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Mira is not avoiding Rumi. She's not. She's just having a hard time being in the same room as her or looking at her or touching her or talking to her. Worst of all, Rumi has done nothing to warrant her behaviour. Until a few of weeks ago, things were still shaky. They'd talked about everything that happened, they'd cried, they'd fought and cried some more until they were raw and exhausted. And day by day things got better. Zoey's laugh doesn't sound quite so hollow anymore, Rumi's movements are more confident and sure, and Mira, well, Mira can breathe a little easier knowing that the two people she loves most in this world are still beside her.
And that would all be well and good if not for the way she wakes up in a cold sweat most nights from nightmares of her own hands running a blade through Rumi's chest and clutching her limp body as she expires; of trying to wash her hands of Rumi's blood, still warm, coating her skin, caught under her fingernails. Sometimes Rumi begs for her life, other times she begs for her to end it. No matter the nightmare, Mira has to slap a hand over her mouth when she wakes to stifle her sobs. And in the light of day, each time Rumi laughs, or passes her a cup of tea, looks at her, Mira has to look away.
Zoey notices immediately, naturally. But when she asks Mira about it, Mira cannot find the words for it. She is wracked with guilt, yes, but to explain that would also mean that she has to explain her very real, very big feelings for Rumi.
Until that night she had found it easy enough to keep a lid on it all, content to be the best friend she could possibly be. But at those fateful Idol Awards, nearly losing Rumi completely had forced the neat little box she had stuffed her feelings into to break open and it all came tumbling out. She couldn't deny it anymore. She could barely look at her without warmth blooming in her chest only for her guilt to curdle it into something ashen and blue.
She loves her. Good god, she loves her so much. And it shouldn't hurt because it's Rumi, fearless, beautiful, brave, passionate, loving Rumi. But it does hurt, because it's Rumi. Rumi who had pleaded with her and Zoey, desperate and afraid. Rumi who had been pressured into secrecy and kept parts of herself hidden. Rumi who had begged for death.
And Mira has since let remorse and what ifs consume her every waking moment. She is sure she could never have Rumi. Not in the way she has wanted for as long as she can remember. Not when all she sees is the woman she wounded so indelibly. What's worse is that Rumi had forgiven her so easily, and Mira has no idea what to do with it.
So she tells Zoey she's just working through something and promises she's fine. Zoey doesn't look convinced, but doesn't push her either. At least not the first time. But true to form, Zoey runs out of patience with it when Mira, a few days later, abruptly stands leaves the kitchen table with her lunch after Rumi laughed especially loudly at one of Zoey's jokes. Rumi looks equal parts confused and hurt when she leaves, but Mira pretends she doesn't see it. Zoey is at her door, stubborn as ever, an hour later when Rumi has gone out to run some errands.
"Not now, Zoey," Mira calls.
"Yes, now," Zoey insists. "I'm coming in."
Zoey pushes her way in and shuts the door behind her. Mira should have locked it.
"Is Rumi okay?" Mira asks before she can think better of it.
"Ask her yourself." Zoey huffs, folding her arms across her chest. "Y'know, like someone who cares about her would."
"Zoey, I don't need a lecture right now."
"This isn't a lecture, this is me staging an intervention, because I don't know what's going on with you and I'm getting concerned. You've never had trouble letting us know something is up. So what the hell was that?"
"It's nothing."
"Mira, that was not nothing," Zoey hisses. "We have eaten almost every meal together since we met, even on shitty days, so don't bullshit me."
"Leave it, Zoey."
"Nope. Not until you explain what happened because one second Rumi laughed and the next you looked like you wanted to cry or vomit, and I'm not sure which is worse."
"I'm just dealing with some stuff, okay."
"You said that a few days ago and you're still being weird."
"I'm not being weird."
"Yes, you are." Zoey wrings her hands. "Look, I get it if you haven't forgiven Rumi yet for what happened, but you need to let her know how you're feeling because I don't know how much more of this I can take."
