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One moment she's on stage, where she loves, where she was always meant to be, and the next she's on the floor of her dorm room, glass splintering in her ears. Coffee seeps into the white of the carpet, and she remembers thinking about what a bitch it will be to clean up.
“Rui!”
She flinches. Hard. The flag flutters from her fingertips like she'd been electrocuted, and she snatches her hand back to her chest. (Glass shards embedded in her palm, rubies sprinkling the floor—)
On instinct — survival — she laughs.
Rule #1 of The Kpop Idol's Handbook to Success: don't take anything seriously. Don't worry. It's not personal.
“Sorry!” Rui beams at the crowd, the lights a little too blinding. She can't make out their faces, not well, but they sure can make out hers. Her teeth show, too prominent, too bright. “I've forgotten.”
She's sorry, always sorry. Always for trying to—
Her name echoes in her ears (Rui, Rui, Rui—), tainted with serpent spit and the aching urge to belong. Their eyes are still on her, hawk-like and venomous. Waiting for the moment to strike. Another mistake and they’ll be on her in seconds, sweat-slick hands sticky on her skin, prepared to kill.
Rui's picturesque smile doesn't falter, even as she clutches the bouquet of flowers close. She stands up, too abruptly to be natural, before whirling around to rejoin her loves.
Wumuti meets her gaze, as always, his concern well hidden, but betrayed by the twitch in his fingers. His fingers curl into the flag they are allowed to touch. Hyun's voice floats through the room, 1 of LOV honey-smooth and steady, and Rui wants to laugh at the irony of it all.
Her fingers are burning.
Regardless, she bites down on all the stones in her mouth and picks up the next line. A gift for EVOLs from the thing that is Rui. She hopes her voice doesn't shake.
Rui, Rui, Rui.
Her name.
The one she picked for the days when Kuanjui was too hard to say. The name that tastes like milky lattes and strawberry shakes when it rolls off Hyun's tongue like it belongs there.
She steps back with the song, just a step behind the others. If it's because that situates Hyun between her and their CEO’s sharp gaze, no one will know.
That's a lie; Hyun does. He's kind enough to just smile at her though, brushing their shoulders together. She can’t help but lean into it, letting his warmth seep into her pores. Rui just has to remember to smile, prettily, the way she’s supposed to.
The rest of the night passes in a blur. Rui remembers Wumuti grabbing her hand to drag her into a bow, Hyun's firm hand securely wrapped around her arm to ground her, and Haru's worried comments directed towards Wumuti in hushed whispers when they think she’s not listening.
She also remembers looking back when they leave the stage, thinking it's just like me. The half of her heart that's been crumpled and discarded, the kind of thing people would scream at you for trying to touch. Rainbow-colored and iridescent.
They drive back to the hotel. Not quite in silence, but Rui hears nothing but the blood rushing through her ears. Haru practically stays glued to her side, their hand slipped into hers. Without them, Rui would have probably either walked into a wall or fallen about fifty different times.
Rui knows they know something is wrong. They all do.
The hotel door hasn't even fully clicked shut behind them before a series of harsh, rapping knocks make both Hyun and Rui flinch, and Haru's face settles into something close to a scowl.
Wumuti's jaw tightens for a fraction of a second, but he checks the peephole anyway before pulling the door open.
“CEO-nim—” Wumuti barely gets the words out before their CEO’s gaze lands on Rui. The ice in his eyes makes her shrink back, into Hyun's embrace. His arm around her waist tightens, pulling her closer as well.
She's taller than him. She shouldn't be feeling this small. Her heart rabbits, jumping once, twice, up her throat to rest on her tongue.
“Rui-ssi,” he starts, and all she can do is look at him. Or more specifically, at the bridge of his nose. She doesn't dare open her mouth, lest her heart pools out to splatter on the floor, leaving her teeth stained monster-red.
A flash of peach indicates that Wumuti has slipped further into the room, and with it goes Haru's presence and Hyun's warmth. It takes everything for her knees not to buckle. A sense of abandonment grips her heart, claws digging in.
