Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The café was humming with life, quiet chatter, coffee machines steaming, indie music weaving through the air like background texture. Students filtered in and out, claiming spots like predators stalking open sockets. Rumi was untouched by it all.

She sat hunched over her laptop in a corner booth, brows drawn together in that do not disturb unless you're on fire expression. A highlighter was clenched between her teeth. Her notes were a patchwork of color-coded chaos. Her coffee sat untouched, long since cold.

The steady murmur of conversation and clinking mugs filled the campus café, but Rumi was oblivious to it all.

She sat, laptop open in front of her, headphones in, eyes narrowed at a glowing digital audio workspace. Her fingers moved with careful precision over the keyboard, pausing to scribble something in her notebook. Tempo changes, dynamics, layering ideas. The highlighter came after to mark it as an important change she should take into note.

She was building something, measuring chords, balancing synths, adjusting the vocal sample by literal milliseconds. Each small adjustment made her sit straighter, lean closer. She was hunting perfection like it owed her something.

She didn’t notice when Mira and Zoey walked in.

They clocked her immediately, alone, laser-focused, surrounded by enough paper to wallpaper their small dorm.

Zoey took once glance when they were inside, frowning. She whispered, even though Rumi couldn’t hear her. “Look at her. It’s giving... tortured genius.”

Mira smirked. “It's giving caffeinated cryptid.”

They slid into the booth across from her like professionals executing a stakeout. Still, Rumi didn’t look up.

Zoey, louder now, leaned in. “Babe, blink twice if you need a snack or an exorcism.”

Rumi startled, yanking the earbud out like she'd been pulled from another dimension.

Rumi gasped, catching her breath. “What the— how long have you been sitting there?”

Mira snorted under her breath. “Long enough to consider calling your next of kin.”

“Do you sleep or do you just absorb energy through sheer spite?” Zoey asked, noticing how Rumi wasn’t anywhere near the dorm when they woke up.

Rumi glared a little with a deadpan expression. “I sleep. Occasionally. When I’m not being ambushed by my roommates in public.”

Mira grinned and reached across to steal a highlighter. “You’re welcome for the intervention. You need sunlight, and food. Maybe to stop color-coding your trauma.”

Rumi sighed but didn’t resist when Zoey pushed a pastry across the table toward her.

Rumi grudgingly, “Okay, fine. Five-minute break.”

Zoey beamed, tossing her hands in the air. “She admits defeat!”

Mira held up the highlighter. “Mark your calendars, people.”

As they laughed, Rumi leaned back in her chair for the first time in hours, realizing for once how good it felt to come up for air. Rumi took a small bite of the red bean bun, chewing slowly like her brain was still buffering real-life interactions.

Mira and Zoey exchanged a glance. Rumi noticed. She immediately didn’t like that.

Zoey leaned halfway across the table. “Soooo... what are you doing this Friday?”

Rumi tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. “Working on my composition project. Why?” She asked suspiciously.

Mira frowned, closing her eyes. “Wrong answer.”

Zoey smiled, sitting up more. “Try again. With more serotonin this time!”

Rumi squinted at them over her coffee. “You’re inviting me to something, aren’t you?”

Mira grinned, opening her eyes again. “You catch on fast.”

“It’s a party. Off-campus. Chill vibes. Music majors, theater kids, a few dancers, some mysterious hot upperclassmen. You know. The usual chaos.” Zoey explained, beaming at Rumi.

Rumi raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Why would I go to a party full of people I don’t know, when I could stay in and fix the bridge section that’s been driving me insane?”

Zoey pouted. “Because Mira and I will be there, and we refuse to let you be a tragic dorm hermit your whole first semester.”

Mira cut in. “Also, there’ll be free drinks and a rooftop view. And probably someone emotionally unavailable playing sad songs on an acoustic guitar. Your type, right?”

Rumi dryly replied, taking her highlighter back. “I don’t have a type.”

Zoey grinned, giving her two thumbs up. “You will. After this party. Eh?”

Rumi tried to resist smiling and failed. Barely. “Fine. But I’m only staying for an hour.”

“That’s what you said last time you got sucked into a two-hour lecture on harmonic tension.” Mira crossed her arms.

Rumi narrowed her eyes. “That was different. That was… academically compelling.”

Zoey raised her hands. “It was a YouTube video titled ‘Why This Chord Progression Hurts Like Heartbreak.’ You got drunk and started showing anyone who would listen.”

Rumi shrugged. “It was well-edited.”

Mira leaned in with a mock-serious whisper. “We’re dragging you into the real heartbreak this time. Live music. Questionable boys. Emotional chaos. No pause button.”

Rumi muttered, diving back into her work. “This sounds like a threat.”

Zoey smiled widely. “It is. A loving one.”

Rumi sighed and closed her laptop, finally surrendering to the inevitable. “Fine. Fine, I’ll actively participate too I guess. I’m not talking to any guys though. ”

Mira laughed. “You say that now, but wait till it’s a guy in a leather jacket playing his guitar with his eyes closed.”

Zoey laughed. “Oooh, yes. Tortured artist energy. She’ll fold like laundry.”

Rumi shook her head, half-laughing despite herself. “You two are insufferable.”

Zoey smiled with a giggle. “And yet… irresistibly persuasive.”

Rumi leaned back in her chair, sipping what was left of her lukewarm, now cold americano. “What kind of party is this, exactly?”

Zoey raised a brow. “Nervous?”

Rumi shrugged. “Cautious. There’s a difference.”

Mira tapped her nails on the table. “It’s a chill thing. Hosted by some third-years from the performing arts building. Big apartment with a rooftop. Think music majors trying to out-vibe each other, not frat boys shotgunning beer.”

Zoey grinned. “Though there might be one guy who always brings his smoke machine and tries to DJ off his phone.”

Rumi groaned. “God, I’m going to hate everyone.”

Zoey pointed at her. “That’s the spirit.”

Mira smiled. “Don’t worry, we’ll stick with you. Unless you get swept away by a mysterious stranger who challenges you to a brooding duet.”

Rumi gave her a flat look. “What even is a brooding duet?”

Zoey leaned in theatrically. “You’ll know it when it finds you.”

Rumi rolled her eyes, but her lips curved slightly. “You two are ridiculous.”

Mira smirked. “And yet… you’re going to look amazing Friday night.”

Rumi glanced down at her hoodie and leggings. “Doubtful.”

Zoey raised a hand dramatically. “We will not let our roommate show up in grayscale cotton. We’ll help. Right, Mira?”

Mira cracked her knuckles. “Operation: Closet Intervention.”

Rumi laughed softly. “This feels like a trap.”

Zoey winked. “A well-dressed one.”

“There will be alcohol at this thing though..” Mira had to admit halfway through their plan to get Rumi to say yes.

Rumi raised an eyebrow. “Wait. There’s going to be alcohol?”

Zoey gave her a look. “It’s a college rooftop party. Of course there’s going to be alcohol.”

Mira leaned in, playful. “Don’t worry, no one’s gonna force-feed you soju. But also… a little buzz might make you less allergic to fun.”

Rumi narrowed her eyes. “I’m not allergic to fun.”

Zoey smirked. “You just have a highly specific definition of it that includes spreadsheets, EQ presets, and music theory documentaries.”

Rumi shrugged. “Structured fun is still fun.”

Mira laughed. “God, you’re such a Capricorn.”

Zoey gasped. “Wait— are you a Capricorn?”

Rumi rolled her eyes. “No, I’m a Virgo.”

Mira snapped her fingers. “Even worse.”

Rumi smirked despite herself. “I’ll go. I’ll drink. Maybe. One. If it’s not whatever mysterious neon liquor people bring in recycled water bottles.”

Zoey grinned. “Deal. We’ll even shield you from weird mixers and strangers who quote Nietzsche unprompted.”

Mira sipped her iced tea. “Unless they’re hot. Then you’re on your own.”

Rumi sighed dramatically. “I already regret agreeing to this.”

Zoey reached over and stole a piece of pastry off her plate. “No you don’t. You’re curious.”

Rumi glanced out the café window, watching students pass in the late afternoon sun. She didn’t say anything at first, but a small smile played on her lips. Rumi murmured, “...Maybe a little.”

The late afternoon light had started to slip into gold as they stepped out of the café, drinks in hand and backpacks slung over their shoulders. Campus was still buzzing, students lounging on grass, music drifting from open windows, the faint thump of bass from someone’s portable speaker across the quad.

Mira stretched with a groan. “God, I can’t believe we still have three more days until Friday.”

Zoey sighed dramatically. “I know. My body is ready, but my assignments are not.”

Rumi walked between them, hands stuffed into the sleeves of her hoodie. “You two talk about this party like it’s a life event.”

Zoey grinned. “Because it is. First big one of the semester, and it actually won’t be full of finance bros trying to arm-wrestle for attention.”

Mira bumped her shoulder lightly against Rumi’s. “You say you’re not interested, but I can see your little ‘what-if’ gears turning.”

Rumi gave her a dry look. “That’s not interest. That’s dread.”

Zoey sipped her drink. “Same thing if you flip it sideways.”

Rumi let out a quiet laugh. “Look, I’m not saying I won’t go. I just don’t see the appeal in getting tipsy and pretending to enjoy awkward small talk with strangers who are two drinks ahead of me.”

Mira tilted her head. “You don’t have to pretend. Just vibe, and if you happen to meet someone interesting…”

Rumi raised a brow. “Are you two going to be like this all week?”

Zoey beamed. “Worse.”

Mira added, “You’ll thank us when you fall in love with a mysterious boy who says things like ‘music is the only language that makes sense anymore.’”

Rumi snorted. “If anyone says that to me, I’m pushing them off the roof.”

They turned down the dorm path, the familiar buildings coming into view. The sun was low enough now to cast long shadows across the sidewalk, stretching ahead of them.

Zoey glanced over. “Okay, but real question, what are you wearing?”

Rumi groaned. “God, not this already.”

Mira grinned, unlocking the door to their dorm building. “We’re going to have so much fun with this.”

Rumi muttered under her breath, “Regret is setting in early.”

Zoey opened the door and gave her a quick pat on the back as they stepped inside. She smiled. “That’s okay. We’ll dress you cute enough to distract from it.”

The door clicked shut behind them as they stepped into the dorm. Shoes off. Bags dropped. The familiar, lived-in scent of vanilla candles, laundry detergent, and old textbooks welcomed them like a fourth roommate. Rumi kicked off her sneakers and collapsed onto the beanbag in the corner. Rumi sighed. “Finally. Silence.”

Zoey immediately turned on their Bluetooth speaker and connected her phone. A mellow indie track filled the room. Zoey smirked. “You mean vibing silence.”

Mira pulled her hoodie over her head and tossed it onto her bed. “You better get used to noise. This room only shuts up when we’re asleep, and even then, Zoey sleep-mumbles.”

Zoey pointed at her. “Rude. My subconscious just has a strong need to narrate.”

Rumi chuckled and leaned her head back. For a few moments, the three of them just relaxed in the quiet rhythm of being roommates. Comfortable. Easy. After a minute, Rumi spoke again, more casual this time. Rumi asked, “So… have either of you met any guys? Like, since school started?”

There was a pause. Barely a breath long, but just long enough to notice.

Mira bent down to rearrange some vinyls stacked by her bed. “Not really.”

Zoey busied herself untangling her earbuds. “We’ve been, like… busy settling in.”

Rumi glanced between them, the shift not lost on her. Their voices had gone neutral. Safe. Rumi tilted her head slightly. “Right… Yeah, makes sense.”

Mira flashed a quick smile. “Besides, most of the guys we’ve met so far are either taken, freshman-energy disasters, or convinced they’re the next Zico.”

Zoey nodded. “A tragic pool, honestly.”

Rumi let it drop, even though the pause still echoed in the back of her mind. She stretched her arms above her head. “Well, I’m not looking either. I came here to study, and survive.”

Zoey grinned. “A noble goal. And yet… we’re dragging you to a rooftop party. Fate is laughing somewhere.”

Mira walked over to her dresser, rifling through a drawer. “Don’t worry. You won’t have to flirt. Just look hot and sip something mildly alcoholic while pretending not to judge everyone.”

Rumi smirked. “That’s just my resting face.”

They all laughed again, the moment of tension dissolved, for now.

Mira grabbed her drink and nodded toward the room next door. “Come on. Let’s migrate.”

Zoey stretched her arms above her head. “To the sanctuary!”

Rumi stood up, brushing crumbs off her sweatshirt. “You two act like it’s sacred ground.”

Zoey grinned. “It is. You don’t understand the power of an extra dorm room until you have one.”

They slipped into the room next door. Rumi’s room. Technically hers, anyway, but without a roommate assigned to share the space, it had unofficially become their chill zone. It took a fun night of laughing and heavy breathing to get all the desks to the study room. It was worth it when they decorated and put it all together though.

The lights were dim, a salt lamp glowing in the corner. Blankets were draped across the bed and floor cushions had been tossed around haphazardly. An old record player sat in the corner with a little stack of vinyls beside it. The air was quieter in here, like it held its breath for them.

Mira flopped onto the bed and stole the plush avocado pillow. “Honestly, this room is the only reason I haven’t dropped out yet.”

Zoey grabbed the floor bean cushion and sprawled. “Same. It’s our decompression chamber.”

Rumi sat cross-legged on the rug, leaning back on her hands. “Glad my solitude is so useful to you.”

Mira grinned. “You’re doing a public service.”

Zoey tapped the toe of Rumi’s sock with her own. “Seriously though. How’s school actually going for you?”

Rumi blinked. “Uh… fine?”

Mira raised a brow. “That’s a suspiciously vague ‘fine.’”

Rumi sighed, then shrugged. “The classes are good. The professors are intense. Everyone in the music program walks around like they’re already famous.”

Zoey laughed. “That’s exactly how the dance majors act. I saw a girl cry in the hallway over a mirror placement.”

Mira nodded. “Meanwhile, I watched a film kid get into a yelling match with his T.A. about camera angles and ‘emotional authenticity.’”

Rumi smirked. “Art school is unhinged.”

Zoey gestured vaguely upward. “We’re all in some kind of breakdown arc. It’s.. bonding.”

Mira looked over at Rumi. “You feel like you fit in, though? Like, music-wise?”

Rumi hesitated. “I don’t know yet. I like it here. I just… haven’t really talked to anyone. Outside of you two.”

Zoey gave a small smile. “That’s okay. Most people are just performing cool until someone talks to them first.”

Mira stretched out and yawned. “Which is why you’re coming Friday. Obviously.”

Rumi rolled her eyes. “Back to this again?”

Zoey grinned. “It’s always going to circle back.”

Mira tossed the avocado pillow at her. “Get used to it.”

Zoey shifted around on the bean cushion until she found the perfect slouch. “Okay, but real question. If you weren’t doing music, what would you be doing?”

Rumi blinked. “Like… in life?”

Mira grinned. “No, in Mario Kart. Yes, in life.”

Rumi scrunched her nose in thought. “I don’t know. Probably something practical. Accounting. Maybe engineering. I’d hate it.”

Zoey gasped. “You would absolutely hate it.”

Mira pointed. “She’d get straight A’s, though. All while resenting the laws of physics.”

Rumi laughed softly. “Yeah. I don’t do well with things that don’t let me bend the rules.”

Zoey sipped her drink. “Spoken like a true Virgo.”

Mira leaned back on her elbows. “Okay, my turn. I’d open a café. Like one of those hip ones with mismatched mugs and poetry nights and way too many plants.”

Zoey nodded, serious. “I can already see it. It’d be called something like Bittersweet.”

Mira grinned. “Or ‘The Spill.’ You know.. For the tea.”

They all groaned.

Rumi shook her head. “God, that’s so on-brand it hurts.”

Zoey raised a hand. “Alright, alright, my turn. If I weren’t dancing, I’d be… a con artist.”

Rumi raised a brow. “That escalated quickly.”

Zoey beamed. “Oh please. I’d be so good at it. I’d charm rich men out of their money, then vanish with dramatic flair.”

Mira laughed. “She’s not even joking.”

Zoey shrugged. “I’m just saying, if the dance world turns on me, I have a backup plan.”

Rumi shook her head, smiling. “You guys are insane.”

Mira smirked. “And yet, you let us take over your room.”

Zoey pointed at her. “Which makes you the most suspicious of all.”

Rumi rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. “Fine. I guess I like having you around.. Occasionally.”

Zoey gasped. “She admits it!”

Mira clutched her chest. “Character growth!”

They dissolved into laughter, the kind that softened into comfortable silence afterward. The music from the speaker played low in the background, and the room settled into a warm, sleepy haze.

Zoey yawned and pulled a blanket over her legs. “Can we just live in this room and forget we have class tomorrow?”

Mira was already half-asleep on the bed. “Yes please.”

Rumi leaned back on her palms, eyes on the ceiling. “I don’t know. I kind of want to see what this week turns into.”

Zoey peeked over the blanket. “You mean the party?”

Rumi gave her a small, lopsided smile. “I mean… maybe.”

Mira, without opening her eyes, whispered, “She’s so going to fall for someone.”

Rumi tossed a pillow back at her. “Go to sleep.”

Chapter Text

The classroom door creaked open behind her as students trickled out, voices low and tired, notebooks stuffed into tote bags and backpacks slung lazily over one shoulder.

Rumi stepped into the hallway, hugging her laptop to her chest, her other hand still gripping a crumpled worksheet. Her earbuds were in, but no music was playing, just silence to keep people from trying to talk to her.

Her mind wasn’t in the hallway, or even the building. It was still back in the classroom, in the third measure of the bridge she’d been struggling to fix for days.

The layering’s too muddy. The strings are clashing with the synth. Maybe it needs to breathe more. Maybe it’s the tempo. Should she slow it down? Or add a second vocal texture in the background—

She barely noticed when someone brushed past her.

Her boots echoed on the tile floor as she moved automatically through the corridor. The halls of the music department were always slightly too cold, always buzzing faintly with someone playing something, piano from behind one door, vocal warmups from another. She barely registered it.

Her brow furrowed as she dug her phone out of her pocket and opened the voice memos app. She hummed a soft phrase, only half-formed, then hit save without naming it.

Another idea for later. Maybe it would turn into something. Maybe not.

She exhaled and turned down the stairwell, eyes still on the floor, her mind still on sound design and harmonic layering and whether she’d made a mistake choosing this theme for her semester project.

She didn’t notice the guy walking the opposite direction until he had to sidestep around her.

“Woah—sorry.” She looked up briefly, blinked, nodded once, and kept walking.

Didn’t register his face.

Didn’t know his name. 

Rumi turned the corner and headed down the hall toward the vending machines. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, and her footsteps echoed softly in the mostly empty corridor.

She didn’t really need a snack. She needed a break. Something small. Something to chew on while she worked through the mess in her head.

The vending machine stood against the far wall like it always did, slightly humming, suspiciously outdated, and full of questionable choices. She stood in front of it, arms crossed, staring at the selections without seeing them.

The melody in verse two still feels flat. It’s not bad, but it’s not saying anything. I could flip it into a minor key, or reharmonize it—No. That would throw off the vocal line. Unless I rewrote the whole second half—

She inserted her coins slowly, mechanically, then pressed the buttons for a bag of honey-butter chips. Something sweet and salty to distract her for five minutes. The bag dropped with a dull clunk. She crouched, picked it up, and stood there for a beat longer, staring down the hallway like she’d forgotten what she came for.

The silence was thick here. No music. No voices. Just the dull hum of the building and the occasional muffled sound from distant classrooms. She tore open the bag and popped a chip into her mouth, still thinking.

Maybe it’s not the melody. Maybe it’s the transition into the chorus. It needs lift, but it feels like it drags right now—

Another chip.

I’m doing that thing again. Getting stuck in one four-bar loop and convincing myself the whole project is garbage.

Her lips pressed together in a faint frown. She let out a quiet breath through her nose, rolled her shoulders back, and glanced up at the wall clock. Ten minutes left before class resumed.

She tossed the half-full chip bag into her tote bag, slung it back over her shoulder, and started heading toward the stairs. The hallway was nearly empty now, just a few scattered students disappearing into classrooms, doors slowly clicking shut behind them.

As she climbed the stairs, the muffled thud of her boots on concrete steps marked her slow return to focus.

She didn’t notice the boy coming down the other side of the staircase.

Rumi reached the top of the stairs, adjusting her grip on her laptop as she turned toward the classroom. Her thoughts were still spiraling, chord tension, vocal phrasing, maybe layering a reversed pad in the bridge.

She didn’t see him coming. A sudden shoulder bumped hard into hers.

Her laptop jolted forward in her arms. She gasped, catching it just before it slipped from her grip. Rumi’s heart shot into her throat. “Whoa—!”

The guy paused, half-turning toward her. He was tall, dressed in a loose black tee and worn jeans, earbuds dangling around his neck. There was something casually chaotic about him, like he was always halfway between late and unbothered.

He glanced down at her laptop, then at her face. He smiled, crooked, amused, not exactly apologetic. “Careful. Might want to watch it with that thing.”

Rumi blinked, still clutching her laptop like it was a newborn. She opened her mouth, but he was already turning away. “See you around,” he added, voice light and unreadable.

Then he walked off, easy and unhurried, disappearing around the corner like it hadn’t meant anything at all. Rumi stood there a moment longer, still half-frozen, staring after him. What the hell was that? She looked down at her laptop, running a hand over the case. No damage. Nothing cracked. Just her ego slightly bruised.

She exhaled sharply through her nose and muttered to herself, “What kind of weirdo doesn’t even say sorry?” Still, even as she turned toward her classroom, she could feel his smile lingering somewhere in the back of her mind.

Rumi stepped into the classroom, still gripping her laptop a little tighter than usual. She took her usual seat by the front, dropped her tote bag beside her chair, and opened her laptop, her fingers moving on autopilot as she brought up her notes.

But her brain wasn’t following. That guy’s face, his stupid smirk, kept replaying like a glitch in a song she couldn’t skip.

“Might want to watch it with that thing.” Rumi scoffed under her breath. “‘Watch it,’ my ass…”

She glanced around to see if anyone had heard, but no one was paying attention. Students were still filtering in, flipping through notebooks or staring blankly ahead with caffeine-blurred eyes. He literally almost knocked it out of her hands. And she’s the one who needs to watch it?

She stared at the screen in front of her, not seeing the words. Who even says something like that and just walks away? The professor walked in. Conversation died down. The projector flickered to life.

Rumi blinked at the sudden change in light and straightened in her chair. She exhaled slowly, rolled her shoulders back, and clicked into the lecture slides. Nope. Not thinking about that. Focus. She forced her eyes to follow the bullet points on the screen.

Chord substitution. Dominant function. Modal interchange. You like this stuff, remember?

She started typing. Her fingers fell into rhythm with the lecture, half-distracted at first, but gradually syncing in.

The annoyance lingered in the back of her mind, like an itch behind the music. She ignored it, beat by beat, word by word, until it faded into something dull and forgettable.

The class went by smoothly. Rumi got her notes, got some helpful tips for her project and briefly wondered if for once, the tempo was off. She made a note of it and closed her laptop, packing up with the rest of the students.

She left the lecture hall and made a get away to the dorms. Now that class was over, her mind decided to bring up him. She scowled at the thought as she unlocked her dorm and jogged to the shared room with Mira and Zoey.

Rumi shoved open the door to their dorm with more force than necessary.

Zoey looked up from her spot on the floor, halfway through folding laundry. Mira was curled up on Rumi’s bed with her laptop, watching something with one earbud in.

Mira glanced up. “Hey—”

“I just had such a stupid encounter! I got shoulder-checked by some guy in the music building,” Rumi snapped, dropping her bag by her desk and setting her laptop down with extra care. “He almost knocked my laptop out of my arms and had the audacity to smile and tell me to ‘Watch it.’”

Zoey blinked. “Wait—he hit you and told you to watch it?”

Rumi turned, arms crossed. “Yes.”

Mira sat up straighter. “What the hell? That’s such a jerk move.”

Zoey threw a sock over her shoulder in solidarity. “He sounds like a walking red flag.”

Rumi paced to the edge of her bed, then flopped down dramatically. “And then he just walked off. Like it was nothing. Like I was the problem.”

Mira frowned. “Did you catch his name?”

“No,” Rumi muttered. “Tall, black shirt, earbuds. Walks like the hallway belongs to him.”

Zoey narrowed her eyes. “Oh my god. That description fits like seven guys at this school.”

“Exactly,” Rumi said. “He’s probably one of those effortless music bros who thinks ‘vague confidence’ counts as a personality.”

Mira nodded sagely. “I bet he plays guitar and broods near windows.”

Zoey added, “And drinks black coffee like it’s a religion.”

Rumi scoffed. “I don’t care what he drinks. I just want to never see him again.”

There was a pause. Then Mira grinned. Zoey raised her eyebrows.

Rumi blinked at her. “What?”

Mira smirked. “He’s totally gonna be at the party, isn’t he?”

Zoey gasped. “Yes! This is how enemies-to-lovers starts!”

Rumi grabbed a pillow and buried her face in it. “Don’t say that. I hate him!”

Zoey patted her back. “You’re going to fall for him and it’s going to be so chaotic.”

Rumi’s voice was muffled. “Not if I push him down the stairs first.”

Mira laughed. “See? You’re already thinking about him. He’s in your head.”

“As if!” Rumi replied, sitting up and tossing the pillow aside. “I don’t even want to see that guy again, let alone flirt with him.”

Zoey raised her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay! No guitar boys. Noted.”

Mira smirked. “Yeah, no falling in love with hallway jerks. Got it.”

Rumi pointed at both of them. “Not a chance. I have actual things to focus on. Like not failing my project, or dying under the weight of my own expectations.”

Zoey nodded solemnly. “Classic Virgo priorities.”

Rumi narrowed her eyes. “Please don’t astrology me right now.”

Mira leaned back against the headboard. “Fine. But if you do end up making out with him at this rooftop party, I want it on record that I called it.”

“I’d rather kiss a brick wall,” Rumi muttered.

Zoey snorted. “Some of those brick walls have amazing cheekbones, though.” Rumi threw a sock at her.

Mira grinned. “We’re just saying. It’s college. Weird things happen.”

“Like guys blaming me for almost destroying my laptop?” Rumi shot back, lying down again with a dramatic groan.

Zoey laughed, already going back to folding laundry. “Exactly. That’s how you know the universe is messing with you.”

“Well the universe can fuck off!” Rumi snapped, sitting upright again. “I don’t want to make out with some snobby jerk at a party. I don’t even want to make out with anyone at this party! I don’t even want to go!”

The room went quiet for a moment. Zoey paused mid-fold, eyes flicking over to her.

Mira blinked, the smirk slipping from her face just slightly. “Okay. Whoa. Got it.”

Rumi let out a sharp breath and rubbed her hands over her face. “Sorry. I just… ugh. He caught me off guard, and I hate that. Now you’re making it a thing, and it’s not a thing. It’s just…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “It’s annoying.”

Zoey set the T-shirt in her hands down gently. “Hey. No one’s forcing you. If you don’t want to go, we won’t drag you.”

Mira nodded. “Seriously. You know we’re just teasing, right? We just want you to have fun, but if staying in and binge-watching trashy reality TV is more your vibe, we’re very available.”

Rumi looked between them, some of the tension in her shoulders starting to ease. “I know. Sorry.. I didn’t mean to snap.”

Zoey smiled softly. “It’s okay. That guy clearly rattled you. You just need a reset.”

Rumi leaned back on her elbows with a sigh. “Yeah. A reset and a nap and maybe a lifetime of avoiding smug guitar players.”

Mira laughed gently. “You’re safe for now. No smug guitar players allowed in this dorm.”

Rumi cracked a smile. “Good.”

The three of them settled back into the comfortable quiet again, less playful now, but warmer. Calmer. While Rumi was still sure she didn’t want to go to the party… She wasn’t entirely sure she wouldn’t.

Zoey nudged the bag of popcorn on the floor toward Rumi with her foot. “Snack truce?”

Rumi reached for it, grabbing a small handful. “Truce.”

Mira flopped dramatically onto her back. “God, this week’s been chaos and it’s only Wednesday.”

Zoey nodded. “I’m running on caffeine, sarcasm, and spite at this point.”

Rumi chewed quietly for a second before asking, “You guys really think the party’ll be worth it?”

Mira shrugged. “Depends. If we end up dancing on the roof to someone’s crappy Bluetooth speaker, then yes.”

Zoey added, “And if someone breaks up dramatically in the hallway and screams-crying ends up on someone's Story? Absolutely.”

Rumi snorted. “So you’re not even going for the party. You’re going for the chaos.”

