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Cecilia Immergreen was probably the most interesting person Gigi had met in campus.
Not that she’d ever say that out loud.
To top things off, they weren’t even in the same major. Gigi was in arts, while Cecilia was in some nerdy major the brunette never bothered to remember the name of. Since, truthfully, they probably wouldn’t even meet that often.
Until they did.
And to tell the whole truth—Gigi often found herself distrustful of the girl. Something about how too perfectly perfect she seemed. Too put-together, too nice. Too friendly to everyone.
How extroverted…
Gigi didn’t think these actually existed.
She thought people just pretended.
¬
Gigi had been in the middle of a crisis.
Her project was due in two days, and she was nowhere near finished. The library was the last place she wanted to be, but her apartment was too distracting, and the campus café was too loud.
So there she was, hunched over a stack of books, chewing the end of her pen, glaring at her empty notebook like it had personally wronged her.
Then, a voice:
“Oh! You’re in my class.”
Gigi looked up, already deeply unamused.
And there she was—Cecilia Immergreen. Bright-eyed, smiling like she hadn’t just barged into Gigi’s already hellish night.
“I don’t think so,” Gigi muttered.
Cecilia tilted her head. “No, no, I’m sure! I’ve seen you before—hmm, maybe not my class, but around campus?”
Gigi stared at her, debating if she had the energy to deal with this conversation.
Apparently, Cecilia didn’t need an answer, because she plopped herself into the seat across from Gigi without hesitation. “What are you working on?”
Gigi resisted the urge to sigh. “An assignment.”
“Need help?”
“You’re not in my major.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t help!” Cecilia grinned.
Gigi deadpanned. “It’s an art project.”
“Oh.” Cecilia blinked, then laughed, unfazed. “Okay, maybe I can’t help.”
Gigi didn’t respond.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then, Cecilia started rummaging through her bag.
Gigi tried to ignore it, scribbling something in her notebook, until a piece of candy was slid across the table.
She looked up.
Cecilia beamed. “For motivation.”
Gigi eyed the candy, then looked at Cecilia. “…What do you want?”
“Nothing! I just wanted to make friends.”
Gigi narrowed her eyes. “We’re not friends.”
“Not yet.”
Gigi sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Why are you still here?”
Cecilia shrugged. “I dunno. You looked kinda miserable. Thought I’d keep you company.”
Gigi stared at her. “You’re weird.”
“You’re weirder, hanging out alone in the dead of night inside an empty library.” Cecilia retorted. “How is it even not closed yet?”
She really didn’t miss any jab. The brunette was losing.
Gigi clicked her pen, contemplating. Then, begrudgingly, she picked up the candy and unwrapped it.
“Fine,” she muttered. “But don’t talk.”
Cecilia made an exaggerated motion of zipping her lips.
They sat there in silence for a while, Gigi working, Cecilia quietly flipping through a book she had grabbed.
Eventually, when Cecilia had to leave, she hesitated before grabbing her bag. “Hey, uh.”
Gigi raised a brow.
“If you ever need, like, a study buddy or something,” Cecilia said, “we could swap numbers?”
Gigi frowned. “Why?”
Cecilia grinned. “So you don’t have to suffer alone next time.”
Gigi rolled her eyes but pulled out her phone anyway. She typed in Cecilia’s number, hesitated at the name field, then, without much thought, entered:
Cecilia (Library Girl …)
Cecilia squinted at the screen. “What’s with the dots?”
Gigi shoved her phone back in her pocket. “It’s for dramatic effect.”
The art building was mostly quiet by the time Gigi wandered in the next day, sketchpad under one arm, earbuds in but not playing anything.
She wasn’t really expecting to see anyone. Especially not her.
There, perched on the edge of a bench just outside the studio, was Cecilia—coat draped neatly over her lap, fingers typing something quickly into her phone, brows furrowed in a way Gigi hadn’t seen before.
For once, she wasn’t glowing. Not smiling. Not beaming sunshine at strangers in the hallway.
She looked… regular. Quiet.
Gigi slowed her pace before she could stop herself.
Cecilia looked up, mid-text, and blinked. “Gigi?”
Gigi cleared her throat. “This a new major of yours? Haunting the art building?”
Cecilia huffed a laugh, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You caught me. I have a secret double life.”
Gigi sat down across from her anyway. “What are you doing here?”
Cecilia hesitated. Then, lightly: “Waiting.”
“For?”
“…No one.”
Liar, Gigi thought, but didn’t say.
A beat passed.
Then Cecilia asked, quiet, “Do you think I’m annoying?”
Gigi blinked. “That’s random.”
“Well?” she pushed, eyes flicking to her.
Gigi scratched the back of her neck. “I think you’re loud. And nosy. And persistent. And you talk too much.”
Cecilia looked away.
“…But you’re not annoying,” Gigi added, after a beat. “Not exactly.”
