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Rumi shouldn’t be this nervous.
She knew what real fear was – she'd felt it almost every day of her life until recently, an unwelcome, serpentine chill slithering underneath her coat. The weeks leading up to Huntrix’s final battle with Gwi-Ma had been more arduous than any world tour. Four consecutive days of couch time, gimbap splurges, and bathhouse visits had done wonders, but now that she was looking at herself in the mirror for the nth time that evening, she felt a surge of inadequacy.
“Which is stupid,” Mira told her when Rumi voiced her concerns aloud. She sat cross-legged on the sofa, gnawing on a chicken wing. “He's seen you in your most embarrassing pair of pajama pants.”
“You could show up in a paper bag and he’d totally think you’re gorgeous,” Zoey added, nodding fervently. “Your outfit is perfect. Maybe we should change those earrings, though...I think gold would go better with the black turtleneck, don’t you think, Mira?”
“Gold,” she affirmed, sitting up. “I have to ask, Rumi, what’s with the sudden anxiety? It’s just Jinu.”
“Oh, yeah,” Zoey chimed, waving a cheese-dusted chip before noisily gobbling it down, “just the guy who was our, like, super-rival for a week, and then tried to feed us all to Gwi-Ma.”
Mira levelled her a look. “Not helping. What I mean is, he isn’t going to care what you wear, Rumi, so why should you?”
“Ugh,” she groaned, letting herself fall onto the couch cushion between them. They both scooted to make room. “That’s the worst part. I don’t even know. I shouldn’t care, but I do. Is that stupid?”
Mira paused. “Yeah.”
“Kinda,” Zoey added.
Rumi dragged a hand down her face. “Don’t do that,” Mira told her, “you’ll ruin the makeup. Here, have some tteokbokki.” Before Rumi could argue, she felt something warm shoved into her mouth. When she got close to swallowing, Mira gave her more.
“Mfh - guys, enough with the-” Zoey stuffed her mouth with potato chips. “Guys! I just had a breath mint. And I can’t eat before going on a lunch date.”
“Whoops,” Mira said without a hint of remorse.
Rumi’s eyes narrowed. “Was that meant to be a distraction?”
“Did it work?” Zoey batted her eyelashes.
She smothered a smile. “Well, I’m more worried about my breath than my clothes, so...”
“I’ll consider it a success.” Mira dug around her handbag’s contents and popped open a lid of mints. “Here. Don’t stress it, okay? It’s Jinu. You shouldn’t feel the need to hide around him like he’s just a fan.”
“He’s a total fan,” Zoey shouted from the kitchenette, her head in the fridge. She returned with a tray of cupcakes, passing one to Mira before making quick work of the polka-dotted wrappers. “Mira’s right, though.”
Through a bite of chocolate cupcake, and perfectly articulate despite the food in her mouth: “As always.”
“Jinu wants the true you,” Zoey went on, licking pink frosting off her lips. “If that means showing up with tteokbokki breath, so be it. Only cowards run away from that.”
“I think I’ll take my chances with the mint,” Rumi said, her eyes glinting with fondness. She brushed herself off and rose, eying the clock. Her talk with the girls hadn’t taken up too much time, and if traffic wasn’t miserable, she could get to the cafe in a half hour flat. Jinu had suggested she travel with the help of his demonic companion, but ever since the demon realm had been permanently cut off, the feline’s teleportation skills had become greatly limited. She hadn’t wanted to drain the cat, and maybe a small part craved the train ride there. It would give her some time to figure out how to quash the irritating nervousness permeating through her.
She slid her usual incognito-pink hood over her outfit. “Bye, guys. I’ll see you in a couple hours.”
“Call me!” Zoey sang.
“Don’t be out too late, or I’ll eat that leftover castella you’ve been saving,” Mira told her, inspecting her nails.
Rumi arched an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“I most definitely would. Have fun on your date. Oh, and one more thing.” Mira’s sharp chin lifted, her glossy lips twisting with slight amusement. “Send Jinu a message for me, would you?”
“What are you wearing?” Rumi hissed.
Jinu gave her his signature flat stare. “Clothes,” he said dryly. “Don’t tell me those are outdated, too?”
“No, obviously,” she groused. “But...it’s so...”
He tilted his head. It reminded her of the bird, and just the thought made her snort. His brow furrowed. “It can’t be that ludicrous.”
