Archive of Our Own ^beta

Connections are a thing Rumi forms pretty rarely.

Celine is her first connection to the world. The woman who raised her into what she is. On her knee and in her lap and from her music Rumi learned about all sorts of things. Fear, certainty, and worry among them. Most crucially though, Celine also taught her an appreciation for beauty. And what that meant in the industry Rumi was practically destined to inherit.

“Isn’t she so pretty?” Celine would say to her. Her hand guiding Rumi’s eyeline to an idol or a model on a billboard or an advertisement on a storefront. “Isn’t he so handsome?” She would say, as they watched idol awards on television.

The one thing Rumi thanks Celine for regardless of their current estrangement from each other is for giving her a realistic understanding of beauty’s place in the industry.
“Idols don’t sell music.” She says. “We sell a brand, an image, a fantasy.” She had patted Rumi’s shoulder as she ran a brush through her hair. “It’s as necessary as it is awful, sweetie. You must be beautiful -stunning, even- in front of them all. Your fans, your friends, the staff. Fit the mould they give you and maybe you can even change it from the inside, little by little.”

“Cover them up.” Rumi hears. “They’re not normal, nobody would want them. Cover them up and hide them away. They’re unnatural. They don’t fit the image you need to maintain to save the world.”

That’s the problem. She does what she does to save the world. A little discomfort is necessary, righteous, even. She does as she is raised to do because it is right. It saves lives.

Her own life doesn’t even weigh on the scales compared to all the ones she’s got to save, after all.

Celine never really got around to teaching her what any kind of love was meant to feel like. She just taught her about beauty, and how men and women are different types of pretty.

Mira is her second real connection to the world.

They meet at an idol training camp. When Rumi’s status as the daughter of pop-royalty and her adopted mother’s clout have pulled strings to get her a level of privacy not normally afforded.

Necessary given her patterns, but she still feels like an outsider.

Mira is every inch the rebel. She’s loud and crass - she swears a lot in those early days- and she wants to be an idol because she wants to create. She doesn’t care what the other trainees think of her -or the staff- because she knows she’s good and she’s invested a lot of effort in that.

She has the kind of grace as a dancer that Rumi has always loved, and a spontaneity as a creator that Rumi has always aspired to. She creates choreography on her own and just for the love of it, pulling longer hours than other people because rebellion to her doesn’t mean laziness, it means putting effort into the things she actually cares about.

“Fuck the academics!” Rumi hears her say on the phone to her parents before she slams it back onto the hook hard enough to make the booth rattle. “And fuck your standards!”

They fall in together because Mira’s prickly punk-goddess attitude makes her tricky to get along with in an environment full of mostly extroverted bubbly pop-idols in the making. She’s got the same interests as them but she’s harsh where they’re soft, spiky where they’re inoffensive, brutal where they’re tender-hearted. For all that though she doesn’t fall in with the mean girls because for all that she isn’t nasty. She never says things without a reason, she’s just hard to get close to with a perpetual scowl and tight leather wrapped around her body like armour.

And all that makes her stunningly beautiful, but Rumi learned how to spot beauty in men and women at a young age.

“You’re fucking pretty.” Mira tells her as she touches up Rumi’s makeup for something, soft chin held in slender fingers as she dots liquid liner in precise spots.
“So are you.” Rumi shrugs and maintains eye contact. Because it’s a normal thing to say. Mira is, physically, astonishingly pretty. But Rumi isn’t just talking about that.

Zoey arrives at that particular training camp late and is shunted towards their impromptu group because she’s still learning Korean and everyone else has already formed their little friendship cliques.

Rumi knows what it’s like to be born different and Mira knows what it’s like to feel torn between obligation and happiness, so they adopt her quickly and Zoey becomes Rumi’s third real connection to the world.

Bobby is the fourth.

The three of them think he’s a bit weird when they’re introduced to the manager of the soon-to-debut HUNTR/X. He’s soft-spoken around them, shorter than all of them, not lean and muscled like the idols and physical trainers they’ve all spent the last few years around. He has a weird little mustache that Mira makes awful fun of in their dressing room by squiggling on her upper lip with some eyebrow pencil that has Zoey and Rumi howling when he walks in mid-impression. But he just joins in.

“You’re observant!” He compliments Mira in the face of her mockery. “You guys are on in five minutes, I brought you water and some snacks to keep that energy up! I’d make sure you wash that off before you go on stage though.” He hands over the bottles, gestures to Mira’s face, and walks off, leaving the three of them comically frozen in uncertainty.

They’re much kinder to Bobby after that, and once she sees what he actually does Rumi’s respect for him multiplies a hundred-fold. This is a man who manages three late-teenage women who frequently ditch things to run off and get in deadly fights with demons that they can’t tell anyone about, and he manages to not only keep their schedules running like clockwork, but also stay completely on top of their social presence and have a shockingly accurate read of the pulse of social media.

