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Rumi pinches herself— sharp gnarled claws digging into her skin, sending a sharp flare of pain rippling through her body that she whimpers through.
She clenches harder, tighter, wants to dig until she draws blood because maybe that’ll reveal what she wishes were true— that the violet streaks carved into her skin and the wave of purple threatening to wash over her haven’t consumed her completely.
That— somehow, somewhere, someway— she’s not completely a demon.
But Rumi doesn’t need to draw forth whatever color of blood will come to know that that isn't true anymore.
This is her reality now.
And it’s hers alone.
She’s grateful for that, at least, because it means that her true self hadn’t been revealed to Mira and Zoey and the millions of fans watching their live Idol Awards performance.
It means that this demon clawing its way out of her can still be hidden away from them… even if it is what she is now.
But, it also means she failed them in another way, a way she never thought possible.
Rumi lifts her monstrous grip to her neck and scratches at it, as if she could feel the lines that have crept their way up from her heart— that have completely infiltrated her voice and rendered it weak. Useless.
As broken as the note she tried to sing on stage just moments ago.
She thought she was going to be fine. She walked onto that stage ready to do what needed to be done— what her whole life had been building towards and what everyone was counting on her for.
But her voice failed her… and so she failed everyone, then ran away like a coward.
She wipes at her face like there will be tears there but, there aren’t. She should be crying right now, but nothing comes out, no sign that she feels anything, like she needed more proof of her identity.
Maybe it’s because she’s in disbelief. She’d always been ready for the possibility that Mira and Zoey and— Honmoon forbid— their fans would learn that she’s a human in disguise. It was the one nightmare that haunted her endlessly, left room for nothing else.
But, instead, this happened and, now, she doesn’t know what to do with herself. She never thought that what would finally shatter everything would not be the jagged edges that fracture through her— but, the very thing that was supposed to heal her of them, seal them together like they were never there to begin with.
As if she were something fragile or that she deserves the gentleness, Rumi traces her finger lightly from the tip of her other hand, slowly tracing a jagged pattern that makes its way through her palm, up her arm and across her shoulder, all the way to her throat.
A Hunter who can’t sing. A demon with the ability to strengthen the Honmoon.
Who is she if she doesn’t have her voice— her power?
She looks down at her hands, stained with a dark and violent purple, and knows the answer.
# # #
She’s always just been delaying the inevitable, always been watching the tidal wave roll towards her, all ferocious and terrifying, staring at it face-on with the delusion that it would never actually come. That she could escape the fate of a hurricane making landfall.
But it’s here now.
She can finally give in to the shame that's been growing in her since the first streak of violet cracked its way through her perfect mirage.
She falls to her knees, feels the burn as her patterns spread their insidious network across her body, watches as the light of her skin slowly becomes invaded by the purple of her dark nature.
The Honmoon ripples around her, its worry visible in the pulsing of the ley lines, but she pays it no mind, consumed by the virus that’s been slowly taking over her since birth— a doomed existence right from the start.
“Like I’m born to be.” She whispers mournfully and brushes a sharp finger against her skin, whimpering at the roughened texture of it— further proof the truth she can’t deny.
She burns from within— an inferno swirling and consuming her heart, laying waste to all that she is.
“It was exactly like her.” The words startle Rumi out of her fugue state, her gleaming eye zipping around erratically as she searches for the source. It’s close, nearby, all intimate like she’s in an interview, and hummed like a woman’s voice, low and raspy, and it’s when she looks up at the sky that she sees that it’s come from the Honmoon.
It must have, because, somehow, it’s drawn itself into the shape of a woman— vague and minimalist, but the hair, the sloped shoulders, the slant of a nose are unmistakable, and Rumi’s eyes remain fixed on the image like a child entranced by a movie.
“Right before the performance— the first one I’d done in over a decade— I had like a… a panic attack. I couldn’t sing, I couldn’t hit the note— you know the part; I’m done hiding, now I’m shining like I’m born to be. Born to— yeah, that part— so it was exactly like her.” A giggle sounds, soft like a cloud, but Rumi can’t float away on it, not when her mind is still stuck on those lyrics and the way they were sung— how the singing sounded exactly like hers.
“But then I was told something by the people I love. They said not to focus on trying to hit the notes— but to focus on the lyrics because they were words that got me through a tough time… a really tough time.
“They’re really powerful, you know? And— and they helped me— but they’re also helping everyone— the fans, everyone. It’s a… really beautiful thing to be a part of.” A wistful sigh warbles out from the Honmoon and Rumi waits in the silence, staring up at this mysterious woman drawn by the Honmoon, waiting for what more she has to say in a voice so like and unlike her own.
