Chapter Text
The bathhouse was quiet, lit only by the soft glow of paper lanterns and the faint glimmer of stars through the open windows. The scent of cedarwood and healing salts hung in the air, comforting and surreal.
Rumi sat half-submerged in the largest bath, steam curling gently from the water. Her long hair floated around her shoulders, golden patterns glowing faintly on her bare skin, soft now, not burning like before. Mira was across from her, calmly washing her arms, while Zoey kicked her legs lazily.
Rumi leaned her head back against the stones, letting the heat soak into her bones.
“I still can’t believe we’re here,” Zoey murmured after a long pause. “Like… here. Together. This is amazing.”
Rumi nodded slowly. “Yeah… it is.”
She meant it. She felt it, deep in her chest a fragile, aching kind of joy. And then, before she could stop herself, the words slipped out:
“I didn’t think this day would come. I didn’t think I would be here for it.”
Zoey turned toward her. “What do you mean?”
Rumi stared down at the rippling water, her voice quiet.
“Demons weren’t supposed to survive the Honmoon’s sealing. I was never meant to. When the final light hit, I thought… that would be it. That’s what I was bracing for. Oblivion. A clean ending.”
She swallowed.
“I thought I’d disappear.” She continued barely loud enough to hear.
Silence. The steam shifted around them like breath held too long.
Mira shuffled into the water beside Rumi, her eyes steady. “But you didn’t.”
Rumi looked at her. “No. And I don’t know what to do now.”
Zoey slipped in on her other side. “You live. That’s what you do.”
“But how?” Rumi whispered. “I spent so long thinking I was dangerous. The broken one. The liability. The one who had to fix everything. That’s what I was made for. That’s what she told me I was for.”
Mira touched her shoulder, not hard, just enough to ground her.
“You’re not a thing made to be or do something,” she said. “You’re here. That’s enough.”
“Rumi… I’m so happy you didn’t, like, die,” Zoey said, leaning on her.
“Would have put it more gently, but same,” Mira said with a small smile, her voice trying to keep dry tone.
Then Zoey choked, a hiccup of a sob catching in her throat.
“I just,” she sniffled, “you guys mean so much to me, and I don’t really know what I’d do without you. I mean,” her breath hitched, “I love you guys so much.”
That was what broke the last dam.
Mira reached for her, arms wrapping around Zoey first, then pulling Rumi in too. The three of them collapsed into each other, sobbing, shaking, letting it all out into warm skin and steamy air. Rumi buried her face in Mira’s shoulder, fingers curled into Zoey’s sleeve.
No armor. No lies. Just them. Raw and alive.
“I didn’t think I was supposed to be here,” Rumi whispered.
Mira’s grip tightened. “You are.”
Zoey, hiccupping through tears: “Do not ever doubt that.”
Rumi closed her eyes and let herself feel it. The bathhouse. The heat. The ache in her chest. Their bodies pressed to hers. Safety.
She’d been made to believe she’d vanish when the world was healed.
And instead… she was held.
The three-month hiatus wasn’t quite what anyone expected.
The demons had been banished, the Honmoon sealed, and the world had grown quieter for a moment.
Rumi, Mira, and Zoey returned to the stage sooner than planned. Their fans’ voices called out like a lifeline, and the trio couldn’t resist. They had grown too close, too entwined with the music and the people who believed in them.
Rumi found herself changing, slowly and almost imperceptibly at first. She started wearing outfits that showed more of her skin, the glowing patterns tracing across her skin curling like delicate tattoos.
The fans responded with awe, calling them “white line tattoos,” not knowing what they truly marked. And to Rumi, that was freeing. It felt like a rebellion against a lifetime of hidden pain and Celine’s strict rules about “appropriate” appearances.
Mira nudged her one night, eyes gleaming with approval. “You look amazing. Like you finally get to be you.”
Zoey nodded vigorously, never shy with praise. “Seriously, you’re glowing.”
Rumi smiled but felt the familiar ache beneath her ribs, where old and new scars throbbed faintly whenever her thoughts drifted to Celine. She pushed the memory down and tried not to think about the cold control, the harshness masked behind promises of protection.
She hadn’t told Mira or Zoey how close she had come to just giving up that night. She hadn’t confessed how fragile her grasp on life had been.
And now, a new complication: the patterns had begun shifting with her emotions. They pulsed faster when she was anxious and glowed dimmer when she felt sadness. And glowed bright when she was happy and Honmoon secure. Mira, ever the blunt one, called it karma for all the secrets.
She was trying to be more open, she just didn't think everything in her past was worth today share. They were now happy why change it?
She clenched her fists and forced herself to breathe. The path forward wasn’t simple, but it was hers.
For now, she would wear her patterns in the light. Let her story be seen, even if parts remained hidden in shadow.
Rumi hadn’t expected their peace to last forever.
Honestly, she was surprised they’d managed to evade Celine this long. Legally, Celine was still part of their sponsor team. And as a hunter, she was their superior. The one meant to guide and oversee them.
And for Rumi… she had been everything. Handler, mentor, tormentor. Mother figure.
So when, months into their post-Gwi-Ma hiatus, they were summoned to an official meeting with her, Rumi wasn’t surprised.
She was just cold. Instantly cold.
The moment the name appeared in the message, something inside her locked down. Her glowing skin dimmed in response. The swirling patterns along her arms and neck retreated like they were trying to vanish back beneath her flesh.
She didn’t say anything when Zoey muttered a curse under her breath, or when Mira reached instinctively for her hand. She simply nodded, silent and still.
She will be so disappointed that I’m still here.
The thought came like a reflex. Familiar. Sharp. Old.
Because no matter how happy Rumi had become; singing again, wearing what she wanted, seeing the love and admiration in the eyes of her fans and friends. There was still a quiet itch just under her skin. The ache of structure. The longing for control.
For someone to look her in the eye and tell her what she was supposed to be.
Mira and Zoey were kind. Too kind, almost. They trusted her to lead them, leaned on her judgment. She was their leader now, their equal in all things. But sometimes it made her feel hollow. Tired.
She was just so, so tired of being strong.
And some treacherous part of her, the part she couldn’t quite silence, whispered that maybe Celine would take that burden back.
Maybe she would be proud.
Maybe she’d see that the mistake had been fixed.
But the truth lingered in the pit of her stomach like poison: Rumi was still alive.
And Celine had always been very clear.
The mistake wasn’t something Rumi had done.
It was Rumi.
The room smelled like cold stone and old paper, a place that had never heard music, never held warmth.
Rumi’s footsteps echoed too loudly as she entered, her hands clutched tight around the long sleeves of the outfit she had chosen. She didn’t hide everything. Couldn't really. But she hadn't wanted to anger Celine more than she already would. Mira and Zoey took her hands before she could scratch the skin.
