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Rudo sits hunched over the low kitchen table, the plastic cap of her pen wedged snugly between her teeth as she stares down yet another job application. Papers are spread everywhere, overlapping in a chaotic sea of fine print, checkboxes, and tiny blank lines demanding information she’s already written a dozen times today.
Name. Address. Phone number. Her strengths. Her weaknesses. Time available to work.
Repeat.
She pulls the pen from her mouth with a soft click, scribbles something down, then slides the finished sheet into a growing pile at her side. The stack leans precariously, a monument to rejection waiting to happen. Without pausing, she drags the next application toward herself.
Across from her, Regto sits comfortably on the floor, long legs crossed, a chipped mug of coffee cradled in both hands. The smell drifts across the space in warm, bitter waves, thick and intrusive. Rudo’s nose scrunches immediately.
“Ugh,” she mutters, waving her hand through the air like she can physically shove the scent away. “How do you drink that garbage?”
Regto only hums, entirely unbothered, taking a slow sip. “Because I’m an old man.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“And yet,” he says, voice calm with amusement, “you continue to live under my roof.”
Rudo clicks her tongue and returns to her paperwork, jaw tightening as she writes. Regto, meanwhile, casually sorts through another small stack beside him, flipping pages with the lazy efficiency of someone who has nowhere else to be. In all honesty, he really doesn’t have anywhere to be since he took off of work today to help Rudo go through all the job applications he managed to scrounge up with his never ending supply of connections.
“Have you looked at this one?” Regto asks, sliding a sheet across the table toward her. “It’s walking distance from here.”
Rudo glances up, mildly interested—then immediately scowls. Printed near the top of the page is a name she recognizes all too well. Tamsy Caines. Her red eyes narrow dangerously.
“Hell nah,” she says flatly, shoving the paper away with two fingers like it’s contaminated. “That guy—Caines or whatever—thinks he can turn me straight every time we talk at the flea market. It’s annoying.”
Regto doesn’t even blink. He simply reaches forward, snatches the application back, crumples it into a tight ball, and tosses it over his shoulder without looking. It lands somewhere behind him with a soft papery thud.
“Meh,” he says, lifting his coffee again. “You’re not good at sewing anyway.”
Rudo’s head snaps up.
“I’m a great sewer!”
Regto tilts his head, dark eyes gleaming with mischief beneath his scruffy brows. “You’re a great patch worker. Anything beyond that is lost on you.”
Rudo gapes at him. “Oh shut up, I’m probably better than you at sewing!”
Regto takes another deliberate sip, the brown liquid clinging briefly to his thick black beard.
Then, far too casually, he asks, “Say, do you like that top you’re wearing?”
Rudo blinks, thrown off by the sudden shift. She glances down at herself.
It’s just a tank top. Soft, comfortable, with built-in padding that saves her the daily annoyance of dealing with a bra. It fits nicely—loose enough to be forgiving, but not so tight that it highlights the sharp lines of her too-thin frame.
“Uh, yeah?” she says slowly. “It’s nice, I guess?”
That’s an understatement. She loves it.
Regto’s mouth curls into a smug, knowing smirk.
“I sewed the padding into that fabric myself,” he says. “Needle and thread.”
Her eyes widen as she stares down at the shirt again, scandalized. The padding looks seamless—like it came that way. Like it was manufactured.
“What?!”
She stares at the shirt like it’s betrayed her personally. Then she groans loudly, turning away as Regto’s laughter fills the tiny kitchen. Face burning, she yanks another application toward herself, aggressively focusing on the form.
Some flower shop.
Daily planter.
Whatever.
She finishes the flower shop application with surprising speed, pen gliding across the final line before she flicks the page into the leaning stack beside her. The pile wobbles dangerously, papers sliding slightly against one another, but miraculously holds.
Without ceremony, she pulls the next sheet toward herself.
And promptly freezes.
Her breath hitches.
Printed across the top is an address far too fancy, followed by wording that immediately drags her full attention into focus. Private residence seeking assistance with organization and disposal. Flexible hours. Generous pay. Her red eyes flick rapidly down the page. Cluttered living conditions. Excessive item accumulation. Discretion required.
A hoarder.
The word appears again and again in the job application.
Rudo’s lips slowly curl upward. Regto, distracted with his coffee, fails to notice the sudden, feral gleam igniting behind her eyes.
A hoarder’s house.
A rich hoarder’s house.
Her fingers tighten around the pen.
Most people would recoil. Most people would see overwhelming mess, dust, useless junk stacked floor to ceiling. Rudo, however, sees something else entirely.
Treasure. Opportunity, even.
She doesn’t hesitate. The pen moves instantly, scribbling across the application with renewed energy. Name. Availability. Experience. Strengths.
What better way to make money than doing what she already loves? Digging through discarded things, rescuing objects people were too blind to appreciate. Only now, she’d actually get paid for it instead of risking tetanus and public humiliation behind restaurants.
Her excitement is almost palpable.
Within minutes, the application is complete.
She slides it into the stack with far more care than the others.
“Hm…how do you feel about antique shops?”
Regto’s voice slices cleanly through her thoughts.
Rudo’s entire body betrays her.
She flinches.
It’s subtle, barely noticeable—but Regto’s sharp eyes miss very little. The words antique shop echo far louder in her head than they have any right to. Because she’s not thinking about antique shops in general.
She’s thinking about one in particular.
One cramped, cluttered space filled with warm lighting, dusty relics, and an infuriatingly shameless blonde woman with yellow eyes and a cigarette-sweet voice.
Enjin.
Even the memory of her name makes something twist awkwardly in Rudo’s chest.
It’s been five whole days since that night.
Five days since Rudo saved her number.
And five days of not texting her.
Not because she doesn’t want to, god she really does. Especially when she remembers the easy laughter, the way Enjin’s face lit up over broken junk like it was priceless, the steady stream of compliments Rudo had absolutely no idea how to handle but now finds herself painfully, embarrassingly missing.
But there’s a problem.
Chiwa.
More specifically, the memory of Chiwa.
Of messages left unanswered. Of staring at “Delivered” like it personally mocked her. Of being acknowledged only when it was convenient for someone else.
Rudo’s jaw tightens.
She doesn’t think she could stomach that again, especially not when her pride is still bruised and her feelings feel like exposed wires waiting to spark.
She’d rather chew glass than admit any of that out loud, though.
Blinking rapidly, she forces herself back into the present, realizing Regto is still waiting for an answer.
“...I like them,” she says quickly.
Without hesitation, she thrusts her hand out. Regto doesn’t question it. He simply places the paper into her palm. Rudo scans the application immediately, a flicker of anticipation rising despite herself. The formatting is different. The address unfamiliar.
No Enjin.
No recognizable shop name.
Still, she fills it out anyway.
Another application done.
When she looks up again, she finds Regto staring at her. Not casually or absentmindedly, but with that look—That deeply suspicious, maddeningly knowing look.
Her shoulders shoot straight to her ears.
“The fuck’s that look for?” she snaps.
Regto takes a slow sip of coffee, gaze never wavering.
“What on earth could you be talking about, dear Rudo?” he replies smoothly. “This is how I always look.”
Rudo squints.
Well…she can’t exactly argue with that.
She grew up under Regto’s care. She knows his moods the way sailors know tides, the subtle shifts, the tells he thinks he hides so well. That look means he’s thinking. Worse, it means he’s thinking about her. Still, Rudo scoffs, shoving the feeling aside with practiced ease. Her attention snaps back to the chaotic battlefield of paperwork scattered across the low table. There are still too many applications left, too many chances at rejection waiting to happen. She hates the thought of Regto carrying everything alone.
At twenty years old, living under his roof should feel comforting—and it does, sometimes—but the guilt gnaws at her anyway. Rent isn’t cheap. Food isn’t cheap. Existing isn’t cheap. No matter how many times Regto tells her not to worry about it, not to rush, not to stress, she can’t stand sitting idle. That, and she desperately needs something to do that isn’t dumpster diving or tinkering with broken items in their cramped apartment.
“Whatever, ya weird old man,” she mutters under her breath.
Regto pretends not to hear, which somehow feels more insulting.
Rudo drags another sheet toward herself, red eyes scanning the bold header. A newly opened gym. Position needed: swimming instructor.
Her pen immediately moves.
But midway through filling out the form, a thought ambushes her. Tomorrow’s Friday. Which means the weekend starts. Which means—
She lifts her head.
“Hey,” she says, eyes locking onto Regto. “You gonna need help at the flea market?”
Regto hums, lowering his mug to the floor with a soft ceramic clatter. Instead of answering, he pushes another application across the table.
Mechanic.
Rudo clicks her tongue.
She quickly finishes the swimming instructor form, scribbling the last line with sharp, aggressive strokes before sliding it neatly into the pile. Then she snatches the mechanic application without ceremony.
Regto finally speaks.
