"I'm sorry," Ling said softly, her voice lower than before, stripped of sharpness. "I became too angry. I shouldn't have pulled away like that."
Rhea didn't answer immediately. She clung harder instead, eyes squeezed shut, her face pressed into Ling's chest as if anchoring herself there. Her breathing was still uneven, but slower now, less frantic.
"I'm sorry," Ling repeated, her chin resting against Rhea's hair. "Please relax. We can do this together, right?"
Her words weren't a demand. They were an offering.
Rhea nodded faintly, still holding on. "I can't lose you," she whispered, the words muffled, fragile. "I just can't."
Ling tightened her hold just enough to be felt present.
"You're not losing me," she said quietly. "I'm right here."
Rhea's hands fisted in Ling's shirt again, but this time there was no bargaining in it. Just fear easing into exhaustion. Ling's fingers traced slow, grounding lines along Rhea's arms, her pace deliberate, patient.
"I overcorrect when I'm confused," Ling admitted. "I pull back too hard. I didn't mean to make you feel abandoned."
Rhea's grip softened slightly, though she didn't let go. Her head shifted against Ling's chest, as if listening for proof.
Ling stayed still, breathing steadily, letting her body do what words couldn't. The room quieted around them no arguments, no promises, no ultimatums.
Just staying.
Rhea finally murmured, eyes still closed, "Don't disappear like that again."
Ling pressed a gentle kiss into Rhea's hair. "I won't," she said. "Not without talking. Not without choosing."
Rhea eventually settled in Ling's arms. Her breathing evened out, her body no longer trembling, though she still stayed curled tightly against Ling's chest, as if letting go was not an option yet.
After a long silence, Rhea spoke quietly.
"I feel uncomfortable with touches."
Ling stiffened slightly, not pulling away, but registering every word. "Mine too?" she asked carefully.
Rhea shook her head immediately, almost panicked by the misunderstanding. "No. No, not you."
Ling looked down at her.
"In fact," Rhea continued, voice low but certain, "you're the only one I feel comfortable with. I don't like anyone near me. I don't hug people. Not friends. Not relatives."
Ling didn't interrupt.
"I don't even hug my mom much," Rhea admitted. "Or Shyra. Even with them, I try not to. I don't know how to explain it."
Ling's brows knit together. "Why?"
Rhea's fingers tightened in the blanket. She stared ahead, eyes unfocused. "I can't tell you," she said softly. "Not now."
Ling waited a beat. Then another.
"Rhea," she said gently but insistently, "you don't react like this for no reason."
Rhea shook her head again, firmer this time. "Please. Don't ask."
Ling exhaled slowly, clearly torn between concern and restraint. "You tell me everything else."
"Not this," Rhea replied, her voice trembling just a little. "Not yet."
Ling studied her face, searching for something fear, pain, memory and found all three tangled together. She didn't push further.
"Okay," Ling said finally. "I won't force it."
Rhea's shoulders dropped a fraction, relief flickering across her face.
"But," Ling added quietly, "don't mistake my silence for distance. I'm not stepping back."
Rhea nodded, eyes still downcast. "I know."
Ling adjusted her hold subtly, making sure it felt safe, not intrusive. No wandering hands. No teasing. Just presence.
Rhea leaned into her again, trusting the restraint more than any words.
She lay stiff in Ling's arms for a long time, staring at nothing. Her body was warm, safe — and yet her chest began to tighten, breath growing shallow in a way Ling felt immediately.
Ling didn't speak. She stayed still.
Rhea swallowed. Then again. Her fingers twisted into the blanket as if grounding herself.
Her breathing hitched. She paused, eyes squeezing shut.
"I was in tenth grade," Rhea began. "Farewell day."
Ling felt her body tense at the words alone.
"The school was loud. Everyone was laughing. Music. Teachers smiling like nothing ugly could exist in that building." Rhea let out a small, broken laugh. "I thought it was supposed to be a happy day."
Her chest rose sharply.
"The principal asked me to help him with something. Said it was quick. Said it was important." Her fingers curled tighter. "I trusted him."
Ling's jaw tightened, but she didn't interrupt.
"He took me to a dark room near the auditorium. Closed the door." Rhea's breath stuttered, her voice thinning. "I remember the smell. Old paper. Dust."
She stopped. Her breath caught completely this time, like her lungs forgot what to do.
Ling adjusted slightly, grounding her pulling her closer. "I'm here," she murmured.
Rhea nodded faintly, eyes still closed. "He stood too close. I froze. My mind went blank like my body just… shut off."
Her throat worked. "He grabbed my tie."
Ling's hands clenched against the blanket.
"He pulled me toward him," Rhea whispered. "I couldn't scream. I couldn't move. I remember thinking, this isn't happening, this isn't happening, over and over."
Her breath came uneven now, sharp inhales cutting into her words.
"Somehow," she said, voice shaking, "I pushed him. I don't even know how. I ran. I didn't look back. I just ran until my legs burned."
Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes, soaking into Ling's shirt.
"I never told anyone," Rhea continued in Ling's crook of neck. "I went home and showered until my skin hurt. I threw away that uniform. I never wore a tie again."
Her voice broke fully. "From that day, my body decided something before my mind did."
She swallowed hard. "That being close isn't safe. That hands mean danger. That rooms with closed doors mean I'm trapped again. That's why I have claustrophobia."
Ling felt Rhea's heart racing through her back.
