Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This was their scene: the bar, the drinks, the girls. Mikha and Aiah have spent years perfecting the craft of wingmanship — they were a well-oiled machine of compliments, glances, and inside jokes, perfectly calibrated to help the other shine. When Aiah found a girl she liked, Mikha leaped without thinking twice, she’d talk their ears off, parading Aiah like an up and coming product or a piece of merchandise. Aiah did the same with Mikha’s picks, she’d give them her usual oh-I’m-so-approachable smile, then she’d try to advertise Mikha hard —like a drug rep desperate to sell questionable drugs for very little commission.

And when they lost interest, they’d break up with each other’s girlfriends —or, not-girlfriends for that matter. Somehow, somehow, the girls seemed to leave thinking they were the problem, and neither Mikha nor Aiah ever took the blame. That was just the deal, the routine. They had this unchoreographed synchronicity —a rhythm that seemed invisible to everyone but them.

That was until they found a girl they both liked. 

“Mikha, Aiah, this is Stacey,” Maloi half yelled as she introduced the girls to each other, her voice barely winning over the loud music, “pinsan ko”

“Dibs” Aiah whispered to Mikha with a mischievous grin.

Mikha rolled her eyes, annoyed that she didn’t get to do it first, “Oy, you can’t call dibs on a human being”

Stacey was breathtaking —her skin glowed against the flashing lights, her laugh echoed through the room. She had this mean girl quality, but there was also something whimsical about her that they couldn’t explain.

—

“Kayong dalawa,” Stacey stared at Mikha and Aiah with confusion, “You’re both into me?”

She paused for a moment before she let out the biggest, snortiest laugh Mikha and Aiah had ever heard. They glanced at each other, confused and almost disoriented.

“Why are you laughing?” Aiah asked.

“Because,” Stacey responded as she tried to compose herself, “honestly, do you think this is gonna end well?”

”For me, it will” Mikha winked, but Aiah elbowed her hard.

“No, pick me,” Aiah leaned in closer to Stacey, “we have this insane femme on femme chemistry” She paused, her tone more persuading this time, “it’s time to say no to heteronormativity, Stacey.”

But before Stacey could open her mouth, Mikha rebutted, “I’m just going to say this one time” she walked over to Stacey's side of the table and leaned closer, “You and me? We’ve got that Marceline and Princess Bubblegum thing going on. That's an ‘it’ couple quality if you ask me.”

“Mikha Lim!” Maloi practically screamed as she ran back to their table, balancing a tray of cocktails on her hands, “Lumayo ka. Bilis.”

“Naubusan na ba kayo ng babae? Why are you bothering Stacey?”

Stacey laughed again, this time putting her arm over Maloi who was now seated beside her, “It’s okay, Loi. It’s funny”

But it wasn’t funny. Usually, Aiah and Mikha would be trading compliments by now, hyping each other up with practiced ease. But tonight was different — they weren’t playing for the same team, and without the usual dance, the mutual winks, the tag-team banter, and the easy chemistry, everything felt a little off. Foreign, even.

Flirting was hard when you didn’t have someone backing your play. Even harder when the person you usually leaned on was suddenly your competition.

—

”Before you get any ideas, I’m not into one night stands,” Stacey’s tone was firm, decisive, “Pero, sige, I’ll bite. I’ll give you two weeks to decide who gets to go on a date with me, and if di kayo maka decide, then present your wholesome date ideas to me na lang. And I’ll choose”

Mikha and Aiah glanced at each other, this was not how they expected the night to end. Normally, they’d both be off with their own picks for the night, or, if not, they’d be at Aiah’s apartment, drinking their faces off until daylight. It was new. It was exciting. But it was also…terrifying.

—

To keep things “fair,” they made a pact.

Each would plan two dates — the kind they imagined taking Stacey on — and the other would be the stand-in. A test run. A dry rehearsal. Wholesome, they said. Just prep work. And this was important because neither of them have actually been on wholesome dates before.

