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Ever since that night under the ancient tree, Celine hadn't had a single peaceful moment.
Well, her whole life had never been easy or peaceful in general. But after that night, everything came crashing down on her, and she no longer had the strength to sweep it all away, not all the time.
The weight of it had become unbearable.
Most days she spent locked away in her house, sleeping for as long as her mind allowed. It liked to torment her with images of the people she loved. It became creative with the ways it kept taking them from her, over and over and over again.
Celine saw crimson behind her eyelids every time she closed them.
She heard the screams and begging in the back of her mind.
At this point she was used to waking up gasping, drenched in sweat, her heart pounding so hard it hurt.
Just another day, another night, another dream.
Perhaps it was her punishment. Wasn't it all her fault, after all? If she had just made different choices, all those people she loved wouldn’t be gone.
She wouldn't be alone.
Well... she wasn't. Not entirely. What a miracle it was that she hadn't lost everyone, even if she often questioned whether that was real.
Rumi. There was Rumi. There was still Rumi.
Somehow. Despite it all. And Celine tried her best not to ruin that again.
It was the only thing that let her push away the exhaustion and despair long enough to keep going, even for a moment. It was incredibly draining to hold everything together, to pull herself up again and again.
But she could manage, for a fraction of a day, long enough to put the mask back on so Rumi could take hers off and say where it hurt, so they could fix it together.
That was what Rumi deserved. She couldn't be burdened with more problems than she already had. She couldn't be burdened with Celine's problems. She already had been for long enough.
This wasn't the time for that. Celine would figure it out one day. But that day had not come yet.
˜”*°•.˜”*°• ■ •°*”˜.•°*”˜
Rumi didn't know what compelled her to come to Celine's place without warning. Usually things were planned — a text, a call, a quick check to make sure Celine wasn't busy. They met somewhere in the city or Celine stopped by the penthouse in the tower.
But this time, Rumi hadn't contacted her at all.
Maybe it was the persistent feeling that something was wrong. Her mind kept circling back to that night when she'd come uninvited. And the morning after. Especially the morning.
Celine's arm had tightened around her when Rumi tried to pull away, dragging her firmly back into the embrace.
That time, Celine's face had pressed into her chest, her breath warm against the fabric of Rumi's shirt.
"Don't go," Celine had murmured. Her voice had been soft. Pleading. Fragile.
"Don't go…" she'd repeated.
Celine had clung to her as if the very thought of Rumi leaving hurt.
As much as Rumi had enjoyed the unexpected softness, the behavior was… strange. It lingered in her mind for days.
And the more she overthought it, the more she wanted to see how things were when Celine wasn't prepared to put on a brave face.
Old habits died hard, and Rumi knew Celine well enough to recognize how tightly she clung to her tough exterior.
Rumi knocked once. Twice. Three times. No answer.
She bit the inside of her cheek, hesitating. She could assume Celine was out… but the unease in her chest wouldn't let her turn away.
If she didn't check for herself, she'd never have peace.
Breaking and entering it was. Though, without the actual breaking. She disappeared in a cloud of purple mist and a second later she stood inside the living room.
The place was dark. Dark and messy.
Rumi's shoulders sagged as her eyes adjusted.
Dust coated the furniture. The floor needed mopping. The coffee table was cluttered with plates, empty glasses and bottles.
Celine hadn't cleaned in a while.
And that was unusual — Celine was the one who liked everything tidy and orderly. Rumi had always been the one interfering with that.
Rumi stepped deeper into the room, a growing heaviness settling in her chest.
Then she saw her — Celine curled on the couch, half covered by a blanket that had slipped to the floor.
Rumi's expression softened. At least Celine was safe. But her heart clenched painfully all the same.
Celine was not doing well.
Rumi had spent weeks, months even, so focused on her own hurt and healing that she hadn't seen how much Celine had been slipping, how she'd been fighting shadows too, silently and alone.
