Beyond the Bleachers

The locker rooms were alive with motion. Coaches shouting, cleats thudding against tile, chants echoing down the halls. Riverbend High pulsed with tension, all adrenaline and nerves. This wasn’t just a game.

It was the game.

Lingling stood near the exit of the football tunnel, helmet tucked under her arm, jersey clinging to her skin from warm-up drills. The roar of the crowd was already building outside, but her focus was somewhere else.

Someone else.

Footsteps behind her. Quick, purposeful. Familiar.

She turned.

And there she was.

Orm.

In her full cheer uniform, hair slicked into a perfect high ponytail, red lipstick barely visible under the stadium lights that bled in from the tunnel’s edge.

They didn’t say anything at first.

Didn’t have to.

Orm stepped closer. “I was hoping I’d find you before kickoff.”

Lingling swallowed. Her voice came out lower than expected. “You did.”

Orm’s eyes searched hers. Not with suspicion or caution this time—but with something soft. Something brave.

“I don’t want to go into today,” Orm whispered, “pretending last night didn’t happen.”

Lingling blinked. “Me neither.”

Orm smiled faintly. “I know we’re not ready. I know it’s messy and complicated and probably reckless. But I’m tired of fighting it.”

Lingling nodded, stepping closer. So close now they were breathing the same air again. “I’ve been tired of it for weeks.”

Orm looked down—then, without another word, she reached out and gently took Lingling’s hand.

Their fingers laced, slow, deliberate.

And then Orm leaned in.

No crowd. No secrets. No pretending.

She kissed her.

Not with heat, not with hunger—but with something deeper. Tender. Unspoken. Sacred.

Lingling’s lips parted softly, and for a moment—just one—they melted into each other. The world outside disappeared. The weight of the field, the cheer squad, the expectations—it all faded.

Just lips. Just heartbeats.

Just them.

When they pulled apart, Orm didn’t let go of her hand.

“You better win,” she said, eyes shining.

Lingling gave her that rare, crooked smile. “Watch me.”

“Oh I will Captain” answers Orm with one of those smile that makes Ling’s world crumble.

Orm’s fingers slowly slid from hers, but the touch lingered long after she turned and disappeared into the hallway.

Lingling stood there a second longer, breathing in the moment.

Then she put her helmet on, stepped into the tunnel, and walked toward the roar of the crowd.

______

The buzz of the stadium was deafening. Spirit Squad gathered at the sideline in full formation, ready to ignite the crowd before kickoff. The energy was electric, every cheerleader tuned in.

Except Chloe.

Her focus was locked on Orm.

Orm arrived just as the music tech gave the final thumbs-up. Her walk was calm, face unreadable—but there was something different about her. A softness in her eyes. A faint red smudge at the corner of her lip.

And Chloe saw it.

She stepped in front of her, blocking her path just before the squad took the field.

“You were with her,” Chloe said. Not a question. Not a guess.

Orm stopped short. Her breath caught, just once. She didn’t confirm it.

She didn’t have to.

Chloe's voice was low, controlled. “A football player, Orm. Her.”

Orm flinched.

“You used to say people like her were reckless. Arrogant. Everything you hated.” Chloe’s laugh was hollow. “And now you’re kissing her before the biggest game of the year?”

“We’re not together anymore,” Orm said quietly, not defensive—just… tired.

“I know,” Chloe snapped. “That doesn’t mean I stopped knowing you. I thought—” She stopped, swallowing hard. “I thought I knew where your lines were.”

“I did too,” Orm whispered.

A pause.

Then Chloe leaned in just a little, voice quiet so no one else could hear: “So what changed?”

Orm looked away for a beat.

“She did.”

Chloe’s breath hitched. Just once.

She stepped back.

“Well,” she said, the pain rising behind her tight smile. “Break a leg out there, Captain.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and walked toward the squad.

Back straight. Chin high.

But for the first time, Chloe didn’t look like she was performing. She looked like she’d lost.

____

The music exploded through the stadium, bass thumping through the bleachers like a war drum.

And at the center of it all—Orm Kornnaphat.

