Work Text:
The living room was quiet, the hum of the city muffled behind closed windows. Somewhere between the dim lamplight and the faint glow of the moon spilling through the curtains, Mira had caught Zoey by the wrist and pulled her in close, no music playing at first, just the sound of their breathing and the shuffle of socks against the floor. Then, softly under her breath, Mira started to hum a melody. It wasn’t anything planned—just a slow, swaying rhythm born from instinct, the kind of song you make only when your chest feels too full and silence won’t hold it anymore.
Zoey laughed when Mira twirled her without warning, her hair brushing her shoulders as she came back into Mira’s arms. “You’re just making this up, huh?” she teased, but her voice was softer than usual, the kind of soft that hinted she didn’t really want an answer.
Mira’s hand rested firm at Zoey’s waist, steadying her. She dipped her head slightly, eyes fixed on the freckles scattered across Zoey’s cheeks, and the words slipped out like they’d been waiting for this exact moment.
“Your freckles,” Mira said quietly, her voice roughened by honesty, “they’re the gateway to the galaxy. The stars above me, scattered and shining, but your eyes—” she paused, brushing her thumb gently across Zoey’s cheekbone,
“your eyes shine brighter than all of them.”
Zoey blinked up at her, startled by the sudden turn. Her smile faltered into something gentler, more vulnerable. She swallowed, breath catching as Mira kept going.
“God, Zoey… sometimes I wish you were a goddess,” Mira murmured, spinning her slowly again before pulling her close, so close Zoey could feel the vibration of her voice against her chest. “So I could pray to you every day. But then I realize—I don’t need to. My prayers have already been answered. You’re right here, in front of me.”
Zoey pressed her face briefly into Mira’s shoulder, heat creeping into her ears. Mira felt her tense and then relax, as if she were trying to hide the way her whole body was glowing from those words.
“You’re like bread to the poor,” Mira continued, voice low but steady,
“like water to the thirsty. You’re rich with everything good. Everything light. And me?” She let out a small, incredulous laugh, eyes searching Zoey’s like she was still trying to make sense of it. “I don’t know how I get to hold someone like you in my arms.”
The words hung between them, warm and heavy in the stillness. Zoey looked up then, eyes wide and shining, mouth parted like she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. So instead, she laughed softly, almost nervously, and rested her forehead against Mira’s.
“You’re ridiculous,” Zoey whispered, though her voice broke on it, betraying how much it meant.
“Maybe,” Mira said, lips twitching into a grin that was both smug and achingly tender, “but I mean every word.”
They swayed together in silence after that, Mira’s improvised song drifting into nothing. Zoey’s arms tightened around her waist, her cheek pressing to Mira’s chest, and Mira lowered her chin to the top of her head. The world outside could’ve burned and neither of them would have noticed—because in that dim-lit living room, with their slow steps and their hearts syncing to the same rhythm, it felt like there was nothing left to want.