Work Text:
Prologue: First Day
Orm Kornnaphat's first day at the company was going terribly.
She'd arrived fifteen minutes late, spilled coffee on her blazer in the break room, and now she was standing in front of the printer watching it flash angry red lights at her.
"Come on," she muttered, pressing buttons at random. "Please. I just need to print the onboarding forms."
The printer kept beeping and flashing.
"That sound means it's jammed," a voice said behind her.
Orm spun around and found herself face-to-face with possibly the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen.
Professional pencil skirt. Crisp white blouse. Hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. Warm brown eyes and a small, amused smile.
"Oh," Orm said intelligently. "I—um—"
"Here." The woman stepped closer, and Orm caught a hint of fruity perfume.
"It does this at least twice a day. There's a trick to it."
She reached past Orm, close enough that Orm had to step back, pulse jumping, and pressed a sequence of buttons that seemed to involve the side panel and some kind of mystical knowledge.
The printer hummed to life.
"You have to hold down the reset button while opening Paper Tray B," the woman explained, pulling open a drawer Orm hadn't even known existed.
"There's usually paper stuck right... here."
She pulled out a crumpled sheet. "See?"
"You're a wizard," Orm blurted out.
The woman laughed, genuinely and delightfully. "Hardly. I'm Ling. I'm the executive secretary for Kish, the VP of Operations. You must be new?"
"First day," Orm confirmed, trying not to stare. "I'm Orm. Financial analysis."
"Welcome to the team."
Ling handed her the onboarding forms, now printing smoothly.
"Fair warning: the printer will do this again. When it does, just come find me."
"I will," Orm said, maybe a beat faster than necessary. "I mean—thank you. For the help."
"Anytime." Ling's mouth curved into a small, confident smirk—just enough to make Orm's pulse jump.
"Good luck with your first day, Orm."
She walked away, and Orm stood there watching her go, the printer still humming beside her.
"Well," she whispered to herself. "That's unfortunate."
Because she was already halfway to a crush, and she'd been here less than an hour.
Week 3
The first time Orm caught Ling looking at her during a meeting, she thought she'd imagined it.
They were in the weekly operations review, boring presentations, people droning on about quarterly targets, and Orm glanced up from her spreadsheet to find Ling's eyes on her from across the conference table.
Ling looked away immediately, a faint pink dusting her cheeks.
Orm stared at her notes. The numbers blurred.
She tried again, revenue projections, growth percentages, but her eyes drifted up.
Ling was tucking her hair behind her ear, pen poised over her notepad.
Coincidence. Had to be.
Except during the next slide, Orm looked up and caught Ling's gaze again.
This time Ling held it for a beat before dropping her eyes to her own notes, that same pink tinge creeping up her neck.
By the end of the meeting, Orm had read the same line on her spreadsheet seven times without comprehending a single word.
But she could have drawn Ling's profile from memory.
Across the table, Ling pretended to focus on the quarterly projections.
Her pen hovered over the page, then pressed down a little too hard, threatening to tear the paper.
Stop staring, she told herself. It's a meeting. Pay attention.
Every time she looked up, Orm was already looking down again, which somehow made it worse—and better—at the same time.
Week 7
"Team dinner!" Jin announced, appearing at Orm's desk like an enthusiastic fairy godmother. "Friday night. There's a place around the corner. You're coming."
"I don't know—" Orm started.
"Ling's coming," Jin said with a meaningful look.
"What time?" The words were out before Orm could stop them.
Jin's grin brightened with unspoken mischief.
Friday arrived, and at the restaurant, the table was loud and chaotic, twelve people from the office crammed around inadequate seating, dishes being passed, conversations overlapping.
Somehow, Orm ended up sitting directly next to Ling, their shoulders nearly touching in the cramped space.
"The basil chicken here is amazing," Ling said, passing Orm the menu.
Their fingers brushed. Orm's hand jerked slightly. The menu wobbled. "Thanks."
Jin was sitting across from them, chin propped on her hand, watching them like a hawk.
The meal stretched on.
Ling's arm kept brushing against Orm's as they reached for dishes.
When Ling laughed at someone's joke, Orm could feel the vibration of it through their touching shoulders.
When Ling leaned forward to hear someone better, that delicate gold necklace caught the light, and Orm had to remind herself to breathe.
The conversation shifted to weekend plans.
Orm was telling someone about a new hiking trail when she reached over—as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and wrapped her hand around Ling's upper arm, still talking, gesturing with her other hand about the trail's difficulty.
Her fingers lingered lightly, resting there without her even noticing as she kept talking.
Ling froze, surprise flickering across her face.
Jin caught Ling's eye from across the table and raised her eyebrows meaningfully, her gaze dropping pointedly to where Orm's hand rested on Ling's arm.
Ling shot Jin a warning look and mouthed: Stop.
Jin grinned wider and made a little heart shape with her hands where only Ling could see.
Ling kicked her under the table.
Jin didn't even flinch, just kept smiling innocently while Ling's ears turned pink.
Orm finished her story and pulled her hand back, completely oblivious to the exchange happening across the table.
"Ling, are you okay?" someone asked. "You look flushed."
"Just the spicy food," Ling said quickly, not looking at Jin.
Jin bit her lip to keep from laughing.
The dinner stretched late.
People started peeling off—early mornings, long commutes.
Eventually, it was just Orm, Ling, Jin, and two others.
"I should get going," one of them said, checking their phone. "Last train in twenty minutes."
"Yeah, me too," the other agreed.
They left.
Jin stood up, chair scraping. "Oh, look, I also have to... do a thing. Bye!"
"Jin—" Ling started, but she was already gone, leaving just Orm and Ling at a table covered in empty plates.
Orm laughed, propping her chin on her palm as she watched Ling, amused and fond.
Ling turned her head and caught Orm's gaze. Their eyes held for a moment.
"Do you want to..." Ling hesitated, fingers tracing the condensation on her water glass. "There's a night market a few blocks from here. If you're not in a hurry?"
Orm's smile widened, all bright edges and honesty, a flutter rising beneath her ribs. "I'd like that."
They walked through the night market together.
The crowd pressed close, forcing them to navigate narrow gaps between stalls.
Orm's hand brushed Ling's as they squeezed past a vendor selling fried insects.
"Sorry," Orm said.
"It's fine," Ling said quickly.
Two stalls later, as they reached for the same handmade bracelet, their fingers touched again.
This time, neither of them apologized.
Ling pulled her hand back first, tucking it into her pocket.
At a fruit stand, Ling stepped aside to let Orm pass, and their shoulders bumped.
Ling steadied herself with a hand on Orm's arm, just for a second, just to keep her balance, but Orm felt the warmth of it long after Ling let go.
Neither of them mentioned it.
Week 9
Orm was at the copier when she heard Ling's voice from the nearby break room. The door was half-open.
"I can't wait to see you this weekend," Ling said, her voice soft and warm in a way Orm had never heard before. "I miss you so much."
Orm's hand froze on the copy button.
