A New Set of Patterns

by BlueButterfly16

Summary:

Rumi wakes one morning to find new glowing purple patterns spreading across her body—marks she sees as proof that she’s a monster.

Though she hides them from her roommates, the shame and self-loathing overwhelm her. Haunted by a harsh inner voice and past conditioning, Rumi spirals into the darkest pits of her mind.

She doesn't belong in this world. Her very existence is a mistake.

Notes:

Heya

My first fic posted on this site and it's... Well-

This started out as a one-shot but I've changed my mind, I wanna prolong the suffering and make this a small fic. Thinking maybe 3 chapters but we'll see!

Chapter 1: Episode 1

Rumi always wakes up before the sun hits the windows of their penthouse. Every day she gets up before her roommates, she tip toes her way to the bathroom carefully not to wake them, and sheds her sleepwear to get ready for the day ahead. Every single day she had this routine. The other two thought she was a morning person. Rumi, however, was just a liar and a monster in disguise. 

Every day she looks at herself in the giant mirror of their bathroom, her brown, doe eyes scanning through the purple patterns that spread on her shoulders, she can’t help but look at them in disgust. They’re not a part of her, she tries to tell herself. She’ll fix it all some day, until then she has to hide them, repress them, just like Celine’s voice said over and over again in her head.

But that morning was different. That morning she didn’t just wake up as usual, with the catchy tune she had set up as her alarm slowly luring her away from her dreams and into the present. That morning her eyes snapped awake, as she felt a burning sensation irradiating from her chest. She sat up in a hurry, her hand flying up to clench her hoodie, right where the pain seemed to be stronger. Rumi shut her eyes tight and waited for it to pass, too afraid to make a noise and alert Mira and Zoey.

Once the pain subsided, she took a deep, shaky breath to still herself. Rumi threw her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. Her hands were shaking, she could feel the way her sleeping clothes clung to her skin, damp with sweat. She didn’t want to look, she wanted to go back to sleep, maybe never wake up… She quickly shook her head, trying to push those thoughts away.

Slowly she dragged herself to the bathroom, dreading what she would see in that god forsaken mirror once she got there. The wood floor of the hallway felt colder than normal against her bare feet, and the silence seemed to slowly stab her ears like a needle. Rumi opened the door slowly and turned on the light, she was now face to face with herself. She looked like hell, if Celine was here she would be sure to tell her to stand up straight, smile and push that ache in her heart down into the depths of her soul, if she even had a soul left. She removed her grey hoodie, then her undershirt, keeping her eyes closed in fear. She knew she couldn’t avoid it, she couldn’t be the weak, pathetic crybaby she extinguished as a child. Hesitantly she opened her eyes…

There it was. New lines. Purple, sharp patterns curling from the base of her shoulder toward her collarbone and connecting on her chest like something alive. Like roots or veins or maybe even chains. Yes, chains felt appropriate. These heavy, disgusting and painful chains that clung to her like vipers onto their prey. They shimmered with a faint, ominous violet glow, wrong against the pale of her skin, as if they didn’t belong to her at all. But they did. They always had.

She stared. Her breath stayed shallow. She didn’t cry. Crying had left her a long time ago, yet another proof she was nothing more than an abomination, she thought. She hadn’t even felt anything—no rage, no disappointment, nothing but the shadows that sang to her when she was alone with herself. And yet… She had been good. Careful. Covered. Quiet. She didn’t doubt any of Celine’s words. She kept her head high even when she just wanted to crumble down into a million unrepairable, unloveable pieces.

Rumi pressed her hand hard against the new marks, as if she could smudge it out, rub it raw, make it disappear. But all she got was an angry red spot to go with the offending purple.

She whispered, “No.”

The pattern stayed. Glowing. Spreading. Exposing what she was. Nothing but a demon. A mistake.

She moved her hand away and stood there in silence, while her mind was as loud as it had ever been.

“You’re nothing”, “A mistake”, “Do them all a favour and disappear”. “You will never belong here”

Rumi slowly removed the rest of her clothes, maybe a bath would calm her down. Her hands trembled as she shed each piece of clothes. Today wasn’t special. No one would notice if she didn’t show up for rehearsals or training. Or maybe they would, and they’d be relieved she was gone. Maybe they’d be better off without her. Maybe then the honmoon would finally turn gold, without her corruption.

She turned the water on and waited for the bathtub to fill. She hugged herself tightly, feeling uncomfortable in her own skin. Once the tub was full she sat in it, not even caring that the water was scalding hot by accident, she deserved the pain.

She sat curled in the tub like something discarded, arms wrapped around her knees, chin resting on bone. The surface of the water reflected her face. She couldn’t help but compare that pathetic being to her idol self. That perfect smile, rehearsed a thousand times in her room before bed. The smooth way her body moved with the rhythms of the songs she and her best friends wrote together, the way her voice always hit the notes people wanted to hear. No one suspected that behind that admired, picture perfect young woman, was a vile creature destined for nothing but destruction and pain.

She saw her mother’s face in her reflection sometimes… She never got to meet her, but a part of her hated her. She made her like this, it was her fault she was forced to exist this way. Would it be different if she was still alive? No… Nothing would change, she’d still be a filthy creature with no soul, she would still have these ugly patterns.

She hated all of it.

No. She hated herself. That was the truth.

Beneath the water, the patterns pulsed faintly, webbed and whispering. They looked almost beautiful in the reflection—like ink dancing along the surface of the hot water.

She thought of her friends, who were still asleep in their rooms, or maybe Zoey had fallen asleep in Mira’s bed once more. They deserved better than to be tied to her. 

Rumi pressed her forehead to her knees, eyes squeezed shut. Mira and Zoey… just thinking their names made something heavy twist behind her ribs.

“Mira’s too strong. She wouldn’t break like I am” she thought to herself. “Zoey believes in me like I’m some kind of miracle. Like I’m worth something”.

She could never tell them. Celine was right, she had to hide. She had to disappear.

She felt aware of her whole body, and the way. Rumi’s thoughts had circled so many times, they didn’t even feel like thoughts anymore. Just noise. Just... weight. She tilted her head back against the cold porcelain of the bathtub, eyes half-lidded, staring at the ceiling. There was a tiny crack in the paint above the vent. She hadn’t noticed it before. Funny, what you see when everything slows down.

Zoey and Mira… Would they miss her when she was gone? Every voice in her head told her no. “They’re strong. They have each other. They’ll cry, yeah… but they’ll move on.”

Her head tilted to the side, her eyes landed on a pack of razors they kept under the sink. Rumi’s body was moving on its own as she got up from the tub, her body dripping water all over the tiled floor while she moved towards the box.

A part of her was yelling at her to put it down, to finish her bath and go back to her room, to her friends who loved her, to the fans who admired her, to her life. But that voice of reason was silent in comparison with the loud banging of each and every thought telling her to take the razor, to do what Celine should have done the moment she was put under her care. 

Just like in the story books she read as a child, the monster was always slayed by the hero in the end. She was told she would be the hero, she would keep the honmoon intact and the world safe from the demons down below. But was she really the hero? Or was she the monster, lurking under the unseen, prowling, waiting for the moment to strike and destroy. Or was she both?

She sat back in the bathtub, the water now cold from the time she had spent in that bathroom. She stared at the razor in her fingers for a while, it had already made a cut on her index finger with the way she held it, and it felt… oddly comforting. She watched the crimson liquid cascade down her arm and into the water. Was she really about to do this?

Yes, she had to. She wasn't supposed to exist, she wasn't supposed to get a happy ending. Rumi was playing a role set by the people around her. The perfect idol, the perfect friend, the perfect child. It was all fake, a disguise that didn't seem to fit her as much as she tried. Just another lie to add to the fire. “You can't let people see you're weak” Celine's words played over and over.

But Rumi was weak.

The sharp edge of the razor dug easily into her skin. It hurt, but it also felt liberating. Rumi hissed as she slowly dragged it from one side to the other of her left wrist. The pain was her friend, it was all she was allowed to feel without restrictions.

Another cut right under it, blood flowed steadily from the nasty gashes that now joined her skin along with the vile demonic patterns across her chest. Rumi watched it drip down into the water, turning it into an ominous shade of red. The blood reminded her of her humanity, not that she believed she had any left.

Right. Rumi wasn't the hero or the monster. She was a third thing. She was the fool, destined to destroy itself with its own misery.

 

Chapter 2: Episode 2

Notes:

Zoemira time whoohoo!!

Mira was warm.

Zoey could feel it in the lazy weight of her arm slung across her waist, the rise and fall of her chest where Zoey rested her head, the way her bare legs had tangled with hers sometime during the night.

Everything about Mira in the morning was slow. Half-asleep grumbles. Long, rough sighs. The gentle way her fingers sometimes wandered, unconsciously tracing small circles into Zoey’s skin like she was trying to memorize her again.

Zoey didn’t move. She didn’t want to.

She stared at the wall, blinking in the soft light bleeding through the curtains. Her mind wasn’t fully awake yet. That place between sleep and conscience was still humming. Mira made it easier to stay there.

“Mm,” Mira mumbled as she began to wake up too. “Your hair’s in my mouth.”

“You’re welcome,” Zoey said sleepily.

There was a pause.

“…Smells like peaches.”

Zoey laughed, a soft breath of sound. Mira pulled her impossibly closer, burying her face into Zoey’s messy hair. She always loved how Zoey looked with her hair down.

“Don’t get up,” she murmured. “Not yet.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Zoey said, tilting her head up slightly to press a kiss into Mira’s jawline. “You're clingy in the morning.”

“I'm affectionate,” Mira countered, eyes still closed. “There’s a difference.”

Zoey smiled and brushed her fingers down Mira’s chest, featherlight. “Mhm. Affectionate, that’s why you’re holding me so tight.”

