Chapter 57

Yoko

The first thing I register is the obnoxious blaring of my alarm.

I groan, blindly smacking my phone to silence it, barely cracking my eyes open. The room is still dim, the curtains drawn shut, and I can hear the slow, steady breathing of Ink and Marissa, still completely knocked out.

Five more minutes, I think, snuggling deeper into my blankets, sighing contently as I shift, inhaling the lingering scent of Faye. A smug smile tugs at my lips as I hug myself tighter, burrowing into her hoodie, feeling the faint traces of her warmth still wrapped around me.

Perfect. Five more minutes in heaven.

I'm just about to drift off again when—

BWAAAAAAAAAHP.

A new alarm explodes into the air, loud enough to shatter the walls of reality itself.

I jolt upright so violently I nearly fling myself off the bed. "WHAT THE FU—"

Ink groans beside me, clutching her ears, "Jesus Christ, Marissa!"

"KILL IT," I yell, my brain still short-circuiting from the assault. "Shut it off before we get reported for a damn noise complaint!"

But, nothing. Not a single stir from the source of our suffering.

Marissa? Still out cold. Not even twitching. Ink and I stare at each other, then at Marissa, mouth slightly open, completely baffled.

I wave a hand in front of her face. No reaction. Ink pokes her shoulder. Still nothing.

I gape in sheer disbelief. "Is she—?"

"—DEAD?!" Ink exclaims.

Then, Marissa snorts in her sleep.

Ink and I exchange a look. Then, without hesitation—We grab our pillows and absolutely PUMMEL her.

"WAKE UP, YOU MENACE!"

WHAM.

"YOU'RE DISTURBING THE PEACE!"

WHACK.

"WHAT KIND OF ALARM—"

BAM BAM BAM.

Marissa shoots up with a SCREAM, flailing wildly. "OH MY GOD, WHO'S ATTACKING ME?!"

"US," I deadpan, still smacking her for good measure. "BECAUSE YOUR ALARM JUST WRECKED OUR SOULS."

"TURN IT OFF," Ink snarls, her hair completely disheveled, pillow still in mid-air, ready for another swing.

Marissa, half-conscious, finally grabs her phone, slaps at the screen, and silences the hellspawn alarm. The room falls into blissful silence.

I exhale loudly, dropping my pillow dramatically. "Thank God."

Marissa blinks blearily, still confused and stunned, hair a total disaster, like she's just survived a natural disaster. "...What the hell just happened?"

Ink and I just stare at her. Then, at the exact same time, we slam our pillows into her face one last time.

"GET UP, MARISSA."

Finally, after barely surviving the Marissa Alarm Crisis, we all start getting ready for the day.

I scoot away first, grabbing my stuff and making a beeline for the bathroom. The moment I lock the door behind me, I let out a long breath, still half-amused, half-traumatized.

Then, I grin to myself, shaking my head.

Every damn morning with these two.

I set my clothes aside, reaching for my sweater—Faye's sweater—and something in me warms instantly at the sight of it.

The fabric is soft, well-worn, and I swear, it still smells faintly of her—of bergamot, wood, and something uniquely Faye. I run my fingers over the sleeves, smiling softly to myself.

And then, with zero hesitation, I pull it on. Because today? I'm carrying her warmth with me.

After freshening up, Marissa groaning and whining about staying in bed instead and with Ink hitting her with more pillows, we're finally ready to go, bags slung over shoulders, faces fresh—except for the residual post-trauma of Marissa's alarm from hell still lingering in our souls.

Just as I open the door, there's a loud, impatient knock—no, banging.

"HURRY UP, I'M STARVING!"

Big.

"OH MY GOD, WE'RE COMING!" I yell back, rubbing my temples.

Ink shoots Marissa a look, deadpan. "See? This is why you don't set an alarm like a war siren."

Marissa rolls her eyes, completely unapologetic. "It's effective, isn't it?"

"Yeah, if your goal was to wake up the entire city," I mutter.

We head out, still complaining about the ordeal, with Marissa shamelessly defending herself the entire way down to the hotel's breakfast area.

The second we step in, the smell of fresh pastries, eggs, and coffee hits me like a warm embrace from heaven itself. I grab a tray, eyes scanning the buffet, ready to demolish my plate—but then, a familiar presence catches my attention.

I turn, and, there she is.

Faye.

Sitting at a quiet corner, a cup of coffee in one hand, a fork in the other. She's wearing her usual composed, effortlessly alluring aura, somehow looking like she's in an aesthetic morning routine commercial while the rest of us are barely surviving reality.

And then, she glances up and looks at me. My heart does a weird little thing in my chest.

She doesn't smile, but there's something knowing in her expression—a flicker of amusement, a hint of warmth, like a silent Morning, darling.

I quickly look away, fighting the urge to grin, reminding myself to act normal.

Which, I absolutely fail at doing. Because—

BAM.

I collide straight into someone. My tray clatters. A coffee cup wobbles. I barely manage to catch my balance, eyes flying up to meet the person I just slammed into, and—wow.

Tall. Sharp hazel eyes. Glossy brown hair. High cheekbones. Black turtleneck. Soft smirk curving full lips. She looks like she walked straight out of a damn Vogue photoshoot.

I blink, speechless, completely short-circuiting.

"You alright there, darling?"

Her voice is smooth, laced with amusement, and the British accent?? OH MY GOD.

I swallow, mortified, trying to regain basic function. "Uh, yeah—sorry, I—"

"You weren't looking where you were going, were you?" She teases, tilting her head, her smirk deepening.

I choke on air.

WHY IS SHE SMIRKING LIKE THAT?

I shake my head quickly, "N-No, I mean—yes—I mean—"

Marissa and Ink are watching from the side, thoroughly enjoying my suffering.

"Don't worry about it," the woman—Blair, apparently—says smoothly, stepping back slightly. "I'll let you off this time."

I finally exhale, nodding, forcing out a weak laugh. "Thanks... I think?"

Blair just gives me one last amused glance, before gracefully walking past me, her movements unreasonably elegant for a morning breakfast queue. I stand there for a solid second, completely confused about whatever just happened.

Then—"Oh my god," Marissa snorts, grabbing my shoulders. "Did you just get flirted with?"

"What? No," I say too quickly, blinking after Blair's retreating figure. "She was just—"

"SHE WAS TOTALLY FLIRTING WITH YOU."

"She was being polite!"

"Yoko," Ink chimes in, amused as hell, "even a blind person could see it."

I open my mouth, ready to argue. Then, on instinct, I glance back at Faye. And, of course, she's already watching me. Her expression?

Oh. OH. That's the exact expression she gets when she's about to ruin me.

Shit.

I have never been more bullied in my life.

Not even when Ink roasted me for getting caught daydreaming about Faye in class. Not even when Marissa and Big exposed my tragic childhood crush on my neighbour's older sister which, by the way, was completely unjustified because I was like ten and she had cool tattoos.

This? This was next-level clownery.

Because for the entire breakfast—every bite, every sip of coffee, every time I dared to breathe—I was being mercilessly teased.

"So, Yoko," Big starts, stirring his cereal with way too much enthusiasm. "When's the wedding?"

"I hate you," I deadpan.

"I think Blair would be into an intimate countryside wedding," Marissa chimes in. "Maybe with a horse-drawn carriage—"

"I will pour this coffee on your lap," I warn.

Ink? Ink is just sipping her tea, watching me suffer like the silent agent of chaos she is.

"By the way," Marissa continues, completely ignoring my death stare, "Blair's in our cohort, you know?"

I blink. "Huh?"

"Yeah," she nods. "Same year as us. She's been around, I think she's in the next class or something?"

I frown, trying to recall any memory of her existence, but I come up completely blank. "How come I don't remember seeing her anywhere?"

