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Chapter Text

Earn Sanithada sits on her couch, scrolling absentmindedly through her phone. Her manager, P'Suzie, walks in with a stack of papers in hand. Earn’s parents trail behind, their concern thinly veiled. Earn sighs, sensing yet another intervention brewing.

Without looking up, Earn said. "If this is another lecture about taking a break, save it. I’ve heard it all before."

P'Suzie ignored her tone. "It’s not just a lecture this time. It’s an intervention. And we’re serious, Earn."

The manager drops the stack of papers on the coffee table in front of Earn, who eyes them warily. 

Her father clears his throat, stepping forward. "Sweetheart, you’ve been working nonstop for years. You’re exhausted, and it’s taking a toll on your health. It’s time to stop, at least for now."

Earn snorts. "I’m fine. You’re all overreacting."

Her mother sits beside her, her tone soft. "You’re not fine, Earn. We’ve seen the headaches, the fainting spells. You’re pushing yourself too hard."

P'Suzie added sternly. "Your doctors said the same thing. They told you to rest, but instead, you took on another project. And another. And another. When is it going to stop?"

Earn looks away, guilt gnawing at her. She knows they’re right, but admitting it feels like surrendering.

"I can’t stop. Not yet." She mumbled quietly.

"You have to. Earn, this isn’t a discussion. It’s a decision. You need to step away from acting, at least for now." Her father firmly stated, leaving no room to argue.

But Earn doesn’t feel like she is just going to agree with all this. It is her life, after all. "Right, because taking a break from my career is exactly what’s going to fix my brain tumor."

"Sweetheart, it’s not about fixing it. It’s about—" Her mom hesitates, swallowing her words. "—it’s about making the time you have left meaningful."

She hates how delicately her family dances around the word death as though it might hurt her more than the tumor already does.

"Meaningful? I’m still working. Isn’t that meaningful enough for you?"

"Earn, come on. Be reasonable. You’ve been ignoring treatments for months because you’re too busy running to your next shoot. Your health is—"

Earn cut her off. "—my business."

"It’s all of our business when you collapse on set again!" The manager said as her emotion slipped slightly.

The room falls silent. Earn looks away, jaw clenched. She hates how they’re all right. She hates that she doesn’t have the energy to argue anymore.

P'Suzie sighs. "Listen, no one’s asking you to quit forever. We’re just saying take a step back. Take a break and focus on the treatment your doctors keep begging you to do. You’ve been working nonstop since your diagnosis—"

Earn snaps at her manager. "Because I don’t want to sit around waiting to die, Phi! Is that what you all want me to do? Just... give up?"

The room falls silent. Earn’s mom wipes away a tear, and her dad looks at the floor. Suzie hesitates, then stands, placing a gentle hand on Earn’s shoulder.

"No one’s asking you to give up. But you’re tired, Earn. And you’re hurting, even if you won’t admit it.”

"And it is time to take a break and focus on your health." Her father firmly added.

P'Suzie nodded along. "I’ve already cleared your schedule for the next year. No events, no interviews, no projects."

"You did what?!"

"You heard me. You’re retiring, at least temporarily. And before you argue, let me remind you that your family and I only want what’s best for you."

Earn stares at them, her walls starting to crumble. She’s exhausted—physically, mentally, and emotionally. But giving up feels like admitting defeat. She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself.

Earn reluctantly agrees. "Fine. I’ll take a break. But on one condition."

P'Suzie raised an eyebrow. "What condition?"

"One last project. Something big. My last hurrah. After that, I’ll step away and focus on... whatever it is you want me to focus on."

P'Suzie exchanges a look with Earn’s parents. They all silently communicate for a few seconds, then sigh and nod.

"Alright. One last project. But it better be worth it."

✦✦✦✦

A week later, P'Suzie bursts into Earn’s apartment, waving a script in her hand. Earn looks up from her laptop, eyebrows raised.

"I’ve got it. Your last project." Her manager said excitedly.

Earn respons dryly. "Another romantic comedy? Pass."

P'Suzie then grinning suddenly. "Then maybe this will change your mind." She slides a thick script across the desk. "The working title is Fragments of the Mind . Directed by Arun Chokchai."

Earn raises an eyebrow. " The Arun Chokchai? The guy who won Best Director at Cannes last year?"

P'Suzie nods eagerly. "That’s the one. And the cast? Top-tier. The male lead is Thanaphat Wongrak, and there are many amazing and talented actors and actresses, as you can see there."

Earn whistle softly. "Big names. What’s the story?"

"It’s about a neurosurgeon, Dr. Risa, who discovers she has the same aggressive brain tumor she’s been treating in her patient and she becomes emotionally attached to that patient. The film follows her journey as she grapples with her mortality, her relationships and her career. It’s raw, emotional, and incredibly complex."

Earn pause for a second. "A neurosurgeon with a brain tumor?"

"I thought... it might resonate with you. In a way."

Earn looks at the script, her expression unreadable. She flips it open and starts skimming the pages. Her fingers tremble slightly as she reads, but she quickly steadies them.

She scoffed and raised an eyebrow at her manager. "A little on the nose, don’t you think?"

The manager ignored her tone. "They want you for the lead, Earn. Director Arun Chokchai himself asked for you. He thinks you have the range to pull this off."

Earn looks back at the folder, her fingers tightening around the edges. A part of her is flattered, but the premise feels too personal, too raw.

"Why me?"

"Because you’re one of the best actresses in the industry." She leans forward. "Earn, this is exactly what you want; a chance like this doesn’t always come."

"...Fine. I’ll do it."

✦✦✦✦

The Next Day

Suzie and Earn meet with the director, producers, writer, and every essential person for this project to finalize the deal. Earn sat at the polished mahogany table, her manager, P'Suzie, by her side, flipping through a neatly organized binder of contracts. Across from them sat Arun Chokchai,  the lead producer, P’Ananda, and a handful of other key members of the production team. Scripts, contracts, and concept art are spread across the polished mahogany table.

Director Arun leans forward, his hands clasped. "Earn, I want to start by saying it’s an honor to have you join this project. We’ve followed your career for years, and this role feels like it was made for you."

Earn offers a polite smile. "Thank you, P’Arun. I’ve read the script, and it’s... powerful. But also, challenging. I just want to make sure I can bring the depth it needs."

P’Ananda nods. "That’s why we’re sparing no expense to ensure you have everything you need to prepare. We’ve already arranged for a practicing neurosurgeon and neuro-oncologist to consult with you during pre-production and filming. She’ll guide you through every medical detail—procedures, terminology, even the physicality of being a surgeon."

Earn tilts her head, intrigued. "That’s thoughtful. May I ask who this consultant is?"

The director flips through some notes and answers casually, "Dr. Fahlada Thananusak. She’s a practicing neuro-oncologist and neurosurgeon who will guide you through the medical aspects of the role—surgical procedures, patient interactions, and even the technical language."

The name hits Earn like a sudden drop in temperature. Her stomach twists, but she doesn’t let it show. She grips the edge of the table, her expression neutral, betraying none of the storm brewing inside her.

Dr. Fahlada. Her Dr. Fahlada. The same Fahlada whom Earn had walked away from two years ago. The same Fahlada whose coldness would pierce through her even now, she’s sure of it.

"Dr. Fahlada," P'Suzie interjected, glancing at the notes, "she’s one of the best in her field, isn’t she? Based in St. King Hospital?"

"That’s correct," Arun confirmed. "She’s already agreed to consult for the project and train Earn."

Earn tilted her head slightly. "How hands-on is this training going to be?"

"Very," Arun replied. "You’ll shadow her during surgeries, observe her consultations, and she’ll coach you on everything from posture in the OR to the way a neurosurgeon thinks under pressure. The goal is for you to embody Dr. Risa in every way."

Earn swallows, keeping her voice steady. "I’m sure she’ll be... excellent to work with."

P’Arun nods. "We’ve already contacted her. She’s agreed to take on the project and will be available for consultation starting next week."

Earn forces a smile, her mind racing. 

Does she know it’s me? 

Fahlada couldn’t possibly have agreed if she did. Earn’s departure from their relationship had been abrupt, selfish even. They’d never spoken since. She wasn’t sure Fahlada would even want to be in the same room, let alone mentor her on a project like this.

"That’s great," Earn finally says, her voice betraying none of her apprehension. "I’m looking forward to learning from her."

P’Arun smiles, oblivious. "We’re glad to hear that. Dr. Fahlada will help you immerse yourself in the role of Dr. Risa. She’ll guide you on everything from proper surgical techniques to how a neurosurgeon navigates high-stress situations. We’ll also coordinate visits to an OR to observe live surgeries."

Earn nods, though her mind keeps flickering back to Fahlada’s expression the last time she saw her—how her warmth had turned to hurt, how Earn’s words had cut deeper than she intended. 

Will she even be able to look at me?

"Earn," P’Ananda interrupts her thoughts, "I know this project is challenging and emotional in many ways. Arun and I believe that’s precisely why you’ll bring something extraordinary to the role. We want this film to feel as authentic as possible. We’re aiming for festival circuits—Cannes, Berlin, Venice. This isn’t just a movie; it’s a statement."

Earn exhales slowly, nodding. "I’ll give it everything I have."

"That’s all we ask," P’Arun says, smiling. "Now, let’s talk contracts. I assume Suzie’s already gone over the details?"

Suzie nods, sliding a folder toward Earn. "She has. Everything looks good to me, but it’s up to you, Earn. Once you sign, you’re officially in."

Earn scans the document, feeling the weight of what this project represents. It’s her swan song, her final bow before she steps away from the spotlight—and perhaps the world itself. With a deep breath, she picks up the pen and signs her name.

P’Arun claps his hands together. "Welcome to Fragments of the Mind, Earn."

The room buzzes with excitement as they wrap up the meeting, but Earn’s thoughts remain fixed on Fahlada. This is going to be interesting, she thinks grimly.

✦✦✦✦

Later That Evening

Earn sat in her dimly lit apartment, nursing a glass of water while P’Suzie organized her notes across the dining table. The meeting had gone well—better than well, actually. But Earn’s mind wasn’t on the contracts or the prestige of the project. It was on her .

"Alright," Suzie finally said, breaking the silence. "Spill it. You’ve been a nervous wreck since the meeting this morning."

Earn hesitated, gripping the glass tighter. Her eyes drifted toward the window, the city lights twinkling in the distance.

"Phi," she began softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "There’s something I need to tell you. About... Dr. Fahlada."

Suzie frowned. "What about her?"

Earn took a deep breath, her voice trembling slightly. "We used to be together. Two years ago. She was my girlfriend."

Suzie’s eyebrows shot up, her surprise evident. "Wait. What? You and Fahlada ? As in the woman who’s supposed to teach you how to hold a scalpel properly?"

Earn nodded, her gaze fixed on the glass in her hands. "Yes. We met when I was doing a campaign for her hospital. It started professionally, but... we fell in love. We were together for over a year."

Suzie leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Okay, I’m going to need more than that. Why didn’t you tell me? And what happened between you two?"

Earn let out a shaky sigh, running a hand through her hair. "I didn’t tell anyone. We kept it private—her work, my career... it was easier that way. But then, two years ago, I was diagnosed with the tumor. I..." Her voice broke, and she paused, composing herself. "I didn’t want her to go through it with me. I didn’t want to burden her. So, I ended it."

Suzie’s expression softened, but her tone was still laced with disbelief. "You ended it to protect her?"

Earn nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. "I thought I was doing the right thing. She had so much on her plate—her career, her parents, her patients—she didn’t need to take care of me. too." Her voice cracked, and she wiped at her eyes. "But the way I ended it, Phi... I was cruel. I didn’t give her a real explanation. I just... left."

Suzie’s eyes widened in disbelief. "You ghosted her? Earn, that’s not like you."

"I didn’t ghost her," Earn corrected quickly, her voice tinged with guilt. "I told her it was over. I just didn’t tell her why."

Suzie let out a low whistle, leaning forward. "So, let me get this straight. You dumped the woman you love without telling her about your diagnosis, and now she’s going to be your mentor for this project?"

"Yes."

"And she probably doesn’t know it’s you yet?"

Earn swallowed hard. "I don’t think so. She wouldn’t have agreed to this if she knew. And now I’m terrified of what’s going to happen when she finds out."

Suzie was quiet for a moment, processing everything. Then she sighed, her voice softening. "Earn, why didn’t you tell her the truth back then? She’s a doctor for crying out loud. If anyone could understand what you’re going through, it’s her."

Earn shook her head, her voice breaking. "You don’t understand, Phi. I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing pity in her eyes. I didn’t want her to stay with me out of obligation. And now..." She trailed off, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Now you’re scared to face her again," Suzie finished gently.

Earn nodded, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. "What if she hates me? What if she refuses to work with me? I... I don’t think I can handle that, Suzie. And what if she finds out about the tumor? I’ve kept it from everyone except you and my parents. I don’t want her to know. I don’t want anyone to know."

Suzie reached across the table, placing a comforting hand on Earn’s. "Earn, listen to me. You’re not that same scared woman from two years ago. You’ve been through hell and back, and you’re still standing. I'm sure you can go through this."

Earn let out a shaky breath. "It’s not that simple. I still love her, Phi. I never stopped. And seeing her again..." Her voice cracked. "It’s going to hurt."

Suzie frowned, clearly conflicted. "Earn, you can’t hide this forever. If you’re going to be working with her so closely, she’s going to notice something eventually. She’s not just your ex; she’s a doctor. And a damn good one, from what I’ve heard."

"I’ll handle it," Earn said quickly, her voice firmer now. "I just need to get through this project without her knowing. After that, I’ll disappear from her life for good."

Suzie shook her head, clearly skeptical. "You’re playing with fire, Earn. But if this is what you want, I’ll support you."

“I just hope she doesn’t walk out the second she sees me."

"If she’s half the woman you say she is," Suzie said, leaning back, "she won’t."

Earn managed a weak smile, grateful for Suzie’s support. But deep down, she knew the road ahead would be anything but easy.

As she lay in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, one thought consumed her:
What will Fahlada say when she sees me again?

✦✦✦✦

A Week Later

The room was bright, with the sterile smell of disinfectant clinging to the air. Earn walked into the consultation room, her heels clicking softly against the tiled floor. Her heart pounded in her chest, but her face remained calm, every inch the composed actress she was known to be. Suzie followed behind her, offering quiet reassurance with a hand on Earn's shoulder before taking a seat in the corner.

Earn gave a tight nod, clutching the strap of her bag as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded. “What if she—”

“She’s a professional. She won’t make a scene.” Suzie cut in firmly.

Earn nodded as she adjusted the cuffs of her blazer, glancing at the clock on the wall. 

Fahlada. Fahlada. Fahlada. Her name echoed in Earn’s thoughts like a haunting melody.

She had no idea how this would go. Fahlada hadn’t known who her mentee was when she agreed to consult for the project—Earn was sure of that. But today, there would be no more hiding.

The door opened with a quiet creak. Fahlada stepped inside, wearing her crisp white coat and a badge clipped to her pocket that read Dr. Fahlada Thananusak , M.D . Her hair was neatly tied back, and her stride was confident as she approached the table where Earn waited.  

"Good morning, Dr. Fahlada," P’Arun greeted warmly from his spot by the window. He gestured to Earn. "This is Earn, our lead actress. She’ll be shadowing you to prepare for the role of Dr. Risa."  

Fahlada's gaze swept toward Earn, polite and professional—at first. Then her expression froze.  

The color drained from her face as recognition hit her like a freight train. Her hand, mid-motion to shake Earn's, faltered, her usually steady fingers trembling ever so slightly. Her lips parted, but no sound came out for a moment.  

Earn stood, meeting Fahlada's wide-eyed stare with carefully masked calm. "Hello, Dr. Fahlada," she said softly, bowing politely. “Nice to meet you again.”

Fahlada blinked, as if willing herself to believe it was someone else. But there was no mistaking Earn. The same Earn who had broken her heart with sharp, cruel words and disappeared from her life without warning. The same Earn she had spent months trying to forget.  

"Earn," Fahlada finally murmured, her voice tight, her composure threatening to crack. 

Earn nodded slightly, her expression unreadable.

The room fell into an awkward silence. Arun, unaware of the tension, chuckled lightly. "I see you two know each other already. That’s great! Makes things easier, right?"  

Suzie coughed, trying to mask her unease as she glanced between the two women. Earn’s face remained calm, but Suzie could see the way her hands clenched behind her back, hidden from view.  

"Yes," Fahlada finally said, her voice clipped. She pulled herself together, straightening her posture. The shock in her eyes had been replaced with something else now—something harder, colder. "We’ve... met before."  

"Perfect," Arun said, clapping his hands together. "That’ll make it easier for you two to work closely on this project. Earn is ready to dive in and shadow you, Dr. Fahlada. She’s fully committed to making her portrayal as authentic as possible."  

Fahlada's gaze flickered to Arun, then back to Earn. Her smile was tight, and her tone was professional. "I see. Well, I’ll do my best to ensure she’s prepared for the role."  

"Great," Arun said, oblivious to the tension thick in the air. "I’ll leave you two to get acquainted. Suzie, let’s step out and finalize some schedules."  

Suzie hesitated, glancing at Earn, who gave her a faint nod. Reluctantly, Suzie followed Arun out, closing the door behind them.  

Now they were alone.  

Fahlada crossed her arms, leaning against the edge of the table. Her professional demeanor melted away, replaced by something raw and vulnerable. "You," she said quietly, her voice laced with bitterness. "Of all people, it had to be you."  

Earn’s calm mask slipped for a moment, guilt flashing in her eyes. She opened her mouth to respond, but Fahlada didn’t give her the chance.  

"I don’t know what’s more surprising," Fahlada continued, her tone sharp now. "The fact that you’re here, or the fact that you thought I wouldn’t recognize you."  

Earn swallowed hard, her voice soft when she finally spoke. "I didn’t know you’d be consulting for the project until last week. If I had..." She trailed off, unsure how to finish.  

"You would’ve backed out?" Fahlada asked, her tone dripping with sarcasm.  

"No," Earn admitted, meeting her gaze. "I wouldn’t have."  

Fahlada let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Of course not. You always were selfish."  

Earn flinched at the words but said nothing, letting the weight of Fahlada’s anger hang between them. She deserved it.  

Fahlada straightened, exhaling slowly as she attempted to rein in her emotions. "I don’t know why you’re doing this project, Earn, but let’s get one thing straight. I’m here to teach you, nothing more. Whatever happened between us is in the past."  

Earn nodded, her chest tightening. "I understand."  

Fahlada’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, searching for something—an apology, an explanation, anything. But when Earn stayed silent, Fahlada pushed off the table and headed for the door.  

"Be ready tomorrow morning," she said over her shoulder. "You’ll be shadowing me in the OR. Don’t be late."  

With that, she walked out, leaving Earn standing in the empty room, her heart heavier than ever. She could only watch as Fahlada walked away, her back straight, her stride purposeful.

"Well, that was... icy." Suzie mutters under her breath as she sees Fahlada leaves.

Earn let out a shaky breath. "I told you this wouldn’t be easy."

Suzie glanced at her, her expression softening. "You okay?"

Earn nodded, though her chest felt heavy. "I’ll survive," she said quietly, but the truth was, she wasn’t so sure.

As they left the hospital, one thought echoed in her mind:

She hates me. And I deserve it.

Chapter Text

The ride home was quiet.

Earn sat in the back seat of her manager’s car, her eyes fixed on the window, watching the world blur past. Her reflection stared back at her—flawless makeup, perfectly styled hair, eyes that betrayed nothing. But inside, her thoughts were anything but calm.

You always were selfish.

Fahlada’s words looped in her head like a cruel mantra, and she couldn’t stop replaying every second of their encounter.

The way Fahlada’s voice had cracked when she first saw her.

The bitterness in her eyes.

The way she said ‘ you’ with so much disdain.

Earn’s chest tightened.

"Stop overthinking," Suzie said gently from the driver’s seat, not even looking over. "I can hear your silence from here."

Earn blinked, startled out of her thoughts. She gave a dry laugh. "I didn’t know silence had a volume."

"In your case, it does." Suzie glanced at her through the rearview mirror. "You okay?"

Earn scoffed. “Just peachy, hearing her actually say she hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you.”

“She called me selfish.”

It shouldn’t sting. She had prepared for that—for hate, for coldness, for indifference. But not that particular word. Selfish.

The irony of it almost made her laugh.

Because wasn’t walking away meant to be selfless?

Suzie sighed. “You kind of were. But for the right reasons.” She paused, softer now. “She just doesn’t know that.”

Earn didn’t reply. Her fingers itched to reach for her phone, to scroll through photos she had long archived—ones of Fahlada smiling, asleep with a medical book over her chest, making late-night ramen. 

Instead, she clenched her jaw and stared out at the sky, painted orange and purple from the setting sun.

Suzie sighed, her fingers drumming nervously against the steering wheel. “Your mom called me. Again. Said you didn’t answer her texts.”

“I’ve been busy,” Earn murmured, knowing it wouldn’t be enough.

“She’s worried. They all are. Maybe you should go home tonight. At least let them see you.”

Earn’s fingers tightened slightly around her phone. Her parents had insisted she move back into the family home ever since their intervention, wanting to spend more time with her. 

But Earn doesn’t want to. Too many eyes. Too many questions. Too much hope she didn’t believe in anymore.

“I’ll go tomorrow,” she said, voice low.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

✦✦✦✦

Earn’s Apartment

That night, Earn sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by printouts of brain anatomy diagrams, surgical procedure notes, and a few scattered scripts with highlighted lines.

A highlighter cap was tucked behind her ear. Her laptop screen played a documentary on gliomas, though she wasn’t paying much attention.

A steaming mug of tea sat beside her, untouched.

Her hands trembled slightly as she tried to underline a phrase in the document.

“The neurosurgeon must consider the location of the tumor and its relationship to functional areas of the brain…”

Her eyes glazed over, not because it was boring, but because her vision was doubling. She blinked furiously and sat straighter, her fingers digging into her thighs as if grounding herself would help her focus.

She reached for her notebook, scrawling down medical terms in messy, slanted handwriting.

Theen she reached for her water bottle, only to realize she hadn’t filled it. Again.

“Damn it,” she whispered, setting the highlighter down. She pressed her hands to her temples, willing the pressure behind her eyes to go away.

After a moment, she stood up slowly and went to the bathroom.

There, under the fluorescent light, she examined her reflection. Hollow cheeks. Pale lips. Slight yellowing in the whites of her eyes. She’d covered it all with makeup today. Thick foundation, concealer, fake warmth.

The illusion was getting harder to maintain.

She rolled up her sleeve. Her arm had needle marks from her last treatment attempt—a failed one. She rubbed the spot gently, then pulled her sleeve back down.

Her phone buzzed. A reminder popped up.

7:00 PM – Check blood pressure + report symptoms to Dr. Annop

She ignored it.

Instead, she goes back to her room, grabs a pen, and underlines a sentence in the chapter on astrocytomas.

“Symptoms include seizures, headaches, motor weakness, and cognitive decline.”

She closed her eyes.

Check. Check. Check. Check.

A wave of nausea crept up her throat. She swallowed it down, forcing herself to stay seated, to keep reading.

She had to do this right. She wanted to portray Dr. Risa with dignity, with clarity. She didn’t want to just act like a neurosurgeon. She wanted to be worthy of the story—of the life that mirrored her own. If she couldn’t beat her illness, she would outwork it. 

✦✦✦✦

The Next Morning

Earn dressed with careful precision. Her outfit was simple—black slacks, a crisp white blouse, and her hair tied back. She wore light makeup, not enough to draw attention, but enough to cover the dark circles under her eyes.

She looked at herself in the mirror and whispered under her breath, almost like a mantra. “Let’s just get through today.”

And maybe tomorrow.

And maybe... a few days more.

Then she skipped breakfast.

Suzie noticed, of course. Suzie always noticed.

“You didn’t eat,” she said, arms crossed, leaning against the apartment doorframe.

“I’m nervous,” Earn replied.

“That’s not a reason.”

“It’s my reason.”

Suzie sighed but didn’t press further. “You have everything?”

Earn nodded. “Scripts, notebook, tablet.”

“And your meds?”

Earn hesitated. “Yeah.”

Suzie didn’t look convinced, but she let it go and followed Earn down to the car, unlocking it with a soft beep. 

As Earn slipped into the passenger seat, she pulled a black baseball cap low over her face and adjusted her plain white mask. It wasn't for health. Not really. It was a shield.

“Trying to go incognito now?” Suzie asked lightly, glancing at her from the driver’s seat.

“Don’t want anyone recognizing me at the hospital,” Earn mumbled. “It’ll be distracting.”

Suzie didn’t argue. She knew it wasn’t just about avoiding fans or being professional—it was about hiding. About not letting anyone, especially Fahlada, see how much of her had crumbled underneath the surface.

The car ride was mostly quiet, broken only by the occasional navigation prompt or a soft cough from Earn.

Suzie peeked at her at a red light. Her hands were tucked into her lap, fingers fidgeting with the edge of her tablet sleeve. She looked small in the oversized blazer she wore, and despite the mask, Suzie could tell she was paler than yesterday.

“You know you don’t have to prove anything to her, right?” Suzie said gently, her tone less manager, more friend.

Earn didn’t answer right away.

“I’m not doing this for her,” she said eventually. “I’m doing this for myself.”

✦✦✦✦

St. King Hospital

At the hospital, Earn moved with practiced ease. She walked through the back entrance, waved through by security who knew her face despite the mask. Suzie had arranged for her to avoid the main lobby—less chance of fans or hospital staff noticing and whispering.

Once they reached the staff wing, she straightened her posture and adjusted the strap of her tote bag. Her cap was tilted low, just enough to hide her eyes. She walked like she had energy. Like her joints didn’t ache and her head wasn’t pounding behind her temples. Like she hadn’t coughed up blood two nights ago and flushed it down the sink without telling anyone.

She spotted Fahlada before Fahlada spotted her.

The doctor stood outside the OR hallway, holding a clipboard, scribbling something down with her usual focused intensity. Her ponytail was perfectly neat. Her stance, effortless but intimidating. She was in her element, and Earn knew better than to interrupt that.

Suzie tapped her arm gently. “You got this, kid.”

Earn took a deep breath and stepped forward.

“Good morning, Dr. Fahlada,” she said, voice soft but clear.

Fahlada looked up, her eyes narrowing slightly behind her surgical mask. For a second, Earn wondered if she was about to be sent home.

But instead, Fahlada nodded. “Right on time.”

She turned without another word and started walking.

Earn followed.

They didn’t talk—not yet. The halls were full of other doctors, nurses, residents, and staff bustling about. Fahlada moved through it all with ease, while Earn stayed a step behind, careful not to falter.

Every now and then, she could feel Fahlada glancing at her—quick, assessing. Like she was trying to figure out what had changed in the years since they last saw each other, and how much of it was still hidden under the surface.

In the prep room, Fahlada handed her a folded set of blue scrubs.

“Change. Tie your hair back properly. No jewelry, no nails.”

Earn nodded and headed for the changing room. Inside, she took a moment before moving. Her reflection in the mirror looked... hollow. Again. She took off her cap and stared at herself—at the girl behind the makeup, the mask, the roles.

She forced herself to change. She tied her hair neatly, scrubbed in like she had practiced the night before, and stepped back out.

Fahlada looked at her, and for a split second, there was something unreadable in her eyes. 

“Let’s go,” she said simply, and led Earn into the operating room.

The air inside was freezing, the light stark and clinical. The patient was already prepped, draped, and ready. The surgical team moved around with fluid coordination. Fahlada didn’t slow down as she took her place at the head of the table.

“Observe from here,” she said, pointing to a spot just behind the sterile zone. “Don’t touch anything. Don’t speak unless I ask.”

“Understood.” Earn replied automatically.

As Fahlada made the first incision, her hands steady and precise, Earn’s breath caught slightly.

Not because of the blood. But because it felt familiar.

Not the surgery—but the calm. The control.

She envied it.

And standing there in that room, watching Fahlada guide the team with confidence and grace, Earn felt both admiration and an unbearable ache.

She hates me. And I still love her.

She tightened her grip on her notebook and took her first note of the day, her handwriting careful despite the subtle tremor in her hand.

Tomorrow, she’d be back. And the next day, too.

Because if this was her only chance to be near Fahlada again—if this was the only way to make things right, piece by piece—she wasn’t going to waste it. Even if it hurt.

Especially because it hurt.

After the surgery, Earn was quiet in the hallway, trying not to lean too hard against the wall as the spinning in her head intensified.

Her vision blurred, a low hum buzzing in her ears. She closed her eyes for a moment, willing herself not to collapse.

Suzie spotted her from down the hall. One glance at Earn’s posture—slouched slightly, shoulders trembling just barely, like she was holding herself up with sheer will—and that was it.

“Earn,” she said sharply, striding over.

Earn opened her eyes slowly. “I’m fine.”

“You look like hell.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t.” Suzie’s voice dropped, not harsh, but low enough to slice through any stubbornness. “Don’t play with me. You didn’t report to Dr. Anon yesterday.”

“I was—studying. Prepping for this.”

“And now you’re swaying like a damn ghost.”

Suzie didn’t wait for another excuse. She looped an arm around Earn’s back and gripped her firmly by the elbow. “We’re going.”

“I still have notes to transcribe—”

“You’re done for the day. Dr. Fahlada’s schedule is cleared, and you can barely stand.”

“But—”

“No.” Suzie tightened her grip, her voice steel. “You wanna act your heart out, Earn, fine. But if your heart stops while doing it, what the hell is the point?”

Earn didn't argue after that and only nodded.

As Suzie guided Earn through the hallway, her arm firmly wrapped around Earn’s back, they passed a few nurses and a couple of residents—some whispering, others pretending not to notice. Earn’s mask and hat were still on, but her eyes were glazed, blinking slowly, as if the fluorescent lights above were too loud for her senses.

Suzie’s voice was low, calm, and guiding. “Just a few more steps. You’re doing great.”

Earn didn’t respond. Her body felt disconnected—light and heavy all at once. She focused on keeping her feet moving, one in front of the other. Her grip on Suzie’s arm tightened unconsciously.

From the end of the corridor, Fahlada stepped out of OR wing, flipping through a chart. She glanced up at the sound of approaching footsteps—and froze.

There they were. Suzie, practically carrying Earn. From her angle, it looked like Earn was clinging to her manager, head slightly leaned in, hand gripping Suzie’s coat sleeve like she couldn’t bear to let go.

To someone who didn’t know better, it looked intimate. Soft. Dramatic.

And Fahlada didn’t know better anymore.

She watched silently, her gaze unreadable. Earn was in full makeup, still dressed in her carefully coordinated "professional" outfit under the scrubs she hadn’t fully changed out of. Her white blouse peeked through the neckline, pressed and expensive.

She looked delicate. Unwell, yes—but in the way actresses sometimes did when they wanted attention. Too tired. Too precious. Needing to be taken care of.

Fahlada turned back to her chart with a muted scoff and walked the opposite direction.

‘So that’s what she’s become,’ Fahlada thought. ‘ A pampered celebrity who's running to her manager every time she gets tired.’

She tried not to feel anything about it—tried not to think about how Earn used to hate being touched in public—how she only held Fahlada’s hand when no one was looking.

And now she lets herself be cradled by someone else in the middle of a hospital hallway.

It shouldn’t bother her.

But it did.

And so she walked faster, hoping the next surgery would scrub the thought of Earn away.

As Earn and Suzie walked out, Earn leaned again—too tired to hold herself upright. Too drained to care what it looked like.

She didn’t know Fahlada had seen.

Didn’t know what she now thought.

Didn’t know that even after everything, Fahlada’s heart still reacted. Still clenched. Still judged.

Because even when she told herself she didn’t care, Fahlada had always paid attention to Earn. Maybe more than she ever wanted to admit.

✦✦✦✦

Outside of St. King Hospital

Suzie helped Earn into the car like she was lifting a fragile object. Earn tried to protest, tried to reach for the door herself, but Suzie slapped her hand gently away.

“Sit. Don’t argue.”

The ride to Dr. Anon’s clinic was silent at first. Suzie kept one hand on the wheel and the other on her phone, texting ahead. Earn leaned against the window, eyes closed, face pale under the mask.

After a few minutes, Suzie spoke again. “He’s pissed. Dr. Anon. You know that?”

Earn didn’t reply.

“He said you skipped two symptom logs. And you ignored the blood pressure check-in.”

“I was—”

“Don’t say you were busy. Don’t.” Suzie’s voice cracked a little. “I know what busy looks like. That wasn’t it.”

Earn swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Be alive.”

That shut Earn up.

✦✦✦✦

At Dr. Anon’s Clinic

By the time they arrived, Dr. Anon was already waiting in the examination room. His arms were crossed, expression unreadable.

“Earn,” he said calmly, though there was an edge beneath it. “You missed your scheduled check-ins. Again.”

“I know,” she whispered.

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he gestured for her to sit. She moved stiffly, like her joints were locking up, and Suzie hovered nearby, not sitting, not leaving.

“You want to portray a brilliant neurosurgeon,” Dr. Anon said, placing the stethoscope to her chest, “but you’re not even stable enough to walk down a hall without nearly fainting.”

At that, Earn glared at Suzie who only gives her a small shrug.

The doctor study Earn closely. “When did the nausea start again?”

“Last week.”

“The blood?”

She hesitated.

Suzie’s eyes widened. “What blood?”

Earn flinched slightly. “Two nights ago. Just once. It wasn’t—bad.”

Dr. Anon sighed, long and slow. “You clearly know that you're not stable, Earn. But I know you. You won’t quit unless someone ties you to a hospital bed.”

Earn didn’t respond, but the way her fingers curled into the edge of the exam table was enough to answer.

He looked up at her. “You want to keep working on this project?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I need to.”

“You want to honor Dr. Risa? Then be alive long enough to finish telling her story.” His voice softened, just a touch. “So here’s the compromise.”

Suzie raised an eyebrow. “You’re compromising?”

“ Barely ,” he muttered. Then he looks to Earn. “You continue working on this project, but you follow every rule we set. You check in with me every day . You eat. You take your meds—on time. No skipping. No hiding symptoms. If you miss even one check-in, one dose…”

He leaned forward.

“I will come find you myself.”

Earn laughs. “That’s extreme.”

“No. That’s care.” His tone dropped again, gentler this time. “Your parents helped my family more than you’ll ever know. I’ve known you since you were five. I watched you chase dogs barefoot in the rain and ace high school calculus in seventh grade. You’re more than just my patient.”

He paused.

“You’re someone I want to see live.”

The words hit her like a punch to the chest. Her throat tightened.

“…Okay,” she said, barely above a whisper. “I’ll follow all of it, promise.”

“You’d better,” Suzie muttered, rubbing her temple. “Because if he doesn’t come for you, I will. And I’ll be worse.”

Dr. Anon gave her a small smile, then handed Earn a new medication schedule—color-coded and filled with reminders. “We’ll start with these today. The nausea might get worse before it gets better, but your energy levels should stabilize within a week or two if we stay ahead of it.”

“And the tremors?” Earn asked quietly.

“They might take longer. But we’ll monitor it. Step by step.”

Earn nodded. Her body still felt like it was sinking, but her mind—just a little—felt lighter.

✦✦✦✦

In the Car

The late afternoon sun filtered through the car window, casting warm golden light across Earn’s face. She leaned her head against the seat, her eyes half-closed, the edges of fatigue tugging at her again. Suzie drove in silence, glancing at her from time to time, one hand tight on the steering wheel.

Earn finally broke the quiet. “Phi.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t tell them.”

Suzie glanced over. “Tell who?”

“My parents.” Her voice was low, hoarse. “Don’t tell them about… everything.”

Suzie exhaled slowly through her nose, keeping her eyes on the road. “They deserve to know. Your mom calls me everyday thinking you’re eating and drinking your meds properly.”

“And let her think that. Let them both think that.” Earn turned her face further toward the window, voice quieter. “I already made them worry enough.”

“You think lying to them is protecting them?”

“I think sparing them the details is the least I can do,” she murmured. “They already gave up enough for me. I don’t want them thinking their daughter’s dying in between filming and fan meetings.”

Suzie tightened her grip on the wheel but didn’t argue.

After a beat, Earn added, “You said it yourself. I'm not dying. Not if I follow Dr. Anon’s plan.”

“They’re going to ask.”

“Then lie.”

Suzie sighed, setting her phone down. “Your mom already suspects something. You’re thinner than last month. You look tired.”

“I can handle them.” Her voice was steady, but her hands were gripping the strap of her tote too tightly. “I just… I want tonight to be normal. No worried stares. No guilt. No crying.”

Suzie watched her for a long moment.

“You’re not protecting them, you know,” she said gently. “You’re protecting yourself from seeing them hurt.”

Earn didn’t deny it. “I’m not ready.” she said. 

Suzie nodded eventually. “Alright. Tonight, it’s normal.”

“Thank you.”

“But if anything changes—if you start hiding symptoms again or skipping check-ins,” Suzie added, “I’m snitching. Immediately. Don’t test me.”

Earn nodded slowly. “Fair.”

The rest of the ride was quiet. Peaceful, even. But under the stillness, the weight of unspoken things hung thick between them—things Earn couldn’t say yet and things Suzie refused to stop worrying about.

✦✦✦✦

Earn’s Parents’ House 

The car pulled up to the white-brick home nestled beneath a canopy of flame trees. The porch light was already on, casting a golden glow on the flowerpots and worn welcome mat. Before Suzie could even park properly, the front door swung open.

Her mother stepped out first—still in her silk house dress, hair pinned up, worry written all over her face.

“Earn!” she called out, her voice catching in her throat. She rushed forward as Suzie stepped out of the driver’s side and opened Earn’s door. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home today?”

“I wanted to surprise you,” Earn tried to say, but her words were swallowed by her mother’s arms encircling her, tugging her into a careful but firm embrace.

Her mother whispered fiercely into her shoulder. “You didn’t answer my calls yesterday.”

“I’m sorry,” Earn mumbled. “I was tired.”

Her mom pulled back just enough to cup her face, eyes scanning her features—pale skin, slightly sunken cheeks, and the faint dark circles even makeup couldn’t hide. “You look thin. And your face is pale—are you eating properly?”

“I am,” Earn lied gently, glancing over her mother’s shoulder as her father appeared on the porch.

“Let her sit down first,” he said with a soft smile, his voice calm and even. “She just got home.”

Inside the house, everything felt the same—and that was exactly what Earn needed.

The warmth of the living room wrapped around her like a familiar blanket. The faint smell of lemongrass oil lingered in the air, and the old family piano sat in the corner, untouched since the last time her father played it during New Year’s. Earn’s mother immediately disappeared into the kitchen, moving with practiced urgency.

“Sit, sit,” her father said, leading her gently to the sofa. Suzie sat nearby but gave them space, scrolling quietly through her phone while still keeping an eye on Earn.

Soon, the clatter of pots and the aroma of jasmine rice, stir-fried shrimp with chili paste, and warm soup filled the house. Her mother reemerged ten minutes later, wiping her hands on a dish towel and beaming.

“Come. It’s your favorite. Kaeng Liang and khai jiao with crab meat. And I made the dipping sauce you like,” she said proudly.

Earn stood slowly, careful not to show just how dizzy she still was, and followed her mother to the table. Her father joined them, Suzie trailed behind, and as soon as they entered the dining room, Suzie perked up.

“Oh my god, this smells so nice, aunty!” she gasped, practically skipping to the table. “What is this? Wait—kaeng liang? And crab omelet? You’re spoiling us!”

Earn’s mom chuckled, clearly pleased. “I made Earn’s favorites. You eat a lot too, Suzie.”

Suzie grinned. “I would be a fool if I’m not.”

Earn let out a tired laugh, hiding her smile behind her hand as she slowly took her seat. Suzie sat next to her with zero hesitation, already reaching for the dipping sauce.

“This one’s the spicy one, right? I remember from last time—” She paused, looked at Earn, and handed her the spoon. “Eat, woman,” Suzie ordered. “You’re not getting out of this dinner alive unless your plate is clean.”

Earn took it with a small, quiet thank you, the corner of her lips tugging up just a little more. Despite the ache in her bones, something about Suzie’s chatter made the evening feel lighter.

Her mother laughed, patting Suzie’s arm. “I’m glad you’re here. Earn needs someone to keep her in line.”

Suzie gave her a dramatic salute. “Ma’am, yes, ma’am.”

After some time, her father looked to Earn. “You’re so quiet today; is everything okay?”

“Mm,” Earn replied, swallowing hard. “Everything’s okay.”

“Oh yeah, I heard from Suzie that you have a new project. What’s this project again?” her mother asked. “The one about that neurosurgeon?”

“Yeah,” Earn said, her voice steadying a bit. “It’s based on Dr. Risa. It will be a  short series. Six episodes. Medical drama, based on her journals. We just started the workshop today.”

Her father looked impressed. “She was quite remarkable. A real pioneer. You’ll do her justice, I’m sure.”

“I hope so,” Earn murmured.

“What’s the timeline of this project?”

Earn picked up a spoonful of soup, more for the motion than the appetite. “We just started the workshop today,” she said after a pause. “It’s a long process—script development, table reads, medical coaching, technical rehearsals. All that before we even set foot on set.”

