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Sophia’s voice in the group chat sounds like a dying cat.
“Hey, guys,” she croaks in a voice note. “I think I’m dying. Tell my fans I loved them. Tell our stylist I’m sorry for sweating through that lilac corset—”
“Jesus Christ,” Manon types.
“I didn’t know ghosts could text,” replies Megan.
“I’m coming over,” Daniela says before she can stop herself.
Sophia and Yoonchae’s room is small, neat, and smells faintly of Flat Tops and Vicks. It’s the most domestic thing Daniela’s seen all week, which says a lot considering she just danced six hours beside a fog machine and accidentally inhaled it.
Sophia answers the door in Dani’s hoodie, two sizes too big, and socks with little ducks on them.
“Oh no,” Daniela says immediately, “you look like a sick Victorian child.”
“Wow,” Sophia says, sniffing. “Your comfort is overwhelming.”
Daniela lifts the tote bag in her hand. “I brought sinigang.”
Sophia lights up in a way that makes Daniela’s stomach do a thing it shouldn’t. “Is it pork or shrimp?”
“Pork. Duh.”
“You do love me.”
Daniela nearly drops the bag.
—
“I’m serious, you don’t have to stay,” Sophia says around a mouthful of rice. Her hair is tied up in a sleepy bun and her eyes are glassy from the fever, but she’s still irritatingly beautiful.
“I want to,” Daniela replies. “Also, you’re clearly a danger to yourself. Who heats soup in a metal bowl?”
“I was improvising.”
“You were about to microwave the house into flames.”
Sophia shrugs, then coughs so violently she knocks over her tissue box.
“See?” Daniela says, catching it mid-fall. “Menace.”
Sophia leans dramatically onto Daniela’s shoulder, sniffling. “Then save me.”
Daniela doesn’t move.
Neither of them does.
And then—buzz buzz buzz.
A FaceTime request from Yoonchae pops up on Sophia’s phone, followed by three missed messages
Yoonchae: “are u alive”
Megan: “dani did u kill her with soup”
Manon: “send pics”
Sophia groans. “They’re insufferable.”
Daniela leans back, stretching out her legs. “They miss you.”
“You mean they miss bullying me in person.”
“Well, yeah. It’s not as fun when you can’t roll your eyes.”
“I can roll my eyes. I’m sick, not dead.”
Daniela glances at her. “Want to test that theory? Yoonchae just said if you don’t respond in the next 10 minutes, she’s FaceTiming your mom.”
Sophia gasps. “The betrayal!”
The next morning, Sophia is worse.
Her nose is red, her voice is deeper than usual, and her hair is a disaster. Daniela, still curled up on the couch with one of Sophia’s plushies, checks the group chat to find 74 unread messages.
Megan: “we’re voting on a new partner for dani. sophia’s been gone too long.”
Manon: “i volunteer as tribute.”
Yoonchae: “she sneezed on the FaceTime call... I have PTSD.”
Daniela replies with a selfie of her and a half-asleep Sophia, complete with a thumbs-up and a spoon in her mouth.
Daniela: “Still alive. Still the superior partner.”
Sophia: “barely 😔”
A minute later, there’s a knock at the door.
Sophia jolts up. “I swear if that’s Megan in a hazmat suit again—”
But it’s not. It’s Lara and a very cautious Yoonchae. And bags.
“Soup reinforcements,” Lara says. “Also, we got bored.”
Yoonchae holds up a coloring book. “This was on sale. Let us in.”
For the next two hours, the house is chaos.
Yoonchae is sprawled on the rug coloring a photo of a unicorn while Lara attempts to suck away the sickness using her crystals. Sophia is stuck under three blankets on the couch like a hostage. Daniela makes tea and refuses to admit how weirdly happy she is to be here.
It feels easy. Stupid. Nice.
Until Manon and Megan show up with a thermometer and a list of unsolicited health facts. “Did you know fevers can make you hallucinate? Maybe that’s why you let Dani hold your hand for thirty minutes.”
Sophia glares at her. “I was dying. I needed warmth.”
Daniela pretends not to smile into her mug.
By the third day, it’s just Daniela and Sophia again.
The others have left in a flurry of dramatic exits.
“If I catch a single germ I’m blaming your love story,” Megan declared, and Sophia is starting to look a little more human again.
She’s leaning against Daniela’s side on the couch, legs tucked under her, when she mumbles, “Do you ever think about… what happens after this?”
Daniela blinks. “After what?”
“All of it. The performing. The cameras. The lights. Like… when it all gets silent.”
“Sure,” Daniela says quietly. “Sometimes.”
Sophia nods, eyes half-lidded. “I think I’d still want you there. Even if it’s quiet.”
Daniela’s heart pulls tight.
Outside, the world keeps spinning.
But inside—it’s quiet. Warm. A kind of stillness that feels earned.
Daniela brushes a piece of lint from Sophia’s sleeve. “Yeah,” she says. “I’d want that too.”
Sophia doesn’t say anything back. Just leans in closer. Her head on Dani’s shoulder.
The silence stretches. Uncomplicated. Unrushed.
And for once, Daniela lets it hold.
Later that night, Sophia is half-asleep again, but murmurs one last thing as Daniela gathers her things.
“You’re really stuck with me, huh?”
Daniela looks at her.
Hair messy. Nose red. Hoodie half-zipped.
And still the only person in the world who makes her want to press pause on everything else.
“I really hope so,” Daniela says.
—
A week later, Sophia’s back on her feet.
Mostly.
There’s still a faint rasp in her voice, and she’s bundled in an oversized flannel even though the studio’s heating is overkill. But she’s glowing—post-fever softness and all—and her movements are clean again. Sharp. Alive.
Daniela watches her from across the mirror-lined room as the choreographer resets the sequence.
They’d been apart for barely a week, but Daniela hadn’t realized how much she missed dancing with her until now. The unspoken rhythm between them. The ease. The sparks in the in-between moments.
“Take five,” the choreographer calls out.
Sophia walks over, water bottle in hand. “Catch me, I’m dying,” she says dramatically, then flops beside Daniela on the couch.
“You already died,” Daniela says, amused. “You’re on your second life.”
Sophia grins, leaning against her shoulder like it’s a habit. Maybe it is now.
“You know,” Sophia says after a beat, “I dreamt about this when I was sick. You, me, here. Dancing again.”
Daniela’s voice is low. “Was I good in your fever dream?”
“The best.” She pauses. “You were also a golden retriever at one point, but that’s neither here nor there.”
Daniela laughs, head tipping back, and Sophia watches her like she’s memorizing the shape of the sound.
“Hey,” Sophia says, quieter now.
Daniela turns, still smiling. “Yeah?”
Sophia’s shoulder bumps hers. “You still stuck with me?”
Daniela doesn’t answer right away.
Instead, she lets her head fall onto Sophia’s,
“For as long as you’ll let me.”