Chapter Text
“Bobby, no!” It was Zoey who broke first, her voice rough and horrified, and Rumi glanced between her girlfriends — her bandmates, normally, when they were in this office, but that huff of an outburst had not been professional enough for Rumi to be able to think of Zoey that way right now. She knew exactly what Zoey was taking issue with.
“Bobby, no,” Mira repeated, more measured, but with an unhappy twist to her lips, for a completely different reason, two fingers still in the air from where she’d been counting.
Bobby blinked at both of them, then back to Rumi, and Rumi sighed, hating that she was currently agreeing with the two ridiculous — lovely, but ridiculous — women bracketing her, both looking at her expectantly. “Bobby, no,” Rumi agreed, for an entirely different reason again. It always surprised Rumi how often they managed to agree with each other, even when they were coming at things with vastly different viewpoints. “That’s twelve full sets in as many days, I won’t be able to sing Golden by the end of it.”
“But then I’ve — okay, look, girls, I know it’s a lot to add the festival in there, and swap Osaka for Sapporo, but—”
“And the extra dates in Seoul."
“Yes, okay, it’s a lot, I understand that it’s a lot. But I’ll move...” There was a large poster behind Bobby’s desk which had definitely been designed for school children; it had ‘academic year planner’ in the top right, which Zoey had uncovered years ago under the post-it that said “Huntr/x’s Best Year Yet” with a smiley face and three stars over it in Bobby’s adorable handwriting. Bobby pointed at a Saturday later in the month, running a finger along to a later date. “And then I’ll move this” — he pointed to something else, his finger shifting — “and this to here...” and all of a sudden Rumi saw it: Bobby’s incredible vision.
“If we do this we would get a holiday? Why didn’t you lead with that?”
“Holiday,” Zoey groaned, making grabby hands in the air in front of her. “It’s been so long since I touched one. I don’t know if I’d know what to do with it.”
“Rumi definitely wouldn’t,” Mira said, a hint of laughter that was definitely at Rumi's expense in her voice, before she shifted gears back to serious. “We can’t do that many shows in a row, Bobby. Not without a stop to switch into our wolf forms, and I don’t see when there'd be time when the moon is up in your plans.”
“Yeah, I will 100% slip. You know me, my wolf likes its freedom, it’s gotta stretch its legs once a week like clockwork or it’ll come out without my permission regardless,” Zoey agreed. “Imagine that on stage. Wolfing out accidentally just because we didn’t give ourselves a break to switch forms. Wolves are not known for their diction. Oh, except the backing vocals we got Rumi to do that one time — your howl is so nice and deep and gravelly,” Zoey said, her hand brushing against Rumi’s thigh intentionally. Her face was all over innocence, and Rumi bit back her shiver, narrowing her eyes at her and getting thoroughly ignored.
“I don’t think your fans would mind,” Bobby said, a smile twitching up his face at their responses. “They’d love to finally see Mira’s Mysterious Moonlight Manifestation.”
Mira slid down in her chair until she was shorter than Zoey, arms crossing, a deep glare on her face — the expression that got her to #4 on Cosmo’s “Most Intimidating Wolves Of The Year” list, despite the fact that no one had ever seen her wolf out. Not even them, which Rumi and Zoey had spent years trying not to be offended over. “Don’t, Bobby, I hate that stupid hashtag.”
“But that does bring me back to the one problem with this plan. The plan that gets you all a two week holiday,” he reminded them. “I have been able to source a private outdoor sanctuary for you to switch in, midway through the run of shows. Moonrise is at 5:07pm on the 22nd, so if we get three openers for you that night, you come on at 9:30, we do hair and make up before you switch, if you’re careful during, and we give 30 minutes for costuming and final warm up… that gives you almost four hours of freedom.”
“Ooh, Bobby, have we ever told you how smart you are?” Zoey asked.
