Chapter Text
How quickly can you lose everything?
This is a question asked many times already, by many people. It is one that has concerned most humans, probably, and even more demons. The answer depends on who you ask specifically, though: some might say that you can never lose everything , while others might give you specific time windows or, instead, more or less philosophical replies about the nature of possession instead.
Celine had lost everything in one night.
This is not new: it has been talked about and analysed many, many times already, in a way most things around famous people are. Ryu Mi-yeong and Heyjin Kim and Song Celine had always been entertaining, and they were so even more after their brutal turn from stars into tragedies.
The ‘Sunlight Sisters’ disbanding comes shocking, out of no-where, less than a week before sung tan jul .
The reason why is even more shocking – just a day ago, there had been paparazzi pictures of Song Celine leaving a grocery store packed with bags full of food and of Heyjin Kim halfway across the country, as she was stepping out of her hotel; and then the next there is a hauntingly captured moment of Celine all alone, illuminated by the lights of a police car and bloodied and clutching a baby to her chest, and Ryu Mi-yeong is dead and Heyjin Kim has disappeared and their label releases a statement that the ‘Sunlight Sisters’ are disbanded, effect immediately.
It takes the news and public months to get over the initial shock.
Years, actually.
How couldn’t it? They argue with the few people who seem to possess at least a bit of decency, who insist that maybe, perhaps, Song Celine should be allowed to grieve in peace, that maybe, perhaps,the custody battle between her and the label about Ryu Mi-yeong’s baby should not be made a public affair. Have you seen the way she held the newborn at the funeral? Have you seen the pictures of Heyjin Kim drunk out of her mind in Donghae? We have to know, do you understand?
But yes: even though the aftershocks last for months, years , even, all it takes is one fateful night for Celine to lose everything.
And then, of course, when Huntr/x is announced to the world almost two decades later, there are those who cannot keep their mouths shut, who glare and whisper and gossip and wonder: will this end the same way ?
Not that anyone hopes it will.
But then again – it would be a fitting return of a circle, somehow.
– .˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳. –
(It’s rare that they get a day off during their training. Neither the demons nor the K-Pop industry, the latter of which is arguably the more dangerous one, care much for breaks or rest or least of all vacation.)
(The first thing they had learned was this: always be prepared for a fight.)
(And it didn’t make a lot of sense, at least not to her and Mira – the traditional hanok that had been within possession of the hunters for centuries already was, after all, the safest place in the entire world, there would never be a battle here – but they listened anyway. On top of that, there wasn’t really much to do against Celine and her training regime.)
(Also, Zoey really, really, really didn’t want to lose this opportunity that had been given to her.)
(So yes – it is rare that they have a day off.)
(She doesn’t necessarily need one, of course. Zoey is perfectly fine like she is, and she would probably, if she had to be honest, rather cut off a hand or so – well not a hand, she likes hers very much, maybe a toe or something? – than to risk ruining the bit of positive relationship she’s managed to build with Celine.)
(Asking for a day off would probably result in her fucking this mentor mentee thing up before it could even properly go off the rails.)
(So no, she doesn’t per se need it – but there is no denying that, as pretty and cool and breathtaking the historical estate they live in is, it’s also beginning to feel a little like a cage, after three months spent here.)
(The furthest she has gone was the convenience store down the road: almost an hour by foot and the closest bit of civilization around.)
(Of course, there are lots of things to learn and even more things to do, to work on, but Zoey has always been easily pent up and far too energetic – and she’s beginning to notice that Mira, too, is getting antsy and quicker to frustrate every day. Not that they talk about it – mostly they chat about movies and music and sometimes, sue them, they complain a little about Rumi and Celine to one another – but when you spend your life trying to always, always accommodate people, you’re bound to notice when they go through a shift in personality.)
(Okay, she will admit, that’s maybe laying it on a little thick.)
(It’s not that Mira’s whole character suddenly changes.)
(She’s just as blunt and lowkey rude and sometimes a little mean as ever. But also her moves during sparring grew wilder and rougher and that was normal with Rumi , yes, but not Zoey herself. However, she is currently nursing a black eye that yes, on one hand makes her look like an absolute hot badass, but on the other hand also hurts like a bitch.)
(Zoey doesn’t easily hold a grudge – she is a little mad at Mira for this, though.)
(Anyways: it’s rare that they get a day off.)
(So rare, even, that it has basically only happened twice before. Once immediately after the two of them were cast and first arrived at the estate, to meet Rumi and see their new home; and the other time when Celine had gotten a call from a number saved as ‘K’ and promptly dropped everything to disappear into her office for the rest of the afternoon.)
(But Celine is not there, today.)
(Instead, she’s in Seoul, on official label business, and the three of them are home alone. They had had a to-do list, of course, including going through a variety of way too advanced fighting forms that seem to be taken directly from a centuries old book, but all of that kinda blew into the wind when a very well-placed but still very rude fist had found its mark on Zoey’s face.)
(Rumi had put a temporary stop to training after that, went to get an ice pack for Zoey and then immediately left again.)
(Presumably to call Celine and snitch on them.)
(Who even knows.)
(Silence fills the space between them, the only real noise is the distant chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves in the wind. It’s a late summer day, but not as hot as one would expect – a gentle breeze is softly ghosting over her bare arms, cooling down the sweat sheeting her skin, and even though the sun is still strong in the sky, she doesn’t feel too hot underneath the beams. Not like she had before, during sparring.)
(It’s almost nice.)
(And then Rumi, a backpack slung across her shoulder and fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of her hoodie, steps into the courtyard where Mira is stretching and Zoey is checking out her black eye on her phone screen and says: “Let’s go for a walk, you two.”)
(It’s such an unusual thing out of her mouth that Zoey promptly drops her make-shift mirror.)
(Wait – can you even call it make-shift?)
(Does the selfie function of the camera count as a proper mirror? It’s not really one, of course, but it kind of does the same thing in the end, no? Then again, she also once read somewhere that phone cameras especially always have just the slighted tilt to their lenses, or something like that, which makes the pictures come out just a smidge off – not enough to actually notice , but enough to subconsciously catch on just the tiniest bit. Apparently, that’s why, when looking into a proper mirror and then comparing it to a selfie, the latter will always seem just a bit uncanny, and also–)
(Woah, okay.)
(Break time brain, thank you.)
(She blinks, once.)
(Oh right, she dropped her phone.)
(Because Rumi wanted to go on a walk and– wait, oh shit, holy fuck ?! )
(“What?” Mira asks, after a few moments of silence – which Zoey herself may or may not have spent first getting lost in her own thoughts about stupid mirrors and then having no thoughts at all after that – her brows raised and arms crossed.)
(“A walk.” Rumi repeats, hands clasped together in front of her, now, shoulders straight and head tilted just the tiniest bit to the side. “Us three.”)
(“... why?” She only dares to voice the question after yet another moment of awkward silence, and it’s that one because… well, because they might have known one another for months by now, but Zoey still doesn’t completely trust that she won’t end up murdered in a ditch somewhere, anyways.)
(“Oh, um.” The confidence lining Rumi’s shoulders slips away, just a little bit. “Because I– well, you two seem as if you need to get some steam off, and I’m beginning to think that continuing to beat each other up is not the solution for that at all.”)
(“Hm.” The tallest of them huffs, flipping strands of red hair over her shoulder almost dismissively. “I could beat you up instead.”)
(“No you can’t. You’re not nearly on my level.”)
(Rumi, bless her oblivious soul, is very clearly not aware of the fact that those words are less of a casual statement and can, instead, easily be taken as an insult instead.)
(“A-okay!” Zoey squeaks, brain finally rebooting just as Mira’s arms drop to her sides while she takes a step forwards, no doubt about to start a brawl, and slips between the other two. “You know what: yeah, yeah, a walk sounds like a good idea. How fun! You’re so right, we are totally pent up here. So, let's get these hips moving, ladies! What was it Shakira said? Le le lo le?”)
(“What?” Scowling, Mira frowns down at her. “Who the fuck is Shakira? And what was that about hips?”)
(While preventing the murder of their group's leader, Zoey kills her own dignity instead.)
(An acceptable, if still painful trade.)
(But Rumi smiles, then, crooked and a little – okay, a lot – awkward, and she looks dangerously kind in the soft light of the sun, as strands of her hair move with the breezes. She seems young , and Zoey has to remind herself that she might be the youngest, but not by too much.)
(Both Rumi and Mira are barely eighteen.)
(“Let’s change the topic and, while we’re at it, should we change our clothes too or is this okay?” Zoey asks, then, pointing at her outfit. “I wouldn’t mind putting on something else if we’re going on a hike or something...”)
(“No, I think you can stay like that.”)
(“Oh, okay, that’s cool too.”)
(“Fine.” With a dismissive sigh, Mira finally drops out of the defensive posture she had adapted, rolling her eyes as she begins to move over the courtyard and towards their leader. “But this better don’t take too long. And if Celine gets mad at us for ditching training, you’ll take sole responsibility.”)
(“Obviously.” Rumi replies with so much honesty that Zoey genuinely thinks it didn’t even occur to the other girl to not do that. “It’s my idea, after all.”)
(And so, it is almost impossibly rare that they get a day off – and really, this probably shouldn’t be counted as a break, because they are being forced to go on a walk or maybe even a hike, given the mountains surrounding the estate – but Zoey can’t help but see the flicker of excitement in Rumi’s eyes and the way Mira’s shoulders relax just the slightest the moment the three of them step out of the entrance gate, and something soft wraps itself around her shoulders.)
(Distantly, she hears the humming of a lovely melody.)
(All apprehension is forgotten the moment they step out of the forest.)
(The country estate which, currently, belonged to Celine, and had been in possession of the former generations of hunters before that, was located just outside Seoul, at the edges to Yeoninsan provincial park. It was a remote enough location to be able to train and practise in peace, but close enough to reach the city in case of emergencies.)
(It was also very, very pretty.)