Mira grumbled in response, a little grumpy in the morning. Mira wasn’t a morning person. Never had been. But with Zoey draped over her like this, limbs tangled and sighing into her skin like she had all the time in the world, Mira almost wished mornings lasted longer.

For a while, they didn’t say anything.

Mira’s fingers traced absent circles into Zoey’s back. Zoey’s breathing slowed to match Mira’s, rising and falling in time. They were silent the way people are when everything they need is already in the room.

“I hate how good this feels,” Mira murmured.

Zoey tilted her head up. “Why?”

“Because it won’t last. Something always interrupts it.” She exhaled in frustration. “I just want this part to stretch.”

Zoey lowered her head again, her breath warm against Mira’s skin. No one really knew about their relationship. Not their fans, not Bobby, and not even Rumi. Zoey had told Mira again and again that they should tell Rumi, that it was unfair to keep this from their best friend. Mira always said no, she told her she didn’t want things to become awkward, but she maybe had other reasons.

Having to hide all day wasn’t ideal, but at least they had the late nights together, and the early mornings in each other’s arms.

Outside, the city was already stirring with life, busy streets with people trying to get to work on time. In that sense they were lucky they didn't have such a tight schedule most days, and they could afford to have these slow mornings. Light pushed more boldly through the curtain edges, the sun was bright today.

But in that room, time moved slowly and lazily.

Mira leaned down and kissed the top of Zoey’s head.

“I love you,” she said, soft and certain.

Zoey didn’t answer right away. She just melted a little deeper into her, fingers bunching gently in the fabric of Mira’s hoodie like she was afraid to let go.

Then, muffled against her chest

“I know. I love you too.”
They stared at each other for a moment, and then both started laughing, quietly, because the walls were thin, and Rumi was always up early.

Mira eventually rolled onto her side, now facing Zoey. They settled in the tangle of sheets like puzzle pieces. Mira yawned, and finally glanced at the digital clock on her nightstand.

“It's 7:43 already” she muttered. “We’ve got like... an hour before the chaos starts.”

Zoey groaned. “Don’t say the c-word. You’ll summon it.”

Mira smirked, hand drifting down Zoey’s back again. “I could say a few different ones.”

“Mira.”

Another laugh. Another kiss, this one lazily pressed to Zoey’s temple. Mira loved teasing Zoey, maybe a little too much.

A few minutes passed like that. Mira was now checking her phone, scrolling through notifications with practiced disinterest while Zoey quietly raided the bedside table. She found Mira's lip balm and grabbed it. She always loved the scent of cherries on her lips whenever she used it.

Mira glanced at her, watching her apply it, then snatched it mid-motion. It wasn't a hostile move, just part of their playful banters.

“You always take mine.”

“You leave it in my room half the time anyway.”

“That’s a hostage situation, not consent to use my things.”

Zoey rolled her eyes with a smirk, then she quickly turned towards Mira, and gave her a quick kiss on the lips, leaving behind some of the lip balm smeared onto them.

“There,” she said. “Now you’re moisturized and dramatic.”

Mira caught her hand and kissed her palm. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” She whispered into her hand.

They stayed there for a while longer, Mira scrolling, Zoey tracing the lines of faded marks on Mira’s shoulder, a remnant from the night before, and Mira let her touch them with a sense of pride.

Time kept ticking, and eventually Zoey realised something was off.

Every day without fail Rumi would come into their rooms unannounced to drag them out of bed and start their day with breakfast together. She knew Rumi woke up before them, she knew she only took about 30 minutes to get ready, so it was odd that she still hadn’t appeared in the doorway of Mira’s room with her energetic smile and cheerful voice.

Mira could tell something was bothering her, she felt the way Zoey’s body tensed in her arms. “Zo? You ok?”

Zoey didn’t respond immediately. She just lay there, head still resting on Mira’s chest, staring at the untouched space of the bedroom door.

“Rumi usually comes in by now.”

Mira followed her gaze. The silence around it wasn’t loud, but it was strange.

“She’s probably still doing her hair,” Mira said, brushing a hand along Zoey’s spine. “You know how big that braid is.”

Zoey gave a soft laugh, something between a chuckle and a sigh. “Yeah… Maybe.”

But it was already 8:20. Rumi never took this long.

“Maybe she’s feeling sick” Zoey thought out loud. She extracted herself from Mira’s arms and sat up “We should go check on her”

Mira would obviously prefer to stay in bed longer, with Zoey’s warmth against her, but this was Rumi they were talking about. She sat up as well, flipping her hair out of her face.

She stretched her arms over her head and yawned, blinking against the sunlight peeking through the curtains.

Mira rubbed her face, then reached out to gently pull Zoey closer against her side. “You’re worrying for nothing, Zo.”

“I’m not,” Zoey said, but she didn’t resist the pull. She rested her head on Mira’s shoulder again, still tense.

“She’s probably curled up in a blanket somewhere with that weird tea she likes,” Mira said, running her fingers through Zoey’s hair. “But ok, let's go check in her room.”

Zoey gave a weak smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She reached for one of Mira’s oversized hoodies from the floor and pulled it over her head, disappearing into the soft fabric. Mira, meanwhile, quickly grabbed a tshirt and some shorts from the pile of clothes nearby to put on.

They walked barefoot out of the bedroom, the hallway floor cool under their feet. The apartment was still quiet. Too quiet. No clinking dishes. No soft humming. Just silence.

Mira glanced toward the kitchen. Empty. Everything exactly how they left it the night before. Maybe Rumi was still in bed after all.

They stopped in front of Rumi’s door. It was closed like always, but today it felt… Odd. Like it was holding something back.

Zoey hesitated, then lifted her hand and knocked gently. “Rumi? You up?”

No answer.

Mira gave Zoey a worried look, then knocked a little louder. “Hey, are you feeling ok? If you're sick we can come bring you some tea”

More silence. Something really was off.

Mira slowly opened the door, thinking Rumi was either still asleep or just not feeling well. Rumi’s room was dark. The curtains were still drawn, casting the space in soft, gray-blue shadows. Mira pushed the door open wider, letting in a slant of light from the hallway. The bed was messy, still holding evidence of Rumi’s slumber. That caught their attention, Rumi always made her bed in the morning.

“She’s… probably just taking a bath,” Zoey offered. “Right? Maybe she woke up later than usual.”

Mira didn’t answer. Her eyes travelled towards their bathroom, focused on the slit under the door, a thin strip of light leaking out across the floor.

Zoey approached it first and, with a hesitant hand, knocked softly. “Rumi?”

Once again no answer. But she had to be in there, the light was on and they knew so.

Mira walked closer to the door as well, standing besides Zoey. “Rumi. Are you in there?”

Still nothing.

Zoey’s arms were crossed now, hugging herself. “She wouldn’t ignore us,” she said. Clear, raw worry etched onto her face.

Mira only nodded. She was right, none of this felt normal, and she could feel a wave of anxiety squeeze her ribcage. Slowly she reached for the handle and opened the door.

The bathroom was silent. No water, no cheerful humming, no sounds at all. Just still air and white walls that reflected the overhead light too cleanly. The kind of silence that felt like it had been sitting for hours.

Mira stepped in first, slow and careful, her bare feet touching the cool tile. Zoey stayed close behind her, hovering at her back, one hand resting lightly on Mira’s arm like she needed the contact to stay steady.

The first thing she noticed was the smell, not strong, but unmistakable. Metal. Salt. The faint scent of blood clinging to the air like something half-forgotten. Her eyes moved around the room, searching. Everything was strangely in place. Rumi’s towel hung neatly. Her lotion was uncapped on the sink. A pair of slippers sat just off to the side. But it was all too clean. Too untouched. Like a stage set after the scene was already over.

“Stay here,” Mira said, voice shaky but still trying to sound strong and level headed.

Zoey blinked, startled by the sudden request. “What?”

“I mean it. Just- Stay by the door.”

Zoey nodded and stood in the doorway, her fingers fidgeting uncomfortably with the fabric of Mira’s hoodie.

With that, Mira walked further into the bathroom, past the sink and towards the bathtub, shielded from sight by a divider. She slowly moved it aside, only for her eyes to meet with the gory scene.

The water inside the tub had gone cold long ago, and the surface was tinged red. It swirled in soft clouds, thin but undeniable, clinging to skin that looked too pale.

Mira’s stomach dropped.

Rumi was there, motionless, her head resting against the porcelain, lips parted slightly. Her arms resting against her torso, submerged into the water and leaking a deep red, the source of the colour now spilling into the bath in ribbons long since faded.
The patterns.

Mira's eyes widened as she took them in, dark violet lines etched across Rumi’s chest and shoulders, still glowing faintly even beneath the water. They looked unnatural, curling and sharp like chains wrapping around her, rooted into her skin like something violent.
Rumi, her best friend, one of the people she most opened up about, was a demon all along. She didn’t know how, or why, or what it even meant, not fully, but none of that mattered.

Not now.

Not when Rumi’s wrist was bleeding into the bath and her pulse was barely there.

Mira dropped to her knees without thinking, hands plunging into the cold water to grab onto her friend's sliced wrist, desperately trying to stop the bleeding. “Rumi!” Her voice cracked violently. “No, no, no. Rumi, hey! Stay with me!”

“Mira-” Zoey’s voice called from the door, shaking and clearly on the verge of tears from fear. By the way Mira sounded, it had to be really bad.

“Zoey, stay back! Don’t come closer!” Mira yelled urgently. She knew Zoey could be fragile, especially when it came to them. She couldn’t let her see Rumi like this

Mira pulled Rumi out of the water, all the panic and heartpiercing worry made her body react in a blink. She laid Rumi on the ground to better assess her. The blood didn't seem to stop, and the cuts were deep, Rumi’s chest barely rose as her breathing became shallow.

