Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It starts out innocently enough. 

It’s not even halfway into the afternoon and Mira’s in desperate need of a second coffee. The sun chugs slowly overhead, shining through the windows almost blindingly. 

She listlessly taps on the barre mounted on the wall. A sigh escapes her mouth, catching the attention of a few students around her. 

“Continue with your stretches,” she barks, waving her hand. They jolt at being caught, immediately turning around. Her lips quirk upward. She’s not that scary, is she? 

The tell-tale chime of her phone buzzes in her pocket. She palms for her phone, quickly slipping it out to check the notification. And just like that, her smile disappears. She stares blankly at the Uber Eats ad at the bottom of her screen. 

As much as she’s tempted to chuck her phone across the room, the cons unfortunately outweigh the pros. She does need to text Zoey to pick her up later. So instead, she opts for the next best thing: deleting that accursed app that sends eighty notifications throughout every day. 

She apparently doesn’t hold the app’s icon for long enough, because it opens instead. Her eyelid twitches in annoyance. 

A meek voice speaks up, “Um, miss, we’re done with our-” Before the poor girl can finish her sentence, another classmate clamps their hands over her mouth. Everyone around the room makes frantic shushing motions, effectively silencing her.

“Again,” Mira’s voice rings out, commanding. Hurried nods respond back in tandem. 

She sighs heavily before turning her attention back to the screen. Just as she’s about to swipe the tab away, a familiar cafe catches her eye. She squints at it. Since when did they do deliveries , she wonders and clicks on the icon without a second thought.

Now, while there is a coffee shop right next door… It’s not like Rumi works there. Mira justifies her order with that. A giddy buzz of excitement flutters in her chest as she sneakily texts Bobby to send a specific worker in particular to bring her order. 

And if any student notices the tiny smile on Mira’s face as she clicks her phone shut, no one’s brave enough to comment on it anyway.

—

In hindsight, Rumi should’ve known someone was up to something when Bobby told her to make a small delivery. The cafe opened up delivery services not even a week ago and they’re already swamped with orders. 

So Rumi’s slaving away in the back kitchen to keep up with the onslaught of orders, when Bobby calls for her. 

Now, it’s rare enough for him to ask her for a favor, and the oddity of it. Because even though they’re partnered with Uber Eats, all they have to do is make the food, not deliver them. So forgive her if she falters at Bobby’s request. 

“Do I have to?” She asks pleadingly. Her heart’s already speeding with the prospect of having to greet a stranger with their order. Seriously, who orders a singular cinnamon latte? She’s ninety percent sure the delivery fee costs more than the drink itself. 

Her distaste must show because Bobby only nods his head with fond laughter. “It’ll be fine,” he assures.

Rumi gives him a disbelieving look as he hands her a small thermal bag. “Fine, but if someone gives us a bad review, I hope you know I warned you first,” she huffs, gently grabbing the bag.

“They won’t,” Bobby promises with a suspicious amount of conviction. 

Rumi gives him an ‘I’m watching you’ gesture as she slowly pushes the door open. Her feet drag behind her with each step. She sighs and mounts her bike before she can have any second thoughts. 

Her palms are already sweaty as she punches in the address Bobby gave her. A picture of the building pops up. With the amount of mirrors lining the walls, she can safely guess it’s a dance studio. 

Huh , she thinks. A growing sense of recognition pricks at the back of her mind. She frowns, not quite being able to place why it looks a little familiar. 

With a small sigh, she steps on the pedal, slowly but surely making her way towards inevitable embarrassment with the amount of social skills she has under her belt. Or to be more accurate, her lack of.

.

If Rumi looks back on the question Zoey asked a few days ago on what superpower she would want, she knows her choice with a hundred percent certainty now: time travel. And not in the ‘to give a caveman an AK-47’ way. She means it in the ‘reverse everything she ever said to Bobby and crawl into a hole to rot’ way. 

Because now she’s standing at the end of the street, a mere minute walk from her destination as Google Maps so helpfully supplies. 

And it’s not like Rumi plans to drag the minute out for as long as possible, but… 

Okay, maybe she is. 

She swings a leg off her bike and locks it to a rack. Her fingers fidget with the belt loops on her pants, hooking and unhooking rhythmically. 

Even while walking a step a minute, Rumi reaches the building all too quickly in her opinion. She keeps her head down and glued to her phone as she approaches the door. At this point, her heart’s threatening to jump out her throat.

Just in and out , she hypes herself up before raising a fist to knock. She pauses midway. Why are her hands so sweaty? She furiously wipes her palms on her hips. Her shirt’s all wrinkly. She smoothes it out delicately. Slowly. 

