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It starts with a silence.
Not an awkward silence—an easy one.
Mira sits on the edge of the practice studio floor, a damp towel draped around her neck, sweat cooling slowly on her skin. Her muscles ache in a familiar, grounding way.
The way that she loved.
(Y/n) crosses over to her.
She sits beside Mira, legs stretching out, back against the mirrored wall. She doesn't speak right away. She just passes Mira a bottle of water.
“Thanks,” Mira murmurs after a moment, twisting the cap of the bottle.
(Y/n) hums, eyes still fixed on nothing in particular. Her shoulder presses gently into Mira’s. Mira figures it’s an accident. Probably.
Mira doesn’t move. She drinks, then rests the bottle between her knees. For a long moment, neither of them says anything. The studio smells faintly of metal and ozone and the remnants of adrenaline.
“You okay?” (Y/n) asks eventually, soft.
Mira nods once. “Yeah.”
She doesn’t elaborate. She never really does.
(Y/n) doesn’t push. She never does that either. Instead, she leans her head back against the mirror, eyes closing. “You did good today.”
Mira’s throat tightens.
She’s heard praise before—plenty of it. From trainers, from managers, from people who care more about results than aftermath.
This feels different.
“. . . You too,” Mira says, quieter than she intends.
(Y/n) smiles. Mira can tell without looking.
Their shoulders stay pressed together as the city outside sinks deeper into night, and something unfamiliar and fragile settles into Mira’s chest.
. . .
Zoey notices patterns. The way people move, where they hesitate, who they gravitate towards.
So when Mira starts sitting closer to (Y/n), Zoey clocks it immediately.
They’re in the common room after a late patrol. Gear had been discarded, their adrenaline fading. Rumi is stretched out on the floor, eyes closed, humming This is What it Sounds Like to herself. Zoey leans back into the arm of the couch, pretending to scroll through her phone.
Mira sits on the other end.
(Y/n) crosses the room, two mugs of tea in hand. She hands one to Mira, who takes it like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Their fingers brush.
Mira doesn’t pull away.
Zoey raises an eyebrow.
(Y/n) sits down by Mira, cradling her own cup of tea.
Later, when the room quiets, Mira shifts.
Just slightly.
Just enough that her knee presses into (Y/n)’s thigh.
(Y/n) doesn’t move away.
Zoey nudges Rumi with her foot. Rumi opens one eye, follows Zoey’s gaze, and smirks.
. . .
It’s late. The apartment is quiet, the faith hum of the heat filling the silence. Mira is in the kitchen, absentmindedly cleaning her gok–do. She’s replaying the patrol in her head, the way (Y/n) had stayed closer to her.
Rumi leans against the counter, her arms crossed, watching Mira—and how she kept looking up from the kitchen table to look at (Y/n).
Finally, Rumi sits down at the kitchen table with Mira. “You’ve been staring at her like she’s a damn sunrise for the last three hours.”
Mira freezes mid-motion, blade hovering above the table. “I . . . what?” Her voice cracks slightly.
Rumi tilts her head, grinning teasing. “You know exactly what I mean. The way your eyes soften when she’s around. Don’t try to play innocent.”
Mira exhales sharply, her gok-do. Her fingers curl around the edge of the table, knuckles white. “It’s . . . it’s nothing,” she mutters, but her voice betrays her.
Rumi leans closer, voice softening, tone just a shade serious beneath the teasing. “Mira . . . you’re lying to yourself. I’ve known for weeks. You’re terrified of it, aren’t you?”
Mira swallows. Her chest feels tight, words trapped behind the lump in her throat. “. . . I’m scared,” she admits finally. “Scared that if I… if I let myself—” She gestures vaguely toward the couch, toward everything she’s been holding back. “I’ll lose control. Or I’ll hurt her. Or I’ll . . .” She trails off, frustrated, unable to finish.
Rumi places a hand gently on Mira’s shoulder. Not teasing now, only steady, grounding. “Mira. You’re not going to hurt her. You’re not going to ruin anything by feeling something real. You can’t protect her by shutting yourself off.”
Mira’s shoulders sag slightly, relief and fear mingling. Her voice is barely a whisper. “. . . But what if I screw it up?” Then she pauses. She looks up at Rumi. Her eyes are bright with worry, but also something else—hope, Rumi guesses. “. . . I think . . . I’m in love with her,” she admits, voice shaking but clear—not loud enough for Zoey and (Y/n) to hear over their cheesy Hallmark movie.
Rumi’s grin softens into something almost warm. “Finally.” She pauses, then teases gently, “Took you long enough, lover girl.”
Mira flushes, half-angry, half-relieved, and mutters under her breath, “I hate you.”
Rumi laughs softly. “No, you don’t.”
. . .
The rain taps gently on the window, a steady, calming rhythm. Zoey and Rumi had retired to their room leaving Mira and (Y/n) in the living room. They were on the couch, Mira’s shoulder slightly hunched, hands wrapped around a warm mug of tea. (Y/n) is curled up beside her, legs tucked underneath her, head resting gently against Mira’s shoulder. The blanket around them smells faintly of detergent, and them.
“I . . .” (Y/n) begins softly, her words careful. “I think . . . I think I like being here. With you.”
