Chapter Text
The first thing Rumi heard that morning was Jinu’s godforsaken voice.
"Oooohhh Ruuuumi~" he sang, like a banshee with bad intonation.
Rumi didn’t look up from the espresso machine. “What.”
“I was just wondering,” Jinu leaned against the counter like he paid rent, “if you’d finally decided to get that attitude of yours pierced. I know a guy. Mira’s great with sharp things. You’d love her.”
"You'd love a slap to the back of the head," she deadpanned, not even blinking as she tamped espresso.
"Violence is never the answer," Jinu said, dramatically placing a hand on his heart.
"-It is the question and the answer is yes." She finished his sentence.
Jinu looked absolutely wounded.
Rumi barely managed not to laugh. Barely—and only because Abby's wheezing laughter was contagious.
"The absolut betrayal." Jinu muttered. "My best friend and Greg's list Elsa plotting against me..."
Rumi poured milk into a pitcher, the hiss of the steam wand giving her an excuse not to reply. Her purple braid swung behind her as she moved—long, smooth, a little chaotic near the end, like her. The morning rush hadn’t started yet, but already she felt warm under her sweater.
She adjusted her sleeves.
It was subtle—she always made sure it was. A tug at the wrist, a slight roll, just enough to keep it from sliding up. Not that anyone noticed. Not usually.
"Aren’t you melting in that?" Abby asked from behind the pastry counter. "It’s, like, 28 degrees today."
Rumi shrugged. "Cold brew gives me chills."
Jinu made a dramatic gasp. "She makes jokes now? Who are you and what have you done with my emotionally unavailable coffee goblin?"
"She buried him under the patio," Rumi muttered.
Bobby poked his head out from the back room. "Play nice, children."
Rumi had survived worse mornings. She reminded herself of that as she mechanically cleaned the steam wand for the third time in ten minutes—mainly to keep her hands busy so she wouldn't hurl a coffee tamper at Jinu’s perfectly groomed head.
“Y’know, I’m starting to think you enjoy bullying me,” he said lazily, leaning one elbow on the clean counter. “Should I be flattered or file a complaint with HR?”
“There is no HR,” Rumi muttered, not looking at him. “But if you keep talking, I might create one just to report you.”
“Oof. Brutal.” Jinu gave her a grin that made her blood pressure spike. “You’re lucky I’m resilient. Also very pretty. But mostly resilient.”
Rumi’s knuckles whitened around the milk pitcher.
Three weeks. It had been three weeks since Bobby had brought in “new help” to lighten her workload. Three weeks of Jinu’s sarcasm, smug charm, and complete lack of shame. And somehow, despite all that, Bobby kept acting like she was the miracle worker for showing him the ropes.
Rumi, of course, hadn’t corrected him. She was trying to be professional. She needed this job. Desperately.
“Shouldn’t you be sweeping the floor or something?” she asked, trying to keep her tone neutral.
“I already did,” Jinu said, smug. “Twice, actually. Out of boredom. I’m very efficient.”
“Good for you. Go stand somewhere else efficiently.”
“I could,” he said, pausing, “but then I wouldn’t get to witness your radiant personality in action.”
She finally looked up from the espresso machine and gave him a look that could curdle milk.
“Okay, okay,” he laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll go wipe something down. Jeez.”
As he moved away—finally—Rumi let out a slow breath. Her hand drifted to her sweater, tugging it down over her wrist reflexively. The movement was small, habitual. Comforting, even if unnecessary.
The bell above the front door jingled as Bobby walked in, a clipboard tucked under one arm and his signature calm smile already in place.
He made a beeline for the counter, eyes scanning the shop quickly. “Place looks good,” he said, voice warm. “Thanks for keeping things running, Rumi.”
She nodded, unsure how to respond to praise that sincere.
Bobby’s gaze shifted past her to where Jinu was very pointedly pretending to scrub a table. “And you,” he called, “still alive after your third week?”
“Barely,” Jinu called back. “She’s relentless.”
“She’s not that bad,” Bobby said, amused. “She’s just thorough.”
Rumi made a noncommittal sound and ducked into the back room to restock lids. It wasn’t that she disliked Bobby. Quite the opposite—his quiet trust in her was one of the few things holding her together most days. But it was getting harder to maintain her balance lately. Especially with Jinu poking at the edges of her composure.
