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The rooftop was warm under the midday sun, the kind of gentle heat that made the metal railings too hot to touch but perfect for lazy lunchtime lounging. The breeze was light, stirring Love’s hair as she leaned into Milk’s side, her cheeks resting just under her shoulder.
“Milky, you’re so comfy,” Love murmured with a soft grin, closing her eyes as she snuggled closer.
Milk didn’t look at her, just kept chewing on her sandwich, gaze drifting across the sky like a slow-moving cloud. “Hmmm,” she hummed, not really reacting.
Love looked up at her, lips quivering slightly. “Hey, I was thinking… there’s a fair this weekend. The one by the river? Do you want to go? Just us.”
She said it like it was no big deal, but her heart had fluttered just a bit when she said just us. She waited for an answer, eyes on Milk’s face.
Milk wiped her fingers on a napkin and finally glanced down. “Oh, yeah, that one? Earn and Film are going. They asked me to come too.”
Love blinked. Her smile twitched, then stayed. “Oh… cool,” she said, trying to laugh like it didn’t matter. “I guess we could all go then.”
“Yeah,” Milk said easily, reaching for some fruit. “They’re hyped about it. Earn won’t shut up about the papaya salad.”
Love chuckled again, quieter this time. “That sounds like her.”
She kept looking at Milk, who seemed perfectly at ease, calm, even a little faraway. Something inside Love sank, just a little.
Milk wasn’t being cold. She wasn’t mean. But lately, she’d been… distant. More into stories about Earn and Film than about them. More quiet when Love reached out, more absent in the ways that used to feel close.
Love glanced down at the lunchbox she barely touched. “I was kinda hoping it’d just be us,” she mumbled, trying to keep her tone light, like she wasn’t hoping for more. “Like… a date, you know?”
Milk shrugged, casually. “We can still hang out there. Just because they’re coming too doesn’t mean we won’t have time.” Love nodded slowly, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Totally.”
But it didn’t feel the same.
It didn’t feel like it used to—when Milk would hold her hand without her asking, when she'd text her first thing in the morning, when she looked at Love like she was the best part of her day.
Now it felt like she was just... there.
Love leaned back against the wall, the sun still warm on her skin, but somehow it felt colder now. She didn’t say anything for a moment, just watched the clouds with Milk.
“I’m being silly,” she said out loud, but more to herself.
Milk glanced at her. “Hmm?”
“Nothing,” Love smiled, tight at the edges. “Just talking to the wind.”
Milk chuckled. “Weirdo.”
Love laughed too, but it caught in her throat.
She hated feeling like this. Like she was clinging to something that was slowly drifting away while pretending everything was fine. She wanted to believe it was just in her head, just a phase.
But with every laugh Milk shared with Earn and Film, every moment she forgot to reply to Love’s messages, it felt more and more like Love was becoming the background character in her own relationship.
And that hurts.
So, she sat there, next to the girl she loved, in the quiet warmth of the rooftop, smiling through the ache in her chest and hoping—maybe just a little—that Milk would reach out first this time.
After their quiet lunch on the rooftop, Love and Milk returned to their classroom.
The room was already buzzing—voices overlapping, pencil cases zipping, chairs scraping the floor. The sunlight was still coming in through the windows, warm and soft, but something in the air felt heavier now. Like everything looked the same… but didn’t feel the same.
Milk dropped into her seat next to Film and Earn, her usual spot near the window. She was chewing on the end of her pen, half-listening as Film launched into some dramatic story about her friend putting lip gloss in the freezer. Earn burst out laughing like it was the funniest thing she’d heard all week.
Milk smiled at first, even interjects with a lazy, “Why is your friend a weirdo?”
But her mind was already somewhere else.
Across the room, in the back corner, Love was standing with Namtan. Just chatting. Smiling. Her laugh broke through the noise—it was bright and real. The kind of laugh Milk hadn’t heard from her in a while.
Milk looked longer than she meant to.
Namtan had her guitar slung over her back, probably just back from the light music club. Milk’s eyes rested on it at first, then shifted back to Love. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she saw Love reach out, pointing at the guitar. Namtan said something, and Love threw her head back, laughing again. That laugh.
The one that used to be meant for her.
Milk’s chest tightened.
She didn’t know why it bothered her. Namtan wasn’t doing anything wrong. They were friends. And she was always like that—friendly, a little extra, easy to like. But the way she stood beside Love, the way Love leaned in so naturally, like it was nothing—it made something twist in Milk’s stomach.
