Chapter Text
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The air was cold.
It was always cold– it was a hospital basement, after all. But it was annoying that her favorite hoodie was basically useless in terms of keeping her warm.
(And yet, she was here. Like she was for the past three Wednesdays.)
(At least it wasn’t therapy. Therapy would be worse, probably.)
They sat in a circle, beige folding chairs creaking under the weight of ten anxious teenagers and one moderator. Or counselor. Or something.
(The whiteboard had the rules written on it in blue marker.)
(Share at your comfort level.)
(No advice unless asked.)
(What’s said here stays here.)
(And underneath, in black marker, was the topic for the day.)
(Bodily autonomy.)
She was holding a fidget toy she grabbed from the box at the door. Most of the other people were clutching plastic water bottles– also offered at the door– like they would protect them from… something. Anything.
(She wanted to go home.)
(“Let’s start with check-ins. We’ll go around the circle, share our names and pronouns– if you’re comfortable– and one word for how we’re feeling. I’ll start.”)
(She always answered the same, so far.)
(“Rumi. She/her. Tired.”)
(“When did you realize your body felt different?”)
She doesn’t say anything out loud.
But her brain, traitorous as always, whispers, “When I realized that Celine locked the bathroom door behind her.”
(That made it sound weird, but she was a toddler.)
(Celine was just helping her bathe. It was normal.)
(But she always locked the door like she was afraid someone would walk in and see me, even though we lived alone.)
(And she remembered—)
(When I had that realization, all I wanted was my mom.)
She didn’t say that. When it was her turn in the circle, she said, “When I turned fourteen and still hadn’t had my first period.”
(It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t the truth, but it wasn’t a lie, either.)
The guy beside her– she thinks he said his name was Jinu– snorted. “Hard same,” he said, instead of sharing anything worthwhile.
(Share at your comfort level.)
(She tried not to be bitter that she shared and he didn’t.)
(She didn’t even know him.)
(She just sat next to him every time she’s come because he looked nice.)
(He didn’t usually share anything, though.)
She zoned out.
(She wanted to go home.)
The room was cold. The fidget toy in her hand was nice enough to hold, at least, but each crinkle of plastic from the water bottles around her echoed through her head like gunshots.
And then a person– Hyuk, she thinks, but she’s not really sure– said, “My uncle said I should’ve been a dog.”
(Hyuk was tall and lanky and mad at the world. They always jittered their leg. They always looked at the door, like they were terrified someone was going to burst through any second.)
“He said that at least a dog doesn’t try to be something it’s not. And that it can be put down when something’s wrong with its head.”
(It felt like the air had been punched out of her lungs.)
“I haven’t told my parents. They don’t even know I’m here. I had to say I was going to cram school to come tonight. I don’t even want to be here. I’m just tired. I’m so tired of everything being weird. My chest hurts when I breathe around other people. I don’t want to be a lesson. I just want to exist.”
Everyone in the room stiffened.
(Not from judgement, but from painful recognition.)
“…You think that’s bad, my aunt tried to exorcise me.”
(Oh, fuck.)
Her face burned. She didn’t mean to say anything. Why did she say that?
The room was painfully silent.
Suddenly, Jinu snorted.
Then wheezed.
“What– what kind of holy water, though?” he asked, gasping as he tried to muffle his own laughter. “Like, tap water, or did she try to bless it herself?”
Rumi’s lips twitched.
“No, but seriously,” Jinu continued, clutching at his sides. “Did she start speaking in tongues, or just scream?”
“She screamed,” Rumi supplied drily. “A lot.”
(Celine hadn’t actually tried to exorcise her, for the record. But sometimes, Rumi pretended she did. It made it a little easier to be angry when Celine had actually done something wrong.)
It took a long moment of Jinu’s laughter ringing through the room alone before someone joined him, chuckling quietly. Then a few more people.
(Even the moderator’s lips twitched.)
(And, for the first time she could remember, something in Rumi’s chest loosened.)
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“You better have snacks for the manual labor,” he said, pulling into a parking spot.
She grunted.
Jinu rolled his eyes. “Dude, are you even breathing?”
“Obviously,” she muttered.
He turned the keys, and the engine sputtered off. “Ready to face the choir?”
She didn’t answer– just unbuckled and slid out of the van.
“Guess that’s a yes,” he sighed, getting out after her. “I’ll grab the first couple boxes if you get your suitcase?
She hummed as she popped open the back of the van, dragging the suitcase out in one smooth motion. Then she paused, staring up at the building.
Jinu dramatically hoisted the smallest box like it weighed fifty pounds. “Rumi! It’s so heavy! I’m going to die!”
She barely bothered to glance at him as she deadpanned, “You’ll live.”
“But at what cost?!”
They made their way up the stairs.
Before they could knock, the door swung open– revealing a girl with a wide, bright smile.
“Hi! I’m Zoey. You must be Rumi!” she said excitedly, bouncing on her feet.
Rumi blinked slowly. “Uh, yeah. Hi.”
Zoey looked from her to Jinu, her brows rising in polite curiosity.
“Oh– this is Jinu,” Rumi said quickly. “He’s my friend. Helping me move.”
“Neat, nice to meet you! Sorry,” Zoey added with a grin, “I was just trying to figure out if we had to have a talk about like– sleepovers or something.”
Rumi flushed. “Uh, no. No talk necessary. Just friends.”
“Yeah, she’s not my type,” Jinu chimed in.
Rumi turned, scandalized. “Excuse me? I’m everyone’s type.”
Zoey giggled, stepping further into the apartment. “Yeah, Jinu, she’s everyone’s type.”
Jinu clutched his chest. “You’re taking her side? You barely met her!”
“Yeah, and I have eyes.” Zoey backed into the apartment and gestured them inside. “Now, unless you two plan on staying outside all night?”
Rumi followed, suitcase wheels catching on the threshold.
The apartment was warm. Bright.
Too bright.
Her breath stuttered– barely– but Jinu caught it anyway.
He shot her a sideways look. You okay?
She gave him a smile that said shut up and don’t make it worse.
He blinked, then immediately said, “Wow, this box is so heavy. Which room’s hers?”
Zoey blinked, eyes flicking towards the world’s smallest box in Jinu’s hands– but pointed down the hall. “Last door,” she said, voice uncertain.
