Chapter Text
Guys, it’s me, I swear! I’m Rumi!
I don’t want to hear it. Back up. Get away from us, now.
No, no, no, I swear, don’t leave me—please, please believe me!
You’re not Rumi! How long have you been pretending to be her?
+++
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Zoey.”
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Earth to Zoey.”
Tap. Tap. Tap—
“Zoey.” Her name’s whispered directly into her ear this time, and it genuinely sends shocks running up and down her spine, immediately putting a stop to her foot tapping.
”Gah!” Zoey yelps, spinning around wildly in her office chair. “Oh my god, um—” Her cheeks light up in an adorable fluster when she sees Mira, who looks at her with a mix of fond exasperation and something like anticipation. “Mira-unn—” Her mouth momentarily clicks shut as she remembers what Mira said about addressing her. “I mean, Mira, sorry! I was just super deep in thought, and I didn’t hear you and you were really close to my ear and-” She coughs. Swallows. Brushes non-existent lint off her shoulder. “Right, yes, um. Wassup? I mean— what’s going on, did you need me?”
“You were just about to make a hole in the carpet with all that foot tapping, but don’t worry about it,” Mira says, rolling her shoulders back. “What’s on your mind, anyway? Still thinking about our mysterious new department chief?”
Zoey laughs, a sound distinctly light and sheepish. “That obvious, huh?”
To be completely fair to her, there aren’t a lot of other things to think about. Rumi’s the newest big ripple in the pond that was Sunlight Industries since Bobby brought his homemade kimbap, and by god, was Zoey’s mind going to speculate about all the things Rumi could be, at least before their so-called lunch date.
A memory of yesterday pops up, of the department chief’s professional demeanour when she introduced herself. Confident, demanding of presence. She can see how Rumi was trained by Ms Celine, with them practically being carbon copies of each other on first impression. But there was something distinctly softer about Rumi, like someone took all the jagged edges of Ms Celine and sanded them down into something less severe.
There’s just something about Rumi that makes Zoey’s brain tingle, and she can’t put her finger on exactly what it is.
But then again, that was her first impression, anyway. She wonders if her outie had taken up this job to prevent her mind from wandering so much, because she can’t imagine what it’d be like to work and have even more stuff to think about in her head.
According to Bobby, Zoey’s orientation process wasn’t anything too out of the ordinary— even so, it’s not a period of her spontaneous existence that she wants to remember. The disorientation, the fear, the despair of not remembering her own name, her memories, what her mom’s eye colour was— just feeling so alone, so lost, pulsing and squirming like an exposed artery in that boardroom with nothing to ground herself with. When all was said and done, she just felt kinda sad.
She just couldn’t fathom what would possess her other self to put her through this, this self-imposed loneliness in her own mind. So she rose up to fill the gaps in her memory with theories and daydreams, because it was better than thinking about the alternative, thinking about how a part of her abandoned itself to work at Sunlight. Like tying a leashed dog to a tree in the middle of nowhere and driving away.
(Unwanted. Too much and not enough, a thing in her brain mutters.)
Zoey knows that if need be, there are strict protocols in place that would let her talk with her outie. But they’re only for special circumstances and highly regulated, and she doesn’t think that sending her outer self the bombardment of questions as to why she’d choose to do this was wise. Or even permitted.
So she stays. She doesn’t complain, bites her tongue and shoves her head into the dirt.
But god, does she dream.
Zoey can't help but think, to build a daydream out of crumbling bricks and half-dried spackle and dream of a place other than here, because she can feel it in her soul that she was born to do something greater than do office work all day. Not that she can do anything about it without causing a big stink that seemed more trouble than it was worth.
She grumbles and smushes her fingertips into her temples to massage them, not that it does anything. She at least hopes that some of her sulky mood lingers on in her mind, so when her outer self takes control, she feels Zoey’s discontent.
“Hey, no grumbling,” Mira snaps her fingers back in her face, bringing her back into focus. “Lunch is in twenty minutes. It’ll go by quickly, promise. Then you get to meet Rumi.”
