Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You’re pacing?”

Rumi hisses out a surprised breath, whirling around on her feet to face the voice echoing out from her doorway. It’s almost embarrassing how completely unabashed and fearless Jinu looks, though he slowly raises his hands up in a motion that’s clearly meant to be placating; it has the opposite effect on Rumi, though, who immediately thinks about covering the distance to go over there and break his nose.

As soon as that thought crosses her mind, Rumi winces. She doesn’t usually instantly jump to that, and he hasn’t even said anything that bad yet, though she’s pretty sure that’s about to change. She deflates, her shoulders sagging as she collapses on the edge of the coffee table, burying her face into her hands. She hears the door shut with a click, listening as his footsteps get closer and closer.

Eventually, there’s a weight next to her, his shoulder pressed up against her own. Normally, Rumi thinks she’d probably shove him away from her or start a fight with him, mostly because that’s just what they do. They’ve done that since they were young, though it was more or less genuine back when they first met, since Rumi did very seriously want to rip his throat out more often than not, and Jinu was just as easily irritated as she was. They’re a lot better at not acting like that these days, and it’s not like they’re being serious about it anymore. 

Or, well. Mostly. Most of the time Rumi doesn’t actually want to kill him, but there are definitely days where she considers it, and she knows she could get away with it. She’s actually very certain she could, in fact, get away with it. She thinks Jinu has to know that, too, because he’s only gotten more and more prone to fleeing at the slightest hint of her actually being frustrated with him only to reappear at a safer distance an hour or two later. 

She’s torn between wanting to pick a fight with him and crying into his shoulder. Rumi sighs, giving up as she lets herself lean against him. Jinu—for once in his life—doesn’t make any kind of snarky comments, and instead nudges her gently, humming quietly for a second.

“You still in there?” he asks, voice uncharacteristically soft. “I mean, I guess you are. What was that, your fiftieth lap around the table?"

“You’re a dick,” Rumi mutters, opening her eyes just so she can scowl at her living room floor. She crosses her arms against her chest, making sure to purposefully elbow him the best she can manage when she adjusts. “Is that, like...all you’re here to do? You could’ve just texted.”

Jinu snorts, bumping his shoulder into hers again. “Uh, no, actually, I couldn’t. You blocked me. Remember?” he helpfully presses. “I figured you’d finally just...you know.” Jinu pops his lips, making a strangled, pained noise after. “Went and done it.”

Rumi laughs, unable to help herself. She groans half a second later, burying her face further into her hands, shaking her head. “You can’t just say that.”

“Well,” Jinu starts, sounding stupidly pleased, “It’s not an unfounded concern. And I was very concerned. Unblock me.”

“I’m not doing that,” Rumi says, leaning back to look at him. “Are you happy now? I’m alive. Not dead. Totally fine.”

Jinu stares at her. “Totally fine.”

“Totally fine,” Rumi agrees, saying it a little slower this time. 

“Totally fine,” Jinu repeats.

Rumi scowls at him, reaching out to plant her hand on his chest, shoving him back as hard as she can. Unfortunately for Jinu—and fortunately for her—she’s always been the stronger one between the two of them, and so he goes flying off the coffee table. Jinu yelps, staring up at her with a bewildered sort of disbelief that Rumi really doesn’t think he has any right to have, given how he’s known her for years by this point; it’s not in her nature, when it comes to him, to not take every opportunity to act like this.

For a second, Rumi stares at him without saying anything. Jinu stares back just as hard, his eyes narrowing into a sharp glare. Rumi holds eye contact when she reaffirms, “Totally fine.”

“Sure,” Jinu mutters, pushing himself off the floor, trudging back over to sit directly beside her again. “I can tell you’re spiraling.”

Rumi scuffs her foot against the ground, staring at the floor so hard she’s surprised she doesn’t burn a hole through the rug. She kind of wishes that she would; if the ground opened up and swallowed her whole, she wouldn’t have to deal with talking to Jinu, or talking about this, or thinking about how the only long-term relationship she’s ever had ended yesterday and how she’s going to have to go up to her parents’ place and tell them all about it after specifically talking about finally bringing her girlfriend up for them to meet because she thought it was probably time and—

“You’re getting worse,” Jinu says, not unkindly, but the words still grate on Rumi’s ears. “Ru, I literally can hear you doing it. Ignoring me isn’t an option. I know you can hear me. Rumi. Rumi. Rumi. Rumi. Ryu Rumi. Ryu Rumi. Look at me.”

“Shut up, Jinu,” Rumi hisses under her breath, jabbing her elbow into his ribs. Jinu makes a pained noise, but he doesn’t move away. “I just—what do you want from me? What do you want me to say? ‘Oh, it’s totally fine that I got dumped and broken up with and everyone hates me’? I know that! You don’t have to remind me.”

Jinu scoffs, knocking his shoulder into hers again. “I wasn’t going to say any of that, actually.”

Rumi snaps her head to the side, leveling him with the most disbelieving and unimpressed look she can possibly muster. “You texted me—you...you literally said...” Rumi spins a little to the right, snatching her phone off of the coffee table, unlocking it and pulling up Jinu’s contact.

She scrolls for all of two seconds before she finds the message that says: sorry u got dumped lol do you want me to like call someone 4 you. like a rebound. would that fix you? i can bring SO much alcohol if you want to spend the night miserable in a different way just lmk lol ( :} ← smiley )

Rumi jams the phone in his face. Jinu squints for a few seconds before he clearly rereads what he sent, a wide, totally unashamed grin stretching out across his face, which only makes Rumi want to hit him even harder.

“Well,” Jinu starts, slowly. “Would it have?”

“Oh my god!” Rumi hisses, throwing her phone off toward the couch so she can hit him as hard as possible. Jinu yelps before her fist even connects with his shoulder, and then he’s dancing back off the coffee table, leaping up to his feet as he darts out of punching range. “You’re—I hate you.”

Jinu laughs, which only makes Rumi angrier. “Okay! I’m sorry! Okay?” he presses. “But you’re driving yourself insane being in here, you know that. You’re actually on step one of completely losing your mind,” Jinu helpfully chirps. “It usually starts with you blocking me, and then you disappear for five months. Which—super not cool, just by the way.”

Rumi stares blankly up at him. “That’s what you do. I have never once done that.”

It’s true; Jinu is the one between the two of them who is the most prone to fleeing and completely abandoning everyone and everything for varying lengths of time, depending on what happened. Rumi tends to be—unfortunately—the only person he remains in contact with during his...excursions. Rumi, on the other hand, has never once dropped off the face of the earth, unlike Jinu. Maybe she’ll block him a few times, mostly out of frustration, but it’s hardly as if it matters. He has a key to her apartment, and clearly he’s fine with using it.

Not like Rumi really minds. Despite everything about him, Jinu is her best friend—he gets her better than anyone else ever has, and it’s difficult for her to stay irritated or angry at him because of that. As awful as he is to deal with, he’s just...easy. He makes things easier. Makes her feel like she’s less insane, and it’s nice to have someone who just gets her.

Even if it’s Jinu. Unfortunately, Rumi thinks she's sort of stuck with him, given how it's been nearly eight years since they met, and she hasn't managed to get rid of him. Not for lack of trying on her part. Or his, really. Actually, maybe both of them have tried too many times. Whatever.

Jinu shrugs, holding his hands up in mock-defeat. “Okay, maybe you don’t disappear for five months, but you spend those five months pacing. How’s that going for you, by the way?”

Rumi scoffs. “What do you want from me?” she demands. “I got broken up with, Jinu. I think I can pace if I want to pace. And I do. Can you get out of my apartment? Actually—” Rumi pushes herself to her feet, resting her hands on her hips as she scowls at him. “Give me your key.”

“Absolutely not,” Jinu says with a wide grin, tilting his chin up as he speaks. “Someone needs to make sure you don’t, you know.” He waves a hand, making that same ‘pop’ sound with his mouth. This time, though, Jinu raises his hand up to his head, miming a gun as he quietly hisses out a ‘pow!’ that has far too much emphasis. 

Rumi really does think that he’s done, and then she watches Jinu mime tossing a rope up to the rafter above him, and then he mimics himself tying an oddly impressive, oddly realistic noose. And, of course, it ends up around his throat. 

“You know,” Jinu says again after a second, waving a hand as he drops his head and pretends to go limp. “Y’know.”

“You’re tempting me,” Rumi deadpans. “You’re terrible at this.”

Jinu shoots his head back up and grins, eyes practically sparkling as he says, “I think that was a really good recreation, actually.”

“Maybe you should go through with it,” Rumi helpfully suggests. “I think that’d fix me.”

Jinu’s grin drops. “I’m not going for round five, Rumi,” he helpfully tells her back. “And neither are you! Do you want me to—” he cuts himself off, waving a hand absentmindedly. “I can call a few of my friends. So you’re not alone up there?” Jinu offers. “Not ideal, but—”

“No,” Rumi rushes out, screwing up her face. “Are you fucking serious? No, Jinu. I don’t want that.”

“I could go up with you,” he suggests.

Rumi gags, nearly throwing up in her mouth. “Ew.”

“Okay,” Jinu scoffs, glaring at her. “Fine. Be sad and alone and brokenhearted for the holidays. Have you even told your parents?” he asks, arching an eyebrow, giving her a look that has Rumi scowling even harder. “Or are you just going to show up alone?”

“You’re a dick, you know that, right?” Rumi mutters, crinkling her nose. It’s what she needs to hear, she knows that; it just doesn’t make it any easier to have to listen to. “No, I haven’t said anything. They were—they were excited, Jinu,” Rumi murmurs, pressing her cheek into her hand. “They were really excited.”

Jinu takes a step closer, dropping back down to the coffee table. He bumps into her, knocking their heads together. “You know they’re not going to be mad at you, right? I mean, she didn’t even give a reason, did she?” he asks. “Which is unbelievable. I can’t believe you even—” he cuts himself off, seeming to realise that Rumi is dead staring at him. “Is it too soon to say I didn’t like her?”

Rumi snorts, dragging her hands down her face. “I just wasn’t...right for her, or whatever. And I guess I’m a chronic workaholic. I haven’t even been working!” Rumi huffs, directing her gaze back to the floor. “I’ve been—I’ve been doing the opposite of working!” 

On Celine’s orders, really. Rumi didn’t want to back out of helping with her parents’ company, but Celine wouldn’t let up, citing something about her ‘driving herself insane’, or whatever. So Rumi has more or less been put in timeout, and...

She breathes out, turning her head to the side, tapping her foot against the ground. “Um, actually, I didn’t...” she trails off, drawing in a deep breath. She hadn’t brought it up to Jinu for a reason, but now he’s in her apartment, and it sort of feels wrong to keep it from him for any longer. “You have to be normal about this.”

Jinu makes a displeased noise. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say,” Rumi weakly protests, still decidedly not looking at him.

“You’re starting it off like that,” Jinu points out. “It’s going to be something awful.”

Rumi winces. “She cheated. On me. Um, like, apparently—you know, more than you’d expect. It was kind of a surprising amount of times, actually. But it’s fine!” she rushes out. “It’s fine, I—”

Jinu grabs both of her shoulders. Rumi lets out a miserable noise when he spins her around to face him, leaning in far closer than necessary before he says, “Rumi, I’m going to kill her.”

“You really don’t have to do that,” Rumi mutters. “It’s fine. It’s fine. I don’t want to think about it. Can we not think about it?”

“One week.”