Her mother nodded slowly. “So… filming won’t start right away?”

“No,” Earn said, setting her spoon down gently. “If everything goes well, we’ll probably start shooting in about two months. Then filming itself should take another three or four months. Maybe less, depending on the crew and schedule. Since it’s only six episodes, it won’t drag out, but it’s still pretty intensive.”

Her father leaned back slightly, folding his arms. “So the whole thing would be wrapped up in what—half a year?”

“More or less,” Earn murmured. “Then post-production, editing, scoring… the release might not be until next year.”

“That’s quite the commitment,” her mother said, glancing between Earn and Suzie. “And you’ll be juggling your health in between all of this?”

Suzie blinked at the sudden shift, mouth full of crab omelet. “Mhm,” she said quickly after swallowing. “We’ve got a system. Dr. Anon is watching her like a hawk. Right, Earn?”

Earn gave a tight smile. “Right.”

Her mother nodded, “And how’s the treatment with Dr. Anon? Her father asked, eyes sharp but not cold.

“She’s seeing Dr. Anon every week,” Suzie chimed in helpfully from the background. “Sometimes more.”

“I’m glad,” her father replied. “He’s thorough.”

There was a brief pause before he added, “One of my colleagues mentionedsomething to me the other day. He was in Switzerland recently. Said there’s a research facility there that’s making progress on treatments for your condition.”

Earn blinked, caught slightly off guard. “Switzerland?”

Her mother lit up at the mention. “Yes, we were thinking—maybe when you’re done filming, we could all go there for a little while. You could consult with the specialists. And we could turn it into a vacation too, just the three of us.”

“I—wait, what?”

“A vacation,” her mother repeated, too casually. “I just realized we haven’t taken a proper vacation in years. We could look into the clinic and relax a bit while we’re there.”

“That sounds nice.” Earn smiled faintly.  “Let’s see how this treatment goes first, okay? Dr. Anon wants to monitor me for a few months before considering any next steps.”

Suzie could feel the way her foot subtly pressed against the table leg—tight, resisting.

“Of course, of course,” her mother said quickly, not wanting to pressure her. “But just as you said a few weeks ago, you will focus on your health if we let you have this one last project. And there’s nothing wrong with giving yourselves more options, and maybe a little family time too, right?”

Earn opened her mouth, just slightly—enough to inhale a breath like she was about to speak. About to argue . The words were already rising, bitter and sharp-edged, sitting just behind her teeth— You don’t understand. I’m tired. I’m tired of test results, of travel plans disguised as hope. I’m tired of looking at brochures and timelines and pretending this is all just temporary.

But she swallowed them whole.

She didn’t come here to argue.

Her hands, resting loosely on her lap beneath the table, curled inward, her nails biting into the softness of her palm. 

This wasn’t the time for another tense dinner, another night of her mother excusing herself early or her father sitting in silence. Not after they had tried to welcome her home with smiles and warmth and her favorite meal.

So instead, she took a long sip of water, letting the coolness calm the burn building in her chest.

“I understand,” she said softly. “And I’m grateful. Really. I just… can we not plan anything yet? I want to get through the series first. One thing at a time.”

Her mother nodded, watching her closely. “Of course, sweetheart.”

Her father picked up his glass again, his tone lighter, back to neutral. “Well, when you’re ready. You’ve been doing well lately, that’s all. We just want to see it stay that way.”

Earn nodded faintly, offering the kind of smile that doesn’t quite reach the eyes. “Me too.”

Suzie watched her carefully from across the table. She hadn’t missed it—the way Earn had tensed, the way she’d pressed her foot against the table leg like she was grounding herself. Like if she didn’t hold on, she might say something she’d regret.

Or something that hurt too much to say out loud.

And now she was sitting there, quietly eating her food again like nothing had cracked open for a moment.

Suzie gave her a sidelong glance, then reached for more kaeng liang. “Aunty, I’m stealing the whole pot if you don’t stop me.”

Earn let out a small laugh, clearly pleased with the distraction.

Her mother beamed, looking pleased. “You like it that much?”

“Please. I love it. I’d marry it if I could.”

“Well, good food is healing,” her mother said, eyes flicking back to Earn.

Earn smiled thinly. “Yeah. It is.”

But when Suzie wasn’t looking, and her parents were busy talking about food ratios, Earn’s gaze drifted toward the window. The lights of the city blurred beyond the glass—like something soft and far away.

And for a moment, she wished she could blur too. Just for a while. Just enough to rest.

Chapter Text

The next few days unfolded with the kind of intensity Earn was used to—but this time, she managed to pace herself.

Mornings started with video check-ins to Dr. Anon. He usually appeared half-awake, sipping from a giant mug of black coffee as he asked her the same questions each day—symptoms, meals, and they ended it with Earn drinking her meds. 

“How’s the dizziness?”

“Better,” she said.

“Appetite?”

“Still awful. But I ate.”

“And you’ll eat again?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I will.”

Then Earn’s camera tilted to the side while she let him watch her swallow the pills and hold up the packaging like a student showing completed homework.

Suzie helped more than she let on—reminding her to eat, slipping snacks into her tote bag, and making sure the fridge wasn’t empty. She often nagged and hovered close enough to catch Earn when her energy started to dip. Not that it dipped much this week—because Earn, for once, was following everything .

She kept her journal updated and her symptom tracker color-coded, even when she didn’t feel like lifting a pen. She logged everything. From the mild nausea to the better sleep. The tremors were still there, but duller now. Manageable.

She was, by all accounts, being a model patient.

But even that wasn’t the hardest part of the week.

No. The hardest part was working with Fahlada .

✦✦✦✦

Production Office — Tuesday 

The makeshift medical boardroom they set up in Studio 3 looked like an actual surgical debriefing room. On the far wall, laminated charts of the human brain and nervous system hung neatly beside whiteboards covered in diagrams and annotations. In the middle sat Earn—pen in hand, eyes locked onto the woman pacing at the front.

Fahlada.

Clad in a dark blouse and slacks, her hair pulled back into a tight bun, she looked every bit the surgeon she was. Precise. Sharp. Unreadable.

“This is the correct way to hold a bipolar cautery,” Fahlada said, picking up the instrument with practiced ease. “Your thumb and forefinger need to form a pivot point here, so the wrist motion stays minimal. Watch again.”

Earn watched, nodding, silent.

“The retractors go in before you even speak,” Fahlada continued. “It’s muscle memory. If your hands shake, the character needs to compensate , not pause . Do it again.”

Earn mirrored her. Picked up the instrument. Tried to match the grip.

Fahlada walked over, took one look, and adjusted Earn’s fingers without meeting her eyes. Her hands were cold. Precise. Gone in seconds.

“Better,” she said, already stepping back.

Earn didn’t say anything. Just did it again.

She wanted to tell her she looked tired. That her tone was a little colder than yesterday. That she missed seeing the way her mouth curved slightly when she was amused, even if no one else noticed it.

But she didn’t say any of that.

Instead, she nodded. Practiced. Repeated.

✦✦✦✦

Simulation Room — Wednesday

Fahlada stood in the center of the simulation OR, arms folded, hair tied back into a perfect low bun, white coat pristine. The room was set up for surgical choreography—dummy patients, instrument trays, monitor props blinking with fake vitals.

Earn approached cautiously, clipboard tucked to her chest.

“I read the surgical notes you gave me,” she said softly. “I just need help with how the posture works when you clamp an artery. I want it to look real.”

Fahlada didn’t glance up.

“You hold your elbows in,” she said, demonstrating it crisply. “Chest relaxed but firm. And your dominant hand goes over, not under.”

Earn mirrored her position awkwardly.

“No, you’re tense. Again.”

Earn tried. And failed. Again.

Fahlada sighed, stepped behind her. Her hands hovered for a second, then firmly corrected Earn’s posture.

“You have to move like the body is yours,” she said, voice clipped. “Surgeons don’t hesitate.”

Earn held still under her touch, nodding slowly. “Okay.”

When she finally got it right, Fahlada stepped back without a word.

Not once did she smile. Not once did she meet Earn’s eyes longer than she needed to.

There was no cruelty in her tone or movement. Just… distance. Like Fahlada had built a fortress around herself and made sure Earn saw the moat and drawbridge and the locked gate, too.

Earn didn’t push. Didn’t joke. Didn’t try to break the tension. 

She just smiled faintly and gave a quick thanks.

She let her be cold. She let her be distant. She let her be harsh. 

If it made it easier for both of them, then so be it.

Because she understood. Fahlada was protecting herself. Maybe Earn was too.

But god, she missed her so much.

✦✦✦✦

Thursday

Suzie hovered outside her bedroom, arms crossed, pretending she wasn’t eavesdropping.

“Weight’s stable,” Earn said on her laptop screen, face illuminated in the low light. “No fainting. No vomiting. I even drank the Ensure.”

Dr. Anon raised an eyebrow. “Voluntarily?”

“Voluntarily,” she echoed with a smile.

“That’s a first.”

“I told you. I’m keeping my promise.”

He leaned back in his chair, less tense. “You’re doing well, Earn. Keep going.”

When the call ended, Suzie poked her head in. “Okay, I heard that. You’re killing it this week.”

Earn leaned back with a tired sigh. “Barely.”

“You’re following your schedule. Eating real food. Acting like a person again.”

“Low bar, but sure.”

“You even talked with Fahlada without looking like a kicked puppy. That’s Oscar-level acting.”

Earn looked at the ceiling, eyes soft. “I just want to get this right.”

“You are, and I’m proud of you for all of this.”

She nodded slowly. The ache in her chest was still there. So was the fatigue.

✦✦✦✦

Friday

They sat in a small meeting room, Fahlada at the head of the table with medical journals spread in front of her.

“This scene you’re rehearsing next week,” she said, tapping the paper. “You’re removing a brain aneurysm. Do you even know what that means?”

Earn nodded, pen ready. “I read about clipping versus coiling. You’d choose clipping in this case, right?”

Fahlada looked at her for a brief second—something close to surprise flickering behind her eyes. “Yes.”

She flipped the page and pointed to a diagram. “The incision starts here. Behind the hairline. The rest is up to the surgical team, but as the lead, your movements dictate the rhythm.”

Earn wrote everything down. She just stayed still and listened.

Somehow, today’s schedule ended early. Fahlada stood at the edge of the room, watching the crew gather their things. 

Earn hovered near the props table, pretending to organize scalpels.

“I’ll send you the full surgical breakdown by Monday,” Fahlada said, her voice suddenly at her shoulder. “If you want to review over the weekend.”

Earn turned slightly. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

No response. Just a curt nod. Fahlada was already walking away.

“Have a good weekend,” Earn added, softer now.

Fahlada paused. Just for a second. Then kept walking.

Suzie, who’d been observing from the hallway, clucked her tongue. “Girl, she’s got icicles in her veins.”

“She’s just being professional,” Earn said, even though the words didn’t taste true.

“Professional?” Suzie snorted. “She looked like she wanted to punch you with a stethoscope.”

“At least she’s not outright doing that.” Earn shrugged.

“Okay, but like… does that feel better though?”

“Her being like that.” Suzie tilted her head. “All clinical and cold. Does it actually make things easier for you? Or are you just pretending it does because you don’t want to make it worse?”

Earn didn’t answer. She just slung her bag over her shoulder, her body feeling worn in a way that had nothing to do with her illness.

Suzie stepped closer, voice softer now. “You can tell me, you know.”

Earn let out a slow breath, the kind that trembled slightly at the end. “I don’t know if it feels better,” she admitted. “But at least I know what to expect.”

Suzie’s brows drew together. “But it’s not what you want , right?”

“No.” Earn smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Not even close.”

She finally looked up at Suzie, the fluorescent lights casting pale shadows beneath her eyes. “But I came into this knowing she might hate me. Or worse, nothing me. So this?”—she gestured vaguely toward the door Fahlada had walked through—“This is manageable.”

Suzie stared at her for a long second, her mouth pressed into a thin line. “You’re kinda scary when you say things like that so calmly.”

Earn huffed a quiet laugh. “I’m just tired, Phi.”

“Of her?”

“Of everything,” Earn said, then paused. “But not her. Never her.”

Suzie didn’t say anything for a moment, then reached into her bag and pulled out a wrapped bread, dropping it onto the tray. “Then at least eat something before you turn into dust. No excuses.”

Earn looked at it, then back at Suzie. “You really don’t let up.”

“Not when it comes to you, no.”

Earn smiled for real this time—just a little.

“Thanks.”

Suzie grinned, looping an arm around her shoulders as they started walking toward the exit. “You’re welcome, tragic main character.”

“You’re such a menace.”

“We take turns being a menace. So it balances out.”

Earn snorted as they walke out of the room.

✦✦✦✦

The weekends went in a blur and Monday started as expected: tension wrapped in routine. Earn arrived at the production office early, hair pulled back, lines memorized, and surgical choreography practiced. 

She kept her journal updated. Took her meds on time. Ate when Suzie reminded her. Said all the right things when people asked how she was doing.

Everything was fine.

Until it wasn’t.

They were running simulation through a complex scene—an aneurysm rupture mid-operation. The kind of thing that required split-second reactions, clean transitions, and seamless surgical motions. The crew stood silent at the edges of the room as Fahlada demonstrated how the character should respond.

“Clamp now,” Fahlada said sharply. “Then call for suction. You’re losing pressure. The brain’s swelling.”

Earn moved, a second too slow. The clamp slipped in her grip, grazing the edge of the dummy model. Not enough to ruin the scene, but enough for Fahlada to flinch.

“No,” Fahlada snapped. “That’s not how a surgeon reacts under pressure.”

“I’m trying,” Earn said, breath tight.

“Then try harder. Because in the real OR, your patient would be dead.”

The room went still.

“Not enough,” Fahlada said, stepping in close again, too close, adjusting Earn’s grip without warning. “If this scene looks sloppy, no one’s going to buy that you’re a surgeon. It’ll fall apart.”

Earn jerked slightly back. “I’m doing the best I can.”

“So do better.”

The words weren’t screamed. They weren’t even said with venom. But they landed with the weight of disappointment Earn didn’t know she still had space for.

She froze, just for a second, then set the scissors down.

“Got it,” Earn said, voice flat now too. “I’ll do better.”

“Reset,” Fahlada said to the crew without looking at her. “We’ll start again in five.”

Earn stepped away. Picked up a towel to wipe her hands that weren’t even sweating. Suzie moved as if to go to her but paused when Earn subtly shook her head.

She was fine.

Just fine.

✦✦✦✦

Earn’s Apartment

Dinner was quiet. Suzie had dropped off food earlier with a post-it that read:

“Don’t make me come back and force-feed you.”

Earn ate two bites. That was enough. She thought.

Her phone buzzed.

Dad : Mom found two clinics. One in Zürich, one in Geneva. Both are open to reviewing your case. We’ll send the files tomorrow. They want to see updated scans.

Let’s plan a short trip. You can rest after the shoot ends.

Mom : Wouldn’t it be nice to see snow again? Just like when you were little. We can book somewhere near the mountains. You can get a break. A real one this time.

Another message.

Dad : Don’t wait too long. These things get worse when you do.

Earn stared at the screen until it dimmed in her hand.

A short trip. A vacation. Another scan. Another plan.

Another hope she couldn’t carry.

The thought of all of that make her want to bolt somewhere else. Anywhere.

She stood too fast—without thinking.

And the world tilted.

A sharp rush of dizziness crashed into her. Like the room was shifting underneath her feet. She reached out blindly to steady herself, but her hand slipped against the edge of the kitchen counter.

Crack.

The sound came before the pain.

Then it hit.

White-hot and sudden—just above her eyebrow.

She stumbled back, grabbing the counter with both hands.

Her head throbbed. Her stomach churned.

And when she blinked, blood was already dripping down the side of her face—hot and sticky near her temple.

Her nose was bleeding too. She didn’t even know why. Just that it was. Just that everything felt wrong.

“Shit,” she mumbled. Her voice barely came out.

Her knees buckled slightly, but she caught herself. Breathed through the nausea.

Not now. Not now.

She pushed herself off the counter, clutching the wall as she half-walked, half-staggered toward the bathroom. Each step made her head pound harder.

Her hands were shaking. Her vision blurred.

She didn’t want to call anyone.

Didn’t want to explain.

Didn’t want to deal.

She just wanted it to stop .

✦✦✦✦

Bathroom

By the time she reached the bathroom, her forehead had started to drip again, trailing down her temple and down her jaw.

Her nosebleed had slowed, but the dried blood stuck to her lips and shirt collar.

She reached up to the sink with trembling fingers. Turned the water on. Fumbled for a towel.

She didn’t even look in the mirror—couldn’t.

She just scrubbed at the mess, biting down on the inside of her cheek so she wouldn’t cry. Not yet.

But the sting of the wound. The copper taste in her mouth. The ache in her chest.

It all hit at once.

Like she was unraveling.

Moments later, she sat on the cool tile floor. Her knees drawn to her chest. The towel clutched in her hand was damp and smeared dark.

Her reflection in the mirror looked pale. Hollow.

Like someone who hadn’t slept in days. Or weeks.

Like someone who didn’t know what rest even meant anymore.

Her breath came sharp and uneven now.

Like something had cracked, not loudly, but slow and deep—like the sound of ice splitting underfoot.

The words played over in her mind again.

Try harder. In the real OR, your patient would be dead.

Don’t wait too long.

You can rest after the shoot ends.

Wouldn’t it be nice to see snow again?

Her hands trembled as she gripped her knees tighter.

She didn’t even realize she was crying until the first tear hit her wrist.

And then, all at once, it came pouring out.

Not just tears. But the kind of sobbing that clawed its way up from somewhere buried deep, where exhaustion and fear and guilt lived in the same breathless space.

She hated this.

Hated that she still felt like this after everything.

Hated that she was tired again. Of the pills. The journals. The check-ins. The pretending.

Hated that she had to smile through scenes where the person who once held her like the world depended on it now couldn’t look her in the eye.

She hated feeling like a burden.

Hated feeling like a patient.

Hated that part of her still wanted to give up.

She was so tired of trying harder.

Of being a good patient. A good daughter. A good actress.

She was so, so tired.

She didn’t want to die. But she didn’t want to keep surviving like this either.

She cried harder.

“I’m so tired,” she whispered, voice hoarse. “I try, and I try, and it’s still not enough. I’m still not enough.”

She thought of the future—of Switzerland, Japan, or somewhere else; of more pills, more clinics, more smiling when she wanted to scream.

She didn’t want any of it.

Not because she was weak. But because she was exhausted .

Because when you spend years fighting just to stay above water, eventually even breathing feels like surrender.

“I don’t want to be here anymore. Not like this. Not in this body. Not in this life.”

She didn’t want to die because of one bad day.

She wanted to die because the fight had outlasted the hope.

And because she wasn’t sure what she was even fighting for anymore.

Not fame.

Not recovery.

Not love.

“Maybe I just don’t mean to survive this.” She chuckled to herself.

Chapter Text

Next Day – Earn’s Apartment

The sunlight through the blinds was too loud.

Earn blinked slowly at her phone, hand sluggish from where it had slipped under her pillow sometime during the night. A missed call from Suzie. Two texts.

Suzie: I’m picking you up at 8. Text me when you’re awake.

Suzie (13 minutes later): Okay, now I’m serious. You better answer me.

Earn stared at the screen, then unlocked her phone and typed.

Earn: Don’t worry about today. I’ll go to the workshop alone today.

Actually, can you do me a favor?

Can you swing by the production office and pick up those finalized continuity files from last week? The ones they accidentally filed under 'extras' folder. It’s urgent, I need them later today.

Shouldn’t take long.

The lie sat quietly in her chest, tucked under the bruised throb in her temple.

The truth was, it would take long. The office was across town, and the files were probably buried in some unlabeled archive drive they hadn’t updated since the start of the year. It was the kind of thing Suzie would absolutely volunteer to do for her—and the kind of thing that would keep her busy, distracted, and away.

Because if Suzie saw her this morning—even just glanced at her—she would know something had happened.

And Earn wasn’t ready to answer the questions that came after that . So she send her somewhere else.

Earn slid out of bed, slow and careful.

Her body still hurt. Her ribs were sore where she’d hit the cabinet. Her head pulsed dully, wrapped in that fuzzy ache leftover from the night before. The dried blood had washed off. But the bruise on her forehead was beginning to bloom into a sickly shade, just under her hairline.

She checked the mirror.

Bad. But not unfixable.

She pulled her long bangs forward. Tightened a baseball cap over her head. Then grabbed her glasses—the big square kind she usually hated—and a face mask. Not a medical one, but one of those dark, sleek cotton ones that made her look a little like a tired celebrity trying not to get noticed.

Perfect.

Layered up, covered up, and invisible.

✦✦✦✦

Production Office

It was quiet when Earn slipped into the building. A few crew members moved about setting things up, some extras chatting near the coffee machine, but she kept her head down.

Her hat was low, casting a shadow over her eyes.

The black surgical mask covered the lower half of her face.

And the oversized tinted glasses—clearly not prescription—completed the disguise.

From afar, she just looked like someone trying not to catch a cold.

Underneath it all, the left side of her forehead throbbed under the thin layer of gauze she’d carefully taped to her skin.

The cold sting of antiseptic still lingered from earlier.

Her eyes were a little puffy. Not red anymore. Just tired.

The kind of tired makeup couldn’t hide. But luckily, today wasn’t an OR simulation. No bare face. No hair pulled back. No fake surgery under hot lights.

Just a light rehearsal on blocking and positioning. Lines optional. Cameras off.

She kept her distance, nodding politely when someone waved. Sat near the corner of the room. Pulled out her script even though she already knew the scene by heart.

Today’s workshop was with just a few of the leads.

Most people were late. The director was still talking with the lighting team outside.

Earn found a corner seat at the end of the long rehearsal table. She sat down, quiet, head bowed slightly, hands folded together in her lap like she was conserving every drop of energy she had.

When someone passed behind her chair, she flinched—but she disguised it with a pretend reach for her bag.

The door opened. Footsteps—measured and smooth—crossed the room.

Earn didn’t look up.

She didn’t need to. She knew it was her.

That subtle perfume. The silence that always came with her presence. 

The cold gravity of someone who once knew you better than anyone—and now refuses to even ask how you’re doing.

Fahlada sat across from her.

Not directly. One seat over.

Enough distance to make it professional.

Enough to make it hurt.

Earn kept her face angled down. Safe behind her disguise.

But even like this—hidden, wounded, small—she could feel it.

The way Fahlada glanced at her.

Just once.

And then didn’t look again.

A senior castmate, Engfah, leaned over from two seats away, peering at Earn through narrowed eyes.

“Hey,” she said gently. “You okay? You look a little... pale.”

Earn turned, and for a fraction of a second, her body hesitated—but then she met Engfah’s gaze with a soft squint of her eyes, the kind that mimicked the curve of a smile.

“Just a little cold, Phi,” she said, voice light and slightly hoarse. “Didn’t want to pass it around, so I’m masking up. Nothing serious.”

Engfah nodded hesitantly. “You always push through, huh?”

“Comes with the job.”

That was it. No one else commented. The energy was already shifting toward the task at hand. Scripts flipping. Cues being called. Everyone slipping into their roles.

After that, the workshop went by in sections—first blocking, then reading lines. Discussions about camera angles. Choreography tweaks. A few practice takes without cameras, just to set pacing.

Earn hit her marks. She spoke on cue. She even managed a few subtle jokes that got quiet laughter from the crew.

If anyone noticed how stiffly she moved or how carefully she avoided turning her head too quickly, they didn’t say.

Fahlada kept her distance. Even when there’s some medical inaccuracy that Earn did. Fahlada corrected that, but with her usual cold, distant attitude that Earn already familiar with.

There was a moment, maybe, when Earn stumbled slightly while walking backward, and Fahlada instinctively reached forward, a half-step too slow. But Earn had already caught herself. She kept going.

They didn’t make eye contact once.

✦✦✦✦

Lunch Break

“Lunch is ready outside, everyone,” someone called out. “There’s a buffet set up—pad kra pao, vegetarian green curry, fresh fruit, and cold drinks.”

A few people clapped softly, stretching out of their seats.

Earn stood near the edge of the room, hand resting lightly against the doorframe, watching the others collect plates and pull chairs around small folding tables.

Her stomach twisted.

The smell of warm food made her swallow hard. Her vision pulsed slightly—slow and low, like a distant headache.

She pressed a hand to her side.

“I'm gonna step out for a bit,” she told the assistant director, who barely looked up from his clipboard.

“Alright. Be back after break,” he said without pause.

No one questioned her. No one followed.

✦✦✦✦

Earn’s Car – Studio Parking Lot

She slid into the driver’s seat with a quiet groan and pulled the door shut.

The parking lot was half-empty—shaded, quiet, and tucked behind the studio building where no one bothered to check unless they were leaving early or sneaking a nap.

She tilted the seat back slightly, set her bag beside her, and turned the AC on low. Cool air flowed across her skin, bringing temporary relief.

She'd cracked one window just a sliver. Safety habit.

She folded her jacket into a makeshift pillow and pulled the sun visor down.

The moment her head hit the seatback, her body sagged.

The nausea still hovered behind her ribs, but at least the throbbing in her skull had dulled.

She let her eyes close.

Just a short nap, she told herself.

Just until the pain stops echoing in her skull.

Just until she can face another hour of pretending again.

✦✦✦✦

An Hour Later

The phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.

At first, the vibration bled into her dream—part of some imagined alarm—but then it persisted, louder, more urgent.

She blinked awake, heart kicking like it had been jolted by a defibrillator.

[4 Messages: Workshop Group Chat]
[2 Missed Calls: Assistant Director]

Her eyes darted to the clock on the dash. 

13:50

Ten minutes to get back in before lunch break ended.

“Shit.”

She shot up from her seat too fast.

Instant regret.

The car spun.

Heat flushed her face. Her vision swam, and she grabbed onto the door handle to steady herself, one foot still half out of the car.

Her stomach twisted violently. A surge of nausea climbed up her throat.

“Shit, I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

She stumbled out, legs unsteady, slamming the door shut behind her and scanning the lot.

No people. Good.

Just lines of parked cars and a stretch of wall.

And there—a sad, lonely tree by the perimeter fence.

She half-jogged, half-staggered toward it, dragging off her cap, lifting her mask and glasses just enough to breathe properly.

She bent forward, one hand braced against the trunk, the other clutched tight to her ribs.

She gagged. Once. Twice.

Nothing.

Just dry heaving. The kind that hurt from the inside out—like her stomach was trying to expel the emptiness.

Her eyes burned. Her throat ached. Her whole body felt weak and trembling, like it was about to collapse in on itself.

She spat onto the dirt, chest heaving, swallowing against the bile.

There was nothing to throw up. She hadn’t eaten more than two bites since the night before.

Only air came out.

Only pain.

Fahlada walked along the side of the building, a cup of cold coffee from a nearby cafe in hand.

She rarely bought drinks in the middle of the day, but something about the heat, the noise, the pressure—she needed the walk.

Crossing back into the lot, she paused before heading toward the building.

Movement caught her eye.

A woman was hunched near a tree, shoulders jerking slightly like she was retching. From the distance, Fahlada couldn’t see much—just the outline of someone clearly struggling.

No one else was around.

Something in her instinct kicked in.

Should she help? Was this person sick? Or drunk?

The woman leaned forward, gripping the tree for support. She was small-framed, too thin. Dressed in oversized black. A cap pulled low, thick-rimmed glasses, a mask.

But even from here, Fahlada could make out the fresh bandage, half-hidden at her temple under the cap.

She frowned, concern flickering just beneath her composed expression.

Then the woman moved—just slightly. A breath, a shift of weight. And something about the way she wiped her mouth with the inside of her sleeve felt… familiar.

Fahlada took a step closer. Then another.

Her heart stopped for a beat.

She knew that posture. That frame.

The way the fingers twitched faintly, like trying to steady themselves.

Earn.

The name came unbidden, heavy in her chest.

She blinked, suddenly unsure if it was just her mind playing tricks again.

But then Earn adjusted her cap, shifting her head just enough for the side of her face to catch the light.

It was her.

Fahlada stood frozen, halfway across the lot, coffee cup sweating in her hand.

She didn’t know what to do.

Didn’t know if she should do anything.

She wasn’t supposed to care anymore.

But the sight of Earn—bent over like she was about to collapse, alone in the sun, trying to disappear even while falling apart—it chipped at something.

Something sharp and buried and tired.

She didn’t move forward. 

Didn’t call out.

But she didn’t look away either.

Earn quickly wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her sleeve, breath still uneven. Her chest burned from the dry heaving, and her legs felt heavier than they should.

She took a few shaky steps back toward her car window, caught her reflection faintly in the glass, and paused.

Mask on. 

Glasses steady.

Cap pulled low, just enough to cast a shadow on the bruised skin near the bandage.

Decent.

She steadied her breath again, exhaled slowly, and started walking toward the entrance.

Behind her, footsteps followed quietly—measured and familiar, though not loud enough to be noticeable to anyone else.

Fahlada kept her distance, hands in her pockets, expression unreadable. She didn’t mean to follow. She didn’t know why she was . But something in her chest refused to let go of the image she'd just seen.

Maybe it was the exhaustion in Earn’s movements, or the way she had to pause for a second just to catch her breath again before she pushed through the studio door.

Or maybe it was that flash of vulnerability—a kind she had seen before, long ago, but never again since their final days. Not like this. Not so raw.

Fahlada swallowed, gaze still following her silently as Earn disappeared into the hallway.

Was it guilt?

Instinct?

The doctor in her?

Or was it something she thought she had buried?

She didn’t know.

But she couldn’t look away.

And she didn’t stop walking either.

✦✦✦✦

Production Office

Earn slipped into the room just as the assistant director called everyone back. Her timing, as always, was impeccable.

“Alright, everyone! Let’s start with blocking the revised emergency scene.”

She moved to her place quietly, nodding at a few crew members in passing. Her mask remained on—no one questioned it, probably assuming she was still being cautious from the “cold” she’d mentioned earlier.

“Feeling better?” someone from the prosthetics team asked gently, brushing past with a tray of tools.

“Yeah,” Earn said, eyes curving into a smile behind her glasses. “But I’m still keeping all this on because I didn’t want to share the virus buffet with you all.”

They chuckled. “Generous of you.”

Earn added a small laugh, tossed in a light joke, and even made someone grin. Everything felt perfectly normal.

And maybe that was the problem.

Because she could feel it— her . Eyes on her. Not just glancing. Watching.

From across the room, just behind the lighting rig.

Fahlada.

Earn didn’t know when she got there. She hadn’t seen her enter. But there she was—arms folded, expression neutral, face half-lit by a panel.

And her gaze was pinned on her. Again.

Earn tried to ignore it. She focused on the blocking, responded to her scene partner’s cues, remembered her medical choreography down to the precise second.

She delivered every line with confidence, every gesture with the sharp precision of a surgeon. When the fake patient coded, she leaned over the manikin, voice steady, posture commanding. “Paddles—charge to 200. Clear.”

The director clapped. “Perfect, Earn. Exactly the tone I want.”

She nodded once, gave a thumbs up.

And yet… her skin prickled.

She glanced toward the corner again, subtly this time.

Fahlada was still looking.

No expression. No comment. Just… watching.

It made something twist in her stomach. Not nausea this time— something else . Unease.

Earn lowered her gaze quickly.

Was something on her face? Was her performance off?

No, impossible. Everyone else would comment about it if that’s the case.

Earn's fingers curled slightly at her side.

It was fine. She could do this.

She'd spent years performing under worse.

But god, why did it feel like she was seconds from falling apart again?

And why did it have to be Fahlada who kept looking?

The workshop wrapped up precisely at 17.00 PM, the room breaking into a mix of tired chatter and scattered laughter as people gathered their things. Scripts, water bottles, and tote bags—all slowly disappearing through the double doors. The production lead gave a final rundown of tomorrow’s call sheet before heading out.

Earn stayed still for a moment.

Her muscles felt like they were made of lead. Her legs, wobbly. Her throat—dry. But her spine remained straight, her expression collected. She wouldn’t let herself falter now. Not when the eyes she’d been feeling on her all day were still locked in place.

She turned her head subtly. Fahlada.

Still standing in the same spot.

Still watching.

Fahlada might think she was being subtle, but Earn knew better.

With only a few people left, it was too obvious to ignore.

Fahlada hadn’t spoken once during the last two hours. And that was the strange part—because Fahlada was normally reserved, yes, but never this quiet. She always had something to say when it came to the medical accuracy of the scenes, correcting angles and offering explanations.

But today?

Nothing.

Not since lunch.

The silence, the restraint—it felt off.

Earn exhaled quietly, gathering the last of her strength.

She waited until the second-to-last person left the room before she took a breath and approached.

Fahlada didn’t move.

“Dr. Fahlada,” Earn said, her tone calm, respectful, and a little too even. “May I have a word with you?”

There was a beat of silence between them, like the air thickened for just a moment.

Fahlada’s eyes narrowed—just slightly—and she gave a curt nod.

“Of course,” she said.

"Did I do something wrong?"

Fahlada's brows knit slightly. "What do you mean?"

"You’ve been glancing at me since lunch break ended." Earn held her gaze, unwavering. "I noticed."

Silence.

Fahlada’s jaw tensed just for a moment.

Earn kept her expression polite, but something twisted in her stomach. “If my performance was off, or if I made a mistake with the medical terminology, please just tell me. I’d rather fix it than guess.”

“It’s not that.” Fahlada’s voice was clipped.

Earn blinked. “Then…?”

Fahlada’s eyes flickered to the cap, the glasses, and the mask—taking in every layer of disguise Earn had carefully put on that morning.

Then, finally, her gaze dropped to the thin line of gauze just visible beneath the cap’s edge.

Earn’s heart froze.  She didn’t move. But her heart was beating so hard, she was sure it showed in her throat.

Fahlada finally spoke. "Open your cap."  

Earn blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Earn said quickly, voice too light.

Fahlada didn’t respond—just kept that pointed, unreadable gaze trained on her.

It was the kind of look that made residents crack. The kind of look that didn’t blink or flinch or move.

Earn held her ground.

Five seconds. Ten.

But her fingers twitched.

Fahlada raised a single eyebrow.

Earn’s jaw ticked. “You’re really going to just stand there until I—?”

“Yes.”

“…You're exactly the same,” Earn muttered, puffing out a breath.

And then, without even realizing she was doing it, she gave in—fingers reaching up to pull the cap off slowly, a pout ghosting across her lips like she was twenty-two again and just got caught eating Fahlada’s favorite snacks.

Fahlada’s eyes scanned the bandage immediately.

Blood had seeped through the gauze, faint but visible. Her expression didn’t change, but she did take one step closer.

“Sit down.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sit,” Fahlada repeated, already reaching into her bag.

Earn hesitated, torn between pride and instinct, but sat slowly on the edge of the nearest chair.

Fahlada knelt in front of her, pulling out a small first-aid kit that looked like it hadn’t been touched in months.

“Your current bandage isn’t clean. And whoever applied it didn’t seal the edges properly.”

“I—applied it.”

“That explains it.”

Earn almost laughed, except she couldn’t.

Fahlada worked in silence, her fingers clinical and practiced as she peeled away the gauze. But even that brief contact made Earn flinch—not from pain, but something else. Something in her chest.

She studied Fahlada's face.

Still cold. Still distant.

Still hers, in a way that hurt.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Earn said, trying to keep her voice light.

“I did,” Fahlada replied without looking up. “We’re working together. It’s a liability if you collapse on set.”

Earn tried not to wince.

“And,” Fahlada added, as if she needed to justify it further, “it’s protocol. If a member of the cast is injured—even non-severely—it should be reported. I’m just making sure it doesn’t escalate.”

Every word was precise. Professional. Emotionless.

Like she was reading it from a handbook.

Earn stared at her for a moment. She didn’t speak. She didn’t smile.

She just listened.

Because she knew none of that was the reason.

Fahlada still cared.

She didn’t say it. She probably never would. But the way she peeled back the soaked gauze with gentle fingers—checking the skin beneath like it mattered—that was all Earn needed to know.

But that was exactly the problem.

If she let Fahlada close again… if she let herself care… 

It would undo her.

She would start to feel things again. Things she tried so hard to bury.

Hope. Warmth. Love.

She couldn’t.

She already chose to leave Fahlada to protect her. 

She has no right to receive care from Fahlada anymore, no matter how small it is.

So Earn took a breath. Just one. Enough to steel herself.

And then, she smiled.

Not the soft kind. The strained kind. The one that held too much sadness to hide.

“Well,” she said, quietly, “whatever the reason is, I’m thankful.”

Fahlada paused mid-wrap, glancing up again.

“But maybe next time we should just leave each other alone?” Earn said it so gently it almost broke.

Fahlada didn’t answer.

Earn continued. “I know you hate me. And I know I don’t deserve an ounce of your forgiveness or your care. So maybe we’ll just get through this project fast and go back to pretending we never knew each other?”

Her voice wavered—not enough to be obvious, just enough to make her want to bite her tongue.

“I’m sure that’s what you’re hoping for, right?”

Fahlada froze.

The antiseptic packet in her hand crinkled slightly.

But she didn’t speak.

The silence between them stretched long and taut.

Earn didn’t look away, even when it started to ache—watching for any flicker of response from the woman who used to know her better than anyone else.

Still, Fahlada said nothing. Her face was a masterclass in control. But her hands betrayed her—the faintest tremble in her fingers as she finished wrapping the clean gauze. Tighter than before, but not rough. Never rough.

Earn noticed.

And it nearly broke her.

“I’m sorry,” she added, so softly it might’ve been just for the air between them. “Not that it matters now. But I am.”

She started to reach for the cap beside her, ready to shove it back on and bury everything under the same disguise as this morning.

But Fahlada’s hand caught her wrist before she could.

Earn froze.

Fahlada’s fingers circled Earn’s wrist—not tight, just firm enough to stop her.

Earn looked down at the hand. Then up.

And what she saw in Fahlada’s eyes wasn’t anger.

It wasn’t even disappointment.

It was something far more dangerous.

Longing. Pain. A question that had been waiting for years.

"Did you regret it?"

The words weren’t accusatory. They weren’t cold or sharp like Fahlada’s usual tone.

They were raw.

Earn’s breath hitched before she could stop it.

“I—” Her voice faltered. “I didn’t want to—”

“I didn’t ask what you wanted,” Fahlada cut in quietly. “I asked if you regretted it.”

Earn swallowed, throat tight, heart beating so loudly it drowned the silence.

Then, barely above a whisper, “Every day.”

That did something to Fahlada. Her jaw clenched for a second, like she hadn’t expected her to admit it. Like hearing the truth hurt worse than the lie.

Still, she didn’t let go.

Fahlada took a small breath, her voice trembling for the first time. “Then why did you leave?”

Earn opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Fahlada’s jaw tightened. “I want the actual reason,” she said, more firmly now, like she was slicing through fog. “Not some half-baked excuse like you used me for money, because I know you never needed it. And not the one about some man—because you didn’t date anyone after me. I would’ve known .”

Earn flinched at the weight of those words.

Fahlada’s eyes burned into her. “You didn’t even let me fight for you. You just… left.”

Earn felt her chest cave in.

The words she’d buried for years rose like smoke. It would be so easy to let them slip. To finally say the truth. But her throat tightened instead, the memory of that night flashing behind her eyes—her hands shaking as the raw pain of forcing herself to say things she didn’t mean. All for Fahlada. For her future.

And for what?

Earn shook her head, smiling faintly, bitterly.

“I can’t tell you,” she whispered. 

Fahlada’s brow furrowed. “Why not?”

“Because if I say it out loud…” Earn’s voice cracked before she caught herself. She let out a shaky breath. “I won’t be able to walk away again.”

Fahlada’s fingers slowly loosened around Earn’s wrist but didn’t let go entirely. Her thumb hovered lightly, like she was still debating whether to hold on or let go.

“Earn.” Her voice barely made it out. “You owe me the truth.”

Earn looked at her, and in that second, she wanted nothing more than to say everything. To tell Fahlada about the scans. About the surgery and treatments that failed. About the quiet countdown she’s been living ever since.

But she couldn’t.

Because Fahlada was already looking at her like she mattered.

And that was the whole point of leaving.

So she took a breath, fragile and shallow.

And smiled.

A broken smile. The kind you wear when you're trying to convince yourself you're okay.

“I can’t tell you,” she said again, more quietly this time. Her voice barely a breath. “Please don’t ask me to.”

Fahlada’s face twitched—barely. Something flickered in her eyes. Anger, maybe. Or pain. Or both. But she swallowed it down the way she always had.

"You expect me to just accept that?" Fahlada asked, voice soft but strained.

“I’m not asking you to accept anything,” Earn said. “I just… need you to let this go, because I know you’d try to fix it. And you can’t.”

Her voice trembled again—subtle, but enough for Fahlada to notice.

“I don’t want to fix it,” Fahlada shot back, but her voice cracked, betraying her. “I just want to know what I’m grieving.”

Earn smiled, barely. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t grieve me.”

The words landed like a stone in a still pond.

And for a second, Fahlada couldn’t breathe.

