Find Me

by yourholyempress

Summary:

“ You can figure it out though, it’s been right in front of your face this entire time. Since we were kids Rumi.” The confusion on Rumi’s face was palpable.

Of course they had to talk about so much but this, this truth needed to slip out just a bit more to give the oblivious girl a small push.

“Watch that live Rumi, and then find me.” Mira stepped back and walked away with lethal grace throwing a grin over her shoulder that whispered come find me.

Chapter 1

Mira looked at Rumi. Really looked at her. She hadn’t met her eyes since she raised that weapon. Her heart hammering in her barely breathing chest. She looked so small so scared. She looked like if held the wrong way she would break and just that though broke Mira.

The silence between them wasn’t empty. It had weight, it pulsed and Rumi patterns flickered from white to purple with illuminated proof of what Mira was thinking. The same way a fire must die, the weight must be held. So here they were trembling in front of a person they once deemed their safety. Such a foreign feeling, something neither of them expected to ever feel around each other.

Their past clung to them like a second skin, humid, close, and unrelenting. It wasn’t heavy like chains.

It was fog. Blinding, yes, but not suffocating.

At least, not yet. This was the kind of fog that made the truth murky and cast shadows on everything they used to understand.

What became of Love, Loyalty, and Safety after betrayal?

All three of them, Mira, Rumi, and Zoe, had once moved through the world as one rhythm, one pulse, one harmony. Hunters who knew how the other would react. They knew each other and now they didn’t.

Their bond had restored the Honmoon, resurrected the last flickers of a song so ancient it had nearly slipped away forever. That was supposed to fix everything wasn’t it? But in doing so, something had splintered maybe not the action of healing the protective barrier but rather everything that lead to it.

Something raw and tender had torn open, like a wound too long ignored. Words had been said that had been true, honest, unvarnished things—and though the truth set them free, it also left scars. Clean ones. Deep ones. Visible ones that Rumi was holding her hands over still trying to hide despite how they cover every single plain of her body. Shame made her head bend, a queen whose crown was too heavy.

Zoey, who had always shone brightest, had fallen asleep on the nearby couch, her vibrant light dimmed into soft breaths and murmured dreams. Her body curled, a soft shape against the storm-lit window. She didn’t know—couldn’t know—that her laughter had been the thread keeping Mira and Rumi from unraveling completely. She had always been the glue that kept them together the light in both of their darkness.

Now only two were left standing in the bruised stillness of the storm.

The balcony doors framed their silence, wind howling as rain broke against the glass like a thousand desperate hands. Rumi’s glow reflected onto Mira—gentle, white, and ocasionally purple throbbing with emotion. It spread over her like a question, like an echo of something Mira wasn’t sure she deserved anymore.

Mira’s jaw was locked, her chin held high like she was trying to rise above the moment. As if her height could shield her from what had already happened. As if standing taller could protect her from falling apart.

But she was crumbling, so very slowly.

And Rumi knew it.

So she did what she always did: she spoke first. Because she was the one who could. The one who had to. That was her role, to lead to take that first step so they would follow.

Even when it hurt.

“Please, Mira…” Rumi’s voice cracked mid-syllable. She didn’t want to beg. Her body acted before she gave it permission to. She didn’t mean to sound as helpless as she felt. But she heard her voice crack barely a whisper under the rain.

Her hand lifted—not confident, not commanding—but pleading. A trembling reach through the space between them. She reached not just for Mira’s fingers, but for everything they used to be. Everything they were before all of this.

Mira didn’t flinch. But she didn’t move either. She didn’t know what to do, she didn’t deserve this not after what she had done. The sob she was trying to bury caught in her throat, and her hand moved instinctively to her neck like she could choke the grief back into her chest. Like she could shove it down far enough it wouldn’t drown her.

She had almost killed her. That thought fed the terror.

It was poison. It slithered through her bloodstream, seeping into every joint, every nerve, every muscle. If Rumi had so much as twitched wrong, Mira would have struck. Her blade was in hand. The naginata was real. Heavy. Sharp. It hadn’t felt like honor and duty then, it felt like betrayal, like failure wrapped in ancient expectations.

And yet… Rumi still stood there. Still glowing.

Still beautiful.

And Mira still couldn’t speak.

“Say something, damn it. Anything, Mira,” Rumi whispered, the words slipping out raw. “Yell at me if you must. But don’t punish me with silence.”

The rain drowned out everything else. Mira’s heartbeat. The sob trying to claw up her throat. The crack in Rumi’s voice. The glowing sigils on Rumi’s skin pulsed purple now—a deep anguish, a grief Mira had never learned to read until it was too late.

Rumi reached again, a final desperate motion, her hand extended like it had been back then, when she begged Mira not to raise her weapon. Not to see her as an enemy.

And like before, Mira didn’t take it.

She couldn’t. It was different this time, her shame clouded her every thought.

Shame is something that people have when they couldn’t stand on their own convictions, and she couldn’t.

So Rumi dropped her hand. Quietly. Without ceremony.

The second rejection.

And this one broke something deeper. A fracture that didn’t make noise, didn’t cry out but would never heal the same way again.

She turned, stepping away, her glow dimming behind her like a dying star. Her voice, if she had one more thing to say, was swallowed by the thunder.

And still, Mira said nothing.

By the time Mira made her way back into the hotel room, dawn had bled into the sky, a soft pastel pink that mocked her turmoil. The others were asleep, Zoey still curled on the couch, Rumi in one of the twin beds, her back turned, her shape small under the weight of too much held in.

Sleep haunted Mira.

When her eyes closed, all she saw was Rumi reaching.

When she dreamed, it was of her own hands drenched in light and shadow, of screams echoing down hollow mountains, of ghosts with Rumi’s face asking, “Why?”

She deserved it. Every twisted memory. Every echo of a scream. This was her penance for raising her weapon against the girl she loved and didn’t know how to love properly.

Because yes even if she wouldn’t admit it out loud Mira loved her.

She always had.

Even when she denied it. Even when she said it was just duty, just closeness, just the bond they shared from training, from years of watching each other’s backs.

Even when she tried to pretend that what she felt wasn’t real, because loving Rumi was complicated. Rumi had loved him a boy who had died saving her. Someone who had left a hole in their trio that Mira couldn’t and shouldn’t try to fill.

But still, she wanted to. And that made her a monster in her own mind.

She had wanted to be the one Rumi smiled at like that. The one who made her glow.

And now? She couldn’t even say she was sorry.

 

They didn’t talk about it.

Not in the morning. Not when Zoey woke and made them all tea with a strange smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Not when Rumi came out of the bathroom, her hair damp, her clothes covering every inch of her skin, her glowing patterns hidden as if they were something shameful.

They didn’t talk about how Rumi didn’t meet Mira’s eyes. Or how Mira pretended she didn’t notice.

Silence, it seemed, had become their language.

Mira watched Rumi sit at the table, a cup of untouched tea cooling in her hands. Her shoulders were drawn in tight. Defensive. She looked like she was trying to disappear.

And maybe she was.

Zoey, usually a whirlwind of energy, seemed like she had folded in on herself too, like she was stuck between knowing too much and saying too little. Her presence was a balm, but it wasn’t enough. Not anymore.

The ache in Mira’s chest was unbearable.

And still, she said nothing.

Because how do you say: I almost killed you, and I don’t know how to live with myself?

How do you say: I love you, but I’m terrified that if I admit it, you’ll vanish too?

How do you say: You reached for me, and I didn’t reach back, not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t know how?

She stared at the back of Rumi’s neck. At the faint scar near her hairline. At the way her fingers tightened around her cup with every passing second.

She remembered that smile, the one Rumi used to give her. The one that said, I see you, all of you, and I do not run.

She hadn’t seen it this morning.

She didn’t know if she’d ever see it again.

 

Weeks had passed, soft and slow, like bruises fading just beneath the skin. Mira, Rumi, and Zoey remained close, closer than anyone else could manage, but the cracks still showed. They were learning how to stand near each other again, how to laugh without flinching, how to touch without remembering what it once meant.

They didn’t trust each other. Not fully. But none of them could bear the idea of leaving. They were all they had. After everything they gave, the world had simply… moved on. Forgotten the rupture, the sacrifice. As if nothing had happened.

Only they remembered.

Only they woke up with pieces missing.

And yet, even that shared pain wasn’t always enough. Their friendship had carried them far—but it couldn’t fix what had been broken in silence and nearly shattered in song.

They stood now in a rehearsal studio. Zoey had begged for it, pleaded, even. Said the fans needed it, they needed it. The live stream would be good for morale, she insisted, a glimpse of their trio together again. Whole. Unbroken.

Mira hadn’t wanted to. But she agreed.

Sometimes pretending felt like healing.

She thought: If I focus on the dance, I can breathe. I can belong again.

So she danced. Gave everything to the rhythm. Poured her sorrow into motion, her longing into movement, her grief into grace. For a moment, she felt weightless. Seen, even if only by the music. For a fleeting second, she forgot the ache in her chest.

But in losing herself, she forgot to keep her mask in place.

She forgot to soften the way her eyes kept drifting to Rumi , her quiet laughter with Zoey was like a language she didn’t speak anymore. She forgot that she was being watched,not just by fans but by the two people who once made her feel like home.

She let the longing slip. The need.

And the camera caught it all.

A mistake that she would have to pay for tomorrow but for now this was enough. This could be enough.

They finished the number, bodies glistening with sweat, breath in sync. Zoey and Rumi drifted to the side, chatting softly, bottles of water in hand. Their smiles weren’t the same as they used to be, but to fans, it didn’t matter.

Mira stood alone, still catching her breath.

She checked the live chat.

Lines of text cascaded across the screen, a thousand messages per second.

“When’s the new song?”
“Give us something fresh!”
“Slay, but like, I’m bored of the old stuff.”
“Do a real performance!”
“Give us drama!”

Mira stared, mouth dry.

Didn’t they see how much it cost just to be here? Just to exist in the same room without shattering? Couldn’t they understand that the three of them were barely holding it together?

Apparently not.

They didn’t see her. Not truly.

Not her friends.

Not the fans.

Something inside her snapped, quietly, like a string pulled too tight. Her hands trembled.

Fine.

If they wanted something new, she’d give them something ancient. Something raw. Something that had been buried, forgotten by everyone but her.

If she had to scream to be seen, then she would.

 

Her fingers moved before thought caught up. She plugged in her phone. The studio speakers responded instantly, the sound pouring out, clear, steady, devastating.

The laughter behind her stopped.

The live chat paused, then erupted.

“OMG IS THAT?”
“A NEW SONG?!?”
“NO WAY.”

Rumi and Zoey turned slowly, as if dreading what they already knew.

Mira stood tall. Her body moved like water, every note pulling the truth out of her skin. The choreography was etched into her bones. She couldn’t forget it if she tried.

She hadn’t done this to be cruel.

But she was being cruel.

Because somewhere inside, she still wanted Rumi to see her, not as the leftover, not as the mistake, not as the girl who raised a weapon, but as the one who stayed. As the one who loved her.

So she danced.

For Rumi.

For herself.

For the ghost of someone neither of them could name anymore.

Her voice rang out,

Not pristine, but aching, like something feral clawing out of her throat.

“I’ll be your idol…” Her breath caught, raw with need. Her body swinging into the lethal pose of a predator.

“Keeping you in check, keeping you obsessed.”

She reached toward the camera, a performative tease—but her fingers trembled.

She could feel the fire consuming her, twisting inside her chest like longing reborn as rage.

In the mirror, she saw them watching.

Saw Zoey’s face go pale.

Saw Rumi freeze.

And still, she sang.

“Anytime it hurts, play another verse… I can be your sanctuary.”

She turned toward them now—only them. Crooked a finger. Come. Witness me.

“No, I’m the only one right now, I’ll love you more when it all burns down. More than power more than gold you gave me your heart now I’m here for your soul”

Rumi gaped.

And Mira?

She didn’t stop.

