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Zoey opens her eyes as the elevator comes to a stop, glancing over at Mira with a smile when she hears her sigh in relief as the doors slide open.
“What a night, huh?” she asks. “Can you believe we did that shit every night for weeks before the Idol Awards?”
“Don’t remind me,” Mira grouses, scrubbing a hand over her face and wincing when she catches a fresh cut. “I guess it’d be boring if the new Honmoon was impenetrable, but how do they always manage to pull this on nights before we have 4:00AM call times?”
“Maybe they have access to Bobby’s calendar,” Zoey posits, yelping when Mira smacks her on the arm.
“You take that back. Bobby would never.”
Zoey looks over at Rumi when she hears her make a brief breath of a laugh. She’s holding herself like she hurts, one arm wrapped defensively around her side. “You okay, Rumi?” she asks, already preparing for the same brush off she always gets after they take a beating.
“Yeah,” Rumi says, pushing off the bar with a wince and starting into the living room. Zoey’s chest hurts from more than just the kick she took to it. She follows and bites her tongue. Rumi pauses at the foot of the stairs, shoulders tense.
“I…” she starts unevenly. “Actually, I’m…I…” She sighs and turns to face them both. “Could you take a look at my ribs?” Zoey stares at her in abject shock.
“You’ve literally never asked for help after hunting before,” Mira says, sounding as startled as Zoey feels. Rumi swallows.
“I know. I…you know now, y’know?” A flush starts crawling up her neck. “And it’s near my back, which is such a pain to try and see myself. It’s…this was a bad idea, I’m sorry, I’ll–”
“Rumi, shut up,” Zoey cuts in. “Mira, go get her on the couch; I’ll get the kit.” If they’re finally getting to do this, then they’re fucking doing it. She hurries into the kitchen and heads straight for their extensive first aid cabinet, tossing a well-used kit on the counter as she pulls out three tea bags of dangguisusan that she maintains she was very clever to portion out beforehand. She flicks the kettle on as she goes by, pausing briefly to adjust the temperature before heading back to the living room.
Mira has successfully gotten Rumi to lay down on the couch it seems, but only just. She’s crouched on the floor beside her, tensed like she expects her to run at any moment. Rumi, for her part, is not holding herself in such a way to discourage the expectation; half-propped against the arm of the couch and watching Zoey with wide eyes and an uneasy expression.
“Go on,” Zoey says, making a flicking motion with the kit. “Shirt off. We need to see.” Rumi blinks like she doesn’t understand the words, but then sits herself a little more upright with a grunt and begins struggling out of her shirt. Mira hovers, nearly reaching to help, but clearly unsure of where to start. It’s only been a month since everything changed, and after everything Rumi went through that night both Mira and Zoey live in terror of pushing her beyond what scraps of comfort she has allowed them to give.
Eventually Rumi succeeds on her own, dropping the shirt on the floor with a huff and turning herself stiffly towards the back of the couch to bare the injury. Zoey winces at the sight; it’s a rough-looking scrape that curls around her side, a deep bruise already beginning to surface beneath it. She didn’t realize how hard she must have hit the pavement.
Zoey moves to kneel beside Mira, unzipping the kit. “I need to touch you to check for any breaks,” she says. “Is that okay?” Rumi’s entire body goes tense, and Zoey holds her hands back until she sees her jerky nod.
She does her best to be gentle as she feels along the lines of her bones. Rumi holds herself still and silent as Zoey works, even when she has to increase the pressure of her hand.
“Not feeling anything broken, but you’ve probably got a couple nasty bruises in there,” Zoey says, pulling her hands away. “I’m gonna clean you up now, okay?” She turns to grab the kit but stops halfway when Mira hands her the alcohol wipes she was going to get. She smiles at her and accepts them, handing back the paper packaging once she tears them open.
“This is gonna sting,” Zoey warns, even though she knows Rumi knows already. She risks a non-medical touch, a soft hand against the bare skin of Rumi’s waist below the injury. “It’s okay to make a noise if you need to.” Zoey is struck by how warm Rumi is.
“Okay, here we go.” She moves as quickly as she can at the expense of gentleness. Rumi goes even more stiff but doesn’t make a sound. It’s over as fast as Zoey can manage.