She hit every beat like the routine was etched into her bones. Sharp arms, explosive jumps, eyes laser-focused. Her movements weren’t just perfect—they were alive. Magnetic. Unignorable.

The crowd screamed.

The squad lifted. Orm soared.

Lingling stood on the sidelines with her helmet in her hands, frozen halfway into her pre-game zone, watching.

Her heart thudded with every count Orm called.

She was mesmerizing. Terrifyingly beautiful.

“Damn,” Milk muttered from beside her. “If you don’t take that girl home tonight, I swear to God, Kwong—I will.”

Oom gasped. “Respectfully, we will. Together.”

Lingling rolled her eyes, cheeks flushed. “Shut up.”

Milk smirked. “You’re not even blinking.”

Lingling didn’t respond.

Because how could she? How could she even breathe when Orm landed the final pose, arm extended, head tilted back, sweat shimmering on her temple, eyes locking—right on her.

For a second, it felt like the whole stadium disappeared.

Just Ling. Just Orm.

Just this.

The crowd erupted.

Orm held her gaze for a heartbeat longer, then stepped back, disappearing into the team tunnel with the rest of her squad.

Lingling exhaled. Just once.

Milk nudged her shoulder. “That look she gave you? Yeah. If you fumble this game, I’m cutting your jersey into ribbons.”

“Let’s go, Romeo,” Oom added, already trotting toward the tunnel. “It’s your turn to set the stage on fire.”

Lingling pulled on her helmet, her fingers tightening around it.

“Let’s show her what I’m made of,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.

Her teammates clapped her back, chanted her name, stomped in rhythm like soldiers preparing for war.

Lingling rolled her shoulders. Inhaled. Let it all settle inside her.

Orm kissed her.

Orm chose her.

And now?

Now she was going to win this game—not just for the school, not just for the title.

But for them.

She stepped out onto the field, the lights blazing, the crowd roaring.

And somewhere in the sea of faces, she knew—

Orm was watching.

And she was about to give her everything to look at.

The whistle blew.

The game began.

And from the moment the ball snapped, it was clear: Westbridge came to hurt Lingling Kwong.

Their defense was ruthless—every play a blitz, every tackle an ambush. One lineman shoved her after the whistle. Another grabbed her jersey just a little too hard. One nearly drove her shoulder into the turf on a late hit that got flagged—but not stopped.

From the stands, Orm gripped the edge of her seat.

“Jesus,” Kary hissed beside her. “They’re gunning for her.”

“Because they know she’s a threat,” Junji muttered, her voice tight, eyes never leaving the field.

Orm’s gaze flicked sideways. “You’re…?”

“Junji,” she said, quick. “I’m Lingling’s best friend.”

Orm blinked.

Junji didn’t elaborate.

On the field, Lingling scrambled out of the pocket, dodging two defenders, and launched a perfect spiral down the sideline—complete.

The crowd erupted.

Ling pushed off her helmet, chest heaving. Her lip was bleeding. Her knuckles raw.

She didn’t care.

Orm’s heart was racing. Not from the play. From her.

“How is she still standing?” Kary whispered.

Junji smirked. “Because that’s what she does. She stands. She takes the hits, and she keeps going.”

Orm didn’t realize she was holding her breath until the next snap.

Lingling took the ball. Rolled left.

A defender lunged—helmet first—straight for her ribs.

Gasps rang through the stadium as Ling twisted, slid low, popped up again like it didn’t hurt—though her hand pressed her side for half a second too long.

Orm stood. “Ref?! That was helmet-to-body!”

But the ref’s whistle stayed quiet.

Junji was already on her feet too. “They’re trying to break her.”

“She won’t let them,” Orm said, almost to herself.

And then—on the next play—Ling faked right, ducked under a tackle, spun out, and ran.

Twenty yards.

Thirty.

She broke two more defenders and dived into the end zone.

Touchdown.

The stadium exploded.

Orm was breathless.

Kary screamed. Junji shouted. The marching band boomed.

Lingling stood in the end zone, eyes scanning the stands—and then she saw her.

Orm.

They locked eyes.

