Chapter Text
“Why are we doing this, again?” Mira asks, only mildly annoyed as she holds the elevator door for Rumi and Zoey as they all pile in.
“Mostly because it’s our job,” Rumi reminds her, elbowing Mira’s side fondly. “But also because the fans love when we do this stuff. You love our fans.”
Mira rolls her eyes. “I love the couch more.”
“More than me? I also love when we do variety shows!” Zoey pipes up, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She looks up at Mira through her lashes. “You don’t love the couch more than me, right?”
“I don’t love anything more than you two,” Mira says smoothly, slumping artfully against the wall of the elevator and crossing her arms (and completely missing Zoey’s pleased blush as her eyes close). “And I do love our fans. However, I wanna also have the right to be annoyed about getting dragged out to do promo and fan events when we’re supposed to be on hiatus and getting a break from promo and fan events.”
“Your protests are duly noted,” Rumi says wryly. When Mira rolls her eyes, Rumi butts her forehead against her shoulder. “I did try to get us out of it, but the label wouldn’t budge on us doing at least one event a month while we’re on break.”
Mira grumbles a bit, but uncrosses her arms so she can throw one around Rumi’s shoulders and tug her closer. “I know, ‘s not your fault, Ru.”
“At least they let us pick what we do!” Zoey chimes in. “I like this show, they’re not mean to anyone, even the really new groups, and the games look fun!”
“They better let us have a say, we’re the top artist in 20 countries,” Mira says, looping her other arm around Zoey when she bounces a little too close, smiling down at her. “We make them so much money they could buy half of Seoul.”
Zoey grins. “It’s because of our smoking hot dance moves.”
“Nah, definitely the songs. And the singers- I hear the lead vocalist and songwriter are total babes,” Mira shoots back, chuckling as they both blush and try to shrug off both Mira and her teasing.
(Neither is possible, but by god do they try.)
They finally arrive at the ground floor, Mira stretches her arm out to hold the door for them as they amble out.
“Ugh, do you remember that one show we had to do right after we debuted, where we had to dig around in gross stuff blindfolded?” Zoey asks, smiling up at the doorman and the driver in rapid succession as they get into the backseat of the car. “Thanks guys!”
“I will literally never be able to shower enough to forget digging through cold, dirty deep fryer grease full of those little ball things,” Rumi shudders.
“Orbeez,” Zoey offers, face screwed up in disgust. “What did they take from you that you had to find, again?”
“My mom’s ring,” Rumi grumbled. “I don’t even know how they got it, they must’ve broken into our dressing rooms or something at the show we did that week, I’d been looking for it for day-”
“Wait, pause,” Mira said, putting an arm out in front of Rumi to halt her verbal momentum. “They took your mom’s ring? Why didn’t I know that?”
Rumi shrugs, patterns shifting to take on a faint pink hue. Embarrassed. “I’m not even sure they knew, to be honest. Probably just thought it was valuable enough for me to freak out about losing it- the edit they did made it seem like I was being a total diva about it, but. It’s my mom’s, y’know?”
And they do- Rumi barely has anything of her parents- a bear and some jewelry from her mom, and even less from her dad, patterns aside.
Mira’s jaw is clenched tight, anger staining her ears a brighter pink than Rumi’s patterns. “Dude, I wish you told us, I would’ve totally kicked that guy’s ass.”
“Yeah, I would’ve folded him like a lawnchair if I knew!” Zoey vows, a deep frown marring her face.
Rumi snorts a laugh, pulled from the bad memory. “I mean, I think Celine might’ve actually killed him, honestly. He stopped being the host of that show after that stunt, and dropped off the face of the earth.”
“Celine with a rare parenting win,” Mira observes, nodding in approval.
“Ooo, was it the ring she proposed to your mom with in secret?” Zoey asks, eyes wide and hopeful. “That’d make anyone mad enough to kill, right?”
Rumi sighs, deep and bone-weary. “Zo, you have got to stop reading smutty fanfiction about my mom and… well, my mom.”
