Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The day had started normal, or, as normal as it could when you’re New York’s acclaimed vigilante. Rumi had rolled out of the top bunk with about as much enthusiasm as one could muster at five a.m. on a Wednesday. Which was exactly none .

She could hear Jinu snoring softly in the bottom bunk, covered in about a trillion blankets –half of which were probably stolen from her own bed– and sprawled around him, crumpled bags of expired Cheetos. Rumi let out an exasperated groan and started kicking him while shooting a web for her toothbrush and paste.

A pitiful sound came from the blanket pile as Jinu half-heartedly shimmied away from her kicks. “Come on cowboy, up and at ‘em.” She slurred while brushing her teeth. God, she needed toothpaste that didn’t taste of chemical strawberry and crushed dreams. What was wrong with good old mint? Jinu was a beast for liking this.

“Ughhh, you can stop abusing me now, I’m awake.” Rumi got in one last kick, for good luck. 

She entered the bathroom to spit out the disgusting pink foam, trying very hard not to make eye contact with the mirror. It was cracked and respectably dirty, or so Jinu claimed. Still, even after months, she had a hard time reconciling with her own reflection.

It wasn’t that she looked necessarily bad, a little frayed around the edges and she was definitely packing some eyebags. What was decidedly inhuman about her were the damned fangs . Ever since the bite, they’d become prominent. Enough so that people in the street stopped her if she opened her mouth too wide to ask where she’d gotten them done. She learned the arts and wonders of dressing blandly (see: facemasks) –or like she was about to rob a bank, if her roommate had any say in the matter– and blending into crowds a little after that.

Her thoughts were rudely interrupted by the aforementioned roommate, and childhood best friend. He looked dead on his feet, and if Rumi hadn’t been feeling the exact same, she’d be making fun of him for being such a mess in the mornings. Or, just a mess in general.

“You gonna keep gripping the sink like your pregnancy test just came out positive or are you gonna let me brush my own teeth?” He shoved at her shoulder and she shoved right back. Prick . 

“I already have three children, Derpy, Sae and you .” Rumi washed her mouth, careful not to cut her own tongue more than she had lately, and made her way out of the bathroom, going to put food out for her pet magpie and Jinu’s cat, who they often joked was more of a shared custody case.

Stepping around the myriad of discarded clothes, one of Jinu’s binders, more trash and– 

“Hey! Is that my mask?! Jinu! How’d it make it to the floor?” She picked it up like it was radioactive, which was a real possibility, given it was right next to Jinu’s used socks. “This better not smell like your feet when I put it on!” She glared at him as he glared right back.

“Don’t blame me, Spidergirl ! If you don’t recall, it was you who tossed it wherever after you got back in the middle of the night and stumbled into bed like you were concussed– Wait, you’re not concussed, are you?” His tone shifted from accusing to worried at the flip of a coin. She waved him off, no longer irritated. Well, maybe a little.

“No, I’m not concussed, thank you for asking. Who knew you’d have manners…” Rumi said flatly, “And don’t call me that! You know I think the name is dumb.” She grumbled, arms crossed, pouting petulantly. 

“I know, that’s exactly why I will never stop.” Jinu gave her a shit-eating grin and jingled the house keys as a signal they were about five minutes away from running late. 

“I truly don’t know why I put up with you…” She exhaled through her nose and sneakily shot a sticky note that had ‘loser’ written on it with a thin web. It had been weeks, and he still hadn’t noticed. Small pleasures.

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Well, it had all gone to shit. Which is to say, two robberies, one runaway car, four attempts at petty crime, and a cat rescued from a tree later, The Honmoon –as she had decided to call her carefully laid out iridescent webs that ran throughout the city– quivered and she knew she’d have to make a run for it to get there in time. Her wrists were already tingling, a telltale sign of their overuse, but she could not find it in herself to care.

She had to be there, had to make up for all the times she wasn’t . The shame of everything she couldn’t be ate at her mind. (Of everything she could’ve been. Of all the lives lost because she wavered . Of the one she cut short. Of the love she had robbed Celine of, the one she could never quite give back in the way she had needed. She hopes –as if by daring to dream hard enough she could will it into reality– that her aunt could find it in herself to forgive Rumi for taking such a precious thing. She understands, now, why she had never been able to look at her.)

Rumi was panting by the time she got to the scene, her black and purple hooded suit sticking to her more than usual. The suit’s white eyes widened comically as she really took it in. A train, or at least one of its carriages, was hanging by thin cables, hopes and prayers. Yeesh. 

Ignoring the burn, she flicked her wrists to encase it in webs and halt its one-way journey down. That being taken care of, she had to make sure everyone actually made it out in case her webs didn’t hold. She vaulted over to the opening in the metal exterior and very carefully lowered herself without touching down. 

Jinu had been caught up in late night classes by the tech labs, so he couldn’t help her assess any weak points inside the carriage that should be avoided, so she was better safe than sorry. It wouldn’t do if the thing tipped over because of her carelessness. 

“Everyone okay?” She asked the stunned passengers, who she started helping up one by one, since she was down an arm. A familiar pink head made its way over to her with an expression far too nonplussed to be on the face of someone who had nearly died in a freak train accident, but she could respect the nonchalant vibe.

“We really have to stop meeting like this.” The taller girl smirked, and Rumi, familiar with the bit, and with a cloth of anonymity in the form of spandex, responded in kind.

“Maybe your next hair color should be red so the problems start running away from you instead of towards you.” She snickered and helped her up, knowing the energetic girl in the space buns was right behind.

“Hi Spidergirl!” Said girl exclaimed, dragging the i’s. Speak of the devil and she shall appear.

“Hi.” Rumi repeated, perhaps a little too softly. Sue her, she was growing fond of those two. She’s also pretty sure she’d seen them around campus, but that was a problem for future Rumi, not hanging-from-a-web present Rumi. “You guys really have a knack for getting in these situations huh? It’s almost as if last week you were caught in the crossfire of a robbery. Oh, wait, that’s because you were .” 

Space-bun girl, as Rumi had taken to calling her –she didn’t know their names and she was not about to ask, although, if they kept running into trouble, she might just have to– snorted and took the offered hand like she was a damsel in a tower being rescued by some cliche prince. “I have no idea what you’re talking about Spidergirl, but if I did , I’d say you must pay a lot of attention to the people you save to remember that very mundane, totally not terrifying Friday.” 

Rumi had never been more grateful to be covered head to toe, because she was pretty sure those damn marks were glowing softly in her embarrassment. “Yeah, yeah, just try to give me a little less work, yeah? Gotta catch up on my beauty sleep.” She rolled her eyes, which the mask must’ve caught if the giggle behind her was anything to go by. 

With all the passengers evacuated and her entire arms feeling like wet napkins, –save for the ever present burning near her wrists– she dusted herself and shot out a web to hopefully go crash in her and Jinu’s shitty apartment. And if she did a little flip and salute knowing the two girls were watching, that was between her and Manhattan’s polluted sky.

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Except it apparently hadn’t been, because her in-lens cameras were recording and Jinu, the little shit that he was, saved the recording with glee and utter malicious intent.

“Delete it!” She yelled at him as she shot web after web trying to catch her best friend. 

“No way! Someone’s in looooove !” Jinu yelped as he tripped over his own scattered pair of shoes and fell unceremoniously. “Hey, you could’ve caught me!” He growled at Rumi, who was finally out of her suit, hair loose and wearing her most comfortable pijamas, of which Jinu had a matching set, not that he’d ever admit it.

“Sorry, all outta web.” She shrugged and took Jinu’s phone out of his hand while making sure that video stayed dead and buried.

Her ever so slightly pointed ear twitched when she heard Jinu mutter a quiet ‘bitch’ under his breath. She threw the phone directly at his forehead.

Chapter Text

How had she gotten here? Frankly, that was too broad a question because Rumi asked herself that ten times a day about all kinds of things.

Perhaps a better one would be ‘How is this my life?’

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She had been unsure about the favor to begin with. Celine’s friend, or, connection, as she preferred to call them for some reason –that, according to her, was because it is wise to keep people at arm’s length–, was an acclaimed scientist and innovator, which made Rumi already feel undeserving of taking photos for him. (And maybe she was still a bit sour she wasn’t getting paid.)

Celine would not be there to monitor Rumi and make sure she was ‘acting with proper etiquette’ because the whole set of photos she was taking was all about spiders, which Celine was deathly afraid of. Bioengineered spiders, if what her aunt had told her was true. 

Rumi had never been much of a nerd in the science department, always more into things like theatre, but she could still give credit where credit was due, the little critters looked cool . 

According to the lead scientist of the project, they had used a DNA editing method called CRISPR, something about it being precise and letting them break the limits of modern science. She was a little embarrassed to admit she tuned him out after that, but in her defense, she had been pulling all-nighters all week, studying in preparation for the annual entrance exams at NYU, which she had attended the day before sweating absolute buckets.

After what felt like an eternity of more information that went in one ear and flew out the other, the guy finally pulled out the small transparent enclosures for her to photograph. 

Rumi’s eyes widened at the vast array of colors. And while she may not have been a scientist, she was pretty sure no wild spiders actually glowed a sickly green under UV lights. Regardless, this would do wonders for her portfolio, which she was putting together even if Celine didn’t quite agree with her. They’d figure it out later, hopefully.

Adjusting the lens to focus on the next transparent terrarium, she squinted. “Um, excuse me?” She tapped the shoulder of the man beside her.

“Can this one camouflage really well or something?” She pointed at the empty box. “My camera isn't picking it up.”

His posture stiffened, but her worry was quickly dispelled as he shook his head, “Probably being tested in the labs, nothing to worry about, you can just keep going.” She nodded and wiped her camera lens, not like she was being paid at all, so one or two pictures missing wouldn’t be the end of the world.

Rumi aligned her eye and clicked the camera back on, zooming in on the next spider until–

“ Shib-saekki! ” She swore quietly, feeling a piercing sting on her hand and shaking it instinctively. From the corner of her eye she saw a spiky, purple thing skitter to the corner. Shit, she hoped it wasn’t venomous. 

(A silent, unseen part of her thinks it wouldn’t be so bad if it was.)

She didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, or else she would never hear the end of it from Celine, or worse, she’d probably get another hour long lecture about manners and not making a fuss out of small things. So, she didn’t. She just shook her hand and moved on with the pictures.

(And if she was feeling a little dizzy, it was just pre-period symptoms. If she started running warmer than usual, it was the weather. If she felt nauseous, it was whatever she had for breakfast rebelling in her stomach. She wasn’t allowed to feel sick. She wasn’t allowed to take up more space than she already had.)

By the end of the day, she felt like her limbs were protesting against their existence while she fought against a headache with valiant effort. She really, really hoped Celine wasn’t in the mood to talk when she got home.

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Sadly, if there was a god, they hated her, but truly, she should’ve known better. The moment the door creaked open, Celine stood up from the kitchen table and walked over to Rumi and laid her hands over her shoulders, feather-light, as if afraid to break her. Like she was some mirage, an illusion that would dissolve if stared at for too long. Rumi often wondered how often Celine saw her , and not the person she’d lost.

Her aunt cleared her throat, a signal for Rumi to look her in the eyes, “I trust all went well, then?” And Rumi knew what she really meant was ‘ I trust you’re not disgracing your mother’s image. ’ 

And despite her head being underwater and her tongue feeling like lead, she knew Celine expected a verbal response from her, even if her eyes were shutting and words felt wrong in ways she didn’t quite understand.

“Yes, Celine.” It was all she could muster without the nausea overflowing her senses. If her vision hadn’t been swimming so much, she would have noticed her aunt’s quirked brow and narrowed eyes. After Celine deemed her free to go, Rumi all but stumbled into her room, and having no energy to even change clothes, simply collapsed into her bed.

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The morning light, which was usually a welcome friend, decided that it too would betray her. By punching her directly in the eyes, first thing as she woke up. Her massive headache had receded to a dull thrum, and she felt like needles were digging in her temple whenever she tried to focus her eyes. Her gums were burning and she worried she had been clenching her jaw in her sleep again. 

And because she could never catch a break, her phone started buzzing. Unless it was Celine, who didn’t usually call during these hours, much too busy at work, she was assuming it was Jinu, and despite her unending love for the boy, she kind of wanted him dead right now.

Nevertheless, muscle memory and sheer willpower were what made her stretch out her arm to grab her phone and pick up the call. She ignored the weird buzzing sensation the action brought to her wrist accompanied by a curious ‘twhip’ sound and answered in a hoarse, sleep-ridden voice, “Jinu, if you’re calling because you ran out of detergent again, I am not going to the grocery store with you for more.”

She cracked an eye open, and Jinu’s pixelated forehead was the only thing she could make out before he snorted and put on a wounded expression, or, what she assumed to be one from his furrowed brows. 

