feifiefofum - i smell the stench of a mortal man

Currently: our crew is hiding out in Miyeong’s apartment while trying to track some wraiths and prepare for battle—after Rumi just straight up killed some dudes (it’s fine, Mira knows a guy who’s covering it up), she, Minji, and Miyeong have been left at home, while Mira, Zoey, and Celine went to track down a healing spirit

Zoey, for her part, is too busy peppering Celine with every possible question under the sun about healing spirits, summoning rituals, and how to determine an appropriate gift when you don't have a magpie spirit to do it for you, to really notice Mira's distraction. Not that she would likely have read that much into it regardless, considering she fully grabbed Mira's jaw once she was healed, palpating and checking mobility and generally inspecting the river's work, and apparently attributed the near heart attack it gave the taller woman to crashing adrenaline and the after-effects of magical healing rather than the natural consequence of Zoey's hands on her face.

About the fifth or sixth time Mira pulls her eyes away from Zoey, Zoey herself stops to take a breath, and Mira interjects herself into the pause, slightly anxious.

"So, he was in our heads."

"Oh you felt that too? It wasn't like when we were practicing with Rumi, not like he put anything there, more like, hmm. I was thinking about a dozen different things as usual, and the ones that were stressing me out just kind of… floated away, and I sort of heard him say I should take it easier, which is not historically a very successful piece of advice to offer me personally but it's sweet that he cares!"

"And that's… okay?"

Celine can see them both look for her eyes in the mirror, at that; the trust warms her, a little, deep in her chest where she's still unsettled from the river's claim.

Healer.

"It's not impossible for a healing spirit to do harm, but it isn't in their nature to do so intentionally. And the Han is too old and skilled for accidents. He wouldn't have intruded past your need, nor beyond your level of comfort."

You are troubled by very old wounds, Granddaughter, he had said, brushing up against the memory of—

— a single firm push, and he had flowed back out of her past like a receding tide, perfectly respectful.

Celine should feel good, right now. She does feel good, superficially. Her shoulder is loose and her hand moves on the steering wheel without pain, the twinge in her back from the too-soft mattress on the roll-out is gone, the faint arthritic ache in her left hand has faded away. But—

Healer. It can't be a mockery, it must be a message, but it doesn't make sense.

She wants… she wants to put it in front of Minji-ssi so they can pick it apart together, wants to lean into Miyeong-ssi's side on the balcony and look out over the road and hear her make fun of Celine for being too in her head until it feels small and silly and easy to put away.

She won't, of course; they have more pressing matters to put their time toward, and Celine has been handling her own problems nearly as long as the other two women in the car with her have been alive.

That said, she did take her phone with her.

Rumi runs through her basic exercises in the yard, finally able to do them properly without the wounds that—

That she had gained in Gwi-Ma’s realm hampering her movement.

The muscles of her abdomen feel strange, though, and she truly wishes that she could simply turn to Zoey and ask her to perform the wondrous sorcery of asking the internet to detail precisely what this gun had done to Rumi in the same fashion which she has explained anything Rumi has asked after, whether it be lightbulbs or paper darts.

She sighs, and drops down to try to stretch the new muscle out—only for her vision to fuzz and her head to spin.

Ugh. Rumi breathes, holding herself flat on her hands until it passes.

“Well, that looked fun,” Miyeong-nim says from the doorway.

Rumi feels her face heat slightly, but resolutely ignores the feeling as she sits up and turns around, just as she ignores the return of her lightheadedness. She’d thought it would pass more quickly than usual with the amount of tea she’d been able to drink last night and this morning, but it seems that healing would take its toll.

Weak. Always weak.

“What do you mean?” she asks, as if she could not understand the undertone of Miyeong-nim’s voice. “Do you wish to join me today?”

Miyeong-nim snorts. “I’m not Minji, but I can still tell when someone needs a water break. Why don’t you join me for that?”

Rumi hesitates. “I wasn’t… done?”

“We’ve got eggs,” she says, sing-song. Her gaze is steely, in spite of her smile.

Once someone had compared her to a guard dog at the hospital. Oh she wished. Dogs were sociable creatures that were brilliant at figuring out humans when all was said. (Dogs were useful.) No, she was a guard turtle. Turtles were reptiles and thus inherently incapable when it came to people. 

