Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Zoey was the main writer and lyricist for Huntr/x. Underneath her pen, words and ideas spilled forth. A vital piece for any sort of creative writing was imagining possibilities. To Zoey, the world was full of endless possibilities. She was a KPop idol who fought demons serving a flaming demon king who been mostly sealed away by three women and the love of an audience hundreds of years ago. Soon, maybe Huntr/x would seal him away for good. See, proof positive.

What she hadn’t thought possible was that she’d have to consider possibilities when it came to her best friends. Especially the girl she’d been harboring a crush on for years. Even if her imagination hadn’t been enough, reality had come to call. So Zoey stood outside of Rumi’s room at some ungodly hour of the night, trying not to fidget. She had a notebook clutched in her hands, the edges slightly frayed.

Inside this particular notebook was a riddle, written in code, hidden in cypher. Zoey was pretty sure Bobby insured her notebooks for billions of won… each. They were a vital part of Huntr/x’s success, after all. What she was hiding in this notebook was way more important than any song or poem she’d ever penned. She couldn’t risk it falling into the wrong hands. She wouldn’t put Rumi in danger. So even if someone broke her cypher, they’d just find gibberish. 62 ideas narrowed down to 5.

5 possibilities to explain the clothing covering more and more of her skin. Never going to the bathhouse with them. Acting so awkward with the Saja Boys. Holding something back.

Option 1: The cat is in the bag?

Rumi was gay and/or trans and/or intersex and/or some variety of queer. That’s why she was so awkward in her own body, and around her and Mira, and around the Saja Boys.

Option 2: The cat has claws?

Zoey didn’t like thinking about what this option meant. It was too sad.

Option 3: The cat really is just a cat?

Maybe Rumi really was just that shy and modest, and really just that awkward when it came to interacting with the outside world. She was pretty awkward.

Option 4: The cat liked the dog?

Okay, maybe this one was a bit of a rework/recent addition/twist on option 3. Maybe Rumi was just that awkward and that explained the bathhouse and the clothes and she had a crush on that boy Jinu and that explained the rest.

Option 5: The cat is actually a tiger?

This option was circled in pencil. The most likely option.

Rumi was a demon.

As Zoey stood outside of Rumi’s room, notebook clutched to her chest, she heard Rumi’s voice carry delicately through the door.

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

Zoey mentally kicked herself. Zoey hated Takedown now, she was pretty sure. She’d just been so blinded by her distaste for the Saja Boys – even with their perfect abs and flawless skin care routines - and Rumi had gone along with it… and now she was pretty sure she’d just written a hate song about one of her best friends.

Zoey flipped to a page headlined with “Tiger Evidence”. Luckily her cypher was second nature to her now, and she scribbled Rumi’s changed verse at the bottom of the list. There was a lot of evidence.

Zoey’s eyes glanced upwards at her most recent evidence. The way that Rumi had been so awkward and cheering for Jinu at the joint signing. Sure, he was a nice enough looking guy. Zoey had eyes. She’d even acknowledged it in Option 4 – Jinu Crush! Why try to build up the competition, though? And if Rumi really was just infatuated with Jinu, she wouldn’t have cheered for him in that way. It had been too awkward, even for awkward Rumi. Maybe Gwi-Ma was making Rumi cheer for the Saja Boys? That would be an awful deal to be stuck under. Or maybe she was trying to convince Jinu that he didn’t have to be evil, he could be a nice demon, just like Rumi!

There was older evidence, too! The way that Rumi was always pushing them forward, trying to obtain the Golden Honmoon. Zoey wanted the Golden Honmoon too, of course. But Rumi was single-minded. Maybe when the Golden Honmoon was established, she’d be free of Gwi-Ma’s control. Rumi would be separated from him on this side of the barrier. That would certainly explain why she’d been pushing so hard.

The bathhouse, and that army of hoodies, and the way Celine always seemed to watch closely whenever Rumi almost seemed inclined to go with them. Maybe Celine had found Rumi as a baby demon and raised her to be nice, but that meant Celine knew Rumi was a demon and had been hiding it this whole time. She wouldn’t put it past Celine. Faults and fears? Yeah, right. More like hide your heritage.

Zoey had heard that one before. She’d heard it living in America, she’d heard it living in Korea. She was too American to be Korean, and too Korean to be American. She’d tried to hide those parts of herself so people would accept her. It wasn’t until she’d met Huntr/x, until she’d forged her own path, that Zoey had started to feel comfortable in her own skin. It was an ongoing journey of course, some days were easier than others, but Zoey was doing good. Really good!

Of course, none of those pieces of evidence compared to the crown jewel in her evidence empire. It had happened a couple days ago, when they’d been preparing for the first live show with the newly released Golden. Mira and Zoey had been in one changing room, and Rumi in another. It had been like that ever since Huntr/x had formed. Zoey was pretty sure everyone chalked it up to Rumi being a nepo-baby entitled princess. Zoey had thought that at first, but really it was just another symptom of whatever was going on. Regardless! She and Mira had just laughed at this funny meme on Zoey’s phone, and she’d gone over to Rumi’s room to show it to her. That’s when she’d heard Rumi singing.

Waited so long to break these walls down
To wake up and feel like me
Put these patterns all in the past now
And finally live like the girl they all see

Zoey had the lyrics scribbled in her notebook. Rumi had sounded so in pain. It was Golden, but it wasn’t. It was in place of one of the verses Mira was supposed to sing about things glittering gold. Zoey had to practically restrain herself from breaking down the door in that moment, but she knew it wouldn’t help. If anything, it would just scare Rumi away.

So maybe her crown jewel evidence could support Option 1 – Queer Rumi, but… put these patterns all in the past now, come on! It was right there! Rumi had patterns! Rumi was a demon! She was hiding things from the girls, and this was it. This was the confirmation that Zoey needed. Okay, maybe confirmation was a strong word, but pretty close to confirmation. Even if Option 5 ended up being wrong, she was prepared for all the other options, too.

She had follow-up plans and contingencies for each of the major options. The follow-up plans for Option 5 – Demon Rumi were on Page 23, marked by a little orange sticky note that she’d scribbled black stripes on.

Okay, that was enough planning. She could plan and contingency and gather evidence until she was old and wrinkly. Which was going to be a long, long time from now, to be clear!

Zoey’s knuckles froze just over the door, worry biting at the back of her mind as she bit at her own lip. What if she was wrong? What if everything she’d considered wasn’t enough? Even if she was right, was Zoey really the right person to do this? If Rumi was dealing with something, could Zoey help her? If Rumi was a demon, she was clearly dealing with some deep-seated self-hate. She’d said there were no nice demons, and she’d helped them write Takedown, and those stupid hoodies and turtlenecks.

What if Zoey just scared her away? Regardless of which option it was, what if Zoey came across too strong? She had an entire notebook written about her friend! That was totally creepy, right? Definitely at least a little creepy. She wouldn’t blame Rumi for running away from her, from hiding from the problem.

Zoey had to take that risk though, for Rumi’s sake. There wasn’t anyone in the world she’d risk as much for as she would for Rumi. Other than Mira. If things fell apart, maybe Mira could smooth things over. Mira wasn’t the most tactful woman in the world, but she’d have the advantage of hindsight and could sort out whatever argument Rumi and Zoey had devolved into, in that hypothetical future.

Knock knock knock.

Zoey had done it. She’d finally knocked on Rumi’s door. Zoey could hear Rumi scrambling around inside her room. “Rumi, are you okay?” She asked quietly. There was a metallic thunk. Zoey squinted her eyes shut briefly, a mental mantra of Not Option 2 – The Bad One floating through her mind.

“Coming!” Rumi’s voice finally broke through. A moment later, she opened the door.

There she was. The riddle in question. She was wearing pink slippers, orange sleep pants with little stars and cats – of course – and a big grey hoodie – also of course. Her long purple hair was up in that protective dragon braid. Her skin was bare of make-up, and Zoey could see the faintest of dark circles under her eyes.

Rumi was still the most beautiful woman Zoey had ever laid eyes on. There was something about Rumi in these guarded unguarded moments that spoke of a vulnerability carefully curated. There was a paradoxy that clung to her frame as tightly as light clung to shadow, opposites pressing and chasing but never meeting. She would invite you into her garden time and time again; so filled with cultivated and distracting flowers of mistakes and flaws that you would forget you’d never been invited into her home.

‘Oh my god Zoey, focus. For like, five minutes.’ Zoey could practically hear Mira teasing her about how she turned into an amateur poet whenever the subject of Rumi came up.

Luckily the speed of thought was very fast, or else Zoey would’ve really felt like an idiot, standing there and staring at Rumi.

“Did you want to come in?” Rumi asked, glancing back over her shoulder at something that Zoey couldn’t see. Disadvantage of being shorter, she supposed. Not that she was much shorter than Rumi, but that braid added a bit of height, too.

“Would that be okay?” Zoey asked cautiously, trying to get a sense of what Rumi was thinking or feeling. She wished Mira was here, she was always so perceptive at reading people.

There was another rustling sound, and Rumi turned to face it. “Can you give me one second?” Rumi asked, and without waiting for a response, closed the door in Zoey’s face.

Okay, Zoey had to admit that hurt a little bit. She flipped through her notebook, looking for any prepared plan for what to do if Rumi just refused to talk to her completely. Bust down her door? No, that was no good. Sic Mira on her? A possibility. Call Celine? Worst. Possible. Option.

A moment later, Rumi opened her door again. “Sorry Zoey, did you need something?” she asked, like she’d forgotten their entire conversation. Maybe she had.

“Can I come in?” Zoey asked gently. At least Rumi was looking at her and seemed a little less distracted. That was a start, right?

“Okay. Are you working on some lyrics?” Rumi stepped aside, motioning Zoey into the room. Her eyes trailed to the notebook tucked against Zoey’s chest. A notebook Zoey was pretty sure she wouldn’t show Rumi on pain of death. No wait, she’d show Rumi, because if she died then she couldn’t be around Rumi.

‘Focus!’

Zoey stepped inside the room, glancing down at her notebook, filled with little sticky notes that marked different pages sticking out the sides.

Rumi had moved towards her bed, holding her left arm in a way that screamed that she was hiding something behind her back. Rumi quickly sat on a blanket tossed over a large lump behind her bed. That was new. It wasn’t a bean bag; it was clearly just a blanket. Also, it seemed to move slightly.

‘Oh my god what if she’s hiding Jinu under that thing?’ Zoey felt like she might be ill.

