Work Text:
They met through a roommate ad Ling had posted online just a practical solution, nothing more
than a means to an end. She wasn’t expecting anything extraordinary to come of it. But what
walked through her door that day wasn’t simply a roommate. It was life itself, rearranged.
Ling was quiet, contained, a figure of shadows and soft silences. Orm, on the other hand,
carried the sun in her pockets, her laughter too loud to ignore, her presence too warm to resist.
She burst into rooms like color splashing across a blank canvas, filling Ling’s once-muted life
with noise and light. There were late-night songs in the kitchen, half-silly and half-sincere;
spontaneous adventures that started with “come on, let’s just go”; and little moments of joy that
Ling, despite herself, couldn’t help but orbit around—like the moon, orbiting the sun.
Years passed, and with them grew an intimacy that was not loud but steady, a foundation built
on quiet understanding. They became each other’s anchors, each other’s confessional walls.
“A built-in best friend,” Orm had joked once, grinning as she leaned against the counter. “I have
you at arm’s length, always.”
It was in those small declarations, in the casual closeness, that Ling found herself slipping
deeper. Falling for Orm wasn’t something she chose, it was the most natural thing in the world.
And yet, it was also the most impossible. She carried the feeling carefully, secretly, like a
pressed flower hidden between the pages of her favorite book—fragile, beautiful, preserved in
silence, never meant to be disturbed.
There were countless times she wanted to speak. She would whisper the words to herself in
front of the mirror, let them slip out in the car on her way to work, or murmur them like a prayer
before she drifted off to sleep. “I love you.” Always on her lips, never on Orm’s ears. It was a
dream she could reach for, but the very act of it terrified her.
What if she doesn’t feel the same?
What if I ruin everything?
The questions gnawed at her until silence became the safer choice. So Ling loved her quietly, in
ways Orm would never fully see. She carried that love through every season of her life, even as
she dated others, even as she fell in and out of temporary romances. None of them mattered.
Orm was her only focus, no one else.
And so, she stayed. Sharing morning coffees, late-night talks, unexpected tears, and inside
jokes that only they would ever understand. Scattering little pieces of her soul across the years
they lived side by side, never once surrendering the piece that mattered most.
One rainy evening, Ling sat curled up on the couch, a book forgotten in her lap. The patter of
raindrops against the window filled the silence, steady and soothing, while from the kitchen
came the soft hum of Orm’s voice. She was moving about with her usual easy grace, the stove
light casting a warm glow that bled into the living room, painting the space with a kind of quiet
domesticity.
Ling’s chest ached as she watched. Orm’s laughter, the way she hummed absentmindedly to
herself, the little dance of her movements. It was all so effortlessly alive. And Ling thought, not
for the first time, How much longer can I keep this secret locked inside?
Orm glanced over her shoulder then, catching Ling’s gaze. A small, knowing smile tugged at her
lips. “You okay?” she asked, voice threaded with concern.
Ling startled slightly, as if caught in the act of loving her. She forced a smile and nodded. “Just
tired.”
That answer, flimsy as it was, seemed to satisfy Orm for the moment. She padded over and
dropped onto the couch beside Ling, the faint scent of soap and something sweet lingering
around her. Without hesitation, she draped an arm around Ling’s shoulders and pulled her
close.
“You know you can tell me anything, right?” Orm murmured.
The words pressed against Ling like a hand to her chest. They weren’t casual this time. They
felt like a challenge, an invitation, maybe even a door left ajar. Her breath caught, heart
pounding loud enough she feared Orm might hear it.
For one suspended moment, everything inside her screamed say it now, tell her, let her know.
The confession burned at the edge of her tongue, desperate and trembling.
But fear, that old and familiar thing, won again.
“I know,” Ling whispered instead, her voice thinner than she intended.
Orm squeezed her gently, leaning her head against Ling’s as if to anchor her. “Good,” she said
softly, comfort in her tone, unaware of the storm raging just beneath Ling’s skin.
