Chapter Text
Rumi tightened her grip on the steering wheel as she turned down a quiet street lined with narrow sidewalks and tangled power lines. The campus map crumpled in the passenger seat beside her, useless at this point.
It was early in the afternoon, and the sun had just started to set—the once-blue sky fading into soft hues of pink that bled gently into each other.
Her phone sat propped in the cupholder on speaker. She glanced at the GPS again, then looked ahead.
“Are you sure this is the right way?”
“Are you asking me or the GPS?” Jinu’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Because either way, both of us know more than you do.”
Rumi huffed, rolling her eyes. “No need for the sass, jeez.”
Drumming her fingers on the wheel, she blew out a breath.
She wasn’t nervous.
Totally not.
Okay—she definitely was nervous.
Well, she had a reason to be. Moving in with people you didn’t know, just because it was the only option left and it came from a friend of a friend? Yeah. She had doubts.
What if they were some kind of weirdos who binge-watched soap operas with the sound off? Or decorated the whole apartment with taxidermy frogs? Or refused to use microwaves because of “radiation vibes?”
Or worse.
What if they were mean?
She could deal with a lot—but mean? Yeah, that would break her.
Rumi groaned and let her head rest against the wheel as she pulled to a stop at a red light. “If I die,” she said, voice oddly calm, “you better tell the cops it was your fault.”
“You’re not gonna die, Rumi,” Jinu replied, his voice too casual for someone potentially setting her up to live with strangers. “You’re being dramatic. They’re nice. Weird even—like you. You’ll fit right in.”
“I’m not weird! And you literally didn’t even tell me their names until, like, ten minutes ago!”
“I did tell you! They’re friends of Abby’s. Abby wouldn’t recommend murderers.”
Rumi side-eyed her phone like she hoped he could feel it. “His whole personality is literally just his abs and the gym. Why would I trust that his friends aren’t just... weird fitness cultists?”
“God forbid someone has hobbies,” Jinu muttered, clearly tired of her nonsense.
“Yeah. Luring people into their homes and murdering them is quite the hobby.”
The GPS chimed, and she turned into a parking lot. She found an open spot and eased in, eyeing the tall building in front of her like she was analyzing a crime scene. It was... surprisingly nice. Not too far from campus, either.
Had to be too good to be true.
“Alright, I’m here,” she mumbled, unbuckling her seatbelt as her anxiety began to claw up her spine again. “What was the room number again?”
“324. I gotta go, but you’re gonna be fine. And please... don’t be un-chill.”
“What do you mean? I can be chill.” She said it matter-of-factly.
There was a pause on the other end.
“Right…” Jinu drawled, unconvinced. “Sure. Definitely. You are totally chill.”
“I am! You’re the one that isn’t!”
“I’m not.”
“Are too!”
“I’m not!”
“Are too!”
“I’m not—”
“You totally are!”
“You literally slipped on a banana peel and knocked over a display of cans like something out of a cartoon.”
Rumi bit the inside of her cheek, face heating at the memory—one that took at least two years off her life every time it was mentioned. “Yeah, well! You have a stupid face—hah!” she retorted, sticking out her tongue at her phone.
“Very mature, Rumi. And put your tongue back in your mouth, please.”
She gaped. “It—It wasn’t!”
Jinu made a skeptical sound. “Yeah, yeah. Seriously though, I gotta go now. Don’t be weird.”
A pause.
“Sleep with one eye open tonight. Better hope they don’t chop you up in your sleep,” he added with a cackle.
“JINU!”
But he’d already hung up.
Rumi let her head fall back against the seat and let out a long, sharp exhale. “I swear to God… when I get my hands on him...”
She sat there in her car for a moment, psyching herself up. Then she slapped her cheeks lightly and muttered, “Alright, Rumi. You got this.”
Getting out, she opened the back door where her boxes were stacked. She hadn’t brought too much—just the essentials. Most of her stuff had been left at her aunt’s place. Stuff she didn’t use. Stuff she didn’t want to think about anymore.
She bit her lip, brushing her hand over the long sleeve covering her arm, tugging it down tighter.
