After dinner, Fiona's sudden suggestion to hit a bar was all the excuse Yeh needed. Though she had spent the afternoon with Lin, the mere mention that Lin would be there sent her racing toward the venue. It was a betrayal of logic; a visceral, honest hunger for the person she loved that overrode every ounce of exhaustion.
The bar Fiona chose was an intimate, women-only sanctuary where soft light dissolved into the shadows and lyrical music drifted through the air like a slow-moving current. It was a place designed for letting one's guard down. Having been there once before, Yeh remembered how effortlessly Fiona had claimed the space—warm, open, and entirely at home. Tonight was no different; the moment they sat, Fiona was already sparking conversations with the neighboring table, her vibrant energy pulling the room together. Yeh and Lin sat on either side of her, the distance between them perfectly calibrated—not too far, yet not quite close enough.
When the cocktails arrived, their translucent hues glowing faintly under the dim lamps, Yeh didn't decline. Usually a stranger to drink, she felt a sudden urge to loosen the rigid gears of her self-control, curious to see if a little alcohol might shift the tectonic plates of her suppressed emotions. As the glass emptied, a gentle haze settled over her. She remained lucid, but the sharp edges of her boundaries began to blur.
Fiona, her tongue loosened by the spirits, leaned toward Yeh with a teasing glint in her eyes. "So, who's caught your eye? Tell me, and I'll bring them over."
Yeh froze for a second, instinctively glancing at Lin before adding, almost reflexively, "She's had a bit too much. She doesn't usually say things like that to me." It sounded like she was explaining Fiona away, but also like she was drawing a line in advance.
Fiona shot back immediately, blunt as ever. "I'm not drunk. I'm saying you should open yourself up."
Perhaps it was the gin, or perhaps a sudden, defiant curiosity to see what lay beyond her usual restraint, but Yeh let her eyes wander the room. Not far away stood a girl with her hair half-pinned back, her features sharp and cool, possessing an aura that was poised without being aloof.
Yeh lifted her hand and pointed lightly, her tone deliberately casual. "That one… she kind of looks like a friend of mine."
Yeh thought the comment would stay where it was—half a joke, nothing more. But Fiona was already on her feet. She walked over, said a few words. The woman looked up, followed Fiona's line of sight, her gaze resting on Yeh for a brief second before she smiled and nodded.
A moment later, she was standing at their table. "Hi everyone, I'm Chris."
Chris was natural, her presence devoid of heavy-handed flirtation or tentative testing. After the introductions, the conversation flowed with a practiced ease. Chris was the perfect guest—engaged but not overbearing, responding to the rhythm of the group with a well-timed laugh or a thoughtful nod.
To her own surprise, Yeh found herself becoming uncharacteristically talkative. She knew exactly where this newfound confidence came from: in front of someone "unimportant," there was no need for defense, no meticulous calculation of borders. She even leaned into the performance, playing the part of the open socialite to validate her own public claim—that she "didn't actually like women in real life." To an outsider, it was just lighthearted socializing; to Yeh, it was a calculated experiment.
Chris drifted closer, her elbow occasionally brushing Yeh's arm. The contact was light, a natural extension of their rapport rather than an invasion. Yeh didn't pull away. Instead, she mirrored the energy, meeting Chris's eyes with a warmth that felt choreographed.
All the while, Yeh was acutely aware of Lin—not through direct sight, but through a silent, heavy gravity that anchored her entire being.
Had Lin not been there, Yeh might have truly been drawn to Chris—not for her looks, but for that slow, contemplative poise. Yet now, every smile she gave Chris felt tethered to the quiet observer beside her.
The four of them stayed until two in the morning. Yeh had only two drinks; her emotions felt slightly amplified, but her mind remained clear.
They dropped Fiona off first. The night breeze cut through, slowly carrying the haze of alcohol away.
Lin had been planning to take a cab back to her hotel.
Yeh spoke before she could. "I'll be your company back."
Her tone was natural, leaving no room for refusal.
The taxi was a vacuum of silence, save for the rhythmic strobe of streetlights flashing across the interior. When Lin leaned over, the movement was so fluid it felt accidental. Her head came to rest on Yeh's shoulder.
In that instant, memory and reality collided. It was Bangkok all over again—the same cramped backseat, the same unheralded proximity. Yeh's breath hitched, then slowed. She could smell the faint, clean scent of Lin's hair—a fragrance so subtle yet so pervasive it was impossible to ignore. She had told herself she could control this, but her body betrayed her. She didn't pull away; she didn't even stiffen.
After a heartbeat of hesitation, Yeh leaned her head back against Lin's, a silent, unacknowledged surrender to the gravity pulling them together.