She sighed, walked closer, and placed a hand gently on Celine's shoulder.
"Celine…? Hey, wake up."
Celine's eyelids fluttered, opening slowly. Her gaze drifted across Rumi's face — unfocused, pupils blown wide. For a moment, there was no recognition at all. She blinked once, twice, attempting to grab hold of reality… and failing.
Rumi saw the shift — confusion melting into fear. Panic rising fast.
"No, no. Not again—"
Celine jerked upward too quickly and her balance faltered. She swayed, grabbing the couch with both hands in a desperate attempt to stay upright. She shook her head as if trying to get rid of the twisted images.
Rumi stepped back, startled — she had never seen Celine like this. Celine didn't panic like that.
But this Celine was trembling.
Her breaths were shallow, fast, each one hitching like she was fighting off a suffocating weight. Her fingers dug into the couch cushion. She kept blinking, muttering under her breath.
Rumi's shock faded, replaced by recognition. She knew this state.
The confusion. The terror. The inability to separate nightmare from reality. The betrayals of your own senses.
She had been there herself too many times.
"…Hey," Rumi said softly, taking a slow step toward her. "Celine. It's okay."
But Celine couldn't hear her. Or she heard her and didn't recognize her. Celine scrambled away, trying to escape something only she could see.
She placed a few unsteady steps on the floor, but then her balance snapped. The room spun.
She fell.
Her body hit the ground with a hard thud, a broken gasp, a low groan.
Her head struck a glass bottle with a sharp crack. It shattered beneath the impact.
The jagged rim jutted upward, and as she collapsed, the motion dragged her temple across the broken edge.
A sudden sting.Then warmth.
Celine froze, stunned. Her hand flew to the side of her head. When she pulled her fingers back, they were wet and red.
She stared at them, chest heaving.
The blood didn't register immediately, her brain was still foggy, trapped in the nightmare. For a moment she wasn't even sure this was real. Maybe it was part of the hallucination. Maybe she'd blink her eyes again and find herself back on the couch, waking up.
Rumi's heart dropped.
"Celine!"
She rushed forward, kneeling beside her just as Celine swayed again, dizzy from fear, the fall, the hit to her head. The cut wasn't deep, but the sight of it still made Rumi's breath hitch.
She reached out and Celine flinched, recoiling like she expected a blow.
Rumi slowed her movements as she rose her hands again, giving Celine's mind a moment to catch up before gently cradling her face.
"Celine," she murmured, voice as soft as Mira's or Zoey's when they calmed her from her own nightmares. "Hey. Look at me. You're okay. You're safe. It wasn't real."
Celine blinked rapidly, confusion and terror flickering in her eyes. She focused again — this time seeing Rumi, not a twisted image of her. No glowing eyes. No sharp claws or shifting, magenta patterns. Not a mindless puppet or a feral demon. Just Rumi.
Her breathing wavered, then stuttered. Her shoulders slumped.
Then came the dawning realization of everything at once — the mess, the panic, the nightmare, the injury.
"…Shit," she muttered.
For a moment, she genuinely looked like she might pass out. Not from the pain — the cut wasn't deep enough for that — but from the sheer overload of everything that occurred.
Celine closed her eyes, as if shutting out the reality might make it go away. Sleep sounded tempting, even though sleep meant nightmares and more torment. But her current situation was embarrassing, and she wanted to sink into anything that wasn't this.
Rumi noticed her swaying again and caught her shoulders gently.
"Celine— hey. Stay with me."
Celine blinked heavily, shaking her head weakly.
"I'm fine," she muttered.
"You're bleeding."
"It's nothing," Celine insisted, pulling away clumsily. "Just a cut."
"And you collapsed. And you didn't even recognize me."
Celine's lips pressed together, her jaw tensing. Her eyes darted away, walls rising again, even now. Stubborn and proud. Trying to push through everything alone.
