Kis-???
The bar was already alive with music and chatter when Mikha arrived with Gwen and Sheena. Dim lights bathed the place in a golden glow, and the air buzzed with energy. It was the kind of place that invited trouble—or, at the very least, bad decisions.
Mikha scanned the area as they walked toward their reserved booth. The others were still on their way, but Denise was already there, leaning casually against the bar. She waved the moment she saw Mikha.
"I thought you wouldn't come," Denise teased as Mikha approached.
“I wouldn’t miss free drinks,” Mikha shot back with a smirk, settling onto one of the barstools.
Denise chuckled, signaling the bartender. "Same drink as earlier?"
“Yeah, thanks.”
The two of them chatted while waiting for the others, their conversation easy, familiar. It felt comfortable—no pressure, no expectations. Just catching up.
Then the doors opened, and Mikha’s breath caught for just a second.
Aiah stepped inside with Jhoanna, Stacey, Colet, and Maloi, and for a brief moment, everything else in the bar blurred.
Damn.
Mikha would never admit it out loud, but Aiah looked absolutely stunning. She wore a sleek black dress that hugged her in all the right places, her long dark hair cascading over her shoulders.
The low lighting of the bar made her skin glow, her confidence radiating in every step. She wasn’t even trying, yet all eyes seemed to turn toward her as she walked in.
Mikha took a sip of her drink, masking whatever reaction was trying to creep onto her face. This was Aiah—the same frustrating, stubborn, annoyingly competitive Aiah. Nothing new.
And yet, something felt very new.
"Someone’s staring," Denise commented, her tone teasing.
Mikha scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Not me."
"Uh-huh," Denise hummed knowingly.
Mikha forced herself to look away, but it didn’t help. Because in the next moment, Aiah’s eyes met hers across the bar.
For a second—just a fleeting second—something charged passed between them.
Mikha quickly turned back to her drink. "I want to get drunk."
Denise laughed. "Don’t worry, I got you."
///
Mikha had just settled into the rhythm of the music, the bass pulsing through her veins. Denise is now on the dance floor together with her other friends. The girl beside her—confident and bold—had struck up a conversation.
Her flirtation was clear, direct. It was refreshing and uncomplicated, a welcome distraction from the chaotic thoughts swirling in her mind.
“So, what brings someone like you here?” the girl asked, a playful glint in her eyes.
Mikha chuckled, tilting her head slightly. “Vacation. With friends.”
The girl leaned in closer, her breath grazing Mikha’s ear. “Well, I hope your friends won’t mind if I borrow you for a bit.”
Mikha opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say anything, a familiar warmth pressed against her side. An arm wrapped firmly around her waist, unwavering.
“She can't,” a familiar voice cut in, smooth but edged. “She's with me.”
Mikha whipped her head to the side, eyes widening slightly. Aiah’s expression was composed, but her grip on Mikha's waist was unmistakable—tight, unyielding. The girl blinked, taken aback by the sudden intrusion.
“Oh,” the girl stammered, her confidence briefly faltering. “Sorry, I didn’t realize—”
“Now you do,” Aiah replied coolly, her gaze locked onto the girl's face. “So, if you don't mind?”
The girl glanced between Mikha and Aiah, hesitation flickering in her eyes. Then, with a small nod, she stepped back, fading into the crowd.
As soon as she was out of sight, Aiah's grip didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened, pulling Mikha even closer. Their faces were mere inches apart, breaths mingling.
“What the hell was that?” Mikha muttered, her voice caught between disbelief and curiosity.
Aiah’s eyes were sharp, unreadable, but there was a fire behind them. “Just looking out for you, Mikha. Ayoko lang na may makasira ng trip natin.”
“Looking out for me?” Mikha scoffed softly, her heart racing. “Or just marking territory?”
Aiah’s jaw clenched, a smirk curling at the corner of her mouth. “Maybe both.”
Their eyes met, the unspoken challenge sizzling between them. The music blared, but everything else seemed to fade away.
Aiah’s hand still rested firmly on Mikha’s waist, her thumb brushing against the fabric of her top—a touch that was both infuriating and electrifying.
“Fine,” Mikha finally said, her voice barely audible above the music. “If you're that worried, then stay close.”
Mikha's heart pounded loudly, the bass of the music blending with the rush of blood in her ears. Aiah's presence felt overpowering, her closeness impossible to ignore. The hand that still resting on her waist felt like a brand—warm, assertive, unyielding.
“Talaga, Aiah?” Mikha's voice was barely audible, a challenge laced with disbelief. “All this just to scare off some girl?”
Aiah’s gaze didn’t falter. There was a hint of a smirk, but her eyes remained sharp, unreadable. “Wala naman akong sinabing just.”
Mikha’s breath hitched, the response sharper than she expected. For a split second, the rest of the room seemed to blur away. It was just them—caught in a silent, electric standoff.
