Hey! Welcome to my page, here I write a lot of fluff and explicit stuff, as things can get pretty heated and spicy, most stories WILL be 18+, however if you think you can handle it there will be trigger warnings before chapters and posts.
Here are some prompts that I may include in stories/oneshots, if you are looking for something specific let me know! (x)
Here are my works:
- STAR WARS -
Hunter (The Bad Batch) x Femalejedi!reader
Series Summary: You've always liked clones... At least the ones that you fought with your old Master Obi Wan Kenobi, and your older brother Anakin Skywalker, after your training you became a Jedi Knight General. However, you weren't given a platoon but a small squad... Clone Force 99.
The Clone Wars season 7 - The Bad Batch Season 2 (for now)
Aesthetic + Playlist
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
- K-POP DEMON HUNTERS -
Rumi x Jinu
I have been in love with this movie and CANNOT get it out of my head so here I am writing about it!
Oneshots
Rooftop Confessions
During A Battle
Polytrix (Rumi x Zoey x Mira)
Series Summary: Takes place after the Idol Awards before they all go to the bathhouse together for the first time (Then continuing on after they go)
Chapter #1: A Million Pieces
Chapter #2: Broken Glass
Chapter #3: Darkness and Harmony
Chapter #4: My Voice Without The Lies
Chapter #5: What's Underneath
Chapter #6: We're Still Survivors
Chapter #7: A Broken Soul
Chapter #8: I Tried To Fix It
Chapter #9: Nothing But The Truth
Chapter #10: My Heart Divided
Chapter #11: You're Not Alone
Chapter #12: We're Shattering the Silence
Chapter #13: I'll Be Right Here
Chapter #14: Can't Go Back
Chapter #15: The Light
Chapter #16: The Dreamers
Chapter #17: the Fighters
Chapter #18: CHRISTMAS
Chapter #19: NEW YEARS!
Chapter #20: VALENTINES DAY
Chapter #21: Jagged Edges
- NINJAGO -
Lloyd Garmadon x OC
(Embrace Your Desteny Fanfic)
Series Summary: Davina was found as a young girl with no memories in the Underworld and trained in secret by Lord Garmadon himself. When she returns to Ninjago with Garmadon and Wu, she joins the ninja as they face every major threat across the seasons. As Davina fights to protect the world she barely remembers, she slowly uncovers fragments of her lost past. Along the way, she grows from a guarded survivor into a true ninja… and finds herself falling in love with Lloyd Garmadon, the Green Ninja.
Series Summary: Takes place after the Idol Awards before they all go to the bathhouse together for the first time (Then continuing on after they go)
Chapter Summary: Tension rises when Mira keeps a painful call from her mother to herself, causing a rift between her and Zoey. When a sudden Honmoon emergency forces them into action, Rumi makes a desperate sacrifice to protect them, leaving the three of them facing the consequences of their fractured trust.
Masterlist
Last Chapter>>>
Word Count: 5660
Warnings: Blood, violence, angst, wounds
Author Notes: hey guys I don't know how many of you are still reading this but I will hopefully keep writing… coming up with ideas has been hard but I think I've planned out the next few chapters! I hope you guys liked this one.
---- MIRA POV ----
The apartment was too quiet.
It had been weeks since Valentine’s weekend — weeks of soft mornings, late-night laughter, and the kind of easy love that made me believe we’d finally found some kind of peace. But tonight, the silence between us felt heavy. Wrong.
I stood at the kitchen counter, staring at my phone like it might bite me. The missed call from my mother still sat on the screen, timestamped from three hours ago. I hadn’t answered. I hadn’t even told Zoey or Rumi she’d called.
I should have deleted the notification. Instead, I’d been carrying it around like a live grenade.
Zoey walked in from the living room, hair still damp from her shower, wearing one of my old hoodies. She stopped when she saw me.
“You’ve been weird since we got home,” she said, not unkindly, but there was an edge to her voice. “What’s going on?”
I forced a small smile. “Nothing. Just tired.”
Zoey’s eyes narrowed. She knew me too well. “Mira.”
I hated that tone. The one that said she could see straight through my carefully built walls.
“It’s really nothing,” I said, turning away to put the dishes away. “My mom called earlier. That’s all.”
Zoey was quiet for a beat. Too quiet.
“And you didn’t tell me?” Her voice was low. “You didn’t even mention it?”
I shrugged, keeping my back to her. “It wasn’t important.”
“Bullshit.” The word landed sharp. “You’ve been off all night. Tense. Distant. And now I find out your parents called and you were just going to pretend it didn’t happen?”
Before Zoey could push further, we heard Rumi’s voice from the hallway.
“Hey guys, I can’t find my favourite hoodie!”
A second later, Rumi walked into the kitchen wrapped in nothing but a white towel, hair still damp from the shower, water droplets sliding down her collarbone and over the soft pink patterns glowing faintly beneath her skin.
My mouth went dry.
I couldn’t help the slow smirk that spread across my face.
“Well, well,” I said, leaning back against the counter, eyes shamelessly dragging down her body. “Look at you, walking around like that. Trying to distract us Rums? Because it’s working.”
Rumi froze mid-step, cheeks instantly flushing a deep, adorable pink that spread all the way down her neck. Her patterns flared brighter for a second before she clutched the towel tighter against her chest.
“Mira!” she squeaked, voice pitching higher as she tried (and failed) to look stern. “I’m literally in a towel!”
“Exactly,” I teased, unable to stop grinning. “And you look unfairly good in it. I’m trying to have a serious conversation here and you come out looking like that? Cruel and unusual punishment.”
Zoey, despite still being annoyed with me, let out a low whistle. “She’s got a point, baby. That towel is doing a lot of heavy lifting… and not much covering.”
Rumi’s face went even redder. She shifted on her feet, one hand gripping the towel at her chest, the other tugging uselessly at the hem like she could make it longer by sheer willpower.
“You two are the worst,” she mumbled, clearly flustered, but there was a shy little smile tugging at her lips. “I’m going to go put on actual clothes before you both start drooling.”
She turned to leave, but not before I caught her wrist gently and pulled her back just enough to press a quick, teasing kiss to her bare shoulder.
“Stay like this a little longer,” I murmured against her skin. “It’s a good look on you.”
