Chapter Text
Rumi had just finished spreading out her work notes in neat stacks across the dining table, highlighter in hand, when the front door rattled open without so much as a knock.
“Up and at ‘em, Ryu!” Jinu announced, already halfway inside before she could scold him for the intrusion. He kicked off his sneakers and flopped onto the couch across the room like he lived there. “We’re going out tonight.”
“It’s a Thursday, and I’m clocked in. I work from home, Jinu. Some of us are productive members of society.” Rumi didn’t look up from her pages. She needed this contract to be perfect before she was supposed to present it to her mothers. Sunlight Entertainment couldn’t lose this client.
“Some of us…” Jinu echoed sarcastically, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Well, others of us have noticed you haven’t left this house in—what?—two weeks? Three? You’re bone dry, Rumi. Not a drop of fun left in you. Time to irrigate.”
“You’re mixing your metaphors.” The purple-haired woman deadpanned. She set the highlighter down with exaggerated care.
“I’m mixing you a drink.” He grinned, triumphant, like that settled it. “There’s a new club downtown. Music, dancing, normal people. You remember what that’s like, right?”
“Clubs aren’t my thing. Too loud. Too sweaty. Too many strangers breathing on you.”
“Which is funny.” Jinu drawled, “Because if I recall correctly, you used to like strangers breathing on you.”
Rumi’s head snapped up, scandalized. Sure, she’d had a few one-night-stands back in their college days, but Jinu was the last person who could judge her.
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t act innocent. When was the last time you got laid, though?” He tapped his chin, pretending to calculate. “Hmm. Historians are still debating. Some say the late Bronze Age.”
“That is none of your business.” Her cheeks burned, recalling the last time she’d fallen into bed with someone. It had been an embarrassingly long amount of time.
“Oh, it’s my business, alright.” The man said matter-of-factly. “You’re my best friend. If your drought goes on any longer, I’m failing at my matchmaker duties. And I will not have it on my record that Zoey is a better wingman than me.”
“Jinu, I’m fine.” Rumi turned back to her notes, hoping he’d get bored.
“You’re not fine. You’re thirty seconds away from cross-referencing legal precedent with your vibrator just to keep things interesting.”
“Jinu!”
He laughed so loud she was sure the neighbors heard.
“See? This is why you need me. Just one night out? One drink. If you’re feeling bold, maybe you even let someone buy you another. A revolutionary concept, I know.”
Rumi crossed her arms, already rehearsing the refusal. Then, she caught Jinu’s hopeful expression—the way he was practically vibrating with expectation. If she didn’t agree, he’d sit here all night pestering her until she caved anyway. She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“One drink. And I’m coming straight home after.” She said, trying for annoyance but unable to keep the small bit of fondness out of her tone.
Jinu whooped like he’d won the lottery.
“Yes! And who knows—maybe tonight you can get back in the rodeo. Save a horse, and all that…”
Rumi threw her highlighter at him. He ducked, cackling.
“I will not.”
But the way her stomach fluttered, she already suspected she was lying.
__________
The bass hit Rumi in the chest the second they walked through the doors, and she already regretted every life choice that led her here. The air smelled like a cocktail of sweat, sugar, and bad cologne. Once they’d met with Jinu’s friends and settled in at the bar, she clutched her drink with both hands, shoulders tense, as if bracing against an incoming storm. The club was two stories, with the second floor being mostly balconies overlooking the main dance floor on the lower level. The downstairs bartop was sticky, crowded, and far too loud for conversation, but that didn’t stop Jinu from chattering in her ear anyway. He leaned one elbow on the counter, scanning the room like a hawk from his place sandwiched between her and Mystery.
“This is hell.” She said flatly, looking around at the sea of bodies dancing messily around them. She was trying to get into the spirit—she really was. But this was not her scene, and nobody in the room was catching her interest at all.
“It’s a club, Rumi. Same thing, different branding.” He clinked his drink against hers and grinned. “We’ll find you somebody.”
She took the tiniest sip, wincing at the burn. The air was humid with sweat and perfume, lights cutting in dizzying patterns across the crowd.
He leaned closer, grinning at her like he’d won already. “You could at least pretend you’re enjoying yourself. Smile, make eye contact. Nod at a stranger like you’re open for business.”
Rumi shot him a glare.
“God, I feel like I’m being auctioned off at some prospect convention. Everyone here is just… Evaluating.”
“Exactly.” Jinu’s grin sharpened. “That’s the thrill of it.”
Their back-and-forth drew chuckles from Jinu’s friends, crowding the bar with them. She wasn’t particularly close with any of them, and suddenly wished she’d had the forethought to drag Zoey along into this mess. Mystery, already working on a second round of shots, raised his glass toward her.
“Don’t let her fool you, Jinu. She’ll loosen up eventually.”