“Rumi don't you dare” Mira yelled at her, as if that made any difference.

Behind her, Zoey hadn’t moved. She didn’t want to anymore. Mira’s voice told her everything. The panic in it. The way she said Rumi’s name like it was breaking her apart.

“She’s-” Zoey tried to ask, but her throat wouldn’t let the rest of it out.

“She’s breathing,” Mira told her, reaching for a towel to wrap around Rumi’s bleeding wrist to try to stop the blood. “It’s weak, but she’s still here, Zoey.”

Zoey’s fingers fumbled as she pulled out her phone. She tried to dial, missed the number, and tried again. They couldn’t call an ambulance, it would be too public, and the last thing they needed was the press stalking them like predators. Mira didn’t look at her, she couldn’t. She was too focused, her hands stained red, pressing the towel into Rumi’s wrist with everything she had.

“She’s so cold…” Mira muttered, brushing wet strands of hair away from Rumi’s face with trembling fingers. “Fuck, why didn’t she say anything?”

Zoey’s voice finally came through, tight and high and on the verge of breaking. “Yes- Bobby! We need help! It’s Rumi- She… She’s unconscious, she’s bleeding—please, we don’t know how long-” On the other line, Bobby was panicking just as much, not entirely understanding what was happening.

Rumi’s body twitched, barely, and a pained groan escaped her lips. Mira’s breath caught. “We’re here, Rumi. You hear me? We’re not leaving your side.”

The markings across Rumi’s chest pulsed faintly, a violet glow barely visible in the harsh light. Neither of them mentioned it. Not now. Not when she was this close to slipping away.
“Stay,” Mira whispered, her voice trembling. “You don’t get to go. Not like this. Not without saying goodbye.”

Zoey finally moved closer, Bobby still on the line but she wasn’t responding anymore. Not after her eyes finally landed on Rumi. Trembling hands reached forward and brushed a wet strand of hair away from Rumi’s forehead. Her fingers hovered there, hesitant, like she was afraid touching her would break her completely.

And then she noticed it, the patterns.

They wound around Rumi’s collarbones and chest like living ink. A deep purple. Sharp. Too crooked to be natural.

Zoey’s breath hitched. “Mira… the marks-”

“I know,” Mira cut her off, eyes locked on Rumi’s face. “I don’t care.”

She leaned down, resting her forehead gently against Rumi’s temple, whispering the way someone does when they’re begging the universe to hear them.

“You can be anything. You can be demon, you can be cursed, I don’t fucking care. Just stay.”

Zoey’s phone buzzed, and she remembered Bobby still on the phone. He frantically tried telling her help was on the way.

“Two minutes,” she said quietly, not sure if she was reassuring Mira or herself.

Mira’s hand curled tighter around Rumi’s wrist. “Then she’s got two minutes to hold on.”

Chapter 3: Episode 3

Notes:

I changed my mind about the chapters so instead this fic ending here and now I decided to give you 2 more chapters

Anyway sorry for the slight delay, I just finished my last exam and only just had time to write this properly

Hope you like it!

The floor was wet. The once clean towels were now stained red. Mira had stopped tracking the seconds after Zoey ended the call, but her arms were still locked around Rumi’s body, holding her like she might vanish if she let go. Rumi hadn’t moved again. Her breathing stayed shallow. Rhythmic. Barely there.

Mira didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there, knees aching against the soaked tile. Her hands were numb. Her fingers still clenched the edge of the towel she was using to try stop the bleeding, even though it had long since soaked through, useless now. She kept whispering Rumi’s name like it was a lifeline.

Zoey was also kneeling nearby a little further behind Mira, silent and shaking, eyes wide and distant, her phone still clutched in one hand. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them cried.

It felt like crying would mean accepting it.

Then they heard the sound of the elevator door opening and closing, voices, movement, a duffel bag unzipping before the threshold had even been crossed.

And then Bobby was there.

He stepped into the bathroom and froze for a moment. Shock plastered across his face.

Zoey recognized that expression, it wasn’t panic. It was pain. Real, aching pain, the kind you can’t hide behind professionalism. His usual warmth was there, but it was cracked wide open.

“Girls,” he breathed, stepping in as the doctor and nurse moved past him, calm and practiced, already kneeling at Rumi’s side.

Zoey opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Just a soft gasp as Bobby rushed forward and knelt beside her, pulling her into his chest without asking. She broke the moment she felt his arms around her, not loud, not sobbing, but shaking so hard she could barely breathe.

“I’ve got you,” Bobby whispered, over and over, his voice cracking like old wood. “It’s gonna be ok.”

Mira still hadn’t moved from Rumi’s side. Her arms were still locked around her protectively.

The nurse gently touched her shoulder. “We need space to work. She’s going to be alright.”

She didn’t budge. Didn’t even blink.

Only when Bobby let go of Zoey and moved beside her slowly and placed a hand on the back she reacted by tensing up and tightening her hold on her best friend.

“Mira,” he said, kneeling so their eyes met. “You need to let them help her.”

Mira finally looked at him, eyes bloodshot, face pale. She nodded, once, and backed away on shaking legs. Bobby helped steady her, then pulled her into his side with the same quiet care he’d given Zoey. His hold was warm and comforting, and suddenly she felt almost like she was a child again.

“I didn’t see it,” Mira whispered. “I didn’t see how bad it was. She- She didn’t tell us.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Bobby murmured.

He gently guided Zoey back into his hug too, and watched as her eyes once again began to flow with hot tears. The right side of his shirt was now soaked, but that didn’t matter now. All he needed was for his girls to stay grounded and for Rumi to be ok, that was all that was spiraling in his head while he held back tears of his own.

The nurse and doctor worked in silence, lifting Rumi gently out of the wet floor tiles and onto some fresh towels laid out so her skin wouldn’t be touching the hard, cold floor. They checked her vitals, murmuring terms that neither Mira nor Zoey could follow. Her pulse was still shallow but steady. Her breathing was still faint, but present.

The bloody towels Mira had used to try to slow down the bleeding were peeled back, revealing the long, deep cuts still weeping across Rumi’s wrist.

The nurse pressed fresh gauze directly onto the wounds, weight behind her hands, while the doctor pulled an IV line from a compact kit. One of Rumi’s arms was lifted carefully, wiped clean, and the needle threaded into a vein with practiced ease. A bag of fluid was hung from a collapsible hook, the line flushed, the drip started. They hoped the extra energy from the IV fluids would help Rumi’s body stabilize.

The bleeding didn’t stop immediately. Blood pulsed through the gauze, lighter now, but steady. Another layer was added in tighter wraps. Rumi, even in her weakened state, flinched at the pain before returning to her unresponsive form. The nurse checked under the gauze after a few minutes, seeing the cuts had stopped flowing with red.

“The bleeding stopped” the nurse whispered to the doctor. He didn’t want the three people behind them to worry further.

“I can close it. You get her some blood” the doctor responded almost immediately.

Time was nothing but a blur for Zoey and Mira.

They stayed where they were, both folded into Bobby’s arms on the cold tile floor, clinging to him like a lifeline in the wreckage of something they hadn’t seen coming. How could they have seen this coming?

Zoey had buried her face in Bobby’s chest, her fingers twisted tightly into the fabric of her pajama shirt. She couldn’t look. She didn’t want to. Every time she even thought about turning her head toward Rumi, her body pulled back like it was touching fire. The smell of blood still clung to her senses, to her memory. She kept her eyes shut, trying to block it all out, the sight of Rumi in the water, the color of it, the way her body now laid limp on the floor being tended to.

If she looked again, she wasn’t sure she’d recover from it.

Mira, on the other hand, hadn’t looked away once.

Her body was tense in Bobby’s grasp. Her eyes were locked on the medical team, following every movement as the doctor stitched the wounds closed, as the gauze was changed and tightly placed around Rumi’s wrist, as the IV fluids were switched with a blood pouch. Every flick of tape, every shift of the IV line, every glance between the nurse and doctor, she tracked it all with laser focus.

Her jaw clenched. Her hands, still bloodied and shaking, gripped Bobby’s sleeve.

The final bandage was pressed into place with steady, gloved hands. The bleeding had stopped completely. The gauze was secure, the IV line with blood was steady.

The nurse gave a small nod to the doctor.

“She’s stable enough to move,” the doctor said quietly, standing. “We should get her somewhere warm so she can rest.”

Zoey lifted her head slightly at those words, still wrapped in Bobby’s arms, her eyes red but dry now. She looked toward Mira.

Mira was already moving out of Bobby’s arms.

Before the doctor could reach for Rumi’s shoulder, Mira had stood up, hands still shaking but determined. She crossed the space between them in a few short strides, her expression unreadable, eyes locked on Rumi’s strangely peaceful face.

“I’ll carry her.”

The nurse hesitated. “We can-”

“I said I’ll carry her,” Mira repeated, sharper now. She wasn’t going to be denied this. It was the least she could do, after not seeing how much her friend was suffering.

Carefully, gently, Mira knelt beside Rumi, arms slipping under her knees and shoulders. Her movements were steady, like she was holding something too fragile to exist. Rumi was still so light. So cold.

“You'll need to keep this elevated” the doctor told her, grabbing the blood pouch and keeping it high up so the contents would keep flowing into Rumi.

Zoey watched from the floor, her breath catching as she saw Mira lift her. She looked smaller in Mira’s arms somehow. Her head lolled against Mira’s chest, her bandaged wrist resting atop her stomach, her pale skin contrasted heavily against the dark t-shirt Mira wore that morning.

“I’ve got you,” Mira whispered, too soft for anyone but Rumi to hear.