Rumi made a small, embarrassed noise and lightly swatted my arm, cheeks burning. “You’re impossible.”
She finally escaped down the hall, towel clutched tight, muttering something about “horny girlfriends” under her breath. The second she was out of sight, Zoey turned back to me, the brief moment of levity fading.
The tension rushed back in.
“You can’t keep deflecting forever, Mira,” Zoey said, voice quieter now but no less serious. “Especially not about your parents.”
I looked down at the sink, jaw tight.
The brief warmth from teasing Rumi was already slipping away, replaced by that familiar heavy weight in my chest.
“Can I just have a little time please?” I asked, finally meeting her eyes. My voice came out softer than I intended, almost pleading. “Truth be told… I don’t even know what they want.”
Zoey stared at me for a long moment. I could see the frustration and hurt warring across her face. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, exhaling sharply through her nose.
“Fine,” she said eventually, though it clearly wasn’t fine. “But please don’t carry it alone once you find out. We are here for you, just as you are for us.”
She turned and walked out of the kitchen without another word, heading back toward the bedrooms.
The silence she left behind felt louder than any argument.
I gripped the edge of the counter, staring at the dishes I’d been pretending to wash. My chest felt tight, like someone had wrapped a band around my ribs and was slowly pulling it tighter. I hated this — hated how easily my parents could still crawl under my skin, hated how it made me push Zoey away when all she wanted was to help.
---- ZOEY POV ----
God, why do both my girlfriends not ask for help when they need it? I mean, like I know sometimes I keep things to myself, but I mostly don’t. At least I try. But Mira? She turns into a fortress the second her parents’ names come up. And Rumi… Rumi still tries to carry everything alone even after we’ve told her a thousand times she doesn’t have to.
I stormed down the hallway, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. The frustration was burning in my chest like acid. I hated fighting with them. I hated even more that it always seemed to circle back to the same shit — walls going up, doors slamming shut, both of them pretending they were fine while I stood on the outside watching.
I stopped in my bedroom, hands on my hips, trying to breathe through it.
A soft sound behind me made me turn. Rumi was standing there in my hoodie, sleeves too long, looking small and worried. She’d clearly just come out of the shower, hair still damp, and she was glancing between me and the kitchen with confusion written all over her face.
“Zoey…?” she started, voice gentle but uncertain. “What’s going on? I heard raised voices…”
I shook my head, trying to soften my expression for her. “I’m not mad at you, Rums. I’m just… tired.” I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. “Tired of watching her shut down every time they call. Tired of her acting like we’re going to love her less if she’s not perfect. Tired of both of you thinking you have to handle everything alone.”
Rumi blinked, still clearly trying to catch up. “Wait… her parents called?” She looked toward the kitchen, then back at me, brows furrowed. “Mira didn’t say anything about that. Is she okay?”
I let out a bitter laugh. “She says she’s okay. She always says she’s okay.”
Rumi stepped closer, one hand reaching out to rest on my arm. She still looked lost, like she was trying to read the full story from the tension in the air. “Do you want me to talk to her? Or… should I just give her space? I don’t want to make it worse.”
I pulled her into a hug, burying my face in her damp hair for a second. She smelled like our shampoo and warmth and home.
“I don’t know,” I mumbled against her. “I just hate when she does this. I hate feeling like I have to fight my way past her walls every single time something hard comes up.”
Rumi hugged me back tightly, but I could feel the worry radiating off her. She still didn’t have the full picture, and I could tell it was stressing her out.
“Rums, she hasn’t answered her mom’s call,” I said, voice lower now. “But if she calls back, I’m just worried. The last time her mom called it was to talk about that time Mira fell off the stage at rehearsals two years ago and got a concussion. And it wasn’t even to check if she was okay — it was about how bad it would look for her family’s company image.”
Rumi pulled back just enough to look at me, eyes wide with concern. “She called about that? After Mira got hurt?”
I nodded, jaw tight again. “Yeah. Said something like ‘optics are important’ and how it reflected badly on the family name. Mira didn’t sleep for two days after that call. She kept replaying it, wondering if she really had embarrassed them by getting injured.”
Rumi’s face crumpled. She glanced toward the kitchen, then back at me. “No wonder she doesn’t want to talk about it. That’s awful.”
“I know,” I muttered. “But that’s exactly why she should talk to us. She doesn’t have to protect us from her parents’ bullshit. We can handle it. I just… I hate watching her carry it alone again.”
---- RUMI POV ----
The next week felt like watching a crack slowly spread across something precious.
It wasn’t dramatic. There were no more raised voices or slammed doors. But the distance between Mira and Zoey grew a little more every day, and I felt it like a bruise I couldn’t stop pressing.
Monday, Mira left early for the studio. She said she wanted to work on some new choreography alone. When I asked if she wanted company, she kissed my forehead and said, “Not today, baby. I need to clear my head.” She didn’t come home until almost midnight, hair damp with sweat, eyes tired but guarded. She crawled into bed between us without saying much.
Tuesday, Zoey disappeared into the small recording booth we had in the penthouse for most of the afternoon. I heard her playing the same chords over and over, muttering lyrics under her breath. When I brought her tea, she thanked me with a distracted smile but didn’t invite me to stay. “Just working through something,” she said. She didn’t come out until dinner, and even then she was quiet.
We only really came together at night.
Every evening, no matter how distant they’d been during the day, we ended up in the same bed. Mira would pull me close from behind, Zoey would curl into my chest, and for a few hours the tension would ease. We’d hold each other a little tighter than usual, like we were all afraid the space between us might grow too big to close.
By Thursday, it was starting to hurt.
Mira had gone to dance again — alone. I found her later in the studio, practicing the same sequence over and over with fierce focus, like she was trying to outrun her own thoughts. When I asked her to come home early, she said she needed “one more hour.”
Zoey spent that same afternoon writing lyrics in the living room, headphones on, scribbling furiously in her notebook. When I sat beside her, she leaned into me for a moment, but her mind was clearly somewhere else.
That night in bed, I lay between them, listening to their breathing. They were both holding me, but I could feel the space between them like a cold draft.
I hated it.
I hated how Mira’s parents’ call had opened an old wound she didn’t want us to see. I hated how Zoey’s worry came out as frustration. And I hated most of all that I didn’t know how to fix it without making it worse.
