Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

-

The quiet is always different on the outskirts of camp.

Compact. Wound tight. As dense as the trees surrounding the clearing they’re in. The one Rumi and Celine visit every year at the beginning of the summer no matter how hot and humid it is outside, and then again at the end when the crisp chill of autumn starts to permeate the comfort Celine has curated here over the years.

Though, comfort may be a stretch. Rumi shifts from her place on her knees, hands folded in her lap, then tucks her chin when Celine glances at her at the sound of crunching gravel that kicks up the silence they’ve been sitting in together. 

“Sorry,” she whispers. Her legs definitely fell asleep a few minutes ago, but she pushes through the static in her muscles so they can get through this without any more interruptions.

Celine merely hums. They fall back into the quiet. More stark than it is serene.

Sometimes Rumi wishes there wasn’t so much silence between them, but she understands the necessity of it in these moments. Her eyes inevitably drift back over to the headstone that they’re kneeling at, then to the way Celine presses a palm to the ground in front of it as if Rumi’s dead mother is still someone she can reach for through the carefully maintained dirt.

A theoretical grave, absent a body. She’s never quite understood why Celine wanted this kind of physical reminder of her mother’s death—or why she insists on Rumi bearing witness to that reminder with her every year despite them having spread her ashes ages ago—only that it was obviously important to her to have this. And as has been the case for most of Rumi’s life, what’s important to Celine is also important to her.

But her grief will never compare to Celine’s, and even calling it grief feels like a theft, like something she wears just to keep up appearances. A dull ache that feels more like it was transplanted into her rather than rooted in the soil of her own soul.

That ache shifts with her gaze, once more sliding from the engraved headstone to the woman knelt reverently before it. A more honest mourning takes up space in Rumi’s chest and throbs in her fingertips at the sight of Celine, the only person she’s ever come close to calling a mother, the only family she has left.

But those thoughts never get her anywhere productive, so Rumi focuses on the feeling of gravel digging into her shins instead and tries to think of something safer.

There’s a mountain of a to-do list waiting for her back at camp, long enough to tumble down Hallasan from summit to shore, and the reminder of it replaces that buzzing sorrow under her skin with itchy restlessness. A surreptitious glance at her watch reveals to her what she already knows; camp staff should be arriving soon, some of them new, some returning—

(Some like permanent fixtures in Rumi’s mind for how often she thought about them over the past year.)

—but hopefully all of them eager and focused for the busy summer ahead of them.

Thankfully, she doesn’t have to sit with her restless energy for much longer. Celine releases a deep sigh that Rumi has learned to read as a sign that the time for paying respects has reached the part where she can move again. She wastes no time in doing just that, pushing to her feet and wiping loose dirt from her knees as Celine slowly shifts to sit crossed legged. She’ll stay behind for a private moment like she always does, so Rumi tries to slip away quickly as Celine transitions into that phase of her routine.

“I’ll go unlock the mess hall for the staff meeting, Auntie. Everyone will be here soon and it’s already hot outside—”

“Rumi.”

A single step is as far as she gets. Rumi turns to face Celine, hands clasped tight behind her back. She’s sure to keep her voice light. “Yes?”

When Celine doesn’t respond right away, that dense quiet that surrounds them presses down on Rumi just a bit more, firm and unyielding to her slight trepidation. The way Celine sweeps her unreadable gaze over Rumi and takes her time finding her words doesn’t help.

“Just because you know what to expect, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be thorough,” she says at last, eyeing Rumi like she’s forgotten something. And if her history of working—and living—with Celine is anything to go by, Rumi always misses something, always falls just short of perfect.

It’s a bitter pill she’s grown accustomed to swallowing dry. The composed constant of Celine’s expectations is a familiar weight on her shoulders, reminiscent of the oppressive heat of a Jeju summer, the trickle of sweat it induces along her spine persistent enough to make her want to rid herself of her own skin and start fresh.

The sharp, jangling chime of metal pierces the quiet clearing, and she looks up to find Celine holding her keys out to her, forgotten in Rumi’s rush to get back to work.

“Oh.” She’d set them aside to help preserve the silence Celine always preferred when they came here, having been scolded enough in the past for compromising its sanctity. “Right. Sorry.”

She catches the keys tossed to her and shoves them deep in her pocket, finding a strange comfort in the way the metal jabs at her fingers.

“Make sure to give the kitchen a final wipe over before Bobby arrives, I don’t want him to have to come back to a dusty workspace,” Celine says.

Rumi nods. “Yes, Auntie.”

“And check the traps in the laundry room for any vermin.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“And refill the soaps in the—”

“—in the staff bathrooms, yeah, I know.” All of this and more has been a fixture in her first day routine for years. She doesn’t need to be micromanaged.

The purse of Celine’s lips puts her in her place. Rumi drops the defensive tension in her shoulders.

“Sorry. I’ll do all of that, I promise,” she says, losing the briefly hard edge to her tone. “Can I go now?”

Celine holds up a hand. “One more thing.”

Rumi braces herself, muscles tightening up all over again.

“Once the summer is over, we should sit down and talk about your future before you go back to school, in case there’s any changes that need to be made.” 

Rumi blinks in surprise. “Changes?”

Celine hums an affirmative. “I trust your studies are going well, but it might be a good idea to branch out a bit from your major.”

Her major? The major Celine chose for her because she thought it would put Rumi on the right track to eventually replacing her as camp director? Celine rarely, if ever, changes her mind on anything, especially when it comes to what she thinks is best for Rumi.

A small kindling of hope sparks to life inside her, tentatively flickering. Rumi hesitates to ask and douse the flame so quickly, but—

“Why?”

Celine turns back to face the headstone, eyes falling shut again as she takes a slow breath. Her penchant for delaying clarity when Rumi has already twisted herself up in knots waiting for it is predictably maddening.

“It’d be good for you to be more well-rounded. A business degree will only teach you so much, and I’d hate for you to be unprepared for what the future throws at you,” she says. “Life won’t always be so predictable, you’re not going to be a camp counselor forever.”

Like a needling finger to the chest, Celine’s words prick something briefly indignant within Rumi. Because she’d been under the distinct impression that her future at this camp had been outlined for her since her first summer working there, maybe even earlier. Sure that her tethers to this place—that she loves, truly, it’s her home, the only home she’s ever known—were rooted too deeply in the foundation to ever let her leave.

But if Celine is saying they can finally talk about changes, about looking into something new, then…

That hope flickers a little brighter now, and Rumi clings to its warmth despite the summer heat pressing down on her.

“We’ll discuss it more later. I’ll join you and everyone shortly for the meeting,” Celine says with finality.

Rumi nods on autopilot at the dismissal. “Yes, Auntie.”

As Rumi leaves her be and starts walking back to camp, a slow smile grows on her face that gets bigger with each step she takes.

This is what she’s been waiting for; the chance to be heard, to be seen. If Celine is receptive to what Rumi has to say when the summer is through, then the unspoken path laid out for her might actually stand a chance at diverging into a new trail paved by her own steps. Just the possibility does wonders to help soothe some of her first day nerves and the annual heartache that accompanies her and Celine’s visits out here.

It’d been more pressing than usual this time. On top of the anticipated melancholy, she’d been warring with herself on whether to broach the topic of school and her future here with Celine, only to be pleasantly surprised when she’d apparently read Rumi’s mind and brought it up herself. The weight of that lifted from her shoulders, Rumi ambles along with a lightness to her step and more hope for the end of summer than she expected. 

The walk back to camp shimmers at the edges of her vision, her slow meandering gait falling way to habit and making room for her mind to wander as her feet do. The instinctive path takes the lead as step by step she strolls into a youthful memory that only ever makes an appearance on these yearly visits.

It always starts the same, her much, much younger self walking along this very path, steps new and still learning, slow and clumsy yet at ease as the sun shines down on her. Warm on her skin and warmth in her palm as she holds onto the woman who brought her into this world. They stroll together, hand in long lost hand, and at one point Rumi looks up and catches the glare of sunlight glinting through trees that stood so tall they seemed to almost disappear into the clouds, then blinks through the brightness to see Mi-yeong’s gently smiling face looking down at her.

It’s the only memory Rumi has of her, the only memory that was able to sneak past the more than two decades of indifference she’s held towards the woman she’s only ever known through Celine’s grief-sodden stories. Not that there were a lot to choose from in the first place, but despite its lonesome survival, the memory sticks. Viscous and lasting throughout her life, stuck behind her eyelids whenever she walks along this particular trail. It should be unpleasant, she thinks, as most reminders of ‘Mi-yeong, your mother’ sit like stones in the bottom of her stomach, but for whatever reason her subconscious clings to this outlier without the heft of ghosts to weigh her down.

As the end of the trail draws near, Rumi hastily pushes all thoughts that aren’t on her immediate to-do list to the side. If she wants Celine to take her seriously come the end of summer, then she needs to really buckle down until then. Stay focused, stay away from distractions, and—

“Hey loser.”

Rumi jumps in the air with a yelp. She spins in the dirt and finds the source of her fright standing a few feet away looking expectant.

Jinu raises an eyebrow. “So… how’d it go?”

“God, Jinu.” Rumi presses a hand to her racing heart. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. You gonna answer my question or…?”

Jinu waves a hand at her to hurry up like she’s wasting his precious time even though he’s the one choosing to use it to scare the living daylights out of her. She has half a mind to push him to the ground and make him eat dirt.

