Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1: Home, Bitter Home

Roll off throttle. Clutch in. Rev throttle. Downshift. Clutch out. 

Rumi tightened her gloves on the handlebars of her Kawasaki, expression taut with concentration. The blindingly quick downshift rolled a burble of excess fuel through the exhaust, manifesting in a loud crack from behind her leg. Asphalt flew by, blurring into grey as she neared 200 kilometers per hour, the inline-four engine screaming into the night sky as if it was a wolf quarreling with the moon. 

She wove through curves in the highway at blistering speeds, perfectly balanced, never faltering in her decisions and always giving drivers a wide berth. Wind whipping in her ears, transmission clicking the next gear into place, the smell of gasoline…it was her happy place. It grounded her. Carving her line into the road, it made her feel as if she was totally free, weightless from the worry of everyday life. 

It was a quiet night, crisp summer air blessing her nose with every inhale, cars few and far between on the city roads and highways. 

The warm glow of an approaching gas station caught the corner of her eye as she decelerated off the next exit. She needed to top off to make the ride home across town, might as well stretch her legs while she had the chance. 

Rumi swung her leg around the body of the bike, reaching up to unbuckle her helmet. Her purple braid swung free, baby hairs forming a fuzzy halo around her face. Brushing her hair aside, she tapped her bank card on the pump, popping the gas nozzle into the filler. As the fuel gushed into the tank, her mind wandered. She didn’t want to go home. Having to return to whatever horrible purgatory that awaited her wasn’t something she looked forward to. Ever. 

Purgatory. 

The state of suffering where sinners atoned for their actions before being let into heaven. It was because of her. She did something wrong, and deserved to suffer. Her sin? She had not even a shadow of an idea. Was it simply trying to exist? To live? Maybe it was the one time Rumi made a snarky remark to Celine a few years back and had lost dinner privileges for three days. 

She winced at the memory. 

The entire world was against her, it seemed. A girl just trying to exist, to live, to be. Yet she was still trapped in this cage like a bird with clipped wings. Some days she wished she could abandon it all. Take whatever she could fit in her backpack, and just ride as far away and as fast as she could. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t leave—not when Celine had done so much for her.

It’s not like Celine wasn’t financially stable, her decades in the entertainment industry had left here more than comfortable, especially considering the modest lifestyle she seemed to prefer. Rumi just couldn’t shake the inclination that she owed Celine for paying for part of her schooling, for her driver’s licensing, even giving her a cheap rent rate and covering groceeries most of the time.

An echo of her godmother’s voice crossed her mind. Rumi had convinced herself for weeks to have that conversation with Celine. That she wanted to move out. To leave. Surely Celine would commend her on having some initiative, some semblance of independence– right? 

How could you abandon me like that?

It was almost as if Celine was standing right behind her. Rumi could practically smell her sickly sweet vanilla perfume. Her freshly laundered cardigans she always wore. The alcohol that reeked on her breath once in a blue moon. She shook her head. She didn’t want to go back. That house may be her own living hell, but it was familiar. Home. For now. 

Besides, it wasn’t like she had a choice. Go home, or suffer the consequences.

Tapping the nozzle on her tank before buttoning it back up, she slid her helmet back on and started her bike back up with an eager growl from the engine. 

The ride home wasn’t long, twenty minutes and some change, but as she crossed the highways and byways, she heard the familiar scream of another bike’s exhaust behind her. A chill ran down her spine. Who was this? It was late…she pleaded with the stars for it not to be anyone creepy. 

All Rumi could see in her mirror was a blindingly bright headlight, too far from her tail for her to make out even what bike they were riding, until the mystery pilot suddenly accelerated and whizzed by her with an eardrum-shattering roar. They were fast. Way faster than Rumi had ever dared to ride. She couldn’t make out much, long pink hair streaming from underneath the helmet and the ritualistic wave Rumi knew all too well. Left hand, two fingers, pointed down at the road. 

Both wheels on the ground.

It wasn’t abnormal for other riders to fall in beside Rumi simply because they perceived her as a woman, but this one just blew past her as if she didn’t exist, save for the wave and the pink ponytail…was it a girl? She shook her head, lips pressed into a thin smile. At least this…person wasn’t weird like most others. 

Rumi pulled into her garage, the door clattering shut behind her as she trudged into the house. A long day at work, combined with her long ride had left her aching for the sweet embrace of her bedsheets and plushies. 

Just do your routine, Rumi.

5 minutes.

You’ll just forget again. 

She gritted her teeth, hanging her helmet up on the wall hook by the door. Sometimes the simplest things were the most difficult, the toil of everyday life and stress of the world revolving around her taxing from even her most ingrained routines. 5 minutes, Rumi. She kept reminding herself, slipping her jacket off to hang next to her helmet. She wore a simple black tank underneath, tucked into her black leather pants. 

From the garage entry to the kitchen, she spotted her purple water bottle sitting alone on the counter, already full. Rumi paused. Something felt out of place. She had left this in her room…hadn’t she? A sense of fear crept over her, an all too familiar feeling that had loomed over her entire childhood…

The light clicked on. 

Rumi gasped, shoulders hunched and eyes wide as a horrifying chill ran down her spine. 

“You sure took your time.” 

Celine. Rumi’s godmother was much too nosy and terribly lacking decorum in acts of diplomacy. It felt as if Rumi couldn’t do anything without Celine breathing down her neck, peering over her shoulder like that one teacher who felt they had to micromanage their students.

No, worse. 

Much, much worse than that. Living with Celine was inconceivably horrifying, like cameras in the bedroom when she was young horrifying. Hidden under the guise of “I just want you to be safe”, Rumi’s time growing up with her had been a period of total control and complete lack of privacy. She couldn’t even come home a little late at night at her ripe age of twenty-four without getting confronted like she had been brought home by the police. 

“Well? I’m not getting any younger. Where were you?” 

Rumi’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, mind scraping the bottom of the barrel to form a thought, even just one sentence to appease the woman standing in front of her. 

“Riding.” She muttered, eyes glued to the kitchen tiles, toe absentmindedly kicking the floor. 

“Where? With who? You turned your location off, by the way. I know when you do that, I’m not stupid.” Celine pressed, her tone increasingly aggravated. 

“No one. Alone. I just rode across town, needed to clear my h–” 

“Oh, so no one to call? Even me?” 

Rumi winced at the interruption. 

“I’m sorry…I just need–”

“What have I always told you?” Tears welled up in Rumi’s eyes, threatening to spill over. “Never say sorry unless you promise to change. How many times is this?” 

Silence. Rumi had completely shut down, now completely focused on not breaking down sobbing. 

“If this happens again, you’re out. I mean it.” Celine sighed. It was the mocking kind of sigh that screams ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed’ except she’s actually furious. 

Rumi forced her tears back. She managed to look up at Celine, but immediately regretted it. The white-hot rage that simmered behind her eyes as their gazes met burned a hole completely through Rumi’s person, singeing her soul on the way out. 

“O–out? You mean, you’re…” Rumi couldn’t finish the sentence, tears glossing her eyes over once again. 

“Out. I’m glad you’re safe, but imagine something happened to you, and I couldn’t help you? I’m sick and tired of worrying about you like you’re some sort of lost puppy, roaming the streets to be shot dead or worse. I can’t deal with it anymore.” 

Celine tilted her head, crossing the distance between her and Rumi in a few steps. She reached out her hand, caressing Rumi’s arm. Rumi flinched, a crackle of terror spreading through her body from the spot Celine had touched her. 

Not again. Please not again. Last time– 

She steeled herself for a strike that never came. 

“I’m going to bed. Goodnight.” She turned to take the stairs up to her bedroom, pausing a few steps up to glance at Rumi one last time.

Her skin burned hot, the contact from Celine’s fingertips feeling as if they left marks on her.  

Rumi waited until Celine had left, slipping her boots off as the sniffles started. She hardly made it upstairs and into her room before she threw herself facedown into her pillow, angry tears streaming from her eyes. Her mind reeled over and around, plagued with thoughts and confusion.

Why is she like this?

What did I do?

I didn’t want to make her upset…I just needed to think…

Why can’t I live?

Rumi understood that Celine was very big on punctuality, but how was she supposed to follow the rule when the rule constantly changed? Sometimes she would be fine with Rumi being out and about until midnight or later, or sometimes would move the goalposts to impossible times that had already passed when Rumi was all the way across town. 

She rolled over, slipping her phone from her back pocket. Opening the location app her and Celine used, she thumbed over the switch to begin sharing her location again. Almost immediately, her phone buzzed with a text message. 

Celine June 24, 2025

Celine

Thank you. Look how easy that was.

A defeated groan clawed its way from Rumi’s throat. She clicked her phone off and tossed it on the floor, away from her reach. She hated Celine…hated everything about her life and her situation…that can’t possibly be normal.

Right?

She should be appreciative, more receptive to Celine. After all, she was providing a roof over Rumi’s head for much cheaper rent than anywhere else in town, didn’t ask for much other than help with food and chores from time to time, and even let her keep her bike in the garage instead of out in the elements. The least Rumi could do is be home on time, be a little better for her in appreciation? 

Wait. 

Rumi sat up, nose dripping and eyes rimmed red from crying. She had forgotten something. 

5 minutes.

Before she inevitably succumbed to the sweet release of sleep, she padded across the hall to the bathroom, reaching under the sink to pull out an injection kit. Fumbling around with her belt buckle, her mind wandered back to the rider who she saw on the freeway. She recognized the exhaust note, it was a Yamaha. Probably an R1, seeing as she had gotten passed so quickly, those bigger bikes were impossibly fast. 

She checked the vial of medicine for cloudy bits, then, satisfied with the clarity of the oil, drew the liquid into the syringe. The wave still played back in her mind. 

Both wheels on the ground.

She wished her life would keep both wheels on the ground. Preferably four, some semblance of consistency and stability would be nice. 

Rumi took a deep breath, pressing the needle into her thigh with a wince. 

Almost done, Rumi. 

The needle left an ache in her thigh muscle as she applied pressure with a gauze pad, ripping off a bandage wrapper with her teeth. She absolutely hated doing it, but the saving grace of only having to do it once a week was her silver lining. Ever since she had started her meds a few years prior, her mental health had improved, but she still had a long way to go. Slapping the sticky bandage on her leg, she took a deep breath, standing up to look at herself in the mirror. 

The same Rumi she had always known looked back at her, the long purple hair still intertwined into a braid, soft features surrounding soft, brown eyes. Her fingers picked at the hair tie keeping her hair up, slowly working the loops off her ends. She undid the braid slowly, slight waves persisting in her hair as she massaged the strands out of their places. 

Braid undone, bandage on her thigh, she gazed back at herself in the mirror. She didn’t hate what she saw, no…but she didn’t love it either. The girl in the mirror seemed like a stranger that had that ache of familiarity she couldn’t quite place. 

Quickly brushing her teeth, she quelled the thought of any and all bad things with the promise of sleep. The sweet, sweet escape of slumber…gods, she almost drooled thinking about it. Sleep was her escape. The only time she didn’t have to pretend to be nice to her coworkers just for the sake of professionalism, the only time she didn’t have to deal with all of Celine’s bullshit. 
The only time where, even if she wasn’t awake, she could simply exist in peace. 

Rumi slipped back into her room, almost forgetting to shut the light off before she collapsed into bed, crawling under the covers as her eyes fluttered shut, face painted by the soft moonlight pouring in her window. 

 Both wheels on the ground, Rumi. 

Chapter Text

“-I told you, I’m fucking busy!”

Mira snapped at the guy leering over her shoulder at the table, her body tense with apprehension. The man’s face contorted into a twisted smile, words slurring from his tongue accompanied by the stench of liquor. She hated the smell of alcohol.

“Come onnn sweetheart, just one peek and I’ll leave ya alone– promise.”

Mira rolled her eyes, scoffing in disgust. Why tonight?

“Just one look? You promise?” Maybe he actually meant it.

“Yeeaaaah, I prooomise–”

Maybe not. Something stank of danger in this whole situation.

He stumbled back, almost losing his balance to make room as she stood, looking down at him. Her nose wrinkled. She was taller than him, lanky, wearing a halfway unzipped leather jacket with a faded anime tee underneath, matching leather pants, and her nice motorcycle boots. He reeked of alcohol, probably the cheapest bourbon the restaurant had in their well and god knows how many beers, judging by the aura of stale bread he had following him around.

“Fine then.” Without another comment, she grabbed her helmet, leaving a neat stack of bills on the table to pay her tab.

Mira felt uneasy, angry at this man for ruining her night. She had bigger things to think about, for the love of god. Maybe if she just showed him what he wanted, he’d actually go away, like he said.

The evening summer air was a welcome change from the almost stifling air of the restaurant. She took a deep breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Oh, the things she endured for the best chicken wings in town.

She was painfully aware of the man on her heels. She turned, arms crossed sternly, gesturing to her bike with her chin.

“There she is. Happy?”

The man shuffled over, taking in the angles of her bike in silence. A pristine Yamaha R1, all gloss black with perfect pink pinstripes to accentuate the aerodynamic ridges. Headlights narrow, like a pair of menacing eyes, windscreen tinted to match the rest of the bike, almost disappearing in the night shadows.

“I’ll take it. How much– hic– do you want for it?” The man slurred.

Mira blinked. Twice. Shook her head in disbelief.

“Want for it? I’m not selling it, you wanted to look at it!”

“Yeah, to buy it. I’ll take it off your hands. Besides–” He took a step towards Mira, a dangerous glint in his eye. “Pretty girl like you shouldn’t even be on one of these. Wouldn’t want to bust up that pretty face–”

Mira had heard enough.

“Listen. I’m not selling it, it’s mine. How hard is that to understand?”

“Well if you ain’t selling…” The man reached under his shirt. Grabbing something, a weapon? Mira wasn’t going to find out, her fist already hurtling towards his jaw. A satisfying crack as her knuckles connected with his jaw rang out, his body crumpling to the ground like a marionette puppet whose strings had just been snipped.

Heart racing, Mira didn’t think twice. Slipping on her helmet, she grabbed her gloves from behind the windscreen, fiddling with the key in the ignition. She hesitated, seeing movement out of the corner of her eye. A lone figure was standing outside the restaurant, a young woman. Mira’s breath hitched. Did she see what happened?

Hurrying with the key, she finally started the bike, straddling the body as she walked it out of her parking space. She threw a glance back. The woman was just standing there. Mira couldn’t make much out, seeing as how most of the restaurant front was in shadow save for a single lamp above the door, she was small, had her hair pulled up in two buns atop her head.

Mira shook her head, moving her gaze back in front of her, taking off from the parking lot with a single decisive twist of the throttle. Her heart was still racing. This guy was delusional, trying to just take her bike from her like that. Too much alcohol and the wrong kind of person, who even knows what was going through his head?

The adrenaline wearing off, she fell into her rhythm, weaving back and forth across her lane, warming up every edge of her tires. She needed to put distance between herself and the restaurant. Did that woman see everything? Was she going to call the police? Panicked thoughts raced through her mind.

Then, the pain started.

Her right hand seared in white-hot pain from where it had connected with the man’s jaw, throbbing underneath her armored glove. Mira winced. Nothing crazy, it couldn’t be broken, right? She pushed the pain away as best she could, but it still sat there, hanging over her like a raincloud that wouldn’t go away, a dull ache that she grew used to. Just like she always did.

Slipping onto a freeway ramp, she slammed through gears, every mechanical bit clicking into place perfectly as her bike rocketed down the road. Weaving, cutting, taking every gap she saw possible, she rode for several miles before slowing down. The cars had filtered off the roads, the last of the night traffic taking their respective exits, probably heading home from work or a night out.

Mira finally took a moment to sit up, taking in the calmness of the night around her. The crisp air whipped by her, the pink tip of her pony flapping around from underneath her helmet. Usually, she listened to music on the ride, some alternative metal or indie pop punk playlist, but not tonight. Tonight was different, silent. Heavier.

She came up behind another biker, giving them that familiar two finger wave all riders knew as she accelerated past them– her? Mira did a double take, peeking over her left shoulder. It was a girl, with an impressively long purple braid waving delicately in the wind. Mira smiled. She never saw other girl riders, a sighting rarer than a blue moon, it felt like.

Maybe she’d see her again sometime.

…

Mira pulled into her apartment complex, turning off her bike at the entrance and walking it in. Didn’t want to wake all her neighbors up. She settled the bike in its parking spot, leaning it on the kickstand as she swung her leg over. Trodding up the stairs, everything started to hit her at once. The events of the evening, the panic of fleeing the scene of the…crime?

Why she was alone at that restaurant in the first place.

Most normal people went on dates, hung out with friends, went to bars. Not Mira. Mira preferred to keep to herself, there weren’t many people she could stand being around without pushing them away.

She unlocked her door, slipping her boots off inside the entryway. Mira’s apartment was cozy, short entryway with a spot to hang all her coats and helmet opening up to a spacious living room plastered with posters, a TV on the wall hung opposite the couch and massive beanbag, a vinyl player nestled between two stereo speakers with a huge bookshelf full of vinyl records and CD’s she had collected over the years, her current listening fixations strewn around the player in their sleeves.

“Snowy. Come on, I know you’re in there.” Mira coaxed, kneeling down below the record player. Two amber eyes materialized from what seemed like thin air as the cat yawned languidly with a content mrrp. Snowy, aka, the blackest cat to ever exist, stretched his body from underneath the table, tail quivering in excitement as he woke up.

“You must’ve eaten.” Mira picked up the feline, immediately confirming her suspicions with his smelly chicken breath. Snowy settled into her shoulder, purring like a motor as she made her way down the hall. She set the cat down, flopping onto her bed without bothering to change clothes. She stared up at the ceiling, a trembling sigh finally escaping her lips.

It was that time of year.

Mira slipped her gloves off, first inspecting her right hand that still ached. Not as bad, but the pain was still there. She brushed her fingers over the bruised knuckle. Just a mark, no cut, and seeing as how the pain dulled, probably not broken either. Then, she slipped her ring off from her left ring finger. Her lip trembled as the soft light refracted through the gorgeous diamond studded atop a rose gold band, sturdy yet not too chunky.

“I miss you.” Mira barely could choke the words out, throat clenched with sadness as the first tear spilled. She clutched the ring in her hand, holding it close to her heart. It felt as if someone had just driven a stake through her chest, everything she did to avoid the rib-crushing sadness washing away with no one around to see her cry.

The tears ran down her temples, into her hair, onto the bed. They kept coming–she let them flow, until she couldn’t anymore.

That feeling after you’ve just finished crying, sobbing your heart out where you can hardly breathe, your ribs hurt from gasping for hair, eyes puffy from rubbing. Mira took one last look at the ring, taking a deep, trembling breath. She slipped an alcohol wipe from its package in her bedside table, softly, reverently cleaning the ring with every ounce of respect she had. She placed it in the open ring box on the table, eyes still glued to it. She couldn’t put it back. Not yet.

She closed the translucent lid, standing up shakily. Snowy mrrp’d from his perch on his cat tree in the corner. Mira padded over, scratching his favorite spot underneath his chin. He started purring again.

“You miss her too, don’t you? Can cats even miss people? Fuck if I know–” She muttered, Snowy blissfully running his face across her fingers, getting his fix of head scratches.

Losing someone, whether to the sands of time, to sickness, to unfortunate circumstances, was never easy. Mira knew what losing family was like, grandparents, aunts, uncles passing away when she was young. It always felt…surreal. As if it was inevitable, accepted long before it actually happened.

Losing someone you were going to marry?

It had been a year. Three hundred and sixty-five days of putting her head down, pushing from one day to the next as if nothing had happened, as if–

Ah fuck, she was crying again.

Softer this time, silent tears running down her cheeks as she peeled off her clothes. She needed to shower, get the energy of the day washed away before she fell back in her pit of sorrow. Mira had fallen down the pit once, and she had sworn never to fall again. It took her months of forcing herself outside, to the gym, to work, just to function again. Even then, after all her work, she still felt broken.

Grabbing a towel, still sniffling, she started the water. Steam billowed up almost instantly, the hot water from the rainfall shower washing away the sweat and grime instantly as she stepped in.

Shampoo first.

Mira massaged her minty shampoo into her scalp, the infused cooling herbs soothing her scalp and cleansing any residue from her hair spray. She sniffled again, a rogue tear still slipping from the corner of her eye.

Just like she used to do for Mira.

Conditioner–

Mira tried not to think about it, taking deep breaths of the steamy air. She massaged the gentle moisturizing mask into her ends.

Skin.

She grabbed her scrubbing mitt, dumping a cocoa butter wash onto it. She sighed, breath shaking as the dirt of the day washed away, down the drain. She wished her feelings would follow. Maybe not down the drain, gone forever–

Maybe just saved for later until she could fully feel them. Process them.

It was too easy for Mira to just shove aside everything that was thrown at her, work, family stuff, but this…

Losing her fiance had completely and utterly broken her. She felt broken, incomplete, almost useless now. What purpose did she have here, if not to love the woman who loved her?

Yet still she pushed on. Day by day.

Hana would have wanted her to.

Mira stepped out of the shower, roughly toweling her hair dry before wrapping herself up in it, popping her toothbrush in her mouth. She swept a hand across the foggy mirror, illuminated by the backlight built into the wall. Her eyes were red, puffy, but free of tears. Her brown eyes steeled again, the sad glassiness disappearing. The walls were coming back up.

She shuffled across the hall, rummaging through her dresser to throw on one of her many oversized anime tees and a pair of shorts, before sinking down on her mattress. She turned to shut the lamp off, hesitating for a moment. The ring was still on her bedside table.

Mira picked up the case, gazing through the glass lid. She settled into her covers, still turning the case over and over in her fingers.

The lamp clicked off, nothing but the moon illuminating the room.

The diamond sparkled in the moonlight, twinkling at Mira as if it were a faraway star. A hoarse whisper escaped her lips, as the weight of the day pulled her eyelids down.

“I miss you, Hana. I miss you so much.”

Chapter Text

Click. Click click. Click.

Zoey’s tongue poked out the corner of her mouth as she concentrated.

Click. Click. Clickclick.

The sounds of her controller were all that broke the silence, save for her concentrated breathing and creaks of her chair whenever she shifted around.

She liked fighting games, games that required split second reactions, memorizing what seemed like pages upon pages of combos and movesets, and a desire to be the best. She was the best, mastering game after game and absolutely dominating anyone she came across. Mortal Kombat, Street Fighter, Guilty Gear, Smash Bros., you name it, she could absolutely dumpster anyone that crossed her.

Jump. Air kick. R-R-B combo. Block. Block again. Bait in, then jump. Heavy Kick.

She dissected her opponent’s playstyle, pushing her limits until she found what made them tick. That was the most fun part of the game for her, discovering how her enemy’s mind worked. If she could understand it, she could beat it. Easy, right?

The green Victory banner flashed across her screen, opponent’s character falling to the ground in defeat. Zoey slid her controller on the desk with a satisfied smirk, letting out a deep breath she didn’t even realize she had been holding.

“GODS you’re so annoying. Who spam dodges like that? You peasant, bow to your QUEEN!”

She stood, stretching the gamer cramps out of her body before offering her hand to the screen in a mock curtsy.

“I didn’t even have to ult, either. Handicapped.”

A voice finally rang out from the silence in her headset, smile audible from the other end.

“GG, Z. Bowing as we speak.” Zoey rolled her eyes, giggling as she fanned herself;

“You better be, Myst. I’ll come over and make sure you are.” Myst was one of her friends from college, graduating the same year as her. His hair had been so long that he tripped over a backpack on the first day of freshman year because he couldn’t see and landed right in Zoey’s lap. “Maybe if you finally got a haircut–” she teased.

“I did, actually.” Zoey stopped her antics, plopping back down in her chair.

“You did? I thought you’d die if you cut your hair shorter!”

“Not much shorter, just a little off the ends, some room in the bangs so I could–”

“Wait, so you’re telling me you can see now? You were like, basically blind before. That’s crazy,” Zoey cracked, spinning around in circles in her chair.

Myst chuckled dryly on the other end of the Discord call.

“Basically blind is a bit of a stretch, you think? I could still drive, but what would you know about that, hm?”

Zoey sat up indignantly, stopping her spins to defend herself.

“Hey, that was uncalled for, mister! I get around just fine on the bus, thank you very much.”

She all but refused to get her license, claiming she was fine with the– albeit extensive and well-maintained– public transport systems in the city. Plus, the extra fees and work to maintain a car…pfft, who wanted to do that, anyways?

“Sure, Z, sure.”

Zoey completely switched topics, as if a switch had flicked in her brain.

ADHD life.

“I think I might go make food, I’m starving.” Her eyes wandered, racking her brain for what she had laying around in the fridge. “My chicken is calling to me, I can almost hear it from here.”

“Or– hear me out– we go to that place across town with the garlic black pepper wings and the lychee milk tea.” Myst countered, already confident Zoey would take him up on the offer.

“But I don’t get paid unt–”

“Get me for gas when you get paid and I’ll cover you,” He interjected, anticipating her excuse. “I mean it. I owe you for the movie last week anyways.”

.”No– you can’t do that, are you sure?” Zoey sat up. How dare her friend do something nice for her? She couldn’t allow him, she had to be the one to do nice things to thank him for his friendship– right?

“Can and will, bestie. I’ll pick you up in 20.” The call disconnect sound beeped in her ear. Zoey sat, speechless.

Contrary to her reaction, this was a completely normal situation for Myst and Zoey. Zoey has this grand idea to take Myst out to some activity, she pays for everything even though Myst offers to split it, he lets her pay then finds a way to sneakily pay her back by covering her on another outing. Rinse and repeat, it never ended differently. Alternating who covered the bill, not that big of a deal, no?

Zoey still couldn’t move, her mind racing.

I have to pay something, right? I know we’ve been friends forever but I don’t want him to feel like I’m freeloading or anything…I was just going to make food here…is he going to resent me for not paying?

Back and forth, back and forth, she swayed in her chair. Blink. Blink. A shake of her head, bangs swaying. She finally snapped out of it, jumping up almost as if she startled herself into getting a move on. Checking her watch, her heart skipped a beat.

Five minutes?? I wasn’t sitting there for that long– was I?

With no time to speculate where her extra 15 minutes had gone (a thief had stolen them, surely), she raided her closet for a change of clothes. Swapping sweatpants for a pair of khaki cargo joggers, she slipped on her favorite pair of chunky beater sneakers and made a beeline for the door, grabbing a baggy dark green hoodie and her satchel on the way out.

It took a moment for Zoey to get to the ground floor, her high-rise apartment building having the slowest elevator known to man. As the elevator car neared the ground, the dark wall gradually revealed windows, showing the open lobby and sitting area, framed by floor to ceiling glass letting the last of the rays of sunset crawl across the tiled floor. She glanced at her watch. One minute to spare.

She skipped across the glowing tiles, the sunset illuminating her face as a last goodbye to the day, a friendly wave given from the doorman as he opened the massive glass entrance door for her. Normally she’d stop and chat, but she was on a mission to get outside on time.

As her sneakers hit the pavement of the sidewalk, a loud crackle followed by a familiar rumble made its presence known as Myst’s Subaru rolled up in front of her. Zoey gave herself a small fistpump. Perfect timing.

The door popped open for her, revealing Myst reaching across the center console to let her in. She jumped up and down with a wave, hopping into the passenger seat, grinning ear to ear.

“Perfect timing! I hate how slow that elevator is, I was worried I’d leave you waiting for me.” She clicked her seatbelt in, the belt almost too tall for her.

“No worries at all, Z, we’re in no rush.” Just the sound of his level voice helped calm her down, a frequency of reason to the tumultuous thoughts that raced through her mind sometimes. Zoey relaxed a little, shoulders losing a bit of their tension as she settled back into the bolstered seats. Myst shifted into first, the engine rumbling as he pulled away from her building.

Zoey looked around at the city as they drove, the streetlights coming on as the light dimmed, the traffic gradually filtering off the main roads and leaving the open highway to her, Myst, and a few stragglers. Something was different– new about his car. She just hadn’t figured it out yet.

“Thanks for picking me up, Myst. You sure I can just get you later this week?” She asked, still unsure if he meant it. Even though he had offered to give her a ride and spot her. There was still something different, it was pissing her off that she couldn’t see what it was. Myst chuckled, a light laugh full of sincerity.

“Of course I’m sure. You paid for the movie and snacks last week, I’ll get you tonight. Promise.”

Zoey sighed, half concentrated on the conversation and half focused on finding…whatever it was Myst had changed. She was determined to at some point.

“I really appreciate you, I just had to pay rent so things were kinda tight for a bit, but I was able to get food and everything so…” If an eyebrow raise were audible, Zoey would’ve heard it. Myst picked up her trailed off phrase.

“So…money is tight? You didn’t tell me that, what’s going on?”

Zoey sniffed. Again.

Was it the air freshener?

“Hm? Oh, it’s just this job. Can’t believe they pay me this little, it’s criminal. My parents help me out a little on rent because they want me to come visit them in the US from time to time, so I save money for that.” Myst’s eyebrow was still arched under his bangs.

