The sight before her now—Ai-oon asleep, her breath soft and steady—is something Metavee had only conjured in the restless, lonesome hours of her mind.
To have Ai-oon this close again, so close that the faint scent of her clothes stirs memories, and the rhythm of her breathing feels like a hymn—these were dreams Metavee once buried beneath the weight of uncertainty.
But now, here they are, tangled in the moment. Ai-oon sleeps soundly beside her, and Metavee, wide awake, tries to stretch the seconds into infinity. She studies the stillness of Ai-oon’s face, the fragile calm in her frame, and wishes she could fold herself into this moment forever.
Time isn’t running out anymore, but still, it presses on her chest, whispering of all the days and nights that led here. The ghosts of those hours stir in her mind, and she swallows against the sharp edge of memory.
Shaking her head, she leans down, her lips brushing the crown of Ai-oon’s head—a kiss too soft to wake her. She rises from the bed, her feet slipping into the slippers she’d bought a year ago, back when love felt light and the days ahead seemed endless. A faint smile pulls at her lips, and for a moment, she holds onto the sweetness of that memory. Then it fades, eclipsed by the day after, when Ai-oon disappeared and the world unraveled.
The weight of it all still clings to her. It follows her into the night, creeping onto her side of the bed, until Metavee wakes in the dark, her arms aching for Ai-oon. It was a hollowness that stretched for weeks, then months, an ache she thought would never end—until now.
Sighing, Metavee slips from the room, letting her thoughts untangle as she moves through the quiet corridors of her home. She drifts into her study, a space she’s carved out for the heavy thoughts she can’t show Ai-oon.
She opens the drawer on the side of her desk, her fingers trembling just enough to notice, and pulls out the diary Ai-oon had left for her—a relic of another time, another world. Metavee hasn’t touched it in months; it’s too full of truths, too raw with Ai-oon’s voice speaking straight to her heart. As beautifully written as it is, it’s also a chronicle of their love—so fierce, so good, but born at the wrong moment, like a flower blooming in the frost.
But things are different now, she tells herself. The cover feels warm, her fingers tracing the delicate curve of Ai-oon’s neat handwriting.
Her name greets her first, scrawled in ink that feels alive. Ai-oon’s confessions rise up to meet her, declarations of a love so undying it feels carved into the universe itself. The emotions swell, raw and unfiltered, rising from her stomach and clawing up her throat. An ugly sob bubbles to the surface, but then she sees Ai-oon’s face in her mind—soft, serene, still sleeping in the other room—and she clings to that image like an anchor.
She reads on, turning the pages slowly. The memory of their first kiss slips into focus, painted in Ai-oon’s words. Back then, Ai-oon had been pretending to be Oab-oom, hiding in plain sight, and Metavee had stolen the moment, grasping it with both hands to feel Ai-oon as close as the world would allow. The memory burns, and Metavee lingers there a while before moving on.
Her fingers find the penultimate page, a passage so familiar she could recite it by heart. It’s Ai-oon’s reflection on something Metavee had once said—a question that hung in the air between them, unanswered, unresolved.
“Back then, I couldn’t see. I did not know if you looked at me with pity or with disdain.”
Her own words hit Metavee again, sharp but strangely gentle. But then Ai-oon’s response follows, and it feels like a balm, a soft knock at the door of her heart.
“You asked if I looked at you with pity or with disdain.
I’ve tried to remember, May, and I can’t. The edges of that moment blur, but one thing stays sharp: I felt like floating in space. I didn’t care where I landed. I just wanted to stay there, untethered, suspended in you.
I’m sure I looked at you the way anyone should look at you. In awe. Like you were a princess descending the stairs of her castle, carrying every light in the room on her shoulders.
I miss you, May. Every day of my life.”
The words linger in the air around her, heavy and light all at once. Metavee closes the diary gently, holding it close to her chest. She stays like that for a long moment, letting the silence press in, her mind tracing the edges of the past as the present calls her softly back to Ai-oon.
“May?”
Metavee’s too tangled in herself to hear the door crack open. Ai-oon—hair a wild mess, eyes soft with worry—steps in like a ghost, checking on her. The dim lights throw a kindly shadow over Metavee’s face, hiding the tear tracks just for a moment.
Ai-oon’s eyes flicker to the table, to the diary that Metavee’s just put down. Ai-oon already knows. She can feel it, the weight of what they’ve both lost, bleeding in the silence.
