Work Text:
They start a new agency together once the dust settles.
It’s not easy — they work long hours for months just to build up enough connections and clients to stay afloat. Tiffy works harder than she has in a long time. Still, she doesn’t regret their decision. Not once. She and Tum work well together; they have the same solution-oriented mindset, the same tendency to wait and listen and ask questions. Even when they disagree, they’re too used to being problem solvers to treat an argument like it’s just something to win. Tum is quick to concede when her point of view sways him, and he does so without shame or fanfare. Tum’s willingness to listen and his lack of ego are unusual among the men in their industry. Working with him is refreshing, and she feels confident in saying that Tum is the best business partner she’s ever had.
Well… Business partner. Partner. Both, perhaps. They’re taking it slow.
They manage to rent a small office space close to where most of the production companies have their studios. It’s not much, but there’s room for both her and Tum to have their own offices, as well as a small lounge area for their clients. They spend most of their workday together there, and they’ve been spending more and more of their hours outside of work together as well.
“It’s almost six o’clock,” Tum says on a Thursday afternoon. They’ve just finished finalizing the wording on some contracts for a new client, and now they’re waiting to receive the signed documents. “Do you want to get dinner?”
“I could eat,” Tiffy replies. She lowers the lid of her laptop and watches him lean against the door of her office, hands in his pockets. “What do you have in mind?”
“I was thinking we could try the sushi place that opened next to the nail salon.”
“The new one? It looks a little upscale. Is this a date?”
Tum rubs the back of his neck and looks down with a sheepish smile, his lashes fanning over his cheeks. “I’d like it to be, if that’s okay.”
“Okay.”
Tum’s smile grows, bright and contagious. “Okay. It’s a date, then.”
Looking at him makes something warm and fond flood her chest. It’s impossible not to feel happy when he smiles like that. Not for the first time, she wonders how someone like Tum could come from a childhood like his.
It takes work , she reminds herself. It takes work to grow above where we came from.
“I’ll meet you in the lounge in a few minutes,” she tells him. “I just need to finish up a couple emails.”
“Sounds good. I’ll get ready to go out.”
She finishes the emails quickly and gathers her jacket and purse. When she meets Tum in the lounge, he’s still touching up his eyebrows in front of the mirror by the door. She watches him for a beat, then says, “Can I?”
“Hm?” He meets her eye through the mirror. She holds out a hand for his brow pencil. “Oh. Sure.”
Tum puts the pencil in her hand. Tiffy takes a step closer and puts a hand on his cheek, turning his head just slightly to the right. They’re the same height; this close, they’re eye to eye. She revels in the way he goes still under her touch, and his sharp intake of breath doesn’t go unnoticed, either. She smiles and gets to work. When she thinks she’s finished, she tilts his chin to either side until she’s satisfied that her job is done. “There,” she says. “Now you look just as pretty as me.”
“Impossible,” he laughs.
“Take a look.” She gestures at the mirror and then pulls out her own small makeup bag from her purse. “I’ll touch up my mascara and then we can go.”
“Can I return the favor?” Tum asks. He holds out his hand expectantly. She feels a moment of hesitation that has nothing to do with Tum and everything to do with a lifetime trained in self-sufficiency. But it’s just that — a moment of hesitation. She hands over the makeup bag.
She loves the way Tum looks when he does this: careful, competent, focused, his hands gentle and steady. He’s so close that his breath ghosts over her cheek. She stares at him, careful not to blink, as he moves the mascara wand over her eyelashes. Then he’s done. He screws the wand back into the base, returns the mascara to the makeup bag, and hands it back to her.
“All done,” he says with a grin. “Let’s go.”
The sushi restaurant is just a short ride from their office. They take Tiffy’s motorcycle — Tiffy in front, Tum behind her with his arms around her waist. When they arrive, she takes their helmets and he helps fix her hair.