Rumi huffs and says, “It went well.”

Jinu squints at her, predictably doubtful in that annoying way she’s come to expect. She anticipates his follow up before he voices it. “Did you tell her you want to move out?”

Rumi looks away and continues her walk to the mess hall, more brisk than before. “Um, no.”

He stays hot on her heels. “How about that you want to change your major and transfer to a school on the mainland?”

Rumi picks up the pace of her strides. “It didn’t… exactly come up, but—”

She hears him scoff from behind her. “You have to bring it up, idiot. She never will.”

“For your information, idiot, she said—and I quote—that I’m ‘not going to be a camp counselor forever’ so…”

“So?”

Rumi’s steps falter. “Wha—so that means she doesn’t expect me to stick around and take over after her. Duh.”

“Did she actually say that, though?”

Rumi says nothing.

She hears a tired sigh from behind her. “Rumi…”

She can’t have this conversation with him again, they’ve been going in circles for years. She plants her boots in the dirt and stops suddenly enough that Jinu bounces off her back with an oof. 

Rumi spins around to face him. “Look, maybe she said that, maybe she didn’t—”

“She didn’t.”

“—but it doesn’t matter because at the end of the summer we’re going to sit down like adults and have an adult conversation about how adult I am. Like adults.”

“This is super convincing.”

“Shut up.” Rumi shoves him away from her. “She’s going to hear me out, Jinu. She has to.” 

It’s not until the words come out that she realizes how desperate she is to believe them. So blinded by her own hopes that she didn’t consider the lack of details she’d actually gotten from Celine. It’s enough to kill the slight pep in her step she’d been enjoying. 

Perceptive as always, Jinu wordlessly opens his arms up for a hug. Rumi rolls her eyes but falls into it with ease anyways.

“She’ll hear me out, right?” Rumi mumbles her question into his shoulder. 

Jinu tightens his hold around her and replies, “You have to make her listen, Rumi. And even if she doesn’t, it’s your life, your choices to make.”

Easier said than done. As much as she aches for change, she’s not sure she trusts herself to make good use of it. It felt more manageable when she thought Celine was offering it to her on a silver platter.

Rumi heaves a frustrated sigh into Jinu’s shirt then pulls away. She doesn’t have time to spiral. There’s still things to do and people to see.

(And people to see again.)

“Come on,” she says, a hint of tiredness already leaking through that she knows will saturate her whole body by the end of the day. “Let’s go rally the troops.”

The hub of camp isn’t deserted like when she’d left it earlier. A few staff arrivals congregate outside the mess hall doors, some spread around by themselves near the various benches littering the wide, dirt clearing—newbies, she has to assume. They’ll get used to mingling quick, the stress of corralling children always a strong uniting force.

And then—there, she sees them. Near the entrance where the mature wood of their welcome sign stands sturdy and proud, the two people she’s been dreading to see almost as much as she’s been anticipating it.

They’re just as she remembers them.

She can see Zoey’s excitement from here, the pretty bow of her smile cradling sharp sunlight like a gift, grateful for the gleam and delivering it back tenfold; she can see Mira, tall and steady as always, a pillar of attentive care rooted in self-assurance, capable of calming even a hummingbird’s heartbeat. They’re huddled together at the entrance, close and comfortable, talking with each other like the conversation hasn’t stopped since they met a year ago.

(They complement each other so nicely, two halves of a complete whole.)

Jinu follows her line of sight before she can redirect it. He makes a knowing sound that she really doesn’t appreciate.

“Did you reach out before the summer started?” he asks.

Her stare falls to the ground. “You know I didn’t.”

It’s been almost a year since she last saw them. A few months less than that since she’s spoken to them. The guilt and regret has been steadily eating away at her. 

It’s not that she didn’t want to stay in touch with them. She did, she does, more than she can admit. Last summer—when they’d met and worked together for the first time—was still on repeat in her mind, a never-ending montage of every laugh and smile and moment of peace they’d coaxed out of her that she still flips through whenever the weight of her responsibilities threatens to overwhelm.

But then she’d realized they were starting to be on her mind a bit too much, to the point of distraction. And she’s well versed on the danger of distractions. Cutting contact had seemed like a good idea at the time, but all it’d done was leave her feeling bereft, struck with the loss of something she’d cut loose with her own hands.

“What, you didn’t think they deserved a little extra onboarding?”

Rumi blinks away her troubled thoughts to be annoyed with Jinu and his obnoxious eyebrow waggle. It earns him another hard shove. She tries to smother her blush before his laughter can get any louder and grab the attention of anyone around them. 

“You’re so—that doesn’t even make sense! They’re not new!”

“Made enough sense to you.”

Caught, Rumi just stews in her embarrassment while he continues to laugh in her face. Even at her own expense, it does wonders to bring her out of the funk she’d been at risk of spiraling into.

When Rumi chances another peek at Zoey and Mira, she finds them looking back. Her heart skips when they both wave at her.

(God she missed them. She missed them so much.)

She musters up the courage to wave back, then feels a hand wrap tight around her raised arm. Before Rumi can register what’s happening, Jinu is dragging her in their direction with a traitorous, mischievous glint in his eye.

“Let’s go brag to them about how adult you are.”

“Wait, Jinu, wait—”

-

Zoey is, like, so excited.

Even with thirty pounds of her belongings crushing her spine and the island heat already making a home in her sweaty spots and the fact that she’s been awake since four in the morning traveling across the country by bus then ferry then bus again—

Even with all of that, beneath the fatigue she still feels the thrum of excitement under her skin as she steps off the bus full of tourists and locals alike, trading that stuffy swelter for the humid heat of Jeju’s relentless climate. Her hair is gonna go absolutely crazy from the humidity but she doesn’t even care, that’s how hype she is for this summer.

After thanking the bus driver and waving goodbye, Zoey shrugs her backpack up more securely on her shoulders then begins the short trek to what will be her home for the next two months. The scenery has long since melded from busy streets and buildings into dense forest. Trees tower over her, packed together so tightly that she can barely see through them, but she stays the path and follows the signs to Camp Jeju until the entrance sign comes into view. She can’t help the little skip in her step when she sees it and almost trips herself face first into the dirt when the weight of her backpack jostles her just a little too hard.

She pauses next to the large, wooden sign and gazes upon its worn paint fondly, tracing a finger over the faded, yellow letters. She whips out her phone, thanks whatever gods are listening that she still has service, and texts Mira for the thousandth time that day.

michelangezo:
do you think celine will let me repaint the camp sign if i ask so niceys???

mimisaurus rex:
im sure its already on the longass list of demands she has for us

michelangezo:
YAYAYAYAYAYAY

mimisaurus rex:
why are you excited for hard labor

michelangezo:
bc i’ve been working out since last summer and i wanna show off my guns!!! 💪😎

mimisaurus rex:
you americans and your guns
no way you bulked up

michelangezo:
you dont believe me????

mimisaurus rex:
nope

michelangezo:
RUDE
can i pick you up when i see you

mimisaurus rex:
you can try

Zoey huffs and replies an emphatic, no takebacks!!!, before pocketing her phone and eagerly awaiting Mira’s arrival.

It doesn’t take long. A sleek taxi pulls up to the drop off area, a wide flat dirt lot that will be packed with new and returning campers in the coming days. The car rolls to a stop and the second Zoey sees that first strand of pink hair she’s dropping her pack on the ground and taking off in a dead sprint, crosshairs set on Mira.

“Hey, Zo—whoa!”

Zoey aims a big toothy smile up at Mira from where she hoists her up a few feet in the air, elbows locked behind her thighs and holding strong. 

“I told you I’ve been working out!”

Mira blinks down at her, hands tight at Zoey’s shoulders so she doesn’t tip over. The brief shock on her face slips away quickly and back into her usual cool guy facade, but Zoey isn’t fooled by that so easily any more, she caught that look before it faded and gladly lets her pride soak it up. 

“No kidding,” Mira drawls. “Feel free to put me down whenever.”

Zoey beams up at her. “Okay!”

When she continues to hold her up in the air with no sign of letting go, Mira throws her head back and laughs at the cloudless sky, pink hair falling over her shaking shoulders in long waves, soft and shimmering under the summer sun.

And, wow, Zoey’s arms shake a bit at that.

She sets Mira back down on her feet gently, because she’s known since she was a clumsy kid that you’re supposed to handle beautiful things with care, then darts past her to grab the large duffel bag from the trunk before she can. Zoey has to dodge Mira’s long arms and run back to her own pack clutching the duffel to her chest while Mira pays the driver.

Once they’re reunited by the entrance, Zoey stops wasting time and throws her arms around Mira’s neck for a proper hug, melting into her when she returns the embrace.

“I missed you.” She presses the slightly muffled words against Mira’s shoulder.

There’s a huffed little laugh that tickles the top of her ear, then she hears Mira’s soft murmur of, “We saw each other last month.”

They did. And the month before that too. Still, Zoey feels the arms around her back pull her in tighter. I missed you too.

“That was forever ago,” she whines. “When are you gonna move closer to me so we can hang out every day?”

Mira chuckles and leans back so Zoey can see the amusement shining in her eyes. “I told you, my lease is up at the end of the year.”

“That’s too long.”

“I’ll visit you more often until then. I promise.”

“What about school?”

Mira shrugs. “I’ll drop out.”