They’d rate each other after. Give notes. No funny business. Just wingmen doing quality control.

Date Proposal #1

A cozy, indoor dinner courtesy of Aiah Arceta.

Aiah went all out for this one. If she were to beat Mikha, she had to start strong with a romantic dinner. Romance was never Mikha’s department, anyway.

She made sure the lights were dimmed just enough to make the apartment feel softer, like a scene pulled from one of those indie romance films they used to make fun of. There was a playlist humming in the background: all acoustic covers, slow and warm.

She cooked — actually cooked. Pasta from scratch. A tomato sauce she’d perfected after three YouTube tutorials and one now-unusable saucepan —she made a mental note to send her mother a long apologetic message before the night ended. The place smelled like garlic and rosemary and effort.

As always, Mikha showed up late, with her wet hair and half-hearted apologies. But she paused when she saw Aiah’s set up —matching plates, linen napkins, two wine glasses filled with sparkling juice. She almost conceded on the spot.

“This is…fucking legit,” she raised her eyebrows. Aiah smirked as she set the bowl of pasta on the table, “Ako pa. Stacey’s gonna get what she deserves”

They sat down. Ate. Talked. Laughed. Rated each bite like idiots cosplaying as food critics. And somewhere between the second forkful and dessert (store-bought mango cheesecake because Aiah did have limits), something shifted. Mikha leaned back in her chair, watching Aiah with a look that lasted a little too long.

“Alam mo, if you took me on a date like this,” she said, teasing, “I’d probably fall in love with you.”

Aiah rolled her eyes — but her cheeks flushed anyway. And Mikha noticed it, almost as if she saw the redness in Aiah’s face from miles away.

“Just giving notes,” Mikha winked, “don’t go soft on me now”

Aiah rolled her eyes again and went to serve a second helping of pasta, but by some cosmic joke, she overestimated her wrist strength, and—

Splat

A full scoop of spaghetti launched itself onto her dress. Red sauce, dead center. A hit. An assassination right in the middle of her cozy dinner date.

She froze. Looked down. Then up at Mikha.

For a second, silence. And then Mikha lost it. She was laughing so hard she nearly tipped over her chair. 

“Puta!” Aiah groaned, trying not to laugh, “I slaved over this date”

That made Mikha laugh even harder. The kind of laugh that made her face scrunch up and her whole body shake. Aiah tried to pout, but it was no use. She was laughing now too — sauce and all.

“6 out of 10,” Mikha gave her rating as Aiah walked her out, “Bet you’re glad that happened in front of me instead of Stacey”

Aiah felt some kind of heat rushing through her. Mikha was right, she was glad she was with Mikha that night instead of Stacey.

But she immediately shooed the thought away the way she shooed Mikha —doors slammed, with no goodbye.

—

Date Proposal #2

Mikha Lim, driver, sweet lover

Mikha went in a slightly different direction. She gave Aiah a late-night drive, just past ten, under a sky smeared with clouds and city haze.

She didn’t say where they were going — just handed Aiah a bag of gas station gummy worms and told her to buckle up. They drove with the windows down and played songs they used to scream out loud in high school.

“Ito na yun? This is Stacey-worthy?” she asked, voice half-daring.

Mikha shrugged. “It’s peace, bro. With bonus gummy worms.”

Aiah didn’t respond, but she didn’t stop smiling either.

They talked about everything and nothing — hypothetical dog names, childhood sleepover secrets, whether Stacey would be more of a “camping girl” or “spa weekend” kind of person. But somewhere in the middle of a dumb debate about organized religion, Aiah saw Mikha in a different light.

Aiah had felt it before, on and off, every time Mikha leaned back too much when she laughed, or when she swooped Aiah into her arms and threw her into the ocean without breaking a sweat, or when Mikha always, always, reached for her in crowds —whether it was grabbing her wrist as she steered through busy streets or resting a hand at the small of her back when they moved through a tight room.

