Archive of Our Own

Hunched in bed, Rumi hovered over a crumpled sheet of lyrics, feeling uncomfortably warm despite her thermostat being set to the coldest possible setting. Turtleneck, check. Oversized hoodie, double check. Baggy pajama pants she technically didn’t have to wear, unfortunately also check. What if her patterns spread to her legs while she slept?

One would think that after years of covering up, she would be used to the suffocating heat, but no amount of time made it any easier. The air felt heavy, clinging to her skin like a punishment.

Did demons feel this miserable in the depths of the fiery hell they called home? Rumi silently cursed whatever cosmic entity had decided that being half demon did not come with immunity to human discomfort or sleepless nights.

The melody of Takedown crept into her thoughts again, delicate and cruel in equal measure.

So how, how can you sleep or live with yourself?
A broken soul trapped in the nastiest shell?

When Rumi had written that verse with Mira and Zoey, the room had been alive with energy. Zoey sat cross-legged on the floor, scribbling down lyrics in her messy handwriting, grinning every time a line clicked into place. Mira hummed under her breath, already envisioning how the rhythm might translate into choreography, her fingers tapping out beats on the tabletop. Their excitement had been contagious, and for a brief moment, Rumi almost forgot the weight behind the words she was writing.

But later that night, as they reviewed the lyrics together, Zoey had paused mid-sentence, brow furrowing in thought.

“I mean… demons technically don’t have souls, right?” she’d asked.

If only she knew. If only either of them knew that a real demon was sitting right across from them, the only one cursed with something resembling a soul. A soul broken in a million pieces, trapped in the nastiest shell imaginable. A soul that had to keep lying to the people she loved, because if they ever found out the truth, what was left of her soul might finally crumble.

Despite Zoey’s hesitation, the verse stayed. It remained etched into the paper, raw and honest, waiting to be sung, its true meaning known only to Rumi.

Rumi let out a shaky breath and dragged a hand through her hair, doing her best to ignore the slow, rhythmic ache pulsing through her arm. She lifted the crumpled sheet of lyrics and hesitated, eyes flicking over the familiar words.

With a hesitant breath, she began to sing Takedown from the start. Her voice came out fragile, thin against the quiet of her room.

She wished she hadn’t sent Derpy away earlier that night, after yet another one of his attempts to convince her to see Jinu. At least then she wouldn’t be left alone with her thoughts, and the song that felt carved straight from her own wounds. Because in a way it was.

She pushed through the verses, forcing herself to sound steady.

When your patterns start to show, it makes the hatred want to grow out of my -

Her voice faltered. The next word stuck in her throat, strangled by memory. The same line. The same reaction. Every time.

The memories came rushing back before she could stop them. Her reflection in the mirror, the way it had caught her off guard, seeing how the patterns had spread across her skin like an infection. Those ugly, twisting markings crawled along her arms, seeping into her blood like venom, staining everything they touched. Disgust came first, then panic, tightening in her chest until she could no longer breathe.

Then came the desperate, frantic attempts to carve them out, to drain the tainted blood and all the hatred that came with it out of her body, out of her veins. The air had reeked of copper, the sink streaked with deep crimson, her muffled sobs drowned beneath the endless rush of water. It had almost felt like cleansing, for a fleeting moment, as if she could bleed the corruption out of herself and watch it spiral down the drain. But it never worked.

Now her arm throbbed faintly beneath her sleeve. Every brush of fabric sent a light sting rippling across her skin, followed by that familiar itch, the one that always came once the wounds began to scab. It was a cruel reminder of what she had done, of her body’s stubborn attempt to heal what her mind refused to release.

She pressed her fingers gently against the spot through the fabric, half in comfort, half in shame. If only she could heal herself of these inherited marks as quickly as her body erased the evidence of her own hatred. But maybe she did not deserve to.

Because if she could not cleanse herself of the patterns, then at least she could bear the punishment for letting them exist.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

What do you do when half your world starts slipping away from you?

That question had been gnawing at Mira for weeks now, looping through her mind every time Rumi walked past without meeting her eyes. There wasn’t a clear answer. There never was when it came to Rumi.

Mira had always been hyper-aware of the people around her. Maybe that came from growing up in a place where every step had to be measured and every breath carefully weighed so it wouldn’t set someone off. Her so-called “family” had trained her well: read the room, anticipate the explosion, brace for the blame. Because of that instinct, she knew something in Rumi had been breaking for months. Slowly, quietly, like a fault line spreading beneath the surface.

Rumi had always kept a certain distance, even back when they first met. At the time Mira, ever skeptical, had written her off as some spoiled nepo baby who thought she was better than everyone else. But as the years went by, she learned how wrong that assumption had been. Rumi never acted entitled, never demanded anything of them. If anything, she demanded too much of herself. She carried every burden alone, convinced she wasn’t good enough for them and that she had to be better, stronger, more composed.

And Mira hated it. She hated how Rumi could see everyone else so clearly yet refused to let anyone see her. She hated how she’d shoulder every failure herself and call it responsibility. How she still believed that showing weakness would make her less of the person they already loved her for being.

So when Rumi pushed herself to release Golden right after their world tour, when they’d barely even unpacked from months abroad, Mira knew it was only a matter of time before things fell apart. But confronting Rumi never ended well. Push her too hard and she’d only run further.

And run she did.

When Rumi’s voice finally gave out during Golden’s promotions, Mira’s heart stopped. She wasn’t even surprised, just terrified. Terrified when Rumi bolted, leaving her phone behind. Terrified when hours passed with no word. And when the elevator finally opened to reveal her standing there, eyes hollow and shoulders slumped, Mira’s fear didn’t fade. It only settled deeper.

Things only spiraled from there.

