Rhea pulled her face back just enough to look at Ling, eyes glossy, unfocused, hurt shining through like a wound left open.
"You gave me to him," Rhea said, voice rising, breaking. "You just… let me go."
Ling frowned, confusion mixing with pain. "You chose him in front of everyone."
Rhea shook her head violently, tears spilling again. "No. I chose distance. I chose survival. I never chose him."
Her hands balled into Ling's shirt, knuckles white.
"I'm not his," Rhea said, words tumbling out fast now, unguarded. "I hate Roin. I hate how he touches me like he has rights. I hate how he looks at me."
Ling's jaw clenched.
"And I hate," Rhea continued, voice cracking harder, "how easily you let me be another person's problem. Like I was transferable. Like I was nothing."
Ling inhaled sharply.
"I didn't give you to anyone," Ling said low. "I stepped back because you told me to stay away."
Rhea laughed bitterly through tears. "You always listen when I push you away. You never listen when I'm drowning."
That landed like a blade.
Ling's grip tightened unconsciously, arm locking around Rhea's back, possessive now, not gentle.
"You think it was easy?" Ling said, voice rough. "Watching you with him? Hearing your name in his mouth? You think restraint is indifference?"
Rhea's head dropped against Ling's shoulder again. She cried harder now, sobs shaking her whole body.
"I wanted you to fight," she admitted, voice small, shattered. "Just once. I wanted you to say no, she's mine. You don't get her."
Ling closed her eyes.
"That's exactly why I didn't," she said quietly. "Because the moment I say that… I don't stop."
Rhea looked up again, confused, vulnerable. "What does that even mean?"
Ling's thumb brushed under Rhea's chin, forcing her to look at her — not gently, not cruelly, honestly.
"I don't take what isn't offered," Ling said. "But if you are… I don't share. I don't release. I don't pretend it's casual."
Rhea's breath hitched.
"You wanted me to fight," Ling continued, voice low, controlled, dangerous. "And I wanted to drag you away and lock the world out. That's not love unless you're ready for it."
Rhea stared at her, tears sliding silently now.
"I was ready," she whispered. "I just didn't know how to say it sober."
Ling's hand slid up into Rhea's hair, fingers spreading, anchoring her there.
"You're saying it now," Ling replied. "And I'm hearing it."
Rhea's lips trembled. "I hate how you let him think he had a chance."
Ling leaned her forehead against Rhea's.
"He never did," Ling said flatly. "Not once."
Rhea's body sagged in relief and grief all at once. She clutched Ling tighter, like the truth had finally found its way out through intoxication.
"I don't belong to him," Rhea murmured weakly. "I never did."
Ling's arm tightened around her fully now not comforting, not soothing claiming.
"I know," Ling said quietly. "And when you're awake, and sober, and still want me to fight…"
Her voice dropped, promise-sharp.
"…I don't know."
She shifted again, a weak laugh breaking through her tears messy, uneven, almost childish. Her forehead rested against Ling's collarbone, breath warm, words spilling without permission.
"I'll fight back," Rhea said softly, then laughed again like it hurt. "So what's your role, huh?"
Ling looked down at her.
"To make up with me," Rhea continued, voice slurring but sharp underneath, "even when I deny you. Even when I throw tantrums. Even when I pretend I don't want you."
She sniffed, wiped her face clumsily against Ling's shirt. "You're supposed to come anyway. That's what you do."
Ling didn't answer immediately.
Her hand kept moving in slow circles on Rhea's back grounding, steady but her eyes darkened.
Rhea tilted her head back just enough to see Ling's face. "You always retreat when I act ugly," she whispered accusingly. "I don't need space then. I need you to be stubborn."
Ling exhaled through her nose, a controlled breath. "You don't make it easy."
Rhea smiled faintly, tears still falling. "I know. I'm horrible."
She went quiet for a second, then suddenly frowned, like she remembered something important.
"Oh," she said, brows knitting. "He saw me. When I was leaving."
Ling's body went still.
"Who," Ling asked calmly.
Rhea scoffed. "Roin. He saw me coming out of the mansion in the dress. Took pictures like a creep."
Ling's jaw tightened so hard it ached.
"He texted me," Rhea continued, voice wobbling between anger and pride. "Tried to scare me. Said he'd tell my mom. Said things like I should be careful who I ruin myself for."
Her fingers curled into Ling's shirt again. "I shut him up."
Ling looked down sharply. "How."
Rhea lifted her chin, a drunk, crooked grin appearing through tears. "I told him to go to hell. I told him I'm not his. I told him if he ever threatens me again, I'll destroy him myself."
Ling's grip tightened instinctively, arm locking around Rhea's ribs.
