Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sophia is dreading this day.

She’s not one to complain much, but she’s always loved routine, the quiet certainty of knowing what comes next and moving to another country wasn’t part of that plan.

A lot is about to change, and she hates that.

Outside the car window, the world looks unfamiliar with gray skies hanging low, air feeling thinner and colder. She tugs at the sleeve of her purple sweater, the knit a small comfort against the chill. At least I won’t be sweating all the time here, she thinks, trying to find humor in the small differences.

The drive is mostly silent except for her mom’s soft humming to a tune that drifts in and out of rhythm with the tapping of her fingers on the steering wheel. It’s such a familiar sight that Sophia can’t help but smile. At least that hasn’t changed.

“You know,” her mom says, tone light but knowing, “you could try joining a club, love. It’s a good way to meet people. Might help you settle in faster.”

Sophia hums in response, tilting her head toward the window. Her mom always knows how to say what she’s been avoiding. It does make sense. Back home, she’d always been part of something. Student council, school musicals, cooking club. She liked that feeling of belonging, of having a reason to show up.

The car slows to a stop in front of the school gates.

Her mom reaches over and taps her shoulder gently. “It’s going to be fine. I can feel it. This’ll be a great year for you.”

Sophia doesn’t trust herself to answer, so she just smiles, leans over for a quick hug, and slips out of the car. The air greets her like a cold breath and it’s not freezing, but enough to make her shiver.

Her mom honks once like a small goodbye before driving off. The silver sedan disappears down the street faster than she expects, leaving only the faint hum of engines and the murmur of other students heading inside. For a moment, Sophia just stands there, staring at where the car had been. The ache in her chest is small but steady because this just means she has to start accepting and living through what she has been dreading for months now.

A soft thud against her arm pulls Sophia out of her thoughts. Football slightly damp from the morning air rolls toward her feet and before she can react, someone lunges into view. Tall and broad-shouldered, nearly knocking into her as he catches it mid-bounce.

“Sorry about that!” His voice is light, easy, and when he straightens up, Sophia is met with a grin. All white teeth and one unfairly deep dimple. “Guess summer break got me slacking.”

He laughs, running a hand through his short curls before glancing back at his friend across the field, who’s laughing hysterically.

“Swear it wasn’t aimed at you,” he adds, a little sheepish now.

The ball is tucked securely under one arm. His jersey is white with red sleeves and it fits snug against his shoulders, sleeves stretched over muscles that probably know what a weight room looks like.

Sophia blinks. “It’s okay,” she says simply, forcing a polite smile before slipping past him toward the school entrance.

“Hey, she’s not into you!” his friend calls out, voice echoing through the open lot.

Sophia doesn’t turn around, though she can feel the warmth rising on her neck. Was that really an accident? Even if it wasn’t, she decides, it doesn’t matter. She didn’t move halfway across the world for this. She has a plan. Straight As, no drama, no distractions. Just a clean slate and a dimple with a pair of broad shoulders aren’t enough to make her forget that.

The hallway smells faintly of paint and Sophia notices how the lockers are colored a vibrant blue. So far, this sight doesn't look that much different compared to her school back home. The floors are a dull white made of fake marbled tiles and screeches can be heard as some boys play and chase each other with paper balls. There are numerous doors on both sides of the hallway which houses sizable classrooms, all mostly empty save for a few students tasked to decorate and stringing up banners for the start of the academic year.

Sophia continues to stride along, fixing her glasses as she tries to think which way she should head first until people started getting more chatty, mostly everyone is now looking at the same direction. She hears someone faintly say God, who can even look like that in the morning?' and she doesn't know why everyone's world seemed to stop but when she looks straight ahead, she sees her.

First thing Sophia noticed is how her hair flows behind her back and along her shoulders like the warm sunrays seeping through the windows, it was pretty hard to miss. Curly and appearing to bounce softly, Sophia wonders what it would feel like to run her fingers through it. There's just something about the way she carries herself and she can't blame everyone for stopping whatever it is they're doing just to look at her. Even Sophia stopped, now stands on the side since the girl's presence seems to call for the treatment in which only she can walk down the halls and everyone else should just look and gawk.

Sophia convinces herself she's only staring because everyone else is.

But then the girl's eyes meet hers.

It was very brief and the girl blinked, her eyes were like sunlight filtering through an amber glass. Very warm, very deep, and Sophia doesn't even know that there can be a color brown that could make her feel sucked in like that. The girl continued walking and when she turns to a corner Sophia finally breathes, doesn't even know she was holding it. Just like that, everyone including her seemed to wake up from a seemingly mass induced trance.

What was that?

It’s not like she hasn’t noticed pretty girls before. She has eyes. She’s human.

But this? This felt different. Her chest feels strangely tight, like the air is too thin, and she can’t quite name why. She knows she's overreacting but it has been several minutes and Sophia's still replaying everything in her head.

She continued to walk through the halls, her pace slow and aimless, until someone stood directly in front of her making her stop on her tracks. She gives the person a once-over.

Sophia first noticed the pink dye framing her face and she almost wants to wave a hand in case she's being recruited for the art club. A bright smile plastered on this girl's face with her arms lent out to present an advertisement paper. Absolutely zero sense of boundaries as she moves even more forward.

“Hey, new girl! You look like someone who appreciates meaningful human connections.”

"What?" Sophia blinks.

What the girl said made Sophia's jaw slack.

How did she read her mind?

It's not like she's in a rush to socialize and find someone to hang out with not even an hour into her first day but she thinks her mom probably manifested this hard so she's left with this girl still standing in front of her.

The girl grins wider, as if she’s been waiting for this question all her life.

“I’m Megan, president and founder of The Lonely Hearts Club— a wholesome, definitely-not-desperate organization dedicated to helping students make friends and form deep, life-changing bonds!”

Sophia squints, not believing everything she's hearing. "You mean... a dating club?"

Megan gasps, hand over heart. This makes Sophia roll her eyes internally. Megan's very weird but she's also very amusing and Sophia just didn't have it in her to find a single bad bone to wave her off.

“Absolutely not! It’s about friendship. And emotional support. And, you know, maybe gently guiding two people toward true love if the vibes are right.” The girl wiggles her eyebrows playfully, a stupid smile plastered on her face.

“Right.” Sophia crosses her arms, suddenly in deep thoughts. “That sounds like drama. I'm trying to avoid it."

Everything that has to do with romance, and crushes, and 'finding true love' are a distraction. And more often than not it leads to drama. She just has to let Megan down slowly, Sophia thinks the other girl is not the one to hold grudges anyway.

“Drama?” Megan laughs. “We don’t do drama! We assist drama. Literally. Our club's other task is helping the theater club build props for their plays and musical.”

That makes Sophia pause. “Theater club?”

Megan leans in, sensing victory.

“Yep. Sets, backdrops, costumes, y'know, the works. They need extra hands, and I thought, ‘Hey, maybe the new girl who’s totally ignoring me right now might be into that.’”

Sophia tries not to smile. She can't help but consider that she has always wanted to work backstage and assist with props whenever she isn't the lead actress on the local plays back home. But that never ever happens.

“You’re very persistent.” Sophia says and she saw the change of glint in Megan's eyes.

“Thank you! It’s my tragic flaw.” Megan offers the advertisement paper and the clipboard, her eyes look less eager now but there's still a huge smile on her face. “So… what do you say? Help out the theater club, maybe make a few friends, and definitely not get roped into any chaotic love schemes?”

Sophia sighs, but takes the pen. “I’ll regret this, won’t I?”

“Only emotionally,” Megan says cheerfully. “Welcome to The Lonely Hearts Club.”

Sophia shrugs and offers a smile of her own. It's not like she'll get roped into any love schemes. Definitely not.

Sophia's on her way to the library to look for a place to waste her time after figuring out that there won't be classes for the first few days of the week.

Welcoming parties, orientations, and all that.

Now she's stressing over how to spend the next three hours without anyone to hangout with. She can't skip school, it's just not her style, and she knows her mom won't stop pestering her about it if she even decides to do it. She sucked it up and made a bee line to where the library might be.

She was busy looking at an incomprehensible school map when she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket.

Club meeting before dismissal! Attendance is required. ;)

- Megan

Yep. She forgot Megan asked for her number when she decided to sign her death wish the moment the other girl ambushed her on her first day. Sophia lets out a quiet sigh before heading to the room number Megan swiftly provided soon after.

Megan doesn’t mean to start a cult. That’s what Sophia calls it, anyway.

“A club, Megan. Not a one-woman show.”

The words ring in Megan’s head as she looks across the room — well, their room now. It smells faintly of paint thinner and cheap air freshener, the kind that tries to mask failure with citrus. Posters from last semester’s forgotten clubs still litter the bulletin board: Chess Enthusiasts, Film Critics United, Green Society (disbanded after two weeks).
And now there’s this. The “Lonely Hearts Club,” aka Megan’s latest attempt at structured chaos.

Sophia’s standing by the window, arms crossed, unimpressed. Sunlight hits her cheekbones in a way that would make a lesser person self-conscious, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

“Well, you didn’t tell me you’re this club’s only member.” Her eyebrow arches as she scratches at the corner of a desk. There’s tape residue stuck to it and she picks at it, mildly irritated.

Megan bites her lip and she looks at Sophia sheepishly. “Don’t you like it..? You said you wanted something not demanding so it won’t distract you, y’know? This is the perfect club for you.”

Megan quickly diverts her gaze away when she sees Sophia's frown deepen, trying to pretend she's busy sizing up the room again even if she has been doing that for the last fifteen minutes.

Sophia lets out a dry laugh. “You mean the delusional club for me.”

Megan’s grin doesn’t falter even though she swallowed thickly, “Hey, be positive... If our club becomes a hit, you can call yourself one of the founding members. That gives you bragging rights.”

“I don’t think anyone should brag about being a loner.”

That makes Megan pause, only for a moment, before she snaps her fingers. “Correction: a duo. That’s romantic, right? We’re basically the Batman and Robin of club management.”

Sophia lightly groans but she can't admit that Megan's good at convincing. And being weirdly entertaining. She's funny and definitely a good company. There are more reasons for her to quit and none at all to stay and still, she finds herself stuck in this club, with just herself and this silly other member.

“You’re unbearable.”

“Yet you’re still here.”

Touché.

By lunchtime, Megan’s convinced herself she’s saved the club. A satisfied smile adorning her face as she grabs the milk and sandwich from the lunch lady, shielding her tray away when she gets offered some veggies. Sophia didn’t officially agree to stay, but she didn’t walk out either. Which, in Megan’s book, counts as a victory.

They sit across from each other in the cafeteria, trays between them. Sophia’s eating like someone trying to preserve dignity while Megan’s halfway through her meal, talking with her mouth full.

“So,” Megan says, “I told the theater club we’d help them with props for their upcoming musical. First gig tomorrow! Yay!”

“You… already volunteered us?” Sophia blinks. She tries so hard to chew through the sandwich that tastes more like a block than food and internally curses when she sees there's another half left on her tray.

“Yeah! Well, me. But you’re my vice president, so it’s, like, a package deal, y'know."

“Vice president of a two-person club,” Sophia mutters. She just can't let it go. She saw Megan choke on her milk then swiftly drums a fist over her chest loudly, earning them looks from the people around them.

“Still sounds better on paper.” Megan shrugs soon after, eyeing Sophia's sandwich half. The latter moves her hand as if to signal go and Megan doesn't even wait for a second to grab it and stuff it in her mouth.

Before Sophia can retort in disgust, a wave of murmurs ripples through the cafeteria. Megan doesn’t even bother to look. She already knows who just walked in.

Daniela Avanzini.

Perfect hair. Perfect posture. That same glint on her eyes that manages to make everyone else in the room fade into background noise. Sophia notes how she looks different today, that's when she notices the other girl's hair is now dyed dark brown. Same bounce, same effect, but Sophia's heart skipped a beat longer.

Daniela has it tied into a half ponytail, a few strands adorning her face. Sophia can tell she took the extra time to style it that way this morning. She doesn't know why she's even calculating Daniela's pamper routine but she can't help but notice that even if Daniela didn't put anything on her lips today, they still look too plump and delicate to touch.

Megan catches Sophia staring for a beat longer and smirks. “New girl crushing on Daniela Avanzini, huh?”

Sophia doesn’t even flinch but her ears perked up when she finally got a name for the familiar face. “What?” She asks, feigning innocence.

“I mean, yeah, she's pretty but she's not my type." Megan blurts out as she dusts her hand over the tray and forces a burp.

She gives a quick peek to where Daniela is, the girl taking her sweet time on the line and Megan isn't even surprised when she sees a fruit cup on Daniela's tray. Psh, special treatment.

“I’m not into girls."

Megan's head immediately whips back to look at Sophia. "What?"

Sophia smiles, amused, at how Megan seems to look so shocked. The other girl moves over the table, makes a show with her eyes shrinking and Sophia laughs shoving the girl's face away.

"I don't have a crush on her."

"You don't sound believable at all."

Sophia then cuts her off with a sharp look. Megan bites back a laugh, but the teasing glint in her eyes says she’s not done.

The next day, they’re in the theater club’s room, the smell of paint and sawdust thick in the air. Megan's vibrating. Sophia just watches her, eyes judging.

Who can blame her?

This is her chance to introduce herself and finally swoop Jeong Yoonchae off her feet.

She has no plan how to or has prepared anything to say but she likes to believe in divine timing and incredibly hard manifesting. Club formed, gig secured, perhaps a date next?