But then—

“Gago,” Mikha muttered, easing off the gas as a police car rolled to the shoulder “Shit. Shit. Shit. I think nag overspeed ako”

“You think?!” 

She rolled down her window with practiced confidence, anyway. Surely, she could charm her way out of this.

It didn’t work. Ten minutes later, they were back on the road with a ticket, a warning, and a very quiet car.

Aiah glanced at her. “So. Points off?”

Mikha grinned, one hand still on the wheel. “Huh? That was an adventure. I’d give that an 8.”

“I’d give it a 5,” Aiah teased.

“You’re just biased,”

Aiah shook her head, smiling despite herself, heart annoyingly light. She was supposed to be judging this date. Keeping score. Staying neutral.

But Mikha kept making it hard to remember this wasn’t supposed to matter.

—

Date Proposal #3

Aiah Arceta VS Spinning Teacups

Aiah had planned the whole thing down to the minute—carnival tickets bought in advance, wristbands ready, a map printed out and folded neatly in her jacket pocket (which Mikha teased her about relentlessly).

They rode the Ferris wheel, screamed their lungs out on the drop tower thingy, and got cotton candy all over their hands. Mikha kept winning stupid prizes at the ring toss and she kept giving them dramatically into Aiah’s arms like a stupid romcom montage.

“Ano?” Mikha playfully nudged Aiah as they walked around again, “Do you just plan to charm Stacey by losing all the time?”

“Maybe,” Aiah forced a grin, right, Stacey, “She looks like someone who wants to win, diba?”

But Mikha was already focused on her next target: The Spinning Teacups. 

Aiah confidently agreed, conveniently forgetting that she was not an 8 year old kid who could handle being spun and thrown and shoved again and again anymore.

Two minutes in, and Mikha had that cup spinning like a ballerina in a blender. Aiah held on for dear life, trying to laugh, trying to be chill—but the world tilted too fast, the sugar and adrenaline curdled in her stomach, and the moment they stumbled off, it all came right back up behind the duck-shooting kiosk.

She crouched there, humiliated, face burning, half-hoping Mikha would pretend not to know her.

But Mikha crouched next to her without thinking twice, gently pulling her hair back with one hand and rubbing her back with the other.

“No more spinning,” she said softly. “Got it. My bad.”

As Aiah sipped the bottle of water she got for her, cheeks still flushed, hair slightly tousled, Mikha couldn’t stop staring. She expected to be grossed out, or at least amused. But instead… something in her shifted. Quietly, but completely.

Aiah wasn’t trying to impress her with her color-coded plan or her dumb trivia facts or even her attempt at a carnival flirtation. She was just Aiah —sick and embarrassed and real.

She was the same Aiah who described her as the little things in life, the same Aiah who kept track of all their friends’ birthdays, the same Aiah who made her a dumb playlist after she said she was having a bad week, and the same Aiah who, without hesitation, holds her head safely when she falls asleep on her shoulders during long rides.

And she was the same Aiah who gave a steadying hand on Mikha’s arm when she was stressed —a squeeze on her shoulder when she did something dumb but brave. Little, constant touches that Mikha brushed off back then. Now, she remembered every one of them.

When Aiah caught her, she blinked and looked away quickly. Somehow, that felt scarier than their police run-in.

“You okay?” Aiah asked, nudging her gently with her foot.

Mikha forced a smile, still stunned. “Yup. Just… dizzy, I guess.”

From the rides. From the feelings. From all of it.

Date Proposal #4

Mikha Lim, you lift my feet off the ground, you spin me around

Mikha was practically dragging Aiah to the rink with that wild grin of hers. “Sige na, it’ll be fun. A little retro date. Who doesn’t love roller skating?” she’d said, her voice full of that irresistible energy that made it hard for Aiah to say no.

For the first hour, it was fun. They skated in synchronized circles, trying to outdo each other with goofy tricks and trying not to crash into the wall. Mikha was graceful, fast, like she belonged in this world of neon lights and smooth moves. Aiah, on the other hand, was a bit clumsier, trying to keep up but mostly laughing at her own awkwardness. 

