Chapter 43

# Day 14 - 17:50

The last of the day’s gold bled across the water. Every window on C-deck caught the reflection, so the corridor outside the treatment room glowed as if the sun had set itself on fire. Inside, it was all shadows, sharp with lemon and a hint of ozone. The air was damp, edged with warmth from the bath they hadn’t used.

Mei-Lin swept towels into the laundry cart, one after another, with a briskness that looked efficient from afar but was, in fact, a sulk. She’d just spent forty minutes prepping a tea-and-oil soak for the afternoon’s session, only for the patient to beg off at the last minute. Instead, Linh and her entourage had opted for “guided meditation”—which meant lying prone on the table, shivering, while Aida talked her through breathing exercises until she nodded off. Not even a foot in the bath. Mei-Lin counted the number of times Linh had scheduled a water treatment and then skipped it. Today made three. It was not just wasteful; it was insulting.

She dunked the last towel into the sanitizing bin, watching the cloudy water swirl around the fabric. The unused bath behind her remained full, its surface shimmering with oils, petals floating like tiny boats across water too precious to waste. She should have been used to this by now. On a ship, nothing ever followed the plan.

Aida finished spritzing the vinyl on the therapy bed, then wiped it clean in long, practiced strokes. She always worked in silence, shoulders squared and face blank, as if the world outside the porthole didn’t exist. Today, though, there was a faint line of tension running from the corner of her mouth to her jaw. The afternoon’s session had gotten under her skin, too.

When the last of the trash was packed, Mei-Lin snapped off her gloves and hovered by the glass doors that led to the treatment suite balcony. The view was wasted on most people: just ocean and sky and the white noise of the engines. She found it comforting. Outside, the wind was picking up, tugging clouds across the horizon in uneven skeins.

“You’d like to leave the bath now?” Mei-Lin asked, hand hovering over the still-steaming water.

Aida offered a serene smile, her gaze soft. “No hurry. Let it stay warm a while longer.”

Mei-Lin inhaled, then moved behind the therapy bed and rested her palm on Aida’s shoulder. She felt the tension there and, with gentle patience, encouraged the muscles to unwind. Sliding her hand down Aida’s arm, she wove her fingers behind her back, drawing Aida’s arms across her chest. Her other hand cupped Aida’s breast, firm yet tender, mindful of the life flowing beneath the skin.

“You should sit,” Mei-Lin murmured. “I’ll only drain the bath when you’re ready.”

Aida gave a graceful shrug and lifted one shoulder. “Thank you,” she said quietly, turning to the counter. She retrieved the chilled milk bag from the mini-fridge and rolled it in her hands as though assessing a prized vintage.

Mei-Lin’s voice was gentle but insistent. “You’re overdue for your own treatment.”

Aida set the bag down with a nod. “I know. Let’s begin, then.”

Leaning closer, Mei-Lin let her palm settle against Aida’s breast. Aida closed her eyes, offering her trust. “Is this all right?” Mei-Lin whispered.

Aida exhaled, a faint smile curving her lips. “Perfect.”

With that blessing, Mei-Lin’s fingers traced slow spirals, kneading the tissue just as Aida herself would. Aida’s breath deepened, the muscles along her collarbone loosening under Mei-Lin’s careful touch. Her skin gleamed in the soft light, the warmth of her body mingling with the promise of relief.

“Come,” Mei-Lin said, subtly guiding Aida toward the bath. “Just ten minutes. You deserve it.”

Allowing herself to be led, Aida slipped out of her tunic and pants. She stepped into the water without pause, a faint hiss escaping as the heat embraced her. She sank in, tucking her knees to her chest, and closed her eyes.

Mei-Lin followed with effortless grace, peeling off her own layers—sports bra, leggings, then the borrowed boxers from Zhao’s pile. She settled beside Aida, the floral petals (rose and lotus, carried by a light oil) drifting around them in a blush-pink haze. For a moment, Aida’s mind drifted to a high-end spa in Tokyo—the distant past seeming almost tangible in the haze of scent and steam.

