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3:17 AM - Emergency Department
The monitors beep in steady rhythm around bed seven, but Milk knows the sound well enough to hear the irregularity creeping in. She's been an attending in Emergency Medicine for two years now, long enough to trust her instincts when they start screaming at her that something's about to go very wrong.
"Talk to me about chest pain," she says to her resident, Dr. Chen, who's hovering nervously with the chart.
"Forty-three-year-old male, came in with crushing chest pain radiating to his left arm. Started about an hour ago. We've got him on morphine, but his pressure's dropping and-"
"EKG?"
Chen fumbles with the printout. "ST elevation in leads II, III, and aVF. Looks like an inferior MI."
Milk takes the strip, scanning the spikes that spell out a heart attack in the universal language of cardiology. But there's something else there, something that makes her chest tighten with recognition.
"Get me a stat echo," she orders, already moving toward the patient. "And call cardiothoracic surgery for an urgent consult."
"Dr. Vosbein, shouldn't we just activate the cath lab?"
"Trust me on this one." Milk's already at the bedside, introducing herself to the patient, Mr. Thanakit, a contractor with three kids and a wife who's driving herself crazy in the waiting room.
"We're going to take good care of you, okay? I need to have one of our heart surgeons take a look."
It's only after she's given the order that she realizes what she's done. There's only one cardiothoracic attending on call tonight, and Milk knows exactly who it is because she made the mistake of checking the schedule earlier. Old habits.
She tells herself she can handle this. It's been four years since Love chose her fellowship over their relationship. Four years since Love told her that she couldn't handle both love and surgery, that something had to give, and it couldn't be her career. Four years since Milk watched the best thing in her life walk away because she was too afraid to let herself need someone that much.
Love is back now, has been for three months, as the new head of Cardiothoracic Surgery. Milk has successfully avoided her so far, trading shifts when necessary, taking the long way around the hospital to avoid the cardiac surgery wing. It's pathetic, maybe, but it's also self-preservation.
At 3:17 AM on a Tuesday in October, with Mr. Thanakit's life hanging in the balance, Milk's carefully constructed avoidance strategy comes crashing down.
"Dr. Vosbein?" Chen appears at her elbow. "CT surgery is on their way up."
Milk nods, focusing on the monitor readings, on anything other than the fact that in about ten minutes, she's going to have to be professional and competent in front of the woman who broke her heart.
3:24 AM - Emergency Department
Love appears in scrubs that look like they've been hastily thrown on, her hair pulled back in a messy bun with strands escaping to frame her face. She's smaller than Milk remembers, or maybe Milk has just gotten used to seeing her from a distance. Up close, Love looks exactly like she did during their residency, tired but alert, ready to save a life at three in the morning because that's what the job requires.
"Dr. Limpatiyakorn," Milk says, proud of how steady her voice sounds. "Thanks for coming up so quickly."
"Dr. Vosbein." Love's voice is carefully neutral. "What do we have?"
It's surreal, this professional distance between them. Four years ago, Love would have kissed her hello despite the early hour, would have teased her about her bedside manner or stolen her coffee. Now they're colleagues, nothing more, and Milk has to present this case like Love doesn't know that she takes her coffee with too much sugar or that she hums when she's concentrating.
"Forty-three-year-old male, acute MI with some concerning features," Milk begins, launching into the clinical details because they're safe, neutral ground. She can talk about ST elevations and cardiac enzymes without thinking about how Love's eyes crinkle when she laughs or how she used to trace patterns on Milk's skin when she couldn't sleep.
Love listens intently, asking the right questions, her focus entirely on the patient. It's one of the things Milk always loved about her, how completely present she could be, how she gave all of herself to whatever required her attention. Including the career that ultimately mattered more than their relationship.
"Let me take a look at the echo," Love says, and Milk steps aside to give her space, careful not to let their hands brush as Love takes the ultrasound wand.
On screen, Mr. Thanakit's heart appears in grayscale, and Milk watches Love's expression change as she manipulates the probe, searching for the source of her suspicions.
"There," Love murmurs, and Milk leans closer despite herself, catching a hint of the perfume Love used to wear. "Do you see it?"
Milk does see it, the telltale fluttering of a muscle rupture, a mechanical complication that can't be fixed with medications. It requires surgery, and it requires it now.
"We need to get him upstairs immediately," Love says, already reaching for her phone to call the OR. "This is a surgical emergency."
