Chapter Text
Hiding is still an option.
Rumi knows that. She knows that she could just stay in her room like she always does when they have their free time.
Hiding in plain sight, too afraid to make a sound, not wanting to accidentally draw the attention of the girls outside.
They would hear her, realize she’s awake—and hiding—and they would ask her to join them.
And Rumi would have to say no.
She would have to come up with an excuse not to go with them to the living room—
because her patterns were faintly glowing that horrible, horrible, shade of purple. Flowing like a storm beneath her skin, burning, lashing out in fury because how dare she exist? How dare she leave her room and have fun and dance and sing an- when she was a monster? A rotten, useless, waste of spa-
So she would stay quiet behind the doors to her room, behind the bars of her cage, just as Celine taught her.
"Do this for them, Rumi. You know how better they would fight if this works."
Celine.
"I just have to test it."
The woman who raised her.
"So stay still and don't make a sound."
Her mother figure.
"Don't let them know"
So Rumi could hide—and she could hide like no one else could.
She had known the girls for at least ten years, and not once—not once—had they seen her patterns.
Rumi was damn good at hiding.
But she didn't have to anymore.
She no longer had to lock herself away in a prison of her own making, throwing away the key, forced to listen to dark whispers of even darker thoughts and feel the urge to peel her skin away just to find something beautiful beneath the blood running down her body.
"I just need one more test and I'll let you go, all right?"
Now she has Mira and Zoey.
She's always had them, but not like this. Now, they could see her for who she truly was, not who she had forced herself to be. Now they could see behind the years of abused and rotten walls Rumi created to separate them and they were slowly tearing them down.
And Rumi was letting them.
Helping, even. She wanted to be as close with them as possible, so she made sure to reach out whenever her body didn’t feel like lead.
There were days Rumi could laugh and live like she never had before. Her eyes would shine and glow just like the patterns on her skin. And hands, oh, so gently, would hold her and she slept, tracing her markings as if writing a love letter on them.
But there were also days when Rumi could feel as the anxiety of having her patterns out in the open would snake around her throat and squeeze. Tears would line in her eyes as her hands painfully grew claws and her once so beautiful patterns would blink and scream at her because how dare she b-
And then Mira would embrace her, whispering soft words into her ears as Zoey gently kissed her rotten hands. Sometimes, Rumi would fight them. Try to get them off of her because what if she hurts them with her wretched self? She was an aberration and didn't deserv-
But her girls were strong in body and in mind. And vulnerable when they needed to be. They wouldn't let her spiral like before, when she was alone.
And, even during those days, hiding is still an option.
They were there for her as they promised they would be. But they never forced her into anything. If Rumi didn't want to talk, they would simply sit beside her. They would knock on her door and respect her space whenever she needed time alone.
But Rumi barely hid anymore. It wasn’t easy at first, and she didn’t like it. Years spent lurking in the shadows around them, running from the safety they radiated, had left a deep mark on her.
But, with their help, Rumi was able to reach out.
And that was all they needed.
There are things, still, that she doesn't know how to tell them. She wants to, just doesn't know how.
"Didn't I tell you to keep quiet?"
How could she tell them about the things Celine did to her? They knew about what happened after they found out about her patterns. It was... hard. Hard to tell them. Rumi could still remember their faces and hear the gasp that Zoey made. Feel Mira's arms embrace her in a way that made Rumi question her own strength.
What would they say now?
"-mi?"
What?
"Rumi?"
"What?" Rumi lifted her head, looking around.
The three of them were in the studio booth, having just finished another round of brainstorming for their new era.
"Quick, left or right?" Zoey's hands quickly appeared in front of her, both closed and facing down.
She looked at Mira, trying to figure out what she had missed. Mira seemed normal, apart from the orangeish turtle sticker glued to her left cheek.
"Left or riiiiight?" Zoey sat next to her, hands still reaching.
Rumi couldn't contain the quiet laugh that left her mouth, feeling her patterns react with her. Slowly, she removed her hand from the notebook it was resting on, gently dragging her nails along the back of Zoey's neck until it stopped at her shoulder.
"Left"
"...uh?"
