Archive of Our Own

1/2

Mira shuffles her feet as she waits outside the café for what feels like an eternity.

She isn't one for meeting new people. In fact, she's quite the opposite. She hates the small talk that comes with not knowing a single detail of the person across from her, despises the unease at not understanding the change in their facial features, abhors having to answer basic questions about herself. Because she prefers to learn by watching, by cataloging—not by surface level questions that feel like dancing around subjects that could be 'too much' too quickly.

So why had she agreed to go on this blind date anyway?

Well for one, Abby had been begging her for almost seven years to go out and make new friends, and she only has so much willpower to resist his man-whining. And two, maybe she's tired of hanging out with one person all the time.

Still didn't make sense why she came in the first place, but she isn't a horrible person and doesn't just want to ghost whatever stranger Abby had put her up with. One date isn't a death sentence.

But Zoey is enough to stop her heart.

That was her name, right?

Zoey?

Fuck.

Mira can just say she forgot, right?

This is a horrible first impression.

It wouldn't be a surprise if she forgot. Zoey takes her breath away.

She hasn't even said 'Hi' yet.

She's probably staring like a creep.

Zoey turns to face her, the grin already stretched across her face widening as her eyes crinkle at the corners.

Do they always do that?

Mira wants to find out.

She wants to find out more than she wants to breathe.

Instead, she lets out a suave, "Hey," And hopes her voice doesn't shake so much that Zoey notices.

"Hi! You must be Mira, right?" Her hands grip at a small notebook, rings and jewelry scattered all around her and making her shimmer slightly. Not that Mira noticed, considering her smile is brighter than anything she could've worn. Zoey sticks her hand out in a handshake, slightly pulling it back a little when Mira makes no move to reciprocate. "I'm Zoey."

Shit.

Mira lazily grabs onto Zoey's hand, a little stunned at the warmth that seeps through it as she gives it a shake. She thinks about something cool to say that doesn't make her sound like a bumbling loser drooling over a pretty face, and settles on, "It's nice to meet you, Zoey."

2/2

Zoey's giggles echo through her skull as Mira's hands lay on warm skin.

"Mira! Mira— Stop!" Mira's hands are pried off of Zoey's sides, warm fingertips meeting Mira's cold wrists and palms. "Haven't you ever heard of a blanket?!" She laughs, moving Mira's hands from the strip of exposed skin below her shirt to her face.

Mira's thumbs, almost instinctively, start tracing soft lines beneath Zoey's eyes, memorizing the groove of each wrinkle by the corner of them, each side of her face where her nose crinkles when she sees something gross and wants Mira to know just how disgusting it is, the divots by her lips where her grin stretches uncontrollably when she sees anything even slightly interesting.

Mira will never tire of seeing that smile grow across Zoey's face when Mira enters her vision. Not when she's old and decrepit, not now, not if she sees it every minute of every hour of her life. Sometimes she wishes she could keep that sunshine to herself. It might be selfish, but Mira has never wanted anything more in her life.

Zoey's pupils dilate in the dark room, her breathing slowing down and deepening by just a fraction. Mira's first instinct is to worry, until she sees Zoey's eyes flick from her own to Mira's lips. She seemingly doesn't even know she's doing it, nor does she know what it's doing to Mira as the tips of her ears tint pink and her hands tense just enough to be noticeable.

Zoey swallows.

She opens her mouth, and rasps out, like her mouth is dry and she hasn't had water in days, "Mira?"

Her eyes haven't moved from Mira's mouth.

"Yeah, Zo?" Mira responds, closer to a whisper than anything resembling a conversation. Zoey edges a centimeter closer and it feels like breathing too much would ruin the moment, even as she desperately needs the oxygen in her lungs.

"Could I...?" Before Zoey can finish her sentence, she brings a hand up to hold Mira's chin, flinching a little at the small, almost inaudible hitch in Mira's breathing.

Mira chases after her.

She would run after Zoey if she knew she was halfway across the world. She would sprint faster than the fastest man alive if she thought one of the smiles she could hardly live without anymore could be on the other side.

Zoey's lips are warm and steady against her own, even in her hesitation.

When Mira starts to pull away, afraid that Zoey's stiffness is a sign of her unwillingness, she almost sighs at feeling of Zoey leaning in more to follow her, nimble fingers pulling her closer as warmth spreads from the palm cupping her jaw.

They pull away from each other, breathing heavily. Mira is pretty sure she could've sprinted a marathon and she wouldn't be this breathless. Zoey always takes her breath away.

She hopes that now, it will be more often in the physical sense than the metaphorical one.

Mira manages to pull in one last desperate gulp of air before Zoey is on her again, one hand tugging at Mira's shirt to pull her closer, and the other gripping onto the back of Mira's head to hold her in place.

As if she wants to be anywhere but here in this moment.

Zoey mumbles half-coherent sentences between each kiss, like Mira is a drug she is addicted to despite just now discovering it. "I've wanted—" She pushes Mira back. "This—" She swallows another whine about to leave Mira's throat. Usually she'd think that was pathetic, but Mira can't bring herself to care right now. "For so long."

Zoey kisses like a drowning man given another chance at life.

"I've wanted—" Her lips start to trail off course, like she's so drunk on the taste of Mira she can't see straight anymore. Mira doesn't care, as long as she feels Zoey's lips on her. "You—" Zoey's affections leaning across Mira's face start to feel less like accidents and more like an attempt to disarm her. "For so long."

With one last press of her lips against the hinge of Mira's jaw, marked and followed with a slight scrape of teeth, Zoey finally stops for a second to take a few deep breaths.

"Zoey." Mira's voice comes out even more gravelly than she thought it would, punctuated with the sound of her rapid breathing. Zoey draws back like she's been struck, staring up at Mira with wide, panicked eyes that should be laughing and crinkled at the corners. Why is she looking at her like that, it's wrong. It's wrong on her smiley Zoey and it shouldn't be because of her.

"I'm sorry, I just—" Mira tugs lightly at the collar of Zoey's sleep shirt, sighing into the kiss like she's been holding her breath in for the past five years, and honestly, hasn't she? Mira leans back and lets Zoey lie across her, running her hands against warmer skin with a new purpose this time.

"Don't apologize, Zoey. I don't want that. I want you."

2/2

Mira sometimes wonders how she survived so long without having Zoey in her life.

She wonders how she used to be able to walk to the store without a warm hand to slip in hers. She wonders what past Mira used to do while she worked instead of listening to hours of rambling, whether that be random facts or lyrics thrown into the wind for a work shopped song. She wonders how she used to cook without Zoey sitting on the counter behind her, stealing bites and pieces and kisses like she knows they're hers.

Because they are. All of Mira is for Zoey, and all of Zoey is for Mira.

It always had been, between the two of them. The only difference now is the brush of lips against Mira's shoulders late at night, or lithe arms wrapping around Zoey's waist, sweet nothings whispered in her ear that she believes more than facts since Mira continues to mumble them in smooth tones.

"If you were the one that dragged us out here, why am I the one leading you?" Zoey laughs, tugging Mira by the hand like they can't just walk instead of run.

Mira rolls her eyes fondly, holding the basket firmly by her side as she follows the light of her life. "Because," She mumbles back unhelpfully, lips stretching wide as Zoey lets out a whine.

"Because what?!" Zoey yells affrontedly, continuing to try and tug Mira along even as she stays firmly planted on the path. "Mira!" She whacks her lightly on the shoulder, grabbing onto her sleeve and using her whole body weight to try and drag her forward.

"Because," Mira mumbles, taking Zoey's chin in her hand and pressing a soft, languid kiss to her mouth. She will never get tired of kissing Zoey. She will always be her favorite flavor, of citrusy vanilla and a hint of sweetness. "You get so cute when you're mad, jagiya."

Zoey grabs onto the collar of her shirt, not to pull forward, but to push away. Playfully, of course— Zoey would never choose to lose her over a teasing remark.

"Plus, we're almost there. I want you to see it first," Mira murmurs, grabbing Zoey's hand to hold in her own and rest by her hip, but not without pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles beforehand.

"What did you even set up?" Zoey asks, swinging their hands back and forth between them. Zoey has always been warm. The perfect match for Mira, her personal blanket during wintertime, and her favorite overall. But Zoey will always be her favorite in everything. Zoey is just Zoey. Perfectly imperfect. A jagged, but correct puzzle piece.

"What don't you understand about a surprise?" Mira answers back, one hand shoved in her pocket as she carries the basket in the crook of her elbow. "Just a little longer. We're basically there."

And as she promised, they make it there within five minutes. Zoey still takes the time to say 'Are we there yet?' three more times than necessary, but she would've done that even if she could see it from a mile away.

The field Mira had picked is beautifully adorned with a series of pink and blue flowers, a soft blanket laid out on the floor with rocks already holding the corners down. And even though she knows Zoey could never hate anything she could do, her shoulders still tense nervously, the hand holding Zoey's squeezing just a fraction.

"You told me you—you wanted to try out a stereotypical movie picnic. With the nice food and the sunny day, and the romantic—" The wind is knocked out of her lungs by the force that Zoey pushes against her chest, hands wrapping around her torso and squeezing like killer pythons with softer intent than murder.

"I love you," Zoey murmurs against Mira's shoulder, holding Mira like if she loosens her grip any more she'll vanish from her arms. "I love your sappy words and your sweet gestures and your dumb jokes and your worse commentary." Zoey leans back just enough to hold Mira's face between warm hands. "And I love your pouty looks and your dorky smile and anything and everything about you and— fuck." She pulls one hand back to swipe at the corner of her eyes with the heel of her palm. "What did I ever do to deserve you?"

"Everything," Mira whispers, hands resting on Zoey's own on her face. "You are worth more love than you know, Zoey," She says with a smile, pressing a light kiss to the corner of Zoey's eye. She tastes the salt in her tears. "Everything I do is not worth a fraction of what you deserve. I just want you to let me try giving it to you."

She lets her lips linger across Zoey's forehead before pulling away, leading her to sit on the blanket she had carefully laid out just hours ago, while Zoey was still asleep and in bed. "The food's getting cold." Zoey sits next to her, even on the giant blanket. It's one of the things Mira loves about her. One of the many, many things she loves about Choi Zoey.

"How about instead of just talking about how much you love the surprise, we enjoy it?" She says, pulling out two cold peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Lazy for a picnic, she knows, but Zoey had mentioned to her how PB&Js had been her comfort food since the dawn of time. And Mira would rather hang herself than forget anything Zoey says.

