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Resonant

A gift for a friend as part of a secret santa exchange for a discord server I'm in! Rating: M (mentions of sex) Ship: F/F/F (Polytrix) Word count: 3,227 Fandom: K-Pop Demon Hunters

Infinite thanks to my beta Sparky, who wrote at least 40% of this. Fluff is not my forte.

--

The living room is dark except for the gentle glow of the TV which casts a blue hue on Zoey, Rumi, and the Derpy duo. A lukewarm mug of tea sits on the coffee table.

“How much longer?” Zoey asks, squirming to see over the top of Derpy’s giant body.

“Ten minutes?” Rumi replies, thumbing the button on the side of her phone to check the time. Zoey’s jaws split wide in a massive yawn.

“We could just–” Rumi has to cut herself off for her own yawn, “--go to bed. She said we didn’t have to watch.” Mira would not begrudge them for missing it. They’ve both had a long day already, having risen at the crack of dawn to go to the beach. How is it that relaxing is so much work?

Zoey shouts a muffled “Yes we do! Solidarity!” from where her face is buried in Derpy’s fur.

“Then you are going to have to wait at least another ten minutes,” Rumi says. Zoey groans and deflates like a punctured balloon. Derpy snuffles and adjusts his weight.

“You’re sure you're comfy under there?” Rumi asks skeptically.

“He is keeping me toasty warm,” Zoey replies, self satisfied and smug.

A squawk erupts from the top of Derpy’s head.

Sussie focuses. One of the game contestants taps out, the weakling. The program runs a few bars of music and then fades to black, which is a relief, because Sussie’s only here to see Wol-do, not the silly humans bouncing off of padded walls. BigStupidTiger shifts underneath their feet and they hiss. They reach over to peck at Stupid’s blue ear. ‘Stay still.’

“Are there any birds that work symbiotically with cats?” Rumi asks as she watches this exchange. Despite how big the couch is, Derpy drapes precariously over the side of it.

“Sometimes ravens will lead wolves to carcasses or potential prey,” Zoey replies, one eye on the magpie. She still has bandaids on her fingers from the last time she reached out to Sussie. Rumi suspects this hasn't actually done much to deter her.

BigStupidTiger grumbles, a deep, rippling thing that is 73% snore. He is so relaxed he does not even realize that he is spilling right out of Shin-Kal’s lap. Idiot. Oh no–Sussie’s wings flutter as they take off to avoid the point of no return. BigStupidTiger plops right onto the carpet. He’s so dead asleep he probably doesn’t even realize it. Tch. Sussie’s claws click as they settle on the perch Wol-do bought them two moons ago. The TV cuts to the next program, the volume still set to low. Finally! Wol-do is on.

“He does that a lot, doesn't he?” Rumi asks when she notices the blue mass on their carpet.

“Yeah. It’s cute how boneless he gets.” Zoey smiles. She reaches down to give the tiger a pat on his side before she returns to her seat. A moment passes. Then another. She huffs, pulls her legs up against her chest, and shivers dramatically.

Rumi waits.

It doesn't take long.

“Rumi,” Zoey whines. “I’m cold.”

Rumi smiles as she reaches forward to set down her tea, and then gets up. She makes her way across the room.

“No! Not the thermostat!” Zoey squeals when she realizes where Rumi is heading.

It's silly. They're rich. It would cost them next to nothing to turn up the thermostat a few degrees, yet every time Mira or Rumi so much as intonate they might be considering doing so, Zoey goes on for at least a half hour about how it's bad for the environment. Rumi pivots to grab a blanket instead, but Zoey isn’t having it.

“Rumi! Get over here,” Zoey demands.

“But you’ll be cold,” Rumi says, a blanket in hand.

“You’ll keep me warm,” Zoey says. Rumi does her best to keep her flushed face turned away as she descends to the floor in front of the couch. “Here, here,” Zoey says, reaching out to guide Rumi's head into her lap. “Can I take out your braid?”

Rumi considers this for a moment. She's been meaning to redo it for a while now, but touching her hair is usually a private affair. It’s a lot to keep track of and takes a skilled, experienced hand. What if it’s too much? She chews on her lip, but Zoey waits, patient and quiet.

Finally, Rumi nods.

Zoey’s hands are deft and gentle, and they detour often to skim the whorl of an ear or scratch at the baby hairs along Rumi’s neck, soft and lingering. Oh. Rumi was expecting clinical precision. She was expecting it to feel the way it did when Celine used to do her hair. This is nothing like that. This is…

They've kissed each other. They've even made love a few times. Why does this feel so intimate?

