Everything romantic or sexual will involve adults only. I will always decide what I am personally comfortable writing, but you are welcome to send nearly any idea for consideration.
I’m a writer from San Francisco,, with an obsessive brain and an extremely overactive imagination.{aka ocD + autism}
Basically, once my brain locks onto a woman, a pairing, or one painfully specific scenario, I have no choice but to write about it. One little thought becomes an entire relationship, a complicated backstory, seventeen arguments, three jealousy scenes, and a fully developed cinematic universe before I even realize what happened.
This blog is mostly dedicated to WLW fanfiction, celebrity crushes, niche pairings, original characters, and the scenarios I cannot stop replaying in my head.
Please, please, please send requests. 🥹 The more specific, dramatic, strange, romantic, or unreasonably detailed, the better. You can send full ideas, tiny prompts, dialogue lines, alternate universes, songs, pictures, tropes, or just the name of a woman and a general feeling.
What I'm open to writing:
♡ friends to lovers
♡ rivals to lovers
♡ enemies to lovers
♡ celebrity x reader
♡ athlete x reader
♡ singer x singer
♡ secret relationships
♡ fake dating
♡ forbidden romance
♡ age gaps between consenting adults
♡ slow burns
♡ mutual pining
♡ obsessive yearning
♡ jealousy and possessiveness
♡ protective girlfriends
♡ bratty behavior
♡ praise
♡ teasing
♡ begging
♡ power dynamics
♡ soft dominance
♡ service-oriented dynamics
♡ overstimulation
♡ edging
♡ strap-on content
♡ toys
♡ mirrors
♡ marking
♡ biting
♡ lap sitting
♡ phone situations
♡ backstage encounters
♡ dressing-room encounters
♡ arguments that turn into confessions {I know I'm not the only one who yearns for a pride and prejudice moment}
♡ exes who never properly got over each other
♡ “we’re just friends” -NOT
♡ older women who think they know better
♡ younger women determined to prove them wrong
♡ women behaving terribly because they are in love
synopsis: Distance forces Solana and Miko to learn each other without the help of cameras, crowds, or carefully timed appearances. While Miko moves through Europe on tour and Sol locks herself inside a Los Angeles studio trying to finish her debut album, their relationship settles into something quieter late-night calls, food deliveries, unfinished songs, and the uncomfortable realization that they have become each other’s safest place. Unfortunately, peace has never lasted particularly long around them.
warnings: age gap between adults, family tension, emotional vulnerability, suggestive dialogue, language.
Previous chapter : link
after London, Solana Williams had written twenty-nine songs and hated twenty-four of them.
This was progress.
At least, that was what her producer kept telling her.
The studio in Los Angeles had become more familiar than her apartment. She knew which floorboard creaked beside the vocal booth, which lamp flickered if somebody turned the brightness too low, and exactly how long the small refrigerator took to cool a fresh case of water after one of the assistants restocked it. A cream-colored couch occupied the back wall beneath several framed records belonging to artists who had worked there before her, but Solana rarely used it for anything except piling jackets, lyric notebooks, food containers, and whatever bag she had carried in that morning.
She had arrived shortly after ten. It was now past midnight.
The same eight bars had been looping for forty-three minutes. Sol sat with one leg folded beneath herself in the producer’s chair, hood pulled over her curls and a pencil trapped between her teeth while she stared at the lyric sheet in front of her. The demo playing through the speakers was slower than most of her EP, built around warm guitar, soft percussion, and a bass line that made the song feel more intimate than she had intended when they began.
Her voice entered on the second verse. Not the final vocal. Just a guide. Still, every time she heard the line, irritation moved across her face.
You call from cities I can’t pronounce / say my name like you live in my mouth—
Sol reached toward the keyboard and stopped the track. Her producer, Andre, looked toward her from the opposite side of the console. “Again?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I hate that line.”
“You loved it two hours ago.”
“I was younger then.”
“You were twenty.”
“I’ve grown.”
Andre stared.
Sol removed the pencil from her mouth. “It’s corny.”
“It’s good.”
“It sounds like I’m writing somebody’s Wattpad.”{lol}
“It sounds like you’re attracted to somebody.”
“Same thing.”
He turned slowly toward her. “Do you want me to pretend we don’t know who this is about?”
Sol’s expression flattened. { ummm yeas }
Andre had enough experience working with artists to understand when he had found the edge of a conversation and should probably stop. Unfortunately, he had also spent three consecutive weeks watching Solana write songs about the same person while insisting she was experimenting with fictional perspectives.
He gestured toward the lyric sheet. “You used the phrase ‘nombre legal’ in the bridge.”
“It’s a concept.”
“You wrote, ‘Sayin her name and watch her forget what she came here to say.’”
Sol stared at him.
Andre lifted both hands. “Concept.”
“Thank you.”
He looked toward the screen again. “We keeping the line?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t like it.”
“You don’t like that it’s obvious.”
“That too.”
Andre clicked the track back to the beginning.
Sol leaned into the chair and listened.
She had spent most of the past month trying to avoid writing about Miko.
This had resulted in almost everything sounding like Miko.
Songs about distance became songs about tour buses, hotel rooms and time zones. Songs about attraction became arguments disguised as melodies. A track she originally intended to make playful had somehow become three minutes and twelve seconds about wanting somebody to tell her what to do just so she could enjoy disobeying them.
That one had gone into a password-protected folder.
Nobody needed it.
Especially not Miko.
Solana’s phone rested beside the mixing board.
It had not moved for almost twenty minutes.
She had still checked it six times.
There was a seven-hour difference between Los Angeles and most of Miko’s current European stops, although the exact number changed often enough that Sol had begun keeping a second clock widget on her home screen. Miko was somewhere between Amsterdam and Copenhagen tonight. Sol knew that because she had received a photograph from inside a van earlier that afternoon showing Mauro asleep against a window with his mouth open.
Miko’s caption had been:
MIKO: tour glamorous.
Sol had saved it. She denied doing this whenever asked. A new notification appeared. Sol reached for the phone immediately.
Andre saw.“Concept?”
She flipped him off without looking away from the screen.
Miko had sent a photograph of a paper cup sitting beside an open notebook. The corner of a hotel bed appeared behind it, along with part of a black hoodie and what looked like Miko’s bare knee.
MIKO: awake?
Sol glanced toward the clock.
12:18 a.m. in Los Angeles.
7:18 a.m. for Miko.
SOL: why are YOU awake
The reply came quickly.
MIKO: leaving hotel.
SOL: did you sleep?
There was a pause.
Sol smiled because she already knew the answer.
MIKO: some.
SOL: María Victoria.
MIKO: don’t start.
SOL: how many hours?
MIKO: enough.
SOL: number.
MIKO: bossy.
Sol sat straighter.
SOL: funny coming from you.
MIKO: 4.
Sol stared at the message.
Then typed:
SOL: go back to bed.
MIKO: moving hotels.
SOL: sleep in the car.
MIKO: I have an interview.
SOL: sleep during that.
MIKO: genius.
SOL: thank you.
Another message appeared.
MIKO: what are you doing up?
Sol looked around at the studio.
The lyric sheet.
The half-empty coffee.
Andre pretending not to listen.
SOL: finishing the album.
MIKO: you said that yesterday.
SOL: I’m finishing it more today.
MIKO: did you eat?
Sol sighed.
Andre looked over.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He pointed toward the phone. “She asked whether you ate.”
Sol stared.
Andre smiled. “You make a face every time she asks.”
“Mind your business.”
Sol returned to the message.
SOL: yes.
Miko answered immediately.
MIKO: lie.
Sol frowned.
SOL: how would you know
MIKO: because you answered too fast.
SOL: that doesn’t prove anything.
MIKO: what did you eat?
Sol looked toward the table behind her.
There was an open bag of gummy bears.
That counted emotionally.
SOL: food.
The FaceTime call arrived almost instantly.
Sol stared at the screen.
Andre began laughing.
“Don’t.”
“Answer it.”
“She’s annoying.”
“You’re smiling.”
“I’m not.”
She answered.
Miko appeared wearing a black cap pulled over her short dark-brown hair, an oversized gray sweatshirt, and the expression of someone who had been awake for far too long but had decided to make it everybody else’s problem. The camera shook slightly as she walked through what looked like a hotel hallway.
Sol looked offended. “Good morning to you too.”
“What did you eat?”
“I said food.”
“Turn the camera.”
“No.”
Miko stopped walking.
Even through the screen, Sol recognized the look.
“Solana.”
Andre leaned toward the microphone and whispered, “Uh-oh.”
Sol glared at him before turning the phone toward the studio table.
Miko saw the gummy bears.
A coffee.
Half of a cold order of fries from several hours earlier.
Her mouth tightened.
“That’s not food.”
“Fries are literally potatoes.”
“You have rehearsal tomorrow?”
“Studio.”
“What time?”
“Ten.”
“And it’s midnight.”
Sol turned the phone back toward herself. “Do you call me because you miss me or because you enjoy giving instructions?”
Miko’s expression softened slightly.
“Both.”
That answer still worked on her.
It was irritating.
Sol pulled the hood farther around her face. “Go do your interview.”
“Eat.”
“You sleep.”
“Deal.”
“You first.”
“Impossible. I’m seven hours ahead.”
“That’s not how time works.”
Miko laughed as she pushed through another door. The sound changed as she entered what appeared to be a hotel lobby, voices and rolling luggage filling the background.
Sol watched her for a moment.
Tour had changed the shape of Miko’s exhaustion. It was not the dramatic kind that made somebody complain. It was smaller. Darker circles beneath the eyes. Less patience for people who asked stupid questions. A slight roughness in her voice during early calls. The way she sometimes disappeared from conversations for several minutes because she had fallen asleep holding her phone.
Sol had begun noticing all of it.
She hated that she could do nothing about most of it from Los Angeles.
“Text me when you’re done,” she said.
Miko looked into the camera. “You going to sleep?”
“No.”
“Sol.”
“I have work.”
“So do I.”
“And?”
Miko’s eyes narrowed.
Sol smiled.
There they were again.
Themselves.
Distance had not removed the competition. It had simply made it less public.
“I’ll call later,” Miko said.
“If I answer.”
“You will.”
“Confidence.”
“Experience.”
Sol rolled her eyes.
Miko smiled.
“Eat something real.”
“Sleep somewhere real.”
“Deal.”
The call ended.
Andre looked toward her.
Sol looked toward him.
He turned back to the computer.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to.”
“I value my life.”
Sol leaned back in her chair.
The room felt quieter after Miko disappeared from the screen. She hated that too.
two months of distance had taught Solana that she missed people in strange ways.
She did not miss Miko dramatically. There were no sad playlists or long nights staring through windows thinking about absence. She did not sit in restaurants wishing Miko occupied the chair beside her.
Instead, she missed small things .
She missed having somebody steal food from her plate and then accuse her of stealing. She missed the little crease that appeared between Miko’s eyebrows when she was pretending not to worry. She missed the weight of an arm around her waist. She missed arguing with somebody who could keep up without turning every disagreement into an actual fight.
She missed touch.
That was the most difficult part.
Sol had always been physical with people she loved. She hugged her friends, leaned against them, stole blankets, rested her feet in their laps and treated personal space more like a suggestion than a boundary. With Miko, that instinct had nowhere to go.
They could talk for three hours. It did not replace a hand against hers beneath a dinner table. Andre restarted the song.
Sol listened to the first verse. Then the second.
When the line she hated arrived again, she did not stop it.
You call from cities I can’t pronounce / say my name like you live in my mouth—
She closed her eyes.
“Keep it,” she said.
Andre smiled without looking over.
“Concept?”
“Shut up.”
Miko fell asleep during the interview.
Not literally.
Close enough that Mariana noticed.
They had reached Copenhagen before noon, completed radio, press photos and a short promotional segment before heading toward soundcheck. Miko sat in the back of the van with sunglasses covering half her face, one earbud in and a notebook resting against her thigh.
She had been writing the same four lines for almost an hour.
Mauro looked over from the opposite seat.
“You’re doing it again.”
Miko did not lift her head. “Doing what?”
“Writing about her.”
Miko stopped moving.
Mariana laughed from beside the window.
Miko looked up. “What does that mean?”
Mauro gestured toward the notebook. “You keep using heat, gold, sun. That girl has colonized your vocabulary.”
“That’s dramatic.”
“You wrote ‘El sol radiante hace que se derrita sobre mí; caliéntame, comparte ese calor del verano.’”{The radiant sun makes it melt over me; warm me up, share that summer heat.}
Miko closed the notebook.
Mauro leaned back.
“Falling.”
“Shut up.”
“You’re falling.”
“I like her.”
“That is usually how it begins.”
Miko looked toward the window.
She had admitted it to Sol at Heathrow.
That should have made the entire situation simpler.
Instead, saying it aloud had made Miko more aware of everything she did afterward.
The morning texts. The calls. Checking what time it was in Los Angeles before sending something. Watching Sol’s stories twice when she posted herself in the studio. Ordering food to the studio after realizing Sol had skipped dinner three nights in a row. That one had created an argument.
Sol called furious because a delivery driver arrived with sushi, soup, fruit, tea, and a note that read:
eat before I tell Simone. — M
Sol threatened to block her. Then ate everything.The next morning, Miko arrived at her hotel to find a box from a pharmacy waiting at reception containing throat lozenges, tea, electrolyte packets and a portable humidifier.
The note said:
you sound like sandpaper. fix it. — S
Miko used every item.
Neither called this romance. It was logistics. That was the lie they had settled on. Mauro reached across the van and stole the notebook.
Miko lunged.
“Give me that.”
He held it away.
“What’s the song called?”
“It doesn’t have a name.”
“‘Va demasiado rápido; ella está asustada.? ‘azúcar moreno en la lengua ’? ‘Domador de zorras?’”{“‘It’s moving too fast; she’s scared.’ ‘Brown sugar on the tongue’? ‘Vixen tamer’?”}
“Give it back.”
Mariana took the notebook from him before Miko could climb across the seat.
“I think ‘Brat’ is subtle.”
Miko looked between both of them.
“Why do I surround myself with people who hate me?”
“Because Sol is in Los Angeles,” Mauro said.
Miko stared.
He smiled.
“See?”
Sol went live by accident.
At least, that was how she explained it afterward.
In reality, she had been sitting in the studio at nine-thirty on a Thursday night with nothing productive happening. Andre was editing vocals. Bella had stopped by with food and then fallen asleep on the couch. Chase had been sending increasingly aggressive messages demanding a snippet of the album.
Sol had ignored all of them.
Then boredom won.
She opened Instagram Live.
Within two minutes, seventy thousand people joined.
“Why are there so many of you awake?” Sol asked, turning the phone toward the studio. “Get jobs.”
The comments moved too quickly to read.
She caught occasional phrases.
ALBUM WHEN
SOLKO UPDATE PLEASE
PLAY THE sucia SONG
Sol’s face changed.
“How the fuck do y’all know about that?”
Andre slowly looked toward her.
Sol pointed. “You.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Somebody said sucia song.”
Andre laughed.
Bella woke on the couch. “What?”
“The internet has spies.”
Sol continued answering questions, mostly about music. She played ten seconds of one unfinished track, refused to confirm the title of another, and spent several minutes arguing with fans who claimed her EP’s best song was the one she liked least.
Then the comments changed.
The sun emojis appeared first.
Then:
MIKO IS HERE
MIKOOOOO
SOL LOOK
Sol saw the verified name.
youngmiko: working hard or pretending?
Sol’s mouth tightened.
“Oh.”
Bella sat upright.
Sol leaned closer to the screen.
“Miko is apparently unemployed tonight.”
A comment appeared.
youngmiko: answer FaceTime then.
The chat exploded.
Sol’s eyebrows lifted.
“She thinks she runs shit.”
Another comment.
youngmiko: language.
Sol stared.
Bella covered her mouth.
“You see this?” Sol asked the live. “This is what I deal with.”
The comments moved faster.
youngmiko: add me.
Sol smiled.
“Should I?”
The audience answered for her. Sol waited deliberately. Then accepted the request.
Miko appeared on half the screen from what looked like a backstage dressing room. Her short brown hair was damp from the shower, a white tank visible beneath an open button-down shirt. She looked relaxed in a way Sol rarely saw during tour hours.
Miko smiled.
“Hi.”
Sol stared at the screen. “You could’ve called me.”
Sol shook her head. “No, because y’all are weird.”
Miko smiled slowly.
“You gonna listen?”
Sol looked toward her. The question was public. But something about it belonged to their private language now.
Sol leaned closer.
“Depends what you’re asking.”
Miko’s expression changed slightly. Bella looked between them and whispered, “Oh, Jesus.”
Miko recovered first.
“Go home.”
Sol laughed.
“Absolutely not.”
“You’ve been there twelve hours.”
“I have a deadline.”
“You have tomorrow.”
“I have tonight.”
Miko’s tone softened. “You’re tired.”
That was different.
Sol heard it.
She looked away from the screen.
“Maybe.”
“Go home.”
The comment section had slowed slightly, as if even the audience recognized the shift.
Sol returned her gaze to Miko.
“You first.”
“I’m at work.”
“So am I.”
Miko smiled.
“Two more hours.”
Sol considered it.
“Three.”
“Two.”
“Two and a half.”
“Deal.”
Sol blinked.
“Did we just negotiate?”
“You’re learning.”
“Don’t ruin it.”
The live ended thirty minutes later. Sol left the studio exactly two hours and forty-seven minutes afterward.
Miko texted:
MIKO: cheater.
Sol answered:
SOL: close enough.
The time difference was learned through mistakes. Miko called once at four-thirty in the morning Los Angeles time because she forgot which city she was in and assumed the difference was smaller.
Sol answered with one eye open.
“You better be dying.”
Miko froze on the screen. “Go back to sleep.”
“You called me.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
Miko looked embarrassed.
Sol waited.
“I missed you.”
Sol woke up immediately. Another night, Sol called while Miko was preparing to go onstage.
Miko answered anyway.
She was surrounded by noise, crew members walking behind her while somebody fixed the wire beneath her shirt.
“You’re busy,” Sol said.
“I have ten minutes.”
“I can call later.”
“No.”
Miko sat down.
Sol smiled.
“Hi.”
Miko smiled back.
“Hi.”
They spent nine minutes talking about nothing.
At minute ten, Mariana appeared behind Miko.
“Stage.”
Miko nodded.
Sol said, “Go.”
Miko looked toward the screen.
“Stay up?”
Sol checked the time.
It was nearly two in the morning.
“No.”
Miko raised an eyebrow.
Sol sighed.
“Fine.”
“I’ll call after.”
“You better.”
Miko did.
Sol answered half asleep and listened while Miko talked through the adrenaline of the show. Neither said that quality time mattered more when it was difficult to create. They just did it. The first real problem arrived on a Tuesday.
Sol had been waiting for Miko to call. That sentence alone irritated her.
They had arranged the time earlier because Miko had a rare night without a show and Sol planned to leave the studio early. She ordered dinner, changed into pajamas, and sat on the couch with her phone beside her.
Nine-thirty came.
Then ten.
At ten-fifteen, Sol texted.
SOL: alive?
No answer.
Ten-thirty.
Eleven.
The old irritation began rising.
Not because Miko was late.
Because silence had history now.
Sol knew logically that Miko could be asleep, working, stuck in a meeting, or dealing with any of the thousand things required by tour. Her body did not care about logic. It remembered fourteen days of being left on read after kias.
At eleven-thirty, Sol put the food away. At midnight, she went back to the studio. Miko called at twelve-seventeen. Sol declined it. The phone rang again. She declined. The third time, Andre looked through the glass.
“You gonna answer?”
“No.”
The fourth call came.
Sol answered.
“What?”
Miko appeared from a dark hotel hallway, face tense.
“Why are you at the studio?”
Sol stared.
“That’s what you’re starting with?”
“I called.”
“Three hours late.”
“I know.”
“You could have texted.”
“I know.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
Miko exhaled.
Sol heard the exhaustion.
“I fell asleep.”
The anger stopped moving forward. Miko continued. “I got back from rehearsal, sat down for five minutes and woke up twenty minutes ago. My phone died.”
Sol looked away.
“Oh.”
“I wasn’t ignoring you.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Sol folded one arm across herself. Miko leaned against the hallway wall.
“Look at me.”
Sol almost argued out of instinct. Then didn’t. She looked.
“I’m sorry.”
Simple. No defense. No joke.
Miko rubbed one hand over her face. “I should’ve charged my phone. I should’ve called earlier. But I wasn’t doing that again.”
Sol knew what that meant. Disappear.
“I know.”
“You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t bother you.”
Sol’s voice softened. “It did.”
“I know.”
“I felt stupid.”
“You’re not.”
“I was sitting there waiting.”
Miko’s expression changed.
“I’m sorry.”
Sol believed her.
That mattered.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
Miko studied her.
“You went back to the studio because you were mad?”
“No.”
“Sol.”
“Maybe.”
Miko smiled slightly.
“Go home.”
Sol rolled her eyes.
“Don’t start.”
“Please.”
That word changed everything.
Sol exhaled.
“Fine.”
They stayed on FaceTime while she packed her things.
They were growing to know each other in peaceful ways until
Sol’s father called three days later. Sol almost did not answer. She really should not have .
His name appeared while she was alone in the studio, Andre having left for food and Simone occupied in a meeting across town.
She stared at the screen until the third ring.
Then answered.
“Hi.”
The conversation lasted twelve minutes. Her relationship with her father had never been simple enough to describe as bad. That would have been easier.
He could be funny. Proud when success became impossible to ignore. He sent articles to relatives and told people his daughter was famous. He remembered birthdays inconsistently and apologized with expensive gifts. He asked about music when other people were listening.
Then there were calls like this one. He had seen the festival photographs.
The headlines. Miko’s jacket. The underwear. He did not yell. That made it worse.
He asked whether Solana wanted to be known as an artist or as some cheap whore for another woman.
He said people were talking.
He said she needed to think about the family name. His name
He said she was too young to understand how quickly people could stop respecting a woman. How they could stop respecting him
She tried explaining that half the stories online were exaggerated.
He did not care. He never does
He asked whether she was dating Miko.
Sol did not answer .He did not own the answer .He took the silence as confirmation.
“I just don’t understand why everything with you has to be so public.”
Sol’s mouth went dry.
She knew what he meant.
No Not the fame.
Everything.
The women. The clothes. The way she refused to make herself smaller. The way she loved herself . the Men she didn't date . Her mother that she loved . Her wide nose . Her dark skin . The call ended without a fight. She can't muster the energy ;And that somehow hurts more. Sol sat alone for several minutes. She did not cry. She came close enough to be angry about it.
Then she picked up her phone. Miko was somewhere in Germany. It was the middle of the night there.
Sol called anyway.
Miko answered on the second ring.
The room behind her was dark.
Her voice was rough with sleep.
“Hey.”
Sol opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Miko sat up.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
Miko’s face changed.
Sol hated being known.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“My dad called.”
Miko remained quiet.
That helped.
Sol looked toward the empty studio.
“He saw everything.”
Miko waited.
“He thinks I’m embarrassing myself and whore myself out to you .”
Miko’s jaw tightened.
Sol noticed.
“Don’t get mad.”
“I’m not.”
“You look mad.”
“I’m listening.”
That made Sol’s eyes burn. She laughed quietly because the alternative felt dangerous.
“This is third-date information.”
Miko smiled faintly.
“We can pretend.”
Sol wiped beneath one eye before anything could fall.
“He’s just… complicated.”
“You don’t have to explain.”
“I know.”
Miko pulled the blanket around herself and moved closer to the phone.
Sol stared at the screen.
“I hate that he can still make me feel twelve.”
Miko did not tell her not to feel that way.
She did not turn the conversation into advice.
Instead, she asked, “Do you want me to talk or listen?”
Sol’s throat tightened.
“Listen.”
“Okay.”
So Sol talked.
Not everything.
Enough.
She explained the inconsistency. Loving somebody who made affection feel conditional. Wanting approval she resented needing. How success had changed the relationship because suddenly the same career her father once treated like a phase had become something he wanted to claim pride in.
Miko listened.
Really listened.
No interruptions except to ask if Sol wanted water.
At some point, Sol’s voice cracked.
She stopped talking.
Miko waited.
Sol whispered, “I hate crying.”
“I know.”
“It makes me feel stupid.”
“You’re not stupid.”
“I look ugly.”
“You don’t.”
“You can’t even see me properly.”
“I know your face.”
That broke something.
Sol laughed and cried at the same time.
Miko smiled softly.
“There you are.”
“Shut up.”
“You called me.”
“Unfortunately.”
“You want me to come there?”
Sol looked at her.
Miko was serious.
“You’re in Germany.”
“I know.”
“You have a show.”
“Tomorrow night.”
“You cannot fly across the world because my dad upset me.”
“I can think about it.”
Sol laughed again.
“That’s insane.”
“So is calling me at three in the morning.”
“I forgot the time.”
“You didn’t.”
Sol’s smile became smaller.
“No.”
The truth settled between them. She had called Miko because she wanted Miko.
Not because Miko was awake. Not because Miko had good advice. Because something hurt and Sol’s first instinct had been to reach for her. That realization scared her.
Miko seemed to understand without forcing her to say it.
“You want me to stay on?” she asked.
Sol nodded.
“Yeah.”
Miko stayed.
They did not talk for another twenty minutes.
Sol lay across the studio couch while Miko rested against her hotel pillows, both phones propped at awkward angles.
Eventually, Sol said, “This is definitely third-date information.”
Miko’s eyes were closed.
“I’ll add it to your tab.”
“You still don’t know how many siblings I have.”
“You’re annoying.”
“That’s private.”
“I know what you look like when you cry.”
Sol stared.
Miko opened one eye.
Sol whispered, “That was evil.”
“Truth.”
“You’re never seeing me cry again.”
“Sure.”
Sol smiled.
Two mornings later, Sol arrived at the studio to find flowers covering the mixing desk.
Not roses.
Sunflowers.
Bright yellow heads crowded inside a simple glass vase beside a bag containing breakfast, coffee and a handwritten note.
third date information deserves breakfast.
— M
Sol stood staring long enough for Andre to enter behind her and nearly walk into her back.
“Oh.”
Sol picked up the note.
Andre leaned around her.
“Oh.”
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re about to.”
“That girl is gone for you.”
Sol turned.
“Which one?”
Andre smiled.
“Both.”
Miko received her own package two days later. A new set of custom in-ear monitors. Dark green. Small gold suns being held by scorpions painted near the edges. Mariana watched her open the case backstage.
“From Sol?”
Miko looked at the note.
for when you pretend you can hear after standing next to speakers all night.
don’t lose them.
— S
Mauro leaned over.
“That is intimate.”
“It’s equipment.”
“She had them customized.”
Miko ran one thumb across the small sun.
“Shut up.”
He laughed.
“Falling.”
Miko did not argue this time.
By the beginning of August, their relationship existed in a strange place between public and private.
They interacted online enough to keep fans interested but no longer fed every moment into the machine. Miko commented go home beneath a photograph Sol posted from the studio at three in the morning. Sol replied get off my page.
Miko liked it. Sol posted a clip dancing inside the vocal booth. Miko commented three sun emojis. The Solko account tracked them. Fans made edits. But the most important parts belonged to nobody else. Voice notes sent across time zones. Miko whispering from hotel hallways because everyone else was asleep. Sol sending unfinished demos with strict instructions not to share them. Miko sending melodies recorded into her phone after soundcheck. Sometimes they fell asleep on FaceTime. Sometimes they argued.
Once, Sol got angry because Miko gave an interview and joked that Sol “never listens,” which Sol thought fed the infantilizing conversation online. Instead of letting the irritation build, she called.
Miko apologized.
Actually apologized.
Then made a point during her next interview of saying Sol was one of the most disciplined artists she had met.
Sol watched the clip alone.
Saved it. Did not tell Miko. They were learning.
Slowly. Painfully. But learning.
The song about Miko eventually found a name.
SEVEN HOURS. Sol did not tell anyone why.
