Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The house was too big for how small their lives had become.

It had high ceilings, clean lines, warm wood, soft indirect lighting. It was every architectural magazine’s dream, and yet they were barely ever here anymore. Rumi padded through the living room in bare feet, silk trousers brushing the floor, her braid swinging with every step. 

She’d closed her laptop. She’d even dimmed the light. She’d done all the preparation steps one was supposed to do before winding down for bed, but her mind still buzzed like an overworked server rack.

Upstairs, she could hear Mira’s voice: muffled, crisp, unyielding, cutting through a late-night call with a client. The cadence of it was too familiar, but edged with exhaustion she’d never admit to.

Rumi knew the sound of Mira running on fumes. She’d been listening to it for months now.

They had built this life together: careers on fire, reputations that turned heads, a marriage everyone else saw as ‘power couple perfection.’ But lately, they had been paying the price for those careers. Rumi couldn’t even remember the last time she and Mira had just… sat down together.

Mira finally descended the staircase twenty minutes later, heels in hand, jacket folded over one arm. Her hair was immaculate despite the hour. Mira didn’t unravel, she simply compressed inward. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and inhaled, shoulders dropping half a centimeter with her exhale. 

“That was the Park case,” she murmured, rolling her wrist to ease out tension. “He wants to settle, but he wants to ‘settle with dignity,’ which apparently means making my life miserable.”

Rumi glanced up at her from the couch, a small tired smile tugging at her lips. “Did you tell him dignity is expensive?”

“I told him dignity is unrealistic.” Mira sank onto the couch beside her, letting her head fall back dramatically. “He didn’t appreciate that.”

Rumi’s fingers brushed her arm, just a light, grounding touch. “We should go to bed.”

“I know,” Mira groaned. “But I’m vibrating with annoyance. If I lie down, my brain’s going to start arguing with itself.”

“Your brain argues even when you’re sleeping,” Rumi teased softly. “Mine too, lately.”

Mira turned her head, studying Rumi’s face. “We haven’t spoken all week. Everything alright at the office?”

Rumi huffed a tiny breath. “The R&D team missed another deadline. Marketing wants eight new campaigns next quarter. And apparently my presence at the summit is ‘not optional’ even though I told them my schedule is full.” She rubbed her temples. “I think I’ve forgotten how to turn myself off.”

“I know,” Mira sighed. “Me too.”

The house was silent around them. Peaceful, serene, and somehow not restful at all.

A moment passed where they simply leaned into each other, shoulder to shoulder, two ambitious women held together by mutual exhaustion and the certainty that something ahd to give eventually. 

And then, as if on cue, Mira’s phone buzzed.

She closed her eyes. “If that’s Park, I swear-”

“It’s Hyerin,” Rumi said, peeking at the screen. “From your firm.”

Mira snatched the phone with a groan. “Why is she texting at-” she stopped mid-sentence, eyebrows lifting slowly. “Huh.”

“What?”

“Hyerin says, and I quote, ‘Mira-unni, you’re going to ignore this, but you need yoga before you combust. There’s a studio downtown that’s apparently life-changing. Go before your wife has to file a malpractice claim on your behalf.’”

Rumi snorted. “That sounds like good advice.”

“From a traitor,” Mira said flatly. “Yoga? Me? Ru, I don’t bend. I fold.”

“Those are synonyms.”

“Not the point,” Mira countered, dead serious.

Rumi laughed under her breath, quiet, warm, the sound Mira always tried to coax out after hard days. “Actually,” she admitted, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. “I heard something similar today.”

Mira paused. “From who?”

“Chanmi from product development. She said I needed ‘a class where your phone can’t follow you,’ which I assume was a poetic way of telling me I look like death.”

“You look beautiful,” Mira said automatically, without thinking.

Rumi smiled softly at that, but her eyes stayed heavy.

“So…” Mira continued, draping an arm along the back of the couch, “... two independent sources think we need yoga.”

“Maybe we really are that stressed,” Rumi considered.

“I refuse to believe I am stressed enough for yoga,” Mira shook her head with a click of her tongue.

“Try it,” Rumi offered.

“You try it.” Another pause. Then, reluctantly: “... Fine. We’ll try it.”

Rumi sat up a little straighter. “Together?”

Mira pulled up the calendar on her phone, Rumi following her example. They spent the next fifteen minutes cross-referencing meetings, deadlines, hearings, board calls. Their brows furrowed deeper with every bullet point.

“Nope,” Mira concluded. “Not happening. I can make Thursdays work, but you’re swamped.”

Rumi stared at her phone. “I can switch my Tuesday afternoons to mornings. So you do Thursday, I do Tuesday?”

“... Fine. Worth a try.”

-

The yoga studio looked nothing like what Rumi had expected.

She’d imagined incense, dim lights, something vaguely cult-like perhaps. Instead she stepped into a bright, open lobby washed in natural sunlight from floor-to-ceiling windows. Pale wood floors, soft white curtains that moved with the air. A faint, soothing instrumental track floating from somewhere above her head.

It felt… peaceful. 

Before she could decide whether that was comforting or alarming, a young woman appeared behind the reception counter. Younger than her, anyway. Mid-twenties maybe, hair pulled into two buns, cheeks flushed in a way that made her look like she’d just jogged across the room. Cute as a button, too, with warm brown eyes that practically sparkled when she looked up.

“Hi! Welcome!” the woman smiled brightly, voice soft and melodic rather than harsh and grating like literally everyone at work. “I’m Zoey. You must be Rumi?”

Rumi straightened instinctively, smoothing the front of her blouse as if greeting a new business partner. “Yes. First class.”

Zoey’s smile widened as if Rumi had just told her some excellent news. “I’m so glad you’re here. Come on, dressing rooms are this way.”

She stepped out from behind the counter with an effortless bounce, and Rumi followed, heels tapping sharply against the floor. The hallway smelled faintly of eucalyptus. The lights were gentle, not the harsh LEDs she was used to in boardrooms and labs.

Zoey pushed open a door marked Changing.

“Lockers are on the right,” she explained. “Shoes and bags on the bottom shelf, mats are already in the studio for today’s beginners’ class. Oh! And… we do have a strict no-phone policy during class.”

Rumi’s hand reflexively touched the pocket of her jacket. “No phones?” she echoed.

“Mm-hm,” Zoey nodded with a knowing smirk. “For one hour, the world can handle itself. It’s honestly more freeing than people realise.”

Freeing. Rumi hadn’t felt ‘free’ since… some time ago.

Her fingers closed around the phone. The screen lit up instantly: fifteen unread emails, six scheduling notifications, an urgent message from one of her project leads demanding approval on a chemical formulation.

Her gut tightened on instinct. Zoey gently tilted her head, holding her hand up still. “You look like you’re deciding between turning it off or hurling it into the sun.”

Rumi let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Turning it off,” she muttered. 

“Good choice,” Zoey beamed, pleased. “The sun does not have a good lost-and-found department. We do, though.”

Rumi huffed something like a laugh, small and startled, then powered down her phone. The screen went black. The silence in her hands felt… startlingly good. Like pressure easing off the sides of her skull.

Zoey’s grin softened into something more approving, almost proud. “I’ll see you in the studio when you’re ready.”

The yoga room was warm and quiet, filled with soft natural light and five other women scattered across the space. Some stretched casually, others sat cross-legged with serene expressions. Rumi set her mat down near the middle, close enough to watch others, but not so close she’d feel trapped.

The music here was deeper, slower, connecting to something low in her chest. Her pulse seemed to settle into its rhythm.

When Zoey stepped to the front of the room, she did it with a dancer’s ease, a teacher’s calm certainty. She clasped her hands together, bowed her slightly, and smiled. “Alright, everyone. Let’s start with our breath.”

Her voice was gentle, but steady. Confident.

Rumi followed. Inhale through the nose, hold, exhale through the mouth. Slow. Measured. Foreignly comforting.

Then came the poses. Nothing wild, nothing that demanded contortion. Just stretches, bends, slow transitions that asked her body to be present rather than correct or perfect. Surprisingly, she found that she was… rather good at this.

Her limbs obeyed. Her spine eased. Her shoulders sank from their usual locked position. Her muscles remembered flexibility they hadn’t been allowed to use in months.

Zoey moved between the students, offering occasional adjustments: a hand on a shoulder blade, a reminder to soften the knees, to relax the jaw. When she reached Rumi, she paused.

“You’re a natural,” she whispered. Rumi’s breath stuttered just slightly. Praise hit her differently, always had. Even if it came from a stranger.

As they flowed through a gentle sequence - downward dog to plank to cobra - she felt tension bleed out of her, drip by drip, breath by breath. Her thoughts didn’t disappear, but they quieted, shuffled to the back of her mind like obedient children asked to wait their turn.

And when Zoey guided the class into a final forward fold, Rumi’s spine curved with a relief so intense she almost sighed.

All too soon, Zoey’s soft voice floated through the room. “Okay everyone… that’s all for today. If you need, you can do a few more stretches before you get changed. Listen to your bodies!” 

Rumi blinked up, disoriented. Done? Already? She wasn’t ready. Not even close.

The other women began gathering their mats and leaving, trading soft goodbyes. Rumi lingered, sitting back on her heels. Zoey noticed, of course she did, and padded over.

“How’re you feeling?” she asked, lowering herself into a squat beside her.

Rumi searched for the correct adjective. She found none, so she ended up telling the truth. “Looser,” she admitted quietly.

Zoey’s smile bloomed. “That’a big win for day one.”

Rumi hesitated for a moment. “Could we do a little more? If that’s allowed?”

Zoey blinked, looking surprised. “You want to stay?”

“I don’t want to stop yet.”

A spark lit in Zoey’s eyes, delighted, mischievous, warm. “Sure,” she said, springing back up. “I can guide you through a few more poses if you want.”

Rumi glanced toward the door. “Will we get in trouble?”

Zoey put both hands on her hips, chin lifted, playful in her confidence. “I own the place,” she said with a grin. “Who’s gonna give me trouble?”

Rumi let out a soft, genuine laugh, the kind she didn’t make often anymore in her everyday life. Zoey raised a brow, teasing. “C’mon. I’ll show you the hip-opener sequence. You’ll thank me tomorrow.”

-

Rumi wasn’t the first beautiful student to walk into her studio. But she was the first one to make Zoey completely forget her own choreography halfway through a sun salutation.

From the moment Rumi stepped through the door, tall, poised, wearing expensive work clothes that somehow made her look delicate instead of sharp, Zoey had needed a full five seconds to remember her professional voice.

And then, in the studio, Rumi went and made it worse.

Those long legs. Graceful, deliberate movements that looked way too elegant for someone claiming to be a beginner. Soft curves and a face that could stop traffic. And the purple hair-

Zoey wasn’t trying to stare. Truly. It was just… impossible not to.

The way Rumi breathed, like it was the first time in weeks. The way she closed her eyes when stretching, lashes soft against her cheeks, as if giving herself permission to exist after weeks of other people living her life. The way her body responded to instruction with this natural, instinctive elegance.

Zoey had taught enough students to know when someone was made for this. And Rumi moved like yoga belonged to her. So when class ended and Rumi stayed seated, hesitant but hopeful, Zoey felt that zap of interest ripple through her.

