inbox. (diadem)

[huntrlx]

INBOX

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Late Night With Rumi and Jinu (S1, E1)

[idolatrized]

[The system put into place is an... interesting one. One that involves Rumi investing in a futon for him to sleep on, almost alongside her bed, just far away enough for her to be able to slumber without thinking about the fact that her mutually assured crush is lightly snoring too close to her. Also, the futon was too close the first night and ended with her stepping on his stomach hard enough to fold him like a beach chair.

So just far enough. And hopefully Rumi remembers at some point in the middle of the night that he's there.

He can only pray.

And the thing is, this was supposed to be a short-term solution. Get a new room with two beds, at the minimum. Get two rooms at most. But she never brought it up again, and he never brought it up again, and for every night that passes, they both simply return home from a long day, eat, and collapse into their 'temporary' sleeping arrangements. He usually waits for her to fall asleep, then tucks the blanket high over his ears, allows the human illusion to slip away, and gets as much rest as he can muster.

A week into this... and Rumi will be softly stirred by the sound of — was that a toilet? Feet shuffling? The poor girl will open her eyes, only to find a most disturbing sight near her bed:



이런 젠장-]

[huntrlx]

[ We will not speak on the temporal state of this arrangement — how Rumi had gone from 'just one night only, okay, just to get you doing something other than beating people up for money' to coughing up as many of her own joolies as she could spare to purchase a second-hand futon, and finally to situating said futon in her bedroom in a way that allows her to avoid trampling him every morning ... but still close enough to hold decent conversations in murmured voices before drifting off to sleep.

It's something she has started to look forward to every night after work, and dinner, and the general up-keep of this crappy little motel room she's started to call 'home'. And it isn't much either: they don't talk about life's mysteries or the greater meaning of existence, or anything like that. It's usually a question spawned by some random thing they'd seen, or one of Jinu's many old-man questions, him trying to catch up on niche pop culture.

And weirdly enough, Rumi's been stumped by his questions a few times. Maybe she has been focusing too hard on the golden honmoon.

Anyway, everything seems to be going well enough. There's a bit of a routine established, and Rumi feels more comfortable with Jinu around than she does when he isn't there ... so obviously any sudden sound in the dark of night snags on her hunter's instincts, and when she opens her eyes —



— it's just a yelp and a handful of very colourful Korean expletives that no one in her life had taught her issuing from her mouth.

Oh. And the bright blue light of her sword that suddenly materializes, with its sharp point directed at the haunting ghoul with the glowing lamp eyes. ]

[idolatrized]

[Ah, yes, this is where his story ends. What a shame.

Somewhere between sleepily teetering over to the toilet and flushing, he probably should have thought something along the lines of: 'you know what would be wild? if I looked like an absolute ghoul in front of Rumi in the middle of the night and she impales me on accident.'

But he didn't think that.

He was mostly wondering if the air conditioner could be turned up a little more, because he was getting a little sweaty. Poor guy was blindsided, somehow utterly unaware of just how scary he was when one too many lights were off in the room. By the time Rumi was up on her feet and lunging with her sword in his direction, he was wide awake and stumbling backwards and tangling up in the cord of a standing lamp; his clawed hands raised up high near his face defensively.]

Waitwaitwait, Rumi, it's me!

[In all of his normal glory: unnaturally cool-toned skin, glowing eyes and large canine teeth, glinting in the light of the sword that is inches — moments — from his face.]

Late Night With Rumi and Jinu (S1, E2)

[idolatrized]

[Another day, another dollar. In this case, he'd been bustling around the city on a delivery gig that Rumi had led him to — just something to keep busy while collecting joolies. And new acquaintances, it seems.

He brings Rumi a chocolate croissant and explains how he'd ended up with it casually over preparing another small but mostly filling meal with her: that some guy was looking for his 'important person', that Jinu might've seen him (... while leaving out, conveniently, that he'd been hit by this man's car), and that An Zhe seemed way too harmless and nice to be in a place like this.

The rest of what remains in the day goes about the same as usual. Hiding some money in that bible in the dresser, checking their current budget, then a nightly routine before bed.

That mostly involves nudging her over at the sink to brush his own teeth, flashing sharp canines in the mirror to show a job well done. It's all extremely... domestic, but if Jinu has realized this, he certainly hasn't brought it up. And why do they need to? They're just getting by. Together. Not apart. Questioning anything will only mean a chance for it to crumble down and get screwed up, so. He doesn't.

