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Mira had been eyeing it for some time now.
Not that she had ever been a guitar enthusiast—she wasn’t even sure how an electric guitar worked or what the hell the knobs were supposed to adjust—but this one was glaringly different from any other guitar she had ever encountered.
Mostly because of Rumi.
Solely because of Rumi.
Too many times would they finish up in the studio; another recording done, another verse completed, another layer of melody added, and Mira would make up an excuse to stay a bit more. To pick up the dozen sheets of paper strewn across the floor or to clean the desk covered with crumbs.
And she’d do all those things, all while staring at the guitar in the corner, imagining Rumi’s fingers tapping across the fretboard, strumming the strings to a catchy rhythm which would find its way into Mira’s ear with ease and rest there for the foreseeable future.
She would always do it so effortlessly and yet never brag about it.
So, Mira concluded, that meant that she could do it, too.
Truth is that she had never let go of the competitiveness from their trainee days. Although Celine had thought of it as an advantage at first (what better way to push the girls than to set up everything as a competition?), she soon had to force some teamwork exercises on them when she realised Rumi and Mira were far from synchronised.
They were still off beat.
Truth was that Rumi was perfect. A bit too perfect for Mira’s liking. Celine rarely had anything to correct Rumi at, and not without a good reason. That girl was truly brilliant at it all—sparring, wielding a weapon, singing, dancing, and even playing that damn guitar.
With their debut album in the making, the stakes were high. The fate of the world and what not. But Mira could not help herself but constantly get into arguments with Rumi. Pointless arguments. Complaints about the chord progression being too generic or about Rumi’s technique being too sloppy on the second chorus (as if Mira knew anything about either of those things).
Mira was, admittedly, jealous.
The worst part was that Mira was sure Rumi knew it. She was getting pretty good at deflecting her weak arguments and even better at ignoring them completely.
Taking everything into account, there was no way Mira would ever beat Rumi at sparring since her favourite toy as a baby was probably a dagger or some shit like that. Singing? Also out of the question. That voice had come straight from the heavens. Dancing was a field in which Mira was better, and better enough for Celine to designate her the visual of the group. But it wasn’t enough. That was still 2:1, a ratio Mira would very much like to even out.
That was where the guitar came in.
Though she was already pretty good at it, Rumi was still far away from being able to call herself an advanced player. Mira was in the studio always at the same time as her and had to suffer through Rumi playing the same exact riff for the hundredth time just because she kept missing a note or two.
Ergo, Mira had enough time to catch up with her.
—
“Mm, no,” Zoey hummed, biting the end of her pen as she spun slowly in the chair, “I need a more punchy melody for this line. Don’t you feel it? It’s, like—”
She shook a fist at Rumi who suspiciously frowned at her. She was on the couch, holding onto that guitar, searching for a good starting melody. So far, without success. The song Zoey had written seemed to hold some great value since she was really nitpicky about the vibe.
What that allowed Mira to do was observe; watch where Rumi’s fingers would land on the fretboard, the shapes they were forming as a sound would blare out from the amplifier tucked next to the couch.
Her part was on hold—the choreo was the last ingredient—so for now, she was assisting with the songwriting part of the job. Assisting meaning laughing at Zoey’s over-the-top demonstrations of the lyrics and at Rumi’s patience being tested.
Truly a 5 star show.
“Why don’t you try something then? Don’t you know how to play the piano?” Rumi sighed, resting her arm on the body of the guitar.
Zoey pointed her pen at her, wiggling it, “Technically, it’s a keyboard. And yes, I do know how to play it. And, no, I need your guitar to ROAR for this song.”
“But can’t you figure out the melody on the keyboard? And then I’ll just copy what you do there...” She pointed at the instrument on the other side of the room, “...on here!” Her hands dazzled around the guitar.
“Are you giving up, Rumi?” Mira teased, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
Rumi frowned at her, her jaw stiff all of a sudden. She took the guitar strap off her shoulder and put the guitar on its stand before turning off the amp and unplugging the cables. She rounded the couch, snatching her jacket from the chair where Zoey was seated. As she put it on, taking her long braid out, she turned to Zoey, still frowning.
“I’ll go for a quick walk. Clear my head a bit. I’ll send you a message if I come up with something.” With that, she closed the door behind herself with a slam.
Zoey’s shoulders tensed at the sudden sound and she awkwardly looked at the empty place on the couch Rumi had left behind. She put the pen down on the table before her eyebrows shot up in disbelief.
