Chapter Text
Milk knew something was wrong the very moment Love walked out of the mansion without announcing herself.
No dramatic sigh about the heat.
No teasing complaint tossed over her shoulder.
No lazy glance back just to make sure Milk was watching.
Love’s silence was never peace, it was a warning.
It meant she’d already made up her mind. It meant trouble was already in motion. And it meant Milk had approximately three seconds to intervene.
“Ma’am,” Milk called, lengthening her stride. Her long legs closed the distance quickly, her shadow stretching over Love’s smaller frame. “Please return inside. There are reporters outside the gate, and your father specifically instructed—”
Love stopped so abruptly Milk nearly collided with her.
She turned, eyes bright, alive with that familiar glint of mischief that instantly set Milk’s shoulders on edge.
That look had always been dangerous. That look meant Love had found a way around every rule Milk was sworn to uphold.
Before Milk could finish her sentence, Love grabbed her wrist with both hands, tiny fingers wrapping firmly around Milk’s much larger one, and yanked.
“Ma’am—” Milk started, but the word dissolved as Love dragged her behind the tall hedges lining the garden path, hidden from the guards, the cameras, the world.
And then Love kissed her.
She rose onto her tiptoes, palms pressed against Milk’s chest for balance, pulling Milk down just enough to meet her mouth.
The kiss was quick and warm and reckless. The kind that stole breath before the brain could catch up.
Milk’s back hit the hedge with a soft rustle of leaves. Green brushed her neck, her jaw, grounding her even as everything else tilted.
Love pressed closer, small but fierce, kissing like she’d been waiting all day for Milk to slip.
Milk inhaled sharply, hands frozen midair.
She wasn’t supposed to touch.
Wasn’t supposed to want.
Wasn’t supposed to let her pulse betray her.
“Ma’am,” Milk managed, pulling back just enough to speak, her voice lower than she intended. “We can’t—”
Love didn’t let her finish.
She kissed her again, slower this time.
Softer. A kiss meant to linger, meant to blur lines instead of crossing them outright. Love’s fingers curled into Milk’s collar, tugging insistently, and Milk felt her carefully built discipline fracture at the edges.
Her heartbeat slammed against her ribs, loud enough she was certain Love could feel it.
Love finally pulled back, breathing unevenly, still on her toes so their faces remained close.
Milk steadied her by instinct, hands hovering near Love’s shoulders, searching desperately for the line between bodyguard and something far more human.
She missed it completely.
“You can’t just drag me into bushes and kiss me,” Milk said, voice low, not nearly stern enough to hide how shaken she was.
Love smiled, small, teasing. “But you didn’t stop me.”
“I tried,” Milk said.
They both knew that wasn’t true.
“No,” Love said, poking Milk’s chest with one finger. “You wanted it.”
Milk swallowed, jaw tightening, offering no denial.
Love rocked back on her heels, hands sliding behind her back as she looked up at Milk with that lethal mix of innocence and confidence.
“Well?” she asked. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”
Milk exhaled slowly, gathering what little composure she had left.
She looked down at Love, this tiny, impossible troublemaker who had just kissed the breath out of her lungs, and asked,
“What do you even do when you’re not being a headache to me?”
Love smirked, chin lifting proudly. “Looking pretty.”
Milk scoffed despite herself.
“Pfft. You are rather good at that, aren’t you?”
Love’s eyes softened for half a second before the smugness returned. She hooked a finger into Milk’s belt loop and tugged her closer like she wasn’t playing with fire.
“Only for you,” Love murmured. “Now walk me inside before someone sees you kissing me.”
Milk blinked. “Me kissing you?”
Love turned away, victorious. “It looked mutual from where I was standing.”
Milk sighed, straightening her blazer, pretending her pulse hadn’t been completely wrecked.
“Ma’am,” she said, resigned, “please behave.”
Love ignored her, lacing their fingers together openly and dragging her inside.
“I’ll behave,” Love said sweetly, “only if you kiss me later in my room, bodyguard.”
