Danger ⚠️

Weeks had passed since that night at Ling’s apartment, since the revelation that her accident hadn’t been an accident at all. Life had moved forward, but for Orm, it had been a careful dance between giving Ling space and keeping a watchful eye over her. She didn’t want to push, didn’t want to smother, but she couldn’t let herself be too far either.

Not when Ling was still in danger.

The police were still searching for answers, chasing shadows and dead ends, but in the meantime, threats had begun appearing on Ling’s social media. At first, they were vague—strange accounts leaving cryptic comments, messages that didn’t quite make sense. Then they became more direct. Sinister. Enough for the authorities to take them seriously.

Orm’s fists clenched every time she saw them.

She wanted to do something, to step in and shield Ling from every possible harm, but she knew Ling—stubborn, independent, always standing her ground even when the world tried to knock her down. Orm couldn’t force her into safety, no matter how much she wanted to.

So instead, she stayed close. Quiet but constant.

Junji had been the bridge between them. At first, Ling had kept a careful distance—never rejecting Orm outright, but never fully letting her in either. But Junji, in her usual way, had made sure they found their way back into each other’s orbit. Casual hangouts. Shared moments. Accidental, but not really.

And slowly, Ling had let her guard down.

Not all the way. But enough.

Enough for Orm to see glimpses of something—recognition, nostalgia, a quiet longing that Ling didn’t fully understand yet.

And then, the memories started coming back.

Not all at once, not in a way that made everything clear, but in small, scattered fragments. Ling had told Junji first, hesitant and unsure, describing the way her body sometimes reacted before her mind could process it.

Like the way she caught herself looking at Orm when she thought no one was watching. The way her chest ached with something painfully familiar.

Or the flash of jealousy she had felt—sharp and possessive—when one of her old castmates had casually flirted with Orm at an event. The feeling had hit her so fast, so intensely, that it left her breathless.

She hadn’t even realized why at first. But then, the memory flickered back.

She remembered standing beside Orm at a different event, watching someone else flirt with her. She remembered how tightly she had gripped her glass, how she had barely resisted the urge to pull Orm away, to mark her as hers, to make it clear that no one else had the right to look at Orm that way.

And the way Orm had just smiled at her afterward, teasing, amused, knowing.

The memory had faded just as quickly as it came, but it left Ling rattled.

Because that kind of jealousy, that kind of possessiveness—it wasn’t just friendship. It never had been.

And now, sitting in her apartment, phone in hand, scrolling through the latest threat message that had arrived in her inbox, Ling couldn’t shake the way her hands trembled.

You shouldn’t  have survived.  You won’t be lucky next time.

Her throat tightened, fingers gripping the phone.

The walls of her apartment suddenly felt too thin, the silence too loud.

She wasn’t scared. Not exactly. But she hated the feeling of being watched, of knowing someone out there was waiting for the right moment to strike.

Her first instinct wasn’t to call the police.

It was to call Orm. That realization alone made her stomach twist. Because even now, with so many missing pieces in her mind, some part of her still knew—Orm was the one person she wanted beside her.

She hesitated, her finger hovering over Orm’s contact.

But before she could talk herself out of it, she pressed the call button.

The phone barely rang before Orm picked up.

“Ling?”

Just the sound of her voice made Ling’s chest tighten.

She swallowed hard. “Can you come over?”

A pause. Then—Orm’s voice, firm and immediate. “I’m on my way.”

Orm barely wasted a second after ending the call. She was already grabbing her keys, slipping on her shoes, and heading out the door before she even registered the slight tremor in her hands.

Ling had called her.

Not Junji. Not Niran. Her.

That alone told her everything she needed to know.

She moved quickly through the streets, heart pounding with a mix of urgency and something deeper, something heavier. She had spent weeks keeping her distance, respecting Ling’s space, waiting for her to be ready—but this? This was different.

By the time she reached Ling’s apartment building, her pulse was a steady roar in her ears. She didn’t stop to think, didn’t hesitate as she made her way inside. She knew the code, still remembered it despite everything.

And the moment she reached Ling’s door, she knocked—twice, firm but not impatient.

The door cracked open a second later.

Orm’s breath stalled.

Ling stood there, looking… different.

Not in a way anyone else would notice, but Orm did. She always did.

Her shoulders were a little tenser. Her expression was set, carefully neutral, but Orm could see the faint tightness in her jaw, the slight flicker of something in her eyes—anger? Frustration? Fear? Maybe all three.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, Ling stepped back, opening the door wider. “Come in.”

