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madebycloud · 2 days ago

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All I Need To Hear

rumi x reader — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary．being stuck in a cramped, closed-off, dark space with your ex-girlfriend was definitely not on your list of things to do today. (requested by anon) warnings/themes．angst and fluff, ex lovers, second chance romance, forced proximity, confessions, happy ending words．3.5k

Today's dance practice was brutal.

Hours of practice, trying to nail the choreography for the upcoming comeback performances.

Thank the stars, though, that the day is finally over. All you want to do is head to the dorms, collapse onto your bed, and die.

Exhaling heavily, you walk over to the elevator. Maybe dying can wait until later.

Pressing the small button, the metal doors finally open. You step inside without looking, only to freeze when you realize you're not alone.

There, standing in the corner, is...

Rumi.

Your ex-girlfriend, specifically.　

Dressed in her practice clothes: black crop top and sweatpants. Phone gripped in one hand while she types something. She has earbuds tucked in her ears. Probably has her favorite song playing in those little ear devices.

You haven't seen her in...a good while. About four, five months, maybe six? Something like that.

Despite this, nothing has changed with her.

She looks the same.

She seems the same.

And the thing is, you weren't expecting anything different. Because why would she change? It's only been half a year, after all. Not an entire lifetime.

But something feels different.

Awkwardness.

There was a time where awkward wouldn't even be in your dictionary when you're around her, but here you are.

Standing in the same space as your ex-girlfriend. The girl you once held hands with, kissed, slept with, made all sorts of promises to, dated, and loved...

...now a stranger.

That's how it feels, you suppose.

Strangers who used to be so much more.

Your eyes drops from her face and towards the floor as the metal door shuts.

You can still remember the words she told you that night, the ones that brought the relationship to a bittersweet close.

“This isn't working...we're not working.”

You didn't—couldn't—disagree that night.

Because deep down, you knew that she was right.

Ever since her career had taken off, the relationship had felt more and more strained. Different schedules, long distance, constant work, the pressures and stress of being a public figure...

It was inevitable. Both of you are in the entertainment industry, after all.

And you could never blame Rumi for wanting more.

For wanting to live her dream, for wanting to be better, for wanting to be successful.

Your gaze darts to the side, stealing another look at her.

Rumi still has her earbuds on. The occasional quick, subtle glances in your way from the corner of her eyes are the only sign that she knows you're in the elevator with her.

You wonder if you just imagined them or not. So, you stare at the control panel, counting each number as the elevator slowly descends.

You shift your weight onto the other foot. Fingers tapping against the strap of your bag—just for something to do.

Glancing towards your right, you find Rumi still in the same position as before.

And those occasional, subtle glances? Definitely not your imagination.

The second your eyes meet, hers quickly look away, focusing on the phone in hand.

You bite your bottom lip, turning your gaze back towards the control panel.⠀

Is it getting hotter in here? It feels hotter in here—　　

SCREEEEEEEECHHH

The elevator suddenly stops, lights flickering before going out completely.　

Darkness swallows every corner of the tiny space you're both in.　

The sudden stop and loss of light has you stumbling, reaching out with one hand to grab onto something to gain the bearings of your surroundings.

...

“Careful.”

Unfortunately for you, that something just happens to be your ex-girlfriend's arm. Warm, smooth, and soft skin. Just how you remembered.

The emergency light then flickers on, illuminating the space...and Rumi's face. Brown eyes, dark as melted chocolate, stare at you with a surprised expression that mirrors the one you're sure you're making.

Awkwardly, inwardly cursing up a storm, you pull your hand away, mumbling an embarrassed, “Shit, I'm sorry—”

“No, it's fine,” Rumi says at the same time, then a pause before an awkward laugh. “I guess we were both trying to, uh, find balance in the dark.”

An equally awkward laugh tumbles out of your mouth. “Yeah, I guess so.” Fingers curling into your palm to stop yourself from fidgeting. Your eyes dart everywhere except for her face. The small, rectangular emergency light. The ceiling. Your gym bag.

Just anywhere that's not Rumi.

...until you notice the sound of music coming from the earbuds sticking out of her ears.

Wait.

Wait, is that...your voice?

Rumi's listening to the solo single you just released. The one you wrote and composed. The one you wrote about her.