Friday morning, the three of us sat at the kitchen table for breakfast. The silence was heavy.
Mira was picking at her food. Zoey was staring into her coffee like it held answers.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Are we… okay?” I asked quietly.
Both of them looked up at me.
Mira reached for my hand first. “We’re okay, Rums.”
Zoey nodded, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah. We’re fine.”
They were lying.
And I didn’t know how to make them stop.
“Okay, so I was thinking we could do a movie marathon or something today?” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “Nothing’s on our schedule, so… we could just stay in, order snacks, and watch whatever we want?”
I looked between them hopefully.
Mira and Zoey both froze for a second, exchanging a quick glance that made my stomach drop. They looked guilty.
“Sorry, I can’t,” Mira said, already standing up. “I booked the recording booth today.”
“Yeah, and I’m so close to finishing our new routine,” Zoey added, pushing her chair back. “Which reminds me, I gotta go. I told Jessie I’d be there by 9.”
They both got up almost at the same time, putting their plates in the sink with quick, efficient movements. The kitchen felt suddenly too big, too empty.
I sat there, fork still in my hand, watching them.
“Oh… okay,” I said quietly. “Maybe tomorrow then?”
Mira leaned down and kissed the top of my head, but it felt rushed. “Yeah, maybe. I’ll text you later.”
Zoey gave me a quick hug from behind, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “Love you, Rums. Have a good day.”
And just like that, they were gone.
The front door clicked shut, and the apartment fell silent except for the low hum of the fridge.
I stared at the half-eaten breakfast on the table, my appetite completely gone. My patterns dimmed, vines curling tight against my skin like they were trying to hide.
I stood in the kitchen for a long moment, staring at the dishes in the sink like they might give me answers. My chest felt tight, but I tried to push it down. They were just busy. They had things to do. It was fine.
I spent the next few hours trying to fill the silence.
I cleaned the kitchen. Folded laundry that didn’t need folding. Sat on the couch and scrolled through my phone without really seeing anything. I even tried watching one of the animated movies Zoey loved, but I turned it off after ten minutes because the empty space beside me felt louder than the dialogue.
Eventually I gave up and went to the dance studio downstairs. I put on our new routine track and moved through it slowly, trying to lose myself in the steps. But every time I missed a beat or landed slightly off, Celine’s voice crept back in.
See? You’re falling behind again.
I shook my head hard and kept going. One more time. Then another. The movements got sharper, more desperate. My patterns flickered uneasily under my skin.
Hours passed.
By the time I finally stopped, I was sweaty and breathing hard, but the quiet in my head hadn’t gotten any better. I checked my phone. No messages from either of them.
That’s when I felt it.
The pulse slammed into me like a wave — urgent, sharp, and strong. Pink light flared across my arms and chest, the call pulling at something deep inside my bones. A rift. And it felt close. Dangerous.
I grabbed my phone with shaking fingers and called Mira first.
Straight to voicemail.
I tried Zoey next.
Voicemail again.
My heart started hammering. I sent a quick group text:
Rumi: Honmoon call. Strong one. Heading out now. Please come if you can.
No reply.
I stood there for half a second, staring at the screen, waiting. Hoping.
Nothing.
The pull from the Honmoon grew stronger, almost painful. I couldn’t wait. Not if people might get hurt.
I changed into my gear as fast as I could — reinforced jacket, boots, the silver charms Zoey had given me last month. My hands were trembling as I laced them up.
I was going alone.
The thought made my stomach twist, but I pushed it down. I’d done this before. I could handle it. I had to.
As I stepped out into the cold afternoon air, the Honmoon’s pulse thrummed louder in my veins, guiding me toward the east side of the city. My patterns glowed steadily now — not panicked, but determined.
I just hoped they’d see the message soon.
Because for the first time in a long while, I was walking into a fight without them by my side.
And that scared me more than any demon ever could.
The rift had torn open in an old abandoned warehouse district near the river. Pink light bled from the cracks in the walls like blood from a fresh wound. I could feel the demons before I saw them.
I didn’t wait for backup.
I couldn’t.
I kicked the side door open and stepped inside.
Three demons had already spilled through. They were big — bigger than anything we’d faced recently — twisted between shadow and jagged bone, eyes burning a sick, pulsing red. Different. Very different. I had never seen this kind before. The moment they sensed me, they attacked.
I fought hard.
My sword tore into the first one. The second one caught me off guard — its claws raked across my left shoulder, deep and burning. Pain exploded down my arm, but I kept moving. I was still okay. I could handle this.
I took down the second demon with a vicious slash across its throat.
The third one was the biggest. It roared and charged. I met it head-on, but my injured shoulder screamed every time I moved my left arm. I was slower now. Sloppier.
It caught me by the throat.
Its massive clawed hand wrapped around my neck and slammed me against a concrete pillar. The impact knocked the air out of me. I gasped, claws digging uselessly at its wrist as it lifted me off the ground.
“Oh, silly hunter,” the demon spoke, voice like grinding stone and rotting flesh. “Where are your other little hunters? Have they finally seen you for what you truly are? A burden. A mistake. A pathetic half-breed they’re tired of protecting.”
“Gwi… Ma…” I choked out, barely able to force the name past its grip.
The demon let out a wet, rattling laugh. Its burning red eyes bored into mine.
“Not quite.” He may not have been here but it was like he was speaking through the demon. “After our last battle I’ve been thinking about the best way to finally stop you hunters. And soon I will be able to take over this world.”
Before I could react, something sharp pierced my side — not claws, but something thinner, colder. A stinger? I didn’t see it clearly. All I felt was a sudden, icy burn flooding into my veins.
New. Wrong. It spread fast, like liquid fire mixed with ice, crawling through my blood and making my patterns flicker erratically. My vision blurred at the edges. My limbs felt heavier.
Gwi Ma leaned closer, hot breath washing over my face.
“You fight so hard to be loved,” it hissed. “But they’re already pulling away, aren’t they? Soon they’ll see you’re not worth the trouble. Just like everyone else.”
My claws slashed weakly at its arm. I could feel the poison burning deeper, making my shoulder wound throb in time with my heartbeat.
I was starting to slip.
But I refused to go down without a fight.