“Can you make it, like...more than that?” Rumi asks, screwing up her face. “I’m going up to my parents’ until the new year. After that,” she says, heaving a sigh. “After that you can do whatever. Not whatever,” Rumi quickly corrects. “Not whatever. I want you to drop it, Jinu.”

Jinu scoffs, narrowing his eyes, but he eventually ducks his head. “Fine. Okay.” Then he pauses, screwing up his own face before he says, “Sorry for the whole...you know,” he offers, weakly raising a hand to point two fingers at his head again, softly whispering, “Pow.”

“You really are not making it better,” Rumi says, but she ends up laughing at the way he looks nearly bashful. His expression very much so does not match the action he’s acting out, which unfortunately makes it funnier. “It’s fine. It’s making me feel normal about the whole...” she waves a hand. “Everything, I guess.”

They sit there in silence for a few minutes longer, mostly with Rumi leaning against his shoulder while Jinu mercifully stays quiet. It’s the most peace Rumi has gotten in hours, and it’s almost enough for her to forget why he’s even here in the first place.

That lasts until Jinu adjusts, jostling her just enough for Rumi to be brought back to her current problem: how does she tell her parents without them freaking out so badly it stresses her out worse than the actual breakup itself?

“Jinu,” Rumi says, shifting off of the coffee table to pad to the couch across from it. She hoists herself up onto the arm of it, promptly flinging herself back so her head is against the cushions, legs hanging up in the air. “My parents are going to freak out.”

He makes an affirmative noise that really does nothing to alleviate the stress she feels. “Totally. I’m texting Celine her address.”

“Don’t!” Rumi hisses out, snapping her head to the side to glare at him. “Not—not until I’m back down from their place! Or ever, actually! Don’t do that! Ever!”

“Do you really just—what, expect me to sit here and pretend like it didn’t happen?” Jinu demands, sputtering for a second before he presses on, “Rumi, if it was me, you’d be gone. Out of the house. In jail, actually.”

“Well,” Rumi mutters, “That’s not even true. I wouldn’t get caught.” 

Jinu scoffs again. “I wouldn’t get caught, either.”

Rumi cracks an eye open to give him the most unimpressed look she can manage. “Okay, Jinu.”

“Do you know how insufferable you are? Are you doing that on purpose, or is it a—” Jinu quickly cuts himself off. “No. You’re fantastic, Rumi. Truly a...visionary. In our time. Sorry.”

“You literally can’t save that,” Rumi mumbles, but she finds herself smiling at him anyway. “I’m just...not going to text them. At all. Um, probably ever again? I think I’m going to skip out on Christmas this year.”

Jinu rolls his eyes, giving her an entirely undeserved look. “They’d hunt you down, you know that, right? Have you been responding to their texts?”

“Yes,” Rumi begrudgingly says. 

“Probably why they’re not down here,” Jinu mutters, pushing himself off of the coffee table. He disappears from her line of sight, and Rumi props herself up, watching as he saunters into the kitchen with his hands on his hips, head swiveling back and forth. “Are you stocked up?”

“I can feed myself just fine, Jinu,” Rumi helpfully tells him, narrowing her eyes sharply when Jinu doesn’t even bother to turn around, just waving his hand in response. “No, no, it’s fine,” Rumi calls out, tilting her head to the side. “It’s totally fine. Go for it. Dig around in my kitchen. Totally fine. You’re already ruining my morning, you might as well fuck it up even more.”

Jinu hums approvingly. “I was going to do that anyway,” he chirps. Rumi huffs, glaring even harder as she watches Jinu instantly cover the remaining space between him and her cupboards, opening them up with a dramatic flair that has her wincing—the hinges need to be replaced on some of them, and if they open too hard, they will fall apart. It’s nothing short of a miracle, really, that they don’t do that, given how he pretty much throws them open.

Rumi watches him for a few seconds longer, rolling her eyes at the way he bounces from cupboard to cupboard, then to the fridge, then to her lower cabinets, even peering into the sink as if there’s something there. It’s ridiculous, a little sweet to see that he cares, but it mostly just makes her want to strangle him and maybe shove him in the sink. She’s not—she got broken up with. She’s still able to take care of herself just fine. And Rumi has always prided herself on being really, really adaptable and good at handling situations and more or less just pushing things off to the side to deal with in vague increments, so she’s not...worried about how she’ll deal with all of this.

Really, she’s just kind of ashamed at going up to her parents’ place after finally caving to introduce them to her girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend. Her ex-girlfriend who cheated on her a lot, apparently. Rumi sort of wonders how she managed to miss that, but...something something workaholic, she guesses.

Eventually, Jinu makes a somewhat pleased noise, turning back to face her. “Okay, you’re not at risk of imminently starving.”

“I literally said that,” Rumi scoffs, narrowing her eyes all over again now that he’s looking at her. “Did you just...choose to not, like, process that? Did you not hear me literally say that?”

“I didn’t believe you,” Jinu helpfully says with a tight smile that’s more of a weird grimace than anything, though Rumi supposes she could say that for all of his smiles. “I’ll come over for a week once you’re back down.”

Rumi grimaces this time. “I really don’t want you to do that.”

“Yeah, but it’s what you need,” Jinu says with a wave of his hand, shrugging casually. “So...I’ll be here! Do the little guys need watering?” he asks, inclining his head toward the wall of houseplants Rumi still has to organise. She only just recently brought them in from her terrace for the winter, and half of them are still housed in the living room and kitchen and also the hallway, and they’re kind of spreading more and more, and she’s honestly half-convinced they’re duplicating, actually.

It’s admittedly sweeter than it should be for Jinu to ask. Rumi sighs, hoisting herself up the rest of the way onto the arm of her couch, propping her chin on her knuckles. “Some of them, yeah. I can leave you instructions.”

Jinu shoots her the biggest, stupidest grin; he looks so genuinely thrilled that it catches Rumi off guard for a second. “A list? Will you make me a list? I’d love a list.”

Rumi immediately scowls, losing all sense of appreciation for him. “You can go to hell, actually.”

“I’m serious!” Jinu laughs, his grin somehow managing to get bigger. “You—you love lists, don’t you? That’ll make you feel better! Right?”

“I can’t believe you,” Rumi says, opening and closing her mouth for a few seconds. “I actually can’t believe you. Get out of my apartment."

“Nope!” Jinu beams, batting his eyelashes at her. “Make me a list, it’ll help you be less...” he waves a hand, sauntering back into the living room, resting his other hand on his hip as he tilts his head to the side, like he’s considering. “Like that.”

Rumi stares at him. “Less...like that?”

Jinu nods. A bold move for someone who has suddenly placed himself back in punching range. “Yup. Gonna need you to get over this one pretty quick for me, Ru. That way you’re not all that broken up about it when I text Celine to accompany me when I—”

“Oh my god!” Rumi groans, throwing her head back. “You know what? This is worse. This is worse than getting broken up with. Actually, you really know what? This is worse than finding out about the cheating! All twenty times! Probably more than that!”

“Well, I know that’s not true,” Jinu says, rolling his eyes. “Are you packed? Ready to go? Do you want me to drive you?”

Rumi glowers at him, largely because Jinu is trying to be sweet and genuine again, even if both of those words don’t really ring true for who he is as a person. Still, it’s nice of him to make the attempt, and it makes Rumi feel a little worse, just because he’s not usually so...upfront about stuff like this. They’ve never really been all that good at being friends in the normal way, but it works well enough for them; they don’t typically ask each other to help out. They usually just show up and do whatever needs to be done, like the time Rumi spent a whole month in his apartment making sure he was eating and moving off the couch at least once or twice a day. Or like the time Jinu showed up in her apartment and forced her to get in his car so they could drive around for a few hours for a change of scenery.

It sort of just serves as another reminder that her relationship has completely dissolved, and it probably wasn’t even very good in the first place, but it was...it had been good for a bit, Rumi thinks. It had to have been good for at least a bit. 

And now Jinu is in her apartment, staring at her all expectantly, already inching closer and closer to the door.

“No,” Rumi eventually manages to get out, shaking her head as she stands up, hands brushing down her shirt. “No, it’s fine. I think it’ll help to not really, um, have to think about it,” she offers, glancing toward the front door. “You have to watch my plants, anyway.”

Jinu hums, pursing his lips as he nods along to the words. “Because they’re known to move around and flee the vicinity.”

Rumi stares at him, letting out a soft bark of laughter before she strides up and punches his shoulder as hard as she can. Jinu yelps and scrambles back, darting around to the back of the couch, as if that would be enough distance to keep him safe. Rumi rolls her eyes, shaking out her hand before jamming it in her pockets, letting out a slow breath.

After another second of Jinu staring warily at her, Rumi smiles a little and says, “I hope I come back and find you smothered. I’m praying for it, actually. On my hands and knees begging for it to happen. I would kill to come back and never have to deal with you again.”

It’s a little funny watching a dozen emotions flicker across Jinu’s face. Rumi is more than surprised when his face softens and he covers the distance between them again, feeling kind of like a dick when he wraps his arms around her shoulders and pulls her into a hug. Rumi presses her face to the side of his neck, heaving a sigh as she drapes her own arms around him, breathing out slowly.

“Feel better?” Jinu asks, sounding far too smug. “You sound like you’re feeling better.”

Rumi snorts, shaking her head the best she’s able to. “I think you just, like, make me too angry to focus on literally anything else.”

“That was the goal,” Jinu chirps, pulling back to give her another stupid grin, eyes sparkling. “You’re packed?”

“I packed two days ago,” Rumi mutters, rolling her eyes. “I should really—I need to go, Jinu. I want to stop at the diner on the way, and that’ll be another, like, twenty minutes, and if I leave now, I’ll be able to make it in—”

“You do know that your parents wouldn’t be upset by you running late?” Jinu asks, giving her a look. “You’re already going to be three hours early. You don’t need another twenty minutes.”

Rumi scoffs. “No, you’re right. I just want to get away from you.”

Jinu nods, pushing her back with far too much force. Rumi considers punching him again, but then he’s prancing off upstairs, and all she can do is roll her eyes and watch as he skips out of sight. Rumi stands there in her living room for another minute or so, tapping her foot against the ground, counting back from two hundred before Jinu reappears about halfway through. Her black duffle bag is slung over his shoulder, and he winces down every single stair, eventually dropping the bag at her feet.

Jinu wheezes as soon as the bag is out of his hands, doubling over, planting his palms on his knees. “What are you taking with you? Bowling balls?”

Rumi blinks. She crouches down, easily hoisting her duffle bag up into the air with one hand, purposefully holding it up above her head as she gives him a look. “Clothes, actually. And presents.”

“Which I can only assume are the aforementioned bowling balls,” Jinu mutters. “Do they even—do your parents even go bowling?”

“Why would I know that?” Rumi asks, screwing up at her face as she stares at him in disbelief. “Okay, you’re—you’re distracting me. I’m going to go now, Jinu,” she says,  walking toward the front door to slip on her shoes and grab her keys. “Most of my plants just need misting, you know how to take care of them, I know you do.”

She twists to the side, grabbing her phone off the couch, shoving it in her pockets. Rumi takes a second to quickly look around her living room, making sure she hasn’t accidentally forgotten anything. Her keys are on the keyring, duffle bag is in her hand, phone is in her pocket.

“Leg and Legs2 are in fantastic care,” Jinu promises. “Did Stork finally...you know. You know.”