Zoey shrugs, unapologetic as she slumps back into her seat. “Look, I can’t help that the tragic doomed yuri writes itself.”
“The what?”
The show, as promised, is positively mild compared to some of the promo Huntr/x has had to do throughout their career, and much to Mira’s chagrin, it is kind of fun to be playing silly games with her best friends for a crowd of their adoring fans.
So far, they’ve done a strength test (all of them are strong, of course, but pound-for-pound, Zoey is a veritable freak of nature, and it showed when she managed 10 squats with Mira clinging to her back and Rumi in her arms- Rumi is restricted on how much she’s allowed to show off on these things, because no one needs to start poking around as to why a pop idol can carry a refridgerator one-handed), juggled (Zoey again, damn knife throwing gave her an unfair advantage), a four-legged race (which had ended with them sprawled in a heap, laughing so hard they couldn’t get up for several minutes- Mira can’t wait for the memes from that one), and a test of balance (Mira had won that by inches, with Rumi hot on her heels right up until Mira managed to knock her off her feet with a well-timed pool noodle to the head).
They were now in a ‘cool down’ section of the show, sitting together on a couch across from the host, a blandly-handsome man whose name Mira absolutely could not remember.
“So, we play a game on the show where we see who in the group know one another best- I got you each three paddles with your faces-”
“Oh they're cuuuuuute,” Zoey coos, giggling at the little chibi characters of Huntr/x on the paddles. “Can I keep them?”
The host laughs again. “We can definitely talk to the producers about it- I think so?”
“Awesome! Oh, sorry, you were telling us about the game, and I got distracted, but like in my defense, look at us!”
The camera zooms in, and the characters on the paddles become much easier to see- a tiny Zoey with a turtle on her head and a skateboard under her feet, a tiny Rumi with a microphone and a big smile, and a tiny Mira doing a one-handed handstand like she'd done in their most recent music video and winking.
(They are, indeed, very very cute.)
The audience aw's and giggles with the other girls as Zoey grins at the cartoons.
The host shakes his head, still smiling. “Don't even worry- one of our designers is a fan and made those up for us to use, you probably just made her week!”
“Girl, talk to me after the show!” Zoey says loudly to the room at large. “I want Rumi and Mira keychains! I want merch!”
More laughter from the audience, and Rumi and Mira are struggling to keep from doubling over at Zoey’s antics.
“You don’t want a keychain of yourself?” the host teases.
“Why? That's already what she looks like,” Mira drawls, holding her thumb and forefinger the approximate distance apart that the chibi is tall.
Zoey squawks at her indignantly, though there’s laughter in her eyes. “How very dare you. Now I only want a Rumi keychain,” Zoey sniffs, putting her nose up in the air and turning her biggest, saddest eyes on Rumi, who's watching with unabashed amusement. “Unnie, she's so mean to me, make her stop!”
“Play nice, kids, or we won't get ice cream on the way home,” Rumi says, rolling her eyes fondly and pretending to examine her nails.
“What?”
“You promised!”
The audience roars with laughter as Rumi shrugs at them, completely unbothered. “I don't know what to tell you, guys.”
Zoey and Mira look at one another, have one of their silent conversations their fans know them for, nod, and both say, “Truce,” simultaneously.
The crowd eats it up, loving the easy, fun banter between the three.
Even the host has trouble stifling his smile as he asks the audience, “What are we supposed to do with them, huh?”
“Sorry, sorry, we’ll behave!” Zoey assures, setting the paddles back on the table and sitting up very straight.
“She really wants ice cream,” Mira mock-whispers to the audience, grinning as Zoey slaps at her arm and pouts again.
The game is simple enough- it’s a test of who knows their bandmates best- they’ll be asked different questions and have to answer with who in the group they think best matches the description. It’s something they’ve done before, but between the friendly-but-not-creepy host, the energy radiating from the audience, and how much actual fun they’re having, it feels different than normal- looser, lighter.
“You all share an apartment, so- who gets up first?”
Rumi holds up the Mira paddle, Mira holds up the Rumi paddle, and Zoey holds up both their paddles.