No. Not now.
No use thinking about that now. This wasn’t the place for it.
Shaking the thought away, she squared her shoulders. “I’ll take all of it to the door. Save myself the trouble of coming back.”
...
She only managed to grab two out of ten boxes she had.
…so much for saving herself a trip.
Standing stiffly in front of the door, she stared.
Okay. You got this, Rumi!
Just raise your hand and knock. Normal stuff. No need to overthink it.
She sighed, adjusted the box in her arms, and gave the door a light knock.
She waited.
Nothing.
Did she knock too soft? Yeah. She definitely knocked too soft.
She knocked again—louder this time.
“Coming!” a voice called from inside.
There was shuffling. Then the loud pattering of feet. And suddenly, the door whipped open with a gust of air in her face.
Rumi blinked.
Standing there was a girl—shorter than her, two space buns in her hair, wearing an oversized sweater and shorts. She was smiling so wide Rumi almost felt like she didn’t deserve it.
“Hi! Rumi, right? My new roomie?!” The girl paused, glanced down at the floor, then looked back up. “Please tell me you are—God, if you’re not, that would be embarrassing.”
Rumi blinked, caught off guard. Then remembered she could speak. “I—yeah. That’s me. And you are...?”
“Oh! Where are my manners—I’m Zoey! Nice to meet you!” She extended a hand before realizing Rumi’s arms were full. “Oh, um. Fistbump then?”
Rumi shifted awkwardly and offered the most sorry-looking fistbump in history.
Zoey just smiled brighter. “Well, come on in. I’ll show you around.” She stepped back and opened the door wider, eyes dropping to the boxes. “Do you need a hand? I think you need a hand.”
“I don—uh, okay...”
Rumi watched as Zoey already grabbed the box out of her arms like it was nothing and scooped up the one she’d set down on the floor. Without missing a beat, she turned and disappeared into the apartment.
Rumi blinked again.
...Okay. That just happened.
She stepped inside, shutting the door behind her, and took a look around.
The apartment was... nice. Nicer than she expected. High ceilings with exposed beams, soft lighting that spilled warmly across the polished hardwood floors, and an open floor plan that gave everything a cozy but modern feel. The furniture looked expensive but lived-in—like it had been picked carefully to match, not just tossed together. A plush sectional couch sat in the middle of the living room with a couple of throw blankets messily draped over it, and a record player stood near the corner, half a stack of vinyls leaning against it.
There were little details too—plants on the windowsills, an abstract painting above the TV, and a weirdly cute rug with oranges on it.
“Oh! Follow me, I’ll show you your room,” Zoey called, her head popping out from one of the doorways.
Rumi followed after her, her shoes quiet against the floors. Zoey had a definite pep in her step, practically bouncing as she led them down the hallway.
Rumi didn’t know what to think of her yet.
Just that she was… a lot.
Zoey stopped at one of the doors and opened it with a flourish. “Here’s your room!”
Rumi stepped inside and took a slow look around. It was pretty bare, but not in a bad way. A full-sized bed sat in the corner with a new mattress still in its plastic wrap, a simple wooden desk under the window, and a dresser tucked against the far wall. The closet door was slightly ajar, revealing a surprising amount of space. The walls were plain white, clean and untouched—blank canvases.
Zoey placed the boxes she’d carried on the floor beside the bed. “I can get you some sheets if you need any.”
Rumi shook her head. “No, I brought my own. But thank you.”
Zoey nodded, rocking on the balls of her feet like she couldn’t decide whether to stay or leave. “Your bathroom’s across the hall, by the way.”
Rumi gave a small nod, her eyes still scanning the room.
Her room.
That thought sunk in slowly. Her own space. Not just a guest room. Not somewhere she was borrowing until someone changed their mind. It was hers.
She stepped over to the desk and brushed her fingers along the surface. It was smooth and cool under her skin.
She glanced toward the doorway—Zoey was still there, still hovering. Rocking gently like a buoy on water.
“Are there any limits on what I can do with the room?” Rumi asked suddenly. She wasn’t sure why it came out, but it did. Maybe because the last place she lived had so many unspoken rules. Muted blues. Plain sheets. Nothing on the walls.
