Chapter Text
Lena called Miu at 11:17 p.m. because the air conditioner in her bedroom was making a strange noise. It was clearly, not an emergency. The room was still cold. Nothing smelled burnt. Nothing was leaking. There were no sparks, smoke or signs of imminent disaster. Every few minutes, however, the unit made a dull clicking sound, and Lena had decided she would not be able to sleep until someone else confirmed it was harmless.
She could have called building maintenance. Instead, she called Miu.
Miu answered after several rings, her voice low and distracted.
“Hi.”
Lena frowned.
Miu usually answered her calls with something unhelpful.
What did you lose?
Are you hungry?
Please tell me you’re not driving.
A simple hi felt oddly formal.
“What are you doing?” Lena asked. There was a short pause.
“Getting ready.”
Lena sat up against the headboard.
“For bed?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly to be accidental. Lena looked at the clock again. It was too late for an event, too late for dinner, unless Miu had once again forgotten what time normal people ate, which was entirely possible. Miu loved eating and treated conventional mealtimes as vague suggestions.
“Where are you going?”
“Out.”
Lena waited. Miu did not elaborate. The clicking sound came again from above her. She looked up at the air conditioning unit, then back down at her phone.
“With who?”
A wave of uneasiness moved through her before she understood why. Miu laughed softly. Not because the question was funny, but because she had heard something in Lena’s voice.
“Why are you calling?”
“My air conditioner is making a noise.”
“What kind of noise?”
“A bad one.”
“Mmm, I totally understand what you're talking about Lee.”
“It keeps clicking like a lizard's trapped inside.”
“Turn it off.”
“It’ll get hot.”
“Open a window.”
“It’s Bangkok.”
Miu sighed, but there was affection in it. That sounded familiar and Lena managed relaxed slightly at the sound of it.
“Call maintenance tomorrow. It’s probably the casing expanding.”” Miu said.
“How do you know?”
“I don’t.”
“Then why did you say it so confidently?”
“So you would stop worrying.”
The unit clicked again. Lena looked up at it.
“Where are you going?” The question came out less casually the second time.
Miu went quiet. Lena heard movement in the background. The soft slide of a wardrobe door, hangers touching, fabric rustling.
“I told you,” Miu said. “Out.”
“Yeah, but with who?”
“Someone.”
Lena’s fingers tightened around the edge of her blanket. Miu had always told her everything. Sometimes unwillingly, often with too much detail. Miu could turn a five minute interaction into a full performance, complete with impressions, unnecessary reenactments and at least one dramatic accusation against a person who had probably done nothing wrong.
Someone was not an answer.
“Someone has a name,” Lena said.
“So does your maintenance person. Call them.”
“Miu.” Lena pushed persistently.
“Emi.”
Lena disliked it immediately. She stared at the wall opposite her bed. There were many normal follow up questions she could have asked.
Was this for work?
When had they become close enough to make plans at eleven at night?
Instead, she asked, “Why?”
“Why what?” Miu stopped moving.
“Why are you going out with her?”
The silence that followed was brief but distinct. Lena heard her own question again and disliked it immediately. It sounded less curious than accusatory, though she had no reason to accuse Miu of anything. Miu was allowed to go out; she regularly went out without Lena for a fact. She had friends Lena did not know, invitations Lena did not attend and entire conversations that did not involve her.
Intellectually, Lena understood all of this. Emotionally however, Emi’s existence had become irritating within twenty seconds.
“Because she asked,” Miu said.
“That’s not a reason.”
“It’s how invitations work.”
“You say no to people all the time.”
“Maybe I didn’t want to say no.”
Something tightened beneath Lena’s ribs. She shifted against the headboard. The room had suddenly become too cold.
“Is it a date?”
Miu did not answer immediately and that was answer enough. Lena looked towards the air conditioner again, although it had stopped ticking, as if the lizard living inside the unit was emotionally quotient enough to understand when it should keep quiet.
“Miu.”
“Yes.” The word landed with more weight than it deserved.