“Not likely.” Rumi muttered, but it was drowned out by the music.
Jinu had turned away from her, his gaze sweeping lazily across the dance floor. He was in his element here, eyes sharp and restless, like a hunter perched in a blind. Then his posture shifted, a spark of interest lighting up his face.
“Well, well, well.” He said, elbow nudging Rumi’s ribs hard enough to make her slosh her drink. “Speaking of prospects…”
The doors had opened again, and a new group spilled inside, their laughter carrying even over the music. They moved like they owned the place, glitter catching in the light, easy and magnetic in a way that made people instinctively clear a path for them as they made their way to the upper level of the club.
Rumi followed Jinu’s gaze out of habit, bracing for whatever nonsense line he was about to come up with. The group’s energy was different from the average club crowd—sharper, brighter, commanding attention without even trying.
Mystery perked up the second he saw Jinu eyeing them up.
“Oh hey.” He said, tugging at the other man’s sleeve. “I’m chill with them. We should go say hi.”
“Of course you are.” Rumi groaned again, dragging a hand down her face.
Jinu was already flagging down the bartender to settle their tab, grinning wide like this was the best stroke of luck all night.
“Come on.” The purple-haired man urged, motioning to Jinu. “They’re good people. I’ll introduce you.”
Jinu downed the rest of his beer like a soldier preparing for battle, then leaned toward Rumi.
“You heard the man. Time to mingle. I like the muscled one…” He goaded, eyes trailing along the exposed waistline of a man in the group—abs somehow visible even from this distance.
“Nope. I didn’t hear anything. What’d you say?” Rumi groaned, but she was already being tugged off her stool. “Jinu—no. Absolutely not. I am not mingling.”
“Relax.” He shot back, weaving through the crowd with her in tow. “You’ll thank me later.”
“This is ridiculous…” She muttered, stumbling as someone on their way to the dance floor brushed past her, the smell of soju and hairspray filling her nose. She coughed against it.
The new group had claimed a corner near the smaller upstairs bar, bright and loud enough to command their own spotlight. They weren’t the usual sticky-floor clubbers. Their clothes looked designer, their laughter a touch too confident, like they were used to being watched. Rumi could already tell they were trouble.
Mystery went straight for the man Jinu had pointed out, clapping him on the shoulder. He was even larger up close, muscular, and had a consistent smirk on his face that made Rumi want to roll her eyes.
“Abby! Long time, man.”
The guy—Abby, apparently—lit up and pulled him into a quick side hug.
“Hey, didn’t know you were out tonight!”
“Dragging these losers with me.” Mystery said, jerking his thumb back toward Rumi and Jinu. The purple-haired woman gave a small scoff of offense, while Jinu just waved with a slight smirk on his face.
“Jinu” Her best friend, of course, had no shame sliding right in with a cocky smile as he eyed their new acquaintance suggestively. Rumi nearly gagged. “Energy’s already pretty good over here. Mind if we join?”
Abby laughed, already nodding.
“More the merrier. Who’s your friend?” His eyes landed on Rumi, curious. There was a hint of something in his eyes Rumi couldn’t decipher, like he was trying to figure something out.
Rumi straightened automatically, slipping into the kind of polite posture Celine would’ve approved of.
“Rumi.” She said, voice crisp even over the noise from the DJ booth across the room.
For a moment Abby blinked, then his expression cracked into recognition.
“Ryu Rumi? No way.” He gave a low whistle. “Don’t you know Mira? Sung Mira?”
The name hit her like a cymbal crash. Rumi’s brain scrambled to conjure up the memory of a gangly girl with braces too big for her mouth and a laugh that always came at the wrong time. Her childhood annoyance during those endless afternoons when Celine, Mi-yeong, and Mr. Sung would force them on playdates in the den together while discussing brand partnerships in the other room.
That Mira?
No way he meant that Mira.
Rumi turned, breath caught somewhere in her throat, just as the woman in question began to pivot toward them at the sound of her name—laughter still echoing from something one of her friends had said. And Rumi’s world suddenly stuttered to a halt.
Her first, ridiculous thought was simply:
Huh.
Because this couldn’t be right. This couldn’t be Sung Mira, the awkward kid she remembered from childhood—always one shoelace untied, perpetual bad attitude, with her hair falling out of its twin ponytails in uneven chunks. Mira had been loud, clumsy, and overly aggressive. The kind of girl Rumi, being the proper child that she was, had endured rather than befriended.
But the woman standing in front of her?
She had a sharp jawline, gleaming bright-pink hair that caught the club lights like it had been designed for them. She stood tall with a confident lean in her posture—shoulders loose and eyes bright with mischief. The kind of presence that made people step aside without thinking.
Not awkward. Not clumsy. Not anymore.
Hot.
Painfully, devastatingly hot.
