Archive of Our Own

“You know, I feel like we got a nice little break.”

That's what she expects herself to say as she looks at the three girls chittering away excitedly. The words sit right at the tip of her tongue, yet for some reason, she can't bring herself to spit them out. Which is weird; these are their fans. It's not like she is scared of them—

They. They made sure to delete all the footage. Factually, nobody should remember what actually transpired. All that the common folk know is that the performance of HUNTR/X went through technical difficulties and got transferred to another location, where they successfully performed with jaw-dropping special effects. And, and it's been a week and nobody found anything out so far. Everything should be okay.

Yet Rumi can't help but reach up and scratch at her forearm. Which does not go unnoticed.

“Rumi?” she hears Zoey pipe up. “Are you okay?”

She yanks her hand away, planting it firmly at her side.

“Y-yeah. I'm okay,” she lies, as she has been this entire time.

Zoey furrows her eyebrows, worried, while Mira carefully puts a hand on her shoulder:

“Are you sure?”

Absolutely not. But the girls do need an answer, so she settles on:

“I'm just. Not ready, I guess.” She motions towards the kids.

Zoey's expression softens up and she gives Rumi a gentle smile.

“Aw, Rumi, it's alright! We don't have to talk to them if you don't want to.”

Mira, on the other hand, is not gentle at all.

“You're scared someone remembered the footage?”

Rumi flattens her lips and gives a sharp nod, unwilling to admit it out loud.

“We covered everything up.” An amazing choice of words, Mira. “Nobody will know anything other than the bombastic special effects.”

Again, Rumi knows that. But the rational part of her brain doesn't seem to be functioning today. Because what if they understood and now will try to, to use it somehow? What if they target her and try to ruin her? What if—

“D'you want to go home?” Zoey asks, even more gently.

Rumi nods and manages a quiet “Yes, please.”

So they turn around and do just that. The kids never even notice their presence.

***

When they get back, Zoey offers, a touch awkwardly but smiling, their Couch™, snacks, and movies. Which, knowing Zoey, could either mean a documentary on the immigration process of loggerhead turtles or ASMR videos of turtles eating. But, honestly, Rumi will take anything at this point. Her brain is buzzing unpleasantly with things she would rather not think about, and she wants that to stop, please.

“Yeah, we can do that,” she answers at Zoey's hopeful look.

Zoey's smile doesn't quite reach her eyes, but she does make sure to chant “Couch, couch, couch!” as she trots off into the kitchen. Mira gives Rumi a look and then says she'll go grab the blankets. Were this a normal time, Rumi would join right in and help set up the Couch™, but…

It really isn't. But it would be nice to pretend, just for a little while.

She will just… sit here and let Mira and Zoey take care of things. Because she trusts them to do so. Yeah. It, it doesn't matter that they pulled their weapons on her. That's how they were taught to react. You see a demon, you kill a demon. She is not mad at them.

She flies off of the couch and starts walking before her brain manages to supply the image of their weapons slicing her skin open.

She needs to work. She, she will go fetch the pajamas and then check for drinks. Then they are going to lie all over the Couch™ and relax, because it's what they deserve after all the stress they went through. And Rumi is going to not think, get a good night's sleep, and feel completely refreshed and ready to get back to business the next morning. Yeah.

Ha. Working to make herself relaxed. Old habits die hard, don't they?

***

Movie time goes better than it could have, honestly. At some point Rumi does become interested in the series' plot enough to stop chewing on her thoughts. Plus, Zoey comments “Oh, big mood” every time the main heroine fantasizes about marine animals. They finish the whole season and are left with the thirst for more. While Zoey and Mira are discussing just that, Rumi looks out the window. It's dark, and the Honmoon is peacefully glowing like the neon lights of Seoul, promising a demonless night.

Good. That's good.

“Girls, I'm gonna turn in early,” Rumi says, still looking out the window.

Their heads snap to her immediately.

“Everything okay?” Mira asks directly.

“It's not even eight yet.” Zoey's way of asking is more roundabout.

Technically, it should be okay. They had a long few months—a long life, more like—so feeling tired is quite natural. But there is an undercurrent to those two questions, one that leads to things Rumi would rather not get into.

She knows she will have to. Just… not right now. It's too much. She's not ready.

She settles on a white lie this time.

“I'm just tired, that's all.”

Which does nothing to wipe the worry off of their faces. Rumi gets up, deciding to make herself scarce before this escalates.

“See you tomorrow,” she says awkwardly, aiming for the bathroom.

“Rumi.”

She stops and tries her best to keep a neutral expression as she turns.

“Yes?” Please. Please, not now.

Mira gives her a long look and then shakes her head slightly, as if deciding against something.

“…Nothing. It's just—” She swallows. “We'll be here when you're ready to talk.” Zoey nods, confirming.

Well. At least they are letting her pretend. Rumi hides the wince and nods gratefully instead.

“Okay.”

Her patterns glow with shame as she stares at the exhausted woman in her mirror.

***

Her room is empty as she enters. Derpy and Sussie must be making an evening promenade or sleeping with Zoey and Mira, now that they know all about them. She decides to check her phone instead. Nothing new—right now, at least. Rumi still remembers it vibrating like crazy after the performance.

She knew what she would find. She knew she was supposed to unlock it and answer. But she simply couldn't bring herself to. Rumi just wanted to sleep. To sleep and not to think—about everything that happened and could've happened, about Jinu, about Céline, even about Zoey and Mira. Only after she did just that she managed to talk herself into swiping the screen. It was full of missed calls and unread messages from Céline and a couple from Bobby.

She remembers guilt settling over her as she scrolled through the texts. Every single one of them was demanding to know where she was, if she was okay, spewing apologies and the desperate demands (child don't do this to me at least let me know you are safe—).