Bah - thinking you were cursed was just another way of thinking that you were special. There was a standard of behavior and Minji suffered the consequences of not managing to fulfill that standard. Then added insult to injury by bemoaning it instead of fixing it.  Minji was slow, clumsy and Sieun (and Kim Jeonghun had put up a joke poster in a staff room as a work place announcement the traitor) had more than once made a comparison to her being a boulder that they needed to keep from murdering people on the down hill. Delicacy had never came naturally - it had always come with practice and effort. And frequently a lot of scripting of the conversations in advance. (The world managed - it was no one's fault but Minji's own that she was too lazy to pick scripting and the discipline to stick to her scripts or finally fixing herself to not need them.) 

In the moment - the problem was entirely in the moment. Minji allowed herself to laugh, letting derision echo in the apartment. If she could realistically trust herself to model a normal person with accurate responses and working communicative abilities in the moment then she could allow herself the room to dream of... Minji let the thought pass out from under her fingers like a cat jumping from a hot stove. Some things were too dangerous to comprehend after all. 

Well, consequence of not putting in the work to consistently meet that standard. If she truly wanted to - she would have found a way. A way that wasn't just being useful in a field where her failures were allowed in the standard of the normal. Because the moment that stopped being true - she ended up here. Watching her mistakes chip away at the social credit she had built up until she finally grumped without meaning to and was left realizing she had just burned down yet another bridge. 

The rainy season had ended - and the drought was coming. And her turtle pond was about to dry up and remind her that she was a cranky slow thing that was easily ran over if she didn't plan ahead for not being where the wheels of all cars would be grinding down. 

Hence, why she needed to plan how to pare herself down now that her services were no longer required. Well, fold herself down. Because the effort never lasted. But Minji didn't need this to last forever - she just needed it to last long enough so she didn't burn bridges with Miyeong, Celine and the kids. 

Goals: 

- Everyone surviving the demon problem.

- Not letting her family find out or come over because they were worried about her. 

- Apologize to her coworkers families for not being there that day. 

- Do not let Miyeong talk herself out of actually trying with Celine. 

- Keeping Miyeong, Celine and the kids as part of her life. 

Which in practice meant Miyeong and Celine because Zoey was very much apt to transition to being Celine's apprentice, Rumi was in a master-apprentice chain with Celine though with a lot of individuals between them, and... no, no. 

Minji shook her head - the leeway for her taking that social risk of cracking mental jokes about that tangle of hormones was ending as soon as the others came back healed. If she thought it, she would risk her jokes leaving her mouth and... she had lost too many people in the fire. She couldn't lose more people by being a stupid, callous turtle. 

She kept refusing to learn, a turtle biting at fingers thinking they are food - Minji would cut, harm, and bite without intention of harm. Trying to point out that Zoey was missing accommodations (and given events a letter from the police department explaining that there had been highly unusual incidents was possible support to ask for leniency) and instead causing harm. 

Minji was clumsy socially at best - uncaring and callous at worst. And ... Miyeong and Rumi were going to be back soon and she was still moping about suffering the consequences of refusing to change herself. 

There were many things that Minji wanted (her mother's advice how to not need to fold herself away, Sieun's eyes to judge what she had missed, and Kim Jeonghun's steady voice telling her to breathe) but what did she need?

Her apologies for surviving to her coworker's family would have to wait until after the demon threat was over, or at least she was not an active threat to individuals around her for being demon bait. Which was also why she needed to keep her family away. (Note to self: Ask Celine to reassure family next time Halmeoni calls. Given that Minji's reassurances were no longer working.)

Miyeong had thought that there was something between Celine and Minji, or she had at least pointed to things that could be mistaken. Minji pinned her squirming conscience to glare at it - yes she enjoyed Celine and Miyeong's company greatly. That did not matter. 

Greedy gluttonous turtle. 

The two deserved, a lot, and both were wonderful. The fact that they were a good match that was mutually interested if slowly... Of course Minji found a way to spit on the gift that the world had given to her in this awful week. With the kids better there would be less cause for her and Celine to be "trading shifts" and... okay just tag Miyeong in more. Take the risk and play the match maker more blatantly. Celine was oblivious enough that even Minji could be subtle and Miyeong already knew that Minji was rooting for them. 

... She could wear Celine's sweater for the rest of the day. Miyeong would worry if she suddenly switched outfits now. But she should puts her scrubs through the wash and try to stay in her own clothes as much as possible. She was the interloper, and she needed to remember that she stood on tolerance and patience extended probably far past reason. (And if she heard her mother's voice asking: "Are you maybe catastrophizing?" from her memory - it didn't matter. She didn't know - that was the problem, had always been the problem outside of medicine where for all the inherent issues when a teenager came through the front door of the hospital stabbed, whether there was a problem wasn't one of them - and the risk of burning bridges yet again was one she couldn't take.) 