And even from that far, through the chaos and the noise and the bruises forming under her pads, Orm swore she saw her mouth curve into a smirk.

Junji leaned in slightly, watching Orm with laser precision. “She doesn’t let many people in, you know.”

Orm turned her head. “What?”

Junji’s voice was quiet. “I just hope you’re not one of the ones who runs.”

Orm didn’t answer.

Because in her chest, where everything was shaking and burning and afraid—she already knew the answer.

She will never run from Lingling Kwong.

The locker room buzzed with noise—players shouting over each other, coaches pacing, towels snapping, water bottles being tossed. But Lingling?

Lingling stood alone in the hallway just outside, her helmet resting beside her on the bench, her body aching in places she didn’t want to name.

Her ribs throbbed. Her lip was cracked. Her hand was raw where someone stepped on it mid-play.

But she’d never felt more alive.

Until she heard the footsteps.

Soft. Familiar.

Lingling turned.

Orm stepped into view, out of uniform now, wearing joggers and a team hoodie, her hair tied in a loose bun, a towel slung over her shoulder like she had come from practice, too.

Her eyes found Lingling’s—immediately.

"You’re hurt,” Orm said softly.

Lingling straightened. “I’m fine.”

“Ling—”

“Don’t say I should sit out,” Lingling interrupted, voice lower now. “Don’t tell me to stop. Not tonight.”

Orm’s gaze softened. “I wasn’t going to.”

She took a step closer.

Then another.

“I saw everything,” she whispered. “They’re trying to break you.”

“They won’t,” Ling said, jaw tight.

“I know.” Orm paused. “But it kills me to watch them try.”

Lingling’s chest rose and fell, shallow breaths under her padding. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I couldn’t not be.”

They stood there, just breathing, the dull thud of the halftime marching band bleeding in from outside. The buzz of fluorescent hallway lights. The distant shout of a coach. But here?

Here it was just them.

Orm reached forward and touched her cheek, gently. Her thumb skimmed the dried blood by Lingling’s lip.

“You didn’t even wipe this off.”

Ling closed her eyes at the touch. “Didn’t have time.”

Orm's voice dropped to a whisper. “You scare me.”

Lingling opened her eyes again, fierce and soft all at once. “Why?”

“Because you make me feel things I swore I’d never feel.”

Silence.

Then, Ling asked, “Like what?”

Orm leaned in, breath brushing Ling’s jawline.

“Like I’d burn everything down just to keep you safe.”

And then she kissed her.

This time it wasn’t soft.
It was needy.
It was now.

Lingling kissed her back, her hand gripping Orm’s hoodie like a lifeline, like if she let go, she’d fall apart.

Their mouths moved like they’d been doing this for years. Like their bodies already knew.

When they finally pulled apart, foreheads pressed together, Ling whispered, “You really came to find me at halftime?”

Orm laughed, breathless. “I’m pathetic.”

“You’re perfect.”

Another beat.

Then Orm stepped back, eyes a little misty.

“Go win this.”

Lingling smiled. “You watching?”

Orm smirked. “Every second.”

Ling reached for her helmet, her body still buzzing—not from the crowd, not from the touchdown—

But from her.

The stadium lights blazed like fire against the night sky. The crowd was back on their feet, roaring louder than before. The drums thundered. The Westbridge Wildcats were already lined up, mean-eyed and ready to finish what they started.

But they didn’t know.

They didn’t know she’d kissed the girl she’d been burning for.
They didn’t know she’d been told she was loved, even if the words hadn’t come yet.
They didn’t know she had something to fight for now.

They didn’t know Lingling Kwong was done holding back.

She stepped into the huddle, eyes wild with purpose.

“We end this,” she said, voice calm, controlled. “We don’t give them another yard.”

Her teammates nodded, feeding off her energy like lightning.

The snap came.

Lingling caught the ball, read the blitz—too slow. She sidestepped, dodged two defenders, and bolted down the right, her feet carving fire into the turf. Her ribs screamed. Her body begged her to stop.

She didn’t. A pass. A touchdown.

The scoreboard jumped.

The crowd lost their minds.