“Good morning to you too, my bestest of friends! Yes, I am doing great , thank you for asking! No, I do not need more detergent, but if I did , I’d drag you with me to the grocery store regardless, just to make sure you’re seeing the light of day, you hermit.”

“Oh fuck off . But really, what do you want? I feel like a truck ran me over and I wanna go back to sleep.” Her point was proven by an incoming yawn.

“Well I was thinking– Wait a second, did you steal my plastic fangs?!” Jinu yelled and Rumi had to hide a flinch, god, why was everything so loud ? “You know I’ve been looking for them like crazy, Comicon is in a month!” He accused.

“Jinu, what are you talking about? Are you trying to piss me off right now?” 

“Girl, be so for real. Fine, you can toy around with them, not like I care. But you better wash those, and they better be back at mine before the convention is around!” 

“God, you’re so annoying. I’m hanging up now.” She grumbled and rubbed her eyes.

“What? Bitch! I didn’t even get to tell you what I wanted to–” Yeah, she was not dealing with Jinu right now. She’d apologize later, but right now his volume was an unwelcome addition to her morning.

Dragging her palm over her face, she groaned into the pillow, accepting that sleep would not welcome her again. So, she painstakingly made her way to the bathroom and washed her face before opening her dresser for a hoodie that hadn’t been drenched in sweat from the night before.

She made it a habit, closing her eyes when changing. Rumi couldn’t pinpoint why, exactly, she didn’t today. She also knew that, had she not been taught her entire life that staying silent meant staying good , she would’ve screamed. 

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Rumi was familiar with thin white lines running across her body. They were the reason she could barely stand to look at herself, after all. She knew what she had done, she knew who she had been hurting.

(Not herself, if Celine was to be believed. No, no, everything Rumi did would always reflect on the ghost of a woman she never met. A woman she couldn’t remember.)

(If Rumi fell and bruised her knees, Celine would tell her to stand up and ramble about how she was taking such bad care of the gift Miyeong gave her life for. If Rumi broke and built herself back up, coming back with the cracks showing, Celine would cry and ask where she had gone wrong, raising her.)

(If Rumi was ever anything more , anything less than the afterimage of her mother, she would stop being good .)

(It would mean she would stop being worth caring about.)

Rumi was familiar with the raised scars that ran along her arms. What she was decidedly not familiar with were the new white marks gathering at her wrists and webbing up to her shoulders, that then zig-zagged and swirled until they licked at her collarbone. 

She ran back to the bathroom and threw the towel off the mirror, –Sae, somewhere in her room, spooked at the noise– finally seeing herself clearly. Her breath caught. Her vision tunneled, flicking to the unwelcome additions like they were parasites to be cut off and culled. Like she was a monster .

(But could she be blamed? When she looked like something inhuman? Was she not what children feared to find in their closets?)

Her lungs burned , begging her to do something she had forgotten how to. Begging for air. But all she could think was, ‘What would M̶o̶m̶ Celine think?’ and right after that, ‘How is it that I keep becoming more unsightly as the days go by? Is it just me? Am I wrong? Did I stop being good? Am I being punished?’

(‘Do I deserve this?’)

(And, ‘I’m sorry Eomma.’)

Suddenly what Jinu had mentioned about her teeth made sense, and she prayed he didn’t prod about whatever was wrong with her because she couldn’t take another person looking at her with so much hurt and–

Three knocks at her door. Her heart in the middle of her throat. (An unsightly reflection.) Celine was waiting for her outside.

Chapter Text

Rumi could feel her very skin prickling, becoming tighter and tighter around her bones, if that was even a thing one could feel, well, Rumi was certainly feeling it. Her eyes caught the light wrong, her mind was a mess, her teeth were sharper than they should be, everything was ringing , her arms were covered in weird, white, glowing patterns that resembled webs, and Celine was waiting to be let in.

A shaky breath in, an even shakier one out. She needed to look composed for Celine. No faults, no fears. No imperfections.

(The uncovered mirror mocked her from the back of her mind.)

The door hinges protested, almost as if warning her not to open it. There, standing outside, was Celine, that ever-present frown on her face seemed deeper, wearier. Not one to stand around meaninglessly, her aunt entered the room as if she was going to inspect it, but then thought better of it. Rumi just waited for her to begin talking, familiar with the way Celine ticked.

“Your room.” She said simply, like Rumi could read her mind and figure out what was wrong with it in the span of the five seconds. Sadly, she was not a mind reader, even if, for some reason she could faintly hear Celine’s heartbeat. What the hell?

“Um–” Rumi started but was immediately silenced by Celine’s deepening frown. Okay, so she should’ve waited. This was fine, the interaction was still salvageable, she had more tries. She shut her mouth and waited for Celine expectantly.

(Like a dog happily wagging its tail after being reprimanded. How many tricks are harsh learned obedience under a nicer name?)

“It’s… disorderly. See to it that it is tidy by tonight, we’ll have visitors.” Her aunt said cryptically. Rumi fought to keep her expression blank, her eyebrow twitching. 

Her room looked impeccable, save for Sae’s wide cage, which needed cleaning. Nothing else was out of place. Her bed was a little messy, but she was going to make it later, preferably after breaking down in the bathroom for half an hour in peace. Was Celine implying she should hide her pet bird just for some strangers? What would they even look in her room for? The tone just seemed so strange, an underlying current of barely concealed disdain.

Rumi was no fool, she knew Celine didn’t look kindly upon Sae, ever since that day she had found the bird injured under the tree of the school's playground alongside Jinu and nursed it back to health. Her aunt had put up with it because she assumed it was a temporary thing. However, Rumi had grown attached, and the bird seemed to not want to leave either way, and countless tear filled nights later, Sae was a permanent addition to the small family.

As she grew up, she learned that begging was the only way to get anything at all. 

(Was it really love, if she had to get on her knees and grovel for it?)

As she grew up, she learned that maybe that meant she wasn’t deserving of it in the first place.

(A broken soul, trapped in the nastiest shell. What an ugly little thing she was.)

Instead of acknowledging Celine’s poorly disguised distaste, she just nodded, and in that voice of hers that screamed ‘ please be kind to me ’ she answered her mother figure, “I’ll get started on cleaning, then.” Eager for the stilted conversation to end, she started to turn before a hand clasped firmly on her shoulder.

Don’t flinch, don’t flinch, don’t flinch, don’t flinch–

“Rumi.” Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit– “I trust you’re not falling back on old habits, are you?” 

And, well, if she didn’t want to throw up before, she sure did now. Steadying herself, shifting her weight imperceptibly from one foot to the other, she answered, without looking up, “No, Celine.” Was that too short? Too robotic? Did Celine catch on? Would she make her take off the sweater? She couldn’t, she couldn't, she couldn’t, she couldn’t . 

Rumi just needed a little bit more time to figure out whatever was going on with her and then– And then Celine could look, inspect, grip however much she wanted. Just a little more time, that was all she asked. A little bit more time and she– And maybe she could stand being perceived again, even if it made her skin crawl and her bones creak and her mouth go terribly dry and–

Celine let go of her. Oxygen crawled back into her lungs like a greedy thing.

(Just like she was.)

“Good. Get started then.” She said with finality and exited the room like the walls weren’t closing in and everything was growing dimmer despite the daylight streaming in from the window and– Her hand had started closing, forming a fist, digging her nails into her palm –were they noticeably sharper than last night?– and drawing tiny crescents into her skin.

A small raspy squawk broke her out of whatever spiral she was going into. A small uptick to her lips betrayed the gratefulness she truly felt for the bird. She silently padded towards Sae’s enclosure, a respectably big rectangle of a cage, almost as tall as her and filled with little toys, bowls and perches. When she had first decided to keep the magpie, she went down a rabbithole of exotic pet care and decided that there wasn’t really such a thing as an enclosure that was too big for a bird.

(And yet the confines of her room seemed suffocating even on the sunniest of days, a prisoner of her own mind.)

“Sorry buddy. I know you can tell she doesn’t like having you around.” She doesn’t like having me around much either , she doesn’t say. Rumi goes to open Sae’s cage when her hand refuses to unstick itself from the metal. “ What? ” She yanks harder and only manages to rattle the magpie’s cage, making it call out in indignance. 

“Sorry! Sorry. I don’t know what’s up with me today… I’ll let you out later okay buddy?” The girl frowns apologetically at her pet bird, who just settles back in one of its perches and pecks at the fingers stuck in the metal bars affectionately. Rumi smiles after that, knowing there was at least someone she didn’t disappoint on the daily. A little sad that it was a bird though. Rock bottom, and all that.

Without realizing it, her hand now laid limp at her side. She scoffed, confused and a little angry at herself.

Fine, fine. Her body wanted to be weird and cryptic and u̶n̶s̶i̶g̶h̶t̶l̶y̶ all sticky? She’d just have to figure it out and get it under control. Everything could be hidden with enough practice and effort. She had experience in it. 

There was comfort in the safety of predictable misery. It seemed ever so slightly kinder, if it was self-inflicted. Like she could break out of it any time she wanted. 

(She couldn’t.)  

She was still in control.

(She hadn’t been for a long time.) 

She'd repay everyone who had put up with her when she was w̶e̶a̶k̶ vulnerable.

(She was still salvageable.)

(She begged to be believed about that, too.)

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It seemed oddly fitting that a girl who ran away from her problems like it was an Olympic sport would also be ridiculously fast and have great stamina for the actual thing. 

She actually doesn’t remember much about the run itself, just that she had left from the window of her room, like a normal person (to avoid Celine) and had forgotten her headphones, which wouldn’t have been much of an issue if her ears weren’t feeling like pop-rocks were going off near them as soon as she was near people and the hustle and bustle of the more inhabited parts of the city.

Questionable life choices aside, she had been feeling this incessant itch near her wrists that she just couldn’t scratch off. Not for lack of trying! Rumi had rubbed her sleeves as much as they permitted her without showing any actual skin, she had shoved a hand inside the sweater to actually use her nails –somehow even sharper than before she left the house– and was about to bite into her damn forearm in public, like she was insane, if her skin didn’t stop buzzing so annoyingly. 

Right before a genuine shout of indignance tears itself out of her throat, the buzzing stops and she hears another ‘thwip’ sound awfully close. So close, in fact, that it could only have come from her . But that was… Not a sound the human body made… 

So, naturally, to avoid suspicion, she booked it to the nearest dark alley with urgency only a bank robber on the run could muster.

Rumi was about to roll up the sleeves of her jacket minimally, when she found she literally couldn’t. Letting out a grunt and pulling like her life depended on it, she heard a sudden rip. Shit , had she torn a hole in the jacket just by pulling ? 

Looking down, she saw four punctures right where her other hand was digging and pulling. And were those… webs? Inside her sleeve? What?

Before she could even begin to attempt deciphering what the hell was wrong with her, she heard a voice call out.

“Who’s there? Caroline? Is that you taking out the trash?” And even though she knew its owner was far away, logically, it still felt like it was knocking on her skull with its sheer volume. 

Shit, not important, she had to run . She didn’t know why she couldn’t have answered normally, she didn’t know why her head felt like it was screaming at her for daring to form a singular thought, she didn’t know why everything was so loud and why it wouldn’t just stop .

“Damn, maybe it’s the rats digging in the trash again, gotta inform the landlord… Not like he’ll do anything…” The voice huffed, and had Rumi been in any clearer and saner state, she’d have thought the voice sounded welcoming, warm, open in a way little people were, after a certain age.

She wasn’t in said state of mind, however, and everything in her was screaming to just run .

So, she did. She ran right into the wall. And on it. What the fuck ?

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She was freaking out. She had been freaking out for the past few hours, probably. Hell, maybe her seventeen –eighteen, in a few hours, if the lack of sunlight was any indication– years of living had been one long, consecutive, exhausting panic attack, and no one had had the heart to tell her.

Because she could scale walls now, apparently. Normal teenage girl behavior. Yeah, yeah, she saw plenty of teenage girls do stuff like that. Maybe next up she would start floating and her head would detach itself from her neck. Your usual Sunday afternoon.

Maybe… Maybe it had just been a feat of incredible strength and stamina. Maybe her eyes were playing tricks on her. Maybe she just wanted to be normal . 

(And maybe she was growing tired of being herself.)

God, what the hell was she doing? If h̶e̶r̶ m̶o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶ Miyeong could see her now, she’d surely be disgusted.

(The truth was, C̶e̶l̶i̶n̶e̶ her mother had already witnessed the rot of her soul and been unable to meet her eye. The truth was, she didn’t want her at all.)

An odd but not unfamiliar thought struck her as she looked down from the building she had climbed up to. 

One r̶i̶g̶h̶t̶ wrong step and it’s all over. 

One step, and it all goes quiet.

A step, and she never had to go back to that miserable house. 

A leap towards freedom. 

