I'd Choose You Every Time

“I know what this is,” Zoey whispered, voice shaking with both rage and hurt. “I know exactly what this is.”

“You’re jealous.”

Mira’s entire body went still.

Just slightly.

But Zoey noticed.

She always noticed Mira.

Zoey stepped closer, finger pressing to Mira’s chest—not hard, but sharp enough to make a point.

“Yeah,” Zoey breathed, tears burning her eyes. “You’re jealous.”

Her voice dropped, trembling but vicious in its clarity.

“You’re jealous that someone actually wants me.”

Mira’s breath hitched—but Zoey kept going, unable to stop the spiral.

“You’re jealous that someone likes me—really likes me—and isn’t afraid to show it.”

Mira’s eyes went wide. Red. Shiny.

“And you’re jealous,” Zoey whispered, the words trembling out of her like she’d ripped them from somewhere fragile inside, “that I might like him back.”

or

Zoey gets into a PR relationship with another idol. Yearner Mira is pissed. Disaster ensues..

Notes:

MORE ZOEMIRA CONTENT WHOOHOOO!!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

@PGWU Entertainment Official

🎉 Get ready for another night of laughter, chaos, and unexpected chemistry!

Join us on this week's episode of Play Games With Us as we welcome global sensations HUNTR/X and the breakout rookies shaking up the industry — SØNDWAV3! 🌊✨

Expect hilarious challenges, behind-the-scenes moments, and maybe a few surprises between the teams 👀💥

🗓️ Season 27, Episode 8

🕕 Airs Tonight | 6PM – 8PM GMT

📍 Studio 12, PGWU Stage, Seoul

🎬 Don’t miss out — who will steal the spotlight this week? Tune in and play along! 💫

#PGWU #PlayGamesWithUs #HUNTRX #SØNDWAV3 #VarietyShow #KpopMoments #PGWUEp8

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to another episode of Play Games With Us!”

The studio lights erupted in a kaleidoscope of color, sweeping across the crowd like twin comets. Rows of fans shrieked with excitement, their lightsticks glittering in coordinated waves. The glossy stage reflected every beam, amplifying the electric buzz in the room until it felt almost alive.

Park Jae-jin—JJ to the world—strode confidently into the spotlight. The man had been hosting long enough to command a crowd without even trying; still, the grin he wore tonight was brighter than usual, riding the infectious anticipation humming through the studio.

“As always, I’m your host, JJ!” he declared, spreading his arms wide. “And tonight… tonight is something special. We’ve got two legendary groups joining us—groups you’ve streamed, voted for, cried over, and maybe even written fanfiction about.”

The audience screamed and cheered, whistles echoing across the set.

JJ cupped a hand to his ear. “I’m sorry—who? Oh, you want names? You sure?”

The crowd roared louder.

“Alright then,” he said, grinning like a man with a secret.

The background music dropped to a heartbeat-like thump. The LED screen behind the stage flickered once, twice—

Then it blazed gold.

“Our first guests dominated charts worldwide with their smash hit GOLDEN! Please give it up for—” He paused, letting anticipation coil deliciously tight.

“HUNTRIX!”

♪ We're goin' up, up, up

It's our moment

You know together we're glowin' ♪

The chorus of GOLDEN thundered through the speakers as the LED screen behind the stage flashed with the group’s logo. The stage stairs lit from beneath in pulsing lines, and—right on cue—confetti cannons blasted shimmering gold in a perfect arc.

At the top of the stairs stood Rumi, Mira, and Zoey.

Rumi stepped forward first, effortlessly elegant, her smile small but steady—her version of confidence. Fans screamed her name, some nearly collapsing over the barricades as she raised a graceful hand in greeting.

Beside her, Zoey practically vibrated with excitement. She waved with both hands, eyes sparkling, already mouthing “hi” to random fans she locked eyes with.

On the other side of Rumi, Mira gave a soft, knowing smile that somehow made the audience scream even louder. She dipped her head in a reserved greeting, but her eyes flicked across the cheering crowd with that lowkey intensity she was famous for.

The trio descended the stairs, the lights reflecting off their outfits in soft gold. Each step synced perfectly to the beat of their own song, a moment choreographed but still somehow natural.

JJ stepped forward, bowing politely as they reached center stage. He shook each hand in turn—it took him a moment, because Zoey accidentally went in for a handshake that turned into a half-hug, earning a burst of laughter from the studio.

“Welcome, ladies! We’re so excited to have HUNTRIX in the studio tonight,” JJ said warmly.

Rumi leaned into the mic first. Even her posture was all confidence and poise, the kind that made everyone else look slightly less composed by comparison.

“We’re glad to be here,” she said, her voice smooth and warm. The front row melted instantly.

JJ turned to Zoey next—who was practically bouncing on her toes.

“It’s such an honor to be here!” she blurted, clutching the mic with both hands like it might float away if she didn’t. “I’ve literally watched this show since I was a kid—I used to pretend the hallway was the PGWU stage. This is like—like a dream coming full circle!”

A collective “Awww!” rippled through the audience.

JJ clutched his chest theatrically. “Now that’s dedication! We’ve got a true fan in the building, folks!”

More cheers. More screams. Zoey ducked her head, laughing through her embarrassment as she half-hid behind Rumi’s shoulder.

JJ turned next to Mira. “And Mira—how are you feeling tonight?”

Mira leaned down toward the mic with an unhurried grace, her voice smooth and quiet. “I'm feeling great, it's good to be here.” Her tone dipped just slightly, teasing. “And yourself?”

The audience chuckled. JJ blinked, amused. “Doing quite well. Are you excited to be here with us?”

Mira tilted her head slightly, lips twitching. “Very excited.” she said. “I have my excited face on right now actually.”

She looked at him, deadpan expression in place, resting her chin delicately on her hand as she turned her head side to side to show them.

The camera zoomed in right on her blank face. The entire studio erupted—laughter, clapping, even Zoey doubled over behind her.

JJ was wheezing into his cue cards. “Ladies and gentlemen, that—” He pointed at the giant LED screen displaying Mira’s blank stare in HD. “In case you didn’t know… is what excitement looks like!”

Mira cracked a small smirk and gave a tiny wave, completely unbothered, which only made the crowd love her more.

The host cleared his throat and raised his mic again, transitioning smoothly. “Alright, ladies—are you ready to meet the group you’ll be working with today?”

The trio nodded.

JJ turned toward the wing of the stage. “This next group debuted only a few months ago,” he said, drawing each word out until the tension coiled tight, “but they’ve already been taking the charts—and fans’ hearts—by storm.”

The lights dimmed. A hush swept over the crowd.

JJ lifted his hand, palm open.

“Everyone, please welcome…”

A beat of silence.

Another.

The air thickened.

“SOUNDWAVE!!”

The entire set shifted.

The screens behind them flickered alive with a deep blue pulse that moved like rippling water, their logo appearing—a stylized soundwave shaped into a breaking ocean crest, glowing faintly with silver light. Blue confetti burst into the air as the bass of their hit single ECL!PSE shook the floor.

The crowd erupted as three silhouettes emerged through the haze of the fog machines–tall, sharp, confident. A synth-heavy intro blared through the speakers, followed by the unmistakable hook of their current hit.

♪ Can you feel it breakin’ through the silence—

Runnin’ in our veins, electric violence—

We’re the echo you can’t erase, ♪

JJ laughed over the noise. “Give it up for Soundwave!”

The music dimmed just enough for the three boys to step out of the haze, catching their breath with easy smiles. They bowed politely, then lined up with practiced precision—each member radiating their own brand of star power.

The camera zoomed in, one by one:

Soren came first—storm-gray hair falling perfectly over his brow, a small silver hoop earring glinting under the lights. He had a cool, almost steady aura that grounded the chaos around him, the kind of presence that made fans swoon without him even trying.

Next was Lynx, ash-blonde hair streaked with inky black, wearing a mesh undershirt beneath an oversized jacket like he was personally reinventing gravity. His smirk screamed trouble; his eyes sparkled like he welcomed it.

And then Rio—soft, tousled red hair, gentle features framed by just-barely-smudged eyeliner. The crowd melted as soon as he threw a cheek heart to the cameras.

JJ stepped toward them, holding out a mic with flair.

“Welcome, welcome! Now, who am I here with tonight? Introduce yourselves to the people who’ve apparently been living under a rock!”

Soren leaned in first, voice steady but warm. “I’m Soren,” he said, giving the crowd a small wave that somehow made people scream louder.

Lynx jumped in the moment Soren stepped back, arms crossing dramatically as he threw up double peace signs. “Lynx—the one and only!” he declared, adding a wink so obnoxiously confident the fans loved him for it.

Rio followed last, his voice bright and sweet. “Rio!” he chirped, forming a finger-heart that instantly sent the studio into chaos—squeals, laughter, waves of cheering rolling from every corner.

Then, as if pulled by a magnet, the three aligned shoulder-to-shoulder, timing flawless.

“And we’re—SOUNDWAVE!”

The audience roared their name back, the sound swelling like a live ocean.

JJ clapped enthusiastically, eyes sparkling under the lights. “Amazing. Absolutely amazing.” He turned toward the girls of HUNTRIX, who were watching with smiles of varying degrees—Zoey with bright excitement, Rumi with quiet curiosity, Mira looking like she was analyzing each newcomer like a math problem.

“Alright,” JJ announced, rubbing his hands together, “now that everyone’s here, let’s get a proper introduction going. Shake hands before the competition starts—after that, all bets are off!”

The boys crossed the stage toward HUNTRIX.

The cameras captured every moment:

Rumi and Soren exchanging polite bows that somehow felt like two dignitaries meeting. Lynx offering Zoey a handshake so enthusiastic she burst into giggles. Rio bowing to Mira, who bowed back a half-second late, caught off guard by his bright grin.

It was brief, warm, awkward in the most endearing way.

JJ turned back toward the audience, full host-mode.

“Alright!” He clapped once—loud, sharp, commanding attention. “Now that everyone’s acquainted… let’s get the games started!”

The studio lights shifted again—sweeping red and blue across the stage in sharp flashes as upbeat, game-show music kicked in. The energy changed instantly: brighter, tense, competitive.

Rumi blinked, head tilting lightly as she leaned toward her mic. “Wait—aren’t we already on teams? Us versus them?”

JJ lit up, the grin of a man who had been waiting for that setup. “Great question! Normally, yes.” He wagged a finger, turning to address both the crowd and the cameras. “But tonight, we’re switching it up.”

He turned to the audience, letting the suspense build. “Instead of group versus group, you’re going to be paired up with one of them.” JJ pointed to the boys dramatically. “And you’ll be competing against each other!”

The audience gasped and cheered. “How does that sound, folks?” JJ called, and the crowd erupted in “Ooooohs” and clapping.

JJ raised a hand, calling for just a sliver of silence.

“Alright then! Let’s see which pair is the most in sync tonight!”

The massive LED screen behind them flickered alive. Every member’s name appeared in crisp white text—then immediately began to tremble, scramble, and swirl into a chaotic storm of letters.

The sound design kicked in: a playful “whoooosh” and a fast, digital shuffle.

Fans leaned in, murmuring.

Click—!

The letters snapped into place.

JJ slapped his hands together. “Our first team… Rumi and Rio!”

A wave of cheers erupted. Rumi offered Rio a small, polite smile; Rio beamed like a golden retriever discovering fireworks.

“Go ahead—claim your spots at the purple podium!” JJ encouraged.

They walked over side by side, the podium glowing as soon as they stepped up.

The screen scrambled again, this time with a dramatic drum roll.

Click!

JJ pointed. “Mira and Lynx!”

The crowd cheered again, louder at the chaos potential.

Mira gave a tiny, crooked smirk—just enough to make fans lose their minds—and strode to the red podium.

Lynx followed with exaggerated swagger, tossing a salute into the audience that made them scream.

“And last, but certainly not least…” JJ paused, voice dipping into a dramatic hush.

“Zoey and Soren!”

Zoey’s eyes widened before her entire face lit up. She practically skipped to the blue podium. Soren bowed to the crowd with charming calmness before joining her, flashing her a warm, steady smile that made her flash her own.

JJ clapped loudly, stepping between the podiums as the lights locked into place. “Now that we’ve got our dream teams set, here’s how today’s going to work.”

Small digital screens blinked to life in front of each pair—displaying a bright, glowing 0.

“You’ll face a series of challenges to earn as many points as possible. And whoever comes out on top…” He swept his hand in a mysterious arc.

“…wins a very special surprise.”

The audience responded with another wave of delighted cheers.

“Are. You. READY?” JJ shouted, spinning to face the fans.

A thunderous roar answered him—exploding through the studio, vibrating through the floor.

Zoey felt the adrenaline spike through her, electricity in her limbs. She bounced once on her toes, hands squeezing the podium edge as she grinned wide.

JJ thrust his hand upward.

“Then let’s BEGIN!!!”

He turned to the cue cards in his hand with a flourish. “Our first game is… The Whisper Challenge!”

The LED screen exploded with animated confetti and oversized cartoon speech bubbles. The crowd answered with excited screams and applause.

JJ faced the cameras with a grin. “The rules are simple! One teammate wears headphones blasting music while the other whispers random phrases—you’ve got to guess what they’re saying!”

He leaned forward mischievously. “Sounds easy… but trust me, it’s almost impossible.”

Zoey clasped her hands under her chin, practically sparkling. She couldn't wait.

Beside her, a soft chuckle cut through the noise.

She turned and found Soren watching her with a small, amused tilt of his head, hands tucked loosely into his pockets like he had all the time in the world.

“Do you know how to play this one?” he asked, leaning close so she could hear over the crowd.

“Uh… not exactly. Why?”

“Because…” He looked around, then leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “You said earlier you’ve watched this show since you were little. I thought maybe you had some secret strategy. You know—give us the upper hand.”

She shook her head, giving a sheepish smile. “Well, sorry to disappoint, but they change the games every episode. My knowledge is useless.”

Soren dramatically pressed a hand to his chest. “Ah. A tragedy. And here I was preparing to rely on your years of expertise.”

She snorted. “Yeah, tragic for both of us.”

“Then I guess we’ll just have to rely on pure teamwork, huh?” He straightened, offering her his hand out to her.

Zoey grinned so brightly the lights could’ve dimmed and she still would’ve illuminated the stage. “You got it, teammate!”

Their palms smacked together in a high five, the tiny echo caught perfectly on both their mics.

JJ’s voice boomed over them.“Alright, teams! Headphones are coming out! You’ll each get ten phrases—whoever guesses the most wins the round!”

Crew members hurried onto the stage, placing sleek black noise-canceling headphones on each podium. The lights shifted into a playful neon palette—purple for Rumi & Rio, red for Mira & Lynx, blue for Zoey & Soren.

“Doesn’t matter who starts with the headphones,” JJ added. “Just make sure you swap every couple of rounds. No cheating!”

Zoey snatched the headphones before Soren could reach for them, a fierce little smirk curling onto her lips.

“I got this,” she declared.

Soren let out a laugh—quiet, warm, teasing. “Alright, superstar. Show me how it’s done.”

She slipped the headphones on.

She slipped them on—the muffled thump of bass instantly swallowing the world. The K-pop song blasting through the speakers was absurdly loud; even without lyrics, the rhythm was enough to rattle her teeth.

Zoey gave Soren a big thumbs-up, mouthing dramatically, "I CAN’T HEAR ANYTHING!"

He cracked up, leaning an elbow on the podium as he watched her bounce slightly with the beat she couldn’t even control.

JJ clapped his hands.

“Teams ready? Then let’s begin the Whisper Challenge!”

Soren nodded, sliding a card from the deck with a magician’s flourish. He glanced at it, lips twitching before he lifted his gaze back to her. Then he leaned slightly forward, mouthing the phrase with exaggerated precision.

Zoey leaned in closer too, brows furrowing in intense concentration. “You’re… going to go to sleep?” she blurted, way too loud.

Soren’s shoulders shook with laughter, his mouth forming a silent nope. He tried again, slower this time, rounding each word like he was teaching phonics to a toddler.

Zoey’s face scrunched. She tilted her head. Then she squinted for good measure, as if narrowing her field of vision would somehow sharpen the soundless sentence.

“You’re… going to the beach?” she guessed, uncertain—but hopeful.

Soren pointed at her with both hands. "Yes!"

She ripped the headphones off, triumphant. “Yes! I knew it!”

The crowd cheered, and JJ’s voice boomed through the mic, “And it looks like Zoey and Soren are the first to get a point!”

Zoey passed the headphones to Soren, bouncing lightly on her toes with pride. Soren took them, fitting them over his ears with mock seriousness, as if preparing for battle.

She picked up a new card and smirked. “Alright,” she said, leaning slightly toward him. “You have a cute smile.”

Soren stared back, eyes narrowing. The confusion was immediate.

“You love… soup a while?” he shouted.

Zoey wheezed.

Completely lost it.

“No! NO!” Zoey cried, wiping her eyes. She tried to pull it together, inhaled deeply, and mouthed it again.

“You… have… a… cute… smile.”

Soren blinked. Processed it. Tilted his head.

“You have a cute… snail?”

Zoey collapsed.

Fully folded at the waist, laughing so hard she couldn’t even breathe. Tears streamed down her face, and even the camera operators were shaking with suppressed giggles.

Soren pulled off the headphones just in time to hear the audience roaring.

“Okay,” he said, hands raised in defeat, “I definitely did not have that one.”

“Snail?” Zoey gasped between wheezes. “You thought I said snail?!”

“What?” Soren laughed, shrugging. “I thought maybe you were being poetic!”

They kept going—both of them laughing between every attempt—and by the time the final buzzer rang, their scoreboard lit up: 8/10.

Respectable.

The lights snapped crimson across the stage, confetti cannons boomed, and a shower of shimmering gold rained over the red podium.

“AND MIRA AND LYNX TAKE THE WIN FOR ROUND ONE!” JJ hollered. “TEN OUT OF TEN—FLAWLESS!”

Cheers erupted. Lynx was already spinning in a slow victory circle, fingers pointed at the ceiling like he was thanking the universe. Mira wasn’t bragging—but she was smiling, a small, smug curve at the corner of her mouth that said she definitely knew what she was doing.

Zoey watched them, lips pursed.

“Man, how’d they get through that so fast…” Soren muttered, folding his arms as he watched the red podium explode with more confetti than seemed legally necessary. He shook his head with a smile, clearly impressed. “They didn’t even hesitate.”

Zoey chuckled, leaning her elbow onto their podium, feeling her pulse finally start to settle from all the laughing. “She’s kind of unbeatable at this,” she said, unable to hide the affection in her voice. “Mira has this weird talent for lip-reading—no wonder she won.”

Soren’s head turned toward her. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Zoey huffed out a small laugh, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “I’ve experienced it firsthand. Half the time when we’re talking, she’s watching my lips instead of looking at me.”

She smiled at the memory—how it always made her feel like Mira was paying extra attention to her, like Zoey was saying something important even when she wasn’t.

“I always thought it was because she’s trying to understand me better when I talk too fast, but…” Her voice stuttered for half a second—an odd, unfamiliar twist tightening under her ribs.

But what?

But why did it always make her feel something warm flicker up her spine?

But why did it matter?

But why did she notice so much?

Zoey shook the strange feeling off quickly, forcing her smile to return. “Anyway—she’s amazing at it.”

Soren didn’t answer immediately. He followed her gaze instead—across the stage, where Mira and Lynx stood under floating gold confetti. Lynx was doing some ridiculous celebratory shimmy; Mira just laughed and brushed glitter from her shoulder.

Then Mira’s head lifted.

And her eyes found Zoey instantly—like she’d been waiting for her to look.

The studio noise blurred, just for a heartbeat.

Mira’s smile softened, that warm, effortless curl of her lips—the one Zoey always pretended not to notice felt… different. Like it held a private joke. Or a secret. Or something else Zoey didn’t dare try to name because her heart suddenly misfired in her chest.

Zoey blinked—why did that feel like being caught in a spotlight?

A flutter—quick and unsteady—bloomed in her stomach.

Just nerves. Obviously. This whole show was exciting. Anyone would feel fluttery. Totally normal.

Mira looked away first, turning back to Lynx with a laugh.

The air returned to Zoey’s lungs.

“Woah. Guess this challenge was made for her,” Soren said, completely unaware of the small earthquake that had just gone off inside Zoey’s chest.

“Yeah,” Zoey murmured. Her voice had gone soft—unfocused, like she was hearing herself from far away.

Her fingers drummed lightly against the podium, restless.

“Really.”

Her eyes lingered on Mira for a fraction of a second longer than she meant them to.

“Alright!” JJ called, clapping his hands as crew members rushed onto the stage to rearrange the set. “Our next challenge is a fan favorite—one we like to call…” He turned dramatically toward the crowd, drawing out the suspense. “Perfect Balance!”

A ripple of excitement swept through the studio.

“Here’s how it works!” JJ explained as the lights shifted to a bright mix of blue and gold, revealing the course behind him. “Each team will have to make it across our Balance Gauntlet—an obstacle course made of moving platforms, slippery ramps, and hanging rings—all while carrying a tray with three cups of water. Spill too much, and you’ll lose points! The team with the most water left when they hit the buzzer wins!”

