Chapter Text
Mira should have known the morning was going to be annoying the second she saw the flamingos.
Not because the birds themselves had done anything wrong. They were just standing around in their pond near the zoo entrance—pink and silently judgmental in the early summer heat. But the sign beside them had a large map of the zoo mounted next to it, complete with bright color-coded paths and little cartoon pawprints. And somehow, despite staring at it for a solid three minutes, Mira still had no idea where the hell she was supposed to go—unable to focus over the sound of those squawks.
She tightened her grip on the handle of her cart.
The wheels rattled loudly over uneven pavement as she guided it down the main path, carefully avoiding a group of children running to the reptile house. Inside and strapped carefully into place sat two enclosed observation hives, informational posters with pamphlets, and the cleanest beekeeping suit she owned folded neatly in a plastic garment bag.
She had specifically washed it twice for today—Zoey would probably laugh herself to death if she knew that.
“You’re trying too hard.” Her best friend had informed her over breakfast that morning, stealing a piece of toast directly off Mira’s plate. “You’re giving a talk to children, not attending a royal wedding.”
“It’s educational…” Mira had replied.
“And?”
“And professionalism matters, Zo.” She’d grumbled around her sip of coffee, rolling her eyes. “Not that you’d know, anyway.”
“Mm. Sure.” Zoey had just grinned at her over the rim of her own mug. “Or maybe you secretly care what a bunch of ten-year-olds think of you.”
Mira cared what people thought about her significantly less than the shorter woman seemed convinced she did. Mostly.
Okay, maybe not entirely.
She’d never considered herself truly great with people. Zoey had always been wonderful at making people feel welcome in their little shop—working the counter with ease and marketing their natural honey like a true saleswoman to every guest that stopped in. Mira had always worked best out back with the insects, finding solace in the buzz of the hives and the steadiness of the harvest.
But when she’d received that email…
Mira sighed through her nose and stopped beside a small outdoor gift kiosk that a young girl in a zoo polo was reorganizing—head bobbing slightly to whatever music was connected to her wired earbuds.
“Hey, excuse me?” Mira prodded, trying for polite. “Do you know where the summer presentations are being held?”
“The what?” The teenager just blinked at her, pulling one bud away from her left ear.
“The endangered species series?” Mira repeated, raising an eyebrow to the same degree as the one the hot sun was blaring down on her with. “Guest speakers? Conservation demonstrations every Saturday?”
“Oh.” The girl pointed vaguely to the left. “I think maybe over by the children’s center?”
“Maybe?”
“Or the penguin building?” She added unhelpfully. “I dunno, sorry.”
“Right. Thanks.” Mira smiled tightly.
The second she turned away, the smile vanished.
She had spent the past five weeks emailing zoo administration back and forth planning this thing. Scheduling times. Filling out guest parking forms. Discussing table arrangements and electrical access and whether she needed additional containment permits for transporting live insects onsite.
And apparently nobody had thought to include one singular detail—where she was actually supposed to go.
Fantastic.
The cart wheels hit another bump hard enough to jolt her arms as she maneuvered it around the next bend. She muttered something under her breath that would probably get her banned permanently—immediately biting her tongue as the doors of the children’s center appeared. However, when she tried to knob, the faint rattle of a turned lock made her tentative smile drop.
She groaned, taking to the winding path once again.
She did her best to feel relief when, a few minutes later, she found another employee—a older man feeding the goats by the petting area.
“Hi, sorry.” Mira called, waving a bit to get his attention. “Could you point me towards the endangered species presentations?”
The employee just looked up at her blankly.
“I’m sorry?” He asked, confusion blooming in his features. “I’m just with the barn crew and it’s feeding time. You’ll have to catch a presentation with another keeper.”
Mira felt something dangerous twitch behind her left eye.
“No, I’m not asking if they’re here so I can watch.” She gestured to her cart of supplies, inhaling once through her nose. Calmly. “I’m a speaker. These are my supplies to set up. I need to get to my presentation.”
“Oh!” He said, understanding finally dawning. “I think that’s handled by events staff.”
The way the ending of the last word tilted itself into a question—not a statement—was not lost on the taller woman.
“Okay…” Mira said carefully. “And where would I find the event staff?”
“Maybe the main office?” The employee shrugged apologetically.
Of course.
“Thank you.” She said—in the precise tone of someone trying very hard not to sound irritated.
Because that was the real thing, after all.
Mira knew she could sound aggressive, though it wasn’t intentional. She wasn’t trying to be mean, she just… Liked efficiency. And directness. And competent communication. Apparently her face also tended to look murderously hostile when she got frustrated, according to Zoey. Which was probably just the other woman being a bit dramatic as usual—but even still, Mira had been trying to work on it.