In battle, their movements had always flowed together, a rhythm of trust and precision as natural as breathing. But now Rumi faltered. Missed beats and slowed steps. Once, she was so distracted that Mira had to kill the demon that nearly got to her first. The image still haunted her: claws poised just a breath away from tearing into Rumi’s chest, her guard down, completely unaware of how close she’d come to bleeding out.

It wasn’t like her. None of this was. And Mira couldn’t pretend not to see it anymore.

She knew confronting Rumi was risky, maybe even pointless, but the thought of doing nothing felt worse. Someone was going to get hurt if this kept going.

So here she was. Mira stood outside Rumi’s door, her palms sweaty and her heart beating so loudly it almost drowned out her thoughts. She hesitated, staring at the faint light slipping through the crack beneath the door, trying to gather the courage to move.

When your pattern starts to show, I see a pain that lies below…

The sound of soft singing seeped through the narrow space between the door and the frame. Mira recognized the melody instantly, it was Takedown. But the words were wrong. And the song was supposed to burn with anger and hatred, not ache with sorrow. Yet every note Rumi sang was laced with quiet pain, a kind of deep sadness that made Mira’s chest tighten.

She hesitated for a long moment, her hand hovering near the door. Then she finally knocked, two soft taps that sounded smaller than she meant them to. “Rumi?” she called, her voice trembling despite her effort to sound steady.

The singing stopped. After a few more hesitant knocks, the door creaked open, spilling a sliver of warm light into the hallway. Mira tried to look casual as her eyes darted across the room, but her heart wouldn’t slow down. “Uh, what are you doing?” she asked, the words coming out lighter than she felt.

Rumi blinked, almost startled. “Ah, nothing, just…” Her gaze flicked between Mira and the hall. “Did you want to come in?

Mira didn’t hesitate. “I mean, yeah. If you want me to come in, I can come in,” she said quickly, pretending it wasn’t exactly what she’d been hoping for. But the truth was, she wanted in - not just into Rumi’s room, but into her guarded heart. Into the half of her family she could never quite reach.

When Rumi closed the door, Mira’s eyes drifted to a small box of tonics from Healer Han sitting neatly on the shelf. The sight of it made her pause. “I heard you singing,” she said softly, turning her back slightly to Rumi to get a better look at the shelf. “You sounded good.”

There was a brief silence before Rumi answered. Mira could hear her shifting her weight behind her, the faint rustle of fabric filling the space between them. “Yeah! Who would’ve thought? Those tonics actually work!”

Except Mira’s gaze lingered on the box where most of the pouches lay untouched, dust just beginning to gather around the edges.

Still pretending, huh? she thought, frustration forming deep in her chest. The blunt, aggressive part of her wanted to turn around and grab Rumi by the shoulders, to give her a good shake and demand why she always had to carry everything alone. Why couldn’t she just let Mira in? That’s what family was for, wasn’t it? Mira was always open with her girls about her own faults and fears, so why did Rumi keep building these walls between them!?

But Mira bit her tongue. Because she knew better. Pushing too hard would only make Rumi retreat further, and Mira couldn’t risk losing the small glimpse of vulnerability she was being allowed.

Instead, she crossed the room and sat at the foot of Rumi’s bed. The mattress dipped slightly under her weight, the faint scent of lavender detergent rising from the sheets. Rumi hesitated, before perching a careful distance across from her on the ottoman, still seemingly afraid to get too close.

Mira took the chance to really look at her. The dark circles under Rumi’s eyes were impossible to miss, and in any other circumstance, Rumi’s outfit might have made Mira laugh at the sheer absurdity of it. A turtleneck layered under that same beige hoodie she always wore, and fleece pajama pants, all in the middle of Seoul’s sweltering heat. Even here, in the privacy of her own room, Rumi’s sense of modesty clung to her like armor.

Mira exhaled slowly, trying to steady her thoughts. She wished Zoey were here; she always knew the right words to say, always came with this warmth that made people feel safe. Mira wasn’t like that. She was better at reading people from a distance, better at bluntly calling out the truth, rather than softening it. But for Rumi’s sake, she had to try and be more tactful, even if it didn’t come naturally.

“Look… I know your voice is healing,” Mira began carefully, glancing toward Rumi. “And we’re all expecting it to be better by the time the Idol Awards come around.”

Rumi straightened slightly, nodding in quiet confirmation.

Mira hesitated, already bracing for the pushback she knew was coming. “But… are you really sure you want to push for gold this year?”

As expected, she saw protest flicker in Rumi’s expression, so she shifted closer, her voice softening as she rested a hand on Rumi’s knee. “Me and Zoey are both worried about you,” she said gently. “We know you give everything your all, but we don’t want you pushing yourself to the breaking point. It’s okay if we just do enough to seal the Honmoon for another year. You wouldn’t be letting anyone down for taking time to heal.”

Guilt hit Rumi like a tidal wave. For dragging Mira and Zoey into her obsession when they were just as tired. For lying to them when they’d been nothing but honest. For tricking them into loving her. Because, if they ever saw the truth of what she really was, their worry would quickly twist into disgust.

But she could fix it. If she could just endure a little longer, push herself until the Honmoon turned gold, then maybe she wouldn’t have to be ashamed anymore.

Maybe she could finally be loved without guilt.

Rumi fidgeted, picking at the frayed thread of her sleeve. Mira’s concern was almost tangible, and it burned to look at it directly. So she stared at the floor instead, pressing the guilt back down where it belonged.

“We have to reach gold,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “There isn’t another option. The Saja boys are getting out of control. Besides… I’m fine. I can handle it.”

Mira didn’t respond at first, but Rumi could feel the frustration thick in the air, didn't have to look up to know the way in which Mira’s shoulders tensed, and her mouth shifted into a tight line.

