Chapter Text
Rumi had always been observant. When she was training, she would always know when she had made a mistake. Celine’s fingers would twitch, she would breathe just a little deeper, she would take a second before she spoke, to think about how to teach Rumi without being too harsh.
Your stance is unbalanced. You need to be a rock, unbreakable.
Remi always knew what she meant.
You’re pathetic.
So, Rumi would always watch, so that Celine didn’t have to force herself to be kinder.
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Rumi had always been observant. When she tried to talk to Celine about her marks, Celine would never look directly at her when she said that the Golden Honmoon would cure her. She would always cover the marks and look out, like she was speaking to someone else.
Rumi could tell that she was lying.
Rumi knew that what she was could not be cured. She knew that demons were demons and humans were humans, and that she fell on the wrong side of that line. It was why she had no mother.
It was why when she hugged Celine she could feel her body tense, feel her fear, and hug her anyway. Because Rumi had always been selfish.
So, when Celine looked away, when her eyes shone with grief, Rumi knew that creating the Golden Honmoon would kill her. Rumi knew that she was going to die.
And she knew that this was justice.
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Rumi had always been observant. When Zoey and Mira would invite her with them, she could tell that they knew she would disappoint them.
She always did.
She saw the ways they would look at each other when she made excuses. She saw the ways they were closer when they came back. She saw them hesitate when she spoke.
She always did make it difficult.
When she asked Celine if they could ever accept her.
Ever love her.
Celine would always gently let her down.
They will kill you if you ever tell them. Wait until you have built the Golden Honmoon, then you can be with them.
So, Rumi would be selfish. She would let them down.
Again and again.
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Rumi had always been observant. She could tell that they, cared, for her. She could see it in the way they would always make sure that she had enough rest.
It was too much, but she could never resist being with them. Rumi had always been selfish.
She could see it in the way they made sure she stayed with them in the quiet moments of their lives. Stayed with them for movie nights, stayed with them while Zoey talked about turtles for hours, stayed with them while Mira forced them to listen to her brag about having the best Huntrix brand ramyeon flavour.
She wished she could spend her whole life in quiet moments with them.
She could see it in the ways they fretted when she took a scratch or a hit from a demon, jumping to take it for them.
She felt her ribs floating in her chest; gouges burning through her back. It felt like duty.
But Rumi had always been selfish. She felt herself bask in them. She indulged herself in feeling Zoey’s arm pressed against her shoulder. She adored the decadence of Mira’s hands guiding her body through their choreography.
I love you.
She knew this would only make them hurt more.
But Rumi had always been selfish.
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Rumi had always been observant. When she stumbled back-stage, when she saw them wide-eyed and breathless, she could tell that it wasn’t really them on the stage.
Wasn’t really them who hated her.
But Rumi had never been good with words.
They held their weapons like it hurt them.
Rumi had always known what it meant to be a demon. It meant that she would always hurt people. It meant that she was breaking the Honmoon.
It meant that Zoey and Mira had a duty.
Rumi had always known that this day would come.
Rumi had always hoped it wouldn’t.
So, when she saw Zoey raise her knives like they would protect her, Rumi knew what had to happen.
It felt familiar.
Rumi stood up straight, her arms (claws), falling to her sides.
It felt like duty.
“Make sure Bobby knows it’s not his fault. You know how he is, he’ll blame himself if you let him.”
It felt like justice.
“Mira, when Zoey gets upset she stops eating meals. She’ll keep snacks around her, but she won’t eat them properly. I usually tried eating with her, it helps her forget that she’s avoiding food.”
Rumi had always been observant.
“There are letters for you, in the bottom of my closet, second drawer on the left. I’m sorry that I could never say it in person.”
Rumi had always been selfish.
I love you both so much and I’m sorry that I never told you what I am. I love you and I always have. You were the best parts of my life and you deserved so much better than me. If you’re reading this, I’m sorry that I made it harder for you, I tried to make it easier but I couldn’t stop myself from loving you. I always wanted to spend my life with you (It was easier to never say something if it was written down (written down where you never had to see them say no.))
“There’s a note you can use, it’s in my top drawer. It’ll make it look like I did it myself.”
She always knew that the Golden Honmoon would kill her (she was ready to finally build it.)
Rumi looked at Mira’s Gok-do. “Your best bet is my heart. I still have a human body, so you have to hit a vital organ.”
Rumi knew that she was a demon.
“But could you please go for my neck? Near the top, the brain stem is a vital organ.”
Rumi had spent one night, years ago, researching the most painless way to die.
Rumi closed her eyes (selfish) and waited for the sting (duty), waited for her flesh to part (I wish I could live with you (please don’t kill me.))
The gok-do rang when it hit the ground.
Why? This is how it was supposed to go.
Rumi opened her eyes.
Oh, they’re scared.
They were trembling. They were crying.
I made it worse for them.
Rumi pulled at the Honmoon, summoning her blade (for the last time.)
“I’m sorry. I should have made this easy for you.”
But Rumi was selfish, she couldn’t bear to feel them hate her.
Rumi aimed the sword at her heart.
Rumi wanted to live with them. Rumi wanted to love them. Rumi wanted them to love her.
Rumi didn’t hear them cry out, didn’t see them lunge to stop her.
Her blood was rushing in her ears, her hands were shaking. Rumi had always been a coward.
Rumi dropped her blade before she could do it.
Rumi had always been pathetic.
Rumi felt tears running down her face.
She never let herself cry.
Rumi knew why she had to ask someone else to kill her.
Rumi loved them. Rumi couldn’t let them go. Rumi would infect them and would never have the strength to leave them. Rumi wanted to spend her whole life with them.
Rumi looked up, and they had her closed in. She flinched.
She didn’t want to die.
Mira cupped her cheek. It felt like velvet and silk and fire and the Honmoon. Zoey wrapped herself around her waist, her arms felt like the sunrise and her cries sounded like nails on a chalkboard.
They will kill you.
Why weren’t they?
Rumi had always been selfish. She had always dared to hope.
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Rumi had always been observant. Zoey and Mira never left her alone after that, they always kept Rumi within sight.
It felt warm and kind and loving and perfect.
It was too much.
She didn’t deserve it.
They always shared a bed now. Rumi would wake up in the night, but they would always keep her wrapped up in their arms and she never could resist them.
They loved her.