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Zoey hadn't expected the nostalgia to hit her quite so hard when she took the girls to LA. The last time they were here they played the Hollywood Bowl and were gone the next day. Yet another show in another city for more fans. She loves it, really, but she hasn't been back, really been back just to be here in a handful of years. And she wouldn't have it any other way than to drag her girlfriends around to her old haunts.
She's nervous, for some reason. She wants them to love her history. But more than that, she wants to show them the pieces of her that she carries everyday and love her all the more for that.
She takes them hiking in the early hours of the morning so they can watch the world wake up from the canyon. She's not an athlete by any means, and it isn't supposed to be a tough hike, but Mira is grumbling before the first hour is over.
"Zoey," she draws out her name at the end, like she does when she's mildly inconvenienced. "How much further?"
"We're half way there, don't be a baby!" Zoey replies, giving her a grin over her shoulder.
"I'm not a baby, you're the baby," Mira huffs.
Rumi, on the other hand, takes in each viewpoint with an awestruck smile, like she doesn't want to miss anything. Zoey understands it. She knows Rumi has a hard time looking up after so long focused on their work, her patterns, her legacy. And she admires it, but she knows what getting to breathe, finally, means for her. So she makes sure not to rush them.
Still, even Mira is impressed by the time they reach the top of the ridge. The view of a sprawling city from dizzying heights is familiar, but something about this being Zoey's makes it extra special.
"Yeah, okay, I get it now." Mira takes Zoey's hand. "Even if I am unreasonably sweaty."
"Nah, you're glowing." Zoey beams at her, kisses her flushed cheek. "It's cute."
Rumi takes Zoey's other hand then, and smiles at her. It's soft, tender, and the morning light catches her patterns, the shades of brown in her irises just so, and Zoey thinks an entire album's worth of lyrics couldn't cover how it makes her feel.
"This is beautiful, Zoey. Thank you for bringing us here," she murmurs.
Zoey looks away, suddenly bashful.
"Oh it's no big deal. I just figure we're on vacation, we should get out and see stuff."
Rumi shakes her head fondly, and kisses her sweetly.
"It matters to you. It can be a big deal."
"Yeah," Mira agrees. "If it matters to you, it matters to us."
Zoey thinks about all the times she did this hike with her father. It used to clear her head when she couldn't keep up with all her ideas, when everything got a bit loud, when she worried about school. Coming up here helped bring everything back into perspective. So standing here now, with the two people she loves most, it means everything.
She breathes it in for a moment before turning to Mira and Rumi.
"C'mon! Let's go get some food."
"Yes! I'm starving! Let's go!" Mira cries, already racing for the path.
Zoey takes them to a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant in Koreatown next. The owners greet Zoey like a returning hero. They fuss over her, tell the other two about how she was when she came here as a kid, and Zoey is certain Mira amd Rumi will definitely tease her about it later.
They're not in any rush, so they order as much food as conceivably possible, delighted to enjoy a taste of home, a taste of what Zoey grew up with. It's true what they say about food, how it brings back memories, sensations. Both good and bad. Sometimes she'd sit in this very booth after a bad day at school and do her homework with a plate of japchae before shuffling home. Other times she'd come here to celebrate a milestone with her parents, before they split at least. They'd brought her here one last time before Celine booked her a one way flight to Seoul. It's the last time she remembers them all being together without it hurting.
Zoey looks at Rumi and Mira, so at home here, how Mira laughs when Rumi fights her for the last bite of kimbap and she is overwhelmed with affection for them both. They have always taken her and all her quirks in stride, it's true, but something about them, here, in this place, lets her feel it in her bones.
"You okay, Zoey?" Mira asks betweem bites.
"Yeah. I just love you both so much."
Mira puts down her chopsticks and wraps an arm around her.
"We love you too, baby." Mira nuzzles her neck and delicately kisses the spot beneath her ear.
Rumi snaps a photo before either of them can stop her. They don't mind one bit, and, it will probably end up printed and on the fridge once they get home.
That night, Mira and Rumi make sure to shower Zoey with all the love they have for her. They take their time, they lavish her with praise, in words, with their hands, their mouths, everything.
The next morning, Zoey trades their modest rental car for a ridiculous convertible with the express intent of getting Mira to drive them down Rodeo Drive as close to the speed limit as possible without getting on the local news. Is it a good idea for their optics as superstars? Probably not. Is it fun? Absolutely.
“Faster, Mira!” Zoey yells from the back seat.
“Mira, watch the speed limit!” Rumi begs, gripping the dashboard.
“Come on, Rumi it’ll be fine!” Mira laughs, airy and carefree, and leans on the throttle a little more.
Zoey mentally checks it off her list of corny things she had always wanted to do as a kid and directs Mira to take them to her favourite record shop with Rumi berating them for their disregard for traffic speeds, even if she does it with a smile.
Zoey doesn’t really remember where her passion for music, for lyrics, came from. Her parents aren’t in creative fields, and while they did their best to nurture her interests, they always saw it as a hobby and nothing more. But it’s an anchor for her, a constant and certain thing. She needs it like air. And sometimes it’s easier to put all her feelings into a song than to say them aloud. So coming to this little place had been a great way to find inspiration when nothing else worked. It’s still as dingy as ever, with shelves upon shelves of poorly stacked records, both new and second hand, still arranged in strange categories, and still perfect.