Zoey chuckled. “Nope. Do whatever you want with it. It’s yours.”
That made something warm press against Rumi’s chest. She nodded slowly.
“Do you have more… stuff?” Zoey asked after a quiet beat.
“Hm?”
“More boxes,” Zoey clarified, gesturing toward the small stack.
“Oh—yes. They’re in my car. I still need to bring the rest up.”
“I can help if you want?” Zoey offered brightly. “Save you a million back-and-forths. Four hands are better than two!”
Rumi blinked at her, brows furrowing slightly. “Four hands…?”
Zoey burst out laughing. “Because I have two hands and you have two hands. That makes four, silly!”
“Oh. Right. Sorry, I’m just still taking this all in,” Rumi muttered, dragging a hand over her warm face.
“It’s fine!” Zoey beamed. “C’mon, let’s go get the rest.”
“Right.” Rumi grabbed her keys, still feeling a little off-kilter as she followed her out.
After they brought in all of Rumi’s boxes, Zoey had insisted on helping her unpack—even though Rumi said she was fine.
“I’ve got nothing better to do,” Zoey had said, already slicing open the next box with her keys. “Plus, I’m nosy. I wanna see what kind of stuff you keep.”
She’d asked Rumi a ton of questions—about her major, her hobbies, if she liked horror movies or rom-coms, what her zodiac sign was. Rumi tried her best to answer, keeping things short but polite. She hoped she didn’t come off as rude; she just wasn’t great at this sort of thing.
But Zoey didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she kept the conversation going like she barely noticed.
Somewhere between folding clothes and stacking books, Zoey had told her she was majoring in fine arts—“I like drawing sad little guys and pretending it’s deep,” she joked—and that Mira was studying fashion design. Apparently, Mira did choreography too, and helped with small showcase performances on campus.
Rumi hadn’t even realized Zoey mentioned Mira so often until it started to feel... notable. Unintentional, but constant. Not in a bad way—it just made Rumi curious.
“Man, you sure have a lot of books,” Zoey hummed, crouched in front of the shelf that was already built into the wall. She slipped a few paperbacks into an open slot, squinting at the titles.
“Well... I like to read, so...” Rumi shrugged, kneeling beside another half-empty box.
Zoey chuckled. “Mira likes to, too. Maybe y’all could have a reading sesh sometime.”
Rumi hummed, about to respond, when she caught a flash of light from Zoey’s phone screen. It was face-up next to them on the floor, and the banner notification had popped up just long enough for Rumi to register the name.
Hot Pocket 🔥❤️❤️
U want sushi or ramen for dinner?
Rumi blinked and quickly looked away. She hadn’t meant to peek—it was just right there. And also... what kind of contact name was Hot Pocket?
Zoey plopped back down beside her a second later, startling Rumi slightly as she grabbed her phone. Her face lit up instantly, smile widening as she typed out a reply.
“You like ramen?” she asked, glancing up from her screen. “Mira’s bringing some later.”
Rumi hesitated. She hadn’t expected Zoey to include her in the dinner plans. “Um. Yeah. I mean—I do. But you don’t have to—”
“Nonsense,” Zoey interrupted, waving her off with a grin. “I already told her to bring some for you anyway.”
Rumi opened her mouth to respond.
Then closed it.
She shifted where she sat, brushing a piece of lint off her jeans, then glanced at Zoey again. “Is she... somewhere right now?”
“Yeah. She had an afternoon class today, so she’ll be back a little later.” Zoey started arranging the books by height, even though Rumi hadn’t planned to organize them like that.
Rumi nodded. She wasn’t sure what to say next.
Before she could think it through, the words slipped out before she could catch them:
“You seem to talk about her a lot.”
Zoey blinked.
Then grinned.
“Well, duh. She’s my girlfriend, after all. Who wouldn’t?”
Oh. That made sense.
Rumi guessed she just hadn’t expected it. She didn’t have a problem with it, obviously—but she’d been piecing things together and now it all just clicked.