And then resignation, as the last message read:

Bobby called. Said you you're home with Mira and Zoey. If you wanted to be left alone you could have just said so.

Bobby's messages, on the other hand, were less heavy.

hey so Mira told me youre with her and zoey, so if youre reading this dw i told Celine

call her back tho she sounded pretty worried

Good ol' Bobby. Always there for them, even after being fed another undeserved lie. Rumi is still unsure if he believed them, by the way. It wouldn't be unheard of him to let them go with no explanation whatsoever simply because he loves them. As for Céline...

Current Rumi hits the back of her head on the wall, breathing in. She hadn't meant to worry Céline, and especially not after that. But she just… couldn't talk to her. It was too much—it still is. She still wants to sleep and forget everything that happened for a while. She doesn't want to think.

Rumi sits on her bed and reaches the last two messages from that day. One for Bobby.

Thanks Bobby. I will

And one for Céline.

I'm sorry. I don't want to talk right now. Please give me space.

What stings the most is that she actually does. Not a single call since then, and no messages either. Rumi still hasn't decided if she is grateful or hurt by this. Another thing not to dwell on, eh?

She hits the Turn Off button. With that simple act, her strength leaves her completely. She has just enough left to crawl under the blanket, put her head on the pillow, and then she knows no more.

***

She's running, gasping and panting frantically. Her heart is pulsating in her ears along with Honmoon ripping at the seams, and everything is blurry at the edges.

There are eyes. There are eyes everywhere, ogling her, burning through her skin. They can see, they can feel the filth that runs through her veins. And the mouths, they twist and contort in mocking grins, and their voices—

'Cause I see your real face...

We see what you are.

And it's ugly as sin...

You're a demon!

A mistake! Have been since the day you were born!

They're animal screeching, they're nails across the glass, they're laughter and howling and—

I knew it was too good to be true.

I just needed you to trust me.

Everything I was taught told me you were wrong.

Familiar. She stops. And they... do not. Oh God, they're getting further away—

She screams.

“Don't leave!”

Two figures, pointing their weapons at her.

“DON'T LEAVE!”

A striped man, snapping his fingers.

“PLEASE!”

A woman, averting her gaze from her.

“I CAN STILL FIX IT!”

Please. They are all she has left.

But none of them are there when the visuals, the voices cascade and turn into one giant ball of fire. She doesn't need to look up to know it's Gwi-Ma.

“What is there to fix? You can't even fix yourself,” he tells her.

“I can't.” She never could.

“And now everyone finally sees you for what you are.”

“They do.” Her patterns crawl all over her skin like coiled ivy.

“And the Honmoon is gone.”

“It is.” And she is the one who destroyed it, the voices having long turned into the screams of humans being sucked dry by demons.

Gwi-Ma hums, pensive.

“What is it going to be, then?”

And instead of saying what she had actually said, she whispers, resigned:

“Do what none of them will.”

This time his hum is a pleased one.

There is a demon standing right in front of her. It looks exactly like the woman she once used to be. It smiles, its teeth sharp and its eyes like two voids, as it brandishes its sword.

It doesn't hesitate, nor does she try to dodge, when it swings at her neck.

***

Rumi flies off of her mattress with a gasp. Her hands snap up to her neck to make sure that it is still untouched. It is. Okay. Deep breaths, Rumi. Just a dream, nothing more. That didn't actually happen. Not all of it, at least.

She kicks the blanket off and wipes at her sweaty forehead. Then, she plants her feet on the cool floor and hides her face in her palms, pressing at the eyelids with their heels. That should ground her.

Something bumps at her knee.

“Mmrp?”

Rumi looks up and nearly jumps out of her skin because there is a pair of giant rhombus-like eyes glowing right in her room—

Before noticing the owner of those. The tiger tilts his head, his expression that of concern.

“Hey, Derpy,” she rasps, reaching out to stroke his big, soft head. He leans into the touch, not taking his eyes off of her. “It's okay. I'm okay.”

Her petting is interrupted by a slight peck on her finger. Rumi moves her hand away, only to find Sussie giving her the usual unimpressed look again. Only this one feels more personal—like she knows Rumi is full of shit.

“Okay, maybe not completely,” she admits in a second. “But I will be.” Not like she has a choice.

She sits like this for a little while, letting the texture of Derpy's fur calm her. Then, she gets up and walks out on her balcony. Puts her forearms on top of the railings and breathes in.

It's a nice night. Cloudless and warm, so she doesn't need to put on an extra layer of clothing. Their city is lit up with neon lights and displays, buzzing with energy like always. The new Honmoon is still covering everything nicely, gleaming like a rainbow in the dark. The Han River hasn't left its borders. There are people scuttling all over, hurrying for the owl buses and visiting the bars, the clubs, the jjimjilbangs, the late-night markets. If she squints, she can make out the Namsan Mountain in the distance, along with Seoul Tower.

If this were a normal night, she could go for a walk. Maybe not even alone. Maybe even with Jinu. Who is dead when he is supposed to be right here alongside her.

The last thought tastes surprisingly bitter.

It's. It's not like Rumi is mad at him. Jinu was forced into literal hell, constantly mind-raped, and denied his eternal rest for 400 years straight. He was probably relieved to give up his soul to her.

But it really doesn't change the fact that it felt like he used the opportunity to save her as a means of suicide.

Rumi reaches into the pocket of her pajamas and pulls out one of the silly little postcards he would send her. This is all she has left of him. His postcard, his pets, and the bracelet that lady gave her.

Sorry, kind old lady. But the problem here is that Rumi doesn't want a better boy. She wants the hopeless one.

She sniffles and wipes at her eyes. Why couldn't he have tried to stay with her? Why couldn't he put his trust in her? And yes, she understands he was manipulated and abused by Gwi-Ma, but if he had simply let them finish their performance, they would have achieved golden Honmoon, and everything would have been okay. They would have been together. They would have been free.