The record was not explicitly romantic. It was about distance, insomnia, missed calls, wanting somebody whose day began when yours ended. Andre knew. Simone suspected. Bella knew everything because Sol had no privacy around Bella. Miko had not heard it. Sol planned to keep it that way until the album was finished. That plan lasted until Miko heard twelve seconds during another studio live and immediately texted:
MIKO: who is that about?
Sol smiled.
SOL: nobody.
MIKO: liar.
SOL: concept.
Miko sent a voice note.
“You have been hanging around Andre too much.”
Sol played it twice. The screen between them suddenly felt much smaller.
5.9k wrds
a/n:
okay so I KNOW this chapter was calmer, but I really wanted to let these two actually build something before we start destroying their peace again 😭they have like routines now!!! Like they know each other’s schedules!!!and they send each other food and flowers and little care packages!Also Miko listening instead of immediately trying to fix Sol’s problem with her dad
synopsis: The morning after their festival disaster, Solana wakes up wearing Miko’s jacket, holding her underwear, and somehow agreeing to dinner before she has even made it through breakfast. What is supposed to be a private conversation turns into an accidental first date, an arcade rivalry, borrowed clothes, and an airport drop-off
warnings: age gap between adults, suggestive dialogue, dominant undertones, alcohol references, language.
Previous chapter link
PART 1 Link
Solana stopped.
“How does she know we were bowling?”
“Internet.”
“Of course.”
They reached the hotel shortly after five. Simone was standing outside. Already dressed. Sunglasses on despite the dim morning. Solana’s luggage arranged beside the second vehicle.
The SUV slowed.
Solana looked toward Miko.
“I’m scared.”
“You should be.”
“You’re supposed to support me.”
“I told you to sleep.”
“You kept me out.”
“You were having fun.”
“That argument will not hold up in court.”
The door opened. Simone looked at Solana. Then at the enormous clothes. Then at Miko climbing out behind her. Her face went completely blank.
“That is what you wore to dinner?”
“No.”
“Where is your dress?”
“In the car.”
“You changed clothes?”
“My feet hurt.”
Simone looked toward Miko.
Miko raised both hands. “She was uncomfortable.”
Simone inhaled slowly.
Then exhaled.
“We leave in thirty-five minutes.”
“I know.”
“You need your passport.”
Solana’s face changed.
Simone went completely still.
“You have your passport?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Solana reached for her purse. Nothing. Hoodie pocket. Nothing. Sweatpants. Nothing. Her expression slowly collapsed.
Miko watched.
“What?”
“My passport.”
Simone closed her eyes.
“Oh my God.”
“I had it yesterday.”
“Where?”
“In the hotel.”
“Did you pack it?”
“I thought I did.”
Simone looked toward the building with the expression of somebody calculating whether homicide would delay the flight further.
Miko touched Solana’s arm. “Go check your room.”
Solana turned. “What?”
“Room. Now.”
Something in Miko’s tone eliminated the panic long enough to produce movement. Solana turned immediately and hurried toward the doors. Simone watched her go.
Then slowly looked toward Miko. Miko caught the expression.
“Don’t.”
Simone removed her sunglasses. “You said two words.”
“She knows she’s late.”
“Interesting.”
“Please don’t start.”
Simone slid the glasses back on. “I already have enough problems.”
The passport was beneath Solana’s makeup bag.
At five-forty-three she came running back through the lobby, purse on one shoulder and Miko’s hoodie still swallowing most of her frame.
Simone was already in the car. Miko stood outside the open door.
Solana slowed.
“You coming?”
Miko looked at her. “To the airport?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Solana shrugged.
“Because.”
Miko studied her for a second.
Then climbed inside.
The drive to Heathrow should have been shorter. Morning traffic disagreed.
Simone spent most of it in the front seat making phone calls, rearranging airport assistance and informing somebody with terrifying calm that they were cutting the schedule close.
Solana sat beside Miko in the back.
Neither had much energy left for fighting.
The sky outside changed gradually from gray to pale blue as London passed beyond the windows.
Miko rested one hand on the seat between them.
Solana looked at it.
Then placed hers over it.
Miko turned her palm upward and intertwined their fingers. Neither said anything about that either. For several miles, it was enough. Eventually, Solana looked down at their joined hands. “What happens now?”
Miko turned toward her.
“With us.”
There it was.
The question they had somehow avoided through dinner, bowling, an arcade, and almost an entire night together.
Miko thought about it.
“You go home.”
“Obviously.”
“I tour.”
“I know.”
“We talk.”
Solana’s thumb moved slowly across Miko’s knuckle. “That’s it?”
“For now.”
“You make that sound simple.”
“It could be.”
“Nothing about us has been simple.”
Miko smiled faintly. “That’s because we keep doing stupid shit in public.”
Solana laughed.Then the humor faded.
“You’re not going to disappear again?”
Miko’s expression changed immediately.
“No.”
Solana looked at her long enough to believe it.
“Okay.”
“And you’re not throwing underwear at me every time I answer slowly.”
“That seems restrictive.”
“Sol.”
“I’m kidding.”
“You better be.”
Solana shifted closer by a fraction.
“What if I miss you?”
The question escaped before she could intercept it.
Miko looked at her.
Solana’s pride immediately tried to save her. “Not like—”
“I’ll FaceTime you.”
She stopped.
Miko smiled.
“Okay.”
“And you can come to Puerto Rico.”
“Third date.”
“Still?”
“Yes.”
“You’re exhausting.”
“You like me.”
The statement carried its usual teasing confidence, but when Miko glanced briefly toward Simone and then back toward Solana, the answer did not. “I do.”
Solana went completely still. There was no joke. No smirk. No camera.
Miko simply said it. Solana looked down at their hands because Miko’s face suddenly felt too direct.
“You’re not supposed to say things like that at six in the morning.”
“Why?”
“I’m vulnerable.”
“You asked.”
“I know.”
Miko squeezed her hand.
Solana finally looked back.
“I like you too.”
A smile spread across Miko’s face.
“That sounded painful.”
“Shut up.”
They reached Heathrow with barely enough time. Simone stepped out first and immediately resumed her checklist.
“Passport?”
Solana held it up.
“Phone?”
“Here.”
“Bag?”
“Yes.”
“Shoes?”
Solana looked down.
Miko’s sneakers.
“Technically.”
Simone stared.
Miko started laughing.
Solana climbed from the SUV and pulled the oversized hoodie farther around herself. Compared with the girl who had entered the restaurant the previous evening, she looked ridiculous: curls slightly flattened from sleeping in the car, almost no makeup remaining, borrowed sweatpants, borrowed shoes, borrowed hoodie.
She had never been more comfortable. Miko stepped onto the pavement beside her. For the first time all night, neither seemed to know what to do next.
“So,” Solana said.
“So.”
“I guess I’m leaving.”
“Looks like it.”
“Don’t be annoying.”
“You started.”
Solana smiled.
Miko stepped closer.
Somewhere beyond the private drop-off point, cameras clicked. Not many, but enough to remind both women that privacy had limits. Miko reached up and adjusted the hood where it had folded strangely around Solana’s neck.
“Text me when you land.”
Solana looked down at her. “Was that a request or an order?”
Miko’s mouth curved.
“Which one makes you listen?”
Solana leaned slightly closer.
“Maybe both.”
The smile disappeared from Miko’s face. Her eyes dropped to Solana’s mouth. Solana’s heart sped. This time there was no alcohol. No argument. No bathroom counter. She moved forward. Miko did too.
“WE ARE GOING TO MISS THE PLANE.”
Both women stopped.
Solana closed her eyes.
Miko dropped her forehead briefly against Solana’s shoulder because she was laughing too hard.
“This woman hates romance,” Solana whispered.
“I heard that,” Simone shouted.
Miko lifted her head.
Solana looked at her. “Next time.”
“You keep saying that.”
“You keep stopping me.”
“Maybe I like making you wait.”
Solana stared.
Miko stepped backward before she could retaliate.
“Go.”
Solana began walking toward Simone.
After several steps, she turned.
Miko was still standing beside the SUV.
“What about my dress?”
Miko lifted the garment bag.
“Mine now.”
“You can’t fit it.”
“I’ll keep it safe.”
“That sounds familiar.”
“Go catch your flight.”
Solana smiled.
Then disappeared inside.
The photographs reached the internet before her plane left the ground. One showed Solana arriving at the restaurant in chocolate brown. Another showed Miko entering the same building earlier. A third came from outside the arcade after midnight, with Solana dressed in oversized gray sweats and Miko walking beside her. The final photograph was from Heathrow shortly before six.
An entertainment account assembled the timeline quickly.
SOL WILLIAMS AND YOUNG MIKO SPEND NIGHT TOGETHER IN LONDON AFTER VIRAL FESTIVAL FLIRTATION
The headline was technically accurate.
It was also profoundly misleading.
Another outlet chose:
FROM DINNER TO ARCADE TO AIRPORT: SOLKO’S ALL-NIGHT LONDON DATE
The public reaction was immediate.
FIRST OF ALL THEY WENT BOWLING???
This is a lesbian speedrun. Festival fight, dinner, arcade, swapping clothes, airport goodbye.
Miko putting Sol in her clothes less than 24 hours after the dom discourse is EVIL.
She probably just gave her sweats because the dress was uncomfortable.
THAT IS LITERALLY MORE INTIMATE TO ME.
The Heathrow photos??? Sol looks exhausted 😭
Miko took her to the airport????
She had a car. Calm down.
No.
They still have not kissed publicly and somehow this relationship has eight seasons.
The dominant/submissive discourse returned immediately.
are we really going to pretend miko doesn’t have that girl emotionally on a leash
Can everyone please stop being weird about actual human beings.
Sol spends 90% of the time provoking her and the other 10% doing exactly what Miko told her to do. I’m just observing.
BRAT AND BRAT TAMER.
BDSM allegations temporarily defeated by skeeball.
The biggest photograph showed Solana outside Heathrow in the enormous black hoodie while Miko adjusted the fabric near her neck.
The caption read:
not the walk of shame. the walk of “my girl gave me comfortable clothes because my heels hurt.”
Someone replied:
They are not girlfriends.
The original poster answered:
Give them a week.
At 8:37, three minutes before takeoff, Solana finally saw the articles.
She sat beside Simone in first class with Miko’s hood pulled over her curls while people settled into the surrounding seats.
“Oh, fucking hell.”
Simone did not look up from her phone. “What now?”
“They think I slept with her.”
“Of course they do.”
“We went bowling.”
“That is not a sentence entertainment media finds compelling.”
Solana scrolled farther and found the Heathrow photograph.
Miko’s hand was caught halfway through adjusting the hoodie around Solana’s shoulders. Solana was looking down at her.
She saved it.
Simone noticed.
“You saved that.”
“No.”
“I watched you.”
“I’m evaluating it.”
“You are both terrible liars.”
Solana’s phone vibrated.
MIKO: you made it?
She smiled.
SOL: barely. Simone hates you.
Simone leaned toward the screen. “I do not hate her.”
Solana typed again.
SOL: correction she says she doesn’t hate you which is basically approval.
Miko answered:
MIKO: tell her thank you for not killing you.
Simone read over Solana’s shoulder.
“Tell her I’m reconsidering.”
Solana laughed and passed along the message.
A flight attendant announced that phones needed to switch to airplane mode soon.
Solana looked back at the thread.
SOL: gotta go.
MIKO: sleep.
Solana rolled her eyes despite smiling.
SOL: see there you go again.
MIKO: you’re about to be on a plane for eleven hours. what else are you going to do?
SOL: think about how controlling you are.
The typing bubble appeared.
MIKO: you liked it last night.
Solana stared at the message long enough for heat to rise into her face.
Simone looked over.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That does not look like nothing.”
Solana turned the brightness down.
SOL: don’t get confident.
MIKO: too late.
The flight attendant repeated the announcement.
Solana typed quickly.
SOL: goodnight María Victoria
Miko responded before the signal disappeared.
MIKO: sleep, baby girl. text me when you land.
Solana read the sentence until the plane began rolling away from the gate.
Then she finally put the phone into airplane mode and pulled Miko’s sleeve farther over her hand.
Simone watched her for a moment.
“You know this is going to get complicated.”
Solana looked through the window. “I know.”
“You’re both busy.”
“I know.”
“The public is already way too invested.”
“I know.”
“And neither of you communicates particularly well.”
Solana finally looked over. “That one feels unnecessary.”
“It’s the most important one.”
The plane turned toward the runway.
For once, Solana did not feel desperate to predict what happened next. She and Miko had spent weeks defining themselves through reactions who looked first, who texted last, who won the game, who broke, who cared more, who possessed enough power to make the other respond.
Dinner had been different.
Miko was funny when she was not trying to win. Solana could be quiet around her without feeling like she had surrendered something. They could sit beside each other and talk about albums and Puerto Rico and childhood mistakes while their legs tangled underneath a table. They could hold hands without anybody screaming. They could spend ridiculous amounts of hours at an arcade and discover that neither woman knew how to accept losing.
Solana had liked Miko before.
She was beginning to like María Victoria.
That felt significantly more dangerous.
The plane started accelerating.
Solana rested her head against the window, pulled the hood farther around her face and closed her eyes.
Miko had asked her to text when she landed.
Solana intended to wait at least five minutes before doing it.
She still had standards.
10.4kwrs
a/n:
okayyyy so apparently once these two stop publicly terrorizing each other for five seconds they’re actually… cute??? horrifying development 😭
Sol likes Miko when she’s softer. Miko likes Sol even when she’s difficult. And somehow their first official date involved expensive dinner, dom allegations, bowling, arcade games, borrowed clothes and almost missing an international flight.
very stable beginning to a relationship obviously
OK, and then also a little sidenote I'm writing chapter 12 right now and I still haven't read any smile like yeah they definitely kissed but this is getting like super slow burn and I've never done that before. I like have a problem with wedding characters that I write being in peace so I'm low-key struggling should we do chapter 13 or something close to it?
synopsis: The morning after their festival disaster, Solana wakes up wearing Miko’s jacket, holding her underwear, and somehow agreeing to dinner before she has even made it through breakfast. What is supposed to be a private conversation turns into an accidental first date, an arcade rivalry, borrowed clothes, and an airport drop-off
warnings: age gap between adults, suggestive dialogue, dominant undertones, alcohol references, language.
Previous chapter link
PART 2 Link
By ten-thirty the morning after the festival, the internet had decided that Young Miko and Solana Williams were involved in some kind of BDSM relationship.
Neither woman had kissed.
They had barely survived fifteen minutes alone in a bathroom without doing it, which seemed like an important distinction to Solana. Unfortunately, nobody online appeared interested in distinctions anymore.
The cleanest video from the after-party had been filmed somewhere behind Bella. It began with Solana dancing on top of the booth in that stupid white dress, curls loose around her shoulders and one hand stretched above her head as the skirt floated dangerously around her thighs. Then Miko appeared at the edge of the frame. Even through somebody else’s shaky phone camera, the change in her demeanor was obvious. She had taken one look at the phones aimed toward the table, crossed the room without stopping for anyone, caught the front and back of Solana’s dress in both hands, and helped her down before tying her own jacket around Solana’s waist.
At normal speed, the interaction lasted less than twenty seconds.
Online, it had become anthropology.
Someone slowed the moment Miko leaned close to Solana’s ear. Another account stripped as much music from the clip as possible and claimed Miko had said, You already followed me off the table, baby. Don’t start pretending you don’t listen now.
The audio was terrible. She could have said nearly anything.
That did not stop anyone.
By breakfast, the largest Solko update account had uploaded a seven-minute video titled:
THE DOM/SUB ALLEGATIONS:
The documented history covered approximately three weeks.
Solana discovered it while sitting cross-legged in the middle of her hotel bed with Miko’s jacket spread across her lap. The clean pair of red DO NOT DISTURB underwear she had found in the pocket rested beside her phone like some incriminating piece of evidence. Across the room, Bella had fallen asleep again after stealing half of Solana’s room-service potatoes, her body curled beneath a blanket on the sofa while the television played silently against the wall.
Nara had already flown home after finishing the Fenty commitments. Her final contribution to the situation had been a message sent several hours earlier:
NARA: please stop ending up half naked on my timeline while I’m making breakfast for my children 😭 love you though.
Simone’s message possessed significantly less tenderness.
SIMONE: 11:00. My room.
SIMONE: Do not be late.
SIMONE: And wear pants.
Solana reread the last instruction and looked down at the oversized T-shirt barely reaching the middle of her thighs. “That feels targeted.”
Bella made a sleepy noise from the sofa without opening her eyes. “What?”
“Simone told me to wear pants.”
“Smart woman.”
“I own pants.”
“You also apparently own one less pair of underwear than you did yesterday.”
Solana grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it toward the sofa. Bella caught it against her face before it could knock over the water beside her, and the muffled laughter that followed only made Solana more irritated.
“That was lazy,” Solana said.
Bella pulled the pillow down. “You handed me the material.”
Solana ignored her and returned to the screen.
She should not have watched the club video again. There was no new information to discover; she had been there. She remembered exactly how abruptly the atmosphere changed when Miko reached the table, remembered the hands collecting the airy skirt before it exposed anything else, remembered the command at her ear and the embarrassing speed with which her own body had stopped fighting Miko’s hold. Seeing it from the outside was different.
The camera had caught something Solana could not have seen while it was happening: the precise moment Miko spotted the phones.
Her expression did not change because she was angry about Solana dancing. It changed when she noticed other people recording from angles Solana had not been paying attention to.
Then she moved.
No discussion. No hesitation. No glance toward Mariana or Mauro to see whether somebody else planned to intervene.
Miko simply crossed the room and handled it.
Handled her.
Solana pressed her lips together and immediately scrolled toward the comments before her brain could develop that thought any further.
the way Sol literally STOPPED MOVING when Miko said something to her????
“you’re not my boss” girl okay and then you followed her DIRECTLY to the bathroom
the jacket around her waist is taking me OUT
THE HAND ON THE WAIST???? HELLO????
sol was all mouth until miko actually pulled up
oh we KNOW who’s the top
Y’all are forcing heteronormative dynamics onto two women and it’s weird.
Nobody said man/woman babe we said that Puerto Rican is running the meeting.
the real question is what happened in that bathroom
Security blocked it for like fifteen minutes apparently. FIFTEEN.
Her dress was still on and Miko was sitting across the room when she came back. Please discover shame.
This is obviously promo. Every single second.
If this is promo their publicists deserve Nobel prizes.
The clip of Solana saying, You have them, when Miko demanded to know where her underwear were had twenty-eight million views by itself.
Solana shut off the phone and let it fall facedown against the mattress. “I hate everybody.”
Bella pushed herself upright, the blanket slipping into her lap. Her hair was a mess, one side of her face still creased from the pillow, but she looked far too amused for somebody operating on the same three hours of sleep Solana was. “You okay?”
“I threw my underwear onstage.”
“Yes.”
“I tweeted ‘mommy.’”
“You did.”
“I got onto a table wearing a dress I knew moved too much.”
“Yes.”
Solana slowly covered her face with both hands. “Why the fuck didn’t anybody stop me?”
“We tried.”
“Did nott.”
“Simone literally told you to keep both feet on the floor before we entered the party.”
“That was before I became emotionally compromised.”
“By Miko ignoring you?”
Solana dropped her hands. “By disrespect.”
Bella’s mouth curved. “Same thing.”
Before Solana could defend herself, her phone vibrated against the mattress.
Her body reacted faster than her pride did.
She reached for it immediately.
Bella saw.
“Oh, that’s embarrassing.”
“Shut up.”
The message at the top of the screen came from Ancient Uno Victim, a contact name Solana had considered changing several times but refused to surrender because it still amused her.
MIKO: how long are you in london?
Solana stared at it.
After fourteen days of silence, a public confrontation, one near-kiss, and Miko sending her home wrapped in somebody her jacket, this was apparently how they were beginning the morning.
Bella narrowed her eyes. “Her?”
“No.”
“You were miserable thirty seconds ago and now you look like somebody plugged you into a charger.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
Solana turned the screen farther away from her and typed.
SOL: why?
The typing bubble appeared almost immediately.
MIKO: answer the question.
Solana’s smile came before she could stop it. She hated that she could hear Miko’s voice perfectly in four words, that low certainty she used whenever she had already decided the conversation belonged to her.
SOL: demanding for somebody who just got texting privileges back.
There was a short pause.
Then:
MIKO: Solana.
Her full name.
Solana sat slightly straighter.
“Look at you,” Bella murmured. “She typed one word and your posture changed.”
“Would you go back to sleep?”
“No.”
Solana returned to the conversation.
SOL: my flight leaves tomorrow morning.
Miko took longer this time. The typing bubble appeared, vanished, then returned.
MIKO: what time?
SOL: 8:40.
MIKO: dinner tonight.
Solana reread the message.
There was no question mark.
Of course there wasn’t.
SOL: is that a question?
MIKO: no.
Solana felt the answer somewhere embarrassingly low in her stomach and shifted against the pillows as if changing positions might remove it.
Bella leaned closer. “What did she say?”
“Nothing.”
“You made the face.”
“What face?”
“The bathroom face.”
Solana turned her head slowly. “I don’t have a bathroom face.”
“I watched the video.”
“You need hobbies.”
Another message arrived before Bella could answer.
SOL: what if I have plans?
MIKO: do you?
Solana looked toward the ceiling. She did not. That was irrelevant.
SOL: maybe.
MIKO: cancel them.
Solana stared at the screen with enough concentration that Bella finally climbed off the sofa and joined her on the bed.
“Okay, now what?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m being invited to dinner.”
Bella’s eyebrows rose. “Invited?”
Solana hesitated. “Aggressively.”
The next message changed the energy before Bella could get hold of the phone.
MIKO: we need to talk without a camera in our face.
Solana’s teasing response died beneath her fingers. The bathroom returned immediately—not the almost-kiss first, but the argument before it. Miko admitting she had stopped texting because she could not tell whether Solana actually wanted to know her or simply wanted another reaction. Solana admitting, with far less dignity than she would have preferred, that being ignored had hurt.
They had never really finished that conversation. They had gotten too close, anger had turned into something warmer, and Miko had chosen not to cross the line while they had both been drinking. Afterward, they returned to a club filled with people who had already decided what happened behind the locked door.
Dinner without cameras suddenly sounded less like another game. It sounded necessary. Solana began typing something unusually reasonable.
Then Miko ruined it.
MIKO: wear something pretty.
Solana’s eyebrows rose so sharply that Bella snatched the phone before she could stop her.
“Bella!”
Bella rolled away across the mattress with the phone held against her chest. “No, you hesitated. Hesitation voids privacy.”
“Give it back.”
Bella unlocked the screen before it timed out and read the conversation. Her mouth slowly opened, and when she looked back toward Solana, the delight in her face was unbearable.
“Bitch.”
“What?”
“You have a date.”
“It is dinner.”
“She ordered you to dinner and told you to look pretty.”
“She said we need to talk.”
“Every lesbian on Earth says that before a date because none of y’all know how to ask anyone out normally.”
“It is not a date.”
Bella’s eyes dropped deliberately toward Miko’s jacket. Then to the underwear beside them. Then back to Solana.
“Right.”
Solana took the phone back. “She never used the word date.”
“She also never used the phrase ‘platonic conflict-resolution meal,’ but apparently that’s what you need.”
“That is not a phrase.”
“Exactly.”
Solana’s phone vibrated once more.
SOL: I always look pretty.
Miko’s reply came before Solana had time to regret sending it.
MIKO: I noticed.
Bella read it upside down.
“Oh, you are FUCKED.”
Solana immediately locked the phone. At that exact moment, somebody struck the hotel door hard enough to make both women jump. Simone’s voice carried through the suite.
“Eleven o’clock means eleven o’clock.”
Solana glanced toward the clock.
10:58.
Bella began laughing.
“Shit.”
Simone’s room had become an unofficial command center overnight. Two laptops sat open across the dining table, three phones charged from a nest of cables beside the wall, and screenshots from the festival and after-party occupied almost every available screen. When Solana entered wearing loose sweatpants beneath Miko’s jacket, Simone’s gaze traveled downward, paused on the obviously borrowed garment, and returned to Solana’s face.
“Really?”
Solana glanced down at herself as if she had forgotten what she put on. “What?”
“You own clothes.”
“This is comfortable.”
“It belongs to the reason I slept four hours.”
“That sounds like a scheduling issue.”
Simone pointed toward the chair opposite her. “Sit.” Solana sat. Bella, who had followed her in mostly out of curiosity, began edging toward the doorway. Simone did not even turn around. “You too.”
Bella sighed. “Damn.”She dropped into the chair beside Solana.
For a moment, Simone said nothing. The silence was significantly more frightening than yelling would have been. Then she rotated one of the laptops across the table. The paused image showed Miko reaching toward Solana on top of the table. Solana looked at it, then at Simone.
“I know what happened.”
“I would like to hear you explain it.”
“I was dancing.”
“On a table.”
“It was sturdy.”
“Without underwear.”
“Allegedly.”
“Your underwear had been tied to Young Miko’s microphone stand three hours earlier.”
Bella coughed into one hand, shoulders shaking. Simone ignored her. “Do you understand how many phones were pointed toward you?”
“Yes.”
“No. Because if you understood, you would not have climbed onto furniture wearing a dress that lifted every time somebody breathed near it.”
Solana shifted beneath the reprimand. “Miko covered me.” The moment the words left her mouth, she knew they had not helped. Simone’s expression became almost eerily calm.
“That,” she said, “is not the defense you think it is.”
“I mean nothing happened.”
“I know nothing happened. I spoke to security this morning. I also know that you were drinking, angry, and intentionally trying to provoke somebody whose name is now attached to nearly every public conversation about you.”
Solana’s back straightened. “My career is not attached to Miko.”
“I did not say your career was. I said the conversation is.”
“There’s a difference.”
“I know there is. That is why I’m sitting here trying to protect it.”
The firmness in Solana’s expression faded. Simone closed the laptop and folded her hands across it. “Your performance yesterday was excellent. You had one of the strongest crowd responses of the afternoon. You sang live. The choreography looked fantastic. That unreleased song got exactly the reaction we wanted, and your streaming numbers jumped before you even left the grounds.”
“I know.”
Simone studied her. “Do you?”
Solana frowned.
“Because when I opened entertainment coverage this morning, half the headlines were about your underwear.” The statement hit harder than Solana expected. Simone’s voice softened slightly, but she did not lose the point. “You are allowed to flirt. You are allowed to date. You are allowed to be twenty years old and do stupid things I personally wish you wouldn’t do. I am not asking you to become boring because you’re famous. What I am asking is that you remember how hard you worked to make sure people knew your name for music before they knew it for anything else.” Solana looked down at the long sleeve of Miko’s jacket and pulled the cuff over her hand.
“I didn’t think about it like that.”
“I know you didn’t. That’s why we’re talking instead of me attempting to confiscate your phone.”
“You can’t confiscate my phone.”
“I pay the bill.”
“That’s insane.”
“Your label pays the bill.”
“That is somehow worse.”
Simone’s mouth twitched despite herself. She reopened the laptop and changed the page. This time, the screen displayed statistics instead of gossip articles. Streams. Followers. New listeners. Search volume. The numbers were undeniably good.
“It isn’t all negative,” Simone admitted. “People are finding the music after they find the chaos. But now you need to decide how much of this whatever this is you want everybody else involved in.”
Solana stared at the data. “It isn’t a relationship.”
“What is it?”
Her mouth opened. No answer arrived. Bella leaned closer and whispered, “Acquaintances with boundary issues.”
Solana elbowed her. Simone’s phone vibrated before she could continue. She checked it, answered something quickly, then looked toward Solana again. “I spoke with Mariana this morning Miko's manager .”
Solana’s eyes immediately lifted.
“Why?”
“Because both of you have teams, and after last night it seemed responsible to confirm everyone got home safely.”
“Oh.”
“Miko is fine.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“You were about to.”
Solana rolled her eyes and looked away, which only confirmed Simone’s point.
