Chapter Text
Shasha woke up within the vibrant bedroom. A space that wasn’t hers, but one she knew just as well as her own. A space her girlfriend had begun to rent a year and a half ago, after her job security felt stable enough to leave her parents place. Since then, Shasha found herself spending more nights at the modest apartment than at her own luxury one.
The space was unmistakably Gorya’s: bright and expressive, alive with detail in a way that felt both curated and instinctive. A garment rack stood near the window. Fashion sketches crowded the wall above a desk in overlapping rows. Even the bed reflected her, layered with contrasting patterns and carefully arranged pillows.
And for all its vibrancy, the room felt a bit colder than it used to.
Shasha’s body started to move before her mind was fully awake, instinctively reaching out her arm. Her hand drifted across the sheets in search of something familiar, but this time she didn’t find it. Gorya’s side of the bed was empty, the sheets twisted and pulled loose, the blankets tangled together as if she had risen in a hurry. There was no lingering warmth within them, only the faint impression within the mattress of where she had been.
Shasha’s fingers pressed lightly into that impression, tracing that absence without meaning to, as if something might still be recovered from it. When nothing showed up, she pushed herself upright and let her gaze move through the room as though she might find Gorya somewhere within it.
The colors remained vivid, the details intact, yet without Gorya’s presence the space felt less alive, as if it had been placed on pause. The contrast settled uneasily in Shasha’s chest, her awareness focusing on what was missing rather than what remained.
She listened, stretched her awareness past the bedroom, tried to find a small sign of movement within the apartment that might anchor her back to something familiar. There was no sound of something frying in the kitchen, no quiet clatter of dishes, nor the soft rhythm of somebody moving between rooms. There was no playful “good morning, superstar” as Gorya wrapped her arms around her waist and kissed her shoulder.
By the time footsteps were heard and Gorya appeared in the doorway, the stillness had already settled too deeply to ignore.
Gorya stood in the doorway, already dressed, her outfit structured in a way that mirrored her careful composition of the room. Her hair, dyed a deep, striking red, hung loose around her shoulders. Her phone rested in her hand as her attention remained fixed on the screen. The faint glow reflected against her features, sharpened them and created a distance between her and Shasha each second she didn't look up from the screen.
Gorya stepped into the room and began moving around the space. Shasha shifted slightly on the bed, her gaze following Gorya as she moved through the room in search of something, “you’re heading out early again?”
Gorya didn’t look up immediately, her thumb moving across the screen as her eyes scanned whatever held her attention, “yeah. I’ve got a client call in thirty. They moved the meeting up.”
Her tone landed evenly. Not sharp, nor unkind, but stripped of anything personal. Delivered with the same clarity she might use with a colleague or a client.
Gorya crossed the room to the garment rack, where she picked out a jacket among the various hangers. She slipped into it with one fluid motion before she adjusted the collar with absent familiarity. She reached for her bag that rested atop the desk, checked its contents without really looking, then set it down again to gather something else she almost forgot.
There was a time where mornings unfolded differently, slowly. Shasha could still picture it too clearly; the way Gorya would hover at the edge of the bed, stole kisses between half finished sentences, teased Shasha about her bed head with a grin that refused to fade, and insisted that they sit down to eat together even if it made her late. Those moments had felt careless in the best way, like time could stretch if they wanted it to.
Now, time between them barely seemed to exist.
Shasha shifted again, drawing up her knees closer as she watched Gorya bend briefly to tighten her platform boots, “you didn’t sleep much.”
Gorya straightened, smoothed her hand over already composed appearance before she reached again for her phone, “deadlines. You know how it is.”
The answer came easily, familiar enough to sound like a truth that didn’t need explanation. Still, Shasha felt the gap between what was said and what was remembered, because she knew how it used to be. She remembered the nights when Gorya would crawl into bed long after she should’ve been asleep, her body warm and heavy as she pressed close to Shasha, her voice low and tired but still there, still reaching. “Wake me if I fall asleep on you” she’d whisper. Shasha would never wake her.
Now, Gorya fell asleep on the couch, surrounded by sketches, and Shasha woke up alone.
The memory uneasily dispersed from Shasha’s mind as Gorya finally looked up.
Their eyes met for only a moment, a quick glance that almost felt incidental rather than intentional, followed by a small smile that didn’t quite reach Gorya’s eyes. It was there, technically, but it faded too quickly for Shasha to hold onto.
“You look tired. Try not to work too hard today, okay?” Gorya asked.
Shasha felt the words land before she responded. They arrived as something gentle wrapped in distance, care offered without closeness. She lifted a hand to brush back her hair, buying herself a second before she answered, her own smile formed with more effort than it should’ve required.
“Yeah. Sure,” she answered.