She spots the girl a few feet away and Megan isn't overreacting when she feels her heart stop. She rolls up her sleeves and immediately volunteers for everything that puts her near Yoonchae who’s currently holding a clipboard like it’s a weapon.

The girl is busy, as well as everyone else in the room and Megan's plotting ways on how to approach her for the first time. She doesn't realize that she is now standing on the moon.

Literally. Or, well, on a cardboard cutout of it. And judging by the horrified look on Yoonchae's face when she catches the girl, she’s pretty sure this is not part of the approved floor plan.

“...You’re standing on the backdrop,” the girl says flatly.

This is the first time the other girl has ever acknowledged her and she already blew it up. Retreat! Retreat!

“Oh my god,” Megan blurts, scrambling back. “Yeah—no—that’s on purpose. For, uh… artistic elevation. Perspective.”

The girl just blinks. “You’re crushing the paper moon.”

Megan looks down. The edge of her sneaker is pressed right into the now lopsided crescent. “Oh my god..."

There’s a brief moment of silence, broken only by the sound of her shoe squeaking against the floor as she steps away from the scene of the crime. She narrowly misses a paint bucket, catches herself on a folding chair, and decides she’s had enough near-death experiences for one day.

Megan decides she already embarrassed herself enough, she might as well go for it and introduce herself. The other girl hasn't verbally said her distress and she looks at Megan blankly, her lips curved smoothly.

“So,” Megan says, clearing her throat. She side steps over different scattered props and stands stiffly by the other girl. “Hi! I’m Megan. From the—uh—Lonely Hearts Club. We’re here to help with props today.”

Yoonchae regards her with a nod until she stops sorting through the brushes and asks, “Lonely Hearts?”

Megan then panics. Her palms are sweating like crazy because she keeps blowing things up and she tries her best to swipe it over her large sweater. “Not like lonely lonely. It’s, um, metaphorical loneliness. Emotional… togetherness. Spiritually communal. With crafts. And—uh—tape.”

The girl’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s the faintest flicker of amusement in her eyes. “So… a crafting club.”

“Exactly!” Megan says, way too fast. “But with feelings.”

The girl hums, a tiny, thoughtful sound that somehow makes Megan want to jump out the nearest window, and turns back to her project, cutting golden stars out of construction paper.

“The glue sticks are over there,” Yoonchae says, without looking up. “Try not to step on Saturn this time.”

“Totally,” Megan says, pretending to act cool while nearly tripping over Jupiter. “Saturn’s safe with me. I’m, like, emotionally responsible now.”

There’s a pause. The kind that feels too long but not uncomfortable. It's just quiet enough to make her hyperaware of how loud her own heartbeat is.

“You have paint on your face,” The girl says finally.

Megan freezes. “Oh. Where?”

Yoonchae looks up, and before Megan can even register what’s happening, she reaches out, just casually and effortlessly, and wipes a streak of white off Megan’s cheek with her thumb.

“There." She says simply.

And that’s it. Just a word. Just a touch.

But Megan swears her brain short-circuits. Her lungs forget how to breathe. Her entire soul blue-screens.

“Cool,” She manages after three agonizing seconds. “Awesome. Love that for me. I mean—for the moon. Love that for the moon.”

The girl tilts her head, lips curling into something almost like a smile. Small, knowing, just enough to send Megan into gay cardiac arrest.

And that’s how Megan learns two things that day: Yoonchae from the theater club has very nice hands and the moon is overrated.

Sophia watches as Megan’s enthusiasm turns into mild chaos and finally into gay panic. The latter is now helping paint a backdrop, splattering blue where there should be white, humming too loud and laughing too much at whatever the other club members say.

“Hand me that brush?” Megan chirps without looking up.

Sophia passes it to her, their fingers brush, and that made Megan look up.

"So that's what this is about, huh?" Sophia now says knowingly, her smile is big and teasing as she adjusts the frames of her glasses.

Instantly, Megan's face reddened. She quickly shushed Sophia and looks around to see if anyone saw their little exchange.

She's overreacting and that's how she'll get caught. Sophia thought and hums softly. “You’re insufferable.”

“But talented,” Megan shoots back, dipping her brush into paint again and giddily points at what she's working on.

Sophia rolls her eyes, but there’s a faint smile tugging at her lips. She was halfway through cleaning the palettes when someone at the door cleared their throat.

Everyone turned.

Standing there was Daniela, framed by the hallway light, her shoulder bag slung carelessly over her petite frame like she already belonged there. Her hair is tied up in a bun today, Sophia noticed, and she's wearing Bayonetta glasses.

It could just be a fashion choice.

Yoonchae blinked and stopped what she was doing. “Oh. You’re the one who asked about joining yesterday, right?”

Daniela nodded, smiling easily. "Yeah. Thought I’d give it a try. Seems fun.”

Sophia’s heart did something traitorous.
Because of course she would join this club.

She notices Megan giggling beside her, then the girl whispered under her breath. “Uh-oh. I see where this is going.”

Sophia didn’t answer. She was too busy pretending not to care. Her hands were steady, her expression blank, but inside, there was that same strange pull again, like a thread winding tighter with every glance.

Daniela walked further in, scanning the room until her gaze caught Sophia’s.

She smiled.

Chapter Text

The room hums with background chatter, brushes clattering, paint lids snapping shut, someone’s bad playlist bleeding through a speaker. Sophia won't be surprised if it's Megan's plugged to the aux.

Sophia tries very hard to focus working on the set piece in front of her, but her eyes keep drifting.

Or rather to her.

Daniela Avanzini. Sitting a few tables away, hair pulled back messily like she just rolled out of a daydream, wisps framing her face. A chain rests at her collarbone, a cross pendant swaying when she moved. Her tank top was dark, worn soft, clinging just enough to hint at the curve of her shoulders. Classic ‘95, the faded print read, like she’d plucked it straight out of someone else’s memory and made it hers. The hem stopped shy of her ribs, revealing a strip of skin that caught the light every time she shifted.

There was something careless about her, the way she leaned against the counter with that lazy half-smile. She looked like trouble disguised as nostalgia, warm tones and sharp edges, the kind of girl people wrote songs about without ever admitting why. Sophia wonders still if her curls feel as soft as they look.

She doesn’t mean to stare. It just happens, like breathing.

It's nothing new as she has often seen and heard about Daniela before, even if she's only two weeks into this semester — in the hallways, from rumors, or in the way people orbit around her. But up close, she’s not what Sophia expected. Quieter. Almost thoughtful, or it might just be the way she makes any person feel seen. After all, an ounce of attention coming from Daniela would make anyone feel like they just won the world.

And then Daniela looks up.

Caught.

Her gaze lands right on Sophia’s, and there’s a flicker of recognition. Not the polite kind, but the kind that lingers.

Sophia was rash to focus back on the set piece she was fixing, feeling hot all of a sudden. A quick glance to the side of the room would let her know the air-conditioning is set on max and is working perfectly fine. A faint bristle makes it way to her ears, not even loud enough over the chatter noises and a random Wicked soundtrack playing, but she picks it up as a figure moves from her peripheral vision. Someone plops down on the empty seat close to her, it slides and makes a squeak.

“You were staring,” Daniela says, her tone light, but not teasing.

Sophia’s throat goes dry. “I wasn’t.”

This is their actual first interaction, and Sophia just wants to get swallowed up by the floor right now for coming across as some creep. She just thinks the other girl's very pretty, that's all. Never mind the way her heart always stutters abnormally when the other girl is around.

“You were.” There's a beat, and the girl's tone is commanding, like she has already decided that it's true and Sophia denying it doesn't matter. Well, it is true. “It’s okay. I get that a lot.”

That last line should sound arrogant, but it doesn’t. It’s said like a statement of fact, like someone who’s long stopped being surprised by attention.

Sophia fumbles for a response, ends up saying the worst possible thing.

“You must be tired then.”

She facepalms internally and almost wishes the ground would swallow her whole. Small talk and casual conversations are usually pretty easy for her to handle, and now she doesn't even know why she would say that — it's trying to dig deep, and she reminds herself that this is the first time they have ever conversed.

Daniela, despite Sophia's unknown internal monologue, tilts her head, almost amused. “Of what?” She asked, her voice sounded sweet and almost practiced.

“Of people staring.” Sophia finishes. There's no way to beat around the bush. She just wanted to state her point across.

There’s a pause. And for a second, Sophia thinks she said something stupid. But Daniela only leans back in her chair, eyes tracing Sophia like she’s trying to memorize her shape.

“Maybe,” Daniela says, the glint on her eyes unreadable. “But not right now.”

Sophia doesn’t know what to do with that. Her stomach flips. She pretends to busy herself with the paint jar, heart knocking against her ribs.

When she looks back up, Daniela’s already turned away but there’s the faintest smile at the corner of her mouth.

The silence that followed their exchange felt heavier than it should. Sophia could still feel Daniela’s gaze somewhere on her skin, even though she wasn’t looking anymore. It made her fingers clumsy causing paint to streak too far, her brush dragging through wet color she was trying not to ruin.

Megan noticed, of course. Because she just has to turn the exact moment she sees her friend all flustered and making a mistake.

“Hey, you good? You look like you just saw God or somethin’."

Sophia scowled, wiping a smear of paint off her hand. “No. Just...concentrating.” She then adjusts her glasses, a habit she does when she gets nervous.

Megan leaned sideways, her face now landing dangerously close next to the other girl, following Sophia’s line of sight like a detective sniffing out gossip.

“Concentrating on Daniela Avanzini?” Megan whispers, and Sophia doesn't even turn to see the annoying look on Megan's face.

Sophia's just glad the girl whose name was mentioned has now stood up to deliver her finished sun painting to the other side of the room, hips and loose curls swaying as her metal belt jingles.

Her face warmed instantly and she took off her sweater all of a sudden.

Why the hell is it so hot in here?

“Shut up.”

“You were staring! Oh my god, you like her—”

“Megan.”

Just her name. Firm. A warning.

Megan put her hands up in mock surrender but grinned like a cat with a secret. Her whisker dimples showing.

"Fine, fine. I’ll shut up. But if you’re gonna pine, at least don’t ruin the set while you’re at it." Megan looks around before turning down to speak in a hushed tone. "Yoonchae's not in the mood..."

Sophia lightly groaned and went back to painting, determined to focus on anything else. The rest of the session passed in slow motion — the scrape of brushes, Yoonchae’s soft voice giving directions, Megan tripping over cables just to be near her. The usual chaos.

By week three, Megan had somehow become the theater club’s unofficial handyman. Not because she was good at it — God no — but because Yoonchae was there.

Every time someone mentioned props day, Megan’s hand shot up like muscle memory.

Hot glue burns? Worth it. Paint fumes? Worth it. Getting to stand next to Yoonchae while pretending she knew what she was doing? Absolutely worth it.

The others noticed, of course. Sophia gave her that look. Half pity, half amusement.

“You literally learned how to use a glue gun for her.” Sophia said one afternoon, eyes deadpan over her sandwich. “That’s dedication or insanity. Maybe both.”

Megan groaned into her lunch tray. “I’m just helping.”

“Helping your chances, maybe.”

Sophia’s grin was wicked, and Megan threw a napkin at her. She missed, obviously. Because of course she did.

The next day, Yoonchae was crouched over the stage backdrop, fixing the crooked corner of a paper sun that Megan had glued the wrong way up. She didn’t say anything, just peeled it off carefully and pressed it down again, perfectly aligned this time.

Megan stood there holding a paintbrush as she saw what the other girl did. “You didn’t have to—”

“You can return the favor next time.”

Yoonchae didn’t even look up when she said it. Just that quiet voice, that small smirk, the kind of smile that looked like a secret.

Megan’s reply gets caught in her throat. She's delusional enough to ask herself if this is the date she has been manifesting the moment she landed a gig here for props making and unpaid tarot reading.

“Next time,” Megan repeated, like a promise she didn’t mean to make out loud.

She stared at the fixed prop long after Yoonchae had moved on. It looks better now. Of course it did. Everything Yoonchae touched seemed to turn into something worth keeping.

They ended up at a coffee shop a few days later. Not on purpose. At least, that’s what Megan told herself.

The club needed more foam boards, the art store was closed, and somehow Yoonchae suggested they “just wait it out” over a drink.

Now Megan was sitting across from her, pretending to read the menu but all she does is secretly observe the girl in front of her. Yoonchae is swirling the rim of her drink, focused on the notes she has been fixing for almost half an hour now. The soft rays of the sun outside hit a part of her hair and Megan struggles not to blurt out "God, you're so pretty." out loud.

So she loves tea...Noted.

“You’ve been staring at that menu for ten minutes,” Yoonchae said, not looking up from her notes. “You planning to memorize it?”

Megan blinked, caught. “Just—making sure I pick something good.”

“It’s coffee, Megan." The girl says with a blank face, her accent thick when she lets the other girl's name off her tongue. "Not a life decision.”

“Depends on the coffee,” Megan muttered, earning a small, amused exhale from across the table.

Yoonchae finally looked up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Get the vanilla latte. It’s safe. Not too sweet.”

Megan felt her heart constricting for the hundredth time. She notes how that seems to be happening only when she's with Yoonchae. Well, duh, she's been crushing on this girl since seventh grade.

Yoonchae just picked a drink for her but she doesn't know why that made her want to lunge herself in front of a running truck.