“I have a plan” Mikha said, smirking as she rolled to a stop in front of Aiah. “Feeling ko, I can spin you around”

Aiah hesitated, but Mikha was already pulling her hand, guiding her into position before Aiah could protest.

“I’ll catch you,” Mikha teased, her voice light and confident. “Trust me.”

Aiah was never one to back down, so she grinned and nodded, leaning into Mikha’s playful confidence. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

In hindsight, she should have told Mikha to fuck off.

Before she could even do a full 360, Mikha’s foot caught a bump in the floor, and suddenly, they were both off balance. Aiah tried to catch herself, but there was nothing to grab onto. The next thing she knew, they were both crashing to the floor, with scraped knees and throbbing limbs.

“I think I broke my arm,” Mikha groaned, but was still chuckling from adrenaline.

“Huh?” Aiah’s breath hitched as she tried to push herself up, “Mikha, are you serious?”

—

Aiah drove Mikha home in silence, still processing whatever it was that transpired. One minute, they were skating in circles, laughing, and the next—Mikha was groaning with a broken arm. 

Mikha shifted in the seat beside her, her free hand draped across her lap, and let out a low sigh. “I guess this is a zero”

Aiah’s lips curled into a smile, though it felt half-hearted. “Plus 1 point for being a risk taker.”

Mikha chuckled softly, her eyes meeting Aiah’s in the rearview mirror. “I guess you win. Good luck sa date mo with Stacey. The indoor dinner one was strong”

Aiah bit her lip, her grip on the wheel tightening again as she tried to keep the conversation from taking a more complicated turn. “Nah,” she forced a smirk, “It’s okay, you win”

Mikha didn’t say anything for a while.

“Way beyond my waiting time na,” Aiah continued, “kinda not interested anymore”

Mikha wanted to ask her why she changed her mind. Why, after being dead set on being with Stacey, Aiah now seemed indifferent to the idea. She wanted to know if, maybe, just maybe, Aiah had felt the world shift between them, too. But maybe she was loopy from the painkillers, maybe she was just reading too much into it. So the only thing that came out her mouth was…

“If you say so.”

—

The two-week mark

Mikha and Stacey’s date was everything it was supposed to be—perfect, smooth, like it could have been something real.

They sat across from each other at an upscale restaurant, candles flickering between them, the low hum of conversation filling the space. Stacey’s laughter was light and easy, and Mikha tried to match the rhythm. She smiled, nodded, but something gnawed at her. There was a question in her mind, a whisper she couldn’t ignore.

Stacey was looking at her with those knowing eyes, the ones that had captivated Mikha from the start. She was a little too perfect—too poised at this moment.

“Are you sure this is where you want to be?”

The question hit Mikha like a wave. Her heart stuttered. She wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Aiah’s face flashed in her mind—her laugh, the mess of spaghetti splattered across her dress. She thought about the speeding ticket they’d gotten, the way Aiah’s face had scrunched up when she threw up behind the duck shooting kiosk at the carnival, and the way Aiah fell onto her when she broke her arm. Mikha even thought about all the nights before. The rush of weaving through crowds with Aiah, the way she flattered Aiah up to score a date, the way it was always so easy to play Aiah’s hype girl.

And now, Mikha realized, those compliments weren’t just part of their little game. They were a reflection of everything Mikha had felt for her, everything she’d hidden behind the playful banter and the wingman role. As she sat in front of the girl she prepared all those dates for, she was even more certain that there was no one she’d rather be with —spaghetti stains, speeding tickets, dried up vomit, broken limbs and all — but Aiah. It had always been Aiah.

It was clearer than it had ever been, that only reason why Mikha didn’t want Aiah to be with Stacey, was because she wanted Aiah all to herself. Simple. Period.

”I don’t think I’m supposed to be here.” Mikha stared at her for a long moment, and Stacey, ever the sport, just nodded, her voice light. “Go ahead, player. Go win this game.”