The crowd clapped as crew members wheeled out the platforms—long, narrow planks suspended slightly off the ground, wobbling dangerously when stepped on. Overhead, a few hanging foam bars swayed lightly in the air.

Zoey’s eyes widened. “Oh, this looks fun!”

“Fun?” Soren laughed, staring at the setup with mock dread. “That’s not the word I’d use.”

“You scared?” she teased.

He gave her a deadpan look. “Terrified. You’re way too enthusiastic about this.”

She grinned, adjusting the cap she’d been given for the challenge. “Then you better keep up, partner.”

JJ raised his mic again. “Teams ready?”

The three podium lights lit up—purple for Rumi and Rio, red for Mira and Lynx, and blue for Zoey and Soren.

“Three… two… one—go!”

The buzzer sounded and chaos erupted.

Rio immediately sprinted ahead, yelling, “We got this!” only to almost wipe out on the second wobbly plank. The crowd gasped and laughed. Rumi scrambled to steady him, spilling half their water before they’d even hit the midpoint.

Mira and Lynx were more methodical—slow, calculated steps, focusing on coordination. They looked solid. Too solid.

Zoey glanced over, determination flashing in her eyes. “C’mon, we’re not losing this.”

“Lead the way,” Soren said, holding the tray steady as they stepped onto the first plank together.

The board shifted under their weight immediately. Zoey let out a small squeak, instinctively grabbing his arm for balance. The crowd ooh’d.

“Okay—okay, we got this,” she muttered, her laugh coming out breathless. “Don’t move too fast.”

“Who’s moving fast?!” Soren protested, grinning despite himself. “You’re the one dragging me like we’re running from the cops!”

Zoey bit back a laugh, trying not to wobble as they moved inch by inch. Every movement had to be synchronized—one step forward, pause, steady, then next.

By the third plank, she’d found her rhythm. She moved with a dancer’s balance, focused and light-footed. Soren matched her pace surprisingly well, the tray in his hands barely shaking.

JJ’s commentary echoed through the speakers:

“Looks like Zoey and Soren are neck and neck with Mira and Lynx right now! Look at that teamwork—oh, almost slipped there!”

Zoey laughed as the platform dipped suddenly, causing a small splash. “You jinxed us, JJ!”

They reached the hanging rings next. Each person had to swing across while the other held the tray steady on the platform. Soren went first, gripping the rings and moving across with surprising agility. When he reached the end, he turned, offering a hand.

“C’mon!”

Zoey took it, jumping to the next ring, her foot slipping slightly before she steadied herself on his shoulder as she landed. The crowd roared.

“You good?” he asked, still holding her hand.

“Better when we win,” she said, smirking.

They pushed forward—through the final stretch where the floor tilted slightly to one side. Zoey adjusted her stance, guiding him carefully, their movements perfectly in sync now.

The buzzer loomed ahead. The red team was just behind them.

“Go, go, go!” Zoey yelled.

They dashed forward, barely keeping the tray level as they reached the end. Soren slammed the buzzer with his free hand—just half a second before Mira’s. The sound echoed through the stage.

JJ threw his hands up. “And the winners are… Zoey and Soren!”

The crowd exploded with cheers as confetti cannons blasted blue and silver across the stage.

Zoey whooped, throwing her arms in the air. “Yes! We did it!”

Soren laughed, still slightly out of breath, before holding up the tray. Two cups were still half full—an impressive feat. “I think we deserve a medal for that.”

“Or a nap,” Zoey joked, bumping his shoulder with hers.

They stood there, grinning, glowing under the stage lights.

“Alright everyone, time for our next round!” JJ announced, the stage lights shifting to a soft lavender glow. “We’ve tested your balance and teamwork—now let’s see how connected you really are in our next game: In Sync!”

The crowd cheered, and JJ grinned. “Here’s how it works. Each pair will be given the same list of questions. Without talking, they’ll write down their answers on the whiteboards in front of them. If their answers match, they earn a point! Simple, right?”

“Simple until someone overthinks it,” Rumi muttered playfully into her mic, earning a laugh from the audience.

Zoey chuckled, picking up her whiteboard marker as she glanced toward Soren beside her. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor of their little “team zone,” head tilted curiously as he spun the marker in his fingers. Calm, composed, but with that little glint of mischief he got every time the cameras started rolling.

JJ clapped once. “Alright, first question!”

The big screen behind them flashed the first prompt:

What’s your go-to comfort food?

Zoey immediately wrote down mac and cheese, because of course she did. Then she glanced sideways—Soren was already done.

When JJ called for them to flip, both their boards read Philly Cheesteak.

The crowd cheered.

Soren grinned. “Okay, that’s freaky.”

“You stole my answer!” Zoey said, pointing her marker at him, pretending to glare.

He shrugged innocently. “Maybe we just share taste in food, teammate.”

She rolled her eyes, trying not to laugh. “Sure, or you just read my mind.”

JJ moved them along. “Question two! What’s your favorite time of day?”

Zoey hesitated, tapping the end of her marker against her chin. She almost wrote sunset, but her brain—unhelpfully—supplied the image of Mira leaning on their balcony railing during golden hour, orange light brushing across her hair. Zoey quickly shook the thought off and scribbled nighttime.

They flipped their boards again. Both said nighttime.

The crowd lost it.

“Two for two!” JJ announced. “These two are a little too in sync, huh?”

Zoey laughed awkwardly, feeling her cheeks warm. “Lucky guess!”

Except, it didn’t feel like a guess.

The next few questions flew by—favorite color, dream vacation, ideal weekend—they kept matching, again and again. It was easy. Natural. He’d glance at her and grin every time they got one right, and she’d grin back without realizing it.

Then JJ announced, “Alright, this one’s always a crowd favorite—favorite animal!”

Zoey didn’t even think about it. Her marker hit the board before JJ finished the sentence. Turtle.

She bit the inside of her cheek, waiting for him to flip his. The crowd went silent for the count.

“Three… two… one—reveal!”

Both boards read the same word in bold black ink: Turtle.

The crowd exploded.

JJ threw his head back, laughing. “No way! You both wrote turtle?!”

Soren turned to her, wide-eyed, just as surprised. “Wait—you too?”

Zoey nodded, laughing a little too hard. “Yeah! I—I’ve loved turtles since I was little!”

He grinned, dimples showing. “Exactly what I was gonna say.”

“Okay, no,” JJ said, stepping closer, mock suspicious. “Are you two secretly communicating? Like telepathically, for real?”

Zoey giggled, clutching her board. “I swear we’re not!”

The lights flashed blue, signaling another perfect point. The scoreboard updated—their team pulling ahead.

But as the applause rolled over them, Zoey’s heart wouldn’t settle.

Because the weird part wasn’t that they matched answers—it was that it felt easy. Like he got her without trying. Like he could see through the noise.

And that scared her a little.

JJ clapped, breaking the tension. “Alright, clearly Team Blue shares one brain cell today—give it up for Zoey and Soren!”

Zoey laughed, bowing her head as the audience cheered, but deep down, her thoughts were louder than the noise.

“Alright, time for our next challenge!” JJ’s voice rang across the stage, the crowd already buzzing. “Now, if you’ve been a long-time viewer of Play Games With Us, you know this one’s always a fan favorite—Perfect Pair Poses!”

The stage lights dimmed, replaced by a neon pink glow and floating heart graphics on the screen behind them.

Zoey tried not to laugh. Of course they’re doing this one.

JJ continued, clearly enjoying himself. “Each team will be shown a few famous ‘couple’ poses—from movie posters, album covers, or viral fan shots. You’ll have thirty seconds to pick your favorite and recreate it right here on stage. The audience will vote for the best recreation. Ready?”

The crowd cheered wildly.

Mira groaned good-naturedly beside her mic. “So basically we’re about to get memed for the next three months?”

“Exactly!” JJ said cheerfully. “Let’s start with Team Purple—Rumi and Rio, you’re up first!”

Zoey watched from the sidelines as they scrolled through the options on the screen: the “heart hands,” the “back hug,” the “forehead touch.” Rumi, ever the performer, went for the dramatic one—the “Titanic” pose, arms outstretched. The audience ate it up.

Then it was Team Red—Mira and Lynx.

Zoey tried to focus on JJ’s commentary but… it was impossible not to look. Mira tilted her head, examining the poses before saying something that made Lynx burst out laughing. They ended up picking the “forehead touch”—soft, simple, intimate.

Zoey’s throat tightened as she watched them lean in close, Mira’s hand resting lightly on Lynx’s arm for balance. The crowd awww’d.

Her smile didn’t falter—but it felt a little heavier now.

Then JJ turned toward her and Soren. “Alright, last but not least, Team Blue!”

Soren shot her a grin. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

They looked up at the screen together. The first image was a classic—one person leaning over the other’s shoulder, both holding a camera. Cute. The second was a heart-hand pose, the third… oh no. The third was that one—the near kiss.

The crowd screamed the moment it flashed up.

Zoey laughed nervously, rubbing the back of her neck. “They really went there.”

Soren’s smile turned teasing. “I mean… it is for points.”

“Points, huh?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

He chuckled. “You’re competitive. I can tell.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Fine. We’re going all in.”

JJ counted down. “Thirty seconds, Team Blue—show us what you’ve got!”

They positioned themselves under the lights. Zoey took a breath, steadying herself as she stepped closer. Soren’s hand hovered near her waist—waiting for her permission—and she gave a quick nod.

His palm settled lightly against her hip. Warm. Grounding.

Zoey tilted her chin up, close enough that she could see the reflection of the lights in his eyes. Close enough that the noise of the crowd melted into a blur.

Her heart pounded—not because it was Soren, necessarily, but because it felt real.

“Hold it there!” JJ called. The camera shutters clicked rapidly.

The audience went wild.

When JJ called time, Zoey exhaled quickly, stepping back with a small laugh. “Okay, that was intense.”

Soren grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re telling me.”

They returned to their podium while the audience cast votes through their lightsticks—blue, red, or purple. Within seconds, the screen behind them started to shift.

Blue lights filled the studio.

JJ whooped. “And Team Blue takes the win!”

The crowd erupted again, confetti raining down.

Zoey laughed, shaking some from her hair, heart still thudding from the rush. Soren turned to her and held up his hand for a high five.

She smacked it—a little harder than necessary to disguise her nerves.

“Guess we make a good team,” he said, still smiling.

“Guess so,” she replied, though her smile faltered just slightly as her gaze flicked toward the red podium.

Mira was watching her.

Quiet.

Unreadable.

Their eyes met for half a second—long enough to make Zoey’s breath catch—before Mira looked away, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear like it was nothing.

Weird?

The host was already moving on, laughing with the crowd, but Zoey’s focus drifted.

She’d laughed, she’d posed, she’d played along—but part of her chest still felt like it was echoing from that look.

The games stretched on through the next hour—laughter, chaos, and the kind of competitiveness that only came from people who were used to living under stage lights. Each round blurred into the next: obstacle runs, lightning questions, matching cards, and one ridiculous round involving foam hammers and squeaky helmets.

The scoreboard flickered back and forth, red to purple to blue, but by the end…

The final buzzer sounded, and the screen behind them exploded with confetti graphics.

“And the winners of tonight’s episode—Team Blue!”

The lights flashed ocean-blue as paper confetti rained down over the stage. Zoey blinked up at it, laughing through the glittering chaos while trying to catch one midair. Soren whooped beside her, spinning his strange, shiny trophy in the air like he’d just won an Olympic medal.

JJ’s voice boomed through the speakers. “Let’s give it up for the blue team!”

A wave of cheering rolled across the studio like a physical force—stomping feet, clapping hands, a few fans even yelling Zoey’s name. Blue light swept over the stage, and the other members—Mira, Rumi, and the Soundwave boys—offered exaggerated applause. Lynx even bowed repeatedly like she’d just saved humanity, while Mira cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled something Zoey couldn’t hear but recognized instantly as, Let’s gooooo!

She couldn’t stop smiling.

They actually won.

It didn’t feel real. Not the lights overhead, not the glitter on the stage, not the trophy in her hands—light, plastic, and absolutely perfect. She’d dreamed about being on this show since she was a kid, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a bowl of cereal, watching idols she admired get publicly humiliated by silly games. She’d always imagined what it would feel like if it were her up there, laughing under these lights, making a fool of herself on a stage millions watched.

And now she was here.

Not dreaming. Not imagining.

Here.

Her heart thudded so hard it felt like it wanted to sprint out of her chest.

“Alright, now,” JJ said, practically glowing as he adjusted his mic, “I think these two might’ve surprised even us today with that teamwork—and chemistry. So we’re giving them a little bonus prize!”

He turned toward the camera dramatically. “The winners of tonight’s Play Games With Us will also be appearing on our sister program next week—Heart Signal Studio! The chemistry is definitely there, folks!”

The crowd erupted.

Zoey froze mid-smile.

Oh.

She knew that show. She’d caught reruns late at night while scrolling through her phone in bed. Cute, staged, “totally spontaneous” chemistry-building challenges. Cooking side-by-side, blindfolded trust games, the producers always turning the camera angle just right so a pair looked like they were secretly falling in love. Fans loved it. It was cute, marketable, and just toeing the line of plausible deniability.

She wasn’t stupid—she knew it was fanservice. PR fuel. Just part of the industry.

But still… the thought of being in those setups, cameras zoomed in on lingering glances and “accidental” laughter—it made her stomach twist with something she couldn’t name.

“Go on, winner’s speech!” JJ said brightly, handing her the mic.

“Uh—” Zoey blinked, snapping back into performance mode. The crowd was watching, waiting, lightsticks pulsing like stars in the audience.

She let out a breath and lifted the mic. “Wow, um… thank you, everyone! This honestly means so much to me.” She laughed a little too fast, words tumbling out before she could stop them. “I used to watch this show all the time when I was younger, so just being here, and actually winning, it’s really wild. I can’t thank you enough for having us!”

The audience cheered and JJ clapped.

Zoey smiled through it, heart still buzzing.

When she handed the mic to Soren, he took it with an easy grin.

“Thank you everyone! It’s been amazing to be on here—I had so much fun, and seriously, Zoey was the best partner I could’ve asked for.” He bumped her shoulder lightly, a warm, friendly gesture.

She bumped him back, laughing—but the laughter didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Her gaze drifted across the stage. Rumi was the first to catch her eye—grinning wide, the smaller trophy clutched in one hand while she threw Zoey an enthusiastic thumbs-up with the other.

Zoey’s chest softened at that, a genuine warmth flickering through her. She returned the gesture with a small salute and a genuine smile. Trust Rumi to always be her biggest hype woman. Always noticing, always supporting, always lifting her up.

Then her eyes moved past Rumi.

They landed on Mira.

Mira stood at her podium, clapping with quiet precision, expression neutral under the harsh studio lights. The same Mira who had spent hours helping her rehearse lines, who always shared headphones with her during long flights, who wore that barely-there smirk whenever Zoey made a dumb joke.

Their eyes met for a fraction of a second.

Mira smiled—just a small, measured curve of lips, polite, practiced. Then she looked away, as if nothing had happened.

Zoey blinked. Something about the look lingered, though she couldn’t put her finger on it. There was… a shift. A little tension she wasn’t used to noticing.

Maybe she’s just tired, Zoey reasoned, shaking off the thought. It’s been a long day.

JJ’s voice cut through the haze, bright and loud.

“Alright folks, that’s it for tonight’s episode of Play Games With Us! I’m your host, Park Jae-jin, and we’ve had a blast with Huntrix and Soundwave! Thank you all, and we are out!”

The outro music kicked in, cheerful and bouncy. JJ did a goofy little dance as the cameras panned out, the idols clapping and waving to the crowd.

Zoey waved too, trophy glittering under the lights, her smile outwardly perfect.

But inside, her thoughts were quieter, tangled.

Winning felt good—it should’ve felt good—but a tiny flicker of unease shadowed her chest. Mira’s look had been… different. Hard to define. Not hostile. Not upset. Just… shifted in a way Zoey couldn’t quite read.

She found herself replaying it as the crowd roared behind her, trying to assign it meaning. But there was nothing overt. Nothing direct. Mira hadn’t spoken, hadn’t glared, hadn’t even flinched. And yet—something small, subtle, had passed between them in that glance.

Zoey shook her head lightly, forcing her attention back to the music, the confetti, the cameras.

Whatever it was, she told herself, it could wait. Tonight, they’d won. Tonight was for the moment.

And yet, she couldn’t quite stop noticing Mira from the corner of her eye.

Something unspoken lingered there, tucked neatly behind that polite smile.

Something she couldn’t name yet.

“Man, I’m beat. That was really fun,” Zoey muttered with a grin, stretching her arms over her head.

The cold night air nipped at her cheeks as they stepped out of the studio lot, the distant hum of Seoul traffic humming like white noise. Her breath came out in little wisps as she tugged her hoodie tighter around herself. The post-show adrenaline had worn off, leaving behind that soft, fizzy exhaustion that came after performing.

“The couch sounds so good right now,” Mira groaned beside her, rubbing at her eyes as if trying to erase the lingering tension from the day.

“Right?! I’m so ready to unwind and take a long nap,” Rumi added, already scrolling her phone, eyes half-lidded.

Both Zoey and Mira turned their heads at the same time, blinking at her.

“Okay, who are you,” Zoey said, squinting playfully, “and what have you done with our workaholic Rumi?”

“Yeah,” Mira added, smirking faintly. “The real Rumi would’ve said something like, ‘Relaxing for me means opening my planner and scheduling another twelve-hour day.’”

Rumi gasped dramatically, hand pressed over her heart. “Times have changed! I’ve evolved. I’m embracing the soft life after sealing the Honmoon!”

Zoey snorted. Mira rolled her eyes.

“You don’t believe me?!” Rumi pouted, nudging Mira lightly with her elbow.

“Nope,” Mira replied smoothly, not meeting her eyes.

Zoey couldn’t help laughing—that full, easy kind that spilled out of her before she could stop it. These little moments—Rumi’s dramatics, Mira’s dry wit—always made her feel grounded.

As they neared the curb, headlights washed over them, followed by a familiar black sedan rolling to a smooth stop. The window lowered, and Bobby leaned out, waving.

“Hey girls!”

“Hi, Bobby!” they chorused, voices bright despite fatigue.

Rumi slid into the passenger seat while Mira and Zoey climbed into the back. Zoey automatically leaned into her usual spot, expecting Mira to do the same—but this time, Mira stayed pressed to the opposite door, quietly buckling herself in.

Zoey hesitated, the small shift in distance tugging at her mind. Weird… Mira usually sits closer. Maybe she’s just tired. She scooted to the middle seat, settling in with a shrug, telling herself it didn’t matter.

Once everyone was buckled, Bobby glanced at them in the rear view mirror. “So, how was it?”

“It was good,” Rumi hummed contentedly.

“Yeah! I was so happy to be there. The crew was super nice too—no rude staff or anything,” Zoey chirped.

“Agreed,” Rumi added, leaning her head back.

“Was nice,” Mira murmured, eyes fixed on the blur of streetlights sliding past her window. Her elbow was propped against the door, chin resting in her palm.

Zoey watched her reflection in the glass for a beat. Mira’s profile was half-lit by the glow of passing cars—calm, unreadable, her lips curved just enough to look thoughtful, not distant.

“Sounds good,” Bobby said, smiling through the rear view mirror. “And you were with that other group, right?”

“Soundwave,” Rumi said. “They were really respectful. Super professional, actually.”

“Mhm! I’ve heard a few of their songs on the radio,” Zoey added. “They’ve got this really unique sound going on. It’s fresh.”

Bobby chuckled. “I see. You all seemed to get along well.”

Zoey hummed, her thoughts flickering to the stage—the laughter, the silly poses, the way Soren’s energy kept the atmosphere light. “Yeah, Soren’s cool. We actually ended up— oh!” Her eyes widened. “I forgot to brag! Me and Soren won! Totally blew these two chumps out of the water!” She threw up her fist triumphantly.

“Hey!” Rumi turned in her seat, mock glaring at her.

Zoey laughed—then paused mid-grin, her hand slowly lowering. “Wait... I think I left my trophy in the dressing room…”

Mira snorted softly, glancing at her from the side. “Who’s the chump now?”

“Miraa,” Zoey groaned, nudging her arm.

That earned her that smile. A half-smirk, half-laugh that always made Zoey’s chest do something weird. Mira just shook her head, clearly amused.

“I’ll send someone to bring it to the penthouse, okay?” Rumi said from the front, already tapping away on her phone.

Zoey smiled softly. She loved that about Rumi—how she always had things handled before anyone else could even think to stress about them. Efficient. Reliable. So sweet.

The car ride stretched on quietly after that, the late moonlight filtering through the tinted windows, the soft hum of the engine mixing with the faint rhythm of rain that had started outside. Zoey busied herself with watching funny turtle videos on her phone—tiny shells, stubby legs, silly faces. They made her giggle, the kind of small, stupid laughter that loosened all the tightness from her chest.

Out of habit, she glanced to her left to see if Mira was watching too. Usually, Mira would lean over a little, pretending not to be interested but watching anyway. But right now, she wasn’t. Her gaze was fixed out the window, eyes far away—like she was somewhere else entirely.