“Your solo...it's good. Congrats.”

“You listened to it...” Dumbass. Of course she listened to it. It's literally blaring in her ears.

Rumi nods. “Yeah, I...I caught it on Spotify a couple days after the release...” Her voice trails off, then shrugs. “I liked it. Your voice is amazing. You always had such a good voice...it suits the song very well.”

Amazing. A good voice. Suits the song well.

All the times she told you how your voice made her feel are replaying back in your head. From the quiet, sleepy murmurs of “I could listen to you sing all day if I could” to the whispered-in-the-dark confessions of “This is my favorite thing about you” to the soft “You sound so good right now, baby.

Damn this elevator.

It's not like she's complimenting you, specifically. She's complimenting the song. Just the song. The one you wrote while thinking about her.

But...it still feels—

“You think so...?”

“Yeah...I really think so.” Her gaze flicks towards you, then away again. But the slight tilt of her lips into a small smile can't be missed.

Oh.

That smile.

It was always one of your weaknesses. Especially when it was directed at you.

Seeing it now, after so long of being apart...

Slowly, you find yourself smiling as well. “Thank you, Rumi.”

Her smile widens in return. And suddenly the awkward tension between you two seems to have lessened. The silence is a little bearable. Easier to breathe without feeling like you're about to choke to death on your own nerve.

“Tsk, don't thank me. You did all the hard work, not me.”

Those few words are enough to bring back fond memories of you and her teasing each other, playfully fighting to win an argument, making up later by—　

You shut down that thought as soon as it even crosses your mind. Refusing to even think about...that.

“Hey.” Her voice calls out, breaking you out of your thoughts. Head whipping to find Rumi already sitting down on the floor, patting the space next to her.

Despite your mind telling you to NO the hell out of this idea, your legs decide to listen to the part of you that apparently wants to be in close proximity with her. After setting down your bag, you move over and sit beside her.

The floor feels hard against your ass. Not as comfortable as a bed, but beggars can't be choosers these days.

Her eyes briefly dart to the metal doors, then to you, before tucking her phone away into her sweatpants' pocket, followed by her earbuds.

You stare at the floor. Hands fiddling with each other. Fingers intertwine. Fingers untwine. Fingers intertwine again. Your mind wanders. Wondering what exactly is going through her head.

Is she thinking the same things as you? That nostalgic feeling when you're stuck in a cramped space with an ex? Does she think it's weird or awkward or uncomfortable that you two are sitting so close like this after months of silence?

You wonder...

Do your smiles, laugh, voice, and touch still wander through her thoughts?

The same way hers still does yours?

...

Sighing, you look at the control panel for a while before the words that you're not expecting start leaving your mouth. “Why...why couldn't we work...the first time around..?”

Rumi stays silent. Not a word from her. She doesn't shift, doesn't fidget, just...does...nothing.

The only sounds that are heard are your uneven breaths.

Until, finally, a sigh.

“We were both so young...” she starts, “and then when our careers took off...it felt like we were pulling in opposite directions every day.” A pause as she exhales sharply through her nose. “...I didn't know how to be what you needed anymore.”

Neither did I. You almost say the words. Because I didn't know how to be what you needed, either.　

“But that doesn't mean...I've never stopped thinking about you.”

The same part of you that shut down the thoughts earlier starts whispering to you, whispering for you to reach out. Close the small distance between you two and take her hands in your own. To lace your fingers together, rub the faintest of circles over her knuckles and tell her the same thing.

I've never stopped thinking about you, too. I never truly stopped. Even now, I can't stop.

You want to tell her just how many times you've found yourself wondering if she was thinking about you too.

How you can't even touch the damn guitar on your bed without thinking about her. How many times you had to resist the urge to text her at 3AM when loneliness started to claw at your chest. How you'd sit in your room for hours on end replaying old voicemails and videos of her just to hear her laugh…

You don't, though.

Rumi sighs once again, resting the back of her head against the wall. “Every time I hear one of your songs play or when fans ship us together online...it always brings me right back there.”

You nod, because, yeah, you get it. Seeing her photos online, hearing your name paired with hers, listening to old conversations in the background of her fancams—all of it brings you back.

Back there.