With the last of my strength, I drove my claws into the side of its head. Gwi Ma roared and flung me across the warehouse. I hit the ground hard, rolling, coughing up blood.
The world was spinning.
That’s when I heard them.
Mira and Zoey’s voices — sharp, angry — echoing from outside the warehouse.
“You can’t keep shutting me out like this!”
“I’m not shutting you out, I just don’t want to talk about it right now!”
They burst through the door still arguing, gear half-on, eyes blazing at each other instead of the threat in front of them.
My stomach dropped.
The big demon saw the opening immediately. It lunged straight toward them while they were distracted, claws raised for a killing strike.
They weren’t looking.
They weren’t focused.
I didn’t think.
I threw myself between them and the demon.
Its claws slammed into my side with brutal force. The impact sent me flying backward. I hit the ground hard, skidding across the concrete, pain exploding through my whole upper body like fire.
“RUMI!” Mira’s voice cracked with horror.
The argument died instantly.
---- MIRA POV ----
The argument died instantly.
One second Zoey and I were snapping at each other in the doorway — voices raised, frustration boiling over — and the next, everything shattered.
“RUMI!”
The scream tore out of my throat as I watched her small body fly across the warehouse like a ragdoll. She hit the ground hard, skidding across the concrete with a sickening sound that I knew I’d hear in my nightmares. Blood already soaked through her jacket. Her patterns flared wildly — bright pink, then stuttering, flickering like a dying bulb.
Zoey was moving before I could even process it, sprinting toward her with a broken shout. I followed, heart hammering so hard it felt like it might crack my ribs.
The big demon roared behind us, but I didn’t care. Nothing else mattered. Not the fight. Not the argument. Not my stupid fucking pride.
Only Rumi.
She was trying to push herself up when we reached her, one arm clutched tight against her bleeding side, the other trembling as it held her weight. Blood dripped from her mouth. Her breathing was wet and ragged.
“Rumi—fuck, baby, stay down,” I gasped, dropping to my knees beside her. My hands hovered uselessly for a second, terrified to touch her and make it worse.
Zoey was already there, gently cradling Rumi’s head in her lap, tears streaming down her face. “No no no—Rumi, look at me. Stay with us. Please.”
Rumi’s eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused. When she saw us, a weak, pained smile tugged at her bloody lips.
“You’re… here,” she rasped. “Took you long enough.”
A broken sob escaped Zoey. She leaned down and pressed her forehead to Rumi’s, hands shaking as she brushed damp hair off her face. “I’m so sorry. We were fighting like idiots and you— you jumped in front of that thing—”
“I’m okay,” Rumi whispered, but her voice was fading. Her patterns were dimming fast, the pink light stuttering like it was struggling to stay on. “Just… tired. My shoulder hurts. Side hurts worse.”
I finally found my voice, but it came out cracked and terrified. “Let me see.”
My hands shook as I carefully peeled back the torn fabric of her jacket. The sight that greeted me made my blood run cold.
Three brutal claw marks slashed across her ribs and side, deep and ragged, already swelling and turning an ugly, unnatural shade of blackish-purple. Blood poured freely from the wounds, soaking through her shirt and dripping onto the dirty concrete. But worse was the smaller puncture wound just below them — a clean, vicious stab that was already inflamed, dark veins spreading outward.
My stomach dropped violently.
“Fuck… fuck,” I whispered, voice breaking. The demon had done this. And it had done it while Zoey and I were too busy fighting each other to protect her.
I glanced back toward the demon just in time to see it let out one final, furious roar before dissolving into black smoke and ash, vanishing back through the shrinking rift. It knew it was outnumbered now. It had done its damage and fled.
“We have to get her home, now,” I said, panic rising sharply in my throat. My hands were already pressing against the worst of the gashes, trying to stem the bleeding, but it wasn’t enough. “She’s losing too much blood and that puncture…”
“RuRu, do you think you can stand?” Zoey asked, her voice tight with fear as her eyes flicked desperately between Rumi and me.
“I think so,” Rumi groaned, teeth clenched. She tried to push herself up, but the movement made her gasp in pain. The moment she was upright, I could see it all over her face — the deep lines of agony etched into her expression, her lips pressed thin, eyes squeezed shut for a moment as she fought to stay conscious.
“Okay, okay… slowly,” I said, voice trembling as I quickly moved to grab one side of her. Zoey took the other, and together we carefully lifted her between us, supporting most of her weight.
Rumi swayed dangerously the second she was on her feet, a weak whimper escaping her as fresh blood trickled down her side. Her patterns were flickering erratically now, the pink light stuttering like it was struggling to stay alive.
“I’ve got you,” I whispered fiercely, wrapping my arm around her waist, careful not to press on the wounds. “We’ve both got you. Just lean on us, baby. We’re getting you out of here.”
Rumi nodded weakly, head lolling against my shoulder as we started moving toward the exit. Every step made her breath hitch in pain, but she kept trying — kept fighting — even as her legs trembled beneath her.
Zoey’s voice cracked beside me. “Stay awake, Rums. Please. We’re almost there. Just a little longer.”
I held onto Rumi tighter, my own heart pounding with terror and guilt.
We never should have let it get this far.
We never should have let her fight alone.
And I swore to myself, as we half-carried her out into the cold night air, that I would never let my pride or my fear come between us again.
Not when it cost us this.
***
When we got home, we acted fast.
The second the apartment door shut behind us, the weight of everything crashed down. Rumi was barely conscious between us, her breathing shallow and ragged, blood still seeping through the makeshift bandages we’d tied on her in the car. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely keep my grip on her.
“Zoey, grab the first aid kit!” I said urgently, voice cracking as I guided Rumi toward the couch. “The big one — everything.”
“Got it,” Zoey replied, already sprinting toward the hallway closet. Her voice was tight with fear, but she moved with purpose.
I eased Rumi down onto the couch as gently as I could, supporting her weight so she didn’t have to put pressure on her injured side. She let out a soft, pained whimper when her back hit the cushions. The sound tore through me like a knife.
“I’m sorry, baby,” I whispered, kneeling in front of her. “I’m so sorry. Just hold on a little longer.”
Her jacket was stiff with dried and fresh blood. I worked carefully, unzipping it slowly and peeling the heavy fabric off her shoulders, trying not to jostle her injured arm or the deep gashes across her ribs. Every time the material stuck to a wound, Rumi hissed through her teeth, her patterns flickering weakly.
