Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mira has worked at Sunlight Scoops for upwards of two months now, and if someone put a gun to her head and told her to name three things about Rumi, she could maybe give them two:

1. Rumi worked at Sunlight Scoops
2. Rumi was absolute shit at small talk

It wasn’t that they spent their whole shifts ignoring each other. Rumi was professional and cordial, if a little awkward. She just also happened to be incredibly unforthcoming about herself in a way that sometimes had Mira wondering if there was some sort of witness protection thing going on that she and Zoey weren’t aware of.

“She’s not that closed off,” Zoey drawls between licks of her strawberry cheesecake waffle cone. It’s ten after closing, and she and Mira had opted to enjoy their free shift scoops in the glow of the evening heat, rather than scarfing them down in the tiny back room while Rumi waited for them to finish so she could lock up. Rumi, who–despite their countless offers–never hung around for a shift cone of her own, always heading out right after closing. And look, Mira gets it–it’s a crappy minimum wage job that barely makes any tips, and there’s no real reason to be there for any longer than necessary. But given how much time they spent together, packed in behind the counter and all reaching over each other for a scoop of whatever flavors their customers wanted, would it really kill her to hang back and play nice for one night?

“She is that closed off,” Mira rebuttes. “She was refilling the ube and I asked if purple was her favorite color, and she just stared at me and like, grimaced.”

“Maybe she didn’t hear you.” Zoey crunches into her cone, her next words garbled. “M’ybe she thought it wash obveeish.”

Mira rolls her eyes, taking a halfhearted bite of her own ice cream. “I just don’t get her. She’ll be so nice, and then bam! Walls up.”

“It is kinda confusing,” Zoey admits. “Like the time she caught us sneaking samples and just laughed, but as soon as we offered her one she got all weird and went to the back to do inventory.”

“Exactly!” Mira lets out a sound that’s half groan, half growl. “Like, either be friendly or be icy. Not this weird back and forth stuff.”

A beat passes. Zoey snorts. “Icy.”

Mira sighs. “Whatever. She’s just like, giving me whiplash.”

Zoey stares into her rapidly soupifying cone. “Yeah.”

“She’s still really hot though.”

“Yeah.”

–

Zoey has worked at Sunlight Scoops for three weeks longer than Mira, and according to her, Rumi is just kind of weird.

“She’s super on for all the customers,” she had told Mira over one of their first post-work ice creams. “But as soon as things clear out, she just kinda clams up. Goes to the back to do manager stuff or gets out the mop.”

And that was exactly what Mira had witnessed for months. Rumi would smile, charm the customers, delight the shy children with free samples and calm the overly-excited ones with her gentle voice. But as soon as it was just the three of them talking, she fell back on stilted answers or found ways to busy herself elsewhere.

Now, Rumi sends a young couple out the door with a pleasant thanks for coming and turns back to the task at hand, scraping the remainder of the orange cream ice cream from the mostly empty pan into the fresh one that Mira has balanced on the counter.

“You’re pretty good at that,” Mira comments.

Rumi doesn’t look up. “Scooping?”

“Talking to the customers,” Mira clarifies, and watches as the back of Rumi’s neck goes a little pink.

“I’ve worked here a long time,” is all she says.

Zoey looks up from across the counter, where she’s been scrubbing at a sticky smudge on the glass. “How long?” she asks.

Rumi shrugs. “On and off since I was a kid,” she says. “So. Plenty of practice.”

She pulls the now empty pan from the line and walks it to the sink to wash.

–

“Maybe she knows the owner,” Zoey theorizes after closing. She stares into her cup of ice cream, hunting down errant chunks of cookie dough. “Maybe she’s like, ice cream royalty.”

“Maybe she’s seen so much turnover that she doesn’t see the point in getting to know us,” Mira quips.

“Oh gosh, do you think?” Zoey sounds genuinely worried. “I mean, I don’t want to work here forever, but it would be nice if we could at least all be friends while we’re here.”

“Yeah.” Mira pokes at an icy gummy bear with her plastic spoon. “Friends.”

When she looks up, Zoey is staring at her.

“What?” she asks. “Oh, gummy bear? Here.”

She spoons a green bear from her cup into Zoey’s, but Zoey doesn’t react, just keeps staring.

“You’re so pretty, Mira,” she says. Then, seemingly unrelated, “Friends first. Rumi too. And then we go from there.”

And Mira is left wondering what the hell that means.

–

They’re slammed. It’s hot out, it’s a Saturday, and to make matters worse, Zoey and Rumi are both a little off their game–Zoey due to an upcoming project deadline for her music production class and Rumi for god knows what reason. Point is, Zoey’s been humming all day and Rumi has been accidentally giving out such large scoops that they’ve had to switch out their pans twice as often. So Mira may be a little on edge by the time the rush finally dies down, nearly halfway through their shift.

“Where’s your head at?” she asks Rumi, who shrugs and murmurs an apology.

“And you,” Mira jabs a finger at Zoey, “need to get that melody down somewhere. Go write it out or put it in a voice note or something. Keep humming and you’re gonna lose all the parts you like.”

“Right.” Zoey nods determinedly. “Be right back.”

Mira sighs. Her vision is fuzzy thanks to the contact prescription she put off refilling for too long and she’s sticky from the heat, stray hairs from her long ponytail clinging to the back of her neck. She shuts her eyes, inhales, exhales. Breathe. Reset.

She’s just started wiping down the counter when she notices Rumi’s gaze on her. Rumi, who looks like the rush left her a little worse for wear herself. Her cheeks are tinged pink with exertion and her long-sleeved manager shirt has a glob of cherry ice cream running down the front. Mira offers her a clean, damp rag and pointedly looks away as Rumi wipes at the stain on her chest.

“Does Zoey sing?” Rumi asks timidly after a few moments of working in silence.

Mira nods, then realizes she has no idea whether or not Rumi is looking at her. “Um, yeah. A little bit. She raps and writes songs, too. She’s in school for music production.”

“I didn’t know that,” Rumi murmurs. “That’s really cool.”

“It is.” Mira’s chest swells with pride. “She’s incredible at what she does.”

“I believe it,” Rumi says fervently. “She’s…”

Mira looks up. “She’s what?”

But Rumi shakes her head. “Nevermind.” She seems to give up on her shirt, tossing the rag in the bin under the sink before rejoining Mira at the counter. “What about you?” she asks. “What do you do?”

“Dance.” It’s out of her mouth before she can even think about it. “I want to be a dancer. I don’t have any training, though. I’m not in school.”

Her family had wanted her to be. Wanted her to study business, even if she insisted on taking dance classes on the side. When she dropped out after her first year, her parents had pulled their funding, and she’d ended up bouncing between minimum wage jobs and backup dancing gigs, until those had run dry and she’d ended up at Sunlight Scoops.

She doesn’t say any of this to Rumi. Doesn’t feel the need to broadcast her family issues to someone who can’t even tell her their favorite color. She half expects Rumi to say what everyone says: it’s so hard to make it in dance, or only the best get in, or her father’s favorite, is there really any point in trying?

What Rumi says to her instead is, “You look like a dancer.”

And the barest breathlessness to her voice zaps any thoughts of her family right out of Mira’s head. She wants to ask something along the lines of what, exactly, Rumi means by that, but Rumi is decidedly not looking at her, and before she can get her attention, the door swings open to reveal a dark-haired boy in a black t-shirt. His eyes roam the shop before settling with interest on Mira. Rumi’s head snaps up.

“Jinu!” She exclaims, and practically trips over herself diving out from behind the counter. “Perfect timing, I was just about to take my break.” She glances over her shoulder. “Back in 10?”

“Uh,” Mira says dumbly. “Sure.”

