Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The girls are electric on stage.

Celine watches fondly as the Honmoon glows content for the first time since Mi-yeong’s death, and if she lets her eyes blur, she can almost believe she’s watching Mi-yeong perform again.

The girls are fluid together, voices and bodies blending as one. It’s a live performance for the ages, and an incredible first live performance.

Rumi, her Rumi, typically so awkward and reserved, claims the stage as her own. She’s confident and loud and everything her mother was before her. The audience is enraptured, and Celine is right there with them. 

She makes eye contact with Rumi briefly from the sidestage, and loses her footing slightly at how much she looks like Mi-yeong. So much like her, and so much like her father too. 

When the girls take their bows and run backstage, Rumi folds in on herself. Nothing like the girl she just presented as on stage. She wraps her arms around herself, and looks to Celine. She smiles at her, and Rumi relaxes.

She wonders if Rumi wants her to hug her. She wonders if that’s what Mi-yeong would’ve done. But she doesn’t need to wonder for too long, because Mira and Zoey are doing it for her.

They’re all over Rumi, all over each other. Excitedly complimenting one another and pulling on each other. A lump lodges itself deep in Celine’s throat watching how Rumi smiles with them - how happy they make her.

The two girls pull Rumi further backstage, and Rumi glances back towards Celine. One hand on her chest, Celine nods at her, and Rumi nods back.

This was going to work.

Chapter Text

The knock on her door is rigid and sure, which means it can only be one person.

“Are you busy?”

Rumi studies Mira quickly. She’s wearing her pajamas and holding a plastic bag in one hand, its handles wrapped tightly around her wrist.

She points behind herself towards her bed where her guitar lays flat. “I was writing.”

Mira rolls her eyes, playful. “You were noodling.”

“I wasn’t noodling!”

“You were noodling.” She holds the bag up to her face. “Can you help me touch up my roots? Usually I'd ask Zoey for help, but she’s at the studio.”

Rumi shifts her weight, uncomfortable. “I don’t know…”

“It won’t take that long. You can get back to all of this ‘writing’ you’re doing in no time, promise.”

Rumi sighs and rolls her shoulders. “Alright. I am writing though.”

Mira nods like she doesn’t believe her. “Of course. Our productive princess, always busy.”

–

Mira sits in front of the mirror of her and Zoey’s shared bathroom. Rumi isn’t in here often, and the disaster that is their counter stuns her. It’s a mess of makeup products and jewelry and god knows what. She fights every instinct in her to start cleaning the place.

Rumi begins separating Mira’s hair with her fingers, tying up the already colored parts to reveal her roots, which are more grown-out than she had realized.

“Did you really leave Zoey at the studio by herself?”

“Oh come on, I’m not that mean. Bobby’s there with her, and you know how those two get. I couldn’t get a single word in.”

Rumi nods, distant. She’s stalling a little bit, rubbing Mira’s hair between her fingers. She’s never actually done this before, but she assumes it can’t be that hard.

Mira reaches behind herself, handing Rumi the mixing bowl and brush. “I assume you know what you’re doing?”

“I get mine professionally done.” The lie is quick and serpentine on her tongue, and it’s out of her mouth before she can think about it. “If you could… guide me a bit.”

Lucky for her, Mira falls for it. “We’re just doing the roots, so you don’t really need to separate it into sections. Just put the bleach on with that brush, but try not to get any on my skin. It’s fine if you mess up. I can hide my roots if you do really bad.”

Rumi nods, swirling the bleach around on the brush.

“I believe in you.”

She smiles at Mira, finally moving to begin. She’s shaky, and definitely sloppy, but she’s careful to not touch Mira’s neck. She’s directed to put more on, and then eventually to rub it in with her hands. Before she knows it, she’s done.

Mira inspects her head with a handheld mirror, beaming at Rumi in a way that makes her shy. “Thanks. I’ve got it from here.”

Rumi nods and turns to leave, but is stopped by Mira’s hand on her shoulder. “I really appreciate you.”