“How’re you feeling?” she asked with a knowing grin, lowering herself to be on eye-level.

“Looser,” Rumi practically sighed after a moment of thinking.

 “That’s a big win for day one,” Zoey encouraged her, hoping to make this gorgeous woman a regular.

“Could we do a little more? If that’s allowed?” Rumi asked before Zoey could say anything else.

Zoey blinked. Rumi’s cheeks were a little flushed, her braid slightly messy. Hell yeah.

“I don’t want to stop yet.”

Zoey tried to maintain her professional composure as she got back to her feet. “Sure, I can guide you through a few more poses if you want.” Yesyesyesyesyes.

Zoey had always kept her boundaries sharp. Professionality and respect were important. Still… she was absolutely willing to sacrifice a chunk of her free afternoon for this goddess of a woman.

“Will we get in trouble?” Rumi asked, eyeing the door as if she were expecting a demon to walk in.

Zoey put her hands on her hips, playfully posturing a little. “I own the place, who’s gonna give me trouble?”

Rumi’s soft, melodic laugh sent a shiver down Zoey’s spine, the sound settling in the pit of her stomach. “C’mon. I’ll show you the hip-opener sequence,” she grinned, trying to distract herself from her body’s traitorous instincts.

Zoey kept the touches light. Gentle guidance at the hips, shoulders, elbows, just enough to align Rumi safely. Her fingers skimmed fabric and warm skin beneath, and each time she felt the slightest shiver of muscle, she pretended her heart wasn’t cartwheeling.

But God, Rumi was fun to teach.

She listened so well. She breathed with intent. She moved like water when she stopped overthinking every instruction, letting Zoey’s hands guide her.

Zoey caught herself watching the curve of Rumi’s mouth between instructions, those small moments where she exhaled in relief, the tension draining from her frame. God, how she wanted to kiss her right now.

“Beautiful,” she murmured instead, under her breath. She meant the pose. 

Mostly.

Rumi froze for a heartbeat. Then pink bloomed across her cheeks, a soft, surprised blush that Zoey almost wanted to pursue further.

“You’re… you’re very good at this,” Rumi said, a little breathless.

“I could say the same,” Zoey said with a grin.

Rumi faltered immediately, shoulders lifting, eyes darting away, stuttering quietly. “I-thank you- I mean… I’m trying-”

Zoey wanted to scoop her up and put her in a pocket. Among several other, less cutesy, things she wanted to do right now. 

But the important part was that Rumi wasn’t put off. Not even a little. If anything, her blush deepened whenever Zoey leaned in to adjust her hand placement or guide her spine into a  gentle arc.

An hour slipped by without either of them noticing. Rumi moved from warrior poses to hip openers to twists that loosened things Zoey could practically feel unbinding inside her. She felt buoyant, her hands moving across Rumi’s body - to guide her - in a way that felt almost intimate.

Eventually, though, the clock on the wall betrayed her.

Zoey sighed. “Okay,” she muttered reluctantly. “As much as I want to keep you here, I do have another class in… fifteen minutes.”

Rumi straightened from her final stretch, almost startled, looking at the clock. “Oh, look at the time!”

Zoey nodded. “Time flies when you’re having fun, right?” she winked.

The blush returned. Rumi swiped a few stray hairs from her face. “I… really enjoyed this.”

Oh, she liked hearing that entirely too much. Focus, Zoey. Professional.

“You should come back next Tuesday,” she smiled, hoping it wasn’t too wide. “Same time. We can keep building from here.”

Rumi hesitated for a few seconds, just long enough for Zoey to worry she’d misread the situation. “I will,” Rumi said then, soft but certain. “I’ll be here.”

Zoey’s heart did something stupid and wildly acrobatic in her chest. She watched Rumi gather her things, braid swinging, posture more relaxed than when she’d arrived. And when Rumi paused at the door to look back, just for a moment, Zoey felt her cheeks warm. “Thank you, Zoey,” she said.

Zoey lifted a hand in an awkward wave. “Anytime.”

Rumi left, the door clicking shut behind her.

Zoey dropped herself backwards onto the mat, grinning up at the ceiling like an idiot. She had no idea who this woman was. But she was stunning, and she was sweet, and she was coming back.

Next Tuesday couldn’t come soon enough.

-

Zoey spent the entire Wednesday and most of Thursday thinking about Rumi.

Not obsessively. Okay, a little obsessively. But mostly in that warm, glowing way where someone stays in your head because they made you feel… something. Something soft. Something… hot.

She kept catching herself replaying little things: the flush on Rumi’s cheeks, the elegant way her body moved and settled into each pose, the way she whispered ‘I’ll be here’ like a promise.

Zoey was still floating on that buzz when Thursday afternoon rolled around. Good mood, good playlist, good tea. Her class was full. Mats rolled out. Windows open to let in a soft breeze.

Everything was perfect when the door slammed open.

Zoey  blinked, startled. A woman stormed in as if chasing a demon only she could see. 

Pink hair - bold choice - swung around her shoulders in two ponytails. Round glasses perched precariously on her nose. Her expression? A beautiful, razor-sharp snarl that said she was five seconds away from murder.

She marched up to the desk like a lawyer cross-examining a hostile witness.

Zoey checked the sheet for newcomers. Mira.

Well. Wow. Rumi had competition all of a sudden. Serious competition.

Because if Rumi had been elegance sculpted into a human body, then this woman was… power. Pure, coiled, bristling power wrapped in a lithe body and a gorgeous sharp face.

Zoey lifted a hand in greeting. “Hi! Welcome, I’m-”

“Yes, I know,” Mira snapped. “I’m late. I know. Don’t scold me.”

Zoey blinked again, but kept smiling. “I wasn’t going to scold you.”

Mira paused. Her glare twitched just slightly. 

“Oh.” She adjusted her glasses, visibly thrown off. “Good.”

Students like this didn’t scare Zoey. The ones who arrived defensive, brittle, exhausted, one bad day away from exploding? Those were just an extra challenge for her to tackle. She’d taught plenty of them. All bark, no breath.

Zoey softened her voice a little. “Long week?”

Mira let out a humorless laugh. “Long month. Big case. Haven’t slept. Too much coffee.” She rubbed her forehead. “And apparently yoga will fix me, so here I am.”

“It might,” Zoey chuckled.

“It won’t,” Mira muttered.

“Well,” Zoey countered, “we’ll try anyway.” She gestured toward the hallway. “Let me show you the changing rooms.”

Mira followed her, stiff as a board, striding more than walking. Right outside the door, Zoey stopped. “Quick heads-up: we have a no-phone rule. It stays off until class ends,” she smiled pleasantly.

Mira’s entire face contorted like Zoey had asked her to amputate a limb. “My phone is my life.”

“I promise you’ll survive fifty-five minutes without it.”

“I won’t.”

“You will,” Zoey said, smile dropping as she stepped back and crossed her arms. “Don’t make me take it from you.”

Mira froze, eyes narrowing at her. Zoey held her ground, not at all impressed. Firm, unmovable, but warm. Something in Mira’s expression flickered. Surprise, irritations… maybe relief.

“...Fine,” she snapped. “Take the stupid thing.”

Zoey held out the phone box with a bright smile. “There you go. One step closer to inner peace.”

“Inner peace is overrated,” Mira grumbled, turning the phone off with the reluctance of someone putting down a beloved family pet.

Zoey just grinned. This one was going to be fun.

She started the class with soft music and calm breathing exercises. 

And Mira… Mira was pure chaos.

Every exhale sounded like she was trying to defeat yoga by force. Every pose was aggressive. When Zoey demonstrated a simple forward fold, Mira folded like she was trying to interrogate her yoga mat.

Zoey had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. She approached to offer a small correction. “Try softening your knees a little.”

“They are soft,” Mira snapped.

“They’re not,” Zoey responded kindly.

Mira glared at her. Zoey smiled back.

Eventually, Mira relented, shifting her weight. Zoey carefully guided her hands, her spine, her entire stance. She couldn’t help notice the tautness locked in Mira’s muscles.

But with each pose, Mira’s resistance slowly unraveled. Her movements eased a little. Her shoulders lowered a few inches. Her jaw finally unclenched. And that permanent frown? It didn’t quite disappear, but it softened just enough for Zoey to see the woman beneath it.

Near the end of class, during a seated twist, Mira finally let out a long exhale that sounded like it had been trapped inside her ribcage for years. 

“God,” Mira muttered, sounding almost dazed. “Is this what relaxing feels like?”

Zoey smiled. “A little.”

“It’s awful.”

“It gets better.”

Mira snorted a tiny, accidental laugh. Zoey felt unreasonably proud of that.

When class ended, Mira lingered on her mat, staring at her hands like she didn’t fully recognize them. Zoey approached her carefully. “How do you feel?”

Mira hesitated, pressing her lips into a tight line. “Less homicidal,” she grudgingly conceded.

Zoey beamed. “That’s progress!”

Mira rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth quirked. And Zoey felt something warm bloom in her chest.

Life was either deeply unfair - two gorgeous, stressed-out women in one week? - or life had finally decided to be generous. Rumi on Tuesdays. And maybe Mira on Thursdays?

Zoey was absolutely not prepared for that. 

Chapter Text

Mira expected to come home to silence. Not peaceful silence, but the heavy kind. The kind that meant Rumi was still in her office upstairs, door cracked open, hunched over reports with a tension headache forming behind her perfect eyebrows. 

That had been the routine lately. Two professionals orbiting the same house like stressed moons, intersecting only in passing.

So when Mira stepped through the front door, shoulders still humming with the afterglow of an unfamiliar yoga-induced calm, she braced herself for emptiness, and instead smelled food.

Real food. Warm, comforting, actual dinner food.

She blinked in the hallway, slipped off her shoes, and followed her nose to the kitchen.

Rumi stood at the marble counter under the soft pendant light, unwrapping takeout containers. Bibimbap, japchae, kimchi jjigae, and much more by the looks of it. Mira could count on one hand the number of actual meals they’d shared in the last few weeks, and she suddenly realized how much she’d missed it, missed Rumi.

The biggest shock was the phone.

Rumi’s phone lay on the counter. Muted, face down. Not glowing, not buzzing. Not attached to her palm like an extra limb.

Rumi looked up with a smile that Mira didn’t see nearly enough these days. Soft, warm, and beautiful. The same smile that had made Mira fall so stupidly in love years ago.

“You’re home,” Rumi said, voice melodic with happiness.

“Yeah,” Mira managed, setting her bag down. “Didn’t expect… this.”

“I ordered dinner,” Rumi said, lifting a carton with a flourish. “Figured we could eat something together?”

Mira smiled.

“And,” Rumi continued, nudging her phone pointedly. “I’m not working right now.”

Mira stared. She wasn’t sure which part was more shocking, the food or the exiled phone.

Rumi noticed the disbelief and laughed quietly. “Turn yours off too. The world survived one hour while you were in yoga… it can handle thirty more minutes.”

Mira hadn’t turned her phone off during waking hours in… years, probably. The thought made her chest tighten with both panic and something like longing. “Who says I turned my phone off at all?” she argued, not even sure why she was arguing.

Rumi laughed softly. “I don’t think Zoey would’ve let you in otherwise,” she grinned. “She seems… feisty.”