“All I know is, it isn’t me,” Zoey says. “If I’m awake before them, call the police, because that’s an imposter.”
“Or you’re still awake from the night before,” Mira says.
“Pfft, that’s happened, like, maybe twice-”
“This week,” Rumi finishes drily. “Seriously, Zo. Sleep.”
“Aw, they take such good care of their maknae!” the host coos.
Zoey pouts even more, and that gets another good laugh.
“Who’s the best cook?”
All three hold up Zoey paddles, and she preens, previous slight forgotten.
“Who would win a foot race?”
“I mean, distance or sprint?” Zoey asks.
“Very different answers,” Mira agrees.
“Per our producer, we’ll say distance,” the host says.
Three Rumi paddles immediately.
“She used to run laps for fun when we were in training,” Mira grouses. “She has stamina for days, we could both be dying on the ground, and she’d be a kilometer ahead of us, singing while she runs.”
“It’s insane, you guys don’t even understand,” Zoey tells the audience, eyes wide. “I tried to match her on a treadmill once, and I almost passed out.”
“You did pass out,” Rumi laughs.
“No, I fell, then the treadmill yeeted me into the wall, and then I passed out,” Zoey argues.
“Oh, yeah, totally different, Zo,” Mira snorts.
“It is!”
“I really need you to stop getting concussions, by the way,” Rumi sighs. “We need your brain intact.”
“Uh, excuse me, our number of concussions as a group is only six,” Zoey argues, already knowing what's coming and fighting a grin. “That’s an average of two each!”
“All six concussions were yours!”
“Stop hitting your head, Concussions Georg.”
The audience is practically in hysterics at this point, some well aware of Zoey’s consistent history of ‘bonked nog disease’, as Zoey herself terms it, others learning about it in real time as Zoey pouts at her bandmates.
“Who gets the hangriest?”
Rumi splutters when Mira and Zoey both hold up their Rumi paddles in perfect sync, patterns flaring that cute rosy pink, the same color as her cheeks. “Hey!”
“No. No, you’re a demon when you’re hungry,” Mira says. “You almost bit Zoey last week when you thought she grabbed something off your plate.”
“What d’you mean ‘almost’? There was not any ‘almost’ about that, there was biting! There were bites!” Zoey says.
“It was a bite! Not even a bite! A nip!” Rumi argues through a laugh, before finally conceding and holding up her own paddle.
“Who is the best driver?”
A split between Mira and Zoey, and Rumi shrugs, holding up both their paddles with a grin. “I never learned, so. Whoever is driving is the best at driving.”
“Who gets the aux cord on a road trip?”
Zoey holds up a hand. “How long is the trip? Like, what you guys think of as a road trip here, or are we talking an American-style road trip?”
“American, cross-country.”
The audience lets out a loud ‘Ooooo….’ as the girls eye one another appraisingly.
Each holds up her own paddle, and the audience roars as they playfully argue about why the others should not be allowed to have the aux cord.
(Evidently, Rumi has ‘theater kid tendencies’, Zoey has too much random stuff mixed in that jumpscares the other two, and Mira’s is too…. screamy.)
They do not come to a consensus.
“Who’s the most competitive at board games?”
All three of them hold up all three paddles, their somber expressions looking comically out of place.
“We don’t talk about Monopoly,” Zoey says.
Rumi shudders, and Mira pats her head comfortingly.
The host takes it in stride as the audience laughs. “Who’s the most into romance?”
Zoey and Rumi immediately hold up their Mira paddles, look over at each other, and tap them together with a laugh.
Mira is slightly pink about the ears and does not hold up a paddle, choosing instead to cross her arms over her chest.
The host is delighted. “Really? Who would’ve thought that Huntr/x’s bad girl problem child was the secret romantic!”
Mira flushes a bit more. “I don’t know that that’s accurate-”
“It’s definitely Mira,” Zoey says, cutting her off. “Holding doors, flowers, surprise treats, saying cute stuff, the whole thing..”
“It is a big thing for her,” Rumi agrees. “She’s very into being chivalrous.”
“Hear that, gentlemen? Better dust off your manners and hold some doors if you want to impress Mira!”