Orm did. The apartment felt the same as always—warm, minimalist, scented faintly of vanilla and something floral. But it also felt different now.

Heavier. Like something had shifted, something neither of them could ignore anymore.

Ling closed the door behind them, locking it with practiced ease before she finally turned to face Orm fully.

“Someone sent another message,” she said without preamble, voice steady but controlled.

Orm’s jaw tightened. “Let me see.”

Ling hesitated for a fraction of a second before handing her the phone.

Orm took it, her eyes scanning the words quickly.

You shouldn’t  have survived.  You won’t be lucky next time.

Her grip on the phone tightened.

Slowly, she exhaled, forcing herself to think instead of react. “Did you report it?”

Ling nodded. “Yes. Niran called too. The police are tracking the account, but they’re still not sure if it’s connected to the accident or just some random freak.”

Orm looked at her. “It’s not random.”

Ling’s gaze flickered. “I know.”

Orm set the phone down, crossing her arms. “Have there been more? Before this one?”

Ling pressed her lips together. “A few.”

A muscle ticked in Orm’s jaw. “And you didn’t tell me?”

Ling tensed. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

Orm let out a sharp breath, raking a hand through her hair. “Ling, you’re being threatened. Someone tried to kill you, and now they’re sending messages. This isn’t just about worrying me.”

Ling exhaled, rubbing her temples. “I know that, Orm.”

“Then why didn’t you call me sooner?”

That made Ling pause.

For a moment, she didn’t answer. Then—soft, hesitant—“I don’t know.”

Orm studied her carefully, eyes narrowing slightly.

But then, Ling shifted, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “I didn’t call you because I thought I could handle it. But then I realized…”

She trailed off, looking away.

Orm stepped closer, voice quieter now. “Realized what?”

Ling swallowed. Her fingers curled slightly against her arms. “That I don’t want to deal with this alone.”

That confession made Orm’s heart clench painfully.

She exhaled slowly, her voice firm but gentle. “You don’t have to I’m here. Always.”

Ling finally looked at her again. And for the first time since Orm arrived, she saw it.

The vulnerability. The exhaustion. The weight of everything pressing down on her.

Orm’s resolve hardened.

She stepped forward, closing the space between them. “I’m staying here tonight.”

Ling blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.” Orm’s tone left no room for argument. “I’m not leaving you alone with this. Not while someone is still out there.”

Ling hesitated.

Then—“Orm—”

“No,” Orm cut in, shaking her head. “I need to be here, Ling. You might not want to say it, but you need me here too.”

Silence. Ling inhaled slowly, staring at her, searching for something in her expression.

Orm didn’t look away. Finally, Ling exhaled sharply, shaking her head in reluctant surrender. “Fine.”

Orm relaxed slightly, but only a little. Ling turned away, walking toward the couch, dropping onto it with a tired sigh. Orm followed, sitting beside her—but not too close.

Ling let her head fall back against the cushions, eyes closing for a moment. “This is a mess.”

Orm glanced at her, her expression softer now. “We’ll figure it out.”

Ling hummed, opening one eye to look at her. “You always say that.”

Orm smirked faintly. “Because it’s always true.”

A pause.

Then—softer, quieter—Ling murmured, “Thank you for coming.”

Orm’s chest ached. She didn’t say you don’t have to thank me. She didn’t say I’ll always come when you call.

Instead, she simply said, “Always.”

And this time, Ling didn’t look away. The air between them was thick, humming with something neither of them had dared to name yet.

Orm sat beside Ling on the couch, not too close, but close enough. Close enough to feel the warmth of her presence, to watch the way Ling’s shoulders slowly lost their tension, even as the weight of everything still clung to her.

For weeks, Orm had been careful—too careful—watching from a distance, stepping back whenever Ling needed space. She had convinced herself that was what Ling needed.

But now, sitting here, watching Ling exhale in quiet exhaustion, Orm wasn’t sure she could keep doing that. She flexed her fingers against her lap, then, slowly—so slowly—reached out. Her fingers brushed against Ling’s hand.

Soft. Tentative.

Ling stiffened for half a second, but she didn’t pull away.

Orm’s breath hitched.

Her thumb grazed over Ling’s knuckles, the touch barely there, testing, asking.

Ling’s fingers twitched beneath hers.

Then, without thinking, without questioning—Ling turned her palm, just enough to let Orm’s touch settle against it.