Mira pointed at her. “Correct.”

Zoey grinned. “And the possibility of mediocre sangria.”

“I just don’t want to stand around with strangers pretending I’m not wishing I were back in here,” Rumi said, glancing around the soft glow of her quiet room.

“You don’t have to stay long,” Mira said gently. “An hour, tops. If it sucks, we’ll all bail and come back here. No pressure.”

Zoey nodded. “We’re not trying to push you into something you don’t want. We just… want you to feel included. Maybe see that this place isn’t all noise and weird boys.”

Rumi hesitated, then smiled faintly. “You guys are the least annoying people I’ve met since moving in.”

Zoey mock-gasped. “Rude. I strive to be extremely annoying.”

Mira laughed. “You’re slacking.”

Rumi relaxed back onto the bed beside Mira, staring up at the ceiling. “If I do go, I’m not dressing up.”

Zoey grinned. “Sweatshirt chic?”

Rumi nodded. “Maybe with angry eyeliner. Just to balance the vibe.”

Mira raised her hand for a high five. “Now that’s the energy we love.”

“Okay but hear me out—a skirt, with your combat boots and that cropped sweater you love? Cute. Comfortable. Low effort, high payoff!” Zoey suggested

Rumi narrowed her eyes. “You had that ready too fast. Did you plan this?”

Zoey grinned. “Yes.”

Mira turned fully around now. “You said sweatshirt and angry eyeliner. This is just sweatshirt’s more stylish cousin.”

“I don’t wear skirts,” Rumi said flatly.

“You have worn skirts,” Mira corrected. “Last month. To that open mic night, remember? And you looked bomb.”

“That was different.”

Zoey crossed her arms. “Look. We’re not saying full glam. We’re saying… slightly elevated casual menace.”

Rumi raised a brow. “You’re not gonna stop, are you?”

Zoey shook her head, grinning.

Mira chimed in, “C’mon. Let the boys at this party feel nervous and intrigued.”

“I’m not trying to impress anyone,” Rumi muttered.

“We know,” Zoey said, still smiling. “But if you happen to make some snobby hallway jerk regret not saying sorry… that’s just a bonus.”

Rumi rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “Fine, but if I freeze to death on that rooftop, it’s on you.”

“We’ll bury you in boots and eyeliner,” Mira said solemnly.

Zoey added, “And your skirt. Obviously.”

Rumi groaned softly. “Fine, but we’re all wearing skirts.” Rumi decided.

“Well duh!” Zoey giggled, like that had been the plan all along. “You think I’m going to shave my legs for fun?”

Mira nodded, pointing to Zoey. “I’ve been emotionally committed to the skirt since yesterday.”

Rumi shook her head with a reluctant smirk. “This is peer pressure in its most stylish form.”

Zoey giggled, already day dreaming of the skirts. “It’s not pressure—it’s a coordinated visual attack!”

Mira added, “United front. Skirts and vibes only.”

Rumi sighed, looking up at the ceiling of their dorm room. “If this party sucks, I’m blaming both of you.”

Zoey flopped onto the bed, grinning. “She’s gonna have fun. I’m manifesting it.” She whispered to Mira

Mira smiled, placing a hand on Zoey’s head. “Or at the very least, she’ll look hot while scowling in the corner.”

Zoey laughed. “Honestly? Peak Rumi.”

“I can hear you both!” Rumi squawked.

Chapter Text

The classroom was already half-full when Rumi slipped in, a little earlier than usual, a rare to-go coffee cup in hand.

She took her seat by the front again, slid her laptop from her bag, and opened it with a practiced motion. The same file she’d been obsessing over for days was already pulled up, a tangle of chords, harmonies, and half-saved ideas. Her finger hovered over the play button, but she didn’t press it yet.

Instead, she sipped her coffee and stared at the wall.

Campus life buzzed beyond her sight. Students hurrying to their seats, someone chatting with a friend, someone laughing too loudly. It all felt distant. Background noise to the stubborn tension building in her chest.

The bridge still isn't right. The shift into the chorus works, but it’s not hitting. There’s no emotional lift.

She tapped her trackpad restlessly, then forced herself to open her notebook instead. The professor hadn’t arrived yet, and neither had half the class. She was halfway into jotting down a new chord progression when someone entered with a scrape of the door.

She didn’t look up, until she caught a familiar voice behind her. Low, quiet, easy. Laughing. Her spine stiffened slightly. She turned just enough to glance over her shoulder. There he was. Smug hallway guy.

Black headphones around his neck, slouched into a chair two rows behind her like he owned gravity. Laughing at something the guy next to him said, hair falling over his eyes. Completely unaware she was even in the room.

Rumi turned back to her notes with an inward groan.

Of course. Of course he’s in this class.

She underlined a measure with more force than necessary. This day just got significantly more annoying. Rumi had just started sketching a variation of the chorus melody when she felt movement beside her.

A chair scraped. Someone sat down.

She didn’t look up. She was busy. Head down, pencil tapping in rhythm with the tune running through her mind.

“So… what are you working on?” The voice was smooth. Casual. Slightly amused. Her head snapped to the side. It was him.

The smug hallway guy. Black tee again, headphones still around his neck, now with the audacity to smile at her like they were friends.

Rumi blinked once. Slowly. “Are you serious?”

Jinu raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Uh… yeah?”

“You almost knocked my laptop out of my hands yesterday and didn’t apologize.”

He tilted his head, like he was trying to remember. “Oh. That was you?”

She stared. “You literally looked me in the eye and said, ‘watch it.’”

He winced a little, then gave a sheepish grin. “Right. Okay, maybe not my finest moment.”

Rumi turned back to her notebook, muttering, “Understatement of the year.” 

He didn’t leave. Instead, he leaned in just enough to peek at her page. “Is that a project for Music Theory II?”

She sighed. “Yes.”

“I’m in that class too,” he said, like it wasn’t obvious. “This is the only open seat that wasn’t right under the AC vent.”

“Lucky me,” she muttered.

He smirked. “You always this friendly?”

“Only when I’m harassed before ten a.m. by guys who don’t understand personal space.”

“Oof.” He leaned back slightly, hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. I deserve that.”

Rumi kept her eyes on her page, jaw clenched. She could still feel him beside her. Relaxed. Watching her work like it wasn’t weird at all. The professor walked in, breaking the tension as the classroom settled. He pulled out his notebook, like nothing had happened.

Rumi stared at her chord progression. It didn’t look right anymore.

The lecture had been going on for about fifteen minutes. Professor Han was deep in a breakdown of modulation techniques, scribbling on the whiteboard while half the class dutifully typed along and the other half stared blankly at their screens.

Rumi was in the former group, barely.

Her notes were neat, organized. Her pencil moved automatically. She could still feel him next to her though. The occasional shift of his arm. The faint scent of his cologne. The irritating way he seemed perfectly comfortable, like he belonged there.

Then something slid across the desk. A folded piece of notebook paper. She paused, blinked, and glanced at it. She sighed, quietly, and unfolded it under the desk with the same level of patience she reserved for tangled headphone cords.

Inside, his handwriting leaned a little to the right, loose but surprisingly neat.

I’m Jinu

If you’re stuck, I can help

Rumi stared at it for a second. Then she flipped the note over and scribbled one word in sharp, efficient handwriting.

No.

She folded it, slid it back to him without looking, and went right back to writing down chord structures. Beside her, she could hear a soft breath of laughter. Quiet. Not mocking, just amused. He didn’t pass another note, but he didn’t move away, either.

The moment Professor Han dismissed them, Rumi was up.

Laptop closed. Notes gathered. Headphones already halfway in her ears. She didn’t even bother looking at Jinu, just grabbed her tote bag and made a beeline for the door.

She barely made it two steps into the hallway before she heard him behind her.

“Hey—wait up.”

She didn’t. He caught up anyway, falling into step beside her like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You didn’t tell me your name,” Jinu said, glancing sideways at her.

Rumi kept walking. “Because I didn’t want to.”

He laughed again with that maddening ease. “Right. Forgot you were on a one-woman mission to ignore my existence.”

“Not hard,” She muttered.

“But you did write back to my note..” He pointed out.

She stopped walking and turned to look at him, expression flat. “Because you were staring at my work like a golden retriever waiting to be acknowledged.”

Jinu blinked, then grinned. “Golden retriever? That’s new.”

“I was being generous.”

“Brutal,” He said, but still somehow looked entertained.

She turned to walk again, and he matched her pace. There was a pause, filled with the soft shuffle of footsteps and the echo of voices from other classrooms.

Then he asked, a little quieter this time, “Seriously though… what’s your name?”

Rumi sighed, still walking. “Rumi.”

He smiled. “Rumi. Cool.”

She didn’t respond. He let the silence stretch.

“Alright. Well… see you around.” Jinu smiled.

Just like that, he peeled off down a different hallway, hands in his pockets, whistling under his breath like the conversation hadn’t been mildly painful.

Rumi slowed her pace, brows still furrowed. What does he even want? Whatever it was, she wasn’t giving it to him. She turned her way out of the building and headed straight to the dorms. She unlocked the building, bolted up the stairs, and rushed to their room to find only Zoey.

Zoey looked up from the bed, legs tucked under her, a half-eaten granola bar in one hand and her phone in the other. “Whoa. That’s an angry entrance.”

“Mira in class?” Rumi asked, toeing off her boots.

“Yeah. Music History.” Zoey squinted at her. “Why? Who do I need to fight?”

Rumi let out a long, exasperated breath and dropped onto the edge of Mira’s bed. “He sat next to me.”

Zoey blinked. “Who—?”

“The hallway guy.”

Her eyes widened. “Him?”

“Yes! And he passed me a note like we were in highschool! It literally just said his name —Jinu— and asked if I wanted help.”

Zoey gasped like she’d just witnessed a betrayal. “No.”

Rumi nodded, deadpan. “Yes.”

“And you said…”

“I wrote back no and slid it right back to him.”

Zoey laughed. “Cold. I respect that.”

Rumi threw her hands up. “I wasn’t being cold! I was being clear. He’s smug, and weirdly chill about everything, and he kept acting like I was overreacting for not wanting to talk to the guy who almost broke my laptop.”

Zoey set down her granola bar and leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Okay, but wait. Are we sure he wasn’t flirting?”

Rumi stared. “What.”

“Some guys don’t know how to apologize, so they just try to charm their way into forgiveness.”

“That’s not charming. That’s infuriating.”

Zoey smirked. “He asked your name, didn’t he?”

Rumi groaned. “Yeah, and then walked away like it was no big deal. Like, ‘cool, see you around,’ all casual.”

Zoey tilted her head. “Maybe he’s not as smug as you think.”

Rumi threw a pillow at her. “Don’t defend him.”

“I’m just saying…” Zoey hugged the pillow dramatically. “Maybe you’re the villain in his coming-of-age story.”

“God, I hope so.”

They both laughed, the tension in Rumi’s shoulders finally starting to ease.

Zoey leaned back again. “You still coming tomorrow?”

Rumi rolled her eyes. “Yeah. But I’m officially renaming it The Party Where I Avoid Jinu At All Costs.”

Zoey grinned. “Perfect. I’ll make a sign.”

Zoey tossed the pillow back onto the bed and leaned her head against the wall. “So… are you mad because he’s annoying, or mad because he got under your skin?”

Rumi gave her a look. “Those are the same thing.”

Zoey grinned. “Not always.”

Rumi flopped back dramatically on the bed, her braid fanning across the comforter. “He’s… he’s just one of those people, you know? The kind who shows up and acts like the whole room shifts around them. And the worst part is, he’s not even doing anything special. He just exists. Loudly.”

Zoey snorted. “You mean confidently.”

“I mean smugly,” Rumi corrected. “He acts like nothing touches him.”

“Maybe he’s just good at hiding it,” Zoey offered.

Rumi turned her head. “Why are you defending him?”

“I’m not! I’m just…” She paused, then gave a small shrug. “Okay, maybe a little. But only because I think it’s funny watching you try so hard not to be interested.”

“I’m not interested,” Rumi said flatly.

“Mm-hmm.”

Rumi sat up and narrowed her eyes. “Do you want me to like him?”

Zoey raised both hands. “No! I just… think maybe you’ve been kind of walled-off since we got here. And it’s okay to let something… maybe someone surprise you. Even if it’s just a guy with annoying cheekbones and a tragic sense of hallway etiquette.”

Rumi blinked. “I hate how specific that was.”

Zoey laughed. “You don’t hate it.”

Rumi sighed, pulling her knees up and resting her chin on them. “I just don’t want to waste energy on someone who doesn’t take anything seriously. Especially not music.”

Zoey softened. “That… I get.”

They sat in quiet for a beat, the kind of silence that only close friends could share without it feeling awkward.

Zoey nudged her leg. “Wanna hear something dumb?”

Rumi glanced sideways. “Always.”

“I once thought the guy in my orientation group liked me because he complimented my water bottle. I spent three days overanalyzing it until I saw him say the exact same thing to a girl with the same bottle.” She paused, shaking her head. “Turned out he just… really liked Nalgene.”

Rumi laughed, a genuine one this time. “Oh my god.”

“I know,” Zoey groaned. “Humbling.”

“You should’ve made it your villain origin story.”

Zoey gave her a playful look. “Too late. You’re already the villain, remember?”

Rumi groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

The door opened with a creak, and Mira stepped in, dropping her tote bag by the door and kicking off her shoes with a sigh. “Ugh. If Professor Kim says ‘Baroque texture’ one more time, I’m gonna start peeling the wallpaper.”

Zoey perked up. “Welcome back, babe.”

Rumi waved from her spot on Mira’s bed. She picked up on the nickname, but didn’t find it weird since all three of them call each other that. “You missed it. Zoey’s trying to set me up with the human embodiment of a smirk.”

Mira paused mid-stretch. “Wait… you saw him again?”

Rumi groaned. “He sat next to me in class. Passed me a note. Like we were twelve.”

Mira lit up immediately, flopping onto the bed beside her. “A note? Oh my god, what did it say?”

“His name. Jinu, and that he could help with my project,” Rumi said, deadpan. “Like some music major savior complex.”

Zoey added, “She wrote ‘no’ and slid it back without blinking.”

Mira gasped. “Cold. Ice queen energy. I love it.”

Rumi smirked a little despite herself. “He followed me out after class, asked for my name.”

Zoey raised a brow. “And you gave it to him.”

Rumi hesitated. “...Reluctantly.”

Mira wiggled her eyebrows. “So he knows your name. You know his. This is giving major setup energy.”

Rumi rolled her eyes. “It’s giving annoying person won’t leave me alone energy.”

Mira grinned. “Mhm. And yet… he keeps showing up. Almost like the universe is trying to tell you something.”

“The universe can shut up,” Rumi muttered, crossing her arms.

Zoey leaned in with mock seriousness. “Do you think he’ll be at the party tomorrow?”

“I’m not looking for him,” Rumi said quickly.

“Didn’t ask if you were,” Mira said sweetly. “Just if he might be there.”

Rumi flopped back onto the bed again with a groan. “I hate both of you.”

Zoey and Mira exchanged a grin. Mira nudged her leg. “But you love the drama.”

“…Maybe a little,” Rumi admitted.

They all burst out laughing.

Mira pulled her hair up into a lazy bun and stretched out on the floor beside the bed. “So. What’s the actual plan tomorrow? Are we dancing? Lurking by the snack table? Starting fights with men named Kyle?”

Zoey held up fingers like a checklist. “All of the above.”

Rumi scoffed, sitting cross-legged. “You two are way too invested in this party.”

Mira grinned. “It’s either this or spend another night crying over harmony analysis worksheets.”

“I wasn’t crying,” Rumi muttered.

Zoey tilted her head. “You were close.”

“Okay, fine. Maybe a single tear.”

They all laughed again, then Zoey leaned back against the wall, her smile softening just a little. “It’s not just the party, though. I think we all kind of need a break, you know? A moment to feel… normal.”

Rumi glanced between them, caught off guard by the shift in tone.

Mira nodded, still staring at the ceiling. “College is weird. It’s like… everyone’s pretending they’ve got it together. Meanwhile, I’m just hoping no one notices I’m googling basic theory terms during lectures.”

Rumi smiled gently. “Same. Every time someone talks about modal interchange like it’s common sense, I die a little inside.”

Zoey sighed. “Right? And then there’s the social stuff. Like… are we supposed to be making lifelong friends or focusing on our future careers or accidentally falling in love at a party?”

Rumi snorted. “Pass.”

Mira rolled over onto her stomach. “You say that now, but I swear… something’s going to shift tomorrow.”

Rumi raised an eyebrow. “Is this a threat?”

“No,” Mira said sweetly. “It’s a prediction.”

Zoey wiggled her fingers mysteriously. “The stars have aligned. You, skirted up and ready for emotional chaos. Jinu, probably lurking in a corner with his tragic boy energy. It’s destiny.”

“I swear to god if one of you tries to push me into him—”

“We would never,” Mira said innocently.

Zoey nodded, grinning. “We’re just the narrators. You’re the main character.”

Rumi groaned and fell back onto the bed again. “Why does this feel like foreshadowing?”

“Because it is,” Mira whispered dramatically.

Rumi turned her head, eyeing Mira suspiciously. “Alright then, psychic. If I’m the main character, what kind of side quests are you two on?”

Mira grinned. “I’m the morally questionable best friend with great hair who always knows where the alcohol is.”

Zoey gasped dramatically. “Excuse me —I am the one who stashes emergency seltzers under the bed.”

Rumi blinked. “You what?”

Zoey gave a proud little nod. “Raspberry-lime. I keep them next to the extra phone chargers and emotional damage snacks.”

Mira sat up slowly. “Wait, are you hoarding party supplies like an apocalypse raccoon?”

“Of course,” Zoey said. “I’m the fun one. With layers.”

Rumi chuckled. “This explains so much.” They all fell quiet for a moment before Rumi asked, suddenly curious, “Okay, serious question—any of you actually like anyone this semester? Like, real crush energy. No judgment.”

Zoey raised a brow. “We’re doing this now?” She glanced at Mira briefly.

“Why not?” Rumi shrugged. “We’re already emotionally vulnerable and wearing matching skirts.”

Zoey laughed. “Fair.”

Mira made a face. “I don’t know. I’ve barely looked at anyone that way. Everyone’s either aggressively into their majors or aggressively into themselves.”

Zoey tilted her head, switching the topic to Rumi. “Rumi? What about hallway boy?”

Rumi groaned. “Jinu is not a crush. He’s a plot device.”

Zoey waggled her brows. “A very cute one.”

“I don’t like him!” Rumi insisted, burying her face in a pillow.

Mira patted her back. “That’s okay, sweetie. Denial is the first stage of a college romance.”

Zoey nodded sagely. “Right before ‘accidental slow dance’ and ‘accidental rooftop confession.’”

Rumi lifted her head just enough to glare. “I will drop out.”

Mira smirked. “You won’t. Not before we see if you two make out behind someone’s bike rack.”

“I hate this conversation,” Rumi muttered, though the corners of her mouth betrayed her.

Zoey hopped and reached over, booping her nose. “You love us.”

Rumi sighed dramatically. “Tragically.”

Chapter Text

When Rumi pushed the dorm door open, the first thing she heard was Zoey chanting.

“Par-ty! Par-ty! Par-ty!”

Rumi stepped in and blinked at the whirlwind that had consumed their space. Music thumped low from Zoey’s speaker, clothes were everywhere, the scent of hairspray lingered in the air, and in the center of it all, Zoey stood on her desk chair, spinning in a skirt and tank top, hands in the air like she was at a concert already.

Mira was sitting cross-legged on the floor with a palette of eyeshadows fanned out in front of her, calmly applying eyeliner with laser focus. “You're just in time,” she said without looking up.

Rumi dropped her bag with a thud. “Why does it look like a Pinterest tornado hit this room?”

“Because it’s party night,” Zoey declared, hopping down from the chair. “And we’re manifesting good vibes and bad decisions!”

Rumi raised an eyebrow. “You started pre-gaming without me?”

Zoey pointed to the desk. “There’s a raspberry seltzer with your name on it, Miss Reluctant Vibes.”

Mira glanced up. “We laid out your outfit. Yes, it includes the skirt. No, you don’t get a vote.”

Rumi glanced toward her bed and saw the black skirt from earlier, a fitted black tank top that was mesh and her trusty black boots already waiting. “I feel like I’m being styled by a chaotic girl group.”

Zoey grinned. “Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

Zoey ignored her. “Now go change! Hair and eyeliner next. We have like… forty minutes before we pretend to be mysterious on a rooftop.”

Rumi hesitated, eyeing the outfit. Mesh?

Mira looked up, her expression gentler. “You don’t have to talk to anyone. You don’t have to drink if you don’t want to. Just come with us. Be in the noise for a night.”

Zoey added, a little softer now, “We’ll be right next to you the whole time. Unless you, like… mysteriously vanish with a boy or something.”

Rumi rolled her eyes but smiled, picking up the skirt. “Fine. But if someone hands me a ukulele, I’m setting it on fire.”

“That’s the spirit!” Zoey cheered. “Now get hot!”

Rumi changed in the room with the others, shimmying into the skirt Mira had thrown at her and tugging the tight black mesh top over her head. Her black bralette peeked through just enough to make her self-conscious, and as she adjusted the hem, she caught her own reflection in the mirror above Zoey’s desk.

Her fingers hesitated at her waistline.

The top clung, really clung , to her. It hugged her arms, her stomach, the dip of her collarbone. More skin than she was used to. Definitely more attention than she wanted to draw.

Zoey was tugging up her sheer tights when she noticed. “Rumi. Don’t fidget— you look hot.”

Mira glanced over from where she was re-applying lip gloss. “She’s right. That top is doing things. In the best way.”

Rumi gave them both a look. “I feel like I’m wearing cling wrap.”

Zoey cackled. “Yes! Sexy cling wrap!”

Rumi groaned and sat on the edge of her bed. “Ugh. Maybe I should wear something else. Like... with sleeves. And opacity.”

Mira crossed the room and sat next to her. “Hey. Breathe. You don’t have to be anyone else tonight. But you also don’t have to hide.”

Zoey nodded as she smoothed her skirt. “Seriously, you look amazing. And you don’t have to act confident. Just fake it like the rest of us.”

Rumi looked between them, then down at her hands. “…I just don’t like feeling like everyone’s looking at me.” She mumbled, trying to avoid looking at her birthmarks.

“Then let them look,” Mira said softly. “You’re the best thing they’ve seen all week.”

Zoey grinned and raised her can of seltzer. “To hot girl anxiety: valid, fashionable, and still showing up.”

Rumi gave a reluctant laugh, bumping her shoulder into Mira’s. “Thanks. For hyping me up like it’s your job.”

Mira smirked. “It is our job.”

Zoey twirled once in her tiny black tank top and pleated skirt. “Okay, group fit check before we head out. Matching black? Check. Boots? Check. Excessive eyeliner? Double check.”

Mira turned up the speaker volume just a little and struck a pose. “We look like the world’s most underfunded girl band.”

Rumi finally cracked a smile. “Speak for yourself. I’m the moody one who leaves mid-tour to make an ambient solo album.”

Zoey pointed at her. “Exactly. And tonight? You’re going to be mysterious and brooding in the corner with your mesh top and your tragic backstory.”

Mira added, “And if someone happens to approach you and say something dumb and charming, you’ll pretend to hate it.”

Rumi stood up, brushing invisible lint from her skirt. “I always do.”

The hallway outside their dorm echoed faintly with distant music and the occasional burst of laughter, students already pre-gaming, doors cracked open with glowing lights and warm, pulsing bass.

The three girls stepped out together in their matching black outfits, boots thudding gently against the tile. Mira led the way, twirling her keys around her finger like she was walking into her own music video. Zoey stayed close to Rumi’s side, keeping pace with her a little more carefully.

They were still laughing about something Mira had said about the party snacks. Something about kale chips being an insult to humanity, when Zoey glanced over and saw it.

The way Rumi’s hand kept drifting down to her left wrist. The way she kept subtly tugging the mesh sleeve lower, like it wasn’t already stretched as far as it could go. Her birthmarks.

That faint violet streak trailing up her arm in branching, organic lines, like tiny bolts frozen mid-flash under her skin. They shimmered just slightly under the hallway light, a soft glimmer she was clearly trying to hide.

Zoey nudged her gently with her elbow. “Hey. You good?”

Rumi blinked. “Yeah. Just cold.”

Zoey gave her a look that said nice try. They walked a few more steps before Zoey said, more quietly this time, “You don’t have to hide it, you know.”

Rumi didn’t answer right away. “I’m not hiding,” She said eventually. “I just… don’t feel like being stared at.”

Zoey’s voice softened. “Anyone who stares doesn’t deserve to see you.”

That pulled a reluctant little laugh from Rumi. “That’s aggressively sweet. Gross.”

“Yeah, well,” Zoey grinned, bumping her again. “It’s part of my tragic soft girl arc.” Rumi smiled, but still didn’t quite meet her eyes. Zoey kept her tone light, but steady. “You don’t need to be confident tonight. You just need to be you. That’s enough. Always is.”

“…Thanks,” Rumi said quietly. Then, a beat later, with a little more mischief, “But if anyone does stare too long, I expect you to spill your drink on them.”

Zoey lit up. “Gladly. I’ve been waiting for an excuse.”

Mira, a few steps ahead, turned and walked backward as she called out, “Are you two whispering about boys or murder?”

“Both,” Zoey replied.

Rumi rolled her eyes. “Obviously.”

They laughed again, the tension cracking like a shell, and together, they disappeared down the stairwell, their boots echoing down toward the music, the lights, and whatever the night had in store.

The dorm building across campus was already buzzing by the time the girls arrived.

Warm yellow light spilled out into the sidewalk from open windows. A group of students lingered by the front entrance with red cups and open jackets, laughing too loud, jackets already unzipped despite the chill.

Inside, the music hit like a wall, bass-heavy and pulsing, underscored by laughter, the clink of bottles, and the hum of a Friday night just getting started.

Zoey led the way, weaving expertly through clusters of students posted up in the hallway and kitchen. Mira followed, nodding hellos to the couple of familiar faces they passed. Rumi stuck close behind, eyes flicking up toward the stairwell where people were drifting up in twos and threes.

“The rooftop’s open,” Mira called over her shoulder. “And they’ve got lights this time!”

“They better have snacks too,” Zoey muttered, clutching her seltzer like a tiny weapon. “I came here to emotionally spiral and eat pita chips.”

Rumi laughed under her breath, one hand on the railing as they climbed. The air shifted slightly with each floor. Less chaotic, more open, cooler with the windows cracked. They stepped out onto the rooftop.

It was wide and imperfect, with uneven tile underfoot and a strand of string lights zig-zagging between old brick chimneys and the stairwell door. A handful of people milled around already, leaning against the ledge, clustered in small groups on folding chairs, or sitting on the edge of the low wall that framed the roof. Someone had brought a speaker, playing something chill and lo-fi that mixed easily with the night.

There was a cooler in the corner, a table with makeshift cups, and a few half-eaten bags of chips. Not glamorous. Not terrible.

Mira turned in a slow circle. “God, I love this vibe.”

Zoey held up her drink. “To being young and socially anxious.”

Rumi clinked her can against hers. “Cheers.”

They picked a spot near the ledge, just far enough from the louder clusters, where the view stretched out over the low rooftops of campus and the city lights flickered faintly beyond.

The sky was clear. The air was crisp and Rumi, despite herself, felt something small and fizzy start to crackle under her ribs.

Like maybe the night wouldn’t be so bad.

Not even ten minutes later, she felt a shift behind her. Not a chill, not a breeze. Just that weird awareness. She turned. And there he was.

Leaning casually against the low brick wall across the rooftop, nursing a drink, watching the sky like it had personally wronged him.

Jinu.

She froze for half a second. Then immediately turned back to her friends. “I hate this rooftop,” she muttered into her drink.

Zoey grinned without looking. “What? Why?”

“No reason.”

Zoey was the first to notice.

She tilted her head mid-sip and squinted across the rooftop. “Wait a second…”

Mira followed her gaze. “No way. Is that—?”

Rumi immediately cut in. “Don’t.”

Zoey whipped around to face her, eyes wide with glee. “Rumi. He’s here. That’s him, right?”

“Nope,” Rumi said, turning her back to the wall like it would erase reality. “That’s some other guy with a tragically relaxed posture and a face you want to argue with. Total coincidence.”

Mira leaned around her, confirming with a quiet gasp. “It’s him. Black jacket, distant stare, drink in hand. He’s practically posing.”

Rumi groaned. “He lives like he’s in a Tumblr edit.”