(The face Mira makes at this declaration becomes a meme almost immediately, and also her new contact photo for Rumi, Zoey, and Bobby.)
Later, when the show has ended and they’ve thanked the host and crew and spent a quick few minutes taking photos with fans, they pile back into the car, drained from a long day of filming.
“I hope they keep the trivia section in when they air it- the world needs to hear Rumi’s TedTalk about the RMS Carpathia,” Zoey says, flopping so her head rests against Rumi’s shoulder.
“We know they’re keeping you doing squats with us attached to you,” Rumi chuckles. “And for sure keeping Mira cheating at the balance game.”
“It’s only cheating if the rules explicitly forbid it, or if it doesn’t work,” Mira says, eyes dropping closed as she rests her head against the seat.
“How is smacking me in the head not against the rules?” Rumi laughs.
Mira shrugs, eyes still closed. “Not sure, seems like an oversight on their part, huh?”
Between them, Zoey snorts.
They return home, happy to enjoy more rest and recuperation time sprawled around the apartment, Zoey puttering around in the kitchen as she preps dinner, and Rumi and Mira scrolling through their phones on the couch, enjoying the few clips from the show today that’ve already broken containment on the internet. They must’ve been filmed by a sneaky member of the audience, judging by the angle and distance.
The show itself won’t air for a few weeks yet, but Mira’s curious to see how it looks after edits- she, personally, had a lot of fun, and she hopes it came through for their fans to enjoy.
“The fans are eating up you being a romantic,” Rumi informs her with a smile. “They think it’s cute.”
Mira frowns, pausing her scratching under Derpy's chin (he does not seem to mind. Or notice. Honestly, Mira's not exactly sure if the tiger is even aware that he's alive, sometimes…). “I’m not supposed to be cute. Zoey is cute-”
“Aw, thank you!”
“-you are cute, puppies are cute, Derpy is cute.”
“Mira you’re very, very cute,” Zoey disagrees loudly from where she’s poking at a pot on the stove.
“No, I- ugh. Whatever, not the point. Why did you two say that, anyway, about me being some closet romantic?”
Rumi blinks at her. “Because… you are?”
“I am not- when have you ever seen me fawn over someone opening a door?” Mira scoffs, resuming her ministrations on their fluffy visitor.
“Never, but-”
“I haven’t even dated anyone in a few years,” Mira continues. “Not since- who was that girl? The visual for the group we debuted right after?”
“I see she made an impression,” Rumi snorts, and Mira rolls her eyes and kicks her in the foot lightly.
“Whatever, it was like, three dates six years ago, not-” ‘Not the way I feel about you two…’ “-a great love or anything. And I definitely don’t remember her doing that kinda stuff.”
“Right- Mira, I meant that you like to do those things.”
“Duh,” Zoey calls helpfully from the kitchen.
“Wha- what do you mean?” Mira asks, and suddenly it's very hot, and this room is too small and god, was Rumi always sitting that close?
(She was. She hasn't moved at all.)
Rumi rolls her eyes. “I mean that you always hold doors for us-”
“I get to them first, because I'm taller.”
“-and pout if you don’t get to. You buy us stuff you think we'd like just because-”
“That’s how I got my favorite hat!”
“And how I got that yellow moto jacket with my name on it, even though it was your brand deal,” Rumi continues.
“I- pfft, no. That's. Pfft.” Mira frowns at herself, replaying the day in her mind- holding doors, making sure to have their favorite snacks on her just in case the show didn't follow their riders carefully enough, helping them up when they fell during the race, getting the contact info for the artist Zoey had liked so she could get something made special for Zoey… “Oh.”
“Yeah, you uh. You’re very into the old-school sweetheart moves,” Rumi says with a bashful smile.
“She’s a good old-fashioned lover boy!” Zoey sings from the kitchen. A pause. “Well. Lover girl. That’s cuter, actually, I wanna put that on a shirt- do you think Bobby can make merch with that?”
