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A sharp wail breaks through the already broken silence of the night. Pure… something that was too much causing the baby- Rumi to need to voice her frustrations into the night.
Celine was almost there herself.
It didn't help that even the Honmoon seemed to be vibrating against the noise. Pitching up like a cat when startled.
"Rumi," she begs, swaying in place. Her knees are tired of their endless bouncing. Anything to get the child to settle. Anything to retain a semblance of the peace that her home usually held. "Agi, please. Quiet."
Rumi's face was splotchy with her tears. Little red patches of irritated skin on her cheeks. Shiny tracks disappearing beneath her ears.
She isn't quite sure what set this off.
Most of the baby books she bought said babies usually had a reason for their emotions. That crying and screaming were the only way they could communicate their needs. Needs that neither of them knew. Because Celine had done everything she could think of.
Rumi hadn't taken a bottle. Little tongue pushing the rubber nipple away from her mouth and spilling milk across her cheeks-
…which turned into seeing how loudly she could scream when Celine had to wipe it away.
Very loudly was the answer.
She hadn't needed a new diaper. Yet, Celine changed it anyway because it was at least a guess. More than just staring at Rumi as she wailed her heart out.
Picking Rumi up had helped. Big brown eyes staring up at her without blinking. Waterline full to the brim. Until Celine had hip checked the dresser and startled her. Her little hiccuping cries becoming sobs once again.
The back of her head fits in the palm of Celine's hand. Still soft as her skull continued to form.
She can't say it doesn't still freak her out. How delicate Rumi is in her arms. All pudge and rolls of skin as her body grows into itself. Bones melding into each other; some hardly existing.
There's little wisps of hair already grown in. Purple. Unnatural.
A little spot on her chest.
Celine almost thought it was a birthmark. Except birthmarks don't change colors. Don't glow with an otherworldly pink when Rumi gets into her screaming moods like tonight.
It's just barely visible beneath her clothes. Beating like a heart.
There's another screech. As if Rumi is trying to see how much air she can hold in her little lungs before screaming it all out.
She must have gotten that from her mom. Celine would almost find it funny if it wasn't immediately smothered by feelings she wants to avoid.
Bitterness. Resentment. Longing.
She could write an entire book using single words to describe what she's feeling.
Celine accidentally bumps into the wall. Like before, Rumi startles. Cry cutting off halfway through. Unlike before, though, she doesn't start again. Just furrows her eyebrows -also purple- like she can't believe Celine just did that.
She's losing her mind in this house. With this child she had hardly even met before being tasked with raising her.
Celine's ears almost seem to ring in the silence.
She slowly slides down against the wall. Carefully sitting against the hardwood floor.
"We're alright," she says without much thought. Hand ghosting across the hair on top of Rumi's head. Her other arm cradling the rest of her. "We're alright."
Were they?
Tiny, human fingers clasp around her own. Barely big enough to hold onto her index finger.
"Hello, agi," she whispers when Rumi has begun to sigh rhythmically. Little puffs of air audible in the now quiet. "You're very noisy." It comes out flatter than she means it to. Exhaustion sapping any emotion from her tone that isn't desperation.
She can feel drool pooling against her shirt. Rumi's lack of teeth and overabundance of saliva culminating into the uncomfortable sensation.
Grimacing, Celine debates moving. Just a little. Just enough.
She risks shifting her arms. Rumi's closed eyes squeeze tight. Her nose scrunching.
Celine stops immediately.
Keeps her breathing measured. Lest she do something else to disturb Rumi.
Slowly, the fingers around her own loosen. Forming a tiny little fist as they let go. The weight in her arms becomes heavier, in a way. Rumi slowly going limp as she falls asleep.
Already parts of her are beginning to ache.
She wishes she had a pillow to rest her arms on. Or the surety that Rumi wouldn't wake if she even thought about moving.
Sighing, Celine lets her head thunk back against the wall behind her. Silently. Always silently.