Zoey was the one to get up next, making sure to look back to check on Bobby. He seemed calmer now too, but his eyes still displayed a clear look of worry and even guilt. How could he not know this was happening?

Zoey took the blood pack and the collapsible hook, keeping it above them. She followed Mira close behind, almost as if mimicking her every step.

No one dared to speak.

Mira’s bare feet were silent against the wood floor. Zoey stepped in time with her, careful not to bump the hook into anything, her eyes fixed on Rumi in Mira's arms.

The apartment was hushed. Not peaceful, just still. Like even the air had stopped for Rumi.

Zoey opened the door to Rumi's bedroom, not bothering to turn the lights on, as if harsh brightness would do more harm than good. Mira stepped carefully into the room, still carrying Rumi like something sacred and incredibly fragile. Zoey followed close, the IV hook clutched in one hand, the blood pack swaying gently from the motion.

Mira lowered Rumi down onto the mattress, arranging her limbs with slow, precise movements. She brushed a few damp strands of hair away from her face, like she couldn’t stop touching her now that she knew the heavy truth, and how that truth nearly took Rumi away.

She was still naked, her patterns fully visible.

Once the medical staff and Bobby had stepped out and left through the elevator, the air around them seemed to triple in density. And now, laid out in the dim light, fully visible for the first time, were those markings.

The patterns. They were impossible to ignore any longer.

They curled up her shoulders, across her chest, like the outline of a second skeleton. One line, Zoey noticed, split across her collarbone like a fracture in her skin. Another traced the hollow of her sternum. They shimmered faintly in the low light. Not quite glowing, but undeniably alive.

Zoey stared. She couldn’t help it. She had already seen them earlier in the midst of the panic, but now that Rumi was still, now that the blood had stopped and her breathing was steady, there was space to feel the weight of it and its meaning.

She'd hidden this.

From both of them.

Zoey sat on the edge of the bed, still catching her breath. “She didn’t trust us,” she said quietly. Not accusing, just… guilty.

Mira didn’t answer. She was still staring at Rumi, eyes tracing every line of the pattern like it might form an explanation.

There was no makeup here to conceal the purple patterns. No long sleeves. No tricks of light or carefully placed angles. This was Rumi, stripped down to truth, body stitched with something inhuman.

Mira finally moved, wordlessly stepping toward the dresser and pulling out a pair of sweatpants and a white sweater, one of Rumi’s favourite ones, stretched and worn, soft from a hundred washes. She brought it over in both hands, hesitant.

“Help me,” she said, her voice fragile but firm.

Together, they worked. They lifted Rumi gently, careful not to jostle the IV line, sliding her arms through the sleeves one at a time. Their gazes tried not to linger on the lines that wrapped around her collarbone.

Mira sat beside Rumi on the bed now too, her jaw locked, her hands resting on her knees. She didn’t look angry. She looked devastated.

“She thought we’d hate her,” Zoey said finally, voice raw. “That we’d turn on her like the others.”

Mira froze, her hands clenched into fists

“She lied to us,” she muttered eventually. “Every day. We lived together, sang together and fought together. And the whole time she was hiding this!”

Zoey looked across the bed at her, brow furrowed with concern. “You don’t mean that.”

Mira’s jaw flexed, but she didn’t look up. “I don’t know what I mean.”

They sat in it for a moment. The sound of Rumi's now stronger breaths in the background, rhythmic and steady, were the only thing in the room that felt somewhat calm.

“We were trained to kill creatures like her,” Mira said finally. Her voice was quiet, but sharp around the edges. “You remember what Celine told us. What demons were. What we were fighting for.”

“I remember,” Zoey whispered.

“And she let us say those things,” Mira went on. “In front of her. About how they were disgusting. How they deserved to be wiped out. And she never said a word.”

“She was scared.”

“I don’t care!” Mira snapped, but her voice cracked, and she shut her eyes tightly like the guilt was something she could lock behind her eyelids. “She should’ve told us. She should’ve told me.”

“She thought we'd hate her,” Zoey said, quieter still.

Mira didn’t respond.

Zoey reached forward and gently took Rumi’s hand in hers, brushing her thumb along the bandage on her wrist.

“She was raised in that same system. She was probably taught to hate herself, Mira. Who knows what Celine taught her.” Her voice wavered. “And she still tried to protect us.”

“And she didn’t think we’d be different?”

There was clear pain in Mira's voice now. And it echoed in the space between them like something freshly broken.

Zoey glanced at her, eyes glistening with fresh tears. “Maybe she hoped we would be. But she couldn’t risk it.”

That silenced them both.

Mira stared down at her hands. Her fists had uncurled. Her fingers trembled slightly.

“I would’ve fought for her,” she whispered. “We would've fought.”

Mira finally looked up at Zoey, eyes equally soaked with tears she was desperately trying to hold back.

“But now I’m wondering if I ever really knew her.”

Zoey looked down at Rumi, then back at Mira.

“She’s still her,” she said. “She’s still our Rumi.”

Mira didn’t answer.

They sat there in silence, watching the quiet rise and fall of Rumi’s chest like it was a renowned art piece. The weight of the present was still there, but for now they would pull through. Together.

Chapter 4: Episode 4

Notes:

Hi guys, gays and theys! I'm back from the dead with a new chapter

Life's been a bit chaotic so having time to finish writing this was a bit of a challenge but here it is! Hope you enjoy and I'll try to finish the next chapter soon

The light in the room had turned gold by the time Mira sat down by the bed, finally alone with Rumi. It had only been a couple of hours, and usually by now they'd be in the kitchen finishing their breakfast and talking about their painfully busy schedule for the day.

The sunlight poured in quietly through the thin gap in the curtains, brushing the edge of the bed in warmth. Everything was still. The kind of stillness that follows a storm, where nothing dares to move, like the world itself is holding its breath.

Rumi hadn’t stirred once.

She lay where they’d left her, tucked beneath soft blankets, her face turned slightly toward the window. The blood pack still hung nearby, slow and steady flowing into the unconscious woman.

It was the first time they’d been alone since that morning.

Zoey had gone to get ready for the day, reluctantly, after a long stretch of sitting quietly by the bed. Bobby had called to tell them he cancelled their schedules for the next few days, without giving anything away to outsiders.

But now it was just Mira and Rumi. And everything she hadn’t said.

She pulled her chair closer to the bed, dragging it an inch at a time so the legs didn’t scrape against the wood flooring. Her movements were careful. Like anything too sudden might break the spell keeping Rumi there.

Mira leaned forward, forearms resting on her knees. She didn’t touch her. She couldn’t. Not yet.

A bitter smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, but it didn’t last long. Her eyes dropped to Rumi’s hand, limp against the sheets, wrist still wrapped in white bandages.

“I keep running it back in my head. Last night. The night before. Hell, last month. And I don’t know how I didn’t see it. How I didn’t notice.” She shook her head, eyes narrowing on the blanket like it had answers. “You were pulling away, and I just… I thought it was just pressure. I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”

She exhaled, and this time her voice cracked when she spoke again.

“But you weren’t going to, were you?”

Mira looked up at Rumi’s face, still peaceful in a way that felt cruel now.

“You weren’t going to say anything. You were just going to disappear. And I would’ve- I would’ve blamed myself either way, but at least then I wouldn’t have to sit here knowing I was this close to losing you when you were right in front of me.”

Her fingers twitched, like she wanted to reach for Rumi’s, but she didn’t.

She took a deep breath, trying hard to steady her shaky voice and push down the need to break down and cry it out.

“I’m not good at this,” she muttered. “At being soft. I’m not like Zo. She’s… gentle. She knew it, somehow. She felt it before I even looked twice. And me?” Mira swallowed hard. “I just kept thinking you'd snap out of it. Like you always do.”

The room felt too quiet. It was suffocating.

“I’m so fucking mad at you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper now. “And I’m even more mad at myself.”

She reached forward finally, resting her hand lightly on top of Rumi’s like it was made of the most fragile crystal.

It was warm now. A good sign. But she still didn’t move.

“I should’ve protected you from this,” Mira whispered. “From all of it. From having to carry it alone.”

Her grip tightened just slightly. Mira couldn't let go of her hand.

The golden light from outside now touched Rumi’s arm. It made her skin look soft, almost glowing, like she hadn’t been halfway gone that morning. Like the water hadn’t been red. Like her wrist wasn't bandaged.

Mira hated that she could still see it. Even now. Every time she blinked.

“I keep thinking… What if Zoey hadn’t woken me up? What if I let us sleep another ten minutes?” Her voice was quieter now, thick with something heavier than fear. “Would we have found you too late?”

Her thumb brushed gently over the back of Rumi’s hand.

“You know what the worst part is?” she said, and now her voice turned sharper, almost bitter. “I’ve always told myself I’m good at reading people. That I can tell when something’s wrong, even when no one says it out loud. But you-” she broke off, her teeth pressing into the inside of her cheek, trying to ground herself before her voice cracked too far.

“You were smiling through it. Still laughing at our dumb jokes. Still making us breakfast every morning. Still telling us we looked amazing on stage...” She let out a breath that sounded too close to a sob. “And I believed it. I believed you.”

Mira looked at Rumi’s face again. She looked so peaceful. Too peaceful.

“I don’t know how to forgive you for that,” she admitted. A part of her knew she was being selfish.

Her eyes drifted down to the faint edge of one of the markings that had crept above the shirt collar. Just a small curve of that inhuman violet against Rumi’s skin. The patterns. The truth.

Mira stared at it for a long time.

“I don’t care what you are,” she said. “I don’t give a shit about demon blood, or whatever the hell those markings mean. You’re still Rumi.” Mira recalled Zoey's words from earlier, and how much they weighed on her now. “You still make the worst tea I’ve ever tasted. You still hum cartoon songs when you think no one’s listening. You still push us to work harder and be better every god damn day.”