"Maybe because you're always staring at—" Ink snickers.

I whip my head towards her so fast I nearly snap my neck. She meets my gaze, sipping her tea with peak innocence, before saying—

"Ms Tall-and-Cold."

I swat her arm immediately, scowling. "Shut. Up."

She just grins, completely unbothered.

I groan, shoving a forkful of scrambled eggs into my mouth aggressively, determined to ignore them all and pretend this entire morning never happened.

But, the problem is—Every time I lift my gaze, every time I move even slightly, I can feel it.

The stare. Or actually, Blair's stare.

I steal a glance, just to confirm my paranoia—And yup. She's looking.

Across the room, leaning back against her chair, one hand lazily twirling the stem of her wine glass (why does she have wine this early???), she's looking right at me.

And then, she smirks.

Oh god.

I quickly look away, suddenly hyper-aware of my entire existence, suddenly focusing too hard on chewing my food like a normal human being.

This is fine. Everything is fine.

After breakfast, we gather in the main lobby, waiting for today's itinerary announcement.

I stand beside Ink and Marissa, still trying to mentally reset my brain from Blair's goddamn smirk. But I keep feeling her presence, just within my periphery.

Not moving. Not saying anything. Just... there.

I exhale, shaking it off. I just need a distraction. So, I look for Faye. And the second I spot her—

Oh. Thank god.

She's standing a little away from the students, effortlessly composed, wearing her black coat, hands in pockets, listening to Ms Taylor but also very obviously not giving a shit.

My safe space.

I breathe out slowly, letting my eyes linger on her, feeling a little grounded again.

Then, she turns, as if she knows I'm looking. And for a brief second, our eyes meet. Her lips twitch slightly, barely noticeable, but I see it. A whisper of a smile. A silent, Hi, darling.

And just like that, Sorry, Blair who?

Once Ms Taylor finished rambling the itinerary for today, We're moving.

As in, walking, heading towards the bus, where Ms Taylor is leading the way, students trailing behind, all bright-eyed and attentive. And I have no single idea of where we're going.

Because—One, I wasn't listening when Ms Taylor announced the itinerary because I was too busy recovering from being publicly harassed by my own friends about Blair.

Two, I was too distracted by Faye's very attractive face and general existence.

And three, I still feel the occasional stare from Blair, and it's making me feel things I don't have the time or emotional capacity to process right now.

So, yeah. I have no idea what's happening.

I nudge Ink, subtly, as we board the bus. "Where are we going?" I murmur.

She doesn't answer immediately. Instead, she just gives me a look. A very smug look which instantly makes me already regret asking.

"You weren't listening, were you?" she asks, voice laced with knowing amusement.

"No," I admit flatly, sighing. "Now, where are we going?"

She leans in slightly, like she's about to tell me something extremely important.

I blink, waiting.

Then—"To Hell, for your sins."

I groan, shoving her away, and she laughs, completely pleased with herself. "Ink, I swear to god—"

"We're going to the Scottish National Gallery," she finally answers, still chuckling. "You know, art, culture, and a very prestigious collection of works you probably won't care about because you'll be too busy eyeing a certain someone."

I scoff, ignoring the last part of her sentence entirely. "I do appreciate art," I huff. "Excuse you."

"Oh?" She raises a brow, mockingly thoughtful. "Name five painters, then."

"Van Gogh, Monet, Da Vinci, Frida Kahlo, and—"

I pause. I blank out. Ink waits, grinning.

"Uhhh..."

Ink smirks. "That's what I thought."

I narrow my eyes, crossing my arms dramatically. "You know what?" I say, huffing as I sit down in my bus seat. "I don't need this slander. I am here for an enriching educational experience."

"Yeah," Ink nods, fake-serious, "Educational experience staring at Ms Tall-and-Cold."

"I hate you so much," I mutter.

She just laughs, completely unbothered, while I sigh, gazing out the window. At least now I know where we're going. And if I happen to not really pay attention to the art because I'm paying more attention to Faye?

Well. That's no one's business but mine.

The moment we step off the bus, the Scottish National Gallery stands before us—grand, imposing, breathtaking.

I pause, tilting my head back slightly, eyes trailing over the majestic neoclassical columns, the sandstone facade glowing softly under the daylight, the sheer history etched into every inch of its existence.

For a second, I just take it in—the weight of where we are, the centuries of art housed within these walls, the masterpieces waiting beyond the entrance.

I let out a low whistle. "Damn," I murmur.

"I know, right?" Marissa breathes beside me, equally in awe. "It's stunning."

Even Ink, queen of sarcasm and unseriousness, lets out a small hum of appreciation. "I'll admit, this is pretty cool."

Before any of us can wander off, Ms Taylor claps her hands, drawing our attention.

"Alright, everyone!" she calls out. "Welcome to the Scottish National Gallery—one of the finest art museums in the world. Inside, you'll find works from renowned artists like Da Vinci, Van Gogh, Raphael, and more."

I try to pay attention. I really do. But my focus drifts. Because standing a little further away, arms casually crossed, is Faye.

Dressed in her usual all-black ensemble, trench coat swaying slightly in the breeze, glasses perched elegantly on her nose, she looks so effortlessly composed, so perfectly at ease, and I—

I hate how easily she derails my attention span.

As if sensing my gaze, she glances over, catching my eye. For the briefest moment, her lips twitch, amusement flickering in her eyes. Then she looks away, pretending as if she wasn't just entertaining the fact that I'm hopelessly distracted by her.

Ugh.

I force myself to look away, trying to refocus on Ms Taylor.

"You'll have an hour to explore on your own," she continues. "There's a wide range of exhibitions, and I encourage you all to really take in the artwork, read about the artists, and appreciate the history behind each piece."

I nod, determined. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I will immerse myself in this artistic haven.

I will admire the paintings. I will study the brushstrokes and techniques. I will not spend the entire time glancing at Faye like a lovesick fool.

"Alright, let's go," Ink says, nudging me. "Before you combust from the sheer force of your own internal battle."

I glare at her. "I'm not—"

"Yeah, yeah, come on."

With that, we head inside, the warm interior welcoming us as we step into a world of art, history, and hopefully, minimal distractions.

I stand before the painting, eyes trailing over the delicate brushstrokes, the way the colours blend seamlessly, the emotion woven into every inch of the canvas.

It's mesmerizing—the kind of artwork that pulls you in, makes you feel something deep in your chest, something unnameable yet powerful.

I barely hear Ink's voice as she calls out, "We're moving ahead!"

"I'll catch up," I murmur, barely registering my own voice.

My friends drift away, their footsteps fading as they explore further into the gallery, but I remain rooted in place, my gaze lingering on the piece before me.

For a moment, it's just me and the painting until, suddenly—"You have good taste."

I jump slightly, whipping around, my heart stumbling over itself at the unexpected voice.

Standing casually behind me, hands tucked into the pockets of her oversized coat, is Blair—her posture relaxed, her gaze warm with amusement.

"Didn't mean to startle you," she adds smoothly, lips curving into a knowing smile.

I blink, quickly composing myself. "You didn't."

She raises a brow, the smirk deepening as if she knows I'm completely lying. "Sure."

I clear my throat, turning back to the painting, trying to ignore the way my pulse picks up slightly. "You're into art?"

"I like admiring it," she hums, stepping closer. "I can't paint for shit, though. Stick figures are about as far as my artistic skills go."

I laugh, glancing at her. "That bad?"

"Worse." She leans in, lowering her voice mock-confessionally. "Even my stick figures look like they've been through some shit."

I shake my head, amused, my initial nerves fading just slightly. But before I can think of something else to say, she tilts her head, giving me a slow, once-over, her gaze lingering in a way that makes something warm stir in my stomach.