The lump was much too large to be Jinu though, and the way Rumi sat on top of it was a little reassuring. If Rumi was hiding a secret demon boyfriend, she was pretty sure sitting on him would’ve elicited an “aiyee” or something equally startled and painful. Jinu seemed like the type of dork that would say “aiyee”. Zoey would know, cause that’s what she’d say if her girlfriend sat on- nevermind, not what she meant.

Zoey turned her back. She could just barely see into the box containing Healer Han’s tonics. Why were Rumi’s shelves so tall? If her math was right, Rumi had drunk… one. She’d drunk one tonic and yet her voice seemed to be returning. Another piece of evidence, though Zoey wasn’t sure which option it correlated to, at the moment.

Her eyes did catch on to the fact that their label was peeling off, revealing grape juice below. Zoey briefly considered the possibility she’d been scammed but dismissed it. Healer Han had spoken about treating the whole, gesturing to both Rumi and Huntr/x. Clearly, he was a perceptive man and had decided that a placebo was in order to help reassure their emotional burdens and other such medical considerations. Giving a placebo was a little unethical but… it was working, wasn’t it? Not scammed. Her idea had worked out even better than she’d thought!

“You were singing earlier. You sounded really good. I guess my idea worked out, didn’t it?” Zoey asked, turning back to face Rumi. Rumi was still sitting on the slightly moving lump.

“Yeah, I’ve just been chugging them down! Who would’ve thought they’d work so well!” Rumi responded, her demeanor still seemingly casual.

Chugging them down? Now Zoey knew that part was a lie. If Rumi had said they were legitimate or that they were a placebo, Zoey could’ve worked with that. Lying about how much she’d been drinking? Clearly hiding something.

Zoey approached the bed, bending down and picking up the piece of paper that Rumi had apparently been writing on. Zoey scanned the changes, the parts scratched out with new details written.

“So you’re changing our lyrics?” She tried to avoid sounding defensive. “I worked really hard on them, but I’m always open to making changes. If there’s something about them that’s not resonating with you, or you feel is too personal… you can always tell me.” Here it went. The real start to the Rumi intervention. Rumintervention?

“Personal?” Rumi parroted, giving a chuckle that even Zoey could tell was uncomfortable. Rumi cleared her throat. “Do you really think this is the right song to defeat Gwi-Ma? The Saja Boys? Its so hateful.” Rumi’s voice had slowed, her tone sinking with something Zoey could only guess was dejection?

Zoey set her notebook down on Rumi’s bed, before sitting down next to it, crossing one leg under her. “That’s because… historically… we’ve hated demons. We’ve hated Gwi-Ma. Not without merit but… that doesn’t mean we have to keep hating them. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s this idol group called Huntr/x that talks about how prejudice sucks.” Zoey gave a half smile, trying to lighten the mood.

“I know, I just…” Rumi was looking down at the floor. The only other time Zoey had ever seen Rumi look so small and so sad was after the Golden Live show cancellation.

“I know you and Mira don’t believe it, but I meant what I said, at the Soda Pop performance. Maybe the Saja Boys aren’t nice demons… but maybe there are nice demons. Maybe we should be talking to them, giving them a chance. If there were nice demons, I’d certainly love to meet them.” Zoey scooted across the bed slowly, trying not to crowd Rumi sitting on her whatever-the-hell under-the-blanket.

Rumi shifted slightly, and though Zoey had been looking down at the bed to aid in her traversal only moments before, she caught something out of her periphery. Something fluffy and black was peeking over Rumi’s shoulder. It looked like… a tiger tail.

Rumi had a tiger tail.

‘Okay, be normal, Zoey. Your demon friend has a tiger tail. The whole code name tiger thing was a lucky guess, and patterns looking like stripes. Except apparently its not just stripes, its an entire tail. A cute, adorable, fluffy tail. That’s why she’s sitting on that blanket. It was hiding her tail! Oh my god can you imagine how soft that tail is? I wonder if it wags when she’s happy? No wait, that’s dogs. What do tigers do with their tails when they’re happy? Hold them up in the air, that’s right. Her tail is up right now, but its sort of waving about, which is why the blanket was moving. That’s unhappy cat language, isn’t it? Okay, unhappy Rumi. Obviously she has some way to make her tail disappear because there’s no way she fits them under those cute little short-shorts she wears in so many of her costumes. A tail. A fluffy tiger tail. Isn’t that so fitting for Rumi? A woman stood alone a mountaintop, fierce and protective. Yet for all your strength and power, you walk alone. You cannot bare to let other tigers near, and those who are not tigers are simultaneously predator and prey for you-‘

“Zoey?” Rumi’s voice broke through Zoey’s inner monologue.

“S-sorry, what? Spaced out. You know me, space cadet.” Sometimes Zoey was a little thankful for her ADHD. Not all the time, but occasionally it came in handy. Like right now. When she could use it as an excuse for why she’d started daydreaming about her best friend’s fluffy tail and not been paying enough attention to the conversation.

Rumi gave Zoey a small, tired smile but seemed willing to repeat what she’d said. “All demons do is kill and destroy. How many lives have we seen them take? If there was a nice demon… wouldn’t it just be some trick? Wouldn’t they be corrupted?”

Zoey’s expression softened as she regarded Rumi. Is that what she thought of herself? It made her heart ache. “You- if a demon was nice, I think that would mean we’d had it all wrong. Maybe they don’t have a choice in the matter. Though maybe some demons do, and they just live among us.” Zoey racked her brain. “You’ve been talking with Jinu-“

Rumi laughed, high and nervous. “Talking with Jinu? What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

Zoey pressed forward, though she filed away Rumi’s response. Every piece of the conversation pointed to something. Demon Rumi was confirmed given the whole tiger tail thing, but other times one of the other options seemed like it might be in play, too. Zoey needed to adapt on the fly, but her strategy hadn’t been tipped, not yet.

“-at the joint signing. I know you weren’t a fan of the RuJinu hashtag,” Zoey could’ve cried in victorious relief at the wrinkle of Rumi’s nose when she mentioned the shipping, “but it seemed like you were at least willing to talk to him. Have you heard anything? Is he really an irredeemable monster? Have you learned anything new about demons?”

The atmosphere of the room had gone tense and frigid. Rumi seemed to be internally warring with herself, if Zoey was reading her body language correctly.

“I-“ Rumi started, stopped, and started again, “He says that demons have feelings. That all they do is feel. That shame keeps them a prisoner to Gwi-Ma, and that he whispers in their ears. I told them he should listen to the voices of people who love him.”

Zoey set aside wondering if Rumi considered herself among the people that loved Jinu. There were more important things than being competitive over her crush. At the least, Zoey knew she belonged among the people who loved Rumi.

“That’s why you changed the lyrics. A pain that lies below, reflected in patterns.” Zoey had both legs off the bed now, pressed against the side of Rumi’s legs. “Do you… struggle with all your feelings sometimes, Rumi?”

Rumi gave her a funny look but then stood, sitting down beside Zoey on the bed. Apparently her tiger tail was gone back to whatever extradimensional space Rumi hid it in. Zoey tried not to be disappointed. Her attention was focused on Rumi enough that she didn’t notice the lumpy blanket sink into the floor.

Rumi spoke first, “Don’t we all? I mean we all get angry or sad. We’re singers, we sing about feelings like, all the time.” She shrugged, but nothing about it looked casual.

Zoey reached out her hand tentatively before pulling it back. “You said Jinu mentioned shame. That that was the dominant emotion that demons felt, that it’s what kept them tied to Gwi-Ma. Do you…” Zoey took a deep breath, “do you feel shameful, sometimes?” Zoey felt like she was trying to guide a horse to water. She couldn’t tell Rumi where she was going in a way that she’d understand, but with every hint and nudge, they got a little closer to their destination.

Rumi gave Zoey another look that she couldn’t name. “Do you?” She asked, and her tone sounded worried. Rumi reached out and grabbed Zoey’s hand.

Oh no. They were holding hands.

‘Focus, Zoey. Focus. Focusfocusfocus.’

Zoey giggled nervously. Smooth, real smooth. Great way to cover up what she was feeling. She swallowed. “Sometimes I feel shame, yeah. Even if they’re things I know I shouldn’t be ashamed of. All my notebooks, and lyrics, and poems. I always felt weird about them. Growing up Korean and American, my parents being divorced, having ADHD, being bi…“ Zoey rattled off a list.

“You’re bi?” Rumi asked, looking a little startled.

Wait what.

Zoey was like… the most bi woman on the planet. If there were International Bi Awards, she’d have more of them than Idol Awards. Champion Bi-ness. How did Rumi not know this? Shit, had she never come out to Rumi? She’d come out Mira like… years ago. That’s why Mira teased her relentlessly about her crush on Rumi. Had she ADHD memory holed coming out to Rumi? No. No, there was no way. Rumi must’ve just been that oblivious.

“Yeah, I mean… I’m sure I’ve mentioned it…” Zoey said with a small shrug.

“I don’t think you have.” Rumi was staring at her with wide eyes, like she’d never seen Zoey before. Her tone was gentle though, as if she was afraid she’d startle Zoey away with the wrong word.

“Well… you know there’s… expectations… for us.” Zoey didn’t add the real reason: How could I talk about any woman, when they could never compare to you?

Rumi suddenly leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Zoey, giving her a crushing hug, her hand tangling at the baby hairs at the base of Zoey’s neck. “I’m so proud of you Zoey, and happy for you. I’m so honoured you trust me with this.”

Wait, wait, wait. This was supposed to be Rumi’s demon-coming-out. How had this turned into Zoey’s old-news bi-coming-out? At least it confirmed, again, that Rumi wasn’t queerphobic, but Zoey had known that for years.

“Oh, t-thanks.” Zoey was really trying not to erupt into a ball of bad prose at Rumi’s hug. There was that faint scent of lavender from Rumi’s shampoo, and her body radiated a heat that always seemed so high. The soothing warmth and soothing scent weren’t some front to lure in a soul like a trapdoor spider. All they did was promise rest and comfort in-

‘Focus!’

Zoey wondered how many times she’d told herself to focus in the last half an hour or so. A lot.

“I really wasn’t sure where you were going with the whole demon thing. Has someone told you were a demon because you’re bi? Wait, was it Mira? Or Celine? Or your parents? I’ll kill them, I swear.” Rumi sounded so strong and defensive, her tone protective. The fierce warrior that Zoey had gotten to stand beside for years. Protecting her.