That night, long after Orm had fallen asleep with her arm still curled protectively around her,
Ling lay awake in the quiet. The rain had stopped, the house was still, but inside her the words
moved restlessly, louder than ever. Three simple words she was too afraid to speak.
I love you.
But then came the diagnosis. The words landed like a death sentence though they were spoken
gently, clinically, with practiced compassion. The pain that had started in her back, the fatigue she had blamed on work, the weight she thought was simply the toll of stress. All of them had
been leading here.
Stage IV.
Terminal.
Months, maybe.
Ling sat in the hospital lobby long after the doctor’s voice had faded, the sterile brightness
around her blurring into nothing. Her hands trembled in her lap, but it wasn’t the thought of dying
that hollowed her out, it was the realization that she had run out of time.
She had kept her love folded away, hidden in silence, and now it would die with her. Orm would
never know. All those years of quiet devotion would remain like an unlit candle waiting and
waiting but never burning.
When she finally went home, Orm was there at the door, arms crossed, eyes searching her face
with worry sharp enough to cut.
“You okay?” Orm asked softly.
Ling forced a smile, stretching it over her breaking heart. “Just tired.”
Orm studied her for a moment longer before nodding, maybe believing her, or maybe choosing
to. Ling didn’t know which was worse.
The days began to blur together.
Hospitals, treatments, the bitter tang of medicine, and the faint hope doctors offered like crumbs,
all woven into a haze of exhaustion. Ling told Orm it was just “a minor thing,” some vague
diagnosis that wasn’t worth the fuss.
Nothing serious.
And Orm, bless her, trusted her word. Or maybe she just wanted to.
Ling clung to that illusion, because if Orm knew everything would change. Orm would treat her
differently, softer, more careful in all the ways Ling didn’t want.
Pity would replace the laughter, sorrow would drown out the music, and their home would feel
less like a sanctuary and more like a waiting room.
More than anything, Ling couldn’t bear the thought of Orm finding out about the other truth—her
love. Not now. Not when she was dying.
To confess it now would feel cruel, like handing Orm a gift that would only burn her hands
sooner or later.
So she swallowed it all down. The pain. The fear. The love.
And every night, lying awake while Orm slept peacefully, Ling pressed her hand against her
chest as if to hold it in place, whispering silently into the dark:
I’m sorry. I should’ve told you sooner.
---
One night, they sat together on the balcony, the city stretching out below them in a wash of
lights that shimmered like fireflies caught in glass. The air smelled faintly of rain, and the world
felt hushed, as if it were listening.
Orm leaned easily against Ling’s shoulder, her laughter spilling out as she recounted some
ridiculous moment from work.
Ling smiled, but the words blurred around her. Her heartbeat was a drum, relentless, echoing in
her ears. Before she could stop herself, the thought slipped out, fragile and trembling on her
lips.
“I’m going to miss this,” she whispered.
Orm shifted, tilting her head up. “Miss what?”
Ling froze, caught between confession and retreat. She forced her lips into a smile, covering the
crack in her voice. “You. This. Us.”
Orm laughed softly, brushing it off. “Don’t be dramatic. You’re not going anywhere.”
Ling nodded, swallowing back the truth. Her silence tasted bitter.
She wanted to say it then—I love you. I’ve loved you for so long. The words pressed hard
against her chest, clawing their way up her throat, begging for release. But they stuck, as they
always did.
Because Ling always knew she loved Orm more than she was supposed to.
She had learned to live with it, to cradle it quietly like something sacred.
She told herself it was enough, enough to wake up under the same roof, to share their coffees in
the mornings, to laugh until tears blurred their vision, to be the shoulder Orm leaned on during
nights like this. To be Orm’s person, even if not in the way she had dreamed of.
A hundred times she had almost said it.
During laughter that loosened her guard.
During tears that made the moment raw.
In the middle of songs sung off-key in the kitchen at 2 a.m.