Finally, Mira sighed. “I know turning the Honmoon gold is every hunter’s goal,” she said quietly. “But it means more to you than it does to me or Zoey, doesn’t it?”

Her tone wasn’t accusing, just knowing. And Rumi’s stomach twisted because she was right. Turning the Honmoon gold was everything to her. Her only hope for survival. So, all Rumi could do was shut her eyes tight and nod.

Mira’s hand lingered, her thumb tracing soft circles over the fabric of Rumi’s pajama pants. “You know… there have been hundreds of hunters before us who tried and didn’t succeed,” Mira said, almost to herself. “We have our whole lives to do this. Even if it’s not this year, we’re close, closer than anyone has been in decades. So what’s the rush?”

What’s the rush? The words jolted through Rumi, stiffening her shoulders.

“We’re running out of time!” The words slipped out too fast, sharper than she intended. I’m running out of time.

“We can’t just sit back and hope things go our way. What if something happens next year? We can’t leave this for the next generation to deal with.” The explanation tumbled from her in a rush, her throat tightening as she tried to keep her voice steady.

Mira blinked, taken aback. “Rumi,” she said slowly, studying her face, “what could possibly happen in a single year? We’ve been doing this for nearly six. What’s changed?”

Rumi’s pulse pounded in her ears. The patterns under her skin felt alive, humming faintly with every beat of her heart. What if they took her voice before she could make the Honmoon turn gold? What if she never got the chance to erase what she was?

“What if one of us isn’t around in a year!?”

Because Rumi wasn’t afraid of dying. She was afraid of enduring. Another year of holding herself together with trembling hands, of staring at the blood in the sink and pretending she hadn’t meant for it to happen. Another year of fighting the voice that told her she was beyond saving. Her self-hatred had become its own kind of curse, one that might claim her long before the patterns ever did. If she waited too long, she feared she wouldn’t live to see the Honmoon turn gold.

Mira’s brows knitted, her voice gentling but taut with unease. “Rumi… what aren’t you telling me?”

Rumi’s breath stuttered. Panic pressed hard against her ribs, cold and suffocating. “I’m just saying that there’s no guarantee something won’t happen to me-” She stopped mid-sentence, eyes widening in realization. “I mean… to us.”

But the correction came too late. The slip hung heavy in the air, thick and bruised with meaning.

“... You’d be telling the truth if you were just talking about yourself, wouldn’t you?” Mira asked softly, she spoke in a tone that didn't seem questioning, rather like she was making a statement that she knew was true.

For a brief, dizzying moment, Rumi considered lying again, telling Mira she misspoke, that she didn’t mean it like that. But Mira’s expression had already shifted; the calm had cracked, replaced by quiet fear.

Mira inhaled sharply and dropped to her knees in front of the ottoman, cutting off Rumi’s retreat before she could slip any further away. Her hands came up to Rumi’s shoulders, steady in intention but trembling at the edges.
“Are you-” Mira swallowed, her voice unsteady, “is something actually wrong?”

Rumi opened her mouth to deflect, to brush it off, but instead a strangled sound escaped her, a small, broken noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

The sound jolted through Mira like a shock, twisting her stomach and tightening her chest. With this wordless yet undeniable confirmation, she could no longer ignore the weight of Rumi’s words. She could no longer pretend that Rumi hadn’t just told her she did not expect to be alive next year.

Mira’s hand moved on its own, sliding from Rumi’s shoulder to her forearm. Her fingers closed gently but with urgent pressure, a silent plea to pull Rumi back, to keep her here, while her heart thudded so hard it rattled her ribs.

Rumi’s reaction was immediate.

She flinched hard, her entire body tightening beneath Mira’s touch. Shock shot through Mira, and she pulled her hands back as if burned. The expression that flickered across Rumi’s face was not fear. It was pain.

Mira’s heart lurched. Her stubborn instinct to soothe pulled her forward again before she could think to stop herself. Rumi was hurt, she reasoned. Mira had to find the source before it got worse. Her hands moved without conscious thought, reaching carefully but urgently for the fabric that hid whatever injury must lay beneath.

But the moment her fingertips brushed the cuff of Rumi’s sleeve, everything unraveled.

Rumi tore herself away as if scorched, wrenching her arm out of reach. She stumbled back so violently she nearly toppled over the ottoman before scrambling to her feet, retreating several steps as if Mira were something dangerous rather than someone safe.

“Don’t!” The scream ripped through the room, raw and shaking.

Mira went completely still, breath caught in her chest. In her entire life of knowing Rumi, she had never once sounded so scared. Mira felt her heart splinter with the knowledge that the person she wanted to protect most, now saw her as a threat. That to Rumi, letting Mira see what lay underneath would simply break her.

And suddenly, the pieces aligned.

The growing distance from the other girls. The long sleeves and heavy layers she wore even in the suffocating Seoul heat. The insistence on separate dressing rooms. The gentle, almost ashamed refusals whenever the bathhouse was mentioned.

Mira’s heart sank as the final piece fell into place, her mind replaying the lyrics Rumi had been singing not even a mere ten minutes ago:

When your patterns start to show, I see a pain that lies below…

She wasn’t singing about the demon marks the Saja Boys bore. She was singing about patterns she had carved into herself.

Mira felt like she had been punched in the chest. Part of her burned with anger, sharp and seething, aimed at Rumi for not understanding how irreplaceable she was.

Because goddammit, Mira loved her girls so fucking much that no language she knew, neither Korean nor the fragments of English she clung to, could even begin to contain it. How were you supposed to describe something that lived so deep in your soul with something as small and finite as words? There were only twenty-four letters in the Korean alphabet, only so many combinations they could make. And not even Zoey, who in Mira’s opinion was the greatest lyricist in the world, could ever do it justice.

