Work Text:
The three of them stand in frame. Height order, as usual. Zoey, Rumi, and Mira.
Zoey is grinning. Too wide. There are headphones on her head and she sways, music already playing.
Rumi’s beside her, eyes hidden behind a blindfold with mock open eyes. Her smile is unsettling, that exaggerated grin she wears when something’s up her sleeve.
Mira’s face is unreadable. She looks as bored and as over everything as she normally does. On the surface. A closer look shows her amusement, eyebrow barely raised and the pull of her smirk just visible behind the duck tape stretched over her mouth.
Deaf. Blind. Mute.
Disaster is certain.
The moment stretches before the video cuts, the three of them no longer missing one of their senses.
“Hi, everyone!” Zoey’s excitement draws fond smiles to Rumi and Mira’s faces, who wave at the camera propped haphazardly on various books over the counter, muttering their respective greetings to whoever decides to watch this coming catastrophe.
If this video ever makes it out.
“Today, we’re gonna be hopping on the trend wagon and doing what everyone and their mothers are doing. The deaf, blind, and mute challenge! Where we try to bake a cake from scratch in chaotic, uncoordinated teamwork!”
There’s a giggle that spills out, almost evil. Zoey claps her hands together, looking at Rumi and Mira before turning back to the camera. “We’ve already fought about who will lose what, so—“
“Unfair.”
Rumi cuts in, grumbling with the aftermath of their off-screen bickering over what part each of them would play.
“Have something to say, Rumi?”
Always the instigator.
There’s a teasing lilt to Mira’s voice that is painfully obvious, but it does it’s job anyway when Rumi grumbles again.
Successful ragebait.
“You guys aren’t taking this seriously.”
“Of course not!” Another impish giggle, followed by a lower, but equally mischievous chuckle. “She won’t be able to see. We took away her ability to intervene with our… masterpiece.”
Mira snorts.
“Mira will be mute and I will be deaf.”
Disaster. Catastrophe.
The best, worst choices possible.
Another cut. The same unsettling scene that began the video. Some dramatic, eerie music fills the background for effect. It’s shorter this time before it cuts again.
Rumi’s frowning. Frowning and pouting with her arms crossed like a petulant child, blindfold covering her eyes. It makes Zoey giggle.
Rumi tries really hard to maintain her annoyance when Zoey pecks her lips.
A roll of duck tape is in Zoey’s hands. Mira doesn’t like the look she gets from the youngest when she yanks out a piece, hovering it threateningly close to her face.
Mira ceases Zoey’s wrist. “I got it.”
Zoey’s quick to whine. “I’ll be gentle. Promise.”
Mira doesn’t look convinced. She eyes Zoey warily before slowly letting go of her hand.
The piece of tape is placed on top of her lips, gently, sealed by the kiss Zoey presses over it where her mouth would be. It makes Mira blush.
“Are we start—?!”
Rumi gets cut off by the kiss Zoey mirrors on her lips. A pink blush the color of Mira’s hair runs up until it warms her ears. Both Mira and Zoey giggle at how easily Rumi flusters.
“Cut that.”
“Nope!” Zoey reaches for the headphones out of camera shot and hovers them over her ears. “About to stop hearing you guys!” Before letting the cuffs cover her ears.
Zoey barely paid attention when excited. Or when given verbal instructions. Or in general.
Mira laid out the ingredients on the counter.
Flour. Sugar. Unsalted butter. Eggs. Milk. Baking powder. Vanilla extract.
The simplest recipe she could find on the internet. The one she was meant to somehow tell Zoey—currently dancing and singing—who had to listen and guide Rumi, who couldn’t see, to make a somewhat decent cake while not burning down their apartment.
Easy enough.
“Am I doing something yet?” Rumi asks, standing uselessly with her hands outstretched in question looking adorably lost.
Zoey didn’t hear, obviously.
Mira could only hum, tap, and signal.
Tapping on Zoey’s shoulder, both Mira and Rumi flinch at her loud, ‘What?!’ She signals with her hands for Zoey to lower her volume, who apologizes with a sheepish, not-so-sorry smile. Mira gestures to her phone, pointing at the ingredients before shaking her phone again, pointing towards Rumi afterwards, humming like Zoey could hear what she couldn’t say.
Thankfully, Zoey understood.
“Okay!” Another flinch. “Rumi, grab the bowl.”
“I can’t see the bowl.”
Mira taps Zoey again and points towards the bowl.
“Rumi, the bowl’s right there.”