She glances at her phone to reread the weirdly direct instructions from the customer: ‘Knock and don’t run away.’ Her neck prickles uncomfortably. Is her obituary about to end up on the news? 

Before her thoughts can spiral out of control, she jerks her hand up and knocks. Her knuckles rap on the door once. By the second, the door’s already swinging open. 

Rumi flinches back a step, dropping her hand instantly. Her eyes stay glued to her feet. She desperately racks her brain for something. Anything . 

Nothing comes to mind. She tentatively offers the still warm drink, mouth failing to form any greeting. Her grip’s unnecessarily tight, slightly crumpling the poor cup like a victim.

Mira smirks down at her adorably awkward girlfriend, not-so-subtly eyeing her up and down. Well, it’s not like Rumi notices. Her head’s still down, mouth opening and closing in feeble attempts to salvage her dignity. 

Mira’s eyes travel appreciatively over Rumi’s outfit. She’s wearing her usual work attire, a white dress shirt tucked snugly into her pants. It’s as delightfully cute on her as ever. Even cuter with how her hand anxiously fiddles with her sleeves, head bowed. 

Mira's smirk eases into something softer and takes it upon herself to save the floundering fish. Before Rumi explodes on her doorstep , she tells herself. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” she offers, grabbing her drink in one sweeping motion. Not that she doesn’t trust Rumi to not drop it. Just… safety precautions.

Mira’s unmistakably smooth voice cuts through Rumi’s thoughts like a sharpened knife. She whips her head up, eyes wide and startled. 

“Mira?” She asks, not trusting her own two eyes. The tightness in her throat evaporates instantly as MIra shoots her a sly wink. 

“Mira,” she says, more certain now. Her hand comes up to clutch her chest, anxiety slowly bleeding away.

“You alright there?” Mira prompts with gentle concern. The tension between Rumi’s shoulderblades fades as Mira rests a grounding hand over hers. 

She hums her confirmation, turning her hand to squeeze Mira’s affectionately. She peeks over the taller girl’s shoulder to find a handful of kids staring right back. Her face flushes with warmth like a dam broken. 

A strangled noise escapes her throat as she quickly averts her gaze. She’s never living this down , Rumi wallows in self-pity. She hastily takes a step away from Mira to create reasonable distance between them. 

Confusion flickers across Mira’s face until she throws a glance over her shoulder. Her eyes narrow with discontent. Without uttering a single word, they all know to turn away, whistling as if nothing happened. She huffs before turning back to Rumi. 

Some devil must be whispering in her ear, because she has the strangest urge to pull the shorter girl into her arms despite the stares she can feel piercing her back.

And Mira’s never been one to cower under a few prying eyes, but Rumi looks so positively ready to melt into a puddle of goo that Mira decides to spare her from any further embarrassment. 

So instead, she does the next best thing. Tease her. Obviously.

She wiggles her fingers deliberately. To snare Rumi’s attention. Her lips twitch as Rumi expectedly looks down at the offending hand with an eyebrow raised. She studies it as if trying to gauge what Mira wants. 

“What?” She eventually asks, albeit warily. 

“Hand,” is all Mira replies. She pointedly stares at Rumi's fingers wrapped around her own. For added effect, she brings their hands up close to Rumi’s eyes as if displaying them for all to see. 

Rumi falters in her bravado and yanks her hand away as though Mira’s touch burns. In a way, it does. But not a way that’s unpleasant. It’s the type of warmth that sends a pleasant shiver down her spine. The type of warmth that keeps her cozy on cold and windy days like today. The type of warmth that lingers deep in her bones and refuses to leave, as if she would ever want it to. 

Still, she pulls away. Not because she wants to. But because she has to, before she does something stupid like kiss Mira in front of all these kids. Her ears burn with the mere thought.

“Something wrong?” Mira asks. She takes a generous step closer with as much faux innocence she can muster.

Rumi swallows audibly. “Nothing,” she squeaks out, arms pressed tight against either side of her hips like a soldier at attention. As if she doesn’t trust her own arms to restrain themselves from reaching out.

It causes Mira to snicker inwardly, a low chuckle slipping out. A quiet sense of pride swells in her chest, pleased with the visible effect she has on Rumi.  

“Is that so?” She murmurs softly, splaying her hands greedily across Rumi’s waist. 

The shorter girl heats under Mira’s languid touch. She sputters uselessly for a few seconds before dropping her head onto Mira’s shoulder. A hand snakes its way to the back Rumi’s head, pressing her dangerously closer. 

