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Tuesdays were, as you dubbed them, the mundane days.
It was the one day you consistently had free each week, regardless of how much your manager changed and altered your schedule, or events that came up in your life. Tuesdays were always the one day you had nothing of substance planned.
And so Tuesdays were the days you got all your more boring, but necessary, things done. Errands, grocery runs, house cleaning. And, at this moment, laundry.
Unfortunately, your apartment didn’t have a washer, at least not one inside your apartment, and the communal washer in the buildings basement was either always in use or completely broken, so it wasn’t worth holding out hope you’d be able to use it. Thankfully; you had alternatives.
There was a laundromat at the end of your street that was quiet, peaceful.
Despite the place being rather old, it was still well managed. The insulation kept the morning chill at bay, and the windows let in the warm rays of sun.
There were a few tables spread out, a few chairs. Two vending machines stood at the far wall, alongside a few simple arcade games—a two different pinball machines and a racing game—that had already been commandeered by a group of children.
There were a few others in the building. A pair of teenage boys loitering at one of the tables, tossing a hacky sack back and forth while they waited for their wash to finish, a group of older women loading machines or napping in the chairs, and one young man who looked moments away from fighting the vending machine when it didn’t give him back his change.
Most of them were familiar faces for you, a few of them you even knew by name.
But only one of the patrons actually mattered to you.
Loading up one of the machines, you paused to peer down beside you—Mira was crouched down at the machine next to yours, smacking it with a frustrated look on her face, grumbling and cursing the old thing out under her breath.
You couldn’t help the pang of fondness that rushed through you.
“What did the poor machine do? Did it declare itself a Saja fan?” you teased.
Mira gave the machine one last good smack before dropping her hands in defeat. “No, it just stopped all of a sudden.”
“Oh, that happens sometimes,” you hummed, peering at the washer. It didn't look busted, at least not as far as you could tell, “Did you try starting it up again?”
Silence.
Your mouth twisted into a grin, and you covered it with your hand to muffle the laughter threatening to bubble out. “Oh my god, Mira—”
She flushed, immediately rising to her feet to press the button on the machine with far more force than necessary. Sure enough; it started back up with a low rumble. “I didn’t think of that,” she admitted in a quiet mutter.
“But you did think of turning it into a makeshift punching bag instead.”
“Shut up,” Mira grumbled without any real heat, tugging her hat further down to hide her blush. The pout on her face had absolutely no right to be half as cute as it was.
You should be nicer, you thought to yourself, this was a ‘baby’s first laundromat’ moment for her.
After all, Mira didn’t have to come out here with you. You were just doing your laundry, no one was going to judge her for not wanting to come join you for something so mundane.
But she’d chosen to come here anyways—and you were happy to have her.
Reaching up on your tip toes, you used your two greatest weapons against her; placing a kiss on her cheek and using an endearment. "Don't worry about it, aein, these can be a learning experience."
Laundromats were always a bit of a learning curve for everyone, there was no shame if Mira didn't know all the weird little tricks needed to get these ancient machines working.
But just as expected, Mira had relaxed beside you, melting under the affection in an instant, her frustration at the machine gone and her gaze firmly affixed to you, and only you.
"Keep coming here with me, and we'll have you turned into a Bonafide laundromat professional in no time."
Mira laughed a your joke. You liked that sound of hers far more than any melody she sang.
You returned your attention back to your own machine, continuing to load up the remainder of your clothes while your girlfriend hovered just beside you.
As you tossed the last shirt into the drum, you held out your hand. “Pass me the detergent?”
She did, sliding the cool bottle into your hand.
You hummed, pouring a generous amount into the machine before feeding the washer your hard-earned coins and starting it up.
Despite a brief pause where the machine held a very serious and courtly debate on whether it wanted to work or not, the machine began to vibrate, the sound of rushing water quickly filling the insides.
There you go. Both machines up and running, your laundry would be done in no time.
