The morning light comes in soft through the curtains, pale gold and gentle against Aiah's closed eyelids. She feels it before she fully wakes—the warmth of another body beside her, the slow drag of lips against her forehead. Kisses. Light ones, patient ones, trailing from her brow down to the corner of her eye.

She smiles before she opens her eyes. She doesn't need to. She knows who it is.

"Mikha," she murmurs, her voice thick with sleep.

"There's someone knocking." Mikha's voice is low, careful, like she's trying not to shatter the quiet. "At the main door."

Aiah keeps her eyes closed. The blanket is warm. Mikha is warm. The world outside can wait. "Then open it."

A pause. She feels Mikha's breath against her cheek, then the shift of weight as Mikha pulls back slightly.

"How?"

Aiah chuckles, still half-asleep, the sound muffled by her pillow. "Do you not know how to open a door?"

"Do you forget that the door only opens with your fingerprint?"

Aiah's eyes finally crack open, just a sliver. Right. The lock. Her parents and the Lims had it installed before they moved in, a leash disguised as security. But she remembers, in the haze of last month, after Mikha's college friend's birthday—she'd turned it off. She'd wanted Mikha to have the freedom to come and go without asking permission like a child. She'd never told her.

"I turned it off," she says, her eyes already closing again. "Last month. It's just a normal door now."

The silence stretches. Aiah can feel Mikha's gaze on her, can almost hear the gears turning in her wife's head. Then, softly, almost to herself: "Okay."

The bed shifts. Footsteps pad across the floor. The bedroom door opens, and from somewhere deeper in the house, the knocking continues—insistent, rhythmic, unbothered by the early hour.

Aiah burrows deeper into the blanket. She hears the main door open. Muffled voices drift through the house, bright and energetic, and she recognizes them immediately. Her body tenses before her mind catches up.

Stacey. Maloi.

Of course.

Their voices grow louder as they move through the house. The bedroom door swings open fully, and suddenly the quiet morning collapses into chaos. Maloi launches herself onto the bed, landing on top of Aiah with a squeal that could wake the dead. Stacey follows, her laughter sharp and familiar, already tugging at the blanket.

"Anak ng—" Aiah groans, pulling the covers over her head. "What time is it?"

"Time for us to see your pretty face," Maloi sings, her arms wrapping around Aiah over the blanket, shaking her like a doll. "We missed you!"

"You could have texted." Aiah's voice is muffled, but she can't keep the smile out of it. "Warned a person."

"Where's the fun in that?" Stacey yanks the blanket down, exposing Aiah's face to the morning light. "We promised we'd visit when we were free. Today's the day."

Maloi props herself up on her elbows, still sprawled on top of Aiah like a cat. Her hands come up to cup Aiah's cheeks, squishing them gently, turning her face side to side like she's inspecting a painting. Her eyes are the same as they've always been—full of love, uncomplicated and warm.

"You're glowing," Maloi declares. "You were pretty before, but this? This is different." She turns Aiah's face toward Stacey. "Look at her. Look at this face."

Stacey leans in, studying Aiah with mock seriousness. "She's right. You look... rested. Peaceful."

Aiah laughs, the sound strained because Maloi is still squishing her cheeks. "Good morning to you too."

"We brought food," Stacey says, finally taking pity and swatting Maloi's hands away. "Your favorites."

Aiah sits up, running a hand through her tangled hair. The sleep is still pulling at her, but the warmth in her chest is stronger. She hasn't seen them properly in weeks. Work has kept her busy, and the weekends have been... hers. Hers and Mikha's.

She looks toward the bedroom door. Mikha is standing there, leaning against the frame, watching. Just watching. There's something soft in her posture that wasn't there two months ago, something quieter in the way she holds herself.

"Good morning," Aiah says, and she means it for Mikha.

Mikha's lips curve into a small smile. "Good morning."

Maloi and Stacey exchange a glance. It's quick, subtle, but Aiah catches it—the slight raise of Maloi's brow, the way Stacey's eyes narrow just a fraction. They'll ask later. She already knows it. She can hear the question forming in their heads: What the fuck is wrong with Mikha? This is not the Mikha they know.

Before anyone can speak, the knocking starts again. Loud. Unending. The same frantic rhythm Stacey and Maloi used.

