Chapter Text
Rumi pulls on a t-shirt, then eyes her reflection in the mirror. Her patterns are on display, pale against her skin, shimmering lightly. Her palms itch, wanting to reach for a hoodie, and she tries to banish the feeling with a different sort of ritual. Picking up the small bottle on the dresser, she shakes out two pills. But before she pops them into her mouth, she stares at them on her palm, an idea glimmering in the back of her mind. Slowly, Rumi places them back down on the dresser, then steps into the main room of the apartment.
Zoey and Mira are already curled up on the couch, both of them scrolling on their phones while they wait for Rumi. They look up at the sound of her door, both smiling at her as they take in her attire. It’s overwhelming for a moment: the care they have for her, their unfaltering support. She’s so grateful for it, and so guilty for not seeing it sooner.
The patterns on her arms flare violet, and Rumi rubs her hand over one, as if the motion could ease the anxiety. She can see her bandmates’ smiles drop, and Zoey’s mouth opens as if to speak before she pauses and glances Mira’s way. They’re letting her take the first step here, and Rumi isn’t sure if it’s reassuring or terrifying.
“Are we still good to take a couple of months off?” Rumi asks. “At least, off the big stuff?”
Mira scoffs, though her eyes never leave Rumi. “If I were to bet on which one of us would try to come off hiatus early, it’d be you.” The unmistakable fondness in her tone takes the edge off of the harsh words.
“Yeah, my money’s on you too,” Zoey adds cheerfully. While Mira is still lounging, Zoey’s sitting more upright, the better to see all of Rumi over the back of the couch.
“Thanks,” Rumi answers drily. “It’s just, I was thinking…” She bites her lip. There hadn’t really been a concrete thought, just a feeling that she was still working through. “About not taking my suppressants for a bit.” It’s almost comical to watch them react to that announcement, though the purple is still rippling across her skin. She can pick out surprise, relief, and curiosity in their expressions. “If I’m going to be working on accepting this part of me,” she continues, rolling her shoulders and flexing an arm briefly, “then maybe I should also embrace this other side of me.” She tries to smile. “You know, get it all over at once while we have some free time.”
It’s not like Rumi’s ashamed of her Omega status. She’s never tried to hide it. And while the label has never really advertised any of their secondary genders, it’s no secret that it can add to their appeal to certain demographics. There’s a very vocal set of fans that are super into Mira’s Alpha status, falling about equally into “girl power” and “please step on me” groups. Some of Zoey’s favorite fan letters are from fellow Betas, remarking on how beautiful and vibrant she is, and how that makes them feel better about their own designation.
Rumi gets similar letters from Omega fans as well, but it’s true that some fans can be super creepy about it. Most Omegas in her position — actors, musicians, athletes — tend to use heavy suppressants and scent blockers to discourage any weirdness. Celine had insisted on it for Rumi, both to avoid any potential “Omega weakness” showing and to avoid anyone getting close enough to see her patterns. And as they’d gotten closer and closer to the golden Honmoon, Rumi had become almost fanatical in her regime. She’d just needed to last long enough for her patterns to disappear, and then she could let other people close to her.
Well, that hadn’t worked out. And yet here Zoey and Mira are, despite everything.
“Is that what you want?” Zoey asks, and Rumi manages a nod.
“Then do it,” Mira says. “We have no right to tell you what to do.”
“But it’ll affect you, right?” Rumi insists. “We’re all living here. I don’t,” another shiver of violet over her skin, and she can see the other two watching its path, “want to make anyone uncomfortable, or go somewhere else to ride it out.”
They both flinch at that, like that possibility hadn’t occurred to them, would be the worst possible thing, and Rumi rushes to try and fix it. “I just— I feel safe here. With you.”
Zoey finally rises, and moves carefully over to Rumi, running her fingers down Rumi’s arm and then lacing their fingers together. “It won’t make me uncomfortable,” she says. “But thank you for checking.” She lifts their joined hands, and the patterns on Rumi’s hand and wrist glow with a soft iridescence. “We love you, Rumi. All of you. Patterns and Omega stuff and being a workaholic.” She laughs and Rumi finds herself smiling back, the violet retreating from her skin. “There are things we can do too, you know,” Zoey adds.