“Well?” Mira inquires teasingly. That damned hand makes its sinful way to Rumi’s neck, gently massaging the crick there.

“You’re insufferable,” Rumi mutters, slowly coming to the realization that her own girlfriend’s testing her. Mira hums in response, hands continuing their hypnotic caress. 

And Rumi knows the longer she lets Mira have her way, the harder it’ll be for her to leave and go back to her, you know, job . So, she lightly swats those arms away. Mira gives her an exaggerated heartbroken expression. Eyes downcast and everything. And it shouldn’t make Rumi feel bad because she knows Mira’s only playing, but it does.

“I have to go,” she explains as though Mira doesn’t already know that. The taller girl only sighs heavily, nodding her head dejectedly in understanding.

Oh for god’s sake , Rumi mutters internally as her heart clenches at the sight. To assuage it, she impulsively places a fleeting kiss on Mira’s cheek. And really, it’s barely a brush of lips, but Mira’s heart goes tumbling regardless. 

Rumi pulls back, face burning despite the cool autumn breeze. “How about I crash at your place tonight? We can have a movie night,” she suggests with an uncharacteristic surge of boldness.

Mira blinks owlishly at her, mouth slightly agape. 

“I mean- Only if you’re fine with that! And Zoey!” Rumi fumbles for the right words, face positively burning with embarrassment. 

Mira’s eyes soften almost imperceptibly so. Although, Rumi doesn’t catch it with how her hands cover her face, attempting to shield herself from Mira’s searching gaze. 

“I’d love that,” she says quietly. And Rumi’s heart does a little celebratory flip in her chest as she notes Mira’s flushed ears. 

“And Zoey,” she adds like an afterthought, poking friendly fun at Rumi’s previous outburst to regain any semblance of poise. 

Rumi huffs, sticking out her tongue. She stops halfway before groaning. “I’m spending way too much time with you two. You guys are infecting me.”

“Welcome to the dark side,” Mira teases.

“Star Wars nerd,” she shoots, arms crossed. She has half a mind to stick her tongue back out. Fortunately, she catches herself before she does.

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.” Mira boops a finger to her nose before reaching for the coat rack to her right. She hangs her jacket over Rumi’s shoulders and prompts the shorter girl to stick her arms through the sleeves. Rumi casts her a suspicious glance before hesitantly sliding them in.  

After she’s done, Mira takes a step back to admire the sight of her girlfriend in her clothes. A nod of approval has Rumi’s knees going weak. 

Mira presses a featherlight kiss to her cold nose. “Stay warm,” she murmurs softly, bundling her jacket tighter over Rumi. 

“What about you?” 

She shrugs. “I’ll be fine.” 

Rumi raises a disbelieving eyebrow to that. “Don’t you get sick easily?”

Being the mature person Mira is, she backs away and shuts the door, locking it with ease before turning away. Rumi stares as Mira claps definitively and continues instructing her class. 

Wait , Rumi freezes. The door’s see-through , she suddenly notices now that she’s actively looking. Doesn’t that mean… Yeah, no. She immediately turns on her heel and speedwalks to her bike. She’d rather live blissfully oblivious than die from humiliation. 

With frantic hands, she grabs her key and stabs it into the bike lock. Except she misses. Again. And again. 

She eyes her hands as if they committed some heinous crime. She sighs deeply. A familiar scent of black tea has her doing a double take, sniffing the air again. She eventually traces it to Mira’s jacket.

What is she? Some dog? Rumi scoffs at her own thoughts. 

A pause. 

After casting quick glances left and right, she brings the collar to her nose and breathes in with purpose. Yup, definitely the jacket , she concludes with certainty. 

She fumbles for her key again and slowly but surely unlocks the chain, freeing her bike. Her lips tug upward, subconsciously leaning into the warm leather. 

She shoots Bobby a text before hopping onto her bike.

—

A small ding pulls Bobby’s attention to his phone. He stares at the picture of Rumi holding the now empty thermal bag before bursting into laughter. 

—

Bobby

Nice jacket!

Rumi

Thanks :D

Wait.

Chapter Text

Now, normally Rumi wouldn’t be so fazed when Bobby asks her for another favor. (Which is another delivery. Surprise, surprise.) Except when she types in the address, some dimly lit bar pops up. And really, it’s barely past six. Who even goes to a bar at this time? Much less order a strawberry lemonade when they already serve drinks there?

“Are you sure this isn’t someone playing with us?” Rumi asks, squinting at her phone.

“I mean, they already paid. It would be rude not to show up,” Bobby reasons, lightly nudging her with his elbow. 