Gorya stepped closer to the bed then, enough to close the physical space between them. And for a brief moment it looked like something familiar might return. Like the rhythm they once had might slip back into place. She leaned in, her movement automatic, almost habitual, and Shasha found herself holding still, waiting for something that used to come without hesitation.
The kiss landed against her cheek.
Quick. Light. Distracted.
It lingered only long enough to register that it happened before it was gone. Leaving behind a faint warmth that faded almost as quickly as it came. By the time Shasha exhaled, Gorya had already pulled back, already turned away, her attention shifting forward to whatever waits beyond the apartment.
Gorya made her way out of the room, and the front door was heard closing with a final click.
Shasha remained seated on the bed, her gaze fixed on the space Gorya had just occupied as though something might still be there if she looked long enough. The room felt larger in her absence, the decor stretching outward without anything to anchor it.
A question came quietly to Shasha’s mind, but it didn't feel new: When did we stop reaching for each other?
It lingered, unanswered, before another thought followed it. This one felt louder, sharper as if it were slicing through Shasha’s mind and demanding to be heard.
When did I become something she walks around, instead of towards?
Shasha arrived at Bambi’s studio to shoot for her Fiona campaign. The studio carried a kind of controlled chaos that reflected Bambi’s presence as clearly as her name printed across the call sheet. There’d been a time when Bambi cut corners, lived off her mom’s income, and chased excitement more than discipline. She’d lived carefree in a way that expected things to fall into their place naturally, at the last possible second if at all. That version of her felt distant now, and was replaced by somebody who was sharper and knew when to restrain her emotions when needed. She became somebody who led without hesitation, knew exactly what she wanted and how to move an entire room towards it.
Shasha understood that kind of drive because she carried her own version of it. Even when the world saw Bambi as just another party girl and Shasha as just another model, they’d been brought together by their work ethic. True, at the time of their meeting their efforts were more personal than professional; Shasha trying to pursue Gorya and Bambi trying to pull Prim back to her side. Still, underneath the surface of their public personas, they’d recognized a kinship in each other that blossomed into becoming best friends.
Shasha’s modeling abilities were something she’d crafted over the long years in the industry. She knew her angles, her timing, the exact way to hold tension in her body to show off a particular outfit. She treated every shoot with the same focus Bambi put into her designs. It was why they’d worked so well together, why Bambi trusted her to help carry out her vision. The boundaries between them were clear; Fiona was Bambi’s and Shasha worked as the face of the company. The history and friendship between the two of them was the only real claim Shasha had.
It was because of their closeness that Bambi hadn’t gone through the proper channel of contacting Shasha’s manager for the campaign. She hadn’t bothered to entertain the idea of another model stepping into the role. Bambi had gone straight to Shasha and confidently stated that she needed her. And Shasha had just as confidently replied yes. Not out of a feeling of obligation, but because being chosen in such a deliberate way had always been something she’d responded to. Even now, in the middle of production, that choice seemed to tether their friendship together in a way nobody else could notice but them.
The dressing room was full of various noises coming from assistants who rushed around and clothes hangers that screeched across their racks. Shasha sat before a vanity mirror, the bulbs around it burned too bright, bleaching her reflection into something unreal. Makeup and hairspray were spread across the counter, a makeup artist hovered somewhere behind her.
Shasha didn’t turn towards the artist nor the chaotic scene in the room. Instead she stared ahead at the mirror and lifted her chin slightly, studied the line of her jaw, saw the gloss sitting on her lips reflecting the bright lights, the contour on her face highlighting her features. Every detail was in place and was impeccable.
Perfect, she thought. The word arrived automatically as it always did when she prepared for a photo shoot. But today it didn’t feel the same way. It felt hollow.
Her gaze lingered on her own reflection, but her mind drifted elsewhere. She thought of Gorya, of the way she used to watch her in moments like this, leaned casually against a doorway or sat just within reach, her attention fixed entirely on Shasha as if nothing else in the room existed. There’d been something steady in that gaze, as though she were committing the scene to memory. Now that kind of attention felt like something from another life.
She used to tell me I looked dangerous. A faint smirk formed on Shasha’s lips at the memory.
There was a time when Gorya’s presence lingered in ways that felt impossible to ignore. When her touch would follow without hesitation, a hand settled naturally on Shasha’s waist as she adjusted a clothing item, fingers brushed lightly along fabric that didn’t need fixed just for the excuse of contact. There had been teasing comments whispered close enough for only Shasha to hear, laughter that came easily, affection that didn’t need to be asked for. Lately, all of that had been replaced by something far more restrained.
Shasha lifted her hand and ran her fingers through her hair, not caring if she ruined the look that’d been crafted on her. She watched the movement play out in the mirror, the way each strand fell back into place effortlessly. The precision of it all ignited a flare of anger. She stared at herself and looked for something that wasn't there. Tried to find any hint of a flaw.
