Chapter Text
“You all can run it again if you want. I need some water,” Rumi said as she walked backstage.
It had been a while since they’d had a live performance. The battle with Gwi-Ma had faded from the front of her mind, but being on a stage again, knowing there would be people watching her in a way they never had before—it made her heart race.
The stage lights cast a soft rainbow glow over everything. It was Mira’s idea, actually, to change up the lighting for Golden. “We should use the colors of the new Honmoon,” she’d said, but Rumi saw the way her eyes traced her patterns as she spoke, sending a shiver through her.
She grabbed a water bottle off the table, plastic crinkling in her hands as she opened it. Through the locked side door next to her, she could hear the excited chatter of fans.
“Did you see Rumi’s new look though? What is that all about? I’m not loving the glittery tiger thing.”
“I think it’s really pretty!”
“Pretty dumb, maybe.”
Almost before she could process what she’d heard, her patterns reacted. A flash of purple spread across her body, shame tinting the marks for a moment before fading back to their typical colors.
She knew the public’s response to her patterns had been mixed. Huntrix had launched the new album photos and billboards weeks ago, hoping most of the press and chaos would calm down by the time they started performing again. It hadn’t, not really, and the fans outside weren’t making her feel much better about the whole thing.
They still had a half hour or so before the show would start, so she stalked off to her dressing room to get away. The audience wasn’t even in the building yet, so she took advantage of the downtime to try and destress a little.
In the dressing room, Rumi’s gaze drifted down to her arms. The patterns were a pastel rainbow and shimmered in the light. Over the past few weeks, she’d been walking around outside more with them exposed, trying to get used to people’s eyes on them.
Still, the stage was different. Everyone would be watching, judging, deciding if her “new look” was good enough for the Huntrix brand. She had no clue what would happen if they decided it wasn’t.
She leaned against the counter beneath the wide mirrors, hands gripping the edge to hold her steady, and took deep breaths to let her heart rate settle. She’d been on this stage before. Her deepest shame being exposed across the entire surface of her skin this time was no big deal.
“Are you ready? Feeling alright?” Mira’s hand touched her arm gently. She jumped, not sure when Mira had joined her or how long she had been watching.
“Yeah! Yeah, I’m feeling great.” She smiled, hoping it was a convincing one.
It was not.
“You look like you’re on the verge of a panic attack,” Mira said dryly. “What’s the problem?”
“I’m just nervous,” she started, and Mira leaned in and started to rub gentle circles on Rumi’s forearm. She placed her other hand down on the opposite side of Rumi, cornering her, and holy shit she could feel Mira’s breath on her face and it smelled like spearmint and was that fucking honey underneath it and she completely forgot what Mira had asked her or that she was even responding to something.
“Hi,” she said softly, looking up at Mira, who smirked. Which definitely did not send a thrill through her whole body and make her patterns pulse.
“Hi,” Mira responded, making no effort to hide how funny she found Rumi’s panic. They stared at each other, Rumi looking up with no thoughts in her mind other than holy shit she’s pretty and i think i’m going to combust if she keeps looking at me like this and Mira with a crooked smile and a glimmer in her eyes.
“Your necklace is a little twisted,” Mira said, and the hand that was resting on the table came up and grazed her neck and okay, Mira just had to be doing this on purpose now, right?
She made a strangled noise when Mira’s fingers slid under the chain, shifting it around her neck, and she could feel her patterns pulsing with the contact.
She wanted to slide under the counter and never be seen again.
“It goes well with your patterns,” Mira whispered, breath ghosting over the tip of Rumi’s ear. “Which I love, by the way.”
A warmth spread across her body—Mira liked her patterns, she was touching them, she didn’t think they were ugly and corrupted and disgusting, she liked them—but then she pulled away and Rumi felt cold and alone and she actually whined.
She reached out, nails burrowing into Mira’s shirt and holding tight. Her heart hammered in her chest. Mira’s eyes settled back on her, and she blushed, mortified.
Was she misreading this? Maybe Mira hadn’t meant to activate whatever the hell this was inside her. It wasn’t Mira’s fault that every time anyone touched her she lit up like a Christmas tree and her brain stopped functioning.