Zoey bounced on her heels. “Okay, but this is fate. Rooftop. Lights. You in that hot mesh top. Him standing there like a broody music video extra. This is the moment.”

“No,” Rumi said firmly, clutching her can so hard she dented it. “This is the moment I don’t make eye contact and enjoy my drink in peace.”

Mira leaned in with a mock-whisper. “You want to talk to him though.”

“I don’t!”

Zoey gasped. “Oh my god. You’re scared.”

“I’m not scared,” Rumi hissed. “I’m just very secure in my decision to not throw myself at someone who probably thinks Spotify algorithms are a personality.”

Mira cracked up. “He does look like the kind of guy who makes depressing playlists for fun.”

Rumi pointed her seltzer at them like a weapon. “Exactly. I am not falling victim to that brand of chaos.”

Zoey grinned, eyes gleaming. “But what if you are his chaos?”

Rumi blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Think about it,” Zoey said, already building her fantasy. “He’s out here, all moody and composed, and then you show up! Sharp, chaotic, kind of mean but lowkey brilliant, and suddenly he’s spiraling. Emotionally.”

“I want no part in someone else’s spiral.”

Mira shrugged. “Too bad. He’s totally looking over here.”

Rumi flinched and refused to turn. “Don’t lie to me.”

Zoey made a tiny squeal. “Oh god, he is. Girl, it’s happening.”

“No,” Rumi said. “I will literally climb down the fire escape.”

Mira patted her arm gently. “If he comes over, we’ll act surprised. Cool. Natural.”

“I swear to god, Mira—”

“Just breathe,” Zoey whispered. “And maybe fluff your braid. For science.”

Rumi groaned into her hands. “I’m never trusting either of you again.”

They giggled, circling her like backup dancers for an emotional breakdown.

Across the rooftop, Jinu shifted slightly, his eyes flicking their way again, and Rumi had never wanted a giant bird to carry her away more in her life.

“Hey.”

Rumi turned at the sound of that voice, already bracing for impact. There he was. Jinu. Just a few feet away now, casual as ever, one hand in his jacket pocket, the other loosely holding a drink. The rooftop lights cast a warm glow over his face, just enough to make his infuriating cheekbones even more annoying.

She blinked. “Oh. It’s you.” She deadpanned.

He smirked, not offended in the slightest. “It’s me.”

There was a pause. One of those stupid cinematic pauses where the music fades just slightly and you can hear your own blood in your ears. Jinu nodded toward the edge of the rooftop. “Mind if I steal you for a sec? Just to talk.”

Rumi immediately stepped back, putting her drink between them like a tiny shield. “Actually, I’m busy. With friends.”

She turned, prepared to gesture to Zoey and Mira with the flourish of a woman escaping an unwanted conversation. But they were gone. No laughter. No eyeliner. No chaos energy. Just… absence.

“Are you kidding me?!” She muttered under her breath, scanning the rooftop. Mira and Zoey had vanished like smoke in the wind, probably hiding behind a chimney, spying and whispering like the drama gossips they were.

Jinu followed her gaze, his smirk tilting slightly. “They look super busy.”

Rumi clenched her jaw. “I will hex them.”

Jinu chuckled. “So… not busy now?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Depends on your definition of ‘talk.’”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Just talking. Swear. No tragic guitar monologues. No unsolicited poetry.”

“That’s a relief,” She muttered.

He motioned toward the quieter end of the rooftop. “Just five minutes. You can bail if I say anything pretentious.”

“You’ve already said two pretentious things.”

“Great, then expectations are managed.”

Against her better judgment, Rumi followed. Slowly, carefully, like one might approach a suspiciously friendly cat. In the back of her mind, she could almost hear Zoey whispering, Just go with it. And Mira muttering, It’s plot, babe.

Rumi sighed. Fine. Five minutes. Then she was dragging her two traitor best friends home.

Jinu led her toward the quieter side of the rooftop, where the music softened into background noise and the string lights flickered a little in the breeze. He stopped near the low wall and turned to face her, still with that calm, unreadable expression that made Rumi want to roll her eyes and punch a pillow.

He held up his cup. “Vodka?”

Rumi raised a brow. “Is that a question or an offer?”

He gave a half-smile. “Offer. I brought an extra.”

She hesitated, then took the second cup he pulled from his coat pocket, slightly warm and questionably filled, but she sniffed it. Definitely vodka. And nothing pink or sparkly, which was somehow more honest than she expected.

“I’d say thank you,” She said, “but I don’t know if this is generosity or bribery.”

“Definitely bribery,” He replied, leaning against the wall beside her. “Figured you’d need something to tolerate me.”

Rumi sipped cautiously. “You figured right.”

He let out a low chuckle and stared ahead for a beat before glancing over. “Hey. I just wanted to say… sorry. For earlier. The hallway thing. I didn’t mean to freak you out or mess with your laptop. That was on me.”

Rumi blinked, surprised. “Huh.”

“Huh?”

“I just… wasn’t expecting you to actually apologize.” Rumi confessed.

“I’m capable of decency,” He said dryly. “Occasionally. Usually on Fridays.”

She eyed him. “So this is like… your monthly ‘be nice’ quota?”

“Pretty much,” he said. “After this, I’ll go back to being a smug recluse.”

“You say that like it’s a lifestyle brand.”

“It could be,” He offered. “You want in?”

Rumi rolled her eyes. “Not unless it comes with health insurance and a silence button for you.”

Jinu grinned. “Fair. Harsh, but fair.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the party behind them buzzing like a faraway signal. Rumi took another sip, the burn of the vodka settling in her chest.

“You always this annoying,” She asked, “or is it just when I’m around?”

“Honestly?” He said. “You bring out something special in me.”

She turned to glare at him, but the way he said it, so casually, like it was a fact, not a line, made her hesitate. “Is that supposed to be charming?” She asked.

“No,” he said. “It’s supposed to be honest.”

Rumi blinked. Okay. That was new. She cleared her throat, looking back out at the skyline. “You should work on your delivery. It’s about seventy percent ‘cool guy’ and thirty percent ‘accidental sincerity.’ Very confusing.”

“I’ll take those odds.”

Rumi shook her head and took another sip. She still wasn’t sure what his deal was. But for some reason, she wasn’t walking away yet.

Rumi leaned her elbows on the wall, her cup nearly empty before she realized it. The vodka had gone down a little too easily, not because it was good. To definitely wasn’t, but because it gave her hands something to do and made Jinu’s smugness a little easier to tolerate.

Or maybe it was doing something worse.

Because now she felt it, warm in her chest, tingling at the edges of her fingers, her brain just slow enough to let the filter slip. Jinu watched her quietly, still sipping his drink like he had all the time in the world. “So,” He said after a pause, “How’s college going?”

Rumi snorted. “Wow. You mean that in the full existential way or like… academically?”

“Dealer’s choice.”

She swirled the last inch of vodka in her cup. “It’s fine. Mostly. I mean, it’s not bad. It’s just… a lot.”

“Too much?”

Rumi stared out at the rooftops. “Some days. Yeah.”

Jinu nodded slowly. “What’s your major?”

“Music composition. Which basically means I spend most of my time writing things no one wants to listen to and then crying over music theory homework.”

Jinu gave a low laugh. “Sounds healthy.”

“It’s not.”

She looked down at her cup. “I didn’t think it’d be like this, you know? College. I thought I’d have it together by now, but I’m constantly behind, I overthink everything, and my imposter syndrome has its own dorm room at this point.”

“Name on the door and everything?”

“Probably a monogrammed pillow.” She sighed.

Jinu was quiet for a second. Then, gently. “You’re not the only one.”

Rumi glanced sideways at him. His voice had dropped a little, just enough to sound like he meant it to her drunk mind.

“I barely go to half my classes,” He admitted. “I’m good at what I do, but… I don’t know. It’s like nothing feels real yet. Everything’s supposed to matter, but it just… doesn’t hit.”

Rumi blinked. She hadn’t expected that kind of honesty from him. “…What do you do?” she asked.

“Singing,” he said, and rolled his eyes immediately after. “Yeah. I know. Of course I’m an artist major.”

Rumi burst out laughing. “That’s the most pretentious answer you could’ve given. I’d respect you more if you said you were in business studies!”

“Hey,” he defended. “Some of us enjoy poorly-lit studio classes and losing sleep over their singing.”

She shook her head, laughing again. Then paused. “Okay but… seriously?” She added, voice quieter. “Thanks. For being real for like… five seconds.”

Jinu smiled slightly. “Don’t get used to it.”

Rumi looked back down at her cup and sighed. “I drank more than I meant to.”

“I.. noticed,” He said. “You’ve insulted me five percent less.”

“Don’t worry. I’m pacing myself.”

He grinned. “Need some water?”

“…Maybe.”

He pushed off the wall. “Come on. Let’s go find something that doesn’t taste like regret.”

Rumi hesitated just a second longer before following him. The vodka fuzzed the edges of her thoughts, but even through it, she was starting to feel something else. Something almost like curiosity.

The cooler was tucked into a shadowy corner near the stairwell, surrounded by half-empty bottles and forgotten cups. The music still buzzed softly from the speaker, someone having fixed it while no one was paying attention. The rooftop lights swayed gently in the breeze, casting warm, golden pools that barely reached the edges.

Rumi followed Jinu toward the water, her head swimming slightly. The vodka had crept up on her fast, too fast, and the chill in the air suddenly felt distant, like she was wrapped in a coat made of static and heat.

She blinked. The edges of her vision swam for half a second. Her foot wobbled on a loose tile. Instinctively, without thinking, she reached out. Her fingers found Jinu’s hand.

Warm. Steady. There.

He stopped mid-step and looked down, a little startled, but didn’t pull away. “Hey,” He said softly, turning toward her. “You okay?”

Rumi steadied herself, her eyes fluttering shut for just a second. “Yeah. Just… a little dizzy. Not drunk-dizzy,” She added quickly. “Just… surprise vodka dizzy.”

Jinu’s fingers shifted slightly in hers, not tightening but staying where they were. “Okay,” He said. “Let’s get that water.”

They reached the cooler, and he crouched down to dig through the melting ice. Rumi leaned against the wall beside it, one hand on her hip, the other still tingling slightly from the touch. She hadn't even meant to grab him. It just… happened.

He stood up a second later, holding out a half-chilled bottle of water. “Only one left. But I’ll share if you want.”

Rumi took it, uncapping it quickly. “You’re full of surprises.”

“Am I?”

“You keep pretending you’re this smug loner with a superiority complex,” She said, taking a long drink, “but then you go and do stuff like offer water and not run away when I almost trip over air.”

Jinu smirked. “I have layers.”

“Like an onion?” She asked, the vodka taking over.

“Like a parfait. Onions don’t get enough credit.”

She laughed and handed him the bottle. “This doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“Of course not,” He said, taking a sip. “This is clearly a contractual hydration alliance.”

She gave him a slow side-eye, the edge of a smile playing on her lips. “Exactly.”

They stood there a little longer, sharing the bottle, letting the buzz fade just enough for Rumi to catch her breath. The music pulsed low. The rooftop had found its rhythm again. For once, Rumi wasn’t thinking ahead or worrying what came next.

Jinu glanced down at her arms then, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to figure out what the dark purple patterns were. “Those… are tattoos, right?”

Rumi’s lips quirked in a half-smile. “Tattoos? Oh, no, these are birthmarks.”

He nodded, gesturing toward the lightning-shaped marks that traced up her forearms. “So,” he said after a beat, “How’d you get them, then? Like, a birthmark story?”

She snorted. “The funny thing about birthmarks is that you’re kind of born with them.” Jinu blinked, caught off guard by the deadpan delivery. Rumi crossed her arms, thinking for a second. “Well, legend says I was struck by purple lightning in the delivery room. Classic origin story, right?”

He laughed, the sound easy and warm. “Nice. That’s definitely better than ‘I fell asleep in a tanning bed’.”

“Yeah,” she said with a smirk. “Way cooler.”

Jinu leaned back against the wall, watching her with a little more interest. “You don’t mind them?”

“Sometimes,” She admitted. “They’re hard to hide, and people always stare.”

“But you don’t try to hide them now.”

Rumi shrugged. “Guess I’ve got better things to worry about.”

He nodded slowly. “I get that.”

For a moment, the city sounds filled the space between them, easy and comfortable. Rumi glanced down at her nearly empty water bottle, then back at Jinu. The warmth was spreading again, loosening the edges of her usual guardedness. Maybe it was the vodka. Maybe it was the company. Whatever it was, she wanted more.

“I think… I could use another drink,” She said, a little breathless.

Jinu’s smirk returned. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He turned and started walking back toward the heart of the rooftop where the party buzzed under the lights. Without missing a beat, he held out his hand to her.

Rumi blinked, surprised, but after a second, she reached out and took it. His grip was steady and warm, grounding her just enough to keep the dizzy blur from tipping into full-on wobble. They moved through the crowd together, his fingers lightly curling around hers like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Rumi’s heart skipped, but she pushed the feeling down with a self-deprecating thought: Focus, Rumi. You’re here for drinks, not drama. They reached the makeshift bar, the picnic table stacked with plastic cups and bottles.

Jinu snagged two red solo cups, filled one for himself, and handed the other to her.

“To surviving our first semester,” He toasted, raising his cup.

Rumi clinked hers to his, smiling despite herself. “To not making too many fools of ourselves.”

He laughed. “So far, so good.”

As she took a careful sip, feeling the burn and the buzz intertwine, the music thumped softly in the background. A rhythmic pulse that seemed to sync with the slow swell of warmth spreading through Rumi’s chest. The rooftop lights cast a cozy glow, making everything blur just enough to be forgiving.

Chapter Text

Time passed without either of them truly realizing.

Jinu leaned against the railing, his cup half-empty, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. Rumi settled next to him, their shoulders almost touching, the cool night air mingling with the warmth inside her.

“So,” Jinu began, voice low and easy, “How many drinks do you think we’ve had?”

Rumi blinked, considering, but it was rather hard when she could barely stand. “Um… four?”

He snorted. “You’re optimistic.”

“Okay, maybe five.”

Jinu raised an eyebrow. “Five? I’m pretty sure I’m on six.”

Rumi’s eyes widened. “Six? No way.”

“Way.” He smirked. “You’re a lightweight.”

“Hey, I.. pace myself,” she protested, though her cheeks flushed pink.

He chuckled. “Sure you do.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence for a moment, watching the city skyline shimmer in the distance. “I don’t usually do this,” Rumi admitted, her voice softer than before. “Just… talk like this. Open up.”

Jinu turned to her, surprised. “Why not?”

“I guess I’m scared. People don’t expect me to be the girl with the purple lightning tattoos who’s also… you know, vulnerable.”

Jinu’s grin faded just enough to be sincere. “I get that.”

Rumi took a slow sip of her drink, feeling brave enough to keep going. “What about you? You’re all cool and cocky, but you’re not exactly Mr. Social Butterfly either.”

He laughed, a little bitter. “You think I’m cocky?”

“Yeah,” she said without hesitation. “But in an annoying way.”

“Glad I can keep my reputation intact.” He glanced away, then back. “But yeah. I’m not great at this whole… connection thing.”

“Neither am I,” she confessed. “But maybe that’s why this is… nice.”

Jinu nodded, lifting his cup again. “To nice.”

“To nice,” Rumi echoed, clinking her cup to his.

They drank, and the world around them softened, a little less sharp, a little more forgiving. Neither of them noticed the exact count of drinks anymore.

Rumi took a careful sip, trying to keep her balance on the uneven rooftop floor. But just as she shifted her weight, her elbow caught the edge of the table, sending a plastic cup tumbling.

It flew through the air in slow motion, a perfect arc, before splashing right onto Jinu’s shoe.

“Oh no!” Rumi gasped, cheeks flushing hotter than before.

Jinu looked down at his soaking sneaker, then back up at her with mock solemnity. “Guess I’m officially baptized by the party gods,” he declared, holding up his wet foot like it was a trophy.

Rumi’s mouth twitched, and suddenly a giggle bubbled up from her chest. “That’s actually… kind of hilarious.”

Jinu’s smirk turned into a full grin. “See? I knew you had a sense of humor buried under all that ‘don’t talk to me’ energy.”

She laughed harder now, clutching her stomach, the buzz making everything feel lighter, funnier. “I’m just glad it wasn’t the laptop,” She managed between giggles.

Jinu laughed dramatically. “Next time, I’m standing somewhere with less party hazard.”

They both doubled over in laughter, the kind that makes your eyes water and your sides ache. For a moment, the snobbery and the walls and the awkward first impressions fell away. Just two people, laughing way too much on a rooftop, bonded by spilled drinks and imperfect moments.

The laughter faded, but the buzz between them didn’t. They both caught their breath, still smiling, still flushed from the warmth and the night. For a long second, their eyes locked.

Rumi’s heart pounded loud enough to drown out the music. She swallowed, cheeks burning hotter now that she was staring him down. “You know…” She began, voice low and unsteady, “my friends were right.”

Jinu raised an eyebrow, amused but curious. “You’re… hot.” Rumi looked away quickly, fiddling with the hem of her mesh top. Her confession hung between them like a spark waiting to ignite.

Jinu blinked, then looked down the rooftop, just for a moment. When he glanced back, Rumi’s eyes widened. Behind him, two people were making out, right there, under the neon lights and the city stars.

The scene somehow pushed the moment over the edge.

Before she could second-guess herself, Rumi grabbed Jinu’s hand, firm but unsteady, and pulled him toward a darker, quieter corner of the house. Rumi tugged Jinu’s hand gently but with purpose, weaving through the quieter hallways of the house. Her heart hammered in her chest, mixing nerves and excitement with the lingering buzz.

Jinu glanced at her, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “Hey! where exactly are you taking me?”

She glanced over her shoulder, cheeks still flushed. “Somewhere… more private.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Private? You mean like an empty bedroom?”

She smirked, a little breathless. “Yeah. Thought we might need one.”

They reached the door to a small, empty room, bare except for a bed and a single window letting in moonlight. Jinu stepped inside, eyes flicking to hers. “Well, I’m not complaining.”

Rumi’s smile widened as she closed the door behind them. Just like that, the space between ‘enemies’ and ‘maybe something more’ shrank to nothing.

The noise and lights faded behind them, replaced by the soft hum of the night. Jinu’s breath hitched as she pressed close, their faces inches apart.

Their lips met. Rumi’s nerves melted into the kiss, the dizzy warmth of the alcohol mixing with something sharper, more thrilling. Jinu’s hands found her waist, steadying and sure. The world around them blurred even more. No words, no worries, just the heat of the moment and the taste of something unexpected but right.

Their lips parted reluctantly, the heat still thick between them. Jinu caught his breath and looked at her, eyes searching. “So… what are we?” He asked quietly, voice low but serious.

Rumi rolled her eyes, a half-smile tugging at her lips. “Shut up,” she said, tugging his hand again. Before he could protest, she pulled him toward the bed, her confidence growing with every step. “Questions later,” she added, voice firm but playful.

Jinu chuckled softly, letting himself be led, the weight of ‘what’ forgotten for now.

Rumi crawled over him, breathless and impatient. Jinu muffled something into her mouth before she pushed his back to the bed, looking down at him from above.

He stared up at her, face flushed red and breathless. “Do you usually do this?” He whispered as she leaned closer, her lipstick smearing on her mouth.

“No,” She confessed, kissing him again. “But you’re hot and arrogant and I really want to make out with you.” She gasped out, the vodka controlling her actions more than she could.

Jinu looked hesitant at first, but gave in anyway. “Alright..” He whispered, hands reaching up quickly to pull her waist closer, listening to her let out a quiet moan in his mouth. He reached up and wove his hand under her braid, holding her head in place before pulling it back to kiss at her neck.

She whined slightly, gasping enough for Jinu to feel her throat under his tongue. “Fuck..” She whispered, hands searching and reaching anywhere she could reach, nails scratching at his neck and chest. “Take your shirt off.” She demanded, reaching for the hem.

“What?” Jinu asked, feeling his pants grow a little too tight for his comfort. He let her though, throwing his shirt at the end of the bed before he could drunkenly argue with her.

She ran her hands over his chest, nails scratching lightly at his collarbone. “My friends predicted I’d make out with you at this party.” She drunkenly confessed.

Jinu let out a breath, both from the heat of her touch and the surprise in her words. “Oh yeah?” He said, voice low and rough, eyes locked on hers. “And what did you say?”

Rumi leaned in, fingers still tracing patterns across his chest again, her eyes hazy but fixed on his. “I said they were delusional.”

Jinu smiled, something lazy and crooked and far too confident. “And now?”

She bit her lip, her head tilting slightly. “I think I’m delusional too.”

He laughed, the sound soft and just a little breathless, and leaned his forehead against hers. “Guess I’ll have to live up to their expectations, then.”

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him closer, their bodies fitting like they’d been dancing around this all night. The room was quiet except for their breathing, the occasional distant thump of bass from the rooftop above.

“Rumi.. I don’t usually do this with people either.” Jinu confessed as Rumi began kissing at his neck, definitely painting the canvas with her lipstick. It made Jinu shiver.

“Me either, but I think I’m open to it now.” She slurred, biting down gently on his neck.

Jinu groaned, his hips raising on instinct. He flushed red, one hand coming up to cover his face, hair falling into his face.

She pulled away, her lipstick smeared on her bottom lip as she looked down at him. “What? Into that?” She teased.

Jinu glared at her slightly before his free hand landed on her thigh, gently tracing the patterns before just barely slipping under her skirts. “Alright, well what are you into then?” He asked, far more talkative than a drunk person should be.

Rumi laughed, thinking about it briefly. “I.. don’t know.” She confessed. “I don’t have sex often enough to know what I like and dislike, care to help me find out?” She flirted, feeling something under her twitch.

Jinu shifted up a little, holding her back as he flipped them over. He laid over her, looking down at her. Blurry. Fuzzy. Beautiful. “I hope you’re in for a long time.” He whispered to her, reaching for her skirt. He paused before glancing at her, wondering briefly in his drunken mind if this was okay. He got his answer when Rumi leaned forward to help unclasp her skirt, looking excited and a lot hornier than he expected her to be.

He threw her skirt somewhere down with his shirt on the floor and leaned forward, admiring her black panties before slowly taking them off. He glanced at her, seeing how suddenly embarrassed she became. He smirked, sliding the panties off and set them on the nightstand.

“What are you gonna do..?” He heard her ask softly, looking up to see her. She looked almost scared.

He smiled, leaning closer to slowly kiss her. “I’m going to eat you out of course.” He said like it was obvious. He leaned away, not caring to see her reaction before shifting down onto the bed, laying in front of her.

He grabbed her hips and moved them slowly so he could lick up her opening, tongue finding her clit immediately. She was soaked. He could feel it on his face as he ate. She moaned, raising her hips off the bed occasionally as if no one had touched her like this before.

For the most part, she just whimpered and closed her eyes, looking away, too embarrassed to look down at Jinu. Jinu watched her though, circling his tongue and closing his eyes in enjoyment as he sucked.

He raised his hand to her opening, slowly, experimentally pushing one finger in. She made a noise and he waited to start moving it. He quickly added another with how wet she was, curling them up, listening to the way she moaned loudly into the side of the pillow. 

“Jinu!” She gasped, trying to close her legs on his head. He let her for the most part, raising one hand over her leg so she couldn’t move too much, His hand gripped into her side, holding her steady as she continued to squirm.

“Oh my god..” She whispered, lowering a hand down to grip his hair tightly, pulling him closer. He grunted a little, but kept sucking, not giving up the fight that easily. He pushed his fingers in a little more, tilted his head forward for her to pull and finally pressed his hand right on her lower stomach.

She gasped, her hips raising slightly, fighting to get away. Jinu held her tightly down, holding his positon for as long as he could until she groaned loudly. “Fuuuuck–” She whined and whimpered, legs kicking as she came. She gasped for breath after breath, hand pulling on his hair more, her other hand holding on tightly to the bed frame.

He felt her slowly let go of his hair and pulled away, taking a big breath for air, his mouth and chin soaking wet. He swallowed and slowly pulled his fingers out of her, watching the way she shivered and pulled away from it.

The room was quiet now, save for the faint buzz of city noise drifting in through the cracked window. The party upstairs had dulled to a low thrum, like the world had turned down the volume just for them.

Rumi lay on her back, one arm thrown over her eyes, her breath still uneven. The room was too warm, her head too light, her thoughts spinning in slow, lazy circles.

Beside her, Jinu exhaled, one hand resting on his bare chest, the other draped lightly across her stomach where it had been before.

Neither of them spoke at first.

Not out of discomfort, at least not entirely. It was something else. Something quieter. Unspoken questions, hanging there like fog on glass.

Rumi was the first to break it. “…That was stupid,” She mumbled, arm still over her face.

Jinu turned his head toward her. “Was it?”

She peeked at him from under her arm. “A little.”

He gave a slow smile, one side of his mouth lifting lazily. “You’re the one who told me to shut up.”

“I did not expect you to listen..”

A short laugh passed between them, soft, familiar. It didn’t erase the tension that lingered in the air, like something neither of them wanted to name.

Rumi finally sat up, pulling her panties with her. Her birthmarks caught the moonlight again, faint and fading like the last crackle of static in the room as she pulled them on.

She ran a hand over her braid, her voice a little quieter now. “Are we gonna pretend this didn’t happen?”

Jinu propped himself up on an elbow. “Do you want to?”

She didn’t answer right away. “…I don’t know,” She admitted. “I didn’t plan any of this.”

“I didn’t either,” He said. “But I don’t regret it.” He smiled, reaching up to wipe his face.

Rumi looked down at her lap, twisting the edge of the blanket in her fingers. “That’s the problem. I don’t think I do either.”

He watched her in the silence that followed. And then, quietly: “Do you want me to go?” Rumi hesitated. Everything in her screamed for control, distance, deflection, something easy.

But instead, she shook her head. “No. Not yet.” Jinu nodded once, slowly, and lay back down beside her. They didn’t touch this time. They didn’t need to. It was enough to breathe in the same space. To listen to the quiet. To not say anything they weren’t ready to.

Just two people in the stillness, uncertain, a little tangled, and not quite willing to let go.

Chapter Text

Rumi blinked against the soft gray light filtering through unfamiliar blinds. Her head pounded, a dull, heavy throb behind her eyes and her mouth was dry, her skin buzzing with the aftermath of too much vodka and not enough water.

It took her a moment to register that the bed beneath her… wasn’t hers.

The blanket smelled like laundry detergent she didn’t recognize. The ceiling was bare. There were band posters on the walls, definitely not hers, and an old hoodie draped over the back of a desk chair.

Panic fluttered somewhere in her chest. She slowly sat up, the blanket slipping down her shoulders, and froze.

Jinu was at the desk across the room, hunched slightly, typing something into his laptop. He looked different in the morning light. Quieter, focused. His hair was a mess, still damp at the ends, and he wore a faded black T-shirt that clung to his back.

He hadn’t noticed her yet. He just kept typing, earbuds in.

And Rumi— Rumi sat there, frozen, heartbeat climbing with every second. Her mind raced.

What the hell did we do. What did I say. What does he think I—

She looked down at herself. Still in her skirt. His blanket draped over her legs. She remembered kissing. The bedroom. Laughing. His hands.

Shit .

She wasn’t ready to speak. She wasn’t even sure she could move. So she just stared at him, heart hammering, wondering how everything that felt so easy last night could feel so complicated now.

Rumi sat still for another breath, the blanket crumpled in her lap and her thoughts louder than the faint clacking of Jinu’s keyboard.

Okay. Okay. You can get up. You can leave. No big deal. Just… don’t look like you’re sneaking out. Move casual. Quiet. Ninja.

She started to ease the blanket off her legs, toes just brushing the floor. Jinu paused. His fingers hovered above the keys. He pulled one earbud out and turned slightly in his chair.

Their eyes met.

Rumi froze mid-sit-up, one leg tangled in the blanket, her hair an unbrushed halo of bad decisions. “Morning..” She croaked, voice embarrassingly dry and soft.

Jinu blinked, then gave her a slow, unreadable look. “Hey,” He said softly. “You, uh… sleep okay?”

Rumi nodded too quickly. “Yeah. I mean— yeah.. I did. I didn’t… mean to stay? I think.. I don’t know.”

He scratched the back of his neck, glancing at the screen before slowly turning the chair to face her fully. “Yeah. It got… late.”

Silence settled between them, awkward and fragile. Neither of them seemed to know what to say next.

Rumi looked down at her hands. “Did we…”

“No,” Jinu said quickly. “No. We didn’t.. I mean kind of? But no.. not really.. You passed out almost as soon as we were done. I couldn’t find your friends since I um.. Never met them. I just— figured you’d be better off here than wandering around drunk and I didn’t uh.. Want to leave you.. alone.”