Or not. She doesn't even know anymore. All she knows is that Jinu is dead, and Rumi is still here, having gone through one of the worst experiences of her life.

She sighs and steps away from the railing. A glass of water might do her some good. She puts on her hoodie by habit and walks out of the room, patting a still disquieted Derpy on the head.

Their house is quiet and peaceful. She turns on one of the lights, wanting to keep it semidark. Pours herself a cup and sits at the table, wondering if she's going to get any sleep tonight. Because she hasn't been, as of late. It's been only a week, and four nights out of seven she had woken up from a nightmare.

Which is not good. Not good at all. They have fixed the Honmoon, sure, but it doesn't change the fact that it's not anywhere near golden, just like Gwi-Ma is nowhere near killed. They are still the Huntresses, and they have a duty to their people. Which means Rumi must deal with this… state she's stuck in as soon as possible. If she stops sleeping and starts flinching at every little thing, she might as well drop the sword and let the demons devour her. Because a mentally clouded Huntress is a dead Huntress—another thing that had been drilled into them.

But… dealing with this requires talking. A lot of talking. That Mira and Zoey expect her to initiate. That she is not ready for.

Why not, though? Mira and Zoey are her quite literal soulmates, who love and care for her. That's why they have been giving her space in the first place—because they don't want her to feel pressured. Because they love her just the way she is.

Then why did they—

Shut up. It's what they were taught. They regret it. Otherwise they wouldn't be in that crowd.

Rumi takes a deep breath, her eyes closed, to calm herself. When she opens them, she notices a sheepish face reflecting in the fridge. She turns around.

“How long have you been standing here?” And how come she never noticed? Shit, she really is slipping.

Zoey gives her a small smile, twiddling.

“Eeeeh, not too long? I mean, I literally just got here, so.”

Rumi quirks her mouth, too tired to smile. Zoey takes a tentative step towards her, as if checking for permission, and then pulls out a chair to sit.

“Can't sleep?” she asks.

Rumi gives a noncommittal shrug. Zoey continues.

“Me neither.” She rubs at her forearm. “Just… much to think about, you know?”

Rumi nods. Does she ever.

“So I decided to put on a show to help me fall asleep, and it was Squid Game, but then, uh, wow!” She gives a shaky giggle, her eyes darting. “The Front Man—you know, the main bad guy?—kinda sounds like Gwi-Ma! And I may have, um, flipped out a little? Because it felt like he was in my head again, and I didn't like that?”

Rumi gives her a sympathetic look. Jinu said she was lucky for having never heard his voice. She believes him even more now.

She reaches out to cover Zoey's hand with her palm.

“I'm sorry you had to go through that.”

Zoey gives a one-shouldered shrug, looking away.

“It shouldn't have affected me.”

“It's what he does, Zoey; we're not the exception—”

“But, but we're the Huntresses!” She snaps up and starts pacing. “We're strong, we, we protect people! It shouldn't have taken a couple of words for him to get us to obey!”

She's right about the Huntresses part, at least. Rumi doesn't feel particularly strong right now. Or like a protector. She feels wrung out like a washcloth.

“I know,” she says. “But, well… none of us were in a right state of mind back then. A… a lot has happened.”

Un understatement of the century. Zoey does stop, though.

“Y-yeah. A lot,” she forces out.

And there's the undercurrent again, leading to the inevitable. Rumi doesn't even try to fight it. Too exhausted, and she's lost control of her night—life, more like—anyway.

“Hey,” Zoey finally breaks the silence, carefully, “do you think we can—”

They are interrupted by a slam of the door. Which is then followed by rapid footsteps and a very disheveled Mira. The fear in her eyes fades as soon as she spots them, but it was there.

“Oh, thank God,” she mutters, leaning against the nearest wall.

She breathes in, then out. Rumi and Zoey don't demand an explanation—who wouldn't freak out if their only family suddenly vanished from their beds overnight?

“We're here, Mira,” is all Rumi says, her voice soft.

Mira pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Yeah. I know.”

“We're not going anywhere,” Zoey adds and comes up to hug her. Mira clings to her like to a lifeline. Rumi stays.

They both give her a confused look, and she averts her gaze, ashamed. Tugs up her hoodie for good measure.

There is a pause that is too long for comfort. Then, Zoey pipes up:

“Hey, uh, so, back to my previous question. Rumi, do you think we can talk now? Please? Because there has been a lot of tension in this house that needs to be resolved.”

“Zoey,” Mira shushes her gently and turns to Rumi. “Rumi, you don't have to if you're not—”

Rumi puts her palm up.

“No, it's fine. We'll have to eventually—might as well do it now.”

“Are you sure? We—”

“Please,” interrupts her Rumi. “Before I lose my nerve.”

To that, Mira nods. Then they both sit, with Zoey by her side and Rumi on the other end of the table. Which has become the norm for them, it seems. Rumi winces, hopefully unnoticed. It's, it's okay. It's just a seating position, not an interrogation. It doesn't mean anything.

There is a loud scratching sound—Rumi looks up and sees Zoey push her chair towards her while still sitting on it, her brows adorably furrowed in concentration. Mira, on the other hand, rolls her eyes and picks hers up. Once they are settled, all of them are on one side, smushed like beans in a bean sprout steamer.

Rumi can't help it. She snickers.

“Do we have to sit this close?” she asks.

“Yes,” they answer in unison.

And despite herself, Rumi breathes a sigh of relief. Then she locks her palms around her cup and asks:

“So, um… where do we start?”

Zoey looks away and shrugs.

“Uh… At the beginning, I guess?”

“That is a very vague category, Zoey.”