Zoey dropped to her knees beside me a second later, the large first aid kit thudding onto the floor. She flipped it open and started pulling out supplies — disinfectant, gauze, antiseptic wipes, bandages, and the strong painkillers we kept for emergencies.
“Got it,” Zoey said, voice trembling as she handed me the disinfectant. Her eyes were wide and glassy as she looked at Rumi’s injuries. “God, Mira… look at her side.”
“I see it,” I said, keeping my voice as steady as I could for Rumi’s sake. Inside, I was screaming.
The claw marks were worse than I’d thought in the warehouse — deep, jagged, and already showing signs of infection from whatever filth had been on the demon’s claws. But the puncture wound below them worried me most. The skin around it was an angry, unnatural purple-black.
Rumi’s head lolled back against the couch, eyes half-lidded. “Hurts…” she mumbled, barely coherent.
“I know, sweetheart,” I whispered, pouring the disinfectant onto a thick pad of gauze. “This is going to sting like hell. Squeeze my hand if you need to.”
Zoey took Rumi’s other hand, lacing their fingers tightly. “We’re right here. We’ve got you.”
I pressed the soaked gauze against the deepest claw mark. Rumi jerked hard, a sharp cry escaping her lips as her patterns flared bright pink for a second before dimming again. Her grip on my hand tightened painfully.
“I’m sorry,” I kept repeating under my breath as I worked, cleaning each wound as thoroughly as I could. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
Zoey helped me wrap fresh bandages around Rumi’s torso, her movements quick but gentle. Tears were streaming down her face now, but she didn’t stop — didn’t hesitate. When we finally finished cleaning and bandaging the worst of it, Rumi was trembling, sweat mixing with the blood on her skin.
“You did so good,” I told her, brushing damp hair off her forehead. “You’re so strong, baby. We’re almost done.”
Rumi’s eyes fluttered open, glassy with pain but still trying to focus on us. “Don’t… fight,” she rasped. “Please don’t fight anymore.”
The words hit me like a punch to the chest.
Zoey leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Rumi’s knuckles, voice breaking. “We won’t. I promise. We’re done fighting. We’re here for you.”
I nodded, throat too tight to speak. I leaned down and kissed Rumi’s temple, then her cheek, tasting salt and blood and fear.
“We’re not going anywhere,” I whispered against her skin. “You’re safe now. Just rest.”
Rumi’s breathing slowly evened out as the painkillers started to kick in. Her patterns finally settled into a faint, exhausted glow. She was still with us.
Zoey stood up slowly, her hands still trembling as she gathered the bloodied gauze and discarded supplies. She moved quietly toward the kitchen to throw everything away and get fresh water, giving us a small moment alone. I stayed on the floor in front of the couch, unable to pull away from Rumi.
I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around her carefully, mindful of her injuries, pulling her gently against my chest. She melted into the hug with a tired sigh, her head resting on my shoulder. Her patterns were still dim, but they flickered a little warmer now that she was safe.
“I know you heal fast,” I whispered into her hair, my voice cracking, “but you can’t just—”
“It would’ve had you guys, Mir. I had to.”
Her words were soft, but they hit me like a punch. I held her tighter, one hand cradling the back of her head.
“You really scared us,” I said, voice thick with everything I’d been holding back. “You scared me. Please do not do that again.”
Rumi let out a weak, tired laugh that turned into a wince. “No promises.”
I pulled back just enough to look at her face — pale, exhausted, but still trying to smile for me. It broke something inside my chest.
I brushed my thumb across her cheek, wiping away a streak of dried blood. “I mean it, Rumi. I can’t… I can’t watch you throw yourself in front of us like that. Not when we were the ones being stupid. Not when we should’ve been protecting you.”
She leaned into my touch, eyes fluttering half-closed. “I couldn’t let anything happen to you two. Not because of me.”
The guilt twisted deeper.
I swallowed hard, then decided to tell her the rest.
“My mom called earlier,” I said quietly. “Before the rift. I didn’t answer. But when I finally listened to the voicemail… she said they had a business deal lined up. A ‘strategic alliance.’ They want me to get married. Some heir from another powerful family. She made it sound like it was already half-decided.”
Rumi’s eyes opened fully, sharp despite the pain. “What?”
“I hung up the second she said it,” I continued, voice low. “Didn’t even let her finish. But it brought everything back. The pressure. The expectations. The way they always treated me like a pawn instead of a daughter. I didn’t know how to tell you and Zoey without it becoming… this.” I gestured vaguely at the tension that had been hanging between us all week.
Rumi reached up with her good hand and cupped my cheek. Her touch was weak, but warm.
“You don’t have to carry that alone,” she whispered. “That’s what you always tell me. So let me tell you the same thing. You don’t have to protect us from your parents. We can handle it. Together.”
I closed my eyes and leaned into her palm, feeling the sting of tears.
Zoey came back from the kitchen then, carrying a glass of water and more clean towels. She paused when she saw us — me holding Rumi, both of us teary-eyed.
“Everything okay?” she asked softly, setting the glass down.
I looked up at her, the earlier fight feeling so small and stupid now.
“We’re getting there,” I said. “I told her about the call. About what my mom wanted.”
Zoey’s expression softened. She knelt down beside us again, one hand resting gently on Rumi’s knee, the other reaching for mine.
“We’re not letting them take you away from us,” Zoey said firmly. “Not now. Not ever.”
Rumi nodded weakly between us, her patterns finally starting to glow a little steadier.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she murmured. “Not unless you two drag me.”
I let out a watery laugh and pressed my forehead to hers.
“Good. Because we’re never letting you go.”
Zoey leaned in, completing the circle — the three of us pressed close together on the floor, holding each other through the blood, the fear, and the lingering hurt.
Series Summary: Davina was found as a young girl with no memories in the Underworld and trained in secret by Lord Garmadon himself. When she returns to Ninjago with Garmadon and Wu, she joins the ninja as they face every major threat across the seasons. As Davina fights to protect the world she barely remembers, she slowly uncovers fragments of her lost past. Along the way, she grows from a guarded survivor into a true ninja… and finds herself falling in love with Lloyd Garmadon, the Green Ninja.
