Chapter Text
The first time Zoey had hugged her, Rumi had completely frozen. She couldn’t hug Zoey back, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything. The maknae had immediately pulled away apologizing profusely, and while Rumi had managed to laugh it off later, to convince her and Mira that she was fine, that she was just surprised, it was years of careful movements before either girl touched her when it wasn’t strictly necessary.
Rumi had always told herself that she just didn’t like being touched, that she was uncomfortable with the feeling of someone else’s skin on hers. She hadn’t always, she vaguely remembered. When she was little, she’d clung tightly to Celine at every opportunity, always running in for hugs, relishing the feeling of being held. But as Rumi got older and her patterns started to spread . . . Celine never reprimanded her outright for her attempts at physical affection, but she had grown steadily more distant, her body locking up like a statue whenever Rumi tried to hug her like she could barely stand to touch the girl.
Eventually, Rumi learned not to try. To navigate those invisible boundaries. And Celine seemed happier for it, so what did it matter if Rumi had to kill a part of herself to be loved? She already had to hide her patterns, so what was one more sacrifice? And then when she met Mira and Zoey, she was so terrified that they would find out the truth about her, that they would abandon her, that she put more walls up, rarely allowing herself to be as close to them as she so desperately wanted to be, physically or emotionally. Over time, she almost managed to convince herself that she didn’t want it, that she wasn’t craving the easy physical affection that Mira and Zoey had always shared with one another. Almost.
But now they knew the truth, and they accepted her. They were still together, still loved her, and Rumi had finally begun to take those walls down. To allow herself to be close to the people she loved so deeply it made her heart ache, to acknowledge how much it had hurt to deprive herself of their touch. But there was still a space between them, one last secret Rumi hadn’t divulged because she could barely accept it herself.
Rumi had always loved Mira and Zoey, she could admit that much as easily as breathing. They were her best friends, how could she not? Since their debut, she had been enamoured with Mira’s confidence, the way she moved, the way her nose crinkled ever so slightly when she smiled. She was captivated by Zoey’s easy, infectious laughter, the mischievous twinkle she got in her eye when she had an idea, the authenticity in which she lived. How damn easy it was to exist around both of them, the way they made her feel like she was important, valuable, adored, everything Celine had raised her to think she wasn’t or didn’t deserve.
The fact that Mira and Zoey were absolutely stunning just came with the territory of being popstars. Rumi had begrudgingly allowed herself to acknowledge that, part of a bargain she constantly made and renegotiated with herself about what thoughts she was and wasn’t allowed to have. It was just a simple observation, a fact of the universe, it didn’t mean anything. The sky was blue. The earth was round. Her best friends were incredibly hot. But they were her friends.
No matter how much she might want . . . something more.
She never let herself go far enough down that thought process to figure out what. She couldn’t bear the thought of asking for too much, of driving them away, not when she had just gotten them back, not if they didn’t feel the same way. And how could they? Mira and Zoey were both so incredible , and Rumi was . . . just her. Somehow, they had stayed. They hadn’t abandoned her even when they knew the truth. They had made her feel loved, and even that she had always been told, had always believed, that that was something she didn’t wholly deserve. How could she have the audacity to want anything else? What more could she possibly want?
— —
Rumi’s armour was . . . a work in progress to slowly remove in warm, quiet moments, but such is healing. No more secrets. No more lies. No more hiding. Mostly.
They had started small. Zoey brushing stray hairs out of Rumi’s face that had managed to escape her tight braid, Mira resting her head on Rumi’s shoulder as they sat together on the couch. Rumi had held herself back for so long, had told herself that she didn’t deserve it, that she didn’t want it, that even these small touches almost overwhelmed her at first. Mira and Zoey never rushed her, always there for whatever she needed. And as Rumi’s confidence increased, so did their touch. Fingers laced together on walks or during interviews, warm hugs as greeting and farewell, cuddling together during movie nights pressed so close together she could scarcely tell where her body ended and theirs began.
It was nearly 1 AM on one such movie night that Rumi regretfully, agonizingly untangled herself from the pile just as Zoey selected a third movie for the evening, one of those “so bad it’s good” black and white horror films that she and Mira loved to complain about but secretly loved just as much as Zoey did.
“Everything okay?” Mira asked softly.
