bent crooked in the light

Swire pauses in her scrolling when she hits the end of the webpage, then yawns and switches to the next news site. Honestly, she doesn’t really need them anymore — she’d first subscribed to them all because she wanted to learn more about the woman now sleeping right beside her, after all — but she still likes poking fun at Ch’en by showing her some of the more outrageous headlines the media likes to plaster all over their front pages after a heist.

Swire gently rests her phone atop Ch’en’s mussed bedhead, her eyes starting to glaze over as she scrolls past more mundane articles. Ch’en’s face is half-pressed to Swire’s neck, one arm flung carelessly over her side, and every breath Swire takes smells of her shampoo.

She pauses. INTERVIEW: Parents of daughter kidnapped by phantom thief speak after 5 silent months.

“Swire?”

Swire jolts. “Yeah? Hey, morning.”

“Good morning.” Ch’en closes her eyes again, speaking almost directly against Swire’s throat; her breath is warm against Swire’s skin. “You’re up early.”

“Eh, am I?”

“You usually sleep in all the way until noon.”

“Like that’s so bad,” Swire huffs. Against her better judgment she opens the article and wishes it had taken longer than the half-second it takes to load; she reads the headline again, over and over, before she can even bring herself to look at the photo attached. Five months, but her parents’ faces are still fresh in her memory.

Ch’en is quiet, then reaches up and gently tugs Swire’s hand down so she can look at her phone screen. Normally Swire would just close it and let Ch’en puzzle over the passcode, but this time Swire doesn’t bother. “What are you reading?” Ch’en mumbles, rubbing her sleep-shut eyes.

Swire doesn’t bother replying, just rests her chin atop Ch’en’s head as Ch’en silently reads the headline. It’s quiet for a long, few seconds, the early morning sunshine chasing away the lingering chill of the evening, before Swire eventually asks, “That time… all those months ago, why did you target my place? Why them?”

Ch’en says nothing for a moment, only shifts around and returns Swire’s phone to her. Then she sighs, breath tickling Swire’s collarbone. “They didn’t tell you.”

It’s not a question. “Go on.”

“Your parents never directly dirtied their hands,” Ch’en says, her voice slow and level, like she’s both stating facts and trying to make things easier for Swire to understand. “Most of the time they had underlings do it for them instead, scamming others out of jewelry and art pieces. I’m sure if you inspect their company records you’ll find plenty of illegal business dealings there.”

“That—” Swire closes her eyes, takes a deep, shuddering breath. “The company. The family company they wanted me to inherit.”

Ch’en mumbles, “I’m not sure if they have any other companies I’m unaware of.”

“Ah-Ch’en. You trust me, right? I never want to go back to them again. You know that.”

“I know that. Calm down.” Ch’en wraps her other arm around Swire’s shoulders and pulls her closer, sighing beside her ear. Long dark hair tickles Swire’s nose. “I’m sorry I had to be the one to tell you.”

“Don’t—” say that, Swire means to say, but her throat closes up and all she can do is inhale again, breathing in and in and in but it doesn’t feel like she’ll ever get enough oxygen back in her lungs. “Ugh,” is all she manages, weakly. “Sorry. Just. Ugh. First thing in the morning.”

Ch’en noses the side of her neck, then draws away and taking her warmth with her. “Come on. Let’s have breakfast.”

‘Breakfast,’ of course, is just some morning coffee and some buttered toast on the brink of gathering mold. “Shouldn’t be so hard,” Ch’en says offhandedly, puttering about the tiny kitchen while Swire perches on the counter, sipping from her mug and watching Ch’en attempt to smack the rusted toaster back to life. “The heist, I mean. Fairly clear-cut. The plans you made yesterday were already very good, and their security is hardly anything we haven’t faced before.”

She’s trying to distract Swire from her parents — Ch’en can be painfully transparent at times like these — but Swire appreciates it all the same, and she can’t deny the bubble of excitement at the thought of their next heist. Time has passed since Swire first started helping Ch’en with her job, albeit purely logistically, but she’s growing more and more used to how planning for each mission goes and how best to make them to help Ch’en out during the heist itself.

“But that’s still on the weekend,” Ch’en says, finally joining Swire on the counter with the toast.

Right. For now the great phantom thief has a more pressing matter: her day job.

“Oh, yeah,” Swire says, as casually and nonchalantly as possible, “we should get going now or we’ll be late.”

Ch’en fixes her with a typical stoic stare. “‘We?’”

“Yeah, we.”

After a five-second staring match, Swire groans and concedes. “Oh, come on, you’ll let me go with you on heists but you still won’t let me go with you to work!? What am I, a minor who’ll get carded?”

Ch’en looks more amused than chastising. “It might be dangerous for you.”

“What the heck does that mean. Hey, tell me, which is more dangerous: breaking and entering private property surrounded by trained security ordered to shoot on sight, or playing cards at a casino!?”

After some badgering, Ch’en finally gives in, though judging by the little smile Swire spies on her face she has a feeling Ch’en was just messing with her. What had ‘convinced’ her was when Swire insisted on finding a job to help support the both of them instead of just freeloading off Ch’en forever, and hey, who knows, maybe Swire can score a job at the same place Ch’en works in! Not that Swire has high hopes for the casino. She’s not much of a bouncer, for one thing. But there are surely other options for her to consider.

…She just hadn’t expected Ch’en to be, well, so popular at her workplace.

“So,” Swire says, after watching the third person that hour blatantly flirt with Ch’en, “they really like you here, huh?”

Unfazed, Ch’en only says, “I guess.”

“H-How are you so calm? Don’t you know what they’re doing?”

“Of course I know, but it’s just work.” Ch’en shifts in place, hands still firmly clasped behind her back and gaze only momentarily flicking in Swire’s direction before fixing forward again. “Also, they tip nicely.”

Swire has no idea how to respond to this aside from adding ‘gets flirted with at her day job’ in her list of Ch’en details, so she just mumbles under her breath and settles for following the person who’d tried to hit on Ch’en just now to the nearest gambling table; she might as well take her frustration out on the person involved. “Wait,” Ch’en says, raising an eyebrow, “what are you doing?”

“Gonna play. What do you think I came here to do?”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to look for a jo—”

“Not important!”

Earlier Swire had taken one look at the casino’s exterior and instantly knew it was the sort of place where she would get a challenge from any opponents here — it’s dark, seedy, and generally gives off the impression that the people inside are merciless and unforgiving when it comes to the art of rolling dice. Swire had needed to take a moment to psych herself up to even step inside, and when she did everyone instantly shot her suspicious looks like she was the police rolling up to arrest them all or something.

This definitely won’t be easy, she thinks, once she’s taken her seat across a few other players, all of whom remain stoic despite how their stern frowns radiate raised-eyebrow energy. Swire reclines against her chair, crossing her legs at the knee and glancing up to briefly look at Ch’en, standing guard by the wall opposite the table, her expression a subtle mix between alarmed and bewildered. I’m going to have to play nice and careful. Who knows what kinda moves they know that I don’t?

Some three games later and Swire could have laughed herself silly at how wrong she was.

“I’ll take it all, then,” she cheerily declares, standing up and sweeping the small mound of money bills towards her side of the table while the other players stare, stupidly, at their earnings disappearing before their eyes.

Part of Swire can’t believe this is real, but the rest of her feels giddy with the adrenaline of winning game after game. None of these people are any better than the sorts she’s already faced, when she was younger and significantly more reckless, following university friends into gambling dens and watching them play, committing every card face and sleight of hand to memory. She’d put her compilation of techniques to use later, twirling blonde curls around her finger and pretending to be some dumb college girl to get older, middle-aged men to let her play free of charge with them; getting better from there was just a matter of practice.

Still, it’s not like Swire is some master gambler, not like how Ch’en is the top of her game as a phantom thief. Which means these people, Swire happily thinks to herself, are just that bad.

“Beginner’s luck,” someone harrumphs, standing from the table and stalking away elsewhere; Swire rolls her eyes at their back. It’s the same phrase the person before them had used, and the person before them. At first it irked her but now it hardly matters when the weight of cold, hard cash in her palms is hardly evidence of more luck than skill. She glances up again before new opponents take their seats to meet Ch’en’s gaze, pleased with herself when Ch’en just shakes her head with a faint, amused smile on her face.

Yeah, Swire’s definitely not gonna find a job in this place. But damn, does it feel good to rake in some money after several months of freeloading.

Swire’s not sure how much time passes or how many games she plays, but after joining Ch’en for a quick lunch during her break, she finds a small, murmuring crowd of people gathered around the card table she’s been playing in. “I’m not sure I like the reputation you’re building up here,” Ch’en mumbles, just loud enough for only Swire to hear.

Swire just grins and tosses her hair over her shoulder. “What? Something wrong about an ex-rich kid finding her passion?”

“You know this isn’t your passion…”

“Okay, yeah, hobby, but same thing, Ah-Ch’en.” Swire resists the urge to kiss Ch’en on the cheek — she’s not sure how the regulars here in the casino will react to their beloved Hui-Chieh getting a girlfriend behind their backs — and saunters towards her seat at the table instead, flashing welcome smiles at the other players, who only respond with glares that somehow manage to be both competitive and contemptuous. “Hey, I’m back! Let’s get started?”

