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It’s quiet and still.
Rumi stares up at her ceiling, her hands folded over her stomach. One leg dangles over the side of the bed, the other bent at the knee. There’s a lingering tension under her skin, winding through her muscles and rendering her incapable of truly relaxing. She’s never been especially good at it - she’s a complete workaholic, as Mira calls her - but now, she finds it to be an especially daunting, borderline impossible task.
Perhaps it’s because she’s still reeling from recent events. She keeps recalling the moment that demonic imposters of her friends tore her jacket off of her arms in front of everyone, exposing the angular purple patterns that snaked up her arms - the darkest part of herself, hidden behind as many walls as she could possibly build, exposed in an instant. She shuts her eyes tight, but that only conjures flashes of Mira and Zoey’s betrayed, heartbroken expressions, and the way they slowly, shakily raised their weapons towards her while she begged and pleaded and tried to explain.
She exhales slowly, trying to shove the image deep into the recesses of her mind. There’s no need to worry about that, now. She knows they’re okay now. She’s been trying to discuss it with them, to tell them about how she was taught that her patterns are bad, something to be hidden away, disgraceful markings that she needed to rid herself of as soon as possible. It’s not as easy as she wishes it was. Every time they manage to knock one wall down, there seems to be another just behind it, sturdier than the last.
So, most nights they settle for indulgent amounts of kimbap and tteokbokki and, admittedly, a lot of tight embraces and ugly sobbing and repeated apologies. It's still progress, even if it isn't conventional. She knows she shouldn’t worry about that night anymore, and she hates that she can’t stop thinking about it. She closes her eyes tighter, and tries to think of something, anything, else. The cheesy movies that Zoey insists they watch, the bathhouse trip Mira has been begging for…no matter how hard she tries to think of some trivial distraction, her mind keeps wandering to something else from that night.
Jinu.
Jinu, who was cocky, and obnoxious, and constantly making fun of her for stupid things, like her pants - good pants, by the way, there’s nothing wrong with having trains on her pants. Jinu, who betrayed her. Jinu, who exposed her to her friends and left when she was hopeless and alone, and tried to steal the souls of all of their fans…
Jinu, who had a surprising soft side, and made a tiny hat for his tiger. Jinu, who understood her struggles and her shame. Jinu, who saw her, all of her, and accepted it without demanding her to hide any part of herself away. Jinu, who defended her from Gwi-Ma, and died for her. Jinu, who gave him her soul.
Almost instinctively, she summons her sword. She holds it carefully, running the tip of her finger along the smooth blade. Her grip tightens, glaring at it like she expects it to fix her problems. Like she expects it will suddenly shift shape, or begin talking to her, anything to bring Jinu back in some shape or form. Nothing happens, of course, and she sets it aside with a strangled, frustrated huff.
She brings one hand up to her chest, digging her fingers into the fabric of her pajama shirt. She isn't sure what she would even say to him, if something like that did happen. She's mad at him, mad that he lied to her and betrayed her, but she also misses him so much that there is a deep, lingering ache that festers in her chest every time she remembers that he's gone. She hates him. She loves him. It's neither. It's something in between. It's something she can't even discuss with him.
Rumi swings her other leg over the side of the bed, pulling herself into a sitting position. She rubs at her eyelids with the heels of her hands, pressing hard enough that she begins to see colorful shapes. She needs to do something, hiatus be damned. She wishes she could just sink into the couch and spend hours watching K-dramas like her friends, but she’s antsy, itching to distract herself in any way possible. She picks at her nails, since the polish is already slightly clipped.
Her mind is too unfocused to write lyrics, as proven by the almost overflowing pile of crumpled paper in her trash can. Practice is out of the question, considering how late it is. Besides, they’re on hiatus. She’ll definitely be caught, and that’s practically asking for a lecture. That definitely limits her options, and her brow furrows as she tries to decide what she can actually busy herself with.