So instead, Mira tried to show it.

She had always felt too full of love, so full that she worried it would spill out of her if she did not give it away constantly through acts of service and quiet devotion. She carried Rumi and Zoey etched into her norigae, worn close to her body, because they were what mattered most in this world. They were her only true family, and she had vowed to fight tooth and nail to protect them.

And yet, the only thing Mira seemed to be good at was failing them.

Because as it turned out, just as Mira was terrible with words, she also was terrible at making her love unmistakably known. Because if she had done it properly, if she had shown it clearly enough, they would not be here right now.

Most of the anger curdling in her chest turned inward, heavy and unforgiving. How had she missed something so monumental? She was supposed to be good at this, at reading people, at noticing the quiet shifts and the things left unsaid. And yet she had not truly seen the girl standing in front of her now. Had not truly seen her for months.

Part of her wanted nothing more than to sink onto the cold hardwood floor and sob until there was nothing left inside her. Because even the thought of it hurt too much. The girl who thought mornings were evil, who loved taro boba because she swore she could taste the purple, who inhaled kimbap with world‑record speed, and who collected houseplants like Zoey collected plushies. Thoughts of that same kind, selfless girl she had spent her early adult years training beside, suffering in silence for so long, felt unbearable to imagine.

But instead of collapsing, Mira forced herself upright on trembling legs from where she still sat kneeled on the floor beside the ottoman.

She lifted her gaze and found Rumi staring back at her like a wounded animal backed into a corner. The sight tugged mercilessly at her heart, tearing her between the urge to reach out and the instinct to give Rumi space.

In the end, Mira reached for her anyway. Because if she did not reach for Rumi now, she might lose her forever.

“Rumi.”

That single word carried everything. Pleading. Devastation. Guilt.

Rumi flinched at the sound of her name. Her chest rose and fell too fast, fingers twisting into the fabric of her sleeves like they were the only things holding her together. Her eyes widened, flicking from Mira’s face to the door, panic etched into every tight line of her body.

Mira swallowed hard, forcing herself to keep going despite the way her stomach twisted.

“Hey,” she said softly. “It’s okay. Just… just breathe for a second.” Her voice stayed low, careful. “I know you’re scared, but I’m not going to do anything, alright? Just breathe with me.”

She exaggerated her breaths, slow and deliberate, making them easy to follow.

Rumi hesitated, then slowly caught on. Long, painful minutes passed with Mira murmuring gentle encouragement until Rumi’s breathing began to slow and her shoulders dropped, just a fraction. The fear still clung to Rumi’s eyes, and Mira wanted was to pull Rumi close, to cradle her gently and never let her go.

Instead, she took another slow, careful breath.

“Okay,” Mira whispered, steadier than she felt. “Okay. I’m not great at this, so I’m just going to say it the way it is.” She swallowed. “You’ve been hurting for a long time. You didn’t want us to know, and… I figured it out.”

Rumi stiffened, and Mira hurried on.

“But I’m still here,” she said softly. “I’m not going anywhere.” She gestured gently toward Rumi’s sleeve, then let her hand fall back to her side. “You don’t have to show me anything. You don’t have to explain it, or talk about it, or do anything right now.”

Her voice trembled. “Just… please don’t push me away.” Mira stepped closer, slow and unthreatening, like she was afraid of spooking her.

“You matter too much to me,” she whispered. “Losing you would destroy me.”

The raw honesty in her voice made something tighten in Rumi’s chest. She wanted to run, to disappear, to deny everything, but Mira’s gaze held her there, warm and devastated, but so full of love.

When Rumi’s expression shifted, just barely, Mira did the only thing that felt right. She opened her arms. No pressure, simply an offer. Because even if Rumi could not let her see the wounds yet, maybe she would let herself be held while carrying them.

Rumi’s shoulders trembled. For a long moment, she stayed frozen, caught between fear and longing. Then, almost imperceptibly, she nodded.

It wasn't much, but it was a start at the very least.

Mira moved slowly, reverently, like she was approaching a wounded animal. Each step forward was deliberate, careful, giving Rumi every chance to pull away before Mira ever touched her.

When Rumi did not retreat, Mira closed the remaining distance and pulled her into an embrace that was firm and unyielding and impossibly gentle all at once. She held Rumi like someone she might lose if she loosened her grip even for a second.

Because if Mira had not knocked on her door tonight, if things had gone just a little differently, she might never have known how close Rumi had been to slipping away until it was too late. And the thought of that terrified her.

A sob tore free from Rumi’s throat, sharp and jagged, burning like glass as it broke through. The dam finally gave way, years of silence and shame and suffocating loneliness spilling out in broken breaths and muffled cries against Mira’s shoulder.

Mira only tightened her hold, grounding and steady, like a solid branch braced against a relentless current, refusing to let Rumi be dragged any further under.

Rumi’s shoulders shook with equal parts grief and terror. This was the moment she had dreaded, the day had come where she could no longer cover up what she had done. Being seen like this made her stomach churn with nausea and shame. The strong, unshakable leader of HUNTR/X had been revealed as fragile, as cracked open, as something ugly and unsightly.

Her girls looked up to her. Relied on her. Believed in her.

And now they would see her differently. That certainty pressed down on her chest until it felt hard to breathe.

It did not matter how strong the branch holding her was if she believed she was already splintering from the inside out.

When Mira finally pulled back, it was only enough to cup Rumi’s face in her hands. Rumi squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself for disappointment, for disgust, for the look she was certain would be there.

Instead, Mira’s thumbs brushed gently beneath her eyes, wiping away tears Rumi had not realized were still falling.

“Jagiya,” Mira said softly, her voice rough and worn with tears of her own. She dipped her head, trying to catch Rumi’s gaze. “Please look at me.”

