Archive of Our Own ^beta

Rumi’s playing the guitar on the couch, trying to come up with the next chords of the song she’s been writing for the past week. She hums as she strums, sometimes setting the flat of her hand against the strings to quiet them before leaning down and scribbling on her notebook. Zoey’s on the couch too, lying on her back and scrolling through her socials, her bare foot tapping Rumi’s thigh to the rhythm of her strumming. Outside, the sun’s setting and the city’s catching on fire. The street lights turn on as well as the floodlights under the bridges, painting the Han River as orange as the sky. Rumi looks out the bay windows, feels Zoey’s foot apply more pressure against her thigh, as if to say Hey, why did you stop playing, and goes back to strumming.

It's peaceful and simple. So very easy. She used to lock herself in her bedroom to work on her songs. Not ashamed, but private. Not ready to share that part of her with the two strangers she’d just moved in with. One day, Zoey knocked on her door while she was playing the guitar and asked if she wanted to, maybe, if it was okay, play in the living room instead of her bedroom. Rumi agreed—more to avoid being rude than because she wanted to—and quietly brought her instrument into the shared space, anxiety racking up as soon as she saw Mira half sprawled on the couch and reading a book. Rumi’s never been much for an audience, even less when she’s still perfecting the song she’s playing. But, as it turned out, Mira and Zoey weren’t an audience. Not exactly. They listened, yes, and sometimes even hummed along, but all they wanted in the end was for Rumi and her music to exist in their vicinity. She wasn’t giving a concert. She was just playing, practicing, enjoying. There was no expectation, no pressure. Just two people who loved music and, somehow, Rumi’s company. Now, the only time she locks herself in her bedroom to play the guitar is when Mira or Zoey is taking a nap or already asleep in bed after a long day.

“I like this,” Zoey says, eyes still on her phone. “That last sequence you just did.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s not what we would expect, yet it feels right.”

“Hm. I’ll keep it.”

Zoey lets out a pleased giggle and, with practiced ease, Rumi ignores how her muscles weaken at the sound. She keeps experimenting for a while. It’s a bit scary, how comfortable she feels around Zoey and Mira. How fast they broke down most of her barriers and took such space in her life. When she decided to get a roommate, a year ago, she expected a polite and distant camaraderie. Someone with whom she would sometimes share a meal, talk about mundane things like the weather or work, and, most importantly, someone who could show her the ropes on being a functioning adult after spending years being homeschooled and overprotected by her aunt Celine.

What she got instead was not one, but two roommates, because she couldn’t choose between the two girls who’d shone so brightly amongst the dozens of people Rumi had interviewed. The apartment, the one she had inherited from her mother, was spacious, at the center of Gangnam neighborhood, and came with a rent so cheap it could easily have seemed like a scam; it’s no wonder she got over a hundred applications in barely an afternoon. Ever since then, they’ve fallen into an unexpected, sometimes overwhelming, always fulfilling balance. From strangers, they became best friends, with no step in between, and Rumi can’t imagine her life without them anymore.

It isn’t long before Rumi hears the jingle of keys in the front door’s lock.

“Hey,” Mira greets them as she steps into the apartment.

“Hey,” Rumi says with a soft smile just as Zoey grins, “Hi Mira!”

Mira turns her back on them long enough to take her shoes off before joining them.

“How was your day?” Rumi asks, setting her guitar on its stand.

Mira shrugs, drops her duffle bag on the floor by the couch and crosses her arms over her chest.

“Oh, you know, the usual. Made a bunch of grown-ups wiggle to some pop songs, worked on my latest choreography, flirted with the cute tea shop barista and, oh—got chosen to become THRICE’s new choreographer.”

“WHAT?” Zoey shouts.

She bolts up so fast she bumps into Rumi and almost propels her off the couch.

“Oh my god, Mira, that’s amazing!” Rumi wobbles and beams, feeling so immensely proud of her.

“Amazing? It’s the best thing in the entire universe!” Zoey all but screams.

She launches herself into Mira’s arms and Mira laughs, the dust of pink on her cheeks betraying how pleased she feels. Just as Rumi’s getting up to join the hug, Zoey pulls away with a stream of Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod I’m so happy for you and smashes her grinning mouth against Mira’s, before taking a startled step back. Oh. Oh. Rumi freezes, Mira freezes, Zoey freezes, and for a second there none of them even dares to breathe. Rumi eventually forces air through her lungs, blinking as she sees her roommates—her friends, her best friends—turn pale staring at each other with the same level of confusion Rumi’s feeling.

“That’s—” Her voice catches in her throat and she has to start again, “That’s new. Since when are you…”

Mira’s shoulders slump and a slow smirk spreads on her face. Meanwhile, Zoey’s going from white as a sheet to redder than a tomato in a matter of seconds.

“Since now, apparently,” Mira teases, lips parting as her smile grows and reveals some teeth.

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry,” Zoey whimpers. “I didn’t—I got so excited—My body just moved on its own and—I mean it’s not that I don’t want to—I mean it’s okay if you don’t want it back? I—I mean—”

Mira laughs, low, gentle, and sets a hand on Zoey’s waist to pull her against her. Rumi watches as they kiss for the second time in the past minute—in their whole life, according to Mira—and simply can’t make out how it makes her feel. Happy, jealous, warm, worried, shocked? Yeah, shocked. She hadn’t seen it coming. She should have, in retrospect. Both Mira and Zoey openly like girls, both are exceptionally—objectively—very, very pretty, both have grown incredibly close since they all moved in together a year ago. Yet she still feels dumb and dumbfounded, standing there uselessly while Zoey and Mira lean away from each other, a goofy smile on the former’s face, a tender one on the latter’s.

“Well.” Zoey clears her throat, blissful smile unwavering. “I, um, I’m really, really happy for you, Mira. And uh, for me. Like. Yes. Really happy for me.”

Mira snorts, shakes her head fondly and turns to Rumi, cocking her eyebrows.

“I believe you owe me a congratulatory hug?”

“Oh. Oh, yes. Yes, of course. Congratulations, Mira. Truly. It’s amazing, and so well deserved.”

Rumi steps towards her, suddenly very conscious of her arms and feet and is she supposed to leave her hands just there along her body? But Mira wraps her arms around her shoulders and squeezes her tight, and Rumi immediately melts into the embrace. She doesn’t even think, slipping her hands onto Mira’s lower back and squeezing back, face tucked into the crook of Mira’s neck, her jasmine scent soothing away every worry.

“Thank you,” Mira whispers.

Rumi feels the brush of air against the tip of her ear like she would a lightning strike, and she steps back.

“Okay,” she says more to herself than to her two friends. “We’re celebrating! Your new job and your… new relationship?”

Rumi says it tentatively, almost shyly, and watches as her two best friends exchange a hesitant look. Something passes between them. Mira smiles, and smiles even more as a grin overtakes Zoey’s face. Rumi swallows, nods and forces a smile of her own as she pulls her phone out of her pocket.

“You two can order absolutely anything you want. My treat.”

“Hell yes!”

Zoey fist pumps into the air, but Mira remains stoic, smile disappearing as she looks at Rumi in a funny way.

“Don’t you have date night tonight?” she asks softly.

She could dump a bucket of ice on Rumi’s head and it’d feel the same. Date night. With Jinu. She’d forgotten.

“Right. But this is more important. How often are you selected to become the choreographer of one of the fastest rising K-pop bands in the country? And start a new relationship?”

“She makes a very valid point,” Zoey approves with a strong nod.

Mira chuckles. “It’s okay, really. Let’s celebrate another day. I have a bunch of paperwork I need to fill out tonight and I won’t be able to relax until I’m done with it.”

“Also a very valid point,” Zoey nods again, turning towards Rumi, who couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, fine. I guess I should get ready, then.”

She hesitates for a second and presses a kiss to Mira’s cheek.

“I’m so proud of you,” she murmurs, before ducking her head and walking to her bedroom, hoping neither of them caught the blush on her face.

***

Thursday night is date night. Their first date had been on a Thursday, and so had the second, the third and every other date after that. At first, they met in restaurants, went to the movies or took long walks along the river. As their relationship evolved and grew steadier and more serious, date nights turned into a nice dinner and a movie at home, cuddles on the couch, a night spent at the other’s place. Rumi likes it like this. It’s predictable, expected, comforting in its regularity and familiarity. She has her space and, one evening and night every week, she has Jinu.

They’ve been dating for a little over two years now, and it’s going well. Rumi likes him. They always have a pleasant time, and he gives her the space she so desperately needs while still managing to be a constant in her life. They call every night—except, of course, on Thursday night—, telling each other about their day and plans. They never fight. Sure, Jinu sometimes annoys her, but when it comes to it, they never have a real argument. With him, she feels in control, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Tonight’s like any other Thursday night. Rumi goes to Jinu’s place, greets him with a chaste kiss on the lips, helps him cook, lays her head on his shoulder as they watch a thriller, takes a shower, brushes her teeth and slides under his sheets—clean, she knows, he always washes them before she visits him—with a content sigh. She’s barely thought about Mira and Zoey kissing since she left the apartment, and she considers that a major victory.

Jinu joins her on the bed and smiles. As every Thursday night except when she’s on her period, they have sex. It’s quick, silent and not unpleasant. Jinu’s always on top, which Rumi appreciates. She can see his face—it’s a nice face—and she doesn’t have to do a whole workout at 10 p.m. on a week day. Still, even if she’s barely broken a sweat, she always takes another shower after they’re done. Rumi likes to be clean. She likes to be clean before it starts, and she likes to be clean after it ends. If Jinu joked about it at first, he has come to fully accept it as part of their little routine.

Rumi turns the faucet on, sheds her clothes and rolls her braid into a bun. It’s as perfectly styled as ever, her ten minutes lying still on her back not enough for one strand of hair to get misplaced. She steps into the shower and yelps when she’s hit by cold water. She quickly jumps out and wraps herself into a towel, frowning. She waits one more minute, testing the water temperature every few seconds, until she gives up and calls for Jinu. The verdict comes down, sharp and unforgiving: the boiler has broken down.

“It was working just fine when I took a shower earlier,” she points out.

Jinu shrugs. “I don’t know what’s happening. I’ll call someone tomorrow.”

Of course he’s unbothered. Jinu takes his showers as cold as ice, while Rumi needs hers long and scalding. She likes to step out of the bathroom with red skin and a cloud of steam. And she needs to take a shower now. They’ve just had sex. She feels sticky from his sweat, not gross but not fully herself, her skin itching more and more the longer she’s left waiting.

In the end, she caves in and decides to go back home. Jinu laughs it off. “You’re a maniac, you know that?” She pushes his shoulder with her fist but still kisses him as they say goodbye. In the cab, Rumi has to face an unexpected dilemma. Should she warn Mira and Zoey that she will be back home early? They’re together now, right? Or about to be. And Rumi really, really doesn’t want to interrupt. On the other hand, wouldn’t her texting them be a bit awkward? It’s her home. She can come and go as much as she wants, and she doesn’t owe them an explanation every time she goes home. Maybe they’ll think she’s being weird about the kisses. And Rumi’s very determined not to be weird about the kisses. People date and people kiss. Such is life. In the end, she decides to shoot them a message, if only so they won’t freak out hearing the door open in the middle of the night, or as middle of the night as 11:30 p.m. can be.

The living room and kitchen are empty when she comes home. Zoey’s room is dark and wide open, but not Mira’s. Light spills from underneath the closed door. Right. They’re probably together. Cuddling, laughing, defining their relationship. It’s a good thing. Rumi’s happy for them.

It’s only when she walks out of the bathroom, finally clean—cleansed—, that she notices both Mira’s and Zoey’s phones on the coffee table, along with two glasses of water and a half-empty bowl of popcorn. Rumi tries not to read too strongly into it. They left the couch in a rush. So what?

She doesn’t linger long and locks herself in her room. She’s turned the light off for approximately sixteen seconds when she hears it.

A moan.

A long, loud, high-pitched moan, followed by a shorter one, then a gasp. Oh. Oh no. Anything but that. Rumi tenses up from head to toe, all senses on alert despite herself.

It’s the one flaw of her apartment. The walls between the bedrooms are so thin she can hear it when Mira sneezes, talks, sometimes even sings quietly. It’s the same between Mira’s and Zoey’s rooms, and Rumi’s caught them more than once talking to each other through the wall. She’s always found it cute. Right now, though, she’s very tempted to find out which company built the flat and send them a strongly worded email about privacy, sleep deprivation and the importance of not being able to hear your roommates have sex in the room next door.

The urge grows ten times stronger when she hears Zoey’s voice, admittedly a bit muffled but still very intelligible.  

“Fuck, Mira. Don’t stop.”

What follows is not one, not two, not three, but four hours of moaning, cursing, whimpering and startlingly fast banging against the wall. More than once, Rumi almost grabs her stuff and goes back to Jinu’s place. Every time, though, she reasons with herself. They have to be done soon. The longest she and Jinu have ever lasted has been forty-five minutes, and that’s mainly because he kept getting a cramp in his calf. She knows that, when it comes to sex, girls usually have more stamina than boys, but she could never have anticipated that they could have that much more stamina.