That kind of sentence… it felt like a goodbye.

Fahlada stared at her like she was trying to understand a language she’d once known but hadn’t spoken in years.

Her voice dropped, nearly a whisper. “You said you regretted it. Every day.”

“I do.”

“Then live with that,” Fahlada whispered, her voice tight now. “Because I have to.”

Earn’s breath caught. Her smile faltered.

“I am living with it,” she said, more to herself than anyone else.

The truth was curling at the edge of her throat like a scream.

That she didn’t leave because she stopped loving Fahlada.

That she left because she was dying.

And the only thing worse than losing Fahlada then… was imagining Fahlada watching her die slowly, painfully. Feeling helpless. Devastated.

Earn had already chosen which pain to protect her from.

She couldn’t undo that now.

“Just know that I’m doing what’s best,” Earn murmured, though the words tasted bitter.

Fahlada recoiled, just slightly. “For who?”

“For us .”

Fahlada let out a chuckle before finally pulled her hand away from Earn’s wrist.

The loss of warmth felt immediate. Sharp.

Her voice, when she spoke, was quieter than before. Hollow. “You don't get to decide what’s best for me.”

That landed harder than it should have. Earn shut her eyes.

“I know,” she said. “But it’s already done.”

The silence returned, thick as grief.

Fahlada stood still for a beat too long—like she didn’t know whether to walk away or stay. Like she wanted to scream but didn’t know how to raise her voice.

Then, slowly, she nodded once. Controlled. Distant.

“You don’t want me to know,” she continued. “Fine. I’ll pretend not to.”

Earn’s fingers twitched, aching to reach out, to say thank you , or don’t go , or please remember me kindly —

But she stayed still.

And Fahlada turned away.

Just before she stepped through the door, she paused and said, without turning back:

“Whatever it is… I hope it was worth it.”

Earn bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.

Fahlada turned and walked away without another word.

And this time, Earn didn’t stop her.

She just sat there, watching the woman she loved walk out the door—again.

Only this time, she wasn’t the one leaving.

She was the one being left behind.

Because secrets had weight.

And hers was heavy enough to crush them both.

Chapter Text

Earn’s Apartment

The next thing Earn knew, she was home.

She didn’t remember getting there—didn’t remember the drive, the door unlocking, or the keys slipping from her fingers onto the floor.

Everything felt distant, like she was moving underwater.

The only things she could focus on were the soft gauze against her temple and the dull ache blooming behind her eyes. Her fingers brushed the bandage, already missing the tenderness of Fahlada’s touch.

The apartment was dark, save for the city lights leaking through the windows.

Earn didn’t bother to turn anything on. She just stumbled into the living room, dropping her bag somewhere along the way, and sat down heavily on the floor beside the couch.

Her head was pounding.

Or maybe it was her heart.

She couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

She pressed her palm against her temple, breathing shallowly, trying to ground herself.

But the silence was deafening.

And Fahlada’s words kept echoing inside her, sharp and cold and unrelenting.

"I hope it was worth it."

But it wasn’t worth it. Nothing was worth this kind of loneliness.

Earn squeezed her eyes shut, biting down a sob that clawed up her throat.

She shouldn’t cry.

But her body betrayed her.

Her shoulders shook once—then again—and before she could stop it, the sobs ripped out of her, ugly and raw.

She clutched her head in both hands, the gauze brushing against her fingers, the pain splitting her skull open like lightning.

Everything hurt.

Her body. Her heart. Her memories.

She didn’t even hear the front door unlock.

It wasn’t until the light from the hallway spilled into the apartment that she flinched and jerked her head up—disoriented, blinking rapidly.

“Earn?” Suzie’s voice was sharp with alarm.

Earn barely registered her standing there in the doorway, keys still dangling from her hand, a stack of files in her other hand—the one Earn had sent her to retrieve earlier.

Suzie stepped inside quickly as she turned the lights on, shutting the door behind her, dropping everything in her arms when she saw the state Earn was in.

“Hey—hey, what happened?!” Suzie rushed over, kneeling in front of her.

Earn opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out except a broken, choked sound.

Suzie’s eyes widened when she caught sight of the gauze on Earn’s temple, the tremble in her hands, and the way she was hunched over like she was trying to hold herself together physically because otherwise she might just fall apart.

“Oh my god,” Suzie whispered, reaching out carefully but hesitating an inch from touching her. “Earn, when did you get this wound?”

“I’m fine,” Earn rasped out, her voice hoarse and shaking.

“You are clearly not fine,” Suzie said fiercely, checking Earn’s wound behind the gauze.

Earn shied away from Suzie's touch, gently pushing her manager’s hand away. “It’s already checked by a doctor.”

It was true—Fahlada checked it and applied the gauze.

“Jesus, Earn, why didn’t you call me? What happened? Did someone hurt you—?”

Earn just shook her head numbly.

Tears kept leaking from her eyes, silent now, like her body had just given up.

Suzie gritted her teeth, furious at how fragile her friend looked, how broken.

“Okay, okay, it’s alright,” she said quickly, trying to stay calm. “I’m here. Let’s clean you up first, alright? Then you can yell at me for barging in.”

Earn made a sound that might have been a laugh—or a sob—or both.

Suzie didn’t push her to explain.

She just stayed close, steady hands working to replace the bloody gauze with clean tissue, her presence anchoring Earn to something, anything real.

The room smelled faintly like iron, tears, and exhaustion.

Earn barely moved as Suzie fussed around her. She let herself be stripped out of her hoodie. 

“Come on, let’s get you into the shower,” Suzie said gently, guiding her toward the bathroom. Earn didn’t protest—didn’t say a word—she just let Suzie take the lead, a lifeless puppet of her former self.

Once the shower was running, Suzie stayed close, waiting outside the door, listening for any sign that Earn might collapse or need help. She hadn’t forgotten the way Earn had seemed earlier—shaky, broken, barely hanging on.

After a few minutes, Earn emerged, wrapped in a towel, her body still shaking slightly, but at least now there was a semblance of life in her movements. Suzie handed her a clean set of clothes, and with a weary sigh, Earn dressed herself with Suzie’s help—her hands unsteady, her movements slow and deliberate.

Finally, Suzie settled her down on the couch, wrapping a heavy blanket around her like a cocoon.

She disappeared briefly into the kitchen and came back holding a cup of warm tea, pressing it carefully into Earn’s hands.

Earn stared at it for a long moment before wrapping her fingers around the ceramic.

The heat barely registered.

Suzie sat down on the coffee table in front of her, her knees brushing against Earn’s.

"Tell me what happened." Her voice was steady but soft. Patient. “You’re not okay, Earn. I can’t just keep pretending that everything is fine.”

Earn stared down into the tea, watching the steam curl upward like smoke. She swallowed once, the lie already forming on her tongue like muscle memory.

"I..." Her voice cracked slightly, but she pushed through it. "I accidentally knocked myself over the counter yesterday," she said, keeping her tone light, almost joking if it didn’t sound so hollow. "I didn’t want you to worry, so I sent you on another task."

Suzie’s jaw tensed. “Earn.” 

But Earn just gave her a faint, tired smile, like that would fix it. “I’m fine now,” she added. “Really.”

Suzie’s eyes darkened, seeing right through her. But she didn’t call her a liar. Not yet.

“Why do I feel like you’re leaving out the important parts?” Suzie said quietly.

“Well,” she said, her voice light in that way people use when they’re lying. “There are some things that happened when you were gone… but it’s nothing important.”

Suzie didn’t even blink. She just looked at her—that look that said she wasn’t buying a word of it.

Earn knew it. She knew it the second the words left her mouth.

Suzie leaned forward a little, elbows resting on her knees, studying her carefully. “Define ‘nothing important,’ ” Suzie said dryly.

Earn shook her head. “It’s nothing you need to worry about. Really.”

Suzie’s eyes flicked briefly to the fresh gauze at Earn’s temple, clean and neat now, but still a glaring reminder that something had very much happened.

“Earn,” Suzie said, her voice softer now. “You’re sitting here crying in a hoodie three sizes too big for you, with a busted head, hugging yourself like you’re trying to hold the pieces together.”

Earn froze. It wasn't an accusation. It wasn’t even pity. It was just… truth.

And somehow, that was worse.

“I’m not—” Earn stopped, because what was the point?

She set the tea down with shaking fingers, covering her face with her hands for a long, trembling moment.

Suzie didn’t push. She just waited, patient and quiet, like she had all the time in the world.

Finally, Earn let out a slow breath, dragging her hands down her face tiredly.

"I had a conversation with Fahlada," she whispered.

Suzie blinked, startled, but said nothing—just leaned in slightly, waiting.

Earn swallowed. Her throat felt raw. “She… she kept glancing at me like I’d committed some crime. I started overthinking everything, so I—I asked her if there was a problem.”

Suzie nodded slowly, her expression unreadable.

Earn let out a weak, bitter chuckle. “Turns out she saw me throwing up. Earlier that day. During lunch break. Near the parking lot.”

Suzie’s lips pressed into a thin line. She wanted to scream at her for not telling her about it or even just send her a text. But Suzie knows there’s something more important that Earn wants to tell her beside this. 

“She realized I had a gauze hidden beneath my cap, so she helped clean my wound. My bandage had come loose.” Earn reached up absently to touch the gauze on her temple. 

The words hitched at the edge of her throat, and she tried to keep going, tried to stay calm, but her voice cracked.

“Then somehow she asked if I regretted leaving.”

Suzie said nothing—she couldn’t.

“I told her I did,” Earn whispered. “Every day.”

Her hands started to tremble again. She folded them tighter.

“I wanted her to hate me. It was easier if she hated me. If she could move on and be happy and forget me. That was the point.” Her voice broke again, thinner this time. “That was supposed to be the point of leaving her without giving her a concrete reason.”

And then—like the moment a dam breaks—Earn’s tears surged back.

“But she knows the reasons I gave her at that time are just some nonsense I made up. She called me out about it and I couldn’t tell her. I wanted to tell her about everything, but that would have just defeated the original purpose of me leaving her. To spare her from the pain of watching me die.”

She bent forward with a soft, shuddering gasp, hands gripping the fabric of her hoodie like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

“It hurts, Phi. It hurts so much,” she sobbed. “Seeing her and not being able to hold her like I used to—what was I even thinking? I can’t breathe around her; I can’t even stand the way she looked at me like she hate me but I also knows by the look she gives me that she still cares and doesn’t understand why I threw everything away—”

Suzie moved without a word, gently sitting beside her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Earn leaned into her like a child, shaking.

“I did this to protect her. I was supposed to protect her,” she cried. 

Earn’s body shook with the force of her sobs, each breath jagged and desperate, as though the very act of living was now too much to bear. Suzie held her close, her hand resting lightly on her back, feeling the trembling through the thin fabric of Earn's hoodie. The sound of Earn’s pain filled the quiet apartment, every sob breaking her heart all over again.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore,” Earn whispered through her tears. “Like, what’s the point? What’s the point of all this treatment and medication and therapy and planned vacations when I’m dying anyway?” She choked on the words, the rawness of it all pulling her apart. “What’s the point of dragging this out just to feel like this?”

Her voice cracked, too tired to scream anymore, but full of a sadness that seemed to radiate out of her, too much for just one body to hold.

“I’m dying, Phi,” she whispered, and the words felt like a confession. “Every day I wake up, it’s like I’m suffocating. I lie to everyone—especially her. I pretend like I’m fine, like I’m living. But inside, I feel like I’m dying with every second. And every time my parents talk about hope and treatments and how ‘we’ll fight this’ —it just feels like they’re choking me. Because none of it matters. It’s just... prolonging the pain. Nothing can fix this. Nothing.”

Earn's hands gripped the fabric of her hoodie tighter, the motion almost violent in its desperation to hold something, anything, that would make her feel grounded.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve wanted to just give up... just let it end already. I dream of it. Not because I want to die, but because it would be easier. Because I wouldn’t feel this constant ache, like I’m caught between two worlds. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just don’t want to feel this anymore. I don’t want to pretend anymore. I don’t want to lie to her or anyone else. I don’t want to keep breathing if I’m just dragging everyone down with me."

Her chest tightened, a sharp pain slicing through her, but it was nothing compared to the suffocating weight of the secret she carried. The secret that kept her from ever letting Fahlada in, even now.

“She deserves better than me,” Earn whispered, the words barely there, barely enough to even hear. “All of you deserve better than me. You guys deserve to forget me, to move on, to be happy… without me.”

Suzie’s fingers tightened around Earn’s shoulders, pulling her closer, holding her together like she was on the verge of falling apart.

“Earn,” Suzie said softly but firmly. “I’m not going to let you do this alone. I’m not going to stand by and watch you destroy yourself over this. You are fighting, whether you see it or not. The fact that you’re here, talking about this, crying instead of hiding… that’s a fight too. And I’m here. We’re all always going to be here. You don’t have to do this by yourself.”

Earn shook her head, the tears coming faster now, her sobs raw and unrelenting.

“It's too much,” Earn gasped between breaths. “I can't handle it anymore.”

Suzie just held her tighter, resting her chin lightly on top of Earn’s head, grounding her with steady warmth when everything inside Earn was splitting apart.

“I know it’s too much,” Suzie whispered, her voice rough with emotion. “I know it feels impossible. But you’re not alone, Earn. You don’t have to carry this by yourself anymore. Not tonight. Not ever again.”

Earn clutched the front of Suzie’s shirt with trembling fingers, like she was afraid if she let go, she might vanish altogether.

For a long moment, she just cried—broken, breathless sobs that shook her whole body—until exhaustion began to bleed into her bones, leaving her limp and fragile in Suzie’s arms.

When her breathing finally slowed, a heavy, brittle silence filled the room. Suzie pulled back slightly, just enough to cup Earn’s damp cheeks and make her look at her.

Earn’s eyes were swollen and red, her face pale and hollow, but she was here. She was still here.

“Listen to me,” Suzie said quietly, thumb brushing the corner of Earn’s eye. “You don’t have to be strong for us. You don’t have to pretend you’re okay. You’re allowed to be tired. You’re allowed to be scared. We’ll carry you when you can't carry yourself. I’ll carry you, Earn.”

Earn closed her eyes, more tears slipping free—not from grief this time, but something quieter. Something closer to devastation and gratitude tangled together.

“You can’t.” Earn shook her head weakly. “I don’t even know who I am anymore without the pain. Without the fear. It’s all I have left.”

Suzie’s heart cracked at the sound of Earn’s voice—so small, so worn down it barely sounded like her anymore. She brushed Earn’s hair gently behind her ear, slow and careful, as if even the smallest wrong move would shatter her completely.

“That’s not true,” Suzie said, her voice steady even though her own throat felt like it was closing. “You’re still you, Earn. You’re still the girl who memorizes all the dumb inside jokes we make. You’re still the one who can’t drink coffee without five sugars and a mountain of whipped cream. You’re still the one who tears up at cheesy movie endings even when you pretend you’re ‘just tired.’ ”

Earn let out a shaky, broken sound—half a laugh, half a sob—and Suzie gave her a tiny, crooked smile.

“You are not your pain," Suzie said, firmer now. "You are not the fear. You’re not the tumor. You’re Earn. You’re still here.”

“But what if the pain is the only thing keeping me tied to this world?” Earn whispered. Her voice was so hollow, it barely made it across the space between them. “What if... I can't fight all this anymore?”

Tears welled up again, blurring her vision until Suzie was just a soft shape in the storm.

“Then don’t fight it alone,” Suzie murmured. “Let me fight it with you. Let us fight it with you. You don’t have to pretend you’re okay anymore. You don’t have to carry this pain by yourself. Even if you don’t believe in tomorrow right now… I’ll believe for you.”

Earn let out a trembling breath, sagging into Suzie’s touch like a marionette with its strings cut. She didn’t have the strength to believe anymore. But maybe, just maybe, Suzie could hold onto the hope she couldn’t.

Minutes passed, long and aching, until Earn finally whispered, voice thready, “I don’t know how.”

“Then let’s start small,” Suzie said softly. “Tonight, you’re just Earn. Not the sick girl. Not the one carrying everyone’s expectations. Not the one running away from everything. Just Earn. With me.”

Earn opened her mouth to protest, but Suzie just shook her head.

“One night,” she said gently. “One night where you don’t have to fight alone.”

The offer sat between them, trembling like something fragile and precious.

And Earn—exhausted, hurting, terrified—leaned into it. Into Suzie. Into the first tiny piece of mercy she’d been offered in what felt like forever.

She nodded, barely.

“Okay,” Earn rasped, voice nearly gone. “Okay.”

Suzie smiled, the kind of smile that cracked at the edges but still shone with hope.

“Good,” she said, pulling a blanket off the back of the couch and wrapping it carefully around Earn’s small frame. “We’ll just sit here. You don’t have to talk. You don’t have to explain. You just have to breathe.”

Earn pressed her forehead against Suzie’s shoulder, closing her eyes.

The minutes stretched on, quiet and heavy but no longer suffocating. Suzie sat still, feeling every tiny tremble that ran through Earn’s exhausted body. She didn’t say anything else. She didn’t need to. Her presence said enough— I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.

Earn’s breathing slowly evened out, turning from shallow, panicked gasps into something deeper, steadier. Every now and then she gave a soft, broken hiccup of a sob, but Suzie just tightened her arm around her, like she could stitch her back together through touch alone.

Earn shifted slightly under the blanket, her fingers still curled loosely into the fabric of Suzie’s shirt like she was terrified of waking up and finding this was all a dream.

“Phi,” she mumbled, barely audible.

“Mm?” Suzie hummed, brushing Earn’s hair back gently.

“...Don’t let go. Please.”

The words were so small, so raw, that Suzie’s chest twisted painfully. She pressed a kiss to the top of Earn’s head—a promise—and held her even closer.

“Never,” Suzie whispered into her hair. “I’ve got you, Earn. I swear.”

Earn didn’t respond—not with words. But her whole body sagged a little more into Suzie’s side, trusting, surrendering, letting someone else carry her.

The clock ticked softly in the background. The tea on the table had long gone cold. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once, then fell silent.

Suzie stayed awake, long after Earn’s breathing evened into the deep rhythm of sleep, guarding her like a sentry against the nightmares she couldn’t fight on her own tonight.

Earn finally fell asleep. It wasn’t peaceful—not yet. She still twitched now and then, letting out tiny, pained whimpers—but every time, Suzie was there, smoothing her hand over her back, whispering quiet reassurances into the dark.

You're safe. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.

Tomorrow, the world would still be cruel. The treatments would still hurt. The future would still be terrifying.

But for tonight, Earn wasn’t alone.

Suzie held her tighter, closed her eyes against the burn of her own tears, and stayed.

Chapter Text

The morning crept in gently, a soft, pale light spilling through the thin curtains.

Earn stirred, her body stiff and aching, but it was a different kind of ache—not the sharp, raw edges of last night’s collapse. Something duller. Quieter. Like bruises instead of open wounds.

For a moment, she didn’t move. Didn’t open her eyes. Didn’t even breathe too deeply.

The world felt… strange. Too still. Too safe.

Slowly, she became aware of the feeling of soft blankets tucked around her, of a pillow cradling her head, of the scent of lavender—faint but there—clinging to the sheets. This wasn’t the couch.

Frowning slightly, Earn blinked her eyes open, squinting against the light.

She was in her bed. Tucked in carefully. Her hoodie had been replaced with a loose, comfortable T-shirt—her own—and a fresh bandage covered her temple, neat and clean.

She turned her head slightly—and there, curled up in the armchair by her bed, was Suzie. Asleep.

Her head was tilted awkwardly against the chair back, arms folded across her chest, one foot tapping lightly every so often like even in her sleep she was on alert. Her jacket was draped half over her lap, her face relaxed in the deep, dreamless sleep of someone who had stayed up far too long.

For a long, suspended second, Earn just looked at her.

At the way Suzie’s chest rose and fell, steady and sure. At the way she’d stayed. All night. At the way the world hadn’t fallen apart after Earn let herself fall apart.

Something in Earn’s chest twisted sharply—not pain, not fear—something more fragile. Something closer to hope, maybe. Something she hadn’t dared to feel in a long, long time.

Carefully, like even breathing too loudly would shatter the moment, Earn shifted to sit up against the headboard. Her muscles ached in protest, but she ignored it.

The movement must’ve stirred Suzie, because she shifted, blinking blearily awake.

Their eyes met—hers bleary, Earn’s wide and uncertain.

“Hey,” Suzie croaked, her voice hoarse from sleep. She pushed herself upright, rubbing the back of her neck with a grimace. “You’re awake.”

Earn nodded slowly, unsure what to say. Unsure how to say thank you when it didn’t seem anywhere close to enough.

“How did I…” Earn started, then trailed off, waving vaguely at the bed.

“You fell asleep hard on the couch.” Suzie’s voice was gentle, teasing without pushing. “I carried you.”

Earn blinked, startled. “You—?”

“You’re lighter than you should be, by the way,” Suzie added, her smile slipping into something a little sadder, a little more serious. “But we’ll deal with that later.”

Earn lowered her eyes, guilt prickling under her skin—but before it could build, Suzie was already moving.

She grabbed a small tray from the nightstand—a cup of warm water, a small plate of buttered toast, and some medicine Earn immediately recognized.

“Eat a little,” Suzie said softly, settling the tray in front of her. “Take it slow. We have time.”

We have time.

Honestly, Earn wants to scoff at hearing that. But she bites her lip, holding it back.

Earn reached for the toast with trembling fingers. Took a slow, cautious bite. 

It tasted like cardboard. But it was real. And it stayed down.

Suzie didn’t pressure her. Just sat there, watching quietly, a soft, steady presence that didn’t demand anything more than Earn could give.

For a while, the only sounds were the faint rustle of blankets and the soft clink of the water glass when Earn set it down after a few sips.

Then, quietly, almost as if she didn’t want to scare the moment away, Suzie spoke.

“You said some heavy stuff last night.”

Earn’s hand froze halfway to reaching for another piece of toast. Her chest tightened, a small, instinctive tremor moving through her.

“I know,” Earn whispered after a beat, voice barely above the soft morning light around them. “I just…” Her fingers twisted in the hem of her T-shirt without thinking. “I don’t feel like that right now. I mean—”

She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, trying to get the words right. “I was just so tired, Phi,” she said, voice cracking a little. 

She opened her eyes again, blinking against the sudden sting of tears. Then she took a shaky breath and forced herself to meet Suzie’s eyes.

“But I don’t feel that way right now,” she said, firmer this time. “I swear. Last night, it just… it broke me a little. But this morning—”

She looked down at the toast, the glass of water, and the soft blanket tucked around her. At Suzie, sitting there like a lighthouse in the middle of the storm.

“This morning feels different. I’m already feeling better telling you all that.” Earn gives a big smile to convince Suzie.

Suzie didn’t smile back.

In fact, her expression didn’t change at all. She just looked at Earn with this quiet, steady gaze — like she was seeing right through the act.

Then, slowly, she said, “Bullshit.”

Earn flinched. Her smile faltered.

Suzie didn’t raise her voice. Didn’t snap. Her tone was calm, but the weight behind her words was like a stone dropped into water, rippling deep.

“You don’t say things like that unless you mean them, Earn,” she continued, softer now, but unrelenting. “And I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re trying to patch over something real with a fake smile.”

Earn’s throat tightened, and she started to look away, but Suzie didn’t let her.

“That kind of tired doesn’t just vanish after a few hours of sleep. That kind of pain doesn’t go away with toast and a blanket.” She leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on her knees, voice dropping to something that felt almost like pleading. “I know you’re trying to protect me. Or maybe yourself. But don’t pretend you’re okay just because the sun came up.”

“I’m not pretending—” Earn started, but it cracked halfway out of her mouth.

Suzie just raised an eyebrow, waiting.

And Earn deflated.

“I just…” she muttered, dragging a hand down her face. “I want to be okay. Isn’t that enough?”

“It’s a start,” Suzie said gently. “But it’s not enough if you don’t deal with what’s underneath. If you just keep hiding everything until it explodes.”

Earn fell quiet again. Her fingers picked at a loose thread in the blanket wrapped around her, her gaze distant.

Then Suzie spoke, careful but firm. “Have you ever thought about talking to someone?”

Earn blinked, slowly turning her head toward her. “I am talking to someone,” she said, a bitter edge creeping into her voice. “I’m talking to you.”

“I mean a therapist ,” Suzie replied. “A real professional. Someone who can help you carry this stuff and make sense of it. I can sit with you, I can hold your hand, but I’m not trained for this. I’m scared, Earn.”

Earn’s expression hardened. “I don’t need a stranger digging around in my head.”

“Maybe not,” Suzie said, tone still even. “But you need something . Last night scared the hell out of me.”

Earn shoved her plate away and crossed her arms stubbornly. “I’m not going to therapy.”

Suzie raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Earn.”

“I’m serious!” Earn snapped. “I’m fine.”

“You just told me last night you wanted to die because you were tired of living your life,” Suzie said, calm but brutal. “That’s not ‘fine,’ and you know it.”

Earn's jaw clenched. She hated that Suzie was right. Hated it enough that her cheeks burned with frustration.

“If you make me go,” Earn said darkly, narrowing her eyes in warning, “I’m going on a hunger strike. I won’t eat. I won’t drink my meds. I’ll just—I’ll just rot dramatically in front of you until you regret it.”

Suzie didn’t even flinch. She just shrugged, reaching for her mug like this was a normal Wednesday morning conversation.

“Okay,” she said breezily. “I’ll just call the therapist to come to the house instead. You can rot dramatically in front of them too.”

Earn sputtered, almost knocking her chair back. “That’s illegal!”

“No, it’s not.” Suzie sipped her coffee. “It’s called a home visit.”

Earn gaped at her. “Phi!” she cried, half-horrified, half-pleading.

Suzie’s expression softened slightly. She reached across the table, brushing her knuckles lightly against Earn’s clenched fist.

“I'm not doing this to punish you, Earn,” she said quietly. “I'm doing this because I love you. Because I want you to have a chance at more than surviving.”

Earn’s mouth wobbled, traitorous emotion rising again—but she bit it down hard. “Can we just... not talk about it right now?” She mumbled, her voice fraying.

Suzie nodded, pulling her hand back slowly. “We’ll talk later,” she said, meaningfully. “But it’s not going away.”

Earn glared at her, but there wasn’t much heat behind it. Mostly tiredness. And maybe, deep down, a small, scared kind of gratitude.

They didn’t reach an agreement. The air stayed tense between them as they gathered their things, getting ready to leave for the set.

By the time they got to the car, Earn was sullenly stuffing herself into the passenger seat, arms crossed tight, staring out the window like a sulky teenager.

Suzie just drove in silence, the fight still simmering between them.

✦✦✦✦

Filming Set's Parking Lot

When they pulled up to the shooting location—a bright, sprawling hospital set built for the drama—Earn was already yanking her hat low over her eyes, muttering under her breath.

Suzie glanced at her before stepping out.

“Remember,” she said as she slammed the door shut behind her, “you’re allowed to be mad at me. But you’re still getting help.”

Earn stuck her tongue out at Suzie’s retreating back like a defiant kid—then sighed heavily and dragged herself out of the car too.

First day of shooting. First day pretending she was okay on camera when everything inside her was still a mess.

Well, at least, the good news is that her wound from yesterday is not visible anymore. So, that’s great for the first day of filming.

Earn squared her shoulders.

One day at a time, she reminded herself.  Just one.

Filming Set

The set buzzed with energy—lights being adjusted, cameras rolling into place, assistants running around with clipboards and scripts.

Earn stood stiffly off to the side, arms crossed tightly, her jaw locked.

She wasn’t sulking. She was professionally preparing . (At least that’s what she told herself.)

She could feel Suzie’s watchful gaze hovering nearby but refused to look her way. Not after their morning argument.

Not when she could still feel the therapist word buzzing in her head like an angry wasp.

Her attention snapped to the doorway as Fahlada entered, sharp and composed in her white coat, clipboard in hand.

She looked immaculate—a little too immaculate—like every hair had been placed with precision. Her expression was, as always, unreadable.

Earn straightened, fighting the ridiculous flutter in her chest.

Fahlada’s gaze swept casually across the room—then landed on her. Cold. Brief. Like she was an inconvenient stain on the floor.

Earn gritted her teeth, feeling the crackle of longing light up her nerves.

“Earn, can you come here a second?” The director called from behind the camera.

Earn jogged over, masking her anger behind a professional smile.

Fahlada stepped up beside the director, standing just a little too close, flipping casually through her notes.

“You’ll be doing the scene where your character finds a patient unconscious,” the director said. “We want real urgency and real technique. Dr. Fahlada will walk you through how to check vitals properly.”

“Of course,” Earn said smoothly, like it didn’t bother her. Like Fahlada wasn’t standing there looking at her like she was incompetent before she even moved.

Fahlada cleared her throat lightly. “Check the carotid pulse,” she instructed coolly, not meeting Earn’s eyes. “Not the wrist. It's faster. Tilt the head back to open the airway.”

Earn nodded, repeating the motions stiffly on the dummy patient laid out before them.

“Not like that,” Fahlada corrected immediately, stepping closer. Her hand brushed against Earn’s wrist, repositioning it brusquely.

Earn stiffened at the touch, heat rushing up her neck.

“It’s basic,” Fahlada added under her breath, barely audible. “You should’ve known.”

Earn’s fingers twitched. She smiled thinly, holding Fahlada’s gaze for half a second longer than necessary before pulling her hand back sharply.

“Thank you, Doctor,” she said with biting sweetness.

Suzie, standing by the monitors, narrowed her eyes but said nothing—yet.

The director clapped his hands. “Good, good. Let’s go for a take.”

Earn moved through the scene, kneeling beside the ‘patient,’ voice urgent but steady.

“Sir, can you hear me?” she said, checking the dummy’s airway like she had been instructed.

“Pulse is weak, starting CPR—"

“Cut!” the director called. “Good energy, Earn! But we need a little more desperation. Your character thinks the patient might die. You’re trained, but you're scared too. Show that conflict.”

Earn nodded, chest tight.

She reset herself at the start mark. As they called action again, she glanced up—and caught Fahlada watching her. Not cold this time. Something sharper. Like she was waiting for her to fail.

Earn’s chest squeezed. Don’t let it get to you. She deserves to feel that way.

She threw herself into the scene harder, pushing the emotion out—but when she finished, heart hammering, the first person she looked for was Suzie.

Suzie gave her a small, encouraging thumbs-up.

It steadied her... a little.

But then she remembers how Suzie pushed her to talk to a therapist. And that steady feeling quickly gone.

Lunch Break

The catering tables were lined up neatly under a tent, people milling around with trays, chatting between bites.

Earn grabbed a tray, walking straight past the food like she didn’t even see it.

She sat at the far edge of the tent, poking a napkin into tiny pieces, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.

Suzie walked over a few minutes later, two plates in hand.

She set one down in front of Earn without a word—rice, grilled chicken, and a little bowl of fruit. The usual.

Earn eyed it with a stubborn glint in her eye, crossing her arms.

Suzie sat across from her and waited.

Earn did not move.

She slid her plate a little farther away, very casually.

Suzie arched an eyebrow but said nothing.

Earn picked up her water bottle—then set it right back down without opening it. She side-eyed Suzie like a child daring a parent to call her out.

Suzie kept her face neutral, but inside she was seething. She saw the signs—the slight tremor in Earn’s fingers, the too-bright flush on her cheeks. Dehydration was already starting, blood sugar was dipping, and they still had hours left of shooting.

Suzie leaned in a little. “You’re being stubborn,” she said quietly.

Earn gave a tight, sweet smile. “You’re being annoying.”

“This isn’t winning, Earn. This is hurting yourself.”

Earn ripped her napkin in half and didn’t answer.

Across the tent, Fahlada passed by—her gaze brushing over Earn with clinical disinterest—and it made Earn’s spine straighten.

She picked up her water bottle again—and deliberately set it back down, untouched.

Suzie sighed quietly, shoulders sagging. “You’re not giving me any chances,” she said, voice low, almost defeated. “Just know that I’m doing this for you.”

And without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked away, blending into the crowd of the lunch tent.

Earn watched her go, biting the inside of her cheek.

A sour, bitter chuckle escaped her lips.

It was stupid how much that stung. 

How much it reminded her of yesterday—when she had stood in front of Fahlada, whispering almost the same words.

"I’m doing what’s best for us."

But this wasn’t the same. Earn said that to protect Fahlada. But this? This is just Suzie forcing her to do what she doesn’t want to.

Or, at least, that’s what Earn told herself.

Because deep down, she knows both sentences came from care. She just doesn’t want to admit that. Yet.

Earn shoved her tray farther away, resting her forehead on her crossed arms.

A few steps away, Suzie pressed her lips in a tight line, pulled out her phone and opened her messages to Dr. Anon as she quickly typed something.

Suzie: Doc, Earn hasn’t eaten or drunk her meds. She’s being stubborn. I’m worried.

The reply came almost instantly.

Dr. Anon: On it. Stay with her if you can.

Less than fifteen minutes later, a sleek black car pulled up near the set entrance of St. King Hospital, where the filming was ongoing.

Dr. Anon stepped out, casual but with purpose, a small bag slung over his shoulder.

He navigated the crowd easily, scanning until he spotted her—a tiny figure curled up by the edge of the tent.

Earn lifted her head, frowning slightly as she caught movement from the corner of her eye.

When she recognized him, her whole body jerked upright.

“ Doc— ” she blurted, then caught herself just in time, swallowing the word back hastily.

She couldn’t call him Doc here. Not where people could overhear. Not where someone might start asking uncomfortable questions.

“Phi Anon!” she said quickly, forcing a casual smile. “What are you doing here?”

Dr. Anon smiled like he wasn’t a walking emergency siren. “Just fulfilling a promise,” he said easily, slipping into the empty seat across from her.

He dropped the bag he carried onto the table—inside were two packed meals and two bottles of water.

“I heard you haven’t eaten,” he continued, his voice light.

Earn’s smile froze, the corners twitching in resistance. “Suzie called you.”

“I call it a tactical intervention,” Dr. Anon said, unbothered. “She calls it desperation. Either way—hi.” He nudged one of the meal boxes toward her, along with a bottle of water. “Try a bite. You don’t even have to like it. Just chew and complain.”

Earn scowled. “I’m not a child.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said mildly, cracking open his own box.

She didn’t move. Her stomach churned from hunger and spite in equal measure.

Dr. Anon didn’t press. He took a bite of his food, looking perfectly relaxed—like he had all day to sit there and wait her out.

That made it worse.

“Come on, at least take a sip. You’ve been shooting nonstop, must be thirsty.” A small amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Besides, you agreed to the terms I gave you, so please, hold up your end of the bargain,” he said simply, popping open one of the water bottles and sliding it toward her.

Earn scowled murderously at him.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Suzie watching carefully from a few tables away, pretending not to.

With great reluctance—and enough sulking to fill the entire tent—Earn snatched the bottle and took a sip.

Dr. Anon smiled, victorious but gentle.

But then Earn pushed the bottle and the food away again, which made Dr. Anon’s victorious smile falter and raised an eyebrow.

“Not hungry,” she muttered, crossing her arms like a child being punished.

He didn’t respond right away, just calmly unpacked the food containers, the smell wafting into the warm air between them. He waited.

“You know I’m not doing this to be difficult, right?” She muttered after a long silence, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m doing this just because Suzie’s pushing me. She’s trying to make me see a therapist.”

Dr. Anon froze, his fingers still on the spoon.

Earn’s mouth twisted into a bitter little smile. “And I said no. She didn’t listen. So now I’m saying no in a way she can’t ignore.”

Her voice cracked, but her resolve didn’t. “I told her I’m fine. I don’t need someone to sit and ask me how I feel when I already know I’m messed up.”

She dropped her gaze, nails digging into her arms. “I told her I didn’t want it, but she kept pushing. So this is how I push back.”

Dr. Anon sat back, lips pursed.

“That’s not pushing back,” he said finally, voice low and even. “That’s hurting yourself to punish someone else who cares about you.”

She didn’t answer.

He reached out, gently taking one of her trembling hands.

“You want me to tell Suzie to back off?” He asked.

Earn looked up, nodding quickly, a little too eager.

“Then eat,” he said.

She flinched.

“Eat and take your meds— then I’ll talk to Suzie.”

“But—”

“Earn,” he interrupted gently, squeezing her hand. “I won’t bargain with your health. You want to be heard, I get it. I’ll help you be heard. But starving yourself isn’t how we do that.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, conflict storming behind her eyes.

“I mean it,” he said again, voice softer now. “I will talk to her. But you have to show me you’re willing to meet me halfway.”

The silence between them stretched, thick with pride and pain.

Finally, Earn muttered, “I’m not hungry.”

Dr. Anon didn’t push further. He just sat beside her quietly, didn’t touch the food either. Didn’t force her. Just waited.

Earn sat with him, staring at the unopened box between them. “Look, no matter how long you wait, I won’t eat. I won’t take my meds. Not unless P’Suzie actually cancels the therapist.”

Dr. Anon exhaled slowly, his eyes fixed on her as if trying to measure just how deep the resistance ran. He knew Earn—better than most. And when she got like this, digging her heels in wasn’t just defiance. It was survival. Control.

Still, he wasn’t about to pretend it didn’t worry him.

“Alright,” he said quietly, standing. “I hear you.”

Earn looked up, startled.

“I’ll talk to her. We’ll see what we can work out.”

He didn’t wait for a reply.

Across the lot, Suzie was leaning against a cart, her phone clutched in both hands like a lifeline. She glanced up when she saw Dr. Anon approaching, her eyes immediately wary.

“She’s still not eating, is she?” she asked, her voice tired but steady.

Dr. Anon stopped a few feet away, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“She’s calling it a hunger strike now,” he said bluntly. “Told me she won’t eat or take her meds until you cancel the therapist idea.”

Suzie’s jaw clenched.

“I’m not cancelling it,” she said immediately.

“She’s serious, Suzie,” he warned. “She’s stubborn . If you push, she’ll break herself just to prove a point.”

“I know ,” Suzie snapped, then caught herself and looked away. “Sorry. I just… I’m trying to help her.”

Dr. Anon softened but didn’t back off. “Anyway, what’s this about a hunger strike and a therapist?”

Suzie’s jaw tightened. “She’s refusing to eat or take her meds until I drop the therapist idea.”

Dr. Anon nodded slowly. “I see.” He folded his arms. “Is that true? You’re insisting she see a therapist?”

“Yes, but that’s because she told me she wanted to die ,” Suzie said, voice cracking just slightly. “She can’t keep pretending that was just a one-time thing. She needs someone to talk to.”

Dr. Anon froze. “She told you she wanted to die?” His voice barely a whisper.

Suzie gave a short, shaky nod. “Yesterday, when I found her at her apartment. She looks so hollow . Then she started crying, saying she wanted to die and how she was eventually gonna die. So, why did she need to go to treatment and prolong the pain?”

“Then this morning she told me she’s feeling good all of the sudden. You know that’s not how feelings work. And Earn feels her emotion deeply.”

Dr. Anon pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose, suddenly looking years older. “Damn it, Earn…”

Suzie’s voice steadied again, though it shook at the edges. “That’s why I brought up therapy. I didn’t accuse her. I just said maybe she could talk to someone outside of all this. Someone who wouldn’t make her feel like she’s being watched all the time.”

“She doesn’t see it that way,” Dr. Anon said quietly. “To her, it feels like losing control. She’s holding onto this one thing—this hunger strike—because everything else is slipping through her fingers.”

Suzie swallowed hard. “So what do I do? Back off? Let her starve?”

“No,” Dr. Anon said firmly. “But you might have to change tactics. Earn doesn’t respond to force. You already know that. She pushes back harder. She’s scared, Suzie—and embarrassed. A therapist feels like... proof she’s broken.”

“She’s not broken,” Suzie muttered.

“I know. But you’ll need to help her see that without making her feel cornered.” He looked down at the pavement for a long moment. “Maybe she needs to choose it, Suzie. Maybe it has to feel like her decision—not yours.”

Suzie rubbed her face with both hands. “I’m not sure she’ll ever choose it.”

Dr. Anon looked back toward the trailers, where Earn still sat alone under the tent, arms crossed tightly. “Then you need to convince her it’s not punishment. Not proof that she’s sick or weak. Just a safe place to talk.”

Suzie exhaled slowly, glancing down at her phone. “She won’t believe that coming from me. She thinks I’m trying to fix her.”

Dr. Anon’s voice softened. “Then let me try. No therapist talk. Not yet. Just... her eating. Taking her meds. If she does that, I’ll earn her trust back a little. Then maybe we can work toward something.”

Suzie hesitated, then nodded once. “Alright, we’ll try your way. But I’m not letting this go forever.”

“You won’t have to.” He touched her arm briefly, reassuringly, before heading back toward Earn.

From afar, Earn was still sitting on the bench, arms crossed, expression tight as if she was bracing herself for a battle.

But she didn’t look victorious. She looked… scared. Like she was hoping someone would call her bluff—but terrified of what would happen if they did.

Back at the tent, Earn sat with her chin resting on her fist, watching the filming crew bustle with cables and lights. She was tired, her body starting to throb with emptiness, but the tight ball of control in her gut was louder than any hunger pang.