“Well, if you still don’t have a job by tomorrow—”
“Which I still won’t have,” Rudo interrupts flatly. “I still gotta turn these damn papers in…”
“Ah,” Regto says smoothly, entirely unfazed. “Then yes. Help me at the flea market!”
Rudo rolls her eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t fall out of her skull.
“Thought so.”
The mechanic application doesn’t take long. Most of it is guesswork anyway. She fills in what she can, embellishes where necessary, and hopes confidence counts as a skill.
One by one, the remaining forms disappear beneath her pen. Eventually, blessedly, there are no more.
Regto slides a worn plastic folder across the table. Rudo gathers the applications, tapping their edges against the surface to straighten them before tucking the stack inside. The papers settle snugly beneath the clear sleeves, suddenly looking far more official than they feel.
Once secured, the two of them rise from the floor in unison, joints popping in the quiet apartment. The kitchen, moments ago alive with scribbling and bickering, falls still. “I say we drop by the coffee place and auto repair shop first,” Regto muses as they step outside. “They’re close.”
Cold air greets them. Rudo barely notices, already marching toward Regto’s battered, long-suffering car. The vehicle looks like it’s survived several minor wars. She slides into the passenger seat with familiarity, her ankle no longer throbbing like it did days ago. Small victories. The folder rests comfortably in her lap.
Regto starts the engine. It groans in protest.
“Then afterwards,” Rudo says, tone suddenly firm, “we need to go to Penta.”
She flashes her best imitation of a smile.
She’s been told more than once that her smiles are…unsettling.
Her lips stretch too wide, teeth showing in a way that would probably alarm any normal human being. Regto, however, merely smirks. Reaching across the cramped space, he ruffles her hair with casual affection.
“Ah,” he says knowingly. “You’re excited about that hoarder clean-up job, ain’t ya?”
Rudo scoffs as the car lurches backward out of the driveway.
“Obviously. It’s like my dream job.”
Regto snorts under his breath.
“Just don’t get your hopes too high, Rudo. In case you don’t get it.”
She waves a dismissive hand, already imagining mountains of abandoned objects waiting to be claimed.
“Yeah, yeah. You worry too much.”
It doesn’t come as much of a surprise to Rudo when her phone remains stubbornly silent that evening.
No missed calls, no polite rejections, and no hopeful “we’d like to move forward” messages.
She stares at the screen anyway, sprawled across the couch with one leg hanging over the armrest, thumb hovering like persistence alone might conjure opportunity. But the stillness doesn’t bother her as much as it probably should. It’s far too early. Places don’t move that fast, not for someone like her.
Rudo exhales, tossing the phone onto her chest as she listens to the sound of Regto in the kitchen making them dinner.
Then it buzzes.
Her hand snaps upward instantly, pulse jumping as she squints at the unfamiliar number. No contact name. No context. Just a single message waiting for her.
UNKNOWN: Are you serious about wanting to clean up a hoarder’s house?
Rudo bolts upright. Her gloved fingers fly across the screen.
RUDO: I like cleaning and I need the money. Is this the hoarder?
The reply arrives so fast it’s almost startling.
UNKNOWN: Yes it is, but she’s afraid you’ll turn down the job when you see the actual mess… It’s really bad :(
Instead of hesitation, something sharp and electric sparks in Rudo’s chest. Her eyes light, excitement curling through her like a bursting sugar rush.
RUDO: I’m not gonna turn ya down. I seriously like cleaning.
This time the pause stretches. Seconds tick by. Then more. Long enough for Rudo to tilt her head, curiosity beginning to itch beneath her skin.
Another buzz.
Rudo’s gaze drops, and the moment she reads the response, an utterly unhinged grin pulls at her mouth.
UNKNOWN: Amo is happy to hear that! What time or days work best for you?
“Amo?” she murmurs to herself, delighted at the opportunity that now rests in her hands.
Rudo’s fingers are already typing, enthusiasm radiating through every keystroke. A job. Actual money. And better yet, work she’s genuinely looking forward to.
Despite now having a job offer, Rudo still insists on helping Regto set up for the flea market.
She’s been awake since morning, trailing behind him like always, hauling boxes, ignoring his increasingly obvious attempts to shoo her away. The sky hangs pale and bright overhead, the market grounds still only half alive. Vendors murmur to one another while unfolding tables and tents, the air carrying that familiar mix of dust, old metal, and fried food drifting from somewhere already open.
Regto, for how relentlessly he’d begged her to join him this weekend, now seems determined to send her home.
“Go on,” he urges for the third time, waving a dismissive hand while adjusting the crooked edge of their folding table. “You’ve got work today.”
“Oh relax before you burst a blood vessel,” Rudo mutters, already dragging another box toward the booth. “I don’t work till’ this afternoon anyways, so I'm free.”
“Still.” Regto clicks his tongue, unimpressed. “You and I both know you hate seeing your items be sold,” he reasons, bending to carefully set out a row of repaired lamps. Their glass shades gleam faintly under the morning light. Beside them go ticking clocks and patched-up stuffed animals—Rudo’s handiwork, each stitch deliberate, each repair something she’d stubbornly refused to rush.
Rudo straightens her shoulders, pointedly ignoring him as she begins unloading more items. Her gloved hands land on glued-together vases, repainted mugs, flower pots whose cracks she’d painstakingly sealed. She turns each piece just slightly, adjusting angles until the most attractive sides face outward.
“But I already said I was gonna help ya,” Rudo grumbles. “I can’t just go back on my word…”
She twists one vase, squints, twists it again.
Even if it doesn’t mean much to Rudo, she’s found that presentation at the flea market matters to some people.
Regto watches her with the long-suffering expression of a man who knows he’s losing an argument before it’s even finished.
After setting up the smaller items, Rudo moves toward the back of the booth where they keep the larger, more expensive pieces. Her eyes immediately lock onto the loudspeaker resting beside a crate.
The thing is massive.
“Don’t you dare,” Regto warns.
Rudo, of course, ignores him.
Rudo crouches, grips the sides, and lifts. The weight nearly knocks the breath from her lungs. Muscles scream in protest, boots scraping against the dirt as she staggers forward. The speaker had clearly once belonged to some DJ setup—bulky, solid, unforgiving to her thin arms and weak spine, but she refuses to drop it. With a strained exhale, Rudo manages to set the speaker down in its designated spot without pulling something or destroying the merchandise.
Victory!
She straightens, chest heaving, sweat already clinging to her skin.
Her gaze shifts next toward the dollhouse.
Before she can touch it, Regto bumps into her, very much on purpose, and scoops the dollhouse into his own hands. A smug grin crawls across his scruffy face as he sets it onto the display table.
“Ya ain’t going back on your word!” he declares triumphantly. “I asked you to help me at the flea market and here you are—helping me set up!”
Rudo’s brows knit instantly.
“That’s not what you meant at the time!” she snaps. “I know you wanted me to help you man the booth—”
“When did I say that?” Regto asks, one eyebrow lifting.
Rudo freezes.
“…What?”
“When did I say that?” he repeats, infuriatingly calm.
Her thin arms cross over her chest, still rising and falling from the speaker ordeal.
“It—It was implied!”
“Seems to me like you just assumed I wanted you here all day.”
“I didn’t assume!”
Fueled by irritation, Rudo storms past him toward the final heavy item waiting nearby.
The bookshelf.
It’s beautiful—tall, solid wood, intricate floral carvings winding along its sides. The moment she’d discovered it during one of her dumpster-diving excursions had felt like fate itself handing her treasure.
Now it just needs the right positioning.
She grips the sides and pushes. The thing resists like a stubborn beast. Dirt grinds beneath its legs. Sweat drips freely down her neck, soaking into her tank top—the same one she’d worn to sleep and hadn’t bothered changing out of.
“I made a calculated guess,” Rudo pants between breaths, “based on your tone of voice AND the fact that you’ve been trying to get me back to this damn market for weeks!”
The bookshelf inches forward. Then forward again. Finally, it reaches the perfect spot; visible, commanding, and impossible to ignore. Rudo wipes her forehead with her arm and spins on her heel, glare fully loaded as she opens her mouth to continue the argument.
But the words never come.
They snag somewhere at the back of her throat.
Regto stands there, brow raised expectantly, yet Rudo’s attention has shifted completely.
Because behind him—leaning casually against the booth’s table, disturbingly at ease—stands Enjin.
There she is, smiling, revealing too many teeth and entirely too confident.
The older woman looks completely in her element. Long blonde hair spills from a messy high ponytail. An oversized tank top exposes flashes of toned muscle and tattooed skin. Her fingers tap idly against the table as though she’s been standing there for some time, patiently waiting.
Waiting for Rudo to acknowledge her?
A strangled noise escapes Rudo’s throat.
Then she whirls around so fast it’s nearly dizzying, gloves clenched tight at her sides as her brain scrambles to process reality.
Enjin is here.
At the flea market.
Before it’s even officially begun.
