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The sun had barely dragged itself over the Seoul skyline when Zoey declared that their lives were “officially too normal,” which was objectively a lie because normal people didn’t start the day sharpening demon-banishing blades while eating cereal.
Mira was at the table, polishing her weapon like she was in a training montage. Rumi was half-asleep, cheek pressed against the table, wearing Zoey’s oversized hoodie and glaring at a bowl of cereal that had gone soggy twenty minutes ago.
Zoey, meanwhile, was perched on the counter like a gremlin, swinging her legs and plotting something. You could see it in her eyes - the same look she got before fights, or worse, before karaoke night.
Mira noticed first. “Zoey,” she said slowly, “what are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking,” Zoey said, voice too bright to be trustworthy, “we’ve been slaying demons and saving the world and stuff, but we’ve completely neglected the art of psychological warfare.”
Rumi groaned. “It’s too early for your bullshit.”
“Exactly!” Zoey hopped down, grinning. “Perfect time to start!”
—
Mira was draped over the velvet L-section sofa, a thick, plush blanket pooling around her waist. She was trying to focus on her book, but the screen of Zoey’s phone kept flashing with chaotic, rapid-fire video clips.
“You know, for a world-renowned demon hunter,” Mira murmured, not looking up, “you spend an alarming amount of time watching teenagers throw things at each other.”
Zoey, who was stretched out on the couch, head resting in Mira's lap, giggled.
“It’s research, Mir,” Zoey said. “Look.”
She tapped the screen, and a new clip began: a boy calmly listing his chores.
“I need to clean the bathroom, dust the bookshelves, and refill the…” The video cut. The boy’s friend, standing nearby, suddenly yelled "spatula!" and simultaneously chucked a crumpled sock at his head. The boy flinched violently, ducking behind the kitchen counter with startling speed, even though the sock was harmless.
Mira watched the clip finish, then slowly lowered her book. “They’ve conditioned him.”
"They’ve weaponized an everyday noun,” Zoey corrected, her eyes sparkling with dangerous potential. She pushed herself up, leaning her chin affectionately on Mira’s shoulder. “And it’s genius. Just the type of warfare we’ve been needing.”
Zoey glanced toward the kitchen. Rumi was there, impeccably neat in oversized sweats, meticulously sorting vitamins and preparing her sleep tea. Rumi, the strongest of their trio, could withstand a demonic attack without flinching, but also had the most high-strung nervous system when off duty.
“Zoey, no.”
“Zoey, yes!”
“We are not doing that to Rumi,” Mira stated, though the smile she couldn’t suppress betrayed her.
Zoey pouted, tilting her head to brush her cheek against Mira’s jaw. “But, my sweet Mimi, imagine.”
Mira sighed, rolling her eyes. “She’s going to kill you.”
“She’s going to kill us.”
Rumi, as though sensing the mischief, spun on her heels. “You two are up to something.”
“Nooo,” Mira said, her voice doing the exact thing people do when they’re definitely up to something. “Totally unrelated question - how do you feel about… fridges?”
Rumi blinked. “Fridges?”
“Yeah.”
“They keep food cold. Why?”
“No reason,” Zoey said. “Just… good to know.”
Rumi narrowed her eyes, then went back to her tea. “You’re freaks.”
“Love you too, babe,” Zoey sang.
—
The first test came that afternoon. Rumi was sprawled across the couch, scrolling on her phone, hair tied up messily, one sock missing like always.
Zoey crept in from the kitchen, eyes gleaming. Mira stood at the doorway like an accomplice.
“Hey, Rumi,” Zoey said casually. “Can you grab me a drink from the fridge?”
The moment the word left her mouth, a cushion flew across the room and nailed Rumi squarely in the face.
“WHAT THE FUCK-”
Zoey was cackling so hard she nearly fell over. Mira was smirking like she’d just executed the perfect crime.
“You’re dead!” Rumi yelled, launching the pillow back, but Zoey dodged behind Mira, using her like a human shield.
“Strategic retreat!” Zoey shouted, sprinting down the hall.
Mira chuckled. “You have to admit, that was a good hit.”
Rumi scowled, hair mussed. “I’m gonna fridge you,” she muttered darkly.
—
Rumi forgot about it by the next day - or at least, that’s what she wanted them to think. She’d forgiven them after Mira offered her a coffee and Zoey promised “no more weird experiments.”
Lies.
They were out training near the edge of the city, slicing through illusions left behind by stray demons. The area looked like a half-collapsed warehouse - a perfect echo chamber for Zoey’s nonsense.
Mira and Rumi were sparring, the sound of steel clashing echoing through the space. Zoey leaned on a crate, sipping an energy drink.
“Rumi, your stance is off,” Mira said, circling her.
“I’m fine,” Rumi replied, adjusting slightly.
Zoey smirked. “Hey, Rums?”
“What?”
“Fridge.”
Before she could process it, Zoey tossed an empty can straight at her. It bonked off her shoulder harmlessly.
“ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?” Rumi screamed, chasing her across the warehouse.
