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After the bathhouse, they collapse onto the couch as a collective lump. Under the curtain of Mira’s hair and the tangle of Zoey’s legs, Rumi can’t quite tell where she ends and they begin. If she could just crane her neck up and see, she would surely be able to figure it out, but her limbs feel more akin to jelly right now than tendons and muscle.
“I’m never moving again,” Mira says, half words, half incoherent groaning.
Rumi attempts a nod. “Never.”
“Couch,” Zoey says, muffled under the tangle of limbs.
Rumi’s wearing a tank top, and she can feel Zoey’s arm crushed against hers. It’s a strange feeling to have her arms exposed, patterns and all, and phantom anxieties urge her to hunch her shoulders, cover her arms, rush to the safety of her room.
Part of her still can’t believe it all worked out so well in the end, that she’s able to lie here with the two most important people in her life. They have some very serious, very heavy conversations ahead of them, and enough grief for a lifetime, but she knows they’re going to be okay, and she doesn’t think she could ask for anything more.
Someone turns the TV on, finding an old favourite film, and Rumi lets the noise wash over her, not really paying attention. She wriggles until Zoey’s elbow isn’t pressing quite so harshly into her ribs, finds her head tucked perfectly into the crook of Mira’s neck.
“Comfy?” Mira says, voice low and teasing.
Rumi huffs, doesn’t deign to answer her. She can practically picture Mira’s eyes rolling.
Mira’s hand finds her hair and sifts through it gently, nails scratching at her scalp. Rumi hums appreciatively, shifting closer to Mira, all but purring into her neck.
“Rumi,” Zoey whispers, sounding almost awed, “you’re glowing, Rumi.”
“Wha..?” She peaks down at her arms, finds her patterns shining with a faint purple, and blushes. “Oh. That doesn’t… I didn’t know they could do that.”
“What do you think’s causing it?”
She frowns. “It’s emotional, I think.” She rubs at her arm absentmindedly. “I guess it’s because I’m happy.”
“Awww,” Zoey’s arms hug tight around her. “We’re happy too!”
Mira tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re like a human mood ring.”
Zoey bursts into laughter even as Rumi is glaring at Mira. “I am not-“ Mira’s watching her, all fond mirth. Rumi sighs, falls back against Mira. “Whatever.”
Mira returns dutifully to untangling her hair whilst Zoey continues to laugh. And if Rumi’s patterns pulse in time with Mira’s ministrations, well, they’re all too tired to notice.
_-_-_-_
By the time they start preparations for a new comeback, Rumi is itching to perform again. She had desperately needed the break – they all had – but it was only so long until relaxation became restlessness. She misses workshopping lyrics, testing vocals, distributing lines. She misses their fans, and the exhilaration of live shows. As a result, she throws herself into the work with a possessed fervour.
“How do you even do that?” She laments, throwing her arms into the air.
Mira, not even breaking a sweat, flawlessly completes the choreography. Rumi crosses her arms and huffs.
“Don’t pout,” Mira says, not even looking at Rumi.
“I’m not,” Rumi argues, pouting.
Mira turns, and Rumi definitely doesn’t clear her expression in time, but Mira doesn’t mention it. “You need to keep your hips open. They’re too closed, so you can’t complete the movement.”
Rumi begins the sequence again, tries to follow Mira’s advice, stumbles anyway. She groans.
“Here,” Mira says, resting her hand on Rumi’s hip and applying a gentle pressure. Rumi’s breath hitches.
Mira guides her through the move, and Rumi does her best to stumble through it. It’s hard to focus on anything that isn’t the heat of Mira’s fingertips, tucked just under Rumi’s shirt, brushing over her abdomen, or the puff of Mira’s breath against her neck. She’s not sure how she gets through the choreography, but she’s certain it must have looked even worse than it did before.
In the mirror, her reflection is red faced and barely breathing, looking as if she’s one loud noise from hiding under the couch. Through her tee, a faint purple glow is just visible, the sprawl of patterns there reacting to Mira’s touch.
When she looks up, Zoey’s already watching her, a knowing expression on her face, and Rumi quickly turns away.