Mikha didn’t say another word. She just stood, grabbing her coat and walking toward the door. She didn’t need to explain. She knew where she needed to be, and it wasn’t in that perfect, polished moment with Stacey. It was somewhere else. Somewhere that made sense in a way this place didn’t.

—

Mikha arrived at Aiah’s house, breathless and with no time to spare. She pushed open the front gate, her heart racing as she saw Aiah sitting on the porch, holding a cup of tea. The soft glow from the porch light cast shadows across her face, but Mikha could still see the smile on Aiah’s lips as she looked up at her.

Mikha stopped in her tracks, her chest suddenly tightening. But Aiah didn’t look surprised. In fact, it almost looked like she’d been expecting this.

Aiah raised an eyebrow, the playful hint of a smile on her lips. “Took you long enough.”

Chapter Text

Mikha stirred.

The weight on her chest was unexpected, and her mind scrambled to catch up. She inhaled, the faint scent of vanilla and jasmine filling her senses.

Wait… Aiah?

Her eyes snapped open, and there, right on top of her, was Aiah—curled up on her chest, breathing steady and deep, her face soft in sleep. Mikha froze.

How did they end up like this?

The last thing she remembered was last night—they'd smiled like idiots, unsure and excited, both waiting for the other to make a move but neither of them doing anything.

And now… Aiah was drooling on her chest.

Mikha blinked, trying not to laugh. The wet spot slowly spread, a warm, oddly endearing reminder of the unexpected intimacy. 

She chuckled lightly, the sound soft in the quiet morning air. 

Aiah stirred, blinking in confusion before her eyes focused on Mikha. She yawned, the movement pulling her head up slightly, her cheek still warm against Mikha’s skin. “Mikhs? What’s—?” she murmured.

“You drooled on me,” Mikha said, her voice playful.

“Hoy, wala!” Aiah groaned, her face flushing as she dropped her head back down. “Was I dreaming?”

Mikha smiled softly, resting her hand on Aiah’s hair. “You were, I think. Not sure what about, though.”

Aiah muttered something unintelligible, her words slurring with sleep.

“Was I… did we—?”

“No,” Mikha answered, a quiet smile tugging at her lips. “I think we just—slept.”

“Right,” Aiah said, still nestled against her, giving a soft hum of agreement. “We’re usually way better at this whole making a move thing.”

“Alam ko,” Mikha teased, her fingers lightly tracing patterns on Aiah’s back. “We’re experts na dapat, e.”

Aiah tilted her head to look up at Mikha, her eyes still half-lidded but a mischievous glint flickering in them. 

“Cuddling…without sex. Weak na tayo."

“Definitely weak,” Mikha chuckled, her thumb brushing the side of Aiah’s neck. “What happened to the bold, confident sluts we used to be?”

“Even sluts go soft sometimes,” Aiah quipped, the corners of her mouth tugging into a smile. “Honestly, I thought you would make a move first.”

“I thought you would,” Mikha shot back, raising an eyebrow.

Aiah's smile widened into a grin. “Oh, so now it’s my fault?”

“I mean, ikaw na nagsabi” Mikha teased, mocking Aiah’s voice playfully. “Don’t you dare kiss me unless you’re sure,”

Aiah’s mind replayed the way they’d hype each other up in bars, making playful bets on who could land the next flirtatious comment or pick-up line. It was always effortless—charming, confident, never afraid to make a move.

But now?

Now, they were just… impotent. Shy. A mess.

“Fine. I’ll make the first move,” Aiah said, her voice laced with a playful determination.

She leaned in, eyes flickering between Mikha’s lips and her eyes, a silent challenge in her gaze. Mikha’s heart skipped a beat, anticipation building.

But just as their lips were about to meet, they both froze.

And then, without warning, they both burst into laughter.

“Mikha!” Aiah pulled back, covering her face in embarrassment. “Why are you laughing?”

Mikha’s shoulders shook with laughter, unable to stop herself. "You were laughing, gago!”

