Chapter Text
The night finally had loosened its grip. Dawn crept in quietly, spilling light across the room until it reached Mira, tugging her awake. Warmth pressed against her side—Rumi, still fast asleep, arms locked tight around her like she’d never let go. Mira blinked, watching the peaceful rise and fall of her chest, the way her brows softened in dreams.
She really won’t let me go , Mira thought. It’s like she’s scared I’ll vanish if she loosens her grip.
A quiet laugh almost escaped her, but it came out more like a sigh. The silence made it too easy to speak, even if Rumi couldn’t hear.
“You have no idea how many times I’ve dreamed of this,” Mira whispered, her voice barely brushing the air. “Just… you, me, like this. No noise, no eyes watching. Just peace.”
She hesitated, then added softer, “And maybe… maybe more than peace. You don’t even know how much I…” Her throat tightened, cutting her short. Mira shook her head, forcing a small smile. “Forget it. I’m ridiculous.”
She tucked a stray strand of Rumi’s hair behind her ear, brushing against her temple. “You’d laugh if you knew. But still… I wish you could hear me, just once.” Mira paused, then continued. “I wish you knew how much I just want for us to stay like this.”
The room stayed quiet, Mira’s words dissolving into the still air—until a voice answered back.
“I don’t,” Rumi murmured suddenly, eyes still closed, voice husky from sleep. “But I do know how much you loved cuddling with me back at the penthouse.”
Mira nearly jumped out of bed, and she would’ve if it weren’t for Rumi using her strength to keep her there. “You—wait, you’re awake?!”
Rumi’s lips curved into a small smile, as she let out a small giggle, eyes still stubbornly shut.
“Since when?!” Mira demanded, clutching at the sheets, heart hammering in her chest.
Rumi finally cracked one eye open, amusement sparkling there. “You’ve been talking to me while I was asleep the whole time?”
Mira froze… then exhaled a long, shaky sigh of relief. “...Oh, thank God.”
Because that meant Rumi hadn’t heard everything.
“What do you mean by ‘Oh, thank God’? What were you saying while I was asleep, Mira?”
“Nothing too important, Rumi.” Mira smiles.
Rumi tilted her head and raised an eyebrow, studying Mira with far too much interest for someone who was supposedly half-asleep. “‘Nothing too important,’ huh? That’s suspicious.”
Mira groaned, trying to peel Rumi’s arm off her waist, but it was useless. Rumi was using her demon strength against Mira. “Drop it, Rumi, seriously.”
But Rumi only chuckled, tightening her hold and burying her face against Mira’s shoulder. “Hmm… Not until you tell me.”
“Rumi.”
“...Mira.”
The mock-serious way Rumi repeated her name nearly cracked Mira’s composure, and she had to bite back a laugh. God, she hated how easy it was for Rumi to disarm her like this—to make the heaviness melt into something lighter.
“I swear, you’re impossible.”
“And yet,” Rumi mumbled, words muffled against her skin, “you still let me hold you.”
That shut Mira up real quick. Her mind blanked, and all she could do was blink at the ceiling, praying her pulse wasn’t loud enough for Rumi to hear.
And yet you still let me hold you.
Like it was nothing. Like those words weren’t wrapping tighter around Mira than Rumi’s actual arms.
She forced herself to scoff, even as her cheeks warmed. “I don’t ‘let’ you. You just… don’t ask!”
Rumi hummed, amused. “So you’re saying if I did ask, you’d say no?”
Mira turned her head just enough to catch the sly curve of Rumi’s lips, still pressed against her shoulder. Damn it. Rumi was enjoying this way too much.
“I’m saying,” Mira retorted, “that you’d better be glad I don’t throw you off every time you decide I’m your personal teddy bear.”
Rumi pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, Mira instantly regretted looking. Those half-lidded eyes, hazy with leftover sleep, were unfair—too soft, too open. “Please. You love it.”
Mira choked on air. “Excuse me?!”
Rumi grinned, shameless now, sharp canines flashing, not going unnoticed by Mira. “You don’t see yourself, Mira. The second I wrap my arms around you, you relax. Every. Single. Time.”
“I—” Mira’s jaw snapped shut. She searched for a comeback, but nothing came. Because she knew Rumi wasn’t wrong. And Rumi knew it too.
The silence stretched, charged and fragile. Mira broke first, shoving gently at Rumi’s arm. “You’re delusional.”
“Sure.” Rumi’s smirk only widened as she loosened her hold— barely . “Keep telling yourself that.”
Mira groaned into her hands. “Why do I even bother with you?”
“Because you like me too much to stop.”
That—
That one landed straight in Mira’s chest, sharp and soft all at once.