"I know, I know. I've been so busy with work. But I promise I'll be there."
Orm stared at the copier. The light bar moved back and forth, scanning a document she couldn't even remember putting there. Her chest felt tight.
Of course. Of course Ling had someone. Why wouldn't she? She was beautiful and kind and competent and—
"Love you. See you Saturday. Bye."
Orm grabbed her copies without looking at them and walked back to her desk on autopilot. She sat down. Her eyes fixed on the computer screen, cursor blinking.
She was such an idiot.
Two months of pathetic pining over someone who obviously had a girlfriend. Or boyfriend. Someone they said "love you" to with that particular warmth in their voice.
Her mind spiraled, cataloging evidence she'd been too stupid to see:
Last week, Ling had mentioned going somewhere nice over the weekend. That must have been a date.
Two weeks ago, she'd been glowing on Monday morning, happy in a way that seemed to come from somewhere deep and private. Orm had spent the whole day wondering what made her smile like that.
Now she knew.
Someone else made Ling smile like that.
All those looks across the conference table? Probably just Ling being friendly. She was friendly to everyone, that's who she was.
The coffee? Just a nice gesture. Ling probably brought coffee to lots of people.
The night market? A coworker being polite to someone new.
Orm had built an entire fantasy out of nothing.
She opened a text to Jin three times that afternoon.
"Does Ling have a girlfriend?"
She typed it. Deleted it. Typed it again.
Her thumb hovered over send.
No. She didn't want to know. Didn't want Jin's confirmation, didn't want the pitying look Jin would give her when she realized Orm had been nursing a hopeless crush for two months.
Better to just... not know. Better to pretend there was still a possibility, even if she'd never act on it.
She deleted the message and put her phone face-down on her desk.
Distance. She needed distance.
Better to pull away now than wait until Ling's girlfriend found out some coworker had a crush and everything became awkward. Better to protect what little they had—even if "what they had" was just polite coworker friendship that existed mostly in Orm's head.
She could do this. She could be professional. She could stop noticing the way Ling tucked her hair behind her ear or the exact shade of lipstick she wore or the sound of her laugh from across the office.
She had to.
Ling tucked her phone into her bag, still smiling from the call.
Her niece had insisted she practice her one line—"Photosynthesis!"—twice more before hanging up. The play was this Saturday, and Ling had almost told her sister she couldn't make it because of a work deadline.
The guilt had been eating at her all week.
But she'd rearranged everything, and now she'd be there. Front row. With flowers for a seven-year-old tree.
For a moment, Ling wished there were someone in the office she could talk to about things like this, warm, excited, unfiltered. Someone who'd understand why she was so invested in a school play with one-line parts.
Someone like—
She shook the thought away and returned to her desk.
Monday morning, Ling appeared at Orm's desk with two coffee cups.
Orm looked up, and for a moment she almost smiled, that automatic response to seeing Ling.
Then she remembered. The phone call.
Love you.
Someone waiting at home.
"I was getting one for myself anyway," Ling said, setting one down next to Orm's keyboard.
Iced Americano. No sugar. Splash of milk.
"Thanks," Orm said, not quite meeting her eyes.
Ling hesitated. "Is everything okay?"
"Fine. Just busy."
Orm turned back to her screen, even though there was nothing urgent there.
"Oh. Okay."
Ling stood there for another moment, then left without another word.
On Wednesday, Ling brought coffee again.
Set it down without her usual "morning."
Orm took it. Said "thanks" without looking up.
She could feel Ling hovering, wanting to say something.
But what was there to say?
They were coworkers.
That's all they'd ever been.
"Orm—" Ling started.
"I really need to focus on this," Orm said, gesturing vaguely at her screen.
Ling left.
Friday. Coffee appeared on Orm's desk at 9:03 AM. This time, Orm didn't even acknowledge it until Ling had walked away.
She hated herself a little.
Ling was just being nice, and Orm was punishing her for... what?
Having a life? Being happy with someone?
But she couldn't stop.
Couldn't go back to easy conversations and laughing at Ling's jokes and pretending her heart didn't twist every time Ling smiled at her.
Distance was easier.
Distance was safer.
Even if it hurt.
That afternoon, Jin cornered Ling by the filing cabinets.
"Okay, what's going on with Orm?"
"What do you mean?" Ling didn't look up from the folder she was organizing.
"You're still bringing her coffee every morning."
"So?"
"So she's being weird about it. And you look sad." Jin crossed her arms. "Also, you don't bring ME coffee even though you know my order."
Ling finally looked up, eyebrow raised. "Well yeah, I'm not bringing you what's essentially a milkshake in the morning."
"See! You know everyone's orders, but you only bring HERS." Jin leaned against the filing cabinet. "That means something, Ling."
"It doesn't mean anything." Ling shoved the folder back into place with more force than necessary. "I walk past her desk on my way from the café. It's convenient."
"Uh huh. And the fact that you memorized she takes it iced with no sugar and just a splash of milk?"
Ling's face heated. "She mentioned it once."
"Once. During her first week. And you remembered."
"Jin—"
"I'm just saying." Jin's voice softened slightly. "You don't do that for just anyone."
Ling closed the filing cabinet and turned away. "Well, maybe I should stop. She clearly doesn't want me to."
"Or," Jin said carefully, watching Ling's shoulders tense, "maybe something else is going on."
But Ling was already walking away.
Week 11
Late Thursday night, Orm was still at her desk wrestling with a budget reconciliation that refused to reconcile.
Everyone else had gone home.
The office was quiet except for the hum of the air conditioning and the clicking of her keyboard.
She pressed her palms against her eyes.
The numbers were starting to swim.
"You're still here?"
Orm jumped.
Ling stood in the doorway of her cubicle, blazer off, sleeves rolled up to her elbows.
"Could say the same to you," Orm said.
"Kish needs a report for a 7 AM meeting tomorrow." Ling grimaced. "What's your excuse?"
"Numbers that hate me, apparently."
Orm gestured at her screen. "I'm off by 50,000, and I cannot figure out where."
Ling hesitated in the doorway. "Want a second pair of eyes?"
Orm should have said no.
Should have maintained the distance she'd been trying to create.
But it was late and she was tired and the numbers wouldn't cooperate and Ling was looking at her with those warm eyes and—
"Please," Orm said.
Ling pulled up a chair.
The space was small, meant for one person, not two.
Their elbows bumped as Ling leaned in to see the screen.
She smelled like peaches and coffee and something else, something Orm couldn't name but wanted to memorize.
"Walk me through it," Ling said.
They bent over the spreadsheet together, heads close.
Ling pointed at formulas, asked questions, made suggestions.
When Orm let her take the keyboard, Ling's fingers flew over the keys, knowing exactly where to look.
Orm watched those hands instead of the screen.
The way Ling's fingers arched over the keys.
The small scar on her left knuckle.
The neat, trimmed nails.
She'd been so stupid. Trying to create distance. As if that would make the wanting go away.
"There," Ling said triumphantly. "You had a rounding error in cell D47 that was cascading through the whole formula."