“Safe, huh?” Megan offers despite there being obvious butterflies right now in her chest. She smiled, teasing. “You don’t strike me as a ‘safe’ type.”

Yoonchae arched an eyebrow. She shifts her attention completely to the flustered one in front of her.

“What type do I strike you as, then?”

Megan’s mouth went dry. “Uh—someone who knows what she’s doing?”

“Mm.” Yoonchae’s lips curved, just slightly. “Flattery before caffeine. Dangerous move.”

Megan laughed, trying to play it off, but her pulse betrayed her. She glanced down at Yoonchae’s notebook again. Little sketches in the margins, reminders written in perfect script. Even her corrections were tidy.

“You’re really organized,” Megan said, because silence felt too heavy.

“I have to be,” Yoonchae replied simply. “Props don’t build themselves.”

“Still. I’d mess up if I tried that.”

“You do mess up,” Yoonchae said, dry but not unkind. “That’s why I fix things.”

Megan blinked, caught between indignation and embarrassment. “Wow. Brutal.”

Yoonchae took a calm sip of her tea, eyes glinting. “Is that not your type?”

The words hung there. Playful, casual, but they hit harder than either of them expected.

Megan blinked. And she felt her world stop. “My—my what?”

“Your type.”

Megan laughed too loudly, too quickly. She waved off a hand, her face reddening all too suddenly. “I don’t— I don’t have one.”

“Everyone has one.” Yoonchae’s voice softened, a teasing lilt curling at the end. “You just don’t know yours yet.”

And before Megan could think of a single clever thing to say, Yoonchae moves closer from across the table, close enough that Megan could smell peppermint tea and something citrusy on her.

“Hold still,” Yoonchae said.

“For what?”

Yoonchae reached up and brushed something from Megan’s cheek — a streak of a lone lash, black and glittering faintly under the café's warm light. Her thumb lingered just a moment too long.

“There,” The girl said quietly, her eyes still focused on that part of Megan's cheek. “You’re good.”

Megan swallowed hard. “Right. Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

The night hums like static, low bass pulsing through the walls, chatter spilling into laughter. Someone’s bad remix of “Dancing Queen” bleeds through the speakers, and Sophia’s already regretting saying yes to coming.

She stands at the edge of the room, clutching a half-empty cup like it’s a lifeline, the smell of cheap liquor hangs heavy in the air.

This is so not her scene.

If she squints hard enough, she can almost make out Megan’s ponytail somewhere near the center of the crowd. Moving, bobbing, thriving in chaos. Sophia sighs. Of course Megan’s having the time of her life.

The weight of her boots made the freshly polished wooden floors creak as she makes her way over to the other girl that dragged her here.

Megan is a disaster. Spinning around with her arms up in the air, like that GIF of Carrie Bradshaw, her drink sloshing over from side to side. When Sophia gets closer, her face brightens up even more and she tries to sneak in a hug which Sophia just accepts, patting Megan's head.

“Oh, look at the stars!” Megan slurs, eyes glassy and wide. “Ursa Major… so beautiful!”

“Girl, we’re inside,” Sophia says flatly, catching up just in time to see Megan pointing dramatically at the ceiling. “Those are ceiling lights.”

Megan blinks, squints up again, and then nods solemnly. “Still… very bright. Cosmic vibes.”

Sophia presses her lips together to keep from laughing. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thanks, babe—wait, where’s Yoonchae?” Megan cranes her neck, scanning the crowd like she’s expecting the girl to materialize from thin air. Her balance wobbles; Sophia grabs her by the arm before she tips over.

“Probably anywhere but here,” Sophia mutters. “Which is where I should be, too.”

A yawn escapes from her lips and she manages to work out a stretch but the other girl immediately clings to her making her go slightly off balance.

“Don’t leaveee,” Megan pleads, voice going syrupy. “You’re my club buddy, my best friend, my—"

“You’re drunk.” Sophia cuts her off, a firm finger on the other girl's lips and Megan aggressively wiggles to get it off.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the room someone moves, weaving through the crowd until Megan turns, blinking like she’s seeing a mirage.

“Yoonchaeee!” Megan grins, her whole face lighting up. “You came!”

Yoonchae and Sophia briefly exchange glances and the former does a soft wave. Sophia nods and smiles and takes that as a cue to go now that the chaos is distracted.

“I did.” Yoonchae’s tone is even, but there’s a flicker of something gentler underneath. “You’re drunk. Already."

“I’m—" Megan raises one finger dramatically. “—hydrated!”

Yoonchae’s smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “With vodka.”

“It’s mostly water!” Megan insists, taking another sip. “You wanna try?”

A whiff of it makes way to the girl's nose — crinkling a bit in disgust but there's still that soft smile evident on her face. Yoonchae shakes her head, amused. She reaches forward, steadying the cup before it tips over as her fingers brush against Megan’s.

Brief, deliberate, electric.

“Careful, Megan,” she says quietly. “You’ll spill.”

Megan blinks, dizzy in more ways than one. But that seemed to make her sober up.

For four years she has been pining over this girl. Since seventh grade, the moment she first saw her in her art class, but she always seemed so unreachable. Jeong Yoonchae, theater club's princess, constant dean's lister, and the only one who can light so much warmth in Megan with just one single glance. She doesn't know how her stupid attempt of a club got her in this position but she won't even bother to complain.

“You’re… really pretty, you know that?”

Yoonchae freezes for a half second, then laughs softly like she doesn’t quite believe it, but doesn’t mind hearing it.

“Sure you don’t say that to everyone?” Yoonchae asks, something unreadable brewing in her eyes.

Megan couldn't stop herself from blurting those out even if she tried. The way the lights cast over the other girl makes her dizzy and she doesn't even blame the alcohol anymore.

“No,” Megan says, suddenly earnest. “Just you.”

It should be the vodka talking, but her heart stutters anyway.

There’s a mirror ball casting broken multi-colored light across the hazy room, Fine Young Cannibals' She Drives Me Crazy is playing in the background as sweaty bodies move off-rhythm in her peripheral vision. Sophia doesn't even know why she's still here, she was supposed to bounce before midnight but it's almost 1 AM.

The whole house is in chaos right now and everyone yelps in chorus when someone particularly special arrives, and she doesn't mind if it makes her ears ring and it smells like wet socks, grape juice, and cheap alcohol. Sophia turns her head and there at the door entrance is Daniela — hair a little messy with a guy's arm around her shoulders, already looking at her, a small smile formed on her soft lips. Her hand raises to do a little wave and she mouths hi.

Sophia's heart stutters and seizes in her chest.

She said hi.

Sophia waves back, feels like a fool instantly, and tears her gaze away, hiding her smile behind her red cup for a deep gulp of her drink.

A familiar voice snaps her back.

“Come on, Soph, dance with us!” Someone from the theater club shouts, pulling her toward the middle of the floor.

“No, thanks,” Sophia says quickly, wriggling free and making her way toward one of the couches instead. Her head’s spinning a little but it's not from alcohol, just the sheer noise of it all as well as the hurried thudding of her heart. She drops down beside a small group of other theater kids discussing musicals with the kind of passion usually reserved for religion.

Soon enough, she’s caught in a half-sober debate about Les Misérables versus Hadestown, nodding along while trying to ignore the fact that Megan has, yet again, completely vanished. Yoonchae's out of sight too.

Her fingers drum on the rim of her glass. I swear to God, Megan, she thinks, if you fall into a punch bowl, I’m leaving you there.

Soon enough, Sophia doesn't fight the urge to slip out the side door before the bass could swallow her whole. The night air was sharp, the kind that bit at her skin after too long inside, after too many people pressing in and laughing too loudly.

She sat on the low step, balancing her drink between her hands. The condensation had already dampened her palms.

Inside, the party was still going with the mirrorball lights spinning, a sea of voices overlapping in half-shouted conversations. She could still hear Megan somewhere in the crowd, probably dragging Yoonchae into another dance.

Sophia sighed, tilting her head back toward the sky.

Of course, the one night she agreed to go out, she’d end up here, alone with a watered-down drink and the distant hum of other people having fun.

“Didn’t think I’d find you hiding.”

Sophia turned.

Daniela was framed in the doorway, hair messy from the humidity inside, a faint sheen of sweat on her collarbone. The soft light behind her made her look like she didn’t belong to the chaos inside, or maybe that she’d made it bend to her somehow.

“I’m not hiding,” Sophia said briefly, she adjusts her glasses on cue and swallows thickly.

What is she doing here?

Daniela stepped closer, heels clicking softly against the wooden floorboards of the empty backyard balcony. “Sure you’re not.”

Sophia looked away, pretending to be absorbed in her drink. “Just needed air.”

And she really does. Everything inside makes her feel suffocated, not tight enough for her to really go but make her get a breather.

“From what? The people or the noise?”

“Both.”

Daniela hummed, as if that was an acceptable answer, and settled down beside her. The step was small; their knees almost brushed.

For a few moments, neither spoke. The muffled pulse of the music leaked through the wall, a steady heartbeat in the background.

Sophia risked a glance. Daniela's head was tipped back, eyes half-closed, her expression unreadable. The wind lifted a strand of her hair across her cheek.

“You don’t like parties?” She asked finally.

Sophia shrugged and really tried to consider saying no for a beat. She settles with a simple nod and says, “They’re… fine. Just not really my scene.”

Daniela turned to look at her, slow, deliberate. “You look like you’re trying very hard not to be seen.” She has her palms laying flat on the floor behind her, weight shifting slightly.

Sophia froze, unsure how to answer that. “I just—”

“You can relax, you know.” Daniela's voice was quiet, too close.

Just then, Daniela raises one palm to cup and shift Sophia's face, making the other girl focus at her. A warm and soft hand lingering on the latter's chin.

“You don’t have to keep your guard up with me.”

Sophia’s breath hitched, her heartbeat suddenly louder than the music. She looked at Daniela, really looked this time. The faint gloss on her lips, the same glint in her eyes that always shows something Sophia can't name.

“Y—You shouldn’t say things like that,” Sophia said finally, face warms when she hears herself stutter.

Daniela smiled — small, knowing. “Why not?” She takes her hand off the girl's chin as she reaches near her ear to fix her gold hoops.

“Nothing, it's just...”

Daniela tilted her head, the corner of her mouth twitching. “You always look like you’re analyzing something.”

She swiftly changes the topic and Sophia doesn't even notice how easily the other girl does that. Too easy, like she commands everything the way she wants things to flow.

“That’s because I am.” Sophia answers.

Their knees are brushing now and not a single one even bothers to acknowledge or stop it.

“Am I on the list?” The other girl asks with a casual head tilt, her eyes big and shining, all her attention set on Sophia. Like nothing else matters. Just her.

“You’d be a short essay.” Sophia tries a lame attempt of a joke with an awkward chuckle to lighten the tension — since she can't help but feel something unfamiliar brewing.

“Flattering. I thought I’d be a thesis.” Daniela smiled and her dimple showed. Calculated, and effective.

I didn't even know she has that...

Sophia feels very warm when the night chill was making her shiver just minutes ago she walked out from the chaos and loud rumbles inside. Taking off her jacket in an attempt to cool off, she lightly places it over Daniela's exposed legs. The other girl doesn't seem to mind, she just looked pleased, and for a moment, the air between them stilled. Heavy, charged, the kind of quiet that made Sophia’s throat tighten. Then someone called Daniela’s name from inside, laughter spilling out with the sound.

She stood, brushing off her skirt.

“Come back in when you’re ready,” Daniela said, her tone light again. “Or don’t. I’ll keep your jacket safe either way.”

And with that, she was gone. Leaving Sophia in the doorway’s soft glow, staring at the spot she’d stood in, pretending the night didn’t suddenly feel lonelier without her there.

Chapter Text

The past few weeks slipped by like pages turning too fast as colors, voices, and moments all blend together before Sophia could even hold onto them. Everything felt like a blur and it's loud, restless, and definitely not what she signed up for.

Straight As. Drama-free school year. She keeps repeating it to herself like a mantra, but the club keeps pulling her in, stealing more of her focus than she’d ever admit.

Worse, she’s starting to like it.

Screw you, Megan.

It’s been raining for days. The kind of steady downpour that seeps into everything, from her socks to her mood. Her mom’s been driving her to school all week, and today’s no exception.

Sophia sinks into the passenger seat, sweater sleeves tugged over her hands, palms hidden in her pockets. The hum of the wipers fills the quiet as the car glides through wet streets.

It’s a comfortable silence, the kind they both know how to keep.

“So,” her mom says after a moment, eyes still on the road, “how’s school been lately?”

Sophia glances out the window, watching raindrops chase each other down the glass. Of course her mom would ask that, she probably had the question waiting for weeks.

“It’s fine,” Sophia says automatically. “Busy.”

“Busy’s good,” her mom replies in that practiced, parental tone, the kind that’s meant to sound casual but lands a little too careful. “You still doing that… theater thing?”

Sophia nods. “Yeah. Megan’s club.”

Technically, that’s not the whole truth. The Lonely Hearts Club wasn’t exactly fully school-sanctioned — more like a two-member operation masquerading as a 'community project', with a side hustle of gluing fake stars for the theater’s backdrop. Her mom wouldn’t understand how she got roped into that. Or why she stayed.

So she settled for the safe answer.

“Oh, the one with the solar system and those cardboard trees?”

“Yeah,” Sophia says again, a small laugh escaping before she can stop it. “It’s… a lot of cardboard.”

Her mom smiles faintly, like she’s relieved to hear Sophia laugh about something.