A small laugh broke through her breath, then faded almost immediately.

“But you didn’t trust us with this. Not me. Not Zoey. And that’s what hurts. Not what you are… just that you thought we’d hate you for it.”

Her grip tightened again, not hard, but firm, like she was holding onto something slipping.

She paused.

Her next words were barely audible, but the most honest she’d said all day.

“I thought we were closer than that.”

Mira leaned down, pressing her forehead gently to Rumi’s hand, eyes closed tight. Mira stayed there, listening to the faint sound and fragile rhythm of Rumi’s breathing. The panic had passed hours ago, but the ache hadn’t.

She looked so different now. Not because of the patterns, though those still glowed faintly at the edges of her sweater collar, etched into her skin like secrets, but because Mira was seeing her fully for the first time. Not just as the loud, bright girl who made bad puns and hugged too tight and always found new ways to annoy her. Not as the teammate who hit every harmony without fail. Not just her best friend she adored.

Her fingers reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from Rumi’s face. She told herself it was just to keep it out of her eyes, just something anyone would do, but her hand lingered too long, and her heart tugged in a weird way again.

It wasn’t the same guilt from before. Not quite fear, either. It was something softer. Slower. She stared at Rumi’s mouth for a second too long.

“Don’t start this” her mind warned. “Not now. She needs you.”

Mira sat back, frowning slightly to herself, suddenly irritated at the heat in her face. It didn’t make sense. Why now? Why this feeling, tangled up in everything else? It was like the fear of losing Rumi had cracked something open.

She looked at Rumi again, and this time it wasn’t just worry in her gaze. It was something warmer. She exhaled, rubbed her palms hard against the fabric of her shorts like she could wipe the feeling off.

“Dumbass,” she whispered, but there was no bite in her voice. Just a softness she didn’t want to admit was there.

Eventually, the door creaked open behind her, soft footsteps padding across the room. Zoey stood at the edge of the doorway, hesitant.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

Mira didn’t answer right away. She reached out one last time, brushing her fingers across Rumi’s blanket. Then she nodded, not because she was okay, but because she was too tired to say otherwise.

“Yeah,” she lied. “Just… need a minute.”

Zoey nodded. “I’ve got her.”

Mira stood slowly, her knees stiff from sitting so long. She gave Rumi one last look before stepping aside.

“Let me know if she…” Mira started, then stopped. Swallowed. “Just… let me know.”

“I will.” Zoey responded with a small, weak smile that carried both pain and a hint of relief. She walked over to the taller woman and, standing on her tip toes, placed a soft, hopefully reassuring, kiss on her cheek. “I made some food, in case you're hungry”

Mira let herself lean into Zoey for a moment, into her warmth. She nodded weakly and Zoey slowly walked past her, sitting on the chair Mira had just vacated. Then Mira slipped out of the room, the door clicking softly behind her, the first moment she’d taken for herself all day.

Zoey was left in the hush of the bedroom.

She sat quietly for a moment, her eyes moving over Rumi’s face, still pale, still so heartbreakingly peaceful. Her hand moved automatically to take Rumi’s, threading their fingers together the way she’d done hundreds of times before backstage, during performances or even just dumb games they played to pass the time.

But this felt different.

Because the warmth was barely there. And her grip was limp.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice breaking. “I should’ve said something. I felt it, I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t push. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I thought… I don’t know. That you’d come to me when you were ready.”

Her thumb brushed across the back of Rumi’s hand. “You didn’t deserve to carry that alone.”

Zoey glanced down at the faint edge of the markings above the collar of Rumi’s sweater, the ones it hadn’t covered up completely. She’d memorized their shape already. Even their color. And though they still scared her a little, not the patterns themselves, but what they meant, they didn’t change how she felt.

Everything inside her mind was still moving too fast and too hard, replaying every second of that morning, from waking up in the comfort and warmth of Mira’s arms to kneeling on the hard and cold bathroom tile watching Rumi’s blood stain their perfectly white towels.

She looked at Rumi’s face one more. At the barely-there movement of her breath, the way her lips relaxed into a faint pout when she slept.

God, she loved her.

She had known for a while. Probably since they officially formed Huntrix, or perhaps even while they were still training under Celine.

It hadn’t hit like lightning, not some sudden moment of clarity like she felt with Mira. It had come slowly, the way warmth spreads through a room when someone lights a fireplace. It started in the way Rumi’s laugh made her feel lighter, in the way her eyes softened when no one else was looking, in the way she always made Zoey feel like all the noise in her brain wasn't just noise, but a melody Rumi loved listening to.

And Zoey hadn’t said a word about these feelings.

Not because she was afraid of rejection, though that fear lived somewhere in her, the fear of ruining their friendship, or ruining her relationship with Mira, but because she'd thought she had time. Because she thought loving Rumi from beside her, loving her in quiet ways like helping her braid her hair, or saving her the last rice ball, would be enough.

Zoey's fingers tightened around hers, gentle but pleading.

“I saw you,” she whispered. “I saw how tired you were. How careful. But I thought if I just stayed close, if I gave you space, you’d let me in when you were ready. I didn’t want to push.” Her throat tightened. “But you never did.”

She didn’t mean it like she was placing all the blame on her friend. Not really. Just the truth. A sad one that shattered her perception of their past few months.

“I get it,” she murmured. “I do. I know what Celine taught us. What she made us believe. And I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like to sit through all that, knowing you’d be hated if anyone knew.”

She brushed a thumb along Rumi’s knuckles. Zoey felt her own hot tears flowing down her freckled cheeks and dripping down onto the bedsheets near Rumi’s hand. “But I didn’t hate you. Not for one second. I couldn’t. Even if you told me you were a demon… I don’t think it would’ve changed anything for me. Because I know you, Rumi.”

Zoey paused, swallowing hard. After everything that happened that day, she felt as though she couldn't hold her own secret either.

“I used to think maybe one day I’d tell you how I feel” she spoke quietly, as if she was afraid her voice would tear down the whole building. “That I’d finally get brave enough to say it. That I love you.” Zoey quickly blinked her tears away that were blurring her vision. “I must sound so silly, confessing to you at a moment like this”

She forced out a laugh, but it came out broken. A mixture of a chuckle and a pathetic sob that perfectly portrayed how she felt in that moment.

She leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to Rumi’s knuckles, her lips lingered a second too long this time before she pulled away.

“Please just wake up. I don't know how much longer we can handle feeling this anxious.” She glanced over at the door behind her, still closed. “I've never seen Mira so worried. I think… I think in a way she blames herself.”

She exhaled, long and shaky.

“I’m not mad at you. I just…” Her eyes welled up again. “I just want you back.”

She looked down at Rumi’s wrist, tracing the faint edge of the bandage, remembering once again what laid hidden underneath, then up at the patterns on her collarbone again. They weren’t glowing like before, when they seemed to act like a second heartbeat. They were just part of her skin now.

“I don’t care what Huntrix was built for. I don't care about anything Celine told us,” Zoey said. “If being part of this group means we have to pretend you don’t deserve to live, then… maybe the group needs to change. Not you.”

She squeezed Rumi’s hand again, gently like handling a precious stone.

“You don’t have to hide anymore. When you wake up we'll all sit and talk about this, ok? We can fix this.” Zoey's eyes seemed to light up again for the first time since they found Rumi in the tub. A new fire, blazing in her brown eyes, set on solving whatever was hurting Rumi. “And so help me if Celine tries to stop me.”

The light in the room had dimmed almost completely now, soft shadows curling along the walls. Clouds had covered most of the sky around the city, dark and bringing the rain. Rumi liked watching the rain, she always said it was peaceful. Mira and Zoey never understood, but they'd often sit by the window of their living room with her.

Hours later, the sun long since dipped below the skyline, Rumi was still asleep.

Zoey had double and triple checked everything was ok. She had taken in all the blood, her body was warm again and her breathing relaxed and even. Now it was only a waiting game.

Mira and Zoey sat curled on the wide living room couch, their bodies close but their thoughts far. The light overhead was dim, casting long shadows across the walls. The kitchen across from them was still a mess of used plates, half full mugs of coffee and dirty pots from their early meals. They barely had the energy to make and eat that food, let alone clean everything after. That was a problem for future Zoey and Mira, and a part of them hoped Rumi would wake up and come scold them for not doing the dishes.

Zoey was tucked into Mira’s side, arms wrapped around her legs, chin resting on her knees. Mira had one arm around her but hadn’t said much since they left the bedroom. She’d gone quiet again, that kind of Mira-quiet Zoey recognized instantly. Not calm. Not peaceful.

Afraid. Confused. Hurt.

Zoey didn’t push at first, afterall she knew exactly what was going on inside her head. She just stayed there, breathing with her, letting Mira hold her even as she felt Mira trying not to feel anything at all. But it was getting heavier by the minute.

“She'll be ok,” Zoey said softly, not for reassurance, just to say it out loud again. “She'll probably wake up sometime tonight.”

Mira nodded but didn’t speak. Her jaw was tight. Her eyes fixed on some distant point across the room.

Zoey watched her for a long moment before she said, softly, “You’re not okay.”

Mira exhaled through her nose, quiet and slow. “Didn’t say I was.”

Silence again. Mira’s fingers tightened slightly against Zoey’s arm, almost like she was afraid Zoey would fall apart next, and then she'd be alone again.

“You’re shutting yourself in.”

Mira didn’t deny it. She knew she had that bad habit.

Zoey shifted, turning so she could face her better, one hand gently brushing Mira’s thigh. “You don’t have to do that with me. Not here.”

Mira’s eyes flicked toward her, then away. “I’m just tired.”

Zoey shook her head. “You’re terrified.” That hit harder than she expected. Even Mira blinked at it.