She will never forget the smile ingrained beneath her eyelids, or the giggles that echo throughout her brain cavity, or the lips that feel so sure and tender against her own. Because Kang Mira has always loved everything about Choi Zoey. And she'll always love everything about the love of her life.

2/2(?)

Smooth, pale skin is nothing like the constellations that fill her lover's face.

Mira lets the phone open to her chat with Zoey go limp by her side, staring into her... companion's eyes. The text buzzes in her hand, even as she continues to gawk at the woman across from her. The girl takes one headphone out of her ear, giving her a warm, almost pacifying smile as she asks with an even softer voice, "Hey, do you know where the computers are? I was told the public access ones in this library aren't 20 years old like the ones in the library across the city."

Mira, unfortunately, continues to stare.

Even as the pretty girl in front of her shuffles her feet, eyes shifting nervously.

She hasn't felt this way in nearly four years.

Zoey gives her butterflies, sure.

But after a while, that nervousness had turned into warmth.

Mira hates this feeling, just as much as she wants to hold on to it.

"I think they're on the second floor," Mira says, voice wavering the slightest bit. She receives another soft smile in response, a murmured thanks, and then the girl is gone, leaving Mira with a hand in the air, waving like someone who's never talked to a human being before.

What just happened?

2/?

"What is it with you and my cousin? Jinu is not that bad of a guy!" Zoey asks, the same grin that made Mira fall so deeply in love with her flashing across her face.

"Uh, yeah he is." Mira squeezes their intertwined hands, bumping their shoulders together. "He's not funny, he's annoying, he keeps insisting we're friends even though we're not, he—"

"Okay, okay! We get it!" Zoey giggles, shoving her away lightly.

The arcade smells of air conditioning and fried food.

Mira would never have agreed to going on a double date with Jinu. But unfortunately, her choices are nothing against Zoey's pleas.

Jinu had mentioned his... 'girlfriend' a few times, all falling on deaf ears to Mira. She wanted to at least meet the woman who found it within her soul to be able deal with someone like him.

She wonders what deity Jinu had to sell his soul to to be able to deserve someone like her.

Rumi was all soft features and kind gestures, requests in her voice feeling more like orders in that steady, sure way. Mira's pretty sure that if Rumi told her to jump into fire with that same confidence, she would do it in a heartbeat.

She's exactly the same, yet nothing like the woman she had met in the library. Somehow, somewhere, over the past few weeks, she's changed. Standing next to Rumi now feels less like standing next to something pretending to be stable, but more like something shattered and rebuilt. The small waver in her voice Mira had barely noticed originally is gone, nervousness replaced with a sureness that draws her them both in even more.

And Mira thinks she's imagining it, but she can almost swear that she's being drawn in to them.

Rumi fits between them like a step to a dance that had already been learned.

She knows when to push Mira's buttons to piss her off but not annoy her, how to get into a friendly debate about something stupid and unimportant like whether or not a hot dog is a sandwich, and most importantly, she listens.

When Mira starts to complain for the umpteenth time about her boss giving her one too many shifts at work, she listens. When Zoey goes on a rant about her favorite sea animals and how they're named by the scientific community, she listens.

She hopes that one day, they can get her to listen to soft murmurs about her beauty, gentle whispers of their affection for her, low mumbles of what they'd do better than him.

"We're fucked." Zoey slumps down against the wall at her back, the heels of her hands pressing into her eyes. Mira slides down to the floor next to her, leaning Zoey's head on her.

"We?" Zoey props her chin up on Mira's shoulder, staring up at her with open brown eyes. Mira could compare them to a number of gorgeous things in this world, but not one of them could capture the sheer beauty of Zoey's irises.

So what if they've been together long enough for Mira to memorize every part of her? Now all that's left for her to do other than to trace every single freckle across her soft face is to wax poetic about them.

"I don't—" Zoey takes a deep breath, and Mira immediately feels bad for her attempt at a joke. "I don't know what to do, Mira."

"What don't you know how to do?" Mira murmurs, taking one of Zoey's hands in both of hers and rubbing circles into the back of it. "Let me help you. We're in this together, aren't we?" Zoey lets out a choked sound at that, even as Mira brushes soft black strands out of her face.

"I'm scared you're going to hate me," She hiccups, face breaking in a way that makes Mira want to take away everything in the world that could hurt her.

"I could never hate you, Zoomie." She leans over and presses her lips against Zoey's temple, holding her hand like it's the most precious thing she's ever seen. Zoey goes quiet at that. It feels... wrong. Mira has never liked silence, but after years of listening, filling that silence feels even stranger. Bitter and sour in the back of her throat.

"I love her too," Mira mumbles, more quietly. Her hand runs up and down Zoey's arm as she stares straight ahead, afraid of what she'll see if she looks down.

"What are we going to do?" Zoey intertwines their hands, playing with the ends of Mira's fingers.

"We'll figure it out," Mira reassures. And even if they don't, does it really matter?

"I love you, Mira," Zoey sniffs, squeezing her hand a little tighter. "I don't want to lose you."

"You won't." Like that could ever happen. Like them being ripped apart by time and the universe itself isn't the only way she would ever leave Zoey. "You're stuck with me, Zo. From now until eternity."

Zoey chuckles wetly, bringing Mira's hand up to press a kiss to the back of it. "Forever?" She trails her lips to the underside of Mira's jaw, the words she speaks more sensation than sound. "Why can't it be a little longer?"

"I'm here as long as you'll have me." Mira grabs her chin, giving her a short, sweet kiss. "Twenty minutes, twenty years, twenty lifetimes." She cups Zoey's face. "I'm all yours."

Zoey raises her hand, squeezing Mira's own. "I hope she can be ours too."

2/3

"I broke up with Jinu," Rumi mumbles on a random unplanned coffee date hangout, fiddling with the handle of her mug.

Her eyes are turned down shyly, a flicker of shame flashing across her stupidly beautiful eyes, and Mira would be angry if she weren't so stunned by the news. Zoey looks much the same beside her, jaw dropped open in shock before she almost flinches backwards.

Rumi looks between them nervously, glancing up to meet their eyes and looking down at her lap like she can't decide whether or not she should see them. "Well, I didn't break up with him like, badly, I just— I didn't know we were dating, and he thought we were and I found out that you thought that so I just wanted to—"

"Hey," Mira sets a comforting hand on her shoulder, shoving down the anger climbing in her throat at Rumi's shaking. "You don't have to explain yourself to us." She trails her hand down to hold Rumi's own, hoping her small taking advantage of the situation will look more like she's trying to comfort Rumi. Which she is!

Mira squeezes her hand as Zoey pipes in, "You're our friend, Rumi. That isn't dependent on you being with Jinu." Mira doesn't miss the flash of what almost looks like hurt that covers Rumi's face.

"Besides, he was a bum anyway. You're better off with us." Rumi gives them an apologetic smile, face still clouded by guilt and pain, but now, there seems to be a flicker of amusement in her almost golden eyes. For someone who is so easy to read, Mira can never understand what she is thinking.

"Am I, now?" Rumi takes her mug in her other hand, sipping at it like it's liquid courage. "It wouldn't surprise me. I'd much rather be with you two." And if both of their hearts skip at the same time from her smooth tone and flirty voice, who's there to judge? No one can say that being flirted with by the Ryu Rumi has no effect on them.

Zoey is the first to gain back her lucidity. "We love hanging out with you too! Man, I'm glad Jinu can stop hoarding you and we can have you all to ourselves for a bit." Even if she didn't mean it as a response to Rumi's comment, Zoey's response still carries enough of an edge to charge the air between them. For once, Rumi is the one coming after them.

Mira doesn't know how to feel about that.

It makes her heart beat faster and lodge in her throat at the same time.

Loving Rumi has always felt like that. Not necessarily one-sided, but... spectative. Rumi feels like warmth and a glass wall. The most beautiful person Mira has ever met and a complete stranger at the same time.

She wishes she could know why it does.

She wishes she could change that. She wants to know every part of Rumi, everything from something as simple as her favorite cup of tea to her every thought.

Rumi smiles in that soft, simple way. Disarming almost. If she looks at that smile for too long she can tell exactly where Rumi is straining her face to keep it from looking too awkward or lopsided.

"I'd love that."

And Mira can't help but follow that traitorous train of thought that tells her she meant 'I'd love that. I'd love to be yours.'

2?/3

It feels sometimes as if Rumi doesn't know what she's doing is detrimental to their sanities.

"What do you mean you've never gone bowling?!" Zoey screams, shaking Rumi by the shoulders as she laughs, holding Zoey's hands. "That's like, a canon event! Everyone's gone bowling!"

"I haven't," Rumi says shyly, looking away. Her face is tinted a beautiful shade of pink, especially under the lights of the bowling alley.

"Well we're changing that," Mira assures, picking up a fourteen pound ball and handing it to Rumi. She takes it from her hands skeptically, inspecting it like it's a bomb that's going to blow up in her face. "It's pretty simple. You're smart enough to figure it out."

Rumi rolls her eyes, dextrous fingers slipping into the holes of the bowling ball. "So I just... throw it at the pins?"

"Yep! It looks really easy, but trust me it's a lot harder than it—" Zoey immediately stops her rant as Rumi launches the ball down the lane, hitting a clean strike on her first throw.

Zoey and Mira gawk at her as Rumi turns back to them, tilting her head. "Was that good?"

"Was that— Rumi that was a perfect strike! On your first try!" Rumi's chest seems to puff up in pride, even as her two spectators continue to look shell-shocked.

"That's supposed to be hard?" She says smugly, crossing her arms.

"Yes! Very, very difficult!" Zoey exclaims, reaching up to grab her head. She shakes off her stupor, reaching over to grab the same ball. "You probably just got lucky! Watch how a pro does it."

Rumi and Mira both laugh as she throws it straight into the gutter.

Zoey sputters, scoffing at their joint laughter. "Well— I— That was a fluke," She argues stubbornly, throwing another one.

Her attempt is a little more successful, managing to drop the number of standing pins from ten to nine.

Mira continues to cackle on the ground as Zoey pouts, Rumi setting a hand on her back to comfort her. "It's okay, Zo, we can't all be good at bowling." She reaches over, picking up the heaviest ball at the alley. "Watch, mine was probably luck, like you said."

Rumi throws it with ease and knocks down all of the pins left after Zoey's turn.

