Chapter Text
Ever since the horrifying and deeply traumatising reveal of her patterns on the Idol Award's stage, where millions had seen Zoey and Mira quite literally physically and metaphorically tear her apart – no matter if they were demons in disguise; the audience did not know that – Rumi had taken a liking (if she could even refer to it as that; more so a coping mechanism if anything) to scalding hot showers.
Not only did it help her distract the many thoughts racing through her mind, it also seemed to grant her a secondary reliever: closing her eyes, it almost felt like the hot water could help burn the patterns off of her skin once and for all, disposing of it like dirt as it trickled deviously down the drain.
Truth was, and always will be: she felt dirty. Utterly, irrevocably filthy.
It was never enough; it never could be. As she was stuck reminiscing the moment over and over again, watching it twist and turn in her mind's eye as it became uglier every single time. The doubts and fears had coalesced and manifested itself through the aching of her heart. It jolted and reared its ugly head at her, akin to the demons who bore the faces of her dearest soulmates, the ones who had looked at her with utter contempt. Who smirked at the brink of her downfall, at the collapsing of the walls she had fought so hard for so long to build, exposing the ugly vulnerability of her underneath.
She bowed her head and gripped the bathroom wall, knuckles turning pale as paper as her nails dug deep into the soft flesh of her palm. She began hyperventilating, breath catching in her throat like sharp daggers as she fought under the still-running water that continued to pelt her like bullets.
All at once, everything seemed to be too much - the water felt like pinpricks of broken shards of glass, her body felt like it did not belong to her - it was her and wasn't at the same time. She began heaving and gasping, her long, lavender hair framing her small, fragile body.
That's when she heard the voices.
A demon with no feelings don't deserve to live, it's so obvious.
She remembered the stage, the blinding lights, the feeling of being a deer in the headlights, facing a sure and impending doom.
She had clutched at the tattered sleeves of her outfit, desperately clinging to the fabric as if it could hide the swirling patterns pulsing underneath her skin, matching the palpitations of her heart.
There was a shove, making her stumble.
Zoey?
A hiss in her ear, dripping with malice.
Mira?
Their eyes – she will never be able to forget them for as long as she lived. Swirling deep in the recesses of their irises were disgust, distrust, and everything distasteful that left a sharp bitterness in her mouth.
"Please... please don't..." tears began forming in her eyes but were quickly washed away by the water jetting out from the shower head, to the point she could not make heads or tails where her tears began to form and where the shower met.
She thinks about what happened after: HUNTR/X not only announced a three-month hiatus but their change in management from Celine to another lesser-known member of the industry that Bobby had introduced to them. The girls had collectively decided that a professional split due to 'differences in creative direction' would be the way to go about it, seeing as there was no way for them to tell the whole world that the woman was actually a retired demon hunter who had almost led to the demise of the world as they knew it and, more importantly, the soulmate bond between the three girls.
It was incredibly tough for Rumi, seeing as the only mother figure she had ever known had not bothered to reach out to her since, did not care to check in on her after their recent... encounter.
Why can't you look at me?
She thought of how Celine's hand hovered over her face, almost as if her skin was made to burn, to eradicate everything. Something so fatal that by just touching it, touching her would cause irreparable damage, desecrating the purity of human skin.
Why couldn't you love me; all of me?
Demonic tremors shook the ground and the Honmoon groaned weakly, signifying its pain, its grief over the scene before it.
She clenched her eyes shut, hoping it would help ground her somewhat, but the voices, they were too loud, too all encompassing; they overwhelmed her very being.
Through the bleak din of her thoughts, she vaguely heard the voice of her therapist echoing in the back of her mind, her very first session right after the fight with Gwi-Ma.
"I understand that you have had some difficulties in the past with regulating your emotions, Miss Rumi."
The clacking of pen against a wooden clipboard made her flinch. She expected sterile walls - she always thought she would end up somewhere of the sort if anyone ever deemed her too dangerous, not only to others but to herself - and yet the room she was in was cozy.
It was a quaint little place, covered in warm colours to no doubt provide patients with a sense of comfort. The sofa she was sitting on was soft yet held her up sturdily, offering her some stability.