The sushi restaurant is small but thoughtfully decorated with paper lanterns and abstract wall decor. It’s a little busy when they arrive, the voices of the various other patrons filling the space, but the hostess is able to seat them quickly. She’s a tall woman — taller than both of them — and her hair sits just past her shoulders in elegant waves. Her halter dress is navy blue and shows off what Tiffy can’t help but notice is an impressive amount of cleavage. As the hostess leads them to their table, she glances at Tum and catches him trying not to notice, too. She suppresses a smile. The hostess hands them menus and leaves to attend other guests.
“She was pretty,” Tiffy says casually.
Tum looks up from the menu. “The hostess?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, she was…” He pauses. “Is it weird if I agree with you?”
“Not at all. It’s nice to know we have similar taste.” Tiffy takes a sip of her water glass, then makes a subtle gesture over her chest. “And she knows how to show off her assets.”
Tum, who had just taken a sip of his own water, nearly chokes. “Tiffy!” he says, voice scandalized, but he’s smiling despite himself. She grins and leans in a little closer over the table.
“C’mon, we both noticed.”
“Well,” he concedes, “it was difficult not to.”
“They were hard to ignore,” Tiffy says. “Very impressive. Good for her.”
“Good for her,” Tum echoes.
Tiffy hides a laugh behind her hand and spots Tum doing the same. Cute. She taps his leg under the table and asks, “Is it weird for you? That I mentioned it?”
He raises an eyebrow. “I mean, it’s not polite restaurant conversation…”
“No, I mean… Is it weird that I mentioned she’s pretty?”
“Oh. No.” The speed and sincerity of his answer surprises her. “I know you’re attracted to women. That’s a part of you.”
It’s a simple response, and it’s the response she should expect from anyone worth dating — but she still finds herself feeling more affected by hearing him say it than she thought she’d be. An odd twist of something emotional and vulnerable hovers just at the back of her throat. She ignores it — for now.
“Good,” she replies, clearing her throat. “We should probably order before it gets too busy.”
The sushi is easily the best they’ve had on this side of town. They order more food than they probably should’ve, along with a small amount of sake to share. Tum is so easy to talk to that the time seems to slip by without her noticing. There are no pretenses with him — no appearances to keep up. She tells him about her study abroad trip in Japan back in university, about the food she had there, about the gay bar in Osaka her host sister took her to. Tum tells her a story about something that happened on set last weekend and she laughs so hard that the couple at the table opposite them turn to stare. Diners come and go, the waitress returns to refill their water glasses, and the music in the background grows quieter and more subdued. Before she knows it, it’s closing time.
They pay for their meal and then head outside into the chilly night air. It’s gotten cold since the sun went down, tree branches swaying in the light breeze that sweeps down the boulevard. She sees Tum shiver. He’s wearing a short-sleeve button up and he didn’t bring a coat.
“Here.” She shrugs off her leather jacket and hands it to him. “Wear this for the ride back to your car.”
Tum looks at the jacket for a beat before accepting it gingerly. “Won’t you be cold?”
“My top has long sleeves. I’ll be fine.” She watches appreciatively as he puts on the jacket, then adds. “Plus it looks good on you.”
Tum lets out a little laugh, but he looks pleased. “I think it still looks better on you.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. You’re a pretty handsome guy.”
“Oh yeah? Which one am I?” He does a little spin. “Pretty or handsome?”
She pretends to think about it, giving him an exaggerated once over. She flicks her eyes back up to his and says, “Both, I think.”
“Then it’s good that you like both,” he replies with a smile.
“Lucky you.”
Another breeze whisks by them. It sweeps away the stagnant smells of the city street and replaces them with something cleaner, something fresher. She turns her face towards it and lets the cool air blow in her hair a little — just for a moment. When the breeze stops, she reaches back and takes Tum’s hand. “Let’s get going. I’ll drop you off at your car.”
The ride back to their office building is quick. When it comes time for goodbyes, she has to fight the urge to stall for time, which is silly. They’ll see each other in the morning. They see each other almost every day, in fact. There’s no reason for her to be acting like some kind of lovesick teenager waiting around to see who will leave first — and yet here she is.