"You're a genius," Orm breathed.
"Hardly."
But Ling looked pleased, a small smile playing at her lips.
"I just like puzzles."
They sat there in the quiet office, the spreadsheet fixed but neither of them moving.
The clock on the wall ticked. The air conditioning hummed.
Orm could hear Ling breathing.
Ling turned to say something and suddenly they were inches apart.
Close enough that Orm could see the exact color of her eyes in the fluorescent light.
Could count the individual lashes.
Ling's gaze dropped to Orm's mouth for just a second.
Orm stopped breathing—
The sound of the cleaning crew's cart rattling down the hallway shattered the moment.
They both jerked back.
Ling's chair scraped against the floor.
"I should—" Ling stood up quickly, smoothing her skirt even though it didn't need smoothing. "I should finish that report."
"Right. Yeah. Thank you. For the help."
"Anytime."
Ling's smile seemed sad around the edges.
She hesitated in the doorway, fingers gripping the frame.
"Orm, I feel like... have I done something wrong? You've been different lately and I—"
"You haven't done anything wrong," Orm said quickly, not looking at her.
It was the truth.
Ling hadn't done anything except be kind and wonderful and completely unavailable.
"I'm just stressed with work."
Ling didn't look convinced, but she nodded. "Okay. Well. Get home safe, Orm."
She left, and Orm sat there in the empty cubicle, staring at cell D47, hating herself for being a coward.
Week 12
Monday morning, Orm's desk was conspicuously empty of coffee.
She told herself it was fine.
She'd been pulling away, so Ling was respecting that.
This was what she wanted.
Distance.
Except it wasn't what she wanted at all.
She glanced across the office.
Ling was at her desk, back straight, jaw clenched, fingers flying across her keyboard.
Orm had gotten exactly what she'd asked for, and it felt like a loss.
Tuesday, Ling wore a tie.
She sometimes did, mixed in with her usual blouses and dresses, but this one was new.
Burgundy silk with a subtle pattern, paired with a crisp white shirt and black vest.
She looked like she'd stepped out of a magazine.
Orm tried to focus on her spreadsheet.
The numbers blurred together.
Her eyes kept drifting across the office to where Ling sat, typing away, completely unaware of the havoc that tie was wreaking on Orm's concentration.
At lunch, they ended up in the break room at the same time.
Ling was making tea; Orm was heating up leftovers.
They were alone.
Orm opened the microwave. Closed it. Opened it again, staring at her Tupperware without seeing it.
She shouldn't.
She'd been the one to create distance.
She had no right to—
"That's a nice tie," she said, because apparently her mouth had disconnected from her brain.
Ling looked up, surprise flickering across her face.
It was the first time Orm had initiated a conversation in weeks.
"Thanks."
Ling glanced down at it. "I wasn't sure if it was overdressed for the office."
"No, it's—" Orm's feet moved without permission, carrying her closer.
She was breaking her own rules. Crossing her own boundaries.
But she couldn't stop.
"It's really nice. The color suits you."
She reached out. Her fingers caught the silk just below the knot.
The tie was soft and cool against her fingertips.
Ling went very still.
"Orm," Ling said quietly, and her name sounded different in Ling's voice, careful and precious and confused.
Reality crashed back.
Orm's hand was on Ling's tie.
She was standing in Ling's space.
She'd spent weeks creating distance and now she was—what? Sending mixed signals? Being cruel?
And Ling had someone waiting for her at home, someone she said "love you" to.
She jerked her hand back like she'd been burned. "Sorry. I should—the microwave—"
She practically ran back to her sad Tupperware of leftovers, face burning.
Her hands shook as she punched buttons on the microwave, any buttons; it didn't matter, she just needed something to do with her hands.
Behind her, she heard Ling let out a shaky breath.
"Orm—"
"I'm sorry," Orm said, staring at the microwave's glowing numbers. "That was inappropriate. It won't happen again."
She grabbed her food and left before Ling could respond.
Week 12 - Thursday
Jin cornered Ling at the coffee machine.
"Okay, what happened with Orm?"
Ling blinked. "What do you mean?"
"She was normal for like two days and now she's being weird again. Did you say something?"
"No! I don't—I haven't done anything." Ling stirred her coffee with more force than necessary. "I don't understand her anymore. One week she won't look at me, the next week she's touching my tie, then she's friendly, now she's distant again. I can't keep up."
"Weird." Jin frowned. "Hey, how was your niece's play? The one you were stressed about missing?"
"Oh!" Ling's face brightened. "It was actually really sweet. She was a tree—barely any lines, but she was so serious about it. I felt terrible that I almost missed it because of work. We got dinner after and—"
At the printer, Orm's hands went still.
Niece. Play. Saturday.
I can't wait to see you this weekend. I miss you so much. Love you. See you Saturday.
Oh no.
Oh no.
Her face burned. Her hands started shaking. She grabbed her copies, didn't even look at them, and walked quickly toward her desk.
"—and she wants me to come to her recital next month too," Ling was saying. "I told her I'd—"
She stopped mid-sentence as Orm hurried past without looking at either of them.
Ling watched her go, and her whole face just... fell. The brightness from talking about her niece dimmed completely.
"She used to stop," Ling said quietly. "When she'd walk by. She'd stop and say hi, or ask about my weekend, or just... smile at me." She stared down at her coffee. "Now she won't even look at me."
Jin's expression softened. She'd never seen Ling look this sad.
"I don't know what I did wrong," Ling continued, voice barely above a whisper. "And I don't know how to fix it."
Jin put a hand on Ling's shoulder, squeezing gently. Her mind was working, pieces shifting. Niece. Orm's month of weirdness. The sudden distance, then the tie thing, then distance again.
"I know, buddy," Jin said softly, still thinking.
She glanced toward Orm's desk, then back at Ling, eyes widening slightly as the pieces clicked into place.
"Huh," she said, a slow smile spreading across her face.
Ling looked up. "What?"
"Nothing." Jin squeezed her shoulder again, her smile turning knowing. "Just... give it time, okay?"
She walked away, leaving Ling standing alone by the coffee machine, looking small and lost and achingly hopeful that "time" might actually help.
Back at her desk, Orm stared blankly at her screen.
She'd spent a month being miserable over a seven-year-old playing a tree.
She pressed her palms against her eyes. God, she was an idiot. The biggest idiot in the world.
But it didn't change anything, did it?
Just because Ling didn't have a girlfriend didn't mean she was interested in Orm. The distance, the confusion, Ling had probably just been trying to figure out why her coworker was being so weird.
And now that Orm was acting semi-normal again, Ling was being polite.
That moment in the break room, when Ling had looked at her mouth, that was probably just Orm's imagination. Wishful thinking.
That moment late at night over the spreadsheet, Ling had been tired. That's all.
Ling was kind. That's all. She was kind to everyone.
Orm needed to get over herself.
That night, Orm lay in bed staring at her ceiling.
Her phone sat on her nightstand, screen dark.