Which... that was the real problem, the one she never managed to actually fix. And this gaggle of fools, and wonderful people were too kind and would worry if she changed course too much. ... Or it was concern because of demons and changes to people's behavior. Both felt right. 

Minji had never been gentle, and kind was something she failed at. But she could do quiet. Pick up a notebook and a good pencil the next time they were out to scribble and let her fingers dance on when the others spoke. It would also help with reviewing conversations for whatever she missed, because the leeway she bought with being useful was gone. She couldn't afford mistakes, especially not long term misunderstandings. 

She would also need to be able to sleep - she didn't do the hyper social awareness for a reason. Her brain would ache, her temper would strain and somehow she managed to get even grumpier and more mean spirited. Naps were important - letting her recover and letting her slip away from people. And less time to make a mistake if she was sleeping more so...a positive? 

At last Minji stood, moving to the sink for a glass of water to fight off the stress headache already trying to form. The restrictions already felt tight, and would feel all the tighter when she needed to pretend that they were binding her chest (grief at the reminder of her impotent ability to actually fix herself) but pain... she could trust pain. Feedback, that she was actually trying. And with a bunch of demons around - anything that made things easier was suspect anyway right? (Or was the not hurting what was so terrifying, napping on Celine and Miyeong feeling like fairy food and ambrosia in warmth and safety - and the threat of not being able to survive the loss?) 

This has the expected effect of sending Minji directly to her feet, and earning Miyeong a betrayed look from Rumi in the moment before she starts sputtering promises that she is perfectly well, Minji-nim.

“Rumi,” Minji says firmly, pushing her wall of muscle directly down into a chair, “don’t lie to me. It’s rude and unhelpful.”

This is not her usual speech about how lying to nurses means they can’t help (or even the second half, usually reserved for being far away from patients, about how lying to doctors is okay if it makes them help), and Miyeong is proud of her adaptability.

Rumi is quiet a moment—Miyeong takes a quick glance away from where she’s plating the scramble to see a blush creeping over her tattooed face—before she says, “It was only as expected after such a healing. I merely need a bit more to drink.”

Minji huffs sharply. “I’m going to check your pulse—would that I had a blood pressure cuff, honestly. Have you been experiencing any other symptoms? Headache, tiredness, chest pain? Are your feet cold?”

“I… yes, they are,” Rumi says, quietly astounded. “How did you know this happens after a healing?”

Miyeong turns around again, plates in hand, to see Minji pinching the bridge of her nose.

“It’s a symptom of anemia,” she says. “Your body closed the wound, but it’s still working to replace all the blood you lost. There’s spinach in the eggs, you should eat that. I’ll make sure we get you some red meat for lunch—they’re both foods with high iron, which you need right now to help blood cell production.”

Rumi hesitates and—always so considerate—glances at Miyeong.

Sees, Miyeong is certain, the fact that her stomach just bottomed out at the idea of actually having meat in her home, especially with how much trouble she’s already had with just having other people cooking.

And—always thinking of others first—she says, “If there are other foods that will do as well, we ought not waste money on meat.”

“They won’t do ‘as well’ is the problem,” Minji sighs, taking one plate out of Miyeong’s slightly stiff hand to put it in front of Rumi. “Besides, meat isn’t quite so much of a luxury anymore.”

“I would hate to cause an issue,” Rumi hedges carefully, glancing at Miyeong, who really needs to say something, say it’s fine, say to get it—

Minji follows her gaze and frowns. “Miyeong’s a vegetarian by choice, not due to any allergies or—a militant vegan or the like. We should be fine.”

She’s right, Miyeong tries to say. Nothing comes out.

Miyeong did not stop until exhaustion crept upon her. Minji knew that, and the silence by itself had her drawing her mental picture of the other woman from where she kept the catalog in her mind. Something was wrong - and Miyeong's jaw tensing as she tried to speak, eyes darting instead of looking at Minji meant that Miyeong knew it as well. Which was when the pattern clicked. 

Oh, Minji had missed something.

Rumi is still looking at her instead of eating. Rumi understands the situation, to some degree. Doesn’t know that she’d thought she trusted Minji to cook for her, doesn’t know that she’s out of uncharted waters, doesn’t know—

Miyeong opens the bottle of hot sauce and flicks it down onto the plate she’d meant for Minji, taking a bite so the burn drowns out the bitter taste of adrenaline.

She blinks, breathes.

“I hadn’t meant to tell her of something private,” Rumi offers, her voice low and apologetic, “or to force your hand regarding it.”