They don't want you either. You don’t belong here, Kuanjui. Not here, not anywhere. Not someone like you.
“You already know what I'm going to say.”
She does.
“You don't need me to hold your hand, okay? Can you think before you do things?”
Rui wants to argue. She wants to defend herself. But she's the one who broke the rules. It is her fault and she has no defense. It doesn't matter that Wumuti thinks the rule is fucking stupid and could have been directed towards more important things.
“Don't be careless, Rui-ssi.” Her name sounds too sharp in his mouth. “It's for your safety. Don't you understand?”
Rui's hand crawls up her chest, just over her collarbones. She nods, her nails right above her jugular.
Her safety.
What safety?
The illusion of it?
Be queer but not too queer. Queer enough to sell, but not so much that it becomes political.
Or worse, controversial.
They don't care if you look at a man in a way that's different, just if you look at a woman the same. They don't care if you kiss boys on the mouth, only if you laugh it off. Maybe gag a couple times. Blush a little. Really sell it, you know?
Rui doesn't know safety.
Her kind has never known safety.
Only: stolen kisses in the shadows of moonlight, the sound of laughter around a round table, hands wrapped around her waist (just tight enough to sting deliciously).
That's the safety she knows.
The safety of danger.
But Rui will nod and pretend that swallowing herself will save her. There's nothing left to do when you've signed your soul to the devil.
He huffs then, his eyes lingering on her just enough to make her stomach curl. His shadow trails after his figure when he leaves. The click of the door sounds a million times louder than it should be, a thunder in her ears.
Rui doesn't move, staring at the floor. Somewhere, some time later, it will splinter apart and the darkest pits of hell will be waiting to take her.
Wumuti takes her hand from wherever he's materialized from. Almost as if he's sensed her emotions.
“Rui,” he says, and it's the sound of tinkling piano keys.
“I'm fine,” she says shortly. She doesn't believe it either.
Wumuti says nothing else, simply pulling her fingers off the crumpled paper one by one, pretending not to see where her nails have sliced right through. She's forgotten she was still holding it.
“Come on, baobei,” he finally says, after the bouquet has been put aside. She lets him pull her closer, one hand sneaking around her waist, the other resting on her cheek. He thumbs over the delicate skin, his eyes too soft. “Let's wash up.”
She still can't bring herself to speak, her Adam's apple bobbing. Thankfully, Wumuti knows her.
Rui lets him guide her towards the bathroom, past where Hyun and Haru are speaking quietly, curled up on the windowsill. She catches snippets of queer and hate and I love yous. Haru catches her eye and smiles fleetingly, reassuringly.
Rui smiles back — or at least, she tries to — and follows Wumuti into the bathroom. He turns around.
“C’mon,” he murmurs, “Sit.” Rui can only obey. “Let me take care of you? Or do you want me to go?”
Rui's fingers wind themselves into his pants of their own accord. “Stay,” she says back, just as quiet. “Please?”
A whisper of an exhale slips out of Wumuti's lips. “Always.” And like once isn't enough, he says it again. “Always, jagiya.”
Rui lets her eyes slip shut as Wumuti drags the makeup wipes over her skin. It’s nice, ultimately, to just do nothing but be. Nothing but let Wumuti take care of her, the way she sometimes aches for.
She doesn’t know how long it takes for Wumuti to finally be satisfied with her state of cleanliness, but really, does it matter? She could have been covered in mud for all she cares, as long as it's in Wumuti's arms.
Wumuti's pants rustle as he floats around her, fingers delicately unravelling her outfit. He treats her like porcelain, too easy to shatter. She sags each time another article comes off, like she's shedding more than the outfit.
He combs through her hair, gently, too gently. The feel of her natural locks is maybe why she's falling apart so easily. It's been a long while since she's gone without a wig on stage, without having the long hair she's always dreamed of, and the way it drapes over her collarbones as if it can shield her against the world. Maybe it's why she's feeling so vulnerable, so stripped bare, like pieces of her skin had scraped off before falling onto the stage like confetti.