When Dr. Anon returned, he didn’t sit this time. He crouched next to her instead, leveling his gaze with hers.

“So?” Earn asked, “Are you here to tell me to give in?”

“No, I’m here to tell you I heard you.”

She glanced sideways at him, surprised. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.

“You said you don’t want therapy, not like this. That this is how you say no. I’m not here to argue that.”

Earn eyed him cautiously, unsure where he was going.

“But I am here,” he added, “because you’ve skipped your meds two days in a row. You’ve been barely eating. And that , Earn, is a separate issue.”

She frowned, turning away again. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Then don’t talk,” he replied, voice low. “But eat. Take your meds. If you really want control back, that’s one way to get it.”

That made her pause. She picked at the hem of her sleeve.

“I don’t want to do anything that makes P’Suzie think she’s won.”

Anon gave a quiet, tired laugh. “You’re treating this like a competition. It’s not. You’re not losing if you take care of yourself, Earn.”

Earn blinked fast at that. She hated how it almost reached her.

“I’m also here to offer you a choice.”

“What kind of choice?”

“If talking to a therapist feels like too much, then you choose when. Or who. Or if we start with something smaller. You don’t have to dive in headfirst — but you do need to start swimming, Earn. You’re sinking.”

She looked down at the unopened box, then back up.

“...And if I say no?” she asked, a trace of defiance still in her voice.

He leaned a little closer. “Then I’ll sit here and watch you not eat until you faint, and I’ll carry your dramatic ass to the ER myself. But you’ll still have to see me there, and I will feed you hospital porridge, so think carefully.”

“You’re staying?”

“Yep.” He smiled, teeth showing. “Gotta make sure you don’t drop on set from a blood sugar crash. Someone’s gotta be the adult in this mess.”

A weak, reluctant huff of a laugh escaped her nose. She didn’t reach for the box, but she stopped glaring at it.

“I hate you sometimes,” she muttered.

“I know,” he smiled gently. “Means I’m doing my job.”

She didn’t give in. But she also didn’t push him away.

“You know,” he said lightly, “I once had a patient who did this exact same thing. Stared down a meal like it was her mortal enemy.”

“Did she win?” Earn asked dully.

“Nope. But she passed out in the elevator and broke her wrist. So I guess it was a tie.”

Earn sighed and turned her face away.

It wasn’t long before Anon’s presence stirred quiet whispers. Crew members passed glances, recognizing his face from hospital interviews and academic circles. But more than that—his presence lingered . Standing near monitors. Perched beside the craft table. Always in the corner of Earn’s eye.

And apparently, also in Fahlada’s.

She passed him once near the med station set, clipboard in hand, her stride professional and brisk.

“Dr. Anon,” she greeted, tone polite but cool.

“Dr. Fahlada,” he replied with a mild grin. “Didn’t know you were part of the advisory team here. This series’s medical accuracy just jumped ten points.”

Fahlada didn’t slow. “Didn’t know you were part of the cast’s babysitting service. Is this a promotion or a demotion for you?”

He chuckled, following alongside her for a few paces. “It’s called caring. You might try it sometime. Looks good on camera.”

“I care,” she said curtly, glancing briefly toward Earn.

Anon caught it. The flicker in her expression. Then it was gone, replaced by practiced indifference.

“Ah. There it is,” he said with mock wonder. “The patented ‘Fahlada Freeze.’ Makes even seasoned residents cry.”

She stopped, just barely, and turned her head toward him.

“You’re in the way, Dr. Anon.”

“I usually am,” he said brightly. “And yet somehow, people still let me stay.”

Their eyes locked for a moment, tension taut but quiet.

Fahlada smiled—sharp, fake, and icy. “Try not to get in the way.”

“Try not to misdiagnose a prop patient,” he murmured as she walked off.

Behind them, the assistant director called out for positions, and the set began to buzz again.

Earn, who’d been quietly observing the exchange from a distance, shook her head to herself. “Great,” she muttered. “Now my doctor and my ex are going to kill each other in the middle of set.”

Chapter Text

The lights flared white-hot on set. Everything smelled of cables, makeup, and air-con—and underneath it all, stress. The medical drama’s latest scene was set in a makeshift ER, its backdrop a sterile arrangement of faux monitors and perfectly wrinkled hospital sheets.

“Quiet on set!”

“Rolling!”

“Scene twelve, take four!”

The clapboard snapped. Cameras rolled.

Earn stepped into frame in a white coat, stethoscope slung with effortlessness over her shoulders. Her posture was steady. Her expression — unreadable, as usual. But Dr. Anon, seated off to the side beside Suzie and a few crewmembers, narrowed his eyes.

“She’s slower,” he murmured.

Suzie nodded, lips pressed into a tight line. “She’s still dizzy. I saw her grab the table earlier. Said it was nothing.”

“She’s lying,” Anon said simply and leaned forward slightly.

Earn was now mid-scene, her dialogue bouncing between her and the actor playing a panicked father.

“She’s hemorrhaging! She’s—my daughter’s going to die!” He shouted, gripping Earn’s coat.

Earn didn’t flinch. Her hands moved, reaching for the girl—the young actress lying on the bed with carefully dabbed fake blood down her temple.

“Clamp that artery,” she said, voice calm. “We need suction. Now.”

But there was a beat too long before her next line. A split-second delay. Barely perceptible to anyone else.

Fahlada, standing just behind the cameras with a clipboard in hand, caught it immediately.

Her gaze flicked to Earn, then flicked again—this time to Anon, who was watching like a hawk. And next to him, Suzie wasn’t even pretending to be casual. Her arms were crossed so tightly, her knuckles had turned white.

Fahlada’s eyes narrowed.

“Cut!” the director called out. “Earn, your pacing’s slightly off. Let’s try one more from the top.”

Earn gave a quick bow of her head. “Sorry, P’Arun.”

She didn’t argue. She never did. She just stepped back to her mark and waited for the reset, her arms hanging a little heavier than before.

“Scene twelve, take five!”

The slate clapped again.

This time, it got worse.

Her fingers fumbled the surgical tools. She hesitated again—not once, but three times. Each delay was less than a second, but for someone like Earn, known for her precision, it might as well have been an hour.

Fahlada leaned toward the director. “She’s usually sharper than this.”

“Yeah,” Arun muttered. “She’s off today. Probably just tired.”

Fahlada’s eyes slid back to the far edge of the set, where Anon hadn’t moved an inch.

Tired? This feels more than tired.

Fahlada’s voice cut through, deliberately directed to the assistant medic consultant nearby. “Can someone make sure she is getting her breaks properly? She looks… off. Pale.”

Dr. Anon turned slightly at that.

She didn’t look at him.

He smiled—thin, smug, infuriating.

“Oh? Doctor Fahlada, showing concern? Should I write this down for the history books?”

She didn’t rise to the bait. But her jaw flexed for a moment before she turned and walked away.

Dr. Anon watched her retreat with a slight smirk. It’s always fun to tease the icy doctor.

✦✦✦✦

Behind the camera, Suzie muttered under her breath. “She’s going to faint. I swear, she’s going to faint.”

Anon was already pulling out a bottle of electrolytes from his bag, quietly twisting the cap.

“She’s going to push through. She always does,” he said.

“That’s not comforting.”

“Didn’t say it was.”

They both looked up again as the director called for another take. Earn walked back to her mark, shoulders a bit more slumped, face paler under the powder and studio lights. 

Fahlada’s eyes followed her every move now, and though her face remained composed, her knuckles slowly curled around the edge of her clipboard.

✦✦✦✦

The sixth take started—and it was rough.

Mid-sentence, Earn’s voice faltered. Just a crack. But she kept going.

She leaned over the fake patient again, trying to focus. She blinked hard — once, twice. Her vision blurred. Her stomach twisted.

She missed a line.

The actor playing the nurse improvised, trying to cover for it. But it wasn’t seamless.

“Cut!”

This time, she flinched.

“Earn, what’s going on?” Arun  asked, more puzzled than angry. “You good?”

Earn smiled faintly and bowed her head. “I’m okay, sorry phi. Just didn’t sleep well.”

Suzie stood up.

Anon reached for her wrist, whispering quickly. “Don’t. Not yet. She’ll shut down.”

She paused, biting back her instincts.

But Earn didn’t look okay.

Her hand brushed the edge of the table as she walked off set for a moment, heading for the corner where props and water bottles waited. She didn’t drink anything.

Fahlada had been watching that too.

She turned abruptly and made her way toward the table where Anon now stood, arms folded, jaw tight.

“Must be nice,” she said quietly, eyes still on the camera framing Earn. “Having a personal fan club hovering every time you blink.”

Anon didn’t bother looking at her. “She’s tired.”

“Everyone is tired too, but they didn’t act like everything is just about themselves.” Fahlada turned to him, tone sharp. “And this is day one of shooting. She can’t afford to be tired.”

“I’m aware,” Anon replied, voice light but pointed. “Maybe if people gave her room to breathe instead of pushing her to work nonstop and repeated the same thing for the last few weeks down her throat—”

“Watch your tone.”

Suzie cleared her throat. “Doctors, not now.”

But Anon was already smiling that infuriating, charming smile—thinly veiled sarcasm behind every word. “I just think it’s funny. Some people really just do nothing but criticize while watching someone unravel.”

Fahlada’s eyes flashed. “I’m only doing my job.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Anon leaned closer, voice low. “But if you’re done policing her technique, maybe worry a little less about scalpel angles and a little more about the human being holding one.”

She glared at him. “She’s not your patient.”

He hesitated. Just for a second. Long enough.

“She’s someone I care about,” he said instead. “That should be enough.”

Fahlada scoffed, turning sharply. “She’s not your responsibility.”

“She’s not yours either,” Anon stepped closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “And yet you’re watching her like she still is yours.”

That landed. For a moment, something flickered in Fahlada’s eyes—hurt, guilt, anger—too fast to name.

She stepped back and he didn’t press further. 

They both looked toward Earn again just as the director called, “Cut! Reset from scene 4. Let’s get a five-minute break!”

Earn let her shoulders sag the moment the cameras stopped rolling. She pressed her palms into her eyes for a second before dragging herself off the set floor to sit near the edge of the stage. A crew member passed her a bottle of water. She took it and nodded politely, but the cap remained unopened in her lap.

At that moment, Fahlada approached the small corner where Earn was sitting, her eyes casually scanning the stage. 

“We’re reblocking the next scene,” she told Earn without looking directly at her. “Don’t stand on the left side—it’s too shadowed, you’ll throw off the camera’s tracking.”

Earn nodded, expression unreadable. “Noted.”

Fahlada paused, lingering just a second too long. Her gaze dipped to the bottle in Earn’s hands.

“You look tired,” she said, not unkindly.

“Big first day,” Earn muttered. “It’s just the nerves.”

Fahlada’s jaw clenched. She turned without another word and walked off.

Anon walked over as soon as she disappeared. “You really going to keep this up?”

Earn didn’t meet his eyes. “I don’t want to let P’Suzie think she won.”

“You both are so stubborn, you know.” Anon crouched in front of her, voice dropping. “We both know eating or not eating won’t affect who wins. There aren’t any competitions at all in the first place.”

Earn’s lips quirked, but it wasn’t humor. It was exhaustion made into muscle memory.

“You’re wrong,” she said softly. “There’s always a competition. You just have to know what game you’re playing.”

Dr. Anon studied her face—the ghost of dark circles hiding under concealer, the way her fingers kept tapping lightly against the water bottle cap but never twisted it. He could hear it in her voice now, too. That low hum of bone-deep fatigue that wasn’t just about lack of sleep. It was something older. Heavier.

“That’s the problem,” Anon said gently. “You’re trying to win at hurting yourself the quietest.”

She exhaled, slow and shaky. Her fingers twisted the cap of the water bottle open. She didn’t drink it yet, but the motion wasn’t lost on him.

“I’m not giving you a medal for that,” he added.

“I’m not asking for one.”

“Then stop acting like this is something to be proud of, Earn.” He stood up, slow, his voice dropping. “You don’t have to keep proving how much pain you can carry.”

“No, but it keeps people off my back.”

“No, Earn. It makes people like me stay on your back.”

She glanced at him, a flicker of something unguarded behind her eyes—not quite gratitude, but not quite defiance either. “You’re not obligated to stay.”

“I’m not.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I’m choosing to.”

She didn’t reply. He reached out and gently placed a hand over hers.

“You can push everyone away all you want,” he said softly. “But I’m staying. Suzie’s staying. Even Dr. Frostbite over there is staying—”

“Lada,” Earn murmured.

Anon grinned. “That’s the one. Point is, we’re all still here. Now, if you collapse in the next scene, it’ll only make things worse. So… open the food container and eat. Just a few spoonful is enough.”

She stared at him.

“And if I do?”

 “Suzie won’t talk about the therapist again.”

“Forever?”

“It depends on how diligent you are in taking your medication and eating regularly.”

Finally, Earn muttered, “I’ll eat later. I just don’t really have the appetite for that.”

“Okay, but at least please drink? You need to hydrate.”

She sighed, unscrewed the cap, and took a reluctant sip. Just one.

Anon stood and patted Earn’s head. “And that earned you a day off of Suzie talking to you about therapy.”

She flipped him off weakly. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he said, smug, “you’re still alive. Let’s keep it that way.”

Earn looked down again.

Across the set, Fahlada stood near the monitors, pretending to check playback, but her eyes kept drifting to the small figure slumped at the edge of the stage. She didn’t look angry anymore. She looked conflicted. Distantly worried. Maybe even helpless.

And that, for Fahlada, was rare.

“Alright everyone,” the director called out, clapping his hands. “Break’s over. We’re moving on to the next scene. Earn, you good?”

Earn rose slowly. “I’m good, phi.” she replied, voice steady but smaller now.

Anon didn’t return to the sidelines this time.

He stayed close to the edge of the lights, arms folded, eyes sharp. A quiet sentinel.

Fahlada noticed.

She walked past him with the barest tilt of her head. “Planning to monitor her blood pressure during the kissing scene too?”

“Only if she flatlines,” Anon replied without missing a beat.

She didn’t laugh, but her lip twitched.

The next scene required close contact—Earn and the male lead in an intense confrontation over a risky treatment plan. It involved emotion, anger, tension, and long dialogue.

It also required physicality—a shove, a turn, a rapid walk toward the patient.

Earn got through the first half.

Then came the walk.

Halfway across the faux ER, she faltered. Her steps slowed. Her eyes unfocused for a blink too long.

Fahlada straightened instantly. Anon took a step forward. Suzie visibly tensed.

But Earn, perhaps sensing the looming concern, forced her body to move. She gritted her teeth and pushed through the final line, hands trembling as she grabbed the chart prop.

“Cut!” Arun’s voice was sharp. “Earn, let’s take five. You’re off rhythm again.”

“Sorry—” she started, but Fahlada was already crossing the room.

“Let her sit down,” Fahlada said to Arun. “Give her more than five.”

“I’m fine,” Earn replied, standing still.

Fahlada reached her anyway. “You’re pale.”

“I always look like this in these lights.”

“You’re shaking.”

“It’s cold.”

Fahlada looked at her then. “It’s not the lights. And it’s not the cold.”

There was a beat of silence between them.

Then she adds, “The whole production will be delayed if you, the main actress, are not in the best condition. We would rather take a few minutes break than have you in a hospital bed for a few days just because you can’t manage your own health.”

Earn didn’t respond.

Dr. Anon appeared a moment later, slow and deliberate. “Well,” he said lightly, “this is cozy.”

Fahlada didn’t turn around. “Back off.”

Anon’s smile never reached his eyes. “Already tried. She’s still standing.”

“Barely.”

“Exactly.”

Suzie quietly slipped between them before the sparks turned to flame. “Let’s not do this here.”

“Then where?” Anon said, voice rising just slightly. “You want her to collapse mid-shoot before someone actually calls for a medic?”

Earn suddenly laughed—short, dry, and bitter. “I’m still right here, by the way.”

They all fell silent.

She stood in the middle of them—her doctor, her former lover, and her current handler—and none of them were listening to her.

“I am tired and everyone is also tired,” she admitted, finally. “But I can finish the day. That’s all I’m asking.”

Fahlada turned to her. “And what about tomorrow?”

“We’ll see.”

Dr. Anon exhaled harshly. “Fine. Then I’m not going anywhere.”

Fahlada folded her arms. “Neither am I.”

Suzie blinked. “Well, this is… wildly counterproductive.”

Earn just sat down again, slower this time. Her body felt like a borrowed costume.

For a moment, no one moved.

Then Anon crouched beside her again. “Please eat something.”

Earn reached for the container of food P’Anon brought earlier.

And this time, she opened it. 

Earn took a tentative spoonful—a tiny bite of rice that barely counted—and chewed like she had to remember how. Her jaw ached. Her stomach twisted at the sudden presence of food. But she swallowed anyway.

The silence was palpable.

Suzie hovered just behind Anon, visibly relieved but still tense, as though Earn might spit it all out and bolt.

Fahlada watched her with careful eyes. Not warm. Not cold. Just watching , like she always did—seeing things others didn’t.

Anon crouched a little lower. “One more bite.”

Earn gave him a flat look, but she complied. Another small spoonful.

Then a third.

After the fourth, she shook her head. “I’ve had enough.”

“Three spoonfuls is not enough.”

“It is for me.”

Anon didn’t argue. Not out loud. But his face said plenty. 

Then Earn smirk slightly. “This should give me a week off of Phi Suzie’s nagging, right?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, no way. You only eat like five spoons, that will bought you half a day.” 

“What, no way. That’s not fair. It should be more than that.”

“We really shouldn’t talk about fair or not in your condition.”

Then Earn pouts and cross her hands, feeling betrayed by Anon.

Seeing Earn’s reaction, he reached into the side pocket of his bag, fishing something out—a small silver pill case. Clean, clinical, discreet.

He handed her two pale tablets and a bottle of water.

“If you drink this then I’ll make it into a full day of now Suzie’s nagging.”

“You know I’m here and I can talk for myself, right?” Suzie muttered.

Then Earn sighed and look at Anon, giving her best puppy eyes.

Anon shrugged. “You choose. Half a day or a full day.”

Earn accepted both without a word, swallowing them quickly and wincing slightly as the pills slid down.

Fahlada’s brow twitched. She watched the exchange with sharp, quiet attention.

“Medication?” she asked, tone deceptively casual. “Headache?”

No one answered.

Earn didn’t even look at her.

Suzie glanced at Anon like she wanted to say something but thought better of it.

Fahlada’s gaze shifted from Earn to Anon, then back again. Her eyes narrowed. “Not going to explain?”

“Vitamin,” Earn answered too fast.

Fahlada’s gaze flicked to Anon.

He smiled, infuriatingly calm. “She’s low on iron.”

Fahlada didn’t buy it. But she didn’t ask again. She just nodded once. “Right,” she said. “Iron.”

No one corrected her.

Earn slowly stood again, as if gauging whether her legs would support her weight. They did—barely.

“I’ll get through the next scene,” she said quietly.

“You’ll do the next scene if you're stable enough to stand by the end of the next roll call,” Anon said firmly.

Fahlada, surprising everyone, didn’t object.

But she did follow Earn’s retreating form with her eyes, watching the slight wobble in her step, the way her hand briefly touched the wall when she thought no one was looking.

A few minutes later, Fahlada stood near the lighting techs, clipboard against her chest but no longer reading it. Her gaze was distant.

Suzie approached her cautiously. “You okay?”

“You’re the one who looks like you might passed out if she breathe wrong,” Fahlada said without looking at her.

Suzie offered a weak smile. “That girl gives me a heart attack every thirty minutes.”

Fahlada didn’t smile. She didn’t even blink.

“She wasn’t like this before,” she said, voice low.

Suzie hesitated. “You mean… at the project workshop?”

“No.” Fahlada’s voice dipped even quieter. “I mean years ago.”

Suzie’s brows arched. But before she could ask, Arun’s voice rang out across the set.

“Positions! We’re picking up from the tracking shot.”

Earn returned to her mark, slow but determined.

Anon stood just behind the cameras, arms folded, his eyes never leaving her.

And Fahlada—she didn’t move from her spot. But her hands tightened around the clipboard again.

Like maybe she was starting to realize that there is something that Earn hides from her. And Fahlada is not sure if she wants to know what that is.

Fahlada was standing still, arms crossed tightly, eyes following Earn’s every move. Her gaze wasn’t just casual; it was too sharp, too intent for a mere professional observer.

Anon saw an opportunity and couldn’t resist.

“Everything alright, Ice Queen?” he called, his voice light with humor. 

Fahlada didn’t look at him. “Don’t call me that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said innocently. “I just thought you hated her. But here you are, practically burning a hole in her back. Getting a little concerned, are we?”

Fahlada's head snapped toward him. Her expression didn’t falter; her face remained as cool as ever, but the faintest flicker of something—something defensive—flashed in her eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she replied, her tone icy. “I’m just making sure the set doesn’t turn into a disaster.”

Anon chuckled, stepping closer, his tone still teasing but his eyes carefully reading her. “Is that what you call it? Concern? Or are you just trying to make sure you’re not the one who has to clean up after her?”

He took a step closer, lowering his voice just enough so only she could hear. “Because I’m starting to think it’s more than that.”

Fahlada’s jaw tightened, and she shifted uncomfortably, though she’d never admit it.

“I’m professional, just doing my job.” she muttered, now staring at the clipboard in her hands as if it held the answers to the universe.

He scoffed lightly. “You mean ‘emotionally repressed’?”

She turned to him then, a sharp glare that could have cut glass. “Drop it, Anon.”

But he just grinned wider, not backing down.  “You know, for someone who supposedly doesn’t care, you sure spend a lot of time watching her like you still care about her.”

Fahlada glared at him for a moment, the fire in her eyes simmering beneath the cool exterior. Then, she simply turned away, brushing past him to join the director, her stride unshaken.

Anon grinned, watching her retreating back.

“Yeah, Ice Queen,” he called after her, loud enough for a few people to hear. “Sure looks like you’re cold as always. Just don’t freeze yourself in the process.”

Fahlada didn’t answer. She kept walking.

Then the director shouted. “Rolling—action!”

Earn stepped forward again, shoulders square, face composed. Her hands moved with deliberate slowness, checking the young actress’s vitals, calling for nonexistent nurses, clamping fake arteries. Every word of her dialogue landed—but slightly off, like a melody one key too low. Not wrong. Just… wrong for her.

Even from the monitor, Fahlada could tell her timing was unnatural. She wasn’t just tired. She was detached.

Gone.

Mid-sentence, Earn’s eyes drifted—not to the actor, not to the patient, but past them. A fraction of a second too long. Her gaze glazed. For a breath, it looked like she wasn’t even there.

Fahlada’s spine straightened.

She stepped forward automatically, clipboard forgotten at the tech table, but Arun beat her to it.

“Cut!” the director barked. “Earn, stay with us, okay?”

Earn blinked hard, like surfacing from underwater. She nodded once. “Sorry. I’m here.”

Arun sighed but didn’t scold her. “Okay, last scene. Then we’re done for the day.”

Fahlada lingered just outside the camera range for the rest of it, arms folded again, lips tight.

✦✦✦✦

“Alright! That’s a wrap for today, everyone! Great work.”

When the final cut was called, the entire crew seemed to exhale at once.

People began scattering—grabbing bags, checking call sheets, already halfway out the door. Lights dimmed. Monitors powered down. The set slowly started breathing again.

Earn bowed politely to the director, said her thank-yous with a smile that barely moved her face.

Suzie exhaled and touched Anon’s arm. “I’ll get her things. Can you keep an eye on her?”

Anon nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

But somehow he got pulled aside by one of the assistant directors who’s asking about his interest in becoming a medical consultant for the production.

That left Earn alone.

Except—

Fahlada hadn’t left.

She was standing near the director’s monitor still, as if double-checking something. But there was nothing left to check. She stayed until the crew’s noise faded into the hallway, then slowly made her way over to where Earn sat, silent as a ghost.

Earn didn’t look up.

“You’re the last one here,” Fahlada said quietly, her arms folded, voice neutral.

“Guess I’m just slow,” Earn replied, soft, almost automatic. “I’ll get out of your way in a minute.”

“I didn’t say that.”

A pause.

She stared at Earn, her gaze moving across the fine lines of fatigue around her eyes, the way her cheekbones were sharper than they used to be, the paleness beneath the makeup, the faint tremble in her fingers as she toyed with the hem of her sleeve.

“You’re not well,” she said finally.

Earn swallowed. “I’m just tired.”

Fahlada exhaled sharply, turning her face away for a second like she couldn’t look at her. “Stop lying to me, Earn. God, you haven’t changed.”

Earn didn’t move. Her fingers had gone still on the sleeve of her jacket, the tremble now more visible.

“I’m just tired,” she repeated, softer this time. Fragile.

“You said that already,” Fahlada replied, voice clipped, almost angry. But not at the words. Not really.

She stepped closer, standing just a few feet away now. Close enough to see the way Earn’s lips were dry, how her shoulders had begun to cave inward.

“Is this what you’ve been doing all these years?” Fahlada asked. “Running yourself into the ground and calling it tired?”

Earn still wouldn’t look at her. Her eyes stayed on the floor. “You shouldn’t worry about me.”

“I’m not worried,” Fahlada snapped too quickly. Then quieter—sharper. “I’m furious.”

That made Earn finally look up.

Fahlada take a breath and quickly composed herself. She already told herself not to care about Earn. But how can she ignore her when the love of her life is out here, looking like she almost passed out on any little move she made.

Fahlada crossed her arms tighter against her chest, teeth pressing into the inside of her cheek like she was biting back something sharper than her words.

“You sick or something?” she asked at last. Her voice was flat, practical. Like she was asking about a malfunctioning light, or a costume fitting.

Earn blinked. Then blinked again.

“No,” she lied.

Fahlada’s brow arched, but her face remained unreadable. “Because you look like you haven’t slept in days. And you can barely stand.”

“I told you. I’m just tired.” Earn tried to gather her things, but her hand missed the handle of her bag the first time, and she flinched when her fingers brushed the strap too hard.

Fahlada didn’t move to help her. She just stared. “You’ve been telling people that all day. ‘I’m just tired.’ ‘I’m fine.’ ‘It’s nothing.’”

Earn zipped her bag with effort, not answering.

“So, which one is it?” Fahlada asked, voice sharp now. “Are you exhausted? Or are you lying?”

“I’m not lying.” The words were quiet, like she was trying to make them true by keeping them small.

“Right,” Fahlada muttered, sarcasm laced under the syllable. “You always did think you were good at hiding things.”

Earn looked up at her, then down again. “It doesn’t matter.”

“ It does when you vomited at the reading, dissociate mid-dialogue, hands shaking, and almost collapse every scene,” Fahlada snapped, then immediately looked away like she regretted saying too much. Her fingers dug into her arms where they were folded.

Earn blinked, startled. “You saw that?”

“I’m observant.” Her voice dropped. 

“So?” Earn whispered.

“So,” Fahlada echoed, tone sharp, “you planning to collapse in the middle of a scene next week, or what?”

Earn flinched like she’d been slapped.

She just exhaled through her nose, jaw clenched.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she said flatly. “I don’t care. I’m not part of your life anymore. But if you’re going to collapse in the middle of a scene, at least have the decency to warn the crew.”

Earn nodded slowly. “I’ll be more careful.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Still. I’ll be careful,” she repeated, eyes distant, voice steady, too steady.

Fahlada sighed. “You’ve always been like this.”

Earn didn’t respond to that.

“Just tell me one thing,” Fahlada continued, arms still crossed so tight her knuckles whitened. 

“Why does Suzie looks like she’s walking on eggshells around you and Anon keeps hovering like he’s waiting for you to drop?”

“They’re just… being dramatic.”

Fahlada’s eyes narrowed. “No, Earn. Dramatic is Suzie crying because the coffee machine is broken. This—” she motioned vaguely toward her, toward everything, “—this looks like something else.”

Earn didn’t reply.

Fahlada sighed through her nose, hands loosening just a little from their tight grip.

“I don’t care what happened between us,” she said, voice lower now. Still neutral, still guarded. But not cruel. “I don’t care if we hate each other.”

She hesitated, just for a breath. 

“But as a doctor, I’m not going to stand here and watch someone pretend they’re fine when they’re clearly not.”

Earn looked up again, eyes finally meeting hers.

“Why?” she asked. Just that. Just one word.

Fahlada held her gaze, her tone clipped and almost bored. “Because if you collapse on set, I have to deal with the fallout. And frankly, I don’t have time for that.”

Earn stared at her for a moment longer. Then nodded slowly.

“Right.” Her voice was barely there. “Of course.”

But something flickered behind her eyes. A small crack in the wall she was trying so hard to keep up.

Fahlada noticed it, even if she wouldn’t admit it.

“Whatever it is,” she said eventually, her tone cool again, “you should get it checked properly. If you’re sick, hiding it won’t fix anything.”

Earn didn’t respond. She just nodded slightly. It wasn’t agreement. It was just… the end of a conversation she didn’t want to have.

“Get home safe,” Lada muttered, already turning away.

“You too.”

Fahlada didn’t look back.

She didn’t say you’re welcome .

Didn’t say I care .

Didn’t say I still lose sleep thinking about the night you left .

She just walked away, heels clicking sharply on the studio floor, her face unreadable.

But her hands—they were trembling. Just a little.

Chapter Text

By the second day of filming, Fahlada had convinced herself she was overthinking it. Over-reading things. Earn’s paleness, the stiffness in her movements, the way her manager hovered like a storm cloud waiting to burst—it wasn’t her concern.

And yet she found herself arriving on set early. Earlier than usual.

She told herself it was to review continuity shots with the director. To double-check a surgical sequence’s realism.

But when her eyes darted across the room and immediately searched for Earn…

That was instinct. Not professionalism.

Earn sat in the far corner, head bowed over her script. She looked freshly powdered, but it did little to hide the way her collarbones jutted more than they should’ve.

Or how she tugged her sleeves past her knuckles every few minutes. Like she was cold. Or hiding something.

She used to fidget like that in the winter, Fahlada thought, then immediately shut the thought down.

She forced herself to look away.

✦✦✦✦

Day 3 of Shooting

Fahlada started keeping count.

Three bites of food.

Half a bottle of water.

Then, the meds.

Anon slid them toward Earn without a word. She hesitated for three seconds.

One...

Two...

Three...

Four...

Fahlada counted them all while pretending to read her notes.

Five.

Earn popped them in and took a sip of water, only when Anon was watching her like a hawk.

Anon’s existence has been a constant thing now. He had become a consultant too on this project. Not full-time. Fahlada is still in charge most of the time.

Fahlada looked down at her clipboard.

She circled something that didn’t need circling.

Why does it take three people to make one woman eat?

Why does it hurt to watch?

✦✦✦✦

Day 4 of Shooting

Earn almost collapsed during a retake.

It was a simple scene. Nothing physically demanding. She was supposed to deliver a monologue to a grieving mother. Her voice cracked halfway through, her knees buckled slightly at the final mark.

She recovered fast. Covered it with a quick breath and a hand on the table.

The director didn’t even notice.

Fahlada did.

So did Anon.

So did Suzie—who bolted to Earn’s side the moment “Cut!” was called, pretending it was just a notes discussion. Her smile didn’t even reach her eyes.

Fahlada stayed by the medical cart, pretending to check the scalpels for a later scene.

She watched Earn take two sips of juice. Just enough to prove a point. Not enough to hydrate.

Then she saw her slip two pills under her tongue.

And spit them out into a tissue the moment Suzie turned her back.

Fahlada’s grip on the clipboard went white-knuckle.

She didn’t say anything.

Later That Night

Fahlada stood in front of her bathroom mirror at 2:13 a.m.

Unclipped her bun. Splashed cold water on her face.

Her reflection stared back—all sharp angles and worn-out polish. A ghost of someone who used to know how to compartmentalize.

She couldn’t stop thinking about that tissue.

And how familiar this all felt.

The silence. The lies. The way Earn said “I’m just tired” with the same voice she’d once used to say “I love you” .

Back then, she didn’t know what Earn was hiding.

Now she knew there was still something.

And it terrified her how much she wanted to know. How much she still wanted to fix it. Even after all the anger. Even after all the time.

She told herself again: this wasn’t personal.

Then she reached for her phone.

Typed:

“I saw you spit out your juice yesterday.”

Paused. It was weird. Deleted it.

Typed again:

“Are you okay?”

Paused. It was too caring. Deleted it.

Typed again:

“Are you gonna make trouble for the crew by keep acting reckless and doesn’t care about your own body?”

Paused. It was too harsh. Deleted.

This time she just stared at the blank screen, unable to bring herself to send anything.

✦✦✦✦

Day 5 of Shooting

It was the day Fahlada realized Suzie had started to cry—quietly, on a phone call. The girl was turned away, voice hushed and raw.

That was the day when Anon didn’t showed up. An emergency op or something like that.

Fahlada caught only a few words as she passed by:

“…won’t listen to me… I don’t know what to do anymore…”

Fahlada stopped. Watched her from behind a prop cart. Then turned and left before she did something stupid. Like comfort her. Like ask what was wrong.

As if she didn’t already know.

✦✦✦✦

Day 6 of Shooting

Anon is back at the location of the shooting again.

He caught Fahlada watching Earn again.

She was leaning against a scaffold, pretending to review the lighting setup on her tablet. But she wasn’t even scrolling.

He came to stand beside her, uncapping a bottle of electrolyte water and setting it down on a nearby table—pointedly within Earn’s reach.

“Can’t help yourself, can you?” he muttered.

She didn’t look at him. “Go away.”

“She’s not telling anyone what’s really going on, you know.”

“Maybe that’s your problem,” Fahlada replied curtly.

Anon smirked. “Is it? Because you watch her like you know something.”

That hit closer than she wanted it to. Her voice dropped, cold and measured.

“She left me, Anon. Whatever she’s going through, she chose to go through it alone.”

“People don’t walk away from love for no reason.” His voice wasn’t teasing now. “If she left, maybe there was some reason behind that.”

That was the first time Fahlada actually turned to look at him. “Then maybe she should’ve had the guts to say so.”

Anon didn’t reply. He just turned and walked away, leaving the bottle behind.

Fahlada stayed where she was, her jaw tight, her chest burning.

Across the set, Earn picked up the electrolyte bottle.

She looked at it for a moment.

Then set it back down—unopened.

Later That Night

The sun was just dipping past the city skyline, throwing soft amber across the makeshift lot where the cast and crew were packing up. Fahlada stood by her car, flipping through her notes when she heard a familiar voice behind her.

“Wow,” Tan drawled, arms folded, eyes twinkling. “Still buried in work after shooting? You really are a machine.”

Fahlada didn’t look up. “Says the guy who used to chart progress notes at 3 a.m. with jazz music blasting.”

Tan laughed, then moved beside her, leaning casually against the car.

“I’m grabbing dinner with Bow. Thought I’d bring the gang back together,” he said lightly. “You in?”

Fahlada finally looked up, eyes narrowing a little. “What gang?”

“Me. You. Bow.” Then, carefully, with a glance toward the far end of the lot where a familiar figure stood packing up a duffel. “And Anon.”

Her lips tightened. “I’ve seen enough of him in set.”

“Come on,” Tan said, grinning. “It’s been years. You two were annoying back in residency, but you’re worse now pretending you’re not friends.”

“We were never that close.”

Tan gave her a look .

“Fine,” she muttered. “But I’m only staying for one hour.”

The Restaurant

The restaurant was warm, tucked into a quiet alley near the hospital, filled with low lighting and quiet music that blended nicely with the clink of plates and murmured conversation.

Fahlada arrived first. Bow waved from a corner booth and slid over to make room.

“You still do that tight-bun thing when you’re tense,” Bow said instead of hello. “Your hairline’s gonna sue you.”

Fahlada rolled her eyes. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

“I haven’t. Internal medicine’s a curse.”

They exchanged smiles—genuine, fond, a little frayed around the edges.

Then came Anon.

“Ladies,” he said as he slid into the booth across from them, flashing his usual too-bright grin. “Let the chaos commence.”

Fahlada’s jaw tensed automatically.

“Tan?” she asked.

“He’s parking,” Anon replied. “I guess even the golden boy has to fight for street space.”

Bow gave Anon a look. “No jabs tonight. I actually want to eat in peace.”

“Me? I’m a delight,” Anon said innocently.

Fahlada scoffed softly and reached for the menu.

A moment later, Tan arrived, dropped into the booth beside Anon, and clapped his hands once. “Okay! Finally, the world’s most dysfunctional foursome in one place again.”

“Speak for yourself,” Bow muttered, sipping her tea.

The waiter came. Orders were taken. Drinks poured. 

For a few minutes, it almost felt normal. Easy. 

They fell into old rhythms: teasing Tan for his weird habit of adding chili to everything, groaning when Bow pulled up hospital gossip, and pretending not to notice when Fahlada side-eyed Anon every time he opened his mouth.

Tan cleared his throat after the man walked away.

“So,” he said. “You both have been on the same set all week. And yet no screaming. No one’s stabbed each other with prop scalpels.”

Bow leaned her chin on her palm, dryly. “Small miracles.”

Fahlada glanced at Anon. “No need. He’s too busy following someone around like a private nurse.”

Tan’s grin faded slightly. “Lada.”

“What?” she said coolly, sipping her water. “I’m just pointing out the obvious.”

Anon didn’t rise to the bait this time. He sat back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the table. 

“And you’re not watching her every second like you’re one breath away from dragging her to an exam room?”

Fahlada looked at him, eyes sharp. “Because she looks like she’s about to pass out on camera. I’m not blind.”

Bow winced slightly. “Okay. Can we maybe—just for tonight—not turn this into another Cold War?”

Tan stepped in. “We’re here because we used to be friends. The four of us.”

His voice was gentle, but it cut through the static.

“You both remember that, right?”

Fahlada didn’t answer. She shifted slightly in her seat.

Anon glanced away.

Tan continued, quieter. “I know everything fell apart when she left. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. Or talk about it.”

Bow’s gaze softened. “And now that she’s back… maybe it’s time.”

Fahlada’s jaw flexed. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Oh, come on, Lada,” Anon muttered. “You don’t look at someone the way you look at her if you’ve really moved on.”

Her eyes snapped to him. “And you’re not supposed to left your friend or your girlfriend without any explanation.”

“She’s like a sister to me. Do you really think it was an easy choice for me to make? Or even for Earn?” His voice raised slightly.

Tan spoke, low and steady. “Hey… let’s not do this here.”

“No,” Fahlada said, her voice flat but dangerous. “Let him talk. Since he seems to know so much about why she left. Why she ghosted all of us. Why she just—disappeared like none of it meant anything.”

She turned toward Anon, her gaze ice-cold. “Do you know how many nights I stayed up wondering if I’d said something wrong? If I hadn’t done enough? Do you have any idea what that kind of silence does to a person?”

Anon said nothing at first. He exhaled slowly and ran a hand through his hair.

“I know it wasn’t fair to you,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “But it wasn’t about you.”

“That’s the worst part,” Fahlada snapped, eyes flashing. “I wasn’t even worth an explanation.”

Bow looked down at her bowl, stirring noodles she hadn’t touched. Tan rubbed his hands together, lips pressed into a thin line.

Anon leaned forward, elbows on the table. His voice was gentle but firm.

“She didn’t stop caring, Lada.”

Fahlada scoffed. “You don’t get to say that. Not after she broke every piece of me and walked away without looking back.”

Her voice cracked—just barely—and she covered it quickly by reaching for her napkin. But Bow caught it. So did Tan.

So did Anon, who looked away then, jaw tight.

“And yet you still watch her every day,” Anon said softly.

That stopped her.

She didn’t answer.

Tan raised his hand between them like a white flag. “Let’s maybe revisit this talk after we eat?”

There was a long pause. The food arrived—bowls of steaming curry, jasmine rice, grilled chicken and stir-fried vegetables.

But no one moved.

Until finally, Bow sighed and picked up her spoon. “Well. If we’re going to ignore the emotional elephant in the room, at least let’s not let the food get cold.”

Tan tried for a joke. “I, for one, am too hungry for emotional damage tonight.”

They all chuckled, faintly.

Except Fahlada.

She stayed quiet through most of the meal, answering questions with one-word responses, occasionally stabbing at her rice. But her mind kept wandering.

To Earn, alone in her apartment.

To the tissue crumpled in her hand on set.

To the lie: I’m just tired.

To the way Earn looked at her earlier—as if still trying to protect her from something.

Fahlada hated it.

She hated that it still hurt.

Outside the Restaurant

After dinner, they walked out into the humid night. The air was thick with unsaid things.

Bow and Tan lingered by the car, chatting softly.

Anon lit a cigarette, standing by the streetlamp.

Fahlada joined him, arms crossed. They stood there for a while in silence.

Then she said, quietly. “She’s hiding something from me.”

Anon glanced at her. “Yeah. She is.”

Another beat of silence.

Fahlada looked away. “Is it bad?”

He flicked ash from his cigarette. “Would it matter if I said yes?”

She didn’t answer.

He exhaled. “She didn’t want you to know. Maybe she thought it would break you.”