The words had perched on the edge of her tongue, ready to take flight. But fear had always
clipped their wings.
Fear that the truth would make Orm pull away.
Fear that it would shatter the only safe place she had ever known.
And now with the diagnosis, it had shattered everything anyway. Time had stolen the chance
from her, leaving her with nothing but silence.
She told herself she might confess part of the truth one day. About the illness, about why her
body was betraying her, why she was fading. But not about the love. Never about the love.
That one she’ll keep close to herself. Especially not now.
Not now. Not when she was preparing to leave Orm behind.
But still, the thought gnawed at her. If she couldn’t stay, if she couldn’t grow old with her, then
maybe she could at least do this one thing: make sure Orm wouldn’t be alone.
She could set things in motion quietly, carefully. A selfishness masked as love.
If she couldn’t be Orm’s future… then she would try to make sure Orm still had one.
---
It started small. Ling would slip it into conversations like it was nothing. Suggesting a coworker,
an old friend, someone who might be good for Orm.
Each time, Orm brushed her off with an easy laugh. “You’re trying to play matchmaker now?”
Ling would shrug, feigning nonchalance, though her heart tightened each and every time. “I just
want you to have someone good. Someone who’ll take care of you.”
Orm always smiled then, disarming, unthinking, devastating. “Why? I already have you.”
The words were meant to comfort but it carved deeper wounds than Ling could ever care admit
because she knew, one day too soon, Orm wouldn’t have her.
Not anymore.
That was when Ying came to mind, her cousin.
Sweet, reliable, thoughtful Ying.
Someone steady, someone safe. Someone who would never hurt Orm, who could be there in all
The ways Ling no longer could no matter how she wishes to be.
The thought twisted like a knife in her chest but it also brought a strange sort of relief.
If she couldn’t give Orm a future, the least she could do was place her in hands that just might.
So she set it up.
Casually.
As though it were an afterthought.
“Ying’s going to be in town. Do you should meet her?” Ling said one morning over breakfast,
pretending to focus on her coffee.
Orm raised an eyebrow, amused suspicion lighting her features. “Is this another one of your
weird setups?”
Ling forced a smile. “She’s my cousin, you goof. She’s nice. Funny. I think you’ll like her.”
But Orm still looks unconvinced.
“Come on, for me please? I don’t like those douches you pick for yourself.” Ling added with her
most puppy dog face she could muster.
Orm rolled her eyes, but Ling caught the faintest blush creeping up her neck.
But with a reluctant chuckle, Orm agreed.
The night of the date arrived like a storm Ling had invited in. She stood behind Orm as she got
ready, her hands betraying her with their slight tremor.
She helped choose the dress, fussed over her hair, clipped the earrings into place with fingers
that lingered too long. Orm turned, radiant, a vision that seared itself into Ling’s memory.
“You think she’ll like me?” Orm asked, half-laughing, half-nervous.
Ling swallowed the ache rising in her throat and nodded. “She’d be crazy not to. Send her my
way if that’s the case, I’ll give her a good kick.”
Orm smiled radiantly at her and went on her way.
She just watched Orm walk out the door with a little bounce in her step, excitement sparkling in
her eyes.
Orm didn’t know.
She couldn’t know.
That this moment had been orchestrated out of love and heartbreak, an act of devotion
disguised as friendship.
Ling didn’t follow to the restaurant but she watched from afar.
From across the street, hidden in the corner of a quiet café, Ling sat with her untouched coffee
growing cold. Her eyes were fixed on the restaurant window across the way, where Ying and
Orm sat together, framed by the soft glow of hanging lights.
Orm was laughing, head thrown back in that unguarded way Ling had memorized long ago. The
kind of laugh that cracked the world open and let light in. Ying leaned in, smiling, her eyes
drawn to Orm as though she too had fallen under the same spell that had held Ling captive for
years.
Who wouldn’t?