Recognition.

It wasn’t in her mind, not yet. But it was in her body, in the way her skin didn’t resist, in the way something deep inside her knew Orm’s touch.

Orm swallowed hard, her pulse hammering against her ribs.

She could see it—Ling’s throat shifting as she swallowed, her chest rising and falling just a little faster, the way her free hand gripped the couch cushion like an anchor.

Orm didn’t push.

She just stayed.

Her fingers traced slow, lazy circles against Ling’s palm, grounding, patient, unwavering.

Ling exhaled shakily, as if her body had just made a decision before her mind could catch up.

She liked this. She shouldn’t have liked this. She shouldn’t have let it happen.

But she did. And she didn’t let go. Not even when she heard the familiar sound of keys turning in the door. Not even when she felt the weight of reality creeping back in.

Orm was the one who pulled away first. Not because she wanted to, but because she had to.

And Ling—Ling hated how cold her hand felt the moment Orm’s warmth disappeared.

She curled her fingers instinctively, as if trying to hold on to the sensation before it could slip away completely.

The door swung open, and Niran stepped inside, a plastic bag dangling from his wrist.

The second he saw Orm, a slow grin spread across his face. “Finally.”

Orm blinked. “What?”

Ling groaned. “Niran.”

Niran ignored her, already heading for the kitchen, dropping the bag onto the counter. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you two stopped being weird about it.”

Orm raised a brow. “Being weird about what?”

Niran turned, resting his hands on his hips, smug as hell. “You, staying the night.” He nodded toward Ling. “You not throwing her out.” Then back at Orm. “You actually letting yourself be here instead of hovering from a distance that’s progress.”

Orm rolled her eyes. “I’m here because Ling is in danger.”

Niran smirked. “Yeah right it has absolutely nothing to do with your situationship”

Ling let out a pained sigh. “I hate you.”

Orm, meanwhile, had frozen.

The word situationship wasn't new. Niran had said them before. But hearing them now, here, after everything—

It did something to her.

She glanced at Ling instinctively, but Ling wasn’t looking at her.

Ling was looking at Niran.

And she did not look amused.

“Can we not?” she said flatly. “I already told you last time, stop bringing up things I don’t remember.”

Niran snorted. “You don’t have to remember them for them to still be true.”

Ling glared. “I swear to god—”

Bzzz.

The sound cut through the tension like a blade.

Ling’s phone, vibrating on the table. Her stomach dropped.Orm saw the shift immediately.

Ling hesitated only for a second before reaching for the device, but Orm was faster.

She grabbed it first, flipping the screen toward her.

Her entire body went rigid.

You think she can protect you? You think you’re safe?
You should’ve died that night. She might be next

A sharp inhale from Ling.

Silence from Niran.

Then—Orm.

Slowly, deliberately, Orm set the phone down.

When she looked up, her entire expression had changed.

Ling had seen Orm protective before. She had seen her serious, guarded, defensive.

But she had never seen her like this.

A slow, quiet fury. A barely restrained storm beneath the surface.

Ling swallowed. “Orm—”

“I need a moment.” Her voice was calm. Too calm.

Ling reached for her. “Hey, wait—”

But Orm was already moving, pushing up from the couch, walking toward the window.

Her fists were clenched at her sides, her breath coming just a little too sharp, too controlled.

Niran watched carefully, his easygoing demeanor slipping just slightly at the sight of Orm rising anger, he knew she could snap any minute.

“I’m calling the police, they should know” he muttered, already reaching for his own phone.

Ling didn’t argue.

She just kept her eyes on Orm. She was worried for her, she could feel her heart pounding at the sight of a tensed and worried Orm. Her chest felt tight, her stomach churning with something uneasy, something deeply unsettling. Because she had felt it—the shift, the moment the anger settled beneath Orm’s skin.

And for the first time since waking up in the hospital, Ling realized—

This wasn’t just about her. This wasn’t just about Orm wanting to protect her.

This was personal. Whoever was threatening Ling—they weren’t just pissing her off anymore.

They had made a mistake.

Because now?

They had made an enemy out of Orm and she knew that Orm would do anything to protect her. Her heart remembers.

The weight of the message settled over the room like a thick fog, suffocating and unshakable.

Ling barely heard anything beyond the rushing of her own heartbeat, the pulse of fear creeping up her spine, winding itself around her throat. Her fingers curled into fists against her lap, nails pressing into her skin as she forced herself to keep breathing evenly.