Zoey harrumphs like an old man. “That’s still going to feel like forever.”
“Keep complaining, and it’s gonna feel even longer than that.”
Zoey hates how Mira does have a point, sometimes. Begrudgingly, she hunkers down and works on deciphering more of that corporate jargon that’s been thrown at her, and it's not long before the next time she steals a glance at the clock that it’s finally twelve-thirty—lunchtime, at last.
She hums happily, no discernible tune in mind, her mood obvious—Mira rolls her eyes in fond amusement as they walk to the break room. Unsurprisingly, the break room and the accompanying employee lounge and cafeteria are Zoey’s favourite places to hang out(if not her only place to hang out). Where the large majority of Sunlight consisted of twisting corridors, dead space, and bleached walls, the lounge space feels homey with its wood-panelled rooms, splashes of colour with its cushioned furniture and the occasional potted plants scattered about, making the room feel more alive.
There are no sunbeams that pour in, despite Sunlight’s namesake, as the floor that the severed employees are restricted to is at least ten stories underground; the space is lit warmly with amber lamps flickering overhead, reminiscent of sunlight. And of course, the smell of fresh food wafting from the kitchens is always a nice plus.
If Zoey remembers correctly, the break room used to be just as bland as the rest of the floor, even before Mira got here, and it was all thanks to Bobby that the space had been renovated to feel, at the very least, a little more comfortable.
She kind of wishes she could give Bobby gifts to show her appreciation, because she might’ve gone insane if it wasn’t for this literal oasis that he’d provided her, but there’s little as to what she can do in terms of her severed status.
“Just keep working hard, and that’s all I need as thanks.” He’d said. “Ms Celine pays me well to take care of everyone here, and I like seeing it all pay off.”
Back to the present, Rumi isn’t hard to spot within the sea of employees milling about, helping themselves to coffee and trays of fresh, steaming food— her purple hair pleated into long, thick braid is a beacon amongst the black, and the unusual combo of a dark turtleneck worn underneath a silk blouse only serves to make her stand out more, as well as the noticeably odd choice to sling her employee ID behind her back.
“Rumi-seonbaenim!” She can’t help but call out to Rumi in her excitement.
Rumi whips around so quickly it startles Zoey, but not any more than her expression upon seeing the two of them—there’s a quick spark of joy in her eyes that fizzles out into something more subdued, but she smiles gently nonetheless, an awkward approximation of Zoey’s own grin.
“Hi, you two.” Her gaze flits between the two of them as they approach. “And Zoey, please. Like I told Mira, Rumi is fine.”
“Of course!” Zoey chirps back. “I just wanted to be sure, I didn’t want to be rude!”
Rumi blinks, brows slipping inward into an amused look. “That’s kind of you, but you don’t strike me as the type to be so, on purpose at least.” She nods her head toward the direction of the canteen. “Why don’t we get something to eat before you start the tour?”
“About time,” Mira says, but it doesn’t come off as rude. “I’m starving.”
“Oh, oh! Rumi, you should try out the kimbap, it’s so good! I mean, I wouldn’t know if there was any kimbap that’s better, because I wouldn’t remember—ooh, the tteokbokki is also really great—”
Oddly enough, despite it being the first real time ever talking to someone like Rumi(that she knows of, of course), Zoey finds herself falling into a comfortable conversational lull between her and Mira, her ramblings intercut with Mira’s banter and the quiet but steady agreements from Rumi. The way their mannerisms flow together feels like the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle that Zoey didn’t know she was solving.
It felt… right. Somehow. Friendly.
Even as they ate, the feeling continued to linger— Rumi happened to also be a member of the carb-loading club, which was hilarious given how it was revealed to them through the way she shoved an entire uncut kimbap roll into her mouth like it was no problem. For someone who gave the impression of refinement, their new boss-slash-friend(?) could really put away her food.
“It’s really all gone, Mira!”
“Are you like, a snake or something?” Mira had been squinting the entire time as it all but disappeared in less than a few minutes, and she was still squinting now as Zoey coaxed Rumi’s mouth open to reveal nothing there. “Where does all of that even go?”
