Chapter Text
GMMTV, the famous Thai channel that dominated the world with their Boys Love productions and now shines even brighter with their Girls Love series, announced a special event for the first time: the Blush Blossom Fan Fest. It would be historic. With that, Milk, Love, Emi, Bonnie, Namtan, Film, View, Mim, June, and Mewnich, the channel's most acclaimed female stars, shared the same stage for two days in an electrifying concert. It wouldn't be acting, it wouldn't be their characters: it would be themselves, singing, dancing, and facing a sea of fans.
The last few weeks had been a whirlwind of emotions. Vocal rehearsals, choreography, stage markings... In groups, in pairs, side by side with colleagues they knew so well. Love Pattranite, the actress who gained popularity on GMMTV since playing Pa in Bad Buddy, her first notable sapphic role, and who shone even brighter as Sun in 23.5, the channel's first GL series, couldn't understand what was happening inside her.
At first glance, everything was perfect: Whale Store xoxo had premiered and the reception to Maewnam and Wan's story had been excellent. Social media exploded with support for her and her on-screen partner, Milk Pansa, and the world seemed to finally recognize the magnitude of her talent. But even surrounded by applause, there was something that tightened Love's heart. A silent discomfort, difficult to name.
Something was wrong. Or maybe... too right?
During another dance rehearsal, Love stared at her own reflection in the mirror, trying to follow the teachers' instructions. They explained, demonstrated, corrected, and yet everything seemed distant, muffled, as if Love were inside a bubble. Not really there. She blinked, breathed, moved her body... But her head was somewhere else. Or, more specifically, on a kiss. From a woman.
It had happened a few weeks earlier, in the final stages of filming Whale Store. Wan and Maewnam had many intense scenes, but that one... That one had gone beyond a simple technical take. Love remembered the approach, the exchange of glances, marked in the script. The breathing she controlled so well after years of acting. Everything was perfect... Until it wasn't.
The touch.
The heat.
The shiver.
The way her body twisted when she felt Milk's hands.
The intense and completely inflamed feeling that the world had become too small for the two of them.
The kiss was professional: it had to be. But the moment their lips met, Love felt something ignite inside her, something she didn't recognize. It wasn't in the script, it wasn't in the director's plan, and it certainly wasn't in her expectations. The brunette's lips pulling lightly on hers. Were they Wan and Maewnam... Or were they Milk and Love?
Milk had felt it too. She pulled back immediately after hearing “cut,” her eyes wide, her cheeks burning. Love remembered the uncomfortable, almost electric silence that followed. The way Milk looked at her, as if she had just heard a confession that Love didn't even know she had made. The big difference?
Milk understood.
Love. Passion. Desire. She recognized every nuance immediately; after all, it wasn't new to her. She had carried this feeling for a long time, ever since she started working side by side with Love, her heart was already falling. Milk knew it, accepted it, and patiently... waited.
Love, on the other hand...
Love never imagined she would feel this way about someone. She never imagined it would be Milk. And since that day, something inside her had been out of place. As she repeated the choreography for the fifth time that morning, Love missed a simple step. Then another. And another. The dance teacher sighed patiently, but the actress just smiled awkwardly, whispering apologies. It was useless.
She couldn't think.
She couldn't turnoff.
And having Milk there, with her hair down, black pants hugging her silhouette, a huge white shirt falling carelessly over her shoulder, only made everything worse. Or better? Love no longer knew. It was as if every detail screamed something she shouldn't hear.
Her breathing quickened, but she couldn't identify the cause.
The dance steps?
The heat in the studio?
Or the way Milk ran her fingers through her hair, distracted, unaware of the damage she was doing?
Love swallowed hard. Everything in her seemed to react without permission, as if her body understood something her mind refused to accept. She tried to focus on the choreography count, but Milk's gaze met hers and suddenly everything went out of rhythm.
And if she closed her eyes...
God. It was worse.
She could still taste it, feel the heat, the shiver of that kiss that shouldn't have meant anything and now seemed to pulse at the base of her throat like a secret too hot to ignore. The desire came in waves, unexpected, inappropriate, impossible. And Love didn't know if she wanted to run away... or if she just wanted to give in.
