Chapter Text
Rumi announced her presence in Zoey’s door frame with a soft knock on the wood. “Hey! I brought you a change of clothes,” she stated, presenting a folded stack consisting of a soft hoodie and sweatpants, “It gets kinda cold here sometimes, especially with the storm. I thought you’d might want it.”
Zoey quickly tucked her notebook behind her back, so frantic to hide it she failed to notice it now balanced precariously on the edge of the bed. “Oh! Oh my gosh, thank you! I was a little worried I’d have to sleep in this,” she said with an anxious laugh, tugging on her cute summery top for emphasis.
Rumi stepped into the room, moving to hand Zoey the clothes. As she was reaching for them, the notebook slid off the bed and onto the floor, bouncing open to a page she had been writing in earlier that morning. Zoey froze in terror, eyes wide and glued to the scribbles on the pages now exposed for the world to see.
“Oh, let me get that,” Rumi said, and to Zoey’s horror, she bent down to pick up the book.
That’s it. It was over before it even began. Rumi would take one look at all her crazy, dumb ideas and think all Zoey was was some weird, chaotic gremlin who can’t keep a straight thought to save her–
“Here you go.”
Zoey hadn’t realized she was wincing until she heard Rumi’s calm, matter-of-fact statement. She blinked her eyes open, looking from Rumi to the offered – and closed – notebook before back to Rumi. “Y...you didn’t read any of it?” Zoey wondered cautiously.
Rumi frowned. “No... It’s clearly a journal of some kind. If you want me to read any of it I will, but only if you want me to,” she replied, her voice warm and kind and wonderful. Rumi was wonderful.
A relieved smile made its way onto Zoey’s face as she took her book back. “It...it’s kind of a journal?” she revealed, “I write...everything in it. Thoughts, ideas, information, lyrics...”
At this, Rumi perked up, like a dog overhearing the word “treat” in conversation. “Lyrics?” she repeated, “Like, lyrics from songs you enjoy?”
Zoey shook her head. “No, I...uh... I kinda...write lyrics?” she explained, nervously running her finger over the spine of her notebook, “I...I mean, I enjoy rap and I’ve been teaching myself how to write because I have so many ideas that would be great in songs but no where else to really put them, you know? And I mean, I’ve kind of got an idea for how the songs are supposed to sound but right now it’s more like beat poetry than anything else and... Why are you looking at me like that?”
Rumi had the biggest grin Zoey had ever seen. Like she was Joy personified. “Oh my gosh!” she squealed, bouncing on her heels in excitement, “That’s...that’s perfect!”
“It is?” Zoey wondered cautiously.
“What’s perfect?” Mira appeared in the doorway, popping up from behind the frame and eyeing the two of them with nonchalant curiosity.
“Zoey writes lyrics,” Rumi told her.
“Oh, I... I mean, I’m nothing special,” Zoey added quickly, “Really: it’s just a dumb hobby.”
“Hey, come on. Don’t sell yourself short,” Mira chided gently, then turned to Rumi, commenting, “It is perfect, though.”
“Ok, wait. I mean... What’s so perfect about me writing random lyrics in a notebook?” Zoey demanded, her heart fluttering in her chest.
“We needed a lyricist,” Rumi explained, “Mira’s really creative and design focused. She’s also great at picking out a rhythm and creating dance moves to go with it.”
“And Rumi sings like a goddess and knows how to play, like, ten different instruments. And she probably composes music in her sleep,” Mira continued, “But the thing is: we both suck at writing the actual lyrics.”
“Ok, I don’t suck at writing lyrics,” Rumi shot back defensively.
“No, but you’re not good, either. Neither am I,” Mira returned. Looking to Zoey, she elaborated, “I only knew how to play classical piano when I got here. But now I’m learning how to play the bass and the drums. And Rumi was an excellent fighter, but a shitty dancer until I got here.” Rumi opened her mouth to protest, but Mira held a finger up to her lips to cut her off. “My point is: we learned from each other. And we can learn from you, too. Just like you can learn from us.”
Rumi took this opportunity to stick her tongue out, giving Mira’s finger the ice cream treatment as punishment for interrupting her. “Ack! Rumi!” Mira gagged, snatching her finger back and wiping it off on her pyjama shirt with a grimace, “You fucking menace!”
Zoey giggled at the interaction, no longer feeling so nervous about her notebook.