Rui’s soul dissolves into Wumuti’s waiting hands, where the older man presses a kiss to her forehead, hands resting on her waist. She blinks at him, automatically reaching for the zipper on his skirt.
Wumuti tuts lightly, shaking his head. “Let me,” he says, guiding her hands aside. Rui obliges, and he undresses with none of the caution he had for her garments, throwing them into a pile.
He has more care for his jewelry, carefully folding his glasses and putting them next to her necklaces, before running a hand into his hair to muss it up.
Her mouth pulls into a half-hearted smile of its own accord.
Wumuti (and the others) are so, so beautiful on stage, literally ethereal beings that she can’t help but sometimes feel inadequate to. But this— this Wumuti, with red hair all messed up, with the crooked smile, with all the makeup gone — this Wumuti is for her eyes only. This Wumuti says can I kiss you quietly before pressing their lips together in response to her nod. This Wumuti lets Rui wrap her arms around his neck, standing up without breaking their kiss. This Wumuti pulls her flush against his chest, skin to skin, and makes her body curl with warmth, all the way from where his nose brushes against hers, to where his palms press into the curves of her hips.
This Wumuti loves her.
She sighs into the kiss, chest feeling lighter and yet not light enough.
He pulls away first, smiling at her pout. “Bath first, come on. I’ll kiss you all you want later.”
They somehow make it to the tub without tripping over each other. Wumuti sits down first, before helping her nestle into the space between his legs. The water washes over her stomach, like a hug.
“Sweetheart,” Wumuti says softly, hooking his chin over Rui’s shoulder. His favorite place to be, always nestled in the crook of Rui’s neck, their cheeks pressed against each other’s. “Let me hold you, baobei. Let me show you I love you.”
He shuffles around a little, pulling Rui close, her back pressed to his front. His hand splays over her stomach, grounding, like it’s the only thing tethering her to this world. As if without it, she’d float straight up, out of the bathtub, out of this plane of existence.
Rui shivers minutely, Wumuti’s warm breaths ghosting along her skin. “Pretty darling,” Wumuti croons. Rui tips her head back, lets him press a kiss onto her cheek.
Let me show you I love you.
It means more than he knows. It's the way she doesn't have to talk about it because Wumuti understands. The way there are really no words that can accurately describe this explosion of thorns in her chest, made of judgmental looks and hurled slurs. But Wumuti knows. He gets it. And he knows to hold her tighter, fingers digging divots into her skin until the air rushes out of her in a sharp exhale.
“Muti,” she breathes, and the tears come.
Wumuti shifts them again, letting her hide into his shoulder; wet, watery sobs wrack her body, rippling under her skin. His fingers slide into her hair, pressing her head deeper, holding her just a bit tighter. The dull ache in her chest squeezes. It wraps around her tongue like it’s trying to yank it out of her mouth, leaving her spluttering and gasping for air.
Wumuti’s lips find home in the crown of her hair, a litany of breathe and shh and sweetheart kissed into her scalp. He hums, soothing his warm, calloused palms over her skin until she stops trembling so badly.
“I know,” he murmurs, and it’s the best thing he could have said. “I know, baby. I love you.”
And really, it’s all she should need. Nothing but the people she loves, the ones that occupy all the little crevices of her heart. But if it was really all she wanted, then she wouldn’t have become an idol.
Rui is greedy, ravenous, insatiable. She has the most accepting family and the most beautiful partners, and still she’s starving for more. It aches. Rui wants, no, needs to sink her teeth into rainbow-colored pieces of skin until her lips are glossy pinks that shine when she smiles.
Wumuti can’t help her with that, not like this.
But he can hold her so close it almost hurts and promise that they’re trying— they’re going to get there someday. Someday, they will paint the world lavender. Someday, Wumuti will kiss her on stage, wrapped in pink, orange, and white. And people will cheer, and Rui will be breathtakingly happy.
For now, Wumuti will press kisses into her skin, I love yous encasing her heart. He’ll pick her up and lay her on the bed and let their members love her the way she needs to be loved — wholly, sweetly, unapologetically — with the space to finally be free.