Rumi was offering her thirty minutes of peace. Of presence. Of them. So Mira reached into her blazer with an agreeing hum, pulled out her phone, and turned it off with a decisive click.

It felt strangely good. Almost rebellious.

Rumi’s smile warmed. “There she is…”

Mira stepped closer, leaning a hip against the counter. “I was expecting you to be upstairs drowning in paperwork.”

“I was. But then I remembered I hadn’t seen my wife this week except in passing… So I decided tonight would be different.”

That tugged at something beneath Mira’s ribs. Rumi gestured at the food. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” Mira admitted.

They began unpacking containers together, green curry, pad thai, spring rolls, their usual order. The mundane, familiar motions eased something inside Mira. She really had missed this more than she realized.

Once plates were filled and they’d settled at the kitchen island, Rumi rested her chin in her hand, studying Mira with affectionate curiosity.

“So,” she said, “how was yoga?”

Mira rolled her eyes before the question even finished. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything,” Rumi giggled. “Just asking.”

“It was… fine,” she admitted, stabbing at a spring roll.

“Fine?” Rumi echoed, lips curving.

“Fine,” Mira repeated.

“You didn’t hate it?”

Mira paused, thinking back to the warmth of the studio. The way her shoulders had slowly, grudgingly unclenched. The moment her breath had actually reached somewhere deep for the first time all month.

And the instructor. Zoey. Black hair pulled up messily, brown eyes bright. Energetic but grounding. Soft-spoken but firm. Ridiculously cute. The type of cute Mira would normally pretend not to notice, being a married woman, except the universe had wedged her into a yoga pose and made it impossible not to.

“... I didn’t hate it, aein,” Mira muttered.

Rumi’s smile bloomed, at the answer, or at the petname, Mira couldn’t tell. “Mm-hm,” she hummed. “And Zoey? Cute, right?”

Mira froze mid-bite. This felt like a trap.

“... Yes?” Mira spoke slowly. “I guess she’s cute…”

“Mm-hm,” Rumi repeated knowingly.

Mira narrowed her eyes. “Why are you saying it like that?”

“No reason,” Rumi said with a tiny, guilty smile that absolutely meant there was a reason. 

They are in silence for a bit. Mira let her shoulders drop. Rumi’s hand brushed hers at one point, just a gentle reminder that they were here, together, present, and Mira leaned into the touch without thinking.

When the plates were empty, Rumi squeezed Mira’s hand. “I’m glad you went,” she murmured.

“Ugh… Me too,” Mira whispered back, surprising herself.

Later, as Mira cleaned up and Rumi tucked leftovers into the fridge, they moved around each other with the easy choreography of two people remembering the life they built together. And though nothing big had changed, something small had shifted.

Maybe yoga was dumb. Maybe it wasn’t. But for the first time in far too long, Mira felt a little better. And she figured she might go back next Thursday.

She’d even try not to scowl too much this time.

-

By the time Tuesday rolled around, Zoey was… embarrassingly eager. 

She’d told herself all week not to get her hopes up. People dropped out of yoga classes all the time. Life happened. Schedules shifted. Maybe Rumi had just been stressed last week, had a moment, used the class like a life raft and then moved on.

But when the studio door opened at seven on the dot, there she was.

Rumi slipped inside wearing fitted leggings, a soft lavender tank top, and her hair in that immaculate braid again. Her expression was calmer today. Her posture already looser. And when she reached Zoey’s desk, Rumi placed her phone in the no-phones-box without even being asked.

Just gently set it down, flipped it face-down, and exhaled like that single gesture was its own form of therapy.

“Hey,” Zoey greeted, already unable to fight her grin. “Back again?”

Rumi nodded, eyes warm. “Of course.”

God. Of course. Zoey was going to melt into a puddle right here at her feet because of two dumb words.

“Go ahead and get changed,” Zoey said, trying to keep her voice even. “Same room as last time.”

Rumi smiled, soft and shy and devastating, and headed down the hall.

Zoey absolutely watched her go. Not necessarily respectfully.

Those long legs. The controlled stride. The elegant curve of her body and the sway of that braid. It was honestly unfair.

She exhaled, shook herself back to reality, and went to start class before her brain wandered anywhere it absolutely should not.

-

Rumi moved even better this week. Her body remembered the rhythm, her breath aligned sooner. The transitions were smoother, gentler, and Zoey saw, felt and savored every second of it.

The other students noticed too. Zoey caught two of them glancing over as if Rumi glowed a little brighter than the rest of the room. She absolutely did. Zoey just pretended she wasn’t noticing it every ten seconds.

All too soon, class wound down. Zoey gave the closing breath cue, bowed her head, thanked everyone for coming. Mats rustled, students rolled them up, water bottles clinked.

But Rumi stayed seated. Just like last time.

Zoey suppressed her smile, walked over slowly. “Hey,” she said gently, shifting her weight to her heels. “How do you feel?”

Rumi looked up at her with those impossibly large, soft, brown eyes. “A lot better,” she admitted. “Actually… I was wondering…”

She hesitated. Zoey leaned in just a fraction. “Yeeees?”

“Could we… do what we did last week?” Rumi asked, voice quiet but hopeful. “Just a little more? I don’t want to keep you if you’re busy, and I can pay you for your time-”

Zoey raised a hand immediately. “Yes, but no!”

Rumi blinked, startled. “... You don’t want money?”

“Nope,” Zoey grinned. “You get the personal discount. I want you to relax.”

Rumi’s cheeks pinkened beautifully at that, a soft wash of color Zoey felt down to her toes. “I’ll guide you again?”

Zoey dimmed the lights slightly, enough to make the room feel cocooned, safe. She rolled her shoulders, centered herself, then turned back to Rumi. “Let’s try something a little more advanced today,” she said.

“Alright,” Rumi breathed, trusting. Zoey fought the urge to melt again. Instead, she stepped behind Rumi and guided her into a lunge twist, hands skimming along her waist, her ribs, the slope of her shoulder.

“Relax your jaw,” Zoey murmured. Rumi immediately obeyed, and it was unfair how graceful she made even surrender look.

“Good,” Zoey whispered. “You’re doing really good.”

Rumi’s breath hitched, almost too quietly to notice. Almost. 

Zoey moved to her side, demonstrating the next transition. “Now watch, shift your weight here, open your chest-”

She didn’t miss that Rumi’s eyes lingered a little too long. Not on the pose. On her.

Zoey’s pulse fluttered. Dangerous. Promising.

“Like this?” Rumi asked, twisting her torso. Gaze still flicking toward Zoey with that shy intensity that made Zoey feel like warm honey was dripping down into her center.

“Exactly like that,” Zoey murmured softly. 

They moved through a sequence of forms, each one requiring close guidance. Zoey’s hands found Rumi’s hips, her lower back, her shoulders. Every time, Rumi softened under her touch. And every time, Rumi’s cheeks stayed just the faintest shade of pink.

Zoey fluted, lightly and safely, small compliments tucked into breath cues. 

“You move beautifully.”

“Your balance is incredible.”

“You’re a natural at this, Rumi.”

Rumi’s reactions were gold. A shy smile. A swallowed breath. Eyes flicking away, then back again. Fingers tightening on the mat. Each one a quiet, careful ‘yes.’

And then, halfway through a particularly deep hip opener, it happened. Rumi looked up at her, lip caught between her teeth, voice soft as silk. “Could you… show me that pose again?”

Zoey blinked, feeling her own cheeks heat up. Rumi was absolutely staring. Hungrily? Curious?

She had never been one to back down from a challenge. “Sure,” she said, letting a little more confidence slip into her voice. “Watch closely.”

She demonstrated slowly, deliberately, and Rumi did watch.

Too intently. In a way that made Zoey’s stomach flip in that delicious, dangerous way. 

When Zoey straightened, Rumi didn’t look away fast enough. Not her imagination, then, Zoey concluded. Not wishful thinking.

She felt her grin turn just a little wolfish. “You’re picking this up fast,” she said, letting her voice dip a shade lower. “But if you want to keep doing these… private sessions… I can keep my afternoons free.”

Rumi’s breath caught audibly. Then she smiled, shy, pink-cheeked. “I… think I’d like that, yes,” she nodded.

Zoey’s heart somersaulted. The hour passed too quickly after that. Eventually, reluctantly, she had to step back and murmur, “I have to close the studio.”

Rumi nodded, gathering her things slowly, almost regretfully. “Thank you,” she smiled softly. “Truly.”

Zoey smiled, warm and sure. “I’ll see you next week.”

And then Zoey stood in the quiet studio by herself, heart still pounding, cheeks aching from smiling, and one dizzy thought looping through her mind: This is getting interesting.

-

Zoey had truly, genuinely believed she’d never see Mira again.

Not because Mira was bad at yoga, she was in fact improving pretty quickly, even if she attacked poses like they’d personally wronged her, but because Mira just… didn’t seem like a repeat customer type.

She’d expected Mira to classify yoga under ‘Activities I Hate But Tolerated Once,’ and then vanish back into courtrooms and her own thermos of coffee.

So when the studio doors slammed open on Thursday and Mira came marching in like a pink-haired hurricane, Zoey nearly dropped her water bottle.

Mire didn’t even look at her at first, she was mid-argument, phone pressed to her ear. “No, I said file the injunctions, not think about filing it- What do you mean the witness won’t cooperate- No, I don’t care if he’s scared, he’s also responsible for half this mess- Listen - LISTEN-”

Her heels clicked angrily on the floor with every syllable. Then she finally saw Zoey. She didn’t stop. Just pointed one finger in Zoey’s direction, the universal ‘please wait’ sign.

Zoey raised both brows, amused.

Mira rolled her eyes so hard it was practically a yoga pose of its own, then snapped into the phone. “I am going to yoga. YOGA. Do not call me for fifty minutes. If the building is on fire, send an email.”

And she hung up. Zoey blinked slowly. “Wow. That’s… wow.”

Mira shoved the phone toward the box with all the enthusiasm of someone getting rid of a small explosive. “That thing is ruining my life,” she muttered. “Take it before I break it.”

“Progress,” Zoey sang under her breath.

Mire shot her a look: defensive, annoyed, but not actually angry. More like… begrudging respect.

Fine. Zoey could work with that.

Mira was better this week. Still stiff, still intense. But she actually breathed with the group this time instead of hyperventilating through every pose.

Her warrior stance was stronger. Her forward fold wasn’t a crime scene. Her balance still wobbled like a baby deer on a trampoline, but there was effort. Real effort.

Zoey was proud of her. But Mira was still… Mira.

The first time Zoey came up to her to adjust her lower back in a twist, Mira flinched so hard she nearly elbowed Zoey in the jaw.

“Sorry!” Mira snapped, immediately defensive. “Reflex. Don’t sneak up on me.”

“I was literally in your field of vision,” Zoey pointed out calmly.

“Still. Reflex.”

Zoey grinned. “I’ll announce myself next time. Maybe honk like a goose?”

Mira stared. Then, a tiny huff. Almost a laugh.

Victory, however small.

Zoey tried again later, slower this time. A hand on Mira’s hip. A gentle nudge to soften her spine. Mira stiffened at first, but didn’t pull away. By the end of class, her shoulders had dropped a full two centimeters. That was practically enlightenment for Mira.

