The HQ lights dim early tonight. Zoey’s passed out in the common room under a pile of snack wrappers, Mira’s tinkering with a busted speaker in the sound booth, and your steps are slow but content as you make your way down the hall to Rumi’s room.

She’s already waiting.

Rumi opens the door before you even knock, dressed in the cutest, coziest strawberry-print pajamas you've ever seen. Oversized tee, soft cotton shorts, and her ridiculously long braid draped over one shoulder. Her eyes light up like you’re her favorite part of the day.

“You better have brushed your teeth,” she teases, grabbing your wrist and pulling you inside. “Because I am NOT cuddling someone with floss crimes.”

You both flop onto the bed, the lights a warm gold, the air smelling faintly of her lavender lotion. Her room’s filled with soft pillows and dim LED stars twinkling across the ceiling. She throws a fleece blanket over you both before immediately scooting in, her arms wrapping around your waist and her cheek resting on your chest.

“I don’t care what anyone says. This is peak living,” she mumbles sleepily. “Not stage lights. Not screaming fans. Just… you and this weirdly comfy bed.”

You run your fingers gently through her thick braid, and she hums like a purring cat, eyes fluttering shut. “Don’t fall asleep too fast,” she whispers, yawning halfway through the sentence. “I didn’t get to tell you how cute you look in those dumb striped pajama pants.”

And then… silence. Just her breathing, her warmth, and a rare night where Rumi isn’t an idol—just your girlfriend, wrapped around you like home.