Milk nearly tripped over her own feet.
Love didn’t look back. She didn’t need to. She was already smiling.
---
Inside, the mansion hummed with quiet activity. Maids paused mid-task, eyes lifting in curiosity as Love pulled Milk straight toward the staircase, fingers still firmly locked together.
Love said nothing.
Milk tried. “Ma’am, your father could be home any minute.”
Love didn’t slow down. Didn’t respond. Didn’t even glance back.
They reached her room. The door closed.
Love turned immediately, hands already on Milk’s coat, sliding it off her shoulders with practiced ease before pulling Milk down into another kiss.
Milk’s hands found Love’s hips instinctively, then hesitated. This time, her restraint was fraying. If Love didn’t stop now, there would be no pulling back.
"Ma'am—".
"Kiss me."
"Baby, we can't—"
Love didn’t stop.
She kissed her again and again, relentless, until something in Milk finally snapped.
Milk gripped her waist and turned them, pinning Love gently but firmly against the wall.
"You really like testing my patience, don't you?" Milk said in a hoarse voice.
This time, Milk kissed her, slow, deliberate, controlled no longer.
Love gasped into the kiss, smiling even as she melted into it.
They stumbled to the bed.
Love climbed into Milk’s lap, unbuttoning her polo with eager fingers until only fabric separated skin from skin.
Milk’s breath hitched as Love traced along her torso, touch curious, reverent.
Then Milk moved again, pinning Love back against the mattress, kissing along her jaw, her neck.
“You are such a tease, princess,” Milk murmured.
Love smiled, breathless.
“Yes, Milk,” she whispered. “Kiss me more.”
And then—
A knock. Loud and nmistakable.
They both froze. Milk reacted on instinct.
She stood up so fast the bed creaked, heart slamming violently against her ribs.
"Shit," she cursed under her breath.
For half a second, she genuinely didn’t know where to go. Another knock came, firmer this time.
“Love,” a man’s voice called from the other side of the door. Calm.
Authoritative and angerous. Milk’s blood ran cold.
Love shot up too, eyes wide, but not panicked.
If anything, she looked… amused. Grounded even As if this was just another game she fully intended to win.
“Hide,” Love whispered quickly.
Milk didn’t argue. She stepped back just as Love grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward the door, pressing her flat against the wall behind it.
Milk barely had time to turn sideways before Love slid herself between Milk and the door, shielding her completely.
Milk held her breath.
She could hear Love’s heartbeat. Or maybe that was her own. Love reached for the handle and opened the door with a bright, innocent smile.
“Dad.”
Milk could only see shadows through the narrow gap. A tall figure. Immaculate shoes.
The familiar presence that commanded an entire household with nothing more than a look.
“I just got home,” her father said. “I thought we could have dinner together tonight.”
“Oh,” Love said lightly. “Now?”
“Yes,” he replied. Then, his gaze shifted, Milk felt it, even without seeing it. “Where’s Milk? Have you seen her?”
Milk’s stomach dropped. Love didn’t miss a beat.
“I don’t know,” she said with a small shrug. “Probably doing bodyguard things. You know how she is.”
There was a pause.
Milk pressed herself harder against the wall, barely daring to breathe. Her pulse roared in her ears, every second stretching unbearably long.
“Hm,” her father hummed, unconvinced. “I thought she was with you.”
Love tilted her head, perfectly casual. “She was earlier. Maybe she went to check the perimeter.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
Milk braced herself for the door to open wider. For discovery. For everything to collapse.
But then,
“Alright,” her father said. “Get changed. Dinner in an hour.”
“Okay,” Love replied sweetly. “I’ll be down.”
Footsteps retreated.
The moment they faded, Love closed the door quietly and leaned against it, eyes sparkling.
Milk stayed frozen for a full second longer.
Then she exhaled shakily and stepped out from behind the door, running a hand through her hair.
“Ma’am,” she whispered harshly, voice barely steady, “that was—”
Love turned, grinning like she’d just won something monumental.
“That was exciting.”
