Chapter Text
Rumi was a third wheel.
She knew Zoey and Mira were closer to each other than they were to her. It wasn’t like they excluded her, though. They very much tried to enmesh Rumi into their bonding activities as much as possible. Every time they went out to the bathhouse, booked relaxation days at spas, or went clothes shopping, there was always a “Rumi, come with us!” to which Rumi, without fail, replied “Maybe next time” every single time.
She couldn’t risk it, not while her patterns were still there. Anything that required Rumi to disrobe needed to have at least one locked door to a private room before she’d even reach for the hem of her shirt. Whenever she wanted to relax in a bath, it was in her own bathroom behind a locked door. Whenever she needed new clothes, Celine arranged to have them delivered and would have Rumi try them on in her own apartment, behind a locked door.
And a relaxing spa day? Never happened, really. It was hard to give yourself a deep tissue massage and Celine wasn’t even one for hugging. Rumi certainly wasn’t going to duck into her office and say, “Hey, emotionally distant maternal figure? Can you rub my back because my spine sounds like pop rocks?”
At first, Zoey and Mira wouldn’t go out without Rumi, not wanting her to feel left out. That ended up with all three of them bored and miserable, so Rumi finally convinced them it was okay, that she won’t be hurt if they go and have fun without her.
(It hurt. A lot. But it wasn’t their fault)
So for years, while Zoey and Mira were running and playing all over Seoul, Rumi stayed behind. Sometimes she was with Celine, but that was barely any better than being alone. At least when Rumi stayed behind at the penthouse, she could take a break from stuffy turtlenecks and sweatshirts. Even if she and Celine were alone, Celine insisted the marks stay covered.
“You’ll get too comfortable having them out. Someone might accidentally see. Your faults and fears must never be seen.”
Well, someone saw. Everyone saw. Even if they weren’t physically in the crowd, enough people had the presence of mind during the wind down of Gwi-Ma’s defeat to take out their phones and take a plethora of videos and pictures. Within the hour, every social media platform was flooded with people commenting on Rumi’s “new look” and the legendary live song debut they just witnessed.
For some reason, nobody seemed concerned about the big demon lord, the mass brainwashing that led them to the stadium, or their favorite k-pop idols floating. There must have been some sort of Honmoon magic that kept civilians from registering what actually happened, just like how they weren’t able to see the Honmoon itself.
Whatever. Small blessings.
Now, with everything out in the open, Rumi could finally, finally, say yes to the bathhouse. She was practically waiting on the edge of her seat for Mira to hobble into the living room, sleep mussed and pressing her hand against the base of her spine in that way that always meant her muscles were aching. Mira, ever attentive to her body’s needs as the group’s dancer, didn’t tolerate sore muscles or strained joints. She needed her body to always be at 100% so her choreo was at 110% and any sort of twinge of grumble in any of her limbs meant it was time to drop everything and follow the trail of steam straight to the bathhouse.
When Mira dragged herself to the kitchen for breakfast kimbap for the third day in a row, clearly feeling discomfort with how stiff her gait was, Rumi couldn’t stay quiet any longer.
“Why haven’t you and Zoey gone to the bathhouse yet?” It came out before she realized starting with a “hello” or “good morning” might have been a little less jarring, Mira looking like a deer in headlights at the sudden, borderline accusatory question.
“Uh, well …” Mira blinked, her eyes still groggy from sleep and her hand suspended in air as she was reaching for the fridge door. “We didn’t want you to feel lonely after … you know.”
After you had all of your fears broadcast to the world.
After we raised our weapons at you.
After someone you clearly cared about sacrificed his soul to save you.
“Why would I be lonely?” Rumi asked, nervously fiddling with the hem of her tank top.
(Her tank top. Oh, how times have changed.)
“You’d be here and we just - wait,” Mira looked like she woke up all at once. Her kimbap fetching hand dropped back to her side and she looked at Rumi with utter shock. “You want to come with? To the bathhouse? And like, actually in the baths?”
“... Yes?”
There was a tense silence with Mira gawking and Rumi fidgeting. Eventually, Mira straightened back up and with a lung capacity that only a trained dancer and rapper could have, shouted back towards the bedrooms.
“Zoey! Wake up! We’re going to the bathhouse! With Rumi!” Rumi nearly jolted out of her seat at the kitchen island, clearly not expecting the volume or urgency. Almost immediately, the door to Mira’s bedroom slammed open revealing a disheveled Zoey, her hair still in curlers and wearing rumpled turtle-patterned pajamas.
“Rumi bathhouse trip?!” Zoey practically had sparkles in her eyes, wearing that over-excited expression of hers that made fans compare her to a labrador retriever being told it was about to go on walkies.
Mira nodded, arms crossed and expression deadly serious. “Rumi bathhouse trip.”
Zoey gasped, looking like electricity shot up her spine.
“I’ll be ready in ten! No, five! I’ll be ready in five!” she said, full of her trademark adorable enthusiasm. She bolted out of Mira’s room to her own, nearly slipping and falling as her fuzzy socks lost friction on the smooth floors. She righted herself and went back to full speed, flinging her bedroom door open and slamming it behind her as she babbled excitedly but incoherently, mostly in English. Rumi couldn’t help but let out a laugh through her nose, the maknae’s joyous energy being well-known as dangerously infectious.
“She’ll be ready in twenty.” Mira said, knowing Zoey all too well. Abandoning the fridge, she opened up a cupboard and pulled out a protein bar, opening it and taking a massive bite. She headed back to her room to get ready as well, speaking with her mouth crammed full like they always did around each other. “No makeup. Be ready or we will drag you out as-is.”
Rumi nodded, a bright smile on her face. She was nervous, but the anticipation made it manageable. Stuffing the last bit of her own kimbap in her mouth, she hopped off of her stool and trotted back towards her room to change out of her pajamas. As she crossed the threshold of her room and closed the door behind herself, she halted in her steps, suddenly overcome with confusion.
… Why was Zoey coming out of Mira’s room first thing in the morning?
…
Whatever. She’ll ask later.