Zoey frowned a little. Mira’s reflection looked almost sad. Or maybe just tired. It was hard to tell.

She shrugged it off and kept scrolling. But after a while, the humor didn’t land quite as hard. Her eyes were getting heavy, her head starting to bob a little. She yawned and stole another look at Mira.

Zoey debated for a second, chewing her lip. Mira wasn’t exactly a “let’s talk about our feelings” kind of person—but sometimes Zoey could get away with poking the bear if she was gentle about it.

“Mir?” Zoey murmured.

Mira turned, meeting her eyes. "Yeah?"

Zoey blinked up at her. “Can I—”

“Yes, you can use my shoulder as a pillow,” Mira said before she could even finish, rolling her eyes but smiling all the same.

She scooted closer, pressing against Mira’s side, and let her head fall onto her shoulder with a soft sigh. The warmth of Mira’s body was instant, familiar, grounding. She could feel the rise and fall of her breathing through her jacket.

"Thanks,” Zoey murmured, letting out a happy sigh as she pressed play on another video.

For a while, that was all there was, the glow of her phone lighting their faces, the hum of tires on asphalt. When she peeked up again, she realized Mira was watching now—not the video, but the screen itself, the way Zoey was reacting.

After a few minutes, Zoey tilted her head slightly. “Something on your mind?”

“Huh?”

“You’re quiet.”

“Oh.” Mira exhaled. “Just tired, that’s all.”

Zoey hummed in response, deciding to believe her. The small knot in her chest loosened a little. Maybe she was overthinking it. Maybe Mira was just... being Mira.

Still, Zoey wanted to offer something. Comfort, maybe. Or just presence. She reached out and placed her hand on Mira’s thigh, palm up—silent, gentle. An open invitation.

Mira didn’t hesitate. Her hand slid into Zoey’s, their fingers lacing together naturally, like it was something they’d done a thousand times before.

Zoey smiled into Mira’s shoulder, warmth curling through her chest. God, she really was soft for her.

She risked a glance upward and caught Mira staring down at their joined hands, a small, dopey smile spreading on her face. It made Zoey’s heart do something weird—like it skipped, then decided to sprint.

“Softie,” Zoey mumbled under her breath.

“Hm?” Mira looked down at her.

Zoey’s face flushed. “Nothing.” She quickly closed her eyes, pretending to be drowsy. Which—okay—she actually was.

“Did you enjoy it, Mir?” Zoey asked after a yawn.

“Yeah,” Mira said after a pause, voice quieter, warmer. “It was cool.”

“That’s good.” Zoey murmured, snuggling closer. Mira smelled faintly of vanilla and leather and something else she could never quite name. It made her brain fuzzy. “You’re a really good pillow, you know that?”

Mira chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating against Zoey’s cheek. “So I’ve been told.”

“By who?” Zoey’s face scrunched, half asleep, half suspicious. For some reason, the thought of anyone else using Mira as a pillow made her weirdly upset.

“You, silly,” Mira said with a small huff.

“Oh.” Zoey giggled at herself. “Right.”

Her phone slipped from her grasp as sleep tugged at her. The rhythm of the car, the warmth of Mira’s body—it was all too soothing.

“Wake me up when we get there…” she mumbled, already drifting.

“Yeah,” Mira whispered back.

The last thing Zoey felt was Mira giving their hands another squeeze—firm, steady, reassuring. And Zoey, in that hazy moment before sleep, thought that maybe she could stay like this forever.

“Up you go,” Mira muttered with a small grunt, carrying Zoey’s limp, fast-asleep body out of the car. Zoey was fully dead-weight, head tucked against Mira’s shoulder, warm breath brushing the side of her neck.

Rumi closed the car door quietly. “Thanks, Bobby,” she murmured with a polite wave.

“Have a good night, girls,” he called.

“You too,” Mira said, already adjusting Zoey again so her cheek wouldn’t smush against Mira’s collarbone. She shouldn’t care about something so small, but she did anyway.

The walk to the elevator was quiet—just their footsteps and Zoey’s soft, steady breaths. Mira looked down at her once, twice, then again despite herself. The smallest smile tugged at her mouth. Zoey slept like she lived: fully committed, without hesitation.

A stray strand of hair tickled Zoey’s lips. She brushed it gently away, fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary. A faint, involuntary smile tugged at her lips. She could feel her heart thudding in her chest, uncomfortably fast.

That’s when she caught Rumi staring. Her patterns glowed faintly, soft hues of blue and purple that shimmered across her arms, her face pulled into a knowing little smile.

Mira’s ears heated instantly. She narrowed her eyes in a quick, embarrassed glare.

Rumi only chuckled and looked away.

Zoey snuggled closer, nose brushing Mira’s collar in her sleep. Mira froze, heart thumping too hard, too fast. She swallowed and forced her shoulders to relax.

It’s just because she’s tired. She always does this when she’s exhausted. Stop reading into it.

Finally, the ding of the penthouse elevator broke the spell. Mira stepped out, shoulders slumping instantly with relief. Home. Away from lights, cameras, and eyes that seemed to analyze her every move. Finally, she could breathe.

Zoey’s room came first. Mira carefully untied her shoes, setting them aside before placing her gently on the bed. She left Zoey’s socks on—something she’d noticed the girl was oddly particular about. Then she tucked the blankets over her, smoothing them around the sleeping form. Zoey immediately curled toward the pink bear Mira had gotten her.

Mira felt her chest squeeze at that.

She stood there a second longer than necessary, just watching Zoey sleep.

Then—before she could stop herself—she leaned down and pressed a light kiss to her forehead.

“Night, Zo,” she whispered.

Zoey mumbled into her plushie. Mira smiled, tiny and involuntary, then forced herself to step back.

When she turned around, Rumi was leaning in the doorway. Arms crossed. Face warm with something dangerously close to amusement.

Great.

Mira brushed past her quickly and shut the door, heading straight for the couch. She dropped onto it with a groan, draping an arm over her eyes as if that alone could block out the day.

Rumi climbed onto the couch beside her, knees pulled up comfortably. “You know,” she said lightly, “you’re very gentle with her.”

Mira went rigid. “I was carrying her. I didn’t want to drop her,” she muttered into her arm.

A noncommittal hum slipped out of Rumi—soft, skeptical, but unprovocative.

Silence settled between them, thick enough that Mira could feel Rumi’s gaze even without looking.

Then, almost too gentle:

“Are you ever going to tell her?”

Mira’s heartbeat stumbled. She lowered her arm just enough to meet Rumi’s eyes. “Tell her what?”

Rumi offered a look that wasn’t judgment, just quiet understanding—exactly the kind Mira wished she were immune to.

“Mira,” she said softly, “I’ve seen the way you look at—”

“I don’t look at her any type of way,” Mira cut in, sitting up too fast, too stiff. “I’m just… protective. That’s all.”

“Protective,” Rumi echoed, brows lifting.

“Yes,” Mira insisted, hearing the defensiveness spill through every syllable. “She’s Zoey. She’s a disaster half the time. Someone has to make sure she doesn’t wander into traffic or fall asleep in random places.”

Rumi’s mouth curved faintly. “Right. Just that?”

“Yeah.” It came out quick and sharp—too quick, too sharp—and Mira knew immediately she’d given herself away.

Rumi’s lips twitched upward. “Right. That’s all?”

“Yes.” The answer came too fast. Too sharp. Mira felt it. She knew Rumi heard it.

Another quiet hum. “Okay.”

That single word somehow grated more than any accusation would have.

Mira leaned back on the couch, arms crossed. Her heart kept doing this stupid, fluttery thing she couldn’t control, and she hated it.

She didn’t want to say anything. Didn’t want to admit anything. Didn’t want to name something she wasn’t ready to deal with. Naming things made them real. Solid. Breakable.

Rumi leaned her head against the couch cushion. “Just seems like… you care about her a lot,” she murmured.

Mira stared ahead, jaw tight.

“Of course I care,” she said finally. “She’s my best friend.”

Rumi was quiet for a beat. Two.

Then:

“You’re afraid she’ll notice.”

Mira’s throat went tight. “Rumi—”

“And you’re afraid she won’t.”

Her breath caught. For a second, she couldn’t think—couldn’t move—couldn’t breathe right. Too seen. Too raw.

She looked away, biting the inside of her cheek. “It’s not like that,” she said, low. “It can’t be.”

Rumi didn’t argue. Didn’t push. Just sat there beside her quietly, letting Mira pretend her walls hadn’t been cracked open.

Mira sat up slowly, elbows on her knees, her fingers pushing through her hair until they caught at the roots.

Her chest felt tight—like every thought she’d been shoving down all night had finally cornered her.

“I wanted to…” she murmured at last, voice barely above a breath.

Her throat worked around the words like they weren’t entirely safe.

Rumi didn’t push. Just shifted, settling a little closer until their shoulders almost brushed.

Mira stared at her hands.

“I wanted to tell her,” she admitted. “Before.”

The word hung there—heavy, unsteady.

Before the show.

Before the pairing.

Before she’d seen Zoey laughing with someone else like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Mira’s knee started to bounce, restless, anxious—until Rumi laid a gentle hand on it again, grounding her.

The pressure made her inhale sharply, like she’d been wandering too far in her own head.

“There are moments,” Mira said slowly, “where I think I’m not making all this up.”

Her fingers curled tighter. “Where I swear I’m not imagining things. When I’m like—okay. I’m not delusional. I’m not reading into nothing. She’s actually…” She trailed off, frustration knotting in her throat.

A humorless laugh slipped out—quiet, self-mocking.

“And then I see her with him.”

Rumi’s expression softened, but she stayed silent.

Mira swallowed hard.

The words scraped on their way out.

“The way she smiled at him. The way she… opened up.”

She stared at the floor as if it had done something wrong.

“It looked so easy for her. Like she didn’t have to think about anything. And—”

Her breath hitched almost imperceptibly. “And I just…”

She didn’t finish.

She didn’t have to.

Rumi’s voice cut in gently. “Mir.”

But Mira kept going, shoulders curling inward.

“It made me feel stupid,” she whispered. “For thinking I had a chance. Or that she ever looked at me the way I look at her.”

Her voice cracked. Just a little. Just enough.

Rumi shifted, turning toward her fully. “Hey.”

When Mira didn’t look up, Rumi reached out and touched her forearm—lightly, carefully. “Mira. Look at me.”

It took effort, but Mira finally lifted her eyes.

Rumi exhaled, slow and certain. “What she has with you is not what she had with him,” she said. “Not even close.”

Mira blinked. “How would you know that?”

“Because I watch you two.”

Rumi’s tone wasn’t teasing—it was factual, steady.

“I see the way she looks at you. Like she’s listening even when you’re not talking. Like she’s waiting for you to say something. Like she’s… tethered.”

The last word hung there—soft but sure.

Mira’s chest tightened, her eyes stinging for no reason she was willing to name.

“You really think…?” Mira asked quietly.

It came out small. Too small.

Rumi didn’t hesitate. Not once.

“I know.”

Mira let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, her shoulders slumping as she leaned sideways—slowly, cautiously—until her temple rested against Rumi’s shoulder.

Rumi didn’t move away. She never did.

Silence settled for a moment. Gentle. Heavy. Safe.

“Well…” Mira muttered eventually, voice low, trying to sound indifferent and failing miserably. “She doesn’t have to see him again. That was a one-time pairing.”

Rumi hummed thoughtfully.

“Mm. Right.”

She smiled, patting the side of Mira's cheek. "Yeah, you don't have to worry about her getting swooned by someone else."

"Yeah.."

@kpopteaunfiltered • 1h

UMMMM HELLO?????

WHY IS NOBODY TALKING ABOUT THIS???

Tell me I’m not crazy but… Zoey and Soren have INSANE chemistry????

[Attached zoomed-in clip: Zoey and Soren sitting criss-cross on stage during a challenge. They go for a double high-five, then Soren interlocks their fingers playfully. Zoey nearly doubles over laughing as he wiggles their hands in a goofy little wave.]

I’m not saying #ZoRen is real but…….. no actually I am saying that.
#ZoRen #Huntrix #Soundwave

→ 48.6K Retweets | 120K Likes | 8.9M Views

Within 20 minutes the ship tag was trending in 7 countries.

@miccordreal • 2m
People say it’s “just work interactions” but my coworkers do NOT look at me like that, trust.
#ZoRen

@cryinghsjks • 2m
I’m not even a Huntrix or Soundwave fan but WHY ARE THEY FLIRTING LIKE THIS

I feel like I’m third wheeling.
#ZoRen

@studiocameragirl • 3m
I work nothing related to this show but I JUST KNOW the cameramen were whispering like “zoom in on them again.”
#ZoRen

@jjslittleminion • 3m
JJ literally looked between them like “oh?? we doing this on my show???” LMAO
#ZoRen

@taeilforensics • 4m
As a certified body language expert (I have watched 14 dramas), they’re in love. Thank you.
#ZoRenAnalysis

@softstarlight • 4m
They’re giving “soft crush from both sides but neither will ever say anything” energy and I’m obsessed.
#ZoRen

@wheresmymic • 5m
Fun fact: that mic was NOT broken.
Soren just wanted an excuse 😭😭 (let me delulu pls)
#ZoRen

@fancamfiend • 6m
I slowed the clip down 0.25x and you can SEE Zoey trying so hard not to blush.
IDOLS DO NOT LOOK AT “JUST FRIENDS” LIKE THIS.
#ZoRenTruthers

@zozopaws • 6m
Someone get Zoey on trial for smiling at him like THAT on national TV.
This is a public disturbance.
#ZoRen

@sorenknees • 7m
The way he said “good job, Zo” under his breath?????
Why did he say it like it was just for her????
HELLO??

@delulumodeactivated • 7m
me during the whole episode: “they’re coworkers, relax.”
also me when he fixes her mic: THAT’S HER MAN.
#ZoRen

@editfairy • 8m
I made a ZoRen edit and my phone overheated halfway through.
They’re too powerful.
#ZoRen

@huntrixschedules • 9m
Y’all notice how Zoey IMMEDIATELY looked for him after they won?? I’m sick…
[Clip of her scanning the stage then smiling at Soren]

@rensimpinghour • 10m
Soren’s hand on her back was .5 seconds long but it ended my whole life.
#ZoRenNation

@cutiezozo • 12m
WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME ZOREN WAS THIS REAL??

[Clip of Soren adjusting Zoey’s mic]

I feel like I shouldn’t be watching this it’s TOO intimate 😭
#ZoRen

@Notasimp549
HELLOOOO???

[Clip of Zoey saying “thanks, Ren” under her breath as he hands her a prop. It wasn’t even caught by main audio, it’s picked up faintly by her mic.]

“Ren.” Like??? Their own nickname??
We lost.

#ZoRen

@tweetlikearen · 6m
Their height difference…
Their vibe…
Her blush…
His stupid little grin…
THIS IS CINEMA.

@sorensleeve · 12m
THE WAY HE SAID “good job, Zoey” LIKE IT WAS JUST FOR HER…
nobody breathe near me.

[Audio clip of Soren speaking into his mic softly as Zoey walks past]

#ZoRen

@delulusincebirth · 22m
me: i don’t ship real ppl
also me the moment THEY do anything:

[gif of a person violently kicking their feet, screaming into a pillow]

#ZoRen

@zrnluvbot · 32m
THEY’RE JUST SO CUTE I’M GONNA SCREAM

[Clip of Zoey standing there smiling while Soren fixes her mic pack]

#ZoRen #PlayGamesWithUs

"I want you to date him."

Zoey blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Her brain misfired so violently she almost wondered if she misheard.

Celine sat calmly across from the three of them on the couch, hands folded neatly, expression far too casual for the emotional bomb she’d just dropped.

“Not actually date,” she clarified, as if that somehow helped. “Just for PR.”

Zoey’s stomach plummeted.

Celine continued, passing her the iPad. “Your popularity has skyrocketed since the variety show. Fans are obsessed with the chemistry between you and Soren.”

Zoey reached for the tablet—with hands that definitely weren’t shaking, nope—and Rumi and Mira immediately leaned in, shoulder-to-shoulder with her. Usually comforting. Today, suffocating.

The trending page lit up the screen.

Edits. Clips. TikToks. Fan threads. Multilingual screaming.

Her face.

Soren’s face.

Hearts, sparkles, dramatic fonts.

And the hashtag:

#ZoRen

“Holy…” Zoey whispered, thumb frozen mid-scroll. “This all happened last night?”

Celine nodded. “The episode went viral within an hour or airing.”

Rumi tilted her head, reading the trending tab. “ZoRen,” she said slowly. “That’s definitely… something.”

Zoey kept scrolling, throat dry.

Her own face stared back at her from a slowed-down clip—Soren adjusting her mic, stepping close, Zoey smiling too softly. Edited with soft lighting and dramatic OST that made everything look a thousand times more romantic than it actually felt in the moment.

Caption: “the way he looks at her like she put all the stars in the sky”

Zoey snorted, but it came out weaker than she meant. “I always hoped I’d get edits like this someday. You know—me looking at someone and fans going ‘look at the chemistry… their souls intertwined…’” She laughed awkwardly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Didn’t expect it to happen because of a half-dead mic battery.”

Rumi nudged her shoulder. “Well, your fans have range.”

Zoey kept scrolling because stopping meant thinking, and thinking meant panic.

And honestly?

If she hadn’t been physically present during that filming, some of these edits might’ve convinced her something was going on. Editors were powerful like that—they could stitch together a two-second look and turn it into a love story.

“They are talented,” Celine agreed, folding her hands. “And we can use that. A manufactured narrative with Soren could give Huntrix a visibility spike.”

Zoey swallowed hard. Her palms were starting to sweat.

Beside her, Rumi leaned forward, her brows pinching. “You’re serious about this?”

“Very,” Celine said. “This could elevate Zoey’s individual brand significantly.”

Zoey stared at the screen again, at some fan’s slow-mo edit of Soren catching her during the obstacle course. It looked romantic, dramatic, k-drama level swoon-worthy.

It also felt… wrong on her skin.

Why?

She didn’t know why—but a little voice in the back of her head tugged sharply at her, whispering that this was wrong.

Or… if not wrong, then off.

Like putting on a pair of shoes that technically fit but still felt weird on her feet.

Why though?

She wasn’t doing anything immoral. Tons of idols did PR pairings. It was practically a rite of passage. Fake flirting, arranged dates, strategic chemistry—K-pop had been built on less.

So why did her stomach twist?

Why did her chest feel tight?

Why did a simple, reasonable request feel like someone was pressing a thumb against a bruise she didn’t know she had?

Zoey tried to breathe through it, but the air felt thin.

Out of instinct—maybe desperation—she dragged her gaze away from the screen and toward Mira.

She almost flinched.

She had forgotten Mira was there.

Because Mira hadn’t said a word.

She sat pressed back into the far end of the couch, arms crossed so tightly it looked like she was holding herself together. Jaw clenched. Brows drawn. A storm disguised as silence.

Her right knee bounced—fast, uneven, restless.

Zoey knew that knee bounce.

She’d seen it backstage during bad news meetings, during stressful rehearsals, during nights Mira couldn’t sleep.

Mira wasn’t just upset.

She was angry.

Or hurt.

Or both.

And Zoey had no idea why.

Did something happen earlier? During filming? On the ride home? Did someone say something?

A tight, uncomfortable squeeze pressed into Zoey’s chest. Watching Mira fold in on herself like that—coiled, shuttered, unreachable—always hit harder than she ever admitted.

Before she even thought about it, her hand drifted over, settling gently on Mira’s knee.

The bouncing stopped instantly.

That small reaction alone made Zoey’s breath catch. Mira turned toward her, eyes meeting hers, and something in those shoulders eased—not fully, not even halfway, but enough. Enough that Zoey felt it; enough to remind her that she was one of the few people who could get through those walls at all.

“You okay?” The question left her in a soft murmur, barely above a breath.

For a moment, Mira’s expression flickered—guarded, uncertain, the faintest crack revealing something bruised just underneath. Then she offered a stiff nod, quick and practiced, the kind meant to shut the door again.

Zoey didn’t buy it for a second.

Not even a little.

But she didn’t push.

Not yet.

Silence stretched until Mira finally spoke.

“You were against stuff like this,” she said. Her voice was low, steady, but her words were sharp. “PR relationships. Manufactured couples. You said they always come back to bite people. So what changed?”

The question wasn’t aimed at Zoey.

It was aimed at Celine.

But Zoey still felt it like a personal jab in her ribs.

Celine folded her hands in her lap, inhaling like she expected resistance. “I know what I said. And I still stand by the idea that fake relationships can be risky. But the industry is shifting. Pr couples boost engagement more than ever, and this one…” She gestured toward the glowing trending page. “This one happened naturally, without any push from us. It's organic. And that gives it power. ”

Mira’s jaw tightened. She didn’t argue. She just exhaled—long, frustrated, heavy.

Zoey felt that exhale in her stomach.

Celine continued, gentler now. “We already talked to his management. They’re willing to try it.”

Zoey stared at the tablet.

Her throat felt too tight to swallow.

Date someone.