“I mean yes-“ Zoey pushed forward when Rumi gasped, “but no! Not Celine or Mira! I promise you don’t have to worry about Mira. I don’t think Celine knows but there were always a lot of rumours about her and your-“ Zoey cut herself off. She was not about to discuss fan theories of Rumi’s adoptive mother and her biological mother being a thing back in the day.

How had this conversation drifted off course so far?

“My what?” Rumi asked.

Oh no! Rumi had heard that. “Uh… your Auntie, Ha-Eun.” Zoey referred to the third Sunlight Sister. Zoey was an idiot. She’d have to turn in her Bi Awards and Idol Awards and receive compensatory ‘worst interventioner ever’ awards. Making up some secret crush between Celine and Ha-Eun? Insanity. Absolute insanity. “Don’t say anything to Celine! Please! I think she’d be mad about fan scandals and rumours!” Zoey was pretty sure her life was forfeit if Rumi ever brought up that particular idea to her mother.

“I always did wonder why Celine never dated anyone…” Rumi said, as if this was an entirely new revelation for her. Was it a new revelation? Was Rumi really that oblivious? Zoey was learning new things about Rumi today. “Anyways… I’m just really proud of you, Zoey. I hope you never feel shame about that, ever again. Or any of those things you talked about. No one deserves to feel shame for the way they were born.”

Oh Rumi. Rumi, Rumi, Rumi. Zoey felt her heart break a little. Rumi was being so kind to her, but she didn’t seem to realize the hypocrisy of what she was saying. If she was a demon, or really any of the other options, she didn’t need to feel shame. There was nothing wrong with her, nothing that Zoey or anyone else could see. She was perfect, flaws, fears, and everything else.

Zoey just needed to get this conversation back under control. She needed it to head in the right direction, the direction she’d been steering it until Rumi had oh-so-graciously driven it off a cliff.

“Rumi, that’s not what I was trying to talk to you about.” Zoey said, deciding to be straightforward. There wasn’t really any easy way, so at least this would be the fastest way. It was just really hard to think with Rumi’s arms still wrapped around her.

“It wasn’t?” Rumi asked, pulling back from the hug but keeping her hands at the top of Zoey’s arms.

“No… I was just trying to share about shame… I was trying to ask about you, Rumi.” Zoey reached up and put her hands on of Rumi’s. There was just the faintest tremble and it took concentration for Zoey not to bite her lip in concern.

“Then why were you asking about demons?” Rumi’s eyes were wide, and Zoey felt her try to pull her hands away, but Zoey’s kept them in place. “Why are you asking me about shame?”

Zoey fixed her gaze on Rumi’s, staring for a long moment. Zoey wasn’t sure it was right to force this, but she wasn’t sure what else to do. She let her right hand drop, and Rumi quickly snatched it back. Zoey kept her hand firmly on Rumi’s left, and Zoey placed her now freed hand there as well. Gently she pulled Rumi’s hand down and placed it in her lap. Her eyes traced the subtle shape of Rumi’s hands, the elegant nails. The subtle callouses underneath her fingertips from playing guitar, and the larger callouses on her palm from a life wielding a saingeom.

“It’s okay, Rumi. I figured it out. I think I figured it out awhile ago. I don’t… I don’t understand yet, but I will. You’re safe with me. I promise.” Zoey said, trying to press every little bit of belief and strength she could muster into her words.

Rumi’s voice was a little panicked when she next spoke. “What do you think you figured out Zoey? Wait, do you think I’m… what, gay… too?” Rumi looked like she was trying to find an escape, her mouths forming words that she wasn’t speaking. Hosting an entire conversation she wasn’t ready to speak yet.

Zoey did finally bite her lip. “If you ever want – need to talk about something like that, I’m here Rumi. But no, that’s not what I figured out.” Zoey took a deep breath and took her right hand and pinched the sleeve at Rumi’s wrist, but not yet pulling it up. “Rumi,” Zoey fixed her gaze on Rumi’s, and Zoey was pretty sure only asking Rumi to marry her would’ve compared in weight to her next question, “Can I see your patterns?”

Rumi’s eyes went impossibly wide, her pupils dilated, whites of her eyes bright even in the lamplit room. Her skin drained of colour, and Zoey could hear the sound of Rumi’s breathing pick up. Rumi’s hand was trembling.

“Hey, breathe with me Rumi. Just breathe. Its okay. I won’t hurt you. I just don’t want for you to have to hide anymore. I bet your patterns are really, really pretty. Just like you. I’ve always thought y- patterns were really pretty.” Zoey was trying to pull Rumi away from her anxiety. “I won’t, unless you say its okay. If I’m wrong then just… tell me I’m wrong. Tell me I’m stupid, or crazy. You can call me whatever you want… just tell me… tell me honestly.”

Something softened, ever so slightly, in Rumi’s expression. “You’re not stupid. Or crazy.” She said. Apparently her need to protect Zoey had overridden the anxiety that had been coursing through her just moments ago.

Zoey would treasure that Rumi would face her greatest fear rather than see Zoey hurt.

“May I?” Zoey asked again, looking down at the sleeve pinched between her fingertips still, her other hand still cradling Rumi’s hand. Rumi’s hand was trembling like a leaf.

“Y-you m-may.” Rumi stumbled out, her fear apparently returning. Zoey could see the reflection of tears at Rumi’s waterline.

Zoey slowly pulled Rumi’s sleeve up, her motions so slow and delicate, like she was unwrapping the world’s most precious and delicate gift. In some ways, she was. Rumi was so delicate in her hands, and she’d always been a precious gift to everyone around her. As a faint line of purple appeared on Rumi’s skin, Zoey’s breath hitched a little.

Zoey wished she could say different, but there was still that moment. The little hesitation that screamed at her that this was danger. Something that had patterns not only to mark its shame, but it lethality to anyone unfortunate enough to have a soul in a demon’s presence.

Zoey knew sometimes it wasn’t your first thought that defined who you were. Sometimes your first thought, ugly though it may be, came from a place of training or upbringing. That didn’t make it right, nor did anything to deter its vile nature. However, it also meant that you didn’t need to be a servant to that thought, or any thought. It was the second thought, the one that you chose - that was what showed who you were.

Zoey was going to choose a better second thought. For Rumi. Zoey looked at that faintest hint of pattern, its purple deep and rich. It suited Rumi, just like her hair. It may have been a mark of shame, but who had decided that? Gwi-Ma? He didn’t get to make decisions about Rumi, nor how Zoey felt about her.

Zoey looked up at Rumi and felt her heart shatter a little bit at the fear she saw reflected in Rumi’s eyes. It was if she thought Zoey might run away, or draw her shin-kal at any moment. Zoey could never imagine a world where she would draw her shin-kal on Rumi. “They’re beautiful.” Zoey resumed the gentle motion of pulling the sleeve further up, until it stopped at Rumi’s elbow.

“T-they’re h-hideous. I just w-want them fixed, Zoey.” Rumi said, her lip quivering and tears now fully streaming down her face.

“Well, I for one think they’re perfectly you.” Zoey said, a small smile quirking at the corner of her mouth. It was the exact same thing Rumi had said about Zoey’s freckles once, years ago – a day Zoey had felt very self-conscious about them.

Rumi started openly sobbing at that moment, throwing herself into Zoey’s arms. Zoey just cradled her, rubbing at Rumi’s back, reassuring her. “I’ve got you, Rumi. I’m so glad I can finally meet you. Whatever happened, whatever’s next, I’m always on your side.” Zoey knew she was crying too, but that didn’t matter. Right now what mattered was taking care of Rumi.

Nearly ten minutes passed before their collective crying had settled into soft sniffles and little gasps.

“How did you figure it out?” Rumi asked.

“It’s a long story… Can I ask something, though?”

“O-okay.”

“We’ll figure it out if you did, and I’m not mad or scared or blaming you but… did you… make a deal with Gwi-Ma?” Zoey asked.

“No. My dad… he was a demon. I didn’t sell my soul. I only have my patterns because of my Dad.”

Zoey’s mind quickly connected some dots. “So you’ve had them your whole life. Celine told you to cover them up, didn’t she? That’s why you’ve been hiding, this whole time?”

“Not just because of Celine. Because of me, too.” Rumi replied, sniffling.

Zoey felt the anger at her mentor roiled through her stomach, but tamped it down to deal with later. “You don’t have to hide them anymore, at least not from me. I promise, sweetheart.”

‘Sweetheart? Dammit Zoey. Control your gay self for five minutes.’

“R-really?” Rumi asked, like she didn’t quite believe it. The pet-name went unremarked.

Zoey was certain she’d reassure Rumi until the heat death of the universe. “Really. Can I ask another question?”

“O-okay.”

“Do they hurt?” Zoey braced herself for the response. She wasn’t sure what she’d do if Rumi said yes, but that didn’t give Zoey the right to hide from that possibility.

“Only when they spread.”

Zoey fought the urge to cry again as the idea of Rumi in pain from her patterns settled in her mind. “So that’s why you’ve started covering up more. They spread? That’s good to know. Thank you for telling me, Rumi. So they’re not just on your arms anymore?”

Rumi suddenly pulled away from Zoey’s embrace, a fierce expression on her face. Zoey wondered what she’d said wrong, and how she could fix it. Surely there was something she could say.

“You meant what you said, right? That I don’t have to hide them anymore?”

“I promised. I’m still promising.”

Rumi suddenly stood. Before Zoey could react, Rumi’s hands went to the bottom of her hoodie.

Zoey let out an involuntary squeak as Rumi pulled off her own top, leaving only a sports bra underneath. At least Rumi’s back was turned.

Right. Rumi’s back. Rumi’s very muscular, very beautiful back… Like a ballerina's...

As Rumi reached up to stretch, each muscle flexed beneath her skin. Each a story of dedication and trial made flesh. Each a testament to power and practice. Her muscles flowed like a river to the smooth, flawless surface of the back of her neck.

Zoey realized with something approaching horror that the patterns painting Rumi’s skin ran along the outlines of each muscle on her back, giving definition and colour that a body builder would kill for. They did not steal Rumi’s beauty, no, they enhanced it.

The subtle sweat from being so bundled up all day traced along the valleys and curves of each muscle, reflecting the lights of the patterns like prisms held to the sun. A purple cascade of light—

’Nope. Nope. Noooope. Stop being so gay for like five seconds, Zoey. Oh my god. Think of like… handsome guys. Or turn around. Do something!’ Zoey was mentally berating herself, and she finally turned even though she was still sitting on Rumi’s bed.

Turns out, there was a floor length mirror just behind and to the right of Zoey. It reflected Rumi continuing to bask in being free of her hoodies. Zoey’s view hadn’t changed. Was there no escape?

