Chapter Text
For as long as Rumi could recall she only liked two things about herself physically. Her hair and her voice. Both of which were reminders of her mother. Once Zoey casually suggested cutting her hair when Rumi made an offhand remark of how heavy it was getting but the idea of that was unthinkable. The length of her hair and the methodical placement of it in a braid let Rumi see her mother in herself, the same way the sound of her voice did. They had the same octave range, after all.
Anything that reminded Rumi of her mother rather than her father was a good thing. An irreplaceable thing as it was something she could find pride in. Instead of the ever present shame she felt. Once she was told by Celine what her father was and what her patterns meant, shame had been her constant companion.
How couldn’t it be?
Demons were monstrous creatures in human disguise, hiding their true nature from their victims to feed on their souls. She was born from such a thing and it disgusted her. What had her mother been thinking? Had she known? Or was she tricked? Tricked into loving a demon, tricked into having Rumi? Why had she been born? Celine spoke of her mother like she was some holy idol, a precious thing, but how could she be considered such? Miyeong Ryu had a relationship with a demon, one serious enough to result in Rumi. It betrayed everything taught in the hunter code, what she did. How could she be so good if she did that?
Celine said her demon half didn’t matter, to focus on the human. That she hadn’t formed any deals with Gwi-Ma, that she was pure, she was a hunter, she was chosen by the Honmoon. But how could she believe any of that with the patterns spreading across her skin, marking Rumi as something wholly inhuman?
Patterns Rumi was told to hide since she was five years old.
Shame was Rumi’s first memory. At the age of five her patterns were still small. Just on the top of her back, not yet spreading to her arms. Rumi didn’t even know they were there yet. Mirrors had never been in abundance at Celine’s estate and her guardian had never put any in her room. There was no place Rumi could see her patterns and Celine hadn’t even explained her parents to her beyond the fact they were dead.
The estate was remote but every once in awhile they had workers present. People that helped with the landscaping or the occasional repair person. In this case, the air conditioning had stopped working so a man was on site to service it. They were in the middle of the summer, the heat sweltering and overpowering. Especially for such a small child.
To this day, Rumi could feel the heat when she thought of the memory. Stifling and humid, her shirt sweaty and clinging uncomfortably to her skin. She remembered how desperately she wanted to pull that shirt off, especially when Celine announced she had filled up the kiddie pool with cold water. Telling Rumi to go put on her swimsuit. The thought of cold water and the gross cling of her t-shirt caused Rumi to act without decorum, as many a five year old would, cheering as she tugged it over her head. Running shirtless past the repair person and into her room, already focused on finding her unicorn swimsuit.
Dimly Rumi could recall the sound of his laughter. It was knowing and charmed, he said something to Celine about his grandchildren loving to swim. Celine’s voice in response was pleasant but clipped, and there was an edge to it. The door to her room closed so very quietly but in Rumi’s memories the soft click might as well have been a loud slam. That’s how heavy it reverberated.
“Rumi,” said Celine, there was a chill in her words and a command was there. Something that made Rumi freeze in her search for the unicorn swimsuit to face her guardian. Celine crouched down, meeting Rumi at eye level. She always did that, maintained eye contact when they spoke. It was as if Celine wanted the impart her thoughts directly into Rumi through gaze alone. “Come here.”
Slowly, Rumi made her way over to Celine. Hands gripping her shorts, twisting the material and her steps hesitant. She was in trouble. She didn’t know why but Rumi knew she was. Celine looked serious and stern and there was that look in her eyes. The one that said to not argue with her. So Rumi walked over, standing in front of the older woman, trying not to cry.
There was a pause and Celine had seen the unshed tears. Maybe that’s why she lightened. Why she swept her fingers gently through Rumi’s bangs and offered her a hint of a smile. One that kept the tears back as Celine said a wry tone in her voice, “You have to keep your clothes on. We change them in private.”
Rumi blinked, wondering what she was talking about but then she saw her naked chest. Instantly she was flustered, crossing tiny arms over it, ashamed and Celine just kept petting her hair back.
“You know why, don’t you?” asked Celine, prompting Rumi. She often did this. Wanted Rumi to explain to her what she had done wrong. What her mistake was so Rumi would know not to do it again.
Biting her lip, Rumi nodded then muttered, “Repairman.”
“Yes,” Celine breathed, her smile growing slightly larger now. Appearing proud of her. This made Rumi start to feel a little better about the situation. “What about clothes?”
“They stay on during daytime, they change at night,” parroted Rumi, remembering now.
“What else?” Celine pressed, tilting her head.
“They get changed in private,” said Rumi finally, giving a decisive nod.
“Where is that?” asked Celine.
“My room,” said Rumi automatically.
“What did you do wrong?” Celine prodded and Rumi felt the tears come back. She stared at the floor, hands bunched into fists, knowing she had to say why she was bad but not wanting to. “Rumi,” Celine said her name like it was a warning. One that made her shiver in response.
“Didn’t change in my room,” said Rumi, her tone wobbling.
She knew she didn’t do what she was supposed to but she was so excited and the repairman, he looked like a nice old man, he laughed at her. He thought it was funny. So why was it so bad she messed up?
As if sensing this line of thought, Celine gripped her shoulders, her hands firm as they squeezed her. It wasn’t painful but there was something jarring about it. Almost like Celine was using it to emphasize the importance of what she was going to say next.
“There are things people can never be allowed to see,” said Celine sternly.
“On me?” asked Rumi brokenly.
Celine released a soothing murmur, her touch suddenly comforting, pulling Rumi into a hug. One that an adult Rumi knew never touched a certain area of her back. “It’s not your fault,” she said in a hush. “Your father’s responsible. It could never be your fault.”
Her father. Whatever was wrong with her was because of him. That’s why she can’t be seen. Rumi didn’t know anything about him. Just that he was bad. He was the reason her mother was gone and Rumi was with Celine. Being told that she had something on her because of him made Rumi want to disappear. She wanted to shrink small like Arrietty from The Borrowers, so no one could see her.
“Can we get rid of it?” Rumi cried desperately, clinging to Celine. Her unicorn swimsuit and the pool utterly forgotten. All she wanted was to be free of whatever mark her father had given her that she had to hide.
“Someday,” Celine reassured, fingers gently petting her hair. “Do you remember seeing the pretty lights? That’s the Honmoon. It chose you to be a hunter, like your mother, like me. Once we find the other two you can restore it. Make it a perfect golden and then it will be gone. All proof of him on you.”
