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Rumi was skimming through the form Bobby sent. It was their schedule for the next six months. Six packed calendar pages. Really, really packed. Huntrix has been booked down to the minute ever since the Idol Awards. Fan signs, galas, interviews, concerts, media shows, rehearsals, charity events, livestreams, meetings. You name it, they were prepping for it.
She groaned and rubbed circles at her temples, leaning back in the creaking chair. It was after ten, and Rumi was tired. They had just spent the past week working on Mira’s new choreography, a break was being craved.
Of course, Rumi loved their fans, and she loved performing. The others claimed she was a “workaholic” of whatever-the-fuck, but Rumi always brushed it off. It was illogical. They were idols. They were hunters. They were bred to endure exhaustion and discomfort for the greater good.
…Even she could admit that this was a little too much, though.
Scrolling down, Rumi saw a reprieve for a couple months from now. A nice Sunday before Summer started where the three got an entire day off. It wasn’t much, but something was better than nothing. What did she want to do? Catch up on sleep? Bake? Maybe go for a morning run and spend the day cuddled on the couch watching movies? The ideas were endless, and so was her excitement. They helped ease her inner turmoil whenever something went wrong.
An assistant tripped and spilt red wine all over the front of her white dress minutes before she had to take the stage? Remember: fresh bread drowning in strawberry jam, Hotteok overflowing with a brown sugar filling, sweet and chewy rice cakes oozing honey.
A cameraman accidentally stepped on her braid resulting in a massive headache for the rest of the interview? Remember: pillows made from bamboo to keep her cool, drawn blinds to bathe her in enough darkness that she forgets what light feels like, endless dreams of her and her girls.
Peace and quiet and downtime where she stayed at home and finally relaxed. A smile tugged at her lips while the plan formed, a makeup artist adding the finishing touches to her blush. Rumi thought about it with unrestrained giddy between sets and takes, quick daydreams forming behind the curtains.
The group chat exploded with relief when she sent a screenshot of the blessed day. Rumi could hear the sound of Zoey whooping even though she was a floor below them. Mira, perched on the couch like a cat in the sun, pumped her fist lazily in the air.
Moments later, the elevator dinged open and a skipping Zoey jumped onto her back. Rumi floundered under the added weight, catching herself on the wall. Her other hand unconsciously bent over her shoulder to thread through Zoey’s hair. The two deposited next to the dancer. Zoey was babbling about the game she was currently playing, eyes twinkling with stars when she started listing all the references the developers snuck in.
Rumi didn’t know much, but she hummed and ahed at what felt like appropriate times. The smaller girl was practically vibrating.
Vibrating against Rumi’s back, where she still was. Even though they were both sitting, Zoey hadn’t let go. Rumi could feel Zoey’s heart beat through her thin shirt. Rumi could feel Zoey’s balmy breaths fanning across her neck as she spoke. Rumi could feel Zoey’s thighs pressing against her hips.
Rumi had a fever. Yep, it was confirmed. There was nothing she could do about it. I mean, why else was her skin so flushed, and her pulse kept spiking, and her wants were a dazed swamp of Zoey?
Zoey. Zoey. Zoey. Zoey. Zoey. Over and over again. There was nothing else in her mind. There was nothing else she wanted to occupy her mind. Just Zoey.
ZoeyZoeyZoeyZoeyZoeyZoeyZoeyZoeyZoeyZoeyZoeyZoey…
Kiss her. The urge came sharp and fast. Kiss her. Just kiss her. Grab her stupidly cute face and kiss her.
Rumi ignored the pleads, turning back to the bubbly girl who was still chattering away. She ignored the pleads today, just like she ignored them yesterday, just like she ignored them the day before. Just like she’ll keep ignoring them when they inevitably resurface tomorrow.
She was desperately and irrevocably in love.
From over Zoey’s head, Mira flashed her a knowing smirk. She had found out about Rumi's little crush weeks ago during a promotion for one of their songs. The director thought that dressing up the maknae in a flowing, green dress that hugged the dips of her waist and slit near the bottom to show off her toned legs was a great idea, and then had the audacity to complain whenever Rumi got distracted. The nerve of that guy! Rumi started to frown solely from the memory of him. Luckily, all of her thoughts were quickly wiped and rewritten with ‘Zoey’ when a finger curled under her chin to bring their faces closer.
Rumi died. Her heart flatlined. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee–
Too close. She’s too close. The thoughts pounded against Rumi’s skull, threatening to break free and snuggle the girl behind her. Her shampoo smells so good. Kiss her hair. Her voice is angelic. Kiss her lips. She’s smiling because of me. God, drown her in kisses.
Kiss her, Kiss her, Kiss her.
It was the second to last day before their break, and they were in the middle of a talk show where they answered fan questions. Walls were lined with golden ribbons and balloons. Mics were hidden under the collar of their shirts, scraping against the squishy part of the collarbone.