The light coming from her computer screen is too bright. Even though it's set to as dark as it can be without turning the screen off. She can't risk making it brighter. Can't risk disturbing the dark of the room even though she's squinting in order to read emails.
Rumi had fallen asleep nearly an hour ago. Breaths rattling in her little chest. Tiny hands holding Celine's to the too warm skin beneath her chin.
There's a mostly empty cup of water on the nightstand. Celine's attempt at getting any liquid into Rumi. Fever-bright eyes staring at her while Rumi had panted into the glass after each swallow. Her nose too stuffed to breathe through.
She had managed to cajole her into taking the medicine she had delivered. A sickly red, viscous liquid that Rumi had almost gagged on.
Celine attempts to hold onto the shift key with her pinkie; thumb reaching across the entire keyboard. She barely manages to hit the correct key. Utterly unwilling to pull her other hand from the weak grasp Rumi has on it.
"'Leen?"
She jumps so hard she nearly drops her laptop onto the floor.
"Yes, Rumi?" Celine asks after she's composed herself. Glancing at Rumi out of the corner of her eye as she scans the subject lines of the remaining emails.
"I don't feel good."
Sighing, Celine looks fully over. There's a tight feeling in her chest when she looks at her.
She doesn't look like she feels good, either.
Rumi's purple hair is curling around the side of her face. Sweat and her fever the cause of it. Her eyes barely able to open. Her shoulders tremble where the sheet doesn't cover them. When she coughs a moment later, it sounds and looks painful.
"I'm sorry," she says, because she was sorry. But she did also warn Rumi that playing out in the rain might lead to her getting sick.
It feels wrong to make that point, though. Not when the six year old was clearly miserable.
Rumi let's go of her hand. Extends her shaking arms out towards Celine.
Her laptop gets discarded on the floor.
"Do you feel like you're going to be sick?" Celine asks, sliding her hands beneath Rumi's shoulders to lift her. She settles like a dead weight against Celine's chest.
Rumi shakes her head. Panting heavily. As if she had done more than been sat upright and carried over to Celine's lap. "Achy," she rasps.
Tiny fingers play with a button on Celine's shirt. Twisting it back and forth; pulling at it when that got too boring.
"Stop that, Rumi."
"Sorry."
Rumi presses her too warm, damp forehead into the side of Celine's neck. Her small hand reaching for Celine's. The rest of her curled as much as it could be. To be as close as she could.
Unconsciously, Celine begins to hum. Something long forgotten in all but melody.
The Honmoon reacts. Little flickers of it visible within its weak state. Coasting along on whatever fans the Sunlight Sisters still had. Weakening further the longer Celine stayed out of the spotlight.
"Honmoon," Rumi murmurs, eyes tracking the bobbing movements as it passes about the room.
It still surprises Celine that she can see it. That there hasn't really been a time in Rumi's life where she couldn't see the Honmoon.
"Do you remember what I told you about the Honmoon?" Celine asks, watching as it begins to fade once her humming stops.
"That it protects us?"
"Yes." She pulls Rumi closer to her. Lips just barely ghosting her purple braid. "From the demons."
"Demons," Rumi repeats. It's almost a gasp. "We don't like the demons."
"No, Rumi." There's a soft blue from beneath Rumi's sleep shirt. "We don't."
Celine murmurs the rest of the story at Rumi's behest. How the original Hunters had sealed the demons away using their voices. How one day Rumi would be the one protecting it with her own group.
She stops once Rumi's head has stopped bobbing up and down against her neck. When her rasping breaths have turned into easier inhales. Still sticky with mucus each time she exhales.
The skin beneath her fingers twitches. Unconscious movements as Rumi tries her best to sit still in front of her. Fingers twisting in her lap, regardless of how many times Celine has told her to stop that.
There's a small cut just to the side of her eye.
A lucky shot from Mira in their latest argument that turned physical.