“You have nothing scheduled tonight,” Simone continued. “We leave for Heathrow at six tomorrow morning. I would strongly encourage you to sleep, pack, and avoid becoming international news for twelve consecutive hours.”
Solana picked at a tiny scratch in the table. “I might be getting dinner.”
Simone’s eyes narrowed. “With whom?”
“Somebody.”
“Solana.”
Bella lasted maybe two seconds. “Miko.”
Solana turned toward her. “You are such a traitor.”
Simone closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose.
“It’s not a date,” Solana said quickly. “She said we need to have dinner and talk.”
Simone opened her eyes. “That somehow sounds worse.”
“She told me to wear something pretty.”
Bella made the same delighted noise she had made upstairs.
Solana glared at her. “You already knew that.”
“It becomes funnier every time.”
Simone stared at Solana for several long seconds. “You think you have a first date.”
“I do not think I have a first date.”
“You arrived here in her jacket, defended your decision-making by telling me she covered you, and now she has instructed you to dress nicely for a private dinner.”
“When you say it like that—”
“Like a date?”
“Like you’re intentionally framing it.”
Simone sighed. “Where are you going?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“What time?”
“She didn’t say.”
“How are you getting there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Wonderful. Excellent planning.”
“She literally asked me twenty minutes ago.”
“When she gives you the details, send them to me. I want the driver information and restaurant address, and I would prefer somewhere with a private entrance after the circus you created yesterday.”
Solana crossed her arms. “I’m twenty.”
“Yes. Which is why you get the exciting adult privilege of being responsible for catching your eight-forty international flight.”
Bella raised her hand slightly. “For what it’s worth, I think this is very romantic.”
Neither woman acknowledged her.
By one that afternoon, Solana had decided she had nothing to wear. This was objectively ridiculous. Her hotel suite contained two garment racks filled with clothing selected for an entire European promotional run. Dresses hung beside trousers, skirts and jackets, while enough shoes were lined along the wall to supply a small boutique.
None of it felt right.
The problem was that Miko had not clarified what kind of dinner they were having. If Solana arrived overdressed for an argument, she would look insane. If this really was a date and she arrived in something casual, she would spend the entire night resenting herself. Asking Miko directly was not an option because Solana had already suffered through admitting that she thought she wanted their previous dinner-that-was-not-yet-a-dinner to be a date in her imagination at least twelve different times.
This was how she ended up shopping in central London with Bella and Chase wearing dark sunglasses and a cap, as though the three of them possessed enough subtlety to disappear into public unnoticed.
They lasted seven minutes.Chase found a long black dress first and held it against Solana’s body. “This one.” Solana examined herself in the nearby mirror. “Too serious.”
“Aren’t you having an emotional summit?”
“It could be a date.”
Bella gasped. “She admitted it.”
“I said could.”
Chase returned the dress to the rack. “Okay. What are we aiming for? Sexy?”
“Yes.”
“Romantic?”
“Maybe.”
“Expensive?”
“Obviously.”
“Like you tried?”
“No.”
Bella nodded solemnly. “So you want something that requires three hours of anxiety to choose but makes it look like you got dressed in fifteen minutes.”
“Exactly.”
“That’s a mentalllllll disease.”
Solana ignored her.
They found the dress near the back of the boutique.
The fabric was deep chocolate brown with a faint bronze sheen whenever it caught the light. It fitted closely across Solana’s chest and waist, followed the curve of her hips without looking overly constructed, and fell long enough to remain elegant while a slit along one side kept it from becoming too formal. Thin straps crossed against an open back. The neckline exposed her collarbones and just enough of her chest to make the simplicity of the dress feel deliberate rather than modest. When Solana stepped out of the fitting room, both women became quiet.
Chase was the first to speak. “That’s a date dress.”
Solana turned toward the mirror. “It’s brown.”
“It is hanging onto your body for survival.”
“It fits.”
Bella stood behind Solana and gently turned her toward the wider mirror. “Buy it.”
Solana examined her reflection. Miko had told her to wear something pretty. She hated how much she wanted Miko to see this.
“Fine.”
While the dress was being packaged, one customer near the front window lifted a phone. Another followed. Bella noticed before Solana did and immediately directed everyone toward the side exit. They escaped without being surrounded. Photographs still appeared within half an hour.
SOL WILLIAMS SPOTTED DRESS SHOPPING IN LONDON
The first reply read:
DATE OUTFIT DATE OUTFIT DATE OUTFIT
Another person tried to introduce reason.
She could literally just be shopping.
Someone responded:
Not anymore she can’t. Context has been invented.
Solana screenshotted the post and sent it to Miko.
SOL: look what you did.
Seven minutes passed.
MIKO: I didn’t tell you to go shopping.
SOL: you said wear something pretty.
MIKO: you needed to buy something new for that?
Solana stopped walking so abruptly that Bella nearly crashed into her.
She stared at the screen.
SOL: excuse me?
Miko’s reply came moments later.
MIKO: you already looked pretty.
Solana read it twice. Then a third time.
Chase leaned over her shoulder. “Oh, she got you.”
“Shut up.”
Bella looked between them. “What happened?”
Solana locked the phone and resumed walking. “Nothing.”
“You’re smiling again.”
“I hate both of you.”
Miko chose the restaurant. Of course she did. It occupied a discreet corner of a Mayfair hotel, the kind of place with a side entrance specifically designed for guests who did not want to walk through a lobby. A private dining room had been reserved under somebody else’s name, and by seven-thirty Solana was sitting in the back of an SUV staring at the entrance while her confidence rapidly abandoned her. Simone had inspected the dress beforehand and approved it with the expression of a woman regretting every professional decision that led her here. Bella had taken forty-three photographs. Chase had texted don’t fight until after appetizers. Nara had sent:
NARA: gorgeous. please eat actual food and don’t let that woman keep you out all night because I know you.
Solana stepped out of the SUV. Miko was already waiting inside. That annoyed her immediately because being early meant Miko had one more thing to feel smug about.
She stood near the private bar wearing a charcoal suit with the jacket open over a black shirt. Her short dark-brown hair was styled loosely tonight, no extensions or performance ponytail, just soft pieces moving near her forehead whenever she turned. Without an arena behind her and a mic in her hand, she looked less like the version of Young Miko Solana had watched from a barricade and more like María Victoria.
Miko heard the door and turned. Her eyes went directly to Solana. Then down.
The assessment was fast but nowhere near fast enough to hide.
Solana stopped a few feet away. “Hi.”
Miko’s eyes returned to her face. “You bought that?”
“You literally saw the photos.”
“Worth it.”
Solana’s mouth threatened to smile. “That was almost a compliment.”
“It was a compliment.”
“I’m proud of you.”
Miko crossed the remaining distance and leaned in to kiss Solana’s cheek. The greeting was ordinary. That was why it caught her so off guard. There was no screaming crowd, no joke being made for an interviewer, no camera waiting for an angle. Just the brief warmth of Miko’s lips against her cheek and one hand resting lightly near Solana’s arm while she did it.
When Miko pulled away, Solana had apparently failed to arrange her expression quickly enough.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“You froze.”
“I did not.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t start.”
Miko smiled and offered her hand. Solana looked down at it. For the smallest moment, Miko seemed to interpret the hesitation as rejection and began pulling away.
Solana caught her fingers before she could. Neither woman commented on that.
Miko simply curled her hand around Solana’s and guided her farther inside.
The private room was smaller than Solana expected, which made it feel more intimate than some enormous celebrity dining space would have. A round table stood near tall windows overlooking a quiet courtyard. Low lamps and candles provided most of the light, warming the wood-paneled walls and making the outside city feel strangely distant.
No cameras waited near the doorway. No chat scrolled behind anybody’s head. Nobody had a phone pointed at them. For the first time since they properly met, Solana could hear herself think while sitting beside Miko. She realized almost immediately that this might be more dangerous than an audience.
Miko pulled out her chair.
Solana glanced at her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Sit.”
There it was. That tone.
Solana sat before she could overthink how quickly she responded, and Miko took the chair beside her instead of the one across the table.
Solana watched her settle in.
“That is weird.”
Miko unfolded the menu. “What?”
“You’re sitting next to me.”
“You want me over there?”
Solana looked toward the empty chair across from them.
Then back at Miko.
“No.”
“Okay.”
Apparently, that settled it. For the first several minutes, neither woman quite knew how to act. A menu gave Solana somewhere to look. Miko had one too, but neither appeared to be reading anything. The quiet stretched just long enough to become funny before Miko finally glanced sideways.
“So.”
Solana kept her eyes on the menu. “So.”
“You’re leaving tomorrow.”
“At eight-forty.”
“I know.”
“You asked me.”
“I remember.”
Solana lowered the menu.
There was no point dragging it out.
“Is this a date?”
Miko looked at her.
Solana refused to soften the question into a joke. Miko placed her menu down slowly. “Do you want it to be?”
“That is such an annoying answer.”
“It’s a question.”
“I asked first.”
“Because you want me to define it.”
“Because you invited me to dinner.”
“I did.”
“And told me to wear something pretty.”
Miko leaned back slightly. “You always look pretty.”
Every instinct she had built over the previous few weeks encouraged it. Joke. Deflect. Force Miko to admit more first.
But this was the entire point of dinner.
No cameras.
No games.
“I think so.”
The satisfaction disappeared from Miko’s expression, replaced by something quieter.
“Okay.”
Solana narrowed her eyes. “Okay what?”
“It’s a date.”
The answer made Solana suddenly fascinated by her menu again.
A low laugh came from beside her.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re doing that thing with your face.”
“What thing?”
“You look satisfied.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
“Because you admitted something first.”
Solana kicked her gently beneath the table.
Miko caught Solana’s ankle between her feet before she could withdraw it.Solana turned her head. Miko calmly reopened the menu. Her foot stayed there. That was how their first date began.
They ordered too much food because Miko insisted they should try several things, and Solana refused to admit that nerves and the previous day’s chaos had destroyed most of her appetite. Miko discovered the lie within fifteen minutes anyway, mostly because Solana kept reaching toward one of her plates.
After the fourth stolen bite, Miko pushed it closer. “You can order your own.”
“I’m sampling.”
“You’ve sampled half.”
“It’s good.”
“Then order one.”
“That would be excessive.”
Miko slid the plate fully in front of her. “Eat.”
Solana looked at the food, then at Miko.
The internet discourse from that morning immediately returned to her.
“You know people online think you’re my dom now.”
Miko inhaled a drink at exactly the wrong moment and nearly choked. Solana smiled innocently into her glass. Miko set hers down. “That’s how you want to start this conversation?”
“I thought you’d seen it.”
“I’ve seen enough.”
“They made charts.”
“I know.”
“Somebody made a diagram.”
“I blocked somebody.”
Solana laughed. “They said you have me trained.”
Miko turned her chair more toward Solana. “Do I?”
The question was so quiet and casual that Solana’s amusement disappeared before she could protect it.
Miko noticed.
“Oh, now you’re quiet.”
“I’m eating.”
“You were talking with food in your mouth five seconds ago.”
Miko traced one finger lazily around the stem of her glass. “What do you think?”
Solana shifted beneath the attention. “I think people are weird.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“You’re not actually asking.”
“I am.”
“About whether you’re my dom?”
Miko looked directly at her.
“Yes.” The single word settled low in Solana’s stomach. She took another bite of food she no longer tasted. “You’re not.”
“Okay.”
Solana waited.
Miko simply reached for her drink.
“That’s it?”
“What did you want me to say?”
“I don’t know.”
One of Miko’s arms moved to the back of Solana’s chair, not quite touching her but occupying enough space that Solana noticed. “Would you listen to me if I was?”
Her heart gave one hard beat. She hid it beneath a laugh. “You already think I don’t listen.”
“I think you listen when you want to.”
“That sounds like regular human behavior.”
“I think you enjoy being difficult.”
“I am difficult.”
“I know.”
Solana studied her. “And that doesn’t bother you?” Miko considered the question long enough for Solana to wonder whether she had finally found one that required an honest answer.
“No.”
The simplicity of it made Solana look away first. Their feet found each other underneath the table again. This time there was no joking kick. Miko simply brushed the side of her shoe against Solana’s ankle and left it there, and Solana allowed their legs to remain lightly tangled beneath the linen.
“You like it,” Solana said.
Miko’s lips curved. “Maybe.”
“You like bossing me around.”
“I like when you stop pretending you don’t want somebody to.”
Solana turned toward her. The tone between them changed. Miko did not glance away.
Solana’s voice lowered almost instinctively. “That bathroom made you real confident.”
“You were the one against the counter.”
“You put me there.”
“You let me.”
Solana swallowed.
Miko’s eyes dropped toward the movement in her throat and returned to her face. Before either could push the conversation farther, the waiter entered carrying another plate. Solana immediately straightened and reached for her water as though they had been discussing absolutely nothing.
Miko looked down to hide a smile.
“You’re annoying,” Solana murmured.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Exactly.”
The tension did not vanish after that. Without an audience to feed it, it settled beneath everything else instead of swallowing the entire conversation. They talked about music because music was easier than discussing what almost happened in that bathroom.
Miko asked about Solana’s album.
This time, she did not offer advice before Solana finished answering. That alone surprised her.
Solana explained that the EP becoming successful had been both the best and worst thing that could have happened before making a debut album. Everyone suddenly had an opinion about who she was supposed to become. The label wanted bigger singles. Critics wanted proof she was not temporary. Fans wanted the emotional intimacy of the EP but with arena-sized production. Producers sent references to other artists as though Solana had spent years developing her voice just to become an imitation of somebody else’s career.
“I have twenty-seven songs,” she admitted, pushing a piece of food around her plate. “Maybe seven of them belong together.”
Miko listened. “And what do you want?”
Solana looked at her.
“That’s the problem.”
Miko shook her head. “No. Maybe that’s the album.”
Solana narrowed her eyes.
Miko immediately raised both hands. “Not advice.”
“That was absolutely advice.”
“Observation.”
“You have a sickness.”
Miko laughed. “I’m serious. Maybe you don’t have to know who you are before you make it. Maybe that’s what the record is. You figuring it out.”
Solana leaned back and considered her. This was different from the stream. Miko had not told her which twelve songs to choose. She had not said that experience gave her some answer Solana lacked. She simply listened until Solana revealed the actual problem and then reflected it back.
“You’re better at this when you aren’t performing wisdom for everybody.”
Miko stared at her.
Solana smiled sweetly.
“There she is,” Miko said, shaking her head.
Their conversation wandered naturally after that. Tour life came next, then hotels, then the strange way traveling for work could make beautiful places feel interchangeable because most of what they saw existed between venues and car windows. Miko admitted that she loved performing but hated that floating feeling of never being fully anywhere.
“That’s why Puerto Rico matters so much,” she said. “I can travel forever, but when I go home, my body knows.” Solana rested her chin lightly against one hand. “You think you’ll always live there?”
“Yeah.”
“No hesitation?”
“None.”
The certainty surprised her.
Miko noticed. “You’ve never been?”
“To Puerto Rico? No.”
Miko’s face changed as though Solana had just admitted she had never heard music before.
“Never?”
“No.”
“You need to go.”
Solana laughed immediately. “There you go again.”
“I’m serious.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
“You literally tour for a living.”
“And I still go home.”
Miko began telling her about Puerto Rico before Solana could continue arguing. At first it sounded like travel recommendations: beaches, places to eat, areas she thought Solana would like. Then something changed. Miko started talking about mountains, roads she knew by memory, weather changing between parts of the island, the difference between visiting somewhere beautiful and understanding the feeling of calling it home.
Spanish entered the conversation more naturally now. Miko occasionally switched back when she noticed Solana following only part of a sentence, but the longer she spoke, the less polished she became.
Her hands moved. Her face softened. She stopped sounding like somebody conducting an interview.
“You love it,” Solana said eventually.
Miko looked at her as though that should have been obvious. “Of course.”
“It’s cute.”
Miko frowned. “Cute?”
“You get all…” Solana gestured toward her. “Soft.”
“I’m not soft.”
“You are when you talk about home.”
Miko glanced down at the table.
There was a tiny pause before she said, “You should come sometime.”
Solana heard the weight immediately.
“To Puerto Rico?”
“Yeah.”
“With who?”
Miko looked back toward her.
Solana smiled.
Miko did not play along.
“You.”
The answer came too quickly to dismiss as flirting.
Solana’s smile faded into something smaller.
“That sounds like third-date territory.”
Miko laughed. “Third date?”
“We just established this is the first.”
“You have rules now?”
“I have standards.”
“You threw underwear at me before date one.”
“Different category.”
“So that’s allowed, but Puerto Rico requires three dinners?”
“Yes.”
“What about family?”
“Absolutely third date.”
Miko’s eyebrows rose. “I can’t even ask how many siblings you have?”
“Too intimate.”
“I know what color underwear you were wearing yesterday.”
“You caught those against my will.”
“You threw them at my head.”
“That sounds like victim blaming.”
Miko laughed hard enough to lean toward the table, one hand briefly covering her face.
Solana watched her.
When Miko finally recovered, she looked toward Solana with lingering amusement. “So let me understand this. You can climb onto a table, let me drag you into a bathroom, and almost—”
Both women stopped. The missing word entered the room anyway.
Kiss.
Solana’s foot shifted beneath the table. Miko continued more carefully. “You can do all that, but I have to wait until date three before I know how many siblings you have?”
“Yes.”
“That’s insane.”
“That is called emotional boundaries.”
“You have fascinating boundaries.”
“I’m complex.”
“You’re annoying.”
Solana smiled. “And yet.”
Miko looked at her.
“And yet.”
Somewhere between dessert and the second pot of tea they had no reason to order, they began holding hands. Neither could later identify who initiated it. Solana had been telling Miko about growing up in Texas, skillfully avoiding any family information she had now placed behind her ridiculous third-date rule, when Miko reached toward her wrist to brush away a tiny crumb. Solana turned her palm upward before Miko could withdraw. Miko’s fingers slid into hers.
There was no comment. Their hands simply remained joined on the edge of the table while the conversation continued.
After everything they had done publicly the shouting, the underwear, the viral arguments, Miko physically removing Solana from furniture it should not have mattered.but
It did.
Solana traced the edge of one of Miko’s rings with her thumb. Miko looked down.
“You’re very touchy.”
“So are you.”
“I didn’t complain.”
“Neither did I.”
Their legs had been tangled beneath the table for nearly an hour. Neither moved them.
Dinner ended around ten.
Solana’s flight required her to leave the hotel approximately eight hours later.
A responsible person would have returned immediately ,Neither woman suggested it. They entered the elevator still arguing about whether Miko had deliberately ordered the dessert Solana mentioned wanting at the beginning of dinner.
“You tired?” Miko asked eventually.
“No.”
“Liar.”
“I slept.”
“Four hours.”
Solana turned toward her. “How do you know that?”
“You told me during dinner.”
“Oh.”
Miko smiled. “You really are tired.”
“I’m fine.”
Miko gave her a look Solana had already learned to recognize.
“No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to tell me to go to bed.”
“I was going to ask if you wanted to do something else.”
“You took me to this beautiful private dinner and now you want to go bowling?”
“Yeah.”
“That is the lesbianest possible ending to tonight.”
“You coming?”
Solana smiled.
“Obviously.”
The first private bowling place was closed for a corporate event.The second option was not private at all.It was an enormous late-night entertainment complex full of neon lighting, bowling lanes, arcade cabinets, mediocre food, and several birthday parties populated by teenagers who were significantly better at every game than either woman.
Miko stopped just inside the entrance wearing a charcoal suit and looked around. Solana immediately started laughing.
“This was your idea.”
“It looked better online.”
“There are twelve-year-olds everywhere.”
“They’ll leave.”
“It’s almost eleven.”
“So will we.”
They did not. Miko beat Solana at bowling. This created a crisis. Solana stood beneath the scoreboard with both hands on her hips while Miko photographed the final results.
“You cheated.”
Miko looked from the screen to her. “How?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“You lost.”
“It was the shoes.”
“We have the same shoes.”
“Yours fit better.”
Miko took another picture.
Solana moved toward her. “Delete that.”
“Why?”
“You’re going to use it against me.”
“Absolutely.”
Solana reached for the phone.
Miko lifted it out of reach.
“You are five-three!”
“And you still can’t get it.”
“You are standing on a step.”
“Excuses.”
Solana finally caught her wrist and dragged Miko’s arm down.
The movement brought them chest to chest.
Both women stopped.
Miko’s smile changed.
“You want the phone?”
“Yes.”
“Ask nicely.”
Solana stared at her. “No.”
“Then I’m keeping the picture.”
“You’re such an ass.”
Miko walked toward the arcade.
Solana followed.
After three steps, Miko looked over one shoulder. “Knew you would.”
“Don’t piss me off.”
The arcade only made things worse.
They played basketball first. Miko won, so Solana accused the machine of discriminating against tall people. They moved to air hockey and Solana won, celebrating with enough enthusiasm that a nearby child looked concerned. During a racing game, Solana deliberately attempted to crash Miko’s vehicle and ended up driving directly into a digital wall. Neither lasted more than a minute on Dance Dance Revolution because several teenagers were watching with the quiet judgment of experts.
Somebody eventually recognized them.
The resulting video showed Miko playing air hockey against a tall Solana’s face barely appeared, but the height difference, posture and familiar curls were enough to start another investigation.
She did not know about it. Her feet hurt too badly.
Three hours in heels had finally defeated whatever pride kept her from admitting discomfort. She sat on a bench near the back wall and rubbed one ankle while Miko stood over her.
“You’re done.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re limping.”
“The shoes are evil.”
“I told you to wear something pretty, not medically dangerous.”
Solana looked up. “You liked the dress.”
“I love the dress.”
Silence. Miko realized what she had said.
Solana’s eyebrows rose. “Love?”
“The dress.”
“Mhm.”
Miko took off her jacket and placed it beside Solana. “I have clothes in the car.”
“You carry clothes everywhere?”
“Tour.”
“What?”
“Sweats. Hoodie. Sneakers probably.”
Solana looked down at the chocolate dress.
Then back at Miko.
“You want me to change?”
“If you want to complain about your shoes for another four hours, no.”
“I’d have to take the dress off.”
Miko blinked once. Solana immediately smiled.
“In the car,” she clarified.
“I understood you.”
“You looked scared.”
“I was thinking.”
“About what?”
Miko stared at her.
Solana’s smile widened.
“There she is,” Miko murmured. “Back to causing problems.”
They returned to the underground parking structure. Miko retrieved a pair of oversized gray sweatpants, an equally oversized black hoodie and sneakers from one of the tour bags in the back of the SUV.
Solana accepted the clothes. “These are huge.”
“You’re huge.”
“I am tall. Fuck u and Thats is different.”
“Same result.”
“There’s a bathroom inside?”
“Disgusting.”
“Hotel?”
“I don’t want to leave yet.”
Miko paused.
The admission seemed to please her, but she had enough self-preservation not to point it out.
Solana opened the back door.
Miko remained standing there.
“Privacy?”
Miko leaned against the opposite side of the vehicle and deliberately turned her face toward the concrete wall. “I’m not looking.”
“You already looked tonight.”
“At the dress.”
“Same body.”
“Different situation.”
Solana climbed into the backseat.
For several seconds, Miko stared heroically at absolutely nothing while fabric shifted behind her. Then Solana called, “María Victoria.”
Miko’s shoulders tightened.
“What?”
“My zipper.”
She closed her eyes.
“Sol.”
“I can’t reach it.”
“That sounds like a design problem.”
“You told me to change.”
“I suggested changing.”
“Are you helping me or not?”
Miko turned around.
Solana sat sideways in the back seat with her back toward the open door. The low-backed dress exposed most of her shoulder blades, but the small zipper sat just far enough down that her fingers kept missing it.
Miko approached.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“I’m exhausted.”
“Liar.”
Miko caught the zipper. Solana went still. Instead of pulling it down immediately, Miko leaned closer enough for her breath to reach Solana’s shoulder.
“The internet thinks I’m your dom, remember?”
Solana looked over one shoulder. “You brought that up.”
“You brought it up first.”
“And?”
Miko lowered the zipper a few inches, deliberately slow.
“If that were true,” she murmured, “you’d need to get better at following directions.”
Solana’s breath caught before she recovered. “What directions?”
“Sleep when you need sleep. Eat when you forget. Stay off tables when you’re wearing nothing underneath.”
A smile tugged at Solana’s mouth. “That sounds like parenting.”
Miko stopped.
Silence.
“Don’t ruin it.”
Solana burst out laughing.
Miko shook her head and pulled the zipper the rest of the way down. “There.”
“Thank you.”
She stepped away.
Solana watched her through the cracked door. “You’re really not going to look?”
“No.”
“What if I said you could?”
Miko’s head turned slightly.
Solana waited. Miko looked back toward her.
“No cameras?”
The teasing dissolved.
Solana’s expression softened.
“No cameras.”
For a second, Miko appeared to seriously consider it.
Then she turned away again.
“Change your clothes, baby girl.”
Solana’s stomach dropped so sharply that irritation became the only available defense.
“Oh, fuck you.”
Miko laughed.
The door shut between them.
Two minutes later, Solana emerged wearing the gray sweatpants rolled at the waist and a black hoodie falling halfway down her thighs. The clothes were comically oversized despite their height difference because Miko apparently bought everything several sizes too large.
Miko looked her over.
Solana spread both arms. “Happy?”
“Very.”
“You look smug.”
“You’re wearing my clothes.”
“Because my shoes hurt.”
“Whatever helps you sleep.”
Solana pushed her curls out from inside the hood. “Your shirt smells like you.”
Their eyes met. The sentence had escaped before Solana considered what it sounded like.
Miko took one slow step closer.
“You like that?”
“I made an observation.”
“Interesting.”
Solana walked around her before the conversation became dangerous again. “We should go.”
Miko followed, laughing under her breath. They went back inside anyway.
By the time they finally left, it was nearly two in the morning. Solana should have returned to her hotel.
Instead, they remained parked outside for another forty minutes.
The driver sat several feet ahead with music playing quietly enough to give them privacy. London moved beyond the windows in pieces of streetlight and late-night traffic while Solana sat sideways in the backseat, one leg folded beneath herself inside Miko’s oversized sweatpants.
This part of the night felt different from everything before it. They were not flirting for sport. Nobody was trying to win.
Miko told Solana about the strangest hotel room she had encountered during touring, including a bathroom wall made entirely from clear glass that could only be covered by a curtain controlled from outside the bathroom.
“That sounds intentional,” Solana said.
“It was horrifying.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“I was sharing a room with my brother.”
Solana laughed hard enough to drop her head against the seat.
When she recovered, she told Miko about sneaking out of her childhood bedroom as a teenager only to discover her mother sitting in the living room when she returned, television off, lights on, no yelling necessary.
“She just looked at me,” Solana explained, imitating the expression. “And I knew I was fucking finished.”
Miko laughed. “What happened?”
“I got grounded for the rest of my natural life.”
“How many siblings you got?”
Solana narrowed her eyes immediately.
“Nice try.”
“Oh, come on.”
“Third date.”
“You’re still doing this?”
“You agreed to the rules.”
“I never agreed.”
“You continued dating me.”
Silence. Solana froze. Miko’s head turned slowly.
“Dating?”
“I meant—”
“No, no.” Miko settled deeper into the seat, smile spreading. “Continue.”
“Shut up.”
“You said dating.”
“It is two in the morning.”
“That does not change vocabulary.”
Solana kicked lightly at Miko’s shoe.
Miko caught her ankle beneath her foot, trapping it there.
Their legs stayed intertwined.
“You’re cute when you get embarrassed,” Miko said.
“I’m not embarrassed.”
“Sure.”
“You’re cute when you stop acting like you know everything.”
Miko’s teasing expression softened.
“That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“I told an entire festival you looked fucking good.”
“That was generous.”
“It was.”
Solana leaned her head back. Exhaustion had finally started winning. Her eyelids felt heavy; the oversized hoodie was warm, and the interior of the car had become far too comfortable.
Miko watched her for several seconds.“You need to sleep.”
Solana closed her eyes. “Don’t.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
“You leave in four hours.”
