Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If anyone asked, Mira would say today started off like every other normal day. 

The sky is blue. The sun is warm. Gwima is defeated, hopefully, for good. And the kitchen area of their condo is bustling with noise as soon as Mira walks in.

Rumi and Zoey are where Mira expects them to be, shoulder to shoulder as they sit on the dining stools, giggling silly over whatever that catches their interest. 

Zoey is looking adorable in her signature space buns, dwarfed in what Mira recognizes to be one of Rumi’s old soccer jerseys. 

She's playing on one of her game consoles, the one Mira recalls she tried to order online within fifteen minutes of its release, with her tongue poked out and brows furrowed in pure concentration. 

Next to her, purple shoulder-length hair pooling on Zoey’s fabric-covered shoulder, Rumi looks ethereal in a flannel and short shorts that disappear underneath the fabric, revealing her thick thighs and sculpted calf muscles. 

Her eyelashes fluttering gently with the wind, Rumi is clearly fighting sleep. Her lips are puckered as if still in dreams, and Mira would do anything to be the mouth that claims them for herself. 

My girls, Mira thinks with a secret smile. I wouldn't trade them for the world.

“Hey Mira! Wanna watch this playlist about oysters I just found? It has 1000 videos, 5 seconds each!”

Maybe not that.

“I’m not caffeinated enough for this.”

Giggles follow her as Mira makes a beeline for the coffee machine. She smiles upon seeing the pot is full and still steaming, knowing Zoey doesn’t drink coffee and Rumi takes hers black with a dollop of sugar syrup. 

Mira adds an additional teaspoon of creamer because, contrary to popular opinion, she likes sweet things.

“Good morning, Mira.”

And isn’t it just her luck, to be hopelessly in love with her best friend, with her big doe eyes and her sweet smile.

“Morning,” Mira returns Rumi’s smile with one of her own, soft and gentle. “How did you sleep?”

Long after the Idol Awards, Rumi still gets nightmares. They differ every night and shift faster than her own stream of consciousness, and by the time Rumi pinches herself hard enough to jolt herself awake, her body would be drenched in a combination of sweats and tears (sometimes even blood).

Mira makes a point to check in with her every morning, quietly wishing she is allowed to hold Rumi through it at night and not just after the fact. Alas, Rumi isn’t ready for that, but Mira will wait forever if she has to. 

“Like a baby.” Rumi grins, dimples popping. “I think it must be your jasmine tea. Can you make some more?”

Mira goes to nod, goes to promise there’ll always be a full kettle of jasmine tea waiting for Rumi before she wakes up every morning and goes to bed every night, when her eyes catch Zoey’s over Rumi’s shoulder. 

Their youngest is smirking. No, grinning. Mira narrows her eyes, wordlessly threatening Zoey to keep her mouth shut if she knows what’s good for her. 

For once, Zoey obeys. Returning her attention to her console with mirth in her eyes that can only promise future trouble. 

Mira loves that girl to bits.

“Mira?”

“Hmm?” Mira blinks, suddenly realizing she’s gotten quiet on her friend, who looks at her with obvious concern. “Sorry, I was just thinking. Yeah of course I’ll make you more tea, it helps with not just insomnia but also your indigestion too.”

Her promise earns her another dimpled smile, this one paired with shining eyes and dripping adoration.

Rumi has always had a beautiful smile, and her new haircut only serves to make her even prettier. The wolfcut frames her face so nicely, and every time Rumi remotely moves her head, she looks like one of those emo dark-haired protagonists who play the bass and wink at girls during concerts.

Which are all things she currently does, to be fair. But the point is that Rumi now looks handsome on top of gorgeous, mesmerizing, blinding, sexy, sensual, and Mira is entirely too gay for this.

Fuck, she’s so cute. 

“Hello? Earth to Mira? Breakfast isn't going to make itself.”

Tearing her eyes away from Rumi’s obnoxiously beautiful face, Mira narrows them at Zoey.

“I’m sorry, since when am I the designated housemaid?”

“Since that time I tried making breakfast and got put on the local firefighter station’s list of citizens that require regular check-ins.” 

Till this day, Mira has no idea how someone can mess up making pancakes so badly. Isn't Zoey supposed to be American? From all the movies and shows she’s watched, Mira would've thought they all know how to pour a simple batter since birth.

Alas, Zoey can't cook and she would rather die before she lets Rumi and her pretty fingers go anywhere near a stove, so Mira stands up with an eye roll and a sigh all wrapped in one.

Mira’s just mentally entertaining a simple menu of french toast with eggs and ketchup when a soft hand reaches for her sleeve. It’s Rumi, still sitting where she is with a smile that’s too shy and bashful for her usual confident self. 

“Thank you for always making breakfast.” 

Mira will cook for every single personnel in the Marine Corps if it means she gets thanked like this every time.

Alas, she doesn’t say that. Instead putting on the most charming smile, leaning over the counter which she just rounded to hold Rumi’s hand properly and intertwine their fingers.

“Anytime, tiger.”

The nickname makes Rumi blush, just as she knew it would. 

Her patterns glow an adorable pink, shimmering under the light, and Mira summons the sort of bravery that has to come from the newer, gay Honmoon (why else would it be rainbow and not gold?) to tug Rumi over the counter and kiss her on the dip of her nose bridge, right where one of her patterns ends and another one begins.

(“Hunters from beyond the grave, if you can see what two of your finest are doing in front of my salad right now.” Zoey says for everyone to hear, but knows damn well she is deliberately ignored. Such is the life of a maknae. Just for this, she’ll demand to eat first for once.)

Mira doesn’t linger for long after the stunt she pulled, escaping to the kitchen with her metaphorical tail in between her legs. The giggles, so many giggles today, follow her as she goes, but Mira forces herself to not turn around and get distracted.

Look, Mira knows damn well she doesn’t have a chance with Rumi.

You can’t go almost a decade of friendship and not recognize the lack of reciprocation, especially when you’re someone who’s as capable of reading people as Mira. 

There are times where she thinks there might be something, but Rumi always looks away first and whatever moment there is, it never lasts long enough to be tangible and Mira is forced to resign to her fate of being in love with someone who would never love her back the same. 

Because yeah, they’re soulmates by the definition of the Honmoon. But not like that. Never like that.

Mira is only more assertive of that after Gwima, after Saja Boys, after… Jinu. To make it worse, Mira is more in love than she’s ever been, with a Rumi who set herself free from the shackles of Celine’s absurd expectations and is slowly letting out her gorgeous self, half-demon and all, for the whole world to see. 

Mira can live the rest of her life being helplessly in love with her straight best friend, but fuck Rumi is making it incredibly difficult lately.

Zoey will disagree, because she's their youngest, a bit of a brat sometimes, and have sworn to Mira up and down that Rumi feels the same.

Mira will gladly let Zoey say anything she wants. As long as Mira’s determination to conceal don’t feel stays intact. 

“Breakfast is served, your highnesses.”

Which wavers terribly as Rumi and Zoey happily receive her food. Mira’s entire body is flooded with the sort of pride she keeps close to her heart, the vindication of being able to provide and take care of her two most important people in the world.

Floundering in a mess of her own emotions, Mira releases them as much as she can, by kissing both Rumi and Zoey on the crown before sitting down and joining them. The smiles she got back are brighter than the bloody sun. 

Gwima be damned, demons can go fuck else, Mira will burn down the world if it means keeping them warm. 

At that exact moment, taking her words for a challenge and not a promise, the Honmoon ripples.

All three of them whip their heads around in shock, having thought they had seen the end of Gwima and his demons now that they sealed the barrier between worlds.

Nothing good ever lasts. Mira sighs and puts down her fork, Zoey and Rumi already leaping off their stools and rushing towards the elevator.

How demons constantly pick the worst time to interrupt them is simply beyond her. Alas, Mira has breakfast to eat, tea to make, and a pretty girl to stare longingly at.

This better be quick.

—

If there ever came a day where they have no choice but to reveal to the public about their night job (sometimes also day job?) and someone asks her what it’s like to hunt demons, Mira would describe it as exhilarating.

The whole thing with Rumi being half-demon aside, Mira simply enjoys beating up bad people who do bad things, and no crime is bigger than sucking out souls to bring to their evil underlord in her humble opinion. 

Mira tells her friends pretty much the same, sending the tip of her woldo through the chest of a demon snarling at her. 

“This is fun!” 

“Totally!” says Zoey, whose torpedo kick sends a demon flying before disintegrating by the blade of her sinkal. “Is it weird that I kinda missed this?”

“Not at all.” Rumi grins, twirling her saingeom effortlessly while waiting for two more demons to come close enough for her to slash them to bits. Why does she have to look so hot doing the most basic thing? “Hey, what do you say we get boba after this? There's a new one nearby that just opened.”

Thrusting her woldo over Zoey’s shoulder to reach a demon almost getting the jump on her, and also happened to be the last, Mira wipes the sweat on her forehead with her sleeve and slings one arm over Zoey’s shoulders. 

“Sounds good for you too, bub?”

“Totally!” Zoey bounces, once, twice, until she resorts to holding onto Mira, arms around her waist. 

Mira nods, leading them to their waiting leader. Rumi’s easy grin as she absentmindedly twirls her sword in standby almost makes Mira trip, but she manages, even if she has to subtly squeeze Zoey’s neck in retaliation for her snickering under her breath. 

(“Simp.”

“Shut up.”)

Feeling playful, Mira gives Zoey a shove. Having not expected it, Zoey stumbles back like a wounded fawn, her expression that of utmost betrayal.

Mira cackles at the sight of it, even more so when it morphs into outraged indignation. Instinct tells her to run and so she does, a brief moment before Zoey also kicks into gear and chases after her.

The empty train track echoes with the sounds of running and laughing. Mira hasn't felt this light in years, making a mad dash for Rumi, who squeals in shock at being made Mira’s protective shield against the tiny, raging hurricane that is Zoey, who looks back and forth between them in clear conflict, hands out like claws just waiting to strike, before ultimately deciding to risk it all. 

Training with Celine hadn’t afforded them a lot of moments to have fun like this. 

The woman wasn’t exactly a dictator, not as much as Rumi whenever they needed to get into shape for idol promotions anyway, but her calculating gaze and heavily layered words always seemed to suck the fun out of even the smallest lighthearted gesture.

Mira tried to sling her arms over Rumi’s shoulders once to congratulate her on performing a beautiful roundhouse kick, only to have the nastiest stink eye, even if Celine would never call it that, levelled at her. 

As if used to it, Rumi only gave Mira a sad smile before bumping their hips, leaving Mira to quietly sigh in disappointment before huddling back to work together. 

Becoming an idol was the best thing that could’ve happened to them, only because Celine wasn’t there. Mira lets the bitterness that follows whenever she thinks about their mentor linger as she sacrifices the lamb (Rumi) to the wolf (Zoey) before running for her life. 

Twin gasps follow suit, before thundering footsteps join the cacophony shouting of her name. Mira rounds the corner, thankful that the demons picked out an abandoned train station to reemerge. 

Which begs another question that’s been tickling the back of Mira’s mind. 

Celine had said the Golden Honmoon was supposed to rid the world all demons. The one and only barrier strong enough to seal Gwima away for good, leaving no hope for him or any of his demons to resurface in the human world. 

The creation of a new (and stronger and better) Honmoon changes things and calls into doubt so many things Celine told them in the past. 

For one, Rumi is still here, out and proud of her half-demon heritage. The Honmoon didn’t banish her down to the underworld like they thought it would, nor did it stop more demons from popping up, evident by the horde they just defeated. So what was the point of the Golden Honmoon?

Two, how exactly are demons created? If such ones like Rumi and, bleh, Jinu existed? And are there more? Did they ever kill one of those before? Is setting them free possible? 

Three, how much of Celine’s own upbringing as a Hunter was a lie? 

So many questions and zero answers, since they unanimously agreed to ice out Celine after Rumi returned from her last conversation practically in comatose. 

Mira had wanted to march over and slammed that woman’s head into the nearest wall, but Rumi had tugged at her sleeve, asking her and Zoey to please hold her with the smallest voice Mira’s ever heard, and Mira’s bloodthirst drained faster than the bile rising in her throat. 

Lost in thoughts, Mira doesn't see the cloud of red, pinkish smoke in front of her before it’s too late. 

She recognizes the color from watching Saja Boys’ first live performance in the street, and assumes this is Rumi trying to corner her from the front while Zoey goes for her back. As a result, Mira doesn't slow down, intending on just torpedoing past Rumi by ducking under her arm or performing a fancy cartwheel over her head.

Disappearing into the smoke, Mira’s hands catch on a slender waist. She pivots her heels to make her escape, but it appears she miscalculated her strength, barrelling into the body in front of her with the force of a bull. 

The world tilts 90 degrees and Mira closes her eyes, preparing herself for the pain.

It never came.

Instead of the cold, hard floor, Mira is cushioned by a warm body. She almost doesn’t recognize it, having not had much exposure nor the pleasure of being touched so warmly by Rumi in the years before this. 

But Mira recognizes this warmth, this feeling of safety that only Rumi could ever provide. 

Remembers the cold nights where Rumi caught her crying in the living room, her phone with a text from her mom in hand, and wordlessly pulled Mira to her chest. Cherishes the domestic mornings where the waiting room was packed with frantic staff and yet Rumi still had the mind to stroke her hand on Mira’s back to keep her calm before they all had to go on stage. 

With recognition, comes the mortification. 

Mira’s face is practically buried in Rumi’s boobs, and while that is usually a scenario she would sooner cut off her own arm for than stop, waterboarding her straight best friend’s bosom in broad daylight sounds like a recipe for PR disaster and a good reason to end their friendship for good.

Now panicked, Mira scrambles to lift herself up by her forearms. 

“Rumi! Are you okay? Did I hurt you?

There’s no answer at first, other than a low chuckle that, for some reason, sends shivers down Mira’s spine. She blinks the stars out of her eyes, determined to check on Rumi if she’s alright.

Half-demon or not, a concussion can be lethal in the most unpredictable ways. And Mira will sooner kill herself and everyone else in the room before she hurts Rumi again. 

“Rumi?”

Still no answer. 

Shit, did she actually hurt her?

“Rumi, are you—”

To preface Mira’s brief stupor, one must go back all the way to the night of their 6th International Idol Awards. 

Specifically, the moment when Mira and Zoey saw Rumi’s demon patterns for the very first time.

If she was to answer honestly, Mira wasn’t bothered by them. She’s self-aware enough to know the root of the conflict lies in the simple fact that Rumi was hiding, not what she was hiding them from. 

It isn’t until way later, as in the very same night they defeated Gwima, that Mira truly took in Rumi’s patterns. By then, they were colored in this ethereal shade of silver, almost shimmering under the warm light of their home. 

Backstage, Rumi lit up in purple and a monster that broke Mira’s heart. Here, in the living room of their penthouse, her proverbial heart on her metaphorical sleeve, Rumi looked nothing short of an angel. 

This Rumi looks, for the lack of a better word, frightening. In a way that makes Mira’s mouth dry up and her throat parched.

Rumi’s patterns, the ones Mira can see at least, are dark purple. Not the sickening bright purple, almost pink, that spread all over her face when ‘Zoey and Mira’ stripped her off her jacket on stage, but an almost lilac color like Rumi’s own luscious hair. 

Both her eyes are full-blown and amber like the tiger’s eye, and they’re looking up at Mira with a distinct something that makes Mira’s heart act all funny. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

That’s Rumi’s voice, no doubt. Melodic even without trying, sweet in the way her tongue wraps around every syllable she says, and shoots lightning bolts down the pit of Mira’s tummy. 

That’s Rumi’s voice. Mira is 100% sure.

So why does it feel so wrong?

“Mira?”

Startled, Mira looks over her shoulder. Her stomach sinks without a warning, and that same chill from earlier claws its way down her spine without mercy. 

Because standing over there with Zoey, her mouth parted open in pure shock, is Rumi. 

Rumi, who was supposed to be beneath Mira. Who is still underneath Mira. 

Rumi, who summons her newly enlarged saingeom without hesitation. 

Rumi, who sits up and hums wickedly into Mira’s ear.

“You mind getting off my lap, sweetheart?”

Rumi would never say that. Rumi would never call her that. Rumi would never look at her like that.

Mira gasps, and ‘Rumi’ grins. “Took you long enough.”

As if electrocuted, Mira flings herself off. Her long strides help her stumble back and away quickly, the reliable arms of Rumi and Zoey helping steady her when she almost trips again.

A few feet away, ‘Rumi’ is laughing. 

Now that she’s a good distance from her, Mira can take in the full picture of the doppelganger. 

Credits where credits are due, the demon does a really good job of impersonating her best friend. It’s almost impossible to tell them apart, though thankfully plausible due to the fact that they’re wearing different clothes. 

Unlike her Rumi with her brightly colored flannel and gray sweatpants that she clearly threw on in a hurry, the demon has on what seems to be a casual outfit consisting of a black tank-top and black booty shorts. The only color it has on is a purple belt, which accentuates its hair and its demon patterns, which flicker as it looks them up and down.

“I didn’t have this on my bingo card.”

Mira shivers, the wrongness now as clear as day with the demon wearing her best friend’s face. She instinctively summons her waldo, hearing Rumi and Zoey conjure their own weapons next to her. 

The demon raises an eyebrow, glancing back and forth between the three of them.

“Interesting. You girls into larping?”

It’s Zoey who sputters, incredulity all over her face. 

“Larping? Bitch, these are the real deals.”

It tilts its head, surveying but also mocking. “Hah, I’ve seen better craftsmanship in How To Train Your Dragons.” As if that isn’t insulting enough, “The live action, I mean.”

Rumi gasps the loudest, gripping her saingeom with a renewed fervor. The new blade is so massive, its reflection can include all three of them now. 

“Enough talking. Who are you and what do you think you’re doing wearing my face?”

The demon’s smile slips right off its face at this. 

“What do you mean by your face? I’ve had this since I was born.”

“Stop lying.” Rumi takes a step forward, Mira and Zoey automatically fall into formation and flank her sides. All weapons aimed at the demon wearing Rumi’s face. “You have three seconds to turn back to your true form.”

“You’re completely nuts.” The demon’s claws spring out in an effortless motion, raising the hairs on the back of Mira’s head. “Here’s a better idea. What if I just, don’t?”

Rumi smirks. “Then you leave us no choice.” Mira counts, Zoey grunts. “Now!”

For as long as she can remember, Mira has always loved fighting by Rumi and Zoey’s side.

Mira on the right. Rumi in the middle. Zoey on the left. It’s their recipe for success, for both demon hunting and dancing, as well as the solid foundation of their relationship as a trio.

It’s no different now, Mira and Zoey launching themselves ahead with their weapons out, Rumi just two steps behind acting as support and guidance. 

They work in perfect harmony, Mira sweeping her woldo and Zoey throwing her sinkal with perfect accuracy, followed by Rumi letting out a battle cry as she uses one of them, Zoey this time, as a launching pad before she strikes her saingeom down to their adversary.

But this demon, this Rumi, moves faster than anything they’ve ever seen. Whereas the Saja Boys’ were mostly relying on brute strength, this demon can teleport like she has super speed itself.

Just when Mira thinks her woldo has connected with its arm, Zoey is crying out in pain from the demon ducking under her arm and punching her in the ribs. Or just when Rumi thinks her saingeom has successfully pinned it down, it teleports again and is pouncing on Mira with the ferocity of a lion.

They topple a good distance away right onto a train track. Mira grunts at the metal digging into her back. 

Thinking quickly, Mira locks her thighs around the demon’s hips and flips them. The upper-hand is hers once again. 

Her weapon of no use in close range, Mira dissipates her woldo and resorts to hand-to-hand combat. But the demon is strong, almost as strong as Rumi, grabbing her wrists like her strength means nothing and the grin splitting its lips is so much like her best friend that it fries Mira’s brain a little.

Her best friend who she is currently straddling and they’re so close and— holy fuck. 

Distantly, Mira can hear Rumi and Zoey shout instructions, as she futilely tries to pry her wrists out of the demon’s wickedly tight grip. 

She’s just heard Rumi yell something about a headbutt when she finally explodes. 

“I can't hurt her! She’s got your pretty face!”

Which is not at all what she wanted to say. 

“Oh?” The demon’s fangs are peeking out with how much it’s smiling, amber eyes almost glistening in the light of the sun. She’s… beautiful. “I think you're pretty cute too. For a larper.”

Did she just call me cute?

Did Rumi just call me cute?

Did Rumi just call me cute? 

Mira’s face explodes in heat, a barely audible squawk escaping her lips. Which the demon makes zero attempt to hide its interest towards, even going as far as leaning up and licking its own chaps, fangs and all, while staring Mira down.

Jesus Christ, what the fuck is happening?

Distantly, Mira hears Zoey’s deadpan voice coming from the same platform where she just fell off.

“Did that demon just call Mira cute?”

“Get your hands off her!”

Without a warning, twin puffs of pink smoke materialize in front of her. Mira only gets one blink in before she finds herself thrown over the platform, not unlike a ragdoll, and straight into Zoey’s disgruntling arms.

“Good god, woman. What are they feeding you in those protein shakes you like so much?” 

Mira swats at Zoey, who graciously doesn’t drop her, instead gently letting her down on her feet. 

“It’s called core muscles. You should try it sometimes.”

“Bleh, why would I need that when I already got these?” Zoey raises her arm and flexes her, admittedly, well-toned biceps. 

Mira prefers Rumi’s anyway. “Rumi’s better.”

“Fuck you too.”

Their banter is, unfortunately, cut short, thanks to the guttural scream coming from the other side of the station. Mira springs into action, running over to the edge to try and see what’s going on. 

Out of all the damn days, she just had to wear old contacts and not her freshly-renewed prescription glasses. Talk about some shitty luck. 

“Zoey, be my eyes.” Mira beckons their youngest forward, arm slung protectively over her shoulder to prevent her from slipping down onto the train tracks. It’s been known to happen. 

“They’re fighting.” You’d think that’s obvious. “Rumi— our Rumi, she’s snarling and growling, oh my gosh, are those fangs coming out of her too?” FUCK ME. PLEASE. “Okay they’re back to fighting. The demon has its claws out, Rumi has hers too— I didn’t know she could do that?? And um, oh shit she just punched the demon so hard it’s flying— Mira, duck!”

The blurry figures heading her way with the speed of a rocket is enough warning, but Mira appreciates Zoey’s efforts, especially when she’s the one tugging Mira out of the way. No sooner they did, Rumi is leaping from one platform to another, wicked, clearly intending on pummeling the demon to a bloody pulp. 

To their delight, Rumi succeeds. The sound of her claws finally making contact with the demon ricochets off the dirty walls around them, Rumi’s panting and subtle growling accompanying it like a well-layered musical piece. 

A cheer is on the tip of Mira’s tongue when, all of a sudden, their Rumi yelps in pain. The noise acts like magnets, pulling both Mira and Zoey to Rumi’s sides immediately.

“Rumi, are you okay?” Zoey asks softly, one hand already making its way to Rumi’s arm.

Mira doesn’t touch her, not yet. She’s too busy keeping an eye on the demon, hands poised in a battle ready stance, but of course not missing her chance to check in on her friend.

“Did that demon hurt you? It moved so fast, we didn’t even see.”

“That’s the thing, I…” Rumi swallows, one amber and one brown eye blinking rapidly. “I was the one hurting it.”

Mira blinks, replays the scene in her head, and gasps when she finds a bruise on Rumi’s chin where she just landed a strike against the demon. 

Zoey comes to the same conclusion just as quickly, eyes blown wide like saucers as they bounce back and forth between their Rumi and the doppelganger. 

Who tilts its head at them curiously, not unlike Derpy, a perpetual grin stuck on its face.

“A fellow demon?” It flies to its feet, wiping the dirt off its clothes like being flung meters away did nothing. Mira gulps, this demon is way stronger than anything they’ve ever faced. “And you hurt yourself trying to hurt me.”

“I’m half-demon!” Rumi cringes, as if asking herself why on earth did she give that information up so willingly. “Whatever. What did you just do to me?”

The demon raises both hands in mocking surrender. “Didn’t do anything but almost got my ass beat. But now that you mentioned it,” Faster than lightning, the demon slashes its own arm, humming thoughtfully when Rumi winces, blood staining through the sleeve of her flannel. “Wow.”

All four of them come to the same conclusion at various speeds. The demon is first, obviously, then Rumi, then Mira and lastly Zoey, who points a shaky finger at the figure still smiling as if this isn’t proof something catastrophic just happened to the fabric of space and time.

“You… you’re Rumi.”

“That is indeed my name.” ‘Rumi’ rolls her eyes, the sass dripping off her mouth like honey. “And as I was saying, this is the face I’ve had since I was born. So if anything, she’s the doppelganger."

Rumi, expectedly, fumes at this. “Excuse you, I’m the original Rumi!”

“Not where I come from.” ‘Rumi’ sticks out her tongue, longer than a normal human and almost snake-like. Mira has no idea why she’s paying so much attention to that. “Anyway, I’m starving. If your world’s anything like mine, there are definitely souls around here for me to eat. So, toodles?”

None of them gets a chance to blink, let alone object, before there’s a familiar puff of pink smoke and the demon is gone. 

Mira slackens, Rumi huffs, and Zoey whistles.

“Is it just me, or did our hiatus just got a lot more interesting.” 

Rumi’s scolding look aside, Mira can't help but agree. She wonders if they’ll ever see that doppelgänger again. 

Chapter Text

The answer is no. 

Not for a while, at least. Mira has been counting, unbeknownst to her bandmates, one eye always peeled for that distinctive shiver of the Honmoon whenever there’s a rift between their world and Gwima’s. 

It's been a few days and so far nothing. The world is at peace, they’re enjoying the midway trek of their hiatus the way they should, and yet Mira just can't shake this strange feeling tugging at her chest. 

She can't even identify what it is, let alone deal with it, and it’s led to her getting less sleep than she wanted and she’s awfully grumpy about it. 

“Wow, you look… unwell.”

Which makes Zoey’s observation, innocent as it may be, all the more agitating.

“Piss off.” Mira says, flopping onto the couch and covering her face with a pillow. Maybe she can just smother herself to oblivion, at least then one of her problems will be solved. 

“Someone’s being a grumpy pants.”

Mira groans, miserable and a little pathetic, only to swallow a sound that veers on needy desperation when gentle hands slip under her head and deposit her on warm thighs. Then there are fingers in her hair and Mira melts like butter on a frying pan.

“Zoey started it.” Mira nuzzles closer to the heat, the only barrier stopping her lips from kissing Rumi’s soft tummy is a band t-shirt and her high shorts. Damn you clothes. “What time is it?”

“Too early to start day-drinking.” Says Zoey, accompanied by a clank. “Made you coffee. I’m pretty sure I got the sugar to cream ratio right this time.”

Peeking, Mira spies Zoey with a cheeky, albeit patient, smile. She knows something is wrong, and she’s subtly encouraging Mira to talk about it without putting her on the spot. Her heart swells with gratitude for their youngest, whose eyes soften as if she can read all of Mira’s emotions just from looking at her.

So-scary-you-better-watch-out indeed.

“Thanks, bub.” 

“I love you, so I made you coffee.” Zoey shrugs as if to say no big deal, when she has no idea how much it means to Mira. Or maybe she does, Zoey is smart like that. “Now that you have your emotional support night light, do you wanna talk about it?”

The night light in question glows a tell-tale shade of pink, thighs squirming under Mira’s cheek. Coupled with the whine she feels vibrating against her ear, Mira has no idea how she manages to not explode in confetti right then and there.

Women and their womanly wiles, fuck me.

“I can't stop thinking about her.”

The silence resulting from this is rather odd, if you ask Mira. Usually whenever any one of them expresses interest in a prospect, either romantic or platonic, the other two will swarm to them like flies to a Resident Evil character. 

Now, it feels like her admission is sucking out all the oxygen in the room. 

Mira’s brows furrow, clarifying. “The demon we met at the train track?” 

As if her partners don't already know, judging by the odd raise of Zoey’s eyebrow and Rumi’s deliberate avoidance of it.

“Yes, I suppose we should talk about her.”

That sounds awfully clinical even for her. Mira’s lips part open, intending on asking Rumi what’s wrong, but Zoey is stealing her thunder.

“Mainly, I wanna talk about how she only called Mira cute. I mean, am I not the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen?”

The laughter that escapes Mira is of pure incredulity. From above, Rumi tries her hardest not to follow, chomping on her lips to keep herself from smiling. Zoey, as per usual, is grinning proudly with her shoulders hunched, her smile squished between her chubby cheeks and her watery eyes knocking the puss in Puss in Boots out of the ring altogether.

All in a day’s work of keeping this family happy.

When Rumi coughs, both Mira and Zoey know to stop fooling around. It's a leader thing, plus it's hot. 

“Seriously though, we need to talk about that demon and how she came to be.” 

“Am I understanding perfectly that she is meant to be you?” Mira pokes Rumi in the tummy, earning a slight giggle. “A more evil version of you?”

“Her patterns were all purple.” Zoey comes in with the accurate observation. “Like the patterns we see on regular demons.”

“Maybe she’s a full demon?” Rumi asks.

She feels human. 

Mira doesn't know how to explain it. Maybe it's the warmth pressed against Mira’s chest. Maybe it's the heart Mira felt beating beneath her palm. Maybe it's her eyes and the way they flicker brown once, just once. 

“Doesn't explain how she’s here at the same time as you.” Mira says instead, deciding not to verbalize her observation lest she’s wrong. 

“I mean, the obvious explanation would be that she’s from another universe.”

The idea itself is a cliche. A physics concept about multiple universes existing in parallel that’s been popularized and, in Mira’s own opinion, entirely satirized by creatives in recent years.

But for once, that does seem like the most plausible explanation for this situation.

“It’d explain why hurting it equals hurting you.” Mira points out, hand absentmindedly tracing the claw-shaped marks on Rumi’s jawline. 

The induced shiver gets Mira a little worried, but Rumi is grabbing her hand and pressing it to her whole cheek before she can start to overthink. 

“We’ve all been scratched by demon claws before but…” 

Rumi pauses, her other hand raised. From her position in Rumi’s lap, Mira can see the shadow passing in Rumi’s eyes, distant and not at all here, a sight entirely too frightening after everything they’ve been through. 

“You have them now too.” Zoey chimes in, the tension getting too thick to be comfortable.

Rumi only nods, the empty gaze now aimed at Zoey and Mira both. 

“It seems there’s a lot of things my half-demon body needs to catch up on after years of repression.”

Mira can read her, her shaky voice, her dilated eyes, and her hunched shoulders like a book. Gosh it’d be too soon if she ever sees Celine again. 

“Whatever change there is, you’d still be our Rumi.” 

“Yeah!” Zoey nods eagerly in support. “You just get badass claws and amber eyes (“Like Zuko!” “Of course you’d mention Zuko.” “Says the Katara simp.”) and— were there fangs too?”

Rumi chuckles, the sunlight from outside the window hitting her cheeks and her lips. Mira does a really, really good job of holding in her swoon. 

“Back to the demon,” Rumi mimes gesturing at herself, earning twin laughs from them both. “If she really is me, then what do we do about getting rid of her?”

It's practically impossible, if they don't want to kill Rumi in the process. Mira mulls over it some more, fidgety hands rubbing the fabric of Rumi’s band tee in between her fingers.

“Maybe we should call Celine?”

The speed in which Mira whips her head around to look at Zoey is, admittedly, overtly dramatic. 

Their relationship with Celine has been rocky, to say the least. Mira has no knowledge of what happened in the time between the Idol Awards and Namsan Tower, but Rumi can't speak about it without dissolving into heartbreaking, chest-aching sobs, so it can't have been anything good.

As for Mira and Zoey, they both have unanimously decided on going no contact with Celine after putting together the puzzle pieces that is Rumi’s reclusive tendency growing up, her hatred towards demons (and herself), and her lack of trust in them.

Mira hates thinking about the what-ifs, but she’ll never stop mourning the what-could-have-beens, had Rumi trusted enough to tell them about her heritage beforehand. 

Vicious amber flickers in front of her eyes, making Mira feel hot around the collar.

Steeling herself, Mira pools all her attention to Zoey, who looks insufferably understanding. Mira worries about her sometimes, she hopes she knows she is allowed to be angry or even just annoyed.

“You’re joking.” Mira deadpans. 

“I wish I was.” Zoey smiles sheepishly. “But she’s the only hunter we know.”

“She’s our best shot at finding an answer.” Mira’s eyes snap back up, finding Rumi with a sad smile. She’s wearing an off-shoulder tee, Mira now realizes, showing off her patterns which shimmer a pale shade of red. “I don't like it either.”

“All the more reasons we shouldn't.” 

Because I’d rather die than let her hurt you in front of me.

Because I’d get angry and you’d love me less. 

Mira isn’t sure if she wants those words to reach Rumi’s ears ever, but a part of her still deflates at the lack of acknowledgement in those warm, brown eyes. Her mouth opens, to say what she doesn’t know, when the Honmoon cries out. 

Without hesitation, the three of them leap off the couch and head for the elevator. As they rush out of the tower and into the main street, Mira entertains the idea of asking Cel— someone, for mini mobile transportations. 

Zoey has her skateboard. They can fine tune it to attach a motor or they can get her an electric one. 

Mira knows how to ride a motorcycle, so she’d ask for one of those, and maybe she can share it with Rumi who would wrap her arms around Mira’s waist and press her chest to Mira’s back and lean her head on Mira’s shoulder blade and—

“It’s her!”

Cursing herself, Mira snaps back to reality, just in time for them to land soundlessly atop a nearby roof. Rumi is front and center as always, directing Mira and Zoey into a more stealth-optimized position.

“Why are we stalking her?” Mira asks anyway, patience never been her virtue. 

“Civilians.” Rumi points a finger, to which Mira nods before following. “She should be around here somewhere. I can feel her energy.”

Mira nods, accepting the answer for what it is. Zoey, their ever so reliable sharpshooter, doesn't comment, too busy scanning the environment for variables.

It doesn’t take long for something to come up, alerted by Zoey’s hushed, almost frantic whisper.

“2 o’clock. Woman in red and two men in black and gray. They’re mugging her.”

Mira and Rumi startle into action, woldo and saingeom not necessary for a simple fist fight, but Zoey’s next report stops them dead in their tracks.

“There's the demon. She’s walking towards them. She's… helping?”

“What?” Rumi asks incredulously, sitting back down and narrowing her eyes. Mira flinches at the way they suddenly turn amber with midnight slits, but quickly schools her face lest Rumi misunderstands it for what it isn't. “Holy crap, you're right.”

Surprise at Rumi’s cursing aside, Mira has to wipe her glasses with her shirt to make sure she’s actually seeing what she’s seeing. 

There, walking down the alley, the demon is saying something to the burglars. They can’t hear her all the way from up here, but it’s clear by their defensive body language that she is threatening them. 

Mira takes a moment to thank the demon for having different clothings and hairstyle from Rumi, flowy hair that sits loose on her head with strands framing her face, the same all black tank-top and shorts, otherwise they’d be in massive PR trouble with Bobby. 

He’s having trouble adjusting to the whole demon hunting thing they dumped on him the morning after the Idol Awards, which is fair, but he promised he will still be here when they need him. It’s hard for her to trust an adult, so only time will tell if Bobby rises to the occasion.

“Have you ever seen a vigilante demon before?” Zoey asks, realizing her slip when Rumi raises an eyebrow. “Excluding you, of course.”

“No, and I highly doubt this is anything like what you just said.” Rumi’s eyes harden, watching her doppelgänger like a hawk. “She’s up to something.”

It doesn’t feel like it, but Mira isn’t dumb enough to say that. 

How stupid, that she is feeling so weird about this demon who just so happens to wear her best friend’s face. Rumi would be so uncomfortable if she knew, and Celine would definitely call Mira all the names in the world for daring to show anything but violence towards demons in general, never mind the fact that her adopted daughter is standing right there.

“It doesn’t look like it.” Zoey gently nudges Mira in the stomach, discreetly pulling her out of her stupor. Mira sends Zoey a quick, grateful nod in return. “Maybe she’s a nice demon?”

Demons are never nice, Mira remembers almost screaming at Zoey that day along with Rumi. Their leader is clearly thinking the same, giving Mira a disgruntled nose scrunch that's simultaneously adorable and hilarious.

Said demon has just pummeled the men without breaking a sweat, and is currently being thanked rigorously by the woman. Then once her back is turned, the demon goes to suck out the men’s souls, licking her lips salaciously as she does so. 

Mira swallows, putting all her focus back to their mission.

“We need to talk to her. Find out as much as we can. If nothing comes out of this, we call Celine.”

Both Rumi and Zoey know it's the best compromise they’ll get from her, and they all want to find a way to get rid of this demon anyway, so Mira gets a nod and a signal to start descending.

Dropping a few dozen feet is no longer difficult but fun, Mira landing first because she, as the main dancer and the only one who took pole dancing classes seriously, is the most agile one in the group.

The demon spots her right away, leaning against the wall with the same lopsided smile that’s been living rent free in her head since she was sixteen.

Her face is more like Rumi’s than the last time they saw her, with pale skin and brown eyes and most importantly, no claws or patterns. She looks so human Mira almost forgets. 

“It’s the cute one again,” Zoey and Rumi land a few feet behind her. The demon makes a sad pout. “And you brought your friends.”

“Okay, rude.” Zoey scoffs, arms crossed over her chest. “Are all demons this lacking in common courtesy? Where’s hello, how do you do, or I don't know, top of the morning to ya! Seriously, the bar is underground with Gwima.”

The demon chuckles.

“You must be Zoey. People tell me you’ve got quite the mouth on you, I can't say I disagree.” 

The words might be misconstrued as mocking, and maybe it mostly is, but even a deaf man can pick up on the hint of sultry. Dare she says, flirty.

Bravado stripped like a table cloth, Zoey blushes beet red, a nervous giggle caught in her throat.

“Oh, um— I mean, I wouldn't say I’m that good. Assuming that's what you mean. I do often get told I’m a pretty decent rapper, if you know what I mean.” 

Mira pulls Zoey in by the shoulder, hissing. 

“You’re an international pop star with more than 200 writing credits under your name and you once squared up against Kendrick Lamar in a rap battle. Get. Up.”

“And you must be Mira.”

Remnants of pink smoke by her feet, Mira whips her head around and almost lets out an honest to god squeak upon finding the demon so close. 

‘Rumi’ tilts her head, the puppy comparisons write themselves at this point, and grins.

“Hmm, yes. Tall, pink, and handsome. Rumors have it you’re the dancer. Which explains how you move the way you do.”

Willing her own body temperature to cool down, Mira speaks through her teeth.

“Can it, Casanova. It’s not as funny the second time.”

“Wasn't aiming to be funny.” The demon takes a step closer and, despite her best judgement, Mira doesn't step back. “I just want to get to know you.”

It hurts to be looked at like this. 

It shouldn't and it's stupid, god Mira knows she’s being so stupid, but the truth is that Rumi has never looked at her like this in all the years they’ve known each other. With blatant desire in her eyes and obvious interest on her teeth. 

Mira stutters, flustered despite her best wishes, but the burden of responding is taken away from her, when a brightly lit sword inserts itself in between her and the demon. 

“ Back. Off.”

Rumi— her Rumi is stepping up, more stone cold than Mira has ever seen her. Her saingeom stops just before its tip meets the demon’s neck, who persists grinning even as she raises both hands in mock surrender.

“And you’re Rumi.”

“Damn right,” Mira’s best friend quirks her lips, halfway between a snarl and a smile. That paired with the demonic undertone of her voice, almost mentalic, fries Mira’s brain in ways she is entirely unequipped to deal with. “We need to talk.”

Hands snug in her pockets, ‘Rumi’ shrugs.

“What's there to talk about?”

“Why are you here?” Rumi almost hisses the question, her grip on her blade not wavering one bit. “If you’re who we think you are.”

“And who do you think I am?” ‘Rumi’ scoffs, all mocking. “From the look on your face last time, you know about this as much as I do, which is a sweet load of nothing.”

Shit. Mira was really hoping they wouldn't have to resort to calling Celine up after weeks of mutual silence. 

There's no guarantee she will help them either, not after she sees the new changes in Rumi and how accepting Mira and Zoey are of them.

Shit, what are they going to do now?  

“Did Gwima send you?”

Mira shoots Rumi a look, wondering why she’d waste her breath on such an obvious question. Rumi doesn't return it, eyes deadset on the demon.

Who suddenly stops laughing, the creases of her smile melting off and replaced by stone. 

“How do you know who Gwima is?”

The change is instant and downright terrifying, how the demon’s eyes immediately turn into slits and glow a bright amber. Mira instinctively steps back, tugging Zoey with her, but Rumi stays stubbornly still, even if the way her joints stiffen and her jaw clenches tells Mira she recognizes it too.

“I killed him.” 

Like a string snapped, the demon bares her teeth and lunges. 

Mira and Zoey don’t even need to get ready to fight, twin puffs of pink smoke indicating both Rumis have vanished from where they stood. They exchange a quick bewildered glance before each hurries to find Rumi, following the sound of fighting and growling echoing in the distance. 

“There!” Mira points to the other side of an abandoned warehouse. “Let’s hurry before one of them does something they’ll regret.”

“Wait,” Zoey calls out, even as she follows Mira in running. “You heard what that demon said? About Gwima?”

