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“No! Don’t leave! Don’t leave! I can still…fix it!”
Rumi. She was desperate, crying, begging, pleading, reaching out for her. And Mira…she wanted to reach back, wanted to take the trembling, pattern-covered hand that was stiff with fear and shame. She tried to reach out, tried to lift her own hand, but instead a familiar purplish-blue glow filled her vision. Rather than grab the desperate hand, she held her woldo in front of her, the edge angled right between Rumi’s eyes. They reflected desperation, the look of hurt that spilled as tears down her patterned face, twisted Mira’s stomach and squeezed at her heart. Why was she holding her weapon up and not trying to reach her? Why?
“You thought you found a family? You don’t deserve one. You never have.” That voice again. Mira squeezed her eyes shut and swung her weapon in an attempt to lash out where the voice was coming from. She didn’t recognize it, didn’t know who spoke it, so when her blade cleaved through something solid, she opened her eyes again to see.
Staring back at her, the blade embedded deep within the torso, was…her. She wore the outfit she had that night of the Idol Awards, and her face was a twisted sneer like she had seen on the stage. Her eyes were so hateful, so bloodthirsty. Was she always like that? Was…that how people saw her?
“Look at how you treated her. She’ll never forgive you. Why bother trying?” That…that was her voice, but it didn’t come out of the reflection in front of her. When she turned, she saw another one, this time dressed in her usual street disguise. “Always hiding, always pretending you’re a good person when you know you’re not.”
“And you proved it. You wanted to kill her, kill your best friend. You weren’t going to hesitate if she tried to get close again.” Another source of her voice, this time coming from the outfit she’d worn when they pursued the Saja Boys. Like this, she looked dangerous. Deadly. “We know you, Mira.”
“No…” She shook her head, trying to look away. But everywhere she turned, she was facing herself. Her face, the very thing that always pushed everyone away. The anger that scared people, the hate that was so quick to boil up inside of her, all of it on full display in an array of her costumes, her disguises. “No, I’m not…”
“She’ll never forgive you. You pushed her away, just like you did your own family.”
“Just like you always do.”
“You don’t deserve to have a family.”
“You deserve to be alone. Left behind. Forgotten. Abandoned.”
Mira dropped her weapon, doubling over and reaching to cover her ears. But no matter how hard she pressed her palms over them, the voices continued to get in. Continued to reach out to her, to mock her, to tell her things she knew yet didn’t want to hear. Tried NOT to hear. And tears were soon rolling down her cheeks as she dropped to her knees, a choked sob escaping her.
“No one will ever love you.”
Mira’s eyes snapped open, and she sat bolt upright in her bed, one hand clutching her chest as it rose and fell rapidly in her desperation to breathe. Her eyes snapped around her darkened room, taking in the shadowy shapes of hidden furniture. The sky outside was still dark, with a bit of moonlight barely reaching in around the illumination that normally glowed from the logo on their building, keeping her room shrouded.
It took a while for her breathing to settle into something more normal, and that was when she noticed the wetness on her cheeks and around her eyes. She reached to try and wipe them away, but they were just replaced from her still pouring eyes. The futility of it sparked a bout of rage and frustration that boiled from her aching chest, and soon she was up and moving, ripping open drawers and pulling out some sweats before making her way out of her room.
The rage didn’t overtake the pain but rather melded with it, making every thought and every feeling hurt. They followed her, echoes of her own voice still whispering in her ear, mocking her, taunting her. The only thing that usually helped was grabbing a pair of boxing gloves and taking out her aggression on the punching bag hanging in the corner of the room.
As if her mind wasn’t bad enough, taped to the side of the punching bag was a set of penciled abs signed with the name Abby. It already had plenty of tears in it, and more were added as she put all the strength possible into the punches she threw.
Normally, punching something that earned her ire helped channel some of the rage out, but this time it wasn’t working. Each punch only seemed to add to the voices still whispering in her head, still stroking her brain with truths she tried to ignore, drowned her vision in watery hate that made it impossible to focus. She became aware of a ringing in her ears and a sharp pain in her throat with the final punch, and it took far too long to realize that she’d been screaming furiously until she closed her mouth.
The silence was deafening. Her arms slumped to her sides, her breathing once again rapid, tears still running down her face.
“Mira?” Her body stiffened, and she wheeled around, wide eyes landing on a very worried looking Rumi. The real one, because this one was covered in a prismatic sheen, not the purple rot of demons. The sleepwear she was in was more revealing than it had ever been, showing off all of the patterns as she had them now.