Zoey comes five times. Three times in rapid fire, the other two with a longer, louder delay in between. With the amount of begging and sobbing and please Mira please god fuck—I need you to—Please fuck me—Rumi makes the educated guess Mira’s teasing the life out of Zoey until she finally gives Zoey what she’s so desperately begging for. After a while, even Rumi’s silently begging with her. She needs this to end. She needs to sleep. To never, ever think about her best friends having sex together ever again.

Mira comes three times, Rumi thinks. She’s not quite sure; Mira’s pleasure is quieter, more primal, a long silence followed by a raspy, almost animal groan that shatters every single cell in Rumi’s body.

At some point during their four-hour sex marathon, Rumi turns the light back on. She tries to scroll on her phone, tries to read, paces around in her room, stares at the never-dormant city outside, the festival of neon, street lights and occasional car’s headlights or brakes tracing a smooth line on the empty roads. Hands crossed behind her back, she stands there, breath steady, eyes fixed on the distant horizon, the picture of an old man at peace with himself after decades of an adventurous life. Meanwhile, Mira and Zoey would simply not stop.

“Fuck, Zo. How are you so good?”

Now, that is a question old-man-Rumi asks herself repeatedly. Sex is fun, yes. Sex can be pleasant, yes. But sex doesn’t warrant such a flourish of exclamations and acclamations and ululations. Sex doesn’t last four hours. Sex is supposed to be quick, silent aside for the occasional groan, and satisfying like a good workout can be. And Rumi sure as hell doesn’t moan until her throat hurts whenever she’s at the gym.

And then, silence. Rumi pricks up her ears and catches a tiny giggle, but nothing else. They’re hopefully, blissfully done. With an immense sigh of relief, Rumi walks back to her bed. There is no denying how flustered and wet she is, but she easily blames it on the evening she’s spent with Jinu. Even if it’s quite rare for her to get this wet. Even if she’s never felt her panties cling to her this way, soaked and sticky and uncomfortable. But Jinu’s just gotten a new haircut and, evidently, Rumi likes it way more than she thought she had. Her reaction is a bit belated, sure, but the human body’s a beautiful and complicated thing.

She’s about to turn the light off when she hears Mira’s door open. Her hand freezes mid-air, before slowly retracting to her side. Truth be told, Rumi’s a bit angry. She would never go to them to complain about how unnecessary this night’s been, but if they see her light on and panic a little as they realize she’s been home all this time, well. Maybe it’d teach them to be quieter.

And sure enough, she hears Zoey’s mortified “Oh, shit” just as clearly as she’s heard Zoey’s ridiculously satisfied “Oh, fuck” when she came for the third time in a row. Again, silence, and after a while, a tentative knock at the door.

Rumi sits against the headboard and pulls the sheets to cover her legs—she isn’t naked, yet she feels like it.

“Come in.”

Zoey’s head first appears in the crack of the door, her big doe eyes widening when they meet Rumi’s steely ones. Then the door opens further. Mira stands there, right behind Zoey, bottom lip very slightly pulled in that way that indicates she’s nervous.

More than the two kisses earlier today, more than these insane past four hours, more than the eight orgasms they’ve just shared, it’s that sight of them, hesitating together by Rumi’s door, that actually breaks her. Everything comes crashing down and, for the very first time today, Rumi faces the truth. Mira and Zoey are together and she will inevitably become the third wheel. The balance they’ve found since the first days of cohabitation has suddenly tilted, and Rumi’s left weighing nothing.

“Hey,” Zoey breathes out. “We, uh. We just saw your text.” A pause. Zoey’s face falls a little when Rumi doesn’t reply. “We’re so sorry.”

Rumi drops her gaze to the hands she’s carefully set on her covered lap. She should say something. Make a joke. Lighten the mood. They have every right to have sex. It shouldn’t bother Rumi as much as it does. Both Mira and Zoey deserve to be romantically and physically happy, just like Rumi is with Jinu. Yet she says nothing. That angry, frightened part of her twists in her lungs and she doesn’t trust either her voice or her words right now.

Mira steps inside the bedroom. “Are you mad?” she asks, something akin to concern in her voice.

Rumi holds her stare and manages to answer. “I’m not mad.”

“You have every right to be,” Zoey quickly says as she takes a few steps and stands in front of the bed—next to Mira, always next to Mira, how could Rumi not have seen it coming, they are always, always together.

“You didn’t see my text,” Rumi shrugs, using every last drop of willpower to keep her tone neutral. “It’s not your fault.”

“Rumi,” Mira sighs. “There’s clearly something bothering you. Talk to us.”

Rumi stares at her, all piercing eyes and soft voice, then at Zoey, fidgeting, cheeks flushed from embarrassment, hair tousled from four hours of fucking. She could tell them so many things. She could rip the bandage off, open up, let them in, admit to her fears and worries. You guys mean the world to me, and I’m terrified I won’t be a part of yours anymore. Am I the third wheel? Did you not want to celebrate with me tonight because you just wanted to be alone together? Will I always be scared I’ll walk in on you two again? Will you always be scared I’ll overhear? How can you be fully, freely together if I’m always around? And what of our friendship? Where do I stand, now that you’ve found each other?

Instead, she holds on to her frustration—it’s easier, safer—and she blurts out, “It can’t be THAT good.”

They all freeze, most of all Rumi. Shit. Ooooh, shit.

“What?” Mira asks.

Rumi doubles down. If there’s one thing she thrives in, it’s being as stubborn as a mule. She crosses her arms over her chest and lifts her chin in very misplaced defiance.

“Sex,” she says. “It can’t be that good. I get that it was your first time together and it was fun and all, but you have to admit it was a bit too much.”

She doesn’t even know what she’s saying at this point. She’s just desperately clinging onto what little pride she has left, and it’s better than talking about the real elephant in the room anyway—better than being vulnerable, better than telling them all her fears.

“Are you saying we—Rumi, are you saying we were faking it?”

There’s genuine horror in Zoey’s voice.

“Not faking it, just—” Rumi furiously gestures in the air. “—exaggerating.”

“Completely unrelated, but how are things with Jinu?” Mira drawls, before suddenly wincing when Zoey shoves her elbow into her side.  

“What Mira is trying to say,” she intervenes with a threatening glare at her friend—girlfriend?—, “is that sex can sometimes, um, be… that good.”

Her voice dims down into barely a whisper as she manages to finish her sentence, holding Rumi’s blank stare for a moment before dropping her eyes to her feet. She’s blushing, harder than earlier today when she kissed Mira on a whim—no, not on a whim, Rumi realizes, but on months of want and longing.

“Fine,” Rumi huffs. “Whatever. Just—Next time remember I can’t sleep with noise-canceling headphones.”

She’s being unfair and she knows it. Mira and Zoey had no idea she would be home. And it stings. It stings so fucking much to know that the only reason why they acted like that, the only reason why they could fully let go is because they thought Rumi wasn’t there. She sees the flash of hurt on Mira’s face and all of her frustration and forced anger crumble to dust.

“I’m sorry,” she says, shoving the sheets to the side and hastily getting up. She grabs Zoey’s and Mira’s hands and squeezes them, guilt roiling in her stomach. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—Can I start over?”

“Of course,” Zoey whispers as Mira nods, both squeezing her hand back.

“I—” Rumi clears her throat and falls quiet as she tries to sort through her thoughts. “You two are everything to me,” she finally murmurs. “I’ve never felt safer, never felt more at ease as when I’m with you. I—I’m happy for you, I am, I really am. And I think you’ll be just…”

She sighs, eyes drifting from Mira, to Zoey, to her feet.

“I think you make so much sense together. I think you’re perfect for each other.”

She speaks the truth, yet the truth tastes bittersweet on her tongue. She hates herself for it. Hates that, in truth, she can’t fully be happy for them.

“I know I’m being selfish, but… I’m scared,” she confesses in a hoarse voice, not able to meet their eyes. “I’m scared this means I’m going to eventually lose you, one way or another.”

Mira’s the one to react first. She wraps Rumi in a tight embrace, burying her head into the crook of Rumi’s neck, her breath hot and moist against her skin.

“You’re not going to lose us,” she says with such conviction Rumi believes it. “You’re—Rumi, you’re my family. Do you understand?” She holds Rumi even closer against her, almost suffocating her, as if she’s trying to imprint the words onto Rumi’s bones. “You’re not going to lose us.”

Mira’s voice is steady, but Rumi can feel how shaken she is, in the way she digs her fingers into Rumi’s sleeping shirt, in the way she keeps her face nestled in her neck, in the way she doesn’t let go, holding her firmly, almost achingly so. Two arms slide around Rumi’s waist and Zoey presses herself flush against her back, cheek against her shoulder blade, breath deep enough Rumi can feel her chest expand against her.

“What can we do for you?” Zoey asks, her voice reverberating against Rumi’s ribcage.

“Anything you want, we’ll give you,” Mira adds, breath rolling on Rumi’s neck and lower, lower, all the way to her clenching thighs.

Rumi pulls away, overwhelmed, and crosses her arms over her stomach as if to protect herself. From what, she doesn’t know.

“I think that’s the thing,” she answers. “I don’t want you to do anything for me.”

“There has to be something,” Zoey says. “We’ll definitely respect your space, for a start. But maybe we could have our own, like, friends date night every week?”

“No, no.” Rumi shakes her head. The idea wrings her guts so strongly it makes her nauseous. “I don’t want any of that. I don’t want you to change the way you act around me, or—or the way you’d act around each other if I weren’t here.”

She pauses as her thoughts finally slot into place and her mind completely clears for the first time since she’s lain in bed and heard Zoey’s moan—Zoey’s moan, fuck.

“Actually, that’s what you can do for me.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Mira admits.

“Just—” Rumi takes a deep breath. “Just act as if I wasn’t here. Explore your relationship the way you would if you were alone. I mean—obviously close the door if you want to get, um, more intimate, but… I—I don’t want to freak out every day thinking I’m a liability to you guys. I don’t want to worry about you not fully living this relationship the way you want just because I’m around. I want you to be free. Is that—Does that make any sense?”

“I… think so?” Zoey says, brows slightly furrowed.

“Just to be clear, we’re not going to ignore you, Rumi,” Mira warns with a frown of her own.

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

“But, so, like—” Zoey comically pinches her lips as she tries to fully comprehend the situation. “If we want to kiss, we just…”

“Kiss. Yeah. And if you want to be loud behind closed doors, be loud. Just maybe not in the middle of the night. I just really don’t want you two tiptoeing around me. I’m a grown-up. I have my own relationship. I won’t care if you get all lovey-dovey in the living room while I’m there.”

“What’s the limit?” Mira asks, voice low.

“What?”

“How much can we do in the shared space before we have to take it to the bedroom?”

“I—” Rumi feels herself blush from her neck to the tip of her ears. “I don’t know. Whatever feels comfortable for you? I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

“Hmmm,” Mira hums, and it’s almost ominous. “Okay.”

Zoey looks at Mira for a couple of seconds, blush deepening, before swallowing and staring back at Rumi with a nod.

“Anything you want,” she murmurs, raising a hand to brush at Rumi’s elbow.

Her touch is light, a sigh on Rumi’s skin, yet it sends an electric shock all the way to her heart. She doesn’t let it show, doesn’t shiver or jerk back, but the sudden heat and tightness in her muscles linger. She’s still wet, she realizes. Still hot. Still bothered. Dammit, Jinu, she tells herself, the words loud and clear and articulate in her mind.

“Do you need anything before we go to sleep?” Zoey asks, hand dropping back along her side. “Water? A cuddle?”

“I’m good,” Rumi replies with near urgency—she can’t entertain the idea of cuddling with either of them right now. Not while she’s feeling like this. Not when the two of them have just done all of that. “Just tired.”

“Yes, of course,” Mira says, almost a whisper. “Sorry we kept you up. Goodnight, Rumi.”

“Goodnight, guys.”

Zoey throws herself into Rumi’s arms one last time for a quick hug, before stepping back. “Sleep well!”

Rumi watches as they both smile at her, shy and tentative, and her heart twinges when they turn around and disappear out of her room. She stands there for a while before finally going back to bed. She turns the light off and stares at the darkness above her until she hears Mira’s door close and low voices travel through the wall. She sighs, relief washing over her, when she realizes Zoey and Mira have decided to share a bed for the rest of the night.

That’s all she wants, she tells herself. For them to be free and unburdened. For them to never, ever see her as a hindrance. That way, they’ll be happy. That way, they might still want to stay by her side even as their relationship grows. That way, Rumi will still get to be in their lives. Maybe one day she’ll be ready to move in with Jinu and it’ll make sense to part ways. But for now, she needs Mira and Zoey more than she needs him.