“That’s more or less where I was going,” Rumi stated, “Before I was interrupted.” She shot a pointed look at Mira, who promptly stuck her tongue out at her in response.
“So...you guys think I’m really that good?” Zoey asked, shrinking in on herself a little.
“Well, we haven’t seen any of your stuff yet,” Rumi reminded her, “But only if you’re comfortable sharing.”
Zoey clutched her notebook tight to her chest, biting her bottom lip. She had to remind herself that Rumi and Mira were different. They genuinely wanted to see her work, not to make fun of her. But...what if once they start reading her tangled mess of words, they realize she’s not what they’re looking for?
“Hang on.” She glanced up in time to see Rumi duck out of the room. She only disappeared for a moment. Zoey almost believed she hadn’t even left at all based on how quickly she moved and how few footsteps she heard over the old wooden floorboards. But Rumi left, then returned, carrying a laptop in her hands. “Would it help if I showed you some of my work?” she offered, opening the laptop up and sifting through folders until finding one just filled with music files.
“Uh... I...I guess?” Zoey agreed tentatively, uncurling herself a little from her notebook. She shifted so she sat crosslegged on the bed, leaning over the edge as Rumi found a file and set it up to play.
A single note from a piano filled the room, accompanied by an ethereal orchestral echo. A few more notes played, slow and calm, though slowly building as the music began to swell. Then a song rose from the ethereal sound: a cool, hip-hop beat accentuating the piano. The rhythm was steady, maintained mostly by a soft, low beat punctuated periodically by a quiet snare.
The trio listened to it in silence. Zoey watched as Mira closed her eyes, head moving along in time with the beat. Rumi tapped her fingers on her knee, playing an invisible piano. She noticed the Honmoon even seemed intrigued, shining a little brighter on the walls around them, its light pulsing along with the song. The song was slower than she was used to writing for, but she could already think of some lines that would make it a heck of a ballad.
“Ooh, or what about this one?” Rumi said as the song ended, clicking on another track.
The next song started with a single, traditional flute. But it was not the quiet, peaceful sound Zoey would associate with the instrument. This flute was punchy, aggressive, which was only emphasized by a sudden beat drop, then another, culminating to a transition to an electronic dance sound that would fit right in at a club.
“Dude, I haven’t heard this one yet,” Mira said with an approving nod, “It sounds good!”
“Thanks. I wanted to try something that ties the historical hunter stuff with the new Kpop stuff,” Rumi explained, then turning to look expectantly at Zoey, “What do you think?”
“It’s cool!” Zoey replied eagerly, “Needs a rap, though.”
“Any ideas?” Mira prompted.
‘A lot, actually,’ Zoey thought as she bobbed her leg up and down. But were they good ideas? That was the million dollar question. She glanced down at the notebook in her hands, the distant echoes of middle school mean girls laughing at her weirdness whispering in her ears. She dared a glance up, and met Rumi and Mira’s gazes. Rumi, who was looking at her so softly, so earnestly: a safe and stable harbour for Zoey’s chaotic energy. And Mira, radiating confidence and strength, who seemed completely certain of Zoey’s abilities without having heard any of them.
“Ok, well...” Zoey began tentatively, flipping through the pages in search of something that fit the vibe of the song, “I do have...something? It’s not amazing or anything but maybe it could work? I...I wrote it as an intro for myself if I ever wanted to try a rap battle.”
She handed Rumi the notebook, her hands hesitating after it left them as a fleeting thought of regret crossed her mind. But then Rumi started to read, with Mira hovering over her shoulder.
“Okay, like, I know I ramble, but when shootin’ my words, I go Rambo. Took blood, sweat, and tears to look natural,” Rumi read aloud. Zoey held back her desire to wince – god, it sounded so stupid out loud like that.
“What’s a Rambo?” Mira wondered.
“Hang on,” Rumi told her, before typing something in on her computer. Google pulled out multiple images of Rambo, in all of his sleeveless, muscled, machine-gun-wielding glory.
Mira nodded in approval, shooting Zoey an impressed smile. “Sick,” she replied in the same cool-badass tone Zoey had always dreamed someone would use when talking about her ideas.
“Wait, really?” Zoey asked in astonishment, “You guys like it?”
“Love the visual,” Mira stated, “How were you thinking it would sound?”
“Oh, uh... That part I’m not sure about,” Zoey said with a wince, “I’ve got the line breaks, but in terms of a beat... I dunno. Sometimes I put too many words in a line then struggle to find the flow.”