The mirror offered no comfort, only honesty in its own quiet way, reflecting what she refused to say aloud. Even if she felt it firmly in her chest.
She was still beautiful. She just didn’t feel desired.
The shoot floor was somehow more chaotic than the dressing rooms. Every present body on the floor was continuously moving. Camera shutters clicked in rapid succession, while assistants moved in and out of the light with practiced urgency, adjusted reflectors, and shifted stands. Photographers called out small corrections that disappeared into the noise of the room. Music pulsed low through speakers, a steady baseline that vibrated through the concrete beneath their feet.
Shasha stood at the center of it, held in place beneath the bright softbox lamps. The custom dress molded to her frame with precision, its lines angled and architectural, every seam designed to emphasize curves and structure without sacrificing movement. The fabric caught the light as she shifted, matte some places and reflective in others.
And Shasha wore it the way she wore everything; like it belonged to her.
Bambi hovered just beyond the immediate frame, tablet in hand, her attention fixed as she tracked every angle through the monitor and in real space. This was hers. Her design, her vision, her brand. And she watched the scene with the kind of focus that bordered on possessiveness.
Eventually, Bambi’s heels clicked against the concrete as she stepped closer, cutting through the space between her and Shasha without hesitation. She circled Shasha once, slow and assessing, her gaze dragged along the lines of the dress just a bit longer than necessary.
“The bodice is shifting,” Bambi began with a serious tone, “try not to ruin my work, yeah?”
The combination of tone and words would’ve sounded harsh to those who didn’t know Bambi. Shasha let out a breath of amusement but stilled anyway. Respectful that Bambi is the designer and the visionary for today’s photo shoot.
“Careful,” she murmured with a light tone, eyes flicking to Bambi, “you sound nervous.”
Bambi huffed softly under her breath, stepped closer, her fingers already finding the fabric around Shasha’s waist.
“Please. It’s only because I’ve worked with you before. I know exactly how much trouble you are.”
Her fingers smoothed along the seam, pressed in lightly, adjusted the structure of the dress with practiced motions. The touch seemed to linger a second longer than it needed to, her hand slid a fraction upward before settling again.
Shasha watched her from the corner of her eye, the curve of her mouth lifted up, “and yet you keep booking me.”
“Occupational hazard,” Bambi replied easily, though her voice dipped slightly as she leaned in closer. “Besides, nobody else sells it like you do.”
The space between them narrowed without either of them acknowledging it. Bambi shifted closer, her shoulder nearly brushing Shasha’s, her breath warm where it ghosted against her skin. Her hands reached out, the height difference between them lessened with Bambi’s heels, to adjust a part of the neckline.
Shasha followed the movement, catching every detail in the action, “‘sells it’” she echoed teasingly. “That’s what we’re calling it?”
Bambi didn’t look up from her focus on the neckline, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at her lips, “what would you prefer I call it?”
Shasha tilted her chin just slightly downwards in Bambi’s direction, “that depends. What exactly are you trying to get out of me?”
That earned a pause.
Bambi’s hands stilled for a moment before she stepped around her, repositioning behind her with a quick motion. Her fingers returned to the dress, smoothing along Shasha’s spine, following the line where the fabric dips lower. Her knuckles grazed bare skin, slow enough to feel intentional.
“Right now?” Bambi asked, her voice quieter and closer, the words brushing just past Shasha’s ear. “Just for you to stand still for five seconds.”
Shasha inhaled, more unsteady than her last breath, though she masked it quickly with a faint smile.
“Five seconds feels ambitious,” she said lightly.
Bambi’s hand settled briefly at the small of her back, steadying her under the pretense of adjustment, her thumb pressing just enough to be noticed before it slid away.
“Well then it’s a good thing I like a challenge.”
The photographer called out something about lighting, but neither of them made an effort to move.
“You’re hovering,” Shasha stated, softer now, but there was still an edge of amusement in it.
“I’m working,” Bambi replied, her tone carried in a way that let Shasha know she was smirking behind her.
“It feels a little personal.”
There was a difference between friendly banter, flirting, and friendly flirting. Shasha had observed friendly flirting between Prim and Min exchanging cheeky smiles and words while Bambi was present. Shasha had seen Gorya drape her arm around her girl friends and giggle. Prim had even laughed when Bambi had gotten drunk and offered to kiss all of their friends at a celebration. None of those instances had created tension.
Shasha wasn’t a prude and neither was Bambi. Friendly flirting was part of their relationship and had always been a natural part of their lives. But now, something seemed altered about the interaction, almost as if something that’d once been harmless was now snagging at the edges of her mind. Maybe it was because of Shasha’s rough morning with Gorya that something twisted within her stomach, a coiled tension that told her they were balancing on a line neither of them were drawing away from.