Zoey finally releases her from the hug and sputters out, “You will do no such thing!”

Mira smirks like she’s won. “Well, which is it gonna be then? Hang out with my best friend or get an education?”

Zoey waits to see if she knows what she just said—she doesn’t appear to, just keeps grinning down at Zoey patiently like she’s waiting for her to admit defeat—then flutters her eyelashes up at Mira and teases, “I’m your best friend?”

The smugness drops from Mira’s face in an instant, replaced with a blush that lights up her pale cheeks and sparks something giddy in Zoey’s chest.

Mira clears her throat and looks away. “Well… yeah. I mean—yeah.”

The resulting big cheesy smile splits Zoey’s face so hard her cheeks ache. She gleefully slings her arms around Mira’s neck again. “Aw, Mira!”

Mira keeps her arms straight at her sides, stubborn, and grumbles out, “Yeah, yeah, don’t get a big head about it.”

“Too late!”

There’s a beat where Mira stews quietly in her embarrassment at being called out, then heaves a dramatic sigh and says like she couldn’t care less, “You could say I’m your best friend. Or whatever.”

Zoey’s pretty sure she’s already told her that multiple times in the past of her own free will, but she’ll happily do it again.

“You are my best friend,” she says, sure to inject the seriousness of how much she means it into the words.

It softens Mira considerably. The scrunch between her eyebrows smoothes out behind her glasses and she does that thing where she tries to smother her smile to no avail because it shines too bright in her eyes.

The sight is adorable enough that Zoey allows herself a long, indulgent moment of staring before she just has to ask, “Are you gonna be this cute all summer?”

Mira reels back like Zoey slapped her. “Wha—cute? I think you mean tough as nails.”

“More like tough as teddy bears.”

Mira’s responding huff is also cute, as predicted, but the exaggerated look of annoyance on her face fades as she locks her eyes on something in the distance. Zoey cranes her neck to see what.

Or, who. Speaking of cute.

She doesn’t hesitate to free up one of her hands to wave at Rumi with a big welcoming smile. Mira does the same albeit more subdued. Tough as nails and whatnot.

Zoey deliberates, gnawing at her lip, then asks, “Should we go say hi?”

She really wants to but she’s also painfully aware of the fact that they haven’t spoken to Rumi in several months and the possible awkwardness from that weighs heavy on her decision.

Mira lets out a flat hum. “Would she even say it back?”

Which is—a good point, honestly. Considering Rumi lowkey ghosted them. It’s fine, though, it’s cool. People have lives, Zoey knows that. 

So what if it hurt to see her start to respond less and less in the group chat until eventually her and Mira were forced to move to their private messages? You can’t strong-arm someone into a beautiful, lifelong friendship, she knows that.

But you can gently coax them over the course of several months. Which… apparently she will have to try doing again. Whatever, second time’s the charm.

(A part of her can’t help but wonder if she did something. Something that made Rumi uncomfortable or annoyed or feel like she couldn’t share parts of herself with them.)

Apparently she’s getting a head start on that second chance. She watches as Rumi is dragged across the main grounds over to them seemingly against her will if the way she digs her heels into the dirt is any indication. The resistance doesn’t last, thankfully—good, because Zoey’s feelings were on the verge of being very hurt—as she shakes off Jinu’s grip so they’re walking side by side. They push and shove and try to trip each other up the whole way over, and Zoey giggles after witnessing a particularly impressive headlock on Rumi’s end that Jinu struggles to get out of for a good few feet.

Zoey leans into Mira and warns quietly, “Play nice, please.”

“I’m always nice.” Mira crosses her arms, then adds, “You know what’s not nice? Ignoring people for months. That’s not nice.”

Zoey shushes her with an elbow to the side then paints a smile on her own face as Rumi and Jinu stop right in front of them.

And, um, wow. Wow.

Somehow, she’s not prepared.

She kinda thought she would be. It’s not like she forgot what Rumi looks like, she could never forget that even if she tried, but she would also never try in the first place because why deprive herself of that? And she has looked directly at the sun a time or two in her life and come out relatively unscathed, 20/20 vision still intact, and this feels oddly reminiscent of that so by all accounts she should really be ready for seeing Rumi in person again.

Which, like, Rumi is pretty. Duh. Everyone knows that. Just look at her.

But Zoey’s memory and present reality are not lining up in a way that encourages the successful firing of neurons in her currently buffering brain. This level of pretty is borderline hostile on her nervous system. Especially when Rumi gives them a shy little smile in greeting like she has no idea the effect she has on people.

Zoey’s instinctual response is to barrel through. 

“Rumi!” Oh god, too strong. “Hi! I mean—we missed you!” Fuck, fuck, that’s still too strong. “Um…well, I missed you. I can’t speak for Mira.” 

Zoey barely conceals her wince. She’d feel bad about throwing Mira under the bus in literally any other context, but right now she hopes Mira can take this bullet for them both and salvage whatever faux pas Zoey is undoubtedly on the verge of submerging them in.

“That’s a first,” Mira says dryly.

Never mind. She’s clearly not going to be any help.

“Not that I mind,” Mira quickly amends upon seeing Zoey’s pout. 

Jinu’s amused gaze shifts between them. “Wow.”

And just like that, Mira slips into a scowl. “Hi, ugly.”

Zoey nudges her. So much for playing nice.

Jinu seems equally unimpressed. “Rude.”

“True,” Mira says with a shrug.

“How ugly I am or how rude you are?”

“Yeah.”

Zoey jumps in before they spiral too far into the customary animosity. On the first day, no less.

“Anyways!” She interrupts with a loud clap of her hands. “Rumi! How have you been?”

When Rumi opens her mouth to answer it hits Zoey that if just seeing Rumi was enough to cross all her wires and short circuit her brain then she’s probably not prepared to hear her voice either.

She gets a bit more time to prepare herself when Jinu interrupts and answers for her. “She’s an adult now, apparently,” he says, side eyeing Rumi with a secret little smirk that stirs up some mixed feelings in Zoey.

Mira glares at him. “That’s funny, I didn’t know you changed your name to Rumi,” she snarks.

He just shrugs. “Yep. Sent the paperwork off yesterday.”

“Super cool.”

“I’m thinking about dyeing my hair purple next.”

“Didn’t ask, don’t care.”

“Or maybe pink. Any thoughts on that?”

His self preservation instincts are worse than she remembers. Zoey preemptively grabs hold of the back of Mira’s shirt for his own safety.

Thankfully, Rumi seems to disapprove just as much. “Please shut up,” she tells him.

It makes Zoey giggle. Rumi’s eyes slide over to her, bright and searching and so unnerving thanks to Zoey’s hiatus away from her devastatingly pretty influence. Composure floundering, Zoey feels her face do something weird in response. One of her most awkward smiles to date, probably.

“Fine, fine, I can take a hint,” he says. When he turns to go, Rumi jolts towards him.

“Wait, you’re leaving?” Rumi asks him, glancing at Zoey and Mira. And—okay, Zoey’s feelings are a little hurt at that. 

“That to-do list of yours isn’t gonna check itself off.”

“Well—okay, but—”

“But what? You should catch up with your friends, it’s been so long since you’ve seen them.” He plants his hands on his hips and gives Rumi a look that Zoey can’t decipher. “Unless you think you need adult supervision?”

When Rumi just glares instead of responding, Jinu takes that as some kind of confirmation. 

“Great!” He claps then asks in quick succession, “Kitchen, laundry room, soaps?”

Rumi blinks at him. “I—yeah.” She gives him a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” With a quick squeeze to Rumi’s shoulder, he leaves them be.

The subsequent silence hangs thick like the humidity, like a layer over Zoey’s skin that she wants to wipe away. It’s weird, for so long she’s missed the three of them hanging out but now that the opportunity is right in front of her she’s not entirely sure how to proceed. Mostly because she can’t tell if Rumi hates them or not. Or just her. That could very well be a possibility. A very scary possibility that glues her lips shut.

Mira must clock her apprehension because she takes it upon herself to break the ice. Zoey’s so grateful she could kiss her.

“Did he get more annoying?” Mira asks, jerking a thumb in the direction Jinu walked off to.

Rumi giggles, actually giggles, and the sound shoots straight through Zoey’s chest to play her ribs like marimba, the rhythm of Rumi’s delight a warm, resonant undulation across her bones. Zoey resolves right then and there to try to make Rumi laugh as much as possible this summer. Step one of many in her master plan to rekindle their friendship.

“Believe it or not, he actually used to be worse,” Rumi replies, her smile small but undeniably shining.

“Figures.” Mira scoffs like she’s not surprised by this at all. “How do you put up with that?”

Rumi shrugs. “Years of practice.”

Zoey sends a quiet thanks to Jinu for letting them break the tension at his expense—and for the sight of Rumi and Mira smiling at each other. God she’s missed this.

Some of the first day jitters battering her chest settle into a more manageable thrum. The excitement she’s held all day—and, honestly, in the weeks leading up to this summer—pulses loud and vibrant under her skin.

Rumi looks back and forth between them, then tucks a nonexistent piece of hair behind her ear, her signature braid too tightly wound to ever lose a strand. “I hope the trip here wasn’t too bad.”

Zoey shakes her head so hard that her brain must hit her skull. “Not at all!”

