Chapter 1: Awkward Beginnings
Chapter Text
Zoey shifted the strap of her backpack on her shoulder as she glanced at the last stack of boxes waiting beside the entrance of the dorm complex. The late afternoon sun cut through the leaves lining the walkway, casting dappled shadows across the concrete path. She could hear the faint hum of cars passing in the distance and the soft buzz of students moving in, the air thick with the mixture of excitement and chaos that always came with the start of a new semester.
“Got the last of your boxes?” a voice called from beside her.
Zoey looked up to see a guy leaning against his car, turquoise hair catching the sunlight in a way that made it seem almost unreal. He smirked lazily, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, like he had nothing pressing to do at all.
“Yeah,” Zoey replied, trying to keep her voice steady despite the slight ache in her arms from carrying the heavier boxes. “Finally.”
He gave a small nod, tilting his head. “Alright, I guess my job here’s done then.”
Zoey frowned, shifting a box from one arm to another. “Wait—you’re just… leaving? I mean, can’t you stick around for a bit?”
He shrugged, the casual motion betraying the slight tug of concern beneath it. “I have my own unpacking to deal with. You’ll be fine. Don’t overthink it.” Before she could protest again, he climbed into his car and drove off, tires crunching over the gravel as he disappeared down the street.
Zoey let out a long sigh, resting her hands on her hips. “Figures,” she muttered under her breath. Then, mustering all her energy, she hoisted the first box and started trudging it into the building, her sneakers squeaking softly on the floor. She could see the chaos spilling into the hall: students wrestled couches and boxes through the corridor, laughed and apologized as they bumped past one another, and muttered under their breath while assembling desks or unpacking crates.
Meanwhile, further down the hall, a younger woman with a vivid purple braid swinging slightly with each step, walked through the chaos. She was scrolling through her phone, the screen illuminating her face in soft shades of blue and gold. She was tall and athletic, she carried herself like she owned the space, every movement measured and confident. She didn’t notice the boxes stacked haphazardly in the hallway until—
“Ah!”
The sound startled both of them. Zoey stumbled, dropping a box, and the other girl flinched, jerking her phone up just in time. Their eyes met for the first time.
“Oh! I—I’m so sorry,” Zoey stammered, cheeks flushing as she bent down to pick up the fallen box.
The girl’s gaze swept over Zoey, noting the nervous tension in her posture, the way she kept her arms close to her body as if trying to make herself smaller. She seemed… reserved. Introverted, maybe even cautious of strangers.
“It’s fine,” The purple-haired girl said, voice steady but warm, as she crouched down to help Zoey lift the box, “It was my fault.” There was a moment of silence before the girl asked, “Are you new here?”
Zoey nodded, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Yeah. I’m Zoey…” She offered a small, tentative smile.
The girl’s lips curved into a faint smile, a little intimidating but not unkind. “Rumi.” she replied before speaking once more, “Looks like we’re roommates.” Her tone had a confidence to it, like she owned the hallway just by walking through it, and Zoey couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed by it.
Rumi reached out and gently lifted one side of Zoey’s box, her movements effortless. “Here, I’ve got it,” she said, a small smirk tugging at her lips, “it’s the least I can do.” Zoey let out a relieved laugh, matching her pace as they navigated the narrow hallway toward their shared dorm. “Thanks… I didn’t think I’d manage this on my own,” Zoey admitted, adjusting the strap of her backpack. Rumi shrugged casually, holding the box steady. “No problem. Welcome to the chaos,” she said, nodding toward the bustling hallway outside their door.
As they carried the box down the hallway, Zoey’s mind buzzed with possibilities, her heart doing little flips she couldn’t quite control. Okay, new semester, new place… new me? Maybe this could actually be fun. She glanced at Rumi, noting the easy confidence in her stride, and felt a spark of hope. What if this is the perfect chance to make a friend? Someone who actually gets it, who laughs at the same ridiculous things I do… Her fingers fidgeted with the strap of her backpack as she imagined late-night chats, inside jokes, and sharing snacks while cramming for assignments. Yeah, yeah… this could totally be the start of something good.
Once they made it to their shared dorm Rumi set the box down near Zoey’s bedroom door.
Zoey, still standing in the doorway, spoke up, “Uhm, I was thinking of going to one of the stores nearby to get some snacks later.” It was silent for a bit while Rumi stared at her. Zoey quickly blurted out, “that’s if you want to come with!” she rubbed the back of her head nervously.
Rumi laughed softly, the tension in her shoulders easing. “I think I will. I mean I haven't eaten since this morning.”
“Perfect! Then let’s go get something quick before it gets too late.” Zoey beamed.
As they walked down the hall toward the exit, Zoey couldn’t help but notice the way Rumi moved—confident, deliberate, like every step was measured. She seemed like someone who had everything together, someone a little intimidating, but… not in a mean way.
“I have to warn you,” Zoey said quietly, glancing at Rumi, “I’m really bad at navigating this campus. I’ve gotten lost twice already.”
Rumi smirked. “You’re in luck, then. I’m excellent at directions. I’ll get us to the nearest snack spot before you even realize we’re there.”
Zoey felt a little flutter of relief. Maybe this awkward first encounter wouldn’t be so bad after all. As they stepped out into the soft glow of the evening, the noise of the city and distant chatter of students blending together, she felt… hopeful. Maybe this semester wouldn’t be so lonely, after all.
Rumi and Zoey were halfway down the street when a sudden shuffle of boxes caught their attention. Rumi instinctively stepped to the side—but not fast enough. They nearly collided with someone coming from the opposite direction, a tall figure awkwardly balancing a stack of boxes that threatened to topple over.
“Oh! Excuse me!” the person said immediately, his voice polite and even, though his eyebrows shot up in a fleeting expression of mild exasperation. He was tall, obviously strong, with a lightly tanned complexion that caught the warm sunlight just right. His deep raspberry hair was styled short and precise, his dark, barbed-pointed eyebrows giving him an unexpectedly fierce edge. Rumi’s eyes widened slightly as they both scanned the figure’s defined arms and toned abs, which were just visible through the fitted T-shirt he wore. Wow… okay, that’s—fine. Really fine, Rumi thought, her cheeks warming as she quickly looked away.
The man set his boxes down carefully, straightening with a small sigh. How many times am I going to bump into people today? he mused internally, though he didn’t let it show externally. His polite smile remained, but the small mental comment lingered as he adjusted his stance and looked between the two girls.
“I—I’m sorry, we weren’t watching,” Rumi said smoothly, stepping aside with her usual poise, though a corner of her mouth twitched like she wanted to smirk at the situation.
The mysterious, striking man before them—shook his head lightly. “No worries,” he said softly, voice like smooth honey over velvet. “It’s… kind of expected, I guess, on move-in day.”
Zoey, meanwhile, was still caught in a subtle stare, her internal monologue running rampant. He's… wow. he’s ripped, and that hair—oh my god, that hair. I can’t even—okay, breathe. She tried to straighten herself, tugging at her backpack strap in a futile attempt to look nonchalant, but the heat creeping up her neck betrayed her.
Rumi, sensing the distraction, glanced over at Zoey with a knowing look. “You’re staring,” she teased lightly, though her tone wasn’t mean—just an observation.
Zoey swallowed and shook her head, embarrassed. “I’m… not,” she mumbled, but her flustered blush said otherwise.
The tall boy gave a soft laugh, still smiling politely. “It’s fine. Really. Just… watch the corners,” he added before picking up his boxes again, the muscles in his arms flexing subtly with the effort. Zoey couldn’t help but notice again, and this time she let herself internally groan, just a little.
As he moved on down the street, Zoey whispered under her breath, half to Rumi and half to herself, “Okay… yeah. he’s ridiculously fine. I might… die.”
Rumi rolled her eyes, though she hid the smirk forming at her own amusement. “Try not to get distracted before we even reach the snack place,” she muttered, guiding Zoey forward again, both of them laughing lightly despite the chaos of move-in day surrounding them.
The pink haired-boy set his boxes down, once more, with a soft thud, rubbing his shoulders and letting out a low groan. He glanced up at the street again, still feeling the lingering annoyance from nearly bumping into the two girls moments ago. He pulled out his phone, tapping at the screen to pull up the campus map, his brow furrowed.
“You know,” he muttered, his voice low but edged with irritation, “people really should watch where they’re walking. It’s move-in day, but come on.”
From behind the boxes, a voice called out without even looking up. “Oh, really, Abby?” Mira’s tone was sly, teasing in the way she always had when she wanted a reaction. She was perched slightly behind him, her long, pink hair falling in flowing twin ponytails with two side bangs framing her angular face. Her brown, slim eyes glimmered with mischief as she scanned the map on her phone. Her tall, skinny frame leaned against the wall, giving off the effortless air of someone entirely in control of the situation.
Abby froze for a second, caught off guard by the teasing. “What?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.
Mira smirked, shifting the phone in her hand. “Technically, you’re the one blocking your own view with all those boxes, so… them bumping into you? Kind of your fault.”
Abby blinked, then felt the familiar spark of irritation flare. “That’s even more reason why they should watch where they’re going!” he shot back, the edges of his words sharp, his voice rising slightly.
Mira rolled her eyes, letting out a soft scoff that barely masked her amusement. “I was joking, Abby,” she said lightly, her smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. She let the words linger, clearly enjoying the fact that she had baited him into arguing.
Abby huffed, running a hand through his short, deep raspberry-colored hair, dark eyebrows furrowed. “Yeah, well… still.” He paused, glancing at the boxes around him. “I can’t believe we’re going to the same university.”
Mira leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, eyes glinting. “I can’t believe it either,” she said dryly, her voice laced with sarcasm.
The street fell into a brief, companionable silence, broken only by the muffled sounds of other students moving in around them and cars darting down the road. Abby’s jaw tightened, and after a few moments he spoke again, quieter this time. “We’ve… been going to the same school since we were kids.”
Mira gave a slow nod, humming softly in acknowledgment, her pink ponytails swaying as she shifted her weight. Silence settled again, stretching comfortably between the two, filled only by the faint sounds of bustling move-in activity.
Finally, Abby’s voice cut through once more, tinged with curiosity and lingering worry. “Do you think… Ae-jin is going to be here too–?”
Mira let out a long, exasperated sigh, the kind that made it perfectly clear she was utterly done with his endless chatter. Abby froze for a moment, then nodded quickly, his hands raised in mock surrender. “Got it, got it… no more talking,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching as though trying not to smile despite Mira’s obvious irritation.
Mira gave a small, satisfied smirk, glancing back at the map on her phone as if nothing had happened, letting Abby stew in his half-annoyed, half-amused state. The boxes around them stood like silent witnesses to their familiar, bantering dynamic—one that had endured years of shared classrooms, playgrounds, and now, finally, during university move-in day.
When Mira finally unlocked the door to her apartment, she let out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh. Her parents had insisted on buying her this place—a sleek, modern apartment in a quiet complex just a few blocks from campus. Originally, she had resisted the idea; a part of her hated the thought of being coddled even at nineteen. But as she stepped inside, Mira realized that this was her one real chance to escape the constant prying eyes and suffocating expectations of her family, at least for a little while. Her gaze swept over the minimalist furnishings her parents had thoughtfully—or annoyingly—provided, the large windows letting in sunlight that made the pale walls glow warmly. Shaking herself from her thoughts, she let out a breath and opened the door wider so Abby could step inside and put her boxes down.
As Abby maneuvered the stack of crates into the corner, a voice sliced through the quiet, drawing Mira’s attention instantly. Her eye twitched, a subtle warning signal that she was moments away from snapping.
“Hey Mir, funny seeing you here,”
Ae-jin. The infuriatingly perfect human being who seemed to exist solely to provoke her. His long pink hair, styled in a fluffy wolfcut, caught the sunlight streaming through the window, giving him an almost ethereal glow that only made her irritation worse. His angular face bore the faintest hint of blush, and his brown eyes sparkled with that smug, calculating awareness that he knew exactly how attractive he was—and exactly how much it got under her skin. Mira’s lips pressed into a thin line as he leaned casually against the wall, hands tucked into the pockets of his fitted jacket, radiating effortless confidence.
“Ae-jin,” she hissed, her tone dripping with irritation. “Are you still obsessed with commenting on everything I do?”
He smirked, tilting his head slightly as if her anger was endearing. “Obsessed? Mir, I’m merely… observant. It’s a gift, really.” His voice was calm, smooth, and infuriatingly precise, each word landing with just enough condescension to drive her insane. Abby, who had just finished arranging the last box, glanced between them, completely oblivious to the history and tension simmering in the room.
“You two are still at it, huh?” Abby said lightly, chuckling as he set his hands on his hips.
Mira’s eyebrows knitted together. “It’s not at ‘it.’ He’s… just unbearable,” she muttered under her breath, her gaze snapping back to Ae-jin.
“I suppose you could say the same about you,” he replied effortlessly, brown eyes glinting, the faint blush on his cheeks making him look even more infuriatingly composed.
Abby, sensing the perfect moment for a little disruption, leaned casually against the wall and called out, “Hey Romance, my guy!”
Ae-jin frowned sharply, straightening just enough to glare at him. “Abby… stop calling me that,” he said, voice clipped but with a subtle undertone of amusement.
Abby shrugged, grinning. “What? I’m just saying what everyone knows. Back in high school, all the girls considered you the heartthrob.”
Ae-jin’s lips curved into a scoff, and he flicked his hair back with a graceful roll of his eyes. “I suppose that’s true,” he admitted, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, almost as if he enjoyed the praise while pretending to dismiss it.
Mira let out a sharp exhale, rolling her eyes so hard it practically hurt. “I’m going to my room,” she muttered, pushing both Abby and Ae-jin out of her apartment. Before either of them could protest or continue the verbal joust, she slipped inside her apartment, shutting and locking the door behind her. Abby and Ae-jin were left standing in the center of the floor’s hallway, the tension between Mira and Ae-jin lingering like a charged current in the air. Abby’s grin widened, while Ae-jin leaned against his own doorway, exuding that calm, infuriating aura that made it impossible not to notice him.
“Well, she’s in a mood today, isn’t she?” Abby muttered, leaning casually against the wall outside Mira’s locked apartment. He crossed his arms, glancing at the polished door like it held all the secrets of Mira’s current irritation.
Ae-jin, scrolling through his phone with an effortless air of composure, rolled his eyes. “She’s always in a mood, you know this,” he said, his voice calm, precise, almost indulgent, as if the world itself expected Mira to be perpetually high-strung.
Abby smirked, a mischievous glint lighting his brown eyes as he leaned closer, just enough to nudge Ae-jin’s shoulder. “Well, since it’s just me and you now, pretty boy,” he teased, the nickname drawing a faint blush to Ae-jin’s cheeks, though he quickly tried to mask it by adjusting his fluffy pink wolfcut.
Abby’s grin widened, and he tilted his head, eyes sparkling with mock innocence. “Wanna help me with my dorm? Pretty please?” He practically pleaded, puppy-dog eyes fully engaged, leaning on charm as his weapon of choice.
Ae-jin looked up from his phone briefly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, but didn’t respond. “I’m not helping you,” he said finally, voice smooth and slightly amused. “If you wanted help, you should’ve asked Mira before she locked you out of her apartment.”
Abby’s smirk faltered, but only for a moment. He leaned closer, voice dropping conspiratorially. “Anything. I’d do anything you say.”
Ae-jin froze mid-step, the corner of his lips curling into a faint, almost imperceptible smirk as he slowly turned his gaze back to Abby. “Anything you say?”His tone was deliberate, teasing, and Abby’s heart skipped a beat at the challenge in his eyes. He was already in his own apartment but Abby’s suggestion peaked his interest.
Abby nodded vigorously, leaning forward slightly, determination flashing in his dark eyes. Ae-jin sighed dramatically, then gestured with one hand toward the door, his other hand gripping the doorknob to the front door firmly. “Stand right in front of my doorstep,” he instructed, the faintest amusement threading through his voice.
Abby’s chest puffed out, anticipation and excitement mixing in equal measure, ready for whatever challenge Ae-jin would throw his way. But Ae-jin’s next words came like a sledgehammer to Abby’s plans.
“Here’s what I want you to do,” Ae-jin began, his grip tightening on the doorknob as he leaned slightly on the doorframe, “I want you to—get out of my sight.”
The words hit Abby like a cold splash of water. Ae-jin didn’t wait for any protest; with a sharp movement, he slammed the door in Abby’s face. Abby stood frozen for a beat, blinking at the smooth, closed surface as if the door itself had just smirked at him. Then, letting out a low, frustrated groan, he muttered, “Smooth, Romance… very smooth,” running a hand through his messy deep-raspberry hair as he stepped back into the hallway.
Abby trudged back to his dorm, the weight of his own boxes a reminder that he’d been rejected not once, but twice today. He let out a low sigh, adjusting the straps as he navigated the bustling hallway. The earlier encounters still played in his mind—the smug smirk of Ae-jin, Mira’s locked door—and he couldn’t help but mutter under his breath, “Funny… both of you.”
Finally reaching his own apartment-style dorm, he paused at the threshold, catching a glimpse of one of his roommates for the first time. The guy was leaning against the wall in the safety of his own room, seemingly unfazed by the chaos outside. He had a slim frame and long limbs, tall enough to make Abby’s first impression slightly imposing, but his posture was relaxed, calm, almost unreadable. Straight black hair fell neatly around his angular face, framing pale skin that almost glowed under the soft apartment lights. Dark brown eyes met Abby’s gaze for a fraction of a second, and pierced ears caught the light as he tilted his head slightly, studying Abby as intently as Abby was studying him.
Abby blinked, realizing he had probably been staring far too long. He let out a low, awkward chuckle, feeling heat rush to his cheeks. Okay, not creepy, just… evaluating. Yeah, totally normal, he told himself. The other guy—who didn’t even know Abby’s name yet—looked genuinely conflicted, like he couldn’t tell if Abby was sizing him up to fight or simply questioning why he existed in the same space.
Abby cleared his throat, lifting a hand in a half-hearted wave. “Uh, sorry for… you know… staring daggers,” he said, forcing a grin. The other guy blinked once, expression neutral, though there was something in his calm gaze that suggested he wasn’t offended.
Dropping his boxes with a soft thud on the floor, Abby finally stepped inside, letting his nerves settle into the familiar rhythm of moving in. “Hey,” he said, offering a proper greeting. “I’m… uh, Abby. Your, uh… roommate.”
The guy straightened slightly, a small, almost imperceptible smirk tugging at his lips as he extended a hand. “I’m Jinu,” he said, voice smooth and even, carrying a quiet charisma that didn’t need to shout to be noticed. There was a subtle charm in the way he held himself, calm and collected, and Abby couldn’t help but notice. Not as flamboyant as Ae-jin, but there was a quiet magnetism there, something that made you want to pay attention without realizing it.
Abby shook his hand, still grinning, though a little awkwardly. “Cool… nice to meet you, Jinu. Looks like we’re stuck with each other for a while, huh?”
Jinu tilted his head slightly, dark eyes flicking toward the boxes, then back to Abby. “Seems that way,” he said smoothly, letting his words hang between them. There was a quiet confidence in him, something steady that made Abby feel a little less like the chaotic ball of energy he usually was.
Abby set his hands on his hips, looking around at the room, mentally cataloging the space for where he might stash snacks, bags, and essentials. “Alright, guess we should get you settled in too,” he said, nodding toward Jinu’s corner of the room. Jinu gave a faint nod, stepping aside to let Abby move freely, still exuding that calm, collected vibe that somehow made Abby feel simultaneously at ease and slightly intimidated.
For a moment, the apartment felt quiet, the chaos of move-in day reduced to the soft hum of the fridge and the distant sounds of other students. Abby let out a low whistle, shaking his head with a grin. “Man… you’re way too chill for this school, Jinu,” he muttered, half to himself. Jinu’s smirk deepened just slightly, and Abby knew this was going to be… interesting.
Just as Abby and Jinu were settling into a rhythm, the door creaked open, and another figure stepped into the apartment. The guy had turquoise hair that seemed to glow under the soft overhead lights, styled in a fluffy mop top that gave him a carefree, almost mischievous aura. His slender frame and long limbs moved with ease as he kept his focus on a Nintendo Switch in his hands, thumbs flying across the buttons.
“Hey—” Abby started, waving, but the newcomer barely glanced up, completely airing them out as if they were invisible. Abby’s eyebrows shot up, and he quickly lunged forward, grabbing the stranger by the shoulder before he could retreat to the safety of his room.
“Whoa, hold up! I’m Abby,” he said, forcing a grin despite the guy’s indifferent aura. “And this is—uh—Jinu.” Jinu simply waved quietly from the back, giving a small nod, his calm presence a stark contrast to Abby’s energy.
The turquoise-haired boy finally looked up, glancing at Abby with a faint flicker of acknowledgment. Abby extended his hand in greeting, holding it out confidently. After a beat, the boy reluctantly took it.
“I’m… Yeon-u,” he said, voice soft, eyes catching the light as they met Abby’s gaze. Abby held the handshake a little longer than necessary, staring intently as if trying to read him like an open book. Yeon-u’s large blue eyes widened slightly, and he quickly pulled his hand back, muttering, “Weirdo,” before turning on his heel and locking his bedroom door with a soft click.
Abby blinked, momentarily stunned, before letting out a low laugh. “Well… that was something.” Jinu, ever composed, just raised an eyebrow, giving Abby a look that said welcome to the roommate lottery .
For a while, the apartment settled into a quiet rhythm again, each boy returning to his own corner, unpacking or lounging as they adjusted to the chaos of move-in day. That is, until another figure emerged from the depths of the last room. His presence was quieter, almost ghostlike. Long, periwinkle-colored hair fell over his face in thick bangs, completely obscuring his eyes. His lean build and long limbs gave him an elegant, almost ethereal silhouette, but his sharp V-shaped jawline suggested a hint of intensity underneath the quiet exterior.
“Uh—hi,” Abby said brightly, trying to bridge the gap, but the boy didn’t respond, only standing there silently as if evaluating the apartment—or them.
Abby stepped a little closer, Jinu silently observing from the back. “I’m Abby, this is Jinu,” he added, voice cheerful, trying not to let the awkward silence stretch too long.
The boy’s long bangs didn’t move, but a soft, calm voice finally cut through the quiet. “Hyun,” he said, and with that, he retreated back into the shadows of his room, the door clicking shut behind him.
Abby and Jinu exchanged glances, both of them frozen for a beat. “Okay… who the hell was that?” Abby whispered, his eyebrows furrowed.
Jinu’s dark eyes scanned the room, lips pressed in a thin line as he shrugged slightly. “I… thought we were three in total,” he muttered, voice quiet, his calm demeanor doing nothing to hide the slight tension of curiosity.
Abby let out a low whistle, sinking into a chair and running a hand through his messy hair. “Yeah… that was a full spectrum. Baby Blue, Mystery, and then Jinu and me,” he muttered, grinning, though he couldn’t hide the hint of awe at how eccentric this first day had already become.
The apartment now felt like a delicate ecosystem, each roommate a different, unpredictable element, and Abby couldn’t help but wonder just how wild the rest of the semester was going to get.
Chapter 2: Just Another Day
Summary:
This is really long and kind of a filler but important as well + Introducing some new dynamics cough cough Zoemira and more Zoerumi at the end >:3
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Two weeks of sharing the same cramped dorm room had shifted Zoey and Rumi from strangers into something that felt like an odd sort of rhythm. By now, mornings meant the same kind of organized chaos: Zoey’s things spread all over her desk like a storm had swept through, while Rumi’s room remained neat, her notebooks stacked in a clean pile by her bed. Somehow, though, they made it work—passing pens and textbooks across the short hallway that divided their bedrooms, tossing snacks back and forth, calling out reminders like they’d been roommates for years.
“Rumi, your notebook—don’t forget that one!” Zoey sang out, shoving a piece of gum into her mouth before slinging her bag over her shoulder. She was perched on one leg, struggling to tie the laces of her sneakers.
Rumi caught the notebook mid-air when Zoey tossed it at her. “Thanks,” she said simply, slipping it into her bag. She glanced at the clock. They were running late. Again. Not unusual, though.
“Late, late, late—” Zoey hummed under her breath, bouncing on her toes as she checked herself in the mirror. She pulled her hoodie strings tight and flashed a grin at Rumi. “But hey, fashionably late is still a thing, right?”
Rumi gave a small, helpless laugh. “Not in classes.”
Zoey rolled her eyes dramatically and guided Rumi towards the door. By now, Rumi had gotten used to Zoey’s energy—the way she always had something to say, always had a story, always seemed brighter now that the first-week awkwardness had melted off her. Two weeks ago Zoey barely spoke more than necessary, her smile a little forced. Now she lit up the room like she was finally thawing out from the inside.
They spilled into the hallway, shoulder to shoulder, adjusting bags and half-running to make up for lost time. Their steps synced automatically, as though they’d done this routine a hundred times already. Which they probably have.
“Oh! By the way,” Zoey said suddenly, snapping her fingers like she’d almost forgotten. “Yeon-u’s gonna meet us. I texted him earlier.”
Rumi blinked. Yeon-u. She’d only spoken to him twice, maybe. And if she was honest, both times had been… well, difficult. The boy seemed surgically attached to some sort of device—phone, Switch, tablet, whatever he could get his hands on. And if he wasn’t staring at a screen, he was staring past Rumi like she wasn’t even there. Trying to connect with him was like trying to talk through a locked door.
“Oh.” The word slipped out quieter than she intended.
Zoey’s head tilted toward her, picking up on her silence. “Hey,” she asked, brows furrowing slightly. “You’re okay with that, right? Him tagging along?”
Rumi forced herself to nod quickly, lips pressed into a small line. “Yeah. Of course. It’s fine.”
Zoey’s shoulders loosened in relief. A smile broke over her face—genuine, wide, the kind that made her eyes crinkle at the corners. Then, without warning, she took off down the hall a little faster, the sound of her sneakers squeaking faintly against the polished floor.
Rumi slowed for half a step, watching Zoey’s hoodie bounce as she rushed ahead. Zoey looked so… happy. And not just regular happy—radiant, almost. Like having her two closest people in the same space, even if it was something as small as walking to class together, was enough to make her day.
Whatever makes Zoey happy Rumi thought to herself, tightening her bag strap as she picked up her pace again. The words sounded casual in her head, almost like a shrug, but something underneath them tugged a little deeper.
She didn’t know why she kept noticing Zoey’s smile, or the way her laugh softened even the dullest moments, or why she felt strangely warm at the thought of being the one Zoey always dragged around to late-night study sessions and snack runs. It wasn’t a crush. Not really. More like admiration. Right?
Yeah. Just admiration.
She repeated that to herself as she followed Zoey down the hall, pretending the faint heat rising in her chest was nothing more than the effort of running to class.
The front doors of the dorm building swung open, letting out a gust of cool morning air that carried the faint smell of wet grass and fried food from the campus café across the street. Outside, leaning casually against a railing as if the world itself couldn’t bother him, stood Yeon-u. His posture was lazy but sharp all at once, like a cat who could spring at any second but really couldn’t be bothered to. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, no device glued to his palms this time, just that same blank, unimpressed look plastered across his face.
Zoey spotted him instantly. Her whole body lit up, and before Rumi could blink, Zoey bounded forward with a bounce in her step. “Hey, baby face!” she called out, throwing her arms around him in a hug that Yeon-u stiffly endured.
Yeon-u let out a long, suffering sigh, his shoulders sagging under her grip. “Do you always have to call me that?” His tone was flat, though the faintest twitch of his eyebrow betrayed his irritation.
Zoey leaned back, hands on her hips now, grinning smugly like she’d just won some unseen battle. She nodded vigorously, her braided buns bouncing with the motion. “Obviously. You’ve had the exact same baby face since middle school, and don’t you dare try to deny it.”
Another sigh. That was all she got out of him before he peeled himself free and began walking off down the sidewalk, not sparing a glance back.
“Wait up!” Zoey whined, jogging to catch him, her shoes slapping lightly against the pavement.
Rumi trailed a step behind, watching the whole exchange unfold with her usual composed silence. She was tall, steady, her long braid swaying with each step, but inside her thoughts tangled. The way Zoey lit up around Yeon-u—it was… different. Childish. Unfiltered. Open. Rumi knew she and Zoey had only met two weeks ago, and she wasn’t naïve enough to expect that kind of comfort so soon. Still, watching Zoey tease and tug at Yeon-u so effortlessly stirred something in her chest that she quickly smothered. Jealousy wasn’t the right word—it was too sharp, too bitter. But it was close.
Her thoughts were cut off by Zoey’s sudden burst of energy. “You know what we need?” Zoey announced, pointing dramatically at a small café down the street. “Boba. Obviously. Before class. Let’s go!”
“No.” Yeon-u’s reply was immediate, his voice dry as paper. “We’ll be late.”
“Oh, please.” Zoey dismissed his warning with a wave of her hand. “It’ll only take, like, ten minutes. Tops. We’ll still have time to run if we have to.”
“You’re impossible,” he muttered, slowing his pace but not conceding just yet.
Zoey spun on her heel and shushed him, finger pressed to his lips before he could say another word. “Shhh. Don’t ruin this for me. I always start my day with a good cup of Boba.”
Rumi couldn’t help herself. The corner of her mouth curved in a subtle smirk as she finally spoke up. “I thought the saying was ‘a good cup of coffee.’”
Zoey shot her a playful glance over her shoulder. “Yeah, but Boba sounds better, right? Like, way better. Coffee is tragic. Boba is… life.” She delivered it like a dramatic proclamation, and Rumi found herself stifling a laugh.
They ducked into the little café, the warm smell of tea and sugar syrup filling the air instantly. While Zoey hovered at the counter, chattering animatedly with the barista about toppings and sweetness levels as if she were negotiating world peace, Rumi glanced at Yeon-u.
She figured maybe this was her chance to try. So, with her usual composed tone, she asked, “So… what’s your first class today?”
Yeon-u didn’t even bother looking at her. He just hummed low in his throat. A sound that could’ve meant anything: acknowledgment, disinterest, maybe even annoyance. Rumi tried again. “Morning classes are the worst, aren’t they?”
A short nod.
She pressed, her lips curving slightly. “Do you ever actually talk, or do you prefer speaking in Morse code?”
That earned her something rare—his lips twitched upward, almost a smile, though it vanished as quickly as it appeared.
Rumi counted it as a victory. Progress, she thought. A single sound, maybe a twitch of a smile, but progress all the same.
Just then, Zoey bounced back to them with her cup in hand, straw already stabbed through the plastic lid. She shook it like it was some sacred treasure. “Okay, now we can start the day properly.”
Yeon-u sighed for what felt like the fiftieth time, already turning toward campus. Rumi fell into step beside them, her braid swishing against her back, watching Zoey sip her drink with childlike satisfaction. She didn’t say it out loud, but she found herself wondering—what would it take for Zoey to ever look that carefree with her?
Zoey and Rumi reached the hallway that led to Rumi’s classroom. She grabbed her bag strap with both hands, adjusting it quickly as she caught her breath from the morning rush.
“Alright, this is you,” Zoey said, smiling brightly. “Have a good class, try not to make the professor hate you.” She waved, then started jogging back down the hall, slipping easily into step beside Yeon-u, who followed silently, hands tucked into his pockets.
Rumi watched them leave, shoulders relaxing slightly, her braid swaying as she turned toward her classroom. There was something about watching Zoey’s energy spill over the quiet hall that made her chest feel a little warmer, a little lighter, even if it also carried a pang of longing she didn’t entirely understand.
Meanwhile, Zoey, cheeks still flushed from the morning, barely noticed the swarm of students rushing past. Her attention was focused on Yeon-u and the conversation bouncing between them—his dry remarks balancing her enthusiasm like always. Then, out of nowhere, she accidentally brushed shoulders with someone as they rounded a corner.
For a moment, the world slowed. Zoey’s heart stuttered. She looked up, and even through the curtain of long periwinkle hair that completely covered his eyes, there was something magnetic about the man before her. He paused, then, in a voice that was polite and measured, he said, “Oh, I’m sorry.”
Before Zoey could respond, he slipped back into the tide of students, swallowed by the crowd, leaving her staring after him with wide, sparkling eyes. Her grin immediately turned into the sort of dreamy, starry-eyed expression that could only happen when your brain was too busy registering wow .
“You—snap out of it,” Yeon-u said sharply, giving the back of her head a playful but firm slap.
Zoey blinked, shook her head slightly as if to clear the fog, then immediately returned to gushing. “Did you see him? He—oh my god, Yeon-u, could that be love at first sight?!” Her voice bounced with excitement, practically singing with the possibility.
Yeon-u exhaled, rolling his eyes so hard it was almost audible. “No. It’s not love at first sight. That guy is practically blinded by his own hair. That’s why he bumped into you in the first place.”
Zoey pouted, crossing her arms dramatically, ignoring the faint heat in her cheeks. “You’re no fun! You’re supposed to romanticize things with me!”
“Romanticize?” Yeon-u repeated dryly, glancing at her. “No. Why would I romanticize my roommate? And honestly, he isn’t as dreamy as you think he is.”
Zoey gasped, placing a hand over her chest like he’d just struck her with betrayal. “Wait—put me on! Come on, tell me he is ! Just a little dreamy, please!”
Yeon-u’s lips curved into a faint smirk, but his tone remained unyielding. “Did you forget the part where I said he ISN’T as dreamy as you think he is?”
Zoey groaned, stomping a tiny foot on the floor. “You’re impossible.” Her voice softened into a giggle as she shook her head, cheeks flushed not just from the embarrassment of being scolded, but from some inexplicable thrill at the entire encounter.
Yeon-u only shook his head, muttering under his breath as they turned a corner toward Zoey’s lecture hall. Zoey, meanwhile, continued to glance back at where the stranger had disappeared, already crafting a dozen little scenarios in her head about who he might be and what kind of person hid under that curtain of periwinkle hair.
By the time Zoey and Yeon-u reached the lecture hall, the morning sunlight was filtering through tall windows, casting a warm glow across the rows of wooden desks. The room was large, slightly echoing, with steeply tiered seats that rose toward the back, making it feel more like a small theater than a classroom. A faint smell of chalk and old paper lingered in the air, and students were already settling in, murmuring quietly or tapping at their laptops.
Zoey slipped in a few minutes earlier than expected (considering the fact that they were late earlier– I mean who said that). She carefully found her usual seat near the middle of the lecture hall. As the hum of chatter filled the room, she opened her notebook and began to doodle, small, intricate sketches that twisted and curled across the page. She held it close, her arm slightly shielding it from prying eyes. It wasn’t that what she was drawing was scandalous or wrong—far from it—but there was a lingering fear, buried deep from her middle school years, that someone would judge her, sneer, or worse, laugh.
Her pen moved in careful, deliberate strokes, her focus intense enough that she barely registered the shuffle of footsteps beside her until a soft “hi” made her pause.
Mira.
Zoey’s head barely lifted, her eyes still glued to her notebook, though a small smirk tugged at her lips. “Hey,” she murmured nonchalantly, without breaking her flow.
Mira, who had just slid into the seat next to her, gave a small nod in acknowledgment. Her pink hair, tied into flowing twin ponytails, swayed slightly as she leaned back, craning her slim frame and long arms just enough to peek at Zoey’s notebook.
Zoey caught the motion, side-eyeing her. With a swift flick, she closed the notebook, hiding the contents behind her arm.
Mira sighed, leaning against the desk with a mock exasperation. “You’re never going to show me, are you?”
Zoey’s grin turned bratty, teasing rather than mean. “Maybe I will… if you promise not to laugh,” she said, tone dripping with playful sarcasm. “And maybe I’ll add a dragon eating a llama just for you.”
Mira rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips twitched upward. “Wow. So generous of you.”
As the lecture began, Zoey tucked herself into a comfortable bubble of observation. She whispered sarcastic comments under her breath whenever the professor droned on—comments that Mira caught onto almost immediately. Mira’s slim brown eyes would flicker toward Zoey, a smirk forming as she muttered her own dry remarks about the teacher’s endless slides and monotone voice. Zoey silently chuckled, loud enough for Mira to hear, and that first small laugh—the one Mira caught—had been the spark of their friendship. A tiny connection built on shared humor, small rebellion, and mutual understanding.
Zoey’s thoughts wandered as she glanced at Mira. She’s so cool. I don’t even know how she makes sitting through this torture of a lecture look effortless. She forced herself to focus on the notebook in her lap, doodling just a little quieter. I don’t want to do anything stupid or uncool… I can’t mess this up. Not with her.
Even as they whispered, nudged each other with quiet, sarcastic remarks about the class, Zoey felt a subtle admiration bubble up for Mira. The way Mira’s angular face held amusement and patience at the same time, the way her slim, tall body leaned back without losing composure—it all made Zoey realize she had a lot to live up to if she wanted to maintain this friendship.
And yet, for all that admiration and careful masking of her more bubbly, childish side, Zoey felt a small, thrilling warmth. She was starting to trust someone again, starting to laugh without worrying if she’d be judged. Mira had this effortless presence, one that made Zoey feel like she could breathe a little easier, even while still keeping her cool.
The lecture trundled on, and Zoey’s pen never stopped moving, quietly chronicling thoughts and doodles that she’d later wonder if Mira would ever see. And as the professor droned on, Zoey caught Mira glancing her way again, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at her lips.
The lecture hall slowly emptied as students filed out, the scrape of chairs against the wooden floor echoing faintly. Zoey slipped her phone out of her bag, unlocking it to see a new message waiting. Her thumb hovered over the screen for a second before she smiled. Baby , it said—her nickname for him saved in her phone.
Curiosity piqued, Mira, who had been gathering her things, leaned over slightly with a mischievous smirk. “Wait… are you dating someone?”
Zoey practically jumped in her seat, nearly dropping her notebook in the process. “W-what? No! No, it’s just… it’s just a nickname I gave a friend, just to tease him,” she stammered, waving her hand dismissively. “It’s… uh… weird, I know,” she added quickly, trying to maintain a nonchalant, ‘cool’ aura, even as her cheeks warmed.
There was a brief silence, and Zoey’s thoughts betrayed her panic: Oh no… she definitely thinks I’m weird now. Great, smooth, Zoey. You totally nailed ‘awkward and creepy’ in front of your coolest friend.
Mira raised an eyebrow but didn’t laugh immediately. Instead, she leaned back slightly in her chair, her long, pink twin ponytails swaying as she spoke. “It’s not weird at all. Trust me, I know someone—my friend—who constantly calls another friend all sorts of ridiculous things. ‘Romance,’ ‘pretty boy,’ ‘charming’… it’s so bad I’m starting to wonder if they’re secretly dating or something.”
Zoey blinked, then let out a laugh—slightly too loud, almost bordering on obnoxious as she tried to sound casual. “Haha… yeah, exactly! Totally… not weird at all.” She quickly stuffed her phone back into her bag, hoping the laugh sounded effortless.
Mira, watching her, chuckled softly, an almost imperceptible tilt to her lips. She’s trying so hard to impress me… and it’s adorable, Mira thought quietly, her brown, slim eyes flicking toward Zoey’s expressive face. She knew how to read people, and Zoey’s little performance didn’t go unnoticed.
Then Mira’s own phone buzzed. She glanced at it, and a long string of messages filled the screen from the group chat she shared with her friends—the one with the absurd name that had her rolling her eyes the moment she opened it. It was full of Abby asking if they could hang out, practically blowing up the chat since he had no classes at the moment. Mira muttered under her breath, Of course this ridiculous thing exists… who even thinks of naming a group chat like this? She shook her head, smiling faintly at the silliness.
“I’ve got to go meet up with someone,” Mira said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone, ‘kay?” She gave Zoey a quick wave before slipping out of the lecture hall, her tall frame moving quickly down the aisle.
Zoey stayed seated a moment longer, watching Mira’s back until she was out of sight. A victorious grin spread across her freckled face, and she quietly did a small little victory dance in her seat. Yes! I got Mira to laugh at something dumb I did… I’m basically legendary, she thought, bouncing slightly in place. Her twin braided buns swayed as she pretended to march in triumph, careful to avoid drawing too much attention from any lingering students.
For the first time in weeks, Zoey felt the kind of warmth that wasn’t just excitement or nervous energy—it was a small, satisfying spark of connection. She couldn’t wait to tell Rumi about it later.
The courtyard was bathed in the warm hues of late afternoon, golden light stretching lazily across the neatly paved stone paths. Clusters of students lounged on benches or sprawled across the grass, some with headphones in, others laughing in small groups. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the ornamental trees lining the edges of the courtyard, and the faint scent of blooming flowers mingled with the distant aroma of the campus café. Mira spotted Abby sitting on one of the stone benches, leaning back casually, the sunlight glinting off his short raspberry-colored hair.
“Hey,” Abby greeted, his bright smile widening as he caught sight of her.
“Hey,” Mira replied, settling down beside him. “How’s your afternoon going?”
“Good, good,” Abby said, shrugging. “Classes were alright. Yours?”
Mira tilted her head, glancing at him with her usual nonchalant expression. “Same. Just… in a good mood today.”
Abby raised an eyebrow, a teasing grin tugging at his lips. “Oh? You’re talking more than often now? Mira, is that really you?”
She smirked slightly. “Yes, it’s really me. Don’t get too excited.”
They laughed softly, the quiet ease of their conversation wrapping around them like a comfortable blanket. Suddenly, a girl with shoulder-length brown hair approached, her steps hesitant but purposeful. She stopped in front of Abby, flashing a nervous smile.
“Hi,” she said. “Um, I think we’re in the same comms class? I really liked the way you answered the questions today… and, uh, I was wondering if maybe we could work on the assignment together sometime? I didn’t really understand what we were supposed to do.”
Mira’s sharp eyes immediately caught the tiny figure behind the girl—a giggling companion, arms crossed, eyes sparkling with amusement. She knew exactly what was happening. Abby, oblivious, was leaning forward earnestly, nodding as he responded.
“Sure! That sounds fine. We can figure it out together,” he said, grinning.
The girl’s giggling friend waved and mouthed something indistinct, prompting Abby to chuckle along. Numbers were exchanged quickly, and soon the pair of girls walked away, chatting animatedly.
Abby shook his head, still confused. “Why did they come to me, though? I mean, there were a ton of people in class with way more interesting answers than mine.”
Mira, internally, performed a slow, exasperated facepalm. This is exactly what I thought it was. He’s completely oblivious.
As their conversation continued, Mira’s gaze flicked to the edge of the courtyard. Ae-jin was approaching, his tall, lean frame exuding that effortless charm that made heads turn. True to form, he had two—or maybe three—girls flanking him, their eyes bright with admiration. He spoke casually, pretending the world didn’t exist beyond his immediate circle, but Mira could tell the effort it took to act so unbothered. He was walking right past them, pretending not to see Mira and Abby on the bench.
Abby, ever the cheerfully unaware, waved a hand and called out, “Hey, charmer! Over here!”
Ae-jin’s head turned slowly, an almost imperceptible smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh… didn’t see you there,” he said smoothly, though the faint tension in his voice betrayed him.
Mira leaned back slightly, offering him the daily stink eye she had perfected over years of practice. Ae-jin returned it without missing a beat, their silent battle of wills radiating like static.
Meanwhile, Abby, completely oblivious to the tension simmering between them, launched into an animated recounting of his day, gesturing with his hands and laughing at his own jokes. Ae-jin’s attention flicked to the group surrounding him, carefully maintaining the illusion of effortless control, while Mira’s eyes followed Abby with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.
Some things never change, Mira thought, a small smirk forming despite herself.
As they continued to talk Mira’s attention kept flicking to her phone as they sat on the courtyard bench. At first, it was subtle—a quick glance, a slight tightening of her jaw—but soon it became more noticeable. The screen was lighting up constantly, messages flooding in, and her calm, unbothered exterior shifted ever so slightly toward irritation. Abby noticed it and tilted his head. “Uh… everything okay?”