“It’s not all on you,” Mira echoes, standing and coming over to pull them both into a loose hug. “A lot of that Omega propaganda is bullshit. Only you can control your scent,” she mocks, her voice dropping into a loose approximation of a commercial that plays with annoying consistency. “As if that wasn’t true for all of us.”
Rumi can feel herself relax into the embrace. “You’ll tell me if that changes?” she asks. “I can always start taking them again if it’s too much.”
“Just talk to us.” Mira’s voice is firm, undeniable. “Don’t guess how we’re feeling. We can promise we’ll do the same. Right, Zoey?”
“Right!”
“Okay, okay,” Rumi concedes, the second word almost lost in a laugh. Though when she tries to step back, she can feel hands tighten around her. “Can we move this to the couch?”
“You mean, where we were before someone interrupted us?” Zoey flashes her a grin as she loosens her grip but doesn’t let go completely, tugging Rumi after her as Mira releases them. Zoey pulls Rumi down on the couch and Mira sits on Rumi’s other side, turning her slightly so that Rumi’s back is half against her, half against the couch. Zoey scooches over and slides herself under Rumi’s legs.
Rumi can catch a soft pulse of blue down her patterns, even as she murmurs, “You didn’t have to.”
“We chose to anyway,” Mira says, and Rumi tries not to suck in a breath. Zoey says things with such enthusiasm that it’s almost overwhelming, but Mira speaks with such conviction, like all those wonderful things are simple facts that brook no argument. It’s overwhelming in a different way, a band-aid pulled off at once. She’s allowed to be treated gently, allowed to be loved fully. They let her put her burdens down.
“You two are the best,” she says, and Zoey beams at her and puts a hand on her ankle, and Mira presses a kiss to her head and wraps an arm around her, and Rumi’s patterns are a sparkling iridescent.
——
Zoey grins as Rumi’s face presses into her shoulder. “Tell me when it’s over,” Rumi demands, as tense violin music and the sounds of screams come from the movie playing softly on the TV.
“Whatever you want,” Zoey answers, and raises a hand to shield Rumi’s peripheral vision from the screen. Not wanting to miss the chase scene, she peeks over at Rumi, and seeing that her patterns aren’t lighting up in anxiety, allows herself to refocus on the movie.
“Uh oh, does our princess need a protector?” Mira teases as she walks up to the couch, more snacks in hand.
“Yes.” Rumi reaches out with one hand blindly, and Zoey stifles laughter. In the month since the Idol Awards, Rumi has slowly allowed herself to open up. Going with Mira and Zoey to the bathhouse, wearing shorter sleeves and crop tops, spending more time with them in general. She’s touched them more, often hesitantly, her head resting against Mira’s shoulder or her fingers brushing loose hair away from Zoey’s face.
Zoey had once spent a whole movie tracing the patterns on Rumi’s arm, feeling her friend sit ramrod straight next to her when she started. But Rumi had told her she didn’t need to stop, so Zoey kept at it, until her fingers chased away the violet in her skin and the light settled into a soft blue. She’d only stopped when Rumi’s other hand pressed over the top of hers, stilled the movement.
“Movie’s over,” Rumi had said, with a smile that looked forced, with eyes that looked hurt.
Panicking, Zoey had sat up and pulled back. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! Are you okay? I didn’t mean to—“
“Yes,” Rumi had said, catching Zoey’s wild hands in her own and squeezing gently. “Yes, I’m fine. That was really,” she’d taken a breath. “Really nice. I just need a moment, okay? I'll come right back.”
She’d watched Rumi get up, watched her path all the way to the bathroom, had tried not to flinch at the sound of the door latching shut. She’d looked at Mira. “Too much?”
“I ordered all her favorites without asking and she almost hyperventilated,” Mira had reminded her. “She’s still getting used to all this.”
It shouldn’t hurt to be loved, she’d thought. “I’m gonna kick Celine’s ass,” she’d muttered instead.