Rumi hesitated, breath shallow, heart pounding.

“Whatever nightmare you’re building in that pretty head of yours about me knowing,” Mira continued quietly, “It isn’t real. I promise.”

She waited, patient and stubborn, refusing to move away. After a few tentative glances and quick retreats, Rumi finally held her gaze, her shoulders slumping as if the fight drained out of her all at once.

“There you are,” Mira murmured, relief flooding her voice.

She leaned in and pressed soft kisses to the crown of Rumi’s head, each one gentle and unhurried, until warmth crept up Rumi’s neck and left her momentarily breathless. Mira caught the reaction and shot her a knowing look, but said nothing.

Then her expression softened into something more serious, more aching.

“Please stop being so hard on yourself,” Mira pleaded, her hands still cradling Rumi’s face. “I hate that you see yourself as less than us. You aren't a burden for needing help, only human.”

Only part human anyway, Rumi thought bitterly.

She barely had time to sit with the thought before Mira reached for her hand and gave it a gentle tug toward the door.

“Stay with me tonight,” Mira asked quietly, nerves threading through her voice. “Just for a bit.”

She squeezed Rumi’s hand, her thumb brushing over her knuckles in a small, grounding motion. “I just… I just want to make sure you’re safe,” she said, her voice catching despite her effort to keep it steady.

I just wish you were always safe, Mira thought.

She wanted to scream at the Honmoon for asking so much of Rumi, for carving danger into her life and calling it duty. Mira trusted Rumi with demons. She trusted Rumi with her own life, and with Zoey’s.

But Mira came to the awful realization that in this moment, she didn't trust Rumi to be alone with herself. The thought lodged in her throat, and she swallowed hard, fighting the sob it threatened to pull loose.

Because Mira knew how shame worked. It drove you into isolation, and then it fed on that isolation until it grew sharp and suffocating. Sure, being found out could bring relief for some, the loneliness lifted by someone choosing to stay.

But for a master of illusion, being seen did not feel like relief. It felt like failure.

Like more shame.

And shame, left alone and unchecked, had a way of dragging you right back into the patterns you were trying so desperately to escape. Including the ones you embedded in your own skin.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Rumi couldn’t quite believe how the night had unraveled so completely in front of her.

How had she let it get this far? How had she brought things to a point where Mira was standing there, openly afraid of what might happen if Rumi was left alone?

A part of her bristled at the thought. A part of her wanted to be angry. Angry that she no longer got to drown quietly in her shame, that the careful boundaries she had built brick by brick had been crossed, that she had let Mira see something she had worked so hard to keep hidden. There was a bitter, defensive voice in her head insisting that if anyone else were in her place, they would understand. They would see the logic in it.

She wasn’t indulging the patterns. She was fighting them. Rejecting them. Cutting them out of herself like rot. Wasn’t that an act of control? Of strength? Proof that she was still the hunter, not the thing being hunted by these ugly, disgusting parts of herself?

So Mira was wrong. Rumi wasn’t a danger to herself. She had it handled. She always did.

…Right?

But the certainty faltered as quickly as it appeared. Because … well okay, maybe there were better ways to go about it. Ways that didn’t leave the people you loved shaken and terrified. Ways that didn’t put that look on Mira’s face.

Rumi wanted nothing more than to tell her to leave. To curl in on herself, and sink back into the familiar ache of shame where no one could see it, where no one could judge her and be disappointed by it.

And yet no matter how hard she tried to forget it, that image wouldn't leave her. The one where Mira’s expression changes as the pieces had clicked into place. The way her face had gone hollow and haunted.

Rumi knew, with a sinking certainty, that it was a look that would follow her for a long time.

“…Okay,” she said at last, her voice barely more than a breath.

For Mira’s sake. The relief was immediate. Mira’s shoulders sagged as if the tension had been the only thing holding her upright. She stepped forward and pulled Rumi into a tight embrace, burying her face into the crook of Rumi’s neck like she needed the reassurance just as badly.

“Thank you,” Mira murmured, the words muffled against her skin.

The sudden closeness caught Rumi off guard. She tensed instinctively before slowly melting into the hold, her body betraying her even as her thoughts lagged behind.

When Mira finally pulled back, her eyes were red rimmed, lashes clumped with tears she hadn’t bothered to wipe away. But beneath the exhaustion was something firmer. Resolute.

“Gaja,” she whispered. She kept a gentle grip on Rumi’s wrist, not pulling so much as guiding, and led her down the hall.

Mira’s room was nothing like what most people expected.

Anyone who only knew her as HUNTR/X’s blunt, rough-around-the-edges wild child would have imagined something rebellious and loud. But that was the version of Mira built from a distance. The version that existed solely for cameras and headlines.

The real thing was much softer.

Pastel pink walls glowed beneath warm string lights, casting the room in a gentle haze. Posters lined one side, unreleased promotional shots from their debut days.

In one, Zoey stood in the middle with an arm slung around both of them, grinning at the camera while Mira and Rumi were turned toward each other, caught mid laughter over something only they knew. The shoot had been deemed unprofessional and scrapped, but Mira had raided the director’s office anyway and demanded the prototype prints because she thought they were perfect.

Clothes were scattered across a chair and the floor, half worn and abandoned, while a rack in the corner held pristine outfits sent by the design team for Mira to experiment with as the group’s visual.

The room felt lived in. Loved. A feeling Rumi realized, with a dull twist in her chest, she had never quite managed to give her own space. Her room existed in careful minimalism, a few keepsakes, a couple of thriving houseplants, everything else left untouched, as if she were afraid to leave too much of herself behind.