“I’m fine,” Miyeong replies, keeping her voice equally low.

Rumi looks back at her, with the compassionate, disbelieving gaze of someone who’s been here before. Her dark eyes are steady, and far too perceptive.

Miyeong looks away first.

“I—“

The front door opens.

“Guess who’s back and better than ever?” Zoey crows.

“In the kitchen,” Miyeong calls back, wiping at her face even though there’s nothing there to hide, grateful still for the brief reprieve.

They won’t bring it up in front of everyone. She can find an answer before they bring it up. Some way to save face, keep everyone from having to deal with her shit, walk on eggshells for her stupid—

She breathes. More hot sauce. More peppers. No need to go there.

“I take it your visit with the honorable spirit of the river bore fruit?” Rumi asks, as they come around the corner, her smile soft. Maybe smaller than usual. Fuck.

Mira seems to lose all capacity to speak when faced with Rumi, for some reason, the hormonal mess of it all kicking on at a twelve and leaving her redder than a tomato, in spite of the way she nods.

Zoey makes up for it, leaping right into the tale.

Years ago, after the mass casualty with the buses and the fire, everyone had gone out to the bar, after the shift finally ended, numb and half-delirious. Miyeong doesn't remember what led up to it, why she noticed, but a few drinks in, she had looked over at Minji, and saw her… staring, not really at anything, just out into the bar, and her hand was around the neck of her beer bottle, and she kept putting her thumb over the top of it, and pulling it off, pop, over and over.

And Sieun had taken Minji's hand and dragged her out into the air outside the bar and Miyeong hadn't seen either of them again for the rest of the night, and she and Minji weren't friends, Minji didn't even like her, so she'd never asked what it meant, never learned how to help, certainly has no context for what to do when Miyeong herself is the goddamn problem.

And then Zoey says, "and we did a little shopping on the way home, we've got eggs and bok choy and some painkillers and short ribs for Rumi!", holding up a pharmacy bag with a beaming smile.

Because Minji had said, yesterday, when Rumi and Mira were twitchy and pale and covered in blood, that Rumi needed meat, and Miyeong hadn't said a word, and she's so sure of Minji (Minji who is on the edge of something, who Miyeong needs to help, who Miyeong needs to stay away from because it's her fault for being demanding and impossible and stupid) and she's shockingly sure of Celine (Celine who is so thoroughly in sync with Minji, who is going to look at Minji and know what's wrong and know that Miyeong is to blame), but Miyeong has been sure of people before, been sure of all kinds of things, and now Celine has brought short ribs into Miyeong's home because Minji told her to—

Unfortunately, she has no idea what, or how to fix it, or who to help first.

Fortunately, Rumi-nim was present, and quickly excuses herself from speaking with Zoey and Mira to come over to Celine.

“Mudang-nim,” she says, and jerks her head towards the balcony. “A moment of your time?”

“Of course,” Celine agrees.

They step out.

“I would ask that you not repeat this, but—you have described yourself as of my work, so I must assume that you have been in such situations before?” Rumi-nim asks, her gaze searching and words hurried.

It takes Celine a moment to parse her meaning—possibly an older form of speech, possibly a grammatical error, damn, she should be brushing up on her Jejuan, it’s never been good enough—but she nods the moment she understands.

“Miyeong-nim has… had an emotional response,” Rumi-nim says, carefully.

Been triggered, Celine thinks she means. Maybe a panic attack, with how quick she thought of the ice trick yesterday.

“I am not certain of Minji-nim’s current distress, but after she noticed Miyeong-nim’s and offered her a glass of water, she swiftly excused herself.” Rumi-nim hesitates, for half a moment, before adding, “She may blame herself, as it had to do with Miyeong having meat in her home, and she was the one describing the benefits of such a course of action.”

It’s a useful summary. A careful summary, but one that explains why Miyeong just about ran for it as soon as Zoey brought up the groceries.

“Divide and conquer?” Celine asks.

Rumi-nim tilts her head, gently confused by the phrase.

“You address one person’s issues, and I’ll help with the other,” Celine clarifies.

“Ah!” Rumi-nim nods. “Yes, that was my hope. Thank you, mudang-nim.”

She bows, so low that Celine nearly faints, and spins around back into the house before she can even return the gesture.

So. Minji. Finding something to do with the ribs that won’t freak Miyeong out more. Keeping Zoey and Mira from overwhelming anyone.

Celine steps back in, catching Mira and Zoey’s gazes and nodding towards the living room. Hopefully, they’ll stay there even when she doesn’t follow.

Minji is still where she was a moment ago, scrubbing at the same glass, the motion a desperate plea for control.