For PR.

Pretend.

Act like something was there when nothing actually was.

She’d trained half her life to control her emotions on camera. But this? This felt like pushing the boundary of something she didn’t understand yet.

Her agency had always shielded them from this kind of thing—messy PR stunts, fake romances, anything that might twist public perception in unpredictable ways. Their company prided itself on being clean, controlled, respectful of the members’ boundaries.

So this…

This felt different.

Bigger.

Dangerous in a way she didn’t have words for.

“What… what would I even have to do?” Zoey finally asked, the words barely pushing past the dryness in her throat.

Celine shifted forward, elbows on her knees, voice calm and measured. “Small things at first. Engage with his posts. A comment here and there. Maybe a vague caption that fans can interpret it being connected to him.”

“Then we stage a few casual outings. Nothing dramatic—coffee shop, bookstore, a late-night convenience store run. Something that says, ‘We’re close, but we’re trying to keep it private.’ Dispatch won’t even need a heads-up; they follow him constantly already.”

Zoey could practically see it: blurry photos, clickbait headlines, fans dissecting her expression frame-by-frame. Every movement she made mirrored against his. Every smile compared. Every silence overanalyzed.

Her career flashed through her mind—every sacrifice, every sleepless night, every moment she’d told herself it was worth it.

Is this what she had been building toward?

Using her heart like a prop?

Letting strangers decide what her love life should look like?

Her chest felt tight.

Not painful.

Just… wrong.

Like someone had reached inside her and shifted things around.

She didn’t know why the idea hit her so hard—she’d done scripted flirting on variety shows before, played into jokes, smiled through fanservice. But this wasn’t thirty seconds of banter on a stage. This was weeks. Months. A whole constructed narrative.

Zoey blinked hard, trying to bring the room back into focus. For a moment, everything looked warped—Celine across from her, Rumi sitting close beside her, Mira silent and rigid at the edge of the couch like she was bracing for impact.

She could feel her heartbeat in her palms. In her throat.

In her teeth.

“Zoey?” Celine asked, voice soft now. “It’s entirely up to you.”

Was it?

Was it really?

Her career was tied to the group. The group was tied to the company. The company was tied to numbers, metrics, momentum. And right now, ZoRen was all three of those things.

She felt like she was standing at the edge of a cliff with a blindfold on.

“Can I… think on it?” Her voice came out smaller than she meant it to—thin around the edges, almost fragile.

Celine nodded immediately. “Of course. Just don’t wait too long. We need to strike while the buzz is fresh.”

That phrase—strike while the buzz is fresh—twisted in Zoey’s chest.

Had she become a buzz?

A trend?

Someone to package neatly and pair off with whoever made the most sense for quarterly engagement reports?

Zoey nodded, even though her head was spinning.

Rumi cleared her throat softly, breaking the tension. “So… that’s all for now?”

“Yes,” Celine said, rising from the couch and gathering her tablet. “Schedules remain the same. Just let me know your answer once you’re certain.”

Zoey nodded again, but her mind wasn’t in the room anymore.

It was somewhere else entirely.

Somewhere tangled.

Somewhere confusing.

After that, Zoey spent most of her time in the one place she always retreated to when her nerves started to vibrate under her skin.

The home studio in the penthouse.

It wasn’t even a question—her body moved there on autopilot, like muscle memory. The second she walked in, the familiar scent of old guitar cases and warm electronics greeted her. The room was dim, just the soft LED strip along the desk glowing like a safe little corner of the world.

She dropped into the rolling chair with a groan that came from somewhere deep in her chest. Her notebook was already open from last night, messy scribbles and half-formed lyrics bleeding into each other. She flipped to a fresh page and started writing, hoping the act alone would settle her heartbeat.

It didn’t.

She hummed lightly, more out of habit than intention, and opened her laptop. A blank project file stared back at her. She pulled in a fresh track and started tapping out a simple rhythm—something soft, something steady.

A kick drum… too heavy.

She deleted it.

A softer one… better.

She added a snare, adjusted the reverb, layered in a faint electric guitar riff that she warped until it sounded distant, nostalgic, like a memory she wasn’t ready to remember.

Beat-making usually calmed her. Usually pulled everything into focus.

But today her mind kept drifting—back to Celine’s voice, back to the weight of the decision pressed against the inside of her ribs, back to the feeling of drowning in a career she loved but didn’t always recognize.

She shook her head, trying to push the thought away, and started scribbling lyrics again.

You’re sunlight on a bad day
Warm hands pulling me out of my head
Someone I didn’t know I needed—
Someone I don’t want to lose…

Zoey frowned.

Who the hell was she writing about?

She tapped her pen against the page, reading the lyrics again, slower this time. None of it was intentional—she wasn’t thinking about anyone specifically. She wasn’t writing with a person in mind.

And yet…it felt like someone was there between the lines.

She bit her lip, groaned, and snapped the notebook shut. Great. Perfect. She couldn’t even escape the chaos in her own music.

Her stomach growled loudly in the quiet room.

“Okay, fine,” she muttered to herself. “Food first, existential crisis later.”

She stood, stretched her arms above her head, and made her way toward the kitchen.

She didn’t expect anyone to be awake.

But there Mira was—leaning over the island, plate of leftover takeout in front of her, scrolling on her phone with her hair falling messily over one shoulder. She looked… better. Softer. Less tightly wound than earlier.

Mira’s head lifted the second Zoey stepped fully into the kitchen, like she’d recognized her footsteps from across the apartment.

“Hey,” Zoey greeted, offering a small smile.

“Hi.” Mira’s reply came softer than usual. Not cold… just worn-out around the edges.

Zoey made a beeline for the fridge, already tasting the leftover noodles she’d been daydreaming about for the past hour. Her hand had barely brushed the door when a voice cut in.

“Oh, uh—there’s no more,” Mira said, speaking around a mouthful of noodles. “There wasn’t much left and I took the last of it.”

Zoey froze, hand still on the fridge door.

Of course. Of course when she could practically taste the noodles, Mira had inhaled them like a vacuum with chopsticks.

She let out a dramatic groan. “You’re kidding me.”

Mira blinked innocently. “You can have some of mine if you want.”

That was all Zoey needed to hear.

She slid over to Mira without hesitation, bumping her hip into hers just enough to make Mira huff, then shamelessly reached over to steal the chopsticks right out of her hand. She twirled a mess of noodles and shoved them into her mouth with zero dignity.

Mira stared at her flatly. “I said some, not all of it, biggie.”

Zoey glared at her around her overstuffed cheeks. “You said there wasn’t a lot left but look at your plate. You’re the real biggie.” The words came out garbled and muffled, which only made Mira roll her eyes harder.

“Whatever,” Mira snorted. “You can have the rest then, if you’re so hungry.”

Zoey paused—mid-chew, mid-breath—looking at her with her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk and eyes wide.

“…Really?”

Mira propped her chin in her palm, letting out a small, amused huff. “Sure.”

A warm flutter moved through Zoey’s chest before she could shove it down.

She polished off the remaining noodles without a single complaint—partly because they were incredible, partly because it was hard to complain with her mouth full. A pleased groan slipped out as she thumped her fists lightly against the counter, overwhelmed by how good they were.

“These are so good,” she managed between bites. “What place was this from again?”

Silence answered her.

Zoey glanced up… and found Mira staring. Not the casual kind of staring—this was focused, lingering, like she’d lost track of the entire room for a minute.

One brow lifted. Hellooo? Earth to Mira?

That snapped her out of it. Mira blinked fast, like waking from a dream. “It’s—uh—Street Side Bites. Pretty sure. You’d have to ask Rumi, she memorizes every food place we go to.”

“She’s weird like that.”

The words left both of them at the exact same moment.

They froze.

And then the two of them burst into quiet laughter—not loud, not wild, just the soft, shared kind that settled warmly between them. The kind Zoey tried very hard not to analyze.

Mira pressed a finger to her lips. “Shh. Keep it down or she’ll wake up and give us a lecture.”

Zoey muffled her giggles behind her hand. “True."

They laughed a little more, quieter this time, and Zoey went back to finishing the rest of the noodles. She paused, looking at the last scoop of noodles.

Then at Mira.

Without thinking, Zoey held the sticks out toward her.

Mira blinked, caught off guard.

Zoey pushed the food a little closer. “Eat it. Before I change my mind and finish it myself.”

A smirk tugged at Mira’s mouth as she muttered, “Biggie…” just loud enough for Zoey to hear. Zoey responded with a light kick under the counter.

Before taking the bite, Mira reached out and steadied Zoey’s hand, fingers curling over her knuckles for a brief moment—warm, certain, grounding. Then she leaned in, closing the small distance, and took the bite without breaking eye contact.

A low, electric shiver ran straight down Zoey’s spine.

It made her breath catch before she could hide it.

“Thanks,” Mira hummed, turning away to rinse the plate. Zoey watched her in silence, suddenly aware of how warm her own face felt. And her chest. And basically her entire existence.

She should’ve gone back to the studio. Her hunger was satisfied, crisis averted, stress temporarily numbed.

But she didn’t want to leave.

Not yet.

Not when the room felt like this—quiet and soft and easy.

Not when Mira was right there, close but not too close, the kind of closeness Zoey could pretend didn’t mean anything.

She leaned back against the counter and pulled out her phone, glancing up as Mira dried her hands on a towel. Zoey’s heart stuttered—just a little—when Mira didn’t walk away. Instead, she stepped right beside her, shoulder brushing Zoey’s just faintly as she checked her phone too.

Zoey smiled to herself, staring down at her screen like it held secrets she couldn’t risk revealing.

She scrolled through her saved videos until she found the one she always showed people when she needed them to smile.

“Turtle time,” she whispered, nudging Mira with her elbow.

Mira didn’t question it—didn’t even look confused. She simply leaned closer, their arms pressing together as she tilted her head to watch the tiny turtle struggling to climb up a little plastic slide.

A tiny snort escaped Mira.

Zoey’s heart lifted.

She showed her another one.

And another.

Mira watched every single one, expression softening with each clip until Zoey could feel the warmth radiating off her like a slow sunrise.

Zoey didn’t know how long they stood there.

She just knew she didn’t want it to end.

Not tonight.

Not when this felt like the first time in days her heartbeat had slowed for something other than fear.

Something warm.

Something good.

Something she wasn’t ready to name.

Zoey’s buns were slipping again—she could feel the strands loosening around her neck—so she stopped scrolling.

“Hold on,” she murmured, fingers lifting toward her hair. “My buns are dying.”

Before she could touch them, Mira said quietly:

“I got it.”

Zoey froze for half a second. She turned around slowly, handing over the fallen hair ties like they were precious evidence.

Mira stepped closer behind her—close enough that Zoey felt the soft brush of her breath against the back of her ear.

Then Mira’s hands slid into her hair.

First, she gently loosened what was left of the buns, tugging pins out one by one. Zoey’s hair tumbled down in a soft fall over her shoulders, warm from being coiled up all day.

And then Mira’s fingers combed through it.

Slowly.

Tenderly.

Like she was untangling something delicate.

Zoey’s knees nearly gave out.

Her eyes fluttered shut without permission. Her breath got stuck halfway between her chest and her throat. Every place Mira touched felt like a spark—warm, electric, unfamiliar.

Mira scratched lightly at her scalp with her nails.

Zoey melted. Actually melted.

A small, involuntary noise slipped out of her—half sigh, half whimper.

“Thank you…” she managed, voice embarrassingly soft.

Mira hummed, like she wasn’t even fazed. Or maybe like she liked hearing Zoey like that.

The silence was warm. Too warm. So warm Zoey panicked a little and did the first thing her brain always defaulted to when she didn’t know what to do:

She blurted out a turtle fact.

“You know sea turtles… um… actually cry,” she said suddenly.

Mira paused for half a second in her hair. “Cry?”

“Yeah,” Zoey said quickly. “Not like—sad crying. They cry salt. Like their body makes these little tear streams so they can survive in the ocean. It’s actually—uh—super adorable.”

Mira went back to brushing her fingers through Zoey’s hair.

“Right… I remember you telling me that,” she murmured. “You said they make those tears because the ocean has too much salt for their kidneys. And they have to flush it out somehow.”

Zoey’s breath hitched.

“You… remember that?”

“Mm.” Mira secured the first bun. “You told me during that all-nighter mixing session. You were rambling about wanting a turtle as a pet.”

Zoey swallowed hard.

Her cheeks warmed.

She didn’t remember half the things she ranted that night.

But Mira did.

“Hair tie,” she murmured, tapping her wrist.

Zoey handed it over shakily.

“Okay,” Mira said after a moment.

“All done.”

Zoey touched the buns—they were perfect. Mira always made them perfect. “Thanks,” she whispered, turning around.

And Mira was already looking at her. Softly.

That look—God. It made her chest hurt, in the good, terrifying kind of way.

Before she could think too much, she offered her hands.

Mira blinked but took them—because she always took whatever Zoey offered, even when she didn’t understand why.

Zoey stepped closer and pulled her into a hug.

This time, Mira didn’t hesitate even a second.

She folded into her—completely—arms sliding around Zoey’s waist, hands fisting into the back of her hoodie like she needed the hold. Her forehead tucked into the crook of Zoey’s neck, warm breath fanning over her skin.

And Mira… trembled.

Just a little.

Like she’d been holding herself together too tightly all day.

Zoey’s arms wrapped around her, instinctive, protective, soft.

I like this.

The thought pressed against her ribs painfully.

I like this a lot.

And Mira… God, Mira smelled so good. Warm and cinnamony and tired and familiar. Zoey breathed her in without meaning to.

But then—

Mira jolted.

And deadpanned:

“…Did you just grab my butt?”

Zoey snorted into her shoulder. “Whoops. Force of habit.”

Mira pulled back slowly, squinting at her like she’d just discovered an alien. "Force of habit? What are you—grabbing random people’s butts as a hobby now?”

Zoey grinned shamelessly. “It’s a greeting in America.”

Mira stared at her. Flat. Judgmental. Fond, but trying hard to hide it.

“Yeah,” she said dryly. “I’m not falling for that one again.”

“Ugh, darn,” Zoey muttered. “Thought I had you that time.”

She reached for another hug—because somehow, one wasn’t enough—

But Mira huffed, trying to pry her arms off. “No. Let me go. Butt grabber.”

“Let me give you another hug!” Zoey insisted, reaching for her again.

“No—” Mira twisted away, but Zoey was faster and grabbed her sleeve.

“Come here, coward!”

“Absolutely not!”

They fell into that familiar rhythm—play-wrestling like they always did.

Zoey lunged; Mira dodged. Mira shoved; Zoey hooked her arm around her waist. They were both laughing, breathless, stumbling around the kitchen like two idiots who forgot they were adults.

“Oh my god—stop—!” Mira wheezed, trying to wriggle free.

“Never!” Zoey cackled, clinging on like a koala.

Mira tried to sweep her leg. Zoey sidestepped. Mira tried to grab her wrists—Zoey jerked her hands away. A full, stupid little war in the kitchen at one a.m.

Eventually Mira got fed up, let out a determined grunt, and—

“Ah—!”

Suddenly Zoey’s back hit the counter.

Softly.

But firmly.

Mira pinned her there by the wrists, arms raised above her head, leaning in close enough that Zoey could feel every exhale against her cheek.

They were both giggling at first.

Until they weren’t.

Zoey’s laughter faded the moment she really looked at Mira.

Her flushed cheeks.

Her parted lips.

The little pant in her breathing.

The muscle in her jaw ticking as she steadied her hold.

Oh.

Why did that make Zoey’s stomach flip?

Why was her heart beating this fast?

“Got you,” Zoey breathed out, even though Mira was definitely the one with the upper hand.

Mira’s eyes flickered to her mouth before she muttered back, voice low:

“Yeah. You did.”

Zoey felt that in her knees.

The air thickened.

Their bodies were too close—way too close—and Zoey suddenly realized she could count the tiny gold flecks in Mira’s irises if she leaned in half an inch.

And she… kind of wanted to.

Her gaze dropped—uncontrollably—to Mira’s lips.

Soft.

Pink.

So close.

A warmth pooled in Zoey’s chest, spreading outward, curling into her throat.

Why do I want to kiss her.

Why—why am I thinking about that.

What is happening.

Mira inhaled sharply like she felt that shift too.

Zoey’s breath hitched.

Then—

Mira blinked hard, like snapping out of a trance, and immediately stepped back.

“Sorry,” she said quickly, releasing Zoey’s wrists like they were too hot to hold.

Zoey nodded, rubbing her wrists even though they didn’t hurt.

What the hell was that.

What the actual hell was that.

Her heart wouldn’t slow down. It was embarrassing, really—she felt like a live wire sparking randomly.

“Uh… Zo?”

Zoey looked up.

Mira stood a few feet away, but not far enough to hide the nervousness tightening her shoulders. Her hands kept shifting—crossing, uncrossing, gripping the hem of her hoodie.

Her voice was small.

Mira never spoke small.

“I… uhm.” Mira swallowed, eyes doing a weird dance around the room, then landing on Zoey again. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Zoey straightened.

Her chest tightened—not in a bad way. Just…expectant.

Hopeful?

Anxious?

God, she didn’t know.

“Okay,” Zoey said softly. “Tell me.”

Mira hesitated.

She looked at Zoey like she wanted to say it—really wanted to—but couldn’t make the words leave her mouth.

Her lips parted.

Closed.

Parted again.

Her throat worked as she swallowed.

And her eyes—God—her eyes were so soft Zoey felt something inside her clench painfully.

“I…” Mira whispered.

Zoey held her breath.

She waited.

And waited.

And watched Mira crumble.

Mira shook her head sharply. “Never mind. It’s not important.”

Zoey’s brows furrowed. “Mira—”

“No, really. It’s dumb.” Mira’s voice went thin. “I’ll… tell you another time.”

Zoey blinked, a weird ache blooming under her ribs. “Are you sure?”

Mira nodded, but she couldn’t hide the defeated slump of her shoulders.

“Yeah. I’m… gonna go to sleep.”

“Oh. Okay.” Zoey tried to smile. “Goodnight.”

Mira managed a tiny half-smile. It didn’t reach her eyes.

A beat later, she slipped out of the kitchen—tighter, wound up even more than before. Like holding everything in was starting to hurt.

Zoey didn’t move.

She stayed braced against the counter, palms tingling, pulse thudding too hard in her chest. Heat flooded her face, the kind that felt like she was running a full-on fever.

She had almost kissed Mira.

Worse—she had wanted to.

The moment replayed itself without mercy: Mira’s flushed cheeks, the warm brush of her breath, the way her gaze dropped to Zoey’s lips first. And Zoey leaning in—

“What the hell,” she whispered, voice cracking as she buried her face in both hands.

No.

Absolutely not.

This wasn’t—

She couldn’t—

She didn’t—

She liked Mira.

The words slammed into her chest with the force of a truck.

She liked Mira.

Her knees gave out and she slid down against the cabinet until she hit the floor, legs folding beneath her like she was short-circuiting.

“No, no, no…” she muttered, dragging her hands down her face. “There’s just no way. Absolutely not. I cannot—That’s Mira. That’s Mira.”

She let out a wheezy laugh that was definitely not sane.

Great. Fantastic. This was so, so bad.

Zoey pressed her palm to her chest, feeling her heart thundering like it was trying to escape.

And the worst part?

It didn’t feel wrong.

It felt… warm.

And terrifying.

And inevitable.

And she hated it.

And she wanted it.

And that made it so much worse.

She groaned, burying her face in her knees.

“Oh god, what am I supposed to do? I can’t… I can’t like her. She’s my best friend. She’s—she’s Mira.”

Her voice cracked again.

“This makes everything ten times more complicated. What am I gonna do? This can’t—this just can’t—”

She was cooked.

Actually cooked.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing her feelings to evaporate, but all she saw was Mira’s face inches from hers, that soft, shaky expression she’d never seen before. The way she almost said something. The way it almost felt like—

Nope.

Absolutely not going there.

She forced herself to breathe, even though her lungs felt too small, too tight, too full—like there wasn’t enough air in the whole kitchen to get a single steady breath.

This couldn’t be happening.

She couldn’t like Mira.

She wasn’t allowed to like Mira.

Because if she did—if she even entertained that thought for more than a second—everything they had would collapse.

Rumi would notice.

Their dynamic would shift.

Mira would pull away.

Zoey would mess something up—say something stupid—want too much—
and suddenly the three of them wouldn’t fit together anymore.

She would ruin it.

She would ruin everything.

A sharp, panicked breath scraped out of her chest.

“No,” she whispered into her knees. “I can’t… I can’t like her. It’s not gonna work. It can’t. It won’t. I’ll screw it up. I always do.”

Her thoughts spiraled faster.

Liking Mira meant wanting more.

Wanting more meant risking everything. And risking everything meant losing Mira—and losing Mira wasn’t an option.

So the feelings had to go.

Right now.

Immediately.

She needed to shut it down—burn it out—bury it so deep she wouldn’t even remember what it felt like to almost kiss her best friend in the middle of their stupid midnight kitchen.

Something to stop her heart from doing whatever stupid hopeful thing it was doing inside her ribs.

Her hand fumbled blindly for her phone.