"You look good in black," she muses. "It suits you."

I freeze. Then, slowly, I register what she just said—And oh no. Oh no. I feel the heat creep up my neck, and I internally scream at my body for betraying me like this.

"Uh—" I try to sound casual, unaffected, but the way my voice catches slightly does me no favours. "Thanks?"

"Hmm." She taps her chin, eyes twinkling mischievously. "Is it yours? Or did you steal it from a boyfriend?"

I nearly choke on air. My brain short-circuits completely. "I—"

"Relax," she chuckles, tilting her head. "I'm just messing with you."

She's not. I can tell. 

But before I can say anything else, she winks, then casually gestures toward the rest of the exhibition. "Come on. Let's walk around together. I want to hear more of your thoughts on the paintings."

And just like that, she starts walking, completely oblivious or not to the absolute chaos she's left behind in my brain.

I exhale sharply, trying to collect myself, but my face is still burning, my heart still racing, and for the life of me—I can't figure out why.

We weave through the gallery, the quiet hum of admiration from other visitors blending into the soft shuffle of our footsteps. I steal a glance at Blair as she stands before another piece—a massive oil painting, rich in colour and depth, depicting a scene of old Edinburgh in its golden age.

She tilts her head slightly, studying the artwork with an expression I can't quite place—thoughtful, appreciative, like she's seeing something beyond just paint on canvas.

"You know," she starts, voice smooth and even, "this artist used a technique called chiaroscuro—playing with strong contrasts between light and dark. It was actually first developed during the Renaissance, but you'll see it used a lot in Baroque art, too."

I blink, impressed despite myself. "That so?"

"Mhm." She gestures subtly toward the painting. "Notice how the lighting is all centered around the subjects? The way the shadows pull the eye exactly where the artist wants it to go? It's intentional. It's about control—guiding perception, shaping emotion."

I glance at the painting again, this time seeing it through her words. And... okay. That's actually really cool.

"You really know your stuff," I say, glancing at her. "Do you study art?"

She laughs softly, shaking her head. "Nope."

"Then how—"

"I read," she shrugs, flashing me a lopsided grin. "And I appreciate beauty when I see it."

I feel my face heat up slightly, something in her tone making my stomach flip unexpectedly. "You read a lot?" I ask, keeping the conversation casual, ignoring whatever the hell that feeling was.

"Always." She hums. "It's part of my DNA, I think. I grew up around art, culture, history—you kind of absorb it when you live in the middle of it."

That catches my attention. "Live in the middle of it?" I repeat, brow raised. "Wait, where are you from?"

Blair smirks, tilting her head playfully. "Take a guess."

I narrow my eyes. "You said you grew up around history and culture, so somewhere rich in all that..." I pause, thinking. "London?"

"Tsk, predictable," she teases. "Try again."

I huff, tapping my chin dramatically. "Alright, then. Oxford?"

"Close."

"Cambridge?"

"Bingo."

I stare at her, a little caught off guard. "You're from Cambridge?"

"Born and raised." She smirks. "Surprised?"

"Kind of?" I admit. "I mean... why study overseas, then?"

She shrugs, slipping her hands into the pockets of her coat. "Thought I'd see what life was like outside the UK for a while. Besides..." She turns toward me slightly, her gaze warm, teasing—

"Some things are worth traveling for."

I freeze.

The way she says it—smooth, effortless, like she knows exactly what effect she's having—Yeah, I don't know how to process that.

So, I just clear my throat, pretending that didn't just happen. "Right. Well." I gesture toward the next room. "Shall we?"

She chuckles, amused, but doesn't push further. "Lead the way, Yoko."

And as we move forward, I try my best to shake off whatever the hell just happened back there.

By the time we finally wrap up at the gallery, I spot my friends waiting for me near the exit, their expressions already spelling out trouble.

Marissa is grinning way too wide, Big has this look of absolute mischief, and Ink—oh, Ink is the worst. She's silent, which means she's observing. Calculating. Collecting data for future interrogation.

I brace myself internally.

"So..." Marissa drawls, rocking on her heels. "How was your little date?"

I choke. "What?"

Big snickers, nudging me with his elbow. "You and Blair, of course. The two of you disappeared for a good hour, walking side by side, lost in the depths of 'art appreciation' together..."

"It was not a date," I deadpan. "She was just explaining some of the art pieces to me."

"Oh, so now you're an art enthusiast?" Big teases, wiggling his brows. "First Ms Mysterious, and now Miss Cambridge? I see how it is."

I groan, pressing the heels of my palms against my temples. "You guys are so annoying."

"We're just concerned citizens," Marissa says, mockingly serious. "I mean, we can't let you be whisked away by a our British girl without making sure your heart is intact."

"My heart is fine," I grumble, pushing past them towards the bus. "Unlike my patience."

Ink finally speaks, her tone neutral but pointed. "You do look a little... rattled, though."

I glance at her sharply, but she's just looking at me with that knowing expression, like she's already seen through me and is just waiting for me to catch up.

I ignore it.

We board the bus, settling into our seats as Ms. Taylor announces our next stop—an early lunch somewhere nice before heading out for the afternoon itinerary.

I barely register it. Because the moment I sink into my seat, my mind starts spiraling.

Blair.

The way she spoke. The way she looked at me. The way her words—smooth, effortless—stuck to my skin like ink sinking into paper.

I'm with Faye. I love Faye. There is no doubt about that. So why...why did something about Blair make my stomach flip?

I stare out the window, watching Edinburgh's streets pass by in a blur, trying to shake the unease crawling up my spine.

I need to make it clear. I need to let her know—whatever she thinks she's doing, it's not going anywhere. I should say something next time I see her. But then—

Wouldn't that make it seem like I actually think she's flirting with me? And if I say nothing, wouldn't that just... leave things open-ended?

Ugh. I groan softly, rubbing my temples.

"You good?"

I turn to Ink, who's watching me with that look—the one that says, 'I know you well enough to tell when something is eating at you, so you might as well spill.'

I hesitate. Then—"I don't know," I admit, my voice quieter than I mean it to be. "I think I might have... messed up somehow?"

Ink's brow lifts. "Messed up how?"

I sigh, slumping back in my seat. "Blair... I don't know what the hell that was back there. I mean, she was just talking about art, but then—" I shake my head, frustrated. "—I don't know. It felt like something else, like she was flirting, but maybe I just imagined it? But also, what if I didn't imagine it? And what if I should've said something?"

Ink studies me for a moment, then exhales. "Okay. First of all—breathe."

I shoot her a glare. "Wow. Groundbreaking advice."

She snorts. "Second—do you feel anything for her?"

"No," I say immediately. Too immediately.

Ink raises a brow, unimpressed. "Yoko."

I rub my face, exasperated. "I don't. It's just—I don't know why I feel weird about it. I love Faye. I don't want anyone else. But Blair just—" I groan. "She has a presence. A confidence. It's like she knows exactly what she's doing, and it throws me off. And now I feel guilty for even reacting to it."

Ink hums, thoughtful. "So... you're not into her, but you acknowledge that she has a presence that's a little bit... intriguing?"

I make a face. "Ugh, that sounds bad when you put it like that."

"It's not bad," she assures me. "It's normal. We're human, Yoko. It's not about feelings—it's about instinct. Some people naturally draw attention. That doesn't mean you're being unfaithful. The important thing is that you're aware and that you set your boundaries."

I exhale, letting her words settle in me. She's right. I just need to be clear. To make sure Blair knows there's no space for misinterpretation.

"You should talk to Faye about it too," Ink adds.

I stiffen slightly. "I don't want her to worry over something that's not even real."

"She won't worry," Ink says. "But she deserves to know how you're feeling, even if it's just to say 'hey, this happened, and I felt weird about it.' That's what communication is for, isn't it?"

