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The idea came to Muti quietly. She was watching Wumuti move around the apartment, tired from work but still perfectly composed, shoulders straight and expression unreadable. They always seemed so steady, so sure of themselves, like nothing could ever make them falter. Maybe that was exactly why Muti wanted to see if she could.
She was curled up on the couch, knees to her chest, pretending to scroll through her phone when Wumuti walked into the kitchen to get some water. The sound of the refrigerator door opening broke the silence. Without really thinking, she said, “You should take your jacket off first.”
Wumuti glanced at her, eyebrow lifting. For a moment, they didn’t move, and Muti thought that was the end of it. But then they quietly slipped out of the jacket and draped it over the back of a chair.
Her lips twitched. That was… unexpected.
“You’ll wrinkle it there,” she added, testing it.
A sigh escaped them. “Then where should I put it?”
“Hang it,” she replied softly.
To her surprise, Wumuti obeyed. They crossed the room and hung the jacket neatly on the rack by the door. Muti had to bite her tongue to keep from giggling. She was doing it. She was actually telling them what to do, and they were listening.
When they came back to pour a glass of water, she murmured, “Drink it before you sit down. You always forget.”
They did. No question, no hesitation.
It was such a small thing, but the victory made her heart flutter. She looked at them again, still standing, composed as ever, and felt a little bolder.
“You should sit here,” she said, patting the space beside her on the couch.
This time, they hesitated. “Why?”
“Because I said so.”
A faint smile tugged at their mouth, the kind that made her chest feel warm and unsteady. “Since when do you give orders?”
“Since now,” she replied, lifting her chin a little higher than usual.
Wumuti chuckled under their breath but walked over anyway and sat down beside her. Muti’s heart practically sang. She tried to play it cool, scrolling again like it meant nothing, but she could feel the excitement creeping up the back of her neck.
“You should relax more,” she said after a moment.
“You always look like you’re about to handle a crisis.”
“Someone has to,” they said simply.
“Maybe not tonight.”
That earned her a small side glance, curious but silent.
Muti leaned back, pretending to study them. “Take off your watch,” she said.
Wumuti blinked. “What?”
“It’s tight,” she said softly. “You’ll get that mark on your wrist again.”
They looked at her for a moment, and then, to her delight, did it. The soft click of the metal strap made her grin widen. She was completely in control.
“Now lean back,” she said.
They leaned back.
She could hardly breathe from the giddy satisfaction building in her chest. She had Wumuti following her every small instruction like it was the most natural thing in the world. She didn’t even have to raise her voice. She didn’t have to plead. They just listened.
“See?” she murmured. “You don’t have to be so serious all the time.”
They hummed quietly in response, eyes half-lidded. Muti smiled to herself, proud and careful not to push too fast. Her plan was working beautifully.
For a long while, she just watched them, tracing every small line of calm across their face. This was new. Wumuti was always the one holding the reins, always the one who knew what to say and when. But tonight, they were quiet. Letting her talk. Letting her lead.
Muti’s chest felt light, a little dizzy. She could get used to this.
And then, with their eyes still closed, Wumuti spoke. Their voice was calm and smooth, the kind that could silence a room.
“I know what you’re doing, baby.”
Muti froze. The warmth in her chest turned into a startled flutter. “W-What?”
Wumuti opened their eyes slowly, meeting hers.
Their gaze was soft but steady, sharp enough to make her pulse jump. “You’ve been testing me since I got home.”
Her cheeks heated immediately. “I-I wasn’t testing anything. I was helping.”
“Helping me hang my jacket?”
“Yes.”
“And telling me to drink water?”
“Yes.”
“And sit exactly where you wanted me?”
She hesitated, shoulders sinking. “…Maybe.”
Their lips curved. “You’re clever. But not subtle enough.”
“That’s not fair,” she muttered, face red, voice trembling with that mixture of embarrassment and stubbornness.
Wumuti leaned closer, lowering their tone just slightly. “You were having fun bossing me around, weren’t you?”
She looked away. “Maybe a little.”
“Mm. I could tell.”
Her pout deepened. “You don’t let me have any fun.”
That made them laugh softly. “You have plenty of fun. Just not at my expense.”
“You ruin everything.”
“I keep things in line.”
“You’re so mean,” she mumbled, voice small, almost sulky.
“And you love that about me,” Wumuti said easily, turning their attention back to the table.
She didn’t answer. Instead, she curled her legs under herself and flopped back onto the couch with a quiet huff, staring up at the ceiling. The air felt a little heavier now, but not in a bad way. Just charged, like her little game had ended too soon.
She hugged a pillow to her chest and buried her face in it, muttering half-formed words only she could hear. Every now and then she’d peek over at Wumuti, just to see if they were watching, but they weren’t. They were scrolling through their phone again, completely unbothered.
That made her pout even harder.
She shifted on the couch, sighing dramatically, then rolled over onto her side, facing away. Maybe if she looked sad enough, they’d notice.
But the minutes ticked by, and Wumuti said nothing.
Muti frowned. The silence stretched, almost taunting her. She started poking the pillow, then hiding her face behind it again.
When Wumuti finally spoke, their voice was quiet, almost fond. “You’re sulking.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
She turned her head toward them, cheeks puffed out. “Maybe a little.”
They smiled faintly. “You always get like this when you lose.”
“I didn’t lose. You just… cheated.”
“How exactly did I cheat?”
“You read my mind too early.”
That earned a quiet laugh from them, the kind that made her heart flutter despite herself.
“Come here,” they said softly.
“No.”
“Muti.”
“…What?”
“Stop pouting.”
She buried her face back into the pillow. “You can’t make me.”
“Then I’ll wait.”
That reply made her freeze for a second, then groan softly into the fabric. She stayed that way for a while, refusing to move or speak, just hugging the pillow tighter until her frustration melted into a lazy, tired calm.
Eventually, she peeked again. Wumuti was still there, quiet, patient, pretending to read something on their screen but clearly aware of every tiny shift she made.
Her sulk didn’t last forever. It never did. When she finally slid closer and leaned her head against their shoulder, they didn’t say anything. They didn’t tease her, didn’t smirk or gloat. They just let her rest there, the steady rhythm of their breathing smoothing out the leftover tension.
And even though Muti would later claim she was still mad, she knew the truth. She loved how Wumuti saw through her. How they always noticed, even when she thought she was being clever.
Quietly, half-asleep, she mumbled, “I’m still gonna win next time.”
“Of course you are,” Wumuti said, their voice barely above a whisper.
And Muti smiled into the fabric of her sleeve, certain they were laughing behind that calm voice, already planning how to catch her again.