“Sorry, okay?” Aiah sighed dramatically, flopping back down against Mikha’s chest, as if giving up. “Why can’t we get through a kiss without laughing?”

“Do you want me to make the first move?” Mikha teased, a mischievous glint in her eyes, though she was still smiling.

“NO,” Aiah exclaimed quickly, her face flushing. “Wag na! You’ve ruined it with all your… laughing.”

Mikha chuckled, leaning in just a little bit, but staying just out of Aiah’s reach. “I think you ruined it with all your…drooling”

Aiah’s face turned a deeper shade of red. “I—okay, that’s not fair. I wasn’t expecting to wake up on top of you, okay?”

“It’s okay,” Mikha laughed, clearly enjoying the teasing. “You looked very pretty drooling like that.”

—

Their first official date wasn’t exactly going according to plan.

Maloi, their designated date planner, had suggested a cozy little café, the kind that was tucked away from the hustle of the city. A low-key place, perfect for two people who had spent years as friends and were now trying to navigate the new, somewhat confusing terrain of being something more.

It should have been simple.

It wasn’t.

The whole night was just a series of:

“Mikha?! Aiah?! Kayo ba yan?”

And

“Don’t look. Just… don’t look.”

Their first date was already on shaky ground—mostly thanks to the three exes they’d run into in less than half an hour. But somehow, the worst part wasn’t even the awkward small talk.

It was that not one of them realized Mikha and Aiah were on a date.

Was it really so hard to believe?

“Oh my God, Mikha!” Ellie had gasped when she spotted them. “You have to meet this girl I know. Her name’s Lexie. Super hot, like your type exactly. Works in finance but, like, fun finance.” She paused, giving Aiah a side-glance. “No offense.”

“None… taken?” Aiah blinked, confused.

Mikha forced a polite smile, heart thudding. “Uh, thanks, Ellie, but I’m kind of—”

“Busy siya tonight,” Aiah cut in smoothly, reaching across the table and nudging Mikha’s hand with her own, barely brushing their fingers.

Ellie didn’t even blink. “That’s fine! I’ll give her your number na lang.”

Mikha was too stunned to respond before Ellie sauntered off, humming like she’d just done the most helpful thing in the world.

Aiah looked at Mikha, eyes wide. “Did she just… set you up mid-date?”

Mikha groaned, slouching in her seat. “I fucking hate this café.”

And then came Naomi—Aiah’s sort-of ex. Confident, flirty, and completely oblivious.

“I thought you’d be retired wingmen by now,” she said, eyes scanning the café like she was scouting. “I know someone who’d be perfect for Aiah. Gorgeous, a little chaotic, but I know you like that, right?”

Mikha sputtered. “Wait, what?”

“Are you serious right now?” Aiah asked flatly.

Naomi beamed. “Dead serious! I’m texting them right now. Trust me, it’ll be love at first sight. You two always had the best taste—in other people.”

She gave them both a knowing wink and walked away before either of them could protest.

“Mikhs,” Aiah stared after her, dumbfounded. “They think we’re… still doing the wingman thing.”

Mikha ran both hands down her face. “Na-sobrahan ba sa branding?”

Aiah leaned in slightly, whispering over the candlelit table. “Siguro nga, but like… is it that unbelievable that we’re here together? As a date?”

Mikha blinked. “Honestly? Apparently, yes.”

Their food arrived. They hadn’t even taken a bite before Callie, another one of Aiah’s old flings, wandered over.

“Oh my God, Aiah!” she squealed. “You’ll never believe who I ran into the other day—Serenity! You guys had crazy chemistry. I was this close to texting you her number.”

“What the fuck is a ‘Serenity’?” Mikha looked up from her plate. “Wait, Serenity? The one with the shaved head and the astrology tattoo?”

Aiah turned to Callie with a forced smile. “We’re… actually kind of on a date right now.”

“Oh! Like… a double date?”

Mikha groaned audibly. Aiah coughed into her napkin.