Rumi immediately rushes out, “Don’t start with your awful charades,” before Jinu can mimic killing himself again for the fifth time within the hour. “And no, he’s fine. He was just being dramatic and wilting for no reason, but he’s, like, fine now. I don’t know what was wrong with him.”

Jinu gives an approving hum. “I was worried about him. How’s Pink?”

Rumi smiles, casting a glance over to the Philodendron Pink Princess that occupies a space by her window. “Thriving. More gangly than usual. I think she’s still growing?” 

“She needs to stop,” Jinu mutters. “She’s too tall. She’s going to take over your apartment, Rumi.”

“I can’t help that,” Rumi laughs, shrugging one shoulder as she turns back to look at him, spinning her keys around her index finger. “She’s pretty.”

Jinu makes a noise that clearly borders on disagreeing, but Rumi is nice enough to not hit him for it. “Two pink leaves and all.”

“I don’t even know why she doesn’t have more,” Rumi groans, crouching down to put on her shoes. “She’s always in the light! And she’s—her soil is fine! I’ve checked! Just...text me if you don’t know which ones need to be watered. If you kill my plants, I’ll kill you.”

“I’ve been taking care of them for years now,” Jinu says with a nearly-affronted scoff, waving his hand dismissively. “They’re pretty much my plants too. They’re all children of—”

Rumi gags so hard and so violently that she thinks it’s nothing short of a miracle that she doesn’t actually throw up. “Do not say that. I would literally rather kill myself than date you.”

Jinu stares at her. “I was joking, but it’s nice to know that’s what you think.”

“You feel the same!” Rumi laughs, narrowing her eyes almost playfully at him. “Think about dating me. Think about what that would be like. Are you picturing it?”

She feels nothing but pure vindication at the way Jinu’s face immediately screws up, how severely uncomfortable he looks. Rumi snickers when he actually lurches forward a little, hand flying up to cup over his mouth as he twists his head to the side, squeezing his eyes shut. 

Rumi beams, opening the door, leaning against the frame. “Yeah, it’s not good, huh?”

Jinu makes a pained noise, rapidly shaking his head for a second. “I think I kind of have to go for round five after that.”

“You always say that, and then you just never do,” Rumi hums, smiling at him. “But same. I need to go. I’ll—I’ll make a list, but there’s still instructions on the fridge, remember? I mean, I have more plants, but honestly, they’re not that difficult. Do not touch the cacti. They’ll be okay until I get back. And also keep the window open for all of them, but—”

“Rumi,” Jinu laughs, giving her a look. “I’ve got it. Can you, like...stop spiraling for one second? You haven’t even left your apartment and you’re already micromanaging.”

“They’re my plants,” Rumi bites back, but she deflates a little, dragging her hands down through her hair. “Fine. Whatever. Just...don’t fuck anything up, please. I can’t handle that right now.”

Jinu waves her off, hopping up onto her kitchen island. “Me? I’d never.”

Rumi scowls at him. “Sure, Jinu. Um, and...thank you,” she mutters, a little begrudgingly. “You could come up, if you wanted. Not as—not like that. Just, you know. In general.”

Jinu shoots her a wide, pleased grin. “Maybe. Probably not. Your apartment is nice! I feel like I’m living luxury up here. And also your parents terrify me,” he quickly adds. “And I don’t think they like me. I know Celine does not like me. I don’t think I want to spend my week being put to work like a dog.”

“Offer’s still there,” Rumi says with a shrug. “And it’d be Mama putting you to work, you know that.”

“Not any better,” Jinu mutters. “Drive safe, don’t crash intentionally or otherwise. Text me when you get to the diner. Or to your house. Do both.”

Rumi waves her hand, rolling her eyes as she turns to walk out the door. “Uh-huh, uh-huh.”

“Rumi, I’m being—”

She shuts the door before he can finish. It takes a grand amount of effort for Rumi to not burst out laughing when she hears the pause of silence, quickly followed by Jinu half-yelling; no words, not even speaking, just pure noise. She giggles on the way outside, pulling her phone out for half a second, fully expecting a text.

Rumi snorts when she remembers that she still has him blocked. There’s a part of her that realistically knows she should unblock him, she probably should do it now, but...

She shoves her phone back in her pocket, covering the rest of the distance from the door to her car. Rumi tosses her duffle bag into the back, slipping around to the driver’s seat. For a second, she sits there with her chin settled on the wheel, squinting at the skyline and dozens of buildings around her. 

She should have brought a coat, probably. Or gloves. Or anything, since it’s freezing cold and there’s an unbelievable amount of snow on the ground, but it’s far too late for that. Rumi crinkles her nose as soon as the thought enters her mind—it’s really not too late; she could go back inside and grab a coat, she’d be back out here in less than three minutes, give or take. 

Rumi just knows that if she leaves her car, she’s not going to come back out. There’s a good chance she’ll make Jinu leave so she can go back to pacing around her apartment—though she knows the chances of her actually getting Jinu to leave are low, especially given, well...everything—and it’ll drive her insane. She just needs to...forget about everything. Clear her mind. Pretend like the last eight months never happened, forget the call, forget the dozens of texts before she silenced her phone. Forget that she’s going back home alone, forget that her parents are going to look at her like that, forget—

Rumi groans, pushing herself back into her seat. She starts her car immediately after that, shaking her head in an attempt to focus.

It’s fine. Everything is totally fine.

She can handle this.

The drive to the diner is uneventful and short; Rumi has made the trip about a thousand times, mostly just because it’s on the way to her parents’ place. It’s a nice diner—kind of small, a little rustic, definitely outdated and more or less falling apart. It’s actually sort of a miracle that it hasn’t completely disintegrated given how Rumi can see a load-bearing wall that’s very nearly caving in, but it adds to the charm. 

Rumi parks, turning off her car. She hisses out a miserable sigh when she instantly drops her keys once she gets out, huffing before pocketing them. She jogs toward the diner itself, pressing through the door, brushing her hands through her hair.

“Rumi!”

Rumi winces. She steels herself, putting on her best attempt at a smile as she meets Abby’s eyes, waving a little as she steps up toward the counter. “Hi, Abs.”

Abby returns her smile with a brilliant, stupid looking grin that quickly falters after half a second. It’s replaced with a smile Rumi can really only describe as melancholy, which is kind of unnerving, because she really didn’t even know that Abby knew how to be melancholy. She’s actually pretty sure she’s only ever seen him being, like, weirdly upbeat and cheerful. 

“I’m really sorry to hear about Hana,” Abby says, sounding so painfully sincere that it makes Rumi’s chest ache a little.

“You weren’t supposed to know about that, by the way,” Rumi mumbles, scuffing her boot against the ground, half-leaning on the counter. “How—how many people has Jinu told? I literally...”

Abby offers a sheepish grin, holding his hands up in defeat. “Sorry? I think just me, though. I mean, he texted me! Directly! No group chat! Just me!”

“That’s great, Abby,” Rumi mutters, tilting her head to the side as she stares at a wall so hard she’s surprised it doesn’t burst into flames. “Can I get a pity drink?”

“Is it really a pity drink if it’s made out of love?” Abby asks, and Rumi turns just in time to catch him wiggling his eyebrows. Individually. Left one up, left one down. Right one up, right one down. “And compassion? And—”

“I’m getting the idea,” Rumi assures him, drumming her fingers against the counter. “So, is that...a yes?”

Abby plants his heart over his chest, leaning forward to place his other hand over hers as he says, “Rumi, you could ask me for anything at all right now, and I’d get it done for you. Pinky promise!” 

Rumi genuinely sort of wonders if this is worse than getting broken up with as she watches Abby raise up both pinkies, holding them up by his head. In a desperate effort to get out of this conversation, Rumi matches the gesture, figuring that was the right bet, since Abby instantly breaks out into a pleased grin. 

“Jinu mentioned you needing a date,” Abby chirps, cocking his head to the side. “If you wanted, or whatever, a few of my coworkers would be totally cool with going up with you! I know it’s, like, a bad look for you, or whatever, going up alone.”

Rumi winces, clenching one of her hands into a fist as she steadily breathes in and out through her nose. “No, it’s fine. Thanks, Abby. My...my drink?”

“Right!” he agrees, spinning on his heels and pausing. He turns back around, pointing a finger at her as he breaks into another wide smile. “Same as always? Something more festive? We’ve got so much peppermint. Like, a lot. Like, dude, you wouldn’t even believe how much peppermint we’ve got. Peppermint hot chocolate sound good?”

Rumi blinks. “...Yeah, okay.”

Abby cheers, pumping his fist in the air as he whirls back around. “Got it! Ten minutes tops! I’ll get it done for you!”

“Thanks, Abby,” Rumi mutters, dragging her hands down her face as she stalks toward the corner of the diner, breathing out as slowly as she can manage. She’s pretty convinced she could stop breathing entirely and pass out here, which is a lot more appealing than having to talk to anyone ever again.

There’s a very large part of her that is near-desperate to unblock Jinu to tell him to just go for the fifth attempt, because what the fuck is his problem? Rumi—she specifically did not tell anyone else about the breakup because she just didn’t want to have to think about it. And now Abby knows? She’d almost be more understanding if Jinu texted Roman, just because he wouldn’t snitch. Abby, on the other hand, has never once been quiet a day in his life, and Rumi already knows that everything is going to spread, and they’re not even—they’re not even her friends! They’re literally Jinu’s!

Rumi groans, pressing her fist to her forehead, squeezing her eyes shut. Abby’s stupid words replay over and over again in her mind, and it’s...

It’s true, isn’t it? It doesn’t look good for her to go up alone. It’s just another nail in the coffin, another bit of proof that she’s so...fucked up that she can’t even hold down a relationship. Maybe this time it isn’t her fault, but how is she meant to believe that? Her longest relationship, and it wasn’t even for a full year, and she apparently screwed it up so badly that—

Rumi sighs, dropping her hand down to the side. It’s not fair. None of it is fair, and she just doesn’t...she doesn’t get it. What did she do wrong? She swears that she did everything right this time, that she spent so much time and effort on being the perfect girlfriend, and...

God, she’s totally going to cry in this stupid diner. Rumi sniffles, wiping at her eyes with the back of her wrist, shaking her head in an attempt to get herself to calm down. She lets out a choked sigh, shaking her head rapidly as she taps her foot against the ground, trying to keep herself from completely freaking out. It’s fine. It’s totally fine. 

It doesn’t matter that she’s just always going to be alone and constantly screw everything up, it’s fine. That’s normal. Rumi is sure that there’s a dozen other people just like her who are seemingly incapable of ever getting into a normal, happy, healthy relationship without totally ruining it for themselves. She’s sure she’s not alone in that regard. Actually, she knows she’s not alone in that regard, because her best friend is Jinu.

Rumi winces. That really doesn’t make her feel better.

She looks back to the counter, shifting a little impatiently from foot to foot as she waits for Abby to get back with her drink. She knows ‘ten minutes tops’ is a lie, because Abby is incapable of not getting distracted and promptly doing something else. How he even still has a job here is beyond her, but it’s...fine, or whatever. Rumi pulls out her phone, crinkling her nose at how it’s already been five minutes since she ordered. She doesn’t want to have to sit here and wait and then be thirty minutes late on the way up to her parents’ place. That’s, like, the opposite of what she wants to do.

Rumi sighs, wondering if she should just take the loss. Her day really can’t get any worse, and it’s not like she paid, so...

Rumi goes to the door, though she’s immediately stopped in her tracks by, arguably, the prettiest woman she’s ever seen.

