CHAPTER 1
The apartment smelled like orange and old curtains. Not in a bad way—just in the way places smell when they’ve been waiting for new people.
“This used to be my aunt’s,” Daki said, unlocking the door like she was introducing me to a relative.
“She moved to Canada and left all her furniture with us.”
“Our starter pack to adulthood,” I joked.
She bumped her shoulder against mine, “Our first home.”
The word home echoed nicer than I expected. We’d been together a year and some change—long enough to stop counting months, short enough that everything still felt a little shiny.
Moving in was supposed to be the obvious next step: closer to workplaces, cheaper than dorms, more grown-up than sneaking kisses in study rooms.
Also, Daki had insisted, “Why pay rent somewhere random,” she’d said, “when we already have a place?”
I hadn’t argued. I rarely did with her.
The living room was bigger than our old dorm combined.
Sunlight pushed through wide windows, landing on a couch that looked older than both of us but determined to survive another generation.
“You sure your family’s okay with this?” I asked.
“They adore you,” Daki said without hesitation.
“Besides, it’s been empty for years. It’ll be happier with people inside.”
I dropped a box labeled JIA – FRAGILE (lies) onto the floor.
For a moment everything felt perfectly on schedule.
We spent the afternoon unpacking our lives into shared drawers. My clothes beside hers. My books lean into her own books like shy neighbors.
Daki arranged our things from the box with alarming confidence.
“You rest, I organize,” she said.
“You’re weirdly good at this. I’ve imagined it before”, the sentence slipped out casually, but it made something warm bloom under my ribs.
We’d talked about living together in half-jokes for months. Turns out she’d been serious the whole time.
“You brought too many books,” she said while fixing the shelves
“You own three different toasters,” I answered.
“Those are emotional-support toasters. Don’t judge them.”
I laughed.
“This place is nice,” I said, while sliding my fingers through the walls like a supervisor, “Too nice. Are you secretly rich?”
“Tragically, no. Just blessed with relatives who hoard furniture.” I leaned against her shoulder.
Living together didn’t feel scary the way people warned. It felt like continuing something that had already started long ago.
Daki brushed hair from my face, “Happy?”
“Very.”
“Good,” she said softly, “I want you safe here.” the word sat between us, gentle and careful.
Safe. Of course I am safe.
Later, while unpacking the bathroom, I noticed the mirror. Just… clean. Too clean, considering the place had been empty for years.
“Your family cleaned before we moved in?” I asked, enough for her to hear me
“Not really,” Daki said from the hallway.
“Why?”
“No dust on anything.”
The mirror caught my reflection at a weird angle, like it had been waiting for me to look.
Just new lighting, I told myself.
I went back to the living room instead,
Daki stood on the tips of her socks, screwdriver between her teeth, one long arm stretched above her head like it was the easiest thing in the world. The afternoon light caught on her hair and made it look softer than it had any right to be.
It still felt unreal sometimes.
The way she reached things I’d need a chair for.
The way she didn’t even notice how beautiful she looked doing ordinary stuff—sweatpants, loose shirt.
“Hold this for me?” she asked around the screwdriver.
“Yeah. Sure.”
My head barely reached her shoulder. It always startled me, how tall she was up close, how solid and sure she seemed compared to me. Daki had always been independent—worked part-time since college, lived on her own, knew how to fix sinks and shelves and life in general.
I handed her the level, our fingers brushing. My stomach did that stupid flip it always did.
“You okay?” she asked, smiling without looking.
“Yeah,” I said quickly. “Just… thinking.”
She laughed softly. “Dangerous hobby.”
I leaned against the wall and let myself really look at her. At the careful way she tightened the screws, at how confident she was in a world I still felt new to. I used to imagine I’d end up with some guy from college—someone predictable, someone easy to explain to relatives and old classmates.
Instead I got Daki.
Sometimes I wondered how the universe made that mistake.
The shelf clicked into place and she stepped back, wiping her hands on her pants, “There. Safe for all your heavy books.”
“You make everything look easy,” I murmured.
She glanced down at me, surprised, “It’s just a shelf, Jia.”
“It’s not just the shelf.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Daki’s expression softened, and for a second the room felt smaller, warmer. She reached out and tapped my forehead lightly.
“You overthink too much,” she said, “I’m just a normal person who really adore her girlfriend.”
She reached for my hand and led me to the kitchen:
Daki – Jai – Negotiable Territory.
“What goes in negotiable territory?” I asked.
“Snacks we pretend to share but secretly hope the other won’t touch.”
I laughed wrapping my arms around Daki, hanging like a kid while she’s leading me back to the living room.
“This is romantic,” I muttered, “Very aesthetic. Very Pinterest.”
Daki looked down on me, hair falling over her eyes.
“Guess I reached your expectation then”
I sat on the mattress as we reached. Daki still standing looking down on me like a child.
