Chapter Text
Light through the tall windows casts long shadows across the penthouse as the sun makes it ascent across the sky.
“Listen, how many people do you know that can crack an egg with one hand?” Mira turns and points the spatula at Rumi and Zoey sitting at the bar.
“Well I only know you two so I guess one?” Rumi answers before turning to face Zoey who’s on her phone adding more songs to the queue.
“Hold on, I take my job as DJ very seriously… okay! Yes, how many people do I know?” Zoey questions.
“That can crack an egg with one hand.” Mira’s waving the spatula with a hand on her hip.
“Oh, ummmm… just you I guess. Oh! And my dad knows how to do that,” Zoey points back at Mira.
“Oh great I’m like your dad,” Mira chuckles.
“You should know that my dad is cool as hell so it’s a compliment really,” Zoey says matter of factly.
The next song thrums to life on the speaker, “Damn the DJ is killing it,” Zoey giggles.
Zoey shoots up and pulls Rumi off her bar stool and starts singing the song, “Wait a minute! I think I left my conscience on your front door step. Rumi, dance with me!”
Rumi laughs, startled but giving in instantly as Zoey spins her in a loose circle.
Rumi’s braid whips across her back, and for a second the whole penthouse feels like it brightens with the sound of her laugh.
“Zoey! I’m barely awake,” Rumi protests, but she’s smiling too hard for it to sound convincing.
“That sounds like a ‘you’ problem,” Zoey declares, pulling her closer and swaying her hips exaggeratedly. “C’mon, hit it with me-”
She sings the next line right to Rumi’s face, all sunshine and mischief.
Rumi finally gives in, matching Zoey’s goofy rhythm, mouthing the words with her and letting their hands stay linked as they move around the open floor.
Mira glances over from the stove, spatula lifted mid-air, eyebrows raised like she’s watching two feral animals.
Zoey notices and immediately breaks away from Rumi just enough to point directly at Mira.
“Mira! Get your ass over here!”
Mira lifts the spatula like a shield, “I am cooking.”
“You can cook later, this is extremely IMPORTANT,” Zoey counters, already marching over like a tiny general, grabbing Mira’s wrist with a grin that could melt even the coldest of hearts.
“I… Zoey… I’m literally… I have eggs on the stovetop-”
“Leave the eggs!” Zoey chirps.
Mira nearly drops the pan as she tries to move it off the burner when Zoey drags her into the little chaotic dance circle forming in the middle of the living room.
The chorus hits.
Zoey sings, “But I’m here right now-”
She points at Rumi and Mira like she’s conducting a choir.
The girls, embarrassingly in sync for people who weren’t planning to participate, answer in unison, “Right now.”
“Just sitting in a cloud-“ Zoey beams like she just won a prize.
Both girls giggling trying to perform as the maknae’s back up singers, “Oh wow.”
They fall into a loose triangle, moving with the rhythm, Zoey twirling under her own arm before grabbing both their hands and making them sway side to side.
Mira pushes up her glasses as she moves to the beat and Rumi tries not to trip over Zoey’s chaotic feet.
“We should go out and do this, go and dance!” Zoey says over the music.
Rumi laughs, “Remember we went out that one time and Mira got us kicked out for punching that dude?”
Mira shrugs, “He was hitting on Zoey.”
Rumi jests, “Oh Mira were you jealous?”
“…No,” Mira frowns.
Zoey rolls her eyes and tries to get them both to throw their heads back on the “oh wait a minute!” like they’re on stage at a sold-out concert.
The music shifts into the next verse and Zoey finally lets them go, bouncing backwards with a laugh.
“Okay, okay… Mira go finish your eggs before you burn the penthouse down. Rumi, you’re back on dance duty with me,” Zoey commands as she reaches for Rumi’s hands and intertwines them again.
Mira finally peels herself away from Zoey’s orbit, shaking her head as she returns to the stove.
“Alright, performers,” she calls over her shoulder, slipping back into her dry, unbothered tone still wearing a sly smile, “wrap it up and set the table. Breakfast is ready.”
Zoey groans dramatically and Rumi salutes like she’s reporting for duty.
Mira tries to hide her smile as she plates the eggs.
They gather around the dining table, sunlight slanting across the polished wood, the city humming below them.
Zoey digs into her food first, talking through a mouthful, “Okay, what trouble are we getting into today?”