Her phone—still holding Enjin’s number—suddenly feels like a brick in her pocket.
Shit.
No, worse than that.
FUCK!
How is she supposed to face Enjin looking like this? Covered in sweat, grime, breathing like she just fought a wild animal? Not to mention the fact she hasn’t even texted her despite promising they’d stay in contact.
This is catastrophic.
Behind her, Regto’s voice breaks the silence.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you up this early,” Regto hums.
The words land like a hammer against Rudo’s spine.
Her shoulders immediately climb toward her ears, every muscle in her body locking up at once. There is something profoundly, cosmically wrong about this entire situation. Her father—her father—is speaking casually with Enjin, a woman who, five days ago, had cradled Rudo’s foot in her lap with infuriating gentleness, fingers warm and steady as she wrapped fresh bandages around the swelling of her ankle.
That memory alone is enough to short-circuit Rudo’s brain.
But worse—far worse—is the tone Regto uses.
He’s speaking with well known familiarity.
And that thought sends a fresh spike of panic through her chest.
Enjin had mentioned buying a printer from him, sure.
But does it go deeper than that?
“Aye, c’mon, old man! I can be a responsible adult every now and then~”
Enjin’s voice rolls out low and smooth, that lazy rumble hitting Rudo like a physical force. Heat rushes violently to her face. It is deeply unfair that a voice should be allowed to sound like that. Deeply unfair that Enjin should be standing there at all, looking entirely too comfortable in worn clothes and messy hair and that stupid, devastating confidence.
Needing something—anything—to ground herself, Rudo immediately turns back to the boxes. Her hands move automatically, pulling items free with unnecessary intensity.
“Responsible adult?” Regto snarks back, a grin bleeding into his voice. “You sure we’re talking about you here?”
“I know you’re not talking to me about being responsible,” Enjin huffs. “Not when I just bore witness to the most pathetic argument I’ve ever seen!” Enjin continues, utterly unbothered. “I mean, you’re just lettin’ that bundle of sunshine over there walk all over you!”
Bundle of—?
Rudo’s eye twitches.
Against her better judgment, she glances over her shoulder.
Sure enough, Regto is fully turned toward Enjin, arms loosely crossed, looking entirely too entertained with himself. And Enjin—
Enjin’s gaze slides past Regto’s shoulder.
Directly onto Rudo.
Their eyes meet for half a second.
That beautiful grin grows instantly.
Rudo’s entire nervous system detonates.
She snaps her head back toward the table so fast it’s a miracle her neck survives.
“I can’t help it, Enjin,” Regto sighs dramatically. “She’s just so mean, stubborn, and adorable—it’s hard to get through to her…”
“Wonder who she got that from.”
“Hmm who knows.”
Rudo whirls around so abruptly the nearby lamp rattles.
“Stop talking about me like I’m not here, shitheads!”
Neither of them so much as flinch. Regto merely exhales through his nose, long-suffering patience personified. Enjin, meanwhile, lets out a low whistle between pursed lips, yellow eyes glittering with malicious delight. “Oh yeah,” she drawls. “Definitely sunshine.”
Rudo glares murderously.
“Right,” Regto says, gesturing lazily between them. “Enjin, this is Rudo, my daughter—”
He doesn't get the chance to finish, now when Enjin waves him off mid-sentence, utterly dismissive, grin never faltering.
“Introductions aren’t needed, old man. We’ve met before.”
Silence.
Regto blinks.
Then his head turns very slowly to face Rudo.
“Rudo? Why haven’t you said anything?”
Rudo’s brain immediately abandons her. Words scatter like startled pigeons. She opens her mouth.
Nothing comes out.
Attempts again.
Still nothing.
All that emerges is a strangled, ragged croak of air—a sound so humiliating it doesn’t even qualify as human speech.
Rudo freezes in horror.
Enjin abruptly turns her head away, shoulders twitching suspiciously.
Regto’s eyes narrow.
“Rudo?” The ground might as well open beneath her feet. “...You still with us?”
“I—Yeah, sorry!” The words burst out far too loud, far too fast. Rudo straightens violently, hands flailing for emphasis that doesn’t help her case in the slightest. “I um—just forgot to mention it!”
Regto’s suspicion intensifies.
His gaze flicks between Rudo and Enjin with the sharp, calculating look of a man assembling puzzle pieces he very much intends to examine later.
But, mercifully, he doesn’t press—not yet, at least.
She is absolutely doomed once Enjin leaves though.
“It ain’t anything crazy,” Enjin coughs, clearly forcing down laughter. “We ran into each other about a week ago at my antique shop and got to talkin’. Had no idea she was your daughter until she told me ’bout her old man and the printer she fixed up.”
Regto’s brows lift. Recognition sparks instantly.
“A week ago?” he repeats.
Rudo’s stomach drops.
“But that’s when you were on your date with—”
“HEY ENJIN!”
Rudo launches forward like a missile. There is no thought involved. No strategy. Only pure survival instinct. Items clatter violently as she vaults over the booth’s table, narrowly missing a row of mugs before skidding to a stop beside Enjin.
“T-THERE’S SOMETHING I NEED TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT!” The words come out shrill. Panicked. Entirely too desperate.
Both older adults stare at her. Enjin’s eyes gleam like a predator spotting wounded prey. Regto looks deeply intrigued.
Enjin tilts her head, grin positively feral.
“Right now?” she asks, savoring every second of Rudo’s unraveling. “But shouldn’t you be helpin’ out your old man?”
“That can wait!” Rudo blurts. Then, louder—“Right, Regto?!”
Regto’s expression is a masterpiece of restrained curiosity. There are questions there. Many, many questions, none of which rudo knows how to answer.
But after a long pause, he simply shrugs.
“Nah, it’s cool. Just leave your old man to suffer alone…” His tone is dry, but unmistakably teasing.
Rudo flips him off without hesitation.
“I’ll be back in a bit!”
Before either of them can respond, she grabs Enjin’s arm.
Her own limb looks pathetically small wrapped around Enjin’s broad, solid bicep. Their skin meets through sweat, grime, and sticky heat—a deeply unpleasant sensation that Rudo is nonetheless hyper-aware of.
Because Enjin is warm. Solid. Real.
…And very obviously trying not to laugh.
Rudo refuses to acknowledge this.
“C’mon,” she mutters, already dragging her away.
Enjin allows herself to be pulled with suspicious ease.
Rudo marches them across the market grounds, boots kicking up dust, heart attempting to punch straight through her ribcage. She doesn’t dare look back toward the booth. Doesn’t dare confirm whether Regto is watching. She already knows he is.
Only when they’re far enough away, in an alley swallowed by the low buzz of vendors and early customers, does Rudo finally stop.
She releases Enjin’s arm like it’s suddenly on fire.
Rudo points an accusing finger straight at Enjin’s chest, careful not to poke at the jutting flesh of her large breasts.
“What the hell are you doing here? How do you know my dad? Was our meeting a set up? Why would you tell my dad all of that? Why can’t you keep your mouth shut—?!”
She doesn’t even see Enjin move.
One second Enjin is leaning casually against the alley wall, and the next she has a hand in Rudo’s hair, ruffling up the sweaty damp strands of white and black.
Rudo’s brain shuts off instantly, like someone pulled the plug. Her mouth snaps closed mid-rant. Her spine goes rigid. Heat rockets from her collarbone straight to her ears.
“Chill out, girl,” Enjin murmurs, voice low and amused. “Take a second to breathe.” That smile, that stupid, knowing smile, makes everything worse.
“How am I supposed to breathe right with you here talking to my dad like you two are old friends?!” Rudo shoots back, even as her voice cracks embarrassingly at the edges.
“Uhhh,” Enjin tilts her head slightly, fingers still idly tangled in Rudo’s hair, “by inhaling and exhaling? I don’t need to show you a video, do I?”
“Oh shut it, asshole, don’t get smart with me!” Rudo slaps her hand away, stepping back quickly to put space between them. She drags in a breath that does absolutely nothing to steady her pulse. “And start answering my questions!”
She glares up at Enjin with everything she has. Enjin merely smirks. Slowly, deliberately, she leans back until her shoulders rest against the opposite wall. Her hands disappear into her pockets, and a moment later she pulls out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. Enjin taps one loose, slides it between her lips, and lights it with a practiced flick. The alley fills with the faint, bitter smell of smoke as the tip glows orange.
Rudo plants her hands on her jutting hip bones. “NOW!!!”
Enjin exhales a lazy stream of smoke directly into the air between them. It drifts toward Rudo anyway, making her eyes sting.
“Alright, alright…” Enjin sighs. She lets the cigarette rest on her bottom lip for a second, yellow eyes studying Rudo more carefully now. Less teasing. More intent. “Although,” she continues slowly, “I feel like I should be the one asking questions, don’tcha think?”
Rudo’s heart stumbles at the shift in tone.