She’s tall. Tall, pretty eyes framed by round, golden glasses. She looks severely underdressed for the weather, but it’s hardly as if Rumi’s able to really judge, given how she’s just as bad, if not worse. Rumi takes another second to look at the woman, feeling oddly breathless—long, pink hair, sharp features, her expression looking almost bored; completely indifferent, at the very least.

Rumi is moving before she even really realises that she’s doing it. The woman is half-turned to the door, and Rumi beats her there, standing in front of her for a few seconds.

She doesn’t know what she means to say. Maybe something like, “I noticed you from across the room and you’re super pretty and I know this is a really weird request but could you maybe come with me and pretend to be my girlfriend for a few days? I can totally pay you!”, which would be a little much, but at least it would get the point across. Or maybe, “I saw you and thought you were really pretty so maybe I could get your number or something?”, which is also a little much, but not that bad.

What Rumi actually says is, “You’re coming with me.”

It surprises her just as much as the woman, who blinks at her. Rumi doesn’t make a move to correct herself, mostly too stunned by the fact that she said that in the first place. It only surprises her more when she takes a step closer, head inclining toward the door, effectively herding the woman out of the diner. 

It only gets worse when the woman lets her do it.

Rumi feels like she’s going to pass out as soon as the woman backs out of the diner, stepping through the door, eyes intense and carefully trained directly onto Rumi. 

Every single part of her is screaming to back out of this, to turn around, to apologise, to do something other than guide the woman to her car, but Rumi is—unfortunately—nothing if not stubborn. Too stubborn. Far, far too stubborn. None of this should have happened in the first place, but she’s just...it’s too late now. It’s too late now, just like how it was too late for her to go back inside and get her coat, and now it’s too late for her to do anything other than just go through with it, and—

Rumi keeps walking. The woman keeps following. That goes on until they get to Rumi’s car, and then she’s...opening the door, urging the woman to get in, and then she gets into the driver’s side, and starts the car. 

Just like that.

It’s a little startling how loudly she’s screaming at herself in her head, mostly variations of this cannot be happening and you need to stop immediately, but Rumi chooses not to listen to the reasonable part of herself. She keeps actively making that choice even when she pulls out from the diner and merges back onto the road. She keeps making that choice as she continues to drive, hands white-knuckling the wheel, eyes set dead ahead, her heart pounding so hard in her chest she thinks it has to be nothing short of a miracle that it doesn’t beat right out of her.

She says nothing at all. The woman in her passenger’s seat—who she doesn’t even know!—says nothing at all.

In fact, it’s completely dead silent, barring the rumble of the car and faintest ringing in Rumi’s ears.

Up until it’s not.

Up until a voice, coming from the backseat, casually says, “Hey, um, not to, like...interrupt, or whatever, but I don’t really think I’m supposed to...” the voice—the other woman—pauses. “I think I might have gotten in the, uh, the wrong car?”

Chapter Text

Mira genuinely believed that this situation couldn’t get more outlandish, and now there’s a woman in the back seat. Who, judging by the look on her vaguely-sort-of-kind-of-kidnapper’s face, is not supposed to be there. It’s almost funny to see the shock and surprise on her face, up until Mira realises that she’s not actually facing the road anymore; and it’s one thing for her to be roped into this—quite frankly—ridiculous situation, but it’s another thing to drive off the side of a mountain road and die, and Mira is significantly less inclined to think she’d enjoy that second thing.

She knows it’s arguably stupid of her, but she nudges her elbow into her driver’s arm, scoffing at her a second later when she directs, “Eyes on the road.”

It’s a little funny when she obeys. Mira is having an unbelievably difficult time feeling like her life is in any kind of danger, even remotely, when it’s almost clear that this woman has absolutely no idea what she’s doing. If Mira was planning on kidnapping someone, she’d probably tie their hands together, maybe. Just as a starting point. Or she’d blindfold them, probably, because isn’t that the entire point of going to a secondary location? Yet here she is, hands totally free, eyes wide open and aware, and it doesn’t seem like the woman driving is planning on changing any of that at all. Not like Mira is exactly complaining.

Mira knows she’s partially to blame for this entire situation—not even in a victim-blaming kind of way, but she could have fully fought back during any part of this process. She had just been...surprised, maybe. Surprised, and the woman urging her to get in the car had been, and still is, very pretty. That had already been a lot for her to work through in her head during the few milliseconds she had to figure out what was going on, and by the time the woman had actively started pressing her toward the car, Mira realised it was a fantastic opportunity to get out of seeing her family.

She could have canceled normally, she knows that, but then it would have been hours worth of arguments and fighting, and it would have stretched on for literal days. Now, she has an incredibly convenient excuse—something came up, so sorry, she’ll be late, or maybe she won’t come at all, maybe next year. Mira is keenly aware that outright canceling would have been a step of disrespect too far, but having something unpredictable come up? They’ll wave her off and tell her she's a disappointment, and that’ll only take up ten minutes of her day. She can handle that.

Mira is also keenly aware that deliberately going along with someone more or less shoving her into their car to get out of having to see her family for three days, at best, is arguably something she should not be doing. It isn’t something she should have ever even considered doing, but now she’s in the car, so it seems like it’s kind of too late to second guess anything. 

Isn’t that something she’s always been? Impulsive? 

Mira shrugs off the thought, twisting over the side of her seat to finally get a proper look at the woman in the back. Mira blinks, surprised to be immediately met with a blinding, dazzling grin. The woman is sitting almost politely, scooted into the middle seat, elbow propped up on her knee so her cheek rests against her knuckles. That brilliant grin shifts into something slightly more unsure, and then her eyes go wide, mouth dropping a little.

“Oh! Huh,” she says through a breathless laugh, tilting her head to the side. “Wow. Okay.”

Mira is even more surprised at the fact that she’s been recognised. She reaches up almost instinctively, fingers ghosting over the sides of her glasses, just to make sure they’re still on her face. They are, and Mira is almost impressed at the fact that the other woman very clearly knows exactly who she is. Almost. She doesn’t know if that actually benefits her in this situation at all.

“Do I need to, like, sign an NDA, or something? Because I’ll totally do that. I’m, like, super sorry, by the way. Well, okay, kind of. Mostly sorry. I totally thought this was my car, and it was unlocked, and then by the time I realised it definitely was not my car, you guys were already here. And, uh, you know,” she says, waving a hand, “I’m kinda starting to realise that maybe none of us actually know each other. Super awkward to interrupt this. Sorry. That’s on me.”

“Oh my god,” her vague-kidnapper whispers, suddenly sounding completely horrified. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I don’t—I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m so sorry, I didn’t even—I didn’t even mean to! I just...I don’t know. I can, I can just, let me—”

Mira catches sight of the way her chest rapidly rises and falls, the white-knuckle grip she has on the wheel, the way her eyes are wide and panicked. It’s a little ridiculous, and Mira sort of wonders about the whole validity of any of those breathless, panicked statements, because she’s pretty sure you can’t accidentally kidnap...

Well. She spares a look at the woman in the back. Okay, maybe you can accidentally kidnap someone, but Mira is still fairly certain that she hadn’t been accidentally kidnapped. 

She’s also fairly certain that the woman driving is going to have a panic attack. She’s doing a startlingly good job at controlling the car, but Mira doesn’t think that’s going to last, and...

“Pull over,” Mira says, watching as the woman stares at her with wide eyes. “Pull the car over.”

She does. Mira distantly has the thought that she just might be the worst kidnapper in the entire world, or maybe a very easy kidnapper to negotiate with, but regardless, a terrible kidnapper. Can she even count this as kidnapping? Mira did, more or less, willingly get in the car. She could have very easily stopped any of this from happening at all. Honestly, she thinks that she could have probably glared just a bit harder and the woman would have backed off, so maybe that’s on her. She’s also not exactly trying to leave, so that at least is completely on her.

Mira waves her hand as soon as the car is put into park, gesturing at the door. “Get out. Not you,” she quickly adds, turning her head back, pointing a finger at the woman in the back. “You,” Mira says, making sure to meet the woman’s gaze, just in case there could possibly be any confusion left.

There’s definitely confusion, Mira can see it in her eyes. Still, the woman obliges, stepping out of the car a second later. Mira sighs, unbuckles her seatbelt, and opens her own door. She stalks over to the other side of the car, making a motion for the woman to get into the passenger’s seat. She decidedly stays very still and very put, and Mira sighs again. She nudges the woman ever so slightly, which seems to bring her back to herself, and then she’s scrambling toward the passenger’s side. 

Mira settles into the driver’s seat, crinkling her nose at how cramped it is. She adjusts the seat for a few seconds, ignoring the heavy, weighted silence all around her. She can feel two pairs of eyes boring holes into her head, which is almost ridiculous, especially from the woman who literally started all of this. If she didn’t want Mira to take control of the situation, maybe she should have done a better job at kidnapping her.

It’s her first time being put in a situation like this, but it’s hardly her first time being put in a situation where she had to step up and handle everything, even despite not being the one to start any of it. Her family particularly seems to thrive off of fucking her over and then forcing her to deal with it, so Mira has gotten good at handling crises and forcing herself to step up and be the one to take care of things, even when she’d prefer not to. Seems like that skillset is coming in handy here.

Mira raps her fingers against the wheel, tipping her head back as she gives a low, long-suffering sigh. She rests her forehead against the side of her hand after a second, taking another second to settle into the seat, to get used to the change in position, to really force herself to process the fact that she’s more or less diving head first into all of this. She thinks she dove head first into it twenty minutes ago, but now she’s really under the water, and she has a few options:

Sink: she could probably turn the car around, go back to the diner without even speaking, and that’d be that. She doesn’t think either of the women in the car would try to stop her. Actually, Mira is entirely confident that neither of them would try to stop her. She is very certain that she could completely take charge of this situation, and they’d both let her do it, and then they would all get to pretend like this never happened.

The only downside to any of that is the fact that Mira would no longer have a convenient excuse to get out of seeing her family. Less of a problem for them, more of a problem for her, and she’s not exactly looking to make her problems other people’s problems, let alone strangers.

Swim: she could just...stay. Stick around, drive to wherever they need to go. Mira doesn’t think that she would be stopped doing that, either. It’s arguably an insane thing to think about doing, especially given how she knows nothing about either of the two women here with her, particularly the one who got her into this situation, but it would get her out of the other situation she really, really doesn’t want to be in. Mira doesn’t even particularly mind this situation. That’s probably not a good thing.

Mira sighs.

“Okay,” she starts, turning to look at both women individually. “You need to explain what you’re planning on doing and where we’re going,” Mira says, directing a look to the woman in the passenger’s seat. She pauses, blinking a few times when she realises that the woman hasn’t gotten her breathing under control. “You also need to breathe.”

Helpful, she bitterly thinks.

Mira feels almost embarrassed when she draws in a deep breath of her own, holding it for four, exhaling for four. It’s somehow the most shameful thing about this entire situation, and she’s not even at fault for it. If anything, this is probably the right thing to do. Maybe? Mira doesn’t know the protocol for easing your kidnapper through a panic attack, or if that’s even something she should really be doing. Probably not. But it seems like she’s doing it anyway, so she takes another few deep breaths until the woman looks less like she’s going to pass out.

After about a minute of this, the woman sighs, burying her face in her hands. “I’m so sorry.”

Mira still can’t believe the fact that the woman has apologised, or the fact that she’s been apologising. It’s difficult to be irritated or annoyed or even remotely frustrated at the situation when she’s curling in on herself like a particularly sorrowful, kicked puppy. 