Shame curls its way around Mira's ribcage then. She's being so selfish and she knows it.
"Of course I've forgiven her. It's Rumi."
"Exactly. It's Rumi. So stop acting like you can't stand the sight of her, because all you're going to do is push her away again."
Mira looks up at Zoey, affronted and wounded. She looks as distraught as Mira feels. Mira knows Zoey chooses her words carefully, even when her mind is racing at a thousand miles an hour, and it's not lost on her that this is meant to be a reminder and a warning. It stings.
"Zoey."
"I'm not saying it to upset you," she murmurs. "I'm saying it because I love you both too much to even think about letting you drift apart because of this."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't say that to me, say that to her," Zoey says gently. "Look, I can't tell you how to deal with whatever it is you're dealing with, but you need to figure it out. If not for you, then for her."
"Yeah."
"I'm here for you, Mira, but you can't ask Rumi to be open with you one moment and hold her at arms length the next."
"Yeah, okay," Mira sighs. "I hear you."
Zoey gives her a decisive nod, satisfied.
"Okay," she exhales, "intervention over." Then she adds thoughtfully, "You're allowed to want things you know. You're allowed to want her."
Mira looks up at her again, shocked but for entirely different reasons.
"How did you..?"
"I've known you since we were teenagers. I know when my best friend is in love."
Mira flounders. Zoey just chuckles and gives Mira a quick hug before leaving her in the quiet with the weight of her emotions.
She tries to do better after that, but most days it all still feels insurmountable, today included. They're mid rehearsal preparing for their comeback. Rumi asks her to run her through the footwork for the chorus of the song one more time, so they do it together, with Mira mirroring her from behind. Then Mira notices her arm isn't stretched out the whole way, so she gently pushes her elbow to extend it fully as she moves. It's instinct, really, as a choreographer she looks for these things all the time, but touching Rumi feels like temptation and grief all at once. And where she would normally allow her touch to linger, she recoils suddenly and takes several steps back.
Rumi turns to look at her, confused, but before she can ask what happened Mira interrupts her by telling her the choreography looks good, they just need to run it again tomorrow morning when it's had time to sink in. She leaves the studio without another word and doesn't stop moving until she reaches her bedroom. She presses herself against the back of her door and tries to steady her breathing with little success. She should shower, that would help, she decides then and peels herself from the floor to do so. The water feels good, scalding her skin on the right side of painful to keep her grounded. She stands under the spray until it starts to run cold and wraps herself in the nearest comfortable clothes she can before curling up with a book. She knows she should talk to Rumi. They should have spoken weeks ago, but Mira still has no idea how to go about it without completely unravelling.
It's dark by the time she hears a tenative knock at her door.
"Mira?" She flinches when she hears the anxiety in Rumi's voice.
"Come in," she says barely loud enough for Rumi to hear. She sits up on the edge of her bed.
She looks up slowly as the door opens and sees Rumi with her shoulders hunched, bundled in one of her enormous hoodies as though trying to make herself as small as possible. Mira's heart cracks.
"What's up, Rumi?" she says awkwardly.
Rumi steps into the room and shuts the door.
"Have I done something to upset you?" She asks as though she is certain the answer is 'yes'.
Guilt lances through Mira's chest. She shakes her head.
"No, you haven't." She says it as gently as she can. It's the truth, after all, but there is no warmth in her voice.
"Okay." Rumi's voice is unsteady. "So why are you avoiding me?"
"I'm not avoiding you."
That's a lie.
"Yes you are. You're always in your room, you barely talk to me unless it's for work. You won't even look at me or touch me if you don't have to."
Mira's chest squeezes when she looks at Rumi once more. She looks like she might cry, like she is bracing for her whole world to end yet again. Mira hates herself for it.
"Is it my patterns?" Rumi continues hastily. "I can cover them up again if that would be better."