Of course, she could never please Celine.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Celine said, “You’ve stopped hiding them.”
Her voice was sharp enough to slice through the silence. Cold and disappointed.
In front of her was a poster for their new album, where Rumi's patterns were visible. Mira and Zoey had loved it. She had loved it.
Celine had placed a paperweight directly over Rumi’s face.
Rumi opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
Celine’s eyes narrowed. “Are you just waiting for someone to admire the monster you’ve grown into?”
“Hey!” Zoey barked. “She’s not a monster!”
“She’s the reason the world didn’t end,” Mira added, her voice icy.
Celine stood slowly, folding her arms. “She is the reason it almost did. You three derailed a sacred duty and build your own Honmoon. One tied to an unstable anchor who, let’s not forget, is a demon hybrid. You’ve played into the hands of Gwi-Ma more than you’ve opposed him.”
“Rumi saved us,” Zoey whispered. “And you didn’t even warn us she might disappear if we finished that sacred duty. You were just going to let her fade. Like she didn’t matter.”
“Because she was never supposed to be here,” Celine snapped. “She was the mistake my generation made. And we have to fix what is broken, before we lose everything.”
Her eyes flicked to Rumi. “You will return to the monastery. We’ll reinstate supervision and restraint protocols. Training will continue until the Honmoon can be properly restructured.”
Rumi stayed quiet, eyes locked on the floor. Even now, part of her craved Celine’s attention. Craved direction. Forgiveness.
“No.”
The word didn’t come from her. It came from both Mira and Zoey.
Mira stepped forward, her voice steady. “She’s not going anywhere.”
Zoey’s words followed, sharp and rising. “You hurt her. She’s not some weapon you can stash away just because she glows too bright for you to handle.”
Mira looked straight at Celine, her tone cold now. “You’re not training her. You’re breaking her. That’s not discipline. It’s abuse.”
Rumi spoke at last, her voice quiet but clear. “I’m not going back.”
She took a breath.
“I might be a mistake. But I’m not yours to fix anymore.”
Celine was silent for a moment. Her fingers twitched once and then went still again. Something passed behind her eyes, too fast to name.
Eventually, she turned. “The Honmoon you’ve created will be monitored. If it fractures, the consequences will fall on all of you.”
“We’ll take that risk,” Mira said.
“Gladly,” Zoey added.
“Then we’re done here.” Celine turned back to the paperwork.
“Don’t blame me when the demon gets loose.”
As the girls turned to go, the patterns along Rumi’s skin flickered softly. She looked back once, just for a moment.
Celine didn’t look up. She didn’t call her back.
The three of them walked in silence at first, studio's doors slamming shut behind them. Mira’s boots struck the pavement with force, each step a punctuation mark of outrage. Zoey kept pace at her side, muttering an endless stream of curses.
“I swear,” Zoey snapped, “if that smug ice queen calls you a mistake one more time, I’m going to lose it.”
“She didn’t even look at you. Like you were just room décor,” Mira added, her voice tight with fury. “Does she even see what you’ve done, Rumi? How many lives you’ve saved?”
They turned to glance back.
Rumi trailed behind, arms folded tightly across her chest. Her hoodie, long-sleeved, high-necked, modest. Her face was unreadable. But when she saw their expressions, she offered a soft, small smile.
“It’s okay,” she murmured.
“No, it’s not,” Zoey snapped, stopping in her tracks.
“It is,” Rumi said again, quieter. “She didn’t even hit me this time.”
Both Mira and Zoey froze.
Zoey’s voice cracked. “What did you just say?”
Rumi blinked, like she hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud.
Mira’s face had gone pale. “She hit you?”
Rumi hesitated. “Only when I disobeyed,” she added quickly. “Or if I panicked. Or if the markings flared up.”
She glanced away. “It wasn’t personal. She said I needed to understand consequences. That my demon couldn’t be allowed to get out of control.”
She had done worse, but Rumi didn’t think now was the time to tell them that.
“That doesn’t even remotely justify it,” Zoey cried. She stepped closer and grabbed Rumi’s hands. “You were just a kid. Why didn’t you tell us?”
Rumi looked down. Her voice came out barely above a whisper.
“Because I thought it was my fault. Because I was born wrong. She told me my mother’s death wouldn’t mean anything if I didn’t finish the Golden Honmoon.”
She hesitated, then bit her lip.
“And… maybe because I didn’t think I deserved better.”
Silence. Then Mira stepped forward and wrapped her arms tightly around her.
Zoey joined a second later, her arms winding around both of them, her cheek pressing against Rumi’s shoulder.
“We’re not letting you go back to that,” Mira said firmly. “Not to her. Not to anything like her.”
Zoey added, her voice thick with tears, “You don’t have to fix anything anymore. You’re not wrong. You’re not broken.”
Rumi trembled in their embrace, fighting the warmth blooming in her chest. She wanted to believe them. She almost did. But the weight of all those years, the silence, the bruises hidden under sleeves, didn’t just disappear with kindness.
And the next day, she smiled like she always had as if nothing had changed.
The energy backstage crackled like static.
Their latest performance was moments away, the venue buzzing with anticipation. Word had spread that a major sponsor might be attending , the kind that could allow them more independence from Sunlight Entertainment. Mira paced, humming the harmonies under her breath. Zoey bounced on her toes like a wind-up toy set too tight. They were all electric with hope.
The idea of finally not working under Celine anymore made them giddy. Mira had called it "a fresh start." Zoey had said, only half-joking, “Maybe we’ll even get to sleep without being surveilled.”
Rumi sat in front of the mirror, eyeliner halfway done, her outfit already on: sleek, silver-lined, with a plunging back that showed the delicate spiral of glowing patterns across her shoulder blades.
She liked it.
Celine would have hated it.
That thought should have been satisfying. Instead, it felt like betrayal.
The patterns shimmered faintly as she leaned closer to the mirror. They always did when her control slipped, and the makeup didn’t help much. No foundation was thick enough to hide what lived under her skin.
She reached for the concealer again, but her hand trembled.
“Hey,” Mira said, appearing behind her in the mirror. “You okay?”
Rumi didn’t look up. “Yeah. Just… I don’t think I have the right foundation shade for this lighting. It’s making them weird.”
She forced her voice light and swiped the concealer across her cheek with too much pressure.
Mira gave her a look, halfway between suspicion and concern. But the moment passed.
The stage call came. They lined up. Rumi’s heart pounded in rhythm with the low thrum of the crowd.