Rumi remembered crying until she fell asleep and after that she became obsessed with mirrors, trying to find the mark of her father on her. The thing that she had to hide. She simultaneously sought them out and avoided them at all cost depending on her mood. Sometimes Rumi just had to find the proof of his evil on her. This usually happened when Celine scolded her, thinking that mark had to be reason why she was bad. Why Celine was correcting her. Why she couldn’t be a good girl. Sometimes Rumi was determined to forget the mark was on her, avoiding mirrors like the plague. If she couldn’t see herself then she couldn’t possibly see that horrible mark on her and it was like it never existed at all.
As she grew older Rumi wondered about Celine’s words. Would the patterns really disappear with the golden Honmoon? How could Celine know that? Rumi had read hundreds of diaries from former hunters and none had ever experienced anything like her before. There were records of the Honmoon turning a perfect golden and it did indeed banish all demons but who knew what that would do to her? Would it make her patterns disappear like Celine, and Rumi, so desperately wanted or would it do something else? Like sending her to the demon realm with others like her?
The Honmoon chose her but how much could it tell the difference between Rumi and the demons under Gwi-Ma’s influence? Did it sense she hadn’t made a deal with him? That she was this way because of her mother and father? That it wasn’t her fault she was born like this? Maybe none of that mattered. A demon was a demon. Half-human or not and Rumi would fall like the rest when it turned golden.
It was easier to believe Celine. To put faith in her as she had since she was a child but Rumi had her doubts. Particularly once Mira and Zoey joined her at the estate. Mira was first, with her deadpan enunciations and her blunt declarations. She was brutally honest with an incredible well of kindness hiding just beneath the surface. Rumi would never forget the first time she insulted Celine after a training session.
Rumi had been utterly scandalized and started to chide Mira but she was looking at Rumi with such tenderness. Mira’s rough voice was laced with concern, her fingers gentle and light on Rumi’s chin where Celine had gotten a hit in with a jang bong. “You okay?” Mira murmured. “She really got you good.”
All Rumi could do was dimly nod her head. Mira studied her for a moment, her gaze lidded then she hummed and pulled back, her fingers tracing a path across Rumi’s skin as she did so.
“She’s a bitch,” Mira said. “Training or not she didn’t have to hit you so hard. You don’t deserve to be treated that way. Not with how hard you work.”
Then came Zoey with her bright smiles and infectious optimism. Her continued inquiries after Rumi when she had a particularly difficult training session with Celine. Dark eyes worried and hands gentle, checking her for injuries and always asking if she was all right.
Rumi remembered when Zoey first spoke against Celine, protesting her treatment of Rumi. Only to be reprimanded for it by the woman herself. Seeing Zoey shrink into herself like that, like Rumi had done as a child and still continued to do around Celine at times, filled Rumi with rage. It was a day of firsts because it was the first time she argued with Celine. That she criticized her. That she spoke back. The shock was evident to Rumi, despite Celine’s seemingly serene expression. Just as the seething anger that soon followed it. Still, Rumi had no regrets. Not when Zoey burst into her room after Celine released her from a scathing lecture that left Rumi doubting everything good she might have thought about herself.
“Rumi!” Zoey called her name, breathless and desperate, her hands pulling Rumi into an all encompassing hug. One that left Rumi feeling so very warm and appreciated. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get you in trouble but she was being so mean and no one should ever be mean like that. Much less to you!” The words escaped from her mouth rapidly, one falling after the other, and her eyes. They were filled with tears and so very worried. “You’re all right, aren’t you?”
Resting her forehead on Zoey’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of sunshine itself, Rumi muttered, “I am. You make me all right. You and Mira.”
“Aww, our leader’s getting sentimental,” Mira joked in a sardonic drawl. Her fingers light on Rumi’s head, giving her hair an affectionate ruffle. “Seriously though, Celine continues to be a b-i-t-c-h.”
“Mira,” Rumi scolded with a laugh, lifting her head from Zoey’s shoulder.
“Made you laugh,” Mira grinned, tapping Rumi’s nose who scowled slightly.
It was moments like those. Being with Mira and Zoey. Learning what they thought of Celine and their relationship that made Rumi doubt her guardian. That maybe Celine wasn’t the end all, be all, authority of all thing hunters and life in general. She could be wrong. Her opinions, her ways, could be wrong. If that was the case then maybe Mira and Zoey were right? Maybe how Celine treated her wasn’t good? Wasn’t normal? If that was true then maybe what Celine thought about Rumi’s patterns wasn’t right as well.
Unbeknown to Celine, the first cracks in her control over Rumi took place when Rumi was 17 with the arrival of Mira. Those cracks soon turning into a crevasse with Zoey’s appearance a year later. Suddenly Celine wasn’t the center of Rumi’s world anymore. She had been replaced by Rumi’s hunting partners.
Ones who didn’t trust Celine completely. Who didn’t have a blind faith. Who taught Rumi to question what she was told. Who would erase the shame Celine inspired in her time and time again.
And that proved to be the ultimate destruction of Celine’s hold on Rumi.
——
It was summer and once again, Rumi was uncomfortable in the sweltering heat. Shirt sweaty and clinging to her skin. Despite her misery in wearing it, especially when she looked at Zoey and Mira clad in shorts and sports bras, Rumi thought it was an appropriate wardrobe decision by Celine standards. The shirt hid her patterns that had now spread from the entirety of her back to the top of her shoulders. It covered so much of her that Rumi thought she might die of the heat.
Every time she drank her water, wiped her forehead, or pulled the sweat soaked shirt from her skin, Mira or Zoey would ask her if she was sure she didn’t want to be more comfortable. Mira more crude, suggesting Rumi rid herself of the shirt, and Zoey more encouraging asking if Rumi wanted to borrow one of her tank tops instead. Each time they did, Celine would intervene, drawing their attention away from Rumi with a sharp instruction to them or to Rumi herself.
The last time she did this, Mira scowled, a dark expression on her sharp features. Rumi reached out, clasping her wrist in a soft hold. Ducking her head to meet their eyes, Rumi gave the slightest inclination of her head. Telling Mira silently it wasn’t worth it. This wasn’t the time. Nothing would change. They just had to get through this training session. Mira’s scowl deepened but whatever she was going to say disappeared in a muttering huff as she tangled her fingers with Rumi’s and squeezed her hand.
When Celine ended the training session Rumi, predictably, was asked to stay back.
Rumi could see the protests starting to form and she stopped them before they began. Walking to her partners and lowering her voice. “I’m fine,” she reassured, voice soothing. “I can handle her.”