Much like every other doctor's office, there were frames lining the wall neatly: a framed piece on wildlife in the savannah, documents certifying her many credentials in the field of psychology, and the quintessential flower (she guessed they were peonies) to sympathise with whatever sad soul happened to grace this office, almost as if it was gently chiding "Hey, don't worry, nothing is deeply, unnervingly wrong with you."
What really caught her eye, however, was the large framed picture of an absolutely rotund chonk of a dog with the name 'Whitney Chewston' sprawled underneath.
She'd always wanted a dog; well, at least she sorta had a pet now... only that it came in the form of a demon tiger that spawned from the depths of hell where Gwi-Ma resided.
Rumi was just musing about the interesting choice in name when she was jolted back to the present by the hum of the lady in front of her. To describe her as friendly was something Rumi wouldn't agree on: the middle-aged lady was more so inquisitive, curious, her features bearing signs of age as wrinkles had begun to set in.
It's funny, Rumi had faced many life-threatening situations in her short albeit insanely eventful life - slaying demons and balancing that with jam-packed schedules as an idol. And yet none of those seemed to measure up to having to admit the truth to the lady in front of her - whatever plagued and continued to drown Rumi every night as she woke up in a cold sweat (it had increased tenfold ever since the Incident).
A trained, perfect smile she reserved specifically for professional appearances on stage, on variety shows, during interviews, appeared on her face – one she liked to think she had mastered and yet Mira called bullshit, absolute hogwash whilst Zoey fluttered about her in worry, trying her best to appease her worries in any way possible. "You can... call it that, I guess."
"Then," the therapist gently set the clipboard aside, instead opting to lean ever so slightly to look - no, study - the minuscule details in the way Rumi began shifting herself in her seat awkwardly, "- tell me about these panic attacks you've been having."
-
One. Two. Three.
Rumi steadily tapped on the wall, murmuring the numbers to herself repeatedly like a mantra, a prayer to anyone who cared to listen, to steel her nerves and to calm the monstrously loud thoughts that had made for itself a home in her mind, threatening to smother her.
One.
She traced the crisscrossing of lines on the bathroom wall, thin little cracks barely there but still there nonetheless, steam from the hot shower appearing and evaporating in quick succession.
"So sweet so easy on the eyes."
Two.
Her lips were bleeding, again, she offhandedly realised. She had developed the terrible habit of chewing on her bottom lip – or sometimes straight up biting down hard to purposely break the soft tissue, the sharp pain a reminder that she was still here, she was still present, she was alive (or so she thought).
"But hideous on the inside."
Three.
Hands flew to grip at her head as she started pulling at the ends of her hair, wincing as several strands harshly came loose from her scalp from the harshness and desperation at which she was clinging to them. But she couldn't care less. Perhaps she deserved the self-inflicted pain. Maybe she should just disappear.
Whole life spreading lies, but you can't hide, baby nice try.
Curling into herself, she clutched her chest, feeling her heart thrum painfully against her ribcage, threatening to burst forth at any moment. She clawed cruelly at the skin, tearing through the delicate tissue, as she watched red bloom across the fresh wounds.
Red, the colour of human blood. She was here; she was still human.
"I am..." she sputtered, before hacking violently upon water going down the wrong pipe, causing a coughing fit that was sure to catch the attention of her soulmates.
Sure enough, there were soft footsteps. A knock.
"Rumi? You've been in there a while."
She turned off the shower and stepped out, steam swirling all around and fogging the mirror adjacent to the door. She preferred it that way; she didn't have to be reminded of the hideous patterns imprinting its swollen, purplish tendrils all over her limbs, like poisonous parasitic vines attaching itself to suck the very life force out of her.
Not even bothering to cover herself up with a towel, she pulled the bathroom door wide open to reveal Zoey standing just pass the threshold, hand mid-air in an attempt for another knock. Her brown doe eyes widened at the sight of Rumi – not only dripping from head to toe, but with fresher wounds blossoming across her chest that were definitely not present from their recent fight with the few straggling demons who were caught stranded in this realm after the Honmoon.