Rumi just laughs softly. “I could say the same for you both, given the fact that we’ve barely just sat down for ten minutes and both your trays are half-empty.”
“Touché.”
“Well, office work is hard work, Rumi!” Zoey says. “We gotta fuel up somehow if we’re gonna get through the day!”
That was, of course, ignoring the fleeting thoughts of how no one their age seemed to eat as much, or the other hundreds of unexplainable things as to why her and Mira’s metabolisms seemed to burn up all the food they ate so quickly. Another mystery to the list.
Not that she wants to worry about it now. Zoey thinks about this stuff enough while she’s working, and now she just wants to think about finishing her food. Which she does, in record time, actually. Beating Mira by a hair in their usual impromptu eating contests to see who could clean their plate the fastest.
“Man, I’m stuffed,” She sighs, satisfied. Neglecting to remember the fact that she and Mira had Rumi sandwiched between the two of them rather than her usual place next to Mira, Zoey instinctively goes to lean on the nearest shoulder as a sort of respite.
She immediately realises what she’s done when her head drops lower than it should’ve when she usually leans on Mira’s shoulder. And where Mira’s arm is slender, the one she finds herself leaning on is wiry, with noticeable muscle that tenses upon contact.
Rumi’s expression flickers, eyebrows pinching. She looks so sad all of a sudden.
“Zoey,” Mira says warningly, sensing Rumi’s discomfort. However, the latter just waves her off before Zoey could even start any sort of panicked babbling.
“No, it’s fine,” Rumi even adjusts her posture so Zoey’s head doesn’t loll so awkwardly on her shoulder, expression already back to being politely neutral, although she doesn’t miss the wet sheen over her eyes. “Sorry. I was just caught off guard. It’s nice.”
“I probably should’ve asked, though, yeah,” Zoey says. “Sorry, I’m just so used to doing it with Mira…”
“Zoey, I promise it’s okay.” And that was that.
As she presses the side of her head to the fabric of Rumi’s blouse, she catches the distinct scent of something floral. Lavender, maybe? No, that wasn’t right. It was jasmine, steeped in a subtle hint of smoke, like faded incense.
Something in her heart aches at the scent—as if it were willing her brain to remember something it physically couldn’t. She catches a glimpse of a forest, a cliff, the smell of salt and the tang of shed tears. It left her head buzzing, feeling weirdly cold. Like the residual heat fading from a blanket leftover from a body.
Zoey shivers instinctively. Both Mira and Rumi notice, of course.
“Zoey?” Mira’s brow furrows slightly at her body’s sudden outburst. “What’s wrong?”
“Um—” Weird, her mouth feels dry, all of a sudden, too. Maybe she shouldn’t have gorged herself that quickly on carbs. “I’m okay. I think it’s just kinda cold here.” She laughs, and it sounds unconvincing.
“Well,” Rumi says smoothly. “It makes sense. I tend to run a bit hot, so I chose a table that was closest to the AC vents. Sorry about that, Zoey.”
Zoey looks up. Sure enough, they’re sitting under a vent, although the draft is barely noticeable.
Did Rumi…?
“Well, I suppose we’d better get on with that tour, regardless.” Rumi pats Zoey’s back, and the latter quickly lifts her head, revealing how the position had left one of her space buns slightly lopsided. “It took some help from Bobby to even make it to the break room today.”
“Right, of course.” Mira stands up, grabbing her tray as she does so. “We can start at the elevator and work our way from there.”
“Mhm!” Zoey quickly adjusts her hair before taking her own tray and standing up. “This place is a lot easier to navigate if we work our way from there.”
“Whatever you girls say.” Rumi’s smile is a bittersweet thing as she trails behind them, not that either of them seems to notice.
+++
The tour is nothing special, really.
The severed floor of Sunlight Industries is only remarkable in the fact that whoever built the place seemed to have a sadistic streak towards the directionally challenged, with its nonsensical layout and lack of any defining traits between rooms and hallways, as well as how wholly ironic it was to be located completely underground.