Mira smirked, “And I thought I was the one with the temper.”
“Oh, well, nothing bad with taking a break.” Zoey shrugged.
She slotted the notebook under her armpit and left, presumably to continue brainstorming lyrics. Talk about a break.
Mira smiled to herself as the door closed once more, leaving her alone in the studio. This gave her at least half an hour, and she had spent last night scrolling on her phone, reading articles for beginner guitarists until the chords were brandished behind her eyes.
She stood in front of the guitar as if it was a sacred object, one only designated for the chosen to touch it. And then she grabbed its neck, ready to rock this world with her insurmountable skill.
The guitar almost slipped out of her hand the moment she lifted it up. It was far heavier than a guitar should be. She cursed under her breath, her heart grazing her throat for just a second. Close call! There would definitely be consequences if she were to damage it.
She sat on the couch, not bothering with the strap for now. The guitar’s angled body nicely sat on her thigh, but the thing felt foreign in her arms. She looked at the fretboard, the infinite possibilities of music laid out in front of her. Mira counted where the dots were (3rd, 5th, 7th…), and repeated the positions under her breath.
Okay, time to strike a note. She touched the thinnest string and it rang out shyly, the metallic sound a bit underwhelming. But she was doing it already! She was just a few more notes away from creating the next hit of the summer!
She grasped the neck of the guitar, trying to press down onto a few strings. It didn’t hurt at all until she did it a few more times, slowly switching between chords she made up herself, none of which sounded that pretty.
As the dissonant sound rang out, she cringed at the guitar, as if it was at fault for producing such awful melodies.
“Right, right.” She murmured to herself, stretching her fingers a bit before tilting the guitar towards herself again, her head arched so she could see the fretboard clearly.
After a short staring competition with the instrument, she bit her lip.
She had no idea what she was doing.
But that was fine! Everything had a learning curve, and some curves were just steeper than other curves. Not because she was incompetent but because she had no prior knowledge of anything music-related besides following a beat with her steps. This was just a pointer saying she had to work for it. And being better than Rumi? That was a goal she was ready to strive for.
—
“Mm, shish ish really good!” Zoey mumbled as she took another bite of the crunchy toast.
“It’s just bread, but thanks.” Mira said, her finger sliding across her phone’s screen.
Rumi was eating in silence on the opposite side of the floor. Not because she was still angry at that joke Mira cracked a few days ago. She was usually the least talkative out of the three.
They were in the living room, seated in a semicircle as they munched on their breakfast. Celine promised them today would be a slower day which just meant they had time to relax until ten when all hell would break loose, meaning they’d have to attend a thousand more interviews and a hundred more photoshoots by the end of the day.
Rumi was the first to finish eating and she picked up her plate and got up, strolling towards the kitchen.
“I’ll go get ready for the day. If you guys need anything, just knock.”
Mira glanced at the clock in the corner of her screen. Almost eight. And yet, Rumi decided she’d retreat to her bedroom.
She was still getting used to that girl’s routine now that they were living together. Well, they were living together as trainees, too, but now they weren’t under Celine’s strict regime 24 hours a day, but a merciful 14 hours. Anyhow, Mira noticed Rumi really liked her alone time. Like, really liked it.
Mira liked her alone time, too, but Zoey was acting like that fish that would glue herself to a shark’s body (a remora, she heard Zoey’s voice in her head). Mira would complain if Zoey wasn’t such enjoyable company, which she was. Unlike Rumi, that girl was not able to shut up, and was infinitely more curious about her new bandmates.
“So, what’s up with the guitar-thing?” Zoey said cheerily, like she was asking about the weather.
Mira, who was just about to take another bite, slowly lowered her sandwich, shooting a half-glare at Zoey.
“What do you mean?”
“You know!” Zoey said, “You trying to learn guitar all of a sudden. I thought you were going to stick with dancing. Not that you should! I’m not saying that. Just wondering, like, why? I mean, we do already have Rumi, so, why not learn something else so we could have a wider range of instruments at hand?”
Mira stuttered, her brain caught in a short-circuit. She looked at the phone and shut it off, placing it next to her, as if it would spill another one of her secrets.
Over the past few days she took the guitar in her hands a few more times, always making sure neither Zoey nor Rumi were in the vicinity. She even cut short her sleeping time just so she could sneak out to the studio. There was something addicting in the guitar even though she still had no idea what the fuck she was doing.