Pushing past Rumi, she hurriedly made for the rack where her towel was hanging carelessly and wrapped the older girl in the soft cotton material, effectively embracing her too. No words were said as she ushered the both of them out in a clumsy crabwalk sort of motion before plopping Rumi down on the couch in her room.
In the silence that followed (save for the occasional pitter-pattering of Zoey zooming around to gather some of her freshly washed and ironed clothes - Rumi mused at the fact that the younger girl had consciously picked up her favourite sweater and pyjama pants - and the first aid kit the girls typically kept around their apartment for their post-demon scrapes), Rumi kept her gaze averted, posture as small as possible. It was as though if she made herself small and scarce enough, she could cease to exist.
When Zoey finally appeared right before her again, her small yet firm stature was huffing and puffing. Then, she uttered a single word, "Up."
Rumi understood and stood up on shaky legs as Zoey gently grabbed the ends of her towel and proceeded to wipe her dry of any excess water, careful to avoid causing any further abrasions to the wounds on her chest. The tenderness in which she was being held, being taken care of, left her feeling the telltale pinpricks of tears at the corners of her eyes.
"I'll get Mira to come dry your hair while I tend to your wound, okay? Is that alright, Rumi?" Zoey swiped at the stray tears trailing down her cheeks, eyes swirling with unconditional love for her.
How could she, when she is forced to look at the ugliness of her flesh, at the sickly purplish hue of patterns slinking its way down her being?
Despite the loud noises in her head, she managed a small nod and sat back down before Zoey sped out of the room, hearing the distinct conversation between her two bandmates somewhere in the spacious apartment they all shared.
"Mira, come help me with Rumi."
A chair scraped against the linoleum floor: "Is she alright?"
"You know..." there was a pause and some hushed words were exchanged in haste which Rumi could not make out for the life of her, that were then accompanied with hurried footsteps making their way to her room.
She looked up to see the taller pink-haired woman enter cautiously, as if any sudden movements would set Rumi off. Once her eyes had scanned the entirety of Rumi and subsequently landed on her chest, her figure deflated, eyes turning a shade darker in worry. Making her way across the expanse of Rumi's room with lithe movements, Mira moved to kneel in front of her and held out a hand, gently pushing hair out of her face before settling on caressing the side of her cheek, fingers skimming lightly over bruised and chapped lips.
"Hey."
She attempted a smile which didn't quite meet her eyes and Rumi hated herself even more for that. Looking over Mira's shoulder, she caught Zoey's gaze and she faltered in the middle of her inward self-contempt. The youngest had always been an open book: you could always tell what she was thinking, what she was feeling.
And in that moment, Rumi happened to gauge a singular, visceral emotion: desperation.
Her heart twinged and she felt her hand instinctively reach out to Zoey, beckoning for her to be near. The youngest did not hesitate to grab the inviting hand, and in that moment, Rumi thought that the way Zoey had reached out felt akin to someone drowning, clawing at anything to anchor themselves, to keep them afloat.
A muted pause hung in the air as the three of them held themselves in their respective positions for a bit, to take a breather, to ground the other, to feel one another's presence. Then Mira and Zoey were moving: the former rummaged around Rumi's dresser to procure for herself a hairdryer while the latter busied herself with applying an alcohol swab to Rumi's wound with slow and steady hands.
A whine escaped her lips which earned her an apologetic smile from Zoey, "It'll be better in a bit, Rumi."
She felt the couch dip as Mira slinked her way behind her, deftly picking up the towel Zoey had set aside for her. Wordlessly, she began towel-drying Rumi's hair, gently massaging the cloth into her scalp.
In that moment, Rumi felt her defenses come crumbling down once again as she wept and wept - what she was crying for, she had no clue - but what mattered was the fact that she felt oh so loved.
Accepted. Cherished. Doted on.
The subject of affection of the two lovely women before her.
And she dared to believe that maybe this was enough for the time being.
The second session went as smoothly as one would expect: with Rumi breaking down and having a panic attack in front of the therapist at the mention of revisiting painful moments.
Memories flashed through her mind in rapid succession – where should she even start? Her whole life was built on telling a lie, of pretending to be someone she was not, of smushing down her pain into something barely visible and yet all too omnipresent and overbearing.
Shuffling noises. A pen clicked. "Miss Rumi."