Especially today.
Because as much as she’d like to pretend that she liked it that way, she had to admit that this mattered to her. Not for the publicity for the honey farm—she wasn’t wildly concerned with that, they made enough money. But the actual talk? Teaching these kids about the natural world they live in?
That mattered.
Most people only cared about bees in the abstract. They tacked ‘save the bees’ signs on their lawns and bought pretty postage stamps. They loved little honeycomb graphics on their organic soap. People liked the idea of bees, sure—right up until one flew too close to them at a picnic.
Then suddenly it was panic and swatting hands and somebody yelling for bug spray.
But bees were important—gentle, even, depending on species. They were clever in ways most people never bothered learning about. And if Mira could get even a handful of kids excited about saving a species instead of being scared, maybe that was worth dragging an observation hive halfway across the city at nine in the morning.
Unfortunately, she was becoming more convinced that this zoo itself needed saving from its own incompetent staff.
By the time another employee sent her to a building that turned out to be an on-site veterinary office, Mira was gripping the cart handle hard enough that her knuckles ached.
“Of course…” She muttered to herself, pivoting sharply back onto the main path
A nearby lemur watched her from behind glass with what felt like open amusement, uncaring of pair of keepers trying to get its attention. Mira glared at it briefly, watching as it quickly turned to bounce back to it’s companions. Then she pushed her cart forward again, trying very hard to remember that she was a professional adult and not allowed to commit homicide in front of several lower primates.
By the time Mira ended up near the aviary, she had officially given up trying to understand the zoo’s layout. Truly, at this point she was navigating entirely on instinct and spite.
The path curved around a massive enclosed habitat full of birds—all light feathers and shrill calls echoing through the humid air. Somewhere overhead, wings beat rapidly against mesh. Mira eyed the entrance sign suspiciously as she pushed her cart along the path.
Well, bees have wings. Birds also have wings. Maybe whoever organized this hellscape of a maze and claimed it was a zoo had just committed fully to a theme.
Really, she was simply running out of ideas.
She turned the corner sharply, ready to at least give it a shot, when she suddenly felt the jolt of another body colliding with her own. The cart rattled against the ground, the breath leaving Mira’s lungs all at once as the handle of it dug into her ribs.
“Shit!” She hissed, losing her grip slightly before catching the cart again.
“Oh my god!” A voice sounded above the noise.
The woman stumbled back just as Mira jerked the cart to a stop, the wheels squealing loudly against the pavement. One of the hives rattled dangerously.
“I’m so sorry!” The stranger blurted immediately. “I was just coming out of a meeting with our falconer and I wasn’t looking—are you okay?”
Mira’s pulse spiked with a dangerously final kind of clarity. The irritation already simmering under her skin surged hot enough that the scathing response was halfway up her throat in an instant.
Then she actually looked at the woman, brows pulled as her lips dropped into a sneer—and promptly forgot every single thought in her head.
Oh.
The woman standing in front of her was, quite frankly, unfairly beautiful.
Soft-looking purple hair had been pulled into a messy braid that rested over one shoulder—strands escaping around her face from what looked like a long shift in the heat. She wore a zoo uniform polo over a long-sleeved compression shirt, paired with shorts that Mira was reasonably certain violated at least several workplace regulations regarding inseam length.
For one briefly catastrophic moment, Mira suddenly understood why “sexy zookeeper” had been on that Halloween costume list Zoey’d scrounged up last year. Then she immediately shut that thought down before it could do any permanent damage.
The woman was still looking up at her apologetically, honey-brown eyes wide with concern.
“Did anything break?” She asked, nodding to her supplies.
Mira stared at her for one second too long before managing to clear her throat—not even glancing at the cart.
“No?” The word cracked a bit on the end.
Great. Smooth.
“Oh, thank goodness.”The woman relaxed visibly, anyway. “I swear, I’m usually better with spatial awareness.”
“That makes one of us.” Mira muttered self-deprecatingly before she could stop herself.
To her horror, the woman laughed softly at her not-so-inaudible quip, the sound light and airy as she took just a slight step closer.
Up close, she smelled faintly like floral perfume underneath the summer humidity. Her smile was small and easy in the kind of way that didn’t seem forced at all. More importantly—despite Mira very obviously looking irritated and overheated and one minor inconvenience away from snapping entirely—the woman didn’t tense up at all.
Instead, she just tilted her head slightly, eyeing the look in Mira’s face with curiosity.
“You look like you’re trying very hard not to punch something.” She noted.