The car turns, wipers squeaking against the windshield, a slow and steady metronome. Outside, the rain blurs neon from the shop signs. Red, blue, and gold. Colors bleeding into one another like wet paint.

Busy’s good.

She repeats it in her head, testing the weight of it. But it doesn’t sit right. 'Busy' feels like a cover story, a word she keeps using to explain things even she doesn’t understand. Because lately, her mind keeps looping through moments she shouldn’t be thinking about.

A smear of red lipstick on a paper cup.
Daniela's voice echoing off a hallway. Megan’s laugh as she argued with Yoonchae over prop glue.

Busy’s good. Sure.

Her mom starts humming along to the radio, an old song Sophia doesn’t recognize. The melody fills the silence where more questions might’ve gone.

By the time they reach the school gates, the rain has faded to a soft drizzle. Sophia thanks her mom, pulls her hood up, and steps out into the damp air. It smells like wet concrete and something else she can’t quite name.

Her phone buzzes the moment she steps onto the school grounds. Sophia glances down, already sensing trouble before she even unlocks the screen.

Emergency club meeting right now!!! Meet me in the club room in 10.
— Megan

Sophia exhales through her nose. Of course.

Now, here’s the thing: she actually came early on purpose today — to study, not to deal with whatever 'emergency' Megan had manifested this time. She had a test later, and all she wanted was a quiet hour in her favorite library corner with her notes, her coffee, and zero distractions.

Visual #1 of distraction: Megan’s text lighting up her phone like a warning siren.

Sophia pockets it without replying and heads straight for the library.

The air inside is cooler, quieter as the faint scent of old paper and something woody greets her, rows of shelves tower around her, and the muted hush settles over her shoulders like a blanket. Her favorite corner seat at the very back is miraculously free.

She smiles in small triumph, setting her bag down with the satisfaction of a soldier reaching safe ground. Textbooks open, pens aligned, focus engaged—

Something tall and impatient casts a shadow over her desk.

Sophia doesn’t even need to look up.

“I can’t believe you purposefully ignored my text!”

“Shhh!” someone hisses immediately.

Megan freezes mid-gesture as half the library turns to glare at her. Why are there so many people here already anyway? Her eyes go wide, and she bows — aggressively, repeatedly — whispering a frantic, “Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!”

Sophia presses her lips together, trying not to laugh as Megan slides into the seat beside her like a guilty child sneaking into church late.

“Serves you right.” Sophia mutters.

Megan leans in, still whispering too loudly. “Emergency means urgent, you know!”

Sophia flips a page of her notes with exaggerated calm. “Your emergencies usually involve glitter or gossip.”

Megan narrows her eyes, then pouts. “...You’re not wrong.” She tries to scoot closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’m being for real this time. Your president really, really needs your advice.”

Sophia looks up from her notes, unimpressed. “Does this advice involve actual school work, or emotional damage control again?”

Megan pouts, wide-eyed, all mock innocence. But there’s a flicker of real worry there, the kind that tugs at Sophia’s resolve. She sighs, glancing between her open notebook and Megan’s pleading face. She tells herself she’ll just finish this one paragraph first—

Then Megan slides something across the table, wrapped neatly in crisp white paper, like she’s making a deal in a spy movie.

Sophia raises an eyebrow. “Are you bribing me?”

“Think of it as persuasion,” Megan whispers, grinning.

Sophia unwraps it halfway and freezes. The smell hits first. Buttery, warm, and sweet. The stuffed croissant from the little bakery down the road, the one they always buy from when they stay late doing theater props. Her favorite.

Of course.

“Fine,” Sophia mutters, already gathering her notes.

Megan lights up instantly, like she just saved the world. “You’re the best.”

Sophia slides her pens back into her pouch, pretending to grumble. “This won't work next time.”

“Oh, but it will,” Megan says with a grin, hopping to her feet.

Sophia rolls her eyes but follows anyway, the faint buttery smell of the croissant lingering on her fingers as they head down the hall toward the club room.

The club room feels warmer than the library, but the windows are still lined with raindrops, each one catching the weak gray light outside. The drizzle hasn’t stopped, it just softened like the world decided to hum instead of pour.

Megan leans against the desk at the front, arms crossed, her usual grin replaced with a deep frown that’s almost comically serious. She looks like she’s about to announce the end of the world, or worse, another props emergency.

Sophia sits on one of the chairs, posture neat, expression polite but skeptical. She’s learned not to trust Megan’s 'emergency meetings'. The last one was about what font looked more 'romantic' for the club’s poster.

“So…” Sophia starts, tone dry, but Megan cuts her off immediately.

“It’s about Yoonchae.”

The words drop between them like a pebble in still water. Small, but enough to make ripples. Sophia blinks, waiting for whatever nonsense comes next.

Sophia shifts on her seat, her expression changes, “You called me out of the library for this?”

Megan throws her hands up, pacing like she’s about to defend a dissertation on heartbreak. “You don’t get it. This is serious, Soph. She’s acting different.”

Sophia folds her arms, already skeptical. “Different how? Like… not breathing fire for once?”

Megan ignores the jab, too lost in her own spiral. “No, like— she’s being nice. Not polite-nice, but soft-nice. She lingers. She—” Megan stops herself, frowning as if the words might betray her. “She brushed my hand. Twice.”

Sophia stares. “That’s it?”

Megan gapes. “That’s not it! There was eye contact. Like… prolonged.”

“Define prolonged.”

“Like… three seconds.”

Sophia pinches the bridge of her nose, fighting back a laugh. “You dragged me out here because a girl looked at you for three seconds?”

“Not just any girl,” Megan hisses, scandalized. “Yoonchae. The same Yoonchae who used to barely remember my name. The same Yoonchae who said I glued the moon backwards— and smiled while saying it!”

Sophia raises a brow. “Maybe she’s just… finally used to you being around?”

Megan glares. “Don’t you dare logic this. I’ve been crushing on her for four years, Soph. Four. You don’t just brush someone’s hand twice unless there’s meaning.”

Sophia tilts her head, pretending to think. “Maybe she’s just clumsy.”

“Clumsy? Yoonchae?” Megan scoffs. “She’s literally the human embodiment of grace. She probably folds her bedsheets with a ruler.”

Sophia lets out a small laugh, but Megan’s face remains serious, almost painfully so. Beneath the dramatics, there’s something raw. Hopeful. Afraid.

Sophia softens. “Okay. Let’s say she is flirting," she enunciated it which earned her a roll of eyes from Megan, "what do you want to do about it?”

Megan falters. “I don’t know. I mean… what if I’m wrong? What if I ruin it?”

Sophia studies her. The way Megan fidgets with her shirt buttons, the way she can’t quite meet her eyes. Megan always talks like she’s got the world figured out, but right now she looks like someone standing at the edge of something huge, terrified to take the next step.

“Then,” Sophia says gently, “you deal with it. Like a normal person. You laugh, move on, and pretend you didn’t Google ‘how to know if your crush likes you back’ last night.”

Megan gasps. “You saw my search history?”

Sophia smirks. “You left your laptop open.”

Megan groans, collapsing into the nearest chair. “I’m doomed.”

Sophia hides her smile, leaning back. “You’re not doomed. Just maybe don’t call another emergency meeting until someone actually confesses something.”

Megan glares, half-pouting. “Noted. But when she does confess, I’m making you my maid of honor.”

Sophia laughs softly. “Deal. Now can I go back to my test review?”

Megan waves her off dramatically. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you when I end up in a queer situationship spiral.”

Sophia pauses by the door, glancing back. “You’re already in one.”

She passed the test, of course she did.

When the final bell rings and the chatter swells like a tide, Sophia gathers her things quickly and slips out before the hallway bottlenecks. Her steps carry her straight toward the theater room, muscle memory at this point. The corridor hums with the usual after-school noises with lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, but even through all that, she catches a flash of familiar curls.

Daniela.

Her hair bounces under the harsh fluorescent lights, but even that doesn’t dull it. She’s standing by the lockers, talking to that guy — the guy from the party, the one who’d wrapped himself around her like he was afraid to lose his grip.

He’s frowning now, voice low but sharp enough for Sophia to catch fragments as she passes.

“We’re done.”

Sophia doesn’t mean to slow down, but she does. For a moment, she just looks. The way Daniela’s expression doesn’t shift much, just this calm, unreadable stillness and the guy’s still talking, gesturing like he’s trying so hard to make her react. She doesn’t.

Sophia looks away before anyone can notice she’s staring.

Her mind jumps ahead, spinning stories she has no right to tell. Maybe it’s easy for Daniela. People come, people go, like props for a scene she already rehearsed. Maybe that’s not fair to think. Probably not. But the thought forms anyway, quiet and sharp.

Because if there’s one thing Sophia’s certain of, it’s that Daniela feels dangerous but not in a bad way, just in the kind that makes you pay attention. The kind that makes you forget you’re supposed to be careful.

She tugs the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder and heads for the theater room, pretending her pulse hasn’t picked up for no good reason.

It’s not much different when she arrives at the theater club room. The same chatter is bouncing off the walls with a mediocre pop playlist humming from someone’s speaker. Cardboard sheets scattered across the floor like casualties of war and Megan’s already there, of course, following Yoonchae like a lost puppy.

Sophia watches them from a distance, still unsure why she even showed up after that so-called emergency meeting earlier. Then again, maybe she does know. A second batch of croissants and an iced coffee delivered to her library table had a way of convincing her.

“Just extremely grateful for you showing up, bestie.” Megan had said with a grin.

“Uh-huh,” Sophia replied, rolling her eyes, though she’d smiled anyway.

Now, watching the two of them work, she almost regrets not bringing a notebook. Yoonchae, for all her quiet confidence, acts noticeably softer around Megan. She doesn’t snap when Megan misaligns a prop piece or struggles with the glue gun for the fiftieth time. Instead, she just laughs. Not mockingly, but in that warm, patient way that makes it sound like she finds the whole thing endearing.

When Megan nearly trips over a tangle of wires, Yoonchae is instantly there, a steady hand on her shoulder, a small, reassuring smile.

Sophia notes all of it, catalogues every small exchange with the precision of someone who pretends not to care but definitely does.

Still, it’s not proof of anything. People can be kind. People can be soft. Yoonchae could simply be… nice. The world doesn’t have to be some slow-motion romance montage just because Megan’s been crushing on her since seventh grade.

Right. Platonic care. That’s all it is.

Sophia repeats it though her gaze lingers a moment longer than it should.

Soon after, Daniela walks in. The air changes.

It’s subtle at first, like the way a room hushes when someone important enters, or maybe like everyone’s pretending not to look. Conversations taper off mid-sentence, paintbrushes pause mid-stroke, and even the speaker’s bad playlist feels quieter somehow.

The theater club still isn’t used to having her around. And really, who would be? Daniela Avanzini — former cheer captain, resident it-girl, the kind of person who could make walking down a hallway feel like a cinematic event.

No one knows why she joined. The rumors say it’s a change of pace while some say community service. Others whisper she got bored of cheer. Whatever the reason, it doesn’t quite fit. She’s too polished for this room full of glue-stained hands and cardboard chaos.

Sophia tries not to stare but fails spectacularly. There’s something different about her today. It’s not just the perfectly rumpled hair or the faint gloss catching the light when she moves. It’s the look on her face. There's a small furrow in her brow, like she’s here but somewhere else entirely. Thinking. Or maybe feeling something she’d rather not show.

And somehow, that makes her even harder to look away from.

Sophia pretends to busy herself with a stray paintbrush, dipping it absentmindedly into a cup of murky water that’s already more gray than clear. But her eyes flick up, just once, just long enough to notice how Daniela stands a few feet away with her arms crossed, scanning the chaos like she’s still trying to decide whether she belongs here or not.

There’s something guarded about her posture. Her chin is tilted up, her expression unreadable, but her fingers fidget against her arm like she’s holding something back. Nerves, maybe? Or annoyance.

“Hey, Dani! Can you hand me the tape?” someone calls out, breaking the silence.

Daniela blinks, momentarily thrown off, before reaching for the roll of tape beside her. She hesitates, then tosses it with a small, almost shy smile that no one seems to catch. Except Sophia. It’s a quick, barely-there moment, but it softens her just enough to make her seem human, not the glossy rumor everyone’s made her out to be.

Sophia looks away quickly, pretending to wipe her hands on a rag. She doesn’t know why she’s so tuned in to Daniela’s small gestures, why her brain insists on noticing the slight crack in her perfect façade. Maybe it’s because it feels familiar. The quiet effort to seem okay.

Daniela, meanwhile, has started helping Yoonchae organize props on the floor, crouching down carefully to avoid smudging her jeans. She’s quieter than expected, listening more than she speaks. The others steal glances, probably waiting for her to complain about the mess, but she never does.

When she laughs—soft, unexpected—it’s like the air shifts again. Not in the heavy way it did when she entered, but lighter and easier like the room collectively exhales.

And Sophia, who swears she doesn’t care, finds herself smiling too.

Minutes pass before all the coffee Sophia’s had finally catches up with her. She stands, stretches her arms overhead, and gives a brief once-over to the fifth sun ornament she’s been painting. One of the perks of the theater club room, she thinks, is that it’s conveniently right next to the bathrooms.

She slips out quietly, her sneakers squeaking against the tiled floor, and makes a beeline for the restroom. The faint echo of chatter from the club room fades as she enters. She picks the nearest stall, locks it, and finally lets herself breathe as the noise outside dulls into a soft hum.

