Chapter Text
Rumi had spent her life believing she was a mistake.
Not just that she had made mistakes - though God knew that was also true - but that she was a mistake. Something that should have never existed. An anomaly. Some sort of weird Frankenstein’s monster. And what were people supposed to do to monsters?
Well, kill them.
She knew that better than anyone: after all, she had been raised to be the one holding the blade. She had never had the chance to be a child, unlike Zoey and Mira (though they also had their own problems; she knew that). No, she had been moulded into a fighter. A warrior. A weapon against demons.
Her own kind.
And it wasn’t that she hadn’t been loved. In her own strange way, Celine had loved her. She had held her when she had nightmares; she had braided her hair; she had held her on her lap and told her stories when she was distressed.
But… she had only done that to the human part of Rumi, the part of Rumi that reminded Celine of her mother. Only when Rumi had covered up the part of her that Celine hated: those marks. The patterns.
So, yes, she had been loved. But never wholly. Never unconditionally. She had been loved as long as Rumi played the role she was expected to play.
She supposed that was why Jinu had had such a profound impact on her. He had been the first person to truly see her. He saw her patterns and thought she was beautiful. He saw her patterns and saw something more. He did something nobody had ever done: asked her not to be a human, not to be a demon, but to be her. Half-demon, half-human.
Jinu taught her to accept herself. He taught her to question everything Celine had told her. He made her realise that Celine’s hatred for her marks came from her fear, but Rumi couldn’t let herself absorb that fear. She couldn’t hate herself anymore.
Darkness had to meet the light to defeat Gwi-Ma.
And it had worked. Rumi had stepped into that stadium and allowed the world to see her. She had fought with her girls and Jinu and won.
But she had lost Jinu in the process.
In the immediate aftermath, that had broken Rumi. She had gone straight to her room after they returned to their tower, shut the door, and cried until she felt like she had dumped a bucket’s worth of water on her bed.
Because could anyone ever understand her the way Jinu had? Could anyone ever look at her marks and not just accept them, but love them?
It only took a couple of days for Rumi to begin to realise how stupid she had been all these years.
Yes, Jinu had proven that someone could love her marks, but it was Zoey and Mira who showed her what that could look like in their world.
After one day spent inside her room, Rumi’s door had opened for the first time to show Mira. Or, rather, Mira’s head, which poked around the door, allowing the tiniest sliver of light to invade the space.
Rumi had to resist hissing. How quickly she had been reduced to a demon mess!
Had she hissed, perhaps Mira’s expression would have changed. As it was, the usual amused glint had transformed into something else: unadulterated concern.
Concern was Zoey’s trademark. But on Mira, it looked unfamiliar, almost unsettling.
Not that Rumi had much mental bandwidth to consider such a thing.
Mira didn’t say anything at first. She merely plastered on a faint smile and held up a takeaway container.
“Got you some of that tofu soup you like. The one with the little mushrooms.”
Rumi didn’t reach for it. She barely acknowledged Mira’s existence.
Eventually, though, she gave the slightest nod.
Although only Mira’s head was showing, Rumi could practically feel her shoulders slump, a visible ripple of relief.
It didn’t take long for a pink blur to cross the room, stopping next to Rumi’s bed and placing the container on the bedside table like she was handing over a fragile package.
No fanfare. No pressure.
“We’re downstairs if you want to talk,” she said quietly, far softer than Rumi had heard in a while. “But if not, that’s okay, too. Whenever you’re ready.”
She didn’t push Rumi for a response. She knew better than to expect one. She just opened the container, clearly hoping the scent would waft over to Rumi and make her realise how hungry she was, before leaving.
To give credit where it was due, as soon as the broth hit her nostrils, Rumi was powerless to the pull of the soup and sat up to shovel it down her throat.
She was stumped as to how Mira knew her so well, even after all these years of building her fortress.
The next day, Rumi heard the knock before she saw the face. The fact that there was a knock at all ruled out Mira’s presence. The pattern of knocks that followed confirmed Rumi’s suspicions.
One knock. Pause.
Two knocks. Pause.
Three knocks. Wait.
Zoey’s pattern: predictable, obnoxious, and surprisingly comforting.
Rumi still didn’t answer, though. She didn’t move from the position she had been in for the last few hours, hoodie drawn tight like armour.
The door creaked open anyway, as Rumi expected.
Zoey poked her head in, a lopsided smile already in place. However, it was forced; Rumi could tell.
“Hey!” she chirped, brighter than the situation really allowed. “So I brought snacks. Real snacks. None of that vegan air-dust Mira buys.”
No response. Rumi didn’t even look at her.
She didn’t know why she was still pushing the girls away despite all the revelations - maybe because it was what she had always done. Habit. Survival. Deny help before it could be taken from you.
Zoey cleared her throat and stepped inside anyway, a plastic bag dangling from her hand. After moving the empty takeout container (met with an approving nod from the raven-haired girl), Zoey started unpacking the bag onto Rumi’s bedside table: crisps, chocolate, and some ridiculous fizzy drink with cartoon frogs on the label.