Zoey must’ve read something else in her silence, though, because she suddenly narrowed her eyes.
“You’re not... homophobic, right?”
Rumi went stiff. “No! I mean—God, no. I’m not—” She waved her hands vaguely, voice stumbling. “I’m on both teams. I just wasn’t expecting—I didn’t—”
Zoey burst out laughing, dropping her head against her knees as she snorted. “Kidding, kidding!” she wheezed.
She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “But for real, if you were, I’d probably have to kick you out before dinner.”
Rumi just gave a small, sheepish smile. Her heart was still hammering, but... at least Zoey was nice.
“Anyway,” Zoey said, getting to her feet and stretching her arms overhead, “you want something to drink? I can make you some tea?”
Rumi blinked at her. “Uh, yeah—I’d like that.”
She stood too, arms brushing slightly as they moved to the kitchen together.
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
They chatted for a while in the kitchen as Zoey turned on the kettle—or, well, Zoey talked for the both of them, and Rumi just responded.
Rumi felt herself relaxing a bit. Zoey just had this kind of vibe that made everything feel lighter, like you didn’t need to try so hard to be interesting or say the right thing.
Rumi leaned against the counter, listening to Zoey ramble about different teas.
“Okayyy,” Zoey said, peering into the cabinet. “We’ve got Sleepy Time, Stress Relief, Angry Divorce Lawyer Lemon Zest…”
Rumi couldn’t help but chuckle quietly. Because this woman was really just… so silly.
Zoey caught it and turned with a grin. "Hey, was that a laugh? Is that our first laugh? Look at you, getting comfortable already."
Rumi shrugged lightly, folding one arm over herself. “You’re nice company, I guess.”
Zoey’s expression softened. She bumped her shoulder gently against Rumi’s with a smile. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
She moved back to the cabinets and pulled out two mugs. “Okay, but seriously—which flavor do you want?”
“I guess I’ll go with Angry Divorce? Sounds... appealing in a way.”
“Oh, you don’t understand,” Zoey said, eyes wide as she took out the packets. “It’s so goood.”
She turned, holding the box like it was sacred. “You like yours with honey? Sugar?”
“Honey.” Rumi hummed, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
A few minutes later, Zoey handed her a steaming cup of tea in a cracked mug that looked like some weird green monster mouth with teeth. The handle was slightly off, and the green paint was chipped in places—it was both mildly terrifying and strangely charming. Rumi gently blew at the top before taking a careful sip.
Zoey watched her expectantly, raising her own mug. “Good?”
“Good,” Rumi affirmed, nodding.
They drank in relative silence after that. Rumi’s eyes wandered around the kitchen, taking in how cozy it was. Warm lights. Soft clinking sounds. Familiar chaos.
Then her gaze landed on the fridge—where at least a dozen weird magnets were stuck in scattered patterns. One looked like a cowboy hat, one was shaped like a pickle, and another was just a blurry printout of a cat’s butt.
Yeah, they sure were weird alright.
Zoey noticed her staring and perked up.
“Ah, yes. The shrine.” She pointed to one shaped like a flaming taco. “Okay, that one? Mira and I had to wrestle a grandma for it. Limited edition. Last one on the rack. Mira said ‘let her have it,’ and I said ‘over my dead body.’”
Rumi blinked. “You wrestled a grandma?”
“Oh, she was built. No regrets,” Zoey said proudly, then moved closer. “But look—this one’s got bite marks.”
She opened her mouth to show off one of her chipped teeth.
“Was that from the wrestling?” Rumi asked, half-concerned.
Zoey chuckled and shook her head. “Nah. That was from a different magnet. They made you bite the one you picked, said it was for good luck or whatever. I committed—and chipped a tooth. That’s why if you look close enough...”
She pointed.
“Teeth prints. Right there.”
Rumi leaned in, squinting—and yeah. There were definitely some small dents in the plastic.
“Oh yeah. I see it.”
She leaned back again and took another sip. The tea really was good. Warm. Slightly lemony with a kick.
Then came the sound of the front door unlocking. Both of them turned at once.
“Zo? You here?” a low voice called.