"Wow Rumi, you really had to show off a second time?" Mira teases, leaning an arm across her shoulders as Rumi covers her face with her hands.

"Stop," She groans.

"Yeah unnie, we love seeing you manhandle those balls," Zoey adds, leaning on Rumi's other side.

"Stop," Rumi says more firmly, and Zoey and Mira share a look.

"Stop what, unnie?" Mira continues, even as Rumi bats at her arm. "Stop talking about how cool it is that our unnie is a muscle mommy that should compete on the Olympic bowling team?"

"Stop!" Rumi shoves them both away, face beet red as she laughs. "You two are so gross!"

Even though Mira has heard that laugh hundreds of times before, she's still just as affected by it as the first time. She still wants to hear it thousands of times more.

"Now that we've got 'professional bowling player'," Mira gestures at Zoey, followed by Rumi. "And Little Miss 'I've never gone bowling in my life' out of the way, let me show you how a normal person bowls." She picks up a regular sized ball, throws it down the track, and knocks down 6 pins.

Mira gestures at the pins still left up, meeting an eager Rumi who looks like she wants to take notes, and a grinning Zoey's eyes.

After one semi-normal round of bowling, where Zoey gets last, ("I got one strike! That should count for something!"), Mira gets second, and Rumi gets a very humble first place after missing two pins total, they start experimenting.

Zoey excitedly yaps about a trend she saw where someone leans back to strike a pose and another person throws a strike from behind them like it gets summoned, so of course she and Rumi recreate that (It barely ends up in frame, because Mira's too busy staring at the two of them.)

Mira's idea is to put up the guard rails and send the ball down the kiddie launcher to see who can miss the ball, and for once during the whole time they've been there, Rumi loses. Mira knocks down four pins, Zoey barely doesn't tie by knocking down five, and Rumi hits twenty-seven in the three rounds they play.

They laugh at her, of course, but not for long, as they get distracted devouring half of the place's menu of food. The check comes out so long that Zoey can wear it as a scarf.

At some point, Zoey goes back to bowling as Mira and Rumi sit down, watching her try to hit more than three pins on one throw. The way Rumi looks at her is... soft. Mira recognizes the look, because she's seen it on her own face in photos. Zoey has that look set as her phone background. She's sure that if she didn't know any better, anyone would believe Rumi is just as madly in love with Zoey as she is.

Mira slides her hand across the bench, leaning against Rumi as she grabs her hand. Rumi tilts her head up at her, but she doesn't resist. Rumi's hands are warm. Warmer than Zoey's, even. "What's up?" She asks.

Mira smiles down at her, rubbing a thumb against her knuckles. "Just wanted you to know I'm here."

3/3

Mira isn't sure what to think when she sees Rumi standing outside her door with a bouquet of sweet smelling white flowers, small daisies interspersed within them.

"I—Hey, Mira." She sounds nervous, but there's an edge of determination that Mira has never heard from her before. Not that she remembers, considering she's still staring at the flowers being held out to her like an offering. An offering from a goddess rather than to her. How ironic is that?

"Hi, Rumi," Mira mumbles, hoping her face isn't as red as she feels it is. "What are you... doing here?" She swallows, cursing herself at her complete ineptitude at social interactions. Rumi only smiles at her fondly, face softening as all the tension leaves her in an instant. Mira feels hers do the same.

"I just—I wanted to—" Rumi twirls the stem of one of the flowers, looking down at them like they'll give her an answer. "Wow, this is—this is a lot harder than I thought." She laughs awkwardly, oddly reminiscent of Zoey, and Mira can't help but think they're starting to rub off on her.

"You wanna come in?" Mira says slowly, stepping out of the doorway to let her inside. Rumi stays firmly planted at her spot. Stubborn as always.

It's that same stubbornness that Mira fell for, though, so she can't be complaining.

"No, I—I can do this." Rumi steels her nerves and holds out the flowers. "Kang Mira, would you go out with me?"

It's cute, in the stereotypical high school rom-com kind of way, and Mira can almost feel her lips start to go numb from the smile on her face.

"You can say no. It's—It's fine, I know you and Zoey are dating, and I was going to ask her too, but if you say no I'll leave. We can still be friends, I promise I won't be weird about it." Rumi's eyes widen, reaching out to grab Mira before thinking better of it. "Unless you don't want to! That's fine, of course, it's completely understandable and—"

She trails off when Mira places a hand under her chin, pupils dilated to the point Mira can barely see that gorgeous shade of brown, and honestly, she doesn't really care. "Rumi," Mira says in that fond, exasperated way, since she can't keep the giggles out of her voice if she tried. "Are you going to let me answer, or are you just gonna ramble into oblivion?"

What Mira is not prepared for is when Rumi leans into her touch like she's starved for it, grabbing Mira's hand and putting it on her cheek to hold like it isn't destroying Mira's willpower and making her really want to kiss her.

Well.

There's a first time for everything, right?

And Mira has always hated holding back.

She just hopes Zoey won't be jealous that she got to kiss Rumi first.

Unlike Zoey, who kisses like she's afraid Mira will be ripped away from her at any moment, Rumi almost melts against her, sighing into her lips. Her hands don't come up to grab Mira in any way, but the bouquet goes limp by her side as she leans towards her. When the kiss breaks, she is not left nearly as breathless as she is with Zoey, but her heart still beats just as fast.

Pupils still blown wide and breathing harshly like she doesn't exercise almost as much as she rests, Rumi shyly asks, "Is that a yes?"

Mira laughs fondly, peppering her face with kisses because yes, she can do that now. "Yes. I'd love to go out with you. Dork." Rumi scrunches her nose affrontedly, shoving the bundle of flowers against Mira's chest.

"I am not a dork!" She argues, even as Mira's smile doesn't change.

"What flowers are these, then?" Mira asks, plucking one out and holding it out to her.

"Jasmines," Rumi answers automatically, taking it from Mira's hand and tucking it behind her ear. "They mean steadiness and strength. I thought it fit." If Mira's heart hadn't melted at the confession or at the kiss, it definitely does at the flowers, the way Rumi says it with such sureness like she spent hours studying the answer. Even in sweaty morning clothes at way too early of an hour Rumi can still make her feel like she's on top of the world.

"You're such a sap, you know that?" Mira mutters against Rumi's neck, pulling her flush against her.

"You love it," Rumi teases.

"Shut up," Mira answers back, hearing the faint but familiar sound of socks padding against hardwood as Zoey lazily walks in behind her.

"Mira, I told you to answer the door, not open it." She buries her face between Mira's shoulder blades, seemingly missing Rumi entirely, and Mira realizes that this is a great morning as she watches Rumi panic and flail around while looking for what Mira assumes is another bouquet.

She finds it on a small ledge by their door, sunflowers intertwined with marigolds in a hypnotizing way. Rumi is more confident this time, seemingly aware that if Mira said yes it's probably because they both agreed to it. "Zoey?"

"Hey, Rumi," Zoey says softly, setting her chin down on Mira's shoulder to look at her before seemingly realizing that this is the woman they've been crushing on for the last who knows how long, and that she's dressed in pajamas that are two sizes too large because she stole them from Mira.

She also sees the moment Zoey spots the bouquet in her hand, shock shifting into a small sort of understanding as her face lights up immediately.

"Sorry for coming this early," Rumi apologizes sincerely, though, the smile on her face implies otherwise. "I just really needed to ask you something."

"I've got an answer!" Zoey practically lunges at her, a sweet sound spilling out of Rumi as she laughs at Zoey's eagerness.

"Would you go out with me, Choi Zoey?" She asks, her expression soft as she holds the flowers between them. The knit between her brows doesn't loosen though, like a small part of her is still afraid that she would say no.

A small, but wrong part of her, as Zoey tackles her into a hug, melodious giggles pressed against Rumi's skin. She presses a loud, exaggerated kiss to Rumi's cheek, their laughter mixing into a song Mira wants to record and replay until she knows it by heart. "Uh, duh! You're such a sweetheart, why'd it take you this long?"

"I wanted to be sure," She murmurs against Zoey's lips, her smile easy and soft.

3/3

Covered almost head to toe in flour and sugar, Mira has never been happier.

"So what we need to do now is add—Zoey, stop eating it!" Rumi scolds, slapping Zoey's hands away from the tray of half-finished cinnamon rolls. "Add the cream cheese frosting and set away to rise for five minutes." She sets her phone down, wiggling her fingers, and Mira knows to hold the bowl of frosting they made next to her where she can grab it.

Rumi runs the kitchen like the army, all orders and commands. Interspersed with kisses and compliments, of course. Rumi has always found the thought of being mean to them appalling.

She pours the frosting they (mostly Rumi, Zoey just ate half the ingredients and Mira just teased her while she was making it) made over the pastries, scraping the sides of the bowl clean. And like the merciful leader she is, she lets them rock paper scissors over who gets to lick the spatula.

Mira lets Zoey win, but only to watch her cheer about how good she is at rock paper scissors. Well, Mira wins anyway, considering she gets a taste of both her and the frosting as she sits on the counter, Zoey's hands on either side of her hips as she kisses Mira.

Her and Zoey have been in this position many times before, but it's a little different now that Mira reaches out to tug at Rumi's flour covered sleeves, pulling her into a kiss too.

Every time they kiss Rumi, it feels like it's the first time.

Every single time, Rumi sighs against them, like she's surprised that last time wasn't the last, and grateful that there will hopefully be more.

"Rumi," Mira whines, pulling her closer by her belt loop. Rumi laughs sweetly again, pressing a shorter, pacifying kiss against Mira's lips that doesn't last nearly as long as Mira wants it to. "Rumi," She scolds, grabbing onto Rumi's shoulders until she settles between her legs.

"Yes Mimi?" Rumi responds sweetly, setting her hands on Mira's waist. Zoey makes an affronted noise along with a complaint of 'She took my spot!' but hovers near Mira's side anyway.

"This is supposed to be a date." Mira squishes Rumi's face between her hands, questioning how she got lucky enough to have that dorky smile look up at her like she built the world itself. "If you wanted to make cinnamon rolls, you could have made them alone."

Zoey tsks by her side, bumping Mira's shoulder. "The fun part is making the cinnamon rolls, not making out on the counter while our hot girlfriend makes them." She squeals as Mira presses a trail of kisses down her jaw, all the way to the hollow of her neck.