Zoey wrapped the class up shortly after, complimenting her students, telling them to stay hydrated and take good care of themselves. 

Mira stayed planted on her mat, arms crossed, scowl firmly in place.

Zoey approached cautiously. “So… what’s up? You look like you’re about to litigate against a yoga block.”

Mira shot her a glare, but it didn’t land. Not really. Something in Mira’s expression flickered between annoyance and embarrassment.

“That last pose,” Mira grunted.

“Pigeon?” Zoey hummed.

“Yes.” Mira scowled harder. “Ridiculous name.”

“Ridiculously good stretch,” Zoey countered easily.

“I couldn’t get it right,” Mira said sharply, avoiding eye contact like she was confessing a crime. “And I don’t like… looking incapable.”

Zoey’s eyebrows lifted. She imagined that was the closest thing Mira would ever say to Can you help me.

And it was adorable.

“Well,” Zoey said gently, “we can work on it. If you want.”

Mira clenched her jaw, stared at the floor a moment, then nodded once. “...Fine,” she said.

Zoey tried not to show her excitement too much. Mira might flee, after all. But inside she was beaming. “Alright, counselor,” Zoey said with a playful grin. “Let’s take it slow.”

Mira exhaled. Zoey knelt beside her, hands steady, voice softer than before. Because this wasn’t about flirting, no matter how much she wanted it to be. 

This was about trust. And Mira offering her just a sliver of it.

Zoey guided her carefully. A hand on her hip. Another on her knee. Soft encouragement, gentle alignment, small victories.

And slowly - beautifully - Mira’s posture loosened. Her shoulders softened. Her breath deepened. Her scowl faded into concentration instead of anger or defensiveness.

“... There,” Zoey murmured, hands still in place. “See? You can do it.”

Mira stared at the floor, pink rising to her cheeks, barely, but enough for Zoey to catch it.

“Maybe,” Mira muttered. “Still feels stupid.”

Zoey smiled. “But you did it.”

Mira had only asked for help with the one pose. So Zoey fully expected Mira to stand the moment that stretch ended, grab her phone, curse yoga for existing and storm out like the force of nature she was.

But still she straightened and said, almost offhandedly: “Alright, let’s try flowing into the next one.”

And Mire didn’t protest. Didn’t scoff or roll her eyes. Didn’t even tense up. She just… moved. Following Zoey’s guiding hands without hesitation.

Zoey settled behind her, gently turning her shoulders, sliding one hand along Mira’s spine to help her fold deeper. Mira inhaled sharply, not from pain, but from the sudden contact, the inherent intimacy of it, but she didn’t snap at Zoey this time.

She let her guide her. That alone made Zoey’s heart beat faster. “There you go,” Zoey murmured softly. “Perfect alignment.”

Mira huffed, somewhere between flattered and defensive. “Don’t exaggerate.”

“I’m not,” Zoey said softly, voice dipping lower than she meant it to. “You’re doing really well. Really.”

Mira hesitated. And then she whispered. “You’re… good at this. Teaching. It’s better than I expected.”

Zoey froze while her stomach did a full tumble. “Well,” she said, smiling, “I’m glad I could impress you.”

The words slipped out naturally. Too naturally, too easily. Far flirtier than she intended. And Zoey waited, bracing herself, for Mira to explode.

To sit up. To glare. To say something like ‘unprofessional. Or: don’t flirt with clients. Or simply: No. 

But Mira didn’t do any of that. Instead, Mira turned her head just slightly and gave Zoey a look. A smirk, sharp and knowing. A flash of something playful she hadn’t shown before.

“Oh, you impressed me,” Mira murmured, voice low, eyes half-lodded. “Don’t get cocky.”

Zoey’s heart absolutely stopped beating. Skipped not one, not two, but three beats. She actually forgot how to breathe.

Oh. Oh no. Or. Oh absolutely yes.

She would need cooldown poses after this. Maybe an ice bath.

Chapter Text

By the time Mira drove home, her mind was still a buzzing storm of contradictions. Yoga was stupid. Yoga was helpful. Zoey was infuriating. Zoey was… cute.

Not that she’d ever admit that out loud. Not unless her wife asked. And… she just might.

Mira sighed and shoved her keys into the front door. She half-expected to walk into a dark house again. Quiet, lonely, filled only with leftover stress and unanswered emails. 

Instead, warm light spilled from the dining room. Soft yellow lamps, not the sterile overheads they usually used when eating separately at midnight. Her bag slipped from her shoulder.

The table was set. Actual plates and glassware. Candles, two of them, flickering gently.

And Rumi stood at the stove in a soft blouse and relaxed slacks, stirring something that smelled incredible. Her hair was down for once, cascading over her shoulders in a purple waterfall. 

She looked up when Mira stepped inside, calm and beautiful.

And, Mira noticed this second, her phone wasn’t on the counter. It was nowhere. Not in her hand. Not in her pocket. Rume was phoneless.

Cooking. At home.

Mira’s throat tightened, painfully almost.

“Welcome home,” Rumi said softly, voice carrying across the open floor plan like a warm blanket. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

“You… cooked?” Mira asked, sounding more stunned than she meant to.

Rumi smiled that small, shy smile that always knocked the wind out of her. “I wanted to. For us.”

Mira set her phone down on the sidetable, screen dark and facedown, and stepped closer. Half an hour, she told herself. Just half an hour without work. The world wouldn’t end.

Rumi leaned into her instinctively, their shoulders brushing.

“How was yoga?” Rumi asked gently, eyes teasing but affectionate. 

Mira swallowed. “... Better.”

“Better?” Rumi echoed, eyes sparkling knowingly.

“Don’t make it weird,” Mira muttered.

Rumi chuckled fondly. “Did Zoey help you with that stretch you struggled with?”

Mira hesitated. Thought of black hair in messy buns. Warm brown eyes. Firm hands guiding her spine.

“... Yes,” Mira said finally.

“And?” Rumi asked with a soft smile. “Do you like her?”

Mira raised an eyebrow. “She flirts.”

“With you?”

Mira scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rumi laughed, quiet, warm, filled with love. “Nothing, I was just asking.”

Mira looked away, cheeks heating. “She’s… fine. I like her well enough.”

Rumi let out a pleased hum, then nudged her with her shoulder. “Sit. Diner’s ready.”

Mira did, and Rumi joined her, settling into her seat across the table.

No phones, no work. Just food and warmth. 

For the first time in weeks, Mira smiled. Really smiled. She consciously relaxed her shoulders, listening to Rumi talk about her own yoga class.

-

Dinner felt like something Rumi had forgotten she needed.

Not just the food, though that was comforting and warm and she liked taking care of herself and Mira, but the simple act of being with Mira. Sitting across from her, hearing the familiar cadence of her voice without it being clipped by stress. Watching her shoulders drop inch by inch. Feeling her presence instead of merely occupying the same house.

They ate slowly, talked softly, phones facedown on the sidetable like children in time-out.

Rumi hadn’t realized how much she had missed this. Missed Mira.

When the plates were scraped clean, Rumi stood, stretched gently, and made her way to the kitchen. She didn’t even glance at her phone. Didn’t reach for it. Didn’t feel that tug of responsibility that usually clamped onto her like a vice.

Instead, she reached for the wine cabinet. A bottle she knew Mira loved. Two glasses. A quiet invitation.

When she returned, Mira was leaning back in her chair, expression softened by candlelight. Rumi pressed a glass into her hand, then gestured toward the couch. Mira followed without a word, slipping an arm around Rumi’s waist as they settled into their usual spot - Rumi against the armrest, Mira tucked into her side, positions they hadn’t been in for months.

Mira let out a small sigh as her head found Rumi’s shoulder. Rumi felt it reverberate through her bones. A moment passed, soft, warm, and comfortably quiet. Then Rumi broke it.

“So. Zoey flirted with you, huh?”

Mira groaned. “Don’t start, jagiya.”

“I’m not starting anything. I’m asking.”

“There’s a difference?”

“Mmm… no,” Rumi admitted with a small grin.

Mira huffed, the exact sound she always made when she wanted to hide something flustering.

“She didn’t flirt,” Mira muttered.

Rumi arched a brow. “Mira.”

“...Okay, maybe a little.”

Rumi tilted her head toward her wife, studying her carefully. “Should I be worried?”

Mira scoffed immediately, an indignant, heartfelt sound. “Of course not. Absolutely not.”

Rumi smiled. That answer was so quick, so fierce, so instinctive, it made her chest warm.

“I wasn’t actually worried,” Rumi murmured, brushing her thumb along Mira’s arm. “Just wanted to hear you say it.”

Mira snorted under her breath, embarrassed. Rumi loved every second of it.

“Zoey is cute, though,” Rumi added casually, sipping her wine.

Mira stiffened just a fraction. Not out of jealousy, but caution, like she was stepping onto an unknown battlefield.

“Is she?” Mira asked, trying to sound uninterested.

Rumi nodded. “Mm-hm. Definitely cute.”

Mira made a very quiet, very suspicious noise that Rumi absolutely caught. She turned her head slightly. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Mira said too quickly.

Rumi smiled softly, a touch conspiratorial. “Well… she flirted with me too.”

Mira didn’t look surprised at all. “I’d be more shocked if she hadn’t.”

Rumi raised a brow. “Oh?”

“You’re a goddess,” Mira muttered. “And Zoey has really big eyes.”

Rumi’s laughter slipped out before she could stop it, warm, genuine and breathy. Mira always said things like that by accident. Sincere compliments tossed like they were obvious facts of nature. Warmth pooled in Rumi’s chest. She squeezed Mira’s hand, smiling as Mira squeezed back.

For a while, they simply breathed together, two exhausted women rediscovering each other in the quiet that yoga, dinner, and the absence of their phones had created. Then Mira spoke, careful and deliberate, breaking the silence as if wading into deep water.

“...Should we tell her?”

Rumi blinked. “Tell who what?”

“Zoey,” Mira said, voice low. “Should we tell her we’re married?”

Rumi considered that. Thought of Zoey’s bright eyes, her soft hands, the way she hovered just a little too long when guiding poses. The way she looked at Rumi like she was art. T he same way she probably looked at Mira.

Thought of how unexpectedly refreshing it had been, to have a stranger look at her with open admiration instead of exhaustion or expectation.

Rumi leaned her head on Mira’s shoulder, sighing softly as she smiled. “No,” she decided. “Not yet.”

Mira turned slightly to look at her. “No?”

“Let her flirt,” Rumi said gently. “It’s harmless. And… it could be… fun.”

Mira blinked. “Fun.”

Rumi nodded. “Mm-hm.”

A slow, confused but amused smirk tugged at Mira’s mouth. “You… want to see where it goes?”

Rumi smiled back, the same smile that had captured Mira years ago, warm and mischievous and full of quiet longing. “Yes?” she whispered. “Let’s see where it goes.”

And Mira, after a long moment, rested her forehead gently against Rumi’s temple, exhaling a soft, content breath.

Their phones stayed forgotten on the sidetable, and no more was spoken of it that night.

–

Zoey hated this part of her job. Receipts. Schedules. Emails. Bills. Not her natural habitat.