The woman breathes out, raising her head after another beat of silence passes. “I just, um, I...got broken up with yesterday,” she whispers. “Um, and I was going to...introduce her to my parents, and I—I don’t even know why I...” she groans. “I’m so sorry. I thought about turning around, like, as soon as I got in the car, and then I freaked out and just...didn’t.”

Mira blinks.

“Did you kidnap her to be, like...your date?” the other woman in the back asks, a little too gleefully. “Like, did you try to score a hot date via kidnapping? Or is this a crisis?”

The woman looks genuinely devastated when she whispers, “Both?”

“Huh,” the other woman says, sounding even more sympathetic than Mira thinks she could ever be for the situation at hand. “Sucks. How long were you guys together?”

“What?” 

“Uh...” the other woman clearly pauses, blinking rapidly. “How long were you two together? I mean, like, was this a long-term kinda thing, or...? I mean, I guess it doesn’t matter, but, y’know, I think I’d probably do something pretty crazy if I got broken up with by, like, my life partner. Probably would go blonde. Like, really blonde.”

Mira snorts, ducking her head as she tries to muffle the noise into her hand. “I don’t think I would kidnap someone if I got broken up with.”

“Dude,” the other woman drawls, her voice switching from sympathetic to disbelieving. “Who would break up with you? Are you kidding? I—sorry. I should not have called you dude. That was—”

“It’s fine,” Mira interrupts, trying and failing to bite back a grin. “But yeah. How long?”

The woman looks downright mortified. “I...really don’t want to answer that.”

Mira rolls her eyes, tapping her fingers against the wheel again. “Okay. Do you have a name?”

The woman shoots up so fast that Mira is surprised her spine doesn’t break on impact. It’s more than a little amusing at how she straightens up and adjusts, like she’s preparing for an interview rather than...whatever this is. Mira supposes that the thousand-yard stare might be justified, though she’s not entirely convinced that the woman should be the one sporting it, given how she’s not the one being kidnapped.

Well. Mira supposes that’s also technically not true, since she’s in the driver’s seat now. Not like she’s going to kidnap either one of them, but she could. Maybe they’re all just really, really bad at this whole thing. 

“Um, Rumi,” the woman, Rumi, says. “Sorry.”

“For reference, my name is Zoey,” the other woman, Zoey, helpfully chirps from the back.

Mira snickers, not even trying to hide it this time. She looks up to the front mirror just in time to catch Zoey’s wide, unabashed grin, rolling her eyes at how pleased Zoey looks from her reaction. After another second, Mira casually offers up, “Mira.”

Nothing else. She doesn’t see the need; Zoey knows who she is, Rumi very clearly doesn’t, which has become especially evident given how even her first name doesn’t spark any sort of recognition in her eyes. Mira isn’t really complaining—it’s rare that she gets...this. Not anonymity exactly, not when she can see Zoey buzzing in the back seat so hard that she’s half-convinced she’s going to take off, but it’s something close. It’s nice to not be swarmed, even if the situation itself isn’t exactly ideal.

Mira doesn’t think she can complain. She’s actively sticking around. She is actively choosing to stay in the car. At this point, she thinks all of this is just as much on her as it is Rumi. 

“Oh, yeah,” Zoey says, scoffing, “No, for sure. Just Mira.”

“What?” Rumi asks, her face scrunching up. “Do you—do you know each other?”

Mira smiles. 

Zoey, on the other hand, stumbles over her words, saying something completely incoherent at first, before she manages to get out, “Um, not really! Just, uh, you know, um, she...” Zoey flails, waving both of her hands around as she opens and closes her mouth at least a thousand times. 

Mira ducks her head and grins, taking a second to choke back the laughter bubbling in her chest before she chooses to jump in and save Zoey from the accidental torment she’s thrown herself into.

“No, we don’t know each other,” Mira says, keeping her voice level and even. “You probably just thought I was someone else,” she adds, sending Zoey a sly smirk over her shoulder, watching as she flounders a little harder. 

To her credit, Zoey doesn’t flounder for long before she’s grinning right back at Mira, eyes narrowing playfully. “Oh, totally. For sure. Honestly, the similarities are kinda crazy. Uncanny, one might argue. Do you have a long lost twin, or something?”

Mira twists back around to look ahead of herself, tapping her fingers against the wheel as she forces back another smile. “No. Anyway, if you need a date, I’ll do it.”

She shouldn’t. Mira is aware that she should not be so willing to dive into this situation, but she is, and—

“What?” Rumi asks again, her eyes huge. “You—no. No. No, you don’t have to do that. Can we just...can we go back to the diner? I’m so sorry, I can pay you to—not to not call the cops, just, like...um, out of shame. You don’t have to do any of this, I’m so sorry, just—can we drive back down?”

Mira is almost more stunned now, with how Rumi stumbles over her words and how she’s asking Mira if they can drive down, as if this isn’t her car. Mira supposes she’s in the driver’s seat, but still. It’s sort of charming, honestly. Kind of pathetic; mostly charming. 

Mira isn’t exactly fond of the fact that she’s realising she might be too easy to win over, but Rumi is pretty and very vaguely charming and definitely a bit pathetic, and, well, Mira thinks it’s endearing, kind of. Not really endearing, but it’s endearing in a way. If she squints.

“It’s fine,” Mira says, shrugging. “I’m not busy. I can take you back down, though,” she adds, turning back to look at Zoey over her shoulder. 

Zoey actually gapes at her, shaking her head rapidly. “Uh, no, absolutely not. I’m already in the car. I’m, like, painfully alone this Christmas. I can also be your date! The more the merrier, right? And what better time to be merry? It’s literally the season for it.”

Mira blinks. If Rumi is a little charming, Zoey is practically radiating charisma, because there’s truly no world in which that should impress Mira at all, and yet here she is, deeply impressed. She must be going insane, because she really shouldn’t be captivated by Zoey’s insistence on also being kidnapped, but to be fair, Mira should also be protesting the fact that she’s still technically being kidnapped, kind of. Sort of. Maybe. If she squints. Again.

She just really doesn’t see her family. Whatever. They’ve always loved to tell her that she’s dramatic, and fuck it, maybe she’s really leaning into that for once in her life. Better late than never.

Rumi, on the other hand, looks genuinely horrified. “No! No. No, it’s fine. Please just drive back to the diner, I’m—”

“Are we all dating?” Mira asks, deliberately studying her nails, internally grinning at the near-wounded noise Rumi makes, at how Zoey giggles. “Or is she, like, just dating both of us separately?”

Zoey clicks her tongue. She almost sounds casual when she says, “No, we’re totally all dating.”

“Cool,” Mira says, nodding. “Can you put in the address?”

Rumi stares at her, eyes somehow getting bigger. She looks so terribly miserable, as if she would rather be anywhere else right now, which is funnier to Mira than she thinks it probably should be. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” Mira disagrees. “So...your address?”

“Oh my god.”

It’s kind of hilarious. Mira forces herself to school her features, giving Rumi the most impassive, expectant look she can manage. “Just put your address in, or else I’m going to just start driving, and I don’t think you want me to do that.”

Rumi has the audacity to mutter, “I don’t want any of this!” incredulously and under her breath, as if she wasn’t the one to quite literally put all three of them in this situation. Well, Mira internally corrects, Zoey was already here prior to the situation happening, so maybe that one isn’t completely on Rumi. Still, she’s the common denominator in all three of them meeting.

“Little too late for that,” Zoey helpfully chirps, leaning forward, elbows propped up on the center console. “You know what we should do? 21 questions! Or, like...a lot of questions. I have so many questions. For both of you. Mostly you,” she says, jabbing a finger in Rumi’s direction. “Is this the first time you’ve ever kidnapped someone, or is it, like, a day hobby for you?”

Rumi buries her face in her hands, though Mira catches the pained expression across her face before she does, as if she’s desperate for the car to spontaneously combust.

Mira turns slightly to the side, catching Zoey’s bright, completely unabashed grin. “Definitely the first,” she says, purposefully holding up both of her hands, wiggling her fingers. 

Zoey’s grin only gets bigger. “Is that the story we’re gonna go with? I mean, probably not, right? Can we get, like, a ballpark estimate for how long you were with your ex? Still super sorry about that, by the way.”

“Almost a year,” Rumi mutters, peeking her head up just enough for her voice to not be muffled. Mira watches, a little amused, at the way Rumi begrudgingly reaches for her phone to—hopefully—put in her address. “And I...I’ve never...” she heaves a sigh. “I’ve only talked about—one girlfriend. Not...um, two.”

“Well, you know,” Zoey says, shrugging, looking entirely unbothered. “A Christmas miracle, am I right?”

Mira actually laughs this time, unable to help herself. She almost rolls her eyes at the way Zoey openly beams at her, looking genuinely thrilled at the reaction. “I don’t know if that’s what I’d call it.”

“I’m definitely not calling it that,” Rumi mumbles, setting her phone back where it had been crossing her arms against her chest. “It’s, um, pretty much just a straight shot from here. But you—you don’t have to. Neither of you have to do this. I...we can still go back down to the diner,” she pleads, “I can, I don’t know, pay you. Just for—just for wasting your time. I’m being serious, please.”

“You said you needed a date,” Mira offers, turning the car back on. “It’s not a big deal.”

“I didn’t even say that! You did!” Rumi protests, glaring vaguely in Zoey’s direction, though it might just be the least convincing glare Mira has ever seen.

Zoey snickers, clearly undeterred by Rumi’s attempt at a scowl. “Yeah, maybe I said it out loud, but you implied it. I was just reading between the lines. And guess what? Now you’ve got two hot dates!”

Rumi makes another pained noise, her shoulders drawing up to her chin. “You’re both being weird about this. Why aren’t you freaking out? You should be freaking out. I’d be freaking out!”

“You kind of are freaking out,” Mira helpfully tells her, sparing a quick glance in Rumi’s direction before she focuses on the road again, pulling off from the shoulder. 

“That’s—”

“Well, um, Mira—” Zoey cuts herself off so hard that Mira can hear her jaw snap shut. It makes her grin, and she has to keep herself from laughing again when Zoey switches gears and bravely continues, “Rumi, you didn’t even, like, handcuff her. Or, I don’t know, blindfold her? Like...stereotypical kidnapping stuff? She’s...she’s literally driving. She’s driving your car. I mean,” Zoey says, making a noise a second later. “I guess we could be getting kidnapped now.”

Mira smiles this time, meeting Zoey’s gaze in the front mirror. “Maybe.”

Zoey grins right back at her, giggling. “Can’t say I’m complaining. I mean, I wasn’t even complaining in the first place, honestly. Anyway,” Zoey clears her throat, somehow managing to scoot even closer between the two of them. “If we’re dating, we should probably know things about each other, and I know literally nothing about either of you.”

Rumi scoffs before she says, “Which is why we should just go back down to the diner, and—”

“It’s too late,” Mira interrupts, waving a hand, glancing down at Rumi’s phone. “We’re en route.”

“It’s actually not too late,” Rumi immediately protests. “We’re, like, twenty minutes away from the diner! My parents’ place is—they’re up in the mountains! It’s an hour! More than that!”

“Hour thirty,” Mira easily agrees. 

Rumi throws her head back with a groan, dragging her hands down her face. Mira smiles at the display, but Zoey outright bursts out laughing, obviously having no qualms with delighting in Rumi’s suffering. “I don’t even—what do you want me to say?” Rumi demands, grumbling after a second. 