_-_-_-_
Nightmares plague Rumi long after the Idol Awards have passed. She dreams of memories, a film reel flickering through her brain. They’re violent, and cruel; hopeless. Sometimes Rumi wakes with the scenes still burned into her eyelids; other times, she’s left with only the panic and muscle ache, the dream already slipping away from her.
Tonight, she wakes with a scream trapped in her throat, her hand clawing at her neck. Her patterns are screaming an ugly scarlet, burning. She gasps, scrambles for air.
The room is dark, faint moonlight casting shadows. They loom and twist, and she shrinks back into the covers. In front of her, blurred by the tears in her eyes, Mira is reaching for her hand, rubbing soothing circles over her knuckles. The pink of her hair stands out brightly.
“Mira?” Rumi chokes.
“I’m here,” she murmurs, pulling Rumi into an embrace. Her hands rest at the base of Rumi’s spine, a comforting weight, and Rumi falls into her. “I’m here.”
Rumi sobs, eyes screwed shut. Mira holds her, sifting through her hair, scratching down her spine, whispering in her ear, until her breathing settles. When she opens her eyes, all she can is the curve of Mira’s collarbone, the neckline of her sleepshirt, the pink of her hair.
Gently, Mira lies them down in Rumi’s bed. She curls around Rumi like a blanket, and Rumi gladly hides in her.
When Rumi falls asleep, it’s to the warmth of Mira’s breath against her skin and the faint purple glow of her patterns, content and comfortable.
_-_-_-_
Their comeback is a resounding success, as predicted, and Rumi beams down at their fans, cheering and screaming for the three of them. She’s still catching her breath even as they leave the stage, chatting excitedly with Zoey, adrenaline coursing through her veins.
“-and your facial expressions Zoey! God I hope the camera caught all of that: you were amazing-“
She slips on the edge of a stair, losing her footing in her excitement. She freezes, mind still caught on the performance, and squeezes her eyes shut before she hits the ground.
Instead, a strong arm catches her round the waist, and Rumi cracks an eye open to see Mira, face impassive, holding her effortlessly from crashing into the ground.
Her patterns burn a bright, regal purple.
She stares up at Mira, now illuminated in purple, eyes wide, skin burning against Mira’s hand. Mira doesn’t react, righting Rumi with ease, and continuing down the steps without fanfare. Rumi watches her go.
Zoey coughs. “So…”
“Don’t.”
“Yep. Cool. Awesome.”
_-_-_-_
So Rumi has a crush on Mira. No biggie.
She also, apparently, has a literal glowing sign that practically screams her crush to everyone around her.
Kind of a biggie.
Her turtlenecks, shoved into the furthest depths of her closet, start to make a comeback.
_-_-_-_
“You need help?” Mira asks.
“No,” Rumi huffs, straining onto her very tippy toes to try and reach the top shelf.
Mira scoffs, stalking up to Rumi and easily grabbing the snack Rumi wanted. Her hand rests on Rumi’s hip as she does, and body brackets Rumi’s. Rumi swallows, tugs her sleeves down to cover the sudden purple glow, and snatches the packet from Mira’s hand with only a mumbled thanks before rushing away.
_-_-_-_
“This way, Rumi!” Zoey cries, running off to another exhibit and pressing her face against the glass, staring at the fish with wide, excited eyes.
Rumi watches her with an exasperated fondness, one she sees mirrored on Mira’s face when she looks up.
“Come on,” Mira says, and takes Rumi’s hand to tug her after Zoey, “before she falls into one of the tanks.”
Mira doesn’t let go of her hand for the rest of their aquarium trip, despite the glow seeping out from under her sleeve.
_-_-_-_
“Your new song,” the host says, smiling at them, “give us a summary of what it means to you.”
Rumi smiles back, poised and composed. “It’s about us, as a family, and what we mean to each other,” she responds, following their script.
Zoey grins, leaning forward with her patented excitement. “It’s about how we’ve grown together! Everything we’ve overcome.”
Mira nods, all cool and casual. “We love each other,” and she slings an arm around Rumi’s shoulder.
Rumi’s grateful for the long sleeves her stylist had picked out.
_-_-_-_
When the first leak appears in the Honmoon after the Idol Awards, they’re ready. Rumi’s grateful that they’ve encountered fewer demons, but she misses fighting, misses the harmony they find when they do.