“Thanks.” Rumi doesn’t look back again as she leaves, just raises her hand in an awkward half-wave before grabbing the boy’s arm and shoving him back through the door.

“I wanted ice cream,” Mira hears him say, and then Rumi: “Just go!” before the door clinks shut.

Zoey’s head peeks out from the back room.

“One,” she says, grinning conspiratorially, “she totally just called you hot. And two…”

Mira’s right there with her. “...who was that?”

–

Rumi does not offer up any details about the dark-haired boy when she returns, only asking if Zoey or Mira would like to take their break next and not saying much beyond that. She does, however, show up for her afternoon shift the next day looking gorgeous in a white, high-necked shirt, flowy jacket, and dark slacks, and with the boy on her heels. She stops short of the counter, standing uncomfortably rigid next to him as his eyes bounce from Mira to Zoey to Rumi and back. An amused smile creeps across his face. Mira scowls at him, and the smile twists into a smirk.

“There,” Rumi says quietly. “Happy? Now can you get some ice cream and get out of here please?”

“Hang on.” Zoey frowns. “I know you. You work at Saja Swirl.”

Mira’s jaw drops. “That tacky froyo place down the street?”

The boy’s voice is cocky when he speaks. “That tacky froyo place has nearly twice your customer satisfaction rating. Don’t you ever wonder why your shop’s such a ghost town?”

“Jinu.” Rumi hisses.

“Please,” Mira laughs. “We had more business yesterday than you probably get in a week.”

“Didn’t look like it when I was in,” Jinu quips. Rumi glares at him and he raises his hands placatingly. “Just stating the facts.”

“Well stop stating,” Rumi huffs. “Are you getting something or not?”

“Give me a second.” Jinu squints at her. “Jeez, the customer service. No wonder nobody comes here.”

“You-!” Rumi shoves at Jinu’s shoulder; Jinu dodges, brushes himself off, and calmly approaches the counter for “a scoop of your favorite,” pointing at Zoey, “and a scoop of your favorite,” pointing at Mira, “in a waffle cone, please. With Sprinkles. She’s paying.”

Rumi closes her eyes, putting what seems to be an enormous effort into staying cool, then pulls out her wallet, while Mira portions out a scoop of Zoey’s favorite, maple pancake batter, and a scoop of her own least favorite, cherry chocolate chunk. Rumi looks apologetic as she pays for the cone before jamming it into Jinu’s hands and pushing him towards the door.

“Okaygetout.” She shoves at his shoulder again. “I’ll see you later.” When she turns back to her coworkers, her face is strained.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, sheepish. “He can be a lot. I would’ve introduced you, but I was kind of hoping he’d just leave.”

Zoey’s eyes are shining with interest. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“Oh my god, no.” Rumi looks horrified by the suggestion, then embarrassed by her outburst. “No, he’s- we’re just- no.”

Mira snorts. “So this,” she gestures towards Rumi’s outfit, “isn’t you getting back from a date?”

“What-” Rumi looks down at herself. “Oh. This is for a dinner party I have to go to later. For my aunt.”

Mira takes in her look again. She’s got a line of star charms along the length of her usual braid and her lips are tinted ever so slightly darker than their usual pink. “Lucky dinner party.”

“You look good, Rumi!” Zoey chirps. “Does that mean you’re not closing with us?”

Rumi stiffly ignores the compliments. “It’s nearby,” she says. “I’ll just leave a bit early and be back at ten to lock up like usual.”

True to her word, Rumi leaves at 7:00, shrugging out of her long-sleeve and back into her jacket in the back room while Zoey and Mira pretend to be busy refilling the toppings. And even though Mira’s got nothing against Rumi, other than a blanketed confusion about basically every interaction they have, it’s nice to get the evening alone with Zoey. Zoey’s a chatterer, and she puts her hands on Mira’s arms when she wants her attention, and Mira won’t pretend to hate any of that. Plus, with Rumi gone they’re free to gossip about Jinu.

“I can’t believe she hangs out with him,” Mira mutters, handing off a cake cone of white chocolate fudge. “All the guys who work at that place are so obnoxious.”

“The one with the hair is kinda cute,” Zoey hedges. “But yeah, probably pretty obnoxious.”

“Now that I think about it, I’ve seen her head in that direction after work, like, basically every night this week,” Mira realizes. “She usually goes west after closing; Saja Swirl is east of here.”

Zoey frowns indignantly. “Do you think she’s turning down our ice cream time to hang out with yogurt boy?”

“I so don’t get her,” Mira huffs. Zoey just shakes her head and sighs.

By the time Rumi gets back, the case is clean, the floor is mopped, and Mira and Zoey are sitting on the stoop outside the door sharing a cup of Oreo mint ice cream.

“You’re a little late, boss,” Mira quips. “Hope you’re ready to shell out that overtime pay.”

“You two worked five hours today,” Rumi responds without pause. “But I’m sorry I held you up.”

“We’d probably be here anyway,” Zoey chimes in. “Reaping the rewards of our hard work.”

Rumi glances at the ice cream between them and looks almost amused. “Well, don’t let me keep you any longer. You two can go, I’ll shut us down.”

“You sure?” Mira asks, already picking up her things. It’s only then that she notices how tired Rumi looks. Her eyes are glazed, her shoulders slumping, and strands of purple hair are falling out of their normally perfect braid.

Zoey seems to have noticed the same. “Hey,” she says, standing to place a hand on Rumi’s arm. “You okay?”

Rumi startles at the contact, eyes snapping up to Zoey’s unsurely. She opens her mouth. Closes it. Stares.

“Yeah,” she says finally, then shakes her head as if to clear it. “Sorry, just kind of out of it.” Almost to herself, she adds, “I hate those parties.”

“What happened?” Mira’s holding out very little hope that they’ll get an actual answer. But for once, Rumi opens up.

“Nothing ever happens,” she blurts. “There’s no point to any of them. Celine just shows off how well her businesses are doing and makes me talk about the shop and stuff. Sometimes someone from the label will perform. That’s really the only good part.”

“Celine? Like, our boss?” Zoey asks, at the same time as Mira asks, “The label?”

“Oh, yeah.” Rumi frowns to herself. “Celine is my aunt. And she owns this record label that I really want to be a part of, but she’ll only let me get involved if it’s on the business side.”

Zoey and Mira share a look. Lore! Zoey mouths. Mira shrugs and nods.

“You don’t wanna be on the business side,” she guesses.

Rumi shakes her head. Quietly, she admits, “I want to sing.”

Zoey’s eyebrows raise. Mira feels a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. You look like a singer, she wants to say. But then Rumi laughs, self deprecating.

“It’s stupid,” she says lightly. “Celine gives me a lot of great opportunities. I can always sing on my own time.”

She steps past them and into the store. Right before the door closes between them, she murmurs, “Get home safe.”

–

“Maybe she’s this wicked talented singer and Celine doesn’t want her to get famous because she doesn’t have anyone else to run the shop,” Zoey suggests as they make their way to the train station.

“Maybe she really is ice cream royalty and she can’t be a singer because it’s her lifelong duty to serve the ice cream people.”

“That’s basically what I said.”

Mira snorts. “Alright. Go catch your train. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thanks for the escort.” Zoey dips into a neat curtsey. “My ice cream prince.”

The train makes a ding sound and Mira laughs as Zoey manages to shove her way on at the last second.

She stands and waves until the train is gone, then heads off towards her own home and tries to smother her smile.

Chapter Text

If Mira thought the dinner party conversation would change anything between them and Rumi, she would be wrong. That much is evident when she walks into work the next day to find Rumi and Jinu on opposite sides of the cash register muttering conspiratorially to each other.

“-just don’t see how that’s an overshare,” Jinu is saying before Rumi’s eyes lock onto Mira and she goes red and silent.