Damn her and her sound advice.

I sigh. "Yeah. Maybe I will."

Ink nods, satisfied. "Good. Now let's eat, because I swear, if this bus ride lasts any longer, Marissa's gonna start chewing on the seat."

I laugh, shaking my head as we pull up to the restaurant. At least for now, I can put my overthinking on pause.

The moment we step off the bus and into the lunch place—a cozy yet modern brasserie with warm lighting and the comforting smell of freshly baked bread—I instinctively stick close to Ink.

Like, really close. As in, 'if I could morph into her shadow, I absolutely would' close.

Ink notices immediately, arching a brow as I practically glue myself to her side while we queue up for the buffet-style lunch. "Okay... what are you doing?"

"Nothing," I say, totally not suspiciously at all.

"Right," she says dryly, eyeing me as I not-so-subtly glance over my shoulder.

I don't even need to be this paranoid. It's not like Blair has done anything wrong. She's just... there. Existing. Existing with too much suave British charm and a voice that could probably narrate an audiobook and win awards for it.

Which is why I am taking zero chances. Because the last thing I need right now is more mental chaos. So, I stay pressed to Ink's side like she's my personal shield, moving with her as we grab our plates.

"Are you avoiding someone?" Ink asks knowingly, watching as I peek over my shoulder again.

"No," I lie.

"Yoko."

"What?"

"You're acting like you're being hunted."

"I am not."

Ink follows my gaze just in time to see Blair entering the dining area, cool and effortlessly composed, scanning the tables like she's already selecting her next victim.

I turn back quickly, gripping Ink's sleeve like she's my lifeline.

"Oh my god," Ink says, putting the pieces together instantly. "Are you seriously this worked up over Blair?"

"I am not worked up," I insist. "I just—"

I stop myself, exhaling sharply. I don't even know what to say.

It's not Blair. It's me.

It's the confusion of being thrown off by someone's presence when I shouldn't be. It's the guilt of even needing to actively remind myself of where my heart truly belongs. It's the fear of why my heart even reacted to begin with.

I swallow, shaking my head, trying to clear my mind. And then—I find her.

Faye.

Seated at a small table in the corner, alone, enjoying a quiet moment with her food. She's wearing her glasses, and the sight of her in that oversized black sweater, sleeves slightly pushed up as she holds a coffee cup—it grounds me instantly.

The sight of her. The memory of last night. The weight of the necklace resting against my collarbone, a reminder of the love I am so deeply, wholly wrapped in.

I exhale, fingers instinctively gracing the pendant Faye gave me.

There it is, my anchor.

Ink notices. She watches as my shoulders relax, my eyes settling on Faye with something far stronger, deeper than fleeting attraction—something unchanging, unwavering, undeniably mine.

And I know. Whatever moment of confusion I had, it's nothing compared to this. This love. This certainty.

Ink smirks, nudging me lightly. "You good?"

I turn to her, finally feeling like I can breathe properly again. "Yeah," I say, smiling softly. "I'm good."

"Good," she says. "Now let's sit somewhere before Marissa eats all the good food."

I laugh, following her to our table—making sure to sit with my back towards Blair.

Lunch progresses like normal. Or at least, as normal as it can be when I'm hyper-aware of two things:

One, Faye, sitting across the room, blissfully unaware of my internal crisis.

Two, Blair, somewhere behind me, probably still exuding the kind of effortless charm that could make even a brick wall swoon.

And I? I am simply eating my damn food like a good, loyal, non-confused girlfriend. But of course, Marissa does not let me live.

"So," she hums, picking at her salad with a smirk that is already making me regret sitting beside her. "You and Blair seemed... chummy back at the gallery."

I pause mid-bite. Ink snorts softly. Big? He's just sipping his drink like he's watching a reality show unfold.

"It wasn't—" I begin, but Marissa cuts me off with a dramatic gasp, turning to Ink.

"Did you see that?" she says, clutching her chest. "She hesitated. She stuttered. That means guilt."

"It does not mean guilt," I say quickly, pointing my fork at her.

"Then what does it mean?" Marissa asks, grinning.

"It means you need to mind your own damn business," I grumble, stuffing food into my mouth aggressively.

Ink leans in, voice low but full of amusement. "So... is she cute?"

I choke. Big actually laughs out loud, reaching over to pat my back like this is all very hilarious.

"Are you all actually insane?" I sputter, grabbing my water.

"So she is cute?" Ink presses, eyes twinkling.

"I never said that," I mutter.

Marissa gasps again. "Oh my god, you totally have a tiny little crush—"

"I DO NOT!"

The table erupts into laughter. And look, I am not helping myself at all, because I know my face is heating up, I know I look guilty, and most of all—I can feel Blair's eyes on me from across the dining area.

It's not even my fault. She just has this presence. This aura. This... suave British energy that throws me off in ways I absolutely did not sign up for.

"You're ridiculous," I mumble, stabbing at my food as my so-called friends continue to giggle at my expense.

"Listen, listen," Big says, grinning as he leans in. "Just say the word, and I'll tell Blair you're madly in love with your girlfriend so she doesn't waste her time flirting with you."

I freeze. Ink and Marissa both whip their heads around to stare at him. I stare at him. He stares at me. I swear the entire world goes quiet for two whole seconds.

Then—"Bro," Marissa whispers dramatically, "Big just fucking dropped a nuclear bomb."

Ink? Ink just buries her face in her hands like she's physically in pain from how stupid he is.

And Big finally realises. His face blanches instantly. "Wait. Wait. I mean— YOKO. I DIDN'T MEAN TO SAY THAT OUT LOUD."

"YOU THINK?" I hiss, panicking as I scan the room for Faye.

She's still at her table, sipping coffee, completely unaware.

Oh my god. Oh my god. I am never sitting with these idiots again.

"Yoko, I'm so sorry, I—"

"Shut up," I whisper, hunched over my plate like a fugitive in hiding. "Just shut up. Just eat. Just PRETEND like you didn't just almost expose my entire existence in front of our cohort."

Big zips his mouth shut immediately. Marissa giggles violently. Ink just leans over and pats my shoulder. "Rest in peace, Yoko. Gone but not forgotten."

And me? I am simply praying that no one heard that except these absolute fucking menaces at my table.

After lunch, Ms Taylor dismisses us for the rest of the afternoon. The entire room buzzes with energy.

People are grabbing their bags, chattering excitedly, making plans for how they're going to spend their free afternoon in Edinburgh.

Marissa is practically bouncing on her feet, already pulling out her phone to check directions for shopping districts, and Big is standing beside her, looking half-interested, half-resigned to his fate.

Ink? Ink is simply watching the chaos unfold with amusement, arms crossed, like she expected this all along. And me? I should be paying attention, should be engaging in the excitement, but instead, my eyes drift.

And they land on her.

Faye.

She's already walking away, her trench coat draped effortlessly over her shoulders, hands tucked into her pockets. Her strides are slow, measured, but with a clear destination in mind.

For a second, I wonder where she's going.

If she's just returning to the hotel, or if she's planning to walk the city like the rest of us. If only... If only we could spend this afternoon together.

An ache tugs at my chest, soft but persistent.

She disappears through the restaurant's exit, blending into the flow of pedestrians outside, and I swallow the urge to follow her, to reach for her hand, to make some excuse to be alone with her.

Instead, I tear my gaze away, and immediately get yanked back into reality.

"Okay, okay, okay," Marissa announces, clapping her hands together. "Shopping is obviously happening. The only question is—where first?"

"Princes Street?" Big suggests. "It's near, has all the big brands—"

"Too basic," Marissa cuts in. "We should check out Multrees Walk. High-end stuff, duty-free. Plus, Harvey Nichols is there."