“I can’t see it!”
Mira’s giggling is muffled. She grabs the bowl and hands it over to Zoey with an expectant look, directing her eyes to Rumi and back.
“Oh!” Zoey turns towards Rumi, who still stands waiting patiently, and gives her the mixing bowl. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.”
No need to tap this time, Zoey is paying attention. Mira points at the flour and holds up one finger, all under Zoey’s watchful eye.
“One cup of flour?”
Mira nods.
“One cup of flour, Rumi!”
“Where’s the cup?”
Plus sign. More like a cross, but same difference.
The exaggerated movement of hands to signal adding more when Zoey looks at her blankly.
“More?”
Two thumbs-up. Zoey claps.
Mira slashes the air.
“Karate chop.”
A shake of the head and Rumi’s eyebrows furrowing behind the blindfold.
One finger up. Mira does the slash over the finger and bends it in half.
“Half?”
Two thumbs-up. Zoey’s so smart. Mira beams a little at how perceptive her girlfriend is.
Hopefully it lasts.
“One and a half cups of flour!”
Rumi makes grabbing motions with her hands. “Measuring cup, please.”
Mira points. Zoey pays enough attention to hand it over, along with the bag of flour.
“Okay,” Rumi drags the last syllable, nibbling on her bottom lip nervously.
She touches the bowl, makes sure it’s where she placed it. She touches the measuring cup. Yep, no flour in it yet. She feels up the bag. Surely this is flour and nothing else. Her girlfriends wouldn’t sabotage her like that, right? Not this early into the video.
Opening it up, she huffs a laugh at herself. It’s silly to be nervous. This is just for fun. Still, her upbringing kicks in first and her strive for perfection always rears its ugly head.
Mira notices, she always does, and the hand that touches her waist works to ground her. She turns, shooting a smile in Mira’s direction—or where she thinks Mira is. It’s a little off-course, but Mira catches it, returning it. Not that anyone can tell.
“Mira, can you hold the cup?”
Doing as told, Mira makes a muffled noise that assures her compliance. The first pour goes straight onto Mira’s arms, a muffled squeak startling Rumi, causing her to yank the bag straight-up again and getting some flour on herself.
“What?!”
Zoey catches sight of Mira’s paler arms and gasps, sound morphing into a giggle. “You missed the cup!”
“By a lot?!”
Mira can’t help but laugh at how anxious Rumi is, finding it adorable that Rumi cares so much. She tugs at Rumi’s arm, urging her to keep pouring. After tweaking the position of her hands, Mira gives another tug to signal Rumi to go again. Some spills, but not nearly as much.
Until Zoey claps in excitement and Rumi gets cocky.
She can’t see the speed at which the flour is pouring. Mira makes a noise to stop her when suddenly the steady pour turns into half the bag spilling out, over-filling the cup and covering the counter.
“Rumi!”
“Too much?!”
“It’s one and a half, not 7!”
“What?! Mira!”
Whatever indignant noise Mira makes dies against the tape, but her expression conveys it, knotting brows and hands coming up as if to ask, ‘What did I do?!’
Blindly reaching for the cup, Rumi meets the mountain of flour over it.
Oh. Oops.
She giggles, lips quirking up into a crooked smile. “This is too much.”
“Mmhm.” Translation: No shit.
More gesturing. More quiet amusement. Zoey holds open the bag of flour while Mira shifts to stand halfway behind Rumi, arms coming around her body to guide her hands in lifting the heavy cup.
“What are we doing?” Nonsensical, muffled explanations in response to Rumi’s question. “Right,” she chuckles, letting herself be guided anyway.
With the help of Mira, Rumi manages to dump most of the flour back into the bag. Slower, measured. Some of it spills because Zoey wasn’t holding tightly enough and everything else already on the counter is beyond saving.
Somehow, they come out of it with one and a half cups of flour and all of it ends up in the bowl.
“Good job, Rumi!” is Zoey’s shrill praise. It still makes Rumi smile proudly.
“Okay, now what?”
Mira grabs her phone, pulling up the recipe before waving over at Zoey—eyes closed and singing along to the song in her headphones.
“Mmh!” Translation: Zoey!
“What?” Rumi answers instead.
“Mmhm!” Translation: Zoey!!
“What?!”
Mira groans. Walking around Rumi, she grabs Zoey by the shoulders and shakes. Zoey’s hands shoot up to steady her headphones and she looks up at Mira brightly. “What’s up?”
Mira points to the mixer out of frame, then to the counter in front of them. “Hmm hm.”