“Yeah. Must’ve hit a nerve or something.” Mira replies.

“That look on her face, tell me you don’t think she looked exactly like Rumi that one time a reporter was trying to talk shit about Celine during a press conference?”

Mira knows exactly what Zoey is referring to, one of their busiest press junkets up to date with how insanely well How It’s Done was doing on the charts. Celine wasn't present then, something about tending to the shrine that Mira didn't catch nor care, and it wasn't a big deal until it was.

As great at his job as he was right off the bat, Bobby wasn't used to vetting questions when he first started working with them. 

So the question about Celine, phrased like a good-intentioned inquiry about the legacy of Sunlight Entertainment, the Sunlight Sisters, and especially Ryu Miyoung’s, slipped right underneath his radar and flopped itself onto the table in front of Rumi.

Who never once stopped smiling even as she berated the reporter publicly for daring to take that tone with her mentor, shredding her calm and cool persona like it was paper. 

Their name had trended for weeks after, but because Rumi was Rumi, no negative repercussions came, even if Rumi returned from her meeting with Celine oddly somber-looking.

If Zoey is saying what she thinks she’s saying…

“No fucking way.”

“We quite literally have someone who travelled beyond their universe, maybe even timeline.” Zoey scoffs, sidestepping a huge hole by catapulting herself onto a nearby ledge. Mira follows swiftly, grabbing her outstretched hand with a grateful nod. “I think we’re way past denying the unthinkable.”

Mira groans to herself. For one second, she just wants them to live a normal life, at least as normal as that of a regular Hunter. 

She highly doubts earlier generations have to concern themselves with multiverse travelling and demon alter egos. Fuck, they really need to talk to Celine. 

“There they are!”

“And they’re both alive, thank God,” Mira deigns not to mention the amount of bruises and scratches she can already see on both of them, her woldo materializing in her hand. “Zoey, you get Rumi. I’ll take— oh, for the love of God!”

Mira leaps off the ledge, faintly hearing Zoey screaming something about brainstorming nicknames. Her mouth curls up in a smile, which is promptly squashed away in favor of surveying the scene in front of her. 

Unlike when they first met, the demon isn’t pulling any more punches, sending a downright brutal punch into Rumi’s stomach in the hopes of getting out of her chokehold. Aside from the unfortunate side effect of affecting them both, Rumi’s hold loosens and the demon takes advantage of that to escape, clutching her own undoubtedly bruised stomach. 

Mira takes it for the opportunity that it is, hollering over her shoulder, knowing Zoey is somewhere close by.

“Zoey, now!”

Sinkal soaring past her head with the speed of rockets, Mira turns all her attention towards the demon, who unsurprisingly smirks at the sight of her. 

“Hello, gorgeous. Missed me?”

Mira growls, woldo thrusted forward in a downward swipe. “Can you stop flirting with me while wearing my best friend’s face? It’s beyond weird!”

“Oh?” The demon side-steps her attack easily, on her face a faux pout. “But it’s my face too. Or would you prefer this instead?”

Pale skin turning ashen gray and brown eyes glowing amber, Mira has to force herself from getting distracted by the sight of canines poking out full, plump lips. Worst is the patterns, glowing purple and slithering across the demon’s skin like velvet clothes. 

It wasn’t long ago that Mira realized just how fond she is of Rumi’s patterns, and it really isn’t helping now, how annoyingly attractive she finds it on an enemy. Especially when said enemy flexes her muscles and her abs— does that mean Rumi has abs down there too?— ripple. They fucking ripple. 

“Ah, I see.”

Growling, Mira strikes her woldo again. To her frustration, the demon only leaps and lands atop the blade, her patterns flickering in a manner Mira can only describe as amusement.

“You know, you’re really hot.” The demon repeats, grin widening as Mira’s cheeks grow a darker shade of red. “It’s too bad you’re one of them. Because it means I have to kill you.”

One of— Mira blinks, an undignified yelp slipping as she falls backwards in an effort to dodge the claws aiming for her throat. 

In a move so brilliant Mira hates herself a little for not thinking of it sooner, the demon takes advantage of her falling to grab her woldo and uses it to pin her.

Mira’s back meets concrete with less grace than she’s normally used to, arms shaking as she tries to keep her own woldo from squeezing down on her windpipe. The demon has no qualms about trying harder, her breathing a little heavy as she stares Mira down with clear bloodthirst.

The demon wearing Rumi’s face has no right looking so sexy trying to kill her, and that exact thought is what Mira needs to get angry, willing her woldo to disappear back into the Honmoon.

Seizing the opening left by the demon fumbling for balance, Mira brazenly slaps both hands on her cheeks.

With a snarl and a grin all in one, Mira gives her one last useless warning—

“Heads up.”  

Before she slams their foreheads together.

Stars exploding behind her eyelids, still Mira adds one more for good measure. The demon makes a pained noise that sends arrows straight into Mira’s heart before slumping over, knocked out cold. 

Mira instinctively catches her before her head hits the ground, quickly flipping them so they’re lying side by side. The serene look on the demon’s face makes her sick, so Mira turns away to find Zoey and Rumi.

Only for the former to stare at her disapprovingly from a few feet away.

“What?” Mira asks, directed by an annoyed Zoey to the figure slumping against her. Oh shit. “Shit, I’m sorry. I completely forgot.”

“You think?” Zoey huffs, hefting the unconscious sack of meat that is their leader higher on her shoulder. “Rumi. Rumi, babe. Wake up please. I haven’t buffed my arms enough to carry you home, so please don’t make me do it.”

Mira’s mouth opens, a volunteer on the tip of her tongue, when Zoey shakes her head and gestures to the other unconscious sack of meat. Right.

“I’m awake, I’m awake,” Rumi groggily says, one of her hands cradling her head in pain. “Mira, that was—“

“I’m sorry.” Mira cuts her off, running over to check on Rumi herself. “Are you okay? Nothing hurts? No blinding light, no urge to vomit?”

Rumi leans into her the moment Mira reaches her side, and Mira certainly doesn’t miss the eye roll Zoey tosses at her before she hands Rumi over like a prized teddy. Mira cradles her just as precious, looking here and there for signs of a concussion. 

Eventually she finds nothing, sighing in relief and cupping one of Rumi’s cheeks, who nuzzles into it with an oddly dopey smile. Fascinatingly, one of her eyes glows amber.

“Still with me, tiger?”

Rumi rumbles, almost a purr. Wait, she is purring. 

“Always.” 

The softness in her voice, in her eyes, and her smile. Mira is helpless from returning it, her thumb stroking the skin of Rumi’s cheek, right over a pattern. She can’t feel them, not like she would with scars, but Mira can feel heat, and she wonders if it’s really the patterns reacting to Rumi’s emotion or is she just blushing under Mira’s touch.

Either way, it’s heart-stopping.

“Not that I’m not enjoying whatever this is, but can we focus back on the mission? Please?”

At Zoey’s grumbly voice, Rumi flinches away from Mira lightning quick, and though she knows better, Mira can’t help but feel dejected. She hides it all behind an impassive mask, walking back to where Zoey was standing guard over the sleeping demon.

“I can carry her.” Mira says, kneeling down and scooping her into her arms. Just as easy and effortless as she would with any one of her girls.

“Show off.” Zoey nudges her, smile teasing, and Mira softens. It’s hard to hold a grudge when surrounded by so much sunshine. “Okay, me and Rumi will clear the road. Stick close to us.”

Mira nods, looking to Rumi for approval, only to frown in confusion when Rumi’s head whips away as if she’s already been watching.

With a cough and a subtle straightening of her back, Rumi beckons in the vague direction of their tower.

“Let’s go home.”

And they do, one rooftop at a time. 

Chapter Text

“Bobby’s sending a private jet. She’ll be here in less than half an hour.”

Tearing her gaze away from a slumbering demon, Mira watches as Rumi exits her bedroom, her phone in hand. There's a slouch to her shoulders that Mira associates with genuine exhaustion, making Mira twitch with the urge to pull Rumi in for a hug.

Surprisingly, Rumi does it all on her own. Making a beeline for where Mira is standing, hovering, over the demon and taking hold of her arm.

Their hands, like magnets, intertwine without anyone saying a word. Mira swallows, but other than that her face doesn't betray anything.

“You don't have to be here.” Mira says, voice soft.

“I need to be.” Rumi shakes her head, looking at her then at Zoey, who has grabbed her console to help with waiting for Celine. “This is more important. Besides, she will put aside her personal feelings for the greater good.”

Catching the somber undertone of Rumi’s voice, Zoey puts down her console to ask.

“You guys really haven't talked since the Idol Awards, have you?”

Rumi shakes her head, shadows in her eyes. “I don't know what to say to her, and the feeling is mutual.”

Mira pushes gently. “Not even congratulations? We did create a new Honmoon.”

“No,” Rumi sighs, and Mira promptly shuts up. “Anyway, now’s not the time to talk about it. Once we send this demon back where she belongs, then Celine and I can talk.”

A noise startles them all, groggy and almost whiney. Mira turns her head, holding her breath as the demon squirms in her chair before eventually settling back to sleep, seemingly unbothered by the ridiculous amount of ropes tying her to the furniture. 

(“Zo, why exactly do you have so many ropes in your closet?”

“Don’t ask questions you’re not prepared to hear the answer to.”

“...touche.”)

“Hah, she even snores like Rumi.”

Mira angles her face away to hide her snort, but is overpowered by Rumi’s indignant gasp anyway. 

“Excuse you! I don’t snore!”

“Uh, yeah you do.” Mira tugs towards the couch and Rumi follows, whining the whole way. “It’s not that bad.”

“Yeah!” Zoey giggles, making room for Rumi to squeeze in the middle of herself and Mira. “It sounds like the first few seconds of a kettle about to go off. I thought it was that for a long time, up until when you fell asleep on my shoulder in the waiting room at MCOUNTDOWN a few years back.” 

“I was really tired then.” Rumi futilely fights back, her rosy cheeks and flickering patterns betraying just how flustered she feels. 

“You once fell asleep in the middle of a recording session, standing up.” Mira points out with a cheeky grin, happily accepting the slap on her chest. “Celine wanted to wake you up, but Bobby shushed her so he could record.”

Rumi’s miserable groans are drowned out by Mira and Zoey’s boisterous laughter, the former only trailing off when Rumi plays dirty and tucks her head in the crook of her neck.

Mira catches Zoey’s eyes, who fakes a gag and giggles when Mira gives her a discreet middle finger. Rumi, still buried in Mira’s chest, seemingly decides to make it her home, pawing absentmindedly at the string of Mira’s sleeveless hoodie. 

She’s such a big housecat. 

“We should come up with a code word.”

One hand carding through Rumi’s hair, Mira uses the other to hook Zoey’s legs and lets them fall in her lap. Zoey has no choice but to scootch closer, her head laid comfortably on Mira’s other shoulder.

“What if there are more demons impersonating us in the future? We should have something that’ll help us tell the difference.”

“If I had a nickel,” Rumi grumbles, and if she notices the shiver Mira makes when her hot breath tickles her skin, then she's kind enough not to say anything. “We’re all singers. How about a song?”

“If either of you starts singing fix the world and make it right, I’m throwing myself off the building.” 

Mira lets the sound of their laugh wash over her, all the while taking a quick glance at the slumbering demon. It doesn’t look like she’s moved, which is odd, considering how much of a light sleeper their Rumi is.

Shrugging, Mira looks back as Zoey starts throwing song ideas and Rumi counters with reasons why they would all not work. Quietly, Mira agrees. If she has to sing My Ear Candy with its exaggerated dance moves to prove her identity, she might as well move in with Miss Underworld Royalty over there. 

“She’s here.”

Even without mentioning her name, Celine’s presence sucks out all the air in the room. Rumi holds out her phone to show them the text their security just sent, as if needing to share how surreal this all is. 

Mira nods anyway, to show her solidarity and support. Zoey copies with a little more vigor, squeezing Rumi’s hand that she took hostage at some point Mira doesn’t know. Then, without needing to exchange a word, Mira and Zoey both leap off the couch with an almost dramatic flourish. 

Ignoring Rumi’s surprised squawk, they root their feet at the door. Zoey rolls up the sleeves of her koala hoodie, and Mira puts on her angriest, once-dubbed her Pitbull Face, all the while crossing her arms and flexing so her biceps look bigger.

“Um…” Shuffles of familiar bear-shaped slippers trudge towards them, but neither Mira nor Zoey move from their post. “What are you guys doing?”

“Giving Celine the welcome she deserves.” Zoey answers, straightening her back. She looks like an angry Chihuahua.

“What? Why is this even necessary?” Rumi presses, voice closer to Mira than Zoey.

Who doesn’t respond, not sure how she can put I will kill anyone who hurt you into something platonic. Rumi gives up at the silence, but her warmth lingers between them. 

The 30-second wait for Celine to enter the main elevator and ride it all the way to the penthouse feels like 30 years. Mira’s own palms begin to sweat, her heart beating fast in anticipation at the prospect of confronting their mentor.

Who is also Rumi’s mother figure. Who hurt Rumi. 

Who took Mira in and gave her a home, a family. Who hurt Rumi. 

Who saw Mira for who she was and not just a problem, not someone who needed to be fixed. Who hurt Rumi. 

Who Mira owed everything to. Who hurt Rumi.

Get a grip.

Mira sighs, just in time for the elevator to chime. The metal doors open without a sound, and yet it feels like a meteor just landed in their living room, with how large and looming Celine’s presence is. 

“A welcoming committee, I can’t say this was out of the realm of my expectations.”

To her own quiet frustration, Mira’s first thought upon seeing Celine is in awe of how gorgeous she is. 

Dressed in her usual business suit, finely tailored to her every curve and musculature, Celine looks exactly how one would picture the imposing Director of Sunlight Entertainment and the last of the Sunlight Sisters to be.

But not Rumi’s mom. Never Rumi’s mom.

Mira welcomes anger like an old friend. 

“Thanks for coming, Celine.”

As if knowing her violent urges, Rumi places one hand on Mira’s shoulder and her other one on Zoey’s. They stand down per her wordless command, but that doesn't mean they stop glaring at Celine, who slowly makes her way into their home with an unreadable look on her face.

“Of course.” Celine says, as if it should be obvious that she would be here whenever they needed her.

Celine hasn't looked at Rumi once. 

Mira scoffs, patience already running out. Instead storms back the way she came, stopping next to the sleeping demon on the chair.

Rumi and Zoey hurry to follow and flank her sides. Celine, to no one's surprise, freezes like a deer in headlights at the sight of a demon wearing Rumi’s face.

What on earth happened the night of the Idol Awards? 

“How did this happen?” Celine asks, eyes bouncing frantically between the three of them.

Rumi can't help herself. “We’re not sure. We were investigating a horde of elemental demons when she appeared out of the blue.”

“So the new Honmoon isn't secure.”

It's like she can't fucking help herself either.

“This new Honmoon was made to embrace our faults and fears, not to hide them away. If it was up to you and your stupid golden dome, the third of our soul wouldn't be here right now.”

There’s no need mentioning just who has a third of her soul, and judging from the way Celine stiffens and her eyes dart away, Mira doubts she wants to get into this argument right here with her.

Golden Honmoon, huh. What a fucking fraud. 

“So it’s true. You’re Hunters.”

In true Hunter fashion, all of them whip out their weapons without a moment of hesitation. Even Celine, who no longer has a tangible connection to the Honmoon, but apparently now carries a farmer’s scythe with her anywhere she goes. Which fancy pocket did she even put it in, Mira has no idea.

Rumi groans, dissipating her saingeom as quickly as it came. Mira and Zoey follow suit, the latter taking a step forward and bending down.

“How long have you been awake?”

“Since she said her name.” The demon gestures at Rumi, who then points a finger at her own chest. “Celine. Leader of the Sunlight Sisters. That’s a name I haven’t heard in decades. Surely you can understand if I’m curious.”

Rumi huffs, taking her place in the center. Mira and Zoey dutifully back off, but remain glued to her sides to guard her. From the demon and Celine.

“I don't know who she is in your world, but here she is our mentor.” Faster than lightning, the demon’s amber slits dilate before shifting back to normal. Mira almost thinks she hallucinated it. “We invited her here to help you find your way home.” 

The demon says nothing, only staring at a Celine who, for once, maintains eye contact. 

Mira clenches her fist, wanting to grab her mentor by the shoulders and shake her. Ask her why their Rumi was that much of an exception. 

Rumi glances between them with a look that reads like she’s thinking the same, before shaking her head, putting on a brave face, and making herself important again.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I had just laid down to sleep.” The demon answers immediately, as if she’s just been waiting for someone to ask. “It’s been a long day, you see. Lots of souls to collect and when I got home, Gwima was freaking the fuck out about some random horde of water demons, who decided it was a good idea to join a human competitive diving tournament with the explicit purpose of diving. I was meant to go take care of them, but you know my adopted father. He likes to do certain things on his own.”

You can hear a pin drop in the resulting silence. 

Mira and Zoey already had an inkling from the way the demon exploded when Rumi said she killed Gwima, but hearing her outright call him father is a hefty blow to the heart.

Although, Mira chances a wary glance, whatever she must feel is surely nothing compared to what Celine and Rumi are thinking. 

Who both look like they’re about to be sick, face ashen and quivering lips. Rumi stumbles like she’s about to faint. 

Mira and Zoey huddle close to Rumi, each with an arm out to steady her should she need it. But Rumi waves them away, instead only watching how Celine’s chest is rapidly moving up and down. 

Even halfway across the room, Mira can see there are tears in her eyes. The scythe in her hand trembles, and in that moment, Mira wonders just who exactly Celine is grieving.

Rumi looks exactly like her father, after all. 

“But you would know all about that, wouldn't you?” The demon chuckles, low, dangerous, and so, so hateful. “After all, you gave me up. You handed me over the king of the underworld. You abandoned me.”

You can hear it in the silence, how Celine’s heart breaks like it never was alive before. Mira has to stop herself from gasping, even if she can feel her own face draining of all its blood. By her side, Zoey looks close to throwing up.

“But I don’t blame you, not really.” The demon continues without struggles, as if uncaring about the state of the people she just attacked. “You’re not my Celine.”

“Yes.” Their Celine repeats, the one affirmation akin to a lifeline, preventing her from going down whatever spiraling thought there is inside her head. “I’m not. And I’m… I’m sorry that happened to you.”

Mira’s teeth grind down hard. Celine has never once apologized to Rumi for anything, not even for the times she put Rumi’s face in the dirt and left her there like a broken dog, begging to be picked up or put down.

You don’t deserve her, Mira seethes. None of us do.

“Acknowledged.” The demon nods, before leaning back against her chair. “Any idea how you can get me home?”

The emotional whiplash would be funny if it wasn’t so disorienting. Mira has to lean a little further into Zoey for support, who exchanges equally bewildered looks with her before tucking her head under Mira’s chin.

She has a feeling they’re all going to need a drink after this. 

“Some more information about your world would be useful.”

The demon purses her lips, strangely casual for someone bound tightly to a chair. Rumi, who posed the question, squares her shoulders as if establishing her dominance. 

It’s adorable.

“Hmm, well, Gwima is in charge. If anyone can make an inter-universe portal, it’d be him. He’s been ruling both the human world and the underworld for as long as I know him.”

Shit. “What happened to the Honmoon?” 

Zoey adds, urgency in her voice. “And the Hunters?”

“Gone and gone.” The demon shrugs, and the air turns suffocating once more. “I wouldn’t have known you existed had it not been for him telling me about you, or more like bragging to me about how he defeated you.”

“Fuck,” That one is from Mira, and even now Celine still has the audacity to silently berate her for her language. How annoying. “So you went to sleep one day and the next morning you’re here?”

The demon nods. “I wasn’t exactly sure where to go, but your, uh, Honmoon thingy, sort of led me in one direction and, well, I found you.” An unruly smile splits her lips open, amber eyes smouldered and aimed at Mira. “Can’t complain.”

Mira, because while she can run circles around flirting with Rumi until she’s blue in the face, cannot handle the prospect of having said flirting be reciprocated. Especially when it's a raised-demon wearing her best friend’s face. 

So Mira strides over in two quick steps and smacks her on the back of her head.

“One more word and I’m making you wear a muzzle.”

“Kinky.” Why this little— “Alright, fine. Boundaries noted and acknowledged.”

Mira huffs, resenting that she can’t smack her one more time. Especially because she can't will her own face to cool down.

“If we don't have a way to send her back, then perhaps we should consider other options.”

Mira turns to ask Celine what other options even are there, when Rumi lets out the most concerning gasp.

“You want to kill her?” 

Three heads whip around to Celine, who remains impassive as if she didn’t suggest just killing Rumi outright. Because of course they told her. They told her and this is all she has to say?

“You’re kidding.” Mira hisses, voice wobbling dangerously. “If you hurt her, you hurt Rumi too.”

Celine’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Worryingly, Rumi’s face crumbles further. What the hell is going on? 

“Why would you even suggest such a thing?” Zoey fills the silence, and that snaps Celine out of it. 

“You heard what she was saying.” She fires back, eyes fierce and a little crazed. “In her world. Gwima took over. If we let her go back, more would be in danger.” 

“Then why didn't you kill me when I asked you to?”

At once the room explodes in chatters, everyone competing against each other to increase the chances of making themselves heard. 

“What the fuck—””

“Did you just say—”

“Wow, that's really fucked—”

“ENOUGH!”

Mira moves before she can blink, putting herself in between the smirking demon and a fuming Celine. Her woldo is summoned without an extra breath, meeting the tip of Celine’s scythe with a loud clank.

“Whatever you think is going to happen to the other world, that's a problem for alternate universe Mira and Zoey. In this one, if you touch even a single hair on either of their heads, I will kill you.”

A presence comes to stand by her side, the glimmering blades of Zoey’s sinkal peeked in the corner of Mira’s eye. 

Celine looks outraged. 

“You guys don't understand. I’m doing this for your own good.”

Zoey scoffs, a red hue in her eyes. “Is that what you’ve been telling Rumi all these years, when you forced her to hide her patterns from us?”

“I did my best to help her.” Celine says, moving forward. Neither Mira nor Zoey step back. “You don't understand. You wouldn't have.”

Mira thrusts her woldo forward, angry tears burning in her eyes.

“You have no right to make that decision for me. For us.”

“We deserved to know.” Zoey raises her eyes, blade shining dangerously. She can hit Celine straight in the center of her head with a sneeze, and they all know it. “Rumi deserved better than you.”

Then, knowing exactly where to strike, Mira deals the final blow. 

“What would her mom think of you now?”

Mira is prepared for anything. Whether it be Celine screaming at her, hurting her, or even outright wanting to kill her. 

The last part doesn’t concern her too much, for she not only has Zoey by her side, Celine is also not as good of a fighter as any of them, a fact she used to begrudge by making them train relentlessly through the nights, until their bones wailed and their bodies gave out in the dirt.

If it comes down to it, Mira and Zoey can take Celine in a fight.

That doesn’t happen.

One minute, Celine is standing right in front of her. The next, she is on her back with not one, but two feral half-demons pinning her down. 

Mira and Zoey quickly snatch them away before they can hurt Celine, and to their obvious relief, neither Rumis object to being manhandled outside of a few menacing growls.

While oddly attractive for reasons Mira isn't ready to process, it's not exactly productive to their conversation.

Speaking of which. 

“Hey, how did this happen?”

The demon whose waist she has her arms wrapped around shrugs, smiling at Mira over her shoulder. There’s no way in hell she’s blushing because of those stupid fangs and those stupid stripes. 

“I freed myself 5 minutes ago. You guys really need to brush up on your knot skills.”

A few feet away, holding onto their Rumi who looks equally enraged, Zoey scoffs in offense. “Excuse me, my knot skills are superb! Just last week, I—“

Mira stops that train of thought before it goes somewhere she doesn't want to know. 

“For the love of God, do not finish that sentence.” 

Leaving Zoey to grumble something about things taken out of context, Mira checks on Rumi. She seems fine, if not angry and slightly murderous, with one eye amber and the patterns on her arms glowing a dark shade of purple. She isn’t trying to escape Zoey’s grip though, which relieves Mira just enough for her to address Celine.

Who looks like her whole world has just come crashing down, tears silently pouring as she watches her charges easily and willingly wrap themselves around two of the same being they have been taught to hunt down and kill their entire lives.

Mira swallows a sudden lump in her throat, subconsciously clutching the warm body to her chest for support. The demon stays mum, and Mira pushes forward. 

“We came to you asking for help. If you're not going to, then get the fuck out of our home.” 

Akin to the final nail in the coffin, Celine falls to her knees, sobbing.

“I’m sorry… please, I’m sorry…”

And despite it all, a part of Mira hurts for her. Wants to comfort her.

She said she's sorry.

That's more than what any one of them ever did.

Maybe she’s not that bad.

Maybe she’s really sorry.

Ultimately it's not her decision to make. Mira looks to the side, finding Rumi and Zoey stunned speechless. 

Mira sighs, the force of it shaking the demon still trapped in her embrace. Who smells like sunflower and warm hoodies and morning coffee and—

Where is that stiff drink when I need it?

—

Celine is staying, apparently.

Just for today, or so she says, until I make contact with an acquaintance here in Seoul about interdimensional travel.

The implication of this happening often enough for them to have a designated contact aside, Mira is simply glad to have Celine out of their house. Quite mean-spirited, she has to admit, not to mention false, since Celine is only moving to the guest suite two floors down, but at this point, Mira will appreciate every second of downtime she gets.

“So. Where am I staying?”

Pinching her temple, Mira suppresses the urge to groan out loud. Heaven forbid, she’ll trigger yet another series of catastrophic events that should not be happening before 10 in the morning.

“Is Bobby’s guest suite still under maintenance?” Rumi asks.

“Yes.” Mira drolls, exasperated at their past selves for only building two guest suites instead of three. 

Though it's not like they ever had any other visitor. Such are the cons of being an orphan, an outcast, and a child of tragic divorce. 

Sighing, Mira makes a decision. “You can have my room.” Hers is the one with the smallest bed, it only makes sense. “Zo, can we—”

“You should share with Rumi!”

Not that the idea is unpleasant in any way, the opposite even, but Mira is left blinking, dazed, at Zoey’s sudden and impassioned suggestion.

They’ve been sharing a room every time one of them needs a warm body to hold, which isn't a lot but still enough, so why is Zoey opposing it now? 

Mira’s eyes narrow, what’s this little gremlin up to? 

“Why?”

“Because, uh,” As if the high-pitched giggles aren't enough proof, Zoey is avoiding eye contact. Dead giveaway right then and there. “I haven't changed my bedsheets?”

Someone snorts. Mira directs her glare to her right, and predictably finds the demon snickering in her hand. They really need to give her a name or something.

“Right,” Mira drags out the last syllable as she turns to Rumi, who looks awfully bashful for some reason. “If it’s okay with you? I can sleep on the couch just fine too.”

“Of course.” Rumi immediately says, as if the idea of Mira sleeping on the couch for a few nights is preposterous. Not like they haven’t already crashed there after a really hectic day or anything. “I’m gonna go ahead and clean stuff up to make room for you.”

Mira nods. “And I’ll grab some clothes.” She points at a still snickering demon, eyes narrowed. “You’re coming with me, by the way.”

The demon smirks, amber slits replaced with frighteningly human brown eyes and retreating patterns. It's almost unsettling how much she looks like Rumi in this form, that Mira can’t do much but freeze when the demon palms at her bicep, bare thanks to her sleeveless hoodie, and squeezes it in soft, gentle strokes. 

“You won’t hear me complaining.” 

Mira can recognize flirting from miles away, but what is she supposed to do when a demon who is essentially her best friend from another universe, whom she’s been in love with since before she even knew what that meant, is giving her the bedroom eyes? 

Well, there is the obvious—

Absolutely. Not.

“Wow, that one’s gonna be a pain to replace.”

Startled by Zoey’s voice and the sudden sound of something breaking, Mira whirs her head around. Her and Rumi make immediate eye contact, the latter blooming a unique shade of red in her cheeks as she tries to explain how her fist accidentally connected with the decorative pot of plant, which is now in shatter.

Zoey is right. It’s gonna be a hassle to replace, mostly because it was a housewarming gift to Bobby and he loves watering that thing whenever he visits. 

Mira wants to tell Rumi that it’s fine, that she already knows where to get a replacement before Bobby’s next spontaneous-but-not-really-because-he-prioritizes-advance-warning, but Rumi is already running away, all the while babbling incoherent apologies with beet red cheeks and pink stripes.

Fearing she’ll do something stupid like smacking her head against the wall in chastisement, Mira reaches for her wrist and tugs. Rumi falls in her arms easily, blinking dazedly at a Mira who tries really hard to be calm and brings up the burning question.

“Before you go, we need to know what we’re calling her.” 

“I have a name, you know.” The demon scoffs.

“Which is the same as our leader and no offense, but she was here first.” Zoey cheerfully banters, exchanging a silent fist bump with a proud Mira. “Any suggestions?”

Mira already has one. “Tiger. Or Rangi, for short.” Defensiveness rises slightly at Zoey and Rangi’s twin looks of judgement, making Mira scowl. “As if you got anything better?”

“I’m actually fine with it. I just wanted to see you mad.” Rangi snickers, to which Mira scowls harder. “Oh lighten up. It’s been so tense around here, would a smile kill you?”

“I’ll smile when I’m dead.” 

Rangi gives up then, both hands raised above her head. Mira rolls her eyes, so hard they almost touch the back of her head, and if the smallest puff of laughter grazes her collarbone, then Mira sees no point in mentioning it. 

Eventually they split, with Zoey agreeing to help Rumi with cleaning her room and Rangi following Mira to hers. 

Between the three of them, Mira’s bedroom is the smallest. Zoey’s gets the second largest for her plushies and Rumi gets the largest because of the hierarchy and being the oldest. 

Mira doesn’t mind. Far from it, when in the past she would have been livid. But her family is different now, and with Zoey and Rumi, Mira no longer has to confine herself in a world made of four walls to feel safe and protected. 

Their smiling faces replay in a montage as Mira dutifully packs her clothes in a small bag. She can always go back and forth to grab what she needs, but that seems more of a hassle than it needs to be.

Too occupied with herself, Mira fails to notice Rangi wandering off in boredom. A melodic hum is what eventually pulls Mira out of her thoughts, leading her to find Rangi fixating on what she likes to call Shelf of Trophy.

Unlike the one back home, there aren't any actual trophies on the shelf. Just rows after rows of pictures, mementos of moments Mira wants to carry with her for as long as she lives.

“You’re pop singers.” Rangi says, eyeing the frame of HUNTR/X on their debut stage at Show Champion. Everyone has to start somewhere. 

“We are.” Mira nods, smiling at how young they look in the picture. All bright-eyed and stars at their fingertips. “That was 5 years ago. We debuted in June.”

Rangi hums, moving on. “I knew you had to sing in order to be Hunters, but I didn’t realize how big you guys were.”

Mira snorts. Her own popularity escapes her most days. “We’re good at our job and people love us for it, that’s all.”

Getting only a chuckle in return, Mira goes back to packing. 

It’s strange, this companionship she feels with this demon who wears her best friend’s face. Who technically is her best friend, just not in this world. Mira shakes her head, exasperated at herself for being so hung up on this simple fact.

Rumi and Rangi are different people. Both halfblood, but one was raised to be a Hunter and the other a soul-sucking demon. And Mira needs to remember that.

What does it mean if my heart beats erratically for both?

It means you’re a hopeless romantic and a simp. 

Fuck you.

“You know, you’re awfully trusting for a Hunter.”

Halfway through zipping up her duffle bag, Mira pauses. 

What Rangi says is factually false— out of the three of them, Mira is often the most vocal about her hatred for demons. When they first met the Saja Boys and spotted the purple patterns spreading across their forearms, Mira wanted to kill them right then and there in the middle of Hongdae, onlooking civilians be damned. 

But she’s been different with this particular demon. Lenient, patient, and not to mention intrigued. 

Mira looks up, finding Rangi already staring back. She’s made herself comfortable on Mira’s bed, long purple braid sprawled out on Mira’s pillow.

Odd as it is, Rangi looks softer like this. Almost open and vulnerable. Like she isn't a demon and Mira isn't a hunter and they're not from two different worlds. 

Rangi is right. Mira has become too trusting. 

Mira swallows, forgoing an answer in favor of a question of her own. 

“Why did you save me just now?”

From Celine, goes unsaid. 

Rangi doesn’t answer. Not right away. Mira fills the silence with zipping up her bag, before abandoning it and slowly walking over to the foot of her bed, where she can look Rangi in the eyes as they talk. 

“Why do you want to go back?”

“I wasn't aware I had a choice.” Rangi tilts her head, a familiar smirk making its way up her ridiculously attractive mouth. 

“You know you do.” Mira’s bluntness immediately wipes that smile off. “You didn’t put up that much of a fight. You willingly sat through us arguing with Celine. You protected me. You agreed to stay. Why?”

Rangi, for all her mischievous bravado and blinding grins, is just as closed off as Rumi when it comes to being honest. Either it be with herself or with someone else. Mira now understands the foundation of Rumi’s walls, and for a split second, when the sun hits Rangi’s eyes just right and reflects something that makes her heart race, Mira almost thinks she would be an easier nut to crack.

Alas. “I get to eat more souls there than I do here. That’s all.” 

Mira is really good at reading people. She has to be to survive in a home where an eye twitch means a broomstick to the ankle and a harsh sigh means a spatula to the palm. 

Rangi doesn’t want to talk about it. Mira isn’t going to push, even though she knows it’s a big fat lie. Why would Rangi spare that woman’s life if that was true?

Regardless, Mira knows to pick her battle, leaving for Rumi’s room after showing Rangi where all the essentials are.

(“Why do you have 30 different types of hair conditioner?” 

“You think my hair is as glorious as it is without rigorous maintenance? Gosh, you really are Rumi from a different universe.”)

Finding Zoey in her room, indicated by the throbbing bass of her speakers, Mira deduces they must’ve finished setting up Rumi’s room for her temporary stay. The elevator ride up is short, and soon Mira is knocking on Rumi’s door.

“Rumi?”

“One second!”

Mira chuckles, absentmindedly rubbing the strap of the duffle bag. She can hear Rumi rustling around on the other side, and it brings back memories of that night, when she tried to check in on how Rumi was doing and found her trying to change the lyrics to Takedown. 

Heart twinging in pain, Mira wonders if there’ll ever come a day where looking back on that time in their life won’t hurt the way it does. 

Rumi had lied, had looked Mira dead in the eyes as she did. Mira understands why, but like Zoey said, they couldn’t tell Rumi’s truth from her lies. 

So what’s changed?

“Hey! Come on in!”

Rumi. 

Rumi who came back.

Rumi who saved the world. Who saved them.

Rumi who is still here.

Rumi who is alive.

Rumi, who is smiling. Rumi, who is her best friend. Rumi, who is the love of Mira’s life. 

Rumi. Rumi. Rumi.

“Rumi,” Mira breathes, suddenly choked up. 

“Mira?” Rumi who rushes over and checks Mira all over, nothing but care and concern in warm, brown eyes. “Is everything okay? Did something happen with Ra— Rangi?”

Mira shakes her head, laughing. “No. Nothing happened. I just…” She wipes at her face, thankful no tears actually escaped, before she gives up on being stoic and gazes sweetly at her friend. “Sorry. It's nothing.”

“Are you sure?” Rumi asks again, hand cupping Mira’s cheek.

She’s been so free with touch since Gwima, since the end of a life living in secrets. 

And Mira, first and foremost, is so proud of her. Gratitude comes after, and privilege too. In what world could she be loved like this? 

“I am.” Mira nods, quickly kissing Rumi’s palm before she entangles their fingers together. “Wanna show me my side of the bed?”

Rumi’s whole face lights up, and so do her patterns. For a split second, Mira understands how sunflowers feel.

Rumi is her sun too. 

Chapter Text

Mira wakes up to humming. 

It's not out of the ordinary for a bunch of singers, especially on occasions where they have to travel long-distance for shows, tours, and whatnot. 

Mira knows she’s not sleeping on a bus or a plane this time, so she’s a little more confused than usual.

That is until her lesbian brain clocks in on the sweet, sleepy rasp of a familiar voice. It wakes her up just as well as a bucket of ice water would. 

I’m in Rumi’s bed.

There was only one bed.

Zoey, I’m going to first kiss you then kill you.

Here’s the thing, Mira had never slept with Rumi like this before. 

Back in their training days, the three of them would sometimes take a quick nap wherever they could. Usually under the Seonang tree, careful enough not to disturb the shrine placed directly next to it. 

They didn't call them sleepovers. Not until they moved into the penthouse in Seoul and they had separate bedrooms, which, according to Zoey, was now an appropriate cause to declare a sleepover. Rumi never joined, citing preference to sleep alone with an adorable, apologetic smile that soothes Mira’s hurt before it can even flare. 

Which makes this all the more new and, if she’s honest, disorienting. In the best way possible, of course. How often can she wake up with her face in between her best friend’s boobs without broadcasting to the entire world how utterly in love she is with said best friend with said nice boobs?

“I can feel you waking up.” 

Fucking killjoy. 

Mira groans, burying herself deeper into Rumi’s warmth. She smells good, like the night sky when everyone has gone to sleep and she is left alone but never lonely.

Has Rumi always smelled like home?

“Too early. Go back to sleep.”

Rumi chuckles, the vibration felt under Mira’s cheek. Who smothers her own grin as she burrows even deeper.

Just when Mira thinks Rumi will take the hint and shut up— “The sun is out. Don't you wanna say hi?” 

Huffing, Mira stubbornly doesn’t leave her spot. Only tilting her head up to meet Rumi’s eyes dead on. 

It takes a while, the two of them caught in a silent staring contest, for the implication to hit Rumi. Whose mouth grows slack and pretty lips part in surprise. 

“Oh.”

Mira scoffs, looking back down, her cheeks ablazing red. Did she just indirectly call her best friend her sun? That’s so gay.

Luckily for her, Rumi has the gaydar of someone still stuck on wanting gay representation from the likes of NETFLIX. Mira’s courageous act is thus put back in the closet where it belongs. 

The lighthearted thought should not hurt her as much as it does.

“It's awfully quiet.” Mira murmurs, desperate to dispel the awkwardness she caused.

“Yeah,” Rumi hums, thankfully not repulsed enough to take her hand out of Mira’s hair. It feels nice. “They're probably still asleep.”

Unlikely. Rumi/Rangi is a chronic early riser and Zoey doesn't like sleeping in, claiming it’s a waste of a beautiful day. Mira is usually alone in her snoozing habit, oftentimes rudely woken up by pearls of laughter and sunshines kissing her skin.

How often she wishes it was her sun kissing her instead.

“Nothing in the group chat.” Mira informs after briefly separating to find her phone and her glasses. “It is morning. We should get up and make breakfast.”

Rumi hums, but she doesn't move. So Mira doesn't either. 

“Do you trust her?”

It doesn't take much to know who Rumi is referring to, even in Mira’s groggy state of conscience.

“I do.”

Shifting so her head now lies on Mira’s bicep, Rumi looks up at her from under long, curved eyelashes, genuine confusion swirling in browns.

“How?” 

Mira sighs. “I trust her as much as I would any other half-demon with whom I didn’t spend almost my life with.” She pauses, not knowing if she should say the next words, but does so anyway. “As much as you trusted Jinu, I’d bet.”

Rumi freezes as if Mira touched a nerve. And maybe she did. 

She had been vague about the role he played in all of this, in how Rumi chose to betray them. 

Briefly did Rumi mention him giving up his soul to her in the final moments of their battle against Gwima and is the only reason why they made it out of there alive. Only once did she talk about him being the mastermind behind what happened at the Idol Awards. 

How could you forgive him after that?

A glowing woldo blade. Twin sinkal trembling.

How could you forgive me? 

“He and I had the same goal.”

“And so does Rangi and us.” Mira banters back easily, firm in her conviction. She's starting to sound like Zoey. “She just wants to go home.”

Rumi turns away instead of replying, still lying on Mira’s torso. Mira allows it, twisting her body alongside her friend, and if her heart pounds as she slowly cages Rumi with her available arm on the other side of Rumi’s head, then it's her business and hers alone. 

The bed frame squeaks a little at Mira’s sudden movement, but it could also be Rumi, whose lips are sucked behind rows of pearly white teeth and pretty pink cheeks glow bright like the sun. 

Rumi is so beautiful it hurts. 

“Why don't you trust her?”

“She’s a demon.” Rumi blurts out like she’s been waiting to be asked. Mira raises one eyebrow in judgement. “She’s not like me. She wasn't raised a hunter. She doesn't know control. What if she hurts you? Or Zoey.”

“You don't know if she will.” Mira counters, stubborn for no reason. 

“And you don't know if she won't.” Rumi scowls, her pretty face all scrunched up. “I don't know what she did to gain your trust so quickly.”

Against her better judgement, Mira laughs. 

“Careful, tiger. You sound jealous.”

“As if.”

It's cold, the flash of hurt that spreads from Mira’s head to her toes. Obviously she knows she never stood a chance, but Rumi sounds so sure. So indignant, by the mere insinuation of wanting Mira’s attention so badly she would get prissy about it. 

I can't be that hard to love.

Can I?

“Yeah,” Mira laughs without humor. “As if.”