She shouldn’t do this.

She absolutely shouldn’t.

But her brain was already reaching, scrambling for the nuclear option—the fastest, bluntest distraction she could grab.

Something to remind her she didn’t want Mira.

Couldn’t want her.

Shouldn’t.

Her fingers were already typing.

This’ll fix it.

This’ll stop it.

This will make the feelings go away.

This is better than ruining everything.

She hit send before she could talk herself down.

The phone slipped from her shaking fingers and clattered onto the tile. Zoey didn’t even look at it. She just leaned her head back against the cabinet, throat tight, eyes burning, heart thudding like it wanted out.

Zoey to Celine — 1:24 AM:
I’ll do it.

“And the next thing you do is add the flour,” Zoey murmured, glancing over at Soren with a bright, camera-ready grin.

“Got it,” he said, tipping the bowl and bumping her shoulder on purpose—easy, playful, natural.

Zoey bumped him back.

Then she flicked a dusting of flour onto the tip of his nose. “You got a little something on your face there, bud.”

“Oh yeah?” Soren leaned in close. “Where?”

The camera zoomed in right on their faces—Zoey’s smile softening as she reached up and brushed her thumb across his cheek. Sweet. Familiar. Like they’d done this a hundred times.

The chat was already exploding.

Edits being made in real time.

Tags trending.

Zoey and Soren.

ZoRen.

Perfect chemistry.

So cute omg.

Mira’s throat tightened.

She stared down at the Twitter clip, knuckles going white around her phone.

“Don’t torture yourself,” Rumi muttered, gently reaching over to tap the screen dark

“Seriously.”

Mira didn’t protest when Rumi slid the phone out of her hands—didn’t even look up.

Rumi sighed softly. “Mira…”

“I’m fine.”

The words fell out flat.

Cold.

Unbelievable.

Rumi frowned, eyes searching her. “Mir—”

“I’m going on a run.” Her voice cracked on the last word, but she pretended not to notice. She grabbed her hoodie from the hook, already moving. “Don’t wait up.”

“Mira—”

But she was already out the door.

—

The night air hit her like ice.

She took off running—no warmup, no breath check, no plan. She just needed distance. From the penthouse. From the clip. From the nauseating twist in her stomach.

From Zoey.

The trail was dark, surrounded by trees, the kind no one else bothered with at this hour. Good. She didn’t want to be seen. Didn’t want to pretend she wasn’t falling apart.

Her feet pounded against the dirt path.

Steady breaths.

Pump your arms.

Move your legs.

Don’t think.

But her brain kept looping.

Zoey smiling at him like that.

Zoey letting him touch her face.

Zoey saying yes.

Of course Zoey said yes.

Zoey always did what was best for the team.

For the group.

For everyone but herself.

And Mira had almost—almost—made it worse that night in the kitchen.

Her breath staggered.

If she’d confessed…

If she’d said I love you instead of choking on it…

If she’d just taken the risk—

Would things be different?

Would Zoey have pulled her closer instead of letting go?

Would Zoey have still agreed to fake-date some guy for publicity?

Or—

Or maybe Zoey would’ve pushed away.

Rejected her.

Been uncomfortable.

Avoided her.

Maybe this was better.

Safer.

Cleaner.

But god, it hurt.

Mira pushed harder, legs burning, chest tight. The cold ripped through her lungs as she ran—faster, faster, like she could outrun the ache clawing up her ribs.

But she couldn’t.

She kept seeing Zoey’s hands on him.

Zoey laughing with him.

Zoey choosing him.

Choosing him over—

Her vision blurred.

No.

Keep running.

Keep moving.

She tripped on uneven ground, her knees buckling as she skidded to a stop. Hands on the dirt. Breath ripping out of her.

She stayed on her knees, shoulders shaking.

Tears spilled before she could wipe them away.

Hot.

Embarrassing.

Endless.

It felt stupid to cry.

Weak.

Pathetic.

But it hurt.

God, it hurt so bad she could barely hold herself upright.

A harsh, ugly sob ripped out of her as she pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes.

She wasn’t crying because Zoey was fake-dating Soren.

She was crying because she would never know—

Never know what could’ve happened if she’d said something sooner.

If she’d been braver.

If she’d let herself want anything at all.

She curled forward and let herself shake.

Sobbing for what could’ve been.

Sobbing for what she lost before she ever had a chance to try.

Sobbing because she loved Zoey in a way that made her chest ache and her lungs burn and her legs give out.

And Zoey wasn’t hers.

Never had been.

Never would be.

No matter how hard Mira ran.

Zoey Park @ZoeyParkHuntrix
Sometimes the best things in life don’t feel planned at all. <3

[Attached photo: Two coffee cups on a cafe table—one with Soren’s signature doodle on the sleeve]

Zoey giggled under her breath, the kind of soft, private laugh that made her shoulders curl inward. She shut off her phone before she could get sucked into refreshing the mentions again.

When she looked up, she met not one but two reflections in the wall-length studio mirror.

Mira and Rumi were staring at her.

Both completely unreadable.

“Oh—sorry,” Zoey muttered quickly, flustered as she bent forward for her hamstring stretch. “Didn’t mean to be loud.”

She tried to play it off. Just another scheduled cryptic post. Just another nudge for the PR train she’d agreed to board. She should feel proud, honestly—things were going well. Better than expected. The numbers were good, the engagement insane, her management thrilled.

And she was happy.

She was.

…Right?

But when she snuck a glance sideways, Mira looked—

God.

Zoey didn’t even have a word for it.

Drained wasn’t enough.

Sad wasn’t quite it, either. It was like something was pressing down hard on her—like Mira was standing under ten feet of water and pretending she could still breathe fine.

Zoey’s stomach pulled uncomfortably.

Rumi didn’t look much better. She was normally bright in the mornings—talkative, energetic, already planning boba runs. But today… she looked wired and exhausted all at once, stress buzzing around her like static. Her eyes were rimmed in faint shadows.

Zoey swallowed.

Did something happen?

Did she miss something?

Did she do something?

A tiny pinch of anxiety tugged at her ribs, but before she could say anything, Rumi clapped loudly and turned on the music.

“Alright,” Rumi said, voice a little tight. “Let’s run it from the top.”

Zoey stepped into position automatically—muscle memory taking over.

But as the first beat hit, her mind wasn’t on the choreography.

It kept drifting back to the look in Mira’s eyes.

Something heavy.

Something she didn’t understand.

Something she suddenly really, really wanted to understand.

Even though she wasn’t sure she was ready for whatever the answer might be.

They finished rehearsals right on time but the victory didn’t feel like one. All three of them were drenched in sweat, movements slow and heavy as they practically peeled themselves off the studio floor.

Zoey collapsed first, unscrewing her water bottle with trembling hands before chugging half of it in one breath.

“I think my soul just left my body,” she wheezed.

Rumi, ever responsible despite looking like she could pass out standing, unlocked her phone. “We’ve got vocal practice at three, short break after that, then the fitting for the show tomorrow.”

Zoey groaned dramatically, letting her head flop fully backward onto the floor. “Can we put like… a twenty-minute nap in there? Or a medically induced coma? I’m flexible.”

Rumi chuckled—weakly, but it was something. “If we nap, we’ll fall behind.”

“Workaholic Rumi strikes again,” Zoey announced in a faux-documentary voice, then turned her head toward Mira, grinning. “Isn’t that right, Mir?”

Mira didn’t look up. She just wiped the sweat from her face with the tiny towel draped over her shoulder.

“…Mm,” she hummed.

Barely a syllable.

Not even close to one of her usual teasing jabs.

Zoey’s smile faltered.

Mira never gives half-answers.

She pushes, banters, bites back. That’s how she is.

So why did it feel like someone turned the brightness down on her?

Zoey just decided to ignore it and stretched her legs out, forcing a breath in.

The atmosphere today felt wrong—like she’d walked into a room mid-argument she wasn’t supposed to hear. Except this wasn’t just today. It had been like this for days. Weeks. Mira quiet. Rumi tense. Something thick and unspoken hanging over the three of them like fog.

And every time Zoey tried to name the feeling twisting in her stomach, her brain shoved it away with something like panic.

It’s not you.

Don’t be dramatic.

You’re imagining things.

But another part whispered—

What if it is you?

What if you broke something without realizing it?

Zoey exhaled hard, needing a distraction before she spiraled. Something mindless. Something safe.

She pulled out her phone.

A notification lit up her screen: tagged in a comment on Soren’s latest post.

Her pulse jumped without meaning to.

She clicked it open.

SorenMoon @SorenMoonOfficial
“zis it weird if turtles keep showing up everywhere I go? 🐢 feels like the universe is trying to say something.”

Zoey’s heart did a dumb little flip.

Her grin spread embarrassingly fast across her face.

She scrolled down.

@loliloop34 • 3m
OH HE’S NOT SUBTLE ANYMORE.

@superstar04 • 6m
TURTLES??? sir be serious.

@Zoren#1fan• 2m
ZOREN CONFIRMED BY THE UNIVERSE ITSELF

@Zoeisthebest4eve • 7m
Someone check on zoey rn 💀

@walawawoowo • 3m
If this isn’t about her I will eat my shoe.

Zoey tried not to laugh too loudly. She failed.

“He’s being ridiculous,” she giggled, cheeks warm as she held her phone up. “But also—look! He’s talking about turtles. You know that’s about me, right? Because I keep ranting about them? And the whole thing from the show? It’s so cute, I can’t—”

Rumi peeked up and gave a small smile. “That’s… um. That’s sweet.”

Zoey didn’t notice how her voice pitched strangely at the end.

She turned toward Mira, expecting some sarcastic comment, maybe something like “Turtles. So romantic.”

But Mira was staring at the floor.

Like she hadn’t heard a single word.

“Mira?” Zoey asked softly.

“Hm?” Mira blinked, too fast, and nodded. “Yeah. Cute.”

Only then did Zoey realize her own smile didn’t reach her eyes anymore.

Something felt wrong. So wrong.

And she had absolutely no idea how to fix it.

It continued like that for a few more weeks.

Mira shut down around her—gradually, quietly, almost politely.

At first it was subtle: shorter answers, a little less eye contact, a laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

But then it turned into something sharper, colder. A distance Mira didn’t even bother disguising unless there was a camera pointed at them.

On talk shows?

Mira was perfect—nudging Zoey’s knee under the table, bumping shoulders, smirking like they were in on a private joke. The chemistry was still there, timed and effortless. The audience loved it.

But the second they stepped offstage…

It was like a switch flipped.

Mira’s expression went blank. Her body turned toward Rumi, never Zoey. She disappeared the moment they got home—either to her room or out the door entirely. No teasing. No late-night chatter. No lingering touches.

Nothing.

And Zoey hated it.

Hated how it hollowed her out.

Hated how every time Mira walked past her without a glance, it felt like she’d done something awful she couldn’t remember doing.

One night, Zoey was asleep when a distant sound tugged her awake.

At first it was faint—like someone choking back a breath.

Then it sharpened into harsh, wet retching.

Zoey jolted upright.

The bathroom light was on, casting a thin glow under her door. Another broken sob echoed.

Her heart lurched.

She shoved off her blankets, feet stumbling across the cold floor as she hurried to the bathroom. She pushed the door open.

Mira was on the floor, braced over the toilet, her entire body trembling. Her hair stuck to her sweaty forehead, her face blotchy and tear-streaked. Rumi knelt behind her, gently holding her hair up, rubbing her back in slow, steady circles.

“Is she okay?” Zoey whispered, voice cracking with panic she didn’t bother to hide.

Rumi looked over her shoulder, giving Zoey a tired smile—except it wasn’t really a smile. It was a grimace pretending to be one.

“She’s fine,” Rumi murmured softly. “She just… ate something bad.”

Zoey blinked. Her chest tightened.

She pointed toward the hall, already halfway turning. “I can get her some water, or her stomach meds, or—”

“It’s okay,” Rumi said quickly. Too quickly. “I’ve got it.”

Zoey froze, hand curling around the doorframe. She hated the idea of leaving. "Are you sure..?"

Everything in her screamed to stay, to help, to fix it—

But Rumi’s voice was gentle yet firm. “I’m sure, Zoey. You can go back to bed. Sorry for waking you.”

Zoey lingered in the doorway for a full second, two, three. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. Part of her expected Mira to look up—to meet her eyes and silently ask her to stay.

But Mira didn’t look at her.

Didn’t even seem to notice she was there.

So Zoey swallowed the lump in her throat and forced her feet to move.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.”

She padded back to her room, each step feeling heavier than the last. She crawled into her bed, curling into her pink teddy—the one that smelled faintly like cherries—and held it tight.

But she couldn’t shake it.

The image of Mira on the bathroom floor wouldn’t leave her.

How small she looked.

How her shoulders shook with each uneven breath.

How her face was red and splotchy in a way Zoey had never seen—not from sickness. From crying.

Zoey knew Mira. She’d seen her puke before—

But this?

This was different.

Painful.

Raw.

Wrong.

And Zoey couldn’t stop replaying it, over and over, a loop that stabbed deeper every time.

Something was happening to Mira.

Something big.

Something she wasn’t telling Zoey.

And the worst part—the part twisting in Zoey’s gut like a knife—was the creeping fear that whatever was hurting Mira…

Was because of her.

She buried her face into the teddy, squeezing it tighter as her stomach churned.

She hated not being able to do anything.

Hated being shut out.

Hated feeling useless.

Hated that the person she used to run to… now ran from her.

Nothing really changed after that night.

Celine gave Zoey more dates with Soren, more staged outings, more playful interactions to post.
More likes. More comments. More edits. More dopamine.

Honestly, it was the only thing keeping her from crashing face-first into the growing ache inside her chest. Every heart emoji, every “OMG THEY'RE SO CUTE” acted like a tiny bandage over a wound that never closed.

Everything felt tight.

Schedules were tight.

The three of them felt tight—stretched, brittle.

It was like all of Huntrix was living on the verge of snapping.

And eventually, Zoey did.

It happened after rehearsal. One of the harder ones, the kind that demanded perfection and silence and grinding your teeth through pain because cameras were coming next week.

Zoey felt it building the whole time—a buzzing under her skin, a breath she couldn’t pull in all the way. Her chest kept cinching tighter with every eight-count.

By the final run-through, she felt like a wire stretched to the point of breaking.

“I—I need a minute,” she managed to whisper, stumbling offstage.

She found an empty practice room, closed the door behind her, and slid down the wall. The tears hit immediately, hot and overwhelming. Her lungs couldn’t decide whether to breathe fast or not at all.

Zoey curled into herself, hands shaking hard enough to hurt.

She tried to stay quiet—she didn’t want anyone seeing her like this, didn’t want to be a problem, didn’t want to make things worse—but her gasps echoed off the mirrors anyway.

It wasn’t long before the door creaked open.

Zoey flinched, wiping her face with her sleeve even though she knew it did nothing.

And then—

Mira.

Out of all people, Mira.

Mira, who barely looked at her anymore.

Mira, who pulled away every time Zoey tried to come close.

But Mira was kneeling beside her in an instant, gathering Zoey into her arms like she’d been waiting for this moment. Like muscle memory took over. Like she couldn’t not hold her.

“It’s okay,” Mira murmured, voice low and steady, one hand stroking Zoey’s hair. “I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

Zoey’s breath hitched as the familiarity crashed over her. God, she missed this.

Missed Mira’s warmth, the way she always managed to ground her, the way her heartbeat felt like shelter.

She pressed her face into Mira’s shoulder and sobbed, quietly but helplessly.

And Mira held her through all of it.

“You’re okay,” Mira whispered against her hair. “I’m not going anywhere…”

A sharp, painful laugh escaped her, broken at the edges. “But you are though…”

Mira stiffened.

Zoey gripped her tighter, like she was afraid she’d dissolve if she let go. Her breathing picked up again, panicked. “After this you’ll go back to pretending I don’t exist.”

“Zoey—” Mira’s voice cracked. “That's not, I—”

“It’s fine,” Zoey cut in, swallowing hard. She didn’t want anger. She didn’t even want answers. She just… wanted this moment to stay. “Just let me hold onto you a little longer. Please.”

Mira didn’t hesitate. She wrapped both arms around her, pulling Zoey so close their foreheads touched.

“…Okay,” Mira whispered, voice trembling.

Zoey melted into her. The room, the stress, the weeks of confusion all faded into the steady thump of Mira’s heartbeat. And for the first time in weeks, Zoey felt like she could breathe.

After that day, Mira was… different.

Not back to normal—no.

Still off. Still hiding something. Still moving with a quiet, heavy sadness Zoey couldn’t decipher.

But she wasn’t cold anymore.

Mira lingered again. She sat beside Zoey on the couch. She laughed at Zoey’s jokes—not the big laugh, but the tiny ones she tried to hide. She offered to practice with her. She didn’t disappear after schedules.

Zoey didn’t know why Mira suddenly stopped pushing her away, but if it meant getting her best friend back—she’d take it.

Even if she didn’t understand it.

Even if she still felt like something was wrong beneath the surface.

At least Mira wasn’t shutting her out completely anymore.

And the rest?

Well… Soren helped distract her.

He sent her sweet messages. Compliments she didn’t know how to accept without blushing. Inside jokes from their staged dates that somehow became real jokes between them.

Sometimes Zoey caught herself smiling at her phone like an idiot.

He was handsome. Kind. Easy to talk to. Easy to be around.

And lately… he’d been hinting at something more.

Asking what she thought about making things official.

About maybe trying it for real.

Zoey wasn’t opposed.

They fit.

They made sense together.

And maybe—maybe if she tried…

Maybe if she let herself fall into something warm and uncomplicated…

Maybe those other feelings—the ones that hurt, that scared her, the ones that kept circling around Mira like a shadow—

Maybe those feelings would finally go away.

Maybe they’d stop ruining everything.

Maybe she’d stop wanting someone she couldn’t have.

“He’s taking me out on an actual date,” Zoey said, her cheek resting comfortably against Mira’s shoulder. Mira’s hand was tracing slow circles on Zoey’s crossed leg, warm and grounding—like always. “Like… an actual one. No cameras. No PR. Just… us.”

She heard herself rambling, but she couldn’t stop. Her chest felt fizzy with possibility. “I told him I’ve never been on a real real date before and he said he wanted to change that.”

Mira’s fingers faltered for half a second but resumed tracing. Zoey didn’t notice.

“And, like—he means it this time. He promised. He was supposed to take me out months ago, actually. But things kept coming up. His management needed him last minute, or he had to travel, or someone on his team got sick—he always tells me the craziest stuff, right? Ugh, one time it was because his stylist’s cat swallowed a shoelace—”

She laughed softly, the kind that hides a tiny ache.
She hadn’t realized how often he bailed on her until she started listing them out.
Weird.

But Mira stopped tracing altogether.

Zoey blinked and looked up—Mira was staring down at her with a furrowed brow, lips pulled tight.

“You… do know he’s lying to you, right?”

Zoey froze.

“Huh?”

Mira exhaled, hand out. “Your phone. Give it.”

Automatically—because it was Mira, and Zoey always trusted Mira—she placed her phone in her palm.

Mira started scrolling. Fast. With purpose. Zoey watched her eyes narrow, jaw tightening more and more with each message she skimmed.

Then Mira’s face settled into something frustrated.

Tired.

Sad, even.

She turned the screen toward Zoey. “He’s lying. Zoey, he’s just stringing you along.”

Zoey stared blankly for a second too long.

Then a small, stunned laugh bubbled out of her. “Wait, what? That can’t be true.”

Her chest tightened.

Her face warmed. Embarrassment? Fear? She couldn't tell.

Mira shook her head. “It is, Zo. He keeps flaking on you. Look—” She pointed to the dates and gaps and half-hearted replies. “He’s not busy. He’s not stuck with management. He’s just not showing up.”

Zoey blinked again.

“That’s not true. No way.”

“It is.” Mira’s voice dropped lower, firmer. “His management is probably sick of babysitting this fake dating push. You two aren’t riding the hype anymore.”

Zoey recoiled like she’d been slapped.

Not true.

“He wants to go on a real date with me,” Zoey insisted, hugging her own legs so she wouldn’t shake. “He said so.”

“And I’m telling you he doesn’t!” Mira snapped—not loud, but sharp enough to cut.

Zoey stared at her.

Mira ran a hand down her face, frustrated. “He’s going to stand you up again. Zoey, he is. I know people like him—”

“No,” Zoey cut her off. “He’s not like that.”

“He is like that.” Mira groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Zoey, what are you not understanding?”

The tone. The exasperation. The assumption that she knew better.

Something inside Zoey cracked.

“What are you not understanding?” Zoey shot back, heat prickling behind her eyes. “You don’t know him like I do, Mira. Why would I just take your word for it?”

Mira flinched—but it was subtle. A small twitch near her jaw.

“I don’t know,” she said, voice quieter but tense. “Maybe because you trust me?”

Zoey laughed—a tiny, humorless sound.

Trust.

Right.

Funny.

“Trust you?” Zoey echoed, staring at her like she was seeing someone she didn’t recognize. “You want to talk about trust?”

Mira stiffened.

The words came out bitter before Zoey could stop them.

But they’d been festering.