Rumi sighed. "Come on. Let's get you off the floor."
She slipped an arm under Celine's, slow and gentle, helping her stand. Celine leaned more heavily into her than she meant to. Rumi adjusted her grip, steadying her without comment.
She guided her back to the couch. Celine sank into the cushions with a long, defeated exhale.
She absolutely hated it. Hated being seen like this — a mess. She didn't want anyone to witness it.
Least of all Rumi.
Celine dug her nails into her palm, jaw tight. She was supposed to be the stable one, the dependable one. The support. Rumi had enough chaos in her life, she didn't need to see her unraveling like this.
Rumi didn't need to clean up her messes.
The sound of footsteps pulled her from her thoughts. Rumi returned with a med kit in her hands. She walked past Celine to the window and seized the curtains, yanking them open.
Light flooded the room.
Celine winced at both the brightness and everything it revealed. The space looked even worse in daylight. She wished the couch would swallow her whole.
But Rumi didn't say anything about the mess.
She simply walked back, set the med kit on the coffee table, and got to work.
"Alright," Rumi murmured. "Let's fix you up."
Celine huffed. "I told you, it's fine."
"Hush." Rumi snapped the kit open, unimpressed. "And hold still."
Celine grumbled under her breath, but didn't move.
Rumi leaned closer, gently brushing aside strands of Celine's hair that clung to her skin. The wound was small but messy — the glass had grazed more than sliced, leaving an irregular cut with flecks of grit and tiny slivers embedded near the edge.
"Okay, this part might sting."
Celine scoffed, her pride flaring up again. "I can handle a little—"
Rumi touched the tweezers to the wound. Celine hissed, jerking back instinctively.
"—pain…" she finished through clenched teeth.
Rumi raised an eyebrow. "You're making a fuss like a child."
That earned her a sharp glare, which only amused Rumi more.
Rumi's hand closed around Celine's jaw, steadying her. "I'll be done in a moment."
She worked carefully, plucking out the tiny shards and wiping away the blood with a damp cloth. Each touch was feather-light and practiced. Rumi knew how to clean and patch wounds, she had patched up herself and others countless times after battles with demons.
Celine's breathing slowly evened out. She still grimaced with every dab of disinfectant, but the pain was manageable.
The shame, however, wasn't.
And yet… beneath the embarrassment… something else lingered. Warmth.
It had been a very, very long time since someone tended to her. Since someone touched her with gentleness, spoke softly, treated her as someone fragile and someone who needed help.
She hated how good it felt. Hated the buried, aching part of her that desperately wanted this. That craved softness. That had always craved it.
But the guilt followed instantly.
Rumi shouldn't have to do this. She shouldn't be the one wiping blood from Celine's skin, noticing her mess, fixing what Celine had failed to manage.
It felt backward. Wrong.
Celine swallowed hard and looked anywhere but at Rumi.
Rumi rummaged through the kit, pushing aside gauze and antiseptic packets until her fingers brushed something thin and paper-wrapped. She paused, pulled it out — a bandaid. A very specific one.
Bright colours, little cartoon creatures printed across the strip. A leftover from years ago, from the days when little Rumi used to get scratches and wounds all the time.
She held it up silently, giving Celine a moment to process what she’d found.
Celine's face crumpled immediately, mortified.
"Oh god," she muttered, covering her face. "Not that one."
Rumi lifted an eyebrow. "What? It's cute."
"Use something else."
"Nope," Rumi said, already peeling the wrapper. "You've earned the silly bandaid."
Celine groaned and slumped back into the cushions, covering her eyes with the heel of her palm as if hiding could erase the humiliation. Her cheeks burned.
Rumi gently pulled her hand away and pressed the colorful bandaid into place, smoothing the edges with her thumb.
"There," she said, sounding entirely too proud. "All patched up."
Celine stared, speechless. The bandaid felt ridiculous… but the care behind it made her chest ache.