The TV continues to play in the background. Rumi is looking at the TV, but she isn’t seeing it. Her eyelids are so heavy, and she tries to keep them open; Mira's supposed to be on soon. It's only polite, isn't it, since they can't be there in person to support her. Stay awake, Rumi.

Zoey LOVES their living room. She loves all of the tower for sure, her bedroom especially, but there’s something so magical about the living room. It’s where she gets to hang out with Mira and Rumi. Yeah, okay, they hang out literally always because they train together and work together, but in the living room they get to relax together. Every sound, every detail, Zoey knows.

There is a new sound in the living room.

She chews at her bottom lip as her hands pause their ministrations while she strains to listen.

From Sussie’s perch, they click their tongue. Wol-do is standing like she’s ready for battle. Will she impale the man in the finely starched suit?

When the noise quietens down Zoey clicks her tongue, head swinging back and forth as she tries to hone in on its location. It doesn't return. It’s probably nothing, anyway. Her hands absently return to stroking Rumi's head and just like that the noise is back.

Oh.

Oh!

Rumi! It's Rumi! Rumi is purring! What? Does she have a flexible hyoid bone? That’s how cats purr, after all.

“Hmm?” Rumi murmurs from where her head rests heavy in Zoey’s lap. Zoey realizes then that she's been squirming in her excitement. “D'you need to go to the bathroom?”

“Oops, sorry Rumi. No, I'm okay.” Which is a good thing because even if Rumi says she's willing to move she certainly isn't bothering to budge. She’s putty in Zoey’s lap. Has she ever seen Rumi this relaxed? Maybe once, after the third or fourth time they’d had sex. Rumi is so fucking cute! Why is Mira not here to see this right now? Oh, right. The interview.

‘It's well known that you have a bit of a reputation…,’ the host says with a saccharine grin. Sussie hisses.

Zoey winces. Poor Mira; she hates these things, but what other choice is there? Bobby did what he could, but in the end had to say the dreaded words: ‘damage control’. On screen, Mira gives the same spiel she's given about a hundred thousand million times to the press: she’s past her anger issues, it’s not her fault people like to make up stories.

Nothing but the ambient sound of the appliances lingers in the air. Then, several long moments later, yes! Zoey reaches around to place a palm against Rumi’s upper chest to feel the vibrations.

An ad starts on the screen. It's a close up of bugolgi. Then the audio picks up and oh, Zoey forgot about this one. It's moaning. The audio is of Mira moaning. Because the slogan for this commercial is ‘so good, you can't help but moan’. Of course they are playing this during a segment of Mira. Obviously. Why wouldn't they. Hah.

Ow! Hey? Rumi's got her fingers curled tightly against Zoey's thigh and--ohhhh. Rumi's shifting a bit. A lot a bit. She's moving her legs together. Oh she's--oh she's--okay.

Zoey grins.

“Rumi?” she murmurs, trailing her hand along her girlfriend's shoulder. “Do you miss Mira?” And Rumi honest-to-God whines. “Awww, baby, she'll be home soon,” Zoey murmurs.

“Okay,” Rumi sighs, because she's an idiot and doesn't know how to ask for anything for herself ever.

“Hey, no,” Zoey tilts Rumi’s head back so she can look at her. “We spoke to Mira about this, remember?”

Rumi blinks up at her, brown eyes dilated, a slight furrow pressing the lines between her brows.

Zoey cuts a quick glance at the screen. It’s fine; nothing’s on fire, but her focus is on her hands. She soothes Rumi’s shoulders, rubbing in calming circles. She tries to be patient, but that’s never been Zoey’s forte, and Rumi is so damn gorgeous. Zoey traces along the delicate arch of Rumi’s clavicle. It’s lovely, but Zoey’s greedy. She wants more. Her fingers worm beneath the collar of Rumi’s sleeping shirt and push lower, lower, and then she’s fully cupping Rumi’s breast in the palm of her hand. Fuck. She flexes against it, enjoying the weight, the give, the shape. When Rumi’s nipple hardens, Zoey has to choke back her own moan. She’s addicted to how responsive Rumi is.

‘You’re known for being reactive. If someone says something you don’t like, you lash out.’