“Rumi…” she warned, though her voice lacked any real threat.
“Relax,” Rumi teased, nuzzling into her shoulder again. “I’m joking. …Mostly.”
But Mira’s thoughts slipped to Rumi’s fangs—one of the things that proves that Rumi isn’t just a regular human. The shift in her silence made Rumi pause.
“Mira?” No answer.
“Mira, are you okay?” Still nothing.
“Earth to Miraaaa~ You okay?” Rumi asked, placing her hands gently on Mira’s face, thumbs brushing her cheeks.
That finally made Mira blink out of her trance. She swallowed, then said carefully, almost testing the waters: “Hey… um. Would it be okay if I… got a closer look at your fangs?”
Rumi froze. Whatever playful warmth had been in her expression slipped, replaced with something rawer—hesitation, unease. She blinked once, twice, as if Mira had just pulled the rug out from under her.
“...My fangs?” she repeated slowly, voice quieter now.
“Yeah,” Mira said, softer than before. She searched Rumi’s eyes, her tone cautious but steady. “Only if you’re comfortable with it. If not, forget I said anything.”
Rumi sat back slightly, her grip on Mira loosening. Her smirk didn’t return. Instead, her jaw worked as though she couldn’t decide what to say. For so long, those fangs had felt like a reminder of everything she didn’t want to be—demon blood in her veins, proof that she wasn’t fully human. Letting someone see them, really see them, was different from just flashing them in a fight. It was personal. Vulnerable.
“…Why would you even want to?” she asked finally, her voice more defensive than she meant it to be.
Mira’s expression softened at the question. “Because they’re a part of you. And I want to understand that part, too. But only if you let me.”
The sincerity in her tone made Rumi’s chest tighten. She wasn’t sure she could handle being seen that way, but God—Mira was looking at her like it wasn’t something to fear. Like she wasn’t something to fear.
Rumi bit her lip, then released a slow breath. “…Alright. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
She tilted her head slightly, letting her lips part. For a moment, nothing happened—then her fangs slid into view, sharper and longer than they had any right to be. The room felt quieter somehow, as if even the air was holding its breath.
Mira leaned in, cautious, her gaze fixed on the gleaming edges. She could see how they caught the faint light, predatory and dangerous… and yet. Her eyes softened. “…They’re not as scary as you think.”
Rumi blinked, startled. “Not scary? Mira, they’re literally designed to—”
“To protect,” Mira cut in gently. “To defend yourself. To defend us. They don’t make you less human, Rumi. They just make you… you. ”
That shut Rumi up completely. For once, she didn’t have a teasing remark locked and loaded. Her chest felt too tight, her throat too heavy. All she could do was watch as Mira’s hand hovered close, hesitating, before brushing lightly against her jaw—so careful, so deliberate.
“See?” Mira whispered, smiling just the faintest bit. “Still you.”
Rumi swallowed hard, fangs retracting as she quickly closed her mouth again, like she’d shown too much. But the damage was already done—Mira had seen her, really seen her, and she hadn’t looked away.
“…You’re dangerous, you know that?” Rumi muttered, voice low.
Mira raised a brow. “Me?”
“Yeah,” Rumi said, a reluctant smirk tugging at her lips. “The way you make me believe you.”
Mira looked at her, stunned. She didn’t know if Rumi was messing with her or purposely trying to make her blush. Before she could come up with a reply, a knock sounded at the door.
“Breakfast is ready, girls. Come out whenever you’re ready,” Celine called from the other side.
Phew, that was… something , Mira thought, exhaling as if the interruption had saved her from saying something stupid to Rumi.
During breakfast, everything felt normal. Way too normal for Mira’s liking—Rumi never disappeared. But she wasn’t complaining. Having Rumi close again, eating together just like back at their penthouse, even with the sudden physical touch—it all felt… safe.
“I told Mira she’s free to stay here, Rumi,” Celine said calmly, sipping her coffee. “She can help you with your training.”
“Training?” Mira blinked, confused at first. Rumi’s still traini—oh. Right. She still needs to learn how to control her powers…
“I don’t need Mira’s help, Celine. I can do it on my own.” Rumi rebuffed almost instantly.
Celine’s tone didn’t waver. “Having Mira there won’t weaken you. If anything, it will make sure you can control your powers without hurting the people closest to you.”
“I said I’m not comfortable with that,” Rumi snapped, a bit too harshly. “I might hurt Mira in the process—and I don’t want that.”
“I can protect myself,” Mira cut in quickly.
“She can protect herself,” Celine echoed at the same time, which earned Mira a fleeting glance of solidarity from her.
“Still.” Rumi’s voice was firm, final. “I won’t risk it. Mira can watch, but I won’t let her train with me. I’m not putting her in danger.”