Rumi tries to say something, her stuttering familiar in a way that twists Mira’s heart more than the words she just carelessly threw, but as if called upon by a higher deity, Mira’s phone rings.

Looking away from Rumi always feels a little like looking away from the sun; Mira knows it's good for her but it still hurts to not look at her. 

The text from Zoey serves as a good enough distraction. 

zorro 🐢: do i add the oil before or after i put the eggs in

zorro 🐢: and is it normal for the bottom of the pan to smell burn-y?

Scratch that, way too good of a distraction. 

Faster than lightning, Mira throws off her blanket and leaps to her feet. She’s fumbling for her glasses when she hears Rumi rustling, clearly intending on getting up as well.

Mira quickly puts a stop to it. “Hey, I got this. You go and freshen up.”

Predictably, Rumi frowns in displeasure.

“What? I can help.”

“I know, but there's no need for both of us to rush and skip our morning routines altogether.” Mira lets out a silent cheer once both her feet are inside the slippers, they should really invent house slippers that just instantly stick to your feet. “See you in the kitchen, Rumi.”

Without waiting, Mira rushes out the door and doesn’t look back. She’ll stay if she does, and right now she can’t afford to. For her own mental wellbeing and the integrity of their building. 

The elevator ride takes as long as it always does, but Mira is feeling jittery this morning, her pent up energy all concentrating at her clenched fists. 

By the time she makes it to the living area, consisting of their living room and their kitchen, Mira is so frustrated she wishes she can pummel a demon to a bloody pulp.

Alas, she left a demon behind in bed and is now forced to watch another one lounging around her home in her own clothes. Had Celine had mentioned these struggles on their first day of Demon Hunting Orientation, Mira would’ve had second thoughts.

No, you would not.

Okay, fine. I would not. But still, a warning would’ve been nice. 

“Mira, my savior!”

Mira bypasses both inhabitants of the kitchen, save only a quick hug for Zoey and a nod at Rangi, marching her way towards the countertop where Zoey’s crime scene resides. 

Thankfully nothing is on fire yet, and Mira swiftly dunks the pan under cold water before turning to look at Zoey with a face so deadpan it makes their youngest cringe.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures?” Mira narrows her eyes, Zoey claps both hands together and pouts. “I’m sorry! You and Rumi were just taking too long, and I feel bad about interrupting your quality time for breakfast.”

Ignoring the twinge in her chest, Mira sighs and looks away. 

“You should’ve just called.” Finding her pack of emergency scrunchies on the top of the fridge, Mira quickly ties her hair up in its usual style. Once done, she finds her apron, ironically decorated with tigers, and puts it on. “What do you guys wanna eat?”

Suggestions are thrown and they all come from Zoey. Mira mulls over her option, deciding on a dish and picking out some eggs and tomatoes from the fridge. They have some rice that can be heated up, so old fried rice and tomato scrambled eggs it is.

Dribbling a good amount of vegetable oil in a separate pan, Mira hears Zoey clear her throat.

“So. Rangi, how did you sleep?”

Their youngest sounds awkward in a way Mira has only witnessed once, when the Saja Boys crashed their fansign and they were forced to sit next to them if they didn't want to lose half their fans.

Sure enough, Zoey is wearing the exact giggly smile she had when Mystery sat next to her, and Mira can't help but chuckle despite the oddness of the situation.

“I slept well, thank you for asking.” Rangi replies, her voice low and raspy like she knows exactly what she's doing. “And you, Mira?”

No more pet names? 

“I slept fine too.” Mira coughs, cursing herself for the weird thought and even weirder sinking feeling in her stomach that accompanies it. “Do the clothes fit okay?”

Rustling, then a laugh. 

“Oh yeah, 100%. Though I will say, I wasn't expecting you to be so into strings.”

Mira peeks over her shoulder, curious, and just about swallows her own tongue. 

Look, Mira’s seen memes. Countless of them, in fact, courtesy of Zoey and her borderline concerning addiction to being chronically online. And although social media is very accurately described as a cesspool of meaningless affirmation, if there is one thing the majority of Internet users can agree upon, it’s that a woman looks the most scrumptious when she’s wearing your clothes.

And that’s what Rangi is doing, wearing one of Mira’s skimpier undershirts with strings thinner than a toothpick and soft cotton shorts covered in maple leaf and beavers, a gift from Rumi when she had a solo schedule in Canada last year. 

It’s way too short for Mira’s lanky frame, covering up to the top part of her abs. By the way Rumi couldn’t tear her eyes off her when she tried it on, Mira dared to hope it was on purpose.

She was stupid to have hoped.

The shirt is looser on Rangi after so many washes, showing off her patterned shoulders adorning pale, human skin. 

With her wearing Rumi’s face, the line between human and demon has always been obscure, and Mira can’t help but feel that sentiment all the more reinforced now, seeing Rangi wearing normal human clothes, eating normal human food, and talking like normal humans do. 

Maybe Rumi had every right to fall in love with a demon, if it looks as easy as it seems. The thought of her with him pours acid in Mira’s mouth, resurfacing her earlier frustration and heartbreak. 

Returning her focus to the food, Mira swiftly changes the subject.

“Zo, have you seen Celine?”

“Why didn't you kill me when I asked you to?”

“She left before the sun even came up.” Zoey answers, her words slightly garbled from munching on a green apple Mira remembers buying the day before. “I went down to see if she wanted coffee and—”

Mira takes a deep breath. One thing at a time. 

“Let me guess, her door was closed?”

As Zoey falls into a giggling fit, Mira looks back and explains to a clearly confused Rangi.

“It’s one of our inside jokes. Celine has this thing where she’s very rigid about the things in her close proximity, one of which is that she never leaves a door ajar once she’s done with it.”

“I once forgot to close our bathroom door at the compound and Celine was livid.” Zoey regales, her eyes shining with nostalgia. “Made me clean said bathroom for a week.”

Rangi joins Zoey in on her laughter, but there’s a stiffness to her shoulders that makes her smile not reach her eyes. Her patterns don’t change colors per emotions like Rumi’s, but her discomfort is obvious enough to make it unnecessary.

Mira takes a pause, wincing when she remembers the words exchanged between Rangi and Celine yesterday.

Zoey catches on quickly, swooping in to save the day. 

“Hey, Rangi. I’ve been meaning to ask, but do demons need to eat like humans?”

“We don’t eat the souls we take, if that’s what you’re trying to ask.” Rangi chuckles, looking lighter now that they moved on. “They’re for Gwima’s.”

Mira and Zoey exchange a look.

They should be unnerved by the direction this conversation is taking. Hell, years of training say they should at least be enraged. While she can't speak for Zoey, Mira finds that she can't, the other half-demon sitting in her dining room clearly the reason why.  

“So is that a no?”

“It's a it depends. Most demons don't need to eat, but I do because I’m half. I eat whatever's available.”

“I shudder to imagine what is available down in the underworld.” Mira drolly comments, cracking six eggs into a bowl. She should probably get more. 

“Mostly bread, I think because they’re easiest to steal.” Zoey cringes, Mira snickers. “Come to think of it, I haven’t gotten to eat a lot of human food.”

Zoey gasps. “Really? Not even when you’re in the human world?”

“Where would I find the time?” Rangi laughs. “Plus Gwima is a bitch when it comes to me. It’s a miracle I got to go up here to do his errands.”

“While you’re here, you should try everything you can.” Mira pipes up while she’s chopping up sausages and the likes. “Come.”

Mira has been cooking for as long as she’s been alive. As the resident black sheep, it was mandatory for Mira to commit as many rebellious acts as possible under her parents’ roof, and one of which was bonding with the help.

Mira made her first egg at the age of 5. 

At 7, she marinated her first jar of kimchi not as long as she should have. 

At 10, her first spread of a traditional Korean breakfast had glowing reviews from the valets to the cleaners. 

At 13, she was bringing her own lunch to school.

At 15, she learned Rumi hated mushrooms but wouldn’t mind if they’re stuffed together in a roll of kimbap and she’s none the wiser. 

At 18, she learned Zoey grew up eating completely different food and taught herself how to make pancakes in less than 30 minutes. 

Mira is 23 now and her hope is that she dies in her sleep, carried to her bed by her loved ones, bellies full of laughter, cheeks adorning alcoholic blush, and hearts brimming with homemade food and drunken love. 

Mira doesn’t love Rangi, not like that, but she cares. 

“This is sausage made from pork. Try it.”

And this is how she shows it.

Rangi peers at her fork with an inquisitory gaze, before slowly wrapping her lips around the prongs. It’s curious and innocent, but Mira can’t help but follow the movement of those full lips parting open, a pink tongue peeking out for a split second before it closes.

“Wow!” Mira blinks rapidly, hurriedly schooling her face into something less thirsty. “That’s really good. What is that orange thing?”

Introducing Rangi to carrots and other produce is some of the most fun Mira’s had in a while, half because of Rangi’s genuine enjoyment of the simplest things and the other half thanks to Zoey’s witty commentary.

Time passes. Their breakfast is coming together very nicely. Zoey and Rangi are joking and laughing over a meme, yet another one of Rangi’s first-ever discoveries. Mira is just beginning to plate the table when soft footsteps echo from the hallway.

Looking up, Mira knowingly meets Rumi’s eyes. Who briefly stops, as if stunned by her gaze, before timidly walking further in.

She looks like she’s waiting to be yelled at. 

As always, Zoey is the first to greet Rumi. 

“Morning, Rumi!”

She leaps off the stool with flourish and sprints over, jumping into Rumi’s open arms and letting her take all her weight. Rumi receives Zoey with a huge smile, their giggles mingling as Rumi twirls them around a few times.

Despite her turmoil, Mira can’t help but smile too. 

“Am I too late for breakfast?” Rumi asks, her smile cheeky, letting Zoey lead her to the table.

“Not at all, we’re just now setting the table.” Zoey replies happily, putting herself in between Rumi and Rangi. “Come, sit sit sit.”

For good reasons.

Mira holds her breath, watching her friends closely. Zoey catches her eyes and nods. 

“Morning.” Rumi stiffly says, not once making eye contact.

Rangi doesn’t respond. Not verbally at least. Only tossing a small nod in Rumi’s vague direction before she goes back to peering at whatever she was looking at on Zoey's phone. 

It’s no secret that Rumi and Rangi hate each other’s guts. 

Mira has her own theories about where it all comes from— Rumi’s struggles in accepting the demon side of herself as a result from Celine’s well-intentioned but misleading teaching, Rangi’s traumatic past of being abandoned and indescribable manipulation at the hands of Gwima to hate all Hunters by association— but she’s not exactly interested in dissecting other people’s mental psyche while they have so many pressing problems to resolve. 

“Hey, can I help with anything?”

Starting with her own. 

“You can get the bowls and the chopsticks.” Mira tells Rumi, whose smile is hopeful, filling Mira’s head with the thought of kissing it away. 

“On it!” Rumi chirps, softening. “Thanks for the extra time. I can finish up while you shower if you want.”

Mira shakes her head. “Washing my hair takes forever, I’ll just do it after breakfast.” 

Rumi nods, easily accepting the excuse. She plops down where Zoey wants her, and automatically Mira goes to flank her other side, consistent in their formation even in their daily life.

That was Mira’s intention, up until Rangi calls her name. 

“Whoa, Mira. Is this supposed to be you?”

Thinking nothing of it, Mira heads over to that side of the table instead. She recognizes what Rangi is surprised by as soon as she sits down, chuckling as fond memories come flooding to the front of her mind.

“Yeah, that's me.” 

What Rangi is watching is a fancam of a dance performance Mira did years ago for their debut showcase. It's a simple dance routine to the song True Blood by Justin Timberlake, meant to set the mood and a nice transition to Zoey’s 3-minute rap solo, but it's one of the fans’ favorites that she sees get reposted on social media from time to time. 

Mira knows she’s improved a lot since— her movements are sharper now and each flex of her muscle is not just performative but also energy efficient and highly deliberate. But Rangi seems fairly impressed, all wide eyes and shining awe.

Mira is only human. 

“You said you were popular but I didn't realize you were this good.”

“Mira’s been voted Dancing Machine of our generation 5 years in a row.” Zoey chimes in with a cheeky smile.

“Stop,” Mira groans, stuffing her face with rice so she doesn't have to answer.

An elbow nudges her softly in the side, Mira looking back and finding Rangi with her familiar wicked smirk. 

“I can certainly see why.” 

“Stop.” Mira repeats, sterner this time. Even if her cheeks flare hot at the heat in Rangi’s brown eyes. “I thought we agreed you’ll cut back on the flirting.”

“This is me cutting back!” Rangi puts her hand to her chest, mouth agape. “I was just expressing my genuine admiration and appreciation for the art form you so happen to excel so much in.”

It's so corny and borderline cheesy, yet Mira can't help but laugh. 

Just small puffs of breaths that make her shoulders shake, but they get the message across and make Rangi smirk in that self-assured way she likes doing. 

Mira really hates that Rangi has Rumi’s lopsided smile, hates that she had failed to notice Rangi also has these adorable, pointy ears, that sorta flap whenever she moves her head too enthusiastically. 

It's so unfair. 

Rangi is so beautiful, it's unfair.

—

“Rumi, I know you're also very into Avatar, but I don't think you should add metal bending into your repertoire of skills.”

“What are you talking ab— I just bent a spoon.”

“You just bent a spoon.”

“Did Rumi just bend a spoon?”

“I just bent a spoon.”

“Sick.”

—

“Mira— fuck— I don’t think I can take another…”

“Yes, you can. I know you can.”

“Fuck! Fuck, Mira, please—”

“One more. You can take one more.”

“Fuck! Fuck! I’m doing it!”

“You’re doing it!”

With a loud and borderline agonizing grunt, Rangi’s elbows finally meet the top of Mira’s head. No sooner after she does, Rangi launches herself backward and would’ve given herself a concussion had there not been a standardized cushion mat supporting her head. 

Drenched in her own sweat— Mira didn't even know demons could sweat— and her hairs all over the place, Rangi very much resembles a soggy kitten caught in the rain and is looking very unhappy about it. 

“Tell me you guys don't actually do this every damn day. My arms feel like they're about to fall off.”

Forearms resting on her knees, Mira can't do anything but laugh. 

Sweet, sweet, summer child. “You get used to it.”

“Uh, I think the fuck not.” Rangi scoffs, panting like a dog. Her patterns don’t flicker like Rumi’s do, but the dark purple is very good at conveying what she is feeling nonetheless. “I need to lie down. I’m seeing stars.”

Rangi promptly does as she says, sprawling fully on the mattress with her legs spread. She looks like an exhausted Siberian Husky owner. 

Mira chuckles, a spark of fondness warming twin corners of her eyes. 

Who, the traitors that they are, linger as she scans the muscular lines of Rangi’s body. Wearing a basic tank and short shorts, there isn't much of Rangi left to the imagination, and Mira only allows herself to get distracted now and not in the middle of spotting.

(Mira is many things, but an indisciplined thirst isn't one of them. Ask either of her girls, they’ll agree she’s Satan in the practice room.)

“How do you have abs and can't even do more than 10 pushups at a time?”

Mira’s question about said abs comes when she can't bear to look away from them, the tantalizing dips in flesh stained with sweat that would certainly taste delicious on her teeth.

Goodness gracious, look at her. Thirsting over a demon’s abs. Again.

Rumi would be so disappointed.

“I don't know what to tell you, I was simply born with my good looks and roguish charms.”

It’d be a lot more attractive had Rangi not wiggle her eyebrows like a fratboy. Mira laughs, the initial skepticism from when they first met no longer apparent. 

Don’t get her wrong, Mira wouldn’t be the Hunter she is today if she didn’t always have her guard up. But it’s been a few days since that portal opened and, despite knowing better, Mira’s come to develop a soft spot for the half-demon. 

It’s really hard not to, when Rangi is basically Rumi at her best— funny, charming, sweet, and kind. Where they differ is that Rangi is brazen, shameless, and free. She speaks for herself, thinks for herself, and asks for what she wants without a care in the world. Everything Rumi wishes she can be. 

That’s a mean thought to have about her best friend, so Mira will keep it to herself for as long as she needs to.

“I’m gonna hop on the running machine.” Mira says, tapping Rangi’s knees in goodbye. “Try not to die.”

Rangi’s no promises is muffled in her elbow like she’s about to take an impromptu nap right then and there on the floor, making Mira laugh before she hops back on her feet and continues with her workout.

HUNTR/X has a private gym and they take advantage of that fact regularly. 

Right now Zoey is abusing the aux to her heart’s content, playing a wide range of music from the Fall Out Boys to Boys Over Flower OSTs. 

Mira is humming absentmindedly as she turns on the running machine, her emotional turmoil creating an obnoxious crink in her bones that she can't wait to sweat out.

Steadily warming up, Mira chances a quick glance at her girls who are on opposite ends of the gym. 

In one corner, Zoey is bopping to the music as she pummels the punching bag to a pulp. 

Mira’s always admired how quick Zoey is on her feet, taking a moment to analyze Zoey’s almost effortless control of her body, her signature jab-jab-strike combo even deadlier when paired with one or two (or six) of her sinkal dangling on the tip of her fingers and at the speed of which normal humans would struggle to follow.

Senses as sharp as her blades, Zoey looks up from her workout and beams when she meets Mira’s eyes. Who winks and blows an air kiss that Zoey happily, if not dramatically, snatches out of the air and clutches to her chest.

“Thank you, my fair maiden!” is what Mira thinks Zoey is shouting, but it’s hard to hear her over the pounding bass of her music. 

So Mira just nods and gestures at Zoey to continue. 

In the other corner of the gym, Mira finds Rumi exactly where she expected her to be, by the weight lift. And as soon as she does, Mira can feel all her organs coming to a stop. 

Look, it’s no secret that Rum is gorgeous. 

Hot, even. Sexy. Handsome. Charming. Every other synonym to beautiful that doesn’t sound like it’s taken from the diary of a 1950s housewife. 

Everyone knows how beautiful Rumi is. Men, women, those identifying in between, those identifying as helicopters. Literally everyone and their mother. 

Hell, Rumi has been voted Sexiest Woman for 4 years in a row ever since she turned 20, which has concerning implications that Mira will for now disregard in favor of thirsting because it supports her thesis statement. 

The thesis statement that is simply “Rumi is hot”. Heart-stopping, mind-numbing, legs-spreading, and eye-frying type of hot.

And she knows it. Because why else would she be looking this delicious in the middle of a workout if she didn’t have it in her agenda to kill Mira on the spot?

Sweats clinging to her flesh and making her look like an oiled up meal, Rumi is working her way through her set with a determined set of her eyebrows and her jaw clenched. Her toned biceps flex with exertion, pretty mouth open and closing in time with each heave of her magnificent chest, thick thighs trembling and practically asking for a head to be squished between it. 

It’s nothing Mira hasn’t seen before— has certainly seen Rumi lift so much bigger on days where she wants to really bulk up for a photoshoot. 

But something about this Rumi, working hard on herself with all her iridescent patterns out and shimmering as if pulsating in time with her heartbeats, wearing nothing but booty gym shorts and a basketball jersey Mira suspects Rumi stole from her years ago, has all of Mira’s brain cells melting out of her ear.

“Hey, Mira! How you doin?”

Hurry and say something before your straight best friend catches you being a perv.

“Just, uh, keeping it going.”

Rumi— sweet, beautiful, golden hearted Rumi, doesn’t bat an eye at Mira’s flimsy excuse. Worse, she even smiles at her. All gums and teeth and by god are those sunshines just pouring out from the sides of her head?

“You look amazing. Keep up the good work.” 

Then, in a move so brilliantly timed and so unlike the clumsily endearing Rumi who Mira’s loved since they were children, Rumi smirks.

A downright panty-dropping, panty-soaking, and panty-shredding smirk. Showing off her canines and everything. 

Sweet mother of Lesbian Jesus, I want those teeth on my pu—

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Mira yelps, and had it not been for her well-honed demon hunting reflex, would’ve slipped and face-planted right then and there. Luckily, her gorgeous face is saved from a terrible tragedy, partially thanks to Mira clutching the handlebars like it owes her money and partially thanks to the arms catching her around the waist. 

“Sorry! Sorry! Jesus, woman, I didn’t think you were that distracted.”

“Zoey,” Mira grits out, not unlike a dragon about to unleash fire. “You have five seconds before I strangle you with a scrunchie.”

“How kinky— you didn’t even start counting!”

10 minutes and a chokehold later finds Mira grinning victoriously with a water bottle in her hand and a wet towel hung around her neck. At her feet is Zoey, who is pouting as she rubs Mira’s sore feet with an undeniably disgusted expression on her face.

“This is abuse.” She grumbles, pointedly gentle with Mira’s right toes. “I’m calling the cops, then Bobby.”

“They’ll never believe you.” Mira gloats, leaning against the chair cushioning her head with her biceps. Her legs are spread to give Zoey even more of a hard time and Mira has on an open shirt, not wanting to get a cold from the blaring AC but needing the sweats on her abs to evaporate.

Zoey pinches a pinky in retaliation, pouting more when Mira gives her no reaction. 

“You could’ve at least taken your socks off!”

“And make things easier for you?” Mira scoffs, patting the top of Zoey’s head as she wiggles her butt downwards for a better, more relaxing position. “Such is the life of a woman living in the patriarchy. You don’t get freebies.”

Zoey squawks, predictably indignant. Mira has one more tease on the tip of her tongue, but the hand on her shoulder makes her pause

“Alright, that’s enough.” It’s Rumi, whose smile is half indulgent and half chastisement. Mira resists the urge to grin sheepishly in return. “Zoey, you’re off the hook.”

“I’m free!” Zoey yells out with both hands in the sky, dropping Mira’s poor foot without mercy before rushing to Rumi’s side. “Thank you, my lord and savior, Ryu Rumi. How can I ever repay you?”

Groaning from the impact of her ankle hitting the floor, Mira grumbles something about a five-course meal, ice cream, and couch. 

Rumi squeezes her shoulder again, getting Mira’s attention. 

“Actually, I was wondering if we could go to the bathhouse today?” 

Her smile is a little shy and she sounds timid, clearly still unused to being able to come with them now that her patterns are out. 

Mira and Zoey are all the happier to express just how elated they are at Rumi’s newest character development, the former leaping to her feet and corralling the latter in for celebratory jumps, arm slung over shoulders and everything.

“Bathhouse! Bathhouse! Bathhouse!”

Their mini party inevitably gains the attention of the other inhabitant of the gym, who has been watching them quietly before meandering her way over.

To no one’s surprise, Zoey is the first to offer up an invitation.

“Hey Rangi, we’re going to the bathhouse after this. Would you care to join us?” 

“Is that the place where you just soak in hot water for a long period of time?” Mira just nods, even if she’s slightly offended by the oversimplification of bathhouse benefits to the body. “I’ll pass, I don’t really like being in the water.”

“You really are a big cat.” Zoey jokes, giggling when Rangi raises a joking middle finger. 

Meanwhile, Mira makes a surprised noise. 

“Really? Why?”

Rangi shrugs. “Water demons.” As if that explains anything. “I got pushed into one of their swamps as a kid. Hadn’t been able to fly yet, so I kinda almost died. Trauma, am I right?”

Mira doesn't respond to the joke, not finding it particularly funny. Zoey doesn't as well, upon glancing at Mira and shaking her head in sympathy.

Rumi, on the other hand, scoffs.

“You and your sort probably killed a kid the same way anyway.”

The venom is unlike anything Mira’s ever seen in her best friend. Not even when they were fighting demons did Rumi sound so hateful, every word dripping with the sort of condescending that makes Mira’s hackles rise.

Rangi, who was smiling, levels a nasty glare. 

“I don't murder children.”

Rumi’s lips curl, mocking. “No, you just suck out their souls and leave their empty corpses behind to rot. Congratulations, you just won the Not-As-Evil-As-You-Could've-Been award.”

Mira is pretty good at reading people, always has been, and so she has no trouble seeing the hard flinch Rangi tries so hard to hide, smothered under a self-assured smirk that, if you know where to find, reeks of shame.

It's a look Mira’s seen so many times but couldn't recognize. A look Mira’s exclusively seen on Rumi herself.

Which only makes this more fucked up than it seems.

Still wearing that same nonchalant smirk, Rangi barks out a humorless laugh before she pivots on her heels. She walks away before anyone of them can say anything, tossing over her shoulder a peace sign and her final words. 

“Sure, Rumi. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” 

The door closes behind Rangi with a soft thud, leaving a pregnant silence in its wake. It's exactly the sobering call that Mira needs. 

We need to talk. 

“What the hell is your problem?”

Rumi has the audacity to look betrayed, her hair whipping as she turns around to face Mira. 

“What’s your problem? Have you forgotten who she is? What she is?”

“She’s a half-demon, so what?” Genuinely Mira doesn't see what the problem is.

Rumi looks close to having a stroke.

“So what? Demons can’t be trusted, Mira. They're vile, cruel creatures who feast on the souls of innocents to serve their overlord king. The same king that tried to take over the world just a month ago, who we barely stopped in the knick of time. Have you already forgotten that?”

Temper flaring, Mira takes a step forward.

“You’re a demon too.”

“I’m not like them!” Rumi’s voice rises at least two octaves. That's when Mira knows she’s got her. “I was born a Hunter. Just like you.”

“No, you were raised a Hunter, by the same woman who taught you all demons were evil and deserved to rot in hell. The same woman who said all that knowing you were a demon too.”

“Why didn't you kill me when I asked you to?”

Celine was wrong. She has to be.

“That's different.” Rumi vehemently says, though her voice is cracking.

“No, it’s fucking not.” Mira huffs, taking yet another step forward. “Whether you want to admit it or not, Celine taught us some Grade-A bullshit, and Rangi has been nothing but cordial to us. To you. She just wants to find a way home.”

“Maybe that's what she wants us to believe.” Rumi approaches too, rendering the space between them almost nonexistent. “What if she’s lying? What if she’s sent here by Gwima to play games with us?”

Admittedly that possibility has not escaped Mira, but after the last few days, Mira will sooner believe the sky is orange before she doubts Rangi’s intentions. 

“You know, you’re awfully trusting for a Hunter.”

“I trust her.”

I just do. 

“How?” Rumi basically yells the word, her patterns changing colors at a rapid speed. 

Because she's you.

And I can't do that to you again, not even when you hate yourself. 

Mira wants to be careful, wants to not blow this out of proportion.

But then Rangi’s face flashes through her mind, hurt and humiliation buried underneath false bravado and confidence— 

Rumi’s face immediately follows, falling and falling with every threat Mira spewed about subjecting demons to an eternity of suffering before plastering on a smile that means less than nothing—

—and suddenly Mira finds herself talking without thinking. 

“Coming from the same person who frolicked around with a demon for weeks under our noses, you tell me. Or was he just that good at pouring sweetness in your ear so you’d stand there, frozen in honeycomb, as he exposed you for who you really are.”

The hands shoving her chest are nowhere as painful as the hissed fuck you Rumi makes under her breath nor the tears Mira sees brimming before Rumi storms off. 

Left alone with Zoey, who breathes heavily as if that entire exchange just sucked out all the oxygens in her lungs, Mira has half the mind to feel remorseful.

Half, because Mira doesn't think what she said was wrong. The other half because Mira also knows that was still not the right thing to say, but her emotions carried the words out before her brain could close down the gate.

And it left Rumi in tears. 

That's the thing about Mira. She’s emotional to the point of losing logic. Sometimes to the point of losing people. 

“That was tough to watch.”

Mira nods, body drooping and drained of adrenaline. Shame crawls in her voice. “Sorry. I know you hate watching us fight.” 

“Thanks for remembering after the fact,” Zoey sighs, taking Mira’s hand in hers anyway. She squeezes, telling Zoey she’s sorry again. “Rumi hasn't told us everything. You haven't told her how you felt. You need to talk before this blows up in our faces again.”

It's Zoey’s way of telling Mira not to fuck up in her sternest but also most loving, and as always, Mira will listen.

She just needs to find the right words this time. 

Chapter Text

It's been a week since Rangi arrived and there's still no news from Celine.

Consequently, it’s been two days since Rumi and Mira fought it out in the middle of the gym. Although, calling it a fight wouldn’t be entirely correct. More a gloomy cloud hanging over their heads and the elephant in their every conversation. 

They still sleep in the same room and share the same bathroom. 

Mira still hugs Rumi to her chest before waiting to hear her breathing even out before she follows suit into dreamland. 

Rumi still hugs her good morning and good night. 

Mira still holds Rumi close, and Rumi stays by Mira’s side like she has something to prove. 

But they don’t talk. 

Mira wants so badly for them to talk and sort this all out, but after thinking it over some more, she realizes there’s pretty much nothing she can do. Rumi has her own issues with Rangi, and with Mira by extension, so unless she tries to look at things from Rangi’s point of view, aka her own when she is more forgiving towards herself, then Mira’s hands are tied. 

She can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved. That’s a lesson she learned and paid for by flesh and blood. 

“My dog, Jeyun, I imagine him dying so that one day when he does, it’ll hurt less. Woo Seulgi, I’ve been thinking about you dying a lot lately.”

Mira snorts, torn between amused and exasperated. “You do not say that to someone you like. Who just got out of surgery from being stabbed while at that.”

On the screen, Seulgi— the protagonist of the drama— looks horrified at her love interest. Mira honestly cannot blame her. Who thinks confessing their feelings like this would get any sort of positive reception?

“That’s actually kinda romantic.”

Popcorn kernel stuck in her throat, Mira lunges for the nearest water bottle. The water helps prevent her from choking, but it doesn’t do much to stop her from nearly coughing her lungs out. 

Rangi, whose smile is wicked as it is amused, watches Mira trying to save herself with sadistic glee, arms folded over the back of their couch and half her torso pressing up against it. 

“Cat got your tongue?” Rangi says, purring. 

Mira didn’t even know demons could purr. Can Rumi do that too?

“Uh,” She stutters, pathetically weak in the face of a pretty girl. Who is showing a massive amount of cleavage with her low-cut tank top. Mira didn’t even know Rumi was that well-endowed down there from all the high-collared button ups— goodness gracious, please stop before you hurt yourself.  

“Wow,” Rangi laughs, mercifully standing back up. Mira can finally breathe again. “Must be a pretty good show if it got you all dazed and starry-eyed.”

Mira coughs. As pretty as Yoo Jaeyi is, she was not the person constantly using Mira’s mind as a track field. 

“There’s lesbians.” 

As if that’s the main criteria for Mira’s choice in television. It kinda is. 

“I figured.” Rangi laughs, lifting herself off the ground and flying over to the other side of the couch. Mira automatically makes room for her, them sitting side by side without actually touching. “I thought you swore off watching anything sapphic until you know for sure they have a happy ending.”

Obviously Rangi’s been talking to Zoey, who knows all about Mira’s gripe with the recent shitshow that is lesbian media everywhere.  

“I have a good feeling about this one.” Mira pauses, Rangi raises an eyebrow. “And Hyeri is too hot to wait.”

“Now that makes more sense.” Rangi laughs again, dodging Mira’s hand trying to shove her away. “I’m surprised none of the others are joining you.”

Mira sighs, utterly dramatic in her agony. “Zoey is taking one of her American friends out around Seoul and Rumi is stuck with Bobby looking over the preparation paperwork for our next comeback.”

Usually Celine is involved too, as their mentor and the CEO of Sunlight Entertainment, but no one’s been able to contact her until Rumi had to step up and said Celine was taking care of a family matter and won’t be reachable for the foreseeable future, assuming Celine is still working on finding a way to bring Rangi home. 

It’s good practice for when they eventually take over the company, but goddamn if Mira doesn’t miss Rumi already. 

“Bummer. I was hoping I could catch Zoey.”

“Let me guess, she showed you a tweet, you pretended like you understood what it said, and now curiosity is killing you?”

“Again with the cat jokes.” Rangi groans, draping herself over a throw cushion. Not unlike a cat, dare Mira say. “Hey, maybe you can help me out. What the fuck does skibidi toilet mean?” 

One phone call to a cackling Zoey and two blown eardrums later, Mira and Rangi gladly put this conversation behind them in favor of watching Yoo Jaeyi, yet again, fumble her love life to beyond salvation.

“Is it peaceful down there?”

On the TV screen, Yoo Jaeyi submerges herself in cold, blue water. Mira tilts her head, trying to read between the lines and understand what Rangi actually means to say. 

Eventually she comes up with nothing.

“It depends.” Rangi huffs, as if amused by her useless answer. 

“Do you like the water, Mira?”

At the question, Mira calls forth a memory of her being a few months old and screaming her little lungs out upon being carried into the sea in the arms of her father. 

It was one of the rare times she remembered ever seeing him smile. 

“I do.” She answers with very little hurt. “Bathhouses are my and Zoey’s thing, and up until recently, Rumi’s too.”

Rangi hums. “I was surprised at how eager she seemed about such a concept. I was under the impression that she hated showing her patterns.”

“That was before.” No one needs to elaborate on the who or what. “Rumi isn’t entirely there yet— I catch her instinctively tugging her sleeves down a lot still. But she’s trying, for both herself and us, and that’s all that matters.”

Mira knows she sounds in love, adoration on her lips and pride in her eyes. Loving Rumi has always been easy, it’s the world that makes it hard. 

“Nice.” Rangi says succinctly, though not insincere. 

There’s something else. Something heavy on Rangi’s mind. Mira would be foolish if she didn’t see it. 

“Did you have a change of heart?”

Rangi flinches. 

This isn't just about water anymore.

“I’m feeling open-minded.” Rangi says after a bout of silence, in which the only noise comes from the TV screen and her subtle puffs of nervous breaths. 

Mira mulls it over, lips wrapped around her cup of coffee. The caffeine no longer does anything for her at this time of day, but Mira can at least appreciate the delicious taste coating her tongue.

It's then that her phone vibrates with a notification. The flash of purple and black is enough to make her smile, but it's the caption plastered all over their faces that truly set her heart on fire.

On this day

One year ago today, they went on a picnic. 

Mira remembers it being Zoey’s idea, which Rumi had smiled indulgently before saying yes. At that time, it was rare that Rumi went anywhere that wasn’t outside of the studio with them, so Mira and Zoey had set out to make this their most wonderful hangout to date.

And it was. 

They ate ramen by the river bank— Rumi almost died when she foolishly said she wanted to try Mira’s. They played board games— Zoey almost committed first degree murder over a +8. They took pictures of the sunset— Mira took this picture of her girls without them knowing, grateful for the family she still gets to keep.

“You gave me up. You handed me over the king of the underworld. You abandoned me.”

Mira chances a look, finding Rangi with her eyes on the screen but her mind clearly far away. Letting the phone go dark, a plan solidifies in Mira’s mind.

“Let me take you somewhere.”

Yeouido Hangang Park is Mira’s first memory of being free. The concept itself has always been just that, a concept— one Mira couldn’t possibly understand behind the four ivory walls of her family’s mansion. 

She came here on a whim after deciding to skip her last two lessons for the day, uniform skirt hitched almost all the way up her legs and a cigarette burning between her lips. 

Mira doesn't smoke anymore, hasn't found a reason to in so long. But there are days where she craves that certain weight on her lungs and lightness everywhere else. 

That's why Mira brings Rangi here today. But before they go anywhere near the water, Mira has something else she wants them to do.

“Stay put. I’ll be back in less than 5 minutes. Don't wander off.”

Rangi scoffs, radiant in her (Mira’s) red and black flannel, half her face covered by a dark blue baseball cap (also Mira’s). 

“I’d retort with a pet play innuendo, but I fear I’ve given you enough ammunition to make animal jokes as it is.” 

Despite herself, Mira barks out a laugh, cheeks warm like the sun. Trusting Rangi to heed her warning, Mira rushes off in a different direction, the paths as familiar to her as the cherry blossoms close to bloom. 

It takes Mira almost no time at all to reach the little bicycle shack located next to the odeng cart, greeted jubilantly by the owner who stood up and waved.

“My strawberry, it’s been a while.”

Mira hides her blush by bowing, betrayed only by her awkwardly pitched laughter. Mrs. Kwon is cooing when Mira straightens up, the older woman having to crane her neck to meet Mira’s eyes.

“Oh, you’ve grown so well, my dear. Look at you, you’re like an actual princess.”

Her giggle is 100% genuine, heart warm at being greeted so kindly by someone who’s known her since she was little. 

“It's really nice to see you, Mrs. Kwon.” Mira leans down slightly, taking Mrs. Kwon’s hands in hers. “How are you?”

“Ah, as well as one could expect at this old age,” Mira’s brows furrow in worry, Mrs. Kwon stretches on her toes to smoothen the crease with her thumb. “Not to worry. I’m taking my medicines and going on a lot of walks. I’m assuming that's also why you're here?” 

Mira nods, gesturing in the vague direction she remembers leaving Rangi at. 

“I'm looking to rent for about two hours, if that's alright.”

“Of course it's okay,” Mrs. Kwon tugs her towards the rows and rows of bicycles, both manual and electric. “Is this a date? Did you finally muster up the courage and ask your pretty purple-haired friend out?”

Looking through the options for the same one she quietly dubbed hers years ago, Mira almost chokes on nothing. She has taken Rumi and Zoey here before, but she didn't think her gay ass was going to be clocked by someone who she sees so rarely.

“I brought a friend, Mrs. Kwon.” Mira says with a small voice, gesturing at her bicycle of choice. “We’ll take this one please.”

Mrs. Kwon doesn’t look like she believes her, and Mira is all the more thankful when she chooses not to say anything else, instead undoing the bike lock and accepting Mira’s handful of bills.

Bidding her goodbye, Mira paddles the bike back where she came from, the refreshing wind gusts hitting her face making her smile. It widens when she sees Rangi is where Mira left her, the purple patterns spreading across her forearms that only Hunters can see becoming somewhat of a welcoming sight.

If someone were to tell younger Mira that one day she would associate demon patterns, purple and iridescent, with happiness, she would have smacked them with a frying pan.

Alas, the universe so loves to prove her wrong.

“Holy shit, no way did you just rent us a bike to ride along the riverside?”

Grinning proudly, Mira rings the tiny bell, warmth spreading all over when she sees it make Rangi laugh. 

“You bet, and if you hurry your pretty ass off, we’ll make it in time to see the sunset.”

Mira doesn’t love Rangi, not like that, but fuck is her bashful smile stupidly pretty. 

“You’re serious?” Even though her words are timid, Rangi is anything but, practically jumping onto the backseat with an enthusiasm that, on her good days, might even beat Zoey’s. “Should I pedal too? I don’t know how to steer though. And I’m not too heavy for you, right?”

Mira snorts. “Don’t be dramatic, you weigh less than a feather and I’ve been doing this for years. I got this.”

The bike Mira chose is a double with two high cushions and two pairs of pedals. 

It’s one she and Zoey like to use whenever they can make time to get away from the studio or even the penthouse, whereas Rumi would politely decline and hole herself up in her room for what Mira now realizes are demon-related reasons. 

Mira makes a mental note to bring Rumi here again soon— now that she’s semi-committed to wearing short sleeves, she’ll definitely appreciate having the wind and the sun kissing her skin.

“If you say so.” 

Shaking her head, Mira looks over her shoulder, smiling gently. “Don’t worry. I won’t let you fall.”

“And you call me the relentless flirt,” Rangi grumbles, cheeks pink like Mira’s own button-up. “Fine. I’m still going to do this though.”

Half a second passes and Mira is wondering what Rangi has in mind. 

When sinewy arms, familiar and yet not at the same time, slide over her hips and wrap around her waist, Mira briefly considers jumping straight into the water, if only to quell the heat in her own face. 

A head nuzzles in the space between her shoulder blades, soft skin pressed against softer fabric, and Mira feels herself relaxing. 

After all, Mira’s been in love with Rumi almost all her life. It's silly of her to think this is any different.

—

“When I first saw Rumi, I thought she was an uptight, prissy nepo-bitch with a stick in her ass.”

Ice cubes sloshing dangerously in her cup of strawberry boba topped with puddings, Rangi still makes a point of laughing to the point of folding herself in half. 

Mira, who has a smaller matcha boba with extra sugar and black tapioca pearls, hitches her glasses up with her middle finger, quietly preens.

“I feel like I should be offended.” Rangi says with tears in her eyes, dramatically fanning her face like a fair maiden. 

“Perhaps.” Mira states drolly, delighting in the faux glare she gets back. “Rumi’s fashion also didn’t help. Coming from a nepo baby herself, I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone dressed so pretentiously for 6th grade homeroom.”

Dress shoes so polished you can see your own reflection, a plaid long skirt that runs all the way down her knees, a white button-up top with frills at the end of long sleeves, color-matching bow on her collar and her hair, it’s a wonder how Rumi was put into Chaehwa Girls’ Middle School and not somewhere like the President’s Blue House. 

“I can imagine.” Rangi snickers, mostly at the daze in Mira’s eyes as she fondly looks back on that time in her life. “What changed your mind?”

Mira hums, leaning further back against the tree where they sat under. 

Along the paths of the park, there are people meandering; a young man running in his tank top wearing his bulky headphones, three aunties who jog at a slower pace to save breath for their gossip, a butchfemme couple walking hand-in-hand, blue-haired rambling on about airships while pink-haired grins at her like she hung the stars in their sky. 

Mira takes a deep breath, letting the night chill and the moonlight wash over her.