She was still trying to center herself when the door creaked open behind her. Bobby stepped in, carrying a spare apron and a small stack of laminated cleaning guides.
“I figured I’d leave these here,” he said. “You’re usually the one who remembers where everything actually is.”
Rumi gave a tired smile. “I try.”
He lingered for a moment, watching her a little too closely. Not in a bad way—just... attentive.
“Hey,” he said gently. “You doing alright?”
The question caught her off guard. Her first instinct was to nod, to say yes, of course, to brush it off with a joke or a deflection. But something about Bobby’s voice made her hesitate.
She couldn’t afford to be seen too clearly.
“Just tired,” she said instead. “Long week.” It wasn't a lie. A half-truth maybe.
Bobby nodded like he believed her. “I get it. You’ve been pulling long shifts lately. I didn’t realize how much until I looked at the timesheets. That’s not sustainable, Rumi.”
“I’m fine.”
“I'm not saying you're not,” he said, and his voice was soft in a way that made her skin itch. Not because it was unwelcome—but because it made her feel things she’d worked hard to bury.
She looked away, searching comfort in smoothing out some folds on her work apron.
Bobby gave a quiet sigh. “That’s why I hired Jinu. I know he’s... a lot. But he’s competent. And if he can help lighten your load, even a little, then it’s worth it.”
“I can handle it,” she said quickly. “Really.”
“I know you can,” Bobby said. “But that doesn’t mean you should have to.”
If only he knew the irony of that statement.
The words hung in the air for a beat too long. Rumi swallowed hard, forcing herself to nod. “I’ll keep him in check.”
Bobby chuckled. “You’re the best.”
She didn’t feel like the best. She felt like a cracked cup someone kept filling with more and more coffee, hoping it wouldn’t leak.
When Bobby finally left, the room felt smaller than before.
The lull after Bobby left didn’t last.
Rumi stepped back onto the café floor just in time to see Jinu sliding behind the espresso machine—her domain—and pulling two shots with the confidence of someone who’d watched two TikToks and decided he was a barista.
“What the hell are you doing?” she asked, her voice low and sharp.
He glanced up, clearly proud of himself. “Customer wanted a double shot. You were in the back. Figured I’d help out.”
“By touching my machine?”
“I cleaned it first,” he said. “And it’s our machine. Technically.”
“No,” Rumi said, brushing past him to inspect the portafilter. “It’s not. You don’t even tamp properly.”
“I tamp just fine, thanks.”
“You tamp like you’re afraid of commitment.”
That earned a laugh from one of the regulars near the pastry case. Jinu raised a brow, grinning.
“Damn, Rumi. That was kinda sexy.”
She blinked owlishly. “What?”
“The aggression. The whole coffee dominance. It's giving ice queen. I’m into it.”
Rumi stared at him. Jinu was clearly messing with her. He had to be. “You’re not into anything. You’re just bored.”
“I can’t be both?”
She set the portafilter down harder than necessary. “Go bother Abby.”
“Fine,” he said, backing away with a lazy salute. “But only because your barista kink is terrifying, Elsa.”
That earned another cackle from the same regular as before.
Rumi's cheeks flushed, but didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, she focused on purging the group head, using the hiss of steam to drown out the dull roar rising in her chest.
The nickname rubbed her the wrong way.
That was the thing about Jinu. He was charming, yes. Infuriating, definitely. But every now and then, his jokes hit too close to something raw inside her.
And the worst part was—he didn’t even know.
No one did.
She caught herself tugging her sleeve again and forced her hands back to work. The motion was instinct now. Second nature. Like hiding.
Besides Jinu testing her patience and using it like a jump rope with stupid questions and even worse commentary—Abby's amused chuckles everytime he glanced at her and Jinu—the day in itself wasn't too busy. It wasn't as slow as it could have been, but it also wasn't as stressful as it usually was around this time.
Which on one hand gave Rumi enough time to make sure Jinu stayed in line—no flirting with customers, altough for some reason he kept sharing the extra tips with her—on the other hand it gave Jinu way too much time to yap her ear off.
It was fine. She was handling it with the best of her capabilities. Rumi felt like a saint until midday rolled around at least.