“No,” Aiah said, slower this time. “Like. An actual. Date. With each other.”

Callie’s face scrunched in confusion. “Ohhh.” Then her eyes lit up. “Ang cute! Wait—so you two? Really? That’s… new.”

Mikha looked directly at her. “That's literally why we’re here.”

Callie paused. “Huh. Honestly, I thought you two were just—”

“Friends? Wingmen? Yeah,” Aiah deadpanned. “And now we’re dating. Crazy.”

She nodded slowly. “Okay, okay. Still think you’d love Serenity, though.”

And with that, she wandered off.

Mikha buried her face in her hands. “I can’t.”

“Grabeng karma naman ‘to,” Aiah couldn’t help but laugh now, shoulders shaking. 

“I know,” Mikha said, finally smiling again. “We’re victims of our own brand.”

“You know,” Aiah said, reaching across the table and actually taking Mikha’s hand this time, “if ganito na lang always dates natin, I think we’re going to need matching T-shirts.”

Mikha raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Aiah smirked. “Something subtle lang. Like: ‘We are not wingmen anymore.’ Or maybe just ‘On a Date. Please Stop.’”

“Or!” Mikha laughed, fully and freely now. “Or we could put a QR code on the back tapos linked sa official announcement.”

“Perfect,” Aiah grinned. “We’ll send it to all our friends. With love.”

—

By their fifth date, Aiah was starting to feel… twitchy.

It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy being with Mikha. She did—too much, probably. They talked for hours, held hands like teenagers, and cuddled through movies like something out of a soft-focus montage. It was sweet. Gentle. Safe.

But it was also starting to drive her a little insane.

Five dates. Five. And not a single real kiss. Not one slow-burn, back-of-the-neck, fingers-in-hair, leave-you-breathless kind of kiss. Just forehead pecks and lingering stares that never crossed the line. She was starting to wonder if Mikha even wanted her like that.

So Aiah decided to push things forward.

She wore a dress that hugged her curves in a way she didn’t normally go for—low neckline, back open, dark red that made her skin glow. She even straightened her hair, put on actual eyeliner, and wore the perfume she knew drove people wild.

Tonight, she thought. Tonight she was going to get that kiss. Maybe more. Please, let it be more.

Maybe—

Knock knock.

She exhaled slowly, smoothed her dress, and opened the door.

And there stood Mikha.

In a T-shirt that read:
“KAMI NA PO”
And below it, in bold print:
SCAN FOR PROOF.
With a literal QR code printed beneath.

Worse? Mikha was holding another one. Aiah’s size.

Aiah blinked. Once. Twice.

“Surprise!” Mikha grinned, not even acknowledging Aiah’s super sexy fit. “Na-deliver nila today. Our couple statement piece.”

Aiah stared at the shirt, then at Mikha’s face, then back at the shirt.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” Mikha was beaming like she’d invented oxygen. “Ang code, link yan sa private Google Drive folder. I made a little collage—photos, ticket stubs, our second date selfie. Real cute stuff.”

Aiah’s mouth opened, then closed. Her brain, which had been geared toward seduction and possibly light neck nibbling, screeched to a halt.

“You made a— Google Drive?”

“Yeah! Secure and organized.” Mikha held up the second shirt. “Put it on?”

Aiah didn’t move. Her voice came out flatter than intended. “Mikha. I wore heels tonight.”

“I noticed,” Mikha said, eyes twinkling. “You look incredible, by the way.”

A pause. A longer one.

“And you brought me a novelty shirt.”

“Matching novelty shirts,” Mikha corrected, proudly.

Aiah took a slow breath. “You’re killing me.”

Mikha tilted her head. “In a good way?”

“No,” Aiah said. “In a I’ve-been-trying-to-kiss-you-for-five-dates kind of way.”

That wiped the grin off Mikha’s face.

“You… have?”

Aiah gave her a look. “Mikha. I wore this dress for you. Not for Google Docs.”

Mikha blinked. Once.