Miu had dated before. Lena had heard about dinners, crushes, embarrassing introductions and people who sent voice notes far too long for any reasonable person to listen to. Lena had always found it entertaining. She gave advice Miu rarely followed, criticised outfits she had not seen and asked for updates mostly because Miu’s stories were funny. This should have been no different. Yet Lena found herself asking,
“Since when?”
“Since when what?”
“Since when have you been dating her?”
“I’m not dating her.”
“You just said it was a date.”
“One date is not dating.”
Lena hummed softly. She did not realize her nails were digging into her free palm until the stinging sensation got hard to ignore. She opened her hand, four faint crescent marks had appeared in the skin.
“How long have you known her?”
“A few weeks.”
“A few weeks?” Lena sat straighter.
“Maybe three.”
“And you didn’t tell me.”
Miu became quiet again. Not defensive, but careful.
Lena recognised the difference because Miu was rarely careful with her. She was warm, impulsive, sometimes infuriatingly transparent. When Miu paused before speaking, it usually meant the truth was more delicate than the question deserved.
“There wasn’t anything to tell,” Miu said.
“There clearly was.”
“Not at first.”
“But you’ve been speaking for three weeks.”
“Occasionally.”
“How often?”
“You’re interviewing me.” Miu laughed under her breath.
“I’m asking.”
“Yes. Repeatedly.” Miu hummed, sounding far too pleased with herself.
Lena pushed the blanket away and got out of bed. Standing made no difference, but remaining still had become impossible. She walked towards the bathroom, then turned back around before reaching for the door knob.
“Where did you meet her?”
“At Ling’s exhibition.”
Lena remembered the evening. Miu had invited her, but Lena had declined because she had an early call time the next morning. She had assumed there would be another event. Another dinner, another occasion when Miu would still be available.
Because there always was.
Miu had sent photographs from the gallery, Miu beside Ling, Miu holding a glass of champagne, Miu smiling into the camera with someone’s arm partly visible near the edge of the frame. Lena had not wondered who it belonged to, but now she did.
“Was she in the picture you sent me?”
Miu paused.
“Yes.”
“Which one?”
“The one with Ling.”
Lena opened their chat and scrolled upwards. It took less than a minute to find the picture
Ling stood in the middle, one arm around Miu and Emi. Lena had barely noticed Emi's presence before. Emi looked striking in the picture, though not in a loud way. She was an actress, but her profile was also filled with photographs she had taken herself - cities at night, models backstage, sunlight spilling across hotel beds. In the picture, Emi had her dark hair pulled away from her face. Her smile was composed, her confidence effortless. Her hand rested lightly at Miu’s waist.
Lena enlarged the image. The touch could have been friendly, she thought to herself for a second too long. It almost certainly was, yet Lena noticed a bitter taste forming in her mouth.
“You’re looking at the picture,” Miu said.
“No!” Lena answered a little too quickly, too defensive, as she minimized the picture immediately.
“You went quiet.”
“I was checking the air conditioner.”
“Really?” Miu sounded amused.
Lena ignored her.
“What are you wearing?” The question slipped out before she considered how it sounded as she shut her eyes.
“Why?” Miu asked.
“Just curious.”
“About my clothes?”
“You ask me what I’m wearing all the time.”
“Not before dates.”
“You ask before events.”
“This isn’t an event.”
“You’re acting really weird, Lee.”
“I haven’t done anything.”
Lena sighed. That was technically true, she was acting really weird. Miu could see through her without even being in the same room, which somehow annoyed her even more.
“Send me a picture.”
Miu laughed.
“Why are you laughing?” Lena felt her face warming, the heat reaching the tops of her ears.
“Because you called about your air conditioner and now you’re requesting outfit approval.”
“I didn’t request anything.”
“You said, ‘Send me a picture.’”
“It could look bad.”
“What could?”
“Your outfit.”
“You haven’t seen it.”
“Exactly.”
Miu was still laughing softly.
“You don’t have to send it,” she said, quieter now as she sat back down on the edge of her bed, trying to recover some dignity.
“I know.”
A notification appeared. Miu had sent a mirror photograph. Lena opened it too quickly.