It was this confusion that left her completely lost and, in a way, guilty. A heavy guilt insisted on settling in: guilt for not understanding, for not being able to control, for not knowing what to do with it. Love didn't want to want. She didn't want to desire. She didn't want to turn something as important as her partnership with Milk into internal chaos.
But the question that pounded her mind incessantly was simple and devastating: Is it possible to hold back a passion that insists on appearing? Or worse: Is it possible to escape it when it has Milk's face? Pansa Vosbein... How can you escape a woman like that?
The delicacy of her features, so soft that they always seemed about to smile; her always gentle eyes, the calm way Milk had of existing...
Love thought about how beautiful Milk was in a painful way. Not just beautiful, radiant. A beauty that needed no effort, that revealed itself in the details: in her easy laugh, her curious gaze, the silent care she always offered.
Because Milk cared. Always.
She was always the first to notice when Love was tired, as if her gaze found every detail that the world ignored. The first to hand her a bottle of water, to carefully adjust her microphone, to pin back the stray strand of hair that insisted on falling over her face. She would ask if Love had eaten, if she needed anything, if her day had been easy. And every morning, she was awakened by a gentle message: “Would you like matcha today? Shall I buy something for you too?”
Milk had this rare way of caring: a silent affection, offered without demand, without expecting anything in return. As if spoiling Love, even in small gestures, was simply the most natural way to exist.
And Love... Love realized this too late. She realized that her co-star, her partner of many years, was also the person who had always been there: lighting up the backstage, supporting her dreams, celebrating her small victories, holding her arm when she trembled before going on stage.
How could she escape that? How could she avoid someone so good, so sweet, so... magnetic? Milk was the embodiment of everything that warmed Love's heart: the care, the loyalty, the smile, the quiet strength, the sensitivity that few saw, but that Love, somehow, always noticed. And now, with desire mixed with confusion, it was impossible to ignore.
Because running away from a feeling was already difficult. But running away from Milk, with all her beauty, kindness, and delicacy? Love knew: that was simply impossible. Because Milk wasn't just beautiful: she was disarming. And, in addition to her beauty, her countless qualities... there was her body. Strong, elegant, full of subtle curves and striking lines. A defined abdomen, the result of faithful visits to the gym and Pilates. Her foreign features gave Milk's body a volume and presence that few Thai women had. Milk was hot. There was no other word for it.
And Milk had no idea of the effect she had. She was sexy without trying, without realizing it, without any effort. Sexy in a calm, natural way that only made everything even more dangerous. Whenever she did something extremely sexy, she would let out a silly laugh, in a duality unique to her. Only she was like that.
How could you run away from someone like that?
Lost in this storm of thoughts, Love only came back to reality when she heard a voice calling her name:
“N'Love, are you okay?”
It was Milk, her voice soft and concerned, asking if they could get back to rehearsal. They were working on MILLI's song, 17 นาที (17 mins), which would have an almost theatrical feel during the performance.
“Oh, hi, P'Miw. I'll be right back, forgive me.”
The little girl then took a deep breath, gathered all the strength she had left, and made a silent promise to herself: she would not give voice to that whirlwind of feelings. She had always been professional. And she would continue to be.
Finally, the big night arrived!
Anxiety took over all the girls, each trying to control their breathing as the rehearsals, repeated to exhaustion, finally became the basis for the actual performance.
Love tried to remain calm. Professional. Undefeatable.
But as soon as she entered the dressing room, everything fell apart. Seeing Milk already ready, dressed for the first song, the opening with the song Hula Hula, was definitely like being hit with a sledgehammer. Love stopped for a second, completely disarmed, feeling her heart fail in her chest. And, ironically, someone in that room was even worse than she was.
Milk felt her heart race at a pace she didn't even know her own body was capable of when she saw Love walk in. The pink skirt with green details, the green top decorated in pink (the couple's official colors) made Love impossible to ignore. Her exposed abdomen, firm, delicate, illuminated by the dressing room lights... Milk was mesmerized.
Her skin was perfect, almost luminous; her silhouette small, defined, irresistible.