“That’d work,” Rumi agreed. “Could we prep to run an adjusted Golden towards the end of the sets, in case our voices don’t hold up? D minor, maybe some harmony and run adjustments, I’ll mix in more head voice. It will mean no alcohol, no caffeine, no milk, nebulisers, humidifiers, hydration sachets, the works,” Rumi told the other two, seeing Zoey’s lip jutting out from the corner of her eye, as if she hadn't known this was coming since Bobby first suggested it. They all knew that that many shows in such a small space of time meant they’d need to make adjustments, and that always included ‘and no sex, because we cannot keep our voices down to a level that protects them to save our lives.’
“What’s the problem, Bobby?” Mira said, still slouched in her chair, eyes wary, as if she was waiting for a particularly spiky shoe to drop.
“I’ve only been able to source one sanctuary.”
“Oh my god,” Zoey said, and Rumi dug an elbow into her side at the absolutely giddy delight in her voice.
“No,” Mira said, voice flat. “I’m not doing that.”
“Not even for a two week long holiday?” Zoey asked.
“When do you need a final answer?” Rumi asked him, because there was a horrible defensiveness in Mira’s voice and a sliver of actual hurt in Zoey’s, and this needed a real conversation.
“Tomorrow, 9am before office hours.”
“We’ll talk about it.”
“I’ve talked about it,” Mira said, her jaw ticcing. “No.”
“You’re well within your right to veto,” Rumi told her gently, watching that angry little frown fade, leaving behind something that looked too close to scared for her hand not to reach out to her and squeeze her fingers. “But Zoey is also well within her rights to try and plan a holiday to convince you otherwise.”
“Yes.” Zoey punched two fists in the air, looking at the ceiling like it had blessed her.
“We’ll text you,” Rumi told Bobby, taking the scruff of Mira’s shirt in her hand and dragging her back to a proper sitting position. “C’mon. Let’s chat.”
*
“Zoey, I don’t want to do this,” Mira said, in a voice that was close enough to a whine that Rumi reached for the pack of chocolate and offered it to her just to try and do something to help. “I can’t just — wolf out in front of you after a lifetime of never doing it in front of anyone, just to see you smile.”
“We’re not just anyone, but fine, you don’t love me enough, I get it,” Zoey said breezily, and Mira groaned, head dropping onto Rumi’s shoulder.
“Save me,” she muttered. Rumi patted her hair carefully, but if Mira really wanted to veto, their rules said she had to at least listen to Zoey’s proposal. Even if her proposal was a hastily put together PowerPoint.
“Bora Bora,” Zoey said, flicking to the next slide. A photo of a wooden hut flashed up on their TV, with a bed that looked insanely comfortable near a panel of glass cut into the floorboards, looking down into the ocean. Under the panel of glass floated a cartoon Zoey, mostly boobs on a stick figure with space buns and a mermaid tail. On the bed, a cartoon Mira (recognisable only by two straight lines of pink hair) and a cartoon Rumi (a zigzag of a purple braid) were both looking down at mermaid Zoey, their faces almost entirely overtaken by the large neon pink hearts they had instead of eyes.
Mira made a noise that was so choked that Rumi couldn’t tell if it was a laugh or a groan. For an hour’s work, while Mira and Rumi had gone out to collect the take-out now entirely demolished on their kitchen table, this was actually quite compelling.
“It has swimming naked, it has a private beach, it has a private hut over the ocean, it has room service cocktails, it has a hammock big enough for three.”
Rumi leant forwards as Zoey continued to flick through photos, each one with little cartoon characters of them pasted over photos from a hotel’s website. “A hammock. For all of us? With room service?” Rumi asked breathlessly.
“Don’t you start,” Mira said, her hand clutching at Rumi’s arm, but her eyes were soft when Rumi looked over at her.
Zoey was nothing if not well equipped to see an advantage and run with it. “There’s no WiFi, no reception, just books, and board games, and activities — jetskis and snorkelling and HIIT classes and parasailing and things — and a huge TV, and five-star restaurants that all do room service, with an eleven-course tasting menu for breakfast. And,” she said with a flourish, “two weeks of Rumi completely unable to work.”