Orm hadn’t moved from the window, looking every corner outside.

Not since she set the phone down, not since she read those words, not since the quiet, controlled fury settled beneath her skin like something lethal.

Ling's memory strikes back, she remembers she had seen Orm angry before. She had seen her upset, frustrated, even shaken.

But she had never seen her like this.

No words, no outbursts—just the terrifying stillness. The sharp, unwavering tension in her shoulders, the way her jaw clenched tight, the way her fingers curled slightly, as if resisting the urge to do something.

It sent a shiver down Ling’s spine.

Niran shifted, stepping closer to the counter, his smiling nature completely wiped from his face. He didn’t say anything, didn’t make another joke, didn’t poke fun at the tension between them like he usually did.

Even he could tell.

Ling exhaled slowly, steadying herself before she spoke. “Orm.”

Her voice was quieter than she meant it to be, but it was enough to make Orm blink, her eyes snapping to meet Ling’s.

There it was.

Ling wasn’t sure what she had expected to see when Orm finally looked at her, but this—this wasn’t what she had prepared for.

It wasn’t just anger. It wasn’t just frustration. It was something deeper. Something raw, something protective, something that burned so completely that it left no room for anything else. Ling’s chest tightened, her fingers twitching at her sides.

She had seen this kind of protectiveness before—Orm had always been this way, even before the accident, even before everything had fallen apart.

But this?

This was different.

She didn’t know why, but the way Orm was looking at her right now made her feel like she belonged to her.

The thought sent a sharp pang through her chest, and before she could second-guess herself, she reached out, her fingers brushing against Orm’s hand before curling around it.

She didn’t know why she did it. She just knew that she needed to. Her body was craving Orm’s touch, she couldn’t deny it.

Orm’s body tensed slightly, as if startled, but she didn’t pull away.

Ling felt the warmth of her palm, the solid presence of her fingers, the way Orm’s breath hitched ever so slightly at the contact.

And then—Orm turned her hand over, shifting just enough to interlock their fingers together.

Ling’s breath caught.

The touch was gentle. Familiar.

Her body reacted before her mind could catch up, the warmth of Orm’s skin settling into something deep inside her, something she couldn’t name but felt.

Something that felt like home. Recognition. Not in her mind. Not yet. But in her body.

In the way her pulse didn’t spike with discomfort. In the way her skin knew. Recognized.

Orm exhaled softly, thumb brushing absently against the side of Ling’s hand, grounding, steady, a silent reassurance she hadn’t even realized she needed.

Ling swallowed, her throat suddenly dry, her heart pounding against her ribs.

She didn’t let go. She didn’t want to let go.

And for a long moment, neither of them moved. The tension wasn’t gone—not completely. The fear, the uncertainty, the unanswered questions, they all still lingered, heavy and unspoken.

But this?

This felt solid. This felt like something neither of them wanted to lose.

Niran cleared his throat suddenly, breaking the moment.

Ling flinched, her fingers instinctively tightening around Orm’s for half a second before she forced herself to let go.

Orm hesitated before pulling back, her hand lingering near Ling’s for just a second too long.

Niran, now standing near the counter, crossed his arms. “Well,” he said, his tone lighter, but not quite teasing, “I’m hungry and I brought food. Let’s eat a bit”

Ling let out a slow breath, rubbing her temples. “You seriously think now is the time to talk about food?”

Niran shrugged. “You gotta eat. Orm, too.” His eyes flickered toward her before adding, “Especially with all that mess. We need strength, so both, SIT.”

Ling stiffened slightly. Orm didn’t react right away.

Instead, she glanced at Ling first, waiting for her response, waiting to see if she would argue, if she would push back. She didn’t.

She just sighed, running a hand through her hair before looking at Niran. “Fine. What did you bring?”

Niran grinned, seemingly satisfied, and pulled out containers from the bag. “Your favorite,” he said, throwing a pointed look at Orm. “And hers.”

Ling frowned, glancing at Orm then back at Niran.

Orm raised a brow. “What?”

Ling hesitated then looked back at her brother. “How do you know what she likes?”

Niran let out a laugh. “Ling. You literally made me go with you to pick up food for Orm a hundred times before. You always knew exactly what she liked. And guess what?” He gestured toward the containers. “She always knew what you liked, too.”

Ling opened her mouth, then closed it. She looked at the food in front of her, at the quiet way Orm’s lips pressed together, as if she wanted to say something but wasn’t sure if she should.