She could text Ling. Apologize for being weird. Explain.
Explain what, though?
Sorry I was distant, I thought you had a girlfriend because I eavesdropped on your phone call like a creep?
Sorry I touched your tie and then ran away, I have a massive crush on you and panicked?
She rolled onto her side, hugging her pillow.
The thing was, she'd hurt Ling. She could see it in the way Ling's face had fallen this afternoon. In the way Ling had said "she won't even look at me" with that quiet devastation in her voice.
And for what? To protect herself from feelings that were already eating her alive?
She'd been so worried about getting her heart broken that she'd forgotten Ling had feelings too. Maybe not romantic ones, but Ling deserved better than hot-and-cold games from a coworker who couldn't get her shit together.
The problem was, Orm didn't know how to be normal around Ling.
Didn't know how to make small talk when her heart raced every time Ling smiled.
Didn't know how to be casual when she noticed everything—every outfit change, every new shade of lipstick, every tiny shift in mood.
But she could try.
She owed Ling that much.
Distance wasn't protecting her anyway. It was just making them both miserable.
And even if Ling never liked her back, even if they only ever were friends, Orm would rather have that than this awful silence.
She'd rather have Ling in her life, in whatever capacity Ling wanted to be there, than keep pushing her away out of fear.
Monday, Orm decided. Monday she'd stop being a coward.
Not about confessing, god, no, she wasn't that brave, but about being a decent human being to someone who'd only ever been kind to her.
Week 13
Monday morning felt different.
Orm had practiced in the bathroom mirror before leaving her apartment. "Good morning, Ling. How was your weekend?"
The kind of thing coworkers said to each other.
She could do this.
When Ling walked past her desk at 9:15, Orm looked up and smiled. "Morning."
It came out slightly strangled, but it came out.
Ling stopped. Actually stopped walking.
For a second, she just stared, like she wasn't sure if Orm was real or a mirage.
Then she smiled back, tentative, and Orm's heart did a stupid little flip.
"Morning," Ling said softly.
They stood there for a beat too long, neither quite sure what to say next.
"I, um—" Orm started.
"Did you—" Ling said at the same time.
They both stopped. Both let out awkward laughs.
"You first," Orm said.
"I was just going to ask if you had a good weekend," Ling said, fidgeting with the folder in her hands.
"It was fine. Quiet. You?"
"Same. Caught up on errands." Ling tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Did you finish the quarterly projections?"
"Most of them. Still working on the variance analysis."
"Let me know if you need a second pair of eyes."
"I will. Thank you."
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable, exactly. Just uncertain, like neither of them knew what they were allowed to be to each other anymore.
"I should—" Ling gestured vaguely toward her desk.
"Yeah, me too."
But neither of them moved immediately.
"Orm," Ling said quietly. "I'm... I'm glad you're talking to me again."
The words were simple, but the vulnerability in them made Orm's throat tight.
"I'm sorry," Orm said. "For being weird. I wasn't—it wasn't about you. I was just..." She trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence without confessing everything.
"It's okay." Ling's smile was sad around the edges. "I just missed you. Is all."
Then she walked away, and Orm sat there with those words echoing in her head.
I just missed you.
By Wednesday, they'd fallen into an easy rhythm.
Not like before, Ling wasn't bringing coffee anymore, and there was still a careful distance between them, but comfortable.
They said good morning.
Made small talk by the printer.
Ling helped Orm with a tricky formula. Thanked her properly.
It was nice.
It was also killing Orm, but it was nice.
Friday afternoon, Orm caught herself smiling at something Ling said across the office. Just some joke made to another coworker, not even directed at Orm.
But Ling's laugh carried, and Orm smiled automatically, helplessly.
Across the office, Ling was bent over her desk, writing something in her notepad. Even from here, Orm could see the furrow between her brows that meant she was concentrating.
Orm opened her own notebook. Flipped to the end, the page she kept meaning to tear out but couldn't quite bring herself to destroy.
Ling Kwong written in neat letters.
A small heart next to it.
She'd drawn it during a budget meeting two weeks ago, when she was still trying to maintain distance and failing miserably.
She flipped to a new page. Started writing actual notes.
Made it three lines before her pen drifted again, sketching the outline of a tie in the margin.
She didn't scribble it out this time.
Ling didn't have a girlfriend.
Ling was single.
And Orm was pretty sure—or at least, she wanted to believe—that moment in the break room had been something. The way Ling had looked at her mouth. The way her breath had caught.
And the late night over the spreadsheet. And the way Ling had asked "have I done something wrong?" like Orm's distance actually mattered to her.
Maybe it meant something. Maybe it didn't.
But at least they were talking again. At least Orm got to see Ling's smile, hear her laugh, exist in the same space as her.
And if that's all it ever was? Well.
She'd cross that bridge when she came to it.
For now, this was enough.
Ling had worked as Kish's executive secretary for two years, and in that time, she'd mastered the art of multitasking.
Conference calls while coordinating travel arrangements?
Easy.
Scheduling back-to-back meetings while managing email overflow?
Child's play.
But apparently, ordering flowers while Jin was around?
Impossible.
"Hello, yes, I need to place an order for Valentine's Day delivery," Ling said into her headset, already pulling up her notes with Kish's specifications.
Premium roses. Elegant arrangement. Delivery on February 14th to his wife at her office.
Jin materialized at her desk and perched on the edge of Ling's workspace, completely ignoring the phone call in progress.
"So," Jin whispered, though her version of whispering could probably be heard in the next-door office—"I saw Orm looking at you during the morning meeting."
Ling's fingers froze over her keyboard. Heat crept up her neck. "Jin, I'm on the—"
"Ma'am? What type of roses would you prefer?" the florist asked.
"Red roses, premium grade," Ling managed, shooting Jin a warning look that Jin ignored completely.
"She pushed her glasses up three times. Three! You know what that means? She was nervous. Because of you."
"And how many stems?" the florist continued.
"Two dozen," Ling said, then immediately to Jin in a harsh whisper: "She barely looked at me for weeks, and now she's just being friendly—"
"Oh please, you've studied her," Jin said, exasperated. "You know when she pushes her glasses up she's concentrating. That's not casual observation, Ling."
"So what if I notice things?" Ling's face heated. "That doesn't mean—"
"It means you're obsessed!" Jin's eyes lit up with unholy glee. "That's so romantic. Also kind of creepy. But mostly romantic!"
"Ma'am, I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. Did you say you wanted two dozen romantic roses?"
"No! Just—regular—" Ling pressed her fingers to her temple. "Two dozen premium red roses. Standard arrangement."
"Got it. And the delivery address?"
This should have been simple.
Kish had written everything down: his wife's office address, floor number, everything.
But Jin leaned in closer, citrus perfume invading Ling's space.
"Okay but seriously, why Orm? What is it about her?"
"Jin, I'm literally on the phone—"
"Ma'am? The address?"
