The three of them shared a ride back to the hotel. The interior of the car was dim, and neon lights streaked past the windows in waves, casting their faces in alternating light and shadow. Lin sat next to Yeh, keeping a comfortable distance. At first, she was still responding to Fiona, lately, maybe because alcohol began to take effect, her voice became soft and faint.
Yeh noticed how much Lin had drunk tonight. Before long, her voice trailed off. She tilted her head slightly and rested it naturally on Yeh's shoulder, as if her body had made the choice for her.
Lin's arm pressed against Yeh's, skin touching skin. The warmth wasn't just the faint heat of social proximity, it was distinct, constant, and undeniable.
Yeh's body stiffened instantly. She had always believed her feelings for Lin were "controllable"—something purely intellectual, built on resonance, understanding, and appreciation from a safe distance. She thought she could keep those emotions neatly contained.
But in this moment, she realized with startling clarity: she was wrong. For the first time, she felt a raw, physical attraction.
Yeh breathed in the faint scent of Lin's hair, greedily absorbing it, but rationality quickly reined in the impulse.
Her breathing became shallow, almost deliberately slowed, as if afraid that even the slightest movement would wake the other Lin. She didn't dare look down for long, only stealing glances from the corner of her eye. Lin's profile looked peaceful in the gloom, stripped of her usual sharpness, revealing only a vulnerable softness.
When the car pulled to a stop, the driver announced their arrival. The slight jolt stirred Lin. She didn't fully wake up, just furrowed her brows slightly. When she got out, her steps were unsteady, and her balance was wavering.
Yeh reached out immediately to steady her arm. In that moment, she knew clearly—she was the only one fully awake, and the only one who needed to stay awake.
They were on the same floor. The hallway was silent, the carpet absorbing every sound. Reaching Lin's door, Yeh swiped the key card for her.
The door opened to reveal a room lit only by a soft bedside lamp, the glow was gentle and forgiving.
Yeh held her hand, guiding her to the bed, moving with utmost care. The moment Lin touched the mattress, her eyes closed, and her breathing soon deepened into a steady rhythm, her body finally completely relaxed.
Yeh stood by the bedside, she did not leave immediately. She watched for a while—not intentionally, but simply unable to look away. There was something about that state of peace that made time stand still, like admiring something beautiful things that didn't belong to her.
Yeh quickly shifted her gaze, then realized something practical: sleeping with makeup on would be uncomfortable.
The thought came naturally, though it carried an excuse she didn't fully examine. Perhaps because of her earlier answer—"In real life, I don't like women"—the sentence now felt like a strange shield, making her she feel a fleeting sense of safety. As long as the words were said, she didn't need to overanalyze her actions. If Lin believed that, she wouldn't read anything into this. After all, this was just taking care of a good friend. Girls helping girls remove makeup—there was nothing unusual about that. It was just
being helpful.
She went to the bathroom, found makeup remover wipes, and returned, her movements resuming their usual disciplined control. She kneeled beside the bed, gently wiped away the makeup from Lin's face. Eyelashes, corners of the eyes, lips.
Her hands moved slowly and steadily, as if handling something fragile and precious.
Lin frowned slightly in her sleep, then relaxed again. The tiny reaction made Yeh pause for a second, before continuing.
She used a warm towel to finish up, ensuring everything was clean. The whole process was efficient, with no unnecessary lingering.
Lin was wearing a dress, the fabric rising and falling gently with her breath. Yeh glanced at her, then looked away sharply.
She knew exactly where the lines were drawn. Certain things, like changing clothes, were beyond her scope. She didn't need to use "care" as an excuse to cross boundaries that were already there.
When she was done, she stood up and turned off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness.
She paused at the door, listening to confirm that Lin was sound asleep, her breathing was even and undisturbed, before pulling the door shut gently.
As the door clicked closed, the light from the hallway spilled over her again.
Only then did she realize belatedly:
Everything that had just happened, no matter how she defined it or explained it away, was real.
This feeling was no longer something she could keep locked away inside her rational mind. It was more direct, more honest. It wasn't imagination or projection. Her body had known before her words ever could.
And she understood exactly what that meant:
Lin did attracted her—mind, body, and soul. And now... it was impossible to go back to how things were before.