“Or maybe she didn’t think I could handle it.”

He gave her a long look. “Could you?”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. But no words came.

And then—his phone buzzed. Loud in the silence.

Fahlada’s eyes flicked down.

Suzie.

Anon’s face changed immediately. Alert. Concerned.

He answered on the second ring. “Yeah?”

There was a pause. Then his voice hardened. “Wait—slow down, Suzie. Tell me exactly what happened.”

He turned away slightly, one hand gripping the back of his neck as Suzie spoke rapidly on the other end.

Fahlada tried not to eavesdrop. She didn’t succeed.

“Okay. I’ll be there in five. Just… make sure she’s okay until I get there.”

He hung up. No explanation. No hesitation.

Anon moved fast—tossing the cigarette, already fishing for his keys.

“What happened?” Fahlada asked quickly.

“Nothing,” he said too fast. “Just something I have to check on.”

“Anon.”

He paused just long enough to glance at her. His eyes were guarded now. That familiar wall back up.

“She’s not your girlfriend, remember?” he said, with a faint, bitter twist to his mouth. “So I don’t owe you an answer.”

Tan and Bow looked up from the car.

“Hey,  what’s going on?” Tan asked.

“Emergency,” Anon said, stepping back toward the street. “Sorry, I’ve gotta go.”

Fahlada stepped in front of him. “What happened?”

His expression was unreadable, his voice too careful. “Just something I need to take care of.”

“That was Earn’s manager,” she said, not a question.

Anon didn’t deny it.

Fahlada’s eyes searched his, but he gave her nothing. He turned, offering a quick nod to Bow and Tan.

“Drive safe,” he said, and then he was gone—slipping into his car, starting the engine, and pulling into traffic within seconds.

They watched the taillights disappear into the night.

Bow folded her arms. “That wasn’t just ‘something.’”

Tan’s brows were drawn. “He looked like someone punched him in the gut.”

Fahlada didn’t say anything.

But her hands were trembling.

And deep down, she knew.

Whatever it was—it had to do with Earn.

And it was bad.

Earn’s Apartment

The elevator doors dinged open with a hollow chime.

Anon stepped out, duffel slung over his shoulder, jaw tight, heart hammering.

Suzie had left the door slightly ajar for him. He pushed it open.

“Suzie?” he called out. “Where is she?”

Suzie’s voice came trembling from the living room, tight with panic. “Bedroom—she collapsed. She was twitching and—and I didn’t know what to do—”

Anon didn’t wait. He dropped his bag and sprinted into the dimly lit bedroom.

Earn was lying on the floor, curled slightly on her side near the foot of the bed, skin pale and glistening with sweat. Her fingers were twitching, and her breathing was shallow, ragged.

“Shit,” Anon muttered under his breath, already down on his knees beside her.

Anon stayed with her the whole time. He adjusted her shirt collar, loosened the waistband of her sweats, gently checked for other injuries. There was bruising along her temple, where she’d fallen. A split lip. And her body temperature was too low.

She was starving. Dehydrated. Weak.

“Damn it, Earn.” He clenched his jaw. “Suzie, did she hit her head?” 

“I don’t know. I found her like that already—she wasn’t responding when I got in, and then she started—she started seizing—”

“Okay, okay. I’ve got her,” Anon said.

He gently turned her onto her side into the recovery position, making sure her airway was clear. His hands moved with trained precision, checking her pulse, timing the seizure. Her body convulsed again, a sharp jolt that made Suzie cover her mouth with her hand.

Anon’s voice stayed calm. “It’s okay. Just ride it out, Earn.”

A minute passed. Maybe two. It felt like forever.

Then finally, her body went still—limp and pale, the sweat on her forehead catching the light.

“She’s stabilizing,” Anon said quickly. 

Suzie hovered in the doorway, white as a sheet.

“She wasn’t like this earlier today. I didn’t think—she was pale, sure, but—God, I didn’t think she’d—” Her voice cracked.

“It’s okay,” Anon said, gentler this time. “You did the right thing calling me.”

Earn stirred. A weak sound slipped from her throat, barely a whisper.

Anon leaned closer. “Earn? You with me?”

Her eyes fluttered open—unfocused at first, then locking onto his face.

“…Phi Anon?”

He exhaled through his nose, relief mingled with tension. “Yeah. I’m here.”

She blinked slowly. Her lips were cracked. “…What happened?”

“You had a seizure,” he said, not sugarcoating it. 

Suzie knelt on the other side, her face pale and tight with worry. “Earn… What happened? You were doing better this few days. You ate and took your meds. Right?”

Anon’s eyes were on her now too, sharp and searching.

Earn tried to sit up, but Anon gently held her down. “Answer the question.”

“…I lied,” she whispered.

Suzie went still.

“I only ate a little for show. I didn’t take the meds.”

“Why?” Anon asked quietly.

Earn’s throat worked, but she couldn’t get the words out.

Then Suzie spoke—and her voice cracked like thunder.

Suzie exhaled harshly, stepping forward. “Unbelievable.”

“P’Suzie—”

“No,” Suzie snapped. “Don’t. Not this time.”

Earn tried to sit up, but Anon gently pressed her shoulder back.

“Until when, Earn?” Suzie’s voice was raw, furious, and heartbreakingly desperate. “Until when are you going to keep doing this? Until you end up in the ICU? Until I have to call your parents and tell her I found your body on the goddamn floor?”

Earn flinched. “I’m fine now—”

“No, you’re not!” Suzie snapped, louder. “This right here—this is exactly why I pushed you to see a therapist.”

“I don’t need a therapist,” Earn bit back. Her voice was hoarse but rising. “I just didn’t eat. I was tired, I forgot—”

“Stop lying to me,” Suzie snapped, eyes brimming with angry tears. “You said you wanted to die, Earn. You said it! Then the next day, you smiled like it didn’t happen—like everything was suddenly better. But you’re acting like your life isn’t worth anything!”

Earn pushed herself up on one elbow, shaking. “I never said that.”

“You did,” Suzie said, her voice sharper now. “And even if you didn’t say it again, you’re showing it. You’re skipping meals, skipping meds, almost passing out in the middle of filming—and what, I’m supposed to believe you’re okay?”

“Suzie—” Anon tried.

“No.” She surged to her feet. “No more gentle talks. No more tiptoeing. I’ve been patient. I’ve been trying to be the kind of person you’d feel safe with, Earn. But you—”

“I didn’t ask you to,” Earn hissed, her voice rough with exhaustion and emotion. “I didn’t ask anyone to help me. And now you’re punishing me with this therapist thing like I’m broken.”

“Punishing you?” Suzie’s laugh was hollow. “Do you even hear yourself? You’re not eating. You’re not taking meds. You collapse and seize in your own damn apartment. And I’m the bad guy for wanting to keep you alive?”

“I didn’t ask to be saved!” Earn yelled, voice cracking, eyes glassy.

“Well, too damn bad!” Suzie shouted. “Because I love you, Earn. And I refuse to just sit here and watch you kill yourself slowly while telling everyone you’re fine!”

“I’m trying !” Earn shouted. “You think this is easy? You think I want this?!”

Suzie froze.

Anon didn’t move, eyes flicking between the two of them.

“I’m tired, Phi,” Earn whispered, breath hitching. “Not just tired like I didn’t sleep. Tired like I can’t breathe when I wake up. Like I want to tear my skin off because it doesn’t fit anymore and everything just feels so wrong. My body doesn’t even listen to myself anymore!”

“Earn,” Suzie choked out, reaching for her hand, her voice now a heartbroken plea. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you let me help you?”

Earn pulled her hand away, turning her face into the pillow. “What’s the point? It doesn’t go away. It just… gets quieter sometimes. But it always comes back.” Her voice was muffled, thick with unshed tears.

Anon finally moved, placing a firm but gentle hand on Earn’s forehead. Her skin was still cool, clammy. “This isn’t just ‘tired,’ Earn. This is serious. You could have died tonight.”

She gave a faint, bitter laugh that tore at Anon’s heart. “Would it have mattered?”

Suzie gasped, recoiling as if struck. “Earn! Don’t you ever say that!”

Earn didn’t answer. She didn’t move.

Just lay there, half-curled on the couch, her tear-streaked face turned into the cushion like she could hide from them—from the world—from herself.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

But she had. They all knew it.

“But you said it,” Suzie said, her voice cracking. “You said it like it was nothing. Like you weren’t even here anymore.”

“I’m still here,” Earn croaked. “I’m just… not all the way in.”

Anon’s hand stayed on her forehead. He didn’t flinch. His voice dropped low, calm, professional, but the tremor beneath it betrayed the crack in his armor.

“Earn… if you ever say something like that again, and you mean it… you have to call me. Or Suzie. Or someone. You don’t get to sit with that alone.”

Anon leaned forward. “You’ve been carrying this for too long alone. You need support, Earn. Not just from me. Not just from Suzie. From someone trained to help you figure this out. A therapist isn’t punishment—it’s someone who can help you sort through the mess when we’re not enough.”

Earn looked away again, her lips trembling. “What if I go and nothing changes?”

Anon gave a soft, tired sigh. “Then you go again. And again. Until something does.”

Suzie reached for her hand again—this time, Earn didn’t pull away.

“I want you to stay, Earn,” Suzie said, her voice like a quiet promise. “I want to laugh with you again. I want you to roll your eyes at me and be annoyed by all the ridiculous fans online. I want you to be here when this drama wraps, when the next one begins, when we’re old and cranky and still watching reruns of your work on Sunday nights.”

Earn let out a soft breath that was almost a sob.

“I don’t know if I can do that,” she whispered. “Sorry.” 

Earn’s shoulders shook. One sob escaped before she could bite it back. Then another. And another.

She pressed her fists to her eyes, trying to contain it. But it was too late.

It poured out of her—The grief. The terror. The exhaustion.

The bitterness at herself for not being stronger.

The guilt of still being alive when every part of her felt like she shouldn’t be.

Anon didn’t say anything. He just gently stroked her hair back and let her cry.

Suzie reached out again—this time Earn didn’t pull away.

She held her hand like a lifeline.

Finally, when the sobs quieted to small hiccups and shuddered breaths, Anon spoke.

“I’m going to give you something to help you sleep, okay? Just tonight. You need rest.”

Earn nodded faintly.

Suzie wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve. “Do you want me to stay over?”

“…Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Anon pulled a small vial and syringe from his kit, prepping quickly and efficiently.

As he worked, Suzie leaned closer, whispering softly.

“We’ll figure this out, okay? I’m sorry if I made you feel like you did.”

Earn blinked slowly, her eyes red and swollen. “I’m scared.”

“Me too,” Suzie whispered. “But we’re still here. That has to mean something.”

Anon administered the small sedative gently.

“This will just take the edge off, help you rest without spiraling. Nothing heavy. Just enough to give you peace tonight.”

Earn didn’t respond—but her fingers tightened around Suzie’s hand.

After making sure Earn finally fell asleep, curled under a light blanket, her breathing slow and steady.

Suzie stood in the hallway with Anon, arms crossed, back pressed to the wall. She looked exhausted.

Like someone who hadn’t truly breathed in weeks.

“What are we supposed to do now?”

Anon didn’t answer right away.

He stared at the door that led back into Earn’s apartment — to the girl who’d nearly died again tonight, still so thin and pale beneath her blankets, curled in on herself like a leaf crumbling under pressure.

“She needs a scan, first thing tomorrow morning.” he finally said, voice low. “An MRI and CT. We have to check if the tumor’s progressing—or if there’s edema, hemorrhage, anything that could’ve triggered the seizure. The seizure tonight wasn’t small, Suzie. She didn’t just faint from hunger.”

Suzie ran a hand down her face, eyes wide and tired. “You think the tumor’s spreading?”

“I don’t know,” Anon admitted. “It could be residual damage, electrolyte imbalance, trauma from the collapse, or progression. But if it is progression, we don’t have time to sit on it. Her last scan was months ago—and she’s skipped meals and meds more than once.”

Suzie swallowed hard and rubbed at her temple. “She’ll hate this.”

“She doesn’t have to like it,” he said. “But I’m not taking chances. Her type’s aggressive enough that we need to treat every new symptom as a red flag.”

Suzie pressed her back harder to the wall, like if she leaned in far enough, she could disappear. “Okay,” she breathed. “Okay, whatever you need. I’ll make sure she goes. I’ll drag her there myself.”

Anon gave a small nod. His fingers were still twitching faintly—that same restless energy he always had when he was anxious but trying to hide it.

“I’ll get her admitted to St. King discreetly. Private wing. I’ll call in a neuro consult and run a full panel. MRI, bloodwork. Everything.”

“Why not at your practice?”

“I hate to say it, but St. King’s equipment are better.”

Suzie nodded immediately. “Okay, then. Do it. Anything she needs.”

She was still hugging herself, her knuckles white. She glanced down the hallway again, toward Earn’s door. Her voice dropped. “And… what about her parents?”

Anon hesitated.

That silence said more than a full explanation.

Suzie said quietly. “She made me promise.”

“She made me promise, too,” Anon admitted. “But we’re at a point where—if her tumor’s growing, or if this seizure is something new—we need support. From every angle. Her parents have a right to know. And Earn needs them whether she wants to admit it or not.”

“She said she didn’t want them to worry, and… she thinks if she’s dying, she wants to control how it happens.”

Anon looked at her then—tired, bone-deep tired, but steady. Always steady when it came to Earn.

“I know. But she’s still their daughter,” Anon said. “And when she starts to deteriorate—if it gets that far—they’ll want answers. Regret is a nasty thing to live with, Suzie.”

She pressed a fist against her mouth, suddenly blinking back new tears. “God. I’m so scared.”

Anon’s voice softened. “So am I.”

Suzie closed her eyes. “So… should we tell them?”

A long silence passed. Then Anon sighed and leaned his back against the wall beside her.

“Not yet,” he said. “Let’s get the scan done first. If it’s bad… we’ll cross that bridge. But if it’s something manageable—inflammation, a bleed, seizure from stress or malnutrition—we can still keep it between us, at least for now.”

Suzie nodded slowly, the tightness in her throat returning.

“And if it’s not manageable?” she asked.

“Then we tell them,” Anon said firmly. “We tell everyone that needs to know. Because she won’t make it through another collapse like this—not physically, not mentally—and someone has to be prepared to step in when she won’t let anyone in.”

Suzie looked down at her hands.

“You’ll be the one to break it to her, right?” she asked.

“I am her doctor,” Anon said quietly. “She might not like me very much when it happens, but… she’ll listen.”

Suzie nodded, eyes burning. “Okay. Okay.”

They stood in silence for a few moments longer—just two exhausted figures in a quiet hallway, the hum of the city outside muted behind thick glass.

Suzie looked at him, eyes hard and glossy. “You really think she’s running out of time, don’t you?”

“…I think the clock’s ticking louder.”

Silence fell between them again, heavy and sobering.

“What do you think about her seeing a therapist, though?”

“I think it’s the right call.”

Suzie looked up at him sharply, searching his face. “Even now? Even when she’s like this?”

“Especially now,” he said. “But not a therapist she doesn’t trust. And definitely not one she thinks you’re forcing on her.”

Suzie’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “She made me the villain for even suggesting it.”

“She’s scared,” Anon repeated. “Not just of dying. But of facing herself. Facing what all of this has turned her into.”

His voice softened. “If it were just physical, I’d fight it with medicine. Surgery. Plans. But this part?” He tapped his temple gently. “You can’t treat this with chemo. And you can’t treat it alone.”

Suzie exhaled shakily and rubbed at her eyes. “Then how do we even start?”

“We don’t,” Anon said gently. “She does. But we give her a safe place to land when she’s ready.”

Suzie leaned against the wall again, chin tilted up, her throat tight. “You think there’s still time?”

“For therapy?” Anon met her eyes. “Yeah. But it’ll hurt before it helps. You have to be ready for that. She has to be.”

Suzie glanced toward the closed door of the bedroom where Earn was still sleeping. “She’s so tired, Anon. I’ve never seen her like this. It’s like the light in her is flickering.”

“Then we fight like hell to keep it lit,” he said.

She gave a small nod, and when she spoke again, her voice cracked just slightly. “Can you recommend someone? Someone gentle?”

“I already have someone in mind,” Anon said. “Someone quiet. Gentle. Not the pushy kind. They don’t pressure. They listen. She can just talk, or not talk, or sit there for forty minutes. No agenda.”

Suzie didn’t say anything. She just gave him one more long look, full of everything she didn’t know how to say yet.

Anon reached for the doorknob. “I’ll text you in the morning.”

“Anon—” she said before he could open it.

He paused.

“If this gets worse,” she whispered, “I don’t think I can handle losing her.”

His shoulders dropped. And for the first time that night, his voice trembled too.

“None of us can,” he said. “But we don’t get to stop trying.”

Anon reached out and gently touched her shoulder. “Get some rest when you can. I’ll text you in the morning with the scan time.”

She nodded again. Then, her voice quieter. “Thanks, Anon.”

He gave a tired half-smile. “I’m just doing what I promised her. And what I promised myself.”

As Anon walked toward the door, Suzie spoke again, softer this time.

“She’s lucky to have you.”

He didn’t turn around.

“She’s lucky to have you too,” he replied. “Even if she doesn’t always show it.”

Then he left.

Chapter Text

The morning sun spilled gently through the half-drawn curtains, waking Earn up. She blinked awake slowly, her eyes heavy and slightly unfocused. 

For a moment, she lay still, her thoughts sluggish and distant, like trying to remember a dream you weren’t sure you had.

Then she turned her head and saw Suzie—curled up at the edge of the bed, her back propped against the headboard, arms folded and eyes fixed quietly on the sunlight as it crawled up the floor.

“Morning,” Earn rasped, her voice raw and dry.

Suzie looked down at her instantly, eyes warm but cautious. “Morning.”

Earn shifted, pushing the blanket aside just a little. Her body felt sore in unfamiliar ways—her neck stiff, her skull faintly pounding. “Did I… sleep a lot?”

“You needed it.” Suzie’s voice was gentle. No edge. No accusation.

She reached out, brushing back a stray piece of hair from Earn’s face, like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“We’ve got a quiet morning ahead. No filming today.”

Earn nodded faintly. “So… rest day?”

“Kind of,” Suzie said, sitting up straighter now. “But we do need to go to St. King.”

Earn frowned. “But you said—”

Suzie interrupted, looked her in the eye. “After what happened last night… we need to check your head. The seizure—Anon said it could mean something’s changed.”

Earn blinked. The words fell like cold drops on the back of her neck.

“Is he—”

“He’ll be there,” Suzie said. “He wants to run some bloodwork and scans. MRI, maybe. Just to be safe.”

Earn nodded slowly, but the pit in her stomach didn’t ease. “Right. Makes sense.”

She sat up carefully, wincing a little as her muscles protested. Suzie moved quickly to steady her, one hand behind her back.

For a second, Earn hesitated—leaning just slightly into the touch. “Phi.”

“Hmm?”

“Are you… mad at me?”

Suzie blinked, surprised. “What?”

“You and P’Anon. I—last night, I just…” Earn lowered her eyes. “Last night, I said things. I was awful.”

Suzie unfolded her arms slowly. “You weren’t awful, Earn.”

Earn’s fingers dug into the blanket. “I’m sorry if I scared you both.”

“You did,” Suzie said honestly. Then softer, “But you’re still here. That’s all that matters to me right now.”

There was a long pause. Earn’s throat tightened, not really sure about what Suzie sad.

“Listen, I’m not mad,” she said eventually, softly. “I’m worried. I’m scared. I’m frustrated sometimes. But I’m not mad at you.”

Earn looked down. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Too bad,” Suzie replied, and this time, there was the faintest hint of a smile. “You’ve got me anyway.”

That startled a breath of a laugh out of Earn. “Thanks.” She hugged her.

After Earn released her hug, Suzie stood. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up and dressed. We’ll stop by that coffee shop you like on the way to the hospital.”

“Even though I can’t have caffeine?”

Suzie grinned faintly. “You can have a decaf one and pretend it’s real.”

Earn groaned but smiled. She moved slowly toward the edge of the bed, brushing her fingers through her hair. 

“He’s gonna scold me, isn’t he?”

“Anon?” Suzie arched an eyebrow. “Absolutely.”

Earn sighed, pulling herself up. “Great.”

✦✦✦✦

ST. KING HOSPITAL - MRI HALLWAY

The fluorescent lights cast a sterile white glow down the long corridor. Dr. Fahlada’s heels clicked crisply on the polished floor as she moved with practiced precision, clipboard in hand, eyes scanning the chart in front of her.

Then, she stopped.

Right at the entrance of the MRI suite stood a familiar figure in a white coat, hands tucked into the pockets, looking far too relaxed for her taste.

Fahlada’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”

Dr. Anon turned slowly at the sound of her voice, lips curling into that same maddening, half-smug smile. “Good morning to you too, Doctor.”

She stepped closer, voice firm. “You don’t work here.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Correction. I do now. Sort of.”

Her brows rose. “Excuse me?”

“Part-time,” Anon said casually. “I’m still full-time at Theva, but since I’m already consulting for the series and a few of my private patients transferred here recently, your dad thought it was efficient.”

“My father approved this?”

“He was very enthusiastic about it, actually. Said St. King could use more subspecialists in neuro-oncology.”

“Of course he did,” she muttered under her breath.

Anon smirked. “What, you’re not thrilled to have me down the hall again? We used to work so well together… aside from the constant bickering and passive-aggressive chart notes.”

“I’m not thrilled about your brand of chaos near my patients, no.”

“Relax, Lada,” Anon said, stepping closer, voice dropping just a touch. “I’m only here to check on a patient. In and out. Unless you want me to stay longer.”

She looked up sharply, but he was already talking to a nurse at the front desk. 

The nurse looked up from the computer with a polite nod. “The imaging suite will be ready in ten minutes, Dr. Anon. We’re just prepping the coils now.”

“Perfect,” Anon said, glancing at the wall clock. “My patient’s already on the way. She’ll be here in twelve.”

He gave the nurse a grateful smile before stepping back, turning just in time to meet Fahlada’s unmistakable side-eye. Her arms were crossed, and her jaw was tight enough to carve granite.

“I don’t care how ‘perfect’ your schedule is. This is still my department and you can’t just show up and disrupt the system like it’s your playground.”

“Technically, I’m just visiting the imaging. I even brought a patient. I thought you'd be proud of me.”

Fahlada sighs. “Whatever arrangement you made with my father, stay out of my ORs, stay out of my cases, and do not give my residents ideas.”

“Noted.”

“I’m serious, Anon.”

“I am serious.” His lips curled again as he straightened. “But just a reminder, we do share a subspecialty in neuro-oncology ,” he added smoothly, the glint in his eyes unmistakably mischievous. “You handle the neuro, I handle the oncology. One way or another, you’ll see me.”

“And yet, somehow, you always manage to be in the neuro side of things.”

“Maybe I just missed your charming presence.”

“Try missing it from another building.”

“It’s always entertaining to see you go full Ice Queen mode before 9 a.m.”

Her jaw flexed. “Enjoy the novelty while it lasts. If this patient of yours ends up anywhere near my OR, you better coordinate it through proper channels. No stunts, no surprises.”

“Cross my heart.”

Before she could reply, her pager buzzed at her hip. Fahlada glanced at it, eyes narrowing. “OR2 backup call. Of course.”

Anon tilted his head again, curious. “Need a consult?”

“Not from you.”

“Even if it’s glioblastoma?”

She hesitated. Just for half a second.

Anon saw it.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, softer now. “Page me if you want me in. You know I’m good.”

Fahalada hated that she knew he was good. Annoyingly good. And worse, she hated that some part of her still trusted him in an OR, even after everything.

“I’ll handle it,” she said, clipping her pager back on and turning to leave.

“Always a pleasure, Doctor Fahlada,” he called after her, his voice dripping with mock affection.

Fahlada didn’t answer. She turned on her heel, walking away with the sharp grace of someone who’d rather amputate her own leg than give him the satisfaction of a real reaction.

But Anon’s smile didn’t fade as he turned back to the nurse. “Please let me know when my patient arrives.” 

The nurse nodded, watching him warily. “Dr. Fahlada doesn’t seem very happy you’re here.”

“She missed me,” he said under his breath. “You can tell.”

The nurse wisely pretended not to hear.

✦✦✦✦

ST. KING HOSPITAL - RECEPTIONIST

Earn stepped inside the hospital behind Suzie. Head down, shoulders hunched under her oversized hoodie with faded jeans. A worn baseball cap shaded half her face, and her oversized glasses slid slightly down her nose. 

She tugged the sleeves of her sweater lower over her hands as if it would help her disappear faster.

“God, this place is freezing,” she mumbled.

Suzie didn’t respond right away. She was scanning the polished lobby, lips pressed in a tense line. 

Then she leaned toward the receptionist’s desk. “Hi, we have an imaging appointment? Dr. Anon referred it.”

The nurse behind the counter nodded and tapped something into her screen. “Of course. He’s already waiting by the MRI suite on the third floor. Take the main elevators, then turn left. Room’s just past the surgical ward.”

“Thank you,” Suzie said, gently steering Earn with a hand at her back.

Earn gave a quick, shy bow and murmured a nearly inaudible thank-you, still not looking up. She followed Suzie without a word.

As they turned the corner, the signage was easy to spot a sign.

MRI Imaging | Authorized Personnel Only Beyond This Point .

And there, on one of the pale benches outside the room, sat Dr. Anon. Elbows resting on his knees, hands loosely clasped, eyes focused on the screen of his tablet—until he looked up.

Earn paused, almost like she was tempted to turn around and go back outside. Suzie nudged her forward gently.

“Twelve minutes exactly,” Anon said, pushing up from the bench. “Impressive.”

Earn tugged her cap lower and tried to meet his eyes, failing. 

“Hi,” she murmured. Then, after a small breath. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“You know what,” she said quietly, shoulders curling inward. “For last night. For… everything. I didn’t mean to make it worse. Or scare you. I just—I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

He took a breath. Then, gently, “I know, and I’m not mad at you. I’m just worried. We both are.”

“I—” she paused, “I wasn’t trying to die. I just didn’t care if it happened.”

That sentence landed hard in the silence. Suzie turned slightly, jaw clenched, but didn’t interrupt.

Anon stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Honestly, that itself is something we need to talk about. But later, okay?”

She nodded faintly, wiping her glasses with the hem of her hoodie.

Suzie added, “ But if you ever say again that your life doesn’t matter…” Her voice cracked. “I’ll fight you.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of Earn’s mouth.

“Alright, now I need to run a few scans,” he said gently. “Mostly just to check if there’s any trauma from the seizure, and to monitor the tumor’s status. No surprises, I promise.”

“Okay.”

“Come sit down a sec before we start.” He gestured to the bench behind him.

She hesitated, then sat slowly, her body small and folded in on itself like she wanted to shrink into the cushion. Suzie sat beside her.

Anon took a seat at the far end, giving her space. “You still feeling dizzy?”

“A little.”

“And the meds? You took your morning dose?”

“…No.”

“Not the answer I was hoping for, but thanks for being honest.”

From the other side of the bench, Suzie let out a quiet, pained breath.

Just then, a nurse opened the MRI suite door and gave Anon a nod. “Room’s ready, Doctor.”

Anon stood. “Alright. Let’s take it slow, yeah?”

Earn followed, and for once, she didn’t protest when Suzie reached out to squeeze her hand.

✦✦✦✦

ST. KING HOSPITAL – CONSULTATION ROOM

The scan room was dark, the kind of darkness that clung to quiet places in hospitals—the kind that made it feel like even your heartbeat was being eavesdropped on. Now, just one floor below, the atmosphere was different. Brighter. Harsher.

Earn sat stiffly on the examination table, hoodie still zipped all the way up despite the warmth of the room. Suzie sat nearby, her foot tapping a silent rhythm on the tile. And Dr. Anon stood before a light panel where a fresh series of MRI scans glowed faintly in cold white and gray.

He hadn’t said anything for a while. He was tracing something on the scan with his finger, but his face gave nothing away.

Earn kept her eyes on the floor, hands clenched in her lap. “It’s worse, isn’t it?”

Anon didn’t look at her. Not yet. “I’m comparing it to your last scan from two months ago.” His voice was even, but lower now. “There’s progression .”

Suzie stiffened.

“Progression like…?” Earn asked, already knowing the answer.

“Small,” Anon said gently, finally turning toward her. “But significant. The margins have spread into the adjacent frontal lobe tissue. And the swelling around the mass is a bit more aggressive than last time.” He paused. “Which explains the seizure.”

Earn exhaled softly, her shoulders dipping just a little more.

“It’s not a full emergency, Earn. But it is a red flag,” he continued. “We need to adjust the treatment. Add corticosteroids to reduce inflammation. Maybe consider another cycle of targeted chemo.” He paused, more cautiously now, “And, we need to talk about the surgical option again.”

“No,” Earn said immediately. It wasn’t loud, but it was firm. “We’ve talked about this. I don’t want chemo and surgery.”

“Earn—”

“I don’t want to be a vegetable,” she snapped. “Or lose my memory. Or forget my lines. Or even forget my name. I’d rather die still being me .”

Anon was quiet. Not because he agreed, but because he understood.

Suzie stood slowly. “Is there any other option?”

“There are always options,” Anon said softly, “but they all come with trade-offs. This tumor’s not going to vanish on its own. If we wait too long, we lose the little control we have now.”

Earn dragged her hands across her face. “I just… I can’t do chemo and surgery. Not yet.”

Suzie sat back down, quieter now. “Okay. Then let’s do what we can.”

Anon nodded, professional mask returning. “We’ll begin with medication adjustments and schedule another MRI in six weeks. I’ll monitor her symptoms closely, especially for seizures or any new signs—speech slurring, numbness, vision problems.”

Earn said nothing.

Anon glanced between them, then reached for a prescription pad. “Also… I think it’s time we consider looping in a psychiatrist.”

Earn immediately tensed. “That again?”

“This isn’t about therapy,” Anon said, calm. “It’s about neurobehavioral changes. This tumor is in your brain—it affects how you feel, how you think. You’re not just ‘depressed’ or ‘stressed,’ Earn. Some of that may not even be coming from you. We need a full picture.”

Suzie spoke gently. “We’re not asking you to see a therapist to fix you, Earn. We’re asking you to let us understand you better—before it gets worse.”

Earn swallowed. Her voice was small. “I don’t want to be treated like I’m broken.”

“You’re not broken,” Anon said firmly. “You’re fighting something that would’ve crushed most people. But you’re running out of tools, and we want to give you more.”

There was a long pause. 

Then finally, Earn murmured, “…Okay.”

Suzie looked up, startled. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she said, softly. “But if the doctor’s weird, or doesn’t get me, or tries to fix me like I’m a case study, I’m out.”

Anon gave a small, reassuring smile. “Fair. We’ll find someone who listens first. Someone who fits you. No forcing.”

Earn didn’t respond, but she gave a small nod.

Then there was a knock at the door. A nurse popped her head in. 

“Doctor Anon? Doctor Fahlada said she needs to speak with you. She’s outside.”

Anon nodded. “Tell her I’ll be there in a minute.”

Earn blinked. “P’mor is here?”

“She’s head of the department,” Anon said calmly. “She probably came to make sure I didn’t set fire to the MRI suite. You know, standard welcome for me.”

Suzie cracked the faintest smile, but Earn didn’t.

“Does she… does she know I’m your patient?” 

“No. I registered you under a different name. She just know I have a scan review this morning.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” he said firmly. “HIPAA exists, Earn. Even Ice Queen can’t read a chart without authorization.”

“I just… I don’t want her to know. Not about any of this. Not that I’m sick. Not that I’m here. Nothing. I don’t want her to see me like this.”

“She doesn’t,” he assured her. “She thinks I’m here with a private patient. That’s all.”

Earn stared at the floor, voice barely audible. “I can’t handle it if she finds out.”

Anon’s expression softened as he crouched beside her again. “Then she won’t. No one’s going to find out unless you want them to.”

Her eyes met his, wide and anxious. “I feel like I’m going to have a panic attack.”

“Then stay right here and don’t move until you don’t,” he said, calm and steady. “I’ll handle her.”

“Okay.”

Anon gave her shoulder a brief squeeze before rising to leave. “I’ll be right back..”

Earn nodded faintly, though her eyes didn’t lift.

✦✦✦✦

Just outside the consult room, Fahlada stood by the window, arms crossed, staring out at the courtyard beyond the hospital’s western wing. Her jaw was tight. That meant something was bothering her.

“You rang?” he said, walking up with a hint of humor in his voice.

“Took your time,” she said coolly.

Anon smiled, unbothered. “I had a patient. Remember those?”

“Was this the same mystery scan patient you registered under an alias?”

He tilted his head. “Since when do you check patient rosters personally?”

“I had to approve a special scan under the neurology slot. I like to know whose name is using department resources.”

“Fair,” he replied, nonchalantly. “But the patient requested privacy. Sensitive case.”

Fahlada gave him a dry look. “This is a hospital, not a spy agency.”

“Then maybe don’t give everyone code names like Ice Queen in residency.”

“ Anon .”

He met her gaze, serious now. “I’m not hiding anything that concerns you. This case is private, complex, and not under your care. That’s all I can say.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “You don’t normally go this far to protect a patient’s identity.”

“Relax. It’s for privacy,” Anon said smoothly. “Patient requested discretion.”

Fahlada studied him for a beat longer, something flickering in her eyes. Then she gave a curt nod, turned on her heel, and walked off without another word.

Anon sighed once she disappeared down the hall, running a hand through his hair.

He checked the time on his watch, then returned to the exam room.

Suzie was sitting beside Earn, quietly scrolling through her phone, and Earn looked up as soon as the door opened.

Anon offered her a reassuring look. “All clear. She doesn’t know.”

Earn relaxed visibly, just enough for the lines in her forehead to ease. “Thank you.” 

“You don’t have to thank me,” he replied. “Protecting you is part of the job.”

“Not all doctors would.”

“True,” he said. Then added softly, “But I’m not just your doctor.”

“Yeah, you're basically my older brother.” She smiles at him then turn to Suzie. “Just like P’Suzie is like my older sister.”

Anon huffed a laugh. “That’s not the title I was gunning for, but… I’ll take it.”

“What? You want to be my father?”

“God, no. The burden of parenthood is not something I want.”

Earn chuckled faintly “Well, you do nag like one.”

“And you ignore me like a rebellious teenager.” He shot back, raising an eyebrow.

“He’s got a point.” Suzie grinned from her seat. “Since I'm the older sister, am I the mean one or the responsible one?”

“Both.”

“I indeed can do both.” Suzie shrugged.

“Great,” Earn said dryly, pulling her hoodie up over her head like a sullen kid. “I’ve somehow acquired two siblings figures without asking.”

Suzie leaned in and squeezed her arm. “Too late. You’re stuck with us.”

Anon nodded. “You don’t get to opt out of people who care about you anymore.”

That made Earn fall quiet. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, but she didn’t argue. Didn’t pull away. 

Then Anon straightened, slipping the MRI report back into the folder. “Alright. Let’s get you discharged for today. But you’re not off the hook.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you’ve got a follow-up in three days. Bloodwork, cognitive panel, and I’ll coordinate with the psychiatrist we talked about.”

“I already regret saying yes.”

“You say that now. Wait until you meet the shrink. She has a pet cat and makes dumplings for her patients.”

“…I want to meet her cat.”

Suzie smirked. “Progress.”

Anon smiled faintly as he stood and stretched. “Alright. Let’s get you out of here before Ice Queen comes back and starts asking more questions.”

Earn chuckled lightly. “I don’t think I’m emotionally prepared for a lecture from her today.”

“You’re not the only one,” Anon muttered.

As they got up to leave, Earn adjusted her cap, tugging it lower over her face. But she didn’t look like she was hiding anymore, just tired. Genuinely tired, not the kind she had tried to use as a mask.

Anon held the door open as the two women stepped into the hallway. 

And behind them, out of sight and further down the corridor, Fahlada stood near the nurses’ station with a chart in hand, pretending to read.

Fahlada watched the trio disappear around the corner. The slight drag in Earn’s step, the way Suzie hovered half a breath behind her like she was ready to catch her if she stumbled, and Anon… casually walking on the other side, hands tucked into his coat pockets like this wasn’t anything unusual.

But it was.

It was anything but usual.

Earn’s not okay. And I’m the only one who doesn’t know why.

The moment they were out of sight, Fahlada finally looked down at the chart she’d been pretending to read. She hadn’t absorbed a word.

Her reflection stared back at her faintly in the glass panel beside the nurses’ station. Immaculate bun. Crisp white coat. Calm, rational, detached. All the things she had always prided herself on being.

So why was her hand shaking?

She gripped the pen tighter to stop it.

It wasn’t just the fact that Anon had someone registered under a false name. Or that he’d refused to tell her who. Or that Suzie who likes to talk had kept her mouth shut too. 

It was the way they all acted around Earn. Protective. Fragile. Like she might shatter if someone looked at her too hard.

That wasn’t the Earn she remembered.

The Earn she knew had been composed, sharp, and stubborn to a fault. Laughing in the middle of stressful times, cheering her out when she messed up. Earn had been infuriating sometimes, but never… frail.

Never haunted.

Then the nurse beside her asked softly, “Doctor Fahlada? Do you still need the oncology charts?”

“No,” she said. Her voice came out flat. Detached. “That’ll be all.”

Fahlada turned away from the nurse’s station and walked slowly back toward her office, her heels clicking too loudly in the silence of the corridor.

She tried to tell herself it was none of her business.

That Earn had made her choice when she left.

But the memory of that tiny tremble in Earn’s fingers… the hollowness behind her smile… that time when she throw up on the parking lot… it was gnawing at something inside Fahlada’s chest. 

Something she’d buried a long time ago and told herself didn’t matter anymore.

She pushed open the door to her office and sank into her chair, but her hands didn’t move toward her tablet or her paperwork.

They moved toward her desk drawer.

The one where she kept the photo. Taken years ago, back when Earn still smiled like she meant it. Back when they sat shoulder to shoulder on a sun-warmed bench, coffee cups in hand, pretending their time together wasn’t temporary.

Fahlada stared at it for a long, long time.

Then, quietly, she whispered to the empty room. 

“What are you hiding from me, Earn? And why does it feel like I’m already too late?”

Chapter Text

CAFÉ NEAR ST. KING 

The hospital visit had drained the morning out of them.

It was nearly 11:20 a.m. when Suzie insisted they stop by a small café few blocks away from the hospital. 

The café was mostly empty, save for a couple of elderly regulars sipping tea and a young couple deep in conversation. Suzie picked the corner table, one facing the wall with Earn’s back toward the entrance, just in case someone recognized her.

The smell of toast, butter, and eggs was comforting. Earn hadn’t said much since they left the hospital, but she hadn’t pulled away either. That, for Suzie, was already progress.

“You need to eat,” Anon said when she only picked at her scrambled eggs..

“I will,” she muttered, but the motion stayed idle.

“Earn,” Suzie said softly, nudging her ankle under the table.

With a sigh, Earn finally took a small spoonful and ate in silence. 

“Thanks,” she said quietly.

Anon gave her a slight smile and nodded. “I won’t hover. Just glad you’re eating.”

Suzie stabbed her fork into a sausage link. “I’d hover. But that’s why you like me less than him.”

Earn gave her a sideways glance. “Not true.”

“Oh? So I’m your favorite again?”

“No, you’re just… annoying in a loving way.”

Suzie grinned. “That’s more like it.”

They let the moment settle, letting the clink of cutlery and soft jazz music do most of the talking.

“This place is nice,” Suzie murmured. “Wish we found it sooner.”

Anon nodded, taking a spoonful of his rice porridge. “It’s quiet. Food’s not bad.”

Earn stayed quiet. She reached for her orange juice and took a small sip. 

After a while, Anon cleared his throat and reached for his phone.

“So,” he started. “About what we talked about earlier, seeing someone.”

Earn blinked. The spoon stilled halfway to her mouth.

“I know a psychiatrist,” Anon continued. “Her name’s Dr. Rin. She worked with a few of my patients before, especially neuro-oncology cases. She understands the overlap—emotional, behavioral, chemical.”

Earn looked uncertain.

“She has a free slot today,” Anon continued. “At 2 p.m. It’s at her office at St. King. I already asked if she’d be comfortable seeing someone without a long intake process.”

Suzie raised an eyebrow. “That’s rare.”

“She owed me a favor,” Anon said with a shrug. Then he turned back to Earn. “So… what do you think?”

“I don’t know,” she said softly. “What if it’s weird?”

“It might be,” Anon replied honestly. “The first session usually is.”

“What if she thinks I’m… like, too much?”

“She won’t,” Suzie said before Anon could. “You’re not too much, Earn.”

“Also,” Anon added with a gentle smile, “if she’s annoying or doesn’t vibe with you, you’re not locked in. You walk out, no pressure. It’s not a contract.”

Earn grimaced. “It feels weird hearing you said vibe . It feels like my dad trying to be cool.”

Anon snorted into his coffee. “Wow. Harsh.”

Suzie laughed under her breath. “No, but she’s right. You sound like a forty-year-old uncle trying to bond with Gen Z.”