Zoey still wasn’t used to it—the side of Rumi that allowed herself to be this tender. She had always been sweet and affectionate with them, even before everything happened, but never like this. Not with this open vulnerability that was spoken through silent exchanges and soft laughs instead of loud, fake, small talks and pretend gestures, all rooted in fear of truly reaching out.
So when Rumi did things like this they usually couldn't take it.
"She choose left, dumbass" Mira's monotonous but sweet voice cut through her thinking.
"Oh! Yes!" Zoey looked down at her left hand, trying and failing to hide her blush from Rumi. It's not Zoey's fault the hot woman next to her is... well, hot!
Zoey opened her hand and saw the sticker of a dark blue turtle on top of a big beach ball. Yes, that would do.
Looking back up at Rumi, Zoey wanted to slap herself and Mira noticed. How could she think getting this close to Rumi would be a good idea? The short-haired girl wanted nothing more than to lean and kiss the other woman. But she wouldn't.
They were taking things slow with Rumi.
They stayed close to her, touching her as much as she allowed—always making sure she knew just how comfortable they were with her. How much they trusted her.
Through soft gestures and quiet embraces, they reminded her: she wasn’t alone anymore.
But kissing was a different level of intimacy and they let Rumi decide when, and how, it would happen.
They knew coming out of the shell she created wasn't easy and didn't want to pressure her into anything.
So, Zoey cursed herself for getting this close to Rumi without realising what that meant for her.
Rumi looked breathtaking and Zoey couldn't help but glance at the markings on her face. Noting how the colours would shift softly, changing silverly shades with such fluidity and grace that Zoey wanted to melt.
"I think you broke her." came Mira's voice from the other side of the room. The taller woman had just gotten up and was starting to organize the mess they had made (they as in Mira and Zoey while Rumi just watched, quiet in her corner)
Fuuuck.
Zoey's hand reached Rumi's face, hesitating while her eyes looked for some sort of permission. A small nod from the purple-haired girl was all it took.
"Ta-da! Now you have Bruno on your cheek!"
Rumi's hand touched her own face, a small smile on her lips. "Bruno? Really?"
"What? I think it suits him!"
Rumi’s eyes lingered on her for a second too long, the smile still soft on her lips—and Zoey felt exposed, but in the best way. She wanted Rumi to never stop looking at her.
"What is the name of the orange tortoise on my cheek?" Mira's head appeared from behind the glass of the recording booth.
"Final Destroyer"
For a second, no one moved. Then, they all fell into a round of laughter so long that Mira was swiping the tears off her eyes while Rumi doubled over, clutching her own stomach.
"Ah, that's a good one".
As they finished tidying up and were about to leave the studio, Rumi reached for Zoey’s hand, gently pulling her back. Zoey looked at her and her heart stopped. Rumi was leaning in, giving the shorter woman enough time to pull away. Like she would ever do that.
Rumi leaned in fully and their lips met. The kiss wasn’t wild, nor was there any pressure from Rumi—no. Instead, Zoey wondered if this was some kind of half-demon side effect because how can Rumi kiss her and taste like love?
Zoey felt a hand touch her cheek and she knew she was in heaven.
"Thanks for the turtle" Rumi said softly after they parted, and Zoey could feel the heat rise to her face "But I think yours is cuter" she added, glancing at the shorter woman’s cheek before leaving the room.
As Zoey stood there, frozen, Mira wrapped her arm around the girls shoulder and laughed.
"Zo, she got you good!" They started walking towards the exit "Your brain just stopped working. I'm starting to think she does this on purpose"
"...do you think she noticed??" Oh god nooo.
"I don't think, I KNOW. Also, cute turtle". Mira kissed her cheek and darted towards the door, waiting for her.
Zoey's hand reached her own cheek and paused in surprise as she felt a sticker, her hand now empty.
When had she...
Zoey's mind conjured the last few seconds and she realized she was too distracted by Rumi's lips on hers to notice anything different with the hand on her cheek or the fact that the purple-haired woman had glued it to her skin while they kissed.
Yeah, she is doomed.
Later, as they reached the tower and Rumi left to shower, Mira and Zoey sat on the kitchen counter, trying and failing to order food. There was something else on their minds.