"No," Mira says sharply. She would sooner willingly call her parents than let Rumi feel like she has to hide again. "No," softer this time.
"Then why are you avoiding me?"
"I told you, I'm not."
"Yes, you are." Rumi's voice is bolder now. "Don't lie to me. You're always the first to want to talk it out. What's changed?"
"I just don't want to talk right now," she snaps before she can stop herself. Rumi's right, but this is different.
"Well, I do."
"Rumi-."
"No, I'm not doing this with you. You can't avoid me forever. I understand if you haven't forgiven me for what happened, I think I can live with that. And I get it if you don't want to talk to me about whatever is going on, but you need to talk to Zoey at least, because I can't keep tiptoeing around our house, sick to my stomach, because you won't look at me."
"Of course I forgive you, Rumi. I did the second you ran."
"Then what's wrong?"
"Nothing is wrong."
"So stop avoiding me."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"I don't want to talk about this right now. Please."
"No." Rumi stands her ground.
"Rumi, I really can't do this."
Rumi softens then, just enough to make Mira fold.
"Mira, please," she beseeches, kneeling at her feet. Her hand hovers over her knee. "I just want to know how I can fix this."
Mira hesitates, then lifts her hand to take Rumi's and looks at her fully. Rumi's eyes still warm despite her sorrow. It's as if she's saying 'there you are', and Mira cannot help but crumble.
"There's nothing to fix," she says finally.
"Then what is it?"
"I'm scared," Mira whispers.
"I know," Rumi squeezes her hand. "Me too."
Mira takes a shaky breath.
"I nearly lost you, Rumi. You-. You were ready to die and it's my fault."
"No," Rumi reaches up to touch her face. "No, it's not your fault."
"Yes, it is, and I just keep replaying that night in my head. The way you looked at me, at Zoey. I have nightmares about it. You dying in my arms, my hands covered in your blood, and I can't get rid of it. And every time I look at you it's all I see. The way I pushed you away. I regret it, all of it and I know I can't take it back and I know that you asked Celine to do something none of us could take back. And I..." Mira's throat constricts as tears well in her eyes. "I can't shake it."
Rumi opens her arms and Mira slides onto the floor beside her. She lets Rumi hold her as she buries her face in her neck and cries.
"I'm sorry," she murmurs.
"You shouldn't be the one apologising," Mira protests quietly.
"Maybe, but I am."
"I don't know what to do, Rumi."
"You don't have to do anything. Just let me hold you for a bit?" Mira can hear her voice trembling. "Please? I've missed you."
Mira sobs and holds onto her a little tighter, like she might slip away.
"I'm sorry," she whispers over and over. Rumi hushes her softly, fully crying now, too.
They stay there until their cheeks sting and their lungs and limbs are heavy. Then Mira is sitting back, barely moving out of Rumi's space, but moving just enough to rest their foreheads together.
"I love you," she says eventually. She has no idea how to voice everything else, but she needs to say this at least. She needs Rumi to know.
Rumi smiles fondly.
"I love you, too."
Mira brushes her nose against Rumi's cheek. She whispers it again and Rumi hums softly when she brings a hand up to cradle her jaw. The air between them thickens all of a sudden, like a string pulled taught between their ribcages. Rumi's eyes flutter shut and Mira's heart hammers in her chest. She is so beautiful.
"I love you," she says a third time, more reverent, and Rumi's breath hitches.
They share breaths for an agonising moment, teetering on the edge of something they have been hurtling towards for years, one way or another, each daring the other to jump first.
"Mira?"
"Mm?"
"Kiss me."
Mira tilts her chin and presses her lips to Rumi's. It's delicate at first, but Rumi immediately goes to cup the back of her head and Mira cannot hold back anymore. She kisses Rumi hard, tasting, feeling, drinking her in like her life depends on it. Then Rumi has a hand fisted in the front of her hoodie, tugging her closer and Mira moans softly. Feeling bold, Mira tugs Rumi into her lap and delights in the little squeak it pulls from her.