They sat on a couch facing the host. Zoey on the left, vibing in her seat to the festive music humming in the background. She left a full foot of space between her and the arm rest, opting to squish all three of them against the right side. Rumi was in the middle, back straight and poised, an elegant, royal air swirling around her that drove fans mad. She had an image to uphold as the popstar princess. Mira was pressed into the left corner, right leg crossing over the other. A sly smile graced her face. She tried to act irritated at the lack of space given, but Rumi and Zoey giggled between themselves, knowing that she secretly liked it.
The host was an older gentleman with a gentle tone who had handpicked a list of respectful questions that instantly added him to Rumi’s small list of ‘would be interviewed by again.’ He didn’t bring up the disaster at the awards, or her body covered in tattoos, or even the disappearance of the Saja Boys. In fact, he kept circling back to how close the three were, and Rumi was delighted by the given potential to gush about her girls.
Her girls–her wondrous, alluring, breathtaking, spellbinding, flawless girls. Her girls who held her, saw her, touched her patterns without hesitation. There was no disgust or resentment in their eyes.
And the host seemed to recognize this as he pulled stories, thoughts and feelings, over and over, from Rumi’s rapidly unraveling heart.
Mira nudged her foot.
“You’re being obvious,” she mumbled. “You look like you’re high.”
Rumi scoffed at that, but her training kicked in to school her features and focus her mind back to the task at hand. More questions were asked, a steady back-and-forth between the four. Zoey was laughing at a joke Rumi hadn’t meant to make about turtle shells looking like giant beetles. Her head listed to the side and brushed Rumi’s shoulder. The faintest of touches, most people wouldn’t have even noticed.
Rumi wasn’t most people. She was in love, and she startled at the contact, a very un-Rumi-like squeak leaving her. Thankfully, it was silent enough to not be picked up by the mic clipped to her shirt. Mira raised a brow at her.
To avoid the inevitable teasing, Rumi whipped her head away, coming face to face with Zoey’s bright gaze and brighter smile. Remnants of laughter puffed from her nose as they locked eyes. Their bodies were pressing together. Warm.
Zoey’s body was warm. Rumi’s body was warm.
Rumi’s face was warm.
The room was warm. Did the air conditioner break? Warm, warm, warm.
Kiss her.
Screw the cameras, the onlookers, the staff–
Give her anything, no, scratch that, give her everything. The moon, the seas, the blue sky, the heart beating inside your chest. Whatever you have is currently hers, anyway, so just kiss her already.
Rumi ignored the familiar chant, turning back to the broadcast host. She’s been ignoring them for weeks. For months. For years. For the next fifteen minutes while they continued the interview.
Once filming had ended, Zoey called a five minute bathroom break before having to leave for their next chore. She bounded ahead of them, dancing down the stairs to the sound of leftover music trickling in from the set above. Mira and Rumi followed close behind, telling Zoey that they’d meet back with her in the green room.
Snacks were already waiting for them upon entry. Chilled bottles of water sweating condensation sat at their personal vanities. The dancer immediately downed hers in two drags, cracking open Rumi’s as well and drinking half of it. Rumi thumbed through the goodies and began distributing them into three piles for each girl. Spicy things for Mira; cinnamon candies, kimchi chips, chili-seasoned peas. Salty things for Rumi; corn soup chips, prawn crackers, sesame seed cookies. Sweet things for Zoey; grape jelly candies, strawberry Pepero sticks, caramel glazed peanuts.
She hummed in satisfaction at the organization. Her chest puffed out with pride.
“You’re like a dragon,” Mira said with a laugh. She was having a staredown with the mirror, makeup wipes glossing over concealer.
“A dragon?”
“Yeah, with the–” she motioned in the direction of the piles. “The treasure heaps.”
Mira laughed again when she caught Rumi’s sulking face behind her reflection.
“Zoey and I like your antics.” She lowered the wipe to look at her leader properly. “Especially the ones that show how much you care. What you do is sweet, Ru.”
Rumi stooped her head and grumbled to hide her flush, picking through her salt-based selection. Zoey returned shortly after, cooing at how much she loved when Rumi remembered small details.
Later that night, under the safety of her blanket, Rumi re-watched the show footage. The comments were flooded with positive messages and support, but mostly (to Rumi’s absolute ecstasy), clips and reposts of how Rumi was acting. The way her posture melted next to Zoey. The way her smile grew dopey whenever Zoey spoke. The way she stared, and stared, and stared at the smaller girl.
#ZoeRumi was trending. #DownBadRumi was trending. #FindSomeoneWhoLooksAtYouLikeRyuRumiLooksAtZoeyPark was trending.