She tore her gaze away. "You didn't have to—"
"Yeah, I did," Rumi cut in. "You fell and cut your head open. That's what people do, Celine. They help."
Rumi watched her closely, not judging, not disappointed. Just deeply, deeply worried.
And as Rumi looked at her now, something shifted in her heart.
Celine wasn't unbreakable. She wasn't supernatural. She wasn't cold or untouchable.
She had demons of her own and no one had ever helped her fight them.
Rumi felt a painful pang at the thought. She had Mira. She had Zoey. Even Celine had eventually tried to be there for her.
But who had been there for Celine all these years? No one. Not since the Sunlight Sisters fell apart. Not since Miyeong died. Not since she lost everyone she ever counted on.
She had survived everything alone — the grief, the losses, her life falling apart over and over.
"Celine," Rumi said softly, steadying her voice, "I think you haven't been fine for a very long time. And you don't have to pretend you are."
Celine stiffened again, the guilt flashing in her eyes, as if being seen so clearly was another wound.
"It's not your job to take care of me," she muttered, staring at her hands. "It was supposed to be the other way around."
Rumi shook her head. "It's not a job. It's how things should work. Sometimes you carry me. Sometimes I carry you. You're just another person who's hurting. And I won't leave you alone with that."
Rumi didn't care about rules or roles. Nothing between them had ever followed the script. And for so long, the two of them had been all they had.
And helping troubled souls was simply in Rumi's nature. She couldn't walk away from Celine's suffering.
Rumi inhaled deeply. "Now… care to explain why the house is such a mess?"
Celine stiffened immediately. The tone wasn't harsh, but it was firm — painfully reminiscent of Celine's own scolding voice from Rumi's childhood.
Her eyes dropped. Her first instinct was to lie. To say she was busy. That she'd get to it later.
But the excuse died on her tongue before she could speak.
Rumi had already seen everything. There was no point pretending.
Celine swallowed. "I… didn't have energy for that lately. I'll take care of it today."
Rumi responded instantly. "Absolutely not."
Celine blinked. "I said I'll clean it."
"And I said no."
"Rumi—"
"That's final. I'll clean it."
The authority in her tone startled even Celine. She stared, stunned and tired, entirely too drained to argue. She sighed and rubbed her forehead.
"…Fine," she muttered.
Rumi nodded as if satisfied, then marched toward the kitchen with purpose.
Celine frowned weakly. "What are you—?"
Rumi opened the fridge. Dim light flickered on. Empty shelves. A single bottle of water. A container that might've gone bad days ago.
"Of course," Rumi muttered. She shut the fridge, pulled out her phone.
"What are you doing?" Celine asked.
"Ordering food."
"I don't—"
"You probably haven't eaten properly," Rumi said, still typing. "Takeout's fastest."
Celine opened her mouth to object, but Rumi lifted a single finger without even looking up.
"No."
"But—"
"No."
Celine sagged deeper into the couch, defeated again.
Rumi finished her order and slipped her phone back into her pocket. "I'm going to pick it up," she said, already walking back. "I'll be back in a minute. Teleporting has perks."
Celine stared. "You don't have to—"
"You," Rumi interrupted, pointing firmly at the couch, "are not allowed to get up. At all."
Celine stared at her lap. "…Seriously?"
"Yes. Seriously."
Rumi didn't wait for another argument.
She vanished in a blink, leaving Celine alone in the quiet.
˜”*°•.˜”*°• ■ •°*”˜.•°*”˜
Rumi reappeared in the middle of the living room just a few minutes later, holding two warm paper bags.
Celine looked up, startled despite expecting her.
Rumi set everything on the coffee table, opened the drinks, and handed one to Celine.
Celine took it reluctantly. Her hands were still trembling faintly.
Rumi watched her quietly for a moment. Now that Celine was no longer bleeding and not actively panicking, Rumi finally had the space to think.
And it clicked.