As time is passed and games are won, Swire tries to imagine how she looks to others right now — some socialite-looking girl strolling in out of nowhere, raking in cash and besting even the most experienced regulars in the casino with practiced ease — and has to admit there’s something very satisfying about the mental image. Could she actually be good enough to gamble for a living? It sounds unrealistic and more than a little dangerous, and the last thing she wants is to sink both her and Ch’en into debt, but Swire mentally files that career option away in her head to more carefully think over later. Maybe after some thought the pros will start outweighing the cons…

She blinks and brings herself back to the game, though she hardly needs to see the other players’ hands to know she’s already won. Swire presents her cards without a word but with plenty of smugness in the flick of her wrist, basking in the shocked looks on her opponents’ faces and the startled murmurs of the growing crowd around them. Sure, it feels good to see Ch’en flawlessly carry out plans Swire devised herself, the phantom thief entering undetected and escaping unscathed in every heist, but winning these games, despite how clearly inexperienced her opponents are, is its own kind of victory for Swire.

Speaking of Ch’en. Swire takes the brief lull in the game to glance up, where Ch’en is standing guard by, partly to see Ch’en’s reaction to Swire’s umpteenth win and partly just to ogle her. Obviously Swire’s seen her in her uniform before, but it had always only ever been briefly in the mornings before she left for work, never this up close and for this long; Ch’en had noticed her staring earlier, and the look on her face told Swire she was torn between feeling nervous or pleased. And can anyone blame Swire, really? The white shirt is tight in all the right places, and that tie makes Swire want to…

…Wait a minute. She frowns, stands slightly to see over the heads of other people. Who does that woman casually sidling up to Ch’en’s side think she is?

They’re too far away for Swire to make out their words, but it doesn’t take a genius, or even a lip-reader, to know the other woman — someone Swire had beaten in a game just half an hour ago, actually! — is making a move, her hands clasped loosely behind her back but her entire body leaning towards Ch’en. Swire has half a mind to stand up and do something, but Ch’en’s expression hasn’t changed one bit, her gaze flicking towards the woman for one cursory glance before fixing straight ahead once more.

Swire huffs. Okay, she tells herself, be mature. Be like Ch’en. This is just work. Stay professional. It’s silly to get worked up over something like this, especially when she trusts Ch’en not to be swayed by just any pretty face. Be mature. This is just work. This is just…

The woman smiles and hooks her arm around Ch’en’s elbow. Even from this distance Swire can see, with startling clarity, how Ch’en’s expression shifts, how her shoulders stiffen with tension — and Swire sees red.

Calmly, Swire collects her earnings. Calmly, Swire stands up; calmly, Swire goes over to Ch’en, who looks both relieved and confused when she arrives. The woman at Ch’en’s side frowns and raises an eyebrow. “Yes?” she asks, as if Swire’s the one being a bother right now. “Is there something you need?”

Belatedly Swire realizes she hadn’t quite thought this through: her arms are full with her earnings, which means she can’t use her hands to do, well, something. But she soon decides this hardly matters, because she doesn’t need her hands to do this.

With a deep breath, Swire slams her head against the woman’s chin.

The effect is immediate: the woman reels back with a shriek, the milling crowd around them all startle backwards, and Ch’en makes a choked sound. “Ma’am!” another member of security personnel calls, hurrying forward to catch the woman before she would have fallen over. Swire scoffs. As if she’d been hit that hard. “Are you alright? What happened here?”

“I’m very sorry.” Ch’en clears her throat and grabs Swire by the shoulders, tugging her back before she can go for a second hit. “She, er, must have drank a bit much. I’ll take care of this.”

“I’m not drunk,” Swire feels the need to growl.

Ch’en coughs again and pulls on Swire’s arms. “Come on, come here. Are you feeling alright? Let’s get you sobered up.”

“I said I’m not drunk—!”

But Ch’en is already guiding her out of the main hall and towards a narrow corridor. By the time Ch’en releases Swire of her firm but gentle grip, they’re in a smaller, empty room that Swire supposes must be a private room for VIPs. “Come on!” Swire protests. “She went too far just then, didn’t she? She was totally pushing it! If you can’t do anything because it’ll get you fired, then let me at her…”

She trails off when she realizes how quiet Ch’en is, how she’s keeping her head down and refusing to meet Swire’s eyes. What, is Ch’en mad at her? No way, Swire was just trying to help… but then again, Ch’en also got mad at her before when Swire tried to help out in her heists. Damn it, all Swire does is poke her nose in business she shouldn’t. Sulkily Swire mumbles, “Uh… hey, it’s not like I hit her that hard, I bet my head hurts way more than hers does right now… Besides, she was being — are you laughing?”

Ch’en is evidently trying to hide it; she has to lean back against the wall to keep her balance as her shoulders shake from barely-stifled laughter. “I… I’m not mad,” she gasps, lifting a hand up to hide how her smile spreads across her face, “It’s just… I’m just… pft…”

“The bouncer of the casino is laughing because two girls got in a fight over her,” Swire says. “Ah-Ch’en, you’re horrible.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Ch’en says, but then she laughs again right afterwards — not a full-belly laugh, which would genuinely alarm Swire and make her think Ch’en had been replaced by a shapeshifting alien, but still much more than the smile and occasional amused huff the other woman makes once in a while. “Just… You attacked a complete stranger out of nowhere,” she says, in between giggles. Ch’en, giggling. Swire can do nothing but stare helplessly at the sight before her. “I didn’t expect that at all.”

Swire should probably be annoyed that Ch’en is laughing at her after Swire had done her best to help, but she can’t feel anything but a weird swooping sensation in her stomach at how… different Ch’en looks like this. She smiles, of course, and it’s not like Swire’s never seen her laugh, but also never to this extent.

It’s… so cute. It’s so cute!

When Ch’en’s laughter subsides, she sighs and steps closer to peer at Swire’s forehead, which she’s sure is starting to redden if it hasn’t already. “This looks like it hurt,” Ch’en says, shaking her head and reaching up to rub the spot in a gentle massage. She’s still laughing a little when she says, “Thank you for so valiantly protecting my dignity back there. Would it have killed you to pick a less violent method, though?”

Swire pouts. “You should be more grateful,” she says, but doesn’t sound like she means it in the least. Ch’en just smiles again, brushes her thumb against her forehead and lets her hand linger there on Swire’s skin, her wine-red eyes soft and gentle.

The sensation in Swire’s stomach from earlier morphs into a warmth in her chest. It feels similar to gratitude, maybe, but that’s not quite right…

…Ah, she’s an idiot.

“Ah-Ch’en,” Swire says, without thinking, and immediately wants to beat herself up when Ch’en meets her eyes in a wordless ‘yes?’ The words are right on the tip of her tongue, I love you, but Swire bites them back at the last second, just shakes her head and mumbles “never mind” instead. In a private room of some casino in the middle of the day surely can’t be the right time and place for something as serious as a love confession, even if they have technically been together for a while now. Besides, what if Ch’en doesn’t feel the same? Or what if she isn’t ready for that level of commitment yet? Swire can’t just blurt out whatever she’s feeling at the moment and hope it doesn’t horrendously backfire on her. She can think rationally, thank you very much.

Still, it doesn’t change the warmth in her chest, only growing warmer when she looks at Ch’en’s face.

“You’re all red,” Ch’en suddenly says, because of course she has to shatter the tender atmosphere. “Did you get slapped in the face when I wasn’t looking?”

“No!” Swire yelps. “You think I would have let that woman live if she’d slapped me!?”

It takes a lot of acting to convince the manager that Swire has properly ‘sobered up’ and isn’t going to headbutt anyone in the jaw again, but while they let her stay in the casino, they forbid her from playing any more games in case she loses one and goes into rage mode again, so Swire spends the remainder of the day stewing on some couch, watching the other tables around her and trying to keep herself from shouting out people’s hands. At least Ch’en stands beside her the whole while under the excuse of keeping an eye on her, which means Swire gets to admire her all she likes.

“I’m guessing this means you won’t be interested in applying for a job here,” Ch’en murmurs to her, during a lull in activity.

Swire huffs and folds her arms over her chest. “As if I want to watch other people get all nice and cozy with you for eight hours everyday!”

Ch’en logs out the second the clock hits 6pm. It’s already dark outside when they leave, their surroundings lit up by the flashing lights of other establishments instead of lamp posts, the streets now filled with more people than earlier during the day. “What do you want for dinner?” Ch’en asks, flicking through her phone while they walk. “We’re already out, so we may as well go get takeout if you like… Swire?”

“Mm?”

“Swire.” Ch’en stares at her, but it still takes a moment for Swire to draw herself out of her own head. “What do you look so deep in thought for?”

“Ehh, nothing much…”

But Ch’en looks unconvinced, and even stops in place to look expectantly at Swire, so Swire has no choice but to concede. “It’s no big deal. I was just wondering, uh…” Swire shrugs. “What’s your ideal type?”

She hadn’t been expecting much, honestly hadn’t even thought Ch’en would answer the question, but to her surprise Ch’en is unperturbed. “My ideal type…” She looks thoughtful for a second, then says, “Well, it’s someone you know too.”

“Huh?” Swire squeaks. ‘Someone?’ Not even ‘like someone?’ Or ‘similar to someone?’ There’s a specific person that embodies everything Ch’en likes in a human being?

“Do you remember the first case you followed me on?”

“What? Well, yeah, of course I do.” Others would probably have to pause and think about this, since it’s been such a long time since then, but Swire’s memory has never been anything less than perfect, and even moreso when it concerns Ch’en. After the mysterious but unexpectedly charming phantom thief had raided the basement of her manor, Swire had grown fascinated enough by Ch’en to follow her on her next heist, but she’d been bewildered when Ch’en only returned someone’s stolen bicycle to them rather than snatch some historical artifacts under a billionaire’s nose like all the news stories about her wax poetic about. But why would Ch’en bring that case up now?

Wait a minute. Swire thinks harder, recalls long brown hair, a pretty face, a distant smile. No… could it be? “That office worker?” she exclaims. “That woman!?”

Still as calm and composed as ever, Ch’en only says, “Yeah.”