Milk stared at her. “Your father was right there!” then palmed her face.
“And?” Love stepped closer, undeterred. “He didn’t see you.”
Milk swallowed. “He asked for me.”
“And I lied,” Love said simply. “For you.”
Milk closed her eyes for a brief moment, forcing herself to breathe.
“This cannot happen again,” she said, though the words sounded hollow even to her own ears.
Love reached out, fingers brushing Milk’s wrist.
“But it will,” Love said gently. “Because you hid. And because you stayed.”
Milk looked down at her, conflicted, exposed.
Love smiled, slow and knowing.
“Now,” she added, turning toward her closet, “go back to being a very good bodyguard.”
Milk watched her go, heart still racing. She already knew, she was in far too deep.
Love barely gave Milk a second to recover.
The moment Milk stepped back, still catching her breath, Love grabbed her wrist again, firm, insistent, and pulled her close, the door clicking shut behind them like a secret sealing itself.
“You’re shaking,” Love murmured, eyes dark, amused.
“I’m not,” Milk said automatically, but the lie dissolved the second Love pressed herself against her.
Love’s hands slid up Milk’s arms, very slow and sensual, fingers grazing skin like she was testing exactly how far Milk would let her go this time.
Milk should have stopped her. Should have stepped away.
Instead, she let Love tug her down and kissed her.
This one was nothing like before. It was deeper. Hungrier.
The kind of kiss that carried adrenaline and relief and 'we almost got caught' all tangled together.
Love tilted her head, mouth opening just enough to pull Milk in further, and Milk followed without thinking, one hand coming up to cup Love’s jaw.
Love hummed softly into the kiss, pleased, and Milk felt it everywhere.
"You kiss so good, Milk,"
Love’s fingers slipped under Milk’s blazer, palms flattening against her back, pulling her closer until there was no space left to pretend professionalism still existed.
Milk backed her up instinctively, until Love’s calves hit the edge of the bed.
Love didn’t sit. She pushed Milk instead.
Milk caught herself at the last second, sitting hard on the mattress, and Love climbed into her lap without hesitation, knees bracketing Milk’s thighs.
"Your hands are still shaking. Here, let me help you," Love grabbed Milk's hands and put them in her clothed breasts.
"Fuck," Milk muttered, already losing control.
Love kissed her again immediately, lips warm and demanding, like she was making up for lost time.
Milk groaned quietly, hands falling down, tracing Love's curves, then settling at Love’s waist, trying to keep control even as Love rocked just enough to steal it from her.
“Princess,” Milk breathed against her mouth, half-warning, half-plea.
Love smiled into the kiss and bit her lip lightly before kissing her again, slower now.
Teasing. Her hands slid up Milk’s chest, fingers tracing muscle, then curling into the fabric of her polo like she needed leverage to stay there.
Milk’s resolve cracked audibly.
She kissed Love back harder, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of Love’s head, thumb brushing her hairline.
Their mouths moved together in a messy, heated rhythm, no rush, no restraint, just want.
Love broke the kiss only to trail her mouth along Milk’s jaw, down to her neck, kissing, lingering, smiling when Milk’s breath stuttered.
“Still think this is a bad idea?” Love whispered.
Milk swallowed. “I think—” She stopped, kissed Love again instead.
Love laughed softly, victorious, and pressed her forehead to Milk’s for a brief moment before kissing her one last time, slow, lingering, the kind that promised continuation rather than closure.
Then she pulled back, breathless, cheeks flushed.
“I need to get dressed,” Love said casually, sliding off Milk’s lap like nothing had just happened.
Milk stayed seated, stunned, chest rising and falling as she watched Love walk toward her closet, already reaching for a dress.
Love glanced back over her shoulder, eyes glittering.
“Try not to look so ruined,” she teased. “We have dinner. Come with me, I'll tell dad you were in my room all this time.”
"What? He's going to kill me!"
"He won't."
Milk exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over her face.
She was already ruined.
-
Milk took a steadying breath before stepping into the dining room behind Love.