"This office, floor three," Ling said, distracted. Kish's wife worked in the same building, didn't she? Third floor? No, that's their floor. Or was it—
"And would you like to include a message with the arrangement?" the florist asked.
"A message?" Ling blinked.
"Yes, something personal for the card. Most customers include a note."
Jin leaned forward, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Yeah, Ling. What would you say? If you were sending Orm flowers?"
"I'm not—these aren't—" Ling sputtered, face heating. "She barely looks at me anymore. I can't just—"
"She was jealous," Jin said, exasperated. "Obviously."
"Jealous of what?"
"I don't know! But come on," Jin prodded. "What is it? Her laugh? Her brain? The way she—"
The words spilled out before Ling could stop them. "It's—" She paused, searching for the right way to explain something that felt too big for words. "It's the way the whole room feels different when she walks into it. Like the air changes. Warmer, somehow. Lighter."
Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "I don't need her to do anything. I don't need her to look at me or talk to me or even know I exist. Just, being in her presence is enough. Watching her concentrate on her spreadsheets with that little furrow between her brows. Hearing her laugh. Knowing she's there."
Ling's eyes stung. "Her smile makes my whole day brighter. Even if she doesn't, even if it's never anything more than this. Even if she's just being friendly. Just being allowed to exist in the same space as her—that's enough. That must be enough."
Silence.
Jin's mouth fell open.
"That's beautiful," the florist said softly. "Would you like me to write that on the card?"
"Huh?" Ling snapped back to reality, face burning. "Oh—no, no card message. Just—yeah. Sure. Beautiful. Whatever's standard."
"Ling!" Jin clutched her chest dramatically. "That was so sweet! Oh my god, you're such a romantic! And you really think she doesn't like you back?"
"Jin, she's just being nice now—"
"And the recipient name?" the florist prompted.
Jin was now scrolling through her phone, but her expression had shifted to something more determined.
"You really like her, huh?"
Ling's face felt like it was on fire. "Can we not—"
"Look, I have a picture from the company picnic. See? Orm's playing badminton and you can see her—"
"No, I don't want to see—" Ling reached to push the phone away.
Her elbow knocked the pen holder.
It tipped.
Pens scattered across her desk, rolling onto the floor, one bouncing off her keyboard.
"Recipient name?" the florist prompted again—patient, but clearly wanting to finish the call.
Ling scrambled to catch the pens.
One hand grabbing, the other still trying to push Jin's phone away.
Her eyes caught on her notepad—the one with Orm's name doodled in the margin.
Orm Kornnaphat in loopy letters, surrounded by hearts and flowers.
Pathetic.
"Orm," Ling said, because Jin had just shoved the phone directly in her face and her brain short-circuited.
"Perfect. And this is being sent from?"
Jin was still trying to show her the phone, now practically climbing over her desk. "I'm sending you that picture. And for the record, she definitely likes you back—"
"Sender name, ma'am?"
Jin's knee knocked into Ling's nameplate.
It tipped over with a clatter.
"Ling," she said automatically, reaching for the nameplate, trying to right it while holding the phone to her ear and not looking at whatever photo Jin was still shoving in her face.
"Wonderful! And you mentioned a premium arrangement—would you like our deluxe option? It comes with gold-dusted accents and a crystal vase. Quite spectacular."
"Yes, yes, the nicest one, whatever," Ling said desperately, just wanting this call to end before Jin caused a complete disaster.
"Excellent choice! Two dozen premium red roses, deluxe arrangement, delivered to Orm on Valentine's Day from Ling, floor three of your building. That'll be charged to your company account. We'll make it absolutely beautiful!"
"Great, perfect, thank you," Ling rattled off the account information and ended the call, slumping in her chair.
Jin was beaming, but there was something gentler in her expression now.
"You know... You should really tell her that. The thing you said. About her smile, making your day."
"She doesn't want to hear it. Trust me."
"How do you know if you don't try?"
"Because she pulled away from me for weeks, Jin!" Ling's voice cracked slightly. "And now she's friendly again, which is—it's nice. It's better than nothing. But that's not interest. That's just... being nice."
"Or," Jin said slowly, "she was scared. Like you are. And something changed."
Ling stared at her notepad, at Orm's name doodled there with embarrassing hearts.
Her own words echoed in her head: Just being in your presence is enough. Your smile makes my whole day brighter.
She pressed her palms to her face.
Her cheeks were still hot.
Her heart was still racing.
"Life's too short, Ling," Jin said softly.
She left, and Ling sat there trying to believe her.
She shook her head. Forced her hands back to her keyboard.
She had work to do.
Kish's wife would get her flowers, everything was handled, and she could go back to being grateful that Orm was at least talking to her again.
Everything was fine.
Everything was completely fine.
Everything was not fine.
Valentine's Day arrived, and at 9:15 AM, Kish stopped by Ling's desk with a frown.
"Ling, did you confirm the flower delivery to my wife?"
"Yes, of course!" Ling didn't even look up from her email. "Premium roses, two dozen, delivery today."
"Hmm." Kish checked his phone. "She hasn't received anything yet. Can you follow up?"
"I'll call them right now."
But before she could dial, the elevator dinged.
A delivery person emerged wheeling a cart, and on that cart sat the most spectacular bouquet Ling had ever seen.
Two dozen roses in the deepest, most vivid red, arranged with delicate baby's breath, elegant greenery, and what looked like actual gold-dusted accents catching the fluorescent light.
The crystal vase alone probably cost more than Ling's monthly coffee budget.
Ling's breath caught.
Someone in the office was very loved. Very lucky.
"Delivery for Orm?" the deliveryman called out cheerfully.
The world tilted sideways.
Orm.
Ling's hand slipped off her mouse.
Of course. Of course, someone had sent Orm flowers.
Beautiful, kind, brilliant Orm who'd been distant and then suddenly friendly again—probably because she'd met someone.
Someone who'd swept her off her feet.
Someone brave enough to send two dozen roses.
Why wouldn't she have someone? Look at her—
Across the office floor, Orm had frozen at her desk, spreadsheet forgotten, one hand still on her mouse.
Even from here, Ling could see confusion flickering across her face.
Ling forced her eyes back to her screen.
The email blurred.
She blinked. Looked up again.
The delivery man was wheeling the cart toward Orm's desk.
Orm was half-standing now, shaking her head slightly, mouthing something that looked like "mistake."
Ling should look away.
Should give Orm privacy for this moment.
Should stop torturing herself by watching Orm receive flowers from someone else—someone who'd actually been brave enough to—
Wait.
Gold-dusted accents.
Crystal vase.
The office had gone silent.
Even the usual keyboard clatter had stopped.
"Orm?" Kish said, confused.
Ice flooded Ling's veins.
Her hands went numb.
No. No no no—
"I... I think there's been a mistake," Orm said quietly, but the delivery man was already setting the enormous arrangement on her desk with a flourish.
"No mistake, miss! Card says right here: 'To Orm, Happy Valentine's Day, From Ling.' Lucky you!" He winked.
The office erupted.
Whispers. Giggles. Someone wolf-whistled.