She pulls a chair in front of May, like she’s stepping into the space between what was and what could still be. Her eyes catch the diary’s worn edges, a stab in the chest—she’s not blind, she knows what May’s been reading. And in that instant, the world feels too tight.
She watches May. The way her eyes swell, like they’ve been holding back the tide for too long. Ai-oon’s chest clenches. It aches like she’s been carved open with every scream, every tear, every step away from her.
That night. It echoes in her brain. The cruelty of her choice—leaving May behind with nothing but an empty promise, driving off with Oab-oom who needed her. Ai-oon’s mind still churns with the sound of Metavee’s screams, her voice tearing at the edges of her sanity. Those sounds, those calls, keep her up at night.
Metavee, knees to the ground, choking on her own grief. Ton holding her, steadying her in the storm that Ai-oon left behind.
Ai-oon feels it now, too. The pull, the rush of guilt, of regret.
It pushes her to the edge, but Metavee—she’s there, leaning in. Her hand finds Ai-oon’s face. Like she’s the one holding the world together, when Ai-oon’s the one falling apart.
And Ai-oon knows. She knows this tenderness might break her wide open.
"Why’d you get up? You were sleeping so deeply,” May’s voice cracks, still sharp, raw.
“You weren’t there,” Ai-oon answers, quiet, like the words are something she’s trying to hold back.
That cuts through Metavee—takes her straight to the nights, the mornings, all those times she’d wake up, and the space next to her would be empty, like Ai-oon had never been there at all.
She wonders—did Ai-oon ever reach out in the dark, hands searching for her, the place beside her cold?
“May— May,” Ai-oon calls, her voice soft, a tremor in it.
Metavee smiles, her body pulling close, brushing her nose against Ai-oon’s, full of tenderness that feels like it could break the world open.
It’s so simple, and Ai-oon wonders if she even deserves this—this tenderness, this softness Metavee has kept for her, after everything.
“I see you’re reading this,” Ai-oon says, her fingers tracing the cover of her diary—her own life, her own words— words she hasn’t seen in over a year.
May just hums, settling back into the present, the way her body knows this feeling now, her Pluto is back in orbit, like it’s always been this way. She’s telling herself it’s real, even though a part of her isn’t sure.
“You have your way with words,” May says, a ghost of a smile flickering on her lips, fleeting, “I haven’t opened it in a while.”
“Then why now?” Ai-oon asks, though she already knows the answer.
May hesitates for a beat, her mind dancing between words. They’re still fresh, the edges of their reconciliation sharp, but it’s Ai-oon’s touch on her hands that pulls her back, grounding her.
This is not a dream. Not the cruel joke the universe played on them, not the nightmare Metavee feared.
This time, Ai-oon is real—holding her hands, keeping her from falling apart.
“Because it feels surreal,” May says, and her truth feels like a weight that shifts in the air between them. “I always knew I’d do whatever it takes to have you back, but I wasn’t sure if you’d let me.”
That cuts through Ai-oon, right into the deepest part of her.
It was her who walked away.
It was her who made that choice that night. She’d told Metavee, in a novel no less, that their love had to go, so they could save everyone else.
And now, here she was, face to face with the consequences of that choice, and it hits her like a freight train. If anything, Ai-oon thinks, it’s her who should be in disbelief right now. Not Metavee. Not the one whose love waited through the wreckage, who came back when the time was right.
A choice Ai-oon’s not sure she even deserves.
“I’m sorry, May.”
Ai-oon’s voice is so soft that May has to lean in just to make sure she hears it right.
She leans back, her eyes searching Ai-oon’s face—so full of apology, like everything Ai-oon has kept inside is rushing out all at once.
Ai-oon’s vision blurs as she lets the tears fall, but she sees how it affects May. How the simple word sorry ties up pieces of their past—pieces they never thought they could put back together.
Now, they have a chance. Ai-oon has a chance.
“I’m sorry I left you that night,” Ai-oon says, her voice cracking.
“Ai—”
“Choosing Oab-oom, it wasn’t a mistake,” Ai-oon continues, her voice trembling. “But I can’t stand how I let things go too far before I realized what we were losing.”
They promised each other—their love would not hurt anyone. And yet, here they are, the cost of that promise hanging heavy in the air.
Ai-oon wonders, sometimes, what might’ve been if she’d chosen differently. If she’d been more selfish and fought for them, fought for May.