Rumi’s shoulders relaxed a little, some small knot in her chest loosening. “Oh. Right. Good.” A beat.

“Not that I regret anything before that,” He added, eyes flicking to hers anxiously.

Rumi flushed, unsure if she wanted to crawl under the blanket again or hurl herself out the window. “…Cool,” She said, voice smaller than she meant it to be.

More silence. Jinu rubbed the back of his hand against his jaw, sighing a little. “Do you want water? Coffee? Aspirin? A new identity?”

That broke the tension just enough for Rumi to let out a quiet laugh. “Maybe all four..”

He stood slowly. “I’ll get what I can manage. You don’t have to rush out.”

“I wasn’t gonna,” She lied, pulling the blanket back up over her legs. “..Probably.”

He gave her a look, half-smile, half-something else, and turned toward the door.

And Rumi sat there in his bed, stomach full of static and uncertainty, wondering how the hell things between them would ever be normal.

Rumi waited until Jinu disappeared into what she assumed was the dorm hallway. The moment the door clicked behind him, she sprang into action, quietly, but with purpose. She scanned the room.

Phone. Where’s my—

There. On his desk. Plugged in. Charging neatly, like someone had placed it there intentionally. She padded across the floor on bare feet, tugging the blanket around her shoulders like a cape of shame. When she unlocked her phone, the screen lit up with a cascade of unread messages. She brought it back to the bed, crawling up to sit with her legs crossed.

(12:39 AM)

[Mira]

rumi whe are you

R you HIFIMM

[Zoey]

youre not aneswring

I bet youre with hirfimm

[Mira]

rufmiii ?

[2 missed facetimes]

(7:04 AM)

[4 missed facetimes]

[Mira]

TEXT US IMMEDIATELY

or I’m emailing the RA

[Zoey]

RUMI IF YOU DIED I SWEAR TO GOD

[Mira]

seriously this isn’t funny anymore

zoey’s drafting a missing person form

we’re NOT joking

[Zoey]

campus security is ONE CLICK away I SWEAR

Rumi blinked, then winced. “Oh god.” She tapped out a message with stiff fingers.

[Rumi]

I’m alive

I’m fine

PLEASE STOP THREATENING CAMPUS SECURITY

I’ll explain later

Three bubbles appeared instantly.

[Zoey]

explain NOW.

[Mira]

where ARE YOU.

[Zoey]

are you with HIM

blink twice if he’s holding you hostage

Rumi glanced at the door as she heard footsteps returning. Panic spiked. She typed quickly.

[Rumi]

yes

also no

it’s complicated

I didn’t die

PLEASE don’t tell the RA

She locked her phone just as Jinu returned with a glass of water and two aspirin balanced on a napkin.

“Everything okay?” He asked, watching her slide her phone onto the bed like she hadn’t just stopped a potential campus-wide manhunt.

Rumi gave him the most innocent smile she could muster. “Peachy.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like a lie.”

“Oh, it is,” She muttered, tossing back the aspirin.

And as she sipped the water, blanket still wrapped tightly around her, she silently debated whether it was better to explain everything to her friends or fake her own death and start fresh in another country.

Jinu set the glass on the nightstand with a quiet clink, then leaned against the edge of his desk, arms crossed, watching her with that unreadable expression again, somewhere between casual and concerned.

Rumi tucked her legs under the blanket, gripping the glass with both hands. The water was cool, grounding. She cleared her throat. “So… about last night.”

Jinu’s brow lifted slightly. “Yeah?”

“I just…” She looked down at the water. “I don’t usually—this isn’t a thing I do. Not that I regret it, I just…” She let the sentence trail off, searching for something honest that didn’t sound like a full-blown crisis.

He nodded, voice gentler than she expected. “I get it. It was a weird night.”

“I was going to say reckless,” Rumi added, glancing up.

His mouth tugged into a slight grin. “Sure. That too.”

There was a pause, not tense, but heavy with the weight of what might come next. Just as Rumi opened her mouth again—

BZZZ BZZZ BZZZ.

Her phone lit up with Mira CALLING in all caps.

Jinu looked down at the screen. “Popular.”

Rumi groaned, pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead. “That’s the sound of consequences.”

“You gonna answer?”

“She’ll call again if I don’t..” Rumi muttered, and reluctantly swiped to accept, putting the phone to her ear.

“Mira, I swear I’m not dead—”

“Rumi.” Mira’s voice was sharp, but beneath the irritation was clear relief. “Where the hell are you?”

Rumi glanced sideways at Jinu, who was clearly listening even while pretending not to.

“At uh.. Jinu’s dorm. Nothing happened—well, not that, anyway. Just… I fell asleep. It’s fine.”

“You fell asleep with a boy you claim to loathe?”

“I was drunk.”

“I know,” Mira hissed. “That’s why we thought you were in a damn ditch!”

Jinu smothered a laugh with his hand. Rumi shot him a glare.

“Okay, look,” she said into the phone. “I’m fine. I’ll come back soon and you can yell at me in person, okay?”

“You better,” Mira said. “We’re already planning the interrogation.”

The line went dead. Rumi dropped the phone into her lap with a sigh and looked up at Jinu, who was now openly grinning.

“Ditch, huh?”

“I’m not talking to you,” She mumbled.

He chuckled and sat on the edge of the bed again. “So… where were we?”

Rumi gave him a look, half exhausted, half amused. “I have no idea.”

Jinu stayed quiet for a beat, his smile fading into something softer, something unreadable. His fingers drummed lightly on the side of the bed, like he was thinking through a dozen things he wanted to say and trying to choose just one.

Rumi shifted, still wrapped in the blanket, eyes locked on the glass of water in her hands. “I can’t do… this,” She said finally, voice low.

His drumming stopped.

She looked up at him. “A relationship. Whatever this could be. I’m not— built for it. Especially not with someone I barely know.”

Jinu nodded slowly, eyes on a wrinkle in the blanket near her knee. “Yeah,” He said after a moment. “That makes sense.” The words came a little too quickly. A little too flat.

Rumi studied his face, cool, unreadable, just like always, but his eyes didn’t quite meet hers. She felt something twist in her stomach.

“I mean…” She tried, “You’re not even my type.”

That earned a quiet laugh from him, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “You made out with me in a stranger’s guest room.”

“Vodka is stronger than my principles,” She said dryly.

He nodded again, still smiling, but this time it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Fair enough.”

Silence crept in again, thicker now, quieter. Jinu leaned back slightly, bracing his hands behind him on the mattress, looking at the ceiling like it might offer answers. Rumi watched him. She couldn’t name the look on his face, but she felt it in her chest. A quiet drop. A pull. 

He wasn’t going to push. He wasn’t going to say it. Something in him had hoped for more.

Rumi didn’t know what he was thinking.

“Friends..?” She offered, the word tasting a little hollow.

He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

She didn’t believe it, and neither did he.

Rumi swung her legs off the bed, pulling the blanket tighter around her as her bare feet hit the floor. The room felt heavier now, like all the air had settled into silence between them. She didn’t want to linger, and yet leaving felt just as complicated. Jinu stood too, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I can walk you back,” he said casually, like it wasn’t anything.

Rumi blinked. “You don’t have to.”

“I know,” He said, moving toward his closet. “But I’m going to anyway.”

He pulled out a worn black hoodie from a hanger and held it out to her. “So you don’t freeze or get weird looks in the halls.”

Rumi stared at the hoodie, then at him. “Do I look that tragic?”

“A little,” He said, trying to keep it playful.

She took the hoodie and pulled it over her head. It hung a little long on her frame, sleeves covering her hands, but it was soft and smelled like him. Clean laundry and something subtle, like cedar or spice.

“Great,” She muttered. “Now I look like I had a full emotional breakdown and robbed you.”

Jinu cracked a smile. “You kind of did both.”

They left the room in quiet steps, Jinu slinging his keys onto a carabiner clipped to his belt loop.

Outside, the morning was crisp and bright, the sun just starting to burn off the lingering haze of dawn. The walk to the dorm was short but stretched longer in silence.

Every once in a while, their hands brushed. Neither of them mentioned it. Eventually Rumi learned to hold herself as she walked.

When they reached the front of her building, Rumi slowed. “Well,” She said, tugging at the hem of the borrowed hoodie. “Thanks for the rescue. And the aspirin. And the… hoodie.”

Jinu shoved his hands in his pockets, nodding once. “No problem.”

She hesitated, not quite stepping away yet. “I’ll bring this back.”

“Or don’t,” He said, eyes meeting hers. “It looks better on you anyway.”

She tried not to blush. Failed a little. “I’ll see you around,” She murmured, backing toward the dorm. Jinu watched her go, not calling anything after her.

As she slipped inside, Rumi caught herself pressing a hand to her chest, just lightly. The hoodie was warm. Too warm. Was he flirting with her? He must’ve been.

Rumi pushed open the door to their dorm quietly, unsure of what to expect. The hallway smelled like burnt coffee and industrial-strength lemon-scented cleaner. She braced herself.

The moment the door to the common area clicked shut behind her.

“Rumi?!” Mira’s voice cracked with disbelief as she shot up from the bed.

Zoey, wrapped in a hoodie and clutching a mug of tea, gasped audibly. Her eyes were puffy, eyeliner smudged. Before Rumi could say a single word, both girls rushed toward her.

She barely had time to drop her keys before Mira’s arms were around her, squeezing her like she’d been lost at sea. Zoey joined a second later, hugging her from the other side, face buried in Rumi’s shoulder.

“Jesus Christ,” Mira muttered into her hair. “You scared the hell out of us.”

Zoey sniffled. “I thought you were dead! Like in-a-ditch dead. I literally cried, Rumi! Do you see my eyes right now?”

“I—what—? You guys—” Rumi’s voice faltered as they pulled back just enough to look at her, hands still clinging to her arms like they might vanish again if they let go.

“I texted!” Rumi added weakly, suddenly overwhelmed.

Mira stepped back slightly to look her over, eyes scanning her face, the too-big hoodie, the sleep-mussed hair.

“That text was hours late and had zero details.”

“I was hungover and disoriented in a stranger’s room! I didn’t even know where my phone was!”

“Was it his room?” Zoey asked, eyes narrowing with a tearful mix of curiosity and concern.

Rumi sighed, tugging the hoodie around herself tighter. “Yes.. It was Jinu’s.”

Mira blinked. Zoey’s jaw dropped. Both of them looked like they had an entire courtroom cross-examination prepped and ready.

“I’m fine,” Rumi said, trying to keep her voice even. “He didn’t do anything.. serious. I passed out. He let me sleep. He was… nice.”

“Nice?!” Zoey repeated, scandalized. “You went from calling him a ‘snobby dickhead with cheekbones’ to sleeping with him!”

Rumi groaned and flopped face-first onto the bed. “Can we please hold the TED Talk until I’ve eaten a bagel?”

Zoey and Mira exchanged a look over her back, one of shared relief… and pure, chaotic curiosity. Then, gently, Zoey placed her hand on Rumi’s back. “Are you really okay?”

Rumi lifted her face just enough to nod. “Yeah. Just… tired. And confused.”

Mira softened, crouching beside her. “We can deal with confused. As long as you’re safe.”

“And hydrated,” Zoey added, disappearing into the kitchenette down the hall in the dorms. “I’m making her hydration tea!”

“She hates hydration tea,” Mira reminded her.

“She needs hydration tea.”

Rumi smiled into the mattress. Despite the chaos, despite the awkward hoodie and the questions she didn’t have answers for yet— she was home.

Zoey returned from the kitchenette holding a steaming mug with far too many lemon slices floating in it. “Hydration tea,” She announced triumphantly, handing it over like a peace offering laced with judgment.

Rumi sat up slowly, hoodie sleeves flopping over her hands as she took the mug. “Thanks,” She muttered, taking a cautious sip. “Still tastes like floor cleaner and guilt.”

Zoey smiled sweetly. “Good. Now spill.”

Mira leaned in from her spot on the bed, eyes narrowed. “Yeah. Start from the roof.”

Rumi blinked. “Like… metaphorically?”

Zoey and Mira, in unison. “Yes.”

Rumi sighed and pulled her legs up, sitting cross-legged in the oversized hoodie that now felt like a security blanket and a spotlight at the same time. “Okay,” she started slowly. “So… we were talking on the roof. And drinking. A lot. Like… a lot more than I realized.”

Zoey raised a brow. “We noticed. You never texted us back.”

Rumi nodded. “Right. So we talked. We bickered. He gave me vodka, which I now realize is a trap. One thing led to another, we kind of…” She trailed off.

Mira leaned forward. “Kind of what, Rumi?”

Rumi looked at both of them, face heating up. “Kind of… made out.”

Zoey gasped like she’d just been slapped with a love triangle plot twist. “In public?!”

“No, no—then we, uh… went inside. To a room.. A bedroom.” She winced as she said it.

“Oh my god,” Mira breathed. “Did you—?”

“No!” Rumi shot back, cheeks fully red now. “I mean… not all the way.” She was quieter now.

Zoey blinked. “Define ‘not all the way.’”

“Mouths.. Hands. Mostly mouth… Clothes mostly on. Technically I still have my dignity.. Mostly.”

Mira covered her mouth with her hand, equal parts shocked and delighted. “Technically is doing a lot of work in that sentence.”

Rumi groaned and dropped her head back against the wall. “You two are so annoying.”

Zoey hit her with a pillow gently to not knock over the tea. “We’re invested!”

Mira’s tone softened. “Okay, but seriously. Are you okay? Like—not just physically. Emotionally.”

Rumi was quiet for a beat. Then she nodded, smaller this time. “Yeah. I think so. He didn’t pressure me. We were both drunk and dumb, but… he was decent. He even gave me this hoodie.”

Zoey gave a long, exaggerated sigh. “Damn it. That’s kind of romantic.”

“No,” Rumi snapped quickly. “It’s not. We agreed it’s not a thing. I told him I can’t do a relationship.”

Mira raised an eyebrow. “And what did he say?”

“…That he understood.” Rumi stared into her tea.

Zoey quietly reached out and rested a hand over Rumi’s. For once, she didn’t joke. “Well. We’ll figure it out. Whatever it is. And you’re not dealing with it alone.”

Rumi squeezed her fingers. “Thanks?”

Mira stood up, hands on her hips. “Now. Eat something before you pass out, drink the rest of that disgusting tea, and then we’re getting you a shower and coffee.”

Zoey added, “And if Jinu texts, you’re letting us ghost him for you.”

Rumi gave them both a tired smile. “You guys are the worst.. I don’t even have his number.”

“And you love us.” They said it together, absolutely smug.

Rumi sighed. “Unfortunately.”

Chapter Text

The steam in the dorm bathroom curled around Rumi as she stood under the hot spray, letting it rinse off the night before. The alcohol, the nerves, the memory of Jinu’s hands on her hips and the way his eyes looked in the morning light.

She closed her eyes, forehead resting against the tile, and exhaled.

Okay. You’re fine. It happened. You’re alive. You’re moving on.

By the time she stepped out and wrapped herself in a towel, she felt more human, still emotionally wrung out, maybe, but less like roadkill. By the time she got back to the bedroom, Mira and Zoey were sprawled on the couch in fresh outfits of their own.

“Ooh, post-shower Rumi has entered her healing era,” Zoey said approvingly.

She smiled and pulled on a fitted cropped tee and a denim jacket, paired with her usual jeans and boots. She brushed out her hair, added a little mascara, and smacked her cheeks until she looked vaguely alive.

“No hoodie?” Mira asked with a small smile.

She stood in front of the mirror and made a decision. No hoodie. It was still folded on her desk where she’d dropped it earlier, soft and a little oversized. She stared at it for a second, then turned away.

Rumi shrugged. “Absolutely not.”

“Coffee?” Zoey offered, already halfway to grabbing her keys.

“God, yes.”

The campus coffee shop was a ten-minute walk, and for once, it wasn’t packed. The three girls grabbed a corner booth by the window, warm drinks in hand, Rumi with an iced oat milk latte she didn’t really want but needed to hold, Zoey with something the color of anxiety, and Mira sipping on an herbal tea that smelled vaguely medicinal.

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment before Mira leaned in. “Okay. Emotional check-in. How’s your heart?”

“Still in my chest, surprisingly,” Rumi muttered, taking a sip.

Zoey tapped her straw against the lid. “So… where do you stand on him now?”

Rumi sighed. “I don’t know. He’s hot, obviously. Smart. Annoyingly clever. And he’s not a total jerk, which is more than I thought before.”

“Yeah, we gathered that from the make-out report,” Zoey said, smirking.

“But I meant what I said to him,” Rumi added, more serious now. “I’m not ready for anything, and I don’t want to screw it up by pretending I am. Besides, I don’t even know him.”

Mira nodded. “That’s fair. You were honest.”

Rumi looked out the window, fingers tightening slightly around the plastic cup. “Yeah. I just… I think he was hoping I’d say something different?”

Zoey tilted her head. “Would it be the worst thing if you saw him again? Just… to talk?”

Rumi didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know,” She said softly. “I don’t want to lead him on. But I also… don’t regret anything.”

“Then maybe that’s enough for now,” Mira said, leaning back. “No labels. No decisions. Just... see what happens.”

Rumi gave a small nod, still staring at the condensation trailing down her cup. “Yeah. See what happens.” Rumi had just taken another sip of her coffee when the bell over the coffee shop door jingled.

She barely registered it at first, another student walking in, probably someone late to their ten a.m. class. Then Mira stiffened slightly across the table, and Zoey let out the tiniest gasp through her straw.

Rumi glanced up, knowing what was waiting for her.

Jinu.

He stepped inside with the kind of tired purpose only a college student who hadn’t yet eaten could carry. Hoodie on. Sleeves pushed up. Hair a little messy. He had that focused, brooding look he always wore when he wasn’t actively trying to look like someone who brooded.

His eyes landed on her. It was quick. Just a glance. One second, two at most.

She saw it. She saw the way his expression flickered. The recognition, the pause, the thought and then how he just… kept walking. No nod. No wave. Not even a polite smile.

He walked stiffly toward the counter, phone in hand, brows furrowed like he hadn’t seen her at all. Rumi blinked. Her stomach dipped.

Mira was already watching her. “Okay, that was... cold.”

Zoey leaned in closer. “He totally saw you.”

“Yep,” Rumi said, placing her cup down a little too firmly.

“You’re sure it wasn’t just..” Zoey began.

“I know how someone looks when they’re ignoring me on purpose,” Rumi snapped softly, eyes still on the back of his head as he stood in line.

Jinu didn’t glance back once.

Mira made a face. “Well. That’s awkward.”

Zoey whispered, “Should we trip him on the way out?”

“No,” Rumi muttered, but her jaw was set tight. She turned her gaze back to her cup, swirling the melting ice with her straw. “He’s allowed to ignore me. I said I couldn’t do this.”

“Still,” Mira murmured. “Doesn’t mean it didn’t suck.”

Rumi didn’t answer. She felt it though. That familiar mix of regret and pride twisting somewhere in her chest. This time, it burned just a little sharper. Rumi sat there for exactly eight seconds, straw frozen mid-stir.

Then she stood up.

“Where are you going?” Mira hissed, eyes wide.

“To commit social suicide, apparently,” Rumi muttered, brushing her hands on her jeans.

Zoey whispered after her, “Say hi for us!”

Rumi ignored that and crossed the café, her heart pounding in that steady, traitorous rhythm only confrontation could summon. Jinu was waiting by the pickup counter, scrolling on his phone like it could transport him to another dimension.

She stopped a few feet behind him. “So are you ghosting me in real time or just on accident?”

Jinu glanced over his shoulder like he wasn’t expecting her voice. When he saw her, his eyes widened just slightly, then he shoved his phone in his pocket, face flickering with a too-neutral expression.

“Hey..” He said, casual in the most not casual way.

Rumi raised a brow. “Hey? Really?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “I didn’t know if you wanted me to say anything.”

“You looked right at me.”

“Yeah..” He admitted, eyes briefly darting toward the table where Mira and Zoey were definitely pretending not to watch. “And.. I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to come over or… pretend like last night never happened.”

Rumi blinked. “So your solution was awkward eye contact and then pretending I was part of the décor?”

“I panicked.” He said plainly.

She blinked again. That… was surprisingly honest. Jinu rubbed the side of his jaw, voice quieter now. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. You kind of made it clear where you stood.”

Rumi shifted her weight. “Right.. I did.”

He nodded once. “So I figured… give you space. Or, I don’t know. Be invisible.”

“You suck at that, by the way,” She muttered, folding her arms. That got the tiniest smile from him. Rumi glanced back at the table, then up at him again. “You could’ve said hi..”

“I’m saying it now?” Jinu offered.

“...Hi,” Rumi said, dryly.

Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, the awkwardness thinned just enough for something warmer to slip through. “Did you sleep okay?” She asked, almost against her own will.

He shrugged. “Got maybe two hours? As much as drunk me remembers, but I finished a paper. So… productive insomnia.”

Rumi nodded. “Cool. I… cried into an oat milk latte.”

He frowned, then hesitated. “Are we… okay?”

“I don’t know,” Rumi admitted. “But I didn’t.. hate last night.”

His gaze softened. “I didn’t.. either.”

A barista called his name, and his drink appeared at the counter between them like a time limit. Jinu stepped forward to grab it, then turned back to her, holding the cup like a peace offering he wasn’t sure how to offer.

“I’ll let you get back to your friends,” He said, stepping aside.

Rumi hesitated. “Yeah.”

She didn’t move yet. Neither did he. They stood there for a moment too long. Not close enough to touch, not far enough to breathe easily.

Jinu glanced down at his cup, then back at her. His mouth opened like he was about to say something, then didn’t. Then did. “I’ll, uh…” He cleared his throat, shifting his weight. “I’ll see you in class.”

Rumi gave the smallest nod, lips twitching. “Yeah. Probably.”

That was all it took.

Jinu gave a tight, vaguely apologetic smile. The kind that said I’m still overthinking everything, then turned on his heel and practically speed-walked out the door, the bell above it chiming like an awkward punchline.

Rumi stood there blinking at the space where he’d been, one eyebrow raised. Behind her, Mira and Zoey burst into stifled giggles. She turned slowly, walking back toward the booth.

“Okay, what was that?” Zoey asked, hands already in the air.

“Was he— did he flee?” Mira added.

Rumi slid back into her seat, pulling her drink toward her with exaggerated calm. “Apparently, yes. Full-on Olympic exit.”

Zoey snorted. “God, he’s so weird.”

Mira smiled over her tea. “And you so like it.”

Rumi didn’t answer.

Zoey leaned in immediately. “Soooo?”

“Yeah, what was that tension?” Mira added, narrowing her eyes. “You both looked like you were on the verge of either kissing or signing a peace treaty.”

Rumi blew out a breath and picked up her drink again. “Neither. We talked. He was weird. I was weirder. Then he escaped.”

Zoey grinned. “He literally fled like the coffee shop was on fire.”

Mira tilted her head. “But you went up to him.”

“I did,” Rumi admitted. “Because I didn’t want him thinking I was mad. Or, I don’t know… ashamed?”

There was a pause.

Zoey raised an eyebrow. “So are you?”

Rumi shrugged. “No. I don’t regret it. I was drunk, yeah, but I wanted to make out with someone that night. He happened to be there, and hot, and shockingly not awful.”

Mira blinked. “So you don’t like him?”

“No.”

Zoey looked almost disappointed. “Not even a little?”

“I like his face,” Rumi said bluntly, taking a long sip. “And maybe the way he listens. But no, I don’t like him. I’m not looking for anything. I meant that.”

Mira leaned back. “Okay. That’s fair.”

Zoey nodded slowly, almost like she was mentally scratching Jinu’s name off a fantasy spreadsheet. “Still. That man clearly caught feelings.”

“Yeah,” Rumi muttered, eyes flicking to the door again. “I doubt that.”

“Really?” Mira asked. “Just your problem if he keeps looking at you like a rejected puppy in class.”

Rumi groaned, dropping her head to the table.

Zoey gently patted her back. “Next time, maybe make out with someone who has the emotional range of a spoon.”

“I’ll aim for that,” Rumi said into the wood. Rumi lifted her head just enough to see Zoey giving her a very serious look.

“He definitely likes you.”

Rumi snorted. “He definitely liked making out with me.”

Zoey gestured wildly. “Same thing!”

Mira chimed in, sipping her tea like a judge at a gossip tribunal. “That man looked at you like he’d written a thesis on your face.”

Rumi raised an eyebrow. “He was just being awkward. Because I was awkward. And we hooked up. Which, again, not the same as feelings.”

Zoey leaned across the table. “Okay but what about the hoodie? What about the whole ‘are we okay?’ thing? And the speed walk of emotional confusion?”

“Yeah, what was that about?” Mira asked, amused. “Dude looked like he was trying to beat his own high score in social flight response.”

Rumi sighed, wrapping her hands around her coffee cup. “It’s not that deep. He’s probably embarrassed or doesn’t want things to be weird between us in class. Which is fair. I told him I’m not looking for anything, and I meant it.”

Zoey squinted at her. “You really think that was just awkward guy guilt?”

“Hundred percent,” Rumi said. “If he had feelings, he wouldn’t have just dipped like that. He’d have… said something. Or tried harder. Or— I don’t know —acted like it meant something.”

Mira nodded slowly. “So no feelings.. Got it.”

Rumi lifted her cup in a mock toast. “No strings, no drama.”

Zoey took a dramatic sip of her drink. “Famous last words.”

Rumi just smiled behind her coffee lid, not worried. Not even a little.

At least… that’s what she told herself.

Chapter Text

The lecture hall hummed with pre-class chatter and the low thrum of laptops waking from sleep mode. Rumi entered with her earbuds in, music low but steady, something with a soft tempo and no lyrics, just enough to help her focus.

She made a beeline for her usual seat. Second row from the back now that it was open, close enough to hear, far enough to disappear. She dropped her bag, pulled out her notebook, and cracked her knuckles like a pianist before a recital.

Focus mode. No drama. No distractions. She didn’t even glance toward the door. Not until someone slid into the seat beside her.

Her music paused itself, a weirdly dramatic coincidence and she looked up.

Jinu. She blinked once.

He didn’t say anything. Just gave her a nod. Not cold, not overly friendly, just neutral. Like they were… acquaintances. Desk neighbors. That’s all.

Rumi forced her voice to stay casual. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he echoed, eyes on his laptop screen.

Silence. Rumi turned slightly in her seat, waiting to feel… something. Tension. Awkwardness. Anything.

He didn’t fidget. Didn’t look her way again. Just scrolled. Calm. Distant. Like she hadn’t had her hands in his hair forty-eight hours ago. Somehow… that bothered her more than if he’d acted weird. The professor walked in. Slides flickered onto the screen. Jinu sat back, arms crossed loosely, paying attention.

Rumi shifted in her chair. Maybe she had been right. Maybe he really didn’t care.

Then a note, face down on the desk. She flipped it over.

Didn’t want to make things weird.

You look good today, by the way.

Rumi blinked. Her heart skipped once. She didn’t look at him. She wrote back without thinking.

You’re still annoying.

His reply came almost instantly.

Painfully aware.

She bit her lip to keep from smiling.

The professor’s voice droned on about soundscapes and compositional balance, but Rumi wasn’t exactly taking notes. Not on the lecture, anyway.

Her pen tapped quietly against the corner of her notebook as she tried not to glance at Jinu again. She didn’t like him. That was fact.

She liked kissing him. She liked his stupid hair. Maybe even his voice, if she was being generous. But like like? No. She barely knew him. He was just another guy who sat too close and smelled too good and walked around like he didn’t already know girls stared at him.

Whatever weird little spark flickered between them, that was just leftovers from a drunken night and nothing else. At least, that’s what she was telling herself when the folded piece of paper slid back onto her notebook.

Jinu didn’t look her way. He was doodling absently on the side of his notes. Rumi hesitated, then unfolded it under the desk.

Still don’t want help with your project?

Also can I have your number or are we pretending we’re 12?

Her brows lifted. She stared at the words for a second longer than she meant to. Then scribbled back with practiced ease.

Still don’t need help.

And maybe I like the mystery of not being reachable.

She slid the note back. He read it. Smirked. Then passed it again.

Fine but you owe me one real conversation. Not just snark.

You choose when

And you’re holding your hoodie hostage

Rumi stared at the paper, then rolled her eyes and sighed, the soft kind that still somehow sounded like a laugh.

She leaned over, whispering just loud enough for him to hear. “I don’t even like you, you know.”