Zoey thumbs through one of the bins down one of the aisles, slowly gathering a pile of to take home with her. She pulls one out, the artist on the front pulling a silly face. She turns to the others and holds it up, imitating the cover. Rumi giggles and searches for one, too, to do the same.
Mira clears her throat from across the aisle and Zoey sees her peek out from behind a Prince album before striking the same pose. Zoey snorts and goes to dig for another. They continue like that for longer than is strictly necessary, until Rumi holds up a record that is very familiar.
Zoey and Mira's laughter subsides into something more fond.
They go over to join her and Zoey wraps her arms around her, resting her chin on her shoulder.
Rumi runs a finger over the cover, their cover. Zoey remembers it clear as day, so she holds Rumi a little closer. It was the first one that captured her with her marks on full display. She had been so terrified at the shoot, sick to her stomach with the kind of anxiety that makes your skin ache. It wasn't until Mira had gently talked her down that she had allowed herself to enjoy it.
"We did alright with this one, huh," Rumi whispers, a little choked up.
"Yeah, we did," Mira replies, kissing her temple. "And you were really brave."
No amount of stress, rehearsals, tours and comebacks could ever make them forget how special, how real, their work is.
Zoey takes the record from Rumi's hands and puts it in her pile.
"Zoey, we literally have the masters at home." Mira protests.
"So? It's a good album. I'm buying it." Zoey shrugs and hauls her selections to the counter to pay.
Before they all know it, another day filled with Zoey-styled adventures turns into evening.
Zoey hadn't been old enough to enjoy West Hollywood before moving to Korea to join the band, but she'll be damned if she doesn't get to enjoy it now. It feels good to take in all the joy, the pride flags, the energy, as they bar hop until they find a place they like. It's so natural, real, and Zoey feels bold with Mira and Rumi at her side.
They settle in a cute little place where they know they won't be bothered too much. The music is great and there's plenty of space to dance and Zoey gets to watch Rumi and Mira sway together to whatever song is playing from the bar.
Mira pulls Rumi against her front, hands resting heavy, heavy against her stomach, toying with the hem of her crop top. She whispers something in Rumi's ear that makes her laugh. They are both so beautiful.
Rumi exposes her elegant neck, marks shimmering under the rosy club lights, as she tilts her head back against Mira's shoulder. She brings a hand up to grip the back of Mira's neck as they dance. Mira glances over at Zoey and, still holding her gaze, tilts her chin to press a heady, open mouthed kiss to Rumi's neck. It's a not-so-subtle invitation that is not lost on Zoey at all, and the beat of the music pounds in her stomach, in her ribs. She doesn't bother waiting to enjoy the show.
Zoey presses herself into Rumi so she's sandwiched between her and Mira, delighting in how she immediately winds an arm around her waist.
Zoey kisses Mira over Rumi's shoulder easy and slow. She still tastes like the vodka sour she'd had earlier and Zoey thinks it might get her buzzed better than anything else.
She feels Rumi's lips brush her collar and desire ignites under her skin. She yanks her in then, hands roaming over her obliques as they make out. It should be utterly indecent, really, the three of them like this, even in a club miles from home, but Zoey can't bring herself to care. Then Rumi is pulling away, flushed.
"Want to get out of here?" she asks, breathless.
Zoey doesn't think, just drags them both towards the door without another word.
They barely make it through the hotel room door before Zoey is shucking her jacket and reaching for them both. Mira chuckles, soft and velvety, drawing Zoey in by her belt expressly to drive her a little wild. It works, of course, because then Zoey is winding her fingers into her hair, desperate to get as close to her as possible. She feels Rumi brush her lips against her neck, just shy of her ear, feels her hands resting steady and grounding on her hips, feels her everywhere while she kisses Mira.
Mira tugs lightly at the bottom of Zoey’s top, a gentle invitation. Zoey nods and lets her pull it up over her head. The second she’s able, her hands are back on Mira, impatient and trembling as she fumbles with the buttons of her shirt. She gives up half way, shoving the shirt over her shoulders as far as it will go.
“Rumi,” she mumbles, desperate to be touched.
“I’m right here.” Rumi scrapes her nails along her ribs, skirting just below where Zoey wants her. She whines and is mildly frustrated when the only reaction it gets is a doting laugh from Mira. Before she can protest further, Rumi is scooping her up in her arms and carrying her to bed.
Despite the exhilarating rush with which it all began, Rumi and Mira are indulgent as they take their time with Zoey until she is near boneless with pleasure. And even then she craves them all the more. They diligently oblige, of course, until all three of them are deliciously exhausted.
And, much later, Zoey fights sleep just a little longer to watch her girls as they doze. She watches Rumi's bare chest rise and fall, how Mira's lips are slightly parted in sleep, her cheek squished against Rumi's clavicle. She commits every detail of it to memory.
They only have one more day before they fly home. Zoey’s excited to get back to work, sure, but right now she doesn’t want this to end.