“I was invited to Rumi’s birthday gala by an associate partner of my cousin’s uncle’s romantic partner.” Rangi mouths the whole thing with an incredulous expression, making Mira chuckle. “Yes, such is the nepo life. Everyone and their mother is somehow someone you know.”

“Hmm, I’m familiar.”

Right, Demon Princess. Mira completely forgot about that.

“So there I was, showing up at a party I couldn't give less than two shits about. There was a dress code that I didn't bother to follow, so naturally I had everyone’s eyes on me.”

“Knowing you, that’s not a difficult feat to achieve.”

Embarrassingly predictable, Mira blushes. She continues on without a word.

“I got bored 15 minutes in and started wandering off. That was when I saw her. Rumi was…” Mira pauses, heart going into overdrive at the mere memory of her. Pathetic. “She was so beautiful, but she looked so lonely. In a crowded room, full of people wishing her well and showering her with gifts, but Rumi looked so lonely.”

She looked so much like me, Mira doesn’t say. But Rangi might know it anyway, if the brilliant glint in her eyes is any indication.

Mira coughs, suddenly shy. “I followed her when I saw she was trying to slip out. We got out to the patio and I… I asked if she was cold.”

Rangi makes a cackle so loud she startles the poor dude with the headphones on his way back. Mira sends him a quick apologetic bow, before aiming a full-on glare at a still giggling Rangi.

“My gosh, you’ve always been such an awkward duckling, haven't you?”

“I reserve the right to neither confirm nor deny.” Mira huffs, turning away to look at the water. At least she's sure it won't laugh at her. “And it worked out for us, okay. Rumi said yes, I shared my jacket, and we became friends.”

“Wow,” Rangi drawls, her teasing smirk obvious even when Mira can't see it. “I feel like there is more to that story but I’ll refrain from asking.” Good. “For now.” Fuck. “How did you meet Zoey?”

Mira’s fondness for their youngest rivals no one. She knew Rumi had her heart a long time ago, but the Honmoon declared their souls tethered in the same breath that Mira’s heart carved out an extra piece to give, and so to her, they don't compare.

Cannot. 

As a matter of fact, Mira will not. Love is about choice, and she’s always chosen them both the same way they chose her. 

“Zoey was 13 when she came to Korea for her third audition.” Mira sighs, a soft smile unfurling at her second most precious memory. “Rumi and I were already preparing to be HUNTR/X by then and were told to sit in to watch the auditions. Something about knowing as soon as we meet the right person.”

“Is this an audition for a band or a reality dating show?” Rangi pauses a beat. “Oh wait.”

Mira huffs, shoving Rangi on the shoulder. Their laughs join forces, filling the chilly air with warmth. 

“I knew right away Zoey was special. Not just because she said she prepared 30 original songs, but will only perform one that she feels “matches the vibe.””

“That does sound like Zoey.” Rangi nods, her smile equally soft. 

Mira knows the two of them have also bonded, mostly from Zoey’s fascination over Rangi’s bumbling adventure into modern day pop culture. It’d be sweet if Rangi didn’t go around repeating words so out of pocket Mira swears they almost sent Rumi to the ER last week.

At least I got out of explaining to Rumi why everyone online calls her the community bottom. Rumi couldn’t look Zoey in the eyes for days after that.

“As soon as she started singing, the Honmoon sang too.” It does it again now, floating a haunting melody down the slope of Mira’s spine. She tugs it gently, lovingly, and the Honmoon hums in response. It’s almost as if she has her girls here too. “We knew that was it, we knew we wanted her, and Celine made it happen. Zoey moved into the compound less than a week later, and the rest was history.”

Literally. HUNTR/X is going to be printed in the national curriculum’s history book sometime this year. Mira almost couldn't believe it when Bobby relayed the news, but ultimately felt nothing but pride for herself, her girls and all the work they did.

“Must be nice, knowing you have two people destined to love you.”

Mira wants to object. Wants to emphasize Rumi and Zoey are choice and not chance. 

But that's not what Rangi wants to hear. 

“I didn’t want to be insensitive, but have you really never…”

A bitter laugh bursts from Rangi’s mouth, resigned in a way that's still blindingly beautiful. “No. I mean, I wouldn’t know. I don’t really make a habit out of talking to my victims before or after I… you know.”

The fanged, purple-colored and demon-shaped elephant in the room. How could Mira have forgotten?

“Rangi, I—”

“Do you think they would've loved me too?”

Mira pauses, not to think about her answer but her words.

“I don't see why not.” She says, softly, carefully. Knowing Rangi is just as easy to break as she tries to hide. “I love you now. I mean, this universe’s version of you. Not you you.”

Rangi’s laugh is amused, if not a little humorless. Mira’s not doing a very good job, is she.

“I get it, Mira. I shouldn’t have asked you that. I put you on the spot.” 

Mira huffs, annoyed at being talked over. “You sound like you already have an answer, so why ask me in the first place?”

“I don’t know.” Rangi shrugs, avoiding eye contact. Dead giveaway right there. 

“That’s a lie.” Mira tosses a bait, and Rangi bites it without hesitation.

“What’s there to lie about? Everyone knows it. You know it, you’re just too polite to say it.”

“Say what, Rangi?”

Almost there.

“That I’m a bad person!”

There it is. 

It’s neither a question nor a statement, but a house on a bridge Rangi has built and trapped herself in. Mira doesn’t know what it’s like, to be the embodiment of defiance. To exist in between two worlds and not belonging anywhere. 

All she knows is expectations and running away from them.

“You know, I don’t get along with my family.” Understatement of the century. “My mother… she’d make me feel guilty for things that weren't my fault. I’d get angry, she’d get angry because I get angry, and it's a cycle of resentment I didn't know what to do about. So I got out. I’m a coward.”

Her casual aloofness nowhere to be seen, Rangi whips her head around and pins Mira down with a glare so fierce it almost scares her.

“You? A coward? For leaving and doing what’s best for you? Mira, are you even hearing yourself?”

Mira raises a hand, controlling her own thundering heartbeats. “I don’t mean to put myself down when I say I’m a coward. In fact, the opposite. I’ve never been prouder and more grateful to myself for making that decision.”

Then, as gentle as she would with either of her girls, Mira takes Rangi’s hand in hers.

It feels different. Rumi’s skin is softer with religious skincare and that spark of warmth lit under her palm that Mira has always associated with home. 

Rangi’s is all skin and claws, maybe blood too, but her imperfections are just as beautiful as her. 

“But I know it’s not an easy choice for everyone to make. Probably not even a choice for some. But I’m saying, Rangi, it can be.”

For you, goes unsaid but Mira knows Rangi sees it. The smallest sheen of tears in Rangi’s eyes says as much, and Mira doesn’t hold herself back from squeezing Rangi’s hand tighter.

“Talk to me.”

Rangi takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to go back.” 

Both their chests sink, as if feeling the weight of the confession leaving their mortal bodies. Rangi recovers first, swallowing a lump.

“Gwima isn't a bad parent.” Mira suppresses a scoff. Rangi can sense her incredulity anyway. “I know, weird thing to say about the demon king of the underworld. But I mean it. He taught me everything I know and made it clear I was not only his protege but also the rightful heir to his throne. He taught me how to feel powerful and that the world is mine for the taking. From what I’ve seen of the human world, that sounds like quite decent parenting.”

Mira hates that she can't disagree. 

“There’s something you need to know, Mira.” For the first time since they started this conversation, Rangi looks scared. “I don’t regret killing all those people. I mean, I don’t exactly feel over the moon about it either, but I just… I don’t think I’ve ever felt a genuine emotion in my life. I know that’s not an excuse, I’m not telling you this so you would see me in a better light— which you shouldn’t, anyway, but if that makes me the bad guy, I don’t care. I did what I was told, no more, no less.”

“We are hunters, voices strong. Slaying demons with our songs. Fix the world and make it right. When darkness finally meets the light.”

Yeah, Mira knows a thing or two about that too.

It’s different, Mira thinks instinctively, but is it really? 

If Rangi is taught to kill people, then Mira is just as bad being trained to kill demons. There are good and bad people, but there are good and bad demons too. The world isn’t so black and white. 

How could she be so fooled to have thought otherwise? Her, the black sheep amongst wolves, of all people.

“There’s something else.” Mira sighs, not out of frustration at Rangi, more to release some of her own nerves. She’s not as good at confrontations as people like to believe, just because she prioritizes communication like she was taught. 

“Someone else, I should say. A good enough babysitter and mentor when he isn’t a pain in my ass with his smarty quips. One day he approached me, asking if there was a way I could make Gwima get rid of his memories when he was still alive. I got curious so I asked him why, and he told me all about his past. Come to think of it, I’ve never heard of human stories before that.”

Mira suspects it’s due in part to Gwima’s orchestration to isolate Rangi from her human root. But she refrains from pointing it out for now. 

Blissfully oblivious to the creaking gears inside Mira’s head, Rangi continues. 

“Gwima’s always told me humans are a supply. We keep them around as food, and we don’t kill them indiscriminately because there has to be some left to produce more. The world cannot function without humanity, so he makes himself into this open secret. Without the Honmoon and its Hunters, there’s no one alive who could stop him. Even so, the world as we know it still thrives. My friend often comes up to the surface to collect souls, and he’d come back in awe of what aspects of humanity still preserves. Music is one of them, so in the back of my head, I always fear that one day the Hunters will be back and because I’m half, the only of our kind, they will come for me.”

Suddenly, Rangi turns around. Mira is already looking at her, watching for her every frown, but brown eyes practically staring her down somehow still takes her aback.

“And then I met you.” 

Mira gasps. Blinks. For once, she doesn't know what to say.

“I met you and all of a sudden, nothing makes sense.” Hands still intertwined, Rangi tentatively brushes Mira’s knuckles with her thumb. If Mira’s heart skips a beat, then no one else needs to know. “Gwima said Hunters were merciless beasts who killed every demon in sight, but not you. You helped me, you kept me safe from your mentor, you gave me shelter and food and the clothes on my back, without wanting anything in return, and I’m so grateful, more than I can say. But it makes me realize, maybe there is more to life than what I've been told.” 

Rangi gets closer, the distance between them on the grass less significant than it was before. Mira holds her breath. 

“You chose to be kind despite everything you’ve been taught, and it brings up the question, can I do the same? Is there more to me than just this heir to a title I don’t want?”

Mira nods, a little dumbly. Automatically. She’s resorting to instinct so she doesn’t freak out about how close they are.

“I know you have good in you.”

“How?” Rangi asks, voice low. 

Dangerous, her mind warns. “Because you wouldn’t be doubting yourself if you didn’t.”

Rangi’s eyelashes flutter twice, before her gaze lowers. There’s no mistaking where her attention is at, Rangi’s whole body language freely broadcasting a sultry kind of signal, an intention Mira knows all too well from her rebellious youth. 

The gap closes slowly and surely, the tension in the air thickens with every breath they take or don’t. Mira can’t move, can’t blink, can’t even breathe, frozen by the implication of what might happen. 

What could happen, if she lets it. 

If she just closes the gap, if she just closes her eyes, if she just—

“Thank you for always making breakfast.” 

Mira blinks once, twice, and suddenly Rangi is too close. Too fast. Too much.

Wrong. 

Without all her usual grace, Mira launches herself away. Their hands break apart in a single snap, the ensuing awkward silence only worsening as Mira can’t gather the courage to look Rangi in the eye. 

“You know,” Mira tries, her voice high-pitched and broken like a teenage boy. “Rumi has trouble accepting her demon self, just like you with your human self. Maybe you guys should have a proper talk, come to an actual understanding.” 

It’s probably the worst (or best?) way to dispel an awkwardness spurred by a friend who is an alternative version of the girl you have loved your life but is not actually her trying to kiss you, but what else is Mira supposed to do?

Rangi is beautiful, strong, confident, funny, and so much more. But she’s not Rumi, not really. Nothing bad can come out of this, surely, but Mira just can’t.

Mira’s been in love with Rumi since before she even knew what it meant to be with someone like that. For her, it’s Rumi or no one else.

“Rumi, huh?” Even if this wonderful soul also has Rumi’s dejected face and Rumi’s bittersweet smile. Even if. “I can try, but I don’t think she’ll help me. I think she hates my guts.” 

There’s no point in giving useless and false reassurance, but still Mira wants to help. Wants to do something about the heartbreak she just put in those gorgeous brown eyes.

“For what it’s worth, Rumi is really trying.”

“Yeah.” Rangi nods, her smile pleasantly empty. “I don’t doubt it.”

Then, before Mira can say anything else, Rangi abruptly leans in and kisses her on the cheek. It’s light, barely a peck, but the emotions it stirs up in her can be only described as a tidal wave coming to drown her.

Suddenly being at the bottom of the ocean no longer seems peaceful.

“Thank you for the talk, Mira. I really appreciate it.” 

Rangi pulls back without lingering, and despite knowing it's for the best, Mira can't help but feel disheartened. 

As if summoned by a higher deity, Mira’s phone vibrates several times. She fishes it out of her pocket with surprisingly clumsy fingers, automatically smiling when she sees the contact name lit up across her screen.

Mira taps on the notification and is immediately directed to their family group chat, HUNTR/X SHOW THIS, where Zoey has fired off some more messages in the time it took for Mira to check.

zorro 🐢

[2929.jpg]

yooooo

LOOK

RUMI MADE DINNER

AND IT LOOKS SO GOOD

you both have 5 minutes to get here

before i eat it all

this is your final warning

i am STARVIBG

Just when Mira thinks her smile can't get any wider, Rumi’s name pops up too.

ruru 🐯

Zoey's being serious. I’m restraining her as we speak. 

Come home, you two.

Dinner’s ready. 

If Mira’s a wizard in the kitchen, then Rumi is fucking Merlin.

No one knows how she does it, but everything Rumi makes somehow tastes like it’s been touched by Midas and bathed in liquid gold. 

There's no recipe, no measure, no nothing, just a self-assured smirk that turns into a bashful smile every time Mira and Zoey dogpile her in gospels of awe and complimentary cuddles. 

Excited, Mira hurriedly pockets her phone and stands up.

“We should go home. Rumi’s making dinner.”

Rangi follows her, easily accepting Mira’s outstretched hand. 

“You sound like you just won a lottery.”

“I might as well have.” Rangi laughs, and Mira… Mira doesn't let go. Rangi looks at their hands then at Mira again. Who tries to keep smiling. “Come on. If we hurry, we can make it before Zoey starts chewing on ice cubes and spitting it in the pot in frustration.”

Rangi nods, allowing herself to be led away. Mira holds her hand throughout the whole thing.

It's the least Mira can do after breaking Rangi’s heart. 

Chapter Text

Mira’s favorite part about making love to a woman is the way her palms are usually big enough to fit snugly on her waist. 

How fragile and small she is, and how powerful it makes Mira feel. 

Growing up the way she did, Mira has never liked to feel powerless. She craves it like a man dying of thirst, clutching with her claws and would bare teeth if anyone dares take it away from her. 

Her hips stutter at the mere thought, before ramping up again. The body underneath her spasms with shock, before gravity forces her to keep thrusting forward in sync with Mira’s impassioned pounding.

“Oh, oh… just like that…”

Mira’s nails turn to claws, digging into soft, precious skin. A high-pitched moan ripples from one end to the other, the harness wrapped around her waist almost squeezing into her flesh. 

“Do you like that?”

“Yes…” A perfect, pear-shaped butt slams harder against her pelvis. The impact is downright debauched and filthy, but what gets Mira’s ears to reach peak temperature is the subtle squelch. She’s so wet already. “Yes, yes—”

A groan catches in the back of her throat, Mira desperately blinks the stars and the suns out of her eyes. Her hands slip a little lower from an hourglass-shaped waistline to the bouncing plumpness soaked in sweat and other types of wetness. 

“You look so good,” Mira pants, never once stopping her thrusts. “So beautiful, taking my cock so well.”

Her partner arches forward as another moan slips through. Mira sees her trembling arms before anything else, acting on instinct and reaching over to hold her up, preventing her from faceplanting on the pillow or the bed. 

And if those hands happen to land squarely on her breasts, then what’s the problem?

“Oh, yes!” When Mira squeezes them, feels them bounce and sweat in her big hands. They’re so soft, and they fit perfectly. Like they were made for her to grope. “Touch me, touch me please…”

“I am touching you.” Mira says with almost amusement, tweaking the hard nipples in between her index and middle fingers. The squelches are louder now, and so are her moans. “God, you’re soaked. You’re cumming so much on my cock, I can practically feel your pussy warm, wet and clenching on me.”

Timing it just right, Mira puts all her energy into the next thrusts, practically slamming her whole lower body into the one at her mercy. Her partner wails into the night, pushing her ass back like an angel asking to be ruined. 

“Baby, please—” 

Mira thrusts harder. Faster. Drilling the strap further into her. 

“Tell me how good it feels. Use your pretty mouth.”

“It’s so good, so good— more, I need more—” SLAP. A red palm-sized handprint now marks the spot on that gorgeous piece of ass. Mira’s bed partner is gushing now, dripping onto the bedsheets and down Mira’s legs. “Fuck, Mira! Mira, I need you!”

Mira blinks, sweating stardusts. She blinks again, and suddenly she sees purple.

Purple like the flowers her grandma used to buy every month for her late husband. Purple like the eggplant she remembered hating the taste but tolerated in fried rice. Purple like the hair of an angel who asked her to sit down on a cold patio and shared a jacket and later a home.

Purple like Rumi.

This is Rumi.

“Mira, please!”

This is her best friend she’s fucking. She’s fucking Rumi.

“Baby, baby please, I need you. I’m so close.”

She’s making Rumi come. She’s making Rumi beg. 

Mira laughs with glee and drives the cock deep into Rumi, who howls with a song that has only Mira’s name as its lyrics. 

It’s not enough. It’s never going to be enough.

“You ready for another one, Rumi?”

The body beneath her— Rumi’s, groans so prettily Mira almost forgets her words. Her pussy, Mira’s cock still lodged inside, clenches around the shaft like her body wants it before her brain does. 

Mira asks again. “Rumi?”

“Yes, yes,” Finally. “Oh!”

Inhibition disrobed, Mira now fucks Rumi like she means it. Her brain shifts through the events of the last five minutes, driving home the fact that it’s Rumi’s ass she’s spanking raw and red, it’s Rumi’s breasts she’s squeezing and bouncing in her hands, and it’s Rumi’s pussy she’s putting her fake cock inside.

“So good, so good for me.” Mira’s lips drip with praise and saliva, her heart thundering and rattling the insides of her chest. “Fuck, Rumi, you’re so beautiful.”

Taking all of Mira’s cock without the mercy nor the restraint she had before, Rumi can do nothing but moan. They’re incoherent and slobbering wet, her drools mixing with her sweats, Rumi’s sculpted biceps bulging in desperate efforts to hold herself up lest Mira pounds her into the bedsheet, but by god do they make Mira feel ten feet tall.

Rumi looks so beautiful like this, on all fours with her ass up in the sky and her pussy taking all of Mira’s cock. Her breasts are jiggling with her every thrust, and every moan she makes, words or not, feels like she's screaming Mira’s name over and over again.

It does something to Mira, this surge of power at finally having the girl she’s dreamed about since she was young writhing underneath her, begging for her. Mira feels so powerful, so confident, that she doesn't even blink when another pair of hands appears out of thin air and sprawls across her naked chest.

“Don't forget about me.”

Mira blinks, and suddenly she’s yanked by her tie into a kiss. 

Was she always wearing a tie? Oh who gives a fuck. 

“Hmm, you taste sweet. Like strawberries.”

Mira kisses back, because she recognizes the voice. She heard it just now.

“I knew you would come around. You can’t resist me for long.”

Mira kisses with all she has, her hands framing a small face and caressing soft, supple skin. All the while her hips never stop moving, thrusting that silicon cock into warm, wet squelching. 

Mira wants more, hands sliding down to cup full, soft breasts. The moan muffled by her tongue swiping her mouth open is more delicious than any meal, Mira’s hips stutter for a beat before picking up its haste.

Somewhere between sticking her tongue down her throat while rubbing her hard nipples with her fingers, Mira’s hazy mind comes to a startling realization.

If Rumi is the one she is fucking stupid, then who is this she’s kissing?

“Open your eyes. I want you to see how wet I am for you.”

Mira obeys, eyes widening in recognition of purple. 

It’s Rangi. Her hair is mussed up, her mouth swollen with slicks of saliva, and her naked breasts are heaving under Mira’s hands. 

She’s wearing Mira’s borrowed flannel shirt and nothing else underneath. Her braid is in wild disarray, pouring down her back with unruly strands sticking to her skin and framing her gorgeous face. The shirt drapes over her muscular shoulders like a super model flaunting her shit, fabric bunching at her elbows and pushing her magnificent breasts together.

They look big. They would fit perfectly in Mira’s mouth. 

Rangi’s smile curls when Mira’s fingers don’t stop moving down her side, reaching in between her legs for a wetness that’s practically calling Mira’s name.

Beautiful lips part open in need, amber eyes shining in the night. She looks like a predator, Mira is the prey, and fuck, she really doesn't want to run away. 

“You want this,” Rangi moans, her own hips gyrating in circles, looking for relief that Mira will soon give her. “You can have this. Both her and I. You can fuck her with your cock and me with your fingers. We want you. We’ve wanted you for so long.”

As if on command, Mira’s hips work faster. Writhing underneath her, Rumi screams in surprise before following her lead. There’s more liquid dripping down the bed, and her best friend’s moans are bouncing off the walls.

Rangi moans like she’s the one fucked hard and fast from behind, her hips doing a little wiggle that melts Mira’s brain cells out of her ears. 

Mira keeps up the momentum, moving her fingers where they are wanted. 

The sultry moan of her name spilled from Rangi’s lips is swallowed by Mira’s tongue, who clutches Rangi by the waist with one hand to keep her close. Rangi’s breasts bounce softly in time with her gyrating hips, sweat-soaked skin deliciously pressed against Mira’s naked chest. 

“Yes, Mira. Fuck me like I know you’ve been dying to.”

Mira starts with two fingers right off the bat, muffling Rangi’s startled whimper by biting harshly down her bottom lip. She moves her lips at the same time as she moves her hand, finding the sweaty juncture of Rangi’s neck and latching on, before thrusting her fingers inside Rangi’s dripping core.

Her cock in Rumi’s pussy. Her fingers in Rangi’s. Mira is living the life.

Her libido finally starts revving, lighting a fire deep inside Mira’s belly that spreads with every filthy slap of skin against skin. It builds its own momentum as her third finger enters Rangi’s folds, then comes close to eruption when Rangi’s broken moans sputter in her drooling mouth, her entire hand trapped by Rangi’s clenching pussy. 

“Yes, yes. Oh, I’m coming. I’m coming.”

Rangi rides out her orgasm with her tongue in Mira’s throat and her hands on Mira’s tits. 

Mira doesn't let her go immediately, switching to sucking on those protruding, adorable nipples. Hands card through her hair to yank, the flash of pain sending a jolt of lightning straight down her spine. 

Lightheaded, Mira doesn’t realize the abrupt way her world is tilting and their position changing until she suddenly finds herself sprawled out on her back.

“You were mine first.”

Then, as if she was nothing more than a base for the toy, Rumi starts slamming herself down on Mira’s cock with a vengeance. The sight of Rumi sitting on top of Mira, soaked in cum and sweat, full breasts bouncing and abs flexing as she tries to practically impale herself on Mira’s cock, brown hooded in pure desire and devotion, serves as the last flicker of light it needs for the fire in her to erupt. 

In desperate need of Rumi’s touch, Mira sits up just enough to take Rumi in her arms, who wraps hers around Mira’s neck as they move together to reach their peaks. 

“I’m yours, I’ve always been yours.”

“Good. Good. I don’t like sharing.” 

Mira times her hips thrusts so they meet Rumi, who keeps panting and making these pathetic, almost mewing sounds in her ears as she tries to meet Mira stroke for stroke. 

“You feel so good. So right in my arms.”

“Mira, Mira—“

“Fuck! I’m so close, Rumi…”

“Let go, Mira. Oh, yes, with me— just like that, oh fuck—“

“You’re beautiful. You’re so beautiful. I want to come so hard the only thing I’ll remember is your name.”

“I’m coming. Almost, I’m almost there— fuck, baby, I can’t think when you fuck me so good like that—“

“What— oh fuck, what are you… thinking…”

“Oh! Oh! I’m so close!”

“Rumi? Baby?”

“Mira, I—”

“Say it. Say it, Rumi.”

“I— I love you!”

Mira wakes up with a gasp.

Blinking dazedly at the ceiling, the same sky blue that’s also present in hers and Zoey’s room, Mira tries to come back to herself.

Her sticky, flushed, undoubtedly horny self.

“Oh fuck,” Mira groans quietly, eyes half-lid in mortification and exhaustion from her heart beating like a drum in her chest. “Just when I thought I got it under control…”

It, being her incessant and inappropriate attraction to Rangi. Who, by all means, doesn’t belong in this world and thus to her. 

Who was the embodiment of temptation in mortal form.

Who looked at Mira like she was something to be desired and not feared. 

Who tried to kiss her and looked downright heartbroken when Mira rejected her.

Who smiled like it didn’t hurt and let Mira bring her home as if Mira wasn’t yet another person who abandoned her.

Who, despite her best efforts, Mira couldn’t love. Not yet.

“I need water.”

After a decade of being surrounded by vultures, Mira has learned to be quiet even when she’s upset. Especially so. 

In a blink of an eye, Mira grabs her glasses from the nightstand and bolts into the ensuite bathroom. They’ve barely hung on her nose bridge when Mira is forced to stare at her own reflection.

Mira looks wretched. That’s the only way she can describe it. 

Her bangs are soaked with her own sweats, her chest heaving in a way that can’t be considered healthy. Mira puts a hand over her heart, eyes snapping shut as she tries to get either it or her breathing to slow down.

“Come on, Mira. This is nothing worth fussing over.”

Says easier than done, when Mira can still feel Rumi’s and Rangi’s hands all over her. It should feel good, but all Mira has in her heart is guilt.

Guilt for not reciprocating Rangi’s feelings. Guilt for harboring her own for Rumi. Guilt for making herself the center of attention and causing everything to be more complicated than it should be.

“No.” Mira snaps at herself, careful to be quiet so she doesn’t wake anyone but enough to get the point across. “You cannot do this to yourself anymore. You’ve been through too much to go back to being that pathetic, attention-whore of a brat who had a spine made of jelly.”

Gripping the porcelain sink, Mira forces herself to breathe. To remember all those months in therapy, all those months determined to raise hell because she knew damn well her parents sent her here not so they could understand her but to convert her. 

It wasn’t necessary. Her therapist was a light at the end of Mira’s tunnel. 

If he was here now, he would tell her to keep breathing. He would tell her that it’s not her fault. 

It’s not her fault that she’s already given her heart away and didn’t want it back. It’s not her fault that she can’t live up to expectations she didn’t even know existed. It’s not her fault she doesn’t want this, doesn’t want anyone else but Rumi. 

It’s not her fault.

It’s not her fault.

It’s not my fault. 

Mira gasps, a smile unfurling without care. 

Everyone likes to say Mira is a confident person. 

She’s practically always overflowing with it, from the way her eyes nonchalantly scan every face in the room like they’re all here to waste her time, the way her arms and legs moving through the choreography with a knife-like self-assuredness every time, or even just the way she can walk into a room and know without a doubt that everyone is craning their neck back to look.

But what everyone doesn’t know, not that Mira would ever allow them to, is that this confidence was forged out of blood and bones. 

Because as a child, Mira learned the hardest lesson of them all. Once she starts feeling comfortable in her own skin, Mira learns to accept the harsh fact that it means no one’s going to love her forever for it. People want change, people want to be accommodated. In some estranged, forceful way, Mira learned how to love herself. 

Enough to know not everything is about her. Enough to know not everything has to be about her. 

Rangi fell for Mira on her own accord. Mira fell for Rumi like how Icarus flung himself into the sun. 

Willingly. Happily. There’s no fault here.

“No one is at fault here. You’re okay.” Mira repeats, grip loosening on the sink. Her skin has turned ghoulishly pale from the inhuman strength she used to choke it. She gives one last exhale before opening her eyes, promptly cringing upon seeing who’s looking back. “And you look like shit, holy crap.” 

Thanking her past self for the habit of storing emergency clothes in every bathroom of the penthouse, Mira finds a thin t-shirt and a pair of shorts. She takes off her old pajamas, the llama onesie that Zoey gifted her last year for her birthday, and diligently wipes her body with a cool, wet towel before redressing. 

Mira contemplates hopping into the shower to wash her hair, but frowns at what must surely be the late hour before deciding she’ll just take a morning shower instead.

That’s the easy part. 

Now comes the hard part, crawling back into bed with whom she just dreamed about fucking face-first into the bedsheets.

Cheeks colored, Mira tentatively opens the bathroom door. A noise of confusion escapes her when she sees Rumi’s side of the bed is empty— was it like that when she left? 

“Rumi?” She calls softly. Uselessly, as she finds Rumi almost immediately after stepping out of the bathroom. “Oh.”

Yet another courtesy they gave their eldest member is the gigantic porch that overlooks about two thirds of Seoul. Mira remembers briefly feeling jealous, but one look at Rumi’s excited face at the prospect of stargazing— a hobby she never verbalized but Mira and Zoey both knew from constant late night practices and bonding cool-downs at the training compound— and Mira promptly shut up. 

That’s where Rumi is now, her little purple head barely peeking over the top of the bean bag Mira remembers as one of Rumi’s rare impulsive purchases. Taking a peek at the clock, Mira winces at the late hour before nodding determinedly to herself.

No point in sleeping if she’s going to do it alone.

Rumi doesn’t look up even after Mira steps outside and closes the sliding door behind her, sprawled out on the chair like she wants it to swallow her whole. 

Anyone else would've taken the hint and left her alone, but not Mira. Who wordlessly pokes a long finger into soft flesh, smirking at the instinctive hiss escaping Rumi’s lips before it’s replaced by a resigned sigh. 

Mira doesn't bother hiding her glee at getting her way, pressing her grin into the back of Rumi’s neck once they’ve settled into a comfortable position, Mira on the bean bag chair and Rumi in between her legs.

They do this all the time. There's no reason for Mira to blush.

A soft hand tugs at the end of her pink hair. Mira recognizes it for what it is.

As trainees, Mira and Rumi were often told their hair could be what makes or breaks them. Celine once called them liabilities due to their freakish length, making them run training drills for hours to the point that their hair becomes like an extension of their body.

Somewhere along the way, they’ve made up a language of their own. Silent care in every tug of lock of hair, a wordless how are you in every stroke and I’m here in the twirls. 

Rumi sighs, all breathy and at home, when Mira tangles her fingers in her nape. Baby hairs soft and silky on her fingertips, but no more than the words swelling in Mira’s chest and burning her tongue.

This is what it feels like to be in love.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Mira hears Rumi sigh, not out of pleasure but exhaustion. Like the bones in her ribcage are creaking under the weight of her emotional turmoil.

“Bad dreams.” Rumi pauses. It’s loaded. “Sad ones too.” 

It’s not an unusual occurrence for Rumi to have nightmares, Mira suspects it hasn’t been for a long time. There’s a tired note to her voice and gravel in her throat, and Mira feels so helpless every time this happens. 

But she can’t fight the monsters inside Rumi’s head. No one else can.

“Wanna talk about it?” Mira asks instead, her words a poor replacement for a sword in Rumi’s hand.

But Rumi’s never been much of a fighter outside of obligation. “No.” She nuzzles deeper into Mira’s shoulder as if in apology, her cold nose pressing against Mira’s skin. “Talk to me about something else.” 

Mira hums. “Like what?”

A shrug. “Like you and Rangi.”

“Yes, Mira. Fuck me like I know you’ve been dying to.”

It’s thanks to years of perfecting her nonchalant demeanor that Mira doesn’t outright choke on her own spit. Her only sign of panic is the way she curls her arms around Rumi’s waist tighter, earning a confused noise from the girl in her lap.

Quickly, Mira tries to diffuse. “Uh, what about me and Rangi?” 

Rumi’s brows furrow, but whatever she is thinking, it’s not worth mentioning.

“You guys seem to have gotten really close.” 

“I took her to the park.” Rumi makes a puffy noise Mira doesn’t understand. “She was bored. The weather was nice. It wasn’t anything more.”

“Is that so?”

It’s like she’s talking to a jealous girlfriend. Mira only wishes.

“What’s this really about?” Mira tilts her head sideways, fully making eye contact with Rumi. “You’re not still on the she who can’t be trusted tirade?”

“Does it really matter if I am? Clearly, you’ve made up your mind about her without heeding my warning.” 

And Mira foolishly thought they turned over a new leaf, when Mira and Rangi came home from their park hangout to not one but two beaming faces in the kitchen. The table was already set with cutleries and bowls for four, and not once did Rumi make any sniding remark about and/or towards during the whole meal, even smiling tentatively and pushing the gigantic bowl of kimchi jjigae in Rangi’s direction, who only blinked in slight bewilderment before eagerly slurping on her every spoon. 

The side of her head throbs with frustration, the kind that only appears when there's tension and hostility around, because in her childhood, it usually means she’s the one to blame. 

Problem child indeed. 

Already deprived of sleep and just barely recovering from an emotional breakdown of her own, Mira is one second away from snapping or, worse, pushing Rumi off her lap and leaving. 

But before she can, Rumi’s arms are sliding around her neck and pining her down. Mira freezes comically in time to see Rumi practically clambering for purchase on her shoulders, putting even more strength as if trying to keep Mira from leaving.

“Wait, don’t leave.” Oh that is what she is doing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to— this is all coming out wrong— I was going to, I didn’t mean to—“

As adorable as it is watching Rumi stutter, Mira is aware she is one glance away from getting an eyeful down Rumi’s sleep shirt, a baggy off-shouldered piece that shows off her patterns, her collarbones, and that ridiculous cleavage with no bra to contain it. 

Heavens above, I’m being tested by the ghost of Hayley Kiyoko. 

She’s still alive.

The point stands.

“Rumi, it’s okay.” Mira stops the mini rant before it can escalate into a panic attack, holding Rumi’s face with her hands and keeping it there. “Breathe. I don’t need you dying on me.”

“That wouldn’t happen.” Rumi laughs, high-pitched, awkward, and slightly gargled from Mira’s hands squishing her cheeks. “Sorry. I got weird. Can you let me go please?” 

Mira nods, but slowly removes her hands as if threatening to do it again if Rumi spirals. That earns her a fond eyeroll, lighting up a singular torch inside Mira’s belly. 

It's really unfair how pretty Rumi is all the damn time.

“Talk to me.” Mira says once Rumi is settled, now lying sideways to optimize eye contact.

“I’m not sure I know where to begin.” Rumi confesses, her gaze darting from Mira’s eyes to her own hands, fidgeting in her lap. “Look, I’ve been doing some thinking. Reflecting, as you might say, and I came to the realization that I might've not been entirely fair to Rangi.”

That's a really good start. But Mira tries not to get her hopes up too much.

Rumi takes a deep breath, summoning her courage. Mira has faith in her, and she tries to convey that by putting her palm up in offering. 

The way they both sigh in relief at first touch goes unsaid. 

“All my life, I thought I was a mistake.” Rumi laughs, all resigned truth and cyanide. Mira fears she’s going to be sick. “I still think I am sometimes, if I’m being honest.”

Mira wheezes, pained and heart-sick. It has the unintended effect of getting Rumi to look up, but the lack of falseness in those warm eyes just about breaks Mira’s spine in half, with how hard she wants to crumble in Rumi’s arms and tells her that she’s wrong. 

Rumi smiles like she knows, like she understands, like she can see how much agony she’s putting Mira through when she says things like that.

But they’ve always been honest. Sans demon patterns and unrequited feelings, Mira and Rumi have always been honest— it’s just their own shitty luck that the other couldn’t understand what they wanted to say.

“When I look at her, I think about what would’ve been like if my parents survived.”

Mira’s grip on Rumi’s hand tightens to the point of flesh bruise. Rumi doesn’t wince once, not even as her patterns shimmer a dull, ash-like gray. 

“I look at her and I’m constantly reminded of a happiness that will never come true, of a life that never will be. And that’s so, so unfair of me, because that life doesn't exist for her either. But she’s like him in ways I’ve been told was wrong my whole life and… All I’ve done since she fell into your lap through that portal was fearing she would hurt you. All because she was a demon. Out of all people, I should've known better. I couldn't even look at myself once I had that realization. I’m… I’m no better than her, Mira.”

Maybe something’s gone to die. Maybe it’s Mira’s last shred of goodwill for Celine.

Words brim on the tip of her tongue, but nothing feels right. 

On one hand, Mira doesn’t want to validate Rumi’s fear of becoming the person who instilled in her such hatred and subsequently put her through so much pain. But on another, Mira also can’t deny Rumi’s gut-punch distrust in Rangi despite being proven several times she has no reason to.

In the end, all Mira can offer is time.

Thankfully it's seemingly what Rumi needs, who sighs in obvious relief and her voice regains a bit of that steely determination Mira is more familiar with.

“I promise I’m trying.”

Mira has heard this before. 

I promise we’re only gone for a few days. I promise this is all we have to do for the week. I promise we won't be mad. 

I promise it's just a cold, I promise I’m okay, I promise I’m not keeping anything from you. 

Rumi can see through her somehow, her lips quivering as her eyes shine with remorseful tears. Mira shushes her gently, a finger on said lips for half a second longer than polite before she pulls back.

If Rumi looks disappointed, Mira tries not to let it get to her head.

“I trust that you will try.” A simple, open-ended statement that doesn't invalidate Rumi’s determination and invites further encouragement to keep her word. Mira knows what she's doing. “And I trust this means you will also try to get along with your doppelgänger? You should hang out together sometimes, you’re both very into horrible TV.”

It's a clumsy attempt to clear the air, but all the breath Mira’s been holding in her chest lets out in a loud, swooning swoop as Rumi bursts into a giggling fit.

Her little wolfcut swaying gently in the wind as she tries to hide her smile behind her hand is more than enough to warrant the gentle, admonishing slap Mira receives for her cheek. 

“You just don't get the epic highs and lows of high school football.”

Mira doesn't bother holding back her incredulous scoff, which only makes Rumi laugh harder. Not wanting to wake Zoey or Rangi on the rare chance they’re anywhere near, Mira tugs Rumi by her waist and pulls her flushed against her chest.

The giggles sputter in shock, and for a moment Mira is afraid she made Rumi feel uncomfortable, but that is before Rumi entangles both hands around Mira’s neck and settles in her embrace like the adorable snuggle bug they’ve always suspected she was.

Mira sighs, all fondness and pride wrapped up in a breathless sound, as she holds her whole world while being at the top of it.

Maybe it's the nectar dosing her in drunken love. Maybe it's the warmth draped all over her like a warm blanket. Maybe it's the world finally quieting down for them to breathe. 

Whatever it is, it's enough to make Mira stupidly brave.

“So what was with all the jealousy?”

Enough for her to not even feel a shred of shame about putting Rumi on the spot, who squirms and groans in her neck like she’s preparing to film an audition tape for the next up-and-coming blockbuster vampire role.

Mira will probably enjoy being sucked off if it's by Rumi. Yeah, she probably will.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” comes a muffled voice that sounds no less than a chipmunk trying to become a human girl. Half-demon, half-human girl in this case.

“Don’t play dumb.” Mira pokes her in the ribs, earning another squeaky grunt but still no Rumi. “Your eyes practically popped lasers every time she got within five feet of me. That can’t be demon-related.”

To tell the truth, Mira is absolutely speaking out of her ass. For all she knows, that’s all there is to it, that Rumi was so distrusting of Rangi that even the sight of her near one of Rumi’s best friends had activated all the alarm bells in her head.

Nevermind the fact that Rumi had no trouble with Rangi getting close to Zoey. Nevermind the fact that Mira is unaware of this too.

“Rumi,” Mira tries again, changing tactics and slipping her cold hand under Rumi’s shirt. She must be really drunk, touching Rumi’s bare skin so daringly. Smiling wickedly when goosebumps explode beneath her fingertips. “Oh, Rumi…”

A sound between a snarl and a whine is all Mira can hear before she finds herself being pinned down the bean bag chair. Just like before, her back is situated all wrong, half of her tipping so far back she almost falls off the thing with a mere backwards tilt of her head.

In turn, her hips are heavy with a sudden weight, a certain Rumi-shaped weight that wiggles and squirms until her legs bracket Mira’s hips with the deathly accuracy of a seasoned hunter and the flexible maneuvering of a skilled dancer. 

Mira looks up, still grinning and dazed. Rumi huffs and puffs so hard Mira can feel the breaths on her lips, parting as if in waiting.

“Damn you.” Rumi pouts, lips puckered. Mira may take more than a single look. “Okay, fine. Maybe I was jealous, just a little.”

“And why is that, tiger?” Mira’s smile widens at the flush of neon pink crawling up Rumi’s cheeks, figuratively and literally, as her patterns have also joined the light show and cast a soft glow on Mira’s own face. 

They are, after all, very close. 

Rumi sputters like she wasn’t expecting that, either the question or the nickname. One more look at Mira’s taunting smile seems to be what she needs to get back her courage, always competitive to a fault, the hands on Mira’s shoulders supporting her as she leans down.

