Tangled Strings

Chapter 24: The First Time

She had to go.

She had to leave before Chiquita woke up.

Because if she stayed—

If she saw the look in Chiquita’s eyes when she realized Ahyeon was about to pretend this never happened—

She wasn’t sure if she could handle it.

Ahyeon stood, casting one last glance at the girl still sleeping on the desk.

Then, without a word, she turned and walked away.

--

Chapter 24 (Part 2): The Fallout

Chiquita woke up to an empty room.

For a few seconds, her mind was hazy, the remnants of last night still lingering in her body—the warmth of Ahyeon’s touch, the way their breaths had mixed in the darkness, the way she had finally felt wanted, even if just for a moment.

But then reality settled in.

The cold air.

The quiet.

And the empty space beside her.

Ahyeon was gone.

A bitter laugh slipped past Chiquita’s lips as she stared at the ceiling.

Of course, she left.

Chiquita should have expected it.

Should have known.

Because Ahyeon was Ahyeon—always running, always pretending, always pushing her away.

And yet, Chiquita had let herself believe, even for a second, that this time, maybe—maybe—it was different.

Her fingers curled into a fist.

She was a fool.

Dragging herself up, Chiquita reached for her discarded uniform, slipping it on with slow, mechanical movements.

Every part of her ached—not just from last night, but from the weight of knowing.

Knowing that to Ahyeon, this was just another mistake.

Just another thing to ignore.

Just another nothing.

The thought made her stomach twist.

But she wouldn’t cry.

She refused to.

Instead, she exhaled sharply, schooling her features into the same easy, careless expression she had perfected over time.

If Ahyeon wanted to pretend?

Fine.

Two could play that game.

—

When Chiquita walked into the student council office later that day, Ahyeon was already there, sitting at the desk, flipping through documents with forced focus.

She didn’t look up.

Didn’t acknowledge her.

Didn’t even flinch.

As if nothing had happened.

Chiquita tilted her head, watching her carefully.

Waiting.

Daring her to say something.

But Ahyeon remained silent.

Chiquita smirked.

So this was how it was going to be.

"Morning, Vice President," she drawled, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed.

Ahyeon’s grip on her pen tightened ever so slightly, but her expression remained impassive. "You’re late."

Chiquita let out a breathy chuckle. "I didn’t know we were back to formalities already."

Still, no reaction.

Chiquita stepped closer, slow, deliberate.

Ahyeon finally glanced up.

Their eyes met.

For a second—just a brief second—something flickered behind Ahyeon’s gaze.

Regret.

Guilt.

Something Chiquita wasn’t sure she wanted to see.

Then, it was gone.

Ahyeon looked away.

"It meant nothing."

The words were quiet.

But they cut deep.

Chiquita felt her chest tighten, but she kept her expression indifferent, her smirk unwavering.

She leaned down slightly, her face just inches from Ahyeon’s.

"That so?" she murmured.

Ahyeon didn’t answer.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t even breathe.

Chiquita chuckled.

"Good," she said smoothly, straightening up. "Because it meant nothing to me either."

Ahyeon flinched.

Just barely.

But Chiquita saw it.

Felt it.

And for the first time in a long time, she felt like she had won.

She turned on her heel, walking out without another word.

Because this time, she was the one leaving first.