Mira tunes out a bit as Rumi and Zoey debate the merits of monetizing the phrase (including getting the rights to use it in the first place, though Queen has been known to be fairly easy to work with for the right price, maybe a cut of the merch profits?). She had known, on some level, that all of this was a bit over the top for just friends, even best friends, even best friends as close as she and her girls are. Had known that she’d been edging closer to that line, but she’s hoped that she could keep doing those things for them for a while longer.
It’d been an issue when she was a kid- she’d liked her brother’s etiquette lessons a lot better than hers, and Minho had always gently teased her about being more of a gentleman than he was. Even now, with their relationship reduced to what it is, there are times where he’ll call her to ask for advice on a girl, something she never fails to hassle him about. It’d thrown a few of her friends when she was a teenager, the remembered throwaway thoughts, snagging favorite drinks or candies from the shop they used to sneak out to, holding doors. Mira tried to be conscious of it, tried not to smother anyone, especially her girls, but maybe she’d overdone it…
“Is- do you want me to stop?” Mira asks, breaking into Rumi and Zoey’s banter. “I can, I don’t want to make either of you feel uncomfortable, or like I’m being overbearing, I just-”
“Mira, there’s- we’re not complaining,” Rumi laughs, propping her elbow on the back of the couch and resting her cheek on her palm, looking at Mira with what Mira knows by now to be deep platonic affection (no matter how much she might wish otherwise). Her patterns glow a soft, subtle pink as she drops her gaze and says, “It’s nice, honestly.”
“Totally,” Zoey agrees, clambering over the back of the couch behind Rumi and resting her chin on her shoulder. “Makes me feel very…. Like how you feel when someone gives you a perfectly peeled orange, but all the time.”
Mira can feel how red she must be. “Oh. Good, that. Was the intention. So.”
“We know, baboya,” Rumi says. “Like I said, it’s nice.”
“Whoever gets you is a lucky girl,” Zoey adds, no hint of a tease to her voice. She actually almost sounds… sad?
“Seconded,” Rumi murmurs, dark honey eyes catching Mira’s again for a long moment before she clears her throat and breaks away a bit from where she’d been sitting sideways to talk to Mira. “We’ll miss the chivalry for sure.”
‘It could be you, it should be you, I want it to be you…’
“I might sprain a wrist trying to open a door for the first time in years- I think I forgot how…” Zoey muses impishly.
“Tying my own shoes- impossible with these nails,” Rumi bemoans.
“Buying my own dinner,” Zoey says with a shudder.
“We- we all share a bank account for stuff like that,” Mira reminds her, flushing darker.
“And yet you always insist on paying anyway,” Rumi says. “Having to zip up my own costumes.”
“You did that for years!” Mira laughs despite herself.
Rumi sniffs daintily, brushing imaginary lint from her pajama pants and fighting a smile. “It’s been months, I’ve lost the muscle memory.”
“Oh oh oh! Paralell parking without getting to watch Mira do the crazy ho- skilled over-the-shoulder look she does.”
“Or filling a fuel tank- I actually don’t think I’ve ever done that,” Rumi says.
“Why would you? You’re a virgin who can’t drive,” Zoey heckles, affecting a very exaggerated New York accent.
“How dare you!” Rumi laughs, tackling Zoey to the couch and digging her fingers mercilessly into Zoey’s stomach and ribs. “I told you that in confidence!”
“It was misplaced!” Zoey cackles, wriggling desperately to free herself of torment to no avail.
She won the contest today only because Rumi isn’t allowed to show how strong she really is, and they all know it.
“I’ll show you misplaced,” Rumi growls, though her grin belies her words. She scoops a shrieking Zoey up over her shoulders only to (lightly) power bomb her back onto the couch, following it up with a showy people’s elbow, which of course lands nowhere near Zoey, and only results in more wrestling as Zoey starts to grapple back. Both of them are laughing breathlessly as they goof around, pulling ridiculous moves they’ve seen in movies and the professional wrestling matches Zoey’s ‘made them’ watch over the years (none of the moves are Celine-approved, and in fact the only time she’d seen them do any of them, it had resulted in an exasperated lecture about function over form, and how dangerous it is to show off, and blah blah blah…).