“Parents are helping you with rent, you visit the States every now and then, and things are still tight? Rent for an older building like that can’t possibly be that much, I know it’s not like ancient but still–” He mused, the gears spinning in his head. “Sounds like we just need to find you a new job.”

Zoey chuckled dryly. It was definitely a new air freshener. What was that– watermelon?

“I wish it were that simple, Myst. I’ve tried looking around, but nothing’s really stuck out–” She turned to face him. “Did you get a new air freshener? Something’s different about your car.” Myst’s eyes lit up.

“I did, actually! It’s watermelon guava, you like it?”

Zoey giggled.

“I knew it! It was killing me from the second I got in the car.” She fished in her satchel, popping out a small palm-sized box. “Almost the same flavor as this. Can I?” Myst nodded, checking over his shoulder as he changed lanes.

Zoey put her lips to the vape, inhaling the evaporated liquid from the pod into her lungs. The sweet taste of minty watermelon rolled over her tongue, the familiar wave of calm washing over her as the nicotine hit her bloodstream. She hadn’t always had a nicotine fix, but recently had started to rely on it as a short-term mood stabilizer. In some small corner of her brain, something about smelling that new scent in Myst’s car had reminded her of that little box’s existence in her bag. She slid the passenger window down a crack, exhaling out the gap.

“You’re really right though, Myst. I do need a new job.”

The relatively short drive ended with them in the parking lot of their chicken wing spot. Myst unlocked the doors, the two friends exiting the vehicle in tandem. His Subaru was wrapped in a deep burgundy vinyl, flecked with sparkles that twinkled in the light of the streetlamps, all sat atop four perfectly shiny gold wheels. It was lowered slightly, nothing crazy, but just enough to tuck the tops of the tires into the wells of the body, a perfect fitment. Myst locked the car, looking back over his shoulder to admire his work.

“Didn’t you do all this yourself?” Zoey asked, admiring the twinkles. Myst nodded, a proud smile on his face. Wait, his face! Zoey could actually see his face!

“I did, took me for-ever but it’s so worth it in the end. Working on a car is…almost like a relationship. You learn–”

“Your haircut! I completely forgot!” Zoey blurted, coming closer to get a look at him in the light. Myst grinned.

“You like it? My hair hasn’t been this short since high school.” Zoey took a longer look at him, eyes flicking across his features intently. Studying. Memorizing. She could actually make out his features for once, boyish smile that danced across his sharp jaw, small but sharp nose that led up to his sparkling brown eyes peeking from under his blue bangs.

“I love it! It suits you much better than that–” She paused, searching for the word.

“Mop?” Myst offered, making his way toward the entrance, Zoey following in his stride with a giggle.

“Noo, not mop, mop is much too– yeah, actually, that’s pretty accurate,” she snickered.

“Hey–”

“You said it first!”

“You agreed with it.”

The banter continued, shots firing back and forth like warships trading volleys, until Myst interrupted with a slight nudge to Zoey’s shoulder, pointing at a motorcycle parked out front. An impressed whistle left his lips. “Such a clean bike. I’ve seen the girl who rides it around town, I think.”

Zoey’s attention was caught.

“Girl? Oh, she has good taste.” She admired the lines on the bike, the all-black gloss paint, the pink stripes, the aggressive badassery of the entire bike. She murmured, half to Myst, half to herself.

“What kind of bike even is this? I know your car is a Subaru and my mom drives a Kia but I don’t know anything about bikes…” She was in love. All the perfect angles of the body were so captivating to her, in the same way Rinzler from TRON: Legacy caught her eye. Sleek, quiet, just colorful enough to make a statement.

“Yamaha R1. Says it right there,” Myst said simply, pointing to a stylized “R1” on the side of the bike. He gently guided her towards the door, away from the bike. Zoey looked back over her shoulder for as long as she possibly could.

Going inside felt like a divorce.

Finally getting their table set with the hostess, the two friends sat in a booth, menu cards in front of them. Zoey looked around, taking in the decor of the dining room. “I think they remodeled since we were here last. Wasn’t there a tapestry of two dancing cats on the wall over there?” She waved the wrapped straw at the now-blank wall to their right. “And there, the bar used to be in the corner.” Pointing again with the straw like it was a ruler in a classroom at the shiny new bartop in the center of the crowd of booths. Myst looked around. She was right.

“Huh. I didn’t even notice. I thought the tapestry was funny.”

“Me too, I wonder what they did with it.”

They both ordered the same thing, simple milk tea with house-made lychee syrup and a big basket of black pepper garlic chicken wings with a spicy chili oil dipping sauce. Familiarity was comforting, especially to Zoey. Even small shifts in environments could throw her off. She paid such close attention to the details that when little odds and ends she remembered weren’t there anymore, it felt as if reality itself had shifted without her. The server dropped their drinks off at the table, iced milk tea forming droplets of condensate on the tall glass mug.

“You think it’s just like, sitting in the back?” Myst sipped his tea, savoring the sweetness of the lychee.

“What, the tapestry? That’d be funny.” Zoey tried hers, humming with content. Just how she remembered.

“Imagine trying to sell it. Who would even buy it?”

“I would! In a heartbeat. No longer.” Another sip. “I’d put it in my hallway. Everyone coming down my hall to my room or the bathroom has to see it.”

“Why not the living room?” He suggested, filing her interest in the back of his mind.

“Too many things on my wall, I’d have to move around a bookshelf or three, maybe even remount my TV. It’s just too much work,” she sighed. “Work. Ugh.”

Myst nodded, stirring his tea.

“Worth it, though. All for a sick-ass tapestry of some dancing cats, right?” Zoey didn’t respond. Her eyes were locked on a corner booth, housing a lone woman sitting with her back to the duo, a basket of wings in front of her. “Zoey?”

“That’s her, isn’t it?”

“Huh?” Myst craned his neck to look where Zoey was staring, only for her to slap his wrist, her words a hiss.

“Don’t look, just casually kinda– glance over there.”

“Okay, okay, geez.” Myst acted like he was pulling his phone out of his back pocket, catching a stray glance at the woman in the corner. Her back was turned, but that long pink hair was unmistakable.

“Yeah, that’s definitely her. I’ve seen her around, more than once. Rides a lot. Never talked to her though.”

Zoey propped her chin in her hand, a goofy smile creeping across her lips.

“Pink hair? It matches the bike. Soo cute.”

“You think she dyes it to match?”

“Nah, I think her hair is just pink. She got the bike done to match her hair,” Zoey concluded.

The food arrived, steaming hot and smelling absolutely delectable. Zoey dipped her chicken in the chili sauce, cheersing Myst’s first wing in a light tap before digging into the pile of golden-brown goodness. Not a word was uttered as breading crunched and sauce dipped. The chicken was incredibly tender and juicy, leaving no option open other than to practically slurp the meat straight off the bone after the crispy shell of the breading was bit into. The garlicky, peppery notes of the chicken was only accentuated by the chili sauce, spice settling into their tongues and sinuses beginning to run in a glorious torture of incredible flavor.

The entire meal went by in silence, occasional grunts of satisfaction and sighs of relief from drinking the milk tea to soothe the spice piercing the quiet. Just how it always was. Zoey loved having a friend she could share good food with and not have to worry about being judged for how she ate, or how much she ate, or what she ate in general.

Myst slid his basket away with a deep sigh and a quiet burp under his breath. Zoey did the same, breathing slow and deep.

“So…full…” She said weakly, slouching down in the booth. Myst did the same, their knees bumping under the table.

“I swear…this place gets better every time we come…” Myst sighed. “I might have to run to the restroom before we go, though–”

Zoey nodded, eyes half closed. She felt his presence leave the table with some quick murmur about him paying the tab that she hardly heard. A moment passed, she regained her senses. Sucking down the last of the creamy lychee tea, she stood with a stretch before heading to the door. She needed some fresh air. Curious, she tossed one last look at that corner booth.

Empty.

Oh well. Maybe she’d see her again, Myst did see her around, right?

She left the restaurant, crossing from the warm interior of the dining room to the cool night air of the outdoors, hand slipping into her bag to find– she halted.

The biker girl was still there, facing the door so Zoey actually got a good look at her face. Sharp, defined features, thin lips, and two long strands of loose pink hair down the sides of her face, astray from the rest of her pony, dressed head to toe in black leather with an unzipped jacket and a faded Nana tee.

Pink hair, rode motorcycles, and she had good taste in anime?

She somehow looked both nothing and everything like Zoey expected the woman to look, but nothing could have prepared Zoey for how tall she was. Zoey stood at an even five foot one (and a half), but this woman was at least a whole head taller than her, maybe five foot ten? Eleven? Her heart skipped a beat.

There was a man outside with the mystery rider, greasy black hair, they were talking about something. No, disagreeing. The rider’s brows were creased, words harsh but hard to make out, her husky voice firm and assertive. Her voice?

Keep it together.

Zoey realized she was staring and fiddled with her phone, trying desperately to listen in.

“-selling it, you wanted to look at it!”

“Yeah, to buy it. I’ll take it off your hands. Besides, a pretty girl like you shouldn’t even be on one of these. Wouldn’t want to bust up that pretty face–”

Zoey’s eyes rolled in disgust. Unbelievable. He was just harassing her!

“Listen. I’m not selling it, it’s mine. How hard is that to understand?”

“Well if you ain’t selling…” Zoey heard his sentence trail off, just before a dull thud caused her to look up again. The biker was hurriedly slipping her helmet on, the man motionless on the pavement. Her heart rate spiked. Did she just witness attempted assault?

The bike roared to life, startling Zoey with just how incredibly loud it was even standing ten meters away. She looked up, hoping to catch one last glance of the biker before she sped off. Her heart stopped.

She was looking right back at Zoey.

Shitshitshitshit.

Revving the throttle, the rider glided out of the parking space, looking back over her shoulder once.

At Zoey.

Seeing the bike was one thing, all it did was make Zoey want a motorcycle of her own, but seeing the rider? With her long hair, her husky voice, her height…yeah, Zoey wasn’t going to be able to stop thinking about her for the foreseeable future.

Chapter Text

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Rumi’s alarm clock screeched incessantly, shattering her perfectly comfy veil of sleep as her eyes fluttered open. She groaned into the pillow, debating on hitting snooze for the third time– nope. She had promised herself she’d get up today.

She rolled out of bed with one final complaint into her pillow, pulling on a pair of her kevlar-lined jeans and tossing a plain top over her sports bra. She glanced at her phone while she headed to the bathroom. Nothing new.

Typical.

Sometimes she wished the barren desert of her notification bar would have something, anything to catch her attention, but time and time again she found no new messages waiting for her. Rumi’s life was quiet, more time to focus on work, on hobbies– but was the simplicity really as nice as it seemed?

Rumi sighed.

She desperately needed friends.

Real ones.

Friends who didn’t run away, who didn’t shun her for being herself, didn’t ridicule her–

Friends who loved her.

She brushed her teeth hurriedly, then her hair. Her fingers worked her purple locks into their familiar braid, a ritual she adopted to keep her grounded in reality. If all else crumbled around her– at least she had her braid. Rumi had never cut it, only some snips here and there to trim split ends and shape it for easier care. The braid was her trademark, her signature to herself, yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all performative. That she was trying too hard.

Rumi shook her head, trying to knock the thoughts loose as if they were cobwebs.

Being trans was not easy in the slightest, making the conscious choice to shatter the very essence of one’s being in order to embrace the true soul hidden within– but she did it anyway. To Rumi, finally taking the leap to trust herself for once in her life was just the first step. And every step after that?

One foot in front of the other, one at a time. A marathon, not a sprint.

Rumi slipped the last tie over her ends, sealing it all in place with some hairspray and patting the last few strands in place. Not bad for a quick job, a few wonky bits, but it’s not like she was going on stage or anything crazy. (ha ha) Besides, she was riding today, the helmet would make it look a little frumpy regardless– who would care about that?

She took a look at herself in the mirror, forcing her eyes to meet her own in the glass.

Her face was getting rounder, the sharp jaw she once had slowly softening to a feminine curve along her cheek. Facial hair was near non-existent thanks to laser treatments, just a pluck of a singular runaway hair every now and again. Her own brown eyes stared back at her, gaze intent and scrutinizing.

Was she happy with how she looked? No– was anyone truly happy with their appearance, though? After almost two years of all her hard work, she could finally look herself in the mirror. That was something tangible, something she could measure.

After almost two years, she was finally beginning to accept herself.

You’re not performative. You’re Rumi– always will be.

Rumi gave herself a small smile, reassurance blossoming in her chest even though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She took her phone out and snapped a picture of herself, adding it to her folder filled with hundreds of other mirror pictures just like it before leaving the bathroom.

A selfie a day keeps the dysphoria away–

It was silly, but who said silly wasn’t effective?

Rumi crept down the hall to the top of the stairs, listening carefully before descending the steps. Her heart thudded in her chest as she strained her ears. A few seconds passed– she heard nothing.

Good. Celine was still asleep. Nothing could ruin her morning quicker than an unnecessary interaction with her godmother. It was one of Celine’s many talents, if you could call it that.

Rumi slipped into the mudroom, grabbing the rest of her gear and her laptop bag before mashing the button on the wall. Shards of light shot into the darkness of the garage, the door clattering open to reveal her bike, her baby waiting so patiently for her. She threw a leg over the body, feeling the familiar weight of the machine between her legs as she lifted the bike off the kickstand. She clicked the key once, the fuel pump whirring beneath her in response. A press of the engine start button, and–

Nothing.

Her brows knit together behind her tinted visor. It wasn’t the battery, the key was all the way to the start position, kickstand was up, bike was in neutral–

Oh.

She sheepishly flicked the killswitch with her thumb, the engine finally roaring to life in response to her start button.

Rookie mistake.

She chided herself, pressing a ridged button on the controller on the side of her helmet that connected to the garage door. If Celine was actually still asleep, there’s no way she slept through that. As the door rattled shut behind her, she rolled off the curb and to the asphalt.

To freedom.

A short ride later, Rumi coasted into the parking lot of her favorite tea shop, parking her bike amongst the other two-wheeled counterparts. She popped her helmet off, smoothing her wispy halo of helmet hair back before entering the cozy cafe. A bell softly dinged when she opened the door, the girl behind the counter looking up to give her a beaming smile.

“Welcome in!”

Rumi returned the smile, albeit a bit more timidly than the girl at the bar. She perused the menu, feeling the eager gaze of the employee on her as she struggled to decide what to drink.

“I’ll just have a milk tea, please, and can you put a drizzle of caramel in it?”

“Abso-flippin-lutely! Anything else?”

Rumi took a moment to actually take a look at the barista, still smiling back at her from ear to ear. She was short. Like, really short. Her toothy smile almost sparkled back at Rumi, brown eyes twinkling with earnestness, her jet black hair pulled up in two space buns sat atop her head.

A hint of a smile danced its way across Rumi’s lips.

Rumi glanced down at the lopsided nametag clipped on the girl’s sweater, next to a pin with a turtle on it.

Zoey.

“For now. I might get something later, I’ll be here for a bit.”

Fishing around in her pocket for her card, she popped it from its holder and handed it to Zoey.

“Sounds good! Any fun plans ya got today?”

Rumi shook her head.

“Not really, just trying to find a new job, that’s all.”

Zoey’s eyes lit up like she’d just won the lottery.

“Really? Me too, I’ve been searching for weeks and there’s nothing! It’s actually so impossible.” She paused, as if remembering to press another dialogue option in an RPG game. “I’m Zoey, by the way. She/her. Nice to meet ya…?” Zoey trailed off, sticking a hand out.

Rumi blinked. Surprised.

Pronouns? No one ever gave theirs first, only ever asked for hers.

If they even bothered going that far.

She stumbled over her words, still surprised, clasping Zoey’s hand in hers to requite the handshake. Her hand was warm.

“R-Rumi. She/her.”

Zoey bowed her head, almost reverently, smile still wide and toothy as ever.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Rumi. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before, I’d definitely recognize your amazing braid if I ever saw you. Ugh, and your bike is so cool–”

Rumi raised an eyebrow. Zoey had just stopped talking for some reason–

Oh.

Rumi was still holding Zoey’s hand in the world’s longest handshake.

A rush of red shot from her heart to the tips of Rumi’s ears. She let go, offering a nervous chuckle.

“Sorry, I– um, I just–”

Rumi felt the veil of awkwardness fall between them, the kind that suffocated her from talking to the person ever again, only for it to immediately be washed away by Zoey’s laugh. A bubbly, adorable laugh that could light up even the darkest room.

She could listen to that laugh for the rest of her life.

“It’s okay! You wanna sit at the bar? You don’t have to, but like, you totally can if you want.” She gestured to the row of empty tall chairs lined up at the counter, sliding Rumi’s card back to her.

Rumi took the card as Zoey zipped around behind the counter, making Rumi’s milk tea.

Maybe she should. Zoey seemed sweet enough. Besides, she wanted to try and make new friends.

She hesitantly slid onto one of the stools, hardly settling into the chair before Zoey appeared in front of her with a tall milk tea and a beaming smile.

“Ta-da! Did I make it right?” Zoey practically vibrated on the other side of the counter. Rumi took the cup gratefully, pressing the straw to her lips and taking a small sip.

Perfect. The creaminess of the tea mixed with the hint of caramel, simple and delicious. Rumi hummed in satisfaction, taking another sip and nodding.

“Mm. It’s perfect. Thanks.”

Zoey clapped her hands with a little hop, her smile somehow growing even wider.

“Don’t mention it. Now you’re stuck with me at the bartop and get to tell me everything! I want it all. The whole story.” Zoey stopped, smile wavering a moment. “If you want to, sorry, I don’t want to like, overwhelm you.”

Rumi shook her head, eyes widening slightly, a pang shooting through her chest. Had she made Zoey feel bad about being so happy somehow?

“No, no, not at all, sorry I just– I don’t talk much, most of the time, but I’m a good listener.” She reassured with a small grin. Zoey breathed a sigh of relief, hopping up on her own stool behind the counter.

Rumi’s laptop sat forgotten on the table in the corner. It didn’t matter. No one else had come in the shop other than a few stragglers working later in the morning, and besides– she had a new friend to listen to.

Zoey talked, Rumi listened. Rumi discovered Zoey was almost the same age as her, twenty-three to her twenty-four years. She had no pets, no roommates, had grown up in California in the United States, wrote poetry and short stories for fun, graduated college earlier that year with a degree in marine biology, and played video games in the rest of her spare time.

Minutes blurred to an hour, then two, passing in what seemed like the blink of an eye. Rumi gradually relaxed. She shifted back in her chair, slouching a bit with her arms crossed over her chest. The smiles weren’t forced anymore, she actually enjoyed hanging out with this girl.

“–but enough about me, gods, I’ve been yapping for forever! You’re sure I’m not talking too much?”

Rumi shook her head.

“I’m sure. You have such an interesting life, I could listen forever. Promise.” She took a deep breath, now unsure of herself.

What does she tell Zoey?

Should she tell her about– well, everything? Celine? College? How she was tr–

No.

She had just met Zoey, she couldn’t scare her away like this. Even if she had to lie.

Her heart thudded dully in her chest.

Just a little lie can’t hurt.

“Well, I graduated college last year–”

Lie. Her pulse roared in her ear.

“I-I got my degree in creative writing.”

Half-lie? Half-truth?

“I really don’t have any hobbies, if I’m being honest–”

Truth. The roar of her heart lulled back to a thud.

“–but I ride motorcycles. I don’t have a car, so it’s kind of my only way to get around, but it really helps me. You know, like–” She pointed at her head with a circular motion. “–up here.”

Also truth.

“Yeah, I’m not a very interesting person…I guess.”

Zoey scoffed in mock offense, her tone incredulous.

“A writer that rides motorcycles? You sound like the most badass person I’ve ever met! Well, actually–” she tapped a finger to the corner of her mouth, eyes upturned in thought. “–there was this one girl I saw out at this restaurant with my friend Myst last night, this guy was harassing her, she knocked him out with one punch then rode away on a bike!”

Rumi blinked.

“I guess it doesn’t technically count because I never talked to her, buuut a girl can dream, right?” Her words were dreamy, mind floating off somewhere else.

“Did you see what kind of motorcycle it was?” Rumi blurted.

Was it the same girl she had seen the night before?

“Gods, I think…Oh! It said R1 on the side. And it had little magenta stripes on the paint that matched her hair–”

Rumi sat up straight.

“Pink hair?”

Zoey nodded vigorously.

“Rumi, you don’t understand, she was so fine, long pink hair, muscles, I– wait, do you even, you know, swing that way? Sorry, I just kinda assume sometimes and–”

“I definitely saw her on the freeway last night. Riding home. She passed me going way too fast and gave me a wave.” Rumi interrupted, hardly hearing Zoey.

Zoey gasped indignantly.

“She waved at you? Huh, at least she acknowledged your existence. She just looked back at me and rode away.”

“Small world, I guess.” Rumi ruminated, stirring her straw around her long-empty cup of tea.

“You didn’t answer my other question, silly.” Zoey teased, propping her chin in her hands with a grin. “Unless it’s too personal, I know we just met and all–”

Rumi’s mouth opened, then closed. Like a fish. What way did she swing?

She had never been in a relationship before, never even really had feelings for anyone other than…him. But he happened before Rumi had even discovered who she was… and he only liked girls. A horrible irony. She had been right there, the whole time, but what would he have thought?

It wasn’t that she didn’t like girls, but most of the time she couldn’t tell if she wanted to be them or have them.

Romantic feelings were too complicated.

People were too complicated.

The interactions and acquaintances that had lasted longer than a day were buried in the back of her mind, reduced to naught but a ghost of a memory…

Except him. Thinking about him still felt like someone was raking claws across her heart.

“I’m– honestly not even sure. I had a crush on this guy in my class for really long time but he didn’t swing my way–”

Zoey’s face grew sympathetic, reaching to touch Rumi’s wrist. Rumi stiffened at the unexpected contact. Zoey didn’t notice.

“A shame…boykissers will be boykissers. My first crush on a girl was cut short when I found out she had a whole ass boyfriend one day…”

Rumi pursed her lips.

Zoey thought Rumi had meant he only went for guys. Back from before she became Rumi. Gods, if only he had, maybe she would’ve had a chance…

She didn’t want to think about it. She couldn’t tell Zoey. Not now.

“I like girls too.”

It felt right. The words didn’t feel forced.

“I knew it, I could smell the girlkisser on you from a mile away.” Zoey grinned, as if she had won a bet she placed with herself. Rumi’s nose wrinkled.

“Am I that obvious?”

“Nope!” Zoey popped the letter p. “Just takes one to know one.”

Rumi’s expression remained static, her gaze present but thoughts drifting elsewhere. He was in her head again. What if she saw him again? What would she even say?

“Hey, Jinu! You probably don’t remember me, we had class together a few years back in school, we were friends and did all that studying and tutoring together. I actually had a massive crush on you, but you didn’t like guys so it was really weird after I told you and we just stopped talking. Well, I’m a girl now, want to try again?”

Yeah, right.

“Hey, you okay?”

Zoey’s voice of concern pulled Rumi back to reality. She blinked. Once. Twice.

“Yeah…just…thinking.”

Gods, what a start to a friendship. Hiding everything. It’s just until I know I can trust her, Rumi reassured herself. Besides, it wasn’t like Zoey was a friend yet, just an–

Acquaintance?

“Penny for your thoughts,” Zoey teased, leaning on the counter.

“I was thinking about that girl you were talking about, from earlier.” It wasn’t quite a lie. She was thinking about the mystery biker.

“I guess my friend knows some people who know her, or something like that, maybe we could find out who she is?” Zoey’s eyes lit up in excitement. “This is like one of those cop movies where they try to find someone just from knowing a teeny bit about them!”

Rumi took the lead and ran with it. “Like in Criminal Minds when they end up finding some guy that murdered three families because he sneezed on a random Tuesday on a gas station security camera.”

Zoey’s jaw dropped.

“Wait. You watch Criminal Minds? I never saw that episode. Was it in, like, season three? I can never remember anything about season three…” Rumi giggled, a hand to her mouth. Something she didn’t have to make up was her old Criminal Minds obsession.

“No, I made it up for the bit. I can’t remember any of the episodes off the top of my head right now, it’s been forever since I’ve seen it,” she sighed. “Spencer Reid will always have my heart, though. He’s so fine.”

“That man is so painfully hot it makes me mad.” Zoey was practically drooling, her eyes glazing over, probably thinking about Matthew Gray Gubler.

“You get it.” Rumi nodded, a solemn acknowledgement of a mutual object of attraction. This wasn’t fake, quite the opposite, more like finally getting a drink of water after trudging through a desert.

“Well, you know what this means now, right?” Zoey waggled her eyebrows at Rumi.

Rumi blinked.

“Wha–”

“Criminal minds watch party at my place! Tonight– you can come tonight, right? I’m kidnapping you.” Rumi hesitated.

Celine.

“I’ll have to double check, my mo– well, technically she’s my godmother– she’s a little–”

Zoey held a hand up, shaking her head.

“Say no more. If you need help convincing her, you let me know, okay? I’m a professional.” She stuck both thumbs up in reassurance. Rumi breathed a small chuckle. Zoey wasn’t afraid to be goofy like how a lot of people were. She admired that about her, it was refreshing, made her feel real.

“Maybe I should call her now,” Rumi mused, a plan forming. “If I tell her now, she’s more likely to say yes since it’s not until later. What time do you–”

“Thirty-three minutes, at 1pm. But who’s counting?” Zoey smirked.

“That’s…impressive.”

“Don’t mention it. It’s one of my many secret talents, alongside turtle riding and sea cucumber wrangling.” Rumi snickered, biting her lip to keep from laughing.

“Don’t make me laugh on the phone or this is never happening.” Rumi was only half kidding.

Zoey sealed her lips shut and threw the key away.

Rumi took a deep breath, staring at Celine’s contact on her phone. She pressed call.

The phone rang once. Twice.

“J*******.”

Rumi froze. That name. It haunted her worse than a ghost.

“H–hi, Celine. I’m at the tea shop working on my resume, and I–”

“I know where you are.” A reminder. A reminder of control. Rumi faltered.

“R-right, um, I just wanted to tell you that I don’t have work today, and I made a new friend–”

“New friend? Who is he or she?”

You could just say “who are they”. Rumi pointed out silently in her head.

“Her name is Zoey–” Zoey pointed to herself, mouthing that’s me silently. “–we were going to go hang out at her apartment and watch that show I really like.”

Silence. Much more silence than should have been allowed. Silence just to remind Rumi who was in control.

“Celine?”

“I want to talk to her.”

Shit.

What if she used that name again? Her old name?

Rumi handed the phone to Zoey.

She wants to talk to you, she mouthed.

Zoey nodded, clearing her throat lightly.

“Hi, Celine? It’s so wonderful to speak with you, Rumi’s told me so much about you. All good things, promise! Just wondering if I can steal her for the day after we finish up here, I live not too far away and we share a lot of interests. I'd love to spend some time with her if that’s okay with you.”

Zoey was so sweet. Just hearing the words “I’d love to spend some time with her” sent a buzz throughout Rumi’s body. No one had ever spoken about her in such a casually caring way. She overheard Celine’s muffled voice say a few words, then heard the beeps of a disconnected call. Zoey’s brow furrowed, looking at the phone like she broke it.

“Did she just–”

“Hang up on you? Yeah, she does that. A lot.” Rumi said flatly, still shaken and a bit pale from the phone call.

“What an intriguing woman. She said ‘Rumi. That’s fine, she needs to be home by midnight. Have fun.’ then hung up. Like she had to remind herself what your name was or something.”

That’s exactly why she had said Rumi’s name.

But she wasn’t going to tell Zoey that.

Zoey’s eyes drifted from Rumi’s phone back to Rumi herself, still pale and silent.

“Rumi? Are you good?” Her brows knitted in concern. “You zoned out for a sec there.”

Rumi shook her head, trying to knock the feeling of panic from her mind like cobwebs from an abandoned attic.

“Yeah…I-I’m fine.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. Celine had said yes, thankfully. “We’re good to go, then.”

“Yep, good to go!” Zoey shifted her voice back cheerfully, yet her eyes were still wrought with worry. Rumi felt Zoey’s eyes still on her, praying she could just ignore everything and move on.

“So…Criminal Minds party, or what?” Rumi said with a small smile. Zoey could still hear the weakness in her voice, the tentativeness of her words. Something felt off, but she decided to not push Rumi.

“Yes ma’am, Criminal Minds day! Ooh, we need to get snacks, and food! What’s your go-to movie snack?”

Rumi collected herself.

“I think I’d have to go with Swedish Fish. Am I weird for that?” She flashed a wry grin.

Zoey gasped.

“Swedish Fish? I don’t think I’ve had Swedish Fish since, like, middle school. I lowkey kind of forgot they existed.” Rumi chuckled dryly.

“I’m weird, got it.” Zoey flashed her a sympathetic smile.

“A little. It’s okay, you’re even cooler for that. Plus, I’m probably way weirder with my choice. I think you’re safe.”

Rumi raised an eyebrow.

“What’s yours, then?”

Zoey winced, as if dreading Rumi’s reaction.