That earned a tiny smile. “Wow. Such high praise.”
“Don’t let it go to your head,” Gigi muttered, flipping open her sketchpad and pretending to doodle.
But she kept glancing up. Because now, Cecilia was smiling again, but it felt practised. Too polished. Too quick.
And for a second, Gigi wondered what would happen if she poked just a little deeper.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she just passed Cecilia a blank page from her notebook and a pen.
“Here. You’re distracting. Make yourself useful.”
Cecilia blinked. Then, slowly, she grinned.
“I’m honoured.”
They didn’t talk much after that. But they sat together until the sun dipped below the windows, and the art building lights hummed on above them.
Almost like friends.
Almost.
Cecilia sat on the floor of her bedroom, knees tucked to her chest, a hoodie draped over her shoulders like a second skin.
Not hers. Gigi’s.
She didn’t mean to still have it. Gigi had tossed it at her when they left the art building—grumbling something about the wind and “you’ll probably get pneumonia or whatever,” and Cecilia, too surprised to argue, had just pulled it on.
It still smelled like her. Peaches, maybe. Or that citrusy shampoo Cecilia had been quietly obsessed with for two weeks.
She buried her face in the sleeve.
God. She was so annoying.
She hadn’t meant to ask if Gigi thought she was. It just came out. Like a balloon string slipping from her grip. Too fast to stop.
And Gigi had answered, of course. In that infuriatingly blunt, Gigi way. Honest. Dry. Not unkind. But—
She still felt like she’d flung her heart into traffic and gotten exactly what she deserved.
Cecilia leaned back against the side of her bed, fingers tightening around the hoodie sleeve. She knew she could be a lot. Too friendly. Too persistent. Too—
Too much.
People always liked her, but only up to a point. Just enough to say hi in the halls. Just enough to laugh at her jokes and then forget she existed by the next class.
She used to think it was fine.
Now she wasn’t sure.
Because now there was Gigi.
Gigi, who saw straight through her shiny exterior with that unreadable stare. Gigi, who gave nothing freely, but still stayed. Who didn’t smile easily, but when she did, it felt like you earned something rare.
Gigi, who didn’t leave today.
That meant something, right?
Didn’t it?
Cecilia let out a shaky breath and reached for her phone.
Opened their text thread.
Stared at it.
Then closed it again.
She wasn’t going to text her.
She wasn’t.
She was just going to sit here a little longer, curled up in Gigi’s hoodie, trying not to overthink every word they exchanged.
Trying not to want more.
Trying not to feel like she was one dumb move away from driving Gigi off forever.
Outside her window, the city kept humming. Her bedside clock glowed 9:41 PM in quiet judgement.
She rubbed her face, groaned, and whispered, “I need to stop catching feelings for emotionally unavailable women.”
She did not stop. Instead Cecilia stood, and got ready for bed.
¬
The world was empty.
No noise, no people, nothing but a vast, white expanse stretching endlessly in every direction.
Cecilia stood in the middle of it, arms at her sides, fingers curling into her palms. It felt like she had been standing there forever, waiting.
Then, finally—movement. A figure, distant at first, then closer.
The moment she recognised the brunette’s slouched posture, the perpetual air of disinterest, something in Cecilia’s chest loosened.
“Gigi!”
Her voice rang out, too loud in the silence.
But Gigi didn’t turn around.
Instead, she walked away.
No hesitation, no second glance. Just a steady, uncaring pace.
“Wait—” Cecilia’s legs wouldn’t move. “Wait! Don’t go—”
Still, Gigi walked. The distance between them stretched—wider, wider, until Cecilia was shouting herself hoarse, throat raw with desperation.
Then, she was alone again.
¬
Cecilia jolted awake, breathless.
A sharp pain pressed against her chest, like she had actually been abandoned. Like she had actually lost something. Her forehead was damp with sweat, her hands curled tight into the sheets.
She stared up at the ceiling, exhaling shakily.
“…Would you hate me?”
The question left her in a whisper before she could stop it.
Then, groaning, she buried her face into the pillow. “Again?” she mumbled against the fabric. “Why do I keep… dreaming about that?”
Deep down, Cecilia knew why, the brunette somewhat distant. She didn’t even call me once.
She huffed. Took a glance at the clock. 10 PM.
Too early to sleep, too late to keep spiralling.
“…I need a drink.”
The soft glow of her laptop screen cast a dim light over the mess on her desk—notes scattered, a forgotten cup of coffee going cold, and her half-written assignment staring back at her in judgement. Gigi leaned back in her chair, rubbing her eyes.
She needed to focus.
Her phone buzzed.
She ignored it.
Then it buzzed again. And again.
Gigi sighed sharply through her nose, trying to keep her patience intact. When it went off again, she gave in and grabbed the phone off the desk.