Mira gave him a polite, almost distracted smile. “Yeah… I just need to take this call.” Without waiting for a response, she stood and walked a few steps away, pulling her phone up to her ear.
Abby frowned after her. “What’s going on there?”
Ae-jin, who had been lounging nearby, glanced at Mira and shrugged. “Probably a family matter. You know how it is.”
The air grew quiet for a moment. Abby shifted closer to Ae-jin, lowering his voice. “Hey… do you remember about… the plan?”
Ae-jin looked up at him, clearly puzzled. “The plan?”
Abby internally facepalmed, exasperated. How do you not know?
Ae-jin’s lips quirked in a faint, teasing smirk. “Relax. I know what you mean. I’m just messing with you.” His eyes flicked toward Abby. “That being said… I still don’t know what you want me to do about it.”
Abby leaned in, speaking with quiet desperation. “I need you to help me get with Mira… or at least give me a chance. You know her, man. You grew up with her.”
Ae-jin paused mid-lean, his expression unreadable, but inside, his thoughts churned. I’m more than sure she likes girls, he thought, the idea making him hesitate. But he didn’t say anything. Out loud, he simply replied, “You’ve basically grown up with her as well, shouldn’t you know?”
Abby ran a hand through his hair, groaning. “I know, I know… but I still don’t want to make a mistake. I don’t know what she likes as much as you do.”
Ae-jin sighed softly, shaking his head. “You’re hopeless.” His voice was quiet but firm, a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Look… I can’t force anything on her. You’re the one who has to find a way to impress her.”
Abby blinked, a little stunned. “Yeah… I know. But I need your insight, man. You’re basically her twin! You know how she thinks!”
Ae-jin leaned back slightly, one arm resting on the bench, the afternoon sunlight catching his pale features. He didn’t say a word, only gave a long, deliberate exhale. Then he stood. “I have to head back. Quiz prep. You know how it is.”
“Just… think it over,” Abby called after him, a note of urgency in his voice.
Ae-jin paused, one hand lingering near the doorway, and looked back at him. Abby met his gaze expectantly. Ae-jin didn’t say anything, but inside he thought, He definitely will. With that, he turned and walked off, the hem of his jacket swaying slightly as he disappeared down the path.
A few moments later, Mira returned to the bench, tucking her phone back into her bag. She paused, glancing toward the direction Ae-jin had gone. “Where’d the other one go?”
Abby shrugged, a little sheepish. “He… walked off.”
Mira’s lips curved into a faint, satisfied smirk. “Good. I’m glad he’s gone.”
She picked up her bag and adjusted the strap over her shoulder. “Anyway… I have somewhere I need to be,” she said, vague and dismissive, not elaborating.
Abby tilted his head. “What was the call about?”
Mira waved a hand, brushing off the question. “Nothing important.”
Abby’s voice rose slightly, insistently. “We should get coffee sometime. I know you hate coffee, but—”
Mira didn’t miss a beat. “I know. I hate coffee,” she said, the corner of her mouth twitching with dry humor as she walked off.
The instant she disappeared from sight, Abby dragged his hand across his face, muttering under his breath, “What the fuck is wrong with me?!” His words carried a mix of frustration and disbelief, the kind reserved for situations that defied logic, leaving him staring after Mira as the afternoon light softened around the empty courtyard.
Meanwhile Rumi sat upright in the slightly cramped tutorial room, her long braid swinging gently as she scribbled down formulas. The faint hum of chatter and the occasional clink of glassware echoed from the back, a soft reminder of the lab-class chaos surrounding her. When the TA, a lively graduate student with a tendency to get overly excited about chemical reactions, called on her, Rumi didn’t hesitate. She delivered her answer clearly, confidently, laying out the explanation for the stoichiometry problem with precise steps.
“That’s perfect, Ms. Kang,” the TA said, eyes lighting up. “Exactly right—well done!”
A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she returned to her work. Soon, the TA clapped their hands, announcing that students could now work on any of the homework or assignments independently. Rumi leaned over her notebook, pen poised, when she felt someone slide into the seat beside her.
“Hi,” came a calm, polite voice. “I’m… I guess we haven’t met properly. I’m Jinu.”
Rumi arched a brow without turning her full attention from her notebook. “Rumi,” she said flatly, giving the name as much warmth as a breeze on a cold morning.
“Nice to meet you,” Jinu said, a small, easy smile tugging at his lips. “Mind if I… sit here?”
Rumi shrugged, not particularly caring either way. “Go ahead.”
Jinu opened his notebook and began small talk, asking about the TA’s lecture, how she approached the problem, and even the subtle differences in lab technique. Rumi answered politely, all the while analyzing him. She had no idea what his angle was, but something told her this wasn’t just casual chit-chat.
After a few moments, Jinu leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice. “So… I was wondering if you could help me with the last assignment—the one about acid-base titration calculations. I’ve tried it myself, but I just can’t get it right.”
Rumi didn’t look up immediately. “Why me?” she asked, finally giving him her attention.
He shrugged, looking slightly sheepish. “When you answered the TA’s question earlier… it wasn’t just correct. It was… genuinely good. Thought maybe you could show me the method you used.”
Rumi tapped her pen against her notebook, considering him. “You’d be better off joining one of the study groups. More brains, better material.”
Jinu shook his head. “I’d rather do this with you.” His eyes glimmered with a hint of challenge. “How about a deal? You help me with this assignment, and I’ll buy you Boba. Or… any snack you want.”
Rumi blinked. She opened her mouth to decline, then closed it, thinking for a moment. The guy wasn’t obnoxious. He seemed genuinely stuck. And hey… food wasn’t exactly a bad motivator. “Fine,” she said at last. “I’ll help you. But if you fall asleep halfway, you’re on your own.”
They worked in silence at first, Rumi guiding him step by step, explaining each equation, each calculation with patience. Jinu listened intently, asking clarifying questions when he didn’t understand, never letting pride get in the way. Slowly but surely, the solution clicked for him, and by the time the class ended, Jinu was grinning.
“Got it! I finally understand this,” he said, closing his notebook with satisfaction. “Thanks, Rumi. And, uh… I’ll keep my end of the bargain.”
They stepped out into the cooler late-evening air, and Jinu led the way to a small corner noodle shop nearby. They each ordered a steaming bowl of Ramyeon, the comforting aroma wrapping around them as they slurped noodles and chatted. Conversation flowed easily—about their classes, the quirks of professors, clubs, and the ridiculously specific, funny incidents that seemed to happen daily in the university.
“Can you believe someone actually left a live frog in the chemistry lab last week?” Jinu asked, chuckling.
Rumi nearly choked on her noodles. “Someone did what ?”
Jinu grinned, shrugging. “No idea. But apparently it wasn’t the first time.”
Laughter spilled between them, the kind that made late evenings feel brighter, warmer. Finally, Rumi glanced at her phone. “I should probably head back. It’s getting late… and my roommate's blowing up my phone about wanting to watch some movie.”
Jinu nodded. “Yeah… I should probably head back too. But, uh… this was actually… fun. We should do this again sometime.”
Rumi smirked, grabbing her chopsticks. “I’ll think about it. Or… whatever.”
They exchanged quick nods, a subtle acknowledgment of the unexpected friendship forming. The evening air hung quietly around them as they parted ways, each stepping back toward their respective dorms, the promise of more late-night study sessions—and perhaps more—lingering in the back of their minds.
Zoey’s dorm room looked exactly like how you’d imagine her brain on display—bright, soft, and utterly chaotic in the most endearing way. The walls were lined with posters: a mix of colorful indie band covers, vintage anime prints, and a surprisingly large poster of an ocean documentary titled Deep Blue Wonders . Every available surface seemed to be occupied by something plush—rows of stuffed animals sat like loyal spectators along her bed frame, while smaller ones were scattered across her desk and dresser. A giant turtle plush sat proudly on the corner of her bed, almost acting as the guardian of the room.
Rumi stepped in hesitantly, brushing her fingertips over the top of a pink bunny plush as Zoey closed the door behind them. The faint scent of vanilla and fabric softener filled the space, warm and comforting.
Zoey was dressed in her usual “comfort mode”: an oversized baby-blue hoodie with a cartoon dolphin stitched across the front, paired with loose pajama shorts dotted with tiny stars. Her hair was in two messy buns, with a few rebellious strands sticking to her cheeks. Rumi, on the other hand, wore a simple black sweater and soft gray joggers, her hair down and loose for once, cascading over her shoulders in quiet waves.
“Okay, okay,” Zoey chirped, grabbing the remote. “Prepare yourself for the best turtle movie ever created.”
Rumi raised an eyebrow, amused. “There are multiple turtle movies?”
“Uh, duh,” Zoey grinned, plopping onto the bed and patting the spot beside her. “And don’t worry, this one’s a classic. Cinematic masterpiece. Ten out of ten shells.”
Rumi chuckled, shaking her head before sitting down beside her, sinking slightly into the sea of plushies.
The movie began with sweeping shots of turtles gliding through turquoise waters. For the first ten minutes, it played uninterrupted—until Zoey sat up straighter, pointing at the screen like she’d just spotted something incredible.
“Okay, pause. Did you know turtles can actually breathe through their butts?” she blurted, eyes wide with excitement.
Rumi blinked, trying not to laugh. “Through their…?”
“Butts!” Zoey confirmed, nodding furiously. “Well, technically, their cloacas. It’s like… a survival thing when they hibernate underwater. Isn’t that cool?”
Rumi smiled softly, resting her chin in her hand as she looked at her. “That’s… fascinating.”
Zoey giggled, unpausing the movie, only to pause it again five minutes later. “Okay, okay—fun fact number two. Did you know some turtles can live longer than humans? Like, there’s this one turtle named Jonathan who’s over a hundred and ninety years old. Imagine how many birthdays that is. Insane.”
Rumi nodded along, eyes fixed on Zoey more than the screen. She didn’t even try to hide how intently she was listening, committing every quirky fact to memory. The way Zoey’s eyes lit up, the way her hands gestured wildly as she spoke—it was mesmerizing.
Zoey continued her enthusiastic commentary, pausing and unpausing the movie so often that the runtime stretched endlessly. Each time, Rumi’s expression softened, drinking in every word. To her, the movie itself barely mattered; Zoey was the real show.
Halfway through another ramble about the difference between tortoises and turtles, Zoey suddenly froze, blinking at how long she’d been going. Her cheeks heated as she grabbed a plush turtle from the bed and hugged it to her chest.
“Oh my god,” she groaned, burying her face in the plush. “I’m so annoying. You must be bored out of your mind right now.”
Rumi tilted her head, a tiny smirk tugging at her lips. “Not at all.”
“C’mon, I’ve been talking nonstop for like—what—an hour?” Zoey laughed nervously.
“I like it when you talk a lot,” Rumi admitted quietly, her voice barely above the hum of the paused TV.
Zoey’s eyes widened, her grip tightening around the plush. Her heart fluttered, stumbling over itself at the unexpected softness of Rumi’s tone. She felt warmth crawl up her neck and quickly tried to play it off, giggling.
“Aw, you’re making me blush, Rums,” she teased, peeking over the turtle plush with a grin.
Rumi chuckled softly in response, the sound low and almost shy.
The movie carried on until Zoey’s words started to slur with drowsiness, her head bobbing gently against the wall. The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the screen and the faint fairy lights strung along her shelves.
Eventually, Zoey yawned, stretching before flopping back into the pillows. “M’getting sleepy…” she murmured, her eyes half-lidded.
Rumi smiled, standing up and gently prying the remote from Zoey’s limp fingers. “I should head back to my room,” she said softly, almost reluctant to leave.
Zoey hummed sleepily, hugging her giant turtle plush closer. “Mmkay… night, Rums.”
“Goodnight, Zoey,” Rumi replied, lingering at the door for a moment. Her gaze softened one last time at the sight of Zoey curled up among her plushies, face serene in sleep, before she quietly slipped out into the hallway.
Notes:
More food for y'all, I swear I added late nights to the title of this fic because of how many times I'll be posting at ungodly hours LOL. Anyways hope y'all enjoyed this one :33
Chapter 3: Pumpkins, Prizes & Panic PT.1
Summary:
We're finally getting the gang together!! And they're going on a carnival trip! (I'm feeding those who like Zoemira tonight)
Notes:
I'm too excited for Halloween, I literally needed to remind myself that it's still summer..not even fall yet.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The late October sun spilled lazily through the blinds, painting Jinu’s room in warm, golden stripes. Outside, the air was crisp—the kind of fall afternoon that made campus pathways crunch with leaves and students drag themselves out in sweaters and scarves. But inside his dorm, Jinu was stretched across his plain bed, tossing a pillow up and down like it was the only thing holding his mind together.
His room, compared to others, was barren. A desk with neatly stacked textbooks, a chair draped with one hoodie, and a bed with gray sheets. No posters, no photos, no color—just clean, minimal, almost clinical. He hadn’t bothered decorating; it wasn’t really his thing. And truthfully, it didn’t feel permanent enough to try.
It’s been one month. Jinu thought to himself, watching the pillow land against his palms. One month of… chaos.
He thought of his roommates. Hyun and Yeon-u, who hardly spoke but somehow managed to cause the loudest ruckus in the dorm. Hyun, the perpetually annoyed victim, once barked—literally barked—at Yeon-u during an argument about dirty dishes. And Yeon-u, the number one instigator of the group, always seemed to know exactly what button to push. Then there was Abby—loud, friendly, larger than life—unknowingly pouring gasoline onto every fire by teasing both of them into oblivion.
And Jinu? Jinu had apparently taken up the role of the tired parent of three feral children. He could still remember the night Yeon-u ate Hyun’s labeled leftovers, Hyun chased him around the hall with a broom, and Abby filmed it while cheering. Jinu had to step in before someone got concussed.
The pillow sailed up again, thudding against his hands. He sighed.
His mind drifted, as it often did, to exams. Reading week was right around the corner—prime time to catch up on chemistry, crush some problem sets, maybe breathe for once. But then the thought slipped in, uninvited: most people would be going home. Taking their breaks. Spending time with family. Going home. Jinu’s chest tightened at that last thought, the pillow landing heavier against his hands this time. He pushed the thought away quickly, but the aftertaste lingered.
And then—her. Rumi. The name came unbidden, the face even more so. Her braid flashing purple under the campus lights. The way she answered questions with calm certainty, making the rest of the room look like they were fumbling in the dark. The way she’d roll her eyes when he messed up basic formulas but still bothered enough to explain it as many times as it took for him to understand.
He smirked faintly, thinking of the stupid stuff they’d ended up doing together in between study sessions—like that time he convinced her to try the vending machine’s mystery drink and it turned out to taste like carbonated cough syrup. Or when she made him walk across campus just to get “the good printer” because the other ones were “messed up.”
Smart. Kind. Pretty.
Jinu blinked.
“Wait—what?!” he blurted out, fumbling the pillow so badly it smacked directly into his face. He sat up instantly, cheeks warm, heart racing. No, no, no—don’t—don’t do this, man—
“YO!”
The door burst open, slamming against the wall, and Abby exploded into the room like a hurricane.
Jinu physically jumped, clutching the pillow to his chest like a shield. “WHAT THE—”
“Relax, bro, it’s just me!” Abby grinned, already halfway into his monologue before he realized Jinu looked like he’d seen a ghost.
“What’s your problem?” Abby tilted his head, squinting suspiciously. “You good?”
Jinu, still recovering, blinked slowly. His face screamed what the actual hell is going on , but all he managed to say was: “...Yeah.”
Abby’s eyes narrowed. He paused. Then, with a smirk creeping onto his lips, he said, “You weren’t, like… relieving stress, were you?”
Jinu’s jaw dropped. “WHAT?!”
“You know…” Abby’s grin widened. “Jerking the—”
“NO!” Jinu shouted, his voice cracking in disbelief. “WHAT THE FUCK , MAN?!”
Abby laughed, slapping him on the back. “It’s okay, dude, don’t be ashamed of that side of you. Perfectly natural.” He leaned in mock-comforting, lowering his voice. “You don’t gotta hide it from me. We’re bros.”
“Get OFF me!” Jinu shoved, face now an alarming shade of red. Abby, being bigger and stronger, leaned into it, caressing Jinu’s back like some kind of terrible parody of a support group leader.
“Shh… let it out,” Abby whispered dramatically.
“ABBY I SWEAR TO GOD—”
Then suddenly Yeon-u strolled in, eyes glued to his phone, thumbs moving fast across the screen. Without looking up, he said flatly, “Hyun just threatened to move out because someone ate his instant noodles.”
Neither Jinu nor Abby moved, frozen mid-chaos. The silence was sharp enough that Yeon-u finally glanced up—only to be greeted by the sight of Abby pinning Jinu to the bed, faces way too close for comfort.
Yeon-u actually blinked, the most emotion he’d shown in days. Then he shrugged. “If you’re gonna do stuff like this, close the door next time.”
“WHAT?!” Jinu exploded, pushing Abby off with the strength of a man possessed. Abby, meanwhile, completely lost it, laughing so hard he almost fell to the floor.
“Did you see his face?” Abby wheezed, pointing at Yeon-u’s retreating figure. “He looked like—like he walked into a crime scene!”
Jinu glared at him, absolutely unamused, before shoving him straight to the carpet. Abby landed with a grunt but kept laughing anyway.
Only then did Jinu notice Abby’s outfit—oversized graphic tee under a varsity jacket, baggy jeans, chunky sneakers, and just enough silver accessories to complete the outfit Yeon-u, on the other hand, had a clean, basic look going: cream short sleeve button up with a white long sleeve underneath, dark tapered pants and finally clean sneakers.
“You guys are dressed like you’re about to shoot a magazine cover,” Jinu muttered, brushing his hair back. “Where are you even going?”
Abby popped up, brushing dust off his jacket. “Out. Me, Yeon-u, Hyun, and two of my friends. You’re coming too.”
Jinu blinked. “Am I?”
“Yes.” Abby grinned, like the decision was already made.
Jinu sighed, rubbing his temple. He glanced down at his own plain shirt and sweatpants, then resigned himself to stand. “Fine. Give me ten.”
In his closet, Jinu pulled together something clean and simple: a black long-sleeve, slim charcoal trousers, sleek black sneakers, and a light jacket layered over it. Shrouded minimalism—no flash, no statement. Just sharp, understated, quietly confident.
When he stepped out, Abby let out a low whistle. “Okayyy, Mr. Model. Didn’t know you had drip.”
“Shut up,” Jinu muttered, pulling on his watch.
Abby only smirked wider. “Nah, keep that energy when we’re out. The ladies are gonna eat you up.”
Jinu rolled his eyes, but the faintest trace of color touched his ears.
Rumi’s room reflected her perfectly—orderly, balanced, yet still alive with quiet personality. The bed was neatly made, tucked corners and soft gray sheets with a folded purple blanket at the foot. A small desk sat against the far wall, scattered with notebooks, a laptop, and a single framed photo of her and her mom. Her shelves were lined with a few books and some carefully chosen trinkets: a little porcelain cat, a candle that smelled faintly of sandalwood, and a couple of succulents she somehow managed to keep alive despite the lack of sunlight. The walls were decorated with soft string lights that gave the whole room a warm glow, a quiet kind of cozy that contrasted the chaos of campus life.
She was sprawled on her bed, purple hair spilling over the pillow as she scrolled absently through her phone. Music hummed quietly from a speaker on her desk, low enough to fade into the background. It was a normal afternoon—until it wasn’t.
The first thing she heard was a muffled scream through the wall. Rumi frowned, lifting her head slightly. Then another scream, closer this time. And then—footsteps. Rapid, frantic, pounding closer until they stopped right outside her door. Rumi blinked, half-concerned, half-annoyed, when suddenly her door banged open and Zoey practically collapsed into the doorway, doubled over and panting like she’d just run a marathon.
“...Zoey?” Rumi asked carefully, sitting up and raising an eyebrow. “Are you… okay?”
Zoey didn’t answer. She stomped inside with the dramatic flair of someone on a mission, huffed once like she was gathering courage, then launched herself onto Rumi’s bed in one exaggerated leap. Rumi barely had time to move her phone out of the way before Zoey shoved her own directly in Rumi’s face.
“LOOK,” Zoey declared, eyes wide, cheeks flushed with excitement.
Rumi blinked against the brightness of the phone screen, squinting at the words in front of her. Text messages. From Mira . Zoey’s Mira. The girl she had been gushing about since literally week one.
“Wait,” Rumi murmured, focusing, “she asked you to hang out?”
“Not just hang out!” Zoey squealed, grabbing the phone back and bouncing a little on the mattress. “She invited me to a carnival—like, a real fall carnival—with her friends. Tonight ! And she said I could bring someone if I wanted to!”
The grin plastered across Zoey’s face was so bright it was almost blinding. Rumi had never seen her like this. Zoey was usually high-energy, sure, but there was something different about this—more raw, more… vulnerable? She was giddy, practically vibrating.
“That’s… wow.” Rumi couldn’t help but smile, caught up in the sheer force of Zoey’s excitement. “That’s huge, Zo. I’m happy for you.”
Zoey squealed again, this time flopping dramatically backward onto the bed like her body couldn’t hold in the happiness anymore. Rumi startled, eyes widening at the sound—it was so unrestrained, so openly joyful. She’d never heard Zoey sound like that before.
Zoey’s face went crimson almost immediately. “Oh my god, I—I don’t usually do that. Sorry.”
Rumi shook her head, a small laugh slipping out despite herself. “Don’t apologize. It’s… cute.”
The word slipped before she could stop it, and she quickly glanced away, hoping Zoey didn’t notice the faint pink creeping into her own cheeks.
Of course, she did notice. Zoey was still glowing with excitement, though, and didn’t tease her about it. Instead, she rolled onto her stomach, propped her chin in her hands, and stared up at Rumi with wide eyes. “Soooo… I assume you’ll come with me, right?”
Rumi tilted her head. “That’s what this is about?”
“Yes!” Zoey sat up again, nodding furiously. “You HAVE to meet Mira. You’ll finally get it—you’ll understand why I’ve been talking about her nonstop. Like, you’ll see. You just have to!”
Rumi chuckled under her breath, eyeing Zoey skeptically. “Mm. Last time you said that, I ended up meeting ‘Mystery Man.’ Remember him?”
Zoey groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Oh my god, don’t bring him up.”
Rumi smirked. “You swore he was ‘different,’ that he had this, I don’t know, aura. And when I finally saw him, he was just… some guy. Like, literally just a guy. And you could barely even see his face.”
Zoey peeked out from between her fingers, glaring. “Okay, yeah, fine. But this is different . Mira is—she’s actually amazing, I promise. Plus she’s a friend not a hallway crush! You’ll see!”
Rumi was about to tease her again when she noticed Zoey’s expression shifting. Her usual mischievous grin softened into something sweeter, almost pleading. And then she hit her with it—the puppy dog eyes.
“Please, Rumi.” Zoey leaned in close, her voice dropping into something almost conspiratorial. “Please come with me.”
Rumi froze. Her heart skipped hard against her ribs, and she suddenly became hyper-aware of how close Zoey was. She could see the faint freckles across her nose, the tiny flicker of hope in her gaze, the way her lips quirked just slightly as she begged. Heat flushed Rumi’s cheeks, and she looked away, flustered.
“I—uh—yeah, sure,” she stammered, fumbling for composure. “I’ll go.”
Zoey lit up instantly, practically bouncing off the bed. “Yes! You’re the best!” She twirled around once like she couldn’t hold in the energy, then darted toward the door. “Okay, I need to get dressed right now. You too! Wear something cute, it’s a carnival!”
And just like that, she was gone—door slamming behind her, footsteps already retreating down the hall.
Rumi sat frozen on her bed, staring at the empty space Zoey had just occupied. Her heart was still hammering, and she could feel the faintest warmth lingering in her chest. Slowly, she exhaled, dragging a hand down her face.
“What,” she muttered to herself, “did I just get myself into?”
Rumi tugged the hem of her plain white shirt down before zipping up her grey sweater. The fabric felt soft against her skin, grounding in a way that clothes rarely were. She liked keeping things simple: clean, effortless lines, muted colors. Semi-baggy flared pants skimmed her sneakers, giving her that easy, understated “clean girl” look she always leaned on. As she smoothed the sleeve up to her elbow to adjust the zipper, her eyes flickered to the faint scars that traced across her arm. They weren’t fresh anymore—time had softened them into pale reminders—but the memories they carried never dulled. For a split second, the world blurred; sirens screaming, her father’s voice breaking in fury, blood glistening on tile, her mother’s lifeless hand slipping from her grasp, and Celine, so young herself, shaking her shoulders, begging her to look away, to focus on her instead. Tears had glimmered in her aunt’s eyes, the kind that made Rumi’s chest ache even now.
She pulled in a sharp breath—then the door flew open.
“Rumi! You ready?” Zoey’s voice cut through the haze, bright and careless, as she practically spilled into the room. Her outfit was loud in the best way: a cropped tube top paired with oversized jean cargos that pooled at her shoes, a plaid shirt knotted loosely around her waist like an afterthought. It was the kind of look that screamed confidence and playfulness, the opposite of Rumi’s quiet aesthetic.
Caught off guard, Rumi yanked her sleeve back down, her voice coming out firmer than she meant. “Zoey! You should knock.”
Zoey froze, smile faltering for just a second before she plastered it back on. “Ah—sorry. My bad.” She scratched at the back of her neck, trying to laugh it off, but the way her energy dimmed was obvious.
Rumi exhaled slowly, guilt tugging at her chest. She hadn’t wanted to snap. “It’s okay. Just… remember next time, alright?”
Zoey nodded, slower this time, her usual spark dulled around the edges. “…Got it.”
They stepped out together, heading across campus toward the meet-up spot Mira had texted about. The late morning sun cut through the trees, casting dappled light over the pavement. Normally Zoey filled every silence with chatter, but now she was quiet—too quiet. Her sneakers scuffed the ground as she walked, and though she kept her posture loose, her thoughts betrayed her in the way her smile kept slipping.
I should’ve knocked. God, why am I like this? She probably thinks I’m annoying now. Always too much, always pushing where I shouldn’t… Zoey’s chest tightened with the thought, the kind that never quite went away no matter how hard she tried to shake it.
Rumi glanced at her from the corner of her eye, sensing the shift. She lightly bumped her shoulder into Zoey’s, a small nudge meant to break the fog. “You okay?”
Zoey’s head snapped up, and she grinned too quickly. “Yeah! Totally. Just, uh, thinking about what to get later.” Her voice bubbled with its usual pep, but there was a tension underneath it, like a string pulled just a little too tight.
Rumi studied her for a moment but didn’t press. Silence stretched between them again, but this time it wasn’t heavy—it was careful. Then, almost casually, Rumi said, “I’ll buy you some boba. Can’t start a good day without a good cup of boba, right?”
Zoey blinked at her, stunned, before laughter bubbled out of her throat. “Oh my god, you did not just quote me. I knew it would grow on you!”
“Don’t get used to it,” Rumi muttered, but the corner of her mouth twitched.
Zoey’s energy returned in a rush. She reached out, grabbing Rumi’s wrist without hesitation, tugging her playfully toward the shop down the block. “Come on then, boba’s on you today!”
Rumi let herself be dragged along, her sleeve tugging down firmly over her scars as Zoey’s hand wrapped around her. But for the first time that afternoon, she wasn’t thinking about the past—just about how Zoey’s laughter rang against the quiet street, warm and contagious, and how much lighter it made everything feel.
The carnival lights flashed in bright colors, throwing streaks of orange and yellow across Mira’s pale skin as she stood stiffly beside Ae-jin. The air smelled of fried food and spun sugar, laughter rippled from every corner, but between them hung a silence so heavy it drowned out all the noise.
Abby was busy a few feet away, talking animatedly with Hyun, Jinu, and Yeon-u. Or rather—talking at them. Hyun’s mop of hair bounced as he gestured back, Jinu cracked jokes here and there, and Yeon-u stood like a statue, his expression locked in a permanent scowl as if the festival itself was an inconvenience. Mira noticed it immediately—he wasn’t really participating, just hovering with arms crossed, eyes distant.
She glanced sideways at Ae-jin. His outfit fit him too well, as if he had stepped straight out of some Pinterest board called Softboy Dreamscape . A loose, cream-colored cardigan draped over his shoulders, with a silky blouse tucked half-heartedly into tailored trousers. Delicate gold jewelry caught the lights of the carnival, glinting against his tanned skin. He looked like he belonged in some dreamy poetry book, not next to her.
Mira, on the other hand, looked like the exact opposite. Her minimalist gothic-punk outfit was sharp and unapologetic—black crop top layered under a cropped knitted sweater, a silver chain wrapped loosely around her waist, low-waisted flared jeans, and heavy platform boots that made her presence thud against the pavement. A single spike earring dangled from one ear, catching just enough light to look dangerous.
They didn’t speak. They didn’t even look at each other. The awkwardness grew claws. Finally, Mira gave in, exhaling sharply before breaking the silence.
“So,” she started, tone dry, “what do you think of Abby’s roommates?”
Ae-jin’s lips curved almost immediately. A dangerous smile. He didn’t hesitate.
“Hyun?” he began, lowering his voice just enough for Mira to hear. “Looks like someone slapped a mop on his head and said, ‘Yeah, that’ll do.’” He chuckled at his own joke, eyes flicking to Abby’s group. “Yeon-u—grumpy baby energy. You can tell he didn’t get his nap before coming here. And Jinu…” He shrugged, tilting his head thoughtfully. “Well, Jinu isn’t half bad. I’ll give him that.”
Mira stared at him, then pinched the bridge of her nose. God, why did I even ask?
“You always have something to say about someone, don’t you?” she muttered, already regretting starting this conversation.
Ae-jin’s smirk widened, a glimmer of amusement flickering in his eyes. “And you never have anything to say. Funny how that works.”
Mira snapped her gaze back to him, unimpressed. “Maybe I just don’t waste my energy on petty commentary.”
“Oh please.” Ae-jin’s voice dripped with mockery. “That’s not self-control, that’s just you being boring.”
Her lips twitched into a tight smile, her voice edged with passive aggression. “Well, if I’m so boring, why don’t I just leave and save you the trouble of standing next to me?”
For a brief moment, Ae-jin looked like he might actually agree. He leaned in slightly, voice low and sharp. “By all means. Depart from my evening. I won’t lose sleep.”
Mira’s eyes narrowed, but instead of snapping back, she saw the opportunity and took it. Her voice turned coy, a blade hidden in velvet. “I would leave,” she said slowly, “but then… what would Abby do without his best friend?”
Ae-jin’s jaw tightened, just slightly, a tiny crack in his perfectly composed exterior.
Mira’s lips curved. She pressed on. “Actually, no—I’d miss something too.”
He didn’t bite at first. But then, against his better judgment: “…And what’s that supposed to be?”
“Oh, you know.” Her smirk deepened, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “How Abby always calls you ‘pretty boy.’ or ‘Lover boy.’”
That did it. Ae-jin’s face went scarlet. He spun toward her, voice sharp and snapping like glass. “I hate you.”
Mira only tilted her head, triumphant. “I’m well aware.”
Before Ae-jin could retort, the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted them. Rumi and Zoey appeared through the crowd, plastic cups of boba tea in hand, the straws poking out like antennae.
“Finally,” Mira muttered under her breath, pretending to look relieved but secretly savoring Ae-jin’s frustration.
Rumi raised a brow as she caught the tense atmosphere but said nothing, sipping her drink casually. Zoey, meanwhile, blinked between Mira and Ae-jin with a grin like she’d just stumbled into premium drama.
“Did we miss something?” Zoey asked, voice sing-song.
Mira smirked knowingly, Ae-jin turned away with an audible huff, and the group finally began moving toward the carnival entrance.
The air filled with music, laughter, and the smell of fried dough as the night unfolded before them—chaotic, electric, and brimming with the kind of tension that promised trouble.
The carnival stretched out around them in a blur of lights and color, rides twisting against the night sky, the air thick with the smell of buttered popcorn and fried dough. The group naturally splintered into smaller clusters as they drifted toward the rows of games.
Abby was already in his element, rolling up his sleeves like a man on a mission. He dragged Mira toward a booth where you had to knock down towers of cans with a baseball. His whole face lit up as he showed off what he proudly called his “carnival skills.”
“Watch and learn,” Abby said, winding up with exaggerated form.
The ball flew, the cans clattered, and to his credit, two towers fell. He turned back to Mira with the smugness of a champion. “See? Pure talent.”
Mira raised one perfectly arched brow, arms folded across her chest. “You’re such a dork.”
There was no bite to her voice—if anything, a subtle fondness lingered in her words, though she tried to mask it under her usual dry delivery. Abby grinned wider anyway, as if he’d just won something far greater than the stuffed prizes behind the booth.
Zoey sidled up beside Mira then, and Rumi, watching from a step behind, noticed something strange. Gone was the bubbly, excitable Zoey—the one who spouted turtle facts mid-movie, who always laughed too loud. Instead, Zoey leaned back against the booth with an easy shrug, her voice lower, cooler.
“Impressive,” she drawled, echoing Mira’s tone. “Though I’m pretty sure that first can fell out of pity.”
Mira snorted, actually snorted, which made Zoey smirk in triumph. Rumi blinked, caught off guard. She knew Zoey. She knew how she was—soft edges, unfiltered joy. But this version felt like a mask. The occasional slip of an awkward laugh or too-bright smile gave it away, but still… She was different around Mira.
Something inside Rumi twisted, a small, uncomfortable knot. Not jealousy—not exactly. More like… exclusion. Like the invisible circle Mira and Zoey seemed to draw around themselves didn’t have room for her. Rumi couldn’t quite name it, but it tugged at her chest anyway.
Mira was beautiful, though. Rumi couldn’t deny that. Not in the “obvious popular girl” way, but in a sharp, magnetic way that made people notice. She caught herself thinking it, then immediately shook the thought off, correcting it in her head. Friendly way. I mean it in a friendly way.
“Hey stranger.”
Rumi startled slightly, turning to find Jinu sliding into her space with that easy, practiced smile he always wore. His voice was smooth, a little too smooth, like he knew the effect it had.
“Jinu,” Rumi said, her own lips quirking upward despite herself.
They fell into conversation—light, casual, no heavy topics or school talk. Just trading thoughts about the carnival, the games, the ridiculous prizes, little things that made the moment easy. Jinu had a way of keeping the air relaxed, like she didn’t have to think too hard about what to say next. It felt… grounding.
From a distance, Mira glanced over. Zoey had moved to a nearby booth, throwing rings at bottles with growing frustration, but Mira’s eyes weren’t on her. They lingered on Rumi and Jinu.
Rumi’s posture gave her away—shoulders a little tight, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve, eyes darting away every so often. Nervous. But not shy-nervous , not the kind Mira associated with a crush. This was different. More like… the kind of nervousness that comes from desperately wanting a safe anchor in a chaotic space.
Mira filed the observation away, not sure why she cared enough to notice.
“Ughhh!” Zoey’s groan broke through the thought, dragging Mira’s attention back to the booth. Zoey slapped down another few dollars, glaring at the rigged setup. “Do you think I’ll ever win one of these stupid games?”
Mira opened her mouth, about to deliver the hard truth about carnival scams, when Abby reappeared dramatically. In his arms was a massive orange teddy bear, dressed like a vampire and clutching a jack-o’-lantern.
“Couldn’t resist,” he said smoothly, stepping in front of Mira like some knight with spoils. “Reminded me of you—dark, gothic, moody… vampire vibes.”
Mira blinked at him, unimpressed. “I remind you of a bloodthirsty, arm-sucking monster?”
Abby’s face fell, and before he could scramble to defend himself, Zoey’s sudden cheer cut through the tension.
“I did it!”
Mira and Abby both turned just in time to see Zoey holding up a prize ticket, victorious. Even the game host looked stunned.
Zoey bounced excitedly, pointing at the shelf. “That one! The black cat!”
A few moments later, she held the plush proudly—it was Coraline’s black cat, stitched in eerie detail. Zoey grinned. “Oh man. I remember accidentally watching this movie as a kid. Thought it was a cute cartoon… turns out it was nightmare fuel. Traumatized me for life.”
Mira chuckled under her breath. “Figures.”
But then Zoey turned, holding the plush out to her. “Here. You should have it.”
Mira blinked. “So let me get this straight—you want to give me a plushie that reminds you of childhood trauma?”
Zoey stammered, her cool mask cracking instantly. “I—uh—no, it’s not like that, I just—” She paused, cheeks reddening. Then she blurted out the first thing that came to her heart. “I just… I don’t know. You’d probably make it look less scary.”
The words hung there, simple but devastating. Mira’s sly smirk faltered, her heart stumbling in her chest before she masked it with a quick, “Whatever.”
Zoey’s smile wavered. She lowered the plush slightly, misreading Mira’s tone. “Oh… okay. I guess you don’t—”
But Mira’s hand darted out, snatching the cat from her. “I’ll keep it. It’s cute.”
Zoey lit up instantly, relief and joy spreading across her face in a way that made Mira’s stomach twist.
Meanwhile, Abby stood frozen, clutching his massive vampire bear like a prop in a bad play. His jaw slackened. How the hell did she pull that off? he thought bitterly. He had the big prize, the grand gesture, but somehow Mira hadn’t even noticed him anymore.
Before he could recover, Yeon-u appeared beside him with Hyun trailing behind. Yeon-u gave the plush a once-over and deadpanned, “Since your soon-to-be girlfriend doesn’t want my bear, can I have it back?”
Abby’s shoulders slumped. He sighed heavily and shoved the teddy into Yeon-u’s arms.
“Thanks,” Yeon-u muttered, already walking off with it like it was his all along.
Ae-jin appeared behind them, patting Abby’s back in mock sympathy. “Plenty of other fish in the sea, man.”
But Abby shook his head stubbornly, fire in his eyes. “This means nothing. I will woo Mira. One way or another.”
With that, he stormed off toward another row of games.
Ae-jin and Yeon-u exchanged a stunned side-eye. Hyun, meanwhile, was chewing on a piece of cotton candy, utterly unfazed.
“…Yeah,” Yeon-u muttered, almost pitying. “He’s cooked.”
Notes:
Hope yall liked this chapter, another chapter might becoming later tonight or the next day cause I lowkey already wrote both parts cause originally it was gonna be one big fat chapter but I decided not to do that to my brain so erm yeah anyways duces :3
P.S - I have a tiktok and twitter it's called Ikbangers I've barely posted but I'm gonna start soon (Probably gonna post art of this fanfic cause I'm my biggest fan LOL)
Chapter 4: Pumpkins, Prizes & Panic PT.2
Summary:
Part 2 of Chapter 3... a little realization at the end of this chapter ;)
Notes:
As promised here's the second part, this took me forever to fix cause I kept running out of ideas so if something random happens just ignore it LOL
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Rumi hadn’t realized until now just how much Jinu loved to talk. Not about himself, not even about anything particularly important—just everything. He filled every lull in conversation with little stories, stray thoughts, and half-baked jokes. It wasn’t in an obnoxious, hyperactive way either; it was more like he physically couldn’t allow silence to settle, whether it was comfortable or not.
She walked beside him, her arms folded, nodding politely as he carried on about the difference between good ramen broth and great ramen broth. When does he breathe? she thought, her gaze drifting down the busy carnival path. And when is this endless blabber going to stop?
Her relief came sooner than expected.
“Rumi!”
She looked up to see Zoey bouncing toward them, Mira trailing close behind, still clutching the oversized black plush cat from earlier. Rumi almost laughed at how Mira was hugging it like it was an emotional support animal, though with her deadpan face it was hard to tell if she was embarrassed or completely unfazed.
Zoey’s energy was contagious—her whole body animated, her words spilling over themselves as she launched into the story of how she’d won Mira the plush.
“I swear, it was rigged! Like, actually rigged . I had to throw the ring just right and they kept moving the bottles when they thought I wasn’t looking, but—” Zoey mimed tossing a ring, landing the shot with a flourish. “—bam! Won it anyway. This bad boy’s all mine. Well, Mira’s now.” She nudged Mira, who only gave a soft blink in return.
Rumi’s lips curled into a smile before she even realized it. A genuine one, too, the kind that reached her eyes. She hadn’t felt that spark of amusement while listening to Jinu’s ramen lecture, but Zoey’s storytelling was bright and alive.
Mira noticed it instantly. How Zoey’s entire demeanor seemed lighter, freer, when speaking to Rumi. Her brow furrowed slightly as she glanced between them. Is she… really that comfortable around her? Mira hugged the plush cat a little tighter, wondering if she herself gave off something intimidating. She remembered the sarcastic comment she made earlier about Abby’s gift—bloodthirsty, arm-sucking, shadows lurking in the dark. Maybe Zoey thought of her that way too.
Her train of thought broke when Zoey suddenly produced something else from seemingly nowhere—a smaller plush cat, this one gray with a perpetually sleepy expression and a tiny witch hat perched crookedly on its head.
She held it out to Rumi. “This one reminds me of you.”
Rumi raised a brow, taking the plush carefully. “...Me? Why?”
“Because you always go to bed early,” Zoey said matter-of-factly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “And if you don’t get your full hours of sleep, you get cranky. Like, scary cranky.”
For a beat, Rumi just stared at her, caught between offense and disbelief—then the laugh bubbled out of her before she could stop it. Not her usual polite, practiced chuckle, but a real, throaty laugh that turned her shoulders loose.
Zoey froze. The sound hit her chest like a flutter she couldn’t quite name. Her lips parted slightly, as though she was about to say something, but instead she just stared, memorizing the sound. Mira, watching, softened too. Rumi’s laughter was rare—hearing it made Mira’s lips twitch upward in the smallest, almost imperceptible smile.
But Zoey wasn’t finished.
She whipped out one more plush—this one a wide-eyed white cat, a blanket draped over its head like a ghost costume. Holding it up proudly, she declared, “And this one is me!”
Mira and Rumi’s eyes met immediately. The shared look was quick but electric, a silent telepathic agreement to mess with her.
Mira struck first, her voice calm and deliberate: “Is it because you look like that when you zone out in the middle of class?”
Zoey whipped her head toward her, defensive. “No!”
Before she could even gather an explanation, Rumi cut in smoothly, eyes glinting with mischief. “Or is it because that’s the face you make when you see someone you really like..?”
Zoey’s mouth snapped shut. Her cheeks went faintly pink, heat prickling across them. She scrambled for a comeback, any comeback, but her brain felt like someone had unplugged it.
“Wha—That’s—No!” she sputtered, but her voice lacked conviction.
Rumi bumped her shoulder lightly against Zoey’s. “Relax, we’re just teasing.”
Zoey groaned dramatically, clutching the ghost-cat plush to her chest. Mira let out the tiniest laugh, the kind that escaped like air through the nose.
Zoey’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “That’s two laughs today, this is insane!”
Mira rolled her eyes, shifting the plush in her arms, but the faint tug at the corner of her mouth gave her away.
“Unbelievable,” Zoey muttered, grinning. “First Rumi laughs, now Mira? I’m winning today.”
The playful energy was cut short when someone stumbled into the group. Abby appeared out of nowhere, clutching his side like he’d just run a marathon. His hair was messy, his breathing quick, and his eyes wide with urgency.
“You—” he wheezed, hands on his knees. “You guys… have to come with me. Haunted house. Escape room. Now.”
The words came out in one breath, each syllable strained.
Jinu arched a brow. “Do you need a second to… breathe, maybe?”
“No time!” Abby straightened, almost vibrating with frantic excitement. “I’m serious—come on!”