“Pickles. I could eat a whole jar of them. Especially the big chamoy ones.” Rumi’s jaw dropped. Zoey’s words came out faster than a waterfall, coming to her own defense. “I just really like pickles! I know, it’s so weird, I just really like the crunch and sometimes the spicy ones–” Rumi found her hand on Zoey’s arm unintentionally.

“Zoey, I love pickles. You’re not weird for that.”

Zoey’s eyes lit up.

“Ugh, no one EVER likes pickles.” Rumi’s hand was still on Zoey’s arm, neither cared to notice or speak up. Not significant, but far from nothing. “We can be weird together. Share a pickle jar if we’re feeling crazy.”

Rumi smiled, her panic from the phone call forgotten.

Crazy sounded nice for once.

Rumi zipped down the freeway, navigation app giving her directions in her helmet. The midday sun beat down overhead, any heat from the brightness hustled away by the wind whipping by her on the open road.

Zoey and her had exchanged numbers, Zoey entering her contact in Rumi’s phone with a turtle emoji beside it, Rumi just leaving hers as “Rumi”.

She had been given a task.

Zoeyyy 🐢

hey Rumi!!!

let’s swap snacks :P

I’ll get the biggest bag swedish fsh i can find

and you get a bigass jar of pickles

deal? deal

meet me here when you got it. Im on the 8th floor :D ride safeeeeee

Rumi reread the last two words in her mind as she carved across the pavement, taking her exit. Typed so effortlessly and carefree. Her concern wasn’t Rumi on the bike, it was Rumi staying safe.

Weaving through the main roads, her backpack shifted under the weight of the massive jar she had found at a convenience store.

Bigass jar of pickles she says, bigass jar of pickles she gets.

Today was a blur. Rumi went from contemplating what she even wanted to do with herself, unsure of the future even hours ahead of her, to making a new friend.

Acquaintance, she reminded herself.

Zoey didn’t know her. She didn’t know Zoey. She seemed sweet enough, something about how unfiltered she was as a person opened some door in Rumi’s mind to let her connect with Zoey, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was too good to be true.

On the flip of the same coin, she felt oddly calm walking up the stairs to the main doors of the apartment building. Calm. Trusting, even.

It just felt right.

Rumi rode the elevator up to the eighth floor, toting her helmet behind her, pickle jar clinking around in her backpack. She admired the open glass elevator, looking out over the foyer of the apartment tower as the car slid to a calm halt on floor eight. The doors silently parted to reveal the quiet hall, dotted with wall sconces every few dozen paces that cast a warm, cozy light over the patterned green carpet.

804…805…806…807.

Rumi stood in front of apartment 807, gathering her thoughts.

Not like she didn’t want to be here, on the contrary, despite her typical aversiveness to new people, she genuinely wanted to get to know Zoey.

This had been the first time she had been to a friend’s place since his house. Years ago. She had poured out her heart to him, and how had he treated her? By kicking her to the curb. Could she even be mad at him? She had been such a different person–

Just relax, Rumi. She’s not Jinu. Knock.

She set her helmet down, raising a hand to rap on the door, only for the wood to swing inward away from her knuckles before she could even knock. A mass hurtled at Rumi, almost tackling her as she took a step back in surprise. Zoey’s arms wrapped around Rumi, looking up at her with that already familiar smile plastered across her face.

“You’re here!” She grinned, still holding onto Rumi as if her life depended on it. Rumi felt a tinge of pink creep to her cheeks.

“I’m here,” She returned, lips curving up to a smile of her own. “I brought us something.”

Zoey backed up, holding Rumi at arm’s length.

“So did I, you need to see this.” She stepped aside, waving Rumi inside. “Come in, come in, what a horrible host I’m being! Unbelievable, hugging you in the entryway all day like that.”

“Lock her up, officer. Inconceivable, really.” Rumi sniped, no heat whatsoever behind her words. She slipped her riding boots off, leaving her helmet sat neatly next to them behind the door.

She immediately stopped to gape at the spread Zoey had acquired. Shrimp chips, kimbap, japchae with vegetables, custard pastries—

And a massive bag of Swedish Fish.

“Holy– you made all this? In that amount of time? And got the Swedish Fish?” She sputtered incredulously.

Zoey snorted, shaking her head.

“Rumi, I’m not gonna lie, I can’t cook to save my life. Okay, that’s kind of a lie, I can cook a little, but something like this? Hell no.” A mischievous smirk tugged at her lips. “It’s all from the convenience store next door.”

“Convenience store? Is it like…safe?” Rumi questioned hesitantly. She had heard one too many horror stories about gas station sushi to take it without a lick of doubt.

“Oh yeah it’s all made fresh then frozen immediately. I survived off this stuff in college. Comes in clutch when you need it. Like when your new friend is coming over for a binge party!” Zoey waved nonchalantly at the massive spread in front of her like it was no big deal. Rumi unzipped her backpack slowly, catching Zoey’s attention with the zipper.

“I brought something too, just nothing as crazy as this. I hope it’s enough–” Zoey’s eyes snapped to the logo on the lid, a cartoon pickle wearing sunglasses and popping finger guns. She let out a squeal of excitement, almost tackling Rumi again in a hug.

“Shut up, these are my favorite kind of pickles. Or, one of them. S tier.” Zoey mumbled, face planted in Rumi’s shoulder. A splash of red returned to Rumi’s cheeks, her arm hesitantly returning the hug to Zoey’s much smaller frame. She hugged hard. Not painful, but firm. Like she was afraid Rumi would run out the door so she showed as much affection as she could.

“You have a…pickle tierlist?” Rumi bit her cheek to keep from laughing out loud. Gods, she was adorable. Zoey almost made a pop sound as she broke from the hug, skipping around the kitchen gathering up chopsticks and forks for pickle fishing.

“Yep! These are one of three in S tier, one is the Big Papa chamoy pickles and the other one I actually can’t remember right now– do you like popcorn?

Rumi’s stomach grumbled. She never ate breakfast.

“I love popcorn, thank you. Is there anything I can do to–”

“Nope! Just popping le corn and then we’re ready! You could grab a tray and pick a show if you’d like. Or we can just talk.”

Rumi hesitated, then picked up a tray to carry over to the couch. Zoey did all this…for her? It was all a little overwhelming, in a good way.

“Zoey, can I ask you something?” Rumi ventured.

“All the time, anytime, Ru.” Rumi flushed completely at the nickname. No one ever called her Ru. She struggled to form her question, half forgetting what it was in the first place.

“You did all of this…for me? Why?” Zoey clanked around pots and pans, looking for the perfect popcorn receptacle.

“Because I think you deserve it. You’re a nice girl and–” Clang. “–I know we don’t know each other very well, I mean, we met literal hours ago–” Clatter. “–but I just know we’re gonna be good friends. You don’t make me feel weird.” Her words faltered a moment. Was that a sniffle Rumi heard? “You make me feel important.”

Important.

The word rang out like a school bell, knocking some window open loose in Rumi’s heart. The light poured in, warming her from the inside out. She liked to make people feel important, as if they mattered. No matter how she felt.

“You are important, Zoey. Thank you. For all of this.” Rumi reassured, putting on Bob’s Burgers. Criminal Minds was a bit too heavy for now.

“And thank you for actually coming over. I was honestly kind of afraid I scared you off.”

A pang went through Rumi’s heart.

She could never ghost her friend like that.

Acquaintance.

No.

It didn’t sound right anymore.

Not quite friends, yet no longer strangers.

“You’ll have to do more than that to get rid of me.” Rumi boldly stated, curling up on the couch with her noodles and kimbap roll. After popping the corn, Zoey brought the big bowl over alongside her tray, plopping down a few scoots away from Rumi.

The show didn’t matter. The girls just talked, enjoying each other’s company, and an obscene amount of pickles and Swedish Fish.

Zoey was put at ease.

Rumi felt seen.

And nothing felt out of place.

“Shit. The time.” Rumi swore, glancing at her phone. She jumped up, darting to the door.

11:38

“I have to get back home. Like, now.” She slipped her backpack on, zipping up her boots and her helmet in one smooth, practiced motion.

Zoey was still surprised, brows knit in confusion until she also realized what time it was.

“You’re right, we wouldn’t want you to be late.” She stood, padding over to the door to let Rumi out. “Thank you again, for coming over. I mean it. It meant a lot to me.” Rumi nodded, face hidden behind her visor. Zoey looked up at her, searching for Rumi’s eyes behind the tinted plastic. She reached her arms around her, pulling her into a brief hug. Rumi returned the hug after a moment of hesitation.

Zoey felt so warm against her body. Her head fit perfectly into the crook of Rumi’s neck, like they were meant to fit together.

“Of course. I–” She looked away, flipping her visor up while searching for the words. “–I had a lot of fun, Zoey. Thank you for inviting me.”

She turned to walk out the door, only halted by the sound of Zoey’s soft voice behind her.

“Ride safe? For me?”

Rumi didn’t turn around.

“I promise. I’ll text you when I’m home.”

“Bye, Rumi.”

“Bye, Zoey.”

Click.

-

The ride home was quick. The streets were empty, just wide open road for Rumi to open up on. The engine of her ZX6R screamed to the moon as she made the bolt toward home.

Home?

Prison.

The way Zoey had asked– pleaded Rumi to ride safe. The words were simple, yet carried so much weight. The sincerity, the raw emotion behind Zoey’s request had done something to Rumi. It made her feel wanted. She felt a pull in the back of her throat.

Don’t cry. Not here. Get home.

The garage clattered shut behind her as she walked into the house. She steeled herself Celine to be sitting at the counter, waiting to lecture her again as she entered the kitchen. Empty, completely dark, save for the green glow of the stove clock.

11:59

Just in time.

Rumi slipped upstairs, the sound of her bedroom door latch clicking shut behind her allowing her to exhale a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding. She fumbled for her phone, typing a message out with tired fingers.

Rumi

made it home safe :)

goodnight, Zoey. Thank you for such a fun night

She typed the emoticon smiley, deleted it, replaced it with a heart, deleted it altogether and hit send. Not even ten seconds later, her phone buzzed with a response.

Zoeyyy🐢

glad you made it home safe <3

no, thank YOU

meeting you is one of the best things that’s happened to me lately

talk tomorrow?

Rumi smiled at the messages. She thumbed out a response before tossing her phone on the charger.

Rumi

ofc

ogodnight Zoey im sleepy

If there was a response, Rumi didn’t see it. She peeled off her clothes, slipping into the oversized t-shirt she had left from the night prior before crawling into her silky sheets, succumbing to the sweet pull of sleep. One thing floated to the forefront of her mind as she drifted off, lilac hair bathed in the moonlight from her window.

Meeting you is one of the best things that’s happened to me.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

Will you listen, just as my form starts to fission?

The melancholy synths of Look to Windward by Sleep Token drifted from Mira’s alarm clock speakers.

Losing this war of attrition, just as I drift away.

Mira rolled over, eyes fluttering open, still puffy from crying the night before. Red rings rounded her steeled brown irises.

Will you halt this eclipse in me?
Will you halt this eclipse in me?

Her gaze drifted to the ring. Her ring. Still sitting on her bedside table, sparkling in the early morning light. Mira’s throat tightened, that typhoon of emotion pooling in her stomach once again. Something was wrong with her, an ugly crack down the center of her heart that nothing could mend. Strong girls didn’t feel this. She just had to push it aside and keep going.

The drawer made a decisive thud noise as Mira slammed the ring back in its hiding spot.

Will you halt this eclipse in me?
Will you halt this eclipse in me?

She couldn’t let the grief pull her back down into the spiral of depression. Not again.

Snowy offered a sleepy mrrp from his spot curled up at the edge of the bed, stretching out to his full length. A hint of a smile tugged at Mira’s lips.

“Morning, handsome.” Her voice was scratchy, still hoarse. She rubbed his belly, earning herself a playful nip and several quite aggressive licks on her hand. “Breakfast time?” He chirped in agreement, arching his back in the most devastatingly satisfying stretch Mira had ever seen. A whisper of a chuckle snuck from her lips, her heart warming over. She loved him. Loved him like family, like her own child.

No one else came close to matching that feeling. He loved her unconditionally.

She rolled out of bed, settling to her knees on the floor. Her grounding routine had become more of a weekly afterthought, but today she was determined to fix that.

Breathe in. Arms out. Open the lungs. The song still thrummed on in the background.

She shifted to all fours, then kicked up with her legs, extending her lanky body in a perfect handstand. A dull ache still hovered on her knuckles where she had punched the man the night before. Taut muscles straining against pale skin, her teeth grit in concentration as she shuffled her hands around to find her perfect balance point.

There.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

She exhaled, spinning her hips down to land on her feet.

A handstand a day keeps the grief away.

It felt as if she could shake the feelings out of her, being upside down like that. The blood rushing to vessels that felt like dusty attic corners, the strain on her shoulders, the measured breaths to keep her vision straight, all vanished when she found that perfect balance.

Day three hundred sixty-six.

The kitchen held fruits of Mira’s labor, both from her shopping and literal fruit. She bit into a perfectly ripe peach, the juice dripping down her chin as she perused the fridge. Day-old rice from yesterday, a container of assorted vegetables, some marinated chicken from the skewers she had made– stir fry for breakfast? She’d made crazier things.

First things first.

Snowy came sprinting down the hall the moment he heard his can of food pop open, practically faceplanting into his dish the instant the canned tuna mix hit the ceramic. Mira shook her head in awe.

“It’s like I never feed you.”

Mira made quick work of the peach, leaving nothing but the pit as she pulled her army of containers from the fridge, popping a pan onto her gas stove to heat. She scrolled her playlists, selecting a calm (ish) rock playlist. Weird Fishes from Radiohead filled the room, the soft arpeggios and tight drums playing softly from her kitchen speaker.

She tossed her ingredients into the pan with some soy sauce and a drizzle of sesame oil, The sizzle was incredible. The delicious aroma of sauteing vegetables and bubbling meat juices filled the air.

Mira threw an eyebrow up.

Some stir fry, it ended up looking more like fried rice than anything.

She shrugged, tossing the pan in a practiced motion to stir the rice. Perfection.

Satisfied with the result of her impromptu breakfast, she slid it into a bowl, grabbing her favorite pair of metal chopsticks. Blowing gingerly on the first bite, she let the juicy chicken settle onto her tongue before biting into it. Mira nearly moaned out loud. The marinade from the chicken packed so much flavor into the meat that even just heating it up in the pan made it nearly explode with juiciness in her mouth. The veggies were perfectly toasted, nuttiness of the sesame oil complimenting the bitterness of the snap pea skins, carrots and ginger adding a perfect crunch to the dish.

She’d have licked her bowl if she wasn’t running on crunch time.

Dishes were quick work, the dishwasher taking care of the heavy lifting for her as she strolled to her closet, already planning her outfit.

Mira’s line of work was unpredictable. There was no telling who she’d see, what kind of encounters and interactions she’d have. She quickly found it extremely important to wear an outfit that commanded the room in the fashion and modeling industry, especially as a creative director and photographer.

Her sharp eyes sifted through her closet, nixing out tops and bottoms as she settled on a fit. A white sleeveless front-close top with golden buttons all down the front, black leather pants, ankle-high racing boots studded with matching golden buckles, accessorized by a chunky onyx ring and dangling spike earrings.

Something was still missing.

She stared at herself in the mirror, her tall frame and long legs silhouetted perfectly by the top tucked into her pants– the tuck. That was it. She needed a belt.

Grabbing a black leather belt with a gold clasp on the apex, she made a pitstop in the bathroom to toss some moisturizer and primer on her face. Her own gaze stopped her motions momentarily, eyes flicking over her reflection. Sharp cheekbones. Arched brows. Those piercing brown eyes she had gotten from her mother.

Umma.

A pang shot through her chest.

She hadn’t thought about her mom in a long time. Not since going no-contact. Her mind drifted to other thoughts. How was she doing? Did she miss Mira? Should–

No.

Mira had halted contact for a reason. Sometimes the worst pain came from the ones closest to her. Both of them.

Her dad. Cold, more passionate about the bottom line than his own daughter.

She remembered the day her college major transfer had gone through, from business to fashion. He had exploded on her, yammering on and on about succession and how he was supposed to find someone to keep the family business going with her being his only child. Mira had known what his reaction was going to be, but no sense in teasing the bandage off. She did it anyway. Was it to spite him? A little.. It was for herself, but still, a part of her reveled in her career being a middle finger to him.

Her mom. Cunning, controlling, calculated. Every phrase, every sentence, every syllable she had ever uttered to Mira was not without intent. As if she could see right through Mira’s eyes into her soul and see exactly what would hurt her the most.

She remembered the day her mother had come downstairs one weeknight. Mira had been working on a final paper for her ethics class for several days now, words practically blurring together as she made the final edits to her third– and hopefully last– draft. She had hardly noticed her mom looking over her shoulder, reading, scrutinizing.

You have a weak argument. Not good enough. You’ll fail if you keep that.

Then she left. No constructive criticism. No offer of assistance.

The words still echoed behind her some days.

Not good enough.

Not good enough for me to love you.

Not good enough for anyone.

Bitterness engulfed her, a feeling so sour she could almost taste it. The man who had conceived her, the woman who had given birth to her, treating her as if she were just another employee. Another liability to the family company. Another mountain of paperwork.

How could the people who were responsible for bringing her into this world be so cold to her? Make her feel like she didn’t matter?

Mira grit her teeth.

It’s not like she had asked to be born.

The Yamaha roared below Mira as she made her way to work, shattering the quiet morning with an orgasmic symphony of firing pistons. Her morning commute was easy, most people in her area opting to fight for space on the trains and buses. The real challenge of the day came at the moment she stepped through the doors of her building. Helmet under her arm, jacket unzipped, she was immediately approached by two young men, one looking frazzled.

“G-good morning, Mira-nim,” one of them stuttered out, finger up as if he meant to continue, but hesitated.

“Your morning appointment was moved up,” The calmer of the two stated matter-of-factly. “It’s in ten minutes.” She rolled her eyes silently. Why did her schedule always have to move around at the last minute? Not like anyone asked for her permission.

Mira kept walking, arriving at the elevators with the two interns in tow.

“Anything else I should know? Still with the same models?”

“Y-yes, still with, um–” The frazzled one frantically flipped pages on his clipboard. “I don’t seem to have their government names. The agency lists them on the contract as Abby and Romance.”

The soft ding of the elevator car arriving accompanied the door sliding open. Mira stepped inside, turning to face the interns with a scoff.

“Abby and Romance? Sounds like a hoot, I can’t wait.”

She hit her button, tossing a nod to the frazzled intern as the doors began to slide shut.

“And drink some coffee. You look like you could use it.”

The doors reopened on floor twenty-three. Studios. She made a quick stop by her office to drop her bag and gear off and trade it for her hard camera case. The walk to the booked studio wasn’t far, a brisk two minutes from her office. She thought back to the chat with the interns. Abby and…Romance?

Interesting names.

It wasn’t uncommon for models or idols to use pseudonyms in public spaces just to have some form of anonymity. If they ever had to use their government names for documentation purposes, as long as they didn’t get recognized, they would remain completely anonymous. Internally, studios would have their names on the contract and all official files, with an NDA signed to cover everyone’s asses. Using their aliases internally, especially on the contract documents, was something Mira hadn’t seen happen. Ever.

She checked her watch.

8:59am.

Opening the doors immediately exposed a buzz of activity from the soundproofed studio room. Cables snaked down from the tall ceilings, plugging into massive light fixtures along the trusses. Techs scurried about like busy bees, affixing chroma key fabric to scaffolds, rolling around outfit carts, chattering on radios to different departments to ensure everything was running smoothly. Mira squinted, trying to make out the face of her manager in the knot of technicians.

“Mira!”

She turned, hearing her name. Speak of the devil. She bowed her head in respect.

“Bobby-nim, annyeounghaseyo. How are things?”

“Please, Mira, just Bobby. I mean it. You don’t have to do all that–” He waved his hands around dismissively. “–fancy stuff with me.”

Bobby was the manager for all commercial modeling opportunities at their company,
Forsythia. What he lacked in stature he more than made up for with his kind heart and firm boundaries, but the biggest reason Mira enjoyed working with him is because she knew he’d have her back, more so than most other people in her life. Maybe just with work stuff, sure, but she couldn’t deny that it still felt nice. She chuckled softly.

“Sorry, Bobby. Forget sometimes. Where are the models?” She set her case down on the table, popping the latches to reveal a massive camera body and a thick lens to pop onto the DSLR.

“They’re here. Just finishing up their last makeup touches.” Bobby’s eyes squinted in concern, noticing slight bags under Mira’s eyes. “You sleep okay last night?” Mira stopped. Everything raced through her mind. The anniversary. Thinking about her parents.

“I‘m fine.” She brushed it off. Just like she always did. “Just need coffee. The appointment got moved though so I wasn’t able-”

Bobby patted her arm twice, disappearing without another word. A wry grin crept across her lips. No one had her back like Bobby did.

She affixed her portrait lens to her camera body, flicking through settings to set all her dials right for the studio lighting. Photography wasn’t her absolute favorite thing to do, but being in the industry she fought so hard to be in gave her a sense of purpose, of accomplishment.

Plus, Hong Mira - Photography Operations on her office plaque had a nice ring to it.

The door banged open, startling some of the techs still buzzing around. Mira glanced up, expecting the models, only to see Bobby speedwalking towards her at full tilt.

With a drink tray in his hands.

She frowned.

“Bobby, you didn’t have to–” He silenced her by palming the warm paper cup into her hand, closing her finger around it.

“But I did. Shush and sip, it’s still hot. They’re around the corner. I’ll get them squared away in here then introduce you.” He scurried away, arriving at the door just as it opened to reveal two young men entering into the studio. Mira took a careful sip of her drink.

Hazelnut espresso with cream?

Bobby even got her order perfect. She rolled her eyes in satisfaction, tentatively sipping at the steaming coffee as fast as she could without scalding her tongue. She observed the two models, already picking their appearances apart, finding their angles. A frown crossed her face.

Why did they both have nearly the same hair color as her?

One was tall. Like, really tall. Mira wasn’t the shortest, standing quite a bit taller than most other girls at five foot ten, but this guy, he was easily pushing six foot three, four maybe.

He wore flare pants, flowy black fabric perfectly tailored to his waist and billowing around as he walked. A white ribbed crop tank hugged his chest, ending just above his perfectly chiseled abs, all wrapped in a tight black open-front blazer spread by his massive shoulders. Mira’s eyes flicked to his face. His expression was warm, soft, a stark contrast from his sharp features. Interesting.

And the other– oh, this one was definitely Romance. So, the guy with the abs–

Abs. Ab-by.

Mira rolled her eyes. She had to give it to him, it fit, but she couldn’t excuse how silly it was.

Romance was about the same height as Mira, flowy coral hair framing his aloof I know I’m hot but I’m going to pretend like I don’t face and trailing down to below his neck. A nearly identical outfit to Abby’s hugged his slim frame, minus the crop, pants flaring out to cuff his chunky boots– was he wearing platforms? Mira was probably taller than him. Her lips curved upwards in the most infinitesimally small grin at the thought.

The boys saw Bobby and immediately lit up. Mira overheard muttered fragments of their greetings as she sipped away at her still-scalding coffee, their enthusiastic hand movements and– were they brushing each other’s arms? Like, caressing?

Her inquisitive gaze was suddenly interrupted by Bobby glancing over to her, tossing a nod her direction with that charming smile as he gestured right this way with his hands. Mira put on her best professional smile as her manager approached.

“–olutely love her, I promise. Here she is! Mira, this is Abby and Romance, Romance and Abby, meet Mira Hong, our director of photo operations for today!”

Mira bowed her head respectfully, still maintaining the fake smile. Business will be business. She kept her tone even. Neutral.

“A pleasure.”

Romance and Abby both shared a sideways glance at each other, warm smiles still plastered from ear to ear. Romance delicately took her hand, sending a shiver down her spine as she recoiled.

“Hey, what do you thi–” Romance gently pressed his lips to the cushion of air just above the onyx stone in her ring, letting her hand go immediately after. She withdrew her hand with almost whiplike speed, slipping her fingers into her pockets. Her brows furrowed. He couldn’t just touch her like that.

“I apologize, Mira-nim. Just how I show respect, we’ve heard so much about you.”

His tone matched hers. Even. She couldn’t decide if something hid behind it,

“It’s an honor, really. Ro didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable, I’m sure,” Abby interjected, offering an apology on behalf of his companion.

“It’s fine. Just caught me off guard.” Mira muttered, fidgeting with her camera dial. Something felt different about these two. Nothing bad, she just couldn’t put her finger on it quite yet. She brushed it off, stepping forward. “Anyway. Are we ready to shoot?”

Bobby had been watching the exchange with a nervous look painted across his round face, only for it to be washed away by a sigh of relief at Mira’s suggestion. The models both nodded in synchronized agreement.

Mira took control of the room, setting up shots and poses one after another. Solo shots with Abby, then Romance, then both of them together, standing, sitting, draped over a couch, lounging languidly on the floor looking up at Mira, the list went on and on. After an hour and half or so, Bobby stepped in during a pause.

“Looking fantastic, you guys, can’t wait to see all of these edited! Could we maybe take a fifteen? I’ve got some techs who need a break and I’m sure you two could use a minute without a flash going off in your face.”

Abby and Romance both nodded enthusiastically, letting their bodies relax and slouch a little back into the couch they had been shooting on. Mira still stayed perched on the scaffold ladder she had been using as her vantage point, legs crossed on the top platform.

The boys were very easy to work with, a pleasant surprise. A lot of the men she shot with had issues being told what to do. What poses to hold, what angles to show the camera, it wasn’t an ego boost for sure.

These two, though, were like well-trained puppies. Sit, speak, roll over, they did it all. They had remarkable chemistry on camera together, and only ever needed slight adjustments which they made with no argument whatsoever. Mira flicked back through some of the shots she had taken, peering at the DSLR’s small display.

“How do we look?” Abby’s deep voice rang up from below her. “I swear to gods if they make me do another face of makeup, I’ll throw something.”

Mira allowed herself a small laugh.

Abby seemed nice, he hadn’t made any offhand comments.

Yet.

“All of your shots are super clean. I’ll have to get them on my monitor for final say, though.” She said simply.

“He hates doing makeup. You should’ve seen him the time we dressed up as mimes. About smeared his entire face because a fly landed on his nose.” Romance smirked, poking Abby in the ribs.

“It’s not my fault they caked me with enough primer to paint a house!” Abby protested with a yelp, elbowing Romance back. “You tell me why the hell there were horseflies at a Halloween party! I’ll wait.”

Mira watched in amusement. Their dynamic was funny to observe, it was obvious they had known each other for years.

Like best friends?

“Halloween party? Haven’t been to one of those in years.”

“Yeah? What was your costume?” Romance kicked back, propping his feet on the armrest and leaning his head back against Abby’s shoulder. “Had to have been something good. I mean, you’re in the fashion industry.” Mira rolled her eyes.

“It wasn’t that good, I went as Nana.” Abby and Romance shared a glance. Romance looked back to Mira.

“Osaki? Or Hachi?”

Mira sat up, a spark of excitement lighting her voice up.

Maybe they were okay…

“Osaki. I even had the guitar. Still do.” Romance threw his arms up before letting them flop dramatically on his chest.

“And you said your costume wasn’t that good.” He paused for a beat. “I’m still sad they didn’t end up together.”

Mira let out a wry chuckle.

“Lesbians don’t sell. They always have to end up with men. Keeps the crowds coming back. And non-queer people don’t take bisexuals seriously.” She meant every word. Maybe it was partly directed to gauge their responses.

“Fucked up, if you ask me. Bisexuals get too much hate. Shouldn’t matter who you love. Everyone deserves representation.” Mira blinked. Abby passed.

“Especially the lesbians. Right babe?” Romance looked up at Abby from his spot leaning against him. Mira froze.

Babe? Babe?

She groaned.

It all made sense now. Their chemistry. The banter. The touches. The synchronized nods and looks. It was as if a final puzzle piece clicked into her brain. Abby chuckled.

“We need more lesbians around these parts. Right, Mira-nim?”

Mira nodded, still regaining her composure.

They were dating. This whole time.

Maybe she was just blind? Usually things like this didn’t slip by her.

She shook her head.

“Mira. Just…Mira. I mean–” She hesitated. They were both looking at her now. “–I’d love to meet more lesbians. I haven’t met another one.” Another one.

She had never really taken the time to discuss labels with herself. A few rocky relationships with men in her school days, then Hana just after college, she had always just thought of herself as bisexual. Did she even like men?

Or did she just feel like she was supposed to?

The models shared another one of those side eye glances before Abby spoke up.

“Listen, Mira-nim–” Romance elbowed him again. “–ow, sorry, Mira. This may sound crazy, but would you want to come to a party this weekend?”

A party? When was the last time she had been to a party? Definitely college, and she had only shown up to get drunk, then walk back to her dorm and listen to Daft Punk vinyls the rest of the night. Bobby’s cheerful voice cut through her thinking.

“Back on, people, let’s go!”