Mira tried - tried - to stay out of it. She failed within thirty seconds, laughing too hard to keep her balance.
Zoey’s shrieking echoed off the metal walls. “IT’S FOR SCIENCE, BABE!”
—
Rumi decided to corner the girls after 3 days of this nonsense.
“Zoey, I swear to god. What are you doing?”
“It’s science,” Zoey said. “The science of flinching.”
Mira leaned against the wall. “We are measuring your reaction time.”
Rumi gave her a look. “You’re in on this?”
“Of course,” Mira said calmly. “It might help in combat.”
Rumi muttered, “It might get me to kill you both.”
Zoey grinned. “Fridge!”
She produced a foam ball from god knows where and hurled it. Rumi didn’t move. It bounced off her shoulder.
“Reaction time: nonexistent,” Mira noted.
Rumi glared. “You’re gonna be nonexistent if you keep-”
“Fridge!” Zoey shouted again, throwing another.
This time, Rumi ducked - too late, but she ducked.
Zoey whooped. “Yes! Progress!”
Mira added, “Still needs improvement.”
Rumi sighed. “I need new girlfriends.”
“Too late,” Zoey said, winding up another throw. “You’re stuck with us forever.”
“Try me.”
Thunk.
“OW-”
“See? Learning!” Zoey cheered.
—
By the fourth day, Rumi’s eye twitched every time she heard an f sound.
Mira and Zoey were merciless. It wasn’t even about the prank anymore - it was about commitment.
Every time someone said it, Rumi’s body acted on pure instinct - ducking, rolling, or diving for cover. Mira and Zoey were relentless.
“Rumi, can you pass me a drink from the-”
“NO.”
“-fridge.”
Duck.
“Hey, did you know demons hate the cold? Especially-”
“Don’t.”
“-fridges?”
Roll.
“Hey Rumi, what’s for dinner?”
“Don't. Don't say it.”
"I'm just asking if we should grab something from the-"
"DON'T SAY IT!"
Zoey grinned. “-fridge.”
Rumi dived on instinct. Nothing hit her. She looked up cautiously.
Mira and Zoey were just standing there, innocent smiles plastered on their faces.
“See?” Mira said. “We can be nice.”
Rumi exhaled, relaxing for the first time all day. “Thank god.”
Zoey threw a grape at her.
“FUCK YOU!”
—
By now, the word had infected their lives. Mira, usually the most composed, had started laughing every time she saw Rumi flinch. Even Bobby had caught on.
“Why does Rumi flinch every time you talk about kitchen appliances?” He asked one morning, watching Rumi duck behind a bench mid-conversation.
Zoey grinned. “We’re training her survival instincts!”
“YOU’RE TRAINING ME FOR JAIL TIME!” Rumi shouted from across the room.
“Her reaction time has improved by 0.4 seconds,” Mira said.
Zoey nodded sagely. “She’s become unstoppable.”
Rumi groaned. “I’m becoming traumatized.”
“She’s gonna kill you,” Bobby said.
“She’s tried,” Zoey said proudly.
Mira added, “We’re building reflexes. She’s faster now.”
Rumi walked in mid-conversation, glaring. “You two are building divorces.”
Zoey leaned in with a grin. “Bold of you to assume we got married first.”
Rumi threw a towel at her.
—
The chaos got worse. Zoey started using random items - grapes, erasers, socks. Mira joined in with alarming precision, managing to tag Rumi mid-spin during sparring.
At one point, Rumi retaliated by duct-taping every pillow in the commons to Zoey’s bed.
“Now you live in fear.” She’d said.
But Zoey just grinned. “You underestimate how comfortable I am in chaos.”
Mira, ever the voice of reason, said, “Technically, she’s thriving.”
Rumi pointed at both of them. “Technically, you’re both dead.”
—
Of course, because their lives could never just be cute domestic chaos, a demon showed up that weekend.
They rolled out together, weapons ready, wind whipping through their hair. The familiar adrenaline buzzed in their veins.
The fight went smoothly at first. Mira called out positions; Zoey darted through the shadows; Rumi handled the heavy strikes. They moved like a machine - until Zoey, out of pure habit, yelled the cursed word.
“Rumi, behind you! Fridge!”
Rumi ducked.
Zoey’s eyes went wide. “Wait- no- literal-”
A chunk of concrete whooshed over where Rumi’s head had been. She blinked. “Holy shit.”
Mira groaned. “You accidentally saved her.”
Zoey grinned. “I told you! Conditioning!”
The demon lunged again, but the trio was already regrouped. Rumi vaulted forward, driving her blade through it. The creature disintegrated into ash.
Zoey whooped. “Hell yeah! That’s fridge-fu! That’s my girlfriend, guys!”
“Your girlfriend almost got flattened because of you,” Mira pointed out.
“Details.”
Rumi wiped sweat from her forehead, glaring - but a laugh escaped anyway. “Fine. Maybe your stupid fridge training worked.”
Zoey gasped dramatically. “Did you just compliment me?”
“Don’t push it.”
Zoey strutted over, hands on her hips. “Told you! I’m basically a genius.”