“I’m sorry,” she says again, the words scraping her throat. “I didn’t think you’d ever want to come back after what I put you through... after what I made us do.”
May flinches, the words landing deep, but she doesn’t look away. She takes them, not as an accusation, but as part of the whole. Ai-oon’s choice tore her apart, but May knows it wasn’t all Ai-oon’s fault. They both share it. They share the pain and the responsibility.
She wipes Ai-oon’s tears and presses a kiss to her wet cheek.
“There’s nothing to forgive, Ai,” May says, her voice steady, like it’s a truth she knows deep inside. “I understand why you did what you did.”
Ai-oon sobs harder, the weight of the guilt and of lost time rushes in, tearing through her defenses like a wave.
“Ai, hey,” May whispers, coaxing Ai-oon to look at her. “Look at me.”
Ai-oon lifts her eyes, and what she sees in May’s gaze makes her believe in something again—hope. May looks at her with eyes full of hope, full of the will to keep going, no matter what it costs.
“Come back to me,” May whispers.
Ai-oon smiles, the tears still falling, but this time there’s warmth, a promise in the way she looks at May.
“I’m here,” Ai-oon says, her voice steady, grounding. “I’m right here, May.”
May pauses. The truth of it hits her like a tidal wave, the reality of yearning for Ai-oon to come back to her.
“Ai,” she says, her voice thick with emotion, “promise me. Promise me that if things get rough, you’ll stay.”
Ai-oon’s chest tightens. The desperation in May’s voice strikes her like a blow.
So many moments—so many countless moments—May has begged her not to leave. And every time, Ai-oon has failed her.
Anyone with sense would’ve walked away, but not May. Not her May.
“Promise me,” May presses, her voice soft but firm, “promise me you’ll stick around this time.”
Ai-oon breathes in her words, like they’re life itself, and she clings to them, holding on with everything she has.
She presses her forehead to May’s, closing the gap between them, like there could never be space between them again. She kisses her then, with everything she’s feeling, with every word unspoken, every promise made.
“I’m never walking away from you again, May,” Ai-oon swears, her voice a vow, unshakable. “I’m here. I’m here, and I’m never leaving your side.”
May holds onto every word.
She knows a part of her still needs to see more to believe it, but something in Ai-oon feels like hope, feels like something real, even when Ai-oon has been her biggest loss.
And so, May hopes. May believes.
They seal it with a kiss—fragile, still—but a beginning. A new beginning.
-----
Navigating this thing, Ai-oon and Metavee know now, is wild and messy. The streets are long, and the road is paved with mistakes, unspoken words, and moments they can’t undo. They know it now—gripped together by something too big to ever be untangled, but too delicate to hold steady without breaking.
May still wakes up some nights, hands clawing at the empty space beside her. She’s searching, she says it’s nothing but she’s searching for Ai-oon, looking for the weight of her beside her in the dark. Ai-oon feels it, and each time her chest feels like it might shatter into pieces. But there’s something different now. She holds Metavee closer, tighter, until her breath slows and everything settles again. Ai-oon’s there. She’s not going anywhere. Not like before.
Some mornings, Ai-oon is still unsure, tiptoeing around May like the past could rear its head at any moment. It takes a few words, a handful of promises, but Ai-oon knows she has to show up. She must. And when the night falls and she’s been away at some event, the words spill out like clockwork, “I’ll be back,” and she says it with a certainty she’s still trying to own. And she sees the quiet flicker of doubt in May’s eyes, those little cracks that never quite heal.
It’s hard, but Ai-oon tries. She reads the gaps in Metavee’s smile, the moments when it falters, when the worry tries to slip through. And she knows that she can’t let those cracks swallow them whole. So, she shows up. She knows that those late-night calls, those mundane hugs after long days, are more than enough to heal some of those scars. They’re trying. It’s not perfect. But they’re still here, still walking side by side.
May, she doesn’t complain. She lets Ai-oon be Ai-oon—messy, real, trying. She doesn’t say anything about the hours spent apart because she feels it in the way Ai-oon’s hand reaches for hers in the quiet of a morning. They’re learning how to coexist. Ai-oon gives her what she’s never given before, those small gestures of something bigger—something that wasn’t possible until now. May lets it in. She lets Ai-oon show her heart, because after everything, she knows it’s worth the risk.
Like today.