This time Bambi’s hands stilled completely, rested lightly against the fabric on Shasha’s back. The moment stretched thin before she leaned in slightly.
“If it were personal,” she began, low and measured, “you’d be the first between us to complain.”
Shasha’s smile deepened, slow and knowing, “would I?”
Bambi didn’t answer right away. Instead her fingers resumed their work, smoothed more fabric, but the movement felt more intentional now, less about look correction and more about contact.
“No,” she admitted after a beat, “you’d probably make it worse.”
A soft laugh slipped from Shasha before she could stop it, “I’m glad you know me. And I’m glad this is just professional.”
The tension between them settled into something quieter, but no less charged. It threaded through every small movement, every glance toward the other.
Bambi finally stepped back, slowly. Her gaze lingered as it moved over Shasha’s shoulders, her posture, the way the dress molded perfectly to her body. Her curves accentuated in a way that should’ve felt scandalous.
“There,” she said, her voice steadier now, but still low. “Try not to mess it up.”
Bambi walked away, back to her spot in front of the monitor. This time she didn’t watch the display, she brought her focus downwards as she powered on her tablet. Shasha turned toward the camera as the photographer yelled out a cue, her expression shifting seamlessly into something polished and controlled. But her pulse refused to follow.
Her heart raced and she knew she shouldn’t feel this. Not here. Especially not with Bambi. Not with everything between her and Gorya unraveling.
But she did feel it. And she knew, without needing to look at her, that Bambi did too.
Bambi’s personal design studio was dim and quiet in contrast to the shooting floor and dressing rooms. Fabric swatches and color matching strips spilled across various workbenches, half empty cups of iced coffee sat on any solid surface they could balance on, and a mannequin torso wearing one of Bambi’s unfinished designs stared blankly from the corner. The room smelled faintly of fabric glue and lavender, something so distinctively Bambi’s. It clung to the room as stubbornly as her presence in Shasha’s thoughts did.
Shasha sank into the couch, her body free to relax after hours of holding itself in place. She leaned back, one arm draped loosely along the backrest, the other rested in her lap as her fingers absentmindedly traced along her pant leg. The sensation from earlier hadn’t quite faded, the memory of Bambi’s hands lingered.
She shifted slightly, pushed her shoulders back against the couch as if that might ground her. Might pull her attention away from it. It didn’t.
Her jaw tightened as she exhaled through her nose, trying to push her thoughts aside. Because she shouldn’t be thinking about that. Not when everything with Gorya already felt like it was coming undone thread by thread, in ways she hadn’t figured out how to stop.
The door swung open with a dramatic push and Bambi stepped in without hesitation, already slipping out of her heels as she crossed the room. She let them fall to the floor with loud thuds as she made her way over to the couch.
She flailed her body onto the couch beside Shasha with a dramatic sigh.
Up close, the exhaustion showed differently on her. Not physical, not the kind that came from working long hours or lack of sleep, but something quieter and deeper. It was settled behind her eyes, it showed itself in the way her shoulders didn’t quite hold themselves as high as they normally did.
“She’s married to her work now,” her voice came out flat, almost detached, but the tension in her jaw betrayed how much she actually felt. Shasha glanced sideways at her, picking up on the subtle shift immediately.
“Prim?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
Bambi let out a short breath through her nose, tilting her head back against the couch as she stared up at the ceiling.
“Who else?” she muttered, “she canceled dinner again. Said she ‘lost track of time.’”
Shasha looked at the other woman’s face, “you sound jealous of her work,” she said, her tone light.
Bambi let out a humorless laugh, one corner of her mouth slightly lifted without amusement. She turned her head towards Shasha, one brow raised to challenge her words, “no, I sound abandoned.”
The words landed heavier than anything else she’d said, enveloped the air between them and remained there. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Bambi shifted again, slid lower onto the couch as she stretched her legs out, one arm thrown over her eyes as if the dim light was too much.
Shasha studied her in the quiet that followed, her gaze moving over the details she didn’t usually get to see. Bambi rarely let anything slip through to show her anxieties, her confidence worn like armor in a similar way Shasha wore her own. Seeing the edges of that armor loosen, even slightly, felt more intimate than it should’ve.
Shasha leaned forward just a little, crossing her legs, “maybe she doesn’t realize how much she’s hurting you,” she said after a moment, her voice less teasing and more careful.
Bambi let out a short, bitter laugh from beneath her arm.
“Sure,” she replied, the word drawn out enough to make it clear she didn’t believe it.
Her arm shifted then, slid down just enough for her to glance at Shasha. Her expression was unreadable for a moment before it shifted back into something more guarded.