And they finally spilled.

“You’ve been acting weird—cold—ever since that game show. You barely speak to me unless there’s a camera on. You won’t tell me why. You don’t trust me with anything anymore.” Her voice shook. “So don’t throw trust in my face like I’m the one who broke it.”

Mira opened her mouth—but Zoey wasn’t done.

“Or should I go get Rumi?” Zoey added, sharper than she meant to be. “Since I’m apparently not good enough for you anymore.”

That one hit.

She could see it in the way Mira’s shoulders drew up, like she was bracing for a blow.

“Don’t bring Rumi into this,” Mira snapped. “She has nothing to do with it.”

“Doesn’t she?” Zoey shot back. “Because the way you two have been acting lately—whispering behind my back, shutting down whenever I walk into the room—sure feels like she has everything to do with it.”

“That’s not—Zoey, no—”

“I’m not stupid,” Zoey said, voice cracking. “You think I didn’t notice?”

Silence.

Heavy.

Sharp.

Suffocating.

Zoey felt her throat tighten.

Why was Mira fighting her on this?

Why did it feel like every time Zoey reached out, Mira pulled further away?

Why did Mira care so much about Soren going on a date with her if it was supposed to be nothing?

And why—

why did this hurt so much?

Her chest squeezed painfully.

She swallowed hard.

“You don’t get to talk about trust,” Zoey whispered, voice trembling. “Not when I’ve been begging—quietly, stupidly—for you to trust me too.”

Mira’s jaw clenched and unclenched—like she was physically holding herself back. “You’re right,” she finally said, voice low, shaky. “That’s not fair of me. But trust me on this.”

Her eyes lifted, wounded and earnest. “I don’t want to see you get hurt by some stupid—”

“Get hurt?” Zoey barked, the laugh ripping out of her like something breaking. “Get hurt? Mira, you’re the one that’s been hurting me!”

The words came faster than her brain could catch them.

“And he isn’t stupid—stop trying to project some narrative on him that you made up because you’re being miserable over something you won’t tell me!”

The second the sentence left her mouth, she saw it—all the air sucked out of Mira’s lungs.

Mira froze.

Like Zoey had just stabbed her through the ribs.

Her whole body went tense—tight—coiled like she might snap or shatter.

Zoey’s heart plummeted straight to her feet.

Fuck.

Shit.

No.

No no no she didn’t mean it like that—

“Mira, I didn’t—”

But Mira was already moving. Standing. Turning away. One hand pressing to her forehead, the other dragging down her face as she took slow, shaky breaths.

Zoey knew that posture too well.

That was Mira trying not to break.

And Zoey caused it.

She stood, guilt twisting like a knife in her stomach. “Mira, wait, I didn’t mean—”

Mira spun around so sharply Zoey actually flinched.

“You wanna know how I’m feeling?” Mira snapped, voice raw enough to scrape. “Huh? How I actually feel?”

Zoey swallowed. Her chest hurt. She didn’t know if she nodded or just stared.

“Maybe I’m miserable,” Mira continued, voice cracking, “because I have to hear you talk about him twenty-four fucking seven like he’s the most amazing person on earth.”

Zoey’s mouth opened. No sound came out.

“Newsflash,” Mira hissed, “nobody cares that he liked your post or that he said ‘this song reminded me of you.’ We get it. We so fucking get it, okay?”

Zoey felt her throat close up.

Her vision got blurry.

Her chest shook.

Mira wasn’t yelling—but she might as well have screamed. Her voice was thick with something big. Bigger than anger.

Something like heartbreak.

Mira sucked in a breath that rattled. Her hands were shaking in her hair. But she wasn’t done.

“We don’t care that you flaunt your little fake relationship everywhere,” she said, voice low, trembling. “It’s not even real. He doesn’t like you. He never will.”

Zoey felt those words hit her like a slap—hot, humiliating, too deep.

Something inside her snapped.

Heat flashed behind her eyes as she surged forward, stomping toward Mira with her finger pointed right at her chest.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Zoey demanded, voice pitching up. “Like actually, Mira. What the hell is your problem?”

Mira scoffed—loud, frustrated, bitter. “What’s your problem? Ever since you started your stupid PR stunt, you act like he created—God, I don’t know—the oxygen you breathe!”

Zoey’s chest heaved.

Her pulse hammered.

Her hands shook.

“You sound delusional,” Mira spat.

Zoey let out a bitter laugh.

Something cracked and ugly bubbled up.

“I know what this is,” Zoey whispered, voice shaking with both rage and hurt. “I know exactly what this is.”

“You’re jealous.”

Mira’s entire body went still.

Just slightly.

But Zoey noticed.

She always noticed Mira.

Zoey stepped closer, finger pressing to Mira’s chest—not hard, but sharp enough to make a point.

“Yeah,” Zoey breathed, tears burning her eyes. “You’re jealous.”

Her voice dropped, trembling but vicious in its clarity.

“You’re jealous that someone actually wants me.”

Mira’s breath hitched—but Zoey kept going, unable to stop the spiral.

“You’re jealous that someone likes me—really likes me—and isn’t afraid to show it.”

Mira’s eyes went wide. Red. Shiny.

“And you’re jealous,” Zoey whispered, the words trembling out of her like she’d ripped them from somewhere fragile inside, “that I might like him back.”

Her breath broke—just a thin, shaky exhale, but it felt like it rattled everything inside her.

And she wasn’t done.

“Yeah,” Zoey choked, “you’re jealous that we might actually have something and you’re—”

Her voice cracked hard. “You’re just being… an evil, bitter witch or—I don’t even know anymore!”

The second the words left her mouth, Zoey felt them hit the air like glass shattering. And part of her wanted to snatch them back, gather the pieces before they cut both of them open. But another part of her—small, hurting, exhausted—wanted them to cut. Wanted Mira to feel something. Anything.

Mira’s head snapped up. “What the fuck are you even talking about right now?” She threw her hands up, voice raw and fraying. “And I’m not jealous of your sad little shit show you call a relationship! Who would be jealous of that? He doesn’t want you, Zoey. What do you not see? You’re so deep in your own head, thinking it’s all pixies and magic dust, that you’re too blind to see he’s using you. Using you for our fame.”

That one landed.

Right in Zoey’s sternum.

Sharp. Precise. Cruel.

Using you.

He doesn’t want you.

Blind.

Her brain didn’t even have time to form a thought—just a single, cold drop of fear hitting her spine like ice water.

What was she trying to say?

That Zoey was… stupid?

Desperate?

Easy?

Or worse—

That no one will ever actually love her unless they get something out of it?

Zoey didn’t know when her tears started. One second everything was hot, and loud, and spinning—

And the next, everything went blurry.

She swiped at her face aggressively, but more tears spilled over, faster, making her breath hitch embarrassingly out loud.

Mira flinched like she’d been hit. She hesitated a beat too long before stepping forward, hand reaching out, voice finally softening.

“Zoey, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t touch me.”

It came out too fast. Too sharp. Too small.

She stepped back again, wiping her face like she could scrub away the humiliation. “I don’t care about your stupid sorry.”

Mira’s mouth snapped shut, lips trembling just barely.

A broken little sound escaped Zoey—she didn’t even know if it was a sob or a laugh or something between. Everything in her chest hurt. Everything felt too bright, too exposed.

“You’re my best friend,” Zoey whispered, voice shredded. “You’re supposed to be happy for me.” Her breath hitched painfully. “Why aren’t you happy for me?!”

Mira swallowed hard, jaw trembling, eyes glued anywhere except Zoey’s face.

Zoey stepped forward, fingers shaking as she grabbed Mira’s shirt in her fist—because if she didn’t hold on to something she might fall apart completely.

“Tell me!” she begged—actually, begged. “I want to know, Mira.”

Mira’s jaw clenched, tighter and tighter.

“Look at me,” Zoey whispered. “Look at me, Mira.”

Slowly—too slowly—Mira did. Her eyes were glassy, rimmed red, like she’d been fighting tears for a long time before Zoey even noticed.

“Why can’t you be happy for me?” Zoey begged again. “Why?”

Mira’s eyes darted away, then back. Something collapsed in her posture.

She gently pried Zoey’s hand off her shirt, holding it carefully—almost reverently.

“I can’t,” she said, voice breaking on the word.

“Why can’t you?!”

Mira’s lips parted. And for a split second—one tiny, fragile second—Zoey swore she saw the real answer rise up in her eyes.

Because it isn’t me.

Because it should’ve been me.

Because I’m in love with you.

But Mira swallowed it—forced it down hard enough Zoey almost heard it.

“I can’t be happy for you—”

She didn’t finish.

The moment hung between them, trembling.

But then—

Footsteps.

Soft. Slow. Shuffling.

Rumi stepped into the living room, hair a mess, still half-asleep. “What the hell are you two yelling about…?”

Zoey felt her face burn, shame crawling up her throat.

They both looked at Rumi.

Mira straightened instantly. Shoulders up. Walls up. Everything up.

Her voice was flat. Dead-flat.

“Have fun on your date.”

And she brushed past both Zoey and Rumi without looking back.

Zoey’s heart splintered at the sound of her footsteps retreating.

Because it wasn’t anger that filled the room after Mira left.

It wasn’t jealousy.

It wasn’t even bitterness.

It was grief.

A heavy, suffocating grief that Zoey didn’t understand yet—but hurt like hell anyway.

She didn’t even remember closing her bedroom door after that.

Zoey just remembered the way her legs finally gave out the second she was alone.

She slipped into bed like she was trying to disappear into it, pulling the covers up and curling herself small—too small—like if she folded tight enough maybe the ache in her chest would stop gnawing her from the inside.

She cried.

God, she cried.

Cried until her throat burned raw.

Cried until her face felt swollen.

Cried until her breaths came in ugly, stuttering gasps she couldn’t control no matter how hard she tried.

She didn’t even know what she was crying about anymore—

Mira’s words?

The fight?

The way Mira looked at her before walking out?

The way her heart felt like someone had reached in and twisted it, hard?

Probably all of it.

“Stupid Mira,” Zoey whispered to no one, voice hoarse. “Stupid feelings.”

She knew throwing it was petty—childish even—but her body moved before her brain did. She grabbed the pink bear Mira had given her and hurled it off her bed, watching it bounce across the floor and land face-down like it was in trouble.

Good.

Let it be in trouble.

She didn’t want to look at it. Didn’t want reminders. Didn’t want anything that tugged at the part of her that hurt the most.

But after a while… when the tears finally slowed… and her body started trembling with that empty, hollow kind of sadness… the lonely kind—

Her resolve cracked.

She hated how instinctive it felt—to reach for something comforting.

Even if it came from the person who caused the ache.

Zoey slid out of bed on shaky legs and picked up the bear.

It was soft and pink and smelled faintly like Mira’s laundry detergent—the one she pretended she didn’t borrow but absolutely did.

She pressed it to her chest, crawling back into bed and curling around it. A small, pathetic sniff escaped her. She squeezed it tighter.

Then—

Something pressed against her ribs.

Her brows knit together. She shifted the bear, feeling around the seams until her fingertips brushed something hard inside.

What the…?

She pressed it—and flinched when a tiny static click sounded, followed by—

“Uhm… they told me I have to put a voice thing in here… but I don’t really know what to say.”

Zoey froze.

The bear spoke again—no, Mira did—her voice warm and awkward in the dark.

“…Happy birthday, Zoey. You make everything better just by existing.”

Another tiny pause.

Much quieter, like she hadn’t meant to say it at all:

“…and I love you. Way more than I should.”

There was a pause—then a soft, embarrassed groan.

“No homo, of course. This is embarrassing so I’m not going to tell you there’s a voice note thingy. You have to find it yourself. And… happy birthday again.”

The recording ended with a tiny click.

Zoey just stared at the bear in her hands.

Her tears didn’t explode back to life this time—they just slipped quietly, silently, down her cheeks, soaking into the bear’s fur as she curled tighter around it.

She was too overwhelmed to handle what any of it meant.

Too hurt to think about Mira’s voice saying.

Too raw to unravel what that was supposed to mean now, after everything.

So she just held the bear and cried until exhaustion finally dragged her under.

Zoey stood in front of her mirror, staring at her reflection like she was trying to convince it to smile properly.

“Just a little makeup,” she murmured to herself. “Nothing crazy.”

Her voice sounded steadier than she felt.

She dabbed concealer under her eyes, tried not to notice how puffy they were. Applied mascara. A swipe of lip gloss. She tugged her hair gently, fluffing it until it looked like she’d actually slept.

When she stepped back, she actually did look… nice. Pretty. Date material.

And her stomach fluttered, because she was finally—finally—going on a real date. A real one. Not staged. Not PR.

Not pretend.

Her smile softened… then slowly wavered.

Because Mira’s words floated through her head again, uninvited.

He doesn’t want you.

He’s using you.

He’s going to stand you up.

Zoey swallowed, the doubt prickling like needles under her skin.

She picked up her phone before the fear could settle deeper.

Zoey – 2:35 PM
Hey, just checking if we’re still on at 3 right?

The response came immediately—too immediately.

Ren 💙 – 2:35 PM
Yep! Can’t wait to see you. :) <33

Zoey smiled to herself, relief loosening her chest.

See? Mira’s wrong.

She has to be.

He wouldn’t lie. He wouldn’t do that to me.

She locked her phone, inhaled deeply, and forced her shoulders back.

She was going on a date.

And nothing Mira said could ruin that.

Zoey tugged the navy sweater over her head, smoothing the fabric over her torso until it fell just right. She paired it with khaki pants—~~the ones Mira once said made her look “weirdly cute but in a hot way~~”—and clean white shoes. Her favorite brown crossbody bag finished the outfit.

She looked… nice.

Like someone worth taking on a date.

A small flicker of warmth lit in her chest.

When she stepped out of her room, she spotted Rumi curled on the couch, scrolling on her phone. Her patterns were a muted wash of grey and purple—stressed, tired, maybe trying not to think too loudly.

Mira wasn’t there.

Which shouldn’t have mattered.

But the empty space where she should be somehow felt louder than anything else.

“Rumi, I’m heading out,” Zoey called, tightening her grip on her bag strap.

Rumi perked up immediately, offering a warm, gentle smile. “Have fun.”

Zoey smiled back—a little too big to hide the nerves—and gave a cheesy thumbs-up.

She turned to leave.

But stopped.

A question gathered thick on her tongue—something like, Do I look okay? Do you think he’ll show? Is Mira here?

Something small and stupid and fragile.

Zoey swallowed it.

“Nevermind,” she whispered to herself, stepping into the hall and letting the door shut behind her before she changed her mind.

The elevator ride down felt too fast.

Her heart felt too loud.

The walk to the date spot wasn’t far, but the air felt heavy. Clouds hung low, like they were waiting for the perfect moment to break open. Zoey tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, glancing up at the sky.

“Please don’t rain… not today…”

By the time she reached the location, she had to blink.

It was a fun house—bright colors, lights shaped like stars, the kind of place that felt like a good memory waiting to happen.

She smiled.

This felt right.

Felt sweet.

Hopeful.

She texted Soren immediately.

Zoey — 2:59 PM
Im here ! :)
Lmk when you're here.

She took a seat on a little bench outside, swinging her legs lightly. It was fine. He’d be a few minutes late. People were late all the time.

Five minutes passed.

She checked her phone.

Nothing.

She typed:

Zoey — 3:05 PM
How far out are you?

And then, because she didn’t want to seem annoying but she also couldn’t stop herself:

Zoey — 3:15 PM
Are you almost here??

Her leg bounced uncontrollably.

Her heart was buzzing with a kind of desperate optimism—He’s coming. He said he would. He promised.

Ten more minutes went by.

Her optimism started to fray at the edges.

She texted again.

Zoey — 3:28 PM
Soren??
Are you still coming?
Please answer :(

By the twenty-minute mark her chest felt tight.

By the forty-minute mark her stomach felt sick.

She dialed him.

Once.

Twice.

Four times.

Straight to voicemail.

Every. Single. Time.

“It’s okay. He’s probably… busy. Or lost. Or stuck in traffic,” she whispered, trying to steady her breath. “It’s fine. People run late. It’s fine.”

A cold drop hit her cheek.

She blinked up.

The sky split open into a soft drizzle, raindrops flickering across her sweater until the navy fabric darkened.

Great. Perfect timing.

Zoey hugged her bag close to her chest, curling into herself. Her sleeves dampened. Her hair frizzed at the ends.

Her phone lit up with her own desperate messages:

Zoey — 3:15 PM
Are you almost here??

Zoey — 3:28 PM
Soren?? Please answer :(

Zoey — 4:01 PM
Hello??

She stared at the empty text thread until her vision blurred and she had to blink the water away—she wasn’t even sure if it was rain or tears anymore.

Finally—

Her phone buzzed.

Her heart leapt so hard it hurt.

Ren 💙 — 4:07 PM
Sorry! I was in the meeting but I forgot to tell you that I couldn't make it.
Lets reschedule another time.
Hope you weren't waiting too long sorry ! 😭

Zoey’s breath stuttered, like someone had wrapped a fist around her lungs.

Forgot.

He forgot to tell her.

An hour.

She waited an hour.

In the rain.

Her fingers shook around her phone.

She read the message again. And again.

Her chest felt like it was collapsing in slow motion.

She made it maybe half a block before her knees buckled.

Zoey sank right onto the sidewalk, ignoring the way cold water soaked through her pants immediately. She just needed… one second. One second where the world stopped spinning and her heart stopped trying to crawl up her throat.

Her breath shook, catching in her chest.

Focus.

Distraction.

Something stupid.

Something small.

She fumbled shakily for her phone with numb fingers and pulled up her saved videos—turtle compilations, the cute ones Rumi always sent when Zoey was stressed.

Tiny turtles walking.

Turtles wearing hats.

Turtles eating strawberries.

She clicked one.

But before the video even started playing, something else caught her eye.

A new post.

Soren’s account.

Tagged with a bunch of heart emojis.

Zoey’s thumb hesitated over the screen.

Something inside her stomach twisted.

Hard.

She clicked.

And the picture loaded slowly—painfully—like the universe was giving her time to brace herself.

Soren.

Smiling like sunshine.

And beside him… a girl. Pretty. Stylish. Their hands forming a heart together.

Zoey’s breath shattered right out of her lungs.

Her lip trembled so violently she bit down on it, hard, to try and stop the sound clawing up her throat. The rain blurred the screen, but she couldn’t tell if it was the weather or her vision swimming.

Probably both.

“…Oh,” she managed, voice barely a whisper.

She was so stupid.

So unbelievably stupid.

Mira was right.

And she pushed her away for him.

A sob tore out of her chest before she could stop it. Tears streamed faster than the rain, mixing together until her cheeks were cold and raw.

She didn’t want to move.

Didn’t want to walk home.

Didn’t want to see anyone.

Especially Mira.

No way in hell she was calling Mira.

Her hands shook violently as she scrolled to Rumi’s contact instead.

The phone rang.

And rang.

And then—

“Hello?” Rumi answered, warm and calm as ever.

Zoey’s voice came out wrecked. “Hey… can you—can you come get me?”

Instant tension filled Rumi’s tone. “Yeah, of course. What happened? I thought you wouldn’t be back for another hour?”

Zoey swallowed a sob. “Don’t… don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Alright. Send me your location.”

She did.

Hung up.

Then dropped her phone onto the wet pavement, curling her arms around her knees and pressing her forehead down hard.

She felt so small.

So stupid.

So used.

The rain kept falling, heavier now, drumming on her back, seeping into her clothes until she was soaked through. She sat there anyway. She deserved it. Every freezing drop felt like the universe telling her, This is what happens when you ignore the people who actually love you.

Her shoulders shook.

Her breath hitched.

Her fingers were numb.

She didn’t know how long she stayed there. Time felt like it dissolved into rainwater around her.

Then—footsteps.

Soft, fast, familiar.

The rain suddenly stopped hitting her.

Zoey’s breath stilled.

She looked up.

Expecting Rumi.

But it wasn’t Rumi.

Mira stood there, holding Zoey’s own pink umbrella over her head, the one Zoey forgot to bring. Mira’s hair was damp from the run over, cheeks flushed with worry. Her brows pulled together in a mix of panic and something that looked painfully close to heartbreak.

Zoey braced herself for it.

For the lecture.

For the “I told you so.”

For the anger she thought she deserved.

But instead, Mira sank down to her knees right in front of her in a puddle, not caring that she was getting drenched.

Her voice was soft—too soft. “Are you okay?”

The gentleness of it broke her.

Zoey didn’t even think.

She surged forward, collapsing into Mira’s chest with a choked, gutted sob. Mira caught her instantly—arms wrapping around her so firmly Zoey felt her ribs press into Mira’s warmth.

Mira held her like something precious. Like something she’d run across the city to get to. Like something she couldn’t bear to lose.

Zoey’s words were muffled, trembling into Mira’s sweater. “I’m sorry—I’m so sorry, Mira—”

Mira’s hand came up to cradle the back of her head, her thumb rubbing slow, protective circles. “Don’t apologize, Zo.” Her voice was steady, even though Zoey could feel her breathing unevenly. “Don’t. None of this is your fault.”