May fixes Ai-oon a snack, something simple to carry on the road. She walks into the living room where Ai’s busy packing her things but stops short, watching the scene unfold before her.
Ai-oon, deliberately slow and tender, unbuttoning her jacket and pressing a kiss to it like it’s something sacred. She places it down on the couch right between the pillows.
It hits May then—the weight of it.
Since their reconciliation, Ai-oon always did this. Left things behind intentionally. A jacket, a book, the things she left in May’s house, like little pieces of her scattered across the spaces between them. It hits May, like a punch in the gut. Ai-oon, leaving traces of herself behind, just to remind May that she would come back. One way or another, she’d always come back.
And suddenly, May’s eyes sting. She pulls herself together. It’s just a jacket. It’s just a thing. But it’s more than that—it’s Ai-oon, in her clumsy, messy way, telling May without words that she’s never far. That no matter how much time passes, no matter how much they’ve hurt each other, Ai-oon will always make sure something of hers is left behind, just to make sure May knows she’s still part of her world.
And May, she gets it. She doesn’t smile, not yet. Doesn’t let it slip out because it would feel too foolish, too childish—but she can’t help it. The feeling swells inside her, her heart tightening in ways she didn’t expect. Ai-oon’s way of showing love, of returning to her, always feels like a secret, yet it’s so obvious. She’s known Ai-oon long enough to know that she always wants to come back. Always.
So, May walks outside, her hands holding the small pack of snacks. She meets Ai-oon at the gate, just where the world separates them, and hands over the bag with a smile. Ai-oon takes it, and her face brightens like a damn sunbeam. Then, to Ai’oon’s surprise, May pulls her in—pulls her in for a kiss that’s not just a peck, something they really shouldn’t be doing in front of her own mansion. But here they are, tangled up in each other, breathless, laughing.
Ai-oon flicks May’s forehead, a playful jab, and says, “What was that, you wicked thing?”
May’s heart flutters, but she holds it in. Let Ai-oon be Ai-oon. She doesn’t need to say anything. She just lets it be.
Chancing a quick peck on Ai-oon’s cheek, Metavee says, “Something for you to take on the road.”
Ai-oon smirks, eyes twinkling with mischief, “If you keep that up, I might just ditch my publisher’s meeting at this point.”
Metavee laughs and Ai-oon catches the sound of it, savoring it like a melody she didn’t know she’d missed. It’s light and easy, like this—like everything they’ve been working to make it.
“Drive safe, silly,” Metavee reminds her softly, her voice catching a little in the stillness of the moment.
Ai-oon’s laugh comes again, like a soft, knowing hum, and she nods before hopping onto her motorbike. With a quick wave, she speeds off, disappearing into the hum of the street, leaving behind a trace of warmth that lingers in the air.
Not even thirty minutes later, Metavee’s phone buzzes with a message from Ai-oon.
Shit, I forgot my jacket again. Is it on the couch?
Metavee can’t help but roll her eyes, but there’s a warmth that spreads through her chest. She’s not sure whether it’s the silliness of it all or the fact that Ai-oon has made this little game a part of them—leaving pieces of herself behind, like breadcrumbs leading her back.
It is. Will you come back later to pick it up?
She already knows Ai-oon will. She can almost feel the inevitable answer coming, but when it arrives, she still smiles.
I will :) Do you need me to bring anything later?
Metavee shakes her head, but her fingers move over the keys anyway, drawn into this dance they share. She doesn’t know if Ai-oon gets it yet. But that’s okay. It doesn’t matter.
Just get here safely. I can’t wait to see you.
And the smiley she gets back lingers in her mind as she puts her phone down.
Metavee hugs Ai-oon’s jacket, the familiar scent of blooming flowers and something soft wrapping around her like a whisper. The scent, the warmth—it's Ai-oon, lingering even when she’s not there.
----
It is inevitable, even for a love like theirs, to slip sometimes.
The restaurant's quiet now, just the hum of the air conditioning and the soft murmur of people who aren't late. May’s tapping her foot, the tablecloth slipping under her restless fingers, and she glances at the door every time it swings open, expecting Ai-oon, but not getting her.
Her phone buzzes. Another reminder that Ai-oon’s still not here. And there’s no message. No text saying, “Hey, May, running late.” Nothing. Just the same empty screen she’s been staring at for the last twenty minutes. The space at the table feels too wide, too far.