Chapter Summary: The Ninja meet Davina. Tension rises as the ninja argue about trusting Garmadon, while Davina quickly makes her presence known by roasting Kai. The team rushes to the Fire Temple to rescue Lloyd and stop Pythor. Lloyd meets Davina for the first time…
Warnings: None
Word Count: 4995
Notes: I hope you all love this chapter!!! Anyway I can't wait to keep writing! Till next time!
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KAI POV
Okay, I admit it. Snooping around Master Wu’s room was probably not my smartest idea.
But the second I saw that green ninja suit hanging there, all shiny and important-looking, every ounce of self-control I had left vanished.
I thought if I practiced in it, maybe it would unlock my True Potential. Because let’s be honest — Cole’s too broody, Jay’s a total airhead, and Zane… well, he’s not even human, so he doesn’t really count as competition.
I slipped the green gi on over my own suit and struck a dramatic pose in front of the mirror.
“Fire!” I yelled, thrusting my hands forward. “Unlock fire! Uh… fire go! Shoot flames! Oh, come on!”
I dropped into push-ups, grunting with each one.
“Bring the heat! Come on, Kai, you’ve got this!”
Suddenly, I heard snickering behind me.
“Very nice,” Cole said, leaning against the doorway with a smirk. “Perhaps if you tried the phrase ‘fire dork’ it might work.”
I froze mid-push-up.
“How long have you all been watching?” I asked, half-accusing.
“Long enough,” Jay grinned, stepping into the room. “The Green Ninja suit?! That’s awesome!”
Zane tilted his head. “But you know only he who is foretold to face Lord Garmadon is destined to be the Green Ninja. And only he should wear the Green Ninja outfit. So Sensei would most likely be very—”
“I know, I know!” I cut him off, standing up quickly. “But I thought maybe if I just tried it on, it might help me see my True Potential. It’s not fair that you guys have all unlocked your cool powers and I’m still stuck here with nothing. Besides, Sensei’s gone and we don’t know when he’s coming back—”
“Hello? I’m home.”
“Sensei!” the three of them yelled at the same time.
Crap. Crap. Crap.
My eyes went wide. I started ripping the green suit off as fast as humanly possible, nearly tripping over my own feet.
“Guys, stall him!” I hissed, hopping on one leg while trying to yank my red gi back on.
Jay gave me a panicked look. “Stall him?! How are we supposed to stall Sensei?!”
***
I had just barely finished pulling on my red gi when I heard Wu’s voice from the hallway.
“Where is Kai?”
“Right here!” I called out, rushing out of the room while still adjusting my belt. “So glad you’re back safe, Sensei—”
I stopped dead in my tracks. That's when I saw him and his four arms. My blood instantly boiled.
“Aah, Sensei! Behind you!”
I leaped forward, drawing my sword in one smooth motion and charging straight at Garmadon.
“Aah! He’s got four arms!” I shouted.
“So we meet again,” Garmadon growled, easily blocking my strike with two of his arms.
“He must’ve followed you, Sensei!” Jay yelled.
“Kai, stop!” Wu ordered sharply. “He is the reason I left for so long as Pythor has Lloyd, he and Davina will be our guests.”
Guests?!
Just then, a small girl stepped out from behind Garmadon. She looked about ten, with long brown hair in a messy ponytail and sharp violet eyes. She was staring right at me with a ready stance, like she was fully prepared to fight me if I made another move.
Cole snorted. “We have to live with this guy?”
“But Sensei, he has four arms!” Zane added.
“Uh, must I remind you, ever since he turned evil he’s been trying to get our Golden Weapons!” Jay pointed out.
“ENOUGH!” Wu’s voice boomed through the hallway.
We all instantly shut up.
“Yes, Sensei,” we mumbled together.
Garmadon smirked, clearly enjoying the chaos.
“This isn’t about the weapons,” he said darkly. “It’s about my son.”
Wu looked at each of us sternly. “From here on out, you will obey me… and you will respect my brother.”
“Yes, Sensei…”
“Now to the bridge. We must put our attention to more pressing matters.”
As we started heading toward the bridge, the girl walked past me. She looked me up and down with a completely unimpressed expression and muttered loud enough for everyone to hear:
“Oh, so this is the stupid hot-headed one.”
Cole burst out laughing, “oh, I like her!”
Nya tried (and failed) to hide her own laugh behind her hand.
I felt my face burn. “Hey! I am not—”
But Davina had already turned away, sticking close to Garmadon’s side like she belonged there.
This was going to be a long day.
DAVINA POV
I stood quietly beside Sensei Garmadon, trying to take everything in. There were so many people here. So many voices. It felt loud and overwhelming after the silence of the Underworld.
“So where are we at with the four Fangblades?” Wu asked his ninja.
“Oh, Pythor’s managed to take the first two,” the blue one — Jay, I think — said quickly. “But there’s still two left.”
“And we only need one in order to prevent him from unleashing the Great Devourer,” said the big, strong-looking one with black hair. Cole.
“Any luck finding their whereabouts?” Wu asked.
“No, but the falcon is programmed to alert us if he sees any suspicious activity,” replied the white one, Zane.
“Good,” Wu nodded. “If we find the Fangblade, we find Lloyd. Kai and Nya, prepare the deck and double check the anchor. We need to be ready when we first get word of activity.”
“Yes, Sensei,” both Kai and the red-haired girl said before heading out. Kai turned at the last second, glaring at Garmadon and me. “I’ve got my eye on you.”
He immediately banged his head on the doorframe on the way out.
I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.
Jay started talking again. “Okay Sensei, I don’t know where to start. It all started when we saw the falcon…”
I started to zone out. My head was spinning with names and faces. There were too many new people, too much new information. I quietly studied each of them while Wu and Garmadon were distracted.
The big one, Cole… he seemed steady. Strong. Calm. He reminded me a little of the way Sensei Garmadon stood when he was teaching me balance — like nothing could knock him over. I liked that.
Jay was talking a mile a minute, waving his hands around dramatically. He was kind of funny, even if he was loud. I caught myself almost smiling again.
Then there was Zane. I couldn’t quite get a read on him. He was too still. Too perfect. His voice was calm and polite, but something about him felt… different. Like he wasn’t quite the same as the others.
