Chapter Text
Tuesday, 6:00 PM
“It’s the top of the hour, which means you lucky lot tuning in have the pleasure of joining myself, DJ Jinu, and my ever-personable co-host, DJ Mira, for what I’m sure will be a lovely evening here on AM 1650, K-Uni campus radio. DJ Mira, how are you today?”
“I’d be a lot better if you’d stop calling us DJs.”
“We are DJs! You’re asking me to lie to the people! I think that’s another mark for the apology board.”
A whiteboard marker squeaks.
“Which brings your total to 29, and my total to three. And I did contact Professor Han yesterday to say sorry for discussing his divorce live on air last week, so I’m gonna go ahead and bring my count down to two.”
A flat voice. “I’m sorry for asking you to lie to the people.”
“It’s too late now, I can tell you’re being insincere.”
“That was sincere, give me the board.”
“No! It’s my bit, get your own!”
“Give me-!”
“Hey!”
Tuesday, 6:28 PM
“I hope everyone enjoyed that half hour of uninterrupted listening. We’ve just had some slight technical trouble with the computer here in the studio, but it seems like everything should be back on track now. On a related note, we would like to apologize to everyone for playing Jopping ten and a half times while the system was down. You didn’t deserve that, and we never would have put you through it if there had been a way to avoid it. As a result, I have agreed to DJ Mira’s request to have Jopping removed from the station catalogue, and we would like to reiterate how truly sorry we both are that you had to experience that. DJ Mira, if you would.”
A whiteboard marker squeaks.
Tuesday, 9:13 PM
“...and I would just think that after six seasons, someone would be able to tell me whether they all actually died at the end, or if some of them managed to get off the island for real. But everyone’s all nobody gets it, bro and you’re not supposed to actually understand it. What if I want to understand it!”
“You could read the wiki.”
“I don’t want the wiki to understand it for me, I want someone I know to understand it and then explain it to me.”
“You’re just like Zoey. I really don’t get what the difference is.”
“One is facts, and the other is passion!”
There’s a long sigh.
“Well, whatever. The point is, that last song was called Lost. Great song. Terrible show. DJ Mira, what’s up next?”
Silence. A clicking sound.
“We’ve… actually got a request.”
“What? Seriously?”
“Someone wrote, some people died and some people got off the island but they all died eventually, so whatever happened happened. They want us to play Call Me Maybe.”
More silence.
“Did I ever tell you that when I worked at the campus gym, the corporate music station they put on would play Call Me Maybe once every sixteen songs?”
“You must’ve developed a real taste for it.”
“You could say that, DJ Mira. But a request is a request. It’s anonymous’s world, and we’re all just living in it. Here’s Call Me Maybe.”
Wednesday, 9:56 PM
When Mira had first been assigned to the evening show, she’d thought she’d be working alone. It was common knowledge that nobody listened to campus radio, especially not at six in the afternoon, so the job was basically guaranteed to be a breeze. Mira had pictured herself introducing songs, talking about artists, and maybe taking an hour to herself every so often to catch up on classwork while she let the music play.
What she’d failed to realize, prior to signing her onboarding paperwork, was that she was actually a last-minute addition to someone else’s pre-established segment—more specifically, Jinu’s show, which was about 50% chatter, 30% gossip, and 20% actual music or music discussion. Mira had known Jinu from a brief yet disastrous encounter in the dining hall which had consisted of Jinu’s soup soaking Mira’s shoes and, in retaliation, Mira’s bowl of noodles being flung at Jinu and his tablemate. Someone had had to drag her away before she could get her hands on anyone’s miyeok guk. During their first radio show together, Jinu had introduced her with the phrase the girl to avoid on miyeok guk Thursdays and had not elaborated further.
All that aside, it was still not the worst job in the world. Sure, Jinu was actively competing for the title of most annoying person on earth, and sure, they spent four hours of each weeknight struggling to entertain an audience of, at most, six people, but it paid 4% above minimum wage and, on days when Jinu was feeling particularly generous, she still got a couple minutes of peace to focus on her homework. All in all, it wasn’t a bad gig, which was probably why Mira had made it nearly six months at the radio station, in spite of her ridiculous co-host.
Now, her ridiculous co-host leans close to his mic, shooting her a devilish look.
“Did you know,” he starts, and Mira knows whatever comes next will not be good. “Right before we went live today, DJ Mira was telling me a story about her chem class-”
Mira’s jaw tightens. “Jinu I swear to god I will shut this computer down again.”