“I mean, we could start at the end, but I don't think there is one—”

“How about,” Mira butts in, gently, “we start with your patterns. If that's okay.”

Not really, but it was what kicked this whole mess off, was it not? It's logical.

“My patterns… well.” She takes a breath. “You already know I got them from my dad—please don't ask about that, by the way; I still have no idea how demon reproduction works. Aaand I have been hiding them my entire life because they make me a target. Both for demons and Huntresses. Gwi-Ma might try to reclaim me, and the Huntresses might kill me.”

Those have always been Céline's biggest fears. And after a while, it became impossible to distinguish her voice from Rumi's own when thinking. It was like a broken record. Cover those up, you hear me, they will take you away, Rumi, they will hurt you, you have to hide yourself, it's not safe—

“Yeah, we get that, but…” says Mira, and her expression morphs into something pained. “We've known each other for years, Rumi. We've known you for years. If you had simply explained, we would have understood. Why hadn't you?”

How, when she couldn't think anything other than what her broken record would play?

“I wanted to,” she admits. “But… Céline has always told me that nothing would change unless I got rid of these.” She taps at her neck, where her translucent stripes peek out. “That people wouldn't understand. So I never tried to.”

Mira and Zoey furrow their brows.

“Céline told you that?” Mira asks, tense, while Zoey bites her lip.

“I'm… not surprised, honestly. That does sound like her.”

Rumi nods, a touch ruefully. Mira flattens her lips.

“Were we ever going to find out?” she asks.

Rumi hunches her shoulders, guilty.

“…With luck? Never. If we'd achieved the golden Honmoon like we were supposed to, my patterns would have disappeared. But we hadn't, so…”

She trails off. Zoey's eyes light up with realization.

“So that's why you decided to go promo early.”

“Yes.” She winces. “I'm, I'm sorry I didn't let you rest, by the way. I was just so desperate to finally get rid of this whole thing so I could finally live a normal life with you guys, and…” She exhales and looks them in the eye. “I'm sorry. I won't do that again.”

As soon as Zoey rushes to assure her that they were never mad at her, Mira overrides her, a tint of steel to her voice.

“I don't think it's your apology I want, Rumi.”

Rumi snaps her head to her. Mira is bristling, her fist clenched on the table and her expression that of a barely concealed rage. Zoey's isn't, but it is not a pleasant one either.

She really should have expected this. Of course they would blame Céline and not her. Maybe she should too. But Rumi's anger faded as soon as she saw the way Céline looked at her when she'd told her she was glad to see this Honmoon destroyed. Because it wasn't an expression of disappointment or disgust. It was an expression of a person who knew they had no one to blame but themselves.

Right now, all of her feelings towards Céline orbit around hurt and guilt. Mostly guilt, now that she's not mentally falling apart like back then. She imagines what it must have looked like—Rumi came to her half-transformed, told her to end her life, then disappeared and never even bothered to let her know if she was alright. She'd most definitely shaved a couple of years off of her peace of mind. Perhaps that's why she can't help but feel a bit protective of her.

“Keep her out of this.” She tries to sound stern, but still gentle.

The girls give her equally astonished looks.

“Rumi—don't tell me you're on her side.” Mira looks at her with a mix of desperation and anger. “You have been hiding parts of yourself just to fit in for twenty-three years straight! None of this would have happened if it hadn't been for her!”

“Yeah, why are you defending her?” assents Zoey.

“I'm not.” Rumi grabs at her cup to ground herself. “She fucked up, and I won't deny that.” Her gaze turns pleading. “But I need you to understand that she didn't do that to specifically hurt me. She did that because she was protecting me.”

Mira snorts.

“And what a bang-up job she did—made you believe you wouldn't be loved unless you're fixed.”

Rumi tenses up.

“Like I said, it wasn't the intention.”

A scoff.

“As if that matters.”

Oh come on.

“Wh—Of course it does!” She composes herself quickly. “Look, I'm not happy with her either. But she did her best, and…” She forces a bit of hopefulness into her tone. “It turned out fine—I came back, didn't I?”

Like she had a choice. There was no one there to pull her out of the void she was falling into.

“Rumi,” Mira objects, her voice grave, “we heard that scream. It was anything but fine.”

“I can only imagine how scared you were,” Zoey whispers.

Out of her mind. She'd felt stripped naked, violated, the filthiest parts of her out in the open, where everyone could see, and no, don't leave, don't leave—

And the worst part of it was the fact that her fears hadn't turned out baseless.

“She made you feel ashamed,” Mira goes on to say then, “of something you couldn't control.”

“Y-yeah,” Zoey nods, “and besides, you were the kid. She was kind of supposed to know better.”

And that's when bitterness crawls up Rumi's throat, clogging up all common sense.

“You were supposed to know better than to point your weapons at a fellow teammate too,” she grumbles, staring at the umu emoji at the bottom of her cup. “And yet.”

Their eyes snap wide open, and Rumi clamps her lips shut, already regretting her loss of restraint.

“Sorry, I just—” She sucks in a breath, making sure to avoid their gazes. She knows she will find heartbreak, and they didn't deserve that, it's what they were taught. “I'm sorry.”

A pause. In the corner of her eye, Rumi sees Mira take a deep breath. Then breathe out.

“Fair,” she finally says.

Rumi whirls towards them, shaking her head. The last thing she wants is them stewing in their guilt.

“It's fine—”

“Rumi, it's really not.” There is a weariness to Zoey's words.

“I didn't mean it—”

“Do you or do you not feel hurt by what we did?” Mira overrides her.

“It's okay, I understand.” She reverts to her recent mantra. “That's how you were taught to react. I'm not mad, really.”

They level her with a look—Mira's serious, Zoey's heartbroken.

“Rumi. Yes or no?”

