Work Text:
There was a time where Celine had thought that nearly a decade of training, practicing and touring through different time zones would have prepared her for the havoc a newborn could bring upon her already pathetic sleep schedule. Every night with Rumi has repeatedly proved her wrong.
It feels like she's just closed her eyes when the infant's cry meets her ears, the migraine she just staved off with a string of cold compresses, medications and utter silence now back in full force. Celine groans aloud, hand coming to press at her temple and apply pressure to where her head throbs the most. She braves a quick glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand.
3:40 AM. She's supposed to be up in two hours for the morning show interview.
Celine stays completely still for a good ten seconds, doing her best to think through every appropriate curse for the situation before silently tucking them to the back of her mind. She's careful not to shift the mattress as she sits up, swinging her feet over the side of the bed and shivering as her bare skin touches the floorboards.
For all her quiet and care, there's still a hand that gently traces up the length of her lower spine when she moves to stand. Miyeong grumbles the foul words that Celine had pointedly avoided behind her, sheets rustling around them as she rises only to slump against her partner's bare back. "I've got her. Just need a second."
Celine can't help but smile despite the situation, twisting around with just the slightest discomfort so that she can press her lips to the shorter woman's forehead. She looks ragged and radiant all at once, still half-asleep and her braid undone in the prettiest way. It dawns on her that for all the hours of the night she'd lost with Rumi's arrival, Miyeong's probably lost twice that. They do their best to share the burden together, but there's only one of them that hasn't had a full night's sleep for the past week that the infant's been teething.
Celine turns to embrace her in full, finding little to no resistance when she begins to guide her partner to lay back down against the mountain of duvets and pillows they've collected for themselves. "You fed her an hour ago, so it's my turn," she insists, kissing her softly when it seems like there might be the slightest hint of a refusal on Miyeong's lips. "Get some sleep. I've got this."
Miyeong mutters something that probably makes sense to her sleep-deprived brain, but comes out like nonsense. When Celine chuckles at her, she swats half-heartedly at the air in response. The leader dodges with ease, getting to her feet and pulling a robe over her shoulders in preparation.
Miyeong manages to be coherent enough to get out a "thank you" before Celine steps into the hallway that connects their room to the nursery. It's followed by the sweetest, softest "love you" that makes Celine think she just might take the next four teething tantrum shifts alone just so she can hear it again.
Rumi has rarely had an uneventful sleep cycle in the five months she's been on this earth, but her last few weeks in particular have put the whole household through the ringer. It was the manager for the Sunlight Sisters, Yejun, who finally figured out she's started teething. The five different types of rubber, freezable rings he subsequently ordered for her to chew on worked well at first, but they never quite seemed to be enough to quiet her completely. The little thing was too clingy for her own good.
And thus, Celine Cadieux, international idol sensation, is in a nursery at four in the morning in nothing but her robe, flannel pants and bare feet. She shuffles across the designer rug that covers the floor, mentally re-visiting those curses she had thought up earlier. The only reason she holds her tongue is the thought of Miyeong well and truly throttling her if Rumi's first word ends up being "merde" instead of "eomma".
"Hello, menace," Celine murmurs, reaching into the crib and running the pads of her fingers ever so gently across the mess of violet that Miyeong insists is going to be "the most jaw-dropping hair in Korea".
Rumi does regard her and quiets for the briefest moment, startled by the new face. Celine's still not sure how she feels when she sees how the infant looks at her. It's never straightforward, like the beaming smile she'll always flash Miyeong or the sour expression she picks up the second Yejun leans into her space. Despite that, it's always consistent. It's this split-second pause, like there's a puzzle about Celine she's trying to crack. If the idol didn't know any better, she'd almost say the five-month-old in front of her was trying to read her. To know her.
Rumi is quiet for about ten seconds at maximum. Then the little terror scrunches up her nose, balls her fists and screams.
Celine takes her favorite blanket, always found hanging across the foot of her crib, and does her best to swaddle Rumi as she's been taught. Patterns of little bears and little turtles criss cross around her, holding the infant still despite her loud, loud protests. Celine takes Rumi from the crib shortly after, hoisting her up against her shoulder and patting a steady rhythm against her back.
The parenting books always make this part seem so much easier that it actually is. Swaddle, shush, soothe, repeat. Celine has gone through the process night after night and always seems to come up short. She does the same now, pacing lightly between the window and the crib and silently regretting that she had passed up Yejun's offer to install a white noise machine in the nursery. Rumi's cries pierce her ears at a frequency she thinks should probably cause hearing loss, at this point.
It's ten minutes later, when she's on the brink of defeat and resting her head against the cool pane of the window as consolation for herself, that a warm presence presses against her back. Celine feels relief wash over her as Miyeong wraps an arm around her midsection and presses the softest, chastest kiss to the skin behind her ear. "You very much don't have this, you know that?"
