna throw up.”
“Please don’t. At least not until she replies.”
Namtan’s soul leaves her body at the thought of getting a reply. What if Film just laughs at her message? What if she screenshots it and sends it to her friends? What if she doesn’t reply at all?
Her panic spirals for exactly two minutes and thirty-four seconds before—
Ding.
Namtan whips her head toward the phone.
Ciize looks just as excited. “Oh, she replied. ”
“I can’t look.” Namtan squeezes her eyes shut. “Tell me what it says.”
Ciize dramatically snatches the phone. “Oh, babe. You’re gonna lose your mind. ”
Namtan peeks one eye open. “What does it say?”
Ciize grins and reads it out loud.
Film: I was wondering when you’d text. You’re lucky I was feeling patient. Meet me at the café tomorrow. 3PM. Don’t be late.
Namtan dies on the spot.
Ciize lets out a squeal and smacks Namtan’s arm. “OH MY GOD.”
Namtan just sits there, staring at the text like it’s written in an ancient language. “She’s going to kill me. ”
Ciize shakes her head, grinning wildly. “Oh, babe. I think she might actually like you.”
Namtan lets out the most pitiful noise of all time.
She is so doomed.
✦✦✦✦
The next day, at exactly 2:55 PM, Namtan is standing in front of the café, gripping her iced coffee like it’s a life raft.
She is also debating running in the opposite direction.
Film is not here yet, which is a miracle, because Namtan needs at least five minutes to calm down before she humiliates herself again.
Her phone buzzes.
Ciize: I know you’re panicking. Breathe, dumbass.
Namtan exhales sharply and types back:
Namtan: I hate you.
Ciize: No, you don’t. Now go flirt with your hot future girlfriend.
Namtan: I am blocking you.
Before Ciize can respond, a shadow falls over her.
Namtan freezes.
Slowly, she turns around—
And there, standing before her in an effortlessly cool all-black outfit, is Film.
She has sunglasses perched atop her head, a perfectly tailored blazer, and an expression that is borderline amused as she scans Namtan up and down.
“You’re early,” Film observes.
“I—” Namtan’s brain completely short-circuits. “—Yes.”
Film tilts her head, smirking slightly. “Good. You’re learning.”
Namtan does not know how to function.
Film steps closer, eyes flicking to the coffee in Namtan’s hand. “Is that for me?”
“Oh! Right.” Namtan shoves the drink toward her way too fast. “Iced Americano. To make up for—uh—attempting to murder your blazer the other day.”
Film smirked. “Attempted murder? Dramatic, aren’t you?”
Namtan wanted to curl into a hole and never come out.
But Film took the coffee from her hand anyway, fingers brushing hers, and Namtan nearly combusts.
Film examines the cup. “No spit in it, I assume?”
Namtan chokes. “What?! No! I—I would never! ”
Film laughs under her breath. “Relax, I’m kidding.” She takes a sip, and something shifts in her expression—subtle, but unmistakable. “Hm.”
Namtan stiffens. “Is it…bad?”
Film pauses, looks at her. “No.” She tilts her head slightly, gaze unreadable. “You remembered my order.”
Namtan turns bright red. “I—uh. Yeah. You seem like an iced coffee kind of person.”
Film hums. “Smart.”
Namtan is absolutely not smart. Her brain is pure static noise right now.
Film watches her for a moment longer, then gestures toward the café. “Come on. Since you finally paid your debt, let’s sit.”
Namtan barely manages to nod, following her inside on unsteady legs.
As they take a seat by the window, Film leans back in her chair, watching her with mild amusement. “So, Namtan,” she muses, sipping her coffee. “Tell me—do you always make an impression this spectacular on people, or am I just special?”
"You are special," Namtan blurts out before she can stop herself.
Oh. Oh no .
Film’s smirk is instant . "That so?"
"NO—I mean, YES—wait, not like that —"
Film leans back, crossing her legs in a way that should be illegal . "Mhm."
Namtan has never wanted the earth to swallow her whole more than she does at this moment.
Somewhere in her panic, she realizes something horrifying:
She’s kind of enjoying this.
Not the humiliation part—God, no. But sitting across from Film, watching her eyes glint with amusement, feeling the slow, teasing push and pull of their conversation… it’s terrifying. But it’s also exhilarating .
And that’s really dangerous.
Because Film? She’s cool. Confident. Beautiful in a way that makes people stupid . And Namtan?
She’s a loser .
But somehow, against all logic, Film hasn’t walked away yet.
So maybe—just maybe—she’s curious .
Namtan swallows, gathering every ounce of courage in her soul. " Why are you still here?"
Film tilts her head, considering.
Then, with infuriating ease, she shrugs. "You amuse me."