And just like that, they slip back into the rhythm they perfected during residency, the seamless collaboration that made them such a formidable team. Milk coordinates with anesthesia while Love talks to the OR staff. They move around each other with practiced efficiency, anticipating needs and filling gaps without discussion.
It's only when Mr. Thanakit is being wheeled toward the elevator that Milk realizes they're going to have to discuss the case, definitely in person. Her avoidance strategy is officially dead.
"I'll contact you with an update," Love says, and there's something in her voice that Milk can't quite identify.
"Thanks."
Love nods and turns to follow her patient, but then she pauses, looking back.
"Good catch, by the way. A lot of people would have missed that."
The compliment hits harder than it should, probably because Milk knows Love doesn't give them lightly, especially not in cardiology. She watches Love disappear into the elevator, then stands there for a long moment, staring at the closed doors.
"Dr. Vosbein?" Chen ventures. "Are you okay?"
"Fine," Milk lies. "Let's see what else the night has for us."
6:45 AM - Cafeteria
Milk is on her third cup of coffee when Piploy finds her, sliding into the opposite chair with her own breakfast and a knowing look.
"So," Piploy says without preamble, "I heard Love Limpatiyakorn consulted on your case last night."
"News travels fast." Milk doesn't look up from her eggs, which she's been pushing around her plate for the past ten minutes.
"In a hospital? Always." Piploy leans forward. "How was it?"
"It was fine. Professional."
"Milk."
"What?" Milk finally meets her best friend's eyes. "It was professional. We talked about the case, she took the patient to surgery, end of story."
Piploy gives her a look that suggests she's not buying any of this. They've been friends since their first year of residency, which means Piploy was there for the entire Love saga, the falling in love, the planning a future together, the devastating breakup, the months of Milk barely functioning afterward.
"You've been successfully avoiding her for three months," Piploy points out. "How did it feel to actually have to work with her again?"
Milk considers lying, but Piploy will see through it anyway. "Like riding a bike," she admits. "Which is the problem."
"Because?"
"Because we were good together. Professionally, I mean. We always were. And last night, for about twenty minutes, I forgot why I've been avoiding her."
Piploy nods slowly. "And then you remembered."
"And then I remembered that she chose her career over us. That when it came down to it, I wasn't important enough to fight for."
"Milk-"
"She's back now," Milk continues, the words coming faster. "Three months ago, she comes back as the new department head, and she hasn't said a word to me. Not 'hello,' not 'how have you been,' nothing. Just pretending like we never happened."
"Maybe she's been avoiding you too."
"Or maybe she just doesn't care."
Piploy is quiet for a moment, stirring her coffee thoughtfully. "You know," she says finally, "I ran into Tu last week."
Milk's head snaps up. Tu was Love's closest friend during residency, the one person who might actually know why Love came back to their hospital, to the city where Milk works.
"And?"
"And she mentioned that Love asks about you sometimes. Apparently, she knows your schedule better than you think."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means maybe she's been avoiding you too, and maybe there's a reason for that."
Before Milk can respond, her pager beeps. She glances at it and sighs.
"Love wants to talk about the case. Her office, when I'm free."
"Perfect," Piploy says with a grin. "Time to find out what's really going on."
"I don't want to find out what's really going on. I want to discuss our patient's post-operative care and get back to my life."
"Your life where you avoid the cardiac surgery wing like the plague and check Love's schedule obsessively?"
"I do not check her schedule obsessively."
"Milk, you know what days she's in surgery, when she takes lunch, and which coffee shop she goes to in the morning. That's either obsessive or stalking."
"It's strategic avoidance."
"It's pathetic."
Milk glares at her, but Piploy just shrugs, unrepentant.
"Go talk to her," Piploy says. "What's the worst that could happen?"
"She could break my heart again."
"Your heart's already broken. It's been broken for four years. Maybe it's time to find out if it can be fixed."
11:30 AM - Cardiothoracic Surgery Wing
Love's office is exactly what Milk would have expected, organized but not sterile, with medical journals stacked neatly on one side of the desk and a small plant by the window that somehow manages to thrive under fluorescent lighting. There are certificates on the wall, awards from her fellowship, pictures of surgical successes.
What Milk doesn't expect is the framed photo tucked behind the computer monitor, partially hidden but still visible. It's from their residency graduation, all eight of them together, arms around each other, grinning like they owned the world. Milk remembers that day, how proud they all were, how full of possibility everything seemed.
"Mr. Thanakit did well," Love says, gesturing for Milk to sit. "The repair was more complex than I initially thought, but his heart function looks good."