She pattered down the ladder, back to the solid floor to continue shooting. Romance and Abby had jumped up, stretching their backs out.

“Think about it, ‘kay? We think you’d have fun.”

Mira nodded.

“No promises.”

The rest of the shoot went by in a blur. An outfit change, more angles, different color lights, and approximately seven makeup retouches for Abby because he kept accidentally itching his nose. Almost the instant the clock struck noon, Mira’s camera blinked red at her.

SD card full.

Just in time.

She nodded at Bobby, lowering the lens and clipping the cap back on the glass. Bobby returned the nod, springing to business.

“That’s a wrap, you guys. Great work today, everybody. There’s a food spread in the back already set up, grab a plate or three! And take leftovers, there’s no way I’m eating all of that!” He jogged up to Mira, smiling ear to ear. “And you, you did fantastic. I saw your previews over your shoulder here and there, these shots are absolutely gorg.”

Mira felt a slight blush creep up.

“Thanks, Bobby. Just doing my job. Honestly, they made it easy on me.”

“Ugh, they’re great aren’t they? Such a dream to work with. They’ve been together forever now, like three years I think? Public still hasn’t found out somehow, absolutely incredible.”

Mira pursed her lips.

“You knew they were dating?”

Bobby cocked a brow.

‘You didn’t know?”

How could she?

“No. I met them for the first time today, I’d never even heard of them before.”

Bobby tilted his head, eyebrow still raised.

“But you could tell…right?”

Mira threw up her hands in exasperation.

“Eventually, is it really that big of a deal?”

Bobby’s serious face melted back into that wide smile.

“It’s not. I just like teasing you, silly goose. You should definitely go to that party, by the way.”

She paused.

“How did you know–”

“I hear a lot more than you think.” He said with a wink. “It’s my job. Anyways, I gotta head to a marketing meeting.”

Mira wrinkled her nose.

“Sounds riveting.”

“It’ll be okay, they have to have coffee and snacks, otherwise no one shows up.” Bobby waggled his eyebrows. “Seriously though. I think getting out would be good for you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you staying late. You have to take a break someday. Besides, I’m going too.”

Mira glanced over her shoulder. Abby had already taken a fistful of makeup wipes to his face, leaving streaks of contour all over while Romance daubed up the straggling marks.

Maybe some time with new friends would help her forget.

Plus, she couldn’t let Bobby go alone.

“You’re right. Maybe I should.”

“That’s my girl. I trust these guys, I’ve been helping them out for a year or so, they’re fantastic.” He patted her shoulder. “I gotta run. You take care, and wish me luck!” Bobby called over his shoulder as he zipped away to the elevator.

If Bobby trusted these guys this much, that made her feel more confident in going.

She buttoned up her camera in its case, swinging it from its handle as she stopped by the two models on her way out.

“Hey, great shots today,” Romance called to her, a ring of spent makeup wipes around him. All Abby’s. Cute.

“You haven’t even seen them yet,” Mira retorted, tossing a strand of hair out of her eyes.

“Don’t need to.” Abby countered. “Lesbians are the best photographers.”

There it was again.

Lesbian.

She shoved the thought down.

Later.

“Hey, by the way. I’m in.”

Abby and Romance looked at each other, makeup removal forsaken.

“Like, you’ll come? To the party?” Abby confirmed, double checking what she meant.

She nodded. The couple exchanged glances again, smiles creeping across their faces.

Romance spoke first.

“Wonderful. It’ll be at our friend’s penthouse, it’s nothing too crazy. Just a fun night of drinks and some networking. We’re arranging cars for everyone as well.”

Mira snorted.

“Nothing too crazy but you’re chauffeuring everyone? To a penthouse?”

“He’s never been one to skimp on parties, hence the penthouse. He’s a terribly good host.” Romance grinned, offering a small card to Mira. “Text us if you have any questions. The driver will pick you up at six.” Mira glanced at the card. One angle showed Romance’s name and a phone number, and tilting it forty five degrees revealed Abby’s name and number.

Sick.

“And Mira–” She looked up, back at Romance. His eyes were soft, apologetic. “–I apologize for earlier. I had no intention of making you uncomfortable, even though I did. It won’t happen again, I can get ahead of myself.”

Abby nodded vigorously.

“He can be a bit too much of a diva at times. Gotta rein him back.”

Mira smiled. He actually apologized.

“I accept your apology. No harm done. Thank you.”

Romance scoffed in offense, staring daggers at Abby.

“Too much of a diva? There is no such thing–”

“Ooookay and here we go. Bye, Mira!” Abby waved over his shoulder as Romance chased him out of the studio, berating him about “hindering his inner diva”.

Mira just chuckled, shaking her head.

Maybe the guys were alright.

Call Transcript Wednesday, June 25th, 2025 3:21pm

M: Hello?

A: You’ll never guess who we saw today.

M: Who’s– oh, it’s you.

A: Who the hell else would it be?

M: Oh, my bad for not having your seventh burner phone number saved, Mr. Secretive.

A: Touché.

M: Who? Some celebrity?

R: Better.

M: Hurry up. I’m at work.

R: Remember that girl you were talking about last night? That you and your friend saw at the restaurant on the motorcycle?

M: How could I forget? Zoey wouldn’t let me hear the end of it.

A: We saw the R1 outside, with the pink stripes.

M: No shot. Outside where?

R: Studio. We had a huge shoot this morning for a magazine plus a huge social media campaign.

M: Oh, cool. So what, you saw the bike? Know where she works now?

A: It gets better.

(M is about to hang up)

R: She’s the one that took all our pictures. She’s a photo ops director.

M: Shut up.

A: And she’s coming to the party on Saturday.

M: SHUT THE FUCK UP.

R: Not kidding. Are you still bringing your friend?

M: Yeah, Zoey.

A: You think Jinu’s cool with that?

M: You of all people should know he won’t care. As long as everyone’s vibing to the music, having a good time, he’s happy.

R: Mhm.

A: We invited Bobby again, by the way.

M: The manager guy?

R: He was our contact for this shoot. This is a massive break for us, we wanted to repay the favor. He’s been sending us gigs here and there that pass his desk for over a year now, but this one takes the cake. Absolute sweetheart.

M: I remember him, he’s nice.

A: Truly. Oh, and one more thing.

M: You have ten seconds. Boss is looking at me funny.

A: She’s gay. Dressed up as Nana for halloween and said she was a lesbian.

M: *whistles*

M: And you found all of this out during a photoshoot?

R: We had some downtime.

M: Zoey’s gonna lose her shit. She was texting me all night about biker girls. I’ll tell her tomorrow.

A: See you Saturday?

M: Mhm.

Click.

End Transcript

Saturday, June 28th, 2025. 5:50pm

Mira smoothed her hair back, nervous jitters thrumming below her skin.

It was a perfect night, just cool enough to not be suffocated for wearing a jacket.

Mira had opted for a more adventurous outfit, a white bandeau showing off her toned midriff, amber high-waist slacks held by a black leather belt and gold buckle, a black leather jacket left open, all sat atop a pair of shiny black stiletto heels.

She was feeling jittery about tonight.

Not because she didn’t want to go, she just hadn’t been out in ages. Too busy with work, too hung up on the anniversary…her breath caught.

Not tonight.

Tonight she focused on moving on. Having fun.

That’s what parties were for, right?

She checked her makeup in the mirror one last time, reapplying her cherry lipstick for what felt like the seventeenth time and double-checking her eyeliner wings before heading downstairs.

It felt odd, not grabbing her helmet and keys to hop on her bike. She never used public transportation, even her grocery store runs were frequent enough that she could fit most things in her backpack.

She just liked having control.

The car sent to pick her up was unmistakable. A black Mercedes, idling in the warm evening light under the street lamps. The driver’s door opened, a woman stepping out with a blank expression on her face.

“Hong Mira?”

Mira blinked. She hadn’t had a driver call her by name since she lived with her family.

The woman smiled warmly.

“I know who you are, yes. Come, we wouldn’t want you to be late.” She walked around the car, opening the rear passenger door for Mira to slide into the leather backseat. The door halted just before latching, catching itself and shutting on its own with a soft click.

Soft close doors.

Whoever owned this car didn’t skimp. Mira raised an eyebrow, impressed.

The driver was silent. Dressed in a smart black suit, her raven hair was slicked back to come up in a high knot ponytail. Was she even supposed to speak? Mira broke the silence.

“Nice car. Comfy.”

The driver smiled again.

“I’ll be sure to let the host know. By the way, your outfit is stunning. They told me you’d wear something to make a statement.”

Mira flushed slightly.
“A statement? Hopefully a good one.” Mira said with a small grin. “Who’s the host for tonight? I was invited by–”

A friend? An acquaintance? What were Abby and Romance?

“–mutual clients. I don’t know the man himself.”

“I’m sure he’d love to introduce himself to you. I wouldn’t want to take that away from him. He’s very particular like that.” Mira blinked quizzically. Somehow she still had even more questions.

“Hm. And you are?”

“I’m just the person meant to get you there in one piece, miss.” Her tone wasn’t frustrated, just firm.

Mira didn’t press further. If the driver had some list of rules she was supposed to follow, she didn’t want to get her in trouble.

The ride ended in the basement level of a high-rise, working through the bustle of a mostly-full parking garage. The driver spoke up for the first time in a few minutes.

“We’re here. Looks like your friends are waiting by the elevator, too.”

Mira squinted, eyes finding the two heads of pink hair looking around, presumably for her. Abby and Romance. They waited for her?

“Yeah, that’s them. Thank you for the ride.” She murmured gratefully, slipping out of the rear seat and closing the door behind her. Abby and Romance’s faces lit up as they saw her, beckoning her to come over.

“Mira, it’s so good to see you. May I?” Romance stuck his hand out, head bowed. Abby elbowed him, tone apologetic.

“You don’t have to, he’s–”

Mira interrupted Abby, a chuckle trying to creep its way out. He had asked permission this time.

“It’s okay this time. Promise.”

Romance grinned, taking her hand in his, his delicate fingers handling her own as if he feared he would break them. He pressed his lips to her ring, an amethyst this time, cocking his leg back in a deep curtsy. Mira cocked an eyebrow, making eye contact with Abby, whose eyes screamed he always does this in a deliberate but affectionate roll.

“Welcome to Polaris Tower, Mira. Come, right this way.”

As Mira followed the two men to the elevator set in the wall of the elevator, she observed the throng of chauffeurs dropping passengers off. All of them were men. Every single one. Did she just happen to get the only female chauffeur?

“Private elevator. Perks of the penthouse.”

Right. This guy was rich.

Money didn’t impress Mira, having come from a generationally wealthy family herself, but just the casual way all of these people discussed it brought her back to a time where she was in the midst of it. She did more than well enough for herself, but this was a different kind of money. The kind that made you wonder where they were getting it from.

Abby and Romance entered the elevator, Mira just behind them as the doors quietly slid shut behind them and the car began to ascend smoothly.

“How was the ride over? Chauffeur find you okay?” Romance broke the silence, not out of desperation to fill it, but as if he genuinely wanted to know. The floor display gradually counted up. 22. 23. 24. Mira nodded, her eyes drifting around, unwilling to make eye contact in the confined space.

“Good, yeah. She seemed nice. Didn’t talk much.”

“Company tells them they’re not to speak unless spoken to,” Abby informed her, his tone wasn’t condescending.

“Interesting. The men stay quiet too?” Her tone was apprehensive.

“All of them. It’s just for professionalism, nothing more.” Of course. Mira left the silence hanging.

Silent equals professional. Just shut up and do your job.

The elevator came to a halt on the floor marked P. Romance turned to Mira, eyes searching.

“Nervous?”

Mira cleared her throat, preparing herself.

“Not a bit. Just haven’t met these people besides you, that’s all.”

A little white lie never hurt anyone.

Her palms were slick with sweat, foot bouncing almost imperceptibly against the elevator floor. The pre-party jitter was something everyone had, right? Romance smiled, pressing the Open Door button.

“Amazing.”

The doors slid open to reveal an open foyer, lit by sconce LED’s casting a purple glow over the onyx walls. Paintings and traditional sculptures decorated the walls, all housed in glass cases. A house remix of a LE SSERAFIM song drifted through the air, not too loud but just enough to set an energetic vibe. Party conversation laced with the music from around the corner, almost teasing her, inviting her to come join.

Mira blinked. It wasn’t what she had expected. In her experience, most rich people had boring, expressionless homes. All of the décor was rooted in Korean history, from provocative art pieces to what she could only assume were preserved artifacts.

Her observations were cut short by a man suddenly appearing in front of the elevator. He stood just a bit taller than Mira, cropped black hair tousled and clothes simple, a blue polo with grey chinos. His boyish grin never faltered as he greeted the arrivals.

“Romance! Abby!”

The couple wrapped the man in a hug, leaving their arms around him as they turned back to face Mira, Romance speaking first.

“This is–”

“Mira Hong.” He bowed his head in respect. “I’ve seen your work, it’s absolutely beautiful. That set you did for my friends here was nothing short of perfection.”

Mira raised an eyebrow, still unsure what to think of him. His tone sounded genuine, but these people always had something to hide, wanted something out of every interaction. The man picked up on her hesitation, extending a hand with an apologetic smile.

“And where are my manners? My name is Jinu.”

No company, no title, nothing. Just a name.

Mira firmly accepted his handshake, nodding once.

“Pleasure. The boys’ve told me about you.”

“All good things I hope, right guys?” Jinu laughed, patting Abby and Romance on the shoulder. “Come in, the elevator’s no place to mingle.”

Mira crossed the threshold, trailing behind the three men as they walked further into the penthouse. The pulse of the music grew louder, reaching its pinnacle at the entrance to the living room.

It might as well have been a warehouse.

The windows stretched from floor to ceiling, a spiral staircase leading to a loft overlooking the massive expanse of a room. Small cliques were scattered around, groups of twos and threes mingling over drinks and hors d'oeuvres. Mira’s eyes were drawn to a massive spread of cushions set in the floor, like four couches all facing each other. A conversation pit?

Her pulse crept up to her ears. It had been a while since she was in this proximity to this many people outside of work. Where was Bobby?

Abby’s voice murmured next to her. Not too close, just close enough to show presence.

“Hey. You good?”

Mira shook her head, blinking.

“Yeah, um, just taking it in. Crazy place.”

Abby chuckled.

“I had the same reaction. Do you drink?”

Mira hesitated. She used to. A lot. Ever since starting to ride, though, she had cut down immensely, reduced to a beer or two with dinner sometimes. She didn’t have to worry about driving tonight, though…

“Sometimes. I’m not driving.”

“Sooo, is that a yes?” Abby’s eyebrows waggled. Romance and Jinu were talking about something else she couldn’t make out.

Mira nodded. A drink might help settle her nerves.

“Mhm. Let’s go.”

“Atta girl. Hey, Ro, we’re gonna go get a drink. Want your usual?” Abby slinked his hand around Romance’s waist from behind, pulling him back.

“Hey, sexy.” Romance purred, fitting his lips to the spot under Abby’s jaw. “I’d love my usual. A long, hard–”

Abby shut him up with a kiss.

“Girthy cosmo, got it. Love ya, babe.” Romance whined as his boyfriend pulled away. Mira smirked, following Abby.

“What, nothing for me?” Jinu protested.

“Don’t you like, pay people for that?” Abby called back over his shoulder.

The bar wasn’t too crowded, a few people leaning against the counter chatting while the bartender sat patiently, bobbing her head to the music. Abby propped an elbow on the counter, flashing a cordial smile to the bartender.

“Evening.”

She smiled at Abby, which dimmed after her eyes glanced Mira up and down. Her sharp black eyeliner wings contrasted beautifully with her pale skin, fluffy black hair cascading down her back. She wore a low cut black dress, showing off her defined collarbones and just enough of her cleavage that Mira had to focus her gaze upwards.

“Evening, Abby. Who’s this?” Her voice was husky, almost sultry. Was that a tinge of jealousy?

“Mira. And you…?” Mira matched Abby’s polite smile.

“Chloe. The usual for you, Abs?” Her tone was almost…dismissive? Her gaze was only pointed at Abby. The taller man rolled his eyes.

“Just Abby, hon. Two cosmos, and whatever she’d like.” Mira felt both pairs of eyes on her and froze up. Talk about pressure.

“Oh, uh. Macallan on the rocks.” Chloe nodded with another stolen side-eyed glance at Mira.

What was her problem?

Abby raised an eyebrow.

“Scotch, eh?”

“All I drink. Besides soju sometimes. My dad would get it imported.” Abby nodded, impressed.

“Got more balls than I do. Can’t stand the taste of liquor, I like my drinks fruity.”

Just like he likes his boyfriends.

Mira barely suppressed a snort at her own joke.

“Bit of a personal question for you, if you don’t mind.” Abby flashed his smile again.

“I’m all ears.”

“How did you and Romance meet?”

Abby sighed, his smile growing even wider as he thought about his partner.

“College is where we all officially met. Me, Romance, Jinu, and the three–” he hesitated. “–two other guys. Different years for some of us, but a few of our classes lined up and we started studying together. I started crushing after he fell asleep at my dorm prepping for midterms one night, but I wasn’t sure if he even liked guys. Turns out he felt the same, he confessed to me a month later, a bit before we graduated, and the rest is history.”

Mira raised a brow at the hesitation. There was a sixth one?

“So there’s six of you? Or five?”

“Five.” Abby’s response was a bit too quick.

“I see.” Mira glanced back at Chloe, who was pouring the two ruby colored drinks into martini glasses from her shaker. “So…who are the other two?”

“One is Mystery, or Myst as he goes by now.” He tossed a thumb over his shoulder at the conversation pit, where a shorter boy with wavy silver hair was seated next to two girls. “The other is Baby. He’s probably upstairs by the DJ booth.”

Mira snorted.

“You all have nicknames?”

Abby chuckled.

“Most of us. Not Jinu. He’s just Jinu. Always has been.”

“Huh. Interesting.”

She still had a question burning in her chest.

What happened to the sixth?

“Macallan.”

The word brought her to attention, turning back to Chloe as she grabbed her drink.

“Thanks.” She mumbled, grasping the glass, letting the chill steady her fingers.

“Tell your boy he needs to get better at reading hints.” Chloe said simply, a thin lipped smile crossing her face. Mira’s nose wrinkled indignantly.

“My boy? We’re not–”

“I’m one of her clients. It’s not like that.” Abby cut in, his tone firm.

“Whaaatever.” Chloe rolled her eyes.

“Whatever? You can’t just–” Abby grabbed her arm. Not forcefully, just enough to cut her off. He murmured in her ear.

“It’s not worth it. She doesn’t know about me ‘n Ro. Wanna keep it that way.”

Mira looked at Abby, then back at Chloe. She reluctantly turned away.

“I could’ve taken her.” She mumbled under her breath.

“Again, not worth it. You just got here, I’ll mention it to Jinu. She’s been hitting on me for months.” He pulled a small packet from his pocket. “Here, put this on your drink.”

Mira took the packet, unraveling it. It was a small, round piece of emerald fabric with elastic at the edges and a lotus flower on the center.

“What is it?”

“Drink cover. We trust everyone here, but it’s just in case. Better safe than sorry, yeah?”

Drink cover.

He was so…attentive to details. Was it him and Romance that had arranged the female chauffeur to pick her up?

“Oh…thanks.” She slipped the cover over her whisky, watching Abby try to balance the two drinks in his one hand while he fiddled with the covers in his other. “Here, let me.”

She took the covers from his hand, slipping them over the martini glasses and popping the straws through the little cutout in the fabric. Abby sighed gratefully.

“Ugh, thanks. Should’ve done it at the bar but I wanted to get the fuck out of there.”

Mira and Abby wove their way back across the floor to Romance and Jinu, who were now talking to a third man with short blue hair. Romance’s eyes lit up as he locked onto the cosmopolitan in Abby’s hand.

“Aw babe, you shouldn’t have.”

“Well, I did, angel cake. I’m more than happy to drink both if you don’t–”

“Fucking try me, see what happens.” Romance lifted the glass from Abby’s hands, taking a hesitant sip. His nose wrinkled. “Who’s bartending tonight? This isn’t how a cosmo normally–”

“Yeah, Jinu, that girl’s gotta go. Chloe.” Abby cut in, placing his free hand on Romance’s elbow. “She’s been harassing me every single time she’s around, not to mention being rude to our new guest.”

Jinu’s eyebrow raised.

“She was being rude to Mira? I’m not gonna let that sli–”

“I got it.” The deep voice of the lanky blue-haired boy cut Jinu off, just before he disappeared into the throng of guests.

Mira watched him go, looking back at the group when she lost sight of him.

“And that was…?”

“Baby.” Romance confirmed. “You did tell her about the rest of the boys, right babe?”

Abby nodded.

“Mhm. Now she just has to meet Myst and–” Jinu shot him a look. “Myst. Is all who she has left to meet. Yep.” He stammered.

Mira looked back and forth between them.

What was the deal with the sixth person in the group? She was sick of wondering.

“What’s the big deal with the sixth one? I already know something’s up.” She blurted. Her eyes widened slightly. She hadn’t meant to say it so abruptly.

“Tell her. If she’s gonna be hanging around more, she deserves to know.” Romance said, staring directly at Jinu. “It’s not like he did anything wrong.”

Jinu sighed. He turned to Mira.

“Fine. There were six of us. In college. We all got along, but this one…he was different. Not a bad kind of different, just…reserved. We all loved him like a brother. We’d do anything for him, just as any one of us would do for each other. It just seemed like he was dealing with something else. Not like that’s bad, but he never brought anything up to us. We just offered all the support we could, y’know?”

He took a deep breath.

“One day, he came to my dorm. Seemed like he was about to cry. I just told him to sit and talk, and after a while he eventually told me he had feelings for me. For me.” Jinu’s eyes flicked to Abby and Romance, sipping their drinks with a grim look on their faces.

“I told him…as much as I loved him as a friend, a brother, but I didn’t like guys like that. It’s just not who I am, I can’t change that. But if he did, I was in full support. Hell, we have these two acting like seals fighting over a grape–” Romance elbowed him “–ow. But nonetheless, it never changed anything. For the rest of us, at least.”

Jinu shook his head, gaze drifting to the floor.

“He just looked at me with the most hurt eyes I’ve ever seen. I’ve never seen someone show so much pain without saying a word. Then he left. Completely dropped out, didn’t finish school, nothing. None of us ever saw him again. Maybe I led him on, somehow? Maybe–”

“Stop it.” Romance chided. “You couldn’t control his reaction.” The model looked back to Mira.

“None of us have heard from him. It’s been almost three whole years, and he just completely disappeared. If he ever wants to talk to us, reach out again, we’re all here for him. It’s a sensitive subject, that’s all.”

Mira took her first sip of her scotch, the sharp yet familiar bite of the liquor splashing against her throat as she took in the story.

“Wow. He just…left?”

The boys all nodded grimly.

“Losing one of your friends like that…it’s not easy. Especially when there’s–” her voice caught. “–nothing else you could’ve done.”

The silence sat for a moment, music still pulsing in the atmosphere of the room. Now a flip of Face to Face by Daft Punk was playing. One of Mira’s favorite songs.

Jinu was the first to speak.

“Mira, I fear we haven’t been completely honest with you.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, the aftertaste of the whisky still sitting in her mouth. She looked at Abby and Romance, who barely avoided her gaze.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing bad. There’s just someone specific we wanted you to meet.” Romance butted in, his tone slightly too loud. Already tipsy off one drink?

“It wasn’t Jinu?” Mira had a quizzical look on her face. Counting Baby’s brief interaction as an introduction, she just had Mystery– Myst, to meet. Jinu continued.

“No. A friend of Myst’s. I guess she really likes bikes and–” Her heart dropped. She took a step back, her heart pounding. Was this all fake? A ploy? Just for her to meet some fangirl who probably just wanted a picture or something? The burn of betrayal smoldered deep in her chest, her face flushing. Her tone raised.

People started looking.

She didn’t care.

“So what was all of this, then? You made up some sob story to get me to trust you?”

Jinu shook his head, hands thrown up in defense.

“It’s not like that, Mira.”

Angry tears threatened to well up behind her eyes. Not here. Not now. She whipped towards Abby and Romance.

“And you two. All of that? Just for me to meet some fangirl who wants a picture to flex on social media?”

“No.” Abby’s tone was firm. “We only realized it was you after leaving the shoot. We saw your bike outside, saw your helmet sitting on your desk as we walked by your office, and put two and two together.”

Mira scoffed.

“You could’ve just asked, you know. I’m more than happy to just–”

A deliberate clear of a throat from behind silenced her. She spun around, face still flushed with anger, chest heaving. Baby and Myst stood there silently, with the two girls Myst had been sitting with staggered a bit back behind him. She completely stopped her tirade, only focusing on the two girls.

One girl had an almost impossibly long purple braid.

Her eyes widened.

The other had two space buns pulled up atop her head.

Even through the slight haze induced by the scotch she was nursing, her memory was still sharp.

Tuesday. The anniversary.

The restaurant.

The man harassing her.

She held up her hand, glancing down at her knuckles still slightly bruised from the punch she had thrown.

The freeway.

The wave.

She pointed to them, voice hoarse.

“I know you. I’ve seen you before. Both of you.”

The two girls shared a glance, still not talking. Mira turned back to Jinu and the models.

“This is who you wanted me to meet?”

All the boys nodded. Except Baby.

Myst spoke first.

“I’ve seen you around. That Subaru with the gold wheels you gapped on the freeway last week was me.”

Mira remembered. She always remembered. Her tone was barely above a whisper, hardly audible above the music.

“Why the hell did you think you could beat me?” Myst just shrugged.

“Your bike sounds good. I just wanted to hear you wring it out.”

The world felt like it was spinning around Mira, and not because of the alcohol.

Mira laughed. Not her usual reserved chuckle, something akin to a cackle.

There were hidden cameras, right? Was this some kind of joke? The pieces all started to fall into place.

“So let me get this perfectly fucking straight.”

She points at Myst.

“You tried to race me last week. Lost miserably.”

Then to the girl with space buns.

“I saw that same car, his car in the parking lot of the restaurant on Tuesday. You were with him that night. When I punched that guy.”

She nodded, eyes wide. Was that a blush dancing across her cheeks?

Mira pounded the rest of her scotch in one go, cracking her knuckles. She was on a roll. She turned to the girl with the lilac braid.

“And you. I passed you on the freeway, on the way home. I waved at you. ”

The girl nodded, her braid swaying with the motion. Her gaze was straight at the floor, almost hiding behind Myst.

Mira turned ninety degrees, to face everyone. She pointed at Abby and Romance.

“You all went to college. That’s how you know Myst. Myst texts his boys about what happened, that he saw some girl knock this guy out. You see my bike after the shoot on Wednesday, you say ‘hey, let's invite her to the party so she can meet the fangirl’. Sound about right?”

“Fangirl?!” The shorter girl blurted indignantly, speaking for the first time. She smacked Myst on the arm. “Is that what you told them I was?” Myst shook his head, trying to defend himself.

“No, I–”

“Nuh-uh.” She cut him off, pushing him aside to stand directly in front of Mira, looking up at the taller girl. The boys all stared at them in silence.

Gods, she was short.

Mira stood almost a full foot taller than her. The girl inhaled like she was about to belt a rap verse.

“I’m Zoey, I saw you knock that guy out, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how badass and hot you were for that, I think your motorcycle is really cool, and I love how the pink matches your hair, they told me you’re a photographer which is really really really cool, and I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’d really like to be friends!” She gasped in a deep breath and stuck a hand out.

Mira blinked.

That was not what she had expected.

I can’t stop thinking about how badass and hot you were for that.

A fangirl, maybe, but it felt…genuine. Zoey’s eyes were full of wonder looking up at Mira.

She reciprocated the handshake tentatively. Zoey’s hand almost disappeared in her long fingers, but her skin was cool against Mira’s hot palms. It grounded her.

The words took a moment to form.

“I…I’m Mira. Nice to meet you.”

Mira pointed to the purple haired girl after letting go of Zoey’s hand.

“And her?”

The girl shrank away behind Myst. Zoey looked back up at Mira.

“That’s Rumi. She’s just really shy. But we’d both love it if you’d come sit with us.”

Zoey’s pupils were like black holes.

Is she using fucking puppy-dog eyes on me?

“Please?”

Mira contemplated.

All of this work? All this coordination? A penthouse party? Just for her to meet these two girls?

It felt too insane to be real.

She glanced at the bar. Chloe was gone, a man chatting up the bartop standing in her place.

Her mind went back a few minutes. Abby, Romance, either one of them could’ve just told her at any point. Yet they had chosen to scheme like this. It was all still so much to her.

She needed another drink.

“Alright.”

Zoey jumped up and down, as if she was releasing stored energy like a spring, cheering.

“Yay! Okay so we’re all getting shots, right? I could really use a shot–” She made a beeline towards the bar, looping her arm through Rumi’s. Mira followed, hesitating when she turned her back to Abby and Romance. She turned back to say something, but was beaten by Abby.

“Go. Hang out with them. We can all talk about this later. Promise.”