"We're literally students," Big deadpans. "Are you planning to rob a bank?"

"It's called window shopping, you uncultured swine."

"Victoria Street is a must too," Ink adds. "It's picturesque, has cool independent boutiques, and let's be real—Marissa will lose her mind over how aesthetic it is."

Marissa gasps dramatically. "Oh my god. We have to go. We HAVE to."

"Don't forget the Royal Mile," I throw in, trying to re-engage my brain with something other than Faye. "Souvenirs, traditional Scottish stuff, cool bookstores."

Marissa turns to me, pointing. "See? This is why I love you. Let's do ALL of it."

Big groans. "We're going to be walking all day, aren't we?"

"Yes," Ink replies without hesitation. "Hope your legs are ready."

With that settled, we grab our things and head out, stepping onto the cobbled streets of Edinburgh, the afternoon sun breaking through the crisp air.

The city hums with life, and for the first time today—I finally let myself get lost in it.

Princes Street is bustling with life—tourists, locals, and students alike weaving through the crowds, hands full of shopping bags, the crisp Edinburgh air laced with the scent of coffee from nearby cafés.

I should be fully immersed in this moment, completely invested in the shopping spree my friends are dragging me through. And to some extent, I am.

Marissa is already freaking out over the racks of high-end brands in Harvey Nichols, dramatically clutching a designer bag like it's a long-lost lover.

Big is half-heartedly browsing, clearly not a fan of shopping, but still offering commentary just to be involved.

Ink, as always, is the grounded one, effortlessly navigating between actually looking for things to buy and making sarcastic remarks at Marissa's theatrics.

And me? I am doing something else entirely.

I am looking around like a damn fool, scanning the crowd, glancing toward every passing figure, my heart quietly hoping for something ridiculous. Or rather, someone ridiculous.

Faye

I don't even know what I'm expecting.

It's not like she's going to randomly materialize from thin air just because I'm thinking about her hard enough. It's not like she's going to step out of a store, locking eyes with me in the middle of a busy street like we're in some movie scene. It's not like—

"Yoko, what are you doing?"

Ink's voice snaps me out of my trance, her sharp gaze already dissecting me with suspicion.

I blink, caught off guard, then scramble for the most casual response I can muster. "Uh—nothing?"

Ink raises an eyebrow. "You've been 'nothing-ing' an awful lot. Looking for someone?"

Damn it.

I force a laugh. "What? No. Just—just looking around. This place is new to me, okay? Let me appreciate the scenery."

Marissa, mid-rant about how overpriced the bag she's holding is, pauses just long enough to smirk. "Uh-huh. Sure. Appreciate the scenery. Not a certain person in the scenery?"

Big snickers. "Who are you even hoping to run into? Some hot Scottish stranger?"

"She already has someone," Marissa reminds him, nudging me with her elbow. "And yet—she's scanning the place like she's waiting for fate to intervene."

"I AM NOT," I retort, scowling at all of them.

Marissa exchanges a knowing look with Big before grinning. "Whatever you say, babe."

Ink, however, just looks at me, amused but sharp, like she's seeing right through me. And I have nothing to say for myself.

Because the truth is, I know exactly who I'm searching for.

By the time we're done with Princes Street, Marissa is carrying at least three shopping bags, Big looks ready to drop, and Ink? Ink just looks entirely unbothered, which is exactly how I expected her to be.

"Alright, next stop," Marissa announces, triumphantly adjusting the strap of her latest purchase on her shoulder. "Where to?"

"Royal Mile," Big reminds her. "You were the one who wanted to go there."

Marissa brightens at the reminder, already speed-walking ahead like a woman on a mission. I, on the other hand, lag behind just slightly, pulling my phone out discreetly as we start heading towards the next stop.

No messages.

I chew on the inside of my cheek, feeling a little ridiculous for even checking. I mean, it's not like Faye is obligated to text me. She's probably somewhere else in the city right now, doing her own thing, playing it safe, being a responsible teacher and all but still..

Still.

I hesitate for a second before tapping into our chat, fingers quickly typing out a casual message.

Yoko

Hey babe, we're heading to Royal Mile now, gonna look for some souvenirs

I send it. I stare at the screen for a moment. No reply. Figures. I lock my phone, stuffing it back into my pocket before I can make a fool of myself by staring at it any longer.

It's fine. It's not like I'm expecting her to magically show up at Royal Mile just because I texted her.

"Oi, Yoko, you coming or what?"

I look up to see Ink waiting for me, one eyebrow raised. "Yeah, yeah," I mutter, speeding up to fall in step beside her.

She doesn't say anything, but I catch the subtle side-eye she gives me before turning her attention back to the street ahead.

We walk for a while, the cobbled streets of Edinburgh stretching before us, the air crisp and cool against my skin. The streets are alive—tourists, street performers, the occasional bagpipe music drifting through the air—and I can't help but admire it all.

Royal Mile.

This place, at least, I've been looking forward to. Not because of some hopeful, ridiculous idea that Faye might just appear out of nowhere. But because I actually want to buy something here.

Some souvenirs. Some gifts. Something. For me. For my dad. For my friends. And–I glance down at my phone again, tapping my fingers absentmindedly against my jeans pocket–Faye.

Royal Mile is a dream.

Everywhere I look, there are rows and rows of charming little shops, stacked with souvenirs, knick-knacks, wool scarves, and handmade trinkets that make me want to buy everything in sight.

It's overwhelming in the best way possible.

"Oh my god, look at this one!" Marissa squeals, grabbing a mini Loch Ness plushie and shoving it in my face. "Isn't it adorable?"

"That's the same one you picked up three shops ago," Big points out, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, but this one has a little tartan bowtie!" Marissa argues, dramatically hugging it to her chest like it's her firstborn child.

Ink just sighs, already grabbing another tartan-themed keychain, looking completely unfazed by the chaos around her. Meanwhile, I am utterly distracted.

Because right in front of me is a quaint little bookstore tucked between a souvenir shop and a coffee house, old, wooden, and inviting, with a window display that immediately catches my attention.

Books. A lot of books. And the moment I see them, my first thought isn't even for myself—It's for Faye. Faye would love this place.

Before I know it, I'm already stepping inside, the scent of aged paper and fresh ink wrapping around me like a warm embrace.

My fingers skim along the spines of books as I walk through the shelves, taking in the endless rows of literature.

Faye loves poetry, I remind myself. Classics, modern pieces, everything in between. But there's so much here, I don't even know where to start.

Should I get her some Keats? A contemporary poetry collection? Maybe something rare?

I groan internally. How does one shop for someone who has probably read everything under the sun?

"You good?" Ink appears beside me, raising an eyebrow as she catches me standing in front of a poetry shelf, looking like I'm about to have an existential crisis.

"Just... thinking," I mutter, grabbing a book at random and flipping through it.

Ink gives me a knowing look but doesn't say anything.

Eventually, after far too long, I finally settle on a couple of poetry books, a leather-bound notebook that I think Faye might like, and a few small souvenirs.

Something for me. Something for my dad. And, of course, something for my literature-loving girlfriend.

By the time we're done, my wallet is a little lighter, but my heart is ten times fuller.

We step back outside, and Marissa is immediately pointing down the street, her face lit up like she just discovered gold. "Guys, look!" she gasps. "A photo studio!"

We follow her gaze to a small instant-photo studio, the kind where you can snap pictures and get them printed on the spot.

"Should we?" Big asks, grinning.

"Obviously," Marissa says. "It's a memory, guys! We need to document this trip properly!"

Ink shrugs. "I'm down."

I laugh, shaking my head, but I'm already moving towards the studio with them. Because honestly? Why the hell not? This day just keeps getting better and better.

The photo studio is a disaster in the best possible way.