Skipping out of frame, Zoey comes back with the electric mixer, plugging it in. She points it in Mira’s direction like a gun, turning it on and adding additional sound effects while Mira lounges forward to get her to turn it off.
“Hands up, buster!”
“Mmm!”’
“What is happening right now?”
After some struggling and the life of Mira’s hair flashing before her eyes, the mixer ends up in a safer hold—Mira’s grip. But silence drags when Zoey gets distracted again, leaving Rumi standing lost while Mira grumbles beside her.
“She’s distracted, isn’t she?”
“Mhm.”
“Zoey!” Rumi’s voice cuts through. Zoey’s head whips towards them.
“I’m here!”
“Listen to Mira.” That falls on deaf ears, but Mira already has her attention and is pointing towards another bowl.
“No more distractions. Let’s get serious.” Zoey rubs her hands together like a fly.
Mira’s eyes roll in playful amusement.
“What do I do?”
Mira grabs a butter stick and hands it over to Zoey. “Butter!” Humming she points to Rumi. Zoey hands the butter to Rumi. “Here, Rumi.”
Grabbing the hand mixer, Mira uses it to gesture towards the bowl.
“You’re gonna mix the butter in the bowl.”
“Okay, with what?”
Mira points to the sugar.
“Sugar!”
“How much?”
Mira holds a finger up.
“One cup of sugar! You’re great at charades, babe.” Zoey winks and Mira makes a sound like she knows before Zoey bounds over to Rumi and pushes the bag of sugar into her chest.
Butter and sugar are cradled against Rumi’s body.
She feels around for the bowl, and after locating it, reaches around for the measuring cup. Zoey catches sight of her search and grabs it for her, “Here you go,” pressing that against her chest, as well.
Chuckling, Rumi sets everything down in front of her. “Thanks. Okay, a cup. Guide me?”
Mira’s by her side instantly. She helps Rumi open up the bag of sugar, making sure she has a good grip on it before bringing the measuring cup closer.
“Hmm.” Slow.
“What?”
“Hmmm.”
“Little this time, Rumi!
“Yes, yes. I got it. Steady…”
Sugar pours slowly.
Mira holds the cup in place while Zoey watches the lines.
“Stop!”
Rumi startles, yanking the bag away and causing some of it to jump out, adding to the mess on the counter. “Too much?!”
“Perfect! Now, butter.”
“Okay.” Breathing a sigh of relief, Rumi takes the cup from Mira’s hands and dumps it in the bowl. Grabbing the butter stick, she unwraps it, tossing it on top. “I need a whisk or something.”
Mira squints at Zoey. A warning look that Zoey meets with an innocent smile.
Fortunately, there’s no tricks up Zoey’s sleeves. She gives Rumi the hand mixer. “Time to mix!”
“Is this safe?”
It powers up on the highest setting and Rumi yelps. Mira doubles over in laughter at the sound she makes and Zoey points and laughs at the expression on her face.
Somehow, Rumi manages to turn it off, exhaling as she brings it inside the bowl. “Please don’t go everywhere.”
It doesn’t. Surprisingly.
With Mira’s help, it turns on slower, mixing the sugar and butter. Rumi’s steel grip on the bowl keeps it steady on the counter as tentative swirls of the mixer further incorporate the ingredients together.
While Rumi mixes, Mira points at the carton of eggs. Two fingers, two eggs.
“Two eggs, Rumi!”
“Okay,” Rumi turns off the mixer momentarily, one hand keeping the bowl steady while the other extends to accept the eggs.
Zoey gives her one which Rumi expertly cracks one handed, dumping it into the mixture. She smiles crookedly, addressing the camera, “I learned this a while ago. Impressive, huh?”
“You can crack an egg with one hand?!”
The shock in Zoey’s voice deepens Rumi’s smirk. Her eyebrow raises, cocky behind the blindfold when she cracks the other egg in, not receiving any complaint about eggshells falling inside.
“You’re so good at this, angel face! Maybe we should blindfold you and give you instructions more often.”
Her arrogant smirk drops. The blush that spreads up her cheeks and down her neck is immediate, back tensing as she stands up straighter, clearing her throat awkwardly while Mira’s muffled laughter rings beside her.
“Uhh…” Another cough, blush worsening the longer she sits in what Zoey said. “Cut that out.”
Zoey can’t just say things like that!
Except she does. All the time.
But on camera?! Diabolical.
But Zoey doesn’t hear. She also doesn’t seem to notice the implications of what she just said.