Mira nodded as she thought. “Yeah, yeah,” she murmured, tapping her finger on her thigh to time out a beat, “How fast can you actually rap?”
“Heh, pretty darn fast, if my talking is any indication,” Zoey answered with a self-deprecating chuckle, “Here, watch!” She ran through the lines as they came to her in her head. Mira and Rumi watched on, their expressions revealing how impressed they were.
“Wow, you can go fast,” Rumi noted. She then sifted through tracks in her music program, adding, “Ok wait, wait. Try that again, but with...this... Here!”
Music started to play. Zoey bobbed her head along for a few bars before getting the rhythm down, then repeated her lines.
“Ooh, I like that,” Rumi said with an excited bounce.
“You guys are having all the fun,” Mira lamented with a teasing grin.
“A...actually,” Zoey stuttered nervously, “I...I have a couple more lines... I may have been inspired earlier today watching you guys kick demon butt.”
The continued on like that, the sky darkening further as day gave way to night. Zoey surprised even herself with how many ideas she got from the day they had. And she discovered it was way better writing lyrics with Mira and Rumi as opposed to on her own. The pair had a way of sorting through the chaos in her mind, finding the thought she wanted to work on and helping her put the right words together. Before, that process had been on herself and her trusty notebook to figure out, and it could get exhausting just to get anything that sounded good. But now they could bounce things off each other, with Mira helping best with the pacing and Rumi with the actual notes.
“Ok, aaand... Go!” Rumi said, clicking play on her laptop.
The instrumental started, the three of them getting into the correct rhythm. Then Mira began: “I don’t bite, full of venom. Spittin’ facts, just like that.”
Zoey and Rumi chimed in with her for: “Dun dun dun!”
“Ok, I know I ramble. But when shootin’ my words, I go Rambo. Took blood, sweat, and tears to look natural,” Zoey rapped out.
“Dun dun dun!”
Then Rumi opened her mouth, and a voice Zoey could only describe as otherworldly began to sing: “Here our voice unwavering. ‘Til our song defeats the night. Makin’ fear afraid to breathe. ‘Til the dark meets the light!” Her voice built up and up, until she hit a ridiculously amazing note on the last word. The spectacle was only improved by the Honmoon vibrating happily in response to the sound.
(A floor below, Celine glanced up from working on patching the tear in Rumi’s shirt, sewing needle in hand. Her gaze flitted above the rim of her rectangular glasses, toward the ceiling where the Honmoon danced in reaction to Rumi’s voice. To all of their voices. Celine couldn’t help but smile at the sight.)
Zoey’s jaw dropped open again.
“Whoa, I got chills just now,” Mira stated, showing off the goosebumps on her arm.
Zoey bounced up and down in excitement. “Oh my gosh we’re totally doing this!” she squealed.
“That was good,” Rumi agreed, “Let’s keep going!”
“This is way more fun with help,” Zoey admitted, “I haven’t had so many ideas, like, ever!”
“Got any other good riffs, Rumi?” Mira prompted.
Rumi thought for a moment, then searched through her folder to locate another audio file. “Ok, this one is rough. Like, rough rough. I just recorded myself singing a few notes, but it popped into my head one day when Celine was taking me to the dentist and I really wanted to save it.”
Then she hit play.
– – –
The storm shifted as it moved across the landscape. Howling wind and rumbling thunder gave way to heavy rain coming almost straight down, as loud as a waterfall against the roof. Celine peered out a window just to make sure nothing was at risk of flooding the house, and noted with a pleased hum that the rain barrels should be nice and full for a while after this. There wasn’t much else to see beyond the porch light. The storm made the night extra dark. It should be a prime time for demons, but save for water demons, most tended to stay away during weather like this. As if to assuage her concern, the Honmoon hummed happily before drifting into dormancy once more.
It had gone quiet in the hanok, giving strong indication that the girls had fallen asleep. They had all had a long day, after all. It was understandable they’d drift off. And as she headed up the stairs and to Zoey’s room, her suspicions were confirmed.
Zoey was sound asleep on the bed, spread out like a starfish. Her notebook hung off the edge of the bed but was still clutched tightly in her hands. Mira was curled up into a comically tight ball (given how long and lanky she was) in a chair across from the bed. And Rumi was knocked out on the floor, sitting upright with her back against the side of the bed. Various pages and pencils were scattered around them, and Rumi’s laptop was left open beside her. Celine chuckled fondly from her position in the doorway.