“Rumi,” said Mira darkly, her glare fixed over Rumi’s shoulder at Celine. “Don’t try and calm me down. You’re not some little kid, none of us are anymore. She can’t just—“
“I know,” said Rumi soothingly, hesitating for a moment before she reached up, holding Mira’s chin between her index finger and thumb. Directing the visual’s attention back to her. “We’ve debuted two years ago. We’ve won the Idol Awards. We bought our own place thanks to you insisting on it.”
“We’re adulting thoroughly here,” declared Zoey humorously, making Rumi chuckle.
“We are,” Rumi agreed, directing her gaze to both of them now, pulling back to hold their hands. “In a few days it’ll be us on our own so let her have this, okay? I’ll be fine. Celine raised me for 17 years before either of you came along and I survived.”
“Surviving isn’t an ideal way to describe your childhood, unnie,” said Zoey softly.
“I know,” said Rumi in self-deprecating tones. “Look, even if I’m not all right you’ll both know it. You’re going to check on me after this, aren’t you?”
Whatever they were going to say was interrupted by Celine’s sharp call of Rumi’s name. Wincing at this, Rumi gave her best sheepish smile and a shrug. Hoping beyond hope that her girls couldn’t tell how very anxious she was suddenly feeling. It must have worked because Mira and Zoey reluctantly left her and Rumi was alone with Celine. Closing her eyes in preparation for whatever words might come, Rumi turned on her heel and opened them, schooling her face into an impassive expression.
“Rumi,” Celine said her name again. Her words were never loud. Never a yell. Never a shout. There was an eerie control to them. As if she was holding her lack of emotion as an example to her charge. Every syllable was dripping in a quiet sort of condemnation though. Disdain and disappointment threading through the lilt of her voice and somehow that cut deeper than any loud scream Rumi could imagine. “Stop encouraging their lack of discipline. You’re the leader.”
“Yes, Celine,” said Rumi evenly, meeting Celine’s gaze as she liked and keeping her stature straight. She knew better than anyone how her guardian hated it when she shrunk and wilted, making herself smaller. So she held herself tall and linked her hands behind her back, twisting her fingers together.
Sighing, Celine rubbed her temple, breaking the gaze that held Rumi place. Soon enough she raised it though, steel in those eyes along with a hint of understanding. “You’re an adult now,” Celine said, moving closer to cup Rumi’s chin in her hand. “You’ll be on your own soon. I need to know you won’t forget what I taught you. It’s tempting to go along with the girls, I realize that, but you’re different, Rumi. The rules that apply for them aren’t the same for you.” Swallowing the lump in her throat, feeling the tears forming, Rumi gave a stiff nod of her head. Celine considered her for a long moment then said, “Our faults and fears—“
“Must never be seen,” said Rumi thickly, finishing the edict that had been her tenet since childhood.
“Good,” said Celine, sounding quietly pleased as she released Rumi from her hold.
Good she said. I guess it was good that she reminded Rumi what she was. Flawed. Full of faults. Fearing anyone knowing who she was. What she was. Rumi was something to be hidden. Something no one could know the truth of and love. Celine had proved that, so careful with her touches. To only reach out for the parts of Rumi that she knew were human. That weren’t tainted by her father’s mark.
She was a monster. She wasn’t born of one but she came from one.
And there it was. A familiar sensation burning inside of her. It wasn’t like touching a hot pan or the scorching sidewalk in the summer. No, it was a sharp sensation buried deep in her skin, as if tearing through her muscle and Rumi only experienced it when something very specific happened.
Her patterns were expanding.
Hiding her panic from Celine, Rumi quickly made excuses of needing to shower. Soon as she was out of sight, Rumi dashed to her room, the tears blurring her vision. Both from the physical pain and from the knowledge of what was happening to her.
“No, no, no, no,” the words tumbled from Rumi in a rush, panic rising with each word. Yanking open a dresser drawer and pulling out a small ornate hand mirror that was a birthday gift from Mira upon seeing Rumi didn’t have any in her room. Gasping and scrabbling at her shirt, still sweaty and clinging uncomfortably to her skin, Rumi tore it off and held the mirror up to her back. “Why?” Rumi gasped, watching in horror and misery at the patterns creeping further down her arm. Serpent like in their movement, as if taunting Rumi with their growth. “Why??”
Placing the mirror face down on the dresser, Rumi gripped at her arms, squeezing them tight where the patterns were spreading. As if she could stop them from going further through physical strength. A gasping cry escaped her lips and she collapsed onto her bed, rocking forward and holding herself tighter still. Why was this happening again? Was she becoming more of a demon? Was it trying to take control of her?
“Rumi?” Zoey’s voice called through her door, accompanied by a soft knock.
Whipping her head up, Rumi gasped again, grateful for Zoey and Mira’s decorum. They had quickly discovered how she valued her privacy and never entered her room without knocking. Standing quickly, Rumi dashed to her closet, finding a long sleeved compression shirt she often wore for work outs and pulled it over her head. Rubbing her eyes, Rumi gripped her arms again, unable to help it as she felt that deep pain coursing through them. Proof her patterns were stretching further.
“Come in,” Rumi called, doing her best to keep her voice level as she sat on her bed.
Immediately, the door opened and Zoey hesitantly stepped inside, Mira on her heels. Zoey’s eyes were dark with concern and Mira’s were assessing. Zoey sat next to her carefully, her touch light on the small of Rumi’s back. She didn’t ask anything, she simply offered comfort and Rumi released a shuddering sigh, unable to help resting against the lyricist.
“I’m fine,” offered Rumi finally, a tick in her jaw as she suppressed the pain of the patterns.
Mira snorted in response. “Right,” she drew the word out sarcastically. “I’ll believe that in about never.” She crouched down in front of the bed, peering up at Rumi, hands resting gently on Rumi’s knees. “You know whatever Celine said isn’t the truth.” Rumi released a bark of laughter. She wished that was true but Mira didn’t know. Didn’t know what she was. There’s no way she’d think that if she did. “Rumi,” Mira said, her voice commanding in a way that reminded Rumi all too much of Celine. It demanded attention and long trained by instinct, Rumi gave it. “I don’t know what she said and you don’t have to tell me. I know you though. I know how good you are. How hard you try. How much you care. How much you give. And I know whatever she says to you makes you feel like you are less.” A pause and then Mira cupped Rumi’s cheek, her thumb rubbing against it tenderly. “You aren’t. You’re the best leader, the best singer, and you’d probably be the best dancer if I wasn’t around.”
A genuine laugh escaping her now, Rumi met Mira’s gaze gratefully. “Thank you,” she breathed.