Mira finds great amusement in all of it.
She’s not wrong, she wants to say. Double-down on flirty comments and barely disguised praise to further fluster Rumi, but she’s unable to and maybe that’s for the best. In regard to Rumi’s sanity, anyway.
The caress Mira’s hand rubs into Rumi’s shoulders can be mistaken for comfort if not for the thumb that presses into the reddened skin of her neck, silently teasing her embarrassment. Rumi shrugs her off with a huff that Mira snickers at.
“Anything else that needs to be added?”
Mira shakes the vanilla extract in front of Zoey’s face, pinching with her fingers to emphasize how little needs to be used.
“A tiny bit of vanilla extract.” Mira pinches further. Makes an expression to go along with it. “Very little.”
“Okay, but what’s a little?”
Mira can’t do much but gesture how little and Zoey already got that part, so she just hands Rumi the bottle. Rumi sighs, bites her lip as she twists the cap.
Tiny bit. Very little.
Her wrist flicks. Quick.
“One more time!” Zoey yells, too loud like everything else she’s been saying, most likely at Mira’s prompting.
Rumi follows. Another wrist flick.
Mira throws two thumbs up Rumi can’t see, but she hears Zoey’s clapping. She bounces in place, turning to face the camera with a dismissive hand wave.
“This is so easy!“
“I’m doing all the work.”
“Mmh mm hmm mhm.”
Rumi turns the mixer back on.
Meanwhile, Mira does more signaling to Zoey. Zoey blinks when Mira points at the baking powder, holds up one finger, then three, then slashes the air, then four.
“Huh? Why are you doing gang signs?”
A head shake. One finger.
“One. One cup?”
Head shake. Pinch.
“One little bit.”
Head sway. Eating motion.
“Rumi has to eat it?” Zoey’s face twists in confusion.
“Eat what?”
Head shake. Same eating motion.
“The cake’s not ready yet, Mir.”
Groan. Harder head shake. Mira looks around the kitchen. Would grabbing the measurement herself be cheating? Didn’t Zoey just say a moment ago she was good at charades?
Two fists up clutching invisible silverware—Zoey doesn’t know it’s silverware. Mira makes a cutting motion.
“Knife?”
A nod. She holds up the other hand, the one she used to hold invisible food as she invisibly cut, and gives Zoey a look as if to ask, ‘Yes, and this is?’
“Fork?”
A quicker nod. Eating motion. Can Zoey tell it’s soup?
“Uhh…”
Think. Think. Think.
“Why are you saying kitchen utensils?”
Another charade. Drinking from a cup.
“Coffee? Mira, what are you trying to tell me? What does this have to do with anything?”
Mira flattens both palms in the air. A signal to wait, to follow along. She shakes her hand like Zoey’s answer is halfway correct. She cradles the invisible cup, sips it gingerly.
“Tea!”
Yes! Two thumbs up. She mixes the tea. Holds up her hand.
Come on, Zoey. What am I holding?
“…Spoon?” Mira’s eyes widen excitedly, humming and giving Zoey another pair of thumbs up. “Spoon! Oh, teaspoon! You are good at charades,” Zoey giggles, impressed at Mira’s ability to find a way to convey what she was trying to say in a way Zoey could understand.
“A teaspoon of what?”
Rumi keeps asking questions that won’t get an answer.
Mira does the plus sign she did previously.
“A teaspoon and…”
Three fingers.
“Three…”
Slash.
“Whatever that means.”
Four fingers.
“Four. Three slash four? Well, is it three or four? Three slash four isn’t a number. And I thought it was one teaspoon. Is it three more? So that makes four?! Four teaspoons of baking powder, Rumi!”
“Okay.”
Mira makes a loud noise, grabs Zoey’s shoulder before she moves to give Rumi anything and shakes her head.
“No?” Mira keeps shaking her head. “Wait, Rumi. She’s tweaking. I got something wrong.”
Three fingers. Slash. Four fingers.
“I don’t get it.”
Different signs. Straight arm across. Three fingers at the top. Four fingers at the bottom.
“Are you practicing choreography, right now?”
A clearer, deeper frustrated groan. Rumi laughs softly, reaching over to place a hand on Mira’s shoulder and meeting nothing but air. Still, she teases, “I can feel your frown, baby.”
Mira grumbles some more.
“Mmh hmm!”
Three fingers on top. Four fingers on the bottom.
“Rumi, help me. I don’t understand what she’s trying to say.”