But as he crawls under his futon blankets near the foot of her bed, a reminder hits him from the deliveries he'd completed.]

Ah. On one of my deliveries today - I got this girl's number...

[He pats around for his phone as he says it.]

[huntrlx]

[ All in all, it's kind of a really nice day. Nothing too exciting, no worlds to save an apocalypse, no big bad demon kings to defeat.

She had a really nice chocolate croissant. She made coffee with the crappy little machine they now have in their apartment. And it is theirs, because everything they do before and after their day gigs, whatever those might look like, is done together.

It is really domestic.

Rumi distantly wonders if this is the kind of life she could have had if she weren't a K-Pop Idol, or a demon hunter, or both. And she wonders if this is the kind of life her parents would have had if her mother wasn't a demon hunter, and her father was ... well, a demon. (But should that have mattered, if what she and Jinu have right now is essentially the same thing?)

She doesn't bring it up either, because bringing it up means popping the fragile fantasy bubble they've created. She's not ready for that yet. She isn't sure when she will be.

So. It's a really nice day, and she's still thinking about how good that croissant is, and how strange and delightful it is that they both know An Zhe, how small a world this place is, when she hears Jinu mention something.

No.

Someone.

It's so casual, she almost misses it, but then — ]

Oh?

[ Wait, why does her voice sound like that all of a sudden? Choked out, a little unsure, a little suspicious, a whole lot, 'please explain yourself this instant'. Her fingers are gripping at her blanket like talons, and she consciously has to loosen them. ]

A girl?

[idolatrized]

[What do you mean 'oh'?

Jinu just carries on, not perturbed in the slightest as he clicks through his phone, giving an absent-minded explanation of events as the glow from his little screen casts across his face:]

Yeah, her name's Aria...

[... the health insurance lady.]

I was bringing lunch for her at one of the motel rooms — which was a pain, because I ended up having to come through her window thanks to some shady guys outside. But anyway, we got to talking about this kind of... healing magic she has. I was a little unsure at first, but the demonstration on my finger was pretty genuine...

[He stops to look at his finger, where he had sliced it open with his own fang.

Still miraculously healed.]

Late Night With Rumi and Jinu (S1, E3)

[idolatrized]

[There are nights when Jinu wakes up from a dead sleep in a thin layer of sweat, with his teeth clenched and jaw aching. This time, he has no memory of what dreams had caused such short but brutal urgency; his patterns burn like a fast-spreading fever, radiating in a soft pink glow that starts at his fingertips and runs up and down his body. He looks at one clawed hand as the smoldering fuchsia fades from the lines of his palms.

His gaze urgently shoots to the edge of the bed, where he can't see Rumi but knows she's sleeping. Could she sense it? Would it startle her own sleep? Did she hear him in his dreams, the way he sometimes hears her sing-mumbling in her own? Things had been so awkward between them the last few days after that — situation on her bed. The misspoken words the morning after. The last thing he needs is to call anything else to attention and interrupt her restfulness.

But the air is quiet. Still.

He breathes out, one part relief and one part self-soothing a knot in his stomach. He's still here in the Diadem, alive. And while he can't imagine trying to go back to sleep, he can at least find comfort in that. When he pats around for his cellphone, he flips the cover and looks at the screen.

5:03 a.m.

Ugh.

He smooths his hair back and wills his human cover to return to his bruise-colored body, and then carefully — quietly — crawls to his feet. He's certainly learned to be a little more aware of Rumi's hunter reflex over the last few weeks, so his silence is unmatched. He opens their small window almost as quietly; the unloved metal frame squeaks once with age before he steps up and out into the rapidly fading night, floating up toward the hotel roof.

It's not the first time he's done this since moving in with her. There is peace in being left alone, in being able to hide until the cracks are filled back in and smoothed out for the next time. The sun'll be rising over Panorama soon too, and for all of the gritty, unpolished problems with the city, it's very hard to sap the beauty out of a sun coming up over the horizon.]

[huntrlx]

[ 5:30 AM.

Rumi doesn't have to set an alarm to stir nearly on the dot, just as she has most mornings since she'd arrived here; just as she had every morning back home in Seoul. She reaches out for her phone left on the night-stand anyway, checks the time and then her messages, and then she sits up and fights the urge to look over the edge of her bed to where Jinu should still be sleeping.

She tries not to make a habit of it, on account of being caught out so embarrassingly the first time, and besides which — it's been ... kind of a really weird few days since That Night. After her misstep with him the next morning, asking questions she regretfully shouldn't have asked so soon, she'd kept her distance a little.