The room was already set.
Long table, polished wood, warm lights reflecting off crystal glasses. Love walked ahead with effortless grace, chin lifted, every inch the obedient daughter.
Milk followed half a step behind her, spine straight, hands clasped behind her back, slipping seamlessly into the role she had worn for years.
If anyone looked closely enough, they might’ve noticed how her jaw was still tight.
Love slid into her seat. Milk took her place behind her chair. Her father glanced up, eyes sharp, observant as ever.
“Oh,” he said mildly, gaze settling on Milk. “Milk. Where have you been? I thought you weren’t with Love.”
The words landed like a gunshot. Milk felt the color drain from her face.
For a split second, her mind went blank. No report prepared, no rehearsed excuse, no professional justification. Just the echo of Love’s laugh earlier, the taste of her still lingering.
She opened her mouth. Nothing came out.
Love saved her.
“I ran into Milk in the corridor,” Love said smoothly, picking up her napkin as if this were the most mundane thing in the world. “I asked her to help me with… something.”
She turned her head just enough to look at Milk, eyes glinting with mischief, lips curling into a slow, private smirk.
Milk cleared her throat, nodding once. “Yes, sir.”
Her voice was calm. Somehow.
Her father studied them both for a long moment, long enough that Milk felt sweat gather at the base of her spine.
Then he hummed softly and returned to his meal. Dinner continued.
Conversation drifted to business, schedules, tomorrow’s event. Milk stood silently behind Love, attentive, composed. But every time Love leaned back slightly, every time her arm brushed the table near Milk’s hip, Milk felt it like a spark under her skin.
Then—
“Milk,” her father said again.
Milk straightened immediately. “Sir.”
“You’ll accompany Love tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’ll be her driver. And her security.” His voice hardened slightly. “I trust no one else with her.”
Love’s lips curved into a satisfied smile. She didn’t look back, but Milk felt it anyway.
“Yes, Dad,” Love said sweetly.
“And Earth will be present,” her father added. “Make sure everything goes smoothly.”
Love’s smile didn’t waver, but Milk’s jaw clenched.
“Yes, sir,” Milk said evenly.
---
Later that evening, Milk stood outside Love’s room, hands clasped behind her back once more, posture perfect. Guarding. Waiting. Doing her job.
The door opened suddenly.
Before Milk could react, Love grabbed her sleeve and yanked her inside, shutting the door behind them with a soft but decisive click.
Milk turned and totally forgot how to breathe.
Love stood there in a long gown that fit her like it had been sewn onto her body.
The fabric hugged her curves perfectly, dipping low, clinging where it should, flowing where it needed to. The slit revealed smooth skin every time she moved.
Milk stared. She didn’t even pretend not to.
Love noticed instantly.
“Well?” Love asked softly, clearly pleased.
Milk swallowed hard. “You look… appropriate.”
Love laughed, low and amused, and walked past her, only to turn and sit down without warning.
Right on Milk’s lap.
Milk stiffened, instinctively catching her by the waist. The slit of the gown fell open completely, exposing Love’s entire thigh against Milk’s dark trousers.
Milk gasped.
Her long fingers moved before her brain could intervene, tracing slowly along Love’s skin, reverent and hungry. The contrast made her breath hitch, warm skin under her touch, smooth and bare.
Love inhaled sharply, body arching just a little as she melted back into Milk, burying her face into Milk’s shoulder to muffle the sound that escaped her.
“You’ll be with him again,” Milk murmured, voice low, dangerous. “Don’t let him touch you, baby.”
Love shivered.
“I—I won’t,” she whispered, breath uneven. “I won’t let him.”
Milk’s hand tightened on her thigh, not rough, but firm. Claiming.
“Yeah?” Milk leaned in, lips brushing Love’s ear. “You’re mine.”
Love trembled.
“I am yours,” she breathed. “All yours.”
Her breathing grew heavier, body pressing closer without shame, want pooling low and aching.
Then—
Milk stopped.
Her hand withdrew. She stood abruptly, lifting Love back onto her feet like she weighed nothing.