Mira side eyes her. “You were on a bus for five hours and then a ferry for three.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, you’re actually insane for that. You should’ve flown with me, it was only like an hour.”

“I can’t afford the way you fly. You’ve never flown coach in your life.”

“I would’ve paid for you.”

“It would’ve taken me forever to pay you back!”

“You wouldn’t have to pay me back!”

“My moral compass simply can’t compute that.”

“Why are your morals computerized?”

Before Zoey can answer, the sound of Rumi’s musical laughter graces her ears again, and both her and Mira whip their heads to stare. Rumi’s hand hovers over her mouth like she’s trying to cover it up, and Zoey has the overwhelming urge to slap it away so she can bask in the full vision of her joy, backlit by glinting sunlight that haloes her form like steady hands on her shoulders.

She makes a mental note to be sneakier about her staring in the future when Rumi clams up in front of them from the attention. 

Rumi shifts in place a little awkwardly and glances at her watch, then says, “Um… the staff meeting is starting soon.” She motions to the bags at their feet. “Do you guys need help with your stuff?”

The answer to that comes in the form of Mira quickly scooping up both her and Zoey’s bags with ease. Zoey lurches towards her with a scandalized gasp, but Mira jerks away from her outreached hands like they offend her and everything she stands for.

“My turn,” is all she says, firmly and with finality, before walking off towards the mess hall where the majority of staff has already gathered.

“Meanie!” Zoey calls out to her retreating back. 

Mira spins on her toes in a graceful twirl to blow a fleeting yet undoubtedly sarcastic kiss in Zoey’s direction, then continues her walk to the hall with their belongings slung over her shoulders.

Her and Rumi follow at a slower pace. Hands linked behind her back, Zoey kicks at loose rocks in the dirt as they walk and says the first thing that comes to mind when the silence starts to make her feel itchy. 

“I hope I don’t get the cabin that smells like cheese again.”

Her mental facepalm is almost strong enough to register on the material plane. Jeez, what is wrong with her—

“You won’t,” Rumi says. She trains her steady gaze on Zoey with more intensity than one would think necessary considering the topic. “I made sure of it.”

Dumbfounded, Zoey just asks, “You did?”

Rumi nods. “I remember you saying last year how the smell made you nauseous and you had trouble sleeping because of it, so I deep cleaned the cabin just in case you got stuck with that one again.”

Zoey blinks. “By yourself?”

“Yeah?”

“For me?”

“…Yeah?” she says again. Like she doesn’t understand how totally not normal that sounds.

For a moment, all Zoey does is stare. One, because that really doesn’t seem like something Rumi should be doing alone (Did she clean all of them by herself? Zoey could’ve sworn that was a group task last summer—) and two, because she’s a little busy swooning over the thoughtfulness of something she’d mentioned in passing a literal year ago.

Disbelieving little smile on her face, Zoey shakes her head like that’ll undo all the effort Rumi put in for her. Her, of all people. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.”

“That’s so much work for one person—”

“I can handle it,” Rumi says, brow scrunched.

Zoey hesitates, more resistance ready on her lips, then lets her mouth click shut, sure that her insistence on paying Rumi back for her kindness won’t be received with bouncing enthusiasm. She’ll definitely have to keep that intention pretty hush-hush. Another sneaky step in her plan to remind Rumi that friendship is magic.

“Thank you,” she says instead, more reverent than she probably should’ve, like there’s a secret hiding somewhere within her gratitude. There is, probably, but instead of digging for it she reaches for an easier truth to share.

“I really did miss you, Rumi,” Zoey says, earnest even as she avoids Rumi’s eyes and possible judgement while she says it. She can’t help her next words, a habitual refrain she’s never let collect dust. “Sorry if that’s… weird.”

There’s a few agonizing seconds where Zoey is sure that Rumi is about to confirm just that, until her quiet, melodic voice finally comes through.

“I don’t think you’re weird, Zoey. I never have.”

When she risks looking back, she finds stunning, bronzed conviction in Rumi’s eyes that really shouldn’t flutter her heart as much as it does.

Zoey nearly asks, Then why did you stop talking to me? To us?

She swallows the question down.

Time and place, she reminds herself. The first day—the first few days, are too chaotic to get into all those sad, pesky feelings she’s been dragging around like a raggedy old blanket for the past few months. Maybe once they all settle into the routine of camp she’ll think about saying something. Or, honestly, end of the summer might be best, she doesn’t want to put more on Rumi’s plate by initiating a pointless conversation about her dumb feelings. And, actually, if her plan works and they all become friends again through the magic of summertime bonding then she never needs to bring them up at all.

They come up on the rest of the group shuffling inside the building, and Rumi turns to her with a remorseful little grimace.

“Sorry, I have to go help Celine lead this meeting now,” she says, splitting off from Zoey’s orbit to slowly backpedal towards a section of the wide hall where she’s more needed. Rumi offers up a stilted wave that matches the slightly awkward—but still cute!—smile she aims at Zoey. “Um… bye.”

Her own grin bright on display, Zoey waves back, biting back a giggle when Rumi bumps into someone’s back and apologizes profusely before speed walking away.

Mira is easily spotted amongst the group, her bright pink hair like a beacon. Zoey bounces over to her and the table she’s apparently claimed for herself, if the way she leans her elbows back on the tabletop and splays her legs is anything to go by. That loose, relaxed posture dominates the bench and repels any newbies from joining her—by design, Zoey’s sure; but that whole schtick doesn’t scare her anymore, so she happily gets a running start over the last few feet of distance then sliiides all the way across the bench to slam into Mira’s shoulder, throwing her off balance and eliciting a blank, unimpressed look that would’ve sent anyone else running.

Zoey shoots her a big, unapologetic smile. “Miss me yet?”

Mira holds the look for a few seconds, then lets her smirk show. “Nope.”

“Liar.”

“Prove it.”

She doesn’t have to, Mira’s actions speak for her once again. She sits up straight and closes her legs to make more room for Zoey even though they literally have the whole bench to themselves, then slings a casual arm across the tabletop behind her like she means to prevent Zoey from scooting too far away. Aloof and avoidant of Zoey’s pointed look, Mira just stares straight ahead.

Something smug and gleeful bubbles up inside her, but Zoey doesn’t get the chance to verbalize it thanks to the last arrival into the mess hall.

Celine strolls in without urgency, taking in the sight of the old wooden fixtures lining the walls, the dusty beams high up near the ceiling, the stained yet sturdy tables carefully aligned throughout the space, and lastly the group of young adults that fill the room with chatter and laughter.

Zoey noticed that a lot last summer, the way Celine would pause in doorways to pass an errant thumb across splotches of chipped paint or worn signs like they were holy things wholly deserving of worship. The high esteem she holds in their camp traditions, the hard emphasis she puts on staff and campers alike to respect and maintain some of their very aged equipment—it all seems to come from a place of deep respect and love. 

Zoey likes that. Likes being a part of something so clearly full of love, something she can contribute care to as it in turn cares for the campers who walk its grounds with the hope of making lasting, happy memories.

Celine takes the helm at the front of the room where Rumi waits with a clipboard in hand, already jotting down notes before they’ve even begun. As Celine calls for everyone’s attention and the rest of staff finds their seats, Zoey feels that familiar thrum of excitement run through her. This is the beginning of another incredible, fun-filled summer, she can feel it.

Some of her obvious enthusiasm dips when Mira leans over to murmur in her ear, “Still think she’s a milf?”

A few people glance over at them when Zoey lets out a squeak.

“I told you that in confidence,” she whispers back harshly. A petulant huff pushes past her lips. “Stupid soju revealing all my secrets.”

“I think that was all you, babe.”

Zoey feels her ears go hot at the nickname and Mira’s insistent closeness, so she shushes her smug chuckles and sits up straight to listen as Celine starts talking.

The intro they get is standard, a downright replica of last year: a run through of the history of the camp and its founders—something that makes Rumi squirm from her spot behind Celine—a thorough walkthrough of expectations for staff and campers, schedules to be aware of and routines they’ll come to rely on, things Zoey is already familiar with and will likely have to help some of the new staff get used to.

They run through some brief scenarios, Celine asking staff how they would handle various behavioral issues, rule breaks, yada-yada-yada—

(“Basically, don’t let the kids punk you,” Mira says to some of the nervous looking newbies, which end up being the only words she offers up during the whole meeting.

Celine nods. “Essentially.”)

—Zoey checks in and out mentally as the meeting drags on, her focus leaning away from the bombardment of information they’re getting and into the things she’s looking forward to the most for the summer ahead.

There’s her in progress plan to re-win Rumi’s friendly favor, title pending, that necessitates her getting ahold of her notebook asap to brainstorm as many ideas as possible before they’re all swamped with work. Work that she finds fun, personally. Especially when done with Rumi. They had so much fun last year, laughing and learning about each other while supervising hikes and games, eating together in this very hall, hanging out in the city on days off. Zoey wants that again, that easy camaraderie and closeness she’s only ever experienced with Rumi and, of course, Mira.

And she wants a repeat of all those things with Mira too. She’d been an easier nut to crack than Rumi, the hard shell she puts on display to the rest of the world nothing more than that, a display. Lucky for them both, she’d been willing to step away from that long enough to let Zoey in, so much so that Zoey in turn felt comfortable easing out from hiding behind her own defenses to do the same. Defenses that she’d reinforced with extra strength before shipping herself all the way out to Jeju for a job that she’d hoped would be a life-changing experience and then was even better.