Zoey sobbed harder.

Mira tightened her hold. “Hey… hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. I’m right here.”

Her voice cracked just a little.

But it was enough.

Zoey clutched onto her like she was the only safe thing left in the world.

Eventually Mira pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes—rain dripping from her lashes, worry etched deep into her features.

“Come on,” she murmured, brushing a wet strand of hair from Zoey’s face with gentle fingers. “Let’s get you out of the rain.”

She followed Mira to the car waiting by the curb, sliding inside with shaking hands, her chest still tight. Mira climbed in after her, shutting the door and shutting out the storm.

For the first time all night, Zoey felt like she could breathe.

The soft click of the bedroom door made Mira’s shoulders tense.

A moment later, Rumi padded into the living room and sank onto the couch beside her. Mira didn’t look up—she just pressed her palms into her knees, trying to keep her breath steady.

“I gave her some tea,” Rumi whispered. “She… seems okay for now.”

Mira nodded, though her body betrayed her. She could still feel Zoey shaking in her arms, the way she’d held on like she was trying not to split apart. Okay wasn’t the right word. Holding together by threads felt closer.

Silence settled between them—heavy and uncomfortable.

Rumi’s stare burned into the side of her head.

Mira ignored it.

Tried to.

Failed.

She finally turned.

Rumi had one brow raised—judgmental, knowing, annoyingly perceptive.

“Well?” she said. “Go get her, tiger.”

Mira blinked. “What?”

Rumi let out a slow exhale, as if Mira were the densest person alive. “This is your chance to talk to her. To actually tell her.”

Mira’s stomach dropped.

Tell her?

Tell Zoey?

Her throat tightened instantly.

Now? After she’d just been emotionally drop-kicked into the concrete?

She scoffed, shaking her head. “After all of that? Rumi, no. I can’t. That’s—too soon.” Her voice cracked despite her trying to sound casual. “You didn’t see her when I got there. You didn’t—” She swallowed hard. “She looked so small. And she looked at me like… like she expected me to be disappointed in her.”

The memory hit again—Zoey drenched, shivering, trying so hard not to cry.

Mira’s heart clenched so tightly it physically hurt.

“I didn’t want her to go on that stupid date,” she whispered. “But not like that. Not like she had to learn the hard way that he didn’t deserve her.”

Rumi softened for a moment, nodding. “Yeah. I know.”

But then she inhaled, long and frustrated, and Mira knew that look. It was the look Rumi gave right before she said something her therapist told her not to bottle up anymore.

“Mira,” she said slowly, “are you really going to leave her with a bad taste in her mouth… or are you going to do something about it?”

Mira’s head snapped toward her. “What?”

Rumi didn’t hesitate. She put her hands on Mira’s shoulders—gentle at first, then gripping harder and harder until Mira felt her heels lift. Rumi hauled her upright like she weighed nothing.

“Go,” Rumi ordered.

Mira stood there frozen, muscles locked, heart in her throat. She couldn’t even get her lips to form a word.

This was insane.

She couldn’t just walk in there.

She couldn’t—Zoey was hurting, she needed space, she didn’t need Mira’s mess dropped on her on top of everything else—

“It’s now or never,” Rumi said, her voice low and firm. “This is probably the only time the universe is going to hand you a second chance. Use it.”

Mira swallowed.

Her chest felt too tight. Her hands were cold. Her thoughts were a hurricane—guilt, hope, fear, longing, panic, all tangled together in a knot she couldn’t untie.

She opened her mouth.

Nothing came out.

Rumi rolled her eyes, grabbed Mira’s shoulders again, and shoved her lightly toward the hallway. “Go. Before I take her out. I swear to god, Mira, I will do it.”

Mira stumbled a step.

Her heart pounded.

Her legs felt like jelly.

But she didn’t turn back.

She couldn’t.

Now or never.

Mira bit her lip and pressed a shaky hand to her chest. Her heart wasn’t beating normally—it was slamming, too fast, too loud, like someone was pounding on the inside of her ribs trying to escape.

She tried to breathe.

In.

Out.

It didn’t help.

Just go.

Just do it.

Just—move.

Her brain kept repeating it and her body kept refusing.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered under her breath. “Nike should sponsor me after this. ‘Just do it’ my ass.”

The joke cut a sliver of tension, but the rest stayed—coiled tight at the base of her throat.

Her feet carried her down the hall before her mind even agreed. And suddenly she was standing at Zoey’s door.

Her hand hovered, trembling.

If she knocked, everything changed.

If she walked in, there was no undoing it.

Before she could think long enough to talk herself out of it, she knocked.

A beat.

Then Zoey’s voice, small and tired:

“Come in.”

Mira inhaled deeply.

Don’t be a coward.

Not tonight.

Not with her.

She turned the knob and stepped inside.

Zoey sat propped up in bed in soft pajamas, hair slightly mussed, surrounded by a fortress of plushies like she was trying to physically protect herself from the world. Her eyes were a little puffy—not enough to be obvious, but enough that Mira noticed instantly.

Zoey blinked up at her.

Mira swallowed. Hard.

“…Hey.”

“Hi.”

The room felt too quiet. Mira’s heartbeat sounded too loud.
She moved closer, clearing her throat.

“Mind if I… sit?”

Zoey blinked again, not really answering—but not rejecting her either.

So Mira perched on the edge of the bed, rubbing her palms against her thighs because they wouldn’t stop sweating.

Her pulse thundered.

Now or never.

She turned toward Zoey fully.

“Are you…” Her voice cracked. She tried again. “Are you still up for a date?”

Zoey froze.

Then, softly: “What?”

Mira forced herself not to flinch. “Let me take you on a date. A real one. A proper one.”

Zoey’s brows pinched together. “A date… with you?”

Mira nodded, throat tight.

“Why?” Zoey whispered.

Mira’s breath stuttered.

“Because I want to,” she said honestly. “Because you deserve someone who shows up. Someone who doesn’t leave you waiting in the rain. Someone who doesn’t make you question your worth.”

She paused, searching for courage somewhere in her ribs.

“And because I’m sorry. For everything I’ve done and everything I didn’t say sooner.”

Zoey stared at her, unreadable.

Mira swallowed again. Her next words were softer—almost fragile.

“And because…”

Her gaze flickered down, then back up. “…I don’t want the last person you’re thinking about tonight to be him.”

Silence.

Zoey’s lips parted, but nothing came out.

Panic surged in Mira’s stomach—hot, dizzying—but she forced herself to stand.

She stepped back toward the doorway before she lost the tiny bit of courage she still had.

“I’m giving you ten minutes,” she murmured, voice steadier than she felt. “If you want this—whatever this becomes—you can come with me. As friends or… not as friends. Your choice.”

Her hand tightened on the doorframe.

“If not,” she added softly, “I’ll still be here in the morning.”

She didn’t give Zoey a chance to respond—not because she didn’t want to hear it, but because she wasn’t sure she could survive an answer yet.

She stepped out, closed the door quietly, and let out the breath she’d been holding since the hallway.

Then she walked to the living room—heart pounding, hands shaking, trying not to hope too hard—

Trying not to imagine Zoey choosing her.

Rumi was still curled on the couch when Mira came in. She looked up immediately, brows raising like she already knew the answer.

“Well?” Rumi asked.

Mira stood there, hand still on the doorframe, heartbeat still doing that unhelpful stuttering thing.
She swallowed.

“Not… exactly,” she said quietly. “But I did ask her to go on a date. As friends or not.”

Rumi stared at her the way an older sibling stares at a younger one who’s almost there but still missing the point.

Then she sighed. “Okay. Great. Now go get ready for your date-as-friends-or-not.”

Mira snorted under her breath, though the sound came out thinner than she intended. Her nerves were a living thing under her skin.

“Yeah,” she muttered, turning toward her room. “I’m going.”

She closed her bedroom door behind her and leaned her back against it, exhaling shakily.

Her hands were trembling.

Not from fear—no, actually, yes, from fear. From terror. From wanting too much.

She dragged herself to her closet and started putting an outfit together.

Jeans.

Her dark leather jacket.

Boots.

Simple makeup.

Hair tied up so she didn’t have to think about Zoey’s fingers maybe accidentally brushing it.

She stood in front of the mirror.

And froze.

What if she doesn’t come out? What if she thinks I’m pitying her? What if she walks past me and goes to bed instead? What if she laughs? What if she cries again? What if I make it worse?

Her chest tightened. She pressed a palm over her sternum, feeling her heartbeat thumping against her hand like it was begging for escape.

"Get it together," she whispered to herself.

But her reflection looked unconvinced.

You waited too long.

You hurt her.

She’ll say no. And honestly? Maybe she should.

Mira blinked hard and looked away from herself.

This isn’t about whether I deserve her. It’s about showing up.

She breathed in, breathed out, and stepped out of the room.

Rumi was just leaving Zoey’s room when Mira re-entered the hallway.

She had the most obnoxiously pleased grin on her face—whispering something through the crack of Zoey’s door before shutting it gently.

Then she turned, saw Mira fully dressed, and smiled even harder.

Mira stiffened like an idiot.

Rumi walked toward her and immediately —immediately—started adjusting her jacket collar like a sports mom before a big game.

Mira swallowed. “Is she…?”

Rumi nodded, grinning. “She is. And you clean up quite nicely.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Mira muttered, cheeks warming.

Rumi brushed invisible fluff off her shoulder. “No fooling around. Be a gentleman. And I want her back by 8 PM sharp.”

Mira paused. “…Rumi. It's literally after 10.”

“Details,” Rumi waved off. “Let me have this moment. I’ve always wanted to act like an overprotective dad.”

Mira smirked despite her shaking hands. “Fine. I’ll bring her home safely.”

“Atta girl,” Rumi grinned and clamped Mira’s shoulders with a demon-strength squeeze.

Mira winced, pushing her away. “Jesus—okay—stop—are you trying to crack my spine for good luck?”

Rumi opened her mouth to say something but—

Zoey’s door clicked open.

And Mira felt the world go quiet.

Zoey stepped out slowly, almost shyly, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to take up space in the hallway.

Her outfit was simple—soft cream sweater tucked into a plaid skirt, tights, and two twin ribbons on each of her buns.

Zoey blinked up, eyes still slightly puffy from crying but brightened by gloss that caught the light.

She looked like the beginning of something Mira wasn’t sure she deserved.

Holy… she’s—Okay. Breathe. Breathe. Stop staring.

She’s just Zoey. Zoey who laughs too loud. Zoey who steals my hoodies. Zoey who—fuck, she’s so beautiful.

Rumi patted her shoulder again, whispering against her ear:

“I know she’s gorgeous, but keep it in your pants, bud.”

Mira shoved her away without looking. She couldn’t tear her eyes off Zoey.

She stepped forward, throat tight.

“You ready to go?” Mira asked, voice low, terrified it would crack.

Zoey nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah.”

Her gaze drifted over Mira’s outfit, lingering a second too long.

Mira’s heart hit the roof of her mouth.

“You’re—” she swallowed, “you’re really pretty.”

Zoey flushed. “Thanks…” she murmured, smiling shyly. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Rumi sniffled loudly behind them, wiping her eyes with exaggerated flair. “They grow up so fast.”

“Rumi, please,” Mira muttered.

But her cheeks were warm.

Her hands were sweating.

Her heartbeat was pounding like she’d been running.

And when Zoey stepped quietly to her side—

Mira felt, for the first time all day, that maybe she hadn’t ruined everything.

The night air was chilly enough that Zoey wished she wore a thicker sweater, but the cold barely registered over the nerves buzzing under her skin. She sneaked a glance sideways.

Mira was walking beside her—hands in pockets, shoulders stiff like she was trying to hold herself together. Streetlights washed over her face in soft gold, smoothing the edges of her sharp features. Zoey lingered on the curve of her jaw, the line of her throat, the way the warm light turned her into something impossibly gentle.

Then Mira’s eyes flicked toward her.

Zoey jerked her gaze forward so fast her ponytail swung. Smooth. Real smooth. Her cheeks felt like they were microwaving from the inside.

Mira cleared her throat quietly. “So…”

Zoey turned again, slower this time, and—

Oh.

Oh wow.

Mira’s cheeks were flushed. Actually flushed.

Zoey’s brain shut off for a full second—like someone unplugged her and forgot to plug her back in.

Mira looked away, her voice low and awkward in the cutest possible way. “Is this a… as-friends date or… not?”

Zoey swallowed, her eyes dropped to the sidewalk because looking at Mira directly felt too dangerous. “Not as friends,” she murmured. “Unless you were—”

“No!”

It shot out of Mira’s mouth fast and way too loud for how timid she looked. Zoey nearly laughed from how violently cute it was.

Mira tried again, quieter this time. “No. I was thinking… not as friends.” She hesitated for half a heartbeat before her hand reached out—slow, unsure, almost shy. Her fingers brushed Zoey’s.

Zoey forgot how to inhale.

Then Mira laced their fingers together.

It was over. Zoey was done for. She felt the moment spark down every nerve in her body, lighting her from the inside out.

Mira’s hand was warm—warm enough she immediately wanted to hold on forever—and she gave Zoey’s fingers a small, nervous squeeze, like she was asking a question without words.

Zoey squeezed back. Her heart thudded so hard it felt like her pulse was pushing against Mira’s palm. “Yeah,” she breathed. “I guess that’s… suitable.”

They walked like that for a moment. Zoey tried to act normal, but every brush of Mira’s thumb against her hand sent static running up her arm. She forced herself to breathe evenly, to not look like she was seconds away from passing out.

“So,” Zoey finally said, hoping her voice didn’t sound too breathless, “what’s the location of this date?”

Mira’s lips twitched. “It’s a surprise.”

“Mira…” Zoey warned, nudging her shoulder.

“Fine.” A defeated sigh. “We’re going to an arcade.”

Zoey stopped walking. Actually stopped walking. “Really?”

A hint of pride flickered across Mira’s face. “Knew you’d like that.”

Zoey lifted their joined hands in disbelief. “Like it? Hell yeah I would!” Without thinking, she sped up, tugging Mira along with her. The excited warmth bubbling in her chest outweighed the cold now. “C’mon, I want to hurry up and kick your ass in games.”

A scoff slipped out of Mira—half offended, half amused. “Kick my ass? Yeah right. Are you sure you want to walk faster just to get to your own humiliation sooner?”

“You’re all talk, Mira! You are so on.”

Despite the bickering, Mira didn’t let go of her hand. If anything, her hold tightened just slightly as they kept pace.

By the time they reached the arcade entrance, Zoey’s nerves had shifted into adrenaline and the kind of giddy excitement she usually only felt before fights. The neon lights reflected on Mira’s jacket, making her look electric, alive.

They paid—arguing in hushed voices over who got to cover it until they compromised by each slapping their cards down at the same time. The cashier looked very done with them.

They stepped inside. Music. Shouting. Bright lights. The faint smell of popcorn and electronics.

Zoey beelined toward her target.

“We’re not here for kiddy shit,” she muttered, eyes scanning quickly, “you and me on DDR. Right now.”

“No warmup?” Mira teased. “You’re really that eager to embarrass yourself?”

“I don’t need prep.” Zoey’s grin widened when she spotted the machine. “Found it!”

She grabbed Mira’s hand again—didn’t even think about it—and practically pulled her across the floor. Her pulse jumped when Mira let out a breathy laugh and didn’t resist.

Zoey swiped her card and hopped onto the pad.

She turned to Mira with a spark in her eyes. “Ready to lose?”

“I should be asking you that,” Mira said, grin sharp but eyes warm as she stepped onto her pad.

Zoey stuck her tongue out at her—then held on tight as the song started. It was fast. Stupid fast. And Mira was stupid good.

They tore through rounds like soldiers on the front lines. Five songs. Back-to-back. Mira won the first two with that irritating calmness she had when she was confident. Zoey managed to scrape back victory on the next two, mostly out of spite and stubborn footwork.

Now they were on the last round—the tiebreaker.

Zoey's legs were NOT team Zoey anymore. They were made of battery-acid-soaked noodles.

At some point during round four, Mira had shrugged off her jacket, leaving her in a tight black shirt that stuck slightly to her skin. Zoey tried very, very hard not to look at her shoulders. Or the line of her waist. Or the way her breath came fast and shallow.

She failed.

Miserably.

“Tired yet?” Mira asked, barely glancing over—like she already knew Zoey was minutes from collapsing.

Zoey sucked in a breath that felt like it scraped against her ribs. “Not at all. I am an eternal flame, baby!”

She shouldn’t have said baby. Why did she say baby? Who allowed her mouth to be connected to her brain?

Mira froze—not dramatically, but like the word hit her in the throat. Her steps faltered. and she stumbled, missing half her arrows.

Zoey’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god—YES! I win!”

She threw her hands up, then immediately braced back against the rail before her shaking legs could betray her. Her thighs felt like someone replaced her muscles with hot pancake batter.

Note to self: do NOT start a date with DDR ever again, unless you want to die.

Mira wiped her forehead with her wrist, breathing hard. “Can we eat?” Zoey groaned, feeling like every bone in her legs had liquefied.

Mira nodded. “Yeah. I think they have a ramyeon bar here.”

Zoey gasped so dramatically people turned to look. “Wait—they DO?!”

“Mhm,” Mira said, grabbing her jacket. She didn’t even get the sleeve on before Zoey grabbed her arm, practically bouncing.

“Yes! Let’s go stuff our bellies!”

They walked side by side toward the ramyeon bar tucked in the back of the arcade. It wasn’t anything special—just a corner carved out between the claw machines and the rhythm games—but the warm steam drifting through the little space hit Zoey the second they stepped in. The scent of broth, spice, and cheap dehydrated vegetables wrapped around her like a blanket she didn’t know she needed.

Her stomach growled. Loudly.

Great start.

Mira didn’t comment, but Zoey caught the small twitch at the corner of her mouth. A quiet laugh she was definitely holding in.

Zoey pretended not to notice and drifted toward the shelves. Cup after cup, stacked in neon packaging—red, green, black, gold, some with angry cartoon peppers screaming on the labels—her eyes practically sparkled. She wanted all of them. Every single one. She’d swim in ramyeon if she could.

Then she saw her one. The pink cup. The perfect balance of spicy, sweet, and salty. The one she got every time she was at places like this.

Of course it was on the top shelf.

Zoey stared up at it. Then back at Mira. Mira was already watching her, arms crossed, wearing the most obnoxiously smug expression Zoey had ever seen.

“Need something?” Mira asked, all innocent smile and evil undertone.

Zoey grumbled into her hands. “Can you get the pink one for me?”

“Of course,” Mira said sweetly—sweetly in the way a wolf probably smiled at a very doomed deer.

She reached up—

—and the cup was way higher than she expected. Even when she stood on her tiptoes, her fingers didn’t come close.

Zoey bit her lip to kill the laugh itching up her throat.

Mira tried again. And again. Each attempt more stubborn. More determined. More fruitless.

Zoey couldn’t help it. A snort escaped.

“Can’t reach it?” she teased.

Mira slowly turned her head, lips pressed in a thin line. “Point taken.”

She scanned the area, spotted a purple plastic stool, dragged it over, and stepped on it like she was preparing for war.

Zoey crossed her arms, fully entertained. Mira stood taller now, fingertips brushing the edge of the cup—

“Maybe we should just ask—”

“No, no, I almost got it,” Mira grunted, fully committed. She stretched again, standing on tiptoes on top of a very questionable stool.

Zoey hovered behind her just in case. A responsible date. A good date. A date who was absolutely not staring at the way Mira’s jacket lifted slightly when she reached up—

Focus, Zoey.

Finally, Mira managed to snag the pink cup. “Got it!” she declared victoriously.

And then—

SNAP.

Her foot went straight through the stool.

“Mira…” Zoey whispered like she was watching a wildlife documentary. Mira froze, eyes wide, balancing on one leg with the other swallowed by the stool like it was quicksand.

Mira stared at her like Zoey personally caused this.

“You’re looking at me like I did it,” Zoey sputtered, a laugh bursting out before she could stop it.

“It’s not funny—we could get in trouble…” Mira muttered, cheeks red with embarrassment.

“We…?” Zoey choked, laughing harder. Mira shot her a wounded glare and Zoey quickly corrected, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding—but you know, I’m not the one who broke their stuff…”

“Zoey.”

“Okay, okay—give me the noodles.” She took the pink cup from Mira and set it safely on a lower shelf. Then she moved right in front of her, holding her hands out. “Alright. Come down.”

Mira tried.

The stool crackled louder.
She froze like a cat scared of aluminum foil.

“Mira…” Zoey said carefully, “you’re gonna have to just—”

CRACK.

The rest of the stool gave out and Mira fell backwards—

Right into Zoey.

Zoey let out a sharp oof, arms circling instinctively around Mira’s waist as the stool gave out. Mira’s ponytail hit her right in the face—silky, warm, and absolutely everywhere.

“You just—freaking—smushed my face,” Zoey wheezed through a laugh, still half hugging her because her body hadn’t caught up to the moment yet.

Mira blinked rapidly, wide-eyed and flustered, cheeks tinged pink as she steadied herself. For someone who had literally bodyslammed her, she somehow made the whole thing look… delicate. Zoey absolutely hated how hot that was.