She did love this. The heat. The light. The way the fans screamed her name. The way she could pour everything into the performance and come out feeling clean. But tonight, it felt different. Off-kilter. Halfway through the first chorus, she missed a cue. During Zoey’s solo, she turned the wrong way. Nothing major. Nothing disastrous. But Mira shot her a quick look mid-routine, the kind only teammates know how to read.
Afterward, as they collapsed backstage in a haze of sweat and triumph, Mira pulled her aside.
“You really okay? You were somewhere else up there.”
Rumi shrugged. “Didn’t sleep much. Think I was over-caffeinated. I’m fine.”
Zoey chimed in, soft and hesitant. “You’re not… like, sick or something, right?”
“No,” Rumi lied again. Her stomach twisted.
She wasn’t sick.
She was splitting.
Because Celine had done so much for her. For them. Built them. Sharpened them. Protected them in her own brutal, precise way. And now Rumi was dancing in a backless outfit, soaking in adoration Celine would’ve called “a distraction,” and wondering if she’d just walked away from everything that mattered.
The guilt was constant. Low-grade and clinging.
Later, after changing into loose sweats and pulling her hair into a messy bun, Rumi returned to the dressing room to grab her phone.
She froze at the door. Outside, she heard Zoey’s voice.
“She’s not okay.”
A pause. Mira’s sigh.
“I know. But if we push too hard, she’ll shut down. Let’s just keep watch, yeah? For now.”
Rumi leaned her head against the doorframe, heart thudding. The screen in her hand lit up. A draft message was already open.
To: Celine
I just wanted to say
Her thumb hovered over the screen.
But the words refused to come.
She stared at them for a long moment. Then closed the message, locked the screen, and slipped the phone into her hoodie pocket.
Behind her eyes, her patterns dimmed just enough to pass unnoticed.
Everything was going right.
That was the problem.
Honmoon glowed brighter than ever. Demon activity was down to zero, and their fans were flooding arenas with joy. Rumi smiled on stage. She harmonized perfectly. Her solo hit platinum. Their synchronized formation sent literal ripples of stabilizing energy across the country.
Everyone said she was thriving.
But under her sleeve, the patterns pulsed. Unpredictable, shimmering, stinging like open nerves.
“Are you okay?” Mira asked gently.
Rumi flinched too fast. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Mira hesitated, eyes flicking down to the faint white marks glowing through Rumi’s collar.
“You’re humming,” she said quietly. "It's sounds pretty sad..."
Rumi stopped. She hadn’t even realized it, low broken notes vibrating through her throat like a self-soothing reflex. A child hiding in the ruins of a hymn.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Zoey leaned in to look at her face. “We love your voice. And look, you’re glowing,” she smiled.
Rumi nodded and smiled back. She did glow.
The burn of keeping herself together. The pressure of stabilizing everything around her by destabilizing herself.
She needed to be glowing. The whole Honmoon was tied to her.
And holding it all together hurt more than anyone needed to knew.
Radio silence from Celine was both a gift and a curse.
No check-ins. No orders. No cruel corrections disguised as mentorship. It should have felt like freedom.
But it didn’t.
At least not now, after seeing a news clip of Celine giving a speech at a new station about the promising future of Sunlight Entertainment. Rumi’s name was never mentioned.
She stayed staring at the screen longer than was probably healthy.
Mira messaged her: Want to hang out in the living room? Zoey and I are just chilling.
Rumi didn’t reply. They must have seen the news too.
A soft knock came at her door.
Rumi’s breath caught. She stood and opened it a crack.
“Rumi? You okay?” Mira’s voice was tentative.
Zoey’s quieter, from just behind her: “We just wanted to check. You didn’t answer your phone.”
Rumi met their eyes, forcing a tight smile. “I’m fine. Just tired,” she said, voice steady but brittle.
Mira hesitated. “If you want to talk or anything, we’re here.”
“I know,” Rumi said softly. She kept the door just enough ajar to let their concern in, but not enough to invite them inside.
They exchanged a look, sympathy and worry flickering, before Mira nodded and stepped back.
“Alright. Remember we’r here if you need us,” Zoey said.
Rumi closed the door slowly and leaned against it.
Once alone, she pulled her phone from her lap and opened an old training clip from Celine’s archives.
The sharp commands and rigid discipline filled the room.
Her heart rate slowed for the first time all day.
It terrified her how calm she felt.
Outside her door, faint voices drifted, Mira and Zoey’s warmth just beyond reach.
She was hurting them again.
But Rumi’s pulsing patterns beneath her skin reminded her why she couldn’t see them right now even though it hurt her too to keep them at a distance.
She was not just tired.
She was eroding.
Not because of the work but because there was no one telling her what she was now supposed to do. No hand to pull her down. No voice to fill the silence in her mind with commands and cruel comfort.
Jinu had shown her a different way. That sometimes surrender could bring peace and a kind of control.
Sometimes when the ache got too deep Jinu’s calm voice would echo in her mind offering quiet permission to let go. A need she did not know how to ask Mira or Zoey for help.
And yet it pulled at her.
Every now and then the feeling came back, like a low heat curling in her chest. Two nights ago while folding stage outfits it settled there again, stronger than before.
The urge to give in.
She pressed her nails into her palm until the glow dimmed swallowing the longing whole.
She would not be that selfish.
Zoey’s voice broke through the fog. “You okay?” she asked absently when Rumi didn’t respond to something she’d said.
Rumi blinked, momentarily startled, and looked up at Zoey. She was sitting on the kitchen counter, curling her lashes while holding a small hand mirror. The soft scrape of the curler was the only sound for a moment.
Zoey’s eyes were calm but carried a quiet worry that she didn’t quite know how to voice.
Rumi blinked again, forcing a smile and brushing a stray hair behind her ear. “I’m fine,” she said, voice bright.
She turned back to the stovetop.
She had been cooking for over an hour. There was something grounding about it: slicing, stirring, the quiet rhythm of control.
Mira walked in, stretching, a soft tank top slipping off one shoulder. “Oh, that smells good.”
Zoey grinned. “Rumi’s been in the kitchen forever. She’s so great and thoughtful.”
“You didn’t have to,” Mira said, scooping a spoonful without shame.
“This is so good,” she added through a mouthful. “You’re like a godsend.”
The praise hit too deep. Her skin shimmered faintly, the Honmoon pulsing in response like it could feel her pleasure.
Rumi flushed. “You’re welcome,” she murmured, trying not to read into their teasing smiles. Trying not to tremble at how easy it would be to fall at their feet and beg them to never leave her side.
Then the door opened, and Bobby swept in all smiles and energy.
“Hey girls!”
“Hi Bobby,” they answered in unison, giggling, and just like that, the moment was gone.