“No.” She lies, immediately. Then, when their gazes turn pleading, she lowers her head and whispers miserably, “…Yes.”

She'd begged them. She'd begged them not to leave her, and they—

Somebody makes a sharp inhale. Rumi feels the tips of her nails turn into claws and scratch at the porcelain. Then there is a sniffle, and oh no, oh God—

“I'm sorry, Rumi,” Zoey whispers, wiping at her eyes. “I am so, so sorry.”

“I am sorry too.” Mira isn't crying, but her voice is raspy. “More than anything.”

No. No, no, no, Rumi is ending this right now. She sticks on something akin to a smile and tries to reassure them:

“Girls, I understand, really. I'd been lying to you, and, and there was that train recently, and Jinu—of course you wouldn't trust me...”

“Stop.”

The word is croaked, but it's enough. Rumi stops and looks at Mira.

“What?”

“Stop,” she stresses, “dismissing yourself for our sakes. We hurt you.”

“You apologized,” Rumi notes meekly, not really knowing what else to say.

They have already apologized, even before this. She didn't—doesn't—want them to. Doesn't want that tiny part of herself to actually feel joy over the apologies.

“And that was enough?” Mira asks.

It was, it was, it was—but I needed—I wanted—shut up shut up shut upscreeeeech—

“Rumi?” Zoey squeaks, anxiety clear in her voice.

The haze that clouded her mind just now evaporates. She blinks rapidly and sees her right hand… no, her right claw dig fissures into her cup. Its skin is also light purple, and there's an orange iris reflecting in the liquid.

No. No, she was doing okay, please, she was doing okay—

Get out. She needs to get out. Before she does something she will regret.

“I need to go,” she forces out and jumps off of the chair.

Get out get out get out—

But before she gets a chance to run, Zoey jumps right after and clings to her leg like a particularly heavy toddler, cracking Rumi's already fragile composure.

“Zoey!” she hisses, feeling sharpened teeth with her tongue.

“Nope.” Zoey's grip is surprisingly iron, for hands as small as hers. “Not happening.”

Rumi tries to shake her off as she spots Mira getting up, almost dropping the chair as she does.

“Rumi,” her voice teeters on the edge of something akin to panic, “don't leave. Please.”

Now that's just playing unfair. Rumi buries her face in her palms and forces herself to take a deep breath.

“I'm going to the couch,” she promises, clutching at whatever shreds of her composure there are left. “Just to calm down. I'm not running off; I'm just going to the couch.” She grits her teeth, looking only in front of her. “Let. Go.”

“But—”

“Zoey.”

The frantic tightness and the slight distortion in her voice seem to do the trick. Zoey lets her leg go, and Rumi doesn't waste time getting to the couch, grabbing a stray blanket, and hiding under it.

Okay. Calming down. She can do that. She, she just needs to breathe. Just stay and breathe, and then nobody will get hurt. Come on, remember what Céline would do whenever she had a panic attack, what were the steps, focus—

She hisses as she feels her claws prick through her palm. Okay, that actually helped a little. Now. A deep breath.

Step one: get to a safe place. Done.

Step two: apply pressure. Rumi curls up so that her knees touch her chest. Done.

Step three: deep breaths. Five seconds to inhale, hold, five seconds to exhale. Repeat until mentally functional. In process.

In… and out. In… and out. In… and out. There. Don't think about anything. Just focus on the movement of your lungs. Or on the soft texture of your pajamas. Or, or on the tenuous smell of chocolate coming from the spot where Zoey spilled her boba. Don't think about the equal looks of fear and sorrow, about the blank stares they were marching into Gwi-Ma's fire with, about how close they came to losing each other, don't think don't think don't think—

She is on her way to hyperventilating again when she feels someone poke her, very, very gently.

“Rumi?” It's Zoey's voice.

She didn't notice her approaching. Again. She feels a weight settling next to her, on one side, then on the other.

“It's okay, don't answer,” Zoey goes on then to say. “I'm just letting you know that we're right here if you need anything. Right, Mira?” Rumi hears a muffled yes. “That's, that's it. Take your time. We won't touch you.”

Rumi doesn't answer, and the weight doesn't disappear. She just sits there and breathes.

She doesn't know how long it takes. All she knows is that Mira and Zoey are there once she comes out on the other side. They sit up, alert, and Rumi gives her appearance a quick check—no claws, no purplish skin, and no fangs either, after she runs over them with her tongue. Okay. Good, that's good.

She handled that a lot better than the last time. Maybe because she wasn't alone. Mira and Zoey wouldn't butt in, but did make sure Rumi knew of their support. All the while being in a fragile state of mind themselves. She loves them so much; they're already trying to do better where they have messed up before, and that. That means there is no sense in continuing this particular conversation. They can move on.

“Feel better now?” Mira's voice snaps her out of her thoughts.

Rumi meets her eye, hoping the demon eye is gone too, and nods.

“Yes.” Her throat is a little dry, though.

“Do you need anything?”

“Water. Please.”

Zoey needlessly scrambles towards the table and snatches the cup. Rumi takes a couple of deep gulps and exhales with satisfaction. The girls don't take their eyes off of her the whole time, afraid to break her with one wrong breath, it seems.

“Okay.” Rumi coughs, shrugging off the blanket. “Where were we?”

“Are you sure? We can finish for today—” Yeah, no.

“No, no. I'm good, really. We can keep going.” They have been dancing around each other like people dance around a bomb. She wants that state of things gone.

“Okay.” Mira shouldn't sound so quiet and unsure, Zoey shouldn't fidget in discomfort like this, and she just wants them back. “So… was our apology enough?”

Rumi looks down. The goddamn umu emoji meets her again—only now it has a crack running through it.

They must move on. That way nothing bad can happen.