She grabbed Rumi.

Pulling her till the smaller girl was twirling. When Rumi was smiling from the action breathless in disbelief, Mira pulled her back against her. Their bodies were flush as Mira placed her hand possessively on Rumi stomach only stopping its downward descent when her finger brushed against the hem of Rumi’s pants.. Her other twisted Rumi chin so they were only a breath away.

Their shared heat sparked like wildfire.

“I’m the only one who will love your sins,” Mira whispered, voice like a prayer “Feel how my voice gets underneath your skin…”

The music cut. The live stream ended. Silence collapsed around them like a bomb.

Mira stumbled back.

Reality returned.

And Zoey bright, bouncing Zoey was trembling, holding the phone in her hands like it had turned to ice. Her voice was soft. Sharp. Lethal.

“What the hell, Mira?”

She did not dare to look at Rumi. Not to her patterns that were glowing like they were begging her to touch them.

Not her face that would show her emotions like a book.

At the rejection that would be there, she ruined everything in her want in her need to be witnessed. This family would leave her too.

She didn’t regret it at least Rumi would know this time. At least now all the truth was out even if it was only the tip of the iceberg.

“We can’t keep living with the past” a quite reverent statement that fell from Mira’s mouth, much more confident than she felt.

She walked to her water bottle trying to waste time.

Try to put an uninterested mask on, trying to pretend that what just happened didn’t matter. But it did oh it did she felt that fire crawl into her stomach just remembering it.

Small hands grasped her arm making her turn. Zoey head pulled up high growling at her.

“Why would you do that? Why that song, why make her repeat that memory? We were finally getting back to normal and you just had to implode it!

Tears were on the edge of Zoey’s eyes.

Mira could see it that desperation that was eating the youngest of the group. The thing was, she didn’t care. Her desperation was starving in comparison to what this girl was feeling but that didn’t mean she could sympathize with her.

She couldn’t fault her for wanting everything to go back to normal.

It just couldn’t.

They couldn’t survive by pretending everything was okay. They couldn’t ignore the changes and Mira was done hiding herself.

She couldn’t be silent anymore.

“It needed to be done!” Her voice echoing off the walls.

“This is not normal, nothing is the same, look at her!” She shook free of Zoey’s grasp pulling her too look at Rumi.

“There is a part of her we never got to know. A part of her that we don’t know every part of.” She didn’t say it to be cruel or to look down on her but in a way that said we don’t know her anymore and we should.

Zoey’s anger deflated replaced with sorrow because Mira was right they didn’t truly know Rumi anymore and that devastated her.

Mira steeled herself and then looked Rumi in the eyes letting go of Zoey. Not looking at the emotion but because she needed to say this to her face.

“I would have killed you that night if you took one more step. I would have killed myself right after, and I will never forgive myself for not reaching back to you” she looked at both of them.

“So nothing is normal, nothing has been normal because we all still have secrets that we aren’t saying. Nothing is going to change till we do” she felt the weight of her words land.

Zoey ran.

Fear crawling up her spine over this truth. She couldn’t handle it right now but she would come back she always did.

She just needed time.

She just needed space.

She stumbled out of the room without a word and they watched her leave. Mira forced down a sob at the fact that she was again, causing a mess.

“I have no more secrets Mira you know all of mine” Rumi was closer than Mira remembered her being. Her skin jumped because she didn’t expect kindness in Rumi’s voice, she expected fury.

She was right by her side as Mira rotated looking at those brown eyes like she has all of her life.

“ I know” she took a step toward her.

“But I do” and just this once she reached out to her. Grabbed her face, a gentle caress, her heart hammering but instead of saying it she smiles leaning her face into Rumi personal space. The small gasp of surprise was her reward.

“ You can figure it out though, it’s been right in front of your face this entire time. Since we were kids Rumi.” The confusion on Rumi’s face was palpable.

Of course they had to talk about so much but this, this truth needed to slip out just a bit more to give the oblivious girl a small push.

“Watch that live Rumi, and then find me.” Mira stepped back and walked away with lethal grace throwing a grin over her shoulder that whispered come find me.

Chapter 2: Want and Need

Notes:

She will find her when she is ready.

Now kneel ladies.

Rumi stumbled into the penthouse, exhausted. Her limbs ached from dancing, but it was nothing compared to the tension knotting her chest. Gods, it felt like she couldn’t breathe. She was supposed to be keeping it together and she was. She swears she was, she kept her chin high, shoulders back.

Slaying demons was easy. This?

Whatever this was, this silence, this distance, it was harder.

It hurt more.

She just wanted to go back.

Back to before she ruined it. Before she let the truth spill out where it couldn’t be hidden again. Her patterns still glowed faintly beneath her jacket, betraying every feeling she tried to bury.

She hated it. Her thoughts weren’t just hers anymore, if anyone watched too closely they would know. That terrified her.

But another part of her craved it. To be seen to be sought after. Selfishly she loved dancing because of it. For a moment on that stage she knew everyone’s eyes were on her. They didn’t see her though, but she knew that was her fault.

“How can we be together if we can’t tell your lies from your truth?” Zoey’s voice echoed in her head. How was anybody supposed to see her if she hid parts of herself.

She wanted to been seen but didn’t want to be viewed as weak because of it. She didn’t want to be a mistake, a burden.

She could’ve lied. Should've told them something smaller, something softer. Zoey would’ve believed her. But that’s the problem. She would have been lying to them again not when Mira would’ve stared her down until she didn’t have to speak at all. They would’ve understood. Given their last breath for her.

They would have done it for a lie. She couldn’t do that to them, even then.

And now?

Now Zoey’s eyes faltered every time the runes lit up. Rumi couldn’t tell if it was fear or awe. Maybe both.

And Mira—gods, Mira. She only met her eyes when she was angry. The rest of the time, her gaze hovered somewhere else. On Rumi’s arms. Her patterns, her runes. Like she wanted to speak but didn’t know how.

Rumi didn’t blame them. She hadn’t chosen these marks, these ancient lines carved into her body that fate had written, a curse on her skin. But she still had to carry them, maybe she wouldn’t have had to if Celine took her sword from her hands. Maybe if she just did what she has craved to do all these years of raising her. In the end she couldn’t even give her the dignity of death.

Still had to live with the way people looked at her differently now.

Her head buzzed, her vision blurring. Her heart pounded so hard she could hear it in her ears.

She opened the door to her room quietly. Slipped inside without a sound.

The moment it clicked shut behind her, her back collapsed against it. She slid down until she hit the floor.

No sword could fix this. It was too late for that now.

No battle victory could erase the shame curling inside her ribs. She just wanted—no, needed—someone to love her. All of her. Even the broken parts.

Zoey and Mira. They were all she had left. She wanted to be there for them, she did. But she didn’t know how. Not when Mira’s grip still burned on her skin. Not when she could see that glinting blade and wondered to herself if she just stepped into it then this pain would end. Not when the way Mira held her made her feel like she was made of fire and glass at the same time.

Maybe that was all that dance was.

Just touch.

Just adrenaline.

Maybe that was the first time anyone had touched her in weeks.

Yes. That had to be it.

She let out a shaky breath, curling her knees to her chest.

Then her eyes drifted to her phone.

Mira said to watch the live.

It didn’t make sense—Rumi had been there. She’d danced every step, felt the tension shake her bones, heard Mira's breath in her ear. The memory making her shiver in something she couldn't name.

But still. Something in Mira’s voice when she said it—something like a dare, or a secret—made her press play.

The screen filled with color.

Their previous rehearsal that they had just did hours ago of Golden. It felt like years.

She watched herself move across the stage, all confidence and edge. Zoey beside her, smiling like the sun. Mira behind them—bold, precise, every step sharp enough to cut glass. She always had that edge that brought attention to her, that’s why she was the visual, of course she was stunning, but her action brought you in like the push and pull of a tide.

Rumi smiled in spite of herself. She’d danced like a star in the night. She almost looked like she believed it. Her own presence commanded attention the other didn't, unlike waves, she called to their fans like a queen commanding them to kneel.

And then—

Mira.

Mira’s eyes were searching. Not for the camera that was live streaming them. Not for the rhythm. For her.

No matter the move, no matter the angle, Mira was watching her.

And there was no disgust. No judgment.

There was something else.

That same look Rumi had given them when they saw her patterns for the first time. Maybe something more something she had felt before but couldn’t quite name. She swore, it was on the tip of her tongue. Her attention focused again on the screen.

A look that screamed: See me. Please see me.

Rumi’s breath caught.

The performance ended. She and Zoey walked off to the side, laughter just barely audible. But Mira lingered. She stared after them, her frown deepening.

The camera caught it—just for a second. Her head turning from them to the floor, then sharply back up. And Rumi saw it.

The exact moment Mira snapped.

Eyes blazing. Fingers twitching at her side.

The way she had plunged the phone in with such quickness it reminded Rumi that Mira was a force to be reckoned with.

Music played sharp and clear. In the back ground she saw her face pale. She watch Zoey stiffen.

Even now her back stiffened, this song put her on edge. A broken memory where everything had almost turned out very bad.

Mira voice rang out clear.

“I’ll be your idol” her and reaching towards the camera in a performative tease. Her eyes filled with mirth, but something was off. Those eyes were not on the camera.

Rumi’s hand shook as she rewound.

Mira had reached for the camera. But she wasn’t looking at the lens.

She was looking at her, at the mirror that showed their state of shock.

She was grabbing for her, calling her to watch.

Then Mira grabbed her, all grace and power, and damn it, Rumi looked like she belonged in her arms. They fit so well, reading each other’s movements that even impromptu performances like this could pass off as something rehearsed. They looked like the strings of fate had pushed them together. In way they had.

Rumi could see how Mira fingers followed the path of her runes, not gentle, but in a way of claiming.

How her fingers twitched at the hem of her pants not wanting to stop. The way her other hand held her face in a a brutal caress. Most importantly, how close they were, if they even breathed wrong they would have touched .

The memory rushed in: the heat of Mira’s hand on her arm, the way her fingers had traced the edge of a pattern all the way down her stomach following the clear path her abs and then stopped. She remembered how Mira gripped her tighter and pulled her closer. How the other hand cupped her face—not gently, but like she needed her to listen.

They were so close. One breath the wrong way and they would’ve touched. Fully. Finally.

Rumi blinked at the screen.

“Oh,” she whispered.

And for the first time, she really saw her.

Rumi set the phone down gently, like the weight of it might break something.

Her room was silent again, but her mind wouldn’t stop. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Mira’s face—tight with something unspoken. That fierce, quiet look. Not pity. Not anger.

Recognition.

The pink haired girl looked at her with eyes that said I see you.

It rattled her more than any demon ever had.

She pressed her fingers into her temples, trying to think, to breathe. Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe Mira just… looked intense all the time. Maybe Rumi was reading into things because she was tired and lonely and hadn’t felt a real connection in weeks. It could be.. that. She broke the three of them. She ruined everything she touched, even herself. So couldn’t be that it just couldn’t.

But she didn’t believe that.

Not after watching Mira reach for her. Not after feeling her hands—steady, deliberate—linger where no one else dared to touch.

Rumi stood too fast. Her knees ached from the floor.

She didn’t want to be alone with this.

So she slipped back into the hallway, quiet as a breath, and padded barefoot across the penthouse toward the kitchen. The lights were dim—just the soft amber glow above the stove left on, like a nightlight for warriors who couldn’t sleep.

Zoey sat at the counter, eating cereal straight from the box. Her hair was piled in a lopsided bun, and her hoodie hung off one shoulder. She looked up when Rumi entered, blinking like she hadn’t expected to see her. She looked broken herself. Not jumping and smiling but like a young woman pulled between two worlds, Rumi’s and Mira’s.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Zoey asked, voice hushed. Her eyes gently scanning her looking for injuries that would no longer come.

It’s surprised Rumi sometimes, how Zoey seemed to be always there just out of sight, just out of her peripheral vision. She was always there when she needed her. Every time she turned Zoey was there waiting. Her presence saying, it’s okay to fall I’ll catch you.