Everyone turned to stare at Ling.
Kish turned to stare at Ling.
Orm, hands shaking, picked up the card and read it.
Her face went from pale to pink to deep red.
She looked up, found Ling across the office, and their eyes met.
Sweat broke out across Ling's forehead. Her heart pounded so hard she could hear it in her ears, feel it in her throat.
One second ago she'd been heartbroken thinking Orm had someone.
Now Orm thought Ling had sent her flowers. On purpose. As a declaration.
"Ling," Kish said slowly, dangerously calm, "where are my wife's flowers?"
"I—" Ling's voice came out as a squeak.
She shoved her chair back.
It hit the wall behind her with a bang.
"I need to use the bathroom."
She ran.
She burst through the bathroom door, practically throwing herself at the sink. Her reflection stared back at her—panicked, flushed, mascara already smudging. This couldn't be happening. This was a nightmare. She was going to wake up any second and—
The door banged open.
"Oh my god!" Jin rushed in, eyes wild with excitement. "What did you do!"
"Nothing!" Ling spun around, hands up defensively. "I didn't—"
"You sent Orm flowers! Huge flowers! With your name on them! In front of everyone!" Jin was practically bouncing on her toes. "This is amazing! I'm so proud of you! I didn't think you had it in you!"
"Jin, I didn't mean to!" Tears pricked at Ling's eyes. She could feel them building, hot and urgent. Her blouse was sticking to her back, damp with sweat.
"It was an accident! Those were supposed to be for Kish's wife!"
Jin's excitement faltered.
Her smile dropped. "What?"
"Last week, when you were bothering me, when you were showing me those pictures and knocking things over—I got confused! I said the wrong name!" Ling pressed her hands to her face.
Her palms came away wet. When had she started crying?
"Kish is going to kill me. I used the company card. For the wrong person. And Orm—"
Her voice cracked. She swallowed hard, but the lump in her throat wouldn't budge. "She's been avoiding me for a month, Jin. She doesn't want this. She doesn't want me. And now she probably thinks I'm some kind of creep who can't take a hint."
"Okay, okay," Jin said, sobering immediately. She grabbed Ling's shoulders. "We can fix this. We'll just explain—"
"Explain what? 'Sorry, those expensive flowers weren't actually for you, I'm just incompetent.'?" Ling let out a laugh that sounded slightly hysterical even to her own ears. "And I still have to order new flowers for Kish's wife, and explain to Kish why I charged the company card for—for—"
A soft knock on the bathroom door made them both freeze.
"Ling?" Orm's voice, quiet and uncertain. "Are you... can we talk?"
Ling's eyes went wide.
She shook her head frantically at Jin, mouthing 'NO.'
"She's, uh, not feeling well!" Jin called out, then winced at Ling's murderous glare.
"Oh." A pause.
Through the door, Ling could hear Orm shifting her weight, the soft squeak of her shoes on the tile.
"I just wanted to... I wanted to say thank you. For the flowers. They're beautiful."
Ling closed her eyes.
Pressed her fist to her mouth to keep from making a sound.
Torture. Pure torture.
"I'll wait," Orm said softly. "At my desk. Whenever you're ready."
Footsteps retreated.
Jin grabbed Ling's shoulders again, fingers digging in.
"You have to talk to her."
"I can't."
"You have to."
"Jin, she doesn't want me! She's made that clear!"
"Has she said that? Or are you assuming?"
"She barely looked at me for weeks! She avoided me!"
"And now she's not avoiding you anymore!" Jin was practically yelling now. "Something changed, Ling. People don't go from cold to warm for no reason. She's not being polite—she's being hopeful!"
Ling stared at her.
"You just accidentally sent her flowers," Jin said, softer now. "You can't avoid this. You have to explain. And maybe... maybe tell her the truth."
"Fine."
The word sat bitter on Ling's tongue.
Nothing about this was fine.
But Jin was already pushing her toward the door, and Ling's legs were moving, and somehow she was back in the hallway, back in the nightmare.
She just needed a minute to think. To figure out what to say. To possibly flee the country.
The morning was a blur of evasion.
At 9:47 AM, Ling reorganized Kish's entire filing system. He hadn't asked. He stood in the doorway of the file room, watching her alphabetize documents that were already alphabetized, and said nothing. Just sighed and walked away.
At 10:23 AM, Orm walked toward Ling's desk. Ling grabbed a stack of papers—any papers, it didn't matter—and speed-walked to the copier.
At 10:45 AM, Orm was at the copier. Ling suddenly remembered a critical filing that needed immediate attention and veered toward the filing cabinets.
By 11:30 AM, Ling had reorganized two filing systems, made coffee three times (she didn't drink coffee), and volunteered to help with next month's inventory. Her hands were shaking from caffeine. Her coworker had stopped asking questions.
In between all of this, she managed to:
Order replacement flowers for Kish's wife. Express delivery. The florist quoted her a price that made her wince. She gave them her personal credit card number and tried not to think about her shopping budget for the next three months.
Explain to Kish that there had been a "miscommunication with the florist." He raised one eyebrow. She could see him deciding whether to push. He didn't. Just nodded and walked away.
Promised to submit a personal reimbursement for Orm's flowers.
The flowers still sat on Orm's desk.
Ling could see them from across the office—a bright, beautiful beacon of her humiliation.
Every time she glanced over, Orm was looking at them.
Once, Ling watched Orm reach out and gently touch one of the rose petals, fingers brushing the deep red silk-soft surface with such tenderness that Ling had to look away, a sharp pain blooming in her chest.
At 11:47 AM, Ling made her fatal mistake.
She'd been hiding in the break room for ten minutes, pretending to be deeply invested in reading the safety manual posted on the wall.
Fire exits. Elevator emergency protocols. Assembly points.
She'd read the same paragraph three times.
She peered around the doorframe. The coast looked clear. Orm was at her desk, head bent over her computer, seemingly absorbed in her work.
Ling took a breath. Speed-walked down the corridor, head down, moving fast—
And walked straight into someone.
"Oof—"
Strong hands steadied her shoulders.
Ling looked up.
Orm stood there, hands gentle but firm, keeping Ling from stumbling backward.
She was wearing her glasses today, black frames that magnified her eyes, made them look vulnerable and hopeful and scared all at once.
Her hair was tucked behind one ear, though a few strands had escaped and fallen across her cheek.
"Hi," Orm said softly.
"Hi," Ling squeaked.
She tried to step back.
Orm's hands tightened slightly.
"Can we talk? Just for a minute? Please?"
Ling's throat closed up.
She tried to say no.
Tried to say she had to get back to work.
Tried to say anything.
Her pulse was hammering in her neck, in her wrists, behind her eyes. She could feel it everywhere.
All that came out was a tiny nod.
Orm's shoulders sagged with relief.
She gently steered them into a nearby empty conference room, closing the door behind them with a soft click that sounded too loud in the silence.
The blinds were already down, privacy.
The room suddenly felt very small.
They stood there in the quiet.
