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Mira didn’t want to leave her side. She wouldn't. How could she when Rumi looked like that?
What had started as a regular enough day had turned mildly terrifying. Sure, they were no strangers to cuts and bruises after demon hunts, but maybe they were rusty. Maybe the demons were getting smarter. Maybe Rumi was just having a little bit of an off day.
When the last demon disappeared into a cloud of tricoloured smoke, Mira let out a sigh of relief, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. It came away red, but it was of little consequence. What was a busted lip to her at this stage of the game? She looked around, taking in Zoey’s softly panting, mildly hunched frame, watching as she let her shin-kals disappear and wiping her hands off against her shirt. As her eyes traced over her body, noting a lack of dark stains, she smiled to herself.
Zoey all good, check.
She marked it off mentally, but she’d ask later just to be sure.
When she looked to Rumi however… She heard the laboured breaths and tiny whimper before her eyes fell on the rapidly growing, angry red blotch spreading on her ripped shirt. Her eyes widened as she watched Rumi stagger, hands coming to press tightly against her torso with a sharp wince of pain. She grit her teeth against it, but more soft noises left her, sounding on the verge of tears. She looked on the verge of tears as well as Mira’s eyes met hers. She was about to say she was fine, that it wasn’t as bad as it looked, but the words died in her throat as another, louder whimper left her, blood starting to spill over her fingers and drop deafeningly loudly onto the ground at her feet.
Mira and Zoey were at her side instantly, torn sleeves pressed tightly to her skin as temporary bandages as they rushed back to the penthouse, half pulling, half holding Rumi up as she lost more blood, vision starting to tilt and go to static at the edges.
They lay her on the floor of the bathroom as soon as they got back, deft hands pulling clothes away to reveal and assess the wound. It had lessened its flow by then, clots starting to form to stagger the loss, but it had been long enough for Rumi to be dizzy, fading in and out as Zoey cleaned away the sticky crimson clinging to her stomach, and Mira applied small stitches with hands far too used to this. They had all learned well enough how to stitch wounds and set broken bones, but Mira had taken to it the most ardently, intent on caring for the others in every way she could.
-
It didn’t take long; just five stitches and firmly wrapped bandages; and soon they were breathing shaky sighs of relief, looking down at a semi-conscious, but stable Rumi. All was well.
They cleaned themselves and her off, changing into pyjamas for the night, intending to rest and reset with food when the anxiety from worry wore off, and when Rumi was fully conscious again.
Now though, they were all in Rumi’s bed, Zoey tucked in behind Mira and fast asleep, Rumi breathing softly and evenly, also asleep, leaving Mira to watch over her.
She didn’t need to. She could get up, go do something productive, maybe even make food for the inevitable hunger that would come when both of the others woke. She knew Rumi was fine; she was breathing normally, the blood had stopped, and her accelerated healing would handle the rest. She didn’t have a concussion, her nose and throat were fine, so there was no reason to worry. She just didn't want to leave. Mira still watched, curled on her side, eyes following the gentle rise and fall of Rumi’s chest as she breathed. How could she want to leave when this was the sight she was privy to?
She was observing, quiet and filing her thoughts away for later, to be used when she needed to be extra caring at some other point. She supposed she liked this time the best of all. Not Rumi’s being hurt or the worry that had come with it, but the silence, the freedom to just watch.
The dark and quiet were Mira’s friends. They didn’t ask anything of her, they didn’t want anything in return; they just held her, and hid her. In the quiet, there was no need to give or take, it was simply there as a break from the noise of daily life. Not just the sounds, but the actual onslaught of everything, the need to respond and react to it all. Now, there was only the hum of the air-conditioning, the soft sounds of breaths taken, and the distant life of the city below.
The dark gave as well. No one could see her carefully held faces, the expressions she unconsciously slipped into, the walls she had built to keep herself safe and others at bay. No, now, she was free to relax, no need to mask anything she was feeling, fully able to let her barriers crumble, be the person she kept inside behind shields and armour.
So she stayed, quietly looking all she liked.
Her mouth fell into a content smile, eyes softening as she took in the form of Rumi. She loved her, that much was undeniable, but the trust that had built between them - all of them - had shifted something about that. She was Rumi all the same, after everything and through everything, but the openness and sincerity she now let herself fall into after her patterns were revealed… Mira was finally, finally, past her walls, seeing the real Rumi. Able to love all of her, without the lies. And she was going to look at her and love her as much as she wanted.
Mira’s hand came up to gently stroke over Rumi’s cheek, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, relishing in the way her ear twitched at the light tickle. Her fingers lingered then, feather light and unendingly gentle as they traced the patterns along Rumi’s cheek. They glowed slightly as her fingers passed, the lightest pink before they faded again, warm against her hand. She loved the way the patterns wrapped around Rumi’s features, accenting and accentuating the most gorgeous parts of her, making her somehow more breathtaking than even before.
Her fingers traced lower, following the line of Rumi’s jaw, down to the top of her chin, dipping and rising with the curves of her neck, feeling the barest movement from her soft breaths and mildest trembles from being touched. Rumi’s skin was so soft and smooth, curving and bending in all the right places.
Even lower, her fingers played against Rumi’s collarbones, shifting onto her shoulder and arm, admiring the toned muscle, years of swinging her sword and arduous work leaving her in peak shape. Her biceps especially stood out when she wore her long sleeves, but with everything more open now, she’d taken to wearing crop tops and vests. It was the only thing Mira missed about Rumi’s cageyness, but Rumi’s comfort and happiness definitely took priority over Mira’s oggling her. She snorted at the thought, stifling it when both Rumi and Zoey stirred, before settling back into the peace of slumber.