Zoey honestly doesn’t blame Rumi for getting lost yesterday and even today— there was a frustrating lack of signage except for the soulless paintings and corporate posters of cats hanging in trees. And god, not to mention all the unlabelled rooms and glass-walled offices obscured with generous swathes of tarp and tape.
“I think I actually have an answer for that, actually,” Rumi hums after her and Mira go off on a small three-minute tangent about it. “Some kind of expansion plan. Not sure for what, though.”
“Maybe they’re gonna give us all our own rooms, like Rumi’s,” Mira says. “Fucking finally.”
Zoey presses a hand to her chest, a mock expression of offence plastered over her face. “You mean you didn’t enjoy being desk buddies with me? Did our three weeks together mean nothing to you?” She sighs dramatically, fanning her other hand to her face. “You wound me, Mira.”
“That’s not what I meant, damn it—”
“You hate me so much…”
“Well, knowing Sunlight, it probably has nothing to severed employees, unfortunately.” Rumi interrupts, but her lips are curved upwards in amusement towards their antics. “I’m just an outlier because of my connection to Celine, most likely. But it is unfortunate that I’m separated from everyone else, especially as the department chief.”
“Hm, yeah, that was another thing I didn’t get,” Zoey says. “I dunno, isn’t the department chief supposed to represent all of us? How does Ms Celine expect you to do that when you’re boxed away in a room far away from everyone else?”
For a split second, Zoey catches the edge of Rumi’s eyebrow twitch downward, but before she can even begin to fathom what it means, Rumi turns away from her. “I’m sure she has her reasons. But I guess I’ll just have to make up for it somehow.”
There it was again.
That sadness.
Without a second thought, words are already tumbling out of her mouth.
“Imeanifyoudlikewecanbefriendswithyouandhelpyouout!”
Rumi blinks once. Twice.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“What I think Zoey is trying to say is that we’d be happy to help you where we can,” Mira says. Mercifully, she leaves the part about wanting to be friends out of her translation, which Zoey’s already beginning to regret.
Not that she doesn’t want to be friends with Rumi. She just chose a very bad way of going about it. Take it slow, Zo! You literally just met her.
“Oh, I see,” Rumi purses her lips together. “That’s very kind of you to offer, Zoey, Mira. If it’s not too much of a bother, of course…”
“Nope, not at all!”
What was wrong with her?
Why was she acting like this towards Rumi? First, it was getting too comfortable with her and leaning on her shoulder, and now it’s offering to help her out around the office? Why is she this desperate?
“Well,” Mira shoots her a bemused look. “That settles it, then. You’re stuck with us, now.”
Rumi chuckles, the sound tender. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“But first, we should probably finish the tour, we’re almost done…”
And just like that, the moment passes.
Mira takes up more of the talking and guiding after the whole exchange, which allows Zoey to dissect whatever the hell just happened.
Was she developing feelings… for Rumi? Is that why she’s been feeling this way, with all the heartaches and weirdness?
She slaps her face lightly for even entertaining the thought. No, no. That’s silly. Silly and ridiculous and wholly inappropriate. It earns her another odd look from Mira, but she pointedly chooses to ignore her. It’s a dumb idea. She just wanted to help Rumi out; that was all. Cheer her up.
While it’s technically not breaking the rules to date another employee in the workplace, it was seen as very taboo, with very good reason. When it comes to severance and the whole thing of having your personal life wiped clean from your mind, you don’t know if you’re already in a relationship or not, and it’s the same for the reciprocating party.
There’s just no way to ensure that you’re both available outside the workplace without taking it up with your outie, and that’s just a whole rabbit hole of bureaucracy and back-and-forths that usually end up being more trouble than they’re worth. And besides, she probably got severed to work without any personal baggage to be distracted by, not to socialise and mingle with pretty women.
But the feeling lingers with her. Sticks in the cavities of her skull like warm taffy, even after the tour and up until the end of the workday, when it’s finally time for her to clock out.