Aiah and Mikha look at each other, confusion passing between them like a shared thought.

"I'll get it," Mikha says, already moving.

Maloi kisses Aiah's cheek and finally climbs off the bed. Aiah swings her legs to the floor, the cool wood waking her further. She stretches, her back cracking, and looks at Stacey. "What did you bring?"

"Salmon sushi. Baked sushi. And coke." Stacey ticks them off on her fingers. "The holy trinity."

Aiah's stomach growls in response. She hasn't had proper sushi in weeks. Mikha's cooking has improved from boiling water to actually following recipes, but sushi is a different level entirely.

Then two heads peek through the bedroom doorway. Jhoanna's grin is wide, her energy somehow even higher than Maloi's. Colet stands behind her, calmer, but there's a smug tilt to her mouth that Aiah doesn't like.

"Good morning!" Jhoanna calls out, waving like she's greeting a crowd. "We brought pizza and chicken wings!"

Aiah blinks. She turns to look at Stacey, then Maloi, then back at the doorway. The room suddenly feels very crowded.

"Of all the days you could visit," Maloi hisses, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper as she rounds on Colet, "why today?"

Colet doesn't flinch. She steps into the bedroom, arms crossed, chin lifted. "We can't do anything about it. This is our only free time too."

"I don't believe that for a second." Stacey's voice is ice. Her eyes cut to Jhoanna. "You made this intentional."

Jhoanna presses a hand to her chest, feigning offense. "Me? Intentional? I would never."

"You would absolutely—"

Mikha appears behind them, her hand closing around Jhoanna's shoulder. She pulls both Jhoanna and Colet away from the door, steps inside the bedroom, and shuts the door in their faces.

The click of the latch echoes in the sudden silence.

Maloi cackles, loud and unapologetic. Stacey snorts, and Aiah catches the word "deserved" whispered under her breath.

Aiah shakes her head, but she's laughing. "Mikha."

"What?" Mikha shrugs, already moving toward the bathroom. "They're noisy."

"You can't just shut the door on them."

"I just did."

Aiah chuckles, shaking her head as Mikha disappears into the bathroom and the shower turns on. She looks at her friends, who are both staring at her with expressions she can't quite read.

"We'll wait in the living room," Stacey says, kissing Aiah's cheek. Maloi does the same on the other side.

As they pull away, Maloi leans in close, her voice dropping to a whisper. "We need to talk about how your wife is not Mikha-ing. That was weirdly polite."

Aiah laughs and shoos them away. "Go. I'll be out in a minute."

They file out, pulling the door mostly closed behind them. Aiah sighs, the smile lingering on her face. She feels happy. She doesn't examine it too closely, doesn't want to pick apart the threads and find the ones that might unravel. She just lets herself feel it.

She stands and fixes the bed, smoothing the rumpled duvet with practiced hands. The bathroom door opens, and Mikha steps out, freshly bathed, her red hair damp and pushed back from her face. She's wearing a plain white shirt and gray shorts, simple and soft, nothing like the tailored suits she used to armor herself in.

But she's not moving. She's standing in the middle of the room, staring at nothing, her eyes unfocused.

Aiah's hands still on the duvet. "Mikha?"

No response.

Aiah crosses the room, her bare feet silent on the floor. She reaches up and pushes back a strand of red hair that's fallen out of place, tucking it behind Mikha's ear. "Are you okay?"

Mikha blinks. Her eyes refocus, finding Aiah's face. She nods, just a slight dip of her chin.

Aiah studies her for a moment longer, searching for something she can't name. Then she smiles, soft, and presses a quick kiss to Mikha's lips. "I'll shower. Then we can face them together."

She slips into the bathroom, the steam from Mikha's shower still warm against her skin. She showers quickly, efficiently, and changes into a simple yellow shirt and black shorts. When she walks out, towel drying her hair, Mikha is still standing in the same spot.

Unmoved. Unchanged.

Aiah's eyebrows knit together. She crosses to stand in front of Mikha, tilting her head up to meet her wife's eyes. "What's wrong?"

Mikha stares at her. There's something fighting behind her eyes, a war Aiah can't see the shape of. Her jaw tightens, then loosens. Her hands curl, then relax.