“I can’t see…”
“She’s doing this weird thing where she shows me three fingers, then four, and her arm’s covering her face.” An amused snort slips past, lips quirking. “She honestly looks kinda silly.”
Mira’s going to lose her mind.
“Well, we know it’s one teaspoon.” Rumi begins trying to helping Zoey in figuring out Mira’s seemingly cryptic signs.” If we’re supposed to add more… that’s less than another teaspoon, otherwise she would’ve just said two… Maybe it’s smaller measurements?”
Mira nods at what Rumi’s saying.
Not like Rumi can see, or Zoey can hear.
“Three and four. Three over four, maybe? One and three-fourths? Is it that?” Rumi startles when she’s shaken. Mira’s nodding, shaking her in excitement and Rumi can’t help but laugh. “Three-fourths. Wow. Smart.”
Mira kisses Rumi’s cheek. Well, more like presses the tape against her face. Still, she blushes like it was Mira’s lips that touched her skin. Zoey has no idea what’s happening, but Mira’s excitement is infectious, so she places a kiss on Rumi’s opposite cheek in solidarity. It makes her blush deepen.
“Okay, okay!” She shrugs them off again, not liking the fact that how easily she gets flustered is being recorded and may be uploaded on the internet for all to see. It’s light-hearted, though. Her faint smile shines through. “Just give me the measuring things.”
Mira gives her both while Zoey brings over the baking powder. With the same amount of care she’s done everything else, Rumi carefully measures one and three-fourths exactly, using her fingers to flatten the tops and her hands to secure the bowl is where she left it.
After adding the baking powder and mixing it all together, Rumi gets handed another bowl.
“You’re gonna add the flour in.”
“All of it?”
Pinch.
“A little bit.”
Rumi does as told, adding flour in and hoping it’s not getting everywhere. She figures she has to mix whatever she puts in, turning the mixer back on and doing just that. She can’t really see if she’s doing well, but Zoey and Mira haven’t said anything on the contrary so, Rumi keeps going.
Zoey’s humming to herself. “This song is so good.”
“What’re you listening to?”
Mira snorts. Rumi knows Zoey can’t hear her and she keeps asking her questions.
God, she’s cute.
She even gets all excited, smiling gently in anticipation for a reply that will never come before dropping it completely like she didn’t ask the question in the first place. Surely to ignore an internal dying of embarrassment. It makes Mira feel immensely fond.
Tapping Zoey’s shoulder, Mira drags her gaze towards the milk, cutting her finger in half with the same slicing motion from earlier.
“Half a cup of milk?”
Mira nods. She wants to kiss Zoey, too.
She settles for a nose scrunch and a chin caress that Zoey preens under.
“Princess?”
“…Yes?” Rumi blushes a little at the pet-name.
“Mira says to add half a cup of milk.”
Rumi reaches around for the measuring cup. “Milk, please.”
Once in her grip, as always, Mira steadies her, helping her pour. Rumi would never admit how much she loves Mira’s gentle guidance. It’s quiet, and not because Mira’s been muted, but because all it needs to say is in the hands that grab without hesitation, pulling according to what is needed of them, and Rumi easily lets herself be guided.
There’s something tender and incredibly attractive about it.
Half a cup of milk is in the cup. Now, to add it to the bowl.
Mira lets Rumi do it by herself, which turns out to be a bad a idea when Rumi tilts the cup too little, milk clinging to the edge and running down the side, sliding down Rumi’s arm and soaking the cuff of her hoodie where it’s rolled up to her elbow. She shrieks, righting the cup. “Ew! Mira! You let me go! I’m covered in milk now!”
There’s muffled snickering beside her and Rumi grumbles, throwing her wet arm to the side to clean it on Mira, but instead catches Zoey.
“Hey! Gross, Rumi! What the hell?! Why are you all milky?”
“Ew, Zoey! Don’t say it like that!”
“It’s dripping down your arm!”
“Give me a napkin!”
Mira’s silently dying beside them, but she recovers enough to help Rumi clean herself up. Rumi can hear the amused breaths leaving Mira’s nose and she shoots her a nasty glare. Ineffective.
“Asshole,” she grumbles, getting another tape kiss.
When she goes to pour the milk again, she makes sure to add all of it, not risking another spillage. She’s already getting sticky.
In her head, the next step is to mix the newly added ingredient. Forgetting it’s milk, and milk is liquid, turning on the mixer means milk gets splashed everywhere and all over her.