Then again. “Oh.”

“Don’t tell me—,” Aiah stepped forward, eyes narrowing slightly. “You seriously didn’t know?”

“I mean… I thought we were taking things slow,” Mikha said, suddenly sheepish. “You said you liked slow.”

“I meant slow like… pacing,” Aiah said, exasperated. “Not glacial. Not intro-to-dating-at-retirement-home levels of slow.”

Mikha bit her lip. “I didn’t want to mess it up.”

“You’re not messing it up.” Aiah sighed, frustration dissolving a little at the honesty. “You're just… testing my patience.”

They stood there for a beat. Aiah in her killer dress. Mikha holding the stupid shirt like it was a peace offering.

Then Mikha said softly, “Okay. Can I kiss you now?”

Aiah blinked. “You need permission?”

Mikha grinned, stepping forward and closing the space between them. “Consent is hot.”

And then finally—finally—she kissed her.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t soft, either. It was warm, steady, the kind of kiss that filled every inch of space they'd been leaving between them. Fingers in hair. Palms on waist. Breathless.

When they finally pulled apart, Aiah let her forehead rest against Mikha’s.

“Five dates,” she whispered. “You made me wait. Five dates.”

“I like a slow burn,” Mikha murmured, brushing her thumb against Aiah’s cheek.

Aiah reached for the ridiculous shirt, half-laughing, half-dazed. “You better be glad you’re cute.”

“I gave you the kiss,” Mikha said, tilting her head smugly. “You better wear the shirt.”

Mikha stood her ground, arms crossed, already wearing hers over her baggy pants with unshakable pride.

“I am in a dress.” Aiah narrowed her eyes. “A very sexy dress.”

“It’ll still be there. Underneath. This is history.”

“You are so lucky you’re cute,” she muttered, shoving her arms through the sleeves.

“Paulit-ulit ka,” Mikha beamed. “Just wear it.”

Aiah groaned dramatically, yanked the shirt over her head, and let it fall over the clingy red fabric. It was oversized, ridiculous, and very clearly clashed with her lipstick.

They left Aiah’s apartment looking like two people in the middle of an extremely strange social experiment. But this time, their date went… well.

No rogue exes appeared. No awkward setups. No unsolicited love advice. Just the two of them, in a dimly lit ramen spot with mismatched chopsticks and a waitress who smiled at them like they were crazy.

They laughed. They shared bites of food. Aiah reached across the table and wiped a bit of broth off Mikha’s chin with her thumb, and Mikha blushed so hard she had to sip water to recover.

It was easy. Natural. Finally.

And afterward—when they walked back to Aiah’s apartment under a sky stretched tight with stars—neither of them hesitated.

They kissed again, deeper this time. Slower. Like they’d both stopped thinking and started feeling.

Clothes came off in fits of laughter and breathless pauses. Aiah peeled off the QR-code shirt like it was the last barrier she’d been waiting to burn.

And when Mikha’s hands finally traced her skin—not casually, not timidly, but with intention—it felt like something new.

Though they’d both done this before with other people, this time felt different.

Like the first time.

Like the right time.

Later, as the night settled around them and their breaths slowed in sync, Aiah lay curled against Mikha, tracing absent-minded shapes across her shoulder. The room was still, the air warm, their bodies worn soft by something more than just touch—something long overdue.

It was almost embarrassing, looking back.

All those years of being each other’s wingman—of trading flirty glances across crowded bars, hyping each other up before first dates, offering pep talks and post-breakup snacks. They had been so busy advertising each other’s best parts to strangers that neither of them had noticed the simplest truth:

The right person had been there the whole time.

Laughing at the same jokes. Finishing the same stories. Catching each other when it counted.

What they’d chased in other people—the spark, the steadiness, the sense of being known—had never been missing. It had only been misunderstood. 

Misdirected.

This wasn’t a beginning, not really. It was a return. A slow-burn story with its ending written long ago.

Just the slow, steady unfolding of something that’s always been there.