"That's great news." Milk settles into the chair across from Love's desk, trying not to think about how they used to sit together, how Love would curl up against her when they were studying, how easy physical affection used to be between them.
"Your diagnosis probably saved his life," Love continues. "A few more hours and the rupture could have been catastrophic."
"Just doing my job."
"Don't." Love's voice is sharper suddenly. "Don't minimize it. You made a brilliant call, and you know it."
There's something in Love's tone that makes Milk look up, really look at her. Love's hands are clasped tightly in her lap, and there's a tension in her shoulders that suggests this conversation is about more than just their patient.
"Love-"
"Why didn't you ever call?"
The question comes out of nowhere, hitting Milk like a physical blow. "What?"
"Four years. You never called, never texted, nothing. I kept thinking you would, but you never did."
Milk stares at her, incredulous. "You broke up with me. You said you couldn't handle a relationship and your career. What exactly was I supposed to call about?"
"I don't know," Love says, and her voice is smaller now. "Maybe to tell me I was making a mistake. Maybe to fight for us."
"Fight for us?" Milk can feel her carefully maintained composure starting to crack. "You made your choice, Love. You chose your fellowship over our relationship. What was there to fight for?"
"Everything," Love says quietly. "There was everything to fight for."
Milk feels like she can't breathe. "You don't get to do this."
"Do what?"
"Come back after four years and make this my fault. You left, Love. You chose to leave."
"I was scared."
"Of what?"
Love is quiet for a long moment, staring down at her hands. When she speaks again, her voice is barely above a whisper.
"Of not being good enough. Of failing at surgery because I was too distracted by being in love with you. Of failing you because I was too focused on surgery. Of having to choose between the two most important things in my life and getting it wrong either way."
Milk's anger deflates as quickly as it arose, replaced by something more complicated, more painful.
"So you chose for both of us," Milk says.
"I chose what felt safest."
"And how did that work out for you?"
Love laughs, but it's not a happy sound. "I became one of the youngest department heads in the country. I have a corner office and a reputation that precedes me and more awards than I know what to do with."
"But?"
"But I spend my nights alone in that corner office, and I haven't been on a real date in two years, and I dream about you at least three times a week." Love finally looks up, and Milk can see tears threatening. "And three months ago, when I had the chance to take a position anywhere in the country, I came back here because I'm an idiot who thought maybe I could figure out how to apologize for the biggest mistake of my life."
Milk doesn't know what to say to that. She's imagined this conversation countless times over the past four years, but in her imagination, it never went like this. In her imagination, Love was either completely unaffected by their breakup or devastatingly apologetic. This middle ground, this raw honesty, is something Milk isn't prepared for.
"You could have just called," Milk says finally.
"And said what? 'Hi, I know I broke your heart four years ago, but I've realized I made a terrible mistake and I'm hoping you're still single and willing to give me another chance'?"
"That would have been a start."
"Would it have worked?"
Milk considers this. Four years ago, probably yes. Two years ago, maybe. Now? She honestly doesn't know.
"I don't know," she says, and Love nods like she expected that answer.
"I figured avoidance was safer," Love says with a rueful smile. "Apparently, we both chose that strategy."
"Piploy says I know your schedule too well for someone who's supposed to be avoiding you."
"Tu says the same thing about me knowing yours."
They look at each other for a moment, and despite everything, Milk feels the corner of her mouth twitch upward.
"We're pathetic," she says.
"Completely pathetic," Love agrees.
12:15 PM - Hospital Cafeteria
They end up having lunch together, not because either of them planned it, but because their conversation isn't finished and Love's office feels too small for everything they need to say. The cafeteria is busy, filled with staff grabbing quick meals between surgeries and meetings, but their corner table feels separate from all of that.
"Tell me about your fellowship," Milk says, picking at her salad. It's easier to start with safe topics, to work their way up to the harder conversations.
"Intense," Love says. "Good training, terrible work-life balance. I learned a lot, but I don't think I was particularly happy."
"Were you happy before? During residency, I mean."
Love considers this. "Yes," she says finally. "Even with all the stress and the long hours and the constant pressure, I was happy. I think that's part of what scared me."
"That you were happy?"
"That I was happy with someone else. I'd never experienced that before, needing someone the way I needed you. It felt dangerous."
Milk nods, understanding that fear even if she doesn't share it. "I never thought of needing you as dangerous."
"Because you're braver than me."
"Or maybe just stupider."