Her hand landed on Rumi’s at her side, feeling the lines of her palm and even there, the ever present warmth of patterns. She loved holding Rumi’s hand. It made her feel safe and like she belonged, though she would always say she was just keeping them from getting lost when asked - the streets got so busy and it would just be annoying if they got separated. They were also strong hands, tiny scars and scrapes present along her fingers and the sides after years of training and cooking and general life. It gave her character. Each scar was a story and a memory, even if the years dulled its impact or even how it happened. It was there, it was a part of her, and Mira loved each one.
Back to Rumi’s side, Mira followed the patterns again, touch going infinitely lighter as her fingertips met bandages as she came to her stomach. Her smile faltered, creeping guilt a heavy weight in her stomach. She wished she could have protected Rumi. She wasn’t even sure when or how it had happened; she didn’t hear Rumi cry out or struggle or even call for help; just saw after and heard how pained Rumi sounded. Sure, she could fix it, but wasn’t prevention better? Her palm splayed lightly over the cut beneath, careful not to apply any pressure, but willing her warmth and presence to somehow make it better. Best not to linger on things she couldn’t change. All she could do was patch Rumi up, feed her soup, and play the best doctor, nurse and carer she could.
Her hand came to rest on Rumi’s stomach after following the patterns down, right over her bellybutton and below the injury, letting her palm rise and fall gently with Rumi. She could feel the air coming and going from her, and almost comedically, the rumble of hunger, having not eaten since long before the hunt, having been planning to make fancy sandwiches together after. Mira would make her food when she woke. As much as she wanted, whatever she liked. Even if she didn’t need her to, even if she could do it herself. Mira would give her anything. Do anything.
Her hand stayed there on her stomach, patterns pulsing in pinks and purples lightly, warming and cooling as Mira’s hand remained, not going any further. Maybe when Rumi was awake, she’d let her keep going, and lower. But those were thoughts for another night, cloaked in the dark out of desire, not out of a need for everything to pause so they could recuperate. Mira shook the thoughts from her head, and instead focused on the sounds of breathing, the lightly illuminated look of pink on Rumi’s stomach, and the softness and comfortable heat grounding. If she weren’t afraid of hurting Rumi, she’d probably cuddle against her, trace her hand up the far side of Rumi’s body, learn the shape of patterns there and feel the complementary curves as well.
“Mir?”
The voice was soft, groggy, and just barely verging on gravelly from the lack of use and likely a bit of dehydration. Rumi was shifting slightly, hand coming up to her torso with a slight wince to inspect the bandages before plopping back onto the bed.
“I’m here,” Mira answered quietly, shifting herself closer so Rumi wouldn’t have to strain.
“Was it bad?” Her voice came out even quieter, almost like she was afraid to ask, or maybe of the answer she would get.
Mira shook her head, and then realised her mistake, pressing closer to wrap her arm loosely over Rumi, careful not to rest it over the wrappings, hand lightly squeezing at Rumi’s far side in reassurance. “No, it wasn’t that bad. Stopped bleeding by the time we got back, anyway. Couple stitches, and you were all good.”
Rumi sighed at that, hand coming to rest over Mira’s to give a twin squeeze in return. Mira could feel the tension melting off of her, her stomach loosening as the muscles relaxed, relieved just by the simple sentence.
“Are you okay?” Rumi asked quietly after a beat, voice soft in a new way. More tender, overflowing with care and something unspoken between them.
Mira got teary-eyed for just a second, suddenly and stupidly overwhelmed by Rumi’s care, her heart overflowing with love. She was grateful for the dark again, able to keep that reaction in check, knowing Rumi would never see it, and she would never have to explain it. But she would file it away for later, to think on in her darker moments, a reminder of just how loved and cared for she truly was even if her mind screamed otherwise at her. Here Rumi was, injured and only just woken up, but still asking about Mira. She was an angel, no matter what her lineage said. She was to Mira.
“I’m okay, just awake. Making sure you were good,” Mira answered after too long a silence, but Rumi didn’t press, only hummed, seemingly content with the answer.
“Thank you.”
Mira almost didn’t hear the words, but when they registered, they made a blush creep up her neck and cheeks, skin burning hot enough that she was sure Rumi could feel it against her shoulder where Mira’s head lay. She was once again eternally grateful for the comfort and cover of the dark. She would definitely repeat that to herself as well. Rumi didn’t need to thank her, but the fact she did made Mira’s heart soar, pride and appreciation and love swirling and swelling, making her dizzy and almost emboldening her to say what she really wanted to. Almost.
“Do you need anything?” Mira asked instead, tongue kept in check another day. Someday, she would be truly honest with Rumi. But while Rumi’s walls all seemed to have come tumbling down, Mira still had hers fortified, keeping her safe a while more.
“Not yet. Let’s just lay here a while more.” Rumi said, seemingly already falling back into the comfort of sleep.
Mira just hummed in reply, listening as Rumi’s breaths evened out, finding the rhythm of slumber, hand falling away from Mira’s at her side as sleep took her once more. Mira shifted her hand back onto Rumi’s stomach, feeling the rise and fall again, watching the gentle flutter of Rumi’s lashes as she dreamed, committing every detail of her face to memory.
Someday, she would say everything on her mind. For now, she was just happy to lay here and keep Rumi safe.