And then she blinked, on the precipice. She stopped. What the hell am I doing? What terrible, selfish things am I thinking? What about Jinu? What about Sae? What about E̶o̶m̶m̶a̶ Celine?

She shook her head like all the noise and dark thoughts might leave if she did it hard enough, fast enough. 

(And yet they clung to her like the smell of smoke.)

(Something that never quite washes off.)

So, again and again after it felt like she was truly coming apart at the edges, she picked herself up, knowing no one else would. 

(Knowing no one would want to deal with the mess.)

She collected everything that might be shattering and glued it back together meticulously, hoping it resembled the shape of how it was before. 

(Hoping, against everything that she knows, that this has not changed her forever.)

(Hoping, that, maybe, she is still that innocent little girl, and not whatever wretched thing she had grown up to be.)

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Rumi decided, against everything screaming in her head and her own base survival instincts, to go through the front door.

It was the second night in a row that Rumi came h̶o̶m̶e̶ back to Celine waiting for her, lips tight and a face that screamed disappointment.

“Where, pray tell, have you been, Rumi?”

She’s fucked.

Chapter Text

For the first time in her life, Rumi dreaded the rain.

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“Where, pray tell, have you been , Rumi?”

Celine got up from the couch, her tea appeared to have gone cold long ago, the mug still full, more of a decoration than an actual drink.

“Well?” Her aunt tapped her foot impatiently, fuse short after the past few days. “Are you going to give me an explanation of why you not only snuck out but on top of that made us look terrible in front of the guests you failed to greet?”

“Celine–” Her voice shook, and she failed to meet her mother figure’s eyes.

“I’ve been worried sick about you Rumi!” Celine interrupted her, and she took that as her cue to just lay down and take whatever Celine had to get out of her system.

It always worked like this, and Rumi, after years of practice, knew exactly the kind of script they were following. Like clockwork.

On some of her worse days, she wondered why she knew how Celine ticked when her aunt would fail to name her favorite color. 

She settled on the simple fact she wasn’t worth learning about in the first place. 

“Do you want to kill me from a heart attack? I care about you Rumi, I worry! And lately… Lately it feels like I don’t know you at all.” She didn’t raise her voice, –she rarely did anymore– but it still rang loudly in Rumi’s ears.

She curled her nails inwards to try and feel something that wasn’t shame. 

It had stopped working a long time ago, but Rumi kept the habit up for the simple safety found in familiarity. 

(A safety she never got to feel around Celine anymore. She asked herself if all families felt this overbearing sense of sadness and expectation, or if it was something unique to this house.)

(She asked herself if loneliness was part of growing up.)

 ̶(̶S̶h̶e̶ ̶a̶s̶k̶e̶d̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶s̶e̶l̶f̶ ̶i̶f̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶f̶e̶e̶l̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶g̶r̶i̶e̶f̶ ̶c̶a̶m̶e̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶h̶ ̶c̶h̶a̶n̶g̶e̶,̶ ̶o̶r̶ ̶i̶f̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶ ̶j̶u̶s̶t̶ ̶a̶n̶o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶l̶o̶n̶e̶l̶y̶ ̶p̶a̶r̶t̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶b̶e̶g̶g̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶l̶e̶t̶ ̶o̶u̶t̶.̶)̶

“ What would your mother say? ”

And Rumi, despite herself, despite that urge to flinch, to hide, to curl up and just forget , despite everything that told her to just stop and accept what she was given, bit back.

(A cornered dog will not distinguish between an open hand and a fist.)

(Rumi knew that Celine’s hands had never been welcoming in the first place, only open to holding a leash she was expected not to tug.)

“Well I guess we’ll never know!” And now Rumi twisted it and snarled at the hand that fed her. 

(The hand that never held her.)

And like a beast with no reason, one that knew it was fated to die in the ditch it had fallen in, she kept digging. “Because she left us, and she’s not coming back, so maybe it’s time to stop talking about her as if she was still here!” 

Her aunt’s expression tightened before smoothing over, not a single hair out of place.

“Go to your room.” A command, simple, short, no room for arguments.

(A leash pulled taut.)

Rumi stormed off before either of them could say anything else.

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All things considered, the morning of her birthday settled on her shoulders heavily. Another year of living under her mother’s shadow, another year of spitting on the gift she had been given.

Spread throughout her room –and in the outer corner of Sae’s cage– were a myriad of webs that she had a vague recollection of… shooting from her wrists… the night before. She’d unpack that later. 

First on her list, she had to silence the incessant, infernal vibration coming from her phone. 

“Good morning my nepo twin from outside the womb!” Jinu’s voice rang out, and she already felt like hitting the deafen button. “What’s it feel like being eighteen? Feeling the mandatory dread already?”

From his –admittedly shitty– camera, Rumi could see her best friend laying belly down on his messy bed, legs kicking in the air behind him.

Instead of answering or tilting her own camera where it wasn't facing the ceiling, she groaned into her pillow, imagining briefly she was smothering Jinu with it.

“Don’t ‘ughh’ me girl, give me some energy! Also, not to judge, but when was the last time you cleaned your room? I swear to god there’s spiderwebs on your ceiling...”

“Halloween decorations.” Was all that came out of Rumi’s mouth.

“Halloween was two months ago.” 

“Got lazy.” She responded immediately, hoping Jinu would just let it go.

“You’ve never been lazy a day in your life. Now get up! I can tell you’re still in bed and I don’t want Celine on your ass the one day you’re meant to be happy and whimsical or whatever,” he argued. “Also, Sussie’s probably hungry by now, don’t starve the poor bird.”

Rumi actually growled in annoyance, a deep, crackly rumble from her chest. 

“ Sae has plenty to eat, thank you very much. I’m hanging up now, go be covered in crumbs or whatever it is you do.” 

“So mean… At least I live by myself!” He grumbled, and right before Rumi cut the line, he rushed to the screen and added, “Offer’s still up by the way! Top bunk’s reserved for you and you only! Unless rent rises– But! Think about it! You promised me you would!” He pleads and Rumi only mutters a quiet 'yeah sure’ before he can keep going.

Annoyed as she might have sounded, she really did appreciate her friend, and despite never outwardly celebrating her birthday, it was nice that he remembered. 

She got up with a huff and tried to get her room as orderly as she could in under five minutes, just to have something to do before booking it out of the house. 

She didn’t particularly feel like dealing with whatever repercussions her little outburst had earned her, and Celine wasn’t a very big fan of seeing Rumi during her birthday either.

(And if it stung, only a little, that the date of her birth would forever be overshadowed by loss, never enough to make up for her own existence, then that was something she kept to herself and the four suffocating walls around her.)

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Rumi considered herself a quiet person, ‘shy’ , affectionately put, and ‘unsociable’ by Celine’s standards.

(Teach a dog not to bite, and it will keep quiet in the worst of pains.)

( Celine taught Rumi to cut off her tongue instead.)

So, Rumi was quiet, everyone could tell. What she was decidedly not , was sneaky. 

Leaving normally through a door was out of the question. But that only left her window, and that was on the second floor with a security camera pointing to the garden. One misstep and she was done for.

She thumbed her wrist over a thin, barely there scar –one not done by her own hand, a fond memory left by Sae’s grip– and dared to look under the fabric. Yup. Still there, still glowing, still webby . 

Might as well make something out of this… She thought before shutting her eyes and swinging her arm out like it was a loaded weapon and even she was afraid of its volatility. 

Nothing. She slowly opened one eye and rubbed a little. It seemed that after that weird fever, and whatever was happening to her, color had gotten more vivid, but if she focused too hard on something, she got tunnel vision and one hell of a headache. 

No webs in sight. She squinted back at her slightly uncovered wrist now, frustration starting to settle into her face. 

“ Now you choose not to work you freaky wrist juice string thing?!” She growled –thankfully a perfectly human one this time– and shook her wrist like it had personally offended her, then slapped it a few times for good measure, like one would a TV remote, which her wrist clearly wasn’t, because it did not work.

“Ugh! Can’t even use them right…” She opted to stay frustrated about that rather than think about the fact that this would be the rest of her life if she didn't find a cure, a way to reverse whatever had happened to her. She needed answers, and she wasn’t dumb, she knew it was the awfully itchy bite she had gotten while photographing. It had to be. 

She just had to… Break into the labs? Go in like a madwoman demanding answers and be locked up as a test subject for the rest of her life? Go into hiding for a life of solitude? 

While pondering precariously perched on her windowsill, she nearly lost balance and was about to make her journey down to permanent rest –or at least a really nasty broken nose and bruised ribs– when she felt it, and heard it. That little ‘thwip’ and tingly feeling near the base of her hand.

Rumi slowly turned her head towards the wall –as if she did it any faster the web holding her would disappear and doom her all over again– and looked in awe.

There, a strangely iridescent string of web, holding her entire body weight like it was nothing . And it came from her wrist . But… it had just saved her life. And she got to keep her dignity intact. 

Not that there was much of that to begin with, the way she was dressed. Black hoodie, black baggy pants, black facemask and a black beanie doing a valiant effort of containing the waves of hair begging to be let out, shackled by no less than 40 or so bobby pins.

It felt like more of a ‘let’s mug someone’ setup than a sporty outfit, but beggars could not be choosers, and she truly just wanted to disappear into the crowd. Not to swipe wallets, to clarify.

Tugging at the p̶r̶e̶t̶t̶y̶  iridescent web and deeming it safe enough, she silently made her way down, sticking to the wall –quite literally– when she thought she would fall.

With the hard part out of the way, she went to hop the wall separating the garden from the outside of the city. Rumi must have miscalculated her strength– Yeah, absolutely not, this was another freaky post-bite side effect. She jumped so high she thought she’d fall squat on the cement, and, as if by mercy of some higher being, landed in a graceful crouch with not a strand of hair out of place. 

The same could not be said for her heart rate.

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This had not been her intention when she snuck out. She was just going for a run. Maybe later she’d hang out with Jinu, spend the night there knowing it would get her reprimanded. She didn’t care about whatever Celine said about her best friend, she knew it wasn’t true.

This, however, hadn't been what she was blending in for . She just saw that tiny block of text when zooming in with her eyes –yes, weird, she was beyond feigning surprise by now– to read the plastered newspaper taped on the wall, probably a week old by now.

Rumi would have never planned to sneak out just to go pick fights. 

(Apparently she didn’t know herself anymore either.)

And still, there was so much anger, frustration, at Celine, at the weather, at Miyeong for leaving , at herself. She felt like she’d explode soon. 

And maybe she was being impulsive and irrational, irritable. But she just wanted to feel something real , something that wasn’t that ever growing well of nothingness inside of her. 

And, yes, maybe she was also focused on the prize money for winning, having overheard Jinu about rent being tight and having to skip meals –Rumi feeling helpless, knowing she could not have helped before, that Celine monitored all her purchases and transfers– and his monthly shot of testosterone. Maybe she just wanted to give back for a chance.

Show that, in that quiet, shy way of hers, that she cared .

(Rumi knew that she was not a fighter. Rumi had been running all her life. Rumi knew that there was a chance she would be beaten and hit over and over again, knew there was a chance she would come out bruised, a chance of hurt. )

(She was counting on it.)

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The cheering just past the room she was waiting in was deafening , and she allowed herself a moment to rethink the choices that had led her to where she was right now. About to enter a fighting ring just to have something to do .

There was a thrum of energy that needed out , and it howled with the crowd as she was ushered towards the ring.

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“Welcome our newest contestant…” A voice boomed through the megaphone, then a quiet murmur of ‘oh that’s not…’ quickly masked by continuing, “ Spidergirl! ” 

Rumi was about to correct the presenter on her stage name when the towering sweaty man inside the ring smirked and eyed her up like a piece of meat. She felt something akin to a shiver go off, except it was inside her brain, weirdly enough. And suddenly it felt like her instincts did a 180 and instead of begging her to do something and fight , they were now begging her to run . 

A little too late for that, as a shriek of metal above made her wince and clench her teeth, the noise accompanied by a sharp pain to her ears and head. If she had known that sound meant being confined inside a literal cage, maybe she'd have thought thrice about coming in here. Hell, she hadn’t even thought twice.

She swallowed, loudly, and the other fighter inside the ring started circling her like a wild animal sizing up its opponent. Something in the gesture made a switch go off inside Rumi, and her body stopped feeling like it was entirely hers. Her eyes stayed unblinking, her posture rigid like a cat's. Her breathing came in short bursts, and there was this tug in her spine that made her want to crouch, like it was the most natural position.

A swing, sudden, but it might as well have been in slow motion with the way Rumi moved, fluid and seemingly unbothered. And maybe screaming a little on the inside, because what the hell and hey that was kind of cool . 

