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Showing one's wings is an intimate gesture, which means that to Rumi it feels strange and unfamiliar. Alone in the bathroom, she takes off her shirt and summons them. They spread in the spacious bathroom, every single inch reflecting in the massive mirror.
Her first thought feels almost like a reflex, a Pavlovian instinct. She closes her eyes, but then takes a deep breath and opens them again. Her wings are still there. Still look the same.
Vile, demonic wings. Black, leather-like skin covered in lilac patterns that feel like the extensions of ones that cover her body.
When Rumi was a teenager, she started experiencing feather loss. Celine made sure she knew not to speak about it. Then her wings started changing, no longer covered in soft feathers, but in round scales. They looked like the ones she had seen on demons. Celine made sure that she knew not to speak about it again.
She was not supposed to ever show them to anyone. Not even to her bandmates. Maybe especially not to her bandmates.
Another deep breath. She folds her wings and outstretches them again. Still just as feather-less, still just as covered in scales. She runs her hand along the back of one of them. The texture underneath her fingertips feels smooth and, to her own surprise, pleasant to touch.
She has no idea why she expected it to feel awful, but some weird guilt lingers when it doesn't.
Rumi bites her lip. She is who she is. Her wings are her wings. She has quit hiding her true self from Zoey and Mira, and they accept her. They're waiting for her right outside the door with an entire set of oils and brushes meant for wing-care.
They had wing-care nights ever since she could remember. Mira and Zoey that is. For Rumi, it was the first time joining in. First time in forever showing her wings to anyone but Celine.
One more deep breath, almost as if she needed to calm herself down.
Mira and Zoey are waiting for her.
Mira and Zoey want her there even now that they know what she is.
And Rumi can't let them down.
She clenches her hands over the edge of the sink until her knuckles are nearly as white as the porcelain. She spent way too much time hiding, and now she's ready to stop.
Her top is now discarded on the lid of a hamper. A sturdy piece of white fabric that no longer shields her body from her own eyes, forces her to confront the truth of her appearance, her heritage.
But, much to her own surprise, she can't bring herself to feel shame or disgust or anything, really. Still, it fills her with pride.
Rumi turns around. Even in the solace of the bathroom, where she has no need for keeping up with appearances, her movements remain graceful. She opens the door and in the very moment she crosses the doorway, the realization hits her.
It's the first time Mira and Zoey see her wings.
She has seen theirs many times before. They have no shame showing them around her, and she often catches them preening at each other's plumage. Mira's wings remind her of an osprey, large and powerful, their primaries and secondaries dyed pink to match her hair. Zoey's are shorter in their length, more suited for sharp turns than hours of soaring, like a starling's, their deep blacks glistening with a nearly metallic, bluish shimmer.
Rumi's wings feel so out of place. Scaly. Featherless. Demonic.
Zoey and Mira cheer when she walks into the room anyway.
Mira leans back, body sinking into the beanbag, wings splaying behind her in all of their pink-tipped, raptor-like glory. Even in nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants with a hole in one knee and a plain black bra with only a lace trim at the top, she still looks amazing. She always does. She has that angular build that many models would be jealous of.
"Look who finally decided to show up?" she says, raising one eyebrow as if Rumi is another challenge. And she has never seen Mira give up on a challenge.
"Uh, I don't know if there's much you can do with these," she spreads her featherless wings.
Zoey's smiles wider, as if she doesn't care about the demonic nature at all.
"Your scales look quite dry," she says, tone bright as she holds up one of the bottles of oil. She's wearing plain black shorts with a turtle print on the side and a bright pink lace bralette.
Mira shakes the brush in perfect sync, almost as if they had planned it before. It's very possible that they did.
Rumi allows her shoulders to slump, almost as if some weight is being lifted from her shoulders. She allows her wings, which up to this point she has kept pressed tightly against her back, to spread a bit.