Zoey blinked, glancing at the others, her plush cats clutched against her chest. “Wait, haunted house? Like, with fake blood and jump scares?”
Abby nodded furiously. “Yes. Haunted. House. Let’s go!”
The group strayed away from the festival games and onto the winding path toward the haunted house. Lanterns bobbed overhead on strings, their orange glow casting playful shadows over the pavement, but Ae-jin wasn’t enjoying the scenery nearly as much as everyone else. His eyes kept drifting toward Abby, who was striding confidently ahead of him with an energy that made zero sense.
Because here was the thing: Abby hated horror. No—Abby despised horror.
Ae-jin could never forget the last time they tried watching a scary movie together. They were fourteen, sprawled out in his living room with a giant bowl of popcorn between them. Ae-jin had begged and begged until Abby caved, and halfway through, Abby was practically leaping at every flicker of shadow on screen. The man had jumped so hard at a fake cat scare that he’d nearly spilled the popcorn everywhere. Then, after the movie, he refused to go to bed until Ae-jin put on Spongebob to “cleanse his brain.” The night had ended with Abby having a full-on nightmare, screaming loud enough to wake Ae-jin’s parents, who were not thrilled to be making a midnight call to Abby’s parents to come retrieve their trembling, wide-eyed son.
All that—one night.
And yet here Abby was, whistling under his breath like he was about to waltz into a bakery, not a haunted house escape room.
Suspicious didn’t even begin to cover it.
Ae-jin narrowed his eyes, walking faster until he caught up to him. “Alright,” he said flatly, “what the hell are you plotting?”
Abby blinked innocently, but the little grin curling at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “Plotting? Me? Nothing, bro.”
“Bullshit,” Ae-jin shot back, glaring. “You hate horror. You practically piss yourself if a door creaks too loud. So tell me—why are you suddenly excited to get chased by fake corpses and demon clowns?”
Abby slowed his pace, leaning closer like he was about to share state secrets. “Okay, hear me out. Haunted houses are designed to scare people, right?”
“Obviously.”
“So when people get scared,” Abby said, lowering his voice even more, “they naturally jump to the nearest person. Like… for protection.”
Ae-jin stared at him blankly. “No.”
“Yes,” Abby said, completely serious. “So my plan is—” he pointed his thumb to his own chest with a little smirk—“I’m gonna stand right next to Mira. That way, when she gets scared, boom—she jumps into my arms. Perfect.”
Ae-jin blinked once. Twice. Then just… stared. “…Are you fucking dumb?”
Abby’s grin faltered. “What?”
“You are deathly afraid of horror. You screamed when a pigeon flew too close to you last week!”
“That was a big pigeon,” Abby muttered defensively.
Ae-jin pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re gonna go in there, have a meltdown, and Mira’s just gonna stand there wondering why you sound like a dying kettle. That’s your whole plan?”
Abby straightened, offended. “First of all, I thought ahead, okay? I knew you were gonna say that. So…” His eyes gleamed with triumph. “I got Hyun to dress up as one of the monsters. I’ll know it’s him under the mask, which makes it way less scary for me. Boom. Problem solved.”
Ae-jin froze mid-step, staring at him in disbelief. “…You bribed Hyun to be one of the monsters?”
“Well, I didn’t bribe him. I just convinced him. With snacks. And maybe some cash.” Abby shrugged. “Point is, I’ll be fine. Totally chill.”
Ae-jin let out a long, tortured groan and rubbed his temple like Abby was single-handedly giving him a migraine. “You’re missing another major flaw, genius. Mira never jumps. Even when she’s scared, she just—” he waved his hands vaguely, searching for the right words—“she just looks… unbothered. Unfazed. Like she’s staring down the apocalypse with a poker face. She’s not gonna fling herself into your arms like some damsel in distress.”
Abby fell quiet, jaw tightening as the reality of that point sank in. He kicked at a pebble on the path, brows furrowing like he was calculating his odds. Finally, he sighed. “…Then let’s hope Hyun is as scary as he seems, huh?”
Ae-jin just gave him a long, withering look. “…You’re hopeless.”
Abby only grinned again, undeterred. “Or maybe I’m just dedicated.”
The group shuffled deeper into the haunted house, their footsteps echoing softly against the old, creaking wooden floorboards. Whoever had organized this event clearly hadn’t skimped on the theatrics. The place wasn’t cheesy—the lighting was dim but purposeful, shadows cast long against the cracked wallpaper. Cobwebs drooped from the corners, strands of fake spiders glinting whenever the flickering lanterns caught them. The air even felt colder here, heavy with the faint scent of dust and candle wax. Every step seemed to drag them further into a place that felt abandoned for decades, and yet somehow… alive.
Zoey clung to Rumi’s arm like her life depended on it. She tried to keep her tone light, as if she wasn’t phased, but the slight tremor running through her fingers gave her away. Rumi didn’t say anything, but she felt it—her strength almost unconsciously shifting, steadying Zoey just a little. Mira walked on Zoey’s other side, her sharp eyes darting over every fake portrait and mannequin in the dim hallway. The decorations were disturbingly realistic; one painting’s eyes actually followed them as they moved, and Mira tilted her head with curiosity instead of fear.
Jinu, on Rumi’s other side, walked in silence at first, lips pressed into a thin line as he scanned the dark corridor. Finally, he broke it with a casual shrug.
“Honestly? This isn’t as scary as I thought it would be.” His voice was low, as if testing the space, but carried a hint of cocky confidence. “I mean, the set-up’s nice, though. They went all out.”
Mira nodded once. “Yeah. Whoever did the set design has taste. Creepy, but… impressive.”
Zoey muttered something almost too quiet to catch. “…Yeah. Cool…”
Rumi bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing outright, but a small chuckle still slipped past. Zoey instantly shot her a side-eye glare, which only made Rumi chuckle again.
Finally, the hallway opened up into a larger chamber—the starting room. It was dressed like a lavish parlor, or at least what would’ve been lavish decades ago. The wallpaper was peeling, ornate rugs frayed at the corners, and a dusty chandelier swayed above as if stirred by an unseen hand. A grand fireplace sat dark and cold, but the mantle was cluttered with broken picture frames and melted candle stubs. At the center stood a long table draped in a tattered cloth, its surface smeared with what looked like fresh blood.
“Alright,” Abby muttered, stepping in front of the group. He rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles like he’d been preparing his whole life for this moment. “I’m assuming this is where we start?” He spoke with such confidence it bordered on theatrical, puffing his chest out slightly.
Ae-jin cringed behind him, pressing a hand to his face. “Oh my god… someone stop him. I’m getting secondhand embarrassment.”
“Shut up,” Abby snapped, but his tone lacked venom—it was more defensive than anything.
Mira, ignoring the banter, leaned over the table. Her gaze fell on a single folded note lying in the middle, the paper stained with dried crimson that made it stick slightly to the surface. She picked it up carefully, eyes narrowing as she read aloud:
“The manor keeps its secrets buried deep.
A family’s voices cry out, trapped between worlds.
Find the tokens of their lost souls,
return them, and grant the peace they seek.
But beware—what took them lingers still.
A shadow that hunts,
a hand that kills,
a face you must never trust.”
The room fell silent. Even Zoey, who had been muttering her discomfort earlier, clutched Rumi’s arm tighter, her wide eyes darting to the corners of the parlor.
Before anyone could respond, the heavy wooden door behind them creaked slowly open.
The sound dragged out like nails against stone, a drawn-out groan that made the hairs on the back of everyone’s necks rise. The group turned in unison. The doorway gaped like a black mouth, revealing only a hallway darker than the one they’d just come from.
No movement. No sound. Just the emptiness waiting.
Jinu exhaled loudly through his nose, as if trying to prove something. He stepped forward, his sneakers thudding against the wood. Peering into the hall, he lowered his gaze first, scanning the ground, then glanced left, right. Nothing. He let out a scoff and threw a look over his shoulder.
“Guys, there’s literally nothing. Stop being so—”
And then he looked up.
His words died in his throat. Looming above him was a figure—its body stretched unnaturally tall, draped in tattered black cloth. Its face… if it could be called that… was pale and twisted, eyes glowing faintly red like coals in a dying fire. Its mouth was wide, far too wide, filled with jagged teeth.
“—scared,” Jinu finished weakly, though his voice cracked.
The others followed his gaze, and that was when the room erupted into chaos.
Zoey and Abby shrieked in unison, their screams practically harmonizing in pitch as they stumbled back against the table. Zoey buried her face into Rumi’s shoulder, while Abby let out a string of panicked curses that didn’t sound heroic at all.
Ae-jin froze, eyes wide, body stiff. He muttered under his breath, “What the hell… what the actual hell is that—”
Jinu himself let out a startled yell, his arms flying up into a defensive stance as if ready to bust out martial arts he didn’t actually know. He looked more like someone trying to swat a bug than a trained fighter.
Mira, however, didn’t even flinch. Her lips curled into a smirk as she tilted her chin, watching the demonic figure with an unnerving calm. “Sick,” she said simply, nodding with approval as though this was the highlight of the evening.
Beside her, Yeon-u—who rarely broke his stoic composure—stood frozen with shock, his eyes locked on the demon. For once, even his expression cracked, disbelief widening across his features.
The figure’s head tilted sharply, its glowing eyes burning brighter. The temperature of the room seemed to drop another ten degrees as its breath hissed like wind through broken glass.
The lights flickered once. Twice. The air inside the escape room shifted, colder than before, carrying with it the faint stench of something metallic.
Then—without warning—the demonic creature lunged.
The thing came barreling out of the corner with a guttural roar, its elongated limbs scraping against the walls, the mask’s eyes glowing an unholy red. Everyone screamed, the sound bouncing wildly in the claustrophobic room, and the group scattered like startled pigeons.
Rumi’s reflexes kicked in first. She didn’t even think—her hand shot out, grabbing Zoey by the wrist. Zoey squeaked but instantly clutched Mira’s arm in return, forming a frantic little chain as Rumi barked, “Run!” The three bolted out of the room in perfect chaos, the slap of their sneakers echoing through the hallway. Rumi’s braid whipped behind her like a banner of warning as they disappeared.
Meanwhile, Jinu, wide-eyed and panicked, grabbed the first thing within reach—a stray pillow that must’ve been part of the set decor. He brandished it like a weapon, swinging it at the lunging creature with every ounce of determination he could muster.
“Back! Back, demon!” he shouted, whacking the monster across the head. The pillow made a pathetic whump , feathers puffing out from a tiny tear.
“Are you serious right now?” Abby yelped, cowering directly behind Jinu’s shoulder. “You think a pillow is gonna save us?!”
“You’re welcome!” Jinu shot back, raising the pillow again for another swing. His stance was somewhere between warrior and frantic toddler.
By the time the pillow landed its second hit, Ae-jin had already vanished. One second he was there, the next he was practically gone, dragging Yeon-u with him in a blur. They appeared in the hallway several meters away, both of them panting as if they’d just narrowly dodged death. Ae-jin leaned against the wall, muttering under his breath, “Nope. Nope. Not dying in here today.”
Back in the room, chaos finally broke when the demon froze mid-snarl. With a dramatic sigh, it straightened, then reached up to tug the rubber mask off its head. Underneath, Hyun’s face appeared, drenched in sweat but grinning with pride. His hair stuck up in awkward tufts, and his forehead glistened under the dim light revealing his full face for the first time.
“So?” Hyun asked bluntly, his voice muffled by the lingering growl of the mask’s sound system. He shook his hair out and tilted his head like a performer awaiting applause. “Did I do a good job?”
There was a long beat of silence.
Abby and Jinu both stared at him—wide-eyed, slack-jawed. Then, as if by some unspoken agreement, their expressions morphed into the most exasperated, unimpressed faces known to humankind. Abby’s lips curled into a glare somewhere between disbelief and betrayal, while Jinu dropped the pillow to his side like all his energy had been wasted for nothing.
“You almost killed me!” Abby hissed, pointing an accusatory finger. “Do you see me? I almost died!”
Jinu, still panting, looked Hyun up and down before groaning. “You made me commit pillow homicide on a guy in a mask.” He flung the pillow aside with disgust. “I hate you.”
Hyun blinked at them, completely unbothered. “So… that’s a yes, then?”
Abby’s glare intensified, and Jinu threw his hands in the air. “I swear, if we don’t make it out of this escape room alive, it won’t be because of the demons. It’ll be because we killed you first.”
Finally, after what felt like a mile-long sprint through twisting corridors, Rumi, Zoey, and Mira slowed down, their footsteps echoing faintly against the old wooden floor. The three of them staggered into a side room, breathless and clutching their sides. The dim emergency light above flickered, throwing sharp shadows across their faces.
Zoey bent over, hands on her knees, gasping dramatically before blurting, “ WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?! ” Her voice shot up into a shrill echo that carried way too far down the hallway.
Rumi immediately shot her a sharp look and slapped a hand over her mouth. “Shhh!” she hissed, pressing a finger to her lips with her free hand. “Do you want them to hear us? They could literally be anywhere.” Her voice was low, deliberate, the kind of whisper that still carried authority.
Zoey’s wide eyes darted around the room, and she gave a muffled “Mmfh!” from behind Rumi’s hand.
Mira, on the other hand, leaned casually against the nearest wall, chest still rising and falling from the sprint but her composure mostly intact. A sly chuckle slipped out of her. “Oh, come on. You two are acting like it’s real. It’s just actors in masks. They’re doing their jobs well, I’ll give them that, but…” She let her words trail off with an easy smirk as if she had already solved the room’s tension.
Trying to prove her point, Mira moved toward a nearby closet. She tugged at the squeaky door, peering inside. “Let’s focus on the clues instead of losing our minds. I bet—”
She didn’t get to finish.
The moment the door creaked open, a pale, cracked porcelain doll tumbled forward, landing directly on her chest. Its painted eyes caught the dim light, and the distorted grin on its face was too lifelike for comfort.
“Shit!” Mira yelped, hands flying up instinctively as she stumbled back, the doll slipping from her grasp and thudding onto the floor.
Rumi’s laugh came quick, sharp, and unfiltered. She raised a brow, her grin wide. “Oh, I thought you said it wasn’t real? Didn’t sound like that just now.” Her voice carried playful venom, every syllable dipped in smug satisfaction.
Mira’s face heated instantly, though in the dim shadows it barely showed. She crossed her arms tight over her chest, trying to smother her flustered reaction. “I—shut up. It startled me, that’s all. Normal human reaction.”
Rumi smirked and tilted her head, clearly not buying it. Zoey, still clinging stubbornly to Rumi’s arm like a lifeline, chuckled under her breath.
“Mm-hmm,” Rumi hummed. She straightened and looked over at Mira, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Do you still have the note?”
Mira let out a small, disgruntled sound but dug into her pocket anyway, pulling out the crumpled piece of paper. She shoved it into Rumi’s hand, muttering, “Don’t lose it.”
“Thanks.” Rumi giggled softly as she smoothed the note against her palm. “What the hell did you do to this paper?”
Mira rolled her eyes hard enough to make her head tilt, though her ears betrayed her with their faint pink flush. “I got nervous, okay? I mean, it did lunge at us. Even if it was fake, it was sudden.”
“Sure,” Rumi teased, shaking her head as she turned her focus to the note.
The room fell quieter then, the atmosphere shifting slightly as Rumi’s playful energy dimmed into concentration. The thin paper crinkled delicately between her fingers as she studied the scrawled words. Her brows knit together, lips pursed softly, and her eyes narrowed with sharp focus. Her thumb tapped against the edge of the page, steady and thoughtful.
Her expression changed in tiny, captivating ways—the faint furrow of her brow, the way her jaw flexed slightly as she turned a thought over, the almost imperceptible bite of her lip when she considered something. In the dim light, the shadows painted across her face, accentuating the graceful curve of her nose and the delicate arch of her cheekbones.
Zoey and Mira couldn’t help it. Their gazes were glued to her.
They weren’t even trying to hide it. Something about the stillness in Rumi’s movements, the quiet intensity on her face, made her seem—different. Untouchable, almost. Both girls felt that unspoken thought pulse through them at the same time: damn, she’s pretty when she’s thinking.
Rumi’s voice snapped them back. “Hold on…” She tilted the note toward the faint light, then flipped it over. Her eyes widened slightly. “There’s something—on the back—”
She turned quickly to face them, but froze mid-sentence. Both Zoey and Mira were staring directly at her, unblinking, their faces slack in a way that made her stomach twist.
“...What?” Rumi asked, instantly self-conscious. Her hand rose instinctively to her cheek. “Do I have something on my face?”
That jolted both girls awake.
“No!” Zoey blurted, too fast.
“Nothing!” Mira snapped, at the exact same time.
They glanced at each other, wide-eyed, before both started talking over one another in a flurry of excuses.
“I was just—uh, thinking about the note—” Zoey stammered, waving her hands.
“Yeah, and the light, it’s just—it was weird—” Mira added, trying to sound casual but tripping over her words.
“Right, exactly, nothing to do with you—”
“Totally nothing—”
The two voices overlapped in chaotic stuttering, growing louder the more they tried to cover themselves up.
Rumi just blinked at them, cheeks warming as the realization clicked. A smirk tugged at the corners of her lips despite her attempt to stay composed. “...You two are terrible liars.”
Zoey and Mira snapped their mouths shut, both blushing furiously now. The air thickened with an awkward, unspoken tension, the kind that buzzed against the skin.
And Rumi—well, she just laughed softly, the sound dancing easily in the dark room as she shook her head and went back to the note.
The night dragged on like a fever dream inside the haunted escape room. The dim corridors twisted and turned, forcing Rumi, Mira, and Zoey to rely on the weak glow of their lantern prop to see ahead. Their laughter and panting echoed against peeling wallpaper and fake cobwebs, mixing with the eerie soundtrack of rattling chains and sudden screams piped through hidden speakers.
Zoey clutched Rumi’s sleeve as they darted around a corner, their sneakers squeaking against the polished concrete. Just behind them, an actor in pale ghost makeup lunged out of the shadows with a guttural shriek. Zoey let out a cry, nearly falling over, but Rumi tugged her upright without slowing down.
“Go, go, go!” Mira urged, her ponytails whipping behind her as she took the lead. “They’re right behind us!”
“Why do they run so fast?” Zoey whined, half laughing, half panicking as she tried to keep up. “It’s illegal for ghosts to have that much cardio!”
“Tell them that!” Rumi shot back between ragged breaths, though even she cracked a grin.
They barreled down the hall and suddenly skidded to a stop—because just ahead, through a doorway, stood Jinu and Ae-jin. The boys were hunched over a puzzle table, trying to line up wooden tiles. For a brief moment, relief flooded Zoey’s chest.
“Finally! Reinforcements!” Zoey exclaimed, stumbling into the room.
But almost instantly, the same pale ghost actor followed them in, letting out a guttural moan. Ae-jin yelped, practically leaping onto Jinu’s back, sending their puzzle scattering to the floor.
“Bro, what the hell! I just solved that!” Jinu snapped, flailing his arms as the ghost loomed closer.
Chaos erupted. Everyone screamed, scrambled, and darted in different directions. In the frantic shuffle, Zoey was tugged by Rumi toward one hallway, while the boys disappeared down another with the ghost chasing them like a predator after its prey. Mira barked a laugh as they slammed the door behind them.
By the time the three girls were alone again, sweat plastered their hair to their foreheads. Their chests rose and fell as they leaned against the wall, catching their breath. Zoey wiped her palms on her jeans, heart still racing.
“I think my soul actually left my body,” Zoey wheezed.
“Not before mine did,” Rumi said with a small laugh, still bent over with her hands on her knees. “I’m filing a lawsuit against this escape room. Emotional damages.”
Mira leaned back, hands on her hips, “You two are babies. That wasn’t even the scariest one.”
Rumi gawked at her. “Not the scariest?! Mira, my life expectancy just shortened by ten years!”
That broke the tension. The three of them laughed, their voices echoing off the hollow hallway. Somehow, even though their bodies ached and their nerves were shot, the fear had dissolved into something warm—something fun. They kept moving toward the final exit, trading jabs and inside jokes about how pathetic the boys’ screams were and how Mira nearly punched one of the actors out of reflex.
By the time they finally pushed through the glowing red EXIT door, the air outside hit them like a blessing. Cool night breeze washed over their damp skin, carrying the scent of street food and exhaust from the city beyond. For the first time in hours, there was no screaming, no footsteps chasing them—just relief.
They lingered outside for a while, laughing over the night’s ridiculousness, recounting their favorite scares and how stupid everyone looked running. Zoey giggled so hard her stomach hurt when Yeon-u mimicked Abby’s shriek.
But as the hour dragged late, exhaustion began to creep in. They exchanged goodbyes in the cool dark—halfhearted waves, tired smiles, promises to hang out again soon—and went their separate ways across campus.
By the time Zoey and Rumi reached their dorm, silence hung heavy between them. Not an awkward silence, but the kind born of sheer exhaustion. Zoey trudged into the building behind Rumi, her eyes drooping. As soon as they stepped into their shared dorm room, Zoey dragged herself to her bedroom, kicked off her shoes, face-planting into her mattress without even bothering to change.
“Goodnight,” Rumi mumbled, her voice low and thick with fatigue as she padded toward her own room.
“Mmhm,” Zoey hummed into her blanket, already halfway asleep—or so she thought.
Minutes later, she found herself staring at the ceiling, wide awake. Her body was dead tired, but her brain buzzed like static, replaying the escape room over and over again. She sighed, rolled over, and grabbed her sketchbook from her nightstand.
Her hand moved on instinct, pen gliding across the paper. She never really planned her sketches; she just let her mind spill out in shapes and lines. At first, it was vague figures, crooked lines, jagged forms. But as the image sharpened, she froze.
It was them. Rumi and Mira.
Her hand didn’t stop—she couldn’t stop—as she drew the two of them standing strong, weapons in hand, battling off hordes of monsters. Between them, she scribbled a little doodle-version of herself, mouth wide in a cartoonish scream, arms flailing like some helpless damsel.
Zoey snorted under her breath at the image. But her amusement faded quickly, replaced by something… heavier. The memory of Rumi yanking her upright when she stumbled. The way Mira’s laugh had cut through the haunted chaos like sunlight. The way they’d teased her, looked at her, smiled at her.
Her pen slowed. She added detail to Rumi’s braid, the sharpness of Mira’s grin. Then her gaze flicked to the curve of their lips.
And suddenly her heart was pounding.
Zoey’s breath caught. Heat rushed to her face so fast she almost dropped her sketchbook. She did drop her pen, the clatter loud in the still dorm.
“No, no, no,” she whispered, sitting up in bed. Her cheeks burned. She stared down at the sketch like it had betrayed her, like it was laughing at her.
She pressed her palms to her face. “What the hell is wrong with me? It’s not like I—”
The words died in her throat. A gasp escaped her lips, sharp and too loud. She slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes darting toward Rumi’s door. The last thing she wanted was for her roommate to hear her freaking out like some kind of maniac.
“No way,” she whispered against her palm, heart hammering. “I don’t have a crush on them. I don’t.”
She tried to reason with herself, tried to quiet the traitorous warmth crawling through her chest. I just haven’t had close friends in a while. That’s all. I’m just excited. I’m just… happy.
But the flush wouldn’t leave her cheeks, no matter how tightly she shook her head. She snapped her sketchbook shut, tossing it onto the nightstand like it had caught fire.
“That’s enough drawing for tonight,” she muttered to herself, voice shaky. “Enough.”
She killed the light, crawled under her blanket, and squeezed her eyes shut. But even in the dark, her mind replayed their smiles, their laughter, the way she’d felt tucked between them in that terrifying, ridiculous escape room.
And despite her protests, Zoey knew she wasn’t escaping that thought anytime soon.
Notes:
The next chapters....are going to be fascinating that's for sure. Also double posting is not for the weak goddamn I'm going back to daily LOL
Chapter 5: Buzzkill
Summary:
Study session at Mira's place! +The start of some...angst...
Notes:
Ok so sorry this chapter too so long, this one is actually my longest one BUT here you y'all go, just know this is the start of a crazy arc LOL also if there are any mistakes just ignore them I lowkey didn't proof read that well this time..
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Mira’s apartment was the kind of place that felt like her—organized enough to not be a mess, but lived-in enough to feel warm. The living room doubled as their study space tonight, the coffee table buried under open textbooks, highlighted notes, and a half-eaten bag of chips that had somehow become communal property. A soft amber lamp glowed in the corner, fighting off the creeping sunset outside. Through the wide window, the October sky was already shifting into deeper shades of navy and plum, the sun bowing out far too quickly now that fall had settled in. A cool draft snuck in each time the balcony door rattled, reminding them that sweater weather had fully arrived.
They were all kneeling around the low coffee table, their legs tucked beneath them like a Kotatsu, though instead of a warm blanket draped over the edges, they had piles of work burying them alive. Textbooks sprawled open at random angles, notebooks stacked precariously on top of each other, loose papers scattered like fallen leaves after a storm. Even the surface of the table itself had disappeared beneath the chaos—every inch covered with something academic and menacing.
Rumi sat at the far end of the table, posture slightly hunched, her entire focus locked onto the notebook in front of her. Her pen moved with sharp precision, line after line of notes filling the page at an almost alarming speed. Her purple hair, usually tied into a thick braid, had been let down and spilled over her shoulders in soft waves. She was dressed in a plain long-sleeved shirt and loose sweatpants. Comfy. Safe. Still, her sleeves clung tightly around her wrists as if she’d tugged them down deliberately, and though neither Zoey nor Mira noticed, Rumi would know exactly what was hidden underneath.
Across from her, Mira sat cross-legged, looking like she’d been dropped straight out of an entirely different world. Zoey had gotten so used to seeing her stomping across campus in black lace, chains, and enough eyeliner to strike fear into grown men, but here, in the dim coziness of her apartment, she was disarmingly… soft. Her hot pink hair was tied in a half up half down hairstyle, and instead of leather or velvet, she wore an oversized lavender hoodie with sleeves that swallowed her hands, paired with simple cotton shorts patterned with tiny crescent moons. Somehow, the casualness only made her look sharper, like a knife sheathed in pastel.
It was Zoey’s idea to bring them together like this. During the first week of classes, she’d nearly spiraled over sociology—so many theories, so many terms that blurred together in her head. Rumi had been the one to pull her back from the brink. She was shockingly good at studying, the type who not only read the material but somehow absorbed it all, translating pages into neat little systems of notes and connections.
Zoey had leaned on that. And when she found out Mira was struggling too—always mixing up terms like “functionalism” and “conflict theory” as if they were interchangeable—Zoey suggested a group session. One turned into two, two into a rhythm, and before they realized it, “sociology study sessions” had become more like their own little ritual.
Now, though, Zoey was trying very, very hard not to combust.
Her thigh brushed against Mira’s when Mira leaned closer to peer at her notes, and her brain lit up like someone had just plugged her into an outlet. She shifted, pretending it wasn’t a big deal, but her pulse didn’t get the memo. Then there were the small things—Rumi handing Zoey a pen, their fingers grazing, or Mira stretching her arm over the coffee table, her sweater slipping up just slightly at her abdomen. Every insignificant touch, every casual glance between them felt like someone turning the volume up in Zoey’s head until it was unbearable.
It was hell. Absolute hell.
She told herself she was playing it cool, that neither of them had noticed her hyper-awareness, and so far? It seemed to be working. Mira was still scribbling, muttering things like “Wait, wait, so Durkheim said what again?” and Rumi, laser-focused, hadn’t lifted her head in what felt like an hour.
“Durkheim believed that society functioned as a whole—like all the parts working together,” Rumi said flatly, eyes never leaving her notes. “That’s functionalism. Not conflict theory. Conflict theory is literally the opposite. I’ve told you this five times, Mira.”
Mira groaned and dropped her pencil. “Okay, but my brain thinks they’re synonyms. Functionalism, conflict—same energy!”
Zoey couldn’t help but laugh, even though the sound cracked against the tension coiling in her chest. “They’re literally opposites, Mira.”
Rumi finally looked up, brows arched in disbelief. “Zoey gets it. Why can’t you?”
“Because Zoey has you as a tutor!” Mira shot back, grinning. “You’re like… I don’t know, a robot. You don’t forget anything.”
Zoey smirked at that, leaning back, hands now supporting her weight. “Yeah, but she doesn’t know when to stop either. If it weren’t for me, Rumi would probably be on her twentieth straight hour of note-taking.”
“Fourteenth, technically,” Rumi muttered under her breath, flipping a page.
Zoey and Mira exchanged a look and burst out laughing.
It was moments like this—laughter echoing in Mira’s cozy little apartment, the smell of cheap takeout still lingering in the air—that made the study sessions feel like something else entirely. Not just work. Not just cramming. Something softer, something closer.
Zoey tried to focus on that. She told herself it was cute, that she liked the ritual of it, the way it anchored her in the chaos of university life. But her heart never quite listened. Every time Mira leaned her way or Rumi’s sharp eyes flicked up at her for a split second too long, Zoey’s brain spun out into places she couldn’t control.
She wished her thoughts were this loud during exams. At least then they’d be useful.
When it got too much, she did what she always did: replayed the advice her uncle Bobby had given her.
“Cool and collected, kiddo. If you freak out, it’ll be obvious. Just… breathe. Keep it simple. Don’t let ‘em read you.”
Uncle Bobby had been her anchor long before she even understood why she needed one. Things with her parents had always been… rocky, a polite word for messy and disappointing. But Bobby was consistent. He showed up. He answered her calls at 2 AM when she panicked about a paper, or when she needed to rant about absolutely nothing. He was the one she went on spa days with when everyone else was busy—face masks, cucumbers on their eyes, the works. The thought almost made her smile now.
Still, none of his advice stopped her chest from tightening when Mira’s hand brushed against hers reaching for the chip bag. None of it stopped her throat from going dry when Rumi pushed her glasses up, glanced her way, and said softly, “You should highlight this part, Zoey. It’s important.”
Cool and collected, she reminded herself. Cool. Collected. Totally not freaking out while sitting between the two people who had accidentally become the center of her universe.
Zoey’s eyes had been glued to the same page for so long, the words had started to blur together like meaningless ink stains. She wasn’t even reading anymore—her brain had wandered somewhere far away, floating somewhere between the sound of Rumi’s pen scratching against paper and the faint hum of the heater in the corner.
Her trance broke when the sharp tap-tap of a pen nudged the top of her book.
Blinking back into reality, Zoey lifted her head to find Mira staring at her with that deadpan look she’d perfected. Mira didn’t even say anything at first; she simply lowered the book from Zoey’s line of sight with the tip of her pen, arching an unimpressed brow.
Zoey was trying to look like she was studying, when in reality, her eyes had been tracking the same sentence for at least fifteen minutes.
Mira tapped her pen against Zoey’s book one more time, then tilted her head.
“Did you take your meds before coming here?” she asked, her voice deceptively casual. Zoey’s focus was always slippery—her ADHD made her mind wander even when she wanted to lock in, which was exactly why she usually took her meds before study sessions.
Zoey’s body froze. She blinked once, twice, and then quickly nodded. “Y–Yeah. Of course.” Her voice was low, almost muttered, as if saying it softer might make it more believable.
Mira’s eyes narrowed instantly.
“You’re lying.”
The air stilled, Zoey’s stomach twisting into knots. She shot Mira a wide-eyed, offended look—except it was the exact kind of look someone gave when they’d just been caught red-handed.
“What do you mean I’m lying?” Zoey asked, her tone pitched high with mock innocence.
Mira didn’t flinch. Didn’t even bother to argue. She just leaned back slightly, raising one perfectly sharp eyebrow, lips curling into the faintest hint of a knowing smirk.
Zoey groaned and let her forehead drop against her open book with a thud. “Fine. I forgot, okay? I was in a rush—I thought I’d just take them later, but then I spaced, and now I’m here.” Her voice trailed into something sheepish, muffled against the pages. After a beat, she lifted her head and squinted suspiciously at Mira. “…How did you even know I was lying?”
Mira smirked, her pen twirling easily between her fingers. “You always fidget with the hem of your shirt when you lie.”
Zoey’s hand immediately flew to the bottom of her shirt, feeling the soft material against her palms. Her cheeks went hot. She hadn’t even noticed she’d been playing with it.
“That’s… not fair,” Zoey muttered, her embarrassment bleeding into her voice.
Mira chuckled under her breath, a soft, airy sound that lit up her face in a way Zoey wasn’t prepared for. It wasn’t like her usual sarcastic laugh or her biting remarks—this one was warm, genuine, the corners of her lips curling upward like she’d let down her guard without realizing it.
And Zoey felt it. The way her heart started pounding too fast in her chest, the way her face burned hotter the longer she looked at Mira’s smile. For a second, everything—the mess of textbooks, Rumi’s furious note-taking, the cramped little living room—blurred into the background. All she could see was Mira, glowing like a flicker of light in a dim room.
Panic shot through her veins like static.
Zoey jolted up suddenly, almost tripping over herself. “I, uh—I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” she blurted, her words tumbling out in a rush. Without waiting for a response, she turned and half-sprinted toward the hallway, desperate to put space between herself and the way Mira’s smile made her chest feel like it was about to burst.
Behind her, Mira rolled her eyes and called after her, “You don’t have to announce it every time, you know. Just… go.”
But Zoey was already halfway down the hall, her footsteps echoing against the wood, her thoughts spiraling too loud for her to even hear the rest.
Rumi, still bent over her notebook, didn’t even look up. “She’s not coming back for at least ten minutes,” she muttered, her tone dry, like this wasn’t the first time Zoey had bolted mid-study session.
Mira smirked faintly, setting her pen down on the table. “Yeah,” she murmured to herself, eyes lingering briefly on the empty space Zoey had left behind. “I figured.”
With Zoey gone, the living room felt unusually quiet. Mira let her eyes drift from her half-finished notes toward Rumi, who was completely absorbed in hers.
Rumi’s concentration was something else. Her brow furrowed ever so slightly when she wrote, lips pressing together in thought before loosening again as if she’d solved some invisible puzzle. Every so often, she’d mouth a word to herself, her voice low and quick, like a whisper meant for no one but her own brain. Mira leaned in without realizing it, catching fragments—half answers, small phrases under her breath. It was almost endearing, the way Rumi thought she was being subtle when really Mira could hear every little murmur.
Her pen scratched rapidly, her fingers shifting positions on the page every couple of minutes, adjusting to a new angle like she was recalibrating. The longer Mira watched, the more details she picked up: how Rumi tilted her head to the side when she was rereading a passage, how her lips curved into the faintest smile when something finally clicked, how strands of vivid purple hair kept falling forward until she impatiently tucked them behind her ear.
Mira sighed quietly, resting her cheek in her palm. She liked Rumi’s braid—it was almost like her trademark at this point—but she liked her hair down even more. The two rare times she’d seen it loose, spilling like a waterfall over her shoulders, Rumi had looked… softer somehow. Not less sharp, but different. Prettier, even.
Her chest tightened at that thought. Mira’s lips quirked into an unconscious smile as her gaze lingered on the slope of Rumi’s nose, the delicate way her lashes moved whenever she blinked.
And then—Rumi shifted. She adjusted her notebook, changing her angle, and Mira startled like she’d been caught red-handed. Straightening her posture, she snapped her eyes back to her notes, flipping a page she hadn’t even finished reading. Her pen hovered over the paper, unmoving.
Why was she thinking of Rumi in that way? Mira’s mind spiraled, refusing to sit still. No. Doesn’t matter. Stop. Just don’t do that again.
She chewed on her bottom lip, trying to pull herself together when Rumi’s voice suddenly broke through the silence.
“Mira,” Rumi said, not looking up, her pen still moving, “what did you get for this part of the case study? The second scenario—it’s tripping me up.”
Mira blinked, snapping back to reality. She leaned forward, grateful for something to anchor her thoughts. “Oh, that one? It’s basically testing how the variable changes when you alter the conditions. Think of it like—” She began explaining, gesturing lightly with her pen, but Rumi’s brows stayed knitted.
“That doesn’t make sense,” Rumi murmured, her eyes scanning her own notes again. Without hesitation, she scooted closer to Mira, angling her notebook so she could peek at Mira’s writing. The edge of her shoulder brushed against Mira’s, warm and firm. Mira’s stomach flipped.
They sat like that for a moment, Rumi murmuring quiet questions, Mira answering, though honestly, she was distracted. Rumi smelled faintly of something floral—lavender maybe?—and Mira found herself more focused on that than the case study.
Her eyes flicked down at Rumi’s notebook, at the perfectly neat handwriting and straight margins. And then, suddenly, Mira grinned as an idea lit up in her mind.
“You know what,” she said abruptly, sliding her hand across the table. Before Rumi could react, Mira snatched the notebook right out from under her pen.
“Hey!” Rumi sat upright, startled.
Mira leaned back, holding the notebook high above her head like a prize. “I think we’ve studied enough for one night. How about we watch a movie instead?”
Rumi narrowed her eyes, reaching across the table. “Give it back. We don’t have time for that, Mira—it’s already late. We should finish as much as we can before heading back to our dorms.”
“Oh, come on.” Mira smirked, scooting backwards and standing. She lifted the notebook higher, teasing her. “What’s the point of living if we can’t enjoy ourselves a little?”
Rumi stood too, her serious expression only fueling Mira’s playfulness.
“Not funny,” Rumi said, though her lips twitched, betraying the faintest hint of amusement.
Mira tilted her head, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “Tell you what. You’ve got thirty seconds. If you can catch me, we’ll go back to studying. But if you can’t…” She waved the notebook tauntingly. “You’re stuck watching a movie with me.”
For a split second, Rumi just stared at her, silent, like she was debating whether to play into this nonsense. Then, to Mira’s surprise, she stood up and squared her shoulders.
“You’re on,” Rumi said.
Mira’s grin widened. “Thought so.” She bolted for the far side of the room, her laughter echoing off the walls as Rumi immediately lunged after her.
Mira darted around the coffee table, notebook clutched tight to her chest as if it were a priceless treasure. Rumi was hot on her heels, her laugh echoing through the living room as she lunged. They looped around the sofa once, twice, almost cartoonishly, like Tom and Jerry chasing shadows.
“Give it back!” Rumi laughed, her voice a mix of amusement and panic.
“Not a chance!” Mira shot back, grinning wildly, her hot pink hair bouncing as she sprinted.
In one last desperate move, Rumi leapt onto the couch, landing with a bounce that nearly toppled her over. She leaned over the backrest just as Mira tried to slip by. Rumi’s hand shot out, fingers catching Mira’s wrist. She meant only to snatch the notebook, but the momentum betrayed her—Rumi tugged harder than she realized.
The next thing she knew, Mira toppled forward, crashing onto her with a soft thud.
Rumi froze. Mira’s weight pressed into her chest, their faces only inches apart. Her breath hitched in her throat as heat spread across her cheeks like wildfire. Her brain, usually sharp and sarcastic, sputtered uselessly.
Oh my god. Oh my god. She’s literally on top of me. Her face is right there—don’t look at her lips. Don’t. Look. At. Her. Lips.
Rumi’s arms, tangled awkwardly around Mira’s wrist, felt like they’d turned to stone. She could feel the rapid thrum of her own heartbeat, hammering so hard it almost hurt. Surely Mira could hear it. Surely she could feel it.
Mira blinked down at her, surprised at first, then her expression softened. Her gaze flicked briefly to where their chests were pressed together, then back up to Rumi’s flushed face. Slowly, carefully, she muttered, “Your heart is beating…real fast.”
Rumi’s lips parted, but no words came out. Her brain was screaming at her to say something, but all she could do was stare, wide-eyed, as if Mira had just uncovered her most vulnerable secret.
“I—uh—” Rumi stammered, but before she could embarrass herself further, the sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway.
Both of them jolted. Panic snapped them out of their trance. They scrambled apart with fumbling urgency, Rumi grabbing her notebook back and Mira adjusting her shirt as if nothing had happened. By the time Zoey rounded the corner, neither looked even remotely suspicious.
Zoey strolled in with her usual bounce, dropping herself right between them on the couch as if she hadn’t nearly caught them red-handed. She flopped dramatically, arms spread out like she owned the place.
“Heyyy,” she sang cheerfully, eyes sparkling with mischief. She leaned back, whistling off-key and rocking side to side like she had all the time in the world.
Rumi groaned. “What do you want, Zo?”
That was all Zoey needed—permission to launch into full ramble mode.
“Okay, so in the group chat with everyone else, Hyun was, like, totally lost on some of the material for class, right? And I was thinking maybe we could do this huge study session! Like, Mira, you could invite Abby, and then Abby could invite his roommates, and then boom—we’ve got this whole group thing going. It’ll be fun, and it’ll help Hyun catch up, and—”
As Zoey’s words tumbled over each other, Mira’s jaw tightened.
Right. Hyun. Again.
Her mind spiraled before she could stop it. Ever since the Halloween carnival, Zoey couldn’t shut up about him. In class—Hyun. During break—Hyun. Even in their study sessions, where Zoey was supposed to be helping her—still Hyun.
Why is it always him? He’s not even interesting. He’s just… some guy with a mop stuck on his head. He barely talks! What’s so special about him, huh?
Mira’s fingers dug into the sofa’s armrest.
Hyun isn’t the only person in the world, Zoey. There are other people too. Like, I don’t know—your friends?!
Her chest tightened, but she forced herself to breathe, to ease the burn creeping up her throat. It’s not that deep. She just likes him. That’s all. Plus… she seems really happy when she talks about him.
Mira rubbed the back of her neck, shifting uncomfortably. She let Zoey and Rumi carry the conversation for a bit before finally cutting in, her tone clipped but controlled.
“Fine. They can come over. Only this one time, though.”
Zoey’s face lit up like a firework. “Yes! You’re the best!” Without hesitation, she threw her arms around Mira, squeezing her tight.
Mira stiffened instantly, caught off guard. Her breath stuck in her throat, body tense… then, slowly, she let herself relax into it. Her arms hovered uncertainly for a moment before she returned the hug, a small smile tugging at her lips.
Because no matter how much Hyun grated on her nerves, nothing compared to the warmth of Zoey being happy.
The boys’ dorm room smelled faintly of chips, ramen, and the sharp sweetness of all the candy piled in the middle of the table. They’d been at this for hours, their “poker tournament” long past the point of serious strategy and devolving into a candy economy where Skittles, Snickers, and Jolly Ranchers were treated like high currency.
Ae-jin leaned back in his chair, lollipop stem hanging from his lips, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He’d already raked in a mountain of candy, not so much because of luck but because he could sniff out the boys’ tells like a bloodhound. His pile looked like a Halloween haul, and the fact that he hadn’t eaten half of it yet only made everyone else more bitter.
Across from him, Abby glared at his hand of cards like the paper had personally wronged him. His pile was barely surviving—a sad cluster of gum packets and a single fun-sized chocolate bar. He thought he finally had it this round, and the way he tried to sit up straighter, trying to play it cool, gave him away instantly.
Ae-jin tilted his head, eyes narrowing with an amused glint. “You’re way too obvious, man,” he drawled.
Abby snapped his head up. “What are you talking about? I’m chill.”
“Yeah,” Jinu muttered with a smirk, “super chill. Totally not sweating over a pack of Twizzlers.”
Hyun, who had been silent the entire time with his hair curtaining his face, laid down his hand without a word. The pile in front of him grew larger once again, his poker face—or rather, his poker hair—making him untouchable.
Abby slammed his cards down, convinced he had this one. His confidence lasted all of two seconds before Ae-jin revealed his hand, sweeping up the last of Abby’s candy like it was nothing.
“NO WAY—” Abby shot up so fast his chair scraped against the floor. “That’s rigged! You’re literally cheating!”
Ae-jin didn’t even look at him, busy unwrapping another lollipop. The crackle of plastic was almost insulting. “Cheating? Please. You basically announced your hand with that stupid little smirk.”