“I know.”
Miko checked the time.
“We should go.”
Solana did not argue. That alone proved how tired she was.
At four-fifty, Solana woke to somebody gently shaking her shoulder.
For a disorienting second, she had no idea where she was. Her cheek rested against something warm, the city outside had become gray with approaching morning, and Miko’s voice came from very close.
“Hey.”
Solana blinked.
She had fallen asleep against Miko. Miko did not mention it.
I just read all three chapters of young Miko x femme oc and oh my gosh. That was such a rush and it was so good. I had to put my phone down several times bc the tension got to me. I have no words, it’s just so good!! I got sad seeing that the last chapter was only 11 hours ago bc I want the next chapter so bad. Ofc take your time with updating especially bc chapter three was long, but please keep writing <333
hellooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo, thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you so much. Don't worry. I'm actually writing chapter 13 right now so you have a lot more to go. I'm just doing some editing but chapter 4 is actually really long and will come out into parts so you'll kind of have like a part four and five at the same time but it would be my pleasure to give you a small little teaser for what's coming up next
Chapter 4 part one teaser:
By ten-thirty the morning after the festival, the internet had decided that Young Miko and Solana Williams were involved in some kind of BDSM relationship.
Neither woman had kissed.
They had barely survived fifteen minutes alone in a bathroom without doing it, which seemed like an important distinction to Solana. Unfortunately, nobody online appeared interested in distinctions anymore.
The cleanest video from the after-party had been filmed somewhere behind Bella. It began with Solana dancing on top of the booth in that stupid white dress, curls loose around her shoulders and one hand stretched above her head as the skirt floated dangerously around her thighs. Then Miko appeared at the edge of the frame. Even through somebody else’s shaky phone camera, the change in her demeanor was obvious. She had taken one look at the phones aimed toward the table, crossed the room without stopping for anyone, caught the front and back of Solana’s dress in both hands, and helped her down before tying her own jacket around Solana’s waist.
At normal speed, the interaction lasted less than twenty seconds.
Online, it had become anthropology.
Someone slowed the moment Miko leaned close to Solana’s ear. Another account stripped as much music from the clip as possible and claimed Miko had said, You already followed me off the table, baby. Don’t start pretending you don’t listen now.
The audio was terrible. She could have said nearly anything.
That did not stop anyone.
By breakfast, the largest Solko update account had uploaded a seven-minute video titled:
THE DOM/SUB ALLEGATIONS:
The documented history covered approximately three weeks.
Solana discovered it while sitting cross-legged in the middle of her hotel bed with Miko’s jacket spread across her lap. The clean pair of red DO NOT DISTURB underwear she had found in the pocket rested beside her phone like some incriminating piece of evidence. Across the room, Bella had fallen asleep again after stealing half of Solana’s room-service potatoes, her body curled beneath a blanket on the sofa while the television played silently against the wall.
Nara had already flown home after finishing the Fenty commitments. Her final contribution to the situation had been a message sent several hours earlier:
NARA: please stop ending up half naked on my timeline while I’m making breakfast for my children 😭 love you though.
Simone’s message possessed significantly less tenderness.
SIMONE: 11:00. My room.
SIMONE: Do not be late.
SIMONE: And wear pants.
Solana reread the last instruction and looked down at the oversized T-shirt barely reaching the middle of her thighs. “That feels targeted.”
Bella made a sleepy noise from the sofa without opening her eyes. “What?”
girllllll you need to have part 4 out by tmr thanks 😻 genuinely the best fic i’ve ever read, has me giggling and kicking my feet
Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii , part four is already fully written. Don't worry it will be out tomorrow. I'm actually writing chapter 13 but I feel like it got really loose/sloppy and like around tractors nine so I just gotta go up and clear it up so which basically means deleting a lot, so some of the future chapters might be really heavy on dialogue because I'm planning on deleting a couple of overexplaining paragraphs. But yes, don't worry there is many more chapters to come lol. Just to warn you, though this is a slow slow, slow slowwwww lol. No for real question though. Should I put more heavy smut in here??? the first like smut is in chapter 13 that I'm writing RN and I'm feeling like after that. It can definitely be a lot more because where they're gonna be at in their relationship but if you don't like it, let me know.
So sorry for my rambling, but here is a
tiny peak at chapter 13: wake up love
back in Puerto Rico Miko had stopped pretending she was reading. The book lay facedown beside her. She was holding the phone again. but did not remember picking it up. That realization alone should have embarrassed her. It did. Unfortunately, embarrassment was no longer the dominant emotion.sol moaned her name softly through the speaker.
Miko closed her eyes.
“Jesus.”
When she opened them, sol was still there. Still sleeping. Still completely unaware. Miko knew exactly what she should do. Wake her. There was no debate. Except her body had entered the debate without permission. Heat had crept slowly beneath her skin. She shifted against the pillows. Annoyed. Very aware. And what if Sol really needed this? I mean, she has been overworking herself with this album and her mind honestly knows what she needs right? So maybe the best thing Mikka could do is let her sleep? As she's moaning miko's name louder and louder by the fucking second But, yes she should just let her keep sleeping?
“Oh, this is unfair.”
sol moved.
Miko ’s eyes dropped toward the blanket and immediately returned to sol’s face.
No.
That was the boundary. The face was already dangerous enough. And God, her face. sol looked wrecked by whatever She thought miko was doing it in her dream. Her hair was messy. Her cheek was pressed into the pillow. Her brow tightened and relaxed unpredictably. Her lips parted around little pieces of words Miko could not always understand. It should not have been beautiful. It was. Miko ’s gaze softened despite the heat spreading through her.
“Baby.”
sol murmured something. Miko leaned closer. no more need for validating excuses anymore.
She simply wanted to hear.
“mamÍ…”
Miko ’s mouth fell open.
Then she laughed. Quietly. Disbelieving.
“Oh, you are bold in there.”
sol shifted again.
“Please.”
Miko pressed her lips together. This was getting difficult. Miko can no longer differentiate between her wanting to let Sol finish because maybe sol just really needed to and Miko just wanting to see Sol come undone by just the thought of miko being there.
fuck , Miko was wet .
She was almost dripping down Her own thighs.
Almost
sol and whatever version of Miko her subconscious had constructed. And apparently even that imaginary Miko had sol begging for her. Had done this to miko.
Miko ’s chest tightened.
“good girl.”
The words came out softly. She did not know if sol could hear. Probably not.
sol’s sleeping face changed anyway. Miko went still.
“mi pequeña y sucia princesa.”/“My little, dirty princess.”
sol exhaled.
A tiny smile seemed to touch her mouth. Miko stared.
“Oh, fuck me.”
She immediately looked guilty. Then amused. Then both.
“This is so wrong.”
Except she did it again.
“mi reinal.”/my queen.”
sol turned her face slightly toward the phone. Miko ’s stomach flipped as her own hands lowered down until her finger were covered in her own wetness . That was when she realized she was in trouble. Because now she was participating.
Barely. But enough. She should stop. She knew that.
synopsis: Two weeks of silence come to an abrupt end when Solana and Miko are booked for the same festival. Miko arrives at Sol’s set Sol retaliates by making a promise she intends to keep during Miko’s performance. By the time they reach the after party, neither woman remembers why they were pretending not to care.
warnings: age gap between adults, suggestive dialogue, alcohol consumption, jealousy, possessive behavior, dominant undertones, language.
Previous chapter: Link
For the first twenty four hours after Young Miko stopped responding, Solana convinced herself that she had not noticed.
Miko was busy. Solana was busy. They were both artists preparing for a summer that had been scheduled down to the minute by people who carried two phones and treated sleep like a personal weakness. It was perfectly reasonable that Miko might read a message, become distracted by something more important, and forget to answer.
It became slightly less reasonable after the second day.
By the fourth, Solana understood that she was being ignored.
The conversation remained pinned near the top of her messages, ending with the same exchange she had read often enough to memorize despite refusing to acknowledge that she had returned to it at all.
MIKO: I’m bringing a sign.
SOL: that’s cute.
MIKO: and panties.
SOL: make sure they’re pretty.
Miko had read the final message at 11:42 that night. The small word beneath it said Seen, which Solana found more irritating each time she looked.
She had not texted again. She had pride, responsibilities, and an entire debut album to finish. More importantly, she refused to give a twenty eight year old woman the satisfaction of watching her double text after an argument about underwear.
For the next several days, Solana threw herself into work with enough determination to alarm everyone around her. She completed two choreography rehearsals, rewrote the bridge of a song her label had already approved, attended a vocal session on what should have been her day off, and stayed inside the studio until Simone arrived personally to remove her. None of that stopped Solana from checking her phone whenever it vibrated. The messages came from everybody except Miko. Her stylist sent potential festival looks. Nara sent behind the scenes photographs from the Fenty set. Bella Kay forwarded edits from the interview accompanied by increasingly dramatic voice notes. Chase Infiniti sent a screenshot of Miko’s face during the FaceTime call with the words this woman was fighting demons, followed by seven crying emojis.
Miko remained silent.
The internet did not.
The week after their interview became an endless public autopsy of interactions that had lasted less than fifteen minutes. Fans replayed the moment Miko moved the phone away from the interviewers, arguing over whether the gesture had been protective, possessive, embarrassed, or some combination of all three. Other accounts focused on Solana’s robe, the way she had said María Victoria, or the speed with which Miko called her beautiful after pretending the outfit had not affected her. The unofficial Solko account added more than half a million followers and changed its biography to:
acquaintances with boundary issues.
Then the account noticed that neither woman had publicly mentioned the other since the interview.
Theories appeared immediately.
SOLKO DIVORCE ERA AFTER SIX DAYS OF MARRIAGE
Miko hasn’t liked a Sol edit in eleven days. Everybody remain calm.
Sol posted three thirst traps and Miko ignored all of them. Something happened …..
Maybe they are actual people with jobs.
The final suggestion received significantly less attention than the others.
Solana found herself reading the posts late one night while sitting in the vocal booth between recordings. She had meant to search for reactions to the teaser of her new song, but one click became another until she reached a compilation titled THE COMPLETE SOLKO TIMELINE: WHERE DID IT GO WRONG?
“Nothing went wrong,” she muttered, watching herself accuse Miko of showing her off for the fourth time that week. “There was nothing to go wrong.”
Her producer pressed the talkback button from the other side of the glass. “You ready?”
Solana locked her phone and set it facedown beside the lyric sheet. “ ready.”
She recorded the next verse in a single take, although she had to do it again because the first sounded angrier than the song required.
Miko, meanwhile, had not forgotten to respond.
She had typed several answers to Solana’s final message on the night of the interview. Most were jokes. One was far too direct. Another invited Solana to continue the conversation somewhere without cameras, which Miko deleted almost immediately because it sounded too much like an admission.
She eventually decided not to reward the behavior at all.
Solana enjoyed reactions. She collected them, tested them, and pushed until she located the exact pressure point that made somebody lose composure. The FaceTime call had made that clear. The robe, the softened voice, the repeated use of Miko’s full name every detail had been selected to make Miko flustered in front of an audience.
Miko knew she should have been annoyed.
She was annoyed.
She was also aware that Solana had looked incredible.
That second fact was precisely why she stopped responding.
Tour rehearsals made the silence easier to maintain. Miko’s days began with production meetings and continued through sound design, choreography adjustments, band rehearsals, costume fittings, vocal training, interviews, travel plans, and the thousand small decisions required to make a large performance feel effortless. By the time she returned to the hotel each night, she was exhausted enough to read Solana’s last message without answering it.
Mariana noticed on the third day.
“You’re still doing that?”
Miko looked up from her phone. They were sitting inside a rehearsal space after midnight, waiting for Mauro to finish discussing a transition with the band. Miko’s dark brown hair had been cut shorter for the summer, resting in loose, slightly damp pieces around her face now that she had removed the extensions worn during filming earlier that day.
“Doing what?”
“Opening the same conversation and staring at it.”
“I’m not staring.”
“You haven’t moved your thumb in five minutes.”
Miko locked the phone. “She said something stupid.”
“Two days ago?”
“It’s still stupid.”
Mariana smiled as though Miko had confirmed exactly what she suspected. “Answer her.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because she wants me to.”
“That is generally how texts work.”
Miko leaned back against the folding chair and crossed her arms. “She likes making everything a challenge. I’m not participating.”
Mariana glanced toward the phone in Miko’s lap. “You are participating. You’re just losing privately.”
Miko told her to mind her business.
Mauro was less subtle when he learned that the two women had not spoken.
“You ghosted her?”
“I did not ghost anybody.”
“Did you answer?”
“No.”
“Then what do you call it?”
“Peace.”
He laughed hard enough to attract the attention of the drummer across the room. “You’re scared.”
“Of Sol?”
“Of liking Sol.”
Miko’s stare made him raise both hands, but his smile remained.
She told herself the silence was temporary. The two of them would eventually see each other at an event, exchange another round of insults, and resume whatever had begun on Kai’s stream. There was no reason to force it. They had known each other properly for less than a week.
Then the festival schedule arrived.
Solana Williams was listed for the main stage at 1:25 in the afternoon.
Young Miko would perform on the same stage shortly after sunset.
Mariana forwarded the schedule without commentary.
Miko responded three minutes later.
MIKO: she performs that early?
MARIANA: She’s a newer artist.
MIKO: I know that.
MARIANA: Then why did you ask?
MIKO: just checking.
MARIANA: Her set ends at 2:10. Your press begins at 3:00.
MIKO: I didn’t ask.
MARIANA: I know.
Miko attended three rehearsals and one wardrobe fitting before admitting she intended to watch Solana’s performance. Even then, she claimed professional curiosity. Solana had spent the entire stream boasting about choreography, vocals, and the amount of work she put into her shows. Miko merely wanted to determine whether the result justified the attitude. Mauro listened to this explanation while helping Miko paint block letters across a piece of yellow poster board.
“Professional curiosity,” he repeated.
“Yes.”
“That’s why you bought glitter?”
“The sign looked empty.”
“And the little sun?”
“That was Mariana.”
Mariana, sitting on the opposite side of the hotel suite with a laptop balanced across her knees, looked up. “It was not.”
Miko ignored her and examined the finished sign.
BE GOOD, BABY ☀️
The letters were black and pink, with the sun painted in one corner and several small stars scattered around the border. It looked like something an excited fan had made on a bedroom floor the night before a concert, which was exactly the effect Miko wanted despite refusing to admit that she had spent forty minutes perfecting it. Mauro took a photograph before she could stop him.
“If you post that, I’ll kill you.”
“I’m saving it for your wedding.”
“You’re not invited.”
“To whose wedding?” Mariana asked.
Miko stood and carried the sign toward the door. “Both of you are irritating.”
The festival took place on a wide green stretch outside London, where temporary stages rose above thousands of people, food trucks lined muddy pathways, and the summer heat settled over the grounds with surprising intensity. The sky remained pale blue and almost cloudless, leaving the crowd to gather beneath hats, scarves, and whatever scraps of shade could be found between sets.
Solana arrived before ten in the morning.
Her team had spent weeks preparing for the performance because it would be her largest European festival audience to date. Although her name appeared lower on the lineup than many of the established artists performing later, the success of her EP and the attention surrounding the unreleased album had drawn more people toward the main stage than organizers initially anticipated.
By noon, fans were already pressed against the front barricade wearing yellow, white, and gold. Homemade signs filled the first several rows. Some carried references to her lyrics; others asked for the album, requested specific songs, or declared themselves proud members of the Solmates.
One sign read:
SOL, MIKO MIGHT OF LEFT YOU BUT I NEVER WOULD.
Simone spotted it during the preshow walk through and immediately stepped in front of Solana.
“Do not acknowledge that.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You’re smiling.”
“It’s funny.”
“It will become less funny when somebody posts your reaction.”
Solana adjusted the in ear pack concealed beneath the waistband of her performance outfit. She wore a golden cropped jacket over a fitted ivory bodysuit, with thigh high boots and small mirrored details designed to catch the afternoon light. Her curls had been pulled into a long, high ponytail that moved dramatically whenever she turned her head.
She looked toward the stage entrance, pretending to inspect the positions of her dancers. “Did she confirm she’s here?”
Simone did not need to ask who Solana meant. “Young Miko is scheduled to arrive for soundcheck.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“No, she has not personally informed me of her movements.”
“I was asking because our schedules overlap.”
“Of course.”
“I don’t care whether she watches.”
“Then why did you ask?”
The stage manager signaled that they had three minutes. Solana shook out her arms, rolled her shoulders, and drew several slow breaths while the introduction video began playing across the large screens. The crowd reacted to the first image of her silhouette, the noise rising with every beat until the ground seemed to vibrate beneath her boots.
Whatever irritation had followed her through the previous two weeks disappeared when she stepped into the light.
The opening song began with a sharp burst of drums and a wall of golden visuals. Solana emerged at the top of a raised platform, one hand wrapped around the microphone while the dancers moved beneath her. She stood still for the first eight counts, allowing the audience to recognize her, then descended into the choreography with the kind of confidence that made every movement appear spontaneous despite the hundreds of hours behind it. Miko finished soundcheck early.
She had worn an oversized black shirt, loose jeans, dark glasses, and a baseball cap pulled low over her short brown hair. The outfit might have concealed her from a distance if she had not been carrying a large sign bearing a phrase that half the internet already associated with Solana.
Mauro walked beside her, grinning at every person who recognized them. Mariana followed several steps behind with Miko’s younger brother and two members of the tour team, all of whom had agreed to accompany her under the pretense of ensuring she returned in time for press.
“You know we could’ve watched from backstage,” Mauro said as they approached the VIP barricade.
Miko adjusted her sunglasses. “She’d expect that.”
“So you want her to see you.”
“I want to see the whole show.”
“You could see it from backstage.”
“Not the same angle.”
Mauro nodded solemnly. “Professional curiosity.”
“Exactly.”
They found a place near the side of the VIP enclosure where they could see the full stage without immediately becoming part of the main camera shot. Miko folded the sign beneath one arm and looked toward the stage.
Solana was in the middle of her second song.
Miko had seen clips of her performing before. Everyone had. Solana’s label invested heavily in presentation, and her team understood how to build moments for social media: strong choreography, elaborate styling, live vocals polished enough to silence accusations that she relied on backing tracks. Watching her in person was different. Solana was taller than most of the dancers surrounding her, giving her movements a natural authority even when the choreography softened. Her voice carried more weight live, particularly in the lower register she rarely showcased on her radio singles. She danced without losing the emotional shape of the lyrics, alternating between precision and the loose, joyful movement that appeared whenever the audience surprised her by knowing every word.
Miko watched through two full songs before Mauro nudged her.
“You gonna use the sign?”
“I’m waiting.”
“For what?”
“The right moment.”
“You made a sign that says ‘Be Good, Baby.’ There is no right moment.”
Miko ignored him.
Onstage, Solana finished a bright pop song and moved toward the band while the dancers cleared the center platform. She removed the cropped jacket, handed it to someone offstage, and returned wearing only the ivory bodysuit beneath it. The audience screamed.
Solana laughed into the microphone. “Y’all are nasty, and it is one in the afternoon.”
The crowd screamed louder.
She walked toward the front of the stage, shielding her eyes from the sun as she surveyed the audience. “I can see some of these signs now. ‘Drop the album.’ That’s rude. We just met.”
Her gaze moved across the barricade. She read two more signs aloud, teasing the fans who held them, before looking toward the VIP section.
She saw Mauro first.
Then Mariana.
Then the bright yellow edge of the poster Miko had not yet raised.
Solana stopped walking.
Miko unfolded the sign and lifted it above her head.
BE GOOD, BABY ☀️
The reaction moved through Solana in stages. Surprise widened her eyes. Recognition followed. Then she smiled so slowly and with such open satisfaction that the camera operator immediately turned toward the VIP barricade to capture whatever had caused it.
The sign appeared on the side screens.
The crowd lost its mind.
Miko lowered it just enough to see Solana’s face. Her sunglasses concealed part of her expression, but the slight lift at one corner of her mouth betrayed how pleased she was with herself.
Solana paced toward that side of the stage, shaking her head. “Oh, now she wants to show up.”
Mauro began laughing. Mariana covered her face with one hand.
The audience did not need clarification. Thousands of phones turned toward Miko at once.
Solana rested one hand on her hip. “Two weeks.”
The crowd booed dramatically.
“She leaves me on read for two weeks,” Solana continued, allowing the accent in her voice to grow warmer as she leaned into the complaint, “and then pulls up to my job with arts and crafts.”
Miko shouted something from behind the barricade, but the distance and screaming made it impossible for Solana to hear.
Solana tilted her head. “What was that? I can’t hear you. You should’ve texted it.”
The audience erupted again.
Miko folded the sign and struck Mauro lightly with it when he laughed too close to her ear.
The band began the introduction to Solana’s next song, a bass heavy record from her EP known for its breathless prechorus and unapologetically suggestive lyrics. Solana recognized the timing immediately and looked back toward Miko.
“This next one is for all the girls who don’t text people back for two weeks and then show up looking this fucking good.”
The first beat dropped.
Miko removed her sunglasses.
Mauro yelled so loudly that a nearby camera captured him doubling over beside her. Mariana leaned close enough to say, “This is your fault,” while Miko continued staring at Solana as though she had not heard.
Solana performed the entire song toward the VIP enclosure.
Not every lyric. That would have been too obvious. She moved across the full stage, interacted with her dancers, and allowed the cameras to follow her through the choreography. Yet every time the song became suggestive, every time her voice lowered or her hips settled into the slower rhythm of the chorus, her gaze returned to Miko.
The crowd began anticipating it. Each time Solana turned toward that side, the screams rose before she even completed the movement.
Miko had arrived expecting to embarrass her.
Instead, she spent three and a half minutes being publicly serenaded while holding a handmade sign.
“She’s gonna make you late for your interview,” Mauro said.
Miko did not look away from the stage. “I have time.”
“You said we were only staying for two songs.”
“She has a short set.”
Mariana checked her watch. “You now have thirty eight minutes to cross the grounds, change, and reach press.”
“That’s enough.”
“It is not.”
Miko raised the sign again during the final chorus. Solana caught the movement and laughed without missing a lyric, pointing directly toward her before turning into the last piece of choreography.
The resulting clip was online before the song ended.
SOL DEDICATING THE HORNY SONG TO MIKO AFTER TWO WEEKS OF SILENCE
“YOU SHOULD’VE TEXTED IT” SHE IS SICK
Miko arrived with BE GOOD BABY and got publicly disciplined instead
Solana finished the set beneath a burst of golden smoke and confetti. She thanked the audience, introduced her band and dancers, then returned to center stage for one final bow. Before leaving, she looked toward Miko and raised an imaginary phone to her ear.
Miko folded her arms.
Solana mouthed, Call me.
Miko lifted the sign again.
BE GOOD, BABY.
Solana smiled and disappeared backstage.
Miko remained at the barricade for several seconds after the stage went dark.
Mauro touched her shoulder. “Professional curiosity satisfied?”
Miko refolded the sign. “She missed a transition in the third song.”
“She saw you.”
“Still missed it.”
“She sang an entire song to you.”
“She was performing.”
Mariana began walking toward the exit. “You have twenty nine minutes.”
Miko followed, although she glanced back at the stage once before the crowd blocked it from view.
Behind the stage, Solana descended the steps glowing with sweat and adrenaline. Her team surrounded her immediately, offering water, towels, congratulations, and several contradictory directions about where she needed to go next.
Bella reached her first and nearly tackled her with a hug.
“You dedicated that song to her!”
“I dedicated it to women who don’t communicate.”
“You stared at one specific woman the entire time.”
Solana accepted a bottle from Nadia and drank while Simone approached with the expression of someone attempting to remain professional despite the phone vibrating continuously in her hand.
“Congratulations,” Simone said. “The set was excellent.”
“Thank you.”
“The sign interaction has already passed three million views.”
“That’s fast.”
“You knew it would be.”
Solana wiped beneath her eyes carefully, protecting the makeup. “I didn’t know she was going to bring a sign.”
“You did know she was coming?”
“No.”
Simone studied her. “You asked me four times.”
“I asked whether her schedule overlapped.”
“Four times.”
Bella appeared over Solana’s shoulder. “Did she text you?”
Solana finally checked her phone.
No new messages.
The excitement left her face so briefly that only the people closest to her noticed.
Bella leaned over. “Nothing?”
“She’s getting ready for her own set.”
“That woman had time to buy glitter.”
“She was carrying the sign. That doesn’t mean she made it.”
“You think somebody else wrote ‘Be Good, Baby’ for her?”
Solana locked the phone and passed the empty water bottle toward an assistant. “I don’t care.”
Simone sighed. “Every time you say that, something expensive happens.”
The first interview after Solana’s set lasted twelve minutes and included six questions about Miko. Solana redirected the first two toward the music, joked through the third, and informed the interviewer during the fourth that Miko had attended because she needed lessons in live performance.
“What did you think of her sign?” the interviewer asked.
“I thought it was adorable. She probably spent all night coloring it.”
“Do you plan to be good?”
Solana looked directly into the camera. “No.”
The clip became another problem.
By the time Solana reached her trailer, the public had transformed the afternoon into a competition. Half the posts declared that Miko had reclaimed control by arriving with the sign. The other half insisted Solana had won by making Miko watch an entire performance dedicated to her silence. A third group had begun calling Solana Miko’s “little girl,” an interpretation that irritated her more than the others.
One tweet read:
Sol acting brave but the second Miko held up BE GOOD BABY she started smiling like she’d been praised. That’s somebody’s princess.
Another replied:
She is TWENTY. Please stop acting like Miko adopted her.
The argument grew from there, stretching into discussions of age, experience, power, and which woman seemed more affected by the other. Solana read too much of it while changing out of her stage outfit.
She knew the age gap was visible. Miko had been working professionally longer, touring internationally longer, and navigating fame on a scale Solana was only beginning to approach. That did not make Solana helpless. It certainly did not make her somebody’s baby merely because she enjoyed getting under an older woman’s skin.
Nara entered carrying the white dress selected for the evening.
It fell from narrow straps into a softly fitted bodice, then loosened through the waist and hips before ending just above Solana’s knees. The material was light enough to move with every step, with small embroidered flowers along the neckline and a low back that made it feel flirtier than its otherwise innocent shape suggested.
Solana stared at it.
Nadia held it against herself. “Cute, right?”
“Very.”
“Why do you look dangerous?”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
Solana changed into the dress and stood before the mirror while Nadia loosened the stage ponytail, allowing her curls to fall around her shoulders. The white fabric made her skin appear deeper and warmer, while the short, airy skirt moved each time she turned.
Bella, seated on the makeup counter scrolling through her phone, looked up and whistled. “Miko’s not surviving today.”
“She survived my set.”
“Barely.”
Solana sat while Nadia softened the stage makeup into something more appropriate for the festival grounds. Her phone remained beside her hand, still silent.
She opened Twitter.
“Don’t,” Simone said from the doorway.
“I’m posting about my performance.”
“You have a social media manager.”
“It’s my account.”
“That has never stopped you from creating my problems.”
Solana ignored her and typed.
no panties, mommy? disappointing. don’t worry, I’ll help you later
Bella read it over her shoulder and released a scream so sharp that Nadia nearly dropped the makeup brush.
Simone crossed the trailer in three steps. “Delete it.”
“It’s funny.”
“You have seven million followers.”
“They like jokes.”
“They like chaos. You provide too much of it for free.”
The post had already been published.
Within seconds, the notifications became impossible to follow.
EXCUSE ME????
SOLANA MARIE WILLIAMS YOU CANNOT SAY THIS AT TWO IN THE AFTERNOON
Miko please collect your acquaintance
“mommy” oh the allegations will never end
this is no longer a ship this is an active emergency
Solana placed the phone facedown and smiled at her reflection.
Simone stared at her. “What exactly are you planning?”
“Nothing.”
“You are wearing that expression.”
“What expression?”
Bella raised her hand. “I would also like to know the plan.”
Solana crossed one leg over the other and allowed Nadia to finish her lip gloss. “Miko promised panties. She arrived empty handed.”