“O-Oh…” Swire isn’t even hurt or annoyed or what she thinks someone’s supposed to feel when their significant other is unexpectedly honest about their ideal type, just… surprised. She hadn’t expected the cool, calm beauty to be Ch’en’s type, after all, but then she doesn’t really know what she’d been expecting Ch’en’s type to be anyway.

“But—” Ch’en clears her throat, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “That doesn’t mean anything. Ideal type, whatever, it’s just a… an aesthetic.” She makes a face like she’s not sure if she even used that word right. “I won’t trade what I have with you now for anything. Okay? You’re the best thing in my life, Swire. If those people at the casino made you feel jealous, or annoyed, or insecure, or anything, please don’t worry. Because I’m yours alone.”

It’s quiet, the bustle of nightlife a distant whisper behind them. When Ch’en speaks again her cheeks are a faint pink, whether from embarrassment or the evening chill Swire can’t tell. “Did that make sense?”

“U-Uh…” Swire has no idea where to even start, especially since this must be the most Ch’en’s ever spoken in one go. Normally she isn’t this chatty… but she is always this sappy, Swire realizes, though not always in so many words. Like when Ch’en makes her breakfast in bed on the mornings after Swire stayed up to study diagrams long after Ch’en went to sleep, or like how she’s so far never missed giving Swire a goodnight kiss, whether on the forehead or the back of her neck or even on her wrist, whichever body part is closest and most convenient for her to kiss while her head’s already on the pillow.

Even after months of living together and being… what they are… (Swire has to admit they’ve never so much as mentioned ‘girlfriend…’) Ch’en still makes Swire feel all gooey and mushy inside like she has an entire colony of butterflies in there. Never a dull moment with her, huh.

Only now does she realize Ch’en looks almost nervous; it used to be a challenge noticing the minute changes in Ch’en’s expressions, but now it’s just like second nature to Swire. “Are you worried I’m mad you have a thing for office ladies or something?”

“No,” Ch’en says, unconvincingly.

“It’s fine, you’re allowed to have a type,” Swire says, though she can’t keep the grin off her face. It only gets bigger when she gets an idea. “What about me? You wanna know what my ideal type is in exchange?” What should she say to mess with Ch’en? Maybe Swire should describe the exact opposite of her or something?

Like a switch had been flipped, Ch’en goes right back to her nonchalant, unruffled self. “Oh. No, it’s fine.”

“…Hah?”

“I’m not interested.” Ch’en levels her with a look, then smiles. “After all, you’re with me now. So I must be the one you like most anyway.”

She starts walking again after that, like she’d said something completely normal and not at all something that has heat flooding Swire’s cheeks. “Th… Y-You!” she huffs, hurrying to catch up with this troublemaking woman. “Seriously, the things you say…”

But Ch’en is right, even if she’s being annoying about it. They walk home under the city lights together, Ch’en showing her some restaurant on her phone, and Swire thinks there’s no other place she’d rather be and no definitely no other person she’d rather be with right now.

“Knife?”

Swire lifts it up. “Here.”

“Hat?”

Swire tilts her head. “Wearing it.”

“Other knife?”

Swire digs it out. “In my pocket — can we just go already?”

Ch’en still looks worried, or as worried as she can look when the only difference from her usual stoic expression is the furrow in her brow, but eventually she sighs and nods. “Fine. But a bit more time for preparation wouldn’t kill you; it’s not a long walk from here anyway.”

“I think if we use up any more time for preparation, we’re going to miss our scheduled robbery.”

Despite this almost comical level of protectiveness, Swire’s relieved; compared to when they first started, this behavior from Ch’en is almost relaxed. She used to triple-check everything and fuss over every single little detail, but now Swire’s been getting better and proving herself at this whole thing, so Ch’en in return is trying to be less overly protective as well. She gives Swire a long, considering look, then sighs again. “Alright. Let’s go.”

As usual, Swire will follow from behind to watch and possibly serve as lookout, though Ch’en hardly needs help for that. Tonight’s heist is a little different, though; their initial scout a few days ago revealed how the security is oddly lacking, with only a few guards spotted inside the mansion. “It feels strange,” Ch’en mumbles on their way there. “Surely this millionaire is rich enough to hire more bodyguards, and station them outside rather than inside…”

“Maybe they’re confident they can keep you out even if they only have a few people,” Swire suggests. “Ooh, or they gave up and aren’t even trying to catch you anymore, since you’ve got such a perfect record!”

“…It would be nice if that were the case.”

The mansion isn’t far; they ‘split up’ halfway through, by which Swire means Ch’en runs off ahead and Swire follows when she can only see a trace of the other woman’s shadow. This is always where the rush comes in, the breezy, uplifting sensation that reminds Swire why she’d chosen this life over the royal comfort of her family — chasing after Ch’en through the city streets, ducking and weaving around people and obstacles, watching as Ch’en sneaks into their manor of choice for the month with nary a sound. Sure, Swire can only stake out somewhere nearby and watch from there, but she knows where her talents lie now, and being good at sneaking around and scaling walls doesn’t also mean being good at escaping from the police and getting out of jail.

She makes herself comfortable in the neighbors’ bush, picking leaves out of her hair and watching Ch’en disappear inside a window. It really is strange, though: how come there are no guards in the way? It’s too dark to see inside, but Swire can only make out a scant few standing by the entrance gates, looking nowhere close to alert. She frowns; it feels almost too easy…

Swire is almost willing to just forget about it and consider this extremely good luck, but then she hears it: footsteps, hushed voices, clear signs this heist isn’t as lucky as she might have thought it is.

Something is wrong. Swire shifts in her hiding spot, every instinct in her telling her to run, but she can’t just run off and leave Ch’en inside, much as she knows Ch’en can take care of herself. Swire considers her options as quickly as possible — she can’t see much aside from one specific angle of the manor from here, so she waits for the footsteps to fade before creeping out of the bush and crossing over to the nearby fence instead, peering over the top. At first there’s nothing but the darkness of the evening, and at first Swire almost hopes she’d just been hallucinating out of paranoia, but the darkness begins to move and speak, and shadows solidify into outlines of people, many of them tall and heavily-built, all of them beginning to surround the mansion.

Well. Swire swallows. Those must be the guards they’re looking for.

They must know Ch’en is inside by now; it’s several minutes past the scheduled time. But they don’t seem to care, some milling around the mansion’s immediate perimeter while the rest begin to slowly spread out, many leaving the gates and outside the property entirely. They’re not searching for Ch’en, Swire realizes, but something else…

Or, no. Could it be someone else?

This is bad. Swire has no idea why they would be searching for literally anyone outside the mansion right now, but she has to let Ch’en know. She sends a signal via phone — the ‘signal’ is the poop emoji, something Swire had suggested herself — and startles when she looks up to see a pair of guards coming closer. Where can she go now? Would it be more or less dangerous to try and get inside the manor? She’s fairly confident she can scale those walls, judging by how many cracks and grooves are visible even from this far away, but the time it takes for her to find a new hiding spot might…

Screw it. Swire creeps around the fence, hops over it once she reaches the corner, and races for the back of the manor. At the very least, staying here will mean Ch’en will spot her right away once she leaves; they’d set the window directly above Swire’s head as her point of escape. This is close to the garage, Swire remembers, and the password for its doors was woefully easy to guess — if she can just get closer, hide behind a car or something—

“There! Target spotted, behind the house!”

“Come on,” Swire groans. The guards are faster and closer by than she’d expected, reaching her in seconds; she scrambles for the garage as fast as she can, but the area behind the manor is too narrow to run through quickly, and her heart smashes against her rib cage when she feels a hand close tight around her wrist. “No — let go,” she hisses, wrenching her arm out of the guard’s grip just for another one to grab hold of her shoulder. “Hey, quit it! What do you want from me? Can’t I go on a walk?”

The lie falls flat. Swire had been hoping it would at least distract them; as it is, now that she’s in their unyielding hold, the two guards sound like they could care less about her. “This the lady we’re supposed to kill, right?” one of them grunts, not bothering to keep his voice down. Swire’s blood runs cold. “The other one we catch?”

“No, you idiot, it’s the other way around. Look at her hair.” A hand tugs at a stray blonde curl that fell out of her cap, and Swire jerks violently away with a strangled growl. “Come on, get her outta here. The sooner she’s there, the better the pay.”

No. No. This can’t be happening. Why would they be looking for her? Who would be looking for her? It’s been months since she ran off, all the search parties have given up by now, some news stations even presumed her dead — the only people who might possibly still be thinking of her are her parents, Swire realizes with cold, sinking dread, but that’s just… Hasn’t it been too long? They’re not seriously still looking for her, are they? There had been that interview before, she remembers. Did they mention an ongoing search? Did they mention having hope for her return?

Panic frays her nerves, frazzles her senses. For once her memory fizzes out, replaced by the fear of seeing her parents’ faces again, feeling their grip on her arms even firmer and tighter than the guards have on her now, pulling her away from Ch’en.

Abruptly the grip on her arm loosens, then disappears completely — Swire forces herself out of her own thoughts and grabs her knife out of her jacket, swinging it in a wide arc and sending him stumbling back in a mix of surprise and caution right before a kick in the gut knocks him flat to the ground. “Swire,” the most beautiful voice Swire has ever had the fortune of hearing says. Ch’en is radiant in the moonlight, her eyes glimmering with concern. “Are you alri—”

“We have to go,” Swire says, clutching onto Ch’en’s wrist so hard her fingers feel numb. Every cell in her body is screaming at her to get out of here, right now, before anything happens and whoever these people are hurt Ch’en because of her. “We have to go right now.”

She whirls around, knife flashing, just in time to scare off one of the leaner guards trying to sneak up on her. Ch’en is at him in a flash, grabbing him by the back of his head and slamming his face into the dirt before he can make a sound, but the clomping footfalls are getting closer and closer. “Okay. Alright. You can run ahead,” Ch’en says, “I’ll hold them off for a while and join you—”

“What? No! Are you crazy? There’s no need for that!”