Rumi shook her head and opened the fridge just for something to do. “Head’s too loud.” Her hands shook not sure how to communicate how she was feeling.

“Same,” Zoey said, pushing the cereal toward her in offering. “Want?”

Rumi took a handful and leaned against the counter. The silence between them was easy, companionable. The kind that only came from years of surviving things side by side.

But still, she hesitated before speaking.

“I watched the live,” she said finally.

Zoey turned toward her. “Yeah?” There is no bitterness in her voice, only curiosity. She was good at hiding her feelings when she deemed it important. Rumi never really noticed she was always too caught up and whatever had her attention at that moment. Right now it was not the youngest of the group.

“I… didn’t realize how intense it was.” She kept her tone casual. Light. But her heart was beating faster than it should’ve been. “You looked… happy.” she smiled because they did look happy in the beginning, all of them dancing, reaching their fans.

Zoey smiled, a little crooked. “It was a good night. We nailed it.”

“You did.”

Zoey tilted her head. “So did you.”

Rumi gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Mira looked pissed.”

A beat. Zoey’s eyes sharpened just a little, a small smile. Even if the young girl was angry at the oldest that didn’t mean she was blind.

“She always looks like that,” she said carefully, letting Rumi lead the conversation.

“No.” Rumi met her gaze now. “This was different.”

Zoey studied her for a moment. And Rumi felt it—the shift. The quiet knowing that Zoey never pressed, but always held. Like she was waiting for you to catch up to yourself.

“You okay?” Zoey asked, she hopped off the counter taking a step closer to her.

Rumi opened her mouth.

Closed it. before choosing her words carefully “Why did she say to watch it?”

Zoey blinked. “She told you that?”

Rumi nodded, fingers tightening on the cereal box. “Earlier. Before she left.”

Zoey was quiet for a while, chewing slowly. Then she whispered, “I think Mira’s trying to say something. But you know her. She’d rather fight a hellhound than use words.” Zoey was trying her best to push this oblivious fool into the answer without just giving it to her.

Rumi exhaled through her nose. Feeling exhausted at this guessing game. She could feel the answer right in front of her, but she couldn’t get over what she had just seen and what her words were saying. Her eyes drifted up to the small girl in front of her. That’s always been there for her as she breathed “She grabbed me.”

“I know,” Zoey said gently. Letting Rumi work through her thoughts.

“She held me.”

Zoey’s gaze softened. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Rumi didn’t know how to explain it. The pressure of Mira’s palm on her jaw. The way her thumb had trembled slightly against her skin. The way her body had stilled after—as if touching her had left her changed.

She wanted to ask: Did she look like that after she touched you, too?

But the words stayed stuck in her throat. Zoey’s and Mira relationship has always been more physical than I had been with her. Maybe that’s why it shocked her so much she couldn’t help but wonder if she was alone and this feeling. Maybe this girl in front of her had felt the fire that she felt too.

Instead, she said, “I don’t know what it meant.”

Zoey smiled faintly. “Maybe she doesn’t either.” Knowing damn well she did.

That… helped Rumi, somehow.

They stood there in silence again, both leaning on opposite sides of the counter, caught in the quiet hours between midnight and morning. The lull of almost-truths. The fragile peace between choices.

Rumi didn’t want to break it.

But she also didn’t want to go back to pretending.

So she asked, softly, “Do you think I ruined everything?”

Zoey’s eyes snapped to hers, fierce. “What? No. Rumi—no.”

“You flinched when you see them.” Her hand hovered near her arm, the runes faintly pulsing under the skin. A slight iridescent glow that rippled underneath her touch.

Zoey swallowed. “I didn’t flinch because I was scared of you. I flinched because I know what it means to carry something ancient and heavy and not yours.” Their shared duty, a destiny that was chosen for them.

Rumi blinked.

“I was in awe,” Zoey smiled simply. “I still am.”

The lump in Rumi’s throat rose fast. She turned away before it could spill into her eyes.

“Thank you,” she murmured, voice rough.

Zoey let it sit. Didn’t push. Just stood beside her like she always had.

Eventually, she yawned and stretched. “We’ve got an early call for training. Get a few hours, if you can.”

Rumi nodded, but didn’t move.

Zoey gave her a gentle smile before disappearing down the hall.

And Rumi stayed in the kitchen, heart still thudding, staring at nothing.

She didn’t have answers. Not yet.

But Mira’s eyes wouldn’t leave her mind. And Zoey’s voice echoed somewhere soft in her chest.

I was in awe.

She touched the runes on her forearm lightly, almost reverently. Then she turned out the light. For the first time, she didn’t hate them on herself.

 

The morning air in the training studio was always too cold, like the walls were trying to shake the sleep out of your bones before the instructors could.

Rumi was already sweating.

Zoey stretched beside her, buns bobbing as she reached toward her boots. Her movements were casual, easy—but Rumi could feel the way her eyes kept flicking toward the door.

Mira was late.

Not unheard of. But still—unusual. And it was making the back of Rumi’s neck itch. Her patterns grew with nervousness and anticipation, a slight orange hue that was barely glowing, barely contained.

The last time they were all in this room together, Mira had barely looked at her. Then she told her to watch the live. Then she grabbed her. Then she walked away.

And now—

The door swung open.

Mira stepped in like the storm she always was—sleeves rolled, hair still slightly damp from a too-fast shower, and the hard set of her jaw daring anyone to say a word about it.

She didn’t look at Rumi.

Not once.

But she moved toward them with purpose, grabbing a staff off the wall and tossing one to Zoey without breaking stride. Her eyes flicked over Rumi just long enough to toss her a second staff.

Rumi caught it, but barely. The contact sent a tremor through her too fast, too small to register, but real.

Zoey shot her a look that asked you okay?

Rumi gave a half-nod, not trusting her voice. Mira always acted like this when something was bothering her.

“Pair drills,” Mira said. “Start with control work. Focus on reaction time.” There were no more demons of course. But routine was good for structure and just in case the barrier failed they would be ready.

Mira wasn’t their leader but her word still carried weight. And no one argued when she spun her staff once and planted it with a sharp thunk against the mat. If they weren’t already watching her with worry that noise would have gotten their attention

Zoey took her place opposite Mira. A small sacrifice. Zoey wasn’t dumb she knew what she was doing taking the first turn. Taking the brunt of Mira’s anger.

Which meant Rumi had no one but herself.

She knew this drill. It was meant to test reaction under emotional strain. The staff wasn’t the point. The point was to stay present—to control what lived under your skin.

She exhaled, pressed the center of the staff to her palm, and began the motions.

Each breath in was a block. Each breath out, a strike.

Her patterns pulsed faintly as she moved, the ancient glow rising with her heartbeat. She could feel the other two—Zoey’s graceful precision, Mira’s raw efficiency—like different frequencies vibrating in the room.

And then—

A missed beat. Zoey stumbled.

“Switch partners,” Mira said, already moving. Zoey’s face winced in apology for not lasting longer which Rumi met with a reassuring smile.

Rumi froze. Her grip faltered.

Mira stood in front of her now, eyes unreadable. Not looking through her. Not past her.

At her.

“You good?” Mira asked giving a slight twirl of the staff.

It sounded like a challenge.

Rumi lifted her chin. “Are you?”

Something flickered behind Mira’s eyes—amusement? Annoyance? It passed too quickly to name.

They began.

The first clash was nothing, wood tapping wood. A warm-up. A tease.

But by the second strike, Rumi knew this was not going to stay a drill.

Mira was testing her.

Their staffs met with sharp cracks, the echo bouncing off the high walls. Mira’s movements were fluid, but heavy-handed each block lingering just long enough to say: I know where your scars are. I remember how they feel under my fingers.

Rumi’s pulse surged.

She struck back harder than necessary. Mira parried easily, stepping close. Their feet scuffed across the mat, bodies too near. Staff pressed against each other as they tested who was stronger.

This wasn’t about reaction time anymore.

“You told me to watch it,” Rumi said between breaths, low enough that Zoey couldn’t hear.

Mira’s gaze locked on hers. “You needed to see it.”

“I saw you.” She saw something else too but she wasn’t sure if that was her imagination.

A beat. Mira’s staff paused in midair.

Then she struck again—harder. Rumi blocked it, but the vibration up her arms left her breathless.

“Why?” Rumi asked.

Mira’s jaw flexed. “Because you keep hiding and then wonder why no one can find you.”

Rumi flinched.

Mira’s next strike was gentle. Barely a tap.

But it landed.

“Switch,” Zoey said suddenly, stepping forward.

Mira backed off. Wordless.

Zoey slid in between them with quiet command and took her place opposite Rumi, eyes scanning her face.

“You okay?” she asked again, this time not letting it slide.

Rumi nodded, barely.

Zoey didn’t press.

Behind her, Mira set her staff down and walked out. No ceremony. No excuses.

Just gone.

Rumi stood frozen. Her chest felt too tight, like something important had slipped just out of reach.

“Hey,” Zoey said softly. “Look at me.”

Rumi did.

Zoey stepped closer, staff forgotten. Her hands hovered for a moment—then one rested lightly on Rumi’s arm, just above where the patterns pulsed. Zoey was always more intentional about how Rumi felt about physical contact. She didn’t want to scare her away when she just started coming out of her shell.

“She doesn’t hate you,” she said. “Whatever your brain is telling you. She doesn’t.”

Rumi closed her eyes. “Then what is this?”

Zoey was quiet. Then:

“I think it’s the start of something she doesn’t know how to want.” Different words but the same meaning as last night. A hint that the younger girl was desperately trying to shove down Rumi’s throat. But if Rumi was wrong she would ruin it all again. She could be wrong. She had to be perfect. It was the only way to survive.

Was that even something she wanted to do anymore?

She didn’t know but she knew she didn’t want to leave Zoey and Mira.

That would be enough for now.

 

She didn’t mean to end up in the shower. Not really.
Her body just moved.

Warm water scalded over her spine, but she couldn’t feel it. Not the way she wanted to. She let it run until her fingers wrinkled, until steam clouded the mirror, until the silence was deafening.

She pressed her forehead to the cool tile.

She could still feel Mira’s staff against her ribs. Could still feel Zoey’s hand on her arm.

But mostly, she felt the gap between them. Like she was being pulled in both directions and no one had actually asked her to stay.

She wasn’t sure who she wanted to follow.

The truth was, Mira had looked at her. Not like before. Not like just a teammate. Not like she was broken or something to pity.
It was worse.

Mira had looked at her like she was dangerous.

Not to others.
To herself.

And then she walked out.

Rumi’s throat burned. She pressed her fist against her mouth. She was right of course.

This wasn’t what she wanted. She didn’t know what she wanted.
Just… not this. Not this version of them, where Mira only touched her when she was furious and Zoey only saw the cracks when they split wide open.

She hadn’t asked to carry the patterns. She hadn’t asked to be marked. She hadn’t asked for her skin to glow with the legacy of a war she didn’t start, and she certainly hadn’t asked to become the object of a look that felt like worship and accusation all tangled into one.

But she had them.

And they had seen.

She turned off the water. The quiet that followed rang in her ears.

In the mirror, the glow had faded. Her skin looked almost normal again. Almost.

She traced a line over her collarbone. The pattern there curled like smoke. Ancient. Elegant. Unforgiving.

Zoey had touched her above it. Soft. Careful. The kind of touch that asked permission without saying it aloud.
And Mira—

Mira had grabbed her like she was claiming something.

Like she knew something.

Rumi’s breath hitched.

That wasn’t training. That hadn’t been about control or drills or the mission.

That was personal.

She wrapped the towel tighter around herself and sat at the edge of her bed. Her arms trembled, either from the heat or from her heart—she couldn’t tell.

Her phone buzzed once.

She didn’t check it. She didn’t want to see the group chat. Didn’t want to see if Mira was pretending none of it had happened. Or worse—if she wasn’t pretending at all.