And Mira watches, letting some of her adoration slip onto her face when she knows they’re distracted, as a plan begins to form. Because for the first time, she thinks that maybe, possibly, potentially, they might want what she does.
‘But what if they don't?’ asks that horrible little voice in Mira’s mind.
But a louder, warmer voice asks, ‘What if they do?’
Mira take a breath, in, out, and asks. “Have you two thought about dating? Like, what that'd look like for us?”
Their roughhousing stops immediately.
“Dating?” Zoey repeats. “Like dating romantically?”
“Yeah, us dating, romantically. Have you thought about it?”
Rumi tries for a smile. “Well, I mean, that's. Pretty normal to want, right? Companionship, stability, love-”
“Sex,” Zoey adds absently, eyes locked somewhere below Mira’s eye-level..
“Yeah, yup, that too,” Rumi agrees, pink-cheeked. “We're all three healthy women in our 20s, it's normal to think about dating. Especially when we're always surrounded by like. Very beautiful people.”
“God, right? I know it's our job but some of these people are overachievers- present company very much included,” Zoey says with a wink.
Mira rolls her eyes fondly. “Back at you. So you have thought about us dating? Romantically?”
“Sure, of course.”
“And that's… something you'd be open to? If we wanted to try it?”
Rumi’s smile is so wide it almost makes Mira uncomfortable. “I want all of us to be happy, whatever that looks like.”
“Seconded. But whoever ends up with you has gotta be really, really special to deserve you,” Zoey agrees.
Mira smiles. “They are.”
“Oooo, you already have someone in mind?”
“A couple someones, yeah.”
“Intrigue! Do I know them?”
Mira snorts at Zoey’s goofy flirting. “Yeah, you've definitely met.”
“Oh, juicy. Are they hot? Are they nice to you? Can they hang?”
“I think they'll meet expectations.”
“They better, or else I'll-”
“Fold them like a lawn chair?” Rumi asks with a fond eye-roll.
“Wooooooow, way to make my cool line lame.”
“How did it become lame??”
“You said it, and I mean. You're old, so.”
Rumi squawks in outrage, grappling Zoey into position so she can suplex her onto the couch. “I will kill you.”
“Please, no, I'm so young, I've barely lived!”
Mira laughs as Rumi slams Zoey down dramatically. “You had that one coming, Zo.”
“Lies and slander!”
They only seem to be egging each other on, so Mira decides to settle them down before they get too wound up. “Alright, kids, enough.”
There’s a few more playful shoves (and a yelp from Zoey that signals that Rumi has once again not fought the urge to bite) before they disengage, flopping onto the couch. Rumi’s head lands in Mira’s lap, and Zoey’s head between Rumi's shoulder blades. Mira begins scratching gently along their scalps, grinning as they melt under her ministrations.
“So, dating,” Rumi says after a few minutes.
“Yeah. I mean the Honmoon is good, things between all of us are-”
“The best ever?” Zoey mumbles, looking up at Mira with her big brown eyes and smiling.
Mira smiles back. “Exactly. So I mean, if you’re both open to it, then…”
“Of course we are.”
“It’s kind of inevitable, really,” Zoey jokes, still with that shadow of sadness in her eyes. “Look at all of us.”
Mira snorts. “Fair. So yeah, I think that it’s worth pursuing, seeing if it could work.”
“Then let's do it,” Rumi says. She lets out a sleepy sigh. “I'm new to… all of that, obviously, so I'm probably gonna need some help.”
“We've got you, Ru,” Zoey says, nuzzling her face over Rumi’s back.
“Always.”
She smiles, eyes slipping closed. “Good.”
“I do wanna see the sorta stuff Mira does for someone she's dating, though,” Zoey giggles. “She takes such good care of us already.”
“Spoiled rotten, I think,” Rumi agrees. “They'll forget how to walk.”
Zoey snorts, and Rumi frowns and slaps back at her. “Not what I meant, Zoey.”
“I mean…. where's the lie, though?” Zoey asks.
