Chapter Text
You can't help but envy Mirko—Rumi, she tells you to call her—sometimes. The idol is incredibly determined and hardworking. She puts 110% into everything she does. Watching her perfect her craft—whether it be through practicing choreography, working on songs, or anything else—always makes your heart race. Rumi has cultivated a huge fanbase over the years, and you know that she deserves every single ounce of the attention she receives. However, not everyone shares that belief. You realize this during one of her interviews with a few talk show hosts.
Rumi is scheduled to appear on a popular late-night talk show in a few hours. Rumi, various staff members, and you have all made the trek downtown and to the television studio. It’s a rather time-consuming process, as you all are currently waiting in the studio several hours before the show is set to begin. Mirko is busy with the makeup and hair teams, while you and a few of your coworkers are ironing out any last-minute details. Rumi then has a practice rehearsal on the stage.
Finally, after what seems like far too long, it’s time for Rumi’s live appearance. You watch with baited breath as she’s called to the stage and shakes hands with the hosts. Things go swimmingly for the first few minutes, and you can’t help but feel that your nerves from earlier were for nothing.
Of course, that’s when it all goes to shit. The hosts proceed to ask rather insensitive questions. Mirko handles them with ease. Even so, you notice the minute twitch of her eyes or the subtle fidgeting of her fingers. The hosts seem to be entirely unaware of her discomfort, as they continue to lob wild accusations at her for no reason. Thankfully, the time for her performance approaches and she’s singing within a few minutes. After her performance, the hosts transition to the next guest and Rumi is done for the day.
You walk back to Rumi’s dressing room and wait for her makeup and hair teams to remove any of the uncomfortable pieces she’s wearing. Mirko often requests that they remove all her makeup, which is somehow controversial for an idol to do. You can’t help but think she looks just as stunning without any makeup, but you keep that to yourself. When Rumi is finished up, she nods at you and the two of you exit the room and walk through the studio. Your coworkers will meet you back at the building, since there are multiple cars waiting for you outside.
“That was insane,” you remark furiously, once the two of you are safely out of earshot from anyone. Rumi bites her lip and looks ahead, the only external sign of her troubles. Her distress quickly fades and she plasters a smile on her face.
“Hey, it's fine,” Rumi says, waving your concerns off. You raise an eyebrow at her and, for a few moments, the two of you walk in silence. You’re trying to filter your thoughts, but clearly you’re not doing a very good job, because you're soon blurting out exactly what you think.
“They can’t just dismiss you like that,” you continue, clenching your fists at your sides. “Like, seriously, what the hell?! You’ve worked so hard. How dare they?”
“Well—”
“And, hey, they didn’t say those types of things to any of the others!” You can’t stop the words coming out of your mouth anymore. The verbal filter in your mind has completely disintegrated. “They were super nice to the other idols. They didn’t say any of those things to Haru and, hell, he’s super lazy! He does practically nothing all day and I can vouch for that, since I worked for him for a little bit.” You sigh and cross your arms over your chest. You’re about to continue speaking when there’s a sudden hand on your shoulder.
“Sweetheart,” Rumi cuts you off. You promptly shut your mouth. She looks at you with an exasperated smile. Surely, you’re imagining the fondness in that expression. “It’s okay. It’s happened before, unfortunately.”
“That’s such— such bullshit,” you stammer, anger still brewing in your chest. Admittedly, you're unsure why this is getting you so heated. Then, you think back to all the times you’ve seen Rumi practicing tirelessly in the dance studio, humming to herself during breaks, listening and watching her performances again... Suddenly, you think your anger is justified.
“I’ve gotten used to those kinds of comments,” Rumi answers, which doesn’t exactly make you feel any better.
“You shouldn’t have to get used to it,” you frown.
“But, you know what?” Rumi asks, her gaze intense as she looks at you. “Not everyone is like them. Some people don’t bother to get to know me and, hell, that’s fine. No point in wasting time on them.”
The people that count know how much work I put in. My fans know that I put a lot of effort into producing my music. And... that’s all that matters. Haters, naysayers, and ignorant assholes won’t go away. Even so, knowing that people like you recognize my efforts... It’s more than enough for me.”
At that, Rumi leans to the side and wraps her muscular arm around your shoulders. You subconsciously lean closer. Thankfully, you’re under the cover of night, so you’re not worried about anyone seeing either of you. As you walk to the car, you can’t help but notice the appreciative smile on Rumi’s face. You’re glad you stood up for her, even if your efforts were a bit too late.