“It wasn’t stupid—” Abby’s voice rose, cheeks red, “—it was strategy!”
Yeon-u leaned back lazily, resting his chin on his palm with an infuriatingly calm expression. “More like self-destruction,” he said flatly. “You’re just bad at this.”
The way he said it—so casually, like Abby wasn’t even worth the effort—lit something in Abby’s chest. He slammed his palms on the table, half ready to lunge across at Yeon-u. “Say that again.”
Jinu quickly put a hand out, laughing nervously as if that would smooth things over. “Hey, hey, it’s just a game—”
Hyun’s lips curled into the faintest smirk, the first real expression he’d shown all day, and that somehow made Abby even angrier.
“You guys think this is funny?!” Abby yelled, voice cracking from sheer frustration.
“Yes,” Ae-jin said simply, now enjoying his lollipop like it was the punchline to a joke.
Jinu was halfway out of his chair, trying to hold Abby back before he dove across the table, while Yeon-u’s bored stare practically dared him to. The whole scene broke down into laughter—the kind that filled the room, even Hyun letting out a quiet chuckle. Everyone was enjoying themselves at Abby’s expense.
Well, everyone except Abby.
He finally dropped back into his chair with a dramatic groan, crossing his arms and glaring at the candy pile he no longer had. His lips pushed into a pout, making him look more like a sulking kid than a college student.
Jinu glanced at him and, for some reason, felt his chest loosen. It had been so long since he’d laughed like this, so long since he’d felt… normal. He didn’t let himself linger on the thought, but a small, almost fragile smile tugged at his lips anyway.
The moment was cut by the sharp buzz of Abby’s phone. Everyone’s heads turned as he snatched it up. His entire mood flipped instantly—eyes lighting up, expression softening.
“Whoa,” Yeon-u raised a brow. “What’s that look for?”
Abby leaned back with exaggerated sweetness, grinning like an idiot. “Mira just texted me. She wants me to come over for a study session.” He made a kissing noise at his phone, just to piss them off. Then he shrugged casually, adding, “Oh, yeah, she said you guys can come too or whatever.”
The boys exchanged glances, shrugged, and immediately started gathering their stuff.
Ae-jin, however, didn’t move right away. He rolled his eyes and muttered, “So what’s the plan this time?”
Abby blinked. “Plan?”
“You know,” Ae-jin said flatly, standing up to grab his shoes, “don’t mess it up again.”
The words dropped heavier than they should’ve. Abby froze, frown forming. “Mess it up? I didn’t mess anything up.”
Ae-jin didn’t answer, just shoved his lollipop stick into the trash and walked out, leaving his words to hang like smoke in the air.
Abby’s jaw tightened. ‘What the hell does he mean don’t mess it up?’ His thoughts churned, uninvited memories of the past flickering at the edges of his mind. Whatever Ae-jin meant, it bothered him—more than he was willing to admit.
He shook his head hard, forcing himself to focus. “Whatever,” he muttered under his breath, pushing up from his chair. “It’s just a study session.”
But as he went to get ready, that comment wouldn’t leave him alone.
Finally, the boys were all ready. The moment Yeon-u pulled the door open, the cool hallway air rushed in—and with it, the sight of a small brown package sitting neatly on the floor. He bent down, squinting at the label. “Uh—Jinu, this has your name on it.”
From down the hallway, Jinu’s muffled voice carried back. “Oh—just leave it there, I’ll grab it. You guys go on without me, I’ll catch up.”
The silence that followed pressed in on Jinu, heavier than he expected. He padded toward the package, a small twist of anticipation forming in his chest. He had ordered textbooks a week ago; it had to be that. Something boring, predictable, safe. But when he lifted the box into his arms, his gaze snagged on the corner label.
The return address wasn’t a bookstore. It was home.
His stomach tightened.
For a moment, he just stood there in the hallway, the weight of the cardboard suddenly unbearable in his arms. Then, with sharp urgency, he carried it into his room and shut the door behind him. His hands fumbled against the tape, ripping jagged edges instead of neatly peeling them back. The box fell open with a hollow sound.
The first thing he saw was an envelope—creased a little, like it had been handled more than once. Beneath it sat a small crocheted tiger, lopsided and clumsy in stitching. The yarn was dyed a vibrant blue, its button eyes slightly uneven, one ear larger than the other. Its round little face was tilted in a way that looked unintentionally goofy—like it was permanently in on a joke no one else understood.
Jinu froze. His breath hitched.
The toy sat there, silent and still, but somehow alive in the memories it pulled forward. He reached out and picked it up carefully, his thumb tracing the frayed edge of its tail. His throat ached.
He looked at the envelope again, and his fingers trembled when he ripped it open. The letter inside was written with clumsy, rounded handwriting. Some letters were backwards. Words leaned too close together, smudged in places.
“Dear Jinu,
Hi Oppa! It’s Byeol. It’s been sooo long since I’ve seen you. I miss you. I don’t really know how to write letters so umma’s helping me! Umma misses you too. I think she’s scared because appa is back. He’s really scary, scarier than before. He scares me too when he yells at umma, or when he drinks. He throws bottles and then tells me to get him another one. Sometimes I can hear them yelling even when they think I’m sleeping. I hear umma crying too.
Can you come back, please? I swear I won’t steal your hoodies anymore or eat your snacks.
Also, Derpy misses you a lot! So I asked umma to help me make a plushie. I made him blue ‘cause he’s magical, like a cat that always shows up when something bad happens.
Umma says you’re coming back soon? Maybe you can stay here forever and just walk to school? It’s not far, right?
Well… hope to see you soon.
Love, Bibi”
The words blurred on the page. Jinu’s grip tightened around the plush until he realized the yarn was pressed deep into his palm. He couldn’t breathe properly, couldn’t swallow the sudden sickness that climbed up his throat. His chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself, every memory he’d locked away rushing forward all at once—his father’s voice raised in fury, glass shattering, the muffled sound of his mother’s sobs behind a closed door.
He wanted to throw up.
He staggered back a step, sitting heavily on the edge of his bed, the letter still open in his other hand. For a moment, the room seemed far too small, walls closing in, ceiling dropping lower.
The door creaked open.
“Yo, Jin-J, you ready to—” Abby’s voice cut off.
Jinu jerked his head up. Abby was frozen in the doorway, one hand still on the knob. His easy grin faltered as his eyes swept over Jinu—his stiff shoulders, his blank face, his knuckles white around the little blue tiger.
“...Hey.” Abby’s tone shifted immediately, quiet, uncertain. “You okay?”
The sound of it broke something in Jinu. He scrambled to shove the letter back into the box, tossing the plush in after it. His movements were too fast, almost frantic, before he shoved the entire package under his bed with a dull scrape.
“I’m fine.” His voice was flat, sharp at the edges.
He stood quickly, brushing past Abby before he could respond. His shoulder knocked lightly against Abby’s in the doorway, but Jinu didn’t look back.
Abby stayed rooted to the spot, brows furrowed, confusion written across his face. He glanced once at the edge of the box peeking out from under the bed, then back at the door Jinu had already disappeared through.
“…Sure didn’t look fine,” Abby muttered to himself, closing the door slowly behind him.
The walk to Mira’s apartment had been quieter than usual, everyone tired from the long day and the heavy load of earlier’s games. By the time they reached her building, the sun was almost completely gone, spilling its last streaks of pale gold across the horizon. The hallway they entered smelled faintly of detergent and fried food—someone down the hall must have been cooking dinner. The hallway gleamed with polished marble floors and golden wall sconces, the kind of elegance that whispered old money and meticulous upkeep. Crystal chandeliers hung gracefully from the ceiling, casting a warm, golden glow that danced along the polished floors. Their footsteps echoed softly against the marble, and the faint strains of classical music drifted from a neighboring apartment.
Abby bounded ahead, the only one with any energy left, and pressed the doorbell with a dramatic flourish. He stood there rocking on his heels, grinning like he was expecting applause for the simple act of ringing it.
The door swung open, and Mira appeared, leaning casually against the frame with her arms crossed. Her expression carried that mix of exhaustion and authority she always seemed to wear so well.
“Alright,” she started, holding up a finger before anyone could speak. “Ground rules.”
The group collectively groaned, but Mira’s stare silenced them quick.
“Shoes off the second you step in. If you want food, you ask me first. And—” she paused, her eyes narrowing for emphasis, “under no circumstances does anyone go into my room.”
Abby raised his hands in mock surrender. “Got it, boss.”
“Do you all understand?” she repeated, scanning their faces like a teacher waiting for an answer.
They nodded slowly, mumbling agreements. Satisfied, Mira finally stepped aside and let them through.
Inside, the living room was modest but cozy, the kind of space clearly curated for function over form. A low coffee table was already littered with textbooks and notes, and the faint scent of lavender hung in the air from a candle burning on the counter. They spread out quickly, everyone settling into their own rhythm of studying: Zoey flipped furiously through her notes while muttering formulas under her breath, Rumi sat cross-legged on the floor with highlighters scattered around her like weapons, and Ae-jin hunched over his textbook with a furrowed brow that screamed academic martyr. Abby, on the other hand, seemed allergic to stillness, bouncing his leg under the table until the sound of it rattling drove Mira to snap at him.
It didn’t take long before Abby’s restlessness found an outlet. He balled up one of his scratch papers into a tight wad, squinted at the trash can across the room, and flicked his wrist like he was on a court.
“Easy bucket,” he said confidently.
The paper ball arced through the air and—smack—hit the rim of the trash can before bouncing uselessly to the floor.
Abby clutched his chest dramatically. “That was the air. You guys felt it, right? Totally shifted.”
Zoey raised a brow, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Yeah, sure, blame the air.”
She snatched another paper, crumpled it, and without even standing tossed it clean into the trash. A soft swish. She smirked. “Guess the air doesn’t hate me.”
“Hold up,” Rumi said, suddenly invested. She tried her hand at it, standing up and winding her arm like she was about to pitch a baseball. The ball hit the rim and rolled in by pure luck. She cheered anyway, hopping in place. “See? Natural talent.”
Abby groaned. “Natural nonsense.” He took another shot and missed again. “I swear the atmosphere in this room is cursed.”
Ae-jin leaned back, arms behind his head, his trademark smirk appearing. “You know, my parents used to sign me up for every extracurricular under the sun. Basketball included. Guess it finally pays off.”
He flicked his wrist with practiced ease, and the paper ball sailed straight in. “Textbook form,” he added smugly.
“Wow, thanks for the autobiography,” Yeon-u said dryly, but when he grabbed a paper and shot it himself, it went in on the first try. He shrugged nonchalantly, as though he hadn’t just nailed it. “Guess I’m naturally good at everything.”
The room erupted with playful groans and laughter, the competition fully ignited now. Soon it was boys versus girls, with Mira stepping in like a silent assassin.
Every shot she took landed perfectly, smooth as though she’d been born doing it. Rumi even tried to throw her off by covering Mira’s eyes with her hands, but Mira calmly adjusted, flicked her wrist, and scored again without missing a beat.
Abby threw his hands up. “No way! She’s cheating!”
“Or,” Mira said coolly, brushing past him, “you just suck.”
Meanwhile, Hyun sat stubbornly in the corner, arms crossed.
“Come on, Hyun,” Zoey teased. “You scared?”
He shook his head, but the grin tugging at the corner of her mouth spread through the group.
“Ohhh,” Ae-jin dragged out, “is it because your hair’s blocking your aim?”
The room broke into laughter, and even Hyun cracked the faintest smile, though he still refused to play.
But not everyone was swept up in the chaos. Jinu had drifted toward the edge of the couch, his gaze unfocused, the sounds of laughter and teasing muffled by the weight in his chest. His mind replayed the letter from his younger sister over and over, each word sinking into him like stones. He hated that even here—surrounded by noise, warmth, friends—guilt had a way of finding him.
Rumi was the first to notice. She lowered the paper ball in her hands, tilting her head at him. “Hey. You good?”
Jinu blinked, forcing himself back into the present. A smirk tugged at his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Totally. Just keeping score. Someone’s gotta make sure you girls don’t cheat or anything.”
His tone was light, sarcastic, but Rumi’s chest tightened. She shrugged like she bought it, tossing her paper toward the trash, but deep down she knew. Something was wrong—something Jinu wasn’t saying.
The game continued, the room filled with laughter, playful teasing, and the occasional groan of frustration as crumpled paper balls flew through the air. Mira was grinning the widest, her precision shots winning her round after round. But then, her phone buzzed once on the coffee table, small but insistent. She ignored it, focusing back on her next shot.
A minute later, it buzzed again. Mira’s brow furrowed, and she gave a quick glance at the screen—another message. She tried to push it out of her mind, thinking it could wait. But then, the phone vibrated a third time, relentless this time, as if it were demanding her attention. With a resigned sigh, she set her shot aside and picked up her phone.
The screen lit up with a series of texts, all from her mom.
"Mira, answer me now or I swear I’m coming over."
"I don’t care what you’re doing. Phone in hand. Now."
"Last warning. If I don’t hear from you, you’re grounded until the end of the month."
Her eye twitched involuntarily, a small tell of her irritation and stress. She muttered, “Really?” under her breath, feeling the tension creep into her shoulders. She began typing a reply, careful to be polite yet assertive, but before she could send it, the phone started ringing, blaring through the room.
Mira groaned audibly, rubbing her temples. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” She excused herself, her voice a mix of annoyance and forced politeness, and stepped into her bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her. The click of the lock was almost a sigh of relief.
Back in the living room, the rest of the group exchanged amused glances, shrugging and returning to their game, tossing paper balls, and laughing.
The game had simmered down by now. The living room, once loud with the sound of laughter and paper balls bouncing off walls, felt more scattered, everyone drifting back into their own rhythms. Zoey and Rumi had tapped out first, announcing they were starving and slipping into the kitchen with little protest from Mira—because when it came to rules, Mira was strict with the boys, but her girls? Not so much. The sound of cabinets opening and Zoey’s muffled commentary about Mira’s surprisingly well-stocked fridge drifted faintly into the living room.
Yeon-u had flopped onto the couch, phone in hand, scrolling with a faint little smirk that meant whatever he was reading was more entertaining than the chaos happening around him. Hyun, on the other hand, had retreated to his usual spot with his books, hunched forward, hair falling in his face, scribbling notes like the noise around him didn’t exist. Jinu sat across from him, his eyes scanning over a textbook, though he hadn’t read a single word on the page. His mind was elsewhere—back with the letter, the plush, the suffocating weight of memory that kept pulling him under when he least expected it.
Meanwhile, Ae-jin and Abby were still at it. Paper scraps littered the floor around them like confetti from some forgotten celebration. At first, the game had been lighthearted—mock groans, exaggerated victory dances—but as they kept going, something shifted.
Ae-jin smirked, twirling a fresh paper ball in his hand before glancing at Abby. “C’mon, don’t choke like you always do.”
The words slipped out casually, almost teasing, but the sharpness behind them hit Abby like a slap. His grip tightened on the paper, the echo of those words tugging at something old, something buried. He forced a playful grin, rolling his shoulders back. “Please. Watch and learn,” he said, his voice easy but thinner than before. He lined up his shot, released—and missed.
Ae-jin chuckled—not cruelly, not even mockingly, but the sound still dug under Abby’s skin. “See? Told you.” He stepped forward and took his own shot. The paper arced through the air and landed perfectly in the trash can. He grinned, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulder.
“I bet you can’t score that,” Ae-jin added, smirking as he handed the ball off.
Abby didn’t bother with words this time. His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed, and in one swift motion he flicked the ball. It swished right into the trash can, dead-on.
From the kitchen, Zoey snorted so loudly it carried back into the room. “Damn, finally!” she called out, voice dripping with amusement.
Abby didn’t acknowledge her, didn’t even crack a smile. He simply dusted his hands off like the game was beneath him and muttered, “Guess I’m out of paper anyway.” Without another glance at Ae-jin, he dropped onto the couch beside Yeon-u, pulling his notebook back into his lap. “Back to work,” he said, pretending to sound casual.
The others didn’t give it much thought—Zoey and Rumi had already returned with snacks, Hyun was too deep in his notes, and Yeon-u just hummed distractedly, eyes still glued to his phone. But Ae-jin froze for a moment, ball in hand, his smirk faltering.
Something was off. He could feel it in the way Abby’s shoulders stiffened, in the silence that followed. It wasn’t just a missed shot. Ae-jin frowned, eyes lingering on him, trying to piece together what exactly he’d said that made Abby shut down like that. But no matter how hard he searched his mind, he couldn’t find it.
“Abby…” he started, almost under his breath, but the other boy was already bent over his notebook, pen scratching across the page like nothing had happened. Ae-jin swallowed back the rest of the thought and leaned against the wall, spinning the paper ball in his fingers. The game had ended, but the unease still hung in the air like a shadow.
Eventually, Mira reappeared from her room, the light behind her casting long shadows into the living space. She stood in the doorway for a beat too long, her arms crossed over her chest like a shield, before forcing a weary sigh. “I’m… tired,” she said, her voice soft but clipped. “I think maybe it’s best if everyone heads out now.”
A wave of protest rippled through the room. Zoey groaned dramatically, already mid-reach for another handful of chips. Jinu tilted his head, eyebrows raised. “C’mon, it’s still early.” Ae-jin even laughed, like he thought Mira was joking.
But Rumi didn’t laugh. She caught the tiny stiffness in Mira’s shoulders, the way her jaw tensed even as she tried to smile politely. It was a look Rumi knew too well—the look of someone trying not to crack under pressure.
Rumi pushed herself up from the couch, brushing crumbs off her sweatpants, and moved to Mira’s side without hesitation. “Hey,” she said lightly, though there was an undertone of firmness. “She said she’s tired. Let’s wrap it up, guys.
”
There was some grumbling, but the others slowly gathered their things. Mira stayed quiet, her gaze on the floor as if she couldn’t quite look at anyone. Within a few minutes, the apartment that had been buzzing with noise and laughter settled into an uneasy quiet.
The group shuffled into the hallway one by one, their voices dimming as the door opened and closed behind them. Eventually, only Rumi lingered by the door, her hand resting against the frame. She looked at Mira, really looked at her. Mira’s expression was carefully neutral, but the faint redness around her eyes betrayed her effort.
“You okay?” Rumi asked. It wasn’t casual—it was sharp, deliberate. A question meant to pierce through the façade.
Mira swallowed, her throat working before she gave the smallest of nods. “Yeah. I’m fine.” Her tone was steady, but the silence that followed said otherwise.
Rumi didn’t call her out, didn’t push. Instead, she let the silence hang for a moment longer, heavy but understanding. Then, in a softer voice, she said, “If you need anything, I’m always here.”
Mira’s lips parted like she wanted to respond, but no words came. She just looked at Rumi with tired eyes, her mask slipping for half a second.
Rumi gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, then stepped into the hallway. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Mira standing alone in the quiet of her too-fancy apartment, the weight of the evening pressing down heavier than ever.
Notes:
Hope yall enjoyed! Just yall WAIT for chapter 6, 7 and 8 HEHEH
Chapter 6: Ghost Of A Feeling
Summary:
YAY POLYTRIX AT HALLOWEEN BLOCK PARTY!! Or.. is it a yay situation...?
Notes:
This chapter is the start of an arc... good luck y'all. Ahem so TW: Death, SH
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Zoey stood in front of the full-length mirror propped against the wall of her dorm room, tugging at the hem of her skirt for the tenth time. The reflection staring back at her looked nothing like the girl who usually kept to oversized hoodies and baggy jeans. Tonight, she was Draculaura. Or at least, her version of her. A black pleated mini skirt sat snug on her hips, layered with hot pink lace that caught the light every time she moved. She wore a fitted white blouse with ruffled sleeves, tucked under a cropped pink vest that had just enough sparkle to make her grin. Her legs were covered in sheer black tights dotted with tiny hearts, and on her feet were platform boots that made her a solid two inches taller. To complete the look, she had a pair of bat-shaped earrings, a pink ribbon tied neatly in her hair, and a carefully drawn heart under her left eye.
“Okay…” she muttered under her breath, twisting sideways, checking the fit from every angle. “You don’t look ridiculous. You look… cute. Like, Halloween cute.”
It was almost embarrassing how much effort she’d put into this. But it wasn’t just about her—this whole thing had been her idea. Matching costumes. The thought made her smile, even now. At first, Mira had groaned and waved her off, and Rumi had crossed her arms with that classic “absolutely not” expression. But Zoey had begged, practically dropped to her knees in front of them with a pout and wide, pleading eyes until they caved. Honestly, she’d had no shame about it. Because deep down, this was something she’d wanted for years.
Ever since she was a kid, she had dreamed of having that kind of friendship—the type where you matched costumes, showed up to parties as a set, and laughed about it later in the photos. She never got that in middle school. Or high school. Back then, she was the girl everyone conveniently forgot to invite, the one who got whispered about when she walked past. Costumes, parties, that whole kind of joy—it wasn’t for people like her. Or at least, that’s what she used to believe.
She shook her head quickly, shoving the thought away before it could ruin her makeup. “Not tonight,” she whispered, patting the corners of her eyeliner to make sure nothing had smudged. “This time it’s different. You’re not alone anymore.”
Her phone buzzed on the desk, lighting up with a text from Mira: I’m coming in 15. you ready?
Zoey’s stomach flipped, not with dread but with excitement. She typed back quickly: Almost!! I’m so HYPED (๑•̀ ᴗ•́)૭✧
She grabbed her tiny black purse, the one with the silver chain strap, and slung it over her shoulder. For a moment she just stood there, heart racing, soaking it all in. This was her first real Halloween event. Her first time stepping out into a crowd with her friends by her side, not on the outside looking in.
Her reflection smiled back at her, and for once, it didn’t feel like pretending.
Zoey slipped out of her room with her usual burst of energy, her boots thumping against the floor. She had only one destination in mind: Rumi’s room. She marched straight there, raising her hand to grab the handle and throw it open—only to freeze mid-motion. A memory flashed through her mind: Rumi’s sharp glare, her stern words from the last time Zoey barged in unannounced. She winced, shaking her head quickly.
“Right, knock…” she whispered under her breath like it was a sacred rule, a mantra to keep her alive another day.
So she curled her hand into a fist and gave the door three light taps. A grin spread across her face as a different idea struck her, and before she could think better of it, she leaned against the door dramatically and began to sing in a hushed, playful tone.
“Do you wanna carve a pumpkin?” she crooned, dragging out the words to match the tune of Frozen’s infamous song. “Come on, let’s go and… plaaay~!” She wobbled the note with exaggerated vibrato, grinning like a kid trying too hard to charm their parent.
Inside, Rumi groaned under her breath. She was seated at her vanity, adjusting the hem of her sleeve when Zoey’s voice filtered in through the door. Her first instinct was to roll her eyes and mutter, she’s impossible. But beneath that, tucked somewhere deeper, her chest warmed. She couldn’t help it—Zoey’s ridiculous enthusiasm had a way of seeping past her walls, no matter how high she built them.
Rumi turned back to the mirror, forcing herself to focus on her reflection, though she couldn’t meet her own gaze. She tugged at the fabric of her long-sleeved shirt—a patchwork design in muted greens stitched together with bold black seams, deliberately reminiscent of Frankie Stein’s aesthetic. She had paired it with tailored dark pants that hugged her legs and flowed into platform boots, each step bound to make her taller, louder, harder to ignore. Her accessories glittered faintly: mismatched earrings, chunky metal rings, and a chain necklace that draped lazily across her collarbone. She looked sharp, carefully styled, and deliberate—as though confidence had been stitched onto her body one piece at a time.
But beneath it all, every sleeve, every layer of fabric was armor.
Her fingers absentmindedly drifted to her forearm, tracing the faint ridges of scars beneath the fabric, as if her skin still held the memories like tree rings. She swallowed hard, pulling her hand back quickly. The sight of herself in the mirror felt unbearable, so she turned her face away, eyes catching on something else instead.
On the desk, tucked beside her textbooks and makeup bag, sat a framed photo. Rumi paused, her stomach tightening. In it, a five-year-old version of herself sat with wide, bright eyes and an even wider grin, her mother’s arm looped warmly around her shoulders. They looked so happy then, bathed in sunlight, as if nothing could ever shatter the moment. That was before everything, before her aunt’s venomous words, before the heaviness in her chest.
Celine had given her that photo. Not as comfort. Not as kindness. But as a cruel reminder of what had been taken, what had been lost, what she could never have again.
“You have his eyes,” Celine used to sneer, her lip curling every time she looked at her niece. Rumi learned quickly to hate her own reflection because of it. Hate the brown that stared back at her. Hate that she carried a piece of someone despised.
She pressed her palm flat against the photo frame, holding it there for a breath, before flipping it face down with a sharp, final motion.
From the other side of the door, Zoey was still singing. “We could roast the seeds and drink hot cocoaoo—”
“Zoey,” Rumi cut her off, her voice low but firm, though not unkind.
The singing stopped immediately. There was a beat of silence, then Zoey’s muffled voice answered, “Yes?”
Rumi sighed, dragging her fingers through her hair, trying to shake off the heaviness that threatened to anchor her. “You’re going to wake the whole floor.”
“But you didn’t say no.” Zoey’s voice carried a smile, even through the wooden door.
Rumi couldn’t help the tiniest curve of her lips, though she shook her head at herself. She grabbed her phone from the desk, avoiding the mirror on her way back. “Give me five minutes,” she called out.
“Five?!” Zoey gasped dramatically. “That’s like… a year in pumpkin-carving time!”
Rumi rolled her eyes again, but this time the gesture felt lighter. “Then start without me,” she shot back.
“No way,” Zoey replied instantly. “I’m not risking carving a pumpkin without supervision. You know I’ll probably cut my hand off.”
Despite herself, Rumi laughed under her breath, the sound startling even her. She slipped her phone into her pocket and drew in a deep breath, shaking off the echoes of the past that still clung stubbornly to her.
Tonight wasn’t about Celine. It wasn’t about scars. It was about pumpkins. About Zoey and Mira waiting outside her door with a grin that refused to be dimmed. And maybe—just maybe—Rumi could let herself have that.
A sharp, impatient knock rattled Rumi’s door, louder this time.
“Rumi!” Zoey’s voice carried down the hall, sing-song but commanding. “Mira’s finally here!”
The words snapped her out of her spiraling thoughts. With a small shake of her head, Rumi pushed herself away from the wall and stepped out of her room, leaving the laid down picture frame behind like it never existed. She’d worry about it later—or never.
When she reached the end of the short hall, she saw Mira standing just inside the doorway, chatting with Zoey in that easy, natural way that made it feel like they’d known each other for lifetimes instead of just months.
Mira looked incredible. She was dressed in her Clawdeen Wolf costume, which she had somehow managed to make both fierce and effortless. A dark purple crop top with golden trim hugged her shoulders, paired with a short faux-leather skirt layered with a patterned belt and chain that clinked softly every time she shifted her weight. Black knee-high socks peeked out over chunky heeled boots, their laces crisscrossing in neon green. She’d accessorized with claw-shaped rings that gleamed under the dorm’s fluorescent light, and gold hoop earrings that brushed her neck when she turned her head. But it was the fur-trimmed purple jacket draped over her arms that made her look like she had just walked straight out of the animated world of Monster High. She even had little wolf-ear clips nestled in her curls, which framed her face perfectly, giving her this electric energy that was both bold and warm.
Rumi froze for a second, just watching them together. Her heart fluttered, traitorous and too loud in her chest.
It wasn’t just Mira’s costume or Zoey’s Draculaura getup that did this to her—it was them. The way Zoey always saved her a seat without asking if she wanted one. The way Mira never forgot to text her good luck before her morning classes, even when she had her own packed schedule. The way Zoey would shove her phone in Rumi’s face, forcing her to look at some ridiculous turtle meme at three in the morning, knowing it would make her laugh no matter how exhausted she was. Or how Mira always reached out and adjusted Rumi’s necklace or collar when it sat crooked, fingers brushing her collarbone so casually it made her stomach flip.
Little things. Niche things.
The quiet taps Mira did with her pen during late-night study sessions that matched Rumi’s own restless rhythm. The way Zoey’s handwriting always curled at the ends when she wrote Rumi’s name. How Mira leaned in slightly whenever Rumi spoke, no matter how loud the room was, as if her words deserved to be heard above everything else.
Her cheeks heated, and for the first time in a long time, she realized she wasn’t just… tolerated. She wasn’t just there. She was wanted. She was seen. And God, for once, she felt loved—whether they knew it or not.
Rumi’s thoughts were spiraling again, heart racing faster with each memory, until Mira’s gaze shifted and landed directly on her.
“Rumi!” Mira’s whole face brightened, eyes lighting up in a way that made Rumi’s chest tighten. She hadn’t even noticed her standing there, and yet the moment Mira did, it was like Rumi had been the missing piece she’d been waiting on.
Rumi blinked, almost stepping back from the intensity of it. It wasn’t like Mira wasn’t already glowing while laughing with Zoey—it’s just… she looked even brighter now.
“You ready to go?” Mira asked, tilting her head, smirking just slightly as if she already knew the answer. And then, like always, she threw in a sarcastic jab: “Or do you need another twenty minutes to fix your eyeliner again?”
Zoey giggled, already tugging at Mira’s arm like she agreed with the teasing.
Rumi coughed out a small laugh, biting back the blush creeping up her neck. “Yeah,” she managed, voice softer than she wanted it to be. “I’m ready.”
The three of them slipped out together, the door shutting behind them with a dull thud. Zoey was buzzing with excitement, Mira was teasing her about how she nearly tripped on her boots walking in, and Rumi… Rumi was just caught in her own head, replaying everything, every glance, every brush of their voices against her ears.
Her heart was beating way too fast for her to keep pretending it was nothing.
What the hell was that?
Rumi stayed caught in her head the whole walk towards the parking lot, the muffled chatter of passing students fading into background noise. She thought about all the little moments that kept looping in her mind like a film reel—Zoey’s easy laugh spilling into her ears when they shared a joke, Mira’s habit of brushing her hand lightly against Rumi’s arm when making a point, the way the two of them always pulled her into photos even when she tried to slip out of the frame. They had this way of folding her into everything so effortlessly, like she belonged there, like she was supposed to be with them.
Her heart twisted, warm and heavy. She’d tried denying it before, convincing herself it was just admiration, just friendship, just her being soft. But now that she let herself feel it, really feel it, there was no neat little box to shove it in. Was it still platonic? Was it a crush? Something deeper? She didn’t know, and the not knowing burned hotter than she wanted to admit.
Then Zoey nudged her shoulder—light, playful, enough to make her stumble a step to the side.
“You think too much, you know that?” Zoey said, grinning at her with that infuriatingly relaxed expression. Her hair caught the faint glow of the campus streetlights, haloing her like she belonged in a movie.
Rumi blinked, caught off guard. “Huh?”
Zoey laughed, a small giggle escaping. “Yeah. You get that face. Like you’re trying to solve world peace in your head or some shit. Chill out. We’re not going to take another stupid test. We’re literally just going to a party.”
Mira snorted softly, flicking her hair back as she adjusted her hoop earrings. “Honestly, I was about to say the same thing. You looked like you were writing an essay in your brain.”
Heat rushed to Rumi’s cheeks, and she let out a laugh she didn’t know she had been holding back. The knot in her chest loosened just a little. “Okay, okay. Fine. I’ll stop. No essays. Promise.”
“Good,” Zoey said, bumping her again, gentler this time. “Just have fun. That’s the only rule tonight.”
Rumi bit down on a smile, hiding it behind the way she looked down at her shoes. But inside, something clicked into place. Zoey had unknowingly given her the answer she’d been chasing in circles—don’t overthink it, just be. She didn’t have to label it, didn’t have to force it. She could just… exist in this moment with them.
‘She’s right,’ Rumi thought as the three of them rounded the corner, music growing louder. ‘Don’t think too much. Just have fun.’
For the first time all night, her chest felt light.
Mira’s car drove into the neighborhood, headlights bouncing off strings of orange and purple lights that stretched across the street like a glowing canopy. The further they drove, the more the night seemed to hum with energy. Music thumped from somewhere ahead, bass lines rolling through the pavement, and laughter spilled into the air like a current pulling them in. By the time Mira parked a few streets down, the windows had already fogged a little from the press of bodies they could see outside.
The block party was alive. Houses were draped in cobwebs and flickering lanterns, each lawn transformed into some kind of haunted maze or carnival booth. Paper bats and grinning skeletons dangled from the trees, while smoke from fog machines curled into the air, glowing under strobe lights. Everywhere, people were dressed in costumes—witches, vampires, superheroes, skeleton onesies. Some had gone over the top with elaborate makeup and glittering masks, while others had clearly just thrown on a cape or pair of horns for the sake of joining in.
Zoey tugged on Rumi’s sleeve as they wove their way through the crowd. “Okay, but I swear if I trip over one more fake gravestone—”
“You’re literally looking down,” Mira cut in with a grin, adjusting the belt of her costume. “It’s not the gravestones, Zoey. It’s you.”
Rumi rolled her eyes, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. She didn’t say much, but she didn’t need to—the way people’s heads turned as the three of them walked by said enough. Compliments followed them like a trail of perfume.
“Your outfit looks amazing!” someone shouted at Zoey.
“Oh my god, that’s such a clever costume, where’d you get the top?” another chimed at Mira.
And Rumi—quiet, steady Rumi—caught lingering looks too. A couple of girls stopped her just to gush over the details of her outfit, and though she nodded politely, her ears burned under the attention.
They tried everything. First, mega Jenga—a towering stack of wooden blocks set up on a plastic table that leaned slightly in the grass. Mira was the first to pull a piece, tongue sticking out in concentration as she wiggled one free. Cheers erupted around them from onlookers, and Zoey nearly toppled the entire thing just by laughing too hard when her turn came. Rumi, steady-handed, managed two pulls without a single wobble. By the time the tower finally came crashing down, Mira had practically collapsed into Zoey’s side, wheezing from laughing so hard.
Then came Connect 4—giant plastic slots where the pieces clattered loudly into place. It turned into a dramatic battle between Zoey and Mira, while Rumi quietly destroyed anyone foolish enough to challenge her afterward. They went from booth to booth, trying games, picking up free candy, stealing bites from one another’s snacks. The night blurred into waves of neon lights, noise, and laughter until their stomachs finally growled louder than the music.
They found a picnic table tucked under a tree strung with glowing lanterns, plates piled high with burgers, fries, and greasy festival food. Zoey and Mira dug in immediately, practically inhaling their food like they hadn’t eaten in weeks.
“Slow down, you’re gonna choke,” Rumi said, lips quirking as she watched them.
Zoey shook her head, cheeks bulging with fries. “Nuh-uh. This is strategy.”
Mira joined in, cheeks just as stuffed. “Survival of the hungriest,” she garbled, making Zoey snort so hard a piece of lettuce fell from her mouth.
Rumi laughed quietly, finally lifting her burger, but as she did, she felt it—that prickling sensation, like someone’s eyes were drilling into her back. She paused, fingers tightening on the bun, and subtly glanced over her shoulder.
Two people stood a few tables away. A guy and a girl, their costumes forgettable, but their faces… their faces were familiar. Too familiar. They looked away quickly when Rumi caught them staring, but it was already enough to make her stomach twist. She turned back to her food, willing the tension in her chest to ease, and took a slow bite.
Then came the laugh. Sharp. Cruel. It cut through the hum of the party, and when Rumi dared to look again, she realized it was from them—the same people.
“Funny,” the girl said, just loud enough for it to carry. “A murderer’s daughter at a Halloween party. Guess it fits the theme.”
The words slammed into Rumi like a blade. Her whole body went cold. The burger in her hands suddenly weighed a thousand pounds, her fingers squeezing it so tight the bread squished flat. The noise of the party faded into static, her breath stuck somewhere in her chest.
Old memories clawed their way forward. The whispers in high school halls. The sidelong looks. The muttered words she pretended not to hear. What the hell are they doing here? Isn’t this just for students enrolled in this school only??
“Rumi?” Mira’s voice cut in softly. “You okay?”
Rumi blinked and realized her knuckles were white around the burger. She set it down, her throat tight. “I’m fine,” she murmured. “Just… not hungry anymore.”
She wasn’t fine. She felt like she might throw up. Every cell in her body screamed to get away, to disappear before Zoey and Mira noticed the storm raging inside her—or worse, before those two spread their poison any further. She could still hear them snickering, their voices cutting through her like glass.
Rumi stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the ground. “Let’s—let’s go dance,” she said quickly, forcing her tone light.
Both Zoey and Mira blinked at her, taken aback. Zoey frowned. “You… want to dance?”
Mira snorted, leaning back with a raised brow. “Wow. You must be really desperate if you’re suggesting that.”
Zoey laughed, nodding. “Seriously. Since when do you willingly go to the dance floor?”
Rumi forced a small smile, though her heart hammered in her chest. “Since now.”
They didn’t press her on it. Mira rolled her eyes and Zoey shrugged, and together they gathered their things. As they moved toward the music, Rumi cast one last glance over her shoulder. The boy and girl were still there, watching, smirking.
Her jaw clenched. The pounding bass of the dance floor swallowed her whole a moment later, lights flashing across her face as she let the crowd absorb her. Here, with the music shaking the ground and bodies moving all around her, she could almost disappear.
That was all she wanted—just to vanish into the noise before the past could follow her any further.
Rumi’s fingers curled around Mira’s hand on one side and Zoey’s on the other, her grip almost too tight as she tugged them forward. She barely registered the way the crowd shifted to let them pass or the warm night air buzzing with music and chatter. All she could feel was that familiar hot prickle of eyes on her, like the whole block party had turned and zeroed in on her clumsy little trio. Her chest tightened, her pace quickened.
Her boots slapped against the pavement with a rhythm that screamed
hurry, hurry, hurry
. Zoey stumbled a little but just laughed, her voice light and unbothered.
“Whoa, slow down, Rumi! You trying to teleport us there?”
Mira’s brows furrowed as she glanced at Rumi’s profile. Something about the tension in her shoulders, the almost desperate way she pulled them forward, wasn’t excitement—it was anxiety. Mira felt the suspicion coil in her gut, but she swallowed it down. Not here. Not now.
Finally, they spilled onto the makeshift dance floor—an open section of pavement where multicolored lights swung overhead and music blasted so loud it rattled through Rumi’s bones. Before she could retreat, Zoey surged forward, eyes sparkling. She seized both their hands and dragged them into her orbit, bouncing in place with an infectious grin.
“C’mon! Circle time!” she squealed, already hopping in rhythm.
Mira’s lips quirked despite herself. Zoey looked like a little kid at a carnival, her dark curls flying as she spun them around. Something about that carefree energy always softened Mira’s edges. She felt the sharp words of her mom’s voice from last night dull into nothing as she gave in, actually letting out a small laugh as she allowed herself to move. Maybe… maybe it’s okay to just enjoy this.
Rumi, meanwhile, stood stiff as a board at first, her hands awkward, her legs wooden. She darted her eyes around—searching. But when she spotted that the two girls from earlier weren’t in sight anymore, something in her chest unclenched. The music seeped into her veins. She loosened her grip, let her body sway, and slowly, piece by piece, she began to join in.
From Rumi’s perspective, Zoey was radiant—her laughter brighter than the neon lights above. She twirled effortlessly, her joy so tangible it almost hummed against Rumi’s skin. And Mira, Mira was softer, her smile not flashy but warm, like a candle flickering against the noise of the world. When Rumi caught Mira’s eyes for a split second, she swore her stomach flipped. She didn’t understand why.
They began spinning each other around, one by one. Mira tugged Zoey into a spin, Zoey returned the favor, then they both tried to spin Rumi at the same time, which only ended with her stumbling and nearly falling into them. They laughed, loud and breathless, their hands tangling clumsily but never letting go.
The music pounded, their sneakers squeaked against the ground, and for a few precious moments it felt like the world had narrowed to just the three of them, hands linked, bodies in motion, hearts syncing up with the beat.
But after the third spin, the world tilted violently for Rumi. Her head swam. She pressed a hand to her temple and let out a breathless laugh.
“Okay, okay—timeout for me. I’m gonna… I need a break.”
Zoey’s brows knitted, but she still grinned. “Lightweight,” she teased.
Mira tilted her head, studying her, but didn’t press. “Don’t be gone too long.”
Rumi nodded, weaving her way off the floor. Her legs still buzzed, her pulse racing. She aimed toward one of the open houses to find a bathroom, but something stopped her halfway. A tug in her chest.
She turned back.
And the sight hit her like a blow.
Zoey and Mira were still on the dance floor together, laughing, spinning each other without her. The overhead lights caught Zoey’s curls, making them shimmer gold, and Mira’s cheeks were flushed with genuine happiness, her smile unguarded and real. Zoey leaned in close to whisper something that made Mira laugh harder, her head tilting back, eyes crinkling in pure joy.
Rumi’s heart stuttered. Then raced.
It was like her whole body woke up at once—the tightness in her chest, the warmth flooding her face, the wild pounding in her ears. Her breath caught, shallow and shaky, and she realized with startling clarity that this wasn’t just admiration. It wasn’t just friendship.
Her brain scrambled for excuses. It’s just because they’re so close. It’s just because you’ve been hanging out too much. It’s just—
But no. Watching them move together, so alive and vibrant, something inside her broke open.
Her palms felt clammy, her mouth dry, her knees unsteady. She pressed herself against the shadow of a wall, eyes locked on them as if she couldn’t look away. Every laugh Mira made felt like a tug on her chest. Every bounce of Zoey’s curls made her stomach twist.
She wanted to be there. Not just physically in the circle—but there , woven into that effortless joy between them.
For the first time, Rumi admitted it to herself. The word she’d been dodging finally carved itself across her thoughts.
Crush.
Her lips parted slightly as she whispered it inside her head. And suddenly, the night felt entirely different.
Rumi shoved her way through the haze of bodies and bass, each room she passed reeking of beer, smoke, and perfume that clung to the air like fog. Laughter echoed against the walls, sharp and wild, while couples pressed themselves into dark corners, lips locked, oblivious to the chaos. A door cracked open to her right revealed a guy hunched over a toilet, retching so violently she flinched. She didn’t stop moving until her hand landed on a doorknob that felt… untouched. She twisted it, relief washing over her when it clicked open without resistance.
The bathroom was empty. Thank god.
She slipped inside quickly, locking the door behind her. The music was muffled now, nothing more than vibrations crawling along the walls. For a second, she just leaned against the door, head in her hands, trying to breathe. But her chest heaved too fast, too tight.
Her thoughts weren’t kind.
I liked them? I LIKE them?! Her palms pressed harder against her temples as if she could crush the thought before it could take root. HOW?? WHY?? I didn’t even know I liked girls?!
Her stomach churned. Her hand flew to cover her mouth while the other clutched her midsection, grounding herself. But grounding didn’t work — because the realization got worse. She didn’t just like one girl. No, her heart had decided to pick two . Two girls, at the same damn time.
She stumbled forward, catching herself on the sink. The mirror loomed above her, merciless. Rumi stared at her own reflection, skin flushed, eyes wide, hair sticking to her forehead from the heat of the party. For a second, she didn’t recognize herself — this scared, messy version. Then her gaze snagged on the faint scars that dragged pale lines along her arms and jaw. Her lips parted as her thoughts sharpened into a dagger.
How could anyone… love someone like her?
The silence pressed in, suffocating. Her eyes, her scars, her jagged edges — all the parts of her screamed unlovable. Unworthy.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, sharp enough to cut through the spiral. She blinked, pulling it out. The screen lit up: 10 missed calls. Aunt Celine.
Her stomach sank. Shit.
She answered, bringing the phone to her ear with shaky fingers.