As Zoey was faced with bi-xestential crisis in the form of a floor-length mirror, the rabbit caught up with the carrot in her brain.

“Wait Rumi, they glow?!” Zoey whipped her head back around, somehow not even distracted by Rumi’s gorgeous back for the moment. The patterns were indeed faintly glowing, the light growing brighter and then dimmer gently. If Zoey had to hazard a guess, it was in time with Rumi’s heart beat.

Zoey’s hands impulsively reached out, though luckily her self control and sense of people’s bodily autonomy caught up and stopped her from actually touching the patterns. “They’re bioluminescent! Like fireflies, or some jellyfish! Rumi, this is incredible. You’re incredible!” Zoey couldn’t help herself, and she smiled even as she withdrew her hands back to the safety of her own lap.

Rumi turned, and Zoey deliberately kept her eyes up. She’d nearly fainted from Rumi’s back, she could not handle her abs or… anything else… right now. Rumi spoke, “Really? Y-you think I’m like a jellyfish?”

“Oh, was that too much? Sorry, I just… I saw them and I just thought of all those David Attenborough documentaries I’ve watched and – and I’m being too much. They’re nice though. Really nice.”

“Zoeyyy.” Rumi dragged out her name in the way that sent butterflies through Zoey’s stomach. Though she was pretty sure she could rival most butterfly sanctuaries for how many butterflies lived in her stomach ever since she’d met Rumi. Rumi sat down on the edge of the bed next to Zoey. “You’re not being too much. Its… its really nice. To hear something good about them.”

Zoey smiled as warmth filled her chest. Not just for the compliment that struck at one of her own insecurities, but to hear that she’d helped Rumi in some small way. She knew there still had to be a lot of baggage to unpack, but at least they’d pulled out their carry-on luggage.

“So… now what?” Rumi asked.

“Now I think you need some rest. If I’m tired, I can’t imagine what you’re feeling, Rumi. You were already tired when I got here. Everything else can wait until tomorrow. Then you and I can figure it out together, step by step.” Zoey stood. “You’ll be okay, alright?” She asked. She didn’t want to leave Rumi if she was feeling too vulnerable.

“I’d be more okay if you stayed…” Rumi said softly.

Zoey’s heart did a little flip. She knew it was purely platonic, but it was still such an intimate request. “Okay. Okay, I’ll stay. Actually, I’ll not stay for like… 5 minutes while I go get into PJs, then I’ll stay again, all night. How’s that sound?”

Rumi giggled, and it was the most beautiful sound Zoey had heard pass through Rumi’s lips, and that was saying something since Rumi had to be one of the best singers in the world. “Okay. Five minutes.” Rumi began to arrange her bed.

Zoey hurried out of her room and changed into her PJs with little squares and turtles on them. She practically ran back to Rumi’s room, definitely setting a record time.

Little did Zoey know, her movements through the hallway were tracked. Mira’s spectacled eyes watched from her own doorway as Zoey, clad in pyjamas, hurried into Rumi’s room. Mira’s right eyebrow was raised, her smile soft, as she stepped back into her room, closing her door.

“Okay, see. Told you. Five minutes I was not staying and now I’m staying.” Zoey announced as she returned to Rumi, closing the door behind her. Rumi was already under the covers of her bed, and she patted the space beside her.

Zoey didn’t even think twice. She slid under the covers and scooted over close to Rumi, though a little frown found its way to Zoey’s lips. While Rumi’s Rapunzel-length hair was out of its braid, she’d slipped back into a hoodie.

“You don’t have to wear a hoodie, if you don’t want to. If you’re not ready to wear something else, that’s okay, I just… I wanted to make the offer. It looked like it felt good not to wear one, earlier.” Zoey said.

“I’m just so used to covering them. I’m not used to not wearing a hoodie to bed. Even if they’re really warm. I don’t think I even own short sleeve shirts any more…” Rumi replied.

“Not even those cute ones Mira and I have bought you over the years?” Zoey was determined not to take that personally.

“Sorry… I couldn’t risk you guys wanting to see me in them so… they had to go. That way if you asked, I wouldn’t have to make up an excuse every time why I couldn’t…”

“I guess that makes sense. Hey, wait, I have an idea. I’ll trade you! You can wear my shirt, and I’ll wear your hoodie!” Zoey was mentally patting herself on the back. This was clearly both the easiest and most platonic possible option.

“Really?” Rumi asked.

“Really.” Zoey replied, already pulling off her top. She was really glad she’d chosen to wear a sleeping bralette.

Rumi sat up and turned her back to Zoey, pulling off her hoodie. There was no sports bra, this time. No bralette, either.

‘Focus!’

Rumi passed her hoodie backwards to Zoey, and they exchanged garments, quickly tugging them on.

At last Rumi settled into the bed, turning to look at Zoey. For a long moment, Zoey just watched Rumi’s expression, studying her warm brown eyes. The purple patterns arced across her bare arms.

Zoey had meant every word that she’d said earlier. The patterns were gorgeous. They were a story of survival. They were a story of heritage. They were a story of inheritance. They were a story that was so uniquely Rumi. Zoey had read many stories over the years, growing up. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever been so excited to see what lay beyond the next page turn.

Zoey wanted to reach out and brush at the patterns, tracing them beneath her fingers. She didn’t though. With everything Rumi was dealing with, just trusting Zoey with seeing her patterns was already an immense act of trust and vulnerability. Zoey would not break that trust.

Rumi had said her patterns hurt when they spread, which still broke Zoey’s heart, but she wondered what they felt like when they weren’t painful. In quiet moments like this, just laying in bed, did they feel any different? Were those patches of skin more sensitive, or ticklish? Maybe they were numb, except when they hurt. Did certain fabrics bother Rumi, or maybe temperatures when she showered?

Zoey also wondered what they felt like on the outside. Was the purple skin virtually indistinguishable by touch? Was it rougher or smoother? Were there little ridges and bumps, or would it be just as soft and smooth as the rest of Rumi’s skin?

The overriding question was how could Zoey help? At the end of the day, whatever the patterns felt like or looked like, they were on Rumi’s skin. It was her decision, and Zoey would follow her lead, but Zoey couldn’t help but want to help. They spread, painfully. Why did they spread? When did they spread? Was there anything Zoey could do to stop that from happening, and if she couldn’t, could she somehow help Rumi? So many questions to ponder, but they would have to wait for the night. Right now, the best thing Zoey could do to help Rumi was let her sleep.

If Zoey was lucky, Rumi might even sleep feeling safe and seen in a way she probably hadn’t in years. Zoey knew that being seen in that way could be so fulfilling, but it could also be frightening. It was her responsibility as the other person in the room to make it a comforting, safe experience as possible. Which really meant just laying here, quietly. Zoey may have a talkative reputation, but she’d never speak again if it meant Rumi would feel safe. Though she’d really, really like to talk to her when she was ready.

As Rumi’s eyes began to flutter close from exhaustion, she spoke in a sleepy whisper. “Promise?”

Zoey didn’t care what Rumi was asking her to promise about. “Promise.”

Tomorrow they would face the rest of the world. Zoey would be on Rumi’s side, and they would figure it out. Tonight, this moment, it was just the two of them. That was all that mattered.

Zoey. Rumi. Her beautiful patterns.

Chapter Text

Zoey didn’t wake to light or touch, but the soft sound of her phone vibrating on the bedside table beside her. Instinctively she knew it probably wasn’t the first text she’d received all morning, but it was the one that had finally broken through. With a soft groan, she elected to ignore her phone. The truth was that she hadn’t slept particularly well, and contrary to what some might expect, she was very conscious that she was not in her own bed. Rumi was laying less than a meter to her right, the soft sounds of her breathing and the gentle shift as she slept communicating to Zoey that she was still there. Zoey couldn’t be sure, but at least it certainly seemed like Rumi had slept better than her.

It wasn’t the unfamiliar mattress, the warmth of another body next to her, even the occasional arm thrown over her that had kept Zoey awake. She hadn’t even really panicked about sleeping in bed next to her crush. Yet thoughts had stirred and circled and stirred. A sleepless night due to thoughts plaguing her and a brain that just wouldn’t shut up wasn’t something new in Zoey’s life. Yet there was more weight and importance to this wakefulness.

Rumi had patterns. Zoey rotated in the bed to look at her. There was still that faint pulse in the bioluminescent marks that traced their way along her arms and faintly at her neck. She hadn’t made a deal with Gwi-Ma, she was a half demon; Zoey trusted that Rumi had been telling the truth implicitly. It was a lot to process, and she couldn’t help but wish she’d reacted better: said or done something more. There was no changing the past, but Zoey could still affect the present or the future. It was the future that kept her awake. How did she help Rumi?

Rumi had said she needed to hide her patterns, that she wanted to fix them, that there were no nice demons. So many strokes of life’s brush that seemed to paint a picture crafted in tones of blue and grey, strokes born of ache and desire. There was also the Golden Honmoon; which was important of course – it would save countless lives. What did it mean for Rumi? If she hadn’t made a deal with Gwi-Ma, did it actually mean anything at all to her? Yet the way Rumi pursued work and the Golden Honmoon spoke of something that went beyond duty, it was need. There was some puzzle piece that Zoey wasn’t seeing or didn’t know. Could it be related to those lyrics?

Put these patterns all in the past now

Did Rumi think that the Golden Honmoon would erase her patterns? Why would she need to hide-

‘You know the answer to that. Rumi had to hide her patterns because she was scared we’d treat her like we’ve treated any other demon.’

Zoey could admit to herself that she was still processing the patterns that traced across her best friend’s skin. They were like tiger stripes, but they also looked like thorned vines crawling up her skin, choking out Rumi’s peace and comfort. They were beautiful though, just like Rumi.

Zoey wasn’t sure she’d ever Rumi look so at rest. They’d certainly all fallen asleep on the couch together or crashed in the backrooms of a stadium. Yet looking back in comparison, Rumi hadn’t truly seemed at rest. Was her fear so great that sleeping became vulnerability rather than respite? Of course it had, who was Zoey kidding.

The insistent vibration of her phone shook Zoey from her worries as she rolled back to her left. She grabbed her phone, holding it close to her face to prevent the light from spilling from the phone and waking Rumi. Given the large curtains that Rumi had in front of her floor-to-ceiling panoramic windows, Zoey really had no idea what time it was. Zoey blinked away the burning light of the sun emerging from her phone and squinted at the text.

Mira: You two up yet

Mira: Weve got a lot to do

Mira: Also I have questions !!