Rumi nodded. “Yeah, just really tired.” They’d spent almost the entire day in their rehearsal studio, alternately going over the newest choreography Mira had come up with and sparring—even with the new Honmoon sealed and Gwi-Ma banished, there were still a few patches of demons left who apparently hadn’t gotten the memo. And while Zoey always had boundless energy and Mira seemed somehow rejuvenated by dancing, as though it were her natural state, Rumi was exhausted.
“You can stay with us, if you want,” Zoey said, her hand still holding Rumi’s. “We’ll turn the movie down and we can just cuddle.”
Rumi was tempted. God was she tempted to sit back down, to stay in their arms forever. But still she shook her head. “Nah, don’t stop on my account. Enjoy the movie, I just need to crash.”
“You sure?” Mira asked. When Rumi nodded, Mira rose to hug her tightly, Zoey joining the embrace immediately.
“Goodnight!” Zoey told her.
Mira kissed the top of Rumi’s forehead softly, just below her hairline, sending a slight shiver down Rumi’s spine. “Sleep well,” she murmured.
Rumi squeezed them back, reveling in a final moment of their warmth, their touch, before pulling away. With that, they parted, Mira and Zoey returning to the couch, shifting slightly from their original positions to cuddle in the space Rumi had left. Rumi watched them for just a moment before heading back to her room just as the opening credits started to play.
Rumi tried to fall asleep. She really did. But even exhausted as she very much was, she managed maybe twenty minutes of fitful rest before she woke up. The sensation started in her lower back and quickly spread outward across her entire body, her patterns suddenly sore and burning hot like a fire trapped beneath her skin. She sighed. She needed another spa day, a good soak in the bath house never failed to banish the pain for a while. She’d mention it to the girls in the morning; even though she hadn’t mentioned the flare-ups to them, not wanting them to worry, over the past few months Mira and Zoey had always jumped at the chance to take her there like they were trying to make up for lost time.
Rumi quietly rose from her bed, her movements more than a little groggy as she exited her room and made her way down the hallway towards the kitchen in search of some fresh chamomile tea to hopefully trick her body into relaxing. She didn’t bother with any light switches along the way; one of the few upsides of her demonic blood was an uncanny ability to see in the dark. Her pupils apparently contracted into slits like a cat, Zoey had helpfully pointed out the first time Rumi had accidentally snuck up on her during the power outage a few weeks ago, having barely even realized that the lights were off.
Upon reaching the kitchen, Rumi was about to grab her favourite mug—a beautifully made kintsugi cup Zoey had given her, saying that the golden lines reminded her of Rumi—when she paused, glancing toward the living room.
Mira and Zoey were cuddled together on the couch, Zoey laying fully on top of the taller girl, the movie still playing quietly in front of them but seemingly forgotten. The light from the screen wasn’t terribly bright, but in contrast to the darkness of the surrounding room it was enough that it took Rumi’s eyes a moment to adjust as she gazed at the two of them with something between love and longing. Then she blinked, and her entire body froze as she noticed their movement, the scene before her suddenly coming into sharp detail.
Oh .
Both of their shirts had ridden up to their armpits, hastily shoved out of the way without even bothering to remove them fully. Mira’s hand twitching slowly, expertly, somewhere below Zoey’s waistband as they kissed each other hungrily, like they'd been starving for it. There was a practiced sort of ease the pair moved with, like it was another of Mira’s complexly choreographed dances for just the two of them, one they knew by heart. This wasn't the first or even the thirtieth time they'd done this, Rumi suddenly realized.
She told herself to move, feeling like she was intruding on something sacred that very much did not involve her. But her feet were glued to the floor, her eyes fixed on the two of them, on their movement.
Rumi had known for years that there was something between the two of them that stretched beyond labels, something she wasn't part of. She'd seen it in the effortless closeness they shared, the glances backstage that lasted just a second too long. In Zoey’s tousled hair as she silently crept out of Mira's room in the late night or early morning, cheeks flushed and grinning brightly, on nights when Rumi had lay awake on the couch unable to bring herself to rest for one reason or another. Rumi has always told herself that whatever it was that they shared, she had no interest in it. And she certainly didn't deserve to be part of it even if she wanted to, at least not until the Honmoon was sealed and her patterns were gone.
But the Honmoon was sealed now, Gwi-Ma banished almost four months ago at this point. Her patterns were still there, but Mira and Zoey knew, and wholly accepted them. And yet . . .