The simple act of Love walking across the room made Milk's thoughts spiral dangerously out of control: the most forbidden and intense she had ever had.
Damn it!
Milk thought, feeling her face burn. She couldn't continue to desire this woman so much, when, theoretically, she would always be just her coworker.
“Girls, one minute until the show starts!”
The warning echoed backstage, pulling Milk and Love out of their own thoughts. The two took a deep breath, put on their professional armor, and headed for the stage... even though, inside, they were both on the edge of chaos. As soon as they stepped under the lights, they were cheered.
Their names echoed through the audience, deafening screams filling the space. And the muvmuvs: always so well-behaved, so accustomed to “zero fanservice,” simply lost their minds.
They saw their favorites there, live, singing, dancing, teasing each other with subtle glances... and being dangerously sexy together.
“Strangely sexy,” some would say.
“They woke up horny today,” others would say.
And the entire fandom knew the truth: Milklove never had to force anything to win anyone over. So what was that? What was that night?
And that's exactly why that night was so absurd.
With every song, every glance exchanged, every touch that lasted a second longer than it was supposed to. Everything seemed too heavy.
Too tense. Too mischievous.
Twitter was already on fire. Thai and international fans asked, in a mixture of panic and euphoria:
“What happened to them?”
“Why are they like this today?”
“Did they lose their minds together?”
“What did they give them?”
And the answer? Not even they could say. Because something had changed, something invisible, intense, electric. And it was burning under both their skins. The show ended in an explosion of lights, screams, and sweat. Milklove was trending, fans commenting on their obvious chemistry and each of their performances. The girls hugged quickly before being pulled into a line of interviews. Love was still on an adrenaline high, her breathing too short to hide how much that night had affected her. Milk, on the other hand, seemed too calm for someone who had almost set the stage on fire.
After answering a few questions, Milk was released first. The assistants guided her backstage to the dressing room, where she could finally breathe away from the cameras. She relaxed her shoulders, feeling her body vibrate with exhaustion and excitement. She started to remove her makeup, ready to change clothes.
That's when the door opened.
“P'Miw...? Can I talk to you for a minute?”
Milk turned around.
Ciize was standing there, still wearing her backstage wristband, clearly someone who had watched the show and rushed straight to find her. Her eyes were shining: excitement, nervousness, maybe something else?
“N'Ciize?” Milk smiled, surprised. “Did you come to watch us?”
“Of course I did. I wouldn't miss your first show for anything,” she said, stepping slowly closer. “And... Milk, you were amazing. Really amazing. I'm still speechless.”
Milk lowered her head, half shy, half proud.
“Thank you, N'Ciize. I'm glad you came.”
But Ciize didn't stop there. She took a step closer. And then another.
“I needed to see you.” Her voice trembled a little. “Today, seeing you up there... so beautiful, so confident, so... you... I realized I can't keep this to myself anymore.”
Milk frowned, confused.
“Keep what to yourself...?”
And that's when Ciize dropped the bomb.
“I like you, Milk. I've liked you for a long time. But today, seeing you on that stage... I realized I can't hide it anymore.”
Silence.
Milk felt the ground disappear beneath her feet. Her heart was beating too fast, but not with joy: pure shock.
Ciize? Liking her like that? She had never even considered that possibility. Not when her mind, her heart, her entire body knew only one name: Love. Loverrukk. Pattranite Limpatiyakorm. It was her. Always her.
Love, who was her first thought when she woke up and her last before she fell asleep. Love, who she had secretly watched for years. Love, who she loved like someone loves something too precious to touch.
Milk swallowed hard. She didn't know what to say, didn't know how to react.
And it was at that exact moment that the dressing room door made a slight noise. Inaudible to Milk and Ciize.
Love had arrived.
She was excited, still breathless from the show, ready to comment on how Milk killed it on the last song, but when she heard Ciize's voice, she stopped in the hallway.
And when she heard “I like you,” her world simply froze.
Love stopped, unable to move, unable to breathe. Her hand on the doorknob. Her eyes wide. And jealousy came like a brutal, animalistic explosion, without warning. A jealousy that burned inside, that scratched, that hurt. Pure, intense, possessive. Love felt her heart pound, her stomach twist, her breath escape.