Rumi wipes her mouth with a napkin, thinking.
“We should go down to the Ville,” she decides. “Look around, check out the shops… and if a couple fans spot us, we can do an impromptu signing.”
Zoey perks immediately, “I love fan signings.”
Mira nods, turning her fork in her hand, “Sounds good to me.”
“Then it’s settled,” Rumi says, leaning back in her chair. “We’ll head out after we clean up.”
Zoey sports a goofy grin, kicking her feet under the table, “I can’t wait.”
Mira only hums in agreement as she watches Zoey a beat too long, something warm and aching flickering behind her glasses.
Rumi catches it, only for a second before going back to her plate full of food.
After finishing breakfast, Rumi stacks their plates in neat piles while Zoey darts around grabbing her bag, her hoodie, then putting the hoodie back because it’s “too hot.”
Mira stands at the sink rinsing dishes, eyebrows lifting as Zoey changes her mind for the third time.
“You’re exhausting to watch,” Mira says, completely monotone.
Zoey gasps like she’s been personally wounded.
“I’m fun to watch.”
“Mhm,” Mira hums.
Rumi snorts as she ties her shoes, “She’s right, Zoey. You are quite the menace.”
Zoey points at them both with a dramatic flourish.
“I can’t believe this, two haters. In my own home.”
Mira dries her hands on a towel and gestures toward the door, “Let the menace lead us, then.”
Zoey brightens instantly, bouncing to the elevator doors with the theatrical energy of a tour guide.
“Okay! Everyone hydrate, everyone pee, everyone grab your hats. Keep your hands and arms in the ride at all times please.”
Rumi pats her pockets. “Phone, wallet, chapstick. I’m set.”
Mira adjusts her glasses and shoulders her bag, “I have an extra jacket in case Zoey needs one again.”
Zoey scoffs, already halfway down the hall, “THAT WAS ONE TIME-”
“It was yesterday,” Mira calls after her.
Rumi’s laugh echoes through the hallway. Mira glances sideways at her… and for a half-second, the morning sun hits Rumi’s face just right.
Soft. Warm. Effortless.
Mira clears her throat and looks away.
They step into the elevator.
Zoey springing on her toes, humming the last song they danced to.
Rumi begins harmonizing under her breath like it’s second nature.
Mira tries to not to join in… then does so quietly, almost under the music.
Zoey beams, “You guys always match my pitch. It’s so cute.”
“It’s muscle memory,” Mira says.
Rumi nudges her gently, “It’s almost like we’re a band.”
Mira’s lips twitch, almost a smile, “…It’s instinctive.”
Zoey loops her arms around both their shoulders as the elevator doors open.
“Let’s go cause trouble.”
❖❘━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❘❖
Dark clouds begin gathering in the once clear sky, swallowing the warm morning sun inch by inch.
Walking side by side down the sidewalk, Mira can feel Zoey staring at her.
Not subtle staring, very loud, obvious, burning-a-hole-through-her-head staring. Zoey keeps bumping into Mira’s arm like she’s drunk walking.
Rumi glances over at Mira, hands tucked in the pockets of her jacket, “I’m so happy I wore my jacket today.”
“I mean, me too,” Mira replies flatly as she does a dramatic shiver, “It’s starting to get chilly.”
“Probably gonna rain too,” Rumi adds, teasing.
Zoey tugs gently on Mira’s sleeve.
Mira looks down, “Yes?”
Zoey begins pouting.
Mira sighs like she already knows where this is going, “You want the extra hoodie I brought, don’t you?”
Zoey wears a coy smile before nodding.
Mira grins at Zoey before tugging off her bag and pulling the hoodie out for her, “Anything else madame?”
Zoey giggles before patting Mira on the head, “No my gracious pack mule you may rest now.”
The three of them step out into the Ville and immediately get swallowed by the weekend crowd, kids on scooters, couples holding hands, and vendors shouting over one another.
Rumi slows when they pass a bakery window, eyes widening at the pastries on display.
“Those look criminal,” she murmurs.
Zoey gasps, “We should get some on the way back!”
Mira side-eyes her, “You both say that every time we pass this place. And then you both forget.”
“That’s why you’re here,” Zoey beams. “To remind us of the things we forget.”
Mira tightens her bag on her shoulder, chewing the inside of her cheek as she feels her ears warm.