Love smiles at that, the first real smile Milk has seen from her since she walked into the ER this morning. It transforms her face, makes her look younger, more like the person Milk fell in love with during their years of residency.
"How's your family?" Love asks, changing the subject. "Your parents still trying to set you up with nice doctors?"
"Only constantly," Milk says with a laugh. "They haven't given up on the idea of a respectable daughter-in-law."
"And have you? Given them a respectable daughter-in-law?"
The question hangs between them, loaded with implications. Milk knows what Love is really asking.
"No," Milk says quietly. "I tried dating a few times, but..."
"But?"
"But nobody was you."
Love's breath catches, and she sets down her fork, staring at Milk with an expression that's part hope, part terror.
"Milk-"
"I'm not saying that to hurt you," Milk continues quickly. "Or to make you feel guilty. It's just the truth. You set a pretty high bar."
"I'm not sure I should feel complimented by that, considering how badly I fucked things up."
"You didn't fuck everything up. You were good to me, Love. Right up until the end, you were good to me. You were just scared."
"I was terrified," Love corrects. "Of losing myself in you. Of losing you to my ambition. Of choosing wrong and ruining both our lives."
"And instead you chose to ruin just mine?"
The words come out harsher than Milk intended, and she sees Love flinch.
"I'm sorry," Love says. "I know that doesn't fix anything, but I'm so sorry, Milk. Not just for leaving, but for the way I left. For making it seem like you weren't important enough to fight for when the truth is you were so important that I couldn't risk losing you slowly."
"So you lost me quickly instead."
"So I lost you quickly instead," Love agrees. "Which, in hindsight, was incredibly stupid."
They sit in silence for a moment, picking at their food, processing four years' worth of hurt and misunderstanding.
"I kept our research notes," Love says suddenly.
"What?"
"Our research notes. From the emergency cardiac protocols study. I kept all of them, even the ones with your handwriting in the margins. Even the ones where you drew stupid doodles during boring meetings."
Milk remembers those notes, remembers how they used to work together late into the night, how Love would fall asleep with her head on Milk's shoulder while Milk kept typing. She remembers the way Love would absently play with her hair while they discussed methodology, how natural it all felt.
"Why?"
"Because they were the only part of you I had left," Love says simply. "And because some of your ideas were brilliant, and I wasn't ready to let go of them any more than I was ready to let go of you."
"Did you use them? In your fellowship research?"
Love nods. "With proper attribution, of course. I may be an emotional coward, but I'm not academically dishonest."
Despite everything, Milk laughs. "Good to know you have some principles."
"I have lots of principles. I'm just bad at following them when it comes to you."
There's something in Love's voice that makes Milk look up, catches something vulnerable in her expression.
"What does that mean?"
"It means," Love says, meeting her eyes, "that every principle I have says I should leave you alone. That I should let you move on with your life and not drag you back into my mess. That I should be professional and distant and respectful of the fact that I gave up the right to want things from you four years ago."
"And?"
"And I can't seem to follow those principles any more now than I could four years ago."
Milk's heart is beating too fast, the cafeteria noise fading into background as she focuses on Love's face, on the hope and fear warring in her expression.
"What are you saying, Love?"
"I'm saying that seeing you again, working with you again, even for twenty minutes, reminded me of everything I gave up. And I know I don't have the right to ask, and I know you probably hate me, but-"
"I don't hate you."
"You should."
"Maybe. But I don't."
Love takes a shaky breath. "I'm saying that if there's any chance, any possibility that you might be willing to try again, I want to take it. I want to fight for us the way I should have four years ago."
Milk stares at her, heart pounding. This is what she wanted to hear four years ago, what she dreamed Love might say if she ever came back. But now that it's happening, she's terrified.
"Love."
"I know it's a lot to ask," Love continues quickly. "I know I hurt you, and I know I have to earn your trust back. I'm not asking for everything to go back to the way it was. I'm just asking for a chance to prove that I learned something in the last four years."
"And what did you learn?"
"That being afraid of losing you wasn't worth actually losing you. That my career isn't worth anything if I don't have someone to share it with. That I'd rather risk everything with you than risk nothing without you."
It's a good answer, maybe even the right answer. But Milk has spent four years protecting herself from exactly this moment, and those defenses don't come down easily.
"I need to think," she says finally.
Love nods, trying to hide her disappointment. "Of course. Take all the time you need."
"But Love?"
"Yeah?"
"Ask me again tomorrow."
Love's smile is brilliant, hope lighting up her face. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. Ask me again tomorrow, and maybe I'll be ready to say yes."