She held her pen a little tighter. Didn’t say anything. Just stared.
Why was Love smiling like that at her?
It wasn’t fair. Milk had been right next to her during lunch. Love had leaned on her, smiled at her. Asked her to the fair. Just them. And now she was across the room, laughing like she’d already moved on.
Then Love turned.
Her eyes scanned the classroom—and landed on Milk.
For a second, Milk’s heart jumped. Caught. But instead of holding her gaze, she quickly looked away, pretending to laugh at something Film said. Like she hadn’t noticed at all.
Love stood there a moment longer, still watching. Waiting. Hoping, maybe, for a smile. A nod. Something.
But Milk didn’t look back.
And just like that, the small bit of hope Love had started to grow in her chest faded again. She looked down, trying not to let the sting show on her face.
She told herself not to overthink it. Not to let her heart get carried away. But deep down, it hurt.
Because even though Milk had sat beside her on the rooftop just a little while ago—warm, quiet, close—this version of her, the one laughing with everyone else and not looking back… felt a million miles away.
Love forced another smile as she turned back to Namtan, nodding at something she said.
But Namtan wasn’t the one she wanted to laugh with.
Not really.
The sun was lower now, casting long shadows across the school courtyard. The air had turned cooler, with a breeze that wrapped around their legs and tugged at the edges of their uniforms.
Love stepped out of the school building, hugging her arms to herself. She gave an exaggerated shiver, making a little squeaky noise as she stepped up close to Milk.
“Milkyyy,” she whined playfully, leaning in and clinging to Milk’s arm. “I’m freezing. Can I borrow your hoodie? Just for a bit? Please?”
Milk looked down at her, not quite smiling. “I don’t have it,” she said simply. “Film borrowed it during class. I forgot to ask for it back.”
Love blinked, caught off guard for just a second, but then forced a chuckle, still clinging to Milk’s arm.
“Oh! I can just ask her then,” she said lightly. “If you don’t mind? I’ll get it back from her myself.” But something shifted in Milk’s face—her shoulders tensed, and she pulled her arm back slightly.
“Why are you being so clingy?” Milk muttered, eyes narrowing just a little. “I told you Film has it.”
Love froze.
Her fingers slipped away from Milk’s sleeve like she’d touched something too cold. Her face faltered, lips parting, words stuck somewhere between her chest and her throat.
“I… I didn’t mean anything by it,” she said softly. “I just wanted to wear something that smells like you.”
Her voice was soft, shaky around the edges. She smiled again, but it was the kind that cracked before it even formed. Milk wasn’t looking at her.
A silence fell between them, heavy and hard to ignore. Love swallowed and looked away.
“Okay then, Milk,” she said quietly, each word dropping heavier than she meant it to. “I’ll just borrow Namtan’s jacket.”
That hit harder than she expected.
Milk stopped walking. Her back straightened. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
“...Namtan?” she repeated, her tone almost unreadable.
Love nodded, eyes still fixed on the ground. “Yeah. She offered earlier. She’s always bringing like, three extra layers,” she added, trying to sound normal. Like her heart wasn’t hurting.
But Milk wasn’t hearing the words. She was listening to Namtan. The girl with the perfect waves in her hair and that effortless, relaxed confidence. The one who always had people laughing around her. The one who played guitar during school events, fingers dancing like it was second nature.
The one Love had once said, “I really find it amazing when she plays her guitar,” not realizing how Milk had gone quiet after that.
“Don’t,” Milk said suddenly, arms crossed now. Love looked at her, confused. “Don’t what? I’m cold.”
Milk shrugged, looking anywhere but at her. “It’s just a jacket.”
Love stared at her for a moment, and something in her chest just... cracked. Not loudly. Not obviously. Like a crack in glass, you can’t fix.
“It wasn’t about the jacket,” she whispered.
Milk glanced at her then. Really looked.
And in that glance, she finally saw it.
Love’s shoulders were tense, her eyes a little dull. She looked like she was trying so hard to stay soft, to stay bright—but she was tired. She was giving and giving and not getting much back.
Milk opened her mouth, but no words came out.
Love took a small step back. Just enough to put space between them that hadn’t been there before.
“See you tomorrow, I guess, Milk,” she said, her voice small, careful.
Milk felt it instantly, like a quiet slap, not loud but sharp. Not Milky, the soft nickname Love always used, the one that felt warm and familiar. Just Milk. Cold. Distant. Formal, almost like they were strangers again.