Most of the tribulations of their earliest days don’t come from demons, but helping Zoey continue to adjust.

“Skinship.” Rumi shrugs. She’s nestled in Mira’s lap, back against the other woman’s chest. “We cuddle all the time.” She wonders how knowledge of the concept passed Zoey by, she’s been living in Korea for several years now.
“So you guys aren’t- I always kinda thought-.” Zoey meets Mira’s eyes over Rumi’s head and then she shrugs. “Oh, okay.”

It takes her a while to warm up to it, but she’s a regular old cuddle-bug. And Rumi is just happy she and Mira can provide a little physical comfort on those nights when Zoey misses home so fiercely she curls up around a stuffed animal and cries because it no longer smells like her bedroom in Los Angeles.

Rumi’s world is stable for a little while. She has a goal she's working towards, friends she loves, music to create, people to save, demons to stop, and a Honmoon to turn golden.

Part of herself to cut away. Something to get rid of so she can finally be truly beautiful.

She hardly gets the worst days anymore, the ones where she stands in front of her mirror wishing she could cut the patterns out of her skin. Not that she could ever afford a scar. Besides, all she has to do is wait. The patterns will be gone soon, they’re so close.

Jinu becomes her fifth connection in the world almost seven years later, and he throws her very off-balance.

She has no idea how to feel about the man. She knows how she should feel. He’s a demon. He consumes souls.

Except he’s pretty, and Rumi has known what pretty means for a long time. Pretty is good, Celine taught her that. He’s objectively beautiful. Stunning eyes, great hair, a trim figure who’s well dressed and never has a hair out of place. Even when she sees his true form she knows he’s a very pretty man. Eyes like a pair of torches on a dark night, sharp patterns that accent his sharply maintained hair.

So she thinks she should like him anyway, and she tries her best to.

Then everything spirals out of control quicker than she can focus on, he dies, and she inherits a sarcastic bird and a dopey cat.

She thinks back on that fan at the signing event in the hastily put together t-shirt as she recovers with Mira’s arms around her. She wonders if that was what love feels like. There was some kind of instant dynamic like that which shows and movies and books always describe. And so she thinks and she turns it over in her mind as she wonders herself to exhaustion. They sang together. He gave up his soul to give her the power to seal up Gwi-Ma again. That’s got to be something someone in love would do, it could practically come out of a romance novel.

“Maybe my mother found a pretty demon man like Jinu.” She thinks.

Mira holds her close as she dozes off her exhaustion with her fingers on the patterns in Rumi’s skin, and with Zoey draped across their legs snoring that feels more like Rumi has imagined love to be than any interaction she had with Jinu could ever resemble.

So she thinks, anyway.

She waits for the spiral for a while after the incident, her teeth on edge and her body language closed off from the world even while she bears her patterns openly in an attempt to love them. While she learns that Celine was wrong and she is more than the patterns on her skin. Her whole world is four connections and she keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s exhausting.

She goes to see her mother’s grave and says a quiet “I love you” with her fingers pressed to the stone without knowing what it feels like to say “I love you mom” to the woman in person, just as she always has.

Mira holds her when she returns and Rumi welcomes it gladly because Mira is so good at reading people that she offers the best comfort. There’s always been a sliver of a wall between them, the unspoken understanding of “I’m not telling you absolutely everything” that was her patterns. But now that she’s free to share that last corner of herself Rumi doesn’t feel safer in anyone else’s presence. Mira knows her, Mira can see right through her if she chooses.

“Maybe they won’t leave.” She finally thinks to herself, releasing a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding.

Being with Mira feels comfortable, but that’s how it’s always been. Mira is pretty in every single way and Rumi knows that means she’s good.

A few months later she has a realisation about her father, one that knocks her understanding of the world completely for six and leaves her retching over the toilet and with her nails scratching at her arms in a feeble attempt to get the patterns off.

Mira’s not home, neither is Zoey.

Rumi dials Celine with shaky fingers.

“My parents.” She gasps when the phone is answered. “My father, did he- was my mother- I wasn’t a product of love was I?”

She hears Celine gasp, but there’s no answer. The phone just clicks and then hangs up.

Rumi throws up her lunch.

The patterns on her skin writhe in a way they haven’t ever done before as the bile worms its way out of her throat. They do more than flicker and glitter and glow. They seethe.

Rumi feels like she’s just run into a brick wall.

The next person she dials with shaky fingers is Bobby.

“Rumi? You’re not due on set today, is something wrong?” She can’t respond as his voice echoes out of the phone speaker, her stale breath still tastes of bile and she’s possessed of the urge to scrub her mouth clean, remove the taste and the reminder. The only sound she makes as she gets up is a grunt and a small moan, but that’s enough to have their manager concerned.