Instead, she opened the gallery.

There was a photo saved in a hidden album. From two months ago.
All three of them in a back alley after a show, exhausted and laughing. Mira had her arm slung lazily over Rumi’s shoulder. Zoey was mid-sip of bubble tea, eyes squinted with mock offense about something Mira had said.

Rumi looked… happy. Not perfect. Not even okay, maybe. But held. By something bigger than herself.

She pressed her thumb to the screen.

What changed?

Her, obviously.

Or maybe them.

Maybe the moment her patterns showed, everything cracked and no one wanted to admit it. Or maybe Mira saw it first and didn’t know how to say I care too much and that terrifies me.

Maybe Zoey noticed the moment Mira looked too long and decided she wouldn’t ask. Maybe Rumi had made it worse by pretending it didn’t matter—by lying, even now, even to herself.

Because the truth? The truth was this:

She wanted Mira to touch her again.
She wanted Zoey to stay close.
She wanted to be wanted, not just protected. Not just tolerated.

She wanted to be known. Even the ugly parts. Even the marked ones.

She curled onto the bed, towel damp against the sheets, and let the ache swell in her chest. Mira’s hand on her thigh. Zoey’s voice saying she doesn’t hate you.

What if she didn’t?

What if she did?

She wouldn’t blame her if she did, she hated herself, she could understand why others did.

What if they both did, and neither of them said it, and she was just hanging here in the space between what was almost love and what was no longer safe?

What if she had ruined it already?

Rumi bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper. She didn’t cry. Not yet. The tears sat behind her eyes like storm clouds refusing to break.

Outside, the city moved. Music in the distance. Lights shifting on the ceiling. Something buzzing again.

She ignored it.

She just laid there. Damp hair. Damp heart. Bruised with meaning.

Somewhere out there, Mira was probably punching a wall or running stairs until she forgot the shape of Rumi’s name.

And Zoey—
Zoey was probably writing another verse to a song none of them would ever hear, trying to make sense of the way things used to be.

And Rumi?

Rumi curled tighter into the ache.

And whispered to the dark:
“I just want one of you to choose me first.”

 

The knock barely registered.

Rumi didn’t move at first. Just stared at the ceiling, heart hammering. Wondering if she conjured this. If she somehow manifested want to an action. She thought maybe she imagined it. That maybe the universe was cruel enough to echo the sound of being wanted just as a joke.

But then it came again.

Knock.

Soft. Hesitant. Two slow taps.

Her body responded before her mind did—legs over the side of the bed, towel barely clinging to her skin, throat dry.

She didn’t want to answer. She didn’t want to be seen like this—cracked open, hair wet, clinging to silence like it might make her disappear. But her feet moved anyway.

She opened the door two inches.

It was Zoey.

Hood up. Eyes shadowed. She didn’t say anything. She just stood there, like maybe she was the one hoping not to be turned away.

Rumi stared at her.

She looked—wrong. Or maybe just raw. Her eyeliner was smudged like she’d rubbed at her face, and her hands were in her pockets, which Zoey never did unless she was trying not to touch something.

“Can I…” Zoey started, then shook her head like the words weren’t worth finishing.

They stood like that for a long moment.

The hallway buzzing behind her. The scent of old incense from Mira’s room down the hall. Rumi’s towel beginning to chill.

And then Zoey finally said it, soft, like a confession she didn’t want to be caught making:

“She’s not okay either.”

Rumi blinked.

Zoey shifted. “Mira. She’s pretending like it was nothing, but she hasn’t stopped pacing since we got back. I think…” A breath. “I think she’s trying not to say something she can’t take back.”

Rumi’s fingers clenched around the edge of the door. “Then why come here?”

Zoey looked up, and the answer in her eyes was worse than words:
Because I didn’t know if you’d still be here.

Rumi’s chest tightened.

Not love.
Not comfort.

Just fear.

That she might disappear.

Zoey stepped back. “You don’t have to— I just needed to see you. Just for a second. Just to make sure—”

“Zoey.”

It came out rougher than she meant. A rasp. A plea. Her towel was falling lower and her heart was louder than ever.

Zoey paused.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” Rumi said. “I don’t even know what this is.”

Zoey gave her a look so full of unspoken ache it cracked something between her ribs.

“Me either.”

She started to turn. To leave.

Rumi nearly let her.

But then—her fingers reached out.

Not a grab. Just a brush. Just a don’t.

Zoey stopped walking.

The hallway light flickered. A train rumbled far off in the distance. And the silence stretched thin.

Notes:

Thank you for leaving so many comments and kudos. This community thrives on communication, which is to say if y’all didn’t do that then this chapter would have never existed. I cannot express how grateful I am, thank you.

Forever yours

Chapter 3: What’s going on

Notes:

The author looks at you over her shoulder. Her back hunched over the desk her eyes glitter with mirth. She waves and whispers “you’re welcome” before turning around.

The silence stretched thin.

Then thinner.

A safe place for sorrows, that’s what this silence was. A soft push to make something of it.

And then Zoey turned—not all the way, not yet. Just enough that Rumi could see the sharp line of her jaw, the way her mouth pressed tight like she was holding back a thousand things and none of them safe.

Rumi stepped forward this time grabbing her. A nonverbal plea, her body was begging her not to leave.

Not fully. Just one bare foot onto the threshold. Just enough for the air to change between them.

“I didn’t mean for any of this,” Rumi said. Quiet. But not small.

Zoey’s voice came slower, like she had to drag it out of herself. “I know.”

But she didn’t move away.

Didn’t move closer, either. She was good at just being there not making things worse. She could just hold this, she could hold this place forever if she had too.

The flickering light above them buzzed again. Rumi’s towel slipped another inch, but she didn’t fix it. Couldn’t. Her hands were shaking now, she didn’t want Zoey to see it—but Zoey was already looking. She saw everything. Like she always did, whether Rumi wanted her to or not.

Zoey saw the towel slip, it didn’t reveal anything other than patterns she hadn't seen go that low before. She witnessed Rumi’s trembling figure and a part of her broke. All she wanted to do was hold this trembling woman, to comfort the girl that she…cared about.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Rumi said, finally, her eyes tilted downward as if looking into her eyes were difficult. As if facing her was too much.

“I know,” Zoey said again, because she shouldn't, not after what she did all that time ago. Not when she raised her daggers right beside Mira. Not when she let Rumi leave when all she had done was begged for them to accept her. She was as guilty as Mira maybe even more so.

Zoey looked like she might leave this time. The guilt was catching up, or maybe Mira’s pacing was louder in her ears than whatever Rumi was trying not to feel.

But Rumi stepped forward again.

No more barriers. No more doors. Just her, soaked and unraveling, standing in the hall like maybe she was the one asking to be seen. Asking again, and she could see what it did to Rumi to ask again after last time. She saw her flinch as the memory that passed behind those deep amber eyes.

“I meant what I said,” she whispered. “About not wanting to fight.”

Zoey nodded, once. “I meant what I didn’t.” Her tiny figure trembled, she just knew Rumi would leave. She wouldn’t,t come back this time.

That stopped Rumi cold. “What?”

Zoey looked up.

Her hoodie was slipping off her head now, revealing her messy hair, half-faded tossed like she had been running her hands through it. Her eyes were ringed in tired smudges. But it was the way she looked at Rumi—like she was trying not to beg—that hit hardest.

Rumi’s heart beat in her chest at the sight, the vulnerability, and the guilt that was clear as day on the smaller girls face.

“I didn’t say anything,” Zoey murmured. “Back there. I didn’t stop her. I didn’t stop you. I just—watched.”

Rumi’s throat closed. She knew what Zoey was talking about. She remembered that moment clearer than day. How Mira took a step forward and how Zoey’s face looked down with tears in her eyes as she raised her daggers. Only two, like she was offering her mercy.

“Because I didn’t know whose side I was supposed to be on,” Zoey went on. “And that makes me a coward. I know that. But I’m here because… I don’t want it to end like that.”

In way it did, they have spent so long ignoring what happened instead of facing it. What they were before, friends the bests of friends, would never be again. That was all of their faults. Yet, Rumi didn’t blame anyone but herself.

Rumi’s hands curled into fists.

“It hasn’t ended.”

Zoey blinked, looking up in shock and then in resignation. Fire laced her voice as she muttered. “You sure?”

“No.”

The word dropped heavy between them. Truth, plain and unsalvaged.

They promised no more lies and Rumi wasn't going to break it now.

Zoey stepped forward. “But you answered the door.”

Rumi’s lip twitched. “You knocked.”

That almost got a smile. Almost.

In others words they said “ you came?” “ you called”. Tragic really.

That’s who they were if they just had the courage to listen, to understand each other and reach out.

The other would come.

They were only human, or part, they couldn’t read each other’s minds. They needed a hint, or in Rumi's case a couple hundred.

And maybe that would’ve been enough. Maybe they could’ve left it there—on the edge of maybe.

But Rumi’s voice cracked again.

“I miss her.” She didn’t need to elaborate, they both knew who she was talking about. Who she wanted, even if she didn't quite realize it herself.

Zoey flinched.

“Me too.” Because even though she stood in front of her Rumi still managed to bring Mira up. Even though she was raw and full of want Rumi was blind to it. She couldn’t, no, wouldn’t see her. In the back of her mind she knew that she deserved it.

They stood like that again. Not touching. Not turning away. Just there, like two storms that didn’t know how to pass without lightning.

Then Zoey whispered, “Can I come in?” Another reach, another hint, and if she was honest with herself she was begging.

Not bold. Not cocky. Just a girl who’d nearly left and didn’t want to anymore.

Rumi hesitated. Every instinct screamed no. Every ache whispered yes.

She stepped aside. Letting the small broken girl inside.

Not forgiveness. For either of them.

Not forgetting.

Just—staying.

 

Zoey stepped over the threshold like she wasn’t sure she was allowed.

Rumi didn’t say anything. Just shut the door softly behind her and leaned her weight against it, towel clutched tighter around her ribs now, because she cared if Zoey saw, because everything else inside her felt too bare already. She was already showing to much and her closet was on the other side of the room.

Zoey stopped in the middle of the room. She couldn’t get to the sanctuary of clothing without going through her, and that would be like trying to break a wall. Painful, but doable, if she was okay with leaving behind rumble.

She wasn’t.

Zoey looked around, she hadn’t been to Rumi's room often, she didn't touch anything. Didn’t sit. She just stood there, hoodie sleeves pulled down past her knuckles like she wanted to vanish inside them.

Rumi watched her. The way her shoulders hunched slightly. The way she kept glancing around the room like she didn’t know where she belonged anymore.

“I thought you’d go to her,” Rumi said. The words slipped out before she could dress them up. A thoughtless comment, but Rumi wasn't really thinking with her head right now.

Zoey looked up. “I did.”

That should’ve hurt more. It didn’t. Or maybe it did, and Rumi was just too tired to flinch.

“She’s not okay,” Zoey added, quieter. “She’s pretending she is, and I know she wants to fix this, but I don’t think she knows how.”

Rumi let her head tip back against the door. “Then she should’ve said something.” She was getting tired of hearing that from Zoey instead of Mira. It was Zoey’s job to play peace keeper. She wasn’t an object they could use to glue them together. Maybe thats why her voice laced with venom when she said it.

Zoey didn’t answer right away. Then:

“She was waiting for you to come back.” Zoey’s eyes, dark in the lightless room “she told you to find her. Rumi, why haven’t you found her.”

Rumi’s eyes darted to the side in guilt. “ I don’t know what she wants me to say.”

“The dance was intense sure, the song choice was a bit cruel, I would be lying if I said she didn’t execute it perfectly.”

She looked at Zoey then with such clarity “Whatever she wanted me to find in watching the live I didn’t.” Or least she didn’t understand what Mira was trying to convey, and Rumi didn’t have the words to express it.

Rumi let out a sharp, humorless breath. “We’re all such fucking cowards.”