Rumi slowly looks over at her mirror, rising from her bed and tiptoeing to her dresser. She stares at herself, scrutinizing. Her shoulders are exposed, and she still isn’t used to it. For most of her life, she’s been forced to hide her patterns, and told that she’ll only be free when they’re erased from her skin. Now, on full display, she can’t help but lift a finger to slowly trace over one. They’re a paler color than they used to be, but they still stand out against her skin tone.
She used to be horrified when they spread any further than her arms. They’d curl around her torso, spread up her neck, and she’d lock herself in her room until Celine could reassure the other girls that she was just dealing with something personal, or sick, or having a rough day. They’d eventually recede, and the whispers about not showing weakness and maintaining control would be repeated once more.
They cover most of her body now. They wrap around her torso, spreading down to her legs and crawling up her throat, cutting across her face. She can’t really hide them now, even if she tried. The realization remains conflicting. Part of her is glad that she doesn’t need to constantly worry about being covered enough anymore. She can wear short sleeves, and finally, finally experience the bathhouse with Zoey and Mira. The other part, though, is reminded of the fact that the woman who raised her couldn’t look her in the eye while she begged her to love all of her.
Her attention shifts to her hair. It’s always been styled like this, for as long as she can remember. Celine used to put it up for her, encouraging her to hum the lullaby she was taught while telling her that having her hair pulled back will be beneficial in a fight.
With slow, hesitant hands, she reaches up and begins to take her hair down. Her movements are slightly unsteady as she works with each section of hair, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. Sections of hair cascade past her shoulders and down her back, she's almost forgotten how long it is when she lets it down. Should she cut it? She considers it for a moment, then decides it's a problem for tomorrow’s Rumi to solve.
She slowly lowers her hands once she's done, brushing a few stray tresses out of her face as she examines herself once more. She looks…different. Much more free than usual, with her hair down and her patterns exposed. Her expression shifts slightly. Maybe she should let it down more often, just like he said…she shakes her head, pulling away from the mirror.
She settles back into bed, turning over onto her side. She should probably try to get some semblance of sleep, Zoey and Mira have talked her into going shopping tomorrow, and then visiting the bathhouse. Again. They’ve been very insistent on making sure she can make up for lost time, and she has no reason to decline anymore. She closes her eyes, and hopes sleep comes easily for the first time in a long while.
--
She’s on the rooftop again.
Rumi blinks groggily, trying to adjust to the change in environment. She must be dreaming, but she feels oddly…aware. She stands, looking down at the cityscape. The houses are illuminated with vibrant shades of pink and blue, glittering in the distance as her gaze turns to the horizon. This is the rooftop where she met with Jinu, after receiving a note from his tiger and bird.
She isn’t a stranger to her dreams being set here. Jinu is usually here, but he never does much. He recites lines that Rumi remembers him telling her during their secret meet ups, and occasionally looks over at her with that teasing, confident look, but he never truly sees her. Nothing she says in her dreams matters. She realized that long ago, when her desperate pleading and angry rants both went unheard and unacknowledged the first time Jinu appeared beside her.
But, all things considered, this is probably the best option. She has other dreams about everything that happened, but none of them are especially pleasant. In some of them, Mira and Zoey aren’t so hesitant, and they run forward to kill her like she is any other demon. The dream always ends before she can fight back, but she doesn’t think she could even if it continued on beyond that point. In others, In some, the crowd at the award show realizes what she is, and countless hands claw at her arms and pull at her hair. In others, Celine doesn’t hesitate to kill her when she shows up with her marks on display. Sometimes, Jinu appears once again, succumbing to Gwi-Ma’s power as he asks why she couldn’t free him, why she failed him.
She realizes her nails are digging into her palms, and slowly uncurls her fingers, running a hand through her hair -
“Huh. You finally let it down.”