“And?”
“And I believe people should keep their word.”
Miko saw the post while sitting in hair and makeup.
The stylist had added longer dark extensions to her short hair for the performance, pulling them into a high ponytail that fell down her back. She wore black stage pants, a fitted sleeveless top, and layered chains that would be adjusted again before she went on.
Mariana stood behind the chair when the notification appeared.
Miko read the post once.
Then again.
Her ears turned red.
Mariana saw the reflection in the mirror. “What happened?”
Miko locked the screen. “Nothing.”
Mauro entered carrying a garment bag. “Why are we saying nothing like that?”
Miko handed him the phone.
He read the post aloud, barely reaching the final word before laughing.
“She’s doing too much,” Miko said.
“You told her you were bringing panties.”
“As a joke.”
“She appears committed to accountability.”
Miko reached for the phone. “Give it back.”
Mauro held it away from her. “Are you responding?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“She wants me to.”
Mariana folded her arms. “That strategy worked beautifully for you this afternoon.”
Miko took the phone and tucked it beneath her leg. “I have a show.”
She did not respond publicly or privately.
But when the wardrobe assistant opened a drawer to retrieve a spare wireless pack, Miko noticed the unReleased red Do Not Disturb thong included in the merchandise samples her team had been reviewing.
The phrase was printed in white across the front.
Miko looked at it for several seconds.
Then she slipped it into the inside pocket of her jacket before anyone noticed.
Solana reached the celebrity barricade twenty minutes before Miko’s set. Bella accompanied her, along with Chase and two friends from Solana’s team. Simone remained nearby but refused to stand directly beside them, claiming she wanted plausible deniability if Solana attempted anything requiring an apology.
The evening heat had softened without disappearing. The sky was turning gold behind the stage, and the crowd stretched across the field in every direction, packed tightly enough that the open space Solana had seen during her own performance no longer existed.
Fans recognized her almost immediately.
People shouted her name from the general admission section, lifting phones over their heads to capture her reaction. Several held up the BE GOOD, BABY phrase on freshly made signs, despite having only a few hours to create them.
Solana waved and smiled, then turned toward the stage as the hotel themed introduction began.
Miko appeared beneath dark red lighting.
The crowd reacted with a force that surprised even Solana. Her own afternoon audience had been large, but this felt different the unified noise of people who had waited all day for one particular artist. Miko walked to the front of the stage with the confidence Solana privately envied, not rushing to fill the space or prove that she deserved the attention. She simply stood there and allowed the audience to come toward her.
Solana understood, suddenly, why Miko had tried to advise her about the album.
That did not mean she planned to admit it.
The performance moved through the opening records with a full live band, layered visuals, and transitions built around the hotel world of the new project. Miko’s public persona shifted easily between playful and commanding. She joked with the front rows, moved through choreography with a loose confidence that never appeared rehearsed, and allowed the songs to determine how much of herself she gave the crowd.
She noticed Solana during the first track.
Sol knew because Miko’s eyes stopped for a fraction of a second when they reached the celebrity enclosure. The pause was so brief that most people would not have recognized it, but Solana had spent two weeks watching slowed clips of Miko’s face. She knew precisely what it looked like when Miko was surprised.
Solana smiled and waved.
Miko looked away.
For the next several songs, she gave Solana nothing.
She interacted with every section of the crowd except the one where Solana stood. She accepted a flag from the front row, read two signs, laughed with Mauro near the side of the stage, and walked past the celebrity barricade without allowing her eyes to settle there.
Solana became more irritated with every minute.
“She’s ignoring you again,” Bella shouted over the music.
“She’s performing.”
“She looked everywhere except here.”
“She saw me.”
“Exactly.”
Solana folded her arms and continued watching. Miko’s refusal to acknowledge her felt intentional, which meant Miko was thinking about her. That should have been satisfying.
It was not.
The set moved into “COLMILLO.”
The lighting darkened, shifting toward deep violet and red as the bass rolled across the field. Miko took the microphone from its stand and began the section of choreography Solana had seen repeatedly online: the controlled drag of the mic through one hand, the way she settled into the beat, allowing the movement of her hips to turn the object into something much less innocent without ever becoming completely explicit.
The audience screamed in anticipation before Miko completed the first motion.
Solana stared.
Bella leaned toward her. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
“You stopped blinking.”
Miko finally looked toward the barricade.
She performed the next section without breaking eye contact.
Solana felt the challenge immediately. After ignoring her through most of the set, Miko had chosen this song to acknowledge her—chosen that particular movement and that deliberate, knowing expression.
Solana reached beneath the skirt of the white dress.
Bella’s eyes widened. “Oh my God.”
“Cover me.”
“Sol.”
“Cover me.”
Bella and Chase shifted in front of her, laughing in horrified disbelief as Solana disappeared behind them for several seconds. From the stage, Miko noticed the movement. She watched Solana duck from view, then reappear looking slightly disheveled, one hand smoothing the skirt of her dress while the other remained closed around something black.
Miko nearly missed the next lyric.
Solana stepped toward the barricade and opened her hand.
The black thong carried the same deep pink Do Not Disturb lettering as the official merch.
Miko’s eyes widened.
Solana held it up between two fingers.
The camera found her.
Her image appeared on the side screens, white dress glowing beneath the evening light while the black fabric swung from her hand.
The crowd understood before Miko did.
The noise became deafening.
Simone, standing several feet behind Solana, placed both hands over her face.
Miko’s mouth fell open.
Solana drew her arm back and threw.
The underwear rose above the barricade, turned once through the air, and came down near the front edge of the stage. Miko moved instinctively. She reached out with one hand and caught it without interrupting the song.
For a full second, she stared at what she held.
Then she looked at Solana.
Solana stood with one hand resting against the barricade, smiling as though she had not just created tomorrow’s largest entertainment headline.
Miko pressed her tongue against the inside of her cheek.
The microphone remained near her mouth, but she stopped singing long enough for the backing vocals to carry the line. Every camera onstage seemed to recognize that something more interesting than the choreography had happened.
Miko lifted the thong where the crowd could see it.
The field exploded.
She walked toward the microphone stand, looped the garment securely around the metal near the top, and tightened it with one deliberate pull. Then she resumed the choreography, using the stand exactly as she had moments earlier, only now Solana’s offering moved with each controlled motion.
Bella grabbed Solana’s arm. “You are going to hell.”
Solana did not look away from Miko. “Worth it.”
Miko reached the edge of the stage during the instrumental break. She lowered herself into a crouch, bringing her face closer to the barricade while security held the crowd behind it.
Solana leaned forward.
Miko mouthed, You’re in trouble.
Solana pointed toward herself, then toward the underwear tied to Miko’s microphone.
Text me back.
Miko’s jaw tightened.
She stood and continued the performance, but the composure had shifted. There was more force in the choreography now, more deliberate emphasis whenever she moved toward Solana’s side. The playful confidence had become something sharper.
Solana had wanted a reaction.
She had one.
The remainder of Miko’s set became an escalating conversation conducted through songs neither woman had written about the other. Miko directed suggestive lyrics toward the celebrity barricade. Solana sang along without embarrassment, holding Miko’s gaze whenever the cameras turned away. During one chorus, Miko pointed directly toward her and changed enough of the delivery that the surrounding fans erupted despite not understanding the private argument.
When the set reached “BnB,” the visuals shifted toward a dark hotel room, and Miko’s voice softened into something more intimate. She stood nearly still during the opening, one hand wrapped around the microphone while the stage lights traced the line of her shoulders.
Solana’s smile disappeared.
For the first time that evening, she watched without planning her next retaliation.
Miko looked beautiful beneath the low lighting. Not in the polished, public way Solana had already recognized, but in the smaller details the cameras did not always capture: the concentration in her brow, the slight movement of her fingers against the microphone, the way her face changed when the crowd sang a line back to her.
Solana understood why people loved her.
The realization felt inconvenient.
Miko completed the song, then immediately ruined the moment by walking toward Solana’s side of the stage and tapping the Do Not Disturb thong tied near the microphone.
“This belong to somebody?” she asked the crowd.
Solana raised her hand.
Miko laughed.
The field erupted again.
“I’ll keep it safe,” Miko said, looking directly at her.
Solana shouted, “Can I get a response now?”
The microphone did not pick it up, but Miko understood.
She smiled and turned away.
Still no answer.
By the time the performance ended, NO PANTIES MOMMY and TEXT HER BACK were both trending. The photograph of Miko catching the thong circulated beside screenshots of Solana’s afternoon post, while slowed footage of Miko’s initial reaction gathered millions of views before either woman left the festival grounds.
The final headline from one entertainment account read:
YOUNG MIKO AND SOL TURN UK FESTIVAL INTO THEIR PERSONAL FLIRTATION ARENA
Below it, the replies split predictably.
Some fans treated the entire day as proof that the chemistry was real. Others accused both women of manufacturing a relationship to promote their projects. A small but loud group insisted that Solana’s label had planned everything, including the sign, the tweet, and the thrown underwear.
One post read:
This is so obviously promo. No two people behave like this naturally.
Another responded:
Have you ever met lesbians?
Solana read that reply while being driven back to the hotel.
She liked it from her private account.
Miko still had not texted.
The official after party occupied the upper floors of a converted hotel near the festival grounds. The main room had been transformed into a club with low amber lighting, mirrored columns, velvet booths, and a DJ platform overlooking the dance floor. Artists, producers, influencers, athletes, actors, and people whose professional purpose remained unclear moved through the space while cameras waited beyond the entrance.
Solana arrived with Bella, Chase, and two members of her team shortly before midnight. She still wore the white dress, now paired with gold heels and a small matching bag. The light fabric moved around her knees as she walked, giving the outfit an almost innocent quality that made the afternoon’s incident seem even more absurd.
Simone stopped her before they entered.
“Please behave.”
Solana looked wounded. “Why does everyone keep saying that to me?”
“Because you threw your underwear at Young Miko in front of seventy thousand people.”
“She promised to bring some and didn’t.”
“You removed the only pair you were wearing.”
“Allegedly.”
“Solana.”
“I’m going to dance with my friends.”
“On the floor.”
“That sounds limiting.”
Simone pointed toward her. “On the floor.”
The first hour passed without Miko.
Solana spoke with other artists, accepted congratulations on her set, and allowed Bella to introduce her to three people she had already met at separate events. She drank slowly, conscious of the cameras that appeared whenever a recognizable group gathered in one place.
Every few minutes, her attention shifted toward the entrance.
Miko arrived at 12:47.
Solana noticed because the room seemed to notice. People moved toward her, greetings passing through the crowd while Miko entered with Mauro, Mariana, her brother, and several members of her tour team. Her performance extensions had been removed, leaving her natural dark brown hair short and slightly tousled around her face. She wore loose black trousers, a fitted sleeveless top, and a dark jacket over her shoulders.
Solana waited.
Miko greeted the DJ. She hugged two artists near the bar, stopped to speak with a producer, and laughed at something Mauro whispered beside her.
She looked directly toward Solana.
Then she turned away.
Solana’s drink paused halfway to her mouth.
Bella noticed. “Oh, she’s evil.”
“She didn’t see me.”
“She looked into your soul.”
“She’s busy.”
“She is punishing you.”
Solana took a longer drink. “She is not in a position to punish me.”
Chase leaned across the table. “That sentence made it sound like you want her to.”
“I want her to stop acting weird.”
“You threw underwear at her.”
“She stopped texting first.”
“So this is about the text.”
“It is about manners.”
Bella laughed. “You performed a horny song at her, tweeted that she was mommy, threw your thong onstage, and asked for a response in front of the UK. You might have exhausted the subtle options.”
Solana looked across the room again.
Miko had taken a place near the bar with her back partly turned. Every so often, she glanced toward Solana and looked away before their eyes properly met.
The deliberate avoidance began eating through Solana’s patience.
“She wants you to go over there,” Chase said.
“I’m not.”
“Then stop staring.”
“I’m not staring.”
Bella followed Solana’s line of sight. “You haven’t heard a word we’ve said in five minutes.”
Solana turned toward her friends. “Fine. What were you saying?”
“That you need to make her jealous.”
“No.”
“Yes,” Bella replied, leaning forward with the confidence of someone who would not personally experience the consequences. “She thinks she has you figured out. You spent all day trying to get her attention, so now she’s withholding it because she knows it bothers you.”
“It doesn’t bother me.”
“Then dance.”
Solana glanced toward the crowded dance floor. “I have been dancing.”
“Where she can’t see.”
Chase nodded toward the long velvet booth beside their table. The raised platform behind it was wide enough for people to stand and dance, although Simone had specifically told Solana to remain on the floor.
Solana looked toward Miko.
Miko was speaking to Mariana, apparently unconcerned.
“Watch my drink,” Solana said.
Bella began laughing before Solana stood.
The DJ had shifted into a fast, bass heavy track that filled the room with enough energy to make the platform seem less like a reckless decision. Solana stepped onto the booth, then climbed to the low table behind it, steadying herself with one hand against Bella’s shoulder.
The white dress moved around her legs as she began dancing.
People noticed immediately.
Phones rose across the nearby tables, and several guests joined her on the platform. Solana kept her movements playful at first, turning with the music while the light skirt floated around her knees.
Miko continued facing the bar.
Solana moved closer to the edge of the table.
The dress lifted with the next turn.
Miko saw.
Her entire posture changed.
She had been aware of Solana from the moment she entered the room. Ignoring her required constant effort, particularly after the festival set, the tweet, the thrown thong, and the message Solana had mouthed from the barricade. Miko wanted to speak to her. She also wanted Solana to understand that creating increasingly public spectacles would not force Miko into responding on command.
Then Solana climbed onto the table in a white dress with nothing beneath it.
Miko saw the first rise of the skirt and immediately understood.
She also saw the phones.
Several men near the opposite booth had turned their cameras toward Solana. Two influencers stood close enough to capture the movement from below. Bella attempted to hold the dress whenever it lifted, but Solana kept stepping beyond her reach.
Miko set down her drink.
Mariana followed her gaze. “Oh, no.”
Mauro turned. “What?”
Miko was already moving.
She crossed the room without acknowledging anybody who called her name, slipping between dancers and tables with a directness that made people move before she reached them. Solana saw her approaching and smiled, believing she had finally won.
The smile faded when she saw Miko’s expression.
Miko stopped at the edge of the booth and looked up. “Get down.”
Solana continued moving to the music. “Now you see me?”
“Solana.”
The full name carried enough warning that Bella moved aside.
Solana lifted her chin. “I’m dancing.”
“You’re getting down.”
“You don’t tell me what to do.”
The skirt lifted again as somebody bumped the table.
Miko reached up immediately, catching both the front and back of the floating fabric in her hands and pressing it firmly against Solana’s body before the nearby cameras captured anything more revealing. With the dress secured, she placed one arm around Solana’s waist and guided her toward the edge.
Solana resisted for half a second.
Miko tightened her hold.
“Don’t,” she said, quiet enough that only Solana heard.
Something in the command traveled straight through Solana’s body. She stopped fighting, although the sudden obedience embarrassed her enough that she attempted to disguise it as balance. Miko lifted her down carefully but without asking permission for every movement. One hand remained spread across the back of the dress, holding the fabric against Solana as the other controlled her waist. Solana’s body slid briefly against hers on the descent, the close pressure drawing a small sound from Solana’s throat before her heels reached the floor.
Miko heard it.Her jaw tightened.
Solana looked at her, breathing harder than the dancing justified.
For several seconds, neither woman spoke. Miko’s arm remained around her waist, while the hand holding the back of the dress rested low enough to make Solana intensely aware of exactly how thoroughly she had been gathered against Miko’s body.
Then Miko removed her jacket with one hand.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Solana demanded, although the question lost force when Miko wrapped the jacket around her waist and pulled the sleeves tight enough to secure it.
Miko’s eyes remained on the knot. “Where are your underwear?”
Solana glanced down at her with feigned innocence. “You have them.”
Miko went still.
The music continued around them. Nearby guests pretended not to watch while recording through phones held at chest height. Bella stood several feet away with both hands over her mouth.
Miko raised her eyes slowly. “Bathroom. Now.”
Solana’s pulse jumped. “You’re not my boss.”
Miko caught one end of the jacket and pulled Solana a step closer, forcing her to lower her voice unless she wanted the surrounding room to hear.
“Then stop making me take care of you like this.”
Solana stared at her.
The words struck harder because of the interview. The water. The sleep reminder. Solana’s joke about acts of service. Everything Miko remembered despite acting as though she had forgotten Solana for two weeks.
“I didn’t ask you to,” Solana said.
“No. You climbed onto a table with no underwear and waited until I noticed.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“You knew exactly where I was.”
“You were ignoring me.”
Miko’s expression changed by the smallest degree. “Bathroom.”
“I’m not following you around because you snapped your fingers.”
Miko leaned closer, her mouth near Solana’s ear while one hand remained firm at her waist. “You already followed me off the table, baby. Don’t start pretending you don’t listen now.”
Solana’s breath caught.
Miko stepped back before she could answer, keeping hold of one sleeve of the jacket as she guided Solana through the crowd.
The bathroom occupied a quiet corridor beyond the main party room. A security guard recognized them and prevented anyone else from entering after Miko pushed open the door. The music became a distant pulse when it closed behind them.
The room was large and unnecessarily luxurious, with dark marble sinks, gold fixtures, full length mirrors, and individual stalls separated by heavy doors. Solana walked toward the counter and turned, immediately preparing to reclaim whatever control she had lost on the dance floor.
Miko locked the main door.
The click echoed.
Solana’s eyes shifted toward it.
Miko noticed.
She removed the sunglasses she had worn into the club and placed them beside the sink. Without the dark lenses, there was nothing playful in her expression.
“How much have you had to drink?”
Solana folded her arms. “Don’t do that.”
“Answer.”
“Two drinks.”
“Over how long?”
“Three hours.”
“Are you dizzy?”
“No.”
“Do you feel sick?”
“No.”
Miko moved closer, watching Solana’s face as though checking the answers for herself. “Did you take anything?”
“No, María Victoria.”
“Good.”
The small approval in the word irritated Solana almost as much as the relief it caused.
“You don’t get to disappear for two weeks and then walk into a bathroom acting like you own me.”
Miko stopped several feet away. “I don’t think I own you.”
“You’re doing a convincing impression.”
“I covered you because half that room had a camera pointed up your dress.”
“I knew what I was doing.”
“No, you knew what you wanted me to see. You weren’t paying attention to everybody else.”
Solana’s face warmed. “I can take care of myself.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
The question landed with enough accuracy that Solana looked away.
Miko exhaled and moved toward her, stopping close enough that the edge of the jacket brushed her leg. “You were so busy trying to get a reaction out of me that you didn’t notice who else was watching.”
“I noticed.”
“You didn’t care.”
“Why should I?”
“Because they don’t know you. They don’t care whether you’re drunk, whether you’ll regret it, whether the angle follows you around for the next ten years. They want a clip.”
“And you don’t?”
Miko’s brows pulled together. “What?”
“You liked the attention when it made you look good. You called me during an interview because you wanted everybody to know you had my number. You brought a sign to my set because you knew the cameras would find you. Then the second I do something you didn’t plan, suddenly you care about privacy.”
Miko’s mouth tightened. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No. I called because they challenged me, and I brought the sign because I thought you’d laugh.”
“I did laugh.”
“You also spent the rest of the day trying to punish me.”
Solana stepped closer. “You ignored me for two weeks.”
“There it is.”
“Yeah, there it fucking is. You wanted me to react, and now you’re mad because I did.”
“I stopped answering because every conversation turned into you testing me.”
“And every conversation before that turned into you telling me what to do.”
“Because you don’t know when to stop.”
“You don’t know me well enough to decide that.”
“I know you stayed in rehearsal until midnight, ignored your team, and got defensive when I told you to sleep. I know you saw I was doing press and arranged that robe before answering. I know you threw your underwear at me in front of thousands of people because I didn’t respond to one message.”
“Fourteen days.”
Miko stared at her.
Solana hated the small break in her own voice and hated even more that Miko heard it.
“You counted too,” Miko said quietly.
“Fuck you.”
“You counted.”
“Because you started a conversation and disappeared. Because you called me your friend in front of everybody, acted like you wanted to know me, and then left me sitting there wondering what I did.”
The anger in Miko’s face softened.
Solana looked away before she could see too much of it. “I’m not begging anybody to talk to me. I’m not chasing you. I just think it was shitty.”
“It was.”
The immediate agreement forced Solana’s eyes back toward her.
Miko rubbed one hand over the back of her neck. “I should’ve answered.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Because you make everything feel like a dare.”
“Maybe because you treat everything like you’ve already won.”
“I don’t.”
“You brought a sign telling me to be good.”
“You tweeted about calling me mommy.”
“You started it.”
“You threw your underwear.”
“You promised yours first.”
Miko almost smiled, but the expression vanished before it fully formed. “You don’t know when we’re playing and when we’re not.”
“Neither do you.”
“That’s the problem.”
The distant music filled the silence between them.
Miko moved closer until only a small amount of space remained. Solana could smell her perfume beneath the traces of stage sweat and the smoky air of the club. Without the jacket, Miko’s sleeveless top revealed the ink along her arms, every line shifting when she placed one hand on the counter beside Solana.
“I stopped texting because I couldn’t tell whether you actually wanted to talk to me,” Miko said, “or whether you wanted another reaction you could turn into a joke.”
Solana held her gaze. “I answered when there weren’t cameras.”
“You also left me on read first.”
“You were being bossy.”
“I was worried.”
The words came out quietly, without any of the confidence Miko usually wrapped around emotional admissions.
Solana’s anger faltered.
Miko continued before she could respond. “You told me you’d been rehearsing since six in the morning. It was almost midnight, and you said you hadn’t eaten. I wasn’t trying to manage you. I was trying to make sure you didn’t make yourself sick.”
“You could’ve said that.”
“I did.”
“You gave me instructions.”
“Because you would’ve argued with the softer version too.”
Solana could not deny it.
Miko lifted one hand and caught the knot of the jacket around Solana’s waist, checking that it remained secure. Her fingers moved slowly, tightening the sleeve before smoothing the fabric over Solana’s hip.
The gesture was practical.
It did not feel practical.
Solana watched her hands. “You still didn’t text me.”
“No.”
“Even after the interview.”
“No.”
“Even after I made you blush.”
Miko looked up. “You think you made me blush?”
“I saw your ears.”
“It was hot.”
“It’s hot now too.”
The bathroom was cool.
Miko understood the provocation. Her hand remained at Solana’s waist, thumb resting near the knot while she studied Solana’s face.
“You really need somebody to tell you when to stop,” Miko murmured.
Solana’s pulse moved against her throat. “Maybe I’m waiting for somebody capable of it.”
Something changed in Miko’s expression.
The playful rivalry, the public jokes, and the safe distance created by cameras disappeared. Miko stepped fully into Solana’s space, using the hand at her waist to guide her backward until the marble counter pressed against her lower back.
Solana’s breath caught.
Miko did not touch her anywhere else. She did not need to. The quiet authority of the movement, the certainty with which she placed Solana exactly where she wanted her, made every inch between them feel charged.
“You think this is funny,” Miko said.
Solana lifted her chin, although her voice came out softer than intended. “A little.”
“You think you can push and push until I react, then act surprised when I do.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“No?”
“No.”
Miko raised one hand and placed two fingers beneath Solana’s chin. The touch was not painful, but it gave Solana a clear choice: pull away or allow Miko to guide her face upward.
Solana allowed it.
Miko noticed.
Her thumb settled lightly near the corner of Solana’s jaw. “You climbed onto that table because you wanted me to come get you.”
Solana’s lips parted.
“You wanted me to see the dress,” Miko continued, voice low and even. “You wanted me to know you weren’t wearing anything beneath it. You wanted me angry enough to stop ignoring you.”
Solana tried to smile. “It worked.”
Miko’s fingers tightened by the smallest degree. “That isn’t an answer.”
“You already decided what the answer was.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
The demand moved through Solana like heat. She could have laughed. She could have insulted Miko, turned away, or reminded her that they were barely friends.
Instead, she whispered, “I wanted you to look at me.”
Miko’s eyes moved across her face. “I was looking.”
“You acted like you weren’t.”
“Because you don’t get everything the second you demand it.”
“Neither do you.”
“I know.”
Miko leaned closer.
Solana stopped breathing.
Their mouths remained separated by barely an inch. Solana could feel Miko’s breath against her lips and the controlled tension in the hand still holding her chin. The position felt like a promise Miko had not decided whether to keep.
Solana tilted forward.
Miko held her still.
The refusal was gentle and absolute.
Solana’s eyes opened fully. “What?”
“You’ve been drinking.”
“I’m not drunk.”
“You’re angry.”
“So are you.”
“Exactly.”
Solana tried to move closer again, but Miko maintained the distance with two fingers beneath her chin and one firm hand at her waist.
“You don’t get to wind me up all day and then become responsible now,” Solana whispered.
“I’m responsible because you spent all day winding me up.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It does to me.”
“Miko.”
Miko’s eyes darkened at the shortened name. “When you’re sober, when you’re not performing for a room, and when you’ve decided whether you actually want this, you can try again.”
Solana’s pride rose immediately. “Who says I was trying?”
Miko’s gaze dropped to her mouth. “You did.”
“I moved.”
“You followed.”
Solana stared at her.
A slow smile appeared on Miko’s face for the first time since they entered the bathroom. It was not the playful expression from the stream. This one carried the quiet satisfaction of someone who had finally identified the exact point at which Solana’s confidence became uncertainty.
Miko loosened her hold and brushed her thumb once along Solana’s jaw before letting go.
The absence of contact felt abrupt.
Solana remained against the counter. “You’re so full of yourself.”
“And you’re still wearing my jacket.”
“You put it on me.”
“Keep it on.”
“Bossy.”
Miko picked up her sunglasses from beside the sink. “Reckless.”
“You liked it.”
“I liked catching the underwear.”
“You liked the table too.”
Miko looked toward her. “I liked getting you off it.”
Solana’s stomach tightened.
Miko placed the sunglasses back on, concealing whatever appeared in her eyes after the admission. Then she walked toward the door.
“You’re leaving?” Solana asked.
“I’m going back to the party.”
“That’s it?”
Miko looked over her shoulder. “Be good, baby.”
Solana folded her arms. “That wasn’t an answer.”
“You haven’t earned one yet.”
Miko unlocked the door and left.
Solana remained alone in the bathroom, wearing Miko’s jacket and attempting to decide whether she wanted to scream, laugh, or follow her back into the club and start the entire argument again.
She eventually chose the fourth option.
She opened her phone.
There were already twelve new videos of Miko carrying her through the crowd.
The internet had captured the moment from several angles. One clip showed Miko pressing the front and back of Solana’s dress down before lifting her from the table. Another zoomed in on Miko tightening the jacket around her waist. The clearest angle caught Solana’s face when Miko leaned toward her ear.
The caption read:
SOL WENT FROM BRAT TO SILENT IN 0.4 SECONDS
Solana closed the app.
“Fuck all of you,” she muttered.
When she returned to the party, Miko was nowhere near the bar. She had moved to a private booth with her team and did not look toward Solana again.
This time, Solana understood that the distance was not rejection.
It was restraint.
That knowledge made it worse.
The following morning arrived with sunlight pressing through hotel curtains and a headache pulsing behind Solana’s right eye.
She woke diagonally across the bed wearing a large T shirt she did not remember changing into. Bella slept beneath a blanket on the sofa, one arm hanging toward the floor while the television played silently.
Miko’s jacket lay across the chair near the window.
Solana stared at it.
Fragments of the previous night returned in uneven pieces: the table, Miko’s hands securing the dress, the locked bathroom door, two fingers beneath her chin, the almost kiss that Miko had stopped.
When you’re sober, you can try again.
Solana covered her face with both hands.
“Oh, my God.”
Bella stirred on the sofa. “You alive?”
“No.”
“Good. Simone wants us downstairs in forty minutes.”
Solana sat up slowly. “Where’s my phone?”