“Was it that obvious?” Mira sighed, eyes darting down to her boots.
“A little.”
There was no judgment in it. If anything, the shorter woman sounded amused. Mira let out a slow breath through her nose.
“I’m trying to find where I’m supposed to set up for the summer series presentations.” She admitted, adjusting her grip on the cart handle. “I got a little turned around.”
‘A little turned around’ was perhaps the understatement of the century, considering she’d somehow seen those damn flamingos twice now. Thankfully, recognition immediately crossed the woman’s face.
“Oh! The conservation talks?”
“Yes!” Mira said with the exhausted relief of someone that seemed to finally be hearing words that existed in reality.
“It’s in the education building near the butterfly pavilion.” The woman said before her expression shifted into something sheepish. “Which is… Admittedly nowhere near here.”
Mira closed her eyes briefly, tamping down the wave of annoyance she still half-felt. Of course, all directions she’d gotten had only led her further away.
“I can walk you. I’m headed back that direction, anyway.” The woman offered quickly before pausing briefly. “You know, to make up for almost bowling you over.”
“That was at least partially my fault.” Mira admitted.
“Still.” The woman smiled again, softer this time. “You look like you’ve suffered enough.”
Mira barked out a startled laugh before she could help it. The woman seemed pleased by this development.
“That sounds great, thanks.” Mira agreed.
“I’m Rumi, by the way.” The woman added suddenly, sticking out her hand as her smile faltered only slightly.
Mira looked down at the offered palm for half a second before taking it carefully.
“Mira.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mira.” Rumi glanced down at the hives slowly, smile having returned at the acceptance. “And your very intense-looking entourage.”
Despite herself, Mira felt the corner of her mouth twitch upward. And before she entirely understood why, she found herself falling into step beside her.
The path curved away from the aviary and into a quieter section of the zoo, shaded by sprawling trees. Somewhere nearby, water rushed softly from an artificial stream and the sharp cries of birds slowly faded behind them. Rumi walked beside Mira easily, one thumb hooked loosely around the antenna of the radio clipped at her waist.
For a few moments, the only sounds between them were the rattling cart wheels and the murmur of the crowds they passed. All-too soon, Mira became abruptly aware of their lack of conversation.
“So…” Mira started, glancing sideways at her new companion. “Today’s talk is on bumblebees. I’m—um, a beekeeper.”
Rumi’s eyes met her own for a moment, one brow raising. Then they very deliberately shifted over the cart full of honey jars and hives and posterboards. Finally, they landed on the folded beekeeping suit—hood and all.
“You don’t say?”
The obviously mock-confused lilt in her tone made Mira smile before she could stop herself. It was rare that someone could amuse her like this, and suddenly she couldn’t seem to get enough.
“I run a honey farm.” Mira explained further, settling more comfortably into conversation now that she wasn’t actively trying to navigate the zoo. “My business partner mostly handles the distribution—runs the shop out front, arranges farmer’s markets and some online orders. But I cultivate the colonies and harvest the honeycomb.”
“That’s incredible.” Rumi said immediately, with enough genuine interest that Mira glanced at her in surprise.
Most people tended to immediately ask how she managed to not be afraid—a question that almost always made her roll her eyes. Rumi just looked fascinated.
“You actually raise all of them yourself?” She asked.
“The queens do most of the work.” Mira corrected automatically. “I just maintain the hives.”
Rumi hummed thoughtfully, nodding in acceptance.
“Do you name them all?”
“What? No.” Mira could tell she looked incredulous just from the feel of the tightness in her forehead.
“No?” Rumi laughed softly.
“I could…” Mira allowed. “But then I’d have to know which one is which every time, and there are thousands of them.”
“That does sound difficult.” Rumi smiled as she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, amused.
“More like emotionally dangerous. Trust me, you shouldn't get attached to every bee—disaster waiting to happen.” The second the words left her mouth, Mira realized how embarrassingly lonely that sounded.
“Well, do you?” Beside her, Rumi’s smile softened into something gentler. “Get attached?”
Heat climbed immediately up Mira’s neck.
“They still sting me sometimes…” She muttered defensively, as if that were answer enough.
“I didn’t say attachment was irrational.”
Mira looked away before Rumi could notice the way her mouth twitched upward again.
Ahead of them, signs began appearing for the butterfly pavilion, decorated with painted flowers and bright wings along the borders. Really, she should’ve guessed that her presentation would be somewhere nearby.
Rumi noticed where Mira’s attention landed, following her gaze.
“That’s my area, actually.” She said, a bit of pride in her voice. “I run the butterfly walk.”