It was going well. Ling could see it. Every small lean forward, every glint of joy in Orm’s eyes. It
was the picture of possibility. And all Ling could think was how desperately she wished it were
her across from Orm, catching that laughter, basking in that light.
Her fingers curled around her cup, nails biting into her palm, as though clinging to something
solid could keep her heart from unraveling. She had dreamed of this countless times: sitting
across from Orm at some table, watching her laugh, reaching out to touch her hand without fear.
Instead, she was relegated to the shadows, an audience to a love story that would never be
hers.
She stayed longer than she meant to, long enough to etch the image into her memory: Orm
radiant, leaning closer, unaware of the pair of eyes watching her from across the street. Her
eyes brimming with love, envy, and a grief too heavy to name.
When Ling finally rose to leave, her body betrayed her. Pain rippled through her chest, her legs
trembling from the effort of holding herself together. She hadn’t eaten all day as she couldn’t
hold anything down; the world tilted when she stepped out into the cool evening air. Two steps
forward and her knees buckled, slamming against the pavement.
Her palms scraped the ground. Her breath caught, ragged. The buzzing in her ears drowned out
everything, everything except the sight across the street.
Through the blur, she saw Orm still laughing, luminous and untouched by Ling’s quiet collapse.
The image struck her like a cruel mercy: Orm happy, Orm safe, Orm free of her burdens.
With a groan, Ling forced herself upright, every movement slow and deliberate.
She brushed the dirt and blood from her palms, turned her back to the restaurant, and walked
away. She couldn’t let Orm see her like this. Not tonight. Not when she was supposed to be
giving her away.
Later, the apartment filled with Orm’s voice again, bright and bubbling. She tossed her shoes
aside, cheeks flushed with excitement.
“She’s great,” Orm said, her words tumbling out. “Actually, really great. You were right.”
Ling sat curled on the couch, pale, wrapped in a blanket. She kept her sleeves pulled down to
hide the blood, kept her trembling hands pressed into her lap. Her smile was practiced, fragile.
“I’m glad,” she whispered.
Orm dropped onto the couch beside her, the warmth of her presence cutting straight through
Ling’s defenses. “You okay? You look tired.”
“Just a long day,” Ling murmured, forcing the corners of her lips upward. “But I’m happy you had
fun.”
Orm leaned her head on Ling’s shoulder with an easy sigh. “Thanks for setting it up. You’re a
good friend.”
The words stabbed deeper than any diagnosis. Ling closed her eyes, her heart twisting.
“Yeah,” she whispered into the dark of her own silence. “That’s what I’m trying to be.”
Her days were numbered; her love had a timeline and here was her world sporting a happier
look that she hadn’t seen in a while. She could rest happily for this, as long as she’s happy.
---
That night, when Orm had gone to bed, Ling sat alone in the living room, the silence pressing
down on her like a weight. The only sound was the faint hum of the refrigerator and the rain
outside tapping softly against the glass like a cruel mockery of what she’s keeping inside.
She lay back against the couch cushions, staring at the ceiling, one hand pressed firmly to her
chest as though she could hold herself together by sheer force of will.
She had given away the one person she needed most.
You’re doing the right thing, she repeated that to herself like a prayer like a mantra she might
believe if she said it often enough. Orm would have someone who loved her, someone who
could be there through all the seasons Ling no longer had the strength or time to reach.
Orm wouldn’t be alone.
She would be cared for, cherished and adored.
Even if it wasn’t by Ling.
Even if the love Ling carried—tender, hidden, unspoken—would die with her passing.
Because that is the price of Love, grief. And she’s grieving enough for the both of them.
This had to be enough. At least for now.
And so, time passed and Ying and Orm’s paths wound closer together, Ling played her role as
the steadfast bestfriend. Their date had gone well, and soon the “one date” turned to many.
Eventually, they became a couple.
Ling smiled for them, supported them, laughed with them. She was happy or at least she told
herself she was. Because her love had always meant wanting Orm’s happiness, even if it came
at the cost of her own.