So, that’s how Rumi finds herself in front of a very sketchy looking bar. She carefully parks her bike and creaks the heavy wooden door open. 

All at once, the place’s atmosphere hits her. Red lights line the walls, barely doing its job of illuminating the room. The sharp smell of alcohol has her wrinkling her nose. But really, what was she expecting?

Though, there’s a surprising amount of people gathered. Enough to make the bar feel a little too cramped for her taste. She weaves her way past tables with practiced ease, drink in hand. 

After finding a tucked away corner, she pulls out her phone to alert the customer that she’s here. Even if she really doesn’t want to be. Her mouth curls with distaste as her elbow hits a suspicious looking stain on the counter. She recoils instantly, resisting the urge to gag.

Please respond faster , she begs, staring bullets through her phone. She’s half tempted to leave the drink to the bartender and make a tactical escape. 

But before anything can happen, everything happens. The lights dim impossibly further and all the chatter dies down with it. 

Rumi follows the crowd’s gaze to the stage at the back. Then, a familiar, bright voice rings out, “What’s up, you guys!” 

Rumi immediately pushes off the wall she’s leaning on to get a better view. And not to be dramatic, but her heart quite literally stutters in her chest when she sees Zoey dead center, mic in hand. 

She doesn’t seem to have noticed Rumi. Her eyes are focused on the man across from her. The first thing Rumi notices is that he’s huge . Like, twice Zoey’s size, huge. Yet, Zoey stands tall, shoulders resting back with casual confidence. 

And Rumi does her best to not let her eyes wander to Zoey’s exposed midriff, but she’s only human. She swallows roughly and looks back up to a safer spot. 

Unfortunately, nothing seems to be safe. Because when Rumi’s eyes catch the glint of gold earrings, six to be exact, she has the strangest thought of biting Zoey’s ear to get a taste. 

“My god,” Rumi quietly mutters to herself with shame. She wraps her fingers around the end of her braid and unravels it slowly before redoing it repetitively. Her eyes never leave Zoey’s figure as she exchanges bar after bar. That wicked grin grows larger and larger as the man cowers deeper into his green hoodie.

And Rumi catches herself lingering a fraction too long on the soft flesh of Zoey’s lips much too often. To make matters worse, Rumi finds herself pushing through the dense crowd to get closer. Like she’s being pulled in by Zoey’s orbit. She can’t stop herself. Doesn’t want to.

And finally, finally , those brown eyes catch Rumi’s and it feels like a second stretched into eternity. Her breath catches. Zoey’s lips twitch into a smile, a secret shared between them, before she turns away, eyes sharpening. Trance broken. 

Soon enough, cheers erupt as Zoey raises her fist high in the air, signaling her victory. Her opponent’s shoulders slump as he trudges off stage. She searches through the crowd until she finds purple hair, spellbound eyes already staring right back. She flashes a dorky, toothy grin before disappearing behind the stage.

It should be hard to make peace with how easily the air from Rumi’s lungs is stolen, but it’s nothing new at this point. So instead, she takes a seat and flags down the bartender for a mocktail. Hey, she’s not crazy enough to drink this early. And while on the job.

A minute or so later, a glass slides in front of her. Before she can even say her thanks, someone plops onto the seat beside her and hands the bartender some bills. 

Rumi turns, already half-expecting who it’ll be, only to be met with disappointment. It must show on her face, because they laugh the next second.

“Expecting someone else?” The woman asks, a smile curving across her lips.

“Um, yes…?” Rumi meekly supplies. She doesn’t mean to be funny, but her new companion laughs regardless. She laughs a lot , Rumi notes, shifting uncomfortably. 

“You’re cute,” the other woman drawls, resting her chin on folded hands. Rumi glues her eyes to her drink to avoid that heady stare. Her skin crawls knowing every movement’s being watched.

“Thanks,” she mumbles at last, bringing the drink to her mouth. The ice-filled glass serves as a cool contrast to her flushed skin. 

To be honest, her nerves are still buzzing from Zoey’s performance. The bar hums with rejuvenated energy, loud chatter surrounding her. She closes her eyes, focusing on the mocktail’s fruity taste to calm herself. 

“So,” that same voice interrupts her thoughts. “What brings you here?” 

And Rumi’s oddly tempted to keep her eyes shut and pretend she’s fallen asleep. “Delivery,” she offers. Her responses are short and clipped. God forbid she starts rambling at this random lady. 

“Delivery?” She echoes, tilting her head. Rumi nods, pointing at the second drink in her hands. 