Her stomach tightened, and for a second, she forgot what she was about to say. It wasn’t just the name—it was everything packed into it. The way Love said it, without looking at her. The way her voice had gone small. Tired.
And then Love turned and walked off down the steps, the breeze tugging at her skirt, her hair, her heart.
Love had already turned halfway when she felt it.
A gentle tug at her wrist—soft, but not letting go.
She looked back, surprised, and there was Milk, standing still, eyes wide like she’d just realized something too late. Like the words that came out earlier weren’t what she really meant.
“Wait,” Milk said, her voice low and shaky. “Why… why did you call me Milk? What happened to Milky?”
Love blinked. Her wrist was still in Milk’s hand, the warmth of her fingers steady even as the breeze picked up.
“Because,” Love said quietly, “my Milky’s been too busy with Film and Earn lately. So, I thought maybe Milk made more sense.”
Milk flinched—just barely, but it was there. Her hand loosened, but didn’t let go.
“That’s not fair,” she said, but it came out soft, almost unsure. “I didn’t know you felt like that…”
Love didn’t yell. She didn’t even frown. She just looked at her, calm but tired. Tired in that way people get when they’ve been holding things in too long.
Milk bit her lip, gaze darting. Then suddenly, in a rush, she blurted, “You shouldn’t say stuff like that about Namtan.”
Love furrowed her brows. “What are you talking about?”
Milk snapped before she could stop herself. “The jacket. You said you’d borrow hers and I just—” She cut herself off, took a breath that didn’t quite calm her down.
She stopped, took a shaky breath.
“I hate it when you talk about her like that,” she uttered again, a little quieter now, but more honest. “She’s always laughing with you. And you—you always smile when she plays guitar. You look at her like… like she’s something special.”
Love stared, stunned. “Are you… wait. Are you jealous of Namtan? She's our friend, you know.”
Milk’s eyes widened—like Love had pulled the curtain off her feelings.
“W-What? No—I mean—” she stuttered, but the words were clumsy now, and the walls she usually kept up were already falling.
Love didn’t speak. She just watched her, waiting.
Milk’s mouth opened, then closed again.
And then, softly—honestly—like she couldn’t hold it in any longer:
“…Of course, I am.”
It hit the air heavily. Like a truth that had been waiting to come out.
“I hate it. I don't care if she's our friend,” Milk said, her voice shaking, her hand still holding Love’s. “I hate when you look at other people the way I want you to look at me. I hate feeling like maybe you’ll get tired of me because I’m not fun or cool or talented like Namtan.”
She looked up then, really looked. Her eyes were shiny, almost teary.
“I’m jealous because I love you,” she whispered. “And sometimes I feel like I don’t know how to keep you.”
Love didn’t say anything right away. She just stood there, everything quiet around her except the rush in her chest. All the little things she’d been feeling—being pushed aside, not seen, fading into the background—they all shifted. Not gone. But finally, finally seen.
She stepped closer and gently pulled her wrist free—not to walk away, but so she could lift her hand and hold Milk’s face.
“Milky,” she said softly, the nickname sounding like it used to. “All I ever wanted… was for you to want to hold on to me.”
Milk’s breath caught.
And then she moved. No hesitation this time. Her arms wrapped tightly around Love like she was afraid to let go. Like something had finally broken open inside her, and she didn’t want to lose what she’d almost ignored.
And maybe she had been scared.
But now… she held on. And Love let herself be held.
The schoolyard was almost empty now. Just the sound of the wind in the trees and a far-off buzz of cars passing by. The light was fading, shadows growing longer, and the old bench under the tree caught the last bit of golden sun.
Love and Milk sat close together, their knees touching. Neither of them spoke for a while. But it wasn’t the kind of silence that hurt—it was the kind that came after tears, after truth. Still sore, but calm. Safe.
Then, without saying anything, Milk started pulling off the oversized hoodie she had on—the gray one Love always teased her about, saying it made her look like a sleepy, walking pillow.
She gently placed it around Love’s shoulders, her fingers brushing along her arms, lingering for just a moment longer than they had to.
Love looked at her, surprised. “Wait… I thought Film, had it?”
Milk looked away quickly, the tips of her ears turning pink. “She didn’t,” she admitted under her breath. “I just… kinda panicked earlier. I didn’t know how to explain myself, so I lied.”
Love stared for a second—then let out a tiny laugh.
“Oh my god,” she said, trying to hold it in. “You panicked?”
Milk groaned and covered her face with her hands. “Don’t make it a thing.”