Jinu, still staring ahead, whispered back without missing a beat. “I know. You just like making out with me.”

She blinked. “Shameless,” She whispered.

He grinned. “Efficient.”

The note came back one more time, neatly folded. Rumi opened it cautiously, already bracing for another quip.

This time, it was just a number. Ten digits, scrawled in slightly messier handwriting. No extra text, no jokes. Just his number.

She glanced over at him slowly. Jinu didn’t look at her. Then, right as her gaze lingered, he turned slightly and winked.

Like it was some kind of gift. Rumi blinked. Then blinked again.

She lowered the paper to her desk with the kind of care one usually reserved for suspiciously ticking boxes. Across the way, Jinu turned his attention back to the lecture, smugness radiating off him like body heat.

Rumi narrowed her eyes and muttered under her breath, “You’ve got to be kidding me..”

She pulled out her pen and wrote directly under the number:

I’m not going to text you.

Just so we’re clear.

She slid it back across the desk.

Jinu read it, smiled and didn’t write anything else. Just slid it right back. Infuriating.

Rumi turned her focus back to the lecture, jaw tight, mind very much not on the audio analysis slide currently on the projector. She didn’t like him. He was annoying. Cocky. Way too confident for someone who clearly didn’t know how to take a hint.

That didn’t stop her from glancing at the paper one more time before sliding it into the back pocket of her notebook.

Just to shut him up.

Class ended with the usual shuffle of zipping bags, closing laptops, and the professor yelling a reminder about next week’s assignment over the noise.

Rumi was out of her seat fast, faster than she normally moved after a lecture, sliding her notebook into her tote like she was late for something. She could still feel the note in the back pocket of her folder, practically vibrating with smug energy.

She refused to look at Jinu as she stood. Naturally, he stood at the exact same time.

“See you,” He said casually, adjusting his backpack.

Rumi shot him a look. “That’s it?”

He blinked. “What?”

She squinted. “Nothing. You’re just… calm all of a sudden. Like you didn’t just pass your number to someone who literally told you she doesn’t like you.”

Jinu shrugged. “You took the note though.”

“Only because you handed it to me in class like we’re passing yearbook signatures.”

“And you kept it,” He said, already stepping into the hallway crowd.

Rumi followed with a groan. “Because throwing it away in front of you would’ve been dramatic.”

He grinned as they walked, side by side but with just enough space between them that it didn’t feel intentional.

“You’re very principled,” He said lightly.

“I'm very annoyed,” she muttered.

They reached the hallway junction where their paths usually split. Jinu paused, rocking slightly on his heels.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” He said, like this was a completely normal, tension-free parting. “Good luck with your project.”

“Don’t pretend you’re smooth,” Rumi replied. “You’re not.”

He gave a mock-salute. “Let me know when I can have my hoodie back!”

Then he walked off, cool and unbothered, not looking back once. Rumi stood in the middle of the hall, lips pressed together, bag strap tight in her fist.

She didn’t like him. She definitely didn’t like him.

She still pulled the note out of her folder once she was alone and looked at it again, frowning at it like it had personally offended her.

And then, very responsibly, she stuffed it into the middle of her music theory book, right between page 47 and page 48.

Buried. Where it’ll stay until she probably randomly finds it again.

Rumi stepped out of the main building, pulling her hoodie tight around herself even though the afternoon wasn’t that cold. The walk back to the dorms was a familiar one, concrete, leaves stuck in corners, the dull hum of campus life chattering in every direction.

She just wanted to get back, maybe dump her brain out to Zoey and Mira, then pretend she hadn’t made out with a guy who wouldn’t stop smiling like he knew something.

She was halfway to her building, earbuds back in but not playing anything, when she saw him again.

Jinu.

Heading the opposite direction, down the same sidewalk, typing something on his phone. He had his hoodie sleeves pushed up still and a look of vague amusement on his face, like the world wasn’t real enough to bother him. Another person walked with him, someone with pink hair and a shirt far too small for his muscular body.

Rumi looked straight ahead and pretended not to notice. He noticed her though.

“Twice in one day,” He said as he passed, slowing a little. “You sure you’re not following me?”

She pulled one earbud out, giving him a look. “You’re literally on the most direct path back to campus housing.”

“Which you just happen to be on, too.”

“I live here.”

“So do I,” He said, gesturing loosely behind him.

Rumi groaned softly. “God is testing me.”

Jinu smiled like he didn’t entirely hate that idea. He waved to his friend to leave him and walked closer to Rumi.

She adjusted her bag. “Look, just because we keep ending up near each other doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind.”

“Didn’t say you did.”

“Good. Because I haven’t.”

He nodded slowly. “Cool.”

Silence.

“...Well, this is awkward,” She muttered.

He smiled again, then gestured ahead. “Want company for the rest of the walk, or are you gonna make me take the long way to preserve your peace of mind?”

She stared at him for a second. Then turned away and started walking again. “Walk if you want. Just don’t talk.”

“Copy that.”

And he did, mostly. He walked beside her quietly, hands in his pockets, like this was the most natural thing in the world. Rumi refused to look at him.

She absolutely did not like the sound of his footsteps falling in sync with hers.

They walked in silence for most of the way, the occasional wind brushing leaves across the sidewalk. The dorms were finally coming into view when Jinu glanced over at her.

“So,” He said casually, “anyone in your dorm right now?”

Rumi hesitated. It was barely noticeable, just a beat too long before she answered, but it was there.

“I… don’t know,” She said. “Probably. Maybe. Why?”

Jinu shrugged, like it didn’t matter. “Just asking. You looked like you needed to escape earlier.”

Rumi narrowed her eyes slightly. “I’m not inviting you up.”

He raised his hands. “Didn’t ask.”

She looked at him again, unsure if he was being genuine or just really good at being unreadable. Either way, it irked her. “Good,” She muttered. “Because that would’ve been a weird move.”

“I don’t make weird moves,” He said, smirking. “Just calculated ones.”

She rolled her eyes so hard it nearly gave her whiplash. “Calculated like that note?”

“Worked, didn’t it?”

“It worked because I didn’t want to make a scene in class.”

He shrugged, completely unbothered. “Still counts.”

They reached the stairs of her dorm building. She paused at the bottom, one hand on the railing.

“Alright, well…” She gestured vaguely toward the doors, “This is me.”

He nodded once. “Cool. See you in class, Rumi.”

She didn’t respond right away, just watched him stand there, calm, easy, like they hadn’t just tangled in a messy, blurry night two days ago.

Then, as she turned around, she muttered under her breath “Calculated, my ass.” And pushed the door open.

The front door clicked shut behind her as Rumi stepped into the dorm building, already mentally preparing to dodge questions from Zoey and Mira, collapse onto their shared beanbag, and pretend she wasn’t absolutely bothered by how smug Jinu always looked.

She took two steps toward the stairwell when she heard the door open again behind her. She paused. Turned. There he was.

Jinu, stepping inside like he lived there. Which, technically, he did, just in the other building.

Rumi blinked. “Um.”

He offered a shrug, totally relaxed. “I want my hoodie back.”

She stared at him. “You can’t just come in here! You don’t live here.”

“I do, technically. Just another building.” He gestured vaguely upward, like the lie didn’t need to be that good if he said it with confidence.

Rumi crossed her arms. “Are you following me?”

He met her gaze, a half-smile on his face. “No. I'm improvising.”

“On what?”

“On instinct.”

She stared at him. He gave no further explanation. Just stood there, like this was the most natural thing in the world.

Rumi exhaled slowly. “You’re not coming up to my dorm.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“You literally followed me into the building.”

“I followed the door into the building. You just happened to be behind it.”

“You are so—” She cut herself off, biting her lip to stop the very real threat of laughter.

Jinu’s eyes narrowed slightly, like he caught it. “Do you always glare this much?” He asked, head tilted.

“Only at people who act like they own the sidewalk and the stairwell.”

“Well, I’d argue you’re glaring at me more now than you did after we—”

She cut him off with a sharp look. “Don’t.”

He raised both hands, amused again. “Fine. Hoodie, then.”

He went silent behind her and followed her up the stairs. Rumi stood there a second longer, hands on her hips, before groaning softly and heading up.

She didn’t look back.

And Jinu, for once, didn’t say anything else.

She rolled her eyes and turned head up the stairs. Once up, she unlocked the door. “Fine. You want your hoodie? You’ll get your hoodie.” She stepped inside, holding the door half-open behind her as she walked to her room.

“Stay there,” she called over her shoulder, disappearing into the chill room that used to be her bedroom.

Jinu leaned against the doorframe casually, peering in just enough to catch sight of Zoey’s poster-covered wall and the string lights hanging across the common room.

A minute later, Rumi returned, holding the hoodie, now folded, which felt unnecessarily polite.

She handed it to him without looking him in the eye. “There. Now leave.”

Jinu took it with a little half-bow. “My deepest thanks.”

He started backing out into the hall, pulling the hoodie over his shoulder. Before he fully turned to go, he paused.

“I wasn’t trying to make things weird,” He said softly. “You know that, right?”

Rumi looked up.

Her arms were still crossed. Her jaw tense. Something flickered behind her eyes, not softness, exactly, but maybe understanding.

Still, she didn’t give him much. “You’re always weird.”

He smiled a little. “Fair.” Jinu stood in the doorway, hoodie now slung over his shoulder. He didn’t move yet. He lingered.

Rumi raised a brow. “What?”

He glanced past her shoulder, toward the slightly open door to her room, the chill room, technically. Fairy lights, vinyl records on the wall, music books and notebooks scattered in cozy chaos.

“This is the famous dorm?” He asked, one hand still on the doorframe. “The one where you do all your plotting and refuse to text people back?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes. Congratulations. You’re on sacred ground.”

He smiled. “Can I see it?”

Rumi blinked. “No.”

“Come on,” He said, leaning against the frame like he wasn’t actively violating her boundaries. “Just a quick peek. I’m curious. I promise not to sit on anything or steal a mug.”

She folded her arms, giving him that look again, the one that said you are lucky you’re pretty even if she refused to say it out loud.

“No.”

“You’re very defensive about a space you claim isn’t that deep.”

“It’s not about the space,” She said dryly. “It’s about the fact that you’re the last person I need snooping around it.”

“I’m not a snoop,” He argued, as if that were the problem.

“You’re worse,” She said, leaning against the other side of the doorway. “You’re a nosy flirt.”

He grinned, tilting his head. “You noticed the flirt part.”

She groaned. “Out.”

Jinu chuckled under his breath, but turned around and backed away like a gentleman, smug, satisfied, and a little too pleased with himself. As he stepped out into the hallway, he called over his shoulder, “Still curious, by the way.”

Rumi waited until the door clicked shut before muttering, “So is every cat right before it dies.”

Then she leaned her back against the door for a second too long, eyes closed, willing the heat in her face to disappear before she had to face anyone else.

Chapter Text

Rumi slid into her usual seat, second row near the back, earbuds in and notebook open even though the professor hadn’t arrived yet. She hadn’t slept much. Too many thoughts. Too many texts from Zoey and Mira the night before. Too many replays of Jinu’s smug voice in her head.

“Still curious, by the way.”

She scowled a little at the memory, aggressively highlighting her notes from the last lecture even though they didn’t need it. The door opened behind her. She didn’t have to look up to know who it was.

Jinu moved with that same infuriating ease, sliding into the chair beside her like he had all the right in the world to be there. As if they hadn’t nearly turned a hoodie hand-off into a charged moment in her literal doorway.

“Morning,” he said quietly.

Rumi didn’t look at him. “Is it?”

He chuckled under his breath. “You always this grumpy before ten a.m.?”

She finally looked at him, eyes narrowed. “You followed me to my dorm yesterday.”

He gave a casual shrug. “For my hoodie.”

“And tried to get into my room.”

“Tried being the key word.” He leaned on one arm, resting his cheek in his hand like he had nowhere else to be. “You’re a good gatekeeper.”

“I will throw my pen at you.”

He smirked.

The professor entered, and chatter died down. Jinu pulled out his notes, leaning back in his chair like he hadn’t just spent the last minute grinning at her like a cat who knocked something expensive off a shelf.

Rumi forced herself to turn forward, taking a breath, tuning in. Five minutes into the lecture, a folded piece of paper landed on her desk. She stared at it for a second before unfolding it.

Still not getting a tour?

Just checking.

She didn’t respond, but her pen hovered for a second longer than necessary before she finally wrote one word under his.

No.

She slid it back.

Jinu opened it, read, and, infuriatingly, smiled again. He didn’t write back this time. Just watched the board, tapping his pencil once, twice, a rhythm only he seemed to understand.

Beside him, Rumi gritted her teeth and told herself, again. She didn’t like him. Not even a little.

The lecture droned on, something about resonance structures and sound decay, but Rumi wasn’t really hearing it. Not when she could feel Jinu beside her, too still, too smug, like he was plotting something.

Which, of course, he was. A few minutes before class ended, just as she was starting to settle into ignoring him, he shifted. There was the soft rustle of paper. Rumi glanced down. He slid something across her desk with the side of his hand, smooth and quiet. Another folded note.

She glared at it like it had personally offended her existence. She unfolded it.

In case you lost it.

[His number] :)

With a stupid little smiley face. She didn’t even look at him. She calmly picked up her pen and wrote underneath it.

This is harassment.

Stop being weird.

She folded it back and slid it toward him without breaking eye contact.

Jinu took it, read it, and grinned.

“Duly noted,” He whispered, clearly unrepentant.

Rumi sighed dramatically and went back to her notes. When class finally ended and students started packing up, Jinu stood and slung his bag over his shoulder.

“See you around, Rumi,” He said, tone annoyingly polite.

She didn’t answer, but once he was gone, she looked down at the note again. She ripped it up. Into tiny, pointed shreds. With a deep breath, she dumped the pieces into the nearest trash bin by the water fountain.

She didn’t see the tall figure trailing a few steps behind her, having left just before her.

Jinu watched the whole thing, silent, unreadable, backpack slung over one shoulder, hands in his pockets. He didn’t say anything at first. Just leaned against the wall beside the water fountain as Rumi stepped back, clearly feeling very justified in her decision.

Then his voice, quiet and dry. “Wow.”

Rumi flinched. She turned, eyes wide, then narrowed immediately. “You followed me?”

He raised his hands. “Hallway’s public property.”

“You saw that?”

“Yup.” His mouth twitched, like he was holding back a laugh. “That was a dramatic execution. Paper never stood a chance.”

Rumi groaned. “Great. That’s not embarrassing at all.”

“Hey, if it helps,” He said, pushing off the wall, “I only felt mildly rejected.”

“Mildly?”

He leaned a little closer, smirking. “You ripped up my number like it owed you money, but you didn’t burn it. So, you know. There’s still hope.”

She scowled. “There isn’t.”

“Sure,” He said lightly. “Totally heard that in your tone.”

She stepped past him. “Go bother someone else, Jinu.”

He followed, casually falling into step beside her.

“Can’t. I’m on a schedule. It’s ‘Annoy Rumi’ hour. Calendar’s packed, actually.”

Rumi shot him a look. “I swear to god.”

He smiled, hands still in his pockets. “So dramatic. It’s like we’re in a romcom where the girl insists she hates the guy but keeps talking to him anyway.”

“I’m only talking to you because you won’t shut up.”

“Exactly, and I take full responsibility for that.”

They reached the stairwell. She paused. Looked at him. “You done?”

Jinu tilted his head. “Depends. You still planning to rip up the next note I write you?”

She didn’t answer. Rumi descended the stairs quickly, hoping that if she didn’t acknowledge Jinu, he’d just give up and vanish into whatever annoying cloud of confidence he always seemed to float on. No such luck.

She could hear his footsteps behind her. Not close enough to be creepy. Just close enough to be intentional. By the time she made it to the lobby and pushed open the front doors of the building, she spun on her heel and glared at him.

“Seriously?”

Jinu slowed, hands still in his pockets, clearly unfazed. “What?”

“You’re following me. Again.”

He tilted his head. “I told you. My dorm building is in this direction. This is the shortest path.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re so full of it.”

“Not entirely,” He said, and then added with a shrug, “Also… I wanted to make sure you weren’t still mad.”

“I’m not mad,” She said, turning to walk again. “I just don’t like you.”

“Really? Because you keep talking to me like someone who really wants me to believe that.”

She didn’t respond. Just kept walking. And he kept following.

They passed under the shade of a tall tree near the dorms, the late morning sun casting patterns across the sidewalk. Rumi could feel him there beside her, not touching, not speaking, but radiating that same annoying Jinu energy that somehow took up twice the space it should.

When they reached the front doors of her dorm building, she stopped abruptly. Jinu nearly bumped into her. “Okay,” She said, turning to him. “This is it. This is where you do not follow me further.”

He blinked innocently. “What if I need something?”

“Like what?”

“Directions,” He said with a too-sincere smile. “To your room.”

She let out a sharp, disbelieving breath. “Try that line on someone who doesn’t know how full of shit you are.”

He grinned. “So that’s a no?”

“That’s a you need to leave now, Jinu.”

“I’ll leave when I get to see your room.” He grinned softly.

She crossed her arms and shot him a pointed look. “If I show you my room, will you finally stop following me?”

He blinked, caught off guard for a second, then smiled slow and wide. “You really don’t want me to see the mess, huh?”

“Trust me, it’s exactly as bad as you think.”

Jinu shrugged, still grinning. “I’m curious now.”

Rumi sighed, rolling her eyes. “Fine, but this is your last chance.”

He raised an eyebrow. “A risky gamble.”

She grabbed her keys, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. Rumi pushed open the dorm entrance, motioning for Jinu to step inside. “Alright, welcome to the chaotic kingdom,” she muttered, steering him through the common area.

Jinu followed, hands casually tucked in his pockets, eyes scanning the hall like he owned the place.

“This way,” Rumi said, turning down the hall to her room. “But first, you have to see the real prize.”

She swung open the door to the room next to hers. “Behold. The Chill Room,” She announced like a tour guide revealing a hidden treasure.

Inside, the space was cozy and inviting, one bed, string lights draped around the ceiling, posters of indie bands and vintage concert flyers plastered on the walls. A low table held an assortment of board games, sketchbooks, and half-finished mugs of tea.

Zoey and Mira’s voices floated softly the other room, laughing over something.

Jinu took a slow step in, nodding appreciatively. “Okay, not bad. Looks... comfortable.”

Rumi smirked. “It’s my unofficial living room. Since I don’t have a roommate, I kinda stole the next door room and made it our hangout.”

“Resourceful,” Jinu said, scanning the shelves. His gaze flicked to a small stack of vinyl records and a battered guitar resting against the bed.

“You play?” Rumi asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Only when I think no one’s listening,” He said with a grin. “Mostly I’m better at annoying people.”

She snorted. “Right now you’re excelling at that.”

Before either could say more, Zoey popped her head in. Zoey’s eyes went wide, and she exchanged a quick, shocked glance with someone in the hall.

“Wait — Jinu? Here? In our dorm?” Zoey blurted, voice a little too loud.

Mira blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Did you… invite him in, Rumi?”

Rumi jumped, trying to play it cool but feeling a flush creep up her neck. “I mean, he was following me.. and I told him if I showed him my room, he had to stop.”

Zoey gave her a pointed look. “So... you just let him in?”

Rumi folded her arms. “I didn’t exactly invite him to crash or anything. Just... showed him the chill room. It’s not like he’s moving in.”

Mira frowned, still processing. “You’re seriously letting him hang out here? The same guy you can’t stand?”

“I don’t– can’t stand him,” Rumi said, slightly defensive. “I just don’t like him enough to date him.”

Zoey shook her head with a grin. “Only you would have that level of ‘don’t like but tolerate’ diplomacy.”

Mira laughed softly. “Yeah. Still weird.”

Jinu sat quietly on the edge of the bed, smirking. “Hey, I’m flattered.”

Rumi rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips.

Zoey crossed her arms, grinning. “Well, if you’re going to have Jinu here, you better keep him in line.”

Mira nodded in agreement. “We’ll be watching you, Rumi.”

Rumi groaned, mock exasperated. “Great. Now I’m the designated Jinu babysitter.”

Zoey grabbed her bag, nudging Mira. “Alright, we’re gonna hit the library for a bit. Rumi, don’t let Jinu scare you off, okay?”

Mira laughed softly. “Yeah, try not to strangle him.”

Rumi gave a mock glare. “Ha, hilarious. I’m a professional at handling annoying.”

The girls waved and headed out, the door clicking shut behind them. Silence stretched between Rumi and Jinu for a beat. Then Jinu smirked, sliding off the bed. “So, now that I’m officially your chill room guest, does that come with snacks?”

Rumi rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

Jinu leaned casually against the wall. “Impossible? That’s a new one. Usually it’s ‘annoying,’ or ‘snob.’”

“Snob is accurate.”

He grinned. “Touché. So, what’s the deal with the purple lightning marks, anyway? You still pretending they’re birthmarks?”

Rumi sighed, crossing her arms. “The funny thing about birthmarks is you’re kind of born with them.” She repeated from their last conversation.

“Come on, there’s gotta be a cooler story.”

“Not everything has to be a mystery, Jinu.”

He chuckled. “You’re no fun.”

Rumi smirked, finally relaxing a little. “Someone’s gotta keep you in check.”

Jinu winked. “Guess I’m lucky you’re up for the job.”

Jinu asked, sly grin playing at the corner of his mouth. “So, seriously. Purple lightning marks? That’s gotta come with some epic backstory.”

Rumi shifted uncomfortably, pulling her sleeves down a little to cover them. “I told you, it’s just birthmarks. Like, you know… the kind you’re born with.”

“Yeah, but everyone’s birthmarks aren’t purple lightning bolts.” His eyes sparkling with mischief. “You sure you’re not hiding some secret superhero origin? Or maybe a cursed family legacy?”

Rumi snorted, shaking her head. “Nope. Just me. Completely normal. Born with weird skin.”

Jinu laughed. “You make it sound so boring. Come on, give me something to work with here.”

She smirked, folding her arms. “Sorry to disappoint, but nope. No magic, no curses, no dark family secrets. Just some extra-unique skin.”

He pretended to groan dramatically. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Rumi frowned. “Maybe the mystery’s in the fact there isn’t one.”

Jinu shook his head, still smiling. “Alright, I’ll take that, but I’m not giving up on the superhero theory just yet.”

Rumi huffed, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “You’re seriously impossible, you know that?”

Jinu grinned, stepping closer until the space between them shrank to just inches. “Maybe that’s why you can’t stop thinking about me.”

She rolled her eyes, but her breath hitched when he didn’t back away. Instead, Jinu leaned in, his gaze locked on hers. Before she could stop herself, his lips met hers. Rumi’s eyes fluttered closed, surprise softening into something else, a flicker of warmth, confusion mixing in as her heart sped up.

After a moment, she pulled back, eyes searching his. “What was that?”

Jinu smirked, a little breathless. “Just making sure you’re paying attention.”

Rumi shook her head, half-laughing, half-annoyed. “You’re unbelievable.”

Jinu didn’t give her much time to think. Before Rumi could step back, he closed the distance again, his lips pressing firmly against hers.

This time, there was no surprise, just a slow, deliberate kiss that sent a shiver down her spine. His hand found her waist, pulling her a little closer, and Rumi’s breath hitched, caught somewhere between resistance and something unexpected. Her hands found his shoulder and held the fabric of his hoodie tightly.

When they finally parted, his eyes searched hers, calm but intense.

“Still going to say no?” He whispered.

Rumi gasped, heart pounding, caught off guard by how much she didn’t want to. “No.” She replied fully and nearly jumped on him to kiss him again, her hands playing with the back of his hair. She moaned softly into the kiss, unsure of what came over her.

She pulled away briefly, yelping in surprise when Jinu picked her up. Jinu’s hands tightened slightly on her waist as he lowered her onto the bed, never breaking their kiss. The heat between them pulsed, urgent. Rumi’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.

Her breath hitched, eyes fluttering closed, lost in the rush of sensation she hadn’t expected but couldn’t resist. For a brief moment, everything else, her doubts, the awkwardness, the snarky banter, faded into the background, leaving only this charged, electric connection.

When they finally pulled apart, both a little breathless, Jinu’s voice was low, almost a whisper.

“Are you sure you don’t want this?”

Rumi’s heartbeat thundered in her ears, her gaze flickering with a mixture of surprise and something vulnerable she hadn’t planned to show. “Yeah,” She whispered, but her voice betrayed her uncertainty.

Jinu smiled, a hint of challenge in his eyes, and leaned in again, brushing a soft kiss against her forehead. “Good. Because neither do I.”

“Wait—” Rumi gasped unexpectedly, pushing him away, slightly breathless. “We.. We aren’t anything. I don’t want to date you.. You know that.. Right?”

Jinu paused, his eyes searching hers, the teasing glint fading into something softer, almost vulnerable. “Yeah,” He said quietly, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. “I know..” He sat back on the edge of the bed beside her, running a hand through his hair. “But maybe… we don’t have to decide what we are right now.”

Rumi frowned, still catching her breath. “I’m not sure what you want.”

Jinu shrugged, looking almost.. sad? “Honestly? I’m just here for the moment. No labels, no pressure.” He glanced at her, half-smirk still playing on his lips. “Just two people who don’t really like each other but can’t seem to stop kissing.”

Rumi blinked, caught off guard by how true that sounded.

Rumi scooted back against the wall, running a hand over her braid as she tried to steady her breath. “So, what does that even mean? No labels, no pressure? Just… whatever this is?”

Jinu smiled, eyes warm but mischievous. “It means we don’t have to overthink it. We don’t have to pretend we’re anything more than what we are right now— two people who accidentally kissed way too much and maybe kind of liked it.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “That sounds like the most frustrating kind of relationship.”

He shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s the most honest. It’s not a relationship. No expectations, no strings. Just... moments like this.”

Rumi eyed him skeptically. “Sounds like you’re trying to talk me into it.”

“Maybe I am,” He admitted, leaning closer. “But you can say no anytime.”

She studied him, searching for any hint of manipulation, but found none. “And if I say yes?”

Jinu’s grin widened. “Then we keep making out..? No pressure, remember?”

Rumi let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yeah, but you like it.” He winked.

She rolled her eyes but smiled. “I doubt that.” Rumi shifted, propping her knees up, the dim light casting soft shadows across the room. “I just… I don’t want to get tangled up in some college drama. I’m here to focus— school, music, not… whatever this is.”

Jinu nodded, his expression serious now. “I get that. I’m not looking to complicate things either, but sometimes, the unexpected moments are the ones that make everything else worthwhile.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you get so poetic?”

He smirked. “Only when I’m talking to you.”

Rumi laughed, the tension easing between them. “Alright, then. No labels, no pressure. Just… whatever happens.”

“Exactly.” Jinu reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “We take it as it comes. Deal?” He offered his hand out to her.

“Deal.” She smiled, feeling a rare lightness settle over her as she reached for his hand.

Chapter Text

The morning light filtered in through the half-closed blinds, casting a soft glow across the room. Rumi stirred, her eyes fluttering open, her head heavy and her limbs comfortably tangled in the blankets. For a brief moment, everything felt still, quiet, even peaceful.

Then her eyes shot wide. “Oh my god.” She sat up abruptly, scrambling for her phone on the floor beside the bed. Jinu groaned behind her, still half-asleep, buried under the blankets.

“What time is it?” She muttered, unlocking her phone with fumbling fingers, not even processing Jinu asleep in her bed.

Then she saw it.

9:42 AM.

Project Due: 10:30 AM.

Music Composition II. The entire reason she had been holed up in the café days ago, avoiding parties and distractions like… well, this exact one. “Shit,” She whispered, already climbing over the side of the bed.

Jinu peeked an eye open, voice rough with sleep. “Morning to you too.”

“I have a project due. Now. I—I didn’t finish the revisions.” She was yanking her shirt back over her head, hair a mess, adrenaline kicking in like a shot of espresso.

Jinu propped himself up lazily on one elbow. “Want me to walk you?”

“No,” She huffed, hopping onto her laptop. “I want a time machine.”

He chuckled. “Damn, I’d need one of those every semester.”

“Not helping,” Rumi muttered, unlocking her computer to open her project.

Jinu sat up, watching her spin in a circle like she was trying to remember what dimension she was in. “You’re cute when you panic.”

She shot him a glare. “And you’re distracting when I’m failing.”

He held up his hands. “Fair.”

She took one last deep breath, then paused at her desk, glancing back. “…Thanks for not being weird about yesterday.”

Jinu just gave her a sleepy smile. “Go kill that project, lightning girl.”