“Hi,” Mira says pointedly as she walks past them to drop her bag in the back room. Rumi waves stiltedly and Jinu snorts.

“You’re so smooth, Rumi,” he drawls once Mira’s around the corner.

“Please get out,” Mira hears Rumi hiss in response.

Rumi is more awkward than usual as the shift goes on, to the point where, when Zoey arrives to take over for Bobby, who covers most of her earlier shifts on days she has class, Mira could just about kiss her.

“What’s up?” Zoey asks when Rumi dips out for a garbage run. “You’ve got that angry face of yours on.”

“This is my normal face,” Mira says angrily. “She’s said four words to me, Zo. In three hours. I asked how her aunt was, and she said ‘Got some new shoes’. What the fuck does that mean? She keeps dropping things so she has an excuse to stand at the sink and wash them. And every time we get a customer it’s like she’s mentally begging them to stay so she has an excuse not to look at me.”

“Maybe she’s got selective laryngitis,” Zoey muses.

Mira scoffs. “Maybe she just really doesn’t like me.”

It’s meant to be a joke, for the most part, but it comes out sounding flat and defeated. Zoey’s eyes go soft. She takes Mira’s hands in hers.

“She likes you,” she says, soft and full of confidence. “She likes us both. I know she does.”

For a fleeting moment, Mira is overcome with the urge to tuck her face into Zoey’s shoulder. But because that would be insane–and Zoey’s nearly a head shorter than her, anyway–she just squeezes Zoey’s hands.

“I don’t know why she gets so far under my skin,” Mira admits.

Zoey squeezes back. “Don’t you?” she presses, and Mira frowns at the knowingness in her voice, frowns because no, she doesn’t know, and if Zoey does it seems kinda rude not to share, but before she can say any of this there’s a squeak behind her, and she turns to see Rumi just now partway through the door, gaze locked on their entwined hands. Mira hadn’t heard the bell. She drops Zoey’s hands like she’s done something wrong, then regrets it a second too late. Zoey takes a partial step back, which makes Mira realize how close they’d been standing just seconds ago. There’s a buzzing in the air that fizzles away as the moment dissipates.

“Everything okay?” Zoey asks Rumi, whose cheeks are rapidly turning that familiar, flushed pink.

Rumi just marches past them robotically and disappears into the back room.

–

They don’t talk about any of it on the way to the train station. Instead, Mira lets Zoey ramble about her classes and all the assignments she’s letting pile up because she still hasn’t nailed the melody for her final project.

“I just-” she says, and doesn’t pause when Mira takes her shoulders and maneuvers her out of the way of a lightpost, “-really want it to be perfect, even though I know I could pass with something average, but what’s the point in trying if I’m not gonna give it my all?”

Something about that strikes a chord in Mira. But she just makes a quiet hm sound and listens as Zoey goes on, and enjoys the feel of Zoey’s shoulder as it brushes against hers.

“Maybe you could help me with it sometime,” Zoey finishes when they reach their destination. “You’ve got such a good ear for music.”

“You think so?” Mira smiles.

“Duh.” Zoey points an accusing finger. “And don’t think I don’t know about that voice. I’ve heard you sing when Bobby lets us turn up the radio.”

And, okay, there had been a few impromptu karaoke sessions on the few morning shifts she and Zoey had worked with Bobby. But Zoey’s voice was always the one that shone to Mira.

“Think about it,” Zoey says, and then the train doors are closing and she’s dashing away.

Mira rolls her eyes fondly, waits around to wave the train goodbye, then heads away from the station.

On a whim, she walks east.

–

Saja Swirl is just starting to close down by the time she gets to it. The glass walls beneath the neon sign are tinted a smooth dark gray, but she can see the vague shapes of the meathead yogurt boys as they go about their nightly cleaning. It is, Mira admits, a much sleeker, more modern establishment, blending right into the tall glass skyscraper that houses it. Sunlight Scoops, on the other hand, is a bit of a sore thumb with its yellow brick walls and hand-painted sign. But Mira prefers its comforting warmth to the stark soullessness of the Saja building.

She’s just about to continue on her way when she sees her: Rumi, sitting at one of the outdoor tables the boys haven’t yet cleared out. Jinu sits across from her, his work apron folded down so it hangs about his waist. They’re sharing a cup of frozen yogurt.

Without thinking, Mira slinks back against the wall of a nearby building, peering carefully around the corner. This is weird, she knows. It was weird to come here hoping to see Rumi, and it’s weird that she’s hiding now that she’s actually here. At least she’s not eavesdropping, she reasons. It’s only eavesdropping if she can hear them.

“You’re making this so much more complicated than it needs to be,” Jinu says.

Oh. Crap.

But Mira still doesn’t leave.

“I just can’t talk to them.” There’s Rumi, sounding frustrated. “I’m just weird, and I freeze up. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” Jinu says with the practice of someone who’s said it a million times. “You’ve just gotta go for it.”

“Not everyone can march up to the girls they like and have them falling at their feet like you,” Rumi grumbles.

“No,” Jinu agrees. “That’s what they call a once in a generation talent.”

Rumi mutters something about once in a generation ego, and Jinu laughs.

“Look,” he says, sobering after a beat. “You were a shy kid, and it was cute, and everyone gave you the kid gloves because of it. But now you’re a shy adult, and you need to learn how to put yourself out there and get out of your own way if you ever want to get what you want.”

He stands, taking the rest of the yogurt with him. Rumi doesn’t protest.

“I’ve gotta help close up,” he says. “You sticking around for a ride?”

Rumi shakes her head and says that she’ll walk, and the two part ways.

Mira stays back, hidden, until Rumi is long gone.

When she gets home, she opens her computer and searches Seoul dance showcase.

It’s time to get out of her own way.

–

Mira isn’t scheduled to work for the next two days, and while Zoey texts her incessantly about all the little details of her life, Mira doesn’t mention what she’d overheard outside Saja Swirl. For one thing, she still feels guilty about listening in from the shadows, but she also hasn’t quite been able to wrap her head around what the conversation might mean–she’s not sure how she’d explain it to Zoey, even if she tried.

I just can’t talk to them, Rumi had said. Mira needed to know more. Did “them” mean her and Zoey? Or were there other people in Rumi’s life who she was mind-blowingly shit at talking to on the regular?

If it did mean her and Zoey, then what was the next bit about?

Not everyone can march up to the girls they like and have them falling at their feet.

There was no way Rumi meant… Because that’s not how you treat the girls you like. You call them pretty, and make them laugh, and keep them from walking into things on their way home. Mira should know–she’s an expert. She has charm dripping from her ears.

But Rumi doesn’t do any of that. Rumi is weird and closed off and can barely scrape together an audible response half the time they try to talk to her.

(Rumi had told her she looked like a dancer.)

Mira shakes her head.

There was just no way.

–

There are thankfully no customers around when Zoey bursts through the door two days later, cradling her laptop in her arms and demanding that everyone listen to this, right now.

Mira and Bobby, who had removed all the ice cream pans to dust below the counter and were now debating whether the flavors had been in rainbow or alphabetical order, are happy to abandon their task. They replace the pans randomly (which, Zoey points out later, is how they were organized in the first place) and crowd around Zoey. Even Rumi looks up from where she’s sweeping up bits of crushed ice cream cone across the store.

Zoey thunks her laptop down next to the cash register and presses play. The song that drifts through the tinny speakers is the same one she’d been humming days ago, the one Mira knows she wants to use for her final project. There are no lyrics, but the music thrums through the air, lightweight and charged, and makes Mira’s spine go straight.

Rumi looks awed. “This is…” she drifts closer to the computer almost unconsciously, not seeming to notice, for once, as she starts to bump into Zoey’s personal space. “This is really good, Zoey.”

“Really, really good,” Mira emphasizes.