Why was Ciize there?
Why was Ciize confessing this?
Why didn't Milk answer?
Why was it so upsetting?
Her fingers trembled. Her chest burned. Her mind went blank, overcome by a single feeling: fear of losing. Anger at the thought of losing. A desire to prevent anyone from getting close to what she wanted for herself. Love bit her lip hard, furious with Ciize, furious with Milk, furious with herself, but mostly desperate. Because at that moment, hidden behind the door, she finally realized that Milk wasn't just her co-worker. Milk wasn't just her scene partner. Milk belong to her. Or... she wanted her to. She had to.
If everyone praised Love's performance in 23.5, when Sun was dying of jealousy of Ongsa, it was because they couldn't see Love with jealousy there, in real life. An Oscar-worthy reaction for “Most Jealous Woman in the World.” Love snorted, loud enough to break the air, making Milk and Ciize realize, with a shiver, that someone was standing at the door.
Love entered the dressing room with the expression of someone who could easily kill someone that night. But she said nothing.
She just flashed a fake smile, too sweet for not to be threatening, at Ciize. And then, as if Milk were invisible, she didn't say a single word to her.
The indifference hurt more than any direct attack. Milk felt her chest tighten, despair rising in her throat. She didn't know what Love had heard, but her gaze... it burned.
Sensing the heavy, almost suffocating atmosphere and Milk's obvious lack of response, Ciize broke the silence.
“Congratulations, girls... you really nailed it. I... I'm going to go see Namtan and Film and give them congratulations too.”
Milk just nodded, trying to stay calm, but her hands were shaking. When Ciize left, closing the door behind her, the silence that remained felt like a battlefield about to explode.
The dressing room felt thick: heavy with jealousy, tension, everything Love felt and didn't say, and everything Milk felt and never had the courage to declare. Love was the one who broke the silence, her voice low but sharp as a blade.
“Why didn't you answer?” she asked, her eyes narrowed, burning. “Didn't you have the courage to say that you want her?
Milk blinked quickly, completely disturbed by the accusation, by the tone, by the look.
“N'Love... no... it's not that. You misunderstood, she was just talking about the show, I—”
“Talking about the show?” Love laughed without humor, a hard laugh. “Funny... it seemed to be much more than that.”
Milk took a step forward, desperate, wanting to remove that anger from the other's eyes.
“Please, listen to me... there was nothing there. I don't wanna be with Ciize, I never did. I just...” She took a deep breath, her voice trembling. “I just want you.”
Love didn't answer. But her irritation was visible: it was there in the tension of her shoulders, in her angry gaze, in her clenched fingers, in her locked jaw.
At the same time, she couldn't stop her eyes from scanning Milk's entire body: her skin shining with sweat from the performance, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her vulnerable, beautiful expression, completely sexy without making any effort. That look only made Love even more furious. Furious for feeling so much.
Milk kept talking, trying to explain herself, getting more and more nervous:
“I swear, Love, I never thought of Ciize that way, I don't know why she came to tell me that today, please listen to me!”
Love snorted impatiently one more time and suddenly got up. The abruptness of her movement made Milk shut up immediately.
She walked to the door.
Milk's heart broke.
Of course. Love was leaving. Without listening. Without letting Milk say what she really felt. Without even giving her a chance, everything Milk had done for years would no longer have any value... Until...
Click.
Love didn't leave. Love locked the door.
When she turned around, her eyes were fixed on the brunette with an intensity that made Milk hold her breath. Love walked back slowly, each step charged with something electric, dangerous, uncontrollable. Untamable?
Milk, confused, took a step back, but Love reached her before she could get far. And then, without warning, she cupped her face in her small but firm hands and pulled her into a kiss. It wasn't a gentle kiss. Much less romantic. It was urgent. Hot. Uncontrollable. Pure possession. The kind of kiss that silently said: You are mine. And I won't lose you to anyone.