As if summoned by the sound, another door opened and a girl leaned into the hallway.
Long pink hair. Wire-frame glasses. Judgy eyes.
Rumi froze again.
The girl squinted. “You’re Rumi?”
“…Yeah.”
“Huh.” The girl blinked, then disappeared back into the room without another word.
Zoey made a face. “Don’t mind Mira. That was basically a warm welcome, coming from her.”
Rumi let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
I can’t do this.
(She already did. Too late now.)
She followed Jinu to what would be her bedroom. It was already modestly furnished with a bed, a desk, and a dresser.
(Her heart was still pounding.)
Jinu shut the door before he placed the box on the desk. “You okay?”
“Mhm,” she said, breathing in slowly. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said. “You should, uh… test the bed, or something.”
She shot him a flat look. “What?”
“Yeah, like, you know. Lay on it. Make sure it’s not haunted or something. And breathe.” He began retreating towards the door. “I’m gonna go grab more of your stuff. You’ll be fine.”
He shot her finger guns before he fled out the door.
Rumi let her eyes slide closed, exhaling harshly.
Idiot, she wanted to grouse, though it was fond.
She set her suitcase on the bed and opened it.
(Her hands were numb.)
(She was fine. She didn’t need him to stay by her side 24/7. If she did, she never would’ve survived high school. Or her first year at college.)
(God. She should’ve stayed in the single person dorm. This was too risky. This was—)
There was a soft knock at her door.
Then it opened. Slowly.
Like, inch by inch slowly.
Zoey poked her head in. “Hey. You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Rumi said, the lie slipping past her lips with terrifying ease. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because this is your first day in a strange apartment with two complete strangers?”
Rumi’s hands stilled. Her eyes flicked towards Zoey.
(She was pretty sure she smiled. She tried to smile, at least.)
“I’m fine.”
Zoey’s eyebrows knit together. “No offense, but you look like I did this morning before I cried into my breakfast.”
Rumi blinked, stunned.
“So like, I get it, you know? I can leave you alone if you need space. Or I can help you unpack. Or distract you. Or do literally anything you want except make eye contact while you cry because I will also start crying.”
Despite herself, Rumi snorted. “Noted,” she said drily. “I’m not gonna cry, though.”
Zoey nodded slowly, but didn’t move.
Rumi glanced at her. “Um…?”
Zoey didn’t look away. “Sorry, did you want me to go?”
For a second, Rumi didn’t move.
(This was too risky.)
(But she got roommates specifically because she didn’t want to be alone anymore.)
Rumi shrugged. “You can come in and sit,” she finally said. “But I’d… prefer it if you didn’t touch my stuff? If that’s okay?”
Zoey smiled like the sun. “Sure thing!” she chirped, practically skipping in.
(Rumi had no idea if it was a performance or if she was just like this all the time.)
Rumi unpacked her suitcase in silence, moving her clothes to the dresser with careful precision as Zoey sat on the floor.
(Zoey was scrolling on her phone, but it felt like her eyes were on Rumi anyway. Waiting for Rumi to slip up. To make a mistake. To—)
Music began to play from Zoey’s phone softly.
(Well, the volume was soft. The music was… not.)
(It sounded like rap. But in English.)
(Rumi didn’t speak English.)
She raised an eyebrow, trying to keep her body from locking up with anxiety.
(She couldn’t breathe.)
Zoey grinned. “Sorry, I can change it to something else if you want? I’ve just been listening to this artist a lot lately.”
(It wasn’t the music, it was the weight of being perceived.)
“No, it’s fine,” Rumi said. “It’s just… uh… very…”
“American?” Zoey supplied. “Yep. Reminds me of home.”
Rumi swallowed. “Oh, that’s cool,” she said.
(She wanted to kick herself. She sounded so lame.)
Thankfully, before she could make an ass of herself, the door pushed open again, and Jinu and Mira walked through, carrying more boxes.
“We should be able to grab the rest of it in one more trip,” Mira said, setting the boxes down. “Assuming Ji-woo stops acting like the world is ending.”
“It’s Jinu,” he corrected.
“He’s always like that,” Rumi said at the same time.
Mira snorted. Jinu fixed Rumi with a deadpan look.
“C’mon, Jimin. Put those arms to work,” Mira said, walking back out of the room.
“It’s Jinu,” he corrected again, trailing after her.
(Rumi let out a breath as they left.)
(Too many people. Jinu was safe, but this was too many people.)
(Okay. Okay, this was fine. It was just Zoey. She could… ask questions, or something. Learn where the boundaries were. She could—)
“So, how did you meet Mira?”
(Fuck.)
(Her mouth moved before her brain was ready.)
(She was going to melt into a puddle.)
Zoey beamed. “Oh, we had intro to theatre together last year\! She barely talked to me but I sat near her anyway. She makes these faces when people mess up lines, it’s iconic. Like this.” She paused and scrunched her face up– like she was trying to squint and wrinkle her nose in judgement at the same time.
(She ended up just looking constipated.)
“Okay, that wasn’t it. But trust me, it’s brutal,” Zoey continued excitedly. “Some guy totally blanked on his monologue and Mira didn’t say a word, just tilted her head like she was watching a train derail in slow motion. But she always knew her lines, even the day she had food poisoning– legend, honestly.”
Rumi blinked.
(What?)
“She came in green,” Zoey said solemnly. “Like, cartoon sick. Refused to go home, did her scene like nothing was wrong, then threw up during break and came back sipping a Pocari Sweat like nothing happened.”
Huh?
Zoey still wasn’t done, apparently. “She eats raw ramen sometimes. Like, out of the packet. Crunched up and sprinkled with the seasoning like chips. It’s kind of terrifying? But also brilliant. She said it’s faster than making dinner and I’m like, okay, poverty meal queen. Innovate.”
(Rumi wasn’t certain either of them were breathing, honestly. Rumi was frozen, overwhelmed by just… how much Zoey was talking, and Zoey was talking so fast that Rumi didn’t know when she was taking breaths.)
Thankfully, Zoey slowed down, her voice gentling. “She’s not really mean, by the way. She just… doesn’t do small talk. Or big talk. Or medium talk. But she’s actually like… weirdly considerate? Like one time I was out sick and she took notes for me. And also brought some ginger tea to my dorm. But didn’t say anything. She just… knocked on my door and handed it to me and walked away.”