But Tuesdays were always calmer before the afternoon class, so she’d settled behind the front desk with her laptop, hair up in her usual buns, tea steaming beside her. She had music playing softly and was actually getting things done.

Until her inbox pinged with a new email.

From: Mira Kang

Subject: Request

Zoey blinked, clicking to open the message. She blinked again and stared at the email for a while. It seemed written like a court document.

Dear Miss Choi,

After careful consideration, I am writing to inquire whether you might have availability following my scheduled yoga class this Thursday. Specifically, I would like to request a brief private session to perfect certain advanced poses I am currently struggling with. I would be grateful for the opportunity to receive your continued instruction on these matters.

Thank you for your time.

Sincerely, 

Mira Kang, Esq.

Zoey slowly pushed her chair back, staring at the screen like it had grown antlers. What in the legally-binding flirtation…?

The tone was so stiff, so formal, and yet the wording had strange, possibly accidental innuendo to it. Private session. Perfect advanced poses. Continued instruction. 

Zoey covered her mouth, trying not to squeal - or laugh - into her tea. She typed a response quickly.

Hi Mira,

I’d be happy to stay after class and help you refine those poses, just like last time. You’re making great progress already, but I’m definitely looking forward to working with you more!

See you Thursday.

-Zoey

She hit send and sat back, fanning her face with her hand.

Breathe. Calm don. She’s just a student. Who scares you. And flirted with you. Oh God.

She barely had a chance to recover before the studio door chimed. Zoey glanced up and immediately forgot how to breathe again.

Rumi walked in like the softest, deadliest dream vision she’d ever had.

Tight yoga pants, black, sleek, hugging every line of those long legs. A lilac crop top that left her stomach completely, devastatingly exposed. Her braid a little looser today, a few strands framing her face in a way that made Zoey’s entire respiratory system malfunction.

Zoey discreetly touched her nose. Just in case. No blood. Good. Wouldn’t have surprised her.

Rumi approached the counter with the slow confidence of someone who had no idea the effect she had on the world around her, and somehow didn’t seem to concern herself with that, either.

“Hi, Zoey,” she said, voice warm and soft. 

Zoey’s greeting came out half a pitch too high. “H-hi.”

Rumi handed her phone over, putting it down on the desk and lightly sliding it towards her. Then she leaned on the edge, resting her weight on her elbow. The pose was casual. Completely innocent.

Zoey’s brain short-circuited anyway.

“Thank you,” Rumi murmured as Zoey placed the phone into the no-phone-box. “I think I’m getting better at letting it go.”

She smiled, small and sweet, and Zoey felt her heart flutter into dangerous territory. Then, Rumi bit her lip. Just lightly, thoughtfully. A hint of shyness that felt like it was filled with intent.

“So…” Rumi said, voice dropping half an octave. “If you have time today… I was hoping we could continue the private lesson after class?”

Zoey’s pupils dilated so hard she probably looked high. “I-yes. YES. I mean, yes,” she sputtered. “Absolutely. I always-I mean. I have time. For you. For that. For yoga. For… uh… poses.”

Rumi’s smile shifted, turning unmistakably flirtatious. “Good,” she practically whispered. “I’m looking forward to it.”

And then, because she apparently wanted Zoey to perish on the spot, Rumi turned and sashayed toward the dressing rooms. Hips moving like a metronome straight out of Zoey’s dreams. Zoey couldn’t help but watching her go.

Then she slowly slumped backward into the chair, limp as a dying plant, staring at the ceiling like she needed divine intervention. “What is happening to my life,” she whispered.

She’d just gotten an innuendo-laden email from Mira, and now Rumi was upping her game?

And class hadn’t even started yet.

Zoey had taught hundreds of classes. She’d worked with beginners, athletes, retirees, gym bros, moms, office workers, people who confused yoga with pilates, and people who thought downward dog was some kind of animal obedience command.

She had never cracked under pressure. Until today.

Because today, Rumi walked into class looking like she’d been sculpted by a particularly thirsty deity, and Zoey’s entire nervous system was a buzzing, burning disaster.

And class was hell. Flustering, soul-rattling, sanity-eroding hell.

Because Rumi, graceful, elegant, terrifyingly beautiful Rumi, was not doing her poses normally today.

No. She was performing.

Warrior II? Her hips dipped lower, her back arching in a slow, liquid line that drew Zoey’s gaze like magnets.

Cat-cow? She arched like she was trying to ruin Zoey’s life.

Forward fold? Her legs straight, her spine perfect, the stretch running along the back of her thighs so beautifully Zoey actually got caught staring by two different students, who gave her an affronted tsk.

And every time Zoey thought she was being subtle about stealing glances, being professional and composed, Rumi would look back at her.

Make eye contact. Smile. Soft, knowing, wicked in the gentlest possible way.

Zoey barely survived the hour. She may have rushed the ending. A little. Just a tiny bit. She was only human.

“Namaste,” Zoey said, bowing deeply, maybe too deeply. “Class dismissed. Thank you all, see you next week. Goodnight. Goodbye. Love you-wait, no. Just… bye.”

Several students chuckled while Zoey died inside.

But finally, every last student shuffled out, leaving the room in that hushed, golden quiet. Zoey turned around, ready to greet Rumi, and froze.

Rumi was stretching in the middle of the room. Arms over her head, back slightly arched, eyes closed, and a small, pleased smile curving on her lips, like she was basking in her own perfect body.

Zoey forgot oxygen existed. Her gaze ran down Rumi’s frame helplessly. The slope of her shoulders, the exposed lines of her stomach, the length of her legs in those leggings, the way her braid swung back and forth gently, brushing against her back.

It was unfair. Downright cruel.

And then, without opening her eyes, without moving a single muscle except her mouth: “I’m ready when you are,” Rumi muttered softly. “Assuming you’re done staring.”

Zoey’s soul left her body. “I- I wasn’t-” she stammered uselessly.

Rumi finally opened her eyes and looked at her over her shoulder, smiling like she’d already won something. “It’s alright,” she said, calm as always. “I didn’t mind.”

Zoey felt her knees wobble dangerously. “I’m sorry,” she said, voice cracking like she was thirteen. “I shouldn’t… I mean, it was unprofessional, and-”

“Zoey,” Rumi stepped into a slow forward fold, the movement graceful and deliberate. “I didn’t mind.” She straightened again, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear, eyes playful. “Now,” she continued, tone light and teasing. “How do you want me? Bent over?”

Zoey literally choked.

Rumi chuckled as if she’d been waiting to use that line just to watch Zoey combust.

“Rumiiiiiiii,” Zoey groaned, mind completely gone.

“Relax,” Rumi teased. “I’m asking which pose we’re starting with.”

Liar, Zoey’s mind screamed. You absolute liar.

“Uh, right. Poses, yes. The… bending one… No, uh… pigeon? Pigeon. Let’s start with pigeon.”

If only her mouth and her mind were on the same wavelength right now, Zoey lamented.

She lowered into the pose with a slow elegance that, once again, made Zoey’s brain shut down entirely. Rumi moved through advanced stretches like she was intentionally trying to break Zoey’s professionalism. Her breath coming in little sighs. Her body pliant under Zoey’s guiding hands. Her eyes meeting Zoey’s at all the wrong moments.

By the time Zoey finally stepped back, she was feeling decidedly hot, despite barely moving. Her voice was wobbly when she spoke. “That’s… all for today.”

Rumi straightened slowly, cheeks faintly flushed from exertion. “Thank you, Zoey. That was lovely.”

Zoey swallowed thickly. “Yeah. You too. I mean, you did lovely. You were lovely. You are lovely. Um. Yoga. That. Yes.”

Rumi laughed, warmly and freely. She gathered her things, stepped close enough that Zoey could smell the sweetness of her shampoo and the sharp tang of exercise. “Same time next week?”

Zoey nodded vigorously. Way too vigorously. 

“Great,” Rumi said with a smile. Her braid brushed Zoey’s arm when she turned around and walked off toward the dressing rooms with that same sashay that had ruined Zoey almost three hours earlier.

Zoey collapsed onto the yoga mat with a long, strangled groan. She was in so much trouble.

-

Zoey thought she was prepared. She really wasn’t. She’d spent all Wednesday trying very, very hard not to think about Rumi in her crop top, her little smiles, the teasing and flirting. She tried meditating, cleaning, even journaling.

And now it was Thursday afternoon, and the studio doors swung open half an hour early, while Zoey really had counted on that little bit of time to get her head straight.

Mira strode in like the guest of honor at a courtroom drama. She was on the phone, talking at approximately eighty miles per hour.

“No, I don’t care if the opposing counsel is panicking, if he panics, that’s his problem. Well, tell him to grow a conscience or grow a backbone, I don’t care wh-”

Zoey bit her lip, trying not to grin. Carefully, she gave Mira a little wave.

Mira glanced over mid-rant, and for the first time ever, she smiled back immediately. Not even a sarcastic grimace, but an actual real smile.

“-Okay,” Mira said into the phone. “I’m going into a two-hour yoga class, and the baddie teaching it insists on no phones. So either figure it out or perish. Goodbye.”

Zoey nearly faceplanted straight into the desk. The baddie teaching it.

Then Mira hung up and sauntered toward her. She held her phone between two fingers. “Take this before I break it,” she said with a wink.

“Sure. Absolutely. I- Yeah. Yep,” Zoey nodded. She wanted to say something suave to safe face, but then Mira turned on her heels and headed to the changing rooms.

“Okay, Zo. Deep breath,” she muttered to herself. “You survived Tuesday. You can survive this too.”

When Mira stepped into the studio, Zoey had to cover her squeak up with a cough. Tight, dark navy yoga pants. A sports bra that did nothing to hide the fact that Mira was sculpted like a goddess. Hair up, glasses off. “Ready,” Mira said simply.

“Great,” Zoey nodded hastily, voice a few octaves too high.

The class was absolute chaos. Mira was improving noticeably, but she was still a fierce storm where a tranquil breeze would suffice. 

But today, Mira was actually asking for help. 

“Is my foot supposed to be… like this?”

“Fix my shoulder for this one?”

“Tell me if I’m leaning wrong.”

She just kept asking for Zoey to touch her.

Mira had gone from snapping at physical contact to practically signaling Zoey over with a look at least once during every pose. And Zoey was dying because of it.

She was also maybe… ending class early again.

Just a few minutes. Just enough to get everyone out. 

She told herself it was normal. Definitely not because she wanted Mira all to herself and was about to lose her mind.

When the door shut behind the last student, Zoey turned back and Mira was right there, waiting. Standing in the center of the room, hands on her hips, full attention on Zoey.

“What pose?” Mira asked, voice low.

Zoey swallowed. “Let’s try this one,” she nodded quickly, bending down to demonstrate. When she finished and straightened up, Mira’s eyes were absolutely on her. Raking down, up, lingering, deliberate and unapologetic. 

And then Mira smirked. “Nice.”

Zoey nearly passed out, heat settling firmly in her core. “Th-thank you,” she practically whimpered.

“Help me?” Mira asked.

Zoey stepped behind her, guiding her hips, placing her hands on Mira’s shoulders, adjusting her stance by inches. Mira moved with surprising grace, not natural, but determined. Zoey eased her deeper into the stretch, freezing when Mira let out an honest-to-God moan.