***

It shouldn’t startle her the way it does, and yet. When she walks out of her room the next morning to brew her second cup of tea of the day and finds Zoey sitting on the counter passionately making out with Mira, who’s standing between her legs, Rumi almost turns around and locks herself back in her bedroom. She doesn’t, though. She doesn’t let her step falter or her face fall, simply walks in there and past her two best friends sharing spit on the kitchen counter like it’s the most normal thing in the world. They do stop kissing when she opens the cupboard to grab her mug—it was Zoey’s gift, a cup the color of her hair, and it’d have been a very thoughtful present if it weren’t for the words written on it in bright yellow, I hope your day is as nice as your butt.

“Hi Rumi,” Zoey all but giggles. Rumi glances at her. Zoey looks so flushed and giddy it’s a miracle steam isn’t rising off her cheeks. “Mira was about to leave.”

“First day with THRICE today?” Rumi asks.

“No, that would be next Monday. I just have a class this morning. But I should really go, I’m about to be late.”

As Rumi fills the kettle with water, she glances at them again. She sees Mira’s soft smile, the way her eyes leisurely drift to Zoey’s lips and back up, how she closes the gap and catches Zoey’s mouth in a kiss that has Zoey sighing against her. The kettle overflows, soaking Rumi’s hand and wrist. She resolutely sets the tool on its stand. They kissed. No big deal. Especially when Rumi asked for it.

“Good luck today!” Zoey chirps.

“Don’t overwork your poor students,” Rumi adds as she turns towards them, hoping she appears as nonchalant as usual.

Mira laughs, a silent, little huff of air, before dislodging herself out of Zoey’s legs and walking towards Rumi. She drops a kiss on her cheek—quick, slightly wet, is it Zoey’s…—and gives her one of her trademarked small smirks before moving away.

“Be good, you two. I’ll see you tonight.”

She grabs her duffle bag, opens the front door and leaves. Rumi pretends her hands aren’t still shaking as she pours the boiling water into the teapot.

***

She tells Jinu over the phone.

“Finally!” he cheers. “I’m happy for them.”

She doesn’t tell him about how much it scared her, or how she asked them to not restrain themselves around her. It’s not really his business anyway.

***

Rumi and Zoey are on the couch when Mira comes back home that night. Rumi watches as Zoey leaps, runs to her and plants a long kiss on her mouth. Mira drops her bag on the floor and her hands immediately dig into Zoey’s shirt to bring her closer, and Zoey lets out a little moan as they deepen the kiss for a few seconds. Rumi doesn’t squirm on the couch. But when Zoey comes back and curls up against her like it’s nothing, she can’t ignore the sudden, uncomfortable pool of warmth between her legs. And the worst part of it all is that, this time, she can’t blame it on Jinu.

“Good day?” Rumi asks as Mira steps out of her shoes.

“Quite.”

“Did you flirt with the cute barista again?” Zoey teases, nestling somehow even further into Rumi’s side as Mira walks to the couch. She’s so warm.

“Nah.”

“Aw,” Zoey pouts.

Mira shrugs. “Sorry. I was too busy thinking about you.”

She leans down and presses a soft kiss on Zoey’s lips, muffling her giggle and stealing all the air from Rumi’s lungs as her hair brushes against Rumi’s shoulder and chest. Mira pulls back but doesn’t straighten up, staring at Rumi with an unreadable expression that, quite embarrassingly, completely dries Rumi’s mouth.

“And you,” Mira murmurs.

She kisses Rumi’s cheek and finally stands back up. She yawns and stretches her arms above her head before rolling her shoulders. It’s as if she hasn’t just caused Rumi’s brain to spectacularly short-circuit.

“I’m going to take a shower. The one in the studio wasn’t nearly as satisfying as I needed it to be.”

“Oh! Maybe we could go to the bathhouse!” Zoey perks up, pulling away from Rumi.

The loss is immense in a way Rumi can’t quite comprehend.

“Let’s go tomorrow evening,” Mira says.

“Yay! Rumi, you free?”

“Oh, uh.” She almost asks if they’re sure they want her there. Trust them, she scolds herself. Trust them to tell you what they really want. “Yes. I am.”

“Woo-hoo!”

“Sick.”

She can still feel the imprint of Mira’s lips on her cheek. The warmth of Zoey’s body on her side. The pounding of her own heart as it struggles to calm down. Rumi brushes all of it aside and smiles at them.

“Can’t wait.”

***

They don’t have sex that night. Or if they do, it’s quiet. Still, it takes Rumi a long while to fall asleep.

***

The bathhouse actually feels like a respite from the past two days’ madness, for the sole reason that it’s a public place. Zoey and Mira don’t kiss or touch inappropriately once, and Rumi can fully relax in the scalding hot water. Plus, it’s so steamy around them that it’s hard to see. Not that there’s anything to see, really.

They come back limp, pink-fleshed and satisfied. The rest of the evening passes smoothly. They talk over some leftovers from the day before, laugh, have an epic chopstick battle to get the last piece of chicken bulgogi, and then clean up the kitchen side by side.

Rumi’s the first to head to her bedroom.

“Already going to sleep?” Zoey asks.

“Not right away, no. I’m just going to call Jinu and scroll for a bit.”

Zoey wraps herself around Rumi in a warm hug. “Okay! Have fun!”

Mira simply smiles when Rumi takes her leave. Rumi stays on the phone with Jinu for about twenty minutes. It’s nice and easy, nothing close to the emotional turmoil she’s been experiencing for the past two days. For a second there when they hang up, she even tricks herself into thinking things can be normal again. She’s just had a nice bath and a nice dinner with her best friends, followed by an equally nice chat with her boyfriend. It feels like a regular Saturday evening, and she’s grateful for it.

Her false sense of safety splits open the second she steps foot outside of her bedroom to refill her glass of water. She hears it again. A moan. Coming from behind Zoey’s thankfully closed bedroom door. It’s a low, long and choppy moan, and from its cadence Rumi can tell the exact rhythm with which one of her best friends is currently pounding into her other best friend. It’s not extremely fast. But it’s steady and harsh, the voice cracking at each jab—of what? Fingers? Leg? Str… Rumi hurries to the kitchen so fast she gets dizzy. She refills her glass, downs it completely while leaning over the sink, refills it again and walks back to her bedroom. At least she can’t really hear them anymore when she closes the door. After that, she scrolls on her phone for an hour and desperately pretends she’s not wondering whose moan it is she’s heard.

***

She doesn’t feel left out. They’re all over her as always, Zoey cuddling with her every chance she gets, Mira kissing her cheek or casually setting her hand on her arm or lower back when she walks past her. More often than not, she’s sitting in between them on the couch, and she doesn’t even feel like a third wheel. As insane as it is, this new system they have is actually working.

***

Five days after that fateful Thursday, they go to their favorite Korean BBQ to officially celebrate Mira becoming THRICE’s choreographer. They come back home with full bellies and cheeks hurting from having laughed so much, and decide to end the evening with an old Jackie Chan movie—Mira’s favorites. It’s nice. Normal. Until Zoey snuggles closer into Mira and, from the corner of her eyes, Rumi spots Mira’s fingers trailing up and down Zoey’s naked arm. It seems innocuous enough, at first, but it becomes real suspicious real fast when Zoey starts to squirm a little. It might have gone unnoticed by Rumi if Zoey’s legs weren’t pressed against her lap.

Rumi, in all her magnanimity, decides to ignore it—and again, she’s specifically asked for this. She doesn’t flinch when Zoey’s breath hitches so loudly Rumi hears it, or when she sees, in her peripheral vision, Mira’s nails drag all the way up to Zoey’s neck, jaw, ear. She doesn’t even tense up when they twist to share a kiss, then another, then another, longer and, Rumi knows, wetter. She stays there, pretending to be enraptured by Jackie Chan’s overhead kicks, when really she’s hanging by every tiny noise, every little sigh, every swish of clothes as Mira and Zoey fall more and more into each other. Zoey lets out the tiniest moan, and Mira the breathiest Fuck.

Rumi’s turned on. Indubitably, obscenely turned on.

For the very first time since it all started, she wonders if Zoey and Mira are pushing themselves. Wonders if they’re just trying to give Rumi what she’s asked. If they’re secretly uncomfortable being this intimate next to her, but stick to it because she’s told them it’d make her feel better. The thought makes her dizzy. She moves to get up but freezes to the spot when Zoey snatches her wrist so strongly she might leave a bruise on her skin.

“I’m just getting some water,” she whispers, shocked, uncertain, and Zoey immediately relaxes and releases her grip.

Maybe they don’t mind Rumi being there after all. And maybe Rumi shouldn’t get even more turned on at the thought.

***

The next day, Rumi comes back from the grocery store and finds Zoey straddling Mira on the couch. They’re fully clothed and their hands are visible—Mira’s are tightened around Zoey’s collar, keeping her close as she licks Zoey’s upper lip. Their breaths are erratic. Rumi has to fight to keep her own steady.

She knows they’ve heard her. The front door is right there. Yet, they don’t stop. They don’t greet her. They kiss, Zoey’s fingers running through Mira’s untied hair, fisting it, pulling it. Mira’s face tips upward, eyes fluttering closed, and Zoey lowers herself to drag her teeth across her throat. The heavy, shaky sigh Mira lets out is positively indecent. Rumi swallows, forces herself to stop staring and steps out of her shoes while balancing the grocery bags in her hands.

“Rumi.”

The sound of her name coming out of Mira’s mouth in such a weak, raspy way has her stand bolt upright. She turns her wide eyes to them, feeling something close to molten panic set in her veins. Mira’s looking at her, Zoey’s face buried in her neck, and her next words come out even more ragged.

“Did they have the Damtuh misugaru I wanted?”

Rumi’s brain, already slow, comes to a hard stop when Zoey leans back and, eyes fixed on Mira’s face, starts to slowly grind on her lap. Rumi can’t stop staring. She can’t, shit, it’s bad, she really can’t. Zoey’s so… Her parted lips, her flushed cheekbones, the glint in her eyes, the roll of her hips, light, lazy, yet Rumi can see the effect on Mira, see Mira’s fingers twitching into Zoey’s clothes, see how much she’s fighting to maintain her composure as she keeps looking at Rumi as if now is the perfect time to talk about freaking grain-powder beverages.

It's only when a knowing smile starts to spread on Mira’s lips that Rumi snaps out of it.

“Yes.” Her voice is hoarse. “I bought four.” It cracks at the end. “I figured you’d like to have some stock.” It sounds as unnerved as she feels.

“That’s good,” Mira breathes out, and Rumi doesn’t know if she means it for her or for Zoey—Mira’s slid a hand on Zoey’s waist, as if to guide her as Zoey keeps leisurely rocking into her. “Thank you.”

Zoey leans down and catches Mira’s lips into a soft kiss.

“Isn’t she the best?” she whispers against Mira’s mouth.

“She is,” Mira whispers back.

They kiss again, this time urgent and needy, a whimper escaping Zoey’s throat. Rumi moves to the kitchen, bags in trembling hands and legs feeling like cotton. Her mind is draped in the thickest fog. Her heart is hammering in her chest. Her toes keep curling at every hitched breath she can hear coming from the couch. She’s no klutz, yet she manages to drop six different items as she puts the groceries away in the fridge and cupboards. Once she’s done, she walks into the bathroom and locks the door behind her. She washes her hands, washes her face, washes in between her legs. She does it fast, with cold water and intent.

She hasn’t touched herself ever since she met Jinu, and she won’t start now. 

***

It’s been a week since Mira and Zoey began dating. When Jinu opens the door of his apartment and greets Rumi with a smile, she pushes into him and kisses him with a greed she can’t ever explain, not to him. She doesn’t need to shower first. Doesn’t need the routine, the dinner, the movie, their little ritual that puts her so at ease. It’s the first time in a long while sex feels good. She keeps her eyes open the whole time. Knows that if she were to close them even for a second, all she’d see would be freckles and a small smirk.

“That was nice,” Jinu tells her at the end with a smug grin.

Rumi still feels guilty when she comes back home the next day.

***

She locks in. Steels herself. Builds walls over walls over walls so she can go on with her days. She focuses on Jinu, calls him more often, reminds herself why she chose him in the first place. She can’t stop her body from reacting to Mira and Zoey, but she can keep her mind focused on what matters. They’re her friends. And Jinu is her boyfriend. Plus, they have each other. They don’t need her, not like that. And she shouldn’t feel any sort of way about it.

***

The weeks go by. Rumi watches as Mira and Zoey get closer. They start calling each other babe and baby and Rumi ignores the twist in her gut whenever she hears it. Jinu calls her Rumi or Ryu, and she’s always liked it that way, but maybe she’s a bit jealous of Mira’s and Zoey’s relationship. Maybe she wants Jinu to call her baby. She winces and dismisses the thought as soon as it appears.

***

Sometimes, when Zoey pushes on her toes to slide her tongue further into Mira’s mouth, Mira lets out a barely audible moan, something short and small and involuntary. It haunts Rumi at night.