“You think so?” Zoey beams. “Something just clicked when I got home last night. I knew exactly what I wanted it to sound like. The only problem is-”

The melody changes abruptly, light, melodic synth giving way to heavy, rumbling bass and the arrhythmic thump of a kick drum. Zoey cringes and hits stop.

“-that,” she finishes. “I’ve got almost all of it nailed down, but I need something different for the bridge. Nothing I’ve tried fits. I’ve even got lyrics for everything else, but the bridge?” She makes a little poof gesture. “Nothing.”

“What you had there wasn’t bad,” Mira offers, but Zoey shakes her head.

“It isn’t right. I’ll know it when I hear it. I just don’t have it yet. So brainstorm.” She points at Mira, then Rumi and Bobby. “Everyone brainstorm.”

Bobby departs with a promise to brainstorm and a request that Zoey please remember him when she’s famous, to which Zoey responds, “I could never forget you, Bobby Scoops.” Rumi promises nothing, but her face is scrunched in concentration. Her mouth makes miniscule motions to the beat of Zoey’s song and she taps her fingers along the handle of the broom as she hangs it back on its hook.

Mira watches this with such fascination that she forgets to do any brainstorming of her own.

Rumi is quiet as the shift goes on, but it’s different from her usual stuffy silence. There’s a crease between her brows that deepens and smooths as she murmurs to herself, barely audible. It’s a new side of her that Mira has never seen–not that she’s seen much of her at all.

It’s a side she doesn’t hate.

“What if…” Rumi says finally once their last customer is out the door. “Can you play it again?”

Zoey perks up and pulls the song back up on her laptop. When it reaches the bridge, Rumi presses pause.

“What if you strip it down?” she suggests. “Not to the bass, not to the drums–strip it all the way. Make it vulnerable.”

“Real piano.” Mira can feel the idea taking shape.

“With the main chord progression.” Zoey’s eyes widen. “We give it sixteen bare-”

“-and then sixteen building up,” Rumi continues.

“-bring back the low hum from the beginning-”

“-and work back into the chorus!”

Rumi is practically glowing. She’s pressed in close with Zoey now, both of them hovering in front of the laptop, shoulders almost touching. For the first time, the closed-off, impersonal demeanor Rumi always carries with her is nowhere to be found, and Mira swears there are stars in her eyes that weren’t there before. And maybe some of that glow has rubbed off on Zoey, or maybe it’s the high of the music that’s making her light up now in a way Mira’s never seen before–either way, there’s a shine to the girl that makes Mira’s heart sputter to a stop in her chest for a beat, then two.

Zoey makes a high, excited sound, already grabbing at her notebook, and Mira’s heart pounds back to life. “I knew you guys would be good at this,” she gushes, then flips to an empty page. “Okay, so how do we want the first transition to go: fade or quick cut? Or maybe we can work the start of it into the section right before?”

It’s then that Mira’s smile falters, the glow fading a little as she glances at Rumi. It’s not that she doesn’t want to watch Zoey work–she has known, from the very first time Zoey played one of her songs, that it is a privilege to get to witness her creative process. It’s just… she also knows how Zoey can get when she’s in the zone, and Rumi doesn’t typically stick around after hours.

“We can work outside,” she offers, catching Rumi’s attention. “If you need to get going.”

“Oh!” Zoey snaps out of it, seeming to follow Mira’s train of thought. “Sorry, Rumi. Mira and I can totally work on this somewhere else.”

Rumi says nothing for a moment, her face unreadable. Unconsciously, Mira’s fingers tighten around the countertop. Rumi won’t stay, she knows. Rumi has other things to do. Boring boys to meet with, probably, or like, social skills to suppress.

But then Rumi shakes her head.

“I want to hear what it sounds like,” she decides. “I want to stay. If that’s okay with you.”

And for once, Mira finds herself relieved to be wrong.

Zoey just smiles and starts the song from the top.

Chapter Text

Rumi opens up after that, little by little. She’s still kind of weird, and not exactly sociable by anyone’s standards, but she starts following up her hellos with how are you and her goodbyes with a little wave. She doesn’t stick around for post-shift ice cream, but sometimes she waits around to hear the end of one of Mira’s stories, or to ask about Zoey’s classes. Once, and only once, she joins them outside while they work away at their ice creams, though notably without any ice cream of her own.

Still, it’s nice, Mira thinks, to not be so iced out. To be able to think of Rumi, almost, as a friend.

When she gets her first acceptance to a dance showcase, she sends it to both of them. It’s just an amateur event, with no real scouts or competitive aspect, and without a group she’ll be one of the first to perform, which is nerve-racking. But if her family won’t believe in her, she’ll have to prove them wrong.

When she finishes her routine to a chorus of whoops and cheers and other dancers pounding her on the back, she knows she was right–knows she can do this, no matter what it takes.

And when she sees Rumi and Zoey waiting for her, Zoey beaming, Rumi flushed but smiling, too, a bouquet of flowers clutched awkwardly between them, she knows she was right about inviting them, too.

–

It’s rare that they have a shift together without Zoey.

Mira, who is not in school and is also scraping by on rent, is used to mornings with Bobby and afternoons with Zoey (who has too many morning classes to be scheduled early anymore) and Rumi (who writes the schedule and seems to put herself wherever she’s needed, which is really just afternoons). But Zoey had asked to trade Bobby for a morning shift a week ago, citing exam week for the change in her schedule, and then Bobby had caught a cold and Rumi hadn’t had anyone to fill in for him.

“Just you and Rumi tonight, huh?” Zoey had asked before she left. It had been a cold, dreary morning, and Zoey’d been pulling on a soft purple hoodie. There were tiny turtles embroidered on the elbow of each sleeve, Mira had noticed. It was unthinkably cute.

“If you show up tomorrow and the shop’s empty, just know that we probably died of sheer awkwardness,” she had drawled. Zoey’d shot her a look.

“Play nice, Mir,” she’d said. “Don’t scare her off.”

So Mira’s playing nice. She’s staying out of Rumi’s bubble, letting her do her thing with the customers, and keeping any personal questions to herself. She is the epitome of respectful, professional, and polite.

Rumi, for once, is not.

For the first time in Mira’s (admittedly short) Sunlight career, Rumi is everywhere–stepping into her space at the case (“Sorry, I… thought the chocolate was on your other side.”), roping her into little bits of customer small talk (“Oh, Mira listens to them too!”), even asking about Mira’s life when business gets slow. It’s like Rumi has decided all of a sudden that she’s done keeping her head down. She wants to be seen, and felt, and heard, and the abrupt 180 is giving Mira whiplash.

(“Do you live alone?” is her first question, and Mira feels a strange sense of role-reversed deja vu when all she can think to do is nod.

“That must be hard,” Rumi muses, and Mira frowns, confused.

“Don’t you live alone?” she asks, and almost laughs when Rumi looks confused, like she didn’t realize she’d have to answer questions, too.

Rumi recovers quickly. “Not really,” she admits. “I mean, I live with my aunt. She’s just never around.”)

(“Do you have any pets?” she asks next.

Mira shakes her head, and Rumi seems at a loss for what to do with that. “I had a dog growing up,” she offers. “But my apartment doesn’t allow pets.”

Rumi nods sagely. “I have a cat,” she volunteers. “He used to be Jinu’s, but now he’s mine… somehow…”

Mira smiles, because of course Rumi has a cat. “What’s his name?” she asks, and Rumi goes red and mumbles something unintelligible. Mira raises an eyebrow.

“Derpy,” Rumi mutters at last, and blushes deeper and redder when Mira’s laugh rings through the store.)

(“Do you and Zoey-” Rumi starts again after a while, then hesitates. “I mean- is there anyone-”

She cuts herself off and shakes her head, whispers something about inventory, then goes to the back room to stand, motionless, in front of the freezer. Mira supposes it’s been a big day for her, conversation-wise, and lets her have her little meltdown in peace.)