“Because you were mine first.”

I’m forever yours, you idiot. 

“You know I love you.” Hold up, what the fuck? “You and Zoey, I mean. I love you both.”

Good enough, Mira discreetly sighs in relief. Nice save. 

Rumi absorbs Mira’s answer like it physically pains her to do so. 

“Do you love her?”

Mira laughs, all cyanide and bitter guilt. “If we have enough time, maybe.” Continuing on like a woman possessed, Mira asks. “What about you and Jinu?”

“With time.” Rumi frowns at herself like she didn’t mean to say that. “Not like how you think, but if fate had allowed it, he could've gone on to become someone important to me. Like you. And Zoey.” 

Rumi doesn’t even realize she’s crying, not until Mira reaches up to wipe it away. Rumi holds that hand hostage, keeping it in place, while moving the other to the inside of her shirt again. Smooth, supple skin with an undercurrent of coiling heat and power spreads a different kind of warmth down the slippery slope of Mira’s spine.

Mira sinks further into the chair. Rumi follows her like a siren hungry to have her way with a fortunate sailor. 

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you had him.”

There’s a pregnant pause that clearly both of them are expecting the other to fill. Mira takes the reign, mostly because she knows she can’t help herself from staring at Rumi’s lips when they’re all parted and inviting like that.

“As much as I hate that I wasn't there for you, I’m relieved to know that someone else was. You're more important to me, more than my own pride. Plus he saved you. He gave you his soul. He did a lot of bad things, he did one good thing, and maybe neither is all he is. I don’t care about that. I only care about you.”

Neither of them seem to realize just how much closer they’ve gotten. Mira only does when a pink blob sticks out of perfect, plump lips to moisten them, and suddenly she feels like Atlas. 

The dopey smile Mira’s been wearing droops a single centimeter. The situation at hand finally dawns on her. 

Oh shit.

What had she done?

“I should thank Rangi.”

Unknowingly or maliciously, Rumi chooses to speak as she slides her thighs up a bit higher, a bit closer to Mira. The hand inside her shirt seems to have frozen at the small of her back, where Mira can feel the subtle arch of her beautiful body directly on her skin. 

“For what?” Mira asks, her voice practically a goner.

“For helping you understand what he meant to me.” One hand leaves her cheek to wind around her neck, where Rumi surely feels the race of her pulse. “For helping me realize— That's the thing about saving the world, you can save yourself in the process.”

Something hot and eager burns deep in Mira’s stomach, a barely conscious mechanism that works its way from her brain to triggering the flex of her hands. As a result, her palm sprawls across the length of Rumi’s back and gives her one final yank.

Rumi’s squeak of surprise is caught in the back of her throat, a ring of amber materializing around her pupils as Mira slowly and steadily sits up. Their torsos meet with a long, awaited sigh, and Mira is lightheaded enough, in love enough, to delude herself into believing she’s also seeing desire and something equally as beautiful in Rumi’s eyes. 

Mira’s arms slide around her waist, Rumi’s hands wind around Mira’s neck. They can’t tell from where one begins and the other one ends, but nothing seems to matter when they have each other.

Mira has waited a decade for this. Whatever this is. 

“You're very strong, Rumi. I admire that about you.”

“And you’re very kind, Mira. I don’t think you get told that enough.”

Rumi tilts her head first, and it hits Mira just then, what they are about to do. The prospect of having her dream come true keeps her frozen in awe, even as Rumi rubs their noses together in a move so tender, so precious, that it makes the tears leaking out of Mira’s eyes sparkle with diamonds. 

“You’re nervous.” Rumi says, a hidden I’m here and a wordless I got you wrapped up in a little, neat half-demon bow.

Mira can only laugh helplessly, stunned by the grace of the gods for having bestowed upon her this gift, this girl, like she isn’t someone worth a million and a hundred wars forged over. 

“I’m always nervous when I’m with you.” 

Rumi visibly and audibly swoons. 

Mira can try to tell herself however many excuses she wants, but she has looked at that face, has longed to kiss it for too long to not know what that breathy sigh means. 

With that same courage, Mira finally closes the gap.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. 

Or she would have, had there not been for what sounds like a Tyrannosaurus Rex trying to kick down Rumi’s bedroom door.

“Rumi! Mira! Are you guys in here?”

Fucking seriously? Now?

“Oh come on!” Mira throws both hands in genuine agitation, looking over her shoulder to see, yep, the doorknob rattling like crazy under Zoey’s enthusiastic grip. She turns around and looks up at the sky, fully pouting. “Why God? Why now?”

The beautiful figure on her lap— beautiful, sweet and sexy Rumi, with her hair all mussed up and her eyes still heterochromatic, gives a resigned sigh before hopping off of Mira’s legs.

Mira, as stubborn as the day she was born, snatches Rumi’s wrist, her pout now amplified and switching targets.

“We don't have to get that.”

“Oh baby,” Rumi gushes, face properly apologetic. It's at this moment that Mira knows she’s truly lost. “Zoey sounds urgent.”

As if hearing them from all the way in there, Zoey starts knocking louder.

“Rumi! Mira!”

“Coming!” Rumi shouts back, gently pulling her hand away.

Mira maintains her sulk even when Rumi leans down to kiss her on the cheek, pressing a soft I’m sorry into her skin, before dashing back inside the penthouse. Left blushing and frustrated, Mira sighs in resignation and follows Rumi back into the penthouse.

She’s just slid the porch door close behind her when Rumi invites Zoey in.

“Rumi! Mira! Oh thank god, I’ve been calling you for 10 minutes now!”

Mira stands with her arms crossed over her chest, peeved and ready to make a face until Zoey gets on her knees to grovel.

Rumi, as diplomatic as always, is the first to ask. 

“Zo, what's going on?”

Zoey looks at the two of them with big, brown eyes blown wide and her lower lip quivering like she can’t help herself. 

Just like that, Mira’s face loses all traces of amusement and childish sulking. She rushes over to where her girls stand, a hand squeezing Zoey’s shoulder in reflex.

“Zo, what happened? Talk to us.”

Zoey does it again, eyes bouncing back and forth before she finally delivers the news. She looks like she's about to announce the end of the world. 

“Celine just called. Rangi is at the compound and she’s trying to kill her.”

And she very well just did. 

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry, did you just say Rangi is trying to kill Celine?”

Slotting her leg through her joggers with a surprising lack of grace— she blames Rumi and her ability to turn legs into mush— Mira grabs the nearest flannel she can find and drapes it over her shoulders, sleeves rolled up for maximum movement optimization. 

At the door and already dressed in her more typical training leggings and a sleeveless tight tank top, Rumi is staring Zoey down with her arms crossed over her chest, biceps bulging and shimmering patterns. 

It’s such an inopportune moment to find her drippingly sexy.

“I said what I said.” Zoey repeats, her phone cradled in its familiar green case waved wildly in all directions. “I was going to grab Rangi so we could watch the newest episode of our show— (“The one with the blonde and brunette ship that they’ll definitely use to queerbait you?” “Queerbait is only toxic to miserable people!”) but she wasn’t answering. I got worried so I twisted the door knob, thinking it wouldn't budge when it did. Rangi wasn’t inside, but I found this on her bed.”

Rumi takes the iPad they went and bought for Rangi the very day she moved in with a curious look, Mira following suit by flanking her side. 

What she finds on the screen sinks a pit deep in her stomach.

Cause I see your real face and it's ugly as sin.

Time to put you in your place, cause you’re rotten within.

When your patterns start to show, it makes the hatred wanna grow out of my veins.

It's not the cursed performance at the Idol Awards but a leftover recording that they must've forgotten to delete from the cloud, though Mira shudders to think what would happen if that ever resurfaces, having now been scraped off the Internet by Bobby and his frighteningly competent cybersecurity team.

The message of demons are creatures with no feelings who don't deserve to live doesn't have to be presented so outlandishly to land where it should. 

Rangi is a demon. Raised as one, warned of Hunters as a cautionary tale. After everything they’ve been through, this is practically a slap to the face. 

Oh no. 

“Oh no.” 

“Oh no is right.” Zoey makes a sad whimper that pierces straight through Mira’s chest, who is already crumbling inside at the implication of Rangi knowing about this song, about the people they were before their eyes were open to the truth. “She must think we despise her.”

“And now Rangi’s coming for Celine because she thinks she’s the source.”

Mira won’t go and say she’s wrong, though it hardly sounds like her opinion matters on that front at the moment.

Zoey, who’s been bouncing like a fidget ball ever since she arrived, whips her head back and forth between Mira and Rumi, clearly looking for guidance.

“What do we do? We can't just leave Celine to her own device and it’ll take at least an hour to get there by private jet.”

“Not to mention Celine is no longer in top shape and Rangi has a personal vendetta.” Mira continues, very unhelpfully, seeing as she only makes Zoey visibly more scared. “Hey, it's okay. We can figure something out. How about—”

“I can teleport us.”

The force of which Mira’s jaw kisses the ground has to beat a record or two, especially when she registers just how confident Rumi sounds in pulling off a feat none of them even knew she could do in her human form. 

While Mira is quietly dying of thirst, Zoey’s eyes are sparkling with the kind of mischief that sends a frightening shiver down Mira’s spine.

“You can do that without turning into, uh, a demon?”

“I’ve been practicing.” Rumi nods, offering her hands. “Rangi’s… kinda been coaching me?”

Mira blinks, genuinely surprised. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Perhaps mistaking her tone for something else, Rumi hurriedly explains. “I wasn’t keeping it from you. It just happened very recently, like yesterday recent.”

It’s sweet how Rumi tries so hard, really, but Mira is the farthest thing from being peeved. No, she’s ecstatic. 

Alas, now isn’t the time to communicate her appreciation for Rumi’s attempts at constant honesty nor her excitement that Rumi is finally, genuinely getting along with Rangi, if Zoey’s impatient foot tapping is any indication. 

Closing the conversation with a nod, Mira takes Rumi’s hand. Zoey follows suit, her face suspiciously sweaty. She must really be scared for Celine.

“Are you sure we won’t get splinched or something?”

Or that. 

That makes more sense.

“I’ll keep you safe, I promise.” Rumi smiles at Zoey, whose grimace slowly lessens in the face of their resolute leader. It’s yet another trait of Rumi that Mira so wholeheartedly adores, how she can take control of the situation and make everyone feel like there’s hope even when there really should be none. Their very own Supergirl. “Alright, are we ready?”

Mira and Zoey lock eyes, the former conveying the same reassurance Rumi did, before they nod.

“Born ready.”

“Let’s do this.”

Things go a lot smoother than Mira honestly expected they would. 

The events happening from this point onwards are, admittedly, a bit of a blur. 

Teleporting went fine. Almost underwhelmingly so, when Mira realized she didn’t want to throw up or hear the insides of her brain rattle inside her skull like an egg in a jar. Zoey and Rumi were dandy as well, although the former did look a little green in the face before stubbornly swallowing whatever lump in her throat back down.

Gross.

Mira turns around to ask Zoey if she knew Celine said where she was, when a familiar ripple cracks the earth beneath their feet, the Honmoon making a pulsating pink that till this day sends anticipatory shivers down Mira’s spine. 

“Follow the tear.” Rumi commands, already summoning her saingeom. “I can feel her. They should be nearby.”

Mira calls up her woldo and Zoey her sinkals, the three automatically falling into formation as they follow Rumi to the back of the compound, where there sits a long, winding road that leads to a huge open field connecting to the nearby village before it becomes the Hunters’ graveyard site and their seonang tree. 

Whatever Mira was expecting to see, it’s a lot worse.

“Holy shit, that’s a lot of them.”

Biggest understatement of the century if Mira’s ever heard one. 

It's not the biggest horde they’ve ever had the pleasure of encountering— that top spot is reserved for when Mira and Rumi fought on the subway train— but just enough to overwhelm seasoned warriors such as themselves.

Regardless, they never let anything get in their way of protecting the world and that won't stop just because they have a lot more work to do than usual.

“I’ll go find Rangi and Celine. My demon sense can track her.” Rumi barks out orders, her patterns shimmering like stars in response. Her index finger points at the group of Ghouls about to make their way to where the civilians are. “Try to get those things under control. Evacuate as many people as you can. I’ll come find you when my hands are freed.”

Mira wants to object, not comfortable with the idea of sending Rumi into the battlefield alone, especially facing a highly emotional Demon Princess. Zoey shares the sentiment, shooting a look at Mira that she reads as easily as a book.

But there is a reason why Rumi is their chosen leader and it's not just because she’s the oldest. 

Out here on the field and in front of the camera, Rumi is trained to be the best of the best. It's how it's always been and how it always will be, and the face she wears now, steely determination in her eyes and a no-nonsense straightness on her lips, Mira knows there's no point nor reason in arguing.

Zoey knows it too, resignation flashing over her face before they both incline their heads in a low bow.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Rumi nods, pleased. Some of the hardness melts as her eyes bounce between the two of them, an onion of hard-earned responsibility unravelling itself and revealing underneath a tenderness of not a leader but a partner.

“Be safe. Protect each other.”

Zoey and Mira bow again, firmer this time. It's enough for Rumi, who sends Mira a loaded glance before she dashes in the direction of the seonang tree, hair flapping wildly in the wind with how fast she is running.

Without a word, Mira and Zoey take off as well. Their first stop is the earlier group of Ghouls, who snarl and growl as soon as their footsteps are in hearing range. 

Dealing with them is a piece of cake, Mira and Zoey having perfected this dance long before they stepped on an actual stage. 

Where Zoey goes high, Mira goes low. The swoosh of a sinkal landing between a demon’s eyes is always followed by a clean swipe of woldo across its torso, tearing the creature in half and letting it fade back into oblivion.

It’d be easier with Rumi, her saingeom the decisive strike and a beacon of guidance on which demon to target next. But Mira and Zoey have also been trained by the best of the best, so this— clearing the horde and telling the villagers to evacuate— is of no concern.

What does is the deafening silence after the dust has settled. Mira frowns, increasingly concerned at the lack of noise made between a hunter and not one, but two half-demons.

Zoey gently grabs her by the elbow, eyes knowing. 

“Let's go find them. Who knows, maybe Rangi will miraculously calm down once she sees you.” 

It's a clear attempt at a joke, accompanied by an unruly grin that still makes Mira’s cheeks flare with a bit of heat. Mira rolls her eyes before shoving at Zoey’s shoulder, who stumbles dramatically, arms flailing before they attach themselves on Mira’s.

“You’re ridiculous.” Mira says with no insignificant amount of affection. She doesn’t dislodge Zoey either.

“And you’re a Casanova.” Zoey gleefully declares, sticking out her tongue. “Don't think I didn't notice what you and Rumi were doing when I knocked. I tried calling you for 10 minutes, Mira. 10 minutes.”

“Keyword, trying to do.” Mira grumbles, huffing when Zoey butts her head into her chest like an affection-starved cow. “Stop.”

“If only we weren’t in the middle of what looks going to be a bloodbath, I’d so interrogate you about every detail. I know the look of an interrupted first kiss if I’ve ever seen one.” 

Just the mere mention of it makes Mira want to stumble her own feet and stutter like a school girl with a crush.

Zoey sees it, because of course she does. Her bright grin stretches wide, a glint of wickedness in her eyes that ironically proves more dangerous than the horde of demons they just fought. 

Unluckily for her— though the opposite for Mira, the reality of their situation comes crashing back without warning, in the form of a piercing scream that sinks into the pit of their stomachs. 

Mira and Zoey don’t waste another second before promptly following the ripple left behind, the Honmoon shaking in distress unlike anything either of them have ever seen, not even on the night of the Idol Awards. 

There are a few more straggling demons along the way that they handle without problem. 

A couple Ghouls and Goblins that like running their mouths more than swinging their clubs, defeated with a clean slice of Zoey’s sinkal on both sides of their ribs before disintegrating into oblivion by a perfectly-executed roundhouse kick from Mira. 

No sooner than a sudden chill suddenly raising all the hairs at the back of her head, Mira senses the earth crackling once more. Only this time, it’s not the Honmoon who answers.

“Took you long enough.”

By the time she sees pink smoke, it’s too late. 

A hand seizes at Mira’s throat, stopping her panicked shout of Zoey’s name. Their youngest reaches for her too but suffers from the same fate, choking on her own tongue and the syllables of Mira’s name, the claws holding her windpipe hostage pressing down as if gleefully so. Neither can move a muscle or scream for help, rendered completely useless when Rangi effortlessly lifts them into the air and watches as they slowly start to suffocate.

Eyes blurred with tears, Mira can’t help but wonder just who exactly is staring back. 

“Let’s go join your better half.”

If Rumi’s teleportation was smooth and seamless, Rangi’s is anything but. 

The contents of her stomach start upheaving themselves even before Mira’s feet touch the ground, nausea and bile competing against each other to see who can crawl out of her throat first. Despite her ears persistently ringing, Mira still manages to catch the poof of Rangi’s teleportation, who apparently deemed them fine to be left alone.

Why?

Just a few feet away, Zoey has zero qualms about holding back like Mira, the sound of her painful vomiting making Mira close to spitting out blood and God knows what else. 

But she contains herself. Barely. Enough to get a look of her surroundings and find a motionless Celine lying on her stomach with what looks to be blood pooling from her sides. 

“Celine?” No answer. The last shred of Mira’s composure breaks from the middle. “Celine!”

Despite it all, despite everything, it’s still Celine. 

Celine, who took her hand when they finalized the paperwork for Mira to officially begin her training as an idol and, unbeknownst to everyone else, a hunter. Celine, who remembered to send her a happy birthday text that she printed out every year, put them in a frame, and stuffed them in a box under her bed. Celine, who said her parents would’ve been proud of her if only they knew better.

Celine, who ruffled Mira’s hair after every gruesome dance practice. Celine, who put a supportive hand on her shoulder as Mira confronted an asshole red carpet journalist for putting her bandmates on the spot with invasive interview questions. Celine, who made Mira promise she’ll take care of her girls when there comes a time Celine will no longer be around. 

Celine, who looks paler than the moon. 

Celine who is clearly dying.

“Celine, no. Wake up. Please wake up.” Mira can’t find it in herself to be gentle, frantic as she crawls on broken gravel and tries to press her palm on every surface of skin not marred by blood, looking for a pulse. “Celine, you can’t die. You can’t.”

“Mira? What happened— no. No.”

The smell of vomit hits her nose first, before Mira has to shoulder Zoey’s weight after she tries to crash into them with how fast she rushes over. Weird when said out loud, but the sight of Zoey in distress is helpful for how it stirs up the protective and caring instinct Mira knows she’s always had inside her. 

Shushing Zoey’s pained whimpers with a kiss to her temple, feeling sick at the slight tang of blood on her lips, Mira finally pushes herself fully off the ground, her one shoulder used as a headrest for Zoey’s head and the rest of her working on assessing Celine. 

Upon further inspection, Mira is relieved to find Celine is still breathing. It’s weak, but she can make it if received proper medical attention and soon.

That won’t happen, it seems, as twin poofs of smoke appear from somewhere over her shoulder. In the middle of pressing her flannel against Celine’s gushing open wound on her abdomen, Mira hears Zoey curiously peering over to see what’s going on.

“Be my eyes, Zoey.” Mira commands not too softly, hands shaking as she works on making sure their mentor stays alive.

“Rangi is back with Rumi…” Zoey gulps, sounding unusually freaked out. “She looks different. Both of them.” 

As soon as Zoey finishes her sentence, twin roars reverberate through the dead quiet of the night. Mira is so startled that she presses too hard on Celine’s wound, causing the unintended but sorta positive effect of waking her up from her delirious sleep. 

“Mi— Mira?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Mira tries again, deciding to tear off a piece of her flannel to wrap it around Celine’s stomach. She rips it off with her teeth, the sound of fabric tearing coincides with a particularly guttural scream coming from somewhere behind her. “Zoey, what’s happening?” 

Zoey whimpers, almost hiding in Mira’s shoulder. In all the years they’ve known each other, Zoey has never looked so scared.  

“They’re fighting, and I mean really fighting, this time. Rangi isn’t holding back.”

Mira finally finishes with Celine’s wrapping, her body weighed down with an exhaustion that she has no right to feel when the people she loves are in danger. Shushing Celine back to however much rest she can get in this situation, Mira then whips her head around to see the true damage for herself. 

It’s bad. Really bad.

For one thing, Mira can hardly recognize her girls in their new demon forms. 

Rangi looks like she did when they first met, her patterns spread all over her face and body without leaving a single inch bare. Her eyes, even from this distance, are clearly glowing amber and thin slits. But that’s where the resemblance ends, because now Mira is also seeing a pair of tusks protruding out of her mouth, deer-like horns sticking out of her forehead, and pointy ears that swivel like an emergency siren bulb.  

If Rangi is purple, then Rumi is iridescent. The patterns adorning her arms, legs, and the bit of visible abdominal skin peeking out from her lifted tanktop are glowing with a silverish white, coating Rumi in an almost angel-like lighting that’s more mesmerizing than the situation calls for. Only one of her eyes is yellow, although there is no slit. 

Rumi has no horns nor tusks but just like Rangi, she is sporting fangs and elongated claws. The former snaps sharply every time one of them bares their teeth, swinging the latter so pungently it feels like they can tear through the fabric of time and space with a single slash. 

Mira cannot give less of a damn about that, not when Rumi and Rangi are only using those claws on each other. 

Rumi dashes forward, Rangi sidesteps her with a bit of flying. Rangi tries to plunge her claws in Rumi’s eye sockets, Rumi slams the butt of her saingeom in the middle of her face. Rumi swings her saingeom down, Rangi stops the blade dead-on with only her hands and an audacity so brazen it takes Mira’s breath away.

(Hunter weapons don’t work on her, Mira realizes with a jolt.)

It’d be a beautiful dance if Mira’s heart didn’t hurt with Rumi’s every wince of pain. Didn’t twist with every glimpse of Rangi’s heartbreak. Didn’t pale with the sudden realization that they will kill each other if this goes on, for every scratch on Rumi’s cheek is an identical one on Rangi’s own. 

Mira has to do something. 

“Zoey, I’m going in.” 

“What?” Zoey hisses, her small frame somehow looking large and menacing at the prospect of Mira leaving. They’ve taught her so well. “You can’t be serious.”

“We don’t have a choice.” Mira grits out, tossing her unsalvageable flannel over to Zoey, who immediately puts it on. “If I just can get Rangi to talk—”

Zoey scoffs in disbelief. Which is mildly annoying because Mira can really use her full support right now.

“You’re psycho-therapying them? In the middle of all this?”

“Look, if I die, tell my mother I still hate her fucking guts.” 

Mira goes to leave, but the hand seizing her wrist just about rips her whole arm out of its socket with how forceful it is. She blinks as she turns around, shivering at being on the receiving end of one of Zoey’s rarer, but no less genuine, angry scowls.

“Don't you fucking dare joke about that. If you die, I will murder you.”

A lump forms in her throat, not out of fear but understanding. Out of the three of them, Zoey so far has the most difficult time overcoming the fear of losing them, which has always been present since they met but has only grown exponentially more severe since the night of the Idol Awards.

So many nights in the past months have Mira been stirred awake by the smallest knocks on her door, an even smaller Zoey, clutching her favorite turtle plushie that Mira and Rumi painstakingly handmade for her, asking Mira if she could please sleep in her room for the night. 

(She hasn't been able to do that since Rangi came around, and it pains Mira that it takes her this long to notice.)

Mira will always say yes. Now isn't an exception.

“Okay, point taken.” Changing course, Mira twists Zoey’s arm to hold her hand. Zoey grips back inhumanly tight. “Do you trust me?”

“That's not fair.” Zoey hisses, her eyes brimming with tears. “You know I do. More than anyone.”

“Then trust me when I say I’ll be fine.” Mira presses a fleeting, reassuring kiss to Zoey’s temple. Who shudders and clutches Mira tighter. “Zoey—”

“Girls…”

Their heads whip around with a dizzying speed at the sound of Celine’s voice, barely louder than a croak. 

Head still cushioned on Mira’s thighs, Celine’s eyelashes flutter as she tries to peer up at them. Mira automatically wipes the sweaty hair sticking to her forehead, something tender twisting inside her chest when Celine doesn't immediately flinch away like she normally would.

Faults and fears never to be seen and all that.

“You’re going to be okay.” Mira tells her, voice wavering despite herself.

Zoey backs her up, their always and forever source of goodness. “We’ll get you help. You just need to hang on for a bit longer. You’re going to be okay, Celine.”

A dark chuckle pierces through whatever semblance of peace they had, followed by a sickening crack of something hard colliding against the floor. Mira and Zoey instinctively turn, both just about screaming themselves hoarse when they realize it’s Rumi who went flying.

“Rumi!”

“No!”

Approaching footsteps stops Mira from leaving Celine to go to Rumi, leaving the task to a fumbling Zoey, whose knees skid painfully across the gravel without care. Mira can’t afford to either, gaze locked on a limping Rangi with a hand clutching her ribs.

They make eye contact, Mira immediately tenses and subconsciously pulls Celine closer to her chest. Rangi’s eyes narrow at the action, the glimpse of hurt unmistakable despite the smile she wears.

“I knew it. I knew you’d picked her over me.”

“It doesn’t have to be a choice.” Mira immediately retorts, her glasses slipping from the sweat dripping down her forehead and her nose. “It doesn’t have to be like this. What you heard—”

“—Is what she’s been teaching you.” Rangi scoffs, tail thrashing wildly behind her back. Mira didn’t even notice she grew one, has she always had one? “She fills your head with garbage, with hatred for our kind. With words that deform your Rumi’s sense of self-worth and make her think her own birth was a mistake, and yet you still want to protect her?”

Mira clenches her jaw, a gesture that Rangi clocks and pounces on with glee. 

“You see it too, what Celine put her through. All those years of hiding, of thinking she’s not enough, of thinking the world would be better off without her. Staring at Zoey like she’s a comet, a wish too good to be true, and you’re her sun, forced to look away from but can't live without.” 

It hurts. It genuinely does, every time Mira remembers Rumi has been alone in her pain all her life, remembers that night backstage where Rumi begged them not to leave and they did anyway. 

And the culprit is here, in her arms, helpless and defenseless. Looking like she’s ready to accept death’s cold embrace as repentance. 

How dare she…

A claw tilts Mira up by the chin, forcing her to look up into the eyes of a monster. Who snarls and grins like she’s just been waiting for this day to come.

Mira knows that’s not true. 

“You can deny it all you want, but deep down we both know you want to hurt her just as badly as I do. That’s who you are, Mira. You’re angry, you feel betrayed, and you want to make those who hurt you suffer the same way you did. You and I, we’re not so different.”

Anyone lesser and they’d have missed it— the way Rangi’s patterns flare a familiar shade of hot pink, the way her head twitches to the side like she’s having a headache, or even just the way her mouth is moving but no one can hear a word.

Like she’s talking to herself. Telling herself things that are just awful. 

Hurtful. 

Untrue. 

Mira knows this. Mira has seen this. 

Mira felt this, just before she took the final step into the pink fire that would have taken her away from Rumi and Zoey forever. 

She knows what she has to do. 

“I’m nothing like you.” 

In Rangi’s place stood Gwima, and he’s out for blood. 

Any semblance of a smile is immediately wiped away, Rangi’s body shaking in poorly-suppressed rage. Mira quietly moves Celine on the ground, getting herself ready for what is surely going to be a bloodbath. She sends Zoey a mental apology, hoping she’ll stay alive to actually say it to her, and Rangi too, for the heartbreak and betrayal are more potent and carved on every inch of her face now.

But if there’s one thing about being a Hunter that Mira has been forced to accept, it’s that things just happen.

Like that one time where they went to perform at one of the biggest award shows of the year and found out, in the cruelest of ways, that their third was actually of demon blood all along. Every surprise afterwards pales in comparison, even this one where Celine perks up from her spot on the floor, bloody and pale, to say the one thing Mira really, really wishes she didn’t.

“I’m sorry.”

Screw this. Let’s just try to knock her out first.

Mira moves before Rangi can retaliate in the worst possible way, thrusting her leg out and slamming her foot into Rangi’s stomach. The resulting twin wheezes of pain are muffled by Mira’s victorious roar, who charges ahead and meets Rangi head-on. 

The butt of her woldo meets Rangi’s other rib without hesitation, making the half-demon yelp in pain as she clutches both her sides. Mira doesn’t wait, dematerializing her weapon so she can grab Rangi’s collar with her bare hands. 

Adding Rumi to the list of apologies, Mira begins punching. Left hook, right hook, just anywhere she can reach. Holding Rangi up by one hand and continuously bashing her face in with the other. Then finally, she slams their noses together, the sound of their skulls colliding making a sickening crack that makes her see not only stars but the sun at midnight. 

But Mira forgets, Rangi is not human. So when she stumbles back for just a second to reorient herself, Rangi is spitting out a broken tooth and unsheathing her claws. Ears ringing, Mira fails to pick up on the sound of thundering footsteps, not until they’re only a foot away.

The sharp steel scratching the left side of her face is so painful Mira has no choice but to cry out, tears mixed in with blood blocking her vision, eyes closing shut to prevent the broken pieces of her glasses from piercing her cornea. 

Her suffering is continuous though, with another slash on her upper torso and a punch delivered straight to her stomach that makes her bend over, followed by Mira being swiftly knocked out by a powerful kick to the side of her head. 

From Mira’s mouth comes pouring out blood and bile, both of which spill onto the gravel as Rangi grabs Mira by the throat and throws her a good distance away. Back meeting the trunk of their seonang tree, Mira lands in a heap of her own sweat and god knows what else, surrounded by a warmth she immediately recognizes as her girls. 

“Mira! Mira!”

“Holy crap, that’s definitely a bruised rib. She almost tore your chest out. How do you not have a broken neck? And your face, oh my god, your face. Mira, are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” Mira says, while not being okay. “Rangi… Rumi…”

“I’m here. I’m here, baby.” A gentle hand helps support her head, Mira blinking blarily to see shapes of purple. How does Rumi still look so beautiful? “Shit, you’re hurt.”

Another hand assists Rumi with her task, tilting Mira’s head just so. Zoey comes into view then, a blur of black with snots and tears running down her face.

“Literally what the fuck did I just say about you getting yourself killed?”

“That you’d murder me…” Mira smiles weakly, heart-ache at the pure look of devastation on her girls’ faces. “I’ll be fine. We just… Rumi, you need to talk to Rangi.”

Both Rumi and Zoey make a disbelieving noise, but only Rumi sticks around to hear Mira explain. Zoey, after a quick glance over her shoulders, steels her face in determination and summons her sinkal. 

“I’ll buy you some time, but make this quick.”

Mira chuckles, stubbornly leaning up to press a weak kiss to Zoey’s temple. 

“You got this, bub.”

Zoey laughs wetly, her tears making her scoff sound like a wheeze. “Yeah, yeah. I love you too.”

No sooner than when Zoey lets out a vicious battle cry, Rumi is grabbing Mira by the cheeks. It’d hurt if it didn’t feel so nice.

“What are you playing at?”

“Nothing.” Mira answers, more gut-punch than anything. “Well, no. Not nothing. Hear me out—”

“Nothing good ever comes out of that sentence.”

“Please,” Rumi sighs, acquiescing. “Rangi is hearing Gwima in her head.”

Rumi blinks, half brown half golden eyes open wide. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Mira nods, weakly gesturing at the fight a few feet away from them with her index finger. “I recognize the pattern flare. How her head twitched like she’s suffering from intrusive thoughts.”

“Okay?” Rumi evidently does not know where Mira is going with this. 

“So you have to snap her out of it.” Mira stops Rumi before she can object, by putting that same finger against Rumi’s lips. If she’s blushing a little under all the blood, then who can blame her? “Do what you did when you stopped Gwima that night.”

Rumi balks, as if the idea itself is ridiculous. “I wasn’t exactly acting alone that night. You and Zoey—”

“You broke us out of his trance.” Mira interrupts, losing too much energy to be arguing over semantics. She's already having a lot of difficulty seeing with only one eye, the other practically covered in blood. “It was your voice who brought us back. It was you who gave us back our soul. I felt your soul reach out to mine before you even sang the first note. Out of all of us, you can save her.”

It might be the blood loss. It might be her piss poor vision. It might even be the exhaustion and delirium just now fully sinking in. But Mira could’ve sworn Rumi looks like she’s about to kiss her.

“I really want to kiss you right now.”

Oh.

Oh. 

“Oh, um…” Mira coughs, embarrassingly flustered. “I mean, I won’t complain. Like, really. If you wanna do it, I won’t stop you. Totally up to you. No pressure.”

Rumi grins like Mira’s the most adorable thing she’s ever seen, her dimples popping out and her eyes glinting with something that’s definitely not demonic power. Mira leans in anyway, drawn to it like a moth to a fire, surrendering herself to be named Icarus in the next life and whatever else comes next.

Rumi’s cheeks flare like she knows what Mira is trying to do, and Mira believes she would’ve reciprocated too, had it not been for Zoey screaming bloody murder less than ten feet away.

“Uh, hello? I’m all for lesbianism but can y’all not do this right now— holy shit!”

Mira loves that girl to bits, but if she interrupts their kiss a third time…

“Rain check.” Lips press sweetly against her cheek and her temple then, after a pained coo, her injured face, clearing Mira’s head of any murder attempt. “I’ll be right back.”

Like a puddle, Mira slumps farther down the tree, eyes gazing far lower than they need to as she watches Rumi walk away. 

Not to take away from what really matters right now, but boy does Mira love being a lesbian. 

“You love her.”

Hazy, Mira only tilts her head enough to see Celine approaching. The gash around her stomach is beginning to look dangerously dark, her need for medical attention increasing by the minute. 

To no one’s surprise, Celine doesn’t let the pain show as she sits down by Mira’s side, scanning her with a scrutiny Mira associates with harsh mornings running drills under the scorching sun and the occasional ice cream runs after a job well done.

“Long before I even knew what that meant.” Mira smirks, enjoying the clear shock reflected back at her through Celine’s tired eyes. “Is this the part where you ask me what my intention is with your daughter?”

Yet another surprise, Celine chuckles darkly.

“I’m the last person on Earth to qualify as a mother. Her mother.” 

Mira lets the silence speak for her, not an agreement but not a denial either. She knows from experience that it hurts more, and from the way Celine flinches none-too-subtly, it hits her in places Mira can never begin to understand.

Mira isn't a monster though. Not like them. She sits still for Celine to examine her injuries, using a cloth that’s also clearly torn from the cursed flannel to wipe as much blood from Mira’s face and chest as possible. 

Despite it all, despite everything, it’s still Celine.

And Mira, well, she’s always been a sucker for complicated mother figures. 

“You know I’m legally obligated to make sure you don't die here, right?”

Celine stops everything, Mira can’t even hear her breathing.

“What?”

“You have to live to make it up to her.” Mira continues, the fight too far away for her to make out any details. Just two blobs of white and purple going back and forth. Zoey is in there somewhere, Mira hopes she’s okay. “Live like how she would've wanted for you both. You don't just get to disappear into the nether and call it an apology. Death is not your ticket out. Rumi doesn’t want you dead, and neither would her mother.”

“You don’t know that.” Celine interrupts. Not harshly, just resigned. “You don’t know the things that I put her through. The promises that I broke.”

“I don’t need to.” Mira winces at her own strength, stars popping behind her eyelids. The blood loss is becoming very inconvenient. “You’re all she has and I’ll be damned if I let her lose another person she cares about. We’ve all made mistakes, Celine. We don’t get to get out of it unscathed. The world doesn’t stop when we’re gone, the wounds don’t heal when we’re dead. I’ll spend the rest of my life making up for what I did, what I made Zoey did, until I can look at the weapon the Honmoon bestowed upon me and not see her frightened face staring back. The least you can do is fucking try.”

Mira never gets to hear what Celine has to say, for Rangi and Rumi suddenly sound a lot closer than before. 

A warmth apparates by her side, Mira doesn’t need to look to know Zoey has returned. 

“Figured you need me here.” Zoey explains without being asked, supporting half of Mira’s weight by wrapping her arm over her shoulder. 

“I always want you here.” Mira says, finally relaxing as the familiar scent of Zoey’s shampoo surges up her nose, her head nuzzling their youngest’s crown like a couch pillow. 

Mira is so tired. She’ll just close her eyes for a bit. 

Vaguely, she can hear Rangi and Rumi talking. Screaming would be a more apt description, but it’s not like Mira can hear anything over the ringing in her ears right now. 

“Rangi, please! It doesn’t have to be like this!”

Someone grunts, evidently Rangi. “You don’t get it, do you? It was all a lie. She didn’t take you in because she loved you. She took you in because she feared you. And Mira and Zoey, they both would’ve hurt you eventually. It’s what they were taught, what they were trained. Us kinds have no place here.”

“That’s not true.” A harsh thud. Someone just fell. “That’s just your demon talking. You know it is!”

“I am a demon, and just because you refuse to accept that part of yourself, doesn’t mean I have to do the same!”

Another grunt. It’s Rumi for sure, her breath a tiny wheeze.

“I know. I know it may seem like I can’t accept my heritage, and it’s been true for most of my life, but I’m trying. I promise I’m trying.”

“Great. Good for you.” Rangi is laughing. She sounds so hurt. “Good for you, destined to have two people who love you unconditionally. Must be so easy.” 

Rumi growls. “That’s bullshit. No great love is ever not worth the fight, and we fought for ours. You have the same choice. You just have to make the right one.”

A more guttural, beast-like growl. Mira can hear the spits and the tears. 

“That’s not how it works!”

“Yes it— yes it is!” A huff. Someone stumbles back. “I’ve been where you are. I listen to the demons inside my head, I let them use me to hurt everyone I love. Trust me when I tell you that you can be saved.”

Silence. 

Dizzy and deprived of oxygen. Or maybe that’s just Mira.

“He’s talking to me, Rumi. He’s talking and I can’t hear anything else.”

Rangi’s crying. Mira can hear it; the inevitability of a fate she was born in, the self-hatred that makes her feel like she doesn’t deserve to escape it, and the hopelessness of a lifetime being told this is where she’s meant to be. 

“What is he saying, Rangi?”

“She’s calling me a monster.” A gasp. That’s from Celine. “You’re tricking me. The song is how you truly feel. Everything was a lie. You hate me, you are disgusted by me, and that there’s no hope for me. I belong with him.” 

“That's not true.” Rumi speaks in that Rumi way, passionate with hope dripping from her teeth. She can tell a man to jump off a bridge with that voice and he’ll listen. “You know that's not true. You belong here with us, where there are people who love you.”

It's not a cue. They definitely didn't discuss this beforehand. But Mira finds herself shouting anyway. 

“We love you!”

“Uh,” Zoey buffers for a split second before she follows. “Yeah! We love you, bro! You’re like a Rumi who can eat spice without needing us to call an ambulance!”

“You also remember to take out the trash every Tuesday without prompting.”

“Oh! You like complicated female characters too! Rumi always says they need to be more fleshed out.”

“Rumi hates mushrooms. You don't.”

“Yeah! So don't listen to that lava lamp-shaped asshole. We love you!”

“We love all of you.”

“Uh, thanks, girls.” Mira gives a sleepy thumbs up, happy that she makes Rumi laugh. “See, Rangi? See how he’s been lying to you? Please let us help you.” 

More awake than she was seconds ago, Mira tries to squint, hoping that’ll help her terrible vision somehow. But she has no need, for soon a pair of broken glasses is being slid back on her nose, the lenses cracked but somehow still usable.

“I did my best.” Zoey winces, steadying them on Mira’s bruised nose bridge. “Can you see anything?”

“The world looks like a giant spider web.” Mira comments with a drunken laugh, still using Zoey’s shoulder as a cushion for her head. “I love you, bub.”

Zoey sniffles. “I love you too, you jerk.”

Mira huffs, too weak to defend herself. She looks at Celine instead, who now leans against the seonang tree like she’s hugging it. Mira has to wonder just who she is picturing in her arms right now. 

“How?” Rangi’s broken voice pulls her back. Mira’s eyes narrow just in time to catch a tear slipping down her cheek and joining the others. “How can you look at me like this, after everything I did, and still see me as something worth it?”

Mira turns to Rumi next and promptly feels her entire world tilted on its axis.

Gone are her fangs and her claws. The amber in her eyes is replaced by chocolate. Her patterns have cooled down and no longer shimmer. Rumi looks like the same girl Mira fell in love with in homeroom a lifetime ago. 

“Because you’re worth more than what you did and you’re more than your mistake.”

As if triggered by an invisible force, Rangi finally breaks. 

Her agonized scream echoes so loudly it shakes even the Honmoon, who wails in responding misery for a girl who is so tightly held in the devil’s claws. 

Mira and Zoey wince at the sheer magnitude of Rangi’s pain, muffling their ears as they watch Rangi fall to her knees, looking all the world like she wants the ground to swallow her whole. 

Rumi doesn't share this pain, yet another anomaly, but her face crumbles like her heart is broken into pieces all the same.

Like a scene ripped straight out of Doctor Strange, the ground starts glowing purple. Rangi’s patterns too, a sickening, almost-pinkish shade that's far too light to be of the friend they've come to know and adored the past few weeks, engulfing her in a fire so bright it almost blinds. 

No, this one is familiar too. Just in the worst possible way.