Love stared at her, stunned, breathless, mouth falling open.
“Finish getting ready,” Milk said calmly. “We’re going to be late.”
“What?!” Love spun around. “What the hell, Pansa?!”
Milk sat her down gently on the bed, then stepped back, leaning against the door with her arms crossed, every inch the composed bodyguard again.
“What?” Milk said evenly. “Get ready. I’ll wait for you downstairs.”
Love glared at her, flushed, frustrated, wanting.
Milk met her gaze for one last second, possessive, promising restraint rather than surrender.
Then she turned and left.
Love screamed into her pillow.
-
Milk saw her the moment Love stepped into view.
The gown clung to her like it had been made with intention, every line elegant, every movement unfair.
The fabric caught the light as Love descended the stairs, slow and unhurried, as if she knew exactly what she was doing to the woman waiting below.
Milk forgot herself.
She forgot posture, forgot protocol, forgot that she was supposed to look everywhere except at Love.
Her eyes followed every step. The curve of the slit when Love moved. The quiet confidence in her shoulders. The way her chin lifted just slightly, regal without trying.
Milk didn’t realize she’d moved until Love reached the last step.
Instinct took over. Milk reached out and caught Love’s hand.
Love paused, fingers warm in Milk’s larger grasp, and looked at her. Just for a second. Something passed between them.
Then Love smiled faintly and let go, walking past her like nothing had happened.
Milk followed her to the car, heart already unsettled.
---
The drive to the venue was quiet.
Love sat in the backseat, scrolling through her phone, expression unreadable. Milk drove, eyes on the road, tension coiled tight in her chest.
Then the call came. The car’s system connected automatically.
“Milk! When are you coming home?” A girl’s voice. Familiar. Too familiar.
Milk stiffened. “I’m still not sure. Why?”
“I miss you. And your mom misses you—”
“Milk,” Love said sharply, cutting in. “Call Dad now. Tell him we’re arriving soon.”
Milk glanced at the rearview mirror. Love was looking straight at her.
“Hey, Ploy,” Milk said quickly, already ending the call. “I’ll call you back. I’m working right now. Sorry.”
The line dropped.
Milk did as instructed, calling Love’s father, giving a brief update. When she hung up, she dared another glance at the mirror.
Love’s jaw was tight. Her eyes were dark.
Milk opened her mouth. “Ma’am—”
But Love was already opening the door as they arrived.
She didn’t look back.
---
Inside the venue, the lights were blinding.
Too white, reflecting off glass and polished floors until everything felt overstimulated.
Music hummed softly in the background, refined and tasteful, the kind meant to fade into ambience rather than demand attention.
Voices overlapped in low, polite conversation. Laughter rose and fell like controlled waves.
Milk scanned the room automatically. Exits. Corners. Faces. Threat assessment drilled into muscle memory.
And then Earth appeared. Th guy. Of course he did.
He moved toward Love with the confidence of someone who had never been told "no" and wasn’t used to waiting. His smile was charming and practiced.
He said something Milk couldn’t hear and offered his arm like it was already his right to do so.
Love hesitated. Just a fraction of a second.
Then she took it.
Milk felt it in her chest, a pinch.
She stayed where she was, exactly where she could see everything. Where she was supposed to be. Where she could protect Love if needed.
She hated it.
Hated the way Love smiled politely, the curve of her lips perfect and distant, nothing like the smiles she gave Milk in private. Hated the way Earth leaned just a little too close, as if familiarity had already been earned.
Most of all, she hated the way Love’s eyes kept drifting.
Every few seconds, Love glanced at her.
Each time, Milk felt it like a pull, like a question being asked without words. And every time Love’s gaze met hers, her expression changed.
First, a frown. Brief.
Then, almost immediately, a practiced smile slid back into place as she turned it on Earth, seamless and convincing, like she hadn’t just looked at Milk at all.
Milk’s hands curled slowly at her sides.
'Don’t look at her like that,' Milk thought, jaw tightening. 'Don’t smile for him when I know you don’t want to.'