“Rumi, is everything okay?” There’s the sound of a shuffle, then Bobby’s voice again. “Yeah I’ll be with you in a minute Sungwon, this one’s important. Rumi is everything alright?”
“Uh.” Rumi’s reflection stares back at her from the mirror as she stares dumbly at the mouthwash. Her patterns look like a parody of Seoul’s lively night skyline writ mockingly into her skin. Neon bright and full of shifting light as they caress her chin. Her brain defaults. “Mira. And Zoey, are they with you?”

“Zoey’s in the middle of her shoot, she’s doing that whole surrounded-by-water scene.” There’s a shuffle, probably Bobby peering around a corner. “Mira is with your stylists I think, she said something about fixing your outfit.”
“My outfit?” Rumi repeats dumbly.
“Something about too much arm not enough abs.” Bobby says. “Are you alright, Rumi? You sound a little-”
“I’m fine.” Rumi’s voice is rough and she knows she’s not fooling anyone. “I can deal- until they get home I mean.”
“Deal with what?” There’s another shuffle. “One second!” He snaps, pulling out the rare manager's voice.

There’s more shuffling, then the sound of distant traffic and Bobby’s voice again, patient and encouraging.
“Okay I’ve stepped outside. Can you tell me what's going on?”

Can she? The implications and the surrounding context are far outside the scope of what she’s able to reveal, and the blunt approach isn’t something she’s sure she’s able to give voice to.
“I don’t know.” She says, hollowly.
“Okay.” Bobby’s voice is reassuring. “What can you tell me? Take your time.”
“I threw up.” Rumi’s brain refuses to work in anything but the most simple terms.
“Okay.” Bobby’s voice is gentle. “Was it something you ate?”
“No.” Rumi shakes her head despite the fact that her phone is held to her ear. “I… learned something.”
“Something rough that shook you.” Bobby intuits. “Okay, I’ll send Mira home. Do you want me to come as well or do you only want to see her right now?”

Something in Rumi’s brain sparks.
“I don’t want to take you both away from the shoot-” she protests, but Bobby interrupts her gently.
“No arguing. You clearly need someone and there’s no shame in that. Do you want me there or just her?”

Two scenes run parallel in Rumi’s mind, trying to choke out the words to Mira or to Mira and Bobby together. Having to string together sentences and half-truths and- she retches again, leaning on the sink heavily with one hand while Bobby makes concerned noises.
“It’s about my parents.” She says, because in her mind that translates to a perfect explanation of why she can’t talk to Bobby.
“Okay.” Bobby says, simple as that. “I’ll tell Mira to get herself home.”

Rumi takes several deep breaths as Bobby makes quick work of re-entering the studio on the other end of the phone. She can hear him in the background.
“No, important call, really important. Where’s Mira? Need her. Now.”
“I don’t-.” Rumi tries to say she doesn’t want to be an inconvenience, but the looming recent realisation that hangs over her head like the Sword of Damocles sends a fresh shudder through her bones and she spits more bile out with a grimace.
“Stay safe and relax.” Bobby tells her as he takes hurried steps. “Clean yourself up if you can, it’ll help you feel better. Did you make it to the bathroom?”
“Yeah…” Rumi turns the tap on finally, rinsing the hideous bubbling remains of her bile out of the sink.
“Clean your teeth.” Bobby suggests. “Might help you feel a little better to get the taste out of your mouth- ah here she is- Mira!”

Rumi listens as she looks at herself in her mirror, patterns settling against her skin like stained glass full of stars.
“Need you to head home. Rumi’s not feeling great. Said she got some bad news, didn’t feel comfortable saying what… Yeah head home now, don’t worry about the rest I’ll take care of it all.”

Rumi plucks her toothbrush slowly out of the cup on the wall and stares at it for a second until she remembers what it’s for.
“Okay Mira’s on her way home.” She jumps as Bobby’s voice reminds her of his presence. “I’ve got some things to take care of so I need to hang up now, you’re going to be okay, don’t worry.”
“Thanks.” Rumi manages, voice soft and more than a little fragile. “I mean it Bobby, thanks, so much.”
“Just doing my job.” He laughs, light and relieved. “That’s why you pay me so much. Now, you get yourself comfortable. Mira shouldn’t be long. Call me if you need anything else.”

The call disconnects and Rumi drops her phone on the counter next to the sink as she slowly and carefully squeezes toothpaste onto her brush. The device almost immediately vibrates with a text from Mira telling her that she’ll be home soon and Rumi breathes a little sigh before she opens her mouth and feels the breath catch roughly.

She has fangs now.

There’s nothing left in her stomach to throw up, but she retches harshly anyway.

It takes her a few minutes of attempts to brush her teeth without a pretty violent physiological reaction. Guiding the brush slowly over elongated canines with long strokes until they gleam pearly white and her mouth tastes like she just dumped an entire packet of breath mints into it.

Her gums are bleeding, but Rumi doesn’t notice.

Then she curls up on the floor in as small a ball as she can manage until Mira finds her.

“Hey Rumi. Bobby said you weren’t-” her tone is the usual unflappably bored when she opens the door, but quickly shifts on seeing her bandmate curled up on the floor “-feeling well… What happened?”