She has real friends now—or, uh, friend—who saw the pieces of herself she’d tucked away in the crevices of her fractured heart and still wanted to be around her. Naturally, she’s looking forward to another summer with them.

Rumi distancing herself from them is a minor setback. Possibly more than minor. But nothing Zoey can’t handle! Probably. Hopefully. Whatever, she’ll figure it out as she goes. 

Which would be easier if she could get a head start on brainstorming, but this never-ending meeting just won’t—

“A few more housekeeping items before you get your assignments,” Celine says, and Zoey feels the room breathe a collective sigh of relief.

Celine holds an expectant hand out to Rumi without looking and gets the clipboard passed to her promptly. She flips through a few pages, finds the one she’s looking for, then starts going down the list.

“As has been the case for many years, we can expect the weather to turn on us about halfway through the season. Our proximity to Mt. Hallasan’s peak means rain and a lot of it, but we’re usually able to get through the summer before the worst of it settles in. Should a particularly rough storm pass through, we have measures in place to get through it.”

Ugh, Zoey remembers last year’s storm, and not fondly. Forced to hole up in their cabins with their respective group of kids and only breaking for meals in the mess hall had been downright miserable. Between the kids getting cabin fever, sick of playing the same indoor games over and over, and Zoey’s own restlessness coupled with her never-quite-gone anxiety over supervising a gaggle children by herself, she’d been more relieved than the campers to step outside and finally see the sun after two days of tumultuous thunderstorm.

“Sign ups for dish duty are mandatory, everyone will get multiple turns and I have no problem doling out extra shifts as punishment for rule breaking or unacceptable behavior.”

There’s a few murmurs of dissent amongst the crowd, but ultimately no pushback. Not that it would’ve worked on Celine, that woman definitely doesn’t take guff from anyone if the way she commands the room is anything to go by.

“Uniforms will be passed out at the end of the meeting. Everyone will receive a hat and two t-shirts in the size listed on your application.” She motions to Rumi who dons one of said shirts, off-white with green trim along the sleeves and neckline that matches the color of the camp logo printed across the front. “I don’t expect you to wear these everyday, as I know how fast we can go through laundry around here working in the heat. That being said, when we take excursions off-site, staff is required to stay in uniform to make ourselves easily visible and identifiable to campers.”

A new voice pipes up, unrecognizable to Zoey in identity but obviously joking when he asks, “What if green isn’t my color?”

Celine’s eyes zero in on him. “What we have is what will be used.”

“No, yeah,” he laughs, then continues, “but if I don’t wear it and a kid can’t see me when we’re on a field trip or whatever can’t we just, like, blow a whistle or something—”

“The uniform is a symbol. A sign to the children that you are someone they can trust, someone who will keep them safe—especially in an unfamiliar environment.” Celine’s tone goes firm and sharp. “And the safety of our campers comes first. Always. If that’s something you think you won’t be able to handle, then we can talk after the meeting about your place here.”

He blanches. “No, I—I understand.”

“Do you?”

“Yes sir—I mean! Ma’am. Definitely ma’am.” Pink haired dude sinks in his seat until his ears touch his shoulders. “Sorry.”

Zoey gives a sympathetic wince for the poor soul Celine just made an example of. At least they got that out of the way on the first day, the bright side being that everyone who witnessed that little incident has hopefully gained clarity on the tight ship they’ve signed up for.

Celine appears to reach the bottom of her list, finally, because she hands the clipboard back to Rumi and says, “Lastly, I need someone to volunteer to touch up the entrance sign—”

Zoey’s hand shoots up at lightning speed. She uses Mira’s shoulder to push herself up higher just in case Celine can’t see her.

“Thank you, Zoey. Rumi will get you started on that later.”

Zoey sits back down with a fist pump. She catches a ghost of a smile twitch across Rumi’s face before she’s back to hastily scribbling in her notes.

Celine concludes the meeting with parting words for them all, thanking staff for committing to a summer of hard work—

(“And—and fun! Auntie, you forgot to say fun again.”

“Hm? Oh, yes. There’ll be fun as well.”) 

—and then exiting the mess hall while everyone lines up to get their uniforms from Rumi.

Zoey and Mira are the last to collect their wares. Once the hall has been vacated except for the three of them, Mira looks upon her new hat with disdain and announces, “I did not miss this gaudy green.”

Zoey giggles and takes it from her hands to plop on Mira’s head. “Yeah, doesn’t really match the hair.” She twirls a finger through some pink locks and gives the slightest tug. Mira bats her hand away.

Which is a lie, by the way. Mira looks good in everything. Zoey has a labeled folder in her phone stockpiled with pictures as proof. She’s about to tell Mira as much when someone else beats her to it.

“You look good,” Rumi says softly, then jerks like she hadn’t put much thought behind the words. “I mean—you look good in green. Not other—well, you probably look good in other colors too. I don’t know. I wouldn’t know.”

Zoey bears delightful witness to the hint of red on Mira’s cheeks that she tries to hide by dipping her head so her hat covers her face. It goes wonderfully with the brighter blush Rumi wears. God if Zoey could take a picture right now and—oh.

“I have an idea!” she blurts out. It makes Mira and Rumi startle.

Mira recovers first, crossing her arms and coolly asking, “Just one?”

“For now!”

She snatches an extra hat from the pile before they can blink and pushes it down on Rumi’s head backwards, then hastily dons her own, crooked and tilted too far up, and whips out her phone to wave in front of them like bait.

Mira puts her foot down before Zoey can even speak. “Hell no.”

Zoey pouts and turns to Rumi, who looks between them like she’s got a question she’s too scared to ask, so Zoey takes it upon herself to interpret her silence.

“Photo op, Rumi? To start the summer off right!”

“Oh, um, I’m not very photogenic.”

Mira scoffs. “There’s no way that’s true.”

Rumi’s blush comes back with a vengeance. She fiddles with the brim of her backwards hat like she’s debating whether to take it off or keep it on.

Zoey pushes just an eensy-teensy bit more. “It’ll be fun! We can take a before picture now, then an after picture once all the kids leave so we can see how many new gray hairs we have!”

“Speak for yourself,” Mira says, “I have zero.”

“You have dyed hair. You’re already cheating.”

“I don’t take pictures with people who slander my good name.”

“That changes today!”

Zoey plants herself squarely between them and slings an arm around their respective shoulders to bring them in tight against her sides. They graciously hunch to accommodate her—ahem—height restrictions. She holds her phone up, camera focused on their trio of smiles that vary in levels of enthusiasm.

“Pretty please?” She asks, looking between them with big, blinking eyes. She knows her own strengths very well.

Mira pretends to hold out for a few seconds before sighing and settling in closer. “Fine. But I better not see this posted later.”

“With what cell service?” Zoey looks to her other side. “Rumi?”

Rumi gnaws at her lip while she thinks, and Zoey does a spectacular job of not staring, choosing instead to focus on the warmth under her arms and the twin perfumes flooding her senses that would surely have caused her legs to give out from under her if it weren’t for Mira and Rumi essentially holding her up.

With a small nod, Rumi agrees. Zoey beams.

“Say supercalifragilistic—”

“Zo’.”

“Fine, fine. Say cheese!”

The flash goes off, and looking at the picture afterwards—her own toothy smile front and center, Mira’s subdued amusement twitching at the corners of her lips and twinkling in her eyes, and Rumi’s shy, sweet grin blossomed between her still slightly rosy cheeks—Zoey hopes that not only will they find themselves here again come end of summer, but long after it ends too.

-

The next few days of prep fly by.

There’s a fuckton to do before the kids arrive. If Mira’s not cleaning, she’s cutting up and stockpiling supplies for crafts, or chopping wood, or taking inventory of sport equipment, or helping Bobby in the kitchen, or doing sheets laundry and dressing the beds, or cleaning again, or doing literally anything and everything until their lengthy list of tasks slowly but surely dwindles down to the last few items.

Not to mention the daily staff meetings and ice breakers and team building games that make up orientation so they can all get more comfortable working with each other. She’s not that interested. She knows who she’s comfortable with.

Between all the running around trying to get shit done and ‘bonding’ with her coworkers or whatever, she’s barely had time to think. She suspects that won’t change much once the kids get here—they tend to take priority over peace of mind. 

(Not that she feels particularly at peace with her thoughts lately anyways. There’s a big, purple centerpiece fucking up the whole interior of her usually uncluttered mind. Whenever she tries to move it to a less conspicuous corner, it doesn’t budge.)

She’s finishing up some last minute inventory in the equipment shed when Zoey pops in to let her know that they’re thirty minutes out from the first bus rolling up with its first batch of campers. Likely, some staff were already out by the entrance ready to greet everyone and help move bags into cabins and kids into the mess hall for opening intros as quickly and efficiently as possible. She’ll join them soon.

After Zoey gives her the memo and Mira goes back to counting hula hoops, she notices that she still has company standing in the doorway, watching quietly but not disturbing. She feels Zoey’s stare on her and turns back around to raise a questioning eyebrow.

Zoey takes a couple steps further into the room and asks, “Do you wanna walk over together when you’re done?” 

“Sure.” Mira shrugs. “Help me finish counting?”

Zoey perks up. “More hands make less work!”