“Okay, okay… okay, I’ve got this,” She muttered to herself, fingers flying over the keyboard. “The second movement needs the reharmonization, and I never exported the final— oh my god, I never exported the final.” She paused, glancing back at Jinu. She blinked, finally realizing where he was. “I don’t have time to process this,” She said out loud to no one in particular and turned around.

Jinu’s voice came again, muffled by her pillow. “Process what?”

“I don’t remember how you got here,” Rumi snapped, eyes still glued to her laptop screen. “And I genuinely don’t care right now. I have a project due in less than thirty minutes and if I don’t turn it in, I’ll fail.”

She finally turned halfway in her desk chair, pointing an accusing finger. “Stay quiet, don’t move, and pretend you’re not here.”

Jinu raised an eyebrow, still mostly buried in blankets. “That’s going to be tough. This pillow’s too good.”

Rumi turned back to the screen with a groan. “Oh my god, I’m in actual hell.”

Rumi’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, the blinking cursor taunting her like a ticking clock. She scrolled through her project file, layers of notes, half-done harmonies, audio clips labeled “finalFINALrevised2” and “useTHISmaybe.” Her brain refused to make sense of any of it.

“This isn’t the right version,” She muttered, scrolling faster. “Why did I name it like this? Why are there five versions that say ‘final’? I hate me.”

From the bed, Jinu yawned dramatically. “Do you always narrate your breakdowns?”

“Do you always wake up in other people’s beds without warning?” She snapped, eyes locked on the screen. “Because I genuinely don’t remember falling asleep with you back here.”

Jinu rolled onto his side. “I think you said something like, ‘If you make me another drink, I’ll let you steal my blanket.’”

“That sounds fake,” She grumbled.

He shrugged. “It is. I think we just fell asleep.”

Rumi groaned and leaned her head into her hands. “This harmony sounds wrong. This whole section sounds like garbage. And I forgot to bounce the MIDI tracks to audio—what is my life.”

Jinu tilted his head from the bed. “Need help?”

She turned slowly to glare at him. “If you touch my laptop, I will throw it and you out the window.”

He grinned. “Okay, so that’s a no.”

“I don’t need help,” She muttered, spinning back to her screen. “I need a miracle.”

The screen blinked again. So did her eye.

“I think I’m going to cry,” She whispered, equal parts despair and resignation.

Jinu, wisely, stayed quiet this time.

Rumi stared at the jumbled mess of overlapping tracks, her heart racing, chest tightening. It looked worse the more she tried to untangle it. Notes clashed where they shouldn’t, reverb overlapped, and one of the sample tracks wasn’t even loading. She was seconds from either screaming or bursting into tears.

Behind her, the bed creaked. She didn’t look.

“Don’t,” She muttered weakly, not even sure what she meant by it.

Jinu didn’t say anything. She felt him approach behind her, bare feet padding softly across the floor. He moved closer, standing just over her shoulder.

Rumi opened her mouth to protest, but then he leaned down and gently reached around her, tapping a few keys. His fingers flew with a calm precision she hadn’t expected. He closed the wrong file, reopened a backup, dragged two sections of audio into alignment, and adjusted the track levels. She watched, stunned and speechless, as the harmony clicked into place.

The difference was instant. It sounded… good. Not perfect, but clean. Salvageable. Hers.

He didn’t say a word. Just nudged the laptop slightly toward her and stepped back, heading for her water bottle on the dresser like nothing had happened.

Rumi blinked, her voice barely a whisper. “How did you…?”

Jinu took a sip, then handed her the bottle with a calm look. “I pay attention.” And with that, he climbed back into her bed and disappeared under the blanket again.

Rumi stared at the screen, stunned, her throat tight— but this time, not from panic.

“…Thanks,” She said softly.

“Don’t get used to it,” came his muffled reply.

She almost smiled. Rumi exhaled sharply, fingers flying over the keyboard as she uploaded the revised file, double-checked the timestamp, and finally… submitted.

“Done,” She whispered, slumping back in her chair. Her heartbeat still thudded in her chest, but the worst of the panic had passed. Barely. Behind her, Jinu shifted again, sitting up in her bed with the blanket tangled around his waist, hair completely wrecked.

“You lived,” He said.

“Barely.” She turned in her chair to face him. “I’m not sure whether to thank you or be mad you fixed that faster than I could even understand it.”

Jinu smiled, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’ll take ‘mysterious and irritatingly useful’ as a compliment.”

She sighed, rubbing her face. “Well, now that the academic crisis is over…”

He tilted his head. “Want to go get coffee?”

Rumi blinked. “Like… now?”

“Yeah.” Jinu stood, stretching with a yawn before grabbing the hoodie he’d left draped over her chair. “You look like you haven’t had caffeine in twelve hours and I still feel like I owe you an explanation.”

“About what?”

He looked at her evenly, expression a little more serious now. “About… this. Us. Whatever’s happening. If you’re still into the idea of anything, I can deal, but we should probably talk.”

Rumi hesitated. Her instinct was to deflect, push it away, make some sarcastic comment. But she didn’t. Instead, she nodded slowly. “Yeah. Okay,” she said. “Coffee and a very weird, possibly awkward conversation.”

Jinu grinned. “It’s what I do best.”

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t entirely easy either. Rumi stood and stretched, cracking her neck before digging through her drawer for a clean shirt. She caught Jinu glancing at her reflection in the mirror, but he didn’t say anything.

He pulled his hoodie on while she slipped into a loose-fitting tee and jeans, then grabbed her brush and quickly tried to tame her slept-on braid of hair. Jinu was already lacing his shoes when she grabbed her tote bag, shoving her laptop inside like she might need the excuse to leave halfway through their talk.

“Do you need to stop at your place or…?” She asked, vaguely gesturing to him.

Jinu shook his head. “Nah. I can survive a deep conversation looking like this.”

She raised a brow. “Barely.”

He smirked and held the door open. “After you, chaos queen.”

Rumi rolled her eyes but stepped out, the hallway quiet except for their soft footsteps. As they walked side by side down the dorm corridor, she tucked her hands into her pockets.

“Let’s just get the coffee first,” She muttered. “Then we’ll see how bad this conversation’s going to be.”

Jinu nudged her lightly with his shoulder. “I’m guessing a seven out of ten on the emotional discomfort scale.”

She gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Only seven?”

They pushed through the building’s front doors, sunlight spilling over them as they stepped out into the cool campus morning.

The sidewalk was still damp from the morning sprinklers, the scent of warm pavement rising up between footsteps. Rumi kept her eyes forward, her hands still jammed into her hoodie pocket— his hoodie, technically, but she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of pointing it out.

“So,” Jinu said after a few quiet strides. “Is this the part where we pretend nothing weird has happened between us and just talk about the weather?”

Rumi side-eyed him. “The weather’s pretty mid today. Fitting.”

He chuckled. “Fair.”

They passed a group of students huddled on the lawn with sketchbooks, someone’s guitar drifting in the background. Rumi took a breath.

“So. You’re just… good with music software? That whole fix-it moment earlier?”

Jinu shrugged. “I do sound editing for a few upperclassmen. Side gig.”

She nodded slowly. “Huh. That makes you mildly more tolerable.”

“Mildly? I just saved your GPA.”

“You helped save it. I did the work.”

He smiled. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

She rolled her eyes but the corner of her mouth twitched. “You’re still annoying.”

“And you still like kissing me.”

Rumi stopped walking for half a second, just enough for him to smirk. “Wow,” She muttered, catching up. “You’re really leaning into that confidence thing.”

“I figure if I make you laugh or flustered, I’m winning either way.”

“You’re a menace.”

He shrugged. “You’re still walking beside me.”

They rounded the corner toward the off-campus coffee shop, the smell of espresso already in the air. Rumi could feel the conversation shifting, whatever came next wasn’t going to be easy. For now, they kept walking, something unspoken simmering between each step.

The bell above the door chimed softly as they stepped inside, the hum of espresso machines and quiet conversation wrapping around them. The shop was cozy, worn wooden floors, soft indie music playing overhead, the scent of dark roast thick in the air.

Rumi let her eyes skim the drink board out of habit, even though she always ordered the same thing. Jinu stepped ahead of her at the counter.

“I got it,” He said casually.

Rumi narrowed her eyes. “You don’t have to—”

“Consider it a thank-you for not murdering me when you woke up and found me in your bed.”

Her lips quirked, but she didn’t argue.

Jinu glanced at her. “Iced vanilla latte, right?”

She blinked. “…How do you know that?”

“You ordered it when we bumped into each other that day. Post drunk make out trauma,” He said with a grin, then turned to the barista. “Iced vanilla latte and a large black coffee. Room for regret.”

The barista chuckled. “You mean room for cream?”

“Nope,” Jinu said.

They moved to the pick-up side. Rumi crossed her arms. “So you do pay attention.”

“Only when I want to,” He said, giving her a sideways look.

Once their drinks were ready, they snagged a small table near the back, tucked against a window. Rumi sat down, clutching her cup more for something to do than for the caffeine. Jinu sat across from her, spinning his cup idly in his hands before looking up.

He didn’t smile this time. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s talk.”

Rumi leaned back. “About?”

He raised a brow. “Don’t play dumb. You know what.”

She exhaled slowly, gaze dropping to her coffee. “…Us.”

“Yeah,” he said. “That.”

Rumi stared at the swirling ice in her drink for a long moment before finally speaking. “I don’t want anything,” She said quietly.

Jinu blinked. “Nothing?”

“I’m not looking to date anyone. I told you that from the start.” She glanced up, her expression guarded but honest. “I don’t have the energy for it, I don’t have the time, and frankly, I don’t think I’m even built for it right now.”

He leaned back slowly, nodding as he absorbed that. “Okay,” He said. “Noted.”

She watched him carefully, waiting for disappointment to flicker across his face, but it didn’t—not in the way she expected. He was still hard to read. Cool. Calm. A little too calm.

“…That’s it?” She asked.

He shrugged. “You’re not obligated to want me, Rumi.”

There was a beat.

“But,” He added, tone lighter now, “if you’re not looking for anything serious, and we… clearly have desires..”

Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t say it.”

“Why not?” He said, smiling just enough to make her suspicious. “Friends with benefits. No pressure, no labels, just… when we feel like it.”

Rumi took a sip of her drink, unimpressed. “You’re suggesting we casually hook up while pretending to be friends?”

“I’m suggesting we be friends, and also acknowledge the fact that making out with you is dangerously fun.” He lifted his coffee like a toast. “Could be worse.”

She stared at him. He wasn’t smirking anymore. He looked… oddly sincere. “Okay but what if one of us catches feelings?” She asked.

“Then we stop,” Jinu replied smoothly. “Or talk about it, but we don’t let it wreck either of us. That’s the deal.”

Rumi leaned back, considering him for a long, quiet moment. “Are you serious about this?”

“More serious than you’d think,” He said, watching her carefully. “But only if you’re the one to decide. I’m not pushing.”

She let out a breath, her fingers tapping against the side of her cup. “We’re not a couple.”

“Not even close,” He agreed.

“And I reserve the right to walk away if it gets weird.”

“Deal.”

A pause.

“…You’re still annoying,” She muttered.

He grinned. “And yet, you still keep kissing me.”

Rumi took another sip of her drink, staring out the window like the answer might be written in the condensation on the glass. Jinu didn’t push. He just waited, quietly sipping his own coffee, letting her process.

After a minute, she turned back to him. “Okay,” She said carefully. “If— and I mean if— we do this… there’s going to be rules.”

Jinu lifted a brow, intrigued. “Rules. Alright. Hit me.”

She pointed at him. “Rule one. No sleepovers.”

He tilted his head. “No sleepovers?”

“No sleepovers,” She repeated, more firmly this time. “You don’t stay at mine, I don’t stay at yours. We hang out, we do.. whatever— then we go to our own beds. Always.”

Jinu paused, then nodded slowly. “Okay. No sleepovers.”

Rumi gave him a look. “I’m serious. I don’t want any of that tangled-in-blankets, fall-asleep-on-my-chest, next-morning-breakfast crap.”

He smirked. “Tangled in blankets, huh? That sounds kind of romantic.”

She scowled. “Exactly my point.”

“Alright, alright,” He said, hands raised in mock surrender. “No sleepovers. Rule number one. Got it.”

She eyed him suspiciously, like she didn’t trust how easy he was being. “I mean it, Jinu.”

He leaned forward just a bit, voice soft but teasing. “You really don’t trust yourself around me, do you?”

Rumi flushed, but didn’t look away.

“That’s rule two,” She muttered, grabbing a napkin and a pen. “No smug comments like that either.”

Jinu laughed. “This is gonna be fun.”

Rumi grabbed another napkin and scribbled quickly. Then she slid it over to Jinu with a pointed look. “The actual second rule,” she said, voice low but firm, “No public displays.”

He glanced at the napkin and raised a brow. “No public displays of…?”

She rolled her eyes. “Of affection. No making out in the quad, no holding hands walking between classes, no ‘accidentally’ brushing against each other like we’re some cliche rom-com.”

Jinu grinned, eyes twinkling with mischief. “So, basically, we pretend we don’t know each other?”

“Exactly.” She nodded. “We keep it casual, low-key, and off everyone’s radar.”

He tapped the napkin with a finger. “Fine. No PDA.”

“Good.” She smiled, feeling a little more in control now.

“But,” he added, voice dropping an octave, “if we do break the rules…”

She shot him a warning look. “We won’t.”

Rumi took a breath and continued, pointing to her napkin. “Rule three. No jealousy.”

Jinu’s eyes flicked up, surprised.

“Seriously,” She said, voice steady. “We’re not doing this to get all caught up in feelings or drama. So if one of us flirts or hangs out with someone else, no bitching, no pouting, no silent treatment.”

He chuckled softly. “Sounds like you’ve got this all figured out.”

“Not really,” She admitted. “But I’m not interested in fights or complications. I’m barely interested in any of this in the first place.”

Jinu leaned forward, smirking. “Jealousy’s the spice, though. You sure you can handle bland?”

She gave him a mock glare. “I’m aiming for simple. You should try it sometime.”

He laughed, raising his cup in a mock toast. “To bland.”

She clinked her cup against his. “To bland.”

She moved her hand down, pointing to the last rule. “This is the most important one,” She said quietly, meeting Jinu’s eyes. He didn’t look away, but his expression was unreadable.

“No catching feelings.”

“We keep it casual. We keep it fun. But no hearts involved. No falling in. No getting attached.” Rumi explained slower.

Jinu’s lips twitched into a faint smile, but his eyes held something deeper. Something she couldn’t read.

“Right,” He said softly, voice low. “No catching feelings.”

Rumi nodded firmly, not noticing how his fingers tightened around his coffee cup.

Chapter Text

The second Rumi opened the door to their dorm suite, she was greeted by the sound of Zoey shrieking, “She’s back!”

Rumi blinked, stepping inside just in time for Mira to toss a pillow at her.

“You need to get dressed,” Mira said, grinning from ear to ear. “Immediately.”

Rumi caught the pillow midair, confused. “Okay… hello? What’s going on?”

Zoey practically bounced in place. “There’s a party. Off-campus. Like tonight.”

“Very last-minute, very low-pressure, very cute people,” Mira added, already rifling through the closet she and Rumi sometimes shared.

Rumi raised an eyebrow, slipping off her shoes. “Was there a mass email or something?”

“No,” Zoey said dramatically, “We were personally invited by Romance, who knows someone throwing it. You know Roman, right?”

“He called it ‘a chill club vibe with music, drinks, and no glow in the dark theme,’” Mira quoted.

Rumi squinted. “No weird theme?”

“Progress!” Zoey declared. “And you’re coming.”

“I just got back from class,” Rumi groaned, flopping on her bed. “I was hoping for, like… noodles and a nap.”

“You can sleep when you’re boring and forty,” Mira said, holding up a sheer black crop top. “What about this?”

Rumi tossed a pillow over her head. “Why are all your solutions sheer and cropped?”

“Because you have the confidence of a cryptid and the body of a revenge arc,” Zoey replied smoothly. “Now get up.”

Rumi laughed despite herself, peeking out from under the pillow. “Is this an obligation or a threat?”

“Yes,” Mira and Zoey said in perfect unison. Zoey rummaged around and held up a short white dress for Rumi.

“You’re kidding,” Rumi said flatly, staring at the white dress Zoey held up like it was a sacred artifact.

“I’m dead serious,” Zoey replied. “Glow-in-the-dark theme. Black lights. This will light you up like a goddess.”

Mira clapped from across the room. “It’s perfect. Minimalist. Eye-catching. Slightly scandalous.”

“It has a slit around my waist,” Rumi hissed, crawling out of bed. She took it from Zoey and held it up to herself in front of the mirror. “If I sneeze wrong, someone’s seeing my soul.”

“That’s what the tape is for,” Zoey said cheerfully, tossing her a little roll of fashion tape. “We’re not amateurs.”

“I’m going to regret this,” Rumi muttered.

“Absolutely,” Mira nodded. “But you’ll look amazing while doing it.”

Rumi glared half-heartedly but eventually slipped her pants off to change. When she turned back to the girls, the room went quiet for a moment— Zoey’s jaw dropped, and Mira let out a dramatic gasp.

“Okay, damn,” Zoey said, eyes wide. “You look like a warning sign. In the best way.”

Rumi tugged the fabric over her hip, clearly uncomfortable. “I feel like I’m going to be arrested for indecent exposure.”

Mira wiggled her eyebrows. “No arrests. Just attention.”

Rumi rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the faint blush rising to her cheeks.

All three girls wore white. Zoey in a babydoll dress with invisible straps, Mira in a fitted metallic dress that shimmered under the light. Rumi’s dress was the boldest though, hugging her in all the right places, with that hip slits doing way too much.

“You’re gonna glow like chaos,” Zoey said, fixing a bit of glow powder on Rumi’s collarbone.

“And I’ll be right next to you with a flashlight and a bad attitude,” Mira added with a grin.

Rumi took a breath, adjusted her hair, and grabbed her phone. “Fine. Let’s go blind some strangers.”

Zoey took the aux cord hostage the moment they got in the car, queuing up a playlist called "Glow Party or Die Trying." By the second chorus of the first song, all three girls were singing at the top of their lungs, windows cracked.

“I’m too hot—hot damn!” Mira shouted from the passenger seat, pointing dramatically at passing pedestrians as they rolled by.

“Call the police and the fireman!” Rumi chimed in, laughing despite herself, her anxiety over the party slowly dissolving under the chaos.

They hit the freeway, headlights gliding over them in waves, the bass vibrating through the floor of the car.

Zoey, still driving with one hand and dancing with the other, yelled, “Ten bucks says someone spills a drink on the DJ!”

“Twenty if it’s you,” Mira called back, dodging Zoey’s elbow.

Rumi glanced down at her phone as Mira and Zoey broke into a mock duet. She hesitated for a second, then, with a small sigh, opened her messages. She typed quickly.

[Rumi]

are you coming to this thing?

She stared at the message for a beat before hitting send. No emoji. No punctuation. No chill. Immediately, she locked her phone and shoved it into her purse like it had insulted her.

Zoey noticed from the rearview mirror. “Texting the devil?”

Rumi looked out the window. “More like summoning him.”

Mira cackled. “He better show up. I want to see his jaw hit the floor when he sees that dress.”

Rumi didn’t answer. She just crossed her legs carefully, tugged her dress a little lower, and hoped Jinu either didn’t come, or walked straight into a wall if he did.

Rumi’s phone buzzed just as Zoey pulled into a spot along a street lit only by string lights and a faint glow from the house ahead.

[Jinu]

already here. it’s roman’s thing lol

Rumi stared at the screen, then made a noise somewhere between a groan and a scoff. “Oh my god,” She muttered.

“What?” Mira leaned over the seat with dangerous curiosity. “What did he say?”

Rumi held up her phone. “He’s already here!”

Zoey gasped theatrically. “Plot twist! The enemy’s inside the gates!”

Mira grinned. “Wait, wait— Roman’s his friend? You never mentioned that.”

“I didn’t know!” Rumi said, slumping slightly. “And now I have to walk in dressed like this while he’s already there, breathing air and being… him.”

Zoey smirked. “Oh, honey, you’re walking in dressed like revenge.”

“Honestly, he’s not going to be breathing much once he sees that slit,” Mira added, adjusting Rumi’s sleeve. “His soul’s gonna evaporate.”

Rumi groaned. “I don’t even like him!”

“Sure,” Zoey said in a singsong tone, pushing the door open. “Let’s all lie tonight!”

Mira wiggled her eyebrows. “Let’s lie under blacklights.”

The three girls stepped out, glowing glow stick bracelets, bold white outfits, and a sense of chaotic sisterhood trailing behind them. As they headed toward the thumping bass of the party inside, Rumi took one last look at her phone.

No new texts. Her heart still thumped harder than it should.

The moment they stepped inside, the world shifted.

The lights dimmed, music pulsed through the walls, and every piece of white clothing flickered to life under the glow of blacklight. Paint splatters and neon beads glowed on everyone’s skin. It was like stepping into a galaxy made of bass drops and bad decisions.

Rumi stayed close to Zoey and Mira as they wove through the crowd. Every time someone brushed past her shoulder, her eyes scanned the room, half expecting to spot Jinu, half hoping she didn’t.

Mira elbowed her lightly before giving her a drink. “You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?” Rumi asked, sipping her drink way too fast.

“The ‘I’m pretending I’m not looking for someone but I’m scanning the room like I’m a CIA agent’ thing,” Mira smirked.

“I’m not,” Rumi muttered.

“You are,” Zoey whispered, appearing at her other side with a glow-stick crown and way too much energy. “And honestly? ..Own it!”

“I’m not looking for him.” Rumi lied.

“We didn’t say who.” Zoey replied sweetly.

Rumi rolled her eyes and took another sip. Her skin buzzed, part alcohol, part electricity. Every person that passed, every flash of white fabric in the crowd, made her chest tighten slightly. Was that him?

She hated how her mind kept drifting to what he’d think of her dress. Would he say something smug? Would he even notice?

God, she hoped not.

God, she hoped he did.

Just as Mira dragged them toward the dance floor, Rumi’s eyes landed on a familiar profile near the bar, messy hair, white shirt glowing against his tan skin.

Jinu.

Laughing with someone she didn’t recognize. He hadn’t seen her yet.

She wasn’t ready. But her drink was already half gone, her pulse loud in her ears, and the tension? It had only just begun.

Rumi needed water. That’s what she told herself as she broke from the dance floor and headed toward the kitchen. Totally normal. Totally not a calculated detour to pass through the area where she’d last spotted Jinu.

The music thumped through the walls as she entered the kitchen, cooler and slightly quieter than the rest of the house. A handful of people stood around the counters, drinks in hand, neon bracelets everywhere.

And there he was. Jinu, leaning casually against the island counter, mid-sip of something clear in a red cup, talking to a guy she didn’t recognize.

He hadn’t seen her yet. She didn’t hesitate.

Rumi walked right past the group to the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water like she owned the house, and turned just enough so he’d catch a glimpse of the slit in her dress.

And right on cue.

Jinu choked.

Not dramatically, but enough to sputter slightly and bring the cup away from his lips, coughing into his sleeve as the guy next to him asked, “You good?”

He was not good. Jinu’s eyes locked onto her as she twisted the cap off the water bottle, her movements casual, too casual, like she hadn’t noticed his very public system failure.

She took a sip, made eye contact for half a second, and gave him a small, smug smile. “Hey,” She said like it meant absolutely nothing.

Jinu opened his mouth but absolutely nothing came out. He blinked, stared at her for another beat, and finally mumbled, “That dress should be illegal.”

Rumi raised a brow, smirking. “Then call the cops.” With that, she turned and walked straight out of the kitchen—knowing full well his eyes were glued to the slit in her dress as she left.

Rumi hadn’t made it five steps into the hallway before she heard the shuffle of footsteps behind her.

“Okay, wait.” Jinu’s voice came through the noise like a string yanking her back. “Rumi.”

She stopped, turned just enough to glance at him over her shoulder. He was already close, and he looked like he hadn’t fully thought through chasing her down in front of a bunch of strangers. A little out of breath, a lot off-balance.

“You’re not just gonna drop that line and walk off like some kind of—of—” He gestured wildly. “Glow-in-the-dark heart thief.”

Rumi blinked. “Glow-in-the-dark what now?”

Jinu dragged a hand through his hair. “I panicked. Your dress threw me off. I’m off my game.”

“You have a game?” She asked innocently, starting to walk again.

He followed. “Normally? Yes. Around you? Apparently not.”

They passed through a narrow hallway, bodies brushing past them, the lights dimming and flickering with movement. Jinu leaned in slightly so she could hear him over the music.

“You didn’t tell me you were going to show up looking like that.”

“I didn’t tell anyone,” She replied, sipping from her water. “It was kind of a last-minute act of war.”

Jinu smirked. “Well, consider me a casualty.”

She stopped again, looking at him fully now. Her eyes scanned his face. He wasn’t trying to flirt. Not really. He looked genuinely… dazed.

And maybe a little frustrated.

“Why’d you chase me down?” She asked, voice quieter now.

Jinu hesitated. His gaze dropped to her lips before he looked back up. “Because you walked in, flipped my entire night upside down, and then tried to disappear into a crowd like you didn’t just set me on fire.”

Rumi blinked. That was—too much. Too honest. Too real.

She covered it with a smirk. “Bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

He leaned closer, voice low. “You haven’t seen me really dramatic yet.”

“Are you.. Flirting with me?” Rumi asked, making a face.

Jinu’s smirk faltered just a bit.

That was Rumi’s favorite part, honestly. Watching his confidence waver the second she leaned in, just close enough for him to think she might kiss him again, before landing a clean hit to his ego instead.

She tilted her head, voice smooth and cool over the beat of the music. “You’re acting like you forgot the rules.”

Jinu blinked. “I didn’t.”

“Then maybe you forgot why we made them,” She added, raising a brow. “No feelings, Jinu. That was the deal.”

He swallowed, eyes dropping to the space between them, so close he could feel the heat off her skin, the way her dress clung to every curve like a threat.

“No sleepovers. No PDA. No jealousy,” She counted off on her fingers, slowly. Then, with the final nail, “No catching feelings. Or have you forgotten?”

He didn’t answer right away. Which told her everything.

Rumi took a step back, not dramatic, just enough to reclaim the air between them.

“Don’t chase me like that if you can’t handle what this actually is,” She said, tone softer now but firm. “This is fun. Maybe a little unhinged, but it’s not serious.”

Jinu’s jaw clenched slightly. “Yeah.. I know.”

“Good,” Rumi said. And then—so casual it hurt— “Wanna grab a drink?” She asked and watched Jinu nod with a small.

They hadn’t even reached the drinks table when Roman appeared, casual, grinning, and very much not oblivious to the tension still clinging to Rumi and Jinu like static.

“There you are,” Roman said, giving Jinu a quick shoulder nudge before his attention locked fully on Rumi. “You must be the infamous dress.”

Rumi blinked. “Excuse me?”

Jinu coughed into his drink, trying not to laugh or glare.

Roman smiled, unbothered. “Jinu’s been weird all night. I figured something had to be responsible.”

Rumi tilted her head, a smirk playing at her lips. “So naturally, you blamed the dress?”

Roman winked. “I blamed whoever’s in it.”

Jinu shifted beside her, jaw tightening so slightly Rumi almost missed it. Almost. She turned to Roman, keeping her tone playful. “Is this your thing? You hit on girls your friend clearly wants?”

Roman shrugged. “Can’t help it if I’m drawn to chaos.”

Jinu finally cut in. “Alright, Roman— maybe grab us a drink, yeah?”

Roman ignored him. “You want one, Rumi? I mix a mean vodka soda. Party trick.”

“I’m good,” She said, not quite smiling, but she didn’t step away either.

Jinu said nothing, but his silence roared. Rumi felt it all around her.

And while she didn’t particularly enjoy the attention, Roman’s smirk was a little too polished, a little too used. She’d reject him immediately.

But see Jinu stew in it?

That, unfortunately, felt fair.

Roman eventually wandered off, thankfully distracted by a group shot forming in the living room, but the silence left in his wake was dense. Jinu hadn’t moved. Not really. Just stood beside her, watching her out of the corner of his eye like he was trying to calculate something.

She could feel it. That shift in the air. The kind that happened right before a conversation no one wanted to have. He opened his mouth, breath catching like the words were on the edge.

Rumi held up a hand without even looking at him. “Don’t.”

Jinu blinked. “..What?”

She turned, locking eyes with him, cool and controlled. “If you’re about to voice jealousy— shut your mouth.”

Jinu’s lips parted, but nothing came out. “Seriously,” Rumi continued. “You don’t get to make rules with me and then act like this when your friend flirts for five seconds. That’s not how this works.”