“You do?” Mira asked, trying to keep the surprise from her voice.
Rumi nodded.
“I mostly prefer working in the nursery. The walk itself is really just how we fund it.” She gestured vaguely ahead of them. “All ticket sales go directly into our lepidoptera conservation programs and population studies.”
“Lepido—” Mira glanced at her, teeth forming slowly around the Latin.
“Lepidoptera.” Rumi repeated brightly. “Butterflies, skippers, and moths.”
“You said that like you were waiting for an excuse to use the word.” Mira huffed a laugh.
“I was.” Rumi smiled to herself before continuing, “I specialize more in butterflies specifically, though. Breeding programs, habitat simulations—migration research when funding allows it.”
“Do you not enjoy the tourist-y part?” Mira asked, eyes roving over the shorter woman’s features for a moment before nodding to the brightly-colored exhibit entrance.
“I do! The kids are my favorite part of the walk, honestly. I like seeing them get excited.” Rumi said quickly, hands coming up to gesture toward a small group of children and their parents at the ticket kiosk. “Though I do admit, I like when my coworkers can handle one or two groups without me.”
“Sounds fun.” Mira watched as Rumi observed the small crowd entering the exhibit—greeted by a tall man with black hair, who was leading them in with a smile.
He stopped for a moment, his gaze whipping between Rumi and Mira one too many times to be anywhere near subtle, before catching Rumi’s eye and grinning teasingly across the pathway. The purple-haired woman shot him a withering sort of look that Mira couldn’t quite decipher before he abruptly turned back to the guests, bending down to help guide one of the children further into the lobby.
Something in the shorter woman’s expression softened as the door closed, the earlier glare at the man giving way to something quieter when his frame was replaced by the winged welcome sign.
“And butterflies are—I don’t know.” Rumi hesitated briefly, searching for the right wording. “Important to me, I guess.”
Mira waited patiently, fingers flexing around the handle of her cart as an older couple passed them by. Rumi sighed for a moment before continuing.
“People look at them and immediately see something beautiful—their wings, their patterns. How different all of them are.” Her shoulders lifted in a tiny shrug. “I think there’s something comforting about that.”
She didn’t elaborate further, going quiet in a way that seemed just slightly uneasy. The feeling that settled in Mira’s chest was unfamiliar enough to make her straighten awkwardly.
“Well…” She said after a moment, feeling the need to further the conversation—if only for Rumi’s sake. “Bees are really misunderstood.”
Rumi looked over at her.
“People think they’re aggressive.” Mira continued, slipping instinctively into the steadier rhythm of talking about her colonies. “But they’re honestly just defensive more than anything. Most bees don’t even want to sting people—honeybees especially die afterward, so they avoid it unless they think the hive is threatened. They’re very intelligent.”
Rumi listened with genuine focus, nodding slightly as Mira spoke.
“I never realized they were so smart.”
“They recognize human faces, too.” Mira offered, chest puffing just a little bit with pride.
“Seriously?” Rumi asked, a slight laugh in her tone now that put the taller woman at ease again.
“Actually, yes.” Mira felt herself warming into the explanation before she could stop it. “There’s been studies showing they can distinguish facial patterns similarly to how humans do. They’re also capable of associative learning and—”
She stopped abruptly, cheeks heating as she realized what she was doing—the tangent she was launching at a pretty much captive audience.
“And?” Rumi tilted her head, smile dropping a little bit.
“Sorry.” Mira cleared her throat. “I didn’t mean to ramble.”
To her surprise, Rumi looked almost offended by the apology.
“No, I liked it.”
Mira looked at her, skeptical. But when Rumi only smiled gently, she felt her chest flutter in an exceedingly unfamiliar way.
“You’re different when you’re talking about them.” Rumi offered, occupied fingers tapping almost anxiously at her radio as her free hand rubbed her opposite bicep. “Passionate.”
Something embarrassingly close to self-consciousness hit Mira square in the chest.
“Oh.”
“It’s nice.” Rumi added, a little quieter this time—voice breathy and somewhat distracted.
Mira suddenly became very interested in steering her cart around a crack in the pavement. Thankfully, the education building came into view before she had to think of a response.
“There it is!” Rumi announced.
Relief flooded Mira so fast she nearly stopped walking entirely.
The building sat just beyond the butterfly pavilion, modest but clearly set up for presentations and school programs. A bright banner out front advertised the Endangered Species Summer Series with cartoon animals bordering the lettering and a special poster about bumblebees.
Mira stared at it for a long moment.
“Great, thank you so much.” She meant it. “I was starting to think this place existed only as a theoretical concept.”
Rumi laughed again—god, Mira liked that sound.