"I don't hug people," Rhea whispered. "I don't let anyone come near me. I keep distance because distance feels like survival."
She finally turned her face slightly, enough to look up at Ling. Her eyes were wet, terrified not of Ling, but of being seen this completely.
"You're the only exception," Rhea said. "And that scares me more than anything."
Ling's breath trembled for the first time.
"When you pulled back earlier," Rhea admitted, voice cracking, "my body didn't understand logic. It remembered that room. That door. That moment when I thought I couldn't escape. That's why I refused for Bathe because I didn't want you to feel uncomfortable."
Her hands shook again. "That's why I panicked. Not because of you. Because of the past."
Silence filled the room heavy, reverent.
Ling slowly, carefully, wrapped her arms around Rhea again, firmer now, protective. She pressed her forehead to Rhea's hair, eyes burning.
"I'm so sorry," Ling said hoarsely. "I didn't know."
"I didn't want you to see me like this," Rhea whispered. "Broken. Afraid."
Ling shook her head gently. "You're not broken."
She paused, choosing every word. "What happened to you was violence. And surviving it doesn't make you weak."
Rhea's breath finally slowed, her body sagging into Ling as the truth settled between them painful, raw, but no longer hidden.
Ling held her like an anchor, not touching more than Rhea allowed, not moving unless she had to.
"I won't cross your boundaries," Ling said quietly. "Not ever. And I won't disappear either."
Rhea closed her eyes, tears slipping freely now not from panic, but from release.
She stayed quiet for a while after telling Ling everything. Her body was still curled inward, like she was bracing for something judgment, disappointment, rejection. When she finally spoke again, her voice was small.
"That's why," Rhea said. "Baths. Touch. Being seen like that."
She swallowed, breath hitching again. "I get scared. Not because of you. Never because of you."
Ling listened without moving.
"I didn't want to make you uncomfortable," Rhea continued, eyes fixed on the blanket. "Or make you think I don't trust you. I do. It's just… my body reacts before I can stop it."
She pressed her lips together, shame creeping into her expression. "Sometimes I'm afraid even I don't understand myself."
Ling's chest tightened.
Rhea hurried on, afraid of the silence. "When you asked about bathing together, I didn't know how to explain without ruining the moment. I didn't want you to think I was rejecting you."
Ling finally shifted slowly, deliberately enough to be felt but not trapped. She angled Rhea so she could see her face if she wanted to.
"You didn't reject me," Ling said firmly.
Rhea looked up, uncertain.
"You protected yourself," Ling continued. "Those are not the same thing."
Rhea's eyes filled again. "But I want to be normal with you."
Ling shook her head gently. "There's nothing abnormal about surviving."
She reached up, paused waiting. When Rhea didn't pull away, Ling rested her hand lightly over Rhea's waist. Grounded. Safe.
"We'll deal with this together," Ling said. "Slowly."
Rhea's breath shuddered. "You won't get tired?"
"No," Ling answered without hesitation. "I won't rush you. And I won't disappear when it gets hard."
She softened her voice. "Baths, touch, closeness none of it has to happen because of promises or fear. It'll happen only when your body feels safe."
Rhea leaned forward, resting her forehead against Ling's collarbone. "What if that takes a long time?"
Ling smiled faintly, sad and sincere. "Then it takes a long time."
She wrapped the blanket tighter around them both, not claiming sheltering.
"We're not racing," Ling said. "We're healing."
Rhea exhaled, something loosening in her chest she hadn't realized was clenched for years. Her hands relaxed against Ling's shirt, no longer gripping in panic. She lifted her head slightly, noticing the way Ling had gone very still again careful, restrained, almost afraid to cross another invisible line.
"That doesn't mean," Rhea said softly, "that you can't touch me at all."
Ling blinked, surprised.
"I told you," Rhea continued, her voice steadier now, less shaken. "You're the exception."
Before Ling could overthink it, Rhea took Ling's hand herself and placed it gently on her waist. Not sudden. Not rushed. Intentional.
Ling inhaled sharply not from desire, but from the weight of being trusted like this.
"See?" Rhea murmured, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "This is okay."
Ling let her hand rest there, still, respectful, feeling the warmth through fabric. She didn't pull Rhea closer. She didn't tighten her grip. She simply stayed.
Then, deliberately, Ling tilted her head and sighed dramatically.
"Oh no," she said. "That means I have to wait a very long time."
Rhea paused, then let out a small, surprised laugh the first real one in hours.
Ling glanced down at her, pretending to look utterly devastated. "Years, probably. Decades. I'll be old and gray by the time we reach the next level."
Rhea shook her head, smiling now, the tension easing from her shoulders. "You're impossible."
"I'm patient," Ling corrected lightly. "But I like to complain."
Rhea laughed again, softer this time, and leaned back into Ling's chest. Ling's hand stayed where Rhea had put it warm, steady, safe.
"Thank you," Rhea whispered after a moment.
"For what?" Ling asked.
"For not making me feel broken," Rhea said. "And for not treating me like glass either."
Ling's expression softened. "You're not fragile," she said. "You're healing."
She squeezed Rhea's waist just once gentle, asking. When Rhea didn't flinch, Ling smiled faintly.
"See?" Ling added quietly. "We're already doing this together."
Rhea closed her eyes, breathing evenly now, her body relaxed against Ling's hold not trapped, not scared.
Just chosen.
"From now on," Ling said casually, like she was announcing a rule, "any new physical intimacy?"
Rhea blinked. "What about it?"