“How do you know that?” Mira asked carefully, but Zoey replied with the same bubbly tone.
“Oh, I accidentally saw you reading up on some guitar chords. Not to mention that I heard you sneak out your room last night. You bumped into something, right? I definitely heard a clang.”
It had been a sculpture. Some obnoxious piece of contemporary art that had been, for some reason, situated in the hallway that led to their bedrooms. And since the metal had been that one specific shade of grey Mira could not have picked out in the dark, she had bumped into it, sending it to the floor with a loud bang.
This must be what robbers feel like, she had thought as she put the sculpture back into its place, pushing it closer to the wall.
“Uh, yeah,” She said, her voice then gaining a sharper edge, “But don’t tell Rumi, okay?”
Zoey giggled at that faux-threat before tilting her head a bit, “Why? What’s the big deal?”
Mira had always been wary with sharing secrets and plans with others. Usually she stuck with the ‘the fewer people know, the better’, but there was something convincing about the look Zoey gave her. Like curiosity inside her had to be satiated or else the thought would itch Mira until the end of time.
“Ugh, fine. Listen,” She scooted a bit closer to her as if Rumi was looming around the corner, “I’m going to learn the guitar, and then I’ll show Rumi how it’s done.”
Zoey’s mouth pulled into a thin line, “...that’s it?”
Mira frowned at her, but Zoey just raised her palms, shrugging, “Don’t blame me! I just expected something more exciting. If I had known this was just another one of your antics, I wouldn’t have even bothered to ask.”
Another one of their antics? God, she sounded like Celine now. Mira rolled her eyes at the statement, waving Zoey off as she got up with her plate.
There was no such thing as ‘their antics’. Sure, they had been clashing since the day Mira showed up on the compound, but there was definitely a better name to put on that. Antics? Come on, now.
Whatever. She had work to do. Since she still had time to prep for the day, she should probably kill time by doing something useful. And however much she would like to rush into the studio and get a hold of that guitar, she should probably read the PR guide Celine had sent them in the wake of the interview they were to attend today.
Hopefully after their debut is out, they won’t have to deal with this nightmare-ish routine. Mira was getting sick of interviewers with smiles too wide and questions too weird. She was still learning how to answer diplomatically and calmly, without raising her voice or rolling her eyes, no matter how dumb the question.
She placed the plate in the dishwasher before stretching her arms out, a slight pop escaping from her shoulders. If they were going to be home by midnight today, according to Celine’s prognosis, that wouldn’t leave that much time for practice.
Oh, well, one day won’t hurt anyone. Besides, after battling with the C chord for almost an hour yesterday, it was rest well deserved.
—
It had been two weeks since the last time Mira had taken the guitar into her hands. Progress was slow. Mostly because Celine plastered a sudden deadline for the album. All three of them complained, but when she started babbling about statistics and the public opinion and yadda yadda, they accepted their fate.
The deadline was a problem for the biggest part because Rumi was barely letting go of the guitar. The interviews were done, the photoshoots long posted. What was left was to actually do the things they promised in front of the cameras—shake the world with their debut songs.
They were back in the studio; Mira leaning on Zoey’s chair as they both followed Rumi’s slow and quiet moves on the guitar. She was mumbling to herself as she picked the notes. The guitar wasn’t connected to the amp so the sounds were tinny, but Zoey still somehow found the mojo Rumi was desperately trying to produce since she was bobbing her head along with the guitar’s quiet cries.
It had been almost two months since Mira had made it her mission to get better at guitar than Rumi. She had spent a good chunk of her free time watching videos of other people’s progress and was continuously disappointed whenever she’d compare herself to them. To be fair, they had access to their guitars every day while she had to carefully calculate when to practice.
The good news was that Rumi had no idea what Mira was doing.
The bad news was that Mira also had no idea what she was doing.
“Oh! Oh! That’s it! Do that again!” Zoey exclaimed suddenly, almost launching herself from the chair.
Mira stopped resting her arms on the chair, instead crossing them as she stopped her train of thoughts to listen to the, seemingly, genius melody Rumi had just crafted.
“From here?” Rumi prompted, playing out a few notes.
“Yes, from there!” Zoey nodded, practically buzzing with excitement, “Wait, I’ll plug it in.”
Rumi bit her lip as Zoey jumped from the chair to get a hold of the cables. Mira glanced at those lips, a bit dry, and those eyes, stuck in a hawk-like focus. Rumi’s fingers ghosted above the notes for a second, her eyebrows etched into a frown. Right when Zoey plugged the gear in, a quiet grumble emitting from the amp. Mira’s breath hitched in her throat as Rumi followed through with the melody.