And in the privacy of her bedroom, if dozens of fans woke up tomorrow morning with a like from some anonymous, gray account, who were they to over analyze it?
It was the last day before their break, and Zoey, Mira, and Rumi were in their training facility. It sat a block and a half from their penthouse, a fitness center that doubled as a gym and a dance studio. Fans with large blades shifted the dust and stuffy oxygen. The training mats beneath them were sodden with sweat and condensed heat. Each time someone went down, friction built and pushed. A sauna would be colder than this room.
Rumi swiped at her mouth with the sleeve of her hoodie. She watched as Zoey couched like a cat, fingers curling without claws in front of her. When she lunged, Rumi met her halfway, grabbing her wrists with a rough grunt.
The two tussled while Mira watched from the sidelines, sipping on an energy drink.
Zoey threw a leg around Rumi’s lower back, shimmying her left hand out of Rumi’s grasp and gripping the cusp of her jaw. She twisted and took them both down. Heat pulsed again as the mats cushioned their fall. Zoey had torn her other hand free and pressed her elbow into Rumi’s shoulder before hands found her waist and flipped them over.
Zoey yelped. Both wrists were caught above her head by one of Rumi’s hands. She strained, her head flying up to knock against Rumi’s chest, just enough for the older woman to lose her breath. Her arm bent in an unnatural way. This allowed Zoey to press her hips against Rumi and jab the side closest to her, knuckles digging into soft flesh. They rolled again; a hand flying to someone’s hair, a knee hitting the ground harshly.
Now Rumi was losing. Zoey grit her teeth and shifted her weight to straddle the body underneath her. Rumi squirmed but was unable to get free. Clothes stuck to both of their bodies, the air too thick to be worth anything to their lungs. Zoey leaned down, practically panting in Rumi’s ear. She shivered.
“Ha!” Zoey grinned. “Five seconds, I win.”
Rumi choked out something that she hoped was taken as a ‘yes.’ Neither of them moved as Zoey worked to catch her breath. A bead of sweat ran down her temple, over the edge of her jaw, disappearing below the band of her muscle tank. Muscle tank…showing off her arms. Arms that flexed as they held Rumi down.
Rumi was being held down. By Zoey.
Kiss her.
Kiss her.
Kiss her!
Kiss her palms, and her cheeks, and her thighs, and her ribs, and–
She shivered again. Zoey chuckled, voice rough from exertion that caused unspeakable things to build in Rumi’s stomach.
“You cold, Rumi?” the pinner asked, her gloating snicker softening into something wispy and ethereal.
The pinned wheezed.
Zoey sat back on her haunches and flickered hair out of her eyes. Her body glistened in the yellow light. The rapid beat of her heart could be seen from the pulse point of her throat. Zoey stretched. Rumi ogled.
“Man,” she groaned. “Wish I had something to get all this sweat off.”
“Letmeusemytongue.”
Zoey blinked down at her and chuffed. “Sorry? Mind repeating that?” she asked.
“I said I can’t believe you won.” Rumi rolled her eyes and shoved at the young girl’s shoulder. “Mind letting me up so I can get us some towels?”
No! Kiss Zoey, the voice shouted frantically. Don’t get towels, kiss her dry!
Mira cleared her throat loudly from above and dumped something soft and fluffy over the two.
“Stay where you are,” she said. “I already got them from the bin.”
They thanked her and dried off before heading home. Rumi took a long, cold shower back at the penthouse.
It was the morning of their long-awaited break, and the only reason Rumi got out of bed was because her stomach was demanding nutrients. The sun was shy and only peeked over the horizon. Orange glow submerged the kitchen in a gentle sunrise, floor and walls melting into a creamsicle color. The fridge buzzed as she opened the door, frost nipping her tired state. A jug of orange juice was pulled out and set on the counter, Rumi then walking over to the stove to reheat the rest of yesterday's Huntrix's seaweed soup from dinner.
Mira was already awake and sweeping.
“Are you really spending your free day cleaning?” Rumi said.
Mira snorted. “You relax your way, I’ll relax mine.”
And there was no arguing with that. After she finished eating, Rumi slipped down the hallway toward the rooms to kickstart her day of naps. Instead of reaching her room, she found herself pausing in front of a door clad in marine themed stickers.
Zoey.
Slowly, she pushed open the door, wincing at the creaking sound it made. There on the bed was a messy haired Zoey tucked between her mountain of plushies and a wall. Rumi’s breath caught. Even in plain shorts, Mira’s hoodie that covered her to mid-thigh, and missing a sock, she was still the most beautiful person Rumi’d ever seen.
Her brain screamed that watching someone sleep was heavily crossing into stalker territory, but Rumi couldn’t help sitting on the edge of the bed. Her hand hovered over the maknae’s face, sleepy snores and breaths tickling her palm. Zoey’s chest rose and fell like the tides of the ocean. Her hand lowered. Zoey’s face was warm and soft. Sleep rubbed the bridge of her nose and filled her cheeks. Would it be weird to lay beside her for a bit…
Or to kiss her? Kiss her awake, that’s not weird!