“I figured, if we’re doing grief, we might as well do it with MSG and high-fructose corn syrup,” she tried. Another pause. “Always works for me when I’m upset.”
Still nothing. If anything, Rumi curled up tighter, the word ‘upset’ catching on her ribs like a bad chord. But, really, what else was Zoey supposed to think? She didn’t know what Jinu had meant to her.
Zoey stood there for a second, her mouth twitching like she wanted to say something, but the words just wouldn’t come to mind. Then, she sighed very softly and sat down on the edge of the bed. Not too close, but unmistakably there.
“… I don’t know what to do,” she admitted quietly. “You’re hurting, and I wanna make it better, but I don’t know how.”
Zoey rubbed her hands together, far slower than usual, a motion Rumi recognised as Zoey attempting to self-soothe in the face of difficulty. She glanced at Rumi’s hunched form.
“So I’ll just… be here. If that’s okay.”
Rumi didn’t trust herself to speak, fearing she would burst into tears if she tried. She hadn’t cried in front of someone since she was ten. Instead, she shifted her shoulders so they pointed towards Zoey.
Zoey didn’t push. She just stayed.
And Rumi didn’t realise until then that that was precisely what she needed.
The snacks stayed untouched (a true symbol of how distraught Rumi was). Zoey remained quiet (a true symbol of how concerned she was).
Eventually, Zoey lay back against the wall beside Rumi’s bed, legs stretched out, arms folded like she wasn’t expecting anything, wasn’t even waiting, just… was where she belonged. Right there by Rumi’s side.
Time passed like that. Heavy and slow and unspoken.
Rumi couldn't tell if it had been an hour or more, but the sound of anothe r knock reverberated through the room.
Mira.
Mira was never one to wait for permission; she just slipped in with a quiet, "Hey." She glanced from Zoey to Rumi, assessing the scene with the same calmness she carried like a second skin.
“I brought your hoodie back,” she said, holding it up like a peace offering. “It still smells like that awful la vender soap you like.”
Rumi blinked. Slowly. For the first time in days, she sat up for something other than going to the bathroom.
The two other Hunters inhaled sharply.
Mira stepped closer and waited until Rumi had extended her own hand, handing it to her gently.
Rumi took the hoodie and pulled it closer. Suddenly, she buried her face in it, inhaling deeply.
It did smell like lavender, yes, but it also had a hint of charcoal. A scent Rumi had become strangely familiar with.
Jinu.
Tears pricked her eyes, but she forced herself to maintain as much composure as she could muster.
“Rumi?” Zoey queried softly, placing a hand on her shoulder.
Finally, Rumi mumbled her first words in days, “He wasn’t supposed to… to…”
Rumi could imagine the knowing look exchanged between Mira and Zoey.
“He made his choice, Rumi,” Mira said, soft yet firm. Of course, they knew exactly what Rumi was getting at.
Zoey continued, “Yeah, and I know we didn’t know him well, like, at all , but… I don’t think he would regret it.”
And they were right. Honestly, that was what made the entire thing even worse. Rumi was supposed to protect Jinu, supposed to help him; instead, she had put him in a situation where he had had to sacrifice himself to protect her and her world.
A truly selfless act, one Jinu had believed he was incapable of.
That broke her.
A sob choked in Rumi's throat as she hugged the hoodie closer. Tears streamed down her cheeks, soaking the soft fabric. Her fingers clutched it tightly.
Rumi felt Zoey shifting slightly to make room. She and Mira seemed to reach the same unspoken decision.
Mira climbed onto the bed as well. Not in a dramatic way, just carefully. Mira curled up on one side; Zoey on the other. Mira’s hand brushed Rumi’s sleeve, then settled nearby. Zoey’s foot knocked gently into Rumi’s ankle and stayed there.
The bed dipped under their weight. Rumi didn’t move for a long time; she just tried not to drown in the tears that refused to stop falling. She didn’t know whose hand belonged to whom eventually. Still, on hand rubbed her side gently whilst another played with her hair, remaining silent.
Eventually, Rumi exhaled. She let herself lean, just a little. Just enough to feel Mira’s shoulder beneath her cheek.
It wasn’t much, but it was the first time she had let herself be held since Jinu died.
As the air started to thicken with sleep and the weight of grief became a little less sharp, Zoey whispered, “We’re not going anywhere. You don’t have to do this alone.”
Rumi blinked, eyes stinging, though not from crying this time; just… feeling.
A quiet rustle as Mira shifted closer. Her voice came next, though it was barely audible: “We’ve got you… even if you break. Especially then.”
No one said anything more. They didn’t need to. But Rumi, between the familiar scent of her hoodie and the quiet breath of two girls who refused to leave, started to believe that she wasn’t alone anymore.
She let the warmth of them wrap around her like a blanket she hadn’t realised she’d been missing.
For the first time in what felt like forever, she slept.
Deep.
Dreamless.
Safe.