Chapter Text
Morning light warmed the city of Bangkok as the scent of hardwood floated through the apartment.
Orm puttered around the kitchen, her attention moving between the stove and a game on her phone. She grabbed two unmatched mugs from the cabinet and let the steam rise.
In the bedroom, Lingling's subconscious searched for Orm's body heat and woke disappointed when she couldn't find it.
She stretched as her alarm went off, then padded to the bathroom to freshen up.
Orm was humming to herself when Lingling came out, adding soy sauce to the already dark fried rice, hair still tangled, wearing a mismatch of their wardrobes.
Lingling thought this side of Orm was softer. The domesticity of it made something in her chest tighten.
Lingling had seen Orm command a room — quick-witted and bright under studio lights. But here, in the sleeping morning of their tiny apartment kitchen, she thought Orm had never looked prettier.
Lingling opened her mouth to say something and lost it.
She took another beat and really watched. Orm moved around the space with complete ease. Calm. At peace. At home — the thought made her heart clench.
Her gaze drifted to the two mismatched mugs on the counter.
Orm had been so excited to find a matching set. Lingling had never told her they were green and red, not two red mugs. She had gone out that same night and bought a pair of each so they would match, just as Orm insisted.
Now, whenever Lingling saw them sitting together on the counter, she smiled. Orm always said: What's yours is mine, and what's mine is mine.
Shaking her head fondly, Lingling moved — arms coming to wrap around Orm, chin lifting to peek over her shoulder.
Orm sighed and let herself be swayed. She leaned back and gave Lingling a quick kiss on the cheek, smiling when Lingling stretched on tiptoe to steal one on the lips.
Orm let out a warm chuckle.
She had always found Lingling's ambition attractive — the close attention, the deliberate eye. But she had also seen her halt traffic to carry a turtle off the road. She smiled to herself and leaned down to give Lingling a proper morning kiss. They exchanged bashful good mornings.
Orm nuzzled into Lingling's neck before turning back to the stove.
Lingling watched her reach for the soy sauce again. "Tee Rak. I think that's enough."
Orm stilled for a moment, slightly self-conscious.
She recovered quickly, turned, and raised the spoon at Lingling like an accusation. "Lingling Kwong. Are you doubting me because I'm colorblind, or are you doubting my cooking?"
Lingling raised her hands and tried for diplomacy, the same tone she used at 7 AM design meetings. "My job already gives me high blood pressure. I don't need it from sodium, too."
Orm's eyes crinkled. She stepped forward, back into Lingling's space. Lingling's hands found her waist automatically, rubbing slow circles into the soft fabric of an old college t-shirt.
Orm smirked. She leaned down and nibbled at Lingling's neck, then whispered, "Director Kwong, I can think of better ways to make your heart race."
The sound that escaped Lingling was not dignified.
She stepped back and attempted to straighten her work clothes, lifting her red mug as a prop. "Orm—"
Orm cocked her head, studying her. "Director Kwong. I may be colorblind, but I do believe you're blushing. Plus, you've stolen my mug."
Lingling sputtered. Orm patted her back while she coughed, beaming.
When Lingling's voice returned, it was still rough. "It's our mug. You menace."
"Don't lie." Orm's smile was warm. "You love me, and our mugs."
Lingling felt her face flush. She leaned into Orm's shoulder and said, quieter, "Yeah. I do." A beat. "All of you… and our mugs."
Orm pulled her closer and pressed a kiss to her forehead. The silence that followed was comfortable.
Then Lingling's phone rang.
She startled, checked the screen, and untangled herself, reluctantly pulling an apologetic face at Orm over her shoulder.
Orm shook her head and waved her toward the hallway. Lingling hesitated in the doorway for a beat, watching Orm turn back to the stove, shoulders carefully neutral.
Lingling darted out.
The call ran long. When she came back, she looked stressed. She pressed a quick kiss to Orm's lips, said there was an emergency at work, and was out the door.
Orm cleaned up the dishes and boxed the food into leftovers. She sat in the kitchen with her cold tea.
She wasn't angry. Architecture was Lingling's passion, and her drive was one of the things Orm loved about her. It didn't change the fact that the apartment was quiet now — or that the abrupt absences hurt more than Orm was willing to admit.