We take so many photos—some cute, some ridiculous, some downright chaotic because Big keeps making stupid faces, and Marissa somehow drags me into a dumb pose every single time.

"Okay, okay," Ink sighs, grabbing the strip of prints and squinting at them. "We need to pick one each. We can't all keep the same ones."

"Nope, I need this one," Marissa says, clutching one where she's doing a dramatic hair flip while I'm mid-laugh.

"I'm taking this," Big announces, holding up a photo where Ink looks like she's about to murder him while I just look utterly done.

Ink just sighs. "You're all idiots."

"And yet, you love us," I tease, grinning as I pocket one of my own—a simple, happy shot of the four of us laughing together.

This? This is a memory worth keeping.

We continue walking, exploring more of Royal Mile, but eventually, the exhaustion hits. Our feet ache, our wallets suffer, and our stomachs demand food.

So, we grab dinner at a cozy little pub near the hotel, indulging in warm, hearty food, and complaining about how much we've spent today.

Well, Ink doesn't complain. But Marissa does enough for all of us.

By the time we finish, we're full, satisfied, and ready to crash back at the hotel.

But just as we're about to head in—I see her. Blair.

Standing near the lobby entrance, her hands casually tucked into her coat pockets, looking like she's been waiting. And she's looking right at me.

"Hey, Yoko," she greets, smiling smoothly as she steps closer. "Mind if we talk for a sec?"

Oh, hell no. Every instinct in me is screaming, nope, nope, nope, do not let this turn into a weird situation.

"Uhh," I start, awkwardly glancing at my friends, internally pleading for them to stay.

"We'll wait right here," Ink says, immediately understanding what's happening.

Bless her soul. 

Blair nods in thanks, then turns to me, still casual, still confident. "So... I was wondering if you'd like to grab coffee sometime?" she asks, tilting her head slightly, her gaze expectant.

Oh. Oh, shit. I blink, brain stalling, because I should've seen this coming. But I didn't. Because I'm an idiot.

"Uh," I start, stumbling over my words, my body screaming at me to say something definitive but before I can, Ink steps in smoothly.

Thank, fuck.

"That's really nice of you to ask," Ink says, her voice polite but firm, "but Yoko's actually—"

She pauses. And in that pause, I feel the weight of what she isn't saying out loud. She can't say I'm taken. Because Marissa and Big don't know. But somehow, somehow, Blair gets the message anyway.

She studies Ink for a moment, then looks back at me, her smile easing into something more understanding. "Ah," she murmurs, then chuckles lightly. "Got it. No worries, then."

I exhale, relieved.

"Thanks for chatting, though," she adds, then winks playfully. "I'll see you around, Yoko." And just like that, she walks off.

I stand there, feeling strangely weird—not bad, just...conflicted.

"You okay?" Ink asks once we're back in the hotel, Marissa in the bathroom, Big already vanished to his own room.

I flop onto the bed, groaning. "I don't get it," I mutter. "Why was it so hard to just say no?"

Ink sits on the edge of her bed, watching me carefully. "Because you're a naturally friendly person," she says simply. "And you don't like making people feel bad."

I huff, rubbing my temples. "Still..."

She tilts her head. "Do you like her?"

"No," I say immediately. Too fast.

Ink raises an eyebrow. "Yoko."

I groan. "I mean, she's cool, and she's nice, but—"

Ink waits. And I know what she's really waiting for. For me to ground myself. For me to remember what matters.

So, I take a deep breath. And I grasp the pendant around my neck—the one Faye gave me just last night. Warm. Reassuring. Mine.

"I love Faye," I say finally, certain, unwavering. "That's all that matters."

Ink nods approvingly, then smirks. "Good. Then stop being so nice to girls who are clearly into you."

I groan again, flopping further into the bed. This trip is going to kill me.

By the time Marissa returns from the bathroom, I'm lounging on my bed, my phone resting on my stomach, half-listening to whatever nonsense Marissa and Ink are talking about.

Something about some store they saw earlier and how Marissa totally regrets not buying something—not my concern.

My concern is currently staring at my phone, waiting, hoping, for a message from—

Ding!

I almost yeet myself off the bed. My fingers scramble to pick up my phone, unlocking it so fast I probably set a world record.

Faye

Hey baby, Come to my room.

I smile immediately, warmth flooding my chest, my heart doing the stupidest, happiest flip.

"Oh?" Ink hums, noticing my shift in mood immediately. "Did someone just text you?"

I clear my throat, trying to play it cool. "Huh? No. What?"

Ink gives me a look. "You literally just grinned like a fool."

Marissa, completely oblivious, is still talking about whatever shopping crisis she's having.

I need an excuse. Fast.

"Uhh," I start, sitting up, "I, uh, need to... um... go... borrow a thing."

Ink blinks. "A thing."

"Yes."

"From who?"

"A... teacher."

Ink immediately knows.

Marissa, thankfully, does not. "Ooh, what are you borrowing?" she asks, curious but unbothered.

"...A book?" I say, grasping at straws.

Ink snorts, covering her mouth.

Marissa just shrugs. "Okay, nerd. Have fun."

Before anyone can question further, I grab my phone, slip on my shoes, casually and suspiciously walk to the door.

Ink's smirking. She knows. But I don't care. Because five minutes later, I'll be knocking on Faye's door, my pulse quickening in anticipation.

I slink through the hallway, heart racing, practically a professional spy at this point.

Step. Look left. Look right. Move.

I'm not even sure why I'm being this dramatic, but the idea of getting caught sneaking into my own girlfriend's room who is my literature teacher is too risky to not take precautions.

Finally, I reach Faye's door and knock softly, my pulse quickening with excitement. The door swings open almost instantly.

And when the door swings open, revealing her, standing there in a loose sweater and sleep shorts, looking at me with that soft, knowing smile—I realize something.

And there she is. My Faye. My girlfriend. And honestly? I don't need an excuse. I'd go to her anytime.

She smirks, tilting her head. "That was fast."'

I grin, pushing past her into the room before anyone sees. "What can I say? I missed you."

Faye shuts the door, leans against it, arms crossing as she eyes me amusedly. "Missed me? We just saw each other a few hours ago."

I ignore her teasing, stepping forward and hugging her tight, burying my face into the crook of her neck, breathing her in. She smells like warmth, like home, like everything I never want to let go of.

Faye stiffens for a second, caught off guard, but then I feel her exhale, her arms coming around me, pulling me just as close. "Hey," she murmurs, rubbing my back. "What's wrong?"

I shake my head, not answering. Because I can't tell her about Blair. Because I don't even know what to say. So instead, I tighten my hold, pressing closer, and whisper, "I love you."

Faye stills for a moment, then she chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to my temple. "I love you too, darling. But are you sure nothing's wrong?"

I nod against her skin, "Mhm."

She pulls back slightly, searching my eyes, before sighing. "Alright. If you say so."

I smile, leaning in and kissing her, slowly, deeply, pushing away every thought that isn't her. Faye lets me, kissing me back just as softly, just as warmly, her hands firm but gentle as they hold my waist.

But then she pulls away, grinning, reaching behind her. "Before you distract me too much—"

I blink as she hands me something wrapped in brown paper.

"What's this?" I ask, confused but intrigued.

"Open it," she says, watching me expectantly.

I carefully tear through the wrapping, my fingers pausing the moment I see the title: A first edition of e.e. cummings' poetry collection. 

My breath catches as I look at Faye, stunned. "You got me this?"

Faye smiles softly, nodding toward the book. "Open it."

I flip to the first page, my eyes widening instantly. There, scrawled in elegant, sharp handwriting, is a personal message and a signature by Vanessa Evans.

My jaw drops. I stare at Faye, speechless, completely floored. "You—" I blink rapidly, trying to process. "You got her to sign this?"

