Chapter Text
The street performer keeps looking at Rumi. She’s used to it--the woman raised by Death. Singer for lost souls. Not to mention her good looks. Attention follows her wherever she goes, and it has ever since she was but a child.
But there’s something about the way this man looks at her. Dark eyes she swears flash gold. Voice--smooth, deep, wanting--directed towards her and only her, as if the crowd around him means nothing.
It puts her on edge. Makes her hands clammy. Makes her stomach drop.
Maybe she’s just--just overly aware. Always has been. Eyes and loose lips everywhere, and she’s had to watch her back, lest she slip and let the cracks show.
So she shoves her hands into her pockets and walks away.
Tries to forget about him.
It’s when she returns to the intersection in a complete disguise days later and he still watches her--like a predator scoping its prey out--that she knows something’s up.
A childish letter comes for her. It has no return address, no sender, but the secret admirer is no secret. Kind of creepy, honestly, but Rumi still takes the time to read it.
I’m Jinu, nice to meet you--she feels the urge to smack him upside the head already--at night--bold one, isn’t he?--on the outskirts of town.
This is--this has to be a trap. Of some sorts. He can’t know what’s underneath--she’s too heavily protected for that--but there’s something going on. Blackmail, perhaps? A way to attack Death? If she were smart, if she were thinking, she’d take the letter to Death and have her deal with him. Get this freak off her back.
But there’s--there’s something rumbling in her chest. Telling her to go. Telling her to accept and see.
Maybe it’s curiosity. Maybe it’s the fact she’s not blind and he is--annoyingly--hot. Maybe it’s so she can give him a beating herself.
Why this Jinu is on the roof, she’ll never know. But he’s waiting for her, foot tap-tap-tapping against the tiles. Like he knew she’d come, and the fact she’s making him wait is the real problem here.
Rumi rolls her eyes.
Whatever. She can handle herself.
She finds a path to the roof--jumps on boxes, ledges, and reveals herself. “Stalking now?” Rumi asks. “Is performing in the street not enough attention?”
He turns his gaze towards her. While he drinks her in, she does the same. He really, really is hot. Exactly her type. Perfect, silky hair parted with a wave, a jawline to die for, and eyes that are both warm and calculating. Not to mention--not to mention the rest of him. His clothes may be baggy, but she can get a sense of what’s underneath. All of this somehow ticks her off even more.
He smiles, placid. “Nice to meet you, Rumi.”
“We’re not that familiar,” she cuts in. “What was with that card?”
“Icebreaker?”
“Seriously?”
“Had to get your attention somehow, and you kept ignoring all my performances.” Jinu steps closer to her. She tenses but does not back down. “Glad you came.”
“What did I come for?” she huffs out.
“I think we could work together on something.”
“I don’t do artistic collabs with someone I just met.”
“Not that kind of work together.” He sighs, “I can turn into a sword.”
“That so?”
“And you could be my meister.”
She scoffs. The air around her feels dangerous; she tries to reel it back in, in, in. “And you think I’ll agree to this?”
He throws his hands up in mock surrender. “I believe you’d find me the ideal partner. I can keep a secret or two.” And then the damning words leave his lips: “You’re a witch, after all.”
Rumi grits her teeth. Grinds the top and bottom row together. He’s bluffing. Trying to get under her skin. “I’m Death’s protégé," she says, voice controlled.
He can’t know. He can’t. He may be a jerk, but he’s just a man at the end of the day. Regular. The spell protecting her soul is too strong for a mere average man to see through.
Only Death herself knows.
Jinu smirks. “And a witch.” He closes the remaining distance, leans in, whispers in her ear. His breath is hot, and it makes her head feel fuzzy. “You can try to hide it, but I can sense it. The chaos surrounding you.”
Something in Rumi snaps.
Her magic may be sealed, but she has nails and metal. With a hiss she lunges at him, claws aiming for whatever she can get ahold of. Shoulders, wrist, face--all of it is her target. He dodges back and back and back until he reaches a roof tile just out of place and stumbles. Her nail scrapes his cheek.
It cuts true.
And then it heals.
Only a small drop of blood remains--black as night.
