Work Text:
Her voice—
Her voice is hurting the Honmoon.
Hurting the one thing she has always been able to protect, has always been meant to protect.
—
You're a hunter, just like your mother was.
—
She can't see a way through anymore.
She can't see anything but the memory of the patterns crawling up her throat and tainting her voice.
But the city is far below, from this place on high.
And there is always a way out.
It's not the first time she has thought about it. Not the first time a vision of her death has played out in her mind's eye. Of course it isn't. How could it be the first time when she has known what she is since she was a child.
And the city lies spread out before her, Honmoon glittering above it, ready to welcome her with open arms.
Arms wrapped tightly around herself, she leans closer, looking out, looking down.
Maybe it's what is meant to happen—one last time she gets to eliminate a threat before it can even try to hurt them, to hurt Mira and Zoey.
She bows from her kneeling position, folding over on herself, body held steady but eyes looking straight below, over the edge of the roof.
—
Nothing can change until your patterns are gone.
—
But something can change if she can build up the courage to do it.
Her hands tremble.
—
Her hands tremble where they hover above the piano keys. It's the first time she is playing for them, these two beautiful souls. She thinks they aren't quite sure what to think of her, Mira especially, but she already knows she will love them. The Honmoon has shown her the lightness inside of both of them, along with the fierceness. There is a strength of spirit in them.
—
She doesn't think she has a lot of strength left in her spirit, but they are strong enough to make it.
She leans out a little further, abs feeling the strain.
A gasp behind her stops her in her tracks, her eyes widening.
No no no. They aren't meant to be here for this.
Zoey's voice is pitched high when she speaks, "Hey Rumi. Would you mind sitting up, away from— from the ledge?"
—
The nervousness is clear in the inflection of Zoey's voice as she tells them she wants to show them something. Her hands tremble as she reaches into her drawer, pulling out two well-worn notebooks—their fronts covered in stickers and doodles. Rumi can see more that stay stacked in the drawer.
—
Mira speaks next, a little closer, voice low and strained in her worry. Rumi's eyes widen further—can Mira see her, see the marks of corruption? "Rumi, whatever it is, we can figure it out together. You don't need to do this."
—
Mira's voice is tight as she asks if they would like to see some of her choreography. And Rumi almost doesn't even notice the way that her hands tremble where they hold her phone and a Bluetooth speaker—she doesn't think she would have if she was not used to seeing the facade that looks back at her in her own mirror.
—
Her hands tighten further around her upper arms, even as she keeps looking away, looking below. Please—she doesn't want it to have to be them. She wanted to do this so that they didn't have to do it—didn't have to put her down like a rabid dog when they saw the truth of it.
Mira keeps talking. "You do that and you are gonna take us with you, Rums. We all belong together. There is no us without you."
—
On the anniversary of their meeting, after they have worked out the tangles in and between their threads, she finds herself making a vow with them.
She didn't mean for it to happen, but there she is, standing witness to something she should argue against.
"So, always together? And always connected." Mira holds out a hand and nods as she speaks.
Zoey is quick to put hers on top, adding her own agreement.
And then they are both looking at her, expectant and hopeful and then worried the longer she stares down at their hands in surprise.
But she puts her trembling hand in anyway and wishes so badly for it to be true, even if deeper down, she knows she's on a time limit and that they are not.
—
She can't help but sob. No no no. That's the opposite of what she wants. She wants them to be better without her, without the weight of the rot inside of her on the Honmoon.
"We are right here, Rums. Can you just sit up for us?" Mira sounds a little closer. Resolution fill her.
She knows what she has to do, even though it will hurt them temporarily. And she will hope they do not follow.
She sits back up, back on her heels.
Let them see what she is first, see the patterns in the dim light. Maybe then they will understand.
Her teeth clench.
She moves, lunging forward.
Or rather, she attempts to, because at the moment she tries, a familiar hand clamps down firmly on her shoulder. And how much like them that it—Mira taking the attention while Zoey gets to an advantageous position.
Zoey pulls her back from the edge even as Mira moves to grab her other side.
They wrap themselves around her, pulling her up and moving closer to the middle of the roof as one.
And surely they can see her patterns now, see the truth of it.
But if anything, they only hold on tighter, both of them clinging to her desperately.
"Don't you see? See what I am?" Incredulity shows itself, and doubt creeps in. Had she fallen? Is this a broken mind trying to see one last moment of happiness before the end?
"We can figure it out. I promise we will." A sob breaks through Mira's forced calm. "But we can't figure anything out if you aren't here with us."
Zoey has been softly repeating something, voice slowly rising in volume even as Mira spoke. Rumi can make it out now. "Please don't go. Please don't go. Please don't go."
And she doesn't.