They stopped near the side entrance, and for the first time since arriving, Mira felt oddly reluctant to actually go set up. Which was ridiculous. She had known this woman for maybe ten minutes.
Still…
“Are you going to be at the presentation?” Mira asked before she could overthink it.
“I’d love to watch.” Rumi looked pleasantly surprised, as if she hadn’t expected Mira to do anything more than run off and leave her alone. “I mean, um, only if you don’t mind?”
Mind?
Mira had spent the last several minutes accidentally reorganizing her entire emotional landscape because a pretty woman had smiled at her twice.
“No, I don’t mind!” She said, perhaps a little too quickly. Then, she forced herself to finish more evenly. “Not at all. It would be nice.”
“Then I wouldn’t miss it.” Rumi’s eyes seemed to light up just slightly.
The second Mira turned to step inside the education building, a woman with a headset spotted her—hurrying over like a heat-seeking missile. The echo of her sneakers on the hardwood floor rattled in the air, snapping her focus away from Rumi.
“Oh, thank god. Took you long enough.” She said in the tone of someone already mentally in another room. Her eyes darted down to a clipboard in her hands briefly before meeting Mira’s again. “Bee presentation, right?”
Mira resisted the urge to point out that she had, in fact, been trying to get here for the better part of an hour.
“Right.”
“Perfect. You’ll be in Auditorium B.” The woman pointed rapidly down the hall. “There should be a folding table up front and enough space for your materials. There’s a little clip-on microphone already connected to a speaker—just turn it on once you’re ready to start. If you need anything else, you can ask someone in events.”
Before Mira could ask who exactly counted as ‘someone in events,’ the woman offered a quick thumbs up and disappeared around the corner at an alarming speed—already chattering into her radio about something else.
Mira stared after her, pointedly ignoring the way she could feel her left eye twitch.
“Amazing…” She muttered.
From her peripheral view, Rumi pressed her lips together suspiciously hard.
“Don’t laugh.”
“I’m not!” Rumi said immediately, clearly doing her best. It lasted maybe a few seconds before she failed.
The sound echoed softly down the hallway, warm and bright enough that Mira found herself fighting a smile now, instead of another complaint.
‘Auditorium B’ turned out to be a medium-sized room with a small stage at the front and rows of folding chairs already set up facing it. A projector screen hung against the wall, and someone had taped a laminated sign outside the door that read:
TODAY’S GUEST SPEAKER: LOCAL BEEKEEPER SUNG MIRA
Underneath was one of the promotional photos Zoey had emailed them weeks ago without showing her. Mira paused in the doorway, taking in the awkward set of her shoulders and the clear unpreparedness of her expression.
“I’m gonna kill her.” She said flatly, already halfway to reaching for her phone to call the woman.
Rumi peeked around her shoulder, curious, before staring at the print for a little longer than necessary.
“That’s actually a really good picture of you.” She said, voice soft as her eyes stayed glued to the sign.
“It looks like a mugshot.”
“It absolutely does not.” Rumi shook her head, though there was a tilt to her chin that told Mira she might’ve been stretching the truth.
Mira pushed her cart into the room before Rumi could see the smile threatening her composure again, doing her best not to wonder what Rumi was even still doing here—the presentation wouldn’t be for another half hour.
True to the employee’s word, the setup itself was sufficient enough. The table near the stage would be a good, reachable space for the educational displays and honey samples she’d brought for the families. There was enough room for the observation hives where she could comfortably move around them, and a simple clip-on microphone with a speaker rested on the far wall to the left.
By the time she started unloading equipment, some of the lingering tension from earlier had finally begun easing out of her shoulders. This was her element—the light buzzing of the insects and the clink of jars as she set them in a safe spot before arranging.
Rumi hovered nearby for a moment like she was debating something internally, just as Mira reached for one of her posters. The taller woman noticed immediately, though she tried very hard to pretend she hadn’t—keeping her eyes at the level of her hives.
Behind her, Rumi cleared her throat lightly after a moment.
“Mira?” She started, oddly tentative now. “Do you maybe want help setting up?”
Mira glanced over, surprised.
“I mean, the event person kind of abandoned you.” Rumi stood with her hands clasped behind her back, rocking once on her heels in a way that looked almost nervous.
“She did pretty much flee the scene, yes.”
“I’ve never even seen her before, honestly. And I technically am staff, so…” Rumi smiled. “I could stay for a bit—I mean I probably should, so you’re not alone. If you want?”
“Yeah.” Something warm settled unexpectedly low in Mira’s chest. She tried not to examine it too closely. “Actually, I could use a hand.”