Rumi’s only response is to shake her head and whimper.

Mira approaches her slowly, kneeling on the tiled floor in her comfortable clothes and placing her hands gently on Rumi’s arm.
“Wanna talk about it?” Her voice takes on a rarely heard pillow-soft quality that makes Rumi loosen just a touch, although her patterns pulse as she sniffles slightly. She shivers, undecided between shaking her head and nodding furiously. “Okay.” Mira soothes. “Not great to stay curled up in the corner of the bathroom, let’s get you to bed.”

It takes a minute but Rumi allows herself to be coaxed out of the corner and pulled gently to sit down on her bed, where she immediately curls back up in a ball.
“Bobby only said you got some bad news.” Mira brushes some hair out of Rumi’s face softly. “What’s going on?”
“I called Celine.” Rumi whispers. Her patterns flare like the flashpoint of an explosion for just a second before they settle again.
“What did she say?” Mira takes her hand gently.
“Nothing.” Rumi takes a breath and tries to will the shakiness out of her muscles. “I asked her a question and she didn't answer.”
“What question?” Mira sounds like she’s at the intersection of anger, worry, and impatience, ready to blow up at Celine should Rumi give her a reason.

She’d been ready to cut the woman to ribbons after Rumi told her about their conversation at the apex of the Saja incident.

“If I’m a product of actual love or if-” Rumi chokes, then forces the words out, “if my father just took what he wanted and I’m a consequence.”

Her patterns flicker softly and Mira says nothing for a long moment, then shifts around to put Rumi’s head in her lap.
“Yeah that would mess my head up too.” She whispers softly.
“It would be different if I was human.” Rumi whimpers. “I wish I was human.”
“We don’t get to choose how we’re born, just who we are.” Mira keeps stroking her hair softly. “I’m going to take a guess here and say you’re worried that being half demon means you’re hardwired to be a monster. To want to lie and cheat and eat souls?”
“Pretty much.” Rumi sniffs.

“If the circumstances of our birth could hardwire us to be like our parents, I’d be an awful straight-laced bitch.” Mira points out. “You might have your father’s patterns, but you’re not hardwired to be an awful person just because you’re half demon.”
“It’s not just patterns.” Rumi whispers. “It’s an eye sometimes. Or-.” She hooks into her cheek harshly with a finger and pulls her lip roughly out of the way so Mira can see the fang now glittering in her mouth.
“Your… teeth?” Mira peers closer. “What’s wrong with them?”

Rumi withdraws her hand and feels around her mouth, patterns fluctuating nervously before she looks at her fingers in bewilderment.
“There was- I was sure there were fangs?”
“Well not anymore.” Mira soothes her, her voice drops a half-step to something lower, injected with just a trace of energy. “Shame honestly, fangs would go so hard. We could do a vampire thing for a music video.”

She gives Rumi a crooked little smile, the private little quirk of a lip that she never shares with anyone else. Rumi manages a brief little chuckle.
“Would I have to hop around?” She asks.
“Nah western vampires.” Mira shakes her head. “All cool and sexy and draped in black leather. Still gotta show those abs though.” She runs a finger under the hem of Rumi’s hoodie, right along her adonis belt.
“What is it with you and abs?” Rumi feels the tension start to wash out of her shoulders.
“Abs are hot.” Mira shrugs. “Better on girls though.”
“Why so?” Rumi doesn’t know where this conversation is going but she doesn’t really care. Just talking to Mira about anything is taking her mind away from the tempest of self-loathing.
“Sure guys can be chiselled, but girls can be properly toned.” Mira’s naturally husky voice drops another couple of octaves to something gravelly and Rumi shivers.

Abruptly, she then remembers the reason Mira is home with her instead of talking to the stylists for their next music video, and the feeling of disgusting wrongness upon her skin comes right back.
“I don’t feel great.” She whimpers.

Mira strokes her hair and resorts to whispering that things will be alright while Rumi finally lets the tears flow until she cries herself to sleep.

She wakes up hours later feeling hollow -completely drained of life- and tucked neatly under her covers. Her leggings are laid at the foot of the bed along with folded pajamas, and there’s a sticky note on the back of her phone.

Told Zoey you were feeling rough, she said she’d go pick up comfort food on her way home. In the lounge if you want me.

Mira

The note is very touching, and the fact that Mira used the same signature that she uses at fansign events -the English one where she dots the ‘i’ in her name with a sharp little heart- is adorable. Rumi swings her legs out from under the covers then changes out of the hoodie and underwear and pads softly into the lounge area of their tower in her pajamas.

The second she opens the door, she’s greeted with a sight so rare she has to raise her phone and snap a picture.

Mira is dancing in their kitchen.

Mira dancing isn’t uncommon -she’s HUNTR/X’s main dancer- what is uncommon is the fact that she’s not practicing a choreo set, she’s swaying her hips and throwing up the horns and singing along to old-school western rock and roll while she belts lyrics with a pair of earbuds in her ears.