She nodded sagely, still continuing. “I think she has secret grandma energy. But also rage. Like if the printer jams one more time she’s going to throw it out a window.” She grinned. “She also once got into a twenty minute argument with the cafeteria lady over whether the tteokbokki was spicy enough, and I swear to god I was gonna die of secondhand embarrassment, but then the next day she came in and the lady had made it extra spicy, just for her. Like, what?”
Rumi had so many questions.
(You’ve known her for how long?)
(Are you friends, then? Or married?)
(Why do you know so much?)
But of course, her brain said, Oh, so Zoey’s in love with her. Good to know.
Rumi nodded slowly, but before she could say anything, Mira and Jinu walked back into the room.
(Mira was holding one singular box and had a shit-eating grin.)
(Jinu was carrying three boxes, stacked on top of each other, blocking his face entirely.)
“Help,” Jinu wheezed.
Mira’s grin deepened. “Classic guy behavior,” she said smugly, setting the box down. “All I had to do was insinuate that he couldn’t carry more than me, and then boom, he’s being an idiot. Maybe I should be friends with guys more often. He’s like your own personal clown.”
“Rude,” Jinu muttered, setting the boxes down on the ground. “That’s everything, though, Rumi. You want help unpacking?”
Rumi froze. “Um.”
Zoey hopped to her feet. “Hey, Mira, you wanna help me make dinner?” She didn’t wait for an answer before grabbing Mira’s arm, chirping, “Great, come on!” and dragging her out of the room.
Jinu watched them leave with raised eyebrows. “Alrighty, then.”
(Something in Rumi’s chest loosened.)
(On one hand, not being overwhelmed with people was nice.)
(But on the other hand, she had a feeling that Zoey did that deliberately.)
(Which was sweet.)
(Weird. But sweet.)
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Zoey opened the pantry. “So…?”
Mira grunted. “Put the ramyeon away. I’m making us actual food.”
Zoey pouted, holding the buldak ramyeon in her hands tighter. “But I had an idea.”
Mira raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking down to the ramyeon like it had personally offended her, then to Zoey’s hand, which was reaching for… a potato?
Mira narrowed her eyes. “You’re going to make kimchi carbonara, aren’t you?”
Zoey grinned. “It’ll be tasty!”
Mira sighed as she opened the fridge and began to pull out real vegetables. “Do you even know what she likes to eat?”
Zoey paused. “Uh… no.”
“Great. You make your thing, I’ll make real food, and she can pick what she wants.”
“Aw, Mira, you’re trying!” Zoey cooed.
Mira flushed slightly. “Shut up,” she grumbled.
They worked in relative silence– Zoey all but dominated the stovetop as Mira put rice in the rice cooker.
“So…?” Zoey prompted again.
“So, what?”
“What do you think of her?”
“I haven’t even talked to her yet,” Mira pointed out, pulling out the cutting board. She began to chop the vegetables quickly. “You did. What do you think of her?”
“She seems nice,” Zoey said earnestly. “I think she might have more anxiety than me, though.”
Mira whistled. “That’s a high bar.”
“Mhm. Thanks for helping Jinu bring her stuff in, by the way.”
Mira grunted. She nudged Zoey away from the stovetop so she could set the veggies in a pan.
Zoey kept stirring her experimental sauce– which may or may not have cheese and Spam in it, for some reason. “Okay, but like, imagine– spicy, creamy, funky. Carbonara, but Korean-American fusion. I’ll call it… Zoeynara.”
“That’s horrible,” Mira said flatly.
“I’m workshopping it.”
Mira rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched.
By the time the food was nearly ready, the apartment smelled amazing– half comfort, half chaos. Mira’s stir-fried veggies were crisping in the pan, rice cooker humming in the background, and Zoey’s monstrosity of a pasta dish… actually didn’t smell that bad.
Rumi poked her head out of her room, likely drawn out by the scent. Jinu trailed after her.
“Dinnertime,” Zoey sang. “I made something unholy. Mira made something edible. You choose.”
“I can’t stay,” Jinu said. “I gotta meet my cousin in, like, twenty minutes. But I’ll take something to go?”
Without even exchanging a glance, Zoey grabbed a clean container while Mira wordlessly dished up a serving of both meals.
“Thanks,” he said, taking the container. He gave Rumi a pointed look. “You gonna be okay?” he asked softly.
She nodded– nearly too fast. “Yeah. I’m good.”
He lingered for half a beat, then hugged her.
(Mira looked away. Something about it was… intimate, nearly.)
“I’m proud of you,” Mira heard Jinu say softly. “See you soon. Ringer’s on.”
“Later,” Rumi mumbled.
The door shut behind him with a soft click.
And just like that, Rumi wilted. Not dramatically, not obviously– just a slight droop of her shoulders. A breath let out too long. Her arms wrapped around herself.
(Mira caught it. Filed it away.)
(But didn’t say anything.)
Zoey handed Rumi a plate. “So, you get the first bite. I need a brave soul to test if I’ve poisoned anyone.”
Rumi blinked. “That’s… reassuring.”
She accepted the plate anyway and sat at the small dining table. Mira joined a second later, sliding her own plate down.
The three of them sat in tentative quiet for a moment– awkward, but not unfriendly.
Zoey took a bite and dramatically fanned her mouth. “Okay, that’s spicy. I like it. It hurts. This is great.”
Rumi took a small bite of Mira’s dish, then Zoey’s, chewing carefully. “Yours is good,” she told Zoey tentatively.
Zoey beamed. “See, Mira? Fusion genius.”
Rumi’s lips quirked up slightly, eyes flicking towards Mira.
Mira raised an eyebrow.
Rumi ducked her eyes. “Um, I think I like Mira’s better,” she whispered.
Mira smirked. “Good taste.”
Zoey gasped. “Betrayal! In my own home!”
“You dragged me in here against my will,” Mira reminded her.
“Yeah, but it was for the greater good,” Zoey chirped, taking another large bite.
Rumi didn’t say anything. Her ears were pink.
(Zoey was giving Mira a look.)
(Mira narrowed her eyes.)
“So, Rumi,” Mira said carefully.