Mira had smiled without mirth. “Only if you take me with you.”
They’d resettled on the couch, side by side, and shortly after Rumi had rejoined them, her face looking freshly washed but smiling as she’d sat down on Zoey’s other side. “Another one?” she’d asked, and as Mira started up the next movie in the trilogy, Zoey had felt Rumi’s nails gently scratch along her wrist and known that everything would be okay.
Now, three weeks after that and three days off of suppressants, Rumi is practically clingy. After Mira frees her hands, she puts her arms around Rumi to pull her closer, but Rumi refuses to let go of Zoey. Which is how Zoey finds her world tilting to the side.
“Whoa, hey!”
There’s definitely murder happening on the TV, but who knows who died. Zoey finds herself now sprawled over Rumi, who in turn is lying on top of Mira.
“You okay?” She and Mira speak together, and Rumi laughs between them, the sound vibrating through Zoey’s chest.
“I’m feeling a little squished,” Mira admits, and her voice does sound tight. Zoey starts to pull away when she gets a whiff of an unfamiliar scent. Something like spun sugar, delicate and melt in your mouth sweet. She hesitates until Mira groans her name. “A little help here?”
“Right!” Zoey scrambles back, tugging Rumi along with her until Mira can raise herself up. They’re all still slouched together, and Zoey tries to take a deep breath as subtly as she can. There’s Mira’s familiar scent, deep and rich, one that Zoey could pick out blindfolded. And just underneath that, the newer scent, the one that must be Rumi. She can see Mira’s chest expand, meets her eyes over Rumi’s shoulder.
“Oh hey, look! The scary part’s over!” Zoey’s voice is closer to a squeak as she folds herself further back on the couch. She turns back toward the TV, resolutely staring at… whatever’s going on, until she can feel a hand on her leg. She glances over to see Rumi frowning.
“Do you want to rewind?,” she asks, chewing on her lower lip. Zoey tries not to watch. “I know that’s usually your favorite part. I didn’t mean to make you miss it.”
“Nah,” Zoey shrugs. “You’ve seen one fake blood explosion, you’ve seen them all.”
“Tell that to your usual movie rotation,” Mira mutters, but Zoey ignores her to reach up and pinch Rumi’s cheek.
“I’ll forgive you if you hand me the snacks,” she teases, and Rumi’s shoulders slump with something like relief. When she turns and leans forward to get the bounty that Mira had brought in, her scent washes over Zoey. It winds about her, curls up like a cat in her chest, settles in to stay.
Oh.
Well.
That’s gonna be dangerous.
——
It’s dangerous.
Not literally. Not demons-attacking-them dangerous.
Dangerous in that Rumi doesn’t seem to realize that she has a scent now. She seems thankfully oblivious to the way that Zoey and Mira snap their eyes to her when she enters the room, tracking her path. Every word from her lips feels important; every laugh feels divine.
“If we put her on stage like this, we’d never leave the number one spot,” Zoey murmurs to Mira at one point.
Mira’s brows draw together as she glances at Rumi’s closed door. “If we put her on stage like this, we’d need to triple security.”
Rumi’s door opens, and they both look that way as Rumi steps out in leggings and a hooded jacket. “I’m going out for a run,” she announces, and Zoey and Mira nearly knock into each other with how quickly they stand at the same time.
“No,” they say at the same time, and Rumi flinches away from them, violet flaring in the mark near her eye. Zoey and Mira glance at each other, then each rush for their own rooms.
“Wait a second!” Zoey calls. “You need a disguise!”
She’s inside her room, grabbing for the sweatshirt she’d worn most recently, still flung over the back of her chair. She emerges to see Rumi where they’d left her, hands twisting in the sleeves of the jacket she’s wearing.
“I am disguised?” Rumi protests without much force. “My marks are covered; I’ll pull my hood up.”
“No, no,” Zoey shakes her head, offering her sweatshirt to Rumi, who takes it but looks confused. “Like a scent disguise.”