Why Celine had been awake that night too.
Why she'd been so clingy the next morning, terrified of Rumi leaving. Why she had panicked so badly today.
"You have nightmares, don't you?" Rumi asked, moving to sit beside her, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched.
Celine didn't react at first. Her jaw tightened in that instinctive, stubborn silence of hers, but she didn't deny it.
"…What's in your dreams?" Rumi pressed further, but her voice was soft.
"It doesn't matter," Celine said flatly. "They're just dreams."
Rumi let out a soft huff. "Clearly, they do matter."
"…It's that night."
"Which one?"
Celine swallowed hard, lips trembling before she pressed them into a thin line.
Rumi waited, patient, silent encouragement in her posture.
Celine exhaled shakily. "Sometimes it's the night you came to me with the sword." Her fingers curled into the fabric of her pants. "You're hurt. Bleeding. Collapsing… dying. Because of me. I keep seeing it. Over and over."
Rumi's chest tightened painfully.
"And other times…" Celine's voice thinned, cracking. "It's Miyeong. The moment she died. I replay it. My mistakes. I see her face. Her last breath." She bowed her head, letting her hair fall over her eyes like a curtain. "I keep reliving the worst moments. My head won't let me forget how badly I failed the people I love."
If she wasn't trapped in nightmares, then while awake her thoughts wandered into equally dark places. She found herself circling the same conclusion over and over — she was no better than a demon. Perhaps worse. There were demons out there far more decent than she had been, apparently.
How horrible did someone have to be for their own child to believe they should be killed?
Worse still — for that child to come to them with the request, convinced they were capable of fulfilling it.
That moment alone had shattered Celine's heart. The realization of every mistake she had ever made crashed down on her the instant Rumi disappeared.
But then came something even heavier.
Reconciliation forced her to face an unbearable truth: not all demons deserved eradication. Some could be saved. And if that was true, then everything she had stood for — everything she had enforced — had been wrong.
And Rumi had been painfully direct about why they were even able to stand face to face again: because a demon had saved her life.
And whatever fragile repair of her heart Celine had managed after being let back into Rumi's world… broke again in one brutal snap.
She was supposed to be the one who saved Rumi.
She thought she had been saving her.
Yet everything Celine did had only pushed Rumi closer to death.
And in the end, it was a demon who corrected her failure.
The irony of it twisted like a knife in Celine's gut.
"…How long?" Rumi's voice pulled her out of the spiral of her thoughts.
Celine hesitated. But not because she didn't know.
"Since… the Idol Awards."
Rumi stared at her, stunned. That was months. Months of nightmares and sleepless nights. Months of panic spirals and exhaustion.
"Celine…" Rumi breathed. "I'm so sorry."
"Why?" Celine said quickly, turning her head to finally meet Rumi's gaze. "It's my fault. And it's not supposed to be your concern."
"But it is."
Celine shook her head weakly. "You've been through so much because of me. You shouldn't worry about my problems too."
"That's not how it works." Rumi frowned, shaking her head as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing.
"I don't deserve—"
Rumi's hand shot up, covering Celine's mouth before she could finish.
Celine blinked, stunned.
"You don't get to decide what you deserve from me," Rumi said firmly, almost angrily, as though the very idea offended her.
Celine's eyes glistened, her breath trembling as she stared at Rumi.
"You're suffering." Rumi continued, softer but no less certain. "I'm not leaving you like this."
She pulled her hand away slowly.
Celine let out a shaky exhale and lowered her head in surrender. Accepting help never came easily to her, but despite the shame, she also felt gratitude for Rumi's good heart.
˜”*°•.˜”*°• ■ •°*”˜.•°*”˜
Once both of them finished their meals, Rumi guided Celine toward the bedroom. She needed to rest and recover, even if only a little.
At first, Rumi stepped away, planning to clean the house while Celine finally slept.