Then she sighs. It's a long exhale, like she's been holding it for hours. Her face softens into a smile, and she leans in, pressing a kiss to Aiah's temple. Then her arms come around Aiah, pulling her into a hug that is gentle and fierce all at once.

Aiah's heart slams against her ribs. She didn't know it could still pound like this. After Mingyu, she'd thought that part of her was dead, buried under six years of betrayal and the careful walls she'd built since. But here, in Mikha's arms, in this strange and fragile thing they're building, it beats loud enough to hear.

She melts into the hug, her arms wrapping around Mikha's waist, her hands finding Mikha's back and rubbing slow, gentle circles. She presses her cheek to Mikha's shoulder and whispers, "You'll be fine. Whatever you're thinking, it's okay. Your best friends are here. Enjoy it."

Mikha doesn't answer. She just hugs Aiah tighter, her fingers pressing into the fabric of Aiah's shirt like she's afraid Aiah might disappear.

They stay like that, wrapped around each other in the quiet of the bedroom, until the knocking starts again. Not on the main door this time—on the bedroom door. Unending. Insistent.

"Aiah! Mikha! Get out here!" Maloi's voice. "The sushi is getting warm!"

Jhoanna's voice follows, muffled but no less loud. "And the pizza is getting cold! Priorities!"

Aiah chuckles against Mikha's shoulder. She breaks the hug, stepping back. But before she can turn toward the door, Mikha's hand catches her waist, pulling her closer again.

Mikha leans in and kisses her.

It's not soft. It's not gentle. It's hungry, searching, like Mikha is trying to say something she doesn't have words for. Aiah kisses back, her hands finding Mikha's shoulders, holding on as the kiss deepens.

Mikha's hands travel down Aiah's waist, over her hips, settling on her ass. She palms it, squeezes gently, and Aiah gasps against her mouth, the sound swallowed by the kiss.

"Quiet," Mikha whispers, her lips brushing Aiah's. Then she's kissing her again, deeper this time, and Aiah's knees go weak.

Aiah can feel it—Mikha's hardness pressing against her thigh, solid and insistent through the thin fabric of her shorts. And she's no better. She can feel herself getting wet, slick and warm, her body responding in ways that still surprise her. They've never done more than this. Only making out, from time to time, stealing moments like this one. But Aiah knows, in the back of her mind, that it's only a matter of time before they cross that line.

The knocking comes again. Louder. More insistent.

"We can hear you!" Stacey calls through the door. "There's food out here!"

Aiah pulls back, her chest heaving. Mikha follows her lips, chasing the kiss, but Aiah turns her face sideways, laughing breathlessly.

Mikha curses softly under her breath.

Aiah chuckles, pressing a hand to Mikha's chest. "We have friends to host."

Mikha exhales, long and slow. Then she reaches down, adjusting Aiah's shorts, smoothing the fabric back into place. She presses a kiss to Aiah's temple, soft and almost reverent. "Okay."

They walk out together. The living room is chaos—Maloi and Jhoanna arguing over the last piece of sushi, Stacey holding a plate of salmon rolls hostage, Colet standing by the window with a beer, watching the scene like she's at a zoo. But it's a good chaos. It's warm.

They split naturally. Stacey and Maloi pull Aiah to the dining table, where the sushi is spread out like a feast. Mikha joins Jhoanna and Colet in the gazebo by the pool, beers in hand, pizza and chicken wings between them.

Through the glass walls, Aiah can see them. Mikha's head thrown back in laughter at something Jhoanna said, Colet's deadpan response making Mikha choke on her beer. It's a side of Mikha she hasn't seen before—loose, easy, unguarded.

Jhoanna comes inside from time to time, grabbing beers from the fridge, stealing sushi from the table before darting back out. Each time, Maloi glares at her, and Jhoanna just grins wider.

"So." Stacey leans forward, her voice dropping. "What the fuck is going on with Mikha?"

Aiah blinks, mid-bite. "What do you mean?"

"I mean she's not... Mikha-ing." Stacey gestures vaguely toward the pool area. "She's smiling. She's polite. She didn't throw a single insult when Jhoanna stole her sushi."

"She shut the door in their faces," Aiah points out.

"That's the most normal thing she's done all day," Maloi mutters.