Shasha exhaled quietly, her gaze dropped to the coffe table, her fingers tapping against her knee as a thought began to take shape. The energy in the room felt heavy, weighed down by everything left unsaid, and she found herself wanting to break it, to pull them both out of the suffocating feeling, even if only for a little while.
She leaned back into the couch again, turned her head toward Bambi, her expression shifting into something lighter, something more like herself.
“Then let’s not sit around thinking about it,” Shasha said, her tone sounded casual, hid that there was intention behind her words. “Come out with me tonight.”
Bambi lowered her arm fully now, turned her head to look at her, a flicker of curiosity cutting through the fatigue.
“Oh?” she said, one brow lifted.
Shasha’s lips curved as she met her gaze, “drinks. Let’s pick somewhere expensive. Somewhere where it almost feels irresponsible to spend so much money on alcohol.”
Bambi studied her for a second, her fingers idly traced along the fabric on the couch as if she were considering it. Then tension in her expression slightly eased.
“You’re tying to distract me,” she said with less resistance in her tone.
Shasha shrugged lightly, her gaze held steady, “I’m trying to distract both of us.”
The room felt lighter, not because anything had been resolved, but because, for the moment, they’d chosen not to sit in it.
The rooftop bar glowed under neon lights. The glass bannister around the outdoor patio held the city skyline at a distance. The air was cool against bare skin, carrying the faint smell of wet pavement from previous rainfall mixed with something floral from the roof’s decorative flowers. The sunset painted the backdrop of the bar’s scene.
Shasha and Bambi sat tucked into a small table near the corner. Their drinks sat between them, condensation gathered and slipped slowly down the sides of the glasses. Bambi reached and swirled her glass, the ice shifted with a soft clink as she watched it swirl. Her grip around the rim of the glass slowly tightened with each circle.
“I thought I changed to be better for her. I really did.”
Bambi’s voice was low, nearly lost beneath the ambient music and conversation, but Shasha heard it clearly. Bambi didn’t look up as she spoke, her gaze somewhere on the liquid inside her glass, like the answer might appear there.
She continued, “I stopped being so intense. I stopped going out to parties. I stopped being… me. And she didn’t even notice.”
She exhaled quietly through her nose at the end of it, her shoulders lifted slightly before they dropped again, like the weight of the words settled on her shoulders.
Shasha studied her. Leaned one elbow against the table as her fingers absently brushed along the rim of her own glass. She watched the tension in Bambi’s shoulders, the way she kept her chin angled down, how she avoided eye contact like it would make everything too real, how her lips had taken on a slight pout.
“Maybe she noticed,” Shasha eventually replied, “maybe she just didn’t know what to do with it.”
Bambi let out a short laugh with no amusement behind it. Her head tipped back and exposed the long line of her throat, Shasha tried not to stare, before she brought the glass to her lips and took a slow sip.
“Yeah. That sounds like Prim. Doesn’t know what to do with anything that’s not laid out on a storyboard.”
She sat the glass down a bit harsher than necessary, the ice shifting again with a dull thud sound, before her fingers returned to it.
Shasha took a sip of her own drink and let the citrus linger on her tongue as her gaze drifted past Bambi and out toward the city. I know this feeling, she thought.
The feeling of loving someone who was always somewhere else.
Her fingers tightened slightly around her glass before she sat it down and confessed, “Gorya’s been… distant too.”
Bambi’s attention shifted immediately. Her eyes lifted to Shasha’s face with sharper focus than before, the casual detachment she wore slipped just slightly.
“Distant how?”
Shasha leaned back slightly in her seat, “like she’s in the room, but not with me. Like I’m… optional,” Shasha didn’t look away when she said it. There was a subtle tightening in her jaw, something controlled beneath the surface.
Bambi’s expression softened as she watched her. Her features eased into something quieter, more understandable. Her hand stilled against her glass.
“You? Optional? That’s insane. I mean, has she seen you?” Her voice took on a genuine bewilderment that matched her expression.
Shasha huffed a breath of amusement, “tell that to her.”
A quiet settled between them, but it didn’t feel awkward. It stretched like a languid exhale instead, heavy but shared, like something they both understood without having needed to fill it.
Bambi leaned back in the booth and let her gaze drift slowly over Shasha’s face, it lingered a second longer than necessary before she looked away.
“You ever miss the chaos we created?”
Shasha tilted her head slightly, a faint smirk pulled at her lips as she tapped her nail once again against her glass.
“Sometimes.”
Bambi let out a laugh, her lips pressed together before she nodded, “me too. I miss not caring about consequences. I miss being selfish. I miss knowing that everybody in a room wanted me. I miss… feeling wanted.”
The last words hung in the air, softer than the rest, almost swallowed the moment they were spoken. But they were spoken. And now they suspended in between the two of them.
Shasha felt her breath catch, subtle but enough that she caught it within herself, her fingers stilled against the glass.