Ch’en’s eyes flash. “You’re fast, Swire, but there are too many of them. It’ll be safer if—”

“There’s literally no need for that,” Swire says, and grabs Ch’en’s hand to pull her towards the garage.

The security staff are at full-force now, most of them charging straight towards Swire while the rest start moving together to block the entrance. Thankfully they’re just as impeded by the cramped, narrow paths around the manor as Swire had been earlier, because they keep stumbling and bumping into one another; Swire jolts when gunshots start ringing out, loud enough to hear over the roar of blood in her ears, but Ch’en only urges her forward. “You remember the passcode?” she asks; for once she sounds out of breath, which makes Swire feel a little better about being winded.

“Yeah,” Swire says; she can’t even be proud of that, because her head is spinning too much to make sense of anything. Who are these people? Why are they after her? They can’t possibly be her parents, can they? She launches herself at the garage, punches the passcode in, and pulls up a shaky grin when the doors screech open. At least they can get a sweet ride out of this damn place. “Ch’en, do your thing!”

Ch’en’s smile looks strained when she hijacks the first car they see — some fancy-schmancy thing that looks more expensive than even Swire’s father’s favorite — and the doors automatically swing open when Swire touches the handle. She slides in the passenger seat, the engine revs, and Ch’en grits her teeth as she presses down on the accelerator. The startled, panicked shouts of guards yelling at each other to give chase fade into the distance in under a minute.

When they’re finally a safe distance away — Swire has no idea where they are, only that they’re probably not heading to their apartment right away for caution’s sake — Ch’en sighs and drums her fingers against the steering wheel. “Swire. What happened just then…”

“It can’t be my parents.” Swire swallows, folds her legs up to hug them to her chest. They’re going to dump this car on the side of the road once it’s served its purpose, so she has no qualms about getting the leather seat dirty with her boots. “Can it? They must have given up by now, they have to. Right? It—It can’t—I don’t want to—”

“Calm down. Listen to me.” Ch’en pauses, takes a deep breath, and sighs. “I overheard them talking inside the house. This was meant to be a trap for you.”

Swire jolts. “What?”

“Apparently your parents spoke with tonight’s target, the millionaire, convinced him to set his treasure out for bait and spread out the hired security outside rather than inside. I don’t know how, but they must have realized we’re partners rather than kidnapper and kidnapped.” Ch’en slows down before a red light, glancing in the rearview mirror before looking beside her to meet Swire’s eyes. “They mentioned something about wanting you back, about the family’s reputation… I’m sorry. I’m not sure. I ran as soon as I received your signal.”

Swire groans and buries her face in her arms. “You’re not serious.”

“I wish I weren’t,” Ch’en says, gently. “Swire, this—”

“It’s my fault,” she says, her voice so muffled she can barely understand herself. How did her parents find out? Had she not been careful enough, gotten herself photographed somewhere? Should Swire have been more alert, searched more news sites, checked to see if any articles about the kidnapped young lady from months ago resurfaced somehow? What’s worse is that she remembers, too well, what those guards had said: that they were ordered by Swire’s parents to catch Swire but to — fuck, she doesn’t even want to think it — to kill Ch’en, like she’s nothing more than a distraction to their daughter, and the very thought of people hurting Ch’en because of her—

“Swire.” A hand on her knee. “It’s alright. Deep breaths. This isn’t your fault.”

Swire sniffs. “I don’t… I should’ve…”

“Will you look at me?”

She gives in and lifts her head, trying to wipe the tears off her cheeks before new ones take their place. Ch’en is looking at her, brow furrowed in concern, and after a pause she takes Swire’s trembling hand. “It’s going be fine,” Ch’en reassures. “You can stay at home until this whole thing blows over. As long as we play it safe, nothing will happen, alright? We’ll get through this. Together.”

“But…” Swire lets out a shaky sigh. She doesn’t like the idea of just hiding at home, unable to do anything like some coward while Ch’en does all the work, but she can’t find the words in her to protest, and Ch’en’s steady, composed voice is calming, along with how her thumb rubs soothing circles on the back of her palm. “It’s… so frustrating,” she manages, weakly. “I thought, after all this time… but then…”

“I know. I get it.” The light turns green, and Ch’en reluctantly takes her hand away to start driving again. “Let’s talk more about it tomorrow?”

Swire’s not sure she wants to revisit this topic, but nods, resisting the urge to curl further in on herself. She should have known better than to think she could escape her family so easily.

When Ch’en’s sure they’re no longer being followed by the guards, she drives almost all the way back to their apartment building, stopping just a few ways away from the gates; she almost never does this, insisting on ditching the car halfway through and going the rest of the way on foot, and Swire’s both glad and guilty for it, because it takes insurmountable effort just to stand on her own two legs without feeling ready to fall over. At home, she immediately drops onto the couch, head still spinning from the past few hours but too exhausted to put her thoughts into any semblance of order. “Ch’en…”

“What is it?” Ch’en had set down tonight’s target — a small oil painting from centuries ago — by the entryway and made a beeline for the bathroom. Her voice is still so calm, like this whole problem is no big deal and something they can deal with together, and Swire lets herself relax a little. As long as she’s with Ch’en, maybe they can deal with this together.

“Are you going back out?”

“Mm, to the museum. It’ll be quick.” She’s audibly bumping around in the bathroom now, opening cabinets and closing them just as quickly.

“Okay.” Swire sighs. “Uh, what are you looking for?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing, I got it.”

“…Ch’en?”

Ch’en reemerges from the bathroom. Is it just the ceiling light, or does she look a little pale? “I’m fine. It’ll just be a second,” she says, and then she brings out the first-aid kit.

Swire’s eyes threaten to bug out of their sockets. “Ch’en!?”

“It’s not serious,” Ch’en instantly says, like she’d been expecting this exact reaction. Well, of course Swire would react like this to her rolling up her pants leg and oh, there’s blood. It’s bleeding. It’s very obviously from a gunshot grazing her calf and Swire is starting to feel her fear from earlier return with a vengeance, only it’s not fear but something much more murderous. “It’s bleeding, I’ll just have to clean it up so it doesn’t get worse—”

“This is ridiculous!” Swire explodes. Ch’en opens her mouth like she means to say more, then seems to think better of it and closes it instead, sitting on the couch and focusing on dabbing at the wound on her leg with some cloth. “You — You got hurt because of me — no, because of my parents, when you don’t even have anything to do with this because they’re after me, not you, and — oh, I am not standing for this, I’ll kill whoever did this to you or so help me god—”

“Come on, it’s fine,” Ch’en tries to say, although Swire can definitely hear more than a bit of amusement in her voice. “You know you’re talking about your own parents, right?”

Swire growls and grabs the gauze from the first-aid kit. “Oh, I know. I definitely know. And that just makes me want to kill them more. No, wait, that’d be too kind an end, don’t you think!? I’ve decided. We’re bringing them down.”

Ch’en pauses. “Um… haha? Very funny?”

“I’m not joking! Let’s reveal all their shady businesses and illegal deals, once and for all.” Swire wraps the bandages around Ch’en’s leg, reining in her anger for a second so she doesn’t do it too roughly and injure Ch’en more than she already has. “If they want to bring us down so badly, then we should strike first!”

Because at first Swire felt comforted, reassured, knowing Ch’en is here for her and will help with this problem — but staring at the wound now, at the blood slowly seeping through the bandages, she can’t help but think: Why does she have to hide from her parents while Ch’en does all the work? Why, even now, do her parents control what she does and where she goes, even when she’s no longer under their roof, even when she thought she had broken free from them? Swire should have tackled this problem head-on from the start, and now of all people it’s Ch’en suffering from it. No, Swire can’t let this go on any longer, now that she knows what will happen if she does.

“Are you hurt somewhere?” Ch’en asks, gently. “Pain sometimes makes people delirious and say things they wouldn’t usually mean—”

“Take me seriously!”

“Okay, okay, glad to see you’re feeling better already.” Ch’en smiles. It’s terribly beautiful. Swire wishes she wouldn’t do that without warning, because now she feels her burning anger waver at the sight. “But why don’t we talk about this tomorrow? It’s late, and I know you’re tired.”

“Ugh…” Swire sighs. She is tired. “Fine, but come home quick after this, okay? Damn it, I’m still so mad, this is so…!”

“Swire—”

Swire tightens the bandages until they’re secure around Ch’en’s leg. “I can’t believe this is happening because of them,” she continues, seething. “Why can’t they just leave us alone? Ugh, they can go after me all they like, but to think they would do this to you—”

“Swire,” Ch’en interrupts, “shut up for a moment and listen to me.”

“What?” Swire pauses. “Why do you look like that?”

Ch’en is staring up at Swire with such clear and obvious affection on her face that it throws Swire completely off. Usually Ch’en’s face is stoic, only sometimes showing a bit of emotion here and there; it isn’t to say she doesn’t feel anything, because after all this time Swire has learned how to pinpoint the hints and clues that let her know what Ch’en is thinking, but she simply isn’t very expressive. Hell, that time when she’d broken into laughter had been so startling that Swire had almost blurted out a declaration of love and all.

And then, as if Ch’en had known what Swire was thinking, she says without warning nor preamble, “I love you.”

The silence stretches out, heavy enough to feel corporeal. When Swire opens her mouth, all that follows is a stupid, “Huh…?”

“I love you,” Ch’en repeats, and it strikes through Swire’s heart as fatally as the first time she said it.

“I-I heard you! But… But… What? Really…?”

“I don’t say what I don’t mean.”

“D-Don’t just spring this on me out of nowhere!?”