(Especially when compared to Burbank. Sure, it’s not as if they didn’t have any trees back there, but there is a big difference between a hot, asphalted hellhole with strategically planted greenery and living at the literal edge of a flourishing, natural provincial park.)
(Here, you could breathe the air and actually get oxygen into your lungs.)
(Here, you could follow the declared leader of your, in the future hopefully, successful girl group and demon hunter team for a simple walk, hike along a pathway for twenty minutes through a forest so pretty and green that US-American inventors would probably be derangedly screeching ‘how can we chemically fake that?’ if they saw it, and step out into literal paradise.)
(They leave the forest behind and Zoey suppresses the urge to dramatically squeal from sheer joy.)
(There is no doubt that this isn’t the first time Rumi’s been here – she’s led them straight to a little valley, almost hidden between the soft, hilly terrain of the mountain spurs. It’s the kind of idyllic place you’d see in a K-Drama with a countryside setting, or animated in a Ghibli movie, with swaying and lush green grass surrounding a creek, and wildflowers building a stark contrast against the brownish stone and vibrant blades.)
(It’s beautiful.)
(Now, Zoey is no gardener, god knows she can kill a plant even by just looking at it from across the room, but she can still say that one of the many things growing here seems to be wild lavender – and how wild is that, haha, get it? – which perfectly complements the white and blue flowers blooming next to that.)
(“I like this place.” Rumi says, pulling both Zoey and, going by the tiny flinch next to her, Mira too out of their thoughts. “It’s calm and quiet. Helps me think. I try to come here as often as I can.”)
(And yeah – that makes sense.)
(Again, Celine’s hunter estate is cool and awesome and tends to look like something straight out of a movie, with its looming trees and big ferns and white hibiscus flowers: but it does come with its own weight to it. The atmosphere of that place never really lightens up, not even within the designated garden area, and it’s especially bad at the centre tree of the shrine on the land. Plus, she’s pretty sure that there’s also a whole graveyard on the grounds, even though, admittedly, Zoey has not yet dared herself to go that far.)
(Either way: this little creek with its swaying grass and blooming flowers and little stream feels a lot less heavy on the soul.)
(“Huh.” Mira next to her makes, and then takes the last steps off of the pathway, following Rumi down towards the rocks and flat boulders lining the water, which, in turn, obviously causes Zoey to scramble after them, too. “I’ve never seen you leave the estate before.”)
(“Well, I did say try . I don’t usually manage to.” The older girl says and grows just a little stiffer as she sits down by the water, hands fidgeting with a tiny pebble as if she was fighting herself to say something. “... at least not when Celine’s there. She gets… worried. Also, since our introduction, I didn’t want to go again without bringing you guys.”)
(Here is the thing: despite being apparently fated to be together by destiny itself, the three of them don’t work together, not yet. Mira and Zoey do, kind of, but there is always a certain distance to Rumi.)
(Rumi, who’s kicking her feet just the tiniest bit, gaze lost in the water below, hands anxiously fiddling with that tiny rock she had picked up.)
(Rumi, who casually drops such a simple piece of information and yet manages to say it with the utmost devotion and honestly lacing the words – as if, to her, there was no truth greater than this.)
(And okay, woah, way to drop that far too casually.)
(Alright, this is cool, she can totally pretend as if it doesn’t mean the world to her.)
(“Rumi.” Zoey whispers, the Honmoon around her humming and something inside of her chest twitching as she reaches out to grab the other girl's hands, squeezing them between her own. “I changed my mind. I think I might love you after all.”)
(Rumi immediately flushes a deep, dark red.)
(The next minutes are spent with Mira hollering and crying with laughter at the two of them – Rumi who’s still practicing her impression of a tomato and Zoey who’s trying to figure out if the Honmoon can help you disappear into the ground – and it might be the first time either of them has heard the tallest of their group be so genuinely carefree.)
(The worst part is that Mira keeps breaking out into new laughter whenever she looks at either of them too long, and Rumi can’t make eye contact with anyone anymore for the rest of the afternoon they spent there, and , even after she tries to cool herself off by dunking her entire head into the crystal clear and ice cold water of the creek, Zoey’s own cheeks are still burning with embarrassment.)
(Ignoring all that, it’s the nicest day she’s had in… in a while.)
(Because Celine is away in the city and can’t lecture them for slacking off, because Rumi brought drinks and snacks for them in her backpack – Mogo Mogu Melon for Zoey, Apple-Mango Ade for Mira, and peach rings as well as honey butter chips for both of them – and happily indulges into a conversation about the plants surrounding them, all while peeling tangerine after tangerine and handing the pieces to each of them. She does it with casual ease, too, as if it’s only natural for her to do this for them – carefully removing the rind from the fruitflesh, making sure that all of the weird second skin stuff (Rumi says it’s called pith or albedo but who cares) is removed.)
(At least she seems to have her fun with it, too, mainly because she gets to talk about the plants surrounding them, Zoey suspects.)
(Not that she would complain.)
(The tangerine is juicy and delicious and Rumi’s nature facts are interesting.)
(Apparently, for example, the little white flowers she saw are small aromatic asters, and the blue ones are mistflowers, while the lavender is the only thing Zoey correctly identified.)
(It’s actually impressive how much Rumi talks, given how little she does so, usually – her usual hint of… well, not exactly aloofness, even if it had felt like that for a while, is gone – and now she’s smiling to herself, eyes and hands focused on the fruits in between her fingers as she peels one after the other and explains that; amazingly enough, asters mean star and the myth behind them is a greek one, where the goddess Astraea could do nothing but weep once she saw how impure the world is, and from her tears, the flowers were born – and actually this is so similar to the story of roses, where the blood of Aphrodite’ lover Adonis stained them red for eternity ; and yeah, alright, this is the most Zoey has ever heard Rumi talk at all. In fact, it’s oddly similar to her own rambles about sea creatures, and Zoey can’t help but hang off every single word from the other girl's mouth, while pushing delicious pieces of very juicy fruit into her own.)
(It’s the most casual they’ve ever felt.)
(Even Mira begins to open up, if only a little, and mostly to correct Rumi’s horrendous latin pronunciation of the botanical names while she nibbles on her share of fresh fruit.)
(Still – it’s fun .)
(She would even go as far as to say that it’s the most fun any of them have had together so far – that this is better than all of the ‘team bonding exercises’ they had been doing up until now.)
(Because, not for the first time exactly, but for the first time she genuinely believes it wholeheartedly, Zoey looks at the two people fate had tied her soul to and thinks: yes, we could be friends alright. )
(“Thank you.” She says, quietly, without her usual loud enthusiasm maybe but no less honestly, when they slowly begin to pack their things together later that day, once the sunset is getting closer. “For… for this. I had a lot of fun.”)
(“Yeah.” Mira adds, after a moment of hesitation, arms crossed and gaze avoiding both of them, but words spoken without a hint of a lie as she does. “Yeah. Me, too. I guess.”)
(Rumi smiles at both of them, then, eyes glowing golden in the setting sun, her features still young but somehow tired already, no doubt from the years spent preparing for all of this – for their future careers as idols, for the fight against demons. But she smiles, now, and the air is heavy with the smell of lavender, the sun dipping them all in a soft orange-golden light – and the girl in front of them looks happy, like this.)
(As if, underneath all her burdens, she had finally found a gleam of peace.)
(As if this means as much to her as it does to them.)
(And Zoey knows: these two people could be her friends, she could love them, and maybe, just maybe, they could love her, too.)
(She hopes she’ll never lose this ever again.)
– .˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳. –
Ryu Rumi dies on a sunday.
– .˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳. –
(Prettiness lies in the eye of the beholder.)
(Of course it does.)
(Different people find different things attractive, so much is only natural, and it would be utterly stupid to expect that everyone thinks the same exact person beautiful, that there is no sort of distinction or exploration involved. That there is an international standard or type of whatever.)
(Hell, she herself doesn’t even have a type.)
(Or, well – she does , but it’s not the kind of type you would actually count. If someone were to randomly ask her on the street “Excuse me Miss, what do you find attractive?” she could hardly respond with: the people I was literally born tied to by fate, duh.)
(Not that Mira would ever say that out loud.)
(Still, she has to admit – Zoey is sweet and bubbly and funny and hot, and she can handle this, because Zoey is also kind and doesn’t mind making up ninety-five percent of a conversation herself, and they understand each other. They’re both new to this entire thing, after all, they’re the two outsiders, and it’s easier to group together like that, easier to talk to one another. It’s also easier to admit: this is a person I’m attracted to, and I don’t mind it all that much.)
(Rumi is the prettiest person Mira has ever laid eyes on.)
(This infuriates her endlessly.)
(Because Rumi is insufferable and far too polite while still managing to be an asshole and incredibly annoying, and Mira can’t stand her stupid, pretty, oblivious ass.)
(Rumi is also an idiot.)
(And she might think that no one notices, but Mira does . When you grow up in a home where every tiniest furrow of a brow and every twitch of the corner of a mouth could mean no dinner for the rest of the week, you tend to get good at noticing things .)
(Mira notices this: whenever they go out on a hunt, Rumi throws herself into danger head-first.)
(At first, she’s mad because of course, of fucking course , amazing and great and perfect Rumi is always the best at everything, be that killing demons or singing or literally anything else – that did not include casual social skills or knowing how to read social clues – at all.)
(It takes her a while to notice the other thing, though: how Rumi tends to draw the demon's attention towards herself, how she steps into attacks meant for her teammates not because she’s trying to steal their kills or show off somehow, but because she’s trying to protect them.)
(No one has ever protected Mira before.)
(She doesn’t need anyone to do so, either.)
(But it does feel… nice. Somehow. Not that she would ever admit it. Just like she won’t say that all the physical contact, all the hugs and intertwined hands Zoey keeps initiating, feel nice as well.)
(At least those don’t leave her worried out of her mind.)
(“You’re bleeding.” Rumi says, once they get back to the penthouse, as if she herself isn’t, either. “Mira. You’re bleeding.”)
(She is.)