Cecilia (Library Girl …)
[11:57 PM] gig
[11:58 PM] gi gggggg
[11:58 PM] do you do yuo hat do yuo hate m
[11:59 PM] hhate mweeeee?
[12:00 AM] gigi you kno yo knw u know what s funny
[12:01 AM] peope are so. so. but you? but u r sooooo mean to meeeee
[12:02 AM] gigiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
Gigi frowned.
The texts weren’t just stupid drunk rambling—there was something off about them. She stared at the messages for a long moment before, against her better judgement, she pressed call.
The line rang.
Once. Twice.
Then a soft click.
Silence.
Gigi waited. “…Cecilia?”
Nothing.
Then, after a long pause, a quiet, slurred voice:
“I don’t wanna talk to you.”
Gigi blinked, taken aback. “…Okay,” she said slowly. “Then… can you hand your phone to someone else?”
Another pause. Then some muffled shuffling, followed by a new voice—this one rough, male, and sounding thoroughly done.
“Uh, hey,” the man—probably the bartender—said. “I dunno who you are, but you’re the one she’s been mumbling about, so. Think you can come get her?”
Gigi exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Where is she?”
“I’ll send you the location. Just get here before she passes out on my floor.”
“…Yeah,” Gigi muttered. “Yeah, I’m coming.”
She hung up, tossed her phone onto the desk, and groaned.
Then, dragging herself to her feet, she grabbed her keys and muttered, “Cecilia, you owe me for this.”
Cecilia was a mess.
Gigi wasn’t sure what she expected walking into the bar, but it sure as hell wasn’t this. The girl was slumped over the counter, blinking sluggishly at the half-empty glass in front of her, a picture of absolute devastation. The bartender was watching her like she might start a fire if left unattended.
And then, the moment Cecilia saw her—
“YOU!!!”
Gigi barely had time to react before Cecilia launched herself forward, limbs flailing. She had no choice but to catch her, arms automatically circling her waist in an effort to steady her.
It was very unfortunate how natural it felt.
Cecilia sniffled, her forehead pressing into Gigi’s shoulder. “You…” she slurred, voice thick. “You idiot. Stupid.” A hiccup. “Why. Why did you leave me there?”
Gigi frowned. “Where?”
Instead of answering, Cecilia weakly smacked her shoulder. Then again, harder. “You know where.”
Damn. Upset Cecilia was vastly different. Behaviour contrasting how put-together she looked at campus.
“Let’s get you home.”
¬
Gigi held the car door open, one hand on the handle, the other pinching the bridge of her nose. “Just get in the car, Cecilia.”
“No.”
Gigi inhaled sharply. “Cecilia.”
“No.”
“I swear to god—”
“No.”
Her fingers twitched. Cecilia, arms crossed in clear defiance, stood her ground like a toddler refusing to eat vegetables.
Gigi was not doing this.
Without another word, she grabbed Cecilia’s wrist, manoeuvred her around, and shoved her into the passenger seat.
“HEY—”
“Shut up.”
“You tyrant—”
“Shut up.”
Cecilia flopped dramatically against the seat as Gigi slammed the door shut, walking around to the driver’s side with a barely restrained groan.
By the time she slid in and buckled up, she was exhausted. “There. Problem solved.”
…Or so she thought.
Because about five minutes into the drive, another issue presented itself.
Gigi turned her head slightly. “Where do you live?”
Silence.
A slow blink.
Then, “I’m not telling you.”
Gigi clenched the steering wheel. This girl.
“Cecilia, be serious.”
“I am serious.”
“I need to take you home.”
Cecilia hummed. “Then take me home.”
Gigi exhaled sharply. “That’s literally what I’m trying to do—”
Another slow blink. “Oh.”
For a moment, Gigi held onto hope. Then Cecilia, still very much drunk, leaned her head against the window and sighed wistfully.
“…But what even is home, really?”
Gigi nearly swerved the car into a tree.
With no address, no help, and no answers, she made a decision she was probably going to regret.
She sighed. “Fine. My place it is.”
Getting Cecilia inside the apartment was another ordeal.
Not because she was resisting, but because the moment they were inside, she turned into dead weight. Gigi barely managed to steer her toward the couch before she collapsed onto it, sighing dramatically into the cushions.
“Cecilia,” Gigi muttered.
A hum.
“…You better not puke on my couch.”
A beat of silence. “…I make no promises.”
Gigi groaned, dragging a hand down her face. This was so not her problem. And yet, here she was, dealing with it anyway. You should’ve just left her at the curb. She would’ve bounced back. People like her always do. Except…
Cecilia curled up, eyes heavy, already half-asleep. Gigi sighed, grabbing a throw blanket and tossing it over her.
And as she turned away, she heard it.
“…You hate me, don’t you?”
Gigi stilled.