“Excuse me, I’m not that old, I’m only thirty.” Anon protested, dramatically offended. “And I happen to be very cool. I’ve used TikTok. Once.”

“That doesn’t help your case,” Suzie deadpanned.

Even Earn, with her arms still folded across her chest and her hoodie bunched at the elbows, couldn’t stop the quiet laugh that slipped out. 

Anon grinned. “There she is.”

“Shut up,” she muttered, but her face softened.

A small silence fell over the table, but it wasn’t tense.

Seeing how Earn is still considering the choice, Suzie leaned in. “No pressure. But… if you’re up for it, we’re already out. Might as well give it a try, right?”

After a moment, Earn nodded slowly, eyes down on her mostly finished plate. 

“Okay. I’ll go. To the 2 p.m. session.”

Suzie blinked, surprised even though she’d been hoping for that answer. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Earn said. Then added quickly, “Just for today.”

Anon’s expression softened. “Just today is enough.”

“And if I don’t like her?”

“Then we’ll look for someone else,” Suzie said, already relieved. “But we try.”

“Okay,” Earn murmured. “I’ll try.”

“Great,” Anon said, reaching for the bill. “And if you like her, maybe we consider making it a weekly thing.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Earn muttered, but she didn’t protest the idea completely.

✦✦✦✦

ST. KING HOSPITAL - DR. RIN’S OFFICE

The office was too quiet. That was the first thing Earn noticed. 

It wasn’t sterile, exactly. 

There were soft beige walls, muted floral paintings, and a diffuser humming in the corner, pushing lavender-scented air into the room. Somehow, it feels like it’s staged in that specific, over-effortful way to seem inviting. 

A few abstract prints hung evenly spaced along the room. A cushioned chair by the window. A polished wooden clock that ticked a little too loudly.

Earn sat stiffly on the couch, back straight, hands jammed into the pockets of her hoodie. She hadn’t taken it off. Her cap and glasses were still on too.

Dr. Rin Tansakul smiled as she entered, professional and polished. A little younger than Earn expected, with perfectly neat hair and an even neater voice.

“Thanks for coming in today, Khun Earn. I know this isn’t easy.”

Earn gave a shallow nod. She didn’t say anything.

Rin leaned in slightly, her tone soft, practiced. I’ve been told a little about your case, but I want to hear it from you, if you’re comfortable.”

Earn nodded once, stiffly. “Sure.”

Dr. Rin adjusted her seat, then tapped lightly at her iPad. “Let’s start easy. How are you feeling today?”

Earn’s jaw tightened. “Fine.”

A brief pause. Rin’s smile didn’t waver. “Physically or emotionally?”

“Both.”

There was no bite in her tone, but there was distance. The kind that made it clear she wasn’t planning on getting close, even if she had to sit in this chair for an hour.

Dr. Rin nodded patiently. “Sometimes when we say ‘fine,’ it means we don’t want to unpack what’s underneath.”

Earn didn’t reply.

So the doctor continued. “Can you tell me what brought you in today?”

Earn shrugged. “P’Anon thought I should come.”

“And how do you feel about that suggestion?”

“He’s probably right. But that doesn’t mean I want to be here.”

“That’s fair. Sometimes the first session is just about showing up.”

Earn shifted slightly in her seat but didn’t take her hands out of her pockets. Her shoulders remained stiff, her gaze drifting somewhere over Rin’s shoulder instead of meeting her eyes.

“I heard you recently experienced a seizure. That can be very destabilizing, both for the body and the mind.” Rin started gently. 

“What do you think caused it?”

Earn shrugged. “Brain tumor. That usually does it.”

There was a beat.

Rin nodded again. “And how have you been feeling emotionally? Would you say the seizure triggered any feelings of… fear? Loss of control?”

“I don’t know,” she mumbled.

“Sometimes people dealing with long-term illness experience changes in how they process things,” Rin continued, voice still calm. “Especially with brain tumors, it’s not just sadness or stress. It’s also physical. Chemical.”

Earn felt herself curling tighter into her hoodie. The words made sense. The science was accurate. 

But it felt like they were bouncing off some invisible glass wall between them.

“You sound like P’Anon,” she said, her voice barely audible.

Rin smiled gently. “He and I have worked together. He’s quite knowledgeable. But I’m here to talk about your experience—not just the medical side. What it feels like.”

Earn’s fingers fidgeted in her hoodie pocket. She glanced briefly at the diffuser, then at the clock, then back down at the space between her shoes.

“I’m not really sure what you want me to say,” she said flatly.

Dr. Rin’s voice stayed calm. “I don’t want you to say anything you don’t mean. I’m here to understand how you’re experiencing things, not to pressure you into anything.”

Earn’s throat tightened. “So what do I do? Tell you I’m sad? Tell you I feel like I’m not in my body half the time? That I had a seizure and woke up to people crying over me like I was already gone?”

She said it all in one breath, a sharp exhale—too fast, too much.

Rin’s expression didn’t change. “If that’s how you’re feeling, yes. You can say that.”

Earn laughed under her breath, but it didn’t sound amused. “Right. And then what? You label it. Call it grief or anxiety or some fancy term so I can feel like I’m part of a case study instead of just… a person who’s falling apart.”

Dr. Rin tilted her head slightly. “I’m not here to label you, Khun Earn. I’m here to help you make sense of what’s happening in a way that helps you . Not a textbook.”

“But you don’t know what it’s like,” Earn said quietly, her voice almost shaking now. “Everyone says they understand, but they don’t. You still get to wake up and not feel like your body is a countdown.”

Dr. Rin paused, her tone now even softer. “You’re right. I don’t know exactly what it’s like to be in your shoes. But I do know that carrying that much pain alone doesn’t work. And you’ve been carrying it for a long time, haven’t you?”

That was the moment it shifted.

Earn’s eyes snapped up, something defensive flickering across her face. The look wasn’t angry, but it was wary. Like someone who’d just heard a truth they didn’t ask for.

“I didn’t say that,” Earn murmured.

“You didn’t have to.”

That landed.

Earn flinched, just barely, but enough. Her eyes finally flicked up to meet Rin’s—and for a second, all the weight behind them showed. And then vanished again.

“I think this was a bad idea,” she said, standing up abruptly.

Rin stood too, but not in alarm. “It’s okay. You’re allowed to feel uncomfortable.”

“I don’t think this fits,” Earn said quietly. “You’re… nice. But I’m not going to do this with someone who feels like they’re waiting for a checklist.”

“I understand, you’re not the first person to feel that way. And you won’t be the last.” Rin said, her voice still warm. “It’s okay if today wasn’t the right day. Or if I’m not the right person. But I’m still here, if you change your mind. Thank you for trying.”

Earn gave a tiny nod and quickly stepped out of the room before she could change her mind, or cry.

✦✦✦✦

HALLWAY - OUTSIDE DR. RIN’S OFFICE

Earn nearly stumbled back as she collided with the figure outside Dr. Rin’s office—too fast, too distracted, her vision already blurring at the corners with tears she hadn’t let fall yet. 

She muttered a breathless, automatic, “Sorry,” and tried to sidestep without even looking up.

But the other person didn’t move out of the way.

“Earn?”

Her body froze.

No.

She looked up slowly, blinking once, then again to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating.

Fahlada stood just inches in front of her. White coat buttoned neatly, ID badge clipped at the breast pocket, clipboard tucked under one arm. Her hair was tied back in a clean twist. 

The doctor’s eyes flicked over Earn quickly, assessing. Not in the way a doctor might check a vitals chart, but like she was piecing together a puzzle and didn’t like how the corners were fitting.

“What are you doing here?”

Fahlada’s tone wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t outright hostile either. It hovered somewhere in the no-man’s land between distant professionalism and restrained irritation.

“I—uh—” Earn cleared her throat, trying to keep her voice level, steady. “Just… visiting someone.”

Fahlada raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “In the psych wing?”

“I didn’t realize that was illegal.”

“It’s not,” Fahlada said calmly. “But I find it interesting.”

Earn didn’t answer.

The silence that followed wasn’t angry—but it wasn’t kind, either. It was that brand of loaded awkwardness that made her feel like she’d been caught somewhere she shouldn’t be.

Earn knew her eyes were still glassy, knew her voice might crack if she said another word.

Fahlada didn’t look away.

There was a beat, one beat too long. 

“Are you visiting Anon?” Fahlada asked coolly. 

“No.” Earn tried to sidestep. “Sorry, I should go. I’m late.”

But Fahlada shifted too, blocking her path slightly, just enough to make it clear she wasn’t done. 

Her eyes scanned Earn’s face again, hovering at her reddened eyes, the slight tremble in her lip that Earn couldn’t seem to stop.

Still, she didn’t mention it.

Didn’t say anything about the fact that Earn looked like she’d just had the wind knocked out of her soul.

“Late for what?” 

“...Lunch.”

Fahlada tilted her head slightly. “You’re not very good at lying, you know.”

“I’m not lying,” Earn said too quickly.

Fahlada didn’t push. She just gave her one of those clinical looks she reserved for patients who insisted a broken arm was ‘just sore.’

Earn’s shoulders curled in a little more.

“Well,” Fahlada said coolly, stepping back, giving her space. “I suppose you’re lying or not is none of my business, is it?”

Earn’s lips parted like she wanted to respond. But no words came.

Just silence again.

Fahlada finally stepped to the side, just enough to let her pass. “Go on, then. You’ll be late for your… lunch.”

Earn gave a small nod and walked away fast, head ducked low, the lump in her throat rising again as she turned the corner and disappeared out of sight.

Fahlada stood there for a moment longer.

She looked toward the closed door Earn had come out of. Read the nameplate on the wall beside it.

Dr. Rin Tansakul – Psychiatry.

Her grip on the clipboard tightened slightly—not in anger, but something that sat heavier in her chest. 

A dull ache. Surprise, maybe. Or guilt. Or the unpleasant echo of concern she kept trying to shove back down.

She could still see Earn’s face in her mind.

The swollen eyes. The blotchy skin. The way her voice caught like it was held together with thread.

Earn had looked small. Like someone carrying something far too big for her frame.

Fahlada exhaled through her nose and turned away, her heels clicking sharply on the polished floor. She headed toward the elevators, willing her mind to refocus.

She had rounds in twenty minutes. A post-op report to file. A resident who kept misreading scan orders.

Plenty of things to worry about that didn’t involve Earn.

But when she stepped into the elevator and the doors closed behind her, her reflection in the polished wall didn’t match her usual unbothered calm.

She didn’t like the feeling in her gut.

Didn’t like that Earn —of all people—was the one putting it there again.

✦✦✦✦

CAFÉ AT ST. KING HOSPITAL

Earn sat across from Suzie in a small corner café that smelled like basil and cheap espresso. 

Suzie watched her for a while, sipping quietly from her iced tea before speaking.

“So,” she said softly. “How’d it go?”

Earn gave a small shrug, eyes focused on her sandwich. “It was fine.”

Suzie leaned forward a little. “Earn.”

She quickly changed the topic, “I ran into someone in the hallway.”

“Who?”

“…P’Mor”

“Oh.” A pause. “What did she say?”

“Not much.” Earn stared at her untouched drink. “She asked why I was there. I lied. Badly.”

Suzie frowned. “Did she seem… upset?”

“I don’t know. It’s hard to read her. But she looked at me like…” She trailed off, trying to find the words. “Like she knew something was off. But she didn’t ask. She just let me go.”

“You don’t have to talk to her if you’re not ready.”

“I’m never going to be ready,” Earn said quietly. “And every time I see her, it feels like I’m being shoved back into the moment I left her.”

“But she didn’t scream at you. That has to mean something.” Suzie tried to cheer her up.

“I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.”

A beat of silence passed.

Then Suzie said softly, “So… are we gonna talk about what really happened with Dr. Rin?”

“I left.” Earn’s voice was flat. “I said thanks, and I left.”

Suzie didn’t flinch, just waited.

“I couldn’t do it,” Earn added after a moment, her voice lower now. “She was kind, too kind. But at the same time, I just felt like I was being dissected. Like everything I said was some kind of data point.”

“That’s kind of their job.”

“I know.” Her fingers toyed with the straw wrapper. “It’s just… I didn’t expect it to feel so naked.”

Then she adds. “And I also felt like I was wasting her time. Like I didn’t even know where to start. What am I supposed to say? ‘Hi, I’m Earn. I’m dying and I think I’ve made peace with that, except I keep waking up and I don’t know if that’s relief or punishment’?”

Suzie reached across the table, covering her hand. “Earn… maybe that’s exactly what you say.”

Earn’s shoulders slumped. “It’s too much.”

“You’ve been holding it all in. What did you expect it to feel like?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice cracked. “Easier?”

They sat like that for a while, the quiet between them thick but not uncomfortable.

Finally, Suzie spoke. “You don’t have to go back to Dr. Rin if she doesn’t feel right. But… can we keep trying? Together?”

Earn gave a tiny nod, not looking up.

Suzie squeezed her hand once more, then let go. “Good. Thanks for trying.”

“Thanks for always being there for me, Phi.” Earn smiles back to Suzie.

Then she leaned her head on her hand and stared out the window, watching the clouds shift. “Do you think P’Mor hates me?”

Suzie didn’t answer right away.

“…No,” she said at last. “I think she’s confused. And maybe a little hurt. But if she hated you, she wouldn’t have been watching you like that.”

Earn didn’t ask what she meant by ‘like that.’ She didn’t have the energy.

She just exhaled. “I think you’re wrong, she definitely hates me.”

Suzie didn’t say yes or no. She just reached over, gently squeezing her wrist. “Eat something.”

Chapter Text

DAYS LATER (MONDAY) - EARN’S APARTMENT

The alarm buzzed at 6:45 a.m. sharp.

Earn stared at the ceiling for five minutes before she moved.

Meds at 7.

A sip of water. Swallow. Wait.

Lean over the sink. Count to thirty. Try not to vomit.

She bit into a protein bar. The texture made her gag halfway through, but she forced it down.

PSYCHIATRIST SESSION #2 - DR. WIRIYA

Dr. Wiriya’s office was minimalist. Dark wood bookshelves, a single bonsai tree on the windowsill.

Earn sat slouched, hoodie sleeves tugged down to her knuckles.

Dr. Wiriya talked softly about patterns. About emotional wear. About the difference between giving up and being tired.

And Earn… just nodded.

Every few minutes, she blinked too long, as if trying to keep from dozing off.

ON SET – LUNCH BREAK

She had her script in one hand, water bottle in the other, when her nose started bleeding.

No warning.

It spilled past her lip before she could react. Red on her chin, the page, her palm.

She hurried to the restroom. Locked the door. Shoved tissue up her nose and sat on the floor.

Counted backward from 100.

By the time someone knocked on the door, she said, “I’m fine, just need a minute,” through the tissue.

She didn’t believe her. But she let her be.

✦✦✦✦

WEDNESDAY - PSYCHIATRIST SESSION #3 – DR. CHAWAN

Earn stared at the ceiling as the doctor gently said, “Perhaps some positive affirmations in the mirror would help?”

“…Sorry?”

“Repeat it daily. ‘I am whole, I am healing, I am worthy.’ Simple. Effective.”

Earn blinked twice. She slowly sat up from the couch.

“Right. And then what? The tumor vanishes?”

“Negative energy feeds disease.”

She stood. “Cool. Okay. This was great. Thanks for your time.”

Suzie face-palmed in the waiting room when Earn walked out early. Again.

✦✦✦✦

THURSDAY MORNING - EARN’S BEDROOM

Another nosebleed. This one woke her.

The blood was already dried on her pillowcase when she sat up.

She stared at it for ten seconds before reaching for her meds.

Then she threw up in the bathroom sink.

Wiped her mouth. Rinsed the blood from her nose.

Went to set an hour later.

No one knew.

PSYCHIATRIST SESSION #4 – DR. MIRA

Dr. Mira smiled too much.

Everything Earn said, no matter how bleak, was met with unnerving optimism. “You’re so brave,” Dr. Mira had said when Earn told her about her diagnosis. “What a powerful journey.”

Earn had smiled back politely and never returned.

✦✦✦✦

FRIDAY MORNING - MAKEUP TRAILER

Earn had just finished a scene and stepped into the makeup trailer, wiping the corner of her mouth with a tissue.

She hadn’t even noticed the blood until someone gasped.

It wasn’t from her lip.

It was the slow, red trickle from her nose, soaking into the collar of her shirt.

“Khun Earn!” the makeup artist exclaimed, already reaching for cotton pads. “You’re bleeding!”

Earn blinked, dazed. “Oh, yeah. It’s fine. It happens.”

Before anyone could argue, a voice cut through the small space with clinical clarity.

“Does it?”

Fahlada stood by the door, arms crossed, her eyes pinned sharply on Earn. Her gaze was like someone cataloging symptoms, comparing them to a mental checklist she wasn’t even conscious she’d been building.

She didn’t speak again. Just stepped forward and handed Earn a cool bottle of water.

“Sit down,” she said flatly.

Earn obeyed, mostly because standing suddenly felt harder than usual.

She tilted her head back slightly, pressing tissues against her nose.

“It’s nothing,” she muttered.

“It’s not nothing,” Fahlada said quietly.

But the doctor didn’t push it.

Meanwhile Earn just hate herself more, hate that it was starting to become normal.

This was the third nosebleed this week.

The seventh this month.

LATER THAT NIGHT - PSYCHIATRIST SESSION #5 – DR. WAN

Earn tried a virtual session next. 

Less pressure. Less commitment. But it felt more like answering questions for a form.

“Have you ever had suicidal ideation?”

“Not actively,” Earn replied.

Dr. Wan gave a light nod. “Passive thoughts, then?”

“I don’t want to die,” she hesitated. “But sometimes I don’t care if I don’t wake up.”

The silence that followed felt too clinical, too sanitized.

They didn’t schedule another session.

✦✦✦✦

SATURDAY NIGHT - PARKING GARAGE

The second time it happened, they were both leaving after a long shoot. The light in the parking garage was dim, the shadows long and stretched.

Earn was fumbling with her car keys when she staggered slightly against the door.

A drop of something red splattered across the concrete. Then another.

“Shit,” she whispered, touching her face.

“Earn?”

She froze at the sound of that voice. Again.

Fahlada.

The footsteps came fast, clicking against the concrete until Fahlada was at her side, already taking in the blood with narrowed eyes.

“This isn’t normal,” she said, more alarmed this time.

Earn tried to turn away. “It’s the weather. It’s hot and dry.”

But her nosebleed wasn’t stopping easily this time, and she could feel her heartbeat pounding behind her eyes.

Fahlada reached for her without hesitation, guiding her to the backseat of her own car like she was a doctor dragging a patient through triage.

“Head down, not back,” she said. “Don’t swallow the blood.”

Earn obeyed again, wordless, defeated.

After a tense few minutes and silence only broken by the slow crinkle of tissues and shallow breathing, Fahlada finally said. “This is the second time I’ve seen this.”

Earn didn’t answer.

“And I’m guessing it’s not just twice total, is it?”

Earn shook her head.

“Have you told anyone?”

“I’m managing it.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“You’re not my doctor.” 

There was a pause.

“You’re right,” Fahlada said coolly. “I’m not. But someone should be.”

Then she stood up. “I’ll get your things. You’re not driving tonight.”

“P’Mor—”

“Don’t argue.”

A FEW MINUTES LATER 

Suzie showed up to pick Earn up at Fahlada’s request, after a clipped phone call that didn’t give many details.

Earn sat quietly in the passenger seat, fingers twitching in her lap, head turned toward the window.

“Thanks for not saying anything,” she said finally.

“I haven’t decided if I will yet,” Fahlada replied.

There was no threat in her voice. Just something calm. Measured.

But her eyes—when she glanced at Earn before closing the car door—weren’t just cold anymore.

They were worried.

Really worried.

And that was the problem.

Because the more she saw, the closer she got to asking.

And if she asked…

Earn didn’t think she could lie to her again.

Not if P’Mor looked at her like that.

Not if she asked gently.

And that terrified her more than the blood.

LATER THAT NIGHT - FAHLADA’S APARTMENT

Fahlada stood at her kitchen counter, scrolling on her tablet, but not reading anything. Her tea had gone cold ten minutes ago.

Her mind kept circling back to the past weeks. 

To Earn’s trembling hands.

To Earn, who was throwing up at that time.

To how light her bones felt.

To the faint discoloration under her eyes that makeup didn’t quite cover anymore.

To how she said she hadn’t eaten. Again.

To how she already had two nosebleeds this week, not to mention the possibilities of her having more nosebleeds that Fahlada didn’t see.

This isn’t just stress.

This isn’t just overwork.

Fahlada knew something deeper was going on, more than burnout or dehydration. She didn’t want to admit it, but she was already running through the possibilities in her head.

A bleeding disorder.

Vasculitis.

A neurological issue.

Tumor?

No.

She clenched her jaw. She didn’t want to go there.

But she knew what recurrent symptoms like Earn’s could mean.

Still, there are also many other possibilities besides tumor.

Earn hadn’t said anything. 

And Anon? He was always around. He would’ve told her, right?

Except… would he?

Would Earn let him?

Fahlada rubbed a hand over her face and sighed. The uncertainty was eating at her. And the feeling was growing stronger every day.

I don’t like seeing her like this and whatever she’s hiding… it’s getting worse.

✦✦✦✦

THE NEXT DAY - ST. KING HOSPITAL

The halls were busy, as usual. Monitors beeped softly in the background. Nurses moved in rhythm.

Despite Fahlada’s initial dislik of Anon’s arrival at St. King, they are in fact, work well together in cases that needed their expertise. 

So here they are, walking side by side, both in white coats, reviewing a case together.

“She's had focal seizures twice this month,” Fahlada said, handing over a scan. “No structural abnormalities on MRI, but I still think we need an extended EEG.”

Anon nodded thoughtfully. “Agreed. I can arrange a portable setup for overnight monitoring.”

Fahlada paused, glancing down at the file. “Her neuro exam was clean yesterday. But something’s off.”

“She hesitated on basic recall when I spoke with her last week,” Anon added. “Subtle, but it’s there.”

They shared a look—the unspoken language of two doctors who’d worked together long enough to read each other’s conclusions before they said them.

Fahlada gave a tight nod. “I’ll prep the family. Start soft.”

“I’ll talk to imaging.”

With that, they separated. Anon headed back toward diagnostics. Fahlada to her wing.

But halfway down the hallway, she stopped.

Her grip tightened on her clipboard.

Then she turned around.

ANON’S OFFICE

The door swung open with no warning.

“What the hell is going on with her?” Fahlada asks.

Anon didn’t even flinch. He barely looked up from his screen.

“Well, hello to you too, Dr. Fahlada,” he said, calm as ever.

Fahlada stepped inside and shut the door behind her. Not slamming it. But firmly.

“What is happening with Earn?”

“I don’t know what you mean. Nothing is wrong with her.”

“Cut it out,” she snapped. “I saw her throw up a few weeks ago. This week alone, I’ve seen her have two nosebleeds. The kind that doesn’t stop easily.”

At that, Anon’s brow furrowed. The air changed slightly.

“She did?”

“You didn’t know?”

“No.” He stood up now, attention fully captured. “When?”

“Tuesday, during makeup. Saturday night in the garage.” Her voice lowered. “She looked… exhausted. Pale. She brushed it off like it was nothing, but I’ve seen enough to know it’s not.”

Anon was silent for a long moment. He looked away from his screen and ran a hand over his face, the weight of the situation clearly sinking into his expression now.

“Thanks for telling me,” he finally said, voice quiet, but sincere. “I’ll check in with her.”

Fahlada didn’t budge. “That’s not what I asked.”

Anon’s jaw tightened.

“You didn’t answer me, Anon,” she pressed. “What is wrong with her?”

He met her eyes—steadily, carefully. But when he spoke again, his voice was softer, measured.

“There’s nothing seriously wrong with her.”

“Bullshit.”

“Lada,” he said, more firmly this time. “She’s tired. She’s working too much. Not eating properly. It’s been a rough time for her—physically and emotionally. But that’s it.”

“That’s it?” Fahlada repeated. “Are you really going to stand there and tell me that repeated nosebleeds, vomiting, tremors, and focal seizures are just exhaustion?”

“She’s pushing herself too hard. You’ve seen how much she’s been filming. ”

“That’s a weak answer, and you know it.”

“Lada,” he said finally, “this isn’t my story to tell. If you want answers, you should ask her.” 

“I did,” Fahlada snapped. “And she doesn’t want to tell me.”     

“You’re angry,” he said quietly.

Fahlada scoffed. “Of course I’m angry.”

“Not just about the nosebleeds.”

Her jaw clenched. “Don’t play shrink with me.”

“I’m not.” Anon’s voice stayed calm, infuriatingly so. “But you’ve had weeks to ask. You’re only here now because it’s bleeding through the surface—literally.”

“She won’t tell me anything.”

“Then maybe that’s your answer.”

Fahlada stared at him. “You know something. I can see it all over you.”

He said nothing. Just looked at her, quiet and steady.

“I asked you directly,” she went on, sharper now, “and you’re lying to my face. You said she’s ‘just tired.’ That’s a load of shit, and you know it.”

“She’s overworked. Stressed. Not eating enough. You’ve seen her on set.” His tone was level, maddeningly neutral. “This isn’t a medical mystery, Lada.”

“That’s a deflection.”

“It’s her life.”

Fahlada stepped forward, her voice low but seething now. “If you two are involved, just say it.”

The words hung in the air like smoke.

Anon blinked, then frowned—not in confusion, but disbelief.

“What?”

She didn’t back down. “Don’t act surprised. You left the same time she did. Suddenly you show up and now you’re all over the set, whispering to producers, playing consultant, and now you’re hovering every time she blinks wrong—”

“She’s my friend.”

“You don’t look at her like she’s just a friend.”

Anon’s jaw clenched. “Watch what you’re implying.”

“You think I didn’t noticed how you look at her?” 

That landed.

For the first time, Anon’s calm faltered.

Fahlada didn’t wait. “You had that look, you know? That yearning look. The one where someone’s pretending they’re just a friend but they’d do anything to be more. I remember. You were always hovering around her. Always giving her that look.”

Anon didn’t deny it.

He just looked at her, as if measuring what she could take.

And then said, “She doesn’t belong to either of us.”

Fahlada flinched.

“Whatever you both are,” she said. “If you care about her like that, then you should’ve taken better care of her. You should’ve stopped this before it got this bad.”

“I am taking care of her,” he said quietly. “But not in the way you think.”

“Then tell me the truth.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not my place, Lada!” His voice rose for the first time. 

Fahlada stiffened.

She backed a step. Her jaw was clenched tight. “So that’s it? I just keep watching her fall apart?”

Anon’s voice softened, a note of guilt threading in. “You don’t have to do anything. You’re not her doctor or girlfriend, remember?”

Fahlada’s face went still.

Dead still.

Like every word had landed square in the center of her chest—and now she was trying, very hard, not to let it show.

There was a long silence.

Then, slowly, she stepped back toward him. Not closing the distance, just enough to look him in the eye with a kind of calm that was infinitely sharper than her anger.

“That’s a cruel thing to say,” she said, voice like glass.

Anon didn’t look away. “It’s a cruel situation.”

He looked at her, something unreadable in his eyes.

And still, he didn’t say what she needed to hear.

That Earn was safe.

That she was going to be okay.

That whatever was happening wasn’t permanent.

But instead, he just said, “If she wants to talk, she will.”

Fahlada didn’t believe that. Not for a second.

Because Earn had already left once without a word.

“You won’t get your answers from me. I won’t betray her like that.” Anon adds.

Fahlada gave a small, bitter laugh. “Must be nice. Being the one she trusts.”

“It’s not as nice as you think.”

He didn’t say anything else. Just moved back toward his desk, picked up a file, like that was the end of it.

But even with her back turned to the door, Fahlada didn’t move.

She didn’t know what hurt more.

The fact that Earn had trusted someone else, or the fact that she hadn’t trusted her at all.

Finally, Fahlada stepped back.

“This conversation never happened,” she muttered.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“If you’re with her,” she said quietly, “then protect her. Not whatever she’s hiding.”

“I’m not with her,” Anon replied, voice soft again. “But I’d still protect her, either way.”

Fahlada hesitated, just a fraction of a second.

Then she opened the door and stepped out without another word.

And Anon sat back down heavily in his chair, staring blankly at the file on his desk.

He didn’t like lying to her.

But he liked betraying Earn even less.

Fahlada had been right about one thing, though.

He did look at Earn differently.

He always had.

But he had known from the beginning that there was no room for anyone else in that part of Earn’s heart. Even when she left Lada. 

She still called her P’Mor , like the name meant more than medicine. Like it still hurt to say it.

He let out a slow breath through his nose. Then he leaned forward, elbows on the desk, hands rubbing at his face like they could scrape off the guilt settling beneath his skin.

“Must be nice. Being the one she trusts.”

“Then protect her. Not whatever she’s hiding.”

He wasn’t proud of it, this role he’d taken on. The quiet confidant. The designated liar. The man who knew everything but couldn’t say anything. And the worst part?

He didn’t blame Earn one bit for asking him to carry it.

Because she was scared.

Because she was dying.

Because she loved Fahlada so much it hurt , and in the twisted way grief worked, Earn thought that hiding this—this whole ugly, failing, heartbreaking truth—was a form of love too.

Anon leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.

He remembered the first time he saw the scan.

How his heart dropped. How it didn’t make sense at first. Earn had come in alone, no symptoms she couldn’t laugh off. 

“I just feel a little dizzy sometimes,” she’d said, waving it away like it was a cold.

And then came the imaging.

The tumor wasn’t large, but it was in the worst possible place—deep, close to critical function. Operable, maybe. Survivable, if caught early, treated aggressively, and if luck decided not to be an asshole this time.

But Earn didn’t want the surgery, or even chemo.

Not yet.

Not until she finished what she had been dreaming of.

Not until she could ‘ wrap everything up’ . Not until she had control of something, anything.

And Anon—fool that he was—had said okay. Had said he’d manage it . That he’d monitor it, adjust her meds, help her keep it together long enough to pretend she was still invincible.

She wasn’t.

He knew it.

She knew it.

And now Fahlada suspected it—her eyes were sharp like that, always had been.

Anon’s fingers hovered above his tablet, then finally swiped to open Earn’s chart. He scrolled through the logs: anti-epileptics, anti-nausea, the emergency hematology consult request he hadn’t told anyone about yet. The last CBC panel. The platelet drop. The changes in her white counts.

Something was shifting. Subtle but undeniable.

It wasn’t just fatigue anymore.

It wasn’t just nosebleeds.

It was progression .

He rested his elbows on the desk, letting his face fall into his hands.

How much longer could they do this?

How much longer could he keep lying to Earn’s parents, and now, to Fahlada?

He remembered the look on her face just now—icy, sharp, gutted. That tight, trembling fury of someone who didn’t know if they were more hurt or angry.

He’d seen it before. On Earn. On Fahlada.

They’d always been mirrors, the both of them.

Matching fire and ice.

He hated being the bridge between them.

But even more, he hated the fact that someone would be left behind again. And this time, it wouldn’t be by choice.

A soft ping echoed from his phone. A new message. From Suzie.

I make sure she rest today. She ate breakfast and now she’s asleep. Don’t worry.

He didn’t reply. Just stared at it.

Because he was worried.

And he knew he should tell Fahlada. Tell someone stronger. Smarter. Less entangled.

But every time he thought about Earn’s face—when she’d whispered please, not yet… —he folded.

Anon sighed again and finally closed the tablet.

If Earn had asked him to protect her secret, he would.

Even if it meant keeping Fahlada out.

Even if it meant Fahlada hating him forever.

Because the truth would destroy them both.

And if one of them had to hold the weight, then it might as well be him.

He just want to be beside Earn. 

Nothing less, nothing more.

He know his place well.

Chapter Text

THE NEXT DAY - EARN’S APARTMENT

The sound of the front door opening was followed by a familiar voice calling out, “Don’t shoot, I come bearing foods.”

Earn was curled up on the couch, hoodie sleeves past her knuckles, legs tucked under her. 

She blinked toward the door, groggy from a nap she didn’t remember starting. 

Suzie, sitting cross-legged on the rug with her laptop open, perked up.

“You’re late,” Suzie called. “You said 10:30.”

Anon stepped in holding two iced coffees and a small paper bag. “I was saving a life. But sure, yell at the guy who brought croissants.”

He handed the coffee to Suzie, set the bag on the coffee table, and finally turned to Earn, who hadn’t moved much except to blink again. 

“I also brought those fruit protein bars you don’t hate.” he said gently.

Earn hummed nonchalantly. “Thanks… I think.”

He didn’t sit right away. Just stood there, looking at her in that way he did when he was collecting data in silence.

Suzie knew that look. “What is it?”

Anon finally sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Lada came to see me yesterday.”

Earn’s entire body went still. Her eyes snapped up, wide. “P’Mor… came to see you ?”

“She came to my office.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “She saw you have nosebleeds. She told me. Asked what was going on.”

“She… told you?”

“I didn’t tell her anything,” he said quickly, holding her gaze. “But she’s not stupid. She’s connecting dots.”

Earn’s expression was twisted between shock and discomfort. “I didn’t think she’d care .”

Suzie gave her a side-eye from the armrest. “Well, she does .”

“I just, didn’t want to make it a thing.”

Anon folded his arms across his chest. “It is a thing, Earn. Especially when it’s happening more than once a week and you didn’t told me, your doctor.”

“I didn’t tell you because it doesn’t hurt ,” Earn said quickly, defensive now. “It’s not like a seizure. It just happens and then it stops. I thought maybe it was the meds, or the heat—”

“Or the fact that your body is running on fumes,” Suzie cut in, arms crossed. “Or the fact that you’re barely sleeping, barely eating, and lying to both of us while pretending you’re still fine.”

“I thought if it didn’t hurt, then it didn’t count. Besides, I didn’t want to bother anyone again.”

Suzie immediately piped up from the floor. “Earn. You literally bled through your shirt collar.”

“It wasn’t that bad—”

“It soaked through.”

Earn opened her mouth to argue, but stopped. Her lips pressed together.

Anon rubbed a hand down his face. “You should’ve told me. I’m your doctor. And your friend.”

“I didn’t want it to be a thing,” she said softly. “If I told you, then it’s a thing. A big, scary, medical thing. And I’m tired of those.”

Suzie shut her laptop and scooted closer to the couch. “That’s not how this works, sweetheart. It’s okay to ask for help even if something doesn’t hurt .”

“I just…” Earn paused, eyes flicking between them. “I guess if I ignored it, it didn’t feel real.”

No one said anything for a beat.

Then Anon said, more gently this time, “It’s real. And you know that. I’m not going to scold you. I just need you to be honest with me, because your nosebleeds are getting worse. You’re paler. You’re more fatigued. Something’s shifting.”

Earn looked down again, the guilt rising up in her throat.

“And as much as I respect your choice,” he continued, “we have to start making some hard decisions. We’re running out of time to play pretend.”

Suzie leaned her head on the edge of the couch. “Also, just so you know? I am going to tell you when you look like hell. Because you looked awful in that trailer. Like a sad vampire in a hoodie.”

Earn let out a small, weak laugh. “Thanks, Phi.”

“You’re welcome.”

Anon stood up and walked over to his bag. He opened it and took something out, two small orange pill bottles and a folded printout.

He came back over and placed the pill bottles on the table in front of her. “One’s to stabilize the blood vessels. The other is for backup iron, in case your hemoglobin dips again. We’ll test your blood tomorrow to adjust if needed.”

“And the paper?” Earn asked quietly.

“A recommendation,” Anon said, tapping the folded sheet. “It’s a list of specialists I want you to see—ENT, heme-onc, maybe even a vascular consult. It’s not a panic thing. Just a thorough thing.”

Earn finally nodded, small and unsure. “Okay.”

“I’ll come with you,” Suzie said, and there was no room for protest.

Anon gave them a crooked smile. “And I also want to draw some new labs. This afternoon or tomorrow morning. And you need to tell me next time something new happens.”

“Okay.”

“Not ‘okay, if I feel like it.’ Just okay.”

She rolled her eyes, but it was half-hearted. “Okay.”

Anon finally leaned back in the chair. “Good. Now eat the damn croissant or your protein bar. I paid thirty baht more for the fancy butter.”

Earn reached for the bag slowly, still tired, still thinking—but grateful. Grateful for both of them.

And still terrified that Fahlada might ask again.

Because Earn wasn’t sure how long she could keep it to herself.

 “Do you think… she’s going to ask again?”

“You mean Fahlada?” he asked.

Earn nodded.

“She might,” Anon admitted. “She cares about you. She’s just angry. And confused.”

Earn’s jaw tensed. “I don’t want her to find out like this.”

“Then don’t let her find out from me,” he said gently. “Talk to her. When you’re ready.”

Earn looked at both of them—her two constants, her quiet protectors—and nodded again.

This time, firmer.

“…Okay.”

As Earn picked at the edge of the folded paper—his list of specialist referrals—Anon couldn’t stop the noise building behind his eyes.

"You don’t look at her like she’s just a friend."

"You should’ve taken better care of her."

"If you’re with her, then protect her."

Fahlada’s voice hadn’t been loud yesterday. It hadn’t needed to be. It had landed like a scalpel—sharp, precise, deep.

And maybe she was right.

Anon stared at Earn now, watching her eyes move slowly over the printout without actually reading it. His throat felt tight.

He didn’t owe her the truth—not about that . Not now. But he hated knowing something that might tear her apart later if it came out from someone else.

She thinks I was the reason. 

She thinks you left her… because of me.

He pressed his fingers together under the table, his knuckles whitening.

Would telling her fix anything?

Would she want to know?

Part of him wanted to say it. To clear the air.

Maybe if she knew what Lada thought… she'd finally talk to her.

But like, what was he going to say? “Hey, the woman you’re still in love with thinks you and I had a secret affair, and she thinks we ran off together like a drama script nobody asked for. Surprise!”

Right.

He exhaled through his nose, leaned back in his chair, and forced the words to stay where they were—unsaid.

She doesn’t love me.

He knew that. Had always known it.

She loved Fahlada in a way that made even the silences between them ache. 

And maybe that’s what hurt the most—for all the times he’d been the one Earn trusted, cried to, leaned on... her heart was still somewhere else entirely.

And he was okay with that. Mostly.

But Earn deserved to know.

It is something about herself.

So before he could talk himself out of it, he called her, gently. “Earn.”

“Yeah?”

Anon hesitated. “Actually, yesterday Fahlada came to me with more than just your symptoms.”

“...Okay?”

“She thinks… the reason you left her was because of me.”

“What?”

“She thinks we were—” He gestured vaguely between them. “Involved.”

Earn actually looked stunned. Not even defensive. Just stunned .

“No,” she said immediately. “That’s—what? No. Why would she think that?”

Anon gave her a look. The kind that said, You know why.

Earn let out a breath. “Because we left at the same time.”

“And because I came back when you did. And because I’ve been around a lot.”

Her mouth twisted like the idea physically pained her.

“She really thinks I left her… for you?”

Anon’s voice was low now. “She doesn’t say it like that. But yeah, that’s what she believes.”

Earn’s eyes dropped to her lap. She stayed like that for a long moment, not blinking.

And then, very softly. “…That’s not why I left.”

“I know.”

She nodded. “I ran because I was falling apart. Because I thought staying would’ve broken her more than leaving.”

Anon smiled faintly. “I know that too.”

“Did you told her we weren’t together?”

“I did.”

Earn looked up slowly, guilt creeping into her eyes. “But she probably didn’t believe it and thought I betrayed her. She must be hating me more right now.”

“She never said that. But she’s hurt. You can’t avoid that part.”

“Well, thank you,” she whispered. “For telling me.”

Suzie gently placed the bottle down. “So… what now?”

Earn was quiet for a long beat. “I don’t know.”

Anon hesitated. “Maybe… it’s time you explain things to her.”

Earn let out a long breath and leaned back into the couch.

She didn’t reply. Just sat there, stunned and quiet, like the floor had been pulled out beneath her all over again.

✦✦✦✦

NEXT MORNING – ST. KING HOSPITAL, LABORATORY WING

The hallway was quiet, the overhead lights humming faintly, a softness to the sterile white that only existed in the early hours—before the real chaos of the day began.

Earn sat on the edge of the clinic bed, hoodie sleeves rolled up halfway, her left arm resting on the narrow side table. The band of the blood pressure cuff still lingered on her bicep from the vitals check, and now Anon was gently prepping a fresh needle, his expression focused and careful.

Suzie sat beside her, perched on the low visitor’s chair, holding a half-open bottle of water and a bag of salted crackers Earn hadn’t touched yet. Her presence was quiet but firm—as it always was these days.

“I still hate needles,” Earn muttered under her breath.

“You’ve had brain scans, seizures, and multiple nosebleeds this week,” Suzie said dryly. “This is a walk in the park.”

“Yeah, well, the park still sucks.”

Anon cracked a faint smile and gently tapped her inner elbow. “You’re dehydrated. Veins are shallow today. Don’t lock your arm.”

Earn nodded, doing as instructed.

A few moments passed in silence. Then—

“Little sting,” Anon murmured, and the needle slipped in.

Earn didn’t flinch. Not anymore. She was used to it now, in the way people get used to bad dreams.