And fuck, it sounded amazing.
It was obviously still raw, missing a heavy beat and a synth following its steps, but even by itself, it didn’t sound too shabby. Far from it. Though it was a hard pill to swallow, there was no denying it. Rumi had just created something Mira herself would definitely have on repeat for weeks on end.
Rumi bended a few strings by the end of it and her fingers jumped across multiple notes in rapid succession before she slid down the entire fretboard, a rumble vrooming from the amp. She let a breath out, smiling as she looked up at Mira and Zoey, her expression shy even though she left Mira and Zoey with jaws on the floor.
“How did you…” Mira said, voicing her thoughts as her eyes observed the guitar who had never once sounded like that in her own hands.
She suddenly felt warm around her neck and on the edges of her cheek, but the heat dissipated with a curious frown she formed. Jealousy gnawed at her as she exchanged glances between Rumi and the instrument that just sang magic like it was nothing.
Rumi smiled at her—and it was a smile devoid of any pride, “Just practice, I guess.”
Practice. Fuck you and your practice, you stupid genius.
Zoey clapped and then ran to hug Rumi, promptly screaming into her ear, “That was awesome, Rumi! Celine’s jaw is going to sweep the floor when she hears this!”
“Yeah, nice one.” Mira said, grinding her teeth, biting down on anything not-kind that threatened to slip off her tongue.
It was fine. She’d catch up with Rumi by the next album. Whatever. It was different, anyway. Rumi had tons of time to practice and stuff. Celine probably sent her to lessons with a professional, too, or something. Besides, this was good! They were one song closer to the end of this agony. Agony meaning Rumi showing off her talent, rubbing it into Mira’s face that she was better.
Even though she totally wasn’t.
That evening, once they had all shared ‘good night’s’ and other pleasantries, Mira tiptoed to the studio. The guitar was there, on the stand, just like Rumi had left it. The melody was still drilling in Mira’s head. After Rumi had played it once, Zoey had started playing with the keyboard and had asked Rumi to repeat the sequence at least 30 more times. Once she had a prototype for the underlying melody, Zoey finally let her go.
Not that Rumi had minded showing off. Mira could see past that coy smile. She had been enjoying herself, basking in Zoey’s delight and compliments. All while Mira had just been standing on the side, eyeing Rumi up and down, trying to catch what it was that made her so naturally good at everything.
Ugh, so annoying.
She was now used to the weight of the guitar, and the way its body settled in her lap. What she was not used to was the pain in her wrist from angling her hand towards the fretboard, and the burning pain on her fingertips, and also the mental pain of suffering through muted strings.
She groaned, but then caught herself before frustration gobbled her up. Maybe she was being too technical about this. Maybe she should try to have some fun with this thing.
With that thought, she placed the guitar on the small couch before rummaging through the drawers, looking for Zoey’s headphones. Thankfully, they were adjustable, and a few clicks later neatly sat on top of Mira’s head. She plugged them into the amp and then plugged in the guitar. A low hum echoed in her ears and she couldn’t help but smile.
As soon as her fingers brushed over the strings, the crunchy sound shrilled in her ears. She cringed at the volume and turned it down a notch before closing her eyes, holding one chord and strumming it. Down, down, up, up, down, up. Slowly, she tried to switch to another chord. She fell into the same rhythm again, and though it was awfully simple, she felt a spark tickle her insides.
Naturally, her leg started to follow the humble beat. Her head slowly rocked to the rhythm. Down, down, and then two upstrokes, back down, back up. And again, and again. After a few minutes of jamming, she tried another chord. Though it didn’t fit with the previous two, Mira still decided to go through with it. Because it didn’t sound like trash as much as it did the first time, and that was enough for her now.
Right when she stopped to rest her hand for a bit, a muffled voice appeared behind her.
“You’re holding it wrong.”
She snapped her head towards it, taking her headphones down and resting them around her neck.
Rumi. Casually leaning on the door frame, arms crossed, a smug smile plastered on her face.
Mira’s cheeks were tainted a rosy blush and she opened her mouth, but then closed it again. Not like she could defend herself like this. She was caught red-handed with no excuse ready. She frowned at Rumi, and then at the guitar, and then back at Rumi again as she got up, unplugging the guitar and setting it back onto its stand.