A knot tightens in her gut, a strange sensation. This is not her Ai-oon. It’s been forty minutes since she said she was on her way—traffic, she said, was bad—but Metavee’s looking at the clock, and time is slipping through her fingers like sand, disappearing into the thick night.
She leans back in the chair and her mind races. A reservation, a week’s worth of planning this perfect little night for them. The candles flicker, casting shadows on the empty chair across from her. And still no sign of Ai-oon.
She calls Pang, but all Pang does is say: “Haven’t seen her all day. She was booked with all the signings, she couldn’t meet up with me and Jan.” And just like that, the words echo in the still air, bouncing around in her mind, filling her with unease.
It’s not doubt—she’s gotten over that anymore—but it’s worry, a deep gnawing concern that gnashes at her heart. What if something happened? What if…?
She can't let that thought finish. Metavee shakes it off, swallows it down, the panic rising like bile. A shout to the waiter to hold the reservation and she’s out the door, feet pounding on the pavement, her pulse thundering in her ears, head spinning with what-ifs.
Ten minutes of frantic driving. Streets twist like tangled strings, but then, like a beacon in the dark, she sees her. There, that tall, familiar frame moving through the night, breathless, lost in some invisible current.
Ai-oon.
“Ai-oon!” she shouts, her voice lost in the wind. No response. Metavee shouts again, louder, the sound tearing through the silence. She parks in a hurry, her car skidding to a stop. She doesn’t think, she just runs.
She hates it. Hates the feeling that creeps up. It drags up memories she thought were long gone, things she swore she’d never face again.
When Ai-oon finally turns around, there’s a wildness in her eyes, the tears glistening, her sweat a shimmer. Metavee stops short, caught between the urge to hold her, to shout, to scream. But the words get stuck, thick in her throat.
All the noise in the world—gone. Metavee doesn’t think, doesn’t care. She reaches for Ai-oon, her arms wrapping around her like a lifeline, and it’s like the world snaps in two. Ai-oon sobs into her shoulder, ugly and raw, a sound full of exhaustion, worry, and something else. And it makes Metavee feel like she might shatter too, like glass under the weight of it all. She tightens her grip, trying to hold them both together.
“Ai—what happened?!” Her voice is sharp, frantic, full of that quiet panic she can’t swallow down. Her hands shake as they grip Ai-oon’s shoulders, willing her to answer, to tell her everything.
Ai-oon’s tears stain her sleeves, soaking the fabric with the weight of it. She gasps for air, a ragged, desperate sound, and it hits Metavee like a punch to the gut. She’s been running, hasn’t stopped, no pause for breath, no pause for anything.
Ai-oon tries to speak but the words don’t come. They crumble in her throat, caught in the jagged edges of whatever this is, and the silence stretches between them. The helplessness in her eyes twists something deep inside Metavee, the sight of Ai-oon like this: frail, shaking, and afraid, cuts deeper than anything she’s ever felt before.
“Hey, Ai, Ai—you need to breathe,” she murmurs, low and soft, her hands moving to her girlfriend’s face, guiding her to steady her breaths. She doesn’t care who’s watching. All she cares about is Ai-oon and getting her through this.
“May…” Ai-oon cries, her voice broken, and before Metavee can even respond, she’s pulled back into another tight embrace. Ai-oon’s arms are heavy around her, like she’s afraid Metavee might slip through her fingers. “I’m so sorry, May. I’m so sorry.”
Metavee holds her, murmuring soft words, rubbing circles into Ai-oon’s back, grounding her even if she doesn’t feel grounded herself. Metavee pulls away just enough to look into her face, cupping her cheeks, needing to see the truth in her eyes.
“What happened? Where’s your bike? What… Why were you running out here?” Her voice cracks on the words, her heart thumping louder now, louder than anything else.
Ai-oon’s eyes fill with tears again, but she fights them, gathering herself like she’s trying to hold onto the last threads of something she doesn’t understand.
“I’m sorry,” Ai-oon’s voice cracks. “I— I was a few blocks away, and then my stupid bike just broke down, and my phone—fuck—my phone died on me. I… I didn’t know what to do, May. No one would stop for me and I couldn’t reach you.”
Desperation drips from her words, like the weight of the world pressing down on her chest. The words hit Metavee, like the sudden rush of wind that knocks the breath out of your lungs. Ai-oon is unraveling in front of her, and Metavee can feel the unraveling too, inside herself. She knows this panic. Knows the feeling of being stranded, of being so lost you can’t even find your way back to the ones who matter most.