He drew two vials, watching the blood flow with practiced precision.

Suzie, from the side, was watching too, her arms crossed. “You said we’re checking CBC again and platelets, yeah?”

“And ESR, CRP, PT/INR, liver function, kidney markers, ferritin, and clotting factors,” Anon confirmed. “Just ruling things out while we can.”

Earn raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like a lot of vials.”

“It’s five. You’ll live.”

“Not funny,” she mumbled.

“You get a free sandwich with the fifth one?” Suzie offered dryly.

“God, I hope it’s tuna,” Earn said, a twitch of a smile ghosting across her lips.

Anon smirked a little, but his eyes stayed on the work, attentive.

CBC. Coags. Iron panel. Tumor markers. Platelets. Inflammatory markers. ESR. CRP.

It felt like testing for everything and hoping it wouldn’t confirm anything.

After taping a cotton swab over the puncture, he gave her a squeeze on the arm. “All done.”

“Finally,” she said, flexing her fingers.

“You did good,” Suzie said, handing her the water.

“Feels like a blood tax.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not exactly earning gold stars with your current health record,” Suzie muttered, softer now. “So this is step one of not dying.”

Earn gave her a crooked smile. “Harsh. True. But harsh.”

 “That’s the easy part done.” Anon said gently as he taped over the puncture.

“What’s the hard part?” Earn asked.

“Waiting.”

Then Suzie tap her shoulders. “Let’s get the rest of the day going. We’ve got three stops.”

“Three?”

“ENT, hematology, and neurovascular consult. Anon booked them back to back so you don’t have to come back again tomorrow.”

“I don’t know whether to say thank you or scream.”

“Try a middle ground.”

“I’ll roll my eyes extra hard. Deal?”

“Perfect.”

✦✦✦✦

LATE MORNING – VARIOUS SPECIALIST OFFICES

The ENT was polite and methodical. He scoped her nasal passage, asked questions about frequency, bleeding patterns, and medical history. His verdict? Fragile vessels likely inflamed by stress and certain medications.

He prescribed a topical agent and saline rinses. Gently suggested avoiding caffeine.

Suzie wrote it all down while Earn stared at the prescription slip like it personally offended her.

Next, Dr. Preecha, the hematologist, had a quiet, kind demeanor. He looked over Anon’s labs and nodded to himself before asking Earn if she’d ever had abnormal bruising or delayed healing.

“No bruises,” she murmured. “Just the nosebleeds. And the headaches. And the…” She trailed off.

He nodded, adjusted his glasses, and ordered another set of more specific tests. “We’ll look into platelet function and clotting cascades. Just in case. Nothing jumps out right now, but I’d like to be thorough.”

Suzie rubbed Earn’s back as they left. “He reminded me of a tired uncle who gives good hugs.”

“He made me want to nap,” Earn said.

“Exactly. Hug uncle.”

The last stop was in a much quieter wing of the hospital. The specialist, Dr. Thanom, pulled up Earn’s past MRIs, compared scans, and asked several precise, complicated questions that made Suzie's brain fog over instantly.

Earn answered most of them automatically—years of practice.

“There’s no major vascular concern visible on imaging,” he said at last. “But I do think we should repeat scans soon. If symptoms escalate—more frequent bleeds, new focal deficits—we’ll need to act fast.”

Earn gave a tired nod. “Okay.”

As they left the consultation room, Suzie glanced sideways at her. “You took that like a champ.”

“I’m not sure I have any feelings left to react with.”

“That’s fair.” Then Suzie checked the time on her phone. “Want to go home?”

Earn shook her head. “Actually… I think I want to see someone.”

Suzie blinked. “Anon?”

“No. Not this time.”

✦✦✦✦

AFTERNOON – DR. RIN’S OFFICE

The office was exactly the same—muted beige walls, lavender diffuser, the same abstract prints. But this time, when Earn sat on the couch, she took off her hoodie.

She didn’t curl up. She didn’t hide.

She sat upright, hands on her lap, eyes steady but tired.

Dr. Rin smiled softly as she entered, taking a seat across from her.

“Khun Earn,” she said, not warmly, not coolly—just real. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again.”

“Me neither,” Earn replied. “And please, just call me Earn.”

Dr. Rin gave a slight nod and waited.

“I didn’t like the first session,” Earn said bluntly. “It made me feel… exposed. Like everything I said could be used against me in a chart.”

“That’s a common reaction.”

“I left feeling like… I was still broken. Just… politely observed.”

“Do you still feel that way?”

Earn hesitated, then shook her head. “No. Not exactly. I just didn’t want to be labeled. Or managed. Or pitied.”

“You wanted to stay in control.”

“Yes.”

“And what changed?”

“Despite all my best efforts to managed my health, I still had these nosebleeds. I’ve been throwing up most mornings. My specialist list is longer than my script notes. And someone I love thinks I left her because I was sleeping with my doctor.” A pause. “So yeah. I guess… I don’t feel very in control anymore.”

Dr. Rin let the silence settle naturally. Then said, “And what made you come back?”

“I think I want someone to help me make sense of it. Not fix it. Not give me affirmations or tell me I’m brave. Just… help me see what the hell I’m doing.”

“That’s fair,” Rin said gently. “Then let’s start over. No checklist. No diagnosis today. Just conversation.”

Earn breathed slowly. “Where do I even start,” she mumbled to herself.

“From wherever you feel comfortable.” Dr. Rin gives her a small smile.

The clock ticked softly behind Dr. Rin’s chair, but it wasn’t oppressive this time. Earn was the first to speak.

“As you already know, I have brain cancer.”

She said it plainly. No buildup. No trembling lip.

Dr. Rin just nodded slightly, signaling for something like, I’m here. Go on.

“It’s called Neocortical Gliomatosis. Sounds like a fake word, right? Like something made up for a medical drama. But it’s real. Rare, aggressive. Messy.”

She pauses, fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve.

“It’s a type of brain tumor, but not the kind you can just cut out. It spreads—slowly, quietly—across the neocortex. That’s the part of your brain that handles memory, language, sensory stuff. Basically, the parts that make you feel like you .”

Another pause. Her voice lowers.

“The scariest part? It doesn’t show up like you’d expect. I still look fine. I can still walk, talk, work… but that’s the trap. People see you doing okay and assume you’re not really sick. But every week, something small slips. My memory. My vision. My words. Sometimes it’s just a headache that won’t go away. Other days it’s a seizure or a blackout or waking up with blood on my pillow.”

She swallows hard.

“I saw a few doctors at first. Big names. Specialists. They gave me the same answers but looked at me like a statistic, like a ticking clock. Then my parents told me to talked to P’Anon. He’s known my family since I was a kid. Used to help me cheat at Monopoly.” A faint smile. 

“I don’t know… maybe that makes it easier. Maybe that’s why I chose him. I guess it felt less like getting a death sentence from a stranger.”

She looks away, eyes slightly glazed.

“But honestly, P’Anon basically also gives the same explanation. It’s not the kind of thing you recover from. Best case, you slow it down. Try to buy time. Chemo, radiation—they help, kind of. But it’s like trying to keep water from seeping through a cracked wall.”

“How do you feel about it?” Rin asked, her voice calm, but not clinical.

The question landed with more weight than it should’ve. Simple words. Heavy truth.

Earn took a long breath, steady but quiet. Then:

“I think I’ve been preparing to die since the moment I got the diagnosis.”

She didn’t flinch as she said it. Her voice didn’t tremble.
If anything, it sounded… tired. Resigned. Like she’d rehearsed the line too many times in her head already.

“I know I’m not supposed to think that way. I know there are treatments. Chances. Probabilities. But I didn’t want to be one of those people who clings too hard to false hope and ends up bitter. So instead, I just... I’ve been acting like it’s already over.”

Rin tilted her head slightly, folding her hands. “What does that mean to you—acting like it’s over?”

Earn’s gaze dropped to her lap.

“I stopped making plans. I avoid buying anything expensive because—what’s the point, right? I say yes to jobs even when I’m too tired. I pretend I’m okay when I’m not. I push Suzie away when she gets too close. And…” She stopped.

Rin waited.

“And I left someone I loved more than anything,” Earn whispered. “Because I couldn’t let her watch me fall apart.”

She exhaled shakily.

“I thought if I stayed, I’d become this… ghost she had to care for. A burden. And I didn’t want her to see me weak. Not like this.”

“Do you think she would’ve seen you that way?” Rin asked gently.

Earn shook her head, slowly. “No. I think she would’ve stayed. I think she would’ve loved me through it.”

“And that scared you.”

“It terrified me.”

Her shoulders curled in slightly, like the admission physically hurt.

“I loved her so much, I didn’t want to make her a caretaker. I didn’t want her to spend the rest of her life remembering me sick.”

“And what about now?”

Earn gave a weak laugh. “I still love her so much, but now she thinks I left her to be with P’Anon.”

Another silence. Heavier this time.

“That must feel isolating,” Rin said.

“It does. But it also feels... earned, in a way. Like I created that distance.” She paused. “And I’m too tired to fix it. I’ve been acting like my life’s ending anyway, so what’s the point of mending old heartbreaks?”

“Because you’re still here,” Dr. Rin said simply. “And you’re still feeling. That’s the point.”

Earn let out a slow breath. “I guess I haven’t thought about it like that.”

Rin was quiet for a long beat. Then she said, “Earn, can I offer a reflection?”

“Sure.”

“You’re grieving a life you haven’t lost yet.”

Earn blinked.

“You’ve been mourning yourself in advance,” Rin continued softly. “Preparing everyone else for your absence by disappearing early. That kind of self-preservation—it makes sense, emotionally. But it also cuts you off from the only thing you still have right now: time.”

“I don’t know how to live when everything feels temporary.”

Dr. Rin folded her hands gently. “Then maybe we start there.”

Earn tilted her head slightly. “So what do I do?”

“Start being here again,” Rin said. “Not just existing. Living.”

“And how the hell do I do that when I feel like I’m watching the clock tick down every morning?”

Rin smiled, a bit sadly, but with something warm behind her eyes. “I’m going to give you homework.”

Earn made a face. “Therapy homework? That’s cruel.”

“It’s not a list of affirmations,” Rin said dryly. “I promise.”

She reached into a drawer and pulled out a small notebook. Plain cover. Blank pages. She passed it across.

“I want to give you something to anchor you to the present.”

Earn raised a brow. “Like journaling?”

“Not quite. I want you to make a wish list.”

“A wish list?”

“Yes. Not a bucket list. Not a to-do list before the end. A wish list. A list of things you want to do. No skydiving or flying to Iceland. Unless that’s genuinely what you want. But I’m talking about small wishes. Real wishes. The kind that make you feel here . Now. Coffee with someone you miss. Going to a beach and sitting with your feet in the sand. Laughing. Rewatching your favorite movie. Letting someone see you cry without apologizing for it.”

Earn stared at the notebook.

“You don’t have to fill it all today,” Rin added. “Or even tomorrow. But I want you to start remembering what it feels like to want things. To enjoy them. To hope. This illness has taken a lot from you, Earn. Don’t let it take your presence too.”

Earn blinked. “That feels… weird.”

“Why?”

“Because it feels selfish. Like, Hey, I’m sick but let me go do whatever I want. ”

“Selfishness isn’t a crime, Earn. Especially not when your life feels like it’s slipping out of your hands. This isn’t about pretending everything’s fine. It’s about finding reasons to still be in it.”

Earn didn’t respond immediately. But something in her eyes shifted. Like a flicker of light through a crack.

“So… like…” she started, thinking out loud, “I could write… I want to eat breakfast in bed without nausea. Or… I want to call someone and not fake a smile.”

“Exactly,” Rin said, smiling gently. “They don’t have to be grand. They just have to be yours.”

“…Can I include food?”

Dr. Rin smiled. “Especially food.”

Earn nodded slowly. “Okay. I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask.”

They sat in silence for a moment. But this time, it wasn’t awkward. It was the silence of something beginning.

Before she left, Earn turned back at the door.

“I want to want things again,” she said quietly.

And Rin, still seated, offered a nod. “That’s a beautiful start.”

✦✦✦✦

LATER THAT NIGHT – EARN’S BEDROOM

She sat cross-legged on her bed, a pen in hand, a blank page staring back at her from the little notebook Dr. Rin had gave her.

At the top, she wrote:

“Things I Wish For.”

Then she stared at it for a long while.

Eventually, she wrote:

• I want to tell P'Mor the truth.
• I want to be friends with P’Mor again.
• I want to sleep on her shoulder again.
• I want to go to a vacation with my families without them nagging me about treatments.
• I want my parents, P’Suzie, and P’Anon to stop worrying.
• I want to see P’Suzie smile at something I cook.
• I want to finish watching movies without throwing up halfway the movie.
• I want to sleep without alarms.
• I want to laugh so hard I forget I’m sick.
• I want to eat mango sticky rice from that stall in Chiang Mai again.
• I want to sing badly at karaoke and not feel embarrassed.
•  

She stopped there and looked down at the list she’d written—just a few lines of ink on paper, but it felt heavier than anything she’d held all day. She read each one again, quietly, barely even moving her lips.

I want to tell P’Mor the truth.

That one hit the hardest.

She reached up to wipe her cheek and realized her face was wet.

When had she started crying?

Her shoulders shook slightly, not with sobs, just with the soft weight of emotion that had nowhere else to go.

All this time, she had buried everything under routine. Under pills and schedules and fake smiles. She’d tricked herself into believing she didn’t want things anymore.

But she did.

She wanted so much .

And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel numb.

She felt alive . Hurting, yes. Scared, always. But alive.

That notebook sat like a quiet promise in her lap. And her tears came not from grief, but from remembering that there was still something left to lose.

Still something worth fighting for.

She turned the page.

Wrote one more line.

I want to want tomorrow.

And then, finally, she closed the book.

And slept.

Without alarms.

Chapter Text

THE NEXT MORNING — EARN’S APARTMENT

The first thing she noticed when she opened her eyes was… nothing.

No alarm. No headache. No nausea gnawing at her stomach or that awful metallic taste crawling up her throat.

She blinked slowly at the ceiling. For once, it wasn’t blurry. Her head wasn’t spinning. Her nose wasn’t bleeding.

It was quiet.

Not eerie quiet, but just still. Peaceful. Gentle sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, painting long rectangles across her bedsheet. Her pillow was clean. Her body, oddly, didn’t feel like a battlefield.

She reached for her phone—8:12 a.m.

She was late for her meds by over an hour… and yet, she didn’t feel awful.

Earn lay there for a while, staring up at the ceiling. Not out of dread this time, but just… quiet amazement. 

No pain.

It felt strange.

Not “I’m cured” strange, but… reprieve. Like the universe had stopped pressing on her chest for one morning and said, Here, you can have this one.

Maybe it wouldn’t last. But for now, it was nice .

Really nice.

She turned her face into the pillow and smiled.

Just a little.

✦✦✦✦

EARN’S KITCHEN

She padded barefoot into the kitchen, hair still a mess from sleep, sleeves falling past her wrists. The smell hit her first—toast, something buttery, something cooked .

Suzie stood by the counter, already plating two portions of scrambled eggs and grilled tomatoes like she hadn’t just declared last week that she was “never cooking again unless someone proposed to her.”

“You’re awake early,” Suzie said, not turning around yet. “Without looking like the ghost of someone who forgot to die.”

“Good morning to you too,” Earn mumbled, sliding onto one of the stools.

Suzie finally looked over and stopped mid-motion.

Earn blinked at her. “What?”

“You don’t look like death.”

“Shocking,” Earn deadpanned, slouching onto the couch.

Suzie narrowed her eyes, suspicious, then placed the plate in front of her. “Eat. Before I change my mind and throw it out of the window.”

Earn gave a mock salute and took the fork. 

The first bite didn’t make her gag. The second bite didn’t feel like cardboard. She didn’t even have to choke down water between every chew.

This felt… human.

They ate quietly for a while, the only sounds the clinking of cutlery and the occasional mumble from the TV in the background.

Then Suzie said, “So… therapy.”

Earn didn’t look up. Just nodded slowly, chewing.

Suzie gave it a few seconds. “How’d it go?”

Earn swallowed, sipped her water, then shrugged a little. “Better than the first time.”

Suzie waited again.

“Yesterday, when you came back,” she added quietly, “you didn’t say a word. You looked like you were here, but not really here. Then you just went straight to your room and locked the door. I thought… I don’t know. I thought it went badly.”

Earn leaned forward a bit, resting her elbow on the table. “It didn’t go badly. I’m just… tired. But not in a bad way.”

Suzie leaned her chin onto her palm. “Well, are you gonna tell me or do I have to guess based on your current zen monk energy?”

Earn took a sip of her coffee. It was too sweet—Suzie always overdid it—but she didn’t complain.

“I cried,” she said simply.

Suzie blinked. “That’s… not what I expected.”

Earn laughed softly, almost like a sigh. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Sometimes crying is how we water the stupid dead parts of ourselves and make them slightly less dead.”

“Is that a real quote or are you just winging that?”

“Definitely winging it,” Suzie said, grinning. “But you do look a little less dead.”

Earn smiled at that. “I talk about the cancer, why I left P’Mor, why I’ve been acting like this is all just… the end already.”

“And?”

“Dr. Rin asked me how I felt about all of this—not just physically, but what it’s been doing to me. And I realized I hadn’t actually thought about that. I’d just… been surviving.”

Suzie’s face softened. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It is ,” Earn admitted. “And at the end of the session, she gave me homework.”

“Homework? Ew.”

Earn chuckled. “It was kind of beautiful, actually. She told me to make a list.”

“What kind of list?”

“Things I wish for. You know. Stuff I want to do. While I can.”

Suzie reached for a slice of papaya. “Like a bucket list?”

“Kind of. But smaller. Closer. More… possible .”

Suzie looked at her for a long moment. “Did you write it?”

“Yeah. Last night.”

“Is mango sticky rice on there?”

Earn laughed again, and this time it sounded warm. “It might be.”

“Thought so. You always that specific mango sticky rice in Chiang Mai.”

“I do.” Earn grinned. “You’re on it, you know.”

Suzie blinked, a bite of fruit halfway to her mouth. “I’m what ?”

“I want to make you something you’ll actually enjoy eating.”

Suzie squinted at her. “That’s on the list?”

“I want to try. Something light. Don’t get dramatic.”

“Too late,” Suzie said, already filming a 3-second story for her private Instagram with the caption “BREAKING: Earn ‘burning the whole kitchen down’ Sanithada said she’s going to cook me something I’d enjoy???”

“Delete that,” Earn muttered, turning her back to the camera.

Suzie didn’t. But she smiled. “Well. I can’t wait to taste your food. Hopefully I won’t die from that.”

“I’m the one who’s supposed to be dying, Phi. Not you.”

Suzie turned to her slowly, the papaya now forgotten in her hand.

“Don’t joke about that,” she said.

Earn froze.

The smile that had crept onto her face just a moment ago faded slowly, like the sun slipping behind a cloud. Her fingers tightened slightly around her coffee mug. She didn’t mean for it to come out like that—it had just… slipped. A reflex. Humor as armor. A way to make the weight feel lighter than it was.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean—”

“No, I know,” Suzie cut in. Her voice was calm, but there was something raw tucked into the edges. “I just… I don’t want that kind of joke coming from you. Anyone else, sure. But not you.”

Earn didn’t say anything. The room felt heavy now, like something unspoken had finally fallen into the space between them and made itself real.

Suzie cleared her throat. “Look, I get it. You’re trying to keep this light. You don’t want me crying on your shoulder every day. You don’t want to feel like a patient twenty-four-seven. But you also can’t… joke your way through this forever.”

“I know,” Earn murmured.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, your mango sticky rice agenda is important, but…” Suzie paused, setting down the plate. “I want you here. Not just breathing, not just existing. Here . Alive. With me. Cooking terribly and writing lists and crying in therapy and talking about stupid karaoke memories and maybe even failing to make me edible food.”

Earn gave a watery smile. “You think I’ll fail?”

“I’m 99% sure, yes.”

That earned a small laugh.

Suzie took a breath. “So if we’re gonna joke, fine. But let’s not joke about the dying part. Let’s not pretend it’s something you get to say casually.”

Earn nodded slowly, she didn’t say anything else. She just looked at her breakfast again, hands wrapped around the warm cup in front of her.

And for the first time in months, maybe even longer, she wanted the day to keep going.

She didn’t want to skip past it or fast-forward to sleep.

She wanted to be here.

Maybe later, she’d show Suzie the list.

Maybe they’d pick something small to do.

Maybe today didn’t need to be a fight.

Maybe today could just… be.

✦✦✦✦

AFTERNOON – HOSPITAL APPOINTMENT

Anon met her in the hallway near diagnostics. No lab coat today, just jeans and a windbreaker, like he’d come in on his day off.

“You’re early,” he said with a half-smile.

Earn shrugged. “Didn’t want to get stuck in traffic.”

They walked side by side, quiet, but not tense.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“I didn’t throw up today,” she said, like it was nothing. But the pride in her voice betrayed her.

Anon gave a gentle nod. “We’ll still run the panels, make sure your platelets and counts are holding steady.”

“Yeah.”

She paused outside the room.

Then turned to him, voice a little softer.

“Thanks. For yesterday.”

Anon nodded. “You’re the one doing the hard part.”

“Still… I am very grateful I have you and P’Suzie besides me no matter how hard I pushed you guys and how annoying I am.”

“We just want to see you healthy.” He smiled faintly. “So, how was your second meeting with Dr. Rin?”

Earn exhaled. “She told me to write a wish list. I thought it was stupid. But now… I think I needed it.”

Anon smiled—soft, proud, but not in that patronizing way doctors sometimes had when patients "finally listened." This was different. Gentle, personal.

“I’m glad,” he said, and Earn could hear the sincerity in it. “Sometimes the stupid things end up being the ones that keep us afloat.”

They stepped into the consultation room. It smelled faintly of antiseptic and floor polish, the overhead lights humming quietly. The nurse greeted them, already prepping the kit for bloodwork.

Earn slid onto the chair and rolled up her sleeve without being asked. Suzie hovered by the doorway like always—arms crossed, but alert. Protective. Watching.

Anon leaned down to check the chart while the nurse drew blood, flipping through the past week’s labs, comparing them with the schedule he’d outlined.

“Weight’s holding,” he muttered. “That’s good.”

“I even ate breakfast,” Earn said, trying to keep it light.

Suzie, behind her, grinned. “And didn’t die.”

Anon raised a brow. “Wow. We’re moving up in the world.”

Earn chuckled. “Don’t get too excited. It was mostly tomatoes.”

“I’ll take it.”

When the nurse stepped out with the samples, Earn looked around the room for a moment. The last few months of her life had been filled with sterile rooms like this. Cold chairs, humming machines, whiteboards filled with medication names and timelines. But this one… felt a little less oppressive today.

“Do you think it’s dumb?” she asked suddenly, eyes on her lap.

Anon looked up. “What?”

“The list. That I made.”

He shook his head. “Not even a little.”

Earn nodded, quiet again. Her fingers picked at the edge of her sleeve. “I thought if I didn’t plan, I couldn’t be disappointed. That if I just… took each day as it came, I wouldn’t have to mourn the ones that don’t.”

“But now?”

She met his eyes. “Now I kind of want more days. Even the dumb ones. Especially the dumb ones.”

Anon’s smile faded into something warmer. Sadder, maybe. “That’s not dumb, Earn. That’s hope.”

She let out a breath through her nose, something like a laugh. “I think I forgot what that felt like.”

“You remembered now. That’s what counts.”

✦✦✦✦

LATER THAT DAY — ST. KING HOSPITAL, ROOFTOP CAFÉ

The air on the rooftop was light, breezy, with just the right amount of humidity that made the iced tea in Earn’s hand feel earned. 

She and Suzie had taken a long detour after the test this morning, and instead of going straight home, Earn asked for somewhere high, somewhere open.

So now they sat beneath an oversized umbrella at the hospital’s rooftop café, overlooking the skyline. 

Suzie had taken off her shoes and pulled her legs up onto the chair like she was at home. 

Earn kept her gaze on the buildings in the distance, her fingers absently twisting the straw in her cup.

“You know,” Suzie said after a long sip of iced matcha, “I half-expected you to crash again this morning. The past few weeks… it’s always been two good hours before you’re back in bed.”

Earn nodded. “I was waiting for it too.”

“But it didn’t happen.”

“Nope.”

“Feels like a fluke?”

Earn gave a soft laugh. “Yeah. But I’m not wasting it.”

They sat in silence again, broken only by the distant clink of coffee cups from a table behind them and the low hum of traffic far below.

“I was thinking,” Earn said slowly, “about that list. I want to keep adding to it.”

“You should. Let me guess, next is ‘run a marathon’ or ‘skydiving’?”

“God, no,” Earn deadpanned. “I’m already dying, I’m not speeding it up.”

Suzie gave her a small side eye.

Earn smirked. “I’m serious, though. I want to add simple things. Like... a night market. Real ramen. An outdoor concert.”

Suzie tilted her head. “You wanna go to a night market?”

“Yeah.”

“Tonight?”

“No. I want to do something else that’s already on my list.”

“Like what?”

Earn thought for a second. Then she reached for her phone on the counter.

“There’s this little karaoke bar three streets from here,” she said. “And I’m feeling… reckless.”

Suzie narrowed her eyes, suspicious. “You? Karaoke? In public?”

“I said reckless, not suicidal,” Earn said with a dry smile. “We’ll go when it’s empty.”

“You gonna sing Avril?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“God, I missed this side of you,” Suzie said, grabbing her keys.

“I missed it too,” Earn admitted quietly, almost to herself.

✦✦✦✦

EVENING — KARAOKE BAR

It was mostly empty, save for a group of office workers crammed into the room at the far end and an elderly man dozing off at the bar with a half-empty glass of iced coffee.

Suzie and Earn were given a small private room, complete with sticky laminated menus, two wired microphones, and a tablet loaded with every song known to man, plus a handful no one had asked for.

Suzie plopped onto the couch, kicking off her shoes. “I haven’t done this since your birthday in… what, 2019?”

“Yeah. Back when I still had functioning sinuses.”

Suzie tossed her a mic. “Pick something. And don’t be shy.”

Earn scrolled through the screen slowly, then found a song she hadn’t even realized she remembered.

“Sk8er Boi?” Suzie snorted. “You really are reckless today.”

Earn grinned, tapped ‘Play,’ and stood.

By the second verse, her voice cracked from lack of practice, but she didn’t care.

Suzie was shouting backup vocals, badly off-key on purpose. At one point, she banged a tambourine she found somewhere under the couch.

And for those three minutes, Earn wasn’t thinking about chemo. Or tumors. Or the smell of antiseptic.

She wasn’t thinking about memory loss or bleeding in the middle of scenes.

She wasn’t even thinking about the fact that the woman she still loved probably believed she left without a single word of love left to give.

For now, Earn was just... alive.

✦✦✦✦

LATER THAT NIGHT — EARN’S APARTMENT

Back home, she collapsed face-first into the couch, hair wild, cheeks flushed, Suzie still laughing at the voice memo Earn had sent Anon of her karaoke warbling.

“You sound like a dying goose,” Suzie said, voice wheezing.

“That’s showbiz,” Earn mumbled into a throw pillow.

Suzie laid down next to her, head on the other end of the couch.

After a few beats of companionable silence, Suzie asked, “When are you gonna tell her?”

Earn didn’t answer right away.

She closed her eyes. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to tell her everything,” Suzie said softly. “But I think you owe her… something.”

“What if she doesn’t want it?”

“She’s still asking about you, isn’t she?”

Earn nodded.

“Then she wants something too. Maybe it’s answers. Maybe it’s peace. Maybe it’s just to know that you didn’t leave because you stopped loving her.”

Earn opened her eyes slowly and looked at the ceiling again.

Like she had that morning.

Like she had the night before.

This time, she didn’t feel so heavy.

“I’ll think about it,” she said. “One wish at a time.”

Suzie smiled. “Good.”

Then she sat up suddenly.

“Now go drink some water, idiot. We screamed like banshees and your throat is going to punish you for it.”

Earn groaned. “Why do you always ruin the soft moments?”

“Because someone has to keep your feet on the ground.”

“And that someone is you?”

Suzie smirked. “Until further notice.”

✦✦✦✦

FAHLADA’S APARTMENT

Fahlada sat on her couch with her laptop balanced on her knees, the TV playing low. She hadn’t meant to look at Earn’s private Instagram story. Really, she hadn’t. But she had.

And there it was.

A blurry photo of a karaoke room with two mics.

The image was nothing dramatic.

Blurry lights. Mismatched karaoke cushions. A mic stand leaning awkwardly in frame.

But the caption under it read: Sk8r Gal here. My neighbors hate me now. 🎤🎶🫣

And despite everything, Fahlada smiled. 

It was small. Barely there. But real.

She leaned back into the couch and reread the story again, like it might change.

It didn’t.

Earn looked alive in the next slide—barefaced, grinning mid-laugh as someone ( probably Suzie ) caught her singing with a hand dramatically over her chest like a tragic diva.

Fahlada could almost hear her laugh through the screen.

The pang in her chest came fast and sharp. Not jealousy, not anymore. Just… a longing.

To be there.

To be the one taking that blurry photo.

To hear that laugh again in person, without it being laced with tension or regret.

Chapter Text

THE NEXT MORNING – ON SET

Earn's hair was already pinned up for filming, strands curled lightly at the ends for the next hospital scene. She sat on the edge of the makeup chair, scrolling through her list again while the makeup artist adjusted her lip color.

Ten things.

Only ten so far.

She had written it thinking she might get to do three. Now she wanted all of them. She wanted more.

"Earth to Earn," Suzie said from behind her, tapping her head lightly with a script.

Earn looked up. "What?"

"You're on in five. Scene 26. Dr. Risa's office."

Earn nodded and stood slowly. Her body felt... okay. Still a bit weak from yesterday, but she wasn't dizzy yet. That was a win.

As she stepped into the fake office, the bright lights already set and humming above, she spotted Fahlada near the monitors—clipboard in hand, brows furrowed in concentration as she reviewed the script's medical accuracy with the director.

Earn didn't mean to hesitate. But she did.

Fahlada's presence always did that to her.

Always had.

Always would.

The director clapped once. "Alright, team! This is an emotional scene—Dr. Risa found out her patient died after the surgery and she have a breakdown in her office. Keep it tight. Close shots. Cue tears. Let's go."

Earn stepped into her mark. The surgical mask was tucked under her chin for now, her gloved hands resting on the edge of the fake operating table.

Fahlada stood just off-camera, arms crossed.

"Sound ready?"
"Speed."
"Camera rolling."
"Scene 26, Take 1."
"Action."

The words came slowly at first. Earn's voice dipped low, trembling as she delivered the scripted lines.

"He's gone. It was my fault. I should've done better."

A beat passed.

Then the tears came.

She didn't force them.

They were already there.

Because somewhere beneath the character, beneath the lines, beneath the cameras—was the ache she carried for real. The surgeries she could never do. The tumor she couldn't remove. The love she walked away from.

The guilt.

The loneliness.

The longing.

"Cut!" the director called out.

Everyone paused. The room stilled.

But Earn didn't move. Her eyes locked on the floor. The tears didn't stop. Not yet.

The makeup artist stepped forward with a tissue, hesitating when Earn didn't blink, didn't move. Her shoulders trembled faintly, breath caught in that in-between space where character and reality blurred beyond separation.

"She's still in it," the director murmured to no one in particular, glancing toward the monitor. "Let her breathe."

The room had shifted from filming mode to quiet concern. One of the production assistants approached cautiously, offering a bottle of water that Earn didn't reach for.

This always happened after emotional scenes. But today felt heavier.

Too close.

Too real.

She hadn't needed to act for the breakdown. She hadn't even tried to cry. It had come out of her like a breach in the dam she'd been patching for months.

Someone tapped her lightly on the shoulder.

It was Ploy, the assistant director. Kind, soft-spoken, the one who usually stepped in when actors needed grounding. She crouched in front of Earn now, her voice a gentle tether.

"Hey, take your time, okay? You did great. Just breathe."

Earn gave a shaky nod but didn't speak. Her breathing was still uneven, chest rising and falling too fast, eyes fixed on the floor like it might give her something solid to stand on.

Across the set, Fahlada was still standing near the monitors, arms crossed—but her expression had changed. The clinical detachment was gone. Her brows furrowed, lips parted slightly like she'd been on the verge of saying something for the last ten minutes and never did.

She didn't look like a consultant anymore.

She looked like someone worried.

Like someone who used to love her.

Like someone who maybe still did.

But she didn't step closer.

She stayed just out of frame, like she always did.

"Do you want water?" Ploy offered to Earn, already holding a bottle out.

Earn took it with numb fingers, trying to breathe through her nose.

This wasn't unusual on emotionally charged sets—especially when actors brought their personal grief to fuel the role. The lines blurred too easily. Sometimes the feelings stayed long after the scene ended, like ink bleeding outside the lines.

Sometimes they never left.

Earn couldn't stop clenching the bottle cap, the slight tremor in her fingers too visible for anyone to ignore now.

From a few feet away, Fahlada watched it all unfold.

And despite herself—despite every instinct she'd buried under logic and duty and distance—she stepped in.

"Let me," she said quietly, surprising even Pim.

Earn's head snapped up at the sound of her voice. The director blinked, glancing at the crew. "Five-minute break," he announced, clapping once. "Reset for the next shot."

The room began to scatter, but Fahlada stayed where she was, walking slowly until she stood beside Earn.

Earn wiped her face. "I'm fine."

Fahlada crouched down slightly to meet her eye level. "I didn't say you weren't."

"But your face say otherwise."

Fahlada didn't respond immediately. She just looked at her, quiet, studying the uneven breath, the glossed-over eyes, the way Earn's knuckles had gone white around the plastic bottle.

And then, in a voice only meant for Earn—calm, low, almost clinical—she said, "You're gonna hyperventilate if you keep this up. Breathe slower."

Earn blinked at her.

"Four seconds in, four seconds out," Fahlada instructed gently. "Look at me. Just do it once, like I taught you before."

Earn hesitated.

Then she did.

In. One, two, three, four.

Out. One, two, three, four.

Again.

Again.

Slowly, the ringing in her ears lessened. Her chest didn't feel as tight. The tremor softened.

Only then did Fahlada sit down on the edge of the chair beside her—not close, but not distant either.

"Better?" Fahlada asks softly.

Earn nodded faintly. "Thank you."

Fahlada seemed to catch herself, standing suddenly, as if she'd said too much.

"You have five more scenes today," she said, back to professional. "Try to ground yourself before the next one."

And then she walked off while Earn could only stared after her.

✦✦✦✦

LATER – MAKEUP TRAILER

Earn sat with her eyes closed while the artist reapplied her concealer. Her cheeks were still a little blotchy, but it didn't matter. The next scene required puffy eyes anyway.

Suzie peeked in from the side door, holding up a bottle of water and some cooling eye patches.

"Still alive?" she asked gently.

"Barely," Earn said.

Suzie sat next to her, handing over the bottle. "I heard Lada helped calm you down."

Earn took a slow sip. "Everyone's making a bigger deal of it than it is."

"Is it?" Suzie asked.

Earn didn't answer.

Suzie glanced at the mirror, then at her friend. "I'm just saying... you can't hide forever."

Earn turned her face toward the ceiling again. Like this morning. Like last night.

"It's gonna be weird if I suddenly tell her about everything," she said softly. "Maybe I should try to be her friends again?"

Suzie didn't say anything at first. Just watched Earn for a long moment—her too-pale face, her still-damp lashes, the way her fingers toyed nervously with the corner of the tissue on her lap.

"Friends, huh," Suzie finally said. "You mean like small talk and awkward laughs and pretending the last few years didn't happen?"

Earn cracked a weak smile. "Isn't that how all adult friendships start these days?"

Suzie reached over and gently pressed the cooling eye patch against Earn's cheek, holding it there as her friend flinched slightly at the cold.

"I think you're forgetting one thing," Suzie said.

"What?"

"You weren't just friends. You were in love."

Earn closed her eyes again. "Exactly. And then I left her."

"Yeah, but not because you stopped loving her."

"That doesn't make it hurt less for her."

Suzie didn't push. She just sat there, pressing the other patch into place, watching the emotions swirl behind Earn's closed lids like waves she was trying to keep still.

After a while, Earn spoke again—quietly, almost like it hurt to say aloud.

"I don't want her to feel sorry for me."

"She won't."

"You don't know that."

Suzie sighed, leaning back. "I know she's still watching you when she thinks you're not looking. I know she moved closer during that last scene and didn't move until you started breathing normally again."

Earn opened her eyes slowly. "You were watching her?"

"Duh. I have eyes, Earn. And instincts. And an emotional radar so finely tuned it could work for the CIA."

Despite herself, Earn huffed a quiet laugh. "You're insufferable."

"I'm right, though." Suzie stood up, smoothing her skirt and handing the last patch to the makeup artist who'd returned quietly. "Try being her friend again if that feels safer. But if you keep pretending nothing's wrong—if you wait too long—she'll be more hurt by the silence than by the truth."

Earn watched her go, a faint unease creeping back into her chest.

She glanced back at the mirror.

Her face looked fresher now. Camera-ready. But she didn't feel ready. Not for the scene. Not for Lada. Not for any of it.

She pressed her palms to her eyes gently, then stood, feeling a familiar dizziness buzz briefly behind her ears. Not enough to make her fall, but enough to remind her: the clock was still ticking.

Maybe friendship was the safer choice.
But how long could she pretend when every second scene tore her open, and the person standing just off-camera was the one she still dreamed about at night?

✦✦✦✦

LATER – SOUNDSTAGE HALLWAY

After the last scene for the day, Earn stepped into the hallway, makeup smudged from another crying take, but this time it was acting. Only acting. Mostly.

She saw Fahlada by the craft table, refilling her coffee cup.

Earn hesitated.

Then walked up anyway.

"Hey," she said.

Fahlada looked up, a little surprised. "Hey."

Earn shifted on her feet. "You uh... busy?"

"Not at this second. Why?"

"I just... wanted to say thanks. For earlier."

Fahlada's brows lifted slightly. "You mean for the breathing trick or for not making a scene when you nearly passed out?"

Earn laughed under her breath. "Both, maybe."

Fahlada's mouth tugged into something faintly resembling a smile. "Well, you didn't pass out. So that's something."

They stood in silence for a moment, sipping their drinks.

Then Earn cleared her throat.

"I know things are weird between us," she said. "But I was wondering if maybe... we could talk sometime? Not about the script. Just... talk."

Fahlada's gaze flickered toward her, cautious.

"You finally ready to give me the answer about why you left me?"

Earn froze.

The hallway felt narrower suddenly, like the walls had quietly crept inward. Behind them, a sound tech rolled a cart of mics across the floor, oblivious to the question that now hovered thick between them.

Earn's first instinct was to retreat. To say no. To stall again.

But Fahlada was looking at her—not with anger this time, but something quieter. Something tired.

Earn looked down at the lukewarm coffee in her hands. Then back up.

"No," she admitted softly. "Not the full answer. Not yet."

Fahlada didn't move. Didn't press. But Earn could feel the tension between them shift—no longer bracing, just waiting.

"I know that's not fair," Earn added, voice lower. "And you don't owe me anything anymore. But if we're going to work together without it eating both of us alive... I thought maybe I could at least start with something."

Fahlada's silence didn't feel cold. It felt cautious. Like she was trying to figure out whether to brace for heartbreak or a real explanation.

"Okay," she said finally. "Start."

Earn took a deep breath.

"When I left," she said, "I told myself it was the right thing to do. For you. For me. For... whatever future we both wanted."

"Earn—"

"I know," she cut in gently. "I know you didn't want that. I know you never asked to be pushed away. And I should've fought harder—for us. Or at least had the decency to explain instead of... vanishing."

Her voice wavered a little. She steadied it.

"I didn't leave because I stopped loving you. That never happened. It still hasn't."

Fahlada's expression didn't change, but her eyes did. Something flickered there—confusion, hope, something unreadable.

"Then why?" she asked. Not angry now, just... tired. "Why disappear like that? Why leave me thinking I did something wrong?"

Earn looked up at her. There was weight in her eyes now, but she kept her voice even.

"I was scared," she said. "Of myself. Of everything I couldn't control anymore. I felt like I was falling apart back then, and I didn't want to drag you down with me. I didn't know how to explain it without sounding like I was drowning. And I didn't want you to watch me drown."

For a long, long second, neither of them said anything.

Then Fahlada exhaled, barely audible. "So you decided to disappear instead of asking me to swim with you."

Earn gave a half-hearted smile. "Something like that."

Fahlada looked away. Bit her bottom lip for a second, then nodded slowly. "That doesn't make it easier to forgive. But..."

"But?"

"I guess I understand it. A little." Then Fahlada asked, "But why now?"

Earn blinked.

"Why talk to me now?" she clarified. "Why this moment? Why are you reaching out?"

Earn hesitated, but not long.

"Because you deserve the truth, but I can't tell you everything yet," she said, soft but clear. "so I thought it would be better to take small steps."