Zoey giggles again, leaning back just out of Mira’s field of view. “Okay, that’s totally fine! I’ll start. My name is Zoey, I’m twenty-two, my birthday is in two days actually, um, I volunteer a lot! I’m taking a few online courses for a degree in marine biology and I’m, uh, figuring out what to do with all of that later. My favourite animals are turtles, but honestly anything ocean-related is super cool, and, to be totally honest with you guys, this isn’t even close to the worst date I’ve been on.”

“Not even close?” Mira presses, blinking as the words settle in the air. She quietly stores that information in the back of her mind, specifically focusing on how Zoey’s birthday is apparently coming up this week.

“Not even close,” Zoey dutifully repeats, sounding almost wistful for a second.

Rumi makes another displeased noise. “That’s not a good thing. I’m so sorry,” she sighs, very clearly steeling herself after that. “Um, well, I’m...Rumi, and I’m a songwriter, I guess. Kind of. I sing,” Rumi offers. “And I’m not usually like this, like, at all. I usually help out with my parents’ business. I...like to garden. And bake. Oh, I’m twenty-four. My birthday’s in February. The, um, 28th.”

Mira hums, running everything Rumi has said through her mind. “Have you ever released anything?”

“Yeah,” Rumi says after a second, sounding almost surprised. “Not under my name.”

“Maybe we’ve heard you before!” Zoey excitedly suggests. “Can we—”

“I’m not telling you,” Rumi interrupts, her surprise very quickly turning to embarrassment. “It’s Mira’s turn, anyway.”

Mira rolls her eyes, smiling a little harder than she thinks she probably should. She leans back a bit, silently grateful for the fact that the drive is mostly a straight shot—no real turns or anything for a while. Makes everything infinitely easier.

“Kang Mira, twenty-four, April 14th,” Mira lists off, wincing at the near-robotical way she says it. She clears her throat, trying to shift her mindset from business proposal to friends. Or girlfriends, she guesses. What would she want someone to know about her if she wanted to date them?

She winces again. She has not dated in...years, actually, which is kind of horribly embarrassing to remember. Mira can barely even remember the last time she went out on a serious date with the intent to actually keep going on them instead of just hooking up at the end of the night. She hasn’t even had any one-off flings this year.

Mira feels a stab of embarrassment at the fact that, somehow, the woman who directly kidnapped her apparently has a better track record of actually being in relationships. It’s not even like Mira doesn’t know that she’s not good at relationships, but it’s particularly humiliating to have to be faced with it so glaringly. Whatever, she’s...working on it. Kind of. She hasn’t really had a lot of time to properly figure out her shit, but she’s getting there.

It definitely doesn’t help that things just keep happening to her.

“Mysterious,” Zoey teases, her tone light even despite the slight push in her voice.

Case in point.

“I’m thinking,” Mira shoots back, smiling again at how Zoey snickers. “I like to cook. And sew,” she says, slowly. They both listed hobbies, and those are two things that she doesn’t think many people know about her. “I’m a dancer,” Mira elects to say rather than mentioning the fact that she models; Zoey obviously knows that, and it’s kind of charming to her that Rumi clearly does not. “I do a lot of choreographing for music videos. Directing, too, sometimes.”

Zoey hums her approval, and Mira catches sight of her rapidly nodding her head from the back. “That’s so cool. Have you ever, like—okay, tell me if I’m overstepping, but have you ever considered modeling? I think you’d be a great model. Like, insanely talented. Probably, uh, like, you know, maybe a few hundred million followers, or whatever. Widespread. Billboards. That kinda thing.”

Mira laughs, taken aback by the way Zoey says it. She grins when she finally manages to say, “No, actually. No one’s ever told me that before.”

“Really?” Rumi asks, seemingly more inclined to join the conversation when it’s not focused on her in some way. “You’re, like, super pretty. You could totally model.”

It’s surprisingly genuine and sweet. Mira isn’t a stranger to compliments—the opposite, actually—but it’s oddly sincere, and it makes her smile more than she thinks it probably should.

“See?” Zoey insists, through quiet giggles. It’s painfully obvious that she’s trying not to burst out laughing, and that only makes Mira smile even harder. “Okay, well, those are good starts! We’re getting somewhere!”

Rumi makes a noise before she begrudgingly mutters, “We could be getting to the diner.”

“I’m already on the way up to your parents’ place,” Mira says back, tapping her fingers against the wheel. “I foster cats sometimes. Not, like...super often, but sometimes. And I kickbox.”

Zoey wolf-whistles, and Mira can’t help but laugh, shaking her head. “You’re literally the whole package, did you know that? Rumi, are you hearing this? We’ve got—you and me? We have fantastic taste.”

Mira laughs again, her lips tugging upward into a grin. “What about me? I know why you’re dating me, why am I dating you?”

“Uh, because I’m wildly charming and funny and really good with people and, like, super friendly?” Zoey quickly rushes out, sounding almost breathless. “And I volunteer! I told you that! We totally could have met like that, oh my god! I work a ton with animals, I help out a lot with, like, zoo stuff, too. I mean, I usually head over to aquariums whenever I can and see if I can help out there, but I’ve worked with some zoos before! And some wildlife rehab centers! Not very many, just because there’s, like, not really a whole lot of them around, but I know a few people who work with that kinda stuff, and it’s actually super cool. I don’t know if I’d ever want to get into it, mostly ‘cause I’m kind of in it for the whole, y’know, ocean thing, but it’s really cool and super needed, and—” Zoey cuts herself off suddenly, harsh enough that Mira frowns at the silence. “Sorry.”

Before she can even speak, Rumi beats her to it. “Why? That’s all really interesting. I didn’t know you could just...volunteer at places like that. I figured you needed more experience, or whatever.”

Mira hums softly. “Or an actual, finished degree, not just an in-progress one. I guess that makes sense, though. How long have you been volunteering?”

Zoey is quiet for a few seconds longer before she softly laughs. “Oh, literally forever. As soon as I could, honestly. And they don’t usually let you do it without some kind of experience, but I’m, uh, working on my degree right now, and sometimes we get referrals to places! Anyway,” Zoey continues, “We could have totally met there. What about you, Rumi?”

Rumi stumbles over her words for a few seconds, miserably asking, “What...about me?”

“Uh, where could we have met?” Zoey presses, laughing a little. “Like, you know. How did you meet me? How’d you meet Mira?”

“You were in my car and I made a split second, awful decision,” Rumi deadpans.

“Okay,” Zoey snorts. “Sure. Super romantic. And you did that a year ago? We’re gonna go with this exact story but just...that it happened in the past? No. Give me something to work with.”

Mira snickers under her breath, practically feeling Rumi’s sharp glare half a second later. Zoey is wildly funny, and Mira can’t help but be more and more charmed by her with everything she says. It’s kind of ridiculous how well Zoey is taking all of this, and it’s even funnier how miserable it seems to make Rumi, as if she has any right to be miserable in this situation. Mira had been joking when she asked them to give her a reason to “date” them, but it’s...not completely impossible for her to see how something like this could have happened. 

It never would have, not if they had met under normal circumstances, and it’s not like whatever this is could be real, but Mira thinks both Zoey and Rumi are the kind of people she’d at least be friends with. She likes Zoey’s adaptability and charm and the way she’s somehow managing to control the situation near-effortlessly, and she likes that Rumi is just as charming, albeit in a totally different way.

Rumi sighs, and Mira catches sight of the way her head tips back to the headrest. “I have no idea. I mean, I guess I work out? I go on a lot of runs. Oh,” Rumi suddenly says, shifting to crane her head around the seat. “I garden—I said that, right? I go to a lot of, like, plant nurseries, flower markets. Stuff like that. Do either of you...?”

“I think I would probably kill anything I touched,” Zoey admits with a miserable sigh. “I do not have a green thumb. I’ve killed succulents before, and apparently that’s, like, the worst you can get. Can’t go lower than that.”

“Well, you can,” Rumi says, laughing softly. Mira blinks, quietly stunned; it’s the first time she’s heard Rumi laugh, and she has a really, really pretty laugh. “Imagine killing a pothos. Or a spider plant. They’re kind of designed to not die. They’re drought-resistant! They’re kind of just there to look pretty.”

Mira hums, nodding along to the words. “How long have you been gardening?”

“Forever,” Rumi tells her. “Like...actually for forever. My parents are pretty into it, so I just kind of picked up on it. And also, Zoey,” she continues, “Succulents can be really hard to take care of for beginners. They’re marketed as easy plants, but they’re, like...okay, well, they’re technically easy, but if you have no idea what you’re doing, you’re probably going to kill them. They’re sensitive, and you can overwater them without even trying. It’s kind of like a really weird roulette, except your plant dies if you water it a bit too much during the wrong season.”

Mira doesn’t even need to look to know that Zoey is grinning, she can practically feel the buzzing in the air. She almost rolls her eyes at how quickly she’s gotten used to both Zoey and Rumi, but they admittedly make it easy. Zoey has been nothing but excited and talkative, and Rumi has been nothing but miserable and huffy, and it’s not exactly hard to figure out what she should expect just from that alone. 

They’re making it startlingly easy to pretend like this didn’t start off as a really weird, kind of, sort of, hostage situation. Mira doesn’t really know how she feels about that. Impressed, probably. Less horrified than she should be, but whatever.

Zoey makes a pleased noise. “Okay, so basically, it wasn’t my fault that I drowned my succulent?”

Rumi laughs again, louder this time. “No, I think most people drown their succulents the first time around. I killed three. It’s just, you know, a learning process.”

Mira smiles before she says, “I’ve never killed a succulent.”

“Have you even had one?” Rumi immediately shoots back. 

“Nope,” Mira says, grinning now.

“That’s—” Rumi scoffs. “Whatever. Anyway, if you were ever actually going to try and get into plants, get a pothos. You won’t kill it.”

Zoey snickers from the back seat. “If we’re dating, you probably have enough plants for all three of us. Oh, wait, are your plants toxic to pets? If Mira fosters, do we—are we living together?”

Mira laughs at the miserable groan Rumi lets out, unable to help herself. She spares a glance from the road over to her, watching Rumi slowly sink further and further down her seat, face buried in her hands again as if that’s going to even remotely stop Zoey’s questioning. 

“It’s a good question,” Mira says after a beat, giving Zoey a slight nod. “If it’s been a year—” she cuts herself off, staring firmly at the road as she decides to shut up.

Mira decidedly has not been in a relationship for longer than five months, and even that was something of a literal miracle, given her...track record. Do people usually move in together after a year? Under a year? She’s never fallen victim to stereotyping before, thank god, so maybe she’s a little out of her depth. Maybe. She doesn’t even think she’s ever brought anyone over to her apartment before, which is almost more shameful than her total lack of hands-on experience and knowledge.

Zoey, luckily, does not seem to have any of the same hang-ups as her, and immediately jumps in as soon as Mira stops talking. “If it’s been a year, we’re totally living together. And I’m not offering up my place, because it’s way too small for me, let alone two other people, so...” Zoey giggles, waving a hand right at the edge of Mira’s field of view. “Unless you guys like living in a slightly more dignified cardboard box. I’m not a judger!”

“My apartment’s pretty big,” Rumi mutters. “Too big for me. It’d probably be...enough for three people, I guess.”

“Mine’s bigger,” Mira says, not even really meaning to. The words sort of just slip out of her mouth without her say-so.

Rumi scoffs again. “You don’t know that.”