CRUSHED MY EXAM, Zoey texts her halfway through the night. Actually idrk. Kinda blacked out. Woke up and it was done! :0

Hell yeah it was, Mira writes back.

How’s work? Enjoying your Rumi time?

It’s weird, Mira types. She’s actually talking to me. Like, starting conversations all on her own.

Maybe she’s been body-snatched, Zoey theorizes. The alien invasion could be happening right before your eyes.

Maybe she slipped on some ice cream during closing last night and gave herself a concussion and woke up with conversation skills.

Gosh, do you think so?

Mira lets out a quiet, amused laugh, and thinks of the conversation she’d overheard outside Saja Swirl. Thinks of Jinu telling Rumi to put herself out there, and of Rumi standing in front of the freezer, taking a moment to cool down.

No, she responds. I actually think she’s really trying.

Zoey writes, :O

Rumi cools it with the questions when she finally emerges from her self-imposed time out, though she still seems determined to make a concentrated effort at friendliness. Said effort includes telling Mira that she likes her shirt–which, Mira does not point out, is the standard plain black Sunlight shirt they’d all been given upon hire–and telling her about the dance group her aunt was thinking about signing to the label, whose routines she’d described as good, but not as good as yours–not that they were bad or anything! I just thought that you would’ve looked really great up there with them. Not that you don’t always look–!

Mira observes this all with narrowed eyes and wonders if Rumi really did hit her head.

“So, yeah…” Rumi caps off what is most definitely the longest, messiest string of words Mira’s ever heard from her with a lame wave of her hand. She looks as if she’s trying very hard not to be embarrassed. Mira leans close and stares right into her eyes, but her pupils look normal and her speech, while truly incomprehensible towards the end, at least wasn’t slurred.

“Have you had any headaches today?” Mira asks. “Or sensitivity to light?”

Rumi blinks rapidly. “N-no?”

Mira hums. Maybe Rumi just needs some sleep.

“Why don’t we close up,” she suggests, straightening up and away from Rumi’s face.

Rumi seems to shake herself out of a daze. “But it’s not time yet.”

Mira shrugs. “It’s wet and gross out. No one’s gonna come by in the next fifteen minutes, and you seem like you could use a nap.”

“I don’t need a nap,” Rumi murmurs, quietly indignant, but she doesn’t object when Mira starts stacking chairs. They sweep and mop quickly, and Rumi cashes out the register while Mira closes the cold case. It’s five minutes to 10:00 when Rumi locks the front door, pocketing the key and turning to Mira with an expression that’s truly striving for “normal casual girl”.

“Well,” she announces, her voice two tads louder than necessary. “No Zoey tonight, but maybe I could walk you home?”

“That’s okay.” Mira’s too absorbed with doing up the buttons of her jacket to give much thought to Rumi’s offer. “It’s cold out here. You should get going.”

“It wouldn’t be a big deal,” Rumi tries again. “I have to meet Jinu later, anyway, but they don’t close for another hour, so, y’know.” She waves her hands awkwardly. “I’m free.”

Jinu–that catches Mira’s attention. She focuses in on Rumi, who squirms under her stare. Maybe Jinu was the reason she’d been so out of it tonight. Maybe all their late-night meetups were eating into Rumi’s sleep.

“What are you meeting Jinu for?” she asks suspiciously.

Rumi looks anywhere but at her. “Yogurt?” She tries.

Mira squints. Rumi’s eyes dart up to gauge her reaction, then back down to her feet. Mira squints harder.

“Right,” she says, and the i sound stretches with disbelief. “Okay, then. We can walk-”

Rumi’s face lights up.

“-but we’re walking,” Mira continues, “to Saja Swirl.”

–

The trek to the Saja building is perhaps the quietest Rumi’s been all night.

Mira is unbothered, walking with short, rhythmic strides to match the pace of Rumi’s reluctant shuffling. She’s not sure why Rumi’s always so adverse to the idea of her and Zoey and Jinu being in the same place at the same time, especially after their overheard conversation made it pretty clear that they weren’t in some kind of frozen yogurt/ice cream Romeo and Juliet situation (not that Mira had ever believed that, but Zoey’d had some theories). Whatever the case, Mira thinks, it can’t hurt to investigate. Just a bit. For Zoey’s sake.

The toe of Rumi’s boot hits a crack in the pavement and Mira grabs her on instinct, steadies her before she can stumble into the side of the Saja building. That’s when she realizes they’re there.

“Rumi!” It’s Jinu, lounging against one of the empty courtyard tables. “Aaaaand Mira.” His eyes dart back and forth between them, glinting with a mischief that makes Mira feel out of the loop. “What a surprise.”

“She’s just dropping me off,” Rumi mutters.

Jinu’s grin grows. “And they say chivalry is dead.”

“You are so weird,” Mira states flatly. Jinu just laughs.

“I’m gonna get our yogurt,” he says to Rumi. “You want anything, Mira? On the house, for Rumi’s special guest.”

Rumi chokes. Mira smiles thinly. “I’d rather not.”

Rumi sends death glares at Jinu’s back until he’s fully back inside the shop, then sighs and turns to Mira.

“He’s so annoying,” she gripes, like she didn’t walk for blocks through the cutting wind just to see him. Mira almost rolls her eyes.

“You should probably go,” Rumi continues. “Before he comes back and starts asking questions. Then you’ll never make it home.”

“What’s he got questions about?” Mira asks, but Rumi just mumbles nothing and looks away.

“Alright,” Mira says after a beat. “Don’t stay out too long. Sleep is important. Especially when you have a concussion.”

Confusion clouds Rumi’s face. “I don’t have a concussion.”

“Well, whatever.” Mira waves a hand dismissively. “Take care of yourself, boss. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

–

“How was it?” Jinu asks when he returns.

Rumi sighs. “I talked so much.”

“And how did it turn out?”

Rumi’s next words are muffled, like her face might be in her hands. “So embarrassing,” she groans.

“It couldn’t have been that bad,” Jinu says, and Rumi’s response comes out too quiet to hear. There’s a short, quiet exchange between the two, and then Jinu’s saying, “Well, you won’t know if you never try.”

Mira peels herself away from her spot around the corner and sets off for home.

–

“Miiii-ruhhh,” Zoey sings as she skips into work a few days later. “Guess what.”

Mira drums her fingers along the counter. “What?”

“You’re supposed to guess!” Zoey cries. She turns to Rumi and says, “Rumi, guess.”

“Can you give me a category?” Rumi asks.

“You two are the death of fun,” Zoey sighs. “I finished my song! Except for the vocals because I’m rewriting the lyrics, and also the title because titles are hard. But!” She holds a finger in the air, then jabs it in their general direction. “When it’s all written, I want you to sing it with me.”

“You want what,” Mira says without inflection.

“I don’t know, Zoey,” Rumi is saying at the same time. “You worked so hard on it, it should be your thing.”

Zoey brushes this off instantly. “We all worked on it, and I want it to be our thing.” She targets Mira first. “Please?”

Her eyes are wide and beseeching. Mira frowns. Zoey’s bottom lip juts out, just a fraction.

Mira groans. “Fine, fine! Just put that look away, you’re gonna kill someone.”

Rather than put it away, Zoey turns the look on Rumi, who crumples instantly.

“Okay,” she accedes.

Zoey fist pumps cutely.

“Weak,” Mira says out of the side of her mouth, and is pleased when Rumi bites back with, “Like you did any better.”