That got Zoey to move—just a step closer. “Maybe. But at least we came.”

Rumi closed her eyes. “Too late.” They couldn’t fix this, and part of her wished the Celine had taken that swor-

“Is it?” Zoey’s voice cut off her thoughts leaving her heart thundering.

The question hung between them. Sharp. Soft. Real.

Rumi opened her eyes again. “You’re asking the wrong person.”

Zoey exhaled and finally sat—on the edge of the desk chair, hands clasped between her knees like she didn’t trust herself not to reach for something she shouldn’t.

“I’ve been trying not to make this worse,” Zoey her fingers fiddling with her sleeves . “But I think silence is worse.”

Rumi gave a short nod. “Congratulations. You’ve figured out the central flaw in our entire dynamic.” She didn’t say it to be cruel but to show how exhausted she was.

Zoey actually smiled at that. It didn’t reach her eyes, but it cracked through the tension anyway. She leaned back a little in the chair. “I didn’t come here to fix anything.” She said it so gently as if trying to spare her…friend, a little heartache.

Rumi tilted her head in confusion. “Then why come?”

Zoey met her gaze, surprised at how oblivious this girl was. “Because I missed you too.” She muttered with a laugh.

And there it was.

Not love.

Not a resolution.

Just that raw, human ache—I miss you—with nowhere safe to put it.

Rumi looked away. “You were supposed to pick her.” Because why pick someone as broken as her. Why pick someone whose thoughts played with the idea of death, how that would be easier than this conversation.

“I didn’t.”

“You didn’t pick me either.” She said that despite her being in front of her. Zoey knew she didn’t mean now. she meant then. There in the back of that stage where she raised her daggers.

Zoey’s voice was barely audible. “I didn’t know how.”

“And now?”

Silence again. Not empty—charged.

Zoey stood slowly. Crossed the distance between them in three careful steps.

Then, softly—so softly Rumi could almost pretend she imagined it—Zoey said:

“I don’t think this is about picking anymore.”

Rumi didn’t breathe. Couldn’t.

Zoey stopped just in front of her. Not touching. Just close enough that Rumi could feel the warmth off her skin, the faint scent of lavender and smoke that always clung to her clothes.

“I think it’s about staying,” Zoey whispered. “Even when it’s messy. Even when it’s not clear.”

Rumi’s fingers twitched at her side. “You still don’t know what you want.”

Zoey didn’t deny it.

“Neither do you”

But she also didn’t move away.

Instead, she lifted one hand. Paused. Waited. And only when Rumi gave the smallest nod—barely a breath of permission—did she touch her.

Not a kiss. Not a grab.

Just a palm, resting flat against Rumi’s shoulder. Steady. Present.

“I want this,” Zoey said.

Not a solution.

Just a moment.

But it was the first one that hadn’t felt like breaking.

 

Zoey’s hand was warm against her shoulder.

Not pushing, not asking. Just… there.

Rumi didn’t know what to do with that. With gentleness. With someone who showed up not demanding to be forgiven, not even asking to be let in—just needing to see her.

“I thought I’d hate you,” Rumi said.

Zoey’s thumb twitched against her skin. “Do you?”

Rumi hesitated. “No. That’s the worst part.”

A long silence stretched between them.

Then Zoey let her hand fall, slow and careful, like anything more might tip the whole moment into breaking. Rumi took this moment to grab clothes out of her closet she walked away with purpose. Not leave her but to put on a layer of clothes, a shield, she quickly dressed out of view. The silence built tension, then Zoey spoke.

“I can go,” she said. “If it’s easier.” She stood in the middle of the room, the feeling of rejection running through her veins, Rumi walking away was drowning her. Her voice came out meek.

Rumi stepped out of her closet, pulling the shirt down, as she reached for Zoey again. “No.”

Just that.

No.

Zoey’s breath caught, barely audible.

“I don’t want you to fix anything,” Rumi said. “I don’t want another speech about how complicated it all is. I just—” Her throat closed. She swallowed. “Can you stay? Just tonight.”

It came out soft. Too soft for the things she was holding back. But Zoey heard it anyway.

“Yeah,” she said. No hesitation.

She walked to the bed and sat down on the edge, spine still tense, legs still ready to move. Her hands were clenched between her knees before she realized Zoey was still standing across the room—watching her like she might vanish again.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Rumi muttered.

“Like what?”

A breath, before Rumi realized. Something clicked as she watched the small girl look at her and those words she couldn’t form for Mira were found.

“Like you still want me.”

Silence was their language. It had to be because the way it kept filling up the empty space where they didn’t talk, it was like smoke. Zoey didn’t respond for a long time. Her eyes flashed with surprise. She didn’t think Rumi every noticed, noticed how her eyes wandered further than the ought too.

With a shake of her head, trying to clear her head she took a step closer, “I never stopped,” Zoey said. “That’s the problem.”

Rumi didn’t answer. She didn’t know how to believe that without letting it undo her.

Instead, she slid under the covers, back to the wall, and left space on the other side.

Not an invitation.

A test.

Zoey crossed the room and sat beside her. Pulled off her hoodie with slow, quiet movements. She looked smaller in just a T-shirt, like maybe all her sharpness had been left in the hallway.

She climbed in, careful not to touch. Lay on her side, eyes open, facing Rumi in the dark.

Neither of them spoke for a while.

The silence this time wasn’t sharp.

It was settling.

And then, after what felt like hours—but might have only been minutes—Zoey whispered, “I thought about telling you every day.”

Rumi’s voice was barely a breath. “Why didn’t you?”

“Because I thought you’d leave.”

“I probably would have.” She would have. She didn’t deserve this, she didn’t deserve this life. This joy or what could eventually be joy. What she deserved was the silence. Maybe she deserved Celine’s rage.

“I know.” Zoey laughed.

They lay like that, the dark between them warm with breath and unsaid things.

“Can I…” Zoey started. Then stopped. Her voice dropped even lower. “Can I touch you?”

Rumi didn’t answer right away. Her whole body was trembling under the stillness.

But then she moved—just enough to close the space between them.

Zoey’s hand found her waist.

And this time, Rumi didn’t pull away.

She just let herself be held.

No pretending.

No explanations.

No future.

Just this.

The weight of an arm around her.

The hum of someone who stayed.

And somewhere beneath it all, buried so deep Rumi almost didn’t recognize it, something loosened in her chest.

Not forgiveness.

But wanting to try.

 

They lay facing each other.

Not touching. Not talking. Just watching, like if they looked long enough, the words might come on their own.

Rumi’s hair was still damp from the shower, curling slightly at the ends where it touched the pillow. Zoey’s shirt had ridden up a little, exposing a strip of skin at her waist—pale against the dark fabric and the faded sheets.

Neither of them moved.

Zoey’s eyes flicked once to Rumi’s mouth. Not long. Not obvious. Just enough that Rumi noticed—and felt noticed.

She didn’t say anything.

Zoey didn’t either.

Her gaze shifted again, softer this time. Like she was memorizing something she already knew too well.

Outside, a car passed. Somewhere in the building, someone laughed too loud. But here, in this room, time felt thin. Like the kind of quiet that comes after something breaks—but before anyone admits it.

Rumi’s voice, when it came, was almost a whisper. “You didn’t think I’d let you stay, did you?”

Zoey’s eyes met hers.

And for a second, the whole world narrowed to that look.

“No,” Zoey said, barely audible. “I wasn’t sure you’d still want me here.”

She said it too casually. Like it wasn’t the thing that had been eating her alive all day.

Rumi didn’t answer right away. She could feel the way Zoey’s fingers twitched once beneath the covers, like she was stopping herself from reaching out. Like she wanted to, but didn’t know if she was allowed to want.

It was that kind of ache.

The kind that never said its name.

Zoey blinked, slow. Her lashes cast shadows across her cheek. And Rumi realized—she’d been lying in this bed for hours, and still hadn’t taken put on sleeping clothes.

A defense.

A shield.

And maybe, also, a hope.

Rumi reached out—carefully, lightly—and tugged at the hem of it.

“You’re sleeping in this?”

Zoey gave a half-smile. “Didn’t plan on staying.”

But she made no move to leave.

Didn’t stop Rumi when her fingers brushed the fabric again, slower this time.

Didn’t look away when Rumi looked at her like that—like she saw through the silence, through the mask of calm, straight into the heat hiding underneath.

The kind of heat you didn’t name.

Not yet.

Not when it might break something delicate.

So instead, Rumi said, “You’re terrible at hiding when you care.”

Zoey’s smile faltered.

Just for a second.

But that second was enough.

Zoey didn’t look away.

She didn’t move either—not closer, not back.

Just lay there, her hand resting inches from Rumi’s on the blanket. Still tense, like if she shifted even a little, everything might collapse. Like she didn’t trust the world to let her keep this moment if she reached for it too hard.

Rumi felt the thrum of it between them. Something aching. Something afraid.

So she didn’t push.

Didn’t ask for more than Zoey could give.

But she did let her fingers uncurl, slow, until her pinky brushed against Zoey’s.

And Zoey—gods, Zoey—shivered like it hurt.

“I didn’t know if I could come back from it,” she whispered.

Rumi turned her head, slow. “From what?”

Zoey didn’t answer right away. Her eyes traced the ceiling, the shadows, anything but Rumi. But her voice stayed quiet and close, like something sacred.

“From what it cost,” she said. “Losing you. Or thinking I had.”

Rumi’s breath caught.

Zoey laughed, but it was a brittle sound. “I thought it was just the lying. Just the pressure of doing what needed to be done. But it wasn’t. It was you. Not knowing how to keep you close without ruining it.”

She turned then, finally, and her eyes were wrecked in that beautiful, unbearable way—lined with everything she hadn’t let herself feel until now.

“I’ve always been good at wanting things I’m not allowed to want.”

Rumi’s throat went tight.

She wanted to say you are allowed. Wanted to say I want this too. But it felt too big to name and too sacred to rush. So instead, she reached out and let her fingers graze Zoey’s jaw. Light. Like asking permission.

Zoey didn’t flinch.

Didn’t run.

Her eyes fluttered shut like a prayer.

Rumi’s thumb rested just beneath her cheekbone, and for a moment, the world went still. No missions. No past. No Mira. Just the breath between them, shared in silence.

Zoey opened her eyes.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she said.

“You don’t have to,” Rumi murmured. “Just stay.”

And Zoey did.

Not fully. Not with the weight of all her walls down.

But enough.

Enough to let her hand slip into Rumi’s under the covers.

Enough to breathe with her, skin to skin, hearts tangled in the quiet.

Enough to hope

Zoey’s fingers curled around Rumi’s hand beneath the thin sheet, tentative and slow—like she was reaching for something she wasn’t sure she could hold.

Rumi’s breath caught, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she let Zoey’s hand rest against hers, the quiet contact buzzing between them like a secret.

Zoey’s other hand lifted, hovering just above Rumi’s arm, tracing a light, almost hesitant line without quite touching. Her eyes searched Rumi’s face—full of unspoken questions and raw need.

When Zoey’s palm finally settled near Rumi’s cheek, she paused, as if afraid to cross an invisible line.

Rumi leaned in just a fraction, the warmth of Zoey’s breath stirring the space between them, thick with things left unsaid.

Zoey’s smile flickered—soft, uncertain, and suddenly fragile.

Her gaze dropped for a moment, then flicked back up, shimmering with something that could have been hope… or fear.

They stayed like that, suspended in the moment—on the edge of something neither wanted to name yet.

The silence stretched long, full of possibility and hesitation.

And then Zoey’s fingers tightened around Rumi’s hand, a silent plea hanging between them.

Rumi, felt a sense of calm wash over her. Her brain had a single thought. “Enough”.

She pulled Zoey impossibly close the way Mira had grabbed herself. She grabbed her like the queen she pretend to be, she brought her face close, so close that she could feel Zoey’s breath quicken. She felt how the smaller girls heart started to gallop.