“Rumi.” Celine’s voice came through, calm but razor-sharp. There was no yelling, no theatrics. Just the kind of tone that made Rumi feel twelve years old again. Small.
“Auntie, I—”
“Do you even know what day it is?”
The question hollowed her out. Rumi swallowed hard, throat dry, but the words tangled. She couldn’t say yes, she couldn’t say no. Her silence stretched.
Celine’s sigh crackled down the line. Heavy. Disappointed. “Have you forgotten that this is the day your mother died?”
The words slammed into her harder than the music outside. Rumi’s breath caught, her hand tightening around the sink until her knuckles blanched.
“I… no. I just—” she stammered, fighting for air. “I just wanted to have fun today instead of—”
“Fun?” The word was sharp enough to slice. “You think today is fun?”
Her voice didn’t rise in volume, but in weight. The kind of fury that didn’t need screaming to be felt. Rumi bit her lip, vision blurring as tears threatened.
“This isn’t fun, Rumi. You think it was fun when I saw my sister’s lifeless body on the ground?”
The words triggered a memory she’d buried deep: sirens wailing in the dark, police lights strobing against her windows, the metallic scent of blood. Her mother’s body—still, pale, untouchable. The bile clawed its way up her throat, but she forced it down.
“You think it was fun raising you when your father left?”
That word— father —rang in her ears like a bell. Rumi froze, the phone slippery in her grip. For a second, she couldn’t even hear Celine anymore. All she heard was the echo of that absence, that abandonment.
Celine’s voice kept going, a storm in the background. Rumi’s heart thudded louder, drowning most of it out. Until, finally, her aunt’s words cut clean through:
“You know what? You can spend the night alone. Go have fun with whatever you’re doing.”
The line went dead.
Rumi stood frozen, staring at her own reflection again. The bathroom was silent except for her shallow breathing, but it felt like the walls were caving in. She didn’t cry, even though her chest ached like it should break open. She just stood there, hollow, phone still clutched in her hand like an anchor.
A sharp ping jolted her. The screen lit up again — Zoey. Message after message, spamming her phone.
Where’d you go??
Are you okay??
Rumi?? Answer me (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞ !!!
Her hands hovered over the keyboard, trembling. Finally, she typed back slowly, each word heavy.
I’m on my way.
The message sent. The screen went dark. And Rumi stayed in the bathroom a little longer, staring at the girl in the mirror who didn’t look like someone anyone could love.
Zoey’s phone buzzed against her thigh. She glanced down to see a message from Rumi: I’m on my way.
A soft smile tugged at Zoey’s lips as she glanced over at Mira. The two of them were sitting on the curb, legs dangling over the edge of the sidewalk, taking a break from the chaos of the block party. The music still pulsed faintly in the distance, the crowd’s laughter and chatter muffled behind the rows of houses and string lights, leaving them in their own little bubble of calm. Cool night air brushed their faces, carrying the faint scent of autumn leaves and popcorn from a nearby stand. The world felt quiet here, almost intimate, like the night itself had paused just for them.
Zoey kicked her sneakered foot against the asphalt, laughing softly. “Can you believe some of the stuff we did tonight? I swear, I’m never playing Connect 4 that aggressively again.”
Mira chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You say that, but I saw you plotting your victory like a general. Don’t act like you weren’t taking it seriously.”
Zoey laughed again, the sound lighter now, the kind that comes from pure relief. Then, almost quietly, almost as if afraid Mira might not hear, she mumbled, “Thanks… for tonight.”
Mira tilted her head, frowning slightly in confusion. “For what?”
Zoey hesitated, glancing down at her hands folded in her lap. Her voice was barely above a whisper as she continued, “I… I never really had friends growing up. People thought I was weird, annoying, strange… they made fun of how I looked, and… well… no one really wanted to hang around me. But you, Rumi, and even the guys… you all still bothered to be my friend. I’m glad for that. I… I’m really glad.”
Mira’s eyes softened. She reached over, nudging Zoey’s shoulder lightly. “You don’t need to thank me for that, Zoey. You’re wonderful the way you are. Nice, caring… even when I can be cold. You have a heart, and you don’t hide it. That’s rare.”
Zoey’s cheeks heated. Her heart started pounding, and for a moment she couldn’t even speak. Mira’s voice — soft, steady, and sincere — had bypassed every defense she had, leaving her vulnerable in a way that made her feel alive. Slowly, almost unconsciously, Zoey scooted closer.
Before she even realized it, her head found the curve of Mira’s shoulder. Mira stiffened slightly at first, surprise flickering across her face, but then, carefully, she eased into the touch, letting herself feel it. Her fingers twitched at her side, almost betraying the storm of sensations inside her chest. Her breathing hitched. She didn’t move away, though; she couldn’t.
Mira’s voice was soft, almost like she was speaking to herself. “And for what it’s worth… I think you’re beautiful.”
The words hit Zoey like a spark in the dark. She lifted her eyes, wanting to meet Mira’s gaze, but Mira’s eyes were everywhere except on her — down the street, on the sidewalk, anywhere but Zoey. Embarrassment colored Mira’s cheeks faintly pink, and Zoey could feel her heart skipping in response.
Zoey leaned back slightly, resting her head more securely in the crook of Mira’s neck, breathing in the warmth, the faint scent of her shampoo. Mira’s pulse thudded against her temple. She couldn’t believe she’d actually said it. She felt like she might faint from the intensity of it all, but she didn’t move away, even as her mind screamed that this was too close, too fast, too much.
Zoey’s voice broke the silence, soft and almost reverent: “Thank you…”
The world narrowed to just the two of them on that quiet curb. The distant bass of the block party faded into nothing. For a few precious moments, nothing existed outside this small, fragile bubble — two hearts beating in the cool night air, tangled in unspoken confessions, warmth, and the electricity of something new and terrifyingly real.
Rumi finally caught up to Mira and Zoey, who were still sitting on the curb, their legs dangling over the edge, the cool night air brushing against their skin. Zoey’s head lifted, her eyes bright with excitement, while Mira’s gaze lingered on Rumi as if reading something beneath the surface. Rumi looked… exhausted. Not in the way someone is sleepy, but in the way sorrow weighs on your shoulders, dragging you down with invisible chains. Mira noticed immediately. Her brow furrowed, a sharp pang of concern cutting through the remnants of their earlier fun.
Before Mira could even open her mouth to ask if she was okay, Zoey sprang to her feet and clasped Rumi’s hand. “Ready for one more game?” she asked, her voice brimming with playful energy.
Rumi’s lips pressed into a thin line. Her shoulders slumped slightly as she murmured, “I… I think I just want to go back to the dorms. I’m tired.”
Zoey, ever relentless in her playful ways, grinned mischievously. Without warning, she grabbed Rumi’s wrist and began tugging her forward, chanting like a child with boundless energy, “One more game! One more game!”
Rumi froze for a moment as her sleeve rode up just enough to reveal faint traces of her scars. A sharp wave of panic hit her chest, and instinctively, she jerked her hand away from Zoey’s grasp, stumbling slightly. Her other hand clutched her wrist, tugging the fabric back down over the marks she had worked so hard to conceal. Her voice trembled as frustration bubbled to the surface.
“Zoey,” she snapped, sharper than she intended, “can you just stop for once? Why are you doing so much lately?!”
Zoey’s bright smile faltered, faltering like a candle in the wind. Her lips parted, ready to reply, but Rumi cut her off before she could speak. “I just… I want to go back to the dorms,” she muttered, turning on her heel and walking away.
Zoey stood frozen, her hand still mid-air where Rumi had pulled away. The playfulness in her eyes dimmed, replaced by a mixture of hurt and confusion. Mira immediately stepped between them, her voice firm yet measured. “Rumi… that wasn’t nice,” she said, her gaze hard but calm.
Rumi’s apology was quick, almost automatic, and only half-hearted. “I… I’m sorry,” she mumbled, not meeting Mira’s eyes.
Mira planted herself firmly in front of Rumi, frustration simmering beneath her words. “What the hell is up with you?” she demanded. Her voice was rising now, though her words were sharp with concern rather than anger.
Rumi exhaled sharply, dismissing Mira with a wave of her hand. “It’s nothing,” she said, her tone flat, as if sealing the conversation shut.
“It’s obviously not nothing!” Mira yelled, her voice cutting through the night. “You just lashed out at Zoey for no damn reason!”
Rumi’s jaw tightened. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, turning her back on Mira again.
Mira’s voice softened slightly but was firm, unwavering. “You’re not going anywhere until we talk this out. Remember when you told me I could talk to you anytime? Why can’t you do the same with me?”
Rumi’s stride faltered, but she shook her head. Her voice was quiet, almost resigned. “I’ll walk,” she said, her words carrying the weight of finality. And with that, she stormed off into the shadows of the street, leaving Mira standing there, the cool night air pressing against her as her frustration and worry mingled into a knot she couldn’t quite untangle.
The sounds of the block party faded behind them, leaving a tense silence that seemed to stretch endlessly. Zoey remained where she was, still processing, while Mira’s eyes lingered on the retreating figure of Rumi, a mix of exasperation and helplessness tightening her chest.
Notes:
Just y'all wait for chapter 7 and beyond cause it's dead gonna be sad LOL
Chapter 7: Little Cats, Big Hearts
Summary:
Polytrix finally resolve their issues HUZZAH!
Notes:
The Polytrix hyperfixation is so strong I literally spent half of my day just writing this chapter bro. (Fun fact: originally chapter 7 was gonna be more angst then I was like nahhh)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Rumi sat hunched over her desk, her pencil moving with sharp precision across the page, eyes locked so tightly onto her notebook that she barely blinked. Her lamp cast a harsh, single beam of light over her desk, the rest of the room swallowed by shadows. It had been two days since that argument, and ever since, she’d confined herself here—her dorm room had become both a bunker and a prison. She only came out when she was sure the hallway was quiet, sneaking into the kitchen or bathroom like some fugitive.
If Zoey was out in the common space, she avoided it. If she wasn’t sure, she waited.
Not that it really mattered. Between lectures, labs, and assignments, Rumi hardly had time to think about anything but deadlines—except she did . No matter how much she tried to bury herself in work, her mind kept circling back to Zoey. And Mira.
Her pencil lead snapped clean in two, the sudden crack startling her.
Rumi cursed under her breath and stared down at the broken point. It wasn’t the pencil’s fault. It was the thought—the image—of Zoey and Mira together. Laughing. Whispering. Smiling in a way that didn’t reach her anymore. Mira’s smile was always warm, soft around the edges, and Zoey’s laugh—loud, unrestrained—was enough to make people turn their heads across a room. Rumi could picture them so vividly, their faces glowing with excitement, leaning closer to each other, sharing in jokes she wasn’t part of.
Her chest tightened.
She knew she was being dramatic, selfish even, but the ache in her chest was undeniable. They’re fine without me… maybe even happier.
Her thoughts drifted further, unbidden, to that night—the block party, the words she had thrown like knives. She could still see Zoey’s face, wide-eyed, as if Rumi had ripped something fragile straight out of her hands. Zoey’s lips had parted, but no words came; just that shattered, heartbroken look. Mira’s expression had been different—angry, yes, but behind that anger was something worse: disappointment.
The memory made Rumi’s stomach churn. She pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes, breathing hard. Her gaze fell to the frame sitting facedown on her desk—the picture of her and her mom. It hadn’t been upright since the party. She reached for it, her fingers brushing the edge, but stopped. Her throat ached. Guilt was a constant weight pressing down on her ribs, and if she picked that frame up, she knew she’d break down all over again.
Just like she did the night she came back from the party—collapsed against her bed, sobbing so hard she couldn’t breathe.
A sound pulled her from the memory. A knock—soft, hesitant.
Rumi froze. Her hand stilled mid-reach. She knew that knock.
Her heartbeat spiked as a voice followed, muffled by the door but unmistakably gentle.
“Hey, Rumi.”
Zoey.
Rumi’s chest constricted. Zoey never called her by her full name. Usually, it was some teasing nickname, something light and casual. Hearing her say Rumi like that made it feel… different. Careful. Fragile.
On the other side of the door, Zoey cleared her throat before continuing, words tumbling out in a rushed ramble.
“Uh, so—me, Mira, and the guys were thinking of going to watch Abby’s football game tomorrow. Semi-finals and all that.”
Rumi stared at the wood grain of her desk, not daring to move.
“I was just wondering if… if you wanted to come, or anything.” Zoey’s voice wavered, her usual confidence frayed at the edges. Then she added quickly, “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. I don’t want to force you.”
That last part was whispered, so faint it could’ve been missed if Rumi hadn’t been listening so closely. But she caught it. And it stung.
Rumi’s throat tightened. She wanted to open the door, to say something— anything . But when she parted her lips, no sound came. The lump in her throat was too heavy.
Silence stretched on.
Zoey lingered for a moment, as if waiting for the courage of an answer that wasn’t coming. Finally, her voice came again, softer this time.
“…I’ll let you think about it. Just let us know if you’re going or not.”
There was a pause, and then the faint sound of retreating footsteps.
Rumi stayed perfectly still, listening to them fade down the hall until there was nothing but silence again. Her chest rose and fell, heavy and uneven. She gripped her broken pencil so tightly the wood dug into her palm.
She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to run after Zoey and pull her back, to say she was sorry, to beg for that warmth again. But she didn’t move.
Instead, she sat there, surrounded by the shadows of her room, the photo of her mom still facedown on the desk, and the echo of Zoey’s hesitant voice replaying over and over in her head.
Zoey trudged into her room and shut the door with her foot, the soft click echoing louder than she meant it to. She didn’t bother turning on the light. The faint orange glow from the hallway slipped in under the door, enough to guide her to her bed. With a heavy sigh, she collapsed face-first into the blankets, muffling the sound against her pillow.
Her body ached with exhaustion—long days of studying, endless assignments piling up, professors reminding them about the exams, and all of it grinding into her nerves. But schoolwork wasn’t what left her chest so heavy. It was that stupid argument with Rumi. The thought alone made her eyes sting, and she shoved her face deeper into the pillow like she could suffocate the memories away. She didn’t want to think about it, because every time she did, she felt the same tightness in her throat, the same pressure in her chest, until the tears inevitably came. Again.
Since that night on the sidewalk, when she finally opened up to Mira, things had been… complicated. Mira, bless her, checked in on her almost every day since then. “How are things with Rumi?” she’d ask gently, like she was afraid Zoey might crumble in her hands if she wasn’t careful. And Zoey always answered with the same lie, pasted on with a wobbly smile: I’m fine. Because what else could she say? That she felt like she had ruined everything? That she was too much, too clingy, too loud, too… annoying?
The same words echoed from years ago—middle school, high school, whispered laughs from people who thought she couldn’t hear. You’re irritating. You’re too much. They all blurred into one cruel chorus, and lately, she had started to believe it again.
She rolled her head to the side, cheek pressed against the pillow. Her gaze landed on the small plush sitting near the edge of her desk. The sight made her pause.
It was the cat she’d won at the carnival a while back, goofy and slightly lopsided from where it had been stitched. Its round, wide eyes stared out in a kind of dumb, endearing way. Draped over its body was a little white blanket sewn in place, meant to look like a Halloween ghost costume. She remembered hugging it tight while Mira and Rumi laughed at her overly dramatic revelation of her prize, their hands full of the prizes she had given them.
Her chest pinched. She reached out and pulled it into her arms, holding it close against her chest as she sat up. The softness was grounding, comforting in a way nothing else was right now.
“Casper,” she whispered, naming it like she had that night. “Like the ghost.”
She stroked the plush’s head with her thumb and wondered—did Mira still have hers? Maybe it had slipped under her bed, forgotten and gathering dust. And Rumi… Zoey’s throat tightened again. Rumi probably stuffed it somewhere in the back of her closet after their fight, maybe even hated it but kept it out of politeness. Maybe they both hated them, hated the way she always insisted on silly matching things.
Her thoughts spiraled quickly, too quickly to stop. Maybe she shouldn’t have begged for them to wear matching costumes. Maybe dragging Rumi back to the games had been the final push that tipped her over the edge. Maybe she ruined the night for everyone, just like she ruined everything else.
Tears slipped hot and uninvited down her cheeks. She clutched Casper tighter, pressing the plush against her chest as if it could absorb her sobs. She cried as quietly as she could, each shaky breath muffled, because the last thing she wanted was anyone knocking on her door, asking questions she didn’t want to answer.
But as if the universe was determined to betray her, there it was. A soft knock at the door.
Zoey froze, sucking in a breath and hurriedly wiping her face with the back of her sleeve. Her heart thudded hard in her ears, louder than the knock had been. She didn’t want anyone to see her like this. Not Mira. Not Rumi. No one.
Another knock followed, a little firmer this time.
“Zoey?” A voice called gently through the door.
Zoey almost didn’t open the door.
“Uh…hey. Can I come in?”
It was Rumi.
Zoey’s chest tightened so suddenly it hurt. Every fiber in her wanted to blurt out no, and hide in the safety of her room where her shame couldn’t be seen. She was crying—red-eyed, blotchy, nose running, the kind of crying you can’t really disguise with a quick smile. But this was Rumi. If she turned her away now, who knew when—or if—this chance would come again.
With trembling hands, Zoey dragged the sleeves of her hoodie across her cheeks. “Y-Yeah… come in,” she croaked, forcing her voice to sound casual.
The door opened, and Rumi stepped inside. She hesitated in the doorway at first, like she was unsure if she really belonged here, then let it click softly shut behind her. Zoey made sure her body was angled away from the door, sitting cross-legged on the bed, clutching Casper—the cat plush—so tightly that her knuckles were pale. She kept her face hidden, hair falling like a curtain.
Rumi frowned. Suspicion flickered across her face, but she sat down gently at the edge of the bed, close enough that the mattress dipped beneath her weight. “I, um…” She took a breath, steadying herself. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. For ignoring you. I…I wasn’t trying to make you feel like you don’t matter. And, uh, I’d love to come with you guys to the football game. If the invite’s still open.”
Zoey pressed her lips together, her throat tightening. She didn’t dare turn around. Her chest burned with the effort of swallowing down the sob that wanted to break free. All she could do was nod slightly, then chirp in the highest, fakest tone she could manage, “Ok, that’s great!”
The words fell out too brightly, too stiffly, without the warmth she used to speak to Rumi with. Rumi tilted her head, eyebrows knitting.
“…Zoey?” she asked softly. “Are you okay?”
“Yep!” Zoey squeaked, her voice quivering as she hugged Casper closer to her chest. “Totally fine. Just…doing things.”
She still didn’t look at her.
Rumi blinked, confused. “Huh?”
And then it happened—the betrayal of her own body. A loud, wet sniff.
Zoey’s stomach dropped. Damn it.
That was all it took for Rumi’s concern to flare into alarm. She leaned forward, shifting off the edge of the bed and kneeling directly in front of Zoey. “Zoey…”
Zoey flinched. She tried to twist her body further away, but Rumi was already lowering herself, searching for her eyes. And when Rumi’s gaze finally caught hers, there was no hiding. Zoey’s lashes were clumped from tears, her cheeks flushed and damp. She hugged Casper tighter, as if the plush could shield her from being seen.
Rumi’s expression softened immediately, panic flashing in her eyes. “Hey—what’s wrong? Did something happen? Did you get hurt?” Her voice rushed out, urgent and protective. “Talk to me.”
Zoey shook her head quickly, mumbling into Casper’s fur. “It’s nothing. Just crying over something stupid again.”
“Zoey.” Rumi’s voice firmed, but it wasn’t harsh. She reached out, resting her hand gently on Zoey’s knee. The warmth of her palm was grounding, achingly familiar. “It’s not stupid if it’s making you cry like this.” She tilted her head, trying to catch Zoey’s gaze again. “Is it…school work? Something with your classes?”
Zoey finally looked up, and it was like being hit in the chest. Their eyes locked, and it felt as though time stuttered. It had been so long since she’d been able to look into Rumi’s eyes without tension, without distance. The longing, the ache, it all broke through her flimsy walls.
Her breath shuddered, and then she was crying harder. Ugly, choking sobs she couldn’t swallow down this time.
Rumi’s heart squeezed. “Oh, Zoey…”
Without thinking, she slid up onto the bed beside her and wrapped an arm gently around Zoey’s shoulders, rubbing small circles along her back. She didn’t push, didn’t prod further. She simply stayed, holding space for her, like maybe that was all Zoey needed.
Zoey let herself collapse into her chest, burying her face against the warm fabric of Rumi’s hoodie. Casper was smushed awkwardly between them, but Zoey didn’t care. Her voice was muffled, breaking as she whispered,
“Do you…do you hate me?”
The words stabbed through Rumi, her entire body going still.
Zoey started rambling then, desperate and messy, her words tumbling out between sobs. “I’m sorry I pushed you to do something you didn’t want, I’m sorry I keep messing up, I promise I’ll try to do better, I just—”
“Zoey.”
Rumi cupped her face with both hands, gently but firmly pulling her back enough so their eyes met. Zoey’s cheeks were wet and streaked with tears, her lower lip trembling as more spilled over.
“Hey,” Rumi whispered, her thumbs brushing lightly against her skin, wiping away what she could. “Slow down. Breathe..”
The room was so quiet, the only sound Zoey’s hitched breaths, her heart pounding, and the muffled buzz of the campus night outside. For the first time in weeks, they were really looking at each other again, face to face, nothing in between.
And that was both terrifying—and a little intoxicating.
Rumi’s chest felt tight, like the pressure of all the words she had swallowed down these last few days had finally begun clawing their way up her throat. She wanted to cry—God, she really did—but she forced herself to stay steady. The last thing Zoey needed was more tears on top of her own. So Rumi inhaled deeply, steadied her voice, and said softly, “Zoey, I don’t hate you. I could never hate you.”
Zoey blinked at her, red-rimmed eyes trembling.
“You’re… you,” Rumi continued, her words coming out clumsy, urgent. “You’re so kind, and thoughtful, and warm, and sweet. I’d have to be the dumbest person alive to hate you. And if I made you feel like I did, that’s on me. I messed up. I was upset after arguing with my aunt and I—I took it out on you, even though you had nothing to do with it. That was my fault, and I’m so, so sorry.”
The air between them went quiet again. For a second, Rumi thought she’d ruined it—that maybe it was too late. Then Zoey’s face scrunched, and she let out another sob, even louder and messier than the first ones.
“Oh no, oh no, no, no, no—” Rumi panicked, immediately reaching forward with shaky hands. “Zoey, please, don’t cry—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
But Zoey shook her head, wiping tears away with the heel of her palm, and managed to mumble through hiccups, “I’m just… I’m happy we’re talking again.”
Rumi froze. Her throat thickened. She swallowed and nodded quickly, almost too quickly, blurting out, “Yeah. Me too. I’m happy too.”
Zoey sniffled, trying to smile, and then suddenly let out a huge yawn.
The sound startled Rumi, who blinked before instinctively yawning as well. The timing made them both giggle, the room softening into something lighter.
“Sorry,” Zoey mumbled, cheeks still blotchy from crying. “Usually after I cry I get really tired.”
Rumi huffed a small laugh, her lips tugging upwards. “I guess I’ll let you nap then.” She shifted as if to stand, though the weight in her chest begged her to stay. The last thing she wanted was to leave Zoey right now, but she also didn’t want to push into her space if she needed to be alone.
But before she could get up, Zoey’s fingers curled around her wrist, warm and gentle. “Stay?” Zoey asked, eyes big, fragile. “If that’s okay with you.”
Rumi stilled. Her breath caught, and then she let out a soft chuckle, brushing some hair behind her ear. “Yeah. Honestly, I should probably take a break from my twenty-hour study marathon anyway.”
Zoey giggled at that, her laugh a little shaky but real. “You’re insane.”
Rumi smiled. “I know.”
They shuffled onto Zoey’s bed, a bed that felt less like a piece of furniture and more like a museum of comfort. The mattress was crowded with plushies of all shapes and sizes, piled into corners and tucked under pillows. There were turtle plushies—so many turtles Rumi almost laughed—lined up like an army protecting Zoey’s dreams. Mixed in were a couple of sharks, one with a crooked grin, another with worn fins that looked hugged within an inch of its life. A tiny green alien with googly eyes peeked out from beneath the blanket, and an oversized octopus lounged against the headboard.
Zoey nestled among them like it was the most natural thing in the world, her cheek resting against a turtle, her arms wrapped around another plush. She seemed to melt into the bed instantly, her shoulders sinking, her body unwinding. Rumi, on the other hand, lay stiff beside her, hyper-aware of every inch of space, of the brush of Zoey’s sleeve against her own.
That’s when she noticed it. The plush Zoey clutched against her chest wasn’t just any stuffed toy—it was the one Rumi had won for her at the carnival. The realization hit her like a small burst of warmth in her stomach.
An idea sparked.
Rumi sat up suddenly, making Zoey blink up at her in confusion. “I’ll be right back,” Rumi announced, a little too fast.
Zoey only hummed, half-asleep already, watching her slip out of the room. The sound of loud rummaging echoed down the hall, drawers opening and closing, until Rumi finally returned, hair slightly messy and eyes shining with something nervous. She stood in Zoey’s doorway, holding something to her chest.
When Zoey realized what it was, her heart stuttered. Rumi was holding the sleepy witch cat Zoey had given her at the carnival.
Zoey’s breath caught.
Rumi crossed the room, sitting down at the edge of the bed with the plush in her hands. She rubbed the back of her neck, her cheeks flushing pink as words tumbled out of her. “So, um, I didn’t know what to name her. I’m… not really as creative as you are. I thought maybe… maybe you could name her? If you wanted.”
Zoey’s face lit up instantly, her exhaustion forgotten. “Kiki,” she said without hesitation, her smile blooming wide. “Like from Kiki’s Delivery Service . She’s the main girl from that Ghibli movie, she’s—oh, wait, have you seen it? You have to, it’s so good. She’s a witch in training, but she’s really clumsy and—”
Zoey’s words spilled out in an eager stream, her voice bright and full of color again. Her hands gestured animatedly, her eyes sparkling, and for a moment, the weight of earlier sadness was gone.
Rumi barely heard any of it. She was too busy watching Zoey.
Her hair was mussed from lying in bed, her cheeks pink from crying, but her eyes—God, her eyes—were alive again, glimmering with the kind of excitement that made Rumi’s chest ache in the best way. Every little movement Zoey made, from the way her lips curled around her words to how her fingers clutched the plush tighter when she got excited, made Rumi’s stomach flip. She couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t stop drinking in the fact that she had put that look back on Zoey’s face.
And Rumi realized, sitting there with a sleepy witch cat plush in her lap and Zoey’s laughter filling the air, that she would do just about anything to keep making her smile like that.
Zoey had fallen asleep faster than Rumi expected. One moment she was rambling about something completely nonsensical, the next her cheek was pressed against Rumi’s chest, lips parted, breathing shallow and warm. Rumi shifted slightly, careful not to disturb her, but Zoey only nuzzled closer with a soft little sigh, as though claiming her spot.
She hummed in her sleep sometimes—off-key and incomplete, like fragments of half-remembered songs. Uneven notes vibrating faintly against Rumi’s ribs, so soft it almost tickled. The rhythm wasn’t music at all, but it was… her. Unpolished. Unpredictable. Honest in a way only unconscious Zoey could be. Every so often her nose scrunched like she was dreaming of something irritating, only to smooth out when she shifted against Rumi again, small fingers curling in the fabric of her hoodie. And when she dreamed deep enough, she drooled just a little, leaving damp warmth against Rumi’s hoodie. Somehow, every imperfect detail only made Rumi’s chest ache more.
Her own hair fell loosely around her shoulders, purple strands spilling in untamed waves over the pillow. She rarely wore it down—it always got in her way, a distraction she didn’t have the patience for. But tonight, there was no reason to keep it tied. Tonight, she wasn’t Rumi-the-perfectionist, Rumi-the-overthinker. She wasn’t scanning every thought for what she could’ve done better. She was simply Rumi: breathing, warm, present, holding someone who trusted her enough to sleep on her chest.
The stuffed cats rested on the shelf across the room: Kiki with her lopsided witch hat, Casper with his cute ghost costume. Zoey had practically declared them their “children” before conking out, her words slurred with exhaustion. “They gotta sleep by each other, or they’ll get lonely,” she’d mumbled, tucking them side by side before collapsing against Rumi with no further explanation.
But something was missing.
Rumi squinted in the dim light, her eyes catching on the gap between Kiki and Casper. Mira’s cat wasn’t there. She remembered its soft black fur, the way Mira had absentmindedly held it the night of the carnival. Then she remembered the block party, the guilt twisted again, sharp as glass in her stomach. She should apologize. Not just with words tossed out in passing, but properly—because Mira deserved that much.
Her gaze drifted back down to Zoey, who stirred faintly in her sleep and mumbled nonsense against Rumi’s chest, completely unaware. And yet, Rumi thought, she wanted Mira here too. She wanted the comfort of both of them pressed against her, the steady rhythm of three heartbeats syncing under the covers. She wanted them all tangled together, warm, safe, whole. The thought made her chest tighten so hard she had to bite back a sound.
Just as her eyelids began to grow heavy, Zoey’s phone buzzed against the nightstand. The sound was sharp enough to break the haze, making Rumi’s heart lurch. She carefully reached for it, angling the screen so it wouldn’t wake Zoey. A new message lit the display.
Mira: I’m at the door, open up.
Rumi froze. For a moment, she wasn’t sure if her heart had skipped a beat or slammed so hard it nearly stopped. Slowly, she turned her head toward Zoey, still dead asleep, drool glistening faintly at the corner of her mouth. She looked so peaceful it almost felt cruel to move. But then came the knock. Three soft raps against the front door, echoing through the dorm.
Rumi drew in a deep breath, sliding Zoey gently off her chest and onto the pillow. She tucked the blankets around her, fingers lingering for a second, then pushed herself up. Her bare feet padded across the floor, hair loose, her body carrying both nerves and an odd, sleepy courage.
The door swung open with a quiet click.
Mira stood there, arms full—boba cup balanced in one hand, a bag of instant ramen dangling from her wrist, her other hand scrolling her phone. She was mid-sigh, wondering why Zoey hadn’t answered, when her head lifted.
“Finally, what took you so—”
The words caught in her throat.
Rumi leaned against the doorframe, purple hair mussed, eyes heavy-lidded not from irritation but from exhaustion. She looked softer than Mira had ever seen her—unguarded, vulnerable, almost… tender. Mira’s breath hitched, her fingers tightening around the plastic cup as her pulse spiked.
“Rumi… I—” she stammered, suddenly flustered. “I didn’t know you’d answer—”
Before she could finish, Rumi closed the distance. No hesitation. She wrapped her arms firmly around Mira’s waist and pulled her close. The boba almost slipped from Mira’s hand as she jolted, every nerve in her body alight.
Rumi wasn’t usually the one to initiate hugs. She accepted them, sure, but rarely sought them out. And this wasn’t just a casual embrace—her grip was tight, desperate even, her face pressed against Mira’s shoulder as she whispered, voice raw and low:
“I’m sorry.”
Mira froze. Not because she didn’t understand—she did, instantly—but because of the weight in Rumi’s voice, the way her body trembled just slightly. Her free hand hovered, then slowly settled at the small of Rumi’s back, grounding her.
“…I know,” Mira murmured softly.
Rumi’s arms only tightened.
Mira let her, letting the silence stretch, her own heart hammering so loud she was afraid Rumi could hear it. She wasn’t sure what was more overwhelming—the apology itself, or the fact that Rumi had chosen to give it like this, at the threshold of a dorm room, in the middle of the night, while Zoey slept in the next room, blissfully unaware.
And in that moment, Mira realized something: she didn’t want to let go either.
Rumi slowed her pace as she reached Zoey’s room, glancing back at Mira and pressing a finger to her lips.
“She’s still asleep,” Rumi whispered, tilting her head toward the door.
Rumi eased the doorknob open, and the two slipped inside. Zoey’s room glowed with a warm, golden haze from fairy lights strung across the walls, their soft shimmer dancing over posters that nearly blanketed every inch of space. Plushies spilled across the bed, shelves, and corners, giving the room a cozy, lived-in charm that felt undeniably Zoey. Mira smirked, her voice dropping into a teasing murmur. “Yeah, this looks exactly like Zoey’s territory. I mean—messy, a little cluttered, but oddly comfortable.”
Zoey lay sprawled across the bed, one arm dangling off the side, her face pressed into a pillow, breathing deeply.
Rumi lingered by the door for a moment, then quietly explained what Mira had missed. Her voice was low, steady, but carried a weight that Mira didn’t overlook. She told her about Zoey’s breakdown, how Zoey thought she hated her, and how they sat together, talking about everything that had gone wrong that night. How the tension had cracked open into something softer, something fragile but mending.
Mira listened with a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. When Rumi finished, she leaned against the dresser, setting down the drinks and food she was carrying.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Mira said lightly, her teasing was warm rather than sharp. “My two favorite girls are getting along again.”
Rumi let out a quiet chuckle, sinking onto the edge of the bed near Zoey’s feet. The sound of it—the softness, the exhaustion behind it—made Mira’s chest loosen.
Silence stretched for a moment. Not awkward, just heavy in the way quiet can feel when emotions haven’t completely settled. Mira broke it first, placing the boba on Zoey’s dresser and pulling out the bag of ramen she had bought on her way back.
“I wasn’t expecting you to come out of your room,” Mira said, almost too casually, “but I still bought some ramen just in case you wanted it.” She glanced at Rumi over her shoulder, then smirked. “Honestly, even if you didn’t want it, I would’ve just left it outside your door. Like feeding a dragon that’s holed up in its cave.” She chuckled softly at her own joke, shaking her head.
But when no laugh followed, she froze. The silence wasn’t light anymore. Mira turned, worried she had said something wrong, her eyes darting to Rumi.
Rumi sat hunched slightly, her shoulders trembling. A tear tracked down her cheek before she swiped at it with the heel of her hand. But another quickly followed, and then another. Her sniffle broke the quiet like glass.
Mira panicked. She wasn’t good at this—crying made her freeze. Her voice stumbled out clumsily. “H-hey, wait—what’s wrong? Did I—did I say something? I didn’t mean—”
Rumi shook her head quickly, wiping at her face, but the tears just kept falling no matter how fast she tried to chase them away. Her breath hitched as she tried to explain.
“It’s not that,” she said finally, her voice raw. “It’s just… after last night—after I hurt both of you—you still care. You bought me food, you… you’re here. And I don’t deserve it. I feel bad for hurting you, but I’m… I’m happy too, and I don’t even know what to do with that.”
Her words cracked in the middle, the guilt and relief tangling together in her throat.
Mira’s heart softened. She crossed the room without hesitation and sat down beside Rumi, close enough that their shoulders brushed. Carefully, she leaned in, offering her shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Rumi hesitated only a second before letting her head drop onto it. Her hair brushed Mira’s arm.
Mira spoke gently, her voice lower than usual, almost soothing. “Rumi, one stupid argument isn’t gonna erase everything. Zoey and I—neither of us would ever stop caring about you because of that. You’re not that easy to get rid of.”
A small, shaky laugh slipped out of Rumi, muffled into Mira’s shoulder.
Mira smiled faintly, pressing on. “I mean, you should’ve heard Zoey moping around. She wouldn’t shut up about how much she missed you.”
Rumi sniffled again, but this time it was followed by a quiet chuckle.
“And…” Mira’s voice softened further, her eyes flicking down to Rumi’s half-hidden face. “…I missed you too. A lot.”
There was a pause. Then, barely audible, Rumi mumbled into Mira’s shoulder, “Me too.”
Her body relaxed, her breaths growing slower as her exhaustion finally caught up. Mira tilted her head, realizing she was on the verge of falling asleep right there.
“You look ridiculous when you’re tired,” Mira teased softly, poking Rumi’s cheek. “Like… I don’t even know, a grumpy kitten or something.”
Rumi groaned weakly at the poke but didn’t lift her head. Instead, she murmured, “Can you nap with us?” She shifted slightly, eyes fluttering but not opening. “I think Zoey would like that.”
Mira glanced past her at the bed. Zoey was sprawled out, mouth slightly open, a line of drool on her pillow. Mira snorted.
“Yeah,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m sure Zoey would love that.”
The room was dim, the soft hum of the heater filling the silence. Mira shifted slightly, adjusting her arms so both Zoey and Rumi could rest more comfortably against her. Before settling in, she had quietly placed her own plushy—Jiji, the black cat from Kiki’s Delivery Service —on the shelf right beside Zoey’s Casper and Rumi’s Kiki one. It made her smile seeing them all lined up together, like the little trio mirrored in real life.
Now, with the weight of Zoey curled on one side of her chest and Rumi on the other, Mira felt a calm she hadn’t known she needed. Her fingers lazily combed through their hair, tangling softly, tracing strands between her fingertips. Zoey was out cold, humming faint, broken tunes in her sleep, lips parted just enough for a little string of drool to pool on Mira’s shirt. Mira chuckled softly, shaking her head but not daring to move her away.
On the other side, Rumi mumbled something that sounded like, “molecular… covalent bonds… hydrogen…” before turning her head slightly and pressing her nose against Mira’s collarbone. Mira bit her lip, trying not to laugh too loud.
“God, you’re both disasters,” she whispered, her voice fond and hushed.
Her chest rose and fell with their slow, steady breathing, and she let her eyes flutter shut. For the first time in a long time, Mira didn’t feel like she was holding herself together for anyone else. She felt whole—grounded. Loved.
Her heart felt like it was floating as her thumb grazed against Zoey’s waves and Rumi’s messy strands in turn. She belonged here, sandwiched between the chaos and the softness, and she wouldn’t have traded it for anything.
Notes:
Hope y'all enjoyed this...cause there ain't more where that came from- I MEAN WHAT WHO SAID THAT
Chapter 8: Final Whistle
Summary:
Semi-finals are here and everyone ready to watch the match yippeee! Or… is it Yipee?
TW: mention of drug use
Notes:
Sorry for the very slow update guys I got really busy and writing this chapter took the life out of me. So if there’s any mistakes or it doesn’t flow as naturally as it usually does just ignore it, anyways hope you enjoy :3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Ae-jin lay sprawled on his bed, one leg hanging off the side, phone glowing against his tired face. His thumb moved lazily as he scrolled through the same three apps for the fifth time. Nothing new. Nothing interesting. His ceiling fan whirred softly above him, the steady hum somehow making the silence of his room feel louder.
He’d been trying to distract himself all week, but his mind kept circling back to Abby. Ae-jin had called him almost every night since the study session, but the results were always the same. Either no answer, or Abby picking up with that clipped tone that made it clear he didn’t want to talk. “Busy, practicing for football,” was the excuse. Always football. Always some reason that made Ae-jin wonder if it was really about practice, or if Abby just didn’t want to hear his voice.
The thought stung, though Ae-jin would never admit it out loud. He rolled onto his side, propping his head up with his hand, staring at Abby’s name at the top of his call history. He didn’t understand it. He couldn’t understand it. What could he have possibly done wrong? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. He replayed the last week in his head, searching for a crack, a misstep, anything that could’ve given Abby a reason to avoid him. But the more he thought about it, the more ridiculous the idea seemed.
There’s no way I screwed up. I don’t screw up.
It wasn’t arrogance, not really — just… reality. Ae-jin had been raised on the quiet assurance that he did things right, that people liked him, that he was untouchable. That belief was stitched into him so tightly he didn’t even realize when it guided his thoughts. If Abby was pulling away, then it had to be Abby’s fault. Or maybe… maybe Mira’s. Mira had a habit of poisoning wells she didn’t even drink from.
With an annoyed groan, Ae-jin tossed his phone onto the bed and dragged himself upright. He needed to talk to someone — anyone — before his own thoughts swallowed him whole. And if Abby wasn’t answering, then Mira would have to do. She lived right across the hall, anyway.
Pulling a hoodie over his head, he slipped out of his apartment and padded across the short stretch of hallway. He knocked twice on Mira’s door, not too loud, not too soft. No answer. He frowned, knocked again. Still nothing.
“There’s no way she knows it’s me and is ignoring me,” Ae-jin muttered to himself. His jaw tightened. “Where the hell is she?”
He pulled out his phone and called her. The line rang once. Twice. On the third ring, it clicked as if she’d been deciding whether or not to bother with him.
“The hell do you want?” Mira’s voice came through, flat and heavy with annoyance.
Ae-jin’s brow furrowed. “Where are you?” he asked, keeping his tone deliberately neutral.
“Up your ass,” she shot back, dry as sandpaper.
Ae-jin opened his mouth to reply, but a voice in the background caught his attention. He recognized Rumi instantly, her tone sharper but warmer as she called Mira over to help with something. Cooking, maybe. Then there was a shuffle, the mic brushing against fabric, and Rumi’s voice got closer. “Who are you talking to?” she asked curiously.
“Is that—” Ae-jin started, his eyes widening with realization.
But Mira cut him off with surgical precision. “Listen, I don’t have time for your rage bait,” she said smoothly, voice dropping into that practiced mix of disdain and boredom. “Go talk to Abby or something.”
Ae-jin bit down hard on his tongue, resisting the urge to snap back. “He’s not picking up…” he admitted instead, the words slipping out before he could catch them.
Silence. For a second, Ae-jin thought the call had dropped. Then Mira laughed — not a real laugh, not the kind that carried warmth. It was sharp, mocking, and it stung more than he wanted to admit.
“You fucked up,” she said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Go fix your mistake before it falls back on me. Anyways, bye.”
The line went dead.
Ae-jin stared at the dark screen of his phone, his reflection faintly visible in the glass. He exhaled slowly through his nose, jaw tense. Mira always had a way of twisting the knife, but this time her words burrowed deeper than usual.
What the hell could I have done to piss him off so bad?
He shoved his phone into his pocket and walked back across the hall, every step echoing louder in the empty corridor. His apartment felt colder when he stepped back inside, the silence heavier than before. He sat back on his bed, staring at nothing, the weight of Mira’s mocking laugh still sitting in his chest.
For the first time in a long time, Ae-jin felt the faintest twinge of doubt.
Abby’s phone buzzed again on the bench beside him, vibrating with a kind of persistence that made his skin crawl. The screen lit up with the name he already expected: Ae-jin . Same number, same call, the third one in less than an hour. Abby groaned and flipped it over so the glow faced the floor, as though that could smother the tension crawling up his chest.
Jinu glanced at him from under the barbell, sweat beading on his forehead. “You can’t keep ignoring him forever,” he said, his voice even, not accusatory, just matter-of-fact. His eyes never left the weight he was pressing up, steady and controlled.
Abby’s hands gripped the bar to spot him, though his focus was everywhere but the gym. “I know,” he muttered, letting out a breath. He tried to make it sound casual, like it wasn’t clawing at the back of his mind. “He’s just… being so clingy. I need space.”
Jinu gave him a sharp side-eye, and Abby rushed to add, “To focus on the game, obviously. It’s not like I’m avoiding him or anything.” He let out a nervous laugh that fell flat against the sound of weights clinking and music thumping faintly through the gym speakers.
Jinu exhaled as he set the barbell back into place with a heavy clang . He sat up, running a towel across the back of his neck, then turned to Abby fully. “What the hell is going on between you two? One second you’re attached at the hip, and the next you’re ducking down hallways hoping he doesn’t see you.”
Abby’s jaw tightened. He looked down, studying the scuffed floor, the chalk dust, anything that wasn’t Jinu’s stare.
Jinu’s tone softened, though it carried that same blunt edge he always had. “Which is basically impossible, by the way. You’re a buff giant with pink hair. You stand out like a damn neon sign. Hiding isn’t really your strong suit.”
Abby’s lips twitched upward at that, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s not that I hate him,” he finally said, his voice low and serious now. “It’s… complicated.”