“All done,” she says as she balls up the pink-stained cloth. Mira takes it from her hand before she can even ask. Zoey stares at Rumi, at the iridescent patterns that splinter across the expanse of her skin, at the network of scars laid over it. Zoey is gripped with the urge to kiss her; it’s not the first time, she’s had an unspeakable crush on both of them since the first week of training, but it’s by far the most intense. She tamps it down, trying to settle herself with one more touch to Rumi’s waist.
“You did so good, sweetie,” she says. She almost gasps when she feels Rumi relax, just a little bit, beneath her hand. “Do you want something loose to cover up?”
Rumi nods without rolling over. “The yellow hoodie you stole,” she says. Zoey makes an offended noise, smoothing her thumb over Rumi’s skin before pulling away.
“Listen, the power of our friendship literally saved the world. All hoodies are common property now.”
“Must’ve missed that in the fine print,” Mira says, nudging Zoey with her shoulder as she stands.
“Well now you know,” Zoey says resolutely. “And I’m coming for your orange sweater.”
She heads upstairs to their bedrooms, taking a quick minute to change herself into her sleep clothes, even if the best they’re going to manage before they have to leave for work is a quick nap. She grabs the hoodie and swings by Mira’s room to get something comfortable for her to change into as well. It’s a little tough to navigate the stairs with her arms full, so she ends up hesitating with a few steps left when she sees them over the pile.
Rumi has made her way to lying on her back, eyes closed. Mira is still on the floor beside her. One of Mira’s hands is lightly tracing the line of a pattern across Rumi’s middle.
“They don’t hurt, do they?” she asks quietly.
“No,” Rumi says. “They’re just…just me.”
Zoey can’t see Mira’s face, but she’s been able to read her body language like a book for years. She’s never considered the possibility that Mira felt like she did about Rumi. It’s been a long time since Mira and Rumi have been at some kind of weird, untrusting odds with each other, and this is…very much not that. Interesting.
She announces herself by hopping down the last two stairs and landing as loudly as she can manage, grinning when they both jump a little. “Comfy clothes delivery!”
She walks over and drops the pile on the coffee table, picking out the yellow hoodie and passing it to Rumi as she sits up with a wince. When Mira reaches for her clothes, Zoey smacks her hand away.
“None for you until you let me look at that cut,” she says sternly. Mira rolls her eyes, but settles herself with her back against the couch and lets Zoey kneel over her legs and examine her face. It’s not as bad as Zoey thought it was, but it still looks like it hurts.
“Makeup’s gonna be a bitch in the morning,” Zoey says as she cleans and dries the area, continuing to be impressed with Mira’s complete impassivity. Mira shrugs.
“It’s been worse,” she says. Zoey frowns as she smears ointment over the cut, displeased with the minimization, but can’t keep it up when Mira gives her a wonderful, genuine smile as she caps the tube.
“Thanks, Zo,” she says. It’s only through years of practice being in proximity to her that Zoey manages to keep herself from blushing. She gently shoves Mira’s shoulder instead.
“I need to get the dangguisusan steeping,” she says, half-biting down on a hiss as she twists herself a bad way as she stands. She looks down in surprise when Mira grabs her wrist.
“I’ll get it,” she says. “Sit.”
Zoey opens her mouth to protest and squeaks in indignation when Mira climbs to her feet and firmly pushes her down to sitting next to Rumi. Her argument dissolves on her tongue when she feels Rumi touch her arm.
“You okay?” she asks. Zoey’s never been able to stand up against her concern, the fullest and most earnest part of her she has yet to know.
“M’fine,” she insists with a smile. “Just sore. Nothing some Penzol and a nap won’t fix.”
Rumi doesn’t look satisfied with that answer. She opens and closes her mouth a few times before saying, “I want to help.” Zoey reaches over to wrap a hand around hers.
“You already have,” she says. She smooths her thumb over the back of Rumi’s hand. “Do you know how many nights like this I’ve worried about you?” She leans close enough to nudge Rumi with her shoulder. “Though you should know you’ve completely reset my expectations tonight and are never going to bed after a hunt without letting us take care of you first.”
Rumi huffs but doesn’t protest. Zoey’s heart flutters in her chest when she leans against her.
Mira comes around from the back of the couch, carefully carrying three mugs with Zoey’s teabags tied to the handles. She sets them down on the coffee table and sits on Rumi’s other side with a sigh.
They settle into each other wordlessly. Zoey risks swinging her legs up and curling into Rumi’s good side, laying herself over both of them. She moves stiffly, but is determined to be touching them both. Rumi rests her cheek against the top of Zoey’s head, and Zoey can feel her sigh.