“HELLRAISER! IN THE THUNDER AND HEAT! HELLRAISER! ROCK YOU BACK IN YOUR SEAT!”

It’s so incredibly rare to see her cut loose like this that Rumi raises her phone and starts recording.

She gets two full minutes of precious, precious footage, ruined eventually by the fact that Mira spins around and the words “light my fire” die on her lips as a pretty blush overtakes her cheeks.
“Hey Rumi.” She goes for her usual husky, disaffected tone, but the pink staining her face undercuts it so thoroughly that Rumi can’t help but crack a big smile.
“Hey.” She gives a small wave. “Are you enjoying that song?”

“Take it or leave it.” Mira shrugs but there’s a grin playing at the corner of her mouth. “How are you feeling?”
“Little better.” Rumi enters the kitchen and hops herself up on the counter before she hunches in on herself. “It’s still a lot.”
“I’ll bet.” Mira fills and then passes her a glass of water. “I’m guessing you feel a little more stable though. Your patterns have settled a bit.”

Rumi’s hands go to her cheeks to feel for the evidence, before she pulls her sleeve up and visibly sags with relief at the fact that her patterns have indeed faded, now back to the opalescent glass-like colour they’d been during the apex of their fight with Gwi-Ma.
“I guess you can read me really easily now.” She sighs fondly and Mira raises an eyebrow.
“You think I couldn’t before?”
“You always could.” Rumi shrugs. “Now you only need a glance though.”
“You’re always worth more than a glance.” Mira winks at her and Rumi feels butterflies in her stomach.

Where is this coming from? She thinks. Mira’s not exactly at her prettiest in this light, she’s bare-faced, in her actual glasses, hair in a very messy loose bun. But she’s the most beautiful Rumi’s ever seen.

The tension in their eye contact shatters as the door slams open and Zoey rips into the tower like a force of nature bearing takeout.
“RUMI! ARE YOU OKAY!?”

Mira grimaces and winces.
“Holy shit volume please.” She mutters sardonically, being thoroughly ignored as Zoey drops her bags on the counter and throws her arms around Rumi’s shoulders.
“You’re okay right!?!”
“I-” Rumi can’t quite bring herself to say it so she hedges, “I will be, I promise.”
“Nobody would tell me what happened!” Zoey pouts, shooting Mira a glare.
“It wasn’t my place to say.” Mira holds up her hands in surrender, then busies herself with unpacking their takeout.

“It was about my parents.” Rumi says quietly. “I’d been in denial, I think.”
“How so?” Zoey dives into a bag and returns holding her some steaming hot noodles and chopsticks.
“My father was a demon.” Rumi says slowly. Zoey nods.
“Yeah you’re like” she takes a bite of noodles “half demon.” She gestures with chopsticks. “Patterns!”
“Celine hates demons.” Rumi says. Zoey nods. “So did my mother. So why would she willingly have a child with one?”
“Maybe he was disguised?” Zoey shrugs.
“Patterns are always somewhere.” Rumi mutters, then decides to bite the bullet. “I called Celine. She basically confirmed it.”

“Maybe she knew something that changed her mind?” Zoey says, grasping at straws. “Maybe she found one like Jinu who got his soul back!”

Despite the smell of the takeout, Rumi’s appetite vanishes.
“Jinu wasn’t a good person.”
“But you said he gave up his soul in the end to help us.” Zoey points out.
“One good deed does not make up for a lifetime of bad ones.” Mira cuts in. “Even if they did have enough of a ‘connection’ that Rumi inherited the cat and the bird.”
“Rumi did have a crush thoughhhh.” Zoey wheedles playfully.

Mira rolls her eyes and keeps sorting the mountain of takeout until Rumi has a question.
“What should a crush feel like?”
“Butterflies and happy feelings!” Zoey declares. “You want to be around them all the time, pretty much an instant connection. And you'll definitely think they're hot.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “And they were all hot.”

Rumi considers that as Mira hands her a pair of chopsticks and a small container of tteokbokki. Their fingers brush just for an instant and she graces Mira with a thankful smile before she turns back to Zoey.
“Jinu didn’t feel like that.”
“Huh?” Zoey cocks her head. “What was he like?”
“I mean there was a connection.” Rumi shrugs. “But he was lying to me. I dunno. I could see he was pretty but it didn’t really spark anything in me. I just got swept up in his lies. Our whole dynamic was fake. But he was pretty so… I got kind of swept up in that.”
“Comphet?” Zoey says in English.

Rumi raises an eyebrow and shares a glance with Mira.
“What?”
“Comphet.” Zoey says again in English.
“In Korean.” Mira snaps her fingers twice.

Zoey gives each of them a long look.
“Get blankets!” She declares. “This is too much self-discovery not to be done on the couch!”