Fahlada studied her, arms crossed lightly over her chest, expression unreadable. "Small steps," she echoed. "Is that your way of saying you're still keeping secrets?"

Earn gave a tiny, sad smile. "I guess it is."

"That's not exactly reassuring."

"I know," Earn said quietly.

"So you get to decide how much I know and when I get to know it?"

Earn winced. "That's not what I meant."

"But that's how it feels."

"Yeah, if I were you, I'd be angry too." She trailed off, then met Fahlada's eyes. "But it's honest. I can't promise you the whole story right now. I'm not... ready. But I don't want to lie to you either. So I thought maybe I could try earning your trust back—bit by bit. If you let me."

Fahlada stared at her for a moment, eyes searching. Not just for meaning—but for sincerity. For signs Earn was hiding behind a mask again.

"You say that," Fahlada murmured, "but what if those small steps are just ways to soften the blow? To prepare me for something worse?"

Earn's throat tightened. Because it is. But she couldn't say that. Not yet.

"I don't know," she admitted. "Maybe they are. But they're also the only way I know how to tell you the truth."

"And what are these small steps supposed to look like?" Fahlada asked. "Coffee breaks? Texts at 2 a.m.? Saying hi in the hallway and pretending we don't know each other better than that?"

"Maybe it starts with showing up. Being honest when I can. Not running away when it gets hard."

Fahlada's brow furrowed slightly. "So what happens if I push? If I ask for the truth you're not ready to give?"

"I'll probably panic a little," Earn said, a dry laugh slipping through. "But I won't run."

Fahlada didn't respond right away.

Then she said, quietly but firmly, "You don't get to pull me back into your orbit just to disappear again."

Earn gives Lada a small smile. "That's why I waited until I was sure I could stay."

Fahlada's eyes softened for a fraction of a second. Just a breath. But it was there.

"And what makes you so sure now?" she asked.

Earn looked at her, and for once, didn't dodge the weight of the question.

"Because I want to try," she said. "Because even if I'm scared and broken and still holding things back, I want you in my life again—even if it's just as someone who rolls her eyes when I'm being dramatic."

"That's a very specific role," Fahlada said dryly.

"It always suited you," Earn murmured.

That almost got a smile. Almost.

Fahlada looked away for a second, toward the hallway behind Earn, then back. "Tomorrow. Roof. After lunch."

"Got it."

"No more disappearing acts," she added.

"I promise."

Fahlada held her gaze a moment longer, then gave a small nod. And this time, when she turned and walked away, it didn't feel like a goodbye.

She turned away then, heading back to the monitors. But right before she slipped through the door, she paused, glancing back over her shoulder.

"And Earn?"

Earn looked up.

"I still want to know the real reason. One day."

Earn nodded slowly. "One day."

And she meant it.

She wasn't ready to say why she was falling apart back then.

But she was ready to try putting a few pieces back in place.

Even if it took one step at a time.

✦✦✦✦

LATER THAT EVENING — INSIDE THE CAR, DRIVING HOME

The city lights blurred past the windows as Suzie drove them home, one hand on the wheel and the other holding a plastic bag of takeout containers Earn insisted they didn't need but accepted anyway. The air smelled faintly of grilled chicken and chili oil.

Earn sat slouched in the passenger seat, head tilted back against the headrest, eyes half-closed.

Suzie didn't miss the quiet. Or how long it had lasted.

"So," she said, glancing sideways, "you're either falling asleep, dying, or emotionally wrecked. Which one is it tonight?"

Earn cracked a small smile, her voice dry. "Option D: all of the above."

Suzie snorted. "Knew it."

There was another pause.

Then Earn murmured, "I talked to her today."

Suzie didn't ask who. She didn't need to.

"Fahlada?"

"Mm."

Suzie glanced over quickly, brow raised. "Wait. Like, talk talk? Or 'hi-awkward-eye-contact-and-flee' talk?"

"The first one."

Suzie's jaw dropped slightly. "Are you serious?"

Earn nodded.

Then she sniffled. Lightly.

"You okay?" Suzie asked, voice suddenly sharper.

"Yeah," Earn said, swiping under her nose with her sleeve. "Just a little—"

She looked down.

Blood.

Not a lot. Not a gush. But a dark red stain had already bloomed against the fabric.

Suzie saw it immediately. "For f—Earn!"

"I'm fine."

"You're bleeding again?"

"I said I'm fine."

"You're not fine! You're bleeding out of your face again, how is that fine?!"

Suzie flipped on the hazard lights and pulled the car sharply to the curb. "God, you're like a broken faucet these days."

Earn tilted her head back, pinching her nose as she reached blindly for the tissue pack in the glove compartment. "It's not even that bad. Just give it a second."

"Don't you dare act like this is normal," Suzie snapped, already reaching into the glove compartment for tissues. "You know this happens when you push yourself too hard."

"I didn't push—"

"You cried three times, acted through two breakdown scenes, skipped lunch, and had a heart-to-heart with your ex."

Earn blinked up at her. "You say it like it's an Olympic sport."

"Because for you, it might as well be."

"But I'm not filming tomorrow morning," Earn said quickly, like that might calm her.

"Oh, good. You'll only be bleeding on your day off then."

There was silence for a second, except for the rustle of tissue as Earn gently dabbed under her nose.

Then she smiled—small, sheepish. "But it was good."

Suzie turned toward her, brows furrowed. "The nosebleed?"

"No. The talk."

Suzie shot her a glare. "Do not try to distract me with your tragic romance story arc right now."

"I'm just saying..." Earn peeked at her with one eye. "I told her I left because I was scared. That I wasn't ready to explain everything, but I wanted to try being... friends again."

Suzie's mouth opened, but nothing came out. Her eyes softened, irritation slipping into concern. "And how did she take it?"

Earn hesitated. "She told me she still wants to know the real reason. One day."

"And what did you say?"

"I said... one day."

Suzie slumped against her seat, rubbing her temples. "Earn, you are going to kill me before your tumor does, I swear."

Earn winced. "Yikes. Dark."

"Not as dark as the blood coming out of your nose, you idiot."

Earn rolled her eyes, stuffing another tissue under her nose. "You know, some people would say 'good job' or 'I'm proud of you' before yelling at me."

"I'll say it after you eat dinner and drink a full bottle of water like a functioning human," Suzie muttered. Then after a beat, more quietly: "But yeah. I am proud of you. You didn't run. That's something."

Earn looked over, eyes soft. "Thanks."

Suzie shook her head and restarted the car. "But next time you have a life-defining moment, maybe have it without the dramatic internal bleeding, yeah?"

"I'll put in a request with the tumor," Earn deadpanned. "See what I can do."

"God, I hate you."

"You love me."

"Yeah," Suzie said with a sigh. "And that's exactly why I'm driving us to the pharmacy right now and buying you disgusting electrolyte drinks and dried seaweed."

Earn made a face. "That's emotional terrorism."

"That's love, baby."

And as the city lights flickered to life around them, Earn leaned her head back, tissue still held under her nose, and let herself laugh.

A little tired. A little broken. But hopeful.

Chapter Text

THE NEXT DAY - EARN'S APARTMENT, 7:52 A.M.

The first thing Earn did when she opened her eyes was panic.

Not the medical kind—though her joints ached and her head felt fuzzy—but the oh God I agreed to meet my ex on a rooftop like we're characters in a slow-burn drama kind.

She lay in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying yesterday's conversation on a loop.

The tone in Fahlada's voice. The weight behind her eyes. The way she'd said, "I still want to know the real reason. One day."

Earn groaned and shoved her face into her pillow.

Stupid. Stupid. Why did I say "one day"? Why not "someday" or "never," or better yet, pretend I didn't hear her?

✦✦✦✦

8:03 A.M.

Suzie barged in without knocking, holding a tray with porridge, vitamins, and that awful green juice she'd started making since last month's test results dipped.

"You better not be trying to skip meds again," Suzie warned. "I will throw this chia sludge at your face."

"I hate you," Earn muttered into the pillow.

"I love you," Suzie replied sweetly, placing the tray down on Earn's nightstand. "Now get up, zombie. You've got a big rooftop not-date today."

"I never said it was a date."

"I already lost count of how much you giggle and smile like a kid who's about to meet her crush."

Earn groaned, "It's not like that."

"Whatever you say."

Then as Earn finish her bowl, Suzie reached into her bag and pulled out the familiar weekly pill organizer. She snapped it open and set the water bottle next to it. "Don't forget your meds."

"Of course, I'm not going to rooftop therapy with P'Mor while hallucinating from low blood sugar, okay," Earn muttered, swallowing the pills one by one.

Suzie's eyes narrowed. "You're not hallucinating—unless you think she smiled at you or something. Then I'll be worried."

Earn didn't answer. Just rolled her eyes.

Then she turn to Suzie. "Anyways, I have a feeling you told P'Anon about the nosebleed."

"And that would be correct." Suzie grinned. "He'll be here at nine."

Earn scowled. "You called my doctor before breakfast?"

"I called your friend who happens to be your oncologist because your face looked like a horror film in the car yesterday."

Earn didn't argue. She just ate. Slowly. Quietly.

✦✦✦✦

9:02 A.M. - EARN'S LIVING ROOM

The doorbell rang.

Earn was halfway through finishing Suzie's nasty juice when she heard it.

Suzie opened the door with a suspicious amount of force, revealing Anon standing in jeans, a hoodie, and the perpetual look of someone who's been up since 4 a.m. charting cases..

"Morning," he said. "I brought donuts. And medical judgment."

"You're exactly what she needs," Suzie replied, stepping aside. "She had a nosebleed again yesterday."

Earn appear in the hallway after finish drinking her juice, groaned. "Why are you two talking like I'm a misbehaving toddler?"

"Because you are," Anon replied cheerfully, already reaching for his small equipment bag. "Cough for me, princess."

"Shut up."

He gave her a quick once-over—eyes clear, lips not pale, hands not shaking. But she wouldn't meet his eyes for too long. And there was a tension in her shoulders that didn't feel like sickness.

"Let me check your counts later," he said. "But for now, I just want to know what the hell is making you so jittery this morning."

Earn crossed her arms, still clutching her hair clip. "I have... a thing."

Anon raised a brow. "A thing?"

Suzie leaned in, not bothering to hide her smirk. "She's meeting Fahlada on the hospital rooftop after lunch."

Anon blinked. "Wait. With Ice Queen?"

Earn groaned into her hands. "Oh my god."

"I thought you tried to stay away from her?" he teased.

"I was not—"

"—Emotionally, I mean," he added. "You mourned that woman like she was the one that ghosted you, and now you're acting like it's a date."

Earn didn't reply. She just turned around and disappeared into her room with a muttered, "You both suck."

✦✦✦✦

10:05 A.M. - BEDROOM

Her closet looked like a crime scene.

White blouse? Too polished.

Graphic tee? Too casual.

Flannel? She wasn't trying to look like someone who ran a sad book café.

"And you said this is not a first date." Suzie teased from the doorway, arms crossed.

"It's not a date," Earn said. "But I can't look like I just rolled out of bed. And I don't want to look like I'm trying too hard. It has to be... subtle."

"You mean flawlessly casual," Suzie said. "Which only rich girls and influencers can pull off without crying."

"Exactly." Earn sighed, "And I haven't seen her outside of work since years. I can't look like someone who died and came back to life."

"Technically, you almost did."

"Not helping."

After another fifteen minutes of overthinking and mental breakdowns, she settled on a soft lavender short dress—satin, with a subtle A-line flare and a delicate sweetheart neckline. It was fitted but not tight, elegant without being flashy.

She'd paired it with pearl earrings, a thin silver bracelet, and a pair of cream-colored heels with ribbon straps that wrapped delicately around her ankles.

Her makeup was light but flawless—just enough to hide the fatigue in her eyes.

Hair down, soft curls, pinned at the side with a clip she hadn't worn in years: a tiny butterfly one Fahlada once complimented.

Anon peeked in as she was finishing. "You look good," he said gently. "Not that it matters to someone who's supposed to be taking it easy."

"You sound like my mom."

"I am basically your mom, and your childhood best friend and your oncologist. I'm overqualified for this role."

"You look like a very anxious Disney princess," Suzie commented, sipping her coffee.

"That's the vibe I'm going for," Earn said seriously. "Approachable, but vaguely tragic."

Anon nodded. "Her vitals are okay. Hydration's a little low—again. Blood pressure's borderline. But nothing alarming."

"See?" Earn said brightly. "Totally fine to be heartbroken and mysterious in public."

Suzie shot her a look. "You're not even trying to pretend you're okay anymore, are you?"

"Trying takes too much energy."

Anon tilted his head. "Do you want something to help if you get dizzy up there?"

"No. If I pass out dramatically in front of her, maybe she'll know what's wrong without me having to explain it."

"Earn," Suzie said, warning in her tone.

"Kidding," Earn gave a weak smile. "You think I'm doing the right thing? Meeting her?"

Anon shrugged. "Do you want to?"

"Yeah. I think I do."

"Then that's the right thing." He paused. "Just don't collapse on the roof, okay? That'll ruin the romantic vibe."

"It's not a date!" she shouted after him.

But when she looked at herself in the mirror again—standing there, nervously fixing her hair for the fifteenth time, breath catching in her throat—she couldn't deny what it felt like.

It felt like the beginning of something.

"I'm so nervous I want to barf," she muttered.

Anon appeared in the doorway, a bite of donut in hand. "That's what love does."

Suzie followed, equally unhelpful. "Or trauma."

Earn glared at both of them. "I hate that you guys know me so well."

"No, you love us," Suzie said, smug. "Now eat your donut and don't die before your rooftop moment."

"I already promised I wouldn't bleed on her."

"Great," Anon said, tossing her a bottle of water. "Let's aim higher next time."

✦✦✦✦

10:47 A.M. – EARN'S KITCHEN

The dress was laid out neatly on the bed. Her makeup was done. Hair clipped. But something still didn't feel finished.

So Earn found herself standing in front of the stove, sleeves rolled up, a wooden spatula in one hand, and a pan of pad woon sen sizzling softly in front of her.

By now, the dress was hung carefully on the hook behind her door, safe from the dangers of oil splatter.

The familiar aroma—garlicky, sweet, just a little smoky—filled the apartment.

Stir-fried glass noodles.

It had always been Fahlada's favorite. She used to order it every other day during residency, usually while hunched over her laptop or medical notes. Back then, Earn had memorized the way she liked it: not too greasy, light on the sugar, with extra mushrooms and a bit of crisp cabbage.

She hadn't cooked it in years.

Her hands trembled slightly as she plated the food. Not because of the heat or the effort, but because this felt the most intimate part of her morning. Dressing up was surface-level anxiety. But cooking this meal was like handing Fahlada a piece of her heart on a paper plate.

Behind her, Suzie popped her head in. "Are you seriously cooking now? You're going to smell like food."

"She likes this," Earn muttered. "It's her favorite."

Suzie crossed her arms and leaned on the doorframe. "So it is a date."

"It's not." She sprinkled a pinch of white pepper over the noodles. "It's just... food."

"Right," Suzie said, watching her with a quiet expression. "That's why you're plating it in your nicest lunch box like it's an entry in a cooking contest."

Earn didn't answer and just set the stir-fried noodles neatly into the elegant bento container she'd pulled out—the one she usually reserved for gifts or, admittedly, peace offerings.

"And don't even get me started on the mango sticky rice," Suzie added as she opened the fridge. "Did you seriously buy Nam Dok Mai mangoes? They're crazy expensive."

It's fresh. The glutinous rice was soft. The mango slices golden and symmetrical, just the way they liked it.

Well—mostly the way she liked it. Fahlada would always take three bites and then nudge the rest toward Earn with a muttered, "Too sweet."

And Earn always ate the rest without complaint.

"I like them," Earn said defensively, taking the dessert box from Suzie's hands and tucking it into her canvas bag along with the noodles. "She likes them too. But I like them more."

Anon appeared in the hallway, finishing his donut. "What's going on here? Did I walk into a cooking show or a breakup recovery montage?"

"She's feeding her ex," Suzie replied.

Earn shot them both a look. "It's not like that."

But her hands lingered for a second longer on the lunch bag. The glass noodles were warm, perfectly seasoned. The mango sticky rice was cooled and cut into neat, shareable bites.

If she couldn't say everything yet, maybe the food could say some of it for her.

Maybe this was the love she could show.

Because se failed miserably back then when trying to show her love for Lada through foods.

✦✦✦✦

TWO YEARS AGO - FAHLADA'S APARTMENT

Smoke filled the small apartment like a tragic love story. The stir-fried glass noodles sat limp and half-burned in the pan, sticking together like a clump of regret.

"I think I killed it," Earn said, standing frozen in Fahlada's tiny kitchen, holding a spatula like it had personally betrayed her.

From the dining table, Fahlada tried not to laugh. She failed.

"...You're not allowed to say anything," Earn warned, still holding the spatula in a death grip.

Fahlada, sitting at the small kitchen table in one of Earn's oversized hoodies, tried very hard to keep a neutral face. She failed.

"I haven't even opened my mouth."

"You're thinking so loud."

"I'm just impressed. You cooked and caused a crime scene." Fahlada said, covering her mouth with the sleeve of her oversized sweatshirt. "This is worse than the pancake incident."

"I was trying to impress you," Earn groaned. "How do you even mess up noodles? I followed the recipe exactly. I even watched that auntie's YouTube tutorial twice. Twice."

"I saw. You took notes."

"I'm trying to do something nice, okay? You had a long shift and I thought—never mind." She turned off the stove, deflating. "Let's just order food. I'll clean this up."

But before she could start scraping the pan, Fahlada stood up and walked over. "Let me see."

"No, don't look. It's ugly." Earn held out her arms dramatically, blocking the stove like she was guarding a state secret. "It's supposed to be a surprise."

"It is a surprise," Fahlada said, gently pushing past her to peek into the pan. "A chemical one."

Earn huffed. "Okay, that's it. I'm calling food delivery."

But Fahlada reached for a plate. "Nope. You made this for me, right?"

Earn kept her eyes on the ruined noodles. "Obviously."

"Then I'm eating it."

"P'Mor, seriously, I think it fused to the pan."

"Earn," she said, turning and giving her that soft, amused smile—the one that always made Earn forget how to breathe—"you remembered I like glass noodles. That's already perfect."

She plated the noodles (or what survived), sat down, and picked up the chopsticks from the counter.

Earn looked at her, horrified. "Don't eat that! You might die."

"Worth the risk," Lada said, smiling gently.

She took a bite. Chewed slowly. Swallowed.

Like someone trying to taste around the trauma.

Earn watched, horrified. "Oh my God. You don't have to do this. I won't be mad."

Fahlada swallowed, gave a dramatic thumbs up, then reached for the iced water like she was chasing fire. "I give it... a strong six."

"Out of ten?"

"Out of a hundred," she teased. "But the effort? That's a hundred."

"How did it taste, though?" Earn asked cautiously.

Fahlada paused dramatically. "It tastes like someone tried to burn down a vegetable farm."

Earn snorted.

"But," Fahlada added, poking around for more edible bits, "it also tastes like someone loves me."

Earn dropped into the seat across from her and covered her face with her hands. "I am never cooking again."

Fahlada reached out and peeled one hand away. "Cook for me again."

Earn blinked. "After this?"

Fahlada nodded. "Someday. When you're better. I rather not hve a food poisoning."

They sat on the couch that night, legs tangled, sharing the disaster meal straight from the wok. Fahlada kept pretending it wasn't that bad. Earn kept pretending not to watch her reactions too closely.

And when the rain hit harder against the windows and the city blurred outside, Earn thought, maybe love is eating burnt noodles just to make someone feel less like a failure.

✦✦✦✦

PRESENT - 11:06 A.M.

Earn stood by the window, staring out at the hazy Bangkok skyline, twisting her silver ring nervously.

"What if she doesn't come?"

"She will," Suzie replied, not even looking up from her phone. "This is Fahlada we're talking about. She's punctual. She's probably already on the roof doing math in her head."

"What if she does come and I say something stupid?"

"You say stupid things every day, and people still like you."

"What if I get another nosebleed in front of her and she thinks I'm dying and I—"

"Earn," Anon interrupted, voice calm but firm, "you are dying. You just don't want her to know yet."

Silence.

Suzie put her phone down.

Earn closed her eyes and let out a slow breath. "Thanks for the reminder."

Then she left to grab her things.

Suzie gave Anon the sharpest side-eye in the seven provinces. "Seriously?"

Anon blinked, then winced. "Okay. Maybe that came out a little... aggressive."

"You think?" she muttered, putting her phone down entirely now. "Telling your cancer patient slash emotionally constipated friend that she's dying right before her big rooftop lunch with the love of her life? Real subtle, Dr. Doom."

"I panicked," Anon mumbled.

"You don't panic. You've performed procedures half-asleep and still remembered everyone's allergies."

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I wasn't trying to be harsh. I just—I hate watching her tiptoe around the truth like it's going to disappear if she ignores it long enough."

Suzie studied him for a beat. "She knows she's dying. She just wants one day where she gets to feel alive."

Anon didn't answer.

Across the room, Earn was finally zipping up her bag, lunch carefully packed inside, her breath steady but her shoulders still stiff with nerves.

"You two done roasting me over there?" she asked, trying for a smile but not quite making it.

Suzie smiled. "Not even close."

Anon stepped forward and handed her a small folded napkin with a single square of gauze tucked inside. "Just in case," he said gently.

Earn blinked. "Wow. Romantic."

"Emergency nosebleed protocol," he said. "Very on-brand."

She took it, then looked at both of them. "I'm gonna go."

Suzie stood, brushing imaginary lint from Earn's dress. "You look great. She'd be a fool not to feel something."

"I'm not going there to make her feel something," Earn replied quietly. "I just want her to understand... I don't know. A piece of it. Of me."

"Then show her that," Suzie said. "Don't hide behind jokes and mangoes."

"Jokes and mangoes are all I have," Earn muttered, turning toward the door. "Wish me luck."

"You've got this," Suzie said, rising to give her a hug.

Anon just gave her a nod. "Don't trip in those heels. Or cry. Or bleed. Preferably all three."

Earn rolled her eyes, but smiled faintly. "Noted."

And then she was gone.

The apartment fell quiet.

For a moment, neither Suzie nor Anon said anything.

Then Suzie, still standing by the window, arms crossed, turned slowly to face him. "Okay. What's your deal?"

"Excuse me?"

"You've been weird ever since you told us about your conversation with Fahlada. Pissed off. Snappy. Like your coffee was brewed with resentment instead of beans."

"I'm fine."

"Liar."

Anon looked at her then and for a second, his mask cracked.

"It's nothing. She thought I was in a relationship with Earn, and I corrected her. That's it."

Suzie raised a brow.

Anon sighed, defeated. "I just thought it was funny. She was jealous, obviously."

"You didn't laugh."

"I was tired."

"I've seen you tired and I've never seen you look like you wanted to throttle someone through a glass wall."

He stayed quiet.

Suzie narrowed her eyes and stepped closer. "You like her."

"That's not—"

"You like her," Suzie said again, gentler this time. "Not in the 'we've-known-each-other-since-we-were-10' way. Not in the 'you're-my-medical-responsibility' way."

"What? No. I mean—not like that."

"Anon."

Anon's jaw tensed. "It doesn't matter."

"It does if you're going to let that jealousy bleed into how you talk to her."

His hands clenched, knuckles going pale. "You think I'm jealous?"

"I know you're jealous. And you're too good a friend to make Earn carry the weight of it."

"It's not—" he sighed again, this time heavier, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "She's dying. I know that better than anyone. And I keep showing up because I want to help, but I can't fix this. I can't save her. It's not like I want to be with her. It's just... it hurts, watching someone you care about so much, like so much, looking at someone else."

"She's not looking, Anon. She's grasping. There's a difference."

He shook his head. "It still hurts."

Suzie didn't say anything for a while. Then she sat down across from him.

"She still loves Fahlada."

"I know."

"And you?"

He hesitated. Then, quietly: "I'm not stupid enough to think I ever had a chance."

Suzie looked at him for a long time. Then she picked up a tissue box and handed it to him. "For your self-pity party."

He took it with a short laugh, pressing it to his chest. "Thanks."

"I'm serious though," she said, dropping into the armchair across from him. "You're acting like a martyr and it's exhausting. Either confess or shut up about it."

Anon chuckled. "I already chose the third option."

"There wasn't a third option."

"There is now." He looked toward the door Earn had just left through. "She's happy to see her again. I can live with that."

Suzie didn't reply immediately. Then she reached for her coffee and muttered into the rim, "You're an idiot."

"Yeah. But a useful one."

"You can still show your love for her," Suzie added. "When she comes back. Whether she's crying or glowing or pretending everything's fine. You'll be here. That's what love looks like too."

He finally nodded, eyes glossy but unspoken.

They sat in the soft quiet for a moment longer.

Then Anon said, "If she cries when she comes back..."

"We'll feed her mangoes until she forgets."

"Deal."

Chapter Text

FAHLADA'S APARTMENT, 8:42 A.M

The spoon in Fahlada's hand hovered mid-air above her coffe mug.

Untouched.

She wasn't late for anything. Her first surgery block had been swapped out. She had no consults this morning. She'd cleared her calendar herself.

Yet her heart had been beating like a damn metronome ever since she woke up.

Well, she wasn't really sleeping. Maybe she had slept about three hours—if you counted the intermittent tossing and checking the clock every thirty minutes.

It wasn't that she was nervous—she didn't get nervous. Not the textbook kind, anyway. She got... tight-chested. Focused. Restless.

Earn had texted her late last night—just a simple message:

"Still good for rooftop lunch tomorrow?"

And Fahlada had stared at it for way too long before replying a yes.

That was it. No extra words. No emojis. No full stops. Just one, quietly loaded syllable.

And now she was in the middle of her kitchen, staring into her coffee like it held a roadmap to emotional clarity.

She didn't even know why she said yes.

She could've said she was busy. Or that she didn't want to have lunch on the rooftop of a hospital like they were in a scene from some moody Thai lakorn.

But something about Earn's voice yesterday, the tremble behind her eyes, the vulnerability she barely masked—it had cracked something open.

Fahlada sipped her coffee. Cold. Bitter. Like her current mood.

She sighed, set the mug down, and pulled her robe tighter around herself

✦✦✦✦

9:41 A.M. - BATHROOM MIRROR

She stood in front of the mirror, toothbrush idle in her mouth, scanning her reflection like a scientist reviewing an unsatisfactory experiment.

"Calm down," she mumbled to herself through foam. "It's just lunch."

Except... she'd shaved her legs.

And used the conditioner that Earn had loved.

And set her phone wallpaper back to something neutral, just in case Earn caught a glimpse.

And now she was halfway through applying a tinted moisturizer, something she never wore on casual days.

Fahlada cursed under her breath, rinsed her mouth, and stared herself down in the mirror.

"This is lunch," she told herself. "Lunch. With an old friend."

A friend who broke your heart.

A friend who looked like she'd been carrying the weight of the universe behind her eyes.

A friend who finally reached out again.

She didn't say that part out loud.

But it pulsed behind her thoughts, stubborn and real.

✦✦✦✦

10:12 A.M. - BEDROOM CLOSET

She stared at the open closet, unimpressed.

Black blouse? Too intimidating.

Blush pink dress? Too romantic.

Trousers and blazer? Too business.

Denim and sneakers? Too earnest.

She rolled her eyes at her own internal pun. Then sighed.

Nothing about her wardrobe screamed rooftop lunch with the ex-girlfriend who still haunts your dreams.

After what felt like an eternity of indecision, she finally pulled out a sage green button-down blouse with a soft collar, tucked neatly into high-waisted cream slacks.

A pair of low nude heels and a delicate chain around her neck completed the look—clean, composed, just enough softness not to scare Earn away.

She sat down in front of the mirror and tied her hair into a low ponytail, then untied it. Then tied it again. She wanted to look like herself—except calmer. Colder.

But not cruel.

Ugh.

Her phone buzzed. A LINE message from Tan.

"Your mother asks me why you haven't called back yet."

She ignored it.

Then another message.

"Also, you said you're meeting her today? Just a tip, maybe don't fall head over heels for her because she said some sad sob story?"

Fahlada stared at the screen, her thumb hovering.

But instead of replying, she just placed the phone facedown and looked back at her reflection.

She picked up her concealer and dabbed lightly under her eyes.

No dramatic contouring. Just polish. Professional. Calm.

Everything she needed to survive this lunch.

✦✦✦✦

10:43 A.M. - ON HER WAY TO ST. KING HOSPITAL

Fahlada sat in the driver seat of her car, hands gripping the wheels tightly.

She'd brought an extra bottle of electrolyte water. She wasn't sure why.

She told herself it was for herself.

But she didn't even like that brand.

Her eyes flicked to her reflection in the window. She adjusted a strand of hair that had fallen from her low bun.

Earn's face from yesterday still lingered in her mind.

That breakdown on set.

That unscripted crack in her voice. The tears that didn't feel like acting.

And the way she'd said, "One day."

A promise.

Or a warning.

Or maybe both.

The meeting was set.

Hospital rooftop. Lunch.

No agenda. No script.

No safety net.

The thought made her stomach twist.

She hated not having a plan. She always had a plan.

And Earn? Earn was the plan. Once. Years ago.

And then she disappeared.

✦✦✦✦

11:00 A.M. – ST. KING HOSPITAL'S PARKING LOT

She sat in her car longer than she should've.

Watching the rooftop café from a distance, like it was a foreign planet she was about to walk into without a suit.

Fahlada checked her watch again. She was early.

Of course she was.

She reached over and opened the glove compartment, pulling out a compact mirror and checking her lipstick.

It wasn't bold—just a faint mauve tint. Soft. Safe. Not the kind you wear when you're ready for battle.

"Stop it," she muttered under her breath. "You're not going to war."

But then again, maybe she was.

A war against her own feelings.

A war against years of being angry, confused, hurt, and worst of all—left.

She took a deep breath, grabbed the bag, and stepped out into the sun.

✦✦✦✦

11:53 A.M. - ST. KING HOSPITAL'S ROOFTOP CAFE

She went to her office first, finishing some reports and did a check-in with her assistant, making sure nothing is out of the schedule.

Then she went to the rooftop cafe and ordered two iced drinks—chamomile for Earn, americano for herself.

She chose the same corner table they'd used last time. Shady, but with a view of the skyline.

The wind tugged lightly at her sleeves as she sat, fingers tapping the condensation on her cup.

Her stomach had that familiar pre-op feeling.

Anticipation. Focus.

Fear.

But when she spotted a flash of lavender by the elevator, her hand froze mid-tap.

There was Earn.

Hair curled and pinned softly, dress catching the breeze, eyes scanning the rooftop like she didn't quite believe this was real.

She looked fragile.

But not weak.

Like porcelain with fire underneath.

Fahlada blinked once.

And for a split second, she forgot how to breathe.

Earn smiled. "Hi."

Fahlada swallowed. "Hi."

Neither of them moved.

Until Earn said, "Did you get here early?"

Fahlada nodded.

Earn smiled again, smaller this time. "I wasn't sure you'd come."

"I never turn back down on my words." Fahlada said calmly. "Unlike someone."

A pause.

Then, very softly, Earn said, "You look... beautiful."

Fahlada blinked. "Thanks."

They both looked away at the same time.

And somehow, it didn't feel awkward.

Just... fragile.

Like they were standing in the ashes of something that once burned bright.

Maybe they could rebuild something.

Even if it wasn't the same.

They sat, slowly, like the air between them might break if they moved too fast.

Earn set her purse on her lap and carefully adjusted her dress so it didn't wrinkle too much. Fahlada watched her every movement, not because she was staring, but because she was searching—for signs. For clues. For answers Earn still wasn't ready to give.

"This seat taken?" Earn asked, gesturing to the empty chair even though it clearly wasn't.

Fahlada gave a tight smile. "Only if you plan on disappearing again."

Earn winced, gently. "No. No disappearing. I think I've met my lifetime quota."

Fahlada passed her the chamomile tea without a word. Earn took it with both hands, fingers wrapping around the plastic cup like it was an anchor.

"It's chamomile." Fahlada said.

Earn raised her brows. "You remembered my favorite tea?"

"It's not even that hard to remember," Fahlada sighed. "And it kinda stucks with me."

"Thank you," Earn said. "For the tea. For coming."

"I'm still not sure this is a good idea," Fahlada admitted.

Earn stirred the ice with her straw. "You're probably right."

A quiet moment. They both took slow sips.

"You're paler than I remember," Fahlada said finally. Her voice wasn't accusing. It was observant. Clinical. But there was concern underneath it.

"Too much lighting on set. And stress," Earn replied. Then added quickly, "Not everything's changed though. I still love mango sticky rice and dramatic exits."

Fahlada's lips twitched. "And showing up three minutes late to keep people anxious?"

Earn gasped theatrically. "Three minutes is stylishly late. Anything beyond that is rude."

"You used to say five."

"I downgraded. Personal growth."

That made Fahlada exhale, almost a laugh. Almost.

A breeze passed through, lifting the ends of Earn's hair and brushing Fahlada's blouse against her arm.

"So..." Earn began, her voice softer now. "How's everything? I mean, not the usual how-are-you that people use to avoid real conversation. But like... how are you?"

Fahlada tilted her head, considering. "Exhausted. Always. Hospital's short-staffed again. My mom keeps pushing me to marry Dr. Vishanu. Tan keeps being Tan."

Earn looked down at her tea. "Sorry."

"I'm not complaining," Fahlada added, "Just answering honestly."

Earn nodded. "I appreciate that."

Another beat of silence. Earn shifted, her bracelet clinking against the table.

Earn gently swirled the tea in her hand, letting the clink of ice fill the silence. She wasn't looking at Fahlada now—just watching the tiny whirlpool she created.

"So..." she started, voice light. "Dr. Vishanu, huh?"

Fahlada made a face immediately. "Ugh. Don't even."

Earn let out a breathy chuckle. "That bad?"

"He's fine. Great on paper. My mom loves him. So naturally, I want to set his Mercedes on fire."

Earn smiled behind her straw. "Yikes."

"He talks about golf. Like, a lot. And he keeps sending me fruit baskets."

"Well... he sounds passionate about health and... hydration?"

"Don't take his side," Fahlada warned, but her tone was soft.

Earn shrugged, still not looking up. "Just trying to understand."

Another pause.

Then Earn starts again. "Have you two been, like... close? For long?"

Fahlada gave her a weird look. "God, no. I told you—my mom's the one pushing. She thinks he's the perfect future son-in-law. Smart, polite, rich. A real gentleman."

Earn's fingers tensed just slightly around the cup. "Right. So she really likes him."

"She likes what he looks like in a wedding photo."

Earn gave a small, dry laugh at that. "Does she ever... talk about you? Like, who you shouldn't be with?"

Fahlada blinked. "What do you mean?"

Earn quickly shook her head, brushing it off with a casual wave of her hand. "Nothing. Just curious. Parents can be... intense."

Fahlada narrowed her eyes slightly but didn't push. "She doesn't know anything. At least, not about... back then."

Earn nodded, biting the inside of her cheek.

So she didn't know her mom had found out. That she'd threatened me. That she told me I was a game. That I'd be forgotten the second Dr. Vishanu asks her to a more serious relationship.

Earn shifted in her seat, suddenly aware of the thrum of her heartbeat in her throat. "I'm glad," she said softly.

"What?"

"That you didn't date him."

Fahlada blinked again, but choose not to ask for an explanation. She can see where this is headed. So she asks for something else, "Why'd you really leave, Earn?"

Earn blinked.

"You said it was complicated. And I believe that. But was there... someone? Or something?"

Earn smiled, slow and sad. "Maybe both," she said gently. "But nothing like what you're thinking."

Part of Earn still remembered Lada's mother's voice like a poison laced with politeness.

"You'll be forgotten soon enough, Earn. You're not what a future looks like."

Fahlada's eyes narrowed slightly, reading between the lines, but the picture wasn't clear.

Earn leaned back. "I know it sounds vague. But I'm not ready to explain everything yet. I'm trying to find the words. I guess that's part of why I asked you here today."

Fahlada held her gaze. "To find the words?"

"To start practicing how to say them," Earn answered. "Even if they come out in pieces."

Fahlada leaned back, expression unreadable. "You're still the worst at giving straight answers."

Earn gave her a crooked smile. "Told you. Small steps."

"Alright. Then I'll try to listen. In pieces, if that's how they come."

And Earn didn't look away.

The wind stirred again, rustling napkins and sending a few leaves skittering across the rooftop tiles. Earn tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and studied Fahlada's face—quiet, steady, guarded but no longer closed. That tiny crack in her defenses felt like a miracle.

Fahlada also studied Earn for a long, long moment. Then she leaned forward. "So let me guess. This is the part where you say something like 'I don't expect us to go back to the way we were'?"

Earn laughed under her breath. "Was it that obvious?"

"You're a walking cliché sometimes."

Earn gasped. "I'm hurt."

"Not yet," Fahlada said, sipping her coffee. "But keep talking."

They both laughed, and for a moment, it felt easy again. Like they were slipping into something old—not to stay in it, but to remember it existed.

"I know I can't expect everything to go back to how it was," Earn said. "I don't even want that, really. But I do want... this. Us. In whatever shape it has to be now. In whatever shape you allow it."

Fahlada looked down at her coffee, watching the steam curl and vanish into the air. She didn't answer right away.

Then—very softly—she said, "You always knew how to say the right thing. That used to be one of the reasons I loved you."

Earn's heart gave a quiet lurch, but she stayed still. Careful. Listening.

"But it was also one of the reasons I hated you when you left," Fahlada continued. "Because you knew the right thing to say... and you said nothing."

Earn swallowed, throat tight. "I know."

"I waited. I kept thinking—there's no way she'd just walk away like that. No explanation? No goodbye?"

Her voice cracked just a little. "I thought maybe you'd been hurt. Maybe something happened. And then I saw you online, smiling at some event, or walking through an airport. Not dead. Not broken. Just gone."

Earn winced, the guilt hitting hard and raw. "I wasn't okay. I just got good at pretending."

"You always were," Fahlada said flatly. "Even with me."

Earn opened her mouth, but Fahlada held up a hand. "I don't need the full story right now, okay? I told you—I'll listen in pieces. But I need you to know something."

Earn nodded. "Okay."

"If you disappear again... don't bother coming back next time."

There was no malice in her voice. No bitterness. Just a line drawn in the sand. A boundary.

Earn nodded again, this time more firmly. "I won't."

Silence settled again, but it wasn't hollow. It was heavy with something real.

Fahlada finally sighed and leaned back. "God, we sound like a drama special."

Earn laughed. "Low budget. Terrible pacing. Lead actress won't stop bleeding out of her nose and fainted."

Fahlada narrowed her eyes. "Wait. What?"

Earn froze. "...Figure of speech," she said quickly. Too quickly.

Fahlada arched a brow. "Earn."

Earn waved her hand dismissively. "I'm kidding! I mean. Not entirely. I did have a small nosebleed yesterday. But it's nothing."

Fahlada stared at her. "You had a nosebleed, again?"

"It was just a small drop. Suzie even bought me some meds and then we went to eat at an omakase." Then Earn lights up. "Oh, we should go there sometimes, it was really good. I think it would suit your tastes."

"Stop deflecting."

"I'm not."

"You are."

Earn tried to take a sip from her tea, but the ice had already melted. She focused way too hard on the lid, avoiding Fahlada's gaze.

"I'm just tired," she finally said.

Fahlada sighed, she know she can't push Earn, she already promised to listen.

They sat like that a while longer—just breathing in the city air, the ghosts of the past hovering nearby but not loud enough to interrupt.

Earn glanced sideways. "So... are we okay?"

Fahlada thought for a second. Then, "No. But we're better than before."

"I'll take it."

"But you owe me stir-fried glass noodles."

Earn open her bag and brought out a lunchbox. "I brought some."

"You really are trying hard," Fahlada said, amused.

Earn shrugged. "I'm working on it. Like I said—small steps."

Fahlada accepted the lunchbox, warm laughter caught in her throat as she peeked inside.

The noodles were a little messy, the egg topping slightly broken, but the smell was right. Familiar. Like it used to be.

"You actually remembered how I like them," she said, more surprised than she meant to sound.

"I never forgot," Earn replied, eyes downcast. "Even if it seemed like I did."

Fahlada looked at her for a long moment, the wind picking up strands of Earn's hair and brushing them across her cheek. There was something different about her now—fragile, yes, but open. Or trying to be.

"Smells good," she said, opening the lid and letting the steam drift up between them. "You didn't make this, did you?"

Earn scoffed, mock offended. "Excuse me, I used to cook for you all the time."

Fahlada gave her a knowing side-eye. "You used to order takeout and put it on our plates like you cooked it."

"...Details."

That earned a soft laugh from Fahlada, quiet and surprised—like it had been caught off guard. For a second, they both just smiled, and the silence between them felt less like distance and more like rest.

Fahlada took a bite and raised her brows. "Okay, you either learned how to cook or you're finally paying that housekeeper of yours double."

"I actually made that one," Earn admitted. "Had to look up the recipe again, though."

"You're serious?" Fahlada took another bite, slower this time.

Earn gives Lada a proud grin, "I am! And well, P'Suzie also supervised."