“You are wanted.”
Bambi’s gaze dropped briefly, her thumb brushed along the edge of the glass.
“Not by the person I changed for.”
A beat passed, the space between them tightened in a way that felt physical. Then Bambi shifted in her seat, angled herself closer. It was subtle, almost unnoticeable to anyone else, but enough that the distance between them narrowed.
Their knees brushed under the table. Neither of them moved.
“You know what the worst part is?” Bambi continued.
Shasha didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned in even further, her voice quieter now, “what?”
Bambi exhaled slowly, her gaze unfocused for a moment before it settled again, “I don’t even know who I’m supposed to be anymore.”
Shasha’s voice dropped, softer, more deliberate, “maybe you’re supposed to be whoever you were before you changed. Before you started shrinking yourself.”
Bambi’s eyes flicked upwards at that, caught Shasha’s face, then drifted—quickly, almost involuntarily—to her lips before they snapped back up. The movement was brief, but it didn’t go unnoticed. Shasha felt her pulse jump, a sharp, sudden beat that threw her off rhythm.
“You make it sound easy,” Bambi replied.
Shasha shifted, her fingers moved away from the glass and sat against the top of the table, “it’s not. But it’s honest.”
Bambi turned her head fully, her eyes locked with Shasha’s, searching, “do you ever feel like you’re giving everything and getting crumbs back?”
Shasha hesitated. Her gaze dropped for a moment as images flashed across her mind—empty mornings, distracted kisses, Gorya’s attention always just out of reach.
Shasha’s other hand, the one below the table, rested on her knee and pressed in lightly, “yeah. Lately… yeah.”
Bambi shifted even closer again, barely perceptible, but enough that the warmth between them felt more present, more intentional.
“We’re pathetic,” Bambi sadly smiled.
Shasha let out a soft breath, her lips curved slightly, “a little.”
Bambi’s shoulder brushed faintly against Shasha’s arm as she adjusted her posture, “two idiots in love with women who don’t have time for us.”
Shasha let out a quiet laugh under her breath, shook her head slightly as she looked down at the table. The silence that followed felt heavier, but not uncomfortable. It filled the space between them with something unspoken, something shared.
Bambi nudged Shasha’s knee lightly with her own under the table, “at least you look good doing it,” Bambi teased.
Shasha glanced at her, one brow lifted slightly, “you’re deflecting.”
Bambi gave a small, tired smile, "obviously." The smile lingered long enough to feel real.
We’re both unraveling, Shasha realized. And somehow, as she sat with Bambi, she didn’t feel quite as alone as she originally thought. Another silence settled, but this one felt different. Charged.
Bambi’s hand drifted across the table, slow and absentminded at first, until it stopped near Shasha’s. She didn’t touch her, but it was close enough that the heat between them was unmistakable.
Bambi’s voice lowered, barely above a whisper, “I forgot what it felt like to be seen.”
Shasha’s chest tightened, her gaze dropped briefly to the space between their hands before it lifted again, “you’re not invisible, Bambi.”
Bambi’s breath hissed, subtle but real, her fingers twitched as if she was resisting the urge to close the gap. She leaned in just a fraction, a test against the space between them, “then why does it feel like you’re the only one who notices me anymore?”
Shasha didn’t answer. Her lips parted slightly, but no words followed. Maybe because there weren’t any safe ones left to say. No words that wouldn’t cross an invisible line.
The city lights flickered across their faces, shifted with the movement of passing cars below. Their knees remained pressed together. Their hands remained dangerously close. And the space between them continued to shrink, warmer, more fragile, stretched thin with everything neither of them had said. They were two people who promised themselves they had changed, who built something steadier, something better. Any yet there they were, slipping quietly, inevitably back toward something familiar.
Drawn together by loneliness. By recognition. By something neither of them was ready to name.
The moment stretched, suspended.
And they both felt exactly where it was going.
The first raindrop landed cool and sudden against Shasha’s cheek, a fleeting touch that made her blink. Another followed, then another. The sky above them had already surrendered, rain clouds blocking the sunset. “Come on,” someone murmured—maybe her, maybe Bambi—and they moved in tandem, quickening their steps towards the inside of the bar just ahead. By the time they slipped through the door, the rain broke open behind them in a relentless downpour, drenching the patio they had just escaped. Inside, the air was warmer, thick with low conversation and the faint hum of live music. Shasha exhaled slowly and brushed damp strands of hair back from her face. Her pulse hadn’t quite settled. Maybe it was the rush of the environment change, or maybe–
She turned.
Bambi was already looking at her.
Her gaze drifted, unguarded, and caught on Shasha’s mouth. Her pupils dilated slightly, a flush went across her cheeks and betrayed that the look wasn’t innocent nor accidental. When her eyes finally lifted, the movement felt thin, like an afterthought—like she knew she had already given something away, and the knowledge that Shasha caught it made her pulse quicken.