For some reason, it was the last bit of that sentence that made Zoey’s face light up in an assumption of total victory, and Mira groaned, hands covering her face. “God, how did you find something that sounds this perfect so quickly?”
“Okay, hold on, what do you mean, no WiFi?” Rumi asked, frowning at her. “Are you saying there's no phones at all? Surely there has to be a landline somewhere, and there has to be satellites…”
“Nope,” Zoey said, popping the p. “It’s a tech detox resort.”
Mira made a noise that she normally didn’t make unless one of them was inside her.
“I don’t know, Zo,” Rumi said. “What if something happens and we need to…”
“I refer you to my previous slide,” Zoey said, skipping back and pausing once more on the first slide she’d shown them this evening, a glittery fanmade gif of a moment, early on in their careers, when Zoey had flopped down between them at the end of a show, completely exhausted and radiant, looking up at them both with such an adoring smile that she had started what the internet called ‘a queer multi-site riot’ and birthed the hashtag #polytrix. In the middle of the slide, in bright rainbow wordart, were the words: ‘because it would make your gf who you love very much very happy.’
She gave Rumi a meaningful look, and Rumi sighed heavily. Unfair weaponry, she knew how much they loved that photo. “Okay. I’m in. I guess. If you help me complete my to-do list beforehand.”
“Of course,” Zoey agreed. “I love your to-do list.”
Mira mumbled something underneath her breath that Rumi was fairly certain she should be pleased she hadn’t caught.
“May I continue?”
“Carry on, babe,” Mira sighed, as Rumi looked at her watch. It was late, but she’d give Zoey another 30 minutes before she called it and allowed Mira her veto. She wanted to see Mira’s wolf almost as much as Zoey did, but though this felt like the closest they’d ever come to persuading her, Mira’s leg was bouncing with nerves, and Rumi couldn’t think that there was any good reason for Mira to have kept this so private for so long. Maybe she was one of the few people in the world who didn’t have a wolf, or maybe she’d been hurt at some point and her wolf was somehow scarred and she didn’t want the pity, or maybe she couldn’t control it well, or maybe—
It was a familiar litany of possible reasons why their girlfriend was keeping her wolf away from them, born from nights of whispering with Zoey, of tentative questions and familiar rejections.
Zoey’s face was suddenly serious, flicking to a slide titled ‘Lastly and Most Importantly’ with three numbered bullet points with no words next to them, just a series of indecipherable emojis.
“One,” Zoey said, tapping at the number that was just a pleading face emoji, looking Mira dead in the face. Rumi was expecting more begging, but what came out of Zoey was an adorably firm, “We know this makes you uncomfortable, so if you don’t want to, we don’t want to, ever.” She waited until Mira made a short, cut-off noise of understanding, and Rumi’s hand slid to cover her knee.
Next to the number two was just a heart emoji, and Zoey said, “Two. We love you, like, stupid amounts, and whatever you’re scared of, nothing is going to change that, okay? Like, nothing. Ever. No matter what. We love all of you, even the bits we haven’t gotten to meet yet.”
Rumi just squeezed Mira’s knee, her throat tight, peeking over at her and seeing the bob of Mira's throat as she swallowed and nodded.
“And three,” Zoey said, pointing to the palm tree and clock emojis next to the number three, and Rumi had given up on interpreting this level of Zoey chaos and was now just listening as intently as Mira. “Bora Bora can wait, if you want it to. We’ll wait, for you. For as long as you need us to.”
Rumi wiped at her eye with the corner of her sleeve and laughed, grabbing Mira close and kissing her cheek.
“She’s right. All of that,” Rumi agreed, voice thick, and Mira’s jaw tensed as she looked at her, then looked over to Zoey and stood.
“There’s one more slide,” Zoey said, stepping back and hitting the wall as Mira stalked towards her.
