Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

"Pathetic."

The purple haired teen and youngest trainee flinch, both turning slowly to look at the speaker. Even if they or any of the other girls stood, Mira towers over all of them. Arms crossed, eyes narrowed and completely focused on Zoey.

"Mira that—"

Zoey raises a hand to cut Rumi off, not daring to break eye-contact with the standing girl. Muttered words that sounded vaguely like 'uncalled for' flit pass them in their staring contest.

"What was?" Her mouth is already curling into a smile, defensive tactic number 1: Don't show her she gets under your skin. Not in front of the other trainees. Show Amii she didn't need her cousin to fight her battles for her.

(Especially if Mira definitely does, with the under-skin-burrowing. The chaebol² intimidation energy is way past 11.)

"You dragged your foot again during the choruses. Your skip is a hop in the second verse. Your hands were shaking too long at the end at the wrong angle. And worst of all?" Mira's eyes are hard and full of judgement, "You were off-beat for the second half of the song."

As if every mistake she made was a matter of life-or-death.

The studio is dead quiet. All eyes watching the two, though some were trying to feign minding their own business by using the mirrors lining the walls. Amii is in a crouch, looking like she'd run over if she gets a signal from Zoey.

She almost says, "You're being dramatic."

"Is that all?" Zoey exhales. She didn't realize she'd been holding her breath, the criticisms having hit her like darts. "Hate to break it to ya Kim, but this is practice. Not the final performance."

"Practice makes perfect, Park." Despite the English monotone, she could feel the disdain dripping out of the older girl's voice. Then back to Korean: "You mess up your practice, you mess up the show."

"Sorry, unnie.³ I'll take your words into consideration." Zoey's smile is so bright, despite the small tremor in her limbs. She knows she's shaking, but she doesn't break eye-contact.

The urge to bow sarcastically while sitting is roaring behind her ears, but she promised she'd be good.

"I'm not your unnie." She considers it a win when the taller girl looks away first. Scoffing as her straight mane of deep magenta whirled softly in the air-conditioned room. "Turtle-freak."

"Least I don't have a stick up my ass." Zoey mutters under her breath in English, but somehow Rumi heard and there is a weird gasping cough happening.

Celine rises from her plastic chair by the door with hardly a squeak, a bottle of Pocari Sweat in hand. She ignores the trainees scrambling to their feet, her eyes set straight-forward as she walks over and hands the drink to her goddaughter.

It had to be Zoey's imagination, but she heard the phrase 'spoiled princess' in an English monotone.

Then Amii helps her up from the floor, eyes insistent as she yanks her up. She blinks. She didn't realize she was still on the wooden floorboards while everyone else was standing.

Stupid.

She needs to do better. If she doesn't stay on beat and sync up with the others, she can't prove she'd be in sync with Rumi.

If she can't be an idol with Rumi, then she'd be the biggest loser.

Fuck.

"You're being mean."

Mira straightens up, barely keeping her eyes from rolling. She had changed into her after-practice clothes: a stolen navy polo from her brother's closet, paired with tan chinos and marker-vandalized once-white sneakers. Her hair now tied back in a low ponytail.

"So?" She raises an eyebrow at her only friend. Rumi is already covered up again, in a sky-blue hoodie and washed-out old jeans.

"So? So?! Aiiie." Rumi huffs, her wisteria braid tightly coiled as always. "She's only here for four weeks—three actually! You don't have to—"

"You're right. I don't have to do anything." She scoffs. "It's a room full of trainees, and everyone's trying to impress Celine. She should be thanking me for the notes."

"Thanking—Mira, half of the other girls were worse than her!"

"You don't care about the other girls." Rumi's face flushes and crumples up in guilt. "You want her to be the third."

Mira looks past the other girl, eyes focusing on a tree that had two legs sticking out from a branch. Why Turtle-freak was up there was beyond her. "Your first friend."

"Mira." There's a look in Rumi's eyes, a stubborn edge that demanded respect. Someone had been practicing her Celine impression, "Just because you weren't first doesn't give you the right to speak to her like that."

"No." She concedes. "But it's my excuse."