“See you on the other side,” She jokes lightly to Mira, who snorts and waves— it’s only funny because Sunlight deliberately staggers their clock-in and clock-out times in fifteen-minute intervals to prevent the likelihood of their outies meeting outside of the office. But this time, the thought of Rumi is still fresh on Zoey’s mind as she steps into the elevator, making her wish that it wasn’t so.
As the elevator shoots up, she wonders what kind of life Rumi led outside the office— probably something befitting of her looks, like a model or an athlete, maybe, considering the muscles Rumi seemed to have under her blouse-turtleneck combo. That would make sense.
Zoey’s cheeks turn pink at the thought. Well, no matter what, it’s the Rumi that was here with her that counted. The one she wants to make happy.
It’s the last thing she does before her mind hums with that oh-so-familiar static, and she blacks out.
+++
They got here early this time. And with a plan in advance to catch her, no less.
She was still riding off that high from Sunlight that she’d been distracted at tonight’s hunt, and she got distracted. So this is the price she’s paying tonight.
“Don’t move.”
Rumi grimaces as the shin-kal that’s been unceremoniously held up to her throat, but it's Zoey’s furious, anguished gaze that pins her down like a viper caught in the talons of a hawk. Mira’s off somewhere on the other side of town, mercifully— chasing down the swarm of faceless demons that she was before they got here.
Merciful may not be the right word for her situation right now. She can feel the blade pinch the skin on her neck every time she breathes, swallowing air in gulps because she’d been sprinting. It doesn’t help that today happened to have one of those sudden thunderstorms— the makeup she uses to conceal the patterns on her neck and face is quickly washing off, revealing them as they flare a hot, agitated magenta. The pressure is not enough to draw blood, but the knife is unpleasantly close to an artery.
“I don’t think I can,” Rumi wheezes out. Zoey seems to take her breathlessness for fear, and she narrows her eyes. Rumi notices how they glisten wetly in the low light.
Around them, the Honmoon quivers in its abject misery of seeing its hunters turned against each other, once again.
“Don’t take me for someone weaker than Mira just because I’m not going to kill you, yet.” Her voice is low, like a vitriolic sizzle of something acidic through the rhythmic thundering of rain. “I just figured, you being more talkative than the rest of your kind, that you’d be more useful alive than dead.”
Rumi dares to exhale. The point presses ever so closer to the pulsing spot on her neck, pinching the thin skin. The rain clouds drizzle overhead, rumbling and ancient.
“Where is Rumi? Is she…” Zoey cuts herself off with an angry shake of her head, but Rumi already knows what she was going to ask.
And this, this is why Rumi was so adverse to Celine’s plan. What was she supposed to say?
Something along the lines of ‘I’m half-demon and you’ve been trying to kill me this whole time because you thought I wasn’t the real Rumi!’
She doesn’t say that out loud, though.
“I’m not dead,” Rumi answers truthfully. “And I’m right here. I’m the real Rumi.”
“Bullshit,” Zoey spits, teeth bared. Thunder claps, and the flash of lightning cuts across her face like a razor. She’s so close to her now that Rumi can feel her breath hot on her cheek, smell the citrus and sandalwood of her shampoo. “You’ve said that lie before. Rumi isn’t a demon. She never was. And you have the patterns. Has playing house with us for god knows how long made you deluded enough to think you were good enough to be her?”
But Rumi does have demon blood in her. Her father was a demon, and ever since that day, her heritage had shown on her without her consent—on her arms, on her legs, striking her face like tiger stripes. She’s spent hours in front of the mirror in Celine’s compound, scrubbing them away as if they were nothing more than filth, but they stayed, stubborn and persistent, as well as the rest of her demonic features.
She hates how the only continues to crawl up her skin like a corruption, a festering mould, robbing her of her remaining humanity, and she hates seeing the recognition it brings to the demons she kills— the way their eyes widen with recognition upon seeing her patterns, piercing gold against piercing gold irises, just before she reduces them to dust.
She can just barely feel the skin of her neck starting to give under the point as Zoey presses harder. “Has Gwi-ma enthralled her? Has he done anything to her?”