“I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t showing up. I tried, May. I swear I—”
The words hang between them, suspended in the air, thick with fear and regret, but more than that—trauma, the kind that leaves scars. It lingers, filling the space with its heavy, suffocating weight.
“Ai, Ai—it’s okay. Hey,” Metavee murmurs, soft, like she’s trying to soothe the storm inside Ai-oon. She pulls her close and presses their foreheads together. It’s the only way she knows how to anchor them both, like if their skin touches, if their breaths align, everything will come back into place.
“I’m sorry, May,” Ai-oon whispers again, her voice breaking with every word, and it cuts deeper, deeper than anything Metavee’s ever felt before.
“It’s okay,” Metavee says, “There’s nothing to be sorry about, Ai. I knew you were coming.” She presses her hands against Ai-oon’s shoulders, grounding them both. “I didn’t doubt you, okay? Listen to me, Ai. I’m here, we’re here.”
Ai-oon nods, desperate, clinging to each word like it’s the only thing keeping her from drowning in the flood of her own fears.
“I was worried something happened to you,” Metavee continues, the words soft but aching, “so I went out, I ran after you when I saw you. I just needed to know you were okay.” Her voice breaks on the last part, but she swallows it down. “Hey, we’re okay now. We’re here. You’re here with me now, Ai.”
She’s saying them to Ai, but she’s telling herself the same thing, hoping they’ll stick. Hoping they’ll make everything feel okay, if just for this moment.
They’re here. Ai-oon is okay, here with her. Her Pluto. Her heart, her soul, her everything—tethered by something stronger than words.
Metavee doesn’t need to say anything. Ai-oon is safe and that’s all that matters. Nothing else exists but this.
Later that same night, Metavee doesn’t let go. She urges Ai-oon to stay the night and Ai-oon doesn’t argue. The silence between them is loaded, but it’s not sharp—it’s the kind that softens with every passing second, wrapping them both in its quiet comfort. When they fall into bed, it’s not just sleep they’re chasing—it’s the peace they’ve been too scared to name, the kind that feels like borrowed time but tastes like forever.
For the first time in what feels like a lifetime, neither of them wakes in the middle of the night. No shadows lurking, no unease curling in the corners of the room, no ghosts of past fears pressing on their chests. Just the steady rhythm of their breathing, in sync, like a melody only they know. Despite the chaos that brought them here that night, she clings to Ai-oon as if the act itself could rewrite the ending of every story they’ve almost lost.
Her Pluto. Her everything. And in Ai-oon’s arms, she feels it too—that they are whole, that they are safe, that this is what it means to truly stay.
As Metavee drifts off, arms wrapped tightly around Ai-oon’s body, she knows—deep down in the quiet corners of her heart—that this, right here, is as close to peace as it gets.
---
Their newfound peace stretches out, sprawling across nearly a year like a long, winding road. Relearning how to be in each other’s orbit was imperfect, yes, but still so damn great. It’s not without its bumps. They’ve fought, but never for more than a day. Not once. Because one of them always surrenders, always lays down their arms, always reaches out first. The fights don’t stand a chance against the weight of wanting to make up, the pull of what they’ve built together.
For the most part, it’s been about filling the cracks, the gaps left over from the chaos of before. They’re learning each other again, the little habits, the quirks, the ways they move and breathe and love.
And now, today, they’re here—standing in Ai-oon’s grandmother’s kitchen.
Metavee’s relationship with Ai-oon’s grandmother is one of those strange and beautiful things Ai-oon loves so much. They click in a way that surprises her. There’s laughter, teasing, jokes tossed back and forth like soft lobs of a ball. It’s as though the messy, tangled past—Oab-oom, all the heartache—never happened. Tentative moments still linger, but Metavee navigates them like a natural, weaving her way into her grandmother’s heart, and Ai-oon watches it all with a kind of breathless relief she didn’t know she’d been holding.
Today, Ai-oon’s grandmother teaches Metavee how to make her favorite dessert. Crispy rice cakes. A simple thing, but here, in this kitchen, it feels like magic, like a balm for old wounds. Ai-oon leans against the doorframe, watching the scene unfold. Two of the women she loves most, together, bonding, creating something tangible and warm. It heals something deep in her, something she didn’t even know was broken.