"Fun is subjective," Mira shoots back coyly, suddenly aware of the absence of her personal space heater. Rumi, once again, is back to making their dessert. She looks tense now, too, brows furrowed as she tugs at her dirty sleeves. Mira hops off the counter, draping herself across Rumi's body unhelpfully.

"Leave it alone," She drawls. "Come back to your wives that miss you." She grins at how red Rumi's face turns in seconds, any retort immediately devolving into stutters.

"Ooh, you got her good, Mir." Zoey pinches Rumi's cheek, even as her hand is batted away. "Aw, it's okay Rumi, we already know you're a sap."

"I—I'm not—You're—It—" Rumi gestures wildly with her hands, nearly knocking a bowl off the counter in her attempted explanation. "You two just want me to pass out, don't you?"

Zoey hums. "That could be good." She kisses Rumi on the cheek, hands set on Rumi's hips. "We could finally say we swept you off your feet!"

Silence.

Pure, unbroken, pin-drop silence.

Until they all fall into a pile of giggles of course, limbs reaching out to hold each other like it's their birthright. Mira will never say that she deserves these two. But she will admit that she is meant for them.

Rumi brushes her hands on her apron, waving the hot air from the oven away. "See, Mira. Now we can do the fun part."

"I feel like the fun part of a date shouldn't come after two hours of unnecessary baking." Rumi rolls her eyes at her, giving her a look between fondness and irritation.

"Always impatient, aren't you?" She taps at Mira's collarbone, and Mira swallows the yelp Rumi lets out as her collar is yanked forward.

"Only for you, baby."

3/3.

Living with Rumi helps Mira make some... discoveries.

One of which being that her girlfriend is not perfect.

Mira knows that of course. Loving perfection has never been in her nature. Quite the opposite in fact. Mira loves disorder and chaos and Zoey.

Mira loves Rumi.

It didn't take long to come to that conclusion.

Weeks. Days. Hours.

She knows it's true, though.

Mira walks into her apartment after work to the smell of comfort food and warmth.

Which she shouldn't. It's three in the morning, and nobody should be awake.

She walks into the kitchen, hearing gentle humming from where Rumi stands behind the stove.

She looks tired.

The slump in her shoulders has deepened, her eyes are half-lidded, and the bags under them are twice as large as they were this morning.

"Rumi?" Mira says gravelly, voice almost gone from having to scream over patrons to hear herself. Rumi startles at the sound, almost like she's been woken up, before the flicker of shock that crosses her face vanishes.

Mira wraps her arms around her from behind, seeking her warmth like a lizard as she rests her head against Rumi's shoulder. "Why are you still up?" She murmurs, turning to press her lips against Rumi's neck.

"Didn't want you to come back alone," Rumi whispers back, that small, almost placating smile on her face. "I made you some food."

It's sweet.

But also really dumb.

"Don't you have class tomorrow morning?" Mira states more than asks. Rumi does have a class tomorrow morning. At seven no less. And if Mira knows anything about her, she'll probably get up early to go on a run.

"Yeah," Rumi says softly, scraping the food off of the pan and onto a plate. It's tteokbokki. Mira's favorite. It also means she's been up for a while.

"You didn't have to stay up." Mira squeezes her arms around Rumi's torso tighter. "You shouldn't have stayed up."

Rumi scoffs. "It's not even that late. Zoey goes to bed at five sometimes." Mira rolls her eyes.

"It's not late for Zoey. It is late for you." She starts to drag Rumi away from the stove and towards their bedroom, a predicament so cartoonishly backwards she never thought she'd be in this. "You have to wake up in like, two and a half hours."

Rumi stays firmly planted on her spot. "I'll be fine."

"You won't be fine," Mira says affrontedly, pulling away to stare at Rumi's face. She sees not a hint of regret or even disappointment in her eyes. She seemingly doesn't even know what's wrong with getting two hours of sleep just to make sure Mira doesn't get home alone.

It's sweet.

But even stupider.

"Rumi, I don't want you doing this." She wishes it would sound less like begging and more like a command. But Rumi is stubborn when she wants to be.

"It's not a big deal. I like staying up for you," She emphasizes, waving around the wooden spoon like a weapon.

"Well I don't like it when you stay up for me," Mira snaps. She swears she can hear Rumi's hackles raise as her shoulders come up to her ears, lips curling it what almost looks like disgust. Its a look so unlike her soft lover, and Mira feels as if she's going to hurl at the sight of it.

"Are you saying I did all of this and you don't like it?" Rumi bites back. The anger in her voice is foreign, and it mixes so well with what feels like hurt that Mira wants to apologize. Apologize for her words, for her brashness, for ever thinking she could be worth Rumi's love.

"That's not what I meant," Mira says shortly. It's the only way she can without it sounding like she's angry.

"Then what did you mean, Mira?" She spits, practically throwing the wooden spoon onto the pan.

"I meant I don't want you to make yourself suffer for my sake. I can handle myself, I don't want you to feel like shit tomorrow because you decided I was more important than sleep. I love you, Rumi, I—" Mira snaps her jaw shut upon realizing what she just said, hoping Rumi doesn't realize either. Unfortunately, she seems to have understood, if the way her eyes widen and her brows loosen means anything.

"I—You—" Rumi sighs. Her eyes harden for a moment, and Mira feels that familiar edge of hurtful anger rise in her throat again before Rumi's features soften. Like she's given up.

"I'm sorry," Mira whispers. She hopes Rumi will know what it's for, even if it's for everything.

"I get it. Kind of," Rumi assures, holding Mira's hand to her cheek. "I wouldn't want you sleeping less over me either."

"I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"I forgive you."

"I'm sorry for saying it that way."

"I understand."

Of course Rumi would take everything with a grain of salt. Of course Rumi would forgive her, regardless of what she'd done.

Mira takes the opportunity to grab onto Rumi's hand. She's still warm. From their fight, or simply because she always is, Mira doesn't know. But Rumi is warm.

She hears no complaints as she lays Rumi down on the mattress. Only a soft sigh of relief mixed with defeat.

Mira climbs on top of her, threading her fingers through long, purple hair. She can hear Zoey breathing softly behind her, one arm thrown across her eyes as if the concept of even waking up is a crime to her.

"I'm sorry that was how I told you," Mira finally mumbles, eyes turned downward. "You deserve better than that."

Rumi eyes her warily. "I guess I already knew. You didn't do anything wrong. You did it... your way."

"I don't want you to remember it like that," She admits, holding Rumi a little closer.

"Then how about you do it again?" Rumi replies. When Mira tilts her head in confusion, she simply puts a hand on her cheek, smiling gently. "I'll pretend I never heard you. Now can be the first time."

And now, looking at Rumi's features, all soft and open and strained for her, Mira holds back a quiet sob.

"I love you."

A thumb rubs across her cheekbone.

"Did that feel better?" Rumi asks, pressing a languid kiss to Mira's lips.

"Yeah."

"Then that was how it happened. That's how I'll remember it."

3./3.

Zoey has always had a habit of watching her lovers before she goes to sleep.

Gentle hands caressing sharp lines, she tucks a strand of hair behind Mira's ear, tracing fingers across smooth skin.

She loves admiring Mira while she's asleep. There's something so peaceful about her expression, loose and relaxed. The slight furrow in her brows smooths at night, like the fight has been drained out of her, and Zoey can feel as if she can see the woman who's so soft with her rather than just feel her.

Mira doesn't move when she's asleep.

The first time they shared a bed, what feels like an eternity ago, Zoey got scared. Mira sleeps like the dead, both in that she doesn't move and she doesn't wake up. So what if Zoey thought her best friend had died? She had a right to be afraid, knowing that she was the love of her life.

Rumi is different.

She had been hesitant to sleep in the same bed as them at first.

She would sometimes murmur excuses, and sometimes she would state the obvious. She just wasn't ready yet. She would be, though.

(Usually the former hurt more than the latter. They hoped Rumi would always trust them.)

She had finally acquiesced, after weeks of asking. Not quite begging, they didn't want her to come to them out of obligation.

The first thing Zoey noticed about Rumi is how she's always gone in the morning.

She isn't always far. Sometimes, she's be drinking tea in the living room, staring off into nothing, lost in thought. Other times, she comes out of the bathroom, skin sheen with water and red from the heat, like she'd been trying to burn her skin off.

On those days, Zoey coaxes her back to bed, replacing the artificial heat with comforting warmth.

Other days, Zoey wakes up to cold sheets in front of her, long arms around her waist. She woke up like that every morning for years. She would have never complained back then. But the cold sheets feel empty now. They feel like something is missing.

Zoey doesn't know where she goes in the morning. She just hopes she comes back.

Fortunately for Zoey, both of their sleep schedules are horrible. So sometimes, on mornings like these, while slowly holding Rumi's face before she goes to sleep, Zoey can get to see her before she gets up for the day.

"Hey, pretty girl," Zoey whispers, watching Rumi's eyes flutter open automatically. Her body clock needs to be studied, considering it is five AM on the dot.

"Morning Zo," She rasps, voice thick and gravely from sleep. Rumi still speaks quietly, though, to prevent their love from waking.

Her eyes shine beautifully in the moonlight, warm shades of brown that are almost gold flickering in her eyes. Zoey rarely understood what people meant when they said eyes were the 'window to the soul', but Rumi's eyes taught her the meaning of the phrase.

Though, her soul is much more beautiful than the contents of her irises.

Mira's eyes hold storms. Dark and sharp and full of emotion. Rumi's were made to hold.

Zoey brushes soft lines across Rumi's skin, feeling the muscles give way beneath her touch and spread into an adoring smile.

For once, Zoey is the one sighing into their kiss.

She almost yanks Rumi back onto the mattress as she feels her pull away, making a sound akin to a noise of pain as Rumi tries to leave.

"Please," She mutters into the quiet room. Rumi turns around to look at her. Zoey hates how her voice sounds so small, but she wants this, and she has never wanted something as openly as she wants this. "Please. Stay."

And while she expects the usual from Rumi, a soft smile, a fond look, a murmur of 'I'll be back soon.', what she doesn't expect is Rumi's face to shatter, climbing back into bed with her and holding her close.

Rumi has never held them close.

Of course, that's not a full truth. Rumi accepts their affection, gravitates towards it even. Zoey can't begin to count how many times this girl has melted beneath her hands, loosened in her touch.

But Rumi has not done the same for them.

It's now, held in Rumi's embrace, that Zoey truly realizes how warm Rumi is.

She's practically hot to the touch, and Zoey can feel herself relax in her arms.