"C'mere already," Mira says, her voice is flat, but Rumi has known her long enough to understand that it's not impatience hiding beneath these words. It's excitement. The same excitement that shines in Zoey's eyes.
They want her here, just as she is, and that's enough to make her heart skip a beat.
Her steps feel light when she closes the distance, taking up the remaining beanbag. All three of them sit in a circle with a collection of expensive-looking wing-care oils in the middle. They're top-notch, famous brand, expensive as fuck, but then again Huntrix is making a lot of money from concerts and merch. Enough that even the most expensive wing-care products shouldn't seem that expensive.
And sure, Rumi is used to designer clothes and high-end make-up products, but when it comes to wing-care, she never quite felt like her wings, her demonic wings, were something deserving of care. She only kept a bottle of cheap, convenience store oil to prevent the scales from cracking.
The second after she sits down, Mira's lips twist into a familiar grin.
"Zoey, go get her."
Before Rumi even realizes what's happening, she's wrestled onto her stomach and Zoey is sitting on the small of her back. She can hear Mira opening one of the bottles of oil. The smell that fills the room is rather strong, but pleasant. It reminds Rumi of roses and vanilla and fresh linen.
"Are you sure it will work with my wings?" she asks, spreading them as if she needs to remind Mira and Zoey of their demonic appearance.
Mira reaches out. A single slender finger drags along the top of Rumi's wing. She didn't expect the sensation to feel so different when it's somebody else, but it does. The intensity of the feeling surprises her enough to force something that resembled a moan out of her mouth.
"They're awfully cracked," Mira says, her tone teasing, fingertips drawing circles across the scales on the top of her wing, "I'm sure it won't make them worse."
Zoey leans closer, a brush in her hand. She dips it into the bottle of oil. Her breath is warm, crashing against the back of Rumi's neck.
"We'll start with you. You've missed enough of our wing-grooming sessions already."
The oil-dipped brush slides smoothly across the scales of her left wing. It feels nice, smooth. The oil Zoey is using definitely feels much better than the one Rumi has always used. Maybe the quality really makes a difference.
But still, one question keeps repeating itself over and over in the back of her mind. A broken record. A cruel whisper.
The last time she kept a secret from her bandmates, it ended badly.
The last time she kept a secret from her bandmates, it nearly broke up Huntrix.
The last time she kept a secret from her bandmates, it nearly made her lose everything she holds dear.
This time, she decides to speak up, even when just thinking about the words makes her gut twist and her throat feel dry and scratchy.
Zoey's brush slides smoothly across the scales, spreading the oil around. The air is filled with roses, vanilla, and fresh linen. Rumi's head is filled with growing anxiety. Her eyes flick between Mira and Zoey, before she finally finds the courage to ask.
"Don't you think my wings are, you know," she flinches before finishing, "Disgusting?"
The room grows quiet, and it's enough to make Rumi's stomach drop. If Zoey wasn't still brushing the oil into her wing, she would believe that the time has stopped.
Then Mira and Zoey erupt in laughter in nearly perfect unison. Zoey drops the brush and hugs Rumi from behind, the warmth of her body feels as if it was sipping into her bones.
"You really are stupid," Mira remarks in a cold voice, before walking over and putting two fingers under Rumi's chin, forcing their eyes to meet, her raptor-like wings flapping as if she was angry.
Meanwhile, Zoey just hugs her tighter.
"Don't say that. They're fabulous."
Fabulous, even though demon-like.
Rumi parts her lips, but before she manages to say a thing, Mira shuts her up with a kiss. Rumi hasn't kissed much, but it's clear that Mira knows what she's doing. She's rough, playful, her tongue slips past Rumi's lips. And then she lets go, just as rapidly as she has begun, a cross expression on her face.
"Listen, you dumb bitch," she lashes out, her tongue sharp as always, "We love you, okay? As you are. So just be honest with us."
Rumi presses her face into the beanbagto hide the tears swelling up in her eyes. She tries to say "thank you," but her words get muffled by the fabric.