Zoey softened her voice again. “I know you, Mira. You carry everything like you’re supposed to fix it. Like if you fall apart, no one else will know what to do.” Zoey paused, heart aching. “But I’m here. I’m still here. And I can hold you, too.”

That did it.

Mira’s eyes shut tightly, and when she spoke, it was barely a whisper.

“I keep seeing the tub.”

Zoey reached for her hand. Mira didn’t pull away.

“She was so still,” Mira continued, staring straight ahead. “I thought she was dead. And I just… For one second all I could think was I didn’t say goodbye. I didn’t say anything.”

Her voice cracked then. And she looked down, as if ashamed of the tears she was trying to blink back.

Zoey reached up and cupped her cheek. “You didn’t lose her,” she whispered. “She’s still there. And we're going to help her now.”

Mira leaned into the touch. Just for a moment. And then both her arms wrapped tight around Zoey’s waist, burying her face in her shoulder like it was the only place safe enough to fall apart.

Mira spoke again. “When I saw those patterns, it was like something in me flinched. Like it was hardwired into my spine.” Zoey could clearly tell what was implied in Mira's tone. Guilt. Chilling, painful guilt.

Mira’s voice cracked. “I wanted to look at her and only see her. Because I saw what they told us to fear.”

Zoey’s hand slid up her arm, gently. “And then?”

“And then I saw the girl who used to hold my hand whenever my father called me screaming about what a disgrace I am.” Her voice trembled. “And suddenly the patterns didn’t matter anymore.”

They fell silent again for a moment, the weight of that truth settling in. Mira's jaw clenched once again as another sour thought reached her tongue.

“She didn’t even give us the chance to try to understand her.”

“No,” Zoey said quietly. “But someone made her believe we wouldn’t.”

“Celine…” Mira answered, slowly realising what Zoey was putting down. “All that stuff about protecting the image of the group. About how there's no room for weaknesses...”

“She was always harsher on Rumi,” Zoey continued. “I thought it was because Rumi is like her daughter.” She stopped herself for a moment. “I didn’t think it was this.”

Mira flinched slightly, lips pressing into a thin line.

“She always gave us those speeches about how demons were filth,” Zoey said. “Especially when we were still in training. I remember how Rumi would flinch every time she went on one of those ‘purity of the hunters’ rants. We laughed it off. Rumi never did.”

“She internalized it,” Mira muttered. Her voice was flat again. But there was something dangerous beneath it now. Cold and sharp. “Imagine what Celine told her when we weren't around.”

Zoey nodded. “She probably thought if she told us the truth, we'd see her the way Celine did.”

Mira exhaled harshly through her nose. “I just…” She pulled away from Zoey for a moment and looked down at her hands. “I never wanted her to be afraid of me. Of us.”

That landed heavy, and silence hung between them again.

Finally, Mira leaned her head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling like she could read answers in the plaster.

“I don’t care about the patterns. About what she is. Demon, human, something in between. I don’t give a shit.” She paused. “But it still hurts.”

“I know,” Zoey whispered, curling in closer against her again like before. “It hurts me too.”

They sat there in the quiet, the weight of the centuries-old dogma crashing softly around them, reshaped by the love they hadn’t spoken out loud, but both still carried.

And in the room down the hall, Rumi still slept, untouched by the conversation, but at the center of it all.

Their fingers were twined together. The world outside kept moving, cars humming, lights blinking, but in this space, in this moment, it felt like time had slowed just for the two of them.

Mira’s thumb brushed absently across Zoey’s knuckles. She’d been quiet again, but not frozen like before. Not buried in guilt or rage. Just… thinking. Turning something over inside her that had been there for longer than she’d wanted to admit.

“I think I love Rumi,” she said.

At the exact same time, Zoey said quietly, “I love Rumi.”

The words hung there, suspended between them. They both froze.

Zoey turned to look at her, wide-eyed, not in shock, but in that breathless moment of being seen.

Mira blinked slowly. “Wait- Did you just-?”

Zoey nodded, lips parting, her voice soft but steady. “Yeah. I… I love her.”

Mira stared at her, chest suddenly tight, like the air had changed shape. She let out a shaky breath, rubbing the back of her neck with her free hand. “I didn’t… I wasn’t sure until today.”

“I’ve known for a while,” Zoey admitted, almost apologetically. “But I didn’t want to push it. I thought she’d never feel the same. And we already had each other, so I told myself it didn’t matter.”

“It mattered!” Mira said, a little too loud than she meant it as. She quickly cleared her throat, her voice was quieter now. “It matters.”

Zoey’s expression softened.

“She’s part of us,” Mira told her, looking into her eyes, trying once again to be a source of comfort like she was used to being. “I'm not surprised we ended up both falling for her.”

Zoey nodded, a small smile on her lips. She looked down at their hands, still holding onto each other. “What are we supposed to do with that now?”

Mira exhaled, eyes distant. “We wait.”

Zoey’s brow furrowed gently. “For what?”

Mira looked toward the hallway, toward Rumi’s closed door, and answered softly.

“For her.”

Chapter 5: Episode 5

Notes:

Wow this was journey and a half. And I probably would have finished this earlier if I hadn't gone on vacation but here it is now!

Anyway, I loved writing this story and seeing it evolve on it's own. And I just wanna thank my friends who supported me and this fic.

So here's my last brick. I promise I kissed it before I threw it at you.

The hours bled together.

The penthouse had never been this quiet before, as though even the air was holding its breath. Mira and Zoey hadn’t strayed far from Rumi's room no matter how many times they told each other they should rest. Their bodies refused to move too far from her side, only moving between that bedroom and the living room couch. They sat close, whispering whenever they spoke at all, the world beyond the windows melting into shadow as night finally claimed the city.

It felt like the entire world had shrunk down to Rumi’s shallow breaths and the silence that clung to every corner.

Mira sat in the chair near the bed, her elbows braced on her knees, hands clasped so tight her knuckles ached. Zoey was on the other side, kneeling on the floor, curled forward on the bed with her head resting near Rumi’s arm, her fingers gently tangled with Rumi’s limp hand. Neither of them spoke. They hadn’t for a while since their talk earlier.

It wasn’t a silence born of comfort. It was heavy, trembling, like it would shatter with the slightest wrong word.

And they waited.

They waited like nothing else mattered. Like suddenly their fans, their responsibilities as both idols and hunters and their own personal lives away from it all had paused to wait for their missing piece.

And then Rumi stirred.

It was small, barely there, just the faintest twitch of her fingers beneath Zoey’s, a shallow shift of her shoulders. Zoey sat upright instantly, breath caught in her throat. Mira froze, her whole body taut with a fear she didn’t dare name. For a moment, they both just stared, wide-eyed, hearts hammering in their chests as though they were afraid to believe what they were seeing.

Rumi's eyelids fluttered. Painfully slow. And then, with the weight of someone dragging herself out of the darkest depths, Rumi’s eyes cracked open. The light in what she barely manages to recognise as her bedroom was dim, but even so, she winced against it. Her lips parted, a raw rasp catching in her throat. No words yet, just the sound of life clawing its way back into her.

Her gaze was hazy, confused, but it found them. It found home.

“Rumi…” Mira breathed, her voice breaking as though she hadn’t dared speak the name until now.

Zoey’s hand clutched tighter around hers, tears spilling before she even realized it. “You’re awake,” she whispered, barely able to say it, too afraid that the moment might vanish if she spoke too loud.

Rumi's eyes glanced between the two. Confusion, pain, and shame flickered all at once in her dark eyes, but underneath, the faintest spark of recognition.

And that was enough to undo them both.

Rumi swallowed, her voice little more than a rough whisper. “…I’m… still here?

It wasn’t relief. It wasn’t even curiosity. It was disappointment. A hollow question that made Zoey’s chest cave in and Mira’s heart seize.

Mira’s breath stuttered. For hours she had prayed for this moment, begged for it, clung to the sound of Rumi's soft breath like a lifeline. And now, after all of that, Rumi’s first thought was that she wished the attempt had worked. Mira’s hands curled into fists in her lap, nails biting against her palms, because it felt like being stabbed all over again.

Zoey’s response was different. Her whole body leaned forward, voice trembling but soft, desperate to break through the walls of shame she could already see forming in Rumi’s eyes. “Of course you’re still here,” she quickly said, her voice wavery from crying. She pressed Rumi’s hand tighter between her own. “You’re with us. You’re safe.”

But Rumi turned her face away, eyes damp and distant, as if she didn’t believe it, as if waking up had been the cruelest punishment of all.

Mira couldn’t take it. She stood up quickly, fast enough to make her vision blur slightly and her legs shake. “Don’t you dare,” she muttered, her voice sharp but breaking under the weight of everything she couldn’t say at once. “Don’t you dare sound like you’re sorry to be alive.” Her voice cracked on the last word.

The silence after those words was unbearable.

It stretched, heavy and brittle, filling every corner of the room until it pressed against their ribs, until even the air felt impossible to draw in without hurting. Zoey hadn’t moved her hands from Rumi’s own, her tears slipping quietly down her cheeks and falling onto the bandages wrapped around Rumi’s wrist beneath. Mira had sat back down, stiffly in the chair, one hand hovering near Rumi’s arm but not daring to settle there, as though afraid she would break her.

Rumi lay between them, pale against the pillows and covers, her dark lashes still wet from the effort of opening her eyes. She didn’t dare to look at either of them anymore. Her gaze was fixed on the ceiling, unfocused, as though even now she was trying to retreat into some corner of herself that they couldn’t reach. The faint glow of her patterns, muted in the dim light, peeked from beneath the loose sleeve of her favourite sweater, a secret no longer hidden, shining through like a personification of her sorrow.