“It really is— to know that everyone can relate to the song. That everyone can draw strength from it, find hope in it… including me.
“I think… it's like our truth. The truth we all live… and there's power in that— no matter what.” The lines of the Honmoon unfurl themselves, unraveling the portrait of the woman and leaving behind the lingering low hum of her voice and the last words she spoke.
Rumi stares at the sky like she can summon her again, even as the lines of the Honmoon fade away and leave her all alone.
“That was my voice?” She whispers, a question and answer all in one, and then she feels it— a single tear streaking down her chin like a signature of her humanity.
“Why did you show that to me?” Rumi calls out to the sky, but the familiar lines don’t carve themselves in the dark blue of the night again and she’s left staring at the stars like they’ll hold the answer instead.
Somewhere in her mind, she wonders about that woman… but she knows with a startling clarity that that was her voice. She knows it to be true— so undeniable that it cuts through the fog like a knife and then it doesn’t matter anymore, the how and the why.
What matters is her words, and Rumi hears Focus on the lyrics jingle around her head like an addicting tune.
Music has always meant so much to her. It’s been her weapon, her power, it’s what lets her feel like she’s not alone— what lets her pretend that she’s not a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. But, with the Golden Honmoon, she’s been so focused on it that she’s lost sight of that— has just let the words pass through her instead of feeling them.
Focus on the lyrics.
Every time Rumi’s sung, it’s always come from the heart. It was never anything she had to be taught as a Hunter— it was always something instinctual, something she just felt.
Focus on the lyrics.
The Honmoon has always been about connection— between her and Zoey and Mira, between the three of them and their fans… but it’s also been about them and their music, and she’s been forgetting that.
Focus on the lyrics.
She remembers the first songwriting session for Golden, the way she woke up at 2am thrumming with some melodies for it and ran to Zoey’s room to wake her up. How Mira stumbled in afterwards, lost but pulled in by them, and the song came together so quickly it was like lightning struck.
Focus on the lyrics.
She remembers the way everything felt so soft that first time they sang it, their raw voices weaving together to sing what lay on their hearts, deep beneath the surface of their picture-perfect idol exteriors.
How she wondered if she could maybe show them more.
Focus on the lyrics.
She remembers it all… but her singing hasn’t. And that voice— her voice— had to remind her of it.
Rumi touches a hand to her neck again and takes a deep breath, her eyes fluttering close as she opens her mouth to sing like she was always meant to.
“We're goin' up, up, up, it's our moment
You know together we're glowin'
Gonna be, gonna be golden.”
She can hear Mira and Zoey’s harmonies in her head, sees their shining smiles as they look at Rumi like she’s deserving of their light.
“Oh-oh-oh, up, up, up with our voices
Yeongwonhi kkaejil su еomneun
Gonna be, gonna be golden.”
The voices of the fans join in, and Rumi sees herself under a golden spotlight, standing in front of everyone as the flawless leader of Huntrix. The Honmoon ripples in the background, its passive blue lines growing brighter and brighter as it shifts towards gold and the souls of the crowd glow in unison with them.
Everyone is singing— of all voices, of all ages, of all types— and feeling what it means to sing Golden and she stood before them as though she was doing the same, but she wasn’t.
It has always been a song about letting your faults and fears be seen. Her fans knew that, her, Mira and Zoey poured all of that into the lyrics, and it’s time Rumi remembered that.
She can stand in the light and let it shine on the truth.
“Oh-oh-oh, I'm done hidin', now I'm shinin' like I'm born to be!”
Like it was always meant to be, Rumi hits the note and lets out a ragged sob as a quick smile flickers across her face at the relief and the pride of it.
But, she doesn’t stop there because this has never been just about her.
“Oh, our time, no fears, no lies
That's who we're born to be!”
When Rumi opens her eyes again, she can’t see anything for a moment because her eyes are so blurry from her tears. She lifts a hand to wipe them away and pauses in disbelief when she looks at it.
She clasps her hands together to know with certainty that they are real, that the beige and softness of them are hers again, before she presses them to her cheeks again to feel them and to wipe the happy tears that continue to stream down her face as she lets out a strangled laugh.
“Oh, thank you.” She whispers. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” And they’re words that could be meant for the Honmoon or the woman carved from it, or even the lyrics that, once upon a time, gave her hope and are doing so again— but there are enough to be for all of them.
Her arms drop down to wrap around herself. The patterns are still there, traces of purple laced into her skin like unusual, but Rumi has never felt so relived to see them, and she sighs as she feels the heat of everything simmer down.
There’ll be a storm waiting for her on the other side of this but, for now, Rumi breathes in and out slowly, coming to terms with herself.