Something heavy settled in Ling’s chest. She didn’t remember. And it started to annoy her.

But she believed it. Because something about this—about Orm knowing her favorite food, about her knowing Orm’s—felt right, and she didn't know why she felt surprised after all the she feels so much since she woke up from her accident..

Felt like something that had been true for a long, long time. And that, more than anything, scared her. Before she could overthink it, her phone buzzed again.

Ling didn’t react right away. She was afraid. Afraid to look. Afraid of what it might say. Afraid of the way Orm would react when she saw it.

But she couldn’t ignore it. She took a slow breath, reaching for the phone with steady fingers.

And when she saw the message, her blood ran cold.

You don’t belong with her.
You never did.
But don’t worry—I’ll fix that soon.

Her hands shook.Orm saw it before she even turned the screen around.

Orm couldn’t stay still again.

She tried. She sat for a second, hands clenched, breath shallow, mind racing. But the walls of the apartment felt too close, too suffocating, too full of threats she couldn’t see and dangers she couldn’t fight.

She stood abruptly, pacing toward the window, then back again, then toward the kitchen, hands running through her hair, fingers gripping at the strands like she could somehow ground herself that way.

She couldn’t. This wasn’t like before. This wasn’t like dealing with Ling’s stalkers, or like handling the industry’s scrutiny, or even navigating the complicated mess of their past feelings.

This was different. This was someone playing a game with Ling’s life again but more dangerous. Someone watching, waiting, dangling threats over her head like a predator circling its prey.

And Orm—Orm couldn’t stand it.

Her breath came sharper now, more ragged, her fists flexing at her sides. "This is—this is a fucking joke," she muttered under her breath, voice tight, raw. "They just keep sending messages, just lurking, just—" She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "What do they want?"

Ling watched her, unsure whether to step in or let her burn through it.

Niran, however, was more direct.

He leaned against the counter, watching Orm’s movements with a quiet, assessing gaze. "Okay, but let’s take a second here," he said, tone even, but thoughtful. "This text is different from the others."

Orm froze mid-step, turning sharply toward him. "How the hell is it different?"

Niran held up a hand. "Just listen. Before, it was just about Ling. About hurting her, making her suffer, about how she should’ve died that night, right?"

Ling swallowed hard but nodded.

Niran tilted his head toward the phone, still in Ling’s shaking hands. "But now, it’s about you too, Orm."

Orm’s breath stalled. Ling blinked, looking down at the message again.

You don’t belong with her.
You never did.
But don’t worry—I’ll fix that soon.

Her grip tightened. She had been so focused on the threat itself that she hadn’t stopped to consider what Niran was saying.

It wasn’t just about hurting her anymore. It was about Orm.

Ling looked up, locking eyes with Orm, her throat tightening at the expression on her face.

Orm was still tense, still burning, but now—now there was something else flickering behind her eyes. A slow, creeping understanding, a calculation, a realization taking shape in real-time.

"Why the shift?" Niran mused, more to himself than to either of them. "Why bring up Orm now? Why suddenly make her part of the threat?" He leaned forward, voice quieter. "Is it because she’s protecting you? Or is it because of something else?"

Ling felt something cold settle into her stomach. "You think…" She hesitated. "You think they’re jealous?"

Niran’s gaze didn’t waver. "I think it’s possible," he admitted. "If it’s someone who knew about your relationship—"

Orm cut in, voice low and sharp. "It wasn’t a relationship."

Ling stiffened, the words cutting deeper than she expected them to.

But Niran didn’t seem fazed. "Wasn’t it?" he countered smoothly. "You might not have labeled it, but you two weren’t just ‘best friends’ and we all know that." He exhaled slowly. "Maybe the person behind this knew that too."

Ling opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Because he was right. Whoever was sending these messages, whoever had been following her, watching her—they knew.

Not just about the accident. Not just about the threats from before.

They knew about Orm. And the worst part?

They wanted Orm gone now.

Ling’s stomach twisted violently at the thought, her grip tightening on the phone.

She had spent the last few weeks terrified of being the target, of being the one in danger, of knowing someone out there wanted to hurt her.

But now?

Now she realized that Orm wasn’t just here to protect her.

She was a target too.

Orm’s fists clenched at her sides, her body practically vibrating with tension. "I don’t give a shit why they’re bringing me into this," she muttered, shaking her head. "I just care about stopping them before they try to hurt Ling again."