“Or insane,” Rumi said.
“Why not both?”
Back home, they crashed on the couch again, the adrenaline wearing off.
Rumi was half-asleep, Mira cleaning her blade, Zoey scrolling through memes.
“You know,” Mira said softly, “Zoey’s nonsense might’ve saved your life.”
Rumi grunted. “I hate that you’re right.”
Zoey looked up, smug. “Told you so.”
“Still hate you.”
“Love you too, babe.”
Rumi opened one eye. “If you say ‘fridge,’ I’m breaking up with you.”
Zoey’s grin widened. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
A beat of silence. Then Zoey leaned over, whispered in her ear: “Mini-fridge.”
Rumi didn’t even move. She just grabbed a pillow and smacked her square in the face.
Mira burst out laughing. “You deserved that.”
Zoey muffled into the pillow, “Worth it.”
—
They were all curled on the couch, movie night in full swing. Mira sat in the middle, Zoey draped lazily across her lap, Rumi leaning against her shoulder. The room was dim, lit only by the glow of the TV and the occasional burst of popcorn Zoey managed to catapult at her own face.
Zoey whispered, “Should I do it?”
Mira gave her the smallest nod, biting back a smile.
Rumi was half-asleep when Zoey said softly, “Hey, babe, could you grab me a drink from the-”
Her body tensed.
“Don’t you dare,” Rumi mumbled.
“-fridge.”
Instant duck.
No projectile followed. Mira kissed her forehead instead.
Rumi blinked, confused. “Wait. No attack?”
Zoey smiled gently this time. “Nah. You’ve earned a break.”
Rumi sighed, relaxing again. “…Good. Because if one more thing hits me, I swear-”
Zoey popped a single popcorn kernel at her.
Chaos resumed.
—
The prank took on a life of its own. Rumi started dodging preemptively. Zoey started throwing random items even when she didn’t say the word. Mira started keeping score.
“Okay,” Mira said one afternoon, clipboard in hand, “Rumi’s reaction time is now 0.7 seconds. Zoey’s throwing accuracy… concerning.”
Zoey squinted. “You’re taking notes?”
“I like data.”
Rumi crossed her arms. “You two are psychos.”
Zoey winked. “You love us.”
Rumi tried not to smile. “Unfortunately.”
—
The prank eventually died down- or so Zoey thought. Rumi seemed calmer, less twitchy, even affectionate again. She made breakfast one morning, humming, acting suspiciously serene.
Zoey yawned, shuffling into the kitchen. “Morning.”
Rumi smiled sweetly. “Morning, babe. Want some eggs?”
“Sure.” Zoey sat down, blissfully unaware.
Mira entered, immediately sensing danger. “Rumi, what are you doing?”
“Nothing,” Rumi said innocently. “Just being nice.”
Mira raised an eyebrow but stayed quiet.
Rumi slid a plate in front of Zoey. “Oh, could you grab the juice from the fridge?”
Zoey froze.
Her instincts screamed duck, but her pride screamed don’t give her the satisfaction.
“…Nice try,” Zoey said.
Rumi smirked. “Who said I was trying?”
Zoey hesitated, then opened the fridge door.
Nothing happened.
She turned around cautiously - and immediately got blasted in the face with a whipped cream can.
“REVENGE,” Rumi shouted triumphantly.
Zoey sputtered. “WHAT THE-”
Mira nearly fell out of her chair laughing. “Brilliant execution.”
Zoey wiped her face. “You planned this?”
“Since day two,” Rumi said proudly.
Zoey lunged. “You’re dead!”
They wrestled on the floor for five minutes before Mira finally intervened.
—
Months passed, but "fridge" became part of their weird little ecosystem. It wasn’t just a word anymore - it was shorthand for their chaos, their love language.
Whenever one of them said it, the others would brace themselves - not for impact, necessarily, but for something. A laugh, a hug, a thrown grape.
They kept demon hunting, of course. Saved lives, cracked jokes mid-battle, kissed when the world went quiet again. But no matter how many monsters they faced, their stupid inside joke remained undefeated.
One evening, the three of them stood on the rooftop, city lights stretching endlessly below. The air was cool, the kind that hummed with peace after a storm.
Rumi leaned into Mira’s shoulder. Zoey leaned against Rumi, a lazy grin on her face.
“Y’know,” Zoey said softly, “I think we’re doing okay.”
Mira smiled. “We are.”
Rumi sighed contentedly. “Finally, a quiet night.”
A pause.
Zoey whispered, “Fridge.”
Rumi didn’t duck this time. She just kissed her.
Zoey blinked, dazed. “Oh.”
“Positive reinforcement,” Rumi said with a smirk.
Mira laughed, wrapping her arms around both of them. “You two are hopeless.”
“Yeah,” Zoey murmured, grinning against Rumi’s lips, “but admit it - you love us.”
Mira rolled her eyes but smiled anyway. “Unfortunately.”
The three of them stayed there - laughing, teasing, wrapped in the glow of the city and their own ridiculous love story.
And somewhere in the distance, a fridge hummed quietly.