But the faint flash of panic in Celine's eyes the moment Rumi moved toward the door made her stop.
Rumi knew that look too well — the fear of being left alone with your nightmares, with your own mind, the fear of slipping back into the darkness the moment no one was there to anchor you. She hesitated… then turned back.
"Move over," she said softly.
Celine blinked, startled. "What?"
"Come on, shift," Rumi repeated, already climbing onto the bed.
Celine stared at her, confused. "I thought you were going to clean—"
"I am," Rumi said, settling beside her. "After you sleep."
Celine scooted over, and Rumi lay down on her side before reaching for her. There was no hesitation — she wrapped an arm around Celine's waist, pulled her close, and guided her head to rest against her chest. Celine's forehead fit neatly beneath Rumi's chin.
Celine stiffened in pure shock.
This was nothing like the night Rumi had sought comfort. Nothing like the times Celine had held her while she trembled. This time, Rumi was the steady one — warm, grounded, offering safety.
"You're going to be safe," Rumi murmured. "You can sleep."
Celine almost snorted. The whole thing was absurd. Upside down.
But years ago, she'd been the one receiving hugs, warmth, comfort. Back when her group was alive. When her hunter family was whole. When Miyeong would wrap an arm around her shoulders after a mission, laughing and telling her she'd done well. Back when she had people to rely on.
But that was so long ago it felt like a distant memory.
After everything fell apart, she never had that again. She became the caretaker, the mentor, the anchor for everyone else. No breaks. No arms around her when she was the one shaking.
And even after all that effort — she failed.
Failed her family. Failed Rumi. Failed Miyeong. Failed everyone she tried to protect.
So lying here now, wrapped in someone else's arms, being held instead of holding… it felt strange.
A luxury she didn't think she deserved. Especially not from Rumi, of all people.
But Rumi didn't care about what Celine thought she deserved.
So slowly, Celine allowed herself to soften, to lean into the warmth.
She closed her eyes, pressing her forehead more firmly into Rumi's collarbone. Her hand lifted — hesitated — then slid around Rumi's waist, clinging back to her.
Rumi stayed very still at first, letting Celine settle against her. She didn't really know what she was doing, not fully. Comfort wasn't something she'd ever mastered.
Truthfully, she was clumsy with it.
She didn't know what Celine liked. But she remembered what helped her.
She remembered how Celine, Zoey, and Mira soothed her — a warm hand at her back, the pressure of it, grounding touches, the slow scratch of fingernails.
So she simply copied it.
Tentatively, Rumi slid her hand lower, nails tracing lightly down Celine's back.
A soft, involuntary sound escaped Celine — a tiny exhale of relief.
She shifted closer, muscles rippling beneath the touch, shoulders rising and falling as though she was trying to unwind but didn't know how.
Rumi continued slowly, rhythmically — up the spine, down again, fingertips grazing the skin beneath thin fabric.
Celine's breathing changed. It became deeper as she finally allowed herself to breathe with her whole chest.
And Rumi felt something twist inside her.
Because in that moment — holding Celine close, feeling the trembling in her body — she understood fully: Celine was just like her. Lost. Worn down. Carrying far too much.
Rumi had nearly lost Mira and Zoey. Nearly lost everything. The circle she was trapped in almost killed her but she'd crawled out in time.
Barely.
Celine never did. Her circle ended in failure, death, grief that never healed.
No one pulled her out.
Rumi had her people. Celine had no one.
And Rumi hated that. Hated that Celine suffered alone. Hated that she thought she deserved it.
Rumi shifted, her hand moving from Celine's back to her hair, fingers threading through the strands gently, careful to avoid the bandaged wound.
Celine let out a long, trembling sigh and melted further into Rumi's chest, tension draining from her body.
She let her eyes slip half-closed, cheek pressed closer into Rumi's chest. She curled in tighter, no longer bothering to hide how badly she needed the closeness.