They still had dinner, they still talked about all the silly small things that happened that day, and she'd asked him about her possible song choices for the upcoming Friday show. It felt normal in all the ways that living with your friend should feel. But Rumi feels the intentional crevice of space she's leaving between them — because she's done it before, for years, between her and the girls of Huntr/x.

Except this time she's doing it with the man she's pretty sure she's in love with.

Seriously, why is she so bad at this?

She breathes out an exhale, sinking back into her pillow, before she suddenly notes from the corner of her eye that the window has been left open. Not exactly abnormal on a hot day, but with the sound of traffic (and street-racing) in the night, and the possibility of some weirdo scaling the walls from the outside, she and Jinu both agreed leaving the window closed at night was probably for the best.

Now she sits up straight, crawling on her knees, and now she dares to peek over the side of her bed to Jinu's futon, where the sheets have been left crumpled and unmade. ]

Empty.

[ It doesn't take a lot to connect the dots, or to pull an oversized sweatshirt over her head, and then to twist her long hair into a bun atop her head in lieu of a braid (she'll get to the braid later), before she's grabbing her shoes by the front door and making the trek towards the stairwell leading up to the roof.

She has a feeling this is where she'll find him, because it would also be the kind of place she'd retreat to, looking over the buildings around them, listening to the sounds of a real living, breathing city. Sometimes she'll imagine seeing the gentle, golden ripple of the honmoon draped over the city like a protective blanket.

The sky is still mostly dark, mostly blue, and it's hard to see the stars for the city's light pollution — but the faintest smudge of red is making its way over the horizon.

Rumi breathes in the cool air and finds Jinu sitting over the edge of the parapet. She almost hesitates to break the silence by speaking, but ... she's trying not to startle him this time. ]

You're up early.

[idolatrized]

[Jinu is a man who always seem so intensely in thought by himself, some probably wonder if he's in a whole other world. It's probably dangerous for him to be left in his own head too long — but there's no great blue tiger here to nudge him back into reality, so Rumi has to be the one to do it for him.

Without startling him, since a demon is capable of being jump-scared.

But ah.

Caught.

Not that he thought he was being particularly sneaky. She gets up early enough to find him out of his sheets and away elsewhere. He still feels a little coy about it anyway as he looks up and offers a small smile, both of them progressively basked in a growing orange hue.]

Maybe I'm just up late; time is relative to the person tracking it. [No, nope, she's very much right on the money. He scoots over with his hands in his lap — not that there's no room for her to sit, but as a wordless offer to join him. If she'd like to.] Or... maybe I feel left out, not getting to be the early riser.

Late Night With Rumi and Jinu (S1, E4)

[idolatrized]

[Sometime after the meteor — but distinctly before the emotional fallout said meteor would cause Jinu — life had carried on... relatively well. The aberrant pockets of heightened emotion mostly hit other people, leaving him the occasional receiver of a wide variety of feelings; as much as that was annoying, he'd rather deal with that than get his own messed with.

Besides, dealing with the public and working was plenty enough. He comes home after the sun's been down a while, tired but contented by the fact that he's survived yet another day as something close to human. As he glances at his phone screen, he notices a message that Rumi's only slightly delayed and should be back in about thirty minutes.

... Perfect time to hog the bathroom then, because he needs a shower. Just the idea of hot water running over him makes him want to sigh in contentment; the first time he'd had one in the Diadem was magical. Most of his life had been bathing out of the occasional basin or in icy river water, and the palace was surprisingly (or unsurprisingly, depending on who you ask) more strict than the peasants when it came to enjoying such pleasures during a time of what some would call puritan.

And the demon realm? Ha. Ha ha.

So, yeah. He probably gives the motel owners grief with how much hot water he hogs.

Locking the bathroom door behind him, he checks the healing, scabbed injury on his arm before he neatly shucks off all of his clothes and steps through a fogging shower curtain.

Heavenly. One of the best parts of living, if you asked him. He melts with a scandalous noise, his patterns bleeding through his human disguise as if four-hundred years too eager for the warmth as well; after a good five minutes of disassociating (/pos), he starts scrubbing some fruity-smelling shampoo into his hair, humming a recent song from his truck radio.

And enjoys his privacy!

His very good, very guarded privacy, behind a literal lock on a literal door.

Nothing could interrupt such peace and prosperity.]