As she finishes up, Sophia hears the bathroom door swing open with a soft creak, followed by the faint clack of shoes against tile. The sound is sharp and deliberate, echoing slightly in the quiet space. She walks out of the stall and looks up, catches a glimpse of movement in the mirror with someone at the far end of the row, leaning against the sink, head bowed.

It takes her a second to recognize the curls.

Sophia leaned against the counter and sighed, rummaging through her small bag for the lip gloss she always kept, a soft rose shade that made her feel put-together. She dabbed the color on carefully, then pressed her lips together, trying to ignore the faint shaking in her hands.

Sophia tries hard to ignore it in the mirror but she can see the other girl moving. The other girl is now leaning lazily against the stall pillars, like she owned every room she walked into. The fluorescent light above flickered once, haloing her in a mix of warmth and static and her curls were looser now, framing her face in soft shadows.

“Escaping again?” Daniela asked, voice low, smooth.

Sophia blinked, startled. “Just… taking a break.”

Daniela hummed.

Sophia tried to focus on herself in the mirror instead but still sees the reflection of Daniela walking closer. The faint clink of her bracelet, the scent of her perfume (something vanilla, sweet, and faintly smoky, like the memory of a bonfire and burning marshmallows). It filled the small room until it felt like the air itself had her name on it.

Sophia opened her lip tint again, trying to look busy.

Daniela’s gaze flicked to her hands. “That the same color you always wear?”

Sophia hesitated. “Yeah. Why?”

Daniela didn’t answer right away. She just tilted her head, studying her reflection like it was a puzzle she intended to solve.

Then, softly, “Can I try it?”

Sophia’s breath hitched. “The lip tint?”

Daniela smiled, and there was something lazy, deliberate in it. “Mm. Yeah.”

Sophia handed it over without thinking, or maybe because thinking would’ve ruined the moment. Their fingers brushed, and Sophia swore her pulse skipped.

Daniela twisted the cap open, unscrewing it with a kind of casual grace. But instead of applying it on herself, she turned, close enough that Sophia could see the flecks of green in her brown eyes.

“Hold still,” Daniela murmured.

Sophia froze. “What are you—”

Before she could finish, Daniela reached out and touched her chin. Her thumb was gentle but firm, guiding her face up. The cold tip of the applicator brushed Sophia’s bottom lip, dragging color slowly and precise.

Sophia forgot how to breathe.

Daniela’s hand steadied her jaw as she finished the second lip, the silence between them stretching thin and dangerous. The only sounds were their breaths, and somewhere far off, the muffled echo of a bass drop.

“There,” Daniela whispered, pulling back slightly. Her voice had gone quiet. Softer than Sophia had ever heard it. “Perfect.”

Sophia blinked, dazed, the world narrowing to the warmth on her lips and the ghost of Daniela’s touch. She could still feel her pulse where the girl’s fingers had been.

“That’s… not how you apply tint,” Sophia managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Daniela smirked, uncapping the tube again, gaze flicking between Sophia’s mouth and her own reflection. “Maybe not. But it worked.”

Sophia didn’t know what to say to that and didn’t know how to deal with the heat crawling up her neck, the way her heart ached in the small, sharp way that comes right before falling. She turned back to the mirror, pretending to fix her hair, just to have something to do with her hands. Daniela stood behind her now, close enough that Sophia could feel her breath against her shoulder. The tension was electric.

“You missed a spot,” Daniela said suddenly, and before Sophia could react, she reached up and smoothed her thumb across the corner of Sophia’s mouth.

A simple gesture. A devastating one.

Sophia met her eyes in the mirror and for a moment, neither of them moved.

Then someone outside called out, laughter echoing through the hallway, shattering whatever quiet thing had just formed between them. Daniela dropped her hand, stepped back like nothing had happened.

“You coming?” she asked lightly, already halfway to the door.

Sophia nodded, but her voice didn’t work. Her reflection did the talking with flushed cheeks and a slightly smudged lip tint.

Daniela’s hand pushed the door open, her tone casual, teasing. “Try not to escape again.”

And then she was gone, leaving Sophia alone with the faint scent of vanilla and the red tint that didn’t quite look like her own anymore.

When she returns to the theater room, Sophia spots Daniela chatting with the set man, a bright smile curving her lips, her voice easy and practiced. She watches as Daniela’s hand grazes his arm, light and fleeting, and something inside Sophia tugs, sharp and unwelcome. It’s like nothing ever happened for the other girl, no trace of the quiet in the bathroom, no hint of the smudge Sophia swore she saw beneath her eyes.

She tries to tell herself it’s just how Daniela is. Charming and magnetic and just the rare kind of person who makes everyone feel special. But still, she can’t shake the thought. Why does it always feel different when it’s just the two of them?

Megan thinks hard about what Sophia said.

“Then,” Sophia says gently, “you deal with it. Like a normal person. You laugh, move on, and pretend you didn’t Google ‘how to know if your crush likes you back’ last night.”

Easy for Sophia to say.

So, Megan decides to do something about it which is not that something, but close enough. She’ll ask Yoonchae out. Not a date, obviously. Just… two friends hanging out. Which is casual and harmless. Totally normal.

Still, there’s a lot to consider. She can’t take Yoonchae to another coffee shop. That’s too on the nose, and she doesn’t want it to look like she’s trying to recreate that moment. A fancy dinner would scream 'date', and Megan would rather crawl under a prop table than make things awkward. The beach is too far, and she doesn’t even have a car, but then she remembers the amusement park.

Her cousin works there, owes her a favor, and it’s just one city over. Two free tickets, an excuse that doesn’t sound too suspicious, and a whole day where she can maybe, just maybe, figure out what this thing between them actually is.

It takes Megan two full days and one aggressively highlighted script to finally work up the nerve.

Yoonchae is sitting cross-legged on the floor of the club room, painting another set piece with the sunlight hitting her hair just right and Megan stands there holding her water bottle, trying so hard not to look like she’s been rehearsing this in her head for hours.

Okay. Deep breath. It’s just Yoonchae. Just your friend. Who you’ve liked for four years. No big deal.

She clears her throat. “Hey, so—uh—what’s your schedule like this weekend?”

Yoonchae doesn’t look up right away, still focused on the brush strokes. “Hmm?”

Megan hates how her voice wavers when she repeats, “This weekend. Are you busy?”

Finally, Yoonchae glances up. “Not really. Why?”

And that’s when Megan’s brain short-circuits. All the rehearsed lines, the casual 'there’s this cool place I wanted to check out', the perfectly timed laugh, the not-a-date energy all vanished completely.

“There’s this amusement park,” she blurts out. “My cousin works there and, um, gave me free tickets. I thought— I mean, you helped me with props and all, so I kinda owe you? And it’d be fun. If you want.”

Yoonchae blinks once, then twice. Megan wants the ground to swallow her whole.

“You’re asking me to go with you?”

“Only if you’re free!” Megan adds too quickly. “Like, totally fine if not! I can—uh—ask Sophia or something, it’s not a big deal—”

“I’d love to go.”

Megan stops mid-ramble. “What?”

Yoonchae smiles and it is small but so sure. “You owe me a favor, remember? Consider it collected.”

For a second, Megan forgets how to breathe. The sunlight hits Yoonchae’s face, and Megan thinks she could spend a lifetime chasing that same look.

“Right,” she manages, voice soft and raises pointer fingers at the other girl, “Favor. Got it.”

Yoonchae goes back to painting, calm and steady, while Megan sits down a few feet away, pretending to sort through prop materials. Her mind, however, is anything but calm. Because now she has to survive a full day with Yoonchae and no script in the world could prepare her for that.

Megan tells herself she didn’t over-prepare. That she’s fine. Totally fine. Except when her alarm blares at 6 A.M., she shoots upright like she’s been drafted into war and two hours later, she’s still in the shower, deep-cleaning like she’s about to undergo a government inspection. Shampoo twice, conditioner, face mask, body scrub, the whole ritual. By the time she’s done, her bathroom smells like cherry and panic.

It’s just an amusement park. Not a date. Not a date. But somehow her bag is packed like she’s heading for an expedition: sunscreen, umbrella, power bank, mints, mini first aid kit, a spare shirt (just in case?), and snacks. All neatly arranged, because if there’s one thing she can control today, it’s being prepared.

She checks the time. 1:30 P.M.

They’re supposed to meet at 4 near the station by their school.

By 2:00, Megan’s already there.

She sits on the bench with her bag clutched to her chest, pretending to scroll through her phone while internally screaming. Every few minutes, she checks her reflection on her camera app, fixes her hair, and debates whether she should’ve worn something cooler, or maybe not this color, or maybe—

She stops herself. It’s not a date. Her heart doesn’t get the memo.

At 3:57, Megan spots her.

Yoonchae, in an oversized white button-up tucked loosely into denim shorts, hair tied back with a blue ribbon. She’s holding an iced coffee and looking around like she’s not sure she’s in the right place like the world itself just placed her here by accident.

And for a moment, Megan forgets how to breathe.

She straightens immediately, brushing invisible lint from her jeans, then realizes she’s been sitting stiff for two hours and nearly trips standing up. Great. Cool. Totally smooth.

Yoonchae sees her and smiles, the kind that reaches her eyes.

“Hey,” she says, voice easy. “You’re early.”

Megan laughs a little too loudly. “Yeah! I, uh… like trains.”

Trains? Really?

Yoonchae blinks, then laughs, a little confused. “Good to know.”

They walk side by side toward the bus that’ll take them to the amusement park, the late afternoon sun painting everything gold. The air smells faintly of sugar from a nearby bakery.

For the first few minutes, it’s a mix of silence and small talk just about anything like school stuff, the club, how Megan almost burned her hand again with the glue gun.

Then, slowly, it evens out.

They talk about childhood trips, favorite rides, the kind of snacks they always buy at fairs. Yoonchae’s laughter comes easier now, and Megan finds herself memorizing it. The tilt of her head when she laughs, the way she hides her smile behind her hand.

By the time they reach the park, the lights are already flickering on with soft pinks, blues, and golds reflecting on the metal rides. The air buzzes with the sound of people screaming from roller coasters and pop songs blasting from nearby speakers.

“It’s been years since I’ve been to one,” Yoonchae admits, looking up at the ferris wheel.

“Then we’ll fix that today,” Megan says, and for once, she sounds confident.

Yoonchae glances at her, amused. “Are you saying that because you’re paying for my ticket?”

“Yes,” Megan says immediately, deadpan. “So you’re legally required to have fun.”

Yoonchae laughs again, and it’s so bright that Megan almost forgets how nervous she was this morning. They spend the next hour hopping from booth to booth.

Megan badly wants to win Yoonchae something from the rigged booths, so she suggests that their first stop should be the ring toss. Rows of flashing lights, the smell of popcorn and burnt sugar hang in the air.

“Now, watch this,” Megan says, rolling her shoulders like she’s preparing for battle.

She throws the first ring, and misses by a mile.

Yoonchae bursts out laughing, head tilted back, and Megan thinks she could listen to that sound forever. Maybe losing isn’t so bad if it keeps that smile around.

They move on to the shooting game next. Megan’s tongue peeks out in concentration, channeling her inner Caitlyn Kirraman with one eye squinted. And, finally, she hits the target as the lights soon flash with the buzzer going off. The booth guy hands her a prize: a weird-looking cucumber plushie.

“Victory!” Megan declares, dramatically holding it up before offering it to Yoonchae.

Yoonchae takes it, grinning so wide her eyes crinkle. “He’s… hideous. I love him.”

When they pass by the haunted house, Yoonchae stops walking.

The entrance is draped in cheap cobwebs and flickering lights, the faint sound of distorted screams echoing from inside. A pair of kids run out, laughing and clutching each other like they’ve survived something serious.

“You up for it?” Yoonchae asks, an amused glint in her eyes.

Megan crosses her arms, pretending to look unimpressed even though her heartbeat picks up. “Please. I’m not scared of some dollar-store zombies.”

“Good,” Yoonchae says with a grin. “Because I am, so you’ll be protecting me.”

Megan chokes on her comeback as the girl grabs her wrist and drags her inside. The mood shifts instantly with dim lights, fog machines hissing, and the faint smell of rubber masks and paint clogging the air. They move through narrow hallways lined with hanging curtains and the floor creaks under their steps. Somewhere, a chain rattles.

Then something jumps out.

Yoonchae shrieks. An honest, startled sound, and grips Megan’s arm tightly. Megan laughs a little too loud, half because she’s nervous and half because she can feel the warmth of Yoonchae’s hand through her sleeve.

“You said you weren’t scared,” Yoonchae hisses, still clutching her arm.

“I’m not! I just—uh—got startled. By you.”

Another monster lunges out from behind a curtain and this time both of them scream. The sound echoes embarrassingly loud, and they dissolve into laughter right after. Yoonchae keeps holding on, though. Even when the scare passes, even when they’re both catching their breath.

By the time they stumble out the exit, blinking at the afternoon light, Megan’s cheeks hurt from smiling. Yoonchae’s still laughing beside her, hand brushing against hers as they walk.

“Okay,” Yoonchae says between breaths, “maybe that was kind of fun.”

“Told you,” Megan says, trying to sound casual but her voice is a little too soft, her grin a little too wide.

They don’t let go immediately, and for once, Megan doesn’t rush to overthink what it means.