This was just perfectly normal platonic touching because she’d looked nervous and Mira had wanted to calm her down a little, obviously, that was why she was looking at her like that and leaning in until their lips were half an inch apart and saying something, her lips were moving and Rumi was watching them move because they were gorgeous and right there.
“Rumi.”
Mira was talking to her. Was saying her name, trying to get her attention. She shook her head and tried to snap herself out of the daze.
“Mira,” she responded, and it was pathetic and breathless and she sounded like she’d just been kissed for twenty minutes straight even though Mira hadn’t even done anything besides graze her neck with her fingertips and get close to her.
Mira snorted. “You’re so easy.”
So Mira was just messing with her. Just trying to distract her, have a little fun before the show. Like she was a toy.
Rumi wanted to gasp indignantly, shout “I am not!” but her brain was not moving fast enough and her mouth was not going to cooperate either. All that came out was a soft, whiny, pitiful “no…” and that was more embarrassing than anything else she’d done so far.
Mira’s grin spread wider as she tried to hold back her laughter, and then she leaned in closer, voice low. “You’re killing me, Rumi.”
Mira’s hand cupped the side of her face and tilted it up, and Rumi leaned into it and her eyes closed on instinct, like Mira’s hand was a pillow lulling her to sleep. Mira could play with her all she wanted, if it felt this nice.
Mira’s voice was soft, low. “Your patterns… they do something to me. Make me lose my head a little. Should be criminal.”
Rumi didn’t know how to respond to that. What was she even saying?
And then, Mira asked.
“Can I kiss you?”
Rumi’s eyes flew open.
That was a joke. Right? She waited for Mira to pull away, to laugh, to say she was just kidding. But her expression was completely serious as she waited for an answer.
No way this was real. This was some kind of freak sex dream. She knew Mira was into women, but not women like her, not awkward girls with stupid looking rainbow patterns and a stupid collection of teddy bears and zero romantic experience outside of young adult books and pining and wikihow.
But she nodded, and then Mira’s lips were on hers, soft and warm and wetter than she’d expected, and Mira’s fingers were burying themselves in the strands of her braid and pulling. Her head tilted back but Mira moved with her, free hand gently touching her exposed neck and even if this was just a freak sex dream she hoped it would never end.
Her own fingers were still hooked into Mira’s shirt, so she wrapped her arms tighter and pulled her in, so that Mira couldn’t pull away and leave her cold and wanting again.
This wasn’t real, it couldn’t be real, there was no way that Mira was kissing her, but every time she opened her eyes Mira was right there.
“What was that about not being easy?” Mira teased, and Rumi just kissed her again.
She was supposed to do something with her tongue, right? She was pretty sure she was supposed to do something with her tongue.
Wikihow was not helping her very much right now.
She could feel Mira trying not to laugh again, but she thankfully said nothing about Rumi’s obvious lack of skill, just placed the smallest amount of pressure on her chin to open her mouth a bit and oh.
That was what you were supposed to do with your tongue.
She relaxed, letting Mira take the lead, since she seemed to know what she was doing. She’d done this before. It was good, intoxicating, really, and she started to feel lightheaded.
Mira pulled away. “Rumi, you’re supposed to breathe at some point.”
Right. She took a deep breath, shaking a bit as her brain finally received oxygen again.
“You good?” Mira asked, raising an eyebrow.
Rumi nodded, cheeks burning. “I’m… I’m fine.” She could be normal about this. It was just kissing.
Mira brushed gently down Rumi’s arm. “As fun as this is,” she said, voice teasing, “we have a show.”
Rumi groaned, mortified, but let go of her tight hold on Mira.
Mira laughed softly and leaned down, planting a quick kiss to Rumi’s forehead. “Don’t worry,” she murmured, “I’ll finish this later.”
Rumi’s chest fluttered. She nodded, barely able to form words, definitely not able to process anything that had just happened.
Her anxiety started to resurface as she walked out onto the stage. There were thousands of fans around her, looking at every square inch of newly exposed skin. She felt naked, patterns on full display under the powerful lights.
She shuddered, remembering the Idol Awards. The vicious joy on Mira and Zoey’s faces as they pulled off her jacket and exposed her darkest secret to the world. Knowing they had been demon copies didn’t make the image haunt her any less.
Now, though, their hands rested on her shoulders. Gentle, kind. Loving.