“Rumi,” Celine pressed, her patient thinning though her tone remained even, “you can’t keep pushing people away just because you’re afraid of yourself. The whole point is to learn control . If Mira’s with you—”
“ENOUGH!”
Rum’s voice cracked through the air, raspy and echoing, her demonic undertone slipping out before she could catch it. Her eyes widened in horror at herself, but she quickly clenched her fist and fixed her gaze on Celine.
“Funny,” she said, voice low and sharp, “that you’re telling me not to push people away—when you’re the one who told me to in the first place.”
Celine froze, the words hitting harder than she expected. She didn’t answer.
“I said no. And that’s that. End of discussion.”
The room went dead quiet. Mira’s fork hovered mid-air, eyes bouncing between them. “... Guys, I’m still here, you know.”
Neither of them looked at her. Rumi exhaled sharply, snatched up her phone, and stormed back to her room without another word.
Celine pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a long, tired sigh. When she looked back at Mira, her gaze was equal parts frustration and resignation.
“She has a point, you know,” Mira said carefully.
“You think I don’t know that?” Celine muttered, letting out a small, bitter chuckle at her own hypocrisy.
“I’ll talk to her,” Mira said, this time with more conviction. “Maybe I can convince her. And if I can’t… then I’ll find another way to help her.”
Celine’s lips curved into a weary smile, her eyes softening. “...Thank you, Mira.”
Mira didn’t waste time. She set her fork down, wiped her hands on a napkin, and made her way down the hall toward Rumi’s room. She hesitated at the door, hearing muffled breathing inside—too steady to be asleep, too uneven to be calm.
She knocked one. “Rumi?”
Silence.
“... I’m coming in.”
The door creaked open, revealing Rumi sitting on the edge of her bed, elbows on her knees, hands gripping her phone like it was the only thing keeping her together. Her eyes were shadowed, unfocused, fixed on the floor.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Rumi muttered, not looking up.
Mira chuckled, remembering that those words were the exact words Rumi told her when she opened the door. “And yet, here I am,” Mira said, repeating what she said that night as she leaned casually against the doorframe as if this was a normal visit. “What are you gonna do, demon-voice me into leaving?”
Rumi flinched, her jaw tightening. “Don’t joke about that.”
Mira’s smirk faded. She stepped closer, careful but unafraid. “Then stop acting like I’m made of glass. You think I don’t know the risk? I’m here anyway. That should tell you something.”
Rumi finally looked at her, anger flickering behind her eyes. “It tells me you’re reckless. And if something happens to you because of me—” Her voice cracked, sharp and brittle. “I couldn’t live with that.”
Mira sat down beside her, close enough their shoulders brushed. She spoke softer now. “Then don’t push me away. If you want to control this, you can’t do it alone. You need someone who sees you… and isn’t afraid of you.”
Rumi stared at her, torn between lashing out and breaking down. Her hands trembled, and for a moment Mira thought she might actually cry—but instead, Rumi just turned her face away.
“You’re impossible,” she whispered.
“And you’re stubborn,” Mira replied with a small grin. “Guess we’re a good match.”
Rumi exhaled sharply, like the air itself had betrayed her. Her hands tightened around her phone until her knuckles went pale.
“I need to be honest with you,” she said finally, her voice low, almost reluctant. “Because… I haven’t told Celine about this yet.”
Mira straightened, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”
Rumi swallowed, her throat working as if the words were jagged glass. “Every time I train… I hear him.”
Mira frowned. “Him?”
“Jinu.” The name slipped out like a curse. Rumi’s eyes darted to Mira’s, then away, ashamed. “His voice—it’s always there. Sometimes it’s just whispers, like an echo, other times it’s clear. Too clear.”
Mira’s chest tightened. “Rumi…”
Rumi’s lips pressed together, trembling as she forced the truth out. “At first I thought I was losing my mind, but then I realized… it wasn’t just me. It was the sword. After defeating Gwi-ma, it feels… different. It’s like Jinu never really died that night, it’s just… his soul is in my sword. Living in it. Watching me.”
The room felt colder, heavier, and a quiet sheathing sound filled the room as Rumi drew her sword.
“Every time I bring it out like this, I can hear his voice. Judging me, talking to me, criticizing me, everything.”
Mira blinked, stunned silent. She wasn’t sure what she expected Rumi to say—but it wasn’t this.
Rumi let out a bitter laugh, one without humor. “I can’t tell Celine. Not yet. She already worries too much about me as it is. But you—you deserve to know. Because if I lose control… it might not just be me or my demon side, Mira. It might be him, too.”