Plans were being made. Bags pulled out. Choreography schedules confirmed. Costumes discussed. The whirlwind of pre-departure swirled around her, and before Rumi could fully brace for it, she found herself standing at the door, watching them sling bags over shoulders.
“You sure you’re okay?” Zoey asked as she hugged her tight. Too tight. Just right.
Rumi nodded, but her body wanted to melt into her arms and stay there forever. To whisper, please don’t go, please don’t leave me alone in my head.
“Yeah,” she said instead. “Don’t worry. I can’t skip the interview.”
Mira stepped in next, quiet, her gaze sharp. “You can call anytime, okay? We’re here for you.”
Rumi nodded. Just before Mira pulled away, she gave in for a second and buried her head into Mira’s shoulder, breathing in her warmth.
“I know,” Rumi whispered. “I’ll miss you.”
They didn’t say anything else. They didn’t need to.
When the door finally closed behind them, Rumi stood frozen for a long, long time.
The silence rushed in like a tide.
At first, everything went well.
Rumi did her duties as a hunter and team leader. She kept the apartment spotless. Far cleaner than it needed to be, considering the staff they had. But she needed to do something. Something useful. Something tangible.
She patrolled empty streets, even when she didn’t need to. There were no demons left. No danger. The Honmoon was stable.
And yet.
Every night she video-called Mira and Zoey. Those calls were the highlight of her day. Zoey’s dramatic recaps, Mira’s quiet teasing, the warmth of their voices anchoring her like stars on the horizon. She smiled for them. She laughed. She said she missed them. All of it was true.
She just didn’t say she felt like she was suffocating in her own skin.
Her patterns glowed too brightly, throbbing beneath her clothes like a scream she couldn’t let out. It was like she was swelling with light and didn’t know where to pour it. There was no mission. No command. No punishment.
She tried kneeling alone. In her room. In Mira’s room. In Zoey’s room. On the cold tile of the bathroom floor. At the foot of her bed like prayer. But it never settled the burn inside her. No voice called her wrong. No rules were being broken. Nothing snapped her into place.
She reorganized every drawer, cleaned until her fingers cracked, answered fan mail like it might save her.
She worked harder than she ever had.
But it didn’t help.
There was no Jinu. No Celine. No one to push her down. No one to approve her silence or correct her posture. No threat of being discarded. No harsh lessons. No rules. She was free.
She was utterly lost.
The interview was coming up, and she told herself to focus. Just focus. She practiced her answers in the mirror again and again. Smiled until her face hurt. Changed outfits six times. Redid her makeup twice. Told herself this was good. She was a professional. A leader. An idol.
Zoey and Mira seemed to notice something was off. Mira’s voice gentled when she asked how Rumi was sleeping. Zoey offered to delay their plans and come back early. Rumi shook her head, smiling just enough. “I just miss you. It’s strange in an empty house,” she said.
It wasn’t a lie.
She just didn’t say that sometimes she sat on the floor for hours, feeling like she was made of buzzing static. Or that the glow of her patterns now hurt. That it pulsed with every breath like it wanted to crawl out of her.
She tried punishment. They always were Celine’s favorite.
You can eat when you finish this contract.
If you don’t complete all the fan mail replies, you’ll stay in the corner alone.
She obeyed her own rules. Skipped dinner twice. Spent an hour kneeling in the dark. Scrubbed the kitchen tiles until her fingertips bled. But it wasn’t the same. There was no voice calling her shameful. No permission to suffer. No hands to tell her what was enough.
And her skin still itched with heat.
Her patterns still burned.
And the light that had once felt like a gift now gnawed at her from the inside.
One night, after staring blankly at her untouched dinner for too long, she went to the closet. Pulled out the old belt. Celine never had used the belt, (she didn't have to) but she had heard it was used for children as punishment.
Her hands trembled. She stood in front of the mirror, belt folded in half, breathing hard, her body already flinching in anticipation.
She raised it.
Waited.
Tried again.
But she couldn’t do it.
She wasn’t strong enough.
She dropped the belt and sank to the floor, shoulders heaving with something that wasn’t quite crying.
Just... empty.
The lights were bright, but Rumi barely registered them.
The ringing in her ears hadn’t stopped since morning, a dull, constant pressure that made the world feel slightly detached, like she was underwater or dreaming through static. But she smiled. She had practiced these questions over and over in front of the mirror until her jaw ached from smiling.
So she smiled now, answering smoothly.
“Yes, we really believe music can shape the world,” she said.
And, “We’re so grateful to our fans for helping us build something this meaningful.”
Each word came out like it was supposed to. Each gesture was perfectly timed. She didn’t even have to think. Her body moved on habit. Her voice on memory.
She was good at this.
She was trained for this.
Just a few more questions.
She kept her hands in her lap so no one would see how they trembled. Every word she said felt like it pulled something loose inside her, a thread unraveling.
Wait! Did I say that one out loud?
She blinked. The host was nodding, smiling, moving on.
Right. Yes. She had said it. Hadn’t she?
Her smile tightened.
The next answer came before she realized she’d spoken it.
“We really want to be a light in dark places.”
She felt her own voice lag behind her thoughts like a ghost echoing down a hallway.
Then someone joked, “You’re always the calm one, Rumi. The leader. The rock. Do you ever get overwhelmed?”
Her laugh came too quickly. Too sharp.
“Of course,” she said lightly, folding her fingers tighter. “But I have amazing people around me. They keep me steady.”
All she could think of was how fast she could get to Mira and Zoey.
They’d be home in two days.
But technically…
Technically, she could go to them right now.
It wasn’t impossible. She didn’t have another shoot scheduled until late tomorrow. She could catch a train or even a short flight. Just to see them. Just to hear their voices not through a screen.
Was that too desperate?
She wasn’t sure anymore.
When she closed her eyes, all she could see was their open arms, the warmth she couldn’t give herself. The ache in her chest whispered, Please. I need you.
The interview was nearly done, a blur of lights, questions, and her smile stretched taut like it had been painted on. She was so close to making it through.
Then came the fan segment.
Bobby, always the buffer, stepped forward to explain. “We’ll take just a few quick questions on stream from fans, then we’ll wrap.”
Rumi kept her smile in place.
The first few were harmless. Sweet. A little overwhelming. She waved at the camera, thanked someone for their kind words, joked softly about her favorite dish to cook when she missed home.
Then came the next voice. A little too loud. A little too bitter.
“I just think it’s irresponsible,” the person said, “that Rumi shows off those… white line tattoos like that. What kind of message does that send? Scarring your skin to look cool?”
Rumi blinked.
The air dropped ten degrees. She could faintly hear Bobby start yelling in the backstage.