He looked frustrated. “I wasn’t—”

“Weren’t what?” She asked, brows raised. “Weren’t jealous? Or weren’t about to be?”

He didn’t answer. Which was, again, an answer.

Rumi sighed and took a sip of her drink, eyes scanning the crowd ahead. “Look, if this isn’t working for you, then say so, but don’t pull that face and expect me to pretend I don’t notice.”

Jinu let out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m trying, Rumi.”

She didn’t look at him. “So am I.”

Jinu glanced around the crowded room, then back at Rumi with a steady look. “Let’s get out of here for a minute,” He said quietly. Rumi hesitated for a second, then nodded. They slipped through the crowd and pushed open the door to the balcony.

The cool night air hit her skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth inside. Lights from the city stretched out beneath them like a sea of stars. Jinu leaned against the railing, looking at her with something softer than she’d seen before.

“Look, I’m not great at this,” He admitted. “At… us. I know the rules. I’m trying to respect them.”

Rumi crossed her arms, still guarded. “Yeah? Because it feels like you’re breaking every single one.”

He smiled wryly. “Maybe I’m not that good at hiding it either.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t smile. “Why do you care so much?” She asked after a moment.

Jinu’s gaze dropped. “Because… Because Roman first of all, I’m pretty sure, is gay. Second off, if it’s not— He’s kind of a dick. You wouldn’t like him. He cares more about his hair than any girl he’ll ever meet. He’s still my friend just… Don’t tell him I said that.” He sighed.

Rumi’s expression softened just a bit. “Oh.. You should’ve just told me.” She said quietly. He looked back up, hope flickering in his eyes. “Just… don’t catch feelings,” She added with a half-smile. “That’s still off the table.”

Jinu chuckled softly. “Deal.”

Chapter Text

Rumi leaned against the railing next to him, arms still folded, staring out over the streetlights below. “You realize this thing we’re doing— it only works if we’re honest. Brutally honest.”

Jinu nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

“So if you keep looking at me like that,” She said, finally glancing at him, “I’m going to start thinking you’re not in this for just the fun.”

He met her gaze. Didn’t look away. “And if I’m not?”

Rumi blinked, caught off guard by the directness. “Then you should say that. And stop pretending like this is still casual.”

Jinu gave a half-laugh, not bitter just… sad, almost. “You want brutal honesty? Fine. I think about you when you’re not around. I look for you in every room I walk into. And when Roman was flirting with you earlier, I wanted to knock his teeth out.”

Rumi didn’t move, didn’t speak. He went on, voice lower now. “But I also know you’re not ready for anything real. Maybe you never will be. And I’m not gonna push that. I just wanted you to know where I’m at.”

She looked away first, her throat tightening. “I told you from the start. I don’t do feelings.”

“I know,” He said, softer now. “That’s why I haven’t asked for anything.” The silence between them was thick, a hundred unsaid things hovering in the night air.

“I’m not a good bet, Jinu,” She said finally. “I overthink, I disappear when things get heavy, and I’m still figuring out who the hell I am.”

He leaned closer, just enough for her to feel his warmth. “I don’t need you to be perfect,” He said. “Just real.”

She hesitated, and for a moment, she looked like she might break her own rule. Might step closer. Say something soft. Let him touch the part of her she kept locked up. But instead, she straightened. “I’m going back inside.”

Jinu nodded, stepping aside to let her pass. “I’ll see you later?”

She paused at the door. “…Yeah.”

Then she slipped inside, the warmth of the party swallowing her again, leaving Jinu on the balcony, still hoping she’d eventually stop walking away.

The warmth of the house hit her like a wall when she stepped back in. Music pulsed louder than it had moments ago, bass vibrating through the floor, synths blurring into voices, bodies packed tighter. Everything glowing. Everyone laughing. Everyone fine.

But not her. She scanned the crowd for familiar faces, Zoey’s bounce, Mira’s loud laugh, but neither were anywhere. Not in the kitchen, not by the dance floor. No texts. No location shared. Just static from her phone screen and another wave of heat that wasn’t from the crowd.

Jinu hadn’t followed her. She didn’t know if that made her feel better or worse.

She forced a smile at someone from her theory class who greeted her like they were best friends. Laughed a little too loud when someone made a joke she didn’t really hear. Nodded when someone asked if she wanted another drink.

She didn’t. She was too aware of her own heartbeat. Too aware of how the dress clung to her thighs, how the slit felt like a spotlight now. Her skin itched under the mesh. Her breath felt too shallow. Like the room had suddenly shrunk.

The glow-in-the-dark paint, the neon strobe lights, the bass drops, the drinks, the shouting. It all closed in at once. She wasn’t in the party anymore.

She was trapped in it.

Like everyone else was real and she was pretending to exist just long enough not to ruin it for them. She leaned against a wall, gripping her phone like it might anchor her, but her screen only stared back blankly. Nothing from Zoey. Nothing from Mira. A single text from Jinu that she ignored.

[Jinu]

“You okay?”

She wasn’t. But how do you say that? How do you admit to someone you don’t even want to want, that you feel like your whole body’s folding in on itself and none of this is fun anymore?

So instead, she left the text on read and looked around at the party like maybe, maybe if she smiled harder, drank more, laughed louder, she’d feel something besides this.

But she didn’t. She just felt tired.

Lonely in a way that cracked her chest open. Devastatingly lonely. Like the kind of lonely that doesn’t go away even when you're surrounded by people. Like something was wrong and she didn’t know when it started, just that now it felt impossible to fix.

She didn’t remember the last time she felt like herself. The version of her that made people laugh. That finished assignments early. That stayed up late with Mira and Zoey binge-watching old idol videos and eating cheap candy from the vending machines.

Now she barely looked in mirrors. She just kept moving. One assignment after another. One class after the next. One casual hookup she swore she didn’t care about.

Fake it until you break. That’s how it felt now.

She saw the front door and even in the middle of someone talking to her, she aimed for it. Her vision didn’t stray when someone called her name, or when someone bumped into her on accident. She felt like a ghost in the party, haunting everyone. Only able to see them, but no one saw her.

The laughter faded behind her as the door clicked shut.

Rumi stepped out into the night, the cool air instantly sobering her in a way that was more cruel than comforting. The music still thudded behind the walls, dull now, like it was underwater, but out here, there was space. Air. Darkness. A little freedom to finally fall apart.

She sat down hard on the steps, elbows braced on her knees, head bowed between her arms. Just like that she broke. The tears came slow at first, then faster, like something dammed up too long finally gave out. Her breath caught in uneven gasps, hands curled into her lap, trying to hold herself together like her bones might split if she let go completely.

It wasn’t about the party. It wasn’t even about Jinu. It was everything.

It was the pressure. The pretending. The constant effort to be the cool, unbothered girl. The one who kissed someone at a party and walked away without feeling anything. The one who aced every project, balanced every emotion, laughed when she wanted to scream.

She felt like a fraud.

Like college was some stage she’d accidentally wandered onto, and now everyone else knew their lines while she was just… winging it. Making jokes so no one noticed she was falling apart. Turning pain into sarcasm. Loneliness into playlists.

That version of her, real Rumi, felt farther away every day.

And in her place was this girl with eyeliner smudged under her eyes, a slit-too-high dress glowing under porch lights, and mascara streaking down her cheeks while she tried to remember what it felt like to be okay.

What it felt like to be safe. That was the worst part.

Safety—not vulnerability—was her comfort zone now. Numbness. Avoidance. Control. If she could keep her heart sealed off, untouched, then no one could wreck her.

Not even Jinu. Because it was easier to call something casual, than admit it mattered.

Maybe she was a coward for that, but right now, drunk and exhausted and unraveling on the front steps of a stranger’s house, she didn’t have the strength to be brave.

The door creaked open behind her, a wedge of music and light spilling out onto the porch. Rumi didn’t look up. She could feel someone standing there, lingering. The soft scrape of a shoe. The hesitation.

Then silence. A beat passed before the door gently shut again.

Whoever it was had seen her, curled in on herself, face blotchy and wet, trying so hard to be invisible, and chose not to say a word. Just retreated. Quietly.

That, somehow, hurt less. But then, less than a minute later, the door opened again. Slower this time. Footsteps approached, careful on the wood.

“Rumi?”

Jinu’s voice.

She didn’t lift her head. The porch light flickered slightly above them, buzzing like it might short out. Rumi wiped her face quickly with the backs of her hands, but the effort was pointless. She knew how she looked. Broken.

Jinu crouched beside her, one step down so he wouldn’t hover. “…You okay?”

She gave a bitter laugh, barely more than a breath. “Seriously?” He didn’t say anything. She finally looked at him. Her eyes were red, lashes wet. Her lip trembled even though she tried to make it stop. “You don’t have to be nice to me just because I cried.”

“I’m not,” He said softly. “I’m here because I want to be.” That made her throat tighten again. “You… looked fine in there,” He added. “I didn’t know—”

“I always.. look fine,” She said quietly, voice tight. “That’s the whole point.”

Jinu lowered his eyes, guilt flashing across his face. Rumi sniffed and looked away, her voice cracking. “I don’t know how to do this. Any of it. I feel like I’m pretending all the time. Like I’m failing at being a person and everyone else got the memo except me.”

Jinu was silent for a moment. “I get that..”

Her breath hitched. He shifted a little closer, not touching, just there. “I’m not good at letting people see when I’m struggling either,” He said. “I just… get quieter. Disappear a little. Joke through it. You ever do that?”

“All the time,” She whispered.

Another pause. “Can I sit with you?”

Rumi nodded, voice too shaky to answer. Jinu sat beside her on the steps, not asking anything else. Just letting the silence be what it was. Honest, unpolished, not pretending.

For the first time all night, Rumi didn’t feel like she had to perform. She just… existed. Tired, messy, tear streaked. Jinu slid off his jacket and gently draped it over Rumi’s shoulders. She flinched, just a little, not from him, but from the feeling of being seen.

It was warm. Soft. It smelled like faint detergent and something like cedarwood and coffee. She didn’t say thank you. Just pulled it tighter around herself and stared straight ahead. The crying had stopped. The air felt heavier now. Jinu didn’t push her. He didn’t ask anything else. He just sat there, watching the streetlights cast pale pools on the pavement.

Maybe because the silence wasn’t asking for anything, he filled it. “My mom’s probably still up right now,” He said quietly. “She works nights... Hospital janitorial staff.”

Rumi didn’t turn to him, but her breathing slowed like she was listening. “She’s been working since she was my age. Took care of me and my sister on her own after my dad died. Stomach cancer I think? It was fast. Like... two months fast.” His voice didn’t crack. He didn’t shift or fidget. It wasn’t rehearsed. Just there.

“She never got to go to college. Always told me to go no matter what. Even when she couldn’t afford to replace our washing machine. Even when my sister cried on the phone last week ‘cause she misses me and doesn’t understand why I’m not home.”

He exhaled, a long, quiet breath. “And sometimes I think maybe I shouldn’t have left. That I’m selfish. That I’m here for me when they need me more.”

Rumi didn’t move. She couldn’t. Not really. Her throat had gone dry somewhere in the middle of his story. She still felt like she was underwater, but now she wasn’t alone in it.

After a long moment, she spoke, barely above a whisper. “My mom… she passed away after I was born.”

Jinu looked over, surprised, not because of what she said, but because she said anything at all. Rumi didn’t look back at him. Her eyes were still on the street.

“I never met her. I was raised by..” She stopped, closed her eyes for a second before shaking her head. “When people talk about their moms like they’re the sun, or a safety net, or home… I just pretend I understand.”

The jacket on her shoulders suddenly felt heavier. Not suffocating. Just vulnerable. Neither of them said anything for a while. The air buzzed with the low hum of streetlights and the muffled bass of the party behind them. Out here though, it was just two kids who were too tired to pretend they had it all together anymore.

Jinu looked over at her again. “You don’t have to be fine all the time, you know.”

She shook her head once, eyes still distant. “Yeah, I do.”

He didn’t argue. He just nodded, like he understood. Because maybe he did.

And even though she was already pulling away again, curling back into herself, he didn’t move from her side. Not until she did.

Rumi sniffed once and wiped under her eyes with her sleeve, then pulled Jinu’s jacket tighter around her like armor. She stood, steadying herself on the railing before brushing down her dress and running her hands over her braid.

“I should find Mira and Zoey..” She muttered, not really looking at him.

Jinu rose with her, his tone even. “Let me take you home.” She hesitated.

For a moment, Rumi looked back toward the house. Its neon windows still pulsing with music, laughter echoing faintly through the closed door. And then she glanced at Jinu. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t pushing. He was just there, offering.

“…Okay,” She said softly.

Without a word, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, gentle but sure, guiding her down the steps and toward the street. She didn’t lean into him, but she didn’t pull away either.

His car was parked a little down the block. When they got to it, he opened the passenger door for her like it was the most natural thing in the world. She slid in slowly, dress rustling as she got comfortable, one hand still gripping the edge of his jacket.

Jinu rounded the hood and got into the driver’s seat. The car was quiet, warm, smelling faintly like spearmint and rain-soaked leather.

He glanced over at her once, hand hovering over the ignition. She beat him to it. “Your sister,” She said quietly. “What’s her name?”

He blinked, then gave a small, tired smile. “Nari.”

Rumi nodded slowly, watching the shadows from passing headlights flicker across the dashboard. “What’s she like?”

“She’s…” Jinu leaned back in his seat, finally starting the car. “Smart. Way too smart. Talks like she’s twenty, but she’s only eight. And she’s got this obsession with sea otters right now. Says they’re the only acceptable animal because they hold hands when they sleep.”

That made Rumi huff a small laugh through her nose. “She sounds cool,” She murmured.

“She is,” He said, a touch of pride softening his voice. “She’s kind of the only reason I don’t hate myself for leaving. Like… if I can do something with this, school, music, any of it, then maybe I can give her options. Stuff we never had.”

Rumi was quiet for a beat.

“What’s it like?” She asked, voice even softer. “Having siblings.”

Jinu thought about it. “It’s like…” He paused. “You’re always tethered to someone. Even when they’re not around. You worry about them more than yourself. They piss you off, but if anyone else hurts them, you’d throw hands instantly.”

He glanced over. “It’s love that doesn’t need permission.”

Rumi stared ahead again. That last line landed harder than she wanted it to. She folded her hands in her lap, fingers fidgeting without realizing. “Sounds nice.”

He didn’t say anything to that. Just drove a little slower, like neither of them was in a rush to reach the end of this moment. The car hummed softly beneath them, headlights painting long shadows across the road. The silence between them wasn’t heavy now, just thoughtful. Familiar.

Jinu’s hands rested loosely on the wheel as he glanced at her again. “You know… Zoey kind of reminds me of Nari.”

Rumi blinked and turned toward him, raising an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

He gave a small grin. “Yeah. That same energy. Like she’s always two steps ahead of everyone else and dragging the world behind her with glitter and chaos.”

That actually made Rumi laugh, a real one this time. “That’s… painfully accurate.” Jinu smiled wider, clearly pleased. Rumi leaned her head back against the seat and sighed through her nose. “They kind of feel like sisters, you know? Zoey and Mira.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She nodded slowly, staring at the windshield. “They annoy me constantly.. in the best way. Like... stealing my food, waking me up with music, dressing me up like a paper doll before parties. But they’ve never once made me feel out of place. Or like I needed to be different.”

She hesitated. “We’ve never even fought. Not really. We just… exist together. Like a little unit.”

Jinu glanced at her again, a flicker of softness in his gaze. “That’s rare.”

“I know,” Rumi said quietly. “That’s why I didn’t want them to see me break down tonight. I don’t want to be the one who brings storm clouds into the room, you know?”

Jinu didn’t say anything right away. “You think they’d love you less for being human?”

That made her shoulders tense, just slightly. “…No,” She admitted. “But I don’t want to test it.” The silence fell again, but it felt a little warmer now. Rumi didn’t notice that her hand had stopped fidgeting. Just outside, the familiar road to campus started to come into view.

The car rolled to a smooth stop in front of Rumi’s dorm. The street was still, lit only by the overhead glow of campus lamps. The distant sound of laughter carried faintly from across the quad, but here, everything felt still. Private.

Jinu put the car in park and glanced over at her. “You want me to walk you in?” He asked softly.

Rumi didn’t answer at first. Her hand gripped the strap of her bag tightly, eyes fixed on the familiar doorway.

Then, quietly, almost like she didn’t want to say it. “…Do you want to stay over?” Jinu blinked, caught off guard. Her voice stayed steady, but she wouldn’t look at him. “Just for a little. Not for anything. Just… sleep. I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

His brows furrowed. He didn’t speak right away.

She finally turned to face him and even in the dim light, she could see the flicker of conflict in his expression. The part of him that wanted to say yes. That wanted to stay, to close that gap between them again, even if it was temporary.

But he shook his head slowly. “I don’t think I should,” He said gently.

Her face didn’t change, but something behind her eyes shuttered. A quiet click, like a lock sliding back into place.

“I’m not going to use tonight as an excuse to break the rules,” Jinu continued, his voice calm. Careful. “You made them for a reason, and I’m not going to be the guy who uses your vulnerability to bend them.”

Rumi’s jaw tensed. She gave a small, humorless laugh and opened the car door. “Suit yourself.” 

Jinu sighed but didn’t argue. He got out and rounded the car as she headed for the dorm entrance, her footsteps clipped, deliberate. When he caught up to her, she didn’t look at him. “I’ll still walk you in,” He offered.

She hesitated, then nodded once, curtly. “Fine.” The door buzzed open, and they slipped inside, the soft thud of their steps echoing through the hall.

Rumi kept her eyes forward the whole time, her shoulders tense. The openness from earlier was gone, folded neatly back into her like armor.

Jinu knew better than to try and pull it off again. Not tonight.

The dorm was quiet when they stepped inside. The glow from the hallway lights filtered in through the sliver under the door, casting soft shadows across the room.

Rumi walked in first, letting Jinu close the door behind them. She didn’t bother with the light. She just stood there for a second, jacket still on her shoulders, like she’d forgotten where she was supposed to go.

Jinu waited, watching her in silence.

After a moment, she sat on the edge of the bed, not laying down, not undressing. Just sat, staring at the floor, her hands loose in her lap. Her glow stick bracelet flickered faintly around her wrist. Her mascara was smudged, dried under her eyes.

Jinu stepped closer, slow and quiet. “You should lie down,” He said gently.

She didn’t argue, but she didn’t move either. So he moved around her instead.

He crouched a little and reached for her wrist, carefully unclasping the glow stick bracelet, then the necklace, then the second bracelet tangled with her sleeve. He placed them on the desk nearby with a soft clink.

When she still didn’t move, he looked around and found Mira’s make up all over the desk. He spotted the make up wipes and took them to her, taking one in his hand.

“I’m gonna—” He started. But she closed her eyes before he even finished, giving him silent permission. With slow, deliberate care, Jinu reached up and gently wiped away the streaks of makeup from her cheeks. He worked in silence, his fingers barely grazing her skin through the soft tissue. No rush. No agenda.

Rumi didn’t flinch. She didn’t speak. Just sat there, letting him undo the remnants of a night she wished hadn’t happened. Her lips parted, but no words came. And Jinu didn’t ask for any.

When he was done, he folded the used tissue in half and tossed it into the trash by her desk. “You should sleep,” He said again, a little softer this time.

Finally, she nodded. He stood and moved to the edge of the bed, helping her lie back against the pillow. She let him, movements slow and pliant now. Still in her dress, still clutching his jacket around her like a blanket.

He didn’t pull it away from her. Instead, he stepped back. “Goodnight, Rumi.”

She didn’t reply. Jinu lingered for a second longer, watching her eyes slowly blink, still open, but glassy. Still far away.

Then he turned and left, closing the door with a soft click.

The room was silent again.

Chapter Text

The room was still draped in pre-dawn gray when Rumi stirred.

Her eyes opened slowly, lashes clinging together, sleep still thick in her body. For a brief second, she didn’t remember where she was. Then the soft hum of the radiator, the faint scent of Zoey’s coconut shampoo, and the warmth of Jinu’s jacket still draped across her middle brought everything back into focus.

She blinked toward the opposite side of the room. Mira and Zoey were curled up in one bed together, limbs tangled under a shared blanket, hair a soft, chaotic mess on the pillow. Mira's arm was thrown lazily over Zoey's waist, and Zoey’s cheek was squished adorably against her shoulder.

Rumi didn’t stare. She didn’t question it either.

She just sat up slowly, sliding the jacket off and setting it on her desk chair. Her legs dangled over the edge of the bed as she rubbed her face with both hands, trying to push down the heavy fog that hadn’t lifted since last night.

But it was still there.

The loneliness. The tight coil of emotion in her chest. The exhaustion not from lack of sleep, but from feeling too much.

She stood, her feet cold against the floor, and crossed the room silently to grab a change of clothes. A pair of soft sweats and a hoodie. Her hands moved on autopilot as she slipped out of her dress and into something less... exposed.

More like armor.

More like herself.

She paused by the mirror for a second, running her fingers over her hair. She looked tired. Her birthmarks were faint in the early morning light, shadows of lightning against her collarbone.

Everything from last night, the party, the way the music had drowned out her thoughts, the pit in her stomach when she couldn’t find Mira or Zoey, the way Jinu looked at her like he cared, washed over her in waves.

She hated that it still hurt. That she still didn’t know why it hurt.

She looked away from the mirror and pulled on the hoodie, tucking her hands into the sleeves like she was trying to disappear. Then she quietly slipped out of the room, leaving her sleeping friends behind.

She needed air.

The morning chill bit at Rumi’s hands as she stepped out of the dorm, hoodie sleeves pulled down past her knuckles. The sky was still streaked in pale hues of blue and pink, the world not quite awake yet. Campus was quiet, just the rustle of wind in the trees and the faint hum of maintenance carts somewhere in the distance.

She pulled her phone from her pocket and typed.

[Rumi]

you awake?

She hesitated before sending it. Then, with her breath fogging in the air, she kept walking.. toward Jinu’s building.

It wasn’t far, but every step felt strange, like she wasn’t sure if she was walking to find comfort or confrontation. She didn’t know what she was hoping for. All she knew was that something inside her still felt unsettled, and she didn’t want to be alone with it.

By the time she reached his dorm, her message still hadn't been read. The entrance door was locked, of course. She hovered nearby, staring at the glass until her own reflection stared back.

She considered turning around. Her feet didn’t move.

After a couple minutes, a sleepy-looking student walked out in pajama pants and a hoodie, earbuds in and coffee already in hand. Rumi caught the door just before it closed, murmured a quiet "thanks," and slipped inside.

Now she stood in the stairwell, thumb hovering over her phone screen. Still no response.

She took a slow breath and made her way up to the floor she thought was his, based on memory, not certainty. Her stomach knotted with every step. Finally, she reached the hallway. The light above flickered a little. She stared at his door for a second too long.

Then sat down against the wall beside it, knees pulled up, her phone resting in her hands.

She didn’t knock. She just waited, and hoped she wasn’t making a mistake. Rumi stared at his door for another full minute before sighing and unlocking her phone. Still no text back.

She hit his name in her contacts, pressed call, standing up to stare at the door.

It rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three—

“...Hello?” came Jinu’s groggy voice, low and scratchy like he hadn’t even lifted his head off the pillow.

“It’s me,” Rumi said flatly. “Open the door.”

There was a pause. She heard rustling through the line. “…What?”

“I’m outside your dorm. I’m not saying it twice, Jinu. Open. The. Door.” She hung up.

A few seconds passed before she heard faint shuffling from inside. The deadbolt clicked, and the door creaked open just wide enough to reveal Jinu standing there, hair a complete mess, a hoodie half-zipped over his bare chest, eyes barely open.

He squinted at her like she was part of a dream he hadn’t agreed to. “What…” He mumbled, voice still thick with sleep. “What do you want?”

Rumi looked at him, eyes unreadable. Her jaw set like she was holding something in. Then, quietly, but not coldly. “Sex.” She stepped past him into the dorm, brushing against his shoulder as she walked.

Jinu blinked, still trying to wake up, then slowly closed the door behind her.

“What..?” Jinu asked again as she sat on his bed, quickly taking off her hoodie. “Okay– Okay.. wait.” He said as he locked the door and came to stand in front of her. “Rumi. It’s not even eight. Can this wait at least twenty–”

“No.” She said sternly, reaching for him to pull his jacket off. Her cold fingers made him jump a little, waking him up further. “I hated last night. I hated how I felt. I still hate how I feel. I hate school. I hate my life. I hate everything.” She droned on before slowly taking off her sweatpants, tossing them on the ground. “I don’t want to think about it.”

“Rumi…” Jinu began, left in his sweatpants and messy hair. “You think sex is going to fix the way you feel?” He asked.

She shifted in her underwear to sit on her knees so she could be taller than Jinu on the bed. “I’m stressed. I use you as stress relief. You use me as stress relief. We both get sex and we both avoid the emotions we feel. Now do you want to kiss me or not?” She asked, holding his gaze.

Jinu stared up at her, breath caught somewhere in his throat. The room was quiet except for the low hum of his fan and the muted city sounds beyond the window. She was above him now, her expression unreadable, calm in a way that felt practiced, too practiced.

He ran a hand through his already-messy hair, exhaling hard. “You really think this isn’t messing with you?” He asked, voice low. “Because it’s kind of messing with me.”

Rumi’s jaw tightened. She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she leaned in closer, enough that he could smell the faint trace of her body wash, feel the warmth radiating off her skin.

“That sounds like a you problem,” She whispered, her voice sharp but unsteady at the edges. “I’m fine.”

Jinu looked at her for a long moment. Searching her. Like he was waiting for a crack in the mask. She didn’t give him one. “Rumi…” He said again, softer this time.

She leaned in just a bit more, her eyes flicking to his mouth. “Do you want to kiss me or not?” She asked again.

He hesitated. Then, almost reluctantly, almost, he leaned up and closed the space between them. He kissed her. It wasn’t hungry, not at first. It was slow, tentative. Like he was hoping she might kiss him back with something real.

She did, but not with what he wanted. It was practiced. Intentional. A release. Something to do instead of feel. He knew it. But he kissed her anyway. Because wanting her, even like this, still felt better than not having her at all.

She sighed softly, raising her hands to his neck to force him closer. Jinu let her have control. Knew she needed it right now more than ever. He slowly pulled away, reaching out to hold her waist tightly. “Actual sex? Do you want me to go down on you? What do you want?”

She leaned in and kissed him again. “Actual sex. Make me stop thinking.” She explained and if that didn’t do wonders on Jinu, he wondered what else could.

“Alright..” Jinu whispered, pulling away to get a few things from his desk drawer. He turned back to her and dropped a condom and lube on the nightstand, reaching out for her again.

“Do you keep those all the time?” Rumi asked softly as Jinu guided her to lay back on the bed.

“I had my freshman party days.” He explained almost casually as he shifted to take his sweatpants and boxers off. 

“Do you fuck other girls?” Rumi asked as she watched him. Rumi wished she didn’t stare, but how could she not. A distraction was a distraction for a reason. 

“I don’t think telling you about my sex life would make you feel any better right now. I fucked around a lot, but to give you an answer, no. I don’t have sex with anyone except you now apparently.” He opened the condom and began stroking himself to get harder. He easily rolled the condom on and grabbed the lube, coating himself in it.

“When was the last time you had sex with someone besides me?” She asked curiously, watching him approach with his fingers already coated in lube.

He faltered. “No jealousy. Remember?” Jinu asked, slowly running a hand over her thigh with his clean hand. “You told me that. It’s probably best to not talk about this right now.” He told her, slowly reaching up to slide her panties off.

She huffed and laid down on the bed, keeping her legs open and relaxed for him. She didn’t say anything else. Didn’t ask. Didn’t make a request. She let him finger her open, coating herself with lube and she let it distract her. It felt good. Focused. Intentional.

Jinu shifted to climb onto the bed over her, looking down at her. She glanced up at him, her breath catching. Seeing him towering over her. Caging her in. His muscular arms. The way his hair fell over his face. His necklace dangling from his chest.

She reached up to feel his chest, her nails catching on the chain to play with it. “You’re a pretty distraction.” She whispered.

Jinu’s eyes flickered with something. Something Rumi couldn’t read. “You’re..” Jinu began before shaking his head with a smile. “Ridiculous.” He said instead, shifting to pull away. Rumi let go of his necklace so he could sit up and adjust her legs.

“You’re not..” Jinu began before faltering. “Are you a virgin?” He asked softly, unsure how to phrase the question.