Mira glances down, surprised at how her chest immediately feels lighter. “. . . Me too,” she whispers. “I . . . like having you close.”
(Y/n) shifts slightly, looking up, eyes warm and open. “Closer than friends, I mean.” Her voice is almost shy, but steady. “I like . . . being with you, like this. And I . . . think I care about you . . . more than I even realized.”
Mira feels a small, nervous smile tug at her lips. “. . . I care about you too,” she says quietly, resting her cheek gently against the top of (Y/n)’s head. “More than I thought I could. And I don’t want to hide it.”
(Y/n) exhales, a soft, relieved sound, and presses a hand to Mira’s chest, just above her heart. “I don’t either.”
For a few long moments, they just sit. Close. Warm. The world outside disappears. Mira’s thumb brushes lightly against (Y/n)’s hand.
Finally, Mira whispers, “Can . . . can I kiss you?”
(Y/n) sits up a little straighter, turning to face Mira. “Yes.”
The kiss is slow, gentle.
. . .
Mira wakes before her alarm.
She always does. That was her normal.
What’s different now is the warmth pressed into her side. (Y/n) is curled close, an arm draped loosely across Mira’s waist, her face tucked into the space beneath Mira’s chin. (Y/n)’s breathing is slow and even.
Mira stays still, just watching her. She studies the way (Y/n)’s brow smooths in sleep, the faint part of her lips, the way her fingers twitch slightly. Mira brushes her thumb gently along (Y/n)’s arm, slow and careful, like she’s afraid to wake her.
. . .
The patrol had been rough.
Back in the Huntr/x apartment, Mira barely makes it two steps inside before (Y/n) is in front of her, her hands gentle and grounding.
“Sit,” (Y/n) murmurs softly.
Mira obeys without question.
(Y/n) kneels in front of her, checking for injuries, fingers brushing over Mira’s knuckles, her jaw, her shoulder. Mira watches her the whole time, expression unreadable except for the way her shoulders slowly relax.
Zoey leans against the wall, arms crossed. “You notice how Mira only listens when she says it?”
Rumi nods. “Selective hearing.”
Mira doesn’t even look up. “You’re both alive. Be grateful.”
(Y/n) smiles faintly, pressing a kiss to Mira’s temple once she’s satisfied. Mira exhales like she’s been holding her breath the entire time.
. . .
Movie night becomes their routine.
Mira always sits first. (Y/n) always sits down beside her. The blanket always ends up pulled over both of them, Mira adjusting it until (Y/n) was completely tucked in.
Zoey watches them with increasing delight. “You do know (Y/n) could get her own blanket?” she asks one night—curled up under a blanket with Rumi, her head resting on Rumi’s chest.
Mira raises an eyebrow. “She’s cold.”
Rumi’s eyes twinkle. “Every night?” Though she was just teasing.
“Yes,” Mira replies with hesitation.
Zoey grins. “You’re such a softieeeeeeee,” she says.
Rumi and (Y/n) exchange an amused look. They both knew Zoey and Mira enough that they would bicker all night long.
“Popcorn?” (Y/n) asks, halting Zoey’s and Mira’s affectionate bickering.
“Yes,” both women say, and (Y/n) bites back a laugh.
“Okay,” (Y/n) wriggles out of the blanket. She presses a kiss to Mira’s cheek and then heads towards the kitchen.
Mira watches her go, her eyes soft, posture unconsciously leaning in her direction like she might follow if she doesn’t stop herself. She adjusts the blankets out of habit, as if to keep (Y/n)’s spot warm while she is gone.
Rumi hums thoughtfully. “You know she’s not going anywhere, right?” The question was more double-sided.
Mira relaxes, “Yeah . . . I know.”
From the kitchen comes the sound of popping kernels and (Y/n)’s soft hum as she texts on her phone. Then Mira’s phone bings.
(Y/n): i miss you <3
Mira: me too
When (Y/n) returns, two bowls of popcorn in her hands. Mira lifts the edge of the blanket. (Y/n) smiles at her as she hands Rumi a bowl of popcorn for her and Zoey. She slips back into place, warm and content, tucking herself back into Mira side.
Mira settles the blanket back over her, tucking the blanket around her again.
“You guys are so cuteeeeee,” Rumi says, grinning at them.
“Lover girlllll,” Zoey agrees.
“Watch the movie,” Mira grumbles at them, but she grins.
The movie starts—something cheesy and terrible. Mira barely notices. Her attention is on (Y/n)’s weight against her side; the warmth beneath the blanket.
Halfway through, (Y/n) shifts, head tipping onto Mira’s shoulder. Mira stiffens for just a moment before relaxing completely, her arm sliding around (Y/n)’s waist, thumb tracing slow, absent patterns through the fabric of her shirt.
Zoey peeks over at them. “She’s out,” she whispers.
Mira glances down, lips curving into something soft and unguarded. “Yeah.”
Rumi smiles, eyes fond.
Mira doesn’t deny it. She only adjusts the blanket one last time, tucking (Y/n) in just a bit more, and lets the movie play on while the room settles into quiet warmth.
Outside, the cold presses against the windows.
Inside, Mira has everything she needs.
Word Count: 1782 words