“Would you like some help with those?” Celine asks, keeping her voice gentle, nonjudgmental.

Minji shakes her head. Her whole body tightens, stilling. Her words come out in jolts. “Miyeong—Miyeong needs—you should talk to her.”

“Rumi-nim is helping her,” Celine replies.

“Didn’t notice—she’s got—“ Minji tilts her head, jerking it sideways, rhythmic, like she’s trying to clear water from her ear. “I didn’t notice. I’m not always very good at that. I think I’ve—I think I’ve been making her uncomfortable.”

Context, context context. And she didn't know Celine well enough that she could figure it out. Nor was there anyone else for further context.

“Just one second!” Miyeong-nim calls, her voice shaken.

“Miyeong-nim, it is only me,” Rumi says. “May I come in?”

There’s a pause, and then the water cuts off. Another, and the door opens.

Rumi takes the implicit invitation and steps inside, gently shutting it behind her.

Miyeong is sitting on the edge of the bathtub, looking pale and uncomfortable but neither crying nor hyperventilating, which is a better state than Rumi had feared to find her in, at least at first glance.

Rumi sits on the toilet, neither forcing eye contact nor flinching from it, her hands held loosely in invitation to reach out, but not reaching out themselves. “Do you know what you need?”

“Just—just another minute,” Miyeong-nim says. She smiles. The edges tremble.

“I can give the short ribs to—“ Rumi pauses, frowning. She has not actually seen any dogs loping about the community of apartments in which Miyeong-nim lives. “…your neighbors? It will not be an issue to claim that I cannot eat cattle.”

Miyeong-nim laughs a little, a shuddering thing, and shakes her head, burying it in her hands, elbows propped awkwardly on her knees. “I can face the mess I made, Rumi, don’t worry. Just give me a minute.”

“You did not make the mess,” Rumi disagrees, immediately. “That guy did.”

“I’m the one who didn’t just say I had an issue last night,” she argues back, not bothering to look up.

Rumi… cannot disagree. “I suppose so.”

That startles another laugh from Miyeong-nim, this one steadier, and she levers up her head to leave her chin on her palms.

“Did you expect me to lie to you?” Rumi asks. “I have never been much good with that.”

Miyeong-nim looks at her as if this is ridiculous, and Rumi must certainly know all of the invisible rules for when a lie is considered the best option. (And given that even Rumi’s attempts to prevent others from dealing with the consequences of her own failures seem to go constantly awry in this time, she has no idea where Miyeong-nim might have gotten such an impression.)

Rumi shrugs. “It does not make the situation unsalvageable.”

Miyeong-nim studies her another moment before seeming to come to some conclusion. “I suppose so.”

“Shall we take our minute first?” Rumi asks.

More useful is the realization that Minji-ssi has much less control over herself right now than Celine had initially assumed, which calls for a change in approach.

So she says, "You are not, in fact, fine," as matter-of-fact as she can make it, "and for perfectly good reason. I'm not all that happy right now either. Miyeong-ssi is doing her best to mediate a panic attack, which our actions and our ignorance of her needs contributed to. That is an entirely reasonable thing to be upset about. But we can do nothing to help her if we are in no better a state than she is."

Minji-ssi's nostrils flare, but with Celine's hand on her jaw, still, she doesn't bite herself again. It affects her focus noticeably. She's been speaking somewhat in circles, but with care and deliberation, making a point of expressing herself clearly, up to now. Without the pain, her next words are untranslated, simply the gritted out end of her current chain of thought, a tight, frustrated, "You're just fine."

Not, Celine thinks, a rejection of her entirely honest claim that she, too, is less than pleased about all this; rather, an exhortation to triage. Miyeong-ssi needs help, Celine at least is capable of giving it, so Celine should go do that, instead of taking the long way around of trying to make Minji-ssi capable of helping first.

That she wants Celine to provide said help in the form of Minji-ssi's own instructions, derived from what she herself just described as a fundamental lack of understanding of the situation, is, of course, a significant flaw in her reasoning, and Celine would point it out if this were merely a conversation.

Instead, she says, "Miyeong-ssi is in good hands. Mine are staying here. Tell me what helps you when you feel like this. Other than pain, which I would prefer you stop inflicting on yourself, for the moment."

Minji-ssi's jaw flexes under her hand.

"Pressure? Temperature?"

"… movement. Walking. Music. If it's predictable. Simple."

"And what should I do for your tongue?"

"Clean it with warm salt water, apply pressure, escalate to professional care if bleeding persists for 15 minutes or longer."

