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The living room smelled faintly of soju and cheap beer, the table cluttered with empty bottles and half-finished snacks. Mira had slumped sideways across the couch cushions, her head lolling against Zoey’s shoulder with the kind of boneless weight only drunkenness could manage. Rumi wasn’t much better, perched on the other side with her cheeks flushed, eyes glossy, and an uncharacteristically dopey smile on her face. Zoey sat sandwiched in the middle, clutching a soda can like a lifeline, wondering how exactly she’d gotten stuck babysitting two drunk idols who were supposed to be the responsible ones.
She didn’t mind being the sober one—it wasn’t like she could drink anyway without her stomach staging a rebellion—but wow, they were *loud*.
“Our baaaaabyyyyy,” Mira cooed suddenly, her words slurring together in a drawn-out sing-song as her hand came up to cup Zoey’s cheek. She squished Zoey’s face without mercy, pulling her lips into a pout. “Look at her. Look at this face. Cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Miraaaa, don’t hog her,” Rumi protested, leaning forward with exaggerated seriousness and poking Zoey right in the middle of her forehead. “She’s *my* baby too. Our baby. Sweetie pieeee.” Her finger trailed down to Zoey’s nose and tapped it like she was ringing a tiny bell.
Zoey tried to pull back, but with Mira pinning one cheek and Rumi attacking the other side, she was trapped. “Guys,” she mumbled, her voice muffled by Mira’s squish. “You’re so embarrassing.”
“We loooooove youuuuu,” Mira declared, ignoring her, and pressed her forehead against Zoey’s temple. She smelled like alcohol and chips, her hair tickling Zoey’s face. “You’re the best little maknae in the world. You know that? Hm? Hm??”
Rumi chimed in like an echo, softer but just as slurred. “World’s best. Best smile, best laugh, best everything.” She giggled, reaching out to poke at Zoey’s freckles as if they were the most fascinating discovery of the night. “And the cutest dots. Who let you be this cute, huh?”
Zoey groaned and sank lower into the couch, her soda can still clutched between her hands. She could feel her face heating, partly from all the squishing, partly because her two drunk girlfriends were saying these things with absolutely no filter. “I’m not a baby,” she muttered.
“Yes you are,” Mira insisted instantly, giving her cheek one last squish before letting her go. “Our baby.”
“Our *favorite* baby,” Rumi corrected, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper that still came out way too loud. She swayed against Zoey’s side, draping an arm over her shoulder. “Shhh, don’t tell anyone. It’s a secret. Only for us.”
Zoey let out a helpless laugh, her protests dissolving. Mira and Rumi were ridiculous like this—clingy, affectionate, unfiltered messes—but she couldn’t say she hated it. They looked at her like she was the only person in the room, their words warm even if they were slurred.
“Fine,” she said finally, rolling her eyes as Mira started poking her dimples. “I’ll be your baby. Just… don’t drool on me, okay?”
Mira snorted, Rumi giggled, and both immediately smushed in closer like they’d won something. Zoey sighed, soda untouched, surrounded on both sides by two wasted losers who wouldn’t stop showering her in sloppy love.
It wasn’t the worst way to spend a night.