They move deeper into the Ville, drifting between storefronts, pausing when something brightly colored catches Zoey’s attention or when Rumi stops to inspect a shiny piece of jewelry in a display case.
Mira watches them with her hands in her jacket pockets, stepping closer only when one of them wanders too far.
A small crowd forms ahead of them with tourists and locals squeezing through a narrow bottleneck of street food stalls. The moment the press of bodies begins, Mira shifts automatically.
Her arm extends back behind her without even turning around.
“Zoey,” she says simply.
Zoey doesn’t hesitate. Her hand slips into Mira’s hand, it's warm, strong, and familiar. Mira curls her fingers around hers, tugging her safely behind. At the same time, Rumi steps closer, her palm coming to rest instinctively at the small of Zoey’s back, a grounding touch more than a guiding one.
For a moment, the three of them move as one unit with Mira cutting a path, Rumi guarding the rear, Zoey tucked safely between them.
Then it happens.
A whisper.
Someone in the crowd says in a hushed tone, “…Aren’t those the girls from…?”
A second voice, “Wait… oh my god, that’s them. That’s them.”
Zoey hears it first. Her grip on Mira tightens. Rumi pulls her hand from Zoey’s back and straightens her jacket, posture shifting into idol-mode like a switch being flipped.
Mira glances back over her shoulder, “I think we’ve been caught.”
Within seconds, people begin to gather, pulling their phones out, voices excited but respectful.
“Can we get signatures?”
“Can we take pictures?”
“You girls are amazing! your last performance was insane!”
The three of them exchange a look. Rumi, the trained leader, gives a nod.
The signing begins.
Zoey lights up like the sun, bubbly, animated, and making every fan feel like the only person in the world.
Mira is quieter but sincere, her handwriting neat, her smile small but real whenever someone compliments her dance moves.
Like she was made for it, Rumi anchors everything. Always steady, warm, and effortlessly charismatic.
Fans hand them snacks, letters, and even drawings. One little girl practically vibrates as she hands Zoey a plushie she made herself.
“You’re my favorite,” the girl whispers.
Zoey begins to melt instantly, “You are just the sweetest, cutest thing in the world!”
Only after you of course…
Rumi grins and Mira tries to hide a smile behind her hand.
Another fan begins to gravitate towards the maknae, “Zoey! Zoey I’m visiting from Burbank, will you be coming back anytime soon?”
Zoey’s smile falters slightly before she corrects it and replies, “Oh yeah of course! Hopefully soon.”
After a while, the crowd disperses with waves and cheerful goodbyes, leaving the three girls alone again, hearts lighter than before.
The girls share a glance with one another, an unspoken agreement and start making their way back home.
The rain hasn’t started yet, but the clouds have sunk low, swollen and heavy. The air carrying the weight of an impending storm.
Zoey walks between them again, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, occasionally swinging their joined hands like she’s a kid.
Both Rumi and Mira let her.
They wander past a restaurant when realization dawns on Zoey and she gasps, “We forgot the pastries!”
Mira sighs, “I said that would happen.”
Rumi laughs, nudging Mira with her shoulder, “Don’t you just love when you’re right?”
“I do,” Mira smirks.
They reach an intersection and wait for the crosswalk to change. As they wait Rumi turns around facing the two girls, “…and if we get home before it rains I call dibs on the sho-”
Before Rumi can finish her sentence Mira sees the cyclist, and her hand darts out, fingers hooking into the front of Rumi’s hoodie and yanking her sharply back against her chest.
“Watch out!” Mira snaps, breath tight.
The cyclist zooms past, shouting a half-hearted apology as the wheels splash through a shallow puddle.
Rumi stumbles, colliding fully with Mira, hands braced against her jacket. For a second, they’re chest-to-chest, breath mixing, hearts pounding.
Rumi’s eyes widen.
Mira’s jaw is tight, brows furrowed, protective instinct still burning hot behind her glasses.
“Are you okay?” Mira murmurs, voice low.
Rumi swallows and nods once.
Zoey lets out a squeaky gasp, “That guy almost killed you!”
Mira steps back quickly, clearing her throat, “Yeah well, he wasn’t paying attention.”
Zoey grabs both of their hands again, “Okay well let’s make it back before it starts raining or another cyclist tries to take one of us out.”