There is a shudder in the air and their argument disappears as they blink. The two teens tense. They scan for the tell-tale magenta strings, and take off to find the tear.

"What kind of demons do you think they'll be this time?" Her voice wavers, near-excitement infecting her monotone.

"Geographically? Probably mountain demons." The pair leap over a large boulder together, harmonizing softly to get an assist from the Honmoon. "Maybe the one-eyes."

"If there's a jeoseung saja,⁴ I call keeping their gat."

"No way." Rumi calls on her saingeom,⁵ the flat blade already shimmering in the setting sun, "They stick to the city, and we're way out."

Mira grunts in acknowledgement, the hairs on the back of her neck already stiff as they neared an abandoned old well, out in an unused pasture. She retrieves her gokdo,⁶ and takes up a defensive stance, her feet wide apart. "Could be a water demon."⁷

"Make that demons."

The pallid skinned spirits rise from the well, clambering their way up the slick sides with speed greater than scuttling spiders. Dark slime-drenched hair near-body length. Bulbous webbed hands that could sharpen into claws.

"It's a swarm." Rumi counts quickly, mouthing along her numbers.

"No shit." She deadpans in English, standing her ground as she swings her polearm in large arcs. Whatever she doesn't slice gets caught in the braided girl's sword swipes.

If it wasn't dangerous to close her eyes, Mira might have. Through the Honmoon, it feels like their two hearts beat as one. She hardly registers the demon shrieks as she steps into each additional sweep.

And if she were a basic bitch, she might even consider it a dance.

Their iridescent weapons move in a flurry, almost silver in the blood-orange sky. The water demons disappearing in a hazy magenta mist with each true hit.

A regular Thursday.

Mira spots the last one first from the corner of her eye: it is leaping towards Rumi from behind. Claws extended and ready to strike.

She feels her breath freeze in her lungs, mind racing. She can't get to her in time. She's too far away. Her gokdo is already extended, blade buried in the torso of a disappearing demon. She can't throw it.

Rumi's going to get hurt.

Mira starts to yell a warning and watches incredulously as a rock hits the leaping demon's temple, knocking it off-course. She imagines she heard the THUNK of impact.

Rumi seemed to hear it. She twirls around gracefully to finish the demon.

Mira exhales, nearly choking on the held breath. Vaguely, she could also see Rumi's chest heaving from the fight. Her eyes scan their surroundings: where did that rock come from?

Turtle-freak.

She stares at her.

The cheeky brat is shaking all over, chest heaving as she gives Mira a two-fingered salute and wink.

"You guys...ran fast..." She drops her arm, still grinning, and rests her hand against her hip. "Where's...the fire?"

"You can see them?" She didn't mean to shout in English, but she could already see Rumi's smug grin despite having the wisteria-haired teen's back in her field of vision. "What the fuck Turtle-freak?"

Zoey cocks an eyebrow at Mira, whatever she wanted to say gets cut off by Rumi thanking her breathlessly for the save.

And Mira feels the hot sharp spike of jealousy pierce her. Again.

Fucking Turtle-freak.

"How come it didn't...explode...when I hit it?"

"Rocks aren't part of the Honmoon." She drops her gokdo, letting the weapon absorb back into the spirit threads.

"Hon...Honmoon?" The American looked confused. "The...something gate?"

"Spirit." Rumi clarifies in English, also returning her saingeom. "Spirit gate."

The two start talking, discussing the blue threads and something about colors in the wind. Mira scoffs quietly to herself, determined to put Turtle-freak out of mind, and looks around the grassy flat plain.

It takes her nearly a minute, but she can see Celine and Robert. In the shadow of a dilapidated shed that the teens must have rushed past. Close enough to observe, and far away enough to let them think they were handling the tear on their own.

Typical.

"I'm going to miss my bus." And maybe Mira let a bit of anger slip before she caught herself. She starts the trek back towards the studio. "Bye Rumi."

"Oh, have a safe trip!" Even without looking, she knows the wisteria-haired teen has a slight pinch between her eyes. Rumi should consider herself lucky that Turtle-freak wasn't cursed out.

The hot anger keeps her warm, up until she's at the doorstep of her brother's house.