"I'm not going anywhere," Rumi mumbles into her hair, stroking soft lines on Zoey's back. "I'm still here." And Zoey can feel the softness in her voice, like she's afraid even saying something in the wrong way would shatter this moment.

They stay like that for a while.

Intertwined.

Held.

She knows Rumi needs to start her routine. She knows she should probably go to sleep instead of staying up until abhorrent hours.

But Rumi looks at her with those soulful eyes, and all Zoey can see in them is herself.

"I love you," She chokes out, wiping away nonexistent tears from both Rumi's face and her own. Rumi smiles even wider at her, pressing a kiss to her temple along with a reassurance of 'I'm always here.' "It shouldn't have taken me so long to say it, it's true."

Rumi presses a soft, sweet kiss to her lips, and Zoey feels like she's a kid left at a candy store.

"You don't have to apologize," Rumi says, slipping her legs out from under the sheets. Zoey immediately misses her warmth. Another kiss is pressed to her knuckles, and Zoey is left staring at them like they betrayed her.

Because Ryu Rumi has already left her apartment.

Despite her warmth still lingering.

Zoey stares up at the ceiling.

?/3

The sound of shattering glass wakes Mira up at an hour so inhumane she might as well have gotten zero hours of sleep.

She sits up with a groan, absentmindedly patting the sheets at her side to once again find them empty.

They aren't cold, though.

Rumi is nearby.

Zoey clings onto her arm, eyes squinting open like she doesn't want to wake up but has no choice but to. Mira fumbles around on her nightstand until her fingers meet cool, sleek metal, slipping the glasses onto her face and peering at the clock across the room.

Two fifty-three in the morning.

Great.

She reluctantly peels the covers off of her, shushing Zoey back to sleep with a few soft murmurs and a kiss to the forehead. Mira pads into the kitchen to find the cause of the mess only to find Rumi kneeling on the ground next to a pile of glass, frantically sweeping.

"Ru...mi?" Mira grunts, throat dry from dehydration and the fact that she just woke up. Rumi flinches at the sound of her name, shoulders shooting to her ears as she looks up apologetically at Mira. "What are you doing up?" She murmurs, rubbing at her eyes to see if that will erase the strange image before her.

"I'm sorry if I woke you up," Rumi whines, ducking her head in apology. Mira continues to stare at the back of her head like it's alien, partially because she's never seen Rumi like this before, and also because she's not fully here yet and is convinced this is a dream. "I'll clean this up, I swear."

"Are you okay?" Mira asks, pointedly avoiding Rumi's reaction in favor of the shards of broken glass still on the floor. Instead of answering though, Rumi looks over the mess, cleaning it up almost finickily.

Mira frowns, reaching out to touch Rumi's shoulder and reels back at the flinch she receives in response, Rumi stumbling back into the pile of glass on the floor. She winces in pain, but Mira is more focused on how quiet it is, how Rumi clutches her hand to her chest and muffles her sounds of pain rather than asking for help.

Setting a hand on Rumi's shoulder more gently, impossibly gently, Mira tries to pull her away from the mess and gets her to lean against the counter, a smooth, pale hand wrapped in her own.

Rumi hisses as Mira prods at her hand, shards of glass embedded in her flesh. Zoey pads into the room—hearing the vague murmur of voices, Mira guesses.

"We're gonna start using plastic cups in this house," Zoey jokes, wrapping her arms around Rumi and sighing against her neck. For a split second, Mira almost believes she's fallen asleep there, if not for the way her hand slowly runs up and down Rumi's spine.

Rumi still has a glimmer of hesitation in her eyes, like she's afraid Mira will just start yelling at her at any moment. It makes her angry. Why is she so afraid of such a simple mistake?

Mira reaches into the cabinet with their medical supplies, pulling out a pair of tweezers and the gauze, as well as some disinfecting cream.

"Plastic cups don't sound like a bad idea," Mira replies absentmindedly, picking shards of glass out of Rumi's hand. None of them go deep enough to require specialized attention, but Mira still provides each of them with a kiss for better healing.

Rumi stares at her bandaged hand like it's a foreign object.

She flexes her fingers, testing out if she can still move, and Mira can't bring herself to think that she might be doing it to see if she can still work. Together, Mira and Zoey sweep up the rest of the glass, peppering Rumi's face with kisses every time they pass by her, which is quite a lot, considering she hasn't moved from her spot staring daggers into the ground.

Mira's arms wrap around her waist again as she mumbles sweet nothings against Rumi's skin, still receiving nothing but a blank stare. Rumi has paled now. The color has drained from her face, and she looks like she's about to hurl. Mira doesn't know what that's about.

"Rumi, it's bedtime now," Zoey mutters, dragging both her girlfriends to the bed and nearly passing out the second she hits the mattress. She doesn't, if the way she climbs on top of Rumi to use her as a bed is any indication. She sets both hands on Rumi's cheeks, brows furrowed at the empty look in her eyes. No, not empty. Lost in thought. Like she's trapped herself in some sort of spiral.

"Ru-mii?" She murmurs, tilting Rumi's head from side to side in her hands. That seems to snap her out of it, as she comes to in an almost delirious state.

"Sorry. Sorry," Rumi apologizes, wrapping her arms around Zoey like that was the problem. "I have to head out soon. Sorry for waking you up."

She picks at the gauze on her hand like it's a concept abstract to her.

"You're injured, though," Mira argues, propping herself up on her elbows. "Surely whatever you have to do can wait for a bit."

And once again, like a fire put out, Rumi gets up, changing into slightly more sporty clothes. "Like Zoey says. The grind never stops."

"That's not what I meant," Zoey shoots back, more confusion than anything else. Mixed in her confusion is something else as well. Incredulity.

"Well it's what I mean." Rumi gently grabs Zoey by the jaw, fingers tracing freckled skin to pacify her. She does the same for Mira, like she's trying to commit their faces to memory, before she takes her hands away, pressing a kiss to each of their cheeks and leaving just as fast as she'd been put there.

Mira checks the time.

It's two hours earlier than she usually leaves.

Mira looks at Zoey.

Her brows are still knit together, nose scrunched like she's trying to solve a puzzle.

"Do you think she's done with us?" Mira asks, half a thought she didn't want to voice out loud, and half a fact she knew Zoey was already thinking. "I mean, obviously not. I think we're stressing her out. Or she's already stressed out? But how do we help with that?" She wrings her hands together, spotting Zoey in her peripheral vision still not paying attention, one hand pressed to her face.

She looks at Mira, something almost like horror dawning on her face.

"She was cold, Mir."

?/??

Rumi's been distant lately.

They can both feel it.

She leaves early in the morning before they wake up, and comes back after they've gone to bed.

She does come back. Mira knows. She leaves notes and food and warmth where she lingered. But she doesn't stay.

It feels almost like living with a shadow.

It hurts, the distance. She knows it's not because Rumi hates them. But she can't help but feel like it's a sort of punishment, in a way.

For all of them.

Mira still feels bad for how she confessed to Rumi. Zoey murmured to her on a night where they particularly missed her that she had done just the same, not even a day later.

Zoey sounded just as remorseful.

Why did she?

Doesn't she understand that having even a fraction of her love was enough for anyone?

Doesn't she know that Mira and Rumi would do anything to hear her say that?

"Do you think she misses us?" Zoey whispers, eyes drawn mostly shut. She doesn't cry anymore. She ran out of tears two weeks ago.

"Of course she does," Mira responds, her arm around Zoey tightening. The notes Rumi's left them pile up in a drawer by her desk. She rereads them more than she cares to admit. "She's just having a rough time right now. We can wait for her."

We'll always wait for her.

Even Mira can feel the bitterness in her half-truth. She won't call it a lie. Not while she knows Rumi's spare keys still lie in a dish by their door and that she needs to refill the box of ginger tea in her pantry.

They don't sleep that night.

Neither of them do.

So they both hear the deadbolt slide out of place as their front door opens, the thud of a pair of shoes being slipped off at the door. And like dogs seeing their owner come back, they perk up at the sound, catching soft, almost inaudible footsteps walking up the doorway.

But like kids wanting to be carried to their house—at least how Zoey describes it—they don't move. Mira tries to slow her breathing, and finds it growingly difficult as she hears the sigh of fondness that escapes Rumi. It sounds like she hasn't been able to fully exhale until now. It sounds like relief.

Her footsteps approach the bed, and Mira feels warm fingertips against her forehead, actively having to hold back a smile. Rumi swipes a few strands of hair away from her face before brushing lips across her temple, murmuring in that soft tone that Mira hadn't realized she missed so much until now.

"Goodnight, baby."

Rumi's fingertips linger far longer than they should on her face, like Rumi is trying to memorize the pattern of her features by touch alone. Zoey receives the same treatment next to her, the hand holding Mira's beneath the sheets squeezing tighter.

The bathroom door clicking shut sounds a lot louder than it actually is.

Mira shoots up, head held in her hands as she watches light streak across the room from under the door. Zoey says nothing. Zoey doesn't even move. She just—sits there. Staring at the ceiling. Her breathing is shallow, and it almost sounds like she's trying to process.

Not like there's much of it to do.

Rumi is still here.

She just doesn't want them to know.

For the umpteenth time, Mira despises living in an apartment with hardwood floors. But now, instead of being afraid of waking her girlfriends up to get a glass of water, she's afraid of scaring Rumi off again.

Why does she keep running?

Zoey steps off the bed—much quieter than Mira had—and grabs onto her sleeve, holding her back. "What are you doing!? What if she finds out and leaves again?!" She hisses, and Mira yanks her hand back.

"We have to talk to her, Zoey, we can't keep living like this!" Mira whispers back. They can still hear Rumi moving behind the door, humming softly. When Zoey hears it, her breath hitches. She too steps towards the door, as if called by a siren's song.

The light in the bathroom blinds them for a second, just long enough to hear Rumi take a sharp breath in.

When they can finally see again, the first thing Mira notices are the raised lines across her arms, running down her torso and almost reaching her neck.

They look like they hurt.

They look like they still hurt.

The humming has stopped.

All that's left is the artificial sound of the light, buzzing.

Rumi's eyes look wide and scared, why is she scared? What did this to her? Why is she scared? Is she scared of them? Did they do something? How can they fix th—

"Get the fuck out," Rumi whispers, as if she's forgotten the sound of her own voice. It's raspy, and gravelly, and hoarse, like she hasn't talked in weeks, and Mira wonders if she hasn't.