“-the details of which I would never share on air, because that would be a breach of privacy.”
Mira relaxes slightly.
“But it got me thinking.” Jinu's voice is conspiratorial. “Hypothetically, let’s say you end up in the same class as your years-long campus crush, and hypothetically let’s say she agrees to pair up with you for a group project. Is it a sign? Is she head over heels? Or does she just want you for your big nerdy brain?”
Mira takes back all the semi-positive sentiments she’d just been feeling. This job was hell, and she was stuck living in it.
“Please ponder that, listeners,” Jinu requests. “Unfortunately, it’s time for our last song of the night before we transfer you over to the capable hands of DJ Autoplay. I know you'll miss us, but don't worry—we've got something special to end off with. This is Nerves by JUNIORZ. Thanks for listening and have a safe night, everyone.”
Jinu hits the play button and a smooth, unfamiliar song filters into the booth. It starts with piano, soft and unsure, before a quiet guitar melody and a clear, vulnerable voice join the mix. Mira frowns, leaning closer to the monitor to get a better look. She’s pretty sure she’s never seen JUNIORZ in the campus catalogue before.
But before she can investigate further, Jinu’s in her face, grinning shamelessly and holding his hand out for a high five.
“Perfect show, as always,” he says.
“I’ll shave your head in your sleep,” Mira replies, and does not accept his high five. "I didn't say anything about being into anyone. All I said that she asked me to group up."
Jinu nods enthusiastically. "I heard you loud and clear. It was a totally unrelated hypothetical."
Mira grits her teeth and promises herself a fancy organic smoothie from the dining hall if she manages to keep from strangling Jinu on the spot.
There’s a loud pounding from outside the booth, and Mira casts a weary look at the—totally unnecessary—one-way mirror that separates them from the rest of the station. Her own tired eyes stare back at her. The pounding comes again.
“Off air!” Jinu calls, and milliseconds later a red-faced Zoey bursts through the door.
“I have explained LOST to you four times!” she shouts, jabbing a pointed finger in Jinu’s direction. “I drew you a timeline! Stop acting like you didn’t understand it just to be relatable!”
“I didn’t understand it because all you talked about were the hot women,” Jinu snaps back. “I know the women are hot! I have eyes! That doesn’t make the show make sense!”
Mira thinks idly that nobody has watched LOST in over a decade, and that if Jinu truly wanted to be relatable he would pick a more relevant series. But she’s not about to enable this argument by bringing that up.
“Yunjin Kim!” Zoey is yelling, to which Jinu responds, “I know she’s hot! I know!”
Mira sighs.
She likes Zoey well enough, and she loves a chance to see Jinu get put in his place, but she knows better than to stick around waiting for the end of one of their arguments. Once, she’d watched them walk out the door bickering about which of them their cat would be better friends with, should it suddenly turn human, only for them to show up the next day with Jinu still insisting that since the cat was his birthday present, it was only fair that it would like him better.
“Being your birthday present doesn’t mean he has to like you better!” Zoey had yelled, and Jinu had rolled his eyes and yelled back that, "Even if he doesn’t have to, he still does!"
Another time, shortly after storming into the station and slamming a paper speeding citation down on the table in front of Mira, Jinu had insisted that the only reason he'd been stuck with a ticket was that Zoey had attempted to flirt her way out of it and had ended up scarring the police officer for life. In order to clear her name, Zoey had spent the next fifteen minutes bombarding Mira with her absolute best pickup lines, often pointing at Mira's red and horrified face and shouting, "See? See? She likes it!"
They are, perhaps, the world’s most competitive cousins. Mira doesn’t have it in her to wait them out tonight.
“I’m heading out,” she says, shouldering her bag and slipping out of the booth and into the open station room. Zoey’s stuff is strewn across a table in the corner, her stack of notebooks teetering dangerously over the portable piano keyboard plugged into her laptop. There’s a plastic turtle keychain clipped to her backpack that Mira had found on the ground ages ago and handed over mindlessly, not expecting the way Zoey had lit up and given the turtle what she’d declared to be the spot of honor on her bag.
The turtle stares at Mira. Mira stares back.
“Your owner is weird,” she tells the keychain.
“Well, you’re the one talking to my backpack,” Zoey says from behind her.
Mira jumps. She hadn't noticed the arguing stop. “Jesus, Zo.”
"Sorryyy," Zoey chirps, but she's grinning guiltlessly. “I know you’re going home.”