Mira couldn't help but notice Rumi. It has been a while since she was like this, silent. There was nothing wrong with being a bit quieter, considering everything. But Mira was good at reading people and she knew something was up.
"Did you notice her today?"
Zoey was ready to answer jokingly, memories of the kiss and Rumi's eyes still fresh on her mind and lips, but she recognized the tone of Mira's question and could hear the uncertainty behind it.
"Yes. She's awfully quiet these days" Rumi was there with them, but sometimes she looked like a whisper while they felt like a scream.
"Something's up" Mira looked towards the hall, trying to see if Rumi would emerge.
"I know" Zoey's reached out and took Mira's hand on her own, moving beside her "Whatever it is, we'll be here for her"
The towel wasn't covering the mirror anymore. It hasn't been for a while now.
"What are you doing?! Cover these things now!"
She won't hide from them again. She doesn't want to.
Rumi breathes and focuses on her patterns, trying to hear the voices of her girls and drown out Celine's.
"They look gorgeous on you"
"How dare you look at me like that?"
But she couldn't. The moment she stepped out from the shower and changed into her pyjamas she froze. The memories assaulted her from all sides before she could even think of calling out to someone.
Rumi closed her eyes shut, one hand clutching her head. No, no. She's not there anymore. Celine can't touch her now, won't touch her now. Mira and Zoey won't let her.
Even if they still don’t know about the hours and hours Rumi spent in that office,
lying on the floor and bleeding-
Celine will never touch her again.
So why couldn't she stop crying?
If she opened her eyes she would see her patterns losing control. Glowing from their soft silver to an angry, violent, dark red, lashing out beneath her skin and burning her soul form the inside. But she wouldn't. Couldn't.
Her claws had come out, and Rumi could feel blood dripping from somewhere on her head,
but still—she couldn’t open her eyes.
Her other hand gripped the floor until she felt it crack beneath her fingers.
When had she fallen to the ground?
"Let me see the wound."
She gasped for air as she lost control of her breathing, her patterns moving like lightning through her body and burning her skin with it. She tried to stand, but fell back to the same spot she was before.
"I need to know if it was deep enough this time"
Her eyes were still closed but the room felt too bright. Too small. Too loud. Her chest was tight and she couldn't breathe, almost as if her body was scared of drowning in open air.
She had been fine this morning. Joking around, producing new songs, kissing Zoey. She was fine. Why did this have to happen?
"No. I see. I need to calibrate it more. Wait here."
A long time passed, and Rumi just lay there, hyperventilating and disconnected from her body. Her patterns hurt as if they too were afraid of the things she was reliving, trying to run far away from her. She could feel her skin burning and shifting beneath her marks, lightning-like shapes racing across her body, leaving her in agony, drained and feverish.
Her forehead was burning.
Her hands were shaking and she could barely see.
Rumi didn't know how long she had been lying on the floor of Celine's office, but, as she stared at the moon, she couldn't help but think of how beautiful the sun had looked when she was called there. Had time passed that quickly?
Footsteps approached from behind and she froze. Rumi knows what that means. Know that that sound carries pain and anguish and more marks than her already unnatural ones.
Rumi could only watch as Celine's dark green heels lurked around her vision. She felt watched, exposed. Shame burned bright in her chest as the wind against her small body made her shiver and remember there was nothing covering her patterns. As she could feel Celine's hateful gaze on them.
Rumi lost sight of the older woman but knew that didn't mean she was free from what was still coming. Her eyes landed on her own arm and Rumi felt sick at what she saw. Amongst small, bloodied, cuts there were so many deep burns, like lightning running through her hands and to the rest of her body. But, more than that, she saw her patterns.
A mistake carved in flesh.
She was never meant to exist. A flaw in creation, wasting space.
A hand softly touched her head and Rumi couldn't help the flinch, gasping as her body moved and more blood came flooding down her injuries.
"I'm doing this for you, do you understand?" Celine's voice felt like an anchor during a storm, safe. "This will help keep you safe." Rumi wanted someone to hold her and Celine was right there. The only person to love her even with her patterns
"If you had chosen not to come to me..." she never had a choice "...Zoey and Mira would be fighting weaker. Can you see?"