Kissing her whenever you had the chance. Holding her hand. Fingers tracing constellations across her skin. Waking up to her face in the morning. Lying down on her chest. Listening to the steady beat of her heart. Hearing her soft murmurs of “I love you.” To love and be loved so wholeheartedly, unconditionally.

Back when you were each other's.

...

Were.

“I kept telling myself it was just...nostalgia. That I should move on. But then—” A bitter chuckle escapes her lips. “—You released that song.”

Your throat feels tight. “That song was...” You trail off, struggling to find the right words.

It was about us. Too much. It was just a track for my album. Liar. It was for you. Every word, every line, every single sound was for you. It was always about you.

Rumi doesn't let you finish. “It was good. Really good. I even cried when I first listened to it.”

You remember. The overwhelming feeling of satisfaction and pride when you saw the positive response to the single.

But you always wondered what she thought of it, and now hearing that from her...

It feels as if someone has shoved a knife through your heart and twisted it.　

“...I played it again,” Rumi admits. “Then again.” She exhales through gritted teeth like she's embarrassed by this admission. “A few more times after that.”

And hearing that just twists the metaphorical knife even harder.

“Why?” you can't help but ask.

You don't expect her to answer. She doesn't speak right away. Rumi just chews on the inside of her cheek, staring at the emergency light above.

Then, softly, “I wanted to feel close to you again.”

Her words burn themselves into your head, repeating over and over again in your mind.

You know exactly how she feels. You've spent nights staring at your phone. Wondering if you should call her. Wondering how she would react. What she would do. What she would say if you just dialed her number.

Except you never worked up the courage to call, to ask, to talk, to reach out. So, instead, you would listen to the old voice mails of her telling you she loved you.

Just to feel close to her again.

Rumi continues, oblivious to your racing thoughts. “Every time I heard your voice...I felt like you were right there. Sitting next to me, saying all those words all over again. I-I know that's stupid. Because I know that it's just me projecting what I want to hear, but—”

It's the closest I'll ever get to feeling close to you again.　

She doesn't say it.

And yet, you hear it in your head anyway.

“I...miss you, sometimes...” Rumi sighs, then rubs her face with both hands. “It— It feel so stupid, I'm the one who wanted to end the relationship. I'm the one that said it was for the best. I...I said we should focus on our careers instead of...whatever the hell we had going on back then. So why do I miss you? I miss you so much. It's stupid and ridiculous because I shouldn't. I shouldn't miss you—”

Rumi cuts herself off by pressing the palms of her hands harder against her face. A frustrated grunt of a breath leaves her parted lips. “I miss you so much. I miss you so...so goddamn much that I wanted to call you. So many times. I picked up my phone so many times and thought about calling your number— but I...could never press the damn call button. Because, fuck, I'm scared that you're mad at me for ending things. That maybe you hate me—”

“I don't.”

...

Rumi pauses, slowly dropping her hands from her face to look over at you. “...you don't?” she repeats as a single tear escapes before she hastily wipes it away with the back of her hand.

You shake your head. “I don't hate you. I was hurt, yes. But I could never hate you, Rumi.”

Another tear slips out. She sniffs, trying to blink the wetness away. “You should hate me. I was a shitty girlfriend. I was stressed, distant, so focused on my career, and— and I didn't really give you the love that you...you...deserve. I didn't give you what you need, and yet you don't hate me? That's...so damn stupid of you. It would be so much easier to hate me. It would make all of this less complicated and easier—”

The feeling of a thumb brushing over Rumi's cheek interrupts her rambling. Her watery eyes then meet yours as you tenderly wipe the next tear that rolls down her soft skin. “I could never hate you,” you say again.

Rumi's hand immediately lifts from her lap and covers yours, pressing the palm of it harder into her face, fingers wrapping around your wrist.

“In fact, I hate myself more,” you murmur. “I hate myself for not being good enough to make you stay.”

“Don't you dare,” Rumi snaps. “It's not your fault that our careers got in the way. You're not to blame for that. You were good enough for me— are good enough for me. Don't you dare say that because that's a damn lie.”

“Why? It's the truth.”

“It is not!”

“Then why did we break up? Why couldn't we make things work? Why did it feel like I was just...holding you back—”

Rumi shuts you up by smacking your arm.　

It doesn't hurt.　