“You had it when we came in.”
“That is not helpful.”
She searched the sheets, the floor, and the bathroom before remembering that Miko had put the phone somewhere after securing the jacket. Solana crossed the room and lifted the dark fabric from the chair.
Her phone rested inside the outer pocket.
The battery was at fourteen percent. Notifications filled the screen, including messages from Simone, Chase, Nadia, and three people asking whether she and Miko had fought.
There was nothing from Miko.
Solana searched the second pocket for the room key she had also misplaced.
Her fingers closed around soft fabric.
She pulled out a clean red thong.
White lettering across the front read:
DO NOT DISTURB
Solana stared at it.
Bella sat upright. “What did you find?”
Solana held it up.
Bella’s mouth dropped open. “Those are not yours.”
“No.”
“Miko’s?”
“She brought them.”
“Wait.” Bella stood, blanket falling around her feet. “She actually brought panties to your set?”
“Apparently.”
“And didn’t throw them?”
Solana began laughing.
The entire day—Miko’s sign, Solana’s tweet, the black thong sailing toward the stage, Miko’s insistence that Sol cover herself—collapsed into one ridiculous conclusion. Miko had arrived prepared to fulfill the joke and lost her nerve, only for Solana to do it first.
Solana photographed the underwear against the white hotel sheets.
SOL: so you did bring panties.
She waited.
The message showed as delivered.
For thirty seconds, nothing happened.
Then the typing bubble appeared.
MIKO: I came prepared.
Solana smiled despite the headache.
SOL: prepared to throw them or prepared to make me wear them?
The typing bubble disappeared.
It returned.
Then disappeared again.
Solana’s smile widened.
Bella leaned over her shoulder. “What did you say?”
“Mind your business.”
“You spent yesterday making it everybody’s business.”
Miko finally answered.
MIKO: depends.
Solana stared at the single word.
SOL: on what?
MIKO: are you going to behave?
Solana settled back against the headboard, the underwear still gathered in one hand.
SOL: probably not.
MIKO: figured.
SOL: can I keep them?
Several minutes passed. Solana imagined Miko reading the question somewhere else in the hotel, remembering exactly how the jacket ended up around Solana’s waist.
The reply appeared.
MIKO: keep the jacket too, baby.
Solana read the message twice.
Then she opened the private photograph she had saved from the interview the one showing Miko’s ears turning red and placed it beside the new text.
Bella watched her expression. “You’re gone.”
“I’m hungover.”
“That is not what I meant.”
Solana folded the black underwear and placed it carefully on the nightstand. “She’s still irritating.”
“Of course.”
“And controlling.”
“Obviously.”
“And she left me on read for two weeks.”
Bella nodded patiently. “Terrible woman.”
Solana looked at Miko’s jacket draped across her legs. The fabric still carried a trace of her perfume.
Her phone vibrated again.
MIKO: how’s your pride feeling this morning?
Solana typed without hesitation.
SOL: better than yours did when you caught my underwear.
MIKO: I caught them though.
SOL: congratulations mami
Miko began typing immediately.
Solana waited, smiling at the screen as the bubble appeared and disappeared several times.
Whatever response Miko eventually chose, the silence between them was over.
And this time, neither woman intended to behave.
10.3k wrds
a/n:
hiiii, how are we feeling after chapter three??????????????????????????????? 😭 Sol throwing the DND underwear after Miko showed up with a whole BE GOOD, BABY sign was inevitable, but I genuinely think the bathroom argument changed the game for both of them. They’re still claiming they barely like each other while conducting full public relationship warfare
How do you guys get people in your asks bc I love talking to people sm anon or not and answering questions but like…how do I encourage people to do that without posting begging 😭
synopsis: Six days after their first real encounter, Solana and Miko have become the internet’s newest obsession despite privately spending most of the week irritating each other. When Miko is challenged to call Sol during an interview, she expects an unanswered phone. Solana has other plans.
warnings: age gap between adults, suggestive dialogue, mild sexual tension, language.
Previous chapter: link
Six days after the stream, the internet had reached several conclusions about Solana Williams and Maria Victoria .
Most of them were wrong.
One account had constructed a twelve-part thread claiming the two women had secretly been dating since fashion week, supported by photographs in which Solana and Miko were not standing beside each other, looking at each other, or attending the same designer’s show. According to the thread’s author, this lack of direct evidence only demonstrated how careful they had been.
Another account claimed that Miko’s decision to hand Solana a bottle of water revealed a pattern of dominance and submission that had apparently developed within forty-three minutes of knowing each other. This theory received thirty-eight thousand likes and inspired an argument about whether opening someone’s water constituted an act of service, flirtation, possessiveness, or basic human decency.
The Uno footage had been slowed, brightened, cropped, sharpened, and analyzed from every available angle. Fans circled Miko’s thumb in red when it moved against Solana’s knuckle. They zoomed in on Solana’s face when Miko called her competitive. They posted side-by-side screenshots of Miko before and after Solana used her full name and insisted that María Victoria Ramírez had experienced a spiritual awakening in real time.
The original stream had lasted several hours. The internet had reduced it to approximately ninety seconds of glances, arguments, and hands touching over a playing card.
By the end of the week, the unofficial SOLKO account had accumulated more followers than several working musicians.
The page posted relentlessly. There were edited photographs, imagined text conversations, compilations of every time either woman had mentioned the other, and a daily poll asking followers whether they believed Solana and Miko would kiss, fight, fuck , or somehow do all three in the same evening. The fourth option won every time.
Solana’s fans, the Solmates, had accepted the ship with a mixture of excitement and suspicion. Miko’s fans had mostly responded by welcoming Solana into what they called an extremely competitive ecosystem. Both groups insisted that their artist had won the Uno game .
Miko had seen all of it.
She had also pretended she had seen none of it.
Her mistake came on the third morning, when she liked an edit from her verified account at two seventeen in the morning. The edit showed Solana saying, Be mature. You’re older, followed by Miko standing from her chair and stepping closer. The creator had added a slowed instrumental beneath it and captioned the video:
Miko remembering she likes women with attitudes.
The like disappeared four minutes later.
Screenshots did not.
By breakfast, Miko’s accidental interaction was trending alongside MIKO EXPLAIN YOURSELF and SOLKO CONFIRMED, neither of which she acknowledged publicly. When Mariana sent the screenshot into their group chat and asked whether Miko had anything to share, Miko claimed her phone had slipped.
Mauro responded that phones did not generally unlock themselves, open fan edits, watch them until the end, and press the heart button.
Miko told him to focus on music.
Privately, she blamed Solana.
It was easier than admitting she had watched the edit more than once. Their private conversation had not helped her case. What began as an argument about cheating at Uno had continued across several days, with neither of them willing to be the person who stopped responding first. They argued about the game, the definition of arrogance, whether Solana’s fandom name was cute or embarrassing, and whether bringing someone water qualified as taking care of them.Solana had informed Miko that one bottle did not constitute a meaningful contribution to her life.Miko responded by sending her a photograph of a full case of water with a bow placed on top.Solana sent back a photograph of a trash can.
The next morning, Miko asked whether Solana had slept. Solana replied that she had rehearsal at six. Miko told her that being talented did not make her immune to exhaustion and that she needed to stop acting as though working until her body gave out proved anything.
Solana had read the message. She had not answered.
That was forty-one hours ago. Not that Miko was counting.
“You’re doing it again.”
Miko lifted her eyes from the phone resting in her lap. She was sitting beneath studio lights in a cream-colored chair, one leg crossed over the other while several members of the production team adjusted cameras around the interview set. The backdrop had been designed to resemble a luxury hotel lobby, complete with dark paneled walls, brass lamps, room-number keys hanging behind a mock reception desk, and a glowing DO NOT DISTURB: LATE CHECKOUT sign.
Across from her, one of the interview hosts watched her over a stack of cue cards. Camila Torres had interviewed Miko twice before and had already learned that attempting to frighten her with silence was useless. Beside Camila sat her cohost, Adrian, who had spent the previous ten minutes pretending not to read the comments beneath the viral clips on his tablet.
“Doing what?” Miko asked.
“Checking your phone.”
“I have a life.”
“You checked it three times while they adjusted one light.”
“That light took fifteen minutes.”
“It took three.”
Miko locked the screen and placed the phone facedown against her thigh. “Maybe I was looking at the time.”
“There is a clock behind me.”
“I don’t like that clock.”
Camila laughed as a makeup artist stepped forward to pat powder along Miko’s cheek. Miko sat still, although her fingers moved restlessly against the edge of her phone. She wore a loose black suit over a fitted white tank, the sleeves pushed toward her elbows so the tattoos along both arms remained visible. Her chains had been arranged carefully against her chest, and her short hair had been freshly trimmed before the beginning of the press day. This was the fourth interview she had completed since morning. The questions had started blending together sometime after lunch.
How did it feel to release the deluxe?
Which collaboration surprised her most?
What had changed since the original album?
What could fans expect from the tour?
Was there anyone she still dreamed of working with?
Miko understood the necessity of promotion. She was proud of the project and grateful enough for the career surrounding it that she rarely complained publicly. Still, answering the same question in slightly altered forms for nine hours required a particular kind of patience, one she possessed only in inconsistent amounts.
A producer counted down from five. Camila straightened her cue cards while Adrian adjusted his jacket, and Miko placed her phone beneath one thigh before turning toward the main camera. The interview began easily. Camila welcomed Miko, congratulated her on the deluxe release and upcoming arena run, then asked whether the idea of Late Checkout had existed while she was creating the original album or developed afterward. Miko relaxed slightly when the conversation turned toward the music. “It developed after. When we finished Do Not Disturb, I felt like the album had the exact ending it needed, but I didn’t feel finished with the world. The first part is more internal. It’s like putting the sign on the door, turning off the phone, and finally giving yourself space to hear what’s happening in your own head. Late Checkout is what happens when you’ve rested enough to open the door again.”
“So the first album is isolation,” Adrian said, “and the deluxe is returning to the party?”
“Not isolation exactly,” Miko replied, considering the distinction. “Privacy. There’s a difference. Isolation can happen even when you’re surrounded by people. Privacy is something you choose because you need it. With Do Not Disturb, I needed to slow down and figure out how to exist inside everything that was happening without letting it consume me. Late Checkout has more movement and more people in the rooms, but it still happens on my terms.” Camila asked about the hotel concept, and Miko explained how life on the road had made hotels feel strangely familiar.
“Were you always somebody who needed quiet?” Camila asked.
“No,” Miko admitted, smiling. “I used to think resting meant I wasn’t doing enough. Especially when everything began moving quickly, I felt like I had to say yes to every opportunity because maybe it wouldn’t come again. Then your body humbles you. Your body says, ‘You can keep pretending you’re okay, but I’m going to sit you down anyway.’”
“What did slowing down teach you?”
“That nothing feels good if you’re too overwhelmed to experience it. I could be living something I had prayed for and still be thinking about what I needed to do next. That’s not ambition anymore. That’s being absent from your own life.”
Her answer quieted the room briefly. Camila nodded before asking how that realization had affected Miko’s relationships with the people around her.
“I think I’m more honest now,” Miko said. “Before, I would disappear emotionally. I’d be physically present, but if something was bothering me, I’d convince myself I could handle it alone. Now I try to say what I need. I’m still learning, obviously. Ask anybody who knows me and they’ll tell you I’m stubborn.”
Adrian glanced at his notes. “Do they say stubborn or controlling?”
Miko looked at him. “Who gave you that question?”
“That reaction answered it.”
“No, no.” She leaned forward, laughing as she pointed toward him. “Because somebody wrote that with a purpose. Who have you been talking to?”
Camila waited for the laughter in the room to settle. “So you don’t think you’re controlling?”
“I think I pay attention.”
The crew reacted before either interviewer could respond. One camera operator made a sound suspiciously close to a laugh, and Adrian slowly turned toward Camila.
Miko understood her mistake almost immediately.
“What?” she asked, already smiling because everyone else was smiling. “Why are you making faces?”
Camila lowered her cue cards. “You realize that exact sentence has been circulating all week.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course not.”
“I’m here to talk about my album.”
“And we are talking about your album,” Camila assured her. “Would you say Do Not Disturb changed the way you show affection?”
Miko narrowed her eyes, uncertain whether this was a trap. “Maybe.”
“What are your love languages?”
“Food.”
Adrian laughed. “Food is not officially one of them.”
“It should be. If I share my food with you, that’s serious. If I bring you food, even more serious.”
“Acts of service, then?”
“That’s part of it,” Miko said, settling back into her chair. “I like doing things for people. Remembering what they need, making their lives easier. I’m not always good at saying emotional things in the moment, so sometimes I show it first.”
Camila’s expression had become entirely too innocent. “Like bringing someone water?”
The room erupted.
Miko dropped her head and covered part of her face with one hand. “There it is. I knew it.”
“We didn’t say anybody’s name.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Adrian lifted his tablet. “The clip has thirty-one million views.”
“People are dehydrated. I’m raising awareness.”
“You opened the bottle for her.”
“I opened my bottle.”
“You placed hers directly beside her hand.”
“She hadn’t drank anything!”
Camila leaned forward. “So you had been watching.”
Miko stared at her, caught between laughing and defending herself. “We were in the same room. Everybody was watching everybody.”
“The cameras certainly were.”
“This is why I don’t do nice things.”
“That isn’t true,” Adrian said. “According to the internet, acts of service are your love language.”
“According to the internet, I got married last Thursday.”
“Were you invited?”
“No. I found out on TikTok.”
The conversation moved to the deluxe tracks before Miko could be pressed further. She spoke about wanting the additional songs to feel like the night had continued beyond the original checkout time. “Hoe Sh!t” carried the kind of self-assurance that arrived when she stopped overthinking how confidence would be perceived. “BnB” had a more intimate energy, a room-with-the-curtains-closed atmosphere that contrasted with the larger movement of the other additions. “Dream Team” allowed two women to occupy the same record without being forced into competition, something Miko found important in an industry that constantly compared female artists. “BIAF <3” was playful and deliberately excessive, built for dancing, and the kind of night where good decisions were no longer the priority.
When they reached “Aquel diciembre,” Miko spoke warmly about working with Rauw Alejandro for the first time and about how the collaboration had given the record another emotional texture. “No debo :(” occupied a more conflicted space, the knowledge that something might be a poor choice existing beside the desire to do it anyway.
“So Late Checkout is the part of the night where your judgment becomes questionable,” Camila said.
“My judgment is excellent.”
“You just described a song about knowingly making a bad decision.”
“Self-awareness makes it better.”
“That is absolutely not how consequences work,” Adrian replied.
Miko shrugged. “It sounds good, though.”
They talked about the tour next the scale of the production, the challenge of designing a show for arenas, and the lessons Miko had gathered from watching other performers navigate larger stages. She wanted the set to preserve intimacy despite the size of the rooms. The visual world would extend the hotel theme without turning the show into a literal stage play, moving through spaces and moods rather than recreating a lobby for two hours.
Camila asked what worried her most about beginning such a large tour.
Miko thought about the answer before speaking. “I don’t want to become so focused on making every second perfect that I stop enjoying it. That has happened before. You work toward something for years, and when you finally reach it, your mind starts looking for everything that could go wrong. I want to be responsible, but I also want to look around and understand that this is my life.”
“And what are you most excited about?”
“The fans. Hearing that many people sing something back to you is…” Miko paused, pressing one palm lightly against her chest. “There’s no normal way to experience that. You write something in a room with a few people, and then suddenly thousands of strangers know every word. It’s crazy.”
“Do you notice individual people in the crowd?”
“Sometimes. The signs especially.”
Adrian consulted his tablet with exaggerated casualness. “What about underwear?”
Miko laughed. “fortunately.”
“You have very passionate fans.”
“Very generous.”
“Do you keep anything that gets thrown onstage?”
“Not the underwear.”
“You don’t have a museum?”
“No.”
“A Late Checkout lost-and-found?”
Miko pointed toward him. “That might be part of the merch now. You’re giving ideas away for free.”
The interview continued through questions about Puerto Rico, her family, maintaining friendships while traveling, her earliest tattoos and what she listened to before performing. She was funny without trying to force every answer toward a punch line, occasionally slipping into Spanish when a thought arrived more naturally that way. Whenever she became passionate, her speech accelerated and her hands moved with it. When a question felt too personal, she did not withdraw so much as redirect it with a smile sharp enough to warn the interviewers that the door had closed. Nearly thirty minutes passed before Camila placed her original cue cards aside.
Miko noticed.
“Why are you putting those down?”
“Because I think we’ve behaved long enough.”
“why.”
Adrian turned his tablet around. The paused image on the screen showed Miko standing inches from Solana at the Uno table.
Miko looked toward the production crew. “Did all of you know about this?”
Nobody answered.
“Traitors.”
Camila laughed. “Let’s stop beating around the bush. Less than six days ago, you appeared on Kai’s stream with Sol , and the two of you produced what may be the most analyzed Uno game in human history.”
“We played cards.”
“You spent several hours arguing.”
“She started it.”
“According to Sol, you started it.”
“Sol says a lot of things.”
“Would ‘too much’ be the phrase you used?”
Miko tried not to smile. “Maybe.”
The monitor behind them changed to display several posts from the previous week.
SOLKO NATION, WE HAVE SURVIVED ANOTHER DAY
the way she said María Victoria and Miko forgot English
they’re either going to kiss or file restraining orders
Miko liked this edit and unliked it four minutes later. We saw you, diva.
Miko looked away from the final post. “That last one is fake.”
“It came from your account.”
“My phone slipped.”
Adrian stared at her. “Your phone slipped through an entire edit?”
“It was a complicated fall.”
“It watched forty-two seconds, pressed like and stayed there for four minutes?”
“You know a lot about this.”
“I prepared.”
Camila allowed Miko to laugh before asking, “What did you think of Sol before the stream?”
“I had met her a few times. She was nice.”
“Nice?”
“Quiet.”
“And what do you think now?”
“That she tricked everybody.”
“By not being quiet?”
“Exactly. Her interviews are very polished. She answers the question, smiles, says thank you. Then she gets comfortable and suddenly she’s accusing people of producing pornography and disrespecting her elders.”
“You are twenty-eight,” Adrian said.
“Exactly. Elders.”
Camila glanced toward the image behind them. “You seemed to enjoy it.”
“I like people who can have a conversation.”
“Is that what the two of you were doing?”
“What did it look like?”
“Flirting.”
“That sounds like your interpretation.”
“So you weren’t flirting?”
Miko shifted in her chair, crossing her legs in the opposite direction. “I didn’t say that.” Every member of the crew seemed to react at once. Miko laughed when she realized what had left her mouth. “No, wait. That’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean?”
“I mean everything gets called flirting now. You look at somebody, you’re flirting. You disagree, you’re flirting. You hand them water, suddenly there are essays.”
“Did you read the essays?”
“No.”
“Did Sol?”
“You would have to ask her.”
Camila’s eyes sharpened. “Have you spoken since the stream?”
Miko gave a small shrug. “A little.”
“A little?”
“We text.”
Adrian looked directly into the main camera. “They text.”
“We are both musicians. People in music communicate.”
“About music?”
Miko hesitated for half a second. “Not yet.”
“What have you been discussing?”
“Uno.”
“For six days?”
“She cheated.”
“She won.”
“Both things can be true.”
Camila leaned closer. “Does Sol agree that you are friends?”
Miko glanced toward her phone before returning her attention to the interviewers. “I don’t know. She’s dramatic.”
“You don’t know whether you’re friends?”
“I know. She probably has a different answer because she likes being difficult.”
“What would her answer be?”
Miko adopted an exaggerated imitation of Solana’s smoother Texas cadence. “‘We’re acquaintances, María Victoria. You don’t know me.’ Something like that.”
“She says your full name very comfortably.”
“I know, right”
“And you like when she does?”
Miko’s smile tightened. “Next question.”
Camila laughed. “The internet has noticed that you react every time she calls you María Victoria.”
“The internet needs jobs.”
“You reacted just now.”
“Because you’re interrogating me.”
“Does she have your number?”
“Yes.”
Adrian looked impressed. “You said that quickly.”
“Because it’s a simple question.”
“Does she answer when you call?”
Miko glanced down toward the phone hidden beneath her thigh. The truth was that she had not called Solana yet. Their entire conversation had occurred through text, voice notes, and one photograph of a water case that Solana had treated with profound disrespect.
“She’s busy,” Miko said.
“That sounds like no.”
“I didn’t say no.”
“Could you call her right now?”
Miko laughed because the suggestion seemed harmless. Solana had been ignoring her for nearly two days. Even if she saw the call, she would probably let it ring out of principle, then send some unbearable message later about Miko needing attention.
“I could call her,” Miko said.
Camila looked toward the camera. “She could call her.”
“I have her number. This is not a major achievement.”
“Prove it.”
Miko looked between the two hosts. “You think I’m lying?”
“We think it would make excellent television.”
“This isn’t television.”
“You know what I mean.”
One of the producers spoke from behind the cameras. “We can keep rolling.”
Miko reached beneath her thigh and retrieved the phone. “She’s not going to answer.”
“Why not?”
“She’s working.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she’s always working.”
“And you pay attention?”
Miko unlocked the phone without acknowledging the comment. Solana’s contact sat near the top of her recent messages under the name UNO CRIMINAL, a decision that immediately caused Adrian to lean out of his chair.
“What is she saved as?”
“Nothing.”
“That does not say nothing.”
Miko turned the screen toward herself. “Mind your business.”
“Call her.”
“You people are very demanding.”
Miko opened Solana’s contact and pressed the FaceTime icon before she could reconsider. She expected the call to ring until voicemail. That was the entire reason she was willing to do it. Solana would not answer, Miko would prove she had the number, and the interview would continue without giving the internet anything more useful than a contact name. The first ring sounded through the studio.
On the other side of the city, Solana stood beneath warm dressing-room lights while three people adjusted the golden-brown lace covering her body. The Fenty lingerie campaign had occupied most of her morning. The set was built in several connected rooms, each designed around a different shade of nude, gold, bronze, and chocolate. Solana had spent the previous two hours reclining across velvet furniture, walking through artificial sunlight, and holding positions that appeared effortless on camera while requiring every muscle in her body to remain painfully engaged. Between setups, she stood in front of a mirror wearing the next look: a sheer, warm-brown bodysuit embroidered with fine golden thread. The fabric disappeared against parts of her skin before catching the light across her waist and chest. A silk robe hung loosely from her shoulders, left open while the stylist adjusted the bodysuit’s high-cut leg.
Her hair fell in thick, polished waves down her back. Her makeup had been designed to make her skin appear lit from within, with bronze across her eyes and a caramel gloss that had been reapplied so often she could no longer feel it.
The phone vibrated against the makeup counter.
Solana glanced toward it and saw Ancient Uno Victim filling the screen.
She ignored the first ring while the stylist secured the final strap.
“She has been texting you all day?” Nadia, her makeup artist, asked.
“She texted me once yesterday.”
“And you haven’t answered.”
“She was being irritating.”
“What did she say?”
“That I need to sleep.”
Nadia paused. “That’s it?”
“It was the way she said it.”
“In a text?”
“You can hear tone in punctuation.”
The phone continued ringing. Solana looked at the FaceTime icon, then noticed the faint movement behind Miko’s name as the preview connected. Bright studio lighting. A structured background. Somebody’s shoulder beside her.
Miko was doing press.
Solana’s irritation transformed almost instantly.
“Oh,” she murmured.
Nadia followed her gaze. “What?”
“She thinks she’s slick.”
The second ring ended and the third began. Solana moved closer to the mirror, pulled the silk robe higher along one arm, then allowed the opposite side to fall a little more naturally from her shoulder. She checked the way the golden lace framed her chest and turned slightly until the light struck her skin properly.
Nadia watched all of this with growing disbelief. “Are you going to answer?”
“I’m deciding.”
“You just fixed your hair.”
“It was out of place.”
“You moved one curl.”
The fourth ring began.
Solana picked up the phone, waited until the final second, and answered.
Her face appeared on the studio monitor behind Miko before Miko had time to prepare herself.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Solana rested one hand against the counter and looked directly into the camera with an expression of mild confusion, as though she had not spent the previous twelve seconds arranging the exact image Miko now saw. The robe sat low on one shoulder, exposing the fine lace beneath it, while the warm dressing-room lights made the gold thread shimmer every time she breathed.
“Hello?” Solana said, her voice slightly breathless from rushing between the mirror and the phone.
Miko forgot the interview existed. Her eyes moved across the screen once, then returned immediately to Solana’s face. She became aware of the silence around her only when Adrian shifted in his chair.
Solana’s mouth curved.
“María Victoria?”
A sound escaped someone behind the cameras. Camila covered her lips with the cue cards. Miko straightened in her chair. “So you can answer FaceTime, but you can’t answer a message?”
Solana leaned closer to the screen, pretending to study her. “Hello to you too.”
“I texted you.”
“I saw it.”
“Forty-one hours ago.”
“You counted?”
“No.”
“That number sounded very specific.”
“I checked.”
“Why?”
Miko realized too late that she had walked directly into the question. “Because you didn’t answer.”
Solana looked pleased with herself. “Maybe your message wasn’t interesting.”
“I told you to rest.”
“You ordered me to rest.”
“It wasn’t an order.”
“You said, ‘Go home, shower, eat something and sleep before you make yourself sick.’”
“That’s advice.”
“That is a list of instructions.”
“Because you said you were still in rehearsal at midnight.”
“You are not my manager.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
Miko glanced around the studio, suddenly remembering that several cameras were recording. The interviewers had stopped pretending not to listen. Camila sat motionless, while Adrian’s expression suggested that every professional ambition he had ever possessed had culminated in this call.
Miko turned her phone enough for Solana to see the interview set. “I’m doing press.”
Solana’s eyes moved toward the people around her. “Oh.”
The single syllable contained no genuine surprise.
Miko narrowed her eyes. “You knew.”
“How would I know?”
“You fixed up yourself before answering.”
“I always look like this.”
Adrian bent forward, silently laughing. Camila turned away from the camera for a moment to regain control of her face.
Miko looked back at Solana. “So you just answer the phone like that?”
Solana glanced down at herself as though noticing the lace for the first time. The movement caused the silk robe to shift slightly farther along her arm. “Like what?”
Miko’s jaw tightened. “You know what.”
“I’m at work.”
“What kind of work?”
“A campaign fitting.”
“You’re wearing that to a fitting?”
“This is what I’m fitting.”
“For what?”
Solana allowed the pause to last just long enough. “Fenty.”
The room reacted again.
Miko pressed her tongue against the inside of her cheek and looked away from the screen for half a second. “Okay.” Solana recognized the movement from the stream. It was what Miko did when she was trying not to react too openly, which meant the outfit had accomplished exactly what Solana hoped it would.
“Do you not like it?” Solana asked.
Miko’s gaze returned to her. “I didn’t say that.”
“You made a face.”
“I did not.”
“Everybody around you made a face too.”
“That’s because they have no professionalism.”
Camila leaned toward the phone. “For the record, you look beautiful.”
Solana smiled warmly. “Thank you. See, María Victoria? That’s how you give a compliment.”
Miko shifted the phone closer to herself, partially blocking the interviewers’ view. “I know how to give compliments.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“I told you your performance at the awards was good.”
“You said, ‘That was cool.’”
“It was.”
“I spent three months rehearsing.”
“And it looked cool.”
Solana laughed, the sound low and slightly disbelieving. “Oh, you are terrible at this.” Miko looked down at the screen again. The robe had slipped enough to reveal the upper curve of Solana’s chest beneath the sheer lace, and while nothing about the campaign outfit was accidental, Miko disliked the realization that everyone in the studio could see the same image. She angled the phone farther toward her body.
Solana noticed immediately. “Why did you move me?”
“I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did. I was talking to your friends.”
“They’re not your friends.”
“They complimented me. That’s more than you’ve done.”
Miko lowered her voice. “Fix your robe.”
Solana’s eyebrows lifted, although she made no attempt to move the fabric. “Excuse me?”
“There are people here.”