“…sorry, did I wake you up?” Mira didn’t know what to say. She was still breathing hard, still trembling, and even when she spoke, her voice came out wavery. She shook her head and tilted it back, closing her eyes to try and calm down.
“No, I was…already awake.” Rumi’s footsteps were soft, muffled by the little bear slippers she was wearing. “But I heard screaming and wanted to check on you.”
“I’m fine.” Mira half turned away, ripping her hand out of one of the boxing gloves so she could reach up and rub at her eyes. How stupid, to be caught in this state when the person she had threatened was the one to find her. “I’m alright, Rumi.”
“You don’t seem like it.” Rumi was close now, and Mira could feel the heat radiating off of her body. A hand gripped the glove she was still wearing, gently pulling it off. “Come sit down.”
Mira let out a frustrated breath, but she did allow herself to be guided over to a bench, with Rumi sitting next to her. She refused to look her in the eye, refused to look anywhere near her really. Why would Rumi even bother, she should hate her… And why were these stupid tears not stopping?!
“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want,” Rumi offered. Her hand settled on Mira’s knee, and the contact forced Mira to glance over at her. “Whatever’s bothering you, I mean. But I would like to help as much as I can.”
“…why? Why would you want to help me?” Mira finally managed to croak out. She hadn’t realized the anger was starting to leech out of her, almost as if Rumi’s touch was siphoning it out, leaving only the grief and guilt behind. “After what I…after what happened.”
“What?” Rumi tilted her head before her expression sobered. “You aren’t still thinking about the Idol Awards, are you?”
“How can I not?!” Mira made to get up, but Rumi caught her and pulled her back down. “If I hadn’t…I tried to…wanted to kill…” She dropped her gaze to her hands, curled up into half-fists. “I was going to kill you, Rumi. I wouldn’t have hesitated.”
The admission felt like acid on her tongue, and she dropped her face into her hands. Because that part was true – in that moment, with the madness of fear and betrayal, seeing Rumi’s impact on the Honmoon at the time, she was sure she wouldn’t have hesitated to kill her if she’d gotten closer to them. And that made this so much worse. The guilt was eating her up inside.
Silence met her admission, and she was given time to breathe into her hands, struggling to calm herself down. She was expecting to be pushed away in disgust, to be accused of being a horrible friend, or even to be struck.
Instead, two arms wrapped around her, pulling her against her side.
Every part of her body tensed up, and her brain misfired. This wasn’t a reaction she’d ever received before. Punishments always met her outbursts, from timeouts to being grounded to even a physical strike. Yet when she lifted her gaze, the arms holding her glowed with the prismatic beauty of the demon she had just admitted to wanting to kill.
“But you didn’t, did you? I’m still right here.” Rumi’s voice was so incredibly soft that it felt like a strike in and of itself. She wasn’t yelling, wasn’t raising her voice, she was just…gentle.
It only fueled Mira’s anger, but not directed at her.
Mira ripped herself away and got to her feet, a new wave of tears running down her face as she rounded on Rumi. Even her face was a soft, understanding, gentle expression that made it impossible to stay mad.
“How?” Her voice audibly broke, and she reached to put a hand to her throat. “How can you just…forgive me? Don’t you want to get revenge on me for it? Punish me?”
“Why would I?” Rumi tilted her head to the side. “You didn’t do anything, Mira.”
“I pointed my blade at you!” Mira spat. She tugged at her hair, unsure of how to deal with the tension built up inside of her. “I just told you I wanted to kill you, Rumi! How can you just sit there and…and…?”
“Because it didn’t happen.” Rumi got to her feet. Mira braced herself, waiting for the soft words to be betrayed by a sharp strike. Instead, she was once again pulled into a hug, led back down to the bench. “It doesn’t matter what could have happened. It didn’t, and we’re here. I’m not going to be angry with you for that.”
“But…” Mira’s voice faltered, and she collapsed into the warmth wrapped around her. “But if I had…”
“Ifs will drive you insane.” Rumi’s hand gently ran through her hair, getting caught on knots she hadn’t realized were there because she hadn’t checked before coming down to the exercise room. “I should know, I’ve thought about what could have been if I’d told you guys early on about my patterns. If I told you about Jinu, if I didn’t come back to face down Gwi-Ma. It’s an infinite spiral that doesn’t help anything. Or anyone.”
Mira slumped against her, all of the fight leaving her body. She wanted to cling to the anger, but it was just not there anymore. And even the guilt was being slowly brushed away by those soft words. She ended up wrapping her arms around Rumi in turn, burying her face against her neck.