“It’s Gwima…” Mira grunts, body already moving before she can think. “He’s going to take her…”

Far beyond the point of questioning Mira, Zoey dutifully shoulders all of Mira’s weight as they rush forward together. Rumi, as if reading their thoughts, hurries along, making it to Rangi long before the two of them could, throwing her arms around quivering shoulders.  

“You can’t let him take you. You have to fight it.”

“Stop!” Rangi screams, her vocal chords sounding like they’re being torn apart. “Make it stop!”

Mira and Zoey join the pile with an undignified crash, the former wrapping one arm around Rangi’s waist and the latter tucking herself under Rumi’s. The purple only glows stronger, Mira now feeling the magnetic pull of magic trying to take them under. 

“We’re here.” Zoey reaches for something of Rangi. Her leg, it looks like. “You’re not alone.”

“We’re not going anywhere.” Mira follows suit, burrowing her face in Rangi’s quivering neck. She feels warm, unbearably so. Like the fire pyres of the underworld. “Don’t listen to him.”

The pull grows stronger, becoming an active vacuum that Mira, Zoey and Rumi have to put everything of themselves in to fight against. It doesn’t help that Rangi is obviously in so much pain, the patterns on her face searing into her skin like they’re trying to brand her as his.

Mira will never forget the smell of burnt human flesh for as long as she’s alive. 

She can barely see through the cracked lens of her glasses, her muscles sore from being tossed around like a ragdoll. But the more Rangi squirms, the tighter Mira holds onto her, Rumi and Zoey loyally follow her stead, their mouths nonstop running assurances and promises of companionship and acceptance. 

It’s working, but not as well as they would like. Rangi is still thrashing around in pain, invisible shackles pulling at her flesh and trying to sink her under without signs of stopping. Mira tries to keep up, but it’s also taking everything she has not to succumb to her own physical ache. 

Desperate, Mira tries one last trick up her sleeves.

“I love you. Please stay.”

It’s not just a trick. She’s not lying. And Rangi knows it too, because that’s all it took.

With a fearsome roar that shakes the earth, Rangi darkens the night. 

They're the only ones left. A pile of arms, legs, and misery not making out heads or tails. 

The change is so sudden and stark that Mira has to blink to make sure she’s not seeing things, make sure she hasn’t just blacked out and pulled down the abyss too.

If this is the underworld, it’s not as boiling as Mira expected.

There are a lot of stars though. Which is odd, considering Mira’s always thought Gwima’s place is beneath them. Like literally, but also figuratively too.

Wait no.

She’s just getting lightheaded.

“Sorry to ruin the moment,” Mira drolls, eyelids finally giving out. “But I’m going to pass out now.”

And the stars go out.

Chapter Text

The world is blue when she wakes up.

Mira squints her eyes, wondering why she’s sleeping outdoors. Until she remembers there exists a thing called wall paint.

She blinks, surprised when she realizes she can only see through one eye. A spike of panic floods her veins, her hand raising to check. 

“It's still there. You’re just a little bandaged up.”

Relief, then comes the pain. As if her body’s been bidding for its time until she wakes to start flaring all the senses. 

Mira closes her one eye shut, riding the wave with gritted teeth and a clenched jaw. 

There's a hand cupping her cheek and another one in her hair. Mira arches in both directions, seeking for any sensation that isn't this eye-numbing agony. 

“You’re okay. Just breathe. The pain will be over soon. Inhale then exhale, just follow my lead.” 

One of Mira’s hands is moved, pressed against a beating heart. The warmth spreads from her fingertips down to her toes, which are bare and wiggling against the soft, fuzzy fabric of their bedsheet. 

Mira takes a deep breath, then out. Another deep breath, then out. Following the rise and fall of the song pulsing underneath her palm, an angel’s heart singing without lyrics or instruments.

Eventually the world rights itself again and Mira can open her eye.

And there she is, the angel.

“Am I dead?”

Lilac hair with the prettiest brown eyes and pink lips part in surprise. Then her cheeks turn the same color, eyes darting forth and back like Mira is someone she can’t bear to look away from. 

She’s so pretty.

“I’d hope not. Because then you wouldn't be able to feel this.”

Mira stares, and stares, and stares, even after the ghost of lips pressed against her bandaged eye and cheek has faded away. Angel pulls back with a proud smile like she knows Mira’s heart is hers, and just like that, Mira is back.

“Rumi?”

“Welcome back.” Rumi— beautiful, sexy, and adorable Rumi, grins like the sun. “I thought you were a goner.”

It's spoken in a lighthearted tone and anyone who doesn't know Rumi since childhood wouldn't be able to see the haunting in her eyes and the subtle pinch of her mouth.

But Mira does. 

Mira’s been watching Rumi as if she invented beauty herself.

“I—” 

A cough comes out before she can stop herself. Mira hunches over trying to get it under control, helpfully assisted by Rumi effortlessly lifting her up by her armpits. Back meeting the wall with a gentle thud, Mira lets her head lull, listening out for the tinkling by her bedside. 

Something cold touches her lips, Mira’s neck slowly tilted back to allow the flow of water to breach past her throat. 

The sigh of relief slipping past her teeth is potent and heavy, even more so when Mira catches sight of a Rumi with teary eyes.

Whatever’s beating inside her chest twists like a pretzel. Mira doesn’t even know what happened after the lights go out, but it’s undeniable that she’s the cause of it. She made Rumi cry.

“Come here.”

Stronger than a bull but still gentle, achingly gentle, Rumi rushes into Mira’s embrace. Their bodies fit together like they were never meant to be apart.

The arms wrap around her neck twitch like they want to squeeze her for all she’s worth but refrain, clearly afraid of hurting her. Mira takes it upon herself to reciprocate, her hands naturally slipping under the fabric of Rumi’s shirt like they’ve always belonged there. 

“I’m here.” Mira whispers into Rumi’s hair, a beautiful lilac mess that knows no order. Her nostrils flare, the gust of wind rushing in dragging a faint scent Mira recognizes as home. “I wasn’t going to leave you.”

Rumi has nothing to say in response, simply hugging Mira harder. There’s dampness at her neck, lips on her skin, and Mira thinks this might as well be purgatory. 

How dare she hurt the one she loves so much?

“There was so much blood.” Rumi finally croaks, her voice small like a little kid. Like when they first met and Mira still thought Rumi was the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. “I didn’t think she would actually hurt you.”

“She was in pain.” Mira automatically says, holding Rumi tighter when she squirms in mild objection. “I know, it’s not an excuse, but we hurt her first. Whether we want to or not.”

To Mira’s audible displeasure, Rumi starts pulling away. The haziness in her brain makes her slow, so if Rumi really wants to leave, Mira won't be able to stop her.

Thankfully she doesn't need to, for Rumi is only moving so she sits slightly hovering over Mira’s lips, thighs bracketing hips without anything actually touching.

It's the cruelest punishment anyone can give her without outright killing her.

“Do you remember what happened after?”

Mira shakes her head. “Not after I blacked out. Did you get us home?”

“Yeah. Rangi helped.” Rumi pauses, waiting. Mira only raises an eyebrow, quietly asking for more. “Celine is in her room. Zoey is with Rangi after patching both of them up. I carried you back and tended to your wounds myself.”

A happy purr emits from her throat, pinkening Rumi’s cheeks. Curiously, her eyes stay resolutely on Mira’s face instead of ducking to her lap like whenever she gets flustered. 

“How gallant of you, my knight in linen.”

Even now she won’t look, and while usually Mira wouldn't care, right now she’s curious.

Upon actually seeing her bare chest sans the bandages wrapped around her torso, Mira completely understands Rumi’s out-of-the-blue skittishness. 

“I’m naked.” She says, more of a statement than a wordless question.

“It’s so I can bandage you up.” Rumi squeaks out, following Mira’s gaze and never looking away again. “I– I can get you, uh, a shirt?” 

Eyebrows hitching all the way up, Mira allows her mouth to be split open by a dopey grin, stuck on the sight of a fully blushing Rumi. 

She's always been beautiful, otherworldly so, but a Rumi bathed in the sunlight coming in through the window, dressed in a baggy t-shirt Mira clearly recognizes as hers, hair disheveled and dark circles under her eyes from taking care of Mira, trying so hard to be respectful of Mira’s modesty— Mira’s heart has never felt fuller.

“I’m alright here.” Mira says, still wearing the widest grin.

Rumi senses it somehow, tearing her eyes from Mira’s naked chest with obvious reluctance. The whine that she makes when their eyes meet just about sets Mira’s whole body on fire.

“Put that away.” Rumi orders with her leader voice. Should Mira tell her how long she’s been turned on by it?

“Okay.” Mira says instead, not putting her smile away. “How about that?”

From under the collar, Rumi’s neck flushes a deep red. It’s almost enough to make Mira laugh, almost, had it not been for the fact that she’s still in pain.

“You’re insufferable.” Rumi turns to sulking, and well, Mira can’t help that. Not even at the cost of her own fun.

So she resorts to emotional blackmail. 

“I’m in pain.” 

As expected, Rumi’s head whips back around so fast there’s a crack. Mira winces, Rumi mistakes it for something else, and just like that, Mira is back to being pampered.

“Are you okay? What hurts? Is it your eye? I could’ve sworn it’s not time to change your bandages yet. Is it your rib? I checked, it’s only bruised. Do you feel like it’s broken? That’s stupid, why would I need to ask you if you have a broken bone. Is it your head? I triple checked and everything. You don’t have a concussion. Or maybe you—”

In her raunchy dream, not once did Mira and Rumi kiss.

One would think that’s inconsequential, considering the fact that Mira was literally pounding Rumi in the bed with a strap-on that she could’ve sworn she felt Rumi’s pussy clenched tightly around. 

But the point remains. They hadn’t kissed. 

And so when Mira grabs Rumi by the back of her neck, yanks her down the bed and smashes their mouths together, she expects fireworks.

Mira gets back so much more.

Kissing Rumi is like the world torn asunder beneath their feet and Mira can't give a damn, swallowing Rumi’s surprise and pouring her longing, so much longing, into the warm, wet tavern of Rumi’s mouth. 

Who so obediently opens herself up for Mira’s tongue, making a sweet, little noise that melts all the bones in Mira’s body to stardust. The hands in her hair move to cup her cheeks, Rumi’s touch remains gentle even when her mouth moves like she’s trying to consume Mira whole. 

They don’t kiss like the first time nor the last, a sense of unexplainable familiarity that talks of red strings and destiny. Mira is shaking as she hugs Rumi to her chest, and only when something pulls, probably one of her stitches, that she reluctantly lets Rumi go.

Who, with lips swollen and hooded eyes, glares at Mira like she committed a war crime. Certainly not a reaction she’d expected from someone she kissed senseless.

Mira gulps, suddenly nervous.

Did I mess this up?

“Did you kiss me just to shut me up?”

Mira blinks. “Uh…” Then buffers. “What do you…” And refreshes. “Rumi, of course not. I’ve been wanting to kiss you for years.”

The sight of Rumi blinking in confusion would be hilarious if it didn’t feel so upsetting, the surprise on her face unmistakable and cruel. Mira thought they were on the same page, and have been so since that almost kiss on Rumi’s porch. 

Did she really read it all wrong?

Do you even want me like I want you?

“Hey, hey,” Mira’s cheeks are squished in gentle, still so gentle hands, made to look directly into intense, but no less affectionate brown eyes. “I was just joking. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

Oh. A joke.

Of course. She was just joking.

“Oh.”

What else was Rumi joking about?

“Yeah,” Rumi’s lips purse, not knowing what to do about the awkward silence she just plunged them into. Mira would be endeared if she wasn’t so annoyed. “I’m sorry. That was really bad timing. I was just, I got overwhelmed. I panicked.”

The last thing Mira wants to do is make Rumi uncomfortable, and the implication that she was when they were kissing is about as good as a punch to Mira’s throat. Still, Mira doesn’t let it show, focusing on removing the discomfort for Rumi’s sake.

Mira would never forgive herself if she caused such distress to either of her girls, her family, the same way her old one did to her. So she retreats, makes herself smaller, and hopes Rumi won’t look at her too differently.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

But her hands don’t even get to leave the confine of Rumi’s shirt, trapped under the fabric by a much smaller but no less insistent pair. Mira knows these hands like the back of hers, having held them during encores on stage and in the backstage wing before music shows, having snatched them in time before Rumi fell off a building and played with them when Rumi fell asleep on her shoulder. 

They don’t feel like strangers, and that’s the only reason why Mira doesn’t pull away.

Even though the way Rumi forcefully inserts herself back into Mira’s vision is a close second.

“Don’t. Don’t let go. I just, can I explain? Please?”

Rumi sounds so earnest and sweet, her big brown eyes imploring and begging. Mira has no strength to fight her, not that she would ever want to, so she gives a timid nod. The bright smile of relief she gets back makes it almost worth it.

“Okay, first and foremost,” Rumi sucks in a huge breath, then out. Another inhale, then out again. Mira has half a mind to follow her, but refrains. “I’m in love with you, Mira.” 

Way to start things off lightly.

“Um,” It’s Mira’s turn to stutter, her breath caught and her one eye blinking rapidly like she couldn’t believe her ears. “I love you too.”

“I know.” Rumi says, not as a joke but lighthearted all the same. Mira glares, and she promptly elaborates. “I know now, but I didn’t before. It wasn’t until Rangi came crashing into our lives that I knew I loved you like that.”

Mira has always known she had fallen first, if Rumi ever fell at all, but hearing it out loud does put a slightly dejected tone in her voice. 

“I see.” 

One that Rumi hears and immediately addresses, her thumbs nervously rubbing Mira’s knuckles. 

“It’s not because of you. If anything, you’re so easy to love— only an emotional constipated mess like me would take so long to see.”

A small laugh bubbles from her chest, still Mira has to get one point across.

“Don’t say that about yourself.”

“It’s true, baby.” Crash. Abort. Error 404. Mira’s brain has completely shut off. “If I wasn’t so busy trying to hide myself and my patterns away, I would’ve seen the way you look at me long ago. I would've allowed myself to see that I look at you the same way too.” 

Mira exhales, the earlier swelling of her heart returning screaming and crying. The hands she has at Rumi’s back spread open, absorbing the warmth of Rumi’s gentle breathing like the same sunlight that makes her shine.

The shiver she hears and feels against her lips is startling, to say the least. Since when did Rumi get so close again?

“I used to think I was a mistake. I still do, on some days.” Mira shuts her eye, the words painful on her good days and downright excruciating now. Gentle fingers pry it open again. “But then I saw you with her, who I thought represented the worst of me, and I watched you love her so easily.” 

It's true. Mira doesn't like acknowledging it, doesn't like the unreasonable grain of guilt stuck to her eyelids and under her skin, but loving Rangi is so easy. Almost as easy as Rumi. 

“I was so relieved.” Rumi huffs, part disbelief, part laughter. All Mira’s. “That you could love a version of me I never thought anyone could. That you, who deserves the world, look at me like I’m all of yours.” 

The gap closes just a bit more, and the meat of their lips now barely graze. Mira holds them there, patiently waiting for Rumi to finish, even if the stuttered breath whistling through her teeth tells Mira her girl is wrecked in her own suspense. 

“We’ve come close a few times, but you kissing me wasn't something I could actually imagine happening.” Rumi’s head tilts, a familiar note of remorse slipping through her voice. “I didn't mean to confuse you. I didn't mean to make you think I don't love you, because I do. Last night, I was so afraid to lose you. I don't know what I would've done without you. I love you. I love you more than my apologies. I love you, I’ll love you more every day and the next.”

At long last, Mira fully closes the gap. 

But she doesn't go all the way, a barely there peck on cupid bows lips.

But it’s Rumi who takes control, who seizes Mira’s lips with her teeth like a prize she was promised and deepens the kiss before it even properly starts. Who twists heads and turns chins so their mouths mash better against each other. Who moans at Mira’s touch and whines at Mira’s grunts. 

The weight on her hips settles too, Mira properly holding Rumi in her lap as they kiss languidly. Like the whole world has stopped just for them. 

Mira’s hands are on Rumi’s hips, stroking soothing circles but only succeeding in wrecking Rumi’s body with exploding goosebumps. Rumi is just as merciless, her hands grabbing hold of Mira’s chin and keeping her head situated, practically pinned to the headboard, as she swirls her tongue in Mira’s mouth. 

They honestly can’t tell from where one begins and the other ends. Mira would love to keep it this way forever, would happily die with her name on Rumi’s lips and Rumi’s spit slick wet on hers. 

Unfortunately everyone must abide by the laws of nature, and Mira sadly succumbs to the curse of oxygen depletion.

The obscene, downright lewd pop of their lips separating makes them both blush like school girls in love. Shy smiles are exchanged as chests heave rapidly, Mira tenderly rubs her nose against Rumi’s and delights in the dimpled giggle she earns back.

Rumi looks breathtaking like this, lips kiss-swollen and her patterns glowing. Mira hadn’t noticed them at all, but they’re shining far too bright to be ignored, a shade of yellow that’s not reminiscent of the ideal false Honmoon but something more real, more precious, like the sun smiling down and the sun smiling at her. 

Mira sighs, heart ache and heavy. Being in love feels great. 

“That was the most I’ve heard you say in one go without breathing.” Mira nudges Rumi’s cheek with her nose, grinning at the squeal as Rumi flinches from the cold. “You must really love me.” 

“Of course I do.” Rumi mumbles, shy and adorable. Her bravado seems to have left her. “You’re you, and I’m me.”

Mira rolls her eyes, tilting her head. The squawk Rumi makes when Mira chomps down on a good chunk of her flesh is so worth the laser glare she receives afterwards.

“What the heck was that for?” Rumi whines, an indent of Mira’s teeth proudly displayed on her cheek.

“You were being ridiculous.” Mira lies back, smug grin in place.

It also helps that she’s still half naked, her bare collarbones, her defined abs, her well-sculpted arms and that line on her neck that fans love to insinuate they would give everything to lick pure liquor off all on display for Rumi to ogle. And she does, almost shamelessly before she remembers herself, and Mira is left watching fondly as the girl of her dream gets flustered by something as simple as her breathing.

Fuck, how did she get so lucky?

Unwilling to let her hide, Mira takes Rumi’s face in her hand. She nuzzles into Mira’s touch almost instinctively, thoughtlessly, and that simple act above all others is what brings tears to Mira’s eyes.

Tears that Rumi somehow, once again, senses without being told and mistakes for something else. Big, imploring browns zero in on every visible injury she has, and when Mira shivers at the attention, Rumi springs into action. 

“Easy, my love. You’re still hurt.” 

Mira wants to indulge in the pet name, in Rumi fussing over her, in the way Rumi touches her cheek so tenderly and supports her lower back as she lies down. But Rumi doesn’t need the extra burden, so Mira tugs gently at the end of lilac hair. 

Communication clears, and soon Rumi is cushioning herself on Mira’s less injured shoulder. Her hand caresses the smooth skin of Mira’s stomach, reversing the scenario with an ease that makes Mira’s breath catch for the 19372th time.

Gesturing at the bandages, Mira tells Rumi. “You didn't have to do all this.”

“I wanted to.” Rumi immediately says, leaving no room for argument. “I didn’t want to be anywhere else that wasn’t with you. You really scared me.”

Mira blames the lingering daze from her injuries and Rumi’s kisses for distracting her from checking in on Rumi. After all, she fought Rangi the longest, and Mira is pretty sure she’s the only reason why they managed to keep Rangi out of the underworld and Gwima’s clutch. 

Such hypotheses to be saved for later questioning. Right now Rumi is more important.

“You’re scraped up too.” Mira says, feeling guilty that she didn’t bring this up earlier. 

While it's true that Rumi is in far much better shape, she still wears faint scars on vulnerable areas such as her face, her arms, and most importantly her neck.

Mira thinks the long slash she sees near Rumi’s collarbone is almost identical to the one on her own face, hidden behind the ridiculously large gauze. Something burns in her chest, baring its razor-sharp teeth, and it takes Rumi leaning up to kiss her on the cheek for her to calm down. 

“Demon healing. I’m as right as rain, I promise.” 

Her hand softly strokes the patterns peeking out from under Rumi’s tank top, who shivers before playfully swatting Mira’s hand away. She doesn't get to take it back as Rumi snatches it for herself, holding it to her chest.

Mira’s heart feels so close to bursting. 

“How is Rangi?”

There probably exists a decorum where you don’t mention another woman when you’re in bed with the woman of your dreams. But Mira knows Rumi understands and has definitely been expecting it, if her immediate and elaborate answer is any indication. 

“She’s torn up. Emotionally.” Rumi bites on her lower lip, thinking. “If she’s anything like me, I’m pretty sure she’s going to feel guilty for a long, long time.”

It’s not anything Mira hasn’t already thought to herself, but a confirmation from the most reliable source sinks the stone in her stomach.

“And Zoey? Was she hurt?”

“Just a few bruises, but she's okay.” Rumi chuckles, cheeks a little pink. “She warned me not to cuddle you too tight last night.” 

That's sweet of Zoey, really. But entirely unnecessary. 

“We need to talk.” Mira gently butts their foreheads, Rumi reciprocates with an actual purr, batting her eyelashes. Mira didn’t think she could fall any harder but— fuck. “Can you call them?”

Rumi pouts, an adorable, little thing that Mira can’t possibly resist kissing. They keep it chaste, even if Rumi chases her lips afterwards with that same pout now glistening with Mira’s spit, and Mira has to nudge their foreheads a little harder to stop her.

“Rumi.”

The little brat, Rumi’s lip juts out even more. “Just one more kiss? Please?”

Mira sighs, a willing victim, before promptly diving back in with renewed fervour. 

Zoey and Rangi can wait a little bit longer. 

—

The living room is quiet when they step out of the elevator and into the foyer. 

It’s not something Mira is used to after sharing a life with two chatterboxes, who fill their home with life even in the silence, but after the day they’ve had, Mira supposes an exception can be made.

“It’s too quiet.” Rumi notes out loud, one of her hands held snuggly in Mira’s and the other absentmindedly playing with the ring on Mira’s pinky. It’s a HUNTR/X ring that they commissioned for one another on their 1st debut anniversary and Mira has solemnly sworn to never take off. Ever. “Zoey told me they would meet us here soon. That was 15 minutes ago.”

Mira hums, scanning the penthouse with one careful eye. Rumi helped her put in her one contact lens earlier in their room (and also did her hair in its usual style), but Mira still needs help if she doesn’t want to walk straight into a wall or, worse, catapult herself off the balcony by accident. 

“You don’t think they went out?” Mira asks, head wordlessly gesturing at the couch. “To get breakfast?”

Rumi shrugs, acquiescing Mira’s request and leading them there. Mira takes her familiar spot with an exhausted sigh, already winded from just that much walking, and she knows she worried Rumi when a small, almost puppy-like whine reaches her ear.

It’s endearing, really. If not unnecessary.

“I’m okay.” Mira smiles, tucking a hair over Rumi’s ear, quietly gloating at how easily she can make Rumi go pink. “I would like some water, if it’s not too much trouble.”

Neither of them are difficult patients, but Mira will go as far as to say amongst the three of them, she enjoys the special attention the most. 

She doesn’t want to be a burden, likes taking care of others more than she does being taken care of, but a part of her, the childish part that’s always wanted a kiss on her sweaty forehead and a little song before drifting off to a feverish sleep. aches to be doted on like she matters.

Rumi and Zoey give that to her every time, and now is no exception, Rumi practically wagging her invisible tail and ears before sprinting to the kitchen. Mira lets the comforting sound of tinkling soothe her tension, hand fishing her phone from her pocket.

It's an odd feeling to be texting with just one eye open, but Mira manages to type a message relatively typo-free.

me

hey bub, u out?

zorro 🐢

yeh!!! 😁😁😁

at gs25 to get breakie 🥪

we’re otw back 🏃‍♀️

me

is rangi with u?

zorro 🐢

yep

she grabbed the yakult

she rmb it's your fav 😏

me

stop 😒

zorro 🐢

haha jk

u need anything? 

me

some aspirin and enough food to feed a horse

zorro 🐢

hey u’re embracing ur horse girl title!!! 🐎🐴

i’m so proud 🥹

me

zoey

zorro 🐢

keke ily 💚🩷💜

will be home soon 🤓

u better not be smooching rumi when we get back 😘😘😘

me

🖕

ily2 🩷💚💜

“Look.” Mira hands the phone to Rumi, who predictably blushes scarlet and glares at Mira for laughing. “You’re cute.”

“And you’re a bloody tease.” Rumi grumbles, but her smile can be seen from space. Mira really likes feeling it on her lips. 

“I love you.”

“It was just water.” The cup of water Rumi so kindly fetches for Mira remains ignored, Mira stubbornly waiting on a response. “I love you too.”

Triumphed, Mira chugs down her water in one go. The coolness helps dissipate the discomfort, enough for her to lean back against the couch in search of restfulness. 

Before she can do that, Mira feels herself lifted by the back of her knees, an almost girlish squeal escaping her mouth when she realizes it’s Rumi who manhandled her like she weighs next to nothing.

Rumi’s dedication in the gym hasn’t gone unnoticed and unappreciated in this household, but this is the first time it’s ever been shoved down Mira’s throat and, well, she can’t say she’s complaining, not when she’s now sitting daintily in Rumi’s lap like a princess. 

“Easy, tiger.” Mira purrs, arms interlocking behind Rumi’s neck. “If you wanted me in your lap, you could’ve just said something.”

“I find action speaks louder than words sometimes.” Rumi’s grin is a little bashful and a lot proud. Mira can’t find it in herself to tease her all that much. “Is this okay?”

Mira nods, already tucking her head under Rumi’s chin. Whose hands come to hold her by her waist, as if preparing to catch her should she fall.

Little does Rumi know, Mira’s been falling for her for a long time. 

“Sing for me?” Mira asks with a small voice, half chastising herself for being so childish and half just wanting to be closer to Rumi. Who may or may not be her girlfriend now. Fuck, she still needs to ask her that.

Rumi clears her throat, and when she sings, it’s like heaven opens up.

Every hurt in Mira’s body and Mira’s heart fades away with every note, leaving behind only the husk of a smitten soul. She snuggles deeper into Rumi’s embrace, knowing without a shred of doubt here is where she’s most protected and cherished. 

Rumi doesn’t forget to shower Mira in attention and love even as she sings to an audience of one, going from kissing her temple to her hand, not to mention carding her fingers through her hair and scratching her scalp in ways that makes Mira want to moan in utter pleasure.

She doesn’t. Rumi has had enough teasing, and Mira is too comfy to move.

“I almost would’ve preferred you guys smooching over whatever this is.”

Mira acknowledges Zoey’s appearance with a halfhearted scowl, opening her one eye to glare at their grinning youngest. Rumi, who’s stopped singing since the elevator chimed, gives a shy chuckle with pink cheeks and her other hand scratching the back of her head.

The sleeve droops down with the movement, showing off her bulging, taut bicep. Mira swallows, throat dry, and clears it with a pointed cough. 

“We could give you an instant replay if you’d like.” She says, haughtily, raising a challenging eyebrow. Not a care given towards the smack on her leg.

Zoey blinks, dark eyes bouncing back and forth between Mira and Rumi. Whatever she’s looking for, she’s found it, mouth dropping to the floor with a distinct lack of grace before clutching her chest while gasping all dramatically.

It’d be hilarious if it weren’t done at their expense, 

“No way. Are you serious? Did you guys really—“

“Maybe save this conversation for later.” Mira frowns, turning to Rumi for answers, when she finds it standing a few feet behind them with an ashen expression.

While relatively unscathed just like her alternative counterpart, Rangi looks like she’s been emotionally run over by a semi-truck. She’s currently swallowed in one of Zoey’s bigger hoodies, the green one with Teenage Mutants Ninja Turtles on it, and a pair of leggings Zoey got from a sponsorship package she did last year for Adidas.

In Rangi’s outstretched hands is Mira’s breakfast. A fact Mira immediately knows because neither Rumi nor Zoey like bacon and ketchup on sunny side up eggs, especially not in a sandwich without the crusts. 

And of course, there’s an itty bitty bottle of yogurt at the edge of the plate. Despite it all, the sight makes Mira feel warm in her chest. 

“Hey,” Mira greets, pulling herself out of Rumi’s embrace to sit properly on the couch. She motions towards the lone love seat opposite them that Bobby and, for the past few weeks, Rangi loves to use. “You wanna come sit with us?”

Rangi doesn’t obey right away, but she does put the plate down along with three more Mira sees she was holding behind her back. Mira watches, pensive, as Rangi seems to be taking multiple deep breaths in succession, before steeling herself with a nod and looking up to meet Mira’s eyes.

Mira isn’t shocked one bit to see there are tears reflected back at her, and it doesn’t help her heartache.

“Rangi—“

“I just want to say that I’m sorry,” Rangi blabbers in a single breath, takes another deep one, before continuing. “I messed up. I looked through things that weren’t mine, I beat up your mentor, I disappeared on you, I… I hurt you. After everything you guys did for me, I turned my back on you. That’s inexcusable and I’m so, so sorry.”

Although never once looking away, Mira still spies the subtle nods and approving thumbs up Zoey discreetly shoots at Rangi in the corner of her eye. The thought of the two of them rehearsing this speech last night, Rangi worrying over every word and Zoey doing her best to reassure her everything will be okay, makes Mira want to half sob and half smile.

In the end, Mira merely extends a hand. One that visibly unnerves Rangi despite all they’ve been through together, and Mira tries really hard not to be hurt by it.

(Rumi makes a noise that's almost a growl, but Zoey’s snicker covers it up. Mira doesn't hear.)

“Come on.” Mira tries again, with a smile this time. “We can talk as we eat.”

A part of Mira suspects Rangi wants to be dismissed. Given an excuse to leave and rot in her self-hatred all alone. That part of Mira is really good at reading people and has loved Rumi for far longer than she’ll ever admit. 

She’s not letting Rangi off the hook so easily.

“Okay, if you’re sure.” Finally she concedes, taking Mira’s hand. 

Mira sends Zoey a look, who immediately scooches over to make room for Rangi next to her on the carpeted floor. It’s adorable, really, how the of them have formed their own bond outside of Rangi’s attraction to Mira and her complicated relationship with Rumi. 

Mira has so much to thank Zoey for. It's been a while since they spend time with just the two of them, Mira makes a mental promise to take Zoey out soon to make it up to her. 

“About your apology,” Rangi freezes comically in mid-air, Zoey has to yank her down by the sleeve of her shirt. “I forgive you.”

Rangi blinks, looking all the world like Mira just slapped her. 

“Wait, really?”

Mira nods, then shrugs. The sandwich is really good by the way.

“We would love a rundown of everything that happened.” Zoey gently nudges, unwrapping her own breakfast croissant with beef patty and eggs. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Rumi quietly takes her sandwich with eggs and mayonnaise, but her smile is warm and inviting. Rangi is fixated on her for a while, the two of them exchanging wordless communication until Zoey gives Rangi another nudge in the ribs.

“Breakfast first.” Zoey orders, no-nonsense with a smile. “We can rehash our debate about why tomatoes don’t belong in sandwiches while we wait if you want.”

Finally Rangi relaxes, an amused huff escaping her as she unwraps her own sandwich, which is very much filled with tomatoes. Mira lowkey agrees with Zoey, but keeps her mouth shut because there is someone else who very much enjoys the aforementioned vegetable in this household. 

“Hey! Don’t bash on tomatoes just because you have poor taste.”

Mira eats with poorly-hidden glee as Rumi and Rangi both gang up on poor Zoey, who fights on behalf of their shared agenda with nothing but the power of a really good pout.

The penthouse is loud and lively again, as it's always meant to be. Mira wipes her mouth with a napkin, savouring both the taste and the calm before the inevitable emotional storm.

It seems her mood is infectious, for the bubbly happiness slowly dies down as the volume does. Mira swallows her pills before she turns to them, the sleeveless jersey she took from Rumi’s closet giving her more than enough room to move around without hurting herself.

She doesn't say anything. It's not her place. Nor is it Rumi or Zoey.

Rangi gives them all a look, almost pleading, before she resigns to her fate.

“Last night, I was scrolling on Twitter when I came across a performance.” The Idol Awards, everyone immediately understood. “I didn't believe what I was seeing. I know you, Mira and Zoey, and you would never hurt Rumi like that.”

“It wasn't us.” Mira clarifies. “It was a trick of Gwima to break us apart.” 

“And it worked.” Zoey follows up, somberly. The guilt will eat them alive one of these days, no matter how much Rumi tries to tell them otherwise.

Rangi doesn’t touch on that longer than she has to, as if sensing the clouds hovering over Mira and Zoey’s heads. 

“I couldn’t really hear much over the sound of Rumi screaming in the video, so I went into your cloud and looked up anything to do with Takedown.” Rangi mumbles another apology, one all three of them wave dismissively away. “I found your recordings. I pressed play and… it was the most painful 3 minutes of my life.” 

Another bout of silence, during which Mira and Zoey struggle to swallow the same guilt they did before. They could tell themselves that they didn’t know better, but it still won’t change the fact that their lyrics hurt two of the people they cared most about so badly, it drove them to a metaphorical cliff.

Rumi, a literal one even.

“As soon as I finished listening, I heard him. Like he’s been waiting for me.” Rangi sucks in a harsh, trembling breath. Her patterns flare a bright pink, like it’s happening all over again. “Your Gwima… he’s merciless in ways I’ve only heard tales about. Every insecurity I’ve ever had, every awful thought I’ve tried to push down, every lesson I’ve tried to unlearn— he trudged them up without hesitation. He put a knife in my hand and told me to use it on everyone that hurt me. And the worst part is that I did.”

Rumi chooses now to speak up, all steely voice like the leader she is. 

“Look, Rangi. What you did was messed up and I really appreciate your apology. I can’t understand what you went through, but—”

“But I do.”

It’s such a shame Mira has to interrupt her to get something out first.

“After you… left,” Why didn’t you kill me when I asked you to? “Gwima got in my head. He used my own voice to mock me for having thought I found a family, to tell me I never deserved one in the first place.”

“Oh, Mira. That’s not true.”

Rumi’s hand, already intertwined in hers, squeezes to the point of pain. Mira relishes in it, it helps remind her she’s not alone.

“I know that now.” Mira blinks a traitorous tear away. “But when I lost you, I thought I lost everything.”

“And when I lost Mira, I lost my everything.” 

They exchange a quick look, Mira’s full of genuine remorse, Zoey’s of kindness and understanding, the latter despite literally being the one they left behind. Rumi looks between them with a sad frown, a helpless slouch weighing down her shoulders, and Rangi follows suit with a pensive stare.

Before Mira can ask what she’s thinking, Zoey is speaking.

“Rumi, did you ever hear Gwima in your head?”

Something about her tone, sharp curiosity mixed in with an underlying mystery that gets all their attention. Mira and Rangi lock eyes for a split second, quickly concluding neither knows where Zoey is going with this.

“Um, no?” Rumi thinks on it for a bit longer, but her answer doesn’t change. “No. The only time we talked directly was at Namsan Tower.”

“That’s interesting, isn’t it?” Zoey leans forward like she’s sharing a secret. There’s a glint in her eyes that screams of thousand-pieces puzzles being put back together in record time. 

Which did actually happen and was submitted to Guiness once by a well-intentioned fan. Sadly, she was 2 seconds shy of actually beating any record. 

“I’m not following.” Rumi says, her nerves translated into fiddling with Mira’s hand. 

But Zoey isn't looking at Rumi, switching targets to an equally antsy Rangi.

“You said Gwima adopted you after Celine abandoned you.” Rangi nods, darkening at the reminder of that awful day. Zoey does the opposite of what Mira would do. “Can you tell us more about it?”

“Zoey,” Mira hisses, about ready to wrangle their youngest back by the nape.

Surely she has her reasons, but to make Rangi relive one of the worst days of her life in front of all of them like that?

“It's okay.” Rangi steps in, voice surprisingly strong. “If you want to know, I can tell you.”

“Thank you.” Zoey grabs her hand, speaking in the most gentle tone she can. “I promise I’m not just traumatizing you for fun.”

That somehow gets Rangi to laugh, the frown on her face slipping off like it doesn't stand a chance against Zoey and her Zoey-ness. Who continues to hold Rangi’s hand and strokes comforting circles on her knuckles, a softness on her face that parallels the one in Rangi’s amber eyes. 

Wait. 

No.

There's no way these two are—

“It was a rainy night in October.”

Clip clop, drip drop. The demon walks and walks.

His minions talk the talk, but the demon only walks. 

Clip clop, drip drop. The rain is pouring down.

The demon arrives at a house, but there is no one around. 

Door ajar, he invites himself in. Thunders roar, and the walls feel like crumbling.

Pitter, patter. His minions scatter. The demon walks further, the house shakes asunder. 

Pitter, patter. The demon finds a woman. 

Pitter, patter. There is blood all over. On the woman and the child, who cries and cries.

“Take her.” Says the woman with the scythe. The blade digs into skin, uncaring her pleads are a sin, and the baby cries and cries. 

“You would be so cruel to a child?” Asks the demon.

“This is no child of mine.” Says the woman. Says the warrior. Says the grief-stricken hunter who is burning in her own mental pyre. 

At her feet, lies two dead bodies.

He recognizes a friend and a woman who so loved his friend. 

Miyoung, that was her name. Sungjae was his. The baby was theirs, in purple hair and dumpling cheeks sun-kissed. 

The demon takes the crying baby without struggles. The hunter cuts her own throat without trouble.

Heads lull and roll. The rain continues to pour. 

The demon looks at the baby whose world is now just him. The demon remembers once upon a time, a little girl who was like that for him. 

The demon blinks and she is all alone.

Bring her to me, his master tells him to come home. 

Clip, clop. Drip, drop. The demon walks and walks.

“No one knows when I started growing patterns. I tried asking but the grim reaper who came to get me didn’t remember either. He’s the one I told you about, Mira. Useless piece of shit. But anyway, that’s pretty much it. My parents were killed, Celine gave me up, and I’ve been in Gwima’s care ever since.” 

It's a really sad story, even if Rangi talks about it without a single tear in her eyes. 

Rumi is crying though, little sniffles that make Rangi’s face fall in sympathy. For a long while, they choose not to talk, leaving the space for Rangi’s grief to uncoil. 

Mira and Zoey keep mum as well, half out of respect. The other half—

“The door was open.”

It's Mira who says it, but Zoey is the one who connects the dots.

“And Celine never leaves a door ajar once she’s done with it.”

When they turn back around, Rumi and Rangi are both looking at them in confusion. Mira winces, not knowing how to explain this without sounding crazy. Luckily, Zoey has more than enough confidence for the both of them.

“Before you say anything, hear us out.” They reluctantly nod, Rumi shooting Mira a look that she shrugs at. “What if Gwima was lying to you?”

Rangi balks, as if the mere thought never even occurred to her. 

“What? Why would you say that?”

“I mean, this is Gwima.” Mira drolls, undeterred by Rangi’s unimpressed eyebrow raise. “You experienced it firsthand, what he could do with the smallest seed of insecurity inside your head. You’re telling me he’s never once done that to you?”

“No.” Rangi adamantly says. “I’m not stupid, I know he isn’t a good person, but my Gwima loves me. He’s… he’s all I have.”

A part of Mira, the part she thought was long dead, aches terribly. Because that was her once upon a time, when she thought family was the house you were born in and not the home you built with blood, sweat and tears.

Mira understands the desperation for a love that was never there, the attachment that won't fray no matter how hard you try or how long it’s been, and that’s what makes this all the more difficult. 

Because Mira is so sure she and Zoey are on the right track and something is aloof. 

Fortunately for all of them, this isn't something they have to dig deeper in today.

“I think I may have an idea that'll help.”

At once all three of them turn to Rumi, who remains tall even with all the attention. She looks only at Rangi, an apologetic look on her face.

“Lately I’ve had these dreams.” Rumi begins, her expression severe not unlike a charismatic main character of a live action fantasy show. “About another life I didn't live. I think they're your memories, Rangi.”

“Couldn't sleep?”

“Bad dreams. Sad ones too.” 

You can hear a pin drop in the resulting silence.

Rangi recovers first, balking almost angrily. “And you didn’t think to bring this up earlier?”

Mira sends her a warning glare that doesn't go unappreciated, Rumi giving her hand a gentle squeeze in reassurance. On Rangi’s side, Zoey is also stroking her back, looking like an animal tamer willing a beast to calm down.

Tigers indeed. 

“I wasn’t sure.” Rumi defends herself, her stony tone sending bolts of shivers down Mira’s spine. “All I could see at best were flashes. I only recognized them to be memories when I saw us fighting you on the train track that very first day.”

Rangi opens and closes her mouth a few times, evidently struggling to find words. Zoey helps her out.

“Did you ever see Rumi’s?”

“No.” Rangi shakes her head, adamant and assured. “I would’ve said something. As a matter of fact, shouldn’t I have felt something if you were really loitering around my subconscious without my permission?”

Rumi exhales, trying to keep herself calm in the face of Rangi’s accusation. Mira wants to step in, but the tension has risen to the point where she thinks she might do more damage than good if she sides with either Rumi.

“It’s because you’re not connected to the Honmoon.” At Mira and Zoey’s twin looks of confusion, Rumi elaborates. “The new one, I mean. You guys know what I’m talking about; how much stronger this one is, how personal. Sometimes I feel like I can feel what you feel if I concentrate hard enough. Like our souls are interwoven between the threads and only now we are able to see them, fine tune them to our own frequency.”