"And you didn't tell me," Ling said quietly.
Rhea shrugged weakly. "Didn't wanna look weak."
Ling leaned down, her forehead touching Rhea's, voice low, dangerous, but controlled.
"You don't get threatened and keep it to yourself," Ling said. "Not anymore."
Rhea pouted faintly, like a child being scolded. "See? That's the tone. That's what I miss."
Ling paused.
Then she spoke slowly, deliberately every word chosen.
"My role," Ling said, "is not to beg when you push me away."
Rhea's eyes fluttered, listening.
"My role," Ling continued, "is to come back anyway. To read past your mouth. To stay when you're unbearable. To correct you when you lie to yourself."
Rhea swallowed.
"And when you fight back," Ling added, voice dropping lower, darker, "my role is to stand between you and anyone who thinks they can scare you."
Rhea's eyes filled again, this time with something softer.
"So you'll fight too?" she whispered.
Ling didn't smile.
"I never stopped," she said.
Rhea laughed weakly, then suddenly buried her face into Ling's chest again, crying harder.
"I hate how much I need you," she confessed. "I hate that even when I'm angry, I still want you to come get me."
Ling's hand slid up to cradle the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair firmly.
"Then stop pretending you don't," Ling said quietly. "And stop testing whether I'll disappear."
Rhea's sobs slowed gradually.
"If I deny you tomorrow… don't believe me."
Ling held her tighter, eyes fixed on her face.
"I won't," she said.
"Because tonight told me everything."
Rhea's tears finally slowed, turning into quiet sniffles. Her breathing evened out, heavy with exhaustion but her hands didn't rest.
They wandered.
Ling noticed it when thin fingers slipped into her hair, slow and curious, twirling a strand like it was a toy. Rhea hummed softly, amused by the texture.
"Hm," Rhea murmured, half-asleep. "Still soft."
Ling glanced down at her, one eyebrow lifting slightly, but she didn't stop her.
Rhea's fingers drifted next down to Ling's wrist. She fiddled with the cufflinks, turning them clumsily, trying to open one and failing.
"Why are these so complicated," Rhea complained softly, pouting. "You rich people make everything difficult on purpose."
Ling let out a quiet breath that was almost a laugh.
Before she could respond, Rhea's hand slid up again, finding the chain at Ling's neck. She tugged it gently, examining it with intense focus, like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.
"You still wear this," Rhea said, surprised. "I thought you stopped."
Ling froze for half a second. "I didn't."
Rhea smiled lazily, pleased, then tapped Ling's chest once with her finger.
"Good," she said. "Means you're stubborn."
Ling finally shook her head, a faint smile breaking through despite herself.
So childish, she thought.
So unguarded.
This wasn't the sharp-tongued Rhea who argued, who walked away, who pretended she didn't care. This was the Rhea who played with buttons, chains, hair — who teased without realizing it, who sought comfort without pride getting in the way.
Rhea suddenly squinted at Ling, studying her face closely.
"Why do you look so serious," she asked, poking Ling's cheek lightly. "You won. I'm here."
Ling caught her hand gently before it could poke again, holding it still against her palm.
"I'm not trying to win," Ling said quietly.
Rhea frowned, thinking hard, then shrugged. "You always say serious things when I'm drunk."
Ling's thumb brushed over Rhea's knuckles, grounding her.
"And you always turn into a kid," Ling replied. "You forget how to protect yourself."
Rhea smiled faintly. "That's why I need you then."
The words were soft. Honest. Unfiltered.
Ling's expression softened completely this time. She adjusted Rhea slightly, making sure her head rested comfortably against her shoulder.
"Sleep," Ling murmured. "You've said enough truths for one night."
Rhea yawned, still holding onto Ling's chain loosely, like an anchor.
"Don't cut your hair," she said sleepily. "I like playing with it."
Ling exhaled quietly, eyes closing for a moment.
"I won't," she said.
Ling stayed, holding her watching the rise and fall of her chest realizing something with absolute clarity:
This version of Rhea…
She only ever existed when she felt safe.
Rhea laughed a soft, broken sound that didn't match the tears still clinging to her lashes. She lifted her head with effort, palms pressing clumsily against Ling's chest for balance.
Ling barely had time to react.
Rhea leaned in and kissed her.
Not neat. Not practiced.
A drunk, messy press of lips that lingered longer than it should have.
When she pulled back, her forehead rested against Ling's, breath warm, uneven.
"You're mine," Rhea said, voice low but absolute.
Then, as if correcting the universe itself, she added stubbornly,
"And I'm yours."
Ling let out a breath that turned into a quiet laugh despite herself. "You're drunk."