Rumi blinked once. Twice. Her stomach swooped. No. She blinked again a third time. And yet still, her brain refused to compute.
When did you—She couldn’t even finish the thought. Her pulse was thudding in her ears, drowning out the bass.
Because if Mira had looked like this back then, Rumi surely would’ve remembered. She would have carved the memory into stone, guarded it like a secret. God, she probably would’ve come out of the closet a lot sooner. That face, that smile—it wasn’t something you could overlook. But here Rumi was: floored, staring hungrily at someone she used to pity.
Her mouth went dry. She adjusted her grip on her glass before she embarrassed herself and dropped it.
“I—uh, yeah.” She muttered under her breath—a strange mix of a laugh and a gasp. She didn’t even realize she’d spoken until Jinu’s head snapped towards her, eyebrows already climbing in amusement. Rumi ignored him, eyes locked on Mira, panic prickling in her chest.
“Ryu Rumi…” Abby said again, grinning as if he’d just pulled off the greatest party trick. “Man, I knew I recognized the name. You two used to hang out, right Mir? Back in the day?”
Mira’s gaze finally flicked to her then, sliding over the curves of her waist before settling on her face with an unnerving sharpness. Her smile widened, just a little bit wicked.
“Well, well…” Mira said, voice much lower than Rumi remembered it being. The sound was entirely too self-assured, her timbre smooth and bright. It shot a lighting bolt straight down the shorter woman’s spine. “If it isn’t Sunlight Entertainment’s golden girl.”
Rumi’s stomach lurched. She managed something that sounded vaguely like a polite laugh, but her throat was dry.
“Mira. It’s been… Years.” She forced out, doing her best to not eye the woman up too obviously.
“Eleven, at least. Haven’t seen you since we were—what? Fifteen? I usually don’t go to any of those Sunlight events.” Mira stepped closer, easy as anything, like they weren’t in the middle of a crowded club. Like she had all the space in the world. Like she had never been the scared little girl who ugly cried the first time her father had left her all alone with Rumi in the Ryus’ then-unfamiliar den. Her perfume—warm, sharp, and intoxicating—cut straight through the haze of sweat and alcohol in the air. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”
Rumi nearly choked. ‘You almost didn’t recognize me?’ She wanted to blurt the words out, but swallowed them back. Her brain scrambled, half reaching for the gawky image of the Mira she used to know and half short-circuiting at the grown woman facing her now.
Somewhere deep inside, her pre-teen self was screaming. Beside her, Jinu leaned in, grinning like the cat who’d caught the canary.
“Looks like someone’s glad we came out tonight.” He murmured for only her ears to hear under the thrum of the music. Rumi’s elbow found his ribs before he could get another word out.
Mira’s eyes widened, just barely, catching the motion. Her grin shifted into a smirk that made heat curl low in Rumi’s stomach all over again. She moved to lean her hip against the bar like she owned the place, head tilted just enough to make the light catch the rims of her gold-plated glasses.
“So…” She said, voice all casual charm. “What have you been up to? Besides, you know, running the industry with Celine and Mi-yeong.”
Rumi opened her mouth, but nothing came out at first—just the dry click of her lips. She took a too-fast sip of her drink to cover it, which only made the alcohol burn hotter down her throat.
“I’ve been busy.” She managed, wincing at how stiff she sounded. “Working in the legal department at Sunlight. Just finished grad school. Things like that.”
“Still an overachiever, huh?” Mira’s smile curved, slow and amused, like she was reading the cracks in Rumi’s composure. It should’ve been calming, knowing she was the same-old teasing Mira.
Really, it was anything but.
Jinu, of course, chose that exact moment to not-so-subtly bump Rumi with his shoulder, the corner of his mouth twitching. She didn’t have to look at him to know his eyes were saying ‘Oh, this is good. This is very, very good.’
“Overachiever’s one word for it…” He said aloud, deliberately stirring the pot.
Rumi shot him a glare that promised murder, but Mira only laughed—warm and effortless.
And god, Rumi’s chest tightened. Mira used to snort when she laughed. She used to wheeze, shoulders shaking too hard, braces flashing in a way that nearly blinded her. But this? This laugh was smooth and a little husky, like she’d practiced it in secret until she could break it out as a weapon.
Rumi was doomed.
She shifted her weight, trying to school her expression into something neutral. She failed. Jinu’s grin widened like he was watching a live comedy show made just for him.
It was then that the bartender slid another drink onto the counter next to her, murmuring a quiet ‘excuse me’ above the music. But before Rumi could even think of moving out of the way, Mira was already reaching for it from her opposite side.