It’s clear Rumi has put a lot of thought into this, perhaps a lot of practice as well. She talks about the Honmoon like an extension of themselves now, and Mira can’t help but wonder just how this had slipped right under her own nose.

While Mira and Rangi are left in similar states of bafflement, Zoey is perking up with a hand raised in the air like a student eager to answer a question.

“Like a spiritual radio station?”

“Sure.” Rumi nods easily. “I don’t know how much truth there is to this, not until we actually test it out, but this Honmoon feels alive. And it’s telling me there is something in Rangi’s memories that needs double-checking.”

Grumbling something about hunters and sentient interworld shields, Rangi tosses her hands into the air.

“Fine. Just what do you suggest we do about it? It’s not like I can pluck my memories out into a vial and pour it down a basin for you to watch.”

“We need to get you hooked on better fantasy.” Mira points a half-teasing finger, smiling when Rangi sticks out her tongue in retaliation.

Hand squeezing Mira’s hip, Rumi butts in. “I think I have an idea, if you’d care to indulge me.”

Whatever Rumi has in mind, Mira doesn’t want her far away. But that’s exactly what Rumi is doing, standing up from the couch and walking over to where Rangi sits. Zoey fills Rumi’s spot almost right away, sensibly knowing their half-demons are going to need the space to… whatever it is they’re going to do.

“You reckon we’re getting some kind of light show? I can go and grab a few pairs of sunglasses.”

“Waste of a good accessory when I can only use one eye.” Mira grumbles, all too willing for Zoey’s snuggles. She’s careful enough to avoid upsetting Mira’s bandages, to which Mira rewards by placing a kiss on the top of her head. “Thanks for taking care of Celine and Rangi last night.”

“Thank me later by spilling all the beans.” Zoey grins, undeterred by Mira’s groan. 

“Nosy little turtle.” Mira ends the topic with another kiss to Zoey’s temple, smiling to herself at the noise of content and relief Zoey makes under her breath.

Zoey must’ve also been really scared for her last night. Mira makes a mental note to reassure her more after today. 

“First, we connect you to the Honmoon.”

Rangi scoffs, arms crossed over her chest. She looks a lot less scary in a baggy shirt and training sweatpants. Even with the tiny bits of horns protruding out of her forehead.

“That's still illegally hot.” Zoey comments at a volume she most certainly doesn't mean Mira to hear.

She’ll ignore it for now. 

“What makes you think the Honmoon will accept a demon like me?”

Rumi huffs, looking rather sad at a simple question. “Because whether either of us care enough to admit, we are the same person and the Honmoon has never abandoned us for anything. Not even when it should’ve.”

As if listening in, the Honmoon hums in agreement. 

Mira and Zoey both startle, Rangi even flinches, but Rumi acts like it’s nothing she hasn’t seen before. This isn’t actually Rumi keeping a secret from them, it’s not like before, but Mira can’t help but feel a little peeved and caught off guard yet again.

“Do you think there’ll ever be a day where Rumi runs out of surprises for us?” Mira whispers to Zoey, whose head immediately whips back.

“Honestly, no. I’m just grateful she’s still with us at all.”

Well. Mira can’t argue with Zoey there.

“We need to go to therapy.” Mira pauses. “Together.”

“Add that to the list of things we can ask Celine when she wakes up.” Zoey takes her suggestion in stride, eyes never once looking away from the half-demons engaged in a silent staring contest. 

“Come on, dude.” Rumi gives in first, huffing. “Will you at least try?”

Rangi rolls her eyes, seemingly more distressed than she’s trying to come across, if her claws and now even more protruding horns are any indication.

“Fine. Whatever.”

Not giving Rangi a chance to back out, Rumi quickly summons her saingeom. Mira and Zoey exchange a look, both having long noticed the change in size but went on without asking Rumi about it. 

Rangi sends the weapon a cautious glare, which turns into shock when Rumi flips her precious sword and hands Rangi half of the hilt.

“You’d trust me to…” Rangi trails off, lip quivering. Mira could’ve sworn she saw tears before she pulled herself together. “Okay. Here goes nothing.”

Mira holds Zoey closer, mentally prepared for anything that might happen. She isn’t expecting another apocalypse or anything, but Rumi’s demon magic is unpredictable at best and dangerous at worst, so sue her for being safer than sorry.

As it turns out, Mira was right to worry.

Because as soon as Rangi’s hand touches the sword, it’s like a mini sun has exploded in their living room. Mira immediately shields her one eye, but even her hand isn’t big enough to block the glow, the beams slipping through the cracks as slippery as an eel.

Next to her, Zoey makes an adorable squawk as she tries to hide behind both her hands. Mira assumes her result is similar, judging from how quick she abandons the task in favor of just hiding in the crook of Mira’s neck. 

Which is fine. She’s tall enough to protect their youngest from their bandmate and her alter ego trying to blind them with their celestial demon power, totally not a sentence she ever thought she’d say but nothing surprises her anymore at this point.

Without anything better to do, Mira starts counting the seconds.

Five. Ten.

Thirty. Sixty. Ninety. 

One hundred twenty— okay this is getting ridiculous. 

“They’re taking a while.” Zoey murmurs, barely louder than the ringing in both their ears. “Should we do something? Pull them out? People are going to think we’re lighting illegal fireworks in our house and call the cops.” 

“I’m so glad your brain goes wherever the hell it goes.” Mira tries to peek, but the light is so strong it almost feels like she can burn her corneas if she looks for too long. “Fuck it. We can’t leave Rumi or Rangi alone in there.”

Zoey nods like she already knows where this is going. Or rather, where they’re going. 

“Let’s tap into the Honmoon and follow them.”

Mira shrugs, figuring if they’re going to be stuck somewhere in between two worlds, they’ll at least be together. 

“If I die, tell my mother I hate her.”

“Mira, I swear to God—”

Chapter Text

Rumi has never known her childhood home.

She can’t tell if it’s an act of cruelty or mercy from the universe, missing something she’ll never get back or having never missed anything at all.

The house stands steadily against the backdrop of a hill, a shabby little thing that doesn't seem capable of standing but persists despite the odds.

Rumi has no memory of this place, but it feels like she’s never left. It's the same feeling of when she first met Mira and Zoey, coming back to a home that she never had in the first place.

It's weird, but Rumi doesn’t hate it. 

“I used to look at this place and wondered what difference it would have made if I died. Would it have made any difference at all.”

No longer dressed in Zoey’s shirt and Zoey’s sweatpants but the tank top and shorts she had on when they first met, her horns and her claws out with her tail swishing lazily back and forth, Rangi makes for a frightening sight. 

Dressed the same only in white, Rumi’s tongue swipes over her own fangs and knows without a doubt one of her eyes is golden. She’s come a long way from flinching at her own reflection and feeling that recoil of disgust bubbling in her chest, but the empowerment is new and comes from spending time with people who unconditionally love her, so that’ll take a little longer.

Rumi can give herself some grace for that. “No point in mourning a life you never lived.” 

“You weren’t saying that when you cried for me.”

Rumi scoffs. “I wasn’t crying for you. I was crying because your song was so bloody sad.”

Rangi cackles, amusement in her teeth. “A compliment from Miss Pop-star Royalty herself. I should put that in a frame.”

Rumi turns right, Rangi turns left. Their mouths purse. 

Hard as she tries, Rumi can’t help but eventually give into laughter. Rangi follows suit, the tease softening into what Rumi dares call camaraderie. The lightheartedness seeps in their skin like the rain into dirt, and Rumi remembers the reason they’re here.

“You don’t have to come with me.” She tells Rangi. “I can come back and report my findings.”

“This is my memory, not a lab report.” Rangi growls, her demonic voice slipping through. “Whatever you guys think is happening, I want to see it for myself.”

Rumi surrenders quickly, not actually sincere in her suggestion from the get-go.

“Alright. But you have to promise not to let go of my hand.”

Rangi blinks. “What do you mean not let go of your—" A downward glance, followed by a disgusted snarl. “Ew.”

“Oh, grow up.” Rumi rolls her eyes. “I just don't want to accidentally cut off your connection to the Honmoon. What if you get stuck in your memories and I can’t get you out?”

“Like that one Wenclair fanfiction Zoey read to me?”

They read to each other?

Zoey read to Rangi?

When the hell did that happen? 

“Uh, sure.”

Rangi sighs like this is an inconvenience. Well, it’s not like Rumi wants to do this either, okay? She’d much rather be at home and in Mira’s arms right now. 

“I’d rather be holding Mira’s hand.” 

Rumi lets out a demonic growl of her own, unwarranted jealousy hard to get rid of. “I know you’re just trying to get a rise out of me.” 

“You make it too easy.” Rangi shrugs, not at all sorry.

“Sometimes I wish I do. I'd be easier to love.”

That promptly shuts Rangi up. Rumi doesn’t fill the silence, having played her move and waiting for the next.

Eventually Rangi sighs. Relinquishing. “She loves you, you know. They both do. All of them do.”

Aptly enough, a Celine-shaped puddle is formed by their feet. Rumi wonders if Rangi will step on it. 

“And I, them. Which is why I’m going to do my best to help you now, because you also deserve a love that’s your own. So, what do you say?”

Rumi knows she’s won before Rangi says anything, a cocky grin stretching her mouth wide as Rangi adamantly avoids eye contact but keeps their grip on each other tight. 

“This is not because I like you.” Rangi scowls so hard, it’s amazing how her patterns don’t scrunch along with her. 

“I didn’t say anything.” Rumi’s own shine like she’s gloating, earning another harmless glare. “Well, if you’re done, let’s go inside.”

Rangi nods, and Rumi lets herself be led. 

The house stands steadily against the backdrop of the hill, as they make their way up from the foot. Rumi takes a few quick looks around, wondering about the life of those who lived here.

Rangi is similarly quiet, although Rumi can't be sure she's asking herself the same questions. After all, this house is where her childhood went to die. And from what she said, Rangi sometimes wished she did too.

Rumi can relate.

“There’s the door.” 

“And it’s closed shut.” Rumi hums thoughtfully, remembering Mira and Zoey’s observations about Celine, but not really knowing what they meant. “Do we knock?”

“Do we knock? What are you, twelve?” 

Their argument is moot, because their bodies go straight through the door anyway. Rangi huffs in mild annoyance before tugging Rumi inside, both of them trying to ignore how their palms begin to sweat with nerves.

As far as houses go, this one is rather small. Almost shabby-looking, if she’s honest. Even so, Rumi can’t help but feel safe here, like the walls have arms that give the best hugs and the floor under her shoes creaks with how was your day and welcome home. 

Rumi thinks she’s alone in these feelings, but Rangi’s head swivels like she can hear them too. Her eyes meet Rumi’s on the way down, and the look of sadness she lets slip before it’s hidden away makes Rumi want to cry with her.

“Come on.” Rangi tugs her hand again. Any harder and Rumi would be pressed against her in a hug. “We’re just here to get answers, yeah? We’re not— let’s not— this isn’t ours. Like you said, remember, no point in mourning a life you never lived. ” 

But you could've.

This was yours, and it was ripped away from you.

I can mourn for you too. 

Rumi nods anyway, embarrassed by her own moment of weakness. She grips Rangi’s hand tighter and quietly lets herself be led once more. 

They have to stop eventually, and it’s the faintest murmur of a conversation that tells them where.

Rumi instinctively puts a finger on her lips, cringing when she remembers where they’re at. Rangi rubs it in by copying her gesture with a teasing smirk, snickering when Rumi tries to shove her by the shoulder.

They only stop when a voice comes on clearly. A voice neither of them grew up with but Rumi could immediately identify.

“Thank you for staying, Celine. It really means a lot to me.”

Rumi’s tears come easily then.

Everyone knows who Ryu Miyoung is. One third of the legendary Sunlight Sisters, Creative Director of Sunlight Entertainment, 1st female idol in South Korea to ever have a writing credit in the Top 10 Worldwide Billboard, and Rumi’s dead mom. 

Rumi knew her mom was dead before she even knew she was her mom. Almost everything Rumi has ever known about her mom has something to do with her being gone. 

Your mother loved lilies. Which is why we named this garden of lilies after her. You know, because she's dead.

Your mother created history. Here’s a bench engraved with her name. You know, because she's dead. 

Your mother was my everything. My best friend, one third of my soul, the sole reason why you’re here now. You know, because she’s dead. 

That's Rumi’s burden to bear. But for Rangi, it’s a luxury.

“She’s so beautiful…”

That’s true. Rumi has certainly thought so on numerous occasions, seeing her mother’s smiling face in interviews, her charismatic gaze on album covers, and her smoulder that Rumi unknowingly inherits whenever something or someone catches her eyes.

(The fact that it’s almost always either Celine or Poppy soars over Rumi’s head like a seagull.)

But Rangi has never seen her. Has probably only known their mother from the brief flashes of her most beautiful dreams and the awful nightmares. 

Rumi looks over and, sure enough, Rangi looks like her whole world is being built and crashing down in a single breath. 

Her words mean next to nothing in the face of Rangi’s grief, and so Rumi keeps her mourning to herself. The hand holding hers tightens like it knows, the space between them similar to the hole in their heart shaped like their mother’s smile. 

“You know I’d do even the smallest things for you, Miyoung.”

Celine looks happier here, even though the line of her lips is so thin it matches the tabletop. She’s sitting right across their mom, whose hands cradle a steaming cup of tea she clearly has no intention of drinking. There’s an unoccupied cushion next to Celine, presumably Poppy’s spot that’s loyally left empty.

It’s such a simple picture. Almost domestic. Almost familiar. If Rumi squints, it’ll look like she’s back at the penthouse with Mira and Zoey by her side.  

An elbow nudges her in the ribs, Rumi blinks the tears out of her eyes in time to catch Rangi’s theatrical whisper.

“Did you know Celine had the hots for our mom?”

(The seagull crashes into a stop sign and squawks.)

“Celine had the what— ”

“This is hardly anything small.” Their mom interrupts with a gentle smile, her eyes softer than the candlelight hanging overhead. “It’s everything to me. After Poppy… well, I wasn’t sure you would still want to talk.”

Celine’s face hardens, both Rumi and Rangi cower in anticipation of a blowup. But Celine doesn’t react outward, at least not as violently as they’d expect. 

One might think it’s their mom being a miracle worker, but they know it’s because of the drifting pearls of a child’s laughter that rips every bit of tension to shreds. 

Rounding the corner are not one but two blobs of purple, one swaddled in a baby blanket and the other gazing sweetly down at her like she’s his entire world.

I am, Rumi knows without a doubt, grabbing Rangi’s shoulder with a shaking hand and an equally shaky voice. 

“Dude, look. That’s you.”

Rangi sighs, breathless. “I can tell…” The hand holding Rumi starts warming up, a heat signature Rumi recognizes from days of overstimulation, hugging herself and feeling her patterns burn like trailblazers on her skin. “He looks like us, Rumi.”

Until Rangi, Rumi didn’t even know her father’s name. That’s how tight-lipped Celine has been about him, about them as a family, and a part of Rumi, the part that thought one day she could let all this hurt go, flares so badly her heart stops for a whole second.

Sungjae is the carbon copy of her. Or rather, Rumi is a replica of her dad. 

Down to the crinkle of her eyes when she smiles and the massive ears hugging her head. Rumi has her mother’s smile, lopsided at best and awkward at most, but the twinkle that makes it shine is all his. 

Dressed in a long-sleeved black robe and tailored dress pants, Sungjae looks human without the purple patterns and the amber slits, and immediately Rumi understands why her mother had fallen in love with him. 

Sungjae skids to a stop all of a sudden, and for a moment Rumi fears he can see them. But the nervous swallow and his warm, kind eyes dilating indicates a different kind of nervousness, one that translates into him hugging Baby Rangi closer to his chest as he folds himself bowing at the door.

“Hello,” He says, sounding like one of Rumi’s own etiquette tutors. “I didn't know you came by, Celine.”

“I didn't know you were still here either.” Their mom’s brows furrow, Celine quickly corrects herself. “Miyoung said you were at the park.”

“We were.” Sungjae straightens, his smile a smidge softer as he peers down at the bundle of joy in his arms. “Little one wanted her mama though.”

Right on cue, Baby Rangi makes an adorable squeak, and for half a second, the whole room is filled with nothing but light and love. 

Rumi tries really hard to suppress her envy as Sungjae swoops into the room with the grace of a fawn, almost tripping over himself before he could hand a babbling Rangi to their smiling mother.

The brief flash of red under his sleeves temporarily catches her off guard, but Rumi’s attention is soon pulled away by a barely audible sob at her side.

Rangi, the adult one that is, has no qualms about getting verbally jealous of an infant. Never mind that infant is technically her. 

“That should be me. I should remember how it feels to be loved by them. That should be me. Why was it not me?”

Watching Baby Rangi sandwiched in between two people who so clearly love her, Rangi’s dimple matching their mom’s and Rangi’s hair the same as their dad’s, Rumi can't help but ask the same question.

Why was it not her, indeed. 

“So this is her. Rumi.”

It’s hard to tell what tone Celine is using to wrap around the syllables of her name, but the goosebumps running down Rumi’s spine are unmistakable. Rangi doesn't react outwardly, if one doesn’t count the minuscule tremble of their intertwined hands. 

Their mom’s smile stiffens for a split second, several trains of thoughts visibly flashing through her eyes before she settles on one.

“Yes. Our little miracle.” 

The sincerity in her voice, the sweetness of her smile, the adoration coating her tongue. Their mom almost glows with a love that outshines the sun, all of it melting whatever tension Celine has subconsciously carried in her bones, leaving behind something close to resignation and quiet acceptance.

“How old is she?”

“Six months and two days.” Celine swallows, a sound so heavy and hurt. It echoes against the walls of their home and their mom’s heart. “I wanted to tell you sooner, but—”

“That’s fine.” 

Rumi snorts, the sentiment echoed and shared in Rangi’s incredulous scoff.

Blissfully, Celine remains unaware. She finally takes a sip of her tea, but her eyes are distant and empty of any acknowledgement of its taste. They drift, eventually, to an unsuspecting Sungjae, who was in the middle of feign sticking his finger in Baby Rangi’s mouth.

Sensing attention, or perhaps hostility, Sungjae looks up and meets Celine’s eyes dead on. He doesn't flinch or look away like Rumi expected, instead giving Celine a tight-lipped, polite smile. 

“Did you force Miyoung to keep Rumi a secret?”

It’s like a bomb just dropped with how quickly their mom came to their dad’s defense. 

“Celine!”

But, kudos to him, Sungjae remains as cool as a cucumber. His smile never once wavers, even though Rumi could’ve sworn she saw his patterns flash a pinkish color.

“I understand why you came to such conclusions, but I can reassure you, Celine, that nothing we did was out of malice towards you or Poppy. All we ever wanted was the best for our Rumi.”

Even a blind man can tell Celine doesn’t believe him. Whatever shred of composure she was holding onto is completely gone now, and Rumi reckons had it not been for their mother intervening, Celine would’ve leaped across the table to tackle Sungjae and stab him in the throat with her sword.

Alas, Celine is left stewing on the cushion as she watches Sungjae take Rumi in his arms and exit the way they came. Rangi reaches out for them as if she can’t bear to let him go either, but one tug of Rumi’s hand and she’s reminded of their mission. 

“I’m sorry.” Rumi tells her anyway.

“Shut up.” Rangi scowls, the glossy sheen in her eyes not fooling anyone. 

“I understand why you’re mad.” A perfect mirror image of Rangi, their mom grips the edge of the table as she speaks through her teeth. “But implying that my husband, whom I love and who loves me, would do a thing so vile is cruel, even for you.”

The furrow of Celine’s eyebrows tighten at some point, her anger slipping through the cracks of her teeth with each word spoken. 

“Do you really expect me to believe a demon is incapable of that?”

“Sungjae is not just a demon.” Their mom practically hisses. “He used to be human, just like us. Until Gwima forced him into making a deal that took him away from the mortal world forever.”

“Forced him?” Celine puts down her cup of tea so hard, Rum is surprised it doesn’t crack. “You’re not seriously making excuses for the same creatures we’ve dedicated our entire lives to fighting? The same creatures who terrorized our villages and slaughtered our children?”

Their mother looks like Celine just outright slapped her. But she recovers quickly, certainly faster than Rumi would’ve in her shoes. 

“I told you about how we met. About how he’s not as bad as the rest of them and that all he wants to do is break free from Gwima’s imprisonment. I believe there’s good in him. I’ve seen it.” When Celine scoffs in disbelief, their mother reaches a breaking point. “What exactly are you mad about? Because I know damn well you’re not so stubborn that everything I said went in one ear and out the other. Be honest, what are you hiding from me?”

Whatever Celine has to say, most of which certainly cannot be good, is swallowed by the loud crash slamming into their walls.

It’s the hard-earned Hunter instinct that helps Celine and their mom jump out of the way just in time, otherwise the projectile would’ve crashed into them face-first. Rangi and Rumi are similarly caught in the debris, unable to see through the layer of dust flying everywhere for a few seconds. 

Before their vision can fully come back, it’s their mom’s horrified, blood-curling scream that signals something is truly wrong. 

“Sungjae! Rumi!”

“Mom!” Both Rangi and Rumi scream out, worried out of their minds, before unanimously agreeing to follow the sound anyway.

It takes a few more groping around in the dark before they finally reach them, Rangi reacting before Rumi as she rushes to check on their dad and the baby in his arms. Rumi is yanked along with her, but while Rangi kneels to fuss over Sungjae like their mom, Rumi is watching Celine.

Celine, who sensed danger before any of them could. Who conjures up her sword from the Honmoon and is standing protectively in front of them.

Rumi is only an illusion so she can’t follow suit, whining in frustration. Helplessness stirs and festers in her, coming to a boiling point when the dust eventually clears and the realization of what’s happening hits her hard in the chest.

Because there, standing right in front of her very eyes, walking in through the Sungjae-shaped hole in the wall and flanked by at least a dozen demons, is Jinu.

The same Jinu she trusted to confide about her patterns. The same Jinu she tried to save but couldn't.

The same Jinu who was— “The grim reaper who took you…” 

Rumi gasps, a hand covering her mouth as she staggers back, the realization making her brain hurt. Rangi catches her, the warmth of her hand on Rumi’s back her only solid support in this world.

“Whoa, hey. You okay? Do you know him or something?”  

Understatement of the century. “Long story, I’ll tell you all about it later.”

Rangi is given no time to interrogate her, as Rumi is positive she really wants to, for Celine has sheathed her sword out to its full length. Consequently, Jinu stops just a few inches away, his face as stone cold as the blood running in Rumi’s veins.

“Gwima has summoned you, Sungjae. It’s time to go home.”

Jinu sounds just like how Rumi remembers him, only further rubbing salt into the wound. 

“I’m not going anywhere with you…” Says their dad, who hobbles and pants as he gets back on his feet. Their mom has one of his arms over her shoulder, her own holding a crying Rangi somehow still safely swaddled in her blanket. Clearly Sungjae took all the impact. “And you will not have my daughter.” 

Jinu laughs, humorless, and Sungjae transforms. 

Gone are his warm eyes and sweet smile, replaced by saber tooth-like fangs protruding out of his lips, his eyes flash black before they turn thin and golden. The sleeves of his robe are hitched up from the crash, revealing to Rumi the line of what looks like scratches running down the length of his arms, where there also sits patterns glowing purple.

Not pink, but purple. Interesting.

Celine isn’t looking back hence she doesn’t flinch at Sungjae’s true form being so near their mother, like she most certainly would have, determination set in her eyebrows as she sets her target on who Rumi thought was her friend.

Who Rangi thought was her friend.

“There must be a mistake…” Rangi is shaking at Rumi’s back, her shaky breath touching Rumi’s nape. Rumi holds her hand tighter. “He’s my friend. He couldn't have… he would've said something if he—”

“A grim reaper? Gwima must be desperate.”

Rumi doesn’t understand what that means, until Jinu raises one of his hands with a thin-lipped smile on his lips. 

“This doesn’t have to get ugly.” Jinu tips his head in Sungjae’s direction, who growls low under his breath as he and his wife protectively flank Celine’s sides. “Gwima’s wishes are your commands, Sungjae. It’s no use resisting him.”

Upon receiving no reaction, Jinu sighs in fake exasperation. Hand closing into a fist, he then makes an executive order that sends shivers down Rumi and Rangi’s spine.

“As Gwima advised, I will handle the hunters and the traitor. All of you, get the girl. Remember, Gwima wants her alive.”

They came for me.

I’m the one Gwima wanted all along.

I’m the reason they’re dead.

The demons flanking Jinu spring to action, startling Rumi out of her spiral. 

Celine tries to counter them at first by herself, killing off two demons with a single strike of her sword, but Jinu soon joins the frail, his claws easily breaking the skin of Celine’s face. 

The demons slip through her defense as easily as a snake.

“No!” Celine yells helplessly, stumbling back and crying out in pain, right into the arms of their mother who shoots an arrow and meets a demon right between its eyes. 

Right on cue, Sungjae strategically takes a few steps back, their formation swiftly changing so Celine and Miyoung now protect him and the baby instead.

Where the fuck is Poppy when you need her?

“Celine! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Celine mumbles, somehow still strong enough to cut through another demon trying to make it past them to get to Sungjae, who gallantly fights back as best as he can the ones slipping past Celine and Miyoung’s barrier with Baby Rangi still screaming in his arms. “Miyoung, you need to run.”

Another bullseye, Miyoung takes advantage of her momentum to slam the end of her crossbow against another demon’s ribs, who Celine immediately stabs to death with her sword while it’s incapacitated. 

The horde never stops coming. 

“What? Are you crazy?” Miyoung shouts. Another perfect shot, then a definite punch in one’s jaw. “There’s too many of them! You won’t make it!”

“I’ll be fine!” Celine is sparring Jinu again now, whose teleportation skill makes it incredibly difficult for her to track, thus missing yet another claw to the stomach. “Fuck! Miyoung, go!”

Ripping off a demon’s throat with his fangs only to be punched in the face by a club, Rumi can tell whose opinion appeals to Sungjae more. With a glance at his crying kid, Sungjae rushes over to where Celine and Miyoung stood side by side and wraps his remaining arm around Miyoung’s waist. 

“I’m sorry…” It’s small and pained, but Rumi can tell their dad really means it. “Thank you.”

Celine doesn’t say anything, turning away from Jinu for one quick second to shove Miyoung by the shoulder. Another set of claws lands their mark, this time sinking into her back. 

Celine crumbles to the floor, crying out. There’s so much blood, no one can tell which is whose anymore. 

“No! Celine, no!”

Miyoung tries to fight out of her husband’s grip, heartbreak painted so obviously on her face at the sight of her fellow hunter, a third of her soul, critically injured. 

But Sungjae is stronger and wants to save their family, and so Miyoung is left screaming herself hoarse as she is dragged away, her devastation seemingly ripping both Rumi’s heart and the Honmoon in half.

“Celine! Please don’t do this!”

“Go, Miyoung!” Celine grunts, somehow still strong enough to attempt a kick in Jinu’s crotch after falling down. He catches her leg with frightening ease, and the sickening crack of her bone breaking at the impact of his elbow will forever haunt Rumi’s mind. “Get her out of here, Sungjae! Before it’s too late!”

It’s the first and last time Celine will ever use his name, and their dad knows it too. Tears streaming down both their cheeks, Sungjae fights off the last demon nearby and wills his own power of teleportation to make them all disappear. 

In a different world, Sungjae would’ve succeeded.

In a different world, Sungjae, Miyoung and Rangi could’ve gotten away.

In a different world, Miyoung would’ve seen the demon hiding in the shadows, just waiting for an opportunity to strike. Would’ve turned around to kill it before it had a chance to sink its teeth into her husband’s neck, whose last word was a broken whisper of her name.

In a different world, Miyoung wouldn’t have been so blinded by her tears and her grief that she was taken so much by surprise. Would’ve been able to fight back instead of looking blankly at the hole in her stomach, shaped like a demon’s hooves and Celine’s scream of anguish.

In a different world, Celine would’ve gotten to say I love you before Jinu’s claws slash through the flesh of her neck, her decapitated head meeting the cold, hard floor before the rest of her. 

In a different world, a better one, Rangi wouldn’t be ripped away from her family in such a violent way. 

In a different world, but not this one.

In this one, Rangi is all alone. 

Their house stands steadily against the backdrop of a hill. Whoever walked there, now walks alone. 

—

Rumi and Rangi return in a fit of tangled limps, blood-curling screams, and heart-wrenching sobs. 

Mira and Zoey had tried to follow Rangi and Rumi wherever the Honmoon decided to take them. But apparently overreaching into memories that aren’t theirs is crossing a line, so the two of them were promptly kicked back out in less than two minutes.

Left without better things to do, Mira and Zoey huddle back on their beloved couch, all the while turning on all the black-out curtains so they don’t get reported for illegally conducting alien experiments or something equally absurd. 

Going on her phone while wearing sunglasses indoors is not something Mira thought she would ever be doing, but nothing surprises her anymore at this point.

“Incoming!”

As if discussed beforehand, which they didn’t, Mira and Zoey both leap for their respective Rumi, cradling them in their arms as soon as they spring apart from each other and the blinding white light from earlier goes out with a soft pop.

Not that either of them is able to hear it over the sound of Rumi’s wailing and Rangi’s almost hacking up her lungs in a desperate attempt to breathe.

Mira and Zoey send each other identical looks of bewilderment over the half demons’ heads, before unanimously deciding to split up.

Vaguely picking up the sound of Zoey whispering her trustworthy breathing exercise in Rangi’s ear and being assured she is in good hands, Mira then devotes all her attention to a sobbing Rumi, who tucks herself into Mira’s chest as soon as they find a good enough position with her ass sprawled out on the floor and Rumi practically in her lap.

“Rumi, hey,” Mira tries tentatively, her arms wrapped around Rumi’s waist as she rocks them back and forth. “It's okay. I’m here, you’re okay.”

To her chagrin, Rumi doesn't look any more comforted, even sobbing harder in the crook of Mira’s neck. Wincing at her own failure, Mira changes tactics, deciding on providing comfort where Rumi likely needs it most, stroking up and down the length of her trembling back.

Not wanting to just be useless while her, uh, partner is fighting for her life, Mira scatters a few light kisses anywhere she can reach, from Rumi’s temple to her cheek, from Rumi’s crown to her shoulder.

It takes a while, at least fifteen minutes or so, during which Mira slyly turns the curtains back on to let the sun in, before Rumi’s breathing starts to even out. 

Mira lets out a quiet sigh of relief, but doesn't immediately push Rumi to speak. Instead focusing on continuing to stroke Rumi’s back until her tension deflates. 

Eventually, Rumi begins to breathe normally again. She’s still hiding in Mira’s embrace, which is usually all fine with her, but right now they have not one but two half-demons in severe distress in their living room and an explanation would be really nice.

Zoey catches her eye from her spot on the couch— when did she get them both up there is beyond Mira’s knowledge— and nods.

Quietly, Mira and Zoey both lift their respective Rumi into their arms. When there comes no objection, they unanimously spread out across the couch, Mira and Rumi in one corner, Rangi and Zoey in the other.

While Rumi sits in Mira’s lap, Rangi is practically lying atop of Zoey. It's about as good of a conversation starting point as anything.

Zoey starts them off, lowering her voice as she tenderly tucks a hair over Rangi’s ear. 

“Do you guys want to talk about what you saw?”

Mira follows suit. “No rush if you’re not ready yet, but we figured we could give you the choice.”

Slowly, like two meerkats peering over a wall, Rangi and Rumi extract themselves from their little hiding hole and meet each other’s eyes. A brief moment of wordless communication, and suddenly they're reaching out for one another.

The Honmoon gives a momentary shudder when their hands touch, but no more trip down memory lane. Mira and Zoey exchange a quick, relieved glance, before Rumi speaks up. 

“I can do it.”

She says as she looks directly at Rangi, not asking for permission but rather consent. Rumi’s voice is surprisingly stern despite the clear wobble underlying her every word, and Mira’s heart pinches, recognizing this for what it is. 

Rumi has this tendency to shoulder other people’s burden despite it clearly being uncomfortable for her as well. As their leader and the eldest, Rumi has stepped up to shield both Mira and Zoey countless times, doing what must be done for the sake of their team no matter how difficult. 

The fact that Rumi’s protectiveness has extended to include even Rangi makes Mira burn with pride, but at the same time she also wants to hug Rumi to her chest and never let her have to sacrifice herself again.

“I won’t fight you.” Rangi gives one squeeze, and Rumi smiles. It's sadder than anything Mira’s ever seen, and the dread coiling tight in her chest grows tenfold.  

“The Honmoon took us back to the very beginning…”

Going back to the point she made about nothing in this line of work capable of surprising her anymore, Mira would like to slap her past self for jinxing it. 

So Rangi’s whole life has been a lie. 

Celine didn’t give her up. Celine sacrificed herself so Rangi’s parents could run away, trying to buy them some time, before being forced to watch as her plan failed, her fellow hunter ruthlessly killed, and met her own timely death. 

Mira has already suspected it, why she pushed for the two of them to go inside their memories in the first place. But she takes no pleasure in being right, especially when Rangi can’t listen to more than a sentence without tearing up and every word Rumi says feels like they’re physically hurting her.

And Jinu. Fucking Jinu. 

Mira has been trying her hardest to overcome the unbridled rage stirring in her chest at the mere mention of him, thanks to Rumi and Rangi both for helping put things in perspective about what Rumi went through all these years without anyone to confide in, but to hear that in another world, he killed Rangi’s entire family while pretending to be friends with her for over two decades?

Mira doesn’t understand how Rangi is being so okay right now, or maybe she isn’t. Maybe she’s not okay. Maybe she’s trying to seem that way so Mira and Zoey can get caught up on everything, so Rangi herself has an excuse to stay and not be alone.

Fuck, already Mira wants to cry.

“After Jinu disappeared, the Honmoon took us from Rangi’s memory and placed us in mine.” Rumi’s eyes duck to the fidgeting hands on her lap, Mira doesn’t have the heart to take away what little that gives her comfort. “In our world, Celine never stayed for tea with my mom and dad. That’s what prevented her death.”

Zoey gasps, eyes glistening with her own tears. Mira swallows hers, determined to be strong for her girls.

“Jinu didn’t kill her?”

“Jinu was never here.” Rumi shakes her head, haunted by ghosts only she can see. “I suspect once he saw Celine left, Gwima thought regular demons were enough to subdue my parents. He was right. They were too distracted trying to protect me to worry about themselves.”

“Celine came later.” Rangi picks up, her mouth curled up in a smile that is out of place but so, so genuine. Rumi seems appreciative at least, suddenly breathless as she leans against Mira for support. “It’s thanks to her that Rumi never had Gwima in her head. It's because of Celine’s protection, Celine fighting to keep Rumi, Celine’s love for her that kept him away. Who would've thought?”

Who would've thought indeed.

The penthouse drowns itself in pensive quiet, Mira and Zoey needing extra time to process the load of info dumped into their lap. 

The former in particular has an easier than expected time associating the Celine she knew as a kid and the Celine she knew hurt Rumi with the Celine whose purpose was so strong she completely stopped the King of the Underworld from doing what he does best, what he has been doing for millennials. 

Because at the end of the day, Celine loves Rumi. 

Her love was forged not only of duty but also sacrifice. There was so much love, but there was pain too. There was so much love, Celine didn’t know what to do with it or with herself. So she protected the child of the woman she once loved dearly and never looked back.

Rumi and Celine still have a lot to talk about, but for once, Mira is confident they will try. You can’t love someone this much and just not try. 

“So why do you think the Honmoon wanted you to see those memories?” 

At Mira’s less-than-subtle distraction, Rangi chuckles dryly before she shrugs.

“To show me how much of an idiot I am?” Zoey must’ve pinched her, Rangi wincing and rubbing her elbow. “I feel stupid, okay? I just, I can’t believe I trusted Gwima. His whole shtick is manipulation and deception. The entire concept of grim reapers are people whose brains he twisted and morphed so badly, they can’t tell left from right. I trusted him, I served him, I… I might’ve even loved him.” 

“It’s not your fault.” Rumi hurriedly says, wiping her face and leaning forward to grab Rangi’s hand again. Zoey, as sensible as ever, wordlessly scooches closer. Mira follows suit without prompting. “Really, it’s not. You trusted someone you thought had your best interest at heart. You let yourself care, and that can never be a bad thing. You didn’t know better. No one in this room would think otherwise.” 

“Agreed.”

“Same.” Mira echoes Zoey, extending her own hand and is relieved when Rangi takes it with no hesitation. Zoey tucks her head in Rangi’s neck, practically burying herself in Rangi’s warmth. “Like Rumi said last night, you are not your mistake.”

“And it’s never too late to live your truth.” Their youngest finishes with a stern voice and a gentle smile, her fingers featherlight caressing Rangi’s tear-stained cheek. 

Their raised-demon only sniffles, seemingly out of words. Mira suspects she’s also out of strength, it has been a long day. 

But just when she thinks of suggesting they all rest some more, Rangi perks up.

Like, full-blown textbook-postured, goody-two-shoed, bright-eyed Rumi, kind of perk up. The way Rumi gets whenever she has to do something particularly leader-like and takes a perverted amount of pride knowing she’s the only one who can do it.

“I want to go back.”

A beat, then two. Rumi takes the lead as always. 

“What?”

“I want to go back.” Rangi repeats, elaborating when she realizes she’s stunned the rest of them into silence. “I need to go home. I want to set things straight with my Gwima. I want to restore the Honmoon and bring back the Hunters. And I… I want to find you.”

The ensuing silence drags, until it finally dawns on all of them how deadly serious Rangi is.

Mira and Zoey both make a strangled sound, more than a little taken aback. Rumi tries, bless her, but she too falls short of forming speech.

The sight gives Rangi some sort of amusement, her smile sharpening into a smirk. The smirk has teeth, and it makes her own lips bleed. 

“I’d only cause trouble if I stayed.” Mira swallows, nose bridge stinging. “How would you even begin to explain my existence to your fans?”

“We can say you’re Rumi’s cousin.” Zoey recovers first, lower lip wobbling..

No one has the heart to tell her just how quickly that plan would fall apart. In the face of Zoey’s sadness, Rangi especially looks like all her bravado has been replaced by a quiet, resigned sort of devastation.

“I don't want to go back.”

But you’re Rumi, and my Rumi never shies away from duty. 

Mira scoffs. Zoey laughs, pitchy and incredulous. Neither of them can believe their own ears.

Rangi puts a hand on Zoey’s cheek, her voice soft like she’s scared someone will listen and immediately take her away. 

“I can’t stay, Zoey. I don’t belong here.”

Mira’s heart twists like a pretzel, because deep down she knows that's true. Rangi has a home, and it's not here.

“Nonsense.” Zoey scoffs, but she doesn’t pull away. “We can pull something off. Rumi’s long lost twin sister? It’s not impossible, I’ve seen it on TV and no one ever blinked an eye. We can dye your hair— you’d suit being blonde, and get you blue contact lenses for good measures. And your papers; driver’s license, birth certificate, passport, I have a guy for that. Don’t even worry. One call from an international superstar and he’ll send them over in less than a day. Yeah, yeah, that’ll work. I’ll call him right away, it’s not that late in the US. Wait here, I’ll be right back—”

“Zoey.”

Mira hears Rangi pulling Zoey in for a hug rather than seeing it, her vision blocked by free-flowing tears. In her arms, Rumi is sniffling accordingly, barely audible over the sound of Zoey ugly sobbing in the crook of Rangi’s shoulder. 

Wiping her face with her sleeve, Mira then meets Rangi’s eyes. 

“Are you sure?”

Rangi nods, her hand and Rumi’s somehow have never once separated despite how deeply entangled she is with Zoey. 

A sadder smile curls. “There’s no place for me here anyway.”

“That’s not true.” Zoey whines, Mira is beginning to consider disrespecting Rangi’s wishes so she never has to hear Zoey in distress like this ever again. “I get that you have to go, but don’t talk like you don’t belong here too. With us.”

“I know.” Rangi easily surrenders, nose squished against Zoey’s head. One of her tears just falls on Zoey’s ear. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

Zoey nods, her victory bittersweet. Her lips are set in a line, oozing a quiet, helpless sort of resignation. Mira has always admired her selflessness, her ability to always put others above herself, but right now it only makes her ache.

Evidently it's the same for Rangi, who sighs and lips presses a featherlight kiss on Zoey’s crown. Mira and Rumi lock eyes at the tender act of affection, a beam of light in the darkness of their shared sadness. 

I love you, Rumi mouths. There's a blush on her cheeks Mira finds so kissable, and it's almost ridiculous how quickly Mira surrenders to her instinct, gently tugging Rumi close by the waist and pressing her lips on that blush.

You’re everything, she thinks as she stays close, only pulling back when Rumi makes a soft, flustered squeak only she can hear. Mira can't do anything else but grin, watching Rumi scrambling to change the subject. 

“How do we help you get back?” Rumi asks, both of Mira’s and Rangi’s hand held tenderly in hers. 

“Admittedly I haven’t put a lot of thought into that,” Rangi winces one second, then perks up the next. “What about the Honmoon? It’s all-powerful, isn’t it? Maybe it can open a portal for me.”