No, no, that’s definitely weird. Even Rumi’s love drunk brain knew that kissing someone who was still asleep was too far. So she set her feet back on the floor and rose with a sigh. If Zoey wanted a hug later, she’d be the first in line to volunteer, but for now her girl was sleeping.
And Rumi would have to leave it at that.
…And Rumi would have to leave it at that.
…And Rumi would have to leave it at that!
Rumi looked down and saw her shirt was caught in a tiny fist. The fist belonged to the woman of her dreams. Ah, was that why she was being pulled into bed by Zoey? Because she actually made it back to her room and was now having a bizarre fantasy about her bandmate?
Okay, weirdo.
But no, she was awake, and Zoey was pulling her down to curl into her chest.
“Uh, hey,” Rumi whispered. “Sorry if I woke you.”
“S’okay, ’m glad you did,” Zoey mumbled back. “Like being held by you.”
Rumi’s arms tightened unconsciously. She nuzzled her cheek into the black hair beside her. Zoey giggled, and Rumi’s common sense was teleported to a field of flowers. Maybe that’s why her next move made sense to her: it was no longer being controlled by practicality.
She kissed Zoey’s forehead. It was gentle and lingered a little longer than what was considered 'just friends', but Rumi also had the decency to pull away once she remembered what she was doing.
“Sorry,” she breathed. “You’re so cute, I couldn’t help myself.”
Rumi’s common sense stumbled through the front door, took one look at the memory bank, and began beating up Rumi’s impulsiveness.
It was just a forehead kiss! Impulsiveness cried out.
Forehead kiss my fists! Common Sense replied.
Zoey nestled closer, oblivious to the war breaking out in Rumi’s mind. She hummed and set shockwaves through Rumi’s system. The emotions stilled.
“I don’t mind,” Zoey admitted. Her voice was barely audible.
“You don’t?”
“No, of course not.” She yawned, her eyelids drooping. “I know you had stuff for your day off, but could you maybe drop me off at the aquarium sometime?”
“Yes,” Rumi agreed immediately. “I’ll even stay, if you want?”
Zoey nodded against her neck. “I’d like that.”
So, Rumi’s entire day plan that she had been looking forward to for the past few months was changed, and she couldn’t stop smiling.
For a Sunday, the building was unusually empty. Their private driver dropped the two off at the main entrance. Large stone dolphin statues guarded the glass doors, the smell of salty water immediately climbing into their noses like evil nose goblins. Zoey was beaming. She looped her arm through Rumi’s and skipped inside. They were both in disguise, hair tied and stuffed under hats and hoodies, bodies draped in thick clothing to hide their perfect idol forms.
Tickets were scanned at the counter, and the two began their date hangout by walking through the fish tunnel. It was a hallway made of glass that showcased hundreds of different species as they swam through the blue waters. Lights reflected off the marbled floor, shadows creating the illusion of even more fish beneath them.
Zoey stopped every two seconds to ramble off facts about every creature she knew. Which was most of them. And Rumi had no complaints. She loved hearing Zoey speak. Seeing Zoey excited. Seeing her smile as they worked their way through the tunnel.
She loved Zoey. She really, really did.
Just tell her, the voice came back. Grab her arm and turn her around and kiss her.
Who cares if it ruins the friendship because she probably doesn’t feel the same?
Who cares if it puts unwanted tension on Huntrix?
Who cares if she hates you forever because you basically forced yourself on her?
Rumi stayed where she was.
Zoey screamed. She rushed forward, face smushed into the glass of a tank. A pogo stick would be envious of how high she was bouncing. When Rumi came to stand beside the lyricist, her sight filled with flipping, green and brown blobs. Sea turtles, spotted heads and flippers bonking against one another as they clicked and rumbled. One turned to Zoey and blinked at her, and Rumi had to put a hand on Zoey’s shoulder to keep her from climbing into the exhibit.
“The turtles!” she bubbled. “Oh my goodness, Rums! The last time I came here they were getting fed, and I couldn’t see them!”
Rumi was afraid Zoey’s eyes were about to fall out from how much they were bulging.
Zoey was going on and on. Different facts and details about her favorite animals, her face illuminated by the moonlight-like LEDS and the shine of her eyes reflected back by the glass. She was talking and laughing that sweet laugh that drove Rumi half insane. Her hands were in Rumi’s, swaying them slightly. No one else was in the hallway, and Rumi could let her guard down for just a moment.
Zoey was beautiful.
Kiss her.
Zoey was so passionate about what she liked.
Kiss her.
Zoey was everything Rumi had ever wanted.