She glanced to her left, and Mira smiled at her. Not teasing. Just encouraging. You got this, she mouthed.
When the music started up, she was grateful for the hundreds of hours Mira had spent with her, drilling choreography until she could dance all their routines in her sleep. She could easily sing on command, could belt out the highest notes of Golden after spending an entire night slicing through demons, but she wasn’t nearly the dancer Mira was, didn’t have the same instinct for it.
She could memorize, though. She remembered every time Mira had touched her, gently pushing her into form and guiding her as she executed complex footwork. Mira’s voice played in her head, reminding her to keep her fingers higher and push her hips out further.
She could almost feel Mira’s hands on her again now, though if the phantom sensations were from the rehearsals or their more recent pre-show activities was anyone’s guess.
If Mira’s goal had been to distract her from the fans, she had achieved it. On stage now, all Rumi could think of was Mira’s lips, her hands, her breath, the prickle under her skin every time Mira’s fingers grazed her. The way Mira had leaned in and said they make me lose my head.
She’d said it like it was obvious. Like it was normal, like it wasn’t even a big deal. Like she’d meant it.
Maybe she had. Maybe she really did think Rumi was hot, but then Rumi went and ruined it by being absolutely clueless and pathetic and forgetting to breathe because she’d never kissed anyone before that night. What if she regretted it already?
She almost wished she was still nervous about what the fans thought.
“Zoey, it’s fine. Go promote your turtles.” Rumi laughed, after Zoey apologized yet again for ditching so soon after such a big performance. “I’m okay, really.”
And then Zoey was leaving to catch her plane, and Rumi waited for Mira to act like nothing had happened. To go to her room, or grab a book, or do anything that didn’t involve Rumi because Rumi had catastrophically fumbled everything. But the moment the door was closed and locked, Mira was wrapping her arms around her from behind and settling her head into the crook of Rumi’s neck.
“Hey, pretty girl.” Her voice was low and dangerous, a lethal weapon Rumi would throw herself on a million times just for the thrill it sent through her.
Mira’s hands brushed against the hem of her shirt, and just that motion made her brain short circuit and her patterns flash and the space between her legs pulse with heat.
Okay, maybe she was easy. But she wanted nothing else, as Mira turned to breathe onto her neck. “You ready? You want this?” She asked, and Rumi just about shattered.
She whined, unable to move her tongue to enunciate properly, even though inside she was screaming that yes, of course she wanted this, but also why is Mira doing this at all? Why did Mira want to kiss her, why waste her time on Rumi when she could have literally anyone she might want. Was it pity? Did she just feel bad for working Rumi up before the show?
She started shaking, and her heart threatened to jump out of her chest completely as her brain stopped working.
She wanted it.
But this was a mistake, one she shouldn’t be letting Mira make, and that thought consumed her.
And then Mira was guiding her to the couch and pushing her down, gently, leaning her back and brushing the hair out of her face and running fingers down her jawline and she completely melted, even as her mind kept drowning in the thoughts of why me? and i don’t deserve this because her whole life she’d just been a burden, someone people dealt with because they needed her for something.
Even Celine hadn’t wanted to touch her, always hovering her hands as though the patterns were a disease she could catch. She didn’t make eye contact, didn’t engage too closely because Rumi was something dangerous, flawed.
She thought maybe Mira was about to leave, to realize that she really was just hopeless and that she’d made a dumb mistake messing with her. That Rumi wasn’t worth it, not even to assuage her own guilt.
“You’re panicking, Rumi,” Mira said, but it wasn’t cold the way Celine said it. It was full of warmth and concern, wrapping around her like she mattered. “Breathe.”
She tried to. She filled her lungs slowly and did her best to match up with the solid, controlled breaths Mira was taking. She wanted to be good enough. To give Mira a reason to stay.
She struggled, breaths catching and going in and out and random. She couldn’t even do something as basic as breathing the way Mira wanted her to. Her patterns flickered purple.
But Mira didn’t seem to mind, just kept taking deep, even breaths and watching her, occasionally making small shh noises like she could hear the chaos raging in Rumi’s mind.