Miu stood in front of a full length mirror wearing dark trousers and a fitted cream top with a low, clean neckline. Her hair fell loosely over one shoulder, and she held her phone near her face, hiding part of a smile Lena knew too well. The outfit was simple, but it also made Lena forget what she had planned to say. Miu looked soft, bright and unfairly pretty. Dressed with enough care that Lena knew she had tried while hoping no one would notice she had tried.
Lena noticed; she always did.
“Well?” Miu asked.
Lena kept looking. Her gaze moved over the line of Miu’s waist, the exposed curve of her collarbone and the small earrings she wore when she wanted to look effortless. Miu usually dressed more casually for dinners with Lena; oversized shirts, soft knits, sweaters, hoodies - something she would eventually complain were too warm and tug at for the rest of the evening.
But this version of Miu had been chosen for someone else and that made Lena’s stomach tighten.
“The top,” Lena said.
There was a pause.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing. It’s just too…” Lena stopped.
Too flattering, too soft, too easy to imagine Emi looking at Miu across a table - too beautiful for someone else’s eyes.
She searched for safer criticism.
“Cream.”
Miu was silent for one beat, then she laughed so suddenly Lena had to move the phone away from her ear.
“It’s too cream?” Miu asked in disbelief.
“You know what I mean.”
“I genuinely don’t.”
Lena could hear the smile in her voice.
“The colour washes you out.”
“It doesn’t.”
“How do you know?”
“I have a mirror.”
“Mirrors can be misleading.”
Lena pressed her lips together. Miu laughed again, softer now. Normally, the sound would have pleased her. Tonight, Lena resented that Emi would probably hear this version of it too.
“Wear black,” Lena said.
“I wore black yesterday.”
“So?”
“I want to wear this.”
“Then why did you ask?”
“I didn’t. You demanded a picture.”
Lena stared at Miu’s reflection on her phone. She looked beautiful, too beautiful. And that was the problem.
“You look fine,” Lena said.
“Fine?” Miu muttered, flatter than intended.
Lena heard the change immediately. Miu was playful until something mattered.
Then she became unexpectedly quiet. Not sulking exactly, but withdrawing behind a softness that made Lena feel as though she had nearly dropped something fragile.
Lena looked at the picture again.
“You look…” She stopped.
Miu waited. There were words Lena used easily in public. Beautiful, pretty, cute.
She had said all of them to Miu before cameras, during interviews, underneath posts and across crowded rooms. They were safe because everyone expected them. Tonight though, alone in her bedroom while Miu prepared for someone else, the same words felt dangerously specific.
“You look really good,” Lena said.
Miu remained quiet for a moment.
“Really?” When she answered, her voice was softer.
Lena’s chest tightened. She was absurdly affected by how much Miu wanted her approval.
“Yeah.” Lena exhaled.
“Even though I’m too cream?”
“I changed my mind.” A small smirk pulled at the right side of Lena’s mouth.
“That was fast.”
“I’m adaptable.”
“You’re controlling.”
“Then don’t ask.”
“You asked yourself.”
“That isn’t possible.”
“With you, it is.” Miu sounded pleased again.
Lena let the conversation settle into familiar teasing, relieved by the return of it. For a moment, Emi disappeared. Then Miu said,
“I should go.”
The ease vanished. Lena looked at the time, 20 minutes had passed since she called.
“Now?”
“She’s picking me up.”
The words irritated her instantly.
“Why?”
Miu paused.
“To take me to the restaurant.”
“Why is she picking you up?”
“Because she offered.”
“You could drive.”
“I could.”
“Then why is she picking you up?”
“Lena.” Miu exhaled slowly.
“What?”
“You’re being strange.”
The accusation was gentle. Too gentle, which made it harder to dismiss. Lena looked towards the window. Bangkok glowed beyond the glass, buildings lit against the dark.
“I’m not.”
“You called me about an air conditioner that stopped making noise twenty minutes ago.”
As if summoned, the unit clicked.
“It did it again.” Lena looked up as she spoke.
“Call maintenance.”
“You’re not helping.”
“I tried.”
“You told me to open a window.”
“That was excellent advice.”
“In Bangkok?”
“The clicking would disappear beneath the traffic.”
Lena smiled unwillingly, then she remembered Emi.