Rumi whispered, pleaded “ Please” and Zoey wide eyed, her gazed locked onto Rumi lips.

She never got a chance to respond as Rumi pushed her away. The door opened making the dark room bleed with the warm light of the kitchen. In the doorway stood Mira oblivious to the predicament. She was talking before she even saw Zoey get out of the bed and Rumi sit up with that face that said I’m innocent.

Zoey heart was hammering, she hadn’t even heard Mira walk to the bedroom, how was Rumi able to hear her or predict that would happen. She snuck a glance at the leader and saw her marks that were dim with a red hue only moments before deepened to an iridescent orange. It was then she realized that Rumi was not like them. She was part demon she could do things they never could.

“ Look if I upset you it wasn’t my intention I was just trying-“ Mira looked up mid sentence. Her brows furrowed as she looked between Zoey and Rumi.

“ What’s going on?”

Notes:

I cant thank y’all enough. This is starting to blow up and I am so very appreciative. Continue to comment and leave kudos it gives me the energy to continue. Again, thank you.

Chapter 4: Reckoning

Notes:

A soft smile as the authors whisper reaches your ears “your welcome”.

Mira stood in the doorway, words dying in her throat. She felt her breath quicken as she took in the scene. Rumi sitting up in the bed her shirt sliding off her shoulder. Zoey, leaned against the desk her face red.

 

Zoey stepped back like she’d been caught. Not in something illicit, not exactly. But something… fragile. Like a secret that had just learned how to breathe.

 

Rumi sat upright in bed, posture tense, eyes deliberately avoiding both of them. She looked caught . And that wasn’t like her.

 

“What’s going on?” Mira asked, slower than she meant to. She wasn’t accusing—yet. But she wasn’t soft, either.

 

Zoey opened her mouth. Closed it.

 

Rumi exhaled like it physically hurt. “Nothing,” Too quickly. “Zoey was just checking on me.”

 

That was probably true. That was definitely not the whole story. Not when they were avoiding her gaze, not when Zoey looked down in horror.

 

Mira stepped inside. “Right. Must’ve been a really intense check-in.” She closed the door effectively trapping them all in. They were going to have this conversation if it would be the death of them.

 

Zoey flinched, and Mira saw it—just a flicker of guilt. Or confusion. Or maybe something worse: affection.

 

Mira’s stomach turned. Not out of jealousy, she told herself. Out of instinct. Out of protection. Because this team had already been through enough without layering in this kind of mess.

 

“I came to apologize,” she said finally, arms folded, voice tight. “But maybe I should come back when it’s not so… private.” She said it as an offer. But she didn’t mean it. It was to be kind, respectful, not something she would honor.

 

Zoey took a step forward. “Mira, wait—”

 

Rumi, still not meeting her eyes, said nothing.

 

That hurt more than it should have.

 

Zoey stepped forward, hands half-raised like she could rewind time with her body language alone. “Mira. It’s not what you think.” Always the peace maker, always the glue.

 

“Oh, good ,” Mira said, voice cutting sharper than she meant it to. “Then you can tell me exactly what it is.”

 

She stayed by the door but didn’t leave. That was the choice— not walking away. The air between them crackled with the weight of it.

 

Rumi still didn’t speak.

 

Zoey glanced at her, just once. That was the mistake.

 

Mira caught it.

 

That flick of Zoey’s eyes—that one small, magnetic pull toward Rumi—screamed louder than any confession.

 

Mira laughed, once. No humor. “Wow.”

 

Zoey’s voice cracked. “Mira, it wasn’t— I didn’t plan anything. She was hurt. We were hurt, We were just talking.”

 

“And you blushed from talking?” Mira snapped. “She’s in bed. You’re flushed. She won’t even look at me. What am I supposed to think?”

 

Was it her place to be jealous, no, of course not but she was. She felt that emotion travel down her spine igniting fire in every word.

 

Silence.

 

Zoey’s throat worked, like she was swallowing glass. “We didn’t mean for anything to happen. If something even did. I don’t know. It was just… a moment. Maybe. But! Nothing happened” and nothing did, they didn’t cross that line but they were going too.

 

Rumi still didn’t say a word.

 

Mira turned to her. “Seriously? You’re just gonna sit there and let her take the heat for this?”

 

Nothing. Rumi stared at her hands, jaw tight.

 

Something cracked in Mira’s chest. That was the betrayal—not the kiss, not the silence, but the refusal to meet her in the aftermath.

 

“Unbelievable,” Mira whispered. She shook her head. “I came here to apologize. I thought maybe I overstepped. Thought maybe you’d want to talk. But I guess I was already too late.”

 

She didn’t leave.

 

That mattered

 

Rumi didn’t look at Zoey. She looked at her, the one who started it all.

 

Her eyes locked on Mira like she’d been waiting for her all night. Or maybe dreading her. Why couldn’t it be both?

 

She shifted, standing up from the bed, her voice rough but clear. Her patterns glowed with a purple hue so deep that it looked like she was on fire.

 

“What are you doing here, Mira?”

 

No bite. Just a question. Quiet. Measured. But it landed like a punch.

 

Mira hesitated, arms folded too tightly over her chest. “I came to apologize. I thought maybe we could talk.” Even though she was taller Rumi was the leader for a reason. Her stare could freeze someone in seconds or make them fall in love with her.

 

“Now?” Rumi laughed once—dry and humorless. “You show up now? After everything, you couldn’t have waited just a bit longer?” Anger seeped into her voice at the end. She needed time and space to realize what Mira was trying to say and only in the few moments before did she do just that. Maybe that’s why Mira came in, maybe she felt the switch through the honmoon.

 

“I didn’t know things were like this,” Mira said carefully, glancing at Zoey, then back. “I just wanted—”

 

“No. Don’t do that.” Rumi’s voice sharpened. “Don’t pretend this is about fixing something. You didn’t even knock. You just opened the door like this was still your place to walk into.”

 

Mira flinched. “I didn’t mean to—”

 

“But you did ,” Rumi snapped, finally letting it through. The heat. The ache. “You left. You left me . And now you show up acting like you still get to ask questions, like you get to walk back in and read the room like a scene you forgot how to be in.”

 

Silence.

 

Zoey didn’t move. She stood like she’d melted into the wall, eyes flicking between the two, trying not to breathe too loudly.

 

Rumi exhaled sharply, then looked down. Her voice dropped.

 

“You don’t get to ask what’s going on here, Mira. Not anymore.”

 

Mira’s jaw tightened. “Don’t twist this,” she said, stepping forward. “You’re the one who was supposed to find me. You said you would.”

 

Rumi froze. This time when she laughed it rippled the honmoon. The red spreading, this wouldn’t break it. It would not allow demons through, not anymore,  but Rumi was connected to it more so then the others and her emotions were to big for her to hold.

 

“ I never said I would find you. You left before I could even give you a response Mira.”

 

Zoey blinked, eyes narrowing slightly—but still didn’t speak.

 

“I waited,” Mira said, voice shaking. “I left messages. I asked Zoey. And when you didn’t come, I thought—I thought maybe you didn’t care.” A rare moment of vulnerability for her. Something she didn’t show often, if ever. But here she was baring her soul. Even if a part of her wanted to put her walls up.

 

Rumi scoffed, but it was brittle. “So you gave up.”

 

“No,” Mira snapped. “I got tired of chasing ghosts. You said you’d find me, Rumi, and you never did. So don’t act like I walked away when you never tried.”

 

Silence fell again, but it wasn’t empty—it was full . With everything neither of them had said. With all the times Mira had waited for footsteps that never came.

 

Rumi didn’t answer.

 

Because that was the truth—and they both knew it.

 

 

Rumi’s eyes flashed with something fierce, but her voice was low, almost bitter.

“Maybe I didn’t come because I didn’t want to be found.”

 

She pulled the blanket tighter around her, turning away as if Mira’s presence was a weight too heavy to bear.

 

Mira’s expression faltered, but she held her ground.

 

Zoey, who’d been watching silently, finally broke the tension. Her voice was sharp, cutting through the thick air.

“Enough. Both of you.”

 

She took a step forward, locking eyes with Rumi. The blushing girl was gone. Now stood a girl who was tired of picking sides

“This isn’t helping. You’re just tearing each other apart while standing right here.”

 

Rumi flinched, her silence answering louder than words.

 

Zoey’s gaze softened, but her tone stayed firm.

“If you’re going to fight, fight for something real — not just for the pain.”

 

Mira swallowed hard, jaw tightening like she was holding back a thousand things she wasn’t allowed to say.

 

Her voice, when it came, was quieter — but no less sharp.

“You think I didn’t try?” she said, stepping toward the bed, her hands curling into fists at her sides.

“I waited for you. Every damn day I waited, and when you didn’t show up, I thought maybe I meant nothing.” All these weeks of trying to make everything right by giving space wasn’t working. This is why she was here, and she wasn’t going to leave till it was fixed.

 

Her breath hitched, but she forced herself to keep going.

“And you know what the worst part is, Rumi? You’re acting like I’m the one who walked away.”

 

She looked between Rumi and Zoey — pain etched into the lines of her face, something raw flickering beneath the surface.

“I told you to come find me. And you didn’t. So don’t stand there and act like I’m the villain for showing up now.”

 

Rumi didn’t answer, but something shifted in her posture — her shoulders drawing tighter, breath shallower.

 

Zoey’s hand flexed at her side, like she was ready to step in again.

 

Rumi scoffed — bitter, sharp, like the sound of something old cracking open.

 

“You waited?” she snapped, her voice rising with every word. “You told me to find you and then vanished like you wanted to be lost. You gave me a breadcrumb trail and then lit it on fire.”

 

She swung her legs off the bed, standing now, unsteady but furious.

“You think I didn’t try? You think I didn’t tear myself apart wondering what the hell I did wrong? You think I wasn’t halfway to you every day until I realized—maybe you didn’t actually want to be found.”

 

Her eyes burned — not with tears, but with something worse.

“You made it so easy to doubt myself, Mira. And now you show up, what, because you got lonely?” She looked up, a queens face replacing the hurt “ you raised that weapon, so why Mira, why didn’t you end it there. Everything would have been easier if you did.”

 

She took a step forward, daring Mira to answer.

“Why now? Why this moment? You waited until I was finally—” she broke off, glancing at Zoey, something unspoken and volatile flashing between them. “Until I was starting to breathe again.”

 

The sounds of the city filled the room. Rumi’s pattern flickered with sorrow and rage.

 

Mira flinched—but not from guilt. From recognition.

 

Because that was the worst part.

Rumi was starting to breathe again.

 

“I didn’t…” Mira began, then stopped. Her voice was too fragile for this room. She tried again, sharper this time. “I didn’t come here to be forgiven.”

 

Rumi let out a breathless, bitter laugh. “Then congratulations. You won’t be.”

 

The words landed like a slap, but Mira didn’t back down. Her jaw set, hands clenched at her sides.

 

“I raised my weapon because I thought you wanted me to,” Mira said finally. “I thought that what we were doing was the only option. I thought you were like them.” Her voice broke, but she kept going. “But you ran. And I didn’t chase you. That’s on me.”

 

Rumi’s expression twisted—grief warping into fury just to survive it.

 

“But you should’ve ,” she spat. “You should’ve followed. You always knew where I’d go.”

 

“I know,” Mira said, soft. “And I didn’t. I know.”

 

Mira’s “I know” barely hit the air before Zoey stepped in, voice quiet, but unwavering.

 

“No,” she said. “That’s not just yours to carry.”

 

Both Rumi and Mira turned toward her, startled—like they’d forgotten she was still standing there. But Zoey didn’t shrink beneath their attention. She held it. She meant to.

 

“I should’ve said something back then. I should’ve stopped pretending I didn’t see it happening. The cracks. The pressure. The way we kept hurting each other and calling it protection.” She exhaled slowly. “I didn’t stop it. I didn’t try. I just—chose silence. Because I was afraid if I picked a side, I’d lose both of you.” She took a breath “ I raised those daggers too Rumi, we didn’t know because you lied and-“

 

Her gaze found Rumi’s first—soft, steady.