Eventually Rumi’s breath did steady, though her heart maintained its rapid beating inside of her chest. She didn’t look up, not yet. She didn’t want to see the disappointment. So she did her best not to, focusing on her freshly-done nails and the dry patch of skin on the back of her right hand and anything that wasn’t the girl leaning over her.
“Rumi,” Mira said softly, “can you look at me?”
So she did, because Mira had asked, and she wanted to do at least one thing correctly.
“Was it too much?” Mira asked, confusing Rumi, because it seemed like somehow Mira was the nervous one now.
Mira hadn’t even really done anything to her. Rumi was the one overreacting, losing her mind over basic touches and working herself into a panic constantly. Rumi was the one causing all the problems, but somehow Mira thought that she’d done something wrong?
“Rumi?”
She tried to respond. Tried to speak, but her guilt wrapped around her throat again and strangled her.
She shook her head, desperate to communicate. no. it wasn’t too much. you aren’t too much. i’m the problem.
Then she wrapped her arms around Mira and pulled her down into her lap and whined, because it was all she could think to do to try and explain. i want this. i want you.
“Can I touch your hair?” Mira asked, and Rumi nodded. She must have understood, at least a little. Progress.
“Your face?” Another yes/no question. Another nod.
Mira handled her carefully. Slowly. Like she understood, now, that Rumi’s brain wasn’t running at full capacity. That if she moved too quickly or asked too much then it would all spiral out of control again.
Mira gently brushed the loose hairs out of Rumi’s face and rubbed her thumb over her cheek.
“Do you want me to touch your neck again?” Mira asked, tentatively. Like she wasn’t sure if it was a good idea.
yes. god, yes. She wanted that. She wanted that fuzzy, floaty feeling again, the way she’d felt when Mira adjusted her necklace and talked to her in that voice.
Rumi nodded, and Mira’s thumb trailed down the side of her face towards her neck. She waited patiently for the soothing comfort to wash over her.
Mira’s fingers skimmed the surface of her neck, where the necklace had been, and it was different this time. Wrong. It was too much, too strong, filling her brain with dark, heavy static and fear as her body tensed.
She must have flashed purple again, because by the time she managed to grab Mira’s wrist to stop her, Mira had already pulled her hand away and Rumi was left holding it out in midair.
“Got it,” Mira said, and Rumi couldn’t make out the tone. Was she upset? Angry? She felt her shame and guilt returning again, announcing themselves to Mira through her patterns.
There was something wrong with her.
She wanted to relax and kiss and drift away to Mira’s gentle touches. She’d been fine earlier. Why couldn’t she handle it now?
And why wasn’t Mira leaving?
She was crying, now, but Mira was still there, telling her that it was okay, she was okay, she didn’t do anything wrong, and Rumi nodded between sobs even though she didn’t believe any of it.
Mira stayed with her through all of it, holding her face and breathing deep and loud so that Rumi could try and match hers to it.
When the tears finally slowed, Mira brushed the last few away and handed her another tissue.
“Hey,” Mira said softly, slow and thoughtful. “Do you want me to stay with you tonight? I can help you get to bed, and just… keep you company.”
Rumi blinked up at her, confused, patterns still flickering with nerves. She didn’t know why Mira would even want to, but she was too exhausted to worry about it anymore. She just nodded once, a subtle movement but just enough that Mira could see.
“Can I carry you, pretty girl?” Mira asked, and that broke something in her. Mira was still calling her pretty, still smiling at her, still being nice even though she had completely ruined whatever the evening was supposed to be. She gave another small, shaky nod.
Mira smiled softly, not saying anything more, just bending slightly to scoop her up. Rumi instinctively curled into her, arms wrapping lightly around Mira’s neck as she buried her face in her shoulder.
Her heart was still pounding, but the warmth of Mira’s body against her felt safe. The purple in her patterns started to fade away as Mira carried her through the apartment to her bedroom.
Her sheets were cool against her skin as Mira laid her down in bed, and she felt a small, sad sound escape her when Mira’s warmth pulled away. Just a moment later, Mira laid down next to her, pulling a blanket over them and wrapping an arm around her, letting Rumi nestle into the soft fabric of her shirt and cling to her.
She felt pathetic. She was pathetic. But Mira held her, ran fingers through her hair, murmured comforting words she could only occasionally make out, and she let herself fall asleep in the comfort she didn’t deserve.