Kiss her.
Rumi leaned in. She took a step closer. Her eyes couldn’t leave Zoey’s, and Zoey was unaware of anything around her as she watched the turtles swimming. Until she turned back, and her expression flickered. Their faces were very close now. Rumi could feel Zoey’s breath against her lips.
“Hi.” Zoey simpered.
“Hey, Zo.”
“You’re awfully close, huh?”
Rumi eked. She flushed and began pulling back. Zoey caught her.
“Easy now,” she huffed affectionately. “Stay with me.”
Zoey ran her hands through purple locks. Their noses brushed. Rumi’s eyes fluttered close. This was it. This was what she’s been wanting for years! The heat of Zoey’s lips against hers, the noises, the feeling of skin and pulses and affection.
Finally, finally, finally!–
“Attention all guests, the park will be closing in half an hour. Please make your way to the exit through the gift shop. Thank you!”
The sound of approaching footsteps forced them both to snap back. Zoey’s face was red, and she pulled the brim of her hat lower. Rumi couldn’t even begin to imagine how flustered she must’ve looked.
“Should we–”
“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go.”
Mira was watching Rumi, and Rumi was watching Zoey. This had become a normal occurrence. After the two had returned from the aquarium, Mira had witnessed the strange and awkward string connecting their hearts together to be pulled stiff.
They’ve been stepping around each other since that day. A dance over glass shards, each one a confession that neither wanted to bleed by. Work was still done, because boy did they have work to do, but it seemed over enthused. Deflecting.
A distraction from something big they both wanted to convince was small.
And Mira was fed up with it! She was sick and tired of her bandmates looking at one another with such unrestrained longing, just to do nothing about it. You’re both adults! Mira wanted to shake them. Just get over yourselves and talk!
She was making breakfast when the two stumbled in. Zoey had her headphones on, music blasting loud enough that Mira could hear the leakage. Rumi was relying on instinct alone to not trip over air and collapse in a heap on the kitchen tiles. She looked beat. The three had stayed up late doing a charity livestream. They raised over five hundred thousand dollars, and their personal prize was exhaustion. Mira set steaming plates of fried rice and vegetables on the table.
“What’s arranged today?” she asked, slotting into her own seat.
Rumi finished chewing her bite and checked her phone. “The label wants to go over our demos for the new album, and then we’ve been invited to an award ceremony this afternoon.”
Zoey clapped, her chopsticks clattering against the plate. “Oh! Is that why the wardrobe department had us try on those new formal outfits?”
The pair hummed in confirmation.
“Seems like it.” Mira popped a slice of radish into her mouth. “Personally, I think the suit Rumi got should be a bit looser on the chest and arms, but whatever.”
Zoey shook her head. “No, no, it shows off her muscles. She looks so handsome in it.”
Rumi almost choked. She quickly gulped down whatever was left in the glass at the center of the table. It was a dark brown and looked like some sort of sugary soda that Zoey loved to drink during her game nights.
It was soy sauce. Extra salty, at that.
Her chair scraped against the floor as she bolted to her feet, one hand clutching the bottom half of her face.
“Bathroom,” she hurked. Mira frowned as Rumi rushed out.
Yes, it was common for their leader to get flustered over Zoey’s compliments, but never to the degree of what just happened. She would usually finish what she was doing before commenting on what was said.
“Is she alright?” Zoey looked worried.
Mira sighed. “I’ll go check on her. Can you start the dishes in the meantime?”
Their rapper hopped to her feet with a firm salute. “Sir, yes, sir.”
That left Mira and Rumi isolated in the bathroom down the hall. The door locked behind her with a soft click, ensuring that Zoey couldn’t hear them speaking. It wasn’t like Zoey hearing would be a bad thing (the sooner these two lovebirds confessed, the sooner this strange tension would disperse), but Mira wanted to be kind and give their leader some privacy.
“So…” she drawled, leaning against the sink counter. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”
Rumi groaned. She was sitting on the toilet lid, knees drawn to her chest and head in her hands. It was a rough sight to see, the fearless half-demon hunter shrinking into herself, looking so uncertain and enervated. She peered up from under her eyelashes while squeezing her arms.
“Mir, I think I messed up.”
Mira’s eyes softened. She pushed off the counter and knelt in front of the singer, unclenching her hands and taking them away from the sleeves.
“What happened?”
Rumi shrugged. She couldn’t meet Mira’s eyes or what little composure she had left would crumble. “Zoey and I almost kissed at the aquarium,” she finally mumbled. “But we were interrupted. She hasn't said anything since, and maybe she regrets it? It was just a caught up in the moment kind of thing.”
Mira wanted to throw the stupid girl sitting before her against the wall. She bit the inside of her cheek until the sharp twinge of metal doused the red in her vision.