Cole noticed me watching them and raised an eyebrow. “So… Davina, right?” he asked, keeping his voice low while Jay continued rambling to Wu.
I nodded.
“How old are you?” Jay jumped in, suddenly very interested. “You really trained with Garmadon? In the Underworld?”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I’m ten.”
Zane tilted his head, studying me with bright blue eyes. “You appear to have remarkable survival skills for someone your age. What kind of training did Lord Garmadon give you?”
I shrugged, a little uncomfortable with all three of them looking at me now. “Mostly how to fight. How to hide. How to stay alive when everything wants to kill you.”
Cole let out a low whistle. “That’s intense. You seem pretty tough for a kid.”
I felt my cheeks warm a little. Out of all of them, Cole felt the easiest to be around. He didn’t look at me like I was weird or broken.
Jay grinned. “You any good with that dagger? You wanna spar later? I’m awesome at it.”
“Maybe,” I said, the corner of my mouth twitching.
Zane was still watching me carefully, like he was trying to solve a puzzle. I couldn’t tell if he was friendly or just… analyzing me.
Before they could ask anything else, Wu’s voice rose again, pulling everyone’s attention back.
I let out a small breath.
There were too many questions I didn’t have answers for yet. Too many people. Too much light.
But at least Cole seemed cool… and Jay was kind of funny.
I glanced up at Sensei Garmadon. He was still listening to Wu, his four arms crossed.
For the first time since we arrived, I wondered if I had made the right choice by following him here.
COLE POV
The first few days with Garmadon living at the monastery were… weird.
Don’t get me wrong, the guy was still evil. Four arms, red eyes, the whole “conquer Ninjago” vibe. But as a roommate? He was actually kind of interesting. He ate condensed evil for breakfast like it was cereal, brushed his teeth with a dull blade, and growled at the toaster every morning. But most of the time he just… existed. Quiet. Brooding. Almost normal.
I hadn’t meant to overhear them.
I was heading back from the training courtyard when I heard Garmadon’s voice echo from one of the lower rooms.
“Again!” he barked. “You keep dropping your guard on the left side, Davina! If this had been a real fight, you would be dead right now.”
I paused near the doorway.
Davina’s voice was small but determined. “I’m trying—”
“Not hard enough,” Garmadon snapped. “In the Underworld you survived because I trained you. Do not make me regret bringing you here. Pick up the dagger. Again.”
I winced. The way he spoke to her… it was harsh. Really harsh. She was just a kid.
I was about to walk away when I heard her try again and fail. The sound of the dagger clattering to the floor made something twist in my chest.
Later that evening, I found her sitting alone on the edge of the roof, legs dangling over the side, staring at the sunset. She looked exhausted.
I walked over quietly and sat down a respectful distance away.
“You okay, kid?” I asked.
She glanced at me, surprised, then shrugged. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.” I paused, then added, “I heard some of the training earlier. Garmadon… he’s not exactly gentle, huh?”
Davina looked down at her scraped hands. “He says softness gets you killed.”
I let out a low breath. “Maybe. But there’s a difference between being strong and being cruel.” I nudged her shoulder lightly. “You’ve got good instincts. You’re fast too. You just need to trust yourself more.”
She didn’t say anything for a while. Then, quietly: “It’s different here. Everything’s too bright. Too loud. I don’t know how to… be normal.”
I smiled a little. “Who said we’re normal?” I stood up and offered her my hand. “Come on. Training’s over for today. Let me show you something else.”
She hesitated, but eventually took my hand.
I took her to one of the big training rooms. I put on one of my old playlists — something with a strong beat — and started showing her basic rhythm exercises. At first she was stiff and awkward, but after a few minutes she started copying my movements. Then I turned it into something closer to dance fighting — mixing Spinjitzu footwork with actual dance steps.
For the first time since she arrived, I saw her smile. A real one.
“You’re not bad, kid,” I said, grinning as she tried a spin and almost nailed it. “Got some natural groove in you.”
She huffed, but she was clearly enjoying herself. “This is training?”
“Best kind,” I winked. “We’ll call it… ‘Cole’s Special Endurance Training.’”
She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.
From then on, I started calling her “Dee.”
She came from darkness, but there was a spark in that kid — something bright fighting to get out. Figured she could use a name that didn’t weigh her down.
NYA POV
When Sensei Wu first approached me about discovering my true destiny, I thought it was simply about accepting that I was Samurai X.
I never imagined it would go further than that.
“It was foolish of me to think that a girl could not be the destined Green Ninja,” Wu said calmly. “When the four Golden Weapons are laid out before the Destined One, they will react, revealing their true identity.”
My stomach twisted. “But Sensei…”
“Approach the weapons,” he instructed gently.
I stepped forward, heart beating faster than I wanted to admit. Before I could even reach the pedestal, a loud bang echoed from the hallway.
To absolutely no one’s surprise, Kai came barreling in like an idiot, looking ready to pick another fight with Garmadon.
“Guys! What are you doing out here?” I asked, exasperated.
“Perhaps you should be asking Mr. Snoopy Pants that question,” Garmadon said dryly, pointing one of his four arms at my brother.
Kai froze. “Uh… I was just keeping watch! Yeah. So… are you the Green Ninja?”
I stared at him, deadpan. “What? Of course not.”
“So the weapons didn’t react to you…” Kai muttered, looking way too relieved. “That means I still have a chance!”
I sighed. “Kai…”
“The truth is,” Wu said, stepping out behind me, “she never wanted to know.”
I crossed my arms. “At first, all I wanted was to be like you guys. But after seeing how obsessed you’ve become with the Green Ninja prophecy… and after discovering what I could do on my own as Samurai X… I’m happy with who I am.”
Before anyone could respond, Jay came running down the hall, looking panicked.
“Kai! You were supposed to be on the bridge!” he shouted. “Zane’s falcon just spotted them — the Serpentine are on the move!”
We all sprinted up to the bridge, not wanting to waste a single second.
“Looks like Pythor is at the Temple of Fire,” Zane reported, studying the falcon’s footage.
“That means a Fangblade is there,” Kai said, eyes lighting up.
“And Lloyd,” Garmadon added, his voice low and serious.
Jay crossed his arms. “That’s the same Fire Temple where Kai and Lord Garmadon first faced off.”