One quiet afternoon, Orm turned to her, head tilted with that familiar, unguarded curiosity. “What
are your wishes, if you could name one?”
Ling’s breath caught. A thousand answers surged to the tip of her tongue, but only one left her
lips, wrapped in a fragile smile.
“I want to see you get married.”
Orm’s expression softened, touched, though she didn’t fully grasp the depth behind the words.
She nodded, and weeks later, when Ying asked she said yes.
---
Not long after, Orm dragged Ling with her to a bridal boutique. Ying was tied up with work, so it
was just the two of them.
A rare, quiet moment—one that felt both intimate and cruel in its sweetness.
Ling sat on a plush chair, watching Orm twirl in gowns of silk and lace, glowing in every one of
them. Orm’s joy lit up the room, and Ling found herself smiling through the ache in her chest.
Even just for that little while she could pretend that Orm was going to be her wife.
Then the shop assistant, noticing the closeness between them, turned with a playful grin. “Why
don’t you try one on too? Just for fun.”
Ling froze, her throat tight. The suggestion was absurd, a knife twisted in her ribs. But Orm,
eyes bright and mischievous, nodded toward her.
Come on, Ling,” she teased, using the endearment so easily, so innocently. “Just once. Humor
me, please.”
Ling hesitated, every part of her screaming to refuse. But then Orm’s smile, warm and pleading,
disarmed her as it always had. With a quiet exhale, Ling gave in.
And so, she stood, her heart pounding as the assistant guided her toward the racks of white.
She told herself it was just a game. Just for fun. Nothing more.
But deep inside, she knew that slipping into that dress, even for a moment, would feel like
stepping into the life she had always wanted but a life she would never have.
They stood together in front of the mirror. Orm radiant in layers of white satin, Ling beside her in
another gown the assistant had insisted she try. For a moment, the reflection stole Ling’s breath.
Two brides. Two futures. Two dreams that could never coexist, standing shoulder to shoulder as
if the world had conspired to show her what she could never ever have.
Orm laughed, light and unguarded, tugging playfully at Ling’s sleeve. “See? You clean up so
well,” she teased, her eyes soft in a way that made Ling’s chest ache.
A camera clicked somewhere in the boutique. Just one photo. One captured second, fleeting
and eternal.
Ling secretly asked a copy of it. And she kept it.
Folded away, hidden, a secret she returned to when the nights grew too heavy. When the pain
of the treatment was chipping away her life, the photo became her tether, her source of strength
in her darkest night.
What Orm didn’t know, what Ling never had the courage to say, was that beneath the lace and
the smiles, she was already fading.
Dying.
And that picture would be the closest thing she’d ever have to the life she once dreamed of.
Her Holy Grail.
---
On the wedding day, the sun shone a little too brightly, mocking the heaviness in Ling’s chest.
The world looked golden, almost cruel in its beauty. Flowers blooming in the aisles, music
swelling in celebration, laughter threading through the air.
Dressed in white, Ling smiled for everyone who looked her way, but her hands trembled
uncontrollably as she held Orm’s. “Nerves” she said as an excuse and Orm still smiled at her in
understanding.
In front of the small crowd, their eyes locked. Ling let herself drown in the sight of her just one
more time. The woman she had loved silently, fiercely and with a nearing earthly end.
This was it.
The last time she would stand so close, the last time she would hold her like this, the last time
she could pretend the world belonged to just the two of them.
Her throat burned as she gently placed Orm’s hand into Ying’s waiting one. Her touch lingered,
her thumb brushing against Orm’s skin as if memorizing the feel of it.
“Take care of her,” Ling whispered, her voice low, trembling, meant for Orm alone.
Orm’s lips parted, but no sound came. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, her fingers clinging
to Ling’s just a heartbeat too long, unwilling to let go. The silence between them said everything
words never could: regret, love, longing, the cruel ache of too-late.