“I mean,” the voice continued before anyone could cut the mic, “Rumi was always kind of the weakest link, right? The others are real talents. But her? She was never meant to be an idol. She is just a nepo baby, with questionable breeding. It’s embarrassing.”
Bobby stepped forward immediately, raising his hand to the staff. “That’s enough. Cut that now.”
Someone scrambled to mute the feed. The screen blinked black. Someone apologized off-camera. Bobby was already turning to Rumi, voice low and concerned.
But she didn’t hear it.
She couldn’t hear anything.
The air buzzed around her like bees behind her eyes. Her breath caught in her throat. Her fingers curled tightly into her skirt to hide the trembling. Her patterns, so carefully concealed today, sparked beneath her skin like flares in water, a glow rising with shame, hot and uncontainable.
Her ears rang louder than before. A roar of static and judgment. A curse disguised as a question. It clung to her like oil.
She smiled.
Too wide.
Too empty.
“I need to go,” she said softly, standing before Bobby could answer. She bowed to the remaining staff with perfect grace, thanked them like nothing had cracked, like her bones weren’t shaking under her skin.
She didn’t wait for Bobby’s concern.
Didn’t wait for a ride.
She walked out of the building alone, the city too bright, too loud. And all she could think was:
They saw it. They know. I shouldn’t be here. I never should’ve been here.
Her patterns pulsed on her arms as if they wanted to scream for her.
They burned so much. They had for too long.
She didn’t know where Mira and Zoey were.
She needed something. Anything.
And there she was.
Celine stood beneath the streetlight outside the studio, pausing as Rumi stumbled to a stop in front of her.
“Enjoying yourself?” Celine asked, her voice clipped.
Rumi flinched and tried to hide the patterns flickering wildly on her arms.
“I told you everyone would see the mistake in you,” Celine said. “This is why you need to stay hidden. Why the Honmoon has to be completed.”
Rumi shook her head, sobbing. Celine was wrong. She had to be. She was loved. She was.
“Loved?” Celine laughed. “You’re a demon. You don’t love. And those girls? They’re wasting their time.”
Had she talked out loud?
“You’re broken. But now you have to stay alive. You have to stay in control. The entire Honmoon depends on you. It’s tied to you.”
The patterns on Rumi’s skin burned. The weight of the Honmoon coiled tighter with every breath.
“I think I’m broken,” she whispered. Her voice was barely audible.
Celine’s eyes narrowed. She stepped forward until the streetlight lit the sharp lines of her face. Her voice dropped low.
“This is why you weren’t meant to survive.”
Rumi swallowed. The markings on her arms flickered, faint and weak, like the last pulse of a dying ember.
“Demons need purpose to live,” Celine said. “And now you don’t have one. But thanks to that monstrosity of a Honmoon, you’re chained to this world. Alive without meaning. A defective tool.”
She reached out and grabbed Rumi’s hand with gloved hand. Her grip was rough and unkind.
Rumi flinched but didn’t pull away.
That grip was more familiar than any lullaby. Her wrist throbbed where Celine held it.
It hurt.
And that meant she was real again.
Without another word, Celine turned and pulled her toward the car.
They arrived at the monastery later, returning to the cabin Rumi had hoped never to see again.
Where they had left together.
With Mira and Zoey.
She needed to do something. Anything.
But Celine was already pushing her towards the door.
Rumi needed to...
Fight?
Leave?
There was a reason she had never wanted to come back.
Coming back was terrifying.
But it was also comforting.
She truly was broken.
Rumi followed. Her steps were silent, her breath shallow. They moved through the familiar halls until they reached the basement door. The one Rumi hadn’t seen since she was too young to remember all the rules.
Celine opened it. She descended.
And she expected her to follow.
Rumi paused at the threshold.
For a second, barely more than a heartbeat, she hesitated.
In her mind, she saw Zoey’s wide, bright eyes. Mira’s steady hand. The warmth of the kitchen. The soft pressure of being hugged too tightly. The faint scent of rice on the stove. Was it just couple days ago?
Her breath caught in her throat.
She could still turn around.
They would take her back. She knew they would. She could call right now. Say nothing, just cry, and they’d come running.
But the image slipped.
And all that remained was the echo of her own heartbeat, too fast, too hollow.
She stepped forward.
And as her foot touched the last step, fear coiled in her gut, sharp and instinctive.
But just beneath it, curling up like something long buried, was relief.
This.
This she understood.
This was structure. Rules. Pain. Safety.
Rumi closed her eyes and exhaled.
Yes. This she knew.
The basement was clean. Quiet. Cold. Just like she remembered.
Rumi breathed in the incense Celine burned upstairs. She’d eaten her portion. She’d made no noise. The thin mattress on the stone floor was enough. There was no room for choices here, and that was what made it bearable.
No questions. No stage lights. No shifting patterns or swirling, glowing scars she had to explain.
She simply obeyed.
“Good girl,” Celine would say when Rumi finished her chores early. “See what happens when you stop pretending you’re special?”
She’d say thank you. She always said thank you.
When she did well, the her bindings were loosened. When she faltered, when she hesitated or her voice trembled, they were tightened. But the routine was clear. It was sharp and structured and easy to follow.
In the quiet between tasks, Rumi imagined Mira and Zoey smiling. She imagined their laughter, Zoey’s loud, unfiltered giggle and Mira’s barely-holding-it-together snort. She imagined the pressure of Zoey’s arms around her. The warmth of Mira’s palm on her cheek. Their voices. Their hands. And sometimes, she even imagined Jinu’s steady presence.
She stopped imagining.
It only made things worse.
She didn’t want to remember, what she could have had if she had just been normal.
One night, she made the mistake of humming. Just a few notes. Just under her breath.
She didn’t mean to. It just escaped her. Like breath. Like longing.
The cellar door creaked open.
Celine didn’t shout. She didn’t need to.
She descended slowly, her sandals brushing the stone. The silence between each step was heavier than thunder.
Rumi didn’t get to finish the song.
Pain came. Quiet and precise. Not rage, correction.
“This is not your voice,” Celine whispered as she stood up. “You do not get to decide when you use it.”
That night, Rumi didn’t sleep.
A week later, the collar burned against her throat. She couldn’t keep quiet anymore. Honmoon called to her too loudly, memories held her so tightly she had to get them out.
She remembered getting it. Celine came in without a word, holding it like a tool, like a chore. Rumi backed away. She shook her head. A horrified sound escaped her, half plea, half protest. Celine didn’t slow down. She caught Rumi by the jaw, shoved her against the floor, and buckled it on tight.