“Oh yeah? That one says ‘last’ on it.”
Zoey flicked to the next page just before Mira took the remote from her hands, tossing it behind her.
Rumi was laughing too hard to catch the remote, seeing the three little cartoon versions of themselves pop up on the screen again, this time in nun habits. The cartoon version of Mira was crying and Zoey’s was praying, with glittery wordart text hovering over them: ‘rumi pls don’t make us be celibate for 12 whole days im begging u.’
“Okay,” Mira said, too intent on Zoey’s face to look at the TV, and Rumi’s laughter cut off abruptly. Mira’s hand reached out to trace along Zoey’s hairline, tucking a loose strand behind her ear, and Zoey blinked at her.
“Okay?” Zoey asked tentatively. “Okay you’ll — you’ll come to a sanctuary with us?”
“If it’s private and secure. And you promise not to…” she bit her lip, and Zoey’s hand cupped her face immediately, Rumi standing to come closer, touching the small of Mira’s back.
“Whatever you need,” Rumi promised her.
“And you don’t need to do this,” Zoey repeated.
“You literally just wrote and illustrated an entire PowerPoint to convince me on the basis that Rumi will stop working for once in her life — wait, what?” Mira said, looking behind Zoey and bursting into a shock of laughter.
“Oh, yeah, I spent the last twenty minutes you were out combing through scientific journals to see if there’s been any research on whether having sex impacts vocal fold hydration, but all I could find was that increased tongue flexibility is helpful, obviously, and some stuff about hormonal balance during periods. Even when I tried to search for the word ‘intercourse’ instead of ‘sex’ to see if that helped, which, actually, I’ll send you the most recent stud…y…”
Mira put one hand above her head, leaning in, and Zoey’s words trailed off even before their lips met. No matter how many times Rumi watched them do this, it would always hit her in the heart, always pull her closer as simply and inevitably as gravity, one of her hands sliding around the back of Mira’s neck, the other falling on Zoey’s hip. “I love you, you adorable maniac. Promise you’ll still love me. No matter what?” Mira asked, her eyes flicking between them.
“Always,” Zoey said.
“Whatever happens. Whatever, wherever, whenever,” Rumi agreed, watching Mira nod, suddenly decisive, her forehead tipping against Rumi’s as she kissed her. Her nerves were tingling with the hopeful adrenaline that they’d finally know what Mira had been hiding from them, and she could feel Mira holding them both tight, as if her hands were too shaky to let them go. “Zo,” she said, before Mira could try to change her mind, or the moment made her any more uncomfortable, nodding at the TV screen. “We really won't be able to do that many shows back to back without adjustments. We don’t need scientific research to know that. I’m fairly certain we’ve tested it enough ourselves to be sure how badly it impacts our voices.”
“I dunno,” Mira said immediately. “Think we could use a bigger sample size.”
“Was that a dirty science joke?” Zoey asked, fanning herself dramatically. “As if I could love you more. You know, we could have sex, and Rumi can just sit there in her nebuliser and LED face mask and watch. It’s your voice that we need to look out for, really, you’re the loud one. We can control ourselves.”
“I don’t for one second believe that,” Rumi said, folding her arms, the imagery of her sitting in her nebuliser watching them fuck almost making her unable to get a proper defence out. “And I can’t wear my nebuliser and my face mask at the same time, that would be ridiculous.”
“Oh, that would be ridiculous, not any of the rest of this,” Mira said.
“She’s definitely tried it for the efficiency gains, hasn’t she,” Zoey said in a stage whisper, at the same time as Mira grabbed both of them by an arm, tugging them towards the bedroom.
At least half an hour later, Rumi stopped in the middle of proving just how incorrect Zoey had been, bolting upright with a gasp. “Mira,” she said with a groan. “Go turn off the TV before that WordArt gets burnt into the screen.”
Mira was still laughing when she came back into the room to join them once more.