Rumi brightened like the most magnetizing thing in the room immediately, and it was wholly unfair just how noticeable that particular trait was becoming to Mira already.
Together, they started arranging the front table. Rumi arranged informational pamphlets that Zoey had made while Mira carefully unpacked the two enclosed observation hives, checking every latch twice before setting them into place on the stage.
“You’re very careful with them.” Rumi observed quietly.
Mira looked up, finding the way Rumi was watching her hands. Not in a nervous way—just an attentive one. Like she genuinely found the motions interesting.
“They’re delicate.” She explained, adjusting one of the frames inside the enclosure as much as she could without fully opening it. “Especially now—transport stresses the little guys out.”
Rumi hummed at that and took a few steps forward to look, leaning in close beside her.
Too close.
Mira caught that faint scent of flowers again—something soft and sweet beneath the woody air freshener of the building. Rumi’s shoulder brushed lightly against Mira’s arm as she reached to hand over a container from the cart, and the contact shot down Mira’s spine like lightning.
“Oh—sorry.” Rumi said immediately, though she didn’t actually move very far away.
“No, it’s fine!” Mira answered a little too quickly, stepping back from the hive and closer to the cart.
To occupy herself, she reached for her beekeeping suit and began pulling it on over her clothes, the familiar texture of the thick cotton grounding as it ghosted along her arms.
“You actually wear the full suit every time?” Rumi watched with open fascination.
“Usually.” Mira said, tugging the sleeves into place. “But it depends on hive temperament, weather, or just what I’m doing that day.”
“It looks really good on you.” Rumi said suddenly with a light color to the edges of her neck that hadn’t been there before.
Mira nearly caught her own finger on the zipper as it reached the top, feeling the heat rise up her cheeks.
“Thank you.” She managed carefully, adjusting the collar a little more intentionally now.
Once the suit was secured, Mira moved toward the observation hive again, calmer now that she had something familiar to focus on. Through the glass panel, bees crawled steadily across the frames—golden and busy in the artificial light.
They weren’t bumblebees, but they’d do well enough for a showcase visual.
Rumi drifted closer again as Mira opened part of the setup to check positioning—protected now with the suit.
“You’re really comfortable around them.” She said softly.
“Well, yeah.” Mira glanced at her.
“No, I mean…” Rumi leaned against the edge of the display table slightly, distanced enough without a suit of her own. “Your shoulders just dropped like a solid ten degrees—you’ve been tense this whole time. You really love what you do, huh?”
Mira looked back toward the hive automatically.
“I do.” She said, watching one of the workers crawl along an inner frame—small, fuzzy legs working against the honeycomb. “I like watching the bees do their work. Actually, they can be really—”
“Sweet.” Rumi interrupted softly, voice slightly breathless in a way that caught Mira entirely off guard. She froze, glancing back.
Really, the word itself wasn’t what threw her.
It was the fact that, now that Mira could see the look in her eyes—Rumi was very obviously not looking at the bees. Honey-brown eyes held hers steadily across the small space between them, warm and unwavering. Mira cleared her throat abruptly and turned back toward the hive before her face could combust completely.
“Yes, the bees can be sweet.” She said, adjusting absolutely nothing inside the enclosure.
There was a small pause, heavy in the air with something she couldn’t quite name.
“The bees.” She added firmly.
Behind her, Rumi’s smile turned positively luminous.
__________
The room soon filled steadily with parents, excited kids, a few teenagers, and several zoo guests who had clearly just wandered in out of curiosity at the mention of live bees. Mira adjusted the microphone clipped near her collar and resisted the urge to tug unnecessarily at the sleeves of her beekeeping suit.
Public interaction had never really been her forte. She’d done dance as a kid and enjoyed it—but that hadn’t required any actual talking. Really, she wasn’t especially outgoing, but talking about bees had never been difficult. Bees made sense. Bees were structured in their behaviors and hierarchies.
Human beings were significantly more complicated—and until now, the few educational demonstrations she’d done hadn’t required such close interaction with unpredictable audiences. Namely, restless children and their tired parents.
Still, she settled into place once the chatter began dying down.
“Hi, everyone.” She started, voice slightly stiffer than usual and cringing slightly as the microphone gave a slight bit of feedback. “My name is Mira, and today I’m going to talk about bee conservation and the importance of pollinators to the ecosystem.”
A little girl in the front row immediately raised her hand. Mira blinked in surprise at the eagerness.
“Yes?” She encouraged, gesturing to the little digits wiggling wildly in the air.
“Have you ever been stung on the butt?”