“Rumi, honey,” she started, very carefully, “I seriously, honestly, extremely, you’re-being-clueless-ly don’t think Zoey regrets nearly sharing a kiss with you.”
Water shut off from the kitchen and the sound of plates rattling as they were stacked together soon followed. Their time was almost up. Mira stood with a huff and patted Rumi on the shoulder.
“Just talk to her,” she pleaded. “What’s the worst that can happen?”
Rumi blinked down at the image in her hand. This is…this was…
What?
What the fuck was this?
I’ll tell you what this was, it was an image of Rumi from the hot wings challenge they did, eyes fluttering shut and watery as her mouth did its best to scrub away the taste. It was also an image of Zoey during a fruit candy commercial, eyes squeezed tight and lips puckered to theatrically emphasize how sour the lemon drops were.
It was a very poorly photoshopped image of Rumi and Zoey cropped together to look like they were kissing.
The three were taking their lunch break near the studio in a small cafe. The sandwiches were piled high between them; thick and greasy pork cuts, vegetable-fried eggs rubbed in sugar, shredded cabbage, gooey cheese, all wrapped between fluffy, buttered slices of toast. The girls were salivating by the time the waitress delivered their meal. About one and a half sandwiches in each, two young girls came up to their table. From the way they stood with fidgeting hands and shy smiles, Rumi instantly clocked them as fans. Her back went ramrod straight with professionalism.
Until they asked her to sign a mini poster they printed out of her and Zoey. Kissing.
It wasn’t even a good edit, to be honest. Rumi’s seen better.
But the girls were sweet, laughing and teasing the two idols for how close they were and asking if they’d seen the ZoeRumi stuff online. Of course, they both had to answer no, which led to a wild showcase of the girls scrolling through their favorite videos and art.
Rumi’s already seen most of them, but that information would have to be pried from her cold, rotting hands before it was released to the public.
You love Zoey, even the fans know it, the little voice in her head piped up.
Mira knows it, Bobby no doubt has some idea of it.
The entire world knows that you, Ryu Rumi, are in love with her, Zoey Park.
Rumi forced a smile, and the voice fell back until the pits of yearning where it belonged.
Zoey tipped her head back and laughed. “Sheesh,” she chirped. “I love what you fans can come up with. It’s so nice to see such a big deal being made about shipping us.” She picked a piece of lettuce from her sandwich and tossed it into her mouth.
Rumi’s heart panged. Kiss her! “Oh, yeah?” she continued the banter. “Don’t you want to date us, Zo? We’re so pretty.”
It was supposed to be a tease. It was supposed to be something stupid that Zoey could laugh off, kick Rumi under the table in payback for, and the three could go back to eating. But Zoey made a face.
Rumi’s heart cracked. Kiss her…?
“Obviously you two are, I say it all the time,” Zoey laughed. “But we’ve got nothing romantic between us."
Rumi’s heart broke.
Never kiss her.
“Rumi.”
She knocked again. The door had been locked for the past hour. After Zoey’s comment, Rumi snapped her jaw shut for the rest of the outing and scampered into her room with her tail tucked between her legs the second the elevator doors opened.
Mira knew why she was upset, that much was obvious to anyone. She’d just been indirectly rejected by the woman she loved. But the award ceremony was still on tonight, and Rumi couldn’t mope around forever.
“Rumi,” she called again. More knocking. Zoey was already changed and downstairs, arrayed in a backless royal blue dress with ribbons that slid down her slender frame and cut off just above her bedazzled ivory heels. Her raven black hair was tied up with a golden-based pink and purple flower comb, white lace gloves pulled up to her elbows.
Mira was in a similar outfit: a blush pink satin cape dress drawling down her shoulders and bowing at the upper arms, a cut down the side to show off her slim legs and black thigh-high boots. Her hair was in their usual twin ponytail style, pastel blue and purple charms braided throughout.
Rumi was supposed to match them in her own amethyst shaded suit with silver filigree embedded up the sleeves and lapel. A thick and fuzzy cape would complete the look, pinned to her shoulders and resting behind her, hem gliding over the floor. Rumi’s hair would be unsnarled and ripple half down her back, half over her chest. From her ears would hang one blue gem and one pink gem.
Except, Rumi wasn’t matching them and looking absolutely smashing because she was too busy warbling into her pillow. Mira knocked again.
“Come on, Ru. Our driver gets her in fifteen.”
Rumi ehed.
“Don’t be like that.”
Sad eh.
“Rums, please.”
Sadder eh.
“I’ll break down this door!”
Blankets crumbled to the ground as Rumi sighed loudly. There was the sharp tap of loafers. Her bedroom door flung open to a disgruntled and formally dressed Rumi. She was scowling. Mira smiled sympathetically. She reached out to smooth the furrow between the older woman’s brows.