Celine's hand grabbed her jaw tenderly, slowly angling it until Rumi could see her face. The girl couldn't help but notice how Celine's hand avoided the blood on her cheek.
"Or.. do you wish for their weapons not to be enough?" What? "Is that why you fight me sometimes? Because you do not want them to be stronger than you?" No, NO.
Rumi tried to talk but was interrupted by the sudden, bloody, cough that left her mouth. Her breath caught, a ragged gasp escaping her throat as each heartbeat sent a fresh jolt of agony through her wounded body. She couldn't help but notice Celine's face as a few drops of blood touched her skin.
"Why are you selfish like this? Do you not care for them?"
Rumi wanted to cry.
"They would die for you. It is only fair that you do this for them, don't you think?"
Celine was right, she's always right. They would never love her if they knew what she was.
This. This is something she can do for them. Make sure they get stronger and stronger until they no longer need her.
Celine wasn't hurting her, she was helping them.
"So, will you keep fighting me or will you help me help them?"
Celine's voice was soft, careful, soaked in tenderness. She just wanted what was best for them.
How can Rumi say no?
She was lying on the bathroom floor for a while. Her breathing was starting to even out and her body didn't burn with the same intensity as before.
Opening her eyes, Rumi could see that her patterns were still glowing, still agitated and hurting her skin, but better than before. They no longer felt like they were trying to break her body and leave her hollow on the floor.
She gasped, slowly pulling her body up until she was sitting on the floor with her back to the wall. Looking straight ahead, Rumi could see herself in the reflection of the mirror and she looked awful.
She could see claw marks, starting on her forehead and disappearing on her hair. And the blood, damn, the blood. She knows that head injuries usually bleed a lot but it still scares her to see this mess. Dry tears on her face, mixed with blood at some points, and sweat going down her throat even though she showered not long ago. Patterns wildly swimming beneath her skin, hiding under her now bloodied pyjamas.
She was tired.
Unable to bear looking at herself any longer, Rumi reached for her phone—just within reach, its screen now cracked. She didn't even notice it this close to her during that panic attack, or whatever it was.
Her hands were still trembling, even though the panic had mostly burned itself out.
She didn’t feel calm.
Didn’t feel safe.
Just... empty. Drained.
And slightly surprised. It felt like she’d been lying on the floor for hours, completely unable to move.
Not even thirty minutes had passed.
What would they think? She was fine not even one hour ago and now her bathroom was dirty with blood.
Rumi could hide. She was good at hiding.
Hiding is still an option.
Her muscles are sore and her jaw is clenched. She felt like glass, fragile and waiting to crack again.
She wouldn't hide. Not again.
She wouldn't let Celine's voice win more space than it already had in her head.
She couldn't go through this again.
Alone.
The doubt was always there, pulsing with her heart, rhythmic, cruel, but she won't let it win. Not again. Not when her girls were waiting for her.
Her head pounding, she got up with trembling legs, feeling cold sweat drip down her back. Looking at the mirror, she realized the cuts on her forehead were still bleeding. She grabbed a nearby towel, feeling lightheaded, and pressed it against her head, trying to stop the bleeding.
Her vision tunnelled for a second and she thought she might fall again, but she managed to hold herself against the sink.
"shit, shit" They would freak out.
Rumi slowly left the bathroom and headed for the living room, where she could hear faint giggles and moving chairs.
Her vision blurred slightly and her patterns flared up again, forcing her to stop walking and lean against the wall. She bit the inside of her cheek, hard.
Just keep moving.
And she did.
Not even a minute later, she spotted the girls near the couch. Rumi could only guess Zoey was looking for the controller (that she always loses) as she darted around the cushions. Mira sat on a nearby chair, watching her with a small smile, making quiet side comments that clearly teased the smaller woman.
Rumi hated to interrupt them and didn't want to ruin the mood, but she couldn't wait any longer.
"I need help"
And as they both turned at the sound of her voice, faces lighting up instinctively—she saw the exact moment it hit them.
The moment they processed her words.
And saw the blood.