She jammed her hands in her front pockets, nodding at Rumi.
“What are you doing here?”
Rumi scoffed, “What are you doing here, Mira?” She inched closer, posture a tad bit arrogant, “You’re not jealous, are you?”
“Psh, no,” Mira said, looking Rumi up and down, “What’s there to be jealous of?”
Not like you’re the most perfect person I’ve ever come across.
Not like it drives me crazy.
Rumi walked past her, their shoulders lightly brushing against each other. A distant shiver ran down Mira’s spine, her stomach knotting and twisting. She grabbed the guitar, and Mira couldn’t help but roll her eyes. What was she going to do now? Show off her skills now that she had the chance to recognise that Mira has none?
Asshole.
Rumi sat on the couch, but the guitar was positioned awkwardly in her lap. It looked wrong, though Mira could not quite place her finger on the exact reason why. Rumi tried to press onto the strings, and though a nice sound rang out, her face was completely scrunched up in discomfort.
She looked up at Mira, folding her palm in a ‘come closer’ gesture. Mira hesitated, but obeyed at last, stepping closer towards Rumi.
“You’re holding it like this,” Rumi pointed at the guitar, “It’s way too tilted towards you. You need to give it some space to breathe.” She pushed the guitar away from her body and pressed onto the same notes again, this time playing them without the grimace.
Ah. That was probably the reason why it hurt so bad to play. Mira had wondered if that pain was mandatory.
But she could have gotten to that conclusion by herself.
“I don’t need your help.”
Rumi smiled at her, “You’re stubborn.”
Mira shrugged, “Nothing wrong with being independent.”
“Riiight, especially when independence sounds like this.” Rumi played the saddest excuse for a chord Mira’s ears had the displeasure of hearing, laughing a bit.
Mira puffed air out of her nose in frustration, ready to leave Rumi to herself, but when she grabbed the doorknob, Rumi called out for her.
“Hey! Don’t walk out on me!”
“Sorry,” Mira glared at her, “I’m not in the mood to listen to your perfect playing right now.”
Rumi got up from the couch, the guitar dangling on her hips. When she was close enough, she took the guitar off and put the strap over Mira’s shoulders. She nodded at the couch, a genuine smile across her face.
“Your turn.”
Mira groaned in protest, but still trod to the couch. She rested the guitar on her lap, looking up at Rumi, now unsure of anything she had ever done with this guitar. For all she knew, she could be on a thumbnail for a ‘Top 10 Beginner Guitarist Mistakes’ video.
Rumi pretended to hold the guitar and tilted her hands away from herself. Mira followed the instruction. She could not see the fretboard all that well now, but still tried to play a chord. It still sounded bad, but at least it wasn’t as hard to play it. She met Rumi’s eyes which were soft in the low light of the studio.
Heat touched upon Mira’s neck again and she cleared her throat, adjusting the guitar a bit more in her grasp. As she shuffled to the side so Rumi could sit next to her, she strummed the rhythm from before again. Rumi then leaned into her and rested her hand on Mira’s right forearm. Mira’s throat went dry. Probably because she was experiencing some sort of brain bleed.
“Your strumming is way too monotonous. You gotta give it some variation, you know? Like, accent every second stroke starting from the first. Like this.”
Rumi grasped her wrist and slowly strummed the strings with Mira’s hand. The strokes were the same, but with Rumi’s accent it sounded livelier. Like Mira gave the melody a body and Rumi gave it a soul. Mira nodded, shaking Rumi’s hand off of hers so she could try it for herself.
“Yeah, yeah, that’s it!” Rumi cheered, bumping Mira’s shoulder a bit.
“Right. Thanks.” Mira said through gritted teeth, cutting the melody short.
Rumi interchanged glances between her and the guitar, “You’re not gonna play some more?”
Mira looked at Rumi. Really looked at her. At that glint in her eyes she always seemed to carry, the ease with which she was so joyfully ready to help someone who literally tried to one-up her in the stupidest way ever.
A smile was still situated on her lips as she was waiting for Mira to play something. She wasn’t even cringing at the godforsaken notes she had played. It would be a disgrace to call them music, but Rumi seemed quite attentive while listening to them.
Guilt licked the back of Mira’s throat. Maybe she’d feel less bad if Rumi was a shitty person, but no matter how much she had the ability of getting on Mira’s nerves with her disciplined and perfect execution of literally everything, she was still the kind Rumi who welcomed her with a homemade meal the day Mira had wound up in the sanctuary for the first time.