The word hung between them. Too vague, too loaded.
Jinu leaned back against the bench, arms folded, giving Abby the space to fill the silence if he wanted to. He didn’t push, not yet. Abby’s mind wandered in the quiet.
Complicated. Yeah, that was one word for it. Abby thought back to the mess of last year—the fights that spiraled too far, the silence that had stretched on too long, the apologies that felt stitched together with fragile thread. They had forgiven each other. He knew that. They had fixed things, hadn’t they? The path had been rocky, uneven, but still—weren’t they on the other side of it now?
So why couldn’t he just let it go?
His fingers drummed restlessly against his knee, restless energy that had nothing to do with the workout. A part of him wanted to pick up the phone, call Ae-jin back, say something— anything . But another part of him, the louder part, told him to shove it all down until the game was over, until he saw his father, until reading week. One more delay, one more excuse.
Jinu must’ve caught the faraway look in Abby’s eyes, because he stood and clapped a hand on his shoulder, firm and grounding. “If you don’t want to talk about it with me, fine,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But it’s pretty damn obvious Ae-jin has no clue what’s going on with you. You’re leaving him in the dark.”
Abby bit down on his lip, nodding slowly.
“Just talk to him,” Jinu finished simply.
Abby let the words settle in his chest. Talk to him. Easy enough advice, harder in practice. But maybe Jinu was right. Maybe Ae-jin deserved to hear the truth instead of silence.
For now, though, he nodded again, more firmly this time, and they turned back to the weights. Abby tried to focus on the burn in his muscles, the rhythm of movement, the grounding routine of it all. But every rep felt heavy with more than just iron, like Ae-jin’s name was stamped into the bar itself.
Zoey’s puffy eyes fluttered open, the morning light streaming faintly through her curtains. She was cocooned in her bedsheets, practically drowning in the mountain of stuffies that covered half her bed. A muffled clatter drifted in from the kitchen—pots, pans, maybe plates—but she didn’t bother to figure it out. Her eyelids still felt heavy, weighted down as if they hadn’t been given enough time to rest.
She blinked at the ceiling, and then—like a dam breaking—it all came rushing back.
The way her voice had cracked last night as she asked Rumi if she hated her. The way her throat still stung from crying, the wetness that had clung to her cheeks. The soft fabric of the cat plushies they’d gathered, the one Mira had brought especially—Jiji, with its stitched little eyes, sitting proudly on the shelf beside Rumi and Zoey’s cats. And then there was the warmth.
That warmth.
Zoey shifted under her covers, her heart pounding as the memory unfurled. Mira’s chest beneath her cheek, steady and calm, like an anchor. Rumi pressed close on the other side, her breath soft against Zoey’s hair. Mira’s hands—gentle, absentminded—threading through their hair as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Zoey remembered the faint vibrations of Mira’s laugh each time Rumi mumbled some chemistry nonsense in her sleep. She remembered the off-key little hums that slipped out of her own mouth without meaning to. It had felt messy and ridiculous, but somehow perfect too.
Her cheeks heated, the flush spreading across her face. Zoey squeezed her eyes shut and kicked her legs under the covers aggressively, muffling a groan into her pillow. Why did they make her feel this way?
You’re supposed to like one person at a time , she thought furiously. Not two. That’s—ugh, that’s not even logical.
She tried to shake it off, burying herself deeper in the blankets. It wasn’t like she liked them. Not like that. No, she liked Hyun. Hyun was safe. Hyun was a guy, just a normal guy. One guy. Not two girls who somehow made her chest squeeze and her stomach flip just by existing.
“Right,” she told herself silently. “I’m just… really excited to have best friends. That’s all. Friends cuddle. It’s normal. Totally platonic. Duh.”
She let out a long exhale and flopped back against her pillow. But before she could spiral any further, the door creaked open.
Zoey froze, then immediately screwed her eyes shut, throwing herself into the world’s most dramatic impression of being asleep. Her breath came slow, controlled—until she heard it.
Footsteps. Light, steady, drawing closer. Then a soft chuckle. Mira’s chuckle.
Zoey’s heart skipped.
She heard Mira kneel beside her bed, the fabric of her sweatpants brushing softly against the carpet. For a moment, there was nothing—just the feeling of being watched. Zoey’s pulse hammered in her ears. And then, Mira’s voice, low and playful, right by her face:
“I know you’re awake,” she whispered. “I heard you kicking on the bed.”
Zoey’s heart lurched at the sound. She cracked her eyes open, slow and cautious, only to be startled by just how close Mira was. Their faces were barely a hand’s width apart. Zoey stumbled back instinctively, though she was still lying down, which only made the movement awkward and flustered.
Mira smirked, shaking her head with that maddening calmness of hers. She rose to her feet, brushing imaginary dust off her hands.
“Breakfast is ready,” she said, her voice light. “Well, it’s been ready. But you looked so peaceful while asleep, so I didn’t want to wake you.”
Zoey swallowed, trying to recover, but the heat in her face betrayed her. She muttered a tiny, “Okay,” her voice caught between embarrassment and something she couldn’t name.
Mira smiled softly at that—just a small tug at the corner of her lips—before she turned and left the room, leaving Zoey staring at the ceiling, her heart still fluttering.
“Platonically,” Zoey whispered to herself, yanking the blanket over her face. “Totally… platonically.”
The rest of Zoey’s day passed surprisingly smoothly. For once, she wasn’t running late to any of her classes, didn’t forget an assignment, and even managed to keep herself awake during the most boring lecture of the week. By the time the afternoon rolled around, she felt oddly accomplished—almost like she was actually managing this whole “college student” thing.
Now, she sat in the courtyard, tucked in the shade beneath a tall maple tree whose leaves were beginning to burn orange at the edges. Her headphones rested snugly over her ears, soft music humming as she scribbled in her battered journal. Her pen tapped against her chin as she stared at the page.
“What rhymes with itch?” she muttered under her breath, twirling the pen in her fingers. “...Bitch? No, that doesn’t even make sense.”
With a sharp exhale, she scribbled the word out, dragging her pen so aggressively that the paper crumpled a little beneath it. Songwriting wasn’t easy, but it was hers. A little corner of herself she could retreat to when everything else felt messy. If it were up to her, she’d be strumming her guitar right now, humming along until her throat ached. But the guitar had sat untouched in its case since she moved in.
Not because she didn’t want to play—she did, desperately. But because of the gnawing fear that someone—Rumi, especially—would overhear and laugh. Back home, kids had torn her down for the same thing, calling her lyrics weird, cringey, too much. And the sting of that never really left. The only people she had ever trusted with her music were Uncle Bobby and, on rare occasions, Yeon-u.
She hunched lower over her notebook, as though shielding it from the world. That’s when a shadow stretched across the page.
Zoey blinked, slowly lifting her eyes, only to be met with a fall of periwinkle hair—the kind that cascaded so low it veiled his eyes. Hyun.
“What are you doing?” His voice was flat, unreadable, as always.
Zoey jumped, her whole body jerking like she’d just been caught doing something illegal. Her hands snapped behind her back, shoving the journal out of sight. “N-nothing! Just writing notes. For class. Totally boring stuff.”
Her voice cracked halfway through, and she wanted to slam her head into the tree trunk. Smooth. Very smooth.
Hyun just hummed, tilting his head faintly before lowering himself onto the grass beside her. He didn’t seem fazed by her nervous scramble at all. In fact, he seemed like he didn’t care either way.
Silence fell between them. Thick, awkward silence. The kind Zoey couldn’t stand, but Hyun seemed perfectly comfortable in. He leaned back slightly, stretching his legs out in front of him, his bangs hiding whatever his eyes might’ve been saying.
Zoey’s mind, however, was loud.
‘Why is he here? What does he want? Oh god, why can’t I think of anything to say?’
She fiddled with her pen before blurting, “Sooo… what brings you here?”
Hyun finally turned his head toward her. His gaze lingered, calm and unwavering. They just… looked at each other for a moment. And Zoey waited for the familiar sparks—those fluttery, heart-racing butterflies she always thought she’d feel around her crush. But instead, his stare made her squirm, like she was under a microscope. Her stomach twisted, uncomfortable, though she quickly misinterpreted it.
‘Oh god, I’m flustered,’ she told herself. ‘That’s what this is. Totally flustered. Not uncomfortable.’
“I just wanted to see what you were up to,” Hyun finally said, his tone so casual it almost sounded careless. He added, “All the other guys are busy with their classes.”
“Oh…” Zoey shifted awkwardly, hugging her knees closer to her chest.
Was he just here because he was bored? Her chest sank at the thought, though she kept her expression neutral.
Then Hyun’s voice softened, almost too quiet. “Also… thank you.”
Zoey’s head tilted, genuinely confused. “For what?”
“Organizing the study session. I really needed help with that class, so… thanks.”
Zoey blinked at him, surprised. And then, slowly, a smile tugged at her lips. A real one. Her cheeks warmed as she mumbled, “You’re welcome.”
For a while, the silence returned, but this time it felt less unbearable, almost… tolerable. Hyun picked at the grass by his side, pulling out blades one by one like it was the most important task in the world. Finally, he spoke again, his words deliberate.
“The real reason I came up to you…” He paused, like he wasn’t sure how much to say. “Was to ask if you wanted to go to the football game. Together.”
Then, as if the weight of his own words embarrassed him, he muttered quickly, “Or something.”
Zoey’s heart jolted. Not from excitement—but from nerves. She froze, thoughts colliding in her head.
Part of her wanted to squeal and say yes immediately—this was her crush, after all. She’d been daydreaming about moments like this for months. But another part of her tugged her in a different direction, whispering about how badly she wanted to spend time with Mira and Rumi instead. About how warm she’d felt in their arms the night before. About how different those feelings were compared to the ones she thought she should have for Hyun.
C’mon, Zoey, she scolded herself silently. This is Hyun. Your crush. Just say yes already!
“Yes!” The word burst out of her louder and faster than she intended, surprising even herself.
Hyun blinked once, his expression neutral as always, but the corners of his mouth curved just faintly. “I guess I’ll see you then.”
And with that, he stood, brushing the grass off his jeans, leaving Zoey sitting there with her heart still racing—but for reasons she couldn’t quite untangle.
“ YOU WHAT!? ” Rumi and Yeon-u blurted out in perfect unison, their voices rising above the steady chatter of the students flooding the sidewalk. Heads turned briefly from the crowd around them, curious glances flickering before everyone went back to laughing, talking, and streaming toward the football field.
It was a crisp autumn night, the kind that kissed the air with just enough chill to make people bunch their shoulders and tug their sleeves lower. The sidewalks were packed, every inch of concrete carrying clusters of students wrapped in team merch, purple and hot pink sweaters, scarves, and jackets glowing under the harsh wash of streetlights. Hand-painted signs and pom-poms bobbed above the crowd, the energy buzzing through the air like static.
Rumi shoved her hands deeper into her sweater pockets, the oversized knit swallowing her frame. The wool was soft, cream shot through with purple stripes, and she could feel the warmth against her palms. Her breath puffed faintly in the air, blending into the blur of motion all around them. Beside her, Zoey tugged at the sleeves of her off-the-shoulder pink-and-white sweater, her headphones bouncing against her chest as she crossed her arms, chin tilted stubbornly high. The baggy jeans she wore swayed with each step, her whole outfit giving off that easy, laid-back vibe—except the sharp glint in her eyes ruined the nonchalance.
Yeon-u looked the most unbothered, hands stuffed into the pockets of his dark purple zip-up hoodie. His hair fell slightly into his face as he tilted his head toward Zoey, the corners of his mouth already curved into disbelief. Even in a crowd this noisy, the three of them carried their own little pocket of intensity, the kind that drew attention whether they wanted it or not.
“He asked me out and I said yes,” Zoey repeated, her tone almost smug, like she was defending a courtroom case she’d already won.
“You know you’ve only known him for two months, right?” Rumi’s voice was sharp, though she tried to keep it casual. Tried.
“Barely two months,” Yeon-u added dryly. He didn’t even bother to look at Zoey, his gaze scanning the crowd ahead as if her decisions were beneath his concern. “The only time you guys ever actually talked was during that study session.”
Zoey snapped her head toward him, glaring. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t look at me like that, Zo.” Yeon-u shot her a side-eye that was equal parts annoyed and amused. “The only thing you both said to each other was ‘hi.’ That’s literally it.”
“I’ll have you know we had a very good conversation recently.” Zoey’s huff fogged in the cold night, but her voice wavered just enough to give herself away.
“Oh yeah?” Rumi raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking. “And what exactly did you talk about? The weather?”
The tips of Zoey’s ears burned pink. “Wha—no!” she snapped back, then tripped over her words. “We… we talked about how our day went…” Her voice shrank at the end, muttered like she was praying no one heard her.
Yeon-u groaned theatrically and dragged his hand down his face. “Groundbreaking,” he deadpanned.
Rumi pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing like the weight of Zoey’s decision had personally been dropped onto her shoulders. “Zo…”
But Zoey wasn’t backing down. She tightened her arms across her chest and kept walking, her chin lifted higher even though her cheeks were warm with embarrassment. “You guys don’t get it,” she muttered.
“Oh, we get it,” Yeon-u fired back instantly, his tone sharper now. “We get that you’re being reckless.”
The air between them thickened, the chatter of the crowd fading under the tension threading through the three of them. Rumi’s eyes slid toward Zoey, softening for half a heartbeat before she looked away.
Because the truth was, Rumi was jealous. The kind of jealous that burned low and quiet, not loud and dramatic. Ever since that night—the cuddle session she shared with Zoey and Mira, the warmth of Zoey’s head on her shoulder, the little twitch of her lips as she dreamed—Rumi hadn’t been able to shake the image. Zoey asleep was soft, vulnerable, trusting in a way she wasn’t when awake. And something in Rumi had snapped that night, a protective streak rising like a tide she couldn’t hold back.
So Zoey saying yes to some guy she barely talked to? That set off alarms in Rumi’s chest she couldn’t quiet, no matter how hard she tried.
She stuffed her hands deeper into her pockets, fingers curling tight into fists. It’s fine, she told herself. I’ll just keep an eye on them. A very, very close eye.
Beside her, Yeon-u was still rattling off his list of reasons why this was a bad idea, each point more exaggerated than the last. Zoey fired back little retorts, though her stubbornness was starting to crack under the weight of his logic. The back-and-forth carried them closer to the field, the flood of students thickening as the stadium lights came into view, huge beams slicing up into the night sky like spotlights for the whole city.
Rumi barely heard them anymore. She just walked, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the glow ahead—and every so often, on Zoey. Always, on Zoey.
The fairgrounds were buzzing with life. Strings of pink and purple lights glowed above the crowd, their soft shimmer cutting through the crisp evening air. The smell of fried dough and roasted chestnuts lingered around every corner, mingling with laughter, chatter, and the distant sound of carnival games calling for players. The group split up quickly after finding each other—Jinu, Ae-jin, and Yeon-u disappearing toward a food stand that promised the “best skewers in town,” while Zoey tugged Hyun by the sleeve with a kind of playful insistence.
“Come on,” she said, her voice light as she dragged him into the cotton candy line. Hyun followed wordlessly, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, hair still covering most of his face like a curtain. His quiet presence contrasted with Zoey’s energy, but she didn’t seem to mind—or at least, she pretended not to.
Not far behind, two figures tried to blend into the passing crowd. Mira and Rumi trailed after them, sticking close enough to catch glimpses of Zoey and Hyun, but far enough to insist (if anyone asked) that they weren’t following, just… keeping a “watchful eye.”
“He’s definitely not good for her,” Rumi muttered under her breath, eyes narrowing at Hyun’s slouched posture.
Mira crossed her arms, her tone equally judgmental. “Yeah, I mean—what kind of guy covers his entire face with his hair? Like, does he want to be a ghost?” She tilted her head as if genuinely trying to study him. “Can he even see where he’s walking?”
Rumi gave a sharp nod, not taking her eyes off the pair. “Exactly. And if he can’t see Zoey’s beauty under all that matted hair, then what’s even the point of him being there?”
Her words hung in the air for a second too long, and suddenly it clicked what she had just said. Heat rose to Rumi’s cheeks, and she stumbled over her next words, hands flying up defensively. “Not that I—I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s just—”
Mira’s lips curved into the faintest smirk. She reached over and patted Rumi on the back, steadying her like someone calming a skittish animal. “Don’t worry about it. I think Zoey’s stunning as well.”
That only made Rumi’s ears turn redder, but Mira didn’t push further. They both fell silent, pretending their interest was strictly out of concern, though neither was fully convincing the other.
Meanwhile, Zoey stood in line with Hyun, the sugary smell of spun sugar floating around them. She wasn’t oblivious. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Mira and Rumi trying (and failing) to look casual while staring. Her chest tightened with a mixture of annoyance and something quieter she couldn’t name. An internal sigh pressed against her ribs, and she focused her attention firmly on the cotton candy machine.
Hyun wasn’t helping. He wasn’t exactly cold, but he wasn’t warm either. Ever since that one awkward moment where he’d asked her out, his words had been limited to short greetings. “Hi” here, a nod there, nothing more. She couldn’t tell if he was shy or just disinterested, and the uncertainty was beginning to eat at her.
‘Maybe Rumi and Yeon-u were right,’ Zoey thought, fiddling with her fingers as the line inched forward. ‘Maybe he’s not worth it.’
Her gaze slipped again, this time toward Rumi and Mira. Mira had her arms folded, lips moving quickly as she whispered something that made Rumi fluster hard enough to wave her arms around like she was swatting at invisible flies. Zoey tilted her head, curiosity sparking. What could possibly have them acting like that? And why did the idea of Rumi being flustered around Mira make her chest twist with a pang of… something she didn’t want to name?
“Here.”
Hyun’s voice startled her out of her thoughts. She blinked, looking down to see him holding out a puff of cotton candy the size of a pillow. Blue sugar strands glowed faintly under the overhead lights.
“Oh—thanks!” Zoey chirped, her smile quick but polite. She accepted it carefully, her fingers brushing against his for the briefest second before she pulled back.
Hyun didn’t say anything else, just shoved his hands back into his hoodie and looked away.
Zoey stared at the cotton candy, forcing another smile. ‘Blue? Really?’ she thought. She bit back a sigh. ‘I wanted purple or pink.’
And as the laughter and chatter of the fair washed over them, she couldn’t shake the feeling that her mind was somewhere else entirely—hovering back where Rumi’s cheeks had gone red and Mira’s hand had lingered on her shoulder.
The stadium was alive. At night, under the floodlights, the place looked like it had been pulled straight out of a dream—rows and rows of seats filled with students in purple hoodies and face paint, the air humming with drums, chants, and the sharp whistle of air horns. The smell of buttery popcorn and fried food drifted through the stands, mixing with the faint chill of the evening. Every time someone stomped on the bleachers, the vibrations rattled up through the group’s shoes, like the whole stadium was breathing together.
Rumi, Mira, Zoey, Hyun, Yeon-u, Jinu, and Ae-jin had found a sweet spot—not too high up where you’d risk nosebleeds and not too close to the field where you couldn’t see the bigger picture. Right in the middle, they had the perfect view of both the chaos in the stands and the action down below. Mira leaned against the railing in front of their row, calm and collected as if she’d been to a thousand of these games. Rumi sat beside Zoey, bouncing one knee impatiently, while Zoey tugged at her oversized sweater sleeves, trying not to let herself get swallowed by the sheer volume of the crowd. Jinu was half-distracted with his phone, and Yeon-u had his arms crossed, though his eyes kept darting toward the field like he didn’t want to admit he was into it.
The loudspeaker blared, and suddenly the noise reached a fever pitch. “And now… the moment you’ve all been waiting for!”
The stadium lights dimmed for a split second before bursting back to life. Out came the mascot—a ridiculous but somehow intimidating purple lion, its costume head bobbing with exaggerated nods as it cartwheeled onto the field. Students screamed, waving their foam claws in the air, while the drumline pounded out a rhythm that shook the bleachers. The lion did a backflip, then hyped up the crowd with a massive purple flag waving over its head.
Then came the players. One by one, the team stormed the field, the metallic shine of their helmets catching under the floodlights. The roar of the crowd grew with each name announced, and the energy was contagious—students stomping their feet, waving banners, yelling chants that half the group didn’t even know.
And then Abby stepped out.
The reaction from the crowd was loud, but nothing compared to Ae-jin. Out of nowhere, he jumped to his feet, cupping his hands around his mouth and yelling, “LET’S GO ABBY!” His voice cracked, but it was still the loudest thing in their entire section.
Everyone froze.
Mira turned her head so slowly it was almost comical, one eyebrow arched. Rumi blinked like she wasn’t sure if she’d just imagined it, and Zoey nearly dropped the soda she was holding. Even Yeon-u, usually expressionless, tilted his head with the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.
“Ae-jin?” Jinu asked flatly, lowering his phone. “Since when do you care about football?”
Ae-jin’s face went bright red under the stadium lights. He sat down abruptly, tugging at his jacket collar as if it could swallow him whole. “What? I’m just—” He cleared his throat. “I’m just really excited for us to win this match and move to the finals, that’s all.”
Zoey snorted, covering it with a cough. “Yeah, suuure. Just school spirit, huh?”
“Exactly,” Ae-jin muttered, refusing to look at any of them. His ears betrayed him though, turning scarlet as he kept his eyes glued to the field.
Mira leaned closer to Rumi and whispered, “He’s so obvious.”
Rumi tried to stifle a laugh, failing miserably as the crowd surged again, this time chanting Abby’s name along with the rest of the team.
Even Zoey, who didn’t understand half the rules of football, found herself caught up in the rush of it all. The cheers, the lights, the warmth of everyone pressed together—it was overwhelming but in the kind of way that made her heart race. She glanced sideways at Rumi and Mira, who were both caught up in the moment, and felt that weird twist in her chest again. But she quickly shook it off, gripping her soda tighter.
“Ok,” she muttered under her breath, “this is actually kinda fun.”
And with the kickoff whistle blowing, the game officially began.
The stadium lights blazed down on the field, burning bright against the night sky, their white glare cutting through the roar of the crowd. Abby could feel the vibration of every stomp, every cheer, rumbling beneath his cleats like the whole place was alive. But he didn’t let it in. Not at first. He’d trained himself to shut it all out — the crowd, the chants, the energy — until it was just him, the ball, and the end zone. Nothing else.
His breath came steady behind his mouthguard, chest rising and falling as he crouched into position. The world narrowed to the ball snapped into motion, the sharp bark of plays called, and the pounding rhythm of feet against turf. Abby moved like water through the cracks in the defense, slipping past hands, dodging tackles with instinct sharper than thought. The first touchdown had come almost effortlessly — he cut left, accelerated, and was gone before the other team even realized what had happened. The crowd roared, but Abby kept his head down, jogging back with the faintest curl of a smirk tugging at his lips.
He was locked in, unshakable. Until his eyes drifted toward the stands.
Just for a second. Just a glance.
And there she was. Mira, sitting beside the others, her attention fixed on the field. She wasn’t screaming or waving her arms like Ae-jin, but the way she was watching — really watching — struck Abby harder than any tackle. His stomach twisted in a way no game ever had. Suddenly the ball in his hands wasn’t just about scoring; it was about showing off. Impressing her. Making sure she kept looking.
The shift was immediate. Abby stopped running plays the way they were drawn. He started taking the ball when he shouldn’t have, pushing through defenders on his own, stretching out moves longer than necessary just to make them look flashier. And the crowd loved it. Every time he spun away from a tackle or forced his way through a wall of defense, they screamed his name, the chants echoing louder and louder. To anyone else, he looked unstoppable. But his teammates knew better.
“Abby, pass it!” someone shouted as they broke down the field, wide open.
He didn’t. He tucked the ball tight, charging forward.
Groans of frustration cut through the cheers when another perfect opportunity slipped through their fingers.
The next huddle was tight with irritation. A teammate shoved him lightly in the shoulder pads, eyes flashing. “Focus, man. Keep your eye on the prize.”
Abby grinned, sweat dripping down his temple as he flicked his gaze back toward the stands where Mira sat. “I am keeping my eyes on the prize.”
The double meaning slid right past most of them, but his smirk lingered. The plays kept falling apart. Sure, they were still up by points, but the rhythm of the team was cracking — and everyone knew who the cause was.
By halftime, the scoreboard was still in their favor, but the locker room carried an edge of tension beneath the usual bustle. Players sprawled on benches or leaned against lockers, chugging water bottles, unwrapping tape, shoving protein bars into their mouths. Trainers moved briskly around, checking bruises and tightening wraps. But Abby barely had time to breathe before the coach’s hand clapped down hard on his shoulder.
“Walk with me.”
Abby frowned but followed, the noise of the locker room dimming as the coach led him to the far corner, away from the rest of the team.
The man’s voice was low but sharp, cutting through the humid, sweaty air. “What the hell was that out there?”
Abby raised an eyebrow, pulling off his helmet and shaking his damp hair back. “What was what? We’re winning, aren’t we?”
The coach’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t get smart with me. You’re out there running your own damn show, ignoring plays, cutting your teammates off. You’re throwing off the entire rhythm of this team. You think this game is about you?”
“It kinda is,” Abby muttered, rolling his shoulders. “Look at the scoreboard. Look at the crowd. They’re here for me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” The coach stepped closer, his jaw tight. “They’re here for the team. And right now, you’re sabotaging them.”
Abby scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Sabotaging? Please. If anything, I’m the only one keeping us in the lead. The rest of them can barely keep up. If I didn’t play like this, we’d be losing by now. They need me.”
For a moment, silence pressed down like the heavy air before a storm. The coach pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly as if Abby’s words physically pained him. When he finally spoke, his tone was steady, measured, but cold.
“I don’t know where this attitude is coming from, but hear me now: if you don’t come around in the second half, I’ll bench you. I don’t care if you’ve got the whole damn stadium chanting your name — I’ll sit you out. Understand?”
Abby’s mouth opened, heat rushing up his chest as a protest burned on his tongue. But before he could get a word out, the coach had already turned, walking back toward the rest of the team. His broad shoulders cut through the bustle, leaving Abby standing alone in the corner, helmet dangling from his fingertips and jaw clenched tight.
The roar of the crowd filtered faintly from outside, the second half looming. And all Abby could think about — wasn’t the warning, wasn’t the threat of being benched — but Mira’s eyes, and whether she’d still be watching.
Meanwhile, the rest of the group had scattered — some heading toward the bathrooms in pairs, others making a beeline for snacks. The hall buzzed with laughter and low chatter, but Jinu drifted alone, his eyes glued to the glow of his phone screen. He’d been doing that all night — thumbing through nothing, pretending to scroll, pretending to look distracted. To anyone else, it just looked like he was waiting on a text, but his stomach churned with every second that passed.
His mom had promised she’d call after the first touchdown. Twenty minutes, she said. That was more than half an hour ago now. Each tick of the clock in his head only made him more restless. He thought about calling her first, thumb hovering over the contact, but stopped himself. If his dad was around, if things were tense, then his voice on the line might only make it worse. Sometimes it didn’t take much to set his dad off. He swallowed hard, his throat dry, nerves chewing him from the inside out.
When his phone finally buzzed, his whole body jolted. The ringtone cut through the background noise of shuffling footsteps and distant TV chatter from the common room. Relief hit him first, then fear, tangled so tightly he could barely breathe. He picked up immediately.
The conversation was short, no more than five or six minutes, but it drained him all the same. His mom’s voice was strained — hurried, clipped, like she couldn’t risk saying too much. He tried to stretch the call, asked a few small questions, but he could tell. Something was wrong. By the time he hung up, his hands were trembling. He shoved the phone into his pocket, pressing the heel of his palm to his eyes as though that could push back the stinging in them.
Jinu leaned against the cool brick wall by the bathroom hallway, exhaling shakily. His chest felt tight, as if the air itself had gotten heavier. His thoughts spun — worry, dread, the weight of things he couldn’t control — and he felt like he was balancing on the edge of just breaking down right there. His whole body screamed for release, for tears, but he fought it, grinding his teeth and forcing himself to keep steady.
From down the hall, movement caught his eye. Rumi and Mira walked together, Mira saying something quick before peeling off toward the washrooms. Rumi lingered behind, shifting awkwardly on her feet as if debating what to do next. When her gaze landed on him, she hesitated for only a second before starting toward him.
Not now, Jinu thought, blinking fast, trying to disguise the wetness in his eyes. He forced his face into something calmer, cooler — the practiced nonchalance he always wore around people. The last thing he needed was someone seeing him crack open.
“Hey stranger,” Rumi said lightly as she came up beside him, leaning against the wall too, though not close enough to touch. There was a small but deliberate gap between them. “Long time no see.”
Jinu let out a faint hum that barely passed for a greeting. “Hey…” he mumbled, his voice softer than he meant it to be.
Rumi tilted her head, studying him. She’d noticed something was off with him for a while now. Ever since their last study session, Jinu had been quieter, detached, always brushing things off with a joke or that tired line of I’m fine. She wasn’t buying it tonight either.
“Alright,” she said, narrowing her eyes a little. “What’s the matter with you? You’ve been acting weird.”
“It’s nothing,” Jinu muttered quickly, pulling at his sleeve, eyes dropping to the floor.
“Mm-hm.” Rumi wasn’t convinced. Her tone sharpened, but not harshly, just persistent. “Don’t give me that. What’s wrong?”
“I said it’s nothing.”
They went back and forth like that, her asking, him deflecting, until finally Jinu’s chest felt like it might cave in under the pressure of holding it all back. The lie slipped out almost instinctively.
“Fine,” he said, sharper than he intended. He took a shallow breath, softening just slightly. “If you must know, I’m just—” his voice caught, and he forced it out, “I miss my family.”
Rumi’s expression softened at once, her suspicion giving way to something gentler. She didn’t question it — didn’t see through the lie. She only saw someone aching for home.
“Oh,” she muttered, her voice quieter now. She nudged his shoulder with hers, a small attempt at lightening the mood. “Well, hey. Reading week starts tomorrow. You’ll be able to see them then.”
Jinu rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting away. “It’s not that simple,” he murmured, the truth bleeding out in the heaviness of his tone.
That pulled a look of deeper concern across Rumi’s face. She knew enough about complicated families to recognize that weight, even if she didn’t know the details. The sympathy in her expression shifted into something more serious, more knowing, like she was ready to press if he gave her even the slightest crack to.
But Jinu didn’t. He stayed quiet, his shoulders tense, hiding the storm inside while Rumi watched him, realizing for the first time just how much he’d been holding back.
Mira stepped out of the washroom, her sneakers squeaking faintly against the bathroom floor tiles. The roar of the game still carried down the hallway in muffled waves—shouts, whistles, the thud of players colliding—but here it was quieter, a strange little pocket of stillness compared to the chaos of the field. She adjusted her hoodie and glanced around, eyes scanning for Rumi. No sign of her.
“She probably went back to the bleachers,” Mira muttered to herself, already angling her steps that way.
Then her phone buzzed in her pocket. Mira’s chest lifted instinctively, expecting Rumi’s name to light up the screen—some silly meme, or maybe a ‘where are you?’ text. But when she pulled it out and saw the name flashing across the display, her stomach sank.
Mom.
Her thumb hovered over the decline button, her pulse thudding in her ears. She knew better. If she ignored it, the calls would keep coming, back-to-back until she caved. With a resigned sigh, she pressed accept and brought it to her ear.
“Hello?” she said quietly, trying not to let the heaviness in her tone slip out.
“Mira.” Her mother’s voice cracked like a whip, sharp and clipped, carrying the faint echo of a bustling office in the background. “Finally. Do you know how many times I’ve called you this week?”
Mira bit her lip, already shrinking into herself. “I’ve been busy, Mom. Classes and—”
“Busy? Too busy to answer your own mother?” The interruption landed like a slap. “I don’t want to hear excuses. Tomorrow you’re coming home.”
Mira’s brow furrowed. “Tomorrow? But it’s reading week—”
“Exactly,” her mother snapped. “Which means you’re free, and we have things to catch up on. Life things. Important things. You’ve been gone long enough, Mira. The company doesn’t run itself, and you can’t keep pretending you’re separate from it.”
The words curled in Mira’s chest like chains. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out fast enough. Her mother plowed on.
“And another thing. I don’t like the way you’ve been spending all this time with… those friends. You think I don’t notice? I see how often you ignore my calls. It’s disrespectful. I didn’t raise you to put me second.”
Mira’s throat tightened. She tried to edge in, tried to get a word past the wall of her mother’s voice. “Mom, I’m not ignoring you, I—”
“Don’t interrupt me.” The command was cold, final. Mira pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, jaw tense. “You’re too caught up in… whatever this little distraction is. That’s not the Mira I expect. You need to start prioritizing correctly.”
Heat pricked behind her eyes. She wanted to say something—anything—but the weight of her mother’s tone pressed her flat, made her voice shrink before it could even rise.
Her mom’s sigh hissed through the line. “The phone works both ways, Mira. Don’t make me come up there.”
The call cut before Mira could even breathe a reply.
Mira lowered the phone slowly, staring at the dark screen, her reflection warped in its black glass. Her chest felt hollow, yet unbearably tight at the same time. She slid the phone back into her pocket with trembling fingers and pulled her hood up, as if fabric alone could shield her from the conversation that still rang in her head.
The muffled cheers from the field drifted back into focus, a cruel reminder that the world hadn’t stopped spinning just because hers felt like it had tilted off its axis.
Yeon-u lingered behind the stands, the noise of the festival crowd muffling into a blur of chatter and laughter. He had slipped away under the excuse of getting snack refills, but now the plastic tokens clutched in his hand felt like nothing more than a cover. His eyes had locked onto a figure weaving between the rows of food stalls — tall, hood up, moving quick but cautious.
Hyun.
Yeon-u froze for a second, his brow furrowing. What the hell is Hyun doing out here? Shouldn’t he be with Zoey? A coil of unease knotted in his stomach.
Hyun wasn’t strolling. He wasn’t looking for snacks. His head was constantly on a swivel, darting left and right like someone who didn’t want to be seen. Every couple of steps he threw a glance over his shoulder, jaw tight, posture tense.
Yeon-u tucked himself behind a stand draped with paper lanterns, the warm glow painting half his face. He wasn’t exactly subtle by nature — his friends always teased him for stomping around instead of walking — but tonight, he forced his steps lighter. Each time Hyun’s head turned, Yeon-u pressed himself against a stall or slipped behind a group of laughing students. The smells of fried dough and grilled meat cloaked him, making it easier to blend into the crowd.
Still, his pulse thudded against his ribs. He wasn’t spying for fun. Something felt wrong.
Hyun eventually slipped away from the festival’s bright lights, cutting into a narrow side street. Yeon-u hesitated at the edge, then followed, careful to stay in the shadows. The air here was different — colder, the scent of smoke hanging heavy.
Hyun stopped.
Two guys leaned casually against a brick wall, cigarette tips burning faint orange in the dark. Or maybe it wasn’t cigarettes — Yeon-u couldn’t tell from his hiding spot behind a dented trash bin.
The exchange was quiet but clear enough. A mutter. A nod. One of the strangers pulled a thick stack of cash from his jacket, slapping it into Hyun’s palm. Hyun, after glancing both ways one last time, dug through his hoodie pocket and produced a small plastic ziplock bag.
Even from a distance, Yeon-u knew what it was.
His gut clenched.
For a second, he just stared, his breath trapped in his chest. He didn’t care about Hyun’s little side hustle — not really. But Zoey? Zoey had been laughing with Hyun, spending time with him. If she got tangled up in this? No. Absolutely not.
Without thinking, Yeon-u turned on his heel. He didn’t even care if the three of them saw him retreating. His mind was already made up. Zoey needed to know.
He pushed his way back through the crowd, heart still pounding, until a familiar voice pulled him to a halt.
“Yeon-u?”
He nearly collided with her. Zoey stood at the edge of a stand, fairy lights catching in her hair. She giggled softly, steadying him by the arm.
“Not surprised you’re here. You probably cleared out the snack booths, huh?” she teased.
But when she really looked at him, her smile faltered. His eyes gave him away — sharp, unsettled, not the playful spark she was used to.
“What’s wrong?”
Yeon-u swallowed hard. “I just saw Hyun. He was… making a deal. Like, actual shady shit. Cash, ziplocks, the whole thing.”
Zoey blinked, silent for a beat too long. Her lips parted, then closed, her brows knitting together.
“Are you sure that’s what it was? I mean…” She shifted, lowering her voice. “It could’ve been anything else.”
Yeon-u shook his head firmly. “No. I saw it with my own eyes. It was exactly what it looked like.”
Zoey bit her lip, staring at the ground. “Maybe he just… needed money. Maybe it was a one-time thing.”
Yeon-u’s jaw clenched. “Zoey, people like that don’t just do it once or twice. It’s a lifestyle. And if you keep hanging around him, you’re gonna get caught up in it too.”
Her head snapped up, eyes flashing. “You don’t know that. Hyun’s not a bad guy, Yeon-u. He’s—he’s nice. You only see the worst in people.”
“I see reality,” he shot back, frustration spilling into his voice. “And reality is you’re blinded by this picture you’ve built of him in your head. You want him to be the good guy, so you’re ignoring all the red flags.”
Zoey’s arms crossed tight over her chest, defensive. “No, I just don’t jump to the worst conclusion every time someone messes up. Maybe he was desperate. Maybe he doesn’t have anyone else. You don’t get it.”
Yeon-u stepped closer, his tone rising. “And you don’t get that once you’re in that world, there’s no clean way out. You think you can just float above it, but that’s not how it works. You’ll get sucked in, like you always do when you trust the wrong people.”
Her eyes widened, stung. “Oh, so this is about me now? This isn’t about Hyun, it’s about how you think I’m stupid. You just want to keep me to yourself, Yeon-u. Admit it.”
His hands curled into fists at his sides. “This isn’t about me wanting you to myself. It’s about me not wanting to watch you crash and burn again because you were too stubborn to listen.”
The words hung sharp in the air, cutting through the muffled festival music in the distance. Both of them were breathing harder now, faces tense, neither willing to give ground.
Finally, Yeon-u’s voice dropped low, almost a growl. “Fine. Do what you want. But don’t come crying back to me when you get sucked in too deep — like you always do.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. Zoey’s chest rose and fell as if she wanted to scream at him, but instead she just turned her face away, jaw trembling with anger she refused to show. Yeon-u, heart hammering, stepped past her without another word.
The crowd swallowed him up again, but the weight of the argument clung to them both like smoke.
The rest of the game blurred together in a haze of whistles, shouts, and pounding feet. Abby wasn’t playing like he had in the first half. He wasn’t showing off anymore—the sharp edge of his performance had dulled. Instead of cutting through the defense with that practiced arrogance he usually wore so easily, he hung back, passing more than he shot, letting his teammates carry the momentum. The crowd still cheered every time his side scored, oblivious to the shift, but Ae-jin noticed. He’d always noticed.
When the final whistle blew and Abby’s team claimed victory, the bleachers erupted. Students rushed down toward the field, clapping, laughing, and chanting his name. The friend group pushed their way through, Mira bouncing on her toes with excitement, Zoey waving her arms, Rumi calling out Abby’s name.
“Congrats, dude!” Zoey shouted, slapping his hand when they reached him.
“You carried that game,” Mira grinned, though her eyes lingered a little too long, like she was trying to read what wasn’t being said.
Rumi just smirked, “Not bad, superstar.”
Abby forced a smile, muttering thanks, but his shoulders were tight, his eyes flickering away from theirs like he was looking for an escape.
A cluster of other students—ones the group didn’t recognize—moved in next. A girl stepped forward first, tall with wavy brown hair that fell over one shoulder, her makeup sharp and deliberate. She leaned in close to Abby, too close, her perfume cutting through the sweat and grass of the field. Her hand brushed his arm as she tilted her head toward his ear.
“There’s an afterparty tonight,” she whispered, lips curling around the words like she wanted him to taste them. “You should come. I’d love it if you did.”
Her body language screamed flirtation—the way her fingers lingered on his jersey sleeve, the deliberate sway of her hip as she stepped back, her gaze locking with his like a challenge.
Abby gave her a lopsided grin, masking the flicker of discomfort underneath. “Sure,” he said lightly. “Is it cool if I bring my friends along?”
The girl’s shrug was lazy, dismissive. “Yeah, that’s fine. As long as you bring yourself.” She winked before turning away, leaving Abby with the echo of her perfume.
Ae-jin caught up just in time to clap Abby on the shoulder. “Wow,” he drawled, teasing but with an edge, “and here I thought you were still going for Mira.”
Abby rolled his eyes, shoving Ae-jin’s hand off his shoulder. “I still like Mira. That’s not going to change.”
Ae-jin’s heart clenched at the words. It was subtle, that pang of sadness, but it lodged itself deep in his chest. He masked it quickly, keeping his expression neutral, though the tightness in his throat threatened to break through. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the faint chants of Abby’s name still echoing in the distance.
“So, when’s the party?” Ae-jin asked eventually, forcing his voice casual.
“About that…” Abby muttered, his gaze fixed somewhere over Ae-jin’s shoulder. “I don’t think I’m going.”
Ae-jin’s brows furrowed. “Why? Afraid I’ll steal your thunder?” He tried to laugh it off, nudging Abby’s arm, but the joke fell flat the second he realized Abby wasn’t smiling.
“Seriously, Abby,” Ae-jin pressed, his teasing gone now. “What’s up with you? You’ve been acting weird ever since the study session.” He lowered his voice, frustration slipping in. “It’s kinda pissing me off.”
Abby let out a breath through his nose, staring at the ground. “Ae-jin, I just need some space to figure things out, okay?”
The silence between them was brutal, almost deafening. Ae-jin’s stomach sank as something clicked, sharp and unwelcome. “Oh,” he said quietly, his angry smile pulling at his lips. “So you’re not going because of me? Is that it?”
Abby flinched at the words, but it was quick—so quick Ae-jin didn’t even notice.
“Listen, Abby,” Ae-jin continued, voice harder now, “I don’t know what I did, but if you don’t want to talk to me right now then fine. Just go to the stupid party and I’ll stay out of your hair.”
Before Abby could answer, his teammates appeared, loud and rowdy, one of them slinging an arm around his neck. “C’mon, Abs, they’re gonna start without us if you don’t hurry up!”
Abby glanced back at Ae-jin, hesitation flickering in his eyes. For a second it seemed like he might say something, explain, maybe even stay. But then he swallowed it down.
“I’m coming,” he muttered, turning away without another word.
Ae-jin stood there, rooted in place as Abby walked off, swallowed by the noise and the crowd. His chest ached, but he locked his expression into something unreadable. He wasn’t about to let anyone—least of all Abby—see just how much it stung. Instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets, plastered on a faint smirk, and pretended he didn’t care. But the hollow feeling in his chest told the truth.
Notes:
Dang that chapter was a lot… AND there’s more where that came from cause the party arc is gonna be even worse..
Chapter 9: Bottom Of The Bottle PT.1
Summary:
The start of a house party that quiet literally kicks off a series of unfortunate events..
TW: Mentions of Abuse & Substance usage
Notes:
Hey guys, sorry for this chapter being a lot shorter than usual. I'm trying to focus one 2-3 character arcs per chapter for this house party thing and I lowkey didn't clock how short Jinu and Rumi's part would be soooo... yeah... REGARDLESS hope you guys enjoy! :3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The bass hit them before the house even came into view. It was the kind of thumping rhythm that rattled the ribs, the kind that made you question how in the world the cops weren’t already on their way. A couple blocks away from campus, the neighborhood street should’ve been quiet at this hour. Instead, it pulsed with the life of dozens—maybe hundreds—of students crammed into one massive house that looked like it belonged to someone’s wealthy uncle, not a college junior.