What drew her eye most was Mira’s bed. It dominated the room, dressed in layers of ruby pink, sheets, pillows, and blankets that didn’t quite match yet somehow complemented one another perfectly in a way that felt unmistakably Mira. It was the largest of the three beds, mostly because if there was ever a group hangout, it inevitably ended up here. Zoey’s room, by her own proud admission, was “organized chaos,” and Rumi had always preferred the safety of other people’s spaces over offering up her own.

Mira ushered her inside and closed the door gently behind them. She crossed the room without a word and turned the thermostat all the way down, fingers decisive on the dial. Living in a luxury penthouse came with its perks, individual climate control among them.

She glanced at Rumi, eyes flicking briefly to the turtleneck and hoodie she knew wouldn’t be coming off tonight. Mira's suspicions had practically been confirmed, she knew now for a fact that the layers weren't because Rumi always ran cold. But today wasn't the day to call Rumi out on her bold-faced lies, the day had already been taxing enough for the both of them.

So despite her warm polar bear dress, Mira grabbed a hoodie from the back of a chair and tugged it on, bracing herself for the chill she’d just summoned. Because if she couldn’t do everything she wanted to in this moment, she would at least do this. She would be cold if it meant Rumi didn’t have to be any more uncomfortable than she already was.

Mira climbed onto the bed first, settling against the headboard before patting the space beside her in a quiet invitation. She waited, unhurried, as Rumi approached and carefully climbed in next to her, movements tentative and almost shy. When Rumi finally settled, Mira shifted too, easing down onto her side and letting Rumi follow until they lay facing one another, close enough that their knees brushed.

Mira’s expression was soft and open, the kind she reserved only for her girls and, occasionally, Bobby. Rumi’s face, by contrast, was tight with barely restrained fear, her brows drawn together as her thoughts churned just beneath the surface.

Mira scooted closer and reached for one of Rumi’s hands, which had twisted itself anxiously into the sheets. She gently pried it free, lacing their fingers together and giving a reassuring squeeze, her thumb brushing slow circles over Rumi’s knuckles.

“I can practically hear you thinking, Princess,” Mira teased lightly, her voice warm.

Princess.

The nickname tugged Rumi straight out of the moment and back into memory. Mira had given it to her during their training days, back when the word had been sharp with sarcasm. An insult disguised as a joke, thrown whenever they butted heads, which was often. They had both been stubborn, hot-headed, and unyielding, while Zoey had spent most of that era wedged between them, desperately trying to keep the peace.

It had been a jab at Rumi’s lineage, at her being a direct descendant of a Sunlight Sister. The world called her popstar royalty. Mira had called her a nepo baby. Inheritance was a strange thing. Rumi often wondered who she might have been if she had not been born into this legacy, raised by one Sunlight Sister after losing another. She had not fought her way into HUNTR/X the way Mira and Zoey had. Her place had been assured long before she ever stepped onto a stage.

She was grateful for it. Genuinely. She loved her work. She loved the fans. And yet the gratitude curdled into something bitter just as often. No matter how hard she trained, how fiercely she fought, she could never shake the feeling that she was only ever echoing the greatness of those who came before her. That she was a shadow trying to pretend it was solid.

And just as she had inherited her place, she had inherited everything else too. Her father’s jagged edges. Her mother’s defiance. The dangerous compassion that made her hesitate where she should strike. She should have killed Jinu when she had the chance. She knew that. Any other hunter would have. But instead she felt for him. Because, even as she bled red and proved her humanity over and over again, those patterns clung to her, ineradicable.

Mira watched the storm move behind Rumi’s eyes, saw the way her thoughts darkened and churned inside her mind.

“Hey. Rumi.” Her hands came up to cup Rumi’s face, gentle but insistent, thumbs warm against her cheeks as she coaxed her gaze upward.

“I need you to come back to me,” Mira said softly, her voice low and steady. “I know that anxious brain of yours isn’t saying anything kind right now.”

Rumi blinked, the fog thinning as Mira’s face came back into focus. She drew in a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her chest hitching slightly as she let it go, as if surfacing from deeper water than she meant to drift into.

Mira’s shoulders eased a fraction when Rumi’s eyes cleared, but the worry didn’t leave her face.

“For the record,” Mira said after a moment, shifting closer on their small island of tangled sheets and warm string lights, “Princess doesn’t mean what it used to.”

Rumi looked at her in surprise, her brows pulling together in soft confusion. But there was no teasing in Mira’s voice now. Only honesty.

“I used to hate how easy everything looked for you,” she admitted, not looking away. “I thought I clawed my way into HUNTR/X on nothing but grit, and you just… walked into it like it had been waiting.”

A faint, self-aware smile tugged at her mouth. “I remember sparring you over and over and ending up flat on my back every time,” she said with a soft huff. “And you were always trying so damn hard that I couldn’t even call you lazy about it. Which, honestly, made it way more annoying.”

The smile softened, turned thoughtful.

“But then I started actually paying attention,” she continued. “You literally used to train until your hands were shaking and you could barely stay on your feet,” Mira said, shooting Rumi an unapproving look. “You always pushed yourself twice as hard because you couldn’t stand the idea of anyone saying your legacy carried you.”

Her thumb traced another slow arc over Rumi’s knuckles, steady and grounding. “And somewhere along the way,” she murmured, waiting until Rumi’s eyes met hers fully, “the nickname stopped being a joke.”

Her voice softened. “You stopped being the ‘nepo baby.’ You were just… ours.” She let the words sit between them, unpolished but true. “You weren’t handed this family, Rumi. You built it. You fight for us every single day… sometimes in ways we can’t even see.” Mira lifted her hand to brush loose strands of purple hair away from Rumi’s face, the touch light and careful, as though she were handling something precious.

“And anyway,” she went on, a little shy now that her defenses had been lowered this far, “I don’t call people princesses just because they’re born into power.” She leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to Rumi’s forehead, lingering there for a heartbeat.