“Oh no, I am making it a thing,” Love said, full-on smiling now. “You panicked because your girlfriend wanted your hoodie. You, of all people.”
Milk pulled her hands away, glaring playfully. “Can you not? I didn’t want to seem… like I was freaking out or something.”
“So, you were freaking out,” Love teased gently. Then she leaned in closer, the hoodie warm around her, sleeves way too long. “So… you do still love me, huh?”
Milk shot her a flat look. “Obviously. Why do you think I glare at Namtan like she stole my cat every time she breathes in your direction?”
Love let out a loud laugh, leaning back a little. “Oh my god, you do! You’ve totally been death-staring her.”
“Only a little,” Milk mumbled, though the smile she was trying to hide tugged at her lips.
Love pulled the hoodie tighter around her, the sleeves too long, the inside soft and warm. It smelled like Milk—sweet, faintly vanilla, and something else she could never name but always made her feel at home.
She scooted closer, then rested her head on Milk’s shoulder.
Milk didn’t move away. She let her lean in, like she always used to. Like they were finally fitting together again after feeling a little off for too long.
“You know,” Love said quietly, “you could’ve just told me you missed me.”
Milk snorted, low and soft. “Yeah, well. You’re the one who talks about feelings. I do the quiet suffering part, Lovey.”
Love smiled against her shoulder, that nickname soothing all the places in her chest that had felt raw for days.
“Thanks for putting up with my drama,” she whispered.
Milk leaned her head against Love’s, their foreheads almost touching.
“I don’t just put up with it,” she said quietly. “I kinda need it. You balance me out.”
Love smiled again, eyes closing. Her heart, which had been aching for days, finally felt like it was beating right again.
The wind moved through the leaves above them. Soft. Steady.
And in that quiet moment, everything between them finally felt okay.
It was just another chill night. Love was sprawled on Milk’s bed, head on her lap, scrolling through her phone while Milk absentmindedly ran fingers through her hair, one leg folded beneath her.
There was no tension between them anymore. No awkward silences. Just quiet comfort—the kind that only comes after fighting through the hard stuff and finding your way back.
Then Love’s phone buzzed. Once, twice, then five times in a row.
She groaned, holding it above her face. “Uh oh. Group chat’s on fire again. This can’t be good.”
Milk leaned over, curious. The screen lit up with a picture: Film, hair in a messy bun, buried in a big hoodie that looked very, very familiar.
Film: “Fashion upgrade. Milk’s hoodie >_<”
Love snorted. “Wait. Didn’t you say you never gave it to her?”
Milk leaned in with narrowed eyes. “That was last week. How does she still have it?”
Earn: “Is someone fighting again, or can I eat popcorn in peace this time?”
Namtan: “I just almost lent my jacket to Love today, okay? I am not trying to steal your girl. Please don’t murder me, Milk. T-T”
Love burst out laughing. “Oh my god, she knows. Namtan’s terrified.”
Milk raised an eyebrow, snatched her phone off the nightstand, and flipped the camera. “Hold still,” she muttered.
“Huh?” Love blinked, sitting up slightly. “What are you—”
Milk didn’t answer. She just tugged the same hoodie from Film’s selfie over both of them like a blanket. Love squeaked as Milk pulled her closer, smooshing them cheek to cheek.
Click.
Then Milk typed, thumbs flying.
It was the selfie of her and Love tangled together in the hoodie, Milk’s arms around her, Love's wide eyes, and giggling.
Milk: “Taken. BACK OFF.”
And sent it.
Silence.
Then—
Earn: “Okay, well played.”
Film: “OH. So, we’re getting possessive now. Got it.”
Namtan: “Respectfully backing off forever. May your hoodie bless your relationship.”
Earn: “Note to self: never flirt with Milk’s girl. Even by accident.”
Love collapsed into laughter, face buried in Milk’s hoodie. “I can’t believe you actually sent that.”
Milk shrugged, a small smirk tugging at her lips. She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Love’s temple. “Just wanted to clear things up. No more confusion.”
Love looked up at her, warmth in her eyes. “Jealous Milky is kinda hot,” she teased.
Milk rolled her eyes, but her arm tightened around Love’s waist. “Lovey, in my hoodie, is unbeatable.”
Love smiled, tucking herself under Milk’s arm again, safe in the same hoodie, the same warmth, and all the quiet ways they’d found each other again.
From that night on, everyone in the group chat learned one very simple rule:
Never. Ever. Test Milk’s jealousy.
Not even with a jacket.