“I… honestly don't know what else should be there,” she admits in a moment. “You apologized, I've forgiven you, and you won't do that again. That's more than enough. We can move forward.”

Mira sits closer, reaches out. Wavers, and settles on her four fingers, her touch light and gentle.

“Nothing but the truth now—isn't that what you said?”

Rumi nods.

“Then tell us just that,” she implores. “Let it out. More than that, be emotional. Be angry about it.”

Emotional? Angry?

Rumi recounts the last time she let strong emotions—her true emotions—take hold. Remembers the dark pink ripples she would send through the Honmoon and the way people looked at her. Finds she doesn't actually fancy the idea.

“I don't want to.” It's dangerous. It always has been.

“If you don't want to do it for yourself,” Mira suggests, “then do it for us.”

“But why? Why do you want that?”

“Because we want to hear you,” Zoey says.

Rumi rubs at her shoulder.

“I… I don't know.” Was their whole singing sequence about accepting oneself not enough? Was fighting side-by-side not enough?

“Please, Rumi.” Zoey looks at her, pleading. “You've been stifling your voice for too long. Let us hear you—we want to hear you.”

Rumi opens her mouth… and closes it.

She wants to. She truly does. But the broken record keeps on spinning like nothing even happened, and it's not safe it's not safe it's not safe—

“Do you feel like you can't be honest with us?” Zoey asks directly.

Oh no. Rumi scrambles to assure:

“No, I know I can, I just—”

“Scared something bad will happen once you are?” she finishes.

That… is actually quite accurate.

Like she thought, it's as if nothing even happened. She sings a song, hugs it out with her soulmates, slices through Gwi-Ma like a block of cheese, and feels positively reborn. Then literally the next day she is looking in the mirror, and her skin is itching with wrongness, demanding to be covered up. Mira or Zoey makes a movement too fast, and she gives a full-body flinch. There is a new design on her blade, one that completes her bracelet's, and she can't even bring herself to look at it.

Rumi curls up a little and mumbles, her nose in her knees:

“It's irrational.”

“It's how you lived,” objects Mira. “It won't go away in a day. But, Rumi…” She swallows. “We want you to know that you don't need to lie or hide just to keep us. We won't stop loving you over what you are or what you did.”

Rumi sighs, not looking up.

“I know.” And she doesn't go on.

Silence falls over them, thick and heavy with expectation. Rumi clutches at her pants as she realizes she won't be the one to break it. Maybe it would be best to end this, for now. But God, is it really that hard to—

“I hated that you'd agreed to work with Jinu.”

Rumi unsticks her nose from her knees to look at the source of the voice. It's Zoey. She is all tense, trying to make herself seem as small as possible, like a child expecting to be yelled at. She wrings her fingers and stares anywhere but at Rumi as she babbles:

“I'm, I'm not mad, Rumi, please don't think I am! But I love you both so much, and then you start drifting away, and, and I can't do anything about it, no matter how hard I try. You and Mira are fighting on top of a moving freaking train, and I can't fix that, no matter how hard I try.” Here, her eyes start to water. “I am not enough no matter how hard I try.”

When her voice cracks at the I, Rumi is unhelpfully reminded that Zoey went through a very messy divorce.

“And you…” Her lip gives a tremble, and she bites it. “Of all people you could've gone to, you went to him. Not only to someone you barely know, but also a demon. And I just felt so betrayed and scared, and I'm—I'm—”

She hides her face in her palms, and Rumi immediately wraps her arms around her and pulls Zoey's head under her chin.

“I'm sorry, Zoey,” she whispers, stroking her hair. “I'm so sorry.”

Zoey tries to answer, but it gets drowned out in her sniffles. Mira sits closer and holds her hand, fingers intertwined, letting her know she's here too.

Zoey's parents weren't bad. No, they loved and love her very much, and she still talked to both of them, even visited them sometimes. Yet one of the cruelest things they have ever done was making her choose. But how could she? How could she, when she wanted both? Both Mom and Dad, both America and Korea, both Rumi and Mira, but no, no, you have to pick one side, one culture, one parent, and even then it's too much or not enough for somebody, always, always too much and not enough—

Always. Always made to choose and not to be chosen.

Rumi squeezes Zoey and presses her lips to her temple.

“I would never betray you or Mira, Zoey,” she stresses, just in case. “I really was trying to get him to help us.” To help her. To help himself.

Zoey wipes at her nose.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

Yet she makes no attempt to untangle herself from Rumi's hug. She squeezes her again, knowing that it wasn't a Huntress that put up those shin-kals, but a scared child forced to choose again.

They stay like this only for a moment when Mira starts to speak.

“When our relationship began to sour, my brother stopped acting like usual.”

Rumi and Zoey snap their heads towards her at once, their eyes wide and apprehensive.

Mira doesn't talk about her family. Not in detail, at least. And it's not like they ever pushed her to, because whenever the topic arises, Mira's discomfort comes off of her in waves. Her posture goes rigid, her shoulders hunch, her lips turn into a flat line, and practically every response comes with a snarl. That is enough for them to know that they are the ones who gave up on her first. That Mira had a reason for cutting them off as family members altogether.

“It was the little things at first,” she continues, her palms on her elbows. “He would give me fake smiles, argue with me, ignore me. Then he started avoiding me altogether. And I couldn't figure out why. Seung was my only friend for a good while—was the only one who could handle me. And now it feels like he's hiding something, and that drove me insane. I'd tried reaching out, making him talk, but he would parry everything. So I left it alone. And then…”

She squeezes her elbows, nails digging into her skin, and winces, hard.

“And then me and my mom got into a fight. A nasty one. I was leaving to try for an idol despite her forbidding me to, and she didn't like that, obviously. We were both screaming, and I don't remember exactly what I said, but she raised her hand and,” she sucks in a breath, “slapped me.”