She nodded, following the two girls. Jinu, Abby, Romance, Baby, and Myst all fell into a line together, watching the girls walk up to the bar. Romance broke the silence.

“Way to go, Jinu. Smooth.”

Jinu’s brows furrowed.

“Oh, is it my fault? You could’ve just told her, you were probably too busy making out in the car.”

“Don’t.” Abby growled.

Baby scoffed, rolling his eyes, speaking for the second time that evening.

“Look at you guys. Blaming each other while she talks to them. Wasn’t that, like, the whole point of getting her here?”

He waited.

No one answered.

“And by the way– who’s the girl with the braid?”

More silence.

Myst spoke up.

“Rumi. Zoey brought her. Guess they met Wednesday morning. Didn’t talk much, just shy, I guess. Wouldn’t even look at me.”

Baby looked at all of them pointedly.

“You seriously don’t see it. Who’s the only other person we’ve ever seen with that color of hair?”

Jinu’s eyes widened. His mind flashed back to college. His dorm. That night–

“Wait, but he’s– is she like, his sister?”

Baby rolled his eyes.

“Idiots. All of you. I love you, but you’re idiots. I need a drink.”

With that, he strolled back to the bar.

Romance leaned toward Jinu.

“She is an only child, Jinu.”

His heart dropped.

She?

Jinu glanced at Myst. He just shrugged.

“Don’t look at me. She wouldn’t talk to me. Just told me her name.”

Jinu swore under his breath.

“After all this time…that’s what happened to him–” he stopped. Romance shot him a look. “–her? After all these years…fuck.” He spun around, rushing to the balcony, mumbling about needing air.

Romance went to go after him, but Abby stopped him with an outstretched arm.

“Let him process. You remember how bad he spiraled those few months after–” Abby hesitated, unsure of what to call their old friend. “–she left.”

Myst looked at Rumi, leaning on the bar next to Zoey and Mira. He shrugged.

“Maybe she’s not who we’re thinking of.”

“How would we even ask that question, though?” Romance’s tone wasn’t angry, just passionate. “Hey, did you go by this name in college and have a crush on Jinu except he turned you down so you ghosted us? Fuck no. That’s probably why she was hiding behind you the whole time, Myst. She was probably scared we’d recognize her. Zoey’s the one who invited her, isn’t she? She had no idea any of us would be here.”

The puzzle pieces began to fall into place for Myst. The lack of eye contact. Her overall avoidance to the conversations him and Zoey had, unless Zoey addressed her directly.

“I don’t go by Mystery anymore. Zoey probably talked about me as Myst. She wouldn’t have known it was me until she saw me.”

Romance threw up his hands, happy they were finally understanding.

“Exactly!”

“So it’s just pure chance she ended up here, then, huh?” Abby almost sounded sarcastic. Myst shook his head.

“Can’t be. It’s impossible. Her and Zoey just met.”

Romance rested his hands on both Myst’s and Abby’s arms.

“Whatever happens, we cannot approach her. She has to come to us.”

They all nodded.

“When she’s ready.”

Chapter Text

Call Transcript Thursday, June 26th, 2025 8:21am

Z: Mmh…

M: Morning, sleepyhead.

Z: Fuck off…..I have work at noon…I wanna sleep…

M: Something I gotta tell you.

Z: Oh.

Z: Is everything–

M: Everything’s fine.

Z: Oookay.

Z: So…what is it?

M: That girl you saw the other day.

Z: The *yawn* super hot biker girl?

M: Talked to some of the boys yesterday, they did a modeling shoot. She was there.

Z: You have model friends?

M: Focus.

Z: M’kay…so what?

M: She took their pictures at the shoot.

Z: So what you’re saying is she’s a buff sexy biker photographer? Are you trying to torture me?

M: No.

Z: Well, you’re failing. It should’ve been ME.

M: What are you doing Saturday?

Z: *yawn* probs just seeing what Rumi is doing…why?

M: Rumi?

Z: We met at work, she’s super sweet and cool and also rides a motorcycle and she has this super pretty REALLY long purple braid.

M: Nice.

M: Well, there’s a party at Jinu’s place on Saturday.

Z: Jinu? The business major guy?

M: Yeah.

M: Biker girl is gonna be there.

A thud sound comes through Myst’s phone.

M: Z?

Z: I’M AWAKE.

M: Did you fall out of bed?

Z: …No?

Z: Okay maybe I did but I’m strong like a turtle.

M: Nice. Did you hear what I said?

Z: That she’s gonna be at the party?

M: Yeah.

Z: That’s, like, the only thing I remember you saying in the last two minutes.

M: So you’ll come?

Z: If I ever say no to that question, I’m not Zoey. I’m demon Zoey. Shoot on sight. Pew-pew.

M: Cool. Did you want to bring your friend?

Z: Huh? Oh, Rumi?

M: Yeah.

Z: God, you’re killing me with the one-word responses. I’ve seen more expressiveness from a sea cucumber.

M: Wow.

Z: I’ll ask her. Her mom might freak but we can workshop it.

M: Cool.

Z: Soo was there anything else? Or just that?

M: Just that.

Z: Well. Thanks. See you Saturday, then?

M: Mhm.

Z: ‘kay. Bye, Myst.

M: Bye, Z.

End Call Transcript

Zoey stared at her phone in disbelief.

A party?

And the mysterious biker girl was going to be there?

Zoey had always admired people for their looks. Masculine, feminine, androgynous, she didn’t discriminate. The attraction never lasted for longer than a fleeting glance, yet for this biker girl…something about her just did it for Zoey. The helmet, the long hair, the effortless punch that felled her harasser.

Her height.

Zoey groaned.

It’s barely been 24 hours, you can’t obsess over someone like that.

She opened her texts, scrolling to Rumi’s contact.

…yes you can. Worst thing she can say is no, right?

“Rumi.”

Celine’s voice raked through Rumi’s peaceful slumber, jolting her awake. Her heart rate spiked in a panic, dozens of memories of Celine unceremoniously waking her flooding in. What had she missed this time? An appointment?

“Oh, good, you’re finally awake.” Her tone was annoyed.

“Wha–” Rumi rubbed her eyes. “What happened?”

Celine tapped her delicate silver wristwatch.

“No point in lazing about all day. You have things to do, no?”

Rumi glanced at the time.

10:21am.

“It’s…it’s not even late? I work at 2, I just–”

“You’d think, after all these years, maybe something would stick in your head–”

Celine reached out a finger, tapping Rumi’s temple. Rumi recoiled from the touch. It did nothing but remind her of every bit of correction she had received as a child. Even through middle school, and entering high school, Celine had used physical forms of correction as discipline. An open palm. A wooden ruler. A belt, if she deemed the grievance drastic enough. The scars may have faded, but the memories still festered. And every touch from Celine, no matter how minor, did nothing but rub salt in them.

“The marks will serve as a reminder,” Celine had said. “You do better next time, no more marks. Do better for her. For your mother.”

Rumi was on the verge of tears.

Celine waved both hands upward.

“Don’t give me that look. And whatever this is–” Celine gestured to the few articles of clothing scattered around Rumi’s otherwise completely clean room. “–I want it cleaned up before you go to work.”

Rumi hesitated, then nodded. Slowly.

“Yes, Celine.” Her voice was hoarse.

Celine looked at her for one moment more, then left. As if nothing had ever happened. As if that singular touch hadn’t just brought back years of memories Rumi wished desperately would go away.

Rumi wasn’t sure how much more of the “my house, my rules” regime she could take. Every look, every word, every touch did nothing but remind her of every horrible part of living with her godmother over the years. Sure, there were good parts. Passing her driver’s license test. Graduation. Getting her first job. Celine had cried when Rumi opened her college acceptance letter. That was when Rumi had thought everything might be okay. That she might be good enough for Celine. For her mom.

She would be so proud of you.

Celine hung that phrase over Rumi’s head like dangling a treat just out of a dog’s reach. Would be? Was Celine not proud of Rumi? Of all the things she had done?

Partway through college, Rumi had come out to Celine.

That day still haunted Rumi.

Tears spilled from their eyes, splashing onto the pile of untouched homework.

“What?”

They took a deep, steadying breath. Repeating it was even harder.

“I– I don’t think I’m a boy, Celine.”

The silence was deafening. Their pulse roared in their ears.

“It’s what you were born as.”

A single sob tore from their throat.

“I don’t want to be a boy. I hate it. I hate everything about it.”

Celine just sat there. Unmoving. They took a ragged breath.

“I hate waking up in this body. I hate hearing this name.”

“J*-*****–”

“Don’t call me that. Please. Not anymore.”

The tears had soaked through their papers completely.

“It’s your name, J*-*****. Mi-yeong gave it to you. You can’t just throw it away.”

Mi-yeong. Mom. Umma.

“I don’t want–I can’t–”

The sobs wracked their chest, head between their hands. Celine reached out a hand, brushing their shoulder. They whipped up, startled by the sudden contact. Scared. Terrified of Celine hitting–

“You can. You can be strong. For her.”

“No, I can’t– I can’t do this– I’d rather–”

The words caught in their throat. They took a breath, still quivering.

“Rumi.”

Celine’s eyes narrowed.

“What–”

Her words faltered, like she was speaking an unfamiliar language.

“My name. Is Rumi.”

Celine shook her head, slowly, backing away from Rumi. Like she was a monster.

“No– Mi-yeong–she wanted–”

“Wanted what? For me to be miserable?”

Rumi’s words were hot with anger, tears still staining her cheeks. Celine stared at the ground, unable to look at Rumi. Her tone was pleading.

“You’ll never be a girl, J*-*****. We should talk about this–”

Her name– no, her old name ached like a shard of glass through her heart.

“We are talking about it! But you’re not listening–if you would just listen to me–”

“I am listening!”

“Then LOOK at me!”

Rumi’s eyes went wide. She hadn’t expected the words to come out like that. Celine stood. Rumi closed her eyes, bracing, flinching for an impact– that never came. She opened her eyes. A singular deep breath shuddered through her ribs.

Celine had left.

Her homework was soaked.

But she was Rumi.

And Rumi was her.

–

Ever since that conversation, Celine had been distant, bitter.

As if Celine blamed her for something.

Every step outside the lines, every infraction that wasn’t up to Celine—no, Mi-yeong’s standards—she was punished even harder for, even tiny missteps. The physical discipline had lessened, but was only replaced by words that cut twice as deep, every syllable a reminder that she would never live up to her mother’s standards for her.

Starting hormones without Celine knowing had been difficult, but not impossible. The weekly shots kept her sanity intact–not only life-saving medication– routine to protect herself. Without the shots, without that liquid coursing through her veins…could she even be Rumi?

She shook her head, clearing the memory from her mind as if it were a cobweb. She sighed, picking herself up out of bed and clearing the clutter from her room. It hardly constituted a mess. Her room was nearly bare as it sat. No posters, no collectibles, hardly any decorations, much like the rest of the house. Just her bed, her dresser, and the single plushie that sat on her twin bed. The entire place looked as if Celine was keeping it staged to show potential buyers, lacking any warmth or feel of home.

Her phone dinged. Apparently Zoey had texted her multiple times while her phone was on do not disturb, and only just now had she decided to hit notify anyway.

Zoeyyy 🐢Thursday, June 26th, 2025

8:26am: morning beautiful bestieee :) i just got the CRAZIEST phone call i need to tell you i need to tell you i need to tell you plsss

8:51am: sorryyyyy i know you’re probably sleeping i promise it’s not about turtles. Promise promise.

9:20am: okay it’s not about turtles but did you know the oldest living land animal in the world is a tortoise named Jonathan

he turns 193 this year

CRAZY right

9:37am: oKAY IM SORRY I REALLY DO NEED TO TELL YOU SOMETHING IMPORTANT AND EXCITING

10:01am: Rumiiiiiiiii

10:08am: Rumi r u alive pls respond

10:23am: WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP NIGHTMARE NIGHTMARE

Rumi stared at the first message.

Beautiful bestie.

Something fluttered in her heart.

Zoey was a friend. It didn’t matter to Rumi how they had just met merely days ago. She had already filled her and Rumi’s text conversation with tidbits of information about sea creatures, studies she had done in college, and trips she planned to go on someday. Her brain was fascinating to Rumi, full of so much information and life, it felt like she couldn’t get enough.

Plus, she was cute. Adorable, even. The way she could get hooked on any one topic and ramble for hours at a time was enthralling. The way she smiled so wide about the tiniest things, the light in her eyes when they discovered a shared interest.

A pang of guilt shot through her chest.

She couldn’t fully trust Zoey. Not yet. Not with everything about her. The way that Zoey seemed to wholly trust Rumi made it hurt that much worse…but she couldn’t. She couldn’t let her find out.

She would leave. Just like everyone else.

Just like–

She stopped scrolling.

Jonathan? The oldest living land animal was named Jonathan?

A snort burst its way from her nose, a waning grin working its way across her lips.

Zoey was hilarious.

She tapped out a response.

10:24am: hey sorry was asleep, just woke up

Everything okay?

Rumi hadn’t even swiped out of the messages app before the replies began to flurry in.

Zoeyyy 🐢

10:24am: yessss yes yes everything is good GOOD MORNING

I got a call earlier from my friend

I guess he knows some guys that do things like modeling or whatever

anyways

he said his model friends told him that they saw that one girl’s bike outside the building they did their shoot in!

but it gets BETTER

apparently this girl was their PHOTOGRAPHER

a super tall super buff super sexy BIKER PHOTOGRAPHER

i would go to war for her

sorry

windy out here aint it

anyway

I guess they’re going to a party on saturday

And THE BIKER GIRL IS GONNA BE THERE

HOLYSHIT RUMI SHE’S GONNA BE THERE

and we’re invited btw like i already asked n they said i could bring u

so so so sorry for blowing ur phone up but likeee will you come to the party this saturday with me plsssssss

The wall of text stared back at Rumi.

The biker girl? That had passed her on the freeway? Was going to a party? That she was invited to?

Her first thought was yes yes please gods any excuse to get out of this house.

But how would she convince Celine?

Even at Rumi's age, Celine still kept an airtight curfew. Punishable by verbal berating. She winced at the thought.

She could lie.

Celine had her location, though.

Maybe Zoey had ideas…her fingers moved swiftly.

10:26am: you dont have to apologize it’s ok!

wow that’s a lot um

I’d love to come but Celine…you heard how she can be.

Any ideas?

Again, an immediate response.

Zoeyyy 🐢

10:27am: already on it.

we tell her where it’s at beforehand. that way she doesn’t freak about your location.

it’s like some…weird corporate mixer thing too

idk Myst just told me one of his like old college friends is hosting at his fancy apartment

you could probably pass it off as something in your job hunt

Ive never been but i heard he does stuff like this all the time

A corporate mixer…party?

Rumi cocked a brow, skeptical.

10:28: idk i’ll think about it.

I really wanna go

Zoeyyy 🐢

10:28: i’ll see if i can get you an alibi.

I gotta get ready for work

OKAY IM SO EXCITED I HOPE THIS WORKS ILY HAVE A GOOD DAY

Rumi’s fingers pressed three letters. Then two symbols. A letter. A number. Her finger hesitated over the send button.

10:28: lyt :) u2

She nearly threw her phone like it was hot coal.

What had she done?

Was this weird?

Did she ruin it?

Her heart was racing.

Her phone dinged again. She picked it up, almost swiping the message away without reading it. She looked anyway. The anxiety alone could’ve killed her.

Zoey had reacted to the message with a little red heart.

She exhaled in relief. They were okay. She flopped back on her bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Now to convince Celine that she was invited to some hotshot corporate mixer…

Work sucked.

Even just a short closing shift, it was still six hours of Rumi’s life she couldn’t get back. Her role didn’t matter. A cashier at a small grocery store. Just another cog in the machine. Rude customers, her bitch of a manager, her one coworker who never talked to her– it all made her feel so painfully invisible.

Worthless.

She left her helmet on its peg next to the garage door as always, slipping off her boots. Her body tingled with anxiety, palms pooling sweat in her gloves. Zoey had used her computer skills to fabricate an invite card with a time and address, a cute sparkly gold graphic with a cocktail glass background.

Time to try and convince Celine she was going to a networking event.

Celine was sitting in the living room with a book. Rumi put her bag down on the table, wincing at the clattering her water bottle made. Her words cut through the pause without a single glance up from her book. “You’re home early.”

Rumi pursed her lips. Why was she always so confrontational?

“Closing went smoothly. Slow night.”

“I’m sure.” Celine's tone was even. Left no intention of continuing the conversation.

Like she knew Rumi had something to ask her.

Her heart felt as if it was going to jump into her throat.

“I had– something I wanted to ask you.” Rumi’s words hitched in her throat. She silently cursed herself. Celine would never let her go to some fancy event if she couldn’t even ask properly.

Celine slipped her bookmark into the spine of her book, setting it down on the coffee table. Her eyes avoided making contact with Rumi until the last second, gaze flicking everywhere except the girl sitting before her. Rumi swallowed.

“And that is?” Celine’s voice carried a grumble of annoyance, the kind that screamed ‘why are you talking to me?’.

Rumi shakily pulled her phone out, pulling up the invite card Zoey had made her.

“A networking mixer. Zoey knew a guy at this media company, and they invited me to come meet some people.”

Her heart was pounding.

Celine blinked at the invite. She looked up at Rumi, then back to the phone screen. She snorted.

“You– got invited to this?”

Celine didn’t believe her.

She wasn’t going to be able to go.

Rumi took a deep breath.

“I did. I showed them some of my writing I did in college, and they loved it.” That was only a white lie. Rumi had shown Zoey some of her writing, and she did love it. But, then again, what did it matter? This whole proposition was nothing but a half-truth, anyway.

Celine snorted again. Not a laugh, not a chuckle, just surprise? Disbelief? Rumi couldn’t place it.

“Where did you meet these people, again?”

Shit.

Rumi improvised.

“Well, uh, you talked to Zoey the other day, she had a friend come by her place to pick up something while we were hanging out, and he works there.”

“Uh-huh.” Celine still pored over the invite. A trickle of sweat beaded on Rumi’s brow, her palms clenching. Rumi felt the need to fill the silence, but stopped herself. If she overexplained, Celine may get suspicious–

“Forsythia…don’t they do shoots for the idol groups? I worked with many agencies back in my industry days and it sounds familiar.”

Rumi had done some research, thank gods. She nodded, recalling the scouring she’d done on the internet.

“They’re a full service media and marketing company. Magazines, social media, modeling shoots, label work, even music videos.”

Celine nodded, humming.

“Mhm, I do remember them now. I hired them years ago to help market one of my girl groups.”

The Sunlight Sisters.

Rumi bit her tongue. She knew exactly which group Celine had managed. The group her mother had been a part of.

Before she–

“And here I was, thinking you’d never do anything useful with your life. You may go.”

Rumi blinked. She could go? To the party?

Her first party as a girl.

As herself.

She had to restrain herself from leaping out of her chair.

“Yes! Tha–” She cleared her throat, evening her tone. “Thank you, Celine. I think this will be good for me. To get some exposure, meet some people.”

Celine smiled, looking more pleased with herself than anything. Rumi didn’t care. She got to leave.

“I’ll just need a favor from you.”

Rumi froze. She should have known.

Celine’s grace was never given without transaction.

“An old friend. Jeong Bobby. See if he’s there for me.”

Bobby.

She could remember that. Maybe this would help her get on Celine’s good side for other events.

“I’ll ask around for him. He still works there…?”

Celine laughed, an abrupt chuckle that caught Rumi off guard. She never laughed, not like this.

“Bobby? Oh yes, he lives and breathes the industry. He knew your mother.”

Mother.

Rumi fought away the stab of grief she felt in the pit of her stomach. She nodded slowly.

“Bobby. Got it.”

She stood up, turning to climb the stairs.

“J*-*****.”

Rumi visibly flinched. Fists balled, she turned back to look at Celine.

Rumi. It’s RUMI. She wanted so badly to scream.

But her voice was silent.

Celine’s gaze was sharp as nails. It would’ve pinned her to the wall if it could. But something lay behind it, something softer.

“Mi-yeong would be proud of you. Of her son.”

Rumi felt the prickle of tears threaten her eyes. She couldn’t argue about this. Not here. Not now.

Not when she had won.

I’m not her son. I’m not anyone’s son.

My name is Rumi.

Mi-yeong is my mother. I am her daughter.

I. Am. Not. Her. Son.

“Thank you, Celine. Goodnight.” Rumi could hardly choke the words out.

“Goodnight.”

Rumi felt the heaviness in the air as she trudged up the stairs.

That name.

That damn name. It followed her around like a horrible spirit. A past self, long gone.

She flicked the bathroom light on. Lilac hair spilled down her back, her braid wispy yet still intact. Her gaze met her own in the mirror. Her face was scuffed from her work day and her helmet. It had been a few days since she shaved, laser treatments had made her lazy with the razor. Her breath caught in her throat. The face staring back at her…

She wasn’t Rumi.

She wasn’t her.

Despite the years of work, despite everything she had done to help that poor soul screaming in pain inside her, she still felt as if it wasn’t enough. The sharp jaw. The broad shoulders. Her Adam’s apple bobbing as she swallowed, struggling to fight back the sting of tears.

Celine’s words in memory choked out all her other thoughts.

You’ll never be a girl, J*-*****.

Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. The only thing she had ever known for certain about herself, and Celine hated her for it. All she had ever wanted.

A voice floated through her mind.

Please don’t believe her.

You’re my girl.

You always will be.

Saturday arrived like a whirlwind.

A panicked Rumi had called Zoey the night before, lamenting about lack of outfits. Zoey saved the day with a white long-sleeved silk shirt that was a little too big for her, and Rumi paired it with a pair of black slacks and her only pair of heels. Her hair was woven up in her trademark braid, her face freshly moisturized and her eyes framed with simple eyeliner and mascara.

Even with her outfit sorted, her makeup done, her nerves still sang with emotions. Anticipation. Fear. Excitement.

She had never gone out like this before.

As herself.

As Rumi.

All her previous party experiences had simply been to go with the group of boys she was close with in her college days. They did everything together. Studying, the older ones mentoring the others in classes they had already taken, movie nights, even meals together. She had never doubted how much they truly cared for her, yet she could never shake the feeling that once she came out, it would all come to an end. That it was too good to be true.

She never gave them the chance. Rumi couldn’t let herself grow closer to them. Not after she found out who she was. Sure, they cared about her, but they could never understand this. Understand that feeling of disgust whenever she looked in the mirror. She could never ask them to understand that.

So she ran, and never looked back.

The black Mercedes pulled up precisely at 6:00. Rumi locked the door behind her, Celine was still out running errands.

Her legs wobbled as she descended the driveway.

Heels weren’t her strong suit.

She steadied herself, taking less zealous steps towards the vehicle. The driver’s door opened, a woman exiting the car. Her authoritative voice rang out in the evening light.

“Ryu Rumi?”

Rumi blinked. They knew her name?

Of course, silly, they’re picking you up. Duh.

“Yes ma’am.” She kept her response simple, respectful. The sparkles flecked in the black paint of the car twinkled back at her as she approached. This thing definitely cost more than Celine’s small house. The driver opened the rear door, and a familiar voice rang out from the backseat.

“Rumi! Hi!”

Zoey. Zoey. They were riding together? Rumi felt a wave of relief wash some of her anxieties away. She nodded a thank you to the driver and slid into the seat where Zoey was buckled in already. She wore a deep green vest with sleeves frilling at her elbow, its v-neck plunging almost to her navel with gold leaves woven into the left breast, and flared black pants with embroidered vines snaking up her legs to match her vest.

Rumi froze, eyes locked on Zoey.

She looked gorgeous.

“U-uh…”

Eloquent.

“H-hey Zoey!” She grinned, still working over her original shock of seeing Zoey all dressed up.

“She came to pick me up early so we could ride together! You look adorable, by the way. You fill out my shirt better than I ever could.” Rumi glanced back over at Zoey to see her eyes on a beeline to Rumi’s chest before she nonchalantly turned away, pretending to admire the window pillar. She glanced down at her–oh. Zoey wasn’t lying.

Her boobs did fill out the shirt nicely.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” she replied. “Thanks again for that invite. Celine actually knows this guy that’ll be here tonight, so she let me come.”

“No way, really? Is she like– famous or something?” Zoey exclaimed, turning back around to face Rumi.

Gods, her eyeliner was perfect. Rumi shrugged.

“Sort of. She managed a girl group back in the 90’s. This guy, Bobby, also managed another group at the time.”

“I see, I see. I’m glad you could make it, Ru. This is like– a rite of passage as besties! A night on the town, all dressed up, it’ll be fun!”

Fun.

Rumi had almost forgotten what it was like to have fun. Then she met Zoey.

“I can’t wait,” she agreed. Her tone may have been soft, but she meant it. She was free.

-

The rest of the car ride was filled with Zoey’s regular chatter. It all felt so normal, so easy for Rumi. Zoey knew how to fill a silence like no one she had ever known, and never felt as if she made the situation awkward just by existing around her.

“–and then he told me that I couldn’t get a payout because I hadn’t met my deductible! They’re rats, all of them, I swear on my life, Ru– Oh, we’re here? We’re here!” Zoey grabbed Rumi’s arm excitedly, practically vibrating in her seat as the chauffeur’s car came to a smooth stop. “ComeonwegottagofindMysterysowecangetgoodseatsokaythankyoubyeeeeeeeeee–”

Just like that, Rumi was dragged along the cushion out into the airy underground garage by the shorter girl.

Did she say Mystery? Rumi used to know a–

“Hiiii Myst, this is Rumi! Rumi, Myst! He’s an old friend from college–”

Oh fuck.

It was him.

Her heart dropped so far it felt like it would leak out of her toes. Rumi could recognize him anywhere. Mystery. The periwinkle hair that covered almost his entire face was unmistakable. Had he gotten it trimmed since the last time she had seen him? She could actually see his face, his twinkling brown eyes under the bangs.

What if he used her old name? It had been so long–

“Nice to meet you, Rumi. Zoey’s told us so much about you,” he greeted her warmly, bowing his head slightly.

He didn’t recognize her. At all.

“N-nice to meet you too,” she bowed her head in return, baffled. Had she really changed that much?

“Let’s head upstairs, yeah? I want to get a good table before everyone else gets here.” Zoey pressed, tapping on Rumi’s arm.

They made their way to the elevator in the wall of the garage, Zoey catching up with Myst on the way. Arriving at the doors, Myst tapped the button, just for the doors to instantly slide open and reveal two pink-haired men standing on the other side.

Rumi froze.

Abby and Romance?

“Myst, so lovely to see you,” Romance cooed, stepping forward to wrap the younger boy in an embrace. Abby stepped forward, grinning.

“You must be Zoey. I remember meeting you in college once or twice, it’s been awhile,” he said jovially. His gaze fell to Rumi, that same charming smile from all those years ago piercing to her core. “And you are…?”

“I remember you…Abby, right? I totally kicked all your asses in Smash that one night– but anyways, this is Rumi!”

Zoey to the rescue.

“Nice to meet you, Abby,” Rumi greeted, bowing her head. He still stood at least two heads taller than her. He didn’t recognize her, either? Huh.

“Rumi, this is my boyfriend, Romance. Ro–” Abby peeled Romance off of Myst, who promptly straightened his sweater after the long hug. “Meet Rumi and Zoey.”

Romance tilted his head, dipping into a curtsy and bowing his head to the floor.

“Rumi, Zoey, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He straightened up, eyes narrowing slightly as he took his first really good look at the girls. “Do I know you two from somewhere?”

Rumi’s heart thudded in her chest.

“You met me in college! I’ve known Myst for a few years, but I’m not sure how you’d know Rumi.”

Zoey to the rescue again.

Romance nodded, brushing a hand against Rumi’s shoulder as he ushered them into the elevator to trade places with him and Abby. Her muscles tensed at the contact with his hand.

It’s not Celine.

“I see, I thought you looked familiar. We’re waiting for someone, see you up there soon!”

The doors shut on Myst, Zoey and Rumi as the elevator car began its climb to the top floor.

She couldn’t believe she was standing less than arm’s length away from Mystery. Voice training hadn’t been easy for her, but she managed to pass nearly all the time now. Around Mystery– Myst, though? She was sure he would be able to hear it. Hear the version of her he used to know. The rest of the ride up, she purposefully kept quiet.

Mystery, Abby, and Romance? All three of them, here? It was like a fever dream from Rumi’s past, or a bad crossover episode in a sit-com. None of them had recognized her. Well, Romance may have, but that had to have been directed at Zoey, right? The elevator began to slow, the doors preparing to open.

If the three boys were here, wouldn’t that mean there’s a good chance he–

“Myst! It’s been a while, friend. Come in, all of you!”

Rumi’s heart stopped. Her pulse played hopscotch before thrumming in her ear.

That voice.

The doors fully opened, and there he was. Same tousled black hair. Same annoyingly symmetrical face. Same cute smile–

Rumi was going to be sick.

“Jinu, this is Zoey and Rumi. You might remember Zoey from college–”

“Of course I do, weren’t you the one who beat us all in that Smash tournament?” Jinu winked, Zoey giggling at the fact that he remembered. He turned to Rumi, his voice dipping. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Jinu, a friend of Myst’s.”