“Eager to get started,” she murmured, “I know the feeling.” Then she frowned, wishing she could just leave them be. But some rules were in place for a reason.
She softly headed over to Rumi’s sleeping form and gently shook the girl’s shoulder. “Rumi-ya,” she whispered, “You need to go to your own room.”
Rumi stirred almost immediately – years of hunter training made her a light sleeper – and she blinked up at Celine. “Cece?” she groaned as she rubbed her eyes.
“Come on, let’s get Mira up,” Celine instructed, keeping her voice soft and quiet.
Rumi frowned and shook her head. “No,” she replied, sleepiness making her voice heavy and slow, “She doesn’t need to go all that way.” She pushed herself up to her feet and padded over to Mira. With only a little coaxing, she was able to get Mira conscious enough to get her on her feet and able to be guided over to the bed. Rumi just managed to save Mira’s glasses before the pink-haired girl all but collapsed onto the soft surface, scooping Zoey up into her arms like she was one of those giant stuffed teddy bears. Zoey didn’t object in the slightest to the new sleeping arrangement.
Rumi chuckled softly at the sight. “They’ll be good like that ‘til morning,” she stated as she folded Mira’s glasses and set them down carefully on the nightstand.
Celine saw the way Rumi looked at them, a subtle longing in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Rumi,” she atoned, “Just until...”
“I know,” Rumi replied sadly, staring at her friends a while longer before turning back to Celine with a hopeful smile. “We’ll just have to make it quick, won’t we?”
Celine couldn’t help but smile at Rumi’s endless optimism. It was a contagious thing, after all. They quietly left the room, Rumi taking care to close the door as silently as possible behind them.
“Good night, Rumi,” Celine said over her shoulder.
She was mid-reach for her own door handle when a soft voice called out to her. “Celine?”
Celine turned, spotting Rumi still in front of Zoey’s door, one hand lingering on the wooden surface. “Is it...normal to feel this...” Rumi struggled with the words, her brow creasing as she concentrated.
“Feel what, Rumi?” Celine prompted gently.
“After finding your hunters...” Rumi elaborated, “I just... I feel whole. Like I had been missing something I didn’t even know I was missing, but now I’ve found it and everything feels...”
“Complete?” Celine offered with a wistful smile.
Rumi nodded, turning away from the door to meet Celine’s gaze. Her eyes glowed faintly, in the dark hallway.
“Hunters come in threes, Rumi,” Celine reminded her, “Your generation of hunters is now together.”
Rumi frowned. “But...if this is how it feels now that we’re together...” Even in the dark hallway, Celine could see the concern on the teen’s face. “What...what happens if...” A hand found her chest as Rumi tightly balled a fistful of her hoodie over her heart. “If...this is what ‘complete’ feels like then what if we’re...not...together anymore?”
Celine swallowed, her throat suddenly too dry and tight. She could lie, try to spare Rumi from the truth. But she would learn the truth one day, and all the better to learn now from Celine as mere words of “what if” instead of the actual reality. “You won’t be...complete...anymore,” she replied quietly.
Rumi’s grip on her sweater tightened further. “I already can’t imagine existing without this,” she murmured, “It...it would feel like having my heart ripped out.” She met Celine with an impossibly sad expression, as what she feared was confirmed. “Is that...”
Celine closed the distance between them, wordlessly reaching out to cup Rumi’s face in her hands. “Oh Rumi-ya,” she sighed, soft and adoring. The grief that hung over her continued to weigh her down, but Rumi’s deep concern stirred something warm and wonderful in Celine’s wounded heart. “I have everything I need right here, under this roof,” she promised. Celine has had to tell many lies in her life, but this was not one of them.
Rumi leaned into her shoulder, and Celine wrapped her arms around her girl. Two snapped and frayed threads drifted lazily in the breeze where there should be three strong tethers. One remained, holding her entire being to the life she lived as a hunter, a musician, a guardian. But the hug reminded Celine that there were more, now. Ropes that were a surprise, two of them brand new, mooring her heart and keeping it safe from drifting away forever. The emptiness may linger in her for the rest of her days, but it was not as cavernous as it once was. And she had Rumi to thank for that.
Rumi sniffled as she held Celine closer. “I love you, Cece,” she uttered into Celine’s shoulder, her voice containing a certain kind of desperation, like she needed Celine to know. To believe her.
Celine merely held her close. “I love you, too, Rumi.”