Finally, Ling forced herself to release her, her hand slipping away like sand through a fist.
She turned, each step down the aisle heavy, each breath a battle. And walk straight down the
opposite aisle, her feet led her outside. By the time she reached the steps, her body betrayed
her. Her legs buckled, collapsing beneath her as the bright, merciless sky bore witness.
She fell among the flowers, the laughter, the music, all of the wedding festivities was meant to
celebrate a love that was never hers. Her palms pressed to the ground, the world spinning, her
chest tightening until breath was nothing but memory.
By the time help rushed to her side, her heartbeat had already dimmed to silence, fading softly
the same way she had always loved: quietly, secretly, without asking for anything in return.
The last thing she heard was Orm’s voice screaming her name and she left this world with a
smile on her face.
Orm never smiled again after that day.
Every morning, she went to Ling’s grave, sometimes with Ying, often alone. She would sit for
hours, the photo from the bridal shop clasped in her hands. That silly, impulsive photo of the two
of them dressed as brides.
It was never supposed to mean anything.
But to Orm, it meant everything.
Proof of a love unspoken, of a life that could have been if she had just been brave enough.
And then, a couple of days later, Orm didn’t come home.
They found her lying beside Ling’s grave, the photo pressed tightly against her chest. Her face
was pale, but her expression was serene, as if she had finally found peace right beside her first
love.
The doctors called it an aortic dissection—sudden, swift, unforgiving.
But those who truly knew her understood the truth. Her heart had shattered the moment Ling’s
stopped. The rupture was just her body catching up to what her soul had already decided: she
could not live in a world where Ling no longer breathed.
Together, they were finally free.
---
The story didn’t end there. After the funeral, whispers began to ripple quietly among those who had known them. Not cruel gossip, but the kind of murmurs softened by grief. Respectful, reverent. The truth had surfaced piece by piece: Orm had found Ling’s medical papers weeks before the wedding. Late-stage cancer. Untreatable. Terminal.
Ling had hidden it well, too well. Every smile, every excuse, every tired I’m fine had been a
mask she wore for Orm’s sake. And Orm, after stumbling upon the truth, had made a choice.
She confronted no one. She didn’t demand explanations or cry out against fate. She simply…
accepted it.
So when Ling asked her to date Ying, to marry her, to build a life beyond the one she could no
longer offer, Orm agreed. Not because she wanted to. Every fiber of her being ached to refuse.
But because she couldn’t bear to say no to Ling.
She wanted to give Ling the peace she yearned for, to cross to the afterlife knowing Orm was in
the proper hands she chose that would and could take care of her. She made it work for the one
she truly loves.
To the world, it looked like selflessness. People whispered that Orm was brave, noble, endlessly
giving.
But inside, she was terrified. Terrified that if she told Ling the truth, that she was in love with her
too, Ling would retreat, would push her away. That Ling, ever selfless, would shield her from the
pain of losing her by severing their bond before the end came.
So Orm did the only thing she knew how.
She swallowed her love.
She buried it beneath laughter, beneath a smile, beneath a veil and vows meant for someone
else.
She stayed where Ling wanted her—close, constant, faithful until the very last breath. And not
once did she speak the words that burned through every waking moment, every sleepless night:
I love you so much.
---
At the cemetery, two graves rest quietly beneath a tree.
One for Ling. One for Orm.
Side by side, as if the earth itself understood what life had denied them.
Visitors sometimes find a photo left between the stones: two young women in wedding dresses,
caught in a moment of joy, laughing as if they had all the time in the world. A silly “just for fun”
picture, never meant to matter.
Yet it had come to mean everything.
And perhaps, just perhaps, that photo is a promise.
Maybe in the next life, there will be no fear. No sickness. No silence.
Maybe then, they’ll slip into those dresses not for a game, but for real.
And this time, hand in hand, unburdened, unafraid. They’ll walk down the aisle together.