They continue wandering around and at one point, Yoonchae reaches for Megan’s wrist to pull her closer when the crowd gets bigger and someone bumps into them. And it’s nothing, just a moment. A brief touch, warm and fleeting but it burns like a secret. Megan's secret.

Later, they share cotton candy on a bench as the sky dims to indigo. Megan tears off a small piece and offers it out without thinking. Yoonchae leans in, takes it, and hums quietly in approval, her feet swinging softly like a kid.

“Not bad,” she says.

“I have great taste,” Megan says, trying to sound casual while her pulse is going haywire.

“Do you?” Yoonchae teases, eyes soft but unreadable.

"You tell me,” Megan blurts before she can stop herself.

And Yoonchae just looks at her for a second, like she’s trying to figure out if that was a joke. Or something else.

Then she just smiles and the moment passes, but it doesn’t really. It lingers, long after they move on to the next ride.

The day passes in a blur, there's just so much laughter and fleeting touches. Megan swore she would be dreaming about vibrant pink and blues for awhile. They end it with a Ferris wheel ride which is very cliché, Megan thinks, but the kind she doesn’t want Yoonchae to miss.

The wheel creaks as it rises, slow and steady, revealing the carnival lights spreading below them as well as the distant city lights. They sit across from each other because Yoonchae insists it’ll keep the wagon balanced, and Megan keeps teasing her by gently shaking it just to hear her squeak.

When the laughter fades, quiet settles in. The night hums faintly beyond the glass, and the air feels different this high up.

“Thank you for today, Megan,” Yoonchae says softly, eyes fixed on the window. The colorful lights dance in her irises like reflections on water. “I really enjoyed it.”

Megan means to look outside too, but her gaze stays on the girl in front of her. On the curve of her smile, on the way her hair frames her face like it’s catching the glow of every passing light.

She clears her throat, tries to sound casual. “It’s nothing. Just returning the favor.”

The words sound too small for what she really means.

Her mind races, about how close they’ve grown, how she’s spent years daydreaming about moments like this, and how dangerous it feels to realize she’s falling even harder now. Yoonchae’s probably just being nice, just herself. And yet… it’s hard not to hope, even a little.

Megan leans back, forcing herself to look at the night instead. The city stretches beneath them, dizzying and brilliant.

She doesn’t need anything more than this.

Not tonight.

She’s content. To sit across from Yoonchae, the Ferris wheel carrying them higher, pretending that this quiet between them means something.

Chapter Text

Apparently, even if Sophia and Megan are just handy prop makers with the side quest of moral support, they still need to attend the rehearsals. Or at least that's what Megan says. And today's a big deal since it's the announcement of the final cast list. With the nerve wracking auditions done last week, it isn't enough when it's revealed that Yoonchae is leading this year's musical as the director.

Well, Sophia doesn’t actually believe it’s required to join them but Megan insists.

"We have to support our people," she says, conveniently forgetting that their “people” are really just the theater kids they hand cardboard to.

The hand around her wrist is tight, almost like Megan doesn't take chances about her escaping, and she lets herself get dragged to the theater club room the moment the school bell rings. The hallways pile up immediately and they soon push through the theater room's double doors, walking inside the familiar large space with an endless row of velvet chairs stretching up towards the ceiling. The smell of paint is not foreign to Sophia anymore.

At the stage, the club members are already formed in one large circle, their voices overlapping in that pre-announcement buzz. Yoonchae is standing in the middle and Sophia barely registers Megan whispering something about how “official” it all looks, because her gaze has already drifted toward the group seated stage left.

Her eyes try to scan further for the familiar black curls. Spotted.

There, Daniela's perched on one of the risers and appears to be half-listening and half-daydreaming. The cropped shirt she’s wearing rides up just shy of her waist, loose cargo pants hang effortlessly around her frame, and her trademark gold hoops glint when she tilts her head to laugh at something someone says.

Sophia blinks when she realizes that she’s been staring a little too long, just long enough to notice the curl of Daniela’s smile before she looks away.

Practically marching down the aisle, Megan leads the way while Sophia trails behind, doing her best not to draw attention as the meeting is already in full swing. They settled on some extra seats just a yard back the main circle and Sophia exhales in relief when no one turns around to shush them.

There's a brief clear of the throat and the girl in the center formally introduces herself as the director, explaining that she’ll be overseeing every aspect of this year’s production. Her tone is confident and a little rehearsed but it doesn't give off anything other than she knows what she's doing.

Glancing sideways, she sees it immediately. Her foolish friend who’s already wearing that telltale look and that dopey smile that screams I’m so in love with the director. A chuckle scratches at the back of her throat as she tries hard to bite back a laugh.

Yoonchae reads the cast list one name at a time as each one earns its own ripple of applause and whispers that bounce softly off the velvet walls. The room vibrates with excitement which is the kind of electric restlessness that only happens when everyone’s waiting for something big.

Finding herself smiling, Sophia thinks about how it feels a little like déjà vu with the stage lights and the sound of papers rustling, even the mix of nerves and joy that is feeding the room. Back home, this used to be her world, but now she’s content to watch from the sidelines with paint-stained hands instead of script pages. Although she wouldn't lie that a small part of her misses it. The rush of waiting for her name to be called.

Yoonchae pauses for effect before announcing the final role. "And finally," she says and there's a knowing smile tugging at her lips, "the lead. Nova."

Sophia is holding her breath just as much as everyone else is, the anticipation thick enough to touch.

"She will be played by Daniela."

The room stills. Completely.

For a split second, it was so quiet, that Sophia swears she can hear her own pulse in her ears. And it's been stretching too long and heavy that it physically makes Sophia sick, a weight starting to press against her chest. She’s the first one to clap and the sound cracks through the room sharply and awkward before others hesitantly follow. The applause grows, but so do the hushed whispers that continue for a beat far more than it's supposed to be.

Sophia doesn’t need to listen closely to know what they’re saying. She’s seen this before. New girl, big role. It’s the kind of talk that stings even if it isn’t directed at you. Still, it has been decided, and what Daniela has shown during the auditions bore fruit to this announcement.

Daniela earned it.

The meeting breaks apart in a rush of movement as chairs scrape and everyone goes back to each of their own circles. Even in one club, there are still the cliques: tech crew in one corner, the actors in another, Yoonchae surrounded by her directing team.

And then there’s Daniela.

She stands alone near the back with her arms crossed loosely but her posture is still perfect, mind clearly somewhere else. She’s the picture of confidence but no one can deny that she looks so out of place. The soft light catches the gold in her earrings and her expression is unreadable.

"Your little girlfriend got the big role."
Megan’s whisper breaks the quiet between them followed by a mischievous giggle. “Won’t you congratulate her?”

Sophia exhales through her nose as she rolls her eyes but her gaze flicks back to Daniela all the same. She doesn't know if she should approach her and why she's even hesitating in the first place. It’s just congratulations, nothing more. Still, her finger toy briefly with the frame of her glasses as the thought of approaching the girl makes her pulse jump a little.

Before she can second-guess herself further, Megan grabs her wrist. "Come on, before I do it for you."

Sophia barely has time to protest before she’s being dragged across the room weaving through clusters of people. Daniela looks up as they approach her, expression flickering briefly. Surprise? Amusement? Before she smooths it over with that calm, effortless kind of grace that Sophia’s now starting to recognize.

By the time they stop in front of her, Megan’s grinning like she orchestrated a reunion. “Congratulations, showgirl."

Daniela smirks and Sophia can’t tell if it’s because of the nickname or the situation itself. As far as she knows, Megan and Daniela have barely exchanged words before now and this might even be their first real interaction. Still, Daniela plays it off effortlessly. The it-girl who’s mastered the art of showing people exactly what they want to see.

Sophia watches as the moment unfolds. Daniela doesn’t take offense at the nickname, though others might. Instead, she owns it, wears it like it was meant for her. Something about that quiet confidence makes something inside Sophia’s ribs flutter a little and it's something traitorous, almost impossible to name.

"My friend here," Megan points a thumb next to her which makes Sophia freeze. "is a veteran but has decided to lay low this year. Change of pace."

Sophia's standing stiffly and she could see Megan doing faces as if to say "Go, talk to your girl!", which makes her clear her throat, desperate to finish this awkward interaction once and for all to not embarrass herself any further. Before she hears Daniela laugh. Almost melodic. And it was enough to pull out every thought clean out of Sophia's head.

"Sophia Laforteza, right?" Daniela raises a brow but her voice is so soft, and the way the name rolled off her tongue made Sophia's heart miss a beat. Again, for a reason she doesn't know.

She thought hard, racking her brain about every interaction she had with the girl, and not once did she mention her name. So how does Daniela know it?

"Yeah," Sophia answers, trying to sound casual but it comes out too fast. She forces a smile as she clutches the strap of her bag tighter. "Guess the transfer student memo travels fast."

Inside, her brain is still a dumpster fire, and the way Daniela’s smile deepens didn't help with any of it. It's just too knowing. Sophia doesn't know what to feel.

"Something like that."

The girl's tone is light but there’s something intentional in the way her gaze lingers. Not searching, but studying.

Sophia swallows because she has never been looked at like that in her life, but she still answers even if her throat felt dry. "Right. Well. That’s… impressive, I guess."

Daniela hums with her eyes still on her. "You make an impression."

The words sound casual but they land like a spark anyway. Sophia’s not sure if she should thank her or apologize.

Megan, meanwhile, is watching the exchange like it’s her favorite TV show, grin widening by the second.

Sophia clears her throat, desperate for a lifeline. "Anyway. Props meeting next, right? We should get to that."

Daniela’s smile turns softer. Everything she does is just so well choreographed. And Sophia has realized that long ago but this just reminds her all the same.

"See you there, Sophia."

Her name again — said slower this time, like she’s trying it out just to see how it feels.

Sophia turns away before her face can give her away, ignoring the way her heart decides to stutter right on cue.

"Well, that went pretty good, don’t ya think?"

Megan’s beside her now grinning wide and unhelpfully smug. Sophia just shakes her head. It’s not how she imagined their first real introduction would go, but at least it’s done. Or so she tells herself.

Because if she’s being honest, Daniela’s been under her skin for weeks. She’s not sure if the other girl means to act like that, all soft smiles and easy confidence, or if it’s just her. And Sophia doesn’t know why it bothers her so much. She shouldn’t care. She keeps saying that. She really keeps saying that.

There’s just something about Daniela that pulls her in, like a puzzle she’s desperate to solve. Why she looks at people that way. Why she always seems to know more than she says. Sophia tells herself it’s only curiosity. Fascination, at most. Not what people feel when they’re… well. Interested.

"Y'know, I ship you two," Megan singsongs.

Sophia blinks out of her thoughts. "What—"

But Megan’s already halfway across the room, bouncing toward Yoonchae with that same grin.

Sophia exhales as she drags a hand down her face. Maybe she should’ve just stayed in the library today.

Rehearsal season has started, but that doesn't mean the props and back drops are anywhere near done. The theater club still requires the lonely duo's assistance, and Megan, of course, is thrilled about that. Sophia? She doesn't really get a choice.

With most of the actors now busy running lines and blocking scenes, the props team’s lost a few hands, which means longer hours and fewer breaks. The theater room is buzzing with movement and sound and it really feels like the production is now coming more alive.

From her corner of the room, Sophia spots Daniela. Alone. A paperback script in one hand and a highlighter in the other. It’s been a few days since the cast list went up, and she can’t help but notice how no one seems to be sticking around the other girl. Back home, the actors always hovered together, swapping notes, whispering cues, and there was a quiet sense of camaraderie that is unspoken but constant. Here, she figured it’s different.

She’s not the type to meddle in other people’s business, but really, what’s there to lose? Sophia does miss the stage: the rush before the curtain rises, the quiet confidence of knowing exactly who she has to be for a few minutes. And maybe that’s why seeing Daniela's struggle hits closer than she’d admit.

Besides, girls should look out for each other. That’s what she tells herself, anyway. It’s just lending a hand. Nothing more, nothing that means anything.

So she takes a breath and makes her way toward where Daniela sits, tucked into a quiet corner of the room.

"You look like you’re trying to decipher the meaning of life." Sophia smiles awkwardly, gesturing to the empty spot beside Daniela. "Mind if I sit?"

The girl nods briefly, a sigh slipping out of her before she can stop it. She doesn’t bother to hide how tired she looks. "Might as well be. Venus… is complicated."

She’s pertaining about another character and Sophia recognizes the name from when one of the actors left their script lying around earlier. She’d skimmed a few pages, just enough to know who Venus was supposed to be.

"Yeah," Sophia says. "She’s kind of a mess. But try me—pitch it."

Her voice sounds steadier than she feels, completely different to how she speaks with the other girl before. Maybe it’s because this is something she understands. Scripts, character work, figuring people out. It’s a familiar ground.

Daniela looks at her, and there's a glint on her eyes that Sophia can't quite name. It’s not amusement exactly. More like a quiet challenge, a spark that says, Alright, go ahead. Let’s see what you’ve got.

Her smile is small and gone too quickly. She shakes her head, flipping through the script until she finds a highlighted line.

"I just… I don’t think I get her," she admits. "It’s supposed to be a love song, but it doesn’t feel like one."

Sophia picks up the extra copy of the script resting beside her. The pages are warm from the lights and the ink is smudged with fingerprints. Her eyes start scanning almost automatically as her mind falls into rhythm before she even realizes it.

Sophia hums once she finishes. "Well, because it’s not. It’s about being seen, not loved. That line — “Tell me I’m perfect and I’ll call it affection” — that’s not romance. That’s desperation dressed up in glitter."