(God, she hated small talk.)
(Rumi looked like a deer in headlights.)
“What are you majoring in?”
(That was a safe topic, right?)
“Um,” Rumi started. “Business administration.”
Mira’s eyebrows flick upwards.
“Ooh, fancy,” Zoey said.
Rumi’s face went blank.
Like, not even a neutral blank. A nothing blank.
(That’s probably not a good sign.)
“I’m a fine arts major,” Zoey helpfully added. “Actually, I started as a double major– fine arts and Korean language, but I nearly died so I decided to just do fine arts.”
Rumi’s eyes had widened. “Uh,” she stammered, “you almost… died?”
(She looked genuinely alarmed.)
Zoey blinked. “Yeah, the coursework was a lot to handle, you know?”
Rumi let out a quiet breath.
(Almost like relief.)
(Interesting.)
Zoey glanced at Mira.
Mira smirked. “Theatre major, dance minor.”
Rumi nodded. “Sounds fun.”
“It is,” Mira answered easily.
Rumi glanced down at her plate.
(It was nearly empty.)
“Um,” she started, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m pretty tired.”
Mira nodded. “You can take the rest of your food to your room. As long as we don’t get pests, I don’t think there’s a rule saying you have to eat with us.”
“Unless you want to,” Zoey added cheerfully. “We haven’t actually ironed out the meal schedule yet, but I can handle dishes tonight. Maybe tomorrow we can figure that out, get some ground rules in place?”
(Something in Rumi’s posture loosened almost immediately.)
Rumi nodded, smiling gently. “Yeah, that’ll be good,” she said, standing. “Thank you both for the food. Good night.”
“Good night!”
“Night,” Mira said, taking another bite of her food.
As soon as Rumi’s bedroom door clicked shut behind her, Mira glanced at Zoey.
“Riddled with anxiety,” Mira said sagely.
Zoey nodded with gravitas.
—☽—☽—☽—☽—☽—☽—☽—☽—☽—
She went through her nightly ritual in a haze.
(She was fine. She was fine. She was fine.)
The three of them were sharing a bathroom.
One bathroom. Singular.
(It was fine, it was fine, it was fine—)
Her fingers were wrapping around her phone before she even realized what was happening.
It rang four times.
“Hey.”
The tension melted out of her shoulders. “Sorry,” she whispered.
“It’s okay,” Jinu said on the other end of the phone. He yawned. “You wanna talk about it?”
For a long second, she didn’t say anything.
“No,” she finally said. “No, can you just… stay? For a little bit?”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I’m here. Do your thing.”
(She didn’t tear up. She didn’t. She was fine.)
She unbraided her hair with shaking hands.
“How’s your cousin?” she asked.
“He’s fine,” Jinu said. “He wanted to play a new video game with me. Damn, what was it called– Expedition 33? Or something? It had cool music. The intro was sad as
hell, though.”
“That’s cool,” she murmured, moving to the door. She locked it, then tried the handle, just to make sure. “You had fun?”
“Yep,” he said, popping the p slightly.
She reached for her pajamas.
(Her hands weren’t shaking. They weren’t. They weren’t.)
She closed her eyes as she changed out of her clothes.
“You okay?” he asked gently.
“Fine,” she murmured.
He hummed. “Your roommates seem nice.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re gonna be okay.”
“Okay.”
She didn’t open her eyes until her sweatpants were securely on her legs.
“Sorry for bugging you. You’re probably tired,” she said.
“It’s not a problem,” he said. “How many times have I called you because I was panicking?”
Her lips curled up. “You did that while I was in an exam, once.”
“Exactly. It’s cool, Tiny.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“That’s why I call you that, Tiny.”
“I hate you.”
“I’m sure.”
She climbed into the bed carefully. The sheets were stiff, crinkling underneath her, but they smelled like home.
They sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, the static of the phone broken only by the sound of his breathing.
“Jinu?”
“Yeah?”
“What if she calls me?”
“You’re allowed to ignore her, Ru.”
She let the sentence wash over her.
“…But what if I don’t want to ignore her?”
For a moment, he didn’t reply.
“I’ll be here,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to face it alone. I won’t let you.”
Her eyes slipped closed. “Thank you,” she whispered.
(She fell asleep within moments.)
(She dreamed of Hyuk.)
(Sort of.)
(She dreamed of Hyuk and So-young and Minjae, of Jia and Dong-wook and Nari and Soo-bin and Ha-neul and Eun-kyung and Joon and Tae-yang.)
(Jia wore glitter eyeliner, bit her nails, called everyone “sunbae” sarcastically. She was the first person who vanished after Rumi started showing up. No one said anything.)
(Dong-wook had dreams about moving to Seoul to university. He disappeared in winter. No one said anything.)
(Nari drew in the margins of every worksheet, talked about going into design. No one said anything.)
(Soo-bin always had a hoodie pulled over their hands and never talked. One time he gave Rumi a frog sticker. She still had it. No one said anything.)
(Ha-neul always had headphones around his neck and brought enough tea to share. No one said anything.)
(Eun-kyung had a service dog and said that animals were better than people. No one said anything.)
(Joon always wore too much cologne and made bad jokes. They always brought extra snacks, and would slip one to whoever looked the most nervous. Everyone thought they were okay. No one said anything.)
(Tae-yang was really into marine biology. Really liked jellyfish. No one said anything.)
(Their pictures didn’t go on the board. But Hyuk and So-young and Minjae’s pictures went up.)
(Rumi put Hyuk’s picture up herself.)
(Minjae was sweet. He always brought a notebook with him. He gave Rumi a bracelet he made himself one day, and then stopped showing up.)
(He was always covered in bruises. His picture went up a couple months later.)
(So-young was funny, and always tried to make other people laugh. She made funny faces at Rumi a lot. One day her sister came to the meeting, about a month after So-young stopped showing up, with a tray of tteok because So-young wanted to say goodbye.)
(Her picture went up that same day.)
(Hyuk was always angry, but they loved art. And was surprisingly soft-spoken. And kind. Nearly an older sibling to Rumi, if Rumi had known them any better.)
(They stopped showing up suddenly. It took two weeks before Rumi decided to try to find their instagram.)
(The most recent post was a memorial post.)