Zoey’s brain instantly short-circuited. Her face flushed bright red as her pulse skyrocketed, hands freezing mid-adjustment.

Mira glanced over her shoulder, utterly amused and completely aware of what she was doing. “Problem?” she asked innocently.

Zoey shook her head frantically. “N-no. No problem. Everything’s great. You’re great.”

Mira’s smirk widened as she settled deeper into the pose, back arching more, hips jutting out. “Mm, I know.”

Chapter Text

Thursday evenings felt different now. No longer rushed, no longer allowed to be swallowed by stress or unfinished work or guilt over unfinished work.

There was a rhythm to them again, a softness, like the life she and Rumi use to have before their schedules got in the way. And weirdly, enough, Mira knew exactly who deserved the credit, and it wasn’t either of them.

Zoey. The tyrant with a no-phone policy and a deceptively soft demeanor.

Mira still wanted to argue with her rule on principle, but she couldn’t. Not when it was working so well.

She stepped into the house, both relaxed and wound up from her private yoga class, and found the dining table set again. Not candlelit this time, nothing dramatic, just plates and cutlery neatly placed, take-out boxes steaming gently in the middle. Comforting.

Rumi looked up from spooning rice into bowls, smiling softly. “Welcome home, jagiya.”

“Smells good,” Mira smiled, loosening her hair and sliding into her seat, happily accepting the kiss Rumi pressed to her mouth.

“No cooking tonight,” Rumi admitted. “I didn’t have the energy.”

“Take-out is perfect,” Mira said simply, because it was. Because Rumi was here, and they’d be eating together.

She didn’t even feel the urge to check her phone right now. Instead, Mira found herself listening to her wife recount her day, her frustrations this week, her tiny victories. And when the conversation naturally wandered toward yoga, and Rumi’s class on Tuesday, Mira saw Rumi’s face soften even more. 

“And Zoey was really sweet,” Rumi murmured, picking at her rice. “She guided me through extra stretches after class. It was… nice. She’s also surprisingly easy to fluster? Like, even I managed it,” she laughed lightly.

“Mm,” Mira replied, sipping her drink.

“And she’s patient,” Rumi continued, almost as if talking to herself. “And she’s really good at reading people. I don’t know, she feels safe to be around, you know?”

Mira watched her, really watched her. Rumi’s eyes shimmered with something gentle. Something warm. Something that sparked every time she mentioned Zoey’s name.

And in that moment, realization settled over Mira with surprising softness.

Her wife was falling in love with their yoga teacher. More than just a crush. Not just a passing spark between two people. Something with the potential to be real.

And the strangest thing was, there was no panic in Mira’s chest. No jealousy. No anger. Zoey wasn’t a threat.

Because Mira understood love in all its complicated shapes. She understood Rumi better than she understood herself. And even she could feel the attraction humming low in her stomach whenever she thought of Zoey.

She wasn’t blind, or delusional.

She might very well be falling too.

She pushed a piece of meat around her plate, debating whether to say something. Whether to point out the very obvious elephant doing a sun salutation in their dining room.

She didn’t even realize she’d gone quiet until Rumi nudged her ankle gently with her foot. “What’s going on in that head?” Rumi asked, voice warm but curious. “You’ve been staring at your plate like it wronged you.”

Mira looked up, seeing her wife’s gentle concern, her open expression. Her trust.

She exhaled, the decision already made. “You’re falling for Zoey.”

Mira just let the words sit there, watching her wife. Rumi blinked. She didn’t look particularly startled, or defensive, or scandalised. Mostly, she just looked thoughtful.

Several long moments passed in silence. Then Rumi set down her chopsticks and leaned back in her chair. “Am I?”

Mira let out a silent little scoff of amusement. “Yeah,” she nodded. “I think you are.”

Rumi leaned forward again. She didn’t scramble to defend herself, she didn’t fluster. She just nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe I am,” she admitted after another long moment. “She’s… easy to fall for, I suppose. Is that… a problem?”

Mira swallowed. Then she shook her head. “Doesn’t have to be,” she told her wife, voice quiet but clear.

“What about you?” Rumi asked gently.

“What about me?” 

“Are you?”

Now it was Mira’s turn to lean back. There was no use lying now. She’d started this conversation herself, and she had been fully aware of what would happen. Still, it kind of changed everything.

“Maybe,” she shrugged casually. “I think I might be.”

Rumi reached across the table, fingers wiggling, gesturing for Mira’s hand to join her. The warmth when she took her hand was grounding, steady, familiar. Somehow, instead of feeling like something was breaking between them, it felt like something quietly unfolding.

Something new. Something neither of them had been looking for, but they had both stumbled across. Something that just fit. Rumi gave her hand a soft squeeze.

“Then maybe,” she said, “we don’t have to be afraid of that…”

“Who said I was afraid?” Mira joked in mock defense. Still, she felt something in her settle, her shoulders loosening. This was fine. Things were going to be fine.

Rumi chuckled, getting to her feet without letting go of Mira’s hand. “Okay, jagiya. Let’s go to bed?”

“It’s not even seven- Oh.”

-

Tuesdays were usually slow days. A late start to the day, opening up the studio around lunch, with plenty of time to work through some of the administration before the beginner group drifted in around seven. Predictable, peaceful, and calm. A little boring, even.

So Zoey was caught completely off guard when the studio door chimed open two hours before she expected a single soul, and Rumi stepped inside. Not at all rushed, not stressed. Just moving leisurely, smiling.

“Hi, Zoey,” she said in that soft and sweet way that already made Zoey’s stomach do gymnast-worthy flips.

“H-hi?” Zoey blinked at her, halfway through entering invoice numbers. “You’re early. Really early.”

Rumi gave a small wince. “I know. I had a meeting nearby, and it felt silly to drive home only to turn around and come back here. I hope you don’t mind if I just… hang out here for a bit?”

Mind? Mind?? Zoey would rearrange the entire studio to give Rumi her own personal throne if she asked. 

“Of course I don’t mind,” Zoey said quickly. “Stay as long as you want. Seriously.”

Rumi smiled at that, and instead of taking one of the chairs by the window, she walked right up to the front desk and leaned on the counter. Which placed her about two feet away. Comfortably in Zoey’s line of sight.

Zoey’s heart fluttered so hard she wondered if she was going to faint on the spot. “How’s your day been?” Rumi asked, her entire focus on Zoey.

Zoey’s brain instantly forgot how to compute numbers, names, or basic human language. “Oh, uh, it’s been… good. Fine. Normal. Boring. Bills,” she gestured helplessly at the laptop. “Just doing bills.”

“You run the whole studio yourself?” Rumi asked, tilting her head in genuine curiosity.

“I have part-timers during busy season, but most yeah, it’s just me.”

“That’s really impressive,” Rumi smiled. “How did you get into yoga?”

Zoey swallowed. “I, uh… have always had a lot of energy. Lots of thoughts knocking around in here,” she pointed at her head, instantly grimacing. “I found yoga on YouTube, I think back in high school in Burbank. It helped, so I kept doing it more and more and then I got certified and then I realized corporate jobs aren’t for me and so… here we are.”

Rumi laughed softly, making Zoey wish she could get away with recording it and playing it on repeat. “So has this always been the plan?” Rumi followed up. “Owning a studio?”

“No,” Zoey admitted with a little shrug. “It just sort of happened. Had some savings, saw this place up for rent. Took out a loan, signed the lease before my brain could talk me out of it.”

“Sounds brave,” Rumi murmured, seeming to lean even closer. 

“It was stupid,” Zoey corrected with a breathy chuckle.

Rumi shook her head. “You seem to have made it work for you pretty well. So, not stupid at all.”

Zoey forgot to breathe for a few moments under Rumi’s gentle praise. 

“How old are you, Zoey?” Rumi suddenly hummed.

“Twenty-four?” 

Rumi’s brows lifted slightly as she gave a thoughtful nod. “Young for someone who owns a successful business.”

“I started early,” Zoey looked away, suddenly shy.

“You’re very good at it.”

Zoey’s heart fluttered again, harder. 

“What’s your favorite animal?” Rumi asked next, like it was the most natural question in the world.

Zoey blinked. “My… what?” 

“Favorite animal,” Rumi repeated with quiet amusement. “I want to know more about you.”

“Oh, uh,  turtles,” Zoey said after a second. Before she could stop herself, she fired off in a long ramble about different kinds of turtles, their pros and cons, which ones they had at the local aquarium, which one were endangered and why and what was being done to save them and what other measures should be taken if only people cared enough and-

The whole time, Rumi was nodding slowly, listening intently and smiling at Zoey like she was the most interesting woman in Seoul. 

It was both thrilling and terrifying. 

Other people would have cut her off by now, told her they didn’t need the whole documentary in word-vomit version. But Rumi hummed, asked follow-up questions, spurred Zoey on to keep talking.

Somehow, more than an hour flew by, and Zoey realised her mouth was dry from all the talking, and Rumi was still leaning on the counter, nodding along. Not in a bored, zoned-out kind of way. No, her eyes were sharp, as if she was filing every little bit of trivia away.

Somehow, that made Zoey’s inside even mushier than Rumi had already left them.

“I should get changed,” Rumi eventually muttered, straightening with an illegal little stretch. She reached into her bag, pulled out her phone, and unlocked it to check her notifications. 

Except she didnt check at all. She opened the contacts page, carefully placed her phone on the counter and slid it across the smooth wood toward Zoey with slow, deliberate intent. 

“Here,” Rumi said, eyes glinting. “Maybe you should put your number in.”

Zoey’s brain, already dangerously off-kilter today, stopped functioning entirely.

“Oh,” she squeaked. “Um. For what purpose?”

Rumi smiled in a way that made Zoey weak in the knees. “Oh, you know,” she practically whispered, leaning in a little more. “Just in case…”

“Just in case,” Zoey echoed with a dumb nod, her voice cracking like a dropped ceramic bowl.

Rumi winked, actually winked, and then turned on her heels, her braid swaying in tune with the movement of her hips. 

It took Zoey a good thirty seconds to remember how phones worked. She typed slowly and carefully, triple-checking to make sure she got her number right. She put ‘Zoey the Yoga Instructor’ as her contact name. Professional. Ish.

No other student had her personal number, but she chose not to linger on that right now.

“Get it together,” she whispered to herself, patting her cheeks. “You are a professional adult woman with a functioning career. You can teach one class without combusting.”

The universe, of course, just loved to prove her wrong. And it did so the very moment Zoey stepped through the door.

Rumi was already on her mat. Rumi, in tight shorts and a sports bra.

Not yoga pants. No crop top.

Zoey made a sound in the back of her throat, her eyes fixed on the vision off to the side. If her brain had been working normally, she would’ve either watched where she was going, or stopped walking. 

But her brain was fried, so naturally her foot hooked under one of the mats. It tangled, Zoey made a weird step in an effort not to tackle one of her students, her arms pinwheeled, and she went down.

Flat on ehr stomach, limbs sprawled, dignity gone.

A collective gasp swept through the students, all eyes on Zoey’s literal downfall. But Zoey barely heard any of them.

She only picked up on Rumi’s gasp, and then she was rushing over, and warm hands were on her back, helping her upright, brushing her hair out of her face. 