They work in silence for a few minutes, which is the first sign to Mira that there’s something on Zoey’s mind, but it’s not until the third time Zoey hands her a hula hoop from the ‘counted’ stack that she decides to intervene.

“You okay, Zo’?”

Zoey jolts, blinking away the far away look in her eyes. “Hm? Yeah! Yeah, I’m good.” She nods forcefully and goes back to inventory, this time with more focus on what’s in her hands, brow scrunched while she chews on her lip. 

Mira tries again, but at a softer angle.

“One of the new guys snuck up on me while I was pumping basketballs yesterday,” she says. She doesn’t glance up from the task at hand when Zoey whips her stare over to her, just takes note of it from the corner of her eye. “Nearly chucked one right at his face when I turned around.”

“Why?” Zoey asks with a laugh.

“Somehow he got tangled up in all the jump ropes while trying to untangle them and couldn’t free himself alone.” She recalls his frightened look and the way he’d whimpered for help. A small smirk creeps up her face. “He looked like something that would crawl out of the lake to eat children.”

She finally looks over when the sound of Zoey’s full body cackle rings out. The sight of her unrestrained glee puts Mira on the momentary back foot as her brain processes the vision.

“So what you’re telling me is that you’re afraid of jump ropes now?” Zoey asks once her laughter tapers off.

“I’m afraid for my sanity if that’s the level of competence we’re going to have to deal with all summer.”

“Mhm. Sure. Hey, so, are you still scared of the dark?”

When Zoey reaches up for the pull chain by the singular light bulb in this cramped shed, Mira’s quick to shut her down by corralling her with the hula hoop in her hands, using it to yank Zoey away from the light and closer to her.

Zoey giggles from where she’s now pressed to Mira’s side. “So that’s a yes?”

Mira frees her with a huff. “Whatever.”

Zoey doesn’t go far once she’s released from hula hoop jail. She leans her head on Mira’s shoulder and watches her go back to counting equipment. This time, Mira is sure she won’t have to be the one to break the silence.

“Mir’?”

Mira hums to let her know she’s listening. She has an idea as to what’s got Zoey so quiet. It’s probably the same thing that’s been plaguing her thoughts as well. 

“Does Rumi still wanna be our friend?”

Mira’s hands stop for a moment, then continue organizing as she says, “You’ll have to ask her that.”

Zoey grumbles her objection into Mira’s shoulder. 

“Can’t you read her mind for me?” she whines. “Pretty please?”

If she could, she would. But Rumi’s mind is a puzzle that Mira is still working on, annoyingly enough. She probably wouldn’t be struggling so much if Rumi hadn’t abandoned their group chat and ignored Mira’s messages checking on her over the last few months, but whatever.

“Sorry, Zo’. I don’t think it’s gonna happen.”

Zoey sighs and slumps against her. Mira readjusts to keep them both from tipping over onto something old and dusty while she thinks on what to say. She will not have Zoey blaming herself for someone else being flaky.

“Zoey, look at me,” Mira demands, trying to keep her voice soft despite the hardened edge she can feel straining underneath. Once she has Zoey’s attention, she continues, “You’re a great friend. Anyone would be lucky to have you in their life.”

“…Rumi doesn’t seem to think so.”

That hard edge digs in a little more, and Mira can’t quite help the annoyed tint to her next words.

“We don’t know what she thinks,” she says. Then adds under her breath, “Because she refuses to tell us.”

Zoey chews at her lip again, then hesitantly says, “She could’ve been dealing with something. We don’t know the full story.”

“Again, because she wouldn’t talk to us,” Mira bites back.

Not just over the past months, but the last few days too. Whatever tepid welcome they’d received from her on day one wore out quickly. Mira was willing to blame it on the amount of work they’ve all been saddled with, but even during sparse free moments when her and Zoey try to reach out, Rumi is suddenly busy again, or nowhere to be found, or with fucking Jinu.

As much as her annoyance with Rumi’s actions wants to take precedence, Mira knows that at its core is worry for someone she thought was her friend. Worry that unites with her want to push and push at the wall Rumi has sprung up between them until it crumbles.

“Do you miss her?” Zoey asks quietly.

The last hoop in the stack slips from Mira’s grip. She scrambles to catch it without knocking the whole pile over.

Her knee-jerk reaction to deny, deny, deny is on the tip of her tongue, but one look into Zoey’s eyes and she knows she can’t.

“Yes,” Mira says, hushed and hurting.

She misses her and she’s worried about her and she’s pissed at herself for feeling those things because why should she care so much? They knew each other for one summer. Clearly that was enough for Rumi so why shouldn’t it be enough for Mira? They’re not close, they never were.

…But she thought they’d been on their way.

She’s been happier than she’s ever been in her life since gaining a Zoey, and she has no intention of letting her go, but not getting Rumi in the same way, with the same closeness that’s sprouted a patch of sun-kissed lilies in her chest—

It sucks. It fucking sucks.

They’re not close, but they could’ve been.

“I hate being hung up on this,” she reluctantly admits. She also hates how the words waver coming up her throat.

She feels Zoey’s arms slide up and around her shoulders. The blanket of her comfort does wonders to loosen Mira’s grip around the plastic toy in her hands, especially when her cheek smushes into Mira’s shoulder and nuzzles there.

“I miss her too,” Zoey whispers.

Mira lets out a bitter chuckle. “God, we’re acting like she died or something.”

“It’s okay to be upset, Mir’.”

“I mean, I know I should just get over it.” 

“No one is asking you to do that,” Zoey chides gently.

“It’s not like we knew each other for that long.”

She feels a tug on her body that makes her turn and find Zoey’s eyes. They shift back and forth between Mira’s like she’s searching for something. When she finds it, she lets the lovely dark brown of her gaze bore the truth into Mira and says softly, “It was long enough.”

Something curls taut inside her, a loaded spring before the trap snaps, defensive of her feelings even as she aches for answers to Rumi’s, but then she feels the graze of Zoey’s fingers across the back of her neck, skin warming at the focal of that light touch, and the tension that was festering underneath slowly unfurls.

Mira deflates in her arms. Because, yeah, it was long enough. Long enough for her to catch feelings and let them cloud her judgement. Let them dig out her usually stubborn heels when Rumi’s walls made a more obvious appearance—and then another one, then another, and another, until Mira finally took a step back and realized she couldn’t see over the top.

Zoey pulls back, looking uncertain.

“At least,” she starts, eyes down, “it was long enough for me. I don’t wanna assume you—I mean I know we’ve talked about it a bit since then but I understand if you feel differently now. About me and, um…”

…about Rumi.

Mira ignores that implication and instead decides to give Zoey the clarity she deserves between just the two of them, no matter how many times she’s done so already.

She covers one of Zoey’s hands with her own, squeezes once, then murmurs, “My feelings about you haven’t changed.”

Zoey looks up, eyes searching again but this time for her own sake, so Mira holds firm and lets her conviction speak for her. Whatever Zoey finds puts a small, relieved smile on her face that Mira returns automatically.

“Mine haven’t changed either,” Zoey says, though she didn’t have to.

There was a vibe between them last summer. Mira may be blind without her glasses but she didn’t need thicker lenses to see that. Her and Zoey have long since addressed it—and occasionally indulged in the closeness of those shared feelings when proximity allowed them to over the past few months.

(She thought there was something with Rumi too, something unspoken that the three of them had contributed to the foundation of with pieces of themselves. Maybe leaving it unspoken was her first mistake. Maybe she should’ve gotten it in writing.)

They’ll have to make time to talk about it again, sooner rather than later is her preference, but with the busiest days of work ahead of them still, she’s willing to hold off for a bit until the adjustment period of summer is less demanding.

“We should talk once things calm down around here,” she says. At Zoey’s immediate look of concern, Mira adds, “You’re important to me, Zo’. I don’t want you to doubt that. I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear it.”

Zoey’s face turns a beautiful shade of red that Mira revels in. She buries her face into Mira’s shoulder.

“Mi—ruuuh,” she drags out, a long groan that Mira feels reverberate all the way to her fingertips. “You have to stop before I explode.”

“It’s the truth,” Mira responds, firm and factual.

When Zoey leans back to look at her, Mira notices the change in her expression immediately, the way her eyes shine and crinkle at the corners, the sly tilt of her smile. She opens her mouth to say something that’s no doubt embarrassing in nature for Mira, so—

“I swear to god if you call me cute again,” Mira cuts in before she can speak. Her thinly veiled warning doesn’t threaten Zoey in the slightest. Typical. 

Zoey giggles like she knows Mira is all talk. Her arms tighten around Mira’s neck so she can sway her from side to side and taunt in a sing-song voice, “But you are—”

“Nope.”

The sound of Zoey’s laughter filling the cramped space again softens the blow to her ego. It also makes it slightly easier for her to mask her displeasure at losing Zoey’s touch so she can exit the shed.

“Come on,” Zoey beckons with a smile, her hand gesturing for Mira to follow, “we have gremlins to greet.”

Their silhouettes sync up under the sunlight, devotion diligently outlined in the dirt like even their shadows can’t help but find a groove to slip into together. The sight and feel of it ease the last of her nagging thoughts about Rumi and push them to the wayside—for now.

The first thing she sees when they meet the rest of their coworkers at the entrance is the colorful additions that Zoey made to that ancient sign that’s front and center. Stars, pink and blue and purple, splattered around the edges and between the letters of Camp Jeju displayed brightly across the wood, a vivid solar system of color.