“We’re in the kitchen!” Zoey shouted back.
Footsteps padded closer until a tall woman stepped into view. She was wearing a faded band tee and ripped jeans, her bright pink hair slightly tousled. Sharp eyebrows. Sharp cheekbones. Calm, but intense energy.
Rumi found herself blinking—taken aback. She looked so... pretty (respectfully, of course).
The woman dropped two plastic bags on the counter—probably the ramen Zoey mentioned—and glanced over, immediately catching Rumi’s stare. Her expression was unreadable, but whatever it was made Rumi’s chest tighten a little. She looked down quickly.
“Mira! This is our new roommate, Rumi. Rumi, Mira, Mira, Rumi!” Zoey grinned, moving toward the food and inhaling dramatically. “Ohhh, that smells so good.”
“Hi,” Rumi offered after a beat, raising her hand in a small, awkward wave. She fidgeted with her sleeve and darted a glance between Mira and the countertop.
Mira didn’t respond right away. Her eyes lingered on Rumi just a second too long before she gave a small nod.
“Hey,” she said, voice low and even. Then she shifted her gaze to Zoey. “Gonna shower. Don’t touch the food yet.”
“Fine,” Zoey groaned. “But be quick. I’ve been waiting all day. I’m dying over here.”
Mira rolled her eyes on her way out.
Once she was out of earshot, Rumi leaned in toward Zoey, voice hushed.
“Is she... upset or something?”
Zoey blinked. “Who, Mira? Oh—no, that’s just how she looks.” She paused, then added with a laugh, “And sounds, most of the time. But she’s a real sweetheart once you get to know her.”
She grinned suddenly.
“Here—watch this. Mira!” she called.
There was a brief pause before Mira’s voice answered from the hallway.
“Yes, Zoey?”
“I love you!” Zoey said brightly, nearly bouncing in place.
Rumi watched in stunned silence as Mira poked her head back around the corner. Her face softened instantly. A small smile pulled at her lips as she rolled her eyes lightly.
“Love you too,” she said, then disappeared again.
Zoey nudged Rumi with her elbow, smug.
“See? Total sweetheart.”
Rumi blinked. Still a little wide-eyed. “Yeah. I see that now.”
Rumi decided to take a shower too, and when she returned, she saw Mira and Zoey curled up on the couch together. Zoey’s feet were draped over Mira’s lap, and Mira’s arm rested casually along the back of the couch behind her. The food they’d ordered was sprawled out on the coffee table in front of them.
Zoey turned at the sound of footsteps and smiled. “Rumi, your food’s still in the kitchen—Mira got you miso. I hope that’s okay?”
“Oh. Yeah, that’s fine.” Rumi smiled politely and made her way to the kitchen. She took the ramen container, poured it into a bowl, grabbed some chopsticks, and started heading toward her room—figuring she’d give them a little privacy.
But she stopped when Zoey called out.
“Rumi?”
Rumi turned around. “Yes?”
Zoey’s brows were furrowed slightly, and Mira was looking at her oddly, too. “Where are you going?”
Rumi blinked, confused. “Uh… in my room? Oh! Is eating in the rooms not allowed or something—I’m sorry—”
“No, no, no,” Zoey interrupted with a small snort.
“I meant, like—you don’t want to come sit and eat with us? I’m picking a movie tonight. It’s fine if you don’t want to, though. No pressure.”
Mira nodded in agreement, her expression neutral but not unkind.
Rumi blinked again. She hadn’t expected that.
They don’t want to be alone? With each other?
She thought she'd just be intruding.
“…Sure. I’ll stay.” Rumi walked back over and sat on the opposite end of the couch.
“Great! Movie time!” Zoey beamed. “I have this one that's dumb—but like, comfort dumb, you know what I mean?”
Mira squinted at the screen and read the description aloud.
“‘A cursed ceramic clown haunts a retirement home…’ Zoey.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure this is a comfort movie?”
“Oh, relax,” Zoey waved a hand. “I’ve seen good reviews all around. It’s not gonna be bad, promise.”
Mira still looked unconvinced but sighed. “Whatever you say.” She began eating her noodles.