 

“I didn’t fight for you. Not the way you fought for us.”

 

Then she turned to Mira.

 

“And I didn’t stop you. Even when I knew you were broken and in pain, I was paralyzed with my own”

 

Silence fell again, but this one felt heavier. More final. Like something had shifted beneath them all.

 

Zoey’s hands were shaking. But she didn’t hide them.

 

“I won’t do that again,” she said, barely above a whisper. “Not now. Not with what’s still left.”

 

The question, unspoken, hung between the three of them:

What was still left?

 

The tension twisted, bloated and aching, and then Rumi spoke—flat at first, almost hollow. But it didn’t stay that way.

 

“You want to know what happened after I ran?” Her voice wavered on the edge of breaking, but she pushed forward. “I went to Celine.”

 

Zoey’s breath caught. Mira stiffened, the name landing like a blade between her ribs.

 

“I asked her to kill me.”

 

The words dropped like a stone in still water—no dramatics, no embellishment. Just raw, undeniable truth.

 

Rumi stepped past both of them, pacing like it hurt to stand still. “I told her I didn’t want to feel it anymore—the failure. The shame. The way it burned every time I remembered your faces. I told her that if I wasn’t worth saving, then maybe I wasn’t worth keeping at all.”

 

She turned, eyes flaring with something close to fury. “You both walked away. Not physically, maybe—but you left. You looked me in the eye, and still made me feel like I was nothing but a demon. When you knew me, when you knew every part of me but this part.” She shoved her arms toward them tears now running down her face “Like I was too much. Like the best thing I could do for everyone was disappear. ”

 

Her hands dropped then clenched at her sides.

 

“And for a moment, I really believed it. I begged her. Begged. Because I thought at least then it would stop hurting. At least then, you two wouldn’t have to deal with me anymore. ”

 

The breath she took afterward wasn’t steady—it was ragged, sharp, like it scraped on the way out. But her voice was firmer now.

 

“She didn’t do it. So I came back.”

 

She looked between them again, eyes burning—not with tears this time, but with the echo of that same terrible night.

 

“So tell me… why now? Why are you here? Because if this is about guilt, if this is about tying up loose ends—don’t bother. You already left me once. I survived. I learned to survive

 

Mira didn’t speak right away.

 

Her mouth opened—then closed, like she’d forgotten how to shape words. Her face was pale, stunned not just by Rumi’s confession, but by the weight of her own silence until now. Something in her had cracked—and not delicately.

 

“I didn’t know,” she said finally, and her voice was barely audible. “God, Rumi, I didn’t know. ”

 

But even as the words came out, they sounded hollow to her own ears. She flinched like she hated herself for saying them.

 

“I told you to find me,” Mira whispered, almost to herself. “And when you didn’t, I thought—I thought you were done. That you didn’t want me. So I told myself it was your choice. I told myself it would hurt less if I just… stopped waiting.”

 

She met Rumi’s eyes then, really met them.

 

“But I never stopped waiting.”

 

Her voice shook. “I wanted to go after you. A hundred times, I wanted to. But every time, I remembered how I’d looked at you that night—how I hesitated —and I knew I didn’t deserve another chance. I thought the kindest thing I could do was stay gone.”

 

A breath.

 

“But I was wrong. About all of it. And I don’t know how to make that right. I don’t even know if I can.”

 

She looked shattered—gutted in a way Rumi hadn’t seen before.

 

“I’m not here because of guilt,” she said, more firmly now. “I’m here because I still love you. I’m in love with you”

 

She didn’t reach for Rumi. Didn’t move closer. Just stood there, letting the truth hang between them.

 

Then—quietly, almost like a dare—“Say something. Scream. Hit me. Tell me you hate me. I deserve it. But don’t stand there and think I didn’t care.”

 

Rumi stepped back, her breath jagged, her shoulders curled like she was holding her own ribs in place. The confession still rang in the air—what she’d asked of Celine, what she’d begged to be freed from.

 

And the silence after it was a grave.

 

For a breath, nothing moved. Not the air. Not the girls. Not even time.

 

Zoey stayed frozen behind them, silent witness to the unraveling.

 

And Rumi, Rumi just stared at Mira. No words. No tremble. Nothing but the hollow quiet of a thousand shattered hours.

 

Then.

 

She stepped forward.

 

One heartbeat. Two.

 

And before Mira could blink, before she could question or flinch or reach,

 

Rumi kissed her.

 

Not gently. Not softly. It wasn’t a reunion, it was a reckoning. A demand. A scream pressed into skin. A year’s worth of ache crashing into the space between them.

 

Mira didn’t move at first. Shock held her breath still. But then her hands found Rumi’s waist, and her body responded before her mind could catch up. She melted forward, desperate and breaking, returning the kiss like she could undo everything with it.

 

But it wasn’t about forgiveness.

 

It wasn’t about apology.

 

When Rumi finally pulled back, breath ragged and eyes wild, her voice shook low and dangerous:

 

“That’s what you have missed,” she whispered. “That’s what you left behind, a future we could have.”

 

And then she turned, not to run. Just to step away, leave space like a wound reopening.

 

She looked at Zoey next. Her voice almost faltered.

 

“Don’t you dare say you love me if you’re going to disappear too.”

 

And suddenly, it was Zoey’s turn to answer.

 

Zoey didn’t flinch.

 

She didn’t look at Mira. Didn’t ask for permission. Just took one slow, steady step forward until she stood before Rumi, close enough to feel the storm still radiating off her skin.

 

“I won’t,” she said, voice low, certain, and shaking with everything she meant.

 

And then she kissed her.

 

Not like a claim. Not like a rescue.

 

But like a vow.

 

Her hand came up to Rumi’s cheek, careful, reverent, like she still couldn’t believe she was allowed to touch her again. The kiss was softer than Rumi expected, aching with restraint, threaded with the kind of love that had waited too long in silence.

 

Rumi didn’t respond right away.

 

But she didn’t pull away either.

 

And when her hands finally found Zoey’s shirt, curling in the fabric like she might fall without it, it wasn’t surrender.

 

It was trust.

 

Hard-earned. Costly. Fragile.

 

But real.

 

Behind them, Mira stood perfectly still, watching the girl she loved be kissed by someone else. And knowing, in some quiet, devastating part of her chest, that Rumi hadn’t chosen either of them.

 

Not yet.

 

And maybe not ever.

 

But she hadn’t run.

 

And that was something

Notes:

Thank you again, I hope y’all enjoy. What do you think will happen next?

Chapter 5: You don’t have to bleed to be worthy of love

Notes:

Thank you, I hope you enjoy!

They’d been so caught up in each other, they forgot the real world existed.

Forgot that Mira’s outburst—raw, reckless, real—had gone viral.

It wasn’t backlash. Not exactly. It was worse.

It was obsession.

Fans were already chanting for the unreleased track—“IDOL.” There were slowed-down edits of Mira’s hand yanking Rumi close, fingers curling into her face like she belonged to her. Shirts. Fanart. Headlines. Ship names trending again.

Rumi scoffed. She’d seen one of the shirts—Mira, smirking, gripping her jaw like a challenge.
God. Their fans worked faster than they did.

She hadn’t even come down from the kiss when Bobby called.

She still had Zoey’s taste on her mouth, Mira’s voice echoing in her chest. Her fingers had risen to her lips before she even realized it. Heart in her throat. Gaze flickering between the two women she just ruined everything with.

The phone vibrated like a gunshot through the room.

She leapt for it, grabbing it like a lifeline, not daring to meet their eyes. Didn’t even check the caller ID before she answered.

That’s how they ended up here.

Back in the countryside. Her home. Her mother’s grave. What was supposed to be her grave.

Back to the tree where she’d once fallen to her knees and begged to be taken. Where she’d lost everything. Where she’d clawed her way back.

Bobby said it was just until things calmed down. Said their safety was compromised. Said the security team had been doubled overnight.

He didn’t understand, calm didn’t exist for people like her. Not when everything she carried hummed under her skin like an unanswered cry.

But this wasn’t exile.

This was a return.

Mira and Zoey were inside the house. Putting away their things. Pretending this was a break, a breather.

But Rumi?

She walked.

Through the overgrown path. Past the broken fence.
Toward the spot she hadn’t dared return to.

To the place where it started. Where it ended. Where her story always leads her back.

This was the best option. This was the only option away from prying eyes.

She looked at her hands, rough and calloused from years of hard sword work. From years of training, years of fighting. She watched as they trembled. The glowing iridescent lines along her palms pulsed faintly now, her marks. Once purple. Now permanent.

A crown and a curse.

She couldn’t scrub them off even if she wanted to. They were hers. And she was theirs. Two sides of the same coin, still spinning.

This is where it all began, where it all ended and here she was again. Alone.

Celine was somewhere on these hollowed grounds.

She wasn’t thinking of them, not right now. She looked above her hand, an impression in the dirt. Right where she had fallen before. Still there untouched; just like her memories.

Her body moved before she could stop it.
Like it recognized this as the ending she never got to finish.

She dropped to her knees.

Her fingers brushed the earth, reverent.
Then both palms came down.

And slowly, as if summoned by grief alone, her sword formed across them—long and luminous. The Honmoon cried out once. A long, low ripple of sound, like mourning turned inside out.. Star-wrought.

The swords weight familiar in a way nothing else in her life ever had.

And Rumi, Rumi bowed her head, raised that same sword above her head. The memory of her presenting it to Celine was replaying in her head.

Because here, finally, she didn’t have to be brave. Or chosen. Or careful with the shape of her silence.

She could ache. Without translation. Without an audience.

Because this dirt knew her name.

And at last, she was home. This feeling, this action, felt like home.

Because sometimes pain is the only thing that keeps you going even when it begs you to end it. Sometimes pain is the only thing familiar enough to not betray you.

A sharp, dizzying weight slammed into her side, knocking the air from her lungs.

Her sword vanished in a burst of light before it could slice through anything. Her back hit the earth. Hands pinned above her head. A weight settled on her waist.

Rumi didn’t fight.

Eyes still closed. Muscles too tired to resist. Whatever this was—whoever it was—it hurt.

But she didn’t move.

Because some part of her wanted it to.

She bared her neck a sign of surrender, to tell whoever had tackled her she wasn’t a threat. At least not to anyone but herself.

Hands gripped her wrists, firm but not cruel. Legs straddled her waist, grounding her—not to trap, but to hold.

Eyes still closed. Breathing ragged.
She could feel the weight above her trembling.

Not force.

Fear.

Still she didn’t open her eyes. She didn’t need to when the scent of lavender and smoke encompassed her.
Didn’t flinch when Zoey’s weight settled over her, trembling.
Didn’t move when their foreheads touched, gently, as if afraid anything harder might shatter the moment.

There was nothing loud about it.

Only this:

Breath.
Skin.
The sting of dirt under her back.
The hands that hadn’t let go. They gripped her harder.

“What are you doing?” Zoey’s voice was ragged—half fury, half fear.

Rumi’s lips parted. Her throat worked.
Nothing came out.

Zoey’s hands stayed on her wrists, but not to hold her down anymore.
Just to hold her.

Her voice broke again.

“Rumi… why here? Why now?”

Rumi’s chest ached. Not from the tackle. From the question.

What are you doing?

God, what was she doing?

For a second, just one, she considered answering honestly.
Telling Zoey that this place still echoed inside her, that it held pieces of her grief like a graveyard.
That coming here wasn’t about running from the two of them, not really. It was about remembering who she’d been before she shattered.
About crawling back to the one place that didn’t flinch at the sight of her pain.

But the words stuck.
They were too raw, too real.
And she could feel it already, that tightening behind her ribs, that instinct to guard.
Because truth meant vulnerability. Vulnerability meant risk. And right now, she was one wrong breath away from unraveling completely.

So she did what she always did.
She reached for the nearest shield.