(Rumi showed it to the moderator. The moderator helped her put Hyuk’s picture on the board.)
(But no one said anything.)
(But as she dreamed, there was a new photo on the board. A girl Rumi had never seen in meeting, but never wanted forget.)
(Zoey.)
(Rumi woke up with tears on her cheeks, her heart thundering in her chest.)
She laid in bed for about ten minutes, watching the way the light began to filter into the room as the sun rose.
(She was fine. Dreams didn’t mean anything. It was fine.)
(She met Zoey yesterday.)
Not to mention, Zoey wasn’t there.
If Zoey ever found out—
Rumi practically threw herself out of the bed.
She unlocked her door and slipped into the hallway.
Mira and Zoey’s doors were closed.
Rumi padded to the bathroom on silent feet, keeping her breath even.
She went through her morning routine in silence, then out to the living room.
(Would she get into trouble for making breakfast? Would she get into trouble for hanging out in the living room?)
(She didn’t want to be stuck in one room for another year.)
She pulled the fridge open, resolving to make enough breakfast for everyone.
(Cooking wasn’t calming for her, not in the way it seemed to be for other people. It was like setting five fires at once and hoping nothing actually burned. Literally.)
(But it was something to do, and she was still shaking.)
(And honestly, if she was going to vomit? She’d rather actually vomit instead of just coughing up bile.)
She moved on instinct, though, quietly making rice porridge, setting out garnishes and seasonings before she turned the kettle on and pulled the cabinets open one by one, searching for tea.
(She didn’t want to get into trouble. She kept an ear out, just in case someone came down the hallway, in case she was actually still dreaming and was actually back at her aunt’s house, just in case—)
She stared at the tea bags for too long, her fingers hovering over the green tea.
(It’s what her aunt would drink in the mornings. It smelled like home.)
She shifted and grabbed the ginger tea. She wasn’t actually looking forward to vomiting, after all.
(She ate her rice porridge plain. Just in case.)
(It would taste like static in her mouth either way.)
(The tea was nice, though. Sharp and warm. Like liquid focus.)
Someone’s door opened.
Rumi stiffened, her breath catching in her throat.
Mira stepped out of the hallway, rubbing her eyes beneath her glasses lazily. “Morning,” she said softly, voice rough with sleep. “You made breakfast?”
“Rice porridge,” Rumi said. Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “I hope that’s okay.”
Mira paused, peering at her.
(Rumi didn’t want to know what she was seeing. She couldn’t bear not knowing what she was seeing.)
But Mira nodded. “Of course it’s okay,” she said easily. “You live here, too. I’ll do the dishes, yeah?”
(Rumi let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.)
“Okay.”
(She wasn’t the least bit surprised to watch Mira drown her porridge in chili oil. She did the same thing to her dinner the night before, after all.)
“You’re gonna kill your tastebuds,” slipped out of Rumi’s mouth before she could clamp it shut.
Mira snorted. “Zoey says something similar,” she said, sitting down at the table. She shrugged. “I don’t always make my food extra spicy. Only when I really don’t wanna share.”
Rumi blinked.
(What does that mean?)
They ate in silence.
“You wanna watch TV until Zoey wakes up?” Mira asked as she stood, taking her bowl to the sink.
“Um,” Rumi stammered, breath catching.
(Be normal. Be normal. Be normal.)
“Yeah, sure,” she said. “You can pick.”
—☼—☼—☼—☼—☼—☼—☼—☼—☼—
For a moment, she had no idea where she was.
Her brain was still defrosting– half-lidded and syrup-slow, probably because her meds hadn't worn off yet. Or maybe because it was early enough for vampires to still be clocked in.
Jeez, what time is it?
She checked her phone.
Eight? Christ.
Wait. Why am I awake?
Her brain came online all at once.
(Something was wrong.)
Too early. Too awake. No alarm.
(Something was wrong.)
She sat up too fast and grabbed her phone tighter on instinct, opening the app in a panic.
(Her thumb was already tapping through the interface before she could think.)
What did I eat last night? Did I dose? I definitely dosed. Right? What was my number before bed?
(What if it was high? What if it dropped? What if I'm crashing and don't even know? What if—)
Beep. The screen blinked to life.
127 mg/DL →
Stable.
She let out a slow breath. "Okay. Okay, okay, okay," she whispered, like a prayer.
(It was fine. She was fine.)
She stood slowly, checking for dizziness that didn't come.
(The reader wouldn't lie to her, but that didn't mean she trusted it.)
And reached for her medication.
("Take with food" is just a suggestion, right? She was planning on eating breakfast in a moment, anyway.)
(Speaking of breakfast, something smelled good.)
She popped two pills into her mouth and washed it down with water easily.
(Fuck, but she didn't know what she was about to eat. How much should she prep for?)
(She entered 20g into her pump, then hit confirm. She could adjust it later.)
As soon as she heard her pump beep, she let out a breath of relief, the tension melting out of her all at once.
(See? It was fine.)
She cracked her door open and peeked out, as if someone might be waiting with a t-shirt cannon full of social interaction.
No one.
Still, she hesitated for a moment before stepping out. She was very aware of her legs.
Too aware.
She was walking normally– probably?– but it felt off.
Too careful. Too cautious. The kind of walk that said I am upright and functioning, please do not perceive the effort it takes to exist.
Whatever.
She shuffled down the hall anyway, brain yelling WALK CASUAL the whole time like she was on a heist.
She rounded the corner into the kitchen and froze.
The table was empty.
Bless.
That meant she could sit, eat, and adjust her insulin without anyone watching her fumble through the app like an anxious raccoon in a hoodie.
A pot of rice porridge sat on the stove, still warm.
(Her stomach growled.)
She served herself quickly– shit, maybe she should've asked if it was fair game, but too late now– and sat with a quiet sigh of relief. She pulled out her phone again, thumbing through the bring up her pump controls.
Okay. Porridge. Rice-based. There's probably… thirty carbs in here? Forty?
She glanced at the bowl in front of her, daring it to tell her otherwise.
She tapped the adjustment window and entered +15g just to be safe. Her thumb hovered over the confirm button.
And then she noticed it.
Mira and Rumi were sitting on the couch, watching some kind of slice-of-life drama with the volume turned low.
Neither of them looked up.
Zoey blinked.