“I call them princesses because they deserve someone who would singlehandedly takedown Gwi-ma for them. Someone I would give the entire world to, if I could.”

The room was silent as Rumi’s breath hitched, a strange ache blooming deep in her chest.

How could Mira say something like that so easily?

The words felt impossibly heavy. They were hard to believe and even harder to dismiss. From anyone else it might have sounded like something said in the heat of the moment, the kind of promise people offered without thinking. But this was not just anyone.

This was Mira. And Rumi knew Mira, better than she knew herself.

Mira did not believe in empty words. She said what she meant and meant what she said, often bluntly, sometimes painfully, but always with a stubborn kind of honesty that left no room for doubt. That was what made it so disarming.

Rumi was looking straight at her, searching for hesitation, for even the smallest crack in Mira’s certainty, but there was none. Mira had said it like it was the most obvious truth in the world. And Mira was no fool. Calling her wrong about something like this would almost feel insulting. Because Mira’s instincts were sharp, frighteningly so, and she trusted them more than anything.

Which meant that somehow, somewhere in all of this tangled mess that was Rumi, Mira saw something worth fighting for.

Ours, Rumi’s mind replayed the word back in Mira’s soft, loving voice. Mira thought Rumi was someone who belonged beside her and Zoey.

Someone who was perhaps more precious to Mira than duty itself.

For a moment, Rumi let herself want that to be true. She wanted to believe the words. She wanted to let them settle into the constant noise in her head and soften it, even if only a little. She wanted to believe that maybe she belonged with them, up in the light, instead of sinking into the dark places she always feared were waiting for her.

The feeling was unfamiliar, but it warmed her chest all the same. It was the faintest spark of hope she had felt in a long time, a thin thread of light pushing through the heavy fog in her mind.

Before Mira could even register the shift, Rumi suddenly moved.

Her arms wrapped tightly around Mira’s middle, pulling her close as if the minimal distance still in between them had become unbearable. Her fingers twisted into the fabric of Mira’s hoodie while she pressed her face into the side of Mira’s shoulder, holding on with a quiet desperation.
Mira went still.

The suddenness of it caught her completely off guard, her brain temporarily offline as her heart began to pound in her chest. Slowly, carefully, she let herself settle into the embrace, one arm coming up to rest around Rumi’s back.

Okay, this was new.

Because Rumi was not someone who gave physical affection easily. When she did reach out, it was usually subtle and careful. A gentle hand on someone’s shoulder or a quiet brush of arms while walking side by side. Small, almost hesitant gestures that could easily be missed if you hadn't lived with the other woman for over six years of your life.

Mira was not exactly known for being openly affectionate either. That was more Zoey’s territory. Zoey was the one who tackled people into hugs without warning or leaned against people like she had no concept of personal space. This, though, felt vastly different.

Mira was definitely not panicking internally.

They stayed like that for a while, tangled together in the soft light of the room, their bodies fitting together with a quiet ease that neither of them commented on.

Eventually Rumi’s grip loosened just slightly.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath against Mira’s shoulder. “I don’t think I believe you completely yet. But… I want to try.”

Mira’s expression softened, a small smile forming where Rumi could not see it. “That’s enough,” she murmured, her voice low and warm as she leaned her head lightly against Rumi’s. “I’ll keep saying it until you do.” After a moment she added, more gently, “Just promise me one thing.”

Rumi shifted slightly, listening.

“When tomorrow comes, don’t pretend today never happened.”

Rumi seemed to shrink slightly at the words. She burrowed deeper into the curve of Mira’s neck, as if trying to hide there.

“I just…” she began quietly. Her voice wavered. “I don’t want you to be scared of me.” The confession came out almost too quietly to hear. Because it was true, what kind of person bleeds in the bathroom sink when they feel that their life is spiraling out of control? Probably not one who was fully human anyway.

Mira gently pulled back until she could see her face. Their eyes met in the dim glow of the string lights. Rumi looked exhausted, her gaze wide and uncertain, but she was still present. Still fighting to stay here.

“I’m not scared of you,” Mira said quietly. Her voice softened as she held Rumi’s gaze.

“I’m scared for you.”

Rumi stilled, visibly thrown by the answer. Her lips parted like she might argue or deflect, but nothing came out.

Mira saw the uncertainty in her face and sighed softly, not in frustration but in understanding. This was Rumi, after all, the girl who had spent years perfecting her image, so a crack of this magnitude must have felt nothing short of fatal.

“Look,” she said more gently, “just because I saw some of the messy parts of you, it doesn’t mean I think of you any less. If anything, it just proves what I already knew.” Her fingers tightened slightly around Rumi’s. “You’re strong.”

Rumi’s brow furrowed immediately, like she was about to argue, and Mira huffed a quiet breath. 

“No, listen,” she said, shaking her head faintly. “Not because you’re our leader or because you can cut through demons like it’s nothing while somehow still looking ridiculously hot doing it.” A small smirk tugged at her mouth. “Even if that part is pretty impressive.”

The humor faded, leaving something more earnest behind. “That’s not why,” Mira continued, her voice turning more serious. “Real strength isn’t pretending nothing ever gets to you, it’s facing the things that terrify you and moving forward anyway.”

“Like … if someone is terrified of snakes but still picks one up, you wouldn’t call them a coward for being scared, right? You’d call them brave for doing it anyway. The same goes for strength.”

Mira leaned closer then, gently pressing their foreheads together.

“You’re allowed to struggle, jagiya,” she murmured softly. “You’re allowed to need people. Zoey and I aren’t just here for the easy days. We’re here for the bad ones too.”

Her hand rose to Rumi’s cheek, thumb tracing slow, absent circles along her skin.