Wait , she freezes. Embarrassment prickles at her back. God, was she slow? Rumi asks herself, gripping the drink and passing it to the woman.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize it was-” Rumi abruptly cuts off when a hand slides across her waist.

“Mine, thank you very much.” Zoey snatches the cup from the woman’s hands and leans her weight against Rumi’s back, pulling the taller girl closer. Possessively almost.

Some part of her settles comfortably and preens when Rumi instinctively leans closer. That same winning rush from before hits Zoey like a trophy. 

She hums, self-satisfied, as the woman gets the hint and quickly backs away with a slight bow. She focuses her attention back to Rumi. 

And Rumi’s horribly unprepared when Zoey grabs her stool and turns it to face her. Zoey effectively traps her with arms on either side of her hips, bracing her hands against the bartop. She towers over Rumi like this. And for some reason, Rumi finds she wouldn’t mind being under Zoey more often.

“Why’d you try to give her my drink?” Zoey pouts. Pouts , Rumi repeats for good measure. Her eyes flick downwards to the younger girl’s lips, mere inches away from her own. She averts her eyes quickly. 

“I thought it was hers,” she defends weakly. 

Zoey raises a questioning eyebrow. “Who orders a drink online when they’re already at a bar?”

“That’s what I said!” A pause. “Didn’t you say it was yours?”

She coughs into a closed fist, freeing Rumi temporarily. “I have an excuse. She doesn’t,” Zoey cryptically says. 

“Well, I mean, why else would she sit next to me?” Rumi mutters, still trying to piece together that odd interaction. 

Zoey studies her with an unreadable look. After a few seconds of silence, she moves her thumb to the bottom of Rumi’s lip. The light contact has Rumi begging for more. She presses her lips to Zoey’s palm. 

The shorter girl laughs softly, and it’s nothing like the one she heard before. Because this time, when coming from Zoey, Rumi wants to bottle it in a jar and treasure it on her shelf forever. Her ears crave to hear that beautiful sound again, so she grabs Zoey’s other hand and does the same. 

Zoey smiles so wide it hurts. She giggles and cups Rumi’s face with care. 

“You’re so silly,” she murmurs, leaning close until her nose brushes Rumi’s temple. “Were you watching me?”

“Mhm. You’re so pretty and cute,” Rumi praises, equally as soft. 

“I’m not cute. I’m cool,” Zoey huffs, stepping back and striking what she thinks is a ‘cool’ pose with her arms crossed. It comes off more unserious than intended.

“So cool,” Rumi agrees mirthfully, stifling a giggle. She makes a ‘come closer’ gesture with her free hand. Zoey follows through. Except instead of sitting down next to her like she’d expected, Zoey wiggles her way between Rumi’s legs and makes herself comfortable. 

“I- Zoey?” Rumi half-shouts, caught off-guard. 

“Yeah?” Zoey replies, looking over her shoulder to meet Rumi’s eyes innocently. 

Rumi only drops her forehead to the side of Zoey’s neck to hide her blush. Warmth spills down Zoey’s ribs as a muscled arm tightens around her waist, securing her in place. 

Rumi spins them back to face the counter. “Want a sip?” She offers, mocktail in hand.

Zoey’s eyes brighten, nodding eagerly. Her hand comes to steady Rumi’s as she brings it to her lips. 

Rumi watches closely as her expression twitches mid-sip. “Don’t like it?” She asks, pulling the drink away.

“Why’s there like zero alcohol in that?” Zoey eyes her choice of drink critically.

“Wha- Who drinks this early?” Rumi sputters. 

“Me,” is all Zoey says before waving at the bartender. He seems to recognize her, because he drops a shot into her hands the next second. Rumi watches in absolute horror as she pops open the lid of her strawberry lemonade and dumps the alcohol in. 

And really, Rumi doesn’t think she could be any more taken aback. But then, the bartender refills the glass and Zoey does the same as before without a second thought. Rumi’s worried for their sanity by the third shot. She covers the glass with a hand and pinches Zoey’s hip with her other. 

“I’m not carrying you home,” Rumi warns as the shorter girl takes a sip.

Zoey only shrugs.

—

Rumi

I can’t make it back before closing time. 

Dragging a dead body.

Bobby

I take it you found Zoey?

Rumi

She put vodka in her drink.

Three. Entire. Shots.

Bobby

We should put that on our drink menu.

Rumi

Don’t even think about it.

Bobby

…

Rumi

I’m calling Celine.

Bobby

WAIT.

Let’s calm down, please. 