“Oh.” Rumi looks at Zoey and then over at where Mira is approaching with the baseball cap she normally wears out. She puts Zoey’s sweatshirt between her knees rather than drop it and pulls her jacket off. She clearly tries to smell it, but shakes her head. “I smell that bad?”
“You smell that good,” Mira answers, her voice too low for it to be a friendly compliment.
Rumi flushes and quickly drops the jacket to pull on Zoey’s sweatshirt, burying her nose in the material around her neck before Mira puts the cap on her head. Rumi adjusts it to fit more securely around her braid, then gives them a quick, nervous smile. “Better?”
Zoey hums in response, then steps closer, trying to sense Rumi’s scent under the mixed Beta and Alpha vibes she’s giving off right now. She can almost sense it, that sweetness that’s been growing ever more familiar, and she presses a little closer, edges her nose up a little higher. It’s probably right there–
“Zoey?” Rumi’s voice, slightly breathless.
Right, don’t get distracted. She’s got her nose almost buried in Rumi’s neck. She steps back with a grin, seeing the flush on Rumi’s face, the way the patterns on her hands run pink. “You’re all set!”
“Okay, great,” Rumi says, eyes jumping between Zoey and Mira. “I’ll be back soon, okay?”
“You have your phone?” Mira asks, as she does every time before Rumi goes off for a run without them, and the routine question seems to settle something between them. Even if Mira sounds more insistent than usual.
“Yeah.” Rumi fishes it out of her pocket, and Zoey spares a moment to be envious over leggings with a pocket. “See you!”
“See you,” they both echo, and when the door closes behind her, Zoey and Mira are left to stare at each other.
“She’ll be fine, right?” Zoey frets. “I know she’s not in any danger. She can just go all hunter and get away from anyone, but I don’t want some creep bothering her.”
Mira reaches out and draws Zoey into a loose hug, and they both breathe the other in for a moment. “She’ll be fine,” she says. “Even if anyone clocks her, she’s got our scents all over her.”
“Right.” Zoey pulls back. “They might think she’s claimed.”
By us. The unspoken part of that comes roaring into her mind, and by Mira’s taut expression, the same thing is happening to her.
“Let’s just go finish breakfast and clean up.” Zoey forces a laugh. “I think the noodles are way over by now, though.”
——
Mira’s phone buzzes, and she puts her book aside to check the new notification.
Zoey:
Where’s Rumi?
In the shower, I can hear the water running.
Why?
But Zoey doesn’t respond and Mira, with growing trepidation, is about to ask what Zoey is up to when the door opens. Zoey slips inside and kicks her shoes off, head cocked to one side until she can also pick out the sound of the water. As she steps forward, Mira can see that she has a cardboard box tucked under one arm, and raises an eyebrow at her. Zoey grins at the attention, but waves Mira off.
“Hang on, I want to stash this before Rumi’s done.”
Mira follows Zoey into her room, feeling something in her chest tighten as she watches Zoey place the box on a shelf, then put a turtle plush over the top of it. It’s… not hidden, not exactly, but it does make the box blend into the clutter of the room. “I thought we’d agreed on no more secrets,” she manages.
Zoey hums and moves a couple of other things around, then turns to Mira. “It’s not really a secret,” she says. “I just don’t think now is the right time to talk about it, and I didn’t want to lie if Rumi asked about it.”
“What is in there?” Mira noticed that condition, the unspoken invitation. She’s curious about the contents, yes, but it’s also a test. Is Zoey ready to discuss it with her? Or is it just Rumi that they’re currently tiptoeing around?
Zoey looks at her. “Birth control for all genders. Both the before and after kind. And in case someone didn’t want to take anything, I got condoms too. A couple of sizes, since I was guessing.”
Mira blinks at the bluntness, so startled that she almost doesn’t feel the sting. “I can control myself,” she says, voice tight.
“Yeah, duh,” Zoey says, so easily that it throws Mira right out of her spiraling thoughts. “But what if none of us want you to?”