“But it’s how I feel. Maybe I’ve felt it for a while, but now… I really…” Ch’en visibly fumbles for words, then seems to give up and just goes with, “Does that make sense? I love you.”

Swire can feel her face heating up all the way to the tips of her ears. “Stop saying it…”

“What,” Ch’en teases, “you don’t like it?”

“That’s not it! Ahh, you’re so annoying,” Swire groans, but she lets go of Ch’en’s leg just to cup her face in her hands and lean up for a kiss Ch’en happily meets her in halfway. Ch’en always kisses so sweetly, and now is no exception, one of her hands going around to tangle in Swire’s hair and the other resting on the back of her neck, drawing her closer bit by bit until Swire is kneeling atop the couch, her legs on either side of Ch’en’s thighs. “You’re the worst,” Swire mumbles, in between kisses. “I love you too or… whatever.”

Ch’en makes a small sound that Swire’s not sure is supposed to mean anything, though it sounds like it might have been her name, and pulls her ever nearer. Swire closes her eyes when Ch’en’s lips slip away from her mouth, trailing kisses along her jaw, down her throat, across her collarbones. Swire reaches down to hold onto Ch’en’s shoulders for balance, biting down on her lower lip when Ch’en’s teeth scrape on her skin, close to her sternum. “Hey, Ch’en…”

“Swire,” Ch’en murmurs, breath warm against her neck.

“Don’t you… have somewhere to be?”

Ch’en pauses, then sighs. “Is that so…”

“…You wanna just do that tomorrow?”

“That won’t work so easily on me.” Slowly Ch’en nudges Swire off, and Swire plants one last kiss on her forehead before flopping back onto the couch, more than a little disappointed. She should’ve just kept her mouth shut and get laid instead, damn it. With a low huff, Ch’en pushes herself up to her feet, testing her wounded leg out before placing her weight on it. “But don’t go to sleep just yet,” she suddenly says, before Swire can try and convince her to rest her injured leg. “I’ll be back soon.”

She throws a small smile over her shoulder, then heads towards the door and slides her boots back on.

Swire thinks, long after Ch’en has closed the door, She’s definitely… not shy at all!

“First of all,” Ch’en said, when they finally sat down to talk about the situation, “we can’t just launch a heist on your parents.”

“Wha — And why not!?”

Both fortunately and unfortunately, Ch’en posits some very good reasons: right now, Swire’s parents are still wary and defensive, so they’re most likely tracking Ch’en’s actions and trying to anticipate when and where will be their best chance to go after Swire again. So, they’ll play it safe for now and do smaller jobs until her parents begin to let their guard down; then they’ll strike. Swire thinks it’d be better to just do it now and get the whole thing over with, especially since she already has a few ideas in mind for just what she plans to do to her parents, but she has to admit just thinking about facing them again still makes her nervous. Maybe some time to prepare would turn out for their favor.

Swire just hadn’t been expecting ‘smaller jobs’ to mean ‘returning pretty girls’ lost or stolen items’ again.

It’s been several weeks and two jobs since the whole fiasco with Swire’s parents, and in those two jobs Ch’en has helped a budding web author get her earnings back when someone pirated her novels and returned a doctor’s medical records when they were stolen by someone who sold organs on the black market. These sound all fine and dandy on the surface, but then Swire’s eyebrows had risen of their own volition when she saw how (1) the web author is pretty, narrow-eyed, and sharp-tongued, and (2) the doctor is tall, willowy, and wore red lipstick that stood out on her pale skin.

“So that’s your type, huh,” Swire said, after Ch’en hastily walked away once the doctor finally let go of her hand after thanking her. “Yeah, I really needed a refresher on how that office lady looked like.”

Ch’en looked almost nervous. “I don’t do this on purpose. I just happen to hear this and that…”

“This and that?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I read webnovels on my downtime?”

“No,” Swire said, but she couldn’t help a laugh at the anxious expression on Ch’en’s face. “I’m kidding. Let’s just go.”

Ch’en sighed. “You don’t have to worry anyway. None of them match up to that woman.”

“Of course no one matches up to me — hey, wait a minute!”

Well, honestly, it’s fine. It’s just kind of funny, that Ch’en has such a specific type, but Swire trusts her in more than just the sorts of people she helps out. Swire trusts Ch’en to help her with her parents, Swire trusts Ch’en to let her help on their heists together, and Swire definitely trusts Ch’en with her life, among other things. She’d follow Ch’en to the ends of the earth if she asked, because she knows Ch’en would do the same for her if their roles were reversed.

Still, today is their third job, and as Swire gets dressed to go out she wonders what kind of woman it might be this time. Another office worker? That seems to be her favorite, after all. Or maybe a half-decent politician? Swire has recently started seeing a few articles about how their fellow government workers cheat them out of money all the time. Either way, Swire is almost looking forward to seeing who it is, just to find different ways to tease Ch’en for it this time.

“Are you done?” Ch’en asks. At Swire’s nod, she opens the apartment door for them and adds, “I’ve already procured the item, so we just need to get to its recipient. It shouldn’t be a long walk.”

“Mm. Do you always have to talk like that? Who says ‘procured’ and ‘recipient’ in casual conversation?”

Ch’en looks unsure. “But aren’t those the most appropriate words?”

“Sure, if you’re talking to a professor…”

Swire doesn’t bother asking where they’re going; if they’re doing this in the middle of the day, it probably isn’t somewhere she needs to be particularly prepared for. She follows Ch’en through the winding city streets, trying not to get too distracted by the shops and stores around them — although she’s put her hair up under a hat as usual, strapped a face-mask on, and is dressing as plainly as possible, she still runs the risk of being recognized.

The thought makes her want to both sigh and kick something. They’ve been planning and planning in between cases and jobs, but now Swire’s earlier determination, though unwavering, now feels peppered with trepidation. What if things don’t work out? What if her parents succeed in dragging her kicking and screaming back to that prison of a manor?

What if they hurt Ch’en in worse ways than just a grazed gunshot wound?

No, this won’t do. Swire shakes her head in a weak attempt to clear it of thoughts. Ch’en had caught her concerning herself with this several times over the past few months and made her promise to use the anxiety as motivation to work harder and plan better, not to worry more. For today, she’ll just focus on the job, even if it does make her feel like a shopping mall employee stationed at the lost-and-found section. She can worry more about this problem later, all-consuming though it may be.

“We’re here,” Ch’en announces, drawing Swire out of her mind more effectively than anything else.

“What, already?” It felt like they’d only been walking for five minutes. When Swire looks around, she can still recognize their surroundings, as opposed to being in a completely different area from normal. She passes by this elementary school all the time on the way to the grocery… wait a minute. Elementary school?

Ch’en wordlessly retrieves something from her bag and approaches the nearby bus stop. It’s late in the day, enough that there’s only one lone student sitting and waiting for the bus by himself. “A… school, huh?” Swire says weakly, looking around them again, just in case she missed some other nearby establishment. Maybe… the ‘recipient’ this time is… a teacher? That makes sense. Teachers are technically office workers, right?

But Ch’en just nods and heads towards the bus stop. Swire remains by the entrance gates, watching dumbly as Ch’en crouches down to be eye-level with the elementary school student and gently places a rumpled teddy bear she’d retrieved from her bag in his hands.

“Take better care of it next time,” she says, already standing up before the boy, shocked and dumbstruck, can say anything. “Don’t take it outside too much. It might get dirty too.”

“Wai… Miss…”

“I’ll get going now.” Ch’en hurries over to Swire in the same way she always does when she’s too awkward to stick around and listen to gratitude. “What? Are you surprised?” she mumbles, at what Swire is sure is the blank, unseeing look on her face.

Swire coughs. “Well, I… It’s not… I mean…”

“I passed by the park on my way home from work the other day and saw some older kids take it from him,” Ch’en explains, sounding a touch defensive. With one last look at the stunned child behind them, she nudges Swire to get walking back from where they came. “It was a bit late to intervene then, so I decided to do it now.” She frowns, then gives Swire an uncertain look. “Um, is it… strange?”

Swire almost implodes on the spot. “Ah-Ch’en,” she sniffs, “you… you… you’re so cute! The cutest!”

“…What—”

“I didn’t know you could be so soft with kids! That’s adorable!” Swire wraps both her arms around one of Ch’en’s and nuzzles her neck, well aware this is crazy behavior and not at all caring; if she doesn’t do something with the overflowing affection in her heart, she might just combust.

Ch’en makes a startled noise but does nothing to push her away. “Ugh, quit it, you’re embarrassing,” she huffs, but Swire has known her long enough now to hear the hint of fondness in her voice when she hears it. She even shifts slightly to let Swire cling to her arm easier, which is borderline hilarious — Ch’en may not be much for initiating touches herself, but yeah, she definitely likes it when Swire does this. “It wasn’t much. This was a first for me, too, but, ah… When I thought of it, it fit the bill for ‘smaller jobs.’”

“For sure.” Swire hooks one arm around Ch’en’s elbow and lets her other one sway at her side instead to make it easier to walk while still holding on to one another. “Let me know if you’re going to do things like that next time. I almost died from the sweetness.”

“You look fine,” Ch’en dismisses.

“I’m serious!”

The weather is nice, the sky turning the various shades of pinks and reds it gets before sunset, and the wind is cool against their cheeks. Swire doesn’t doubt Ch’en is slowing down so the walk home lasts longer. “By the way,” Ch’en says, slowly, “I think it should be the right time to launch the heist on your parents now.”

Swire takes a deep breath, exhales. “Yeah.” She’s been thinking the same for a while, when she isn’t worrying over the inevitable confrontation anyway; their plans are mostly finalized now, only a few more tweaks and changes needed in case anything goes wrong. And knowing her luck, many things are going to go wrong. She looks up at the sky, at the telephone wires criss-crossing against the clouds, and lets herself breathe for a moment.