But despite the nerves screaming at her to move forward—Mira steps back.

"Get out!" Rumi yells this time, voice cracking on the last syllable. The gust of wind that hits Mira's face as the door is slammed in their faces sobers her, the marks she saw settling into her skin. She walks backwards until the backs of her knees hit the bed, sitting down on it to try and slow her speeding heart rate.

What was that?

Is that why Rumi never rolls her sleeves up?

Is that why she tenses when they hold her?

Is that why she holds them at arms length, not close enough to touch?

Is that why—

"What the fuck," Zoey says, as if the silence is enough to rip the words from her throat.

The humming from behind the door has stopped, and Mira feels like she's drowning without it.

The light beneath the door has gone out.

The door doesn't open.

And for both of them, it processes at the same time:

The bathroom has no windows.

Rumi's still in there.

She's waiting for them to leave.

Seemingly, possibly due to their years of connection, or simply due to their equal adoration of Rumi, they both stay. They don't move. They don't talk. They sit and stand and look at the door like a pair of guards.

The sun starts to come up before they know it.

Mira has to go to work.

"I'm sick. I'll come in tomorrow," She mutters into the receiver before hanging up, not even listening to the response.

Fifteen more minutes pass.

Another fifteen.

Half an hour.

One hour.

An hour and a half.

Two hours—

"You guys can leave, you know." A crackling voice emanates from behind the door, snapping them out of their exhaustion. "Please."

Rumi's voice sounds tired.

It sounds nasally and fried and grainy, and Mira almost wants to sob at the sound of it.

She thought they'd gained the privilege to hold her while she cried.

But here they are, on the other side of the door. Listening. Not touching.

The cause of the tears.

"Why would we leave, Rumi?" Zoey asks, a lot more steadily than Mira feels. Zoey has always said Mira was the stability in her life. But Mira can say the same for her.

And Rumi, sweet, loving Rumi who would run through fire for them, nurse them back to health if they were sick, and mumbles sweet nothings into their ears while pressing her lips against their skin like she can't stop herself. Their Rumi, the love of Mira and Zoey's lives, Ryu Rumi, laughs. She laughs with that sweet sound that Mira adores and wants to hear again and again, but tainted now.

It's derisive. Sardonic. Hateful.

"Why wouldn't you leave?" Rumi spits. It's broken at the end. Like she doesn't have to convince herself. To her, it's fact. "I'm a freak. I lied to you. I— I tricked you into being with me, into loving me."

She scoffs. It's disdainful. Mira can almost hear a waver in her words.

"You have each other. I ruined that. I ruined that because of some— some stupid crush." There's a small thud followed by a sigh from the door. "I just— could you just leave? Let me leave quietly?"

Mira knows exactly what she looks like right now.

She's memorized all of Rumi's body language, all of her quirks, everything that makes her tick.

Rumi is staring forward.

"I know it's selfish, but just— let me down softly?"

Rumi can't even bring herself to look at them through the door.

"I promise I'll be quick."

Rumi is wringing her hands together, as if she thrives for the contact but can't bring herself to ask for it.

"Please?"

And selfishly, greedily almost—they don't respond.

Because what if they let her leave quietly?

They've always loved her so loudly.

The door cracks open, squeaky with age.

Rumi peers at them from behind it, eyes wide like an animal caught in a trap. Zoey jams her foot in the gap before Rumi can slam it shut again, and Rumi stumbles back.

Mira watches as one half of her heart writhes on the ground and pushes herself against a wall to escape her like a feral animal.

She hates describing Rumi that way.

Animalistic.

Wild.

Inhumane.

But the way she looks up at her now, a mixture of fear and panic and anger in her eyes—nothing else can describe looking into someone's eyes and seeing only instinct.

"Rumi, we just want to talk—" And Rumi, sweet, gentle, loving Rumi, whines as Mira steps forward, making herself smaller and smaller in hopes of hiding away.

Mira and Zoey want to make her feel seen.

"What happened, Rumi?" Mira whispers, letting the door click shut behind her. The lines etched across Rumi's arms burn beneath her eyelids, marred tissue laid overtop smooth, pale skin. She shuffles closer to Rumi, sitting down next to her so that their legs barely touch. Zoey does the same next to her.

Rumi pulls her knees to her chest, stripping herself of contact. "It's— I'm just— It doesn't matter. You both already think I'm a freak. You don't need an explanation to leave." The bite to her words is new. Mira cannot describe how much she despises it.

"But we do need an explanation to stay." Mira reaches out to grab her hand, pressing her lips against raised, scarred lines. "Tell us what's wrong, Rumi. Please."

Zoey threads her fingers together with Rumi's, running her hands up her arm to feel the texture. "You don't need to say why. Not yet." She stares at Rumi's palm. Mira remembers Zoey telling her about her superstitions, once. Something about the lines on her palm signifying love. "Just trust us enough to believe us when we say we're staying."

Rumi turns to face her, cheek pressed to her knees. She flexes the hand in Zoey's grip, as if she's a display model at their disposal. But as Zoey's hands travel up her arm, to darker scars with rougher textures, her face stretches with disgust, the mere concept of affection and touch being intertwined a foreign concept to her.

"I always thought that in order to feel good about myself, I needed to be perfect," She mumbles, quiet enough it's incomprehensible for a few seconds. Mira frowns as the implication sets in, squeezing Rumi's hand a little tighter. Not to possess, not even to hold—just to remind Rumi that she's there.

The next words she says come out choked and cut off, like she's holding back tears. "I was— I did everything to be perfect. I did everything asked of me, I did well in class, I did extracurriculars, I made sure people liked me—" Rumi takes a deep breath. She's warm.

"I couldn't handle it. I thought— I thought it made me weak. That everyone else could do more than I could, better, and for longer." She lets out a silent sob, and Mira feels guilty for not being there for her. This happened long before they met, though, if Rumi's insistence on wearing sleeves since they met is anything to go by. How hadn't they noticed in nearly two years? How did they not notice that someone they loved so deeply had been hiding something like this beneath only a layer of cloth?

"The first time it happened, it was an accident." Rumi rubs a thumb across a particular cut on her hand, barely raised and almost invisible unless held at a specific angle. "Celine asked me to chop some vegetables up for dinner. I was too out of my head, too distracted, too—"

Rumi's jaw works with how she wants to continue. She has a tendency to overthink everything she says before she says it. It's cute, really. Mira loves that about her. One of the many, many things she loves about Rumi.

"It didn't register at first. All I remember is that it went quiet for a moment. It felt... weird. Like when someone turns off a white noise machine." Rumi clutches her upper arm, nails almost digging into flesh. "Celine saw me standing there and asked me why I wasn't moving. I wrapped my finger and kept going, but a few hours later I still couldn't get it out of my head. I couldn't forget about it even months later."

Mira runs her hands up and down each arm, counting how many scars there are. She can practically envision what each raised line is for, which ones were made for a failed test or a second place medal or simply for forgetting to wash the dishes on one day.

"I stopped a while ago, if you were wondering." She wasn't. Not because it didn't matter, but because she didn't know what she'd do if the answer was anything but that Rumi had stopped. "Jinu— Jinu really helped me with that. He's great. I thought— I thought caring about him meant I had to have feelings for him. That's what it means to be perfect, right?"

Rumi lets out a shaky exhale. It sounds like she's trying not to cry.

"And then I met you at the library."

Met is... a way to put it.

Glanced is a better description.

Saw is too deep. Too raw. They're just now seeing Rumi for the first time.

"You were the most beautiful girl I had ever laid eyes upon."

Even here, sitting on the cold, tiled floor of the bathroom, Rumi can't stop herself from waxing poetic.

"You took my breath away." Rumi pulls flyaways away from her face, like even now as she reminisces, Mira's face is just as it was on that day.

"Then I met you." Her gaze turns towards Zoey now, flicking across her features. Every single one that made Mira adore her. Every single one that made them both adore her. "And I knew that it wasn't just some fleeting moment of regression." She inhales, holding her breath like she's hoping her words will leave along with the silence.

"It felt wrong to want you," She murmurs, still half-dazed. "I had a boyfriend-ish guy I was talking to, I had a steady college career, I didn't even know I liked women."

She sighs again. "I knew I should've stopped when I found out you two were dating."

Mira pulls Rumi's wrist to her face, pressing a chaste kiss against it. "Stopped what, jagiya?"

Rumi has always told her she likes the pet names Mira gives her.

"Loving you."

Mira would never call her by her name if that's what she wanted.

"If you ever stop wanting me," Mira says, voice choking as she pulls Rumi closer towards her. "Let it be because you want to. Not because you should."

And the way Rumi reaches back for her is almost frantic. The animalistic glint her eyes returns, but rather than fear, it's desperation.

"I could never stop wanting you," Rumi pleads, grabbing onto Zoey to bring her in as well. "I can't— I can't live without you, it's why I couldn't let you see, please—"

Zoey's lips press against the sensitive part of Rumi's neck, quieting her. "We're not leaving. We still want you. Even more now, actually. The more of yourself you show us, the more that's there to love." She fiddles with the hem on Rumi's shirt, inspecting it almost. "We love all of you Rumi. Including the parts you think are ugly."

"Which they aren't," Mira adds, leaving a kiss on every scar she can find on Rumi's forearm. She can feel the way Rumi jolts in her arms with a sob, and as much as she hates the sound, she can't help but feel relieved that at least it's her holding Rumi today, rather than cold, lonely sheets. "They're perfect. You're perfect."

"Perfect for us." Zoey's hands trail up and down Rumi's skin, reverent. "We will never think anything different."

Mira has fallen in love with Ryu Rumi every day since they first met. She wakes up to a kiss from her and falls asleep to one every day.

But on the bathroom floor of her dingy apartment, Mira kisses Rumi for the first time.

3/3

Knowing Rumi is hard.

Mira has always known love is difficult. The first year of her relationship with Zoey taught her that. It also taught her that if they try enough, love may not be easy, but it can be simple.

Rumi is jittery.

She's anxious, and stressed, and overthinking is such a core part of her that it may not even be a personality trait anymore. She's nothing like the confident woman Mira learned about in the arcade. Nothing like the stubborn girl who challenged her to bowling the first time they ever went.

And that's fine.

Big changes reveal differences in people.

But this is not Rumi.

Rumi may be shy, but she is confident. She may be quiet, but she's still stubborn.

This version of Rumi is still wrong.

A part of Mira knows that this is what she thinks Zoey and Mira want.