Blinking through her tears, she turned to look at her therapist, whose demeanour had all but changed from the usual stoic professionalism to a softer posture, empathy oozing off of her. She leaned in and Rumi instinctively backed away, curling further into herself.
"Perhaps we can try some breathing exercises," the lady placed one hand on her stomach and the other on her chest, "Let's practice breathing through the expansion of your diaphragm. As a singer, I believe you surely are familiar with this motion?"
Rumi managed a terse nod before obediently shifting into a similar stance. The woman smiled.
"Now let's breathe in and out together; do you have a specific number you land on that brings you some semblance of comfort? We can breathe in and out for that number of times and see whether it helps in calming you down."
Rumi inhaled deeply, closing her eyes as she pondered to herself quietly.
"You're smiling," the therapist noted.
Without opening her eyes, Rumi nodded, "Three."
"What?"
"The number." She held out her hand and stuck three fingers out, "Three. It's my favourite."
The woman hummed and seemed to come to an understanding, signalling for Rumi to continue with a wave of her hand. "I don't suppose there is a specific reason for that?"
Three eggs in her ramyeon. Their third comeback stage where they’d won their first international award. The three turtle plushies that Zoey sleeps with. The three stripes on Mira’s favourite shirt.
The three of them.
Three.
She is brought back to a memory, a time when Zoey and Mira had just been chosen by Celine.
These girls, Zoey and Mira, will be your soulmates in every sense of the word, Celine had said. It is in the strength of not only your voices but your bond to one another, your unwavering trust and love, that you three will be the ones to usher forth the Golden Honmoon to end Gwi-Ma’s reign once and for all.
Following that, Celine had made it compulsory for the girls to have some sort of initiation ceremony, that is, to sing.
All three of them - in their late teens - were still unrefined, unpolished, and rough around the edges – and on that very day they had spent the better part trying – and failing – miserably to harmonise and harness the power of the Honmoon, much to Celine's chagrin.
"As hunters, this is rather disappointing development to show for," she chided the girls who cowered under the authoritative tone that she reserved strictly for them, "I expect you girls to spend extra time to practise and hopefully perfecting your harmonisations by our next session."
"Yes, Celine."
They all replied in unison, backs straight and hands locked behind their backs the way they were taught to do. Celine cast all of them another disapproving glance before turning on her heel to leave.
As they watched the graceful retreating form of their mentor, the girls all but deflated as their shoulders slumped in exhaustion and disappeared. They had been at it for weeks now and there was still no progress.
Doubt danced along the peripheries of the girls' thoughts, all of them pensively wondering the same thing:
Maybe Celine had chosen wrong; perhaps the three of them weren't destined to be this generation's trio of hunters.
It was Zoey who broke the silence, as usual, trying her best to lift the other girls’ spirits up as she chirpily said, "I know we're all pretty tired but why don't we make the most of the rest of the day?" She beamed at Rumi and Mira, twirling her fingers suggestively. "Why don't we go karaoke?"
Mira groaned, "We literally just spent the past six hours singing and you want us to karaoke?!"
Zoey giggled and looped her arms through both girls, practically vibrating in place as she tapped her feet excitedly (Rumi is reminded of a chihuahua with way too much energy). There was a glint in her eye as she looked between the two girls, "Never a better time. Anyway," she tightened her grip almost menacingly on them " - the person who has the lowest score should pay for dinner."
At the mention of dinner, Mira perked up immediately, a grin spreading as wide as a cheshire cat across her face, "And dinner should be Korean fried chicken."
"With a huge serving of rabboki and gimbap on the side!"
"Make that two servings and you got yourself a deal," Mira smirked pointedly at both girls.
Jostling both of them playfully, Rumi laughed, "Don't I get a say in this?"
Gluing herself impossibly closer to Rumi's side till their cheeks were mushed together, Zoey replied with feigned guilt, "Don't you know two beats one? Sorry, my love."
She wouldn't admit it but being called 'my love' made her heart beat just that much faster, as she felt affection seep through her very bones, warm and nice like the hot chocolate Rumi made sure to down every morning before starting the day. In Celine's vocabulary, love, affection and tenderness did not exist so Rumi was inadequately prepared to handle these unfamiliar feelings.