That was an entirely different set of worries that had kept Zoey tossing and turning all night. How did you solve a problem, a friend, like Mira? Mira hated demons. Hated them. Zoey wished she believed that Mira would be all ‘Sick patterns. Let’s make a visual concept around them!’. Just a wish though, not a reality.

Zoey shook her head slightly; she wasn’t going to get any closer to all these questions laying in Rumi’s bed. Even if she really did want to stay here. Maybe snuggle closer, put her arm around Rumi. Maybe breath in that lavender shampoo she used because Rumi seemed to believe that her scent had to match her colour. So coordinated, perfectly, beautifully Rumi.

Zoey reached over to the bedside table and grabbed her discarded notebook. She flipped open to page 23, scratching out some possibilities gratefully while adding new details. The soft scratch of the pen didn’t seem to register to sleeping Rumi, at least. Satisfied with the changes made, Zoey bit her lip and decided to write a bit more. Her code within her cipher at least came naturally enough to her. She jotted the day and time down. (Work Skin Begin)

(Work Skin End) Knowing she’d never truly be satisfied with what she wrote, Zoey conceded that the entry was done. She set the journal back on the bedside table, and then finally pulled herself out Rumi’s bed, careful not to make too much noise or movement. Rumi didn’t seem to react, so Zoey considered herself successful. She paused at the door to the hallway before rolling her head and turning on her heel. Silently she padded across Rumi’s room, brushing a gap into the curtains just wide enough for her to slip through before letting it fall back into place behind her. She opened the balcony door and stepped outside. The air was crisp and chilled from the morning.

Just a few minutes to breath and try to clear her head would probably do her good. She leaned against the balcony railing, casting her eyes down to the city below. People and cars went about their lives below, so unaware of demons and yet inevitably so full of their own worries and loves.

There was a tiny clattering sound to her left, and Zoey turned her gaze. There was a magpie perched on the railing, and it gave a small squawk at her. It didn’t fly away right away. That wasn’t what was so extraordinary though.

“Is that… a magpie wearing a tiny gat?” Zoey had frozen even though she was tempted to move closer to the bird in question. That definitely wasn’t normal. Something dragged out a random fact to the front of her mind – a time when she’d read in English social media about someone gluing cowboy hats to pigeons in the United States. It was one of those things that seemed cute at first glance, but horrifying if you took half a moment to think about. Those poor pigeons had had tiny hats glued to them, and it had probably not ended well. Was someone in Seoul trying to do the same thing, Korean edition? Zoey knew in her bones as an animal lover that she had to save this magpie, but how? She studied the bird.

‘Is that bird studying… me? What in the world. No way. That thing looks so suspicious. Though I guess if I had a hat glued to my head, I’d be suspicious of humans too. Now how do I save this thing…’ Zoey thought as she narrowed her eyes at the magpie, who seemed to narrow its eyes back at her. It was then that Zoey was struck by a genius plan. She didn’t spend much more time thinking, instead she just acted.

Zoey launched forward with every bit of Hunters’ training she could summon and stretched her hands out wide. Her aim was as true as it was with her shin-kal, and she felt feathers tickle her palms. She made sure not to reflexively tighten her grip too much, instead just lightly pressing down as to secure the magpie. The bird squawked angrily and began to peck at Zoey’s hand angrily. She ignored the soft jabs, since they weren’t breaking skin.

“Hold on birdie! I just want to see if I can help you with your gat. It can’t be good to have that glued to your head! Though now I’m realizing that I have no idea on how to unglue a hat from a bird’s head. Bobby can probably find someone who’s an expert though, right? I just have to figure out how to call someone from my phone… while holding you…” Zoey sighed, staring down at the bird who had stopped biting at her and was staring up at her with loathing. “I don’t think I really thought this through birdie, I’m sorry. I’m just trying to help you. I promise. I won’t eat you.”

The magpie tilted its head back and seemed to give an exasperated sigh. Its teeth flashed in the sun, infrequent but serrated. The gat slipped from its head, falling onto its back, held only by the gakkeun, the chinstrap.

“Wait, the gat isn’t even stuck on your head! You’re just wearing it. How did you get a little hat to stay on your head when you’re flying around? Also who made you a hat? They did a really good job.” Zoey asked, staring down at the bird who was still staring up at her reproachfully. This bird sure was good at sending mean looks her way.

“Wait you have teeth?!” Zoey screeched as the thought had finally caught up with her. At the same time as she shrieked, the magpie opened four additional eyes and its mouth opened further than any mouth had any right to as it gave an angry cry.

“What the hell?!” Zoey let go of the bird who flapped its wings and took off into the sky. It gave a pump of its wings twice, somehow settled the gat on its head, and disappeared as a speck into the distance.

“Yeah okay. Cute magpie in Seoul. Normal. Totally normal. Wearing a gat. Not entirely normal, could be hazardous to its health. Except it’s not glued on, it’s just wearing it. That’s not normal. And the teeth. And the mouth. Like one of Mira’s horror movies. And the extra eyes. Just yesterday I was bragging about being so opened minded about possibilities. Hell of a lot that I knew, clearly.” Zoey monologued to herself angrily as she gestured wildly, pacing back and forth on the balcony.

She realized that the magpie had to be a demon of some kind. That was the only explanation for an animal looking so strange and unnatural. Well, no, that wasn’t a very nice thing to think. Rumi was a half-demon, and she was perfectly natural and not strange. Less strange than Zoey, she was convinced. Also gorgeous, and sweet, and kind, and awkward and…

‘Wait a second. Demon bird. Rumi’s balcony. Rumi is a half-demon. Was that her demon bird? Has she had a pet demon bird this whole time? What if its one of those your-animal-is-your-soul things? Oh my god did I just practically attack Rumi’s pet bird? Was I holding her soul? Good job! Great, just great. The first time meeting your crush’s pet and you practically crush them, and not in the cutesy feelings way! If it was her soul, well, even worse. Like a million times worse. I don’t think that was her soul though, it seemed way too cranky to be Rumi’s soul. Her soul would be like… a tiger, obviously. Probably stoic and strong at the same time. But also a little obsessive and derpy. In an adorkable way. Oh, and who can forget absolutely gorgeous… and I’m off-track again.’

Zoey managed to focus her chain of thought as her phone buzzed again. She didn’t bother to check it, it had to be Mira. It was probably best she went out there before Mira knocked on the door and woke Rumi up, who really needed the rest. The questions about the demon bird would have to wait until Rumi was awake and they could talk some more.

Zoey stepped inside, making sure the curtains kept the sunlight out. Rumi was still lying in bed, her blankets pulled up. She still looked so peaceful and rested, and it took strength that ancient kings would envy for Zoey to wrest herself away from the sight and to the bedroom door. She slipped out, making sure to use her body to block any view of Rumi sleeping, and stepped into the hallway.

“There you are.” Mira’s low-toned voice spoke from somewhere to Zoey’s left, slightly down the hallway. It was all Zoey could do to keep from jumping out of her skin.

“Oh my god, Mira. Don’t jump-scare me like that. You’re nearly as bad as Rumi.” Zoey was suddenly very aware that Rumi’s hoodie was way too warm when you weren’t standing outside on the balcony or in her room that she air-conditioned like she was trying to keep the ice caps from melting. She nearly pulled off the hoodie before realizing her shirt was still back in Rumi’s room. On Rumi. Ignoring Mira for the moment, Zoey walked the quick path back to her own room.

As soon as she reached her room, Zoey went to close the door behind her, but a hand and a foot stopped it. Zoey sighed. “Do you want to come in, Mira?”

“Yeah I mean I guess if that’s what you want.” Mira half-mumbled as she followed Zoey into her room. Zoey was pretty sure one of Mira’s ancestors had been a vampire, she was always so weird about just being invited into a room. Showed up in mirrors, though. Seemed okay with garlic, too. Maybe there was something different about Korean vampires? Did Korea even have vampires?

‘Focus. Change your shirt. Actually just get dressed.’ Zoey went to her dresser and pulled out some casual clothes for the day, heading to her closet to get the last few pieces. She tossed them on her bed as her mind continued to wander. Mira was standing by Zoey’s desk, looking at some of the photobooth photo-strips Zoey had of the three of them like she hadn’t seen them hundreds of times before. Zoey started with her pants, which was apparently the socially correct time to start a conversation in Mira’s book.

“So…” Mira started, rocking back and forth on her heels slightly, turning to face Zoey. There was a mischievous lilt to her tone. “Spending the night with Rumi?”

“Yeah. We had a sleepover. It was late, I didn’t want to wake you.” Zoey said with a small shrug, hoping Mira wouldn’t see through her little white lie.

“Right, right. Have a good time?” She asked, her eyebrow quirking slightly.

Zoey could sense the dangerous territory this conversation this was headed towards. “Yeah, I mean, sleepovers are always fun.” With her pants changed, Zoey focused on pulling off Rumi’s hoodie, getting lost in its volume a little bit. With her vision obscured, Mira decided to speak again.

“Zoey, where’s your shirt?” Mir asked, as if it was the plainest and most average question you could ask your best friend.

With the hoodie nearly off, Zoey gave a little shrug inside it. “I think Rumi’s still wearing it.” She said casually, and there was no response. It wasn’t until she’d manage to successfully escape the hoodie that she was able to see why. Mira’s mouth hung open. She started to close it, but then it was just hanging open again. It was like the hinge on her jaw wasn’t working or something. Zoey couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Mira stunned into silence – it usually involved abs. Despite her mostly shirtless state, Zoey knew her abs were not what had elicited such a reaction. “What?” Zoey asked, her eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement.

“I mean, you spent the night, Zoey. You’re wearing each other’s clothes. Modest Rumi, who practically never shows the entire top half of her body? You spent the night with the girl you’ve been crushing on for literal years, and you’ve exchanged clothes. Oh my god, did you two…? I mean, that’s way more zero to one hundred than I would’ve expected but who am I to judge, you remember that one ex I was telling you about…”

It wasn’t so much that Mira was rambling as that Zoey’s brain had short-circuited somewhere between third and fourth sentences and she’d utterly failed to respond. All she could do was sit there, on the edge of her bed in pants and a bralette, and stare at Mira who was in turn staring back at her. Heat began to radiate through Zoey’s cheeks, her ears, pretty much everywhere. She was sure she looked as red as a tomato. Did Mira honestly think she and Rumi had—

‘No. No! I am not finishing that thought. Absolutely not.’