“Are you coming over tomorrow?” she asked.
Miu went quiet.
The question was ordinary. Miu spent most Sundays at Lena’s apartment or Lena at hers, sometimes with plans and often without them. There was completely no reason for hesitation.
“I can’t tomorrow.”
Lena’s smile disappeared.
“Why?”
“I have something.”
“With Emi?”
Another pause.
“Yeah...” Miu answered reluctantly.
“You’re seeing her twice?” Lena’s fingers tightened around the phone.
“Apparently.”
“In one weekend?”
“That’s usually how weekends work.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Miu laughed, though less comfortably now.
“I thought we could have lunch,” Lena said.
It was not true. She had not considered lunch until Miu said she was unavailable, the plan had formed entirely from the desire to replace Emi’s and Miu seemed to know.
“You didn’t mention lunch before.”
“I’m mentioning it now.”
“I already said yes to her.”
“You can change it.” Lena's answer came too quickly.
The line fell silent. Lena heard herself and Miu did too. When Miu spoke again, the playfulness had left her voice completely.
“Why would I?”
Lena looked down.
Because Sunday was theirs, because Miu always came. Because Lena disliked the idea of someone else becoming important enough to disrupt what she had assumed would never change. None of those answers sounded reasonable to be said out loud.
“I don’t know,” Lena said.
Miu breathed out softly. Not quite a sigh, but something closer to disappointment.
“You could come over after,” Lena added.
“I don’t know what time we’ll finish.”
“Then come when you finish.”
“It might be late.”
“You come over late all the time.”
“I know.”
“So?”
Miu became quiet again.
Lena could feel something shifting without understanding it. When Miu finally answered, her voice was gentle.
“Not tomorrow.” Two simple words.
Lena went still. Miu had said no to her before. Not to restaurants she disliked, events she was too tired to attend, favor requests Lena herself admitted were unreasonable. Miu had never said 'no' like this. No excuse offered for Lena to argue around, and worse, no promise to make it up later.
Just no.
The rejection was tiny. It landed somewhere unexpectedly deep.
“Okay,” Lena said.
Miu inhaled. Lena immediately regretted the coldness in her voice but could not make herself soften it.
“Are you upset?” Miu asked.
“No.”
“You sound upset.”
“I’m tired.”
“You called me.”
“That was before.”
“Before what?”
Lena had no answer.
Before Emi became someone real in Miu’s life, before Miu wore that damned cream top for Emi, before tomorrow became unavailable.
“Nothing.”
Miu was silent.
Lena could picture her in front of the mirror, one hand holding the phone, the other folded over her stomach the way she did when she felt exposed. Lena wanted to see her, not the picture Miu sent over text.
Her.
She wanted to walk into Miu’s room, criticise the outfit properly, fix the strand of hair falling across her shoulder and ask enough questions that Emi somehow became annoyed with Lena before they had even met. The thought was so unreasonable Lena almost laughed. Instead, she said,
“Have fun.”
“Thanks, Lee.” Miu hesitated.
Lena waited; she did not know what for. For Miu to say she would cancel? For her to promise it was only dinner? For something that would return the night to its earlier shape?
Yet nothing came.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Miu said.
“You’ll be busy.”
“Not all day.”
“You don’t have to.”
Another silence.
“I want to.” Miu’s voice softened. The warmth in it hurt more than distance would have.
“Fine.” Lena closed her eyes.
“Lalee.” Miu whined the nickname. She only used it when she knew Lena was upset and wanted to soften her without saying so directly.
“What?”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Punish me for going.”
The directness caught Lena off guard.
“I’m not punishing you.”
“You are a little.”
“You’re imagining things.”
“Maybe.” Miu did not argue further.
That was how Lena knew she did not believe her.
A notification sounded through the phone. Then another. Miu’s attention shifted, and Lena knew immediately who it was.
“Is that her?”
“Yes.” Miu paused.
“She’s here?”
“Downstairs.”
The word sent a sharp, unreasonable rush through Lena.
“Already?” She stood from the bed.
“She’s two minutes early.”
“That’s suspicious.”
“How?” Miu laughed despite herself.
“Don’t know.”