“I know. You called me.”
“I didn’t know you were dressed like that.”
“Would you have called if you knew?”
Miko’s eyes returned to Solana’s face. “Probably not in front of everybody.”
The interview set erupted.
Miko closed her eyes briefly. “That’s not what I meant.”
Solana’s smile became slow and thoroughly satisfied. She had understood the situation the moment Miko revealed the cameras, and now that she knew the call had been made as part of an interview, she intended to make Miko regret every second of it.
“Oh,” Solana said, softening her voice. “So you would’ve called me privately?”
Miko leaned back in the chair. “You are doing too much.”
“I’m asking a question.”
“Fix the robe.”
“You don’t like it?”
“I did not say that.”
Solana caught the edge of the silk between two fingers but pulled it only slightly higher, preserving more than enough of the lace beneath it. “Better?”
Miko looked at her for a moment. “Not really.”
Adrian covered his face with both hands.
Camila whispered, “This is unbelievable.”
Solana heard her and laughed. “Who’s there?”
Miko finally turned the phone outward, revealing the interview hosts and part of the production crew. Camila waved, while Adrian leaned toward the camera with the expression of someone greeting a witness in an active investigation.
“We were discussing Miko’s new album,” Camila explained, “and then somehow we arrived at you.”
“Somehow,” Miko repeated.
Solana shifted against the makeup counter and brought the phone slightly closer to her face. “She talks about me a lot.”
“I do not.”
“You called me during your interview.”
“They didn’t believe I had your number.”
Solana’s expression changed. The catty amusement remained, but something sharper appeared beneath it as she considered the admission. “So you were showing me off?” Miko looked toward the interviewers as if one of them might provide a reasonable escape. They did not.
“No.”
“You stopped your whole interview to prove you could reach me.”
“They told me to call.”
“And you did.”
“Because they thought I was lying.”
Solana hummed thoughtfully and adjusted a curl over her shoulder. “Sounds like you were showing me off.”
“I knew you weren’t going to answer.”
“That’s even worse. You wanted everybody to watch you call me, knowing I wouldn’t answer, just so you could say you had access.”
Miko stared at her. Camila’s eyebrows rose. “She has a point.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“The truth.”
Solana smiled. “Thank you, Camila.”
Miko looked back at the phone. “How do you know her name?”
“It’s on the screen behind you.”
“You can see that?”
“I can see everything.”
The sentence settled between them for a second. Solana had intended it as another joke, but Miko’s expression shifted with enough interest that she quickly continued before the silence became useful to the editors.
“So what were y’all saying about me?”
“Nothing,” Miko replied.
Adrian leaned into frame. “We were asking whether the two of you have spoken since the stream.”
Solana’s eyes moved toward Miko. “Did she tell you I ignored her?”
“She implied you were busy.”
“That was generous.”
Miko frowned. “Why are you proud of ignoring me?”
“Because you were trying to tell me what to do.”
“I was trying to keep you from passing out in rehearsal.”
“My love language is acts of service, not unsolicited supervision.”
The entire room reacted to the phrase.
Miko’s face warmed visibly beneath the studio lighting. “Your love language?”
Solana shrugged one bare shoulder. “That’s what you called the water, right?”
“I didn’t call it that.”
“They did.” Solana gestured toward the interviewers. “And you agreed.”
“I said I like doing things for people.”
“You brought me water, texted to make sure I slept, and called me when I didn’t answer. You’re building a pattern.”
Miko laughed in disbelief and looked around the studio. “You see how she changes everything?”
Solana’s smile widened. “Am I lying?”
“You make it sound—”
“Like what?”
Miko stopped.
Solana waited.
Adrian’s eyes moved rapidly between the phone and Miko’s face. Camila sat so still she appeared afraid that any movement might disrupt whatever was happening.
Miko eventually shook her head. “Never mind.”
“No, finish.”
“You know exactly what you’re doing.”
“Yes,” Solana admitted.
That directness caught Miko off guard more effectively than the teasing had. Solana saw the moment in her face and took pity on her for approximately half a second.
Camila cleared her throat. “Sol, while we have you here, can I ask what you thought of Miko before the stream?” Solana looked pleased by the opportunity. “I thought she was nice.”
Miko made a face. “That’s what I said about you.”
“I’m sure you did. We barely knew each other.”
“And now?”
Solana considered the question while Miko watched her closely. “Now I think she’s irritating, controlling, competitive, and incapable of admitting when she loses.”
“I won three games.”
“And which game mattered?”
“All of them.”
“History remembers the final result.”
Miko pointed toward the screen. “See? She’s been repeating that for six days.”
“You’ve been arguing about it for six days,” Adrian said.
“Because she cheated.”
Solana gasped. “There were cameras everywhere. Please show me the cheating.”
“You distracted me.”
“How?”
Miko became quiet.
Solana leaned closer to the phone. “How did I distract you, María Victoria?”
The use of Miko’s full name produced another visible reaction around the studio. Someone whispered, “oh shit,” from behind one of the cameras.
Miko’s face became noticeably redder. “You talk too much.”
“That is not an answer.”
“You were doing things under the table.”
Solana’s eyebrows rose. “You need to clarify that immediately.”
The crew dissolved into laughter. Miko’s eyes widened as she recognized the phrasing.
“With the cards,” she corrected. “You were hiding cards.”
“I was holding them in my hand.”
“Under the table.”
“Because you kept looking at them.”
“I was checking for cheating.”
“You were staring at my hands all night.”
Miko pressed her lips together. “We are not doing this.”
“You brought me into the interview.”
“I’m hanging up.”
“You still haven’t complimented the outfit.”
Miko paused with her thumb near the screen. Solana looked back at her with calm expectation, the robe still resting loosely over the golden lace, her skin glowing beneath the dressing-room lights.
Miko sighed as if Solana had placed her under tremendous pressure. “You look good.”
Solana tilted her head. “Good?”
“Very good.”
“Better.”
“Beautiful,” Miko added, speaking quickly enough to make it sound as though the word had escaped before she could reconsider it. “You look beautiful. Happy?”
Solana’s expression softened for one brief moment before she covered it with another smile. “Thank you.”
The sincerity lasted barely a second, but Miko noticed it. Camila did too.
“See?” Solana continued. “You can follow instructions.”
Miko’s eyes narrowed. “And there she goes.”
Adrian leaned toward the phone again. “Sol, we asked Miko whether everything she says in her music is based on real confidence.”
Solana looked interested. “What does that mean?”
“Well, the songs are bold. Very Intimate. Do you think she lives up to the persona?”
Miko turned toward him. “Why would she know?”
“That is what we’re asking.”
Solana looked directly into the camera. “How the hell would I know? We’re friends.”
Miko’s attention snapped back to her. “Exactly.”
Camila looked between them. “So you are friends?”
Solana’s mouth curved. “We’re acquaintances with boundary issues.”
Miko sat upright. “No. We’re friends.”
“You’ve known me for six days.”
“And?”
“That is not enough time to start assigning titles.”
“I had your number before today.”
“So does my dentist.”
“Does your dentist text you at midnight?”
“My dentist respects boundaries.”
Miko laughed. “You answered my FaceTime in lingerie.”
“It is a campaign.”
“You answered.”
“You called.”
“Because they asked.”
“And now you keep refusing to hang up.”
Miko looked down at the call duration as if she had only just noticed that several minutes had passed. “I’m being polite.”
“Is that what this is?”
Camila interrupted before Miko could answer. “For clarity, Sol, you have no special insight into whether Miko lives up to the confidence in her songs?”
“I’ve only seen her play Uno,” Solana replied. “She talked a big game there too, and look how that shit ended.”
Miko leaned closer to the phone. “You won once.”
“And you’ve been thinking about it for six days.”
“I have not.”
“You saved my number as something about Uno.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know you.”
“You just said we’re acquaintances.”
“Acquaintances can be predictable.”
Adrian was nearly out of his chair now. “What did you save her number as?”
Miko immediately turned her screen away despite the fact that nobody could see it from the camera angle. “We are not discussing that.”
Solana’s eyes brightened. “You gave me a nickname?”
“No.”
“You did.”
“It’s not a nickname.”
“What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“María Victoria.”
Miko looked toward the ceiling. “This full-name thing has to stop.”
“Why?”
“Because you do it on purpose.”
“Do what?”
Miko lowered her gaze. “You know.”
Solana allowed the robe to slip another fraction of an inch before catching it again. “I don’t know anything. We’re only acquaintances.”
Miko shifted the phone away from the interviewers once more. “Put your robe on correctly.”
“It is on correctly.”
“No, it’s not.”
“It’s styled.”
“You’re doing that because there are cameras.”
“You called me while I was dressed like this. Sounds like poor planning.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You could have texted first.”
“You don’t answer texts.”
“That sounds like a personal problem.”
Miko stared at her, recognizing the phrase Solana had used on Kai during the stream. “You think you’re funny.”
“I know I am.”
A woman’s voice called Solana’s name from outside the dressing room and announced that they needed her back on set in two minutes. Solana glanced toward the doorway before returning to the phone.
“I have to go.”
Miko’s eyebrows rose. “You have to go?”
“Yes. Some of us are working.”
“I’m in an interview.”
“You’ve spent ten minutes arguing with me.”
“Because you answered acting crazy.”
“I answered my phone.”
“Like that.”
Solana smiled. “You keep bringing up how I look.”
“I’m bringing up the situation.”
“The situation being that I look beautiful?”
Miko rubbed one hand over her mouth, trying unsuccessfully to hide another smile. “Goodbye, Solana.”
The use of her full name made Solana pause. Miko rarely called her anything but Sol, and hearing the additional syllables in Miko’s accent created a small, unwanted warmth beneath her ribs.
She refused to let it show.
“Wait,” Solana said. “Before you go.”
“What?”
“When the interview gets posted, make sure they use the angle where you turned red.”
Miko’s mouth opened. “I did not turn red.”
“Your ears are still red.”
Everybody in the studio looked at Miko’s ears. Miko immediately ended the call. For two seconds, the room remained silent.Then every person on the set began speaking at once.
Camila dropped her cue cards against her lap and leaned back in the chair. Adrian stood completely, walking several steps away from the set as though he needed physical distance to process what he had witnessed. Someone behind the cameras began clapping. Miko remained seated with her phone still raised, staring at the blank screen where Solana’s face had been.
“That,” Camila said, “was the greatest thing that has ever happened in one of my interviews.”
Miko placed the phone facedown against her thigh. “You people are dramatic.”
“You moved the phone so we couldn’t see her.”
“Because she was half naked.”
“She was wearing a campaign outfit.”
“She needed to fix the robe.”
Adrian returned to his chair. “Why?”
“Because there were people here.”
“We had already seen her.”
“That doesn’t mean you needed to keep seeing her.”
“I felt responsible. I called her without knowing where she was.”
“And then you told her to cover herself.”
“I told her there were cameras.”
“She knew.”
“Exactly. She did all of that on purpose.”
Adrian smiled. “And it worked.”
Miko looked toward him. “What worked?”
“She wanted to fluster you.”
“I wasn’t flustered.”
“Your ears are red.”
Miko raised both hands to cover them and immediately realized that the reaction only strengthened his point. She dropped her hands again. “It’s hot in here.”
“It was not hot before Sol answered.”
“Next question.”
Camila glanced toward the production team. “I don’t think there is a better next question.”
“There has to be.”
“What are you going to save her contact as now?”
Miko laughed and shook her head. “The interview is over.”
“We do have one more.”
Miko looked suspiciously toward the abandoned cue cards. “About the tour?”
“Technically.”
“Fine.”
Camila collected the cards but did not look down at them. “Your first stretch includes a festival where Sol is also scheduled to perform.”
Miko tried to appear uninterested. “Maybe I’ll stop by.”
“To support your friend?”
“To judge her.”
Adrian laughed. “What will you be looking for?”
“Everything. Vocals, dancing, transitions. She said she rehearses all night, so I need to see whether it was worth ignoring my messages.”
“You could make a sign.”
Miko smiled as she considered it. “I’ll make the biggest sign in the crowd.”
“What will it say?”
“Probably something supportive, like ‘You still cheated.’”
Camila looked toward the main camera. “Sol, if you’re watching, Miko will be attending your set with a sign.”
“I did not confirm that.”
“What about joining the tradition of fans throwing underwear?”
Miko laughed and shifted deeper into her chair. “Maybe. I’ll take my panties off and throw them onstage like all her fans do.”
The studio erupted once more.
Miko raised one hand before anyone could speak. “As a joke.”
“You cannot add that afterward.”
“I just did.”
“Would they have your name in them?”
“Why would they have my name?”
“So she knows who sent them.”
Miko shrugged, enjoying herself again now that Solana was no longer on the screen turning every answer against her. “She would know.”
Camila stared at her. “How?”
Miko looked directly into the camera, smiling with the same calm confidence that had carried her through the beginning of the interview.
“She pays attention.” The interview ended there.
Within fifteen minutes, a member of the production team had cut a teaser containing Solana’s answer, Miko’s reaction, and the moment Solana asked whether she was being shown off. The full conversation had not even been uploaded when the first screen recording escaped through someone’s private account and spread across social media.
By the time Miko reached the hallway outside the set, SHOWING ME OFF was trending.
Mariana stood near the dressing room with both arms folded. She had watched the entire interview from behind the monitors and wore the patient expression she reserved for situations Miko had created entirely by herself.
“Don’t,” Miko said.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re about to.”
Mariana fell into step beside her. “I was only going to ask whether you enjoyed your album interview.”
“It was fine.”
“You discussed the album for thirty minutes and Sol for fifteen.”
“They called her.”
“You called her.”
“They challenged me.”
“And you are famously capable of ignoring a challenge.”
Miko pushed open the dressing-room door. “I thought she wouldn’t answer.”
“She answered.”
“I noticed.”
“In lingerie.”
“It was a campaign.”
“You corrected me very quickly.”
Miko dropped onto the small sofa and checked her phone. Solana had not texted since the call ended, although several messages from Mauro had filled the group chat.
MAURO: bro
MAURO: “fix your robe” ??????
MAURO: she had you fighting for your life
MARIANA: I witnessed it in person.
MAURO: did she really say she wore it for you
MARIANA: Essentially.
MIKO: all of you need jobs
MAURO: this is my job. team morale.
Miko muted the conversation.
Mariana sat in the chair opposite her. “The festival account has already posted both of your performance times.”
“That was fast.”
“They understand engagement.”
Miko looked at her over the phone. “Don’t start.”
“I am not suggesting anything.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I’m observing that the public is interested in seeing the two of you together.”
“The public watched us argue over Uno and decided we were married. Their judgment is questionable.”
“Your judgment led you to FaceTime a woman you knew was ignoring you during a filmed interview.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
Miko returned her attention to the phone without answering.
The screen finally lit with Solana’s name After discreetly changing it during the interview.
SOL: did you enjoy showing me off?
Miko read the message, then locked the screen.
Mariana noticed. “Is that her?”
“No.”
“It says Sol.”
“You’re far away.”
“I can read.”
Miko unlocked the phone again.
MIKO: you embarrassed yourself more than me
The typing bubble appeared almost instantly.
SOL: your ears matched the interview sign
MIKO: it was hot in there
SOL: mhm
SOL: did your little friends like my outfit?
Miko frowned.
MIKO: too much
Solana did not answer immediately. Miko imagined her returning to set, the silk robe removed now that the actual campaign was being photographed. She disliked how easily the image formed in her mind and disliked even more that Solana would probably enjoy knowing it had.
The next message arrived.
SOL: jealous?
Miko smiled despite herself.
MIKO: of who?
SOL: whoever gets the final campaign pictures before you do
Miko stared at the sentence.
Mariana watched her expression carefully. “What did she say?”
“Nothing.”
“You smiled.”
“I’m always smiling.”
“You spent all morning complaining.”
Miko turned her body slightly away and answered.
MIKO: you think you’re very brave through a phone
SOL: you’re the one who called me
MIKO: next time I won’t
SOL: liar
Miko’s thumb hovered over the screen. Solana had been irritating from the moment she appeared in the house, but there was something especially maddening about the certainty with which she delivered that final word. She behaved as though she had already learned Miko’s patterns, as though six days of arguments and water bottles had given her the authority to predict what Miko would do next. Miko typed several responses, deleted each one, and finally settled on the simplest.
MIKO: I’ll see you at the festival
The typing bubble disappeared.
It returned.
SOL: are you coming to supervise me?
MIKO: judge you
SOL: bring water
MIKO: I’m bringing a sign
SOL: that’s cute
MIKO: and panties
There was a longer pause this time.
Miko sat forward slightly.
SOL: make sure they’re pretty
Miko read the message twice.
Mariana watched her ears turn red again.
Across the city, Solana sat beneath another arrangement of golden lights while a stylist adjusted the straps at her hips. She locked her phone and placed it facedown on the table, satisfied that she had regained control of the conversation.
Nadia stood behind her with a makeup brush. “Was that Miko?”
Solana looked at herself in the mirror. “Maybe.”
“She called you during an interview, told you to cover yourself, said you were beautiful, and now she’s texting you again.”
“She’s irritating.”
“That was not my question.”
Solana smiled as the photographer called her back toward the set. “No, but it’s still the answer.”
Neither woman mentioned the festival again that day. Neither needed to. By evening, clips from the interview had spread farther than the original Uno game. The moment Solana answered in gold lace became an edit before the official interview had finished uploading. Miko’s reaction to hearing María Victoria was replayed beside the same reaction from the stream. Fans posted compilations titled SOL USING THE GOVERNMENT NAME AS A WEAPON and MIKO TRYING TO HIDE SOL FROM THE CAMERAS FOR FOUR MINUTES. A photograph of Miko’s red ears received half a million likes.
The Solko account changed its biography:
acquaintances with boundary issues.
Under the festival’s newly posted schedule, thousands of fans began tagging both women and demanding a joint appearance. Some wanted Miko to join Solana’s set. Others wanted Solana to walk onstage during “BIAF <3.” Several offered to personally design the sign Miko had threatened to carry.
Solana publicly liked none of the posts.
Miko publicly liked none of them either.
Privately, Solana saved the clip of Miko calling her beautiful.
Privately, Miko asked Mariana how difficult it would be to attend the first twenty minutes of Solana’s festival set without alerting either team. Neither of them believed this constituted interest. They were only paying attention.
8.3k wds
a/n:
hiiii guys, how did we like chapter two? so I’m figuring her voice out as we go, but I’m having so much fun with Sol and Miko already. Also, please tell me who won the FaceTime argument because I personally think Sol knew exactly what she was doing 😭
that fic was beyond incredible, your writing style is so entertaining i couldn’t stop laughing. please make more i beg
ch 2 teaser
chapter two: showing me off?
young miko x femme!oc
Six days after the stream, the internet had reached several conclusions about Solana Williams and Maria Victoria .
Most of them were wrong.
One account had constructed a twelve part thread claiming the two women had secretly been dating since fashion week, supported by photographs in which Solana and Miko were not standing beside each other, looking at each other, or attending the same designer’s show. According to the thread’s author, this lack of direct evidence only demonstrated how careful they had been.
Another account claimed that Miko’s decision to hand Solana a bottle of water revealed a pattern of dominance and submission that had apparently developed within forty three minutes of knowing each other. This theory received thirty eight thousand likes and inspired an argument about whether opening someone’s water constituted an act of service, flirtation, possessiveness, or basic human decency.
The Uno footage had been slowed, brightened, cropped, sharpened, and analyzed from every available angle. Fans circled Miko’s thumb in red when it moved against Solana’s knuckle. They zoomed in on Solana’s face when Miko called her competitive. They posted side by side screenshots of Miko before and after Solana used her full name and insisted that María Victoria Ramírez had experienced a spiritual awakening in real time.
The original stream had lasted several hours. The internet had reduced it to approximately ninety seconds of glances, arguments, and hands touching over a playing card.
By the end of the week, the unofficial SOLKO account had accumulated more followers than several working musicians.
The page posted relentlessly. There were edited photographs, imagined text conversations, compilations of every time either woman had mentioned the other, and a daily poll asking......
synopsis: Kai invites two of music’s most talked-about queer artists to the same night of his newest marathon stream. What begins as an easy promotional appearance becomes several hours of arguments, accusations, competitive Uno, and enough chemistry to keep the internet occupied for weeks.
warnings: age gap between adults, competitive flirting, mild language.
The first indication that agreeing to appear on Kai’s stream had been a mistake came before Solana even entered the house.
Her SUV had barely reached the end of the driveway when dozens of phones rose behind the barricades, flashes firing through the tinted windows as the fans gathered outside began shouting her stage name. A group of girls had pressed themselves against the metal fencing with handmade signs held over their heads, one reading SOLMATES REPORTING FOR DUTY, another decorated with an entire solar system and a photograph of Solana’s face pasted over the sun. Somebody had even taped yellow battery-operated lights around the edges, which would have been impressive if the girl holding it had not looked approximately two seconds away from fainting.
Simone glanced up from her phone and followed Solana’s gaze through the window. As her manager, she had developed the unnerving ability to treat almost any level of chaos as an administrative inconvenience. Fans camping outside a streamer’s house did not surprise her. Neither did the security guards attempting to stop several people from stepping into the driveway.
“They’ve been waiting since noon,” Simone said, returning to the email she had been reading as though that information were perfectly ordinary.
Solana looked at the time displayed above the driver’s console. “It is almost nine.”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t concern you? Can you please get them some water or let them know I can’t come out ”
“fine your wish is my command BUT What concerns me is that you still haven’t posted the stream link.”
“There are six hundred thousand people watching him sit on a couch and scream. I don’t think my Instagram story is what’s holding the evening together.”
“You were specifically invited because your audience doesn’t completely overlap with his,” Simone explained, still typing. “He wants your fans watching, your label wants his audience hearing the new single, and I would like you to cooperate with one simple promotional request without behaving as if I have asked you to sell your organs.”
“My audience is already standing outside his house.”
“Your audience would stand outside a closed Walgreens if they thought you might be inside.”
Solana looked through the window again just as one of the girls recognized the outline of her face behind the glass. The girl began striking her friend’s arm so violently that the friend nearly dropped her phone, and within seconds the entire section of the barricade was screaming.
Simone lifted her eyes just long enough to say, “See?”
The driver stopped near the entrance, where security had begun clearing a path from the vehicle to the front door. Solana turned her phone toward herself for one final inspection. Long dark curls fell past her shoulders in deliberate waves that had taken nearly two hours to make look unplanned. Her vintage baby tee was fitted enough to show her waist without seeming as though she had dressed for the cameras, and the low-rise jeans her stylist had argued over all afternoon looked significantly better now that she was not standing beneath fluorescent dressing-room lights. Gold hoops, several thin necklaces, a collection of rings, and the glossy neutral lip she wore whenever she wanted to look effortless completed an outfit that had required an unreasonable amount of effort.
Simone finally set her phone aside and caught Solana’s wrist before she could reach for the door handle. “One thing.”
“There is always one thing.”
“Please don’t fight with anybody.”
“I have never fought anyone on a livestream.”
“You argued with a twelve-year-old during your last Twitch appearance.”
“He said Beyoncé couldn’t sing.”
“He was twelve, Solana.”
“He was wrong, Simone.”
They stared at each other until Solana sighed and placed one hand over her heart. “I will behave.”
Simone’s expression made it clear that she had no intention of accepting that promise without further clarification. Unfortunately for her, a security guard opened the car door before she could demand a legal definition of behaving, and the noise outside immediately doubled.
Solana stepped onto the driveway smiling, her public expression settling naturally across her face as she lifted one hand toward the fans. Security guided her toward the house while people called her name, shouted lyrics from her EP, and asked when the album was coming. One girl claimed she had been streaming Solana’s newest single since midnight, and Solana slowed long enough to tell her to protect her hearing before she was gently hurried toward the entrance.
The foyer was somehow louder than the driveway. Music played from somewhere deeper inside the house, crew members moved between rooms carrying cameras and cables, and every few seconds a voice erupted from around a corner as though the building had been designed to manufacture noise. Solana recognized several people immediately. Some were streamers she had met at events, some were musicians, and some were internet personalities whose clips she had watched without ever learning exactly what they did outside of appearing in other people’s clips.
Kai came running toward her before the front door had fully closed, a camera operator struggling to keep up behind him. “Yo! SOL is here!”
Solana laughed as he pulled her into a quick hug, then held her at arm’s length as if he needed to confirm that the person he had invited had actually arrived. “You actually came.”
“You invited me.”
“People say yes and then don’t come!”
“That sounds like a personal problem.”
Kai turned toward the nearest camera with an expression of disbelief. “You see how she already acting? She been here twelve seconds.”
“I was nice for ten of them,” Solana said, glancing toward the monitor mounted near the entrance. The chat was moving so quickly that individual comments were nearly impossible to read, although she caught her name repeating between rows of sun emojis, marriage proposals, demands for the album, and several people asking whether she planned to sing that night.
Kai noticed her attempting to follow the comments and moved closer to the screen. “Chat been asking about you all day.”
“Tell them I’m working on the album and that threatening my producers will not make it arrive faster.”
“It might.”
“It makes them nervous.”
“Same thing.”
Before Solana could answer, a smaller body collided with her side. She looked down to find Rakai grinning up at her with the confidence of someone who believed familiarity could be created through sheer determination.
“You remember me?” he asked.
“I remember you trying to tell me my own lyrics.”
“You got them wrong.”
“I wrote them.”
“That don’t mean you remember them.”
Solana placed a hand over her heart and looked toward Kai. “This is the disrespect you allow in your home?”
“This is his home now,” Kai said, pointing at Rakai. “I can’t control him.”
Rakai had already taken Solana by the hand and begun pulling her toward the main room, where Ray and madi were sitting together near the center of a large couch. Several people were arguing over a game controller while somebody attempted to connect a microphone that did not appear to belong to the sound system. Ray and madi greeted Solana warmly when she approached, and she perched on the arm of the couch while Kai attempted to explain the schedule for the evening.
It sounded less like a schedule and more like several unfinished ideas fighting for dominance. There would be food, a game of Mafia, something in the movie room, Uno if they found the cards, karaoke if enough people agreed, and possibly animals later in the night. Nobody seemed capable of explaining what kind of animals were coming or why they had been invited, but Kai insisted they were part of the plan.
madi was halfway through explaining where everyone had been told they could sleep if the stream continued into the morning when the volume near the entrance changed. It was not necessarily louder, but the energy of the room shifted toward it. Heads turned, several people began smiling, and Kai stood before the new guest even reached the main room.
“Miko!”
Solana did not turn as quickly as everyone else. That was intentional.
Young Miko entered with two members of her team and the relaxed expression of someone who had never once questioned whether a room would be pleased to see her. She wore an oversized gray jacket over a white tank, dark jeans sitting low on her hips, and sunglasses pushed into her hair despite the fact that the sun had disappeared hours earlier. A thin chain flashed at her throat when she leaned forward to hug Kai, and the chat on the monitor became a blur of capital letters before he had even finished welcoming her.
Solana had met Miko before, technically. There had been a label dinner in Los Angeles where they exchanged perhaps eleven words, most of them about the temperature inside the restaurant. At a fashion-week party, Miko had complimented Solana’s dress and disappeared into the crowd before Solana decided whether the tone had been friendly or flirtatious. Most recently, they had stood several people apart during an awards-show photograph while photographers demanded that everyone move closer, smile wider, and stop looking in different directions.
Miko had been pleasant each time. She had also seemed amused by Solana in a way Solana had never been able to interpret.
That same amusement appeared now when Miko’s eyes found her across the room. Recognition crossed her face first, followed by a slow smile that made it clear she had been wondering whether Solana would be there.
Solana raised two fingers in greeting. “Miko.”
“Sol,” Miko replied as she crossed the room. When she stopped in front of the couch and realized Solana had no immediate intention of standing, she glanced down at her with a slight tilt of her head. “No hug?”
“You didn’t ask Kai for permission before hugging him.”
“He’s friendlier than you.”
“You’ve known him longer.”