“…Well I want you to answer my questions first,” Rudo mutters, chin lifting stubbornly. “So you’re gonna have to wait. Got a problem with that?”
For a split second, something flickers across Enjin’s face—challenge, maybe. “I do, actually,” she admits. “But I’ll let it slide for now.” Another plume of smoke curls from her lips. “So you wanna know how I know your old man?”
Rudo nods once.
Enjin inhales again, eyes drifting briefly toward the mouth of the alley. People pass by in flashes of color, unaware of the tension simmering in the shadows.
“I promote my lil’ antique shop here at the flea market,” Enjin begins. “Every weekend me and my team set up a booth here in Hole Town and either sell or trade the antiques we find around the neighboring cities.” As she talks, her voice shifts. Softens. There’s pride there. Genuine enjoyment.
“Through workin’ booths and trading items, I met your dad,” Enjin continues. “We ain’t friends or anythin’ like that, but we respect each other. Give each other a hand when we can.” Her gaze slides back to Rudo. “So rest assured,” she adds lightly, “nothing weird is happening between us, sunshine.” Her eyes dip lower for half a second—tracking the way Rudo’s hands press into her hips—then lift again with unmistakable interest.
“And I usually don’t get here so early,” Enjin says. “But we’re down one person today, so I gotta fill in. Fate sure is something special, ain’t it?”
Rudo swallows. Her throat feels dry. Her hands remain on her hips, fingers pressing into pale skin stretched taut over bone. She tries not to think about Enjin watching the movement.
“And uhhh…” Enjin trails off, tapping ash onto the ground. “What else were you askin’…” Then she snaps her fingers softly. “Ah, right. You think our meeting was a set up.”
The cigarette comes away from her lips. She flicks ash again, grinding it beneath her boot.
“Well it wasn’t,” she says plainly. “Our meeting was about as accidental as it can get.”
She pauses, voice dipping low. “A part of me wants to call it fate…” Her eyes sharpen. “But from the way I don’t have a single text from ya, I’m startin’ to think this is a little one-sided.”
There it is. The real reason. The smoke in the air suddenly feels too thick. Guilt washes over Rudo so fast it nearly makes her dizzy.
She stares up at Enjin and catches it—just for a second—that flicker of something vulnerable in her golden eyes. Confusion and Uncertainty seemingly at war with one another.
“It…” Rudo swallows hard, choking down the stutter clawing its way up her throat. She crosses her arms tightly over her chest and looks away, focusing instead on the sliver of street visible beyond the alley. People walk past, laughing, carrying bags, living their lives. Much easier to look at them as she admits to the truth.
“It wasn’t um…one-sided,” she manages finally.
Her voice comes out quieter than intended. She exhales slowly. She knows she owes Enjin an explanation. Knows it’s unfair to leave her hanging like that. But when it comes to saying the actual reason—the insecurity, the doubt, the constant voice telling her she’d misread everything—
The words refuse to form.
So instead she stands there, arms crossed defensively, gaze fixed anywhere but Enjin’s face, as her heart pounds heavily in her chest, waiting for a response.
“Not one-sided, huh?”
Rudo sneaks a glance up. The uncertainty that had flickered across Enjin’s face is gone. In its place sits something confident. Pleased. The corner of her mouth curves slowly upward like she’s just won something important.
“Well that’s a relief,” Enjin exhales. She lets the cigarette slip from her lips. It hits the alley floor, the ember flaring faintly before she grinds it beneath her boot, smudging the tiny flame into the dirt. “So,” she continues, lifting her gaze back to Rudo, curiosity replacing the earlier edge, “if we’re both interested in one another…what’s stoppin’ you from sending me a text?”
Rudo’s shoulders climb up toward her ears. Her face feels like it’s on fire.
“I—I, well…”
She gulps, chest tightening. No running. No deflecting.
Just say it.
She inhales sharply and forces herself to look Enjin dead in the eye.
“I’M TERRIBLE AT STARTING CONVERSATIONS! AND—AND I DON’T WANT TO REACH OUT ONLY FOR YOU TO GHOST ME! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MANY TIMES THAT’S HAPPENED TO ME?! IF YOU, OUTTA ALL PEOPLE, DECIDED TO GHOST ME I WOULD’VE LOST MY SHIT!!!” The confession explodes out of her, loud and unrestrained, ricocheting off the narrow alley walls. “AND I HAD NO IDEA IF YOU WERE, LIKE—A-ACTUALLY SERIOUS ABOUT ME! WE HAD ONLY MET ONCE AND—”
“And just from that meeting we had a hell of a lot of chemistry, dontcha think?” Enjin interrupts her smoothly, a shit-eating smirk tugging at her lips as she pushes off the wall. She walks forward. Slowly. Closing the space between them step by step.
“W-We did!” Rudo stammers. “But I—I thought I had chemistry with someone else and—”
Her mouth immediately snaps shut.
Chiwa flashes across her mind. The easy laughter. The lingering looks she’d misread. The quiet humiliation when it turned out she’d imagined the spark entirely. Embarrassment crawls up her spine.
“…I just got nervous,” she mutters at last, gaze dropping. “Sorry.”
By the time she looks up again, Enjin is inches away.
Too close, actually.
Enjin hums low in her throat, like she’s considering the apology carefully. Then—without warning—her tattooed hand slides back into Rudo’s hair. She scratches lightly at her scalp. Rudo short-circuits.
“Ah,” Enjin sighs warmly, thumb brushing along Rudo’s temple, “how can I be upset with a face like that? Your old man wasn’t kiddin’ about you bein’ adorable.”
The tension dissolves like it was never there.
Rudo can only stare up at her, brain buzzing uselessly. It’s unfair—how easily Enjin can flip the atmosphere. One second serious, the next soft and teasing, that bright smile making Rudo’s heart skip in dangerous, irregular beats.
“But Rudo, seriously.”
Enjin leans down until they’re eye level. Close enough that Rudo has no choice but to meet her gaze. The faint scent of smoke clings to her, warm and intoxicating. Rudo inhales without thinking, heat flooding her cheeks all over again. “I like ya,” Enjin says quietly. “And I wanna be with ya. I get we’ve got a bit of an age gap between us, but I really think we got somethin’ special goin’ on here—even if we’ve only met once.”
Her hand slides from Rudo’s hair down to her jaw. Calloused fingers cradle her chin, holding her gently in place.
“I wanna know all there is to know about you, girl. And—along the way—if you decide you don’t feel the same way about me, then—”
“How can I not feel the same way about you when you keep looking at me like that?”
The words tumble out before Rudo can stop them.
Silence crashes down for a few beats.
Enjin’s eyes widen, a faint blush creeping across the older lady’s cheeks.
Rudo immediately tries to turn her head away in mortified panic—but Enjin’s hand keeps her steady. For several long, breathless seconds, neither of them speak.
What the hell is Rudo supposed to do now?
Before she can figure that out, Enjin leans in.
Rudo’s heart leaps into her throat. She squeezes her eyes shut, bracing for a kiss—
Instead, soft lips press gently against her cheek.
Rudo’s stomach flips violently.
“Guess it’s decided,” Enjin declares brightly, her lips brushing tantalizingly close as she pulls back. “We’re perfect for each other!”
Rudo’s brain has now fully dissolved. Great!
“So,” Enjin continues, grin wicked again, “you’ll text me then?”
Rudo nods quickly. It’s difficult with Enjin still holding her jaw.
Enjin clicks her tongue disapprovingly.
“Nah, sweetheart. I gotta hear ya say it—repeat after me.” She clears her throat dramatically. “I, Rudo, hereby swear to text the beautiful, magnificent hottie Enjin—”
Rudo slams both gloved hands over Enjin’s mouth.
“I AIN’T GOTTA REPEAT A DAMN THING YA SAY!”
Spit flies. Her voice echoes.
Enjin’s laughter vibrates against her palms, shoulders shaking as muffled chuckles slip through.
“Mm-k, mm-k,” Enjin mumbles once Rudo finally pulls her hands away. “I trust you’ll text me now that I’ve finally proven I ain’t goin’ anywhere, right?”
That smirk.
Devastating, teasing, and absolutely unfairly seductive.
Rudo clenches her fists at her sides to keep from doing something reckless.
“I’ll text ya.”
And to prove it…
Right there, in front of Enjin’s face, she pulls out her phone. Unlocks it. Types out a quick message to the mystery number saved in her contacts. She shoves the phone back into her pocket. A second later—
Ding!
Enjin startles. Taken off guard, she steps back and fishes her phone from her pocket.
And Rudo uses the brief moment to her advantage by slipping neatly out of Enjin’s reach.
“HEY!” Enjin protests, half-laughing. “We ain’t done talkin’!”
Rudo just shakes her head, already backing toward the mouth of the alley.
“I can’t be late to my new job,” she calls over her shoulder. “But that should prove to ya that I’m also not goin’ anywhere either!”
Enjin glances down at her phone.Then back up at Rudo. Her grin softens.