Stepping off the collapsed stool with careful precision, Mira’s boots clicked against the tile. Zoey rubbed her face dramatically, pretending to nurse her injuries, though the grin kept breaking through.

When Mira turned back around, she was wearing that infuriatingly amused expression—like she hadn’t just attempted accidental murder via unstable furniture.

“Are you okay?” she murmured softly, her hand coming up to cup Zoey’s cheek.

Zoey’s breath hitched.

“Your face is red.”

“Yeah, because your whole weight fell on top of me like a brick wall—ow! That hurts, don’t touch my nose.” Zoey sniffed, half whining.

Mira’s thumb immediately pulled back. “Sorry,” she murmured, and then without hesitation, she leaned in and—

Kissed the tip of Zoey’s nose.

A soft, gentle press. Barely there. Sweet. Warm.

…What. The. Hell.

Zoey froze mid-breath. Her brain full-on blue-screened. Her face wasn’t just red; it was molten.

Mira blinked, realization washing over her like a delayed tsunami. She jerked back, face turning red from the neck up. “I’m sorry! I—I didn’t mean to!”

Zoey was still trying to reboot her entire nervous system. She could still feel the phantom warmth of Mira’s lips on her skin. It replayed, slow motion, again and again, like her brain refused to let it go.

And while she was lagging, Mira kept on rambling, flustered to hell, “Really, I didn’t—I just—you know when people kiss booboos? To make it feel better? I thought—I don’t know—I wasn’t thinking—”

Zoey couldn’t stop herself. She broke into a laugh—not mocking, not teasing—just fully helpless at how adorable Mira looked trying to dig herself out of the world’s cutest hole.

She wiped her eyes. “Thanks,” she said lightly, “it feels better already.”

Mira made a soft noise that might’ve been a strangled groan.

Zoey patted her shoulder to save her from further embarrassment. “I’ll let you handle… all that,” she said, gesturing at the stool disaster. “I’m gonna go make my cup.”

She grabbed her noodles and walked off, heart still pounding so hard it felt like her ribs were shaking with each beat.

Holy shit.

Mira kissed her nose.

Her nose.

What was she supposed to do with that information? Frame it? Bury it? Enter cardiac arrest?

By the time she finished making her noodle cup and found a small table toward the back, she’d mostly convinced herself she could breathe again.

Mostly.

Then Mira walked over—still pink—carrying her own bowl, and instead of sitting across from her, she slid into the seat next to Zoey.

Right next to her.

Their shoulders brushed.

She pretended to focus on her noodles, swirling them with her chopsticks. The smell hit her first—salty, spicy, warm. Comfort in a cup.

She took her first bite—

—and let out a completely involuntary low groan.

Mira let out a soft laugh beside her—a warm, almost shy sound. “Good?”

Zoey nodded, still chewing. “Good is an understatement,” she mumbled. “This is, like… top ten best decisions of my entire life.”

A gentle nudge brushed her knee under the table. “DDR wasn’t top ten?”

A dramatic groan escaped Zoey. “DDR was top ten… top ten worst ideas I’ve ever had.”

“Oh?” Mira arched a brow. “Is that so?”

A helpless grin pushed its way onto Zoey’s face. “But I kicked your butt, so it made it better.”

Mira scoffed. “By one point.”

“A win’s a win, sweetheart.”

The word slipped out.

They both froze—only a beat—but Zoey felt it. The quiet shift. The air between them warming again, like a spark had been pressed between their palms.

Mira looked down at her bowl, hiding a smile.

Zoey slurped another bite of noodles, trying not to stare too hard at the way Mira’s lashes looked under the neon lights or how their knees kept brushing like the universe wanted her dead.

This date might actually kill her.

In the best way possible.

The date continued on for a while, long enough that Mira stopped bothering to keep track of time. They bounced from game to game, racking up points on their cards like they were on some unspoken mission. Zoey insisted on playing every shooting game in the building, and Mira watched—equal parts impressed and terrified—as Zoey absolutely demolished zombies with a gun practically twice her size.

Mira had to remind herself not to forget about going to the counter later to cash in their points. Mostly because Zoey would absolutely pick out something absurd. And partially because she kept getting distracted watching the way Zoey looked when she was focused—eyes narrowed, mouth slightly parted, brows furrowed like she was hunting for sport.

She was so caught up staring that she almost missed it—the tiny little photo booth tucked between a racing game and a change machine. Pink light, cartoon borders on the screen, cheap velvet curtain.

Her stomach flipped.

Proper dates had photos.

Evidence.

Proof it happened.

Proof she got to be here tonight—with Zoey.

“Zo,” she called, trying to sound casual.

“Hm?” Zoey hummed, still blasting zombies’ heads like it was nothing.

Mira tried again, clearing her throat. “There’s a photo booth and I was wondering if…”

She looked away, pretending to examine her nails before glancing back at Zoey. “You wanted to take some photos?”

Zoey turned so fast her character died on-screen. Then she beamed. Beamed.

“Where?!” she demanded, abandoning the gun like it offended her.

Mira chuckled—god, Zoey was too cute sometimes—and led her to the little booth.

When she pulled the curtain back, Zoey’s eyes widened.“Ohmygod it’s tiny.”

It was.

Comically tiny.

And Mira suddenly cursed every inch of her own height because the moment they stepped in, they were practically molded together—knees touching, shoulders brushing. Zoey’s thigh brushed hers every time she shifted.

Mira’s heart thumped dangerously.

Zoey sat first, tugging Mira in beside her.

Their hips pressed together.

Mira pretended she didn’t feel her soul leaving her body.

Zoey tapped the screen. “Okay, do we have a plan? A theme? Poses?”

Mira shook her head, swallowing. “Whatever you want.”

Zoey sighed dramatically. “Then I’ll tell you what to do for each one, okay?”

She said it like she was doing Mira a favor, not sending her into emotional cardiac arrest.

The timer started for the first picture.

“Okay this one’s normal,” Zoey murmured, head dipping until it rested lightly on Mira’s shoulder.

Mira almost forgot how to breathe.

The weight.

The warmth.

The way Zoey’s hair tickled her neck.

Her body registered it all at once, sparking through her chest like electricity.

Still, she mirrored Zoey, resting her own head against Zoey’s, trying for a small smile that wouldn’t give away the absolute meltdown inside her.

Snap.

The next timer began.

“Okay, silly for this one! Go!”

Zoey stuck her tongue out.

Mira panicked.

Her brain offered zero ideas except do something dumb, so she scrunched up her whole face and gave Zoey bunny ears. Zoey burst into giggles—loud, full, unfiltered—and Mira’s heart just… melted.

Snap.

Next one.

Zoey shaped a heart with her hand and pressed her cheek against Mira’s. Their faces touched—soft, warm, close.

Mira felt her pulse jump so hard she was sure Zoey could hear it.

She raised her hand, mirroring Zoey, completing the heart.

Zoey smiled—bright, warm, so close Mira could see the tiny flecks of gold in her eyes.

Snap.

Last one.

Mira didn’t even get a chance to breathe before Zoey moved.

One second, Zoey’s hand was resting on her own knee. The next, Zoey’s hand was under Mira’s chin—gentle, warm, guiding.

And then—

Zoey leaned in.

Soft lips pressed against Mira’s cheek—light, warm, lingering just long enough for Mira’s brain to stop functioning.

Mira felt her entire body lock up. Her face went red so fast her ears burned.

Snap.

Zoey pulled back, biting her lip to hide a grin, like she knew exactly what she’d done.

Mira sat frozen, brain white-noise silent except for one thought:

I am going to die in this photo booth. Right here. Right now. Cause of death: Zoey kissing me.

She stepped out of the booth on legs that felt like they were made of gelatin. Her entire face was still burning from that last picture—Zoey’s lips on her cheek, the soft press of them echoing on her skin like a brand.

Zoey hovered beside her, practically vibrating with excitement as the machine whirred. When the photos finally printed and dropped into the slot, Zoey scooped them up with a delighted little squeal.

“Oh my god—these are so cute,” Zoey giggled, handing one strip to Mira.

Mira took it slowly, holding it like it was something fragile. Something sacred.

Her eyes slid down each frame, finger brushing the glossy paper making her pulse spiked so hard she thought her veins might burst.

She could still feel it.

The kiss.

Her warmth.

The way Mira forgot how to breathe for a full three seconds.

Zoey leaned in, pointing at the last photo with a grin.

“You look so silly in this.”

Mira swallowed, her hand flying to her cheek again—like she expected Zoey’s lips to still be there.

“Yeah…” she murmured, voice embarrassingly soft. She didn’t trust it to be anything more.

Zoey, of course, didn’t notice her internal combustion. She gasped suddenly, eyes lighting up.
“Ooh! Look—a claw machine! We have to get at least one good thing outta there!”

And before Mira could gather herself, Zoey grabbed her wrist and tugged her toward the machine.
She followed, helpless—like she always was when Zoey was sparkling with excitement.

Once they got there, Mira swiped her card. Once. Twice. And again.

The claw descended, wobbled, closed around a plushie—only to drop it uselessly halfway up.

Mira grit her teeth.

Okay. Maybe that one was just unlucky.

She tried again.

And again.

Every time, the claw mocked her—closing just tight enough to give her hope, only to let everything slip away at the last second.

Zoey stood beside her, bouncing on her heels, cheering her on.

“You almost had it!”

“Ooh, that one was really close!”

“Try the left corner—no, the other left!”

Mira’s jaw locked tighter.

It wasn’t about winning.

It wasn’t even about the toy.

It was the idea—stupid, small, childish—that she wanted to give Zoey something, and she couldn’t even do that.

The claw dropped another plushie.

Mira exhaled, shoulders sinking.

Zoey placed a gentle hand on her back.

“…wanna switch?”

Mira stepped aside silently, trying to school her expression into something neutral. Something not humiliatingly disappointed.

Zoey slid her card and, of course, on the first try—because the universe apparently found this hilarious—the claw latched onto a goofy little giraffe plushie, lifted it perfectly, didn’t wobble once, and deposited it straight into the chute.

Zoey beamed, reaching down to grab it before turning to Mira.

“There.” She pressed the giraffe into Mira’s hands with a proud little flourish. “It looks just like you.”

Mira stared down at it—long neck, tiny smile, soft round eyes—and muttered under her breath, “Does not.”

“It does!” Zoey insisted, rolling her eyes dramatically before skipping off toward another game. “C’mon, long legs.”

Mira hugged the plushie against her chest before she could stop herself.

She sighed. But there was a tiny, traitorous smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

It was late enough that the streets were almost empty—just soft pools of streetlamp light and the faint hum of cars far, far away. Their hands were still linked, swinging lightly between them, and Zoey swore she could feel Mira’s pulse through their fingers.

Or maybe it was just her own—pounding way too fast for a walk home.

Mira’s leather jacket hung off Zoey’s shoulders, enormous on her but warm. Warm in a Mira way—like a hug she was still wrapped in. Mira, meanwhile, was absolutely freezing, the idiot, trying to pretend she wasn’t.

Zoey nudged her with an elbow.

“You’re sure you’re not cold?”

“Nope,” Mira said, lying so professionally she could’ve gotten paid for it.

Zoey stifled a smile into the collar of the jacket.

Silence drifted between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just… charged. A quiet that felt like it was waiting for something. Waiting for them. Waiting for Zoey to stop replaying the photobooth moment in her head on loop, because the feeling of Mira’s lips on her cheek was still there. Like it left a mark.

Finally, Mira cleared her throat.

“So,” she said lightly, but Zoey heard the tremble. “Now that the date’s over… honest peer review? How are you feeling?”

Zoey glanced over—and Mira was looking at her with this small cautious smile, like she already braced for disappointment.

Zoey’s chest tightened.

“Honestly?” Zoey said softly. “That was one of the best dates I’ve ever been on.”

Mira blinked. Just once. Slow.

Zoey laughed quietly, bumping her shoulder against Mira’s.

“I mean—okay, yeah, I can’t compare it to much since it’s my first real date, but still. Ten out of ten. Would absolutely do again.”

And that’s when it happened.

Mira looked at her like Zoey had physically reached into her chest and squeezed her heart. Her eyes went so glassy Zoey thought she might actually cry.

“You’d… want to go on another one?” Mira whispered. “With me?”

Zoey’s breath caught.

She nodded instantly. “Yeah. A hundred percent.”

Mira nodded too, but slower—like she needed a moment to download that information into her soul. Her shoulders dropped a little, tension bleeding out, and the hand holding Zoey’s tightened the slightest bit.

They walked in silence again.

For three steps.

Then Mira said it—so quietly Zoey almost missed it.

“You know… some people say the best way to end a great day is with a kiss.”

Zoey’s mind went full static.

Kiss kiss kiss oh god oh shit she wants a kiss—
Was that a hint? A test? A joke?
Did Mira actually want her to—?

Zoey’s steps faltered.

But then Mira spoke again—louder this time, voice fragile in a way Zoey had never heard.

“I’m sorry, Zoey.”

Zoey jerked her head toward her, startled.

Mira swallowed hard, gaze fixed forward, as if looking at Zoey would break her.

“I’m sorry for how I acted the last few weeks,” she said quietly. “And the truth is… I was miserable because I was jealous.”

Zoey’s stomach dropped.

Jealous?

Mira took a shaky breath and kept going—words rushing out like she’d been holding them behind her teeth for too long.

“I was jealous of Soren. Even though the relationship was fake—he still got to be with you. He got to be the person next to you, the one you smiled at, the one you took pictures with. I wanted that.”

Zoey’s throat tightened painfully.

Mira scrubbed her face with her hand, voice cracking.

“I wanted to make stupid posts about how you remind me of things. I wanted secret meet-ups that get ‘accidentally’ photographed. I wanted fans making edits of us, being happy for us. I wanted a ship name. Our ship name.”

Her breath hitched. “I wasn’t happy for you because I wish I was in his—”

Zoey didn’t think.

She moved.

One hand grabbed Mira’s jacket collar, tugging her forward, and the other cupped her jaw as Zoey pulled her into a kiss.

It wasn’t soft.

Or polite.

Or careful.

Mira froze—just for a second—then melted into it with a tiny, broken sound that nearly buckled Zoey’s knees.

When Zoey finally pulled back, Mira’s eyes were wide, tear-bright, lips parted.

Zoey breathed out, voice barely above a whisper:

“Shut up. Respectfully.”

Mira emitted the softest, stunned exhale Zoey had ever heard—like someone knocked the wind out of her in the gentlest possible way.

Zoey didn’t give her time to speak, overthink, or spiral.

She kissed her again—slower this time, deeper, grounding.

Mira’s fingers curled into Zoey’s jacket, holding her like she was something precious.

And Zoey thought, Oh. I’m done. I’m so unbelievably done for her.

Mira’s lips were soft. Too soft. The kind of soft that made Zoey wonder if her entire life up until now had been leading to this exact moment.

They fit together—perfectly, naturally—like Mira had been crafted specifically to kiss her.

Zoey pressed closer without meaning to, hands sliding instinctively to Mira’s hips. Mira gasped softly against her mouth—then kissed her harder, like she’d been starving for this. Like she was trying to memorize the shape of Zoey’s lips with her own.

Zoey felt Mira’s fingers curl into her jacket, pulling her closer, deeper, hungrier. She kissed back just as fiercely, dizzy with how right it felt—how overwhelming it was to kiss someone she actually wanted. Someone she’d secretly been aching for.

Mira tilted her head, lips parting slightly, and Zoey let out a helpless sound before she could stop it.
Heat curled up her spine.

Her knees almost gave out.

They kept kissing—again, and again—finding a rhythm, then breaking it, then finding a new one.

Mira kissed the corner of her mouth.

Zoey chased her lips again.

Mira breathed her name, almost a whimper.

Zoey felt something inside her burst open.

Zoey tried to pull back, panting, but Mira surged forward again—lips brushing hers, breath mingling, like she didn’t care if she suffocated.

“Mira—” Zoey laughed breathlessly, hands splayed against Mira’s chest as she pushed her back an inch. “I need to breathe.”

Mira finally stopped.

Barely.

She stared at Zoey, flushed from the neck up, chest rising and falling like she’d just run a marathon. Her pupils were huge. Her lips were kiss-swollen.

She looked wild.

And absolutely beautiful.

“Sorry,” Mira whispered, voice wrecked. “I just… wanted to do that for a really long time.”

Zoey’s laugh came out soft and shaky. “Seems like it.”

Mira swallowed, gaze dragging down to Zoey’s mouth again like she couldn’t help herself. “But you are a very nice k—”

“I love you,” Mira blurted.

Zoey froze.

Her mind flatlined.

Her heart stuttered so hard it almost hurt.

Mira’s face crumpled immediately. “Sorry—if that’s too soon—I just needed to say it, I’ve been wanting to tell you for so lon—”

Zoey kissed her.

Just a quick one.

Mira let out a strangled laugh, half embarrassed, half deliriously happy.

“Can I please finish my sentences?” she whispered.

“No,” Zoey said, grinning at the way Mira practically melted. “Say it again.”

Mira blinked, stunned.

“I… love you.”

Zoey’s breath caught. Her hands tightened. “Again.”

Mira leaned in, kissing her softly. “I love you.”

Another kiss. “I love you.”

Another, gentler this time. “I love you so much.”

Zoey felt her entire body buzzing—warm, tingly, overflowing.

Mira pressed one last kiss to her lips, voice trembling as she whispered:

“I love you, Zoey.”

Zoey inhaled sharply, chest tight with something too big to name—something that felt like it had been quietly blooming for months but suddenly burst open all at once.

Everything in her ached in the sweetest, stupidest, most overwhelming way.

“I love you too,” she whispered, the words trembling out of her like she was finally letting herself breathe after holding it for far too long.

For a split second, Mira froze—like her entire soul stopped to process the moment.

Then she launched herself forward.

Her arms wrapped around Zoey in a desperate, crushing embrace, like she’d been holding this in for years and her body finally had permission to collapse.

Mira buried her face into Zoey’s neck, gripping her like she was terrified Zoey might slip through her fingers.

Zoey held her just as tight. Maybe tighter. Her hands threaded into Mira’s hair, then down her back, grounding her, grounding herself.

And then—

She felt it. Warm drops. Mira’s shoulders trembling.

“Mir…?” Zoey pulled back, careful, gentle, like she was handling something precious. “Are you—baby, are you crying?”

Mira’s face was streaked with tears.

But she was smiling.

Not a small smile. A full one. The kind that scrunched her whole face, the kind Zoey always secretly adored. Her eyes were crescent moons, bright even through tears.

Zoey’s heart cracked clean open.

She cupped Mira’s cheeks, thumbs brushing the tear tracks. “Hey… hey, look at me.”

Mira leaned into her palm so quickly, so instinctively, like she’d been waiting her whole life to do it.

“It’s just…” Mira tried to speak but her voice broke into a small, helpless laugh.
“I’ve dreamed—really dreamed—of hearing you say that.” Another tear slipped down. “I’m just… I’m so happy that I don’t know what to do with it.”

Zoey’s breath caught.

She’d seen Mira fight demons without fear. She’d seen her stoic, collected, stubborn to the point of violence.

But this—this undone, trembling, utterly sincere Mira—

God, it destroyed her.

Mira loved her.

Mira had loved her.

Maybe for longer than Zoey had dared imagine.

And Zoey loved her so much she felt dizzy from it.

“Mira…” Zoey whispered, voice cracking like her heart was trying to climb up her throat.

She leaned in and kissed her—a soft, slow, trembling kiss that tasted like salt and warmth and every unspoken moment between them.

Mira made the tiniest sound—half a breath, half a smile—like the kiss physically steadied her.

Zoey brushed her tears with her thumb, slow, tender strokes. Mira’s eyes fluttered closed at the touch, leaning into it like she never wanted it to end.

They stayed there, foreheads pressed together, breathing the same cold night air. Their hands tangled. Mira’s thumb absently stroked the back of Zoey’s hand like she needed the reassurance she was real.

Finally, Zoey whispered, voice soft but certain:

“We’re gonna have so many more dates. Like—an embarrassing amount. I promise.”

Mira let out a teary, disbelieving laugh. “Yeah?”

“Oh absolutely,” Zoey said, feeling warmth spread through her chest. “I’m gonna find every cute ship edit of us.”

Mira snorted, cheeks still flushed. “Do those exist?”

“If they don’t,” Zoey grinned, “I’ll make my own. Rumi will record us. She owes me.”

Mira laughed—an actual, real laugh—and kissed Zoey again. Softer. Sweeter. Like she was memorizing the shape of her mouth.

“I love that,” Mira whispered against her lips. “I love you.”

Zoey’s eyes stung again.

“I love you too,” she breathed back.

Mira hugged her again—tight, warm, like she was finally allowed to hold the thing she’d been aching for.

And in that quiet, trembling moment, with Mira’s breath against her neck and the night settling soft around them, Zoey realized:

She wasn’t falling anymore.

She’d already fallen.

And it felt like coming home.

Notes:

Hi hi, hope you enjoy this little oneshot of the gays, got inspired by @WaryTaru artwork of it on twitter!

Link for the artwork here check it out!! <3

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