“Fuck, Mira, I'm—I'm so close. Please,” Zoey whined, completely derailing Rumi’s train of thought. Mira raised her head and whispered into Zoey’s ear, her voice husky and still loud enough that Rumi heard it across the room, “You're such a good girl for me.”
That line completely demolished what little remained of Rumi’s self control. She could feel her cheeks burning, her face turning the same shade of pink as the hair tangled around Zoey’s fists that she definitely wasn't staring at. And then, a second later, the entire room was lit up that same vibrant hue as all at once Rumi’s patterns flared to life. Oh god, why now?
Mira and Zoey froze, startled by the sudden light, before awkwardly pulling apart as Rumi bolted back to her room.
Moments later, there was a quick, quiet knock at her door. Zoey. “Rumi?” she called softly.
Rumi partially succeeded in forcing a neutral expression onto her face before opening the door. Zoey and Mira stood together in the hallway, fully dressed, hair messy. “Yeah?”
“We just . . . wanted to apologize. For that.” Zoey stammered.
“We thought you were asleep,” Mira said, sounding a bit more calm. “I didn’t realize . . . are you okay?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you glow pink before,” Zoey added.
Rumi nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Yes. Totally fine! I just wanted some tea. I’m fine now though.”
Mira studied Rumi’s face, her still-flushed cheeks, her patterns that were still flickering the same shade. Whatever she saw, she didn’t comment on it.
“It’s fine. I’m fine,” Rumi repeated, breaking the awkward silence that had settled between the three of them. “I kind of knew anyway. I’m really sorry I interrupted. Can we just pretend this never happened?”
Mira shrugged, her mouth curling ever so slightly into a frown, her expression unreadable. “If that’s what you want. We didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Rumi.”
“It’s fine. Shit happens. Goodnight!” Rumi practically squeaked out.
“Goodnight,” Zoey said softly as Rumi all but slammed the door shut.
They waited by the door for a moment before Rumi heard them finally leave back down the hallway. Sighing in something close to relief, she collapsed back onto her bed.
On the plus side, her patterns didn’t hurt anymore. Or if they did, her mind was far too distracted to notice the discomfort. What difference does it make? Rumi told herself. She’d already known that they did this, more or less anyway. So aside from maybe mild embarrassment at interrupting them, what did she care? She definitely doesn’t have any feelings about it. Not one. She wasn’t imagining Mira’s lips on hers, Zoey’s hands moving across her skin. Wasn’t fixated on the intoxicating sound of Zoey’s shameless moans, on the thought of Mira coaxing those same sounds out of her. Certainly not.
. . . Fuck.
And if she was being totally honest with herself, her feelings ran even deeper than that. It wasn’t just about some idea of romance or sex or how badly she wanted to kiss them both. More than anything else, it was the intimacy Mira and Zoey had, casually shared and freely given, that she deeply, desperately wanted to be part of, to not be an extra or a third wheel or a spare but genuinely, truly part of it. Accepted. Loved.
Well, Rumi definitely wasn't tired anymore. She stared at the ceiling for a long time, trying very hard and utterly failing to ignore the images and thoughts that were flashing through her mind about her best friends , she reminded herself sternly.
Finally she sighed, leaving her bed and sliding open the glass door to step out onto the balcony. The blue tiger that Zoey had affectionately dubbed “Derpy” lay there as he always did this time of night, spread out over nearly the entire space and faintly snoring, the bird perched calmly atop its head. Rumi sat down, legs folded beneath her and her back to the large, softly rumbling creature and took a deep breath, the cool night air sending a not-unwanted shock through her system. With a faint ripple of the Honmoon, her blade appeared in her hands. She'd always felt more comfortable, more in control, holding it, and more so than ever after everything that had happened with Jinu. It had taken some practice to adjust to the weapon’s new form, but by now she knew the blade and its familiar weight like an old friend.
She breathed again, focusing on the sound sound, on the cool and slightly rough concrete beneath her, on the warmth at her back as the tiger purred. Anything to ground herself in the present moment, to take her thoughts away from what she had walked in on.
“For a hunter, you really have a terrible sense of your surroundings,” a familiar voice suddenly said.
Rumi's eyes shot open, beholding in an instant a face no more than six inches away from hers. A face she hadn't seen in months, that she never thought she'd see again. “Jinu?"