Chapter Text
The tour was officially over.
Rumi should have felt relieved—no more cramped tour buses, no more sleeping in hotels that all blurred together, no more fighting demons in cities where she couldn't even pronounce the venue names. But instead, she felt oddly hollow as she stared at her reflection in the practice room mirror, watching the last traces of stage makeup disappear under cold cream.
"Earth to leader-nim," Zoey's voice cut through her thoughts, accompanied by the familiar sound of sneakers squeaking against the polished floor. "You're doing that thing where you zone out and look all broody and mysterious."
"I don't look broody," Rumi protested, though she didn't turn away from the mirror.
"You absolutely look broody," Mira said from where she was sprawled on the floor, still in her stage clothes but with her boots kicked off. "Very 'tortured artist contemplating the meaning of existence.'"
"I'm not tortured," Rumi said, finally turning to face them both. "Just... tired."
It wasn't entirely a lie. She was tired; bone-deep exhausted from months of performances and demon hunting and keeping secrets that felt heavier with each passing day. But mostly, she was tired of pretending that moments like these didn't make her heart do complicated things in her chest.
Zoey bounded over with that infectious energy that somehow never seemed to dim, no matter how grueling their schedule. "You know what we need? A celebration. A proper one. No Bobby, no cameras, no bodyguards—just us being normal twenty-somethings who definitely didn't just finish fighting demons in three different time zones."
"Normal is a stretch," Mira said dryly, but she was sitting up now, pink hair falling in messy waves around her shoulders. "When's the last time any of us did normal?"
"Which is exactly why we need to try," Zoey insisted, grabbing both their hands and pulling them to their feet. "Come on, I found this place in Hongdae—tiny, hole-in-the-wall, absolutely perfect. We can wear hoodies and be mysterious and pretend we're just regular people on a regular night out."
Rumi felt that familiar flutter in her stomach at the way Zoey's eyes lit up when she talked about spending time together. It was the same feeling she got when Mira would unconsciously reach for her hand during movies, or when both of them would automatically flank her on either side when they walked down the street. It was dangerous, that feeling—warm and hopeful and absolutely foolish.
"I don't know," Rumi said, though her resolve was already weakening. "We should probably rest. We start recording 'Golden' next week, and—"
"And we'll be brilliant because we're always brilliant," Zoey interrupted, grinning. "But tonight, we're going to eat questionable street food and laugh too loud and be disgustingly happy together. No arguments."
Mira stood and stretched, her shirt riding up just enough to show a strip of pale skin that made Rumi look away quickly. "I'm in," she said simply. "But I'm choosing what we wear. No more of Zoey's 'fashion experiments.'"
"My fashion is revolutionary," Zoey protested, but she was already heading for the door. "You're just not ready for that level of artistic vision."
"Your 'artistic vision' involves neon colors and at least three different patterns," Rumi said, following them out of the practice room.
"And it's iconic," Zoey shot back, linking their arms as they walked down the hallway. "One day you'll appreciate my genius."
An hour later, they were standing outside a restaurant that was so small Rumi almost missed it entirely. The sign was faded, written in hangul that was barely visible in the dim light, and the whole place looked like it could seat maybe fifteen people if they were feeling generous.
"This is your 'perfect' place?" Rumi asked, adjusting her face mask and pulling her hood up higher.
"Trust me," Zoey said, practically bouncing with excitement. "I scouted it last week when I couldn't sleep. The ajumma who runs it makes the best kimchi jjigae in the city, and it's so tucked away that nobody will recognize us."
"If we get food poisoning, I'm blaming you," Mira said, but there was fondness in her voice as she held the door open for both of them.
The interior was even smaller than it looked from outside, with mismatched chairs and tables that had definitely seen better days. But it was warm and cozy, with soft lighting that made everything feel intimate and golden. The ajumma behind the counter looked up when they entered, her face breaking into a wide smile.
"Welcome, welcome!" she called out, gesturing toward a corner booth. "Celebrating something special tonight?"
Rumi felt her cheeks warm under her mask. "We're just—"
"Yes," Zoey interrupted, sliding into the booth with a grin that was visible even behind her face covering. "Very special."
The ajumma beamed and bustled away to bring them menus, leaving the three of them alone in their little corner. Rumi tried not to notice how close Zoey was sitting, their thighs pressed together on the worn vinyl seat. Tried not to pay attention to the way Mira was looking at both of them with that soft expression she got sometimes, like she was cataloging moments to remember later.
"You're going to love this place," Zoey said, pulling down her mask now that they were relatively hidden. "Look, they have those little grill things built into the tables, and the banchan is apparently made fresh every morning, and—"
"Breathe," Mira said gently, reaching across the table to squeeze Zoey's hand. "We have all night."
All night. The words sent a little thrill through Rumi that she firmly ignored. This was just friends having dinner. Friends celebrated things together all the time. The fact that the lighting was soft and romantic, that they were tucked away in a corner like lovers sharing secrets, that Zoey kept looking at her like she hung the moon—none of that meant anything.
It couldn't mean anything.
They ordered too much food, as always. Kimchi jjigae and bulgogi and banchan that covered every available inch of their small table. The ajumma kept bringing them extra dishes with winks and knowing smiles, and Rumi tried not to read into the way she kept referring to them as "such a sweet trio" and "so lovely together."
"Try this," Mira said, appearing at Rumi's elbow with a piece of perfectly grilled meat balanced on her chopsticks. It was such a natural gesture that Rumi almost didn't think about it—just opened her mouth and let Mira feed her, their fingers brushing when Rumi's hand came up to steady Mira's wrist.