She bounds off to grab fluffy robes and blankets and probably the duvet from her bed, Mira shrugs and hefts up the mass of bags.
“Couch it is.”

They end up bundled up in fluffy robes and under blankets, Rumi in Mira’s lap and Zoey draped over their legs with takeout strewn around them.
“Okay SO!” Zoey declares loudly before she takes out her phone and begins to read, translating into a weird mix of Korean and English as she goes. “According to Wikipedia: Compulsory heterosexuality, often shortened to comphet, is the theory that heterosexuality is assumed and enforced upon people by a patriarchal, allonormative, and heteronormative society.” She makes a face and quickly skims over the rest of the article. “Blah blah intersectionality, blah blah the 1960s… Ugh okay.” She claps her hands. “Basically you’re gay but you feel like you have to be straight cause it’s, like, how you were raised or whatever.”

Rumi bluescreens for a solid thirty seconds.

Several things in her past slot into place, she’s suddenly both slightly uncomfortable in Mira’s arms for the first time ever and understanding why she loves being there so much.
“I think you broke her.” Mira snickers behind her and Rumi -gently- drives an elbow back into her side.
“I’m not gay.” She denies; more by reflex than anything else.
“That makes one of us.” Mira steals a bite of Rumi’s tteokbokki while her brain reboots for the second time in ten seconds and then rests her chin on the top of her head as she chews. “Kinda thought you knew, Rumi.”

“Wha- both of you?!” Rumi stutters. “But you were both fangirling over that one demon guy’s abs!”
“Kinda?” Mira shrugs behind her, her breath warm on Rumi’s ear. “I can appreciate men, but women are the only ones I’m actually interested in.”
“I could go for anybody so long as I thought they were nice.” Zoey shrugs, devouring some chips. “Pansexual babyyy!”

Numbly, Rumi takes a bite of her food.

“Lot to process?” Mira whispers in her ear. Rumi nods.

Zoey puts on a documentary about sea life and Rumi doesn't hear a word of it.

Her thoughts are swimming hours later when they finish their meal and she’s shooed off to bed with an insistence that the other two will take care of tidying up after the day she’s had.

So Rumi lays in bed, pleasantly full of comfort takeout and with her covers bunched around her waist; thinking about nothing but Mira’s hands under her hoodie earlier. Mira’s fingertips running along her skin. Mira’s solid presence holding her close in the aftermath of the Saja incident and today.

“Okay.” She whispers to herself. “Hypothetically, if I liked boys…” She conjures an image in her head, the meeting with Jinu on top of the wall. She tries to imagine leaning in to kiss him. What would it be like? Maybe she’d place her hands on his chest and lean against him, or -the thought of his arms actually encircling her waist causes a wave of revulsion to wrap around her spine like a coil of gruesome slime. “Okay no.” She rationalises. “But he was a gross demon.”

She tries to replace Jinu with some normal inoffensive man as she rolls over in bed. A model from a billboard seems appropriate, but the thoughts remain the same. There’s a sense of wrongness in this mental scenario for her, no matter what she changes about the idea, no matter what variables she adds or subtracts from the scene. Any time she tries to think about their hands being on her while she’s vulnerable -Rumi shivers and wraps herself tighter in her blankets.

“Hypothetically…” She whispers to herself after a second. “If I liked girls…”

An image comes to her mind. Mira in Jinu’s place on top of the wall with her. Leaning in to kiss the taller girl, placing her arms around Mira’s waist as she has a hundred times when they’ve hugged, feeling Mira’s arms encircle her… that feels right and Rumi lets her imagination spin up more, Mira’s hands resting on her hips, soft lips touching hers gently.

A different image springs into her head unbidden. Herself seated on their kitchen counter, Mira between her legs, hands under her clothes, their bodies pressed together-.
“Okay.” Rumi banishes that thought as her patterns glitter a suspiciously familiar shade of fuschia under the blankets. They look like illuminated crystals in her skin now, little windows to a world full of colour hiding just inside her. Just underneath the surface.

She grabs her phone from the nightstand and shoots a late-night text to Bobby.
How hard do you think it would be to find a therapist to talk to?

Her thumb hasn’t even had time to drift to the lock button before he texts her back.
Give me 24 hours, do you want a list to choose one from or shall I use best judgement?
“You’re the best.” She whispers as she hugs her phone to her chest for a second.
Choose whoever you think is best. Thanks Bobby.

His response is a bunch of happy little emojis and then he goes offline on kakaotalk.

Rumi tosses her phone on charge and then falls straight into a world blessedly devoid of dreams.

She doesn’t feel good when she wakes, but it is a marked improvement.

She checks her phone with bleary eyes to find that not only has she woken up early, but despite the early hour she has one text from Bobby and one from Mira.
Got you in for a preliminary phone session with Dr. Yun Jihye. She’s a specialist in family relationships. She’ll call you at 3pm.
That’s what Bobby’s message says. Rumi taps out a thank you.

Mira’s message is short and to the point.
Staying home today.