“Thanks again for coming with,” you said as you popped the cap back on the detergent and pushing it aside. “I know coming with me to a laundromat isn’t the most exciting date, but I do appreciate the company.”
Mira’s fingers brushed along side your arm, barely there but leaving goosebumps in their wake. “You know I don’t care about it being ‘exciting’,” she murmured, watching you with that gentle expression of hers. “I like spending time with you, regardless of where or how.”
Your heart did a little flip, and you reached out to catch her roaming hand in your own, entwining your fingers with hers. “What a sweet talker. Do you use those lines on your fans?”
She laughed again.
Of course, she didn’t use lines like this when with fans or on interviews. The public got to see Mira’s ‘cool girl’ persona. But the ones she loved, you and the rest of Huntrix, got to see the sweetheart underneath.
Mira had you caged between her and the washer, grinning down at you. “You know what? I think I should get some kind of reward, if you really want to thank me, that is.”
“You want to be rewarded for helping me with my laundry?” you snorted.
She dipped her head lower, closer to you. “Why not? It’s only fair. And I already know the perfect payment you can give.”
With that, she closed the distance, lips pressed against yours in a slow, tender kiss. One of your hands reached up to rest on her waist, not grabbing, not pulling, just gently touching her, anchoring.
It wasn’t a heated kiss by any means, it was sweetness incarnate. Slow, savoring the feeling, the connection.
A polite, but obvious cough cut through the air, bringing you to part.
Further down the rows of washers, one of the older women was pointedly looking away from you as she loaded her machine.
Looking at each other once more, hands still on each other, you both laugh before quietly retreating to a corner table to wait for the washer to finish, and the laundromat easily fell back to rhythm.
You were sure that with how Mira refused to keep her hands to herself even after—tugging you into her lap on the chair, kissing your cheek and your shoulder as you talked, being impossibly affectionate—that you would be leaving the laundromat with a reputation as the Annoying Couple.
Funnily enough; you couldn’t find it in you to be bothered by that.
Quite the opposite: you were hoping to gain that title if it meant Mira would be joining you here more often.
.
.
.
Eventually, your laundry was finished and Mira—ever the gentleman she was—helped you carry the baskets back to your apartment., despite only living a block away from the laundromat.
She had helped you put everything away, too, having stayed over in your apartment and shared your bed more than often enough to know where each article of clothing was to go.
Hell, you were pretty sure half your closet was composed of her clothes, because you knew for a fact that there was no way in this, or any, universe that you were affording a Prada jacket on the income of a barista and the generous donations from busking.
But that was fine. Mira having more clothes in your apartment meant she stayed in your apartment more often. It was a quiet sign of just how interwoven your lives had become over the years.
There were still a few other chores that you needed to get done around the apartment. Groceries could wait until later, but you wanted to get the dishes in your sink done, and still tidy up the main room. Small, mundane tasks that came with being a ‘responsible, functioning adult’.
The kind of mundane tasks that Mira wanted to help you with.
By the time you had finished, the last of morning had melted into early afternoon, and the two of you were cuddled together on the couch. You resting comfortably in her arms, seated right between her legs, as re-runs of Siren: Survive the Island played on your cheap TV.
Empty cups of Mira’s favorite ramyeon and your favorite bottled teas littered the coffee table, ready to be thrown out by whoever bothered to get up first.
Mira had one arm draped lazily across your waist, her other was running fingers through your hair as you both watched Team Soldier carry their flag through the mud.
“Some of the scouts at Sunlight Studios are asking me to get you to reconsider their offer,” Mira hummed unprompted, her nails scratching just the right spot at the side of your neck.
You scoffed. “You can tell them my answer hasn’t change. I’m not interested,” crossing your arms, you sank deeper into her hold. “Music is fun, busking is fun. Adding the red tape and bureaucracy of the idol industry will take away the fun.”
“Being an idol isn’t that bad. Besides, if you signed on, we could do collabs together.”
“Not that bad? That's rich coming from the woman who said, and I quote, ‘It’s like I’m constantly walking on egg shells; one wrong word, one wrong outfit, and the entire group can get cancelled.’”