Miko looked down at her for another second, the corners of her mouth lifting as though Solana’s answer had confirmed something privately entertaining. “That’s your excuse?”
Before Solana could respond, Kai forced himself into the small space between them and looked from one woman to the other with immediate suspicion. “Hold on. Why it feel like I missed something?”
“You didn’t,” Solana said.
Miko answered at the same time. “She doesn’t like me.”
Solana’s eyebrows rose. “I don’t know you.”
“That wasn’t a denial.”
Kai clapped his hands together as if somebody had just announced the evening’s main event. “Oh, this about to be a good stream.”
“It’s not about to be anything,” Solana told him, but Miko had already leaned down and wrapped one arm around her. The hug was brief enough to remain casual, although the hand Miko placed at the center of Solana’s back settled there with a familiarity she had not earned. Her perfume was warm and clean beneath the colder scent of the evening air, and when she pulled away she remained close enough that only Solana could hear her.
“Now you know me a little better.”
Solana stared at her, mostly because she could not decide whether the comment was genuinely flirtatious or whether Miko simply spoke to everyone as if they shared a private joke. Miko walked away before Solana reached a conclusion and took the open space beside Ray as though she had said nothing unusual.
The worst part was that Solana almost smiled.
Kai spent the next few minutes arranging everyone into positions that supposedly made sense for the cameras. Miko ended up diagonally across from Solana, one ankle resting over her knee while she listened to Ray describe something that had happened earlier in the stream. Every few minutes, however, her eyes shifted back toward Solana, and Solana noticed despite making a point of looking elsewhere whenever it happened.
The comments noticed too.
WHY MIKO KEEP LOOKING AT SOL
both my wives in one room omg
SOL ACTING LIKE SHE DONT SEE HER
nah this setup is crazy
KAI KNOWS WHAT HE DOING
Solana caught the last comment before it vanished and turned toward Kai. He was sitting on the floor near the center table, attempting to answer questions from the chat while also arguing with Rakai about who had moved a controller.
“So you invited both lesbians in music on the same night?” Solana asked.
The reaction was immediate. Ray covered her mouth, madi began laughing before Solana had even finished the question, and Kai turned toward her with both hands raised as though she had accused him of a federal crime.
“Whoa! What that got to do with me?”
“I’m asking a question.”
“You saying it like I planned something.”
“You didn’t?”
“No!”
Solana looked directly into the nearest camera and gestured between herself and Miko. “He invited two openly queer female artists, put us across from each other, and has seven cameras recording every angle. What are you trying to make, a music stream or a porno?”
The room erupted. Kai fell backward against the couch, Ray bent forward laughing, and madi hid his entire face behind her hands. Even the crew reacted behind the cameras, one operator shaking badly enough that the shot briefly tilted toward the ceiling.
Kai pushed himself upright and stared at Solana as though she had personally betrayed him. “Why would you say that?”
“Because I believe in transparency.”
“You been here five minutes.”
“And I have already identified the plot.”
“There is no plot.”
Miko, who had been watching Solana with her tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek, finally joined the conversation. “Maybe she’s disappointed.”
Solana turned toward her. “About what?”
“That there’s no plot.”
The laughter in the room changed, several people reacting before Solana had decided exactly how she wanted to answer. She tilted her head and let her eyes move deliberately over Miko’s face.
“You always insert yourself into conversations this confidently?”
“When they’re about me, yeah.”
“I said two lesbians. Interesting that you assumed you were one of them.”
Miko’s lips parted with surprised amusement, and she glanced around the room as though checking that everyone else had heard what Solana said.
Kai began shouting before Miko could respond. “Nah, nah! She came ready. SOL came ready tonight.”
“Texas,” Miko said, nodding slowly.
Solana narrowed her eyes. “What about it?”
“I forgot you were from there.”
“You remembering where I’m from is already more attention than I expected from you.”
“I pay attention,” Miko replied. Her voice was quieter than it had been during the rest of the exchange, not soft exactly, but matter-of-fact enough that Solana could not immediately dismiss it as part of the joke.
Solana held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary before Rakai threw a cushion at Kai and started another argument that pulled everyone’s attention away from them.
The conversation moved through music, touring, internet rumors, and the rapidly increasing number of people watching the stream. Kai asked Solana about her album, and she gave the same answer her label had approved for every interview: it was still being shaped, she was experimenting, and she wanted it to feel bigger and more personal than the EP. Miko listened from across the room, occasionally nodding when Solana mentioned learning how to say no to songs that sounded impressive but did not feel like her.
“You gotta stop letting people put too much on the first album,” Miko said after Kai asked whether the process had become overwhelming. “Everybody wants the debut to explain everything about you, and that’s impossible. Pick what you want to say now. You can say the rest later.”
The advice itself was not bad. In fact, Solana had been arguing something similar with her label for months. It was Miko’s tone that bothered her, calm and certain, as if the correct answer had been obvious and Solana simply needed someone more experienced to provide it.
“I know that,” Solana said.
Miko lifted one shoulder. “Okay.”
“I’m saying I already know.”
“I heard you.”
“Then why did you explain it like I hadn’t thought about it?”
Kai looked between them and wisely chose not to interrupt. Miko leaned back against the couch, appearing more entertained than offended.
“You said it was overwhelming.”
“It can be overwhelming even when I understand what is happening.”
“I didn’t say you didn’t understand.”
“You implied it.”
“You heard an implication because you wanted one.”
Solana folded her arms. “You’ve spoken to me for a total of maybe fifteen minutes in your entire life, and you already think you know what I want?”
“No,” Miko replied, looking directly at her. “I think you get defensive when somebody gives you advice.”
“I get defensive when someone confuses advice with instruction.”
Miko smiled at that, although she tried to hide it by looking toward Kai. “See? Defensive.”
Solana let out a slow breath through her nose while everyone around them laughed. She had promised Simone she would not fight with anyone, but Simone had never said anything about calmly proving someone irritating.
“You know what?” Solana said. “Thank you, Miko. I had no idea I was supposed to make choices about my own album before you explained it to me.”
Miko’s smile widened. “De nada.”
That exchange appeared online less than three minutes later under the caption SOL AND MIKO BEEFING OVER ALBUM ADVICE IS TAKING ME OUT, although most of the comments were less interested in the disagreement than in the fact that Miko looked delighted every time Solana contradicted her.
The stream moved into the kitchen nearly an hour later. Someone had ordered enough food for a small festival, but half the containers remained sealed because nobody could remember which order belonged to which person. Solana stood near the island opening boxes while madi searched through several cabinets for utensils and Ray attempted to convince Kai that a plate he claimed was his had very clearly been ordered by somebody else.
Solana was reading the receipt taped to one of the bags when Miko entered behind her carrying two bottles of water. Without asking, she placed one beside Solana’s hand and began opening the other.
Solana looked at the bottle, then at Miko. “What’s this?”
Miko glanced at her. “Water.”
“I know what water looks like.”
“You’ve been talking for an hour and haven’t had anything to drink.”
There it was again, that effortless assumption that she had the right to monitor Solana and make decisions on her behalf simply because she was older and had apparently decided that made her responsible for the room.
Solana leaned her hip against the counter and looked Miko over. “Do you monitor everybody’s hydration, or am I receiving special treatment?”
“Everybody else got their own.”
“So you were watching me.”
Miko twisted the cap from her bottle and took a drink before answering. “You really like hearing that.”
“I like when people admit things.”
“What exactly am I admitting?”
“That you pay attention.”
Miko’s gaze rested on Solana while the noise of the kitchen continued around them. A camera near the dining area had angled itself toward the island, something both women noticed without directly acknowledging. Miko set the bottle down and leaned one hand against the counter.
“I already told you that.”
“You said it for the stream.”
“I’m saying it now.”
“We’re still on the stream.”
Miko’s eyes moved briefly toward the camera before returning to Solana. “Then I guess you’ll never know.”
Solana smiled despite herself and reached for another food container. “That sounded better in your head.”
“It got you to drink the water.”
Solana looked down and realized that at some point during the conversation, she had opened the bottle Miko brought her. She considered setting it down untouched out of principle, but she was genuinely thirsty and refused to inconvenience herself merely to preserve an argument. She took a long drink instead, maintaining eye contact while Miko smiled with unbearable satisfaction.
“You are exactly as irritating as I thought you would be,” Solana said when she lowered the bottle.
Miko’s eyebrows lifted. “You thought about me?”
“Unfortunately.”
Before Miko could enjoy that answer too much, Kai rushed into the kitchen and announced that everyone needed to gather in the movie room for Mafia. Solana followed the group mostly because remaining in the kitchen would have meant allowing Miko to continue smiling at her as though she had won something.
The movie room had been rearranged into a wide circle, with blankets and cushions covering the floor and several chairs pulled in from other rooms. The overhead lights had been lowered enough that everyone’s faces were mostly illuminated by phones, small lamps, and camera equipment. Solana took a place between madi and Rakai, while Miko sat across the circle close enough that the toes of her sneakers nearly touched Solana’s whenever she stretched out her legs.
Kai attempted to explain the rules while everyone interrupted him. There would be two mafia members, one doctor, one detective, and everyone else would be townspeople. During the night round, the mafia would choose someone to eliminate, the doctor would select someone to save, and the detective would investigate one player.
Miko watched Solana squint toward Kai as he contradicted his own explanation for the third time. “You understand?”
Solana looked at her. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“You looked confused.”
“I was looking at Kai.”
Miko nodded as though that proved her point. “Exactly.”
Kai pointed across the circle. “See, why I’m catching strays?”
“You invited us,” Solana reminded him.
The cards were passed around, and Solana glanced at hers long enough to see TOWNSPERSON written across it in black marker. When she looked up, Miko was watching her face with far too much concentration.
“You’re mafia,” Solana said.
Miko laughed. “We haven’t started.”
“And you’re already suspicious.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It doesn’t have to. I know your spirit.”
Several people laughed, and Miko shook her head, although the look in her eyes had shifted into the same challenge that appeared whenever Solana openly disagreed with her.
During the first night, Kai instructed everyone to close their eyes. Solana listened to the movement around the circle and tried not to laugh when somebody’s knee cracked loudly enough to reveal exactly where they were shifting. When morning came, Ray had been eliminated, and the accusations began before Kai finished announcing it.
“Miko did it,” Solana said.
Miko’s head snapped toward her. “Why me?”
“You’ve been watching Ray all night.”
“I’ve been sitting next to her.”
“So you admit you had access.”
“Access?” Miko repeated with a laugh. “What is this, a murder trial?”
“You have motive and opportunity.”
“What motive?”
“You wanted her seat.”
Ray looked between them. “Why would she want my seat?”
Solana looked at Miko before answering, pleased when she noticed Miko already anticipating the joke. “Better view.”
Miko’s eyes narrowed slightly while Kai caught the implication and screamed loud enough to interrupt several conversations at once. The chat surged across the screen mounted behind him.
BETTER VIEW OF WHO
SOL IS INSANE ; )
MIKO BLUSHING
THEY ARE FLIRTING BADddddddddddd
Miko pointed at Solana. “She’s mafia.”
“You’re accusing me because I built a strong case.”
“You said my motive was a seat.”
“A strategically valuable seat.”
“She talks too much,” Miko told the group. “That’s how you know.”
“Talking is how the game works.”
“No, you’re distracting everybody.”
“From you.”
“From yourself.”
The vote split between them, and neither received enough to be removed. Miko continued watching Solana during the next night round until Kai reminded everyone that their eyes were supposed to be closed.
When morning came, Solana had been eliminated.
The announcement had barely left Kai’s mouth before she opened her eyes and saw Miko smiling across the circle. “Oh, absolutely not. I know she did that.”
Kai held up both hands. “You’re dead. Dead people can’t talk.”
“I know she did it.”
“You don’t know anything. You’re dead.”
Miko placed one hand over her chest and arranged her face into a look of false sympathy. “This is sad.”
“You are a terrible actress.”
“And you are dead.”
“For now.”
Miko glanced toward the others. “Is that a threat?”
“It is a promise.”
The camera zoomed close enough to capture the smile Miko attempted to hide behind her hand. She was not mafia. Rakai was, which Miko reminded Solana of several times after the game ended, although Solana refused to apologize on the grounds that Miko had been behaving suspiciously for unrelated reasons.
After Mafia came Uno, mostly because Solana demanded a game that relied less on deception and more on actual skill. Everyone relocated to the large table in the main room, and Kai placed Solana and Miko beside each other while insisting that the arrangement was necessary for the camera angle.
Solana sat down and looked at him. “You are not subtle.”
“I don’t know what you talking about.”
“You have known exactly what you were doing .”
Miko pulled out the chair beside hers and waited until Solana looked over. “You scared?”
“Of Uno?”
“Of sitting next to me.”
Solana turned in her chair and gave Miko a slow once-over. “You’re going to have to become significantly more intimidating.”
Miko sat down beside her. “That can be arranged.”
The first game lasted six minutes and ended with Miko placing a draw four on Solana when she had only two cards remaining. Solana stared at the card in the center of the table while Miko leaned back in her chair, looking entirely too pleased with herself.
“You changed it to blue,” Solana said.
“Yeah.”
“You don’t have blue.”
“You don’t know what I have.”
“I know you’re lying.”
Miko gestured toward the pile. “Challenge me.”
The table began chanting before Solana made her decision. She challenged Miko, certain that the confidence was a bluff, only for Miko to lay down a blue card and force her to draw six.
The room erupted. Miko leaned closer, lowering her voice enough that Solana could still hear her beneath the shouting. “You were saying?”
“You’ve been cheating since we started .”
“At Uno?”
“Generally.”
Solana lost the first game, and Miko came second. This was somehow worse because Miko behaved as though defeating Solana personally mattered more than winning the actual game. She spent the opening minutes of the second round reminding Solana how many cards she had drawn, which only made it more satisfying when Solana placed two draw-twos back-to-back after Kai declared that stacking was legal.
Miko collected the four cards slowly, her jaw tightening while the rest of the table laughed.
“You look upset,” Solana said.
“I’m good.”
“You should drink some water.”
Miko turned her head toward her, and Solana smiled sweetly enough to make the entire table react. The moment would later become one of the most replayed clips from the stream, not because anything especially dramatic happened, but because Miko stared at Solana for several seconds as though she had been both offended and impressed.
By the fourth game, nearly everyone else had stopped caring who won. The stream had become an extended study of Solana and Miko attempting to ruin each other’s lives with colored cards. Miko blocked Solana’s turns whenever possible, while Solana reversed the order each time doing so caused Miko a problem. Miko challenged every wild card Solana played, and Solana watched Miko’s hands closely enough to recognize when she was hiding a useful card near the back of her stack.
At one point, both of them reached for the discard pile after Kai played out of turn. Solana’s hand landed on the card first, and Miko’s came down over hers less than a second later.
Neither moved immediately.
Miko looked down at their hands before lifting her gaze to Solana’s face. “Move.”
“You move. I was here first.”
“My hand is on top.”
“That’s generally what happens when someone arrives second.”
Miko’s thumb shifted against Solana’s knuckle, a movement small enough that Solana might have believed it was accidental if Miko had not repeated it while maintaining eye contact. The conversation around the table continued, but Solana became uncomfortably aware of the camera positioned across from them and of how easily viewers would turn even a stupid argument over a card into evidence of something else.
“You think you can talk your way into being right about anything,” Miko said.
“Not anything.”
“No?”
“Just the things I’m right about.”
Miko’s eyes moved down Solana’s face for a second, stopping near her mouth before returning to her eyes. Solana noticed and immediately disliked that she had noticed.
Kai slapped one hand against the table. “Yo, are y’all gonna play?”
Solana pulled her hand away, partly because she wanted the card and partly because she refused to let a game of Uno become weird in front of nearly a million people. Miko picked up the card with a victorious smile.
“Cheater,” Solana muttered.
“You let go.”
The final game ended shortly after midnight, and Solana won. She did not win quietly or graciously. The second she placed her last card on the pile, she stood with both arms raised while the room groaned and Miko dropped the cards still remaining in her hand onto the table.
“Skill, patience, perseverance,” Solana announced, looking toward the nearest camera as though she were accepting an award. “This is what happens when talent meets discipline.”
“You won once,” Miko said.
“History remembers the final result.”
“We played five games.”
“And who won the last one?”
“You lost three.”
Solana rested both hands on the table and leaned toward her. “Who won the last one?”
Miko looked up at her with open irritation, although her mouth kept threatening to smile. “You are so annoying.”
“Say congratulations.”
“No.”
“Be mature. You’re older.”
The room went quiet enough for Solana to hear somebody on the other side of the table whisper, “Oh, shit.”
Miko’s expression sharpened. She did not appear offended so much as newly interested, as though Solana had finally said the thing she had been waiting for all evening.
“You’ve been wanting to say that all night,” Miko said.
“Was I supposed to pretend I didn’t know?”
“You think eight years makes me ancient?”
“I think it should make you better at Uno.”
Kai stood from his chair and walked out of frame because he was laughing too hard to remain seated. Miko continued staring at Solana for another second before she rose from her own chair. She was shorter, but the way she stepped closer made the difference feel less important than Solana had expected.
“You talk like somebody who’s never had to back it up.”
Solana looked down at her without moving away. “I just backed it up.”
“With cards.”
“You were emotionally invested in those cards ten seconds ago.”
Miko’s mouth twitched. “So competitive.”
“You started it.”
“I brought you water.”
“And then spent four hours antagonizing me.”
“You liked the water.”
“I hated the delivery.”
“You drank all of it.”
Solana glanced toward the empty bottle sitting beside her phone, irritated to discover that Miko was correct again. “That proves I was thirsty. It does not prove I enjoyed being supervised.”
“Supervised?” Miko repeated, laughing as she stepped back. “Nena, nobody’s supervising you.”
“You keep trying.”
“And you keep listening.”
Solana opened her mouth to argue, then stopped when she realized that answering too quickly would give Miko exactly the reaction she wanted. Instead, she gathered the cards from the table and handed them to Kai with deliberate calm.
“I won,” she reminded Miko.
Miko shook her head as she walked away. “Once.”
The stream continued for another hour, although Solana avoided the freestyle challenge by claiming she needed to preserve her voice. She spent part of the time talking with Ray and madi near the kitchen, where the conversation drifted from music to relationships to the way viewers created entire narratives from five-second clips.
Solana looked between Ray and Mari, who were sitting close enough that their shoulders remained pressed together even though there was plenty of space on the couch. “So are y’all together, or do you just enjoy making everybody argue about it?”
Madi laughed and covered part of her face. Ray looked toward the camera as if searching for legal counsel.
“Why everybody keep asking us that?” Ray said.
“Because you sit like that,” Solana replied, gesturing at them. “And because every time somebody asks, both of you start smiling instead of answering.”
“We’re friends.”
Solana nodded slowly. “Right. I’ve heard that one before.”
“You just met Miko tonight and already spent the whole stream flirting with her,” Ray said. “You shouldn’t be questioning nobody.”
“We were arguing.”
Madi looked toward the camera. “That is not what the clips are going to say.”
“They can say whatever they want. Miko is irritating.”
From behind the couch, Miko’s voice appeared without warning. “You talk about me a lot for somebody who doesn’t like me.”
Solana turned and found her standing several feet away with her jacket folded over one arm. “You keep listening to conversations that are not about you.”
“You used my name.”
“That does not make it an invitation.”
“It sounded like one.”
Ray and madi exchanged a look that Solana chose to ignore. Miko walked around the couch and sat on the backrest behind Ray, remaining close enough to join the conversation while pretending that she had not come over specifically because she heard Solana talking about her.
For the next twenty minutes, they argued over whether their behavior during Uno qualified as flirting. Ray and madi insisted it did. Miko claimed Solana had been flirting because she kept trying to impress her. Solana claimed Miko had been flirting because she had spent the entire night looking for excuses to touch her cards, her hand, or her bottle of water.
“I handed you the bottle,” Miko said. “I didn’t touch it after.”
“You opened it.”
“I opened mine.”
“You put yours down next to mine.”
Miko stared at her. “Now who was paying attention?”
Solana immediately turned to Mari. “You see why she irritates me?”
Madi was laughing too hard to provide support.
Later, after the cameras followed Kai into another room and the stream’s attention shifted toward a challenge Solana had successfully avoided, she stood near the front entrance waiting for Simone to confirm that the car was ready. The house still buzzed behind her, but the foyer was quieter than it had been when she arrived, most of the guests having moved deeper inside.
Miko appeared beside her with her jacket still folded over one arm. Without the larger group surrounding them, she seemed less performative, although the confidence remained. She leaned against the wall near the door and watched Solana check her phone.
“You leaving?” she asked.
“It’s one in the morning.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Solana looked up. “Yes, I’m leaving.”
Miko nodded, and for the first time that evening, she seemed almost uncertain about what she wanted to say next. “You were fun.”
“You say that like you doubted it.”
“I thought you would be quieter.”
“Why?”
“Your interviews.”
“My publicist tells me to think before I speak.”
“You didn’t bring her tonight?”
“She is somewhere having a nervous breakdown.”
Miko smiled. “Because of me?”
“Because I accused the host of arranging lesbian pornography within ten minutes of arriving.”
Miko laughed and lowered her head for a moment. The reaction looked less controlled than most of her laughter throughout the stream, and Solana found herself studying the tired crease near her eyes before remembering she had no reason to do that.
“You made it easy tonight,” Miko said.
Solana slipped her phone into her bag. “Made what easy?”
“The stream. Usually these things feel long, especially when everybody’s trying too hard to make a moment.”
Solana examined her face, waiting for the teasing follow-up that did not arrive. “Was that a compliment?”
“Don’t make it weird.”
“You’ve made everything weird since you arrived.”
“And you’ve been talking to me all night.”
“You kept provoking me.”
“You kept responding.”
Before Solana could answer, the front door opened and Simone stepped inside with her phone in one hand. She looked from Solana to Miko, registered the fact that they were alone near the entrance, and appeared to make a private note she would undoubtedly bring up in the car.
“Car’s ready,” Simone said.
Solana nodded and adjusted the bag on her shoulder before looking back toward Miko. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Sol.”
She had taken three steps toward the door when Miko called after her.
“And congratulations.”
Solana turned, suspicious that the acknowledgment had arrived too easily.
“On Uno,” Miko clarified. “Since you needed it so bad.”
“Thank you, María Victoria.”
The reaction was immediate. Miko’s eyebrows lifted, and her mouth opened slightly before closing again as though she had not expected Solana to use her full name, much less pronounce it correctly.
Solana smiled once and walked out before Miko could recover enough to answer.
By the time she reached the SUV, the first clips had already spread across every platform. One showed Miko bringing her water, edited with slow music and the caption acts of service after knowing her for forty minutes is insane. Another cut together every time Miko looked toward Solana during Mafia, while a third had zoomed in on the moment their hands met over the Uno pile and slowed Miko’s thumb against her knuckle to one-quarter speed.
The largest clip remained the opening joke.
HE INVITED BOTH LESBIANS AT THE SAME TIME? SOL IS INSANE
It had already passed two million views, and Solana had not even left the driveway.
Simone climbed into the vehicle beside her and closed the door with an expression that suggested she had been preparing a speech since the Uno game. Solana held up one hand before she could begin.
“I behaved.”
“You called Young Miko old.”
“I said older.”
“You accused the host of attempting to produce pornography.”
“As a joke.”
“You and Miko spent half the stream arguing like a divorced couple.”
“We barely know each other.”
“That has not helped the internet’s interpretation.”
Simone turned her phone toward Solana. Her follower count had increased by more than eighty thousand since she entered the house. Miko’s name was trending beside hers, and a fan account called solko had been created less than twenty minutes earlier and already had twelve thousand followers.
Solana took the phone and moved closer to the opposite window, pretending she wanted a better angle away from the glare of the passing streetlights. In reality, she did not want Simone watching her face while she scrolled through the clips.
The edits were ridiculous. People had slowed down ordinary reactions, added music beneath arguments, and written entire explanations of what Miko supposedly thought every time she looked across the room. One account had created a compilation titled MIKO FORGETTING OTHER PEOPLE EXIST WHEN SOL TALKS, while another had posted screenshots of Miko’s expression after Solana called her María Victoria.
Solana replayed the kitchen clip and immediately regretted it. The camera had captured Miko placing the water beside her, Solana accusing her of watching, and Miko looking entirely too satisfied when she drank it anyway. The comments were full of people insisting that the conversation felt intimate, which Solana found irritating because it had not been intimate. Miko had been overbearing, Solana had been thirsty, and the internet apparently had nothing better to do than turn basic hydration into evidence of a developing relationship.
She scrolled to the Uno clip next and muttered, “Oh, Jesus fucking Christ,” when she saw how closely the camera had captured their hands. At normal speed, the moment had lasted perhaps three seconds. Slowed down and edited beneath a love song, it looked far more deliberate than Solana remembered.
Simone glanced over. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you hiding in the corner of the car?”
“I’m reading.”
“You’re watching edits of yourself and Miko.”
“I am evaluating the public response.”
“That is a very professional way to describe lurking.”
Solana ignored her and returned to her own phone. A notification appeared almost immediately from an unfamiliar number.
You cheated in the last game.
She stared at the message, already knowing who had sent it before the second text arrived.
This is Miko btw. Kai gave me your number.
A third message followed less than ten seconds later.
María Victoria was crazy though.
Solana bit the inside of her cheek and shifted her phone slightly so Simone could not see the screen. The fact that Miko had asked Kai for her number so quickly should not have surprised her after the way she had behaved throughout the stream, but the audacity still made Solana sit up straighter.
She saved the number under Ancient Uno Victim before responding.
Go drink some water. It might help with the memory loss.
The typing bubble appeared almost immediately.
I knew you liked me taking care of you.
Solana stared at the message for several seconds, irritated by the confidence of it and more irritated by the fact that Miko had already learned exactly which kind of comment would force her to respond.
You handed me one bottle and have built a fantasy around it.
Miko answered quickly.
The solar system revolves around you. I’m adjusting to the rules.
Solana read the message twice, then turned toward Simone. “She knows what my fans are called.”
Simone did not look up from her phone. “She probably learned it tonight.”
“She called them the solar system.”
“That is funny.”
“It is insulting.”
“It can be both.”
Solana returned to the conversation.
They’re called the Solmates.
That’s worse.
You asked Kai for my number to insult my fanbase?
The typing bubble remained on the screen longer this time.
No. I asked for your number because arguing through clips would be inefficient.
Solana laughed before she could stop herself.
Simone looked over. “What did she say?”
“Nothing.”
“You keep saying that while visibly reacting to something.”
Solana turned off her screen and placed the phone face down on her thigh. “She thinks the world revolves around me.”
Simone’s mouth twitched. “Doesn’t it?”
“Not the point.”
Her phone vibrated again, but Solana refused to pick it up until Simone returned to her emails. When she finally checked, Miko had sent one more message.
You still cheated.
Solana smiled despite herself and typed her answer.
Goodnight, María Victoria.
Miko did not respond immediately. Solana thought the conversation might be over until another message appeared just as the SUV turned onto the highway.
Don’t start using my government name like that.
Solana looked out the window, still smiling when she answered.
Like what?
Several miles away, inside a house still filled with cameras, Miko read the message and shook her head. She had spent most of the evening convinced that Solana was spoiled, defensive, unnecessarily competitive, and far too pleased with her own jokes. None of those opinions had changed. Solana was also significantly more entertaining than Miko had expected, and Miko already knew she would find a reason to speak to her again.
By morning, the stream had brought both women more than one hundred and thirty thousand new followers. Clips of their arguments had passed twenty million combined views, Solko was trending in several countries
a/n:
hiiii, so how did we like the first chapter? this is my first time writing for young miko, so please be nice to me because I’m still figuring her out lol. I’m thinking about incorporating more Spanish as the story continues, especially when Miko is around her friends and family, but I’ll keep it easy to understand. let me know what you think and whether you’re already team Sol or team Miko 🥹
Girl, you know you’re in trouble when you stop thinking all the time about what her pussy taste like and start day dreaming about her dimples and the way it feels when she says “us”.
