Ink & Intentions (Lingorm)

7. Late night talks

It was well past midnight, and Ling had settled into her corner of the small dorm room. The soft glow of her desk lamp bathed the space in warm, gentle light, casting shadows that felt oddly intimate in the quiet of the night. She'd been working on her case summaries, but her focus had been slipping since Orm had returned from an evening art event, a paint-splattered bag slung over her shoulder and an energy about her that buzzed in the stillness of the room.

Orm, however, hadn't retreated to bed as she usually did. Instead, she was leaning back against her own bed, legs stretched out in front of her, sketchbook balanced on her knees. She looked absorbed but kept glancing Ling's way as if waiting for her to notice. When Ling finally did look up, their eyes met, and Orm's expression shifted into a playful smirk.

"Burning the midnight oil?" Orm asked, her voice low but carrying a teasing warmth.

Ling sighed, rubbing her temples. "I could ask you the same thing. Thought artists needed beauty sleep."

Orm shrugged, her grin widening. "Only the ones who don't already look this good without it."

Ling scoffed, hiding a small smile behind her hand. "Modest as ever, I see."

Orm tilted her head, a glint in her eye. "Confidence, Kwong. You should try it sometime."

Ling bristled slightly but found herself meeting Orm's challenge. "Trust me, I'm confident when it counts."

"Then let's see it." Orm leaned forward, closing her sketchbook and setting it aside, suddenly more focused. "Tell me something... something you're passionate about. Anything."

Caught off-guard, Ling blinked. "Why?"

Orm shrugged but held her gaze with a curious intensity. "Because you're always so guarded. I've seen you with your friends; you light up around them, but with me... you're all walls. What are you hiding?"

Ling looked away, her stomach doing a small flip. "Maybe I just prefer my own space."

Orm didn't look away. "Or maybe you're just scared to open up."

Ling let out a soft, exasperated laugh, attempting to deflect her growing discomfort. "Scared? Of what?"

"Of letting someone in," Orm said softly, her eyes unwavering. "Or maybe you're just scared of me."

Ling's face flushed, a mix of irritation and something else she couldn't quite place. "Don't flatter yourself."

Orm chuckled, the sound low and warm. "Flattery's not needed here. But, you know, you make it hard not to be curious."

"Curious?" Ling echoed, feeling her pulse quicken as Orm leaned in ever so slightly.

Orm nodded, her gaze dropping to Ling's lips for a brief second before flicking back up. "You're always so focused, so intense. I can't help but wonder what it'd be like if you loosened up for once."

"I'm perfectly fine the way I am," Ling replied, voice a bit sharper than intended, though her hands were suddenly too aware of themselves, resting on her lap, unmoving.

Orm's eyes gleamed with amusement, but there was something else there, too—a softness, a genuine intrigue that made Ling's skin prickle. "Maybe. But wouldn't it be interesting to see?"

Ling wanted to brush her off, to laugh and go back to her work, but the words stalled. Instead, she found herself leaning just a little closer, caught in Orm's gaze, feeling an odd thrill in her stomach.

"What about you?" Ling asked, trying to regain control of the conversation. "What drives you? Why art?"

Orm's expression softened, her posture relaxing. "Art's... an escape," she said, her voice a bit quieter, more thoughtful. "A way to capture moments, emotions... things that words can't always say. It's where I'm my truest self, I guess."

There was something vulnerable in Orm's tone that Ling hadn't expected, and it made her feel an unexpected urge to reach out—to say something, to bridge whatever distance had always felt so sharp between them.

"That sounds..." Ling began, searching for the right words, "freeing."

Orm smiled, a small, almost shy smile that seemed out of place on her usually confident face. "It is. But it's also terrifying. You put a piece of yourself out there, and people either love it or hate it."

Ling nodded, feeling a pang of understanding. "I get that," she murmured. "Law's not much different. It's about proving yourself, too, but there's always pressure to... be perfect."

Orm tilted her head, studying Ling with a newfound curiosity. "I'd never have guessed you worried about that."

Ling looked down, a wry smile touching her lips. "You'd be surprised."

They fell into silence, but it wasn't awkward. It was a comfortable, quiet understanding that filled the room, the night pressing close around them. And then, just as the quiet began to feel too intimate, too close, Orm reached over, her fingers brushing Ling's wrist.

Ling's pulse leaped as Orm's hand lingered, soft but insistent. She looked up, meeting Orm's gaze again, feeling her heart race under the intensity of Orm's eyes.

Orm raised an eyebrow, her voice a soft, teasing whisper. "See? Not so scary, is it?"

Ling swallowed, unable to pull away, feeling caught between annoyance and a strange thrill. "You're insufferable, you know that?"

Orm's grin widened, her hand still resting on Ling's wrist, warm and steady. "If I wasn't, you'd probably be bored out of your mind."

Ling opened her mouth to argue, but nothing came out. Instead, she felt her own hand turn ever so slightly, her palm brushing against Orm's in an unspoken, unintentional gesture of connection.

The air between them felt charged, and for a split second, it was as if the rest of the world had fallen away. Orm's thumb brushed lightly over her wrist, a barely-there touch that sent shivers up Ling's spine.

Ling forced herself to pull her hand back, her cheeks flushed. "I... should probably get some sleep," she mumbled, suddenly feeling the weight of her own heartbeat.

Orm nodded, but there was a glint in her eye, something satisfied and knowing. "Right. Don't stay up too late, then. I need my roommate alive and well to torment."

Ling rolled her eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. "Goodnight, Orm."

Orm gave a small wave, eyes following Ling as she moved toward her bed, the tension lingering between them like an unspoken promise. Ling slipped under her covers, trying to ignore the way her pulse still fluttered, Orm's touch a memory that seemed determined to stay with her.

As she lay in the dark, Ling closed her eyes, trying to convince herself it was just irritation, nothing more. But the faint warmth lingering on her wrist and the persistent thrum in her chest suggested otherwise.