“Mira!” Zoey chided, her voice cracking just a little. “Look, you can tease me about random hot people all you want but that’s a little… inappropriate talk about Rumi like that, don’t you think?” Zoey asked, feeling a mixture of defensive and protective.

Mira gave her a look that Zoey guessed was apologetic and gave a small shrug. “Sorry.” At least her words confirmed it. “I guess I didn’t want to assume but I assumed too far the other way.” Mira huffed slightly as she wandered over and sat down in one of the chairs in Zoey’s room.

There was an uncomfortable silence between them as Zoey managed to regain her dignity and changed into a bra for the day and a shirt to go over it.

“You know I’m just rooting for you two, right?” Mira asked, fixing Zoey with puppy-dog eyes. Mira’s way of continuing to apologize, Zoey guessed.

“I can’t really accept the apology on Rumi’s behalf – not that we’re ever telling her about this – but…” Zoey realized she wasn’t sure where that sentence was going. She wanted Mira to feel better, to make her happy, but her need to protect Rumi had won out. People-pleasing had its limits, apparently. “I, we, still don’t really know who Rumi’s interested in. If anyone. Though that does remind me of something funny that happened last night…” There, that would break the tension in the air.

“Oh yeah?” Mira quirked an eyebrow, spreading her legs as she leaned back in Zoey’s chair, apparently getting comfortable.

Zoey ducked her head, as if she was being coy. “I kinda… sorta… came out to Rumi last night?” she said faux meekly, though she was trying hard not to laugh.

Mira did laugh, before stopping. “Wait, what? Zoey, you’re like… the most bi woman I know, and that’s saying something. Did Rumi not know? Ugh, how oblivious is that girl.” Mira tilted her head back and gave a groan, and for some reason the magpie Zoey had met maybe half an hour ago flashed through Zoey’s mind. “She’s such a workaholic, I swear.”

Zoey just laughed and nodded before standing and walking over to her dresser. There, she pulled on jewellery. She had the most ear piercings of Huntr/x, and it always gave her a small dose of joy to pick out her selection each day. One of their songs came to her unbidden, and she began to hum softly.

Suddenly Mira was hugging her from behind, settling her head on Zoey’s shoulder. “I’m glad you had a fun sleepover. She has so many walls, I’m glad you were able to see past them a little. I was thinking about going over last night, but you beat me to it.” Zoey span in Mira’s arms and returned the hug.

“You’re so thoughtful Mira! We definitely would’ve liked having you!” Zoey was still trying to keep up the lie that the sleepover really had been that simple. That she hadn’t discovered the biggest secret of Rumi’s life. Probably the biggest secret of her life, too. Her best friend, and her crush, wasn’t even human! Zoey had watched plenty of Star Trek growing up, she’d totally been ready for a non-human partner, but half-demon wasn’t exactly on her short-list. Of course that was assuming a lot, Rumi may not even be interested in her! There was that saying about what assuming made a person for a reason. Now if Zoey could just control the gay part of her bi self, life would be a little easier.

“Where you at?” Mira asked, pulling back from the hug. Her eyes darted over Zoey for a second, apparently seeing something that Zoey would never be able to see. She really wished she could be as perceptive as Mira. “Oh. You’re just being all ‘Oh Rumi, your hair is so purple, like a flower.’” Mira laughed. Zoey decided that her first wish wouldn’t be to be as perceptive as Mira, but rather for Mira not to be so perceptive when it came to her! Zoey pulled away even as she was having a hard time breathing from laughing so much.

“Wow. Really Mira, that’s the best you got? How do you get anyone with poetry like that? Thank goodness you leave the lyrics to me!” Zoey was wiping tears from her eyes. At least the world felt a little bit lighter, when she could spend time in the company of the two best women she’d ever met.

“So, we’ve got a lot of preparation still to do, for the Idol Awards. You two slept in. I’ll go wake Rumi, and we can get started. We’re still working on Takedown, after all. Gotta make sure we get it right so we can take care of those Saja Boys and send those demons back to where they belong!” Mira gave a triumphant fist pump.

Zoey’s gut twisted at Mira’s words. Mira really hated the Saja boys, and she really hated demons. She was never coy about her feelings, and she loved and hated freely in equal measure. How were they going to tell her Rumi was a half-demon? Also, the mention of Takedown made her feel that much worse.

“Umm, no. No, I’ll wake up Rumi! Don’t worry about it!” Zoey said, hoping her nerves didn’t come across as she shifted on her feet.

Mira’s eyebrows furrowed, and Zoey tried to smooth her face into something calm and dignified. After a moment, Mira grinned. “Alright Prince Florian. Go wake Rumi up and let’s get to work! Don’t take too long!” Mira gave a little wave over her shoulder as she practically strutted out of the room. Zoey had no idea what that nickname was about.

Zoey took a few extra minutes to get some light makeup applied and make sure her hair was done. Right now it was down, not up in her double buns that she’d been rocking for a while. Rumi’s hair had never changed in the whole time Zoey had known her. Mira occasionally did small variations with her hair, let her natural colour form an underlayer sometimes. Zoey was the one who changed her hair the most, even if her current look was one of her standbys. She’d worn this same hairstyle when they’d won their first Idol Awards. She’d also had blue hair, emerald hair, even purple-and-pink for some time. People in the Idol industry changed their hair all the time, and Zoey wasn’t an exception.

For Zoey, it was just another part of her artistic self-expression. Different colours and styles fit different moods. What sort of mood was she in, now? With everything that had changed, everything that was going to change – maybe she needed to change along too. There was certainly a lot she was reflecting on internally, what she knew about Rumi and demons. A change on the outside might match that. What colour and style would be right? She pushed her hair around her head a few times to imagine changes. Ultimately though, that decision wasn’t going to happen right now.

Picking up Rumi’s discarded hoodie, Zoey walked back to Rumi’s room and stopped at the doorway. What was the proper social protocol in a situation like this? Did she knock? Did she just walk back in? Maybe there was something to Mira’s incredibly awkward nature about walking into rooms. Knocking was at least a good start; in case Rumi was changing or something. With less trepidation than the night before, Zoey softly rapped her knuckles on the door.

Knock knock knock.

There was no answer, and Zoey pressed her ear to the door and softly knocked again. Still no answer. Rumi was either very asleep or out on her balcony, since Zoey didn’t hear the quiet hiss of her shower. “Rumi?” She called softly as she opened the door. The room was still dark, curtains undisturbed. After a moment of her eyes adjusting, Zoey could make out Rumi was still fast asleep in her bed. Zoey wasn’t sure Rumi had ever slept so late or so deeply, even when she’d gotten colds and whatnot over the years. Last night really had taken the energy out of her. 

Zoey set the hoodie down as she sat on the side of Rumi’s bed. She allowed herself just a moment to admire Rumi’s features before reaching out. She was not going to be some creeper watching her friend sleep - this was not Twilight and she would not be that sparkly vampire guy! Gently she touched Rumi’s shoulder and gave a small shake.

”Rumi? Time to wake up, sleepyhead.” Zoey said, smiling to herself. 

Rumi muttered and groaned, tossing her right arm over her eyes. “Too sleepy.” She protested.

Zoey chuckled even as her eyes fixated on Rumi’s arm. She was evidently still wearing Zoey’s pajama top, as her patterns were still visible across her arm. The patterns were pulsing very slowly, Rumi’s heart rate slowed by sleep. 

Just that morning, Zoey had considered how the patterns resembled thorned vines. Seeing them again, she realized how true that was. The patterns curled and grasped at Rumi’s arm like a vine anchored to a tree. Is that how Gwi-Ma had designed them? Did they drink of her soul like a vine might drink of a tree? A promise of symbiosis that was nothing but a lie - as the greed of the vine knew no capacity, taking more and more until the tree died and the vine died along with it. Is that what the patterns of Gwi-Ma would do - choke out their anchor with shame and regret until they perished, leaving nothing but an empty husk? A person existing only to propagate shame like seeds scattered in wind?

That seemed so cruel and uncharitable though. How would Zoey have felt if a part of her skin was compared to choking vines? Terrible, obviously. She needed to slow down and reframe the situation. Rumi would need to be the one the lead the situation, but Zoey also wouldn’t stand for any self-disparagement from such a wonderful woman. The patterns were really pretty, too. She’d meant it when she thought that Gwi-Ma didn’t get to dictate how Rumi or Zoey felt about Rumi, that just because he meant the patterns to be choking vines didn’t mean that’s what they truly were. They were Rumi’s patterns, and only hers.

’Focus!’

”Rumi, you really do need to wake up. I’m sorry, I know you’re cozy.” Zoey said, gently giving Rumi’s shoulder a small shake again. As Zoey withdrew her hand, her hand accidentally brushed just a millimetre of Rumi’s light-blocking forearm.

In an instant, Rumi had sat up, her eyes wide. Her hands were grasping at her upper arms, like she was trying to block the view of the patterns from Zoey. She looked around, and Zoey was heartbroken to see there was anxiety in Rumi’s expression. She was looking over Zoey’s shoulder, and Zoey reactively turned her head. It was just the two of them in the room. She turned her gaze back to Rumi. “It’s just me.” Zoey tried to reassure.

Rumi gave a soft exhale, slowly lowering her hands from her arms. “Guess I haven’t had anyone else touch my bare arms in… a long time, really.” She spoke. “I wasn’t sure if you’d brought Mira and if… if we were still… okay.”

Zoey shook her head, and then nodded, and then shook her head again, and then decided she couldn’t decide which head motion was right. “No, I didn’t bring Mira. Or tell her. That’s your decision and your choice. If you want to tell Mira, I can help you tell her. Or if you’re not ready yet, then you don’t have to.” Zoey addressed at least a part of Rumi’s worries. “You and me, though? We’re still totally okay, and I’m sorry I startled you awake. I guess I would be jumpy too, if no one had touched my arms in years. I’m sorry it's been like that for you, though.”

“It’s alright.” Rumi chuckled nervously in a way that Zoey could tell meant it really wasn’t alright. “Thanks for not telling Mira though… I don’t know how she’ll react.”

“Yeah…” Zoey echoed quietly, and a silence settled between them. “Any other major secrets we need to get out of the way, while we’re here?” Zoey asked. She was really hoping that was the end of the major secrets list, though that was probably a bit hypocritical. After all, Zoey was keeping one major secret herself. 

“I’ve been having secret meetings one-on-one with Jinu.”

“What?!” Zoey’s voice cracked. The joint signing was one thing, but one-on-ones?

’Oh no, I didn’t consider this. What if… practically all the options are true at the same time? Rumi is a half-demon, she really is just that awkward and modest, and she has a crush on Jinu. It’s… it's the super option. The option to end all options.’