In the days following their shift together, Rumi’s friendship crusade has continued, though with less rabid fervor than she’d displayed on that night. She’s looking for a balance, Mira’s realized, between stony silence and forced small talk–a balance that doesn’t seem to come easily to her, especially when one of the girls does something that catches her off guard–for instance, Zoey, one afternoon, holding Rumi’s hand up to marvel at the rainbow refractions of her nails in the light, or Mira, earlier in their shift, moving a few stray strands of hair away from Rumi’s face when her hands were full with refilling the chocolate sauce dispenser. Whenever it happens, Rumi will freeze and clam up for a while, only returning to normal after Mira and Zoey have shifted their focus elsewhere.

This shift has been particularly light on clamminess, which is maybe why, when Mira digs an elbow into Rumi’s side, Rumi just squeaks and shoves her right back. Zoey ignores them and barrels on with her plans.

“Give me a week,” she’s saying. “I’ve got a great concept for the lyrics, they just need a little fine tuning. Then maybe we can record them at mine sometime? I’ve got a little booth setup–shouldn’t take long, I promise.”

Mira shrugs. “Works for me.”

“Excited to hear what you come up with,” Rumi says. It’s then that Mira realizes she’s got her jacket on, and her work uniform has been replaced by the same high-necked shirt she’d worn nearly two weeks ago.

“You headed out?” Zoey asks.

Rumi nods. “I was just filling in between Bobby and you. I’ll be back to lock up, though.”

“Dinner party?” Mira guesses.

“Kind of early for dinner,” Zoey adds.

“My aunt asked me to attend one of her meetings.” Rumi’s shoulders sag. “And then, yeah, dinner party.”

“Yuck,” Mira says. “Good luck, then.”

“I hope the food’s good, at least,” Zoey adds.

Rumi’s face says that she won’t get her hopes up. Her phone buzzes and she glances at the text, pockets the phone, and makes for the door.

“I’ll be back at ten,” she tells them. “Text me if you need anything.”

“Have fun,” Zoey calls, and Mira waves even though Rumi’s not looking.

They stand in silence as Rumi walks out the door-

-and gets into Jinu’s car.

–

“Maybe they’re cousins?” Zoey suggests, hours later. She’s sitting atop the counter, legs dangling off the edge. “I mean, Rumi didn’t say business meeting. Could be a family one. Do we even know either of their last names?”

“They don’t look related,” Mira muses. She’s leaning on the wall opposite Zoey, chewing on a spare bit of waffle cone. “Why do they have to be so freaking mysterious?”

“Excuse me,” the girl standing behind Zoey says timidly. “I still need to pay?”

Mira waves a hand. “It’s free,” she says, and takes another bite of waffle scrap.

“We’re theorizing,” Zoey explains. Baffled, the girl walks away.

“Maybe Jinu got fired,” Mira says, “for excessive obnoxiousness. And Rumi felt so bad for him she hired him as a driver.”

“That could be,” Zoey says seriously. “Should we ask her when she gets back?”

“Think she’d answer?”

Zoey looks thoughtful. “She’s opened up a bit. Remember the other day, when you asked how her cat was? And she said, ‘fine, but he keeps eating my plants and I’m worried he’s gonna eat a bug’? That was like, a totally normal exchange!”

Mira mm-hms. “Well, let’s keep it in our pocket,” she decides. “But I don’t wanna ask if Jinu’s the one dropping her off.”

When Rumi does return, she’s on foot with no Jinu in sight, but she looks so worn out that Zoey seems to decide to save the Jinu investigation for another time. Mira follows her lead.

“Rough time?” Zoey asks.

“Not the best,” Rumi admits.

“Any good food?” Mira tries.

Rumi says, “Salad.”

Zoey and Mira wince.

Rumi doesn’t volunteer much else as they lock up, only offering a quiet, “Have a good night,” when they depart. Mira walks Zoey to the train station and lets her link their arms together and chatter about all the reasons Jinu could’ve been there that night (“Maybe he’s secretly a Sunlight employee going undercover to scope out the competition and it was his night to report back to Celine,” and “Maybe his family owns Saja Swirl and he and Rumi are in some kind of politically arranged frozen dessert truce,” and “Maybe he moonlights as a bodyguard,” to which Mira responds, “With those arms? Please.”)

They’re both grinning by the time Mira waves the train away and heads back the way she came. Her route home takes her back past Sunlight Scoops, through a tiny city park, and finally up a short hill that’s easy to climb when it's dry out and an absolute nightmare when it's not. It’s a short walk, which was a big part of the reason she’d applied to the job in the first place. It’s also one reason why she never minds walking Zoey to the train, despite the fact that the station and her apartment are in opposite directions. The other reasons, she can admit to herself, are less about the commute and more about the company.

She’s thinking about this as she passes Sunlight Scoops, so lost in her head that she doesn’t notice Rumi emerging from the shop until Rumi’s saying, “Hey.”

Mira jumps, then recovers. “Oh, hey.”

Rumi closes the door behind her and locks it. “Back from dropping Zoey off?” she asks.

Mira nods. “You?”

“Forgot my phone,” Rumi explains. “Headed home now.”

“Same,” Mira says. “Be safe.”

She turns away and almost slams into a nearby bike rack. That’s embarrassing, is all she thinks as she braces herself for the impact.

And then Rumi’s hands grip her arms, firm and steadying, keeping Mira on her feet.

“Careful,” Rumi says. The hands retreat.

Mira takes a breath. Feels shaky, still, somehow, despite the fact that she’s planted firmly back on the ground.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, and for some reason she can't bring herself to fully turn to address Rumi as she says, “Goodnight.”

For the second time that night, they part ways.

Chapter Text

“There’s a dance performance at the arts center on Friday,” is the first thing Rumi says when she gets in the next morning.

Mira and Zoey, who have already been on for two hours–the scheduling this week has been utterly baffling, but Mira doesn’t care enough to question it–look up in unison.

“Oh,” Mira says when it becomes clear Rumi isn’t going to go on. “Cool.”

“Are you gonna go?” Zoey prompts.

“Yeah,” Rumi says. “Er, well, I have to. It’s Celine’s new dance group. She wants me to go see how they do and how much interest there is around them and stuff…”

“Makes sense,” Mira comments when Rumi trails off again.

“Sounds like fun,” Zoey adds. “Is Jinu going?”

“Yeah.” Rumi nods, stops abruptly, then shakes her head. “Wait, I mean- it’ll be fun, but no, he didn’t want to go. I actually thought, maybe… since you two know more about dance than me-”

“True,” Mira says passively.

“No I don’t,” Zoey says, confused.

“-maybe you could come with me?” Rumi finishes, ignoring them. “Celine gave me three tickets.”

She’s not making eye contact, but her voice is hopeful. Mira glances at Zoey, then shrugs.

“Sure,” she agrees.

“I’ve got work,” Zoey sighs.

“I’ll find someone to cover for you,” Rumi says quickly. “If you want to come.”

“But Bobby’s already on the schedule-”

“I’ll find someone.” Rumi sounds determined.

Zoey and Mira share another glance. Zoey’s smiling, just slightly–just barely enough for Mira to notice.

“Okay,” she says, looking back at Rumi. “Deal.”

–

Mira works the opening shift on Friday, which means she has the immense pleasure of watching Rumi drag Jinu in by the arm and dump him behind the counter at 4:00 pm. There’s a too-small Sunlight shirt stretched across his broad shoulders and his hair, rather than being pulled up like the girls keep theirs, is stuffed behind the same plain black visor Bobby wears on his shifts. Bobby, who’s standing next to Mira, gapes at Jinu with equal parts shock and apprehension.

“Saja boy,” he says dumbly.

“Not today,” Rumi says. “For the next six hours, Jinu is a Sunlight boy. Don’t let him break anything.”

Mira’s laugh could shake the foundation of the store.

–

The performance is at 7:00, which gives Mira a little less than three hours to head home and shower and lay on her bed texting Zoey.