It was when she brushed a loose strand of hair out of her face and behind her ear that she felt something amiss.
Her earring wasn't there anymore. It wasn't an expensive piece of jewelry or anything but it held sentimental value and loosing it would be just the tip of the iceberg.
Maybe it had fallen out.
Rumi backtracked, eyes trained on the floor for anything out of place, when the bane of her existence called out.
"Miss something?" Jinu's voice was way too smug right now. He was up to no good again. And she was right. Something dangled from in-between his fingers and Rumi had the annoying feeling she knew exactly what it was.
Rumi grabbed for it instantly but Jinu sidestepped her, pulling his arm and the earring just out of reach before dangling it inches away from where her arm was outstretched.
"Give it."
He smiled—soft, teasing, not unkind. But the kind that made her jaw tighten anyway. “You want it back?”
“I said give it.”
“Oh, c’mon, Rumi.” He twirled it lightly between two fingers, just out of reach. “You don't have to be so serious all the time. It’s just a—”
Unbridled rage bubbled up inside her.
And the last inch of patience inside her snapped.
Rumi's foot collided with Jinu's shin so precisely it was truly spectacular. It wasn't meant to actually hurt him—badly at least, right now she really did need the helping hands—but she put enough force behind it to be satisfactory. She had endured so long after all.
In hindsight it wasn't the most calculated move to make for this particualr situation, with Jinu standing right next to the sink—not that Rumi would ever admit to being in the wrong here. The kick had been justified or at least very much deserved after all.
Jinu groaned, reflexively dropping the earring so he could clasp his bruising shin whilst he hobbled about on one leg.
Rumi watched unmoving as her treasured jewelery hit the side of the sink, bouncing once, twice, before promptly falling down the drain. For a second both Rumi and Jinu—now slightly hunched over but on both his feet again—stood still, eyes locked on the drain as if it would magically spit the earring out again.
It didn't.
Abby, useful as ever assessed the situation and quickly noped out of there with a quick pat to Jinu's back. "I'm out of here. You're on your own with this one." Announcing to no one in particular that he'd be taking over the tables.
Jinu was the first to turn away, carefully taking in Rumi's overall posture. Preparing for a possible second assault. But something must have caught his eye.
Rumi felt like her emotions were bleeding through at the seams.
Jinu’s grin faltered instantly. “Shit—”
“Leave it,” she said, backing away, trying to keep her face blank.
“Rumi, I didn’t mean—”
“I said leave it.”
She stepped back until the cold metal counter pressed against her spine. Her hoodie suddenly felt too tight around her, too obvious. Her skin felt tight and her pulse was thrumming in her ears, drowning out the sounds of the café.
It was just an earring.
It was just an earring.
But her hand still went instinctively to her shoulder, grasping at fabric. A grounding touch. A distraction.
“Rumi,” Jinu tried again. He looked almost... guilty. “I didn’t mean to—”
“I know,” she said tightly. “I kicked you.”
The silence that followed felt thick.
Jinu ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t think it would actually—fall.”
“No one ever does,” she said quietly.
He opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked... not guilty, exactly. Just uncomfortable. Like he knew he’d hit something deeper than he meant to, but didn’t know how.
So she turned.
“I’m taking a break.”
“Rumi—”
“I said I’m taking a break.”
The alley behind the Kintsugi Cafè was ugly, concrete, and familiar in a way that made it bearable. Rumi leaned against the cool brick wall and closed her eyes.
Deep breath in. Count to four. Out. Again.
It had been weeks since she last had that kind of moment. The kind where everything shrunk to the edge of a knive and the thrum of heat under her skin. She hated that it caught her off guard—hated more that it had happened in front of someone else.
Jinu didn’t know. Of course he didn’t. But that didn’t make the sting any softer.
Her fingers brushed her lobe, where the earring had been. Not expensive. Not even a perfect pair. But it had been hers.
And it was gone now.
Of course it was.
When her break ended, Rumi lingered outside longer than she should have. The sun beat down with an unforgiving glare, and for a moment, she seriously considered walking home instead of returning to work.
But that would be pathetic. It was pathetic. One lost earring wasn’t a good enough reason to ditch her shift. The afternoon rush would start soon, and leaving Abby to deal with it alone was like handing a child a match and a can of gasoline. Disaster waiting to happen.