Rumi wails, right on cue. Celine can't help but laugh, just a little. "Can't fault me for trying."
"Hopeless," Miyeong teases, but there's only affection in the hum of her voice. She drapes herself on Celine's unoccupied shoulder, smiling into her neck as her partner steps back into her embrace. "You've got to talk to her, you goof. Let her know eomma is here."
Celine tries to ignore how her chest tightens at the term itself, not unwelcome but still entirely unfamiliar. She doesn't know if hearing it fall from Miyeong's lips so genuinely, so endearingly softens the blow or makes it sharper. "You should hold her," she murmurs, laying Rumi face-up in her arms once more and turning to hand the infant off.
Thin, delicate hands hold her in place, sliding gently across the plush sleeves of Celine's robe to cover her own. "Nope, not my turn. Leader already said so." Miyeong's whispering now at the shell of her partner's ear, another careful kiss of assurance provided immediately after. "C'mon. You can't be that afraid of a little baby, huh?"
Something gnaws at Celine with the thought. She should be, she thinks. If she wasn't much more terrified at the thought of coming face to face with a morning show host on two hours of sleep, maybe she'd be able to remember why.
It's really not the babe that she's afraid of. Not entirely. The thought of not being enough for a wailing infant when her mother was just out of reach, though? She'd be lying if there wasn't something that deeply scared her about the situation.
So she does. Lie, that is. "I'm not afraid," she says, like she's on a variety show appearance where they've figured out that spiders are her worst nightmare and she's about to put her hand in the mystery box.
She knows Miyeong doesn't believe her by the fond snicker that follows. Her partner traces a gentle finger down the line of her jaw to her neck, landing softly at the top of her breastbone with a tenderness that would make Celine's knees go weak in any other context. "Then let her touch you, scaredy-cat."
Celine considers it, something inside her both balking and beaming at the thought. She loosens the tie on her robe ever so slightly so that the collar sinks, just enough to expose the very top of her chest around Miyeong's hand. Rumi's always been wiggly enough that she's not confident loosening her already unraveling swaddle is a good idea, so instead Celine tucks a careful palm under the back of her head and lifts her higher. It's like she's handling glass as she presses the screaming infant's little wet cheek to her collarbone, expectations minimal.
Rumi rises to meet them, anyways.
It takes about thirty seconds and much more shushing, but wails turn to cries and cries turn to babbles. It's not long before Rumi's not making noise at all, suddenly totally content in the arms of the woman who had been ready to curse her only moments before. Miyeong smiles again in a way that Celine feels on her skin and in her chest alike. They're both quiet for a moment, relishing in the blessed silence.
"That's your girl, Celine. Don't forget."
Celine scoffs in disbelief at the sentiment. There's a retort in there somewhere, maybe a jab or two about always pawning off responsibilities to the leader of their group. All the insults die on her tongue when the woman behind her begins to go limp. Something warm and sticky presses to the side of Celine's neck where her lips had been just moments before.
Blood trickles down Miyeong's hand onto her partner's sleeve. Rumi's swaddle grows wet with the substance. Celine feels her own veins run cold as memory finally rises to match the moment.
"Thank you," Miyeong says, and her voice is thick like there's something bubbling in her throat. Like she's too weak to even cough anymore. Like she's struggling to breathe around the blade-shaped hole in her chest.
Like she's bleeding out underneath the dangsan tree. Again.
It was, after all, the first and last time Miyeong had said what she whispers again now:
"Love you."
Celine doesn't realize she's crying until Rumi jerks in her arms, flinching away from the tear that escapes to splatter across her face. The infant is silent while staring up at her now, brown eyes wide and tracking on her guardian's every move as Celine huffs out a breath she didn't know she had been holding.
She's about to fall apart. The orphan in her arms is watching.
And Miyeong?
Miyeong is dead.
Miyeong has been dead for four months.
Celine feels her heart begin to rattle in her chest. The air around her is thin. She's breathing faster now and the throbbing in her skull feels like there's a knife lodged in her orbit trying to pry her wide open. She backs away from nothing until there's no room left, shoulder meeting the wall with an audible "thud" and little to no resistance in her limbs as she slides down to the floor.
Miyeong is dead. Hana is gone. She is alone.
She is alone. Celine is alone.
The grief tears through her again, making itself at home like it had never even left. In truth, she's not sure it had. This all seems far too familiar, and though this is the first time she's seen Miyeong with such clarity it is by far not the first time she's cried over her since that night. The way Celine breaks is almost routine at this point.
Her head hurts. Her chest hurts. Miyeong is dead.
She can't breathe. Her eyes burn. Hana is gone.
Her gaze blurs. Her throat's raw. Celine is alone.
Except this time, the routine has changed. There's someone else here with her in the dark of the room that's so close to swallowing her whole. There's a girl that was there with her on that night. There's a girl that has been with her every night since.
Celine comes back to herself the moment that Rumi's cries begin to overpower her own.