“Well,” Tum says. “I think this is the part where I say goodnight?”
“Mmhm,” Tiffy hums in agreement. “I think you’re right.”
“We should probably head home before it gets too late.”
“Probably.”
Neither of them moves.
Tum brings his hand to rub the back of his neck shyly. His eyes wander over the parking lot, but he returns her gaze when he says, “I was thinking maybe I could say goodnight properly?”
“Properly?” She raises an eyebrow. “What’s a proper goodnight?”
“A kiss. Maybe.”
“A kiss…” She taps her chin in mock contemplation. “All right. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Tum grins and takes a step towards her. He’s a little taller than her now, since she’s still seated on her motorcycle. He brings a hand up to cup the back of her neck gently, his fingers brushing over the hair at her nape, and leans forward.
This is not the first time they’ve kissed. They’ve kissed several times now — enough times that she doesn’t know the exact number, but not quite enough for each to not feel memorable. She remembers kissing him at the office, outside her apartment, in the stairwell of his apartment complex, a few times in his bedroom. Never at her apartment. Not yet. They’ll get there.
The way he kisses her now is gentle and slow, like he’s trying to make it last. The press of his lips is soft against her own, and she lets him guide the kiss with the warm hand at the back of her neck. When he pulls away, her skin feels oddly bare.
Tum takes a small step back out of her space. His face is glowing with such adoration that she almost can’t meet his eyes — almost. She still does, because Tum’s eyes are big and deep and shining, magnetic in the way they pull her gaze towards him.
“Well,” he says softly, “goodnight.”
His smile is so genuine, so guileless, so effortlessly bright that it both warms her and terrifies her in equal measure. I think I love you, she doesn't say. She thinks she means it but the words are buried too deeply to speak them aloud. Those words are nestled next to a dozen other thoughts that make her eyes prick and her throat grow tight and she's not ready to dig through them all — not yet. She's not ready to show him the things those unspoken words hold back.
So instead she gets off her bike and hugs him. He hugs her back immediately, like he was waiting for it. Maybe he was.
"Thanks," she murmurs. "For today."
"Any time," he whispers back.
She thinks he knows what she means. For now, it's enough.
A vulnerable kind of embarrassment washes over her when they pull apart, but she coaxes it to fade quickly. Tum is here, bold and open in his affection, and it’s always a little harder to feel shame in the face of that shamelessness.
“Okay — good night for real,” she says, pushing lightly at his shoulder. “Go back to your car before we spend all night here.”
“Do you want your jacket back?” Tum asks.
Tiffy shrugs. “You can hold onto it, if you want.”
“You sure?”
“I meant what I said before — it looks good on you.”
“Okay. I’ll hold onto it, then.”
“Good.” Tiffy makes a shooing gesture at him. “Now get your cute little ass out of here.”
Tum bites his lip over a grin, but does as told. She watches him half-walk, half-jog across the parking lot, his shadow swinging over the pavement each time he passs under a streetlamp. When he reaches his car, he waves. She shoos him again in response.
When she arrives back at her apartment, she sends him a quick text. Home safe. Take good care of that jacket.
I will, he replies. Then, a second message: I had a really good time tonight. I love spending time with you.
She rereads the last sentence and bites her lip. It’s dangerously close to another phrase — the same three-word phrase she thought of earlier that night. I love spending time with you . It’s only a stone’s throw from something terrifyingly indelible. Once you say it, you can’t take it back.
She stares at his message for a few seconds longer and then types, Me too .
Someday, she won’t be afraid to type something else. Tum is patient and understanding, but above all, he gets it . He’s been in her shoes — or at least, as close to her shoes as most people she’s met. He will smile, and he will wait, and he will love her until she’s ready to love him back as loudly as he deserves.
It’s a promise, she decides — a guarantee she makes with herself. She will get there. She will learn, and she will grow, and she will match him step for step as they become the best versions of themselves. Love is not transactional, but it does require work from both sides to meet in the middle.
And Tum, she thinks, is worth working for.