And then there was Jinu. He was still technically under her supervision. Bobby had trusted her to take care of him, and she couldn’t just throw that trust away because her day was spiraling.
Rumi wiped her sweaty palms on her hoodie, shaking out her arms in a futile attempt to cool herself down. It was definitely too hot for hoodies now. Maybe a sleeved turtleneck would’ve sufficed—even if it made her feel more exposed without the extra bulk to hide in. That was a problem for future Rumi. Right now, the real problem lay behind the café’s side door.
She exhaled through her nose and stepped back inside, grateful to find the little storage room empty. She took a moment, just one, to steel herself. Work mindset. Game face. Then she pushed through the swinging door and entered the main floor of the café.
The soft clatter of cups, hissing steam, and low customer chatter gave her a rhythm to fall back into. She ducked behind the espresso machine, muscle memory taking over as she prepped drink orders without missing a beat.
Jinu was unusually quiet.
She didn’t have to look at him to feel it. The tension clung to him like static. His back stiff, movements precise, too focused on an order he’d perfected in his first week.
Rumi felt guilt needle at her. The lost earring hadn't been his fault. But it was clear he felt responsible. She caught his eyes flick toward her, then away quickly, a small crease appearing on his brow.
This was going to be awkward.
Until it wasn’t.
Rumi was halfway through counting change at the register when something bounced off the side of her head. Not hard. Not painful. Just... attention-getting. Her head whipped toward the culprits.
Jinu and Abby were huddled together by the bar, pretending innocence so badly it was almost impressive. Jinu gave a little shrug, his sheepish grin failing to mask the satisfaction in his eyes.
She groaned. Maybe she’d overestimated how fragile he was feeling.
"Did you seriously just throw a straw at me?"
Jinu tilted his head. "Define 'throw.'"
"I’m going to murder you."
"Rude. I’m a national treasure."
"You’re a walking fire hazard."
"Technically accurate."
Her eye twitched.
He grinned. "Tell you what. Since I’ve got your attention, let me make it up to you. I’ll cover your tables—go get your earring replaced."
Rumi squinted at him. "Why?"
"Because I’m annoying, not heartless. And I know you’ll stew about it all day otherwise. Go to Honmoon across the street. Ask for Mira. She owes me a favor and totally loves me."
That last part sounded suspect, but she glanced around. The café wasn’t crowded. Rush hour wasn't for another hour or so.
She sighed. "Fine. But if you touch my order stickers—"
"—violence. I know."
Honmoon Tattoo & Piercing was a whimsical little shop across the road, its windows decorated with pastel decals of koi fish, moon phases, rabbits, and vines. A bell chimed softly as Rumi entered, the scent of lemongrass and antiseptic greeting her.
A girl behind the counter looked up mid-bite of a cookie, space buns bouncing as she chewed. Her arms were a patchwork of goofy animal tattoos—charming but not overdone.
"Hey! You here for the Zoey or Mira special?"
Rumi blinked. "Um... Jinu sent me? I lost an earring. He said someone here could help."
"Ah! Jinu’s gremlin barista buddy." The girl beamed. "I’m Zoey. Mira does the poking. She’s in the back. One sec."
Zoey vanished behind a curtain before Rumi could process what she meant by poking. Or decide how offended to be by gremlin.
Waiting, Rumi let her eyes wander. Flash art filled the walls—chaotic doodles, elegant line work, animals in strange poses. A turtle riding a tricycle. A sleepy bear with moon phases on its back. A jellyfish holding a parasol.
Zoey definitely drew these.
A chime rang and the curtain lifted.
The woman who emerged had reddish-pink hair in high twin ponytails, a black top tucked into olive cargo pants, and a steady, unreadable gaze. Subtle tattoos curled from her collarbones.
"You must be Rumi."
"How did you—"
"You walk like someone two seconds from fainting or starting a fight. Jinu’s description was pretty on point." Her eye twitched slightly at his name. Rumi got the distinct feeling Mira did not love Jinu. At all.
"Right... So, he said you might have a match for my earring? It was a small golden—"
"Loop? I’ve got those."