It’s what isn’t said that means the most to Rumi. Mira has always expressed how she cares best with what’s in between the lines.
Staying home in case you need anything, but space is all yours if that’s what you want. Is what that translates to in Mira-speak.

Rumi slides out of bed and stumbles into her slippers, then goes to fetch the three of them breakfast.

She makes bacon and eggs American style. Zoey is going to a shoot alone today, she deserves a taste of home.

They pile the dishes in the sink and while Mira goes about her workout, Rumi plans what she wants to say to her therapist.

She’s still scribbling when the phone rings hours later.

“Hello?”
“Hello.” The voice on the other end of the line is understanding and soft. “Is this Rumi?”
“That’s me.” Rumi slumps in her chair and looks out over the city from her balcony. “Are you Dr. Yun?”
“I am.” The woman says gently. “Before anything else, have you ever done therapy before?”
“No.” Rumi shakes her head for no reason other than habit.

“I’d like to explain how this will work then.” The doctor’s voice is smooth and calm. “This first phone-call will establish a dynamic, mainly to see if you feel comfortable with me. If you do then we can go on to schedule some more sessions. Perhaps in person, and get you started on the road to wherever you want to be.”
“Oh.” Rumi says. “I thought I could just. You know.” She trails off and shrugs needlessly.
“Just what?” The doctor prods her gently.
“Get fixed.” Rumi blurts.

There’s the brief scratching of a pen on paper.

“Get fixed?” Doctor Yun hums softly. “That’s a very interesting thing to say. Do you feel comfortable telling me why you feel that way?”
“Isn’t that what therapy is for?” Rumi shifts in her chair. “Fixing me?”
“Not at all.” Doctor Yun says, judgement the furthest thing from her tone. “What makes you think there’s anything about you that needs fixing?”
“I-.” The words catch in Rumi’s throat like barbed wire.
“I’ve worked with other idols before.” The doctor soothes. “Nothing you say will leave our conversation. You are safe to share anything you feel comfortable sharing.”
“Where do I start?” Rumi asks.
“Wherever you feel comfortable.” Doctor Yun states. “If it would help, your manager told me only that you’d had some news about your parents when he booked the appointment.”
“About my father.” Rumi forces the words out, treating this like she’s on stage as the patterns on her skin writhe fitfully. “I wasn’t exactly a product of love between my parents. I found out recently that my father just took what he wanted. My mother was just left with the consequences.”

“Me.” She thinks, hollow guilt in her stomach. “I’m the consequences.”

There’s more scratching of pen on paper.

“Okay.” Doctor Yun says softly. “It’s very understandable that would put you in a delicate state. Do you mind if I ask you why you feel that you’re something to be fixed?”

The words come haltingly at first, then more and more in detail.

It takes her a few weeks, but Rumi gets into a routine with her new therapist.

“Can I ask you something?” She asks Mira softly as Zoey bounces out of the tower on a caffeine high a couple of months later.
“Sure.” Mira busies herself with the dishes. “Come dry while I wash.”
“We have a dishwasher.” Rumi mutters, but she joins her by the sink anyway.
“It’s only like six dishes.” Mira points out as the sink fills up and the bubbles multiply. “What did you wanna ask?”
“How did you know you liked girls?”

Rumi spreads a dishcloth around her hand as Mira raises an eyebrow and starts rinsing a plate.
“Why?” She asks, sponge in hand.
“I’m curious.” Rumi deflects. “Why did you think I knew?”
“I thought I gave off kick-ass sapphic vibes.” Mira shrugs. “I have pink hair and keep my nails blunt unless I’m wearing acrylics on stage.”
“Why would your nails matter?”

Mira gives her a dose of her long-ago perfected side-eye.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously!”
“Where might a lesbian’s fingers go that short nails would be an advantage?”
“Wha- eww!” Rumi hip-checks her bandmate as she puts the pieces together. “Don’t be gross!”
“You asked!” Mira defends herself with a snort of laughter. “I’d have thought you were interested anyway.”
“Me? No! Why would I be interested!? I’m just curious about why you thought I knew that’s all, nothing else, nothing at all!”
“That’s a lot of protesting for something you’re not interested in.” Mira places a soaked dish on the draining board. “I think that one’s dry.”

The plate Rumi has been mindlessly drying for the past minute is placed down as she snatches up another one.
“Shut up.” She mutters.
“The pouting is cute but it doesn’t help your case.” Mira hums. “Someone must have had a lot of thoughts to consider since our little chat.”

Rumi makes a sound somewhere between a growl and a grunt as she starts drying dishes with a bit more force than strictly necessary.

“It was a movie when I was in middle school.” Mira says after some silence.
“What movie?” Rumi asks, placing another dish on the drying rack.
“Not a clue.” Mira shrugs. “I just remember watching the main leads kiss and thinking the guy was so lucky to get to kiss a girl that hot.”
“So you just knew?” Rumi presses. “There was no uncertainty?”
“I mean I toyed with being bi for a while.” Mira shrugs. “I can tell when a guy is attractive but that doesn't really do anything for me.”