Walking back, Mira stays close enough that her shoulder brushes Rumi’s with every step.
After the cyclist incident, the tension settles just enough for Zoey to swing their joined hands again.
The clouds above them rumble with a low, rolling warning.
Rumi glances up, “Yeah… that rain is about to hit any second.”
Zoey insists, “No it’s not, I think we still have time. It’s just-”
A cold drop lands on her cheek.
Zoey freezes eyes wide.
Mira looks up and another drop hits her glasses.
The weather offers no other notice before sudden violent sheets of rainfall crash down, the sky opening like someone tore the clouds open.
“We have to run, let’s go!” Zoey shrieks, already sprinting down the sidewalk.
Rumi yelps and takes off after her.
Mira chuckles before following them, extending her stride and catching up to the girls in just three long steps.
Zoey is squealing as she hops over a puddle, undershoots her trajectory and lands directly in it, and screams louder.
Rumi is laughing so hard she can barely breathe, “Jeez Zoey, you’re soaked!”
“We all are!” Zoey exclaims, throwing a wild grin over her shoulder as she races to their building.
They skid under the overhang, rain still pounding like a waterfall just inches behind them.
❖❘━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━❘❖
“Alright well… I guess we did not beat the rain so I do not get dibs on the show tonight, any suggestions?” Rumi asks as she fights to pull off her soaked hoodie like a weighted blanket.
Water drips onto the hardwood in uneven trails. Zoey shakes her head like a dog, sending droplets everywhere.
Mira clicks her tongue as she tears off her soaked shoes, “Hold on. I’ll get towels.”
She disappears down the hall.
The second Mira’s out of sight, Zoey tries to yank her hoodie over her head and finds herself stuck.
“Rumi,” she mumbles through a mouthful of wet fabric, “I need help. I can’t- I’m drowning-”
Rumi snorts and steps closer, “How did you even manage this?”
Zoey just wiggles helplessly in reply.
Rumi grips the hem of the hoodie and pulls. The fabric doesn’t budge at first, suctioned to Zoey’s body. Zoey starts huffing and puffing.
“Hold still,” Rumi murmurs, her voice dropping with focus.
Zoey complies.
Their faces inches apart, Zoey’s breath warm against Rumi’s, Rumi’s face set in concentration as she tries to work the hoodie free. Rumi can feel Zoey’s eyes set on her but she ignores it in an attempt to focus on the task at hand.
Finally the hoodie gives, snapping upward in one sudden motion.
Zoey’s hair is a frizzy mess atop her head.
Rumi laughs a soft, chest-deep giggle Zoey likes a little too much.
Zoey pushes damp strands out of her face and grins up at her, “You saved my life.”
Rumi rolls her eyes, but there’s warmth behind it, “Yeah yeah, don’t worry about it.”
Zoey nudges her with her shoulder, “I feel so loved.”
Rumi doesn’t answer.
But she doesn’t step away either.
Mira returns with three fluffy towels stacked in her arms.
“You two are unbelievable,” she says, tossing one onto each of their heads. “Dry off before you get sick.”
They do. Quickly.
They scatter to their rooms for pajamas.
Moments later, the living room glows soft and golden with the lamps on, blankets piled high, and socks mismatched.
They choose a cooking show mostly because Zoey begs and Rumi caves instantly and Mira pretends she wasn’t going to cave anyway.
The three of them curl under a single blanket, their shoulders brushing, feet shifting to make room, Zoey’s head gradually leaning onto Rumi’s shoulder.
Two episodes in, Rumi yawns wide and stretches her arms overhead.
“I think I’m done for,” she mutters as she slides out from under the blanket. “Goodnight, you two.”
Zoey waves her off sleepily. Mira nods.
Rumi disappears down the hall.
Zoey stifles another yawn. “I should… probably go too,” she mumbles, but she doesn’t move for a long moment. Mira watches her from the corner of her eye, something unreadable flickering across her features.
Eventually Zoey pushes herself up, “Night, Mira.”
“Goodnight,” Mira replies, voice softer than usual.
Zoey shuffles to her room and closes the door with a soft click.
The penthouse settles after that, the kind of hush that only exists at night, when the rain dulls every edge of sound.
Mira sits there a moment longer, staring at the flickering screen even though the episode has long stopped registering in her mind. The blanket still holds the fading warmth of the other two, and when it cools she finally exhales and stands.