“Someone got an alarm set?” Zoey asks through a yawn. Mira makes a vaguely affirmative noise.
“Two,” she mumbles. “One for work, one for dangguisusan. It gets bitter as hell if it steeps too long.”
“Is that why mine is always terrible?” Rumi asks sleepily.
“Yes.”
“Don’t worry,” Zoey says, closing her eyes and nestling deeper into Rumi. “Only the good stuff for you from now on.” Between the warmth and the gentle motion of Mira’s hand moving up and down her shin, Zoey is out so hard she doesn’t even hear the first alarm.
“Would you relax? It’s not that bad,” Zoey says even as she visibly winces at the ding of the elevator as the doors open.
“Choi Zoey, you fell off a fifty-story building and gave yourself a concussion. The only reason I haven’t tied you down and wrapped you in bubble wrap is that the Honmoon kept you from being a splatter on the sidewalk, and will probably continue to do so despite your best efforts.” The image makes Rumi’s blood run cold, despite Mira’s flat delivery.
“Oh my god, you full-named me? You really are pissed.”
“Of course I’m pissed!” Mira snaps. “You scared the shit out of us. You’re goddamn lucky we’re rich and famous enough to have gotten you to a doctor and passed it off as a normal accident.”
“I know,” Zoey says, wrapping a tentative hand around Mira’s. “I know, I’m sorry.”
“You’d better be.” Rumi watches Mira grit her teeth and swallow, looking hard at a point in the living room with tensed shoulders before she takes a steadying breath. “Go upstairs and change. You can’t sleep tonight, so we’re watching the Fyre Festival documentary.”
“No,” Zoey whines. “Mira, it’s so bad, why?!”
“I need you awake and I can’t think of anything else right now that makes you that angry. Now go.” Despite herself, Mira squeezes Zoey’s hand before urging her out of the elevator. Zoey heads off towards the stairs, grumbling all the while, and Mira turns to Rumi. She looks so tired.
“I’ll stay up with her,” she says in a much more gentle tone, resting a hand against Rumi’s shoulder and stroking her thumb against her neck. “You should go get some sleep.”
“No,” Rumi says immediately. “I can’t…just…no.” Mira must see something in her face, because she steps forward and wraps her arms around her. Rumi tucks her face against her neck and breathes.
“She’s okay,” Mira says softly. Rumi forces herself to nod. Mira pulls back just enough to press her lips to Rumi’s forehead. “Why don’t you go clean up? It’s gonna be a long night.”
Rumi follows her out of the elevator and up the stairs, feeling a strange coldness climbing up her legs as she moves. By the time she reaches her room it’s creeping into her chest. She tries to ignore it as she pulls off her dirt-streaked, sweat-soaked clothes. The sweater she pulls on over her gym shorts smells like Zoey. It catches like a burr in her throat as she opens the door to her bathroom.
Her face in the mirror is pale enough that her patterns stand out starkly. The image of Zoey splattered against the pavement hits so violently that her knees give out from under her.
Her teeth clack together as she crashes into the floor, the flash of white light the only break in the frozen wasteland of her mind. She’s had panic attacks before, but she realizes distantly that this one is more intense than she’s even understood they could be.
“Rumi, is everything okay?” she hears as someone opens her bedroom door. “I heard a weird thump–” Mira’s voice cuts itself off with a strangled sound of surprise as feet start pounding against the floor.
“Rumi, what’s wrong?” she asks urgently, kneeling next to her and helping her get closer to sitting up against the wall. Rumi wants to respond, but can’t make herself do anything but stare blankly at the opposite wall. She feels Mira’s hands on her, moving her head around, looking for injuries.
“I need words, Rumi,” she says. Her grip moves down to Rumi’s chin, pulling until their eyes meet.
“I didn’t think it could get worse,” she hears herself saying. Mira’s brow furrows.
“You didn’t think what could get worse?”
“Watching you get hurt.” She feels numb, disconnected from her body. Mira’s expression softens into sad understanding as she moves her hand up to cradle Rumi’s face.
“We’ll talk about it, okay?” she says. “But we’ve gotta get you through this first. Breathe in through your nose and hold it for five.” Rumi hadn’t really been paying attention to her breathing, and when she tries to reach for control of it she finds herself on the edge of hyperventilating. She does her best to follow the command, mimicking Mira when she breathes out slowly through her mouth at the end of the count.