“Don’t believe her,” said Mira quietly. “You’re the best person I know outside of Zoey.”
Zoey’s arm wrapped around Rumi’s waist now, pulling Rumi into her hold. It was warm and oh so comforting and Rumi hid her face in the crook of Zoey’s neck. “It’s true, unnie,” she said in a hush, her fingers tracing a comfortable path across Rumi’s back. “Please don’t listen to Celine. She’s hard on all of us but it’s different with you. It’s like she can’t give you a compliment. All you hear is everything you do wrong and that’s not right,” Zoey murmured. There was a pause and then Zoey asked, her tone careful and almost wary, “Was it always like that? Has she ever told you good job?”
“It’s not that bad,” Rumi insisted, pulling back to look at Zoey who wore an uncertain expression.
Rumi watched Zoey meet Mira’s eyes to share a silent communication and she knew they didn’t believe her. Not that she didn’t blame them, more often than not she remembered the things that hurt growing up and not what made her happy. The latter always seemed in short supply until Mira and Zoey entered her life. Even them coming into her room, it stopped her from spiraling. They held her together, made her better, and even the pain from her patterns…
Wait.
It stopped.
The deep burning pain in her arms. It was gone.
When? Rumi searched her mind. Running through the past few minutes. It was still there when they came into her room. It was there when Zoey sat next to her. But when Mira touched her, when she said how Rumi was the best… it started to fade. Then Zoey hugged her and it was gone. The patterns stopped growing because of them? What they said? Or how they made her feel?
Loved. Accepted.
“Hello in there?” Mira drawled, flicking Rumi’s forehead lightly with her index finger. When Rumi startled, Mira burst into laughter. “We lost you for a second there. What’s going on in that big brain of yours?”
Rumi shook her head and offered a crooked smile, she’d have to figure out what it all meant later. They were more important. Turning to Zoey and grabbing her hand along with Mira’s, pulling the visual to sit next to her on the bed. “We’re going to be out of here in two days, remember?” she said brightly.
“Yesss,” hooted Zoey, pumping her fist in a triumphant pose. “I cannot wait!” Tapping her chest proudly, Zoey declared, “Age of majority, folks! 19 and flying free with a three story penthouse bought with our very own debut money.”
“Set up by yours truly,” said Mira smugly, folding her arms across her chest. “I even found that new real estate development so we could get everything designed custom for us.”
“You timed it perfectly so it was finished just after Zoey turned 19,” complimented Rumi, squeezing Mira’s hand. Noting how the tips of Mira’s ears turned red at this, something Rumi found utterly charming.
“Yeah, well, I was ready to be free of the wicked witch’s influence,” snarked Mira, scratching her cheek. “Besides,” she nudged Rumi with her shoulder. “You’re the one who got Celine off our backs. There’s no way we would’ve pulled any of this off it wasn’t for that.”
“I can’t wait to be in our new home,” said Zoey with a wistful sigh. “The building is so dope and so is the neighborhood. There’s even a high end bathhouse where you rent private rooms a block away. We have to go!” Zoey pleaded, looking at both of them with those impossible to resist puppy dog eyes.
“Fuck yeah, I’m going,” Mira agreed.
They both turned their attention to Rumi and she felt her breath speed up, a panic starting to fill her at the idea of them seeing her. Of them knowing what she was. And then it was there again. A sharp pain, deep in her muscles, and Rumi gasped.
“Hey,” said Zoey, voice full of concern, pushing a lock of hair from Rumi’s eyes. “You okay? You don’t have to go with us if you don’t want. I know you’re shy about stuff like that.”
It was gone. The pain. Zoey had stopped it.
Her body was telling her something. Her soul even. That Celine wasn’t right. How she made her feel wasn’t right. What she said about hiding wasn’t helping her. It was causing her pain. It was making her worse. The patterns were spreading because of Celine’s teachings. Instead it was Mira and Zoey that were right. Their love. Their acceptance. The decision came before Rumi realized what she was saying.
“No,” Rumi breathed, unable to believe she was doing this. That she was planning what she was. It went against everything she was taught. Everything she knew. Still, it felt right. “I want go with you both.”
Mira and Zoey whooped excitedly, discussing their bathhouse plans and Rumi sat between them. Feeling like she belonged.
—
In the quiet of the night, Rumi stared at the ceiling of her room, going over the events of the day. Analyzing that happened with her patterns. The pain of them spreading started when she was feeling ashamed. Rumi hating herself, wanting to hide, to disappear… that was the start of the pain.
The more she fell into that hole of loathing, of despair and disregard for herself, the stronger that feeling was the faster her patterns grew. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Not when the opposite caused them to stop.
Mira and Zoey they made her feel loved. Accepted. That she had nothing to hide. They made her think better of herself. Pulled her out of the pit of misery Celine had thrown her into.
Hating herself made the patterns worse. Loving herself made them better.
Rumi had always tried to keep her word. If she said she’d do something, she did it. No excuses, no broken promises. Her word was her bond. She told them she would go to the bathhouse. They didn’t pressure her, they didn’t prod, Zoey even gave her an out but she said she would go. Why had she done that after everything Celine had said about hiding? She knew why.
She wanted to tell them everything about her. About her mother. About her father. About her patterns. About what Celine had taught her. About hiding and shame and hating what she was.
Once they were moved into the penthouse, Rumi would do it. It was their home. Away from Celine and her influence. She’d feel safe there. She’d feel loved.
Yes, Rumi thought firmly. I’ll tell them everything once I’m out of this place.
—-
Moving day wasn’t some monumental thing. It felt like an entirely normal day with the exception of Bobby and Rumi showing up with a sprinter transport van and rental car. Bobby was going to drive the van and he put Rumi on the rental car agreement since legally, she was the only one old enough for it.
They had already put the majority of their belongings in neatly labeled boxes and placed them in the foyer of Celine’s house. Once Bobby arrived in the sprinter van they started the process of loading, it would be a tight fit but it helped that their concert gear was kept at a separate location. Something they could change with the penthouse given the floor with their living quarters had two spare rooms.
Still, Rumi considered, eyeing the van slowly filling up. There sure was a lot.
“Zoey,” Mira drew her name out in a teasing accusation. “Why do you have twice as many boxes as Rumi when she grew up here and you’ve only been around three years?”
“Only been around?” repeated Zoey with great offense, pressing a hand to her chest after placing another box of her belongings inside the van. “I’ll have you know I have knick knacks! Swag! Collectibles!”