The zap came immediately. Rumi’s body jolted. Another sound tore out of her, sharper, cracked by pain. She curled up, shaking, throat clenched, eyes wide. Celine was already at the door.
“If I were you, I’d be quiet,” she said without turning around. “At least now I’ll know you’re not trying to mess with Honmoon.”
So Rumi could only sit quietly by the wall.
She could barely remember herself.
Celine took care of her.
Took care of the Honmoon.
Took care of everything.
She was lucky she didn’t have to be anything anymore.
This is what she always wanted.
Just...
Be...
Free
She was doing her duty, tidying the place.
Celine trusted her to be out of the basement again.
She wouldn’t run away.
She didn’t burn here.
Why was she so cold?
Something pulled her back to the surface. The TV was on, left running so her movements wouldn’t alarm passersby.
She blinked, then returned to cleaning.
She didn’t care. Not until she heard her name.
“…still no update on Rumi’s return. But we hope she hears this.”
Her breath caught. That voice.
Zoey.
Laughing softly through a sniffle, voice wet with tears.
“We love you so much, Rumi. You know that, right? Even if you want to quit idol life. Even if it all got too much. We can stop. We can help. I promise.”
Then Mira said, “If you can hear this… please. You don’t have to be okay. You just have to come back. Just come home. We love you so much, and we are so sorry we didn’t see your struggles.”
Rumi stared at the screen. Their faces. Their voices.
Why didn’t she go to them? Why had she returned here?
She thought they would be better off without her. That her demon was too much. Too dangerous. Too broken.
But no. Even after she had abandoned them again. Even after she had lied.
"Whatever you decide, we will support it," Zoey said. She was still crying.
Rumi had hurt them again.
And she had told herself it was for their sake. Again.
Every time she ran, it was to protect someone. Every time she stayed, it was for someone else's approval. Every choice she made was about surviving, not living.
But maybe the real mistake wasn’t leaving.
Maybe it was never choosing for herself at all.
Maybe it was always trying to live only for someone else.
"Live your freedom," whispered his voice in her head.
Rumi’s breath caught.
He had died believing she could be free. That she would be...
And here she was. Crawling back into the cage.
Rumi was on her feet before she realized.
She was a fucking idiot.
And somehow, impossibly, laughter bubbled out of her. Light and shaky and full of life.
The collar sparked violently as she stumbled up the stairs. She gasped, pain lancing down her spine.
But she kept moving.
She didn’t have a plan.
She didn’t even have shoes.
But she had to get out.
Home. She just needed to get home.
Mira and Zoey would forgive her. If she made it to the city, if she could give a signal, she’d call them, she’d crawl if she had to, she’d...
The door creaked.
She turned just in time to see Celine standing in the hallway, robes loose, eyes glowing with that awful, serene disappointment.
“You really thought,” Celine said, “that you could leave me.”
Rumi didn’t answer.
Celine walked slowly forward. No anger at first. Just that calm, disappointed cruelty that always hurt more than shouting, though something twitched in the corner of her eye, like she was trying too hard to stay composed.
"You were my failure. My burden. My responsibility.” Her fingers curled under Rumi’s chin, lifting her face with force. Her voice wavered for just a breath “And now you’ve infected everything with that vile light. You’ll still serve your purpose, Rumi. But you’ll never see the sky again.”
“No…” Rumi flinched as the collar burned. Her hand darted toward her neck...
But Celine was faster.
She struck hard, catching Rumi’s wrist mid-motion. The impact cracked through her arm, and her hand spasmed uselessly.
Then Celine slammed her back against the wall, locking an arm across her shoulders, the other pinning her injured wrist. Her breath was hot against Rumi’s ear, full of cold rage.
“You always were a mistake,” she hissed.
Rumi struggled, twisting beneath her. She couldn’t get out of the hold. Couldn’t get to her weapon.
So she did the only thing left.
She bit down. Hard.
Celine screamed, jerking back as Rumi tasted blood.
Celine clutched her hand, staring at the blood like it wasn’t real. Her mouth opened, then closed again. Her face twitched; a flicker of rage, or grief, or something too tangled to name.
And then she snapped.
Pain.
Apparently, the collar didn’t just respond to vibrations. It could be controlled remotely.
Rumi gasped for breath as she was shocked again and again.
She wondered, distantly, if it would stop.
Eventually, it did.
She could only grunt in pain as she was lifted up by her hair.
The cold click of metal snapped around her neck and arms. Rumi flinched.
Celine yanked her upright and shoved her forward. Rumi stumbled, legs buckling beneath her, barely managing to stay upright.
The basement swallowed her again.
Chains.
Locks.
Concrete.
Rumi collapsed into the corner Celine chose. Metal bit into her skin as the restraints settled into place.
There was only a small, pale light from the open doorway above. Her eyes fluttered, struggling to stay open.
Then a hand grabbed her face.
Rumi froze, seeing what was held in Celine’s hand.
A muzzle.
She tried to fight again, but she was too weak. Celine pushed it onto her face, sealing her lips.
Rumi let out a muffled cry and was shocked again for her effort.
She jolted, helpless.
Celine’s hand was still dripping blood.
"I knew you couldn’t be trusted," she spat. "Demons always bite the hand that feeds them."
Her voice cracked. Barely. Then she turned.
The door slammed behind her.
And Rumi was alone. In the dark.
There was no time in this place. Only the weight of the collar, the muzzle constricting her face, and the taste of blood in her mouth.
She couldn’t raise her hands high enough to wipe the tears.
She should have never come here.
She should have been stronger. Be better. She should never have needed submission.
Stop. That was Celine talking. Not you.
Her body ached. Her patterns barely glowed anymore, but they still pulsed when she thought of them.
Mira. Zoey.
Their voices felt far away now.
But she remembered the last time she sang with them. The audience roaring, the Honmoon shining, her friends smiling. They made her feel...
Loved.
She tried to hum. Just softly. A few broken bars of This Is What It Sounds Like.
The collar flared with pain, burning against her throat, but her voice didn’t stop. She bit her lip, sobbing through it, and kept humming.
The Honmoon heard her.
Miles away, two girls sat bolt upright on their couch, in the middle of sifting through every hint they had gathered, most of it rubbish, but maybe...
Mira clutched her head. “Did you feel that?”
Zoey’s eyes were wide with fear. “Something’s wrong with Rumi.”
Honmoon was calling them.
The pain blurred her senses. Everything after her attempted escape was a haze of screams swallowed by stone walls, cool cloths, and cruel hands binding her tighter. Celine had not come down since.
Left her in the darkness.
In pain.
Hunger.
Thirst.
And Rumi could feel it.
She was being erased again. Turned back into something simple, obedient, correct.