[huntrlx]

[ Rumi is late.

She knows she's starting to actually develop something of a reputation for being late, even though that technically isn't the case when someone just arrives early — but tonight, she is definitely late.

It's been a really weird week between the meteor fall, checking in on the people around her, and dealing with those who happened to be affected by the aberrant pockets of emotional turmoil scattered across the city. Also, for some reason, raiders seem to be coming out in droves? It's not uncommon to hear about them, but she's been in direct contact with them at least two times now, and tonight makes it her third. They might have a target on her; she isn't sure. As far as she's concerned, they're just annoying.

Hence why she's late.

It's this desperate need to prove that she can and will still be on time that has her ditching her motorcycle a few blocks south of the motel and deciding that a few days of extra solo practice in teleportation is good enough to get her back home. As far as she's concerned, it all makes perfect sense: it's a familiar enough space that she can picture with her eyes closed; she knows Jinu is there right now, so she can use him as her tether; and she isn't even that far from the building itself. It's a recipe for total success.

She feels confident in this.

Taking a breath, she wills herself forward, to wherever Jinu is in their motel room, not at all accounting for the fact that he could be in some compromising situation, because why? would that cross her mind, ever? Seriously.

And that's how Rumi winds up in the too-foggy, too-moist, very warm bathroom with the sound of running water and Jinu singing an old pop hit without a care in the world. (Honestly it'd be kind of endearing if this whole situation wasn't actually happening to her.)

She turns around s o o o slowly, eyes widening in horror when it all starts to sink in. Her heart thunders against her rib cage, and she backs up a step towards the door, accidentally bumping into the rickety handle. And she tries not to stare, really, but she can very clearly make out the silhouette of his very naked body once some of the steam has shifted with the incoming draft from her arrival, and it's really hard to look away actually. God, she feels like a pervert.

K-Pop Idols of her level and relevance are told to always be polite and respectful and to watch what they say, but right now the only thing she can utter is a harshly whispered: ]

Fuck!

[ And then she's reaching for the handle behind her to make a clumsy attempt to slip out, only it's locked. It's fucking locked. wHY would he lock the bathroom door when there's nO ONE HOME —

Sorry about your peace and prosperity, Jinu! It's about to be horrifically awkward. ]

1/3 😮‍💨

[idolatrized]

[You know, he doesn't think it's Rumi that has abruptly appeared in the bathroom, because why would she? That would be preposterous. He's in the middle of washing soap out of his face when he feels an gentle gust of cool air and a muffled, familiar noise he doesn't quite place with the drumming of shower water around his ears.

Instead, he still sings softly as he fashions a hand into claws and squints through wet eyelashes at the rattling of the bathroom door handle. Who the hell?

Well, he's not about to get attacked mid-loofah scrubdown, so...

Might as well happen.

He pulls open the shower curtain with urgency, flashing glistening skin marked by faint patterns, stretched across hills of lean muscle and — Okay, there is no romantic K-Drama music that can be played over this situation. There is also no slow-mo in the world that can save Rumi. We can only hope she's prepared to shield her eyes before they wander and not just die from cardiac arrest on the spot.]

Who—

[idolatrized]

[RECORD-SKIPPING NOISES]

[idolatrized]

RUMI?!

[HE PROCEEDS TO FLAIL BACK BEHIND THE CURTAIN, SLIPPING IMMEDIATELY ON THE WATER IN THE TUB AND DRAGGING THE ENTIRE SHOWER CURTAIN DOWN ON TOP OF HIM.]

Late Night With Rumi and Jinu (S1, E5)

[idolatrized]

[Sometimes they're not both workaholics that are bone-deep tired when they get home. Sometimes they have a completely average, enjoyable day that isn't going to make them faceplant into their prospective pillows after their nightly routines — shower, pajamas, teeth-brushing, and the extra efforts Rumi has to go through for that thick hair of hers. It's such a small space that maybe they should be more awkward about their little dance around each other (and really, the Shower Incident hadn't been that long ago) but Jinu finds he barely bats an eye or overthinks the situation.

But yeah. Not every night is face-planting into their beds. And as he makes his way out of the bathroom and sits down on the edge of the bed near Rumi, his eyes drift to the television playing some random commercial of a bunch of girls at a slumber party ordering from a local pizza joint (which has questionable toppings, because of course it does, why wouldn't it?).

His eyebrow lifts, baffled at this display of modern tween behaviors; he's happy for them, really! It's just that when he was their age, he was performing labor with his father and babysitting a floppy sister strapped to his back.

