Chapter Text
Milk followed the group reluctantly, keeping a careful distance from Love. She refused to acknowledge that she was scanning the crowd just to make sure Love was still there, safe, smiling, annoyingly human.
The resort guide clapped her hands together. “Welcome, everyone! Today we’ll explore the finest local flavors, wines, cheeses, fruits, pastries. Take notes, take photos, and most importantly, enjoy!”
Milk muttered under her breath, “Enjoy… the illusion of civility.”
Love, walking a few steps ahead, turned slightly and laughed. “You really say everything that comes to mind, don’t you?”
Milk ignored her. Loudly.
They approached the first station: a display of local cheeses. Milk picked one up, sniffed it, and made a face that could have been mistaken for faint disgust or deep contemplation, it was hard to tell.
“This...,” she muttered, holding a wedge like a crime scene evidence, “tastes like someone tried to make cows feel guilty.”
Love chuckled. “Maybe it’s supposed to challenge our palates.”
Milk raised an eyebrow. “Palates are fine. Humanity is the problem.”
Love laughed outright, loud enough to make Milk glance at her sideways. It was warm and genuine, and Milk found herself oddly appreciative.
Next came the wines. The guide poured a delicate splash into tiny glasses. Milk sniffed, swirled, and sipped carefully.
“Tastes like overconfidence,” she said.
Love giggled. “You’re entertaining.”
Milk shot her a look. “I try.”
Someone approached and Love turned politely to greet them. Milk noticed, and for the first time, felt a pang of irritation? Not jealousy exactly, more like territorial confusion.
“Why are you even polite to them?” Milk asked quietly as they moved toward the fruit station.
Love tilted her head. “I don’t know. Manners? Habit? Because it’s nice?”
Milk snorted. “Nice is overrated.”
“Not when you’re sitting next to someone like me,” Love teased, eyes sparkling.
Milk nearly choked on a slice of melon. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” Love said quickly, hiding a smile. “It’s an observation. Harmless.”
Milk narrowed her eyes, but her lips twitched.
By the time they reached the pastries, Milk had stopped walking several times just to make pointed, biting comments about flaky textures, suspicious fillings, and the 'illusion of sweetness.' Love laughed at nearly every one, though sometimes softly enough that Milk had to pretend she didn’t notice.
At some point, Milk realized that they had unconsciously fallen into step side by side. Their shoulders brushed occasionally. Milk pretended it was an accident. Love didn’t pretend anything.
“You’re suddenly quiet,” Love said at one station, glancing sideways.
“I’m conserving energy,” Milk replied. “For disappointment.”
“You’re strange,” Love said, smiling.
“And you’re ridiculous.”
There. That was the easy, safe banter they both understood. Milk didn’t have to like it. She didn’t have to feel anything. She could just be.
The final stop was the juice tasting, a line of tropical fruits and blended drinks. Milk reluctantly tried a sample.
“It’s… acceptable,” she muttered.
"Finally." Love laughed and touched her elbow lightly. “I think you secretly like some things here.”
Milk stiffened. “You are just making assumptions.”
“I’m not,” Love said, smiling. “I promise.”
They lingered for a moment, watching the waves crash against the shore in the distance. Milk kept her gaze pointed at the horizon. Love didn’t. She watched Milk.
Milk didn’t notice at first. Then she felt it, the soft, persistent awareness of someone choosing to notice her without expecting anything in return. She almost pretended she hated the feeling.
“Let’s walk back together?” Love asked softly.
Milk hesitated. But then she shrugged. “Fine. Just don’t talk too much.”
“You mean ‘don’t talk as much as usual,’” Love said, grinning.
Milk rolled her eyes. “Fine. As much as usual it is.”
They walked side by side in quiet company, the rest of the group ahead and behind, and Milk let herself realized she didn’t mind the warmth brushing against her arm, or the way Love’s presence made the world feel slightly less sharp.
At the bungalow split, Love paused. “See you at dinner?”
Milk’s throat tightened, and she said flatly, “…See you.”
Love smiled and turned toward her room, the sun glinting off her hair, her step light and confident.
Milk watched her go, pretending she wasn’t thinking about the next time she would see her.
Pretending was hard. But necessary.