Her body goes rigid. Ah, this is a new dream then. Her mind has grown tired of tormenting her with the same tired old scenarios, and decided to come up with something new. How cruel. Jinu isn’t to her left, as he usually is. Perhaps she should’ve expected this.
Against her better judgement, she finds herself turning. He stands behind her, wearing the same outfit he did that night. He looks slightly different than he usually does - solid, like she can reach out and touch him, but she knows better. Her body moves on its own, despite her reasoning, and takes a hesitant step towards him.
His teasing look softens slightly, and he holds his arms out to his sides. “I’m here, Rumi.”
It’s all she needs to forego caution and rush towards him. She collides with his chest, and her breath hitches in her throat when she truly feels him. “Oof- still strong, I see,” he jokes. She doesn’t respond, hurriedly wrapping her arms around him, tightening her grip as she grabs fistfuls of his shirt. She buries her face in his chest, trying to ignore the way her fingers tremble.
He’s here, somehow. And it’s only a dream, but it’s still him. There’s an unnameable mix of emotion surging in her chest - relief, frustration, confusion, a thousand other things she can’t quite place. Several questions fight for their spot on the tip of her tongue, but she eventually settles on one. “How…how are you here?” she asks, still keeping her grip tight.
“Well, it’s…” he pauses, then clears his throat. “I’m not actually sure.” She lifts her head slightly to glare at him. “Look, I never claimed to be an expert!” She rolls her eyes, then rests her head back on his chest. “I’ve been around ever since I gave you my soul. I’ve been able to watch.” He explains, “but this is the first time I’ve managed to actually talk to you.” He shrugs. “This is my first time giving someone my soul, you know. I’m still figuring out the logistics.”
Rumi scoffs, shifting one arm so she can pound her fist against his chest, though it’s noticeably lacking in force compared to her usual strength. “I hate you,” she mumbles.
“I know.”
Her shoulders slump. “I miss you. So much.”
He falters slightly, then reaches up to run his fingers through her hair. “I know that, too.”
“Are you still going to be here if I let go?” She asks, a hint of concerned desperation seeping into her tone.
“I promise,” he replies. She hesitantly steps away, a bit of anxiety fading away when he remains in front of her. “We…should talk, shouldn’t we?” She nods, and they make their way to the side of the roof, sitting beside each other. They’re silent for a minute, both trying to collect their thoughts.
“I’m sorry,” Jinu speaks first, his voice quiet. Rumi looks over at him, tilting her head slightly. “For everything that happened before we fought Gwi-Ma. I hurt you because of my own shame.” She folds her hands in her lap, thinking for a moment.
“I’m- well, I’m not…over it.” She reaches up to rub her arm, the pad of her finger tracing over her patterns. “But I’ve already told you that I know you’re more than the mistakes you’ve made. So, apology accepted,” she bumps their shoulders together, “but you’re still going to have to make it up to me.”
He smiles softly. “I’ll do anything you ask of me.” He sounds so sincere that her face grows hot, and she quickly looks away. She fidgets with her hands as she thinks, biting down on the inside of her cheek.
“You could’ve been free,” she mumbles after a moment. “Really free. Not stuck in my dreams, or…whatever this is. You could’ve erased your memories, you could’ve finally gotten his voice out of your head.”
“I don’t regret that part, if that’s what you’re implying. Giving you my soul is one of the only things I don’t regret in the slightest.” He holds a hand out, and Rumi takes it. He runs his claw over the back of her hand, contemplative. “You’re a good person, Rumi. You made me remember what it’s like to be human. I’ve been hopeless for the better part of four hundred years,” he huffs out a small laugh. “But you…you and your determination, your passion…you made me remember what it’s like to have hope. It’s like I said, you gave me my soul back.” He laces their fingers.
“You deserve to be able to live. You should be able to wear whatever you want, without having to worry about hiding yourself away, and go to the bathhouse with your friends, and perform for your fans. If I was sent back to that moment, I would do it all over again without hesitation.”
“You deserve to be able to do things like that too,” she whispers, vision slightly blurry.