From time to time, Metavee glances back at her, a wide smile lighting up her face, her eyes sparkling like she’s silently thanking Ai-oon for this chance to build something steady and real. And Ai-oon can’t help but smile back, a grin pulling at her lips as she steals quick kisses when her grandmother isn’t looking. It’s playful, sweet, and utterly them.
“Open your mouth,” Metavee says, holding up a piece of crispy rice cake to Ai-oon, her eyes narrowing in mock seriousness.
Ai-oon takes the bite, exaggerating a thoughtful pause, her brows furrowing as if contemplating the taste. “Hmm…” she hums, dragging it out, teasing the moment for all it’s worth.
“Don’t you dare,” Metavee warns, her tone somewhere between a scold and a laugh, but Ai-oon only grins wider.
“It’s perfect,” Ai-oon declares, her voice filled with mock gravitas, though her eyes shine with genuine affection.
“You’re exaggerating,” Metavee says, rolling her eyes, but there’s a softness to her words, a barely-hidden smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“Maybe,” Ai-oon replies, her voice light and airy. She leans closer, just enough to nudge Metavee’s shoulder. “But it’s still perfect to me.”
They join Ai-oon’s grandmother for lunch that day, too, the laughter and clinking dishes carrying over the quiet peace that has settled between them. Ai-oon leans back in her chair, her eyes flicking between Metavee and her grandmother as they swap stories, teasing and bantering like old friends who’ve known each other forever.
When it’s finally time to leave—Ai-oon spending yet another night at May’s—they linger by the door. Ai-oon’s grandmother pulls Metavee into a tight hug, and just as they’re stepping out, she smiles slyly and delivers her parting shot.
“At this point, you two should just move in together.”
The words hang in the air, and for a moment, there’s nothing but silence. Then Ai-oon feels the heat rise in her cheeks, mirrored perfectly on Metavee’s face. It’s not wrong, not really—Ai-oon practically lives with Metavee already, her things scattered across drawers and shelves as if they’ve always been there.
Metavee is the first to break, turning to Ai-oon with a teasing glint in her eye. She smirks, tilting her head as if sizing her up. “I think that can wait, Grandma,” she says, her voice light and playful. “I still can’t cook as well as you do.”
The reply earns laughter from her grandmother and Ai-oon catches the faintest flicker of a grin tugging at Metavee’s lips. But the words stick with her. The thought—moving in, building a life together—it doesn’t feel scary. Not anymore. It feels like a promise waiting to be made.
The drive home is quiet but comfortable. Metavee starts talking about her latest case, her voice animated as she outlines the details, her hands gesturing slightly as she speaks. Ai-oon listens, her gaze soft, soaking up the sound of Metavee’s voice. When it’s her turn, she talks about her deadlines, the stress that’s been gnawing at her, the way her new story refuses to come together. As always, Metavee listens with that quiet patience Ai-oon has come to depend on, her words of encouragement steady and grounding.
“You’re doing fine,” May says. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”
Ai-oon smiles at that, the tension in her chest easing just a little. She could live like this, she realizes. This rhythm, this give and take—it’s everything she’s ever wanted.
At a red light, the car falls silent. Metavee glances over, her eyes catching Ai-oon’s. “What?” she asks, her voice tinged with curiosity and the faintest hint of amusement.
Ai-oon shakes her head, a quiet smile spreading across her face as she turns to look out the window. She doesn’t say it, the thoughts blooming in her mind like wildflowers—the mornings spent tangled in sheets, the dinners cooked side by side, the laughter echoing in rooms they’d call their own.
Metavee chuckles softly, her cheeks tinged pink. She doesn’t press. And Ai-oon loves her for that—for knowing when to wait, when to let the quiet moments speak for themselves.
“I love you, May,” Ai-oon says suddenly, the words tumbling out like a secret she can’t keep anymore.
Metavee turns to her, her eyes soft, her gaze searching. And Ai-oon wonders what she could possibly be looking for when everything that matters is right here.
“I love you, too,” Metavee answers, her voice gentle but sure.
And as they pull away from the light, Ai-oon’s fingers brush against the small ring in her pocket—a secret she’s carried close for weeks now. She doesn’t mention it, doesn’t say a word. That can wait, she tells herself.
Because right now, this is enough. Right now, this is perfect. Right now, this is just right.