They sat thigh to thigh until Mei-Lin reached for Aida’s breast again, cradling it in the soothing water. Now she used both hands—kneading, rolling, even a gentle pinch at the nipple—and Aida’s breath fluttered with each pass. Mei-Lin witnessed the first beads of milk gathering at the tip, glistening like tiny pearls. She lowered her head and flicked her tongue across the drop, savoring its delicate flavor.

“You taste like green tea,” Mei-Lin observed softly, her eyes bright.

Aida’s lips curved into a gentle half-smile. “That’s a kindness.”

Mei-Lin giggled, the sound light against the tiles. “My milk is more like warm soy.” She leaned in, her damp hair brushing Aida’s shoulder. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Aida rested her head on the rim of the tub, letting her gaze wander across the water to the horizon where the sun dipped low, stabbing color through the clouds.

“What are you thinking about?” Mei-Lin asked, voice low and tender.

Aida was silent for a long moment. Then, as if turning a key in her chest, she whispered, “Do you ever feel jealous?”

Mei-Lin paused, her hands stilling on Aida’s soft flesh. “No,” she said after a heartbeat, “not in the way you mean.”

Aida turned to her, eyes half-closed but earnest. “Not even when I’m with him?”

Mei-Lin shook her head, her smile patient. “With Jia, it was just the two of us, always. But I’m not Jia. And this world… it demands we care for more than ourselves.”

Aida closed her eyes again, the fading light gilding her lashes. After a moment, she spoke with hushed clarity: “Do you love him?”

Mei-Lin paused, fingers stilling for a moment. She let her hand rest on Aida’s stomach, feeling the slow rise and fall. “I didn’t think I would. I didn’t even like men. But now—yes. I do.”

Aida's hand found Mei-Lin's, covering it. "But you never seem jealous. Or angry. Even when he sleeps with others."

Mei-Lin traced the edge of a floating petal with her free hand. The steam rose between them like a veil. "Before the world ended, maybe I would have felt different." She paused, remembering the ache of watching Jia flirt with pretty girls at clubs, how she'd swallowed that pain until it became something else. "But now? If it makes him happy, or you, I don't mind. There's enough to go around."

Aida's lips twitched, the ghost of a smile. "You really believe that?"

"I do." Mei-Lin squeezed her hand. Water droplets slid down her wrist. "When I was little, my grandmother had this bowl. Blue porcelain. She'd fill it with rice and feed twelve people from it, and somehow it was always enough." She looked up, meeting Aida's gaze. "I just want a home. A place where I belong. If that means sharing, I don't care. Love isn't... it isn't like water rations."

Aida opened her eyes, studied her for a long time. The silence stretched between them, filled only by the gentle lapping of the bath water against their skin. "You're not like anyone I've ever met."

Mei-Lin's face went red, but she didn't look away. The compliment settled somewhere deep in her chest, warm and unfamiliar. "That's what everyone says. Even Jia." She swallowed, remembering how Jia had whispered those same words against her neck the first night they'd spent together. "Before she died, she told me my heart was too big for this world. I think she was wrong. It's exactly the size it needs to be."

Aida let herself lean into Mei-Lin, letting her body go slack. She felt the warmth of the bath, the steady rhythm of Mei-Lin’s breathing. She didn’t want to admit it, but the honesty felt good, like a weight she hadn’t realized she was carrying had been set down.

Mei-Lin picked up the thread. “Jia was the one who got me the job here, you know. She didn’t want to be apart, not even for a season. So she found a way to keep us together. I just followed.”

Aida traced a faint scar on Mei-Lin's wrist with her thumb. "You never talk about before," she said, her voice barely audible above the water. "The people you lost."

Mei-Lin's eyes clouded. She studied the ripples around her fingers. "My mother collapsed at her sewing machine. Heart just stopped. Father found someone new within a month." She swallowed. "Then I had only Jia, until..."

Aida squeezed her hand, the weight of her own ghosts pressing against her chest.

Mei-Lin continued. “After Jia died, I thought about going overboard myself. But then Zhao needed me. And then you did. I found a new place to belong.”