“Ahhh!” Rumi scrambles to turn it off while Zoey and Mira fall into fits of laughter on either side of her. She whines, “It’s all over me, isn’t it? Gross,” Another petulant whine.
Mira mumbles something. You’re the one that decided to wear a hoodie.
“Oh my god, Rumi! Your face,” Zoey laughs even louder, doubling over. She points at the hoodie ruined by splattered milk droplets and laughs even more. “Why did you turn it on?!”
“I don’t know!” Rumi can feel heat burning her ears. More growling and grumbling. “I’m taking this off.”
Suddenly, the laughter stops, both pairs of eyes widening as Rumi grabs the hem of her hoodie and pulls it over her head, exposing the tight muscles of her stomach and the mouth-watering definition in her arms, visible in the fitted cropped tank that she wears. Zoey’s laughter turns into a startled choke and Mira chuckles at her reaction like the sudden sight of that much pattern-covered lean skin isn’t turning her insides to mush.
Rumi’s so attractive, it’s unfair.
“Rumi!”
“What?!”
“How are we supposed to focus now?!”
Rumi’s eyes roll behind the blindfold, but she’d be lying to herself if she said she wasn’t curious about the current expressions her girlfriends wore. The stripping wasn’t deliberate, she wasn’t planning on getting her clothes dirty, but her girlfriends getting flustered for a change felt like good revenge after all the poking and teasing towards her. Karma and all that.
In response, Rumi shrugs, grabbing the flour bowl and adding what remains of it into the mixture. When she turns on the mixer this time, milk doesn’t explode in her direction and neither does flour.
Success.
Soon enough, the batter begins taking form and when Mira turns off the mixer for her, grabbing it from her hands, Rumi can’t help but dip her finger in it, on the same train of thought as Zoey it seems when their hands bump inside the bowl. Both of them giggle in unison, popping their fingers into their mouths and tasting the batter, much to Mira’s displeasure, whose groan in reprimand does nothing to stop them from double-dipping.
“Mmh!” Zoey moans excitedly, doing a little shimmy as she turns towards Mira, wiggling her eyebrows. “It’s good!”
“Mhm,” Rumi hums in agreement. She claps her hands together, head turning in Mira’s direction. “We put it in the oven now?”
“Hmm.”
A pan clatters on the counter followed by the sound of spraying. Rumi waits patiently, fingers drumming against the bowl with a soft smile.
Zoey goes in for another taste and gets her hand slapped away by Mira. “Hey!”
Mira finger waggles a ‘No’.
Putting the pan in front of Rumi, Mira gestures for Zoey to instruct Rumi to pour the mixture in, but Zoey’s busy sulking, pouting with her arms crossed and shaking her head in defiance. Mira gives her a look, mumbling louder, but Zoey just sticks out her tongue.
Sighing, Mira taps Rumi’s shoulder.
“Yes?”
“Mm mmh mmhm.”
“…Right.”
Taking a hold of one of Rumi’s hands, Mira places it on the pan. Rumi, not knowing what she’s being guided to touch, moves her hand to feel it up just for it to come back greasy as she whines again, “Mira! Ew! Why did you put my hand in there?!”
Mira rolls her eyes. Her girls are so dramatic.
“Mmhm mm!”
“Where’s the sink?”
“Mmm!”
“My hands are sticky!”
Rumi is completely turned around, stumbling around the kitchen like a toddler taking their first steps while Mira’s head falls back with a groan and Zoey forces the permanence of her pout, which cracks at the edges as she watches Rumi take careful but stubborn steps.
Somehow surviving in her search for the sink, Rumi returns to the counter with the same cautionary steps, hands clean and outstretched expectantly. “Okay, I’m guessing I’m supposed to put the mixture in the pan.”
“Mmm.”
“You could’ve just said that instead of putting my hands in the oil.”
Mira gives the camera a blank stare.
Mixture poured in, Zoey’s quick to snatch the bowl before Mira, swiping her finger along what clings to the sides and sucking it clean. Mira shakes her head, but the tape works in hiding the fondness in her smile. Stepping away with the pan, Mira puts it in the already preheated oven and sets a timer for 30 minutes.
When she returns, Mira has to snatch the bowl away from Zoey, who had been trying to offer a finger dipped in batter to Rumi. A flustered Rumi, whose mouth had opened on instinct before it clicked that she was about to take Zoey’s fingers into her mouth in front of the camera before it snapped closed, face quickly turning red.