“But you have to let us,” Mira continued. “You have to tell us when you’re not okay. Asking for help doesn’t make you weak. If anything, it takes more strength than pretending you’re fine.” Her voice softened. “Do you think you could try doing that? For me?”

For a long moment, Rumi said nothing. Then she nodded, slow and reluctant, her head bowed. “…Okay.”

The word was quiet, but it was there. Mira exhaled, something in her chest loosening. “Okay,” she repeated, softer this time.

Before Rumi could react, she leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to the tip of her nose. Rumi let out a small, indignant sound that made Mira huff a quiet laugh.

“Good,” she murmured. “Then we start small.”

Rumi blinked at her.

“When was the last time you got proper sleep?”

The question caught her off guard. It was so simple it almost felt absurd, and for a split second, Rumi nearly laughed. But when she tried to find an answer, nothing came. There were just too many nights spent staring at the ceiling with spiraling thoughts and her chest tight with the quiet dread of what her future might become, or whether she even had one at all.

Mira stilled, reading the silence for what it was. Her thumb paused against Rumi’s cheek, then resumed its slow, steady motion, softer this time.

“Okay,” she said softly. “That’s alright. Just close your eyes for a bit. Just until the sun comes up.”

A quiet beat passed. “And after that?” Rumi asked softly, her voice raw.

Mira’s other hand came up to cradle her face, holding her steady. “Then we’ll figure it out,” she murmured. “Together.”

Rumi swallowed and slowly lifted her hand, threading her fingers through Mira’s where it rested against her cheek. She hesitated for a split second, a quiet, intrusive thought slipping in. Being this close meant risk. If she fell asleep and her sleeve shifted, even slightly, everything she had worked so hard to keep hidden could come undone.

But before that thought could spiral any further, the room started to dim.

Rumi stared in surprise as Mira reached over and switched off the string lights one by one, until the soft glow vanished and the room settled into darkness. Without a word, Mira turned back and began adjusting the pillows and blankets with careful, deliberate movements. Before Rumi could fully process what was happening, she found herself tucked securely against Mira’s side, the blanket pulled all the way up to her chin.

Her mind scrambled to catch up, instinctively running through a rapid mental checklist. Turtleneck, still in place. Oversized hoodie, secure. Pajama pants, unchanged.

Mira’s arm coming to wrap around her wais-

Wait what??? Rumi’s breath caught.

The touch was careful, settling over the layers and the blanket as though Mira had already accounted for every barrier Rumi needed. Still, her body tensed on instinct, that old reflex to pull away rising sharp and immediate.

Mira stilled the second she felt it. Her hold loosened just enough as she shifted to look at her, concern flickering across her face. “Is this okay?” she asked quietly.

In any other moment, Rumi’s thoughts would have torn her apart for this. For taking the unnecessary risk. For being selfish and letting someone get this close.

But this was Mira.

Mira, who had turned off the lights without being asked, letting Rumi disappear into the dark without ever having to say she needed it. Who had tucked her in with quiet care, as if she already knew that the weight of the blankets made everything feel a little safer. Who had turned the air conditioning up despite always running cold, just so Rumi would not overheat beneath the layers she refused to shed. Who paused at every step, checking, careful, ready to pull away the moment Rumi needed space.

In a handful of quiet, thoughtful gestures, Mira had taken the sharpest edges of Rumi’s fear and softened them.

Rumi let her head fall against Mira’s shoulder, nodding in confirmation.

Mira answered with a gentle squeeze at her waist, reassurance in the small motion. Slowly, the tension began to drain from Rumi’s body as she curled closer, the exhaustion she had been holding back for far too long finally catching up to her.

“Sleep,” Mira murmured, pressing a soft kiss into her hair.

Rumi let out a quiet breath, something close to relief. Her body loosened by degrees, her breathing evening out as she finally let go.

Even after Rumi’s breathing settled, soft and steady against her shoulder, Mira stayed exactly as she was, her arm wrapped securely around Rumi. Her thumb traced slow, absent patterns along Rumi’s arm, grounding and repetitive, as if some part of her believed Rumi might still need it, even in sleep.

Her gaze drifted upward into the dark.

Tomorrow would be harder. Mira knew that. Rumi’s walls would go back up, her defenses snapping back into place as she tried to outrun everything she did not want to face.

And Zoey…

Zoey deserved to know.

The thought settled heavy in her chest, uncomfortable but certain. If their roles were reversed, Mira would want to know. She would need to know. And the truth was, she could not do this alone. Mira was unwilling to take any risks when it came to Rumi.

Zoey knew how to do this in a way Mira didn’t. She had patience where Mira had urgency, softness where Mira had edges. She knew how to sit with someone without forcing them to speak, how to make space instead of filling it.

On her own, Mira would push too hard. On her own, Zoey might wait too long. Together, they found the balance.

Rumi would need both. Convincing her of that would be another fight entirely.

But that was a problem for tomorrow.

For now, Mira tightened her hold just slightly, careful not to wake her.

If even a fraction of what she had said tonight had reached Rumi, then maybe there was still something there to hold onto. Something that would carry into the morning, when things inevitably became harder.

Because one thing was certain. Rumi and Zoey were the best things that had ever happened to her.

Mira loved them fully, not in spite of their struggles, but because of them. Because her girls were stubborn enough to keep fighting, even when it hurt. Because, unlike the family she was born into, they fought just as hard to keep her in their lives as she did to keep them in hers.

And now that she knew, truly knew, how hard the girl in her arms had been fighting to remain here, with them, with her, it only made Mira love her more.

Not less. Never less.

Mira let her eyes close, her forehead resting lightly against Rumi’s hair, her hold steady and sure.

Morning would come, whether they were ready for it or not. But when it did, they wouldn’t be facing it alone.