Minutes passed that way. Or maybe only seconds. Time had lost its shape for them. The violet alarm clock ticked faintly in the corner of her bedside table, but none of them heard it.

Finally, Rumi exhaled, and her voice came like a crack through glass. Weak, broken, but still unmistakably Rumi's.

“…I didn’t mean for you to see me.”

Mira’s head snapped toward her face, eyes wide and sharp, but she bit her tongue, holding back the flood of words that surged to her lips. Zoey did the opposite, looking away from Rumi's eyes and down at her arm, her expression caught between heartbreak and quiet understanding.

Rumi’s throat bobbed as she swallowed, eyes still fixed somewhere far above them, anywhere but on the faces of the two girls who refused to let go.

“I just… I couldn’t handle the lies anymore.”

The words dissolved into the air, unfinished but damning, leaving Mira and Zoey struggling with how to answer without falling apart themselves.

Mira’s breath hitched at those words, and all at once the restraint she’d been clinging to splintered. She leaned forward, elbows braced against her knees once more, her voice rough, unsteady.

“I should’ve seen it. I should’ve known something was wrong. You’ve been right beside me every day, and I didn’t notice. I didn’t even-” Her voice broke, and she shoved her hand hard through her hair, angry at herself, angry at the whole world. “I let you keep smiling in front of us like nothing was happening. I let you drown in it alone. What the hell is wrong with me?”

Zoey lifted her head then, her cheeks soaked with tears. She reached across the bed, her palm settling carefully on Mira’s clenched fist, grounding her. “Mira,” she whispered, steady even through the tremor in her voice. “This isn’t your fault.”

Mira’s eyes burned, but she didn’t look at Zoey. She only looked at Rumi. Pale, fragile Rumi, her patterns etched faintly along her arms like a map of every secret she’d been too afraid to share.

Zoey’s attention shifted back to Rumi, and her voice softened. “I just… I need to understand.” She leaned closer, her hand was still holding onto her friend's and brushing her thumb gently against Rumi’s fingers, coaxing the smallest response from them. “Why, Rumi? Why did you want to leave us?”

Her words weren’t accusing. They weren’t sharp. They came out as a plea, trembling and broken, a question pulled from the deepest part of her chest.

Rumi’s eyes shut tightly, lashes trembling as tears gathered at the edges. Her lips parted, but the words wouldn’t come.

Mira leaned closer, almost desperate now, her voice raw. “Tell us. Please. Because I can’t sit here and believe you wanted to leave us without- Without saying anything.”

The silence stretched, broken only by the sound of Rumi’s uneven breaths. And when she finally spoke again, her voice was so small it barely carried, but the weight of it pressed down on both of them like stone.

“…Because I thought you’d hate me if you knew.”

The words left her like shards of glass scratching at her throat, and once they were out, more followed, slipping past her trembling lips as though a dam had finally cracked.

“Celine always told me to hide,” Rumi whispered, her eyes still shut tight, voice thick with shame. “She said no one would ever love me if they saw what I really was. That the only way to belong was to be perfect. To smile, to sing, to dance better than everyone else. To give everything I had so no one looked too closely.” Her breathing hitched, chest rising unevenly under the blanket. “She said my patterns were disgusting. That if I slipped even once, if anyone noticed, the Honmoon would break apart and you two would cast me out… or worse.”

Mira’s nails dug crescents into her palms. Zoey’s grip on her hand only tightened, silent tears streaking down her face.

Rumi swallowed hard, forcing the words out though they seemed to scrape her insides raw. “We were trained to kill demons. That’s what Huntrix was built for. To fight them, to use our songs to keep the Honmoon from breaking. Over and over, Celine drilled it into us. ‘Demons are vile. Demons are liars. Demons are evil.’ I heard it every day of my life.”

Her voice cracked.

“And all I could think was… I’m one of them. Half of me was the very thing she said needed to be destroyed.”

Her hand twitched weakly in Zoey’s, and she turned her face at last, her dark eyes wet and wide, flicking between them both. The glow of her patterns caught in the faint light, curling just beneath the edge of the collar of her sweater, impossible to ignore now. Impossible to run away from.

“I thought if you knew, I’d lose you. And I… I’d rather die by my own hand than watch you look at me like I was something to kill.”

Mira sat frozen in her chair, every word Rumi spilled cutting into her deeper than any blade ever had. The room was unbearably quiet for a few moments, save for the hum of the city muffled beyond the glass. Zoey clutched at Rumi’s hand, brushing it gently with her thumb as though the motion alone could anchor her here.

Neither of them could speak. Rumi had laid herself bare, stripped of all the carefully tailored masks she’d been told over and over to wear for years, and the shame in her eyes was almost too much to look at.

Finally, Mira leaned forward, elbows braced on her knees, her eyes locked onto Rumi’s. There was no hostility in her gaze, only an intensity that bordered on desperation. Her voice came low, raw, shaking as she tried to keep her words from breaking apart.

“You think we’d ever look at you that way?” she asked. “You think I could spend years by your side, share a stage with you, fight with you, eat breakfast with you every morning, and then… then just throw it all away because of some marks on your skin?” She swallowed, her throat tight. “God, Rumi…”

Rumi’s lips trembled, and she turned her face away, but Mira reached out, cupping her cheek with a trembling hand to guide her eyes back. “You’re not a monster. You’ve never been one. You’re the one who kept us together, the one who smiled when the rest of us were ready to collapse! You don’t get to tell me that was all fake. You don’t get to tell me you aren’t the same girl who’s been saving us every single day without even realizing it.”

Her voice cracked then, frustration bleeding into grief. “You should have trusted me. You should have trusted us.”

Rumi’s eyes filled, tears sliding silently on her flawless skin. Flawless like she was supposed to be.

Before Mira could say anything else, Zoey’s voice joined softly, her tone steadier, though just as soaked in pain. “She couldn’t, Mira. She was terrified. The stuff Celine drilled into us… That demons are filth... And she’s been carrying that weight alone all this time.”

Mira let out a sharp, uneven breath, her chest tight. “We've fought those things. We know what they’re like.” Her voice caught, softer now. 

Zoey kept brushing her thumb across Rumi’s bandaged hand, her own tears dripping down onto the gauze. “I don’t care what Celine taught us. I know who you are. You're the girl who laughs too hard at my bad jokes, who hums in the kitchen at six in the morning while you burn our breakfast. The girl I always looked up to ever since we started Huntrix…” She leaned closer, her forehead resting against the back of Rumi’s hand. “That’s who you are. Not these patterns. Just… Rumi.”

Mira dragged her hand down Rumi’s cheek before meeting Rumi’s gaze again. The storm in her eyes wasn't gone, but beneath it was a raw tenderness she couldn’t hide. “You almost left us,” she whispered, her voice fraying. “And I can’t forgive myself for not seeing it. But I’ll never forgive you if you ever try to take yourself away from us again.”

Rumi let out a shaky breath, tears spilling freely now. For the first time in years, the walls she had built so carefully cracked completely, leaving nothing but the frightened, aching girl beneath.

And still, they didn’t look away.

Rumi’s sobs came in waves, small at first and then breaking open until she was shuddering with the force of them, tears soaking into the pillow beneath her cheek. Mira sat frozen on the edge of her chair, her fingers twitching helplessly every time Rumi’s breath hitched, while Zoey stayed close, murmuring nothing more than soft “It’s okay, we’re here” between strokes of her thumb against Rumi’s arm.

Minutes passed this way, the kind of minutes that felt longer than whole hours, until at last the crying began to slow. Rumi’s chest still shook with leftover tremors, her breaths uneven, but the sharp edges of her grief had dulled into exhaustion.

Zoey was the first to move. “Come on,” she whispered, voice gentle but insistent. “Let’s sit you up. You’ll feel better if you’re not lying flat.”

Mira slid from her chair to the bed, moving slowly, carefully, as though every movement risked breaking what was left of their Rumi.

Together, the two of them eased her up, Mira bracing a steadying arm behind her shoulders while Zoey adjusted the pillows. Rumi didn’t fight it, though her arms felt heavy and her head sagged forward once she was upright. Her hair fell into her face, damp with tears, and Mira brushed it back gently, long fingers lingering just a moment more than necessary.

Rumi stared down at her hands, the bandages on one of her wrists stark against her skin. The silence stretched again, but this time it was hers to break.

“I don’t want you to blame yourselves,” she said finally, her voice hoarse and raw. She didn’t look up, her eyes fixed on the floor. “I know you both… you both keep thinking you should have seen it, or done something, but this wasn’t because of you.” She swallowed, her throat working painfully. “It was me. I’m the one who thought it would be easier to just… disappear.”

Zoey flinched like the words had struck her, but she stayed quiet, her jaw clenched, forcing herself to listen.

“I didn’t do it because you failed me,” Rumi went on, her voice shaking but steadier now. “I did it because I failed myself. Because every time I saw the patterns spread, every time I remembered what I was, all I could hear was Celine’s voice telling me I wasn’t good enough to stay. That I’d ruin everything if you ever knew the truth.” Her hands trembled in her lap. “I thought… if I left on my own terms, you’d at least still have the memory of me the way I wanted to be. Not this.”

Zoey’s tears welled again, but she didn’t interrupt. She only shifted closer, curling her arm around Rumi’s so she could lean against her gently. Mira still sat tense, eyes sharp and wet, her anger at herself simmering beneath her ribs.

“Don’t you ever say that again. Don’t you ever think we’d rather have your memory than you.” She shook her head, biting hard at the inside of her cheek as her eyes glistened. “Rumi, I would take all of you. The parts you hate, the parts you think are ugly, the parts that scare you, over a perfect ghost. Every time. Every single time.”