Orm gripped the railing with white knuckles.

She didn’t even notice Kary beside her shouting, or the cheer squad leaping in sync. She didn’t hear the band or the announcer.

She only saw Lingling.

Bleeding. Unyielding. Beautiful.

Junji leaned closer, her voice proud and hoarse. “You get it now, don’t you?”

Orm didn’t look away. “Yeah.”

“She’s not reckless. She’s brave.”

“I know.”

Another play.

Ling ducked a hit. Threw mid-air. Another score.

Junji whispered, “You better not break her.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

It was down to the last two minutes.

Riverbend was up by six.

Westbridge had the ball. Driving hard. Almost to the end zone.

The air went cold.

Lingling stood on the sidelines, breathing hard, hand still pressed to her aching ribs.

Coach looked at her. “Defense is falling apart.”

She looked up. “Put me in.”

“You’re offense.”

“Not tonight.”

Coach hesitated—then nodded.

And just like that, she was back on the field, helmet tight, heartbeat louder than the drums.

Westbridge snapped the ball.

The play turned into chaos.

The quarterback launched into a sprint.

Lingling saw her window.

She cut across the field—a blur—and threw herself forward, slamming into the runner at the one-yard line.

The stadium fell silent.

Then—

The whistle blew.

Short.

Riverbend wins.

The roar that followed was deafening.

Her teammates tackled her, screaming, lifting her off the ground.

And up in the stands, Orm felt herself shake.

Not from the noise.
From love.

From awe.

From the unstoppable, undeniable truth:

She was completely gone for Lingling Kwong.

The field was chaos.

Cameras flashed. The student section stormed the sidelines. Coaches screamed with joy, players lifted each other into the air, and someone handed Lingling a Riverbend flag she barely registered holding.

Her name rang out from every corner of the stadium.

“KWONG! KWONG! KWONG!”

She smiled, she high-fived, she let herself be swallowed in the celebration.

But her eyes?

Her eyes were only searching for one thing.

And then—she saw her.

Orm.

Standing just behind the rope line on the far end of the field, away from the noise. Hoodie up. Hands tucked into her sleeves. But her eyes never left Ling.

And when they finally locked eyes again, Lingling stopped moving. Just for a breath. Like the rest of the world had suddenly gone quiet.

Milk came up from behind, slapping her back. “Legend! You are a literal god.”

Oom whistled. “MVP, hottest quarterback alive and you tackled that dude like a superhero. You better celebrate tonight.”

Lingling smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Because Orm was still standing there.

Waiting.

Lingling pushed through the crowd. Every few steps someone tried to stop her—a teammate, a fan, even the principal. She nodded, waved, said “thank you” when she had to.

But all she wanted was her.

Finally, she reached the rope line.

And there she was.

Orm. Soft. Quiet. Proud.

Lingling stepped close, their hands only inches apart.

“I can’t really be seen sneaking off the field with the star quarterback,” Orm whispered, her voice low and warm.

Lingling tilted her head, teasing. “Why not?”

“Because,” Orm murmured, almost smiling, “if people see me the way you’re looking at me right now, they’ll know.”

Lingling’s smirk faded into something softer. “Good.”

Orm’s breath hitched.

But instead of replying, she leaned in—just enough that no one could hear but her—and whispered:

“I’ll see you later.”

Then she stepped back.

One look. One secret smile.

And she disappeared into the crowd.

Lingling stood there a second longer, heart racing, hands tingling.

She'd just won the biggest game of her life.

But that?

That whisper, that look, that promise?

That was the victory that mattered most.

____

The Riverbend Spirit Squad locker room was buzzing. Laughter bouncing off the walls, pom-poms tossed in victory, glitter smeared across cheeks and shoulders.

The win was everywhere—in the hugs, in the shouts, in the way everyone moved like they were lighter than air.

Orm stepped through the door, and the squad immediately turned to her with wide grins and shrieks.

“Captain!”
“You slayed that routine!”
“I swear the whole stadium was watching you, not the game!”

Orm smiled, letting herself laugh, hug her teammates back. “You all killed it. Best performance yet.”