“When everything is over,” Ch’en says, “when your parents… finally leave you alone. What do you want to do?”

The question had come out of nowhere, but Swire isn’t particularly surprised — she’s been thinking along the same lines for a while. Is she content with the way her life is now? She used to feel frustrated when Ch’en insisted on doing heists on her own, but now Swire finds it more fun to help during the planning stages and tag along at a distance to watch Ch’en do her thing, especially when she puts plans Swire made into action. They worry about each other all the time, but by now they also trust each other to take care of themselves: like how Swire trusts Ch’en to be able to detect danger herself, like how Ch’en has told Swire, more than once, that she trusts her to stay safe when she follows Ch’en on missions.

But Swire knows that, even if she can’t be a phantom thief like Ch’en, there’s surely still more for her to do to help Ch’en, somehow.

“Well,” Swire says, at length, “I… should get a job!”

Ch’en blinks, like she hadn’t been expecting that. “Talking about this again? I thought you forgot about it.”

“Well, you have a day job as a bouncer and a night job as a phantom thief,” Swire says. She highly doubts ‘night job’ is a real term, but Ch’en doesn’t correct her. “And I’m just a freeloader. I should earn my keep too! I can’t stay unemployed forever. Besides, sometimes I get antsy when I just stay at home all day doing nothing.”

“Oh, I see…” Ch’en tilts her head in thought. “You should look into gambling. Don’t some people turn that hobby into a profession? I think you’d be good at it.”

“Whoa. Was that a compliment?”

“Well, everyone at the casino I work in has already heard about you. At least you won’t have anyone trying to get in your way, after what happened back then.”

“…Was that an insult?”

Ch’en smiles. “What kind of job are you thinking of?”

“Don’t just change the subject! But, er…” Swire sighs. “I’ll get back to you about that some other time. Still, uh, checking stuff off the list and all.” It’s not that she doesn’t know what she wants, it’s that she has… more choices than she thought she would. Her parents had forced her into several different job training workshops when she was younger, so she has an unexpected amount of experience. She’d meant it as a joke, but maybe she actually should make a list and narrow things down from there.

“Oh. Alright.” Ch’en nods. “Let me know when you’re done. I can help you look through it, if you like.”

Swire grins. Guess Ch’en had made the choice for her after all. “‘Kaaay. Now come on, let’s go home already, I want dinner.”

“Glutton.”

“What? Hey! I maintain a perfectly healthy diet, you know!”

The future will always be uncertain, that much Swire knows. But she also knows this: that as long as they continue on like this, doing everything together and by each other’s side, then things will be alright.

At first glance, it looks like your typical heist: Ch’en sent the letter via post as always, complete with the scheduled date and time, and a quick check revealed that security has surrounded Swire’s old manor. (They missed a lot of Swire’s favorite spots to sneak out of the house, though.) But that’s not quite where they’re aiming for.

“Now that we’re here, I don’t know if we can pull this off,” Swire says mildly, staring up at the building. It’s so tall that, standing as close they are to it, she can’t see all the way to the top no matter how she cranes her neck. “What if something goes wrong, Ah-Ch’en?”

Ch’en just steps closer and zips Swire’s jacket up to her chin for her. “Have you ever asked me that about a job before?”

“Well… No.”

“Then don’t start now.” Ch’en leans in, presses a chaste kiss on the corner of her lips. At first Swire has to fight the urge to jolt back, because Ch’en so rarely initiates intimacy like this that it’s surprising, and then she has to fight the urge to pull Ch’en back for a proper kiss when she draws away. “I’ll be with you every step of the way,” she adds, in a low murmur. “Shall we?”

The nervousness hardly abates, but—every step of the way. That, she can trust Ch’en on.

The plan is to target not Swire’s family manor but the company building instead, where she’s sure all business records — including the illegal ones — must be stored. This, Swire must admit, is far more refined than any of the other plans she’s made throughout her time together with Ch’en: she’s more than familiar with the location, knows every possible shortcut and escape route, and is fairly confident she can hurtle down the fire escape stairs from top floor to lobby in under a minute. Largely because she’s done exactly that before, to escape stuffy meetings she had to sit in on when her parents still thought there was hope for her to have a future in this building.

It’s almost funny, thinking back on those days, back when the closest to freedom Swire could ever get was the occasional night out with friends, always the first one to go home despite being the one who wanted to stay there longest; now she comes home to Ch’en, perched on the kitchen counter or reclining on the couch, asking her what she got up to today. Back then, the most Swire ever let herself dream was when she’d find a half-decent guy to help with marrying her way out of the manor; now she runs through the city streets at night, sometimes for an impossible heist she and Ch’en make possible together, sometimes just for the hell of it.

It’s for your own good, for your own safety, her parents always used to say. So why, Swire wants to ask, has she never felt as safe locked in her own room than she does whenever she’s by Ch’en’s side?

“Let’s go,” she agrees.

There are more guards stationed here than usual, but not too many for them to need to alter their plans; instead of remaining behind and watching from outside like always, Swire leads the way this time, picking locks the same way she had when she was younger, taking stair steps three at a time because her legs still know the exact angle to bend to make it easier. She’s sure Ch’en could easily do the same, if not better, but they both know this isn’t a matter of skill or safety. For once, the job is personal.

And also nerve-wracking beyond comprehension, but Swire tries not to think about that.

At least the walk up the stairs is uneventful — apparently her parents never did find out how she had escaped all those meetings, since they clearly hadn’t bothered posting guards around the emergency stairs. With their breathing forced even and their every step silenced, the only sound is the faint din of traffic outside the building, which grows further and further the higher up they climb until, finally, only cold silence remains.

Swire swallows. She can’t count the amount of times she’s sighed in relief when she went down a few flights of stairs and could finally hear things again. This building is more than stifling; it’s like a prison that lets nothing outside within it, and nothing inside out of it. How would she be like now, if Swire had let herself be chained to a future like this? To a life like this?

“Swire,” Ch’en says, and the silence shatters around them. “We’re here.”

“Yeah.” Swire tries not to swallow again; her mouth is too dry for it either way. They’ll be fine. They’ll head in, grab the records, head out, and then they’ll get out of here before anything happens. Quick and easy. They’ll be fine. She takes a deep breath and pushes the door to the hallway open.

The CEO’s office is only a corridor away. There are ways to fool the fingerprint scanner, but for once there’s no need for that; Swire reaches down and presses her thumb to the tiny panel, ignoring Ch’en blinking bemusedly at her. As long as they can get in and out of this building alive, she doesn’t give a damn about her father seeing the record of her entrance here the following day; in fact, she might actually want that, just to imagine the look on his face.

The door swings open into the dark, empty office, and Swire allows herself a low, dry laugh. “This is a lot easier than I thought it would be,” she says, well aware she’s tempting fate with her words.

“What did you imagine?” Ch’en asks mildly.

“I don’t know. A lot of guards. Gunshots. Uh, a shouting match with my dad, maybe. Something way more dramatic than this.” Swire heads in the office, but still nothing happens — no booby traps, no laser wires, no blaring alarms. Even when Ch’en passes her and starts rifling through the nearest file cabinet, the office remains perfectly silent and non-life-threatening. “Is it weird that I’m almost disappointed?”

“No,” Ch’en says, “but I can’t say I feel the same. A fast job means we might be able to make it back home in time for a midnight snack.” She shrugs. “Do you know where the records might be?”

This is the one problem Swire doesn’t have an answer to; after all, she hadn’t even known illegal business records existed in this place. But she does know where Father keeps most of his records — in the file cabinets lining the walls of the office — which means it’s unlikely what they’re looking for will be in there. “One second,” she says, walking around the executive desk in the front of the office and crouching slightly to pick at the various drawers. She still remembers exactly what’s inside all of these: the topmost drawer has pens and notepads, the one below it a few bills and checks for emergency purposes, the one below it…

Swire pulls the last one open. It’s the most mundane one, filled with everyday things Father sometimes needed while at work: a bottle of hand sanitizer, a thin pack of tissue papers, spare earphones, a pair of scissors. Things that made her father look like a person, not the dictator of her life.

She stares at the assortment of mismatched items for a moment, then taps the bottom of the drawer. Hollow.

Swire sighs. She should have known. In all her years of sneaking around, picking locks, and scaling walls, why did she never encounter more than one false drawer bottom? Once again, she’s almost disappointed. “Got ‘em, Ch’en,” she says, only needing to give the sheaf of papers in the hidden compartment a cursory skim to know this is what they’re after. She stuffs them in the folder conveniently tucked away near the back of the drawer, uncaring if any of them fall out — these things being noticed by other people is kind of the goal — and lifts the folder up into her arms, shutting it closed as quickly as she can.

Later, she’ll read through the numbers, see just how much her parents have been doing behind her back. But for now these papers in her hands is undeniable, irrefutable proof that the people she’s known all her life are even worse than she thought they were, and Swire would rather properly come to terms with that somewhere safer than her father’s office.

Ch’en peers at the folder and makes a noise of agreement. “Let’s go.”

“What, just like that?” With their target in hand, Swire feels just confident — or hysterical — enough to crack a grin, weak and shaky though it is. “No final battle or anything, huh?”

“If you want one so bad, you can go out and buy a video game,” Ch’en tells her, though she sounds more fond than exasperated. “For now, let’s get going.” She peers out the office’s glass walls as if judging the distance from here to the very bottom, then turns towards the door. Swire kicks the drawer shut, adjusts her grip on the folder, and follows Ch’en to the door; it also needs to get her fingerprint to open, which Swire has always seen as stupid and unnecessary, but she moves to press her thumb to the scanner anyway—

Except the door swings open by itself before she can touch it, and then Swire only gets one, slow second of confusion before she hears, “I should have known you’d be here, Swire,” and — oh.