“She likes physical media,” Rumi offered helpfully. “It’s mostly games.” Mira made an all knowing sound at this which made Zoey protest. “Besides, I have the biggest personal item, remember? My Steinway.”
“Oh yeah,” said Mira thoughtfully, “that thing is huge. Concert grand size.” Staring at Zoey for a moment, an impish smile tugged at her lips and she added, “Doesn’t change the fact Rumi still has less stuff.” Giving Zoey’s cheek a pinch, Mira cooed, “Who’s a little hoarder?”
“I’m not a hoarder! I collect things!” Zoey shouted, whapping Mira’s hand away from her face.
“Denial is so very sad to witness,” Mira observed, turning to put the last of her own boxes in the van.
“I also have my plants,” offered Rumi, lifting up her Korean Boxwood as she said this. “Three boxes of them plus this big guy.” Directing her gaze around the shrub, Rumi smiled at Zoey. “I hoard plants and Mira hoards make up. Everybody collects things they like and you like games. Plus you’re good at them,” Rumi said, speaking as if this was an absolute truth. “I love watching you play games. It’s fun.”
“Rumi,” Zoey called her name, adoration in her tone. Faking a sniffle, she glared at Mira, pointing an accusing finger at her. “Why can’t you be like our unnie? Listen how supportive she is!”
Snorting at this, Mira drawled, “There’s only one Rumi. We can’t clone her.” Helping Zoey with her last box of video games, Mira poked Rumi in the small of her back, causing Rumi to yelp. “I don’t hoard make up.”
“It’s not bad,” said Rumi, blinking.
“I don’t,” Mira insisted stubbornly. “I have the exact right amount.”
“One box of yours was nothing but eyeshadow palettes. There were over fifty,” said Rumi plainly. Mira scowled in response and Zoey began giggling madly, saying Mira had been called out. Rumi blinked yet again, not understanding why this was something to be bothered about. “It’s a good thing though?” said Rumi, puzzled at why Mira would be embarrassed. “You’re our visual, it’s part of your job. You’re so talented at coming up with all of our styling and you always look so pretty.”
This immediately halted the joking and Mira reddened, muttering thanks under her breath while Zoey whistled and rocked back on her heels, looking supremely pleased with herself.
“I hate we have to leave your fruit trees behind,” said Zoey quickly, changing the subject much to Mira’s relief. She looked longingly over at the persimmon and plum trees.
“We have a large balcony and my room has a smaller one, I was thinking of trying to grow blackberries and melons. Maybe even try to do a kiwi vine,” Rumi mused, thinking of ways she might accomplish it.
“Strawberries!” Zoey proclaimed, hooking their arms together.
“That sounds good,” Rumi smiled, peering up at Mira who was observing them. “Mira likes them. I want to grow blackberries first though. They’re both your favorite.”
“You should grow what you like, Rumi,” said Mira, a fond sort of scolding in her tone.
“I like them too though?” responded Rumi, tilting her head in confusion.
“All right! That is the last box!” Bobby announced, his voice accompanied by the slam of the van doors, startling all three of them. Grinning at them, he said, “Ready to go? Your penthouse awaits!”
“The furniture delivery was two days ago but how did the set up go?” asked Rumi, knowing Bobby hired not only a moving company but one for organizing. Thus ensuring their beds had sheets, the electronics were all plugged in, and the internet was working, amongst other things.
“It went perfect,” said Bobby, giving a thumbs up. “Everything is ready to go. When we get there I have another moving crew to help us unload too. Oh! I also had the organizers unpack all the kitchen supplies but nothing’s been put away, like you requested.”
Seeing the questioning look on her friends faces, Rumi supplied, “I want to organize the kitchen myself.”
“Well, isn’t that very domestic goddess of you?” Mira drew out, there was a warmth to her tone and her eyes glinted with affectionate humor. “Aren’t we lucky, Zoey? We have our own sexy housewife.”
There was something about Mira’s tone and the look in her eyes that made Rumi blush. It wasn’t helped by Zoey continuing to cling to her, squeezing her hand as she declared, “Rumi would be the best housewife ever. She’s good at gardening, she’s an awesome chef, and she likes keeping everything clean and organized—“ Zoey kept rambling on about Rumi’s various domestic qualities, praising them all and Rumi could feel herself getting redder and redder. Eventually Zoey was halted by Mira’s laughter.
“Rumi can’t take anymore compliments, Zoey,” Mira observed. “You should probably stop before she explodes.” Turning to Bobby, she held out her hand. “Rental keys?”
Bobby wore a look of consternation, gazing at Mira then Rumi and then back again. This caused Rumi to finally snap out of Zoey’s compliment induced daze. “Bobby put me down as the secondary driver. I’m the only one old enough to drive a rental,” said Rumi apologetically as Bobby handed her the keys. She knew how much Mira enjoyed to drive. Quite frankly, she rather Mira do it. Rumi didn’t particularly like driving but the law was the law.
Before Mira could reply, Celine called for them. Apparently seeing they finished packing the van she had paused in front of them, taking them in with an assessing gaze. “Girls,” Celine said evenly and there was a stern undertone to the word. As if there was a warning in it. “You are adults, make sure you behave as such. Consider your reputation and that of the group now that you have this freedom. And,” she paused, there was a heaviness in her voice, “don’t forget what everything is for. What is at stake.”
They all nodded, saying in a perfect chorus, “Yes, Celine.”
“Rumi,” Celine commanded, taking a step back. Clearly expecting Rumi to follow her.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Rumi put the rental keys in Mira’s hand. “I’ll be there in a minute,” Rumi promised, only vaguely hearing Mira’s response but feeling her and Zoey’s gaze on her as she left. Stopping next to Celine at the persimmon tree Zoey had been lamenting earlier, Rumi clasped her hands together.
“Remember the rules,” said Celine finally.
“Yes,” Rumi breathed, trying desperately not to think of her plans to almost immediately break them.
There was a moment of silence and then Celine wore the softest smile. The one that always made Rumi want to call her mother. She cupped Rumi’s cheek, her thumb sweeping across it in a fond caress. “Rumi,” Celine said her name like it was a prayer and there were tears in her eyes. “You’ve grown up so well. I’m proud of you and I know your mother would be too.”
“Celine,” Rumi uttered, unable to help the emotion from escaping.
Then Celine’s arms were around her, pulling her into a hug and Rumi clung to her like she had as a child, when she had wanted for nothing but love and reassurance. All too soon it was over and Celine wiped Rumi’s tears away, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips but a clear reminder in her eyes.
“You’re the leader, Rumi,” said Celine solemnly. “Always remember what that means.”