Zoey could practically feel her crush giving a little scream of terror in her chest as it wrestled with the reality that Rumi’s affections lay elsewhere. Not that she’d ever tell or begrudge Rumi, but it was over, wasn’t it? She’d have to move on from the longest, most important crush she’d ever had. That word always came back to get you, didn’t it? Crush. Not just named for the weight of the feelings while it lived, but what it did to your heart on its way out.

Rumi spoke, “Yeah. He discovered my patterns in the bathhouse fight. I tried to kill him at first, but then I thought maybe I could convince him to help us fight Gwi-Ma. He’s super annoying, but I don’t think he’s inherently evil?” Rumi said with a small shrug.

Recall the printings, delete the news chevrons, stop the presses! The cancelling of the crush was cancelled! Crush back on! Rumi thought Jinu was super annoying. She didn’t sound like she had a crush on him. Day? Saved. It took a lot of self-control to stop from cheering. Another award to add to her trophy case. Bi Awards. Idol Awards. Self-Control Awards. Zoey was really the all-star these last few days.

Zoey also registered how natural it seemed that Rumi was trying to help and redeem Jinu. It lined up with something Rumi had said about trying to convince Jinu to listen to the voices that loved him. 

It also seemed like Rumi was using Jinu, at least a little bit. Not that Zoey was trying to judge if Rumi was using Jinu. Using a demon to try to save the entirety of Planet Earth may not have been perfectly moral, but it had to be pretty close to at least neutral, right? It was also fitting for her very workaholic prone nature.

Yet ultimately it was the kindness that was the foundation of everything Rumi had said. Someone who could look at a person and see not just what they were, but who they could be. When Zoey had just met Rumi and begun training for Huntr/x, she’d just been an awkward girl split between two homes and two countries, with words and lyrics spilling out of her like they were on sale. Too much, and yet never enough for her peers. Rumi had said that she was exactly the type of person who would bring Huntr/x success, who could put their thoughts and feelings to paper and to song. 

Here they were on the verge of a sixth Idol Awards win: Mira and Rumi deserved more than their fair share of that credit, but even Zoey’s self-deprecation could not win in the face of their own success. With Rumi and Mira, she meant something, her words meant something. Rumi had seen it all those years ago. If she’d been able to see underneath Zoey to something even Zoey hadn’t realized existed, didn’t it make sense that she could see the same thing with Jinu?

“I mean, he does seem pretty annoying…” Zoey laughed a little more than was probably necessary. “It’s really nice of you to try to help him though. It must’ve been scary when he discovered your patterns, though.”

“I guess.” Rumi shrugged, pulled her knees up to her chest. “To be honest, I think I was mostly scared of you and Mira seeing. When… When I met Jinu, he told me he was the only one who could understand. A part of me believed him.” There seemed to be an unspoken statement: ‘Maybe a part of me still believes him.’ Rumi sighed. “Then last night, you saw and… you seemed to understand?” Rumi looked at her with sad eyes.

“I understand. Or rather… I think I understand. I can’t pretend to know what its like, growing up the way you have with all that pressure. But I’m willing to listen, and I want to try to understand as much as I possibly can.” Zoey felt a pinch of irritation at Jinu, he seemed manipulative. Zoey made sure to add, “I’m also not under the belief that I’m the only one who can understand. I’m glad Jinu understood. I’m sure there are others out there who could understand.”

“It was during one of these meetings that he told me that demons do have feelings. That all they do is feel. That stuff about shame. Things we talked about last night, y’know.” Rumi fiddled with the edge of her blanket. “It was like hearing some put my own thoughts aloud. It wasn’t like Celine.”

Zoey reached her hands forward, putting them on top of Rumi's hand that had been fiddling with the blanket. The way her elegant fingers tapped away at the blanket reminded Zoey of Rumi playing guitar. Perhaps she’d been playing out some song Zoey couldn’t recognize - she couldn’t play guitar. Some part of her knew in another time or another situation, their hands touching like this might have ignited her. In this moment, she only hoped they communicated warmth to Rumi.

How could Zoey not reach out to touch, to comfort? To her, Rumi was like gravity. A gentle force present in every moment of her life, inescapable. Yet for the way she dominated thoughts spoken and unspoken - like gravity, Rumi was gentle. She was not a tidal wave or a detonation, but a soft reminder that anchored Zoey to time and place, even when she might wander. A centre that pulled Zoey’s ever-present spin close to her. 

Maybe there were days where Zoey need not give gravity its name, but that did not mean its effects lingered any less. In these moments though, when Rumi was hurting, the name and the feel of gravity weighed on her like she sat at the edge of a cliff. A gentle force that suddenly begged an answer, an answer she’d never want to resist giving.

’Focus…’ Zoey softly reminded herself this time.

“What was it like, with Celine?” Zoey asked, bracing herself for an answer she wasn’t sure she would ever be ready to hear.

Rumi ducked her head, not meeting Zoey’s gaze. “I mean, kind of what you’d expect? You lived with her for a while. My mom - Celine - she loves me. Really, I do think she loves me. She has a hard time seeing past my patterns though. I don’t think she loves all of me. Maybe she shouldn’t, right?” Rumi gave a half-hearted, single shoulder shrug. “She always says our faults and fears must never be seen. That includes my patterns. I think she was worried how you and Mira would react when you saw them.”

Zoey took a long moment to process before replying. She always responded better when she had time to think something over. “That’s some real bullshit, you know that, right?”

Rumi’s head snapped up. “What?” She asked, her voice a little rough.

“Mira and I didn’t know what patterns were until Celine taught us. She told us we should fear them, didn’t she? Despite knowing this whole time that you had patterns. Why couldn’t she have just told us at the beginning? Then you wouldn’t have had to hide from us, and you wouldn’t have had to worry about how we’d react.” Zoey reasoned.

“I tried to talk to her about that once but… she said you needed to be trained not to hesitate. To not question or wonder if the demons you were slaying were people like… like me. Until the Saja Boys, there haven’t been, so she wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t supposed to matter for long anyways. Once we achieve the Golden Honmoon, my patterns will be gone, and I’ll be fixed. I’d hoped we’d get to the Golden Honmoon sooner, but we’re so close now and you and Mira would never had had to know if… if you hadn’t come by, last night. If not for the Saja Boys, I guess.”

Again, Zoey made sure to take some time to think, though this time she let Rumi know about it. “Sorry, just processing.” She said quietly before resuming her contemplation. There was a lot to unpack in what Rumi had just said, and about ten different topics she’d unintentionally brought up. 

“You’re sure there haven’t been any other half-demons or full demons like you?” Zoey asked, and Rumi nodded, though not quite as confidently as Zoey would have liked. That was an issue for another day, one that was definitely going to keep her up at night. Because she needed more reasons not to sleep.

Zoey continued, “So the Golden Honmoon… I know it’s the perfect Honmoon and is supposed to seal away Gwi-Ma and demons for good, but how do you and Celine know that it would just get rid of your patterns? Would it more likely either like… completely ignore you, or seal you away too?” Zoey couldn’t hide the waver to her voice as she asked the question. How could Celine possibly know what the Honmoon saw Rumi as, and how it would treat her. Why would it seal just her patterns away? Also, couldn’t that hurt Rumi? Her patterns were a part of her, literally embedded into her skin. Having those pulled away sounded like some horror scenario. A Golden Honmoon had never been achieved before, so there was no way Celine was working on existing evidence.

“Celine knows everything there is to know about Hunters and the Honmoon. I guess I don’t know exactly how she knows, but I have to trust her, right? I want to trust her.” Rumi said quietly.

That was the crux of the argument, wasn’t it? It wasn’t that Rumi thought the evidence was sufficient, or that she’d seen it herself. It was that her belief and need to be fixed - and that word was its own conundrum to unpack - was so great that she was willing to accept what Celine said at face value. Because even if the Golden Honmoon came with some risk, the alternative seemed far scarier to Rumi, and that was heartbreaking to Zoey. “Maybe you should talk to Celine about it again. Or I will, if you don’t feel comfortable. Someone needs to get to the bottom of this. Plus, I have some choice words for her, for putting you through this and making Mira and I believe the things we did while you were standing right beside us.”

There was a slight squeeze of Zoey’s hand. Right, she still had her hands on Rumi’s. Zoey fought the flush that crawled its way through her veins like drinking hot chocolate on a winter’s day. That little squeeze wasn’t just an acknowledgement, it was appreciation. Rumi appreciated her. Rumi appreciated her. This kind, beautiful, stubborn woman was looking at Zoey not just like she was enough, but that she was something more than enough.

Rumi gave a small smile. “Thanks, Zoey. Maybe not today but… soon, I guess? I think we should still go for the Golden Honmoon. Then I’ll be fixed, and I won’t have to worry about telling Mira.”

Okay, they were back to that stupid word again. Fixed. It was time to address that. “Rumi, you don’t need to be fixed. You’re not broken. Nothing about you is broken. These patterns aren’t cracks or flaws, they’re just… stripes.” Zoey seized on the metaphor. “A tiger is orange, but their coat has stripes, right? That doesn’t mean the stripes are flaws or cracks in their coat. They’re beautiful markings that make tiger coats incredible. Just like these patterns make you look beau- make you look cool.” Successfully saved Zoey, excellent job. Also, if this conversation happened to lead to Rumi showing Zoey her tiger tail, that was totally unintentional and she was completely blameless in that, right? I mean how cute - err, cool - was having a tiger tail! Not just anyone could have a tiger tail! In fact, Rumi was probably the only woman in the world with a tiger tail, literally one of a kind! 

Rumi gave another small smile, “Thanks. Not all tigers are orange, though.”

Zoey was pretty sure Rumi wasn’t referring to white tigers or other variations. She reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind Rumi’s ear. “No, not all tigers are orange. Some are purple.” She said softly. She withdrew her hand quickly. That was pushing the line a little too far, wasn’t it; too close to making it uncomfortable. She didn’t want to make Rumi uncomfortable or make it weird. She just wanted Rumi happy and pleased!

Rumi looked at her with an expression Zoey couldn’t decipher, before clearing her throat slightly. “Some are blue.” Rumi said.

Zoey wasn’t sure what Rumi was referring to, glancing around and then down at her own shirt. Right, she was wearing a blue shirt today. Rumi was clearly trying to refer to her. “Sure, but I’m more of a leopard, right? I’ve got spots.” Zoey giggled, pointing to the freckles dusted across her cheeks and nose. This actually got a small laugh out of Rumi. 