The place was huge, tall windows glowing with kaleidoscopic light that spilled onto the lawn. A couple of kids were sprawled across the grass, laughing too hard at something that wasn’t funny. Someone had already passed out under a tree, and a group of guys were yelling encouragements as a girl tried—and failed—to balance on her boyfriend’s shoulders. A chorus of splashes erupted from the backyard, followed by screams of laughter and a booming “Cannonball!”
“Jesus,” Rumi muttered, shoving her hands into her pockets. “How has no one called this in yet?”
“Noise complaints take, like, ten years in this city,” Abby replied from the front, his shoulders squared with a confidence that hadn’t been there earlier into the night. His chin tilted slightly higher as he pushed the gate open, as though he belonged here, like he’d been walking into wild house parties his whole life. The others trailed behind him, half-amused, half-bewildered.
Jinu walked close to Abby’s side. He gripped onto his phone tightly, aware that no one was going to call. The voice of his mother, pleading, lingered in his mind. He shook his thoughts away. Not tonight. Not after the last call. He just wanted alcohol in his system and enough noise around him to drown out her voice, at least for a few hours. His lips pressed into a thin line, but his eyes scanned the door as though every second brought him closer to the temporary numbness he craved.
Behind them, Mira, Rumi, and Zoey moved together, their steps slower, almost synchronized. But Zoey’s silence hung heavy. Her hands were shoved into her jacket sleeves, her shoulders slightly hunched.
“You’re quiet,” Mira said softly, tilting her head toward her.
Zoey snapped her gaze up, too quickly. “I’m fine.”
“You sure?” Rumi’s voice was sharper, less believing. She narrowed her eyes, studying Zoey’s face like she could read the truth between her features.
“Yeah. Totally,” Zoey said, forcing the corners of her mouth upward in a weak smile. “Just… tired.”
Neither Mira nor Rumi bought it, but they didn’t press. Zoey’s eyes had that far-off look, the kind that told them she was somewhere else entirely. Thinking about Yeon-u. Thinking about the argument, the way he hadn’t even said goodbye, hadn’t even sent her a text. The silence after a fight was always worse than the fight itself.
“Boo.”
A sudden voice behind her made Zoey jump so hard she almost dropped her phone. Hyun appeared out of nowhere, as he always did, his mop of hair falling so low over his face it was impossible to tell if he was even looking at her.
“God, Hyun, don’t sneak up like that,” Zoey snapped, clutching her chest.
He tilted his head, unfazed. “What’s wrong with you? You’re jumpy tonight.”
“I—nothing,” she muttered, avoiding his face. Or rather, the space where his eyes should’ve been if his hair wasn’t in the way. The memory of Yeon-u’s words still burned too hot in her chest to let her focus on anyone else.
Meanwhile, Ae-jin walked a little behind, separated from the group. His thoughts circled the small argument he’d had with Abby earlier that day. The words replayed, sharper every time, cutting deeper than he wanted to admit. Maybe I did screw up, he thought. Maybe he was right. Maybe—
Then, a cluster of students spotted him and everything changed.
“Ae-jin! My man!”
“Dude, where’ve you been?”
“Here, take a drink!”
In seconds, people crowded him, arms slung around his shoulders, red cups pressed into his hands, laughter spilling out around him like he was the center of their orbit. His smirk came easy then, automatic. He lifted his cup in mock salute, letting himself sink into the attention like it was warm water.
Who cares if Abby doesn’t wanna hang out with me? he thought, soaking in the cheers and chatter. I’ve got all I need right here.
But deep down—buried beneath the grin, beneath the noise, beneath the haze of alcohol already coating his tongue—there was a hollowness he couldn’t shake. A thin crack in the mask he wore, the kind of emptiness no amount of adoration could fill. He knew it. His subconscious knew it. And it gnawed at him, even as he let the crowd carry him toward the front porch of the party.
“Damn,” Rumi muttered under her breath as she watched. “He really just ditched us for his fan club.”
Zoey glanced back at him, lips pressed into a thin line. “He looks happy enough.”
“Yeah,” Mira said, her voice flat. “Happy.”
But she all knew better.
The party was in full swing, and soon enough everyone drifted into their own pockets of chaos. Abby found himself surrounded by the rest of his teammates and a cluster of cheerleaders, cups in hand and laughter spilling out like they were all trying to out-shout the music. He wasn’t usually the loudest in the group, but the alcohol worked quickly, loosening his edges. His voice joined theirs, raspy and bold, the red Solo cup in his hand already half-empty.
He tipped his head back, finishing it off in one go, then swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. The burn was sharp but familiar. When he glanced across the room, his gaze landed on Ae-jin.
Ae-jin had carved out his own circle. A group of students clung to him like orbiting satellites, laughing at whatever joke he had just cracked, handing him fresh drinks as though he were some sort of royalty. And of course, Ae-jin accepted them all. He wasn’t the type to sip slowly; once alcohol was on the table, he treated it like a challenge. If someone passed him a drink, it was gone in minutes. If shots lined the counter, he’d clear them like water.
Abby leaned against the arm of a couch, watching him with a mixture of amusement and something sharper, something he couldn’t name. How does he do that? he thought. Ae-jin was already on his fourth—or was it fifth?—drink, and yet he looked steady, his smirk intact, his words still smooth. Abby had always wondered how he never wound up sick, how he hadn’t ended up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning at least once.
“Damn,” Abby muttered under his breath, taking a sip from a new drink. “Guy’s a machine.”
But before he could keep staring, someone tugged hard on his shirt. He stumbled forward, nearly spilling what little drink remained in his cup. A cheerleader—one of the blondes from the pep rally—smiled up at him mischievously.
“C’mon,” she teased, her voice syrupy and sly, “you’re not just gonna stand there, are you?”
Before he could answer, she yanked him by the collar, pulling him through the crowd. Abby’s laugh escaped before he could stop it, the alcohol making everything just a little funnier, just a little hazier. He tossed his cup on a nearby counter and let himself be dragged off.
From across the room, Ae-jin caught it all. His sharp eyes followed the scene, his smirk faltering just slightly. He tilted his drink, taking a long sip, the burn doing nothing for him. Nothing ever did. That was the curse of his high tolerance—no matter how much he drank, the world never tilted, never blurred the way he wanted it to. He could drown himself in vodka, rum, whiskey, and still walk out the door with his steps straight and his thoughts painfully clear.
And he hated it.
He hated it most on nights like this, when he wasn’t just drinking for fun but drinking to forget. To push down the echo of arguments, the sting of words he didn’t want to replay. To push down the image of someone he swore he didn’t care about, someone whose absence had left him emptier than he wanted to admit.
He watched Abby disappear into the crowd, dragged off by laughter and perfume, and his jaw tightened. He leaned back against the wall, his drink dangling carelessly from his fingers.
“Fucking bastard,” Ae-jin muttered to himself.
Someone leaned in close, a girl with glitter on her cheekbones and a daring grin. She pressed a fresh cup into his hand. “You look like you need this,” she teased.
Ae-jin smirked automatically, slipping back into the role everyone expected of him—the charming, untouchable center of attention. “You might be right,” he said smoothly, clinking his cup against hers.
But deep down, when he tipped the drink back, he knew it wouldn’t work. It never did. He could drown his body in alcohol, but it wasn’t strong enough to drown the thoughts in his head. And no amount of smirks or cheers could hide the fact that, beneath it all, he felt empty.
The bass thrummed through the walls, shaking the floor beneath them, the kind of heavy rhythm that worked its way into your chest and made it impossible not to move. Mira and Zoey were lost in the tide of bodies, surrounded by swaying arms and flashing neon lights that strobed over the room in blues and purples. Mira’s hair clung to her temples with a sheen of sweat, but she barely noticed—her focus was entirely on Zoey, who was glowing under the haze of alcohol and laughter.
Zoey had already downed four, maybe five shots, and though Mira could hold her liquor without breaking a sweat, Zoey was very obviously on the edge. Her balance wobbled as she spun, tripping over her own feet before Mira caught her waist and steadied her. The moment Mira spun her again, Zoey’s laughter burst out like music, high-pitched and free.
“Mirrrraaa,” Zoey whined mid-giggle, clinging onto Mira’s forearms for stability. Her voice was sugary and drawn out, the kind of playful tone only alcohol could pull from her. “Let’s go get another drink. I wanna have fun! ”
She tugged Mira towards the kitchen counter with all the strength of someone who thought they had control of their limbs, but Mira quickly caught her hips, pivoting her back around with ease.
“Nope,” Mira said firmly, lips pressed into a line as she crouched slightly to meet Zoey’s face. “No more drinking for you. You’ve had, what, five shots? And you already look like you’re about to blackout.”
“I’m not gonna blackout,” Zoey pouted, bottom lip jutting out as she squinted up at Mira. Her words slurred together into a half-whine. “I’m just a lil tipsy, that’s all…” She leaned heavily into Mira, giggling like the thought itself was hilarious.
Before Mira could respond, a presence loomed at her side. Hyun, leaning away from the wall he had been haunting, slid into the space next to them. He had been watching them for a while, his sharp gaze rarely leaving Zoey even as others tried to strike up conversation with him. Now, his lips quirked into something between a smirk and a taunt.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got her,” he said smoothly, casually adjusting his jacket sleeve as if he had been waiting for this moment. “You should go have fun.”
Mira’s eyes snapped to him, narrowing in irritation. “Never said I couldn’t handle her,” she retorted, her voice colder than she intended. “I just don’t want her getting into something she can’t get out of.”
Hyun tilted his head, smirk deepening. “And I never said I was going to get her into something. I’m just taking care of my date. Remember?” His tone was smug, the word date landing heavier than it should have.
The reminder dug under Mira’s skin like a splinter. She bristled, jaw tightening, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of rising to the bait. Instead, she reached out and firmly snatched Zoey’s wrist.
“We can both take care of her,” Mira muttered, tugging Zoey away from the counter before Hyun could say anything else.
Zoey blinked, confused but still beaming. “Where are we going? Are we going swimming?” she asked innocently, words tumbling out too fast, too loud. “I wanna swim with turtles! Did you know sea turtles can hold their breath for five hours? I can’t even hold mine for ten seconds, I’d drown so fast,” she rambled on, waving her free hand like she was giving a lecture.
Mira rolled her eyes but tightened her grip to keep Zoey steady as they pushed through the crowd. Zoey’s rambling was ridiculous, but her wide grin and flushed cheeks were almost infectious. Almost. Mira, though, felt the burn of Hyun’s smirk still clinging to her back like a shadow, and she couldn’t shake the irritation bubbling in her chest.
Zoey was oblivious to all of it, still chirping about turtles. “Mira, do you think turtles get drunk if they drink ocean water? Like… too much salt? Or maybe they just—”
“Zoey,” Mira cut in sharply, though her lips twitched like she wanted to laugh despite herself. “Focus on walking straight. We’re not swimming with turtles tonight.”
Zoey giggled, leaning all her weight against Mira like deadweight. “Booo, you’re no fun,” she mumbled, eyes drooping but her smile unwavering.
Mira sighed and adjusted her hold, muttering under her breath, “Someone has to be the responsible one.”
Behind them, Hyun’s laugh cut through the music—low, knowing, and meant to reach her ears. Mira didn’t look back.
Jinu lay sprawled across the cold basement floor, half-propped against the wall like a broken mannequin, with three bottles of beer tucked haphazardly around him and one still gripped in his hand. His shirt was wrinkled, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. From far away, in the dim lighting and shadows of people stumbling up and down the basement stairs, he looked like some sad, forgotten man—someone life had chewed up and spit out. But no one paid him much attention. Everyone else was far too drunk, too busy laughing, dancing, or arguing with slurred words and reckless confidence.
Everyone except Rumi.
She shoved her way past a group of students screaming over beer pong rules, her jaw set. She wasn’t in the mood anymore. She’d spent all day surrounded by people, smiling, pretending, burning through her patience and her energy. Now her body ached with the weight of exhaustion and her “I can deal with this” mask was slipping. She just wanted Mira. She just wanted Zoey. She just wanted to go home.
As she forced her way deeper into the basement crowd, her shoes came down hard on something solid.
“Ah—shit!” a voice groaned.
Rumi froze, glancing down. Jinu’s arm.
“Oh my god—” she crouched immediately, ready to apologize, but when her eyes adjusted to the sight of him, slouched and drinking straight from the bottle like it was water, her words caught in her throat.
“…Jinu?”
He barely turned his head toward her. His eyes were half-lidded, glossy. “M’fine,” he muttered, his words thick and slurred. He tilted the bottle back like punctuation. “Just busy rotting.”
Rumi stared at him, confused, then frowned. He looked awful. His skin was pale beneath the neon strobe of the basement lights, his hands trembling just enough that she worried he’d drop the bottle and cut himself.
She sighed and knelt down fully beside him, ignoring how the floor reeked of beer and sweat. “Seriously? You’re gonna rot here ? On a sticky basement floor that smells like piss and regret?”
Jinu gave her a lopsided smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Better than rotting back home.”
She tilted her head, trying to read him. “Is your homesickness really so bad it’s got you drinking like you just got divorced from a 7 year marriage?” she teased, trying to shake some humor into the heaviness.
But Jinu didn’t laugh. He groaned instead, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead. “You don’t get it, Rumi. You don’t… you don’t know what’s going on back there.”
Rumi’s smirk fell. The air between them shifted, serious now, the background party noise fading into a dull hum. “Then tell me,” she said softly. “What’s going on there?”
For a moment, Jinu just stared at the floor, his jaw working like he was chewing on words too bitter to spit out. Then, in a shaky exhale, it all spilled out—the truth about his father. How cruel he was. How his mother and sister had to live under his shadow, unsafe, unprotected. His voice cracked in places, slurred in others, but Rumi could feel the rawness underneath every word. It was a wound he’d been hiding, and alcohol had pried it open.
Rumi’s chest tightened. She looked at him—really looked at him. Not the cocky, confident version of Jinu she usually saw in daylight, but the vulnerable one in front of her now, clutching a beer bottle like it was the only thing holding him together.
Without realizing it, she reached for one of the half-empty bottles near him and took a long swig herself. The bitterness hit her tongue like static. “God, that’s nasty,” she muttered, grimacing, but she took another sip anyway.
Jinu chuckled hoarsely, just a puff of air. “Careful. It’ll rot you too.”
“Maybe I’ve already been rotting,” Rumi said quietly, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
That made him glance at her, his bleary eyes sharper for a moment. She hesitated, then shrugged like it was no big deal. “My mom died when I was young. I don’t… remember her the way I want to. Celine—my aunt—she raised me, but she’s… strict. Like, suffocating strict.” Rumi picked at the label of the bottle in her hand, avoiding his gaze. “Sometimes it feels like I’ve been carrying all this alone for so long. And I guess I’m saying… you don’t have to. Not with this. Not with your family. You don’t have to go through it alone.”
For once, Jinu didn’t interrupt. He just listened, his drunken haze softened by something almost sober in his expression.
“I’m here,” Rumi added, her voice low. “Even if you forget this tomorrow, just… remember I said it now.”
Jinu’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. He looked like he wanted to say something back, something big, something heavy. His mouth opened—
“I…” He stopped. His lips pressed together. He shook his head, taking another swig instead.
Rumi frowned. “What?”
“…Nothing.” His eyes dropped to the floor. “Doesn’t matter.”
It did matter—she could see it written across his face. But she also knew the sharp line between pushing and letting someone hold their silence. With her own secrets she hated when people pried. So she didn’t.
Instead, she pushed herself to her feet, wobbling slightly. “Fine. But you’re not rotting here like a sad floor goblin all night.” She extended a hand toward him. “Come on. Water. Now. You and me.”
Jinu blinked up at her, squinting like her hand was too bright. Then, with a reluctant, half-smile, he set the bottle down and let her pull him up.
“You’re bossy,” he slurred.
“Damn right,” Rumi shot back, already steering him toward the couch. “Now, stay here and I’ll get you some water to sober up before we both drown in beer and bad metaphors.”
The music in the living room pounded like a heartbeat, muffled and distant where Jinu sat slouched in the corner of the couch. The half-empty bottle in his hand tilted dangerously against his knee, cold condensation dripping onto his jeans, but he didn’t really notice. His thoughts were too loud, louder than the bass rattling the floor.
Rumi’s laughter still echoed in his head. The way she had leaned down earlier, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear, checking if he was okay—God, no one did that. Not for him. Most people brushed past, too busy, too indifferent. But Rumi had seen him, really seen him. And that simple act made something bloom in his chest, raw and desperate, like sunlight cracking into a room that had been dark for too long.
He tipped the bottle back, the burn of alcohol scraping down his throat, but it didn’t clear the ache. Instead, his mind kept circling her—her hands, small but steady, the way her smile was both careful and reckless at once. How her voice softened when she talked to him. She made him feel… not alone. And maybe that was it. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
His eyes burned, though he refused to let tears slip. He wasn’t drunk enough for that yet. Another sip, another swallow, and he leaned his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling as if the cracked plaster might give him answers.
She cares for me, he thought, biting down on his lip. More than anyone ever has. More than anyone probably ever will. The thought settled into him like both a comfort and a curse. Every time she looked at him, every time she touched his arm or laughed at his stupid jokes, he felt pulled deeper, tethered in a way he couldn’t explain. It wasn’t just attraction. It was survival.
“Rumi…” he muttered under his breath, almost like a prayer, almost like a plea. He chuckled bitterly at himself, running a hand through his hair. “God, what am I even doing?”
He remembered the way she’d stood up earlier, saying she’d be right back. The moment she left, the room had seemed colder, emptier, and he hated how much it mattered. He hated that the air itself felt thinner without her sitting across from him.
The bottle tilted again, this time until it was empty, and Jinu set it down with too much force on the floor. His knee bounced restlessly as he leaned forward, elbows digging into his thighs. The noise of the party swirled behind him, but he couldn’t shake the gnawing need for her presence.
He didn’t want to admit it out loud, but it was terrifying—how fast it all happened, how fast he felt pulled under. He hadn’t asked for this, hadn’t expected someone to crack him open with nothing more than kindness and attention.
When the door creaked open across the hall, his head shot up, heart stuttering. For a split second, he thought it might be her, coming back. The idea lit something reckless in him, a fragile hope tangled with longing.
“Where are you, Rumi…” he whispered again, rubbing at his chest as if that would ease the tightness there. His body slumped further into the couch, heavy and waiting, the kind of waiting that hurt.
Another drink. He needed another drink.
Notes:
Just letting y'all know I'm starting Uni like next week so at then of this arc (which might be 3-4 chapters later) I might take a few days off to focus so erm yeah. So chapters might be coming slowly, stay tuned for that tho :P
Chapter 10: Bottom Of The Bottle PT.2
Summary:
We finally caught up to the summary of this fanfic ;)
TW: mentions of SH
Notes:
Sorry I took forever with chapter YALL but trust this is gonna be good :DD
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Zoey had somehow found the one patch of quiet in the house. The hallway was dimly lit, tucked away from the bass-heavy thump of music in the living room and the chaotic chatter spilling from the kitchen. She sat wedged between Mira and Hyun, her head lolling onto Mira’s shoulder, phone tilted toward her face.
“Look—look, it’s a turtle trying to eat a strawberry,” Zoey giggled, showing Mira a short reel that looped endlessly. Her words came out a little too loud, a little too fast, that bubbly mix of tipsiness and unfiltered excitement.
Mira leaned over, half-focused on the screen, but mostly on Zoey herself. The stupid video wasn’t what held her attention—it was the sound of Zoey’s laugh, that soft little trill that escaped every time the turtle missed the fruit. It squeezed something in Mira’s chest, the kind of ache that wasn’t painful but heavy, like her ribs had forgotten how to keep everything contained.
She’d heard Zoey laugh plenty of times. But drunk—or close to drunk—Zoey laughed differently. There was no hesitation, no control. Just warmth spilling out of her, unguarded. Mira found herself cataloging it like it was something rare, something she might never hear again.
God, she was beautiful when she was messy like this.
Her mind, traitorously, flicked to Rumi. Where Zoey was radiant and loud in her joy, Rumi’s smile was a different language entirely. Polite most of the time—tight-lipped, practiced, too perfect. Mira had grown used to those smiles, had almost convinced herself that was enough. But when Rumi forgot herself, when her lips curved downward in that awkward, crooked way—it was devastating. Natural, unplanned, hers. Mira could picture it vividly, tucked away behind Zoey’s laughter now, like a memory she kept in her pocket just to feel close to.
Beside them, Hyun was quiet. He sat stiff against the wall, scrolling his phone with the kind of detached focus that said his head was somewhere else. Mira glanced sideways just as his jaw tightened. On his screen: another text from the unknown number. Your client is waiting. Where are you?
Hyun didn’t reply. He stared at the glow of the message for a moment longer before locking his phone, shoving it back into his pocket. Whatever the hell that was, it could wait.
Zoey shifted suddenly, jolting him out of his thoughts.
“Never have I ever!” A group of guys had stumbled into the hallway, their voices loud and sharp against the low buzz of the party. One of them grinned, beer in hand, and asked, “You three down to play?”
Mira opened her mouth, already ready to say no. “I—”
“Yes!” Zoey cut her off, springing upright with a wobble. Her hand shot out to grab Mira’s wrist, tugging her up before she could protest. “C’mon, it’ll be fun!”
Mira dug her heels in for half a second, whining, “Zoey, you know me and alcohol don’t mix. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.”
Zoey pouted, eyes wide and playful. She bounced slightly on her feet, still holding Mira’s wrist. “Pleeease? Just one game. I’ll sit next to you, promise. I’ll even drink for you if it’s too much.” Her voice slipped into that tipsy pleading tone that was nearly impossible to resist.
Mira groaned, torn between resistance and the way Zoey’s fingers felt warm against her skin. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you love it.” Zoey flashed her a grin, then tugged harder, pulling Mira into motion.
Hyun stood, dusting off his jeans, trailing behind them with a long-suffering sigh. He didn’t say it, but the thought was obvious: someone had to make sure they didn’t burn the whole place down.
As they moved toward the living room, Mira’s chest tightened again. Zoey had no idea—no idea how dangerous she was when alcohol stripped her down. Mira wasn’t just fun drunk. She was reckless, cocky, shameless. A part of herself she’d spent years tucking away, terrified of letting someone like Zoey see it.
But Zoey didn’t let go of her wrist. And Mira didn’t pull away.
The living room had turned into a circle of noise and warmth, about twenty people packed in close on the carpet and couches, legs crossing over each other, drinks abandoned on the floor. The low thrum of music came from a speaker in the corner, but it was drowned out by the chatter and bursts of laughter that bounced off the walls. In the middle of it all, Zoey sat glued to Mira’s side, her hand curled tightly around Mira’s arm as if she had no intention of letting go.
Mira, for her part, leaned back with her usual calm expression. If anyone glanced quickly, they might think she was indifferent. But Hyun wasn’t glancing quickly. He was staring. And he noticed the faintest curve at the corner of Mira’s lips when Zoey squeezed her arm, the way Mira shifted just slightly to make herself easier to hold onto.
Hyun’s jaw tightened.
He had come here as Zoey’s date. She had said yes. She had smiled when he asked, almost too easily, and he had spent all afternoon convincing himself that meant something. But here he was now, sitting across the circle with the perfect view of Zoey clinging to Mira like Mira was the one she came with.
He told himself it was harmless—that Zoey and Mira were just closer, that it was easier for Zoey to relax with someone she trusted. That was all it was. Still, the thought soured the drink in his hand.
Or maybe it wasn’t just trust, his mind whispered. Maybe it’s something deeper. Something I don’t even get to touch.
Hyun’s throat went dry. He leaned back against the couch, gripping his cup harder than he realized. Every laugh Zoey gave Mira felt like a nudge in the ribs, and every time Mira let that faint smile linger, it felt like a challenge.
When his gaze finally lifted, Mira’s eyes were already on him.
For a moment, the world around them dulled—the chatter, the music, even Zoey’s soft laughter. Hyun and Mira locked eyes across the circle, neither of them blinking, neither of them backing down. The air seemed to shift, sharp and heavy, like static before a storm.
Mira tilted her head slightly, almost imperceptibly, as if to say, What are you going to do about it?
Hyun’s lips pressed into a hard line. He didn’t move, didn’t say anything, but his silence said enough: I see what’s happening. And I’m not blind.
The tension must have radiated, because the person sitting between them suddenly glanced back and forth, frowning like they could feel the weight of whatever was being passed in that unspoken stare.
Zoey broke it without even realizing. She tugged Mira closer, resting her head on her shoulder, oblivious to the invisible sparks snapping between the two people across from each other.
“Are you having fun?” she asked Mira, her voice muffled by Mira’s sleeve.
Mira glanced down at her, expression softening, then back at Hyun. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I am.”
Hyun’s stomach twisted.
The game had started off harmless. Laughter filled the circle as people raised their drinks, giggling at the tame confessions.
“Never have I ever snuck out,” one girl said with a grin, watching almost everyone groan and take a sip.
“Never have I ever been arrested,” another added, and that one had people howling. A couple of guys downed their cups and immediately became the center of teasing, everyone demanding the story.
The questions kept rolling, and with each new round, the safe little truths faded into bolder, riskier dares wrapped in words. The air grew heavy with alcohol and secrets.
Zoey was leaning into Mira’s arm now, her cheeks flushed pink, both from the warmth of the liquor and the comfort of Mira’s shoulder. She wasn’t hiding how cozy she felt—her laughter spilled loud and unrestrained every time Mira teased her.
“Zo, you’ve already had like three drinks,” Mira said, smirking as she nudged Zoey with her elbow.
Zoey groaned and buried her face into Mira’s arm. “Don’t expose me like that.”
“You’re lightweight,” Mira teased, her tone playful, but her eyes lingered a beat longer on Zoey’s face.
Hyun sat stiff across from them, swirling his drink in his cup, eyes narrowing at the little scene unfolding in front of him. Zoey was supposed to be his date tonight. And yet here she was—clinging, giggling, glowing, all for Mira.
He told himself it was because they were closer friends, because Zoey trusted Mira more. That was logical, right? But the way Mira seemed to lean into it, the way Zoey didn’t hesitate to laugh a little too hard at every joke—it gnawed at him.
Then why say yes to me? Hyun thought bitterly, tipping his cup back and feeling the burn. Why say yes if you were just going to spend the night wrapped around her?
The circle of questions continued, and the alcohol worked its way deeper into everyone’s veins. Mira was at seven drinks, Hyun at six, Zoey still at three. The teasing between Mira and Zoey only got louder, more playful, to the point where Hyun could feel his patience fraying.
When his turn came, he didn’t hesitate. He wanted answers, even if he had to drag them out with fire and liquor.
Hyun leaned forward, eyes sharp, locking onto Mira. His voice came out smooth, but edged with something darker.
“Never have I ever… wanted to kiss someone in this circle.”
The room went silent for a beat.
A ripple of oohs broke through from the others, some whistling, some smirking at the sudden boldness of the question. Everyone could feel the shift. The air seemed to thicken, pressing down on the group.
Zoey, too far gone in her own drunken haze, clapped her hands and joined in with the chorus of teasing. “Ooooh! Hyun’s going there!” she laughed, missing entirely the undercurrent of tension.
But Mira didn’t miss it.
Her heart gave one violent thud in her chest. She could feel Zoey’s warmth pressed against her side, and she knew—knew exactly what Hyun was doing. A part of her wanted to shrink away, to laugh it off, but the alcohol thrumming in her blood dulled her fear. Instead, Mira smirked.
She lifted her cup slowly, never breaking eye contact with Hyun, and tipped it back. The drink burned down her throat like defiance.
The reaction was immediate.
The group erupted with louder oohs this time, and Zoey’s jaw dropped. She pulled back just enough to gape at Mira, her eyes wide and sparkling with drunken curiosity.
“Mira! Who?! ” Zoey demanded, shaking Mira’s arm with both hands like a child pestering for candy. “Who do you wanna kiss? Oh my god, I need to know!”
Mira just laughed, brushing Zoey’s frantic questions away. Her smirk was sharp, deliberate, and when she finally opened her mouth, it wasn’t to answer Zoey.
“Yeah, Mira,” Hyun pressed, his words dripping with condescension. He leaned back, his cup dangling loosely in his hand. “Who is it?”
The entire circle went quiet, waiting.
Mira tilted her head, still smiling, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. Her gaze was steady, cool, a spark of challenge glinting in it.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she said smoothly, her voice dipped with slyness, her tone almost mocking.
A few people laughed nervously, but the tension didn’t break. If anything, it grew tighter, pulled taut between Hyun and Mira.
Hyun smirked, but it was brittle at the edges. He didn’t need her to say it out loud—he already had his answer. The way she drank, the way she looked at him without flinching.
It wasn’t for him.
The game eventually fizzled out, laughter dissolving into groans as the alcohol began to really settle in. The circle had broken, people scattering into smaller groups, but Zoey, Mira, and Hyun stuck together as they drifted out of the room, needing a break from the chaos.
The cool air in the hallway was a relief compared to the stuffy, overheated room they’d just left behind. Zoey flopped down onto the staircase like she owned the space, her hair tumbling into her face as she leaned against the wall. Mira followed, perching on the step above her, while Hyun dropped lazily onto the step below them.
All three were past the point of “tipsy.” Their laughter came too easily, their movements were loose and uncoordinated, and their words occasionally stumbled over themselves.
Zoey, cheeks flushed pink from the alcohol, had redirected all her attention onto Hyun. She leaned toward him, rambling about something completely nonsensical—something about how cats probably judged humans silently all the time and how she was certain one of her neighbors’ cats was plotting against her.
Hyun listened with a lazy grin, nodding along at just the right moments. He wasn’t following every word, but he didn’t care. He liked the attention—Zoey’s gaze fixed on him, her dramatic hand gestures, the way she tapped his arm every time she wanted to emphasize a point.
Mira, on the other hand, sat silently watching, her head tilted against the banister. Her lips pressed into a thin line. She knew Zoey was drunk, but that didn’t stop the little twist in her chest every time Zoey’s laugh spilled out and landed in Hyun’s direction.
After a few minutes, Mira exhaled sharply, the sound cutting through Zoey’s rambling. “God, Hyun, you should probably go get us some water before we all die of dehydration.”
Hyun turned his head, raising a brow at her, clearly not missing the pointed tone in her voice. “Oh, really? You sound like my mom right now.” He leaned back against the stair railing, shaking his head. “I’m good. Don’t need water. I’m fine.”
Mira rolled her eyes, deliberately loud about it. “It wasn’t a suggestion.”
Zoey let out a hiccup and clutched her stomach, laughing way too hard at nothing. “Water actually sounds soooo good right now,” she said, drawing out the word. Her eyes flicked between them before landing on Hyun, and she pouted dramatically. “Come on, Hyunnie, be a gentleman. Get me some water? I’m like—so, sooo thirsty.”
Hyun groaned, tossing his head back like the request was an unbearable burden. “Of course you’d gang up with her,” he muttered under his breath, shooting Mira a knowing look. She didn’t flinch, only raising her brow at him like she’d already won.
“Fine,” Hyun said at last, dragging himself up to his feet with exaggerated slowness. “But if I come back and you two ditch me for a better conversation, I’m taking both bottles with me.”
Zoey clapped her hands together, childlike in her delight. “Yayyy, water hero!” she cheered, before slumping back against the wall, half giggling, half humming to herself.
Mira watched him shuffle down the hallway, her chest loosening just slightly now that he was gone. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her knees as Zoey stretched her legs out, humming tunelessly.
For a moment, it was quiet, the muffled thump of music from the party still audible through the walls. Mira stared at Zoey, at the way her lashes fluttered when she blinked slowly, at the flush spreading across her cheeks. She wanted to say something—anything—but the words caught in her throat.
Zoey tilted her head, catching Mira’s gaze and smiling sleepily. “He’s so slow, isn’t he?” she whispered like it was a secret.
Mira smirked faintly, her voice low. “Yeah. Painfully.”
The noise of the party seemed to dim in Mira’s ears the moment it became just the two of them. The walls still vibrated faintly with bass, muffled laughter echoed somewhere down the hall, but here—on this little landing between the living room and the stairwell—it felt quieter, smaller. More intimate.
Mira tried to play it cool, leaning back against the wall like she wasn’t internally buzzing with excitement at the rare chance of being alone with Zoey. Any stolen second mattered to her, and she was determined to soak up every one. At first, they talked about nothing—class, the drinks, how crowded the apartment was—but the conversation naturally started leaning closer. Their shoulders brushed once. Then twice. Mira’s smirk widened every time Zoey’s gaze lingered longer than it should have.
Then it happened. Some drunk guy, red cup in hand, stumbled up the stairs, nearly tripping on his own shoes. He bumped square into Zoey’s back, sending her forward—right into Mira’s chest. Mira let out a small “oof,” but didn’t move. Zoey’s hands landed against the wall on either side of her, their faces inches apart.
Time stretched thin. The smell of Zoey’s perfume mixed with alcohol clung to the air. Mira’s heart hammered so loudly she swore Zoey could hear it.
Zoey stared straight into Mira’s eyes, her own glassy with drink. Mira didn’t know what Zoey was thinking, but then Zoey’s gaze flicked downward—to her lips. And lingered.
Her mind, fogged with vodka and adrenaline, screamed at her. Mira is so pretty. Her lips look so soft. They’re so glossy. I wonder how they taste. Zoey’s breath hitched. She wouldn’t mind if I tasted them, right?
And then, out loud—before she could stop herself, before her brain could remind her she had a date downstairs—Zoey blurted:
“Can I taste you?”
The words hung there, sharp and shocking, slicing through the air. For a second, neither of them moved. Zoey’s own eyes widened as though she couldn’t believe her mouth had betrayed her.
Then Mira broke. She burst into laughter, doubling over, her hand covering her face. The sound was loud, bright, unrestrained.
Zoey’s cheeks burned red, the alcohol amplifying her embarrassment tenfold. “Nevermind! Forget I said anything!” she yelped, stumbling back and waving her hands like she could erase the moment from existence. “I didn’t—I don’t—ugh, just forget it, okay?”
“What do you mean, ‘Can I taste you?’ ” Mira managed between laughs, her voice shaking with amusement.
Zoey groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I said nevermind!”
Mira’s laughter slowly quieted. She tilted her head, watching Zoey squirm. For once, the cocky mask fell away, and Zoey avoided her gaze, her body stiff and awkward. Mira’s lips curved into something slower, more dangerous.
“You know…” Mira drawled, stepping forward, her words sticky-sweet and smooth as honey, “you could’ve just asked for a sip. But I think I know what you really meant.”
Zoey froze. Her heart was going to explode—she was sure of it.
Before Zoey could argue, Mira reached out, hooked two fingers under Zoey’s chin, and tilted her head back just slightly. With her other hand, she pressed her palm against Zoey’s waist, pulling her closer. Then, in one quick, reckless motion, Mira leaned in and pressed her lips against Zoey’s neck.
Zoey gasped. Her whole body lit up in a rush of fire. The warmth of Mira’s mouth against her skin sent shivers racing up her spine. She felt like she was floating, her body melting, her heart hammering so hard it hurt. The alcohol already made her head spin, but this— this —was dizzying in a completely different way.
“M-Mira…” she whispered, voice breaking, but Mira only smirked against her throat and let her lips linger a second longer, just enough to leave a ghost of heat there before pulling back.
Zoey staggered, clutching the wall for balance. She was drunk, but she wasn’t drunk enough to miss the fact that she wanted more . Her lips parted, words trembling on her tongue— say something, say anything —but before she could, Mira’s gaze flicked past her shoulder.
Hyun.
Zoey followed her eyes and felt her stomach drop. Hyun was walking toward them, two water bottles in his hands, his face neutral but steady. Mira quickly stepped away, sliding back into casual nonchalance like nothing had happened.
But for Zoey, everything had just changed.
Panic slammed into her. What the hell am I doing? she thought, shielding her neck with her hand instinctively. Hyun is my date. He came here with me. And I’ve been spending the whole night clinging to Mira—letting her touch me, letting her kiss me—
The thought made her dizzy. Am I… am I cheating?
Her heart sank. She wanted to disappear. When Hyun reached them, she couldn’t even look at him. She just mumbled thanks when he handed her the water, her eyes glued to the floor, her free hand pressing hard against the spot on her neck where Mira’s lips had been seconds ago.
Mira, however, wasn’t as quick to hide her emotions. The confident smirk she’d worn was gone the second her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and her whole expression shifted. The sparkle drained from her eyes, replaced by something tense, something heavy.
“Sorry,” Mira muttered quickly, her voice clipped. She forced a smile, though it didn’t reach her face. “I gotta take this.”
Before Zoey could ask, before Hyun could comment, Mira was already slipping past them, her pace brisk as she disappeared out the door and into the cool night air.
Zoey stared after her, the laughter of the party swelling back into her ears, but all she could feel was her own pulse pounding at her throat.
The stairwell air felt heavy with the remnants of laughter from earlier, now swallowed up by an uneasy silence that pressed against Zoey’s chest. She leaned against the wall, arms crossed tight like she could physically hold herself together if she tried hard enough. Hyun sat beside her, head tilted back against the step, eyes staring up at the peeling paint on the ceiling. Neither of them spoke at first. The quiet wasn’t peaceful—it was the kind that gnawed, the kind that made you hyper-aware of every second passing.
Finally, Hyun cleared his throat. “There’s a game in another room if you wanna go play that?” His tone was careful, too careful, like he was trying to guide them out of a dark corner without admitting they were stuck in one.
Zoey’s stomach twisted. She didn’t look at him, didn’t even blink. “Mm.” She gave the smallest nod, lips pressed shut. Her mind, however, was nowhere near the offer of another game. It was still caught in the echo of Mira’s lips against hers, that electric second that she hadn’t been able to shake off no matter how much she tried.
“I know how much you like games,” Hyun added after a beat, his voice lighter now, like he was offering her an easy smile.
And that was when the irritation hit. Zoey clenched her jaw, biting down words that burned against her tongue. Of course you know I like games—I told you that today. She wanted to snap, to let it spill out sharp and bitter, but she swallowed it back down.
Instead, she just stood abruptly, brushing invisible dust off her jeans. “Sure, let’s go,” she mumbled.
Hyun looked up at her, studying her face for something, maybe a sign that things were okay. But Zoey didn’t give him anything. He sighed through his nose, pushed himself up, and followed her.
They walked side by side up the staircase, the creak of each step filling the silence. Zoey’s head was spinning. She kept replaying the kiss in her mind, not just the kiss itself but the feeling of it—how effortless it had been, how right it felt in a way that made no sense to her. And then there was Hyun, right next to her, steady, kind, the boy she’d been trying so hard to like the way she was supposed to.
But did she?
Her chest tightened. Of course I do. I just need more time to feel it. That’s all. Time. But the thought felt hollow. Because she already felt something with Mira. Stronger, clearer, louder than anything she’d been forcing with Hyun.
Why? Why would she need to try with him when her body, her heart, her whole damn soul was already pulling her in another direction?
Zoey dragged a hand down her face, hoping she could rub the thoughts out of her head, but they clung stubbornly, mocking her.
The muffled hum of voices grew louder as they reached one of the upstairs rooms. Laughter spilled into the hall, warm and wild. Zoey pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Around five people were scattered in a circle on the floor, their legs crossed, flushed faces lit by the dim, yellow glow of a desk lamp. Bottles and cups littered the carpet around them. Everyone looked at ease, caught somewhere between tipsy and reckless.
Zoey slid into an empty spot on the floor, exhaling like maybe the air would clear her head. Hyun sat directly across from her, knees bent, his eyes flickering over to her with a soft half-smile she couldn’t return.
At first, she was confused, wondering what they were waiting for. Then her gaze landed on the center of the circle, and her heart lurched.
There it was. A glass bottle, lying innocently on its side, its green surface glinting faintly in the low light.
Zoey’s stomach sank. Shit.
The rules didn’t even need to be explained. She knew this game—everyone did. And suddenly, the walls felt too close, the circle too tight, and her thoughts far too loud.
Mira ended the call with a heavy exhale, pressing her phone to her forehead for a second before shoving it into her pocket. Her shoulders sagged, the weight of her mother’s voice still hanging over her like a storm cloud. Same lecture, same disappointment, same never-ending cycle. She didn’t even know why she picked up anymore.
Dragging her feet back inside, the thrum of bass immediately swallowed her. The air was thick—sweat, perfume, alcohol, and the faint sting of smoke drifting from somewhere deeper in the house. She pushed her way through the crowd and found her way toward the staircase again, only to stop short. The steps were empty. Zoey and Hyun were gone.
Mira stood there for a moment, her chest tightening. Of course. Just gone, no explanation. She tried to laugh it off in her head, but it landed flat, bitter.
Her mouth was dry, so she turned toward the kitchen, weaving through a knot of people until she found some space. Her hand reached out automatically, fingers closing around the neck of an unopened bottle on the counter. At least this was reliable. She twisted around quickly, bottle in hand—
—and collided with someone.
“Watch where you’re—” Mira started sharply, then stopped cold.
Rumi.
For a moment she just stared. Rumi’s cheeks were flushed, and her normally sharp posture was looser, her movements softened in a way Mira had never really seen before. The corners of Mira’s lips tugged upward almost instinctively.
“Oh wow,” Mira teased, leaning a little closer with a grin, “is Rumi the perfectionist drunk right now?”
Rumi rolled her eyes and playfully slapped Mira’s shoulder. “You’re drunk too, shut up,” she shot back, her words a little less crisp than usual.
The two of them laughed—genuine, warm, easy—and for a second, Mira forgot about her mother, forgot about the empty staircase.
Mira tilted her head. “Seriously though, where have you been all night? Thought you ghosted and walked yourself home or something.”
Rumi hesitated, just long enough for Mira to notice. There was something behind her eyes—hesitation, calculation, like she was turning over words in her head before choosing carefully.
“Talking to a bunch of people,” Rumi answered finally, casual but not quite convincing.
Mira raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Mm. Sure.” Her tone was teasing, but there was a flicker of suspicion in her expression. Still, she let it drop with a shrug and a swig from her bottle.
“Anyways,” Rumi said, brushing the moment aside, “I’m looking for water. Is there any here?”
Mira glanced around the counter, scanning half-empty cups and scattered cans. “Didn’t see any.”
Rumi groaned softly, dragging a hand through her hair. “I’ve been looking everywhere. Feels like there’s more alcohol at this party than actual hydration. I’m dying.”
Mira chuckled. “Welcome to college parties. It’s all about dehydration and bad decisions.”
“Guess I’m about to make another one then,” Rumi muttered, eyeing Mira’s bottle.
Mira smirked, clutching it protectively against her chest. “Nope. Get your own bad decision.”
They both laughed again, and Mira, feeling a little lighter, tipped her head toward the hallway. “C’mon. Let’s hunt down some water before you collapse dramatically in front of everyone.”
Rumi rolled her eyes but smiled. “Fine. But if I pass out, I’m blaming you.”
They set off together, side by side, brushing shoulders every so often as they pushed through the crowd. The music was loud enough to rattle their ribs, and lights flickered over their faces, alternating between warm orange and cold blue. Mira stole a quick glance at Rumi when she thought she wouldn’t notice. Something about her—half-tipsy, flushed, not in control for once—made her feel… different.
And maybe, just maybe, Mira didn’t mind that the night had fallen apart in other ways if it meant she ended up here, next to Rumi, chasing water in a house that only seemed to spill liquor.