She stopped caring how undignified she must look. How vulnerable. And how pathetic it felt to be held like this.
She was too tired. Too starved for warmth. Too deprived of even the smallest comfort.
For a moment, she allowed herself to forget everything — the failures, the guilt, the loss. She let it all fall away long enough to focus on the present: Rumi's solid heartbeat beneath her ear. The warmth of arms around her. The faint scent of clean fabric and perfume.
It was embarrassingly nice.
Celine had always liked hugs more than she admitted. Ever since Rumi was a child, clinging to her at every opportunity, she had secretly cherished the contact, the warmth.
She liked it when Rumi tucked herself under her arm or rested against her shoulder. She liked it more than she ever let herself feel. But she could never ask for it. Never admit she needed it. She'd spent years training herself out of wanting softness.
Except she never really did.
Now she realized just how much she missed this, how hungry she was for it.
Rumi's fingers slid deeper into her hair, combing through with gentle strokes. Nails brushed her scalp, sending a pleasant shiver down Celine's spine.
A low hum of contentment escaped before she could stop it.
Rumi froze for half a second, surprised, then continued, dragging her nails in slow, soothing lines across Celine's scalp.
Celine nuzzled in instinctively, pressing closer, as if she could crawl inside the warmth entirely.
It had been so long since she felt safe. Years of sleeping with one eye open. Years of forcing herself to stay alert. Years of pretending she didn't need comfort. Years of being the responsible adult who never cracked.
But now… she felt warm. Comfortable. Safe. Safe for the first time since her group still existed.
But right before she drifted off completely, Celine stirred.
"…Rumi…" she murmured, voice low.
Rumi hummed in response. "Mm?"
Celine didn't continue right away. She paused — a long moment where her muscles tensed, her fingers fluttering faintly against Rumi's side as though she was fighting herself.
Rumi could practically feel the thoughts churning behind her closed eyes.
Celine was hesitating. Not because she didn't know what she wanted to say, but because she rarely voiced anything so vulnerable.
But now… she was trying.
Her body shifted again. She tilted her head just slightly, enough that her lips came close to Rumi's throat, right against the exposed skin where the patterns traced along in jagged lines.
Celine's eyes opened a sliver, soft and tired.
She wasn't flinching from the markings. She wasn't pretending they weren't there. She was acknowledging them this time.
She wanted to make a point.
She inhaled slowly, as if gathering every ounce of courage she had left.
Then, with her lips close enough that Rumi felt the words more than she heard them, she whispered:
"I love you."
Rumi froze.
Because Celine almost never said things like that.
Celine barely admitted she loved anyone, even when she did.
And now she was saying it while pressed against the patterns that showed every trace of Rumi's demonhood.
The warmth that bloomed in Rumi's chest was so sudden and so intense it nearly hurt.
But Celine wasn't finished.
She shifted again, her cheek settling against Rumi's chest.
"All of you," she mumbled, the words slurred.
Rumi's throat tightened at the words. Heat rushed into her face, her eyes stinging unexpectedly.
Celine didn't fight the heaviness pulling at her eyelids anymore. If nightmares came… Rumi was here.
At least Rumi was here.
Maybe she could rest. Maybe sleep wouldn't hurt this time.
Rumi swallowed hard, steadying her voice, unsure if Celine was still awake enough to hear.
"…I love you too."
She pressed her cheek to the top of Celine's head and drew her closer, arm tightening protectively around her.
Celine melted.
The last bit of tension drained from her body. Her breath softened. Her weight settled fully into Rumi's hold.
And then — a strange feeling surfaced. One she never imagined she could think towards a demon.
Gratitude.
For that man. Jinu — was his name.
She would remember it.
As painful as the truth was — knowing she had failed the one she swore to protect, knowing the very thing she hated had done what she couldn't — Celine was grateful.
Because in the end, it didn't matter who or what he was.
All that mattered was that, ultimately, he had saved Celine's world.