She starts to feel her arms and legs again after a few repetitions. Mira looks pleased, leans in to press her lips to Rumi’s forehead once more before shifting to sit beside her.
“We’re gonna play five things, okay?” she asks. Rumi nods.
“What do you see?”
“Wall,” Rumi says. “Sink. Shower curtain. Toilet. Feet.”
They walk through each sense, counting down until Rumi feels like a person again. She feels her chest move in and out with her breath, each steadier than the last. She feels Mira’s hand wrap around hers, warm and strong as it always is.
“This is kind of a weird place to hang out, guys.” Rumi looks over at the sound of Zoey’s voice. She’s standing uncertainly in the doorway to the bathroom, her favorite blanket wrapped around her shoulders. One of her eyes is already starting to blacken. “What’s wrong?”
“Rumi had a panic attack,” Mira answers quietly. Zoey pales and swallows hard. Rumi opens her mouth to assure her that it’s fine now, because it is, but before she can say anything Zoey enters the bathroom and sits down half-between, half-on top of them.
“I promise not to fall off any more buildings,” she mumbles, tucking her head under Rumi’s chin and doing her best to cover all of them with the blanket.
“Can you, though?” Mira asks. She releases Rumi’s hand to wrap an arm around her shoulders, curling the other over Zoey’s side. “We don’t have the safest side gig. Something like this is going to happen again, no matter how careful we are.”
“But I’m fine now,” Rumi says at the same time as Zoey. Mira scoffs at them immediately.
“You are not. You’re both so far from fine you can’t even see it in the rearview.” Rumi bristles, fighting the urge to argue. She wasn’t fine, sure, but it’s done now and… She stops her own train of thought sigh, reluctantly swallowing down the old pattern and trying to reach for the honesty she wants to give them.
“I should have done more,” she forces herself to say out loud. “You got hurt because—”
“Because I was being an idiot on the edge of the building and got punched!” Zoey interrupts, pulling her head back far enough to meet Rumi’s eyes with a frown. “It’s my fault, Rumi. You know that.”
Mira’s arm squeezes tighter around her shoulders, pulling her attention over to her. “You can’t control everything,” she says. “Good news is that means you aren’t responsible for everything either. Bad news is that it sucks.” Rumi allows herself a watery smile, turning her head to lean it back against the wall.
“It super sucks,” she says. She wraps both her arms around Zoey as she resettles herself against Rumi’s chest. “I’m sorry. Zoey’s the one who’s hurt and you're both helping me.”
“Shush,” Zoey says, voice muffled by a bite to Rumi’s neck that feels very reprimanding and also makes her squeak. “I’m fine.” Zoey yelps suddenly when Mira’s hand does something under the blanket.
“If you don’t stop saying that I’m going to find another building to throw you off of,” Mira says, clearly displeased but too tired for the threat to have any teeth. She turns her head and leans to press her lips to Rumi’s temple. “We take care of each other, right?”
Rumi nods, taking a deep breath filled with the smell of Zoey’s hair, leaning into Mira’s side. They’re both here. They’re all going to be okay.
They sit together, huddled on Rumi’s bathroom floor under Zoey’s blanket, for several long, quiet minutes. Eventually Mira takes a deep breath and squeezes Rumi’s shoulders once more before pulling her arm back.
“C’mon, let’s go downstairs. We’ve gotta get this little gremlin hopped up on outrage.”
“I can’t believe you’re actually going to make us watch that horrific franken-monster of a documentary,” Zoey whines, smiling in spite of herself when Rumi resettles the blanket over her shoulders as they get to their feet.
“If you behave and also entertain me sufficiently, we can watch the one with the baby turtle growing up that you like after,” Mira decrees. Zoey gasps and grabs both their hands, pulling them out into the bedroom.
“What are we waiting for then? I’m entertaining as fuck!”
Mira blinks as she opens her eyes, confused by the angle of the ceiling. She was pretty sure she was in the elevator, but this looks like the space between the kitchen and the living room. She also appears to be moving somehow, even though the aforementioned angle would suggest she’s not upright.
“What’s going on?” she says out loud. Her voice sounds kind of strange, thick and confused. Someone is carrying her, she realizes, and their jump at the noise jostles her.
“Oh my god. Zoey’s, she’s back!” That’s Rumi’s voice. Why is Rumi carrying her, she wonders.