"Yeah," Mira grumbles, "and trying not to have a heart attack along the way, thanks."
Zoey remains blatantly unapologetic. "Listen, this is important," she continues. "If you’re gonna work on that project with chemistry girl tomorrow, you shouldn’t wear your contacts.”
She makes a little X with her fingers and shakes her head gravely. Mira’s eyes narrow in suspicion. Zoey stares back, the picture of pure, puppy dog innocence.
“Why?” Mira asks slowly.
"Because." Zoey's X is disassembled as she holds up a finger to accentuate her point. “You look good in glasses," she concludes, as if it's obvious. "Studious, but in a sexy way. You’ll charm the pants right off her.”
She waves a hand vaguely, utterly nonchalant. Mira feels her face heat, either from the word sexy on Zoey's lips—in reference to herself, no less—or from the idea of chemistry girl’s pants being anywhere but on her legs. Probably some combination of the two.
“Just a tip,” Zoey adds innocently when the silence stretches on for too long. "But you know, do what you want."
And then she smiles. Like that’s a perfectly normal bomb to drop.
“Right." Mira hopes she doesn't sound as thrown as she feels. “Okay. Thanks.”
Zoey just keeps smiling, hands clasped politely behind her back. She almost looks like she's waiting for something. Mira takes a subtle step backwards, not wanting to unconsciously give it to her.
"Night," she mumbles, mostly out of politeness, though she's already halfway out the door.
“Woof,” she hears Jinu snort as she leaves. “You’ll get ‘er next ti-”
But the door shuts before she can hear the rest.
Wednesday, 7:22 PM
Mira is not, in fact, planning to work on her chemistry group project the next day, and as such, she stabs her contact lenses into her stupid fuzzy eyes like usual. Or rather she would, if it weren’t for the words sexy and pants off in Zoey’s voice bouncing distractingly around her brain, causing her to jam her left contact in a little too hard, which irritates her eye past the point of immediate recovery. And so, rather than succumb to the nebulous fate that is her glasses—and the risk that they’d accidentally charm someone’s pants off of their body—she opts to go through the day mostly blind, which now results in her nursing a headache, as well as a growing feeling of resignation towards the fact that she’ll soon have to re-join her painfully dry abstract algebra group chat and beg notes off of her classmates.
Jinu doesn’t seem to care about her woes, only commenting that God gives his worst eyesight to his nerdiest soldiers and making Mira play a game that involves trying to guess which celebrities’ pictures he pulls up on the station computer while she sits five feet away.
“It’s not really fun when you guess the same guy every time,” Jinu says after Mira’s fifth or sixth “…Hyun Bin?”
“Well, stop giving me guys who look like Hyun Bin and I’ll stop guessing him,” Mira snaps.
Jinu, apparently giving up on Mira’s abilities, closes the browser tab. Mira takes the opportunity to drop her pounding head into her hands and pray to any powerful beings listening that Jinu might spontaneously combust.
“I can’t believe you walked around blind all day because you’re afraid of girls being into you.” Jinu shakes his head in faux disappointment. “Bisexuals used to go to war for that stuff.”
“That is not why I didn’t wear them,” Mira objects. “And girls are into me regardless. It just wasn’t a glasses day.”
Truthfully, she had foregone the glasses because she hadn’t wanted Zoey to think that she was dressing up for her, despite the fact that she’d spent her night staring into the mirror with her glasses on, then off, then on, until she’d lost all sense of what she usually looked like. But nobody, much less Jinu, needed to be made aware of that fact.
"Hey, I get it," Jinu relates. “Glasses can be dangerous. I wore a pair for this Halloween party once—I was going as Clark Kent, and then halfway through I changed into Superman. The girls were really into it.”
“What girls?” Mira asks, dubious.
“Y’know,” Jinu waves a hand. “The girls.”
“Mm-hm.”
“It sucked though, cause Zoey went as Supergirl and everyone thought we were together. It was really gross. Superman and Supergirl are cousins, y’know, but everyone just thinks they're dating.”
Mira rubs her temples and stifles a groan.
“What was that you were saying about God’s nerdiest soldiers?” she drawls. To her right, the door opens, and Zoey sticks her head in.
“I wanted to be peanut butter and jelly that year,” she volunteers. "Nobody would've thought that peanut butter and jelly were dating."
Mira stares up at her, incredulous. “We’re on air.”
Zoey backs out of the booth and shuts the door.