She could feel how faded her patterns were. She hadn’t sung since the night she’d hummed. Oh, she missed the glowing, even the burn.
She clung to their voices. To that plea through static.
Come home.
Her girls. Her light. Her pact.
She didn’t know if they’d ever find her.
So when the front doors slammed open upstairs loudly and ungracefully she thought she was dreaming.
“RUMI?” Mira's voice cracked with fury.
“Mira, down here!” Then rapid footsteps. The cellar door was wrenched open.
Light spilled down the stairs. Mira stepped into the gloom like a sword unsheathed. Zoey’s hands trembled on the railing, fire and panic etched across her face.
Rumi blinked. They were here.
She blinked again, and suddenly her face was held so softly, impossibly carefully. Like she was as fragile as she felt.
“Oh my god,” Mira breathed. Her eyes locked on the restraints on Rumi’s arms, the collar around her neck, and the muzzle covering her face.
Zoey covered her mouth. “What is this?”
Careful hands combed through Rumi’s hair, found the lock behind her neck, and gently removed the muzzle. It was tossed into the corner with surprising force. Rumi was shocked it didn’t leave a hole in the wall.
“You...” she whispered then crumpled in pain.
Alarmed noises came from the girls as they quickly removed the collar. Mira crushed it in her fist.
Rumi staggered as the support from the neck chain was gone. She would have fallen if Zoey’s strong arms had not caught her.
She blinked again.
They really came.
Tears flooded her eyes.
“I am sorry,” she said coughing.
“Shh you have nothing to be sorry for,” Zoey said gently holding her steady as Mira worked on the chains.
“No I did it again. I lied and left and...” she mumbled.
“It is okay. We are sorry so sorry,” Zoey cried resting her head against Rumi’s.
Mira freed her. Her gentle rubbing made Rumi’s fist bleed again.
“We don’t care. We will always come to get you home,” Mira said looking deep into her eyes. “But we would appreciate it if you told us before things got this bad. You worried us so much.”
Rumi sobbed and nodded. They held each other tightly.
“Now let’s get you out of here,” Zoey said wiping her own eyes.
Mira and Zoey lifted her. She was too weak to stand.
Behind them, Celine appeared, serene as always, her hands folded.
“She came here,” Celine said calmly, but with steel beneath her voice. “She knew what she needed. Structure. Guidance. I gave it. And I will not have you undo her again with all your chaos and indulgence.”
“You tortured her,” Mira said, her voice low but deadly. “You told us she was like your daughter. That you raised her. How could you do this to her?”
Celine’s eyes narrowed. “I saved her. You think your stage lights and hollow emotions will save her now? That cursed Honmoon is burning her from the inside out.”
“She was glowing. She’s beautiful, and you hated it,” Zoey whispered, stepping closer. Her voice trembled. “There has to be a better way than this cruelty.”
Celine’s face twisted in fury. “She is mine to use.”
“She’s not yours,” Mira snapped, stepping forward. Her hands clenched into fists. “And she’s not staying here.”
“You don’t get to decide what happens to her,” Zoey shouted. Rumi felt her grip tighten.
Celine’s gaze hardened. She stepped forward, blocking their path.
“She is a mistake that needs to be erased.” Her words were sharp, but her voice wavered at the edges. “I lost everything because of her.”
Her fingers curled at her sides, trembling slightly.
“A mistake that took my friends. That cost us the Golden Honmoon decades ago.” Her volume rose, brittle now, nearly shaking. “And you want to just let her live?”
“Rumi is not a mistake,” Zoey shouted. “She didn’t cause any of that!”
“We’re sorry your friends died,” Mira added, voice rough. “But Rumi had nothing to do with it.”
Celine said nothing. But her chest rose and fell in quick, uneven bursts. Her hands twitched what looked like uncontrollable anger.
Rumi tried to lift her head. Their words blurred through the pain. They didn’t understand. It was her fault.
“But my mom died,” she gasped, “because of me.”
Both girls turned to her, their anger melting to tenderness.
“Oh, Rumi,” Mira whispered, tightening her hold. “We’ve read the files. It was childbirth complications. There was nothing you could’ve done.”
Zoey cupped her face gently, guiding her to meet her eyes. “It was a tragedy. You were just a baby. You didn’t take her life. She gave it, because she loved you. Being born isn’t a sin. It’s not your fault.”
Not her fault.
A sharp breath sliced through the room.
“No,” Celine snapped suddenly, voice cracking. “No, it was her fault! If not for that demon, we could have... We would have...”
She faltered.
For a second, she stood perfectly still.
Then her expression twisted. Not rage. Not cold. Something jagged and raw. Her mouth opened again, but no words came. Her knees buckled.
She dropped, hands to the floor, sobs breaking out of her like they had been waiting years.
The girls stared, stunned.
The woman who had terrified them. Who had locked Rumi away. Who had taught them that control was strength, that pain meant purpose. Now curled inward on herself, shuddering.
“She’s the last thing I have left of Miyeong,” Celine gasped. “I needed her to finish it. The Honmoon. I thought if I could just finish it, Miyeong could rest. I could rest. She could...”
She rocked there, sobbing, all her discipline and distance shattered under the weight of everything she never grieved.
Mira and Zoey didn’t hesitate. They stepped past her, side by side Rumi carefully hidden between them.
Zoey shrugged off her coat and gently wrapped it around Rumi’s shoulders like a fragile shield against the cold.
Mira took Rumi’s trembling hand in both of hers, steadying her. “Let’s go, sweetheart.”
Step by slow step, they moved toward the door. Rumi’s legs felt like lead; every breath burned her throat raw. She wanted to speak, to say something, anything, but the words were trapped, tangled in pain.
As they reached the doorway, Rumi’s eyes caught sight of Celine still crumpled on the floor, her body wracked with quiet sobs. The fierce mentor, the tormentor, the woman who had been her mother in very complicated way.
Something soft and broken stirred inside Rumi. Despite everything, despite the scars and wounds, she still felt the faint pulse of something like love.
She turned slowly toward Celine, mouth opening as if to speak, but no sound came. Mira squeezed her hand gently, encouraging her to try again.
After a moment, a fragile, hoarse whisper slipped out.
“I would have loved you,” Rumi said, voice cracking, “if you had let me.”
Celine didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
Only the faintest twitch of her shoulder betrayed that she had heard.
Rumi took a final breath, then turned fully away.
Mira and Zoey lifted her gently, their touch steady and warm.
They didn’t carry her like she was broken.
They held her as if they would never let her fall again.
The hospital was sterile and too bright. They didn’t keep her long.
“Nothing lasting,” the doctor said. “Some scarring, a little dehydration. Minor burns on the neck. She had fractures in her hand. She’s lucky.”