She was frozen. Absolutely petrified. His voice took her back to that room. That night.

“N-nice Jinu, you meet I’m Rumi–”

What the FUCK.

Jinu just let out a laugh. That annoyingly charming laugh.

“Come in, grab a drink, some snacks, more people will be on the way. Have fun!”

Rumi stumbled forward, eyes plastered to the floor as she tried desperately to stay upright in her heels. Her vision swam, pulse still thudding behind her ears.

Jinu didn’t recognize her.

Jinu didn’t recognize her.

Zoey appeared at her side, gently resting a hand on her arm. Rumi didn’t flinch at her touch.

“Rumi…you look like you just saw a ghost. Are you–” Rumi nodded.

“-mokay. I’m–” She took a deep breath. “I-I just need some water.”

She was in Jinu’s penthouse. The boy she had been in love with. The boy who didn’t love her back.

The boy who had no idea who she was anymore.

“No, I’m serious. He walked to campus every single day.”

“My car was broken, I had to do the head gaskets," Myst whined. “I’m never doing that by myself again. I got lucky living that close to campus.”

Zoey coughed– ‘two hours’– and squealed as Myst tried to dive across the conversation pit to attack her.

Rumi sipped her water, only half paying attention to the story. Her mind was elsewhere. On Jinu.

He was so…in his element. Mingling, smiling, laughing, checking on everybody. No wonder he entertained like this– it’s like he was born for it. She couldn’t help but keep her eyes fixated on him as he gravitated around the room. The smile, the kindness in his eyes. It was all a horrifically painful reminder of why she had fallen for him in the first place.

All thoughts of finding Bobby had disappeared from her mind. For now. As her eyes drifted from Jinu, she felt a pair of eyes on her. A lanky, blue haired man in a short sleeve graphic tee.

Baby.

He gave her the tiniest smile and a nod of his head, then disappeared up the stairs.

Had he recognized her?

Baby had always been the big brother of the group. He rarely spoke, unless to break up an argument or provide insight. But he cared. Being the oldest, he had graduated before everyone else in the group, but always came back to help the boys study.

All of them were here.

All five of them.

And they had no idea who Rumi was. Well, maybe Baby.

“–oh fuck she’s here. Holy shit, she’s here.” Rumi glanced back at Zoey. She was almost bouncing up and down on the cushion, fighting every cell in her body to not point. Rumi followed where her eyes were– oh.

She was here.

She was even taller in person. Standing next to Romance, Abby, and Jinu, the only one who dwarfed her was Abby, and she was almost eye-to-eye with Jinu. Her long pink hair cascaded down her back, blazer wrapping the white bandeau top that hugged her form perfectly–

If there was any doubt in Rumi’s mind about her being attracted to women, every bit of it was instantly quelled.

“Myst, I can’t take it, she’s so hot. I need to hear her talk again. Look! It’s my chance! She’s getting a drink– with Abby? Wait, but isn’t Abby dating—”

“Romance. Yes.”

Right.

They did end up dating. In the panic of wondering if her old friends had recognized her, she had completely forgotten about Abby and Romance’s mutual interest.

Good for them.

“So why is she– are they– does she like– ” Zoey stammered, face flushing.

“Z. It’s gonna be fine. They’re literally just getting a drink.” Myst’s tone was calm. Knowing. He had really matured a lot since college.

“I know– I just can’t believe she’s here like–” Zoey pulled one half of her hair up into a bun. “–I know you like met her and everything but that’s crazy.” She pulled the other half up in her signature space buns.

“Oh, I didn’t meet her. Abby and Romance did.” Myst corrected, sprawling back. He glanced at Rumi. She buried her face in her water glass again. He had to know who she was. “You okay, Rumi? You haven’t said much.”

Her breath caught. She had been trying to stay quiet, invisible.

“I’m fine,” she said hastily. “Just…haven’t been out in a long time. There’s a lot of people.” Myst nodded. Right. He was shy too. Or, used to be shy?

“I don’t like crowds. This is probably my limit, but the music is good so I’ll tolerate it.”

The music was good. Face to Face by Daft Punk was such a perfect–

“–you made up some sob story to get me to trust you?”

A husky voice cut through the music and the hubbub of the crowd. Rumi craned her neck. It was the biker girl, talking to Jinu, Abby and Romance. A presence appeared above the conversation pit, a hand reaching down for her.

“Come on.” Baby’s uncharacteristically deep voice rang out above her. Where the hell did he– “I’m serious. Come on.”

Rumi took the support his hand offered, clambering out of the cushions and regaining her balance on her heels. He didn’t say another word, just hovered as Zoey and Myst gathered themselves and the group started walking over.

“–could’ve just asked, you know. I’m more than happy to just–”

Baby cleared his throat. She turned, eyes locking on Zoey and Rumi. Her gaze was terrifying. Face flushed, taller than both of them by at least a few inches.

“I know you. I’ve seen you before. Both of you.”

Zoey tossed a side-eye at Rumi. She recognizes us.

“This is who you wanted me to meet?”

The boys nodded.

They really went to all this trouble…for the three of them to meet?

Rumi zoned out as Myst began speaking. It didn’t make sense. They didn’t even know who she was, they barely knew Zoey. None of them recognized her, barring maybe Baby. What was she doing here? Apart from–

“And you. I passed you on the freeway, on the way home. I waved at you. ”

Right.

She nodded. Slowly.

Two wheels on the ground.

“You all went to college. That’s how you know Myst. Myst texts his boys about what happened, that he saw some girl knock this guy out. You see my bike after the shoot on Wednesday, you say ‘hey, let's invite her to the party so she can meet the fangirl’. Sound about right?”

Gods, her voice was so warm and husky, such a contrast from Zoey but it scratched some itch deep in Rumi’s brain–

“Fangirl?!” Zoey blurted, her tone offended. She smacked Myst on the arm. “Is that what you told them I was?”

“No, I–”

“Nuh-uh.” Zoey interrupted, waving him off.

Sassy Zoey was– attractive. A tickle of a blush began to creep up Rumi’s neck. Zoey marched right up to the biker girl– wow. She was really short standing next to her. Like, almost an entire foot shorter. Zoey inhaled.

“I’m Zoey, I saw you knock that guy out, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how badass and hot you were for that, I think your motorcycle is really cool, and I love how the pink matches your hair, they told me you’re a photographer which is really really really cool, and I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’d really like to be friends!” She gasped in a deep breath and stuck a hand out.

Rumi blinked. Is this how Zoey made friends?

The girl hesitated. Then, the smallest hint of a grin crept across her lips.

“I…I’m Mira. Nice to meet you.”

She pointed at Rumi. Rumi instinctively moved back behind Myst.

“And her?”

“That’s Rumi. She’s just really shy. But we’d both love it if you’d come sit with us.”

Zoey to the rescue. Times three. Rumi let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. This had been a stressful night. It was just going to be a nice networking party-thing with Zoey, and maybe the biker girl– Mira. Then her old college friends turned out to be the ones in on it? She felt Jinu’s gaze on her. Shit. Did he know?

“Alright.”

“Yay! Okay so we’re all getting shots, right? I could really use a shot–”

Rumi felt Zoey’s arm loop around her own, bringing her back to reality.

She could use a shot. Rumi hardly ever drank, but with the night she was having? A shot sounded like a welcome escape.

Zoey led, Rumi followed, and Mira brought up the rear.

“I can’t believe they went to all that trouble just to introduce us.” Mira muttered, stirring the ice cubes of her empty drink.

“Me either. They could’ve just asked.” Rumi spoke without thinking. Mira threw up her hands in– exasperation? No–

“Thank you, fuck, I felt like I was going insane. If they wanted to introduce you to me, they could’ve just asked.” She laughed, a throaty chuckle. “I’m glad at least one of you has a head on her shoulders. Rumi, right?”

Rumi nodded, lifting her gaze up. Mira’s eyes were piercing, but not with frustration anymore. Just searching. A thin smile still adorned her lips.

“That’s me.” Rumi returned the small smile. Maybe she wasn’t so scary.

“Girls, what shot are we doing,” Zoey interrupted, still hanging on Rumi’s elbow. Rumi blinked. She didn’t even notice. It just felt right.

“I only ever drink whisky. I’ll change it up tonight, though,” Mira said thoughtfully.

“I’ve only ever had soju,” Rumi admitted.

“I’ve got it. Tequila.” Zoey proposed with a grin plastered on her face. “Trust me, it’ll be totally legit.”

Rumi and Mira glanced at each other.

What are we getting ourselves into?

-

A round of tequila shots later, the group had returned to the conversation pit, miraculously left vacant while they traded Myst for Mira.

Zoey flopped into the pit, pants billowing out.

“Gods, I needed that. Did you two need that?”

Mira sank into the pit, biting her lip to stifle the moan that almost came out. Why were the cushions so outrageously soft?

“I feel better,” Rumi offered, sipping her freshly refilled water. “It was so weird, seeing Jinu again.”

Zoey raised an eyebrow.

“Again? You know him?”

A shock ran down Rumi’s spine. She hadn’t meant to let that slip.

“Not really. Just– almost dated him. A while ago. It was awkward.”

Zoey laughed, relaxing Rumi. She wouldn’t press.

“Happens. I hate it when things are awkward like that.”

“Me fucking too–” Mira drawled from her corner of the pit. “Like tonight? I’d rather sit here with you two than speak to those men ever again.”

“That was…really awkward,” Rumi agreed. She slipped her heels off and placed them on the floor next to her. “What did they even say to you?”

Mira shrugged.

“Met them the other day at a photo shoot. They invited me to the party. I guess they’re okay guys, but–” She sighed. “I just don’t– enjoy working with men, I guess.”

“You met them the other day? Like…Wednesday morning?” Zoey interjected, sitting up. Mira raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

“–it’s just funny, Rumi and I met Wednesday morning.” Rumi locked eyes with Zoey for a moment.

“Huh.”

The three girls sat in comfortable silence for a beat, the music and crowd still pulsing around them.

“So like…another shot?” Zoey broke the silence, bouncing up to cross her legs. Mira snorted.

“Another shot? Sounds dangerous.” She looked at Rumi. Rumi met her gaze back. Her look was purposeful. As if asking for input. Rumi shrugged. She could worry about Bobby later. Right now, she was focused on her new friends, her new self, and not thinking about Jinu.

“I like dangerous. Fireball this time?”

Mira made a gagging noise, hopping up out of the pit with Zoey.

“Fuck no. You’d have to pay me to drink–”

“I’ll take a Fireball shot with you, Ru.” Zoey giggled. “Since someone wants to be the party pooper.” Rumi’s heart fluttered at the nickname Zoey had given her.

“Right, let’s just take a bunch of cinnamon and dump it into a vat of rubbing alcohol. Sounds delicious,” Mira said sarcastically. “The girls are gonna love this one.”

“Hey, I very much enjoy my cinnamon rubbing alcohol, thank you very much.” Zoey defended herself, ordering the three shots of amber liquid from the bartender.

The girls lined up at the bar to take the shots. Zoey stood in the middle, Mira to her right and Rumi to her left.

“So? We ready?”

“Ready to pass on to the afterlife,” Mira muttered.

“Uh-huh.” Rumi nodded.

They tapped the shot glasses on the stone counter before downing the liquor and returning the glasses to the bar mat. Zoey seemed– refreshed? Rumi was struggling for a moment, tears forming in her eyes and her breaths quickening, but eventually settling down. Mira? She looked as if she had swallowed a live frog.

“I think that was fun!” Rumi declared. It was fun. She hadn’t taken a shot with anyone since them. In college.

“I agree, Ru.” There it was again. The flutter. Was it the alcohol speaking? She couldn’t tell what was a real thought or a tipsy Rumi thought.

Mira was silent.

Zoey and Rumi both turned to her. She had her head in between her hands, pink hair spilling everywhere without a tie and bending her knees to rest her weight on the counter. Zoey side-eyed Rumi.

“Mira.”

“Go’way.”

Zoey snickered. She poked Mira on the shoulder, earning another response.

“Nope. Mira’s unavailable. Please call back on Monday.”

“I can’t do Monday, I have work.” Rumi said simply. Some noise burst from Mira. Was it a cough? A sneeze?

It was a laugh. A hearty, full-belly guffaw that wound up in the pit of her stomach and exorcised in an infectious bubble of laughter.

“I’m keeping you. You’re funny.” Mira laughed, wiping her eyes. Rumi let out a soft giggle. She did have work on Monday. Zoey’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, like she had been left out of an inside joke.

“That wasn’t even funny–”

“Stick to the shots, Comedy Princess.” Mira shot back, zero heat behind her words.

“I will, thank you. Maybe I’ll get another.” She began to raise her hand to signal the bartender. Rumi reached out without thinking, grabbing her arm. She felt another hand grabbing her own, locking Zoey’s arm between them. Mira’s hand.

First Zoey’s touch, now Mira’s. She didn’t shy away. She didn’t feel the white-hot pain that she felt when Celine touched her. She felt– gooey? Mira’s hand was still fully wrapped around hers.

“No more shots. I’m going to go dive back into that pit, and Zoey, you better be behind me.” Mira asserted. Rumi noticed a blush creep up Zoey’s cheeks.

“Yes, o Supreme Leader.” Zoey mocked, following behind the taller girl. Rumi smiled, following.

Being around these two girls just felt right. She felt like herself. For the first time in forever. The alcohol mixed with her euphoria, her senses buzzing as she grinned even wider.

She finally felt like herself.

As she went to lower herself into the pit, a voice rang out from beside her.

“Hi girls! Hi, Mira!” She didn’t recognize the tone. He sounded– older? A little? She turned to see a shorter, round man with a patchy yet well-kept beard, and a gelled head of curly black hair. Mira’s eyes lit up.

“Hi, Bobby! These are my new friends, Rumi, and Zoey.”

Rumi could only stare.

Mira knew Bobby.

Could this night get any crazier?

Chapter Text

“You look just like her. Mi-yeong.”

Bobby’s words garnered mild surprise from Rumi. She knew he had been close to her mother to a degree, given that he knew Celine, but telling her she looked like her mother was an outcome she could have never foreseen.

“The moment I saw you, I had to do a double take. I genuinely thought you were her. I know it was a long time ago, but— I’m so, so sorry for your loss, Rumi.”

Mi-yeong.

Her mother’s name sent a bloom of emotions through her heart. Grief. Happiness. Euphoria.

“Thank you,” Rumi whispered, just loud enough to be heard. Her gaze dropped to the table Bobby had secured in a private corner of the penthouse. The two shots had given her a bit of confidence, but the mention of her mother slipped past her vulnerable defenses. She ran her thumb across the glass, drawing a nondescript pattern on the condensation.

“I worked very closely with Celine back in the day, how’s she holding up?” Bobby ventured. He could tell Rumi was guarded, careful.

“She’s good. Great,” Rumi mumbled, eyes still affixed to her glass of water. “She…wanted me to talk to you tonight.”

Bobby raised an eyebrow.

“Talk to me? Anything in particular?”

Rumi shrugged, her braid undulating along with her shoulders.

“I don’t know. She just said to find you, she knew you still worked at Forsythia.”

“She has my number, she can call me anytime. I talked to her last week, actually,” he recalled, leaning back in his chair. His pink drink sat untouched. Rumi’s brow creased. Celine had never given her a reason to talk to Bobby. Maybe so he would reach out and tell Celine they had spoken at the party—

She just wanted to use him to keep track of you.

“Oh,” she muttered, eyes still meandering the rim of her water glass.

Bobby tilted his head slightly.

“Rumi—can I ask you something?” Her body tensed, ever so slightly, her pulse creeping up to her eardrums.

Great, here we go.

The Question.™

Are you actually a girl? Were you born a boy? Are you one of those people?

“You’re…an only child still, right?” The question was gentle, not prodding.

Rumi blinked.

She’d ran through so many scenarios in her mind, filed away what felt like thousands of responses to bizarre strangers hell-bent on finding out what she had in her pants. None of them were for that question. Rumi nodded slowly.

The puzzle piece clicked together in Bobby’s brain.

“I understand now. I see you.” His shoulder relaxed, posture leaning forward to rest on his elbows. Rumi looked up, meeting his gaze for the first time. His eyes were misty, a look that only could be described as awe crossing his features. “I held you when you were a baby,” Bobby said softly. “I offered to help your mother out when I was able, since your dad wasn’t in the picture.”

A faint memory flashed through Rumi’s mind.

Long hallways, vaulted ceilings, blinding studio lights that were much too intense for her toddler eyes.

“Baba!” She giggled as she ran as fast as her short legs would carry her.

Bobby caught up to her, scooping her up and mussing her short lilac hair.

“Gotcha! You’re a slippery one, you silly goose.”

Rumi tilted her head at the nickname, thinking hard.

“S-siwwy…goose?” Rumi faltered, struggling to pronounce the L’s. Bobby chuckled.

“Legend has it, there was one goose, sillier than all the others. They were hard to catch, but once you did, they’d be silly with you forever. That’s you,” he cooed, holding her against his shoulder with an arm tucked under her. “The silliest goose to ever fly the skies,”

“I wike being a siwwy goose, Baba,” Rumi decided. Bobby laughed with his whole chest, his heart full of love. Who could have left Mi-yeong, left her utterly precious child?

“Then it’s settled. You’ll always be Uncle Bobby’s silly goose.”

Rumi’s eyes widened. Her heart soared. She remembered him. Even from all those years ago. Bobby twirling her around like a ballerina, following her around the winding studio halls, playing hide and seek in the lobbies, all to expend her bottomless reserves of toddler energy. Rumi slid forward, leaning closer to Bobby.

“That was you—I remember you chasing me through the halls while Umma did her shoots.”

Bobby nodded, his cheshire grin so wide it could have leapt off his cheeks, his eyes still glassy.

“I always wondered how you were doing, silly goose,” he said softly. The old nickname spread a familiar warmth through her heart. “I knew Celine took you in, but she never mentioned you being…” he trailed off.

Rumi sank a little deeper into her chair. Of course Celine had never mentioned her transition to Bobby. Hell, she didn’t even have a good reason for Rumi to talk to Bobby in the first place, only to ensure the legitimacy of this get-together.

“Does she talk about me?” Her words were unsteady, lilted by the tiniest glissando of hope.

Maybe she uses my name.

Bobby’s eyes fell. He took a long, purposeful sip of his drink.

“Yes. Sometimes. But—” He took a deep breath. “She doesn’t call you Rumi.”

Rumi deflated back into her seat. Every refrain of hope swelled behind her chest shattered in a cacophony of disappointment. Celine’s voice tainted her mind again.

You’ll never be a girl.

“I’m…not surprised,” Rumi whispered, tears prickling at her eyes. “She’s never accepted me.”

It felt good to admit that. To finally let slip even just a sliver of the mistreatment she endured. A small weight lifted from her shoulders. Small, yet noticeable.

“I…I’m so sorry, Rumi. You don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve any of that.” His words were grim, yet truth bolstered every syllable. Rumi’s lip trembled. That voice, her voice still festered in the back of her head.

You’ll always be her son.

“I know how Celine can be…when she loses control of something,” Bobby continued. “She tightens her grip. Like a snake. She refuses to let you fall out of line again.”

Rumi just nodded slowly. Bobby ventured on.

“I saw it happen with her girls. With Mi-yeong. She loved them fiercely, don’t get me wrong, but—love isn’t about control.”

He slowly reached out a hand to rest on Rumi’s arm. She flinched instinctively. A flicker of suspicion crossed Bobby’s gaze. He withdrew his touch.

“Rumi, are you okay?”

As much as she wanted to scream for help, to beg Bobby to get her out of the horrible purgatory masquerading as her home—

She couldn’t.

Leaving would mean having to deal with Celine, deal with her patronizing speeches and manipulative tactics. It was too much to even think about. The lie slipped out just as easily as the once-lifted weight settled back on her shoulders.

“I’m okay.”

Bobby bit his lip, nodding slowly.

“Okay. I believe you.”

He didn’t. But he changed the subject anyway.

“Can I ask– how was college?”

Rumi hesitated. Just for a moment. She trusted him with herself, she could trust him with this.

“I dropped out.” She braced herself, awaiting the disappointment she always got.

“That’s okay. You had more important things to deal with,” Bobby grinned. Rumi raised her head, meeting his gaze once again. She fiddled with a bracelet Zoey had lent her.

“It was just…too much.”

Bobby nodded. He leaned closer, slightly.

“You’re very brave for doing what you did. I’m proud of you, Rumi.”

She could have sobbed then and there.

I’m proud of you, Rumi.

The words she so desperately needed to hear from the woman who raised her came from the mouth of a man she hadn’t seen in 20 years, and every syllable stuck to her mind like glue. A rogue tear still hiding from exchanges past slipped down her cheek.

“Thank you, Bobby,” she sniffled, a weak smile crossing her lips. Bobby returned the smile, reaching into his pocket.

“I have to get going, but I have something for you.”

Rumi glanced down, his hand outstretched with a business card. It had a phone number written in neat, black characters across the back.

“My personal number. If you ever want to finish your degree, you let me know. I could get you any scholarship you wanted.”

She took the card with a grateful smile.

She could go back. She could finish.

“And if you ever need anything, Rumi—” He paused for a beat. “—anything, I’m here. Call me.”

Rumi nodded, swallowing the tears that had threatened to pour out moments before.

“I will. Thank you, Bobby. It was good to see you again.”

“It was good to see you again too, silly goose.” Bobby stood up, that smile of his still beaming at Rumi. His dress shoes clicked against the stone floor as he brushed through the guests towards the exit.

And just like that, she was alone again.

Rumi took a deep breath, the air shuddering through her lungs.

I’m proud of you, Rumi.

“Ugh, that was miserable,” Mira lamented, her head thrown back against the soft cushions of the conversation pit. “Why the fuck did we agree to drink Fireball, of all things? My stomach feels like it’s on fire.”

Her words fell on deaf ears.

Zoey traced a finger over the tiny fuzz of the cushion she sat on, the darker shade left in her finger’s wake drawing the shape of a turtle behind it. She snapped up, realizing Mira had said something.

“Shit, sorry,” she blurted, “I zone out when I drink sometimes. Just flick me or something if I ignore you. You said something—?”

Mira raised an eyebrow, her head tipping back forward to face Zoey.

“I just said why the fuck did we agree to drink Fireball, I’m dying over here. Aren’t you?”

Zoey giggled, dotting her turtle’s eyes.

“I mean, a little I guess, but my tummy’s sensitive regardless. Rumi’s too cute and she doesn’t get out much, I’ll endure it just for her,” she announced with a shrug, crossing the segments on the shell. Mira tilted her head ever so slightly.

Does Zoey like Rumi?

“What shall we name him, Miss Mira?”

Mira blinked, Zoey’s voice interrupting her thought.

“What?”

Zoey looked her dead in the eye, her tone dropping. She meant business.

“Our turtle,” she said simply, pointing down at the makeshift drawing in the space between them. “I think it’s a boy, personally, but they could go either way. A genderfluid turtle? Have you ever heard of a—” she trailed off, her tone growing meek under Mira’s steady gaze. She was doing it again. Talking too much.

Mira just smirked, a single puff of air leaving her nose as she looked down between them. The turtle drawing wasn’t bad, considering it was finger-painted by a tipsy girl on a couch cushion.

“I’m terrible with names. You can pick, I support whoever they want to be.” Her voice was raspy from the mix of alcohol and lack of water.

Zoey looked panicked.

“I—I can pick? Mira, I’m terrible at this, I can never make decisions. Do you at least have input? Anything?” Her words strung together in a flurry. “Please?”

Mira looked back at her, their eyes meeting. Zoey’s eyes were wide, practically twinkling at Mira.

Not the puppy eyes. Again.

Mira rolled her eyes, sitting up to cross her legs under her.

“Fine. Cloudy.”

Zoey exclaimed in a cry of indignance.

“Cloudy? Out of everything? That doesn’t even make any sense!” she cried, clearly in distress. “Turtles can’t be in the sky, unless they’re like the flying Koopa’s from Mario, but they’re technically not even turtles—”

Mira held up her hands, waving them downwards in an attempt to calm Zoey down. She had such an insane amount of energy inside her, unlike anyone Mira had ever seen. Like she had an overflowing dam of information in her head that would explode if she didn’t talk.

“Okay, okay, fine. Rupert,” Mira relented, settling back. “His name is Rupert.”

“Rupert,” Zoey tested, looking down at her drawing, then back up at Mira. “Hmm…”

“I told you, I’m terrible with names.” The smallest hint of a smile tugged at Mira’s lips.

“I like it. His name is Rupert. Maybe he’ll play Ron Weasley in an upcoming Harry Potter film—”

“Ew, fuck J.K. Rowling,” Mira blurted, the words leaving her mouth before her brain had even processed what she was saying. Zoey looked crestfallen. Mira backtracked, regretting her outburst. “Wait, shit, sorry, I know you were just making a joke—Rupert Grint?”

Zoey nodded.

“I just really fucking hate that woman. That’s all.”

Zoey shrugged, her tone attempting to brighten, but failing with just the smallest hint of sadness behind it. Guilt washed over Mira. She looked genuinely hurt.

“Me too. I do like the name though. Rupert. It has a nice ring to it.” Zoey looked back at Mira. Her eyes had lost some of the spark they had before. Something deep—as infinitesimal as a spider’s thread—snapped inside Mira’s core. She reached out a hand, resting it on Zoey’s shoulder.

“It’s a good drawing, regardless. Doesn’t matter if I half-assed the name or not, ” Mira reassured. She never wanted that to happen again, even though they had just met. “I’m—sorry for raising my voice like that. It wasn’t meant to be aimed at you.”

Zoey just shrugged her shoulders a second time.

“It’s okay. Happens.”

If Mira could have punched herself, she would.

“Zoey, can I ask you something?” she asked gently. Maybe changing the subject would help her. Zoey nodded. “What was your side of the story? I want to hear your point of view.”

Zoey’s brows furrowed.

“Story?” Confusion riddled her question, until her eyes lit up as if someone had flicked a switch on in her brain. “Oh, you mean the other day! At the restaurant.”

“Mhm,” Mira affirmed, slowly letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding as a wave of relief broke over her. She was okay.

“So, basically, I don’t want to get into too much detail, but me and Myst went to our favorite chicken place—they have these insane black pepper garlic wings, you gotta try them—and he saw your bike sitting out front. He told me he recognized it, and had seen you riding around town and stuff. I love the pink, by the way, did you color the bike just to match your hair? Myst thinks you dye your hair to match the bike, but I just think your hair does that—”

“The bike matches my hair. It’s naturally this color,” Mira interjected. Zoey spoke so fast yet at just the perfect pace for Mira to follow.

“I knew it!” Zoey pumped a fist in the air before continuing her story. “Aaanyways, we came inside, we ate dinner, I tried not to stare at you in the corner, then that weirdo followed you outside. I came out a second later to hit my vape and wait for Myst, then I overheard the guy being all weird to you, what was all that even about? Anyways, then you knocked him the fuck out and I was trying not to lose my mind because I may have just witnessed the most badass moment in history. Your bike sounds sooo good, by the way, I’m literally obsessed with you—I mean the bike. I mean—yeah.”

That smile had come back to tug on Mira’s lips yet again.

“Thanks. He was just being a dick. Was drunk, thought he could buy my bike for some reason, then threatened me with a knife,” she shrugged, “so I dropped him.” Zoey giggled, swaying her shoulders back and forth. Was she blushing?

“That may have been the most attractive thing I’ve ever seen, by the way. But yeah, after that, I was ranting to Myst all night about it, he told his friends about you, and then literally the next morning is when you met Romance and Abby. They texted him after you guys did your model thing or whatever it is you do—what do you do? Anyways, then the next morning, Myst invited me to come tonight, I asked if I could bring Rumi since we just started hanging out, aaand now we’re here! I wish they had just told you about me, though, like tonight had such a rocky start. I think it worked out in the end, though.”

Mira blinked owlishly.

The most attractive thing she’s ever seen?

“I’m glad I came tonight, all the stuff with the boys aside,” she agreed, nodding her head slightly. “I’m a photographer, by the way. Or, if you want to get fancy—” she cleared her throat, lowering her voice even more, “—I work in Photography Operations. I just take pictures of the models, idols, whatever.”

Zoey just stared at her like she was made of solid gold, mouth hanging open slightly.

“Wow. So like, you ride motorcycles, you’re a fashion and music industry photographer, and you’re amazing at naming turtles?”

Mira shrugged.

“I guess that’s me, yeah. Pretty much sums me up.”

“Wow.” Zoey’s voice was pure admiration. “I just—really respect a woman that stands up for herself. You don’t let people walk all over you, I admire that about you. And thank you, for letting me just talk. Sorry, I know I talk a lot, but you’re the second person I’ve met this week who actually listens to me. So…yeah. Thank you, Mira.”

Now it was Mira’s turn to drop her jaw. The subtlest tinge of pink crossed her cheeks. She hadn’t expected such a genuine compliment from the scatterbrained girl sitting in front of her. Bobby was the only other person whose praise had ever meant anything after Hana had died, and yet, somehow Zoey had managed to strike a chord somewhere deep in her psyche.