Mira led her to a small tray by a glowing salt lamp. They found the closest match quickly, and when Mira offered to put it in for her, Rumi just nodded. There wasn’t really a choice.
Back at the counter, Zoey was now painting the nails of a mostly-unseen man whose face was half hidden by his hair. He didn’t seem bothered by her non-stop chattering.
"So... how much do I owe you?" Rumi asked.
Mira glanced toward the pricing chart—
"NOTHING!" Zoey leapt halfway across the counter, almost knocking Mira aside. "You said Jinu sent you, right?"
Rumi nodded, startled.
"Then it’s on the house." Zoey beamed.
Mira groaned, arms crossed. "We do still owe him."
The tension in the air made Rumi feel like she was intruding on something. Intimate. Charged.
"I can pay—"
"Leave it," Mira grumbled. "I might hate his guts, but he’s not entirely useless."
Zoey gave her a pat. "Stop being a grouch, it's bad for business."
She turned to Rumi and handed her a small card, decorated with little animal doodles. Cute.
The writing? Less so.
Rumi frowned. "What... is this?"
"Your prize. 27th customer. Free piercing of your choice."
Rumi looked at the card, then the small sign taped crookedly to the wall.
27th customer wins: Prize free piercing of choice. Fine print: Valid tomorrow only.
She stared. "I—"
"You’d totally rock a helix," Zoey chirped.
Mira looked her up and down with a slow burn of an expression. "Yeah. Totes."
Rumi felt heat crawl up her neck at the attention.
"Come by anytime," Zoey said. "We’ll be waiting!"
Unfair. That’s what this was. Zoey being genuinely nice if chaotic made it so much harder to say no.
Back at the café, Rumi walked in to find her sticker system reorganized. Alphabetically.
She stared. "Why."
Jinu didn’t even look up. "Because chaos is fleeting. Passive-aggression lasts forever."
She chucked a straw at his head. Immature. Worth it.
He caught it. Smiled.
They weren’t friends. Not exactly.
Which made it dangerous. Because friends respected boundaries. Jinu glanced at them, then decided after crossing them if it had been worth it.
Closing was left to Abby—definitely a mix of Jinu’s manipulation and Bobby’s concern. He'd probably convinced Bobby with that fake-earnest expression he wore whenever he wanted something, like a puppy that knew exactly how to sit and beg. Bobby, of course, ate it up. He always wanted to believe the best in people, even when those people alphabetized the sticker system out of spite.
It did mean Rumi got to leave a little earlier than expected, which should’ve been a relief. But relief didn’t come easy these days. Her mind was already cycling through tomorrow’s schedule and whether she’d have enough energy to fix the inventory list before the weekend.
A small mercy: Jinu had recently moved closer, into a shared house with Abby and three other roommates—god help them all. At least that meant no more surprise morning encounters when she was still half-asleep or late-night walks home peppered with his unsolicited monologues about moral relativism or coffee bean politics.
Once had been enough.
The ride home was a special kind of torment. The bus hit every pothole like it was out for revenge. Her seat vibrated so violently she thought her spine might rearrange itself. She pressed her forehead to the window and let the glass cool her skin until her stop finally arrived. Then came the gravel road—the eternal stretch of uneven stones that crunched and shifted under her sneakers, mocking her with every step.
By the time she reached her apartment block, her legs were aching, her brain was fried, and her soul had evaporated somewhere around the fifth pothole.
"Bad day?"
She jumped, heart in her throat. Then flushed.
Mrs. Park, the elderly landlady, stood nearby holding three small boxes.
"Sorry to scare you, dear. I come bearing food. Made too much again." She smiled warmly. "Still not used to cooking for just two people."
Rumi accepted the boxes with trembling hands. A knot inside her chest loosened.
Mrs. Park noticed the tears before Rumi did, dabbing gently at her face with a handkerchief.
God, she was just so tired. Too exhausted to swallow the building feelings down.
"There, there. You need to eat. No wonder you’re crying, you’re skin and bones. My food’ll fix that. I promise—it’s good. I made it."
Mrs. Park helped her unlock the door, before muttering about checking on her husband’s snoring. She left with a wave.
And she was right, the food was good.
The heat had settled in hours ago and refused to leave.