Aida felt the words hit her, not in the mind but somewhere deeper, an ache that wasn’t sadness or guilt or even gratitude. She realized she wanted to be needed, too. It was the most basic thing in the world, and yet she’d spent half her life pretending otherwise.

She turned and pulled Mei-Lin into her lap, wrapping her arms around her. She kissed her, slow and soft, the way you might savor a dessert you knew would be your last.

Mei-Lin melted into the kiss, her hands finding Aida’s breasts again, this time with more hunger. She straddled Aida, sliding down so their bodies were pressed, nipple to nipple, thigh to thigh. She reached down and found Aida’s clit, circling it in lazy, teasing loops.

Aida moaned into her mouth, the sound muffled by the water and Mei-Lin’s hair. She felt herself open, the pulse of blood and nerves converging under Mei-Lin’s fingers. She let her own hand wander, tracing the ridges of Mei-Lin’s spine, the sharp points of her hips. She found the familiar ring at Mei-Lin’s clit, the one Jia had bought for her birthday, and flicked it with her thumb.

Mei-Lin shivered, then pressed herself harder into Aida, grinding her pelvis until their bones knocked. She drew her hand lower, pushing two fingers inside. Aida gasped, the shock of pleasure almost enough to make her faint.

They moved together, the rhythm slow at first, then faster, until the water sloshed and spilled over the edge. Mei-Lin bent her head to Aida's breast, drawing the nipple between her lips. The first warm, sweet rush of milk filled her mouth—sustenance and pleasure intertwined. Aida moaned at the release, then guided Mei-Lin's own breast to her lips, returning the intimate exchange. Their bodies rocked in unison as they drank from each other, the rationed hunger of days at sea momentarily forgotten.

When the climax finally came, it crashed through Aida like a wave breaking against the hull. She clamped down on Mei-Lin's fingers and cried out, still tasting the soy milk sweetness on her tongue.

After, they lay limp in the cooling water, their bodies satisfied in more ways than one.

"You're amazing, you know that?" Aida whispered, brushing away a drop of milk from Mei-Lin's chin.

Mei-Lin smiled, not smug, just happy. "You too."

Aida pulled her close, kissing her forehead. “I’ll protect you. Both of you. Even if the world ends again.”

Mei-Lin looked up, her eyes shining. “I know you will.”

They climbed out, shivering in the cool air. Mei-Lin dried Aida with the softest towel, then dressed her in an oversized tee. She made tea for both of them, the cheap stuff from the galley, but with enough sugar to make it taste like childhood.

Aida traced the edge of her teacup, considering her own emptiness. Unlike Mei-Lin's certainty, she had no vision for this fractured world—only the instinct to keep breathing, to wake each morning. When she thought of Zhao, her pulse quickened, but to what end? Was surviving beside him enough? She had no dreams of building homes or reshaping civilization from the ashes. Homes, civilization—these were concepts that had always felt foreign to her, like clothes borrowed from someone else's closet. The only certainty she felt was the wild rhythm of her pulse when their bodies joined, and the silent agreement that bound them all to this drifting limbo where old rules no longer applied.

She'd spent her life changing colors to match her surroundings, never pausing to ask herself why. The old world had been a maze of power plays and false smiles she'd mastered effortlessly—what was one more adaptation? Yet something had shifted. For the first time, she found herself imagining not just survival but roots: walls that wouldn't drift with the tide, faces that would remain constant, a harbor in this storm-tossed existence.

Aida sipped hers and stared at the darkening horizon.

The storm was coming. The sky was the color of bruises, and the wind had picked up to a constant howl. Aida felt the familiar prickle of anxiety, the sense that the world was always one bad day from total collapse.

She looked at Mei-Lin, then out at the sea.

For now, at least, she had a home. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was coming for them. Something that had nothing to do with the storm, or the crawlers, or even the hunger that lived in every survivor.

She pictured Vivienne, with her perfect hair and her perfect lies, and wondered if maybe the next threat wasn’t outside the ship at all.

Aida drained her tea, then set the cup down.

She would be ready.