What are you wearing? she writes.

FLIRT, Zoey responds.

To the show tonight.

Buzzkill.

I don’t know how fancy it’s gonna be , Mira types. They’re a hip-hop group, so probably not very.

How big is this place anyway? Zoey asks. I’ve never been. Bigger than a ballpark?

Mira’s brow knits. How big’s a ballpark?

A second later, two photos from Zoey come through. In the first, she’s standing in front of a small floor-length mirror in a blue halter top, cropped white jacket, and simple black pants. In the second, she’s traded the jacket for an oversized knit cardigan and the pants for a pair of loose-legged jeans.

Professional or comfy? she asks. Do you think Celine’s gonna be there?

Not according to Rumi.

Comfy, then, Zoey decides. Since we’ve got the chance.

Mira shows up outside the center in a cropped shirt and dark painters pants, with a black button-up tied around her waist, just in case. Rumi is already there, bouncing nervously in place off to the side of the building entrance. She’s not in her usual high-necked shirt and jacket combo. Instead, she’s wrapped in a loose, soft-looking t-shirt that hangs relaxed around her shoulders and a pair of light wash jeans. When she sees Mira, she stops bouncing–stops all movement, actually–and stares.

Mira is staring too. Mostly at Rumi’s arms, which she has somehow never seen bare before, which is truly a travesty because Rumi is ripped. Mira likes to work out, and is typically pretty proud of her own arms, but something about the combination of biceps and Rumi leaves her a little tongue tied.

Rumi is, somehow, the one to speak first.

“Hi,” she says, and sounds a little awestruck. “You look great.”

“Thanks,” Mira responds, and then before she can stop it, her mouth is saying, “You have nice arms.”

Rumi blinks fast and opens her mouth, just a fraction, as if to respond, then closes it. Opens it again, and is about to speak, when–

“Guys!”

Zoey comes screeching to a halt beside them, huffing for breath. “How late am I?” she pants, and grabs at Rumi’s arm to check the watch Mira hadn’t even noticed she was wearing.

“You’re… early…” Rumi says dumbly, and Mira notes that she’s staring at Zoey now. Specifically at the flat expanse of Zoey’s stomach not covered by her top.

“No way.” Zoey keeps her grip on Rumi’s arm, still trying to catch her breath. “Woah, Rumi, you’re like, jacked.”

Rumi’s face heats. “Ice cream scooping,” she mumbles. “It’s kind of a workout.”

Zoey glances at her own arms, which, while nice, are admittedly smaller than Rumi’s. “Huh,” she says, looking back to Rumi. “Alright. Hot.”

Rumi’s face heats further.

“Let’s go inside,” Mira decides.

She’s relieved to find, upon entry, that most of the other attendees have also decided to dress casually, though the grandeur of the center is still vaguely intimidating. Event staff in crisp white shirts are checking tickets and directing the flow of traffic towards a set of wide tiers of seats. When Rumi hands off their tickets, they’re lead up a set of stairs to a more closed-off section of the hall, right on the balcony with a perfect view of the stage. There are three seats reserved for them. Mira sits on one end and is surprised, a bit, when Zoey sits on the other, leaving the middle open for Rumi.

“This is so nice,” Zoey marvels as Rumi takes her seat.

“Isn’t this kind of a lot for one performance?” Mira asks.

“There’s four performances,” Rumi says. “Celine’s group is just the opening act, but the rest are,” she waves dismissively, “boy groups.”

“Ew,” Mira says, right as Zoey says, “Coooool.”

“We could stay for the first two groups and then head out?” Rumi suggests. “There’s a nice kimbap place nearby if you guys are feeling hungry.”

“Kimbap!” Zoey cheers, and Mira laughs and nods agreeably. Between them, Rumi exhales like she’s passed some kind of test.

When the lights start to dim, a rush of electricity thrums through Mira’s veins. She’s never seen a performance of this scale, and she finds herself excited–though she’d never admit it.

The lights click off, one by one. Then, a spotlight hits the center of the stage, illuminating five girls.

Mira grips her armrests. The performance starts.

And the girls are good. Synchronized, fluid, graceful, but each one full of personality. Each one telling their own story.

That’s gonna be me someday, Mira promises herself, and at the end of the performance, when she locks eyes first with Zoey, then Rumi, they both smile at her like they know.

Mira feels golden.

–

“I don’t care how hot those boys were,” Zoey says through a mouthful of kimchi. “If you can’t find the rhythm, why are you in a dance group?”

“Why put in the work when you can let your abs and hair carry you?” Mira quips.

“They were really nice abs,” Zoey sighs. Beside her, Rumi laughs.

“Well, what did you think of the girls?” she asks.

“Oh my gosh,” Zoey takes another bite of her roll, still talking. “Shhhoooo gooood.”

“They looked like pros,” Mira agrees. “I can’t think of a single time they stepped out of sync.”

“I think the audience really liked them,” Rumi muses.

“Are you kidding?” Mira laughs. “They loved them. Celine’s gonna be thrilled.”

“Seriously,” Zoey says. “Mira, I cannot wait until you’re up on stage like that.”

Mira rolls her eyes. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“No, she’s right,” Rumi says seriously. “They were great, but so are you, Mira. You deserve to be up there too.”

The sincerity of her words pokes at a soft part in Mira’s chest. She swallows, throat just a little tighter than it had been a moment ago.

“Don’t worry,” she says, aiming for cocky and falling just short. “I will be. Just watch.”

“We will,” Zoey says, like it’s the safest bet in the world.

“And we’ll watch when you’re winning Grammys for your songs,” Rumi tells Zoey.

“And when you’re winning them for yours,” Mira shoots back, and Rumi glows.

It’s hard to believe, Mira thinks, that just a few weeks ago Rumi would barely say two words to them. Would sit in the back room with an empty clipboard pretending to do management tasks to avoid interacting and practically sprint home (or worse, to Saja Swirl) as soon as the clock struck 10:00. To be fair, she still does many of those things, not exactly infrequently but at least to a much lesser extent, and Mira finds herself more willing to give the girl grace. She feels, finally, like she understands where she and Zoey and Rumi stand.

Which is why at the end of the night, when Zoey drops a casual “Thanks for taking us out, Rumi,” and Rumi freezes like a deer in the headlights, Mira stops dead in her tracks.

They’re walking back from the restaurant, seemingly headed towards Sunlight Scoops, though none of them have yet voiced an actual destination. Zoey and Rumi walk in front and Mira trails behind, watching for obstacles and so lost in her thoughts that she almost misses what Zoey says, almost walks right into Rumi as she stiffens and stutters to a stop.

Almost.

Rumi doesn’t move. Zoey cocks a hip beside her, cool and collected.

Mira says, “What.”

Rumi spins so slowly it’s almost comical. Her face is determinedly blank, as if by not reacting to Zoey’s words she can get away with pretending they were never said.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Zoey says, shattering Rumi’s plan. “Did I read it wrong?”

Her voice is nonchalant, her body language entirely relaxed. She knows something, Mira realizes. And it seems like Rumi knows it, too.

“I…” Rumi says, and then stops. She looks like she wants to melt into the pavement. She looks utterly lost for words. A deep, sinking, ridiculous suspicion latches onto Mira.

“Rumi,” she says, voice low and slow. “Was this a date?”

Rumi stares back at her for a long moment, then squeaks, “No?”

“Oh, it wasn’t?” Zoey asks, still too casual.

Rumi looks like she’s dying.

“Rumi,” Mira repeats, and Rumi pales a little. “Don’t lie. Was this,” she makes a vague gesture between the three of them, “a date?”

“Because if so, it was not the worst I’ve ever been on,” Zoey chimes in. “But I do have notes. Like for one, everyone on the date should probably know it’s a date.”