She sucks in a deep breath. “You--”
And she can see the moment what confidence he had begins to crack. He retreats into himself, angling away from her, arms crossed to create a protective barrier. Goes on the defensive instead of the offensive. “Do you think I wanted to become like this?” he spits out.
Rumi takes a step back, relaxes herself. Not fully, but enough to show she won’t go for him again. “Why did you really call me out here?”
“I’ve already told you my offer," he snaps back, trying to stand firm. She can hear the slight quiver in his voice.
“That’s really it?”
“Yes. If we’re as compatible as I think--don’t give me that look--then take me as your weapon.”
She frowns. “What do I have to gain from all this?”
“I’ve done my research.” Jinu holds up a fist, unfurls one finger. “You were raised by Death herself--”--another finger--“--you’ve never had a partner--I can see why--”--another--“--and yet you wish to make a Death Scythe. You mentioned it once when discussing your music.” He places his hand on his chest. “I already know your secret, and I won’t share it.”
“And you were going to keep me from yours?” The jig is up anyways--but there’s something bothering her still. The curse of such unnatural blood, known only to a privileged few. She furrows her eyebrows. “You would keep your secret and let our resonance destroy my mind?”
He has the good nature to look at least somewhat offended. “You’re a witch. If anyone could handle this blood, it’s you.”
Hmm. “What are you after?”
“We have similar goals.” His eyes flicker to the side.
“I feel like you’re plotting something.”
“And if I am?”
“Why would I agree to partner with you?”
Jinu shrugs. “To keep an eye on me.”
And that--
--that’s so ridiculous Rumi has to laugh. “Partner with someone I don’t trust just to keep him on a leash?”
She moves to walk past him, to end this farce, when his hand catches her wrist. Her head whips around to look at him, and the way his lips are set, eyes on her have words die in her throat. He looks serious. Too serious.
“Let’s just--let’s just see if we’re compatible?” he says.
“And if we aren’t?”
“Consider this meeting nonexistent.”
Rumi tugs her arm free. “Fine,” she says while holding out her hand. “Let’s see.” Let’s get this over and done with.
She almost backs out immediately when she sees his smirk--like she’s playing right into his hands--but then she feels a tug on her soul. The man before her disappears and is replaced by a sword, light and lithe. It glows faintly, and Rumi grips it carefully, examining it.
She goes to slice through the air, to test it out Her soul hums with a simple yes, yes, yes.
She’s breathless before she realizes it.
She drops him.
Jinu reforms and stares at her, just as out of breath as she. She swears there’s a twinkle in his eye--like the correctness they just felt means more than just a bargaining piece. He grins, eyebrows raised. “So, what do you think?”
Rumi’s mouth twists. “I don’t trust you.”
“Probably wise.”
“But I--ugh--could keep you under my thumb?”
“Correct.”
She drags a hand down her face, carefully considers her options. She doesn’t know this man well enough, and he has his own motivations, which may not exactly align with hers. He said her secret is safe--but is it really? Only Death was supposed to know; only Death can be trusted to keep it buried.
But there’s this strange exhilaration in someone other than the woman who raised her knowing her, and it’s not like she didn’t find out his little secret too. Mutually assured destruction. Her soul also sang with him in her hands and if--and if she did want to achieve her goal, he was her best bet right now.
There wouldn’t be an air of pretending.
Just them--and whatever the hell they are.
Rumi takes his hand in hers. Shakes it. “We’re doing this my way.”
His eyes glance at the contact, and for a split second it looks like his face shifts red. It’s quickly tucked away, and he says, “And what does your way mean?”
To mimic him, she lifts her free hand. Holds up one finger. “You move in with me--”
“--wait hold on--”
“--so I can keep my eye on you at all times. It’s normal for meisters and their weapons to live together, and my place has a spare room.” She grips his hand tighter. Holds up another finger. “We keep this… discussion a secret from Death.”
“Bold move.”
“I have my own reasons.” The final finger goes up. “You only eat the souls I say you can eat.” Covering her bases; somehow she has a feeling his soul is not as innocent as he tries to appear.
Jinu tilts his head, smiles. “A tight leash indeed. But you got yourself a deal.”
And with another squeeze of their hands and shake, they stumble into a partnership.