(Not badly , but one of the demons they had fought got her on her leg.)
(The cut is shallow, won’t even need stitches.)
(“I’m sorry.” Rumi whispers, eyes full of guilt as she averts them, her hands clasped together in front of her, shoulders hunched as if she’s seconds away from throwing herself onto the ground in the deepest possible form of bow. “This is– I’m sorry. It’s my fault.”)
(Technically, it is , but also isn’t.)
(Because yes, Rumi had been supposed to have Mira’s back, to cover her – and then Zoey had lost her balance and almost fell off of a building, and really, a cut on her leg is a good price to pay to not have their friend turn into a bloody pancake.)
(Still, Rumi looks as if she might break out in tears.)
(They can’t have that. It would definitely wake Zoey up.)
(“It’s fine.” Mira says, only and only to save the sleep of the youngest of them, not because of anything else, at all. Still, the words feel clumsy as she pushes them past her lips. “You can make it up to me. Get the first-aid kit from the kitchen?”)
(Rumi’s shoulders sag with relief as she nods, as if her life and dignity depend on being useful somehow, and she almost trips over the steps leading up towards that space, hasty as she is, while Mira herself sinks down onto the couch, her arm being immediately taken hostage by the sleeping Zoey.)
(They sit in silence, after that.)
(Mira swallows a painkiller with the water Rumi brings her, while the young woman in question drops onto her knees in front of the couch and begins to unpack the first-aid kit. She’s careful, as she cuts away a bit of the fabric sticking to Mira’s skin and then begins to patch up the wound underneath, spraying antiseptic onto the cut and wiping the edges of it clean before she starts to apply gauze.)
(Rumi’s hands are gentle and soft.)
(And worst of all: they move with nothing but care .)
(It’s a strange moment to realise that the others look after her like this.)
(Mira does not tear up.)
(But she does grab Rumi’s wrist, afterwards, when the other woman turns to leave, presumably to take care of some hidden injury within the privacy of her own bathroom.)
(A moment long, there’s tense silence between them.)
(“Don’t go.” Mira finally manages to huff out, and immediately pulls a face at the sheer cringiness of her words. It sounds like some bullshit straight out of a K-Drama. “I mean, I saw that way your arm twisted when you pulled Zoey up, earlier. It didn’t look very natural.”)
(“It’s fine. I’m fine.” The other woman replies, after a second of hesitation. “I’ll be able to perform our show this weekend–”)
(“I don’t care about the dumb show.” The words are a little harsher than intended but fuck her, Mira’s shit at this whole ‘being socially acceptable and normal in a conversation’ thing. Not as bad at it as Rumi is, but not good either. Sue her, or whatever. “I care if you’re injured because it’s you .”)
(Rumi – stupid, pretty, oblivious Rumi – makes a face as if this revelation is shocking to her.)
(And it makes sense, of course, doesn’t it?)
(Mira hasn’t exactly been… the kindest.)
(But she can try now. She is trying. It’s taking a lot of conviction but she’s trying, because she’s almost sure that their leader keeps taking hits for them and she doesn’t quite know how to feel about that, and on top of all this it’s three in the morning, she’s exhausted, she’s hurting. But she wants to try .)
(“Oh.” Rumi mumbles, when the silence continuing to stretch between them has once again grown awkward. All of the sudden, Mira misses Zoey’s casual ease at making conversations more pleasant to listen to and interact with. “Oh, that’s… thank you. I’m fine, though.”)
(Probably a lie.)
(But she can’t really force the truth out of the other girl.)
(“If you say so.” Mira huffs, in a voice that wonderfully tells her leader that she does not believe a single word out of her mouth. “My point still stands. Stay . Zoey won’t let go of my arm and it would be unfair if only the two of us got a stiff neck from sleeping on the couch, and not you, too.”)
(And with that, she stretches out her hand.)
(Rumi takes it.)
(Her fingers are cold against Mira’s, and she can feel the distant pulsing of a heartbeat as her thumb brushes over the other woman's wrists. And despite everything, despite all the advanced skills in fighting, all the ways she keeps throwing herself into danger, how she sometimes seems more like a myth than an actual person, Rumi feels utterly human as she drops onto the couch next to her.)
(Mira shuffles a little to the side – she knows the other girl likes to be at the edge of seats, in the corners of rooms, spaces where she can keep an eye on everything.)
(The clock on the wall reads something close to three in the morning.)
(And slowly but surely, Zoey’s even breaths and Rumi’s quiet presence begin to lull Mira into sleep as well. It surprises her – she tends to struggle a little with genuinely relaxing like this. Not too badly, she never stays awake for more than an hour after going to bed, but still.)
(Now, however, with the gentle existence of the two bodies next to hers, with the distant, content humming of the Honmoon and the flicker of her soul sitting warm and comfortable in her chest, Mira can’t help but slowly drift off.)
( No , she thinks, distantly. I don’t think anyone has protected me like this ever before – and I do not think anyone has made me feel so comfortable, either. )
(She dares to hope that she please, please won’t lose this.)
– .˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳. –
Ryu Rumi dies on a sunday.
She dies in june, half a year before her birthday. And how tragic – she’s not even twenty-five when she takes her last breath. She’s even younger than her mother was , and Ryu Mi-yeong, prior to this, had been one of the youngest K-Pop stars to pass away too soon.
Ryu Rumi is twenty-four.
She’s twenty-four and she’s one of the most famous people on earth and she dies on a sunday.
The same sunday of the Idol Awards, only hours after Huntr/x gave their final performance of an unreleased song, and the public break-up between them that followed immediately after.
It’s June.
Bobby gets a phone call at two in the morning, stumbling through the backstage area of Namsan tower, after having left behind the rest of Seoul’s utterly confused population, as he is.
It goes like this: first, there is a static crackling on the line.
Then, sobbing and choked words and something like screams in the background.
“Hold on.” He manages to gasp, a shiver running down his spine and his hands clammy all of the sudden, because he knows, knows, knows that something is wrong . “Hold on, what are you saying ?”
In the distance, someone who sounds awfully like Zoey lets out a broken wail, full of grief and guilt and all things terrible.
“ Bobby .” And that’s Mira, Mira who sounds as if she’s seconds away from breaking out into tears, Mira who gags and heaves and chokes for air on the other end of the line, as if she wasn’t able to breathe underneath all of her panic. “Bobby, Bobby . She’s dead . Bobby, she’s dead, she’s dead, Rumi is dead .”
The phone slips from his hands and crashes onto the concrete floor, screen cracking and shattering into tiny, jagged pieces.
– .˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳. –
(This is the truth both of them had learned over years: Rumi is a generational talent, she is perfect, her voice is the most beautiful thing in the world and she somehow manages to do everything right, she is perfect , she is perfect, she is perfect and yet she isn’t, and there is nothing alive that matters more to her than they do.)
(Is it an honour? Is it a curse?)
(To be the subjects of her devotion?)
( To be the reason she lives? )
(She hides it well – but sometimes, when she looks at them, her eyes are burning with something that screams you are all I have you are all I have I will protect you until the end of all days .)
(This is another truth: Rumi is a little silly and a lot awkward, whenever they’re within the privacy of their own group, and once they’ve grown more familiar with one another, but even though she lowers her walls just the tiniest bit for them, they still stay up .)
(As if she’s scared of something.)
(As if she’s been scared of something her whole entire life.)
(Here is the third truth: even Ryu Rumi, despite all her perfection and all her success, cannot force herself to be distant and professional in sleep.)
(Still, she manages to look not completely peaceful, either.)
(As if she was fighting,even in her dreams – fists clenched and shoulders hunched, her knees pulled against her torso. Coiled and tight and impossibly small.)
(It can’t be relaxing – to sleep as if you’re still fighting.)
(There are bags under her eyes and her skin is pale, in the light of the bedside lamp of the hotel room they’re staying at. The show they had done just hours ago – and the fight against demons they got caught up in afterwards – had been incredibly exhausting and a rather late addition to their tour plans. Which resulted in a miscommunication on the side of management and now, Rumi is curled up on the edge of the only bed in their shared room, completely passed out from the trials of the day.)
(Which is fine, at least it’s a big bed.)
(Also, Zoey had been absolutely delighted when she saw it, giggling and laughing to herself about book and fanfic tropes – not that Mira exactly knows what that latter one is supposed to be. She might have to ask about it later.)
(Admittedly, they sort of had to fight Rumi to not take the couch – Mira even threatened that she’d just lift their leader and place her in bed once she fell asleep – but at least she gave in, after twenty minutes of arguing. That in itself is a rare thing already. Normally, Rumi would never dare to go to sleep before either of them, and even less when doing so in the only available bed, and even more less so when they had to practically bully her into it.)
(Normally, Rumi would never, ever sleep in the same bed as they do.)
(This is the first time they’ll share one.)
(And Mira does feel a little bad – that they’ve forced this upon their leader, that she has these clear boundaries set and now they’ve made her ignore them. That they basically didn’t even give her a choice.)
(Was that fear she had seen earlier, in the other girl's eyes?)
(But whatever could she be afraid of? That they cuddle in their sleep? That someone is going to drool onto her? No, no, that doesn’t make sense. It must be something else entirely. Her and Zoey have agreed that it’s just a general kind of ‘being unused to touch’ thing – after all, Celine was not famous for being a hugger – but still, Mira can’t help but feel… off.)
(As if there’s something else she’s not seeing.)
(Either way, though – Rumi gave in and now she is curled up on the bed, exhausted and beat up, but asleep.)
(There’s a bruise blooming on her cheek.)
(They’ll have to do something about that in the morning.)
(But it’s only a little after midnight right now, and the world has gotten to that strangely eerie point of the day-night cycle where it doesn’t completely feel real .)
(It can wait, just a little.)
(“Dibs on the window side.” Zoey whisper-yells, the moment she comes out of the bathroom dressed in that horrendous wolf shirt of hers, hair still slightly damp from the shower she took. “If a murderer gets in through the door, he’ll kill you first. Leaves me time to scream, you know?”)