A horrified parental noise came from somewhere behind her—immediately scolding the child for rudeness. Still, Mira considered the question seriously, if not a little awkwardly.
“…Yes.”
The little girl gasped triumphantly while several back-row teens let out some light laughter.
And just like that, the tension in the room broke. Mira relaxed almost immediately afterward—feeling the coil of nervousness in her chest loosen under the interested stares of the guests.
“Occupational hazard.” She clarified dryly as the laughter settled. “I work primarily with honeybees on my farm, including these guys I brought with me today.” She gestured toward the observation hive. “But I mainly wanted to talk a little about endangered bumblebees specifically, because they’re incredibly important to local ecosystems and their populations has been declining pretty significantly.”
As she spoke, something familiar slowly settled into place inside her. Confidence—not the forced kind she used during awkward social situations. The kind built from years of experience and genuine care.
She talked about pollination patterns and native plants. About habitat destruction and pesticide exposure. How different bee species contributed to biodiversity in different ways.
Kids asked questions intermittently, raising their hands with the encouragement of their parents and older siblings.
“Can bees smell fear?”
“Not technically, but they can pick up on increased sweating or rapid breathing.”
“What happens if a queen bee dies?”
“The hive raises a new one, of course.”
“Do bees sleep?” One girl asked, eyebrow raised.
“Yes, actually.” Mira had simply nodded, amused.
“They do?” A boy near the middle had blurted out.
“For about thirty seconds to a couple minutes at a time—but enough times a day to total up to 8 hours. But the behavior is slightly different between males and females.” She’d supplied, before realizing it wasn’t exactly the ‘kid-answer’ she should’ve given. “Um… Sometimes they sleep inside flowers!” She’d hastily added.
A collective chorus of cooing noises had immediately swept through the room.
Mira tried not to look smug about causing that reaction.
She found herself pacing slightly as she talked, gesturing more naturally now—the earlier stiffness almost entirely gone. At some point she’d even stopped thinking about the crowd itself. Mostly because every few minutes, she accidentally found herself looking at Rumi instead. Which was becoming a problem.
The purple-haired woman sat near the back of the auditorium, one ankle crossed over where they tucked themselves under her chair, chin resting lightly in her hand as she watched Mira speak.
And she was watching Mira—not politely or vaguely.
Attentively.
Every time Mira glanced her way, Rumi was already looking. She caught her smiling when Mira said something dry enough to make the older kids laugh. She was distractingly bright-eyed whenever Mira accidentally slipped too far into an enthusiastic explanation and had to stop herself from rambling.
At one point, Mira even caught herself explaining how bees communicate through dances with significantly more animation than she normally used. And, to her own surprise, she couldn’t find it in herself to be embarrassed. Because Rumi was smiling at her like she genuinely found it fascinating.
And then suddenly, the horrific realization hit Mira somewhere directly beneath the ribs.
She wanted that look on her. Not just in a vague sense. She needed it—specifically and intentionally—like the air she took in before each new fact. She wanted to keep saying things that made Rumi’s eyes soften like that.
The thought nearly derailed her sentence entirely.
“And that’s why supporting native flowering plants is one of the best ways people can help local bee populations.” Mira said, recovering only at the last second. The words were smooth. Very professional.
Definitely not distracted by one pretty zookeeper, twirling her braid at the end as she listened.
A boy near the front raised his hand again, a thoughtful look on his face that Mira tried not to find too endearing. She nodded to him, wordlessly prompting him to ask his question.
“Miss Mira?” The boy said, voice small and curious. “Do you like bees more than people?”
Several adults laughed quietly, all eyes on her now. Mira opened her mouth automatically to respond. Then she paused, the sound of her prepared inhale catching along the edges. Because from the back of the room, Rumi was looking at her with an unmistakable kind of dedication—like she was very interested in the answer, too.
“I like bees because they make sense.” She paused carefully as the audience chuckled. “But… People can be okay, too.” She added after a beat, searching the last few rows for those bright eyes.
Rumi smiled slowly, back straightening a bit in her chair.
And for some reason, that felt dangerously close to winning something.
__________
The presentation officially ended with a round of applause that Mira tried not to be too outwardly proud of. Children immediately swarmed the front of the stage as she unclipped her mic, setting it down by the speaker. Little voices overlapped, questions flying like bullets in the air—no longer constrained to the politeness of a formal presentation.
“Can I see the bees closer?”
“How much honey do they make?”
“Can bees be gay?”
That last one caught Mira so off guard she nearly dropped a pamphlet, looking up to find a little boy—each hand held by who she assumed to be his moms.
“Honey!” The woman on his left scolded quickly, while her wife made a painfully embarrassed noise.