Someone small. Agreeable. Neutral.

She wonders if this is what Rumi was told it was like to be the ideal girlfriend.

But this is not her Rumi.

This is not the love of her life.

This is what someone molded her to be.

She doesn't want Ryu Rumi, the confident performer who is stubborn and can't take no for an answer, even for her own well-being. She doesn't want this Rumi, who's afraid breathing the wrong way may cause the foundation beneath everything she loves to crumble.

She wants both.

She knows it's greedy.

But she needs both.

"Rumi-ya!" Mira calls, tying her hair up as she watches the pan in front of her heat up. As if she's a dog called by a whistle, Rumi practically appears next to her, back ramrod straight and a strangely tense smile on her face.

Mira frowns.

She hates how Rumi's posture lowers a fraction at it, so she reaches out to set a hand on her waist in apology.

"I'm gonna make dinner. Can you help me with something?" Rumi nods excitedly, almost eager to be given something to do. She acts as if she's been trapped here with nothing to do for weeks.

She's been going on runs more frequently now.

Not alone anymore, she'll let Mira or Zoey join sometimes—she's even started getting up later so they don't have to wake up at such an early hour to go with her. But for as much as they want to stay with her, years of running have increased her endurance to a level almost unattainable to any human, and she's left to run the last part alone.

Surely she should be tired.

"It's nothing much, I just need you to stir some things for me," Mira says softly, setting a hand under Rumi's chin to take her lips in a kiss. "And of course, sit there looking pretty. But I don't have to tell you to do that, you're a natural."

"Yeah, of course, yeah." Rumi smiles, a light pink tint creeping up her cheeks, and Mira is glad she can see a spark of who she used to be peeking through. "What do you need me to stir?"

Mira passes her a block of cheese and the heavy cream, turning back to continue slicing the chicken breast laid in front of her. "Add more or less an equal amount of both. We're all getting some, and I usually leave leftovers for one person, so just eyeball it." She chuckles when she sees the look of utter stupor that flashes across Rumi's face, even as Rumi turns to start pouring things into the hot pan.

Brows furrowed in concentration, Rumi drops a substantial amount of liquid onto the hot surface. Her eyes flicker back almost nervously to Mira's own. "Is that good?" She asks, shoulders braced as if prepared for a scolding.

Mira squints at what she poured. "Maybe a little more."

Rumi adds around a teaspoon of cream.

"A little more."

a tablespoon.

"How about I just tell you to stop?" Rumi's lips press into a thin line, like she wants to say something but holds herself back from it. She finishes adding the heavy cream to the pan, and they work in mostly silence after that, Rumi methodically grating cheese and Mira cooking the broccoli and chicken.

Mira runs her hands underneath the sink as she finishes, turning off the heat on the stove and leaning a hip against the counter, watching Rumi work through the rest of the block of cheese. She keeps glancing back at Mira, as if wondering if what she's doing is right.

"Why're you staring at me like that?" Rumi asks, almost playfully. Mira's smile grows as the Rumi she misses comes back to her.

"Like what?" Mira's sure there's some sort of dopey grin on her face, but she doesn't mind.

"Mira," Rumi sighs fondly, setting down the rest of her tools.

"Rumi," Mira teases back the same way, reaching a hand out for her. "We gotta leave everything to cook for a second. Come here."

Skeptically, Rumi waves a spoon at her, gesturing to the simmering concoction in front of her. "I thought you told me to stir this?"

"Well, I changed my mind," Mira says stubbornly, holding back a cackle at the irritation on Rumi's face.

"That's not how cooking works," Rumi deadpans, blinking at Mira. She walks over anyway, looking almost unsure as Mira sets her hands on Rumi's face.

She remembers their first date like this.

Her lips quirk downward slightly when she realizes that Rumi is still wearing her hoodie. She tugs on the sleeves, just enough to show her dislike of them.

"Isn't it hot in here?" Mira mutters, slipping her hands beneath Rumi's shirt to meet the warm skin on her waist. "Take this off, baby. Wouldn't want you to overheat. You're already hot enough." She hopes her joking will hide the desperation in her voice. It doesn't.

But Rumi just smiles at her, loosening a little in her arms. She looks up at Mira with those soft, sweet eyes, and she knows that they will be okay. Even if it takes twenty more times of asking that question, or thirty, or eighty.

"Not yet," Rumi answers, but she's still smiling as she presses her lips to the hinge of Mira's jaw.

And what else can Mira do except smile back at her? Hold her like something precious made of gold?

She does allow herself one privilege, though, when she lets Rumi continue to kiss down her neck and asks, breath hitched, "Soon, at least?"

Rumi hums against her throat, warm hands coming underneath Mira's shirt and tracing over warm skin.

She's learned that Rumi really likes touching them.

Something about holding them skin to skin almost drives her crazy, like she's an addict. For someone who looks like a prissy rich girl who doesn't even raise a finger, Rumi's hands are surprisingly rough. Mira can feel the lines across them. She never noticed them before, but now, they're her favorite part of Rumi's hands.

"Rumi," Mira scolds in that playful, joking way. Rumi will never feel like she is less in her arms.

Rumi simply hums against her collarbone, hands still tracing cold flesh. Her teeth nip at Mira's skin, and Rumi's grip on her waist tightens a fraction. "Yeah?" She asks coyly, the certainty behind her voice nearly twice what it has been the past few weeks. If this is what it takes to help Rumi be confident, Mira will gladly make that sacrifice.

"We need to— We need to finish the food," Mira mutters, hoping it'll make Rumi have even a bit of restraint—or at least, hesitation.

"Stove's off," Rumi murmurs back. She doesn't stop. "I made sure to set it on low heat. It won't burn."

"That's not what I meant," Mira sighs exasperatedly, tilting Rumi's head up to give her an actual kiss. The way Rumi pouts afterwards makes Mira giggle, and the urge to kiss her senseless is almost impossible to resist.

So she doesn't.

She's always been bad at that. Showing restraint with Rumi.

"Mira!" Rumi laughs against her lips. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry!" She doesn't look all that sorry though, if the dopey grin on her face is any indication.

"Yeah, that's right." Mira squishes Rumi's cheeks between her hands. The arms around her waist stay steady, even as Mira's heart doesn't.

"You wanna finish dinner now?" Rumi asks, words muffled a little by her cheeks.

"I thought you said the stove was off?" Mira teases, tapping her fingers against Rumi's temple. "But you just said that to convince me, didn't you?"

Rumi groans and presses her forehead against Mira's shoulder, grumbling against her neck. "It almost worked."

"Almost isn't a yes, baby."

"Almost isn't a yes," Rumi mimics, turning back to her pan of ingredients. Mira smiles at the faux-annoyed expression on Rumi's face, simply admiring her for a bit. Sure, maybe openly gawking at her girlfriend all of the time is excessive, but it's not a crime. It can't be with how beautiful she looks. It would be worse not to.

"You know your impression of me is really bad, right?" Mira steps forward, bumping her hip against Rumi's as she picks up her pot of pasta.

"That's the point," She shoots back in response, mindlessly working the cheese and cream in her pan. Her voice drops down to a lower register that is objectively not Mira's as she says "'Oh, look at me, I'm Kang Mira, my legs are the size of the Eiffel Tower and I hate smiling.'"

"I don't sound like that," Mira scoffs. "And of course I smile!"

"You do," Rumi says softly, hand stilling on her utensil. "I'm just messing with you. It's... cute. How you pretend you're cool and everything."

"I am cool," Mira replies. "And what can I say?" She holds Rumi's face, wondering how she earned the right to cherish gold with unabsolved hands.

"You're something worth smiling about."

3/3

Zoey has always thought Rumi is the strongest person she knows.

Even without considering the scars running up and across her upper body, Rumi is a marvel of human strength. Her legs are mostly muscle, she can run for longer than Zoey can talk, and even through a hoodie like the one she's wearing now, the muscles in her arm and back protrude enough to make Zoey want to look away—or never stop staring.

So seeing Rumi now, pale, and sickly, and exhausted, feels a little bit like whiplash.

"Morning Zo," She slurs, voice thick and raspy. It makes something clog in Zoey's throat. She's been sleeping on the couch since she got sick. They'd offered her the bed, but she had insisted that she would rather them stay in the bigger room than possibly contaminate it with her sickness.

(A few times during the night, Zoey would get up to stare at her while she slept. She always looked so peaceful. But the furrow between her brows wouldn't go away until Zoey would push her hair out of her face, fingers brushing against Rumi's cheeks.)

"Hi, Rumi," Zoey says back, squatting down by the edge of the couch. Rumi sets a hand on her cheek, warmth spreading from her fingertips. Whether its from her fever or simply because she always is, Zoey doesn't know. "How'd you sleep?"

"Bad," She murmurs, staring into Zoey's eyes as she rubs a thumb across her cheekbone. "Missed you." Zoey smiles back at her, placing a hand on the one on her cheek.

"Sorry Rums. Them's the breaks." She squeezes Rumi's hand on her face, laughing a little at herself. She stops laughing though, when Rumi's face crumples, her shoulders racking with sobs. "I—Wh— Rumi? Rumi, baby, what's wrong?" Zoey's hands hover by Rumi's face for just a moment, thumbs rubbing at the tears spilling down her cheeks.

"You hate me," Rumi cries, making no movements to brush her own tears away. "I missed you and you didn't— you didn't come back." She sniffs, nose snotty and face blotchy and red.

"I don't hate you, Rumi." Zoey sighs, holding her carefully to make sure she can still see her. So Rumi is a drunk sick person, it seems. "You asked me to leave you here, remember? And I did come back."

"You're not supposed to listen to me." Rumi's pupils are so dilated it feels like Zoey is staring into a black void. She holds Rumi's gaze though, just in case she thinks it's another sign of her apparent hatred for her. As if she could ever. As if Rumi isn't one of the reasons she gets up in the morning. "You promised— You promised you'd always come back."

"I will," Zoey asserts, squeezing Rumi's hand to make the words process in her foggy head. "I did, and it doesn't matter what happens, I will." God, she really wishes she could kiss Rumi right now. She would, honestly, if future Rumi wouldn't scold her for it.

"Promise?" She asks tearfully, almost childlike. She wonders how many times Rumi had been allowed to be cared for like this, rather than laying alone in her room waiting for it to pass. She stops wondering after she feels her heart stutter at the thought of Rumi, alone, in a dark room, calling for someone who had yet to come to hold her, even when she was like this.