(“How kind of you.” Mira dead-pans, raising a single brow but not protesting in the slightest. “I feel very appreciated right now.”)
(“Always, darling dearest.” A kiss is pressed to her cheek and before she can return it, Zoey flops down onto the big, fluffy blankets, arms spread out and face planted firmly into the pillows.)
(Rumi – still pale, still bruised, still visibly tired – doesn’t even wake, curled up in the middle of the bed as she is, and that in itself already tells them of her exhaustion. Instead, she frowns a little in her sleep, mumbling some incoherent thing, before curling even tighter in on herself and disappearing further into the blankets.)
(It’s annoyingly cute.)
(Both her teammates are.)
(Mira smiles a little, just to herself, as she watches Zoey attempt to wiggle her way under the blanket without disturbing Rumi’s sleep or getting up and slipping underneath it from the side, which would have been infinitely easier. It’s what Mira herself does, and how she ends up perfectly cosy and content underneath the thick, heavy blankets, far before the younger girl does, despite having gone to bed later than her.)
(“If you make fun of me,” Zoey muffles, in the middle of doing half a handstand against the headboard while trying to lift the blanket with her foot. “I’m going to wake Rumi and tell her that it was you.”)
(“You wouldn’t dare.”)
(“Yes I would.”)
(“She wouldn’t believe you.”)
(“Yes, she would . She likes me better than you.”)
(Someone really needs to inform Zoey that bragging and lying like that doesn’t work as fully intended when your face is extremely red from being upside down still and your shirt has slipped down so far that it’s showing off most of your stomach and underboob. Not that Mira would complain about that.)
(“Liar.” She says instead. “Rumi likes us both equally.”)
(One of Zoey’s feet slips off of the headboard, and she lets out a quiet yet shrill little squeak before managing to catch herself. “Remind me to practise this more when we get back home.”)
(“You broke three vases and one bookshelf last time.”)
(“They were in the way, silly.”)
(“They wouldn’t have been if you had just practised in the gym instead of the living room like I told you to.”)
(“Oh what’s that, I have suddenly gone deaf.” A moment after that, with a tiny triumphant squeak, Zoey finally manages to lift the blanket with her toes – which, ew, come on girl – and wiggles her way underneath it. “Ha, I told you I could do it Mira, you fool, how does it feel to be proven wrong.”)
(“Inside voice, dear.” She replies. “You’re gonna wake our poor leader with that shouting.”)
(“Inside voice? More in bed noise, hehe.”)
(“Zoey!” Mira hisses, though without any real venom in her voice. “Rumi is quite literally between us. This is very much not the time and place.”)
(There is a muffled reply – something that sounds an awful lot like “Such a bore.” – but Zoey does, indeed, quieten down a little. A moment later, the screen of her phone goes on and lights the space around them up a little further, joining the soft yellow glow of the bedside lamp.)
(Mira herself doesn’t pick up her own phone, or the book she had brought.)
(She’s far too tired for that.)
(And yet, not tired enough to fall asleep, not yet.)
(Instead, she slows down her breathing as she listens to Rumi’s soft inhales and exhales, as the weight and thickness of the blanket begins to warm her sore muscles and she finally begins to relax a little, for the first time since they got up at five in the morning.)
(She likes this.)
(The calm sort of quietness she only ever manages to achieve, to properly feel, within the presence of the other two. The way she knows they’re both there, can feel their souls flickering over the bond between them and the Honmoon humming beyond that – how that alone makes her happy . To be around them.)
(A moment long, she wonders, dares to hope, that this is what waits for them once the Honmoon is golden and the demons banished for the next decades.)
(“We could just ask her.” The words break the silence between them – Mira raises her gaze and finds that Zoey has abandoned her phone in favour of staring at Rumi, her eyes tracing the features of their leader and fingers squeezing the fabric of the blanket, as if she was trying to stop herself from running them through Rumi’s hair, instead. “I know we said we would wait, but… but what if we just asked ? What if we just told her? What if she said yes , Mira?”)
(What if, indeed.)
(This is not the first time they’ve talked about this.)
(It’s not the first time they have wondered .)
(“... I’m not sure.”)
(The truth is this: Mira is scared.)
(Because Rumi belongs to them , Rumi is theirs – but also, she isn’t. Because Rumi is also scared, of a lot of things, even if she hides it well, and Rumi seems like she’s always on the run from something , and Rumi eats little and hurts a lot and smiles her perfectly fake, blinding smile whenever she tells them: “I’m fine, don’t worry.”)
(Rumi is a third of the soul they share and they love her like they love each other.)
(Nothing will ever change that.)
(“I think what we already decided on is best. Give it time – we can wait until she’s ready, too.”)
(“But how will we know?”)
(“How did we know with each other?”)
(“... fair.”)
(It’s very awkward to have this conversation with the literal focus of it curled up and asleep between the two of them – still, Mira props herself up on her elbow, simply so she can smile at Zoey properly.)
(“Besides, she already says that she loves us.”)
(“But not in a gay way.” The younger girl pouts a little, brows narrowed and lips pursed. “I want her to say it gay-ly.”)
(A soft chuckle tumbles from her throat at that, and she is quick to muffle the sound before she can wake up their sleeping third. “She’ll figure it out, I’m sure. And then, we’ll be waiting for her.”)
(Rumi mumbles something in her sleep, and for a moment Mira imagines the other girl waking up, turning to look at both of them at those pretty eyes of hers and say I’ve heard it all and yes, yes, yes, I do love you in a gay way, let’s kiss! )
(It’s unrealistic, of course.)
(And, in fact, Rumi doesn’t do anything else but shift on the sheets, brows pinched as she turns in her sleep, head tilted back. She looks a little hot in that turtle-neck and hoodie of hers – and seriously, who even sleeps in clothes like that? – but not uncomfortable.)
(She also looks a lot hot because, well, she’s Rumi.)
(“Let’s go to sleep.” Zoey finally says, dramatically sighing as she flops back down into the pillows. “Long day tomorrow. Like everyday. Yay!”)
(“Sure thing.” Mira replies. “Give me your phone. I’m locking it into the bedside table.”)
(“What? Why?!”)
(“Because you’re going to fall into a rabbit hole again and spent the next three hours watching videos about seahorses like you did yesterday, or whatever.”)
(“... fair point.”)
(The next morning, the bed between them is cold and Rumi long gone.)
(It’s not surprising.)
(Still, it hurts a tiny bit – to find the breakfast and the still warm mugs of coffee on the table, together with a note saying ‘Out with Bobby to check location, remember to eat and see you soon :-) ~ R’.)
( It’s okay , Mira thinks to herself, anyways. We have time.)
– .˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳. –
Ryu Rumi dies on a sunday.
The funeral is on the following wednesday, three days after it happened. The building is swarmed with reporters and the press, despite Bobby’s attempts at getting them to stay away. Thousands of fans fill the streets outside and the area surrounding their penthouse is stacked with countless flowers and bouquets on every bit of bare ground. The ceremony begins early in the morning and lasts till late in the evening. By the end of it, more than just one guest book is filled to the brim with names.
Celine does not come to the ceremony.
The vice-president of ‘Sunlight Entertainment’ is there – the label, after all, were the ones forcing them into a public funeral service – and other members of the board show up, but the elderly man is the only one standing up front with them.
Mira speaks to him a single time.
The rest of the day blurs. Sometimes she can't breathe and sometimes there's bile at the back of her throat and always, always, always , she cannot shake the feeling that blood is staining her hands.
Amongst all the chaos, all the mumbled condolences and bows and guests, the only constant, real thing is Zoey, who hasn’t let go of her since Bobby, red-eyed and shaking, had picked them up that morning.
Zoey, too, is not really there .
She had stopped crying some time around monday evening – since then, the younger girl has not said a single word.
Her hand in Mira’s is limp and cold, and she tries not to think about the fact that Rumi’s was, too. And her stomach lurches and her eyes burn, but she cannot cry for some reason . She cannot cry, just like she hadn’t been able to cry when they first found her: Mira is cold, cold, cold, like Rumi’s body had been.
Oh – she must have been so afraid, in the end.
She must have been freezing .
Mira remembers – Rumi had died in a sleeveless crop-top on a chilly summer evening. And there had been so much blood, soaking the floor, that surely, surely, when Rumi had been losing it, she must have been so cold .
Mira remembers – Rumi had died cold and freezing and alone and scared. Rumi had died thinking that no one cared for her and it was all Mira’s own fault. Because she had raised her weapon; because she had seen fear and desperation and something that looked an awful lot like resignation in Rumi’s eyes, and she had taken all those fears and proved them right.
Mira remembers – she had decided, some time ago, before everything fell apart, that she loved Rumi like she loved Zoey, too. They both did. And they had wanted to wait for her, because it felt wrong, to be only two when they were supposed to be three, and they had hoped that maybe, one day, Rumi would come out of her shell. That she would smile at them truly, freely, like they’ve rarely seen before, and that they could give her all the love she deserved.
Mira wanted to give Rumi all the love in the universe.
Rumi is dead.
She blinks.
Another hour has passed and Zoey’s hand is still limp in her own, and the hundreds person is bowing towards them, towards the coffin, towards the picture in its black frame surrounded by flowers.
They’re lilies.
Rumi didn’t really like lilies all that much. Not that the label cares for that. The same thing goes for the picture they chose – because Mira and Zoey are not related to the dead girl in the coffin, not on any levels that matter to the law; because Celine had not shown up at all today or in general ever since sunday, had not taken any of the calls, had not spoken a single word to a single person; because Rumi, for all of her life, had been alone .
And so the duty of planning the funeral fell into the hands of the label.
And so the picture surrounded by lilies is a bad one.
It shows Rumi, of course – pretty and neat as always, smiling into the camera and dressed into a simple collared shirt and suit jacket. It shows Rumi – but it’s not really her . The girl in the picture has her hair and face and eyes and favorite earrings, but it’s not Rumi .