(Apparently nursing requires very little of Minji-ssi's focus, which explains a few things.)

"Then let's do that," Celine says, "and take a walk." Minji-ssi moves to object and Celine doesn't even let her get her mouth open. "I have been tiptoeing around this apartment like a fragile tropical flower afraid to be sneezed on for nearly two weeks because you were worried about my arm. You can put a clean dishrag on your tongue and take one walk with me."

Zoey pauses, confused, and then hears the footsteps in the hall. Oh. Yeah. Probably shouldn’t gossip right in front of them.

“Where’s Minji?” Miyeong asks. She looks—tired. Stressed. Less like she wants to cry but still all anxious.

“She and Celine went to get some air,” Mira says. She doesn’t ask what happened, even though Zoey knows she’s just as concerned, so—for the moment, Zoey follows her lead.

“Oh,” Miyeong says, slumping a little as she slides down onto her couch.

Rumi squeezes her shoulder reassuringly—which. Does not clarify the situation at all, really—and then turns one of those looks of hers onto Zoey. “Zoey, would you be able to aid us through use of your phone? We require foods that will help with… anemia that are not meat.”

“I—yeah, of course,” Zoey says, fumbling it out. “I didn’t realize the meat would be an issue, we wouldn’t have gotten it if—probably should’ve figured, like, cross-contamination and all.”

Miyeong huffs. “I wish it were that reasonable.”

Rumi scowls, reaching for her again. “Speaking of yourself as such aids no one.”

Which—pot, kettle? Mira snorts, and Zoey knows she’s thinking the same thing.

“We can even just get some iron tablets,” is all she says, though.

Rumi makes a face, and it’s easy to tell what she’s thinking, and now Zoey’s off on a tangent explaining how this form of metal is okay and good and won’t break your teeth.

Miyeong decides to go make more breakfast after a minute or two, and Rumi sits in her seat and leans over and says, softly, “Thank you for helping.”

So Zoey feels perfectly normal about that.

“Should I go help?” Mira asks, and Rumi jumps a little and looks at her like—well, kinda like Zoey has been trying not to do every time Mira says anything and it’s in that voice. (Which is just her voice, but actually at full volume and it’s so low and rich and pretty that Zoey wants to bite something.)

“…It is wonderful to have you well,” she says, after a pause of genuinely gay length (like, girl (gender nonsensical)), and Mira blushes.

“Uh, is that—a no on helping?” she asks.

Minji-sii follows alongside her, one hand holding the fabric to her mouth, the other jammed in her pocket, and hums something, almost under her breath and muffled by the dishrag. It takes Celine three blocks to identify the quiet music, to match it to the ancient video game console that sits in the waiting room back in her office; it's the Mario theme.

Predictable, she'd said. Celine finds herself smiling fondly. Maybe she should spot Miyeong-ssi the cost of a Wii, while they're all living in her pockets. She can't quite guess how introducing Rumi-nim to virtual bowling would play out, but she's sure it would be worth the cost.

"… it doesn't have to be meat," Minji-ssi says, quietly, cutting into her thoughts. "Vegetarians come in anemic. People with allergies suffer massive blood loss. There's a meatless treatment protocol. Supplements, leafy greens. I wasn't thinking about Miyeong, though, just Rumi. I can get… locked into a solution. Stop considering alternatives."

She looks down at the rag in her hand, brow furrowed, and tucks it into her pocket.

"No need for professional intervention?" asks Celine, and is surprised by how teasing it comes out.

"No," says Minji-ssi. "It'll be annoying for a while, though."

"If you're worried about chewing being painful, we've gotten very good at smoothies."

Minji-ssi snorts. "You don't want to give poor Rumi one day without having to hide from the blender?"

Rumi-nim would probably object to describing her sudden need to do exercises in the courtyard whenever they run the blender— or the vacuum, or the coffee grinder, or the washing machine— as hiding, but Celine, rather disloyally, can't disagree with Minji-ssi's assessment, and only laughs. "Fair point."

They walk a little further in comfortable silence, and then Minji-ssi says, "Celine-ssi, your shirt—"

She means the old green and gray hooded pullover, which Minji-ssi has been wearing through two laundry cycles now, years old and soft from use, a little too big for Celine to begin with and currently thoroughly drowning the smaller woman.

"Keep it," says Celine, because idle fantasies notwithstanding, she knows there are no guarantees of how this will end or what will happen once it's over, but maybe she can offer this one small thing that will stay with Minji-ssi, this one small promise of comfort and warmth regardless of Celine's presence.