Without thinking—no, not without thinking, but without stopping herself—Shasha stepped closer. The distance gave way, and suddenly she could see the details she hadn’t let herself in on before: the slight part of Bambi’s lips, the way her breath caught before evening out, the subtle tension in her shoulders like she was holding herself in place. The air between them felt charged, heavy with something both of them refused to name outloud. Shasha felt the awareness of Bambi–no longer abstract, no longer a safe daydream. It pressed in on her, close and insistent like the heat crawling up from her chest.
Shasha’s hand lifted. It hovered for a moment, hesitated for the briefest second, then settled around Bambi’s wrist. Just… holding. The contact was soft but deliberate, a claiming touch offered rather than taken. Warmth bloomed through her fingers, a shock that traveled up her arm and settled somewhere deeper. Bambi didn’t pull away. Her gaze flicked to Shasha’s mouth again, steady and unguarded, as if she dared her to move closer. And Shasha felt the dare in Bambi’s pulse beneath her fingers.
“We shouldn’t,” Bambi whispered, though her voice lacked conviction.
Shasha’s thumb shifted slightly against Bambi’s wrist. A feathered movement, as if testing the reality of her, tracing the pulse there.
“I know,” her voice was low, steady, but something in it frayed at the edges, like restraint stretched too thin.
Bambi’s lips parted, her breath caught, “then why–”
Shasha swallowed, the answer sat heavy on her tongue, tasting like memory and want, something she had tried to forget but couldn’t.
Her gaze didn’t waver, “because you looked at me like she used to.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. The rain drummed harder against the glass, filling the silence between them that stretched thin and fragile, as if it might give under the slightest bit of pressure. Bambi’s wrist was still in her grasp, Shasha’s thumb still traced slow circles, both of them suspended in a space between resistance and surrender.
Shasha felt it—the pull, the inevitability of it—like gravity had shifted and chosen her to lean toward Bambi. Her grip on Bambi’s wrist loosened, not to let go, but to slide downward; slow and unhurried, Shasha’s fingers brushed along Bambi’s hand before her fingers laced lightly with hers. The movement drew them closer, step by step. Their breaths overlapped, uneven at first, then matching in a way that felt unintentional and far too intimate.
Bambi didn’t step back. She held her ground, her hand fitting into Shasha’s as if it had been waiting for it. Her stillness charged with a quiet kind of permission.
Their foreheads drew nearer, almost touched. Shasha could feel the warmth of Bambi’s skin, the soft, uneven rhythm of her breathing, the way hesitation trembled through her even as she stayed.
There was a moment—one last, fragile moment—where it could have stopped. Where one of them could’ve shifted, spoken, broken the tension before it crossed into something else. They didn’t.
Shasha tilted her head, slow and deliberate, giving Bambi a chance to pull away. To say something that would shatter this before it began. When Bambi didn’t, a chill went through Shasha. She knew Bambi wasn’t unsure. Bambi was watching her the way she always did when she wanted to be difficult about something she already wanted. Confident. Sharp. Just on the edge of provoking a reaction she could pretend she hadn’t asked for.
Their lips met softly at first, a tentative brush that felt more like a question than an answer. It lingered there, neither of them rushing it, as if both were waiting for the other to decide what this was. Where the exact point of a ‘friendly peck’ stopped being enough.
Then they reached their answer.
They both pulled back to inhale before coming together for a deeper kiss. It carried the ease of two people who were confident in their skills and were excited to show off to the other. It became warmer, fuller, a quiet unraveling of restraint. Want sharpened by everything that said this shouldn’t be happening. And a devastating realization that they both chose to do this anyway.
Shasha met the change immediately, matching Bambi’s confidence as much as she shaped the rhythm of it. There was no hesitation in the way she closed the space again, only certainty, like she expected to be answered in kind and was. Neither of them yielded and neither of them needed to. The control didn’t belong to one or the other so much as it shifted between them, each testing the other without breaking the moment open.
Shasha’s fingers tightened around Bambi’s hand, steady and grounding, while her free hand rose to the curve of Bambi’s jaw. Her touch was light at first, then more sure, her thumb tracing slowly along her cheek as if she already knew the shape of this moment would stay with her.
Bambi didn’t pull away from any of it. She never did things halfway. Bambi responded in kind, but not obediently. There was that familiar edge to her even now, that quiet refusal to be anything but herself. Her free hand rose after a beat too long, as if she was considering whether to make Shasha wait for it, before finally settling at Shasha’s waist. She held on, steady, like she was daring her not to notice how easily she fit there.