“You’re too big” I looked up wanting to tease her
Her eyebrows lifted, “Too big??”
“Intimidating,” I corrected.
“Oh?”
She knelt down trying to level with me.
My hands instinctively grabbed the hem of her shirt to steady her, but that only pulls her nearer.
“I don’t intimidate you,” she said quietly.
“You do.”
“How?”
Her fingers brushed my chin, eyes focused on my lips.
“You look at me like you’re already planning something,” I whispered.
She smiled faintly.
“Maybe I am.”
I can feel my face burning, as her hand slid gently from my chin to my shoulders,
It made my breathing uneven.
“You’re nervous,” she murmured.
“I am not.”
“You are.”
Her voice lowered, not playful anymore — just warm.
“I can feel it.”
In the year that we are in a relationship, we never had our first real touching, we never rushed, we always teased but never happened.
Now that we are on one roof, I can feel the instant pull between us.
“Daki,” I whispered.
She studied me like I’m something fragile and fascinating at the same time.
Like she can’t believe I’m here.
Like she won something.
“You are nervous, do you want space?” she sad softly.
“I do.”
She leaned back slightly.
Gave me room.
“Here, your space” but her eyes are torn on mine.
And somehow that made it worse.
Because now it’s my choice if I should pull her closer to me.
And yes, I want to.
Silence.
I swallowed.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re gonna eat me alive.”
There’s a pause.
“Maybe I will.” voice still low.
The words settled deep in my chest.
I moved closer, enough for me to hear her breathing.
My fingers tightened in her shirt.
“Prove it,” I whispered before I can stop myself.
Her eyes darkened — not wild — just focused.
She didn’t rush.
Hands brushing through my hair, examining my face.
Then her forehead touched mine.
“Still intimidated?” she asked quietly.
“Y–yes.” I answered as I trembled.
“Good.”
And then her lips touched mine.
Not playful.
Not teasing.
It’s deeper.
Slow.
Certain.
I can feel her hand moved to my waist, steady and firm, grounding me against her as I fell backward onto the mattress.
She followed carefully.
Like she’s aware of every inch between us.
My hands slid up removing her shirt, then she removed mine.
I can feel her fast heartbeat through her skin.
So she’s nervous too.
That realization made me smile against her lips.
She pulled back slightly.
“Why are you smiling?”
“You’re not as calm as you pretend.”
She exhaled softly.
“Don’t ruin it.”
I laughed quietly.
“Are you sure about this?” she whispered.
“Yes,” I answered softly, without a second of doubt, “I want this with you.”
And she kissed me again — this time less controlled.
The moment between us felt electric, warm and overwhelming in the gentlest way.
My breath trembled as she held me closer, every touch sends shivers through my skin, her lips touching every curve of my body.
I closed my eyes, completely lost in her, while my heartbeat echoed louder than my thoughts.
Everything about her feels comforting and intense at the same time.
I guided her back to me, she leaned, arms around me as I lay on her chest, my breathing still uneven, “Do you wanna switch?” I asked.
“No touching me for now” she smirked.
“That’s unfair” I frowned
“Maybe next time” she smiled
My skin is still warm.
Sensitive.
Every inch of me aware of where she’s touching.
Her heartbeat hasn’t fully slowed down yet.
Neither has mine.
“You’re staring,” she murmured softly.
I didn’t realize I was.
My fingers drift across her collarbone absentmindedly, tracing the faint sheen of sweat there.
“Since when do you have that?” I whispered.
A deep red circle inked just beneath her collarbone.
Bold.
Striking.
I lifted myself slightly to get a better look.
She followed my gaze.
“Oh.”
It’s not small.
It’s a blood moon — dark crimson, perfectly round, with faint shadow detailing inside it.
I brushed my thumb over it slowly.
Her breath catched — not dramatically, just enough for me to notice.
“You never told me,” I said.
“You never asked,” she replied, voice low and still slightly rough.
“That’s not fair.”
She hummed softly, eyes half-lidded, watching me watch her.
I sat up a little more, the sheet slipping down my back, forgotten.
“What does it mean?”
She smiled faintly.
“It’s a demon mark.”
I snorted quietly.
“Shut up.”
“I’m serious.”
“You’re not. A blood moon is supposed to mean something bad is coming,” I murmur.
“People like to think that,” she replied.
“And you?”
She shrugged slightly beneath me.
“I think it means change.”
“You’re so dramatic,” I whispered.
“You like that about me.”
I do.
I leaned down and pressed a soft kiss just below the tattoo.
Her expression softened.
I rested my head back on her chest.
We fell asleep tangled together on our “temporary” mattress. The building made normal building noises—pipes with opinions, distant traffic, the sigh of something settling.
Nothing supernatural.
Nothing worth a story.