“And how do you expect to ask the Honmoon to do that?” Mira raises an eyebrow. “Wait, don’t tell me, are you connected now too?”

As if corresponding, the Honmoon hums. 

Between the three of them, Rumi is the most attuned with it from a lifetime of training under Celine, even more now that the patterns etched on her skin glimmer with every pulse of the sentient shield. Mira and Zoey have their own way of communicating, but their skills are no match compared to Rumi’s.

Apparently that translates across the multiverse as well, because it’s not just Rumi but also Rangi is nodding like they understand what the Honmoon is trying to say. Their patterns are glowing faintly with their respective colors, brightening the conspiratorial glint in their eyes.

“Uh, what is happening?” Zoey asks, her voice scratchy from crying.

“We’re not doing another light show, are we?” Mira raises the main remote, finger hovering over the curtain control. 

“No, but we’re going to try something.” 

Without saying anything else, Rangi and Rumi both stand up. Their hands remain interlocked even as they move to the center of the living room, coming to a stop after turning around to face each other. 

Mira and Zoey look on in confusion and curiosity, the former stubbornly getting ready to close the black-out curtains again. Better safe than sorry.

“Alright, here we go. Don't panic, okay, just—”

“Yeah, yeah. Follow your lead. I get it already.” 

“I’m trying to be helpful, you ungrateful brat.”

“And I’m perfectly capable of understanding a singular command, you uptight princess with a disorder.”

“You bitch.”

“Fuck you too.”

Mira isn't sure which is more surprising, the fact that Rumi and Rangi are still holding hands or that they're smiling at each other while trading insults Mira never thought she would hear coming out of Rumi’s mouth in a million years.

This is the same girl who refuses to say what the hell or shit. Who uses words like golly gee, bloody hell or, once, shiver me timbers! 

The same girl is now grinning, dimples and everything, while saying fuck. And fuck she sounds so good, the singular syllable trapped under her upper teeth before expelled in a breathy sound that makes Mira’s head spin.

Girl, this is so not the time.

I’ve been in love with Rumi for over a decade. Leave me be. 

Satisfied her inner voice has quietened, Mira pays attention back to the situation at hand. In which Rumi and Rangi are once again tapping into the Honmoon and, uh, singing?

Rumi starts it off, her beautiful voice effortlessly rising above her natural register. 

“홀로 어둠을 밝히려,” Am I to light up this darkness all alone, the first sentence of the original Hunters’ Mantra.

Rangi follows suit, her voice lower and shaking with lack of technique. It touches Mira’s soul regardless. 

“우리 노래 부르리라,” We shall sing together. 

Then, with a gentle nod from Rumi, they slip into harmony. Mira is well aware she's crying, and Zoey is doing her best rendition of a soap opera widow. 

“굳건한 이 소리로,” With this song, strong and firm,“ 이 세상을 고치리라.” We shall fix the world.

And then, like welcoming its children home, the Honmoon sings too. 

Slowly, Rumi raises a hand. Cautiously, Rangi does too. Mira and Zoey hold their breath, clutching each other for dear life, and gasp at twin starlight.

At the tips of their fingers, a swirl of blue and pink appears. Rumi gently entangles herself in between the threads, there you are, Rangi tentatively touches it like a new friend, it’s nice to meet you.

The Honmoon cries out. Finally.

Sparks manifest into blades, Rumi’s new saingeom and— “Holy shit…”

“Holy shit is right,” Rangi laughs once, then twice. The saingeom in her palm shimmers with stars, reflected by the shimmering tears in her eyes. “I got a weapon. Holy shit, Rumi, it gave me a weapon.”

Swinging her own much larger saingeom before resting it on her shoulder, Rumi merely pops her hips and smirks. 

“I told you, the Honmoon loves you.”

The resulting grin stretching Rangi’s cheeks before it’s muffled in the collar of Rumi’s shirt after Rangi pounces on her, so very tiger-like, and gives Rumi a hug so tight she turns concerningly pale. Mira watches on with a smile on her own, even if it doesn’t fully reach her eyes.

Rangi doesn’t belong here, Mira will just have to learn to accept that. No matter how much it hurts.

“Not that I’m ungrateful or anything, but how exactly is this going to help get me home?”

The celebration only lasts for a few more minutes before reality comes crashing down. Rangi poses the question while still hugging Rumi, who makes a sound of confusion before facepalming.

“I honestly didn’t think that far.”

Mira and Zoey, sharing not just a quiet sadness but also humor, snort so loud they get both Rumis’ attention. While the raised-demon looks unimpressed as hell, their beloved leader is halfway through forming a retort, though Mira bets it’s more whining than anything.

But before Rumi can say anything, a new voice is joining in.

“Maybe I can help.”

Zoey’s already leaping off the couch before Celine’s voice grows loud enough to tell she’s nearby, their youngest sprinting with the speed of a rocket to get to where Celine stood, leaning her whole body against the dining table like she needs the support.

And she does, Mira realizes with a jolt. Her memories of last night haven’t quite fully come back yet, but she does recall Celine so heavily injured they genuinely feared she could die. 

Thankfully she looks better now, no doubt thanks to Zoey’s immaculate care throughout the night. 

Celine’s still limping even with Zoey’s support, but she manages to reach the couch with minimum exertion. Somehow she still manages to look gorgeous as hell after being beaten to a bloody pulp, Mira never understands how that works and she probably never will.

Mira’s one eye makes a quick scan, finding thick bandages wrapped around Celine’s ribs when her baggy shirt lifts. Celine has some wrapped around her head as well, and one of her arms is in a sling. 

Overall, not the worst they’ve ever gotten hunting demons, but one look at a darkened Rangi and Mira can tell she’s beating herself up all over again.

Celine notices it too, but she makes no mention of it. Instead she has her eyes on Rumi and, surprising everyone in the room, never once flinches despite Rumi having all her patterns out. 

The same patterns flicker a nervous blue after Celine stares for too long without saying anything. Rumi begins to squirm, unconsciously trying to cover her arms like the past few months didn't happen and Rumi is back to being a child again. 

Mira’s eye narrows, ready to throttle their mentor if she makes even one peep about how Rumi needs to hide her patterns. Thankfully, Celine’s next words prove it unnecessary.

“You got a new weapon.”

Rumi raises the aforementioned new weapon, the sleeve of her shirt drooping with gravity and revealing toned biceps curling as she lifts the heavy sword into the air. Mira is not drooling.

“It changed in the battle with Gwima. Ji—” Rumi stops herself, conflict clear in her eyes. Rangi nudges her softly by the shoulder, face unreadable. “The demon I thought was my friend gave his soul to me. He saved me.”

Mira waits for an outburst, mentally preparing several ways she can shut their mentor up before she can make Rumi spiral. 

None of them had thought nor cared enough to fill Celine in about what happened at the Idol Awards, so this would be the first time she hears anything about Rumi’s brief allyship with a demon, the lead demon of their rival group at that. 

Mira is ready for the worst, and admittedly disappointed when all Celine does is give Rumi a clearly disapproving frown before promptly moving on. 

“That’s no longer a saingeom you’re holding, Rumi.”

Everyone makes similar sounds of confusion, but it’s Rumi who asks for clarification. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean whoever gave you their soul didn't just give you an energy boost to create the new Honmoon, they also went and transformed your weapon entirely. That's a chilseongkal you’re wielding now.”

Chilseongkal is a seven-starred blade. Chilseong is a deity often associated with the Big Dipper, one of the the patterns of constellations previously seen in Rumi’s old and Rangi’s current saingeom, and the chilseongkal is supposed to represent the bridge between the earthly world and the spirit world. 

Moments before their quick and impromptu history lesson comes to its gradual end, Mira understands what Celine is trying to say. It doesn't take long for Rumi and Zoey to come to the same conclusion, leading the three of them to explain to a clearly confused Rangi.

“My new sword can get you home.” Rumi says, lifting the chilseongkal with a renewed sense of awe.

Rangi raises an eyebrow, her saingeom held loosely in between her fingers. “Have you been able to do that this entire time?”

“I mean, it's not like I knew.” Rumi raises both hands in surrender, and Rangi rolls her eyes. It's fond, naturally so.

Those eyes look at Celine next, any trace of happiness and amusement replaced by a sort of caution Mira has unknowingly seen so many times throughout the years in Rumi but couldn’t place.

“Why would you help me?”

Celine doesn’t flinch like Mira expects she would. Their mentor has always been the epitome of calm and grace, but how she maintains both of those things in a situation like this is completely beyond Mira.

“I was asleep when the Honmoon tried to show me a piece of memory.” Both Rumi and Rangi stiffen, eyes saucer-like. “You can imagine how shocked I was, as I was no longer connected to the Honmoon, ever since the title was passed down to you three. But if I knew the Honmoon as well as I thought I did, it’s that it never does things without a reason. So I went where it wanted me to and, eventually, I found you.”

Rangi scoffs in response, defensive. “So this is pity?”

“No,” Celine says calmly with an undercurrent of desperation. “It’s a plea.”

It’s almost a comical sight, watching the former leader of the legendary Sunlight Sisters beg. How she never once takes her eyes away from her adopted daughter(s), as if fearing they’ll strike (or leave) as soon as she does. 

Not a hair strand out of place. Majestic even in a baggy t-shirt and sweatpants. Yet Celine has never looked more pathetic. 

Rumi takes a step forward. “If you were with us, why didn't you say anything?”

“I couldn't even if I wanted to.” The Honmoon ripples, low and mischievous like a giggle. “I could only watch.”

“And what exactly did you see?” Rangi asks a question she already knows the answer to, clearly trying to regain some sort of dominance.

“Everything.” Finally, a crack in Celine’s voice and composed mask. “I… I saw everything.”

“So this is pity.” Rangi hisses, now standing side by side with Rumi. As if Rumi’s presence itself is a source of comfort. 

“It’s an apology.” Celine says like it hurts. Mira bets it does, but more for Rumi and Rangi. “When I lost Miyoung, I swore to protect all that's left of her. I knew I failed when Rumi came to me begging for death, came to me thinking I could do it. That I would do it.”

Zoey muffles her whimper in Mira’s neck, reminding her of the conversation they desperately need to have but constantly pushing back. Rumi doesn't dare to look at anyone after Celine said what she did, one of her hands curled into a tight, trembling fist.

Rangi looks at it like she wants to do something, but ultimately decides not to.

“What does that have to do with me?”

“You're still Rumi,” Everyone can hear the gasp leaving Rangi when Celine stands up, even more is the stuttering breath she makes after having her hands seized in Celine’s. “You're still the same little girl who deserves better than me.”

Someone gasps. It might be Rumi. 

Celine turns to her next, one hand reaching out. Looking all the world like she expects Rumi to brush it away.

Rumi doesn't, and the collective sighs from the three of them can be heard a mile away.

“I’m a coward.” Celine says like she didn't hear a thing. Not Rangi’s heart breaking, not Rumi’s crumbling composure, not the melting ice castles in Mira and Zoey’s chest built from righteous anger and hurtful devotion. “I’ve never been anything but. I’ve always been afraid and I was constantly absent. I failed you in so many ways, but Rumi, you must understand that I love you. I love you more than words can say, but I didn't know how to love without shame.” 

That seems to be what breaks Rumi, who can no longer hold herself back and barrels into Celine’s open arms, clutching her like a little kid. Next to her, Rangi looks similarly stricken, starry tears streaming freely down her cheeks.

Celine takes one hand to pat Rumi’s trembling head and uses the other to wipe Rangi’s face. She looks like if regret grew a heart and love existed in hellfire. 

“I’m sorry the world failed you,” For Rangi. “I’m sorry I failed you.” For Rumi. “You don't have to forgive me right away, but please let me make it right. Let me do right by you.”

Celine’s not asking for forgiveness. She’s saying she’d like to earn it. And for Mira, who’s always thought apologies are meaningless affirmations to souls who don't know the difference between forgiving and forgetting, is simply relieved nothing about this is like pulling teeth.

Maybe this is what family was always supposed to be. 

—

Shortly after their little heart-to-heart, Celine begins teaching Rumi a spell to open up an interdimensional portal (“I did say I have contacts.” “Is your contact Avatar Korra? What the heck?”). And because she is annoyingly good at everything she does, Rumi perfects the spell Celine taught her in less than three days. 

In between those three days, Mira struggles to cope with the idea that Rangi must leave. It doesn’t help that she feels more and more for the raised-demon every time Rangi laughs at another meme Zoey showed her, every time Rangi hums in delight at eating another one of Mira’s homemade meals, or every time Rangi smirks wickedly after successfully riling Rumi up so badly their patterns engage in controllable light shows. 

Mira has always had trouble with people leaving, and although she knows this is for the better, for the best even, she can’t help but feel sad about it. Just because she’s come to cherish Rangi as a friend, as a part of them.

Of course, her sulking is nowhere near what Zoey must be feeling, who has stuck to Rangi’s side like glue, always plastering on a bright smile that never shines the whole way through, purely for the sake of spending Rangi’s last days in joy. 

It’s now day three and Rumi has just announced they’ll perform the spell tomorrow. HUNTR/X, Celine, and Rangi will be taking their private jet to get to the Hunters’ Compound, where the Honmoon magic is the strongest. Rumi is going to need the assistance if she wants to open a portal that can rip through the fabric of reality and besides, Mira has no objection to visiting their old home again.

Maybe she should bring flowers for Rumi’s mom too while she’s at it. Zoey would be upset after sending Rangi away, maybe they can drop by that naengmyun place Zoey and Mira used to sneak out to all the time whenever Rumi had special diplomatic training with Celine. 

Yes. That’d be lovely.

“Hey lovely, what’s taking you so long?”

The head tucking itself in her shoulder smells faintly of vanilla. Mira’s lips automatically curl up in a smile, parting to let out a sigh of content as strong, muscular arms wrap themselves around her waist, careful and gentle to not mess up her bandages.

Despite being given clearance to see with both eyes again, it won't be for another four days until Mira can go without the bindings on her torso. And even though they make it hard to move and breathe, Mira tries to see the good in things, mostly having Rumi’s tender hands on her body every night

She’s in love, sue her.

“Hi Rumi,” 

“Hello,” Lips press against her shoulder, spreading warmth all the way down Mira’s toes. “You’ve been here for a while. Everything okay?”

Mira sighs, unsure how to explain without sounding like she’s overtly emotional about another woman. Who is also the same woman as— this will never stop being weird, will it.

“Is it Rangi?”

Credits where credits are due, Rumi can be quite observant when she wants to be. Oblivious at times, but eagle-eyed whenever her girls’ wellbeing are involved. Mira doesn’t know how, but she falls harder for her every day.

“Hmm,” Mira replies, gently untangling herself out of Rumi’s embrace. The ensuing whine makes her smile, smitten and endeared as she takes her turn hugging Rumi by the waist. “You’re not getting jealous on me again, are you, tiger?”

Rumi always looks so beautiful in the morning, with her messy hair and her hooded eyes. 

Just like every day since they started rooming together, Rumi is wearing something of Mira; today a sleeveless white button-up she remembers wearing at Doctor Han’s, a pair of boxers decorated with Batarangs, and no pants. 

The crimson blush blooming on her cheeks could be attributed to the pet name or Mira’s fingers grazing dangerously at the edge of her panties. 

Either way, Rumi is adorable, too adorable for Mira to resist stealing a kiss. 

It hasn’t been long since they started getting intimate, but Mira doubts she’ll ever get used to the way Rumi always gladly, obediently, opens her mouth so Mira can slot hers in between. Rumi’s lips are softer than she imagined, a flower petal Mira loves prying open to steal the honey nectar deep within. 

Rumi tastes sweet, her moaning Mira’s name even sweeter. Mira bites down on the syllables with her teeth, then trails said teeth down the column of Rumi’s throat, where sits a twang of post workout sweat and something distinctively Rumi.

“Mira,” Rumi says breathlessly, Mira suspects she’s seeing herself in the mirror, blushing like mad and at Mira’s mercy. “You’re still hurt.”

“I can still make you feel good.” Mira proves it by sinking her teeth into flesh, Rumi’s startled squeak only stoking the fire. Her lips graze metal, Rumi’s stolen her necklace again. “Will you let me?”

Well aware she’s playing dirty by palming Rumi’s lower back and nails scratching the lines of her defined abs, Mira still finds herself pouting when Rumi pushes her away. 

The gentle kisses Rumi places on her cheeks, her nose, then her lips are poor consolations, but Mira can't begrudge her love, not when Rumi can see right through Mira’s soul and know she’s just trying to distract herself from feeling too much.

Everyone thinks Mira feels too little. Sometimes Mira wishes she feels nothing at all. 

“Talk to me.” Rumi pleads with her sweet voice, nudging Mira’s forehead with hers. 

The Honmoon vibrates and bleeds, and Mira folds like a piece of paper. What is love if not surrender.

“I’m going to miss her.” When Rumi doesn’t elaborate, Mira continues. “She was never meant to stay, I know, but I can't help it. These past few weeks, she’s become such a good friend. I’d hate to see her leave.”

“I’m sad too.” Rumi chuckles when Mira raises an eyebrow, the hand cupping her cheek giving a light tap. “She’s grown on me, like a fungus.”

Mira laughs, bright and easy. Rumi grins along with her, dimples popping out to say hello, and Mira returns it in kind with one kiss, two kisses, then three when Rumi turns her head to catch her lips.

Their kisses languid and soft, Mira mentally thanks Rumi for not trying to make her feel better by empty words, simply sharing her own feelings and being here when Mira needs her the most. 

Gratitude and affection making her stupid, or maybe it's the lack of oxygen, Mira boldly palms both of Rumi’s ass cheeks and attempts to lift her girlfriend (title pending) up the counter so they can make out some more.

Keyword, attempt. 

Mira gets as far as practically smacking Rumi’s butt, grinning at the half whimper, half squeak in her mouth, when the wound on her chest erupts in pain. She would've dropped Rumi entirely had it not been for their shared training as warriors, Rumi quickly salvaging the situation by gaining her footing and helping Mira steady herself against the nearest solid surface.

Which is the bathroom wall. Great, she just successfully Kabedon-ed herself. This is embarrassing.

“Hey, hey. Are you okay? What hurts? Mira, tell me what hurts.”

“My pride,” Mira groans, stars flying behind her eyelids like one of Zoey’s beloved pixel games. “And maybe my ego.”

Someone snorts. Mira peels one eye open to check, and sure enough, finds Rumi snickering behind her hand. Immediately she pouts, trying to earn sympathy points, but all it does is make Rumi laugh harder.

Mira can't really complain though, not when Rumi’s eyes shimmer with mirth and she looks so happy, because of her.

There's slick coating her swollen lips, her cheeks are an unruly pink, her patterns a beautiful blue that light up the brown in her eyes. Mira tries, she really does, but she can't stop herself from falling stupidly, hopelessly, head over heels for her. 

“I'm sorry,” Rumi tries, her pearly giggles like angel notes in Mira’s ears. “You're just so cute.”

“I’m a badass.” Mira huffs, but nuzzles into Rumi’s touch when she brushes her hair out of her face. 

Someone coos, but Mira has her eyes closed again, looking for Rumi in the dark and landing where her shoulder meets her neck. Her safe place. Her favorite person. 

“Oh, my Mira…”

Mira is just grateful she didn’t outright faint. Such is the hubris of having a really hot girlfriend (title pending), Mira can deal with it. 

They agree to get breakfast once the sun has come up.

“Babe, do you smell that?”

Distracted by the same delicious smell surging up her nose, Mira completely misses the pet name, blindly grabbing Rumi’s hand and tugging her towards the kitchen, from where the smell is spreading across their living room. 

Rounding the corner, Mira immediately finds two heads of black hair and one purple. Seeing Celine reading the newspaper on one of the stools hasn’t been an unfamiliar sight since they first moved in, and Rangi joyously scrolling TikTok on her iPad is going to be something Mira will miss so much when the raised-demon has to go home. 

Looking for Zoey next, Mira proceeds to get the shock of her life.

“Are you… cooking?”

Wearing a green apron Mira has never seen in her life, her hair done up in her usual space buns, and wielding a spatula like she’s holding her sinkal, Zoey looks like a woman on a mission. Mira can practically hear her jaw hitting the floor, Rumi’s promptly following, watching as Zoey zips from one corner of the kitchen to another with the same grace she has on the battlefield. 

Where was this kitchen savvy when Mira slaved away for hours to make meals for them? 

Zoey spots them while turning around to open the fridge, a bright grin stretching her lips wide and calling for the attention of Celine and Rangi. 

“Good morning!”

“Oh hey, you’re finally here.” Rangi waves, amusement twinkling in her eyes when she finds them still shellshocked. “We were just about to send for you.”

“It's poor etiquette to sleep in when you have a guest.” Celine peeks over her newspaper, one eyebrow raised in disapproval. “I thought I taught you better than that.”

Rumi recovers first, voice slightly squeaky with offense.

“We weren't sleeping in. You guys are just out here early.”

“The sun isn't even fully up.” Mira supports her girl, pointing at the ball of fire barely peeking over the horizon outside their window.

Celine looks like she's about to say something else, but thankfully stopped by Zoey. 

“It's okay,” Their youngest puts down her utensils and skips over to them, giving them their usual good morning hugs. “I got to have the whole kitchen to myself for longer anyway, it's a win-win.”

Mira squeezes the girl and kisses her forehead, waits for Rumi to do the same, before pulling her back and pulling out the most deadpan face she can imagine.

“Have you always known to cook?”

Zoey shrugs. “I’m a child of divorce, that's like asking if a horse knows how to gallop.”

“And yet you made me do all the work?” Hand curled in a halfhearted fist, Mira drills her knuckles into Zoey’s head, the one arm around her shoulder preventing Zoey from wiggling away. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Mira— Mira, stop— unnie, come on!”

Mira lets her go, because she's not a monster, and laughs wholeheartedly at Zoey’s sulking pout. Rumi elbows her to get her to stop, but the corner of Rumi’s lips curling renders that task impossible. 

Zoey huffs, evidently tired of them. “It's a special day, okay?”

Promptly, Mira and Rumi both soften, seeing through the joyful facade Zoey tries so hard to put up for the sake of their friend and herself. Mira tugs Zoey back in for another hug, proud and heartbroken for their little star, and Zoey, who usually could never resist a good cuddle, falls into her arms like she desperately needs to be held.

Rumi doesn’t join, and Mira gets to find out why when Rumi starts tugging on Zoey’s hand and slowly moves them towards the kitchen.

“You wouldn’t rob me of my sous chef duties, would you?”

“I would never,” Zoey grins, grabbing Rumi’s arm and yanking her away before Mira can say anything. “So I made some miyeokguk, because why not, and I made poached eggs so we can smash them and mix them with mayonnaise to make those sandwiches I know you love…”

Mira huffs, not even offended that she’s essentially abandoned to her own device. How can she, when her girls look back over their shoulders and give her beaming smiles so bright they pale in comparison to the literal sun staring back.

Wanting to sit down, Mira heads for the stool she’s quietly claimed as her own, the furthest on the right. Mira only has one finger on the cushion before it’s snatched away by a pattered, clawed hand.

“Let me help you.” 

“Rangi, I’m fine.” Mira still accepts the help, quietly relieved that the stitches she almost pulled earlier weren’t too serious. Rumi will undoubtedly tell Zoey about it, and Mira would rather not die of embarrassment. “Thanks, Rangi.”

Their raised-demon shakes her head with an exasperated smile. 

Mira’s eyes move on their own accord, taking in Rangi’s familiar black tank top and shorts. It’s the same outfit Rangi wore the day they met, purple patterns adorning every inch of her skin and her eyes amber slits. Perhaps a sentimental part of her wants to replicate the moment, for reasons Mira won’t assume to understand but will gladly indulge.

No matter that her heart is already twinging at the reminder of their impending farewell. 

“You always try so hard to be strong.”

Mira blinks, surprised by the callout. “I am strong.” She looks away then back, would rather face Rangi’s sudden and disarming honesty than Celine’s deceitful disinterest. “You’re one to talk.”

“Takes one to know one.” Rangi winks, sliding over the coffee mug Zoey must’ve already made. 

Mira takes it with a grateful nod, the sweet cream waking her up as soon as it hits her tastebud. She can feel Celine’s eyes on her, and although Mira has somewhat come to understand Celine’s motivation and whatever else that led her to raise Rumi the way she did all these years.

That doesn’t mean much, in the face of Rumi’s grief. Celine might have instilled in Rumi the responsibility to fix the Honmoon, but it's Mira who she entrusted with the most important mission of all; protect the girls.

Right from the beginning, even when she didn’t know it yet, they were her girls. And she would sooner give herself up to the Demon King sooner than she’d ever stop trying to protect them, to care for them.

Celine understands. Out of all people, she would understand, and the fact that the Hunters’ graveyard has not one but two of her Hunters, is the sole reason why Mira won’t snatch at her collar.

Despite her turmoil, Mira knows better than to be rude. “Good morning, Celine.” 

Their mentor gives a nod, one arm still in a sling and the other flipping through her newspaper. Mira almost goes back to her coffee, thinking this is it, but the fact that Celine actually looks away from today’s headline and locks eyes with her makes her think otherwise.

“What is it?” Mira asks, automatically hovering over Rangi’s shoulder like a protective hound. 

If Celine wants to cause trouble on Rangi’s last day in this universe, then she has another thing coming.

“I just wanted to say congratulations.” Celine’s eyes flicker right and left, presumably at Rangi then Mira. “I understand you’re dating Rumi.”

Thanking herself for not drinking her coffee, Mira blinks repeatedly to make sure she heard right.

“Yeah?”

Celine’s brows twitch, before she rearranges her face into a more neutral expression. It’s one of Celine’s more remarkable talents that Mira particularly envies.

“Have you settled on a label to call each other? So I can talk to Bobby about filing the appropriate paperwork with HR.”

Not even five feet away, Rumi’s head turns just enough to tell Mira she’s listening in. Not wanting to deal with Celine on her own, Mira tries to call for backup, only to catch the subtlest smirk gracing Rumi’s obnoxiously full lips, traitor, before she goes back to talking with Zoey, who somehow has conjured up a whisking machine none of them have bought. 

Mira didn’t even plan on asking Rangi, but she knows damn well she just heard an amused giggle echoing in her ear. It’s like living with a pack of wolves. 

“Uh, we haven’t had that talk yet.” Mira coughs, hearing how awkward she sounds and wanting to die. “I imagine we will. Soon.”

Celine hums, a certain light twinkling in her eyes. “You haven’t taken her out on a date yet?”

“I have.” Mira huffs, slightly offended. “I sent Zoey and Rangi out and made her a spread of homemade meals. Rumi likes Italian.”

“We went to the arcade.” Rangi helpfully adds, grinning dimples. “Zoey almost beat up a dudebro for trying to ask for my number.”

“That sounds like a PR crisis I should’ve known about beforehand.” Celine drawls, to which Rangi only shrugs. Since when have they developed such an easy rapport? “You promise to take care of her?”

Mira couldn’t help the incredulous laugh bursting from her chest if she tried.

“Is that what this is? You’re asking what’s my intention with Rumi?”

“I’m her guardian. It’s only right.” Mira clenches her jaw, thinking of the several ways she can respond to that statement. But something stops her, something that wears regret and longing like a second skin. “And I’m… I’m trying.” 

The penthouse drowns in a suffocating silence. By the stovetop, Rumi and Zoey resolutely pretend like they’re not here, and when Rangi gives Mira a mocking smile, Mira knows she’s going to have to make the trek all on her own.

“Elaborate, please.”

“Rumi and I talked yesterday.” It’s like Celine’s only been waiting for someone to ask. “When Zoey took her to the aquarium and you were in the dance studio. We were working on the interdimensional travel spell— though Rumi hardly needed it, she’s always been rather attuned to everything Honmoon-related— when she asked if I’ve ever loved her for her.”

Rumi drops her spatula. Zoey scolds her. Rangi is just here having a good time. 

Mira fumbles for something, literally anything, to say. Thankfully, she doesn’t have to.

“I don't deserve her.”

Like a switch, Mira rears up. “Doesn't matter. Do you want her?” The way my parents didn't want me. The way you didn't want her. 

Celine nods. “She’s all I have.”

And that settles that. 

Mira nods, pleased, and looks at the stovetop. Where her girls do a terrible, absolutely terrible, job of pretending like they weren’t listening. She thinks she caught Zoey mumbling something about expecting more blood which she will deal with later.

Mira lets her eye roll be known, stubbornly not smiling at the giggles she caught, and turns to her likeliest ally.

Who looks like someone just ripped out her chest and tore her heart open.

Before Mira can say anything, although what she herself is unsure, Rangi is putting on a smile one can tell is fake if they didn’t spend over two thirds of their life with Ryu Rumi. Mira wants to pry, but Rumi and Zoey choose now to plate the food, and the moment is gone as quick as it came.

Breakfast is uneventful.  

Zoey’s actually a lot better at cooking than she usually comes across— miyeokguk the perfect balance between heartwarming and refreshing, bulgogi braised and seasoned like heaven, and a daring spin on the traditional tuna kimbap by rolling the rice in ramyeon seasoning— Mira makes a mental note to drag their youngest out of bed to make breakfast more often.

Conversations go as smoothly as they can, the looming cloud of Rangi’s departure dampening the mood of everyone present, even Celine who looks at Rangli like she still wants to say sorry for something she didn’t do. 

Every good thing comes to an end eventually, and while Rumi and Celine are preparing to do the spell— something about a salt circle with actual salt— Rangi is excusing herself, claiming she wants to get a few things from her room to bring back home. 

Mira watches her leave, something ugly roars in her chest with teeth, and it isn’t until Rumi places a hand on her shoulder that Mira snaps out of it.

“Go with her.” Rumi’s advice comes with an encouraging kiss on her shoulder, once again bared in a sleeveless flannel to protect her bandages.

Not really needing permission but rather support, Mira leans in for a quick kiss on Rumi’s smiling lips before she dashes away. 

Mira makes it just in time, slotting a hand through the door and grinning at a surprised Rangi.

“Want some company?”

Rangi blinks, then smiles. “Sure, beautiful.”

When she used to feel nothing but conflicting contempt and disgruntled fluster, Rangi’s flirty nature now only makes Mira laugh. The elevator ride is short, Mira and Rangi favoring a comforting, if not nuanced, silence. 

Mira steals several glances at Rangi throughout, who is courteous and kind enough to not call her out. At some point, Mira must’ve extended a hand and Rangi has taken it. 

Not that her expectation has been any different, but Mira is almost surprised to find nothing about her bedroom has changed.

Every knick knack she left on her table hasn’t moved. All the clothes she left behind are still there in their original places. Even her bed looks as made up as the day Mira gave up this space in favor of Rumi’s.

You didn’t want to let anyone know you were here, Mira swallows harshly at the thought. You wanted us to move on like we never knew you.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Mira whips her head away from her sewing machine, polished and sparkling clean despite the many weeks she hasn’t touched it, and sees Rangi sitting on the bed. Her bed.

Not even the sheets have changed. Somehow, the room still smells like her. Rangi clearly puts so much effort into returning Mira’s bedroom to its original state, even to the point of doing the laundry. 

Mira doesn’t know to be upset or grateful, not when she can’t even smell her friend here anymore. 

And she’s sitting right there. She hasn’t even left, and it still feels like Mira has lost yet another person dear to her all over again.

Instead of answering Rangi’s question, Mira changes the subject.  

“What are you bringing back?”

“The boba keychain you got for me at Han RIver.” Rangi raises said keychain, smiling as big as she did the day Mira bought it for her. “Zoey also got me this at the aquarium yesterday.”

Mira approaches, heart warm once she registers the turtle charm hanging preciously on Rangi’s wrist. Rangi has left the space next to her open for a reason, Mira takes it with a grateful nod and a careful request for her hand.

Rangi takes it, even patting the top with her own. “Can I tell you something?”

Nodding, Mira flips their hands so their fingers interlock. Rangi isn’t as warm as Rumi, but something about her still makes Mira feel perfectly at home.

“I want to say sorry.” Rangi starts, one raised eyebrow stopping Mira from interjecting. “For the eye, the glasses, and the scars I know are hidden under your shirt.”

Mira has seen them and on her best days, she thinks they look kinda badass. Rumi doesn’t like them, mostly that she cries every time she changes Mira’s bandages at night, but Mira knows it’s more that Rumi blames herself— the martyr that she is— for not protecting Mira and Zoey better that night. 

It’d be exasperating if Rumi weren’t so adorable when she pouted. Mira likes to use it as an excuse to kiss her, which technically she doesn’t need, but sue her if she likes being slightly dramatic with the love of her life. 

“It’s okay.” Rangi scoffs, so Mira quickly pivots. “Zoey and Rumi like to buy me a lot of spares over the years. I’m finally using the one Zoey got for me in America.”

Mira taps the silverish spectacles on her face, grinning at the memory of Rumi blushing while trying to tell Mira she looks like one of the special agents in her favorite espionage franchise. 

Rangi rolls her eyes as if she can tell what Mira is thinking, the curls of her lips undeniable. But it’s soon replaced by a downtrodden expression, and for all the time she spent in therapy, Mira isn’t Zoey, who can lift spirits with a smile and light up every room she walks in with a puff of breath.

Mira isn’t Zoey, so she waits patiently for Rangi to decide whether she wants to say what’s on her mind. How quickly the tables have turned with them.

“I was so afraid you would hate me after what I did.” Rangi looks away, eyes glued to their intertwined hands in her lap. “I wouldn’t blame you. I would’ve deserved it. But you didn’t and it… it got me all confused.”

Mira contemplates forcing Rangi to make eye contact, but relents her the space she probably needs.

“What about it confuses you?”

Rangi takes a deep breath. “You saw me like that and you still think I’m beautiful.”

“Because you are beautiful.” Mira replies easily, recognizing this for what it is. “You’re just… not mine.” 

Rangi laughs, humorless. “I know. Even though I am her, I’m still not her.” Mira doesn’t deny it, how can she. “I tried to kiss you when we were at Han River.”

That’s not something she can forget. 

“I remember.”

“You pushed me away.” There’s no hurt in Rangi’s voice, just a quiet sort of acceptance that makes Mira’s heart ache. “Is it because of her? What is it about her that makes me not good enough?”

“You are.” Mira growls, heartbroken at the hurt in Rangi’s voice. She doesn’t feel guilty, no longer, but it’s hard not to feel for her friend who’s so clearly in distress. “It’s not just her personality and her looks I fell in love with, both of which you also have. I love Rumi for her choices, I love the person who I grew up with and who changed so beautifully into the person she was always meant to be. 

Rumi is beautiful in ways no one ever tells her. Rumi wakes up every day and chooses to be kind in a world so cruel. Rumi who doesn’t know a love outside of duty and still tries every day to return what we’ve given her so freely. She tries so hard, to the point of never knowing how to stop. I admire that so much about her, I hate that very much too. I fell in love with her soul even before I knew we were connected by the strings of fate and ancient musical-based magic, and every day I’m grateful that she loves me just as much as I love her. I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for her.”

She protects the world. I will protect her. Even if I have to fight her for it. 

Mira has never spoken so much in her life.

Oxygen depletion comes first. Mortification second, becoming overwhelming when the room is no longer filled with the sound of her voice but of Rangi’s wheezing.

The heat exploding across her cheeks is so bad she can physically feel herself sweating, Mira grabs the nearest pillow and smushes her face into it. She stays there until Rangi’s laughter trails off, and even then, Mira makes her displeasure about being mocked very, very clear.

“You’re an asshole.”

“Takes one to know one.” Rangi snickers, tugging on their intertwined hands. “Come on. Show me your pretty face, I promise I won't laugh over how ridiculously pathetic you are over your girlfriend.”

“Not my girlfriend yet.” Which only makes Rangi laugh harder. She's even coughing. “Fuck you. Shut up. Fuck you.”

Rangi howls. Mira peeks out from her hiding spot and scowls at her cackling friend. Who finally calls for a truce by using her other hand to cup Mira’s cheek.

“You're too precious. Rumi must've fought a thousand soldiers in a past life to be this lucky.”

Like a school girl, Mira blushes. “You're just saying that.” Then, sounding more sincere than she wants to be, “In another life, Rangi. In another life, maybe in your life, we can be something.”

Rangi’s smile turns soft, the distance between them narrows.

“Do you really believe that?”

Mira nods. “I believe in you. Find me. I'm waiting for you.” And she closes the gap.

Hugging Rangi also feels like coming home. 

The ride from Jeju International Airport to the Hunters’ Compound— Rangi wanted a road trip, Zoey begged Celine with puppy eyes and snots running down her cheeks— is filled with music and joy. As always, Mira takes the driver’s seat, Celine on shotgun so she can tell Mira where the shortcuts are, and Mira’s girls are turning the backseats of the van into an improv episode of Show Me The Money.  

Yes I’m the real bad man. Aye aye.

Yes, I’m the real bad madam. Aye aye.

I’m the motherfucking top man!

I’m the motherfucking top madam!

I’m the motherfucking top man!

Mira chances a glance at Celine, who somehow has not once blinked at the amount of explicits thrown behind them.

“Uh, you good?”

“I good,” Remind Mira to never speak millennial to Celine ever again. “If you're wondering about how unaffected I am about whatever's going on back there, Miyoung and Poppy used to be able to cuss hard enough to make a sailor blush. This is child’s play.”

Mira’s jaw hangs open, admittedly curious, but her driving is dependent on her being able to focus and maybe now’s not the time to interrogate Celine for ancient Sunlight Sisters lore.

BITCH YOU A FUCKING PUSS PUSS!

Thankfully, they manage to arrive in one piece and with all 10 ears still intact. Mira, Zoey, and Rangi stay behind while Celine and Rumi set everything up, which also doesn't take long.

A blink later and Rumi is standing in the center of a literal salt circle, the circular sigils inside matching with the swirls of the Honmoon. Rumi summons her chilseongkal with ease, swinging the huge blade as if it weighs nothing more than a stick.

Mira wonders if Rumi can swing her like that too. 

“Everyone, stand back!” Blissfully oblivious to Mira’s pathetic simping, Rumi calls over her shoulders. As business as ever. “The portal won't open for longer than 10 seconds, so say your goodbye now, Rangi.”

At once Mira tugs Rangi harshly by the hand, pulling her into a suffocating hug that the raised-demon gleefully accepts.

“I’m going to miss you, Mira.” Rangi says, sounding a little choked up.

It's okay, Mira is crying too. “Good luck. I hope you find whatever you're looking for.” Taking a deep breath, Mira says. “I’m so lucky to be loved by you. Both of you. Wherever she is, I’m sure your Mira will too. You're so easy to love, I almost did. I almost do.” 

Rangi’s muffled whine turns into a sob, one she tries to reign in by halfheartedly shoving Mira away. Her already blotchy cheeks would be funny had Mira not known she probably looks very similar.

Then Zoey steps up, and with a gesture that makes Mira frantically exchange a look with Rumi five feet away, grabs Rangi’s face and presses a kiss against her lips. Well, it's the corner, but still close enough.

“If you can restore the Honmoon, we’ll meet again.”

Rangi laughs, still teary and wet. Her patterned arms snatch Zoey’s hips and yank her in for a tight hug, their heads smushed into each other’s necks like they're trying to scent mark each other. 

Mira suddenly has a feeling she’s intruding. 

“Don't forget me, okay?”

Zoey blubbers, squeezing Rangi tighter, who in turn lifts Zoey up and cradles her like a scene ripped straight from a romantic comedy.

“I won’t remember anything else.”

Why does that sound fami—

“Okay!” Zoey yelps, pulling back but still resting her arms on Rangi’s shoulders. “Go kick Gwima’s butt, sharkie.”

Sharkie?

“For you, I’ll make confetti.”

Landing one last kiss also very near Zoey’s lips but not quite, Rangi heads towards where Rumi is waiting, giving a solemn-looking Celine a respectful bow when she passes.

Rumi is mumbling under her breath and swinging her chilseongkal by the time Rangi approaches, the ground beneath them glowing in the familiar patterns of the Honmoon, only now it’s surging up instead of down.

As if wordlessly communicating, Rangi summons her own saingeom. The Honmoon makes a harmony like it’s so happy to see both its children in one place, swirls and threads of music oozing out from the tips of their weapons.

Soon the sigils begin to glow a bright pink and in the middle of the seonang tree appears a bright circle large enough to fit a person.

Rangi hurries towards it, and Mira’s throat traps itself with a deep ache. She really is going to miss her so much, Mira glances at a quietly sobbing Zoey and hugging her to her chest, all of them will.

Having stuck one foot in, Rangi suddenly turns around. She's crying too, but also wearing a wide grin that pops out her dimples and lights a fire in her eyes.

Right index and middle finger coming together and tapping her forehead, Rangi shouts loud enough for them to hear,

“Peace! From your favorite half-demon.”

before promptly falling backwards into the portal.

Rumi tries to get in one last “I’m their favorite half-demon!” but doesn't quite make it in time before the portal closes. Maybe it's the sadness at saying goodbye to a friend, the amusement at her girlfriend's antics, or simply needing an outlet to her pent up emotions last few weeks, Mira bursts out laughing.

Vaguely she can hear Zoey following suit, feeling confusion coming out of Celine and Rumi in waves, but still Mira doesn't stop.

Rangi is going to make Gwima’s life a living hell, she’s so sure of it.