Rumi’s purring has completely stopped, but her legs are shifting again, and there’s a nearly silent little whine in the back of her throat she cuts off quickly. It’s too late, though. Zoey heard that.

“You need something, jagi?” Zoey murmurs, unrepentant. She’s leaning forward so she can reach everything she wants and it puts her head right beside Rumi’s.

“No,” Rumi murmurs petulantly.

“Oh? So this isn’t doing anything for you?” Zoey asks, tweaking Rumi’s nipple between her thumb and forefinger. Rumi’s entire body jolts.

“Mean,” Rumi huffs.

‘You threw a cell phone at a journalist once, didn’t you?’

“Mean? Me? You said you didn’t need anything.”

“That doesn’t mean that I—” Rumi whimpers as Zoey pinches her nipple yet again.

‘Whereas your brother has never had such public outbursts, has he?’

“Then you won’t mind if I take this off?” Zoey queries, withdrawing her hand only so she can undo the buttons of Rumi’s shirt and slide the fabric off of her shoulders, exposing Rumi’s chest to the cool air of the penthouse.

“Mira isn’t here,” Rumi’s voice is strained, but she’s doing nothing to stop Zoey.

“So?” Zoey’s hands cup Rumi’s tits.

‘You’ve been to anger management, haven’t you? Is that because you had a physical altercation with that model you briefly dated?’

“We can’t,” she sighs.

“Yes we can,” Zoey murmurs. “Mira told us we could. I told Mira she could have sex with you if I wasn’t around. Did you forget?”

“I remember,” Rumi says cautiously. “You mean, you really want to? Just with me?”

“Of course I want to,” Zoey replies, incredulous. “Wait. Do you not want to?”

‘Weren’t you the one who exposed Rumi-nim’s skin patterns at the concert?’

“I do, I do,” Rumi scrambles to say, turning around so she’s on her knees in front of Zoey, her palms on Zoey’s thighs, looking up at her with those lethal brown eyes. God, Zoey just wants to throw her over her shoulder and take her to the bedroom and ravish her.

Unfortunately Rumi is fit which means she is dense which means Zoey can’t pick her up on her own; fortunately Rumi is amenable to being pulled to her feet and led through the doorway to Rumi’s bed (it’s closest). Zoey grins wolfishly, unrepentant.

“Ryu Rumi, I am going to ruin you.”

‘If you have to ruin anyone’s reputation, ruin mine.’

—

Saingeom and Shin-kal leave the room to go have sex. Gross. Human copulating is such a messy, noisy thing.

Sussie turns their beak back to the screen. One of Wol-do’s fists curls, half-hidden under the table, as Starched Suit continues to speak. He remains un-impaled by the time the program ends. Shame.

—

It is late and dark when the elevator chimes, signaling Mira’s return. Zoey stirs from the warm, post-coital pile, and considers waiting for Mira to find and join them. She’s gotta be tired, those things take a lot out of her even when they’re not about something as personal as her anger. Zoey reluctantly pushes herself up from the bed and tosses on the button down she’d practically ripped off of Rumi. The least she could do is make Mira a cup of tea before bed.

“‘S goin’ on?” Rumi slurs from the bed. She’s more than halfway asleep. Zoey gives herself a pat on the back for a job well done, then reaches forward and pets the back of Rumi’s head, delighting in the ensuing purr that rumbles to life. She’s so fucking cute! Zoey has got to tell Mira.

“Nothing, baby. You rest.” Zoey leans down and plants a gentle kiss to Rumi’s brow, then makes her way into the hall.

“Mira?” She whisper-shouts out, but not too loud, because she doesn’t wanna disturb Rumi. Because Zoey can be quiet, thank you very much! It takes effort and concentration, but she can totally be quiet.

“Hey,” Mira’s voice is flat. Off.

“Hey! Hi! How did it go?” Zoey bounds over to where Mira is shedding her coat in the hall.

“Fine.” That’s not good.

“Fine?” Zoey presses gently.

“Yep.” Very not good.

“How are you?”

“I’m fine. I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

“Mira–”

She brushes past her, leaving Zoey confused in her wake as she disappears into her own room.

What happened at that interview?

—

The minute that Mira’s in her room she shucks off her clothes. The ride here from the station did nothing to ease the ache in her chest; instead she spent the whole time mentally spiralling, turning over every agonizing detail of the conversation. She enters the bathroom she shares with Zoey and locks the doors before stepping into the scaling spray of the shower. Her hands scrub off the stage makeup with enough force to sting, skin pink then rubbed rawer still, but it hardly registers. She wants it to hurt. She wants it to ache. So much for damage control. Mira’s mouth is a gun and her tongue is on the trigger.