"That's not—" Minji-ssi's neck flushes a little pink, and she goes quiet for a few more meters. "… alright."

Not helpful, and she'll officially owe Miyeong one nearly-worthless rag, but with Celine looking at her like that, with her probing questions that Minji kicked off in the first place, grounding herself takes priority over the rag, hence her retrieving it from her pocket.

"Isn't it obvious?" she huffs. "Both things just wind up hurting her."

Celine pauses at a crosswalk, looks left, right, left, then steps off the curb; they reach the sidewalk and Celine still holds her peace, patient. Waiting.

pop! goes another stitch on the hem.

"The food thing…" Minji grimaces from something other than the throb on her tongue. "I should have figured it out sooner. The guys she dates- I'd call them 'scum,' but that's an insult to scum. The last guy literally stole and she actually thought he was out of her league."

Celine's brow puckers as she takes note of a street sign; it's clear her frustration is not with avenues.

Minji feels her breathing picking up, her head starting to pound. "Putting two and two together should have taken me far less time than it did. I should have known to not suggest bringing meat into her house given what- in all likelihood- happened."

pop! this thing was going to be worthless soon.

"But I didn't," she says. "Too laser-focused on one solution to consider her needs as well as Rumi's, and I wound up pushing her over the edge. I hurt her, just like with the whole mess with the sleeping arrangements. She says it was fine, but it doesn't change the fact that I literally bit her."

A pair of women walking the opposite way flicker their attention at Minji and Celine at that; she chooses to ignore it. "It's…"

It's what?

She doesn't know how to finish that sentence, or what to say next that's not repeating herself or stupidly obvious (Celine's obliviousness seems to be restricted to Miyeong's flirting, but even if it wasn't it would take an extreme level of ineptitude to not tell that things sucked right now).

Worrying the rag is easier then finding words right now.

They're on a commercial block now, shop windows filled with items to entice customers over their thresholds, restaurants competing for their won with aromas that were beckoning hands in the air. Celine pauses at a bookstore that has claimed a few meters of sidewalk as extended retail space and runs her hand idly over a row of price-tagged spines. "You were recommending something to help Rumi and did not suggest the meat with malicious intent. The hurt was not deliberate, like with them."

The thought is brief as a shooting star, but the sword's edge that creeps into Celine's voice at 'them' is hot.

Celine continues. "Like she did with the bite, Miyeong-ssi would understand."

"Yeah, understand that I'm an ass," Minji huffs, snapping the thread and, after almost flinging it into oblivious, pocketing it ('Zoey podcast,' as Mira had taken to labeling it, had been about the evils of ocean-bound litter last night, inspired by Rumi noticing a recyclable symbol on a bottle, and while she wasn't sure where these sewers emptied out to, she wasn't taking her chances).

Celine quirked the corner of her lip in a grin. "From what you've told me, I was under the impression she already held that opinion."

Perhaps it's a stupid thing to laugh at, considering her psychological straits, but she's learned psychological straits can do weird things to a person's sense of humor. Minji huffs an almost-laugh, balling the rag in a fist. "Fine. An inconsiderate ass with shit people skills."

The girls keep talking in the living room, quiet and easy, and it almost feels like maybe Miyeong hasn’t actually fucked everything up.

She wants to throw the ribs out. She also doesn’t want to do it before she explains herself. Having the package on the counter really keeps that feeling from settling.

Part of her is sure she seems awful to Minji—all her hovering whenever anyone was in the kitchen, wiping counters and scrubbing pans the second they were done because she couldn’t cook, and now all of this?

The rest of her knows she gets stupid when she’s scared.

“Rumi, do you want seconds?” she calls, as she comes back into the present and hurries to turn the burner off before something burns.

“If everyone else has already eaten—“

“We just bought more eggs,” Mira points out, cutting her off—it’s weird, having her so loud. “I think we’re okay.”

A beat, to let Rumi’s embarrassment sink in, and then Zoey cheerfully calls, “Three, please! Do you want—”

She doesn’t finish the question. Miyeong wonders what Rumi told them. She doesn’t like wondering. She doesn’t like feeling fragile.

She’s so tired, really. Today’s been too long already.

She carries the plates herself, in two trips. The moment she’s done, of course, is when the front door opens.

Not wraiths, thankfully. Just Celine and Minji, terrifyingly.

“Hey,” Miyeong says.

“I’m sorry,” Minji says.

“What—I didn’t tell you.” Miyeong straightens, frowning. “I don’t tell people. That’s—this is my problem.”

“I doubt,” Celine cuts in gently, “that it’s as bad as all that.”