“Oh my God, Zoey!” she rushed out, and really, none of this was helping at all. 

Zoey groaned, half from the fall and half from the fact that Rumi in tiny shorts was kneeling beside her with concern written all over her perfect face. “I’m fine,” she croaked. “Totally fine. Gravity just… hates me.”

Rumi just smiled, brushing a stray tuft of hair from Zoey’s cheek like they were in a slow-motion romance commercial. Then she stood, helped Zoey to her feet, and returned to her mat. Zoey knew she got caught staring, again, by the quiet snickers from two of her students.

But honestly? Who could blame her?

Zoey started class. She tried to focus on her breathing, her cues, her flow. She tried so hard.

But every time she so much as glanced to the right, Rumi was there. In a warrior pose that should’ve been illegal. In a twist that displayed far too much of that toned, elegant back. In a downward dog that made Zoey considered poking out her eyes and becoming legally blind.

Zoey’s voice cracked twice, mid-instruction. She forgot one of her poses entirely, fumbling for a few seconds before making something up. Students giggled. Rumi smiled smugly.

Class was, all in all, a complete, wonderful disaster.

When class ended, Zoey felt like she’d just run a marathon. Rumi lingered, of course. Standing on her mat, drinking from her water bottle.

“Do you have some time for my private lesson?” she asked after swallowing and licking her lips in a way that had to be deliberate. 

Zoey only squeaked.

-

Thursday arrived all too soon. 

Zoey was still trying to recover from Rumi’s ‘private lesson’ on Tuesday, which had been filled with exaggerated stretches, soft sighs, little groans, arched backs and jutted hips. 

Zoey knew Rumi was trying to drive her insane, entirely on purpose. Like it was a game to her.

She was still thinking about it even now, sweeping the studio floor, ninety minutes to go before her next class. So, of course, the door chimed this very moment to draw her attention to Mira walking in like a queen returning to her personal domain.

Zoey was halfway through her usual greeting when Mira’s phone rang, and she raised her hand at Zoey. “Sorry, one second,” she said with a roll of her eyes. She answered the phone without even looking at who was calling. “I’m at yoga. Figure it out without me.”

She hung up without another word and smiled at Zoey. “Sorry about that.”

“Oh, uh, that’s okay,” Zoey nodded quickly. “I mean, hi! You’re… early?”

Mira hummed thoughtfully. “I guess I am. Gives me a good excuse not to answer my phone for a while,” she smirked, leaning casually against the counter exactly the way Rumi had done two days ago. “I could go and wait somewhere else if I’m bothering you,” she added with a knowing smile.

“No, no, that’s not- It’s all good,” Zoey rushed out, because that was honestly the last thing she wanted. 

“That’s what I thought,” Mira nodded. “I’ve been thinking, you teach a class on Tuesdays too, right?”

“I, uh, yes?”

“Would that one be a better fit for me? Maybe I can switch to that one?”

Zoey froze. Absolutely not. No. 

If Rumi and Mira ended up in the same class, Zoey would simply perish. She would not survive. The two of them even being in the same room at the same time would surely cause some kind of cosmic imbalance or … something.

She grinned widely, her hands flailing before she could stop them. “Thursdays are… much… better for your progression!”

Mira blinked slowly. “Really?” she asked skeptically.

“Yes! I mean… Your body is adjusting beautifully? Your, uh, rhythm. Breathing! Changing days now could, um, disrupt your…” she waved vaguely, “... your flow.”

“... My flow,” Mira repeated, one eyebrow rising.

“Exactly!” Zoey insisted, nodding too hard, too fast, she had to look like an idiot now. “Thursdays are perfect for you!”

Mira studied her for a beat. Then, slowly, she smirked. “Okay, I’ll stay,” she nodded slowly.

Zoey could only hope Mira didn’t clock her relief as she sent a mental thank you to whichever ancestor was listening.

Judging by Mira’s quiet chuckle, she hadn’t been subtle enough. Still, she didn’t press the issue, and unlike Rumi she didn’t engage in small talk. Instead, she spent her time just watching Zoey, like she was the most interesting event unfolding in front of her.

Zoey was just clicking around on the computer, doing literally nothing but making sure to look busy so she wouldn’t combust.

During class, Mira was still Mira.

She was powerful, focused, sharp. She looked like she was simultaneously trying to conquer yoga and flirt Zoey into an early grave. She hit all her poses with a growing confidence and stubborn determination.

And every time Zoey crouched beside her to adjust a knee or guide her spine, Mira didn’t flinch, no, she leaned into the touch. With purpose. 

Zoey spent most of the class biting her lip, ignoring the knowing snickers from the other students while she spent far too much time on Mira to really still be calling herself professional.

Before she knew it, class ended and everyone else left. Mira remained, of course, stretching on her mat, glancing over her shoulder at Zoey with that lazy, dangerous smirk.

“Private time with my favorite teacher?” she asked lightly, making Zoey choke. “We have a deal, remember?”

Zoey nodded, her face hot, her tongue heavy in her mouth. She began leading Mira into the first pose, and when she looked over, she found Mira just watching her, arms crossed, smirking as her eyes raked up and down Zoey’s body.

“Can you show me again,” Mira hummed, her voice low and gravely. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“You looked like you were paying attention,” Zoey replied with a raised eyebrow.

“Hm. Maybe I was, just… not to the pose,” Mira smirked while Zoey tried not to melt into the floor.

The little private lesson continued like that, with heavy, lingering looks and smirked compliments about Zoey’s flexibility, her form, the way she looked with her back arched. 

Mira wasn’t being subtle. 

And then, after Mira had winked at her and sashayed into the dressing rooms and Zoey found herself back at the reception desk, it hit her like a brick.

She had a chance. A real chance. With Mira.

And she also had a chance with Rumi.

Her heart seemed to go into overdrive as her mind spiraled.

Oh god oh no oh no no no. How am I supposed to pick?! They’re both… both beautiful. Amazing. Devastating. Perfect. I’m just one small innocent human being why do I need-

“Zoey.”

Mira’s voice cut through her mental haze like a scalpel. Zoey blinked hard. “Huh?”

Mira was standing in front of her, water bottle in hand, hair sticking adorably to her forehead from sweat, expression soft with mild confusion. “I asked for your number.”

Time seemed to crawl to a stop.

“W-why?!” Zoey blurted, immediately regretting it. 

Mira just stared at her for a long moment, and then she snorted. “So I can call or text you,” she told her dryly. “Duh.”

“Oh,” she practically whimpered, voice barely a whisper. Mira was still holding out her phone, unlocked, the contacts page open and waiting.

Zoey took it with trembling fingers,t typing in her contact info so slowly, she probably looked like she’d never used a touchscreen before. She saved her number under ‘Zoey (Yoga)’ and added a little lotus flower emoji.

She handed it back and held her breath as Mira looked at the contact. “You’re cute,” she smiled, one eyebrow raised. “See you next week,” she smiled as she tucked her phone away, slung her bag over her shoulder, and gave Zoey a final, devastating wink.

Zoey sank onto the front desk chair, staring at nothing. Her number was in Rumi’s phone. And Mira’s phone. Both flirted with her, both had repeatedly asked for ‘private time,’ and both were perfect.

“Oh my God, what am I going to do,” Zoey whined to an empty studio, resting her head in her arms. “I cannot handle this.”

Chapter Text

The  house smelled amazing when Mira stepped through the door, shrugging out of her jacket and kicking her shoes off. For once, she wasn’t surprised. It was Thursday, after all, and Thursdays were now firmly theirs again.

On the drive home from yoga, Mira had been hoping to find Rumi at home, in the kitchen or already waiting for her on the couch. It felt good, having this quality time after her yoga class.

She resolved to look at her schedule again, see if she could maybe leave the office a little earlier on Tuesdays. Do for Rumi what Rumi had been doing for her every Thursday now.

“Welcome home, aein,” Rumi smiled over her shoulder when Mira rounded the corner and stepped into the kitchen.

“Something smells amazing in here,” Mira hummed with a smile of her own, stepping up behind her wife and wrapping her arms around her waist, hugging her from behind. 

“Dak-jjim,” Rumi laughed quietly. “I made kkakdugi too.”

“My wife is spoiling me,” Mira sighed happily.

“My wife deserves spoiling,” Rumi chuckled, leaning back to give Mira a quick kiss. “How was yoga?”

“It was fine,” Mira huffed good-naturedly, leaning into Rumi as her wife hummed knowingly.

“And how was Zoey?”

“Such a mess,” Mira snorted softly. “Kept zoning out and tripping over her words.”

“She tripped over herself while staring at me before our class,” Rumi smiled as she began collecting plates and setting the table. “Fully faceplanted on the floor.”

“Seriously? Was she okay?” Mira laughed. 

“Mortified,” Rumi grinned. “Didn’t keep her from staring for the rest of class, though.”

“Of course it didn’t,” Mira shook her head fondly. “Look at you, jagiya. Who wouldn’t stare?”

“Did you get her number?” Rumi asked, ducking her head at Mira’s easy compliment

“I did, though Zoey looked like her brain was about to leak out of her ear. She actually asked me why I wanted her number, can you believe that?”

“Yes, because she asked me too,” Rumi giggled. “She is a bit of a disaster, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” Mira smiled, helping Rumi bring the food to the table. “But it’s cute.”

“So,” Rumi asked, sliding into her seat and watching Mira sit down across from her. “Should we text her?”

“Okay,” Mira nodded with a smirk, “hear me out...”

-

Fridays were not Zoey’s favorite day of the week.

Mostly because of her ten-thirty class, which consisted solely of middle aged women, most of whom seemed to value the opportunity to socialise far more than they valued Zoey’s exercises. 

Still, Zoey ran them through the poses like she did every week, pointedly ignoring all the talking and chatting and laughing behind her. When she walked between her students, watching them do some approximation of her exercises. She didn’t give too many pointers, knew they weren’t really here to get good at yoga anyway, and only intervened when someone was actually going to hurt themselves.

It was a relief when they all filtered out again, already discussing lunch options that ranged from unhealthy to downright criminal. Zoey busied herself with tidying up before finishing up the bit of administration Rumi had interrupted earlier in the week. 

Rumi… 

Zoey would be lying if she said she hadn’t been thinking about her - and about Mira - an unhealthy amount these past few days. Images of arched backs plagued her mind, making her wonder what they would look like in similar positions but not on a yoga mat, instead surrounded by tangled sheets.

Flashes of sweet smiles and wicked smirks, of knowingly raised eyebrows, of cocked hips, thigh muscles tensing, soft groans of relief-

She really had to stop thinking about them.

She was obviously into both of them, and she had absolutely no idea how she was going to choose when the time came for her to do so.

What if she chose wrong? What if she offended one of them and she’d never see one of them again? What if both of them ended up realising she was a dumb little turtle and they’d both end up hating her?! What was she even supposed to do?!

The buzz of her phone drew her from her mental spiral. She was grateful for the distraction, even if it was just a check-in from her mom, or one of her part-timers confirming a shift for tomorrow. Or even just spam, telling her she won a Caribbean cruise vacation. 

She frowned when she realised she got a text from an unknown number.