Giving a jerky nod, Rumi rubbed at her eyes and vowed, “I’ll protect them.”
“Good,” said Celine, sounding pleased. “Now go on, they’re waiting for you.” Rumi nodded again, looking to her girls in the distance and as she walked away, Celine called, “Visit me once in awhile, won’t you? And if not that, do text me once a week. It’s not like you’re going away to war.”
“I will,” Rumi promised, laughing and wishing it was always like this with Celine. Sometimes she could be so very kind, so very understanding, and it was all that Rumi had ever wanted.
Upon arriving at the car, Mira tossed her the keys and Rumi barely managed not to fumble. “I called shotgun, plus I have the longest legs,” Mira informed her, sliding into the passenger seat.
“I curse my ancestors for being short,” Zoey said bitterly.
“You mean your parents?” snarked Mira with a lopsided grin. Poking Rumi in the arm once she sat in driver’s seat, Mira said, “You know once I get my car I’m the designated driver, right?”
“Kia Stinger GTS,” Rumi said, recalling Mia’s choice. “Cherry red. You’re getting it in a month, right?” Mira murmured her assent and Rumi started the far less sporty Hyundai Elantra Bobby had rented. “In a year we can probably renegotiate the safety clause in our contract that kept you from buying a motorcycle.”
“Don’t forget the forbidden Porsche,” said Mira, snorting. “They shot that down too. I can’t believe we’re hunters and I can’t ride a Hyosung.”
“Can you imagine if JYP knew HUNTR/X was just a side gig?” asked Zoey, laughing.
“Celine might be a pain but being on her label keeps them off our backs mostly,” Mira observed, giving the older woman a rare compliment. Eyeing Rumi discretely, Mira noted, “She seemed okay back there.”
“She told me she’s proud of me and that my mom would be too,” said Rumi thickly, keeping her focus on the road and following close behind Bobby in the sprinter van. “It was nice.”
There was a comfortable silence until Zoey and Mira began to argue over whose phone would be controlling the bluetooth. Listening to them playfully bicker as she drove to their future home, a wave of contentment swept over Rumi as she realized this was her future.
This warmth. This chatter. Not coldness. Not silence.
Things were going to be good.
—
Bobby must have found the fastest movers in Seoul, Rumi considered, looking at the neat pile of boxes in her room. The movers had emptied the van and placed their belongings in just under an hour. They were fans of the group so their manager saw them off with signed official promo photos and a large tip. With a cheery wave, Bobby said his goodbyes and they were alone.
Instinctively, they decided to explore the penthouse together. Marveling at the floor that held their music and dance studio, separated by a soundproof wall. Rumi ran her fingers over the top of her piano, relieved to see it in good condition while Zoey checked on her drums and guitar before dashing towards the booth. Mira and Rumi left her there, playing with all of the new mix options to look at the dance studio.
It was bright with floor to ceiling windows and a large mirrored wall so they could see their movements perfectly. A long bar ran across the opposite side and Mira noted with some satisfaction the quality of the stereo system installed. Not only that but Bobby had apparently added small kitchenette area in the corner, apparently remembering how thirsty and hungry they all got after dance practice.
The next floor up held their gym and small infirmary. Zoey rejoined them as they tried out all the various equipment. A treadmill, exercise bike, rowing machine, elliptical, weight bench and Rumi’s favorite, a lat pull down machine. There was a long mat they could spar on and yet again, Bobby had added a kitchenette. Next door, the much smaller infirmary had been set up by Celine with three cots and all kinds of medical equipment that Rumi hope they would never have to use including an AED and a blood infusion pump. Celine took care of everything when Bobby wasn’t here and the room was set with a keycode for privacy.
Finally there were their living quarters. Rumi had chosen the room with the most direct sunlight for her plants, Mira right next to her as she claimed to be a vampire who hated sunlight, and Zoey at the end. Each room filled with the furniture they had chosen, just waiting to be decorated. After complimenting each other’s chosen living spaces, they headed towards the living room and the huge couch which had been something they all agreed upon the instant they saw it. It was absurdly comfortable and so very big that none of them could ever take up too much space. In front of it was an impressively large smart TV that had been Zoey’s choice and she started imagining all the movie and TV nights they could have here.
It was then that Rumi, unable to help herself, blurted out, “I have a surprise for you.” Zoey blinked and Mira grinned, bumping Rumi’s shoulder playfully. “We have a surprise for you,” Rumi corrected.
“For me? What is it?” asked Zoey, eyes wide.
“Remember the two spare rooms we have on this floor? It was an easy choice to make one into a wardrobe for us, so we could keep all of our stage clothes here but what about the other room?” Rumi prompted, leading Zoey to said room which was just off of their large living room area. Pushing the door open, Rumi revealed a space furnished with an entertainment center featuring another smart TV, a large desk with three monitors and comfortable gaming chair, a strangely big mini-fridge, a large couch with side tables, and a built in wall of empty shelves. “We thought you could use it for a gaming room.”
“I made Bobby sound proof it,” said Mira sardonically. “You yell too much playing Overwatch.”
“You guys,” Zoey drew the words out, sounding overcome with feeling as she swept them both up in a hug. She rocked them to and fro in her embrace, making Rumi laugh and Mira groan in resignation. “I can’t believe you did this for me! And you,” she accused, shoving Mira with a wild grin. “After you mocked me for being a video game hoarder!”
“Mockery is a sign of my affection,” said Mira drolly. She nodded at Rumi and said, “Really this was Rumi’s idea. She wanted a separate space for you to game. Said was healthier for you or something.”
“It effects your sleep,” Rumi insisted, a defensive tone going into her voice. “I read all about it! Games keep you mentally and physiologically stimulated. They keep you alert and focused which is exact opposite of what you want to do to go to sleep!” Seeing the indulgent look on Zoey and Mira’s faces as she spoke, Rumi had to fight a pout of frustration she knew would just encourage them. “Besides,” Rumi said, rolling her eyes. “You wanted to try gaming streams, right Zoey? This would work good for that.”
“Ohhhh, it would,” said Zoey eagerly, already focused on setting up her all systems in here. The desk was perfect for her rig and she noticed with some affection all her boxes filled with games and systems had been placed in here already. Eyes wet with emotion at the thought that went into all this, Zoey sniffled. “You guys are the greatest. I really love it. Thank you.”
“No problem, I like sleep,” said Mira in laconic tones, ruffling her hair.
“You’re welcome,” said Rumi warmly, squeezing Zoey’s hand.