Rumi

:p

—

Scrapped Scene:

“Mira told me you do delivery!” Zoey explains.

“...Sure.” And really, it’s not like she’s lying . She has been making some deliveries here and there. 

(They don't need to know how she books it every time it’s not Mira greeting her at the door.)

And really, Bobby seems to have a field day with not telling Rumi who she’s giving these random orders to. It’s like Russian Roulette. Except without the, you know, loaded gun part.

(At least she’s learned to set their order down before she makes a run for it.)

Chapter Text

The quiet lull of the evening settles peacefully over Mira and Zoey alike. Zoey’s practically draped over Mira with how she’s sprawled across the couch. 

Some random movie they’ve been meaning to watch for a while now plays, dialogue serving more as a lullaby than anything. Mira drags her hand absentmindedly over the smooth expanse of Zoey’s back, fingers tracing her spine through thin cloth. The shorter girl hums contentedly into her lap.

A familiar ding has Mira pausing in her movements. She casts a cursory glance to her phone before looking up in thought. 

“Wanna order takeout?” She suggests, poking at Zoey’s ribs with her other hand. Zoey cringes away from those cold fingers and almost falls off the couch in the process.

“First of all, stop attacking me,” she starts. Then, she sits up to straddle Mira’s waist, looking her dead in the eyes. “And second of all, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Matching maniacal grins slowly spread across their faces. 

“I mean… her shift’s almost over right?” Zoey suggestively waggles her eyebrows.

Mira nods her head in response. “I’ll text Bobby,” she says, full of playful seriousness. 

And even though they could just text Rumi directly and tell her to come over, where’s the fun in that? 

So, Zoey begins villainously rubbing her hands together as Mira taps away at her phone, barely contained excitement thrumming through their veins.

.

Half an hour or so later, the doorbell chimes. Zoey’s already at the door, having been monitoring Rumi’s location for the past ten minutes. Mira had the audacity to mutter, “Stalker behavior,” under her breath. Well, there’s a reason why she’s hunched over and facing an empty corner now. 

And that’s the sight Rumi’s met with as the door swings open. An excited Zoey and a sulking Mira. 

“Rumi! Come in, come in.” Zoey quickly hooks their arms together. Rumi stumbles slightly as she all but drags her in. 

“What’s up with her?” She whispers, pointing at the gloomy looking pink-haired girl as she carefully lays the bags down.

“Nothing,” Zoey chirps, flipping the takeout boxes open. Her mouth’s already salivating at the display on the table. 

Rumi’s eyes dart between her girlfriends. “Are you sure?” She can’t help but ask, mind uneasy with the pitiful sight of Mira crouching on the ground. Zoey only shrugs, offering no context whatsoever. 

She starts scooping an ungodly amount of food onto a plate, humming lightly without care. She neatly portions everything before handing the plate to Rumi. Like second nature. Her fingers brush over Rumi’s for a brief moment before moving to fill another plate. 

And the casual intimacy of it has Rumi’s heart going all soft and mushy. Her skin still sparks where the ghost of Zoey’s touch lingers. 

“Thanks,” she murmurs. Before she can lose her nerve, she quickly pecks the corner of Zoey’s mouth. Her face burns as she pulls away, suddenly very interested in the food piled in front of her. 

She can practically feel Zoey’s stare pierce the side of her head. So the solution? Shoving an entire kimbap roll into her mouth. Obviously.

“Oh my god,” Mira says in her corner, sneaking a glance at Rumi’s current disposition. 

Rumi somehow manages to swallow the entire thing down in less than a minute. Eyes follow as she folds her hands together in a polite manner, as if scarfing down a foot's worth of kimbap is some daily occurrence. 

“You’re like Johnny Fox,” Zoey mutters in awe.

Mira raises an eyebrow. “Who?” 

“He’s this guy who swallows swords for fun.” Zoey elbows Rumi’s side playfully. “Like you.”

“I don’t swallow swords. That does not sound fun at all,” Rumi says as if the accusation personally offended her. She makes a grimace at the gruesome image her brain’s traitorously conjuring.

“Well, he doesn’t literally swallow swords, just shoves them down his throat. I mean, anyone can technically do it. It’s basically just straightening your esophagus and ignoring the urge to gag,” Zoey explains. 

“Nerd,” Mira calls. Zoey whips her head to the offender with an affronted expression. She scoffs dramatically before slinging an arm over Rumi’s shoulder.

“The wind’s extra loud today, huh? Eat as much as you can, Rumi. She can have her share when she learns from her mistakes,” Zoey makes sure to project loud enough for Mira to hear. 