Of course, she thinks, vaguely. She did sort of ask for this, didn’t she?

Ch’en has already, almost instinctively, pulled her back to stand behind her, and normally Swire would chastise her for treating her like she’s glass again, but this time Swire’s throat closes up — because the fear from seeing Father, up close and personal for the first time in months, far outweighs any pride she may have.

Logically, she knows she can take care of herself; logically, she knows even just the knife in her pocket is enough to keep her father well away from her. Even the two armed guards flanking him don’t stand a chance against Ch’en’s refined techniques, which mostly consist of knocking people out before they even notice her. And Swire doesn’t want Ch’en to see her like this at all, trembling like a leaf in the wind, after everything Swire has done to prove she’s capable.

But reason and logic and everything else all fall away in the face of Father, standing at the doorway, staring down at Swire the same way he’s stared down at her all her life: like she’s nothing but a failure of a daughter, a stain on his otherwise pristine reputation.

“I didn’t want to believe them,” Father says, lowly, threateningly, “but it looks like the rumors were right. You are colluding with that — that criminal. To bring good, innocent people down. People like your own family.”

Maybe it’s the past few hours’ (or days’, or weeks’) worth of nerves finally catching up to her, maybe it’s because she can’t decide if she’s more terrified or furious at the sight of her father, or maybe it’s just because she can’t believe the sheer audacity of his words — but Swire can’t help it: she lets out a short, humorless bark of laughter that would have gotten her an hour-long lecture on manners and etiquette if she had let something like that out in front of guests. “Did — Sorry. Did I hear that right just now? Good, innocent people? Dad, full offense, but are you out of your mind?”

Father, predictably enough, looks infuriated. “There really is no hope for you,” he says, and Swire has to fight to keep her own expression neutral, because even after all this time, it’s hard remembering to forget the sting of his rejection. “We fed you, clothed you, sheltered you, provided for every single one of your needs, raised you, and this is how you repay us?”

“Those aren’t things I have to repay you for! Those are things every child deserves! And you’ve got a lot of fucking nerve,” Swire seethes, “to say you provided for every single one of my needs when you wouldn’t even let me step foot outside the house without a whole squad of armed guards, at most! And how could you hide these—” She waves the folder around, uncaring of the sheets of papers that fly out, relishing in the shock on Father’s face—“from me? While trying to convince me to take up your position in the future?”

His demeanor changes, posture going rigid and expression hardening into one of careful neutrality — that ‘stiff upper lip’ Father is always talking about, the one he always advised her to develop rather than speak her thoughts aloud. “We were only trying to—”

“Protect me, I know,” Swire sneers. “I’ve had enough of your protecting, yours and Mother’s both. I’m not a child anymore, and I know I’m certainly not yours.”

“You—!”

“I know you’re thinking it. Why keep me around if you can’t control me? So I’ll just leave, save you two the trouble. I’m just not going away without a goodbye-gift. You know, as thanks for everything.” Swire lifts the folder up again, glad the relative darkness of the office means how hard her hand is shaking isn’t too obvious.

Father looks stricken, and then frustrated, and then resigned, all in the span of two seconds. And then, having apparently given up on talking sense to Swire, he whirls on Ch’en instead, who had been standing silently the whole while: “You! It was your fault, wasn’t it? You — You kidnapped her, corrupted her mind, filled her head with these grand notions of freedom over family — I know you can do something about this. You understand, don’t you? Give my daughter back right now!”

“I’m right here—”

Ch’en places a gentle hand on Swire’s wrist before she can possibly launch herself at her father and tear him limb from limb or something, and steps forward. To Swire’s horror, the first words that leave Ch’en’s mouth are, “I’m sorry, sir. I do apologize for, as you so describe, kidnapping and stealing your daughter’s heart.”

“Um.” Swire blinks. “Ch’en?” What exactly is she playing at here? In what part of the plan did they include ‘apologize to someone who doesn’t need any apologies?’

“But I can’t ‘give’ Swire back to anyone,” Ch’en continues, and all Swire’s worries blink out of existence. “She isn’t a thing or possession. Swire is allowed to choose wherever she wants to be and whoever she wants to be with. Children belong to themselves, not their parents. I hardly own her, either; Swire is her own person. But…” Ch’en turns to face her, just slightly, her eyes softening into a tender gaze in complete contrast to their current situation. “As long as she chooses to stay by my side, I will treat her how she deserves to be treated. You have my word on that.”

Father is silent for a long while, apparently rooted in place where he stands. Ch’en scratches her cheek and turns to fully face Swire now. “Was that a bit of a tangent?” she murmurs, apparently unaware of how Swire feels like she just watched something out of a movie. “This technically counts as meeting the parents. I wanted to leave a good first impression.”

The worst part is that Swire can’t tell if she’s joking. “You’re crazy,” Swire says, and hopes Ch’en hears the I love you in her words.

“You,” Father says; and then, louder, angrier, “you—” He lets out a choked, frustrated scream, and then—

It happens too quickly for even Ch’en to notice, still staring down at Swire with undisguised affection on her face — one moment Father just sounds like he’s throwing a tantrum, and then the next something vaguely square-shaped is launching through the air towards Ch’en, who startles back and blocks it with her arm a second too late. A sharp edge nicks her in the wrist before the object — one of the award statuettes for the company — shatters into pieces on the floor. “I’m fine,” Ch’en says, immediately, but Swire would be blind to not see the minute crease in her brow at the cut.

She moves her wrist into a thin beam of moonlight, in time for Swire to see a tiny bead of bright red blood.

For some reason, more than anything — more than Father’s ranting and raving, more than any of the words he’d said, more than even all the files in the folder Swire is currently holding — it’s that tiny cut, and the accompanying tiny droplet of blood, that pushes Swire off the edge. For the first time, someone had stood up for her in front of her parents rather than cower and submit to their demands; for the first time, someone had faced Father head-on and told him they would treat Swire not how he wanted to, but how she deserved. For the first time, someone is looking at Swire not as a thing, a possession, the failed heir to the company, but as Swire, as a person, for herself.

Swire is moving before even she herself realizes it, striding over and yanking her knife out of her pocket, but she doesn’t get further than a few steps towards a genuinely frightened-looking Father before a pair of arms pull her back, pressing her against Ch’en’s front. “Calm down. Just calm down,” she’s whispering, her grip firm and steady on Swire’s shoulders.

“Let go,” Swire growls, “let go, I should — I ought to—”

“Knives and guns won’t hurt as much as what you planned. Remember? That’s what you said yourself.”

Why does Ch’en have to make sense even right now? Swire appreciates it, but — she sighs. Right. Calm down. She’s calm. She’s perfectly calm. She’s so calm, her hands only shake a little when she returns her knife to her pocket; she’s so calm, she looks up and meets her father’s eyes even when the two armed guards have their guns trained on her. “Are you scared?” Swire asks, softly. “That’s right. You should be grateful Ch’en is kind enough to keep me from moving right now, because if it were up to me, I would do worse. I would do so much worse, it would make exposing your illegal business dealings and putting you in prison look cute.”

“Swire, think very carefully about this.” Father’s voice wavers, even as he starts speaking faster. Good. It might just be the first time Swire has ever felt like she’s had the upper hand on him, in all twenty-something years of her life. “Think about what you’re doing right now — about what you’re choosing. If you ruin our company, you ruin your future. That woman, that thief, she’s nothing more than one of your temporary interests — someday you’ll come crawling back to us and regret what you’ve—”

“Save your breath,” Swire says, surprised at how genuinely uncaring she sounds, and subsequently how powerful she feels when Father actually goes quiet. “There’s nothing you can do or say to change my mind. We’re going. I’ll admit,” she adds, throwing on maybe the first genuine smile she’s worn all evening, “there is one thing to thank you for.”

The flicker of hope that lights up Father’s eyes is almost comical.

Swire’s smile grows into a grin. “If you and Mom hadn’t caged me in so much and made me crave freedom so badly, I would never have met Ch’en.”

And then she throws the smoke bomb.

If anyone had told her months ago that she would be escaping from her father’s smoke-filled office with a renowned phantom thief at her side, Swire would have laughed at their face. As it is now, though, they only have time to shove past the startled men, out the doorway, and barrel down the fire exit stairs, three steps at a time, but they’re too slow — Swire can still hear the shouts coming from above, and she’s sure she can hear more down below. “There’ll be more downstairs,” Ch’en says, as if reading her thoughts. “More guards, I mean. We can’t run past them if they fire us full of bullet holes first.”

Even over the blare of the emergency alarms, Swire can almost hear the gears in her own head whirring and grinding at rapid-fire speed. “This way.” If they go down this set of stairs, then take a turn here—

Despite her better judgment, she lets out another laugh, one that sounds more hysterical than anything. Ch’en gives her a worried look. “Sorry,” Swire says, trying not to laugh again in case Ch’en redirects them to the nearest mental hospital. “It’s just — I never imagined it’d have to be me leading you around someday. In this building, of all places!”

Ch’en blinks at her for a moment, then smiles, her face just barely visible in the red lights of the alarms. “Yes. It’s a nice change.”

Swire’s never seen this building in such a mess before: guards are running around, swinging their guns every which way like that will help them find the intruders, and some unfortunate employees who must have been working the night shift are either cowering under tables or scrambling to get past the security staff and to the locked exit doors — all while the alarms shriek on above them as if in accompaniment to the chaos. Father, Swire remembers, had always been going on about keeping everyone in proper orderliness, and seeing his life’s work in such a state is…

Maybe she should feel a little bad about it. But if she’s being honest, it’s kind of hilarious.

