Chapter Text
Mira turns this way and that, studying the fresh pink scars on her back in the mirror. Prior to its rebuilding, the Honmoon would erase any evidence of their battle wounds.
Now though, new Honmoon, new rules apparently. It still helps them heal faster, but it seems to have no interest in hiding their flaws. She tugs her shirt down over the scars, pulls out her phone, and texts Bobby.
Mira: Dragon Fruit
Bobby: Initiating Operation 626. Keys are in the mailbox. Drive safe.
It's time.
Normally, she wouldn't be this dramatic about it. Ok that's a lie, she thrives on theatrics. BUT, normally, she doesn't have to be this dramatic about shit. Normally, she could just hide all her faults and fears, bury the trauma, and go get ramyeon with her girls.
However, they've recently learned that hiding things from the two women your soul is permanently bonded to comes with its own set of consequences... and they're all out of ramyeon, to add insult to injury.
So yes. It's time.
Mira has had enough. One week? 'Fine we're all processing.' Two? 'Ok maybe we all need to gather our thoughts'. But three? Three weeks with no quality time with her girls and nothing to distract her from her own thoughts? Alone with her brain after a traumatic event where she nearly lost the two most important people in her world? For three (3!) weeks?
Nope. Done.
She thought after her injury they would talk. Had been counting on it, really, since she vaguely remembered some- um things that were said mid treatment that couldn't exactly be unsaid by one recalcitrant, violet haired leader. But she woke up alone the next day with meds and instructions laid out meticulously on her bedside table.
And it should be easier, theoretically. The new Honmoon has now woven them together so completely, soul-wise, that it's ludicrous that they're struggling this much to just have a conversation.
The Honmoon has always been- intense. She wished she had a better descriptor, but Zoey's the word wizard not her. The intensity has ranged over the years, and with each change, Mira always thinks it can't get any worse? better? more, and each time she's been proven wrong.
She has always seen the Honmoon's threads. That's a no brainer. Although, as a child she regretted asking her brother about them almost immediately. The doctors visits and subsequent psych hold when the little snitch inevitably told her parents about them were traumatizing.
Then there was the initial pulling. She's not one to believe in the stupid red strings of fate analogy, but she is one to call a spade a spade. Twin tugs on her heart or soul or whatever angry monster lives in her chest are something she was never fool enough to mention to anyone after the "Seeing light waves" incident.
She can't remember it starting, but she can definitely remember all the times the pull intensified. 5 years old when she decides with all the stubbornness of a mule with a chip on its shoulder that she's going to be a dancer. Or 12 when she decides she will never be like her family, cold and cruel and calculated, valuing money and power about all else. or 16 when she runs away from a Swiss boarding school and finds herself on the streets of Seoul dancing in a club downtown. Or 17 when she answers an audition call, when a nepo baby with purple hair and her nose pointed skyward nearly opens her car door into Mira's motor cycle before her audition, when she feels a rush of energy from the, hereforto placid waves, when they sing together, when they soar together. Or 17 again when a girl from California is delivered, scared and shy, to Celine's compound. At that point, the pull was so profound, spending a day without the two souls it was towing her toward was unthinkable.
It gets better with the Oath at the end of their training. Or, well, it settles with the Oath. It ties their souls and lets them breath. They could feel one another at the ends of their threads. Call to one another when they needed each other.
The new Honmoon is.... altogether something else. Their souls were tied before. Now, they are tightly woven into one another at each edge, so each of their spirits bleeds smoothly into the other two. To an outsider, it would be difficult to tell where each soul begin and ends, but they know they are still three just- closer than before
...They can also feel one another.
Which they haven't talked about either. Not that it does much good. It can be hard enough to name your own feelings let alone another person's, but she feels them all the same. Rumi's despair, in particular, has been breaking her heart.
So, Mira is done, and Mira takes 'brat-girl summer' to heart by throwing a tantrum the only way she knows how. Big.
It isn't difficult to arrange, really. Her girls have been keeping to themselves, and that works in her favor. Plus, she's had this failsafe set in place for years now. She figured she'd need it for the day Rumi finally lost it from overworking herself, or Zoey had a lil' overstimulated menty-b. So, all she has to do is pack three suitcases, gas up the car, text the codeword to Bobby, and pick up some boba.
Mira whistles as she loads the car with their luggage. Coordinated Huntrix branded, of course. The Jeep Wrangler is truly an underrated road trip vehicle.
She doesn't bother turning off the car to go back up to the penthouse. She doesn't want the ice in the boba to melt, and it's in their private garage anyway. She turns off her phone in the elevator ride back up and absently bids her fashion feeds goodbye.
The penthouse is quiet when she reaches it. Unnaturally so. There is no music playing through the cavernous living room, no gossip being whispered close enough to brush cheeks together, no giggles at funny animal shorts carefully curated while apart from the others. Nothing. The girls are in their rooms as per the last three weeks.
Mira continues whistling, the Honmoon skipping merrily beside her, as she does a final walkthrough of the penthouse making sure she didn't forget anything. Dishes, Done. Lights, off. Bobby, notified.
Maybe when she gets back she'll repaint her room. The neutrals just aren't doing it for her anymore. She changes into sweats and a crop top, making sure to grab her glasses and hat (The likelihood that they'll run into Huntrix fans is slim but never zero.), unearths the burner phone from where she had it charging last night, and heads into Zoey's room first.
