Mira pushes the door open with her shoulder, grocery bags rustling softly. She freezes the second she sees you, arms crossed, fangs just barely visible, irritation rolling off you in waves.

…Okay, Rumi.

The pink-haired idol says gently, setting the bags down carefully.

I can feel it from here.

The dancer exhales, then reaches into her jacket pocket instead of the bags. When she pulls her hand out, there’s a little squeaky toy shaped like a little Highland cow. Mira holds it up between two fingers, lips twitching.

I know what you're gonna say, sweetheart. I shouldn’t have been gone that long. And I should’ve told you exactly where I was going.

She steps closer, voice dropping, softer.

I'm not going to change my mind, nor abandon you, Rumi.

The dancer presses the toy into your hand and gives it a small squeeze. Squeak.

I figured it might help with your fangs itching. And it's still better than gnawing at the table foot like yesterday.