Rumi blinks at her, a bit lost. She gently removes Mira’s hand from her shoulder. “Of course. Anything you need.”

When she gets back to her room, she finds she can’t focus on her previous task at all. Her mind is flooded with Mira’s kind words and kinder smile. She misses her company, and she doesn’t know what to do with the feeling.

Chapter Text

A faint noise cuts through the air of the penthouse, barely there at all, but definitely there .

Zoey stands in the middle of the living room, angling her body towards where she thinks the sound may be coming from. She assumed it was the kitchen at first, but it’s empty. 

To her surprise, it’s coming from Rumi’s room.

She stands in front of her door, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. She never knows what the right answer is with Rumi. She finds her hard to pin down. No matter how much she tries, she feels like she can never truly get through to her. She finds Rumi’s dedication to their work admirable, but she knows there has to be more to her. She doesn’t want to pry, but she is curious.

She knocks.

It takes a minute for Rumi to answer, and Zoey briefly wonders if she is asleep after all.

The door opens slowly, revealing Rumi with her hair still up, torso wrapped tightly in a blanket. “Is everything okay?”

Zoey nods. “Everything’s fine! I just heard noise coming from your room and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh. I’m okay, thank you. Did I… wake you up?”

“No! No nothing like that. I was just… curious.”

The two stand in front of each other silently, neither sure how to continue, or what to say.

Rumi looks at Zoey, looks behind herself, looks back at Zoey, and blinks. “Did you wanna come in?”

Zoey nods, eager, and follows Rumi into her room.

She’s never actually been in here before. Rumi likes her privacy, and Zoey respects that. She has her own bathroom, her own dressing room. Of course, Zoey wouldn’t mind sharing with Rumi. But Celine put special care into making sure Rumi had an out if she needed, and Zoey understands. A little.

Her blinds are closed and the room is pitch black, the only light present is emanating from Rumi’s laptop on her bed. 

“I was um… watching something. And that’s probably what you heard. I apologize.”

And it hits her. She knows exactly what has Rumi up so late. She quickly glances at her phone to check the date, and that confirms it. “We can watch together if you want the company.”

Rumi stares at her like she didn’t even consider the possibility.

“No it’s okay. It’s stupid. I should go to bed anyway. We have to be up early.”

She doesn’t want to come across as intrusive, but she wants to let Rumi know she’s there for her. She needs her to know she’s there for her.

“I really don’t mind! I’ll stay up with you!”

Rumi’s hands shift under her blanket. She looks at Zoey emptily. She can’t really tell in the dark, but she thinks Rumi might have been crying.

“Yeah. Okay.”

–

Zoey’s hunch was right.

It’s the anniversary of Mi-yeong’s death.

Being in the successor group to the Sunlight Sisters was always on the forefront of Zoey’s mind, but never a real concept she could grasp. While she understood that she was being trained by Celine alongside Ryu Mi-yeong’s daughter, it never really hit her . It never felt real or tangible. She understood, from a technical standpoint, that these were facts, but the weight of it was never there.

At least, not until now.

Rumi has a file on her laptop filled with interviews featuring the Sunlight Sisters. 

The two sit close, touching at the knees but making no other contact beyond that. They watch the videos together, but they don’t speak. Zoey wishes she had a blanket of her own, but she doesn’t dare risk asking Rumi for one. It’s like she’s been invited into a fragile bubble, and she’s terrified of popping it.

Rumi is lifelessly still, the bottom half of her face obscured by her blanket. Zoey’s never seen her this listless. She’s always moving, always working and busy. This Rumi, however, is stone.

“This is probably weird for you, I’m sorry.”

“No!” Zoey is quick to respond. “I understand. I mean, I don’t understand , but I understand.”

Rumi sways a bit, then pauses the video. “I never know how I’m supposed to feel. About my mother. I never knew her. It’s impossible to know her from just these interviews but… I try. These and Celine’s stories are all I have. I don’t even feel sad, I just feel… I don’t know.” She closes her laptop abruptly. “I’m sorry. I’m being weird.” She stands and moves towards the door.