The next few attacks came in the same fashion, and the digital countdown clock hung near one of the walls helpfully supplied a minute had passed. The man was getting impatient, she could tell. The frown, his reddening ears, uneven heartbeat. A tiny hand gesture to the referee and– Were they handing him a metal chair? Oh absolutely not . Rumi scaled up the metal enclosure like she had been doing it her entire life and it was truly no big deal. Which it was, and she was maybe kinda freaking out about being found out. She thanked her lucky bobby pins for holding the mass of lavender hair, which would take her chances of anonymity down to zero. Why had she thought this was a good idea again? Ah , that's right, there hadn't been a lot of thinking involved.

A new facet of hers that she was apparently finding out about today of all days, was that she was a nervous backtalker. Maybe it had been her outburst with Celine, or maybe she just hadn’t found herself in a situation that warranted it before, but now that her mouth was open and her back sweaty, she found a fake cocky tone slipping from her tongue. “Awh, couldn’t beat a measly teenager so you had to ask for help from hubby over there huh? Retirement treating you harshly?”

What is wrong with me? 

But the man offered no verbal response, only a deep growl –that she found herself returning, against her will– before she blinked and the metal was closing in on her. 

A crack, an exploding ache by her temple and a thud against the floor, and she felt all that false confidence leaving her. She lost, so surely, they’d call the fight off right? They could see that she wasn’t getting up, right?

(Was this not what she had been counting on?)

The pounding in her head worsened, now accompanied by pulsing warmth near her shoulderblade and another sound of impact by her ribs. Her ears rang and everything was muted, but in the midst of the cheers, of the sound of the metal chair clashing into her arm, of the big huffs of breaths taken in by the man in the ring and the referee’s shouts of approval, she picked up a familiar sound. Somewhere in the locker where she had deposited her things before entering, her phone was ringing.

(How comical, that someone who had once dreamed of performing on stage would die in one with not one cheer to her name.)

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Rumi had known what she had walked into, and she was counting on the fact that she would die in that ring.

(A dog that keeps wagging its tail as it is put down.)

Eighteen years old, and begging for nothing but quiet darkness. 

(Two years old and all alone.)

Eighteen years old, and she barely knew herself, scared of what she'd find underneath.

(Six years old and holding her own hand, because no one else would.)

Eighteen years old, and so independent, as was expected of her.

(Thirteen years old and forgetting her mother’s voice.)

Eighteen years old, and a problem no one wanted to deal with anymore.

(Fifteen years old and holding a razorblade to her shoulder, shaking as the blood dripped on the bathroom floor.)

Eighteen years old and already so rotten.

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Conscience came back to her slowly, with the ever-present thought of, I guess I lived . She wasn’t sure how to feel about it. It’s not like Rumi had won the prize, not like she had proved anything other than how badly her body had wanted to survive, even if it had been against her wishes.

She cracked an eye open, the one that wasn’t covered in crusted over blood. The lights were dimmer than she expected them to be and the ringing in her ears had diminished to allow her to hear her surroundings. 

She felt sore all over, and a few pops and painful cracks later it dawned on her that her bones were rearranging themselves back into place, her skin ever so slowly mending back and leaving tiny, barely visible scars in the parts where it had split deeper.

Rumi huffed and made to get up, finally noticing that she was in a makeshift infirmary bed, with her things laying on the floor by her side. It seemed to be late, and when Rumi made to get up with only minimal limping, the emergency exit was unlocked.

Shuffling her bag around to see if everything was where it should be, she palmed at her phone until she could fish it out, the light of the screen making her squint.

11:29pm along with 13 missed phone calls glared at her harshly. She had been out for longer than she had estimated, but what truly made her release a shaky exhale were the missed calls, all from Celine. She’d worried her, again . 

Rumi’s ear twitched, picking up what sounded like someone struggling a block away. Well, if the ring hadn’t done her out, she might as well let curiosity kill the… spider? Whatever she was.

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As Rumi broke into a sprint, wobbling a little to the side due to her still sore… well, everything, she saw the masked person, who she assumed had initiated everything, pull out a gun from their jacket. She was running at top speed, ready to tackle the assailant, when she noticed the hair of the person struggling against the robber. M̶o̶m̶ Celine was in danger.

Something snapped as she barrelled towards her aunt, jumping in front of the loaded gun. An ache in her gums she was barely aware of, and everything becoming sharper around her. Her hands felt heavy and her forehead throbbed, like it was being split in two. 

She noticed that it had started to pour down, and the moment she was visible to the criminal, they fled in horror, dropping the gun in their haste and accidentally kicking it towards herself and Celine. When Rumi made to turn towards her aunt, she registered the gasp first, and then the very same sound she had been trying to protect her from, directed at her.

The gun’s security was off.

“Stay– Stay away, I’m armed!” Her aunt’s voice boomed through the wet alleyway.

 “W– what? Celine, it’s– It’s me, Rumi I–” Her voice shook with an odd timbre.

She saw her aunt’s hand make it to her back pocket, the motion she usually did when she was taking out her phone and– She was calling the authorities. What?

“Celine, it’s me, please, put– put the gun down.” She pleaded again, the rain getting in her eyes and making her vision blurrier than it should be. Or was she crying?

Rumi took a tentative step forward, her hand reaching out to almost touch when she saw it. Her fingers, pitch black and sharpened like talons. The white glowing cracks in her skin actively spread down her wrist and up her palm, like they were reaching for Celine too.

“Oh god I– I swear I can explain okay this is just– It’s a trick of the light I–” Her teeth were getting in the way of her tongue, far sharper than they had any right to be. “Please just hear me out, this all– It’s a misunderstanding just– Drop it, please .” Gesturing to the gun and the phone her aunt had been struggling to get out for a bit.

“ You’re not the Rumi I know. ” For the first time since she had memory, her aunt’s voice quivered.

Another step forward and suddenly– A booming, piercing noise to her left, a smoking imprint on the pavement below her. The ringing was back, louder than ever. And just like that, all the fight had left her because Celine had just fired a warning shot against her .

(Was this not what she had been begging for?)

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Celine had not owed her love to Rumi. They had nothing in common except for the matching imprints of their shoes near the same grave. They were not connected by blood, they did not share the same name, they didn’t even like eachother. 

But Rumi did love Celine. She did in spite of everything, she did so out of obligation. 

A small part of her, denied this, called out her weakness.

No, Rumi did not love Celine out of obligation. She just knew she did, and she just knew that it hurt . 

And yet she had never known love to be anything but momentary, fleeting. She hadn’t known how to love and make it stay . 

But Celine was steadfast in her presence, she had been strict, she had become cruel , and despite everything, Rumi could not help but love the parts that weren’t. 

(A filthy mutt begging for scraps.)

All the broken glass still present, but no longer cutting. She had loved Celine, even knowing the mellow and warm woman laying dormant underneath, a song forgotten, was not for her. 

Rumi was aware that had she been handed that kindness instead, she would not know what to do with it, how to hold it without breaking it all over again.

( And it goes to show, that everything she had ever touched had come undone, unraveled in an irreparable way, blind poison to every outstretched hand turned her way.)

Rumi hadn’t known love without sacrifice, and Celine had forgotten how to love softly.

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“Do it, then.” The words tore from her throat like shrapnel, but her feet stayed steadfast on the ground. Then she took another step, as if daring Celine to take the shot. To lay her down as she had been born, crying, bloodied and swaddled with fake promises of tomorrow.

(It was raining, too, the night Rumi was born.)

A piercing pain made itself known just short of her stomach, and Rumi knew Celine had done what she had asked. What she hadn’t accounted for was her own lashout, the moment her aunt had snapped out of her haze and gone to check on the bleeding girl. 

(How had that saying gone, about the cornered dog?)

Her fangs sank into the soft flesh of Celine’s hand accompanied by a guttural growl and slitted, savage eyes, Rumi reverted to her most savage when met with the burning pain at her side.

Celine let out a curse that Rumi couldn’t have recognized in her state and backed up. The moment she regained control of her own body, she rushed to her aunt’s side, apologies readily flying from her bloodied lips.

“No, no, no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry Eomma, I’ll be good, I’m sorry for lashing out, I didn’t mean it, you just scared me, I’m sorry, I’m sorry–” She was feeling lightheaded, probably from the bloodloss, but she willed her hands to be steady if only to be able to hold Celine’s, noticing they were growing purple near the incisor-shaped wound.

“Rumi.” Her eyes snapped towards Celine’s, noticing the glassy look to them. “Promise me you will stay good. For Miyeong.” For me , was all Rumi wanted to hear. It seemed like she wouldn’t be granted any birthday wishes. 

“Promise me you will fix yourself Rumi.”

Was Eomma’s breathing getting heavier? More painful? 

“Promise me, Rumi!” Celine coughed.

“I– I–” She wheezed, unable to get the words out. How could Celine ask that of her? Knowing what she was? Knowing who she was?

(Despicable child.)

“I can’t–” Was Celine’s palm getting colder? Since when had it stopped shaking? 

“Celine? Celine!” Rumi shook her, over, and over, and over again. “Please– No– I can’t have– Eomma I– I didn’t mean it, I swear I was good, I didn’t mean to, I didn't– I never wanted this to happen!” Her voice shook the puddles of water where she had been kneeling.

The flash of a camera went off and everything except one thing went blank for her; Celine’s cracked phone, shining like a beacon. Her wallpaper, unchanged since that day years ago, where both of them had been smiling like they meant it.

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It hit her then, at some point during begging Celine to just wake up , that she never got to die Kang Celine’s daughter, and she never got to be Ryu Miyeong's. It hit her, that as Celine was growing cold in her arms and the rain got in her eyes, that Celine did not die her mother either.

(Memories rendered meaningless in the face of a mother’s stunted love.)

It hit her, that she would never be someone's baby ever again.

(She had never been anyone’s daughter, never been held in a way that didn’t hurt, never held at all .)

(Rumi had not been good enough for Miyeong to stay, and she had not been enough to step into her shadow and replace the love Celine had lost, either.)

(Like clockwork, loss would be the only thing following the girl throughout life, the only thing that ever held on tight enough to bruise. Tight enough to stay.)

This time, for once, Rumi did not run from her own mind, in the quiet hopes that whatever she had been running from caught up to her.

She picked up the pieces of herself and made her way through the rain, wondering why it wasn’t enough to drown in.

She walked without aim, without reason or purpose, waiting for anyone valiant enough to do what the gunshot wound apparently hadn’t been enough to. She walked, and she finally understood, that she was beyond saving.

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For the first time in her life, Rumi knew that the rain would not wash away her guilt. This time, it would swallow her with it.

Chapter Text

Jinu had been relaxing in his squeaky chair while sipping on some cheap off-brand chemical infested excuse of an energy drink when he heard a thump against his door. He grumbled under his breath, pissed that the downstairs neighbor’s delivery driver had gotten the wrong floor again for three weeks in a row.

He didn’t bother to go looking for his other sock, having lost it somewhere between trying to tidy his floor and doing his weekly laundry run. Sacrifices , he thought while stretching and letting out a groan when a satisfying pop cracked from his back. 

Opening the door with a tired glare, he started to gently remind the worker to please double check the floor number next time when he realized there was no one standing in front of him. He blinked, annoyance starting to simmer low in his gut at thinking he’d been pranked after the draining week of pre-university preparations and trying to make ends meet.

He felt something wet touch his only sock, and was about to yell in indignance when he glanced down and noticed the mess of wet purple brown-tipped strands and something pulsing sickly red on the floor. Jinu’s hands trembled as he stumbled, trying to find the source of the warmth rapidly leaving his best friend lying unconscious on his floor, trembling and so cold to the touch.

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The move… Hadn’t been great. Abeoji had waved away the worries, saying something about a ‘dog-eat-dog’ world, and that no child of his would be worth spending time with if they couldn’t understand that and stand up on their own. 

Abeoji had also stated that if any people in suits were present, he was to be addressed by name, or else it would reflect badly on his image. Still, it was hard to say the name Yu-jun and have the same tone of care in it than if he was just called Abeoji. But those were his wishes, so as the oldest child, she had to take extra care in following Yu-jun’s rules if she wanted to be seen and acknowledged.

The thing was, it was so easy to just hide . She hadn’t wanted to be seen, and no one had bothered to look.

The first day of second grade was only halfway through, but she was feeling absolutely drained. Despite her broken English, she had thought playground activities would be simpler, more lenient and easier to socialize. They only entailed running around and climbing stuff, after all.

She had been wrong. 

‘Too rough’, was what a group of girls had said, ‘sorry, we already have a full team’, the boys on the mini football field apologized, even though it was clear they were missing at least three more people to play properly. Whatever, it’s not like she had been excited to play or anything. Her own company was enough. She hadn’t wanted to be friends with them to begin with.

She was going to go wallow in a corner when she noticed one of the girls in her class, –the quiet one– sat under the shade of the biggest tree of the playground. She approached like one would a stray cat. Soft but steady footsteps, like in that videogame she liked, where if you didn’t crouch they’d run away before you could feed them fish.