“All right! I’m totally unpacking all my gaming gear after I finish with my room,” Zoey announced, shoving up the sleeves of her hoodie and stomping with purpose back towards her room.
“I’m organizing my closet by designer and season,” Mira declared as if this was the only correct answer.
Rumi watched them go, quiet laughter on her lips, and she headed towards the balconies to assess which areas would be best for her plants. Slowly but surely, she arranged the ones she felt would be best suited to live outside and the others she placed in her room on several elaborate plant stands she had indulged in. Once that was done, Rumi considered the few remaining boxes of personal items. She really ought to unpack them but her mind was drawn back to the kitchen.
Their spacious state of the art kitchen filled with all those supplies Bobby had arranged for her.
The temptation was too great and Rumi abandoned her room for the kitchen where she noted with wry humor the bluetooth speaker that was designed to look like a retro Victrola radio. Turning it on and connecting, Rumi recalled Zoey’s insistence a kitchen without music was a sad place indeed. Apparently before their divorce, her parents had a habit playing music whenever they cooked, singing along as they prepared meals.
Cycling through her latest genre obsession, which Mira had declared to be emo girls, Rumi hummed along and started inspecting all the kitchen appliances. A rice cooker, coffee maker, blender, toaster, stand mixer, crock pot, and oh! Bobby had gotten her the air fryer she was interested in. Biting her lip, Rumi wondered if she should have told him about the food dehydrator. It would’ve been really good for making snacks. It was then that Rumi noticed the large object placed neatly next to the refrigerator.
A food dehydrator. How had Bobby known? He was scarily good at anticipating their needs sometimes.
Each item made Rumi more and more delighted. She even had a glass sprayer for olive oil. Rumi didn’t know why that made her so tremendously happy but it did. Taking her time, she placed everything where she felt it would be most convenient. A feeling of immense satisfaction coming over her as she did.
Everything was in its place and Rumi was finishing with the simplest task. Placing the eating utensils in the organizer drawer. Chopsticks, steak knives, forks, spoons and finally butter knives. Rumi held the last one in hand, about to put it away when she startled at the feeling of hands on the bare skin of her hips. A startled yelp escaping her lips, Rumi whirled around, butter knife in hand to face an amused Mira.
“Rumi,” Mira drawled, raising an eyebrow. “You know that’s a butter knife, right? Not the most threatening thing you could choose.”
Flushing at this, Rumi shoved the butter knife quickly into the drawer and closed it. Mira in the meantime, was inspecting their newly organized kitchen with some interest. “You did a good job,” she said finally and Rumi couldn’t help the pride that swelled up in her at the compliment. There was a light of concern in Mira’s appraisal, studying Rumi like she was something in an art exhibit or museum. “You haven’t been in here this whole time, have you?” When Rumi bit her lip and looked to the side, patently avoiding Mira’s question, she groaned and lightly bonked Rumi’s forehead. Leaning down to smile affectionately when Rumi finally met her eyes, putting their faces just inches apart. “It’s more important to unpack your belongings. Don’t worry about stuff that’s for us. It can wait. You’re what matters.”
“It’s not like that,” Rumi murmured, rubbing her neck and trying to figure out the best way to explain it. Finally she peered up at Mira and revealed, “This is for me too. I wanted to do this after I took care of my plants. I’m really excited to have a kitchen of my own. Celine let me cook sometimes but I felt like I was in her way. It won’t be like that here. I have all these recipes I want to try and Bobby even got me an air fryer and food dehydrator.” Realizing she was starting to ramble, Rumi abruptly snapped her lips shut and turned towards Mira who was observing her with a soft look in her eyes. “What?” she squeaked.
“My perfect housewife,” Mira chuckled and Rumi scowled in response. “You’re going to deny it? You’ve got epic plans around cooking for us. That’s so very housewife coded.”
“I can’t cook now,” said Rumi, sighing with disappointment. “There’s no groceries. I was going to go grocery shopping—“
“Nuh uh, no way,” interrupted Mira, “it’s moving day. You can’t grocery shop. This is a takeout occasion, hands down. I won’t hear any arguments.” Plopping down on the nearby stool at their kitchen island, Mira continued, “We’re in our fancy penthouse that we bought with our money. It has security and staff that will bring our delivery to us via an elevator that is not our personal elevator and holy shit, I love this place,” Mira proclaimed, enthusiasm abundant in her deep intonation of her voice.
“I do too,” said Rumi with a laugh. Sitting next to Mira, she asked, “What should we get?”
“Rumi wants kimbap,” Zoey called, sliding into the room in her turtle slippers. Grinning as she came to a perfect stop right in front of them. Zoey posed as if waiting to be praised for her excellent sliding skills but when nothing came she huffed and leaned against Rumi. “I could go for it too.”
“Sounds good,” Mira muttered, already looking up restaurants on her phone.
“Don’t forget drinks,” reminded Rumi. “We just have the water from our new smart fridge.”
“Do we have glasses?” asked Zoey, peering around to study the freshly arranged kitchen.
“We do, Rumi already put them away. She’s been organizing everything,” Mira remarked.
“What? You did it on your own? I would’ve helped!” Zoey pouted, tugging on Rumi’s sleeve.
An immediate panic filling her as she felt her collar shift downward, Rumi carefully detached Zoey’s hold on her. Not now. It was too soon. They couldn’t see yet. Not until she could explain. Thoroughly aware of Zoey’s lurking insecurities that could suddenly rear their ugly head, Rumi instead laced their fingers together to hold their hands. “I wanted to do it though,” Rumi confessed shyly, thinking back to Mira’s ongoing jokes about her being their housewife. “I was excited to be able to put everything in place.”
“She wants to cook for us,” revealed Mira, fondness lacing her tone. Shoving her phone in front of Rumi, she murmured, “Pick a drink. I figured you’d want omija tea but I didn’t want to assume.”
Rumi blinked and looked up at Mira, smiling softly and pushing phone back into her grip. “You’re right. It’s my favorite with kimbap,” Rumi reassured, touched that Mira remembered something like that. Then again that was a very Mira thing. She always knew their favorites, no matter what it was. Drinks, food, clothing, she even could weirdly predict Rumi’s favorites whenever she found a new music genre obsession.
“Oh,” Mira muttered, a hint of red clinging to the tips of her ears. “Good.” Focusing on Zoey now, she asked, “You want a melon milki?”