Mira pressed her face to the top of your head as she laughed. “Okay, sure, it is that bad. But seeing how happy the fans are, changing their lives with music, that makes it all worth it.”
You reached down to pat at the hand that was resting on your stomach, “And I’m so, so happy that you love it, aein. But we’ve been through this; that kind of lifestyle isn’t for me.”
Music was important to you. Sure, you loved sharing it—that’s why you so often busked the streets, playing your guitar or singing songs you wrote, why you were always so excited to share with Mira each new song you wrote—but at the end of the day, you were only ever playing for yourself. You didn’t need a manager telling you where to go and what to do, choreographers telling you how to move, or PR lessons telling you how to behave.
That was for Mira. That life on the stage was her passion, and you were happy for her for it. But you were also just as satisfied with your own life.
If only Sunlight Studios could get the memo.
Humming, Mira hugged you tighter, nuzzling her face against you, “I know it’s not. I respect that, I just… if you were one of the idols under Sunlight Studios, I’d be able to see you more often. I wouldn't have to wait for nights we're both free, or a few sparse hours we have open.”
“I’d love to see you more often, too, but that just means the days like today,” days where they could spend it all, dawn to dusk, together, “are all the more special.”
Mira let out a low whine, a sound that you knew translated to “I know, I want more, but I know.”
Instead of saying that, she sighed, tilting to move her head from yours to trace down to your shoulder. “I’ll talk to those bigwigs in the morning, get them to back off,” Mira murmured, over one of the fading marks she had left on you prior.
You shivered as you felt the hint of her teeth against the bruise, her hand was tracing lazy figures through your shirt along your hipbone. “But are you sure you don’t want to do a collab? No contract, no signing, just a simple collab between you and me?”
Eyes fluttering closed, you instinctively tilted your head to give her more access to your neck. You felt her hand slip away from your waist briefly before returning, nudging at the hem of your shirt, a wordless request.
“I mean… I’m sure you could convince me.”
Mira's grip on you tightened.
Never let it be said that she was one to back down from a challenge.
.
.
.
As the day turned to night, you were both sporting bite marks and scratches that would have to be hidden under concealer. Mira made sure you never did get a chance to run to the grocery store, not that you were going to complain.
As the sun reached the climax of its descent, you brought Mira to your apartments roof.
Technically, no one was supposed to go on the roof. But the lock on the door got busted years ago and, you reasoned, if it really was that big of a deal that no one go up there, the landlord would have fixed it by now.
Considering he hadn’t, you saw no problem regularly bringing Mira to the roof to watch the sun set. It may not be the best vantage point, but it still got you a nice view.
It was a pretty sunset tonight, too.
The right hues of pink and orange streaking across the sky.
It would be even nicer if Mira would bother to watch it, too. You could feel her eyes on you as the sun sank lower over the horizon.
“You’re staring.”
“What can I say,” Mira purred, her hand finding yours. “I like the view.”
You muffled your laugh with a huff, looking over to your girlfriend, feeling your chest blossoming with fondness and warmth yet again. “I brought you up here to watch the sunset, not me.”
“Can’t blame a girl for being distracted by the prettier sight.”
This time you couldn’t fight back the laugh, face flushing red all the way to the tips of your ears. You leaned slightly, rested against her side. “You are such a flirt.”
“Only for you,” Mira chirped back cheerily, letting go of your hand so she could wrap her arm around your shoulders, holding you firm against her before pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Only for you.”
She kept her head rested against your own after the kiss, that extra little bit of contact, as if you might slip through her fingers otherwise. “It is a pretty sunset.”
You nodded against her, eyes locked on the pink of the setting sun. You loved it when you caught the pink streaks of the sunsets and sunrises, they always made you think of the woman beside you.
Soft, with a gentle warmth that cradled those it touched.
“We’ve been together for a while now,” Mira mused, her soft voice cutting through the quiet of the night yet again. Your eyes were still glued to the pink in the sky, but hers were trained only on you.