“For the record,” Jinu says as if he truly thinks anyone will care, “I only said no to peanut butter and jelly because she wanted to be peanut butter and I didn’t want to paint myself purple. Though even if she had been jelly, I wouldn’t have been peanut butter, cause, well, I’m allergic.”
He looks genuinely saddened by this fact. Mira’s head throbs.
“When I was seven my friend brought peanut butter brownies to school and they made me sit outside the classroom while everyone ate them so I wouldn’t die. They offered me an extra cookie from the cafeteria, but it was a Friday. Fridays were oatmeal raisin cookies. I told them I’d rather risk the peanut butter.”
There’s another short stretch of silence.
“This would be a great time to play the peanut butter song, had you not banned it from the catalogue.”
Mira stares at the computer screen and prays for time to go by faster.
Wednesday, 10:08 PM
Zoey is kicking around the station common room by the time they switch things to autoplay, headphones on and eyes closed as she walks in little circles, her hips coming dangerously closer to colliding with the table with each passing loop. Mira takes this as a bit of a bad indicator for the evening’s show—if Zoey of all people had deemed Jinu’s chatter too boring to stomach, there was little to no hope that anyone else had managed to stay tuned.
“Zoey,” Mira says, not quietly, as Zoey’s next circle goes wide. “Zoey. Table.”
Zoey doesn’t respond, but pivots away from disaster at the last second. “Shh,” she says, starting to circle the other way. “I’ve got something good.”
She taps her headphones. Mira scowls.
“Walk into the table next time then,” she grumbles. “See if I care.”
As if taking Mira’s words as a challenge, Zoey nearly slams into the table from the other side. Her circle widens again. Mira bites her lip, tries to hold back.
“Table,” she says after a beat.
Zoey pivots. “Shhhhh.”
“Is she in her head again?” Jinu calls from the booth. “She’s working on a new song. Swear she’s been keeping us all on lockdown at home. No one’s allowed to make a sound until she’s got her ideas all figured out.”
“Oh, is that why you couldn’t shut up today? Getting all your words out while you can?”
“The people love this voice, Mira. Who am I to keep it from them?”
Zoey trips over her pulled-out chair, just barely managing to right herself before her head can crack into the edge of the table.
“Got it!” she announces, then slams a few complicated looking chords into her keyboard controller. “There. That’s like, most of an idea. I’ll fix the rest later.”
There's a disbelieving uh-huh from the direction of the booth. Mira feels her lips twitch upwards at the corners. She forces them flat.
Zoey glances up, finally looking her in the eye. “Aw, no glasses?”
Mira ignores that.
“Midterm project?” she asks.
Zoey flops back into her chair dramatically. “Yes and it’s killing me. Who decided creativity could be put on a timeline like this? Probably a STEM person. I’ll bet you ten grand.”
“You music majors," Mira snorts. "So dramatic.”
“It’s drama with purpose, Mira. It fuels the creative process. If you had any joy left in your cold, science-y heart, you’d understand.”
Mira just shrugs and deadpans, “Got me there.”
Zoey barrels on.
“Well anyway.” She slams her laptop closed, then thinks better of it and opens it back up, saving her project before closing everything down again. “We’re going to Abby’s, if you wanna join.”
She pauses the process of cramming an impossible amount of equipment into her backpack to look up at Mira invitingly. Mira hesitates, weighing her options. On one hand, Abby's place—or the Saja House as it was formally known, though everyone just called it "Abby's"—was always good for a few hours of dancing and free drinks, as well as the best wifi on campus. Everyone knew that that was where you went to get hammered on Wednesdays and to get first pick of classes during online registration. On the other hand, going meant interacting with Abby. Gross.
“Pass,” she decides, and when Zoey pouts, reluctantly adds, “But I’ll walk you there.”
“Yay!” Zoey springs back to life. “Let’s go quick, before Jinu catches up.”
“Before-?” Jinu objects from the booth. "But we're driving home together later!"
Zoey is already towing Mira out the door. “Yep, meetcha there!”
It’s a short walk to Abby’s apartment, though Zoey manages to fill the trip with all the chatter of a ten kilometer hike. Mira finds herself surprisingly un-annoyed by this fact—it’s not Zoey’s fault she’s a talker, and really, anything's better than Jinu and his peanut allergy.
“Not enough pickles!” Zoey is saying now, making a chopping motion with her hands to punctuate every word. “And way too much sauce!”
“Would never have pegged you for a hamburger snob,” Mira comments.