Zoey rushes towards her. “You’re not weird, Rumi. Especially not for this. It’s normal to feel like this.”

Rumi nods like she isn’t listening, and she opens her door. Zoey gets the hint, but she refuses to leave her like this. She pulls Rumi into a tight hug, arms wrapped firmly around her middle. Rumi doesn’t reciprocate, but she doesn’t pull away either. She’s completely boneless in Zoey’s arms.

The world is completely stagnant as they stand there. Despite her layers, Rumi is freezing.

Zoey eventually lets go.

Alone, Rumi sheds the blanket she kept wrapped around her torso. She turns towards her mirror, looking at her arms as they glow faintly in the dark of her room. She hugs herself, watching the action as it’s mimicked back at her.

She frowns and shakes her head, picking up a hoodie from the floor and putting it on.

Chapter Text

Zoey rubs the sleep from her eyes as she steps out of her room.

She got up with the intention of getting water, but is frozen in her doorway as she spots Mira sitting on the couch, awake and focused. Her hair is down, and she’s hunched over her laptop.

Mira has never been one to skip out on sleep or relaxation in favor of work, so, Zoey thinks, that couldn’t possibly be the issue now, right?

She approaches her slowly and quietly, afraid of getting caught , of being seen , but she isn’t sure why. She almost turns on her heel and abandons her quest completely. This interaction doesn’t need to happen if she’s asleep. Whatever has Mira up this late won’t be tangible if she isn’t there too.

But Mira spots her.

“Oh hey Zoey. What’re you doing up?”

 She blinks her worry away and smiles at her. “Water.”

Mira hums in acknowledgement, looking back at her laptop. “Can you come look at this real quick? I want a second opinion.”

Zoey sits beside her. On her laptop is their newest music video, slowed down as Mira scrubs through a couple frames, back and forth. “Do you see what I’m seeing?”

Zoey shakes her head.

“Here, look.” Mira points at the screen. “Rumi’s sleeve rides up a bit here…”

And Zoey does see it. An unmistakable purple snaking around her forearm. 

She swallows dryly. “It’s probably just makeup. She’s wearing purple eyeshadow here, she must’ve just gotten some smudged on her arm.”

Mira considers her words, eyes narrowed at the screen. “You’re right.” She agrees as she shuts her laptop. “I’m probably just tired and stressed and it’s making me crazy.” She stands and offers Zoey a hand up. “Thanks for snapping me out of it.”

Zoey nods, and watches as she leaves, but it feels wrong . She knows what she saw, and she knows Mira saw it too. She shivers as the image stays static in her mind.

It wouldn’t make sense . Rumi is good . Rumi is undeniably good and devoted to their cause. It had to have been some trick of the light, or issue during the editing process. The concept of Rumi having patterns is absurd. So absurd that Zoey smiles at the idea.

Closing her own door behind her, she wonders if it would matter at all if it were true.

Chapter Text

The sleet squelches beneath Rumi’s boots unattractively.

She was typically thankful for cold weather. Any excuse to wear as many articles of clothing as possible was a win in her book, but this long stretch of their tour in the US was getting ridiculous.

They had three tour buses to accommodate their crew, one of which was dedicated to Huntr/x by themselves. 

Rumi stands in front of the door to the bus she hoped Bobby was in. She contemplates it, wondering if she should be doing this in the first place. The bus is black and matte under the moon. Rumi shivers lightly in the cold Colorado air. Snow was falling, but only barely - only if you paid attention to it.

She knocks on the door lightly, giving herself an excuse to pretend this never happened if no one answered.

Thankfully, it's Bobby who does.

“Rumi? What are you doing out here by yourself? Are you okay?”

She dodges his questions and his eye contact, looking down at his slippers.

“Can I talk to you? In private?”

He doesn’t respond, he just wraps an arm around Rumi’s back and ushers her inside, motioning for her to sit at the cramped table.