“I definitely do.”

“Do not,” Rumi presses, so stubbornly that it almost catches Mira off guard.

Mira bites back her grin when she says, “Do too.”

“Are you guys, like, five?” Zoey asks, bursting out laughing as soon as the words are out of her mouth. “Because this is fucking ridiculous.”

“She literally started it!” Rumi hisses, and Mira actually laughs this time, rolling her eyes at the way Rumi insists it, like it would kill her to not—

Mira screws up her face suddenly, turning her head to the side to deliberately glare at Rumi, jabbing a finger at her chest. “You literally kidnapped me. You started it.”

Rumi, in an act of—probably, Mira thinks—uncharacteristic boldness, glares right back and says, “Okay, and? You started this.”

Zoey cackles from the back, so loud and unrestrained that it fills the entire car. It’s impossible for Mira to not grin with how hard Zoey laughs, and she swears that all of the fight drains from Rumi’s face, replaced with a matching grin that’s a little too wide, crooked at the edges. 

“Okay, so you guys are totally five years old. Good to know. That’s great, really,” Zoey says through breathless laughter. “Rumi, you have thirty seconds to sell me on your apartment. Go.”

“What?” Rumi rushes out, already frantic. “It’s—okay, um, that’s—that’s not fair! It’s...it’s really nice, there’s, like, the upper loft? And, um, the living room is really big, and so is the kitchen! There’s counter space! I have a lot of counter space! And a terrace! There’s—”

“Time’s up!” Zoey excitedly announces. “Mira?”

“I have more counter space,” Mira casually says as soon as Zoey says her name. The sputtering and scoffing from Rumi, that sounds so genuine, is enough to make her break out into laughter. She has to grab onto the wheel a little harder, doubling over from the way Rumi sounds so unbelievably displeased.

That only gets worse when Zoey starts to giggle again, sounding just as genuinely delighted as Rumi sounds genuinely unhappy. “Alright! Time’s up! Thank you, Mira.”

“What?” Mira demands, scowling at the road. “I didn’t even—”

“You spent your thirty seconds laughing,” Zoey helpfully informs her. “Which was wonderful, by the way. Really, super fantastic.”

“It was not thirty seconds,” Mira protests. “Fifteen at best.”

Zoey clicks her tongue. “Who’s in charge of keeping track of the time? Yeah, that’s right, me. And it was totally thirty seconds! Anyway!” Zoey continues, and Mira can’t help the huff she lets out. “Are you guys, like, monsters who use the big light, or could I viably date you?”

Rumi snickers, shooting Mira an all-too-pleased grin. “I don’t think I’ve ever even turned it on.”

Mira sighs, narrowing her eyes, feeling like she’s already lost. “I have to have good lighting when I—”

“Ooh,” Zoey draws out the word with an audible wince. “Not looking good.”

“I have to have good lighting when I record choreo videos,” Mira continues, rolling her eyes at the interruption. “Or else you can’t see what I’m doing, and that’s the opposite of what I want. I’m barely ever at my apartment, anyway. You guys could have full control of the lighting, I wouldn’t care.”

That’s true at least, Mira thinks. She’s usually not at home, and if she was dating anyone, she doubts she’d be all that worried about if they were turning on the overhead light or not. That would probably be, like, the least of her concerns, actually. And it isn’t even like she doesn’t have nice, soft lights around her place, either. Rumi and Zoey would probably like those.

Mira makes a noise in the back of her throat that she can’t quite choke down in time. She crinkles her nose as she glares at the road, mostly because she can’t quite glare at herself. Rumi and Zoey would never be at her apartment, obviously. But if they were, then...maybe they’d like the lamps. Or the LEDs she has. It doesn’t even matter, though, since that’s not something she actually has to worry about. Still, Mira’s mind unhelpfully provides her with information that she really doesn’t need to take into consideration, because Rumi and Zoey have never been to her apartment and never will, but whatever. She supposes that it’s just something to consider for this whole...thing. Relationship?

Mira winces so hard it almost hurts. Definitely not. 

Fake relationship? Better, kind of, but it’s not exactly a huge improvement when the word ‘relationship’ is still making her flinch as if it actually, physically hurts to think about. She should probably bring that up during her next therapy session. Probably.

Not her problem right now, though.

Zoey heaves a sigh, tapping her fingers against the console. “I guess. Rumi, are your plants on your terrace? Or are they, like, all throughout the house?”

“Both?” Rumi offers, almost thoughtfully. “I have most of them on my terrace, but a lot of them are inside plants.”

Mira snickers under her breath. “Inside plants? Like...inside cats?”

“I don’t know what’s so funny about that,” Rumi grumbles. “Some of them look better inside. And I don’t have enough room on my terrace for all of them, so some of them get to stay inside. And then all the terrace plants come inside for the winter, so, um, actually all of them are inside plants right now. But they won’t always be!”

“How much space am I sharing with your plants?” Zoey asks. “Do they, like, encroach on the bedroom? Oh, actually, do we sleep in the same bed? ‘Cause I always have, but I know there are couples who don’t do that, and I guess that’s something we should talk about. Oh, also on that—are we, like...where are we staying? In your parents’ place, I mean.”

Rumi makes a strangled, miserable noise that has Mira grinning. 

“You started this,” Mira helpfully reminds her. “You can’t keep complaining about it when you literally started it.”

“I can complain all I want,” Rumi bites back, grumbling half a second later. “And, um, I guess—I don’t know, we...could be sharing the bed, I guess,” she mutters, making another strangled noise as soon as the words are out of her mouth. “We have...guest rooms. Or you guys could take my room, and I could just, I don’t know, sleep outside and hopefully get hypothermia and die.”

Mira rolls her eyes, looking down at Rumi’s phone for a few seconds. Another hour of driving in a straight line. Honestly, it might be the easiest drive she’s had in a long time, so she’s hardly complaining. Makes it easier for her to talk to the both of them, too, even if she’s not doing all that much talking. Zoey and Rumi nicely fill that space, Zoey especially. Mira thinks that she likes hearing both of them talk, and that’s just another thing that makes her think they’d probably be good friends if they had met in any other circumstance.

“Okay, dramatic,” Zoey teases. “Are your parents okay with us being there? I mean, like...in your room. Are you going to survive that?”

“No,” Rumi says, bluntly. “But it’s cool. Hypothermia, remember? We could still turn around. It’s not that far of a trip down, we could still—we could totally still go back to the diner. Can we please go back down to the diner?”

Mira smiles, giving Rumi the most reassuring look she can manage before she says, “No.”

Rumi, as expected, groans and buries her face in her hands, sliding slowly down her seat. Zoey, just as expected, laughs as soon as Rumi starts grumbling. It’s a little endearing how easily they both fall into a routine.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Zoey starts again after she stops laughing. “C’mon. We’ve got like...an hour left. We gotta get to know each other better than this. Um, I...I write! Lyrics, mostly! But I also write in general, and I also like to sing, but I don’t have anything released, or whatever. I played the drums when I was a kid, oh, and I grew up in California, but I moved when I was, like, sixteen?”

Mira hums. “Why’d you move?”

“We do not have time for that,” Zoey says, all in one breath. “Rumi, your turn. At least three fun facts.”

“I’ve given at least three fun facts!” Rumi protests. “I don’t—there’s not that much...I don’t really...”

“Okay, okay, you can think about it!” Zoey giggles. “Mira, it’s your turn.”

Mira doesn’t exactly think that’s fair, but she elects to stay quiet. She taps her finger against the wheel for a few seconds, quietly wondering how much about herself she’s willing to share that she hasn’t already. She’s not all that worried about either one of them leaking anything—Rumi would probably do literally anything to get Mira to stay quiet about this, and Zoey doesn’t seem to be the kind of person to do that, and, really, who would believe either of them, anyway? ‘I kidnapped Kang Mira’? Absolutely not. ‘I got kidnapped with Kang Mira’? Even worse.

After another second, Mira sighs, letting her head tip to the side. “I took ballet, gymnastics, and dance as soon as I could get into them. I started dyeing my hair when I was...” Mira pauses, humming softly. “Twelve, I think. My favourite colour is pink. Fun enough?”

Zoey makes another pleased noise. “Very fun, thank you, Mira. Your hair looks super healthy, by the way. I kind of thought you couldn’t dye it that young? I mean, I guess without, like, you know. Consequences.”

“I’m careful about it,” Mira tells her. “I did box dye it at first. That was...not great, I guess.”

She still remembers how badly her parents had freaked out about that. Mira swears to god they lost their minds over her dyeing her hair more than when she broke her wrist, which is kind of funny to her. She didn’t even do a bad job dyeing her hair; it turned out better than it should have, especially since she did it all at three in the morning almost sporadically, and she didn’t even dye the sink pink. 

Mira had been thinking about it. She was really, really considering it. It had been an entirely conscious effort to not do that, and she still kind of regrets putting that much effort into making sure she didn’t make a mess. She should have.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” Zoey says, almost wistfully. “Did you like ballet? And—okay, I guess you probably liked dance, since, you know, um, you literally said that. Just—”

Mira laughs, glancing over her shoulder to give Zoey an actual reassuring look. “I liked ballet, yeah. I just stopped having time for it, but I still like to...” she hesitates, chewing on the inside of her cheek for a second. “You know, run through stuff.”

If either of them pick up on the pause, neither of them comment. Zoey just rapidly nods, beaming so widely it has to hurt. “That’s so cool! Can you show us?”

“What?” Mira asks, nearly swerving the car from how hard she jerks to the side to stare at Zoey. “You—what?”

Rumi actually laughs at her, which hardly makes Mira feel better. “Probably not while she’s driving, Zoey.”

“Well, obviously later,” Zoey giggles. “And you can sing!”

Mira laughs this time at the immediate crestfallen look on Rumi’s face, grinning at how she starts to sputter, how she rushes out, “I don’t think that’s—”

“No, I’d love to hear you sing,” Mira interrupts, batting her eyelashes in Rumi’s general direction. “So...let’s hear it. You can sing in the car, I can’t dance. At best, I could give you a really bad attempt at going up to, like, third position. Maybe fourth.”

Zoey sounds practically thrilled when she says, “Are you being serious?”

“No. Unless you want me to crash.”

“I can take the wheel,” Rumi says, casually. “Do you want me to take the wheel?”

“And drive us off the side of the road?” Mira shoots back. “No. I don’t even need you to do that, it’s my—it’s my feet. What do you think going to third position means? It’s not in the arms.”

Rumi doesn’t even miss a beat before she says, “Cruise control.”

“Absolutely not.”

Zoey cackles from behind them. “Okay, but as soon as we get to Rumi’s place. We’re dating, remember? It’s literally, like—you have to.”

“Is that what you do when you date people?” Mira asks, rolling her eyes at the stupid smile that forces its way on her face. “You get your own private ballet shows?”

It’s not really a genuine question, but Mira supposes that she doesn’t actually know the answer to that. If they were actually dating, is that something she’d be willing to do? She crinkles her nose, squinting at the road. It feels ridiculous. It feels ridiculous, but there’s a part of her that’s admittedly interested in hearing Rumi sing, just out of sheer curiosity. Maybe it’s the same for Rumi and Zoey when it comes to ballet.

Which is weird. Mira doesn’t remember the last time someone has purposefully expressed an interest in pretty much anything she’s done, let alone enough to actually want to see her do it. To be fair, Zoey and Rumi probably shouldn't be the basis of what’s normal and what isn’t, given the whole...situation.