***

One day, Zoey and Rumi come home together—Rumi wanted a new plant for her balcony, and Zoey had eagerly tagged along.

Zoey’s so excited about Rumi’s new succulent she keeps babbling about it in the elevator, while Rumi cradles the little pot in both hands.

“He’s such a little guy, look at him! So round and soft! Oh my god I’m going to name him Bobby. He’s such a Bobby.”

“Why Bobby?”

“Because it fits!”

Rumi carefully studies the plant and nods with the utmost seriousness. “You’re right, it fits.”

Zoey laughs and hugs Rumi from the side. The elevator doors open and she doesn’t let go, laughing even more while Rumi drags the both of them out in the corridor. They end up giggling and stumbling their way to their front door, Zoey now wrapped against Rumi’s back, Rumi holding the plant against her chest and beaming so widely it hurts her cheeks. Zoey’s goofy joy has always been infectious, from the very first second she stepped into Rumi’s apartment for her roommate interview, grin blinding and excitement overflowing as she exclaimed, “Wow, you’re so gorgeous! Wow, your home is so gorgeous!”

Rumi manages to open the door and they totter into the apartment, laughing and wobbling and Rumi’s feeling young, carefree, like life has infinite potential, like the plant cradled against her chest is the beginning of a thrilling adventure.

Mira emerges from her room and smiles at them fondly. Zoey is still holding Rumi in a koala grip, even as they both try and miserably fail to step out of their shoes.

“Hey, you two.”

Mira’s voice is soft, almost adoring, and Rumi feels her blood rushing hot under her skin. Mira walks to them and stops right in front of Rumi, hand raised, a finger brushing against the succulent.

“Pretty,” she says, eyes flicking up to meet Rumi’s.

Rumi blushes. She shouldn’t feel jealous of a plant. She thinks of Jinu. Sometimes he tells her she’s pretty, and she always believes him. That has to be enough for her.

“His name is Bobby!” Zoey chirps from behind Rumi, arms still tightly wrapped around Rumi’s waist. “Also where’s my kiss?”

Mira chuckles, her low, raspy chuckle that has always left Rumi a bit out of breath—now, ever since Mira and Zoey started dating, ever since Rumi can hear them, see them, sometimes feel them as they make out against her, Mira’s chuckle leaves her dizzy, thighs clenching around nothing, teeth biting into her tongue.

“Bobby, uh?” Mira murmurs, tracing the edge of a thick, soft leaf. “How fitting.”

Then, she leans forward, and Rumi’s legs almost give out. Mira’s face brushes past hers and Rumi hears the gentle press of her lips against Zoey’s just over her shoulder. There’s a sigh. Zoey’s hands dig into Rumi’s hoodie. Mira’s land on Rumi’s arms, as if to steady herself even though Rumi feels like the least stable of the three of them right now, physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually. All she can do is stand there, holding onto Bobby for dear life, choking on her own breath until Mira finally steps back, eyes dragging from over Rumi’s shoulder to Rumi’s—bright red, she knows—face.

If Rumi was in any capacity to form a coherent sentence, she could throw her a playful “Where’s my kiss?” It’d be cool. Nonchalant. Funny, even, she thinks. But she’s not in any capacity to form a coherent sentence. She’s rooted in place, head fuzzy and limbs languid, skin burning under her clothes where Zoey’s hands and arms are still touching her. Something sparks in Mira’s eyes. Something bright and cutting and dangerous. But she doesn’t say anything, simply smiles, leans forward again and drops the softest kiss on Rumi’s cheek. Zoey’s fingers claw into Rumi’s sweatshirt at the exact same time, and she can’t suppress her gasp in time.

The sound of her own sharp breath brings her back to her senses. She frees herself from Zoey’s embrace, finally manages to take her shoes off and hurries away from them with a pathetic “I need to put him down in the sun” that convinces absolutely no one in the room, least of all herself.

She locks herself in her bedroom, sets the succulent on the balcony, comes back inside and closes the curtains. She wipes herself with a tissue, then another, then another. Her mind is blank. Her hands are shaking. She keeps seeing Mira’s face as it skims past her, keeps feeling Zoey’s fingers as they clench into her. She tries to meditate, to lose herself in music, to doomscroll, to think of Jinu. Nothing works.

For the very first time in her life, Rumi’s desires are too wild to be tamed.

***

Rumi watches as they cuddle on the couch. Zoey’s snoring softly on top of Mira, lips slightly parted, hand dangling in the air. Mira’s brushing her hair with the tip of her fingers, looking more at peace than Rumi’s ever seen her. She catches Rumi’s eyes, doesn’t smirk at her or quirk her eyebrows. She mouths Guitar? and Rumi grabs her instrument without a second thought.

She plays. Not a song she’s working on, not a song she knows. She just improvises, letting her fingers pick the chords one by one, something soft and tentative and free. Zoey hums. Rumi glances at them. Zoey stirs against Mira, a small smile on her lips, but she doesn’t open her eyes. And Mira? Well. Now, Mira’s looking more at peace than Rumi’s ever seen her.

***

THRICE is going on a promotional tour in the country and the label wants Mira to follow along for three weeks. It coincides with Zoey’s long-planned one-month trip back to the USA, which means Rumi will have three whole weeks to herself. She’s not thrilled about it. She used to love her peace and quiet, back when she was still living with Celine. Her aunt would always respect her space and her independence, and Rumi grew accustomed to afternoons and evenings spent by herself and her music. Though sometimes, Celine would find her gardening in the backyard. She’d grab a pair of gloves and wordlessly join her, and they’d work the dirt side by side, quiet, content, like trees connected with invisible roots, cracked but strong.

Ever since Mira and Zoey barged into her life, Rumi’s started to enjoy company more than solitude. It hadn’t come immediately but, in a way, it did come easily. With them. Because of them. Because of Zoey’s never-flickering radiance and Mira’s quiet protectiveness. Because they make her feel happy, cared for, irreplaceable. Because life is simply better with them.

Next Friday, Zoey will leave, and on the Tuesday after that, Mira will leave too. For the very first time since they’ve moved in together, Rumi will be alone, and the idea’s already wrapping around her heart, light and cold and tightening like a boa constrictor.

Maybe that’s what she needs. Maybe it’ll give her clarity, some space to actually focus on Jinu. Yes. Maybe it’ll be a good thing.

***

It’s not a good thing. It’s a terrible thing. It’s the worst thing that could happen, and it hasn’t even happened yet. Because they know they won’t be able to see each other for a month, Zoey and Mira lose what little restraint they had left. It’s a very heavenly kind of hell.

On Tuesday night, Zoey rolls over Mira and straddles her on the couch when they reach a steamy scene in the movie they’re watching together, the three of them. Mira groans, Zoey moans, and Rumi quietly whimpers when Mira slowly intertwines their fingers together. Mira and Zoey make out for a solid five minutes, breaths loud and heavy and hot, and all the while Mira never lets go of Rumi’s hand.

Rumi’s terrified she’ll leave a spot on the couch.

***

On Wednesday night, Mira shoves Zoey against the front door as soon as they come back from a dinner date—Rumi hasn’t felt lonely, no, why would she, her friends can go on a date, she likes when they go on a date just the two of them—while Rumi’s waiting for her herbal tea to infuse in the teapot. It’s not the first time Rumi’s seen them almost angrily making out in the common room, not the second, not the tenth, even, but it is the first time she hears Mira talk like that.

“I’m going to fuck you so well,” she rasps against Zoey’s ear. “You won’t be able to walk once I’m done with you.”

Her voice is rough. Strained with want. Like she means every word. Zoey whines into her neck and Rumi feels her legs buckle under her. There’s a whimper stuck in her throat, one that could escape at any moment.

“You‘ll thank me for it. Won’t you, baby?”

“I will. Fuck, Mira, you know I will. You fuck me too well, you always fuck me too well—”

Rumi watches as Mira slips her thigh between Zoey’s legs. The moan Zoey lets out is unlike any Rumi’s ever heard. She can’t tear her gaze away from them. From Zoey’s fingers messing into Mira’s hair. From Zoey’s parted lips, the glint of her teeth before she grazes them at Mira’s ear. From Mira’s mouth, pink and opened and spilling filth like it’s second nature.

“You’ll still feel me when you board that plane in two days. You’ll get so wet just thinking about me, and you won’t be able to do anything about it.”

“Fuck.”

“I want you flustered and squirming in your seat. I want you desperate for me. Because of me.”

“Mira…”

It sounds closer to a sob. Zoey lowers her head, bites into Mira’s collared shirt and the flesh at the base of her neck, before laying her face on her shoulder. Her eyes, hooded, glassy, land on Rumi. Zoey doesn’t recoil, doesn’t shy away. If anything, she brings Mira even closer against her and starts bucking her hips against Mira’s thigh. She doesn’t look away. Rumi’s nails dig into her crossed arms so strongly she might break skin. They truly don’t care that she’s there, do they? Or, rather, no. They care. They like it.

“How long is your flight?”

“Eleven hours,” Zoey breathes, shaky, needy, staring back at Mira and clasping onto Mira’s button-up as if it’s the only thing keeping her from tipping over.

“I guess I have to give you eleven hours’ worth of memories, then,” Mira hums before claiming her lips.

Zoey presses into her with such urgency Mira has to firmly shove Zoey’s waist against the door to keep her pinned there. Zoey’s back hit the surface, the thud rings in Rumi’s ears along with their muffled moans, and she finally regains full consciousness. She turns around, pours herself some tea and walks to her bedroom without another look at them. She swears she can hear her name, whispered and choked and pleading. She closes the door behind her and sets her tea on her desk before her shaky hand spills it everywhere.

When she goes to bed, Rumi tucks both hands under her pillow and curls them into fists to keep from touching herself.

***

On Thursday night, she sees Jinu. They don’t have sex; they fuck. Rumi rolls him onto his back and closes her eyes. There’s a hole in her heart, painful like loss and aching like want. When she comes with a stifled moan, all she can see are Zoey’s eyes on hers, all she can hear is Mira’s low groan.

After, in the shower, she cries. She knows what she needs to do. For him. For herself. Maybe, even, for them.

***

On Friday morning, Zoey drags Rumi to her bedroom by the hem of her hoodie. Without a word, she hauls her onto the bed and wraps herself around her as soon as Rumi lies down with a chuckle. Zoey buries her face into the crook of Rumi’s neck and murmurs an I’ll miss you so much that throws Rumi’s heart into a triple somersault. Rumi slides a hand along Zoey’s forearm, not quite shy but a bit uncertain, and tightens her other arm around Zoey’s shoulder when Zoey curls into her even more.

“I’ll miss you too,” she finally whispers, and her throat closes around the words with how much they’re true, with how much they hurt.

She’s never spent so long without Zoey. It scares her a little, how upset she feels at the idea of not seeing her for a month.

Mira appears by the door, leans against the frame and crosses her arms over her chest with a fond smile only Rumi can see—Zoey has her back to her. Rumi motions her hand to indicate Mira to come join them. Mira shakes her head, her smile softening even more.

“It’s not me she needs, right now,” she says, so affectionate Rumi melts into the mattress.

With one last, warm look, she turns around and disappears. Zoey holds onto Rumi even tighter, and Rumi feels like crying.

***

That evening, after Zoey leaves for the airport, the apartment is unusually quiet. It’s not uncomfortable in any way—Rumi has always enjoyed Mira’s calm presence, the way they share space. How she sets her hand in silence on Rumi’s lower back when she passes behind her in the kitchen. How she gently bumps her knee against Rumi’s when they’re sitting on the couch, not touching but never far. How she tucks a lock of Rumi’s hair behind her ear when she plays the guitar with her hair untied. Without Zoey here to tackle them into a fierce hug every five minutes, each of Mira’s touches feels all the more deliberate, echoing softly in the space between them.

When Rumi gets out of the bathroom, her first instinct is to go to Mira’s bedroom to wish her goodnight. She pauses when she realizes Zoey’s room is lit up while Mira’s is dark.

“Missing her already?” she asks when she sees Mira in Zoey’s bed, wrapped in her sheets, head half buried in her pillow.

“Hmmm.”

Rumi laughs. “You’re such a sap,” she teases, not unkindly, never unkindly, and Mira’s sharp glare dulls in a heartbeat, as if she simply doesn’t want to take the bait.

“As if you’re not,” she says, voice sure, eyes sure, arm sure as she lifts the sheet, revealing the empty space before her on the mattress in an unspoken invitation.

Rumi sucks in a breath, head suddenly fuzzy, before slowly moving forward. She slides onto the bed, rolls to her side, tenses when Mira scoots closer and presses her chest against her back, relaxes when Mira pulls the sheet over them. Zoey’s smell immediately envelopes her, and it’s terrifying how her absence hits her in the guts. It’s not that she’s been gone too long—she’s been gone for a grand total of five hours—, it’s that Rumi knows she will be gone too long. Knows one month without her, without Mira, will leave her hollow and aimless.