The movie began to play, and Zoey immediately started commenting on everything. Mira joined in too, mocking the characters’ poor decisions and total lack of common sense.
Rumi stayed quiet as she ate, amused as she watched them interact. It was easy and effortless between them—like they had their own rhythm.
Then Zoey tried some of her own noodles and immediately turned red, fanning her face.
“It burns!”
“I told you,” Mira said calmly, “that one was spicy. You should’ve gotten the one you always get.”
“But I wanted to get my spice tolerance up! I’m going to keep eating it!”
“I don’t think that’s how it works...”
“I feel like a dragon,” Zoey groaned. “Like, my throat burns. Is this how they feel after they burp or something?”
Mira slurped her noodles. “Probably. But they’re used to it. Not you.”
“Never doubt!” Zoey scooped more into her mouth, then closed her eyes dramatically. “Just think like a dragon… be like a dragon… feel like a dragon.”
She opened her eyes with a sharp exhale.“You are the dragon.”
Mira watched her, visibly amused.
Zoey took another bite, chewed quickly, and immediately gasped. “Nope—nope, can’t do it.” She chugged her soda like her life depended on it.
“Seems like your dragon wasn’t strong enough,” Mira said with a smirk.
“Shut up! It so is—just give it time, I don’t know.” She huffed, then paused. Her eyes lit up.
She turned slowly toward Mira, and Mira immediately groaned.
“Would you still—”
“Yes,” Mira cut her off flatly. “Yes, I would still love you if you were a dragon. Just like the other times I said I would if you were a worm, a frog, a pig, a turtle, and even a chair.”
“Okay!” Zoey sounded pleased. “Just making sure.”
The movie kept playing and, weirdly enough, it was actually entertaining. Until it suddenly wasn’t.
Rumi blinked at the screen.
Was that… a clown with spider legs?
Zoey covered her mouth. Mira looked physically offended.
“Is he—? Did he just rip off his own—?” Zoey asked, eyes wide.
“Did that senior citizen just eat it?” Rumi whispered, equally horrified.
They all sat there in stunned silence as the screen faded to black and the credits rolled.
Trauma. That’s what that was. Group trauma.
Later, they cleaned up together, the kitchen filled with low conversation about what they’d just watched.
Mira tossed a takeout box in the trash and glanced at Rumi. “Remind me to never let her pick another movie again.”
“Agreed,” Rumi said with a small smile.
“C’mon, it wasn’t that bad,” Zoey tried, sheepishly stacking their bowls.
“Just… a little unnerving?”
“It definitely was unnerving,” Mira muttered. “It feels like my brain’s neurons have been fried.”
“So dramatic,” Zoey huffed, nudging Mira in the side.
Once the kitchen was clean, they all headed down the hall toward their rooms.
“Goodnight, Rumi. Sweet dreams,” Zoey said with a soft smile.
“Yeah, night,” Mira added, slipping into her room, Zoey trailing behind her.
“Goodnight to you too,” Rumi muttered with a wave, then disappeared into her own room.
She plopped down on the bed with a sigh, closing her eyes for a moment and letting the day sink in.
It wasn’t bad.
Actually… It was kind of nice.
She hadn’t expected to feel comfortable this quickly. She wasn’t used to kindness that didn’t come with conditions.
Zoey’s warmth. Mira’s quiet amusement. The weird fridge magnets. Even the dumb clown movie. It all made her feel something she hadn’t in a while.
Home-ish.
She sat up and undid her braid, fingers scratching gently at her scalp with a low hum of relief. Her phone buzzed. She blinked at the screen as it lit up, squinting at the brightness.
A notification from Jinu.
[Evil boy👿]
How was it?
Are you still alive?
Hope they didn’t chop up your body
And I’m talking to your ghost rn 👻
[Rumi]
God you’re so annoying.
[Evil boy👿]
Taking that as a yes
[Rumi]
Die.
Rumi rolled her eyes and shut off her phone. She turned over onto her back and stared at the ceiling, letting her eyes fall closed again.
She didn’t say it out loud, but…
This might actually be okay.