The girl noticed and looked up with wide brown eyes, curious but with an edge of caution, never quite meeting the other’s stare, like she hadn’t decided if the other presence sitting a little ways beside her was a welcome one yet.

She blinked up again, making timid eye contact. She had this glossed over look, like she wasn’t always all there, like she tried really hard to stay present and still found her efforts lacking. 

Then, with what seemed to be the last of her social battery, she nodded, as if she had accepted the truce, and decided to share the roots of the tree with new company. Neither of them talked.

It became tradition after that, sitting in the shade, never talking, but setting snacks and food in the space between them like offerings. Branches reaching for friendship.

On a particularly sunny day, the girl with the sad eyes looked up again and opened her mouth, only to promptly close it again, like the words got stuck and now she had to cough them out. She tried again, gaze jumping from a leaf, to an ant on the ground, and finally, to the bag of animal crackers laid between them, which both of them had been munching on before she’d decided to end the silence.

“I never caught your name.” Was all she said, and there was a comforting lilt to her words, a very slight accent that she was slowly starting to think of as ‘home’. 

“It’s–” She mumbled. She hadn’t liked that name, and seldom recognized it as her own. It never felt like hers , just expectation, a bar she had to reach, no matter what. It was heavy, and it was not hers . She shook her head, smiled even if a tooth was missing –it had fallen a week prior, and Abeoji had been so busy with meetings that she had reconciled no one would throw it on the roof to see if a magpie took it away, reconciled with the fact that no tooth of h̶i̶s̶ could be of much use to the family regardless– and extended a hand forward. “I’m Jinu.”

(He remembered how her halmeoni had told her it meant ‘true friend’. Remembered how she had carded her hands through soft hair, right after a meltdown in which she’d taken scissors from the kitchen and chopped it off because it had been touching her neck and she had hated the feeling. Remembered how A̶b̶e̶o̶j̶i̶ Yu-jun hadn’t even given a reaction to her distress, only dusted his shoulders and kept walking.)

The brown-haired girl sat there, wide-eyed, and gave her what could only be described as the most awkward, wobbly smile –she was also missing a tooth!– ever. Even then, she took the outstretched hand in hers, and instead of doing the obvious and giving her own name back –not like she needed it, she had heard it during attendance, ‘Rumi’, and thought it was a cool name– “I like your hair.”

And if Rumi happened to hear another name called out in class when it was Jinu’s turn, she only shrugged and made a zipper motion against her lips. 

(They decided to carve their initials on the roots of the tree, a choppy J along a loopy but otherwise still janky looking R.)

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Her eyes seemed brighter after that day. Her shadow more pronounced, like she was finally taking up the space she had haunted before. Jinu liked how, with Rumi, no silence begged to be filled. She liked how when they interlaced their pinkies, Rumi didn’t mind the sweat or callouses. She liked how real it felt. She liked having a friend.

A day before summer break, Rumi sat with her hands cupped around something, calling Jinu over. There, an –honestly ugly looking– baby magpie shivered against her hands, Jinu’s best friend looking up with misty eyes that were screaming ‘can we keep it’, which was ridiculous, because it wasn’t up to her , but she nodded anyways and both of them devised a plan so Rumi could sneak it in to her house without her aunt noticing.

(Perhaps this was the good luck he had been waiting for.)

Jinu was nearly banned from coming over to her house that summer, something about being a ‘bad influence’. Rumi and Jinu took turns looking over the bird and feeding it, their tiny, uncoordinated hands warming up the little animal –that looked no less ugly– with care.

They also spent weeks debating the name of said ugly little animal, and never came to a conclusion. 

“A child of divorce.” They agreed in between giggles.

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They were eleven now, and had found a passion for singing. They made a Youtube channel with a logo stolen from Facebook, over which they had spent over three hours debating. Celine never let Rumi go over to Jinu’s house, so their hangouts were limited, but they made due. She had caught them singing and immediately tensed, waiting until Jinu was out the door to tell Rumi to set herself straight and get her head out of the clouds, because singing would not put food on the table.

(‘You remind me of your mother’, was what Celine told Rumi that day. It wasn’t said like a good thing. Rumi stopped singing, and Jinu learned to stop asking her to.)

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Jinu had just turned fourteen, Rumi a few months behind from catching up. It was the second time she had been to Jinu’s house, having learned the art of sneaking out to be able to join her best friend’s solo celebration. 

They were laying on their backs, legs hanging off the bed, while looking at the glow in the dark plastic stars glued to the ceiling, or, at least, the remaining ones that hadn’t fallen out.

“I think I’m a boy.” Jinu said, a little out of breath, like holding it in had strained his lungs.

Silence, then, the quiet sound of bedsheets wrinkling, big brown eyes, much like the day they had met, but this time they were steadier. Finally allowing the light to shine through. A small exhale and a giggle followed, and Jinu looked down to ask what was so funny when his friend just nodded.

“Okay.” Rumi smiled, soft, lopsided in a way only she could muster, genuine.

They didn’t talk much after that. That’s how it was some days. They allowed themselves the peace that came with it.

(Exactly two days later, when Rumi sat down next to Jinu in class, he was handed a hand-crafted birthday card, a little magpie –Sae, no doubt– painted with watercolor and lined with finepen, and in loopy handwriting that could only be Rumi’s, was written “Congratulations bird-day boy!”)

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They were sixteen now, their home lives had gotten increasingly hard, Jinu’s father constantly absent, Celine becoming more and more fixated on Rumi’s flaws and imperfections. Both started wearing baggier and longer-sleeved clothes. Neither really called it out, too afraid to chase the other off, cross a line that might as well have been a precipice. They saw eachother and never thought of a mess to clean up, only a friend whose hand they wanted to hold.

Rumi had snuck out to Jinu’s house again, standing behind him while holding scissors in one hand and a strand of his damp hair in the other. They were both wearing t-shirts and shorts, Rumi’s prominent scars peeking out from her shoulder, some older than others, while Jinu’s legs made way for raised skin and silvery lines.

The floor was a mess, but the ambiance was nice, the steady drip of water droplets coming from Jinu’s shower, the peaceful hum of the light. 

“You know I love you, right?” It echoed around the glossy tiles of the bathroom. He could hear his best friend take a deep breath from where she was standing.

“I–” She sighed, like acknowledging it meant she had to accept it. “I know. I love you too, for what it’s worth.” Then, as if unable to keep herself open and vulnerable, trying not to take herself too seriously –a flaw both of them shared–, she chuckled and added, “However, my love has limits, and said limits are cleaning your hair strands from your bathroom floor. Why don’t you go to a stylist anyways?”

“What, can’t a guy appreciate a choppy cut every now and then? Jesus, Rumi, like saving money is a crime.” 

“Hey! My cuts are not choppy! And if you want me to keep giving them to you for free you better leave a good review, hair-boy!” It had become a tradition for Rumi, to come up with the most cringey, out of pocket nicknames for Jinu. Bird-boy was an all-time favorite, because some days, Jinu acted like Sae –who he would still annoyingly call Sussie, much to her chagrin– was his pet instead of Rumi’s. Ever the doting uncle, she supposed.

She gave him a light slap on the back, like one would a piece of meat, and declared her work done. 

“Alright, thanks, scissor-girl.” Rumi made a choked sound before snorting and jabbing her finger into his ribs.

“ Never call me that again.” She said it in an angry tone, but both of them knew it was all for show. They were no longer those kids yearning for connection, lonely, begging for a friend. They just got to be Rumi and Jinu, and that was enough for them.

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Jinu was nineteen now, and he was watching as his soulmate bled out on his welcome mat.

He carried her inside the apartment with shaking limbs –he knew you were not supposed to move a wounded person, but hell, he wasn’t about to treat her while she was crumpled on the dirty floor outside his cramped apartment complex–, trying to hold her without getting bruised by the two mismatched bumps sprouting from her forehead, finally laying her down on the floor to frantically check for the injury that had made her pass out.

He took note of the glowing red cracks that spread out on her arms to her jaw all the way to what he assumed were her calves by the rips along her pants that looked like she had gotten them from stumbling over and over, saw the way her hands looked ink-stained, and the harsher irregular breaths she took, the farther it spread, creating more thorn-like bumps along her forearm, accentuating the webbing patterns and lighting up a particular spot on both her wrists.  If he were in any calmer state of mind, he’d think they looked pretty cool. Right now, however, one hand was occupied trying and failing to dial 911, and the other was still trying to find the wound.

When he reached the side of her abdomen, he sucked in a breath at the gnarly sight. It was definitely not as bad as he had expected, and actually looked like it just needed to be wrapped tightly. Jinu looked over Rumi and decided that there was no way in hell he could bullshit his way through whatever had happened to her –bullet wound aside– and he was not keen on seeing his best friend be taken away as a lab rat.

Right, dressing. He needed to clean and dress the wound. No big deal. Rumi groaned and kept shivering on the floor, and while she had been probably soaking in the rain, her skin was absolutely freezing to the touch. Bills be damned, I have to keep my best friend alive so I can chew her out for ruining my welcome mat later, the damn thing cost me like three dollars! , he thought as he plugged the tiny heater by his bedside. “Alright Rumi, you better hang in there or I won’t feed Sussie for you.” 

As he wiped the wound with antiseptic, he noticed that Rumi’s blood would slowly turn more purple than red. Definitely something to ask about when she was awake. Or, well, maybe not, knowing her she’d probably deny everything and encase herself in blankets to never be seen again. I mean, how do you even begin to deal with something like this? Jinu felt his frown deepening. The fangs, her avoidance, the way she had sounded so on edge, rushing to leave.

This was definitely a new development –obviously, unless his memory of the last decade of friendship was quickly fading from his grasp– and as worried as he was for his friend, there was also the underlying curiosity, a morbid fascination, because Rumi was glowing, clawing at the carpet while unconscious and had a set of what he could now tell were black, pointy, mismatched horns on her forehead and he wondered just how they’d hide that on a day to day basis. Assuming Rumi would stay, because surely she would prefer crashing at Jinu’s for a bit than facing Celine as she was. Hell, if he could convince her to finally move out of that suffocating house, he’d take it as the win of the year.

Another groan, he turned to see what was bothering her so much –apart from being on the floor– as she tossed and mumbled something far too quiet to hear. Jinu shuffled closer, trying to decipher what exactly Rumi was saying.

“ Eomma –” His face froze. “I’m sorry– I’ll be good… I swear… Don’t leave–” Jinu frowned, as he wrapped the white bandages while trying to hold Rumi still. She kept apologizing to no one at all. It broke his heart.

“Jesus Rumi, we’re getting you therapy after this.” He said under his breath, not like Rumi was conscious to hear him.

Fuck, I’m gonna need some too if the blood on the floor doesn’t come off, so you better wake up soon and help me clean it, Jinu hid a grimace, sighing gratefully as the bandages thankfully did their job from stopping any more from seeping out.

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Rumi shot up from the pile of towels, blankets and pillows that had seemingly been thrown on top of her and the floor. It was blessedly quiet, wherever she was, but that did not stop her from quickly escaping the mountain of things weighing her down in a panic. Vaguely, she recognized it as Jinu’s tiny –shitty– apartment.

In her haste of getting up, she tripped over the plugged heater by her side, igniting a jolt of pain from her stomach and involuntarily shooting out a web to the wall for balance. The lack of sleeves on her made her pause, noticing how the web-reminiscent lines had spread and settled, having gained a pearly semi-opaque sheen. Her hands looked normal, up until the point in which her fingertips looked like they’d been dipped in ink. The curtain of hair falling over her eyes –her braid must have come loose, but at least half the bobby pins survived– was, for some reason, purple and looked metallic when the light caught it.

The squeaky hinges of a door snapped her out of the daze she had been trapped in, and her body moved on its own accord, quickly jumping to the ceiling and flattening her torso on it –every movement tugged insistently on her abdomen– and slowing her breaths, eyes unblinkingly staring at the mop of messy hair before her.

“Oh. So they do disappear after a while huh.” Were the first words from Jinu’s mouth when he looked at Rumi’s hornless forehead that now only sported twin star-shaped pearly markings like the rest of her body did. 

“Jinu I– I swear I can explain and– I’m really sorry you had to see that, I swear, I don’t know what’s happening to me–” She hiccupped every few words, feeling her throat closing up, tears threatening the edges of her eyes.

Jinu, who had just been standing there with a neutral expression, gave her a reassuring smile. “Rumi, breathe, and– Can you get down from the ceiling? I’m worried you’ll tear the wound open again.”

She cocked her head and tried to yank her hands and the balls of her feet from the ceiling to no avail. Her best friend, still standing in the bathroom’s doorway, try as he might, could not hide his snort at the scene in front of him. If he wasn’t worried about Rumi at the moment, he would’ve snapped a picture from the downright stupid look she was sporting.