2:30 PM - Orthopedic Surgery Wing
Milk finds Piploy between surgeries, reviewing X-rays in the small conference room that doubles as a break room for the orthopedic team.
"How did it go?" Piploy asks without looking up from the films showing what appears to be a very creative fracture pattern.
"She wants to try again."
"And?"
"And I told her to ask me again tomorrow."
Piploy finally looks up, eyebrows raised. "That's very diplomatic of you."
"It's very terrified of me," Milk corrects, sinking into one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs. "She said all the right things, Piploy. Everything I wanted to hear four years ago."
"But?"
"But it's been four years. I'm not the same person I was when she left. I don't know if what we had can just be picked up where we left off."
Piploy sets down the X-rays, giving Milk her full attention. "Do you want it to be picked up where you left off?"
"I want..." Milk trails off, trying to figure out how to articulate the mess of feelings in her chest. "I want to not be afraid of her anymore."
"Are you afraid of her, or are you afraid of yourself?"
It's an uncomfortably perceptive question, the kind that makes Milk remember why she and Piploy became such good friends. Piploy has a talent for cutting through bullshit and getting to the heart of things.
"Both," Milk admits. "I'm afraid she'll leave again, and I'm afraid I'll let her."
"And what does your gut tell you?"
"That she's different now. That whatever scared her four years ago, she's figured out how to deal with it."
"And what else?"
"That I still love her," Milk says quietly. "Which is the most terrifying part of all."
Piploy nods knowingly. "Love is always terrifying. If it's not terrifying, it's not worth having."
"That's very philosophical for someone who's been avoiding relationships for the past three years."
"I'm avoiding relationships because I'm smart enough to know they're terrifying," Piploy says with a grin. "You're brave enough to dive in anyway."
"Or stupid enough."
"Same thing, really."
Milk's pager beeps, indicating another emergency in the ED. She stands, then pauses at the door.
"What would you do, if you were me?"
Piploy considers this, then shrugs. "I'd probably run away and change my name. But you're not me, and running away isn't really your style."
"What is my style?"
"Jumping in with both feet and dealing with the consequences later. It's why you're good at emergency medicine and terrible at casual dating."
"Thanks for the pep talk," Milk says dryly.
"Anytime. But Milk?"
"Yeah?"
"Whatever you decide, make sure it's what you actually want, not what you think you should want or what's safest. You've spent four years playing it safe. How's that working out for you?"
8:45 PM - Milk's Apartment
Milk's apartment is exactly the kind of place someone lives when they're too busy to think much about decorating but have enough money to buy nice things impulsively. There's a gorgeous couch she never sits on, expensive kitchen equipment she rarely uses, and art on the walls that she bought because she liked it in the moment but doesn't really remember purchasing.
She's sitting on her actually comfortable chair, the one that doesn't match anything else, with takeout containers scattered around her and her laptop open to research she's not really reading. Instead, she's thinking about Love's hands as she manipulated the ultrasound probe, the way she moved with confident precision, the way she used to trace patterns on Milk's skin with those same hands.
Her phone buzzes with a text from Namtan.
Namtan: Heard through the grapevine that you and Love had a heart-to-heart today. Pun intended.
Milk sighs. Hospital gossip moves faster than bad news and spreads wider than good coffee.
Milk: Who told you?
Namtan: Film saw you in the cafeteria. She said you looked like you were having a serious conversation.
Milk: We were discussing a patient case.
Namtan: For an hour and a half?
Milk: It was a complicated case.
Namtan: Uh-huh. Want to talk about it?
Milk considers this. Namtan and Film had been the closest thing to relationship goals during residency, managing to navigate the stress and long hours while maintaining their sanity and their connection. If anyone would have useful advice, it would be Namtan.
Milk: Can I call you?
Her phone rings immediately.
"Okay," Namtan says without preamble, "tell me everything."
So Milk does. She tells Namtan about the case, about Love's apology, about the lunch conversation and the question that's now hanging over both their heads. Namtan listens without interrupting, making small sounds of understanding and sympathy at appropriate moments.
"So she wants to try again," Namtan says when Milk finishes.
"She wants to try again."
"And you told her to ask you tomorrow."
"I told her to ask me tomorrow."
"Smart. Gives you time to think."
"Except I've been thinking for hours and I'm not any closer to an answer."
"What's holding you back?"
Milk considers this. "Fear, mostly. And pride. And the fact that I've built a life that doesn't include her, and I don't know if I want to tear it down and start over."