Namtan short-circuits. "I—I amuse you?"
"Mm." Film takes another sip of her coffee, unbothered. "You’re like a tiny, anxious deer that keeps getting itself into trouble."
Namtan gapes. " Did you just compare me to a deer? "
"If the shoe fits," Film replies, unconcerned.
Namtan groans, dropping her head onto the table. "Oh my god ."
Film chuckles—the kind of low, rich laugh that makes Namtan’s heart do stupid things.
And that’s when Namtan realizes something truly awful.
She’s doomed.
Utterly and completely doomed .
Because this ? The teasing, the banter, the way Film looks at her like she’s something interesting ?
It’s addictive.
And no matter how much she tells herself she doesn’t stand a chance—
She wants more .
“So,” Film says, watching her over the rim of her cup, “is this the part where you start regretting texting me?”
Namtan lifts her head from the table just enough to glare at her. “I regretted it the second I hit send.”
“And yet, you still showed up.”
“Don’t remind me.”
Film chuckles, swirling the coffee in her cup. “You really are amusing.”
Namtan squints. “Is this your way of saying I’m a disaster?”
Film hums, pretending to think. “I think the word I used was ‘spectacular.’”
“Oh, sure,” Namtan deadpans. “That makes it so much better.”
Film sets her cup down, resting her chin on one hand as she eyes Namtan with a look that should be illegal.
“So, tell me,” she muses, “how did someone as awkward as you manage to survive this long?”
Namtan narrows her eyes. “Through sheer spite.”
Film laughs—a real, genuine laugh—and Namtan barely stops herself from preening like an idiot.
“I like that,” Film says, still smiling. “Spite is a good motivator.”
Namtan does not like how much she enjoys hearing that.
Before she can think of a response, a server stops by their table. “Would you two like anything else?”
Film shakes her head, but Namtan—desperate for any kind of distraction—blurts out, “Uh, a croissant?”
Film lifts an eyebrow. “Hungry?”
Namtan shrugs. “More like nervous eating.”
Film smirks. “I like how self-aware you are.”
The server, looking vaguely entertained, nods and walks away.
Namtan rests her elbows on the table, burying her face in her hands. “This is the most stressful coffee date of my life.”
Film leans forward slightly, and when Namtan peeks at her through her fingers, she sees something dangerous in her expression.
“Date?” Film repeats.
Namtan immediately malfunctions.
“I—I DIDN’T MEAN—” She flails. “Not date-date, like, it’s not a date, it’s just—you know, a thing! A casual, normal thing! That normal people do when they—when they ruin someone’s dry cleaning and feel horrifically guilty about it—”
Film watches her spiral into oblivion with an expression that can only be described as pure delight.
“Relax, Bambi,” she says, eyes glinting. “I won’t hold it against you.”
Namtan gapes. “Did you just—BAMBI?!”
Film smirks. “It fits, doesn’t it?”
“I—I am a grown adult!” Namtan splutters. “Not some helpless forest creature!”
Film tilts her head, considering. “Mm. You sure?”
“Yes!”
“Because from where I’m sitting, you absolutely have the energy of a baby deer who just learned how to walk.”
Namtan glares. “You are so lucky you’re pretty.”
Film’s smirk turns downright lethal. “You think I’m pretty?”
Namtan short-circuits so violently that she might need to be medically revived.
Before she can completely collapse from secondhand mortification, the server returns with her croissant.
She grabs it like it’s a lifeline and takes an aggressive bite, if only to stop herself from saying anything else that might get her absolutely annihilated.
Film watches her, amused, before calmly sipping her coffee again.
a soft ding from her phone.
She glances down. A new message from Ciize.
Ciize: U STILL ALIVE???
Namtan resists the urge to scream. She types back quickly.
Namtan: NO. CALL MY FUNERAL HOME.
Ciize’s response is instant.
Ciize: LOL. FILM LIKES U. TRUST.
Namtan nearly chokes.
She risks a glance at Film, who is still watching her with that smirk.
And then Film—completely unbothered—leans back and muses, “So, when’s our second date?”
Namtan chokes on her croissant.
✦✦✦✦
Despite her protests, somehow Namtan finds herself agreeing to meet Film again.
It happens so fast she isn’t even sure how. One second, she’s stammering about how this isn’t a date, and the next, Film is texting her a time and place.
And Namtan? Well. Namtan is completely and utterly doomed against hot women, specifically Film.
Because she shows up anyway.
And if Film notices that she still arrives a full ten minutes early, she doesn’t comment on it. She just smirks when she sees her, all effortless charm and knowing amusement.
“Eager, aren’t you?”
“Shut up,” Namtan mutters, looking anywhere but at her.
Film laughs under her breath but says nothing else, and somehow, miraculously, the second not-a-date ends up being... nice.
