(written for @fluffyjuly day eleven: cold & day twelve: proud of you & day thirteen: surprise hug)
Fandom: KPop Demon Hunters
Word Count: 1950
It’s a rainy, windy evening in Seoul, and Mira sits on her balcony railing, legs dangling into the air, trying to ignore the phone sitting on the floor.
She closes her eyes against the blurry brightness of the lights below, and breathes in and out, repeatedly, keeping count of each second. In for four, hold for four, out for eight.
It’s an old, very familiar technique, one that Mira’s learned many times throughout the years. It was taught to her by Celine when she first started training to be a Hunter. Before that, by the young therapist her parents sent her to when she got expelled from school. Before that, by the family doctor when she got a cut on her leg from purposefully-not-purposefully smashing a porcelain bowl on the wall.
Sometimes, this mindful breathing thing works, calming her heartbeat down, letting her control her feelings. But sometimes it doesn’t. And today is definitely one of those times.
Mira growls frustratedly, kicking her foot out in the rain. Thunder roars in response, deep and graveling. It feels like a reprimand. She scowls at the clouds.
Still, it doesn’t manage to drown out the quiet voice behind her, as her door opens and fluorescent light streams out.
“Hey.” Rumi calls. “You okay?”
Mira sighs deeply, and curls into a ball. She doesn’t respond.
She hears Rumi sigh. “Okay.”
The wind changes direction, and it blows towards Mira, droplets of rain getting under the awning onto her. She closes her eyes again, inhaling the smell.
A moment later, warmth suddenly encompasses her, and she blinks, startling.
“You looked cold.” Rumi mutters, as she wraps her own throw blanket around Mira’s shoulders. It’s the really garish, yellow one. Rumi’d picked it up in Canada because the ugly dog printed on it had made her cry. Zoey still has a video of it, probably for blackmail.
The weight sits on Mira’s skin, comforting and soft, and she shivers as another gust of wind comes her way. Huh. She hadn’t even realized she was cold. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Rumi climbs on the railing and sits down next to her. Her hair is out of her normal braid, for once, falling over her face and bare arms, highlighting her markings in the low light of the moon.
They stay quiet for a little bit, just listening to the sounds of the rain hitting the ground below and the rolling of thunder. It feels nice. Mira’s always loved this kind of company, the kind that doesn’t demand, only offers.
“So,” Rumi draws out the word, trying to be casual, “do you wanna talk about it?”
No, the guarded teenager in Mira shouts.
Yes, the lonely child in Mira admits.
“I don’t know.” Mira shrugs, off-handedly. She pulls the blanket closer to herself. “How’d you even know I was out here?”
“I didn’t see the box of gukhwa-cha in the kitchen.” Rumi answers. “You always make a cup before bed. And you always forget to put it back in its place after.”
Mira huffs. “Oh, come on, get off my back. It always ends up in the right cupboard anyway.”
“Yeah, Mimi, ‘cause I put it back. Every time.”
The exaggerated irritation in her voice makes the corners of Mira’s lips turn up. Rumi always has a way to uplift her mood.
“So,” Rumi begins again. “Why’re you not sleeping on time?”
“Why aren’t you?” She flits her gaze to Rumi, and watches her pout. “It’s 1 A.M., and you need to get up early. You’re doing that interview with that news reporter in the morning, right? The really mean one.”
“Yeah, he’s super old and super backward.” Rumi plays with a strand of her hair. “Like, yes, haraboji , I’m wearing tiny shorts and dancing on stage. No, that does not mean I’m a whore. Can you please take your meds on time? The nursing home’s waiting.”
Mira barks out a laugh, loud and surprised. It echoes down into the streets below.
“Y’know, when you say stuff like that, it proves you’re spending way too much time with me.” She manages to get out. Rumi winks at her.
“Hey, you’re never wrong.” She bumps her shoulder with hers. “You tell it like it is. It’s a good thing.”
Something painful twists in Mira’s chest at the compliment, making her amusement die down a little. ‘A good thing’. Right.
Rumi must notice the change, as the smile wilts off her face too.
She shakes her head. It’s not Rumi’s fault her simple words hit where it hurts. It’s not her fault that the fact that she’s here, making sure Mira’s warm and not alone, is making some of the lava burning in Mira’s chest recede.
She takes a deep, deep breath, and confesses, “I got another text today.”
From the corner of her eyes, she sees Rumi blink for a second, before understanding dawns on her face.
“Oh.” She replies blankly. “Damn.”
“Yeah.” Mira agrees. She nods towards the floor behind her, and Rumi turns to see the phone, the screen and case cracked through.
She shrugs, a little self-conscious. “Oops.”
Rumi turns back, looking barely bothered. She shrugs too. “We’ll get you a more pink one.” She states, and Mira huffs again. “What did they want?”
“The same thing they always want.” Mira says dryly. “They wanted to ‘reconcile’.”
Rumi rolls her eyes, displeased, but Mira continues, “And—and they told me I’m being ‘immature’ for ignoring them.”
There’s a shocked pause, and a choked gasp. “‘Immature’?”
“Yeah.” Mira mutters, flicking some water off her flip-flops. “Immature and disrespectful.”