“Do you like what I did with the sign?” Zoey asks, pointing at her work with a big smile.

“I love it,” Mira says honestly. Then, she smirks and adds, “It looks like a unicorn threw up on it.”

She dodges the kick Zoey aims at her shin and exclaims with a laugh, “That was a compliment!”

“Then say it like one!”

They find a spot next to the sign—with its admittedly good paint job, not that she’s surprised—and wave with everyone else as the first bus rolls up to the entrance. All the hands sticking out the windows to wave back, plus the big smiles behind them, tug a grin from Mira’s lips to match theirs. That contagious excitement rolls off of the kids in waves as they pile off the bus and let themselves get herded to the mess hall while staff collects their bags. Mira recognizes a lot of faces within the young crowd and is sure to spare an especially welcoming smile for the ones she doesn’t, knowing very well the extra nerves that tend to stick with the kids staying away from home for the first time.

As has been the case for the last few days, her and her coworkers fall into machine-like rhythm, collecting luggage and sorting it into piles by cabin to be lugged off asap before the next busload arrives. They move like this for long enough that she feels sweat drip down her face and her glasses slip down her nose as a result of the oppressive heat bearing down on them while they work.

She’s reaching for one of the last bags in a pile and pushing her glasses back up her sweaty nose for the millionth time when a quick hand swipes the bag out from under her. She looks up to the sight of Rumi slinging it over her shoulder with ease, sparing Mira a quick apologetic grin before she carries it off to the shady hub of camp to be claimed later.

There’s a spark of irritation that flares up inside Mira; one, because Rumi beat her to the punch, and two, because she looks unfairly good while doing it. Muscles taut beneath her sleeves, stopping briefly to pick up another bag on the way, then jogging off like she’s got feathers over her shoulders and not what must be over fifty pounds of belongings. Her shirt is not nearly as soaked with sweat as everyone else’s despite working twice as hard—something that, Mira notes dryly, has not changed since last summer.

Her conversation with Zoey still weighs on her mind, and a complicated mix of feelings stirs up inside her as she watches Rumi command the workspace like she’s operating within a second skin, like she’s the heart of the fire keeping the train chugging uphill but doesn’t even know how hot she’s burning to do so.

Hot, Mira’s focus narrows, zeroing in on the stretch of Rumi’s shirt over her glistening skin again, hot, hot, hot—

“—re you feeling hot?”

Shaking her head of that fog, Mira tears her eyes away from Rumi to stare at Zoey’s knowing grin.

Mira scowls.

“Need some water?” Zoey asks cheekily.

“No.”

“Are you sure? You look pretty thirsty.”

She scowls harder. “Nope,” she says, popping the ‘p’ with purpose. “Cool as a cucumber.”

Zoey hums, and the disbelieving tint to it tilts Mira further into her irritation. 

(How dare Rumi continue to look like that while Mira wrestles with her conflicted feelings about her? Doesn’t she know Mira has a reputation to uphold?)

“Lock in, Mira,” Zoey teases, walking away from her responding glare with a giggle. “We’ve got a lot more work to do.”

She knows that. And yet when Rumi comes jogging back with her stupid muscles and stupid commanding confidence that keeps everyone moving efficiently, Mira is forced to take tremendous mental strides in not letting her thoughts get the best of her.

(She’s mad at Rumi. She’s mad, she’s mad, she’s maddeningly hot—nope! No.)

They get through the next few oncomings of kids with more swiftness, the high sun a great motivator for everyone to do their part quickly. It also helps Mira personally with keeping other distractions at bay.

Once the last few bags are sorted and every camper has been corralled in the mess hall, they wipe the sweat from their faces and follow.

Crossing the threshold feels like stepping into a raucous party. Campers fill almost every table, their voices carrying wall to wall and bouncing off each other’s echoes to make Mira’s ears ring as she tries to adjust to the sudden noise. The energetic medley of preteens around her, each voice clamoring to be heard above all the rest, seems to be equally as overwhelming for some of her coworkers. 

“Good god what did I sign up for?” she hears. It comes from somewhere in the pack of newbie staff eyeing the chaos.

Mira just chuckles and walks to the front of the room to wait for the camp intro to start. She watches Zoey bounce from table to table to greet some returning campers and do a variety of complicated handshakes, spreading joy around the room one kid at a time. It’s infectious enough to put a smile on Mira’s face too.

Lucky for her, Zoey comes skipping up to her next. She plants herself at Mira’s side then leans up on her toes to say quietly, “I can’t wait to take a shower later.”

A sharp laugh bursts out of Mira, widening Zoey’s grin as she adds, “Seriously! Or at least reapply some deodorant. Like three kids told me I stink. I was like, first of all, rude, and second of all, you don’t exactly smell like roses either dude but at least I’m nice enough not to say anything!”

“Want me to fight them?”

Zoey waves a hand. “Nah, they’re right. I am ripe.” She lifts her arm to take a whiff then makes a face. “Blegh. Those kids are more than welcome to carry their own suitcases next time.”

“Shouldn’t you be able to handle that?” Mira teases. “I thought you said you’ve been working out?”

“I have! I moved way more bags this year and lived to tell the tale! Remember last year when I almost passed out?”

She does. It’d only scared the shit out of her to witness some girl she’d just met stumble right in front of her after refusing the water bottle Mira had offered her. And continued to refuse while she was literally on the verge of heat stroke in Mira’s arms.

“Now I’m totally shredded. Look!” Zoey pushes her sleeve up to her shoulder to reveal the harsh line of her t-shirt tan and the toned lines of her upper arm as she flexes.

Oh, Mira looks. She looks long and hard, longer than she should, realizes so, then tries to make up for it by reaching up to pinch the skin of Zoey’s bicep so she’ll drop her arm and stop flexing.

Zoey lets out a little pained yelp and slaps at Mira’s hand. She doesn’t achieve much else in the way of revenge because of Rumi appearing at the front of the room and waving everyone over to presumably start intros.

Right next to Rumi is Jinu—ew—who urges everyone into a tight staff huddle for some reason. Mira reluctantly follows suit but only because Zoey presses right up against her.

“Okay guys,” Rumi says to the group, “I’m going to lead the intro for the campers, go over the basics and some rules, and then we’ll get all of them sorted in their cabins. Lets try to make this quick so we can start prep for the bonfire later. Got it?”

When everyone nods their understanding, Rumi holds an expectant hand out to Jinu. He unclips an old, dusty bullhorn from his belt loop that has definitely seen better days and brings it up to his face to test it out for her. Only, it doesn’t make a sound when he turns it on and speaks into it.

“Uh oh.” Jinu shakes the bullhorn then pops open a small hatch on the handle to reveal empty space where batteries should be. “Alright, who wants to be the bad guy and yell at the children to quiet down on the first day?”

No one steps up. Zoey tries to discreetly hunch and hide herself behind Mira’s shoulder. Mira stands a little taller and lets her.

Jinu blows out a breath. “Right. Okay. I’ll do it then.”

Mira rolls her eyes and pushes to the front of their little staff huddle. “No need to embarrass yourself by using your big boy voice. I got this.”

She ignores his indignant huff and plants herself at the front of the room. She scans the lively crowd, tuning out its blaring cacophony while she searches for her target. Her eyes pass over a familiar face that makes her double back, zeroing in on a kid she remembers from last summer who had taken to her well enough, a big personality at the lunch table everyday, loud and friendly but respectful of staff. Mira straightens her spine and stares him down.

It takes a few moments. He’s in the middle of telling a story that’s apparently crazy enough to warrant standing on the bench so he has room to throw his arms out and gesture wildly at his rapt audience, who hang onto his every word. Eventually, and as planned, he must feel her eyes on him because his gaze flicks up to catch hers and he pauses mid-story.

Mira cocks an eyebrow at him.

His arms slowly drop back to his sides, smile turning sheepish as he sits back down on the bench. There’s a ripple of confusion amongst those who had been watching him, but a collective glance back at her to see why he’d suddenly gone quiet is all it takes to start the chain reaction. 

The sharp intensity of Mira’s gaze roves over the room in increments as one by one the kids quiet down on their own, turning to their neighbors and shushing, tugging on shirt sleeves and pointing. It’s a remarkably efficient domino effect.

When the only sound left in the room is the hum of the fans above and sporadic whispers, Mira lets a satisfied grin peek out.

“Aaaaand…” Zoey says, dragging the word out before tapping her watch with flourish. “Time! Wow, that’s gotta be a new record.”

Rumi steps forward to take her place at the front of the room, but not before grazing her fingers in a gentle touch along Mira’s wrist.

“Thank you, Mira,” she says, genuine and soft and with this little sparkle in her eye that compliments the slight bashfulness of her smile.

Sure to keep her face neutral, Mira nods and steps back, quick to find her place next to Zoey again. She rubs at the spot on her arm where the phantom feeling of Rumi’s touch lingers on her skin.

As Rumi launches into the first day spiel, less overwhelming with information compared to Celine’s speech to staff the other day, Mira feels a tug on her shirt.

Zoey leans into her and whispers, “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Just, like,” she gestures out at all the kids, “get them all to listen without being scary.”

Mira shrugs. “Kids know how they’re supposed to act for the most part. Sometimes you just gotta give them the chance to show you before barking orders.” No one likes being told what to do all the time, she certainly didn’t as a kid. A little trust goes a long way.