Rumi, who wrinkles her nose when she actually smiles; Rumi, who’s eyes get all squinty when she grins like she does in the picture; Rumi, who has tiny, pretty moles on her cheek and temple, only visible when not hidden underneath make-up; Rumi, who likes big, comfy hoodies more than stiff, collared dress shirts; Rumi, who throws her head back whenever she really laughs, and doesn’t mind it when some strands of purple hair escape her neat braid only to hang into her face.
Rumi, who always keeps snacks for them hidden in her pockets, who knows their favourite foods and drinks and go-to orders at the restaurants they frequent, who makes them birthday cakes even though she’s technically banned from the kitchen since that incident where she managed to burn noodles once.
Rumi, who had bled and hurt for them, who had always, always protected her two hunters.
Before them, no one had ever protected Mira.
And then Rumi did.
Rumi, who watered her plants that morning before the Idol Awards, before their driver came to pick them up so they could run through rehearsals one last time on location, before everything broke apart; who had sighed a little when the notification that the car is waiting downstairs came, set down her watering can, and said: “Well, let’s home my fiddle-leaf figs don’t decide that waiting until this evening is too much actually. If a single one of them dies, I’m going to cry.”
To Mira, of course, none of these words had made sense: neither whatever the hell fiddlesticks figs, or whatever, were, nor why they were at such a high risk of dying, and even less why anyone would want to keep them with said risks. But it was the most casual thing Rumi had said in weeks, and the tension between them, born out of the chaos of yesterday's fight and the talk about them performing ‘Golden’ they just had, was still fresh.
And so, Mira hadn’t said anything.
Rumi never did get around to watering those plants, in the end.
The hand in hers twitches.
It takes her a minute to come back to herself, far too deep in thought as she had been, but Zoey doesn’t seem to notice. There is the same distance, the same muted pain and dissociation in her dark, red-rimmed eyes.
Mira, like the cruel, horrible person she is, still cannot cry.
She turns her shoulder further away from the display – from the dark, wooden coffin; from the white lilies and other flowers, expensive but useless because Rumi would have never picked those herself; from the picture in the black frame that shows someone , but not the loving, sweet person they had lost.
Zoey shuffles closer – just the tiniest bit.
She seems tired.
God, they both are.
And Rumi would have noticed – how neither of them can stand straight anymore, not steadily, how Mira hasn’t actually been here for the past five hours, how Zoey is faintly, faintly trembling. And Rumi would have noticed, because she always did, and then she would have smiled like she does in that awful picture and started a lovely conversation with whoever was running the event, and fifteen minutes later – at most – they would have been excused and on their way home.
But Rumi is not here.
Rumi is in the stupid casket at the far wall of this stupid room, and Rumi is dead.
Rumi had had a hole in her chest, gaping and raw and torn, and blood had stained her white top red, had painted her skin and soaked into the dirt underneath her. Rumi had had a hole in her chest, as if someone tore her heart out, and she had been cold and still and dead when they found her. Rumi had had a hole in her chest and her eyes had been open – blood dried on her lips and under her nose, and tear tracks running over her bruised cheek.
Rumi had had another kind of hole in her chest – one that had led her to kill herself.
There is a hole in Mira’s chest, too.
And she knows: it is eating Zoey alive as well.
They cannot save themselves from this – just like they couldn’t save Rumi.
– .˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳. –
(What is the happiest memory either of them have of her?)
(It’s hard to say.)
( Was Rumi ever truly happy? )
( How many of her smiles were nothing but disguises, masks worn to hide the fear underneath? )
( How much had she suffered ? )
(There are many memories where Rumi seems happy, at least, and one could go through all of them and analyse if, knowing what they know afterwards, any of those moments were actually real.)
(But which fool would do that to themself?)
(Here is a happy memory of Rumi: her smile after their first big performance, opening for the Idol Awards, is the brightest thing either of them have ever seen.)
(It’s all sweaty skin and widened pupils, messy hair and bared teeth. It’s shaking shoulders and a strangled sort of laugh, because Rumi had perfect breath control and she would never get out of breath because of a single performance, but she’s laughing, laughing, laughing, in the memory. She’s shaking all over and her make-up is smudged and she’s laughing, beaming like the sun itself.)
(“Do you guys want to get hotteok?”)
(They had still been… tense, the three of them, back then – there had still been distrust and apprehension and the feeling of ‘this rich girl thinks she’s better than us’ haunting both of them, separating the trio and keeping them from one another. But Rumi had blurted out those words and she had been smiling, laughing, sweaty and shaky and oh so human, and there had been a barely hidden hint of want in those words.)
(As if, to her, them saying ‘yes’ would be the greatest gift of the galaxy.)
(And then they had said yes.)
(And Rumi, in that memory, had been the brightest they’d ever seen her as her smile widened even further, and the corners of her eyes had wrinkled as her entire face lit up and the other girl was pretty , of course she was, but she had never looked more beautiful than she did in that moment.)
(When was the last time they ate hotteok together, in the end?)
(Here is another happy memory of Rumi: they made her a cake for her twenty-first birthday, but not actually , because Rumi’s mother died on said birthday and so all celebration is postponed at least a month and carefully hidden behind some made up reason.)
(“What’s this for?” Utterly confused, Rumi blinks twice and then drags her eyes from her phone to the messy cake they just dumped on the coffee table in front of her, only to finally rest her gaze upon the two of them. “Um… why exactly did you get me a cake?”)
(“Because you are an amazing person.” Zoey says, nodding, before elbowing Mira into the side.)
(“And your hair looks great today.”)
(“Looked great in that photoshoot you just did!”)
(“It always does.”)
(“Um.” Rumi makes, again, head tilted to the side and frowning just a little. “You… got me a cake because my hair always looks good?”)
(“What?” Giggling nervously, Zoey begins to scratch the back of her neck. “No. I mean yeah – your hair does look great, Mira is right, it’s always amazing, and that photoshoot you did was spectacular, did you check your social media since then because I’m telling you, the fans are going wild ! You’re so hot in those pictures, Rumi! Like, you’re always hot, duh, but that suit they got you to wear with the cut-outs and those high-waist pants? Oh my god, I’m telling you, crimes will be committed, it’s genuinely so unfair that we didn’t even get a warning about this, I totally dropped my phone when Bobby sent me the first promo pics, like holy shit girl.”)
(Said girl in question turns a deep red and immediately proceeds to try and sink into her sweater. “... so you got me a cake because you think I’m… hot.”)
(“Totally.” Mira says, in the same moment as Zoey squeaks: “What? No! That is so not the reason. I mean at least not the only one…”)
(The next few awkward seconds, the two of them merely stare at each other as the younger girl elbows the taller one in the side.)
(“Right.” After yet another way too quiet and far too awkward moment, Mira begins to speak again, dragging the words out as if hoping that the Honmoon might send her the right things to say. The Honmoon does not . “Also because you did the dishes yesterday?”)
(“I always do the dishes.”)
(Rumi does .)
(Well, this is definitely harder than expected.)
(Mira is the splinter of a second away from just giving up and admitting that this is their way of celebrating their leaders birthday when Zoey next to her sighs once and then proceeds to drop onto the couch – not dramatically face-planting, which is an indicator for how serious she’s taking this.)
(“Look.” The younger girl says as she begins to poke her index finger against Rumi’s collarbone. “You’re our leader and we like you a lot. Why does there need to be a deeper reason? You’re like the coolest, bestest friend slash colleague slash lowkey soulmate ever – sorry, no offense Mira – and yeah, you are pretty hot too, but also a total badass. Whatever. If you don’t eat the cake, that’s okay too, but also I will cry– no wait, hold on, that’s not your sign to cry, oh god Rumi stop , stoppppp, I will start too–”)
(Mira would like to be able to say that she did not join the tear-party on the couch.)
(Sadly, whenever her girls begin bawling like they are now, she cannot keep a straight face either: and a second later, they’re all crying. Except it’s not necessarily bad, not really. Because Rumi smiles, even through her tears, and she reaches out towards both of them to wrap her arms around their shoulders, and then she whispers thank you later, once they’re all in a circle on the floor, plunging their spoons into the cake.)
(They don’t celebrate Rumi’s birthdays.)
(But at the end of January of each new year, a little more than a month after Ryu Mi-yeong's date of death, there’s always a cake for their leader – mostly with increasingly ridiculous reasons – and she, without fail, manages to cry her eyes out every time.)
(Here is a memory of Rumi that had never felt special. It was nothing, almost, barely a moment of anything at all – but now, afterwards, as they sit on that couch both dressed in hoodies belonging to a ghost, it occurs to them.)
(It had been raining that day.)
(Not the simple sort of rain, the kind where you would sit at an open window or maybe even take a walk just for the fun of it, just to feel the drops against your skin or hear them pattering onto the umbrella, no. It had been a stormy sort of rain, coming down from the sky brutal and fast, enough to flood the courtyard and drip through the ceiling in the more rundown parts of the estate.)
(And yet, Rumi had been outside.)
(Mira and Zoey were in the kitchen, making themselves some instant ramyeon as a snack, when the back door had opened and steps came closer. Rumi was positively soaked – her hair had clung to her skin, her jacket was dripping with water, and her socks made squeaky sounds on the wooden floor.)
(In the dim light of the kitchen, her eyes had seemed red-rimmed.)
(“Oh.” She said, the moment she saw them, and stopped dead in her tracks. “Sorry. I just wanted– sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”)
(There had been a bag in her hand, muddied and riddled with tiny holes, green leaves and white petals peeking out of the top.)
(At this point in time, it had still been early on in their friendship – Rumi, to both of them, was more of a mystery than anything else, distant and quiet. Zoey found it endearing, if a little annoying, claiming she was used to people acting all high and mighty around her; Mira found it infuriating and bothersome, because Rumi behaved like most of her family did, and she had just gotten away from those people.)
(“You’re not interrupting.” Zoey said, after a moment of awkward silence, with a voice that sounded as if she didn’t entirely believe those words herself. “We were just making a snack.”)