Zoey covers her mouth with a tiny gasp, while Rumi's look is that of absolute despair. Mira's face contorts with pain etched deep in her very being.

“Seung was standing right there,” she chokes out. “In the fucking room. He saw. He saw everything and still took her side.”

She wipes the stray tear off of her cheek.

“I packed my bags the very same day and left.”

She inhales, and her voice trembles when she admits:

“I know not everything is about my insecurities, Rumi. But the last time I ignored them, I ended up completely alone.” She lowers her head. “Cutting you off was instinctual. I'm sorry.”

By the time she finishes, Zoey's eyes are full of tears again, and Rumi feels pretty close to breaking too.

The girl who put up that gok-do wasn't a Huntress either. It was a scared child who didn't know how else to protect herself.

“God, Mira, I am so sorry…” she rasps.

Mira waves it off. Very weakly.

“It's fine. I'm over it. More or less.”

Rumi and Zoey don't bother to point out the lie—they know she just wants to make them feel better. But they also know that you do not get over, not this. Never this. It carves itself into your bone, your mind, your soul, and you carry it for the rest of your life.

Rumi reaches out.

“Come here,” she whispers.

Mira immediately does. Rumi gets stuffed between her soulmates like cream cheese in a garlic bun, which makes her readjust her position. Then she presses a kiss to Mira's hair and hugs them both, tight and reassuring, them clinging to her like it's pitch dark and she is the only light around.

She loves them. She loves them so much. They would sacrifice their comfort just to make her feel more welcome, just to make her feel less alone. She wants them to have that kind of safety too, especially against their own broken records.

Which means it's her turn now. Rumi will gather all of her courage, clench it into a fist, and tell the truth. She will show them her pain, her rubbed raw parts, her scars. And trust them to love her anyway.

Once Mira and Zoey are calmer, she takes a breath and lets go of them.

“What happened on the stage was one of the worst moments of my life.” She doesn't raise her head to check if they're looking at her. “You circled me, ripped my jacket off, told me that you knew, that I was a mistake, and I just—” She swallows. “I broke. I was so scared; everyone was looking at me, and then the real you arrived and—”

She swallows again. She feels someone rubbing her back. It does nothing to keep the tears at bay.

“I begged you. I begged you not to leave me, and you raised your weapons at me. Just like I was always told would happen.” She wipes at her eyes. “Then I go to Jinu, and he leaves me too. Makes me go through my literal nightmare and doesn't even have the decency to f-fucking apologize because he's so deeply rooted in his shame that all he can do is project it—”

She breathes through her snot and chokes on a whimper, covering her face with her palm. Someone is making barely audible shooshing sounds, and there is a finger rubbing at her knuckles softly.

“I just—” She hiccups. “I—it was too much. I c-couldn't carry it all anymore. I was falling apart and just needed someone to be there for me! To hold me like I'm not an, an abomination or a m-mistake, but like someone that can be loved. Even with her cracks out in the open.”

But there was nobody strong enough for that.

Luck. That was what saved all those people. At the very last moment, luckily, Rumi realized that her falling on her own sword wouldn't fix anything. Wouldn't bring Mira and Zoey back, wouldn't help Jinu see past his trauma-induced box, wouldn't defeat Gwi-Ma.

And most certainly wouldn't make Céline love her the way Rumi wants her to.

“I went to Céline, and even she w-wouldn't help me.” Wouldn't even touch her. Wouldn't even look at her.

There was no Huntress kneeling with her sword outstretched in front of another, knowing she failed her duty. Just a terrified child begging her only mother for comfort she couldn't provide. Just a terrified woman realizing how badly she had hurt her daughter and not knowing how to fix it except to lie.

There was no one there to pull Rumi out of the void she was falling into. So she did it herself.

“I shouldn't have been the only one strong enough to save me,” she rasps and officially bursts into tears.

As Rumi cries over the piece of herself she had to sacrifice to crawl out of her would-be grave, Mira wraps her arms around her middle, putting her forehead on her shoulder, and Zoey cradles her head, pressing small pecks into her hair and whispering comforting words. And they hold her through it, just like she held them.

She doesn't know how long it takes for her to calm down. All she knows is that Mira and Zoey are there once she comes out on the other side.

“We're with you, Rumi,” they assure her. “We're with you.”

“You are.” And she finds herself believing them.

They all sit curled up, not wanting to let go of each other. Eventually, Mira prods, careful:

“Céline wouldn't help you?”

Rumi winces internally. Yeah, that was the worst choice of words she could have chosen with Mira around.

“What did she do, Rumi?” Zoey is quick to join.

Rumi finds herself scrambling for any answer that is not the truth. Again.

“Nothing,” she says, too quickly. “She just… didn't help in the way I wanted her to; that's what I meant.”

Judging by their concerned expressions, they don't believe her.

“Rumi,” Mira's voice is gravely serious, “if… if she hit you—”

“No!” It breaks out of her with a hint of astonishment.

The thought itself is ridiculous. Rumi knows that she would never—despite everything, Céline simply does not have it in her. But considering what she had just found out about Mira's past, the question is quite logical for her. Rumi firms her tone when answering.

“Céline would never hurt me.” Not like that, at least.

“Then what did she do?” Mira asks, refusing to relent.

Rumi opens her mouth… and promptly closes it.

What can she say? I had a mental breakdown and tried to have Céline slice my throat? Because that's the only truth she can offer.

With a pang of guilt, Rumi realizes that she can't speak this into the world. Mira and Zoey are already wrecked with what they didn't do right, but if they find out Rumi tried to kill herself… No. She won't have that. It's too heavy of a knowledge.

One last lie. This is what it's going to be. That part of Rumi that almost gave up and crawled off to die will stay under that tree, known only to Céline and herself. Maybe one day she will be ready to bring it up. But today is not that day or night.