Thanking whatever deities may exist that neither of them can see how red she is, Mira clears her throat. “So. Cool. Um. Good talk, everyone, glad we're all on the same page.”
(Reader, they absolutely are not on the same page. But we'll get to that.)
“Alright, lovergirl, put something stupid on, I wanna nap.”
Mira can’t help the grin that spreads across her face, the butterflies in her stomach. They think her doing those things has been chivalry, that she’s been being a good old-fashioned lover girl?
She’ll give them chivalry.
She’ll show them a good old-fashioned lover girl.
Later, Zoey taps gently at Rumi’s door.
“Come in.”
She pushes the door open just wide enough to slip inside.
Rumi is, as expected, curled up into a little ball on the very edge of her (unreasonably massive) bed.
Zoey sighs. “Ru…”
“I just. I thought we had some time, y'know? I thought maybe… maybe I could get a little more ready. I didn’t even think about her dating other people."
Zoey makes a small noise of commiseration. “I know, babes, I did too. But like. Are you? Ready to take that step, with us? I know we've talked about it, I know you feel the same way I do about you two about us, but… are you?”
Rumi groans, flopping onto her back and starfishing across the bed (really only about a quarter of it. “I don’t knoooooowww, I think so? But you heard her, she likes someone else.”
Silently lamenting how very fucking high school this is, Zoey flops down beside her. “I know. It's ass.”
Rumi snorts despite herself. “It is ass.”
“It sucks extra because like. No way is whoever it is- whoever they are- good enough for Mira.”
“Definitely not. Remember that girl a few years ago?”
“The not memorable one?”
“Yeah, her. She sucked.”
“Totally sucked. Had a baddie and fumbled so hard.”
There’s a long silence, both of them thinking hard on this unenviable predicament- the person they love loves someone else.
“She didn’t even tell us who it is,” Rumi grouses.
Zoey flails. “I know! We can’t even do any like. Research! How can we make sure they're not losers?”
Rumi peers over at Zoey, skepticism plain in the quirk of her brow. “You think Mira would go for a loser? Really?”
“God, you’re right, no wonder she didn't want us.”
Rumi plants her foot on Zoey's hip and kicks out, sending her flying off the bed.
“Wow, okay, rude.”
“Deserved it,” Rumi says. “Neither of us is a loser.”
“That makes it worse!” Zoey moans.
Rumi throws a pillow in Zoey’s approximate area on the floor, rewarded by a half-hearted ‘oof!’ as it finds its mark.
“I mean. What do we even do?” Rumi asks. “We can’t ruin anything for her, that's not fair, or what she deserves from her best friends.”
Zoey shifts so her eyes are visible over the edge of the bed, forehead and nose scrunched up in discontent. “I don’t love that you just wiped out contingency plans A through J, Rums.”
“How does your brain even work that fast?” Rumi marvels.
“It’s the 80 HDs, baby.”
Rumi huffs a laugh. “But yeah, we can’t do anything bad, here. At all.”
“Boooo…”
“I know, but. It’s Mira, Zo. We can’t do that to her, that would suck.”
Zoey clambers back up onto the bed, though she makes sure to stay out of leg range. “So, what, we let her date some rando?”
“I guess, yeah,” Rumi says.
With a yelp, Zoey zips up onto her knees faster than Rumi can blink. “Idea! Idea idea!”
“Is it a good idea?” Rumi asks suspiciously.
Zoey pauses and cocks her head to the side, deep in thought, before her face brightens. “Yes. Yep, I checked, it's solid.”
“Alright, then, tell me.”
“Okay, so, what if we find someone good and set them up?”
Rumi blinks at her. “You want us to matchmake Mira? The Mira we're both in love with?”
“Yeah! That way we know they’re solid, because her taste is questionable at best-”
(Rumi would remind her of this statement later.)
“-and we'll keep each other in check! Perfect plan!”
(It’s not.)
Rumi frowns. “She’d never go for that, she's stubborn.”
“So we don't tell her,” Zoey shrugs. “Barring whoever these mystery crushes are being fucking amazing, we really have no choice but to wingman her.”