Zoey snickers, bumping their shoulders together teasingly before licking the finger clean herself. Clapping, she glances towards the time ticking down on the oven before addressing the camera and informing, “Alright, into the oven for 30 minutes! We’re gonna…” She trails off, looking expectantly over at Rumi, whose blush is finally settling, and at Mira drying her hands. “Make the frosting?” At Mira’s nod, Zoey beams back at the camera. “Make the frosting! But before that, we are trading senses.”
Another clap. Another cut.
The headphones are no longer over Zoey’s head, but on Mira’s, a new piece of tape stretches over Rumi’s mouth, and Zoey’s ability to see has been taken away.
“I’m ready, coach! What do I do?” Zoey’s bouncing on the balls of her feet, hands rubbing together maniacally.
Mira glances over at Rumi who has her phone in hand, an easy buttercream icing recipe pulled up. The words get stuck when she goes to speak. Frowning, she shoots Mira a look close to distraught, unsure of how she managed to give Zoey instructions.
Unlike her, Rumi wasn’t good at charades.
Being incredibly helpful, Mira bursts out laughing.
She points and laughs.
“Rumi’s lost,” Mira mocks.
Resisting the urge to do more than grumble in annoyance, Rumi waits for Mira’s fit of giggles to stop to begin instructing her.
“Are we starting?” Zoey questions, lips quirked up in amusement at Mira’s teasing and the mental image of an annoyed, red-faced Rumi.
‘When Mira stops making fun of me,’ is what Rumi wishes she could say.
She settles on smacking Mira on the arm when she doesn’t stop.
“Okay, okay! No need to get physical. You know it’s not the kind of action I like.”
“Mm!”
“Tell me what to say, then!”
Zoey’s laughing now, as well. It doesn’t warrant a reprimand yet, but Rumi’s leg twitches with desire to kick.
Rumi points towards the stick of butter sitting on the counter and follows it with a mixing motion.
“Okay, Zo. You need to mix the butter.”
“On it.”
Zoey doesn’t wait for helping hands or directions, both hands start reaching blindly until she finds the butter. Rumi winces as she unwraps it, more butter getting on her hands than in the bowl when she throws it in. Those same buttery hands start palming the counter again for the mixer.
“Oh my god, Zoey. What are you doing?” Mira freezes where she stands, a horrified expression on her face as she watches Zoey basically buttering up their kitchen counter where flour and sugar from earlier still lay.
“What? I’m getting the mixer.”
“You are getting butter everywhere.”
“Ah ha!” Zoey grins, showing off the butter-covered mixer to the camera. “Do I need to mix it with anything?”
Rumi shakes her head, but Mira is too busy looking mortified to relay the response. “That’s going to slip off your hands.”
“No, it won’t. I’ve got a strong grip.”
To prove it, Zoey fumbles until the mixer turns on. Surprisingly, it doesn’t fly off. It does clatter noisily against the sides of the bowl before Zoey manages to meet the butter with it.
“This is easy!”
Like it’s not just butter and her hands aren’t covered in it.
Rumi waves for Mira’s attention. After gesturing over towards the sugar, she holds up two fingers.
“Two cups of sugar?”
She nods, but holds her hands up. She pinches her fingers together.
“Little by little?”
Another nod, but she holds her finger up to signal one more thing. Her eyes dart across the kitchen in search of the one thing they didn’t lay out beforehand. Rummaging through drawers and cabinets, she finds a sifter. She hands it over to Mira alongside hand gestures and indiscernible mumbles, but Mira understands her anyway.
“Zoey?”
“Present!”
“You’re gonna sift sugar in little by little, not all at once.”
“Yes, ma’am. How much sugar?”
“Here.” Mira hands her the sifter.
“How much sugar?”
Rumi holds up two fingers.
“Oh, two. Two cups of sugar.”
Zoey sets the measuring cup close to the edge and grabs the bag of sugar.
“Go slow.”
“I’ve got it! Don’t even worry about it.”
Zoey misses the cup. Sugar pours all over her feet.
Mira and Rumi burst out laughing when Zoey squeaks. While Rumi grimaces at the mess their future selves will have to clean up, Mira presses a hand to Zoey’s lower back and brings her closer to the counter.
“The sugar goes inside the cup, Zo.”
Biting her lip, Zoey throws a noncommittal shrug at the camera, mumbling an ‘Oops’ that doesn’t sound apologetic at all. She angles the bag, but before full-sending it, she asks for confirmation. “Is this right?”
“Yeah, go ahead. Stop when I say.”