“Don’t keep me waitin’, sunshine,” she calls.
Rudo’s heart pounds wildly in her chest as she turns on her heel and bolts out of the alley, boots kicking up dust, pulse thrumming with adrenaline and something far sweeter. Excitement. Hope.
And the undeniable certainty that, for once, she hadn’t imagined the spark.
The night settles quietly.
Rudo lies on her back, staring at the ceiling, replaying the day in her mind.
Her first day working for Amo.
The house had been massive—easily one of the largest in the richer district. Tall windows. Polished floors buried beneath clutter. From the outside, it looked pristine. Inside? It was like stepping into a little girl’s fantasy that had exploded.
Stuffed animals towered in uneven stacks against the walls. Frilly dresses in pastel pinks and baby blues hung from doorframes and draped over banisters. Toys littered every surface—tea sets, plastic tiaras, doll houses with tiny furniture still carefully arranged inside. It looked less like a young woman’s home and more like the inside of a child’s daydream.
And Amo herself…
Rudo exhales slowly, remembering.
Amo flitted around the house like a restless spirit, bare legs flashing beneath an oversized shirt that barely covered her thighs. Her eyes—large and oddly rectangular, almost goat-like—never seemed to blink at the same time. She spoke in third person constantly.
“Amo thinks this one can go in the donation pile!”
“Amo wonders if Rudo is tired? Amo doesn’t want Rudo to overwork herself.”
She was sweet. Unsettling—but sweet.
Every hour or so, she would pause mid-flutter and peer at Rudo carefully.
“Rudo can quit anytime. Amo knows this is a lot.”
But it wasn’t. If anything, Rudo had felt… alive.
There was something deeply satisfying about carving order out of chaos. Sorting piles. Categorizing toys. Discovering rare merchandise hidden beneath mountains of plushies. Vintage dolls still in boxes. Collector’s edition figurines. Limited-run tea sets.
Each time Rudo held something valuable up, Amo would wave her off gently.
“Amo doesn’t need any of this stuff anymore,” she’d said with a soft smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “She wants to grow up and be an adult. Amo can’t do that if she’s still clinging to her dolls…”
Rudo hadn’t pushed. It wasn’t her place.
By sunset, nearly a quarter of the sprawling house was clean. Floors visible. Furniture uncovered. Amo had clapped happily, though her smile remained faintly sad.
Now, back home, Rudo rolls onto her side.
Dinner with Regto had been normal—teasing, loud, comfortable. Afterward, she’d sat at her desk, tinkering with a broken radio, but her phone had buzzed.
Once.
Twice.
Then repeatedly.
There were all texts from Enjin.
Rudo’s first message—just a simple “asshole”—had somehow spiraled into a never-ending thread.
She abandons the radio entirely, sliding into bed, back against the wall, gloved fingers flying over her screen.
Enjin asks about her new job, Teases her relentlessly for enjoying being a “glorified cleaning lady.” Rudo fires back without hesitation, calling her a chain-smoking antique fossil. In return, she asks about the flea market—if Enjin made any interesting trades, any good profits.
The conversation flows too easily.
Rudo doesn’t know how it happened, but in just two days of knowing her, it feels like she could tell Enjin anything.
That thought both thrills and terrifies her.
It’s too soon to be certain. All she knows is that she hasn’t felt this light in a long time. Not since Chiwa. The realization makes her chest tighten briefly—but the warmth from her phone outweighs it.
Her eyelids grow heavy.
Before drifting off, she types quickly:
RUDO: Goodnight asshole
She tosses the phone onto her pillow and passes out almost instantly.
When she wakes the next morning, sunlight bleeding through her curtains, her phone is already lit up.
A new message awaits her dry phone.
ENJIN: Morning, sunshine. Hope you slept good!
Rudo stares at it for a long moment before an unpleasant smile tugs at her lips.
Rudo has been working for Amo for a little over two weeks now, and the end is finally in sight.
Room by room, she’s carved order out of chaos. The mountain of stuffed animals is gone. The hallways are clear. Shelves once sagging under porcelain dolls and glittering plastic tiaras now sit mostly bare. Donation boxes are stacked neatly by the door, ready to be hauled away.
With every new room cleaned, though, Rudo has started noticing something else.
Amo is growing more anxious.
Her large, goat-like eyes seem even bigger lately—frantic, glassy, following Rudo’s every movement. Whenever Rudo drags another cardboard box filled with frilly dresses or tiny dress-up heels toward the entrance, Amo’s fingers twitch at her sides. She still smiles. Still speaks gently in third person, but the smile trembles.
By the time Rudo clears out what used to be a playroom—now just a wide, echoing space—she can’t ignore it anymore.
She wipes her hands on her pants and turns.
“Alright,” she says carefully. “Why do you look like someone just kicked your favorite puppy?”
Amo blinks at her. Once. Twice.
Then her gaze drops to the floor.
“Amo…” She swallows. “Amo is going to miss having Rudo here at the house.” Her fingers twist in the hem of her oversized shirt. “She really likes having you around.”
Rudo nearly slips on the freshly cleaned hardwood.
“W-What?”
Being missed?
By her employer no less?
Her brain stalls completely.
For a second she just stands there, staring, heart thudding awkwardly against her ribs. No one’s ever said something like that so plainly before. Not about her.
When she finally gets her shit together, she rubs the back of her neck sheepishly.
“I ain’t dyin’ or anything,” she mutters. “The job’s just ending.” She hesitates, then forces the next words out. “I could, uh… stop by sometimes. Y’know. Hang out…If you want?”
Amo’s head snaps up.
“Really?” Her eyes brighten instantly, anxiety melting away. “Rudo would come back even if Amo doesn’t pay her?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Rudo grumbles, waving a hand. “Don’t make it weird.”
Amo’s mood visibly lightens after that. She hums while helping sort the last few piles, less mopey, more present. And with that weight gone, Rudo finds it easier to focus.
Now she’s in the final messy room—a cramped storage space crammed with the last stubborn remnants of Amo’s childhood. One more push and she’s done.
She’s halfway through organizing a box of tangled costume jewelry when her phone starts ringing.
Once.
Twice.
Three times in a row.
Rudo sighs, already knowing who it is.
Without checking the caller ID, she fishes the phone out of her pocket and brings it to her ear, pinning it between her shoulder and cheek so she can keep working. “Enjin, I’m busy cleaning. You can’t keep calling me every time you wanna slack off.”
A loud groan echoes from the other side of the line.
Rudo can’t help but snort.
Over the past two weeks, alongside her blossoming friendship with Amo, whatever she and Enjin are has grown too. Good morning and goodnight texts turned into late-night calls. Early-morning calls. Conversations where their voices scrape with exhaustion or drowsy warmth until someone yanks them back to reality—Enjin’s employees calling her name, or Regto shouting for Rudo from the other room.
Enjin, more often than not, complains constantly about being busy.
“I hate this,” she’d whined just last night. “All this work and no time to see you.”
Rudo always brushes it off. “Tough luck, fossil.”
But alone at night, staring at her ceiling, she feels it too—that familiar yearning building inside her chest. She hasn’t seen Enjin in two weeks, and in that time, they haven’t gone a single day without talking. She wants to see her. Badly. Their schedules just haven’t lined up.
That thought lingers as she shoves another handful of glittering bracelets into a sorting pile.
“Ughhhh but Rudoo, I haven’t heard from you todayyyy,” Enjin coos into the phone.
The drawn-out whine presses that sharp, strange feeling of affection right against Rudo’s ribs. If she actually knew how to smile properly, she’s pretty sure a huge grin would be plastered across her face right now. Instead, Rudo just presses her lips together and keeps working.
“I’m almost done, alright?” she mutters, shoving a handful of plastic rings into a donation bag. “I gotta clean up this room, donate the stuff, and then I can start looking for the next job.”
There’s a pause on the other end until—
“Why don’t you just get a job at my antique shop?”
Rudo nearly drops the box of bracelets.
“Eh?!” Disbelief explodes out of her before she can stop it.
Meanwhile, Enjin sounds like she’s just suggested the most brilliant idea in the world. “Yeah!” she says brightly. “Just imagine it! I’ll be your sexy boss and you’ll be my adorable little employee! That way we’d be able to see each other every day!”
Rudo scowls. “You won’t get ANY work done if I start working for you!” she snaps. In the two weeks she’s known the older woman, Rudo has learned one very important thing: Enjin is absolutely prone to slacking. And if Rudo is there? There’s no doubt in her mind the woman will somehow manage to get even less work done.
“Don’t be like that, Rudooo!” Enjin pouts dramatically through the phone. Then her voice shifts, turning more animated. “But all joking aside, I really think the antique shop would be the perfect place for you!” she boasts proudly. “We go on weekly dumpster diving trips for antiques, sell some stuff at neighboring markets, and—on commission—we even fix people’s stuff up.”
Rudo pauses mid-sort.