“Very convincing.”
“Send me her number.”
“Absolutely not.”
“For safety.”
“Ling has her number.”
“That isn’t the same.”
“Why?”
“Because Ling isn’t me.” The sentence left before Lena could reconsider it. Lena felt heat rise slowly into her face.
Silence followed. Not the playful kind, not the irritated kind. It was the type of silence that was quieter, more dangerous.
Miu’s breathing changed.
“Lena,” she said. Just her name, in a tone so soft, soft enough to make Lena’s heart stumble.
“What?”
Miu did not answer immediately. For one suspended moment, Lena had the strange feeling that they had stepped near something neither of them was prepared to name.
Then the notification sounded again.
“I have to go.”
“Okay.” Lena’s throat tightened.
“I’ll text you when I get there.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
“Then why?” The gentleness of Miu’s answer made Lena look down.
Miu was quiet.
“Because you’ll worry.”
“I won’t.” Lena said it while still not fully understanding why she was so bothered.
“I’ll text you.” Miu said, as she laughed softly.
The call ended before Lena found another reason to keep her there. For several seconds, she stood beside her bed with the phone still against her ear. The room was quiet.
Lena lowered her phone with Miu’s picture remained open on the screen.
Cream top, dark trousers and that soft, hidden smile near the edge of the phone.
Lena enlarged it. She zoomed in near Miu’s waist. Then her collarbone, then the curve of her mouth. Lena locked the phone and placed it face down on the bed.
A minute later, she picked it up again. No message. She walked towards the kitchen, got a glass of water and returned without drinking it.
At 11:42 p.m., Miu texted.
Miu: I’m here. Please do not call the police.
Lena read the message immediately. She waited before responding, determined not to seem as though she had been watching her phone. She lasted thirty seconds.
Lena: I wasn’t going to.
Miu: You asked for her number “for safety.”
Lena stared at the quotation marks.
Lena: That was responsible.
Miu: Go to sleep.
Lena typed:
Lena: Is she with you now?
She looked at the question.
Deleted it.
She tried again.
Lena: Is the restaurant good?
Deleted that too.
In the end, she sent:
Lena: Have fun.
Miu reacted with a heart.
The small red symbol appeared beneath Lena’s words.
Lena stared at it. A heart meant nothing. Miu used them freely, under Instagram posts, in group chats, with Ling, Orm, fans, colleagues and probably Emi.
Lena locked the phone. Ten minutes later, she opened Instagram. Miu had posted nothing and neither had Emi.
Emi’s profile was mostly photography, cities at night, pictures and selfies with models and actresses backstage, Sunlight falling across hotel beds.
At the top of the page, a new story appeared. Lena opened it.
A dim bar table, two glasses of wine and a lit candle. Across from the camera, partly out of frame, was Miu’s hand. Lena recognised the ring on her index finger. She watched the story twice, then a third time, though nothing about the story changed. Miu’s hand remained near the candle.
She turned off her phone and lay down. The air conditioner started to click again. Lena stared at the ceiling and or the first time in years, Miu was somewhere Lena could not casually ask to join her.
She knew it was ridiculous. She also knew she would not sleep until Miu came home.
At 2:43 a.m., her phone lit up. A message from Orm.
Orm: Why are you online?
Lena frowned.
Lena: Why are you watching me?
Orm: Because you just sent me a reel about unrequited love.
Lena sat up. She opened their chat and felt face heat up instantly. She turned so red that, had someone placed a tomato beside her, a doctor might have certified them as identical twins.
Lena: That was an accident.
Orm: What was that post about?
Lena locked her phone. Orm called. Lena declined it.
Orm called again anyways. Lena declined that too. Then a voice note arrived, Lena pressed play.
Orm sounded way too delighted at such an ungodly hour.
“Call me tomorrow. I want the full story, including why you are behaving as if Miu just left you for someone else.”
Lena stared at the phone.
Then typed:
Lena: What the hell, Orm?
Orm reacted with a laughing emoji.
Lena put the phone down. It buzzed again at 3:08 a.m. This time, it was Miu.
Miu: Home.
Relief moved through Lena so quickly that she resented it. She called before replying. Miu answered after the first ring.