It helps that she doesn’t have to corral a whole cafeteria’s worth of children by herself on the regular, or ever. They keep the staff to camper ratio small enough not to overwhelm, but even if it does there’s always someone around to help out.

Camp Jeju’s size isn’t particularly large by Mira’s standards. She’d been shipped off to enough summer camps as a kid so her parents wouldn’t have to deal with her during the school off-season to know that her personal experiences were not universal. These kids will definitely be having a way better camp experience than she ever did. There’s not a single snobby tutor present. Not a schoolwork booklet in sight or on site. And if there was, she’d have burned them all by now and gladly accepted Celine’s ire. Kids should have fun while they’re at camp, fun that she never got to have at that age.

“—and most importantly, we’re going to have a lot of fun this summer!”

A wave of cheers goes up around the room. Mira finds herself smiling along with the kids, not just because of the sentiment Rumi has promised them—a sentiment Mira knows she’s good for—but because of the way Rumi gazes out over the sea of youthful exuberance like the trust they all have in her to deliver on her promise means just as much to her as it does to them.

Mira would’ve loved having someone like that in her life when she was younger.

Everyone disperses after that. The rest of staff is introduced to the kids, cabin groups are found, and then it’s more lugging bags and organizing campers again before dinner.

As laborious as the first day is, there’s a sort of collective ease that comes with it. They keep all the campers together for the most part while everyone gets settled. Dinner comes and goes without a hitch, exhaustion from the day at that point hitting the kids just as much as staff. Mira sits with Zoey and a handful of campers while they eat, listening as they all talk each others’ ears off and only choosing to chime in herself every once in a while, like when a kid asks her a direct question or when Zoey loses her train of thought and needs a nudge back on the tracks.

Dinner eases right into the main event of the evening. The main hub of camp that they were using earlier to host mountains of suitcases has long since been cleared. Benches and sanded down logs are spread around in a wide, layered circle surrounding a sizable fire pit at the center. Mira helps with prep for the first bonfire of the season, collecting wood, helping Bobby bring out everything they need for s’mores, and setting up games on the outskirts.

The kindling is lit, campers are herded outside, and before they know it, the first day mayhem is checked off the list. 

Sunset cruises in, accompanied by a more than welcome breeze that brushes off the last of the day’s heat from her skin. The kids perk up, drawn towards the games staff pulls them into and the snacks Bobby entices them with. Mira keeps her ass firmly planted on a log when Zoey tries to pull her into a silly campfire skit that her and a big group of kids lead around the fire. She’d rather watch. The flames dance alongside the crowd enjoying its flickering warmth, not smothering like the sun had been all day, but cozy, like a light drape of comfort to keep them company as the last vestiges of daylight gradually seep from the sky.

She blinks up at the first few stars that peek out. It’ll be dark soon.

Mira tears her eyes away from the rapidly descending sunset when she hears a throat clear next to her. The outline of Rumi’s broad frame shadows her body as she shuffles her feet in the dirt a safe distance away.

She looks nervous as she shifts her stare between Mira’s face and the ground like she’s scared Mira might bite. Mira waits, calm and still to show Rumi otherwise.

“I have something for you,” Rumi says eventually.

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a… flashlight. Metallic pink and sleek and small enough to fit in her palm. There’s a little pink carabiner on the side to match.

She holds it out to Mira.

There isn’t much Mira can do other than stare. The offering is so out of left field that she just hovers a hand in the air between them, unsure of Rumi’s intentions, unsure of what intentions she’s willing to accept. 

“This is… for me?” she asks, just to clarify. To be certain.

Rumi shrugs, looking out over the crowd of loud, happy campers instead of her. “I just thought—we spend a lot of time working in the dark—um, just think of it as a work expense—”

“Rumi.”

With an audible click of her teeth, Rumi shuts up.

Mira softens the pointed edges of her tone and asks, “Did you get a flashlight for all of our coworkers?”

“Uh…” Rumi’s eyes shift back to her slowly. She seems really focused on holding eye contact. “Yes.”

Mira raises an eyebrow at her.

“…No,” Rumi amends, like she’s ashamed. Then, adding with haste, “If you don’t like it I can—”

“I like it.” Mira cuts her off firmly. Because she really does, and she really is grateful, so—she should probably express as much, despite how weird this is. “Thank you.”

Rumi’s stiff posture relaxes a fraction. “You’re welcome.”

A fond fracture cracks open inside her, cushioned by Rumi’s thoughtfulness, by the fact that she remembered Mira has a… less than enthused affinity for being in the dark.

She finally accepts the gift from Rumi’s patient hand. Once it’s claimed, Rumi takes a wide step back like her offering had been tethering her to Mira’s personal space and she’s relieved to now have breathing room.

“It has fresh batteries,” she says, backing further away. “If they die out, let me know and I’ll replace them, but they should be good for a while.”

Mira just hums, transfixed by the blush on Rumi’s cheeks that’s highlighted by the dancing fire’s orange glow.

She watches as Rumi summons some kind of internal strength, takes a breath, then admits quietly, “I’m glad you came back for another summer.”

Mira almost loses the words in the racket all around them. A part of her thinks she’d have been better off if she did.

Because it’s simultaneously more than she’s gotten from Rumi in months yet not as much as she’s been craving. A craving that gnaws deeper at her stomach as Rumi turns on her heel and marches away, shoulders stiff, jaw clenched, like interacting with Mira took it all out of her and she needs to get far, far away to recover.

The flashlight is warm in Mira’s palm. Too warm for her cold hand to have affected it yet. She wonders how long Rumi was gripping it in her own pocket before finally deciding to give it to her.

“Hey,” she hears from next to her. She looks up just as Zoey plops down by her on the log. Mira is a second late in greeting her back.

“You having fun?” Zoey asks.

She tilts sideways into Mira’s space like always. It’s a nice, grounding familiarity. Something that pulls her back from those Rumi-related uncertainties swirling around her head. She tucks the gift into her pocket and shifts closer to Zoey.

“Define ‘fun’,” she says dryly.

Zoey nudges her. “Oh come on, don’t be a party pooper. Or a Debbie downer.” She gasps. “Or a moody Mira!”

Mira rolls her eyes.

“A melancholic Mira? A morose Mira?”

“I’m none of those things.”

“Have you considered being a merry Mira? Or a mirthful Mira?”

“I think I’d rather be a…” Mira thinks for a second, then sighs. “The only ‘z’ word I can think of is zebra.”

Zoey throws her head back and laughs. She’s giggling when she replies, “I can’t believe you’d betray zany Zoey like this. And zealous Zoey. And zoetic Zoey.”

“That’s a fake word. You’re saying fake words.”

“Did you see me up there dancing and singing with the kids? That was Zarzuelan Zoey in her element.”

Mira chuckles and shakes her head. “Okay, I get it, you own a dictionary. Can I get a zen Zoey, please?”

“Well since you asked so nicely.”

Somehow, Zoey settles in even closer. They’re arm to arm and side to side, sharing warmth Mira doesn’t need thanks to the fire but happily welcomes anyways.

Zoey lowers her voice as she leans in to ask, “But seriously, are you having a good time? I saw you and Rumi talking, that looked like it went well.”

Mira hesitates, then ultimately decides that now is not the time despite how harmless yet weird that whole interaction was. There’s so much play and joy happening around them right now, they should be a part of it.

“I’ll tell you about it later,” she says. Then adds when Zoey frowns, “I’m good, I promise.” 

“If you say so…”

Mira bumps their shoulders together and gives her a little smile to ease her worries. “I’d probably be having more fun if Jinu would use that ukulele for kindling instead of making my ears bleed.”

She nods at the show on the other side of the fire. Dancing campers form a circle around Jinu with that damn ukulele he whipped out way too much last summer, and his audience summons an easy beat for them to prance around to.

“Aw, he’s not that bad.”

Mira unfortunately has to agree. Kids and staff alike sing and clap along to the song he plays, smiles bountiful, movements light and unburdened, backlit by moonlight and flitting flames—the results are hard to argue with.

“Oh—look,” Zoey says, pointing at the center of the circle where it’s most active.

There’s Jinu, as has been the case for several songs, but now accompanied by Rumi; she weaves into the line of dancers who follow the leader all around the hub with connected hands, circling the fire, splicing through the benches, pulling more people into the mix as they go—all while she wears the biggest smile on her face that Mira only sees when she’s involved like this.

She hopes Rumi knows how integral she is to the heart that beats at the center of all this happiness.

Happiness that doubles when Jinu pulls her from the line and loudly goads her into singing for the next song he strums. Cheers erupt, egging them both on, and Rumi eventually rolls her eyes with a good natured smile and gives the crowd what they want.

When she opens her mouth to let out that first note, Mira feels goosebumps flesh out across her arms as she’s flung back in time to a year ago, to the first time she heard Rumi sing around this very fire pit. The golden lilt of her voice hasn’t lost its shine since then, still bright and brilliant, still capable of filling the space around them until it’s full to bursting, down to the cracks in the split logs and the roots thrumming with longevous life beneath the dirt. A gift she grants without the knowledge of giving.

Mira slides a hand into her pocket and grasps the other gift Rumi gave her. It sits heavier in her palm than it should. Like her mixed feelings can’t help but weigh her down here as well.

Mira squeezes it tight and sighs.

This is going to be a long fucking summer.