She told herself this was her job. This was expected. This was normal. But her chest felt too tight for that lie.
Milk didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
She stood there like a statue, tall, composed, unreadable, while inside, something restless and possessive coiled tighter and tighter, watching every smile that wasn’t meant for her.
Then someone approached her.
A woman. Well-dressed and confident. Saying something Milk barely heard because her eyes never left Love.
The woman stepped closer, close enough to slip into Milk’s peripheral vision.
“You’re part of the security detail?” she asked lightly, eyes flicking to Milk’s badge.
“Yes, ma’am,” Milk replied, polite but distracted, her gaze still locked across the room.
The woman smiled. “You look tough, but your collar’s off.” She reached up without waiting, straightening the fabric with practiced fingers. “There. Better.”
Milk stiffened a fraction too late. “Thank you,” she said, stepping back a half step. “It’s appreciated.”
“Long night?” the woman asked, lingering, voice warm and seductive.
Milk nodded once. “Always.”
Across the room, Love saw it.
She saw the woman’s hand at Milk’s collar. The closeness. The ease. Love’s expression darkened. She didn’t like that
The woman tilted her head, amused. “You’re very focused,” she said softly to Milk. “Someone important?”
Milk didn’t look away. “Yes.”
The woman followed her line of sight and smiled knowingly. “Ah.”
That was when Love started walking.
She didn’t hesitate. Didn’t look around. She crossed the space with purpose, heels striking the floor like punctuation.
The crowd parted as if sensing a shift. Love reached Milk and grabbed her hand.
Hard.
Milk turned, startled. “Ma’am—”
Love didn’t slow. Didn’t explain.
She pulled Milk away, leaving the woman blinking in surprise behind them, collar perfectly straight, and a lesson learned without a word.
“Ma’am,” Milk said low and urgent, trying to keep up. “Your father is here. We cannot leave—”
“I don’t care,” Love said coldly. “Get the car. We’re leaving.”
“Ma’am—”
“Now, Milk.”
Milk swallowed. “Love, your dad will—”
“NOW!”
Milk’s jaw clenched.
She took a deep breath, nodded once, and turned toward the parking lot, already moving, already obeying.
Inside the car, Milk didn’t say a word.
Her hands stayed steady on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road ahead, posture rigid with control. No explanations. No reassurances. Not even a glance in Love’s direction.
Love sat in the backseat, arms crossed, jaw tight, fury simmering just beneath her skin.
At first, Love waited, expecting Milk to speak, to soften, for Milk to ask her to explain why she had dragged her out like that, why she had looked so calm afterward.
Nothing.
The silence stretched. Itbwas punishing and definitely deafening.
It made Love angrier.
Fifteen minutes passed, the city lights blurring past the windows. Love finally leaned forward.
“So?” she snapped. “You’re not going to say anything at all?”
Milk’s reflection in the rearview mirror didn’t change. Her eyes stayed forward.
Silence.
Love scoffed, hurt flaring beneath the anger. “Fine. Take me home.”
Milk didn’t answer. She simply adjusted her grip on the wheel and turned onto the familiar road.
That was it. Love said nothing else. Neither did Milk.
The rest of the drive passed in heavy, mutual silence, two storms refusing to break first.
When they arrived, Love didn’t wait for Milk to open the door. She got out herself, heels striking the ground sharply, and marched straight into the house without looking back.
Straight up to her room.
Door slammed.
---
An hour passed.
Love paced. Sat. Stood. Changed clothes and changed back again. The anger had cooled just enough to leave something sharper behind, jealousy, tight and ugly in her chest.
Milk hadn’t come up. That was worse.
Love stormed out of her room and headed downstairs, following instinct more than logic. The house was quiet. Too quiet.
She found Milk in the garage.
Washing the car.
Sleeves rolled up. Hair slightly damp. Expression neutral.
And then Love heard it. Milk was on the phone.
“Yes,” Milk was saying calmly. “I’m back at the mansion now.”