“Thank fuck,” she hears Zoey’s voice answer from some distance away. “I couldn’t find smelling salts in the cabinet, remind me to get like a pallet of them once we figure out what the hell is going on.”
Mira feels herself being adjusted, her head flopping against the skin and muscle and bone of a shoulder she knows. “Hey,” Rumi says gently. Mira doesn’t understand why she can feel the word as much as hear it. “I’ve got you. We’re almost to the couch.” She’s still not really wrapping her head around what’s going on, but she relaxes a little in spite of it. Rumi’s got her. Rumi always has her.
More movement now. She finally begins to understand where she is in space again as Rumi lays her down on the couch, head propped up against the arm. She turns her head when Rumi crouches down beside her, reaching to move some hair away from Mira’s eyes.
“Hi,” she says with a shaky smile. “You really scared us back there.”
“Did I do something?” Mira asks, her voice sounding a little more coherent.
“You collapsed like a frigging lawn chair in the middle of a sentence, Mir!” Mira follows Zoey with her eyes as she kneels down beside Rumi. “Did you get hurt last night and not tell us? Coming home from the studio should not be this eventful.”
“I don’t think so,” she answers, frowning as she tries to think back. It wasn’t much of a hunt. She doesn’t think she got hit even once. She’s starting to remember the feeling from the elevator, though; the sudden, shuddering weakness that she tried to ignore.
“Mira, when was the last time you ate?” Rumi asks.
“This morning.” Maybe. She thinks.
“You absolutely did not eat anything this morning,” Zoey says with rising indignation. “I could barely get you to take your coffee. And I know you didn’t stop for lunch today either.”
“Oh.” Well that’s just ridiculous. She used to be able to go for days on nothing but coffee and spite. What is she now, some kind of Victorian lady with the vapors?
“Mira,” Rumi says quietly over Zoey’s exasperated, “Oh my god!” Zoey pushes herself up to her feet and stalks off in the direction of the kitchen, muttering to herself. Mira tracks her as far as the angle of her neck will allow, until her focus is pulled back to Rumi by another gentle touch to her cheek.
“You’ve gotta take better care of yourself,” she says, her face set in a sad frown. “What if this had happened on a hunt?”
“I…it’s been a busy week,” Mira tries to defend, wincing as a throbbing headache begins to thrum to life behind her eyes. “This is a stupid fluke. I’ve gone days without—”
“Baby, that was when you were eighteen and not balancing two incredibly physically demanding professions.” Frustration bubbles up in her gut, at herself, the ridiculous situation, even at Rumi, but she swallows it down when she sees the look on Rumi’s face. She looks so sad, not even disappointed in a way Mira can rally herself against. The backs of her fingers brush against Mira’s cheekbone.
“…I’m sorry,” Mira says without really meaning to.
Rumi gives her a sad smile, looking up in surprise when Zoey prowls back into the living room.
“Up,” she says firmly, crouching down to help manhandle Mira into something resembling sitting. Once she’s settled her, she presses a cold plastic bottle into Mira’s hands.
“Drink. It gets weird if it’s not ice cold.” Mira holds the bottle up to see the label, recognizing it as one of the American meal replacement drinks Zoey keeps stashed for days she can’t handle food textures.
“Zoey, you need—”
“I’ve already ordered like three dozen more and will literally never leave the house without one in my bag now.” She wraps her hands around Mira’s and squeezes. “Do this again and you’re getting a warm one.” Mira huffs as Zoey releases her and stands back up.
“I have water on for ramyun. It’ll be ready in a few.”
Mira sighs, setting to opening the bottle as Zoey walks back towards the kitchen. It’s frothy inside when she cracks the seal, clearly already shaken up. She feels Rumi climb up to sit beside her as she takes a sip, grimacing at the cloying sweetness.
“Thank you,” Rumi says, nudging her with her shoulder as she forces down another mouthful. “I know it’s gross, but you’ll feel better faster.”
Mira sets her shoulders and powers through the rest of it as quickly as she can. She allows herself a quiet disgusted sound as she screws the cap back on, looking over when Rumi pulls it from her hands.
“C’mon,” she says, standing and carefully helping Mira to her feet. “You know what happens when she’s unsupervised in the kitchen.” She lets Mira lead the way, not offering to help but hovering close enough behind that Mira can clearly feel her in her space.