Kary tossed a water bottle in the air and caught it dramatically. “And now… it’s time to party.”

“Coach said we’re off tomorrow!” someone added.

“Party at Nina’s?” Kary called out.

A cheer erupted.

Even Orm laughed. She felt it—joy, honest and warm. For a second, it washed away everything else.

But then… she looked across the room.

Chloe.

Sitting near her locker, not smiling. Not joining in. Her arms folded. Her eyes cold.

Orm didn’t flinch. Didn’t offer a word. They’d said what they needed to say.

Still… it stung, a little.

They should have just stayed what they were at the beginning—easy. No feelings. Just shared bodies and silence afterward. No pretending to be something more.

But Orm had changed. And that version of herself no longer fit beside Chloe.

Eventually, the team began to file out. Makeup touched up. Laughter echoing down the hallway. Music already blaring faintly from someone’s phone.

Orm stayed behind.

Just for a second.

She leaned against the cool locker, eyes closed, letting the adrenaline settle.

But then—

She heard it.

Outside the locker room.

Girls. Laughing. Screaming. Fangirling.

“Did you see Lingling in that jersey?!”

“She could tackle me and I’d thank her.”

“Those arms?? Her thighs?? That smirk after the touchdown???”

“Dead. I’m so dead. I want her to ruin my life.”

Orm’s eyes opened slowly.

And suddenly, her breath was tight in her chest.

She knew it was stupid.

She knew Ling wasn’t even listening to that nonsense.

But something in her twisted.

The thought of other people watching her like that—like Ling was some fantasy to project on, some thirst trap on a screen—

No.

Orm felt it in her jaw first—the clench.
Then in her hands—fisting into her hoodie.

Because she’d kissed that mouth.
She knew how gentle Ling’s hands could be.
She’d seen her bleeding and standing tall and choosing her.

And the thought of someone else seeing that body and not knowing the soul beneath it?

It made Orm burn.

She pushed off the locker.

Time to go.

She had a party to attend.

But later?

She’d make sure Ling knew she was hers.

____

The room smelled like sweat, grass, and victory.

Lingling peeled off her shoulder pads slowly, her body aching in that sweet, earned way. Her ribs were sore, her arm bruised, her lip cracked—but she didn’t care.

Because tonight? She was a goddamn legend.

And the girls wouldn’t let her forget it.

“Let’s gooooooo MVP!!” Oom cheered, holding up a makeshift crown made of athletic tape and tossing it on Lingling’s head.

“You’re literally Riverbend’s daddy now,” Milk grinned. “Like I don’t make the rules. That’s just facts.”

“Who’s carrying her to the car?” another teammate laughed. “She ran for 200 yards and sprinted into someone’s soul.”

Lingling rolled her eyes but smiled, breathless and full. “Y’all are annoying.”

“You love it,” Oom shot back.

Milk leaned against the bench beside her. “You’re coming to Nina’s, right?”

Lingling raised an eyebrow. “Since when do I do post-game parties?”

Milk smirked. “Since Nina is Alice’s girl, and you don’t say no to Alice. Also...”

Oom elbowed her. “Alsooo…”

“Alsooo,” Milk drawled, “Orm’s gonna be there.”

Lingling paused mid-zip of her duffel.

Her face stayed still.
Her pulse did not.

“She’s cheer captain,” she said flatly. “Of course she’ll be there.”

“And you’re the quarterback who made her cheer like her life depended on it,” Oom teased. “Come on. Don’t pretend we didn’t see that little tunnel eye-fucking moment after your touchdown.”

Lingling gave her a look.

Milk winked. “You’re blushing.”

“Shut up.”

“Not denying it though,” Oom whispered.

Lingling shook her head, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Fine. I’ll go. But only for, like, an hour.”

“You’re not leaving until at least one dance, one drink, and one girl falls in love with you,” Milk said.

Ling rolled her eyes again. “I already kissed the only one that matters.”

Everyone froze.

Milk’s jaw dropped.

Oom shrieked. “YOU DID WHAT—”

“Shut up,” Ling laughed, shoving past them. “Let’s just go.”