They were just… there. Coexisting. Peacefully. Like people.
She hit confirm.
The pump beeped, barely audible over the TV. Her chest unclenched slightly.
She could eat. She wouldn't die. And for a second, she thought– maybe this wouldn't be so bad.
After she was done eating, she retreated to her room briefly to grab her notebook.
(And maybe check her pump, just one more time.)
Then she was headed back to the living room, a skip in her step, and planting herself firmly in front of the TV.
Rumi blinked at her with wide eyes. Mira raised an eyebrow.
"Good morning!" she chirped. "So, I was thinking we could divvy up chores? Like, now? While we're all here? Otherwise we'll never do it and resentment will fester and we'll end up on a Netflix documentary."
Rumi's eyes widened, but Mira snorted.
"Sure," Mira said. "You mind moving out of the way so I can actually pause the TV?"
Zoey grinned, hopping to the couch, opening her notebook to the chart she mocked up the night before.
(Which may have already been half-full. And color coded.)
Mira looked at the chart like it might bite her.
Zoey, undeterred, twisted the notebook so both of them could see. "Okay, so! I split the chores into categories– green is daily, blue is weekly, and red is stuff that only really needs to get done once in a while but is super annoying if it doesn't. Like vacuuming behind the couch."
Rumi leaned in, blinking at the aggressively highlighted chart. "When did you put this together?"
Zoey grinned, unrepentant. "Last night! I can't sleep without a to-do list. Anyway– laundry is obviously solo, and I figured cooking could be flexible based on vibes, but we do need a schedule for dishes and trash duty."
Mira squinted, adjusting her glasses. "Why are the dishes on fire?"
Zoey beamed. "Oh, that's because if nobody does them, everything else catches fire metaphorically, so I drew fire. It's a visual reminder."
"Oh my god," Mira muttered, but she was clearly holding back a laugh.
"So," Zoey said, clicking her pen with dramatic flair, "I was thinking rotating dish nights. Unless someone loves dishes, in which case I am so happy to let you take over. Any volunteers? Anyone? Bueller?"
Rumi briefly looked like she was about to vanish into the couch cushions, but cleared her throat. "I don't mind doing them if I cooked."
Zoey immediately scribbed Rumi = Dish Queen when cooking? in the margin with a heart doodle. "Love that. Incredible. A generous queen."
Mira raised a hand lazily. "I'll do dishes if I didn't cook, sure. But I refuse to touch anything that's been soaking longer than 24 hours. That's a war crime."
Zoey gave a solemn nod. "Noted. No biological warfare in the sink."
(Rumi cracked the faintest smile, then blinked like she hadn't meant to.)
Zoey caught it, though. Her grin softened. "Okay, so that's dishes. Trash day is Sunday morning– do we want to take turns, or just whoever notices it first?"
"Take turns," Mira said. "Otherwise I'll pretend I didn't see it and I don't want anyone to get passive-aggressive about it."
Zoey held a hand to her chest, mock-offended. "I'm never passive-aggressive."
Mira raised an eyebrow.
Zoey stuck out her tongue.
Rumi coughed gently, then said, "I can take Mondays?"
Zoey beamed. "Amazing. I'll take Wednesdays. Mira, you cool with Fridays?"
"Sure. Trash Fridays. Sounds like my love life."
Zoey snorted hard enough she nearly dropped her pen.
They made it through the rest of the chart with minimal injuries. Zoey ended up with vacuum duty– "Because I kind of like it, it's like angry carpet art,"– Mira volunteered to handle phone calls and landlord emails– "I speak fluent asshole,"– and Rumi offered to keep track of pantry staples– "As long as I don't have to speak to a cashier, I can do inventory."
By the time they were done, the chart looked slightly chaotic but extremely functional. Mira had drawn a little skull on her trash slot. Zoey had given herself three stars. Rumi had doodled a tiny soup bowl next to her name, for some reason.
They were quiet for a moment. The TV had long since gone to sleep.
And then Mira said, voice dry but not unkind, "You're the weirdest roommates I've ever had."
Zoey grinned radiantly. "And yet, kind of the best?"
Rumi didn't say anything, but she nodded, smiling slightly.
Zoey snapped her notebook closed. "Okay, boring stuff taken care of! Both of you get dressed, we're going out and about!"
"What?" Mira asked flatly.
Rumi's eyes had widened.
"Mandatory roomie– ha– bonding time! Come on, go get dressed, we're heading to the cafe down the road for bad snack decisions!"
She was maybe a little too excited.
Like, ready to go in ten minutes flat too excited.
(And yes, she checked her backpack twice.)
Juice box, glucose tablets, two granola bars, an emergency insulin pen, backup infusion set, another vial of insulin, medical tape, alcohol pads, skin-tac wipes, backup CGM sensor, band-aids.
Her medical alert card was in her wallet.
(And yes, her medical alert card was in English and Korean. And laminated.)
Anxiety meds, water bottle, squishy turtle keychain, pencil case, notebook, sketchbook, phone charger, extra hair tie.
Yep, good to go.
She hopped out of her room in time to see Mira slip into the bathroom. Mira didn't close the door behind her, though, and Zoey got to watch as Mira began to apply makeup with steady hands.
(She was pretty.)
Rumi's door was still shut tight.
Zoey went to the living room to wait.
(It felt like butterflies were throwing a rave in her stomach, to be honest.)
(She really wanted to be friends with them.)
(Well. She was already sort of friends with Mira. But she wanted to be friends with Rumi, too! They both seemed so nice!)
(She could be normal. They wouldn't suspect a thing.)
(She checked her blood sugar again. Just in case.)
Mira came out to wait with her after a little bit. She was wearing a sleeveless button down– her arms looked so good– and cargo pants.
(Her eyeliner was sharp enough to stab someone.)
And they waited.
And waited.
And waited.
"Did she get lost in there, or something?" Mira groused. "You think she's exploring Narnia and we just don't know it?"
(Zoey's heart leapt to her throat. What if Rumi didn't actually want to hang out with them? With her?)
"No, Narnia had a time dilation aspect," Zoey said instead. "The Pevensies spent years in Narnia the first time they went, but when they came back only a few minutes had passed."
Mira blinked at her.
Then snorted, lips quirking up slightly. "Good point. Should we check on her?"