Mira curls her arm around Rumi’s waist and suddenly all thoughts vanish from her mind. All that’s left is Mira’s weight on her, her warmth seeping through the fabric of Rumi’s pajamas, her breath landing soft and hot on Rumi’s neck. Rumi closes her eyes and tries to control her breathing. Mira’s is deep and steady against her. It’d be soothing, if each roll of warm air against her skin didn’t set her whole body on fire.

“You smell good,” Mira murmurs and fuck. Fuck. Her voice is low, her words vibrating against Rumi’s shoulder blades where her chest is pressed, her fingers digging into Rumi’s shirt, just a little, just enough for Rumi to feel the twitch on her stomach. She swallows a moan and feels it lodging deep in her lungs, making it harder to breathe.

“Thank you,” she rasps.

Mira nuzzles her nose in her hair and Rumi bites her bottom lip hard enough it hurts.

“Sometimes Zoey steals your shampoo,” Mira says softly. “She likes to smell like you.”

“Oh.”

Mira’s fingers extend over Rumi’s stomach, her hand now flat and light against her. Her pinky grazes Rumi’s hipbone. Despite the sleeping shirt separating them, it’s almost too much.

“I like it too,” Mira confesses in a whisper, “when she smells like you.”

Rumi has to grip the sheet under her to stop herself from doing something extremely stupid like rolling around and smashing her mouth against Mira’s. She doesn’t say anything, stays rooted there on Zoey’s bed, and when Mira starts to pull away, Rumi grabs her wrist and presses it against her stomach to stop her. Mira lets out a long breath, as if relieved, before melting against Rumi’s back and legs again.

That night, they sleep in Zoey’s bed. It’s easier than it’s ever been with Jinu.

***

They do it every night until Mira leaves. Rumi sees her to the door, heart sinking as she watches Mira put her jacket on, suitcase ready by the entrance.

“Remember to eat,” Mira tells her.

“I will.” 

“I’ll call you when I arrive, okay?”

“Yes. Yes, okay.”

“It’ll go by fast.”

Rumi nods and frowns, unable to meet Mira’s stare, and Mira takes a step towards her. She tilts Rumi’s chin up with the tip of her finger, and Rumi caves and looks her in the eyes. There’s a vulnerability on Mira’s face that grabs at Rumi’s throat and heart. She’s as upset as Rumi, and she’s not trying to hide it.

“Come here,” Mira murmurs.

Rumi falls into her embrace. She holds her tight, as tight as she had Zoey the day she left, and she pushes back her tears. It’s not just watching Mira go that wrecks her. It’s everything that comes next. It’s what she’ll have to do, now that they’re both gone.

When Mira pulls away, she leaves a kiss at the corner of Rumi’s mouth.

“See you in three weeks.”

“Safe travels,” Rumi murmurs.

The door shuts softly behind Mira, and Rumi’s left alone.

***

That very night, she breaks up with Jinu. It’s the hardest thing she’s ever done in her life, and it’s also the most right. She tells him the truth. She owes him that much. He’s not surprised. Not devastated either.  But he’s sad and hurt, she knows, even as he tries to keep an impassive face.

***

She cries a lot. Eats junk food. Watches K-drama and cries some more at every—numerous—break-up. She calls Mira and Zoey, too. She doesn’t tell them about Jinu. She wants them there for that. But she listens to them, laughs when Zoey tells her about the latest and wildest adventure she’s gotten herself into with her youngest third cousin, laughs even more when Mira describes some of the fan interactions she’s witnessed with THRICE. She plays the guitar. Writes a song. Tends to Bobby and the rest of her plants.

She’s sad and relieved. And after three weeks, when Mira and Zoey are about to come back home one day apart, she’s just relieved.

***

They go out for dinner to celebrate them being reunited. Nothing fancy, just one of their favorite little restaurants not far from home. They eat and laugh and eat and laugh some more until Rumi sighs and says, “I have something to tell you guys.”

She tells them about Jinu. How she’s spent those past two years by his side feeling content, when truly what she wanted was to feel happy. How she liked him but didn’t love him. How she was pleased to see him but never missed him. How she had always needed her space from him but had realized it wasn’t the case with others. She doesn’t say who those others are; it’s self-explanatory. She also doesn’t say they’re the reason why she realized she had been settling with Jinu all this time. Them, and the way they live their relationship to the fullest, them, and how they show Rumi what want means, what pleasure means, what passion means, even though all she does is watch from the sidelines. Them, and the way they love her.

Even if it’s just platonic—but is it, really, when they want her around, when they hold her hand while kissing, when they breathe her name when she leaves—, their love is infinitely more right than Jinu’s could ever be. Those thoughts she keeps to herself.

Mira and Zoey listen, they always do. They comfort her too, even if her grief has passed, even if now, three weeks after the break-up and finally seeing her girls again, all Rumi feels is peace of mind, happiness and, if she’s being honest with herself, which she can now that she’s not with Jinu anymore, excitement. Anticipation. A thrilled and quiet hope buzzing in her blood at the idea of being able to see and hear them again together, of being able to fully embrace what they give her and how it makes her feel.

“I’m not sad,” she tells them. “Not anymore.”

Zoey and Mira exchange a glance. It’s like they know what Rumi means, despite everything she’s left unsaid. When they leave the restaurant, Zoey intertwines her fingers with Rumi’s, and Mira lays a hand on her lower back. Rumi’s never been more eager to go home.

***

Zoey’s all over Mira as soon as the door closes behind the three of them. Rumi pretends she doesn’t care, taking her shoes off, putting her bag, jacket and keys away, opening the mail they just collected and reading through the electricity bill as if it’s the most captivating thing in the world. She doesn’t look at them, but she hears them. Their already ragged breaths, Zoey’s little wines, Mira’s low groans; she knows them by heart, now. Even after a month without them, she can still tell them apart, tell exactly who’s moaning in the bedroom or who’s getting their neck sucked on the couch next to her while she stares at the TV with feigned fascination.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Mira whispers, and her following gasp tells Rumi Zoey’s rewarded her for her honesty.

“Just me?” Zoey murmurs.

There’s a suction noise and Mira very audibly inhales while Rumi’s fighting tooth and nail not to look, not to shiver, not to fist her hand into Zoey’s hoodie and yank her into a fervent kiss.

“No, not just you.”

Rumi gets so abruptly and tremendously turned on she almost drops the letter. Instead, she carefully folds it and slips it back into its envelope, then moves to the kitchen and sets it on the buffet. She’ll put it away later, when she can properly think.

She starts to walk away when Zoey calls her name.

“Rumi?”

It’s breathless. Needy. So, so hard to resist. She turns towards them and keeps an impassive face as best she can, even though the sight breaks her. Mira’s leaning forward, face hidden in Zoey’s neck, holding her softly, closely, her long hair falling over Zoey’s shoulder and arm.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Rumi answers Zoey’s unspoken question.

She sees Mira tightening her embrace around Zoey’s waist, can’t quite discern the words she’s murmuring at Zoey’s ear. Zoey closes her eyes, bites her lip, sighs, “Okay” before turning her whole focus onto Mira again.

Rumi takes her shower longer than usual just to give them more time. She doesn’t know what she’ll walk in on when she leaves the bathroom, and as her fingers land on the handle she feels a syrupy warmth pool between her legs even though she’s just cleaned herself under the burning water. She takes a few seconds to steady herself. She tries to guess what’s waiting for her on the other side of the door. Will they be on the couch, partially unclothed, Zoey straddling Mira and grinding into her like she so dearly loves to do? Will Mira be pinned against a wall, shuddering while Zoey’s rolling her skirt up? Rumi even allows her mind to wander where it’s never wandered. Will they be on her bed? Waiting for her there? Kissing and rocking into each other until she joins them?

Rumi leaves the bathroom. The living room is empty, so is the kitchen. Mira’s bedroom door is half open, light spilling into the common area. Rumi goes towards it like a moth to a flame. She walks slowly, quietly. It’s not that she doesn’t want to be noticed, it’s that she doesn’t want to interrupt. She hears them before she sees them.

“You’re taking me so well,” Mira’s breathing out. “You’ve been wanting this for a while, haven’t you?”

Zoey answers with a muffled moan that turns Rumi’s blood into lava. She stops by the door and almost blacks out. Her vision blurs and narrows, adrenaline pulsing into her veins, and all she can see is Zoey’s head bobbing up and down in between Mira’s legs. Mira’s sitting on the bed, staring down at Zoey with the tiniest satisfied smile, while Zoey’s working on her knees, a hand wrapped around the base of Mira’s purple dildo—purple, purple, purple—, the other between her own legs.

“It must have been hard,” Mira continues, voice low and sure, “a whole month without me to fill you up.”

Zoey moans again, louder, and Rumi’s hands and legs are now trembling. They’re not naked. Mira’s still wearing her silky black blouse, unbuttoned all the way down and revealing her bra—lacy, black, too. Her skirt is gone and her long, smooth legs are exposed, parted so Zoey could fit in, her skin almost gold under the dim light of the bedside lamp. Zoey’s in her underwear. A yellow sports bra and gray boxers perfectly hugging her ass.

“Or maybe you don’t care whether it’s me or not?” Mira says, voice sharpening, a cutting spark in her eyes.

She slides her fingers into Zoey’s hair—untied, oh, how Rumi loves to see her with her hair untied, her silky raven locks spilling all over her shoulders like ink—and grabs a fistful of it.

“Maybe you’d be satisfied as long as someone fills you up.”

She tugs at Zoey’s hair, pulling her head back, and the dildo falls out of her mouth. Zoey gasps, eyes hazy, breath uncontrolled, both hands shooting to Mira’s thighs as she says, voice pleading and breaking, “No, Mira, it has to be you, it has to be you, I can’t—Nobody else can—”

Mira leans down, releasing Zoey’s hair and cupping her face, so gentle where she had been so harsh a second ago.

“Nobody else?”

Rumi’s rooted in place. Her underwear and pajama pants are soaked. She feels herself dripping, feels the fabric clinging to her, feels the wetness starting to stick to her upper thighs.

Mira’s lips brush Zoey’s ear as she murmurs, “She’s watching.”

Both Zoey and Rumi let out a moan. Rumi’s is quiet, strangled, almost a sob, while Zoey’s is unrestrained, primal, so devastatingly desperate.

“Mira, I—”

“I know, baby. I know.”

Mira slides her hand back into Zoey’s hair, guides her towards her strap and pushes. Zoey’s mouth glides down. She chokes, her high-pitched whimper slowly forced back into her throat by Mira’s dildo, and when her lips meet the soft fabric of the harness, Mira lifts her eyes and stares at Rumi.

Rumi might come a little at that, she’s not sure.

“I think she likes seeing you like this,” Mira says.

Her voice is a bit strained, her eyes unblinking as they spear into Rumi’s. She fists her other hand into Zoey’s hair and keeps Zoey’s head there with both hands, down her dildo, lips parting as Zoey moans and chokes and moans and chokes and shoves her own hand back in her boxers and starts to feverishly move it.

“I think she’s jealous,” Mira rasps, and Rumi just stands there, clenching around nothing, arousal so evident it’s laughable, taking in the sight they’re so willingly giving her. “But I don’t quite know of who.”

She releases her grip around Zoey’s head and Zoey pulls back long enough to take a long, shaky breath and swear.

“Fuck.”

She immediately dives back in with a whine, her fingers relentlessly moving inside her underwear. She hasn’t made eye contact with Rumi once. From where she stands, still behind the half-open door, Rumi knows she’s not even in Zoey’s peripheral vision. She wishes she could look Zoey in the eye while Zoey sucks Mira off, but can’t help but be immensely turned on by the idea that Zoey won’t look at her. That Zoey’s getting off on the thought of her standing there, staring at her being on her knees for Mira.

Mira starts to rock her hips into Zoey’s mouth. Her gaze drifts away from Rumi for the first time since she’s acknowledged her presence, down to Zoey and the strap she’s taking in so reverently.

“Such pretty lips,” Mira purrs. “All stretched out around my cock.”

Zoey moans. It’s loud. So loud. So good. Rumi pushes the door open a little wider. Takes a step forward. Mira doesn’t look at her, but she smiles, a pleased, wolfish grin that makes Rumi want to drop on her knees next to Zoey.

“Rumi’s in the bedroom with us.”

Zoey shudders so violently around Mira’s strap she has to clasp Mira’s thigh to steady herself. She whines, and it comes out muffled, desperate, a pitiful little sound that does so many things to Rumi.

“Look at you,” Mira whispers, gently tucking a strand of hair behind Zoey’s ear. “Every time I mention her, you almost come on the spot. You want her that bad, uh? I think she wants you too. I think after tonight, this is all she’ll want. You sucking her off. Just like that.”