She can feel the stare on the side of her face. “Are—are they serious?”
She smirks ruefully, shaking her head. “Apparently. I’d show you the proof, but I think I blocked Mom again.”
The thunder roars again, and this time Mira tries to think that it’s in indignation.
“I couldn’t figure out what to say.” She continues, her fists clenching in the blanket. “I just—I got so angry. It was like they forgot they’re the ones who kicked me out. They’re the ones who told me I was an embarrassment in their lives. And now they wanna reconcile? Why? ‘Cause suddenly I’m famous? And I have money?”
Mira groans gutturally, as her eyes burn again. She’s so tired of having to go through these emotions. She’s tired of feeling like she’s listening to Gwi-Ma’s voice again, telling her how unworthy she is of a family that loves and accepts her.
“I was doing so well.” She grits out finally. “Things are looking up for us. We have a whole new tour lined up. The new Honmoon is getting stronger day by day. We do weekly spa parties and couch nights and fan events—and it’s all wonderful! I was so happy. I know it probably didn’t show, because of… how I always am, but I was. Happy.” She waves a hand towards the phone. “And my parents ruined it. Again.”
Mira pulls up her legs into the warmth of the blanket. Frustrated. Angry. Upset. Just like she was before. Just like she'll probably always be.
It happens so quickly she doesn’t have time to be surprised. Two sinewy, silver-lined arms wrap around her, squeezing her tightly.
Rumi buries her face into the crook of Mira’s collarbone, voice broken as she says, “I’m so sorry, Mimi.”
Mira only blinks, and she continues, “Your parents don’t deserve you. They—they suck. They never realized how awesome and kind-hearted you are, and they still don’t. And they keep demanding stuff from you when they lost the right to. They’re the worst. And if I ever met them, I swear to god I would probably throw hands.”
Mira snorts, one hand grabbing Rumi’s wrist. “You’d have to wait in line. I’m pretty sure Zoey called dibs on that. After Bobby.”
Rumi sniffs, but chuckles. “Yeah. Imagine the havoc Bobby would wreak on your parents. He’d scare them shitless.”
“And then they’d never contact me again!” Mira exclaims, a little hysterical. “That sounds like a plan. Who needs family counseling when Bobby’s got your back, right?”
Thunder rolls, and Mira gives the sky a look.
“And us.” Rumi adds, voice a little soft around the edges. “We’ve got your back too. You’re my family, Mira.”
Rumi strokes a hand down her back. “I think I get what you’re feeling. Not to the same extent as you, but I do. Celine never wanted to see me for what I am either. She made me keep so much from you, because we—because I— was afraid that would push you two away.”
Mira squeezes the wrist in her hand. She keeps going, “She wanted me to be the picture-perfect version of me that fit her expectations. And your parents did that to you too. The only difference between us is that you were actually brave enough to leave without looking back.”
Rumi pulls back but grips Mira’s upper arms, making her look at her. Rumi’s eyes are bright and just a little wet, matching Mira’s.
“And you are that. Brave, I mean.” She says, unwavering in her conviction. “And strong. And compassionate. And sweet, yes, that too. You’re always there when any of us need you. You’re our first call when we want to have fun, or when we need to vent. And the fact that you’re sometimes blunt, or that you can seem a little rude, doesn’t take away from any of that. Your parents didn’t want to see it, and that’s the worst. I am so sorry for that. But I promise you that we do. And we are so, so proud of you, for being as amazing and as unique as you are.”
The words aren’t loud, but they still echo between them, too large to ignore. Mira takes a shaky breath, trying not to let the tears spill.
And then the thunder rolls again, this time like a powerful agreement, and it nearly makes the building tremble with its force. Mira and Rumi look at each other for a second, before bursting into wet laughter.
Mira laughs until the tears roll down onto the blanket, and Rumi wipes them off with her fingers like it’s second-nature. And maybe it really is.
A loud buzz reaches their ears suddenly, and they freeze.
It’s coming from the broken phone on the floor.
Immediately, Mira’s heart thuds, hard, and without thinking she grabs both of Rumi’s hands.
“I don’t want to talk to them.” She whispers, nearly frantic. “I don’t want to.”
“Okay.” Rumi answers immediately, nodding once. The determination set in the thin line of her lips is familiar. Mira relies on it like it’s second-nature. Maybe it really is.
Rumi jumps back onto the floor, and slowly picks up the lit phone. She taps on it once, Mira watching anxiously.
And then her face melts into a smile.
“It’s Zoey.” She tells her. “She made us each a cup of tea, and she has some Disney movies loaded up in the living room. We’ve been summoned.”
Mira’s breath leaves her lungs in a gust, happy disbelief mingled in it. Something soft sparkles in her chest, a feeling she’s getting more and more used to, the longer she spends time with her girls. “Really?”
Rumi only grins, and holds out a hand for Mira. The silver scars wind up her wrist towards her fingers, cracking through her skin. They’re beautiful. Imperfect. Unashamedly her. No matter what Celine says.
Mira takes it, and squeezes. “Thanks, Rumi.”
Rumi winks again, and pulls her off the railing hard enough for her to tumble onto the ground. The thunder roars, laughing.