The contact sent electricity up her arm, and she saw something flicker in Mira's eyes before she pulled back, cheeks pink.
"Good?" Mira asked, and her voice was softer than usual.
"Perfect," Rumi managed, very aware of how close they were sitting, how Mira's knee was pressed against hers under the table.
"My turn," Zoey declared, reaching for her own chopsticks. But instead of feeding Rumi directly, she loaded up a piece of lettuce with rice and meat and sauce, crafting it like a tiny work of art. "Open," she commanded, and when Rumi complied, Zoey's thumb brushed the corner of her mouth to catch a drop of sauce. "There. Perfect."
The casual intimacy of it made Rumi's heart skip several beats. This was just how they were together, she reminded herself. Tactile and affectionate and completely unselfconscious about personal space. It didn't mean anything more than friendship, no matter how much she wished it did.
She was too busy trying to convince herself of this to notice the way Zoey's phone kept appearing, taking candid shots when she thought no one was looking. Or the way Mira's hand found hers under the table, their fingers interlacing like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"You're being quiet," Mira observed, her thumb tracing gentle patterns across Rumi's knuckles.
"Just thinking," Rumi said, fighting the urge to pull away from the contact that felt too good, too dangerous.
"About what?" Zoey asked, leaning closer until her shoulder pressed against Rumi's.
About how much I want this to be real, Rumi thought. About how I wish you were both looking at me the way I look at you. About how terrified I am that if you knew what I really was, you'd run.
"Just... this," she said finally. "How nice it is. Having a normal night."
Zoey's expression went soft and fond. "Yeah," she said quietly. "It really is."
They stayed until the ajumma started pointedly cleaning around them, and even then they lingered, reluctant to break the spell of the evening. When they finally stepped back out onto the street, the night air was cool and crisp, and Hongdae was alive with the usual chaos of neon lights and late-night crowds.
"Walk?" Mira suggested, and they fell into step naturally, arms linked like they were afraid of losing each other in the crowd.
They window-shopped their way through the district, stopping to peer at displays and make ridiculous commentary about the latest fashion trends. When they passed a jewelry store, Zoey pressed her face against the glass like a kid outside a candy shop.
"Oh my god, look at those," she said, pointing at a display of couple rings. "They're so cheesy. So perfectly, ridiculously romantic."
"Team bonding accessories," Mira said dryly, but she was smiling.
"Exactly," Zoey agreed, though her eyes were soft when she looked between Rumi and Mira. "Though I guess we already have our matching promise rings from debut."
Rumi touched the thin silver band on her right hand automatically. They all wore them—a symbol of their commitment to each other and to their group. But looking at them now, at the way the streetlights caught the metal, she couldn't help but think they looked less like professional jewelry and more like...
"Come on," she said quickly, pulling them away from the window before her thoughts could go any further down that dangerous path. "It's getting late."
The walk back to their dorm was quiet, the kind of comfortable silence that only came with people who knew each other well enough that words weren't always necessary. But there was something electric in the air, a tension that made Rumi hyperaware of every point of contact—Zoey's hand in hers, Mira's arm around her waist, the way they both seemed to be watching her with unusual intensity.
When they reached their building, they stood in the lobby for a moment longer than necessary, none of them quite ready to break the spell of the evening.
"That was perfect," Zoey said finally, her voice uncharacteristically quiet. "Thank you for letting me drag you out."
"Thank you for dragging us out," Mira corrected, and then she was stepping closer, close enough that Rumi could smell her shampoo, could see the flecks of gold in her dark eyes.
The goodnight kisses started with Mira, a soft press of lips against Rumi's cheek that lingered just a moment longer than usual. Then Zoey, whose kiss landed closer to the corner of Rumi's mouth than was strictly friendly, her hand cupping Rumi's face like she was something precious.
"Sweet dreams," Zoey murmured, and there was something in her voice that made Rumi's chest tight with longing.
They separated at their respective doors, and Rumi made it all the way inside her room before her knees gave out and she slumped against her door, heart hammering against her ribs.
Shit, I wish this was a real date, she thought, pressing her fingers to her cheek where she could still feel the warmth of Mira's lips. The way they look at me sometimes... but that's just wishful thinking. They're my best friends, and I'm lucky to have that. Even if I want more, even if my heart does this stupid fluttering thing when Mira smiles at me like that, when Zoey looks at me like I'm the answer to every question she's ever had.
She changed into her pajamas and brushed her teeth, trying to ignore the way her demon marks seemed to pulse faintly in the bathroom mirror, a reminder of all the reasons why tonight couldn't have been what she wanted it to be.
But as she settled into bed, her phone buzzed with a notification. A photo from Zoey—the three of them in the restaurant, faces soft with laughter and candlelight, looking for all the world like they were completely, desperately in love with each other.
The caption made her breath catch: my favorites (づ ̄ ³ ̄)づ♡
She stared at the photo for a long time, memorizing the way they looked together, the way Zoey's hand was resting on her shoulder and Mira's fingers were tangled with hers on the table. They looked like a couple. Like three people who belonged together in ways that went far beyond friendship.
But that was just the lighting, she told herself as she finally set the phone aside. Just the romantic atmosphere and the wine and the intimacy of the small space. It didn't mean anything.
It couldn't mean anything.
Even if, deep down in the part of herself she tried hardest to ignore, she desperately wished it did.