The circle had grown bigger since Zoey and Hyun first sat down. A few new faces had squeezed in, some tipsy, others buzzing with the reckless energy of the night. Laughter and chatter filled the space, bouncing off the walls, but Zoey could barely focus on any of it. Every time the bottle was spun, her stomach knotted tighter. She’d been quietly waving her turn away, smiling politely and letting others go ahead of her. It wasn’t shyness she claimed, but courtesy. Truth was, she couldn’t bring herself to touch that bottle. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
It wasn’t that she was against the game. But the idea of her first kiss happening here—under a hundred curious eyes, with someone she didn’t care about, someone who didn’t matter—made her chest tighten. She wanted it to be different. Not cinematic or perfect, but hers. Real. She wanted to feel something for the person, not just perform it for a room that wanted cheap entertainment.
But her luck didn’t hold forever. Eventually, the circle began shifting in her direction, and the weight of expectation pressed down on her shoulders.
“Zoey, it’s your turn!” someone called, and the chant began.
“Spin, spin, spin!”
Her cheeks burned. Zoey shook her head faintly, stalling, but their voices only grew louder. She was terrible at saying no, especially when so many eyes were on her. With her hands trembling, she finally reached out and gripped the bottle. The glass was cold and slick under her palm, and for a second, she almost hoped it would shatter, just to give her an excuse not to do this.
She gave it a spin.
Her heart raced with every revolution. Faster, faster, her pulse synced to the glass as it clinked softly against the floor. She prayed it would never stop, that it would whirl forever in some blur of motion. But of course, it slowed. Her breath caught when the tip of the bottle quivered… and landed directly on Hyun.
A few groans broke out in the circle. “Boring,” someone muttered, expecting more scandal from a stranger pairing.
Zoey let out a shaky breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Relief? Fear? Both. At least it wasn’t some random stranger. But still—her chest tightened at the thought of going through with it. I can just tell him I don’t wanna do anything, she thought, trying to comfort herself. We can just sit in the room, pretend, maybe laugh it off.
“Alright,” Hyun grinned, already on his feet, “let’s go.”
Her legs felt heavier than stone as she stood and followed him, the crowd cheering behind them as though they’d just won something. The bedroom was just down the hall, dimly lit with a lamp that glowed a soft amber. Zoey stepped in first, her eyes flicking toward the door to the adjoining washroom, though she didn’t register it as important just yet.
Hyun closed the door behind them with a casual click, his grin shifting into something sharper, more deliberate. He didn’t waste time, either. Stepping closer, his movements confident, assured, he began to close the space between them.
Zoey’s throat went dry. “So… um, crazy night, huh?” she tried, her voice thin and too quick.
“Mhm,” Hyun hummed, barely listening. His eyes were on her, his body language forward, pushing her back inch by inch toward the bed.
Zoey’s nerves screamed. Say it. Just say no. Say you don’t want to. But the words stuck in her throat like thorns. Her pulse hammered in her ears.
“Hyun, I—”
He leaned in closer, close enough that she could smell the faint tang of alcohol on his breath, his hand grazing the mattress behind her as if to cage her in. Her whole body stiffened, panic clawing at her chest.
Then—knock, knock.
Hyun froze, his jaw clenching. “Ignore it,” he muttered, dipping his head lower.
But then came a voice from the other side of the door. “Hyun.”
Hyun sighed and straightened up. The voice was insistent. He groaned and stomped over to the door, yanking it open to reveal one of the other guys from the party.
“What?” Hyun snapped.
“Sorry, man, but one of your clients is here to see you,” the guy said, shrugging apologetically.
Hyun frowned. “Clients? No, I already met with my last one tonight. There shouldn’t be anyone now.”
The guy raised his brows. “Well, tell that to the blue-haired dude waiting outside. Says he’s not leaving till he sees you.”
Hyun’s lips curled into a frustrated groan. “Unbelievable.” He rubbed his temple, then shot a glance over his shoulder at Zoey.
“I’ll be right back, don’t move,” he told her, tone firm but distracted.
But when he turned back a second later, the room was empty.
The bed was unruffled, the air carrying only the faint trace of her perfume. His gaze darted around, confusion shifting to irritation.
Zoey had noticed, in those frantic moments, that the connected washroom had another door leading out. And while Hyun’s attention was on the guy at the door, she’d slipped away, heart pounding, using the bathroom as her escape route.
Now, she was half-running, half-floating down the stairs, her chest tight, her thoughts racing with a single pulse of relief: I got out.
Her smart mouth might’ve failed her earlier, but in the end, her quick thinking had saved her.
The hunt for water was doomed from the start. Five minutes of stumbling through half-lit hallways, opening doors to rooms already occupied or locked, and laughing too hard at the sheer effort it took to even walk straight, left both Rumi and Mira more tired than quenched. Their heads spun in a way that wasn’t unpleasant, but it made every step feel like their legs were filled with sand. Eventually, Mira pushed open the door to a quiet bedroom, its air cooler and stiller than the rest of the house, and let out a breath of relief.
“Water’s overrated anyway,” Mira muttered, leaning against the doorframe before dragging herself inside.
Rumi followed, closing the door with a soft click behind her. The music from downstairs was muffled here, a distant thrum through the walls, and the muffled voices of people blended into one indistinct hum. For the first time that night, the chaos of the party felt far away.
“Yeah,” Rumi chuckled, dropping onto the edge of the bed, her body bouncing slightly on the mattress. “Who needs hydration when you’ve got, uh—” she lifted her red solo cup and frowned when she realized it was empty. “—absolutely nothing left.”
That made Mira laugh, the sound loose and unfiltered. She sat beside Rumi, close enough that their shoulders brushed, and tossed her hair back. “Exactly. Who needs water when you can… sit in a stranger’s bedroom and complain about how thirsty you are?”
Rumi smiled, cheeks warm—not just from the alcohol. She leaned back on her hands, staring up at the ceiling. “This party’s insane. Honestly, I didn’t think we’d last this long.”
“You lasted because Zoey dragged you into half the chaos,” Mira teased, turning her head to look at her.
At the mention of Zoey, Rumi’s lips tugged into a small grin, but there was curiosity in her voice when she asked, “Speaking of… where is she now? Did she disappear?”
Mira’s expression flickered. She rolled her eyes but not before a faint blush betrayed her. “She’s somewhere with Hyun. Probably rambling his ear off.”
Rumi tilted her head, catching the subtle shift. Her drunken brain didn’t hesitate before teasing. “Ohhh… sounds like someone’s jealous.”
Mira’s blush deepened, though she tried to mask it with a scoff. “Please. I’m not—jealous. I just…” she trailed off, biting her lip, then added more softly, “She always gets people’s attention so easily. It’s annoying.”
Rumi watched her for a moment, a slow smile forming. “You like her.”
Mira shot her a sideways look, sharp enough to warn but softened by the alcohol. “And what if I do?”
The air shifted between them. Rumi laughed nervously, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Then I guess I’ll have to compete, huh?”
Mira blinked, caught off guard, and then her lips curved into a sly grin. “Oh? Compete with me? You sure you can handle that?”
Something about the way she said it—low, teasing, with that playful edge—made Rumi’s stomach flip. She tried to keep her cool but her voice betrayed her with a nervous stammer. “M-maybe I can.”
The banter rolled into something heavier, almost magnetic. Rumi felt the warmth of Mira’s arm brushing against hers, felt how close their faces had gotten without realizing. Mira shifted, turning to face her more fully, and before Rumi could process what was happening, Mira leaned forward, pushing Rumi gently back against the mattress.
Rumi’s breath caught. Mira hovered above her, hair falling like a curtain around her face, their noses nearly brushing.
For a moment, neither spoke. Both their minds were racing, muddled with alcohol but sharpened by the pull of attraction. Rumi’s heart pounded against her ribs. Mira’s eyes flicked down to her lips, then back up, searching for permission.
Rumi swallowed hard, unable to look away.
Mira leaned in, slower this time, and their lips barely brushed—a feather-light touch that made both of them inhale sharply. Then, carefully, almost cautiously, Mira closed the distance.
The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if they were testing unfamiliar waters. Rumi’s lips moved shyly against hers, while Mira’s were more certain, guiding the pace. The hesitation melted quickly, the kiss growing deeper, hungrier, like they both realized at the same time how badly they wanted this.
Rumi’s head spun, not just from the alcohol but from the heat of Mira’s mouth, the urgency of her touch. Mira slid her hands down, fingers brushing along Rumi’s waist. Rumi didn’t stop her. She let her. The warmth of Mira’s hands sent shivers down her spine.
Mira, bold and practiced, let her hands wander, sliding under the hem of Rumi’s sweater. Her fingertips traced up slowly, deliberately, until they brushed over something unexpected—a rough patch of skin, raised and uneven.
A scar.
The realization flickered through Mira’s drunk haze, but before she could even process it, Rumi jolted violently, as if stung. She tore away from the kiss, breath ragged, and pushed Mira off her with more force than intended.
“What—what’s wrong?” Mira asked, her brows furrowed, confusion cutting through the alcohol. She sat up, reaching slightly toward Rumi but stopping short when she saw the panic on her face.
Rumi scrambled upright, her pulse hammering. Words failed her—excuses tangled in her throat. She couldn’t say it. She couldn’t admit what Mira had touched, what that scar meant. The thought of Mira knowing, of seeing her differently, made her chest tighten in dread.
“I…” she stammered, eyes darting anywhere but Mira’s. Finally, the words tumbled out in a shaky rush. “I’m just… not ready.”
Mira froze, her expression softening. The tension drained from her posture. After a pause, she nodded slowly, her voice low and careful. “No problem. Don’t force yourself if you don’t want to…”
Her tone wasn’t mocking. It wasn’t cold. It was understanding, and that almost made Rumi’s chest ache worse.
Rumi swallowed hard, her throat tight, and gave a small nod. “Yeah.”
Silence settled between them, heavy but not hostile. The faint music from downstairs drifted in, filling the gap neither of them could. Mira leaned back against the headboard, exhaling, while Rumi kept her gaze fixed on her lap, hands twisting nervously.
The kiss still lingered on her lips, but so did the weight of what she couldn’t say.
The door slammed open so suddenly it made both Mira and Rumi jolt upright. Zoey stood there, chest heaving, eyes wide, her hair slightly disheveled like she had sprinted through the house just to get here. She shoved the door closed behind her, leaning against it as if something—or someone—was chasing her.
Her gaze darted across the room. First at Mira, then Rumi, then back again like she was piecing something together she didn’t want to believe.
Finally, she broke the silence. Her voice was shaky, but sharp enough to slice through the drunken fog.
“What were you guys doing?”
The words hung in the air, sticky and heavy.
Rumi blurted, “Nothing!” at the exact same time Mira casually said, “Kissing.”
Rumi’s head snapped toward Mira, eyes wide, betrayal written all over her face. Mira didn’t flinch, didn’t even look guilty. She just leaned back a little, lips quirking up at the corners.
“You kissed her?”
The music outside was still pounding—bass rattling the walls, voices spilling down the hallway—but Zoey’s question cut through all of it, clean and merciless.
Mira’s smirk didn’t falter. “What? You didn’t?”
Silence.
The kind that was deafening, louder than the party itself. Three friends. One impossible truth. And now, nothing would ever be the same.
Rumi’s face darkened, the heat of alcohol fueling the rage bubbling in her chest. Her voice cracked out, raw and angrier than she intended:
“Why the fuck did you say that? That was supposed to stay between us!”
The sharpness of her tone startled even herself. She never raised her voice like this—not at Mira, not at Zoey, not even back at the block party when everything else had fallen apart. This was different. This was personal.
Mira blinked, her smirk finally faltering. She mumbled defensively, “You never told me it was a secret. You just said you weren’t ready.”
Zoey stood frozen by the door, her eyes darting between the two of them like she had walked into a scene she was never meant to witness.
“Mira, can you just—please—” Rumi’s voice shook with frustration, her throat tight as she bit down the words she really wanted to say. Words that would cut too deep, that she couldn’t take back. She shoved herself off the bed and stalked toward the door, toward Zoey, toward escape.
But Mira reached out, catching her wrist. “Rumi, I don’t get why you’re mad. If you didn’t want me to do that, you could’ve just said so—”
Rumi instantly flinched at the contact, a reflex buried deep under her skin. Panic shot through her veins at the thought of her sweater riding up, of Mira seeing, of Zoey seeing. Her stomach twisted. She yanked her arm back and shoved Mira hard, the alcohol making her movement sharper than she meant it to be.
“God, do you ever just shut up?” Rumi spat, voice breaking as the words poured out of her unchecked. “You always have to explain yourself like you’re the victim.”
The room froze. Mira’s lips parted, stunned into silence. Zoey stared at Rumi, eyes wide, stunned by the sheer venom in her tone.
But Rumi wasn’t really talking to Mira anymore. The weight in her voice, the edge of it, was aimed inward—at herself. Every syllable dripped with projection, the bitterness of words she wanted to scream at her own reflection, now hurled at someone else instead.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly, hands trembling as she shoved past Zoey without meeting her eyes. The door slammed behind her, leaving Mira and Zoey in a suffocating silence that felt heavier than the entire party outside.
Notes:
I can’t lie kinda made Rumi the enemy but y’all will start to understand more later ALSO stay tuned for Hyun public execution cause that’s happening next chapter :3
Chapter 11: Bottom Of The Bottle PT.3
Summary:
Ok before this chapter starts you guys should probably get some ice cream, tissues and maybe wrap yourself in a blanket burrito cause when I tell you this chapter is sad, IT'S SAD.
TW: Blood
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hyun followed the guy down the staircase, the bass from the party rattling through the walls like a heartbeat. Every step felt heavier than the last. He rubbed the back of his neck, his jaw clenched, but his mind wasn’t on the music or the people drunkenly weaving through the living room. It was on Zoey.
He could still picture the way she’d been sitting on the edge of the bed, nervous but trying to cover it up with small talk. He remembered how her eyes darted away when he got too close, how she stiffened. And then—gone. Like smoke. One second she was there, the next the bed was empty, and all that was left was the echo of his own mistake.
His chest ached at the memory. He hadn’t meant to push her. God, the last thing he wanted was to scare Zoey. That was what he always did—intimidated, pressed too hard, too fast. He didn’t want to add her to the list of people who flinched when his name was brought up.
The guy leading him said nothing, just nodded toward the front of the house. When they stepped outside, the cold air slapped Hyun’s face, sobering him a fraction. The guy gestured to the alley between the house and the one next door, then slipped away without another word.
Hyun turned—and froze.
There, standing in the shadows, was a figure he immediately recognized. Blue hair caught the weak glow of the streetlamp, sharp against the dark. Yeon-u.
For a moment, Hyun thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. Yeon-u? Out here? Waiting for him ? It didn’t fit. Yeon-u wasn’t the type. He didn’t drink, didn’t hang around long at parties, definitely didn’t get into Hyun’s business. And Hyun had watched him leave earlier. Yet here he was, standing like he’d been expecting this moment all along.
Hyun’s stomach sank. Something about the way Yeon-u stood—hands loose at his sides, expression unreadable—made the air feel heavier.
“What you looking for, Yeon-u?” Hyun asked, his voice measured, testing.
“You.” Yeon-u’s tone was flat, but there was something behind it, like a storm rumbling far off.
Hyun narrowed his eyes, studying him. Yes, Yeon-u was always unreadable, but tonight… tonight he felt different. There was tension in the air, coiling, simmering. Something festering that Hyun couldn’t quite place.
“I don’t mean the person,” Hyun pressed, putting weight on his words. “I mean what are you looking for, Yeon-u?”
Yeon-u’s chest rose and fell with a quiet sigh. He stepped forward, the shadows sliding off his face, and Hyun could finally see the steel in his eyes.
“What I’m looking for,” Yeon-u said evenly, “is for you to stop talking to Zoey.”
Hyun blinked, then let out a sharp laugh. “What?”
“You heard me.” Yeon-u’s voice hardened. “I know the kind of business you run, Hyun. And I’ll be damned if I let her get dragged into that lifestyle.”
That earned a scoff from Hyun. “What are you, her dad?” He tilted his head, smirking. “Don’t act like you know what she wants. Zoey makes her own choices.”
Yeon-u’s composure cracked for the first time, irritation flashing across his face. But before he could respond, Hyun leaned closer, his voice low, taunting.
“You don’t control her, Yeon-u. She isn’t yours.” He let the words hang, then whispered, “She’s mine.”
The sentence was gasoline. Yeon-u’s fist moved before Hyun even registered it. A quick, sharp punch sank into Hyun’s stomach, knocking the breath from his lungs. Hyun staggered back, doubled over, a curse slipping out between clenched teeth.
Yeon-u didn’t flinch, didn’t gloat. His face remained calm, almost too calm, as he shook the sting out of his knuckles. “You’re right,” he said simply. “She isn’t mine. But she sure as hell isn’t yours either.”
Straightening, Hyun glared at him, pain twisting into rage.
“She isn’t some prize for you to claim,” Yeon-u continued, his voice steady, unwavering. He turned, already stepping back toward the street. Over his shoulder, he added, “If you so much as hurt her—I’ll end you.”
The words hung in the air like a blade.
But Hyun wasn’t about to let him walk away. Not after that. Not after the humiliation of being doubled over in the middle of the goddamn alley.
In one swift move, he reached out and grabbed Yeon-u’s wrist, jerking him back. “You think you can just hit me and leave?” His voice was a low snarl.
Hyun swung, fist arcing toward Yeon-u’s face. But Yeon-u ducked, quick and deliberate, letting Hyun’s punch cut through empty air.
The smirk that flickered at Yeon-u’s lips was almost imperceptible, but Hyun caught it. And it ignited something in him.
This wasn’t just a warning anymore. This was the start of a fight neither of them could walk away from unscathed.
The music inside the house hadn’t died down one bit. Bass rattled the walls, laughter spilt from every corner, and the air smelled of cheap beer mixed with perfume and sweat. Everyone seemed to be caught up in the haze of fun, except Rumi. She pushed her way through the crowd, her face pale and her chest tight, her thoughts spinning in circles.
Why’d I say that to Mira? she scolded herself. She didn’t deserve that. God, I’m such an asshole. Get it together, Rumi, what the hell’s gotten into you?
Her pace quickened, almost frantic, like if she didn’t move fast enough she’d drown in the noise. She was halfway down the stairs when it happened—her shoulder collided with someone’s, hard enough to jolt her back into the present.
“Oh, sorry—” she mumbled quickly, blinking away the wetness clouding her eyes. She kept her gaze low, her instinct to slip away before anyone could notice.
But then fingers curled around her wrist, halting her retreat.
“Rumi?”
Her head shot up. It was Jinu. His dark hair fell messily over his forehead, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol. He wasn’t as gone as he’d been earlier, but his words still carried that drunken slur.
“Where are you going?” he asked, leaning closer to be heard over the music. His eyes were glassy but searching. “What’s wrong? You’ve been gone for so long. Did something happen?”
He kept talking, his voice tumbling out like a faucet left running, rambling about how long she’d disappeared, about people asking where she was, about how—
“Jinu,” Rumi cut in sharply, her voice a little harsher than she intended. But then she exhaled, her shoulders sinking. She gently wrapped her own hand around his wrist, her grip steady. “Come on. I’m taking you back to your dorm.”
His lips parted in protest, eyes going wide. “Whaaat? Noooo,” he whined, drawing out the word like a kid refusing bedtime. Still, despite the dramatic tone, his body didn’t fight her. He let her tug him along, his steps sloppy but willing.
Rumi kept her focus forward, grateful for the excuse. She didn’t want to look back at the party, didn’t want to think about Mira’s face or Zoey’s silence. Jinu was the perfect ticket out—a distraction, a reason not to spiral further.
But Jinu, trailing beside her, was caught up in something else entirely. His heart thudded too fast in his chest, louder than the bass of the party. He could feel every point of contact where Rumi’s hand pressed against his wrist, warm and grounding. His cheeks burned, and he couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol making him flush—or if it was her.
“You’re bossy when you’re upset,” he mumbled, half teasing, half testing the waters.
Rumi shot him a sideways glance, her brows furrowed. “And you’re clingy when you’re drunk.”
That earned a soft laugh out of him, one that made her grip loosen just slightly. For a moment, it almost felt like the noise of the house behind them faded into nothing, leaving just the two of them and the thud of their steps on the floor.
Rumi didn’t let herself think about what it meant—that she didn’t let go, that she kept guiding him out like her life depended on it.
Jinu, on the other hand, thought about it too much. His skin buzzed where her hand held him, and for the first time that night, the alcohol wasn’t the reason his head spun.
Mira sat on the edge of the bed, unmoving, as if her body had been pinned there by invisible hands. Her eyes stared at the wall, but she wasn’t really seeing it. The room swayed slightly from the alcohol, but that wasn’t what left her dizzy—it was Rumi’s words, each one replaying on loop in her head. The sharp edges of the things Rumi had said carved themselves into her chest, and the more she thought about them, the more it hurt.
What just happened?
Her fingers curled into the comforter as if she could anchor herself, but the thoughts kept rushing. Her pulse was uneven, her breath caught in her throat. Rumi’s voice. The frustration. The disappointment. And Mira couldn’t stop thinking about how it all made sense.
They were right. They were all right. No one can love a mess like you.
The words came with such ease, like her mind had been waiting for an excuse to spit them back at her. She dropped her head into her hands, nails digging into her scalp. She hated how familiar this feeling was—this collapsing, spiraling pit where her chest caved in and all she could think was how much easier it would be for everyone if she just wasn’t here.
Across the room, Zoey stood like a statue, her arms crossed tight over her chest. She wanted to move, wanted to say something, anything—but her own throat was caught, tangled in the wreckage of their fight. She had never seen Mira like this. She looked so small, so fragile, as if the wrong word would crack her wide open.
Zoey blinked hard, pulling herself out of her daze. She knew this feeling too well—the silence after an argument, the heavy air that sat like smoke in her lungs. It was the same atmosphere she grew up in, late at night when her parents’ voices had turned sharp in the living room. Back then, she’d tiptoe between them, the only child in the middle of two storms, desperate to glue the cracks together before everything split apart for good. She thought she’d left that role behind, but standing here now, it felt like she was right back in that living room again.
She swallowed, forcing her legs to move until she was sitting beside Mira. The mattress dipped slightly under her weight. “Mira…” she whispered, her voice gentler than she realized. She hesitated before reaching out, her hand hovering for a second before lightly brushing against Mira’s shoulder.
But the reaction wasn’t what she expected. Mira flinched, the touch burning instead of soothing. Her head snapped up, eyes wide and glassy, and she hit Zoey’s hand away—not with anger, but with desperation.
“Don’t.”
The word came out low, almost inaudible, her lips trembling as though she couldn’t decide if she wanted to be comforted or to be left alone. She looked away, her voice breaking into a mumble that sounded like it wasn’t even meant for Zoey.
“Just… leave me alone.”
Zoey froze. Her hand hung uselessly in the air for a second before falling back into her lap. The rejection stung, but she could see in Mira’s face that it wasn’t about her—it was about everything Mira was holding inside. Still, it didn’t make it easier to hear.
Mira stood suddenly, stumbling slightly from the alcohol before steadying herself. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, and without meeting Zoey’s eyes, she made for the door. The sound of it closing behind her was soft, almost cautious, but it hit Zoey like a slammed door all the same.
Silence swallowed the room.
For a moment, Zoey just sat there, staring at the floor where Mira had been sitting seconds before. Her chest felt heavy, her throat tight. She replayed everything in her mind—the question she had asked earlier, the awkwardness with Hyun, the fight between Mira and Rumi. Piece by piece, she traced every explosion back to herself.
Her eyes stung, and she blinked rapidly, trying to stop the burn, but the tears gathered anyway. A shaky laugh slipped out, bitter and broken.
Of course. Of course it’s me.
She pressed the heel of her hand against her eyes, willing the tears to disappear. Her mind spiraled the same way Mira’s had, dragging her through every moment of the night.
She ruined things with Hyun—she wondered if he’d looked at her the same after that. She ruined things between Mira and Rumi—they were both bleeding from words that maybe would’ve stayed unspoken if she hadn’t been there to push the tension. She ruined the night. The party. Everything.
“If I hadn’t asked that stupid question…” she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible, trembling. “If I’d just stayed home…”
Her breath hitched, tears spilling now in silence, trailing down her cheeks. She sat there with her arms wrapped around her knees, curling into herself like a child trying to disappear.
Why do I ruin everything I touch?
The thought echoed, louder than the muffled bass of the party outside, louder than the pounding of her heart. For the first time in a long time, Zoey didn’t feel like the peacemaker. She felt like the cracks themselves.
Mira pushed her way through the crowded hallway, the music thumping in her chest like a second heartbeat. She’d had enough—the night was a disaster, every word Rumi said gnawed at her, and the weight of it all pressed down until she could barely breathe. She just wanted to get outside, breathe real air, and put distance between herself and this house. Her hand brushed the cool edge of the front door when a voice called out behind her.
“Where you going, pretty girl?”
Mira stopped in her tracks. Her jaw tightened before she even turned, already recognizing the slurred lilt. Abby.
He was leaning against the doorframe of the living room, drink still in hand, his dark brown eyes glassy with alcohol. He grinned, like this was a game, like she hadn’t been fighting off tears all night.
“Leave me alone, Abby,” Mira muttered, not even looking at him. She reached for the door handle.
But he stepped forward, cutting her off. “What’s with you tonight? You’ve been sulking since you got here.” His tone was half-teasing, half-accusatory, the way drunk people sometimes forget how sharp they sound.
“I said, leave me alone.” Her voice cracked, and that irritated her even more. She didn’t want to cry in front of him. She didn’t want to cry in front of anyone.
Abby frowned, his smile faltering as he studied her face. “Why? So you can go mope in your apartment alone? Come on, Mira, lighten up. Stay a little longer—with me.”
She turned to him fully now, her brows drawn tight, eyes flashing. “I don’t want to stay . I don’t want to ‘lighten up.’ I just want to go home.”
Something bitter twisted in Abby’s expression. The playful act fell away, replaced by a frustration that had clearly been simmering under his skin for a while. He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “You never see it, do you? You’re always running off, acting like you don’t care. But I’ve been here— I’ve been here, trying to get through to you.”
Mira blinked at him, caught off guard. “What are you even talking about?”
“I’m talking about us,” Abby said, his words slurring slightly but heavy with emotion. “I don’t want to be your friend anymore—”
“Fine.” Mira cut him off, her voice sharp, trembling with anger and exhaustion. “If you don’t want to be my friend, then don’t. I’m done trying to make sense of you, Abby.”
His eyes widened, but before he could speak, Mira shoved past him, her shoulder knocking against his arm as she stormed through the door and out into the night air. The music dulled behind her, replaced by the sound of her own ragged breath and the sting of tears she refused to let fall.
Abby was left standing there like an idiot, the sting of his own outburst burning in his chest. Mira had walked out without another word, and he could still see the flicker of hurt on her face before she turned away. He swallowed hard, fists curling, but before he could process the shame, a firm hand caught his wrist.
Ae-jin.
“Come on,” Ae-jin muttered, dragging him through the crowd. Abby barely resisted, still reeling, until Ae-jin yanked him into an empty study room and shut the door behind them with a sharp thud .
Abby blinked at the closed door, at the heavy silence between them, before Ae-jin spun on him.
“What the hell was that?” Ae-jin’s voice cut sharp, like a blade. His jaw was tight, his eyes narrowed. “First you blow up at me for no reason, then you hurt Mira like that—do you even realize what you did out there?”
Abby flinched at the words, but his pride wouldn’t let him admit it. He stayed quiet, head turned to the side.
Ae-jin didn’t stop. His voice rose with every sentence, frustration dripping from every syllable. “Do you even think before you open your mouth? Or is being cruel just second nature for you now?”
Abby’s fists tightened. His teeth ground together. His blood pulsed in his ears, drowning out most of what Ae-jin was saying. His chest felt like it was filling with hot air, like he couldn’t breathe.
“Shut up,” Abby snapped, voice low and trembling with rage.
Ae-jin froze for a moment, then tilted his head, incredulous. “Excuse me?”
“I said shut up! ” Abby exploded, the words ripping out of him. “You don’t get to stand there and lecture me like you’ve never done a damn thing wrong!”
Ae-jin’s eyes narrowed further, but his expression faltered just slightly—like the hit had landed.
“You wanna know why I’ve been acting so weird around you?” Abby’s voice was raw now, shaking, louder with every word. “It’s because of everything you did to me in high school! You—you always belittled me. You treated me like I wasn’t worth a damn thing! You ditched me the second it wasn’t convenient for you to be seen with me, and you stood there while everyone else treated me like garbage!” Abby then quickly added, “You don’t know how it feels to enter a room and realize everyone’s already decided to hate you!”
The words bounced off the small room’s walls. Ae-jin’s mouth opened, then closed, like he had a thousand retorts but none that mattered. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing once before muttering, “I already apologized for that.”
“I know!” Abby snapped, his eyes burning. “I know you apologized. But you never—” his voice cracked, then hardened— “you never told me why . Why did you hate me so damn much? Why did you cut me off like I was poison? Why did you let them chew me up and spit me out while you stood there and did nothing?”
The room went still.
Ae-jin froze, every muscle in his body locked. His throat bobbed, but no sound came out. Abby stood there, breathing heavily, waiting for something—anything—that sounded like the truth.
But Ae-jin couldn’t say it. He couldn’t dig up the real reason, the truth that burned at the back of his throat like acid. He couldn’t tell Abby that the rumors were true, that he’d liked him, maybe even loved him, and that his own fear had been the knife he’d driven into their friendship. The shame, the self-loathing, the terror of being found out—it all wrapped like barbed wire around his chest, choking the words before they could escape.
So instead, Ae-jin snapped. He went for the first excuse his mind could grab, something ugly enough to cover the wound inside him.
“You were dead weight, Abby.” His voice came out flat, cold. “You were awkward, invisible, and everyone made fun of you because it was easy. And I—” his eyes flicked away, hard— “I didn’t need to be dragged down by that. By you.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Abby’s eyes went wide, his chest heaving once, twice. His throat tightened, but he refused to let himself cry in front of Ae-jin. Instead, he let out a hollow laugh—short, sharp, and bitter.
“Wow,” Abby said, his voice breaking into a whisper before sharpening again. “You know what? At least the bullies were honest about hating me. You—you pretended to be my friend first. That’s worse.”
Ae-jin flinched, shoulders stiffening. He opened his mouth to say something, but Abby cut him off with the final blow.
“You don’t get to come back into my life, pretend like you care, and then spit in my face all over again. I’d rather have no friends than ever call you one.”
Ae-jin’s breath caught in his throat. Abby didn’t wait for a response. He shoved past him, the door slamming shut behind him as his footsteps faded down the hall.
Ae-jin stayed in the room, rooted to the spot, staring at the empty space Abby had left behind. His hands shook at his sides. For the first time in years, the walls he’d built around himself felt paper-thin.
But it didn’t matter. Abby was gone.
And this time, Ae-jin couldn’t chase after him.
Abby shoved the door open, his mind still burning with both Mira and Ae-jin’s words, but he didn’t get far before someone grabbed his arm. A stranger, face flushed and wide-eyed from too much alcohol and too much excitement, leaned in close.
“Yo, bro—there’s a fight outside. Crazy shit.”
Abby blinked, the words cutting through his haze. “What? Who?”
The guy grinned like he’d just stumbled into free entertainment. “One of the guys is named Hyun, I think. He’s fighting some blue-haired dude.”
Abby froze. Blue hair. His stomach dropped like a stone. There was only one person with that kind of hair in the circle tonight.
“Yeon-u,” Abby muttered under his breath.
He didn’t wait another second. Shoving past the stranger, Abby barreled toward the front door, heart hammering against his ribs as the muffled roar of a crowd bled in from outside.
The moment he stepped out into the night air, the scene hit him like a slap in the face.
A ring of bodies packed tight around the front yard, their phones glowing as they screamed and egged it on. At the center of it all, Yeon-u straddled Hyun’s chest, fists flying in a blur. His knuckles were slick with blood—some his own, some Hyun’s—it was impossible to tell. Each punch landed with a sickening thud, Hyun’s head snapping against the grass and gravel beneath him.
“FUCKING SAY IT AGAIN!” Yeon-u roared, voice hoarse and unhinged, the words barely audible over the frenzied cheering. His nose streamed red, streaking down to his lip, but he didn’t falter. His shirt was torn at the collar, one shoulder bruised purple, yet he kept swinging like he didn’t even feel it.
Hyun didn’t look much better. His nose was split, face swollen, his shirt ripped down the middle to expose angry red welts across his chest. He wheezed and clawed weakly at Yeon-u’s arms, but the blue-haired boy only pressed harder, knuckles slamming down again and again.
Abby forced his way through the throng, shoving arms and elbows aside until he finally broke through the circle. His chest clenched at the sight—Yeon-u’s eyes weren’t just angry, they were feral. He wasn’t stopping. He wasn’t hearing anyone.
“Yeon-u, STOP!” Abby lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Yeon-u’s shoulders and hauling him back. It was like trying to drag a wild animal. Yeon-u kept swinging even as Abby pulled him off, fists slashing at the air, body thrashing with pure rage.
Hyun rolled onto his side, coughing, one hand clutching his throat as he gasped for breath. His voice cracked as he spat blood into the dirt. “YOU FUCKING PSYCHO!” he screamed, glaring up at Yeon-u. “NO WONDER YOU GOT KICKED OUT OF HALF YOUR FUCKING SCHOOLS!”
The words cut through the night like a blade. For a split second, the crowd wavered—some jeers died, some phones lowered. A ripple of uneasy silence threaded through the chaos. But others, hungry for drama, only screamed louder.
Abby tightened his grip on Yeon-u, who was still straining against him, jaw locked, eyes burning holes through Hyun.
Then Yeon-u barked back, voice raw and venomous. “At least I wasn’t selling shit to kids in bathrooms, you shady little fuck!” His chest heaved, blood dripping down his chin. “You think I don’t know what you do? You think Zoey doesn’t know? If I ever, EVER see you around her again—I swear to fucking God—you won’t be breathing long enough to regret it!”
The crowd erupted, half gasping, half screaming. Someone shouted “HOLY SHIT!” Another yelled, “YO HE’S EXPOSING HIM!”
Hyun’s face twisted, but whether it was from pain or fury, no one could tell. He staggered to his knees, one arm cradling his ribs, his glare locked on Yeon-u like daggers.
Abby, still holding Yeon-u back, felt the boy trembling beneath his grip—not just from rage, but from something sharper, something darker.
“Yeon-u, enough!” Abby snapped, shaking him slightly. His voice cut low, urgent. “He’s not worth it, do you hear me? He’s not worth it!”
But Yeon-u didn’t take his eyes off Hyun. His chest rose and fell in violent waves, every breath a war he was still fighting. For a moment, Abby wasn’t sure if Yeon-u would break free of him and finish what he started.
Then, slowly, the blue-haired boy spat a thick stream of blood into the dirt and muttered through clenched teeth, “Stay the fuck away from her.”
The tension snapped like a wire pulled too tight. The crowd erupted again, phones flashing, voices colliding. Some cheered Yeon-u’s name, others jeered at Hyun, but all Abby could focus on was the way Yeon-u sagged against him, like he’d burned through every ounce of fury in his body.
Abby kept his arms locked around him, steadying him as the night’s chaos swallowed them whole.
The walk back to the dorms felt longer than it really was. Abby and Yeon-u didn’t say a word the entire way. The night air was sharp, carrying the lingering thump of music from the party, but the silence between them was heavier than anything else. Yeon-u’s knuckles were raw, streaked with drying blood that wasn’t entirely his own, and every few steps Abby could hear him sniff, the sound wet from his nosebleed. His chest was still rising fast like he hadn’t cooled down from the fight.
Abby kept glancing at him from the corner of his eye, wanting to say something, anything, but every time the words formed, they dissolved against the quiet. Yeon-u looked like a storm that hadn’t fully passed, his jaw locked tight, his shoulders stiff as if ready to swing again at the next shadow that crossed him. Abby felt caught between wanting to scold him and wanting to protect him, though he wasn’t sure which instinct was stronger.
By the time they finally reached the dorm building, the time on Abby’s phone glowed 3:52 AM . The hallways were dead quiet, lights humming overhead, the world outside of them hushed. Hyun hadn’t followed—thank god. The last thing Abby wanted was to drag round two into the dorms.
Abby fumbled with the key and pushed the door open. The moment it creaked, they were met with Rumi, who was just about to leave. Her hand was still on the handle, her body angled like she was sneaking out.
“Oh, sorry, I was just leaving—” she started, but then her eyes fell on Yeon-u. Her words cut off instantly.
The sight of him stopped her cold. His shirt was torn at the shoulder, his lip split and crusted dark, his face a collage of bruises already purpling. Her brows drew together in alarm, and she opened her mouth to ask, but before she could, Yeon-u shouldered past her.
“Don’t,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and rough like gravel. He didn’t meet her eyes. He just brushed by, heading straight for his room without pause. The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing in the quiet dorm.
Rumi blinked, still processing, then slowly turned back. Abby lingered in the doorway, awkwardly trying to soften the scene that just unfolded.
“Don’t mind him,” Abby said, forcing a crooked smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “He had a literal rough night.”
The joke fell flat, and Abby knew it. His voice cracked just slightly, betraying how much he was holding back. He wanted to make it lighter, but the weight of what had just happened still clung to him.
Rumi tilted her head, studying him with those sharp eyes of hers. She could see the way his shoulders slumped, the exhaustion pulling at his face. His attempt at a smile was paper-thin, see-through. But she didn’t press.
“I guess that’s one thing we finally have in common…” she said softly, a wry little chuckle breaking the tension. Her voice was lighter than her eyes, which still lingered on him with a quiet knowing.
Abby’s smile faltered, then softened for real, but he didn’t know what to say back. They stood there in silence, not awkward exactly, just heavy. Both of them caught in their own heads, both nursing bruises of different kinds.
For a moment, Abby thought about reaching out—about telling her what happened outside, about confessing the gnawing guilt that sat in his chest. Or even just about asking her to pass along the apology to Mira that he couldn’t bring himself to deliver. His lips parted like he was about to speak, but the words clung stubborn in his throat.
“Well, uhm…” Rumi’s voice broke through, soft but final. She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, shifting her weight like she was pulling herself away. “I have to head back now. I’ll see you around, Abby.”
Her tone was casual, but there was something lingering beneath it—something unspoken, the kind of thing that could only be caught in the half-smile she gave him before turning away.
“Yeah…” Abby mumbled, barely audible, eyes on the floor as he stepped aside to let her pass.
He watched her leave, watched the way her figure disappeared down the hall until she turned the corner. His chest ached with the words he hadn’t said. Tell Mira I’m sorry. He thought it, replayed it, nearly whispered it. But he didn’t. The hallway returned to silence, the kind that pressed against his ears.
Behind him, the faint sound of Yeon-u’s door locking echoed down the corridor, sharp and final.
Notes:
Honestly this is my first and most emotionally pact thing I've EVER written in my life and I'm happy with that way it came out :DD but honestly I got so sad writing this cause none of these guys deserve this man :( I'm also trying to be careful cause I don't want to write some characters too OOC cause that would suck. ANYWAYS that's the end of ARC 1, just a heads up I'll be posting chapters a little later now cause I'm getting used to the way University works so if you don't see any new chapters in 1-3 days do not fret I'm still writing it's just taking longer
Pages Navigation
SomePerson27 on Chapter 2 Tue 19 Aug 2025 06:53AM UTC
Comment Actions
Ikbangers on Chapter 2 Tue 19 Aug 2025 10:29AM UTC
Comment Actions
Celc on Chapter 3 Tue 19 Aug 2025 04:49AM UTC
Comment Actions
Ikbangers on Chapter 3 Tue 19 Aug 2025 10:30AM UTC
Comment Actions
dykenstein on Chapter 3 Tue 19 Aug 2025 02:28PM UTC
Comment Actions
Ikbangers on Chapter 3 Tue 19 Aug 2025 03:27PM UTC
Comment Actions
SomePerson27 on Chapter 3 Tue 19 Aug 2025 03:13PM UTC
Comment Actions
Ikbangers on Chapter 3 Tue 19 Aug 2025 03:28PM UTC
Comment Actions
AmanitaBlue (Guest) on Chapter 3 Tue 19 Aug 2025 08:39PM UTC
Comment Actions
Ikbangers on Chapter 3 Tue 19 Aug 2025 11:17PM UTC
Comment Actions
AmanitaBlue (Guest) on Chapter 4 Tue 19 Aug 2025 09:39PM UTC
Comment Actions
Ikbangers on Chapter 4 Tue 19 Aug 2025 11:17PM UTC
Comment Actions
dykenstein on Chapter 4 Wed 20 Aug 2025 12:43AM UTC
Comment Actions
Ikbangers on Chapter 4 Wed 20 Aug 2025 02:42AM UTC
Comment Actions
afterdqrk on Chapter 4 Wed 20 Aug 2025 02:24AM UTC
Comment Actions
Ikbangers on Chapter 4 Wed 20 Aug 2025 02:41AM UTC
Comment Actions
Gnoflet on Chapter 5 Thu 21 Aug 2025 06:22AM UTC
Comment Actions
Ikbangers on Chapter 5 Thu 21 Aug 2025 10:23AM UTC
Comment Actions
dykenstein on Chapter 5 Thu 21 Aug 2025 12:14PM UTC
Comment Actions
Ikbangers on Chapter 5 Thu 21 Aug 2025 12:46PM UTC
Comment Actions
AR_123 on Chapter 6 Fri 22 Aug 2025 09:47AM UTC
Comment Actions
Ikbangers on Chapter 6 Fri 22 Aug 2025 11:59AM UTC
Comment Actions
dykenstein on Chapter 6 Fri 22 Aug 2025 12:16PM UTC
Comment Actions
Ikbangers on Chapter 6 Fri 22 Aug 2025 01:29PM UTC
Comment Actions
SomePerson27 on Chapter 6 Fri 22 Aug 2025 10:07PM UTC
Comment Actions
Ikbangers on Chapter 6 Fri 22 Aug 2025 10:48PM UTC
Comment Actions
Password404 on Chapter 6 Mon 25 Aug 2025 12:28PM UTC
Comment Actions
Ikbangers on Chapter 6 Mon 25 Aug 2025 02:46PM UTC
Comment Actions
AriRor32 on Chapter 7 Fri 22 Aug 2025 08:38PM UTC
Comment Actions
Ikbangers on Chapter 7 Fri 22 Aug 2025 09:35PM UTC
Comment Actions
Featherbot on Chapter 7 Fri 22 Aug 2025 11:52PM UTC
Comment Actions
Ikbangers on Chapter 7 Sat 23 Aug 2025 01:29AM UTC
Comment Actions
dykenstein on Chapter 7 Sat 23 Aug 2025 06:06AM UTC
Comment Actions
Ikbangers on Chapter 7 Sat 23 Aug 2025 03:28PM UTC
Comment Actions
dykenstein on Chapter 7 Sun 24 Aug 2025 10:46PM UTC
Comment Actions
Ikbangers on Chapter 7 Mon 25 Aug 2025 01:45AM UTC
Comment Actions
Password404 on Chapter 7 Mon 25 Aug 2025 12:35PM UTC
Comment Actions
Ikbangers on Chapter 7 Mon 25 Aug 2025 02:45PM UTC
Comment Actions
AmanitaBlue (Guest) on Chapter 7 Mon 25 Aug 2025 07:22PM UTC
Comment Actions
Ikbangers on Chapter 7 Mon 25 Aug 2025 10:53PM UTC
Comment Actions
AmanitaBlue (Guest) on Chapter 7 Mon 25 Aug 2025 11:15PM UTC
Comment Actions
Ikbangers on Chapter 7 Tue 26 Aug 2025 12:56AM UTC
Comment Actions
Pages Navigation