“…I don’t mean to pry, but why did you expect me to punish you? Not even Celine ever did…”
“Ah.” Mira bit her lip, and she squeezed Rumi closer. “…I was a troublemaker growing up, and my parents sometimes tried…extreme measures to put me in line. It never worked, of course, but I still remember them.”
Rumi tightened her hold, the warmth of her body easing the tension in Mira’s. It felt like a weighted blanket, only better because if she tilted her head just enough, she could hear the steady heartbeat pumping in Rumi’s chest. Her own settled into a harmony with it, finally calming the racing panic that had stuck with her since she woke up from her nightmare.
When her breathing had evened out, Rumi finally nudged her back. She almost resisted, because she was afraid this was all in her head, but Rumi’s hands never left her.
“Hey. Come on, look at me.” Rumi nudged her gently. When Mira didn’t look right away, she leaned in closer to try and catch her gaze. “Mira, look at me.” When she finally did, she found Rumi’s look of pure adoration all focused on her. The person she’d threatened, been afraid of, and pushed away, and there she was watching her like she was the most important person in the world. “Nothing you do is going to push me away. Never again.”
“…not even if I raise my blade at you?” Mira asked, her voice shaking a little.
“Well, that just means I’ll have to beat you in a fight,” Rumi hummed lightly. She lifted a brow. “What’s the score now?”
“You’re only asking because you know you’re a few up on me,” Mira accused, and Rumi’s laughter helped her to relax more. “You really aren’t mad at me? You don’t hate me?”
“Of course not.” Rumi pulled her into another hug. “I love that fiery personality. It’s so you, Mira. I could never hate you for that.”
“Even though I-?”
“This is the same spiral as, ‘what ifs’.” Rumi squeezed her. “Don’t let the voices make you question things. Listen to my voice right here, right now – I love you. Every part of you, every flaw and imperfection. Because they are what makes you you.”
“When did you get so sappy?” Mira mumbled, but she did bury her face against Rumi’s neck, taking a moment to really appreciate how warm and bright she was.
“You’ve heard some of our older songs, I’ve always been sappy. But you just need a little extra reminding sometimes,” Rumi chuckled lightly. “And I’m more than happy to keep whatever bad thoughts are upsetting you away.”
Mira exhaled. She was the one to pull away this time, and she gave Rumi one of her rare, soft smiles. The only ones reserved for those closest to her – her friends, the only family she had.
The only one she needed.
“I am still sorry, you know.” She brushed her hair back over her ear, letting out a breath and tilting her head back. “…Gwi-Ma got in my head. Managed to convince me I didn’t deserve a family, that I was unlovable.”
“He’s projecting.” Rumi got to her feet. “Because I won’t ever stop loving you, Mira.”
“Heh.” Mira glanced up at her before joining her. With all of the adrenaline leaving her body, she leaned a little on Rumi to help keep her up. “Great, now my legs are broken.”
“I’ve got you.” Rumi shook her head and wrapped her arm around her, helping her out of the exercise room and back up to the main area of their space properly.
The entire way, Mira kept glancing down at her. She took in the look of her friend, the coloration of her patterns also in her hair along some strands. The expression she wore was at peace, as if she really was telling the truth that she wasn’t upset with Mira. How that was possible was unfathomable to Mira herself, but that’s what made Rumi so unique – she thought in ways that no one else did, or could.
“Thanks. For coming to check on me.”
“That’s what friends are for, right?” Rumi smiled up at her. “And family. That’s what a proper family does – take care of each other.” She squeezed her closer. “You’re right where you belong, Mira. So long as you want it.”
“You know I do.” Mira let out a breath.
Rumi helped her to her own bathroom so she could draw a bath, and even sat with her as she sunk beneath the water, soaking in the heat. They didn’t need to talk for Mira to feel better; just having Rumi there in the same room with her, sitting with her, both in silence yet aware of each other, was more than enough. The tears that had steadily been falling since waking up from her nightmare had finally run dry, and the smile she’d given to Rumi became a permanent fixture on her face as the rest of the evening’s stress was soaked out of her.
No more words were exchanged for the rest of the night. Once Mira dried off, Rumi ended up following her to her room. Much like Mira and Zoey sometimes would when things were stressful, Rumi climbed into her bed and cuddled up against her, giving Mira something solid to hold onto to keep her head from slipping beneath the surface of fear and self-hate as she drifted off to sleep. The closeness was the silent answer she had needed.
She belonged here, with her friends. Her family.