Zoey looks up briefly from the cutting board when she catches movement in her peripheral vision. She sets the knife she was working with to the side as Mira hoists herself up onto one of the bar chairs on the opposite side of the island. “You need more protein,” she says. “Spam or leftover chicken?”
“Chicken,” Mira answers, watching Zoey walk over to the fridge and pull out a container that she sets beside the stove. “You’re mad at me.”
“Why would I be mad at you?” Zoey says, picking the knife back up and beginning to aggressively slice several green onions. “You just scared me out of my damn mind because you don’t care enough to take care of yourself. Totally fine and normal behavior all around.”
“Zoey,” Rumi says as she steps up behind Mira and slides a hand over her shoulder, her voice gently reprimanding. Zoey puts the knife down again with a good deal of force, staring at the cutting board and breathing hard.
“You’re right,” she says through gritted teeth. “We said we were going to be honest from now on. I can do honest.”
She looks up at Mira directly. Mira was ready for her anger; Zoey’s always burned hot and fast. She wasn’t prepared for the visible, animal fear hovering just beneath it.
“I know how easy it is to fall back on shit. You know I know that. It’s so fucking easy. But next time you start feeling it happen I want you to ask yourself what the fuck are we supposed to do without you?”
Mira can’t do anything but stare at Zoey. “You’re the rock, Mir. You always have been. And I’m mad and scared and then mad again that you’re making me think about what life would be without you.” The anger visibly drains out of her as she speaks. Her shoulders sink as her eyes drop back to the cutting board. The only sound for a long moment is the water coming to a boil on the stove.
Mira leans forward, reaching to brush her fingertips against Zoey’s knuckles. When Zoey looks up again, Mira holds her eyes with all the seriousness she can muster.
“I’m sorry.” She traces along the knobs of bone, smiling faintly when Zoey turns her hand over so their fingers can touch. “I’ll do better.” Zoey sniffs and wipes quickly at her eyes with her free hand, lingering in the connection before pulling back and reaching for the packages of noodles stacked on the counter.
“Damn right you will. And your ass is getting taken care of until then, whether you like it or not.” Mira smiles faintly, feels Rumi step closer behind her and press her lips to the back of Mira’s neck. She watches Zoey dump in three blocks of noodles and the corresponding packets of seasoning, tossing the vegetable packets that Mira despises the texture of in the trash before stirring everything around.
“Do we have any cheese?” Rumi asks.
“Lemme check,” Zoey replies, making her way over to the fridge. Mira takes a deep breath and relaxes into Rumi as she wraps her arms around her. Her head is already starting to feel clearer. She hadn’t realized just how fogged everything had felt before.
Zoey returns with a stack of plastic-wrapped slices of cheese, three eggs, and a green chili pepper. “Can you grab bowls and chopsticks? There will be court ordered cuddles after food.” Mira feels Rumi nod and kiss her neck once more before stepping away.
She watches them both move around the kitchen, navigating in a way that only two people who live their lives in perfect sync could. Each bowl is set up wordlessly, the pepper split between Zoey and Mira’s, an extra slice of cheese laid over Rumi’s, an excessive handful of shredded chicken dropped into Mira’s bowl with pointed eye contact from Zoey. Mira rolls her eyes and accepts her finished bowl regardless. They take a seat on either side of her, Rumi pausing to dump an extra spoonful of gochugaru into Mira’s bowl before Mira can ever reach for it.
Mira looks over when she feels Zoey lean against her side. “I love you, dumbass,” she says.
“I love you too, worrywort,” Mira returns.
“I love you both and am very proud of you,” Rumi adds. Zoey and Mira both make a nearly identical dismissive sound, which makes Mira huff with laughter.
The soup is perfect, the noodles cooked just long enough to not be crunchy anymore. It tastes like dozens of other late nights they’ve had together. It makes Mira quietly realize she would do anything to have another one. Even fight against the old, comfortable self-neglect that has taken hold again.
Zoey declares through a mouthful of noodles that as compensation for her emotional injuries, she will be picking the entertainment for the evening. In her benevolence, she begins listing off a collection of nature documentaries she will allow them to choose from. Rumi’s follow up questions escalate the situation into an animated lecture on the most current conservation techniques used to protect the natural environments of loggerhead turtles. Mira has to hide the terrible, lovesick grin she can feel spreading across her face by taking a long sip of her soup.
One more bowl of ramyun with them will never be enough.