Always on you. She couldn't look away even if she wanted to.
“Four years,” you echoed back, your voice quiet and light, a whisper carried across the wind. “Give or take those first few months of the awkward ‘kind of dating, but not really’ stage.”
That had been such a confusing period for everyone.
Neither had been brave enough to put a name on what they were out of fear that they had read too deeply into their time spent together. Had it not been for a night of too much alcohol and a tear-stained confession, you two probably would never have left that uncomfortable gray area.
Mira shook those thoughts aside, because you did leave it, you two were dating now, and though there had been some bumps on the road, your relationship had never faltered.
Had it really been four years?
Four years was a decently long time. A good amount of time.
Four years of getting to know each other, of Mira getting to see your face light up with joy over the smallest things, of you getting to see past her idol persona and get to know the silly goof beneath it. Four years of comforting each other when life got hard, taking care of each other when one was sick of hurt. Four years of looking out for each other in all those little ways.
Four long years and now Mira couldn’t even imagine a life without you woven in it.
“We should get married.”
You slowly turned to her, “Married?” came the echo, quiet, barely audible.
“Mm,” Mira hummed. “I’m not asking you to go down to the courthouse with me right this very moment, but… in the future. Maybe a few years from now. When life has settled down for both of us, I’d like for us to be married.”
There was no recoil, even if you had jolted at her suggestion, you didn’t pull away from her.
Instead, you let out a light laugh.
“You want to marry me?” you asked teasingly. “You’re a celebrity. Aren’t you supposed to marry some famous producer or actor, someone who matches your glamorized life so you can stay relevant after retirement through the scandals and drama? Marriage with a nobody like me would be pretty boring in comparison.”
It was so clear you were just saying it as a joke, poking fun at the usual celebrity relationships that filled the news. At how often couples would be formed after working together briefly in a seemingly desperate bid to stay famous, only to crumble soon after when it became clear there was nothing of substance to sustain them.
It was just a lighthearted, meaningless, joke.
But something in Mira seethed at the thought of her being with someone other than you in that scenario. At how quickly you were to dismiss, serious or not, that she might genuinely want to be with you.
“Fuck no,” the words were sharp and devastating as Mira moved to stand in front of you, so you had no choice but to look at her. “I don’t want someone who 'matches my status' or fame. I want your ‘boring’. These boring days where all we do is laundry and clean the house together. I want the slow afternoons eating ramyeon and watching trashy tv with you.”
Her hands cupped your cheek; she could feel the burning heat from your growing blush against her palm. “I don’t want the ‘relevancy’, I want to make breakfast for you, cook dinner with you. I want you to keep stealing my sweaters and hoodies even when you don’t need more, and for me to keep teasing and complaining about your coffee orders until we’re both old and wrinkly. I want to fill out all the boring legal documents with you and sign them with your last name attached to mine.”
With each word, Mira drew closer and closer to you, the gap growing smaller until her nose bumped against yours. “I want you, and I hope you want the same.”
She closed the distance. Their teeth bumped slightly, and you made a small sound against her mouth before grabbing the front of Mira’s jacket hard enough that the material wrinkled under your fists, anchoring you to the moment.
There was no quiet cough or annoyed gazes to interrupt this time as Mira deepened the kiss, nipping at your lip, feeling you smile against her. There was nothing but you, her, the dying rays of the sun at the horizon, and the warm chords of the Honmoon beneath her feet.
When you two pulled apart, it was for no other reason than that air was something their bodies needed.
Mira rested her forehead to yours, your noises brushed again, and you stared at each other like neither was sure if this was real or a dream, caught in a daze from the kiss.
“I—” you began, licking your lip and swallowing hard. You hadn’t let go of Mira’s jacket; you didn’t want to let go. Not of her. “Not right now, not yet, but—yes.”
“Yes?” Mira echoed quiet.
“Yes,” you repeated. “Not yet, but once life settles down, I’d like that.”
You sealed it with another kiss.