The air was thick in Rumi’s tiny apartment, more soup than oxygen. Her fan buzzed weakly in the corner, pushing hot air in lazy circles. Sweat slicked the back of her neck, soaking into the already-damp pillow, and her sheets were tangled like ivy vines around her limbs. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to get up.
Her fingers drifted—without thinking—to her shoulder. A familiar pattern: searching for something unseen, unwanted, but undeniably there. Her knuckles brushed across the fabric of her oversized sleep shirt, following the outline of raised skin beneath it. She stopped at the wrist, right where the texture changed. Her breath caught.
She could roll up her sleeves. Just for a moment. The shirt was clinging to her anyway, suffocating and damp. It’d be cooler without it. She could pretend she didn’t care. Just for tonight.
But she didn’t.
Her hand dropped limply to the mattress.
She stared up at the ceiling, shadowed and flickering from the streetlight outside. A faint orange glow filtered in through the curtains, casting lines across her walls—like scars the room wore openly, unashamed. Mocking her. Rumi turned her head.
Her brain wouldn’t shut off.
Jinu’s stupid grin kept replaying in her mind, that cocky laugh like he knew something she didn’t. He always did that—joked like they were close, like teasing her was some kind of inside game they both agreed to. Rumi didn’t hate it. She should. But she didn’t.
And then there was Bobby. His new shift rotations. His big talk about trust and responsibility like it was some reward she should be grateful for. Like they were all a happy little family. Rumi had nodded and smiled and said all the right things whilst her insides twisted into knots. The extra cash had been worth the gruelling work week. Necessary.
Now what? Now she was at a loss. Poof. Just like that.
She reached for her phone, half on instinct. Lit up the screen. Blinked at the notifications.
One unread message. It had been sitting there for days now.
Blocked.
Rumi hesitated. Just for a moment. Her thumb hovered, a sliver of doubt worming its way in.
No.
She wouldn’t call her.
Not now. Not after everything.
A tangle of guilt twisted in her gut—sharp and sudden. She shoved it down before it could take root. Too late. Shame flared up behind it, just as quickly, like a match to oil. She was too tired for this. Too hot. Too raw.
And beneath all of it, something darker. Something she didn’t have a name for.
She clenched her jaw.
There were messages she’d never answered. Calls she’d watched ring out. Moments when she could’ve, and didn’t. And somehow that felt like its own kind of violence.
Rumi turned with a groan and dragged her pillow over her face. Everything was too loud in her own head. Her skin itched. Her heart beat wrong. She wanted—
She didn’t know what she wanted.
Her fingers found the new earring at her nightstand. Just a little hoop, gold-toned, cheap, probably. Nothing special. A placeholder.
But still.
She held it between her fingers, letting it catch the faint light. It didn’t have any real meaning. No one gave it to her. No dramatic story behind it.
And yet…
It felt like a marker. Like something had shifted.
Maybe it was the way Zoey had looked at her after the earring was put in. Or maybe the warmth that had bloomed under Mira’s gaze, brief and unreadable, as if she saw something more than just another customer. As if she recognized something in her.
Maybe it was because Rumi wanted it to mean something. She wanted to remember the way she'd laughed in the mirror, just a little—awkward, self-conscious, but real. A version of herself that wasn’t waiting for the other shoe to drop.
She pressed the earring into her palm and let her eyes close.
Outside, a car rumbled by. Somewhere upstairs, someone dropped something heavy. Her fan buzzed again, a single note of resistance. And for a split second, something flickered behind her closed eyes—an echo of a voice she hadn’t heard in a long time.
Rumi, you can’t just—
She sat up too fast.
“Nope,” she muttered aloud.
Not tonight.
She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and stared at the wall across from her. Hair clung to her temples. Her heart felt like it was beating sideways.
She was fine. Everything was fine.
She’d handled worse.
Right?
She’d survived bigger things than a heatwave and a little ghost of guilt. This was nothing. A hiccup. Just noise in the night. It didn’t mean anything.
The earring glinted faintly in her palm.
She tucked it under her pillow.
Just in case.
Rumi lay back down, turned onto her side, and shut her eyes against the weight of everything. Her skin still burned under her shirt. Her arm still ached with memories her body refused to forget.
And still, the thought came—
How bad could things get?