Rumi giggles as Mira groans, flopping backwards onto the floor pathetically. Her limbs splay out in all directions, reminding Rumi of a starfish. 

And Zoey’s mind must be bluetooth connected with hers, because the next second she comments, “You kind of look like Patrick from Spongebob from my angle.” 

Rumi slaps a hand over her mouth. She turns to Zoey, eyes wide in gleeful surprise. “You too?”

“Excuse me?” Mira sits up instantly.

Zoey shrugs, fist-bumping Rumi. “Just saying, you look like you live under a rock under the sea.”

Rumi promptly chokes on her own laughter. At least she has the decency to hide her head under Zoey’s chin. Though, she can’t do much about the peels of laughter erupting from her mouth. 

“Okay, rude.” Mira rolls her eyes exasperatedly. But Zoey doesn’t miss the fond glint shining through. She beckons Mira closer, finally releasing her from her well-deserved time-out. 

“You’re still on thin ice, buddy,” Zoey says in a weird accent Mira can’t place for the life of her. She watches as Zoey spectacularly fails at cracking her knuckles.

“You’re so weird,” Mira affectionately teases. She presses her lips to the shorter girl’s, lightly grazing her teeth over soft skin before pulling away just as quickly. An airy laugh escapes her as Zoey, cheeks flushed, flashes her the bird behind Rumi’s back. 

She wears a self-satisfied smirk as she settles beside Rumi, who’s still doubled over and panting for breath. Her eyes slowly trace the slope of Rumi’s jaw, carefully memorizing how the angles of mirth shape her face. Softening it beautifully. 

Rumi’s laughter slowly dies down. She wipes the corner of her eyes with the heel of her palm to clear her vision. 

“Anything interesting happened at work today?” Mira questions to her right.

Rumi startles slightly, having not heard her move. She relaxes a second later under Mira’s almost languid-like gaze. She hums and gulps down some water, racking her mind for anything she’d deem ‘interesting.’

“Well, Sussie dropped Derpy on the kitchen’s doorstep this morning," she notes.

Zoey pauses. “Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around?”

“You know what? Maybe it was a peace offering from when he flew into my lamp last night,” she wonders, staring at the ceiling in thought. 

Mira raises an eyebrow at that. “He what?”

Rumi only waves her spoon absentmindedly before scooping a generous portion of steamed egg onto it. She blows softly a few times until it’s at a reasonable temperature that won’t burn someone’s tongue straight off within seconds. 

“Here,” she prompts, holding it out for Mira to try.

“Me?” Mira points to herself with thinly veiled confusion.

A slanted smile spreads across Rumi’s lips. “Yes, you. Silly starfish.”

“Alright, I see how it is,” Mira huffs with faux indignation. She brushes a stray strand of hair before leaning to bite the food off Rumi’s spoon. 

“Good?” Rumi asks, expectant eyes following her jaw as it works. And if Mira notices the light flush painting Rumi’s cheeks, she thankfully doesn’t mention it. 

Instead, Mira gives her a thumbs up, eyes sparkling. “That’s actually amazing,” she says, full of sincerity.

“Right? I’d actually go to war for you if you told me I could wake up to your cooking every day,” Zoey adds, nodding solemnly. Rumi laughs softly, burying her red ears into the shorter girl’s neck. 

“Stop it,” she protests weakly. The smile in her voice betrays her. Zoey proudly beams at Mira, who fondly looks on. 

“I’m being serious, you know?” Zoey pokes at Rumi’s cheek that’s fixed in an adorable pout. Rumi only mumbles incoherently like a broken record. 

Zoey giggles, thinking that’ll be the end of functional Rumi. But god , she’s never been happier to be wrong. Because in retaliation, Rumi bites, yes bites , the skin of her collarbone. She yelps as sharp teeth nip. Though, it’s more out of shock than pain. 

“Did she just…?” Mira trails off, eyes wide. 

Zoey nods. “Shark attack.” 

She theatrically flops onto her back, legs still half-crossed awkwardly under the coffee table. Rumi seems to snap out of whatever daze she was in and jerks away from the younger girl, covering her mouth in horror. Mira, for her part, manages to hold back her laughter. For now.

“You bite now?” She teasingly nudges Rumi’s side.

“Mira!” Rumi sounds absolutely scandalized, as if she’s the one who got teeth sunken into her skin. 

“What? It’s hot,” Mira says offhandedly. She only shrugs as Rumi stares at her, jaw-dropped. Her eyes wander with a mind of their own to the sharp edge of Rumi’s canines. Sharp enough to pierce skin easily. For sure.