"I've wanted this for so long," Rumi mumbles against Mira's lips and it makes Mira groan. She has a hundred questions she needs to ask but she's sure they can wait because Rumi is pulling away to remove her hoodie and tshirt in one go, revealing her shimmering patterns and the flushed skin of her chest and she can't focus on anything else.
"God, Rumi," Mira whispers, lips moving to her neck.
"Touch me," she begs, guiding Mira's hands. Mira splays one against the small of her back and lets the other roam her stomach, her ribs, her arms. Rumi tilts her head back and sighs, content.
"You're so beautiful." She plants an open-mouthed kiss to her sternum. "All of you."
Rumi lets out a breathless sound caught between a whimper and a laugh and Mira takes the opportunity to really look at her. She takes in her warm eyes, the rise and fall of her chest, the delicate curve of her nose, her perfect lips.
"How long?" Rumi asks, stroking Mira's cheek.
"I don't know," she admits. "It sort of just happened. And I didn't think you would ever..."
"Me too," Rumi says. "But I always hoped."
"Yeah."
Rumi kisses her sweetly.
"I'm sorry I made you feel so awful," Mira murmurs.
"It's okay."
"No, it's not," Mira insists. "I've been so in my head about everything that happened and I was being selfish."
"I understand. Just talk to me next time?"
"I will, I promise." She seals it with another kiss. Rumi curls her fingers into her hair and Mira pulls her flush against her chest. She peppers kisses all over Rumi's face until they're both giggling. Rumi's laughter feels like sunshine. Mira has known this from the first time she heard it, but here, now, with her in her arms, with the way affection balloons in her chest, she knows it is a universal truth.
"What do we tell Zoey?" Rumi asks, shyly.
"Oh, I'm sure she's already figured it out."
Rumi snorts out a laugh.
"You're probably right."
Mira runs a finger over Rumi's jaw and Rumi looks at her softly. She takes her hand and kisses her palm. It's a gesture so tender it leaves Mira a little winded.
"I love you," Rumi says against her skin.
"I love you," Mira breathes, "so much."
They gaze at each other for a sweet, rosy moment before Rumi speaks again.
"What happens now?"
"We should probably go and make dinner." Mira says airily, with humour, knowing full well that's not what Rumi is asking. "It's my turn to cook anyways. Y'know, business as usual."
Rumi shoves her playfully.
"You're annoying."
"Yeah. But you love it." Mira grins, stealing another kiss before answering truthfully, a nervous edge in her voice. "I don't know what happens now. I know what I want, but is this what you want?"
"I don't really know what this is. I've never, um, I've never done anything like this."
"Not even with Jinu?" Mira dares ask.
"No, no, it wasn't like that. Or maybe it could have been, I don't know, but lately I've realised I think I just needed connection with someone who knew what I was going through. I didn't think I'd ever get the chance to be close with anyone, with you, like this, ever."
Mira nods in understanding. "Well, now you know you can," she promises. "And we can take it day by day. See where it takes us. How does that sound?"
Rumi fiddles with the collar of Mira's tshirt as she answers, "that sounds really good."
"Good." Mira kisses her forehead. "Dinner?"
"Yeah."
The air in the penthouse is lighter that night. Mira and Rumi move around each other with a new kind of ease. Not the same as they did before everything happened, but something newer, bolder, just as instinctive maybe, but intentional too. Rumi brushes a hand against the small of Mira's back when she reaches over her to grab a knife to chop up some chillis; Mira bumps her hip playfully when Rumi squeezes by her as she stirs vegetables; they laugh, steal kisses, sway to whatever song Rumi has playing on the speakers. It feels right, all of this. And when Zoey emerges from her room to join them at the table, she need only glance between the pair of them to know that everything is as it should be.