His hair was just as long as luxurious as theirs, sure, but the childhoods could not be more different.]

... Why call it a 'slumber party' when nobody is actually sleeping?

[And why does that pizza they're advertising look so good, even though one of the toppings listed is 'meat discs'?]

[huntrlx]

[ Rumi is still, in fact, working on brushing her hair while she's seated at the foot of her bed, watching the television from her periphery. It's nice to have the sound on to fill the space sometimes, like a comforting white noise in the background while they wind down for the evening. ]

I guess that's where the 'party' part comes in.

[ As far as she understands, it's more about the time of the event moreso than the actual sleeping. Gossiping with your friends all night, engaging in the ritual of simple self-care, and spending time together — it doesn't sound too bad to her, honestly.

In fact, it almost makes her just a little jealous. ]

I think this is something they celebrate more in America. Or maybe in other households in general. The closest we ever came to doing this was during hiatus, and admittedly I kind of checked out early for — uh. Obvious reasons.

[ She gestures towards herself, towards the patterns that faintly scatter across her skin. ]

[idolatrized]

A super intense identity crisis?

[He says frowning at first, but then a playful smile creeps in. He looks at the television as it winds down with the number on-screen, and he moves to the desk to grab a loose pen, writing the number on a leaf of unused lined paper.]

Maybe we should have one, then. A 'slumber party'. We can just follow their script for inspiration. Make-overs and pizza and — whatever else modern girls do.

Wait, do you need more than two people for one of these?

Late Night With Rumi and Jinu (S1, E5.5)

[idolatrized]

[Nestled in her bed, Rumi is at peace. Almost one with herself and sleep, in fact.

Surely Jinu is in the same predicament. Not always, much to her dismay, but there's a chance he's comfortably tucked in his futon, ready for the sweet dark of restful slumb-]

What does 'gyat' mean?

[Aright.]

beautiful

[huntrlx]

[ Really, Rumi had been just on the cusp between consciousness and sweet, blissful, unconsciousness when she hears Jinu's voice cutting through the quiet of their shared bedroom.

At first she thinks to just ignore him.

And then, against her will, her brain starts to comprehend the question, enough for her to ask, anyway: ]

... what?

[idolatrized]

[Okay, then that gives him full permission to keep her up later than desired.

He rolls on his side, staring at the side of the bed.]

There's this weird busboy at the kitchen I was delivering for from modern day America — I think his name was Maddox or something. Half of the stuff that comes out of his mouth I usually just ignore because he sounds like he's speaking another language, but...

He said something about how I'd probably make a lot more money on OnlyFans, even if I'm lacking the gyat. Did you have either of those?

Is that something idols use often?

Late Night With Rumi and Jinu (S1, E6) - 1/3

[idolatrized]

[The day was neither good or bad — a quiet Monday that started with cheap coffee and ended with slightly cheaper noodles on the stove top (or at least he hopes they're made of the same thing as the noodles from home). The steps are muscle memory now: bathroom ritual, idle chit-chat, and then they'd drag on their sweats and crawl off into their respective beds.

He'd come to appreciate the very act of being worn out from the day, muscles more achy by the day as his demon side tussles with the human part of him that has resurfaced. He finds solace in the softness of a floor futon. Rumi always rises before him, and she also always falls asleep first, so he spends a few wayward hours scrolling through his phone despite his sore eyes.

He accidentally dozes off, and his flip phone ends up lying in the crease of his neck and collarbone, fingers twitching uselessly at its side as they slowly bleed back into claws—]

2/3 cw: nightmares that involve body issues, death, and suicidal ideation? we... have fun here...

[idolatrized]

[— and finds himself floating, watching in frozen panic as the darkness pulses into an uncomfortably warm pink light like a heartbeat. He doesn't even realize it's not his own dream at first, if he's honest. This kind of thing feels like something his own troubled mind would conjure up. He dreams of Gwi-Ma and the pain of his flames on his skin more than he wants to admit; even the pulsating patterns don't feel any different from any other walk through his sleeping mind.

It's not until he holds up his hands that realizes they're... smaller. Softer.

And while the markings aren't iridescent, he immediately recognizes who they belong to.

These flashes come and go. They visit his unconscious mind in short bursts, like fireworks.