The idol finally takes the opportunity to curse under her breath, the syllables shaky as starts to whisper to the infant in her arms. She's bad at this. She's so, so bad at this. The only thing she's ever been able to do successfully is swaddle the little menace until she's ready to finally cry herself to sleep. That's so much harder to do right now, when each wail and shriek dredges up a buried memory of just how Rumi sounded on that night.
She had looked so small, then. One could've so easily looked over her tiny, bloodstained form wrapped in her mother's embrace.
Celine bounces the infant in her arms, biting her lip so hard she thinks it might bleed as the weight of grief still sits firm on her chest. "Hey, hey. Don't— You don't need to—" She tries her best to reason with Rumi, who will have none of it. She only wails louder.
Celine sucks in a breath between gritted teeth, feeling more tears prick at the corner of her eyes in frustration. She knows she's not good enough. She's tried her best to at least pretend she could be a good guardian for months, just to hit a wall at every turn. She knows she can't be what this child needs.
What she needs…what she needs is…
"Look, I'm here, okay? I'm here," the woman run ragged murmurs, pressing her lips to Rumi's forehead and scrunching her own stinging eyes shut. She shushes her as gently as she can, wrapping both arms around the infant and pulling her flush against her chest. Their tear-streaked cheeks meet and Celine chokes on a sob that threatens to make its way past her lips.
"Eomma's here, Rumi."
The response is not immediate for either of them. Celine doesn't know how much time passes while they sit there, weeping against each other in synchronization that would make her choreographer proud. She's glad that she's at least the first among them to quiet down, tears giving way to the steady breathing exercises Hana had always led before every big performance.
Normally, this is the part where the grief leaves and empties her out entirely. There's a space there she hasn't quite been able to fill for months, no matter how hard she tries. She supposes that's another part of her routine that's changed. It's hard for her chest to feel hollow again with a tiny little life pressed against it.
Celine only pulls away when Rumi's cries have trailed into weak little hiccups, those wide brown eyes locked yet again on her own. It's strange to think about how they're the same, yet so radically different from Miyeong's own. Celine sees so much of the woman she loved in her and somehow nothing at all.
Her breathing still hasn't returned to normal, but it's getting there. She's managing. Surviving.
"You done?" Celine asks when the air is finally back in her lungs.
Rumi babbles something in response, biting down on a tiny little hand she's managed to slip free from her swaddle.
Celine thinks the noise that comes from her own throat is a laugh, despite it all. She offers her own finger to the infant, who latches on and gnaws on it with fervor. "Yeah, me too."
It takes another good chunk of time for Rumi to actually stop babbling and finally sleep. Celine watches her eyes drift shut and it's affection that she now finds churning in her chest. The infant's chewing slowly but surely stops, little fingers still wrapped all the way around Celine's own despite it all.
Celine is so incredibly careful as she stands and moves back to the side of Rumi's crib, handling the infant like an ornament that could break at any moment. She pulls over a nearby chair with her foot, taking just a moment longer to look down at the babe and the patterns that pulse lightly around the skin of her little elbow.
The sigh that leaves her is weary. Celine lowers the infant back into her crib, sinking into the chair only when she's sure that her charge is well and truly asleep. The slow rise and fall of her chest underneath a silly little tiger-patterned onesie, steady and true, is the final confirmation.
Rumi never lets go of her finger.
It's another ten minutes before Celine finally dares to glance at the clock in the corner of the room. Her own face stares back at her from the photo of the Sunlight Sisters branded across the side. Yejun had a whole shipment of alarm clocks produced immediately after their first music show win, insisting that it'd be a hot market, limited edition item. They had sold maybe half of them and had to throw the rest into VIP packages for the next concert just to get rid of the full batch.
Miyeong had insisted on keeping one for each of them. She had told Hana it was because their early merch was going to be worth a fortune one day when they really made it big. She had also said (at a late, alcohol-fueled afterparty and whispered into a flushed leader's ear) it was because there was nothing more thrilling than the thought of waking up to Celine Cadieux at her bedside every morning.
One of those things turned out to be true. It was sinful how high the bidding wars got nowadays for no more than a budget alarm clock with the original Sunlight Sisters packaging. Celine never had time to figure out the other.
The time is 4:30 AM. It's an hour before she has to drop Rumi off with the sitter that Yejun has arranged. An hour and half and she'll need to be at the morning show.
The infant still has a death grip on Celine's finger, looking the most satisfied she's ever seen the little thing. Celine rests her chin on the edge of the crib, feeling the impending threat of her own eyes drifting shut under the weight of heavy, puffy lids. She pulls her phone from her robe pocket with her free hand, typing out a short message on the keys.
The reply is back in under a minute. Yejun might be panicking based on the tone alone, but he seems to understand.
The interview is cancelled. Bad migraines can really debilitate the most diligent of idols, after all.
Celine's going to spend the day with her girl.