“No, I said the hamburgers were fine. This was about the salad.”
Mira frowns and decides she’s better off not knowing.
They meander together for a few minutes more before evidence of Abby's party starts to make itself known. As usual, the area looks a bit like the scene of a crime (albeit a tame one). There are two people on the lawn outside the apartment complex taking turns trying to parkour up to Abby’s living room window on the second floor and narrowly avoiding landing on their third drunken friend, napping obliviously on the grass. Nearby, a girl dressed inexplicably in a red bikini top and what appears to be the lower half of a HAZMAT suit is attempting—unsuccessfully—to coax a muscly boy in an unbuttoned beach shirt and cowboy boots down from a tree. Music thrums out through Abby’s open windows, blanketing the scene in pulsing, hypnotic sound.
“Looks like a blast,” Mira says flatly.
Zoey leans back, observing the scene.
“It does seem funner when you’re drunk,” she admits. “Sure you don’t wanna stay?”
She tugs at Mira’s arm slightly, blunt nails nipping ever so slightly at the skin of her wrist.
("Guitar nails," she had told Mira once, and had lasted a whole two seconds before breaking out in a fit of laughter.
"I can't play the guitar, Mira," she'd admitted through her snorts. "I'm just gay."
"You're a music producer and you can't play guitar?"
"I can play Hot Cross Buns, and if I need more than that, I make Jinu play it for me.")
Zoey tugs at her again. "Could be fun," she sing-songs.
It probably would be fun, Mira knows. She's got the night off, no morning classes in sight, and she's not, like, above Abby's or anything. She could relax, relive the glory days of second year. She'd almost be willing to do it, if it weren't for—
“MIRA!”
Zoey glances up towards the source of the voice and Mira, resignedly, follows suit. Abby’s got his entire torso out the window, one arm raised to cup a hand around his mouth like they wouldn’t otherwise be able to hear him. He’s shirtless under a faux leather vest, and his pink hair is flattened against his skull by a clunky, cartoonish-looking cowboy hat.
“DJ MIRA!” he repeats, then points for good measure. “COME PARTY! COME GET LIT! IT’S COWBOY NIGHT!”
A round of cheers pierce the air behind him, and he raises both arms in uncalled for celebration. A poorly tied loop of rope probably meant to resemble a lasso dangles limply from the crux of his elbow like a too-big bracelet. The boy in the tree starts singing something in a country accent that's impressively off-key.
“I think I’m good,” Mira tells Zoey vacantly.
Zoey just sighs and shakes her head, eyes still on the window. “Leave it to a man to ruin all my hard work.”
“Uh huh,” Mira says, though she's pretty much already checked out. “Okay then. Have fun.”
Thursday, 6:00 PM
“Welcome back to the best four hours of your night, also known as AM 1650’s standout hit, the Jinu and Mira show. Tonight’s theme? Cowboy angst. You can thank my cousin for coming up with that one.”
“Thank Abby while you’re at it, for getting her drunk enough to think it was a good idea.”
“Oh, she was the designated driver last night. Stone cold sober.”
“...Of course.”
“Anyway, we’ve got some great stuff lined up tonight. I’m hoping you all like minor chords on the banjo.”
“And if not, feel free to switch stations. Then take a moment to reflect on how lucky you are to be able to do that. Some of us don’t have the privilege.”
“Right you are, DJ Mira. But trust me, once we get into this playlist, you won’t wanna be anywhere else.”
“Remind me why you always get to make the playlists?”
“Coolness level. Superior intelligence. Seniority.”
“Only one of those is true.”
“It’s gotta be at least two, because I have been here longer than you.”
“Do me a favor and go fall in a hole.”
“On it, DJ Mira. Right after this set.”
Thursday, 7:54 PM
“And that was Cruise by Florida Georgia Line. One of my personal favorites, and even better when you’re sloshed at Abby’s on a Wednesday night.”
Mira frowns. “You’d better hope none of your professors are tuning in this time,” she mutters. “And when is the angst part of this cowboy angst night gonna come into play?”
“Well, you see, I don’t actually know many sad country songs,” Jinu admits. “So I figured we’d just end the night with Somebody That I Used To Know or something. Call it even.”
There’s a sharp tapping on the one-way window that lets Mira know that Zoey is not pleased. Jinu handily ignores it.
“For two reasons, though, we’ll be taking a short break from cowboy angst,” he announces.
“Oh thank god.”