“I don’t,” he retorts, and her heart pangs at how quickly the response comes. “But…knowing you, you’ll find a way to make it happen anyway.” She laughs softly, slumping against his shoulder. He stiffens for a moment before leaning into the touch.
She nods. “I’ll drag you around to the best tteokbokki spots, and we can go to the aquarium. I haven’t been to the aquarium in forever.”
“I still don’t understand the concept of paying to look at fish.”
“It’s not just looking at fish.” She shakes her head, “nevermind. I guess you’ll have to wait and see.” He pouts, and she gives him a smug grin. She inhales deeply, then stills when there’s a sudden tugging sensation, like something pulling at her shoulders. She reaches up to rub one of them, confused.
“Your friends are trying to wake you up,” Jinu informs her. “I guess that’s all the time we have for now.” Her stomach twists.
“Is this the last time I’m going to see you?” she asks.
Jinu barks out a loud, genuine laugh. “Are you kidding? Now that I know I can talk to you, I’m never going to leave you alone. You should’ve enjoyed the peace and quiet while it lasted.” She rolls her eyes, feigning annoyance, but the news soothes her anxieties, and she begins to pull away.
“Rumi,” he blurts, seemingly surprised by his own actions. Before she can question him, he lifts her hand to his lips and places a soft kiss to the back of it, where her patterns meet. Her eyes widen, and he hurriedly pulls back, rocking on his heels. “Ok um. You- it’s- you should go now. Not because I want you to! But um, your friends are probably worried at this point.”
“Right! Right, yes, I should go. Wouldn't want to freak them out any more, haha! Um, until next time. See you later!” She cringes at herself as the scene fizzles out.
--
“-umi. Ruuuuummmiiiii,” she groans, her eyes cracking open. “Jeez, are you still asleep?”
“No, I’m,” she rubs her eyes as she sits up, “I’m up! Do you need something?” She calls through the door, shoving the blankets aside as she gets to her feet and opens the door. Mira and Zoey both pause, exchanging a look.
“Your hair is down,” Mira notes.
“Ah. I just wanted to try something different,” she smiles as she shrugs. It's a bit more complicated than that, but they can talk about all of the messy details later.
“It looks great!” Zoey exclaims. “Are you gonna try some different styles?” She clasps her hands in front of her, giving Rumi an excited look.
“Maybe!” She rubs the back of her neck. “I’m not really sure what to do with it, I’ve had that braid for so long,” she admits.
“Well, I think you’ll look great with any style, but you should probably choose something simple this time. We agreed we’d head out in like fifteen minutes.” Oh, right. After everything that happened in her dream, she's almost forgotten about their shopping trip. One of the benefits of hiatus is that they've had plenty of time to do things together, helping to mend the fractures in their relationship even further. Rumi's left most of the planning to them, since they insist she relax.
“Ah, wait, wait! I need to fix my makeup. And maybe pack some snacks!” Zoey rushes off, and Mira watches. Once she’s gone, she turns back to Rumi.
“You sure you’re alright? You don’t usually sleep in so late.”
“I’m okay, Mira, honest. I feel…better than I have in a while, actually. My thoughts are way more clear. Just in time for our trip. Great, right?” Her words are genuine, and Mira seems to catch on quickly. She nods, relieved, and leans against the doorframe.
“Fantastic, because I found this shirt that would look amazing on you. I’ll show you later, I need to make sure Zoey packs the good chips.” She gestures behind her, then stands up straight once again and trails after the other woman. Rumi nods, closing her door once again. She looks in the mirror once more, then runs her fingers over the back of her hand.
She still has a lot of work to do, a lot to talk about, a lot to get used to. But at least she knows he’s still with her, and that there’s a chance she can still free him. She’s supposed to be on hiatus, but…technically this isn’t idol work related, so it shouldn’t really count. Plus, this is important.
She promised to show him the aquarium, after all.