The music shifted, a slower, sultrier beat filling the air. Mikha saw a flash of hesitation in Aiah’s eyes, but her grip didn’t loosen. It felt like a dare, a test to see who would pull away first.
“Since you’re staying close,” Mikha finally muttered, forcing a smirk, “might as well make it convincing.”
Without waiting for a response, she pulled Aiah closer, their bodies pressing together as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Aiah’s eyes widened, just a fraction, but she didn’t resist. If anything, her grip on Mikha’s waist tightened, fingers pressing firmly through the thin fabric of her top.
The air between them thickened, heavy and charged. Mikha’s eyes flicked down to Aiah’s lips for a brief second—just a second—but she caught herself, forcing her gaze back up.
She expected Aiah to step back, to break the tension with a biting remark or an annoyed retort. But she didn’t.
Instead, Aiah’s smirk softened, a barely-there curve of her lips. “See? That wasn't so hard.”
Mikha's breath escaped her in a shaky laugh. “You have no idea.”
Mikha wasn’t sure who moved first. Maybe it was her. Maybe it was Aiah. But before she could think—before she could even breathe—Aiah’s lips were on hers.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t hesitant. It was a collision, a clash of tension and frustration, months of biting words and stolen glances combusting into something undeniable.
Aiah’s fingers tangled in Mikha’s hair, pulling her in deeper, as if she didn’t want to let go.
Mikha responded just as fiercely, her hands gripping Aiah’s waist, drawing her closer until there was no space left between them. The heat of the moment drowned out the music, the noise, the world around them.
Then reality hit—where they were, what they were doing.
Mikha abruptly pulled back, breathing heavily. Aiah’s lips were red, slightly parted, her eyes clouded with something unreadable.
“Let’s go.” Aiah’s voice was hushed but firm, her grip still on Mikha’s wrist.
Mikha didn’t question it. Didn’t think. She just let herself be pulled through the crowd, out of the bar, into the humid night air.
“We’re not done,” she murmured before claiming Mikha’s lips again.
Mikha's back pressed against the rough, cool surface of the wall, but the sensation barely registered.
All she could focus on was Aiah — the weight of her presence, the warmth of her hands on Mikha's waist, the way her lips moved, desperate and demanding.
Aiah's mouth left Mikha's lips, trailing down to her jawline. The kisses were firm, searing, each one sending a shiver that spread through Mikha’s entire body.
Aiah’s breath was hot against her skin, and Mikha’s fingers curled against Aiah's shoulders, gripping tightly as if to anchor herself.
"Aiah...Fuck " Mikha's voice was a breathless whisper, her head tilting slightly, giving Aiah more access.
Aiah's lips found the curve of Mikha's neck, the space just below her ear. "Mikha," she murmured, the sound of her name heavy and strained. It was almost a plea, and Mikha couldn't tell if it was a plea to stop or to never stop.
"You don't know how much I've wanted to do this."
Mikha's heart raced, a wild, frantic beat that matched the intensity of Aiah's kisses. Her hands slipped from Aiah's shoulders to her face, pulling her back up until their eyes met — dark, charged, and unspoken.
A second passed, and then Aiah leaned in again, their mouths colliding with a renewed intensity.
It was deeper this time, more consuming, like they were trying to erase all the unsaid words, the tension that had been building for so long.
Mikha barely registered the sound of footsteps and muffled laughter nearby.
The world beyond them was a blur, insignificant against the fire between them. But then reality seeped back in — too loud, too real.
///
Aiah's breathing was still uneven, her eyes flicking to Mikha's swollen lips and then back to her gaze. It took everything in her not to dive back in, to lose herself in that addictive, maddening heat again.
Mikha's fingers were still curled into the fabric of Aiah's shirt, hesitant to let go. Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure Aiah could hear it — feel it. The closeness between them felt dangerous, electrifying.
"We should head back," Aiah finally managed, her voice rough, the weight of restraint heavy. "Baka hanapin na tayo ng mga kasama natin."
Mikha swallowed, her throat dry. She should say something witty, something sharp to cover the vulnerability twisting in her gut, but she couldn't find the words. She simply nodded, her hands reluctantly loosening from Aiah's shirt.
As they straightened themselves, the realization of what had just happened sank in — the line they had crossed, the rules they had broken.
Mikha glanced at Aiah, and for a moment, it seemed like Aiah was just as lost as she was.
Silently, they made their way back toward the bar’s entrance. The noise from inside grew louder, voices blending with music and laughter. It was grounding yet disorienting, a stark contrast to the charged intimacy they had just shared.
Before they stepped inside, Aiah paused, glancing at Mikha with a hesitant, searching gaze. "Mikha, about earlier..."
Mikha’s heart skipped. She braced herself, ready for the regret, the apology.
"Let's just... not overthink it," Aiah finally said, her voice steadier now but still soft. "It happened. It doesn't have to mean anything."
A beat passed, and Mikha nodded, forcing a smirk to mask the conflicted storm inside her. "Yeah, sure. No big deal."