Usually Celine managed to stop it before it got to this point, but she had been distracted by helping Zoey. Trying to parse through stuttered Korean, and English curses -apologies also given in English- whenever her wrist bent under the weight of the wooden staff during their spar.
Celine would have to remember to give her something lighter. Smaller. Working with her build rather than against it.
Mira, however, was all rage. Using her gangly limbs to keep the distance. Pushing the other two back with her staff until she saw an opening. Like she did with Rumi, apparently. Knocking her down onto the mat in a cheap move that Celine would have to reprimand her for.
Even if it was well executed.
Their argument hadn't paused even as they had wrestled on the floor. Something stupid that Celine wished she didn't have to remember. Something about a nepo-baby -she would have to look up the term- and pretty privilege.
She was content to let them tire themselves out until Rumi had bucked her hips, throwing Mira's weight off-balance. Except it became misplaced and one of Mira's nails had scraped across Rumi's temple.
Drawing both blood and a hiss of pain.
"Why must you pester her?" Celine asks, pulling the gauze back to look at the wound. Open, but no longer bleeding
"She started it," Rumi argues.
"So you continued it?" Sighing, Celine rips open the cover of one of the butterfly bandages. She lays it down carefully, avoiding her own hand as she pinches the skin slightly to get it to stick properly. "Rumi, you're their leader. You have to be better than this."
"So what? I just let her insult me to my face?"
"If that's what it takes to keep the peace, yes. Let her insult you. Our faults and fears-"
"-must never be seen. I know." Rumi tugs at the sleeve of her t-shirt. Something she'd had to start wearing once the other two moved in. "I know," she repeats, attempting to put a bit of steel behind her voice.
"Good." Celine crumples the mess in her hand. "Now go apologize."
She stands far enough away that she can't hear the words, but she can see the way Rumi draws her shoulders back when faced with Mira. Mira, who now looks guilty.
Celine gives them the rest of the day. Just this once.
Watches them all sprawl across her couch. Zoey already on another tangent while the other two nod along. Empty water bottles strewn across her coffee table.
She disappears into her office silently.
Only emerging when her lower back has begun to ache. Eyes dry from staring at the computer screen for too long.
The sun has hit its golden hour. Shining through the windows along the kitchen wall.
New empty water bottles have joined the old ones. As well as a stack of used bowls. The remains of broth visible in the bottom of the one on top. Tipped slightly on its side inside the hold of the others.
A pair of feet poke over the arm of the couch. Another resting against their calves. One socked pair over both of them.
Mira is staring at her over the edge of her phone. The bottom of this dog pile.
She doesn't say anything as Celine picks up the bowls to wash them. Doesn't say anything when she comes back two other times to pick up the garbage.
Zoey is also awake, though she seems content with just laying there.
A first, if Celine is being honest.
Rumi is squished between them.
Her braid has come out. Whether by her hands or the others, Celine couldn't say. It's nearly the length of another person. Curled in its loose state.
She is asleep. Unlike the other two.
Hands tucked in close to her chest just like when she was a child. Except this time Mira's hand has been taken captive.
The worst part about leaving after shows was the traffic.
Thousands of fans trying to leave all at once. Clogging up the lanes when they attempted to leave nearly two hours after their encore.
Mira is squinting behind her glasses. The glare of brake lights visible in their reflection. Zoey scrolls mindlessly on her phone. Ignoring her body's warning of her imminent car sickness if she continues looking down at it.
Between them, Rumi is clearly fighting falling asleep with everything she has.
Her chin periodically dips towards her chest before her head shoots back up and she looks around.
There's mascara smeared near the corner of her eye. The only bit of makeup left on her face. The only bit of it she missed in her post-show exhaustion.
Zoey hardly even thinks before using the edge of her nail to gently scratch it off. And rather than pulling away like Zoey expects her to, Rumi actually closes her eyes. Leans further into her.
"Thanks."
"Anytime," Zoey says, just because she knows Mira hates it. "It's so impersonal…. Way too American."