The maknae is predictably on her phone hanging from her bed upside down. She has her headphones on so she doesn't hear Mira come in. Mira's been careful to keep her emotions calm and cool, so the Honmoon only thrums mildly at her entrance.
With little fanfare, she snatches the phone from Zoey's hand.
The girl makes a startled "Hey!", but Mira doesn't stop to listen to her protests. She turns the phone off on the way to Rumi's bedroom, a confused and perturbed Zoey following after her.
"Mira, you can't just barge in and take my phone! What do you even need it for? You have your own!"
Mira continues to ignore her. She's on a mission.
When she enters Rumi's room, the girl in question is seated on her balcony, looking into the distance like a sad watercolor painting. Zoey's emotions across the bond begin to clang, so she at least looks up at the click of her door opening.
Rumi's phone is charging on her desk (god, she's such a grandma) and it takes 3 steps to sweep by, grab it, turn on her heel, and march back out, phones in hand. Zoey's continued protests alert Rumi to Mira's game, and she's up with an alarmed "Mira!" before Mira's even left the room.
With the attention of two very irritated and confused hunters on her, she can actually get shit done. Good. Bringing her performance to a close with a grand finale, she tosses all of their personal phones into the safe in their hall closet over their protests, locks it, and goes to sit on the couch, legs crossed, arms folded, burner phone pocketed, ready for negotiations.
For a few minutes, they don't follow, trying to figure out how to get the safe open. Jokes on them. Bobby has the password, and it's magically enforced courtesy of Celine (She's still stewing in guilt after Mira's phone call to her last week, and Mira intends to keep her that way).
Eventually, they troop out into the living room. She gives them both a once over. Rumi is in a white hoodie and leggings and Zoey has on a loose t-shirt and some soft shorts. They should be comfortable enough for the drive.
"Mira?" Rumi asks, and it's such a paltry imitation of her usual esteemed, leader-nim 'you're in trouble' voice that Mira's used to that she nearly snorts. "Why are our phones in a safe?"
Mira smiles banally "I put them there."
Oh she's missed that little twitch of Rumi's left eye.
"Yes, but I think what Rumi was really asking is why did you put our phones in a safe?" Zoey asks her fingers steepled in front of her mouth doing an admirable job of keeping calm.
"Because we," Mira says "are going on a trip, and we will have no distractions on this trip."
"What?" Rumi asks flatly.
Far be it from Mira to beat around the bush, "Zoey, your screen time average for the last 3 weeks is 16 hours a day." "How the hell do you know that?!" "Rumi, you have been answering company emails and planning for a comeback we haven't even begun to conceptualize, let alone work on-" "You can't possibly know-"
"AND I," Mira stands, and the look on her face shuts up any more protests. "have had it."
Her girls look stunned, wide eyed and frozen. Mira doesn't yell, as a rule. She is not the scared little girl that came to Celine's compound angry and biting anymore. She has been to therapy, dammit. She usually keeps calm, but even she has her limits.
Rumi's face has gone pale. Zoey looks ready to bolt. Mira sighs.
"It has been three weeks, and we still haven't talked. That's as much my fault as any of ours, so believe me when I say I get it. This is hard. But. We have avoided talking to each other about it long enough, and I-" she hates how choked her voice sounds, but she allows the tears to form. Mira continues, strangled. "I can't keep going like this." I miss you both
Rumi's crying now too. She's seen Rumi cry only a few times in the 8 years she's known her. Once, when she met her. Once, when Rumi dislocated her shoulder. The Idol Awards. Last week when Mira was hurt. And now.
"So," Mira sniffs "We are taking a road trip. The car is packed, Bobby knows, and I am going to fix this if it kills me, got it?!" She knows she must look slightly deranged, because both of her girls nod quickly and follow her into the elevator.
A piano version of 'How It's Done' plays as they ride down to the garage. Silent and teary.
She stops them outside the car to pat them down. Overkill? Maybe. But she knows her girls.
She runs her hand over Rumi's torso and arms pausing to admire the iridescent shine of her patterns, concerned when she finds a deep blue instead. Interesting. She leaves the knife and taser where they are. Those are fine. No electronics. Rumi wasn't her main concern for that anyway. She keeps her thoughts as pure as she can as she ducks down to check her pants and boots.
"Is this really necessary" Rumi scoffs. Mira pops back up centimeters from Rumi's face with a frigid glare. "Point taken, ok." their leader says meekly.
Refusing to blink or break eye contact, Mira brings a clean hanky up to Rumi's nose and says "Blow." she does and "Get in the car." she does, slamming the passenger door with a little too much force.
Zoey doesn't say anything as Mira pats her down. (knife count is 22 on her by the way. Hot as hell and truly unnecessary considering she can pull knives from thin air, but whatever.) just sniffles a bit. When Mira comes back up to meet her big brown eyes, there's frustration there- and fear. She feels herself soften and brings her hands up to cradle her maknae's cheeks thumbs wiping away her tears.
"I promise you, it will be ok." she says with a certainty she almost feels. "Now get in."
Zoey is still audibly crying in the back seat as Mira puts in the address and fiddles with the music. She smacks Rumi's hand away when she reaches for the aux, puts on a playlist called "Mira Brooding by Rumi and Zoey", and passes them both their boba without looking. The sniffles die down as Zoey drinks her boba and Rumi glowers.
She pulls out of the garage feeling more hopeful than she has in weeks.
It is silent the entire 3 hour drive.