Before Zoey could say anything, though, Rumi stepped out of her room.
Zoey might've choked. Just a little bit.
Because Rumi's hair was perfectly braided, resting on her shoulder. And she was wearing a turtleneck– which, it was supposed to be warm outside, but Zoey wasn't going to judge if Rumi ran cold or something– tucked into slacks.
(Speaking of slacks, Zoey's mouth was slack. And Mira wasn't faring much better, it looked.)
Rumi smiled nervously. "Sorry for making you guys wait so long," she said softly.
"Not a problem," Mira said, sounding slightly strangled.
"You can take as long as you need as long as you always look that good," Zoey said dumbly.
She slapped a hand over her mouth.
"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to say that."
Rumi ducked her head as she flushed, but Zoey caught a hint of an embarrassed smile.
"So, Zoey," Mira said, clearing her throat. "Where are we going?"
Zoey grinned, hopping to her feet. "I'm so glad you asked. There's actually a cafe just down the road from us that I'm already dying to try. You guys ready to go?"
"Lead the way," Mira said with a smirk.
Rumi nodded.
Zoey skipped out the door.
They spilled out of the building like sunlight, one after the other– Zoey leading the charge, practically vibrating, Mira adjusting her sunglasses with practiced cool, and Rumi blinking at the daylight like she wasn't quite sure how they got here.
It was warm out– not melt-your-face hot, just that perfect in-between where the breeze kept things from getting sweaty. The cicadas were still yelling, but not in a threatening way. Just loud enough to remind everyone it was summer and they were alive.
Zoey beamed, spinning briefly on her heel so she could walk backwards and face the others. "Okay, so the cafe is like, five minutes from here. Unless I get distracted, which is entirely possible. You've been warned."
Rumi made a small sound that might've been a laugh. Mira just raised an eyebrow, leaned towards Rumi, and said, "Wanna bet she gets distracted by a dog?"
"Rude," Zoey grinned. "But fair."
They passed rows of little storefronts, open balconies draped with drying laundry, and a convenience store with a fan set up outside blowing bubbles into the street. Zoey waved at them as they walked through like they were blessings from the universe.
"God, I love Seoul," she sighed, more to herself than anything. "It always smells like sugar and cars."
Mira snorted. "That's just the exhaust from the waffle truck we passed."
"Exactly."
They made it to the cafe without any unnecessary detours– and Zoey was a little bummed that they didn't pass any dogs, but there was always next time.
The bell above the door jingled as they entered air conditioned heaven, all bright windows and the thick smell of sugar and caffeine.
Rumi made a quiet humming noise in appreciation, even though she looked like she wanted to crawl out of her skin.
Zoey was already squinting at the menu, though.
The caramel milk tea sounds tasty, but it's like 45g… But I haven't had anything sweet today, and I could probably walk it off.
But I didn't sleep well, so maybe I'll spike anyway? Or crash?
Maybe this was a bad idea.
But caramel milk tea…
"You know what you want?" Mira asked.
Zoey hummed. "I think so, yeah. You?"
Mira glanced at Rumi, who nodded.
The three of them stepped up to the counter.
(Mira ordered an iced brown sugar latte. Rumi ordered an iced chai latte.)
When Zoey chirped out her order, Mira raised an eyebrow.
"Not gonna lie, I thought you'd order their…" she squinted at the menu. "Rainbow unicorn sugar rush. Seems right up your alley?"
Zoey giggled. "No, thanks, I like having all my teeth in my mouth."
Not to mention that thing has nearly 200g of sugar and I don't feel like having a seizure, she didn't say.
"Anyway, you guys go ahead and grab a table, I'm gonna run to the bathroom," she said with a wave.
(Rumi glanced at Mira like she was afraid Mira was going to bite her. Which was a little funny. Mostly sad, though.)
(But duty calls.)
She slipped away to the bathroom, her phone already in her hand.
—☆—☆—☆—☆—☆—☆—☆—☆—☆—
Mira watched, brow furrowed, as Zoey made a hasty retreat.
That was odd.
Not weird, exactly, just– something about the way Zoey had laughed at the "Rainbow Unicorn Sugar Rush" sounded off. Like it had got caught in her throat on the way out.
And her smile hadn't reached her eyes.
(Not that Mira would know, it was just that Zoey had a way of smiling and laughing when something really got her. Like it bubbles out of her all at once. And her nose scrunches.)
Then she'd bounced off to the bathroom like her shoes were on fire.
(Why hadn't she gone before they left the apartment? They were waiting forever for Rumi, there was plenty of time. And it wasn't even that far a walk.)
Mira blinked.
Something was up.
But she had other things to worry about. Namely, Rumi.
She turned slightly. "Well, you heard her," she said. "Got a table in mind?"
Rumi hesitated, then shook her head.
Riddled with anxiety, Mira wanted to sigh.
(Seriously, when she chose Rumi from their… admittedly small pool of roommate applicants, she wasn't expecting her to look like one particularly loud noise would send her running.)
("It's only fair," Zoey had said. "I picked you, so you pick number three.")
("I'm a terrible judge of character," Mira had protested. "How am I supposed to pick a roommate?")
(Zoey had shrugged. "Just pick whoever looks the least likely to set the apartment on fire.")
("I'm gonna need two new roommates, then.")
("Rude!" Zoey had laughed.)
Thankfully, before Mira had to say anything else, their drinks were placed on the counter.
(The girl behind the counter was cute. And blushed when Mira smiled at her. Which was flattering.)
(Normally, Mira would have no problem about sliding a pretty girl her number, assuming they didn't share a class together.)
(Yeah, something about giving Zoey her number made her want to melt into a puddle. It's kinda hard to seem suave to someone who watched you perform a comedic monologue.)
(Even if she had to talk Zoey through a panic attack ten minutes prior. Or maybe because of that.)
Mira passed Rumi's drink to her. Rumi flashed her a shy smile.
Yeah, Mira decided. I don't need to be dragging random girls home for the night while Rumi looks one rough sneeze away from emotional collapse.
Mira strode over to the couch section of the cafe and flopped down with all the grace of a sack of potatoes, sprawling sideways like she'd paid rent on the cushions.
(Her posture was a war crime. She could hear her mother crying from 200 miles away. It nearly made Mira smile.)