<?> Hey Zoey :) Rumi here! I was thinking… Would you maybe want to grab coffee tomorrow? With me? If you’re free?

Zoey stared at the message on her screen, eyes wide and heart thudding against her ribs. Rumi was asking her out. For coffee. Tomorrow. 

“Chill out, Zo,” she told herself, closing her eyes for a moment. “I’m sure it’s just a friendly hang-out. Don’t be weird about it.”

When she opened her eyes again, a new message had followed the first one.

<?> Like a date? Maybe? :) 

She dropped her phone onto the desk with a strangled groan, before scrambling to grab it again. She had to respond.

<Zoey> Ying

<Zoey> Yes!

<Zoey> I meant yes. Autocorrect. 

<Zoey> I’d love to. 

<Rumi> Awesome! Does 10:30 work for you? The place down the street from your studio?

<Zoey> Absolutely!

<Rumi> Perfect! See you tomorrow. Looking forward to it xoxo 

Zoey put her phone back down, tipping her head back and running herself through a calming breathing exercise. She was going on a date with Rumi tomorrow. She could do this. She could be a normal human being around a pretty woman. Charming, even. She knew she had some charm. 

Thoughts of Mira flashed through her brain for a moment, making her grimace. She had no idea how she was going to handle this yet. She would have to stop flirting with Mira if she got serious about Rumi.

The universe really was playing dirty, setting both Rumi and Mira on her path like this.

-

Zoey spent entirely too much time standing in front of her wardrobe. She was going on a date with Rumi, and she absolutely couldn’t show up in yoga pants and a tank top. Nothing that screamed ‘I’m a sweaty goblin that can’t be trusted to dress herself.’ 

Half of her wardrobe was what she considered her work clothes, which didn’t leave a whole lot to work with.

After much consideration, she settled on slacks and a cute blouse. Something that showed she tried to look nice without immediately looking like she was about to propose. 

She spent the next twenty minutes trying out various hairstyles, only to settle on her usual space buns.

The next five minutes, she spent hyping herself up in front of the mirror. Which was a totally normal thing to do. Everyone would need a pep talk before going on a date with Rumi.

She found herself in front of the coffee shop fifteen minutes early, despite all her worrying and stressing over outfits and hairdo’s. She probably looked like a wind-up toy, fidgeting, pacing back and forth, looking down the street.

Maybe it had all been a prank and Rumi wasn’t coming?

No, no, Rumi wasn’t like that. Probably. Right?

Her heart did a little jump when she turned around and noticed a familiar figure walking down the street, headed straight towards her. Purple hair, bright in the morning sun, long braid swaying back and forth with every step.

“Hey Zoey,” she smiled when she reached her, easy and radiant. “I’m so happy you agreed on our little date.”

“Hey, hi,” Zoey chirped, bouncing on her feet. “I uh… I’m glad you asked.”

“Shall we?” Rumi grinned, gesturing to the door. Zoey nodded and followed her, admiring how Rumi’s modest heels made her legs look even longer, and how the fabric of her shirt clung to her arms and shoulders, and how soft her hair looked. She wondered what it’d feel like if she were to run her hands through it-

“Zoey?”

“Huh?” she blinked, raising her eyebrows at Rumi’s questioning expression. “Sorry?”

“I asked if you wanted to go grab us a booth while I get us drinks?”

“Oh, right, yes, sure!” she nodded, looking at the line. “Best grab a seat before they’re all taken!”

“Exactly what I thought,” Rumi nodded with a pleased smile. “What can I get you?”

“A matcha latte?”

“Alright,” Rumi nodded. “Save me a seat?” she winked.

Zoey nodded before crossing the shop, beelining for one of the comfortable booths by the windows. She slid into one of the seats, trying to get a lid on the nervous energy racing through her body. Her eyes automatically zoned back in on Rumi, standing in line. She had her head tilted back, looking at the signs over the counter. 

Her braid reached down to her knees, and Zoey found herself wondering how long Rumi’s hair was when it wasn’t braided. How it would feel if Zoey rang her fingers through those long, long purple locks.

The table was jostled as someone sat down across from her uninvited. 

Zoey turned to face whomever was so rude as to just sit down at her table like that. She was ready to unleash a full lecture on boundaries, seating etiquette, and minding one’s own business, only for her brain to completely blank.

“M-Mira?”

A sharp smirk, pink hair in twin tails, a leather jacket. Mira was sitting across from her, entirely at ease, one arm slung over the backrest of her seat.

“Hey Zoey,” Mira smirked, sitting across from her like she owned the space. “You look nice.”

Zoey dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands. Her eyes flicked over towards Rumi, still standing in line, having moved only a few steps forward. This was bad. She could feel the panic rising.

What would Rumi think if she got back here and Zoey was sitting here with another gorgeous woman, who also happened to be a student, with whom she also happened to have flirted?

What would Mira think if Rumi showed up at this table? Zoey’s date, while she had shamelessly flirted with Mira too?

She had a few minutes - maybe - to make Mira leave.

“What uh… What are you doing here?” she asked, the pitch of her voice a little higher than normal.

Mira shrugged. “I was walking by and saw you through the window. Thought I’d say hi,” she smiled. “Are you okay? You look a little nervous.”

“Oh, uh, yeah, totally,” she nodded. “It’s just… I’m kinda here with someone?”

It was meant to be a firm statement, damnit. Zoey didn’t know why she made it sound like a question.

“Like a date?” Mira asked, and thank god she caught on to what Zoey was trying to say. Zoey nodded, giving an apologetic smile. For sending Mira away like this. For being on a date, even, maybe. Mira nodded too. “Nice,” she hummed.

Except… she didn’t move. Didn’t excuse herself. Didn’t give any indication she was leaving.

Tension gripped Zoey’s body, her shoulders creeping up to her ears as she tried to figure out how she could make it any clearer that she needed Mira to leave.

Her eyes flicked the the counter again, where Rumi was now smiling and chatting with the barista. She was running out of time, and Mira was still just sitting there, smirking at her.

Zoey felt like Mira’s gaze kept her pinned to her seat, even as she contemplated getting up, excusing herself, and finding a different table. 

“You look really stressed, Zoey,” Mira chuckled. “Maybe you should, I don’t know, focus on your breathing or something?”

Zoey made a strangled little noise in the back of her throat. Either Mira was incredibly dense, or she was here to ruin her date on purpose. Maybe this was payback for flirting with two gorgeous women at the same time. The universe, Mira-shaped, punishing her for her hubris.

She slumped in her seat at the sound of footsteps approaching their booth. It was over. She was done for. No way she could ever face either of these women ever again after this.

“Sorry, it took a minute,” Rumi chuckled when she stepped up to the table. Zoey watched her put three cups down. “I got you your usual,” she smiled over at Mira, sliding one of them over and what was going on right now?!

“Her… usual?” Zoey croaked, watching Rumi slide into the seat next to Mira, who didn’t bother moving her arm from the backrest. “You two uh… know each other…”

It wasn’t a question, not really. She held her breath, watched the way Mira continued to smirk, took in Rumi’s small, almost guilty smile. 

“Yeah, we know each other,” Mira chuckled. She moved her arm from the backrest, hooked it around Rumi’s shoulder and pulled her into her side, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. “Thanks for the coffee, jagiya.”

Jagiya.

They were dating. 

Well, fuck.

“We’re married,” Rumi explained with a hesitant little smile. “Almost three years, now.”

Well, double fuck.

Zoey closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She had some explaining to do. Of course the two insanely hot women that had come into her studio on different days were fucking married. To each other.

“Zoey, are you okay? Breathe,” Rumi told her gently, causing Mira to let out a quick laugh.

“That’s what I was telling her before you got here.”

“You two,” Zoey said, voice cracking “...are married.”

“Mm-hm,” Mira hummed.

“A-and I was flirting with you both. I mean- I don’t mean- It was all very respectful,” she rushed out. “I thought, when you said date, I thought-”

“Zoey,” Rumi cut through her ramblings. “It’s okay. I guess we owe you a bit of an explanation.”

Zoey’s teeth clicked together audibly as she closed her mouth. Mira chuckled, sliding the matcha latte in Zoey’s direction. 

“Mira and I both wanted to try yoga-”

“Wanted is not exactly-”

“Shush, aein,” Rumi admonished fondly, lightly bumping Mira with her elbow. “We wanted to try yoga, but our schedules never lined up. That’s why I’m in your Tuesday class and Mira does Thursdays.”

Zoey made a small noise, mostly to let Rumi know she was listening. So far, it still made perfect sense.

Rumi’s smile turned a little softer. “Your no-phones rule was actually… groundbreaking. It showed us that the world didn’t stop spinning if we just turned our phones off for an hour or two. We actually started talking to each other again, which… We’d been in separate orbits for a while, I guess.”

Zoey nodded along, removing the lid from her drink and softly blowing on it, just to have something to do. 

“We started talking about our yoga classes,” Rumi continued. “Which eventually turned into talking about you. The cute, flirtatious yoga teacher.”

Zoey made a high-pitched noise. “Listen, if I’d known you were married, I wouldn’t-”

“It’s okay, we liked it,” Mira cut in, voice low and relaxed.

Rumi nodded. “We encouraged it, didn’t we? Flirted with you just as much. Especially after the two of us discussed… all of this.”

“All of this?” Zoey echoed, her mind struggling to keep up with wherever Rumi was going with this conversation. 

Rumi winced playfully. “Ambushing you like this was… maybe a little mean. We thought it would be a cute way to break the news… Mira thought it would be funny.”

“Because it is funny,” Mira deadpanned with an unapologetic shrug. “But you’re not in trouble, Zoey.”

“You’re not… mad?”

“No,” Rumi shook her head. “We’re adults, Zoey. If your flirting hadn’t been welcome, we would’ve told you. Truth is…” she hesitated, fiddling with her coffee cup, spinning it in place.

“We both think you’re really cute,” Mira continued when Rumi remained flustered. “And you seem to be into us.”

“Of course I am,” Zoey blurted, following it with an immediate groan.

“So maybe this doesn’t have to be a misunderstanding,” Mira smiled, genuine now. “Maybe it can be a date, exactly as Rumi suggested. Just… with the three of us.”

“A three-people-date-date?” 

Mira snorted, rolling her eyes. “Let’s not call it that, but yes.”

“I’ve never uh… dated two people before,” Zoey grimaced.

“It’s not exactly like we’ve done this before, either,” Mira chuckled.

“We’ll figure it out,” Rumi told her, smiling that sweet, genuine smile of hers. “If you want to.”

“I want to,” she was quick to clarify. “It’s just… intimidating? I guess? You two are both unfairly attractive-”

“Facts,” Mira nodded seriously. 

“What Mira means to say,” Rumi interjected, pointed and playful.

“No, no, I said exactly what I meant to say,” Mira countered with a quiet laugh. “Just let me finish-”

“You sounded pretty finished just-”

“Ru, I’m trying to tell Zoey she’s hot, can you just be quiet?” Mira laughed, lightly jostling her wife. 

Despite everything, the panic, the stress, the completely and totally unfair ambush, Zoey felt laughter bubbling up in her chest. She was on a date, with Rumi and Mira, who were totally married and bickering like a totally married couple.

Yeah, maybe this could all work out just fine.