There it is, the third quick blow that leaves Mira a little slack jawed, stunned into silence, her mind sliding into what that might look like: Zoey and Rumi, eyes half-lidded, faces flushed, reaching for her. Her eyes drop to Zoey’s lips before she drags them back up to her eyes, and she doesn’t miss Zoey’s smirk as she catches the motion. “Zoey, this is all—“ She closes her teeth on the words “a lot” just in time. She glances away, fingers drumming a beat on her thigh. “How many times have we told Rumi that being an Omega isn’t all about sex?”
“It still isn’t,” Zoey says. “But there’s nothing wrong with having it be a part of things either. If that’s what everyone wants.”
There’s a ghost of an admission there, but Mira needs to hear it. “And what do you want?”
“I want you both.” The answer sends electricity down Mira’s spine, pulls sharply at her chest.
Zoey, on the other hand, giggles at whatever she sees in Mira’s face. “I didn’t think that would be a surprise.”
It’s not, not fully. They say I love you to each other all the time, and have always meant it. Or at least, Mira always has, but she’s never – with one notable exception – had reason to doubt it from the other two. “We’ve just never really talked about it.” Not because it wasn’t important. But because its presence was understood. It has always felt like something that could come later, once the Honmoon was golden and they had more time for themselves.
“Yeah.” Zoey’s smile fades as her fingers twist together, and she sighs. “But we’re gonna have to talk about it. I’ve, uh. I’ve done some research on Omegas coming off of suppressants.”
Mira nods. She’d stayed up late the night of Rumi’s decision, reading through articles and studies on the topic. “Same.”
“So you know that Rumi will probably go into heat once all her hormone levels balance out.”
Mira nods again. The studies hadn’t been conclusive on whether the heat was more intense or not versus Omegas who hadn’t used suppressants. It seemed to be tied to several other variables. Length of time, outside stressors, the Omega’s support network, all of those factor in. She has a note in her phone with all the things that she and Zoey can control in order to make this a better experience for Rumi.
“I want to talk about it before it happens. The heat, and us,” Zoey clarifies. “I’d like to set boundaries before the lines start to blur.” She laughs quietly, but it’s a little mocking, and drags a hand down her face. “Cause. I don’t think I’d be able to resist if Rumi asked for help in the middle of it, you know?”
Miras blows out a breath. “Me neither,” she says. “We really should’ve talked about us earlier.”
Zoey groans, leaning her head back against the wall with a thump. “I was going to! But then Rumi asked about the suppressants and I didn’t want to be all oh hey, I know you’re figuring out the demon side and the Omega stuff and do you also want to figure out if you want to kiss me? Cause I really want to kiss you. By the way, is it cool if I kiss Mira too? Cause I want to do that, and maybe also the thought of Mira kissing you is really hot and—”
“Breathe.”
“Ugh.” Zoey tilts her head back and studies the ceiling. “I want to kiss her.”
“Same. But can we focus on the part where you want to kiss me?”
Zoey lolls her head over Mira’s way, eyes sparkling. “You want to talk about it?”
“Not really.” She steps forward, into Zoey’s space, and sees how Zoey watches her under her lashes.
“Want to kiss about it?” There’s something low in Zoey’s voice that makes Mira smirk, even as she reaches a hand toward Zoey’s cheek.
“Definitely.” She can smell Zoey, citrus bright, as she leans in. Their first kiss is light, gentle, and Mira runs her thumb over Zoey’s cheek. Zoey sighs into the small space between them, sounding like relief, sounding like hope. Mira kisses her again, a little deeper, feeling Zoey’s hand twist into the material of her shirt to hold her close. She pulls back only to kiss Zoey’s jaw, nudges her head up with her nose. As Zoey obliges, Mira ducks lower to trail kisses down her neck, gets to her pulse point, dares to let her teeth scrape the skin lightly.
Zoey laughs, a little breathlessly. “As into this as I am,” she says, “remember that we have a photoshoot tomorrow.”
Mira rests her forehead on Zoey’s shoulder. “That timing is the worst,” she complains, and Zoey laughs again, patting her shoulder.
“You can bite me tomorrow,” she teases. “After the shoot. And after we talk to Rumi.”