Like Rumi had done earlier with the flour, Zoey’s pour doesn’t come out slow. Not even with the warning beforehand. Mira shouts too late, but there was no shot she was supposed to know that two cups would be filled in approximately two milliseconds. Laughter echoes from Zoey at Mira’s light-hearted exasperation.
“You were supposed to warn me!”
That manages to slither itself between the momentary quiet of a song fading into the next one in Mira’s headphones.
“I- Wha- You poured it too fast! I blinked and the cup was full.”
“Still, I can’t see. I need verbal cues.”
“If you pour slower, I can tell you when to stop.”
“Mm, sounds slow.”
“It’s supposed to be!”
Rumi snickers behind the tape covering her mouth. Watching Zoey and Mira go back and forth was amusing, especially because it was painfully obvious and written clear across Zoey’s face that she was messing with Mira on purpose. The way she was biting her lip and kept raising mischievous eyebrows at the camera were enough to tip Rumi off.
It become even funnier when to right the measurement, Zoey stuck both of her hands into the measuring cup and started scooping sugar out, completely missing the bag on her transfers and making an even bigger mess.
Mira looks even more horrified and Rumi’s stomach was starting to hurt from how hard she was laughing.
“What the actual fuck are you doing?”
“Uhh, getting two cups?” Zoey replies like it was obvious, scooping another handful of sugar.
“Pour it back!”
Zoey lights up like she hadn’t thought of that. Taking a hold of the cup and feeling for the bag this time, she flips it. All remaining sugar going right back in.
Zero progress had been made.
Groaning in defeat, Mira slumps against the counter. “I give up.”
Meanwhile, Zoey and Rumi were laughing. They would’ve shared a look if Zoey wasn’t blindfolded, but Rumi could imagine the playful glint in her eyes, lifted up by the grin she wore.
Rumi decides to guide her. Feeling a hand on her back, Zoey turns in her direction, same smile present. “Hey, you.”
“Mm.”
“Here to help?”
“Mhm.”
“How chivalrous,” Zoey teases, bumping their hips together while Rumi rolls her eyes.
After fumbling and helping Zoey create another mess, they get the two cups needed. Mira steps back into their space to help Zoey sift in the sugar while she mixes. Rumi grabs her phone to look for the next step in the recipe.
Slowly but surely, a frosting begins taking form. A dash of vanilla extract, a splash of milk. Zoey’s threats to mess up the recipe are cut by Mira’s stern voice, which would turn into Rumi and Zoey giggling like the whole point had been to rile her up. When mixing was done, both of them stuck their fingers in to taste, Mira groaning beside them.
“Try it, Mir. It’s good!”
Zoey wiggles a finger dipped in frosting near Mira’s face.
“That finger has touched ever inch of this kitchen. I’ll pass.”
During the frosting making process, the oven had dinged, announcing the cake was done. From the glimpse Rumi took when Mira grabbed it to put in the fridge to cool, it looked surprisingly good. Well-cooked and cake-like. Seemed like a success.
Next step, decorating.
Better said, what was supposed to be decorating.
Zoey didn’t last a minute with the spatula before she started using her hands to lather on the frosting, all with a thrown-back head in maniacal laughter as she shouted about how much easier it was. Rumi was shaking her head, Mira was expressing her disbelief at the camera, and Zoey kept giggling. Giggles that were infectious. Giggles that had Mira and Rumi’s solemn expressions melting into fondness. Giggles that bounced off the kitchen walls when they joined in to help decorate the cake with their hands too.
At the end of it, all three pairs of hands had more frosting on them than the cake did.
“Like it?” Zoey asks the camera, dirty hands holding up the cake to be captured in all of its glory, blindfold pulled off her eyes and sitting crookedly at the top of her head.
Mira leans over her shoulder, looking at the mess they had made before her eyes fall to Zoey, eyes shining with affection she tried to mask. “You’re actually insane.”
Zoey only grins. “You contributed. Your hands are as dirty as mine.”
Rumi comes up from behind them holding three spoons. “Let’s try it.”
Setting it down on the counter, Zoey is the first to dig in, Mira and Rumi grabbing their own bites after. They bring their spoons together before one of them counts down.
“Three. Two. One.”
Down the hatchet. A harmony of surprised hums.
Edible. A win in their books.
Mira is the first to speak.
“We are never doing this again.”
Rumi mutters her own agreement.
“Please.”
Zoey’s eyes dart up in surprise, ready to express her opposition.
“Why not? That was fun!”
Two pairs of brown eyes give the camera blank stares before the video cuts to black.