Rumi's life was crazy enough—demons she had to hunt, being in front of stages of screaming, crying fans all the time. Having her theories about her love life, or just about hate life.

It was worse when now she had some of her life now living like she was in a rom-com of enemies to lovers.

Hating someone felt disturbingly like falling in love—your stomach twists and flips, your sleep and appetite is ruined, every single interaction makes your veins and blood go through adrenaline and you have almost no control over your emotions.

Rumi hated this person with a passion, or so she thought. Sure, maybe very easy on the eyes, but she was not fooled.

They seemed to get off on teasing her or just doing random shit all for the reason to just piss her off.

Her reasons for hating them were several—the way they acted, and how so fast they changed up when cameras were around or anyone who had the guts to expose them.

Rumi's blood boiled with each interaction, but her heart skipped a beat. The way they smirked at her when they got something better.

Rumi hated how much of a contrast they were to her—the hate was mutual, and so was the competitions to who was the best.

There were many competing things between them, and Rumi always got the chance to boast when she managed to get something better.

But their interactions had been feeling slightly different lately—stares that lingered a little too long across the room, the mocking smirks being softer than they should be, heart beating faster than it should have with something other than hate.

Rumi didn't talk about it with Zoey or Mira—shouldn't when they'd just start shipping her with them every living second of the day.

Rumi have gone on dates with many people—most of them being celebrities who managed to make Rumi swoon. None of them made her feel this way.

Rumi's blood felt like it was boiling less no matter Rumi tried to convince herself it totally was.

Until—a celebrity party, too many drinks, and an empty room. Rumi barely had memories of what happened. But remembered the noises and the feeling.

Soft breathing and panting, hands on her jaw, the back of her neck. Her hands clutching at their arm, or clothing. Bodies pressed close together—

THEY PASSED THE LINE OF ENEMIES—

Rumi remembered panicking when she woke up alone, sure, but had her lipstick smudged in a way that definitely wasn't—'it was my sleep'—smudged.

Rumi remembered waking up and having few memories—but she could make out what happened with those memories.

It had been weird ever since then, driving and staring blankly at the road. Everything about idol parties came to the public—what would people think now?

Her and her enemy? DATING? NO!

Time had gone on since; Rumi had been more into trying to forget about them. It was getting more tempting the more she looked at them.

They both covered it up with the same witty remarks, but they never felt real like they did before they crossed the line.

Anyways, Rumi had been lying in bed, ranting to Derpy while he just stared forward at her. "Be real, Derpy, AM I CRAZY?!" Rumi cupped Derpy's face in her hands—he just made a small 'mrrrp' sound.

"I know I'm not." Rumi flopped onto her back, Derpy stared at her briefly, tilted his head to the side. Before slowly getting up from the bed, hopping off, and leaving briefly before coming back with a paper.

Rumi arched an eyebrow, before grabbing the paper and reading it. '가서 그들에게 말을 걸어봐'. Just go talk to them. Written in splattered ink, that explained the ink on Derpy's teeth. "...Did you explode the pen for this?—"

Now, Rumi stayed on a rooftop, watching over their house because she was hesitating between sneaking inside the house or knocking on the front door like a normal person.

Rumi teleported right into their closet, unaware of it being slightly messy, and tripping. From outside, they could hear the THUDS and loud sounds of Korean curses.

They opened the closet door and Rumi paused. Looked up. "Uh... hi—" Rumi then cleared her throat. "...Can you help me?" A sheepish smile.