They gave her a pamphlet. Recognizing the Signs: Escaping Abuse.
Rumi stuffed it in her pocket without looking at it.
The ride home was quiet. Mira held her hand. Zoey sat in the back, fingers tapping restlessly against the seat like she wanted to scream. Bobby offered to stay, to make soup, to fight someone, but the girls sent him home with promises. They had her now.
And they did.
Still, once inside their apartment, safely in her own bed, Rumi felt it.
The absence of Celine was a hole in her spine. No one was waiting to tell her when to sleep, what to eat, where to kneel, who she was.
She knew girls saw it as freedom, but it wasn't.
It felt like she was floating, unsupervised in deep space. Like she’d been hollowed out. Like she’d failed again, and now there was no redemption left.
When Zoey gently told her to rest, Rumi nodded. When Mira pulled back the covers, she slipped in without speaking.
And when the door clicked shut behind them, she finally let go.
She sobbed. Not loud. Just slow, gasping tremors into the pillow until she wasn’t sure where the pain was coming from anymore.
She tried to be quiet, but apparently failed, because Mira and Zoey came in and crawled onto the bed next to her, wiping her tears and holding her.
“What’s wrong?” Mira asked, so gently.
Rumi barely raised her head before whispering, “I can’t do this.”
Zoey sat beside her. “Do what, sweetheart?”
“This,” Rumi said, her voice cracking. “Be in charge. Make choices. I’m supposed to lead us now. I own a third of our label. Bobby answers to me. And I don’t… I don’t know how. I’m tired. I feel like I’m going to break every time someone asks me a question.”
Mira didn’t say you don’t have to. She didn’t lie. Instead, she cupped Rumi’s cheek and said, “You’re not alone. We are together in this as equals. You don’t have to lead to be the lead singer.”
“But I can’t. I don’t want to be equal. Not all the time. It’s so heavy.” Her voice shook. “Sometimes I just… I want to follow. I want someone to see me and say, ‘I’ve got you. You’re safe. Kneel, breathe, rest...’”
Her list was cut short when lips gently touched her forehead.
“Thank you for telling us,” Zoey said softly as she reached for her hand. “Now just let us help.”
Rumi blinked. “What?”
Mira nodded. “Let us take care of you. Not the way she did. Never that way. But something better. We’ll set rules, if you want them. We’ll give you rituals. Space to surrender on your terms. With love.”
The air in Rumi’s lungs felt too warm, too heavy.
“You’d do that for me?”
“Of course we would,” Mira said gently. “Because we love you. Not because you’re strong. Not because you’re useful. Just you.”
Zoey gave a sad smile. “And we should have offered a long time ago to share some of the burden. Or we can ask Bobby to hire people to help. You don’t have to carry everything on your shoulders.”
Rumi’s eyes flickered with worry. “What about Honmoon? My patterns… when they start to burn again…” She rose slowly, her patterns still dulled, but as Mira and Zoey reached out and touched them, she saw them flicker to life. That familiar spark made her flinch, afraid of the burn that never came.
“We’ll figure things out,” Mira said softly, tracing one of the glowing patterns on Rumi’s arm. It shimmered warmly under her touch. No burn.
Rumi looked at both of them, her vision blurred but her heart shining with something she hadn’t felt in a long time: safety.
Gracefully, as if coiling, she knelt in front of them.
She heard their breaths hitch and butterflies flicker in her stomach.
It should have felt silly, they were on her bed, and with her demon inheritance she was now taller than both them. But as they complimented her, touched and caressed her, she simply felt safe. Loved.
She hummed for them, and they answered. It was not a song, but Honmoon responded. Her patterns lit up, yet no burn came.
No orders. No punishment. No test.
Just warmth.
Just home.
She explained it to them slowly, carefully. Not everything made sense. It still didn’t, even to her. But she told them what she had learned from Jinu and from Celine. How truthful neither really was was a mystery to her, but that was all she had. And her own experiences were limited.
She shared how submission was not just weakness. It was alignment. A way of giving shape to power. How Gwi-Ma never wanted strength it could not command. How the wrong kind of dominance corrupted, but the right kind could heal.
They had taken care of her.
The first morning after that fragile confession, Mira walked into the kitchen holding contracts. Actual contracts. “Safewords. Limits. Expectations,” she said as if discussing a business merger. “We will revisit them first weekly. I am okay if this stays platonic, but I am also going to be honest. I am open to exploring it sexually. But only if you are. I know we were more or less raised together, so if it feels too familiar, I am not offended.”
Rumi blushed so hard she thought her skin might catch fire. Her patterns shimmered like sunlight through water, trembling, glowing, traitorous.
“I… I think I would like that,” she whispered. “making things... You know...Sexual, I mean. If we are careful.”
Mira smiled, slow and steady. Zoey squealed and practically jumped on the couch. “Wait, does this mean we are dating?”
Rumi laughed and nodded.
Her girlfriends. Her dominants.
It still felt like a dream. But not the kind that ends with waking up cold and alone, ones she used to have. This was the kind of dream that became her days, soft, anchored, lit from within.
She was still the leader. Still lead vocalist. Still co-founder and decision-maker. But now, she had anchors fully supporting her. She did not have to carry everything. Mira and Zoey checked in constantly. They never took control away. They asked, listened, and gave her the safety to choose not to decide.
Celine was gone. Bobby, once he understood the full scope, moved fast. Legal boundaries. Professional ones. She would not get near Rumi again.
Bobby wanted to put Celine in jail and throw away the key. Rumi was still deciding, what she wanted.
In this moment, she had all she thought she needed. She was glowing, both figuratively and literally. Her patterns had steadied and brightened. They no longer sparked wildly from stress or self-doubt. They didn’t burn her for carrying the weight of the world. Instead, they pulsed with intention and safety.
It felt like it should mean something. Sometimes it did. Other times, it just felt strange, like her body was celebrating a peace her heart had not fully caught up to.
That morning, she was kneeling in the kitchen, mouth open, as Mira gently fed her pieces of breakfast from her own plate. Zoey talked, hands flailing about some new choreography idea. Rumi was not sure what it was about. She did not need to be.
She trusted them. If it was important, they would tell her. If it involved her, they would ask her. For now, she just breathed. Warmed by their presence. Fed by their hands. Anchored by love.
She was happy.
Not healed, not yet. But healing.
Sometimes she slipped into old habits, but now someone was there to catch her.
As warmth spread through her and Honmoon thrummed gently beneath the surface, Rumi knew. This was what Jinu had meant. In love, in surrender, in shared soul. She had found her freedom.
And now, she would live it.