Her mouth twisted into a tired, lopsided smile.

Rumi blinked up at her, slow.
A beat passed. Then another. She offered a crooked smile, dry as cracked earth.

“Well, someone had to greet the ghosts.”
Her voice was light—almost too light, like a joke told just before the tears.
“Didn’t want them getting lonely.”

Zoey’s brows pulled tight. Her grip didn’t loosen.

Rumi looked past her, to the trees, to the sky that hadn’t changed.
But she didn’t try to move.
She didn’t push Zoey off.

Because she wasn’t running.
Not this time.
She just didn’t know how to stay honestly yet.

Zoey froze above her.

Not because of the words—
But because of the way they didn’t match the moment.
A joke, offered like a shield, when Rumi was quite literally lying in the imprint of her own collapse.

“Someone had to greet the ghosts.”
The way she said it—like she wasn’t shaking. Like she hadn’t run straight into the jaws of something old and raw.

Zoey’s hands were still around her wrists. She could feel the faint tremble beneath the calm, like a fault line pretending to be solid ground.

Her chest rose and fell, heavy with adrenaline.

She hadn’t meant to tackle her.
She hadn’t even thought.
Just seen Rumi fall to her knees, the sword appearing in her palms like a ritual, like she was surrendering to something bigger than grief—and Zoey had moved.
On instinct.
On fear.

Her knees dug into the dirt, straddling Rumi’s waist, and now she didn’t know what the hell to do next.

Because Rumi was still not fighting her.

She didn’t push back.
Didn’t snap.
Didn’t make some biting comment about space or overreaction.

She just laid there.
Soft in a way Zoey wasn’t used to seeing.
Deflective, yes—but not armored.

And it terrified her.

Because Zoey knew this kind of silence.
Had lived inside it once.
The kind where you pretend it’s funny so no one sees how close you are to breaking.
The kind where being tackled was maybe the only thing stopping you from dissolving entirely.

Her grip loosened—slow, unsure.
She didn’t want to let go.

But she didn’t want to pin her down either.

So she shifted—knees still braced in the earth, but her hands released Rumi’s wrists. One hovered over her chest instead, hesitant, as if asking permission without words.

Rumi still wouldn’t look at her.

Zoey bit the inside of her cheek. Hard.

She didn’t know what to say. Not really.
But the words that tried to come up were too soft, too real, and they tasted like vulnerability—hers, not just Rumi’s.

So she swallowed them.

Her voice, when it finally came, wasn’t angry anymore. Just low. Careful.

“…Is that really all this is to you?”
She didn’t say the rest: because it doesn’t feel like a joke to me.

The wind picked up again.
Still no answer.

Zoey stayed where she was.
Not to hold Rumi down.
But to hold her here.

Rumi didn’t answer right away.

Zoey’s question hung in the air like smoke—sharp, clinging, impossible to ignore.
Is that really all this is to you?

It echoed louder than Rumi wanted it to. Louder than she could take.

Because what was she supposed to say? That it wasn’t?
That the kiss meant everything and nothing all at once?
That she’d folded under the weight of feeling too much and not knowing what to do with any of it?

So instead, she forced out a low breath. Turned her face slightly away from Zoey’s, blinking at the treeline like the answer might be hidden somewhere in the leaves.

“You always think everything means something.”

It was a weak deflection. She knew it the second it left her mouth.
But it bought her a second—just one—to breathe.

Zoey’s jaw tensed, just barely.

“And you always pretend it means nothing,” she said, softer now. Not angry. Just… tired.

That hit harder than Rumi expected.

She shut her eyes. Swallowed hard. Her fingers curled tighter into the dirt, grounding herself in the pain, in the grit, in the realness of this moment. Because that was easier than grounding herself in Zoey.

The silence stretched again. A chasm between them.

And Rumi—against her better judgment, against every wall she’d spent years perfecting—felt her throat tighten.

Don’t say it. Don’t explain. Don’t let her see how close she is to the truth.

But the truth was already there, glinting between the cracks.

So when she spoke again, her voice came out rough, almost unrecognizable.

“…I didn’t come here to be saved, Zoey.”

A beat. Her eyes opened, still not looking at her.

“I came here because this pain is mine. Because I know how to live inside it.”

Another beat. Then, quietly—honestly:

“I don’t know what to do with you.”

Zoey didn’t move at first.

She just looked at her, really looked, like she was seeing Rumi for the first time in years. Not the performer. Not the teammate. Not even the girl who kissed her like the world might end if she didn’t.
But this version: raw, tired, trembling in the dirt, trying to hold herself together with nothing but deflection and grit.

Zoey’s chest ached.
Because for one aching, flickering second… she understood.

“I don’t know what to do with you.”

The words shouldn’t have hurt as much as they did. But they landed deep anyway—like a closed door she didn’t know she’d been waiting to walk through.

Still, she didn’t let go. Not yet.

A different voice called out, soft but sharp.
“Then figure it out.”

Mira.

A pause.

“Because you kissed both of us like it mattered. Don’t crawl back into the dark and pretend you didn’t.”

Rumi flinched—just barely—but it was enough.

Zoey started to move off her, slow and deliberate, when a sharp crunch of gravel broke the air behind them.

Mira.

Her silhouette cut through the edge of the trees, tense and unreadable. She stopped just a few feet away, eyes flickering between the two of them. Her voice, when it came, was low. Controlled.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Zoey stood up fully now, brushing dirt from her hands but not breaking eye contact with Rumi.

“No,” she said, voice flat. “We’re done.”

Rumi didn’t rise. She stayed on the ground like she belonged to it—like standing up would mean choosing a side.

Mira’s gaze lingered on her.
There was no jealousy in it. No anger. Just a deep, slow-burning question she didn’t voice.

Instead, she walked closer and crouched beside Rumi, her expression unreadable but steady.

“You came out here to bleed,” Mira said, almost too gently.
“But you’re not the only one hurting.”

Rumi’s fingers clenched in the dirt again. The weight of everything unspoken pressing in from all sides.

She didn’t know which way to run anymore.

And for once… neither did Mira or Zoey.

Mira didn’t move right away.

She just looked at her—at Rumi, still curled on the ground like she hadn’t decided if she was allowed to get back up. Her fingers had dug into the earth, pressing crescent moons into her skin. The sword was gone, but its echo hadn’t left her.

Mira crouched beside her slowly, movements sharp and precise. Measured like she was trying not to spook something wild.

But her voice?
It was not soft.

“What were you going to do, Rumi?”

No response.

Mira leaned closer. Not cruel, but deliberate. Her words cut with care.

“You think I didn’t notice? You summoned the sword. You let it cry. You fell into the exact imprint where you almost gave up last time. So I’ll ask again.”
“What were you about to do?”

Rumi turned her face away, jaw tight, but that didn’t save her.

Zoey stepped forward now, silent until she was right behind Mira. Her arms crossed, but not in anger. Her stance was bracing—like if Mira was going to push, Zoey would make sure it landed.

She spoke low.
“If we hadn’t stopped you, would you have let it take you this time?”

Still no answer.
But her fingers trembled harder. Her shoulders clenched.

Zoey’s voice cracked, just a little.

“After what you did. After what you said. After you kissed me like you meant it—you were still gonna leave?”

Her footsteps moved closer, slow and steady until she was standing over Rumi.

“Was it always going to be goodbye?”

Rumi sat up, barely. Her hair had come loose, shadowing her eyes. Her lips parted, then closed again. She looked hollow and furious and terrified all at once.

“It wasn’t goodbye,” she rasped finally. “It was survival.”

Mira’s eyes narrowed.
“Survival doesn’t look like kneeling in your own grave.”

Zoey came around to Rumi’s other side now, kneeling without hesitation. Her knee brushed against Rumi’s. She reached out—not to touch her, but to ground herself. Her hand hovered, fingers curling, then falling back to her thigh.

“You don’t get to tell us you want us—kiss us like that—and then try to disappear the second it gets complicated.”

“I wasn’t disappearing,” Rumi muttered, weak, defensive.

Mira leaned in closer. Her voice was lower now. But deadly certain.

“You were choosing pain because it’s the only thing that doesn’t make you feel guilty.”

That hit. It landed. Rumi’s head dropped. Her shoulders trembled. She opened her mouth like she wanted to argue, but nothing came out.

Zoey’s hand moved again, this time resting lightly against Rumi’s arm.

“You don’t have to bleed to be worthy of love.”

Rumi squeezed her eyes shut. Her breathing hitched. But she didn’t pull away.

And for once… neither did they.

The wind rustled the trees around them. The memory of a grave. A sword that had cried. A kiss that still lingered on all three of their lips.

Silence settled like a choice. Like a vow waiting to be made.

The silence held, but it wasn’t empty.

It thrummed—like a blade still humming from the last strike, like something holy that hadn’t yet decided whether to bless or destroy.

Rumi’s chest rose unevenly. Her pulse fluttered beneath her skin. Her throat burned with the weight of all the words she hadn’t said—not even when she kissed them. Especially not then.

Zoey’s fingers were still on her arm. Light. Unassuming. But steady.

It grounded her.

So did Mira’s presence. Unyielding. Sharp. Still watching her like she saw through every deflection and wouldn’t accept anything less than the real thing.

Rumi swallowed. Hard.

Then, quietly—so quiet it could have been mistaken for the wind:

“I didn’t come here to die.”

Mira didn’t flinch, but her breath caught.

“I came here because this was the last place I remembered who I was.”

Her voice cracked. She laughed once—bitter, hollow.

“When everything got twisted. When you held your weapons. When I ruined everything. This was the one place I felt peace”

Zoey’s hand slid down her arm, wrapping around her wrist gently—just enough pressure to let Rumi know she was still there. Still listening.

Rumi didn’t pull away.

“This tree, this dirt—this is where I begged not to be chosen again. Not like that. Not by fate. Not by power. Just…” She shook her head, voice raw now. “Just once, I wanted to be wanted for every part of me, and if I couldn’t get it then I didn’t want to destroy everything I had sworn to protect.” Even if that would cost her life.

Mira sank to her knees beside her, the tension in her posture shifting. Not softer. But steadier. She reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind Rumi’s ear. It was intimate. Not tender. Not pitying. Just real.

“And when we kissed you,” Mira said slowly, “was that not choosing you?”

Rumi’s lips parted. Her heart thundered in her chest.

Zoey leaned in closer, her thumb brushing the inside of Rumi’s wrist now—slow, almost reverent.

“You didn’t ruin anything, Rumi.”

Rumi’s breath caught.

Zoey’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“You just never believed you were allowed to stay.”

That broke her.

Her shoulders shook, and this time it wasn’t from restraint.

Tears welled in her eyes—silent, furious things. She tried to turn her face away, but Mira caught her chin gently and made her look.

“We saw you,” Mira said. Her voice fierce. Final.
“We still do.”

And then Zoey moved. No hesitation.

She pulled Rumi forward, into her arms—not with force, but with insistence. Like holding someone you refuse to let go of again.

Rumi collapsed into it.

Not graceful. Not romantic. But real.

Mira joined them seconds later, arms wrapping around both. Their warmth closed around her like a shield, like a vow.

No one spoke again.

Not because there was nothing to say.

But because—for the first time in a long time—Rumi didn’t need to be alone with her pain to feel like herself.

Mira’s fingers traced small, trembling circles on Rumi’s back, an unspoken promise that she was here to stay. Zoey’s breath warmed the nape of Rumi’s neck, steadying the quickened rhythm of her heartbeat, as if simply existing together could mend the fractures beneath their skin. Rumi felt the steady pulse of their presence, their grounding energy weaving into her own, wrapping her in a fragile but fierce kind of safety. Each breath, each heartbeat was a thread binding them tighter, less like a cage, more like a sanctuary.

“I love both of you. I choose the both of you. If you’ll have me”

The words settled between them like sunlight through leaves, warm and alive.

And in that moment, the hollowed ground didn’t feel empty.

It felt like home because of course, they would.

At last they were found.