“I think it is very hard to share about a matter such as this,” Rumi agrees, “when it was caused as it was.”

Because somebody fucked her over.

Miyeong sighs. There really was no getting around it, anyway, even before Rumi said that. But she might as well just come out with it. “I have issues with other people cooking. For me. So it’s been kind of… yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” Minji repeats.

She shrugs. “Honestly, I just kind of want to throw the ribs out and take a nap about it.”

Mira celebrates her newfound powers of full-volume speech with a very eloquent "Um?"

"Rumi-nim was right, about Kkachi-ssi choosing Zoey. And now you and I have been blessed by perhaps the most venerable spirit in this city. We have reason to celebrate, and time with which to do it." Mira is still staring at her a little blankly, so Celine hands the card to Zoey, instead. "Maybe pick up some tteok, too. Anything else that strikes your fancy. Western cake, if you want." That was definitely directed at Zoey.

"Oh, hey, yeah, we're in Itaewon," says Zoey, "if we're throwing a party we're showing Rumi world cuisine. Cake, burritos, ooh, I bet we can find samosas this is going to be great!"

Celine's expression shifts a little, like maybe she's starting to regret this idea, but she just says, "Text if you won't be back by lunch," and shoos them out of the apartment.

They've barely hit the street when Zoey says, "Can't believe I've been kicked out of my own, extremely temporary completely unpaid but nevertheless place of residence and it isn't even for fun. They're literally just going to finish debriefing their trauma and take a nap up there."

Mira stares at Zoey, complaining about the adults not moving fast enough with whatever complicated triangle is going on there while standing centimeters from an attentive, perplexed Rumi, head cocked as she tries to decipher the not-especially-sub in Zoey's text, and mostly wants to say, you're one to talk.

But… don't you all have two hands?

Mira… needs a minute to think about that without either of the other sets of hands in question in her proximity.

In the meantime, "Come on," she says, pulling up her maps, "next bus is in six minutes. Zoey, you have some kind of plan?"

"Absolutely I can, probably, if you give me a minute? Or maybe more of a rolling, flexible, spontaneous concept that can evolve as we go. A bunch of us international students take the shuttle down here every month or so when we get homesick, I can get us to the stop we usually take and we can just walk around and grab whatever we like, and there are a couple… um, I don't know the Korean word actually but they're beers made by little local places—"

"Microbrews?"

"YES there are at least two you absolutely HAVE to try—"

They make the idea sound like great fun, though she would likely think as much of any idea they proposed for the three of them.

Today, however, they are not seeking the “grimy, hazy, blackout delightful” experience of a bar crawl, but instead adapting it for a “restaurant hop”, as Zoey explains, hands fluttering with excitement, twisted around in her bus seat.

“Well,” Rumi says thoughtfully, “I never did receive my second plate of eggs.”

“That’s the spirit!” Zoey crows, as the bus comes to a halt.

“First place is breakfast, definitely,” Mira agrees with a nod, getting up. “Anything but smoothies.“

Their first stop is, ultimately, Korean food—at least according to Zoey and Mira. It’s not as though Rumi identifies much with that title anyway. Regardless, when Rumi had responded with confusion at being asked if she liked “gimbap,” this was apparently unacceptable.

The food is made from seaweed and rice, rolled around some squid and various vegetable fillings into a long cylinder.

Rumi isn’t entirely certain about it—she’s always been mixed in squid—so she does the most polite thing to make sure she eats it, and simply pushes it down her throat whole. Rather awkward, but it’s not like she really understands the way table manners are handled here in the future anyway—surely she would’ve done something equally ridiculous at some point?

Except Mira and Zoey are staring.

“Dude,” Mira says slowly, her voice rich with amazement. “What the fuck?”

“They generally, uh, slice it?” Zoey adds.

“Oh,” Rumi says. Well, she had liked what little she’d tasted. “Perhaps another, then?”

“Uh, yeah. And maybe another one to watch you swallow whole because that was really really cool and I would like to know more if possible,” Zoey says.

mira and zoey, who keep finding new and exciting positions to fuck in

zoey and rumi, who keep finding new and more daring kinks that they’re into

Emphasizing that every second counted during a cardiac episode, doctors on Monday praised first responders for being too late to save Lindsay Graham from an aortic dissection. “Paramedics had a very short window to save Sen. Graham, and thankfully they did not make it in time,” said George Washington University Hospital cardiologist Dr. Eric Fallstaff, who suggested that EMTs should receive special commendations for arriving at the four-term Republican senator’s house long after they could have successfully delivered life-saving care.