Rumi buries her face in her hands. Mira just stands there in uncomprehending disbelief.

“I knew you didn’t know,” Rumi groans into her palms.

“This was a date,” Mira murmurs, dumbstruck.

“Well I knew,” Zoey says.

Rumi groans again.

“You said Celine made you go!” Mira throws her hands up. “You said we were scouting out her new dance group!”

“But you did pay for our dinner,” Zoey points out.

“You said Jinu turned you down first!” Mira cries.

Zoey’s mouth quirks. “That was kind of bizarre.”

Rumi takes a long breath. “He did turn me down,” she mumbles. “He said that I would be stupid not to invite you two and that he doesn’t hang out with stupid people so he wouldn’t come, anyway.”

“Doesn’t hang out with stupid people, yet he works at Saja Swirl,” Mira grouches. Zoey rolls her eyes and turns back to Rumi.

“Come out and talk to us,” she instructs, and her voice is both gentle and assertive.

Rumi, painfully slowly, lowers her hands. She clears her throat awkwardly. Her face is flushed.

“You knew?” she asks Zoey.

“It was kind of obvious,” Zoey says, not unkindly. “You always got so nervous around Mira.”

“Not just me!” Mira objects.

“Mostly you,” Zoey corrects. “You can be kind of intimidating, Mir.”

Mira grumbles and Zoey laughs. The faintest flicker of a smile crosses Rumi’s face before it once again clouds over with nerves.

“And Mira was always so worked up after shifts with you,” Zoey continues. “Why is Rumi so weird around us? Why doesn’t she wanna talk to us? Every night. Just ridiculous!”

“She’s exaggerating,” Mira lies quickly. Rumi, somehow, turns even redder.

“Anyway.” Zoey’s voice is still so relaxed it makes Mira’s head spin. “I put two and two together. Or, three and three together? One and one and one together?” She shrugs. “You guys weren’t exactly subtle with me, either. Rumi, you stared a lot.”

Rumi, who’s currently staring, averts her eyes.

“What did I do?” Mira gapes.

“Walked me to the train station,” Zoey deadpans, “literally every night for months.”

Mira shuts her mouth. Rumi has the audacity to giggle.

“Okay,” Mira retorts peevishly. “Can we get back to the part where this was a date?”

Two pairs of eyes turn on Rumi, who shrinks back nervously.

“It doesn’t have to be,” she hedges, but Mira cuts her off.

“Oh no,” she says firmly. “You’re not taking this back.”

“I think what Mira means to say,” Zoey interjects before Rumi can shrivel any further, “is that we would love it if this was a date, and that maybe next time we would love a bit more of a heads up.”

“I didn’t even bring any flowers,” Mira mutters.

“Next time?” Rumi echoes weakly.

“Well, duh.” The words are teasing, but Zoey’s tone is kind. “We can’t have this be our only date. I mean, it was great, but… you said Jinu turned you down first.”

Rumi lets out a short, pitiful noise. Zoey claps her on the back.

“Hey, second time’s the charm, right? Mira? Thoughts?”

Mira grasps blindly for a thought.

It’s all just a lot to process. Her being there, on a date of all things, with not just one but two of the people with whom she spends most of her time scooping ice cream and mopping floors. With Zoey, who knows her favorite flavors and chatters incessantly on dull days to keep her entertained, and who lets Mira listen to her songs, even before they’re perfect. And with Rumi, who listens to her interests and trips over herself trying to pay a compliment, and who gets embarrassed by the first syllable of any word that comes out of her mouth but still managed to work up the courage to ask them out (kind of).

“Maybe…” she says softly, and Rumi’s eyes flicker with a mixture of doubt and hope and nervousness. “Maybe on our next one, you can tell us your favorite color.”

Rumi’s face scrunches in confusion. Zoey lights up like the sun.

“Maybe on our next one you can explain what’s going on with you and Jinu,” she joins in.

“Wait, wh-” Rumi starts, but doesn’t get very far before Mira’s saying, “Maybe on our next one you can tell us why you won’t eat ice cream but you’ll eat that awful frozen yogurt.”

“I’m just ve-”

“No but seriously, we need to know about Jinu,” Zoey backtracks.

“Yeah, why the hell do you hang out with him and why is he so obnoxious?”

Rumi stares at them. She looks utterly lost, though for once, not embarrassed. Instead she looks at them like she may have gravely miscalculated the amount of strangeness that could fit into two minimum wage employees.

“What just happened?” she asks.

And Zoey smiles at her and says, “I guess you’ll find out next time.”

–

The words painted across the tinted glass door read Saja Swirl: Vegan Frozen Yogurt.

“Ohhh.” Zoey looks at Mira sagely. “This is making more sense.”

Through the door, Mira sees Rumi staring at them, then bringing an exasperated hand to her face.

“I can’t believe we give her a second shot at a date and she picks here,” Mira mutters from the corner of her mouth.

“At least she was explicitly clear this time that it was a date,” Zoey replies.

Mira gives an unenthused mm-hm and they push through the door.

“There they are,” Jinu announces as they enter. “The lovely Sunlight girls, here to try the superior frozen dessert at last.”

“Quiet, yogurt boy,” Mira snaps.

“You don’t even like frozen yogurt,” Rumi chides from her spot across from the register.

“You can’t prove that,” Jinu replies. “Especially not to my uncle.”

“Your uncle, former CEO of Saja Entertainment, who lost his business after all his performers left and signed with Sunlight Group, and who bought a frozen yogurt shop just to spite Celine?” Zoey asks innocently.

“And who made you hang out with Rumi at every big dinner party growing up, hoping that you’d spy on her family’s business for him?” Mira adds.

“Huh.” Jinu’s eyes flick to Rumi. “Really opened up, didn’t you?”

Rumi shrugs cooly.

“Celine made you spy, too,” Jinu whines, indignant. “You were just too shy to ever get anything good.”

“And now we’re friends,” Rumi sighs. “What greater punishment could she have given me than that.”

“I’m gonna take all that confidence I gave you and feed it to the birds, Rumi.”

“I’m gonna tell your uncle you worked a shift for the enemy.”

“Hey, hold on now-”

Mira raps a fist against the counter. “Hey, losers,” she says. “As much as I’m loving this, we’d really like to order soon.”

“We’re on a bit of a deadline,” Zoey says, and holds up her beaten notebook. “Brainstorming date.”

Jinu makes their orders (“All he does is pull the lever, no wonder he’s got noodle arms,” Mira whispers to Zoey behind his back) and hands them over with a childish glare at Rumi, who glares right back. Mira suggests that they eat outside, away from the blank and lifeless gaze of the other Saja boys, and they settle into a sun-bathed table in the corner of the courtyard.

“Okay,” Zoey says, spreading out her notebook on the table. There are, Mira thinks, more sticky notes than there are notes on the actual paper, and the title scrawled at the top of the page–SMALL ENSEMBLE FINAL EXAM REVIEW SHEET–has nothing to do with the content on the page. Zoey jabs a finger into the middle of the scrawl and looks around the table. “We ready?”

Rumi stares dejectedly into her yogurt cup. “He didn’t give me any blackberries,” she laments. “Only blueberries. I don’t like blueberries.”

Mira, stuck between rolling her eyes and marching back inside to get the damn blackberries herself, does neither and simply reaches over to give Rumi’s hand a short, reassuring squeeze–which, of course, has the tips of Rumi’s ears burning pink.

“Buck up, boss,” she says. “We’ve got one week to finish up this song and blow Celine’s mind.”

“And also my professor’s,” Zoey adds.

“And maybe Jinu’s so we can wipe that stupid face off his face.”

Rumi laughs and sets down her spoon, blueberries temporarily forgotten.

“All right,” she says. “I’m ready.”