The Honmoon flickers through the sky once again, and Rumi takes this as a sign to ask the millions of questions that were pushed aside in favor of returning to herself, but before she can open her mouth to ask—
“Rumi?” Sounds behind her and then she hears footsteps clamber on the rooftop towards her.
“Oh, thank goodness you’re okay! We were worried about—”
“Don’t come any closer.” Rumi cuts in sharply, can see the cute confused expression on Zoey’s face and the sharp suspicious one on Mira’s even as she keeps her back to them and cradles herself tighter.
“You ran off on stage.” Mira calls softly, some slight shuffling sounding out before the rooftop goes quiet again.
“In front of everyone. We just needed to know if you were okay.”
“Well, I am.” Rumi quickly responds, turns her head slightly so she at least acknowledges their presence, before she stares straight ahead again.
“You can go now. I’ll talk to Bobby and figure out what to do about—”
“Rumi, we don’t care about that,” Mira cuts in and there’s rustling as she takes a step forward, “we care about you. What happened?”
Rumi doesn’t speak for a moment, simply lets the wind rush against her skin as she looks out over the city. She’s torn between wishing they were and weren’t here, but she loves them and can’t ever think about not having them by her side, even if it means this time that they could finally find out the truth.
“Nothing.” She answers uselessly.
“Rumi.” Mira warns and Rumi sighs, rests her chin on her knees and finds that she doesn’t have it in her to lie— not about this.
“I thought my voice was fine— that everything was okay and then it wasn’t and I disappointed and failed everyone at the biggest, most important event of our lives. Nothing crazy, right?”
“Okay, Rumi. That’s— valid…” Mira sighs, before there’s low murmuring and then slow steps growing closer. “But you haven't even looked at us, yet.”
“And you told us not to come closer.” Zoey adds wearily.
“You’ve been pulling away long before you started losing your voice.” Mira continues, the crunching of her footsteps getting closer and closer and Rumi knows there’s nothing she can do to stop this.
“This is bigger than the Idol Awards. This is bigger than your singing.”
“Me singing.” Rumi can’t help but huff derisively. “That’s funny.”
“Rumi.” Zoey warns next before she sighs immediately, whatever little fight she had fizzling out.
“Please…” She pleads quietly, “just talk to us.” Rumi curls further into her cocoon, feels the burn of tears prick at the back of her eyes as she refuses to face them.
How is she supposed to talk to them and tell them the worst thing about herself?
How does she let the people she loves in when she’s been taught to keep them out? When she’s convinced it has to be that way and never knew how to say she wishes it wasn’t?
Focus on the lyrics.
Maybe… she doesn’t have to know the words.
Maybe, she already has them, and all she has to do is what she’s always done— what will be her power no matter what.
“I can’t.” She whispers.
“Rumi—”
“But…” She says, only thinks about what she’s about to do for one second before she stands and takes a deep breath.
“Waited so long to break these walls down.” She sings in a rasp, carried on by the wind and the lines of the Honmoon. “To wake up and feel like me.”
She remembers the way her heart had beat rapidly, how dry her throat felt when she first murmured the lyrics as they brainstormed— all timid and tentative like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to reveal parts of herself. But they made her feel like she could.
And ever since then, in moments where Rumi felt overwhelmed, or even when she somehow found a moment of peace, she would unfold the memory like a precious photograph, and sink into the warmth of the safety of it, even if it had felt a bit like playing with fire.
It was hard for her not to wish for more, and for it to bleed out of her and spill into Golden.
She wonders if they know how much the lyrics mean to her, to dream of a world where she could finally let her faults and fears be seen.
“Put these—” Rumi pauses, choking on the words that she can’t seem to let out. She shakes with the fear of it, clenches her hands tighter into her arms and can feel the heat of her demon nature threaten to come out.
“Rumi?” She hears Mira whisper softly behind her.
“It’s okay.” Zoey says but Rumi knows it’s not. It won’t be, not when she shows that she’s been lying to them for so long, has always been the very thing they were made to kill. But…
Focus on the lyrics.
She chooses to hold onto the hope.
Maybe it’d feel impossible to live in a world where Mira and Zoey hate her, but she means these lyrics with her entire soul, with all that she feels and everything that she is… and she can’t turn back from that.
She takes a deep, shaky breath, hears the smallest intake of breath behind her as she pulls her sleeves down to reveal—
“—patterns all in the past now. And finally live like the girl they all see.” Rumi waits for the shimmer that precedes their weapons being drawn. She tenses her body for whatever may come— accepts whatever it is with an open heart…
But nothing comes.
The silence stretches on long enough that Rumi knows she’ll have to face them and so she turns around slowly.