Niran sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, well, the cops are already on it. And we’re not exactly experts in solving crimes, so maybe just—"

Orm shot him a look.

Niran sighed. "Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re not gonna sit back and do nothing."

Ling was barely listening.

Her mind was still stuck on that last line of the message.

You don’t belong with her.
You never did.
But don’t worry—I’ll fix that soon.

It wasn’t just a threat.It was a promise.

Orm had always been the one to protect Ling. It had been that way from the moment they met—whether Ling had wanted it or not. But now, as the weight of the latest message settled in, Ling felt something shift inside her.

This wasn’t just about her anymore.

It was about Orm.

And Ling—Ling couldn’t stand the thought of Orm being in danger because of her.

Her fingers tightened around her phone, nails pressing into her palm, her pulse thrumming with a new kind of anxiety.

Whoever was behind this, whoever had been watching, waiting, sending those messages—they weren’t just fixated on hurting Ling anymore.

They were going after Orm too. Ling’s breath came faster, sharper, panic clawing at her throat.

She lifted her gaze to Orm, who was still pacing, tension radiating off her in waves. She had always been like this—ready to take everything on herself, ready to throw herself into the fire without hesitation.

And Ling hated it. Because this time, it wasn’t just Orm protecting her.

It was Ling realizing how much she needed to protect Orm too.

"Stop," she said suddenly, her voice tight.

Orm paused mid-step, turning to look at her, confusion flickering across her face. "What?"

Ling exhaled sharply, standing up so fast that her vision swayed for a second. She crossed the space between them, gripping Orm’s wrist before she could even think about what she was doing.

"Just stop," she repeated, softer this time. Her fingers curled around Orm’s wrist, firm but not forceful. "You’re doing that thing again."

Orm frowned, did she got some memory back again she thought quickly hearing the again. "What thing?"

"The thing where you act like everything is on you," Ling shot back, her grip tightening instinctively. "Like you have to be the one to fix it, like you have to take all of this onto yourself." She shook her head, swallowing against the lump in her throat. "You don’t get to do that this time. I need you to be safe too Orm."

Orm blinked, clearly caught off guard 

Niran raised a brow from his spot at the counter but wisely stayed quiet.

Ling wasn’t done.

She could still feel the ghost of Orm’s touch from earlier, the way her body had recognized it even when her mind didn’t. And now, standing this close, with her fingers wrapped around Orm’s wrist, she could feel her pulse—fast, unsteady, betraying the emotions she was trying to suppress.

"This isn’t just about me anymore," Ling continued, voice lower, steadier. "It’s about you too. You saw the message. They’re looking at you now. And that scares the hell out of me."

Orm’s lips parted slightly, but she didn’t speak.

Ling exhaled, loosening her grip just enough to brush her thumb against Orm’s skin, grounding herself. "I can’t let something happen to you," she admitted. "I won’t."

Orm swallowed, something shifting in her expression—something fragile, something Ling wasn’t sure she’d ever seen before.

"I’m not going anywhere," Orm said eventually, voice quiet but firm.

Ling searched her face, unsure if she believed her.

"You can’t promise that," she murmured.

Orm hesitated. "Maybe not. But I can promise that I won’t let anything happen to you."

Ling closed her eyes for a second, frustration curling in her chest. "You’re still doing it," she whispered.

Orm exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. "Ling—"

"I mean it," Ling cut in, opening her eyes again. "I don’t want to lose you. And now that they’re targeting you too, I—" Her voice cracked slightly, and she hated how vulnerable she sounded, but she couldn’t stop herself. "I need you to be careful. I need you to let me protect you too."

Orm let out a slow, shaky breath. "You don’t have to protect me, Ling."

"Yes, I do," Ling shot back immediately, and Orm’s eyes widened slightly at the sheer force behind her words. "You think I don’t feel it? The way my body knows you? The way my heart reacts to you, even when my mind is still catching up?"

Orm inhaled sharply, caught off guard.

Ling shook her head. "I don’t remember everything, but I know one thing—I can't stand the thought of you being hurt. I won’t stand it."

Silence stretched between them, heavy and charged.

Then, slowly, Orm reached out.

Ling tensed, but she didn’t move away.

Orm’s fingers brushed against her wrist this time, tentative, uncertain, but there.

Ling swallowed, her breath shaky.

This was new.