“I do,” Zoey chirped, grinning wide. Turning to Rumi and poking her playfully in the side. “Should we guess Mira’s favorite drink with kimbap, unnie? I think it’s—“ Zoey stood on her tip toes to whisper her answer in Rumi’s wear who blushed at this but wore a thoughtful expression at whatever she was saying. Dropping back down on her feet, Zoey asked, “What do you think?” Rumi made a noise of affirmation and Zoey whirled around to face Mira, pointing at her as she stated, full of confidence, “Sikhye!”
Ears turning redder yet, Mira released a grunt of affirmation, letting them know they were correct. Focusing on her phone, she finished the order after confirming the appetizers they wanted to share. “It’ll be here in twenty minutes,” Mira said. Peering around them, her gaze set on the couch. “Should we make sure that giant TV of ours works in the meantime?”
“Couch, couch, couch,” Zoey chanted.
Hooking her arms in Mira and Rumi’s, encouraging them to chant along with her, Zoey pulled them towards their largest furniture purchase. Soon enough, they gave in, laughing with her. Mira leapt over the back of the couch with ease, landing with a soft plop with Zoey following close behind. Rumi took the long way, walking around the couch to settle carefully next to Zoey.
Zoey immediately set to work, downloading all their favorite streaming apps, going through the tedious login process for each of them. As she did, they discussed what they should watch. Once all downloads and logins were complete the food was five minutes away and they agreed on a YouTube nature documentary. Per usual, it focused on marine animals and Rumi was sure it had something about sea turtles in it.
Their phones buzzed with a notification from building security, informing them through the messaging system a staff member was headed up the general elevator to their floor with the food. “I’ll get it,” said Rumi quickly, rising to her feet and heading out to the small foyer that was only part of their penthouse accessible to building personnel. She recalled Mira quizzing the developers about how secure it would be, who would have access, how did they vet their employees. Only satisfied when she was informed only security would have the code to reach their floor and that it would change on a weekly basis. Waiting in the brightly lit foyer, Rumi shifted from foot to foot and schooled her face into the friendliest smile when the ding of the elevator sounded. “Thank you,” Rumi immediately began, giving a slight bow, taking note of the name badge the man wore as she did. “I appreciate your assistance, Hwan Lim-ssi.”
“You’re welcome, Ryu-nim,” said Hwan Lim, his eyes filled with relief, returning her bow.
Rumi wondered if maybe there were other high profile residents in the tower who weren’t quite so respectful to staff. He carefully held out the food for her, waiting patiently as Rumi gathered it all. Once she had it in hand, he bowed again and disappeared back into the elevator. Heading back to their penthouse, Rumi set the drink caddy down and entered the code, smiling at the click as it unlocked.
“I bring food,” Rumi called, laughing when she heard the scramble of limbs before seeing it.
Handing over the drink caddy to Mira’s outstretched hands, Rumi set the large bag of food on the sturdy wooden soban. Large enough to sit six people, it reminded Rumi of the antique table Celine and her would often sit at when she was little. That was part of why she was so insistent on purchasing it. Settling on the floor and crossing her legs, Rumi began to pull out the dishes. Kimbap, bulgogi, jeyuk bokkeum, ttokbokki, kimchi and jeon was neatly arranged across the table.
Mira placed the drinks in front of their respective areas as Zoey jumped the couch, dishes and chopsticks in hand. Rumi’s eyes went wide at this until she noted with some relief the plates were the plastic ones. The chance of those shattering into ceramic shards were nonexistent. They quickly set to filling their plates, marine animal documentary playing in the background as they ate.
“This is the best,” Zoey said brightly, beaming at them. “Us eating in our own place.”
“It fucking rules,” Mira agreed in her usual deadpan tones though they were laced with satisfaction.
“I’m really happy,” Rumi confessed, eyes fixed on her kimbap as if to avoid the embarrassment she felt.
“Aww, me too unnie,” chimed Zoey, nudging Rumi with her feet, making Rumi lift her head and be met with the most gleaming of smiles. “I like my gaming room the best though. I can’t believe you all did that for me. It’s the coolest thing ever. I took pix and sent it to my little bros. They’re totally jealous.”
“Isn’t it like 2 AM there? Shouldn’t they be sleeping,” observed Mira sardonically.
“They’re tweens, they don’t sleep,” Zoey scoffed, grinning as she thought of her siblings back in California with her father and stepmother.
“If you say so,” said Mira. Shifting her attention to Rumi, she released a bark of laughter as Rumi froze in the midst of stuffing her face with kimbap. “Finish your food, princess,” Mira drawled. Rumi quickly did as she was told and once she swallowed the piece whole, Mira smirked, resting her chin in the palm of her hand and studying her with a lidded gaze. “You’ve got to be happy, being out from under Celine at last.”
Mira said it like it was a known truth. That there was no way Rumi couldn’t be happy and Rumi supposed she was right. She loved Celine, she did, but their relationship could be so very oppressive. Now that Rumi thought she knew the reason behind her patterns spreading…
It was best for Rumi to have distance from Celine. So, yes, she was happy.
“I am,” said Rumi finally, almost breathless as she revealed this. “I love Celine but she can be too much sometimes. More criticism than anything constructive and it can hurt.”
“She’s always been too hard on you,” said Zoey, her voice full of concern.
“She was hard on all of us,” Rumi corrected, not wanting to discount their treatment. Knowing full well how difficult the first year of training had been for the both of them.
“Rumi,” said Mira plainly, “it was worst with you. Hands down. I know what we’re doing is important. We’re saving people, keeping the world safe, all that big time hero shit but there’s better ways of making sure we know how important the mission is than reminding us of our faults constantly.”
“I know,” Rumi uttered, twisting her fingers together and biting down lightly on her lip. Lifting her gaze to look at Mira and Zoey with imploring eyes, she said, “Celine tried to do her best. For me, for us, but I’m starting to think maybe it wasn’t good enough?” Ducking her head, Rumi felt her heart racing and she had to force the words past her lips but she knew she had to say this. That this was the start of it. Of telling them the truth. About her parents. About her. “All my life she’s made me feel ashamed. Of who I am, what I am.” Emotion thick in her throat as she swallowed, Rumi looked at them again as she confessed, “It’s not like that with you both. You make me feel proud of myself. Like I’m worth something and the idea of having that all the time now? Being around you and how you treat me--”
Her words were cut off by Zoey calling her name and tackling her to the floor in a hug. Rumi laughed, wrapping her arms around Zoey’s small frame as she clung to Rumi like a koala. Peering up as Mira crawled over to them, an impossibly soft smile on her features as she pushed the hair out of Rumi’s eyes. Reaching up to grab the hand at her forehead, Rumi returned the smile and felt so utterly safe and secure.
This was right. She had to tell them.