So, she instead chose to convey it by flicking Zoey's forehead, making the girl yelp in surprise. "Prepare to lose."
Two's company, three's a crowd.
Was the only thing running through Rumi's mind as she watched the two girls - her only friends, her everything, her soulmates - across the room, belting out a ballad with their arms slung over one another's shoulder, all but seemingly forgetting the aforementioned competition that the three of them were supposed to be having.
She yearned for them, for the closeness the two shared, and fought the urge to sprint up to them to tackle them in an unfettered hug. But she couldn't. She would never. Not until these patterns on her were gone.
The song switched to the next one, a pop ballad that was one of Rumi’s all-time favourites, and the girls switched their attentions toward her, grinning widely, zeroing in on her like individuals on the hunt, “Rumi, your turn! Come on, come on, come on!”
Zoey skipped happily to her as Mira trailed closely behind, shoving the microphone into her face. Their faces were red from the exertion, eyes shining with excitement, and Rumi shook her head to rid herself of the annoyingly depressive thoughts hounding her every waking moment.
I’m here to have fun, she thought, let’s not get carried away with such thoughts for now.
She smiled and got up, pretending to dust herself. “I hope you guys have money on you because I am about to tear this party up.”
Zoey whooped while Mira rolled her eyes, adorning an affectionate smile.
As she closed her eyes and began to sing, with her two soulmates fawning and awestruck with her vocals on the side, she came to a conclusion.
That’s right. She should be able to afford this much happiness, at the very least.
Till then, she was forced to carry the weight of this secret alone, despite her pleas to Celine to give in to her just this once, to allow her to come clean to the two girls she cherished the most in her life.
"What would they think about you if they saw you and... your marks? Don't you understand the implications of that?" Celine had responded in dismay.
"I trust them with my life!" Tears spilled down her face, hot and heavy, "They would understand, I'm sure they will!"
Celine had closed the distance between the two of them to grip her shoulders painfully, "Sealing the Honmoon takes precedence before all else. Rumi," she started shaking her as if the words could somehow etch and sear itself into her brain, "You need to remember your role in this. A hunter's - "
"' - faults and fears should never be seen'." Angrily pushing herself out of Celine's hold, she shot the woman one final glare to mask the despair that tore through her very being before she turned and ran.
She ran and ran; till her lungs felt like it would burst, till her feet blistered, till the tears no longer flowed freely.
Till she believed she could outrun her past. As if she could outrun herself.
-
Before they knew it, it was dark out. Pitch black could be seen beyond the windows of Rumi's bedroom, with a sprinkling of lights in the distant horizon from apartment buildings cutting through the darkness.
They had all decided to congregate on the floor next to Rumi's bed, with Mira hugging her from behind, long arms splayed across her waist and stomach, rubbing soothing circles and occasionally tracing the path of a random pattern there (it tickled Rumi but she didn't mind). Meanwhile, Zoey was sprawled across Rumi's lower half, lying with her cheek pressed as close as humanly possible to Rumi's belly, taking care to avoid jostling her recent chest injury. The younger girl's fingers switched back and forth between twirling mindlessly with the ends of Rumi's lavender hair, and opting to hold whichever of Mira's hand that was closest to her to her mouth, placing soft kisses against her slender fingers.
Rumi's haphazard breathing had long since died down, swept away by the ease and comfort brought about by her beloveds. They spent so much time together that their breathing had naturally synced, becoming one as their hearts thrummed in the strength of their love.
Zoey was humming a song; Rumi recognised it as the one they had sung during their fight with Gwi-Ma.
Her body must've tensed up because both girls stopped whatever they were doing to look at her, worry once again etched along their lovely, beautiful faces. The air in the room had gone still; all three of them holding their breaths, not daring to make the first move to break the tranquil bubble they had created for themselves. She became nervous, and Zoey reached out slowly to brush her fingers against her lips to stop her from breaking through the skin again.
"Do we want to talk about it?" Mira shuffled from underneath Rumi to angle herself better so that she could peer at Rumi with those sharp yet captivating eyes. Her warm breath fanned out softly across Rumi's neck and she felt her stiffened posture relax somewhat to melt further into the taller girl's embrace. She hummed while her hands busied themselves with affectionately stroking Zoey's hair, that of which was also looking at her attentively, eyes following her every move.