As it stood, though, Jinu was worried. Rumi had this faraway look, the one that reminded him of the early stages of their friendship, when Rumi hadn’t felt present at all, had looked like a ghost impersonating the remains of a little girl consumed by grief. 

She looked like that now, if less aware. She looked like she had just come to terms with the fact that there was nothing more to life, so she’d gone to haunt whatever memories she held close as her body went on autopilot. She looked hopeless.

“Rumi?” He tried again, sensing that she had lost focus on him. Her head snapped back to Jinu’s, and he noticed, again, a new change in his best friend. Not only did her pupils look like almonds now, the marks that ran from her eyelids to her temple could apparently light up. They looked like a smaller, more cartoonish version of… well, another set of eyes. 

He felt a little bit like prey, like he had walked into a tiger’s enclosure in the zoo by mistake and he was being assessed for how much meat his bones had stuck to them. That wasn’t important right now, though, Jinu was far more nervous about being able to get any information from Rumi in the state she was in right now, but he had to try, or else there’d be no way he could possibly help.

“Can you tell me what happened yesterday?” His tone wasn’t harsh, yet he still saw the flinch Rumi attempted to hide, like it wasn’t clear as day that she wasn’t okay. “Does it have anything to do with–” He mulled it over, before shaking his head. He’d have to bite the bullet and just ask. If Rumi had gotten into another fight with Celine –which was probably what had happened– then it was best to just ask and let Rumi talk if she felt like it. If not? Then he had a tub of half eaten ice cream and an amazing website to pirate the Barbie movies on. “Does it have anything to do with Celine?”

Clearly, that had been the wrong thing to ask, because all at once, Rumi’s shaking ceased, her unfocused pupils shrunk until barely a tiny black line was visible, and her breathing simply stopped . It was like everything about her just pulled the brakes. Jinu saw as Rumi’s marks darkened in real time, the way the black of her fingertips bled into her palms.

As soon as he started opening his mouth to apologize and reassure her that they really didn’t need to talk about it if she wasn’t feeling well –and really, how could she possibly be feeling well with, well, everything?– Rumi looked from Jinu to the window and she was suddenly gone in the blink of an eye, a faint breeze entering the room.

Shit.

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Stupid . So stupid . So stupid and selfish . She hadn’t even remembered consciously making her way to Jinu’s apartment. Whatever happened to keeping others safe from herself?

It all came back to her, muddied and so hazy. But she knew– She knew that if only she could make it back h̶o̶m̶e̶, Celine would be waiting there for her. She always was. Always sitting on the couch, cold, untouched tea in hand. 

That’s how it was, that’s how it had always been. Whyever would it change now? Celine would be home, and Rumi would get there and apologize like her life depended on it. She’d apologize and make it all right again. She’d cover up and she’d be good . So long as they got to pretend, then that was fine too.

S̶h̶e̶ w̶a̶n̶t̶e̶d̶ h̶e̶r̶ m̶o̶m̶.

She barely noticed the dirty looks she got when she bumped into people, the concerned glances from people that saw her stumble once or twice. She had no time to pay any mind to that. She had to make it, she had to apologize, she had to go see Celine. 

She’d be waiting, and Rumi would apologize. Like clockwork . 

Everything would be as it was, she’d fix it, she’d set herself right, and this would all be over .

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The house was quieter than usual. Silence was expected in it. But the eeriness– It was too much. An unwelcome presence.

(Just like she had been.)

Rumi would have traced her fingers on the table she had stopped in front of. She would’ve, if she hadn’t feared it would break under her touch, that her charcoal stained hands would dirty it beyond repair.

(A filthy alley dog on white sheets.)

She set to opening Celine’s cabinet of assorted teas, all untouched save for the earl gray–Celine’s favorite. Slowly but methodically she plugged the kettle in and watched as it whistled, feeling tempted to hum in order to get rid of the stillness in the house. Celine would have told her to stop, though, and–

It was getting harder to pretend she was coming back. It was getting harder to scrub off the guilt off her hands, now rubbed raw in the sink, fingers permanently tainted.

She made it all the way up the stairs on wobbly knees, only to be stopped by the familiar squawks of Sae. God , Sae, she’d left it here, alone. I’m terrible , she thought bitterly as she opened the door and caught sight of the bird. Something in the back of her brain blared alarms at seeing the talons and sharp beak, while another reminded her she hadn’t eaten in a while, and it was right there– She paid no mind to either of those thoughts, instead going to open the cage –this time without getting her hand stuck on the bars–, letting the magpie step onto her outstretched hand. 

Sae gave her a scrutinizing glare with its beady black eyes, pecked at her fingers as if asking ‘What is this?’ then ultimately deciding to climb up to her shoulders and burrow on her neck, mindful of its beak.

Rumi knew that she had no place in this house anymore, no one waiting for her on the couch, as much as she’d like to pretend, as much as she apologized, begged, promised that she’d do better, be easier to manage, easier to love, to digest, Celine was gone. She’d done that. 

The now purple haired girl looked at her bird softly, with a deep sadness in her eyes. “I’ll get you a good place buddy. I know he’ll take good care of you and– And then– Then I’ll go away, so you stay safe, okay?” Sae only cuddled closer, sinking its tiny talons into her.

Rumi packed a bag with whatever belongings didn’t make her immediately want to cry, and made her way with Sae and the bag to her still open window. She really was making it a habit to go out of those, huh?

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Jinu managed to get most of the purple-ish blood cleaned, only a stain remained where his best friend’s head had hit the floor.

He’d been pacing for so long he was sure if he looked down, he’d see his footprints firmly stamped on the ground. His eyes, however, were glued to his phonescreen. After bombarding Rumi’s phone with messages that didn’t appear to go through, he decided that waiting was the only thing he was able to do at the moment.

He knew that, when Rumi ran, it was because she needed space, a place to fall apart away from the outside world, and a place to pick herself back up and pretend it hadn’t happened in the first place. Jinu knew that, had he pursued her, he would’ve been pushed farther away. He couldn’t take any chances. So, that’s what he was doing, waiting for her to come back and just talk .

What he had not expected, however, was to get a notification from one of the forums he was part of. A new post on ‘ Cryptids of New York ’ had his thumb hovering over it instantly. Might as well do something while I wait and worry myself to death , he sighed internally.

The page was, admittedly, not the most modern, and the article took its sweet time loading. However, as soon as the blurry image popped up, his heart sank to the floor and into the cracks. 

It was, as far as everyone else was concerned, a pretty good shot, all in all. Blurry? Yes. But in comparison to all the other so-called evidence on the site, this was the best they had gotten in a while. A reporter who had published the picture under the initials ‘B. G.’ and had been anonymously interviewed as a witness claimed to have seen a hunched over creature wailing beside the body that was found in the alley. Apparently, the autopsy had come back positive for venom, according to the papers it seemed potent and ‘snake-adjacent’, meaning it shared similarities but was not an exact match for any known species. Jinu’s grip on his phone strengthened, and his jaw tensed.

He really hoped he was wrong– But if he wasn’t? Rumi would have to stay in hiding until things calmed down. And hopefully get therapy because if he was assuming things right? She was in way worse of a state than he had initially thought. He thought back to the gunshot wound his best friend had been sporting last night and exhaled shakily. Right, he’d worry about that later. First, he needed Rumi to come back home safe .

His wishes were answered by a knock on the window that he had shut when drizzle began falling in. There, Rumi sat, pale, drenched, cradling something in her hands, and he was reminded of that afternoon by the playground’s tree, where she had held the very same bird with reverence and care. Now she held Sae with fear, raw terror translated into shaking hands.

Jinu wordlessly opened the window and held out his own palm up, beckoning Rumi inside, unwilling to let her spend any more time out in the rain.

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Rumi shuffled on the edge of the fire escape, ready to drop Sae off, say her goodbyes and bolt. Jinu seemed to have other ideas when he basically yanked her inside, her pet magpie squawking in indignation at its beauty sleep being interrupted. It settled back inside Rumi’s patterned palms while giving Jinu a malicious side eye.

How Rumi could tell what Sae was feeling from a single squawk was honestly beyond her.

She caught Jinu looking at the bag slung on her shoulders and retreated farther until her back made contact with the wall.

“Look, Jinu I– I can’t explain what’s been happening and I don’t– I don't expect you to understand because I barely do myself but… Could you please just… Promise me you’ll take care of Sae?” The rawness of her voice gave away the hidden plea of ‘please let me go’ .

“I won’t pretend I know what’s happening, and I won’t pretend I’m not in shock about– Well, all of this but, Rumi, if you think I’m letting you pull away now of all times? You’re crazier than I ever gave you credit for.” He started, and his tone left no room for arguing. “You’re my best friend Rumi, and I’ve let you pull away for so long but not this time. Not when it looks like you’re planning everything out to leave and never come back . You don’t get to do that to me. We promised eachother.” 

And if guilt was a corporeal thing, it would be seeping out of Rumi’s pores. I know and I’m a liar. I know and I’m sorry. I know and I’m no better than either of my mothers. I know I am beyond repair. I’m trying to save you from myself, don’t you get it? 

But Jinu just continued, undeterred, “And if you think whatever is happening would ever make me love you any less, you’re dead wrong, Ryu Rumi.” He hugged her loosely, giving her the option to turn him away. In all these years, Rumi had been awkward at everything that had to do with touch, unaware of how to accept and receive it, but leaning in at the first attempt of contact. This time, it was different. Her arms stayed glued to her sides, fingers twitching and her entire frame trembling, like she was holding back tears, holding herself back from reciprocating the embrace she so clearly needed.

(Jinu had witnessed Rumi growing up. He’d done so alongside her. He always remembered seeing kids begging for toys, an outing to the park, for permission to have a sleepover at their friend’s house. He remembered how Rumi had only ever begged for forgiveness, only begged for more time to justify her existence.)

Like she was deathly afraid of herself.

“Does it scare you? What you can do?” And Rumi all but collapsed in her friend's arms, Sae still perched on her shoulder and nuzzling at her neck. 

Yes, and I’m terrified that you’ll be next. 

Yes, because all I’ve ever known how to do is break.

None of it was said out loud, but Jinu just held her tighter. “You can stay, for however long you want Rumi.” Please don’t leave, seemed far too selfish of an ask.

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A week had passed since that, and Sae had been settling well in the new space of the now shared apartment. The one who seemed unable to get up to do anything except the most basic things however, was Rumi. She’d seemed catatonic these past few days, and for good reason. She hadn’t said it outright, but Jinu knew she was still blaming herself.

Helpless to do anything more but watch as she slept her days away, Jinu opted to offer her a change of pace. He texted her a list, threw her a facemask and a black hoodie that had been originally hers to begin with and a rolled up cloth bag for groceries. 

“I– What’s this, Jinu?” Her voice was hoarse and tired, a little gravelly from lack of use. 

Jinu just patted her shoulder and shoved her more items of random, plain clothing. He hadn’t told her there was a whole article and tiny community labeling her as a cryptid, given her state of mind, but he also wasn’t taking any chances of her being recognized in what was supposed to be a quest of slow recovery.

“You, my dear friend, are going to walk over to the store five minutes from here and do all the grocery shopping from now on–” A pause, “Should the paycheck allow it.” 

Rumi nodded –only half conscious, a state she had been stuck in since that night– and slowly picked up whatever clothes Jinu had handed her and put them on at a snail’s pace, like even that was zapping all her energy away. 

“If you’re not back within an hour I’m sending out a squad.” Jinu called over his shoulder when he saw Rumi standing by the door, hand slowly turning the handle.

“But it’s only five minutes away?” She asked, slightly slurred, like her tongue had been dipped in honey.

“I know.” He just gave her a patient, understanding smile, and Rumi wondered what she ever did to deserve a friend like him.

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Rumi squinted at her phone’s cracked, probably waterlogged screen. What the hell is ‘Ask Danielle for the good stuff’ supposed to mean? She would figure it out, hopefully. Rounding the corner of the frozen section, she stopped, one pointed ear flicking, hidden under one of Jinu’s hats, that embarrassingly said ‘In dog years I’m gay’ . That little pinprick she had felt before when danger was near pushed and warned that something was amiss.

She could hear a hushed conversation at the other end of the store and the telltale click of a firearm. 

(It was raining, and she was back in that alley.)

Her side throbbed painfully.

Rumi panicked, unsure of what to do. Should she walk away? Escape while the poor woman up front, presumably the owner of the little establishment, was robbed and in danger?

She hadn’t been fast enough then, hadn’t been enough. Could she ever really make up for it?

In her tired, perhaps slightly delirious and grief-struck state of mind she decided that it wouldn’t even matter if she didn’t do anything. She had the ability to make up for herself now, didn’t she? She could be useful, just once.