It's just a sharp, quick smack that's more for emphasis rather than pain. And it works. You immediately fall quiet.

“You— you always do this.” Rumi huffs, pulling your hand down, then intertwining your fingers together.

“...what?”

“You say the words that I don't want to hear.” She sighs. “You're wrong, okay? You weren't holding me back— you are everything to me. I thought if we broke up, it would be easier on both of us. I thought I was doing you a favor by breaking things off so you could focus on your career.” The grip on your hand then tightens. “But instead of feeling relieved, I just felt...empty...and even though we've been broken up for so long, I still feel this way—”

“Don't say it. You'll make yourself cry again,” you interrupt.　

Rumi shakes her head, pressing your joined hands against her chest, letting you feel her heartbeat. “I don't care if I cry. Because you—” She swallows hard. “You're still able to do this. Making me feel like my entire world is collapsing when we're just sitting here in the dark. And it's stupid of me to still feel like this. So stupid, but I can't stop it because...you're just you, and I still—” She groans in frustration. “...I still love you.”

Her words leave you breathless.

You thought that the feeling would fade with time, but here she is telling you that it hasn't.　

That she still loves you.

All of your doubts and hesitations seem stupid. All those times where you questioned whether or not to call her or text her first suddenly feel so unnecessary because...

Rumi still loves you.

The elevator doors suddenly opens with a hiss of pressurized air.　

A firefighter then steps inside. Helmet tucked under one arm as he peers at the two of you sitting on the floor. “Everything alright in here?”

Rumi jerks her hand away from yours, immediately wiping at her cheeks with the back of it before getting back on her feet and offering a strained smile to the firefighter. “...yeah...we're—” a nervous laugh, “—we're just waiting for the elevator to be fixed.”

You clear your throat, feeling strangely cold when her fingers no longer touch yours. Pushing yourself off the floor, you nod and then grab your bag.

The firefighter just offers a quick smile before stepping inside to check the elevator as the both of you step out into the hallway.

No words are said as you start walking down through the empty corridor towards the stairs.

Rumi keeps her head down and eyes glued to the ground. You then push the door to the stairwell, holding it open for her. Her hand brushes past yours as she passes by.

The two of you walk down side by side in silence.　

Her pinky brushes against yours, hesitates for a second, then hooks around your finger. Like this was where it was meant to be.

“Rumi... just so we're clear,” you start carefully as both of you step out into the parking lot. “What happened back there doesn't mean we're suddenly together again.”

She stops in her tracks, making you stop as well. She then turns to face you. “I know,” she says softly. “I'm not asking for anything...unless you want it too.”

You do. You really, really, really, really, really...really do.

But is it right? After you just learned that she's still in love with you, isn't getting back together...too fast? Impulsive? Dumb, even?

Rumi had ended the relationship once before. So what will prevent it from happening? there's no guarantee that she won't break your heart again.

And that's what makes you hesitate, biting your lip. “I don't want to give myself false hopes about us being together again. If we do try again. I just want to make absolutely sure that you won't...pull away from me like you did before. I can't...I can't deal with the heartbreak again, Rumi. I can't.”

Her shoulders slump slightly, letting out a shuddery sigh.“I can't promise you forever. I can't promise you that things won't change because things...change,” Rumi says firmly. “But what I can promise you is that, if you give me an entire lifetime, I'll spend every single second of it proving to you that I will never break your heart again. I'll do everything I can to not pull away from you like I did before.”

She pauses before continuing quietly. “...and if it doesn't work out this time. If things get bad again and we break up once more. At least then I know that neither of us will regret giving it one last shot.” Her fingers then intertwine with yours, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “So tell me...what do you want?”

What do you want.

It's a question you've asked yourself so many times.

Ever since she broke up with you, it's the one question that's been on your mind constantly. It's been months now, and you still don't have an answer. Not until now.

You look back at Rumi, and the answer suddenly comes to you like a realization.

...what a stupid question.

You know exactly what you want.

“I want...” you start, lifting your free hand to brush a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I want this.” Thumb tracing the curve of her cheekbone before dropping away again as your gaze locks onto hers with certainty. “You,” you clarify finally when she doesn't respond immediately. “Here. With me.”

Rumi doesn't even try to fight the growing smile on her face. “And I want you, too.”

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