Mira swings her hips into Zoey’s mouth, back, and forth, and back, and forth, and Zoey’s now shaking on her knees, hand working frenetically in her underwear, and Rumi’s staring, hypnotized, wishing for so many things, wishing for time to stop, wishing for this to last forever, wishing for Zoey to come, for Mira to fuck Zoey, for Zoey to fuck her, for the two of them to finally relieve her of weeks and weeks of aching tension, for them to—

“Come for her, baby,” Mira murmurs, and Zoey does.

She comes. It’s formidable, beautiful, her hips thrashing against her hand, her mouth shoved all the way down Mira’s harness, her throat closing around the dildo in wet, smothered cries that sound like she’s suffocating and gagging on Mira’s entire length. And the thing is, Rumi knows it’s all for her. Mira groans, hips bucking slowly into Zoey’s mouth, her whole focus on Zoey and the way she’s shuddering until she finally pulls back and the dildo falls out of her mouth, a thread of spit dangling at the tip.

Zoey gasps, taking in some deep, labored breathes, head resting on Mira’s knee as Mira caresses her hair.

“You did amazing, baby,” Mira murmurs, before looking up at Rumi. “Didn’t she?”

Rumi’s heart is about to break her ribcage.

“She did,” she answers, voice wrecked.

Zoey shivers, letting out the smallest whimper, before turning her head and finally, finally looking at Rumi. They make eye contact, and it’s so powerful it feels like a punch in the guts.

“You did,” Rumi says, voice soft, never looking away from Zoey, and Zoey’s lips part, the fog clouding her eyes dissipating as something catches on fire inside her. “You did so well, Zoey.”

Rumi sees the nails Zoey digs into Mira’s thigh when she says her name. Mira flinches, her own hands gripping the sheets under her. It’s exhilarating, how much they both want her. Rumi stares at Zoey, then Mira, and can’t even bring herself to smile.

“Goodnight, guys,” she simply says, gentle and weak and breathless.

She doesn’t close the door as she leaves. She goes to her room, leaves her own door open and slides under the sheets. As soon as she starts to hear them again—Zoey moaning and moaning and moaning, Rumi knows Mira’s taking her with the strap, fast and rough and unforgiving—, she touches herself. When she comes, she tries to stifle her cry with her fist, yet she knows they heard her, through the wall, through the open doors. She knows, because as soon as she does, Zoey moans her name. Rumi. Fuck, oh fuck, Rumi, Rum—

Rumi rolls onto her stomach and fucks herself on her fingers, and she comes again three seconds after Zoey does.

***

When Rumi wakes up the next morning, last night’s memories come rushing back at the speed of light. If the vivid image of Zoey on her knees in between Mira’s legs wasn’t proof enough of what happened, Rumi’s still wet and her arms and legs are still sore. She can’t fully remember how long she spent crying out in her bed. Every time she came, it seemed to spur Mira and Zoey on. And every time one of them came, it got Rumi desperate for more all over again.

More than once, she almost got up and joined them. She never did. She doesn’t really know why; it’s pretty obvious they wouldn’t mind. Truth be told, it’d been obvious for weeks before they left. The only reason why things didn’t snowball the way they did last night was because Rumi was still with Jinu.

Rumi blinks at the ceiling before checking her phone. 9:37 a.m. She really slept in. She gets out of bed and leaves her room without doing her morning stretches—even though she should, with how deliciously aching her muscles are. The sight of Mira bending over to grab a pan in one of the lower kitchen cupboards greets her, and she stumbles. Thankfully, Mira has her back to her and doesn’t catch any of it. Rumi composes herself.

“Hey,” she says, quiet, rough, shit, she moaned too much last night.

She slides a hand down Mira’s back as Mira straightens up, pan in a tight fist.

“Hey,” Mira says back.

Is that—Is she blushing? Mira busies herself in the fridge as if to hide the tinge of pink on her cheekbones, and it gives Rumi a sense of satisfaction she’s never felt before. Is this why Mira always tries to fluster her? Rumi decides to push her luck. She steps closer as Mira’s setting a few carrots on a cutting board. One of them goes flying when Rumi wraps her arms around Mira’s waist, from behind.

“I’ve missed you,” Rumi whispers, chin resting on Mira’s shoulder, Mira’s jasmine scent intoxicating her a little. “I’m glad you’re home.”

Mira takes a steadying breath, recovers the carrot that soared a bit too close to the sink and sets it on the board.

“You’ve just missed my cooking,” she says. Her voice is soft but her muscles are tense under Rumi’s arms and hands.

“Hmmm. Your cooking too, yes. But mainly you.”

Mira leans her head to the side, just enough to gently press it against Rumi’s, and Rumi suddenly feels so happy, so loved, so right that she lets out a sigh and tightens her embrace around her.

“Go wake Zoey up,” Mira eventually murmurs as she grabs a peeler and focuses on the carrots before her. “Before I cut myself.”

Rumi chuckles, drops a kiss on Mira’s cheek and lets her go. One last glance tells her Mira’s now furiously blushing as she peels a carrot with deadly intent, and Rumi walks away with pride. She finds Zoey in Mira’s bedroom, passed out in a mess of pillows and sheets, and she can’t help but smile as she takes her in. How can someone look so adorable and innocent, yet drive her so impossibly mad with desire she had to touch herself repeatedly for the first time in two years?

She tiptoes to the bed and slides under the covers as gently as she can. Zoey stirs, even more when Rumi presses her chest flush against her back and curls her arm around her waist and stomach. Oh, how lucky she is, to be able to hold her girls like this first thing in the morning.

“Hmmm,” Zoey groans.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Rumi whispers.

Zoey completely tenses against her, and Rumi knows she’s just realized it’s not Mira who’s lovingly waking her up this morning. Zoey’s breath hitches, and suddenly she rolls around to face Rumi.

“Oh, fuck, it’s really you.”

Rumi laughs.

“I thought I might still be dreaming,” Zoey confesses with a slight blush, much like Mira’s a few moments earlier.

Her voice is hoarse, a devilish reminder of last night’s moans and cries and Shit, fuck, Rumi, oh god just like that Mira, I’m gonna come again, I’m gonna come again, I’m—. Rumi tries very hard not to get turned on and fails spectacularly.

“Mira’s making breakfast,” she says in a pathetic attempt to distract herself from Zoey’s big eyes, from Zoey on her knees, gagging on Mira’s strap as she’s coming for Rumi.

Zoey wiggles a bit closer and presses her forehead against Rumi’s. For a second, Rumi thinks she’ll kiss her. It heats her body up from head to toe.

“Okay,” Zoey whispers. Her hand catches Rumi’s and she brings it to her mouth. She kisses her knuckles and Rumi has to fight a whimper. “Okay,” she repeats as if to convince herself, and Rumi knows exactly how she feels.

She doesn’t want to get out of bed. She doesn’t want to leave Zoey. She wants Mira to drop everything and come press her into the mattress while Zoey kisses her to oblivion.

“Okay,” Zoey whispers again as she leans back, blinking as if she’s coming back to her senses. “Breakfast.”

“Breakfast,” Rumi repeats, before clearing her throat. “Made by your beautiful girlfriend.”

Rumi says it with a hint of tease in her voice, yet, when Zoey looks at her in a funny way, she feels her heart drop in her stomach. Did she say something inappropriate? Should she not have called Mira beautiful? But Mira is beautiful. She’s stunning, even, and it’s not like Rumi was saying it as if she had wanted to steal Mira from Zoey, and Zoey has to know that, and—

“You know she’s as much yours as she is mine, right?” Zoey says, soft, soft, soft, and Rumi’s heart slots back into her chest with crushing force.

Zoey smiles, kisses her cheek, jumps out of bed and disappears from the bedroom before Rumi can even blink.

***

Is Mira hers? Is Zoey?

***

Mira’s very quiet during breakfast.

“Why are you acting so shy?” Zoey teases her, gently pushing her shoulder. “I was the one on my knees last night, not you!” Then, Zoey turns towards Rumi with a wild grin. “Don’t worry, she also loooves it when she gets to suck on my s—”

“Zoey,” Mira groans while Rumi chokes on her water.

Zoey simply giggles and shrugs, as if it’s a very normal conversation to have during breakfast.

***

Are they hers?

***

Her period comes just as they finish cleaning up the table. As always, the debilitating cramps follow shortly, and as always, Mira and Zoey take care of her. Zoey heats up the water bottle and presses it gently on Rumi’s stomach. Mira drapes her with her favorite blanket, thin and soft, not too hot but comforting. Zoey prepares Rumi’s favorite tea, and Mira goes out to buy Rumi’s favorite choco pies.

As the front door softly closes behind Mira, Zoey sits on the couch and wraps her arm around Rumi’s blanketed shoulders. It’s so familiar, the way she leans in, one hand on the water bottle against Rumi as if to make sure Rumi’s applying enough pressure, so familiar, the way Rumi feels pampered and safe despite the pain. It’s become some sort of a tradition in the past year. Whenever one of them gets her period, the other two spoil her rotten.

It’s not the first time Zoey and Mira go out of their way to make sure Rumi’s as comfortable as possible. But it’s the first time Zoey holds her close and says, “What do you need, baby?”, the pet name warming Rumi’s lower stomach even more intensely than the hot water bottle has. It’s the first time Rumi lets herself fall completely into her embrace and nestles her face in the crook of her neck. The first time she grabs Zoey’s oversized shirt in her fist to keep her close.

The first time she tells her, “Say it again.”

Zoey’s shaky breath rolls on her ear and on the top of her neck. She wishes she wasn’t swaddled in a blanket, wishes she could feel more of Zoey on her skin.

“What do you need, baby?” Zoey asks again, a tremor in her voice.

Rumi whines against her. It’s partially the pain; stabbing, acute, hard to predict. It’s partially the want; sudden, visceral, leaving her trembling. Zoey’s fingers dig into her shoulder, through the blanket. Her breath quickens. Her body heats up. Rumi can feel it, the soft skin of Zoey’s neck getting warmer against her nose, cheek, lips. Rumi opens her mouth. Just a little. Just enough for her teeth to make contact. Zoey’s reaction is immediate, a full-body shudder, a gasp, a hand darting to Rumi’s braid, gripping it to push her closer. Rumi whines again. The pain has dulled, desire flooding her senses.

You, she wants to say. I need you. But she can’t, because Mira’s not there.

The thought clears her mind enough for her to push away. She sits back against the couch, shoulder pressed against Zoey’s, and tries to catch her breath. Zoey sighs and Rumi chances a glance at her.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Zoey finally says with a grin, and Rumi has never wanted to kiss anybody this badly in her entire life.

And because she feels pampered, and safe, and wanted, and loved, she just says it.

“I’ve never wanted to kiss anybody this badly in my entire life.”

“Oh.”

Zoey’s eyes drop to Rumi’s mouth before dragging back up. Rumi takes a deep breath and stares back ahead, at the TV.

“Maybe you could play your dinosaur game?” she asks, almost timidly.

Zoey laughs, and some of the tension between them evaporates. Not all of it, no. It lingers where their bodies are touching, in their breaths, slightly heavier than normal, in Rumi’s mind. But it doesn’t feel as urgent anymore, as if they have both come to a silent agreement. Not without Mira. Not for the first time. So, Zoey turns her PlayStation on, and Rumi watches with great delight as she dies every 67 seconds, screaming and swearing and jumping on her feet with absolute outrage whenever a dinosaur suddenly appears out of nowhere and starts chasing her deep in the jungle. The pain hasn’t left, but it has softened, and Rumi’s the most grateful she’s ever been, feeling so content on the first day of her period.

When Mira comes back, she gives Rumi a kiss on the temple and two boxes of choco pies, and she stores the rest away in a cupboard. She refills Rumi’s cup of tea, reheats the water bottle, and finally sits down next to Rumi with a little chuckle as Zoey’s yelling and running for her life with a massive stegosaurus right on her ass. Rumi bumps Mira’s knee with her own, once, twice, and eventually caves and leans against her. She rests her head on Mira’s shoulder, sighs when Mira leans her own head against hers, and as she keeps laughing at Zoey’s misfortunes, she feels a sense of completeness she has never quite felt before.

***

She’s theirs, and they’re hers.

***

They all sleep in Rumi’s bed. It’s not uncommon, when one of them has her period. It doesn’t happen every time, but it happens enough that it doesn’t feel weird or out of place. Mira’s the little spoon, Zoey the big one, and Rumi falls asleep feeling warm all over.

***

They do it again the next night. And again the night after that.

***

At the end of the fourth day, Rumi’s period is blissfully over. She doesn’t tell them, though. Not right away. She leans against her bedroom’s door frame after her shower and watches them. Zoey’s babbling about a particularly unsettling deep-sea creature while she slips under the sheets. Mira’s already in bed, trying her absolute best to appear nonchalant as she listens to her—when it comes to scary movies, spirits and the ocean, she’s the least brave of them all.

“You coming?” Zoey asks Rumi with a soft smile and a tap on the mattress in between her and Mira.