She gathers their empty cups. Straightens the pillow Zoey left crooked and turns off the TV.
Once in her room she sits on her bed until her stomach gives a low, traitorous flutter… hunger. She grimaces quietly to herself and pads toward the kitchen, steps soft on the hardwood so she doesn’t wake anyone.
Halfway through the darkened living room, she pauses.
There’s a shape on the balcony.
A silhouette curled in the corner chair, knees pulled up, head bowed. Rain hammers the overhang above, a deep rolling roar. Every few seconds lightning flashes far off, illuminating pale fingers brushing across a cheek. Wiping something away.
Mira’s chest tightens.
She moves closer without thinking, sliding the glass door open just enough to slip through. The humid bite of rain and wind meets her skin immediately.
Zoey jerks upright, hands flying to her face. “Oh um-“ she forces a laugh, weak and thin, “Mira. Hey. What are you doing up so late?”
Mira crouches beside the chair instead of taking the empty one. One arm rests along the armrest, the other gently reaching behind Zoey, hand bracing the back of the chair close enough to offer warmth, but not close enough to crowd. Her voice is quiet, careful.
“I was gonna grab a snack.”
A moment passes by.
“What’s wrong, Zo?”
Zoey’s chin trembles once before she steadies it, her eyes fixed on the rain beyond the balcony railing.
“It’s nothing,” she lies, wiping at her cheek again. “That girl earlier… the one from Burbank… it’s just that…” Her throat tightens. “It made me think of home. And I don’t know, I guess I’ve been missing it more than I realized.”
The confession cracks something open.
Mira’s expression softens instantly, not the shy smile she gives Zoey when she’s flustered, not the teasing smirk she hides behind her glasses. This is the quiet one, the one she doesn’t let people see. The one she barely lets herself feel.
“Zoey,” she says, barely above a whisper.
Zoey finally looks at her.
Her eyes shine.
Rain fills the silence between them, steady and relentless, drumming against the overhang like a heartbeat.
“You’re so kind,” Zoey breathes. “So soft, even when you try not to be.”
Mira swallows hard. She looks away for a fraction of a second like she’s bracing herself, then back because Zoey deserves that honesty.
“Only for you and Rumi, Zo.”
The words settle heavy and warm between them.
The rain hushes around them like a witness.
In this sanctified stillness, Mira realizes that for this girl before her, she would condemn herself to a lifetime of self-affliction.
She was but a compelled captive, ready to atone at the altar.
Mira adjusts slightly, as if grounding herself. “Would you like to come inside? You’ll catch a cold out here.” She hesitates, then adds, quietly, “I can make us some ramyeon, if you want.”
Zoey nods almost immediately, small and grateful. “Yeah,” she murmurs, voice thick. “Okay.”
Mira stands first, offering a hand. Zoey takes it.
Her hand fits too well in Mira’s.
They step inside. The warmth of the penthouse wraps around them.
The kitchen light is soft, golden, half-asleep.
Mira moves with her usual precision, pulling pots and packets down with a quiet efficiency that somehow feels like affection. Zoey perches on the counter, knees pulled up, watching her with that look, the one she only ever uses for Mira and Rumi. The one full of wonder and something she refuses to name yet.
The ramyeon cooks.
They eat on the couch instead of the bar, the room dark except for the rain-washed city lights spilling in through the windows.
Zoey’s legs drape over Mira’s lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
There’s no TV. No noise but them, and the storm.
Zoey slurps a noodle and lets out a soft sigh, “Thank you… for coming out there.”
Mira stirs her bowl absentmindedly, “You don’t have to thank me.”
“You say that,” Zoey murmurs, leaning her head back against the couch, “but I mean it.”
Mira tries to look away again.
Failing.
They sit like that until Zoey’s bowl is empty and her eyes begin to droop. She slides her legs off Mira’s lap and stands, lingering for a long moment.
“Goodnight, Mira.”
This time, Mira looks at her fully. “Goodnight, Zo.”
Zoey disappears down the hall, soft footsteps fading until the door clicks shut.
Mira stays on the couch long after, staring at the rain-soaked balcony and the chair still turned toward the storm. She stays until fatigue finally pulls her up and into her room, where she sinks into bed and lets sleep take her.