Come on, you better work this time… She sucked in a breath as she rolled up her sleeves the tiniest bit, feeling a thrum under her veins making the jagged pearly lines light up white, finally resembling the spiderweb pattern only truly visible when she had been in distress.

Flicking her wrist and not hearing a ‘thwip’, she swallowed a groan. She tried, again, this time with her palm up and all but one finger curled, like she was accusingly pointing at someone. No dice , she was running out of time. Attempt after attempt, she frantically whispered at her wrist to ‘please do something, just work properly, just this once’ before that blessed noise graced her sensitive ears and she felt tears of gratitude well up in her eyes as a web –that’s what they were, right?– flung itself across the store, gluing the man’s weapon –that he had been flailing around in anger, yelling at the middle aged woman to just hurry up – to the wall near the register. 

His head turned so fast towards her Rumi was surprised he hadn’t pulled a muscle.

Before he could yell at her or do something rash, she spoke up first, with a sassy tone that had her schooling back a surprised expression herself. “Sir, if you don’t have enough change for whatever pack of cigarettes is making you act like this, please, kindly step aside, some people have a life and are in a rush, you get me?” To make matters worse, she decided to shoulder-check him on her way to the cashier, where the middle-aged woman with curly hair and a worn nametag that said ‘Danielle’ –huh, so Jinu was getting drugs from her ?– looked at her like she’d grown a second head. Maybe she had, knowing her luck.

“What the hell did you just say to me you little bi–” The man choked as Rumi turned her eyes to meet his. They glinted amber in the light, and a low growl built up in her throat. Had she not been wearing a mask, she’d flash her fangs for good measure. Wait, what ? What the hell was she thinking? That was not a normal thing to do. Get it together, Rumi.

She slowly tilted her head, as if beckoning him to follow, and looked from the glued pistol on the wall back to him, a challenge. She couldn’t have been more obvious if she dared, everything about her screaming ‘ try me ’. The man sneered, and before he could make his way out and punch a hole in a wall or whatever it was insecure old men did nowadays, she shot another web –finally, getting the hang of it– right at the sole of his foot, making him trip and, if the crunch was anything to go by, possibly break his nose. 

She turned her head to the cashier again and let out an awkward apologetic chuckle. “I’m really sorry for the inconvenience and, um, could you– Not tell anyone about what you saw..?” She began fidgeting with the ends of her fraying sleeves. Normally she would be playing with the end of her braid, but she hadn’t had the energy to do anything to her hair besides put it in a bun lately, so, no readily available built-in fidget toy for her today.

Danielle, gave her a look over and smiled, adjusting her thick glasses and letting out a low, raspy chuckle. “I ain’t seen nothin’ girl, now, anything else you need to buy?” An unspoken truce. Rumi let out a tiny sigh of relief.

“Oh, um, Jinu sent me? For the… good stuff..?” Rumi whispered it like if she said it any louder, police would break down the door and arrest her on the spot. They probably would come, just, for someone else, currently knocked out on the floor. 

The woman by the register laughed loudly now, boisterous and free. “Oh, you’re Jinu’s little friend, yeah, yeah, he mentioned something about that a few days ago. Just one second. Keep an eye on the ruffian on the floor, please.” Rumi saw her quickly disappear to the backroom, and drummed her fingers on the shopping basket.

As soon as she was out, she hefted a heavy-looking box in front of her with a grunt. “Alright sweetheart, here’s this week’s supply. Tell the little man he doesn’t owe me anything for this one.” She winked and disappeared to the back, presumably dialing whatever authorities were nearby. Rumi was not willing to stick around and wait for them, so she balanced the bag on one hand and the box on another, relieved that it was actually quite light –or had she just gotten stronger?– and she wouldn’t have to suffer on the way back. 

“Um, thanks, again! Bye!” She called out before booking it out the door, accidentally –untrue– kicking the bruised man on the floor. 

When she took a peek inside the box, she was perplexed to find half of it filled with a Korean-only brand of instant noodles, and the other half with rows of turquoise-pink cans of that knockoff energy drink Jinu swore by.

Oh, so, not drugs.

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When Rumi unlocked the door and called out an unsure little, ‘I’m home!’, she was still riding the adrenaline high of the shop-fiasco. Her skin was still buzzing, that sense of danger finally ebbing away to make way for the gratification that came with being useful .

Jinu had apparently forgotten –or just not cared– and left the bathroom door open, which she simply barreled into, nearly tripped, somehow balanced herself out, and saw Jinu halfway into his binder, arms sticking up and possibly cramped. Already familiar with the scene, she swiftly pulled it down, freed her friend, then looked him dead in the eye and said, “I’m signing up to community service.”

Jinu took it surprisingly well, smiling, “That’s great Rumi! What’ll you be doing–” But before he could finish, Rumi, already out the door and pulling out a notebook from one of the only two cluttered shelves in the apartment, only smiled wide, fangs in display and giggled.

“I’m becoming a vigilante.” Jinu had never gone through the five stages of grief faster in his entire life.

Chapter Text

It seemed, to Rumi, that that which had brought her calm would follow her now and make sure she never forgot what she’d done.

(Who she’d killed.)

It rained, too, the day Celine’s funeral was held. 

Nothing more than a drizzle, surely not even enough for people to bring out their umbrellas. 

The wound had healed.

Without trouble, the hole near her abdomen had scarred in a matter of days. 

It felt wrong. 

She was supposed to be battling an infection. 

(Was supposed to be d̶ crying.) 

She was supposed to be at the hospital, hooked up to an IV drip.

She was supposed to feel. 

(Was supposed to be underground with her mother.)

Anything else but this emptiness. 

(Was supposed to keep bleeding as all sacrificial lambs do.)

This detachment. 

(This was her bed, and she wasn't even allowed to lie in it.)

Even though Celine had taught her that indifference could save lives. 

(She was tired.)

That it had saved hers. 

(And look at where she was now.)

She was becoming every bit the monster Celine had handled with gloved hands as she grew up. 

She found herself falling back on old habits, tapping once on the open doorframe, purely out of impulse, putting her shoes on in the order Celine had reprimanded her for, saying it took up time. 

Jinu had only looked at her with patience and something irrevocably sad from where he'd stood, keys in hand, as she put on her right sock then her right shoe, left side always last. 

Rumi had felt that shame rooted deep inside her flare at being caught. She couldn’t seem to get a hold of herself. She slept so much more now, gave in to those tics, frowned when the only thing holding her together seemed to be the laces tied tight. 

She knew, logically, that they had not come loose from just standing in front of the slab of stone. She knew they had been just as they should be, as they had been the day before. 

(Rumi had not gone back to that house, but the knowledge that there was no cooling tea by the living room left her grasping for something to hold on to regardless.)

The tiny water droplets made for convincing tears down her permanently marked face, thankfully hidden under a mask. 

(The ugly thing inside her finally rearing its head, what a wretched thing she’d let herself become.)

‘I’ll fix m̶e̶ it.’ She thought. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to cry anymore. The things Celine had taught her, even without saying them, things like ‘don’t cry in front of others’. 

What had she to prove now? That she was a good daughter? Had been? Could be? 

(That she could still follow orders? That she wasn’t a deviant?)

She’d built so much of her life expectations proving she could be something loveable, something that was worth it, that now she just felt lost. 

What was she staying for? Who else was there to prove anything to, except herself?

She was reminded, sometime during the fog in her mind, somewhere in between the hours she had just been standing and staring at the memorial stone, of the poem she’d read out in class, the last few weeks before graduating. 

She was branded with the words, then, that the dog that weeps after its kill is no better than the one that doesn’t. That no matter how much she pleads, no matter how many tears she sheds, her guilt would not purify her.

When Jinu asked how she was feeling after they’d gotten  ̶h̶o̶m̶e̶ to the tiny apartment, she parroted it back like a broken record. 

She took off the cap that had been hiding her already half collapsed bun, yet kept the gloves. She’d taken to playing with the loose strings, content to hide her permanently soot-dipped fingers.

(Taken to ignoring just how far from human she’d become.)

Really, who would hold a monster’s hand after being taught to beware their claws?

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They’d been sitting for well over three hours on the cramped –and frankly dirty– floor of Jinu’s –and Rumi’s, maybe?– apartment. Sae had been watching perched from the top bunk, scrutinizing as always.

Rumi’s one and only opinion about her disguise –'vigilante suit', Jinu corrected- was that it had to be black. Jinu, ever the wingman, had called her an ‘emo fuck’. Rumi just thought black looked badass. And it was great for hiding bloodstains.

Every time he’d tried to reach out for a pen or marker near Rumi, however, she’d withdrawn, as if burned by the proximity of another human being. He was worried. But, then again, this was his best friend, so he was always a little worried.

He made a mental note –one of many, considering this was Rumi– and kept brainstorming vigilante names, utilizing more brainpower than probably necessary. In between, he decided to ask what had been gnawing at him. “So, I know you like, stick to the ceiling and have a built-in RGB light set, but like, is that the only reason you decided on spider-themed?”

Rumi finally looked up, a little bit of awareness seeping into her tired eyes. “Got bit.” Was the short response Jinu got from her, which, well, didn’t explain anything at all. Rumi must’ve sensed his disappointment because she sighed and yanked her right glove halfway off. There, near the base of her index finger, shining alone in the contrast of her stained hand, two diminute markings like the ones that covered the rest of her body. They did, in fact, look like a spider bite. 

“Woah… Looks cool– Wait, are you messing with me? I’ve gotten a dozen spider bites over my life and I haven’t exactly gotten anything from them other than a headache!” He frowned.

In his little temper tantrum, he’d flung his arms in the air and accidentally knocked over the half-empty can near the notebook pile. The moment it started tipping over, Rumi’s temple eye-markings lit up and with some –really cool looking– hand movements, an honest to god web shot out of her wrist to save whatever was left of the drink… that hadn’t already splashed onto the paper.

Rumi, who wasn’t really in a talking mood –understandably–, only glared at him half heartedly and huffed. 

“So do you shoot webs out of your brai–” Suddenly, Jinu’s mouth was glued shut by web. Gross. But, point taken. Joke about it again. Over and over.

Well, at least that explained the ‘halloween decorations’ and the singular web he’d found in the middle of his ceiling.

Rumi mentioned they were useful for gluing guns to walls. He elected to ignore that and live in blissful ignorance. 

That was a lie, he definitely freaked out and shook Rumi like that would somehow make her any saner. One could dream.

The rest of the evening was spent doodling and scribbling on the stained paper. Maybe Rumi wasn't okay now, but she could be. Jinu wouldn't rush her.

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“Okay, last question, how exactly are you going to find crime to fight? You can’t possibly tell me you’ve got a built-in radar for that.” The way Rumi shrugged made him wilt and grow premature gray hairs. He had an inkling he’d be getting a lot more of those. 

His best friend only smiled, made a ‘silence’ motion with her finger and shot another web to bring her backpack closer. From it she slowly pulled out a walkie-talkie that had ‘NYPD’ engraved on the back, granting no explanation.

Jinu was apparently speedrunning new expressions as well.

“Where– How– When did you even get that?!” His voice made an uncomfortable crack, and Rumi only smiled wider. Not a real smile, that stupid, lopsided one that rarely saw the sun, but it was a smile, so he’d count his losses. 

Rumi huffed, apparently satiated from toying with Jinu’s heartrate. “They came over to ask questions about– about her. During the funeral. Pretty assholish, but… that’s police for you. I didn’t register what I did until later, if it makes you feel better.” 

It didn’t, but at least her art student spirit –which Rumi technically could be– lived on with the distrust of cops. Jinu was proud that she at least branched off from Celine in that regard. He hadn’t held it against her, the woman had been grieving, constantly, but some of her views on life were… outdated. 

He felt a little bad for his gratitude at her absence, but Rumi, as wrecked with guilt as she was, and as lost as she seemed, was finally letting some walls down. And apparently scaling others. 

Ha. He really should look into comedy gigs…

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For all of New York’s pollution –and wow, was there a lot of it, especially with heightened senses–, its nighttime scene was very photogenic. She should look into adding a built-in camera to her lenses. When Jinu finished deconstructing that old TV for scrap. As it stood, she was in black sweatpants and a hoodie. The only difference was that she had actually taken the time to braid her hair and let it flow. 

The very homemade-looking mask was… okay. Jinu had insisted on making the webs a light, reflective purple reminiscent of her pearly patterns, which Rumi thought to be a stupid idea, especially since she wanted to remain incognito, but Jinu said they looked like faint surgical scars –she still didn’t know how to feel about that either– and impossible to recognize unless someone got really close, which she’d remedied by wrist compressors and constant bandanas, as the only markings that never faded concentrated at her webshooters and forehead, where the horns had sprouted. 

Or unless they started flashing. She’d have to get that under control.