Rumi hums and walks to Zoey’s side of the bed.

“Scoot.”

“You don’t want to be in the middle?”

“No, not tonight.” She sits on the bed. “I figured I’d let one of you guys have the honors, since I’m not on my period anymore.”

“Oh,” Zoey says.

Rumi’s words settle between them, full and lasting despite the casualness of her tone. Neither Mira nor Zoey move, and they don’t mention the fact that they have absolutely no excuse to sleep with Rumi tonight, now that her period is over.

Zoey’s the first to move. She pushes herself right against Mira’s chest; Mira’s hand automatically falls on her, tracing slow patterns from her wrist to her shoulder, soothing and natural.

When Rumi joins them in bed, Zoey doesn’t wait one second before dragging her towards her. They both laugh, Rumi’s face landing in the crook of Zoey’s neck. Zoey’s hair tickles her cheek and it’s not as easy to breathe, yet she wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world.

Rumi feels a soft mouth on her cheek and knows Mira’s just leaned over Zoey to give her a goodnight kiss. She pulls away from Zoey’s neck, just in time to see Zoey turn her head, her lips connecting with Mira’s with a little sigh. They look so beautiful and content Rumi’s heart tightens at the sight. Not with jealousy, no. With happiness.

Mira eventually flips onto her back and turns off the bedside lamp.

“Goodnight, guys,” Rumi whispers, knowing deep down—down, down—they’ll still be awake when the sun rises.

Mira and Zoey don’t reply. For a moment, everything is still and quiet. The room feels small, safe, a bubble where no one and nothing can reach them, their whole world reduced to this, them in a bed under soft sheets, silent in the dark while Seoul hums and gleams outside.

Rumi doesn’t really know how much time passes. Maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour. She doesn’t move. She lies there, attuned to them, to their presence in her room, in her bed, as if suspended in time, until the dreamlike stillness breaks.

One of them moves. Mira, Rumi thinks. She hears Zoey’s sigh. Her little squirm and the dip in the mattress tell her everything she needs to know: Mira’s rolled herself on top of Zoey and is now kissing her. Zoey’s sigh morphs into a muffled little noise, short, high-pitched, and it’s dazing, how fast Mira can turn Zoey on, how a simple kiss can render her breathless and twitching and needy.

Rumi lies there, eyes wide open even though she can’t see anything in the dark. She watches with all of her other senses; with the sounds, wet and breathy and echoing in the room; with the touches, Zoey’s fingers scraping and pulling the sheet underneath them, Mira’s thigh rubbing against hers, telling her exactly how slowly and gently she’s rocking her body against Zoey’s; with the scents, Zoey’s sweet shampoo and Mira’s faint night cream filling her lungs at each one of her deep breaths.

She feels them when they shift, hears the sheets crumpling as Zoey rolls Mira onto her back, bites the inside of her lip when Mira moans. It’s a small, smothered sound, and Rumi knows Zoey’s slipped her tongue into Mira’s mouth. Rumi curls up on herself a little, feeling warm and wet and aching. She wants Zoey’s tongue inside her mouth. Mira’s leg in between hers. Their hands clawing her back as she grinds against them. She wants to know what kinds of sounds they would make for her, if it’d be different with her than it is between them. She wants to know how it feels, to fuck a girl. To fuck them.

Mira lets out a shuddering breath as Zoey seems to unglue their mouths for a moment. There’s a little commotion on the bed next to Rumi, a giggle, the swoosh of clothes being thrown away.

Then, “Oh, fuck.” It’s Zoey, awe in her whisper. “You’re so wet already.”

Rumi lets out a strangled little whine, that in turn drags a low moan from Mira.

“Baby, baby, oh, baby,” Zoey keeps whispering.

Mira gasps, the mattress dips a little, and Rumi knows, she just knows Zoey’s already inside her. She shudders, a full-bodied and uncontrollable jerk, as want strikes her harder than a lightning bolt.

“You’re so wet,” Zoey murmurs again. “She’s so wet, Rumi.”

Rumi sucks in a sharp breath as she tries her best not to moan again—it’s embarrassing, how turned on she already is, how much pleasure she already feels even though they haven’t touched her once.

“I can’t wait for you to feel how wet she is,” Zoey says.

“God,” Rumi breathes out just as Mira groans, “Fuck.”

Zoey chuckles, and the sound, light, raspy, so familiar yet so foreign, has Rumi dart a hand under her pajama pants.

“Oh, god,” she says again, almost plaintive, as the tips of her fingers meet her already slick clit.

“Are you touching yourself?” Zoey asks.

Rumi answers with a moan that, this time, she can’t repress.

“Shit. That’s so hot. You’re so hot.”

Rumi can now distinctly hear the wet noises of Zoey’s fingers driving into Mira at an increasingly fast pace, and she matches it in between her own legs. Mira’s breathing, already ragged, quickens drastically when Rumi moans again.

“Fuck, Rumi,” Zoey whispers. “God you’re hot. I can’t wait to fuck you. I can’t wait to have my tongue inside you. God, god, Rumi, I want you so fucking much.”

“Fuck, Zo,” Mira croaks.

Rumi lies on her stomach with a whimper, both hands now between her legs, hips rocking into the bed as she chases more pressure, Zoey’s words dripping down her spine like hot syrup.

“I’m fucking you just the way I want to fuck her,” Zoey breathes out, and Mira responds with a wrecked “Fuck!”.

Rumi bites her pillow to smother her cry.

“You’re so close,” Zoey murmurs.

The slick noises are still filling the air, frenzied, obscene, and Rumi feels her own orgasm building within and pulling at every muscle.

“Are you going to come for me baby? Are you going to come for her?”

“Fuck. Fuck.”

A thought tears through the thick fog clouding Rumi’s mind and she pulls a hand out of her pants to push herself up.

“Wait. Wait, guys.” She’s panting, voice already hoarse. “I want to see you. Can I—Can I see you?”

“God yes,” Zoey immediately replies.

Mira takes Rumi’s hand and squeezes it, and it’s all the answer she needs. Without letting go of Mira’s hand, she rolls onto her back and turns on the lamp on her side of the bed, before spinning around again.

“Oh.”

It’s more powerful than a punch in the face. They’re both naked. Zoey’s buried three fingers deep into Mira. She’s straddling one of her thighs, hips slowly dragging back and forth, chest heaving from the effort of fucking Mira senseless, even if right now she’s staying still inside her. Mira’s out of breath, hair a wavy mess on the pillow, cheeks and neck flushed. Her eyes are open, spearing into Rumi, something wild in them.

Zoey smiles—pleased, hunter-like—and, without warning, she resumes her relentless pounding. Mira’s back immediately arches onto the bed as her eyes fall shut, her nails digging into Rumi’s hand, a choked moan ripping out of her throat.

“That’s it, baby.”

Zoey leans forward and catches Mira’s lips in a remarkably soft kiss compared to the brutal rhythm with which she’s fucking her.

“Just like that.”

Rumi doesn’t touch herself again. She wants to watch. She wants to drink in every single pigment of the scenery before her. She wants to file every detail, the way Mira’s hand tightens around hers in a grip so strong she might bruise her bones, the way her other hand fists into the sheets so hard her knuckles are white, the way her back bends, curved and rigid, the way her thighs shake, the way Zoey fucks her, fierce, fast, incessant, the way Zoey looks at her, awed, raw, obsessed.

The way Mira comes.

Silent, until a moan tears through the air, low and deep and instinctive. Still, until she collapses and trembles on the bed, Zoey crashing her mouth onto hers, clasping her wrists and pinning them to each side of Mira’s head—Rumi doesn’t let go of Mira’s hand, she can’t, not when Mira’s holding her so solidly, not when she needs to feel connected to Mira as Mira comes down from her high.

Zoey’s fully grinding onto Mira now, her hips rocking on Mira’s thigh as she kisses her senseless, her tugs desperate, her hair cascading around her flushed face and onto Mira’s. She pushes back just enough to rasp, “Fuck oh fuck oh fuck,” and Rumi watches with hypnotic fascination as Zoey’s movements become frantic, as her head falls and she buries her face into Mira’s neck, as her nails dig into Mira’s wrists.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

She comes, and she turns into a mess of moans and shudders until she flops by Mira’s side, limp and breathless. Rumi knows she completely soaked through her underwear and pants, can feel moist heat clinging to the skin between her legs.

Mira pushes herself on her elbows and looks at Zoey.

“Baby, baby, baby,” she says with a scolding tone. “What did we talk about?”

“I’m sorry,” Zoey murmurs, and fuck does she look pretty right now with her reddened cheeks, her messy bangs and raven locks, her lips parted as she tries to catch her breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

“I am. I just couldn’t—fuck, guys, you were so fucking hot, I—”

Mira frowns and Zoey squirms a little under the intensity of her stare. God, they’re hot. They’re so hot. Rumi briefly wonders if she’s ever thought that of Jinu. She certainly never felt it the way she’s feeling it right now.

“Sometimes, Zoey gets too impatient,” Mira drawls, tracing a finger along Zoey’s arm in a line, nonchalant and confident and god how could Rumi not see it? How could she not realize, after all those months, just how incredibly attractive both her roommates are? Mira keeps speaking, her voice low and dragging, “She gets herself off just like that, and it’s fast, without any buildup, and then she gets overstimulated—”

“Not every time—”

“Which means, I can’t do to her what I want to do to her. And that will not do, will it?”

“I’m sorry,” Zoey whispers. She sounds and looks genuinely sorry, but there’s a spark in her eyes, something defiant and eager that has Rumi’s blood rush loudly in her ears.

“What if I can’t touch you right now?”

“You can, I know you can, this was just—It was a small one—”

A small one? It looked more intense than anything Rumi has ever felt in bed.

“What if Rumi can’t touch you?”

“Fuck.”

“Shit.”

They both curse, both look at each other, both stop breathing for a few seconds. Rumi’s mind buzzes. She’s going to fuck Zoey tonight. She’s going to fuck Mira tonight. They’re going to—

“She can,” Zoey rasps, never averting her eyes from hers. Then, softer, “You can.”

And it’s all Rumi wants, really, to touch her. To touch them. To finally give in after having spent those past three months fighting against every single one of her natural instincts.

“Maybe she can.” Mira sits up properly and straddles Zoey in one smooth motion, and Zoey’s eyes rise to meet hers. “But it’s still a big risk you took, Zo. Even though we’ve talked about it.”

She sets her hands on Zoey’s waist, her face stern, her stare piercing. Rumi understands why Zoey’s now biting her lower lip and squirming under her.

“Fuck you’re hot. Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Mira, I’m—”

“Quiet.”

The word is sharp. Zoey sucks in a breath and Rumi slides a hand back into her pants. She knows they’re playing a game. Knows it’s not the first time. Knows Mira would never harm Zoey, knows behind the cutting glares and the cold expressions she’s the softest of the three of them. Knows Zoey’s completely, irrevocably into it. And so is she.

“What do you think, Rumi? Should I punish her?”

Rumi’s fingers find her clit, so sensitive from before and aching for more. Mira’s still staring at Zoey, still towering over her, and for the briefest moment Rumi imagines herself in Zoey’s place, lying there at Mira’s mercy.

“Was it what you were doing that day when she was on her knees?” Her voice is weak. “Punishing her?”

Mira smiles. Leans down towards Zoey ever so slightly.

“No,” she says, and her voice is velvety now. “She loves sucking me off.”

Zoey bites her lip again.

“How—” Rumi can barely speak anymore, voice stuck in her throat as her fingers press slow circles on her clit. “How would you punish her, then?”

“Hmmm. I don’t know. Maybe I could choke her.”

“Fuck, yes, Mira, yes—”

“I said quiet.”

Mira’s fingers dig into Zoey’s waist and Zoey lets out the smallest whine. It goes straight in between Rumi’s thighs. But Zoey’s never been one to follow orders and has always, always loved to challenge Mira.

“You could always slap m—”

Mira’s hand shoots faster than lightning and the clap rips through the air like thunder. Zoey lets out a long, guttural moan, and Mira grabs her jaw to force her to look back at her.

“I could, yes,” Mira growls.

“Fuck, that was so hot.” Zoey’s writhing under Mira’s weight, both hands wrapped around Mira’s arms, her cheek already red from the hit. “Do it again.”

“This is supposed to be a punishment.”

“It is. It is. Just—Plea—”

The second slap fires even faster than the first and Zoey’s moan is twice as loud. Rumi has to stop touching herself, else she’ll come quicker than Zoey had on Mira’s leg, and she wants to make it last. She wants them to push her over the edge.

“Fuck, baby. Fuck.”

“You like that?”

“Yes.”

“You like Rumi watching you moan like a whore when I slap you?”

“Yes, god, yes.”

“Say thank you.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank y—”

Mira slaps her again and Rumi moans along with Zoey.

“God, fuck, thankyouthankyouthankyou—”

Mira gets off Zoey.

“Go get the strap.”