Ling could hear her own heartbeat.
Could hear Orm's slightly unsteady breathing.
Could hear the air conditioning humming through the vents, the faint buzz of the fluorescent lights.
Orm pushed her glasses up.
Once. Twice. Three times.
Ling's hands were shaking. She clasped them together, trying to still them, but she could see the tremor in her fingers.
"Thank you," Orm finally said.
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"For the flowers. They're beautiful. No one's ever..." She trailed off, ducking her head, the tips of her ears going pink. "I really liked them."
And that broke Ling.
Her eyes filled with tears, hot and sudden and unstoppable.
She felt the first one spill over, hot against her cheek.
Then another.
Her vision blurred.
"Hey—what—" Orm looked panicked.
Her hands came up, hovering uncertainly in the space between them, not quite touching. "Did I say something wrong?"
"No," Ling choked out.
Then she was crying for real, tears streaming down her face, mascara definitely running, her breath coming in hiccups.
She pressed her hands to her face, but that just made it worse. Her shoulders shook.
"No, you didn't—it's just—"
"Ling?" Orm pulled out one of the conference room chairs.
Her hand was gentle on Ling's elbow, guiding her to sit.
She crouched down in front of her, and the position put them at eye level.
Her knees creaked slightly.
"What's wrong? Please, tell me what's wrong."
Ling could feel Orm's hands hovering near her knees. Not touching, but close enough that she could feel the warmth of them through her skirt.
Close enough that if she swayed forward even an inch, they'd make contact.
"They weren't for you!" Ling burst out.
Orm flinched. Like she'd been slapped. Her whole body went rigid. The warmth of her hands disappeared as she pulled back.
"Oh."
Her voice went very small. Very careful.
She started to stand, movements jerky, hands braced on her knees like she needed the support.
"I—I thought maybe—but of course not. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed—"
"No, wait—" Ling reached out, catching Orm's hands before she could retreat.
Ling could feel her pulse racing under her fingertips, rapid and hard against the delicate skin of her wrists.
"I'm explaining this wrong. The flowers were supposed to be for Kish's wife. He asked me to order them. But Jin was there, bothering me during the call, and she was talking about you—"
"About me?" Orm whispered.
She'd gone very still in Ling's grip, like she was afraid to move. Afraid to breathe.
But Ling could feel her hands trembling.
"She was showing me pictures and asking about my—" Ling stopped. Swallowed hard.
Her throat felt too tight. She could feel her pulse in her neck, hammering against her collar.
This was it. This was the cliff. She could feel the edge beneath her feet, the drop below.
"And I got distracted. The florist was asking questions, and Jin was being Jin, and I was trying to do three things at once, and I said the wrong name. Your name. And by the time I realized what happened, it was over."
Orm was still crouched there, face unreadable, their hands still connected.
Ling could feel it now, the way Orm's thumbs had started moving without seeming permission, brushing slow circles against her palms.
"So... it was a mistake."
"Yes. No. I mean—"
Ling took a shaky breath.
Her pulse hammered in her throat. She could feel it in her wrists where Orm's fingers rested, could feel the answering flutter of Orm's pulse under her own hands.
This was the moment.
She could let Orm think it was purely an accident and move on with her life. Orm would understand. Orm would be kind about it.
Or she could be brave.
"It was a mistake that I sent them," Ling said.
Her voice was trembling, but the words came anyway, unstoppable.
"But if I were going to send someone flowers for Valentine's Day, it would be you."
Orm went motionless, surprise flickering across her face.
"What?"
The words started tumbling out—three months of careful restraint breaking.
"Jin was bothering me because I have the biggest, most pathetic crush on you. I've had it since your first day. I notice everything about you, when you wear your glasses, when you tie your hair up, the way you furrow your brows when you're working on a difficult spreadsheet."
Ling's hands were shaking so badly now that Orm's grip tightened, trying to still them.
"I doodle your name on my notepad like I'm in middle school. I know exactly how you take your coffee. I take the long way past your desk just to walk by you. And Jin knows, because Jin knows everything, and she was teasing me about it when I was trying to order Kish's flowers, and that's why I got confused."
Ling was crying again, hiccupping through the words.
Tears dripped off her chin. She could taste salt on her lips.
"And I know you were avoiding me, and then you weren't, and I don't know what changed but I'm so, so sorry that you got dragged into my mess. I never meant to make you uncomfortable. And after today, if you want me to stop—to just pretend this never happened and—"
"Ling," Orm said.
"—and I'm going to pay back the company card, obviously, and I already ordered Kish's wife new flowers, and—"
"Ling."
"—I'm so sorry—"
"Ling!" Orm's hands left hers, and Ling felt the loss like a physical ache, but then they were cupping her face. Gentle but firm. Tilting her head up.
Orm's palms were soft and warm and steady against her cheeks.
Her thumbs brushed away tears, the touch so tender it made Ling's breath catch.
"Breathe," Orm said.
Ling breathed.
Tried to, anyway. Her lungs felt too small. The air wouldn't come.
"I have a crush on you too," Orm said.
Ling's brain stopped working.
Every thought scattered.
The crying stopped—shock overriding everything else.
"You... what?"
"A big one."
Orm's face was scarlet, but she didn't look away.
Didn't drop her hands from Ling's face.
Her thumbs kept moving, slow and soothing, brushing away the last traces of tears.
"For months. Since my first day. You helped me with the printer, and you were so patient and kind, and I was already halfway gone. I stare at you during meetings. Last week I dropped an entire stack of files because you smiled at me."
Ling let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob.
Her hands came up to wrap around Orm's wrists, not to pull them away, just to hold on. To ground herself.
She could feel Orm's pulse under her fingers, rapid and fluttering.
"But you were avoiding me," Ling said. Her voice was thick with tears. "You wouldn't even look at me—"
"Because I thought you had someone!" Orm's words came out in a rush.
She was still crouched there, and this close—this close Ling could see everything. The exact brown of her eyes behind her glasses. Amber. Honey. The way her pupils were dilated. The flush spreading down her neck.
"I heard you on the phone. You said 'I can't wait to see you tonight' and 'I love you' and I just... I assumed you had a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. Someone."
"I was talking to my niece," Ling said. A wet laugh bubbled up. "She wanted me to come to her school play, and I'd been too busy with work. I felt terrible about it."
"I know. I heard you in the break room."
Orm's smile was rueful, self-deprecating.
"Talking about your niece being a tree. And I realized I was the biggest idiot in the world."
"You're not an idiot."
"I avoided you for two weeks because of a seven-year-old playing a tree."
"I accidentally sent you two dozen roses in front of the entire office."
They both laughed, slightly unhinged, tears still on their cheeks.
Orm's hands were still cradling Ling's face, and Ling's hands were still wrapped around her wrists, and neither of them seemed able to let go.
"You really like me? This isn't—you're not just being nice because the flowers were an accident?"
"Do you know how it felt?" Ling asked.
Her voice cracked, but she kept going.
