Only us [LingOrm]

7

Ling's pov

 We were in Orm's kitchen, a space that seemed cozy and filled with her personal touches, from the pastel-colored dish towels to the small, potted plants lining the windowsill. She had insisted on baking something for me—some kind of cake, I assumed. Orm liked to surprise me with these spontaneous gestures, and I wasn't about to complain.

She moved around the kitchen with a quiet confidence, though I noticed she was struggling with a bag of flour. I watched her for a moment, trying to stifle my grin as she furrowed her brow in frustration, pulling at the corner of the flour bag.

"I'll help you," I offered, getting up from my chair and moving toward her. She was quick to pull the bag back toward herself, her tone defiant.

"I can do it," she said, determined.

I chuckled softly, reaching out again, determined to help. We both tugged on the bag, each pulling in opposite directions. A moment later, the paper tore, sending flour exploding into the air like a small cloud. Both of us froze, wide-eyed as the white powder settled around us in slow motion.

"Of course we destroyed it," Orm muttered, glancing down at the now-ruined bag, divided into two halves. She shot me a sharp look, one eyebrow raised. I could tell she was trying to maintain her composure, but there was a hint of amusement in her eyes.

I backed off, retreating to my chair with a sheepish smile and grabbed my glass of water, attempting to look as though the whole thing hadn't fazed me at all. "You're the bodyguard," she said, her voice dripping with mock authority. "You stay there."

"I was just trying to help," I murmured under my breath.

Before I could finish my sentence, I felt a soft puff of flour land on my face. I blinked in surprise, wiping the powder from my cheek only to see Orm grinning at me mischievously.

"Stop it," I said, though my tone lacked any real sternness. I was already suppressing a laugh.

"No," she said defiantly, scooping up another handful of flour and tossing it at me, this time hitting me square in the chest. The puff of flour clung to my shirt, and that was it—I was in.

Without thinking, I grabbed a handful of flour from the counter and hurled it back at her. Orm let out a squeal as it hit her arm, her eyes wide in playful shock.

"You're asking for it now," I warned, rising from my chair.

"Oh, really?" she shot back, grabbing even more flour and flinging it in my direction. I dodged it, barely, but I couldn't stop the laughter from bubbling up between us.

Before long, the kitchen was in complete chaos. Flour filled the air like a snowstorm, covering the counters, the floor, and most definitely the both of us. Every time I tried to gain the upper hand, Orm was quick to retaliate, her agile movements leaving me on the defensive.

At one point, I slipped, nearly losing my footing as I scrambled to grab another handful of flour. Orm, of course, seized the moment, pouncing on me with a final, triumphant toss of flour. I blinked, realizing I was utterly defeated. My clothes were coated in white powder, my hair was a mess, and I was pretty sure I looked more like a snowman than a bodyguard.

I collapsed back into the chair, breathing hard from the laughter that wouldn't stop. Orm approached me, still catching her breath, her cheeks flushed from the fun of it all. She held a small bit of flour in her hand and gently pressed it to the tip of my nose, giving me a comically oversized, floury clown nose.

Her eyes sparkled as she leaned down and kissed me.

The kiss was soft, warm, and sweet—sweet like her lips always were—but this time, it was tinged with the subtle taste of wheat. I didn't care, though. Her kisses always had a way of making everything else fade away, of pulling me into her world, where it was just the two of us.

When she finally pulled back, a mischievous smile played on her lips. "You know you won't have enough flour left for your cake now," I pointed out, still catching my breath.

She laughed softly, her eyes dancing with playful defiance. "I don't mind," she said, her fingers brushing a few stray bits of flour from my face. "You, covered in flour like this, is priceless."

I couldn't help but smile back, feeling the warmth of her gaze as we stood there in the flour-covered kitchen. The mess was everywhere, but neither of us cared. It was these moments—the playful battles, the laughter, the kisses that came when we least expected them—that made everything else feel insignificant.

Orm leaned in again, brushing her lips softly against mine, and I melted into her touch, the chaos around us fading into the background.