Zoey whines and scrambles to her feet before leaping out of the bedroom. Mira turns her full focus on Rumi, who’s still lying there in bed, a hand shoved between her legs, fingers unmoving and coated with cum.

“Sit against the headboard.”

Mira’s voice is gentler with her, yet still commanding, and Rumi does as she’s told. Maybe she shouldn’t be as turned on as she is. Maybe she should freak out, about the power plays, about how intense this whole thing is, about how she hasn’t even kissed either of them, and here Zoey is, asking to be slapped, here Mira is, giving her exactly that, here they both are, fucking in front of her, talking about her, putting on a show for her even though they haven’t even kissed yet.

Zoey comes back in a heartbeat and hands Mira the strap. It’s the same as five days ago, big and thick and purple—the same shade as Rumi’s hair. Mira stands up and Rumi watches, captivated, as she gears up in no time, with an ease that can only come from months—years?—of practice. Then, Mira looks back at Zoey, face as cold as winter.

“On your knees.”

Zoey lets out a strangled little sound and all but jumps on the bed to get on all four, right in front of Rumi, right there, her hands on each side of Rumi’s lap, while Mira kneels on the bed and positions herself behind her. From where she’s sat against the headboard, Rumi has the most beautiful view over them; Zoey’s head falling between her shoulders as she takes a few shuddering breaths, the nape of her neck, the slight curve of her spine as she pushes her ass up for Mira; Mira looming behind her with haughty arrogance, a hand on Zoey’s ass, her tits on full display, round and perky and so fucking gorgeous.

Without any preamble, Mira pushes into Zoey, hard enough it jolts her body and her hair brushes against Rumi’s lap as she lets out a hoarse cry. Oh. Fuck. She’s so close. Zoey’s so close. Rumi can feel the heat radiating from Zoey’s thumbs, almost touching her thighs as she digs her fingers into the mattress to hold steady while Mira rams into her again. Hard. So hard the skin-on-skin contact snaps sharply in the air. Zoey moans again, loud and shivering and broken.

“How’s this for a punishment?” Mira groans.

“G—Good,” Zoey manages to utter. “So good.”

Rumi itches to touch Zoey. She’s right there. Rumi could lean in, tilt Zoey’s head up with the tip of her finger and kiss her. She could slide her hand into her hair, lick her upper lip, show her all the softness Mira isn’t showing. She could be a part of this. And when Mira starts pounding into Zoey in earnest, when Zoey actually lifts her head to look straight at Rumi with her hooded eyes, when her gasps wash over Rumi’s face and down her ribcage, when their faces get so close all it’d take for them to kiss is abandon, Rumi breaks.

“I want you so much,” she whispers to Zoey, and Zoey’s reaction is immediate and explosive.

She whimpers, snatches Rumi’s shirt with one hand and tugs at it hard just as she leans forward to smash her mouth onto Rumi’s.

They kiss.

It’s the first time Zoey has ever kissed her. The first time a girl has ever kissed her. And it has Rumi shaking like a leaf, every cell in her lighting up and sending sparks of electricity to her brain and heart and crotch. It’s so right, this, them, Zoey, the way she kisses her so impetuously, the way she moans against her mouth as Mira picks up the pace, the way she still grips her shirt as if to keep Rumi there—as if Rumi could ever back away, look away, turn away—, it’s so right, Zoey’s greed, how she pulls at Rumi’s PJs as she straightens up on her knees, how she has them all kneeling on the bed, how she starts grinding on Mira’s strap while both her hands, now free, roam all over Rumi’s face and hair, caressing and tugging and scratching as they just keep kissing. It’s so right, how Mira’s face falls against Zoey’s neck, how she moans into her, how she wraps her arms around Zoey’s waist to hold her close while she pushes her strap into her, slower now and, Rumi knows, deeper.

And when Mira looks back up to stare at Rumi, Rumi gives in entirely and drags her mouth away from Zoey’s and onto Mira’s. It’s the first time she’s ever kissed her too, and it has her shaking all over again, and it’s so right, how softly Mira kisses her, how loved she makes Rumi feel, how there’s nowhere else Rumi would rather be than here, right here, lips on Mira’s and chest on Zoey’s.

Zoey moans and moans and moans, hips rocking faster onto Mira’s lap, and she clings to Rumi’s back, a hand digging into her braid, pushing her more against Mira, as if them making out above her shoulder is what brings her closer and closer to the edge. And while earlier Mira took Zoey with intense but quiet pleasure, now she keeps making little noises as she explores Rumi’s mouth with her tongue. Rumi has to grip at Zoey’s shoulders to keep steady, her muscles turned into a puddle now that she’s finally, finally got to kiss them both.

When Zoey comes, she clutches at Rumi so tightly she might rip a hole in her shirt. She cries out, Mira lets out something close to a sob into Zoey’s neck, and Rumi kisses Zoey’s tears as they fall down her cheeks. It’s so intense Rumi feels overwhelmed, her own tears threatening to spill, but they give her no time to recover.

Zoey’s already pushing her onto the mattress, weak and gasping and still trembling from her orgasm. She kisses Rumi with a small whimper before clumsily removing her shirt, and Rumi can feel Mira’s fingers curling around the elastic band of her pants. In a matter of seconds, she’s naked, and they’re both all over her.

There’s no talking, no questioning look, nothing. She gives; they take. It’s uncontrolled, rushed, good. So, so good. Zoey’s kissing her when Mira first touches her where she needs them the most. Rumi’s hips buck at the light stroke of Mira’s fingertips, her whine muffled by Zoey’s tongue. Mira doesn’t tease her for long before entering her, and they moan in unison when she does. Without ever backing away from Rumi’s mouth, Zoey finds her clit and starts touching her with featherlike brushes that have her arching on the bed and choking on air in no time.

They work on her together, relentless and gasping along her every moan, and Rumi’s never, ever felt this way before. Shaking, warm, so fucking warm, mind clouded by sheer desire, wanting and wanting and wanting, greedy for more even though they give her everything—everything—, feeling so good at every single one of their gestures, at every single one of their sighs against her thigh and mouth.

Her orgasm tears through her mortifyingly fast, but she can barely care, crying out as she is while Zoey sucks on her neck and Mira buries herself deep, deep, deep into her and stays there to push her even further. The release washes all over her and leaves her almost convulsing on the bed while Zoey keeps murmuring baby, baby, oh, baby. It makes her want more. It makes her insane with desire. It makes her selfish in a way she’s never been before, and with them she feels like she can be, like they want her to be unapologetic and demanding and free.

So she sits up and, completely out of breath, trembling like a leaf yet fueled with a devouring determination, she rolls Mira onto her back, unceremonious and uncompromising. Mira gasps but doesn’t fight her, simply groans when Rumi straddles her and groans some more when Rumi lowers herself and takes in one go the strap Mira’s still wearing—coated with Zoey’s cum, god, god, oh god.

“Holy shit.”

Rumi doesn’t know if Zoey swears because of the sight or because of the loud, unrestrained moan she just let out as her eyes roll to the back of her head. Mira’s big. Bigger than what Rumi’s ever known. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It feels so good. It feels so good. It feels so good.

She sets a hand on Mira’s waist to steady herself and snatches Zoey’s wrist to bring her closer, nails buried in her soft skin. She wants—needs the both of them. She needs Mira filling her up, both hands on her hips as Rumi starts grinding onto her, she needs Zoey close, watching, wanting, guiding.

“Talk to me,” she breathes out.

She sets her unfocused eyes on Zoey and utters a strangled little noise when Mira jerks into her—once, something sharp and involuntary.

“God, yes, baby, yes, anything you want, anything you want.”

Zoey kneels by her side, kisses her, whimpers and pulls away, and Rumi sees she’s now ferociously rubbing her clit with two fingers.

“You’re so hot,” Zoey says, voice quivering. “I’ve been wanting this for—god, Rumi, I’ve been wanting you for a year.”

Rumi’s eyes flutter close and she tilts her head back, lips parted in a ragged breath as Zoey’s words settle deep in her chest.

“These past three months have made me insane, baby. You have no idea how many times I almost walked into your room to just straddle you in bed and kiss you right then and there.”

Rumi lets out a pathetic little whine and is rewarded by another twitch of Mira’s hips. The strap hits her deep and her whimper turns into a long and raspy moan.

“Mira made me say your name,” Zoey says, voice strained as she keeps touching herself. “I made her say your name. So many times, baby. We came for you so many times.”

“God, oh god.”

Rumi slides all the way up the dildo and slams herself back down. Mira mutters a raspy fucking hell that only incites Rumi to do it again.

“I can’t believe this is finally happening,” Zoey whispers, more of a sob, as she presses her forehead against Rumi’s. “I—oh, fuck, this feels so good—I want to do so many things to you, baby. I can’t fucking wait to—fuck, fuck—to have you in my mouth—”

“Zoey,” Rumi whispers as she starts bouncing up and down on Mira’s dildo. “Zoey, fuck, Zoey, Zoey—”

“I’m here, baby. I’m—shit, god—I’m here. Doesn’t she feel so good? I can’t believe you’re taking her so well.”

“Oh god oh god oh god—”

She feels it build inside of her, taut and hot and ineluctable, that heat overtaking her, her muscles tightening all over, and she clenches around Mira, clings to her as she rides her up and down and up and down and up and—

“You’re doing so good for me, baby.”

The sound of Mira’s voice, so low and husky and rough, is what ultimately makes everything snap inside Rumi. She comes and she yells, pushing herself into Mira, trying to swallow her whole, to feel her as deeply as she can. She barely registers Zoey’s own cry, or the way she presses herself against Mira’s side and jerks uncontrollably against her as her own orgasm takes over.

Rumi ends up a wet, shaking mess, collapsing on Mira and bursting into tears as Mira holds her close and murmurs sweet nothings in her ear. She doesn’t know how long she cries. She doesn’t really care. Everything she’s kept so tightly sealed inside her these past few years finally comes out rushing and roaring, and she’s never known greater relief.

***

Zoey goes down on her once she recovers. She edges her three times before finally letting her come. Rumi almost passes out.

***

She takes Zoey with three fingers, and she revels in the sensation, wet and hot and tight and alive, in how responsive Zoey is, in Mira’s hushed you’re doing so good; you’re fucking her so well; isn’t she the prettiest; fuck, Rumi, I want you so much.

She didn’t think she could possibly come again after Zoey had edged her to near-death, and yet. Zoey cries out her name, and Rumi begs Mira to fuck her again.

Mira happily obliges.

***

She tastes Mira for the very first time and has to stop after a few seconds to calm herself down. She’s shaking again, overwhelmed, so aroused it hurts. Then she dives back in and doesn’t relent until Mira unravels against her face with that almost bestial moan that has driven Rumi mad with desire these past three months.

After that, Zoey shoves her tongue into her mouth and licks every last drop of Mira away.

***

She goes to the bathroom to clean up. She almost doesn’t recognize herself in the mirror. Her hair is a disaster, her neck bruised—thank you Zoey—, her lips swollen, her chin sticky with cum. She blushes at her reflection, but doesn’t look away for a long while.

She doesn’t take a shower, simply cleans herself up and goes back to her bedroom. Mira’s laughing at something Zoey’s said, and both of their smiles grow ten times bigger when they see Rumi by the door.

Rumi’s shoulders drop.

“I love you.” She says it like she would a prayer, hopeful and full of faith. “I love you so much. The both of you. Every part of you. I—I’m so sorry it took me so long to realize—”

Zoey’s on her before she can even finish her sentence, leaping out of bed at an inhuman speed, and soon Mira joins them in a tight embrace.

***

They say I love you so many times Rumi loses count. She finds out Mira and Zoey have never said the words to each other until now. Not without you. It breaks her entirely, and she spends a good five minutes sobbing into their arms.

***

They fuck and make love and fuck again.

She was right. They’re still awake when the sun comes up.

***

Rumi’s coming back from the music shop with a new set of strings and oil for her guitar fretboard, and she’s eager to give her instrument a good cleaning. She hums in the elevator, thinking about her plans for the rest of the day—music and chilling and going to the movies with Zoey and Mira—, and she can’t repress her smile.

As soon as she opens the front door of their apartment, she’s greeted by a long, low moan that instantly gets her wet. Mira. Rumi fumbles to take her shoes off, throws her bag on the kitchen counter and walks straight to her bedroom. She freezes at the sight of Zoey fucking Mira with the strap, deep and slow and loving just the way Mira likes it.

Rumi stands there, by the open door. She wonders how she got so lucky. Wonders how it took her so long to see the most obvious truth: she’s been madly in love with them for a whole year. When Zoey notices her, she throws her a victorious smile before focusing on Mira again. She whispers something into her ear and Mira responds with a weak moan that turns Rumi’s legs into cotton.

So, Rumi sits on the sofa they set up in the corner of her room and, happy and maddeningly turned on, she watches as her girlfriends make love in her own bed.

It’s not the first time, and it certainly won’t be the last.