Their eyes are wide, mouths open in shock as they stare at her and the hideous lilac vines that branch out from her chest. Her heart shatters— but her mind latches onto the fact that their weapons aren’t drawn. They haven’t run away or even taken their eyes off of Rumi, and it’s this small truth that allows her hope to grow, gives her the strength to continue.
“No more hiding, I'll be shining like I’m born to be.” She pulls the other sleeve off, letting her jacket drop to the ground as she stands before them, laid bare with her patterns and all.
“‘Cause we are—” A strangled sob cuts her off, and Rumi nearly keels over from the strain of keeping her emotions in because she doesn’t want to think about the possibility of them no longer doing this together.
Zoey and Mira are crying too, lips quivering as they keep their distance, and Rumi wants to believe it’s a sign that they feel the same way.
“—hunters, voices strong and I believe…” Rumi’s knees give out and she doesn’t have the strength to produce more tears when she sees Zoey and Mira flinch in response. Instead, she looks up at them with teary eyes and hands held outwards like a criminal being brought to justice as she pleads;
“Please.” She knows what she’s asking for is too much— she’s greedy like a demon, should just be grateful there isn’t rage and disgust swirling in her friends’ eyes before they drive their weapons through her, but she wants more.
Wants to believe that everything will be okay, that the safety she’s always felt with them to share more than she was supposed to wasn’t a fluke.
“Rumi,” Zoey quivers, “you’re a…”
“Say it.” Rumi begs when she trails off, but Zoey shakes her head.
“I— I can’t.”
“Say it.”
“No!”
“Why not!” Rumi screams and Zoey and Mira startle back, hands flinching like they’re about to summon their weapons. She waits for it— finally— to happen, but still… they don’t. Instead, Zoey takes a timid step forward, blindly grasping for Mira’s hand with one hand while the other clutches at her chest.
“Because!” She shouts back, her voice filled with emotion. “It’s not true!”
“Look at me!” Rumi cries, pleads, arms stretched outwards with her patterns on display. “It is true!” They pulse bright purple in response to Rumi’s agitation— undeniable now, and a silence falls as Zoey and Mira stare at them while she stares back.
“Okay.” Mira speaks up eventually, her voice crackling from how dry it is, vacant eyes slowly coming to as they settle on Rumi.
“It’s true.” She states simply and Zoey looks at her in surprise. Rumi balks at that, pushes past the way her heart drops as she glances between the two of them, waiting for the more that should be coming.
“So?” She says eventually, exasperated because this can’t be it. It can’t be.
“So, what?” Mira returns and Rumi’s left sputtering.
“That’s— aren’t you going to say anything else? Do anything else?” Mira turns to look at Zoey and they stare at each other for a long time, some conversation passing before Zoey nods in response, and Mira turns back to face Rumi with a reserved expression.
“For right now… no, I think.”
“You… can’t be serious.” Mira raises an eyebrow and it’s so her that Rumi can’t help but let out a small laugh— a fleeting moment of levity that escapes her without her permission. Zoey and Mira catch onto it, and they smile too for a moment, and then Rumi remembers what’s happening and her lips thin out again.
“So— what?" She rasps nervously. “What does that mean for… for later?”
“We’ll figure that out…” Zoey says, taking one more step closer to where she’s only a couple of feet away, before slowly lowering herself to the ground as Mira follows suit.
“…together.” They're sitting across from Rumi like they've done so many other times when they were eating or working on songs, and she doesn’t know what to say about the absurdity of it. This moment isn't like all of those— it can't be, but they're still here and watching her, nothing more, nothing less and that's more than enough for Rumi.
“Do you have anything else you want to say?” Zoey asks eventually and Rumi blinks back in shock, unprepared for the question at all.
“Um… I’m…” She stutters, a well of unspoken words ready to burst out of her but she can't seem to shape them into something of substance. She wants to cry out in frustration, clenches her hands into her legs at her floundering but Mira's voice cuts through the noise, crisp and calm.
“Later, then.” She says and Rumi's eyes focus on her friends again. She stares and stares and stares and keeps waiting for them to leave, but they don't. They just... exist in the space with her, watching her, studying her, eyes flickering between the face they've known forever, and the patterns they're just now learning are real.
Still, they don't leave and Rumi finds herself eventually settling into the peacefulness of it all. She shuffles her knees back under her chin, stares down at the gritty concrete of the rooftop, and finds herself humming Golden unconsciously.
It doesn’t take long before she hears two other voices join in and Rumi hides her smile in her knees, doesn't bother looking up at them as the three-part harmony blends beautifully into the air.
Instead, she looks up at the sky and sees the Honmoon pulse faintly and warmly in response to their singing. She knows she won’t see the woman again, but she knows she’ll wonder about her forever.
Wonder, especially, if Golden means as much to her as it does to Rumi.