The pink-haired woman leaned in, one arm extending across the bar, her body sliding into Rumi’s space like it belonged there. The smell of her shampoo pressed in close, the curve of her waist slotting nearly perfectly against Rumi’s, and then—light as a whisper—Mira’s other hand landed on Rumi’s hip. Not gripping, not possessive. Just there, bracing herself as she angled her torso. Enough to send Rumi’s pulse spiking.
“Sorry…” Mira murmured, low and smooth, lips almost grazing Rumi’s ear as she reached past her for the glass. Her tone conveyed the exact opposite of apologetic.
Rumi froze, completely dumbstruck. Her brain was sputtering, throwing up useless half-thoughts. Too close, way too close, what is happening—
By the time Mira pulled back, drink in hand, Rumi still hadn’t remembered how to breathe properly. She side-stepped, moving fully out of the way of the bar and sitting on the nearest stool. Mira, clearly unbothered, just moved to occupy the empty place at the bar.
“Thanks for holding my spot.” Mira said with a grin that was all teeth and trouble, like she knew exactly what she’d just done.
Rumi’s mouth opened. Nothing. She closed it again. Mira removed her hand from her space and took a sip from her drink, eyes flicking over Rumi in appraisal. Before she could speak, though, another man—tall with hair to match Mira’s—noticed Rumi hovering on the edge of the group.
“Rumi, right?” He asked brightly. “Mi-yeong’s daughter? I’m Romance, we met at that Sunlight showcase once.”
“Right. Good to see you again.” Rumi gave a polite nod, already trying to calculate the fastest exit route. This was too much. Mira was one thing, but even more social interaction on top of that? She couldn’t handle it.
Before the man could launch into small talk, however, Mira leaned towards him—that same hand ghosting the back of Rumi’s barstool now like it was the most natural thing in the world. She glanced at the purple-haired woman briefly, almost as if she could sense the discomfort.
“Don’t let him bore you.” She said with mock severity, eyes flicking to Romance with a teasing glint. “He’ll talk your ear off about vinyl pressings if you give him half a chance.”
“Better than you hijacking every conversation, Mira.” He rolled his eyes good-naturedly.
“Hijacking?” Mira tilted her head, her smile sharp. “I’d call it… Curating.” And with that, her gaze slid back to Rumi, warm and deliberate. Rumi’s throat went dry as Romance quickly diverted into a conversation with the rest of his friends.
Mira was doing it again. Zeroing in on Rumi like there was nobody else in the room. It made her squirm. She could practically imagine that gaze, dark and hot, staring up at her from between—
“You know…” Mira said lightly, breaking Rumi’s traitorous thoughts. “I think you’ve gotten taller.”
It was such a mundane pick-up, but the way she said it—low and teasing, with her eyes not leaving Rumi’s lips—turned it into something else entirely.
“I’m pretty sure I stopped growing at fourteen. Super early growth spurt.” She let slip out before immediately regretting it. Sure it was true, she’d actually been taller than Mira the last they’d met. But really, Ryu? That’s your line?! She wracked her brain for anything to salvage it. “I should say the same for you.”
She let out an internal breath—good, saved. She glanced up again, examining the subtle expressions in Mira’s face. The other woman really had gotten tall—she had at least three or four inches on Rumi, now. Why the hell did that make her stomach flutter the way it did?
“Then maybe I’m just seeing you differently.” Mira countered smoothly, her lips curving around the rim of the glass before she drank again.
Rumi’s entire face burned. She had no script for this. No seasoned rhythm. She’d always been the one with the sharper wit and more put-together aura on those childhood play dates. Mira had been the messy one.
Now Mira was the one seemingly in control, and Rumi was barely holding herself together.
Jinu, naturally, was eating it up between traded quips with Abby. He leaned against the bar beside her, smirking.
“Wow.” He murmured under his breath, eyes twinkling. “Thought you said you didn’t want to do the rodeo, Rumi.”
Her heel stomped down hard on his foot. He yelped but didn’t stop grinning when he turned back to the pink-haired man to chat once more. Mira, meanwhile, only laughed again, sliding a little closer like this was the easiest game in the world.
“Same old Rumi.” She said, her voice dipping. “Still pretending she’s unshakable.”
And Rumi? Ryu Rumi, perfect daughter of Sunlight Entertainment’s founders, the most polished of polished? She had absolutely no idea how to respond. Thankfully, or maybe to her dismay (Rumi wasn’t quite sure yet) she didn’t have to.
Mira simply smirked down at her again—that awful, powerful, sexy smirk—and dropped some bills on the bar before she shifted away and out of Rumi’s personal space.
“I’ll see you around, Rumi.” She breathed out, voice humming with amusement. “Hopefully soon?” It was phrased like a question, but her tone held no room for argument as she quickly said her goodbyes to the others and made her way towards the exit.
By the time Rumi managed to drag herself back home, it was well past midnight, and one singular thought kept burning in the forefront of her mind.
When did Sung Mira get hot??