For now, though, Jinu was talking to Rumi through an earpiece he’d thrown together in record time, similar to the ones he had built during summer break when Celine had been adamant on Rumi staying home and studying. She was proud of her friend, that scholarship for mechatronics was well deserved, even if it had taken him some time to believe in himself at first.

The earpiece crackled, adjusting to the signal and Jinu’s voice. 

“Right, so, I know I agreed to help you in this whole gig, and, believe me, I’m glad you’re actually getting out of the house and are motivated to do stuff but… Are you sure about this? You know I’m behind you, always, Rumi, but… I’m just worried you’re going to get hurt. And you are going to. I still don’t know how I got all the blood off the doormat…”

Rumi debated on her answer, not wanting to scare her friend even more. He’d stayed after all. She owed him her life. Not that she’d tell him that, he’d go on about ‘I’m not a debt collector, I’m your friend, dumbass,’ or something along those lines. With a sigh, she crouched at the very edge of the building she’d scaled with… minimal property damage. No one would notice a bit of cracked glass from when she couldn’t unstick and accidentally kicked a window, right?

“I appreciate your worry, Jinu, really, but it’s misplaced. I can take care of myself. Probably more than I need to. I want to extend that little ‘extra’ part of me to the people, I… I need to have a purpose. And maybe… Maybe this is it. There’s… Nothing normal about me, anymore, Jinu. This is the one thing only I can do. I hope I can, at least.”

“Not that I agree but… alright… I know how you are. Who you are. Just… Promise me you’ll be careful. And for every time you come home covered in anything other than dirt or soot, you owe me an energy drink, deal?” Rumi heard it for what it was, ‘I care’.

“Deal.” She smiled, careful so that her fangs didn’t catch on the spandex scribbled-on mask.

She prayed that no more changes like those occurred. 

(She prayed she stayed a person.)

“Alright Spiderthron9000, altitude and wind pressure should be as close to ideal as you’ll get in good ol’ New York. Gonna try that swing move with your webs? Hey, do you reckon you could make clothes out of the threa–” Rumi chose to ignore the atrocious gag-name and tuned the rest of that sentence out. She really wondered how Jinu graduated high school sometimes.

Rumi checked her shoelaces again, tapped her feet against the roof thrice –she liked uneven numbers, they were lucky– and felt her uncovered fingertips –Jinu cut off the tips of a glove for her, to attach better, ever the thoughtful friend– curl in and out, in and out.

This was it. What would make or break her. 

(When she was younger, she recalls, Rumi had dreamed about a last look into the cityscape. She’d picked out a bridge, a date, had tidied more than usual. She’d planned around Celine’s schedule, to sneak out, had picked a month near break, a chance for people to get over i̶t̶ her. Jinu had called, then, excited over a new videogame he’d been waiting for, asking her to sneak out and come over. She thinks of the irony, now, that even a fall like this probably wouldn’t be enough to kill her. It was more of a bitter thought than it should have been.)

Her patterns flashed as the light concentrated near her webshooters. Now or never.

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The first thing to note about falling, is that it’s damn cold.

The second, is that you suddenly become very aware of just how much your body weighs, just how wantonly gravity wants to claim you back, like an ex-lover who just can’t seem to let go.

The third, is that you want to live.

Falling was supposed to feel like a death sentence. For her, it felt like freedom.

(And what was the difference?)

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Being airborne, to most, would probably not be relaxing. Everything happens quickly, no time to think about much other than how to survive and land. 

For Rumi, life was in slow motion. She’d been surviving, yes. But she hadn’t been living. She didn’t know how to, just yet. Now, though, she felt like oxygen was finally entering her lungs, after eighteen long years of nearly suffocating.

She outstretched her hand, reaching for the impossibly high city lights and whatever lay above the clouds in the sky. 

She’d been right. For her, falling was the closest she’d ever get to flying.

Reality is a cruel thing, however, and it slams back into her consciousness that she is falling, and she needs to stop. With nothing other than instinct and burning need to prove that maybe she wasn’t made for this, but she could build herself back up into something that was.

A crane, one of many in New York. Overlooked and mundane, lost in everything else the city had to offer. For Rumi, though, it looked like salvation. 

Her wrist flashed as a string of sturdy, shimmering web shot out. A tug, and brief pain on her shoulders at being yanked so suddenly and with such force. It all got drowned out by the euphoria of the moment. Rumi felt like she had been born swinging. 

With little grace, she let go and briefly panicked about the uncontrolled fall before another web tethered her to an apartment complex. 

“Sesang-e!” She cursed and laughed maniacally as her swinging picked up pace. She felt alive. 

There was always a little halt between swings, which upset her faintly. She’d master swinging around and get rid of that imperfection. The elation and adrenaline didn’t let her sour, though, as she pulled herself up, web after web.

The spiderweb-adjacent patterns lighting up alongside her joy for the first time. 

She could get lost in the motion of this. Could get used to it. 

(Could be what others needed.)

And, as if proving her right, the world responded, as if saying ‘you are w̶o̶r̶t̶h̶ i̶t̶ needed’. In the form of a yowl. Not how she was expecting to start her career, but who was she to look a gift horse in the mouth? Actually, that probably came from a cat, but her point stood.

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She’d expected to see misguided teenagers that thought animals were lesser, harassing a poor alley cat. Expected someone’s pet to be stuck up a fire escape. Expected anything but this. 

Granted, who could have foreseen three people in actual vests, with batons, cornering what looked to be a… really fat feline? It looked a little disproportionate to a normal cat, but she wasn’t exactly normal looking either, so she couldn’t judge. 

More importantly, however, these people were about to hit an innocent animal, and Rumi may not have been a very outgoing person with other people, but she’d always found peace sitting on a bench after her runs and feeding the strays. Which was to say: she was going to beat the shit out of these guys instead.

Simple, easy, well planned. (Not really, but a girl could dream.)

There was a thick black wire running from one building to the other, hanging right above the three guys corralling the critter. Wait, why was it blue? ‘Focus, Rumi. This isn’t one person, it’s three. Think this through.’ The wire. She could use that.

‘Two of them have some type of batons with weird buttons near the base. The one in the middle and farthest back only has gloves. To handle the animal? So why use violence if they were just planning to capture it?’ Rumi paused, her vision getting clearer and neater, she almost didn’t notice. Almost. ‘Whatever their reason, it reeks of bad business. The unarmed one can be taken down silently if I do it quick and clean. Right. Focus. Focus.’

She could feel her fingers latch on to the rubbery material, her braid dangerously close to falling outside the sweater and giving her away. Metallic purple was not exactly lowkey. Concentrating so hard she could’ve probably been emitting smoke, she reached with one hand to settle it on her neck like a really weird hair-scarf. She’d done weirder, probably. 

‘I should cut it… Maybe. Not really spandex friendly to have a thick braid like this. Can’t do it at a salon though, too risky.’ She chose to ignore how a lot of the things she’d taken for granted had become inaccessible now. She also hadn’t exactly trusted hair stylists with her hair to begin with. She’d probably just do it in Jinu’s bathroom. Regardless, she had better things to focus on, like saving an innocent –if weird looking– cat.

Wrists emitting their everpresent faint glow and concentrating at the center again, she positioned her web in the middle, little ways behind the gloved man. Sliding down with the string still attached to her wrists was a little uncomfortable, yet felt natural. Weird spider brain things, she reckoned. If it helped the cat, it helped her. 

Said spider brain things were pushing around her brain, making her gums ache, her thoughts occasionally urging her to pull up the mask and bite. But she knew what that did. Knew what it caused.

It wasn’t raining. It wasn’t raining.

She was free of ghosts.

(A mantra she repeated. An inconsolable, lost child.)

Slowly and carefully detaching one hand and making sure her wrist was uncovered –not wanting to ruin another hoodie– she took a shot directly at the nape of the man’s neck and pulled, letting the back of his head make contact with her upside-down knee. He’d be feeling that in the morning. And possibly a few mornings after that.

‘One down.’ She hadn’t accounted for the fact that unconscious bodies were… well, unconscious. And that they would drop to the floor in said state. Which would make noise. Yeah…

“Hey Rums, I know you were having a blast earlier but why did I just hear a very manly grunt from your input–” ‘I love my best friend’ would certainly become a daily affirmation for her, in order to not strangle him. Change of plans, stealth was out the window.

“Hope I’m not interrupting your date, gentlemen!” Her smooth and playful tone was definitely one reserved for these instances, because Rumi was a lot of things, but smooth wasn’t one of them. Playful was up to debate. Jinu would probably just call her a bitch.

“What the h– Liam, Lucca’s down! We’ve got company!” The man on the right swiveled his head and squared his shoulders. ‘Clearly not random people, what with the equipment and clear training.’ Time slowed just in time for her to catch sight of the baton swinging her way. “I’ll take care of this, do not lose sight of the asset, the boss will have our ass if we lose it again!” He sounded a little desperate, clearly the cat was worth something, for whatever reason. A particularly sentimental thug lost their pet?

“Big words for such a tiny guy. That stick make up for it?” She heard Jinu’s surprised laugh from the earpiece while she crouched low to the ground again. Clearly he was having fun listening in. Or maybe he was just elated about her slight ego boost after the growth spurts she’d been going through. She swore her abs were more defined and that she was actively gaining height by the days. Spider puberty?

“You think you’re funny kid? Your mom should’ve taught you not to meddle in private affairs!” He grunted as he struck the pavement next to her. Getting hit by that would not be a good time.

“Wow, if your private affairs are held in a musky alley you probably should raise the bar.” She almost wanted to pat herself in the back for that well timed joke, because she spotted a rusty piece of round metal, a pipe, probably just alley litter, behind the guy's feet. She pulled it with a web towards her, hitting him from behind the ankles and causing the short man to fall and groan. Jackpot.

Rumi wasted no time shooting webs to keep him in place. Her internal sirens –she really needed to come up with a name for those– blared, much too late, because the last guy had somehow snuck up behind her and the baton was getting cozy between her ribs. And because she was god’s favorite chew toy, apparently, the button meant the baton was electrified. Peachy.

Instead of her body seizing, however, she felt it conducting throughout her, the friction between the fleece of her sleeves adding to the sudden energy influx inside her. And right back at the last man –Liam, was it?– stunning him in place for her to web him up to the wall. She noticed the webs actually conducted the electricity well too. Something to bring up with Jinu who had been awfully quiet. In the middle of the fight, apparently, she’d lost the earpiece and stepped on it. ‘Ugh. I’m gonna have to pass by Danielle’s so he doesn’t throw a tantrum about me losing his ‘baby’...’ 

Before she even considered going back home though, the blue cat meowed from the corner it had backed itself into, slowly approaching Rumi, like it knew what she’d done but wasn’t quite sure if she was trustworthy. She could deal with that, understood where the creature was coming from.

The more she saw of the cat she wondered if it actually was some thugs pet, or some circus escapee. It looked… A little funny, if she was being kind. Its teeth were crooked and tusk like, its paws were massive, the overall size akin to a maine coon. If said maine coon also had a really shitty dentist. And was blue.

‘Understanding between monsters’ had been the title for an essay she’d written for a literature class back in school. Ironically, she would be putting that mediocre writing to use as she reached to peel back the mask. This was really, really dumb, and she honestly looked a little insane talking to a cat like this, but insane was becoming a brand deal for everything Rumi lately.

She crouched to the ground, mimicking the position of the cat (?) and, for some ungodly reason, blinking slowly and owlishly. “Hey buddy. We look alike, huh?” She said, tracing her tongue near the tip of a fang. She caught a glimpse of the blue –vibrant and so very alike her hair– and stripes she hadn’t registered before.

More alike than she initially thought.

“You wanna uh… Hop on my back? I could… Show you around the city… Grab a bite for you to eat?” She really had lost it, crouched down on an alley, talking to a dirty cat after beating up three men and getting electrocuted. Sure. That was a thing she did now.

To her surprise, the cat –seriously, was it a cat?– breached the distance by lighting up and becoming… intangible? Jumping universes? "Okay. You can just do that. That's fine. I shoot webs out of my wrists." She was far too gone to care, really, as she picked up the heavy thing, carefully webbing it to her back like some very big and fluffy backpack. The thing immediately ragdolled and started purring. It was very stupid looking. “You’re a derpy looking fella, huh?” Rumi smiled and scratched him (?) under the jaw, which made the motor-like sound deepen. “Yeah, yeah, big guy, let’s get you something to eat.”

Yeah, she was attached. She’d beg Jinu to make a big enough backpack to fit him in. And maybe a little hat.

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Jinu was more used to opening his window to let people through than his actual door now. Which was… Probably not a normal thing to do. 

Presently, though, he was just happy to be relieved of his worry when his roommate tapped on the glass. He was less relieved when she pulled up with a gigantic blue cat slung on her back like a toothy –and kinda dirty– plushie. 

Well… It was quite cute. Maybe he’d make a hat for it.