“I know, I know,” she whispered, pulling Rumi into a hug. “You’ll be okay. There’s nothing wrong with you, Rumi. Zoey just needs to pull her head out of the mud and take you out.”
Rumi let loose a watery laugh that quickly dissolved into a sob. Mira shushed her, rocking the both of them back and forth.
Four drinks in and draped over Zoey’s back, Rumi laughed at something her brain conjured up. The awards had gone well. They’d won two of the five nominations. Other idols and groups had cheered with them and taken pictures, interviewers coming up to record their thoughts about the night.
Bobby brought the three gift baskets upon gift baskets from sponsorships and media companies, most, if not all, teeming with bottles of alcohol. Now, they sat on their couch and raised another toast to the future success of Huntrix. Mira was the only one left sober. She had a photoshoot overseas tomorrow morning and couldn’t afford to get wasted.
Each pout she tried to hide into the rim of her mocktail had Rumi and Zoey grinning and pouring another glass just to spite her.
Mira stood. “Alright. I’m showering and hitting the hay,” she announced while gathering up the empty bottles. “Don’t burn down the penthouse, don’t add or subtract from the population, and for the love of God, don’t go on social media.”
Mira stressed that last point by flicking them both on the foreheads.
“I mean it," she said. "The last thing we need is another PR meeting added to our never-ending schedule because your drunk dumbasses posted something stupid.”
Rumi and Zoey both nodded, giggles folding over each other. Mira shook her head fondly at the two. She sauntered off to her bedroom to get ready.
Ten minutes passed.
Twenty minutes passed.
Thirty minutes, the two loafing on their couch as a random romance flickered on the t.v. It was sappy and cheesy. An old feel good with your typical, rich male lead and his small, polite female lover. They were standing on a hotel balcony in Paris, overlooking the Eiffel Tower. The camera zoomed in on the man’s face to show his eyes shimmering while he listened to her speak.
“I want someone to look at me how he looks at her.”
Rumi blinked and lolled her head to the side. “How’s that?” she asked.
Zoey smiled at her. “Like–” It wavered. “Like how you’re looking at me right now.”
They kissed. Short and sweet, fireworks bursting in the night sky above them. It was the perfect and predictable end to a movie like that. The man always got his girl. He didn’t have to worry about idol expectations or ruining friendships or social views. He could just kiss her, and everyone would applaud.
The guy always got the girl.
Some part of Rumi wished she had been born male, just for the slight possibility that Zoey would be more likely to love her back.
“I’m not looking at you any differently from how I usually do,” she whispered.
Zoey hummed. She tucked a lock of hair behind Rumi’s ear, touch lingering against the alcohol flushed feel to her skin.
“You’re looking at me like you love me, Rumi.”
“I always have.”
Whether she meant the look or the love was lost to both of them as they poured another drink. The liquor burned its way down Rumi’s throat and settled densely in her stomach. Her pulse was pounding in her wrists. Heat fogged her senses.
The next movie started up. Zoey glanced toward it before falling back.
“I really like the visuals of this one,” she slurred, hand trailing from Rumi’s ear to her jaw. “It’s pretty.”
“Pretty,” Rumi echoed.
Zoey smirked. She leaned closer, their chests touching. Her fingers skimmed behind Rumi’s head and intertwined, palms warming the back of Rumi’s neck. Zoey smelt like citrus fruit and vinegar. It should have been pungent.
Rumi wanted to taste it.
She watched as Zoey’s eyes traced the shifts of her face; the slope of her nose as she breathed, the outline of her jaw, the growing blush on her cheeks as Zoey drifted closer. Rumi swallowed, and her eyes followed that movement too.
“Hey, Rumi?” Zoey mused. “I think I lov–”
Rumi went dark.
…
…
…
Golden light pressed against her eyelids. She grunted and rolled over, hiding under whatever plush thing was next to her. Her head was killing her, how much did she drink last night? She could only remember bits and pieces.
Rumi felt like she was in water. Every word said and said to her was a buoy bouncing nearby, and her hands were too slippery to latch on. She lapped at the surrounding currents, feet rolling in the deep.
Her eyes squinted open. Someone blurry sat next to her. Someone beautiful.
Ah, it must be Zoey, then.
Rumi pushed herself up on shaky arms. She shuffled backward until her head hit the backing of the couch and sighed. Zoey rose to her feet and presented a cup of water and a tissue holding two small pills.
“For the hangover,” she explained. Rumi scowled, but still took them.
“I didn’t expect to get that buzzed,” she admitted. Zoey scoffed and plopped down beside her leader.
“Buzzed is an understatement, Rums. You passed out in the middle of our convo.”