"Do you have to tear it down and start over?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, maybe the question isn't whether you want to go back to what you had four years ago. Maybe the question is whether you want to build something new with the people you are now."
It's a perspective Milk hasn't considered, and she finds herself turning it over in her mind.
"She kept our research notes," Milk says.
"That's sweet."
"She said they were the only part of me she had left."
"That's heartbreaking."
"She asked why I never called."
"What did you tell her?"
"That she broke up with me. That she made her choice."
"And what did she say to that?"
"That she was hoping I would fight for us."
Namtan is quiet for a moment. "Do you think she's right? That you should have fought?"
"I think," Milk says slowly, "that I was too hurt to fight. And too proud. And maybe too scared that if I fought and lost, it would hurt worse than just accepting it."
"And now?"
"Now I'm older and supposedly wiser, and I still don't know if I'm brave enough to risk it again."
"But you're thinking about it."
"I'm thinking about it."
"That's something, at least."
They talk for another half hour, mostly about other things, Film's latest photography project, Namtan's students, the usual gossip from their respective departments. But as they're saying goodbye, Namtan returns to the subject.
"You know," she says, "Film and I almost broke up during our fourth year."
"What? I never knew that."
"Because we didn't tell anyone. We were fighting constantly, barely speaking to each other. I was convinced we were too different, that we wanted different things."
"What changed?"
"We realized we were both scared of the same thing, that we'd outgrow each other, that residency would change us too much. So we decided to change together instead of apart."
"And that worked?"
"It's still working. We're different people than we were in residency, but we're different together. That makes all the difference."
After they hang up, Milk sits in her quiet apartment, thinking about change and fear and the difference between growing apart and growing together. She thinks about the way she and Love worked together in the ER, how natural it felt despite four years of separation. She thinks about Love's hands, Love's voice, the vulnerability in Love's eyes when she admitted she'd made a mistake.
Her phone buzzes again, this time with a text from Love.
Love: Thank you for today. For listening, for giving me a chance to explain. Whatever you decide tomorrow, I'm grateful.
Milk stares at the message for a long time before responding.
Milk: Thank you for being brave enough to try.
It's not an answer, not yet. But it's a start.
11:30 AM - The Next Day - Love's Office
Love is reviewing surgical notes when Milk appears in her doorway, looking nervous but determined.
"Is now a good time?" Milk asks.
Love's heart jumps, but she tries to keep her voice steady. "Of course. Come in."
Milk closes the door behind her and takes the same seat she occupied yesterday, but her posture is different now, less defensive, more open.
"I've been thinking," Milk begins.
"And?"
"And I think you were right about one thing. I should have fought for us four years ago. Not because it was my job to change your mind, but because that's what you do when you love someone. You fight for them."
Love nods, not trusting herself to speak.
"But I also think you were wrong about something," Milk continues. "You said you were hoping I would fight for us, but the truth is, you didn't give me anything to fight for. You made the decision unilaterally and presented it as final. How was I supposed to fight that?"
It's a fair point, and Love knows it. "You're right. I didn't give you a chance to fight. I was too scared of what might happen if you did."
"So here's what I think," Milk says, leaning forward slightly. "I think we were both scared four years ago, and we both handled it badly. You ran away, and I let you go. We both made mistakes."
"Okay," Love says carefully, not sure where this is heading.
"And I think if we're going to try this again, we need to start from that place. Not from pretending the last four years didn't happen, not from trying to recreate what we had before, but from acknowledging that we both fucked up and we both learned things."
Love feels a spark of hope. "Are you saying you want to try again?"
"I'm saying I want to try something new. With you, but different. Better."
"What would that look like?"
Milk smiles, and it's the first genuinely warm smile Love has seen from her since she came back.
"I think it would look like two people who know what they want and aren't afraid to fight for it. I think it would look like honest conversations about scary things. I think it would look like building something together instead of trying to protect ourselves from each other."
Love nods, feeling tears threaten. "I would like that very much."
"Good," Milk says, standing up. "In that case, I have a proposition for you."
"Yeah?"
"Have dinner with me tonight. Not as colleagues, not as friends, not as the people we used to be. Just as Milk and Love, figuring out who we are now."
"Is this you asking me on a first date?"
"This is me asking you on a first date," Milk confirms. "What do you say?"
Love's smile is radiant. "I say yes. Definitely yes."
"Good. Seven o'clock, that little restaurant place on Sukhumvit Road. The one we used to talk about going to but never did."