She squinted. He wore a dress shirt and pants, a rather standard combination, if not for the neon colors. A blinding shade of pink above the waist, descending into hazard-tape yellow pants and buckled shoes that gleamed underneath the narrow table they shared. He held seemingly no embarrassment over this ensemble either, since he’d chosen an outside table. Her first thought upon locating him was that he resembled what she thought Soda Pop , the Saja Boys’ last and only single, might look like as a person: bright, bubbly, and saccharine.
Three words she would never attribute to the likes of cool and somewhat awkward Jinu. A faint blush colored his cheeks. “You sounded angrier, earlier,” he noted.
“I wasn’t,” she said, leaning back into the chair. “I guess I was just surprised to see you in such a bright outfit, outside, as an ex-idol. Figured the paps would have gotten to you by now.”
“Ah.” He stirred his straw around in his peach boba tea, watching the pearls clatter against each other. “The Saja Boys have faded into obscurity. We’re one-hit wonders, as they call it. The media believes we’ve disbanded.”
“Still,” she said. “It wasn’t all that long ago you were dancing in these streets. You’d think there’d be some pride members left.”
“Oh, they exist.” Jinu’s expression became bleak. He took a long sip of his boba. “They still think we’re working on our first solo album.”
“Yikes.”
“I know.”
“Any-ways,” Rumi said, aiming to change the flow of conversation. “How are the boys? I’ve been meaning to ask.”
He smiled. It was a quaint, close-lipped smile, subtle as a stroke of paint. “We’re managing,” he admitted. “When the demon realm closed off, we lost our power of song, so a career in music is mostly out of the question. And we have to stay out of the limelight for a while, just until the conspiracy surrounding us fades completely. We’re working on identification right now.”
“Identification?” she echoes.
“Among the Saja Boys, I was one of the few who actually lived a human life.” The smile faded. “At least I have a name to work off of. The rest of them? The most human they’ve ever been was when they were pretending to be idols, who aren’t considered all that human to begin with, really.”
Rumi’s fingers tightened on the lip of her straw. “Right.”
“So we’re working on getting them the necessary papers for survival here,” he concluded. “It’s been a wreck so far, to be honest. Mystery’s still learning Korean, Abs is trying to remember how to write after not doing it for centuries-”
“Wait.” She held up a manicured hand. “Abs?”
Jinu blinked. “Yes.”
“His name,” she said, “is Abs?”
That blush again. “We didn’t know what else to call him. The idol thing wasn’t meant to last for too long, and we assumed the humans wouldn’t question it.”
Rumi grinned. “Oh my God. Mira’s been complaining about a guy named Abs.” She paused. “Oh, that reminds me - she wanted me to tell you something. Pass on a message.”
Jinu arched an eyebrow. “What is it?”
“You’re an idiot, and you should be lucky I didn’t run you through with my spear. Something along those lines.”
He gave her a deadpan look. “And you’re sure this is from Mira and not yourself?”
She scoffed. “Please. I wouldn’t threaten you – I'd just do it.”
His lips spread into a smirk. “Yes,” he said, “you would. I miss it.”
“You miss when we were enemies?”
His fingers brushed over hers across the table. His demonic blood made his skin hotter than it should have been. “I miss battle.”
Her head tilted, the length of her braid tumbling down her back in a gleaming coil. “If you wanted my sword beneath your chin, you only had to ask.”
“I’ll take you up on that offer.” He was still watching her, his dark eyes flashing gold in the reflection of his boba glass. She’d never looked so closely at his demon eyes before – they shone, sour and citrine as a fallen lemon, glittering with all-too-familiar pleasure. “Yours are just like mine.”
She startled. “My eyes?”
“Yes. And your scars, too.” He jutted his chin at the faintly iridescent scars rippling over her wrist, disappearing up the sleeve of her jacket. His dress shirt hid little. When the sunlight hit them both, their skin gleamed like carved opal.
“I didn’t notice.” A lie – she had. She’d noticed all the little differences in his appearance, just as she knew he had.
He didn’t call her out, opting to sip from her cup. “Give that back!”
“Please. Like you don’t have a gallon of this stuff at home.”
“You’re treating me. Have some class!”
He laughed, a sharp, joyful sound. “Class. That’s a fun illusion. I’d love to pretend to have class with you, Rumi.”
She rolled her eyes, fighting down another violent blush. “I cannot believe I was nervous to talk to you again. You’ve hardly changed.”
Jinu’s eyes fluttered shut, as if in sleep. “In some ways, neither have you. I prefer it that way.”
“Mm,” she hummed, swiping his boba from him. “Who asked?”
Jinu laughed again. For all this talk about losing his musical skill, it was the sweetest thing.