Rumi sat up on her elbows a little bit to see him. “Why? Jealous you don’t get to have me first?” She asked coyly.

Jinu frowned, shifted closer so he could slowly rub his tip against her opening. “I don’t get jealous.” He lied. “I get horny.” He said instead, slowly aiming himself in to slip inside of her.

Rumi grunted with the stretch, not used to being opened. She tried to close her legs, but Jinu wasn’t having it. He slowly and carefully guided them back down so he could continue pressing into her. He went slowly, thank god. Rumi was able to handle it for the most part.

Jinu leaned over her, pushing further into her in a way that felt a little painful and a little too good. He grabbed more lube, slowly pulling himself out before adding more to the base of his dick. He slid back in, putting the lube aside again.

Rumi hummed contently. That felt.. Better.

“Better?” Jinu asked, not moving until she seemed better.

“Better.” Rumi nodded slowly, shifting to lay on her back fully.

Jinu was back over her, staring down at her. “Ready?” He asked softly.

She frowned a little. “I figured you’d be a little more rough in bed. Not this gentle.” She confessed.

Jinu scoffed softly, almost laughing with a smile. “I can be, but I don’t want to hurt you.” He admitted before shifting to lean in closer.

Rumi’s hands found their way to his neck, wrapping around his shoulders before pulling him closer. “You won’t hurt me.” She assured him.

Jinu hummed softly before leaning down to kiss her slowly. She closed her eyes and kissed back, hands raking over the back of his hair. He began to slowly move, testing the position to see if it was good for Rumi. Rumi pulled away from the kiss to start panting with every thrust. She stared up at him, watching his muscles flex and the way his hair and necklace moved with every move.

“Slower.” Rumi found herself saying, shifting a little so he would hit the right spot. Jinu did as he was told, slowing down enough to what seemed okay. “Well– faster than that..” Rumi laughed softly, waiting for Jinu to change again.

“You’re a lot less picky when you’re drunk.” Jinu muttered, but continued anyway.

Rumi frowned at the jab, shifting her legs to wrap slightly around his hips. Not fully, but curled. That felt nice. “You’re a lot less annoying when I’m drunk.” She muttered back.

Jinu gave her a particularly hard thrust, watching her face scrunch up. “High maintenance much?” Jinu teased her.

Rumi felt something coil in her stomach a little. “I won’t come like this if you keep being a dick.” She muttered.

“Oh, I’m sorry, does princess not have a degradation kink?” Jinu asked, stopping his movements for a second. He stared at her before smirking a little. “Maybe all princess needs is a few words of encouragement?” He asked softly.

Rumi felt her face drop. Something shifted in her mind. Her stomach coiled again, but not in a bad way this time. Something lighter. Something hotter. “What..?” She asked softly, feeling her face heat up a little bit.

“Oh is that it?” Jinu asked, slowly continuing, leaning closer to her ear to kiss her neck. “Now I see.” Jinu whispered, raising her lips to her ear, gently biting her ear lobe. She made a noise as he continued slowly fucking her. “Good girl.”

Rumi flushed red. She had to stop and think about what the words did to her. She couldn’t speak.

Rumi’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected those two words—simple, offhand, low and deliberate—to hit her like they did. 

“Good girl.”

Her body froze for a second. Then flushed. Not just with heat, but confusion.

Why did that get to me?

Jinu hadn’t even said it like it was a big deal. He didn’t pause. Didn’t look at her for a reaction. He just kept kissing her, his hands gentle but firm, like he wasn’t asking if he could touch her, he just knew how.

That rattled her more than she wanted to admit, because she wasn’t the one steering this anymore. Not entirely.

She liked control. She needed it. In her music. In her routines. In her perfectly calculated rules. That was the whole point of this arrangement — physical, contained, no complications.

But now?

Now he was looking at her like he saw her. Like he could see past the way she used sarcasm to dodge emotions. Past the rules. Past the walls she kept so carefully built up around herself.

And she didn’t hate it. That’s what scared her.

“Rumi?” Jinu’s voice was soft now. He stopped moving. Less teasing. Still close. He pulled back just slightly to look at her.

She blinked, realizing she still hadn’t spoken. “…What?” She finally asked, her voice quieter than intended.

“You okay?”

She hated how sincere it sounded. Like he cared. Like he knew she wasn’t used to someone checking in.

“I’m fine,” She said quickly, too quickly, dropping her gaze to his shoulder instead of his face. Her hands moved without thinking, tracing lines along the collarbone.

“Just… surprised,” She admitted after a beat. “I didn’t expect to…”

“Lose control?” He offered, not mocking, just honest.

She looked up at him, defensive instinct kicking in, but then she saw his expression. It wasn’t smug. It wasn’t smug at all. Just calm. Curious. Maybe even a little hopeful. Rumi swallowed hard.

“I don’t hate it,” She whispered.

That was the closest she’d ever come to saying she trusted him.

“Noted..” Jinu smiled, leaning down to kiss her briefly. “It’s okay to continue?” He asked softly.

Rumi’s stomach twisted slightly. “Call me that again.” She whispered.

Jinu smirked a little, slowly moving again. “My good girl..” He whispered, watching her face flush and turn away from him. She pushed her face into the pillow as much as she could. Embarrassed maybe? “Aw. What’s wrong baby, embarrassed?” He asked, listening to her whimper as he began fucking into her harder. Bingo.

He shifted to hold her hips tightly, biting his lips as he fucked into her roughly. He moaned softly, panting himself now that he could enjoy it for himself. Giving her pleasure. Seeing her face. Drawn out, red, blush down to her chest. He stared at her chest before groaning, speeding up.

“You’re a good girl. I always knew you were. Fuck, baby.” He sighed, watching her reach up for him. He slowed down a little for her and leaned closer, letting her pull their bodied flush together. He sighed into her ear, feeling the way their bare chests pressed against each other. It felt like merging something deeper than just sex.

“Is that it? You like this position?” He whispered, feeling Rumi nod beneath him. She’d gone quiet. Either fucked into submission or gave up control. He reached a hand down to slowly grope her chest, gently squeezing. She hummed and arched her back, glancing at Jinu. “You like it when I touch you?” Jinu whispered. She nodded again.

“Slower?” He asked, watching her nod a third time. He didn’t move though, only smiled. “Use your words baby. Tell me what you need.” He told her.

She gasped softly, swallowing thickly. “When you’re closer to me, it feels better.. Slower helps me come. I.. I don’t know how the angle works, it just feels nice.” She explained softly. Quiet. 

Not her usual self.

She came bursting into his room basically demanding he take his pants off and fuck her. Now she was so quiet and shy. Nervous, or possibly just giving up control to him in the moment.

“Good job baby.” Jinu whispered, leaning down more and slowly fucking her. He felt her hips more into the thrusts, trying to guide him to it. “That’s it baby. Fuck me.” He whispered to her, listening to her whine and moan in his ears.

“Good girl.” He whispered to her, lowering one hand to rest under her back to give her support. “Come on. Take what’s yours. Use me.”

Rumi gasped softly, fucking herself slowly on Jinu’s dick. So close. Jinu could feel it in the way she was trembling.

“Come on my dick, baby.” Jinu whispered to her and she moaned in his ear, whining the whole time. She hugged herself around his shoulders, hips stuttering and moving as she came. “Good girl.” He set her back as she came, slowly moving to hold her hips as he began fucking into her faster.

She cried out, nails digging into his back roughly. “Jinu—”

“Fuck.” Jinu gasped, humming slowly to himself. “You’re such a good girl. Fucking yourself on me. Letting me use you.” He groaned, not missing the way her hands dug harder into his back. “Good girl.” He repeated, biting his lip to stop himself from moaning.

Abruptly he pulled out, gasping for breath as he lowered his hand to finish himself off into the condom. He moaned into her neck, humming as he settled down. He was gasping for breath, leaning over her, but trying not to crush her.

Rumi was panting, her chest rising and falling as she laid back on the bed. Her hands came up to gently pet his hair, swiping the sweat out of it and down his neck.

He sat up a little with a huff and shifted to lean closer. He glanced at her, leaning closer to pet her forehead. “You okay?” He asked softly, checking in on her.

Rumi blinked slowly. “Yeah.. I think.” She admitted.

Jinu nodded faintly, his fingers brushing across her forehead one last time before he stood up completely. The contact was brief, but it lingered in her skin longer than she liked.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just took the condom off and threw it away before running a hand through his tangled hair. Rumi watched him from the bed, sitting up slowly like she was afraid any sudden move would break the fragile quiet between them.

“I’m not used to this,” She muttered, her voice husky from something heavier.

Jinu turned. “Used to what?”

She shrugged, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Being asked if I’m okay.”

That made him pause. His mouth opened like he had a response, something casual, maybe, or even teasing, but he thought better of it. Instead, he leaned against the bed and looked at her with that unreadable calm again.

“Well,” He said after a beat, “Get used to it.”

That caught her off guard. “Why?”

He shrugged like it was obvious. “Because I care. Even if you pretend like you don’t.”

Rumi's lips parted, but no words came out. She wanted to argue. Joke. Redirect. But instead, all she could do was sit there, wrapped in a blanket, unsure what to do with the warmth building in her chest.

“Don’t,” She whispered, not entirely sure if she was asking him to stop talking or stop caring.

Jinu didn’t say anything. Instead, he began to grab a clean shirt and lean over her, wiping her intimate areas clean before dropping the shirt in his laundry. “You should probably drink some water and go to the bathroom. Just in case.” Jinu mumbled.

“I know how to prevent UTI’s thank you.” Rumi quipped back, smiling lightly. “Why.. didn’t you come inside of me though?” Rumi asked, more curious than wanting it.

Jinu perked up. He shrugged. “I never do. Condoms are one preventive, but pulling out is a second one. We didn’t talk about it, so it’s safer. It’s even less likely for you to get an infection or… worse.” He glanced at her.

She grimaced a little. “Thank you.. That was.. Oddly considerate.” Rumi confessed.

“This whole ordeal is considerate.” He smirked at her.

She scoffed with a smirk. “Bet you wish you knew I was on the pill now..” She whispered, watching his face shift from cocky to almost mournful in seconds.

“Next time.” Jinu smiled at her. “..Princess.”

Rumi couldn’t help but flush again.

Chapter Text

The lecture hall doors swung open with a quiet creak, and Rumi stepped out, her messenger bag slung across one shoulder, earbuds in, eyes on the ground like the tiles held the answers to every question she was trying to ignore.

She spotted Jinu immediately, leaning against the railing by the stairs, scrolling on his phone, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Casual. Comfortable. As if he was.. Waiting for her?

Rumi’s stomach flipped. Not because of him. Not really.

Her body reacted faster than her brain, a sharp pivot, feet already turning to take the long way back to her dorm. She didn’t get far.

“Rumi.” His voice cut through the sound in her earbuds, not loud but certain.

She kept walking. Of course he saw her. Of course he’d stop her.

“You weren’t gonna say hi?” He asked, stepping closer, tilting his head a little like he was trying to read her again. “You saw me.”

She stopped with a sigh. She turned slowly, trying to smooth the awkwardness from her face. “Heeeey. I uh.. didn’t see you,” She lied badly. “I was just—uh—heading back. I have to… practice. My project.”

Jinu blinked. “Okay…”

She shifted her weight, clearly uncomfortable, but not because of him. Not directly. Her fingers clenched the strap of her bag tighter.

“You good?” he asked carefully.

“I’m fiiiine.”

“You sure? You’re acting weird.”

“I’m always weird.”

He gave a slight smile, but his eyes didn’t soften. “Rumi.”

She avoided his gaze. “Can’t a person be off for a day without a full analysis?”

“…Did something happen?”

She inhaled slowly through her nose. Then let it out. “No,” She said, too quickly again. “Nothing happened. I just don’t feel like talking. Is that allowed?”

“Yeah,” He said gently. “It’s allowed.”

But he didn’t stop watching her. Didn’t stop wondering.

Rumi couldn’t tell him, not that the text she read that morning sent her spiraling. Not that she’d just learned one of her scholarship deadlines had been moved up. Not that she hadn’t slept. Not that she was scared of slipping.

She especially couldn’t tell him how easy it had been to lean on him, and how dangerous that felt now. So she faked a smile.

“I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Rumi.”

She stopped. Again. Closed her eyes for a second and exhaled slowly through her nose.

Jinu caught up to her with quick strides, stepping in front of her path so she had no choice but to look at him. She didn’t. Not right away.

“What?” She said flatly.

He crossed his arms. “Don’t ‘ what’ me. You’ve been off all day.”

“I told you, I’m fine,” She repeated, more sharply this time.

“And I don’t believe you.”

She finally looked up, her eyes flashing, not with anger, but defensiveness. Raw nerves, not rage.

“Not your problem, Jinu.”

“I’m making it my problem.”

“Why?”

“Because I care about you,” He said, voice low but unwavering. “And I can tell when you’re lying. You’re barely keeping eye contact. You fidget when you’re lying, did you know that?”

She stiffened.

“Is this about me?” He added, quieter now. “Because if it is—”

“It’s not,” She cut in, too fast. “It’s not about you.”

“Then what is it?”

Silence. Jinu stepped closer, but not enough to touch her. Just enough to be there.

“Talk to me, Rumi.”

She clenched her jaw and looked away. Her throat felt tight. Her heart was loud in her chest.

“I can’t,” She said quietly, the words like glass between her teeth.

“Why not?”

“Because if I start talking I might not stop,” She admitted, finally. “And I don’t have the time or energy to fall apart today. So please… just let me be fine. Even if I’m not.”

That quieted him. He watched her for a moment, his own expression unreadable now. Not angry, not disappointed. Just… present.

Then he nodded. His brows knit together as he studied her more closely. The way her pupils looked a little too wide in the daylight. The way her body seemed jittery beneath her calm act. Too calm. Almost numb.

“Rumi…” He said carefully. “Are you high right now?”

She jerked her arm back, glaring. “No.”

His expression didn’t budge. “You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” She snapped, too quickly again. “God, what is with you?”

Jinu just stood there, watching her. “You’re slurring your words a little. And you won’t look at me.”

“I’m tired.” She scoffed, shoving a hand through her braid. “You ever heard of sleep deprivation? Or maybe just a really long day?”

“I’ve heard of it,” He replied calmly. “But this isn’t just that.”

She bit the inside of her cheek and turned her head. “You think I’m lying.”

“I know you are.”

The words hit heavier than she expected. Her chest tightened, and something defensive flared up in her throat. But before she could open her mouth, he added.

“I’m not judging you, Rumi. I just want to know. If you’re spiraling, I want to know.”

“Well, I don’t want you to know,” She snapped. He blinked, taken aback. “I don’t need you to play therapist. Or boyfriend. Or—whatever the hell this is,” She said, gesturing vaguely between them. “I’m allowed to have a bad day without you analyzing me like a goddamn microscope.”

She realized how loud she’d gotten only when a pair of students passed by and glanced their way. Jinu looked like he was choosing his next words very, very carefully.

“I’m not trying to fix you,” He said finally. “I just want to be there. If you’ll let me.”

Rumi’s throat tightened. She couldn’t answer that. Not honestly. So she walked past him.

He let her go this time.

Rumi kept her head down the entire walk back to the dorms, eyes locked on the sidewalk like if she just focused hard enough, she could outrun the weight in her chest.

The building was quiet when she got in. The hallway buzzed with the low hum of fluorescent lights, and her footsteps echoed a little too loudly as she reached their door. She didn’t even stop to say hi, just slipped inside, made a beeline for her room, and shut the door behind her.

The chill room. Safe. Dim. Hers. She didn’t bother turning on the light.

She slid to the floor next to her bed, pulling her knees to her chest and letting her back press against the cool wall. Her head throbbed, from exhaustion, from the high she was coming down from, from the anxiety still pulsing through her ribs.

She wanted silence. She wanted numb.

The front door opened moments later, followed by the soft hum of Mira’s voice and Zoey’s laugh. They were back from class. Chatting. Normal.

She didn’t move. There was a pause in the hallway, the sound of a door opening. “Rumi?” Mira called gently. “You home?”

No answer.

“Rumi?” Zoey again, a little closer now. A knock. “We brought those caramel protein bars you like.”

Still nothing. A second passed. Then footsteps, and the door creaked open. The faint glow from the hallway spilled into the room. Just enough to reveal Rumi curled up on the floor.

“...Rumi?” Zoey’s voice dropped instantly into soft worry. “Hey. What’s going on?” Mira appeared behind her, concern sharp in her eyes as they stepped in.

“I’m fine,” Rumi mumbled, not lifting her head.

Zoey crouched next to her. “You don’t look fine.”

“I just needed quiet.”

“But you’ve been off all week,” Mira said softly. “We noticed. You barely eat with us anymore. You stay holed up in here, or leave and disappear for hours. And now you’re on the floor.”

“I said I’m fine.” The edge in her voice was paper-thin.

Zoey exchanged a glance with Mira but didn’t argue. She sat beside Rumi quietly, shoulder just barely brushing hers.

“You don’t have to tell us anything,” Zoey said eventually. “But if something’s wrong… we’re not going anywhere, okay?”

Rumi’s throat tightened. She wanted to tell them. She wanted to say she was scared and overwhelmed and spinning out of control, but all she managed was a quiet: “Thanks.”

The silence in the room stretched for a few more moments. Zoey stayed close beside her, and Mira quietly sat on the bed, watching them both with worried eyes.

It was Mira who noticed first. She narrowed her gaze slightly, leaning forward just a bit.

“Rumi…” She said slowly. “How much sleep did you get last night?”

Rumi didn’t answer.

“Your pupils look kinda…” Zoey trailed off, squinting slightly. “Are you… okay-okay?”

“I told you—” Rumi began, defensive.

“No,” Mira cut in gently. “We’re not mad. I just… need to ask. Are you high right now?”

Rumi’s body went still.

Zoey blinked. “Wait— are you?”

Rumi opened her mouth. Closed it. She looked down at her hands in her lap, fingers twitching with restless energy she couldn’t seem to shake. After a long breath, she finally mumbled it. “Yeah.”

Both girls were silent. Rumi didn’t look at them. Didn’t want to look at them, but when neither of them said anything, she pressed her palms into her eyes, suddenly feeling too hot.

“I didn’t plan to, okay?” She added quickly. “It just… I don’t know. I felt like I needed something to just stop. Like my brain won’t shut up. And I thought maybe if I could slow it down, just for a little while—”

“Rumi,” Zoey said softly, her voice tight with concern.

“I’m fine,” Rumi said again, but this time it cracked. “I didn’t even take that much.”

Mira moved closer, kneeling beside her. “Why didn’t you tell us?” She asked gently.

Rumi shrugged, eyes glassy. “Because you guys are… you. You’re always so in control. You’ve got each other. You laugh and you plan outfits and you remember to eat. And I’m just—” She broke off, her throat tight again. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

Zoey shook her head. “We don’t care about that. We care about you. You could come in here and be a whole disaster and we’d still want to help. That’s what friends do.”

Rumi sniffed, trying to laugh, but it came out watery. “You guys are annoying.”

“Yeah, well,” Mira smiled, brushing Rumi’s hair from her face. “So are you. But we love you anyway.”

Rumi didn’t say anything, but when Zoey reached for her hand, she held on tightly. The silence hung for a beat longer before Zoey shifted on the floor beside Rumi, gently squeezing her hand.

Then, out of nowhere, she said, “You know what? Next time… maybe we all just get high together.”

Rumi blinked, startled. “What?”

Mira’s eyes widened. “Zoey.”

Zoey shrugged. “I’m just saying. If Rumi’s going to spin out, might as well do it with her favorite emotional support weirdos around.”

Rumi stared at her, a laugh slipping out before she could help it. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Not as ridiculous as you doing this alone.” Zoey leaned back on her hands, casual. “We could’ve had snacks. A whole vibe. Lit a candle or something.”

“I’m not saying it’s a great idea,” Mira added quickly, though she was clearly trying not to smile. “But… I get it. Wanting to escape your brain for a bit.”

Zoey nodded. “Exactly. So next time? You don’t have to sneak around. You don’t have to hide. We’ll get you through the existential crisis together.”

Rumi rolled her eyes, but the smallest grin tugged at her mouth. “You guys are the worst.”

“Best worst,” Zoey corrected.

“And if we do this,” Mira said, giving them both a look, “we’re eating a full meal first. And drinking water.”

“Deal,” Rumi said, finally leaning back against the wall again.

The tension in the room softened. The ache didn’t vanish, not entirely, but it dulled just enough. Enough to feel a little less alone. A little more real.

She hesitated before speaking. “Celine texted me earlier.”

Zoey perked up immediately. “Your mom?”

Rumi grimaced. “Yeah.. She wants me to come home this weekend. Just to visit.”

Mira smiled softly. “That sounds nice.”

Rumi’s expression was unreadable for a second. “Yeah, it is. I mean, she’s been asking for weeks, but I kept putting it off. Said I had school stuff. Projects. You know, excuses.”

Zoey leaned in a bit. “Why’ve you been avoiding it?”

Rumi took a long sip before answering. “I think part of me just didn’t want her to see me like this. In this weird, halfway version of myself. Like I left, and I was supposed to be doing better. Not spiraling.”

Mira reached out and lightly touched her foot with hers. “You’re not spiraling. You’re… coping. And it’s messy, yeah, but you’re not doing it alone anymore.”

“And Celine would want to see you no matter what version of you showed up,” Zoey added. “Right?”

Rumi nodded slowly. “Yeah. She would.”

There was a pause. Then she added, “She said she’s baking banana bread.”

Zoey gasped. “Say less. I’m coming with you.”

Mira grinned. “I thought I was your favorite.”

“You are,” Zoey whispered dramatically. “But banana bread doesn’t judge me when I’m hungover.”

Rumi laughed, for real this time, full and unguarded. “You two are so dumb.” Rumi went quiet again, staring into her floor like it might give her the courage she needed. When she finally spoke, her voice was lower, more guarded.

“She wants me to come home,” She repeated, then added, “But… I don’t really want to go.”

Zoey furrowed her brows. “Why not? I thought you said she’s nice.”

“She is,” Rumi said quickly. “I mean… she’s not cruel or anything. Celine did everything right. She raised me, kept me safe, fed me, bought me books. She’s the kind of person people say is inspiring.”

Mira tilted her head, sensing more beneath it. “But?”

Rumi hesitated, then sighed, curling tighter into herself. “She holds me to this... impossible standard. Always has. Like every good grade is expected. Every success is just me doing the bare minimum. There’s no room to mess up. No room to just... be confused or angry or tired.”

Zoey frowned. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It is.” Rumi picked at a loose thread on her sleeve. “She doesn’t yell or punish or anything, but when I disappoint her? She gets quiet. Like I’m failing her. Like I’m not living up to the girl she worked so hard to raise. I can’t tell her I’ve been skipping class or that I feel like I’m barely holding it together.”

Mira’s voice was soft. “Do you think she’d stop loving you if she knew?”

“No?” Rumi said hesitantly, and then more quietly, “But she’d look at me different. And I don’t think I could handle that.”

There was a silence. Then Zoey leaned over, resting her head on Rumi’s shoulder. “You don’t have to be perfect here, you know. With us.”

“And you don’t owe anyone a version of yourself that doesn’t exist,” Mira added.

Rumi didn’t say anything for a moment, but she let Zoey lean on her. She didn’t pull away when Mira took her hand. Zoey shifted a little beside her, her brows pulled together in quiet concern. “Then… maybe you shouldn’t go.”

Rumi looked up, startled. “What?”

Zoey shrugged, a bit hesitant but firm. “I’m just saying… if going home is going to make you feel worse.. more pressure, more guilt.. then maybe you need to protect your peace instead.”

Mira glanced over, thoughtful. “You don’t owe anyone access to you when you’re already struggling. Even if they raised you.”

“But it’s Celine,” Rumi murmured, voice thin. “She’s done everything for me. She took me in when no one else would. I can’t just ignore her.”

“You’re not ignoring her,” Zoey said gently. “You’re choosing you right now.”

Rumi’s throat tightened. “That sounds selfish.”

“It’s not.” Mira said. “It’s human. And honestly? It’s healthy.”

Rumi stared at her hands, her thumb running over the rip in her jeans. “I don’t know how she’ll react if I say I’m not coming. She’ll probably just say ‘okay’ like it doesn’t bother her. But it will. And then I’ll be thinking about it all weekend.”

Zoey reached out, linking her pinky with Rumi’s. “Then don’t give her an answer right now. Sit with it. Ask yourself what you need. If you decide to go, we’ll help you pack and prep. If you don’t… we’ll make banana bread here and you can scream into a pillow like the rest of us.”

A soft laugh escaped Rumi, despite the ache in her chest. “I guess that could be fun..” Rumi nodded slowly, not committing either way yet, but grateful. Grateful to not have to know the answer just yet. “I feel like I don’t have an answer for everything and that really bothers me.” She sighed softly.

“You don’t need an answer. Think about it later and enjoy your high.” Zoey teased.

Rumi smiled lightly, letting her body relax. “You’re so right..” She whispered.

Chapter Text

The concrete steps outside the dorm were cold beneath her, but Rumi didn’t move. The night was quiet, broken only by the occasional hum of a distant car and the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze. Her phone screen glowed dimly in her hand, her thumb hovering over the contact name.

Celine (Mom).

After a moment of stillness, she tapped the call button. The line rang twice. “Hello?” Celine’s voice came through, warm, alert, and already laced with concern. “Rumi? Everything okay?”

Rumi swallowed. “Yeah, I… I’m fine. Sorry for calling so late.”

“Don’t be silly. You can call me anytime.” A pause. “What’s up?”

Rumi curled one arm around her knees, glancing out at the dark quad. “I got your message about coming home this weekend.”

“Mm-hmm. I was thinking I’d make that bread you like. And maybe lasagna. You sounded a little off last time we talked. Thought you could use some comfort food.”

Rumi smiled faintly, despite the ache in her chest. “You always know.”

“I try.” Celine chuckled softly. “So… will I get to see you?”

There was a pause.

“I don’t know yet,” Rumi said quietly. “I’ve been… overwhelmed lately. Classes are piling up. Projects. People.”

“You don’t need to make excuses, Rumi,” Celine said, gentle but direct. “Just tell me the truth.”

Rumi bit her lip. “It’s true. Things have just been busy. I have to keep up my grades and that takes a lot of studying and effort.” She explained, because she couldn’t tell her she feels like she’s failing at everything. How she hates the thought of showing up and having Celine see her like this.

Silence lingered on the other end of the line for a beat too long.

“I don’t need you to be perfect, Rumi,” Celine said finally. “I never have. I just want to know you’re okay. And if you’re not okay, I want to be there anyway. That’s what parents do.”

“I know,” Rumi whispered. “But I don’t think it’s anything serious. Really. I’m fine.” Just what Celine wanted to hear. To prove she was still strong. “Just busy…”

“I hear you, baby. And it doesn’t make me love you less.”

Rumi closed her eyes, her chest tightening. “I don’t think I can come this weekend.”

“Okay,” Celine said simply.

Rumi opened her eyes. “Okay?”

“I’d rather have you here when you want to be here. Not out of guilt. That’s not the kind of love I ever wanted to give you.”

The words hit harder than Rumi expected.

“I miss you,” Celine said quietly.

“I miss you too..” They sat in silence for a moment, connected only by static and not understanding. “I’ll call you soon,” Rumi promised, voice steadier now.

“I’ll be here.”

When Rumi ended the call, she sat there for a long time, the air cool against her skin, her heart feeling just a little more heavy.

Her breath caught in her chest. She didn’t mean to cry. She never meant to cry, but the weight she’d been carrying, the pressure, the loneliness, the exhaustion of pretending.. It all broke open all at once.

A choked sob escaped her lips before she could stop it. She clamped a hand over her mouth, as if that would keep it in, as if silence could protect her from herself. But her shoulders started to shake anyway.

Tears spilled fast, hot and angry, dripping down her cheeks like something she'd been holding back for years, not days. The kind of crying that made it hard to breathe, not loud, but painful and aching, like a wound trying to close without stitching.

She curled in on herself, knees to her chest, forehead pressed against them, shivering despite the soft heat of the night. Her stomach twisted with guilt. Guilt for not going home, for not being stronger, for needing help and not knowing how to ask for it.

What if Celine changed her mind one day?

What if Zoey and Mira got tired of her moods?

What if Jinu decided she wasn’t fun anymore, not worth the effort?

The thoughts circled like vultures.

She tried to inhale, to slow her breathing, but it came out ragged. Her throat hurt. Her chest ached. The steps outside the dorm, usually a place she went to feel quiet, felt too exposed now. Too big. Too alone.