"I'm not sure how to go about it," she finally admitted to the stillness of the room.
"You can try; we won't judge you." Zoey coaxed her softly, "Mira and I will be here regardless."
Rumi felt the other girl give a slight nod and she exhaled. Yes, it was just the two of them. Her soulmates. Gathering her strength, she braced herself before blurting the words in a rush, worried that if she kept it in any longer it would never be able to make its way out of her mouth:
"I'm a mistake."
The words settled like a heavy canvas over the three girls. It became so quiet that they swore they could hear a pin drop, save for the distant car horns that were blaring in the street somewhere down below.
It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, though, no; more so contemplative, a quiet understanding where the other two girls were giving her room to breathe, to say whatever she needed to with absolutely zero judgment on their apart. Almost as if they were expressing that Hey, you’re not alone. Not anymore. You don’t have to deal with this all by yourself. And so Rumi continued steadily, taking the opportunity while she had it, as if her heart was not beating a mile a minute as she bared herself raw and truly naked in front of them for the very first time, "I have carried this shame with me since I first graced the earth with my unnecessary presence, and it continues to bear down on me relentlessly. These patterns - " she waved at the now- translucent marks zig zagging down her forearm " - I constantly feel the need to shred my skin to pieces because I still feel disgusting."
At the last word, Zoey made a move as if to say something but thought against it, setting her mouth in a grim line. Rumi pressed on.
"There are days where I feel... okay... and that's usually when I'm with you guys but..." she faltered for a brief moment, "... when I'm alone, the voices in my head get so loud it damn well might be Gwi-Ma himself whispering into my ear. But no; this is all on me. I'm the problem."
I always have been.
A sharp intake of breath followed before she felt Mira tighten her hold on her, almost as if she might disappear before their very eyes. She very well could but she hadn't mastered that part of her demon powers; not yet, anyway. She hated that that was even a possibility.
“Is there…” Mira’s voice was thick from emotion, and she cleared her throat before continuing tentatively, “… more?”
Another bout of silence followed as Rumi looked away guiltily. The girls knew not to push, used to Rumi’s skittish nature whenever it came to anything too personal; she would tell them in her own time. And so they patiently waited – Mira the calm waves gently kissing the shore, washing away all her anxieties as she rocked the three of them gently, and Zoey the anchor that kept her from floating too far, from getting lost, as she held them all in a steady embrace.
Rumi appreciated this seemingly simple act immensely; it is in the kind, quiet ways the other two girls understood her that made her fall so deeply in love with them in the first place.
In what felt like an eternity, she finally mustered up enough courage as she inhaled deeply, before coming clean with her heaviest admission yet: "I offered up my sword to Celine... and I asked her to dispose of me. Like how she should've a long time ago."
Recalling this took a toll on her and her breaths started rattling against her chest as she felt the rise of yet another panic attack. This time, however, she had the comforting reminder of the warmth that she shared with Zoey and Mira, and the gentle but sure touch of the girls which grounded her.
The immediate pained expression on Zoey's face signalled her utter and immense regret. The younger girl's lips quivered, "Rumi, I am so, so sorry for pushing you away when you needed us most," she choked out a shuddering breath against Rumi's neck, "I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you."
Zoey pulled away, eyes glassy, pointedly looking at what Rumi could only guess was Mira's unreadable expression behind her as she added, "To both of you. You guys are my entire world, the reason I breathe, so please... believe in the love I have for you both."
The other girl remained silent, the only indication that she had heard anything at all being her quickened heart rate as her chest rose and fell rapidly against Rumi's back. She understood that silence; and she would never hold it against Mira. Never. If Mira needed time to process things, she would allow her all the time in the world to.
So, she responded by turning to bury her head in the crook of Mira's neck, leaving a featherlight kiss as a form of reassurance. She then turned back to face Zoey square in the face before pulling her in, hugging her tightly, and pressing what Rumi hoped was a reassuring, comforting kiss on the crown of the younger girl’s head.
"I believe you."