After that, Film keeps talking to her. Keeps texting her.
Keeps showing up.
It starts with casual invitations.
Film: Coffee?
And then,
Film: I’m near your class. Lunch?
And then,
Film: I have an hour to kill. Entertain me.
And the worst—the absolute worst—is that Namtan keeps saying yes .
Because it’s dangerous and stupid and possibly fatal for her heart—
But it’s also good.
Because Film is so much worse than Namtan ever could’ve anticipated.
She’s sharp and dry and ridiculously fun to argue with. She has the best taste in coffee but the worst taste in rom-coms (seriously—who defends Love Actually that hard?).
She remembers the little things—how Namtan takes her coffee ( too much milk, not enough caffeine ), how she taps her fingers against the table when she’s nervous ( which is often ), how she always tugs at her sleeves when she’s trying not to fidget ( which Film constantly points out ).
And the more time they spend together—
The worse it gets.
Because sometimes Film will look at her—like she’s something interesting. Like she’s something Film doesn’t quite understand yet, and that’s fun for her.
And it makes Namtan’s entire existence a living nightmare.
Because the truth is—
She likes Film.
Like, likes likes her.
And she’s so, so doomed.
✦✦✦✦
After a week of back-and-forth texts of Film sending messages that make Namtan’s heart do stupid things, Namtan spends an embarrassing amount of time rereading them.
And then, one night, Film texts:
Film: Movie tomorrow?
Namtan stares at her phone.
Namtan: Like… a movie movie?
Film: No, a PowerPoint presentation.
Namtan: I hate you.
Film: No, you don’t.
Namtan nearly throws her phone across the room.
But, of course, she still shows up.
And this time—this time it feels different.
Because Film doesn’t tease her when she stammers through their conversation. She doesn’t smirk when Namtan flails through buying popcorn. Instead, she just watches her, quiet and thoughtful, like she’s seeing something new.
And when the movie starts—when Namtan realizes, too late, that it’s a horror film—Film leans in and murmurs, “Scared?”
And Namtan, who is absolutely terrified, forces out a weak, “No.”
Film smirks. “Liar.”
Namtan glares at her, but Film just leans back, smirking at the screen.
And then, when the first jump scare happens, Namtan jumps so violently that she accidentally grabs Film’s hand.
And Film... doesn’t let go.
Her fingers tighten around Namtan’s, just slightly.
And Namtan forgets how to breathe.
After the movie, when they’re walking outside.
The night air is cool, and Namtan is still trying to recover from the whole hand-holding thing. She keeps sneaking glances at Film, wondering if she’s going to mention it.
But Film says nothing.
She just keeps walking beside her, hands tucked into her pockets, gaze unreadable.
Until finally, she stops.
And when Namtan turns to look at her, confused, Film says—
“You know this is a date, right?”
Namtan freezes.
Her brain immediately shuts down.
“I—What?” she chokes out.
Film tilts her head, smirking slightly. “This. Us. It’s a date.”
Namtan stares at her, heart pounding. “But—but you tease me. And—and you—”
Film smirks. “Affectionately.”
Namtan sputters. “That’s—That’s not—”
Film hums again, looking impossibly smug.
And then, before Namtan can launch into a full-blown panic, Film leans in and says, “I like you, Bambi.”
Namtan dies.
On the spot.
Absolutely collapses into a puddle of flustered, incoherent nonsense.
“You— what?! ” she yelps.
Film looks at her, unimpressed. “Did you really not notice?”
“I—I—what?!”
Film sighs, setting her glass down. “You really are hopeless, huh?”
“I—” Namtan is spiraling. “ wait, seriously?! ”
Film just shrugs. “Yeah.”
Like it’s nothing.
Like she didn’t just drop the biggest bomb in human history.
Namtan gapes.
“Since when?!” she demands.
Film thinks. “Hm. Maybe the first time you tripped over air in front of me.”
“I—FILM.”
Film smirks. “I don’t know, Bambi. You’re cute when you panic.”
“THIS IS A TERRIBLE TIME TO BE FLIRTING.”
Film laughs.
“I really like you,” she repeats, voice low and warm. “And if you weren’t so busy panicking, you’d realize you like me too.”
Namtan gapes at her. “I—That’s not—I—”
Film just waits, watching, as if she already knows how this will end.
And the worst part?
She does.
Because Namtan—flustered, overwhelmed, absolutely doomed Namtan—lets out a breath and mutters, “God, I hate how smug you are.”
“That’s not a denial.”
Namtan groans. “I do like you, okay?! Happy now?”
Film hums, considering. “Not yet.”
And then—before Namtan can even react —Film reaches out, cups her face, and kisses her.
And everything else fades.