She washes off the last dish and drains the sink, rinsing her hands while Rumi dries.
“Can’t decide who you find hot?”
“Not as such.” Rumi blushes and her patterns go a fetching and familiar shade of pink. “I told you about when I went out to meet Jinu, right? On the wall, when I tried to use him to ensure we won.”
“Ya?” Mira says lazily, cracking open their fridge for the milk as she goes to make coffee.
“I thought about what it would be like to kiss him, but I can't think about him touching me without- it feels wrong and so, so gross.”
“I’m sensing a ‘but’ here.” Mira points out, taking two mugs from the tree and putting the kettle on to boil.
“It didn’t feel gross when I thought about it with- uh.” Rumi blushes deeply and Mira’s expression goes from friendly and supportive to a confident smirk.
“With a girl?” She ventures. Rumi nods sheepishly.
“Any specific girl on your mind?” Mira purrs, she gently takes Rumi’s wrist and holds it up before comparing her own hair to the patterns glowing like a fireworks display.

“You’re not being subtle.” She murmurs. Rumi bites her lip and her breath becomes shorter and sharper as Mira gathers her into a hug. “Relax,” she soothes. “I’m not mad.”
“But… you don’t…” Rumi sags in her arms and Mira hugs her tighter.
“Don’t put words in my mouth. I didn’t say that. You’ve just been going through a lot lately.”
“Yeah.” Rumi mutters.
“We have the whole day.” Mira encourages into the crown of her head. “Let’s talk.”
“I should work on lyrics at some point though.” Rumi rests her forehead on Mira’s shoulder as the taller of the two of them works around maintaining their embrace to make coffee.
“You can take a day off.” Mira kisses the crown of her head softly and Rumi melts just a bit. “You’re ahead of schedule.”

“I only have one draft finished, I need to-.” Rumi yawns and accepts her coffee before an arm snakes around her shoulders and steers her off towards their sacred couch.
“Time to relax.” Mira corrals her and Rumi falls into a familiar pattern as she sits in the middle, letting Mira settle against the arm of the sofa before she pulls Rumi close enough to cuddle. “You have been working yourself half to death over this new music video.”
“I have not!” Rumi protests, before she takes a sip of coffee and feels rich warmth spread through her body as the smooth liquid slides over her tongue and down her throat. “Oh that’s sooo good.”
“Seeee.” Mira drawls. “There is merit to relaxing, you little workaholic.”

“I’m not little.” Rumi mutters as she sinks further into Mira’s embrace.
“I notice you’re not mad about ‘workaholic’.” Mira smirks against the back of her head.
“I am not a workaholic!” Rumi huffs.
“Totally.” Mira deadpans. She waits until Rumi has taken a sip of her coffee before she leans in close to her ear. “You know Zoey thought we were dating when we met right?”

Rumi’s eyes go wide and she makes a strangled sound as she narrowly avoids a spit-take.
“You’re so mean.” She says between coughs after a hurried swallow of her coffee.
“True fact.” Mira shrugs. “She was really confused before you explained skinship.”
“She gets it now though.” Rumi takes another sip and melts back into the comfort that is Mira.
“She does. But honestly we have been basically dating for years.”

That time Rumi does manage to actually perform a spit-take.
“What the fuck Mira!?”
“Got you that time.” Mira shuffles Rumi forwards and throws a smirk over her shoulder as she walks back to the kitchen to get a wad of paper towels. “But it’s not untrue.” She struts back over and starts dabbing up the mess. “We go a bit beyond just skinship. And you did sort of confess to me earlier.” She pecks Rumi’s lips in between wiping up the couch and watches her brain completely reboot after that. “Told you I was interested.”
“Wha- but- you said.” Rumi’s brain can’t seem to decide on how it wants to convey anything right now and Mira laughs.
“I said I wasn't mad and didn't want you putting words in my mouth. I'm interested, Rumi. More than interested. I just didn’t want to put you on the spot and tell you to commit to something when you’re figuring yourself out.”

“I think I’d like to figure out things with you.” Rumi says before she can think better of it.

“Smooth one ladykiller.” Mira says approvingly. “Very smooth. But you’re gonna need to do one small thing for me.” She inches in closer, hand on Rumi’s knee.
“Yeah?” Rumi breathes.
“Budge up and let me sit back down.” Mira husks, the warmth of her words hitting Rumi’s lips.
“Sure.” Rumi twists their familiar dynamic as the two of them often do. “But maybe I want something while you’re just sitting there looking all pretty.”
“Pretty in my pyjamas and no makeup-.” Mira shuts up abruptly as Rumi’s lips grace her own with a featherlight kiss.
“No.” She murmurs. “Pretty just because you’re you.”

Mira rolls her eyes hard, but she kisses Rumi softly anyways.