Rumi winced and ducked her head. The memories grew like mold up the walls of her skull, fuzzy and cold. There was…something important that had happened, that much she knew. Looking around, she saw another glass on the coffee table with a sticky note attached. Fine lettering spelt out, Gone fishing, be back Mon. –Mira ♡
That’s right. Mira was overseas. A hungover Rumi was left alone with a hungover Zoey, both of whom everyone knew made dumb decisions together. She sighed again. Hopefully past Rumi didn’t go on social media, at least.
Zoey cocked her head. “Do you remember anything?” she questioned.
Rumi frowned and took another sip of her water. It’s gone lukewarm.
“We were watching movies, I think. And uh, then we–” Rumi shrugged. “I don’t know. Sorry.”
The maknae mumbled under her breath and leaned against Rumi’s side. She picked up the remote off the floor and started playing an old docuseries that the trio had binged multiple times over. Rumi liked how familiar it’s become now.
The penthouse’s living room stank of lingering night-old soju. Sea life swam across the screen, a piercing blue rebounding across the furniture and floor. Nothing was left unfaded. The speakers crackled as Zoey raised the volume again.
Rumi hummed. Her hands had been playing with Zoey’s hair since she first laid against her, strands sleek with the stickiness of the air. Zoey was melting. So was Rumi, but she was trying to forget that. It was hard.
We’ve got nothing romantic between us.
“You know,” Zoey began. “I like this show, but seeing the animals I.R.L was way better.”
She shifted slightly.
“Especially since you were there with me.”
Rumi found that Zoey made it very hard to forget how to love her.
Kiss her. It’s been a little while since she heard that well-acquainted voice. For a moment, Rumi thought it was gone for good…would that really have been so bad?
Yes! It would have!
Kiss Zoey. She’s right there. Against you. With you.
Needing you.
No. This was dumb. Rumi was dumb. Zoey’s made her feelings obvious. Zoey’s made her rejection obvious. Right? Hasn’t she? The obscene fluttering in her chest, the warmth of her breath, the not-so-platonic platonic dates and kisses! Those were the daydreams Rumi’s been living in and not her reality.
“Did you mean it?” she blurted out. “What you said to those fans about nothing going on and all that?”
Zoey blinked. Her brow tightened, and she paused the episode. The sharp sound of narration being cut off was deafening.
“Yeah, sort of,” Zoey replied. “We’re not dating or anything.”
We’re not dating. We are: Rumi and Zoey. Nothing about Mira, even though she had been a part of the conversation back then.
“…Do you want to change that?”
Zoey sat up very fast. The blanket mantled over their legs was kicked to the ground. Rumi started to backtrack.
“I mean, no pressure or anything,” Rumi spilled, waving her hands in a dismissing gesture. “It’s just something I’ve thought about. A lot. A lot, a lot.”
Okay. That's good, Rumi, stop before you make things worse.
“Like, every night in my dreams, a lot.”
Shut up!?
The corners of Zoey’s lips tugged up. Rumi powered on.
“I get these strange feelings when I’m with you. Wrong word. They’re not strange, per se. Very vivid and honeyed. My mind feels like it’s made of corn syrup when you speak to me.”
I’m sorry, said Impulsiveness.
If Zoey doesn’t kill you, I will, said Common Sense.
The girl in question didn’t look remotely upset by the confession. She rested her chin on the palm of her hand, regarding the pretty girl with a dreamy look, letting Rumi ramble on and embarrass herself more before interrupting.
“Rumi,” she deadpanned. “Stop pulling a me. You’re fine." Zoey took a breath. “I feel the same.”
Staff bustled around. Lights and soundboards were examined with last minute tests. Huntrix stood under the flooring of the stage, the cheers of thousands of fans in the audience shaking the walls.
Someone dusted a final layer of blush over Mira’s nose. Zoey was bouncing on the balls of her feet, grinning. Stars were shining in her eyes. Rumi, their leader, was double-checking her left sleeve. It fell to the curve before her wrist, bracelets jingling with the movement. This was it. Someone called out a five minute warning. Thank you, five, the three called back. The wires running along the fence of their platform went taunt as machinery fired up. An electric beat that began one of their comeback songs began playing. Less than twenty seconds until they launched.
“You ready, Ru?” Zoey buzzed, nudging her girlfriend in the ribs with her elbow. “Not too nervous?”
Rumi laughed. She walked, breathed, and ate stage life. Celine had raised her for a crowd before she knew her alphabet. And with her girls beside her?
“Yeah, I’m ready,” she smirked.
There was nothing else she wanted to do. Except for maybe one thing. The chants from the crowd couldn’t rival the one that’s been in her head for years.
Mira caught Rumi’s eyes and turned around. Crew had already left the area. The platform still had a couple seconds before it rose. In a surge of preshow adrenaline, she tilted Zoey’s chin up and finally gave her a kiss.
Underneath the concert stage, Rumi and Zoey shared a moment of apricity.