“Hi.” Lena heard the smile in her voice.
She sounded tired, warm, possibly happy. That last possibility made Lena’s stomach tighten.
“You’re home already?”
“I just said that.”
“I’m confirming.”
“Yes. I’m in my room.”
“Alone?”
The question escaped before she could stop it.
Silence. Lena closed her eyes.
“Yes.” Miu’s voice became quieter.
A breath of relief escaped through Lena’s nose.
“You sound relieved.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
“I wanted to know you were safe.”
“You asked if I was alone.”
“That can also be about safety.”
Miu laughed softly.
Lena gripped the phone.
“How was it?” she asked.
Miu was quiet for a moment.
“Nice.”
Lena hated the word immediately.
“Nice how?”
Another soft laugh.
“Are you interviewing me again?”
“No.”
“You are.”
“I’m asking one question.”
“You asked several before I left.”
“Those were different.”
“How?”
Lena had no answer that would not reveal too much. Miu did not make her find one.
“She was nice to talk to,” Miu said. “Very different from her actress persona.”
“Easy?” Lena stared into the dark room.
“Comfortable.”
The word was worse. Lena drew one knee towards her chest, uncomfortable with the idea of Emi and Miu talking through the night.
“Did she make you laugh?”
There was a pause.
“Yes.”
Lena pressed her lips together. And somehow, Miu knew.
“You’re annoyed.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m tired.”
“You keep using that.”
“Because you keep calling me annoyed.”
“You called me.”
Lena looked at the time. Miu was silent for a moment.
Then, more gently, “Do you want me to come over?”
The answer rose instantly. Yes.
Lena swallowed it. Afterall, it was three in the morning. Miu had just returned from a date. Asking her to come now would sound possessive or needy, probably both.
“No.”
The line went quiet. Lena felt the mistake immediately.
“Okay.” Miu’s voice changed, only slightly.
Lena closed her eyes. She hated the distance in that one word.
“You’re tired,” she added.
“I am.”
“You should sleep.”
“I will.”
Neither ended the call.
Lena could hear Miu moving through her apartment. A bathroom door opening, the sound of a tap running, Miu’s voice echoing softly through her bathroom.
Lena pictured the cream top being pulled over Miu’s head, hair falling loose, faint marks left by earrings when Miu removed them. The images came too easily
“What are you doing?” Lena asked.
“Getting ready to shower, but apparently you won’t let me.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Lena’s face heated.
She should have stopped there. Instead, she asked,
“What are you wearing to bed?” Lena wanted to punch herself.
Miu went quiet for one second too long.
“My grey T-shirt?”
Lena pictured it immediately. Oversized and soft from too many washes, the one Miu wore when she wanted to disappear inside something comfortable. Lena had slept in it once after spilling wine over her own top. It smelled like Miu - she remembered that without wanting to.
“Oh,” she said.
“Lena.”
“What?”
“Why are you acting like this?”
The question was not teasing anymore. Lena looked at the city beyond her bedroom window. She had spent the entire night irritated because Miu had gone somewhere without her.
She had searched for Emi’s account, watched a story three times because Miu’s hand appeared in it. And right now, Miu was asking for an explanation Lena did not have, or perhaps had but did not want to examine at 3am.
“I’m not acting like anything.”
“You are.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because you keep doing it.”
“I just…” She stopped.
Miu waited. That was unusual. Normally, Miu would fill the silence, soften it, rescue Lena from having to say something difficult. But tonight, she let Lena sit inside it.
“I thought you were coming tomorrow,” Lena said. It sounded childish the moment it left her mouth.
“I know.” Miu’s answer was gentle.
“You always come on Sundays.”
“Not always.”
“Most Sundays. And now you’re not.” Lena looked down. The quiet finality of it hurt again.
Miu did not apologise because she did not need to. Miu could make plans. She could choose not to see Lena for one weekend.
“Do you like her?” Lena asked. The line went completely still.
“I think I might. I mean, I could.” Miu exhaled slowly.
Lena’s stomach dropped. She hated the uncertainty more than a direct yes because it meant the possibility could grow into something.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I want to see her again.”