(“Oh.” Rumi replied, and then frowned a little, head tilting to the side the slightest bit. “Even though we only had lunch an hour ago?”)
(The thing about Rumi was: she said things like that – things that could easily be taken as hurtful and insulting and mean, even – with such an ease that there was actually no way she knew what it must sound like for other people. Or, at least, in the moment Mira prayed that was the case, giving the other girl the benefit of the doubt – if only because Zoey tensed just the slightest bit next to her and if Rumi’s words were, indeed, spoken with malicious intent, Mira would have had to clock her in the face right there and then.)
(Break her pretty nose and all.)
(Celine would probably not be very happy about that.)
(“Yeah, ha ha.” Next to her, Zoey chuckled nervously, while Mira was mentally berating herself to not do the dumb thing her brain is telling her to do. “Well, it’s just us, you don’t have to eat any yourself.”)
(“Oh.” Rumi said, again, and almost looked hurt for a second, before her face settled back into a blank mask. “Okay I guess.”)
(The silence returned.)
(“... what’s in the bag?” Zoey finally asked, and dear god that did not make the tension between them better. Mira was used to awkward conversations and interactions – that was basically the only way she communicated with her family, including, of course, the yelling – but this was actually physically painful.)
(“Oh.” Rumi made, for the third time now – but it didn’t sound as weird as it had before, and wasn't quite as nonchalant either. Instead, she made the sound in a similar way to how Zoey sometimes did, when she choked a little on air after she got too much into talking about her favourite deep sea facts. “Oh, I was just-... I was in the garden and working on the flowers and the chrysanthemums from last year spread a lot, so I took some of them out. I don’t want them to take away too much space from the lilies and forget-me-nots, so...”)
(For a single moment, Mira had wondered why Rumi only talked about flowers associated with mourning.)
(But then Zoey next to her smiled and squealed: “That’s so cool! I suck at gardening, I didn’t know you liked it! You’d get along with my mom wonderfully, we only had a balcony at home but she always makes sure it’s as nature-y as possible. If we ever go on tour in the US, I’m introducing you guys. Oh, wait, are you going to throw those aways now? Can I have some to put in a pot?!”)
(“Um. No.” Rumi said, and with that, all of Mira’s concerns from earlier were forgotten, making way for the annoyance she was used to by now. How typical .)
(“Ah.” Next to her, Zoey shrunk back a little, shoulders tense. “Of course. My bad. Um, go ahead and do whatever with them, then.”)
(And again, there had been that awkward silence as Rumi nodded once and turned around.)
(And then , she stopped.)
(“Your room is at the shadowside of the house.” She mumbled, already half through the doorway and not facing either of them, her fingers twitching around the handles of her bag. “That’s why-... I mean, they wouldn’t survive there, I don’t think. You don’t get much natural light. A-and your heating is always up so high. The flowers don’t like that – they wouldn’t make it for very long.” And then, as if having gained an ounce of bravery for only a second, she turned back around towards them, an awkward smile on her face and her head still tilted. “Um, but if you want a plant for your room, I can give you a pothos? Those are easier to take care of. And I have a lot of them, so.”)
(And Zoey, suddenly beaming, more yelled than said: “Really?!”)
(Rumi’s smile was almost real, after that.)
(It was tiny and small and still awkward – but it seemed real , for the first time since they’ve met her. And it only grew once she led them to her conservatory and Zoey started asking questions about every single thing she saw, and even Mira – who originally only tagged along because she was bored – became just the tiniest bit interested in the countless of plants on the shelves and floor.)
(“I’m coming back here tonight.” Rumi had said, two hours later, after the other two girls had each gotten the promised pothos. “My selenicerus grandiflorus should bloom soon – it did around this time last year, so I’ve been checking every night for the past month. I can text you, if it’s blossoming? You could come look. Um, only if you want to, of course.”)
(It’s a little ridiculous. It’s also an olive branch.)
(“Sure!” Zoey says, the same second as Mira asks: “What’s so special about that one?”)
(That earns her an elbow to the side and a glare that says come on now don’t fuck this up for me .)
(But the girl in front of them just smiles a little and explains: “Oh, you know, it only blooms a single time every year, that’s why it’s so important.”)
(Here is a memory of Rumi that had never felt special. It was nothing, almost, barely a moment of anything at all – it’s just about her smiling awkwardly while talking about one of the many plants in her conservatory.)
(Except it hadn’t been any plant: it was one that bloomed only rarely.)
(And Rumi has offered to show them – and now, afterwards, as they sit on that couch both dressed in hoodies belonging to a ghost , it occurs to them that the first time either of them ever saw her really happy in front of them, was when they had both said ‘yes’ to her offer – and showed up a couple of days later, once they got her text in the middle of the night.)
(The first picture in their group chat is of that flower.)
(One of her first social media posts, shortly after Huntr/x’s debut, was as well.)
(Here is a memory that has never been special and never a secret.)
(Rumi had always loved her plants.)
(No one took care of them anymore, now.)
– .˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳. –
The actual funeral is small.
Not the official thing, not the burial that follows an open ceremony with thousands of guests. Ryu Rumi had been an internationally treasured star – people from all around the world have flown into town, and the streets of Seoul are filled with mourners.
All people who didn’t even know the real Rumi.
The ‘Sunlight Entertainment’ vice-president holds an empty speech and then he tries to hand over the microphone to Zoey, who just stares and blinks and doesn’t move. Mira takes it out of his hands, then, but she, too, cannot say a single word.
And even still, she does not cry.
How cruel of her.
Bobby smuggles them off of the graveyard, afterwards, and she wants to hit something, kill someone – it is so unfair . That they have to leave so early; that they cannot stay . But the press – vultures, all of them – are waiting outside the cemetery gates, some having had the audacity to enter the space, and Bobby tells them they’ll need to leave if they don’t want to get cornered.
He doesn’t want them to get cornered.
And so he ushers them into his car and they drive off before the ceremony is officially over. Zoey is curled up into Mira’s side, half-lidded gaze distant and empty, her shoulders faintly trembling. They’re both cold. Cold, like Rumi was when she died, and it hits Mira right there and then, as the car pulls out of the parking lot and the cemetery slowly begins to grow distant behind them.
Rumi is still there.
Rumi is still there, in a wooden box in the ground, and Rumi will stay there forever . Rumi doesn’t like the cold and Rumi doesn’t like the dark and Rumi doesn’t like tiny spaces, and Rumi is locked in a box in the dirt, without light or air or heat .
She’ll be so afraid.
They need to get her back .
Bobby throws a teary gaze at her in the rear mirror, then, eyes read and puffy, and shakes his head slightly, lips wobbling. And Mira doesn’t realise that she’s said the words out loud, not until there's the tiniest bit of movement next to her and then Zoey’s fingers dig deeper into the fabric of her coat as she whispers, tiny and fragile and broken: “She’s not coming back, Mir.”
Bile rises at the back of her throat.
She swallows it down.
Because Mira is strong and Mira was never the protector, in their little group, she was the healer , but the healers hands are always those stained with the most amount of blood and she didn’t heal Rumi, she failed, she failed , and she can’t heal what’s left in the aftermath, either.
She blinks, and they’re sitting at a dining table – Bobby is pressing a mug of something warm into her hands and there’s a blanket around her shoulders and Mira didn’t even realise when the car stopped and their manager ushered them into his apartment.
She blinks again, once, twice.
Her eyes are dry.
“Bobby.” She whispers, when he reappears from the kitchen, and she doesn’t notice the way Zoey’s head lifts just the tiniest bit before dropping back down. “Bobby, please. Can’t you get Rumi, too?”
“Mira.” Zoey whimpers, and then again: “ Mir .”
“She’ll be scared.” Mira says, anyways, and distantly she remembers that she’s thought about this not too long ago already, but right now there's a hole in her chest and fog in her head and her eyes are painfully, painfully dry. “When she wakes up all alone. She doesn’t like small spaces.”
There’s a ringing in her ears and bile at the back of her throat.
A moment long, her thoughts flicker, and she imagines it: Rumi, stuck in that box, fists hammering against the wooden surface above her, mouth open in a silent scream, tears running down her face.
It’s a look of sheer terror.
And it’s so vivid that for a moment, she’s confused at her own imagination – and then, distantly at first but rapidly growing clearer, she begins to remember that she’s seen Rumi terrified like that once before already.
Dipped in cold green light and covered in blood, eyes haunted and widened in fear, panic sending tremors through her entire body and patterns tearing through her skin, the smell of copper and burnt flesh filling the freezing air between them.
Disheveled hair and cracked nails, smudged make-up and bloodied hands.
Dread and resignation as starlight flickers in the air between them and she is betrayed one final time, as weapons are raised like a chasm torn open between them and it becomes clear: there is no going back from this .
The mug shatters in her hands.
Shards go crashing to the floor and Mira follows, gagging once before the bile at the back of her throat finally burns through, and then she’s retching and heaving all over Bobby’s floor, her vision blurred and her shoulders shaking and her mouth filled with the taste of rotten flesh and dirt.
The actual funeral is small.
It is small and tiny and unofficial, and there's a total of five people present.
One is Mira herself, of course, wrapped in a dark and heavy cloak. It’s cold outside, nearing autumn, now, and already far more than a month has passed since-... since. It was raining, in the morning, even though it isn’t right now, and so Mira had draped that cloak over her shoulders and tried not to think about the fact that she shared it with Rumi, once, during a shoot.
Zoey’s next to her, bangs uneven and messily grown out, bags underneath her eyes, their arms linked and hands clasped tightly together – there hasn’t been a moment since where they haven’t been in some form of physical contact. Sleeping, eating, showering, reading, lying on the couch all day staring into the air with grief and longing and no sense of direction because something is missing, something is missing they lost a part of themselves and now it’s missing and what do they do without it –
They’re closer now than they ever were before; the gap between them has never been so wide.
Bobby is the third person and the only one crying. There are chrysanthemums in his arms, because Rumi didn’t like lilies all that much, and his shoulders have been shaking ever since his car pulled into the driveway this morning.