The kiss lingered longer than it should’ve. Long enough for awareness to sharpen instead of fade, to feel like a mistake neither of them wanted to correct. It carried everything they hadn’t said, everything had circled around for too long to pretend it was sudden. It felt like slipping into something familiar and forbidden all at once. Like stepping into a version of themselves they promised they had outgrown, but had always known existed beneath the surface. And realizing, too late, that it still fit.
Time seemed to blur as the kiss loosened. When they finally parted, it was only by a fraction, not nearly enough to ignore what had just happened. Their breaths mingled in the narrow space between them, uneven and steady, as if neither of them had remembered how to breathe.
Bambi’s voice came first, softer now, stripped of its earlier edge, “Shasha… we shouldn’t have done that.”
Shahsa let out a breath, her fingers still laced with Bambi’s hand, holding on longer than the moment required. Her other hand remained at Bambi’s jaw, thumb resting there like she hadn’t decided whether to let go or keep memorizing the shape of her.
“I know.”
“This can’t mean anything. I have Prim. You have Gorya.”
Shasha’s answer came too quickly, too controlled to be real. The words were hollow even before she said them, “it doesn’t. It was just–”
“–A moment,” Bambi finished for her, voice barely above the sounds of the rain and the bar.
Shasha nodded, but the motion felt disconnected from what her hands were still going. Her grip had not loosened around Bambi’s. Neither had the hand at Bamib’s jaw, “we’re both lonely. That’s all.”
Bambi looked at her then. Really looked at her, and something unspoken flickered in her eyes. Her hand stayed at Shasha’s waist, steady, anchoring them together even as she spoke against it.
“Right,” she said quietly, “just lonely.”
But neither of them moved away. Their hands remained tangled. Their bodies remained too close. And the promise they had made–to dismiss it, to diminish it—already felt fragile, already began to unravel.
Outside, the rain kept falling, relentless, as if the world refused to forget what just happened.
Later, Shasha returned to her highrise apartment. Late night settled over the city with a slow, deliberate hush, as though even the skyline knew to quiet itself around this hour. The rain hadn’t fully left; it clung in fine droplets to the window pane, catching the light and breaking it apart so it spilled into the room in fractured reflections. Those shifting patterns stretched across the bed, sliding over rumpled sheets, tracing the curve of Gorya’s shoulder.
Shasha lay awake within her bed, eyes open, unmoving, as if stillness alone might keep everything from unraveling further. Gorya’s warmth was close.
Too close to ignore, too familiar to escape; her breathing was slow and even, the quiet rhythm of someone untouched by the storm still turning inside Shasha’s heart. The space they shared should’ve felt safe, should’ve felt like something earned and certain. Yet it sat strangely against her now, as though she had carried something foreign into it, something that didn’t belong.
Because Bambi was there.
Not physically, not in any way she could name aloud, but in the lingering memory that replayed with quiet insistence. The softness of her mouth, the fiery way the kiss deepened, the warmth of her hand, the fragile pull that felt, for one suspended moment, like gravity shifted. It returned uninvited, threading itself through Shasha’s thoughts, refusing to dull no matter how tightly she tried to hold onto the present.
Guilt followed, slower but heavier, settling into her chest until each breath felt deliberate. She shifted slightly against the sheets, careful not to disturb Gorya, though the movement did nothing to ease the tension coiled through her body. If anything, the awareness of Gorya beside her sharpened it; the quiet trust in nearness, the unguarded way she slept, as if there was nothing in the world she needed to question.
“You okay?” Gorya murmured, her voice thick with sleep, barely more than a breath against the dark.
Shasha turned her head just enough to look at her, though the light was too fractured to reveal more than the outline she already knew by heart. For a moment, she considered pretending to be asleep, letting the question pass unanswered, but the silence felt heavier than the lie.
“Just thinking,” she said softly.
There was a pause before Gorya shifted slightly, her voice drifting back through the haze of sleep, “about work?”
Shasha’s gaze returned to the ceiling, to the light sliding across it in slow, unsteady movements, “something like that.”
The lie came easily. Too easily.
She let it settle there, thin and insufficient, while her mind drifted somewhere she could not seem to stop it from going.
I wanted her love back, she thought. The admission was cutting.
Instead, I found someone else’s.
The realization didn’t bring comfort. If anything, it deepened the hollow space inside her, turning it colder, sharper, more defined. Whatever she had reached for between them, whatever she had thought she might reclaim, had slipped through her hands the moment she touched somebody else.
Beside her, Gorya shifted closer in her sleep, instinctive, seeking warmth without waking, her arm brushing lightly against Shasha’s. The contact was gentle, familiar. Something that should’ve anchored her, should’ve meant something steady and real. Instead, it only made the distance more apparent.
Shasha remained still, staring upward as the fractured city light continued to move across the room, and the space between them felt wider, colder, and far more impossible to cross than it ever had before.