Her fingers still at the older woman’s words.
“Like just the other day,” Enjin continues, “we fixed up this old record player for some old man named Bundus. The entire time me and my team were workin’ on it I just couldn’t stop thinking about how fast we could’ve gotten it done if you were there helping us.”
…that does it.
Another spark ignites in Rudo’s chest—the same one that had flared to life when she first heard about Amo’s cleaning job.
Interest.
“…Are you even in a place to be accepting new employees?” she asks slowly.
Enjin hums thoughtfully, as if the idea hadn’t occurred to her until just now.
“Well, I am the boss of our location,” she says after a moment. “I don’t see why I wouldn’t be able to. I mean, I might have to run it by Corvus, but the man will no doubt say yes…”
Rudo frowns.
“…You guys have multiple locations?”
“Oh yeah, we got LOTS!” Enjin declares proudly. “The one you met me at was the Akuta Antique Shop. There’s also Eager, Beauty, Danger, and Front Desk—each one’s scattered around the area—and I, yours truly, am in charge of the Akuta location.”
Rudo hums quietly, thoughtful and interested.
The idea of scavenging for trash as an actual job—digging through dumpsters, finding broken objects, restoring them—It sounds dangerously close to a dream come true.
“…What would the pay be like?” she asks carefully.
“Not minimum wage, I can promise you that,” Enjin replies instantly. “Especially since we get a shitload of commissions to fix trash up for people.”
“…That doesn’t really answer my question,” Rudo grumbles, shifting her attention to another pile of glittery toys. She hesitates for a moment. “I… the place sounds a little too good to be true,” she admits quietly. “And I um… wanna accept your offer, but I also need to be able to help support Regto…” The words come out strained. It sucks being the reasonable one right now when all she really wants to do is say yes.
But Enjin doesn’t miss a beat.
“Nah, you’re good,” she reassures easily. “Everyone who works at the antique shops gets more than their fair share of money. We split profits from sales, and commissions add bonuses. Everybody working under me can afford rent, buy essentials, and still have plenty left over.”
Rudo hums again. Thinking. Her gaze drifts across the nearly empty storage room. The job is basically done. She’s about to ask Enjin if they can meet somewhere to talk about it in person—
Amo suddenly appears in the doorway.
The girl looks uneasy. “Amo is done putting the boxes by the curb,” she says softly. “But she got a call from the big truck man saying he won’t be able to pick up the boxes today…”
Rudo stares at her. At the sad twist of her mouth. At the pile of donations still sitting outside waiting for pickup. Then her gaze slowly shifts back to the phone in her hand.
An idea sparks.
“Enjin,” she says.
“Yeah?”
“…Can we use your car to drop these boxes off at donation?”
“…Eh?”
“You know, sweetheart, when you asked me to be your taxi driver, I had assumed it’d just be me and you droppin’ these boxes off,” Enjin grumbles from the driver’s seat.
Her hands are tight on the steering wheel, knuckles whitening as the car jerks down the road. Rudo, sitting in the backseat with Amo—who insisted on helping—leans back lazily. She props her legs up in the cramped space between herself and Amo, ignoring the way the car rocks with Enjin’s aggressive driving.
“Not my fault ya made some wrong assumptions,” Rudo replies. “Besides, Amo’s here to help out.”
She flashes Amo a thumbs-up.
The girl beams instantly.
“But she’s the one paying you to help,” Enjin shoots back, her tone sharper than before. “She ain’t gotta get her fragile little hands dirty so long as she got money to toss around.” There’s an odd edge to her voice. Rudo can’t quite place it. Annoyance? Jealousy? Something else entirely?
Is Enjin really that upset that their first time seeing each other in two weeks is at the expense of someone else tagging along?
Rudo rolls her eyes and flips her off, even though—deep down—a part of herself is also a little disappointed to not be able to have some nice one on one time with the older woman after being away from each other for so long.
From the driver’s seat, Enjin takes a turn so sharply the entire car tilts.
Out of the corner of her eye, Rudo sees Amo’s face pale.
“Ehhh,” Rudo continues casually, “she’s an odd boss, but I like her. She means well… and she really needs to get out of the house.”
That doesn’t seem to improve Enjin’s mood. If anything, it makes it worse. She jerks the wheel again and the car lurches hard enough that Rudo nearly slides off the seat.
“Aye! Watch the damn road!” Rudo snaps. “Ya got a driver’s license, dontcha?! So act like it, dumbass!”
Enjin scoffs. Rudo catches her eyes in the rearview mirror. They lock. Rudo glares straight at her. “Eh?” Enjin replies mockingly. “Now ya complainin’ after I was nice enough to drive ya to finish off ya job? I should kick ya both off and leave ya to walk.”
Rudo groans loudly. She really isn’t in the mood for this. She’s sweaty, exhausted, and her arms ache from hauling donation boxes all afternoon. All she wants is to finish this job so she can go home and start filling out more job applications. This weird attitude from Enjin is the last thing she needs.
“This mean lady isn’t actually going to kick Amo and Rudo out, is she?”
The soft question pulls Rudo from her thoughts.
She looks over. Amo is sitting neatly beside her, hands folded on her lap, eyes wide with concern as she glances toward the front seat. Rudo sighs. She shakes her head.
“Nah,” she says. “She’s just pissy about something and I think she’s taking it out on us.”
Amo tilts her head.
“About what? Amo being here with you guys?”
“I think so?” Rudo shrugs. “I dunno. But ya don’t need to worry about it. She’ll get over it.”
Amo studies her for a moment. Then her smile slowly grows again, soft and trusting. “Well,” she says brightly, “if Rudo says so then Amo won’t take mean lady’s words to heart!”
“Mean lady?” Enjin scoffs from the front seat. “The name’s Enjin, rich girl, and I’m the nicest, coolest, sexiest lady in this entire town!” Her lips curl into a smug smirk. “Well…I guess that spot is taken by Rudo now,” she adds casually, glancing at the rearview mirror. “But I’ll settle for second place.”
Rudo’s shoulders jolt. No matter how many times Enjin throws those shameless lines at her, they still leave her strung tight like a pulled wire ready to snap. Heat crawls up her neck instantly. She turns her head toward the window as fast as possible, pretending to watch the buildings blur past just so Enjin can’t see the blush creeping across her cheeks.
From the reflection in the glass, Rudo can see Amo nodding along enthusiastically to Rudo’s absolute horror.
“Ah,” Amo says brightly, clapping her hands together. “So you two are in love! No wonder Amo being here makes Enjin so upset!”
Rudo chokes on her own air.
At the same time, the car lurches violently as Enjin slams on the brakes at a stop sign.
“L–Love?!” Rudo wheezes, clutching the seat.
Up front, Enjin coughs into her fist, clearly just as caught off guard.
“It’s—We’re—” Rudo sputters helplessly. “We’re only talking! We haven’t even gone on a proper date yet!”
Amo’s smile only widens.
“You don’t need to go on any dates to be in love, silly!” she says cheerfully. “It said so in all the books Amo read. And Mister, my past lover, never took me on any dates, but we were in love, love, love!”
“Eh?” Enjin mutters, glancing back through the mirror. “No dates? How are ya supposed to learn about each other and have a fun time?”
She sounds uncertain, like she still hasn’t recovered from Amo’s sudden assumption.
“We learned about each other at Mister’s house!” Amo explains happily. “We played lots and lots of games there and learned about each other that way!”
Enjin hums thoughtfully.
“Games, huh?” she says slowly. “Well…I guess ya can learn more about your partner with a game of Twister…”
“Mmmhmm!” Amo nods eagerly. “And through Mister’s fun games, we fell in love!”
Her voice softens. A strange look passes across her face—nostalgic and wistful at the same time. A dark little cloud that makes Rudo’s chest ache just looking at it.
“Maybe something similar happened between the two of you—”
“Sorry to bust ya bubble, kiki, but love ain’t that simple,” Enjin cuts in. Her tone turns oddly serious. “What you’re describing sounds way too damn easy to be love,” she continues. “Sounds more like a glorified playdate.”
“…Are you saying that Amo wasn’t in love?”
Rudo freezes.
The tone of Amo’s voice has completely changed.
Slowly, she turns away from the window and looks directly at her.
Amo’s orange eyes have darkened. Sharpened, even. Locked onto Enjin with an intensity that makes the air in the car feel suddenly tight.
The car finally pulls into the donation center parking lot. Enjin parks, giving herself just enough time to answer.
And because Enjin is an idiot—
She hums thoughtfully and smiles without a care in the world. “Yep!” she says easily. “That’s exactly what I’m saying!”
“You… you…”
Rudo watches Amo inhale sharply.
“YOU MEAN MEAN WOMAN!!! YOU’RE THE WORST!!!”
The shriek explodes through the car.
Both Enjin and Rudo jerk in shock.