Love froze.
The same voice crackled faintly through the speaker, the girl from earlier.
Love didn’t think.
She crossed the distance in seconds, grabbed the phone from Milk’s hand, and smashed it against the concrete floor.
The sound was loud. The plastic cracked, screen shattered.
Silence fell hard.
Milk stared at the broken phone for a long moment. Then she closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, controlled, like she was counting something back into place.
Love’s chest was heaving.
“Now you won’t talk to her,” she said, voice shaking with fury and something dangerously close to panic.
Milk looked at her then.
“Love,” Milk said quietly, evenly, “you’ve been unreasonable all day.”
Love’s breath caught.
Milk wiped her hands on a towel, tone still calm but firm now. “I followed your orders. I left the event. I drove you home. I stayed quiet because you clearly didn’t want to hear anything from me.”
She met Love’s eyes, unflinching.
“But destroying my phone?” Milk continued. “That crosses a line.”
Love swallowed, anger flickering uncertainly now, replaced by something raw.
Milk’s voice softened just slightly. “You don’t get to punish me because you’re angry.”
The garage hummed with quiet.
For the first time all night, Love didn’t have an answer ready.
Love fumbled.
The words came out before she could catch them, sharp and reckless, fueled by jealousy she didn’t know how to name and anger she didn’t know where to put.
Her chest felt tight, her thoughts tangled, everything too loud inside her head.
“Then maybe you should just go back home,” Love snapped, voice rising, breaking. “Quit your job. I’ll make it easier for you.”
Milk didn’t move.
“You’re fired!” Love shouted, the words echoing harshly in the garage. “You hear me? Fired!”
The second the word left her mouth, something twisted painfully in her chest.
Milk’s face didn’t change, not immediately. If anything, that hurt more. No anger. No argument. Just a quiet stillness that made Love’s throat burn.
Love turned away before she could see anything else. Before she could take it back.
She stormed upstairs and slammed her bedroom door, the sound cracking through the hallway.
Inside, she broke.
She slid down against the door, breath coming in uneven gasps as tears spilled freely. Her hands curled into the fabric of her clothes like she could hold herself together that way.
She didn’t understand what she was feeling.
The jealousy was overwhelming. Hot, ugly, consuming. The image of Milk talking to that girl wouldn’t leave her head.
The thought of Milk having a life that didn’t revolve around her felt like someone pressing on a bruise she didn’t know she had.
And underneath it all was pain. Deep, aching pain that sat heavy in her chest until it hurt to breathe.
"I hate you, Milk! I don't need you, womanizer!"
Love cried until her body was exhausted, until the anger burned itself out and only sadness remained.
Eventually, she curled into her bed, tears soaking into her pillow, and fell asleep with a tight, broken feeling in her chest.
---
Morning came quietly.
Love woke up slowly, disoriented for a moment before memory rushed back in all at once. Her eyes burned. Her head throbbed.
She waited.
Milk should be knocking any minute now. She always did.
Love stared at the door, heart lifting with fragile hope every time a sound echoed through the hall.
Then—
a knock.
Love sat up immediately. “Milk?” she called.
No answer. The door opened, and a woman stepped in.
Not Milk. It was one of her previous bodyguards.
Love blinked, confusion settling in. “Where’s Milk?”
The woman hesitated before answering. “She… resigned, ma’am.”
The words didn’t register at first.
“What?” Love said flatly.
“She went home early this morning,” the woman continued gently. “Packed her things. She said she was returning to her hometown. I’ve been assigned as your new bodyguard.”
Love felt something drop inside her.
No argument, no explanation, and not even a goodbye.
Milk had just… left.
“Oh,” Love said softly.
Her voice sounded distant, like it didn’t belong to her anymore.
The room went silent.
Love didn’t say anything else. She just stared at the door long after the woman finished speaking, her chest tightening painfully as the truth settled in.
Milk had listened to her and had believed her.
Milk had walked away.
And for the first time since she could remember, Love realized too late, that the one person she never meant to lose was already gone.