The fourth is Celine, even though she should hardly be counted as a person, anymore – she is more ghost now than she’s ever been before, pale and thin and almost translucent, in the shimmer of the Honmoon surrounding them. She shouldn’t be here, either (in at least one universe, it was her hand that brought about Rumi’s end, after all) but she’s still keeper of the shrine and of the cemetery and the estate, and it was her who dug out the grave and etched the name into stone.
The fifth is Ryu Mi-yeong – or whatever might be left of her body after spending twenty-five years covered in dirt.
Rumi’s body is not here.
The board of ‘Sunlight Entertainment’ had vetoed Mira’s and Zoey’s pleas to hand over the coffin so they could bury her somewhere peaceful . Because it’s September, already, and Rumi had died in June, and the Seoul police department had been forced to place guards at the cemetery where her official grave lay, because ‘fans’ had declared it a necessary part of Seoul sight-seeing.
Celine, against expectations, had not known about this, too drunk out of her mind to be aware of anything that happened in the two months surrounding Rumi’s death.
The actual funeral is small.
They bury Rumi next to her mother, in the dirt beneath the tree, and there are chrysanthemums and a picture where she actually looks happy , smiling at the camera with teeth and most of her make-up gone, moles and the tiny scar at her temple on full display.
Bobby says a few words and Celine says nothing and doesn’t look at the grave, and Zoey manages three minutes before her legs give out. Mira goes down with her, then, and they both sink into the wet leaves surrounding the empty hole in the ground, and tiny, blue forget-me-not’s are open all around them, just now finishing their bloom time. Distantly, as she cradles Zoey against her chest and remembers Rumi telling her about how she had planted them for her mother – distantly, Mira thinks about the irony that Rumi had planted flowers that would soon adore her own grave.
Then, she thinks about how Rumi had killed herself, and wonders if perhaps it had all been on purpose, and was planned already, years ago.
Here is a tiny secret: Mira had been ready for sacrifice, when they had first been given their holy task.
She hadn’t wanted to die, of course, and she would have fought it with every inch of herself if it ever got close, because they had been given a holy task and it was not given to her alone. Because finally, finally, Mira had someone, two someones, and those someones were worth living for.
And then she ruined it, and now Rumi is dead.
Fate saw her loneliness and it saw her parents and it said I will give you a better family, one you get to keep all on your own and then Mira had gone ahead and fucking ruined it.
Was it her who cut the bond, or Zoey?
Both of them, probably.
It eases just the tiniest bit of guilt for her – but it must have been so much worse for Rumi, to shake and bleed and know that even the people destiny had decided were supposed to love you didn’t, in the end.
Both of them.
Don’t leave and please had been Rumi’s last words ever spoken to them.
And they left and then she did too and now here they are.
With an empty grave and forget-me-nots slowly wilting away and wet leaves sticking to their knees and soaking their pants with residue rain water, as Mira and Zoey kneel next to and hold one another.
There’s no one else left who might.
– .˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳. –
(How quickly can you lose everything?)
(Such an odd question – so small, yet so significant.)
(Let’s make it easier, just a little bit.)
(When did they lose Rumi?)
(Was it months, years ago? Or weeks, days? Did they lose her the moment her heart stopped beating, or was it some time before that. When blood was soaking into ancient soil, and Ryu Rumi was the closest to her mother she had ever been. Or was it even further before that? Was it when they saw her on that stage, feral and violent and all but crazy in her fear; or minutes after that, when the lie they had been told for years was revealed?)
(Here is a truth: they didn’t think it was Rumi, at first.)
(The first thought both of them had was that they were too late, that they had lost their leader, that they abandoned her and then Gwi-Ma killed her and now, they were facing a demon he sent in her stead, like with Bobby minutes before.)
(The second thought both of them had was that no, that didn’t make any sense, because then the demon in front of them wouldn’t be pleading like she was. So had Rumi been turned, then? The three of them were good fighters, of course, but they didn't always get out of every battle unscathed, and Rumi was, by far, the one who got injured the most, always taking hits for everyone, not just herself. Had something infected her, maybe?)
(Or, worse: did she make a deal ?)
(That one hurt the most because oh , whatever could Rumi so desperately want that Mira and Zoey wouldn’t be able to give to her?)
(The next thought came later, a damning realisation as the girl they both loved desperately tried to explain herself, and this one was more of a numb, concerning sort of revelation, slipping into the back of both of their minds: Rumi looked awfully haunted, in the cold green light of the backstage area, with her hands coated in her own blood and her eyes full of fear, begging and begging that they don’t leave her.)
(Fear of them .)
(Begging for them.)
(And then they left, anyway.)
(In Mira’s opinion, they lost Rumi the moment she raised her gok-do. Because Mira always breaks everything and so, of course, she broke this, too – because she was mad at Rumi and she loved Rumi but Rumi had lied, Rumi was a liar, and Mira hates liars as she hates demons.)
(Rumi’s eyes – even the watering, twisted one, the one that looks like it’s constantly shifting and burning , just like the patterns are – follow the arch of Mira’s blade with a resignation so human it physically makes her want to throw up.)
(She looks as if she wants nothing more than to take the weapon to the chest, if only that means Mira will touch her one more time.)
(Later, when they find her, Rumi’s skin will be cold underneath Mira’s hands, and she’ll remember that the last act of kinship she had shown the second girl tied to her own soul was nothing but violent.)
(In Zoey’s opinion, they lost Rumi even before that, when they had written the first line of ‘Takedown’. Because Zoey is too much and Zoey can’t get anything right and Zoey is so blinded by her own interest more often than not that she didn’t see . She didn’t see the way Rumi hesitated, didn’t see how Rumi’s fingers trembled as she wrote down ‘a demon with no feelings don’t deserve to live’, she didn’t see . She was too focused on the song, the song that was basically a letter telling one of her best friends that she should die and that that would be a good thing, and Rumi agreed with that and Zoey didn’t see .)
(Rumi doesn’t see anymore, either – her eyes are half-lidded, distant and empty, as if she died pretending not to be afraid, pretending to be happy.)
(How quickly can you lose everything?)
(When did they lose Rumi?)
(In the end, it is hard to say.)
(And how ironic.)
(In the end, there is a coffin and a grave and a dead girl who lived her life desperate to be loved and died thinking she wasn’t.)
(In the end, Celine fires half the board of ‘Sunlight Entertainment’ and brings the body back out of the grave, eyes red-rimmed and with heavy bags underneath, smelling like alcohol and blood and more of a ghost than she was ever before.)
(In the end, they do bury Rumi next to her mother.)
(And how ironic .)
(Ryu Mi-yeong died almost twenty-five years ago, with a hole in her chest and her eyes focused onto the tiny bed where her newborn slept, arm desperately reaching out but failing to get to her daughter.)
(Ryu Rumi died almost twenty-five years after her mother did, with a hole in her chest and her eyes focused on the gravestone where a woman she never got the chance to know lay, arms limp at her side, but one hand reaching towards the one person she did know.)
(In both cases, Celine failed.)
(In both cases, there is the same injustice.)
(They were born together – Celine and Ryu Mi-yeong and Kim.)
(They were born together – Zoey and Ryu Rumi and Mira.)
(They were born together – they were born to be together. And it seems unnatural, unfair, almost. Definitely. That they were born to be together, and now they have died apart. That they had been promised divine belonging and three parts of a soul to call one, and now they are shattered and there is nothing left.)
(Where is the justice in that?)
(The Honmoon whimpers and cries and does not have an answer.)
– .˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳. –
It’s rare that they get a day off from their work. Neither the demons nor the K-Pop industry, the latter one of which is still arguably the more dangerous one, care much for breaks or rest or least of all vacation.
But the demons are gone, mostly, and so is Huntr/x.
Unofficially, at least.
Officially, they are on an indefinite hiatus, but neither she nor Mira will ever sing without Rumi again, they’ve already decided.
In that sense, days off really don’t matter , anymore, because every day she’s had for the past six months has been a day off. There were, of course, talks with lawyers and the distribution of Rumi’s will, but other than that, not much else. They don’t need much else, either – their music still gets them royalties and even ignoring that, they’ve got enough money between the two of them.
Two where there should be three.
But Rumi isn’t coming back.
The worst part is that she’s everywhere, still. They’re moving out of the penthouse – “temporarily”, just like their hiatus is “indefinitely” – and into the estate, which is not much better, but it was something Rumi left for them. Celine herself hadn’t been around in weeks – she shows up, from time to time, to take care of the graves, but she’s always gone the next day. And the entire place reminds both of them of the third half of their soul they had lost, and that’s both a good and a bad thing, Zoey thinks.
Good, because Rumi is still there : in the burned floor boards of the sparring room, where she had once more or less on purpose set fire to the flooring with her saingeom; in the rough patch of wall in the living room, where she tripped and accidentally torn the wallpaper; in the plants in both garden and conservatory, which have begun to both grow wild and wilt away in her absence; in the countless books both in the living and her former private room; in the pastel colours of the walls of Zoey’s own, the ones they had painted together; in the cracked tile in the kitchen where she had dropped a pot, once, after burning noodles.
Bad, because Rumi is everywhere .
And that, above all, is the reason why both her and Mira have spent the last months crashing on Bobby’s couch or in various air bnb’s and vacation homes all over the country – hotels being too much of a risk that someone sees them – because even though they are moving back into the estate, neither of them feels fully up to it, already.
Zoey doesn’t think she ever will.
She sighs, once.
Closes her eyes for a moment and stops on the forest path she’s currently hiking. The air is fresh and cold and a thin sheet of sweat clings to her face, making the bangs/ not-really-bangs-anymore of her currently growing hair stick to her skin. Because even though it is freezing outside, she’s wrapped herself in enough sweaters and jackets to not lose any toes or fingers or ears, but the walk is a challenging one, too, and she’s kind of underestimated it.
In her defense, she hasn’t been here in years.