Zoey withdrew her hands, already missing the warmth of Rumi’s, and slid off the bed into a stand. “I know there’s like… a million more things we need to talk about. But if we don’t get up and go out there, Mira might kick down the door. She was already harassing me about how late we slept in.” Zoey laughed a little. The tension had been so thick in that conversation, she knew Rumi probably needed a break more than she did. Everything Rumi was going through definitely wasn’t going to be solved in one conversation between the two of them. Rumi’s worries wouldn’t fade in the face of a single reassurance. Zoey would tell Rumi whatever she needed to hear a thousand times over.

“Right. Wouldn’t want to have to call Bobby and explain we need the doorframe replaced. He’s probably busy enough with the Idol Awards coming up.” Rumi climbed out of bed. For a moment, she stood in the centre of the room and Zoey got the distinct feeling she was a little lost. The moment seemed to pass as Rumi shook her head and wandered into her closet, grabbing a few things and came back out to the main area of her room. “Thanks for letting me borrow your sleepshirt. It’s been years since I slept in something that wasn’t long-sleeved. I forgot what it was like.” Rumi reached down and began to tug at the hem of the shirt. Just the tiniest peek of abs was visible as she began to lift.

Abs. Perfect, beautifully toned abs. Just a few days ago seeing Abby’s abs had made the space behind her eyes feel like popcorn, his immaculate appearance the butter. Card carrying bi disaster, remember? Seeing Rumi’s abs? An entirely different experience. Rumi’s abs were art, not entertainment. An act of commemoration that belonged in the sculpture gallery at the Louvre. Zoey would sign up to be the museum’s curator. 

Before Zoey could chide herself for admiring Rumi’s abs - which in reality took place for only about a second or so - Rumi turned her back. Zoey remembered, just as Rumi presumably had, that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath Zoey’s sleepshirt. 

Of course, that still left Rumi’s back visible. Zoey had been down that gay panic road before, and so turned her own back, pointedly staring at the floor. She was not going to be tricked by that dastardly mirror again. 

After a moment, Rumi announced, “All changed!”

Zoey turned back to face her. She was wearing a smoke grey turtleneck and some form fitting jeans. A simple outfit, but it showed off the muscles running through Rumi’s arms while still being tasteful - and hiding her patterns. 

“Honestly, I didn’t expect you to be so shy, Zoey. You’re the one who goes to the bathhouse all the time with Mira!” Rumi said, her tone teasing.

Too close. Way too close. Abort, evade, duck in cover. Think of something, anything, really. “It’s because of your patterns.” Zoey blurted out. Rumi’s face fell instantly.

‘Fuck.’

“Not like that! I just mean I know you’re not used to showing them, and I already appreciate all the trust you’ve shown me, and I wouldn’t want to push a boundary unintentionally, and your patterns are nice, and I’m just trying to be respectful. Really.” Every word of it was true, even if Zoey said it like the world’s longest sentence.

Luckily it seemed her apology had come fast enough that there wasn’t any lingering damage, as Rumi’s face brightened quickly again and she smiled. “Oh. Thanks Zoey. I appreciate it.”

Rumi turned towards her curtains, and Zoey felt her eyes flick down. No tiger tail right now, still tucked away in whatever pocket dimension Rumi hid it in. Darn. She pulled her eyes back upwards.

’Just a tiger tail check. Totally innocent. I will not be framed!’

Rumi grasped the curtains and threw them open, and they both blinked in the sunlight. For a moment, as both their eyes adjusted, they took time to admire the skyline of Seoul together. That was when another thought came to Zoey unbidden.

“So you never told me you have a pet demon bird!”

“I have a what?” Rumi asked, turning around to face her.

Zoey tried not to panic. If that wasn’t Rumi’s pet demon bird, then what if it was her soul? “A pet… demon… bird?” She asked slowly, crossing her fingers behind her back. She then smiled, bringing her hands around to her front and raising both hands up slowly in a thumbs-up expression.

“Oh, you mean the one with the gat?” Rumi asked.

“Are there others?” Zoey suddenly wondered if Rumi had a whole army of pet demon animals. Maybe they did her bidding, or were her spies, or maybe it was like some weird version of a Disney princess? Rumi was already a pop princess and a Hunting princess. Why not add demon princess to the list?

‘Oh my god, what if her dad is Gwi-Ma? There’s no way, right? That would totally explain the princess-ness of it!’

Rumi, completely oblivious to Zoey’s outlandish spiralling, gave a shrug. “Not that I’ve seen. I don’t know if it has a name, but I think it belongs to Jinu?”

Zoey suddenly wished she’d thought to tie a strongly worded note to the magpie’s foot before it had escaped.

Rumi continued speaking, “I don’t know why it has a tiny hat. It just does. It seems to like it though.”

Zoey took a moment to calm herself. “Is it a boy bird, girl bird, enby bird...?” she asked, palms turned up and doing a pedalling motion in the air as she offered the options. Rumi just shrugged. “Right, right. And you’re sure it’s not like… an enemy bird?” What if the bird was spying on Rumi and the rest of Huntr/x, taking back secrets and plans to its evil master, Jinu?

“I think it’s just a magpie? It seems to understand humans a lot better than most birds, and it's a little… demon-y,” Rumi made kitty cat claw motions, as if that was apparently the new motion for demons - wait, did Rumi have tiger claws too? - but continued to speak, “but I think it’s harmless. Wait, when did you see it?”

“Oh, it was on your balcony this morning. It's a funny story. I thought the hat was glued to its head - remind me to tell you the sad story of the cowboy hat pigeons - and I caught it thinking it was an average magpie. It was not your average magpie.” Zoey gave a small shrug. “I let it go, unharmed, when it decided to pop out a bunch of extra eyes and shriek at me. I haven’t seen it since.” 

“Right… Did you see anything else?” Rumi asked, her expression passive and hard to read, though Zoey was beginning to realize that had a lot more to do with Rumi being a master of controlling her body language than her own lack of intersocial perception.

“No. Should I have?” Zoey asked, trying to figure out whether this was a line of questioning she was supposed to push on. Figuring out the boundaries with Rumi’s new revelation was going to be an on-going journey, that much was clear.

“Oh, no! I was just curious. Glad you didn’t hurt the bird.” Rumi crossed the room, clearly ready to wrap up the conversation.

“Hey, what about me? I saw all those teeth! I could’ve been grievously injured! I could’ve died!” Zoey laughed, mimicking grabbing her hand in pain and starting to fall to the floor like she was in a dramatic soap opera.

Rumi had brushed past Zoey in the midst of her theatrics and opened her bedroom door. “Then I would’ve had to put a band-aid on it and kiss it better.” She said casually.

Zoey froze where she was doubled over in mock-death. Though she was pretty sure her death was about to be quite literal because of the woman who had just left the room. Her heart was racing, butterflies were doing some sort of dance performance in her stomach, there was a tingling along her cheeks and the edges of her ears. It was almost a little hard to breathe. 

In her heart of hearts, Zoey knew Rumi had just meant it in a cutesy jest; it was a casual and common enough saying. The thought that Rumi would look after Zoey, want to help her and make her feel better if she was injured did something to her, though. Zoey was tough, really tough. She faced down massive demons, saesangs, incredibly skilled rappers, hordes of squealing tweens, and a sometimes-hostile press as needed and rarely blinked. Despite her status as the group’s maknae, she wasn’t someone who needed to be babied or infantilized. It wasn’t like Rumi or Mira didn’t already look after her, just as much as she looked after them, but a crush just had a way of changing things. A different lens to take snapshots of every moment and interaction. A partner taking care of her that way… it would mean something different.

Rumi poked her head back around the edge of the door frame. “Are you dead?” She asked with a small laugh. “Did you need that band-aid and kiss?” Her tone was still light and teasing.

Zoey stood up like a rubber band that had snapped at its limit. “No! No! Right behind you! Totally fine. No dead Zoeys here. Totally alive. Totally. Fine.” She said it quickly, way too quickly. How had she not given herself away to Rumi a million times over? If she didn’t know better, she might’ve guessed Rumi already knew and was just treating her with grace. That didn’t line up with Rumi not knowing she was bi though, unless… unless she had thought Zoey was gay the whole time, and so her being bi was still a revelation, but she knew Zoey had a crush on her! Zoey briefly considered whether she wanted to lie down on the floor and never leave before some semblance of rationality caught up to her. There was no way Rumi hadn’t known she was interested in men. Right? Right…? Right! … Right?

Deciding that her emotional crisis could wait, Zoey brushed the front of her pants and nodded to herself affirmatively, striding out the door behind Rumi. Faintly she could hear Mira in the living area of the main floor of the penthouse. Their bedrooms were on the floor below, but there was a stairwell connecting the two. As Rumi and Zoey climbed the stairs, it became evident that Mira was working on some of the steps and choreography for Takedown.

Right. Takedown. Zoey hadn’t really had the chance to talk to Rumi about it, nor apologize for it. What were they going to do about it? The pain at letting the song go had long since passed. If anything, Zoey was embarrassed that it took it being relevant to a friend for the hateful energy of the song to really get through her skull. She’d never write a song like that ever again.

They also hadn’t really talked about Mira. Not really. It was clear Rumi was still uncomfortable with telling Mira, and the whole demon-coming-out was going to have to come from Rumi, not Zoey. Yet the discussion had pretty much stalled out at the don’t-tell-Mira part and never gotten around to working-Mira-up-to-it planning stage. There were so many things they needed to talk about, and it felt like they’d already talked so much. Was this just a small sample of what it was like, living as Rumi? Walls and barriers and secrets. It was exhausting. How did Rumi even manage to function?

“Hey Mira!” Rumi said, her voice chipper, as if this was just any other morning.

Mira paused her dance routine and nodded in the direction of the kitchen. “Hey. There’s food you can heat up for breakfast if you want. Sorry I missed the sleepover.”

“Sleepover? Oh, yeah. Right. It was a lot of fun.” Rumi said nervously, and Zoey cursed how bad both were at lying while living with a human lie detector.

As Rumi moved past where she could see Mira, but Zoey was still firmly in Mira’s sights, Mira grinned like a cat that had caught a mouse. Uh oh.

Mira’s predatory grin only faded when she began speaking, “So I was thinking about the opening choreo for Takedown. I finally have some idea on the moves. Rumi is going to look great. After you two finish eating, we should head down to the studio and practice them. Sound good?”

Zoey gulped. She had a feeling whatever Mira had in store, she really wasn’t going to like it.