"Of course. I promise." Zoey presses a kiss to her forehead, adjusting the cold towel on her head and wiping off the sweat from her brows. She looks a little silly with a turtleneck, a hoodie, and two blankets, and Zoey has to stop from giggling at her current state. She looks like a wet cat. "Do you want me to make you some soup?"

Rumi stares at her.

She stares really hard, like she's working her brain, and after what feels like thirty minutes of her thinking, she replies with a, "Huh?"

Zoey laughs. She can't help it—Rumi is so... open like this. A little confused, but it's cute. Better this Rumi than the husk she knew before.

"Do you want some soup?" She repeats, a little louder. Rumi's nose scrunches as she squints up at Zoey, face contorting.

"Why would I want soap?" She murmurs, almost too quiet to be heard. Zoey rolls her eyes, pecking Rumi on the cheek.

"I'll make you some soup." She nods, squeezing Rumi's hand three times. "And maybe some tea. You look like you need it."

She makes her way over to the fridge, taking out the leftover soup she and Mira made yesterday. It doesn't take too long to heat back up on the stove, and Rumi's tea takes even less to make after the water gets hot enough.

"Ow— Shit— Ow— Fuck—" Zoey carries the hot bowl over to the coffee table, waiting for it to cool down as she stirs honey into the tea. "Tada! A meal fit for a queen."

Rumi blinks at her.

"Thank you," She mutters after a second, blinking lazily. She tries to reach for the bowl and the spoon, and Zoey pulls it away from her, clicking her tongue like she's scolding.

"Rumi, I don't think your arms work. Let alone your hands or your fingers," Zoey says, stirring the soup in her hand and lifting a spoonful up to her lips, blowing on it. It's still way too hot to be eaten, and if Rumi ends up dropping this from her insistence on doing everything herself, it won't be a nice situation. "Say 'ahh'."

Rumi raises an eyebrow but complies anyway, opening her mouth to let Zoey feed her a spoonful of chicken soup.

Zoey quite enjoys lazy mornings like this one.

With the white noise of the heater buzzing, and the light patter of rain outside, it feels like time slows down just for them. It's a bit murky outside. She can't tell if it's eight AM or eight PM. But it doesn't matter much to her, at least if Rumi keeps staring at her like she built the world simply because she made a bowl of soup. It's even better when she gets to spend time with Rumi and Mira, even if that involves sitting next to Rumi while she plays Minecraft on the TV next to her.

"Do you think I'll ever be worth you?" Rumi mumbles out into the air, the sounds of Zoey's Switch almost enough to muffle it. Zoey freezes.

What?

"What?" She turns around, pausing the game and stares at Rumi, brows furrowed as she tries to read her expression. Her face is blank, save for the slight clench of her jaw.

"I know I want you. I know you want me. But is want the same as worth?" She mumbles, staring up at the ceiling. Zoey almost laughs at the absurdity of it. The degradation holds her back.

"You had to get real philosophical on me there, huh?" She says back, picking up Rumi's hand in her own. "Even if it's not, does it matter?"

Rumi tilts her head at her. Cute. "What do you mean? Of course it matters."

"To who?" Zoey questions, fingers running up Rumi's arm. She's yearned to feel the skin there for as long as she can remember. "I want you. Who cares about worth or deserving?"

"I do. I think you deserve better than... this," Rumi admits quietly. Always so quick to find the exception to everything.

"But I want you," Zoey says simply. Can you tell the author read gtc chapter 27 the morning they wrote this section? "Isn't that enough?"

Rumi stares at her. (Zoey's getting really tired of her doing that.)

"You said you wanted to be worth me. What I think is worth me is what I want." She lets her hand trace scars hidden beneath cloth. "I don't think these make you worthless, Rumi. They make you, you." She spreads Rumi's fingers apart, finding a particular scar on her finger. The first one. "That's what I want. What makes you worth me."

Rumi's lip wobbles, eyes glassy and uncertain. She opens her mouth to respond—maybe even retort—but Zoey interrupts her.

"I know you think you aren't. You might never think you are. But at least let me try to show you." She hands her controller to Rumi, watching her eyes flicker between it and her face. "Please?"

Rumi presses her lips together into a thin line, glancing away from her for a moment. She tentatively takes the controller from her hands, still staring at Zoey as she flicks it on.

The game they're playing isn't hard by any means. Zoey doesn't like playing Minecraft without keep inventory, and she has most of her base set up anyway. So it goes by pretty quickly, Rumi idly building and destroying the same structure and Zoey searching for ores in a random cave she found.

Neither of them notice when Mira comes home.

If she's honest, Zoey didn't even think she would come home at an hour like this. Usually her boss is really strict with hours and won't let her leave until at least—

It's eight PM?!

"See, the developers did a great job with the original soundtrack, I mean, I'm usually not scared by dark places but— Shit!" Zoey jumps as two hands are placed on her shoulders, nearly throwing the controller at Mira's face. "You can't—I— Why would you do something like that?! Warn a girl next time!" She scolds, scowling at the proud look on Mira's face.

"You didn't hear her?" Rumi mumbles, what little work she was doing pausing as she focuses on the both of them. She has a tendency to do that, Zoey's noticed. Dropping anything and everything she's doing to focus on the two of them.

"You did?!" Zoey clutches at her heart, hoping it might help slow it down.

"Yeah, Zo. I was being pretty loud." Mira presses a kiss against her hair, still laughing at her reaction. Prick. "Sorry." Hot prick?

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. Let me get this straight. You heard Mira walk into our apartment," Zoey makes a walking motion with her fingers over her hand, making sure to use her middle and ring finger. She's determined to fully encapsulate the situation, including Mira's tall ass. "Walk up behind me, and set her hands on my shoulders, and you didn't even tell me?" She's sure indignation is scrawled across her face, but she doesn't care at the moment.

Rumi nods. That alone is a crime.

"But you couldn't hear me when I asked you if you wanted soup or not?" Rumi shakes her head. For someone with so much practice when it comes to lying, she sucks at it.

"Well, uh, would you look at that! I feel better already! Wow Zo, that soup you gave me sure—sure helped a lot!" She looks away, tugging at her collar. "Wh—What was that, Mira? You need me to help you in the kitchen? Yeah, yeah I'll head over there!" Before Rumi has the chance to get up, though, Zoey is already pulling her back down, snuggling into her chest.

At first, Rumi's arms stay above her, like she's afraid she's not allowed to touch Zoey. It's awfully similar to the first few months of their relationship, and it makes Zoey giggle a little. Slowly though, she settles in, pressing her face to the crown of Zoey's head.

"Sorry," Is the first thing she decides to say. "I just wanted to mess with you a bit."

"Mess with me more," Zoey responds. "I want you regardless."

3/3

The first time they see Rumi without sleeves is a random Tuesday afternoon.

She doesn't make a big scene about it. Quite the opposite, actually. She just plops herself next to Zoey on the floor and fans her face, her skin tinted red beneath her black tank top thanks to the heat.

"It's so hot out today," She mutters into open air. Rumi receives no response, only the dumbstruck looks of her girlfriends staring at her bare arms. "Girls?" Her brows furrow, and she almost thinks about snapping in front of Zoey's face to snap her out of it.

She might think it's because they're staring at her scars. The way she wraps her arms around herself, like she's trying to hide, solidifies that in Zoey's mind. Little does she know, they're both ogling the muscles that line her forearm and triceps, crawling all the way to her back and making her look like a bodybuilder. What does she even do to get that jacked?!

"Rumi, your uh… your— your thing, your sleeves aren't—you're not wearing them," Mira stutters gracefully, her ears nearly turning the same shade as her hair.

"I'm not," Rumi states cautiously, glancing between the two of them. "And you're okay with that?"

"Very!" The confusion the flashes across Rumi's face is warranted, if the expression on Zoey's face is anything to base that conclusion off of.

"You are?" They both nod fervently.

"Definitely! Yes! Please!" That gets a laugh out of Rumi, loosening the death grip on her arms.

"Please? I think you're misunderstanding something here, Zo."

"Were you scared or something?" Mira stares at her from her spot on the couch, looking oddly similar to a lazing cat. If she'd be anything, it'd be one of those high maintenance Siamese cats that are overly beautiful. Zoey is willing to sacrifice their shared bathroom if she stays with her, though. She'd honestly sacrifice anything for Mira.

She knows that, though.

"Of course—" Rumi thinks twice about her lie when she sees Mira glare at her. "Maybe a little."

"How does it feel?" She slides off of the couch to sit between the two of them. Zoey sticks out her tongue at her for taking her spot, and it is returned right back to her.

"I don't know. Tingly?" That would make sense, considering every hair on her entire body is standing up. She looks like she's been electrocuted. "It doesn't feel… wrong."

"Good." Mira leans against her side. "It shouldn't."

"Are you sure you're fine with it? I can—" Zoey traces a finger up and down her bicep, curving around every scar.

"It's rude to think we're lying, y'know." Rumi glances away. "Besides, I think it suits you."

"It—It does?" Her brows furrow like the sheer concept of it is incomprehensible. Seriously, has she ever looked at herself in a mirror?

"Yep," Mira and Zoey both concur, enjoying their view far more than they should. Rumi looking bad is practically an oxymoron.

Before she can respond with something stupid like 'Why', Zoey gets up to go on her other side. Rumi side-eyes her suspiciously, like she's planning something. For once, she isn't! Trust! "For one, in case you haven't noticed, you're jacked." Mira shoves her harshly, like her statement is wrong. It's literally not.

"Uh, yeah, I have." Rumi looks between the two of them, trying to sound nonchalant despite the higher pitch of her voice.

"And," Zoey continues, wanting to get back to her point. "It's you. Imperfect and all."

Rumi laughs. It's a sweet sound. Zoey wishes she could bottle it up and play it on repeat, but the recordings in her phone will have to do.

"I should've known you two would be like that." She grins, a little too wide and awkward. Zoey loves her so much. "You know, I tried to ask you out perfectly. I had a whole date planned, with a hike and a sunset and a nice restaurant." She sheepishly grabs onto the back of her neck. "I guess I got a little impatient."

"A little impatient is saying something," Mira drawls, pulling Rumi to her chest. "It was still sweet, though." Zoey thinks she can hear her mutter 'It was perfect to me' under her breath. She's such a softie. Zoey loves her so much.

Rumi smiles even wider. She's been doing that more lately. Zoey has never been more grateful for anything. "Of course it was. It was for you."