“No, he hasn’t!” An inopportunely indignant flash of her patterns at the suggestion of making a deal with Gwi-ma of all things twists her words into a supposed lie.
“You’re lying!” Zoey hisses. “Last chance, where is she?”
Rumi sighs. With all the sincerity she can muster, she says the only thing she will. She will not lie again. “Zoey, I promise you, it’s me. I’m right here.”
Zoey screams out in frustration, and for a second, the alleyway flashes with the light of the Honmoon, and Rumi thinks that then and there, Zoey had decided to kill her. But when Rumi opens her eyes, she feels no pain, only sees several shin-kal stuck in the wall all around her, but never touching her. They quietly fade back into the ether as rain pours down all around them, revealing more of Rumi’s harsh, unfamiliar patterns on her skin.
“I—damn it,” Zoey’s face is harshly backlit against the neon lights, dripping with rainwater and tears. “Damn it. I can’t. I can’t kill you, even though I want to. Not when you have her face. Her voice. Why can’t… Why can’t you just stop wearing her face?” Her voice hitches painfully as she looks up at Rumi with something raw, something exposed. “Isn’t it cruel enough that you’ve stolen her from us?”
Rumi has no words for that. Instead, she’s taken back to their training days at Celine’s compound on Jeju island—it was right after one of the sessions where they were trying to summon weapons from the Honmoon, and while Rumi had done so effortlessly with Mira clumsily following suit after, Zoey had struggled for the entire hour until she spontaneously fled the grounds, leaving Rumi to run after her to check up on the youngest.
She remembers the threads of the Honmoon tugging her gently through the thin forest that surrounded the compound, in the direction of a clearing in the forest where there was a small beachside cliff, and that’s where she finds Zoey hunched into a ball, hugging her knees to her chest at the very edge of it. Rumi had carefully crept up behind her, just loud enough not to startle when she got close but quiet enough not to feel obtrusive. Zoey hadn’t turned to face her; in fact, she barely acknowledged her—not until Rumi was just a few inches away, and that was when she finally spoke.
“I know you’re deliberately making your footsteps louder, Rumi.” She sniffles. “You don’t have to do that. Celine drilled environmental combat awareness into all of us, remember?”
“Force of habit, sorry,” Rumi says. “Mira still doesn’t like being snuck up on. May I sit?” Zoey shrugs heavily, but she’s already shuffling slightly to the right to accommodate her. Rumi settles down next to her.
“I see you’ve taken to my favourite place on the island.” Are the next words out of Rumi’s mouth, an awkward attempt to diffuse the tension. “It’s pretty, right? And calming. Seeing the waves crash up against the rocks.”
“… It is,” Zoey says quietly. “It reminds me of Cali.” It’s disconcerting to hear Zoey so unwilling to elaborate, to ramble.
“Did you like the beaches there a lot?” At this point, she’s just trying to keep the conversation going. She already knows Zoey’s a big fan of all things summertime, and with the faded tan lines and darkened freckles on her arms and legs, it feels like a bit of a silly question, honestly. “Maybe we can—”
“Rumi.” Zoey cuts her off. “I— It’s okay. You don’t need to cheer me up.” She scrubs some of her drying tears off her face. “I just… I don’t know why I even bothered to think I was worthy of something greater,” Zoey scoffed wetly, tilting her head as she tore blades of grass from the dirt, uprooting and letting the grass stains and soil muddy her hands. “I don’t think I can do anything right.”
Rumi frowns. “Zoey, you know that’s not true—”
“Oh, please, Rumi.” The bitterness is all too foreign in Zoey’s voice. “I tried so hard back in the states to fit into all those little boxes that my teachers, my classmates, hell, even my mom and dad set up for me— I’m always too much. Not enough. Too weird. Too loud. It’s always something.” She shoves her head back into the crook of her arms. “The only thing different now is that I’m all alone.” A laugh forces out of her lungs in a way that sounds painful. “Maybe I was always meant to be.”