She was still the Rumi that made sure Mira was drinking enough water during intense dance sessions. She was still the Rumi who sent Mira memes that made absolutely no sense. She was still the idiot that found her using her guitar and decided to help her.
Mira took the guitar strap off her shoulder, lowering the guitar so it laid on her lap completely flat. She plucked at its strings a bit, that tinny sound cutting through the awkward silence.
“Are you… upset?” Mira asked, aware that she might get upset now that Mira reminded her that this was totally something one had the right to be upset over.
“Upset?” Rumi rolled the word off her tongue like she was tasting it for the first time, deciding if it was worth pondering over.
She leaned in a bit closer. Close enough that Mira could feel her levelled breath fan her cheeks, and she glanced down—Mira could swear she glanced down at her lips—before she looked up at Mira with those soft eyes, too pure to lend themselves to anger.
“You know you could have just asked me to teach you. Or was it your plan from the beginning to set up a scene like this?” Rumi snickered a bit at that last part.
Wait.
Was she teasing her?
Mira gulped down nothing, her brows still a bit furrowed. If she were to relax them, she was sure her whole body would collapse into particles. That attitude was the only thing keeping her anchored to this world right now. The guitar was not plugged into the amp, and yet she could feel an electric buzz run up her thighs.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Mira murmured, though it came out as an unintelligible string of words blended into one.
Was the Honmoon throbbing around her or was it her own heart stuttering? God, she couldn’t tell. The studio was becoming blurry, the weight on her lap seemingly sinking her down. Rumi’s hand was on her upper arm, her fingers lightly digging into her skin there.
Her heart jumped to her throat as her eyes grazed the soft shadows on Rumi’s face, the electric buzz hitting her straight into her head. She met Rumi’s eyes only to come face to face with something akin to want.
Want?
Fuck, she must be really tired to have these kinds of hallucinations.
“Sure you don’t.” Rumi said, leaning in closer, closer still.
The gap she was shortening seemed like an endless chasm, the time stretching into a viscous liquid. Mira was as still as a rock as she watched Rumi take a whole eternity to close the space between them.
And then their lips brushed against each other, wary at first. Like it was a question, an unsure venture into the dark. Rumi’s fingers grazed down her arm, and Mira pulled back, desperate to catch a breath. Rumi’s eyes fluttered open. Her lips were hovering over Mira’s. Waiting.
Before Mira could even think a single word, her body acted before logic and she leaned into Rumi, deepening the kiss slowly, but surely.
The buzz twitched inside her, sending heat up and down her spine. As if on instinct, her hands reached up to cup Rumi’s face, meeting her lips again in a hungry endeavour. Rumi’s hand slipped down to rest on her thigh for a second until she broke the kiss.
“I guess we’ll deal with this some other time.” She took the guitar and leaned away from Mira to put it onto its stand.
As quickly as she broke the kiss, she returned to it, lightly nibbing Mira’s lower lip as she did. Mira let out a small sound which Rumi caught in her mouth, swallowing every breath Mira exhaled.
Rumi angled herself so she could push Mira down onto the couch. Once the soft cushion met Mira’s back, Rumi locked her knees around Mira’s hips. Her hands were roaming up her body, stopping at her neck. Her lips slipped onto her jaw, pressing soft kisses there until she trailed down Mira’s neck, stopping just above Mira’s restless pulse point.
Well, if she wasn’t experiencing a brain bleed before, she was surely experiencing one now. Rumi’s kisses were like drops of heaven running down her skin, her hands following the places where she’d press her soft lips, leaving a trail of loving murmurs.
Mira guided her back towards her lips, the want now more defined inside her. Rumi smiled into the kiss, their teeth accidentally bumping into each other for a second before Mira melted into her silk touch.
With her skin aflame and Rumi’s weight comfortably pressing against her whole body, she forgot about all the chord diagrams she had been staring at for the past few weeks. The melody Rumi had played earlier that day was now tucked into a stray corner of her mind, her attention completely set in the here and in the now.
In her cosy embrace, in the closeness that Mira could get drunk on.
She pulled away from the kiss, meeting Rumi’s blown pupils from up close. Her breaths were short, shallow, indicative of something Mira had no trouble recognising as a silent plead for more.
It hit Mira that maybe the feeling rolling in the pit of her stomach had never been jealousy.
Maybe it had never been about the guitar at all.