Mira’s first instinct was to joke, to diffuse the tension. But the look on Rumi’s face—the fragility, the fear barely concealed beneath her stubbornness—stopped her cold.
So instead, Mira reached out, gently covering Rumi’s hand with her own. “Then we’ll figure it out together. You don’t have to carry this alone, Rumi. Not anymore.”
For a moment, Rumi didn’t move. Then, slowly, her grip loosened, her hand turning just enough to hold onto Mira’s.
Rumi let her head fall lightly against Mira’s shoulder, the weight both grounding and fragile. Mira held still, not daring to move, afraid to break the moment.
Then her phone buzzed. Once, twice, then again in rapid succession. Mira pulled her phone out, seeing multiple notifications—texts from Bobby, her manager, News Outlets, emails—and her manager’s call card suddenly showing, she let it go to voicemail. But her phone buzzed again, the screen lighting up in the dark room. For a moment, she ignored it, too caught in the weight of Rumi’s words. But when she saw Zoey’s name flash, her stomach tightened.
Rumi gave her a small nod, almost like she was telling Mira it was okay to answer.
Mira swiped to pick up and put it on speaker. “Zoey?”
“Mira, what the hell?!” Zoey’s voice exploded through the speaker, panicked and sharp. “You can’t just disappear like that! Everyone’s losing their minds, the press is everywhere—do you even know what’s happening right now?”
Mira squeezed her eyes shut, her free hand clutching the bedsheet. She could almost picture it: her phone flooded with articles, headlines, maybe even hashtags with her name plastered in all caps. It was right there, one swipe away.
She didn’t look. She couldn’t .
Zoey kept going, her breath uneven like she’d been running. “You’re trending, Mira. This isn’t just some gossip site thing—it’s everywhere . Fans are demanding statements, brands are freaking out, and—” She broke off with a shaky laugh that wasn’t funny. “God, do you even realize what you’ve done?”
Mira opened her mouth, then shut it. The urge to defend herself—no, to defend Rumi—rose in her chest, but the words caught. Beside her, Rumi’s face was pale, her guilt practically radiating.
“Zoey,” Mira said finally, forcing calm into her voice. “I know. I’ll… I’ll handle it.”
But the weight in her chest said otherwise. She hadn’t handled anything. She hadn’t even looked .
When she hung up, the silence that followed was suffocating. Her phone screen stayed lit for a few seconds longer, dozens of notifications stacked like warnings. Headlines, calls, unread messages—each one daring her to face them.
Mira turned it face-down instead.
Mira slipped her phone back into her pocket, though the notifications still flashed like alarms. Her curiosity itched at her, against Zoey’s warning. Finally, with a sigh, she swiped it open.
Mira scoffed.
Headlines everywhere. Screencaps of her face from the airport, hashtags climbing trends: “Mira Choi abandons Paris Fashion Week,” “Unprofessional idol behavior,” “Times HUNTR/X Member, Mira Choi, was unprofessional.”
She scrolled through just enough to see Bobby’s messages piling up, her manager’s frantic wall of texts. The weight of it all pressed down like a stone.
Rumi noticed the shift in Mira’s face, the way her jaw clenched even though she was trying to play it cool. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she spoke.
“...This is my fault.”
Mira’s head snapped up. “Rumi—”
“No, it is,” Rumi cut her off, her voice sharper than she meant, guilt spilling out in a rush. “You left everything—your career, fashion week, your reputation—because of me. And what have I done? Pushed you away. Made it harder.” Her fingers twisted around her phone like she wanted it to break. “People are tearing you apart because of me.”
Mira’s first instinct was to joke, to throw out something snarky, but she didn’t. Instead, she reached out, resting her hand on Rumi’s knee, steady and deliberate.
“You don’t get it,” Mira said, her tone low, almost fierce. “I’m here because I chose to be here. Not because I had to. Not because I was trapped. Because you matter to me.” Her thumb brushed lightly against Rumi’s leg as she leaned closer, words falling before she could stop them. “If the entire world wants to drag me for this, then fine. Let them. Because keeping you from being alone is worth more than every headline, every runway, every fan.”
Her chest tightened, the next words pressing hot against her throat. You’re worth more than all of it because I lo—
Mira’s breath caught. She forced the words back down, her heart slamming in protest. Not now. Not yet. Not like this.
She forced a softer smile instead. “...Because that’s how important you are to me, Rumi.”
Rumi blinked at her, confused at the pause, but too shaken to push. The guilt in her chest twisted tighter—yet at the same time, something softened. For the first time all night, her shoulders eased, just a little.
Maybe tomorrow she’d face the chaos waiting for her. Tonight, all that mattered was that Rumi wasn’t alone.