Her hand hovered, unsure, before finally reaching across Rumi to settle over her bandaged wrist, next to where Zoey was touching too, trembling but firm. “You’re here. Alive. And nothing could ever make me wish for anything else.”

Rumi’s lips trembled, her eyes darting away, but Zoey was already speaking, her voice gentler, steadier. “You thought disappearing would protect us. But Rumi… it would have destroyed us.” She squeezed Rumi’s hand, tilting her head to catch her gaze. “Do you know what it felt like, finding you like that? Thinking we were too late? I couldn’t breathe. Mira couldn’t even move away from you. The two of us-” her voice cracked, but she pushed through, “the two of us would never have recovered from that. Not in this life, not in any other.”

Rumi shook her head weakly, fresh tears sliding down her face. “You don’t understand… I don’t deserve this. Not from you. Not from anyone. I’m broken, I’m-”

“Stop.” Mira’s voice cut through, sharp enough to halt her. She leaned forward, eyes blazing though her lips trembled. “You don’t get to tell us you’re unworthy, like you’re the only one who gets a say. Because the truth is…” Her breath hitched, her next words pulled out of her as if they’d been caged for an eternity. “…I love you, Rumi.”

Rumi froze, her whole body stiffening as though she hadn’t heard right.

But before she could even form the words to question it, Zoey’s voice joined softly, almost a whisper, steady with a certainty that Mira’s hadn’t carried. “I love you too. We both do.”

Time seemed to stop around them. No hum of the city, no clock ticking on the bedside table. Just the three of them, suspended in something too delicate to name.

Rumi shook her head weakly, her tears falling faster now. “Stop… Stop saying things like that,” she whispered, voice fraying at the edges. “I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve either of you. Not after what I did. Not as what I am. You should hate me. I’m half of everything we were taught to destroy. I’m the reason you’ll never be safe. I-” her breath caught, shoulders trembling, “I don’t deserve love.”

“You idiot,” Mira said, the words soft and quiet with equal parts adoration and grief. “You’re not a monster. You're more than worthy of love.”

Zoey’s tears glistened as she leaned in closer, her hand smoothing over Rumi’s trembling arm. “I’ve loved you for a long time,” she admitted. “And I’ll keep loving you, no matter what you are. Demon, human, half of both… none of it changes what you mean to me. To us…”

Rumi’s gaze darted between them. She shook her head again, but weaker this time, the denial crumbling before it even formed. Her voice cracked when she spoke. “How can you still say that? After everything?”

“Because everything you are is everything we want.” Mira said, her hand still resting on Rumi's bandaged wrist.

Zoey leaned in, her forehead brushing gently against Rumi’s temple. “And because nothing, not your blood, not your patterns, not your fear, could ever make us stop.”

Rumi broke down once again, silent sobs wracking her body, but this time she didn’t turn away. She let herself fall into their arms, clinging to them like the lifeline she had never believed she was allowed to have.

After what felt like hours stretching together painfully, Rumi’s sobs quieted into broken breaths once again, her forehead pressed against Zoey’s shoulder while Mira’s arm wrapped protectively around her back. She clung to them as though she feared they would vanish if she loosened her grip.

“I… I love you too.” she confessed, breathlessly.

The air in the room seemed to change with those four words. Zoey stilled, her breath catching against Rumi’s soft violet hair. Mira’s eyes widened, her hand tightening unconsciously at Rumi’s wrist.

Rumi let out a shaky laugh that wasn’t really a laugh at all, more a sound torn between sorrow and relief. “I always have. From the very beginning when Celine first scouted you, I think. But you were my best friends, the people I needed most in this world, and I… I couldn’t risk losing you. Not by making it complicated.”

She pulled back just enough to look at them, her face streaked with tears, her patterns faintly glowing against the fabric of her sweater. “And you were already together. You loved each other. I thought… how selfish would it be, to ask for more? To ruin what you had just because I couldn’t control my heart?”

Mira’s eyes shifted around as she tried to form a sentence in her mind. Just say something, anything. But Rumi shook her head quickly, as though afraid they’d stop her before she could finish telling her truth.

“And even if I had told you… even if you somehow didn’t hate me for it… there was still the truth I couldn’t say.” She looked down, staring at the faint glow of her own skin across her collarbone. “How could I ever ask you to love me, when I’m everything we were trained to fight?”

Mira finally found her voice, rough and trembling. “Rumi…”

Zoey leaned forward, pressing her forehead to Rumi’s. Her own tears were steady now, but her voice was clear, tender. “You would never ruin us. Loving you could never ruin us.”

Mira reached up first, her hand cupping Rumi’s damp cheek. She wiped away the tears clinging there with the pad of her thumb, her touch careful, delicate, as though Rumi might shatter if she pressed too hard. But there was nothing fragile in Mira’s gaze,  only a fierce tenderness.

“Look at you,” Mira murmured, shaking her head, almost in awe. “Even like this you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. Don’t you get it, Rumi? We’ve adored you for so long. You think your patterns make you ugly, that your blood makes you unworthy, but when I look at you…” her fingers gently caressed Rumi’s wrist, lingering at the sensation of the gauze wrapped around it securely, hiding the wounds she wished never came to be, “I don’t see something to fear. I see you. Something so much greater than anything we were taught.”

Zoey leaned closer at that, her own hand brushing strands of hair from Rumi’s face before resting against her other cheek. “She’s right,” she whispered, her voice thick with affection. “You’ve always been the heart of us.”

Rumi’s tears welled again, but Zoey hushed her, kissing her temple softly. “You’ve never been a burden. Not once. You’re the reason I still keep fighting, keep writing our awesome lyrics. You and Mira are my everything.”

Mira’s hand left Rumi's bandaged wrist and grabbed her hand closest to her, she could feel her still shaking between her and Zoey. “You’re not some shadow hiding in our lives. You’re the brightest damn thing in it. Don’t you ever think otherwise.” Her voice cracked then, she brought Rumi’s hand up to her lips, leaving a tender kiss on the back of her palm. “I love you, Rumi. Zo loves you. And no matter how much you try to convince yourself we shouldn’t, that’s never going to change. Ever.”

Rumi’s whole body shook under the weight of their words. She looked between them, lips trembling as though she couldn’t understand how they could see her this way, after everything. And yet their faces were nothing but open, Mira fierce and raw, Zoey warm and steady, their love wrapping around her from both sides.

And in that moment, as they held her, Rumi felt something she hadn’t in years not shame, not fear, not the ache of carrying her secret alone.

She felt wanted.

She felt home.

A week passed, though to Rumi it felt like the days bled together into something soft and strange, almost dreamlike. 

Huntrix’s official social media pages had made the announcement: the group was going on a temporary break. No details, no explanations, just a simple statement to the public. The fans were left to speculate, but behind the closed doors of the penthouse, the truth was different. The break wasn’t for schedules or rehearsals. It was for her. For Rumi to breathe again. For her to put herself back together without the crushing weight of stages and cameras and expectations.

Life slowed in a way it hadn’t since the three of them had been thrown into the idol industry machine. They woke later in the mornings now, without the rush of rehearsals waiting to devour their time. Breakfasts stretched into long, lazy affairs, Mira proudly cooking for them while Zoey leaned against the counter, teasing her and taking sneak bites off the ingredients with a grin. Rumi, usually the one who used to drag them both out of bed, found herself being coaxed instead, Mira tugging her gently by the hand or Zoey sneaking under the blanket to curl up beside her until she stirred.

It was disorienting at first, to be on the receiving end of so much care. For years, Rumi had been the one pouring love into them, filling their mornings with her voice, keeping their spirits alive when the pressure of both the show world and their responsibilities as hunters weighed too heavily. Now, suddenly, the roles had shifted. Zoey hovered constantly, half scolding, half smothering, as though Rumi might vanish if she wasn’t in her line of sight. Mira’s gentleness was quieter but no less overwhelming, she never let Rumi go more than an hour without a touch, a hand brushed against hers, a quick hug, a shoulder to rest her head on.

And Rumi… didn’t know what to do with it.

She found herself flinching at times, not because she didn’t want it, but because she wasn’t used to the sheer warmth of it all. She wasn’t used to being fully seen and still held anyway. She caught herself apologizing more than once. Apologizing for being weak, for taking up their time, for being loved when she still struggled to believe she deserved it. Every time, Mira would bring her back into reality by cupping her cheeks and making her look into her eyes, sharp yet adoring, “Don’t you dare say sorry for existing.”

Zoey would hush her, softer, but just as firm: “You don’t have to earn us, Rumi. We’re already yours.”

Every night, the three of them ended up tangled together. It had started with Mira insisting she wasn’t leaving Rumi alone, even for a moment, and Zoey agreeing without hesitation. Rumi had protested at first, embarrassed by the closeness, but exhaustion and the ache of her still-healing mind made it hard to fight. Slowly, it became routine. Mira’s arms wrapped protectively around her from behind, Zoey pressed close at her front, and Rumi caught in the middle, safe in the cocoon of their warmth. A Rumi sandwich as Zoey endearingly called it while they were getting ready for bed.

The first few nights, she cried silently in their arms, overwhelmed by the reality of it. That they wanted her here. That they loved her enough to break the walls she’d built and stay anyway. But Mira always noticed, tightening her hold, murmuring against her hair. Zoey would wipe her tears away without judgment, kissing her damp cheeks until she got Rumi to laugh.

Days kept passing Rumi still wasn’t used to it. She didn’t know if she ever would be. But slowly, piece by piece, she was learning. Learning to accept the way Mira would wrap her arms around her waist randomly throughout their day. Learning to lean into Zoey’s affectionate kisses that left her face covered in raspberry chapstick instead of pulling away. Learning, for the first time, that she could be loved, wholly, unconditionally, without hiding who she was or having to work for it.

They loved her. That was the truth she was still learning to accept, one day at a time.