“Here, you talk, I’ll make you some tea. You must be freezing.”

Rumi watches as he struggles to reach for the tea in a high cupboard. He’s wearing a shirt with a graphic so faded she can’t make it out, along with purple pajama pants that have her group’s logo plastered all over them. When he finally gets the tea down, he turns and smiles at her, urging her to talk.

She looks down at her hands, threading her fingers in and out. “What would you do if someone you knew was keeping a secret from you?”

Bobby’s face hardens as he works. “I mean it all depends. How well do I know this person? How big is their secret?”

Rumi sighs. “Let’s say it’s your best friend, and it’s a friendship-ruining secret.”

He doesn’t respond quickly. He mulls it over while he waits for the tea to steep. Rumi watches him out of the corners of her eyes. He’s anxious and clumsy and clearly confused. He’s treating the question seriously though, and that’s what she was hoping for.

He sits down with her after straining the tea, handing her a cup while he sips from one of his own. “It kinda sounds like you want me to respond a certain way. I don’t wanna give you a biased answer.”

Rumi huffs through her nose. “Let’s say Zoey killed someone, and she was keeping it secret this whole time. How would finding out about that… make you feel?”

All of the blood leaves Bobby’s face. “Did Zoey kill someone?”

Rumi shakes her head, frustrated. “No. I’m just using this as an example.”

Bobby takes a drink from his mug, looking outside at the dim snowfall. “Well… did the guy deserve to die?”

“Bobby!” Rumi groans. “Okay. Ignore everything I just said. Have you ever kept a secret from someone?”

“Well sure. Who hasn’t?”

“Right. What happened when you told them? How did they respond?”

“Well..." He taps his fingers on the table. "I think that, if they care about you enough, you can typically work through it together, and it won’t matter in the end.”

Rumi stares down into her tea. She moves the mug in slow circles, watching as she creates a small whirlpool in it, and then watches as it ceases.

Bobby looks at her sadly, placing one hand on her shoulder. “I don’t know what this is about, Rumi, but for what it’s worth, you’re my friend, and nothing you do could change that.”

She brings her eyes up and stares at him coldly. Because she knows he’s only saying that. She knows that he couldn’t possibly understand. She knows that her coming here was stupid.

Rumi stands to leave, cradling her mug in her hands. “Thanks, Bobby. I’ll give this back to you in the morning.”

Bobby watches as she leaves, helpless to her frigidity. Maybe, if she were Mira or Zoey, his advice would’ve been good. But she’s Rumi. And he didn’t have the answer she was wanting.

Chapter Text

The steady rocking of the bus must’ve lulled them all to sleep.

Rumi wakes up to her shoulder pressed against Mira’s, and Zoey’s legs in her lap. Mira’s head is hanging in a way that will definitely leave her with a sore neck, and Zoey is drooling onto Mira’s thigh. Despite their unfortunate positions, Rumi smiles at them fondly.

She’s never able to be like this with them, and the fact that she finds herself here now is purely by accident. So she lets it soak in, if only for a moment. 

The memory of what led them here comes back to her. Zoey had insisted on having Rumi and Mira try all of the American snacks they’d never had before, and it left them all groggy with upset stomachs. They had put a movie on, and fell asleep on top of one another. The closeness of it all burns deep in Rumi’s ribcage.

They could be this close every night if it weren’t for the patterns tingling under her hoodie. She knows they would be so willing to let her in, always so willing to be around her.

And she also knows that they wouldn’t be if they knew.

Their proximity to her becomes unbearable, like a bruise or a papercut. Her hands twitch and her shoulders tense up, and she just needs out.

Gingerly, she lifts Zoey’s legs off herself, and moves away from them quietly, like a kid scared of being caught doing something they shouldn’t be.

She looks at them once she’s free. She sees how easy it is. How easy it could be.

How inaccessible it is to her.

She lays in her bunk, drawing the curtain shut.

It could be easy.