The other girl just looks at her with an unreadable expression but there’s a faint smile on her face, enough for Sophia to assume she doesn’t think she’s being mansplained to. The mood stays light. The room around them buzzes with lines and laughter, but somehow, they’ve fallen into their own little bubble. Sophia doesn’t even notice when it happens.

"You used to act, didn't you?" Daniela asks. Her tone carries the soft curve of curiosity, almost impressed. But, as always, she keeps it carefully measured. She never gushes, never gives too much away. Just enough to keep people hooked and wanting more.

The question makes Sophia half-smile. "Caught that? Yeah. Back home. Mostly school plays. I quit when I moved here."

"Why?"

The question is inevitable. It lingers in the air and for a beat, Sophia can’t decide what to say. There are real reasons. Exhaustion, starting over, missing who she used to be, but none that feel right to give voice to.

"Change of pace." She settles with that with a slight shrug.

Daniela hums, almost like she understands where Sophia is coming from. It’s the kind that comes from recognizing something similar. She went from cheer captain to theater lead. Different worlds, same weight of expectation. For a moment, it feels like they’re standing on the same ground.

Daniela breaks their eye contact and says, "You’re good at it. Explaining, I mean. You made that line make sense."

The compliment hits sharper than it should. Sophia feels something flutter in her chest, a warmth she doesn’t have a name for. Praise has always been her favorite language, but she’d rather die than admit that out loud, so she just smiles trying not to look too pleased.

Across the room, Megan’s watching the whole thing unfold, grinning like a proud matchmaker who’s just won a bet.

They fall into a rhythm. Classes end, the bell rings, and before Sophia even realizes it, she's up from her seat already on her way to the theater room.

She still helps with props with paint staining her hands more often than not, but most of her time ends up beside Daniela. Helping her run her lines, dissecting some of the characters, helping her find the right tone, even sharing a few vocal techniques she swore she’d forgotten.

She won’t admit she enjoys it, but it’s been… grounding. A quiet way to adjust to the move and everything else.

Megan, of course, has plenty to say about it. She never shuts up about Sophia’s “private little acting sessions with her girlfriend,” and it’s taken everything in Sophia not to shove a crumpled paper ball in her mouth just to make her stop.

"Let's ditch it."

Daniela says one time, a glint of mischief in her eyes, and it's so new to Sophia. But then again, there’s always been something a little dangerous about her. Sophia’s just not used to being the one pulled into it.

There's hesitation in Sophia's eyes, a beat, long enough for Daniela to notice. Then a hand wraps around her wrist, firm but warm, and before she knows it, Daniela’s leading her down the hall in the opposite direction of the theater room.

And, okay, maybe she should’ve mentioned this earlier, but Daniela’s been picking her up from class lately. They walk to rehearsals together, side by side like it’s normal. Like it’s routine. Which, again, gives Megan plenty to yap about.

"Wait, Yoonchae would be furiou—"

"And the world is round," Daniela cuts in easily, still tugging her along. Her hand slides down from Sophia’s wrist, fingers slipping between hers like it’s the most natural thing in the world. "Ease up a little, Laforteza."

Now this — this she doesn’t know when it started. Maybe just now, maybe yesterday. All she knows is that her brain short-circuits the moment Daniela interlocks their fingers. Even the way she says her surname. No one else calls her that. Only Daniela.

Sophia doesn’t know why that matters, but it does. She doesn’t care enough to fight it. She just lets herself be pulled along, until they’re standing at the school’s main doors.

"Where are we even going anyway?" Sophia finally asks though, honestly, she could’ve said it five minutes ago. She’d just been too distracted by how close they were walking.

The school is still moderately packed with students hanging out last minute before they head home. Some cars pass by swiftly on the road nearby and it's faintly warm as they're engulfed by the late afternoon light.

“There’s this new diner I wanna try,” Daniela says like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

Then something brushes Sophia's ear. She flinches before realizing Daniela’s slipped one end of her earphones into place, the cord stretched loosely between them as Captivated by IV of Spades is playing softly.

It’s familiar. During their practice sessions, Sophia always played music in the background, something low, to make things less awkward back when they barely knew how to talk to each other. Mostly OPM songs. When Captivated came on once, Daniela had asked for the title and the artist and now, she’s listening to it. Maybe she even added it to her playlist.

And somehow, that thought, that small, simple thing — slows the world down for Sophia completely.

They walk along the road with their hands still loosely joined, the white cord swaying between them. It almost feels like something out of a coming-of-age movie and Sophia doesn’t know when things started feeling like this, but she’s not complaining. Daniela’s grounding in a way she can’t quite describe, and this friendship, whatever it is, feels like something she wants to hold on to.

The golden hue from earlier bleeds slowly into pink as the sun sinks lower, and at the end of the street, the diner glows like a beacon with neon blue and red lights flashing burgers and milkshakes in bold letters. Daniela tightens her grip and excitedly drags Sophia, hurried enough to make her sneakers feel like it's going to give out. Sophia just smiles, thinking she'd worry about that later.

Inside, it looks like stepping into another time. Red vinyl booths, polished chrome tables, and walls lined with old posters that have started to curl at the edges. A bulky television hums in the corner and its screen is flickering between colors and static as an old game show struggles to play. Somewhere near the counter, a jukebox croons an 80s song Sophia remembers from her mom’s radio. Song about Tenderness or something. It is comforting, in some way, and it makes her chest ache in a good way.

They slide into a booth by the window and the vinyl seats squeak softly beneath them, making Sophia's eyes go round. The waitress drops off two laminated menus that have definitely seen better days. Daniela’s already flipping through hers with her chin propped on one hand. Her eyes are bright under the dim neon reflection.

"What’s good here?" Sophia asks, scanning the menu even though she’s not really reading it.

Daniela hums thoughtfully. "I don’t know, Laforteza. That’s why we’re here — to find out."

Sophia huffs a quiet laugh as she flips a page. The animal-style fries catches her attention and it comes with their best-selling cheeseburger. Classic. She's choosing that.

"Pick anything yet?" she asks after a moment.

Daniela shoots her a look. Mock glare, playful. They’re at that stage now, apparently.

"Can you please be patient, babe?" Daniela drawls, a grin showing on her face. "A girl can’t have a hard time picking the perfect girl dinner?"

She laughs at her own line, and it's light and effortless, and Sophia’s brain barely processes the new pet name before she’s arching a brow.

"You’re risking Yoonchae’s wrath for a milkshake?"

Daniela only grins wider and it's the kind of grin that says she’s done worse for less. "It’s not just any milkshake. It’s pink, okay? It sparkles."

Sophia snorts but the laughter slips out too easily. Almost like the kind that sneaks up on her. It’s the most at ease she’s felt in weeks.

They end up ordering two cheeseburgers, Sophia's animal-style fries, and a milkshake to share. When it arrives, Daniela slides the glass across the table, two straws sticking out with her expression almost daring.

"Truce," she says, tapping her straw against Sophia’s like it’s a toast.

"For what?"

"For surviving tech week without strangling anyone."

Sophia smirks. "That’s fair." She takes a sip and it’s sweet, almost too much, making her grimace.

They fall into easy conversation as Daniela talks about how hard it is to switch from cheer routines to stage blocking. Sophia tells her about the time her old theater club’s props fell apart mid-performance and they had to improvise the ending. Their laughter blends with the jukebox’s hum.

Halfway through her meal, Daniela nudges her plate forward, pushing the rest of her burger toward Sophia.

"Finish it for me, please?"

Sophia looks up, her brow raised. Daniela’s eyes are wide, almost pleading, and it's the kind of look that shouldn’t work but somehow does. She didn’t know Daniela could be both a brat and a softie at the same time.

With an exaggerated sigh, Sophia takes the burger, though her stomach protests. She’s already demolished half a pound of fries and her own cheeseburger. Still, she takes a bite.

Daniela visibly brightens instantly as her grin widens, hands wrapped around the milkshake as she takes a long sip through her straw. It’s such a simple thing, but Sophia feels her chest go strangely light.

The day ends with them walking back to school, side by side, as the sky fades into a pale purple dusk. Sophia’s mom is already waiting in the car with the headlights idling against the curb.

She offers Daniela a ride but the girl shakes her head. "I’ve got a few things to finish before I head home. Different route."

So they settle for a goodbye instead. Daniela leans in for a quick hug, and it is casual, the kind friends share, but it lingers just long enough for Sophia to catch the faint scent of vanilla.

When she pulls away, Daniela’s already waving her off with that small and easy smile.

And later, when Sophia climbs into the car and her mom starts asking about her day, she’s only half listening. Because all she can think about is tomorrow. And when she’ll get to see Daniela again.

It’s not exactly a shock when Sophia gets to school the next morning and finds a message from Megan demanding an “emergency club meeting.” If you think about it, her little attempt of a club actually worked. Sophia got a friend out of it and she already knows the meeting's topic is probably something useless again, but she figures she should go anyway. If only to ask how Yoonchae reacted to them ditching rehearsal yesterday.

When she walks into the club room, Megan’s already there, half-slouched against a table, eyes glued to her phone as the Roblox theme plays faintly from the speaker.

"You’re such a nerd," Sophia says as she drops her bag onto a chair.

Megan jerks her head up so fast she almost sends her phone flying. "You sly hoe! Where were you yesterday?"

"Damn, Megan, that’s your good morning?"

"Actually, don’t answer that!" Megan cuts in, practically vibrating with excitement. "How was your date with Daniela yesterday?"

Sophia flinches as she drops into one of the seats with an annoyed sigh. Obviously, it wasn’t a date.

"Not a date," she says flatly. "We were just hanging out."

Megan hums and she slips her phone into her pocket before leaning against the table. "Well, it is a date now, because I said so. Like, literally. That’s what I told Yoonchae you two were doing yesterday. You’re welcome, by the way."

Sophia blinks, caught somewhere between disbelief and the urge to throw something at her. "You didn’t."

"Oh, I did."

She wants to say Megan’s stupid, because she is, but she bites it back. It’s not worth it. It’s never that serious. Except… it kind of is.

Because, first of all, she actually likes being friends with Daniela. She doesn’t want things to turn weird just because people are suddenly convinced they’re dating.

And second, she’s straight. Obviously. She’s not into girls. She doesn’t even care if people assume otherwise. It’s just...there’s no way.

Megan grins and appears to be clearly pleased with herself. "Relax, Soph. You should’ve seen Yoonchae’s face, though. She almost had a stroke. Said something about professionalism and commitment and whatever else she yells when people skip rehearsal."

Sophia rubs her temples. "God, Megan—"

"What?" Megan says, feigning innocence. "I was helping. You’re welcome for the cover story."

"By throwing me under the bus."

"By giving you a cute reputation," Megan corrects, smiling. "You should’ve seen her expression when I said you two went on a date. Half the club probably ships it now."

Sophia glares. "That’s not funny."

"C’mon. It’s a little funny."

"It’s not," Sophia insists, crossing her arms. "People are going to make it weird, and I don’t want that. Daniela and I are just—" She stops mid-sentence, suddenly unsure how to finish.

"Just?” Megan prompts as she leans forward, eyes wide and bright with mischief.

Sophia exhales through her nose. "Friends."

Megan grins wider. "Sure. Friends. Whatever you say."

Sophia narrows her eyes. "I hate you, you know that?"

"I know."

Megan shrugs, all smug as she smiles with satisfaction while Sophia just stares at her, half tempted to throw her notebook at her head. Still, despite herself, a small smile pulls at the corner of her mouth.

"Never call me for any meeting ever again." Sophia reaches for her bag. "I’m getting coffee before homeroom."

"Get me one too, lover girl!" Megan calls after her.

Sophia shakes her head but the other girl is already clinging on her.

Sophia had no idea why she said yes.

Maybe it was the way Daniela leaned against the doorway of her classroom, with her arms crossed and her grin sharp enough to slice through the noise of the hallway.

Maybe it was the lazy drawl when she said, "Skip class with me. I’m bored." Like it was the most reasonable thing in the world.

Sophia hesitates. Daniela Avanzini had a way of making everything sound like both an order and a dare.

And Sophia, who always prided herself on being composed, unbothered, and definitely immune to this kind of chaos, found herself muttering, "It's not my problem you’re always bored."

"Then make it yours." Daniela smirks.

Her tone leaves no room for argument, her eyes glinting with that familiar challenge that somehow makes Sophia forget every reason to say no.

"Don’t make me wait, Laforteza," Daniela adds, turning halfway down the hall without checking if she’ll follow. "Come on."

That’s how she ended up under the bleachers with her. Daniela's favorite hiding spot even back when she was still cheer captain. The sun bleeds into the horizon and the metal railings throw fractured shadows across the cracked concrete. It smelled faintly of grass, dust, and the cheap vodka Daniela had somehow smuggled into her bag.

She twists the cap off and takes a quick swig before passing it to Sophia, who’s still silently debating both the drink and her decision to be here in the first place. Of course, she coughs after her first sip.

"You okay, babe?" Daniela laughs, wiping the corner of her mouth with a single finger.

"It tastes like nail polish remover." Sophia grimaces and silently wishes it is the strawberry milkshake from that diner they're sharing now instead. Even that went down easier.

"You’re not supposed to like it. You’re supposed to forget you’re drinking it."

"I’m not sure that’s any better."