The realization that hit her the deepest, though? How Zoey was self-conscious about how much she talked. The pauses, the hesitations, her reaction when Mira had interrupted her. It all made sense now, and Mira kicked herself for not seeing it sooner. Zoey had offered up something very sacred to her—an unfiltered glimpse into the inner workings of her mind. And Mira had accepted it.

A tiny crack appeared in the stone surrounding Mira’s heart, warmth flowing from the fissure.

Deep inside, she promised herself to never interrupt Zoey again. She might die if she saw the light fade from her eyes like that again.

She smiled at Zoey. A sliver of a grin, but a smile nonetheless.

“Thank you, Zoey. You’re a good storyteller. I like it when you talk, it scratches my brain—in the best way.”

Zoey returned her smile. She reached out to rest tentative fingers on the back of Mira’s hand.

Mira didn’t pull away.

“Jinu?”

The voice came out of nowhere. “Shit—” Jinu swore, backing away from the balcony. Baby leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Why do you always do that? It’s creepy.”

Baby shrugged.

“Dunno. Why are you so jumpy?” The question wasn’t accusatory, just an observation.

Jinu sighed. He had come to the rooftop to avoid a spiral. It had been years since his last, but the emotions welled up in his gut were overwhelming.

“I can’t believe he—” he caught himself. “—she’s here. After all this time. It was such a shock. I literally looked her right in the eye and didn’t recognize her.”

Baby left the wall, stepping forward to stand beside Jinu, looking out over the city.

“It’ll take some getting used to, for sure. We can’t push her, though.”

Jinu knit his brows together, thinking.

“So—what? Am I just…supposed to act like it never happened? Like she didn’t walk away from us without a second thought?”

“No. It did happen. But, as you can see, she had a lot of other things going on.”

Jinu took a deep breath, turning to Baby.

“I just—I want to let her know that I’m still there for her. That we all are.” His voice was hardly above a whisper. “Nothing’s changed, Baby. She’s still our friend.”

Baby moved to rest a hand on Jinu’s arm.

“Me too. I know. We have to be careful, though. She doesn’t know we recognize her now, save for maybe myself.”

A beat of silence sat between them for a moment. Jinu spoke first.

“You wanna be the one to talk to her, then?”

Baby shook his head. He stood back from the balcony, cracking his knuckles together. “Both of us know it has to be you. She probably still has the same phone number. Do what you want with that.”

And just as silently as he had appeared, he was gone.

Jinu pulled his phone out of his back pocket. He thumbed through contacts until he found the one he was looking for. Four taps. Ryu Rumi, her contact now read.

“Ryu Rumi… huh. It fits her.” Jinu slipped his phone back into his pocket.

In his head, he’d already began drafting a text to Rumi as he opened the door to rejoin the crowd.

“That was actually the most insane party I’ve ever been to,” Zoey chattered, practically vibrating. Rumi nodded in agreement.

“It was definitely a night I’ll always remember, that’s for sure,” she said, shivering slightly.

The late night wind chilled almost to the bone in the concrete garage, as they huddled together waiting for a driver to call each of their names. Rumi stood rightmost, with Zoey in between her and Mira. Zoey hooked an arm around the both of them, leaning into their warmth.

“Gods, why did I not bring a jacket? I feel like it wasn’t supposed to be cold tonight—”

“Park Zoey!”

Zoey jumped up, bouncing forward towards the driver already opening the car door for her. She turned around to Rumi, wrapping her in a tight hug. Rumi returned the embrace, her arms fitting perfectly around Zoey’s small frame, her chin resting atop her head.

“Thank you for coming tonight, Rumi,” Zoey whispered, looking up at her. Rumi’s heart soared.

“Of course. And thank you for making that adorable card so Celine would let me come in the first place. You have a talent for art,” Rumi smiled, holding Zoey at arm’s length.

“You’re telling me, you should’ve seen the turtle she drew on the couch cushion earlier,” Mira added.

Zoey squealed, trapping Mira next in her embrace. Mira hesitated a moment, then gently rested her arms around Zoey.

“It was so good to meet you, Mira. The three of us should, like, get together sometime!”

“Miss Zoey—” the driver was standing patiently, waiting for her to allow the line of other chauffeurs to move forward. Zoey broke the embrace, trotting to the car.

“Agh, I’m so sorry! I’ll text you both when I’m home okayloveyougoodnightgeethomeesafe—” the door shut, cutting off her last words. As the car pulled away, Mira and Rumi stood in silence. Names that were not their own called out, car after car, as the girls awaited their pickup. Mira broke the silence first.

“By the way—I never uh—I just wanted to ask—” she stuttered, looking at the sidewalk below her. Rumi’s lips curved, amused.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up,” Mira shot back, no heat in her tone, “words are hard. I was going to say that I never see other girls ride. If you wanted to ride sometime—I wouldn’t say no.”

Rumi blinked at the offer.

“O-of course! I’d love to go ride you sometime, I mean, go riding with you sometime—yeah.” She stammered sheepishly. Mira smirked.

“I did mean motorcycles, just so we’re clear,” she teased.

“Hong Mira!” Her name rang clear as day from the next drive.

“Looks like that’s me,” she stepped away towards the car before hesitating, turning back to Rumi. “It was great to meet you tonight. I’m glad you got to talk to Bobby, he’s a great guy.”

“He really is. It was nice to meet you as well, Mira. Get home safe.”

“You too,” she returned with that almost imperceptible grin as she climbed into the backseat.

No more new friends to huddle around for warmth, Rumi stood alone on the sidewalk, waiting her turn in the midst of the remaining guests.

What a night she’d had. Seeing Jinu and all her old friends again, meeting Mira, then realizing the Bobby she was supposed to speak with was actually her old babysitter? A myriad of feelings coursed through her body, but one stood out from the rest.

Euphoria.

Her best friend hadn’t even realized who she was, even standing mere feet away from him.

Bobby had thought she was her mother at first.

Mira and Zoey never once indicated that they noticed anything off about her.

Mira had said “other girls” when she asked Rumi to go on a ride sometime.

She was a girl to them. She passed. No one had questioned her once.

“Ryu Rumi!”

Her name interrupted the thoughts, only feeding into the bubbly brook of euphoria washing over her body.

Ryu Rumi. I am Ryu Rumi. And I’m finally a girl.

She climbed into the backseat.

Deep in the depths of her heart, Rumi had always known she was a girl. Call it a feeling, an inkling of identity, but that itch had ached inside her soul far too long for her to leave it be. It had just taken time for her to realize it. Manifesting a feeling into reality was easier said than done, her outward appearance having always clashed with the girl trapped inside making it devastatingly difficult for her to see herself.

But now, after tonight, she finally laid eyes on the girl Zoey and Mira saw. Her true self had begun to blossom like a beautifully fragile flower after an impossibly long winter.

Ryu Rumi.

Daughter of Ryu Mi-Yeong.

The hubbub of the party had long since died down, the penthouse once packed with guests and the gentle thrum of music now dim and tranquil. Jinu laid in his massive bed, tucked into the cool cocoon of the silk sheets, his face illuminated only by the light of his phone. Rumi’s text thread lay open on the screen, the blinking cursor staring back at him.

Almost three years had passed since Jinu had last seen her. The last night they spoke ended in bitter silence, a hushed gathering of belongings, and a devastatingly pained glance over her shoulder. His heart still ached from that night. The person they all loved, standing up and walking out as if they no longer meant anything to her—it wasn’t easy to accept by a long shot.

Her confession of feelings had never been the issue, the protectiveness and love he felt towards her was unwavering, even to this day. It was how quickly it happened. Years of a childhood friendship, instantly incinerated in an inferno of misunderstanding. They had been best friends. Rumi sharing her feelings would have never changed how much he cared about her. Even though he had no way of knowing who Rumi truly was all those years ago, he still felt burdened by guilt above every other emotion.

What if I had been more open—

What if I asked about her hair growing out—

What if, what if, what if—

He groaned. The empty message box still blinked incessantly, almost mocking him.

What would he even say?

Hey. No.

Been a while. True. Still no.

Hi stranger ;) What the fuck.

He held down the delete key with a sigh. Back to square one. The cursor was practically taunting him now.

Why was it so hard? He had wanted nothing more than to reach out, to make sure she was okay. She was his best friend. He trusted she could take care of herself. She had been through enough even before everything had happened, and if she had ever needed his help, he would have offered up every resource he had access to. And yet—even with a laundry list of contacts and favors, bank accounts with more money than he’d ever seen in his life—he couldn’t even write a simple text message.

He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palms.

Just be genuine. Baby was right—I’m just overthinking.

His fingers tapped out a message, faint keyboard clacks breaking the silence.

Rumi Sunday, June 29th, 2025

12:14am: Hey Rumi, it’s Jinu. I didn’t want to corner you at the party, but thank you for coming, I hope you had an enjoyable evening. Would you want to grab coffee soon? My treat, no pressure. Have a good night :)

Better than nothing. Jinu hit send before he could change his own mind, tossing his phone on his wireless charger. The exhaustion from the day crept through his body, yet his mind stayed alert. What would she say? Would she even reply? He groaned, folding his pillow over his face.

He wouldn’t be sleeping at all tonight.

Chapter Text

June 24, 2024

Maintenance day was always therapeutic. The day before hitting the track, Mira and Hana always had taken the time to wrap up the maintenance on Hana’s Yamaha R1M. Fresh oil, brake fluid, cleaning up the chain and sprockets for smooth power delivery, the works. The practiced movements, the routines both of them had done dozens of times before, working around each other in comfortable silence.

It was perfect.

Track day came wrapped more lavish than a white Christmas morning. Clear forecast, not a single cloud in sight, no wind, and not one thing standing in the way of Hana and breaking this time trial record. Mira meticulously double checked all of the last details as Hana stretched nearby. The brand-new racing tires would be broken in on the warm-up lap. Front tire pressure was good. Mira double-checked just to be sure. Still perfect. Rear tire pressure was good.

She pressed the air pressure gauge to the valve to double-check—

A wisp of hair brushed against her cheek, warm breath tickling her ear. A smile crept across her lips as she turned to face Hana. Her breath hitched. She looked beautiful.

Hana’s face was flushed from the summer heat, amber eyes twinkling in the sunlight, her dark hair wispy around her face as she grinned at Mira.

“Hey gorgeous. All set?”

Mira leaned in, pressing a loving kiss to Hana’s parted lips while absentmindedly tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Everything’s perfect. You’re gonna kill it out there.”

Hana laughed, that perfect, twinkly sound that made Mira’s heart flutter every time she heard it.

“All thanks to you, my love. I don’t know what I’d do without my crew chief.”

Mira chuckled, her husky voice dropping to just above a whisper as she brushed her lips across her fiancee’s cheek to murmur in her ear.

“Do you do weddings? As the bride?” she teased.

Hana giggled again, pulling back to cradle Mira’s face in her hands and steal another kiss from her parted lips. She held up her right hand, the sparkling rock affixed to a gold band tucked snugly on her ring finger.

“What a coincidence, I’m actually doing one next month.”

A hum left Mira’s lips as she held up her own ring hand, clasping Hana’s fingers in her own.

“I can’t believe it’s happening,” Mira breathed, “after all the work we’ve put in. It still doesn’t seem real.”

Hana pressed her lips to their intertwined hands. A muffled voice crackled out over a megaphone. Five minute warning. They crouched there a moment longer, foreheads pressed together, çherishing the seconds before her and Hana would be apart.

“I love you, Mira. My strong, courageous wife.”

“I love you, Hana. My light, my rock,” Mira whispered, “only one more month till it’s real.”

Hana stood, drawing Mira up by the hand. She pressed one final lingering kiss to Mira’s lips.

“Darling, it’s already real.”

Rumi stared at the text she had gotten nearly a week ago.

Jinu.

He had recognized her. Eventually.

It hadn’t been Rumi’s revelation of realizing he knew who she was that had sent her thoughts reeling, it was how normal he made it sound. Sending that message to her without a second thought, like she hadn’t turned her back on him all those years ago.

The text had sat there for almost a full seven days, only ever being opened for Rumi to stare at the polite words, attempt a pitiful attempt at a reply, and immediately close it. She wondered if Jinu had done the same, watching her typing bubbles pop up and disappear every single day just to wonder if she would ever respond. Guilt washed over her with a grimace. He had done all but welcome her back with open arms, and all she had to repay him with was leaving him on read and the waning possibility of a response.

She finally settled on a message. Her thumbs pressed the letters gingerly, as if she might break something by typing too quickly.

Jinu June 29, 2025

Jinu

Hey Rumi, it’s Jinu.

I didn’t want to corner you at the party, but thank you for coming,

I hope you had an enjoyable evening.

Would you want to grab coffee soon?

My treat, no pressure. Have a good night :)

Rumi

Hi, Jinu. I apologize for the late response, I’ve been dealing with a lot lately.

I did have fun, thank you, and I appreciate you not doing that.

Coffee sounds nice, thank you.

I’m busy this week, but I have next Friday and Saturday off, does that work?

Rumi swiped over to her other messages, only to be immediately called back by a ding. She glanced at the floating thumbs up emoji for a brief second before another ding caught her attention. It was from Zoey, messaging a group chat she had just made with her and Mira together.

Biker BADDIES + Zozo July 5th, 2025

Zoeyyy🐢

Hey girlssss it’s zoey

Just making this so we can all talk about like

Stuff idk and make plans and things

Rumi

Hi Zoey :)

How are you?

Zoeyyy🐢

Im good, don’t have work today

Sleepyyyy

Rumi

Same.

Mira

You two stay up too late or what

Zoeyyy🐢

MIRAAAA

nooooo totally didnt stay up late

nope not at all

Mira

Zoey, you’re a terrible liar

You too, Rumi?

Rumi

Oh, no, I just couldn’t fall asleep.

Also, hi Mira.

Did you two take meds today?

Mira

Nope, I don’t take meds

Zoeyyy🐢

…shit.

Mira

Zoey.

Rumi

You can do it, Zoey. Do you have water?

Mira

Just dry swallow it lmao it’s not that hard

Rumi

She hates dry swallowing.

Mira

Uh huh

Skill issue

Zoeyyy🐢

Okay I took my vyvanse

Rumi

Good job, Zoey.

Mira

Do we get coherent Zoey today?

Zoeyyy🐢

Why you bully me :c

Yes you get coherent Zoey today

Hopefully

Im going out with Myst tonight though

I have to get my shit done

Rumi

Ooh, a night out.

What plans do you guys have?

Mira

Zoey and Myst, sitting in a tree…

Wait, so you make a group chat to make plans

But then already have plans?

Rude

Zoeyyy🐢

Ew no hes like my brother lol

Leave me alone I didnt wanna forget

We’re just going to the VR arcade

Probably play beat saber until we cant stand up anymore then go get food

Rumi

Hahaha.

VR arcade?

Mira

It’s those goggles that put you inside a video game

I can’t do it anymore. Gives me vertigo

Rumi

Oh, I see. I’ve never tried it before.

Mira

Rumi, you always use like

Punctuation

It’s throwing me off

Rumi

I’m a writer, it’s just a habit, haha.

Is it weird?

Zoeyyy🐢

Mira stop being a hater

Let a girl use her commas and periods lollllll

If anything she just stole mine

I hate using it

Gets in the way

Why write a paragraph when I could just

Write 8 short texts

Mira

Sorry not sorry

Hater born and raised here

Rumi

It’s okay. Just a hard habit to break in text. If it’s weird I’ll stop.

Mira

No you don’t have to stop lol

Rumi

Okay

Mira

Rumi.

Rumi

What

Okay this is weird.

Mira

I’m serious, you don’t have to stop lol i was kissing

kidding*

Rumi

Hahaha.

Thank god, that was painful.

Zoeyyy🐢

You two are too funny

Are you gonna go do biker girl things tonight or what

Rumi do you work

Rumi

Not today, I work the next 5 days though.

Not looking forward to that.

Mira

Soooo what you’re saying is that you’re not doing anything tonight

Zoeyyy 🐢

If you go on a ride pls send pics

I need to scream over how hot my friends look on bikes

Okay I gotta start cleaning my apartment

Wish me luck

Or shoot me, idk

Either way

Rumi

We will if we do. Good luck, Zoey!

Mira

I can’t find my gun

Rumi

Mira.

Mira

Damn it’s windy in here…

Rumi slid over from the group chat over to her private text with Mira. She hadn’t sent a message since the night they had met, save for the text to confirm numbers. Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard, unsure of how to word her message.

Mira hadn’t exactly said no to riding tonight. Her text crossed Rumi’s mind.

Soooo what you’re saying is that you’re not doing anything tonight.

Hell, she had been the one to suggest it to Rumi in the first place the week before.

She should just keep it simple, she decided, her thumbs clacking on her phone.

Mira July 5, 2025

Rumi

Hi! Did you want to go for a ride tonight?

Mira

Yeah

That would be nice actually

Rumi

Awesome.

Where would you like to meet?

Mira

The overlook above the university?

Rumi

Perfect. 6pm?

Mira

Sounds good. See you later

Mira’s abrupt method of texting was interesting, to say the least. She never shared more than she needed to, yet always managed to interject a snarky comment or observation. The clipped texts felt mildly standoffish, but Rumi felt a sense of comfort knowing that Mira clearly didn’t expect her to understand paragraphs of invisible subtext, just straight and to the point.

As much as Mira intimidated her, the imposition was overcome by her immense desire to share her hobby with another girl. Someone like her. Male-dominated communities had always been a slippery slope for Rumi. The agonizing decision of having to sacrifice the acceptance of her identity in lieu of finding comfort in a group of people with similar interests tore her apart, but Mira offering to ride with her had begun to seal the fracture.

Rumi laid back on her bed, a content sigh leaving her lips as she looked up at the glow-in-the-dark star stickers plastered on her ceiling. One of the few things she had been able to keep in her room that gave it a sense of personality, of life.

As if containing voices of their own, her sparse set of makeup called to her. She rose from her bed to take stock of what she had. Should she put on makeup tonight? Obviously, good first impressions mattered, but was it really necessary?

Just for today, she decided, opening her eyeshadow palette. The process would help pass the time, at least for a little. She knew the afternoon would crawl by, agonizing minute by agonizing minute, but the anticipation of finally meeting up with Mira would make the whole wait worth enduring.

Mira reclined on her bike, helmet visor flipped up, leaning back against the rear seat as she looked out over the university campus. The early evening sun still dripped lazy, languid rays before the approaching sunset laid it to rest for that day. It was the perfect day for a ride. Slightly breezy to offset the warmth of the sun, a few fluffy clouds spattered across the clear, blue sky that threatened not even a hint of rain.

Her ears perked up at the sound of an approaching motorcycle. She could hear the exhaust grumbling through the gentle curves of the rolling foothills as it approached her. She sat up, touching her boots to pavement just as a black motorcycle rounded the corner. The rider was clad in black leather from head to toe, equally dark helmet encasing her head, and that iconic, unmistakable purple braid swayed in the wind as she pulled up next to Mira. She flipped her visor up, eyes twinkling in the sunlight.

Mira blinked.

Rumi had done her makeup. A touch of glittery gold eye shadow with a sharp wing and dark mascara, complimenting her deep brown eyes. Unexpected, considering she’d be wearing a helmet , but she was good at it. Probably better than Mira. She grimaced internally at the admission.

“Hi.” Rumi’s voice was soft, like she didn’t want to scare Mira.

Mira tilted her head in greeting. She gestured to Rumi’s bike.

“I like your bike. ZX6-Rs are nice.” A genuine compliment. Mira had gotten the same bike as her first when she started riding. She missed it sometimes, a lighter bike built for city riding.

Rumi smiled underneath her helmet.

“Thanks. I really like your R1.” She pointed at the pinstripes. “The pink matches your hair.”

Mira nodded, internally blushing. Only other girls would ever notice her hair matching her bike.

“Thanks. I got the fairings done to match,” she said, directing her attention to the little box on the side of Rumi’s helmet. “Is that a Packtalk?”

“Hm?” Rumi looked confused for a moment before realizing what Mira was talking about. She brushed her hand over the control pad with a gloved hand. “Oh—yeah. I’ve only used it for music though.”

“We could use it to talk on the ride, if you want,” Mira offered, sliding off her bike. She hadn’t used her headset to talk to other riders directly for a long time, over a year ago. “Do you want help pairing it?”

“Sure,” Rumi replied, turning her head to let Mira get a better look at the unit.

Mira approached Rumi, holding her helmet steady with one hand while holding down the pairing button with her other. She was trying very hard not to pay attention to how close they were now, how their bodies were slightly pressed together, but she couldn't pry her mind away from how Rumi's eyes shone in the sunlight around them, her glittery eye shadow twinkling. Once Rumi’s headset started flashing, she held down the button on her own receiver. A cheerful beep from their headsets indicated a good connection on the first try.

Mira took a step back, testing the mic.

“Can you hear me? Testing.”

Rumi shook her head, like she was trying to shake a cobweb out of her helmet.

“Wow—yeah, I can hear you. It’s like—you’re in my head.” Mira felt her lips tug up.

Oh gods. Rumi’s voice was gorgeous. Somewhere between sultry and melodic, her unique register strummed a chord somewhere in the back of Mira’s mind. She could listen to that voice all day.

Get it together, Mira.

“You too. I guess we’ll be shoulder angels for each other, just for tonight,” she quipped, swinging her leg over her bike. Rumi did the same, balancing her motorcycle between her thighs. She tilted her head.

“Shoulder angels?” Rumi’s tone was genuinely confused. Mira paused. She didn’t know about shoulder angels and shoulder demons?

“It’s this trope in movies. Someone has a demon on their shoulder that tries to get them to do selfish things, and an angel on the other shoulder that tries to get them to do the right thing.” Mira explained, flipping her visor down.

“Oh, like The Emperor’s New Groove.” Rumi said sagely.

That got a chuckle out of Mira. Of all references she could have made, The Muppets, Family Guy—

“Yes, exactly. You ready?”

“Mhm,” Rumi affirmed, starting her bike. Mira did the same, shifting into first gear. “Mira—will you just…pay attention to where I am? Please? I’m not as fast as you.” She wasn’t begging, but her voice had a note of pleading behind it. Like she had been left behind before.

She was right. Mira’s R1 could break 100mph in first gear. “Yeah. You won’t lose me,” she reassured, fully intending to keep that unspoken promise. What kind of dick would leave someone behind like that? “Do you wanna go in front of me?”

Rumi hesitated, then nodded.

“Yes, please.”

Mira tilted her head, scooting back to let Rumi pull out onto the road first. She twisted her hand, her bike revving with an eager crackle in response, and pulled out behind Rumi.

The girls were silent for a brief period. Neither of them had ridden with another person in a while, and it took a moment to get accustomed to one another’s presence. Rumi led, Mira following behind at her five o’clock in the same lane, curving through the hilly, tree covered roads at a moderate pace.

“Shit—” Rumi’s voice was the first to break the silence. Mira jumped, almost forgetting that Rumi was connected to her headset.

“What’s wrong?” Mira asked, concerned.

“Nothing. Just messed up a downshift.”

Mira raised an eyebrow in confusion. All of Rumi’s shifts sounded crisp to the more experienced rider.

“I didn’t hear it, if anything your shifts sound clean. Are you using your quickshifter?”

“I don’t think I have one—do I?”

“You might have to turn it on in your settings. I can show you at this gas station up here.”

The end of the winding road spilled out into a multiple lane highway with a gas station nestled in the trees beside it. Orange sunlight spilled through the cover of leaves as the girls pulled up to the pumps. Mira dismounted.

“You need gas?” she asked Rumi, pulling her helmet off. Rumi did the same, her purple braid snaking down her leather jacket.

Gods, her lilac hair contrasting against the leather—

“I could top off. Could you maybe show me what you were talking about?” Rumi popped her fuel door open. Mira slipped off her bike and approached Rumi with a nod. She leaned over Rumi’s shoulder, reaching for the display controls on the handlebar. Their fingers brushed. Mira felt Rumi stiffen, just slightly. It doesn’t mean anything, she told herself.

“Just press your traction control button, hold for a few seconds—there. See? KQS on.” Mira explained, seeing the indicator pop up on the bike’s small screen. Rumi’s jaw dropped.

“I had no idea. I thought I just had a bad quickshifter,” She confessed, turning to face Mira. Her face was so close to Mira’s, she caught a faint scent of lavender— “Thanks. I’ll have to try it in a second. How did you know about that?”

“My first bike was the same as yours,” she said simply, beginning to fill up her own bike. “I didn’t know either.”

“Oh.” Rumi buttoned her fuel door back up, replacing the pump. “Thanks.”

Mira nodded, finishing fueling her own bike. The silence wasn’t one that begged to be filled. She already enjoyed spending time with Rumi. The girl was quiet, reserved. A little oblivious, but eager to learn. She didn’t act like she knew everything when she was none the wiser, and Mira respected that.

The highway was a perfect place for Rumi to test her newly discovered quickshifter.

Still use your clutch from first to second gear, then just upshift when you’re at high RPM’s, Mira had told her. Rumi looked frozen for a moment, then something seemed to click. Cruising at around 40 miles per hour, Rumi pinned her throttle, taking off down the road. Her engine revved out to its full range. Mira whistled.

Her bike sounded fucking amazing.

She upshifted. Even 100 yards down the road, Mira heard the crack from her exhaust as the quickshifter slipped the next gear onto power delivery duty. Again. And again.

“Damn, you really went for it,” Mira chuckled, flipping her visor down. She twisted her own throttle, the inline-four roaring in eager response to her command. She pounded through gears, the wind whipping through her helmet as she hurtled down the highway to chase her riding buddy down. Rumi was out of range for their headsets to connect, but not for long. A crackle of static flickered through Mira’s speakers, then—

Laughter. Pure, innocent laughter. Mira felt a pang in her chest.

“—oh my god, that’s so cool! I can’t believe I never knew I had a quickshifter! A little silly, I thought it was just an option from the factory for these bikes—” Rumi trailed off. “Mira?”

“Right here,” she replied smoothly, pulling up next to Rumi as they slowed to a cruising speed. “Your bike sounds great.”

Rumi kept her eyes forward on the road, but snuck a glance at Mira over her shoulder.

“Thanks, Mira,” she replied over the mic. Was she smiling?

“Don’t mention it. How did you start riding?” Mira asked, pulling her left hand from the handlebar to rest on her hip.

“I didn’t have a car, couldn’t afford one. I had been interested in motorcycles for a while, and a friend tipped me off to a guy selling this bike for cheap. I scraped together some savings and here I am.” Rumi swayed her bike back and forth in her lane.

“I see. How long have you been riding?” Mira pressed out of curiosity.

“About four years now. I’ve taken care of it the best I could, done my oil changes, brakes, fluid and everything, but I think I might need a new clutch soon. No idea how to do that, and I don’t have the money for a shop right now.”

Mira nodded, mildly impressed. Rumi had done a stellar job of maintenance from what she’d seen of the bike and heard from her, plus she knew her limits for jobs she wasn’t equipped to do.

“If you want, I can help you put in a new clutch. It’s not too hard, and I have the tools for it.”

The words left Mira’s mouth before she even realized what she was saying. She hadn’t helped anyone work on her bike in a long time. Not since—

“Miraaa, I couldn’t ask you to do that,” Rumi squeaked. “It’s okay, I can just take it to the shop—”

“Nope. I’m helping you do it. It’ll be fun, promise.” She blinked. She barely knew this girl, and was offering to help her fix her bike?

It’s just so she’ll be better off on the road. No sense for her to keep riding on a slipping clutch, she reasoned. Not to mention, it was just a nice thing to do. Something told her Rumi needed someone in her life to offer that.

“O—okay,” Rumi murmured in her helmet. Mira’s brow creased behind her tinted visor. Had she crossed some unknown boundary?

The two girls rode in silence for a while, cruising past commuters and cutting between cars in coordinated tandem. Mira had to give it to her—Rumi was good. She thought she would have to hold back for Rumi, given that her bike was smaller and slower, but Rumi sliced across the road with obvious practiced ease. She had perfect form, tucked down against the body of her bike, her upshifts and downshifts were crisp, even without using her quickshifter. She always kept perfect lane position, always gave cars more than enough room even when cutting between lanes, never took more of a risk than she had to.

They broke out of a throng of cars, once again relishing in the freedom of the open highway as they headed back towards town. Rumi spoke up.

“So, what about you? How long have you been riding?” She asked cheerfully. Riding seemed to really loosen her up.

“Classified,” Mira said flatly.

“Oh, come on, you ask about me, but I can’t know about you? You really are mysterious,” Rumi whined, pulling back on her position to fall parallel with Mira in their lane.

“It’s like, my thing. Dunno if you noticed.” Mira felt Rumi’s gaze burn into her, even through the helmet. She was only half joking. She didn’t want to talk about it.

“Mysteries are meant to be solved.” The sun had set enough that the streetlights started to flick on. Mira sat in her lane, stewing. She could tell Rumi what she needed to know—without the rest.

“Six years. An old boyfriend from high school got me into racing.” Her voice was blunt, careful..