The silence that follows is deafening, even with the distant crash of sea spray against rock.
“You aren’t alone. Not anymore.”
Wearily, Zoey lifts her head from her knees, her leggings damp with tears. Rumi steels herself again and keeps going. “I swear it. The Honmoon chose the three of us for a reason. It always chooses three hunters. But,” She swallows. “I’d like to think that even if we weren’t hunters, the three of us would’ve been friends regardless.”
Rumi takes another breath. She’s not really great with the whole comforting thing, to be honest. So she does the only thing she can: be sincere.
“You’re perfect, Zoey. For Mira and me, you’re perfect for us. And if anyone else can’t see that, then they’re missing out. Meeting you both? It was the best thing that happened to me. I promise that.”
For a moment, nothing seems to happen. But as she blinks, she’s suddenly got an armful of Zoey, who she automatically embraces, patting her soothingly on the back as she hiccups wetly.
“That was so cheesy,” Zoey murmurs into her shoulder. “But I guess it’s a good thing, ‘cuz I love cheese.” Rumi laughs. There’s her girl. “But thanks for being here for me, Rumi. I love you and Mira too, so much.”
“We’ll always be there for you, Zoey,” Rumi says. “Whenever you need it.”
“It’s us against the world.”
She hasn’t seen Zoey break down this badly since that day. And it’s killing her. Especially when, not even a few hours ago, Zoey had gone to lie on her shoulder without any prompting during lunch— even when they had just been acquainted. But now the easiness of it all just feels so far away, as she watches Zoey cry her eyes out in front of her.
It’s a yearning so intense, so fiercely protective—all Rumi wants to do is hold her. She wants hold Zoey close and to cup her jaw with her hand and kiss her silly until she banishes all of Zoey’s worries away, wants her let Zoey rest up against her chest on their couch and let the rhythmic thump of her heartbeat lull the younger woman to sleep, until Mira finds them both asleep there in the living room and joins them, and then they’d all wake up stiff and sore but so unbelievably warm, bathed in quiet domesticity— and lost in the moment, she raises her hand to touch Zoey’s face.
Rather than warmth, her hand blossoms in sharp, agonising starbursts of white hot pain, and she looks at it dazedly to find that, oh, oh, that’s the tip of Mira’s gok-do cutting into the side of her palm, and it hurts like nothing she’s felt before.
She’s never really given a second thought as to how it feels to be hurt by a weapon of the Honmoon—back when everything was okay, the girls never sparred with their real weapons, and Celine had reassured them that their weapons were divine, and would not hurt any human.
But Rumi is only half. And maybe because she was only half, it only serves to make it worse.
Her hand doesn’t turn to pink dust. No, it sizzles.
It sizzles like skewered meat on a grill, and the broken flesh that kisses her torn skin crackles like barbecued pork belly, beginning to sear and brown at the edges where there’s little fat. It’s trying to burn the demon out of her, but it's too deeply marbled with the human, too, and—
Rumi screams.
As if resonating with her agony, the Honmoon shudders and tremors pink and purple and angry, and the gok-do embedded in the wall shivers and disintegrates into stardust— Rumi has to clamp her uninjured hand over her mouth in shock because that’s never happened before, and oh, god, she’s only getting more demonic—she’s hurting the Honmoon.
She can hurt the Honmoon now.
“Get away from her!”
And there comes Mira, barrelling into the alleyway after her weapon, bristling like a neon pink storm of damp cardamom and leather, and there’s something in her expression that’s less rage than usual and more… desperation.
“You can’t take her from me, too!”
Rumi snaps back into action, and she manages to side-skirt from the position Zoey pinned her in and retreat, panting hard and heavy and fearful as she bolts away. She doesn’t even turn back this time, because she knows she’s at a clear disadvantage at the moment, being hurt, but it doesn’t stop her from hearing Mira checking in on an equally shell-shocked Zoey, having felt the tremors in the Honmoon from her scream too.
“Did she hurt you?”
“No, she…”
The downpour shuts out the rest as she runs away, her blood scattering amongst the raindrops.