She steels herself with a breath.

“Like I said, Céline never hurt me. But the conversation we had is between me and her.”

They don't like that, obviously. Their looks are those of confusion and slight frustration.

“I thought we were, like, laying it all out in the open right now,” Zoey reminds.

“We are, but this one is private. I really can't disclose this to anyone.” Won't, more like. “Please respect this, just this once. You know I wouldn't lie to you again.”

Her voice is full of desperate hope, begging them to understand. They don't answer for a good while, digesting her answer. And just as Rumi is about to spiral into a freakout about ruining everything, Mira takes a deep breath. Zoey follows her example.

“Okay, Rumi. If that's what you want.”

Rumi lets out a big breath of relief. Everything is okay. The world hasn't collapsed again.

“Thank you,” she says, earnest.

“We're still anti-Céline, though,” Zoey rushes to remind.

Rumi just laughs.

“Fair.”

“And anti-Jinu.”

“Fair too, but come on.”

Zoey shrugs.

“What? He was the one who organized the hijacking of our performance.” And made you feel like shit goes unsaid.

Rumi knows, but she simply doesn't have the energy or will to hold a grudge. Especially when she knows that there was so much more to him.

“I know,” she reiterates. “But he didn't enjoy any of it. He did that only because he felt like he had no other choice.”

Mira quirks a furrowed eyebrow.

“Rumi, that's really not an excuse.”

She shrugs.

“It isn't. But Gwi-Ma bombarded him with voices for four hundred years. He probably didn't care anymore.” She gives a mirthless laugh. “I wouldn't be surprised if he was glad to sacrifice himself for me.”

Too bad his gesture wasn't really appreciated.

“But I really wish she could've found it in himself to stay,” she admits, tracing her forearm, where he had bandaged her after giving a surprisingly gentle embrace.

It doesn't go unnoticed. Mira follows the movement and asks, suddenly apprehensive:

“Did… did you love him?”

Did she?

Rumi remembers the playful taunts, the vulnerable glances, the purple stripes flaring all over his body, and the soft smile he gave her as he trusted her with the most precious thing he had.

The feeling she held for him wasn't deep enough to be rooted—didn't get the chance to become just that. But it was there. And that is not something she can deny.

She gives a miserable nod.

“Oh, Rumi.” Zoey's voice is pure sympathy as she hugs her again.

Rumi leans into the touch. She feels Mira scoot over and squeeze her hand, fingers intertwined.

“Tell us about him. What was he like?”

And they keep talking.

***

At some point Rumi finds herself staring into the ceiling, Mira and Zoey sprawling next to her.

It feels as if they have talked about everything in the world, making up for lost time. And right now, she feels completely spent, but in a good way. It was like emptying an overflowing sink, getting rid of all the stuff that was clogging the drainage—unpleasant but freeing.

And she finds she doesn't want to come back to the way things were ever again.

“Hey, uh,” she starts voicing her thoughts. Zoey rubs at her eyes to look at her, and Mira peeks one open. “I thought three months would be too much, that we would come back earlier, but… now I really don't think we should.”

She sits up a little.

“I, I want us to be completely in tune again. Like when we were defeating Gwi-Ma. So how about we go somewhere, just the three of us? What do you think of that?”

Her smile is an awkward thing when she finds two pairs of eyes just… staring at her. Then Mira breaks out into a victorious smirk, and Zoey into a smile of her own as she tries to feign shock and fails miserably.

“Who are you, and what did you do to Rumi?”

Rumi snorts out a laugh. Yeah, that one did not sound like her, huh?

“Zoey!”

“I'm kidding!” And now Zoey is glowing, previous drowsiness evaporated. “Rumi, that would be awesome! Oh, I have so many plans for the three of us! Okay, so the first—”

“The first plan, Zoey,” Mira cuts her off gently, “is to get some sleep. Considering we have sat through the entire night here.” She points at the nearest window.

Rumi follows her hand, and sure enough, there is aurora light peeking through the blinds.

“Agreed,” she comments as they get up. Everyone stretches and pops their joints, with Zoey muttering “Ah, so good” as she wiggles her toes.

They don't really discuss it when every single one of them ends up at Rumi's bedroom. Her bed isn't that wide, but it's enough to fit a pile of curled-up bodies. And as soon as her head hits the pillow, Zoey hugs her from behind and sprawls herself all over her back, while Mira does just that with her front. Even Derpy tries to join in, but the bed gives a threatening creak as he puts his paws on it, so he has to settle with sleeping on the floor. In the proximity.

It's like they're protecting her from anything that could possibly hurt her. Rumi nuzzles both of her soulmates, pats Derpy's nose from where she can reach it, moves away from Sussie's beak just in time—the little grump doesn't like pets—and feels completely and utterly at peace for the first time in a long while.

As her mind starts slipping into unconsciousness, she hears Mira and Zoey conversing idly.

“…kinda crowded, obviously, but yeah, it would be fun to visit Busan again. Or maybe something calmer? Like glamping or some village that offers a getaway from the city? I dunno, I'm just spitballing here. What did you have in mind, Zoey?”

“Okay, so the first plan is we visit Jeju Island. I looked it up, and it's perfect for surfing right now—”

“You know how to surf?”

“A little, yeah.”

“How? I thought Burbank didn't have access to the ocean.”

“Yeah, it doesn't, but it's not too far from Santa Monica—it's a beach—so me and my dad used to go there during summer. It's where I discovered I liked turtles, actually…”

Rumi smiles, soft and tranquil. She knows it's not over, not by a long shot. There are a lot of important things and talks to be done, and the weight is still heavy. But together, she knows that it will be easier to carry.

When Rumi closes her eyes, she doesn't dream.