Milk was breathless, groundless, thoughtless: completely surrendered to the touch, to jealousy, to desire, to everything Love had tried to hide, now burning uncontrollably. Love deepened the kiss as if she were taking something that had always been hers. She didn't ask for permission, she didn't hesitate. Her hand slid to the back of Milk's neck, guiding, holding, setting the pace: firm, decisive, dominant in a way Milk never imagined she would ever see in real life.
Milk let out a muffled moan against her mouth, surprised by the intensity, by the way Love pulled her closer, as if she were silently saying don't leave me for even a second. I want to be yours. Love pressed her against the dressing room wall, her small but incredibly determined body holding the brunette. She separated her lips for a second, just long enough to murmur in a deep, husky voice:
“Do you really think... I’d be able to stand looking at that?”
Milk felt her whole body react.
Love like that. So firm, so bossy, so utterly possessive. It was something she had never dared to fully imagine in her own daydreams. And yet, it was better than any fantasy. Love returned the kiss immediately, deeper, more confident, holding her face as if marking her territory, as if saying without words that Milk's place was there, right there, with her and only her. Milk, stunned, corresponded as best she could, her heart racing, her whole body trembling with the devastating certainty that her dreams, however audacious they were, had never reached this level of insanity.
Because never, ever, had she imagined Love like this.
Small, yes. But completely determined. Dangerously intense. And absurdly possessive in an absolutely sexy way.
“Are you sure?” asked Milk, still gasping, her voice trembling between desire and disbelief.
Love didn’t look away for a second.
“Do you have any doubts?” she replied firmly, almost defiantly, as her hands slowly moved up to the brunette’s waist, slipping under her shirt as if they already knew the road by heart.
Milk breathed heavily, surprised by the touch, by the boldness, by the heat that immediately ran through her skin.
“Here?” she whispered, as if the question were forbidden, as if any word could make her collapse even more.
Love tilted her face, without fear, without hesitation, dominating the space between them.
“Now!”
The tone left no room for escape, and Milk didn't want to run away. Small, determined hands began to push the fabric of her shirt up, slowly, torturingly, exploring every inch of the brunette's neck as if marking territory. Love scratched Milk's back, who felt the rhythm of her heart accelerating more and more.
Milk felt the air in her lungs failing. The way Love touched her... firm, determined, as if claiming what she had always wanted and never had the courage to ask for... left her completely vulnerable.
Love brought her mouth close to her ear, her breath hot, charged with desire.
“You have no idea how much I've thought about this.”
Milk almost gave in right there, her legs threatening to fail as Love took off her shirt with that dangerous calm, that confidence that didn't match her size... But it matched perfectly with the way she took Milk for herself. Love delighted in seeing Milk’s breasts, round and slightly larger than hers. Her perfect abdomen, sweaty, shivering at Love's touch.
Now, there in that dressing room, the whole world became smaller. There was only Milk and Love. Milk's trembling sigh. Love's fierce determination. And the growing heat of something that neither of them had the strength to deny anymore. Love pulled Milk to the sofa with a firmness the brunette had never seen in her. She didn’t ask, she didn’t wait… She simply did it. Milk fell onto the cushions, breathless, completely surrendered to the moment: to Love’s fingers gripping her wrist, to the effortless way she took control.
The shorter girl climbed onto the sofa right after and, in one confident move, took off her own shirt. Milk lost her breath. She stared, utterly mesmerized, at Love’s beauty.
For a moment, everything fell silent.
Because seeing Love there, lit only by the warm backstage lights, her skin still flushed from the heat of the show, was more than Milk’s heart could have prepared itself to handle. Milk’s eyes roamed over every newly revealed inch, unable to stop. Every curve. Every detail. Every line she had always imagined but never dared look at for so long in real life. Love felt the gaze. She felt herself being devoured. And instead of making her nervous, it made her even firmer, more decided.
Her heart beat so fast it seemed to want to escape through her mouth, but it wasn’t fear. It was desire. It was everything she had repressed for months, maybe years, denying that feeling that had only grown stronger. She had never done this with another woman. But she had to admit she had thought, countless times, what it would be like with that 1.70m-tall brunette. Her thoughts… oh, her thoughts… They were silent witnesses to the countless times she had imagined Milk there, right there, beneath her, looking at her like this: surrendered, surprised, pulsing with desire.