Faye smirks, leaning against the desk. "Well, you did say she's your role model. Figured I'd make your dreams come true."

My chest tightens, my heart swelling with so much love, adoration, gratitude. "Faye—" I can't even form words, my throat tight with emotion.

Faye tilts her head, teasing, "Is this better than a kiss?"

I answer her by kissing her instead, an all-consuming kiss that speaks more and louder than any words I could ever say to her.

After pulling away from the kiss, I stare down at the signature, my heart pounding, my fingers tracing the elegant scrawl of Vanessa Evans like it's a sacred artifact.

Holy shit. This is real.

Faye actually met Vanessa Evans again. She actually asked her to sign this for me. Because she knows how much I admire her. I glance back at the note, rereading it, and then—I snort.

Because of course, of course, Vanessa Evans wouldn't just leave a simple signature. No. She had to make it sassy as hell.

"For the girl who clearly has taste, if she idolizes me. Don't let this woman corrupt you too much, though. She's trouble."

I laugh, shaking my head. "She really wrote this?"

Faye grins, arms crossing over her chest. "You think I forged it?"

"I wouldn't be surprised," I tease, looking at the message again. "I mean—this is so... her."

Faye chuckles, clearly pleased with herself. "Told you. You'd love it."

I hug the book close to my chest, feeling this ridiculous warmth spreading through me, this overwhelming sense of love and gratitude. And then—I look at her.

At Faye. At the woman who did this for me, who went out of her way, who thought of me even when she didn't have to.

My heart clenches, my throat tightening. Because I love her so much. Because she makes me feel so loved. And because I've been keeping something from her.

The thought shoves itself into my mind like an unwanted guest, and I feel the guilt settle in my stomach like a weight.

I should tell her. I need to tell her.

Taking a deep breath, I step forward, wrapping my arms around her waist, burying myself into her warmth.

Faye laughs softly, stroking my hair. "You're really that happy?"

"Beyond happy," I murmur against her shoulder. "But..."

She freezes slightly, pulling back just enough to look at me. "But?"

I bite my lip, nervous, my fingers clutching onto her sweater. "There's... something I should tell you."

Her expression shifts, her brows furrowing slightly, but her voice stays gentle, patient. "Okay... what is it, darling?"

I swallow, my heart thudding against my ribs, and finally, it's time for me to tell her about Blair.

I take a deep breath, steadying myself, my arms still wrapped around Faye as I gather the courage to say it. "There's this girl..." I start, my voice small, hesitant. "Blair."

Faye says nothing—just listens, her hands gently resting on my waist, warm, grounding.

"I...," I swallow, my fingers gripping onto the fabric of her sweater, "I don't know what it is, but she's been... I don't know, talking to me? Being friendly? Maybe flirting? I don't think she knows I'm attached, and I haven't exactly told her yet, and I—"

I stop. Because Faye hasn't reacted. At all. She's just... watching me, her expression calm, unreadable, like she's absorbing every word, every hesitation, without a hint of alarm or irritation.

And it throws me off completely.

Where's the teasing smirk? Where's the possessive eyebrow raise? Where's the annoyed sigh of "Seriously, darling?" Why isn't she—reacting?

I shift uncomfortably, my heart thudding harder than it should be, because—shouldn't she be saying something?

I want to hear something. I need her to say something. Because if she doesn't, then I'll spiral into thinking she doesn't care.

So I push.

"Faye?" I whisper, searching her gaze, my hands tightening around her sweater. "You're not... saying anything."

She finally exhales, tilting her head slightly, like she's amused by my concern. "What do you want me to say, Yoko?"

"I don't know—anything?" I huff. "A reaction?"

She chuckles, and for some reason, that unnerves me even more. "Darling," she murmurs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, her touch gentle, reassuring, "do you want me to be mad?"

I blink. "No?"

"Then why do you look like you want me to start an argument?"

I groan, feeling so ridiculous, burying my face into her shoulder. "Because it feels like you don't care?"

Faye laughs softly, her arms tightening around me, pulling me in closer, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "Oh, baby," she sighs, "it's not that I don't care."

I pull back slightly, looking at her, needing more. "Then what is it?"

She smiles, slow and knowing, her fingers tracing soothing circles along my back. "It's that I trust you."

...Oh.

My chest tightens, a lump forming in my throat. Because that's—That's worse. That's so much worse.

Because I expected... jealousy. Maybe possessiveness. Maybe something irrational that would still somehow assure me that she cared. But instead, I got this. I got trust.

And it shatters me.

"You—" I choke out, feeling like my entire body is folding in on itself, "you trust me?"

She gently cups my face, her thumbs brushing my cheeks, her voice so soft, so steady, like she's telling me the truest thing in the world. "Of course I do," she murmurs.

"You're mine, Yoko. And I know that no matter who talks to you, no matter who flirts with you, at the end of the day, I am the one you love. I am the one you come back to."

I inhale sharply, feeling the warmth of her words seep into my skin, settle into my bones, anchor me in ways I didn't know I needed.

Because she's right. She's so fucking right. And I feel so stupid for ever thinking I needed jealousy as proof of love when this trust—this absolute, unwavering, undeniable trust—means so much more.

I throw my arms around her, hugging her so tightly, like I can somehow give all my love back in a single embrace. "You're so annoying," I mumble into her shoulder, my voice thick with emotion.

Faye laughs, kissing my temple, her hands rubbing soothingly down my back. "I know."

"I don't deserve you."

"I know that too."

I snort, pulling back to glare at her, but she just smiles, her eyes so warm, so full of love, and—

God. I really, really love her.

But I don't let go of her. Even though I should. Even though Faye has already assured me, comforted me, held me together in a way that makes my heart ache. But I don't let go. I can't let go.

Because it still lingers—the guilt, the doubt, the uncertainty clawing at the back of my mind, whispering things I don't want to acknowledge.

What if she's just saying that? What if she's only pretending to be okay? What if, deep down, I've already ruined something?

My fingers tighten around the fabric of her sweater, clinging to her like she's the only thing keeping me grounded.

"Faye..." I murmur, my voice small, my chest tightening.

She pulls back slightly, tilting her head as she looks at me, eyes gentle, knowing. "What is it, darling?"

I hesitate. Because it feels... selfish. To want more when she's already given me so much. To ask when I already have everything I need.

But, I still need to hear it.

"Are you really okay with this?" I ask, my voice almost a whisper. "With me? With... everything I just told you?"

Faye sighs, but not in frustration. It's soft, like she understands exactly what I need. She cups my face, her thumbs brushing delicately along my jaw, her touch warm, steadying. "Yoko, my love."

I exhale sharply, my body relaxing slightly at the tenderness in her tone.

"You did nothing wrong," she murmurs. "You were honest. You came to me, you told me what was going on, and you were open about your feelings. That in itself is proof of how much you love me."

My breath catches. Because how does she do this?

How does she always find the perfect thing to say—the perfect words to untangle the mess in my head, to make me feel safe, whole, understood?

"But—" I start, my voice wavering, "I still feel guilty."

Faye smiles softly, pressing her forehead against mine, her breath warm against my lips. "Guilt is natural, baby."

I shudder, her tone soothing me in ways I can't describe.

"We all feel things, Yoko," she continues. "Attraction, curiosity, fleeting emotions—it's all part of being human. What matters isn't what we feel—it's what we choose to do about it."

She pulls back slightly, her eyes locking onto mine, steady and certain. "And you? You didn't act on it. You didn't hide it from me. You didn't betray me. You chose honesty. You chose me."

My chest tightens, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of her trust. Because she's right. I did choose her. I always choose her. And I always will.

"You're too good for me," I whisper, my throat tight, my emotions swelling so high I can barely contain them.

Faye chuckles, shaking her head. "I could say the same about you, darling."