Rumi sighs, glaring up at the ceiling. “I hate all of what you just said. Especially because it mostly makes sense.”
“See? Brilliant plan.”
“Let's not get carried away.”
Zoey chucks a pillow directly at her face, whooping when it finds its mark. “Starting tomorrow, Operation Yenta is on!”
“What does that mean.”
“Ru, I really need you to buckle down on your Yiddish, babes. You're killing me.”
The next morning, Rumi stumbles into the kitchen, wide eyed. “Are you… making breakfast?”
“Yeah,” Mira shrugs. “I figured Zoey cooks all the time, thought it’d be nice to stretch those muscles a bit.”
Rumi shuffles closer, peering over Mira’s shoulder to see what she’s making. Her eyes widen. “Are those pancakes?”
“Bacon pancakes, and eggs,” Mira says. “Zoey keeps singing the bacon pancakes song from that cartoon the past few weeks, thought I’d surprise her. And yes, I made some non-sweet ones for you- still bacon, but I threw in some green onion and a little cheese.”
Rumi blinks up at the back of Mira’s head. “Oh.”
“Can you go wake her up? I don’t want anything to burn and you can’t be trusted with the stove, nepo baby,” Mira teases, throwing a wink over her shoulder.
Rumi takes the bait and huffs. “Like you’re any better, heiress.”
“Disinherited heiress,” Mira corrects. “You, however, remain a nepo baby.”
“You’re so mean,” Rumi chuckles. “I haven’t even had any-” a steaming mug is pressed into her hands- Rumi’s current favorite blend, judging from the smell. “-tea, yet. Wow, you’re on the ball this morning.”
“Gotta be on something to pass the time, though balls wouldn’t be my preference,” Mira says, and fights a smirk as she hears Rumi splutter a bit behind her. “You okay? I didn’t put too much sugar, did I?”
“Yeah! I mean no! I’m good, the tea is perfect, um. I’m just gonna go get Zoey. Don’t want the food to get cold,” Rumi says, voice both scratchy from choking and about an octave higher than normal as she hurries off.
Mira chuckles. “Well,” she muses quietly to herself. “That was more effective than I thought it’d be.”
There’s a few moments of peace before she hears Zoey’s feet slip-sliding across the wood floor as she hurries to the kitchen, Rumi’s own padding more calmly after her.
“Mira she better not be lying about omigod you made me bacon pancakes!” Zoey squeals, ducking her head under Mira’s arm so she can look at the culinary delicacy in the pan with almost-literal cartoon heart eyes. She snags one from the neat stack next to the stove and shoves the entire thing in her mouth with a moan. “You added chocolate chips too??”
“It’s your two favorites, figured combining them was worth a shot,” Mira shrugs.
Zoey moans again and grabs another perfect pancake. “I wanna have your babies.”
Mira hears Rumi choke again, and pulls Zoey into a gentle headlock, fighting a grin. “Sorry, what was that?”
“I said I think Rumi has rabies,” Zoey scrambles, face and neck a heretofore undiscovered shade of red.
“What?” Rumi barks indignantly, still coughing after presumably inhaling more of her tea.
Mira may have to reconsider their proximity to beverages if she wants to end up dating both of them without someone going to the hospital for aspirating tea (or, god forbid, one of Zoey’s detestable TikTok concoctions) into their lungs.
“Dunno, Ru, you do seem to have trouble drinking properly today,” Mira teases, squeezing her bicep gently around Zoey’s neck before releasing her. “You must be pretty thirsty by this point.”
Another splutter.
‘I maybe need to tone it down for a minute,' she muses, rubbing her hand between Rumi’s shoulder blades as she wheezes. ‘I don’t want to kill them.’
“She’s trying to kill us,” Zoey hisses to Rumi as they huddle together on the couch, peering into the kitchen over the cushioned back of the sprawling sofa while Mira washes the dishes.
“I’m the one who almost drowned!” Rumi protests. “She didn’t even do anything to you except call you out!”
“She invented a new pancake for me! That’s also an attempt on my life!”
"Oh my god."