Because for the first time since waking up in that hospital bed, it wasn’t just Orm fighting for her. Ling was fighting for Orm too. And deep down she was fighting for their love too because now, Ling couldn’t ignore all the feelings she feels for Orm. This woman was everything to her before she and she started to become everything again.

And whoever was threatening them?

They were going to regret ever trying to separate them.

_______________

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that should have felt peaceful but instead carried weight, stretching over the room like an invisible pressure.

Niran had disappeared into his room after making sure both Orm and Ling ate, though not without throwing another knowing look in their direction before shutting his door for the night. Ling had rolled her eyes at him, but the moment he was gone, the weight of the day settled over her shoulders.

Orm was still in the living room, quietly picking up the remains of their dinner, moving with slow, careful precision. Ling watched her, leaning against the doorway of her bedroom.

"You should take my bed," she said after a long moment. "The couch isn't exactly comfortable."

Orm glanced up, already shaking her head. "I need to be near the door."

Ling’s fingers twitched. She hadn’t expected that answer. She knew Orm was protective—she had always been—but something about the way she said it, the quiet finality in her voice, made her chest ache in a way she wasn’t ready to face.

She said nothing, only nodding slightly before turning away, stepping into her room and closing the door softly behind her.

But sleep didn’t come.

She lay on her side, staring at the faint glow of the streetlights filtering through her curtains, listening to the muffled sounds of the city beyond her window. Her mind refused to quiet, replaying the night’s events, the message, the weight of Orm’s touch, the way her heart had clenched when Orm paced the apartment, restless and angry.

And now, knowing Orm was out there, stretched across an uncomfortable couch instead of resting in an actual bed, made the restlessness inside her even worse.

Minutes passed. Then an hour. 

Ling groaned softly, pushing the blankets away as she sat up. She needed water, something to ease the dryness in her throat, something to keep her from sinking further into her thoughts.

She padded out of her room, her steps quiet against the floor. The apartment was dim, the only light coming from the city outside, casting long shadows along the walls.

She expected Orm to be asleep.

But she wasn’t.

Orm stood by the window, her arms crossed over her chest, gaze distant as she looked out into the night. She hadn’t heard Ling yet, too lost in whatever storm was raging inside her mind.

Ling stopped, her breath catching slightly at the sight.

The way the streetlights illuminated the sharp lines of Orm’s face, she was breathtaking but the tension in her shoulders, the way she stood so still yet so restless at the same time—it made something in Ling’s chest twist painfully.

She had never seen Orm like this before.

Or maybe she had. Maybe she had seen it a hundred times before and just couldn’t remember.

The thought nearly broke her.

Ling moved before she could think, before logic could step in and tell her this was a bad idea. Her body acted on instinct, on the deep-rooted pull that she still didn’t understand but couldn’t ignore.

She crossed the space between them and, without a word, wrapped her arms around Orm from behind.

Orm tensed instantly, a sharp inhale breaking the silence, her body stiff beneath Ling’s touch.

For a second, Ling thought she had made a mistake.

Then—Orm exhaled, her body losing its tension all at once, melting into the warmth pressed against her back.

Ling rested her head in the crook of Orm’s neck, her arms tightening slightly around her waist. She felt Orm’s breathing, the steady rise and fall of her chest, the faint shiver that ran down her spine at the contact.

This felt familiar.

This felt right.

Orm’s hands hovered at her sides, hesitant, unsure. But then, slowly, as if testing the moment, one of them reached up, fingers ghosting over Ling’s wrist before settling there, holding her in place.

Neither of them spoke.

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t suffocating. It was something else—something warm, something fragile but real.

Orm swallowed, her voice quiet, barely above a whisper. "Ling…"

"Don’t," Ling murmured, her lips brushing against Orm’s skin as she spoke, her voice softer than she intended. "Just stay like this. Just for a little while."

Orm didn’t argue. She didn’t pull away. She simply stood there, letting Ling hold her, letting herself be held.

“I missed you” Orms whispers, she didn’t know she was saying it, she just let it out and Ling took it in, without saying a word but feeling her body reacting to everything Orm was saying, she missed her too.

And in that moment, it didn’t matter what was waiting for them outside this apartment. It didn’t matter that Ling’s memories were still scattered, that the threats hadn’t stopped, that danger still lurked somewhere in the shadows.

Because right now, in this quiet, fleeting moment, Orm wasn’t protecting Ling.

Ling was holding onto her, grounding her, keeping her steady.

And Orm—Orm let her.