"Seeing those flowers on your desk? For one horrible second, before I realized what happened, I thought someone else had finally been brave enough to tell you what I've been too scared to say for months. That you were taken. That I'd waited too long."
Ling's hands tightened on Orm's wrists.
"And then you realized—"
"That I'd accidentally done it myself in the most public, mortifying way possible." Ling laughed weakly. "At least if someone else had sent them, I could have kept my dignity."
"I don't want you to have dignity," Orm said softly.
Her voice was rough, sincere in a way that made Ling's chest ache.
"I want you to have sent me flowers on purpose. I want—"
She stopped. Took a breath.
Her hands trembled slightly against Ling's face, and Ling could feel it, the nervous energy, the hope.
"Do you know how it felt for me? For one minute, thinking someone saw me that way? I'm always the safe choice. The reliable one. The boring numbers person. Never the person who inspires grand gestures. And then I got two dozen roses and for just a second, I thought—maybe I could be that person. Maybe someone thinks I'm worth that."
"You are," Ling said fiercely.
Her own hands moved from Orm's wrists to cover Orm's hands where they still cupped her face.
"You are worth that. You're worth two dozen roses every day. You're worth—"
She stopped. "I'm not good at this. At saying the right things. I—"
Orm cut her off. "Did you mean it?"
Ling blinked, confused. "What?"
"What you told the florist." Orm's voice was soft, careful. "About... how the room feels different when I walk in. How my smile makes your day brighter. How just being in my presence is enough."
Ling's face went from red to white. "You—how do you—"
"I called them," Orm said quietly. "To thank them for the beautiful arrangement. They said, 'Your friend gave us such a sweet message.' I thought they meant the card, but there was no card message. So I asked what they meant, and they told me."
Her smile was soft, devastating.
"They said you sounded like someone in love."
Ling's breath caught.
Her vision blurred again—new tears, different tears.
"I—" Her voice came out as barely a whisper. "I might be. In love. With you. Is that—is that too much? We're not even dating and I'm already—"
"No," Orm said quickly.
She shifted, and Ling realized her knees must be killing her from crouching for so long.
But Orm didn't move away. Just adjusted her position slightly, thumbs still tracing gentle patterns on Ling's cheeks.
"No, it's not too much. It's—"
She laughed, a little breathless.
"It's perfect. You're perfect. And I'm probably in love with you too, which is ridiculous because we've never even been on a date, but I've been memorizing everything about you for three months and I just—"
"Can I take you on a date?" Ling asked. The words came out in a rush, nervous but determined.
"A real one?"
Orm's smile could have lit up the entire building. "Yes. I'd really, really like that."
"Tonight?" Orm asked, hopeful.
"No—I mean, everywhere's going to be packed on Valentine's Day. Reservations, crowds..." Ling bit her lip. "But maybe you could come to my place? We could get takeout, just... talk?"
Orm raised her eyebrows, a cheeky smile playing at her lips. "Ohhh?"
Ling's face flushed red. "Not like that! I just meant—we could have dinner and actually talk without the entire office watching us, and then we can go on a proper date later. A nice one. Where I'm not covered in tears and—"
Orm laughed, warm and delighted. "I'm teasing. Takeout sounds perfect."
"Even though I look terrible right now?" Ling gestured at her tear-stained face, her ruined makeup.
"You look perfect."
"You have to say that. You just confessed you might be in love with me."
"I mean it," Orm said. The sincerity in her voice made Ling's chest ache. "You could be covered in coffee stains and printer ink and I'd still think you were the most beautiful person I'd ever seen."
Ling's breath hitched. They stared at each other. Orm's hands were still cradling Ling's face, thumbs still brushing away the last traces of tears. Ling could feel her own heartbeat everywhere—in her throat, her wrists, her chest.
Orm leaned in slowly, giving Ling every chance to pull away. But Ling didn't pull away. She tilted her chin up, closing the distance between them.
The kiss was soft. Tentative. Orm's lips were gentle against hers—careful, like Ling was something precious that might break. One of Orm's hands slid from Ling's cheek to cup the back of her neck, fingers threading into her hair.
Ling made a small sound and kissed her back, hands coming up to grip the front of Orm's shirt. The kiss deepened slightly, still sweet, still careful, but with the edge of something more. Three months of longing and misunderstanding and wanting, all of it pouring into this single moment.
When they finally pulled back, both breathing unsteadily, Orm rested her forehead against Ling's.
"I've wanted to do that for so long," Orm whispered.
"Me too," Ling said. Then laughed, a little breathless. "Though I imagined significantly less crying would be involved."
"I don't know," Orm said, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. A smile played at her lips. "I think the crying adds character."
Orm kissed her again—quick and sweet—like she couldn't help herself. Then again. Then once more.
"We should probably stop," Ling said, not moving away.
"Probably," Orm agreed, kissing the corner of her mouth.
"Everyone's waiting."
"Let them wait." But Orm finally—reluctantly—pulled back. She stood, unfolding to her full height, and offered Ling her hand.
Ling took it and let Orm pull her to her feet. She swayed slightly, unsteady, and Orm steadied her with hands on her waist.
"Okay?" Orm asked.
"Yeah." Ling smiled up at her. "More than okay."
They stood there for another moment, neither quite ready to leave the privacy of the conference room. Ling reached up and gently wiped at the corner of Orm's mouth where her lipstick had smudged.
"There," she said. "Evidence removed."
"Do I look like I've been crying?"
"Yes. So do I."
"Everyone's going to know."
"They already know," Ling pointed out. "The flowers were kind of a giveaway."
Orm laughed and laced their fingers together.
"We should probably go back out there," Ling said, though she didn't move.
"Everyone's going to stare."
"They've been staring all day."
"Jin will take credit for this."
"Jin will absolutely take credit for this," Ling agreed. "She's probably already planning our wedding."
Orm laughed. The sound filled Ling's chest with warmth, displaced some of the panic that had been living there all day.
They walked out of the conference room hand in hand. Jin saw them first and let out a whoop, she was on her feet, hands clasped together like she was watching her favorite sports team score.
Kish looked up from his desk. Saw their joined hands. Saw their matching tear-stained faces—and the matching smudged lipstick. Just shook his head with a small, fond smile and went back to his work.
Ling walked Orm back to her desk, their fingers still laced together.
The flowers sat there waiting, two dozen roses in deep red, gold-dusted and extravagant, the crystal vase catching the afternoon light.
They both stopped, just looking at them.
"They really are beautiful," Orm said softly.
"Expensive mistake," Ling said, but she was smiling.
"Best mistake you ever made?"
"Best mistake I ever made."
Orm turned to her, eyes warm behind her glasses, and leaned in to press a kiss to Ling's cheek.
From across the office, Jin's voice carried: "Awww!"
Ling felt her face heat, but she was laughing. "She's never going to let us live this down."
"Probably not," Orm agreed. She touched one of the roses, then looked back at Ling with that soft smile that had started all of this three months ago. "Still worth it."
Ling couldn't argue with that.