beautiful mess

I

Ling stirred slowly, the light filtering into her room hitting her closed eyelids like a tender reminder of the reality she could not ignore. She kept her eyes shut for a moment longer, feeling the dull ache behind them, the pulse of a hangover wrapping itself around her skull. Her phone was still in her hand, a heavy reminder of last night's scattered fragments-glimpses of laughter, Orm's smile, and the warmth of something she didn't know how to name. The gentle hum of the morning air didn't match the swelling tension deep within her chest.

Ling drew in a slow breath, feeling the anxiety gather in her stomach, and she let her eyes flutter open, blinking against the pale light. Her phone screen was still glowing, demanding her attention. It hadn't even been plugged in last night; the battery was almost gone, almost mercifully quiet. Slowly, her gaze focused on the most recent message. It was from Orm-a big, cute gif of a cat jumping with unrestrained joy, taking up nearly the entire screen, followed by an enthusiastic "Yes!"

Yes? Yes to what?

A wave of anxiety spread through Ling like ink in water, her thumb scrolling upwards through the conversation. And there it was, staring back at her: her own message-the drunken, ill-advised invitation, a late-night plea that left her feeling both exposed and vulnerable. She had invited Orm over for spaghetti. Lunch. Her spaghetti, her recipe, something she hadn't even cooked before.

Her eyes scanned the words again, as if rereading it could change what she'd done. But no, it was there, too real to deny, stark and shameless against the backdrop of their usual soft, bantering exchanges.

She sat up, rubbing her hands over her face, her fingertips pressing into her temples. What had she done?

Her thoughts splintered, one part of her panicking, grasping at straws-she could still take it back, right? She could say she was joking, blame it on the alcohol, say it was all a misunderstanding. Orm would understand, wouldn't she? They could just laugh it off because based on their cooking show appearance in the past, both don't cook. And yet, that thought alone carried a heaviness she didn't want to admit to. To back out would be to deny the flicker of something between them that had begun to feel almost tangible, something Ling had thought about too much in quiet moments, her chest aching with what-ifs.

Ling closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. The memory of last night sharpened in her mind-the bar that Khun Dew rented out for whole night to celebrate the wrap up party of "Only You", Orm's laughter above the noise, the way she leaned in to speak to Ling, close enough that Ling could smell the subtle woody scent Orm always wore, could see the warmth in her eyes, the softness there just for her. It had all felt so easy, and yet it wasn't easy at all.

Ling had always lived quietly, comfortable in her solitude, the silence of her world like a soft blanket that held her together. But Orm-Orm was a flash of color against all that muted gray. A whirlwind of life, warmth, and all the things Ling had spent so long trying not to need. The one she'd been texting every morning, every night, sharing memes their fans made and half-thought-out ideas for scenes. The one whose presence was starting to feel a little too comfortable, whose laugh made her heart do stupid, fluttery things. Inviting her over for spaghetti felt like crossing a line, like turning their playful camaraderie into something that required actual cooking skills-something domestic, something almost serious.

She let out a long breath and threw herself back against her pillow, staring up at the ceiling, her heart racing. Spaghetti. How hard could it be? She knew it involved noodles and sauce. People made it all the time. Kids made it. Surely she, a grown woman capable of learning choreographed fight scenes, could handle boiling some pasta. Sitting up, she unlocked her phone with a grim sense of determination, opening the grocery app.

Tomatoes, garlic, pasta. She stared at her cart, the simplicity of it almost mocking her. She hesitated, then added a loaf of garlic bread-people liked garlic bread, right? And two diffusers. Woody jasmine, freesia-Orm's favorite scent. Ling told herself it wasn't anything significant. It was just making her place comfortable, welcoming.

Next, wine. She hesitated, staring at the list of labels and feeling her heart pick up speed again. She typed "spaghetti wine" into the search bar and frowned at the conflicting results. Red, then. It seemed romantic somehow, if not exactly practical. Ling's nerves hadn't settled, even after pressing "purchase" on her grocery order. She double-checked the diffusers-woody jasmine freesia. Would Orm even notice? Ling felt silly for how much thought she'd put into it, but everything about Orm made her think about the small details. Somehow, with Orm, all the small things seemed to matter.

"What are you doing, Ling?" she whispered to herself, running her fingers through her hair. This was Orm. The drunken her wanted Orm to... what, see her apartment, eat her (probably disastrous) spaghetti, and somehow... what? Fall for her? She shivered slightly, she realized- she wanted her to be there, to be a part of this soft, strange bubble that was forming around them hoping for a breakthrough and grasp the air, because she is deep deep under Orm's charms.

She stood up, clutching her phone, her hands trembling just slightly. "All right, spaghetti," she muttered, opening up a video of a cheerful chef promising "the easiest homemade spaghetti sauce ever." She could do this, she told herself.

She wasn't used to this-letting people in, letting Orm in. They had spent so much time together, but always out there-in studios, hotels, events. Here, in her small apartment, it felt different. Intimate, almost fragile, as though the walls might blush if they witnessed too much closeness.

Ling wiped down the counters, setting out the ingredients she barely knew how to use. Nothing could calm the steady drumbeat of anxiety in her chest. Orm's laughter, her confidence, always left Ling feeling unsteady, like stepping into an unknown tide. She couldn't remember the last time she'd wanted something this much-something unspoken, the edges undefined but bright.

Ling's heart swelled, her resolve hardening as she stared at the cheerful chef on her phone screen. Whatever happens, she is ready.I