Chapter Text
Milk woke up to sunlight stabbing directly into her eyes.
She groaned, rolled over, and immediately regretted every decision that had brought her to this wedding. The soft crash of waves filtered through the open window, deceptively peaceful. The kind of sound that made normal people feel relaxed.
Milk felt trapped.
She dragged herself upright, hair a mess, sleep still clinging to her limbs. Last night tugged at her memory, Love’s laugh, Love’s honesty, the quiet way they’d walked back together. A strange warmth bloomed in her chest, and Milk shoved it down so fast her head hurt.
Nope. Absolutely not. She did not do 'warmth.'
She showered, threw on a 'don’t talk to me' outfit, loose black linen pants and a crisp white shirt she didn’t bother buttoning all the way, and stepped outside, desperate for caffeine strong enough to erase feelings.
She took two steps toward the path and froze.
The door to Bungalow Four opened at the same time.
Love stepped out, blinking against the sunlight. Her red hair was pulled half-up in a way that made her look accidentally elegant. She wore a soft cream blouse tucked into high-waisted trousers, simple, clean lines, but with a quiet confidence Milk wasn’t expecting this early in the morning.
Their eyes met. Too early. Too unprepared. Too something.
“Good morning,” Love said softly, offering a small smile that felt unfairly gentle.
Milk grunted. “Is it?”
Love laughed under her breath. “Not a morning person?”
“No. Or an afternoon person. Or an evening person.”
Love bit her lip, trying not to smile. “So what time of day does work for you?”
“None.”
“That sounds lonely.”
Milk’s eyebrow twitched. “It’s efficient.”
They started walking, somehow without discussing it, somehow in the same direction, down the stone path shaded by bougainvillea. Milk tried to increase her pace enough to out-walk the conversation but not enough to look like she was fleeing.
Love matched her step effortlessly.
“Umm,” Love said, gaze focused on the ocean ahead, “are you going to keep avoiding eye contact with me today?”
Milk nearly tripped. “I’m not avoiding anything.”
“You just sped up like someone lit a fire behind you.”
“That’s called walking. My legs are just longer than yours.”
Love hummed, unconvinced.
They reached the outdoor café, a charming little spot overlooking the beach. Couples and family groups were scattered around, laughing, flipping through their schedules for the day.
Milk stared at the menu board like it had personally offended her.
Love spoke first. “Do you want to sit together? If not, that’s okay, I can...”
“It doesn’t matter,” Milk cut in, a little too fast.
Love blinked. Then smiled.
They chose a small table near the railing. Milk ordered the strongest thing on the menu. Love ordered green tea with honey.
Of course she did.
When the drinks arrived, Love cupped her hands around her mug like the warmth meant something to her. Milk watched the motion longer than she meant to before catching herself and staring aggressively at her coffee.
“You seem..” Love paused, choosing her words delicately. “Different from last night.”
Milk stiffened. “How so?”
“Quieter.”
“That’s the goal.”
Love tapped her teaspoon against the rim of her mug. “I didn’t mean it as a bad thing.”
Milk didn’t respond.
Love tried again, gentler. “Did I say something wrong yesterday?”
Milk frowned. “No.”
“Did you say something you regret?”
Milk glared at her coffee as if it might answer for her. “I don’t regret things. It’s inefficient.”
Love smiled, soft, amused. “You keep using that word.”
“It applies.”
“Does it?”
Milk finally looked up, annoyed at the persistent warmth in Love’s eyes. “Why are you so determined to have conversation with me?”
Love blinked, surprised by the honesty of the question. Then she spoke just as honestly, “Because you don’t make me feel like a walking tragedy.”
Milk stared.
Love swallowed, fingers tracing the edge of her mug. “Everyone here either avoids me, or overcompensates, or looks at me like I might cry at any moment. You’re the only one who doesn’t treat me like I’m fragile.”
“I don’t treat anyone like they’re fragile.”
“I know,” Love said softly. “It’s kind of refreshing.”
Milk’s stomach tightened. She didn’t know how to respond to something that felt dangerously close to a compliment.
Thankfully—or unthankfully—footsteps approached.
Lucas.
Milk’s jaw clenched.
“Morning, you two!” he said, too bright, too cheerful. “I was hoping I’d bump into you.”
His eyes landed on Love, then darted away. Always a tell.
Love straightened subtly, polite but distant.
Milk sipped her coffee, unimpressed.
“So,” Lucas continued, “the bride set up this thing.” He waved vaguely. “A resort tasting tour. Local wines, desserts, fruit, pastries. It’s supposed to be fun. Bonding. Culture or whatever.”
Milk blinked slowly. “A guided walk through carbohydrates.”
Lucas laughed, though it sounded more like panic. “You don’t have to go, but appearances… you know…”
Milk shot him a look. “Manipulation acknowledged.”
Lucas winced.
He turned to Love, softer. “You’ll be there?”
Love hesitated, only for a breath. But Milk caught it. She always did.
“Yes,” Love said. “I’ll go.”
Lucas exhaled, relieved. “Great. Really great. Starts in twenty minutes. Don’t be late.”
He hurried off.
Love let out a long, resigned breath.
Milk raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want to go.”
“No,” Love admitted. “But if I skip it, people will talk. And I’m tired of being the topic.”
Milk understood that more than she wanted to.
Love glanced at her. “You’re not going, are you?”
Milk opened her mouth to say Absolutely not, but the words stuck.
Love’s eyes were hopeful in a way she probably didn’t mean to show.
Milk looked away. “I hate tours.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
Milk’s pulse thudded.
“No,” she said finally. “I’m not going.”
Love nodded, accepting it with a small, careful smile. “Okay.”
But something in her expression flickered, not disappointment exactly but something adjacent.
Milk hated how much it bothered her.
They finished their drinks in quiet companionship, the kind that felt unearned but strangely natural. When they stood, their shoulders brushed again, sending a tiny jolt through Milk’s nerves she immediately denied internally.
As they reached the split in the path, one way leading to the central garden where the tour group was gathering, the other back to the bungalows, Love paused.
“Thank you for sitting with me,” she said. “Even if mornings are inefficient.”
Milk almost smiled. Almost. “Don’t read into it.”
Love laughed softly. “I won’t.”
She lingered a second too long. Then she turned toward the gathering crowd.
Milk watched her go.
She didn’t know why. She didn’t want to know why.
She just knew the morning felt quieter after Love left. And she hated that.
But she didn’t hate it enough.
She stared at the path to the bungalows.
Then at the path Love had taken.
Her jaw tightened.
“…Damn it.”
And Milk followed.