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This (the longest one so far!) is for Moonlight Memories, who wanted yuri in the last chapter but didn't get it because I'm sneaky like that.

I am the person who has to hide what this world needs most, love.

Lying on my bed, completely engrossed in a tricky bit of coding, I didn't hear the doorbell ring or my mother call my name until she came barrelling upstairs and yelled for what was apparently the fourth time,

"Emily, come downstairs, now!"

"Coming!" I sighed, closing everything down and wondering what it was this time. Was it meal time already? Was I in trouble for skipping out on yet another social evening to "play on my computer"?

Childishly I thumped down the stairs, each heavy footstep a pointless protest. Reaching the bottom I stared at my mother questioningly.

"If you're quite finished having your little strop," my mother said with glacial calm, "then Ming-Ming is waiting for you in the living room." A smile spread across my face despite my best efforts to look suitably bored, and she shook her ginger-and-grey head with a sigh. "If you like seeing her, why is the communication only ever one way?" Not waiting for an answer, she turned her back on me and walked back into the kitchen to supervise whatever meal was next on the agenda, still lamenting about my lack of friends and social skills in general.

Feeling like a scolded and misunderstood child despite my nineteen years, I walked into the living room with a sulky expression. It lightened into a smile as I saw Ming-Ming perched awkwardly on the edge of the cream sofa closest to the window, looking as out of place as an alley cat in a palace. She was wearing a calf-length, long-sleeved scarlet dress with black edging, slightly worn at the seat and knee level; the sort of attire that screamed "trying too hard!" It was silly; I was only wearing a baggy green T-shirt and jeans, for heaven's sake! A little tug of exasperated affection pulled at my chest.

She always tried too hard; forever painfully aware of the lifestyle gap that separated us.

She sprang to her feet as soon as she saw me, checking where she had sat anxiously for creases or mud or … goodness only knew what.

"You're so neurotic."

"I know, it's one of my many charms." She beamed at me.

"You have no charms," I teased. Her innocent smile grew a mocking curl.

"Is that so?"

My stomach flip-flopped and I held out a hand to her.

"Come on." As we passed the kitchen, I called to my mother,

"We're going upstairs to my room. Don't call me unless the house is on fire."

Ming-Ming grasped my hand a little tighter as we climbed the stairs.

"I've never understood why you do that," she whispered. "Isn't that just inviting her to be nosy?"

I laughed and shook my head.

"No, not at all. She expects me to say it – I know she'd never violate my privacy, especially when I'm actually being – my god - sociable."

I closed my bedroom door behind us and locked it with slightly fumbling hands.

"Someone's excited," Ming-Ming mocked, her face alight with the same anticipation that was coiling tightly in my stomach. I nodded in silent agreement, then reached for her. She came gladly and we hugged for a few seconds, bodies pressed together. Turning her face towards me, I kissed her gently on the lips. Only a peck. A tantalisation. Then another one … and another; her lips parted under mine and we were suddenly up a level, quivering with a hunger and eagerness that could so rarely be satisfied. Already breathing raggedly, I gasped out loud as Ming-Ming put her hand under my T-shirt and placed it flat against my side, her palm soft and seemingly burning hot.

Once a month we met, that was all we could manage with studying and Ming-Ming's mother's insatiable, obsessive curiosity about her daughter's every activity. My mother might be incredibly annoying, but at least she fully respected my right to privacy.

She never questioned why I had never brought a boyfriend home, or even mentioned any likely candidates. I was just "a late bloomer" in her world; future grandchildren and marriage were part of daily conversation - my reaction never noted. The idea of homosexuality horrified her, good old Anglo-Saxon Christian that she was with every fibre of her being.

That then, was my future, at least until I had finished university and was reliably employed (a sports science company had already expressed interest). To float, denied of a relationship outside of these furtive meetings. More than anything, I wanted to go out for dinner with Ming-Ming, hold her hand as we walked down the street – feel comfortable with who I was.

But no. Secrecy was the buzzword. My half life would continue with my mother merrily telling me to find a nice young man while I sat there and wished that the love of my life could be acknowledged.

I did write a rather more lime-y version of this, then thought I'd saved it when I hadn't. (bangs head on wall)

This only just fits the prompt, but never mind ...

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