Because Film is warm and soft and impossibly confident, and Namtan?
Namtan melts instantly.
Her hands grab at Film’s blazer, desperate, as Film deepens the kiss, slow and deliberate and perfect.
And when they finally, finally pull apart, Film smirks and murmurs,
“ Now I’m happy.”
Namtan is about to combust.
“I—I—” She makes a noise that is not human. “WHAT WAS THAT?!”
Film lifts an eyebrow. “A kiss.”
“I KNOW WHAT A KISS IS.”
Film smirks. “Good. Because I plan on doing it again.”
Namtan forgets how to breathe.
“You—” She gapes. “You can’t just say things like that!”
Film leans in slightly, tilting her head, eyes glittering with amusement. “Why not?”
“Because—” Namtan flails, brain short-circuiting at an unprecedented rate. “Because it’s—”
Film waits, smirk unwavering, as if she already knows Namtan is going to self-destruct before she can form a coherent thought.
“—it’s dangerous!” Namtan blurts out.
Film’s smirk widens. “Dangerous?”
“Yes!” Namtan exclaims, waving her arms dramatically. “You—you can’t just kiss someone and then—then look at them like that and then—then say things like that—”
Film watches her for a moment before humming thoughtfully. “Interesting.”
Namtan blinks. “What?”
“You haven’t told me to stop.”
Namtan freezes .
Film tilts her head slightly, gaze locked on her like she’s reading something Namtan doesn’t even understand about herself yet. “If you really didn’t want this, you’d tell me to stop.”
Namtan’s entire body feels like it’s overheating. “I—”
Film shifts just a little closer, slow and deliberate, like a hunter who already knows their prey isn’t going to run.
“Tell me to stop,” she murmurs.
Namtan’s heart is pounding . Her brain is pure, unfiltered white noise. Film is right there, close enough that she can feel the warmth radiating off her, close enough that if she moved even an inch—
She swallows.
She can’t say it.
She should say it.
But she doesn’t want to .
Film studies her, and something in her expression softens—not teasing anymore, not amused, but something warmer. Something that makes Namtan feel like she’s standing on the edge of a cliff, one step away from falling.
“Thought so,” Film says, voice quieter now.
And then she kisses her again.
It’s slower this time. Less teasing, less like a challenge and more like a promise.
Namtan’s hands find Film’s blazer before she can stop herself, gripping it as if that will keep her from floating straight into the sun.
Film hums against her lips, amused but pleased, and Namtan is absolutely not going to survive this.
When Film finally pulls back, Namtan is breathless, dazed, and utterly ruined.
Film, of course, looks completely unbothered. “Better?”
Namtan makes a noise that is, unfortunately, not words.
Film chuckles. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Namtan blinks at her, mind still struggling to reboot. “You—you kissed me twice .”
Film grins. “Yeah. And?”
“And—and—” Namtan’s hands are still gripping Film’s blazer, and she suddenly realizes she’s holding onto her like she’s afraid she might disappear.
Film notices too.
Gently, she lifts a hand and brushes a strand of hair from Namtan’s face, the movement so casual and natural that it makes Namtan’s heart stutter .
“Relax, Bambi,” Film murmurs. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Namtan definitely stops breathing.
She wants to argue. Wants to point out that Film is Film —cool and confident and way too far out of her league. But—
But Film is still here.
Still looking at her like she’s something interesting .
Still not walking away.
Namtan’s throat feels tight. “You mean that?”
Film’s expression softens. “Yeah.”
And somehow—that’s what does it.
Not the teasing, not the flirting, not even the kisses— this .
The quiet certainty in Film’s voice. The way she says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
Like of course she means it.
Namtan exhales shakily. And then, before she can second-guess herself, she mutters, “Okay. Then—then don’t.”
Film’s lips twitch. “Don’t what?”
Namtan glares, cheeks burning. “Don’t make me say it.”
Film chuckles, but it’s softer this time. Fond.
“All right,” she says, and somehow it sounds like a promise.
Namtan swallows. “So… what now?”
Film shrugs, completely at ease. “Now?” She smirks. “Now you’re my girlfriend.”
“I—you—you can’t just—” She splutters. “We didn’t even talk about that yet!”
Film lifts an eyebrow. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Namtan opens her mouth. Closes it. And then, quietly, “…No.”
Film grins. “Good. Because I wasn’t going to give you a choice anyway.”
Namtan groans, burying her burning face in her hands. “Oh my god.”
Film chuckles, and then, to make it even worse , she leans in and presses a soft kiss to Namtan’s cheek.
“I hate you,” Namtan mutters, shoving at her shoulder.
Film laughs, catching her wrist before she can escape. “Mmm. Say that again, girlfriend .”
Namtan dies .
But also?
She kisses her again.