“Woah, girl, chill out,” Enjin says quickly, holding up her hands. “I’m just being honest with ya—”
“HONESTY MEANS YOU DON’T LIE!” Amo screams back. “AND WHAT YOU SAID—IT’S A LIE! YOU’RE NOT BEING HONEST AT ALL!”
Her finger shoots accusingly toward the front seat.
“RUDO DOESN’T NEED TO DATE A LIAR LIKE YOU!!!”
Before either of them can respond, Amo yanks open the car door and jumps out. The door slams shut. Her oversized boots crunch against the gravel as she marches around to the back of the car to grab the donation boxes.
Inside the vehicle, silence crashes down. Rudo and Enjin stare straight ahead in stunned disbelief.
“…Holy shit,” Enjin mutters under her breath. Her eyes flick between the steering wheel and Rudo. “…No wonder ya couldn’t shake her off ya. She’s insane.”
Even though Rudo is still reeling from the outburst, something defensive flares in her chest. She barely knows Amo. But Enjin knows her even less. Neither of them has the right to say something like that.
“She’s not insane,” Rudo mutters stiffly. “She just doesn’t like you.”
She reaches forward, unlocking the door. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Enjin nod slowly—clearly not convinced by that explanation. “Right, right…” Enjin says lightly. “Just be careful around her, alright? I don’t want ya hurt.”
Rudo pauses halfway out of the car. Her heart does an uncomfortable little flip at the worry in Enjin’s voice. She quickly shoves the feeling down.
Turning back, she flashes Enjin a thumbs-up. “I’ll be just fine,” she says. “Worry ’bout yourself for once.”
Enjin snorts, but a small smile tugs at her lips as she shuts off the engine and climbs out of the car alongside Rudo.
After dropping the boxes off at the donation center—and after making absolutely sure Amo didn’t attempt to strangle Enjin when the older woman wasn’t looking—the car ends up idling in front of Amo’s house.
The engine hums softly at the curb. Enjin stays in the driver’s seat. Rudo, however, climbs out to walk Amo to the door.
Gravel crunches beneath their boots as they follow the smooth paved path leading up to the front porch. The neighborhood is quiet, the soft glow of porch lights spilling across neatly trimmed lawns. “Sorry about Enjin,” Rudo mumbles as they approach the steps. “She’s stupid blunt, but she means well.”
Amo hums. Her face twists into an expression that tells Rudo she definitely does not forgive Enjin yet.
“Amo doesn’t think you should be friends with her, Rudo,” Amo admits, scuffing a stray pebble along the pavement with the toe of her boot. “She’s too mean for you. Rudo needs someone nice and sweet who will play fun games with her.”
Before they reach the front door, rudo stops walking.
Amo blinks and turns toward her. “Rudo?” she asks. “Everything ok?”
“I really like Enjin and I want her to be my girlfriend.”
The words come out faster than Rudo expected. Her face immediately heats up, but strangely enough, the admission feels…easy. Like something she’s been holding in for too long.
“I haven’t known her long,” Rudo continues, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly, “but she is nice. One of the nicest people I’ve ever met.”
She inhales sharply before continuing.
“I was scavenging in her dumpster at night,” she says. “And when she caught me, she didn’t scream at me or threaten to call the cops.” Rudo’s voice softens slightly. “Instead, she carried me into her antique store and dried me off. She wrapped my ankle in bandages ’cause I twisted it trying to climb out of the dumpster too fast. We even repaired some trash together.”
She lifts her gaze. Meets Amo’s eyes directly. “Enjin wouldn’t have done all that if she wasn’t a nice person.”
For a moment, the two of them just stand there beneath the porch light.
“I may not know much about her yet,” Rudo admits quietly, “but I’m… excited to learn more.” Her fingers curl slightly at her sides. “And in the end, if she ends up being bad, I’ll cut her off.” She pauses. “But right now?” Her lips tremble slightly. A smile tries to break free, stretching dangerously across her face. Rudo forces herself to keep her mouth tight and serious so she doesn’t scare Amo. “Right now,” she says carefully, “I wanna keep being her friend. So I’m going to keep talking to her.”
Amo stares at her. Blankly. There’s something strange behind her eyes.Confusion. Intensity. For a moment, Rudo almost expects another outburst. But instead—
Amo slowly nods.
“If that’s what Rudo wants to do, then Amo will support her!” Then she sticks out her tongue dramatically. “But that doesn’t mean Amo has to like Enjin!” she huffs. “Dirty old woman!”
Before Rudo can respond, Amo swings the door open and stomps inside. The door shuts behind her with a firm click, Leaving Rudo standing alone on the porch.
For a moment she just stands there.
Then a smile slowly spreads across her face.
It’s wide. Too wide. An ugly, unnatural grin stretching across her skin now that nobody is around to see it.
Her chest feels light. Relieved. Happy. She finally said it out loud. Even if it was only to Amo. It makes the determination inside her feel…real.
She forces herself to calm down. The smile fades. Her expression smooths back into something neutral before she turns and walks down the path toward the street.
Just as she reaches the car, Enjin climbs out of the driver’s seat.
“C’mon,” she says with a grin. “Let’s get ya in the front seat.”
Her hand lands gently on Rudo’s shoulder.
Warm and comforting.
She guides the smaller lady around to the passenger side. To Rudo’s surprise, Enjin opens the door for her. Rudo hesitates for half a second before climbing in. Enjin closes the door carefully behind her.
A moment later, the driver’s side opens and Enjin slides back into her seat.
Rudo watches her. Eyes bright. Something sharp and determined flickering behind them.
Just as Enjin reaches for the gear shift, Rudo grabs her hand.
“Can we go to your antique store?” Rudo blurts. Her confidence evaporates almost immediately under Enjin’s curious, gentle gaze.
“I… um…”
She suddenly feels painfully shy.
“…I really missed you!” she exclaims nervously. “I want to spend time together! …with you! …if you want! …if that’s ok!”
Enjin’s entire face lights up.
A huge smile spreads across her lips.
“Sounds wonderful, pretty lady.” Then her voice softens. “And I missed you too.”
Rudo nods. Quick. Jerky. Almost robotic. She immediately turns her head and stares out the window to hide her burning face.
Beside her, Enjin chuckles softly as she shifts the car out of park.
The car pulls away from the curb.
And together, they head down the street toward the antique store.
The last time Rudo had been inside the antique store, she hadn’t really had the chance to look around.
She’d been carried in by Enjin—soaking wet from the rain, ankle throbbing, her lap filled with trash she’d stubbornly refused to let go of. Enjin had sat her down on the old sofa without a second thought, wrapping her up in a warm towel and even warmer conversation, fingers gentle and practiced as she bandaged Rudo’s ankle like it was second nature.
Rudo hadn’t paid attention to anything else.
Not the store. Not the items. Not the way the place felt.
But now, with both feet firmly beneath her and no pain forcing her to stay still, Rudo finally gets to explore.
“Everyone’s already left for the day, so feel free to look around,” Enjin had said earlier, waving her off casually. “If ya see somethin’ ya like, I might let ya buy it at a discount.”
Then she’d disappeared into the back to finish paperwork, leaving Rudo alone.
Rudo steps further into the shop.
Her eyes immediately lift.
Colorful lights dangle from the ceiling—soft reds, golds, and blues casting a warm glow across the space. They sway ever so slightly, as if the building itself is breathing. Below them, rows upon rows of shelves stretch out. Each one filled. Each one… cared for. Rudo walks slowly, her boots quiet against the wooden floor.
Her gaze drifts.
Walking canes—polished smooth, some carved with intricate designs. Old glass bottles—green, amber, clear—catching the colored light and scattering it into fractured rainbows. Pocket watches sit neatly arranged, some ticking softly, their gears still alive and working. Others sit open, their insides removed, transformed into something decorative instead of functional.
Her eyes flick to the walls. Clocks. So many clocks. Different shapes, sizes, designs—and yet every single one ticks in the same direction. Every single one tells the same time. They aren’t just decorations. They’re maintained. Cared for.
Rudo’s chest tightens.
She keeps walking.
Where there aren’t shelves, there’s furniture. Half-polished wooden chairs sit waiting, their surfaces uneven where work has been started but not yet finished. A rocking chair creaks faintly even without anyone touching it, swaying slightly with a passing draft. Vanity tables line one wall, their mirrors cracked but still reflecting light beautifully, like fractured stars. Old dresses hang nearby, some missing buttons, others with torn seams.
Rudo reaches one of the vintage trunks. She crouches. Her gloved hands lift the lid slowly. Inside—
Scraps.
Fabric.
Thread.
Pieces meant for mending. Repairing. Continuing something that wasn’t finished.
She closes it gently and keeps walking.
What surprises her the most about this entire place is the absence of dust.
There isn’t any. Not on the shelves. Not on the furniture. Not even in the corners. Every inch of this place has been taken care of. Preserved. Protected.
Rudo’s hands clench at her sides, the leather of her gloves creaking softly in her ears. Her heart starts beating faster.