Mira curls up in the dark on her bedspread, drowning in one of Zoey’s horrible holiday sweaters, the kind that usually makes her smile. She digs her nose into the collar to smell who wore it last–Rumi–and does the breathing exercises Celine taught her.

Mira is not anywhere close to sleep when there’s a soft knock at her door. She doesn’t answer.

“Mira?” Zoey’s voice is unusually gentle. Mira doesn’t reply.

She hears the soft shuffle of fabric and feels the bed dip with Zoey’s weight.

“I watched the interview,” Zoey says after another few moments of silence. “That was…Mira, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She doesn’t want to talk about it. She doesn’t want to think about it. And it is fine, isn’t it? Now the whole world is thinking about Mira and her shitty family. Goal achieved. Rumi’s no longer under the gun.

“Hey,” Zoey says, “Is it okay if I touch you?”

Mira grumbles her assent. Zoey places her hand on Mira’s shoulder and rubs it up and down in a soothing motion.

“That guy was a dick,” Zoey says simply. “I bet that’s why he was so on your case. I bet he’s feeling insignificant because he has a rare disease on his dick and the doctors called him just before the show and said it’s incurable and they are gonna have to amputate and his whole identity is tied to the thing so he can’t imagine a life without it–was that a snort? Did you snort? Did I make you laugh?”

“Zoey,” Mira grumbles, because she wants to hold on to her anger, the bright hot mess of it, but how is she meant to focus when Zoey’s talking like that?

“I know, I know, it’s very unsympathetic of me to talk trash about him when he’s in such a bad state, especially when it’s unrelated to anything he said to you, but like should he really be working in such a state? For most people that might not be a problem but unfortunately this guy’s brain is connected to his penis, so–”

“Zoey,” Mira groans again, but this time she can’t fight the smile on her face.

Zoey brushes a strand of Mira’s hair behind her ear.

“I love you,” she says gently, and Mira aches in a whole new way. “Hey. Can I show you something that might make you feel better?”

“What if I don’t want to feel better?” She groans.

“Too bad.”

Mira lets Zoey pull her up from the bed. They pause in the doorway of Rumi’s room and Zoey holds a finger up to her lips to indicate silence. Rumi rests on her stomach, great waves of purple spilling over the edge of the bed, a pillow stuffed beneath her head. The lights from Seoul shimmer off of Rumi’s skin to highlight the iridescent patterns along her naked back.

It’s strange, Mira thinks, to see her so boneless. It’s only recently that Rumi has opened up enough to let them see her while she sleeps, and Mira has noticed even while unconscious she looks like she’s ready to fight something. She curls in tight on herself and clenches her hands into fists. It’s the opposite of what she looks like right now; melting off the mattress. She looks like Derpy when he lays down in a sunbeam.

“What did you do to her?” Mira whispers, but Zoey frantically shushes her. Then she reaches forward and starts to stroke Rumi’s head.

Nothing happens, but Mira is patient.

Zoey tries this for a moment before giving up and getting onto the bed. She proceeds to bury both hands into the ocean of violet, her fingers flexing as she gently scratches Rumi’s scalp.

There’s a noise. A low rumble. It’s far too high to be Derpy’s deep purr, but the cadence of it is the same. Is that…?

Mira points to the gelatin version of Rumi on the bed and mouths, ‘is she purring?’ to which Zoey grins and nods as enthusiastically as she can without shaking the bed. Mira approaches and, sotto voce, asks, “can I?” to which Zoey nods.

She withdraws her hands and Mira reaches forward.

It’s the first time she’s really touched Rumi’s hair. Mira marvels at the softness, the way the dim light reflects off the strands, how the length slips around and between her fingers. On one of the lingering strokes, Rumi turns her head, seeking, and nuzzles into Mira’s hand. The purr grows stronger for several breaths, then decrescendos into soft sounds once more.

The low rumbling emanating from Rumi’s chest dispels the last of the fiery anger clinging to the inside of Mira’s ribs. She sighs, smiling up at Zoey, who is resting her head in one hand and using the other to trace the shimmering patterns along Rumi’s flank.

Zoey leans forward to capture Mira’s lips in a kiss.

Whatever else happens, at least they have this. They have each other.

#resonant

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