Zoey sighs, a second time. She wipes the sweat off of her forehead and opens the zipper of her jacket just the tiniest bit, before once more setting into motion. Snow crunches underneath her feet as she walks – this, too, hasn’t happened in years. While the estate does lie at the edge of a nature reservoir, it’s also far too close to Seoul, and it basically never snows there. Only ever up in Gangwon-Do, really, but this winter has already been one of the coldest in the last decade.
Desperately, Zoey tries not to think about how much Rumi had loved snow, and how excited she had been when they were in Norway during their last world tour and it had started to snow halfway through their stay there.
Either way – the snow does not help make the trek easier.
In fact, it only gets harder.
Zoey tries to distract herself by looking at her surroundings, but to be honest, the forest is pretty bleak and grey and sad around her, shrouded in shadows and eerily quiet.
At least the mountains in the distance look pretty enough, she supposes.
But the mountains, too, are grey and cold and boring, as is the sky above. Clouds are gathering in the distance and even though it’s technically still in the early afternoon, the sun is already on its way to set. There’s maybe two or three hours of daylight left, but not much more.
In the distance, she makes out a bird’s call – by now she’s far enough from the estate that she can’t even see any of the buildings anymore, and there’s not much around except for her and the cold, dead world.
Mira is already there, by the time Zoey makes it.
The creek looks different then it did all those years ago – the stones and boulders are still the same, though more grey than brown, and the general shapes of the hills surrounding them are, too. Other than that, though, none of the usual and distinguishing features are still visible. The water is frozen over and snow covers the stone immediately by the creek, the grass has gone dry and brown and is splayed over the ground in uneven patches, wet and heavy. Bushes and trees have been reduced to wooden skeletons, creaking in the wind, and a few dead leaves sway in the biting breeze.
There is not a single splash of colour.
Not a single flower that grows.
She can’t decide if it’s better, like this: to have no visual memory, nothing to draw a parallel to with the memories she’s made of this place in the past. To look at the scene in front of her and be able to pretend that this isn’t the place where she had first seen Rumi free , that one of her fondest moments had happened right here, on these very stones.
Mira is already there.
Hunched over and quiet, her shoulders pulled towards her ears and a hood over her head. Strands of pink escaped it, anyways, moving gently in the wind. She’s standing above the creek, hands in her pockets – her head tilts a little, as Zoey comes closer, indicating that she’s heard her, but still Mira makes no move to turn around.
They’ve had separate business, this morning, and agreed to meet up here later.
She slips next to her girlfriend and follows her gaze out of the valley they’re in, towards the dead forest and the distant mountains. For a few moments, they stay quiet like that, swaying in the wind next to one another, the only sounds between them the crunching of snow underneath their boots.
“Hi.” Zoey says, finally, and gently nudges her elbow against Mira’s side. “Missed you.”
“Yeah.” The other girl replies, after a moment, her voice hoarse and her gaze still distant – her glasses are a little fogged up, no doubt because of the combination of cold air and her own warm breath. “Yeah. Hi, Zo. Missed you, too.”
They’re quiet again.
There is a gap between them, now: has been for the past six months. A gap, a chasm, a hole in their chests, in their very souls, shaped like Rumi.
Zoey blinks, once, and sees sunshine and purple hair and wild asters and lavender, before she blinks a second time and it all makes way for grey stones and wilted plants instead.
A snowflake lands on her cheek – she wipes it away like one would a tear.
“Meeting went okay?” Mira finally asks. “The lawyers, right? About that whole ordeal with the board leaders.”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry I wasn’t there.”
“It’s okay.” Bobby had been – he always was, these days. Still insisting on being their manager and representing them, even though they had told him they’d never sing again. “Wasn’t really all that interesting. Just the typical talk, you know?”
“Typical?”
“The kind where we both end up wanting to let you punch someone.”
That, at least, earns her a little chuckle, and Mira shuffles closer just the tiniest bit, until their shoulders are bumping against each other. Gently, Zoey reaches out to link their arms together, suppressing a sigh of relief when the other girl only leans further into her.
Her words are true, though.
When ‘Sunlight Entertainment’s now ex-vice president had first told them they had no right to bury Rumi where they wanted – before Celine fired half the board and got the coffin out of the earth herself – Mira had punched him in the face. Rightfully so, as Zoey said, after first pulling Mira back and then proceeding to break the man's nose herself.
Sadly, security did not agree with them.
At least there hadn’t been a lawsuit, though that surely was more a business decision than not. Having a legal battle against the remaining members of Huntr/x not even a month after their leader died would have looked terrible on the records.
“Did your stuff go okay?” Zoey asks, finally, after their chuckling has died back down, and they’ve gone back to staring aimlessly out into the valley. “You were here early.”
“Yeah. It went okay.” A shaking inhale, then: “Sorry. I know we said we’d go together. I just- I wanted to-... to …”
Mira’s expression darkens.
Her brows furrow and her eyes narrow, and Zoey can see her jaw clench. It’s the sort of face one makes when desperately attempting not to cry – but also, Mira had not cried in months .
“Hey, hey .” She reaches out, then, pulling her hand out of her pocket and pressing it against the other girl's cheek. Her skin is cold under her fingers, freezing almost. “It’s okay, Mir. It’s– w-we’re okay . You are.”
But Mira only shakes her head, eyes glassy as she whispers: “No. Nothing is okay, and it won’t be ever again.”
Zoey is about to say something comforting, really she is.
And then she sees the tangerine.
And the words catch in her throat and then there are tears in her eyes and she can’t breathe.
The stupid fruit sits on Mira’s palm, innocent and full and a little smushed.
Faint fingerprints have dug shapes into the soft outer layer, and it’s broken in one place, a little bit of juice dripping from the tiny white-ish tear in the otherwise perfectly orange skin.
And Zoey remembers – years ago, during summer, how she had a black eye and Mira had been angry and Rumi had taken them onto a hike through the mountains, to the valley they were in right now, and how she had brought food and drinks for both of them and excitedly talked about the wild flowers while peeling tangerine after tangerine and feeding the pieces to her two soulmates.
It had been summer and she had had a black eyes and Rumi had still been alive .
“I couldn’t even peel it.” Mira whispers, voice hoarse and rough. “I tried to, for her, because I never did when she was– I never did, when we still had her , so I tried, now, but the smell alone is making me sick .”
Zoey thinks it might be the same for her.
She doesn’t say a single thing.
Here is the truth: Ryu Rumi died on a sunday in June, cold and scared and all alone, thinking that no one loved her. The last thing Zoey ever did was point her weapons at her. The last thing Zoey ever said to her was: “How can we be together if we can’t tell your lies from your truths, Rumi?”
And then Rumi had run and then Rumi had died and now Rumi was a memory and a gravestone and a body in a hole and nothing more, nothing less.
Gently, Zoey eases the tangerine out of Mira’s shaking hands.
And it’s true – the smell itself makes her, too, want to throw up, makes her want to cry her eyes out and spent the entire day lying in bed with Mira at her side, if only to make sure that she has at least one of them left.
Still, she peels it.
Gently and carefully – Rumi never did like it when her fruits had some sort of skin left stuck on them, claiming the texture difference made her want to commit crimes –, until every piece of fruit is almost eased off of the rind. She leaves it connected just the tiniest bit: that way, the fruit looks whole in her hands, still, but it would be incredibly easy to pick up one piece.
Not that either of them will.
“There.” The wind almost carries away her voice as she speaks again, and she has to clear her throat once before continuing. “It was-... it’s a kind thought, Mira. So very kind of you.” And Zoey means it, every last bit of it, and she knows that Mira, too, is blaming herself for all of this, so she adds, more quietly: “You’re very kind, and very good, and I love you very much, okay? Just as much as I did her.”
And still, the world around them is silent.
And still, there is nothing more surrounding them than black woods, decay and cold winds; freezing snow and wilted plants, and the world as dead as she is.
And even still, Zoey tries to breathe through it all – through the grief and the anger and the pain – and she doesn’t quite succeed.
Her hands shake, as she leans down.
Her hands shake and her fingers tremble, and the snow doesn’t feel all that cold as she ever so gently places the tangerine down on the same rock they used to sit on in a better time.
Her hands shake and somehow, this feels more like a burial than any of the funerals they have had for her did.
For you, our love . Zoey thinks quietly, and the Honmoon around her hums a mournful little melody – Mira next to her stiffens, as if she could somehow hear the thoughts. Who will always be in our hearts, in our minds, and in your grave .
The world is quiet.
And then Mira’s hand slips into hers and she whispers, quietly: “I love you too, Zo.”
And Rumi is still dead and nothing will be as it was, and they’ll be fighting this battle with grief for all of eternity to come: what could have been, and what never was. It’s going to be the hardest challenge either of them has ever had to face.
But grief is the only thing they have left of her, now.
“It’s getting too cold.” Mira says, after a minute or an hour or an eternity has passed, and the wind is still biting and the snow is still falling and the world around them is as dead as Rumi is, and yet it moves on. “Your fingers are freezing. Let’s get you back inside.”
“Yeah, okay.” Her own voice sounds layered, as she replies, and Zoey doesn’t want to turn away from this place, this little secret creek that had always been theirs and theirs alone. She does, anyway. “Lets.”
She slips her hand into Mira’s, as they make their way back up the hill and onto the path.
Mira holds on to her as if it’s the only thing keeping her alive.
The tangerine – still a vibrant spot of colour in the dullness of the landscape surrounding it – stays behind, sitting innocently on the ground.
Soft and orange and bright in the snow.
The memory it carries; of sunshine and laughter and bright lilac hair, soft amber eyes and gentle fingers peeling fruit after fruit; will stay in this place for all of eternity to come, never to be spoken again.
Ryu Rumi, after all, died on a sunday.
There really isn’t much else to say.
– .˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳. –
(Amongst fire and violence and ghosts and death, a flicker of starlight twists and bends – and then, throat raw and flesh burning, something feral jolts awake.)
(Its screams are lost in the dark around.)