Love smiled when she realized just how far gone Milk already was, how her body responded to every little provocation. It was a warmth she recognized because she had imagined it so many times, dreamed of it on silent nights, nights when her thoughts wandered in sinful ways.
She wanted to feel Milk like this.
She had planned it, desired it, imagined it… and touched herself countless times thinking of exactly this moment, when she could finally make Milk hers.
And now it was real.
Love leaned in slowly, placing one hand beside Milk’s body to steady herself, and let the other slide along the brunette’s waist, feeling the involuntary tremor she caused.
Milk swallowed dryly, completely dominated, completely surrendered and unable to look away from the woman who, in that moment, seemed made to destroy her and rebuild her in the same gesture. In the same instant.
There were no cameras, no script, no weight of roles they had to play. Just the two of them. Just the desire, urgent, finally reciprocated.
Still smiling, Love removed each piece of Milk’s clothing… She scattered kisses along her neck, hungrily sucked the taller woman’s breasts, drawing out moan after moan. And then, after feeling the brunette pulsing, begging for more, she entered Milk with two fingers, slowly, savoring every reaction, every tremulous sigh that escaped Milk’s lips. Love’s heart beat erratically, wildly. And the other girl? Milk moved against Love’s fingers, rocking slowly and pleading for more. The depth of their kiss increased with every thrust Love delighted in giving. Milk moaned, louder and louder, until she felt Love shift above her, using her other hand to "quiet" Milk’s moans.
“They’ll hear us if we keep going like this” she said with a naughty laugh, pressing her hand harder over Milk’s mouth while pushing her fingers deeper inside her.
The reaction was immediate: spasms, shivers, Milk rocking faster and faster until one last moan was muffled against Love’s hand as the other hand was coated with every drop of that intense orgasm. Love reveled in watching this gorgeous woman belong to her, unraveling for her, because of her. It was everything she had ever fantasized about. And in that moment, the whole world seemed to disappear: leaving only the heat, the skin, the desire… and the first time they truly let themselves feel.
Milk lay surrendered, panting, her eyes still half-closed as she tried to catch her breath. Love, on top of her, placed slow kisses along her neck, each touch drawing a new shiver, until suddenly:
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Three quick knocks. Impatient. Both girls froze.
“Um… Love? Milk?” The voice on the other side sounded familiar. Bonnie.
In a second, the room’s intimate spell broke and panic took its place.
Love quickly pulled away from Milk, her face flushing. Milk brought a hand to her chest, trying to quiet her own breathing, still too rapid to sound innocent.
“Damn it…” Milk whispered, grabbing her clothes from the dressing room floor.
“She can’t come in now. No way!” Love pressed her lips together, rushing to put the sofa cushions back in place.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Girls? I just wanna know if I left my bag in there! I can’t find my phone!” Bonnie insisted.
Milk stumbled over her own feet as she tried to make herself look at least somewhat presentable. Love rushed to the mirror, running her hands through her hair in a desperate attempt to tame the mess. They moved around the dressing room like someone trying to put out a fire with their bare hands.
“Breathe, Love…” Milk murmured, even though she herself was out of breath.
“You breathe!” Love shot back, louder than she intended.
Silence from the other side of the door. They locked eyes, freezing.
Milk cleared her throat, smoothed her hair, and walked to the door. Love stayed two steps behind, trying to look busy, professional, and completely uninvolved in anything suspicious.
Milk finally unlocked the door.
She opened it just enough to show half her face.
“Sorry, Bonnie!” she said, her voice a pitch higher than usual. “We took a while because… uh… there are a bunch of crew guys backstage right now. We were waiting for them to pass.”
Love, behind her, nodded frantically in agreement.
Bonnie stepped inside, suspicious, but not suspicious enough.
“Oh… have you seen my black bag? I swear I left it here before the show…”
Bonnie’s bag was right there, fallen behind the armchair.
“I knew it!” she complained. “This show’s driven everyone crazy, even I’m forgetting my own stuff. Did you guys see the audience tonight? My God, that was insane! Incredible!”