"You’ll get used to it," Daniela said, tipping the bottle toward her again. A quiet dare in her smile. "It’s part of the experience."

By the third pass, Sophia’s cheeks were warm and her voice comes easier. The setting sun cut a thin gold line across Daniela’s jaw, catching on her earrings. It wasn’t fair how good she looked. With her hair catching the wind, eyes sharp and glowing, smile small like she was thinking of something she wouldn’t say.

"Truth or dare," Daniela said suddenly.

There it is. Her spontaneity. It's one of the reasons why Sophia loves being around her, although she'll never say that out loud.

She groans first but she still answers. "We’re not twelve."

"We’re also not in class," Daniela shoots back, smirk growing wider. "So technically, we can be whatever we want."

"Fine. Truth."

Daniela tilts her head, thinking. "Do you ever get tired being the responsible one?"

Sophia snorted softly. "That’s your question?"

"I’m easing you in."

Sophia hesitated. "Sometimes. But someone has to be."

Daniela hummed. "You talk like you’re twice our age."

Well, she gets that a lot. People have called her uptight, even said she’s got a stick up her ass — Megan’s words, probably. But she doesn’t take offense. Right now, she’s just quietly grateful to be around people who make her loosen her grip a little. Megan. Daniela.

"You act like you’re half it," Sophia fires back.

Daniela’s grin sharpens as her eyes glint in the low light. "And yet here you are," she says, "under the bleachers, drinking vodka with me."

That shuts Sophia up. Her next sip burns less.

They went a few more rounds with harmless questions at first. Favorite movie, first concert, dumb grade school crushes. Until the air between them got thicker and quieter. All that alcohol started to catch up along with the kind of stillness that made Sophia too aware of the way Daniela’s knee brushed against hers. The way she smiled when their fingers accidentally touched while passing the bottle.

"Your turn," Daniela said, voice softer now. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth." Sophia shrugs.

"Do you think I’m pretty?"

The question landed like a stone in her stomach. It caught her off guard.

Sophia blinked. "What kind of—"

"Simple question." Daniela interrupts with her gaze steady. "You either do or you don’t."

Now that, is just ridiculous. Because of course, Daniela is gorgeous. She’s the kind of pretty that turns heads in hallways, the kind people write bad poetry about just to try and make sense of it. The kind of beauty that feels unfair.

Sophia swallows, the words catching somewhere between her chest and her throat.

"You’re— everyone thinks you are." Sophia says, and her body is turned fully towards the other girl now.

"I didn’t ask everyone."

Sophia tried to laugh it off, but it came out uneven. "Well, you get what I mean."

"You didn’t answer." Daniela's expression is unreadable, and it makes Sophia's stomach churn.

The silence between them stretched. Somewhere above them, a whistle blew. Football practice ending as the voices fade. The sky was orange and it is almost bleeding into violet.

Sophia swallowed. "Yeah," she said quietly. "You are."

And her heart stumbles, traitorous and loud, when Daniela smiles. Not smugly, not teasing. Just that same easy, devastating smile that makes her forget what she was supposed to say next.

"Good girl. I trained you well."

Daniela pats a gentle hand on Sophia’s head with her smirk tugging wider. Sophia flushes but doesn’t say anything.

"I’m glad I asked you to come with me," Daniela adds as she leans back against the bleachers. "I’m not bored anymore. You amuse me, Laforteza."

Sophia’s breath catches. "Right."

She tells herself it’s the vodka, or maybe the sunset, but something about the moment feels warmer than it should. This? Skipping class, sitting under the bleachers and laughing about nothing, it’s stupidly fun. It is a first for her and she wouldn’t do it often, of course, but it’s nice to break the rules sometimes. The whole place hums with that quiet kind of peace that makes her think: maybe she’ll remember this for a long time.

Sophia wakes up feeling like her brain is about to explode.

Not from a hangover, though, the pounding behind her eyes could argue otherwise. But the kind that buzzes too loudly, that rewinds one moment over and over until it stops feeling like memory and starts feeling like a dream.

"Do you think I’m pretty?"
"Good girl. I trained you well."
"You amuse me, Laforteza."

Sophia presses her palms against her face and groans. The ceiling fan spun lazily above her, mocking her with how effortlessly it can keep moving. It's just the vodka, she tells herself. Daniela is just like that, she tells herself. She shouldn't be thinking about it, about her, more than she should.

By the time she reached school, she was already halfway through convincing herself it had been nothing. A hazy blur of impulsive words and cheap liquor, loves to overcomplicate things, until she saw her.

Daniela Avanzini, leaning against the lockers like she’d stepped out of a commercial with iced coffee in hand, hair pulled back just enough to show the glint of her gold earrings.

She looked… fine. Effortlessly fine. Too fine for someone who’d dropped a bomb and walked away.

Sophia froze. Daniela looked up, saw her, and — smiled.

A small, knowing curve of her lips that is not too much to call attention. Just enough to make Sophia’s pulse jump.

"Morning, Laforteza."

Sophia’s throat betrayed her before her brain could catch up. "Hey."

"Headache?" Daniela asked, taking a small sip from her coffee.

"I’m fine." Sophia waves off a hand and forces a wry smile.

Daniela steps back, giving her a once-over, and okay, fair. Sophia’s a mess. Her hair’s unbrushed, her shirt’s all wrinkled, and she definitely grabbed whatever clothes were closest to the bed.

"You were cute when you got tipsy," Daniela says lightly, like she’s testing the waters.

Sophia blinks, choking on air. "Don’t say that in public."

"Why not? You were," Daniela says easily. "All flushed and overthinking every word."

Sophia looks scandalized, glancing around to make sure no one’s hearing this. "I wasn’t overthinking."

"You were thinking so hard you forgot to blink." Daniela’s grin grows, unbothered, and she looks unfairly soft in the morning light. It’s hard to stay annoyed when she looks like that.

"You remember that?"

"I remember everything."

Oh.

Daniela’s tone was light and teasing but her gaze lingered a bit too long. Sophia tried to look away, but it was like gravity decided to take sides.

Megan appears out of nowhere and is just in time as she plops beside Sophia with her usual whirlwind energy.

"Hey! Lonely Hearts Club emergency — Yoonchae needs extra hands again."

"Oh. Yeah, sure," Sophia said, too quickly, grateful for the interruption.

Daniela’s expression flickered, something unreadable passing through it, before she smiled again. The actors don't really have to go for such props emergencies so Sophia can only imagine she's disappointed. After all, the girl has been breathing and clinging to Sophia for the past few weeks.

"Duty calls," Daniela said softly. "See you after class?"

"Why would you—"

"Just wondering.” Daniela's smirk was already back. "In case I get bored again."

And just like that, she was gone. Heels clicking, her ponytail swaying, leaving Sophia with her pulse still racing and Megan squinting at her like she’d just missed something monumental.

"Uhm—was I interrupting something with you two lovebirds?" Megan asks.

"No. Not at all." Sophia’s answer comes too quickly, and she grabs Megan’s arm, steering her down the hall toward the theater room. "I think I’m allergic to cheap vodka."

"Damn, you guys are at that stage already?" Megan shoots back. "Is that why you look like that? Couldn’t even iron your shirt ‘cause your stamina ran out?"

Sophia glares. Megan just raises both hands in mock surrender.

The day passes by, the props team still busy at work, and it's the time for the rehearsals so other members are slowly creeping in. Sophia keeps catching herself glancing at the door every time it opened and she realized maybe it wasn’t the vodka after all.

Definitely not, because her nose already misses the scent of vanilla and marshmallows swirling around.

The theater room is buzzing as usual and when she looks around, Megan's bouncing from table to table, gluing paper flowers to cardboard vines like her life depended on it. Yoonchae was checking over stage props with her usual quiet focus, and Sophia froze for half a second when she saw who just walked in.

The girl visibly looks around, almost like she's looking for someone, and when her eyes catches Sophia, that easy smile forms on her lips. The kind that feels like it's meant just for her.

Daniela walks over with her thick script tucked under one arm, coffee in hand. "Didn’t think I’d find you this fast," she says casually but a little too pleased.

Sophia blinks. "It’s a theater room, not a maze."

"Still. You tend to disappear when I’m not looking." Daniela takes a sip of her coffee, eyes never leaving Sophia’s face. "Busy day?"

"Busy enough," Sophia says as she pretends to focus on the pile of paintbrushes beside her. "Props don’t glue themselves, you know."

Daniela leans against the table, lowering her voice. "Want me to make it up to you?"

Sophia frowns warily. "For what?"

"For almost getting you in trouble yesterday," Daniela says as a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "And maybe for calling you cute while you were half-drunk."

Sophia exhales, trying hard not to smile. "You really don’t know when to stop, do you?"

Daniela shrugs, stepping closer. "Not when it’s this fun."

Megan’s voice cuts through from across the room, not aimed at anyone in particular. "Hey! Less flirting, more gluing!"

Sophia goes still, mid-motion as heat crawls up her neck.

Daniela doesn’t even flinch, just takes a slow sip of her drink, then sets it down beside a spread of highlighters and her script. She slides onto the seat next to Sophia, close enough that their shoulders almost touch.

The energy shifted after that as laughter mixes with soft music from someone’s phone, the smell of acrylic paint and that familiar vanilla and marshmallow scent filling the air. Sophia catches herself glancing at Daniela more often than she’d like to admit. Sometimes Daniela would meet her eyes, and neither of them would look away fast enough.

By the time they finished, the sun had dipped low enough for orange light to spill through the windows. Everyone was packing up and is chatting about tomorrow’s rehearsal.

"You’re walking home?" Daniela asked, slinging her bag over one shoulder.

Sophia nods as she fixes her own things as well. "Yeah. It’s not that far. My mom's busy so she can't pick me up today."

“Then walk with me.”

Her tone is casual, almost careless, but it lands like a command. Something in it makes Sophia’s pulse skip.

She could’ve said no. She should’ve said no. Because then she wouldn’t spend the whole night thinking about it again like she did after that moment under the bleachers.

But instead, she says, "Okay."

Outside, the air was cooler. They walked side by side, and without thinking, Daniela reached for Sophia’s hand, fingers slipping easily between hers.

It was the kind of silence that didn’t ask to be filled.

When a car sped past a little too close, Sophia instinctively moved, putting herself between Daniela and the road. It wasn’t anything grand, just reflex, but when she glanced over, Daniela was already watching her with that unreadable look again.

"Always the gentlewoman, huh?" Daniela said, a small smile curving her lips.

Sophia huffed a soft laugh, trying to play it off. "Force of habit."

"Do you do that for everyone?"

"Only people who can’t walk in a straight line."

Daniela mock glares. “You can't be talking about me.”

Sophia shrugs, a teasing smile on her face. "Only if the shoe fits."

Daniela squeezes her hand lightly, her eyes focused on the road. "You’re kind of hard to read, you know that?"

Sophia doesn't know what that means or why she would say that. So she just do what she always does, deflect.

“That’s rich,” Sophia says, side-eyeing her. “Coming from you.”

Daniela just laughs under her breath, a glint on her eyes that Sophia can't still decipher until now.

The streetlights flicker on one by one as they walk, stretching their shadows along the sidewalk. For a while, they don’t talk at all, just the sound of shoes against pavement and the faint hum of traffic somewhere distant.

The temperature began to drop as the afternoon warmth had slipped into that thin, uneasy chill that comes right before dusk, when the world turns quieter and the light starts to lose its color.

Daniela rubs her arms lightly, and out of the corner of her eye, Sophia notices the faint shiver that runs through her. The other girl’s wearing a thin tank top, skin catching the streetlight, bare at the waist, the hollow of her throat exposed to the wind.

Sophia doesn’t even think before she speaks.

"Here." She shrugs out of her sweater and holds it out.

Daniela blinks. "I’m okay, Laforteza. I haven’t even given back that hoodie you lent me at the party."

Sophia had already forgotten about that. Not that it matters. Daniela can keep it, for all she cares.

"You’re shivering," she says simply.

There was a pause, the kind that felt too long for such a simple offer. Then, with that quiet, knowing smile that Sophia was already starting to recognize, Daniela took the sweater. She didn’t just take it; she slipped into it, slow, almost deliberate, eyes never leaving Sophia’s.

The sleeves hung loose past her wrists. She tugged them closer and sighed contentedly.

"Smells like fresh linens and paint."

Sophia coughed. "Well— I've been making props all day.”

"You can chill, I like it." Daniela murmured, smiling faintly. "Thanks, babe."

The way she said the pet name; soft, lilting, threaded with something unreadable, it made Sophia’s stomach twist.

She stuffed her hands into her pockets to keep them from fidgeting.

"You can give it back tomorrow."

“Maybe I’ll keep it.”

Sophia glanced at her. "Okay, I don't mind."

Daniela laughs, her head tilting slightly. "I'm just kidding. You're such a pleaser, I like it."

That did it. Sophia stared straight ahead after that, refusing to let herself look again because if she did, she’d give herself away. Her heartbeat was already loud enough in her ears. She doesn't know why she's feeling this. And she really, really shouldn't.

They walked the rest of the way in silence but it wasn’t awkward. When they reached Daniela's street, she stopped and looked at Sophia like she was trying to memorize her face in the fading light.

"You really are full of surprises," she said.

"You barely know me."

"Exactly." Daniela smirks, stepping backward toward her gate. "That’s what makes it fun."

Sophia watched her go, sweater sleeves still too long on her, hair catching gold in the streetlights.

She told herself it didn’t mean anything.

She was already lying.