I laugh weakly, leaning into her touch, my fingers brushing against her wrist, tracing the pulse beneath her skin. "I love you," I murmur.

Her smile softens, her gaze melting into something so unbearably tender. "I know," she whispers, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "And I love you too. So, so much."

And just like that, the weight on my chest eases.

Because she's right here. Because she chose me too. And that's all I'll ever need.

She's really someone that I love so much. That I don't see myself letting go of. No. I don't let go. I can't let go.

Even now. Not when I finally have her close, warm, safe in my arms. Not when her touch lingers on my skin, not when her voice still echoes in my head, soothing, grounding mine.

But Faye sighs, her fingers brushing against my cheek as she pulls back slightly, her expression knowing. "You should head back to your room, baby," she murmurs, her voice gentle, but firm. "It's not safe if you stay here tonight."

I whine, burying my face into her neck, inhaling her scent—familiar, intoxicating, home. "I don't want to go..."

Faye chuckles, her fingers carding through my hair, soothing, but I can feel her resolve already set in stone. "Yoko..."

I tilt my head up, pouting, pleading, my hands gripping her sweater. "We can make it work," I insist. "I can wake up early before breakfast. No one will know."

She arches a brow, unconvinced. "And what if you oversleep?"

"I won't," I say, determined, desperate. "I promise, babe, I'll set an alarm. Two alarms. Three. If I have to, I'll ask Ink to wake me up. Please, babe... just let me stay tonight."

Her eyes soften, hesitation flickering in them for just a moment before she sighs deeply, shaking her head. "You're impossible."

A triumphant grin spreads across my face. "And you love it."

Faye rolls her eyes, but she's already caving, already pulling me back into her warmth, already losing. "Fine. But if you get caught, you're on your own."

"I won't get caught," I say quickly, grinning, already pulling out my phone and shooting a text to Ink.

Yoko

hey pls help me cover for tonight i won't be back in the room HAHAH

Yoko

deal with marissa somehow come up with a stupid excuse plssss 😭😭😭

Ink

oh my god you're unbelievable

Ink

fine i got you. but u owe me big time

Yoko

i love u 😘

I set my phone aside, smug. "Done."

Faye shakes her head, laughing, her fingers skimming down my arm, pulling me even closer, until I'm pressed against her, wrapped in her warmth, exactly where I belong.

"You're lucky I'm weak for you," she mutters, her voice low, amused.

I smirk, smug, pressing a kiss to her jaw. "I know."

Then, I proceed to sit cross-legged on Faye's bed, the worn, leather-bound book cradled in my hands, my fingers gently running over the embossed title, the weight of it solid, real, meaningful in my grasp.

It smells old—the kind of beautiful, familiar old that only books carry, pages kissed by time, ink soaked deep into history. But more than that, it's hers. It's from Faye, chosen by Faye, touched by Faye.

And signed by Vanessa Evans, but that's beside the point.

I flip through the delicate pages, eyes scanning the elegant loops of Professor Demon's signature, the sharp wit in her little note to me, and a stupid, giddy warmth bubbles in my chest.

"You never told me why you picked this book," I say, looking up at Faye, who's lounging beside me, watching me with her soft, unreadable gaze.

She hums, her lips tugging up slightly. "Professor's suggestion," she admits. "She told me there was a poem inside that she loves, and... well, I figured it was the best way to declare my love for you."

I blink, then snort, shaking my head. "Wow. Smooth."

"Mm-hm," she smirks. "Had to get advice first, though."

I laugh, clutching the book dramatically to my chest, hugging it close, as if it's my most precious treasure. "Well, I'll cherish it forever then, because my girlfriend gave it to me."

Faye's eyebrow lifts, amusement dancing in her eyes. "You sure it's not because of Professor Evans' signature?"

I freeze for half a second, then wave her off with a scoff, acting as unbothered as possible. "Psh, no way," I say, flipping a page casually, as if my soul wasn't just doing cartwheels.

She chuckles, not believing me for a second, but she doesn't call me out on it. Instead, she stretches, her fingers lightly grazing my thigh, sending a warm shiver down my spine. "Shower together?"

I don't even hesitate. "Okay."

And before she can say anything else, I spring up, grabbing her hand, and pulling her towards the bathroom, leaving the book behind but bringing the overwhelming love I feel for her with me.

The warm water cascades down our bodies, steam curling around us like a veil, enclosing us in our own little world.

Faye's fingers trail down my back, slow and lingering, her touch gentle yet possessive, as if she's memorising me all over again.

I tilt my head up, and she's already there—lips brushing mine, teasing, soft at first, then deeper, her hands finding my waist, pulling me against her.

I melt, my arms looping around her neck, fingers tangling into wet strands of hair, kissing her like she's the only thing keeping me anchored to this earth.

The water rushes around us, slipping between heated skin, but nothing—nothing—can drown out the way she makes me feel.

Loved. Wanted. Hers.

By the time we step out of the shower, I'm wrapped in her shirt, the oversized fabric swallowing me whole, smelling of her—clean, fresh, a little bit of bergamot and something uniquely Faye.

She's already under the covers, waiting, watching me with that look—the one that always makes my chest feel too full, too warm, like she's already holding me without even touching me.

I crawl into bed beside her, pressing myself against her warmth, burying my face into her bare shoulder.

She chuckles softly, her arms immediately wrapping around me, holding me close. "Comfortable?" she murmurs, lips brushing the crown of my head.

"Mm-hm," I mumble, kissing her collarbone, then her jaw, then finally finding her lips again, stealing a few more kisses.

Her hand cups my cheek, her thumb stroking gently, her lips pressing back, slow and lazy, like we have all the time in the world. "Goodnight, baby," she whispers, one last kiss, soft and lingering.

I hum, nuzzling closer, my arms tightening around her. "Goodnight, babe."

And as sleep pulls me under, I know—I know there's nowhere else I'd rather be.

NOTE FROM MEOWINGHAM: Well, I know what you guys are thinking like 'YOKO WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU HAVE FEELINGS FOR SOMEONE ELSE????' well–calm down folks. I wanted to highlight that sometimes it's really reality, and humane of us to sort of catch this fuzzy feelings for someone else, despite (huge one) being in a relationship already.

And yeah, I can hear you go 'BUT IF YOU ARE ALREADY COMMITTED AND SO IN LOVE YOU WOULDN'T' yes, darlings I hear you well. But who are we to judge if that's reality? That, yes–we can be committed in a relationship but sometimes, just sometimes, we falter because we ARE human.

So I wanted to portray that out from Yoko's side because first of all, it's really tough handling this 'we are together but, we can't be close for the sake of the both of us' kind of situation. I think it also goes well (in parallel) to other bigger situations i.e.– Long Distance Relationship. When you are unable to always be with that person of yours, you'd get distracted. And second of all, Yoko in this novel (for context, she's 18.) She is at the stage where okay, things are happening around her versus Faye who is already 30 and matured.

Now, I'm not saying Yoko is immature. I'm saying that it's as real as it can be for someone at the age of 18 years old, first relationship probably, and somehow still feeling fuzzy for someone else. So, it's all logical and reality.

And with that, I wanted to show how much maturity, how much love and trust Faye has for Yoko, in their love, in their relationship and of course from Faye, to Yoko as a partner. Because honestly?

If you don't have such trust in the person that you say you love, then, why are you with this person?

But still, kudos to Ink for being that wise person. And of course, for Yoko choosing right. Because after all, we do have and need such friends, don't we?

Psst, this whole chapter is around 10,400 words (and more, actually)! So, thank you for reading, thank you for staying and if you have read until here, I thank you for hearing my thoughts and perspective of writing it this way.

Feel free to to drop in the comments to let me know whether you like this chapter or not, and let me know your thoughts!