It’s only a small group, lurking in a dank alleyway, conveniently away from the general public. Grin sharp, Rumi draws her sword. Without hesitation, she launches herself forward, flying towards the demons.
It’s over before it even starts really, with the demons struggling to keep up with them, barely posing a threat. The final demon, in a last ditch effort, throws itself at Rumi, clawing at her arms. Within seconds, Mira and Zoey are pulling it away, running it through on their blades, but there’s still a thin scratch down Rumi’s arm, and she’s momentarily winded, leaning against the wall.
“Rumi!” Zoey cries. “Are you okay?”
Rumi nods, catching her breath. “I’m okay.” She pushes herself off the wall, and Mira is at her side immediately, worried hands steadying her.
“Careful,” she murmurs, taking Rumi’s weight onto herself. Rumi flushes, struggling to remember what they had been talking about. “Here,” Mira says, and scoops Rumi up into her arms,
holding her in a bridal carry.
“It’s just a scratch…” Zoey, unheard by either of them.
Rumi glows the whole way home.
_-_-_-_
“You’ve been wearing turtlenecks a lot lately.”
Rumi, unaware that anyone had even entered her room, startles. “What?”
“Turtlenecks,” Mira repeats, gesturing at her current outfit. Rumi looks down, sees the high neckline and long sleeves, and winces. Guilty as charged. “You’re not trying to hide again, right?”
Rumi doesn’t know what to say. “No, I- I just… I mean-“
“You shouldn’t,” Mira says, crossing over to wear Rumi is perched on the edge of her bed. Rumi stares up at her. “You should never hide these.” She reaches a hand up to trace a pattern on Rumi’s arm. Instantly, they flare purple.
Rumi flinches away. “Sorry,” she murmurs. “I don’t know why-“
“They’re beautiful,” Mira says, clear and confident. Rumi’s jaw clamps shut. “You’re beautiful,” she presses, hand coming up to cup Rumi’s cheek. “And,” she says, leaning down until she’s inches from Rumi, “I think you like me.”
Rumi burns. The room fills with violet, and she thinks she can feel the glow under her skin. “I don’t,” she protests, a weak scoff following.
Mira arches an eyebrow. “No? You just do this for everyone? You glow for everyone?” Rumi swallows. Mira smirks. “That’s what I thought.”
“Well!” Rumi argues, indignant, “You must like me!”
“Oh?”
“Yeah! You… you wouldn’t have brought it up otherwise! And,” she grows more confident as she continues, “you carried me the whole way home last week, even though it was just a scratch! And you held my hand all through the aquarium visit…” Rumi trails off, catching sight of Mira’s knowing look. “Oh."
Mira just watches her.
"You’ve been doing it on purpose.”
Mira nods, sitting down next to her. “After you lit up the whole backstage after you nearly fell down the stairs -” Rumi winces; not her finest moment, “ – it was pretty obvious. And funny.”
Rumi groans, flopping down onto her bed, covering her face with her hands. There’s the rustle of Mira shifting, and then she’s prying Rumi’s hands off her face. “Also,” she whispers, and
Rumi realises she’s straddling her, “it was pretty hot,” and then she’s kissing Rumi.
Rumi gasps, pushing up to meet Mira’s mouth, arms looping around Mira’s neck. She can feel the way the corner of Mira’s lips curl against her own, and a wet sound escapes her mouth.
“Fuck,” Rumi pants, as Mira teethes at her neck. In response, Mira sucks at the corner of her jaw.
“This is new,” Mira says, and it takes Rumi a moment to realise what she means.
Rumi’s glowing (no surprise) a shining gold (surprise!). She stares at her own skin in wonder. “Oh my god…” Then she sees Mira smug face. “Don’t.” Mira says nothing. “Don’t!” Rumi whines, shoving half-heartedly at Mira’s shoulder.
Mira allows herself to roll of Rumi, coming to lie beside her. “I think it’s cute.”
“I think it’s embarrassing,” Rumi growls.
“That too.”
“Mira!”
Mira grins over at her, linking their fingers together, pressing a kiss to the knuckles. “I love you too.”