This place…is beautiful.
Not in the polished, perfect way the rich side of town tries to be, but in a way that feels real and honest. Every item here was once discarded, thrown away, deemed useless, and broken, and yet here they are—clean, repaired and loved.
Rudo swallows.
This is what she’s been trying to do. What she wants to do. To take the broken, unwanted, and give them a second purpose.
And that’s exactly what Enjin is doing.
Her feet carry her without thinking.
A tall mirror stands before her, framed in gold with intricate flower carvings curling along its edges. Time has chipped away at parts of it, leaving small imperfections scattered throughout. The glass itself is cracked, shattered in thin, branching lines.
Rudo steps closer.
In the broken split reflections, she sees herself. Her face is strained, her usual scowl sitting heavy on her features. Her red eyes stare back at her, too bright, too sharp—glowing with something that matches the heavy rhythm of her heart.
Rudo has never thought of herself as beautiful. Her body is too thin. Too malnourished. The baby fat that once softened her face is gone, leaving behind sharp angles and hollowed cheeks. Her hair is a mess—short, wild, never properly taken care of. Her eyes are too big and red, dark circles. permanently etched beneath them from years of exhaustion.
She’s never tried to fix any of it. Never cared enough to. Looking better was never important unless she had someone to impress.
But here, standing in this store, surrounded by broken things that have been repaired, imperfect things that have been kept rather than thrown away, Rudo feels something shift.
Her reflection doesn’t look… out of place. Not here. Not among all of this. She doesn’t look like something that needs to be thrown away. Rudo looks like she belongs.
Her fingers twitch at her sides.
She doesn’t have to try here. Doesn’t have to pretend. Doesn’t have to become something else just to be worth something. She can just—
Be.
And still be kept. Still be cared for. Still be…
Loved.
Her breath catches.
Because there’s only one person who could make a place like this.
Only one person who could care this much.
Enjin.
The thought settles deep in her chest—
“Sweetheart.”
The sound of that nickname pulls her from her inner thoughts.
Enjin’s voice.
Rudo startles slightly as Enjin steps up behind her, her reflection splintering across the cracked mirror in shimmering pieces. Her long blonde hair is no longer tied up, instead cascading freely over her shoulders like liquid gold, catching the colored lights overhead. Her eyes gleam beneath the glow of the shop, and her presence—tall, strong, steady—fills the space behind Rudo completely.
She dwarfs her in size.
A small, quiet part of Rudo likes that.
Before she can think too hard about it, Enjin’s tattooed arms slide around her waist. Strong. Secure. Pulling her back against her chest.
Rudo’s breath catches.
Enjin’s chin settles gently atop her head, their reflections overlapping in fractured pieces across the mirror. Their eyes meet through the cracks—gold and red locking together. Enjin exhales, slow and heavy, like just holding her is enough to release something tight in her shoulders. Rudo doesn’t pull away. She leans back into her instead. Her heart pounds hard against her throat, a blush spreading uncontrollably across her face as warmth seeps into her bones.
Enjin is warm—solid in a way that makes Rudo feel… cherished. It’s unfamiliar, and yet it feels oh so right.
Rudo’s gloved hands lift, resting over Enjin’s forearms wrapped around her waist—not to push them away, but to hold them there. To keep her close.
She doesn’t want to lose this.
Doesn’t want to forget it or allow it to be thrown away.
“Mmm… sorry ’bout leavin’ ya on your own like that,” Enjin murmurs, her voice soft, words brushing against the strands of Rudo’s hair. “Just had a couple more things to finish before I could give ya my undivided attention, pretty girl.”
Rudo swallows. She doesn’t trust her voice, so she nods instead.
Her eyes never leave Enjin’s reflection, and Enjin doesn’t look away either.
“Ya like the place?” Enjin asks, a teasing lilt slipping into her tone. “I bet ya do. I imagine it’s your biggest wet dream, ain’t it?”
Rudo should be embarrassed by her crass words, but instead she just feels soft all over, like she’s being draped in a big cozy blanket.
“Yeah…” she mumbles quietly. “It’s really cool…” Her fingers tighten slightly around Enjin’s arms.
Enjin hums in response, the vibration traveling straight through her chest and into Rudo’s back. “Glad ya think so,” Enjin says. “I’ve been taking care of this big baby since I was a teenager.”
“A teenager?” Rudo repeats, curiosity immediately sparking in her eyes.
Enjin nods, her chin brushing lightly against Rudo’s hair. “Yep. I was your average, run-of-the-mill runaway kid who needed a job to stay afloat,” she says casually. “What started as a way to make some quick cash kinda turned into… this.” Her arms tighten just slightly around Rudo. “My lifelong project,” she continues, quieter now. “Preserving and caring for stuff people throw away. Might not be the best at it—but I think I’ve done a pretty decent job.”
“…I think so too,” Rudo says softly.
There’s no hesitation in her voice. Only sincerity. Her eyes shine as she looks at Enjin through the mirror. “This place… it really is incredible, Enjin.”
For once, Enjin doesn’t crack a joke. Doesn’t try to deflect. Her smile softens instead, something quieter settling over her features.
“…Thanks, Rudo.”
Rudo.
Not sweetheart.
Not pretty girl.
Her name.
Something in Rudo’s chest tightens.
She wants to hear it again.
Her hands move.
She twists slightly in Enjin’s hold, reaching up to cup her face. Enjin freezes, surprised, but she doesn’t pull away or fight against Rudo. Rudo tugs gently, guiding her down until they’re face to face. Rudo leans back against her chest, craning her neck up, staring straight into Enjin’s golden eyes—bright and endless like something worth diving into.
“I want to work here,” Rudo says quietly, firm and unshakable.
Enjin blinks. A flush spreads across her cheeks. “Yeah—yeah, absolutely,” she says quickly. “Consider it done.”
“But if I work here—” Rudo continues, her grip tightening slightly.
Enjin stills.
“—you can’t use me as an excuse to slack off. Ya got it?”
“Yep, yep, deal,” Enjin rushes out immediately. There’s something different in her expression now. Something impatient and desperate.
Her gaze flicks down briefly to Rudo’s lips before shifting back up to her eyes.
“So,” Enjin says, voice dropping just a little, “are we gonna kiss, or am I gonna have to wait till after I take ya out on a date?”
Rudo pauses. “…I should really make ya wait till after our first date…” she says thoughtfully.
Enjin pouts instantly. The sight is almost enough to make Rudo laugh, but…
“…but I don’t wanna wait that long,” she admits quietly.
Enjin grins.
“Real smooth, sweetheart.”
“Oh, shut up!”
And before Enjin can tease her again, Rudo closes the distance.
Their lips meet.
Awkward at first, each testing the other’s boundaries, like two puzzle pieces that might not belong together but refuse to pull apart. Rudo’s pulse races in her throat, her gloved hands trembling slightly as they rest around Enjin’s jaw. She’s aware of every brush of skin, every warm inhale against her hair, every subtle weight of Enjin’s body pressing her back into the older woman’s chest.
Enjin’s hand shifts gently along Rudo’s stomach, a careful, almost fearful movement, as if afraid she might break the smaller girl with too much pressure. It’s clumsy, protective, and yet it sends a shiver of warmth through Rudo.
For a moment, they don’t think about anything else—no antique clocks ticking in unison, no polished canes or broken mirrors, not the world outside the shop. There’s only this fragile, tentative connection, delicate as the threads in the fabric-filled trunks scattered around them.
Rudo’s fingers curl against Enjin’s jaw, tracing along the line of her cheekbone, unsure whether to pull away or lean closer. The warmth of Enjin’s breath, mingled with the faint scent of lavender and old wood, is dizzying. Her heart pounds so hard it hurts, but it’s a good kind of hurt—the kind that comes from wanting to hold something new and precious.
Gently—reluctantly—Rudo pulls away, just enough to feel the soft outline of Enjin’s lips against hers. She breathes in sharply, eyes still locked on the golden orbs she’s come to trust and crave. Her voice is barely more than a whisper, strained with eagerness and curiosity, “When…when can I start? And…when can I meet the rest of your…co-workers?”
The words hang between them, fragile, intimate, yet bold in their own way. Rudo feels her pulse hammering, the heat rising in her cheeks.
Enjin whines softly, a teasing, low sound that makes Rudo’s heart skip a beat. “Ahhh, pretty girl…don’t you worry about that right now,” she murmurs, brushing her thumb lightly along Rudo’s cheek. “We’ve got time for all that. Right now…” Before she can say anything else, Enjin dips her head, claiming Rudo’s lips once more. It’s softer than before but no less fervent, a mix of reassurance and affection. Rudo melts into the kiss without hesitation this time, lips parting, hands clutching, letting herself be held and adored.
Every shiver, every heartbeat, every whispered moan is a silent affirmation—they’re both there, learning each other, building something fragile yet undeniable.