“So you’ve decided.”
“Decided what?”
“To like her.”
“That isn’t how it works.” Miu did not sound amused.
“Then how does it work?”
“I don’t know yet.”
The honesty quieted Lena.
“Does this bother you, Lee?” Miu’s voice softened.
Lena looked at the phone. The answer existed somewhere beneath her ribs, hot and shapeless. Because to Lena, Miu was hers - not hers in the way a person could belong to another. Hers in the ordinary, unquestioned shape their lives had taken. Her first call, her default seat. The person who knew when Lena needed noise and when she needed silence. The one who turned up without asking whether she was wanted because she already knew. The thought appeared so clearly that Lena almost dropped the phone. Lena had never needed to name that closeness, yet now that Emi was standing at its edge, everything was changing too quickly.
“I don’t know,” Lena said.
Miu was silent.
“At least that’s honest.”
The words were quiet. Lena wanted to reach for Miu. There was only a phone between them, and still the distance felt too large.
“Miu.”
“I should sleep.”
“No, wait.” Lena opened her mouth without anything prepared after. No reasonable request. No ridiculous story to tell. Only the urgent feeling that ending the call would mean Miu returning to a life that had started forming beyond her.
“Stay on the phone,” she said.
The words came out softer than intended. Miu stopped. Lena’s heartbeat climbed. She could have made it a joke, mention the air conditioner again, anything to disguise the request, but she couldn't.
“Why?” Miu asked as her voice lowered.
Lena looked up at the ceiling. The unit clicked again, but this time, she barely heard it.
“Because I asked.”
Miu laughed softly. The warmth returned, though not entirely.
“You’re terrible.”
“I know.”
“I haven’t showered.”
“You can keep me on the phone while you shower.”
“That makes no sense.”
“You’ve done it before.”
Miu went quiet. For one terrible second, Lena thought she would say no again. Then she heard the sound of the shower turning on.
“Fine,” Miu murmured.
Lena laid back. Neither spoke for a while. The silence was familiar, but not easy. Lena could hear the water striking the bathroom floor, the faint movement of bottles and Miu occasionally humming beneath her breath. She tried not to picture anything. She failed. By the time Miu was in bed, the sky outside Lena’s window had begun to lighten. Morning birds had started making noise.
“Miu?”
“Mm?” Miu’s answer carried the weight of exhaustion.
“Did Emi kiss you?” Lena’s eyes opened. She had not planned to ask. Now the question was out, exposed and impossible to soften.
“Why?” Miu asked.
“Just asking.” Lena swallowed.
Miu remained silent.
Lena gripped the edge of her blanket. The longer the pause lasted, the more vivid the image became.
Emi leaning closer at the end of the night, her hand near Miu’s waist, Miu smiling, and worst of all - Miu allowing it.
Something sharp and unfamiliar moved through Lena.
“Miu.”
“No,” Miu said.
The relief was immediate. Too immediate. Lena shut her eyes and Miu heard the breath she released.
“You’re relieved again.”
“I’m tired.”
“Lee.”
“What?”
Miu did not respond for a moment. When she did, her voice was very soft.
“You’re going to have to stop saying that eventually.”
The sentence sat between them, gentle yet unmistakable. Miu was no longer asking only about tonight and Lena understood what Miu meant. But Lena still had no answer, so she did what she always did best when Miu got too close to something real. She changed the subject.
“Your grey shirt is mine.”
“That was random, but no, it isn’t.” Miu laughed quietly.
“I wore it.”
“Once.”
“That establishes ownership.”
“You spilled wine on yourself.”
“Still.” Miu’s laughter lingered.
Lena let it settle around her. For tonight, it was enough. Within minutes, Miu’s breathing began to slow. Lena listened. She waited until she was almost certain Miu had fallen asleep. Then she whispered into the dark, too quietly to be brave and too clearly to take back.
“I didn’t like you going with her.”
Miu’s breathing remained steady. No answer. Lena closed her eyes. She did not know whether Miu had heard. She told herself she hoped that Miu had not.
Across the city, Miu lay awake with the phone against her cheek, staring into the darkness.
She had heard every word.