“Reason number one, DJ Mira was starting to get that scary eye twitch that means she’s thinking about maiming me.”
“I don’t do that,” Mira grumbles, eye twitching.
“And reason number two, we’ve got a request!”
Mira’s annoyance melts away. “Again?”
“Two in three days!” Jinu points at the little request box at the corner of the computer screen. “Not bad, right? That’s more than we’ve had in a while.”
Actually, Mira’s pretty sure the request they’d received earlier in the week had been the first of her campus radio career. She leans closer to see the message, which is, again, anonymous. Mira’s not actually sure it’s possible to send a request non-anonymously. She glances at Jinu, who shrugs and gestures towards the keyboard.
“Okay,” Mira says into the mic. “This listener wants to hear Nerves.”
“Good choice,” Jinu comments. “I dug that up off SoundCloud a week ago. Great stuff. My taste is impeccable.”
“Second only to your ego,” Mira adds.
“And my unbearably good looks.”
Mira grabs the keyboard and drags it closer, finding the song. It’s the only track by JUNIORZ in the catalogue.
“SoundCloud, huh?” she asks, mouse hovering over the play button.
“It’s where I get all my underground music,” Jinu replies. “Y’know, get in early before people strike it big. Then you can say you listened before it was cool.”
Mira hums thoughtfully. “How many of your SoundCloud artists are striking it big?”
“Quality over quantity, Mira,” Jinu tsks. “There are some real hidden gems out there. Just watch—before you know it, this song will be everywhere.”
Mira stares at the name on the screen. “Y’know, it's not the craziest thing you've said.”
She presses play, and that same gentle piano melody fades in over their headphones. Jinu mutes their mics, leans back in his seat, and grins.
For once, he doesn't talk through the entire song.
Thursday, 10:04 PM
“No angst,” Zoey bemoans, barging through the door as soon as Jinu announces that they’re off air. “Hardly any cowboys. Jinu, you take my ideas and ruin them. What a waste!”
“The cowboys were there in spirit!” Jinu protests. “It was kind of a difficult theme!”
“It was a home fucking run!” Zoey cries, throwing up her hands.
“Swearing!” Mira and Jinu exclaim in unison, and Zoey mutters a quick sorry and bows her head to the microphones.
"Look, I'm sorry you didn't like the show," Jinu says pacifyingly. "I know it's hard to appreciate musical genius when your head's all the way down there. The soundwaves probably skip right over you."
"Mira," Zoey says calmly, "kill him for me."
"I'm not getting into this," Mira replies. "Just add it to his tally."
Jinu stiffens, eyes darting to the apology board on the desk. At the same time, Zoey dives for a whiteboard marker.
"Goodnight," Mira calls over her shoulder, exiting the building to the sound of Jinu's pained voice—"Come on, I was so close!"—and Zoey's loud, maniacal laughter. Dorks, she thinks, though she can't help the smile that creeps across her face.
She's in a surprisingly good mood for having just spent four hours with Jinu for the fourth night in a row. Maybe the lack of annoyance could be attributed to the absolutely gorgeous iced latte she'd picked up before the show, or maybe to the way that Zoey had tapped at the glass with increasing insistence at each ill-fitting song Jinu had played. Maybe she was just happy they'd gotten another request, even if it was for Jinu's underground SoundCloud I knew it before it was cool-farming mystery artist. At least the song was good.
Curiosity taking over, she pulls out her phone and brings up the SoundCloud webpage. An overwhelming number of tracks she doesn't recognize peer up at her from the main screen, but rather than engage, she searches for JUNIORZ. There are a handful of results, one with a smattering of songs only a few seconds long, the rest with none. Mira scrolls until she reaches an account labelled JUNIORZ815 with a single regular-length song and four followers. The profile photo is a trio of three flowers, petals a whitish iridescent purple, set against a background of a crumbling brick wall. The location is tagged as Seoul. Mira clicks.
Sure enough, the account only has one song up: Nerves, posted ten days ago. Without hesitation, Mira presses play.
It really is a good song, she thinks to herself as she makes her way home. The production is intricate and beautiful, and the singing is lovely. As much as she hates to admit it, Jinu did find a gem.
She hums the song to herself as she brushes her teeth, taps her fingers against her palm in time to the bassline as she climbs into her neatly-made bed.
I wonder if Zoey likes it, is her last thought before she drifts out of consciousness.
When she wakes the next morning and checks her phone, JUNIORZ's following count has reached one thousand.