“Amongst other things,” Zoey agrees, very audibly grinning. “And private concerts. Like, uh, right now. Right now would be great for a private concert. Very private, very cozy! Great acoustics in here.”

Rumi heaves a sigh. “It’s—no. I’m not singing.”

“Killed your grandma?” Zoey teases.

“Maybe it did,” Rumi mutters. “If I say yes, will you turn around and go back to the diner?”

“I literally am not in control of what Mira does or does not do,” Zoey chirps. “That’s up to her, babe. Oh my god, I’m so sorry, that just slipped—it’s not even...it’s not even because we’re—um, you know! It’s just something that—” Zoey groans, and Mira is almost surprised at how miserable she sounds. “I’m so sorry.”

Rumi just laughs, voice suddenly sounding a lot softer when she twists over the seat and murmurs, “It’s not a big deal. I don’t mind.”

Zoey doesn’t seem to even take a breath after that. Mira can hear the way she laughs, can almost feel the way she grins, before Zoey is speaking again. “So...pet names are totally cool, then? Oh, what about, like, hand-holding? Is a year still too early for you? Not a judger! Maybe we’re waiting until marriage. Totally fine with me. Love that for us. Love marriage.”

Mira grins so hard it makes her face hurt, and she swears that she can’t remember the last time she’s smiled so much. “Big fan of marriage,” she helpfully agrees, ignoring the death glare from Rumi that gets her; she doesn’t even have to look to know that it’s happening, she can feel it as soon as the words leave her mouth.

It’s literally not even true. Mira rolls her eyes as she taps her fingers against the wheel, doing her absolute best to ignore the fact that she has never, not even once, been in a position where marriage was something even remotely discussed, let alone on the table. 

“You guys suck,” Rumi mutters, still grumbling. “I just—you’re still being too cool about this. I don’t...you can decide. I don’t want to be involved. Do whatever. Sure, fine, whatever.”

“Takes three to tango,” Zoey says, snickering a second later. “I’m literally completely fine with whatever. You know, I was actually a theatre kid! So this is pretty much, like, the exact kind of thing I love doing. I mean, I guess it’s a little different this time around, but whatever. Semantics! Mira?”

Mira tips her head to the side, hoping that conveys she’s still listening. “I’m cool with anything,” she says, mostly because she’s stubborn, and there’s no world in which she doesn’t step up to the challenge very clearly being placed in front of her. She’s sure she doesn’t have to. Rumi is busy trying to fuse into her seat and become one with it, so Mira is pretty confident that she could rattle off a laundry list of things she would rather avoid and be completely fine, but she’s not going to do that.

It’s too late for that, anyway. She already said that she’s completely up for anything, and it’s not even a lie, not really. She’s just never been inclined toward relationships or affection, and so her scope of it all is admittedly lacking. 

Mira doesn’t think it matters, given how Zoey seems thrilled enough for all three of them; she also doubts that Zoey is going to pounce her and try to make out with her at any given moment, so she’s not really that worried about boundaries being overstepped. And Mira is definitely not worried about Rumi. She’s probably, like, negatively worried about Rumi even looking at her for more than five second intervals. 

The drive continues like that—Zoey is the one who takes charge for the most part, casually offering up little bits and pieces about herself, then urges both Mira and Rumi to do the same. Mira can see the way Rumi slowly starts to deflate, how she starts to talk a little more. Mira adds on sometimes, but she’s more than content to sit there and drive, listening to the two of them talk back and forth. They make it easy to listen; Zoey, mostly, who talks a lot more than Rumi, but everything she says is interesting, and Mira has been impressed by everything she’s said.

At some point, Zoey manages to get a list of almost every one of Rumi’s plants. Mira doesn’t know if Rumi’s parents are going to, like, quiz the both of them on if ‘Please’ is the cactus or the fern, but she already has it memorised—Please is the fern Rumi almost killed about fifty times that is still just barely clinging onto life. Rumi apparently has an entire collection of cacti, all with increasingly ridiculous names, though she’s insistent that she didn’t name about half of them, citing her more-or-less-not-really best friend, Jinu, as the cause of all that.

Mira can only hope she’s telling the truth, because the names really do only get worse: Orb, Legs, Little Guy, Legs2, Pink. As soon as Pink’s name gets spilled, Zoey is excitedly asking if Rumi named that one after Mira, as if they haven’t only known each other for an hour at best, but Rumi laughs and plucks her phone from the console to start showing Zoey pictures. Mira isn’t left out of the conversation, but she doesn’t get to see the aforementioned Pink, so she can only trust Zoey’s wild cackling and gleeful, “Oh, you totally named it after Mira.”

It’s nicer than she expected it would. Admittedly, Mira didn’t really have expectations for any of this, but it’s easy to listen to Rumi and Zoey talk back and forth. It’s easy to stow away facts from both of them, like how Zoey has an older brother named Jae, how she likes to surf even if she hasn’t done it in a long time, how she used to play hockey and still misses being out on the ice. Or how Rumi has been singing ever since she was a kid, how she has a deep affinity for big cats, how she begrudgingly used to play tennis up until she was able to wriggle her way out of it.

Zoey’s favourite colour is teal, Rumi likes gold. Zoey prefers energy drinks over anything else, Rumi likes tea. Zoey’s favourite animals are turtles, but apparently ferrets are a super close second, alongside the handful of other sea animals she lists out (nudibranchs as a whole, bay pipefish, cuttlefish, catsharks or dogfish, Zoey is very willing to talk about the entire renaming process), and Rumi likes cats and binturongs, which Zoey seems thrilled about.

It’s when Rumi mentions knowing how to play most instruments that gets Mira to—near-unwillingly, it’s as if the words are just out of her mouth before she can even process that she’s saying them—join back in on the conversation, casually adding that she used to play violin and piano. Zoey immediately jumps in to ask if she can still play, and Mira, almost sheepishly, confirms that she can.

It just feels...different. This isn’t a photoshoot or a business venture or two people she has to meet with for whatever reason. It’s Zoey and Rumi, who are complete strangers, who Mira likes more than she should, and that makes it all feel different and odd in her chest. If they were just people she had to put up with for one reason or another, Mira wouldn't have told them anything at all, but here she is, spilling about her childhood hobbies and the fact that she’s a lightweight, all because Zoey pleaded a little too hard, and apparently it’s difficult for her to say no to that.

Mira knows it shouldn’t be. She doesn’t even know Zoey, doesn’t know Rumi, and yet they’re still managing to get things out of her, and they’re not even really prying. Zoey pokes a bit, Rumi prods a little, and Mira finds herself spilling more and more and more until she thinks she’s told them every single hobby or interest she’s ever had. She does her best to quit doing that, mostly by resorting to humming and nodding along to their conversation, but they still end up knowing more about her than she’d like.

She thinks it should make her feel more exposed than it does—and it definitely does make her feel exposed, but it’s just...

Different.

It’s different, and Mira is doing her absolute best not to focus on that too much. 

Mira is mostly spared from having to think about that when Rumi’s place comes into view. It’s big, but it looks cozy, honestly. The sad attempt at Christmas lights on the terrace helps, but Mira can see two people—presumably Rumi’s parents; she never asked if Rumi had siblings, that's on her—up there working on it.

“They haven’t seen us y—” Rumi is cut off by a high-pitched squeal, and Mira can’t help but snort. “Please start backing up, Mira, please. Oh my god, just put the car in reverse. If you—no, okay, listen to me, there’s a hill? There’s a hill right past the far side of the house, and if you go down it really fast, you’re basically going to fly off the mountain and into a tree, hopefully several, so—”

“I’m not doing that,” Mira helpfully says, shooting Rumi a wide, pleased grin. “Where can I park?”

Rumi shoots her a miserable look right back. “At the diner.”

“Okay,” Mira decides, rolling her eyes. “I’m gonna park in the driveway. That okay with you?”

The harrowed noise Rumi makes seems like a good enough confirmation. Mira pulls into the driveway half a second later, biting back a laugh at the way Zoey cheers and immediately tugs off her seatbelt, nearly scrambling out of the car as soon as Mira turns it off. She reaches back around, setting her hand on Zoey’s arm, making a motion to Rumi a second later.

Zoey puffs out her cheeks, but she nods after a beat, settling almost immediately. Mira beams at her, and Zoey beams back, so bright and dazzling that it almost stuns her. It takes another moment for Mira to get her bearings, but then she’s stepping out of the car, walking around to the other side, pausing for only a second before she opens Rumi’s door for her, decidedly ignoring the cooing she can hear from Zoey.

Rumi looks up at her as if she’s walking toward her death, and Mira is very sure that she doesn’t help when she starts to grin, laughing under her breath at the affronted huff Rumi gives her. It still somehow manages to be charming, even when Rumi is clearly trying to explode her with her mind. 

“C’mon,” Mira murmurs, gently nodding her head in the direction of Rumi’s house. “It’ll look way weirder if you sit here for six hours.”

“And my legs hurt,” Zoey adds, voice slightly muffled. “We gotta get out of this car, babe. It’s literally killing me. Like actually.”

Mira solemnly nods, gesturing toward the back. “See? Zoey’s dying.” 

“Dying!” Zoey chirps, and Mira can’t help but laugh again.

It seems to help ease some of the tension out of Rumi, too, though she doesn’t look any less stressed. Rumi eventually nods, and Mira takes a step back to let her have enough room to get out of the car. She watches the way Rumi sighs, rolling her shoulders back, how she stands up so straight it makes her seem like she’s going into war rather than her parents’ place.

Mira can’t help but watch, smiling a little at the ridiculous display. Unfortunately for her, that’s more charming, and it doesn’t help that Zoey pretty much presses her face to the window, giving Mira an incredibly expectant look, even going as far as to make a motion toward the door with one eyebrow deliberately arched as high as it can go. Mira snickers under her breath, but she obliges, opening the door and taking a step back for Zoey to get out.

Zoey grins at her again, and Mira is almost surprised when Zoey’s arm hooks into her own, pressing their shoulders together. “You’re such a gentleman. This okay?”

“Fine,” Mira murmurs back, nudging Zoey’s shoulder a second later. Zoey beams at her, and that’s about all the warning Mira gets before she’s being tugged forward. Rumi waits for them just a few paces ahead, turning her head over her shoulder as soon as they approach.

Rumi gives her another miserable look. “It’s not too late to back out. Please back out.”

“Not even remotely happening,” Zoey decides. Mira almost laughs at how Zoey immediately slips her hand into Rumi’s, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world for all three of them. “Breathe, Rumi. We’ve got this.”

“I don’t want to ‘got’ this,” Rumi mutters, but she doesn’t pull away from either of them. “Please be normal, please? Please.”

Mira smiles at her from across Zoey, though she’s sure it isn’t an assuring look, given how Rumi crinkles her nose in response. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Mira says, clearing her throat as she stands up a little straighter, using her free hand to brush down her shirt that she totally wouldn’t have worn if she was actually meeting Rumi’s parents for the first time. “We’ve been dating for a year, right? Wildly, madly in love. Totally normal.”

“Totally normal,” Zoey giggles, grinning wildly. “Don’t even worry, Rumi.”

Rumi still looks like she’s definitely worrying, but she at least looks less like she’s about to pass out, which Mira figures must be a good sign. 

Regardless, it’s not like it matters all that much when they’re standing right in front of the door, where there’s no longer an option for escape. 

Not like she would; she's already gone this far, and Mira's never been the type to back down from a challenge.