Aiah sets down her chopsticks, considering. How much does she say? How much is hers to share? She thinks about the kisses, the quiet conversations, the way Mikha holds her at night like she's something precious. She leaves that part out.

"She's been... different," Aiah says slowly. "Since we moved in together. She doesn't raise her voice. She doesn't throw things. She doesn't lash out. I thought it was an act at first. I kept waiting for the explosion."

"And?" Stacey presses.

"It never came." Aiah looks down at her plate, a small smile tugging at her lips. "She's just... nice. She makes me coffee in the morning. She lets me sleep in on weekends. She asks about my day."

Maloi is staring at her with wide eyes. "Do you love her?"

The question lands like a stone in still water. Aiah opens her mouth, then closes it. She thinks about the pounding in her chest earlier, the way her body responds to Mikha's touch, the quiet warmth that settles over her whenever Mikha is near.

"No," she says finally. "But she's been nice to me. It makes me feel calm when she's around. I don't know how to explain it."

Stacey nods slowly, a knowing look crossing her face. "So you don't love her. Yet."

Aiah chuckles, shaking her head. "Stacey."

"I'm just saying." Stacey holds up her hands. "I see the way you look at her."

Maloi's eyes are glistening. Stacey laughs softly, reaching out to wipe a tear before it can fall. Maloi blinks rapidly, smiling warmly, and says, "I'm just happy. Happy that you're doing okay."

Stacey nods, her voice dropping. "I still don't trust her completely. But it's good to know she's taking care of you."

The afternoon stretches on. The sun climbs higher, then begins its slow descent. Mikha and her friends move inside, settling onto the couch in the living area, still drinking. Aiah and her friends talk about Stacey's birthday—next week, a club party owned by a friend from the fashion world.

Jhoanna overhears, of course. She always does. "We'll come!" she calls out, grinning.

Aiah and Maloi laugh. Stacey rolls her eyes, her voice flat. "Mikha can come. Colet can come. You're not invited."

"I'll definitely come." Jhoanna's grin doesn't waver.

Colet laughs, shaking her head. Maloi glares at her. "What's so funny?"

Colet winks. "See you there."

Maloi rolls her eyes so hard it's a wonder they don't get stuck.

Aiah laughs, the sound surprising her. She looks at Mikha, who's sitting on the couch, eyes half-lidded, cheeks pink from too much beer, smiling softly while looking at Aiah. Just looking. Like Aiah is the only thing in the room worth seeing.

By nightfall, their friends bid goodbye. They clean up first—Stacey insisting on washing the plates, Colet wiping down the counter even though no one asked her to, Jhoanna and Maloi bickering over the last slice of pizza until Mikha just hands it to Colet to end the argument.

Aiah waves from the main door, watching the four of them pile into their cars, still bickering. She watches until the taillights disappear down the drive.

She closes the door and turns.

Mikha is on the couch, slumped against the cushions, her body loose from alcohol. Her eyes are closed. Aiah crosses the room and sits beside her, the cushion dipping under her weight.

Mikha stirs. She feels Aiah's presence and moves without opening her eyes, reaching out and pulling Aiah into her arms, burying her face in Aiah's neck.

Aiah touches Mikha's cheek, stroking the warm skin. "You should rest in the bedroom. You'll be more comfortable."

"Only if you sleep beside me."

Aiah laughs softly. "I don't want to sleep with someone who reeks of alcohol."

"Then I'll take another bath."

Aiah chuckles, pulling Mikha up to stand. She guides her to the bedroom, one arm around her waist, steadying her when she stumbles. They settle onto the bed, and Mikha instantly curls into Aiah's side, her face finding its usual place in the curve of Aiah's neck.

Aiah hugs her back, one hand finding Mikha's hair, massaging her scalp gently. Slow circles, like she's soothing a cat. Mikha's breathing evens out, her body going heavy against Aiah's.

In the quiet, Aiah thinks about the day. About Stacey's words—So you don't love her, yet. About the look in Mikha's eyes across the room. About the way her heart pounded when Mikha held her.

She doesn't have answers. She doesn't know if she wants them yet.

Mikha shifts, mumbling something against Aiah's skin that might be her name. Aiah smiles, her hand still moving through Mikha's hair, and lets sleep pull her under.