Milk and Love exchanged an automatic smile. Automatically fake. The kind of smile you wear when you’re desperately trying to seem normal.
Bonnie kept talking while rummaging through her bag, recalling every detail of the show, from the heat of the lights to the roar of the fans. And they listened, or pretended to listen… while trying not to think about what had happened just minutes before.
Love pretended to fix her hair, but her hand was still trembling. Milk tried to focus on the conversation, but her lips still carried the taste of Love’s kiss. Every time their eyes met, even for a second, their bodies betrayed any attempt at neutrality.
Milk looked away at the wall, took a deep breath… But the truth was unavoidable: she wanted to reciprocate. She wanted to touch Love with the same intensity she had received. She wanted to feel the shorter girl tremble for her.
And that thought was a problem because Love, just two steps away, seemed equally overwhelmed, biting the corner of her lip as if trying to stop her body from giving everything away.
“Are you guys even listening?” Bonnie asked, finally sensing something was off.
Milk blinked, coming back to the real world. Love cleared her throat, straightening her posture.
“Of course,” Milk answered too quickly.
“Mmhmm,” Love added, her face still warm.
Bonnie frowned for a second, as if weighing whether to ask something… but she gave up. She flashed a wide smile.
“Anyway, thanks, girls. I’m going back to my dressing room, Emi’s probably worried by now. Love you, moms!” she said, smiling in reference to the joke their fans made about her being MilkLove’s daughter.
She left, closing the door behind her. The silence that remained was electric. Milk let out a relieved sigh. Love leaned her hand on the table, trying to steady herself.
And then, slowly, as if they couldn’t help it, their gazes finally met for real. The desire hadn’t gone away. It was just waiting. And Milk… definitely wanted to pick up where they left off.
But there was no time for more.
The door opened again, this time without warning.
“Girls, let’s go!” the manager called, clipboard already in hand. “Tomorrow’s prep starts at 8AM sharp. No delays. You have an interview, a dress rehearsal, backstage footage, and then day two of Blush Blossom. Come on, come on, come on.”
Milk and Love exchanged one last look, quick and urgent, before being pulled out of the bubble they’d created. The dressing room became chaos: staff collecting equipment, stylists gathering outfits, the manager calling out names as if commanding a battalion.
They both obeyed, even though their hearts were somewhere else. They left in a hurry, trying to look professional, trying to erase from their skin what still throbbed.
In the parking lot, the company car was waiting. The van was full: Bonnie, Emi, View, Mim, all chatting excitedly about the show, the crowd’s energy, the festival vibe.
Love sat by the window. Milk sat one row behind, in the back seat. Conversation flowed around them… but neither of them was really listening. Love stared at her own hand resting on her thigh, remembering Milk’s touch. Milk, distracted, bit the cap of her water bottle, remembering the soft moan that escaped Love before everything was interrupted.
The manager was on the phone up front:
“We need to be on time tomorrow. They still have a video to film before rehearsal.” He sighed. “It’s going to be intense. Everyone needs to rest tonight.”
Rest… Hard to do when their bodies were still trembling from what shouldn’t have happened in the first place.
The van started moving, illuminated by streetlights flashing by outside. Love tried to distract herself by looking out the window, but the memory kept forcing its way back: the heat, the surrender, the way Milk moaned her name.
And it was then, as the van turned a corner, that Milk decided what she would do. She took out her phone, opened her Line chat with Love. She hesitated for half a second. Then she typed. And sent.
Love felt her own phone vibrate in her bag. She picked it up slowly, trying not to draw attention. When she unlocked the screen, she found just one short message:
P'Milk GMMTV:
“What we did isn’t over. I want you to be mine, too.”
Love felt her face grow hot. A small smile came, hidden, almost imperceptible, but real. As real as the desire still pulsing inside her. She squeezed the phone in her hand, letting her thumb trace the message slowly, as if she could feel Milk through the screen.
She didn’t reply.
Not yet.
But she looked out the window again, biting the corner of her mouth. And she wondered, with her heart racing: What would the second day of the show be like? Because now, nothing between them was the same anymore. And tomorrow… promised much more than a simple reunion between coworkers.