He's Rumi. He's Jinu. Both.

a shift, sudden, sharp-

"Rumi!" Zoey and Mira's words echo from a void beyond the stage. She turns to the familiar sight of Gwi-Ma's flames, mouth wide and grinning like one of the flimsy Jack-o-Lanterns being sold at the pumpkin patch. And then there's — Jinu. Standing alone on the stage, dressed in the dark, plain clothing from the Idol Awards... the size of a bug in comparison to the fiery mass pulsing and laughing behind him.

He can hear Rumi's panting, determined breaths as she starts rushing forward. See through her eyes as she focuses on the demon who had brought them to his moment to begin with.

"All we get to do is live with our pain. Our misery," Jinu says. A frustrated yell escapes Rumi as she struggles to close the gap between them. "It's all we deserve."

No matter how fast she runs, the distance refuses to close.

All he can do is watch through her eyes as Gwi-Ma's flames slam into this despondent, hopeless version of him. Jinu bursts into pink fire. He doesn't make a sound, even as he disintegrates into nothing. Even still, she runs forward. The Honmoon has holes burnt into it. Pink, ugly wounds that open up behind her (them) as she —

silence, dark-

— as Rumi sits in front of Celine, head bowed, holding up her sword in surrender. The world is breaking apart. Covered in ripped seams. The Honmoon's unraveling, patterns glowing hot against her (their) skin, desperation in a devastated demonic voice:

"Do what you should've done a long time ago."

No.

"Please."

No.

"Do it!"]

3/3

[idolatrized]

[Jinu jackknifes up out of his futon as his patterns ripple with color, hands trembling with adrenaline. Emotions that aren't only his own slam into him at all sides, flashes of the dream still taunting him even as he sits awake. Rumi's dream, his brain helpfully supplies. This was Rumi's nightmare, and he immediately turns towards her bed, slipping on a knee clumsily as his foot twists up in the blanket.

The guilt, the implications, it can wait for a moment.

Somehow, he saw. Glimpsed into something he shouldn't have.

Is she awake, too? Did she know he saw?

Or is she still trapped in the mess her mind had unkindly tangled her up in?

Her name leaves his mouth in an urgent whisper.]

Rumi?

[He at least has the sense to hide his demon form — though the afterglow of his patterns is harder to push back down under the mask.]

Late Night With Rumi and Jinu (S1, E7) - The Season Finale

[idolatrized]

[Rumi will have something dropped off at work today, near the end of her shift.

For her specifically, of course.

An overeager young woman clearly passionate about her job finds her before the doors close. She's careful to confirm that she has the right target — though she admits the giant purple braid is a dead giveaway — before she passes her a small envelope from a neatly manicured hand.

With commendable customer service, the delivery lady winks and says, "Have a lovely night!"

Then she's gone, happily strutting out into the night in her — blue shirt covered in tiger stripes?

Jinu is nothing if not thorough in his obnoxious schemes.

When Rumi decides to open the envelope and see what awaits her, she finds a familiar little bird face looking back. It's not the world's best replica, what with the obvious colored pencil in replacement of printed ink, but the image is undeniable:]



[Go ahead, Rumi.

Open it.]

[huntrlx]

[ This feels ... so familiar. All the way down to the cartoon-y illustration on the front of the note, and the way it'd been delivered by someone wearing an uncanny shade of blue — Rumi almost feels like there's a trick being played on her right now; it's hard to take any of it very seriously.

Except ... well, she does.

When she opens the note, the way she'd done once upon a time (or so it feels like it anyway, with how much has happened since then and now), it's the familiar scrawl in Korean that greets her. It bears the same message, too.

Wanna meet?

Except when she'd spluttered in shock and disgust, now she just laughs to herself, her heart clenching in a way that leaves her a little breathless. ]

Stupid.

[ There's something so ridiculously endearing about this very small gesture that she finds it hard to focus on anything else in the last half hour of her shift minding a shop that probably could have closed an hour ago anyway. In fact, all of her concentration is on the handmade stationery, with Rumi wondering whether Jinu really drew this, and how he did it, and when.

Also: why?

When the time comes to close, she can't hurry fast enough, closing the till, shutting off the lights, and locking the doors before she seeks out her bike. The note hadn't mentioned a specific meeting place, and it's not like Naksan Park exists here anyway, so she just makes her way back home. It's their safe place, and their starting point. Maybe Jinu has some kind of plan.

In fact, she's actually pretty sure he has a plan. She just isn't sure for what yet.

When she walks through the door and kicks off her shoes, she announces herself with a: ]

I got your note —

[ And waves said memo in her hand. ]