The words were quiet, barely a whisper, but there. Cecilia wasn’t looking at her—eyes shut, brows drawn, like she was already slipping into unconsciousness. But something about the way she said it, like it was a thought she hadn’t meant to let out, made Gigi pause.
She could’ve ignored it.
She should’ve ignored it.
Instead, without looking back, she muttered, “Go to sleep, Cecilia.”
Gigi had barely taken two steps down the hallway when she heard the shuffle of fabric. She paused. Then—
“…Wait.”
She turned, just a little. Enough to see Cecilia trying—and failing—to push herself upright on the couch. The blanket slipped off her shoulder as she clumsily sat up, blinking blearily.
“Gigi,” she said again, softer this time.
“What?” Gigi asked, keeping her voice even.
Cecilia stared at her. And then, with all the shaky determination in the world, she stood.
Except—no, that wasn’t standing. That was stumbling forward like a wounded deer on rollerblades.
Gigi rushed to catch her before she face-planted.
“Jesus, you’re hopeless.”
Cecilia latched onto her arm like a koala. “Don’t go,” she mumbled, forehead now pressing against Gigi’s chest again, like earlier. “Please don’t go.”
Gigi’s hand hovered awkwardly in the air, not sure where to place it. “I’m not going far. Just the next room.”
“But that’s away,” Cecilia said, with the sheer drama of a Shakespearean ghost.
“…You’re gonna be asleep in like two minutes.”
“I’ll know you’re not there,” she whispered, as if revealing some ancient curse. “I always know when people leave.”
Gigi stared down at her. She remembered the hoodie. How tightly Cecilia had clutched it earlier. How she hadn’t said anything, but her silence said too much.
“Are you always like this when you’re drunk?”
Cecilia avoided the question. She just kept holding onto her shirt, fist balled in the fabric like letting go would kill her.
“I hate it when people leave,” she whispered. “Even if I tell them to. Even if I pretend it’s fine. It’s not.”
Gigi felt something sharp twist in her chest. God. She gets under your skin so fast it should be illegal.
“…Is that why you think I hate you?” she asked quietly.
Cecilia didn’t answer right away. Then, slowly, she nodded. “You look at me like I’m… like I’m annoying. Or fake. Or like you’re just waiting for me to disappear.”
“I’m not.”
“But it feels like you are,” Cecilia murmured. “Feels like you’re always one step away from walking off like everyone else does. I don’t know how to make you stay.”
Gigi swallowed.
There was a long silence. The only sound was the low hum of the fridge in the background, the distant tick of a clock.
Then Gigi finally exhaled and muttered, “…Okay.”
Cecilia blinked up at her. “Okay?”
“I’ll stay,” Gigi said, softer this time. “Just for a bit.”
Cecilia blinked again—like she didn’t quite believe it—then, slowly, let go of her shirt and instead leaned her whole weight against Gigi’s shoulder.
“…You’re warm,” she mumbled.
“You’re exhausting,” Gigi replied. “Even pretty girls have problems huh.” The brunette said aloud more to herself. But it got her a light shove from Cecilia.
Gigi stayed there. Then, she moved them to lie on the couch, making sure that she maintains her distance.
She’s going to wreck me.
Gigi woke up to a weight on her arm and the faint smell of lemongrass.
For a second, she forgot where she was.
Then her eyes opened, and she remembered exactly where she was.
Cecilia was curled up against her side, snoring softly. One hand had somehow found its way under Gigi’s hoodie, resting warm and awkwardly on her stomach like they were in some kind of weird romcom. Her face was peaceful, flushed with sleep, a little puffy from the night before.
Gigi stared at the ceiling.
“…You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered.
She very, very gently tried to move her arm.
Cecilia groaned, eyes scrunching shut tighter. “Nooo,” she mumbled. “Warm.”
Gigi froze.
“You’re awake,” she said flatly.
“Not really,” Cecilia slurred, clearly still half-asleep. “But if you move, I die. Probably.”
“That’s dramatic.”
Cecilia’s grip tightened just slightly.
“…Did I say anything dumb?” she asked after a beat, voice smaller this time.
Gigi stared down at her. “…Define dumb.”
“Oh god,” Cecilia groaned, burying her face into Gigi’s side. “I did. I so did.”
“You remember?”
“Flashes. Feelings. Shame.” She paused. “Did I cry?”
“A little.”
“Ughhh.”
Gigi sighed, finally relaxing back into the couch. “It wasn’t all bad.”
Cecilia peeked up at her. “Really?”
“You were also annoying.”
“There it is,” Cecilia mumbled, but she smiled.
There was a pause, quiet and soft.
Then Gigi added, almost too casual, “I don’t hate you.”
Cecilia blinked. Her smile faded into something smaller. “Oh.”
Another beat of silence.
“…Good,” she said softly.
Then she curled in closer.
And this time, Gigi didn’t mind.