Mira recovered first, laughing at the truly innocent look he was sending her.
“I have absolutely no way of verifying that.” She answered honestly. “But I don’t see why not?”
The boy looked delighted, turning a quick ‘I told you so’ to the woman who’d spoken up as the other shot Mira a mouthed ‘thank you.’
Rumi, still near the back of the room, laughed hard enough that she had to quickly cover her mouth with her hand to not draw attention. Their eyes met briefly, and Mira couldn’t help the small grin that escaped her.
The next twenty minutes passed in a blur of both children and adults crowding around the observation hive with expressions of awe. And honestly?
Mira didn’t mind it.
She liked watching people go from nervous to fascinated in real time. Enjoyed hearing kids gasp when she settled her hat on their own little heads or pointed out the queen moving slowly through the hive.
At one point, a parent asked where they could buy local honey, and Mira hesitated only briefly before handing over one of the business cards Zoey had practically shoved into her pocket that morning.
“Plug the farm!” Zoey had demanded while Mira loaded supplies into her truck. “You’re educational and commercially viable!”
Mira had pointedly informed her that human beings should never describe each other as ‘commercially viable.’ But still, she ended up handing out almost half the stack and all of the small sample jars.
Zoey was going to become unbearable about this.
Eventually, though, the crowd began thinning out. Parents herded sticky children toward the exits, and the room slowly settled back into relative quiet. Mira found herself pivoting—boots already squeaking against the floor to step off the stage as she glanced towards the back of the room automatically. Then her heart sank slightly before she could stop it.
Rumi was gone.
Which was normal, obviously. Rumi worked here. She probably had actual responsibilities instead of standing around listening to bee facts for several more hours.
Still, Mira found herself staring at the empty seat for a second too long before sharply redirecting her attention to dismantling the display—the hum of a few stragglers in the room doing nothing to ease her mood.
She’d just loaded the observation hives into her cart when an older girl approached—lingering slightly and holding a notebook against her chest.
“Excuse me?” She said awkwardly, bowing slightly. “I had some more questions?”
“Ask away.” Mira looked over immediately, straightening up.
“I’m doing a report on declining pollinator populations for my environmental science class.” The girl explained, opening her notebook and flipping to a clean page. Serious about her research—Mira liked that. “I just wanted to ask whether habitat fragmentation or pesticide exposure is considered the bigger threat currently? And maybe schedule am actual interview?”
Finally—a properly structured question.
“It depends on the species and region, but generally the two problems reinforce each other.” Mira leaned back against the table slightly, smiling as the girl immediately began to take notes. “Fragmented habitats reduce access to diverse forage sources, which already weakens colony health, and then pesticide exposure compounds the issue because—”
Near the auditorium entrance, several younger kids ran past with their parents, breaking her focus.
“Can we do the butterfly walk now?” One of them asked excitedly.
“Not yet.” The father answered. “The next one starts in fourty minutes.”
“The lady there has purple hair! She said the butterflies land on you sometimes! If you’re really good and still!”
The butterfly walk.
Mira’s brain stalled, staring very hard at absolutely nothing. Rumi had left already because she needed to prepare for the next group.
“Um, Miss Sung?” The student in front of her asked hesitantly. “You were saying?”
Mira blinked hard, shaking her head.
“Right, sorry. Pesticides.” She cleared her throat. “So, systemic pesticides are especially dangerous because they can remain in pollen and nectar sources for long periods of time.”
She answered the rest of the girl’s questions slightly too quickly after that—handing her a business card and promising to give her a real interview for her project whenever possible.
Because now there was a very stupid thought forming in the back of her mind. The butterfly walk was mostly for children—she knew that. The promotional sign outside had literally featured cartoon “baby” caterpillars wearing sunglasses. There would probably be families with kids. Educational songs on the speakers, maybe. Whatever it was, it was likely not meant for her.
But she could be there—alone, as a fully grown adult woman. For completely normal and educational reasons.
Mira pressed her lips together tightly as she packed away the last of the pamphlets.
This was ridiculous. She had flirted with women before—plenty of women. Pretty women, just like Rumi. Very rarely did she ever not succeed in her efforts, and with much less elaborate avenues of interaction. She was certainly not someone who impulsively bought tickets to children’s exhibits just to chase a crush.
That would be insane behavior.
Mira sighed, worrying the cool metal of her suit zipper between her thumb and forefingers as she slowly removed it. She looked down at the cart, then to the hallway leading back outside.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake…” She muttered under her breath. The decision settled low in her chest, humming with a nervous kind of determination.
As far as she was aware, there was no national age restriction on butterflies.