A car horn blares behind them.
The light turns green a moment later. The cars in front of them gradually beginning to move again. Zoey goes back to scrolling on her phone. Looking through the influx of posts from the night. Laughing softly at a few of them.
Before she knows it they're pulling out of traffic.
The lights of the city disappearing beneath the thick concrete of the parking garage under their building.
Rumi has finally fallen asleep. Head on Mira's shoulder. Hand wrapped around Mira's lazily.
"What?" Mira asks, almost rumbling as she tries to whisper.
"Nothin'."
Mira wonders sometimes how much of an idiot one person can really be.
How far they can push their idiocy until life finally says enough. Because she's met some stupid people in her life. Mainly three people she shares a last name with.
Everything they've ever done couldn't give a business card to her tonight. Proving her father right was as easy as… as summoning her weapon. Being the disgrace of a daughter he always said she'd be.
Rumi's door opens silently.
Zoey beats her to the punch. Already there when Rumi steps out. Wrapping herself around stiff arms. Stiff, patterned arms.
And Rumi must be exhausted not to fight it. Exhausted in a way that is deeper than they ever knew. Exhausted from lying to herself just as much -if not more- than she lied to them. Suffocating a part of herself beneath long sleeves and turtlenecks.
She doesn't fight it, but she doesn't lean into it either.
Fingers twitching near her thighs. The rest of her arms limp.
Mira moves closer to them before she can overthink her decision. Footsteps heavy in her own lethargy.
Rumi looks up at her. Eyes red and bloodshot like she'd spent the twenty minutes she'd been gone doing nothing but sobbing. She probably had been. Mira most likely would have too if the idea of crying didn't make her feel like she'd crumble into dust.
Slowly, Mira wraps her hand around the back of Rumi's neck and gently pulls. Feels the gasp against her shoulder at the same moment all of Rumi shivers in place.
Zoey is squished between the two of them. Her hitching chest pressed against Mira's collapsing one.
"I-" Rumi cuts herself off. Finally raising her arms to grasp Mira's elbow with one hand. The other slotting itself between Zoey's back and Mira's stomach. Burying her face further into Mira's shoulder until her chin bumped against the top of Zoey's head.
"We know," Zoey says, voice wobbly and spent. "We know, Rumi."
Rumi's knees nearly give out. Nearly take all of them to the ground before Mira is able to get her aching legs to work again.
It's a bit of a distance to the couch. Made further and longer by all of their unwillingness to let go. To step out of each others embraces for a second. But they make it. Mira wheezing when Zoey lands on her ribcage.
There's half an apology in there. A slight movement like Zoey is going to pull away.
Mira holds on tighter.
Both her shoulders are being used to support weary heads. Legs moving both of them have their legs over Mira's lap. It's one of the least comfortable arrangements they've ever managed to get themselves into; it's the only one that allows all of them to be as close as possible to one another.
Eventually they'll move. Probably into one of their beds when the world feels a little less small. A little less vast too. Like they're stuck looking out of a window as the box they're in shrinks closer and closer to them.
Aches ache and muscles burn, but it's worth it. Always worth it.
Rumi is the first to fall asleep.
A rare occurrence when they're out here on the couch.
Zoey is holding her hands tonight. Intertwining their fingers together against their knees.
Mira wonders how she ever thought of herself as second best to Rumi. Wonders how she held onto that hurt in her chest. That hurt when she realized that yet again someone else would always be more important than her. Wonders how she ever thought that too, because she was wrong. So, so wrong.
She gave Rumi more bruises than she could count during sparring. Too hard hits taken with nothing more than a smile. Further deepening the spiral Mira had found herself in.
Meanwhile Rumi had always seen herself as less than them. Less than human. All because of some stupid patterns that they helped make shameful.
She's an idiot. A huge one. Probably the biggest idiot to ever exist.
But she was still here. Still squished beneath the two most important people to her. Still safe enough to sleep on.
Still… still enough.