“Boyfriend?” Rumi sounded genuinely surprised—disappointed? “Can’t say I expected you with a guy.”

Mira felt genuinely offended. Why did people keep saying that? “I like girls too. Mostly girls, actually.”

I’m a lesbian.

The words sat on the tip of her tongue, yet she couldn’t get them out. Something deep inside her held them back. Why couldn’t she just admit it?

“Me too—I think. I mean—yeah,” Rumi coughed, spluttering. Mira tossed a raised eyebrow toward her. It was comforting to see someone who also had no idea what their sexuality was. “So—you raced? Like on a track?”

Mira rolled her eyes. Rumi was such a dork.

“Yeah. Once a month, we’d have a track day. Everyone brought their bikes, we’d record our lap times and see who could get the best time,” she explained.

“That’s cool. How long did you race for?” Rumi changed lanes, gliding smoothly around a pickup truck. Mira followed suit.

“A few years. I got a bigger bike, then I dropped it on one of my practice laps.” Mira grimaced at the memory.

“You wrecked? Oh no—” Rumi’s reply was filled with concern.

“It’s fine. I was just sore for a bit. The bike was okay, just scratched it up a little. I stopped racing after—” Mira trailed off. She had almost slipped up. She almost told Rumi about her.

The horrid memory of that day still haunted her.

Mira had seen crashes before. A slip in concentration, taking a corner too quickly, the bike sliding out from underneath the rider. Most times the rider walked away with nothing but a few scrapes, bruises, maybe a fracture if they had been going fast enough. Hell, she walked away from her own wreck with nothing but a sore ass for a week.

Hana’s runs were good today. Like, really good. Her first two laps were already quicker than her best times, even a subpar final lap would mean a record breaking average for her three laps. She carved around the final corner of the circuit, pinning her throttle on the final straightaway toward the finish line. Mira jumped up and down, cheering as her fiancee sped closer, her bike screaming like some uncaged animal. She was five seconds off her fastest lap yet, a finish like this would cement a legacy-defining lap time—

Bang.

The sound of Hana’s rear tire exploding echoed across the tarmac, even a hundred yards away. Mira froze, a gasp of horrified shock hitching in her lungs. Time slowed to a crawl. This couldn’t be happening right now. A single, strangled syllable clawed its way from Mira’s throat.

“No—”

The wobbles started first, Hana’s rear traction nonexistent. She managed to stay upright for a split second, but the lack of grip forced the front forks to the side.

The front wheel locked up.

Mira’s heart stopped.

Hana’s body tumbled through the air, launched from the bike as all forward momentum halted instantly at almost 100 mph. She hung there in terrifying suspense, her body nothing but a limp marionette fully at the mercy of unyielding physics.

The bike hit the ground first, tumbling end over end, fairings splintering at every contact with the ground, sliding to a halt just outside the pit barrier.

Her body slammed into the asphalt with a horrifying crumple, her neck snapping back on impact. The crack of her helmet liner shattering was audible even from the staging area.

“HANA—!”

“...Mira? After what?” Rumi pressed, gently. Mira shook her head, the memory clawing into her mind with searing agony. The crackles of her and Rumi’s exhaust grounded her, the wind whipping through the vents in her helmet to remind her to breathe.

“I just…lost someone at a race. So I never went back.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry—” Rumi began, but Mira cut her off.

“Not your fault. Don’t apologize,” she snapped. The words came out much harsher than she intended. Rumi hadn’t done anything wrong.

It was mine. It’s my fault. I killed her.

“Mira—are you okay?” Rumi’s tone was filled with concern. Mira adjusted her lane position back to a better spot—had she almost drifted over? What if she had pulled in front of a car?

She tightened her grip on her handlebars, somehow even harder than the white-knuckled hold she already had.

“I’m fine,” she deflected.

Rumi seemed to accept that answer for now.

The respect she felt for Rumi tugged a familiar ache in her heart. Riding in such attunement with another person, another woman, was something she hadn’t felt for a long time. For a moment, she was almost pulled back into her memories, watching Hana—

She smacked herself in the side of the head, jolting her out of the funk. The searing pain of the memory still smoldered deep inside her, intertwined with her very pulse.

The rest of the ride was quiet. Too quiet. Mira eventually broke the silence by mentioning offhand how she needed to use the restroom and would probably just head home. She told Rumi she lived relatively close, and that her place was definitely a step up from the gas station restrooms. The day had been long, Rumi felt the beginnings of that ache stemming from hours of riding. She blurted out an offer to Mira.

“You could just come to my place. Well—it’s not my place, but she won’t mind. It’s just for a second.”

“Who won’t mind?” Mira asked. Rumi could almost hear the raised eyebrow behind her helmet.

“My godmother. She’s a little strict but—I mean, we’re all human, right? Everyone pees, it’ll be fine,” Rumi said, shrugging. She couldn’t see Celine getting upset at her for letting a new friend use their bathroom.

Mira shrugged.

“If you insist. Anything’s better than those disgusting gas station toilets.”

Rumi chuckled.

She turned off the highway, guiding Mira through the side roads, winding through neighborhoods until they ended up in Celine’s driveway. The modestly sized house loomed above them, two stories with a smart coat of navy blue paint on the outside. Celine had retired early with her nest egg built up from managing idol groups, and this house was one of her biggest investments. Nothing massive, but something permanent. In another life, maybe Rumi would have inherited it. Instead, all she felt was a twinge of nervousness as she opened the roller door.

Would Celine actually be okay with this? Surely she would, she had been chastising Rumi about not putting herself out for years. Maybe she’d even be happy to meet her new friend.

“It’s just right in here,” Rumi said, opening the garage door and hanging her helmet up. She gestured to the bathroom settled just off the mudroom. Mira nodded in thanks, disappearing into the small room. Rumi slipped her jacket off, sighing in relief as the cool air conditioner cooled her damp skin. She needed to shower.

Her jacket went on its hook next to her helmet, then she reached for her boots—

The kitchen light clicked on. Shuffling footsteps approached.

Rumi froze.

“Welcome home,” Celine said flatly. Her voice carried no emotion, in that terrifying way that Rumi could never predict what she was going to say next.

Rumi just nodded, taking her boots off.

“Don’t you have something to tell me?” She was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. Rumi looked up at her. Her hair was uncharacteristically messy, the cardigan she always wore wrinkled. Her face was flushed, her eyes slightly bloodshot—had she been drinking? Celine drank on occasion but not as frequently in recent days.

“What—” Rumi began, but Celine stomped towards her. She recoiled, shuffling back until she was pressed up against the door to the garage. Her pulse thundered in her ears, breath cycling in and out in quick gasps. Celine stood at eye level with her, breath reeking of liquor. Rumi’s hands trembled. Celine had never been like this before.

“You forgot. To tell me something.” Her voice was dark, her reddened eyes burning holes into Rumi’s skull.

“Tell you? I—” Her spine chilled. Celine didn’t even seem present at any degree, her mind hijacked by liquor. This version of her was infinitely more terrifying. Sober Celine was cold, calculated. Every syllable was intended to slice, as precise as a surgeon’s blade. Celine under the influence, however, was volatile, unpredictable. She could be agreeable for the first time in months, or lose her everloving mind over the tiniest issue.

“I’ll give you one—more—fucking chance to tell me,” Celine slurred. The curse chilled Rumi to her core. Celine never swore. Ever.

“T—tell you what? I—I don’t—” Rumi stammered, eyes darting to the bathroom door. Could Mira hear what was happening?

“God, you’re always so useless, use your words,” Celine spat, pointing an accusing finger at the bathroom door Mira was on the opposite side of. Every word came out clipped. “Who’s. In. My. House. J*-*****?”

Rumi’s throat constricted in panic. Why here? Why now?

“I—it’s Mira. I met her at the—”

The stinging pain across her cheek appeared out of nowhere, Celine’s hand moving quicker than she should have. Rumi broke, tears spilling down the red mark already forming on her face.

“I don’t know who Mira is. You can’t even tell me simple things. I do so much for you, and this is how you repay me?” Celine’s hand struck on every emphasis, unrelenting in her strikes. Rumi sobbed, hands held in front of her face to protect from subsequent hits.

“Please—Celine—I didn’t do anything—” Rumi cried, pleading with her godmother.

“What the fuck?” The deep growl cut through Celine’s onslaught. She kept her hand raised, a threat to continue what she had started as she looked over her shoulder.

“Stay out of this,” Celine hissed, the alcohol permeating Rumi’s senses. All she felt was shame. Mira had seen. It was over. She’d tell Zoey, and they’d leave like everyone else always did.

“Over my dead body.” Mira challenged, taking a step towards Celine. She stood much taller than the older woman, a factor that wavered Celine’s raised hand.

“He—” Celine hooked her chin to Rumi. “—needs to learn to be more appreciative. Ungrateful brat.” Her hand wound back to strike again.

Rumi’s heart stopped, not even attempting to brace for the blow.

He.

Mira didn’t know about her. She couldn’t find out, not like this.

She had been so careful, so meticulous. She kept her voice high, her face shaved, her hair done perfectly, even practiced her eyeliner. All these years, trying so hard just to be the girl she felt like on the inside—all these years, earning every last inch of progress she had made with herself—all these years, begging Celine for the tiniest crumb of acceptance—it all shattered the instant that word had left Celine’s mouth.

Her lower back exploded in a conflagration of white-hot agony. Rumi winced, doubling over from the pain. She hadn’t been struck there. Had she pulled a muscle on the ride?

“I don’t give a fuck, you’re not talking to her like that, and you’re sure as hell not hitting her like that!” Mira shouted, crossing the room to grab Celine’s wrist. Her voice dropped low, terrifyingly low, every syllable bathed in venom. “Touch her again, and I’ll break your fucking wrist.”

Celine hesitated a moment. She looked to Rumi, leaned back against the door, tears still streaming down her face, then back to Mira.

“I don’t know who the fuck you are, but take this failure of a child and get out of my house. I never want to see either of you here again.”

Mira kept her gaze locked on Celine as she moved to grab Rumi’s helmet and jacket. Rumi’s sobs were the only thing audible, the tension between Celine and Mira thinner than the hair trigger of a mousetrap.

“Let’s go, Rumi.” Mira said evenly, slowly moving towards the door, carrying Rumi’s gear. Rumi looked up, her mascara streaked all down her swollen cheeks, snot streaming from her nose.

“Wha—but, my things—” Rumi stammered, struggling to find her balance.

“We’ll come back and get them. When this bitch isn’t hurting you,” Mira muttered, opening the door. She held a hand out to Rumi.

Rumi looked back at Celine. She was staring directly at Rumi, hardly contained fury simmering just behind her eyes. That godforsaken voice clawed its way back into Rumi’s mind, speaking words Celine had never uttered to her face in a twisted, demonic tone.

You really thought you could be a girl?

Pathetic.

Just like your mother was.

Rumi felt Mira’s strong hand slip into her own, lifting her up. She stumbled, catching herself on the door frame as the door shut. She couldn’t feel anything, save for the constant throbbing on her lower back that overwhelmed all of her senses. Mira’s grip steadied her as she ditched the helmet and jacket temporarily.

“Hey. Listen to me.” Mira’s voice was soothing, all fire that had laced her tone just seconds before completely gone. “You’re not in any shape to ride. Can you hold on to me?”

Rumi’s breath still hitched in her throat as the sobs subsided. She nodded. Mira moved slowly, gently, wiping a streak of mascara from her cheek.

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t have the energy to.

“Fuck…it’s starting to bruise. We should hurry,” Mira said, picking up Rumi’s jacket and helmet. “Leave your bike here, take the key. She can’t do anything with it.” Rumi tried to stand on her own but doubled over in agony, white-hot streaks blotting her vision. She cried out again. Her back was on fire. Mira was immediately by her side again, an arm around her.

“What hurts?”

“B—back…” Rumi croaked, lifting the hem of her shirt with a feeble finger. Mira slipped her hands under Rumi’s shirt, lifting the fabric gingerly. She gasped at what stared back at her. Scars, a mix of recent and ones faded by years of healing, freckled across her back, and in the midst of them—

A jagged, violet mark, just on the small of Rumi’s back, no bigger than Mira’s thumb.

“Fuck…” Mira breathed, her rage hardly contained beneath the surface.. “She really hit you.”

“What…what is it?” Rumi rasped out, breath skittering.

“Bruise. A bad one.” Mira said grimly. “Can you walk?”

Rumi stood with Mira’s assistance, a bit unsteady but upright. She walked Rumi’s bike into the garage, taking the key from the ignition and slipping it into her pocket.

“Have you backpacked before?” Mira asked Rumi as she helped her slip on the jacket. Rumi shook her head. Mira patted the rear seat of her bike, putting down the passenger pegs.

“You get on first. Once you’re settled, lean forward against me, wrap your arms tight around my waist. I’m not riding crazy, but you’ll need to lean with me for turns. Got it?” Rumi nodded, words not quite finding their place on her tongue. The shock of everything still hadn’t hit her. She moved like a robot, slipping her leg over to find the passenger foot peg, perching on the rear of the bike. Mira mounted the seat, and she slid forward. The engine rumbled to life beneath her, the exhaust warm by her leg.

“Arms.” Mira tapped her own waist..

Oh. Right.

Rumi wrapped her arms around Mira, not tight but still firm. She felt Mira’s muscles contract under her grip as they pulled away, going someplace else—

Someplace other than home.

Rumi was too delirious to care where.

All she could feel was pain. Shame. Guilt.

Mira never should’ve had to see her like this. It had been her fault—she was the one that insisted Mira come over to her place, even if it was just for a minute. Always dreading that contact with Celine, had she been so foolish to think that her godmother would have let someone be a human?

Why was Mira doing this for her? She hardly knew Rumi in the first place. At this point, it had been hardly more than a freak accident that their paths had even crossed. Rumi wanted so badly to just shrivel up in a hole and rot away.

At least there she’d never burden anyone again.

Mira’s apartment was nice. Like, celebrity nice. Racks upon racks of painstakingly arranged vinyls filled the corners, signed band posters dotted the walls, and multiple guitars hung from their racks next to the TV. Stone finishes covered every surface that wasn’t a poster or bare wall. She had a lot of decor, every corner filled to the brim with collectibles and trinkets, but everything had its own place. It felt—lived in. Personal. Vastly different from Rumi’s bare room at home, being invited into this space felt as if she was opening up a small bit of herself to be perceived.

Mira set both their helmets on the dining table, the thud bringing Rumi back to reality.

“Okay, here’s the deal. You’re going to take a shower. I’ll get you some clothes and clean out the guest bedroom quickly, then make dinner for us. You can stay here as long as you need. I make more than enough money to cover rent and food, so please don’t beg me to let you pay for anything. Got it?” Her words were firm. Unmoving.

Rumi almost opened her mouth to object, but meekly nodded instead. She still hadn’t spoken since her few words at Celine’s house.

“Good. Bathroom is the second door on the right. Let me get you a towel,” Mira called over her shoulder, already disappearing to the end of the hall. Rumi blinked. She made small steps down the hall, as if she would break something just by existing in this space.

The bathroom was… extravagant, to say the least. The lights gently illuminated when she walked in, without any prompt from a switch or fader. The mirror glowed with soft light around its border, presumably for makeup. Rumi jumped at a tap on the wall in the hall. Mira peeked her head around the corner.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. Here.” She offered Rumi a pile of clothes, stacked neatly with a towel, washcloth, toothbrush wrapped in plastic, a tiny tube of toothpaste, and a hairbrush. Rumi stared for a second, blinking. Mira just moved to set the pile on the countertop with a nod. Take your time. The words passed unspoken, but not unheard between them. Mira clicked the door shut behind her.

Rumi inhaled.

1. 2. 3. 4.

She exhaled with a shudder. Small bits were starting to hit her all at once, like tiny meteors breaking apart in the atmosphere.

She was in Mira’s bathroom. Mira, the girl that had waved at her on the freeway almost two weeks ago. Mira, the girl who she couldn’t quite figure out yet. Mira, the girl that threatened to break Celine’s hand if she had touched Rumi again.

Mira, the girl that had offered up her guest bedroom to her without hesitation.

The pain had dulled to a throb in her face and back—oh. Her back. She peeled off her shirt, feeling the grime on her skin now that the cloth was no longer present to hide it. It was hard to look at her own back in the mirror, but she finally got a peek at what Mira had seen earlier. A grotesque, pointed purple mark, right on her lower spine. She gingerly traced it with her fingers, wincing at the contact. It looked like a horrible bruise—and yet, it didn’t feel like one at all. It wasn’t tender or swollen, like a fresh bruise of that magnitude would be.

Surely, it would pass just as everything else did.

Rumi sighed, peeling the rest of her clothes off, turning to face herself in the mirror as she undid her braid. Her slight frame stood bare before the gentle glow of the mirror. She forced herself to look down. Between her legs. She grimaced. It was like it followed her around. Extra parts she had never asked for, never once wanted, and would get rid of in an instant if she could. Her gaze pulled back up to her face, still swollen and red from Celine’s hand. She winced at the thought.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway.

She jumped, her instinct to pull a towel around, preparing to deal with Celine—but the steps faded. She exhaled.

Mira.

She wasn’t at home.

She was with Mira. That would take some getting used to.

The shower was fancy. Too fancy for Rumi, but it still sputtered to life when she pulled the knob. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, for it to do a cartwheel, or rich person shower things, but the water steamed up almost instantly. Rumi sighed as she stepped into the hot water, washing the grime of the day away.

She should have felt safer in that moment, away from Celine, but she still couldn’t shake this ache from her body. Celine’s words echoed in her mind.

Useless.

I do so much for you, and this is how you repay me?

He needs to learn to be more appreciative. Ungrateful brat.

He. There was no way Mira didn’t hear that.

The ache settled in the pit of her stomach. Not nausea, not quite pain, but something that now coursed through the fibre of her being.

Shame.

Mira stood in the kitchen, dicing up scallions for the growing pile of ingredients for the budae jjigae she had decided to make for dinner. Spam, sausages, tofu, mushrooms, kimchi and noodles all tossed together in a spicy broth. It could cure any ailment.

Hopefully.

Rumi was settled in the shower and Mira had tidied the guest bedroom for her. She still hadn’t spoken a word since they had left her house. Mira gritted her teeth. How long had this been going on? That woman was clearly drunk off her ass, as if that gave her any excuse. Rumi’s scars, that horrible purple mark—it almost resembled a gash from a knife twisting in her back. Did she do that to Rumi?

Her thoughts wandered back, remembering, processing. She had only heard a muffled exchange, assuming it was Rumi’s godmother she had briefly mentioned. Then the slap. Gods, the slap. Rumi’s cry of pain. It still echoed in her memory. Opening that door to see that woman striking Rumi, again and again without mercy—it had snapped something deep inside her.

Parents were supposed to nurture. Encourage. Love. Mira’s mother and father had been far less than model examples of good parents, but her torment had all been psychological. Seeing someone who was Rumi’s supposed parental figure inflicting such gruesome physical pain on her like that—it lodged something deep in her chest, something she couldn’t ignore.

She always kept her guest bedroom open. Inviting someone into her home wasn’t something she treated lightly, but seeing Rumi hurt like this, remembering the panicked look on her face—it shook Mira to her core. No one had slept in that bed in a year, yet she still kept the room clean, the blankets and pillows ready to use. Clearly, this had been the right decision, even if some small part of her hoped Hana would have been the one to use it once again. A knock on her door, a kiss planted on her lips like nothing had ever happened, and Hana’s weekend bag stowed away like clockwork.

But that time would never come again.

Mira had never run so fast at any point in her life.

She vaulted the barriers, sprinting towards Hana’s twitching body, heedless of the voices behind her. The only one she listened to was the one in her head.

Hana.

Hana.

Hana.

Please—please be okay…

She slid onto the asphalt beside Hana. She couldn’t remove the helmet, the crash may have damaged her spinal cord, so she flipped the helmet visor up—

Hana’s eyes broke her.

Full of terror, of agony, they darted back and forth, like they couldn’t focus on anything. Labored breaths rattled from her lips. Mira took Hana’s hand, cradling it in her own.

“Hana—no—I’m so sorry—”

Hana’s other hand feebly gripped Mira’s sleeve. Vocal chords rasping, she pulled in a pitiful breath of air.

“It’s—it’s not—your—”

Mira squeezed her hand. She was terrified to touch any other part of her. Tears welled in the corners of her eyes. Her voice was broken, the sobs hindering her words.

“Honey, you’ll be okay, it’ll be okay—”

Hana closed her eyes.

“No—NO—Stay with me, Hana…please…” Her head lolled to the side, eyes fluttering open to look directly at Mira. Her entire body hitched. Hana’s eyes were completely glazed, almost cloudy.

“It’s not—your fault—Mira—”

Mira’s heart shattered into a million pieces.

“No—please don’t leave me—our wedding—”

The tears flowed freely, weeping onto the track. Onto the helmet. Her helmet she had bought Hana for her birthday just a few months prior. Hana let out what air she had, her lungs rattling. Her eyes remained open, misted over. Lifeless.

She did not inhale again.

Mira had only a faint recollection of what had happened from that point forward. Firm hands gripped her, pulling her back. She vaguely recalled punching someone. Screaming, flailing her arms, only to be pulled away from the scene as the medics swarmed around Hana’s body.

Mira’s ears were filled with a thundering ringing, her mind clouded with grief. With guilt.

If she had just double-checked the rear tire pressure.

Hana would have been okay.

Hana would be alive.

But she wasn’t. She was gone, pronounced dead at the scene mere minutes later.

Mira sat slumped by all their gear. Alone. She twirled her ring in her fingers, replaying Hana’s final words to her over and over again. Her last memory of her wife.

“It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Even those words, spoken by the voice that had grounded Mira for so long, couldn’t quell her guilt.

Unbeknownst to her, the helmet she had bought Hana may have shattered, but it prolonged her death long enough for her to speak to Mira one last time. She knew Mira would blame herself. She knew Mira would shove aside any reasonable explanation to take the weight of the guilt on her shoulders.

She didn’t even get to say that she loved Mira one final time.

And now she was dead.

And it was all her fault.

A tear fell onto the countertop. The guilt pressed in on Mira, the sharp edge of the memory slicing her heart open again just as fresh as it had a year prior. If she had double checked the tire pressure once more—maybe things would have been different. Maybe Hana would be alive.

She wiped away the tears spilling for a second time in two weeks. A deep exhale pushed from her lungs. The pile of sliced vegetables and meat went into the boiling pot of broth. Cooking had been an escape for her, ever since she was young. If she followed the recipe, the product came out the same every time. Constant, unchanging. No matter how much her life fell apart, food would always be there to catch her.

And now, having witnessed Rumi’s home life fall to bits in front of her in a span of minutes, she felt this deep-seated need to help her. To be her rock, her solace in whatever the fuck was going on. Hell, she didn’t even know her godmother’s name—and yet, she didn’t need to. Just one glance told her how much that woman terrified Rumi. How much she hurt her.

She vowed she would never let that woman hurt Rumi again.

Mira finished up dinner, scooping generous helpings of the broth and soup into two large bowls. She sprinkled the scallions on top and grabbed two pairs of chopsticks before padding down the hallway. The bathroom was propped open with the light off, and the guest bedroom door sat closed at the end of the hall.

She stood outside, lightly rapping her knuckles on the door.

“Rumi?” she called out.

No answer.

“I made dinner. Food’s on the table.”

Still nothing. Mira sighed.

“Can I come in?”

A muffled shuffle of sheets came from inside, followed by a single, raspy word.

“Yes.”

Mira opened the door.

Rumi was dressed in a pair of Mira’s sweatpants and an oversized tee, towel wrapped around her head. The swelling in her face had gone down considerably, but her eyes—her poor eyes still looked so hollow. Mira padded across the room, sitting on the edge of the bed. The silence was loud. Too loud. Mira liked to exist in silences, but this one—this one needed to be filled.

“Look—I’m… not good at this,” Mira said slowly, meeting Rumi’s hollow gaze. “You don’t have to tell me anything. Don’t even have to talk to me if you don’t want to, but I made dinner.” Rumi just blinked. Mira’s stomach let out a complaintive rumble. “Listen—I need to eat or I’m going to go insane. Will you be okay for now?”

Rumi nodded.

“Your food’s on the table—you should at least eat something tonight.”

Mira sat at the table, tapping her chopsticks on her bowl with a steady clink, clink, clink. It didn’t feel right—eating without Rumi. The bowl sat in the spot occupied by her empty chair, steam still curling upward. Her stomach complained again. She let out a sigh. Rumi would come out eventually, on her own. Right?

She shoveled the first bite into her mouth, stifling a moan of contentment. Budae jjigae was one of her comfort meals, packed to the brim with proteins and flavor to replenish her body at the end of a long day. Unsure of what Rumi’s spice tolerance was, she had kept the broth mild, but never sacrificed any of the flavor. The smokiness of the sausage and spam, soft mushrooms, the comforting zip of the kimchi—it all tasted like a cozy night in with rain pattering softly outside.

Soft footsteps behind her made her perk up, she turned to see Rumi stopped in the hallway. If a human could be droopy, like a plant without water, Rumi fit the bill to a tee. Mira tilted her head, softly gesturing to the seat with the steaming bowl. Rumi padded over, sliding into the chair. Mira sat across the table from her, far enough away to give her space, but just in enough of her view to remind her that she was there. Rumi picked up her chopsticks carefully, like she held a lethal weapon instead of eating utensils. She hesitated. Mira just observed out of the corner of her eye as Rumi plucked a piece of sausage from the broth, blowing on it hesitantly before popping it in her mouth.

As Rumi’s shoulders untensed with each bite, Mira let out a soft exhale of the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She still hadn’t spoken more than one word, but food was progress. Mira wondered what she could possibly be feeling right now. Panic? Helplessness? It was hard to pinpoint any one emotion from Rumi. She just looked so…empty. Drained. Mira knew she couldn’t push Rumi too hard, she had to come out of her shell on her own. She didn’t want to risk shutting her down completely.

The two finished eating, Rumi sitting politely with her chopsticks laid neatly across her bowl. Mira glanced over, eyes skimming over the bowl. Empty. Almost licked dry. She allowed a tiny curve to tug at her lips—evidently Rumi had liked her cooking. She cleared her throat.

“Better?”

Rumi nodded.

“Thank you,” she said softly. Mira nodded in acknowledgement, standing to clear the bowls. She left them in the sink for later. Rumi still sat at the table, staring at the wall. Gods, her bruises on her cheek were darkening even more. Her heart twisted at the memory of Celine inflicting those marks on her. She shuffled through her medicine cabinet, finding a tube of arnica gel and ibuprofen with a glass of water for her pain and swelling. She brought the supplies over to the table, sitting in the same seat across from Rumi.

“This gel will help with your bruises—” she tapped the tube. “—and these pills will help with your pain and some swelling.” She slid the cap of pills over to Rumi, along with the glass of water. “Do you want to put the gel on yourself?”

Rumi swallowed the pills, sipping some more of the water along with them. She nodded.

“I…I can do it. Thank you.”

Mira slid the tube across the table. She took a deep breath.

“One more thing…we should tell Zoey at least some of what happened. Just to keep her in the loop.”

Rumi took the gel, squeezing out a dollop on her fingers and massaging it into the skin on her face and neck.

“... You’re probably right. I just… I don't want her to worry. I don’t want to be a bother.” Her voice was timid. Mira raised an eyebrow skeptically.

“You’re not being a bother.”

Rumi stayed silent, avoiding eye contact. Mira pressed her lips together. How could something like that happen to this girl, and the only thing she’s worried about is being a burden to others?

“Look, we don’t have to tell her everything. Just that something happened, and that you’re staying here.” Her tone was low, not in frustration, just exhaustion. Rumi ruminated over this for a moment, then nodded again, her voice fragile.

“Okay.”

Mira sighed in relief.

“Okay. I’ll call her. You should get some sleep.”

Rumi popped the cap back on the gel, sliding it back across the table to Mira. She stood, padding to the hall, but pausing on her way.

“Mira?” Gods, she sounded like she was on the brink of collapse.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For everything,” Rumi said softly, before disappearing down the hall. The door clicked shut behind her, and Mira was alone. She let out a deep breath. Her phone had an assortment of random notifications, social media, useless emails, a promo from some app she had installed months ago and forgotten about. One text from Zoey, about 40 minutes prior. She had missed it in the midst of the chaos.

Biker BADDIES + Zozo July 5th, 2025

Zoeyyy 🐢

Heyyy i’m home hehe

How was doing hot girl shit

Mira swiped over to her private text with Zoey. Rumi had probably silenced her phone, but just to be safe. Her fingers swiped over the keys.

Zoeyyy 🐢 July 5th, 2025

Mira

Zoey. Are you up still

Zoey’s typing bubbles appeared almost instantly.

Zoeyyy 🐢

I’m always awake lmao

Ya girl dont sleep till 2am usually

What’s going on in the biker baddie world

I never got my biker baddie selfies :c

Mira

Listen. Something happened

Rumi got kicked out

She’s staying with me rn

Zoeyyy 🐢

SHE FUCKING WHAT