“There was another exit here?” Ch’en mumbles, when they finally reach where Swire had been aiming for. “This wasn’t on the floor maps.”

“Nah, it was. Just disguised as another room. Come on.” Swire fiddles with the lock until the door swings open. At first glance, it really does just look like another storage room, nondescript aside from a pile of cardboard boxes, but Ch’en must realize what Swire means when she gives the place a quick scan, then raises her eyebrows at the window. “You get me, right?” Swire asks, her grin maybe a bit too wide for their current circumstances and yet, somehow, also just right. “It’s easiest from here.”

Swire hops out the window first, hands and feet finding the same handholds and footholds as always — a windowsill here, a groove in the wall there. “Just follow me,” she says, slowing down for both of their sakes: Ch’en needs to see where and how she’s moving, and scaling this wall is more difficult with a folder in hand. “It’s kinda hard if you don’t know exactly where to put yourself, so—”

“It’s fine.” Ch’en’s eyes are wide. In the moonlight, they look like every possible shade of red. “Go on.”

In a way, it reminds Swire of when they first met — only Ch’en had been running away from her back then, and Swire had still been chained to the manor, unable to do anything but watch as Ch’en disappeared over the garden wall. Now it’s Swire leading her outside, away from the man who calls himself her family, so the both of them can go back home together.

The wind ruffles her hair. Swire throws on another smile. “Come on, then.”

It takes them a little under five minutes to finally get their feet back on solid ground — Ch’en forgoes climbing halfway through and just jumps down to land like a cat on the ground, while Swire has to pretend her legs aren’t wobbling just a little bit, from exertion and anxiety and sheer adrenaline — and not a moment too soon; the front doors have swung open, and security staff are beginning to surround the perimeter of the building, apparently having finally figured out that only an idiot or an amateur would still be inside the office. They’re too late, though; Swire has already set off down the road of their designated escape route, Ch’en keeping perfect pace beside her, the folder and all its files clasped tight in Swire’s arms.

They did it. They planned and prepared for weeks, and finally — finally, they did it. Another heist done. Another millionaire to be exposed come morning. Another illegal business shut down. And Swire is — is free. They did it.

“A bit further,” Ch’en whispers, barely audible over the faint din of police sirens starting up. “Just a bit further, then we’ll be — Swire? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Swire says, or tries to say, before it comes out as some unintelligible cross between a laugh and a sob.

Ch’en skids to a stop. “You are not fine,” she says, sounding almost comically terrified as she draws Swire into her arms, like some sort of half-hug, probably to steady her before Swire presumably falls flat on her own face. “What’s wrong? Do you — Do you regret it, do you want to go back after all? It’s not too late. I — I stand by what I said before.” She swallows, leans down and presses her forehead to Swire’s. “If you want to go back to your old life, I’ll let you. Do whatever it is you want. I can’t have you trapped by my side, too.”

“Are all phantom thieves this paranoid?” Swire scrubs at her eyes with the backs of her hands. Why is she even crying, and why can’t she stop now? “It’s just — I’m just so — relieved, I guess, that I finally — got to tell my parents what I’ve wanted to tell them, my whole life. And—” She laughs again, wraps her arms around Ch’en’s middle and buries her face in Ch’en’s neck. “Thank you,” she breathes, hoping Ch’en can fill in the rest for herself: thank you for giving me this opportunity, thank you for swearing to stay by my side, thank you for showing me what freedom feels like.

“Oh,” Ch’en says, softly; and then, when she must have pulled herself back together: “No, thank you.”

There’s more for Swire to say, she knows that, and there’s probably more Ch’en wants to say, too. But for now — with the flickering streetlights overhead, a fat folder of illegal files in hand, and police sirens ringing in the distance — Swire leans in and hopes a kiss will do. I wouldn’t trade this life away for anything, she wants to say — she grabs Ch’en’s shoulders as Ch’en tilts her head to slide their lips closer together, and whispers in her mouth, I love you, I love you, I don’t want a life without you in it.

BREAKING: Corporation’s illegal business exposed by phantom thief

Last Thursday, infamous phantom thief Ch’en and her new companion ‘Swire’ reveals renowned corporation has been secretly dabbling in illicit businesses for almost as long as it has been established. Recorded on files straight from the CEO’s office are the company’s history of embezzlement, extortion, and smuggling of various illegal goods. Swire, daughter of the CEO and Ch’en’s former ‘kidnap victim’ from several months ago, gives a short statement on her parents’ actions and her stance on it here…

“The media better not be making guesses on our relationship,” Ch’en mumbles.

Swire grins. “Morning. I didn’t know you were awake.” She sets her phone aside and lets Ch’en press her face to her chest for a few long moments. The day has just begun; early sunshine filters in the thin curtains, illuminating Ch’en’s face and giving her dark hair a beautiful golden glow. Swire rests her own chin on the crown of Ch’en’s head, sighing softly, savoring the evening’s lingering warmth.

How on earth did she use to start her days alone? Swire doesn’t think she’d be able to go back to that life if she tried to.

They have coffee together as always; today it’s Swire’s turn to ‘prepare’ breakfast, which means she pops some sandwiches they bought in a convenience store at four in the morning last night in the microwave. Ch’en sits on the kitchen counter, nodding along as Swire rattles on about everything she’s learned from the news articles so far, counting each fun fact on her fingers: “Okay, so, our names are cleared, people won’t be looking for me as a kidnap victim anymore, your fans are back to normal—”

Ch’en blinks. “Wait. What?”

“I mean, they’re totally united on defending you from the public again,” Swire explains, “since they were lost on whether or not you abducting me was right or wrong. But after you told those reporters that it was just to protect me from my parents, they’re all good again. Whose idea was that, by the way? It makes me sound like a damsel in distress.”

Ch’en shrugs. “We didn’t have that in the script, so I just said the first thing that sounded plausible. Doesn’t the media like stories like that anyway?”

“Seriously? Maybe you’re meant to be a storyteller, not a phantom thief. Anyway,” Swire says, returning to her phone, “there are some guesses on what we are, and a lot of people on social media are saying we’re obviously together, but majority of the news articles say we live separately anyway. So we can totally go out together without disguises anymore!” The microwave beeps, and Swire places her phone down to bring their sandwiches out. “Plus, I’m going to be getting my parents’ assets soon, so I’m thinking of getting a job in charity to redistribute the… Ah-Ch’en, are you even listening?”

“What? Oh, yes. I am, I am,” Ch’en says, when Swire raises an unconvinced eyebrow. “I’m happy, too. For both of us and for you. Just…”

Swire sets the sandwiches down beside Ch’en on the counter. “Just?”

“Do you have any plans after this?”

“Like, after breakfast? The meeting with the police is still next week—”

“Do you want to go on a trip with me?”

Swire is suddenly, extremely glad she hadn’t been holding onto her coffee mug or something, because she almost certainly would have dropped it. “What? Uh, where?”

“I want to. Um. Introduce you to someone.” Ch’en looks uncharacteristically shy, and Swire decides to sit herself down on the counter just in case Ch’en decides to drop any more sudden, shocking information that will make her lose her balance or something. “I mean, since I’ve finally met your family… I should return the favor, right?”

It takes a second for the implication to hit. “You’ve got family?” Swire blurts out, both surprised and fascinated. Ch’en never mentioned anything about her family, so Swire had sort of assumed it was either a sensitive topic or that Ch’en had no living family. Or both. “Uh, who are they? Wait, if I’m gonna be meeting the parents, I need to prepare a gift. Maybe I’ll set aside some of those assets for myself after all. Uh, what does Mama Ch’en or Papa Ch’en like—”

“My sister,” Ch’en interrupts, gently, fondly. “She’s my only other family, but she lives in another country. She, um.” A pause. Ch’en takes a sip of her coffee as if giving herself more time to think. “A long while back… my older sister, Talulah, she was my first ever supporter. She didn’t care if I would be called a criminal, because she knew I wanted to do this to help others. So. Well. That’s all.” Another pause. Ch’en is very obviously fiddling with her mug. “Just if you want to—”

“O-Of course I want to!” Swire stammers. “Sorry, I was just — older sister. Yeah. Yeah, I want to meet her. Wouldn’t be fair if you met my family and I didn’t yours.”

She smiles, and sees Ch’en smile, and then Swire feels the warmth of affection fill her up until she’s practically buoyant. “Let’s go on a trip, then,” she says. Ch’en nods, lifts her head up to catch Swire in a kiss, because it’s never right to sit together on the kitchen counter and then not kiss, the love for their uncertain-certain future together between them.

Notes:

thank you for reading (❁´◡`❁) if you liked this, check out the pinned tweet on my twitter!

Series this work belongs to:

← Previous Work Part 47 of requests Next Work →

Actions

Kudos

HalfAsleep1432, KiTunes, ShockReaper, Shifuz, Curanose, L3g0man_123, x_Elystrel, Mimifan101, pseudophon, trip, miklosabdul, merphivalentine, luscinia_luscinia, htsnygi, Nico_Inc, ABirdWhoSquawks, MitzyTea, Art3Zoe, Charg3e, NeoIceBear, MemeMommyLiz, flibety, Ryoji_Mochizuki, Kokitaaa, washao, Silent_Cottage, HP22h, simplySoup, Ashvinoth, KuroPorp, DYNAMEOW, nibbledhashbrown, AimlessMarksman, Bubadubadoo, eieiieieieiieii, tmascktk, 39yuri, Panzerhellcat, wordsgo_here, SwansToTheMoon, ackermanx, Straydilettante, curedofyouth, cantabile_fine, nobbersly, ShySeagull, mostimalover, gerti, ArduousJester, zesprik, and 14 more users as well as 83 guests left kudos on this work!

Archive of Our Own^beta

Actions

Work Header