Though, it wouldn’t hurt to experiment and test her theory once or twice. She averts her eyes at that thought. She catalogues her… new development for later . 

Rumi drops her face into her palms and groans in shame. “Still. I actually can’t believe I just did that.”

Zoey clears her throat from the floor. “Think you could do that more often?” She asks sheepishly. 

Rumi swings her head to the shorter girl, mouth agape. Mira snorts and looks away, laughter bubbling in her throat. 

“I- What?!” Rumi screeches, face positively burning. She scrambles away from Zoey, only to bump into Mira in the process. An arm snakes around her stomach, cementing her in place. She looks up to see Mira’s signature smirk screaming trouble. 

Alarm bells blare in Rumi’s head as Zoey crawls closer and closer until she’s practically on top of her. She braces her hands against Zoey’s shoulders to prevent any further advances. Her face’s red enough, thank you very much. 

Unfortunately, Zoey seems to be enjoying this a little too much. She leans forward as much as she can, eyeing Rumi’s lips with purpose. She smiles amusedly as Rumi sputters random excuses and… apologies? It’s impossible to tell with how tongue-tied the older girl is. Her gaze keeps flickering undeniably to Zoey’s lips with poorly concealed desire. 

Finally, Mira has enough of their dancing and pushes Rumi’s head forward. She snickers as Rumi gasps in surprise, giving her the cutest glare Mira’s ever seen, before meeting Zoey’s lips. 

Zoey closes her eyes and smiles into the kiss. Her tongue darts out to skim over the ridges of Rumi’s teeth, noting each curve and dip with fervor. Rumi’s hands squeeze her shoulders lightly before tracing the slope of her neck. 

Rumi parts first, breathing heavily. She drops her head back on Mira’s shoulder to catch her breath easier. Her cheeks are beautifully flushed with lips parted almost sinfully. 

And so Mira can’t resist stealing a kiss or two from unsuspecting prey. Rumi inhales sharply before melting against her lips. She hums, pleased, as Rumi boldly nibbles on her bottom lip. Her hand drifts to purple hair, scratching softly in appreciation. Rumi preens at the praise and nips more insistently, eliciting a low groan from the taller woman. 

By the time they turn around, Zoey’s already cleared her first plate and is midway in scooping seconds. Mira raises an eyebrow. 

Zoey mirrors the gesture. “What?”

“Stop hogging all the food,” Mira playfully accuses. She grabs as many boxes as she can before dumping them onto her plate.

“Hey!” Zoey smacks the taller girl’s hand away from her beloved scallion pancake. 

“Ow! Rumi, she just hit me! Do something,” Mira begs, pointing an accusatory finger to Zoey, who’s scarfing down the pancake as fast as she can. 

Rumi only closes her eyes and clasps her hands together in prayer as hands shake her left and right. 

“I’m going to bite you two if you guys don’t share right this instant.”

…

“Can I choose where?”

“I volunteer as tribute.”

Rumi short-circuits as her plan backfires unexpectedly. Well, she should’ve expected it, but she had faith in humanity. A little too much it seems. 

“Corner. Now,” she demands. Her authority’s a bit tarnished by the scarlet hue tainting her ears, but her girls freeze nonetheless. 

“But I literally just left solitary confinement,” Mira argues pitifully. Zoey flashes the purple-haired girl her best kicked-puppy expression.

Rumi clamps her hands over her ears and squeezes her eyes shut before her heart can be swayed. She wordlessly nods towards the forbidden corner. Matching groans leave the others in sync. 

Once Rumi’s done portioning the food evenly , she calls them back. They settle quietly on either side of her. Suspiciously almost. And she should’ve known she was dating absolute menaces to society.

“So, can I take a rain check on that previous offer?” Mira pointedly drags a finger across Rumi’s mouth before pulling her lip down to reveal glinting teeth. Zoey joins in, leaning into her side and grabbing her waist. 

After a short pause, Rumi puts a hand over both of their mouths and shakes that offending finger away.

“Back. Go.”

Mira turns to Zoey. “Look what you did.”

“Me?!”

“Yeah, you.”

“You started it!” Zoey throws herself across Rumi’s lap to tackle the pink-haired girl. Mira falls onto her back with a small oof . 

“You planned it!” She wrestles Zoey into a trapping bear hug. The shorter girl struggles within Mira’s snug embrace.

“Liar!”

“Am not.”

“Is too!”

Yeah, no , Rumi thinks mournfully. Her food’s never going to be eaten peacefully before it goes cold. She sighs before jumping on top of the tussling girls.