She slung a leg over the armrest, her own drink in one hand, Zoey's in the other, back slouched so low she was practically horizontal.
She tilted her head to look at Rumi, raising an eyebrow.
"You gonna sit, or…?"
Rumi flushed, hovering for a beat too long before perching on the opposite end of the couch like she'd been trained at finishing school. Back straight, ankles crossed, hands folded around her cup like she might dissolve without it.
Mira blinked at the sheer contrast. "Damn," she said. "What are you, secretly royalty?"
Rumi ducked her head, flustered. Mira smirked into her drink.
"Ooh, the couch is a good choice," Zoey sang as she skipped back up to them. She took the seat between Mira and Rumi smoothly.
Mira had hardly passed her her drink before someone behind the counter dropped something, a loud CLANG! echoing through the cafe.
And Rumi nearly jumped out of her skin.
(Honestly, it was a bit of a miracle she didn't spill her drink all over herself, from the looks of it.)
Zoey and Mira both paused.
A flush creeped up Rumi's cheeks, even as her eyes remained wide.
Mira stretched out with a groan, then pulled herself to her feet. "You know what'd be better? Outside. Fresh air, vitamin D, and all that. You guys wanna go explore?"
"Ooh, great idea," Zoey said, bright and breezy. "Let's go find a park or something. I'm still hoping to see a dog."
Mira snorted, glancing at Rumi, who was ducking her head again.
Her fingers were tight around her cup.
But before Mira or Zoey could say anything else, Rumi stood.
(Carefully, though. Like moving too fast might make her fall apart.)
They made their way to the door.
Rumi was almost smiling as Mira held it open for them.
(And honestly, Mira counted that as a win.)
Mira took another sip of her coffee, squinting through her sunglasses like the sun was personally offending her.
(It was.)
The caffeine was already buzzing in her veins– and she could see that she wasn't the only one. Zoey was practically glowing as she led the charge again.
(Rumi still looked like her soul was floating three feet behind her body, but she was smiling.)
Mira was fully convinced that Zoey actually had no idea where they were going, though, when Zoey rounded a corner, leading them past a group of… well, thugs, for lack of better term. They were dressed messily, shouting at each other, blasting music like they owned the space. The sound of wheels on concrete screeched through the air.
(Mira cringed internally. She could practically hear her parents saying those exact words to her when she was ten.)
(Either way, she drifted closer to Zoey. Just in case someone tried something.)
But then, Zoey cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, "Do an ollie!"
A few of the thugs skaters turned to look at her.
One of them laughed, nearly incredulous. "That's it? An ollie?"
Zoey shrugged dramatically. "Didn't wanna set the bar too high!"
(Mira wanted to shake her by her shoulders. What is she thinking?)
A guy with bright blue hair nearly wiped out when he spotted them, pivoting hard to skate up to them. "Yo, wait! Yo! You're Zoey, right? The chick that did the handstand tre flip at Han River last year?"
Mira turned slowly, eyes widening.
(She recognized some of those words. Handstand. Han River.)
(What?)
"You skate?" she asked, unable to stop the words from launching out of her mouth.
Zoey turned and winked.
(Mira should see a doctor. She was experiencing heart palpitations. That's not normal.)
"What, you thought I was just cute and uncoordinated?"
Rumi made a sound like a kettle got caught in a panic spiral.
"Zoey, I’ve literally watched you walk into a door at least five times," Mira said.
Zoey snorted, taking another sip of her drink. "Not my fault the doors don't move out of my way."
(Yes, it is?!)
"You haven't posted in months, girl, where've you been?" Skater Guy said, nearly giddy.
"In my flop era," Zoey said sagely.
The Skater Guy laughed, holding out his board in offering. "You got anything in the tank? I got you."
Zoey grinned.
(It looked feral.)
(Mira needed to lie down. Like, now.)
"I mean, I left my board at home, but if you're offering…" Zoey said, grabbing the board.
(Rumi was clutching her purse and drink like they were about to flee the scene.)
"Wait, you're not even wearing a helmet—" Rumi started.
Zoey winked again. "Good thing I'm not using my head, then."
And then, coffee still in hand, she took off at a running start.
"Coming through!" she shouted joyfully. A few of the other skaters scrambled to get out of her way, giving her a straight shot towards—
A STAIRCASE.
Rumi let out a noise that sounded somewhere between a hamster in a garbage disposal and a balloon wheezing.
Zoey launched herself off the staircase like she was auditioning for an action movie and a circus act at the same time.
The board flipped. Sideways. Upside down. Through the fourth dimension, for all Mira knew.
(It was like gravity took one look at Zoey and said, "Yeah, I give up.")
Mira stood, muscles coiled, ready to run to Zoey's side, because there was no way this was going to end well—
And Zoey landed one-footed, corrected, and rode it out like this was a normal Tuesday.
The skater crowd exploded into cheers.
Rumi let out a noise that could generously be described as a shriek.
Some of Zoey’s coffee sloshed out of the cup. But most of it didn't.
And, as if to drive that fact home, Zoey took a slow sip as she hopped off the board, then grinned again, all teeth and cocky energy.
"That one was for my girls!" she called.
She jogged back up the stairs, then hopped onto the board for the rest of the way back. When she dismounted again, the skater guy dabbed her up.
"Legend," he said reverently. "I was expecting you to just grind or something, but a hardflip? You're insane."
Another skater jogged up, holding a Monster Energy. She offered it. "Dude, that was sick. Do you want this? I've got another one in my bag."
Zoey laughed, her nose scrunching up. "No, thanks, man. I've got enough caffeine right here. Unless you want me to die?"
Mira's jaw was still on the ground, honestly. A quick glance at Rumi showed that she wasn't coping much better– her entire face, including her ears, was bright red.
And Zoey was honest-to-god being accosted by all the skaters in the area– people were mostly dabbing her up or clapping her back, but more than a handful were asking for selfies. Like she was some sort of celebrity.
(Someone could probably tell Mira that the sky was green right now, and she'd believe it.)
("That's enough excitement for one day, I think," Zoey said, pulling them away from the crowd before leading the way back to their apartment.)
(But as she babbled on and on about grip tape and how she apparently nearly biffed it mid-air, all Mira could focus on was that her heart was still pounding.)