“Yeah,” Kai shot back, “and if my memory serves me correctly, one of us cheated the last time we fought.”
“And I remember someone needing their Sensei to save them,” Garmadon replied with a smug smirk.
“Guys!” Cole groaned, stepping between them. “For the sake of the Fangblade and Lloyd, can we please just get along?”
Davina, who had been quietly standing beside him, looked up and whispered just loud enough for me to hear, “I don’t think that’ll happen any time soon.”
I caught the way Cole glanced down at her — fond, almost brotherly. He even gave her a small, amused smile and ruffled the top of her head.
…What did I miss?
From the little I’d seen so far, Davina seemed like a really sweet (and tough) girl. I definitely wanted to get to know her better once things calmed down.
“Anyway,” I continued, “Since the last time we’ve been there, the volcano has grown highly unstable. The entire temple is a powder keg just waiting to explode. This will be an extremely combustible environment.”
“Oh great,” Jay muttered sarcastically. “Just what I like — fighting armed and deadly snakes in a highly combustible environment about to blow up.”
“We will do what we must,” Wu said firmly.
“Yes, Sensei,” we all replied.
Zane turned to Wu. “But where are our weapons?”
That’s when Kai’s eyes suddenly widened in panic.
“And why is Lord Garmadon not here?!”
Kai whipped around and bolted out of the room, running as fast as he could.
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
This team was never boring, that’s for sure.
I rushed after the others, trying to open the door to the weapons. It wouldn’t budge.
“What are you doing in there?!” I shouted, banging on the door.
“Discovering my true potential!” Kai yelled back, his voice full of determination and stupidity.
Jay ran up beside me and tried pulling the handle too, but it was locked tight.
“Kai thinks he’ll unlock his True Potential if he stands up to Lord Garmadon,” I blurted out.
“Why would he think that?” Zane asked, tilting his head.
I sighed. “Because he thinks he’s the Green Ninja.”
Cole stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. “Well if we don’t open this door soon, I think he’s going to be mincemeat. Stand back!”
Cole’s body began to glow with his signature orange earth energy. With a powerful spin, he delivered a devastating kick that smashed the door off its hinges.
We burst into the room and found Kai standing triumphantly on top of Garmadon, breathing heavily.
“I did it!” Kai shouted. “Are my eyes glowing? Did I unlock my powers? Is this my True Potential?!” He looked around desperately. “Argh! Why isn’t it working?!”
“Because you cannot defeat someone who allowed himself to be defeated,” Wu said calmly, stepping into the room.
“Yeah, idiot,” Davina muttered. She stood slightly behind Cole, peeking out like she was ready to hide if Kai decided to start another fight.
“I wasn’t going to hurt you, boy,” Garmadon said, sounding almost bored. “I was only fetching your weapons.”
“But you were trying to steal them!” Kai accused, still not getting off him.
“I asked him to get them,” Wu clarified. “Perhaps it is best if you do not reach your True Potential… or else someone could get hurt.”
“Way to go, hero,” Cole said sarcastically, walking over to help Kai up. Davina stepped forward and fist-bumped Cole with a small smirk.
“Oh, you poor thing. Let me help you,” I said, grabbing Kai’s arm and pulling him off Garmadon.
Kai groaned in embarrassment as I dusted him off.
Cole looked out the window as the ship began to slow. “Sounds like we’ve finally reached our destination.”
“Absolutely not.”
Davina stood her ground, arms crossed tightly over her chest as she glared up at Garmadon. “I’ve fought worse things in the Underworld. I can help!”
Garmadon looked down at her with four stern arms crossed. “You are staying on the ship. This temple is unstable and crawling with Serpentine. You are not ready.”
“I am ready!” she insisted, her voice rising. “You trained me yourself!”
For a second I thought she might actually stomp her foot. It was kind of adorable.
Garmadon’s red eyes narrowed. “Enough. You will stay here with Nya. That is final.”
Davina opened her mouth to argue again, but Garmadon had already turned and walked down the ramp with the others. She let out an annoyed huff, clearly frustrated.
I couldn’t help but smile as I walked over to her.
The boys (and Garmadon) disappeared into the fiery temple, leaving just the two of us on the ship.
Davina stared at the temple entrance with a grumpy expression, arms still crossed. She looked so determined… and so young.
“Hey,” I said gently, leaning against the railing beside her. “I know that feeling.”
She glanced up at me, violet eyes still annoyed.
“I used to sit on the bench too,” I told her with a small smile. “For a long time, the guys didn’t think I could fight. They wanted to keep me ‘safe’ on the ship while they went on missions. It drove me crazy.”
Davina’s shoulders relaxed just a little. “Really?”
“Really. I was so mad I built my own mech and became Samurai X just to prove them wrong,” I said with a soft laugh. “So trust me… I get it.”
She looked down at her feet, kicking a small pebble across the deck. “I just want to help. I don’t want to be useless.”
“You’re not useless,” I said firmly, reaching over to gently bump her shoulder with mine. “You’re still learning. And you’re only ten. Give yourself some time.”
She blinked up at me.
I smiled warmly. “One day soon, you’ll be out there with them. Kicking Serpentine tails and saving the day. I promise. Until then… how about you stick with me? We can watch the monitors, eat snacks, and make fun of how dramatically Kai poses when he thinks no one’s looking.”
Davina finally cracked a small smile. “He does pose a lot…”
“Constantly,” I laughed. “Come on, Little Shadow. Let's keep an eye on them from the bridge. And if anything goes wrong, we’ll be ready to jump in.”
She hesitated for a second, then nodded and fell into step beside me as we headed back inside.
As we walked, I glanced down at her messy ponytail and determined little face, and something soft settled in my chest.
I had a feeling I was going to like having another girl around.
KAI POV
I followed the others into the Fire Temple, the heat hitting me like a slap to the face. The air was thick with sulfur and smoke, and every step echoed off the volcanic stone walls.
Nya’s voice crackled through our comms. “The volcano seems to be on the verge of eruption, guys. All recent indicators tell me that this place is becoming increasingly fragile. Even the smallest rupture can make the whole thing go off.”
Wu nodded ahead of us. “Then we must not use our weapons.”
I watched as Cole, Jay, and Zane reluctantly put their weapons away. I gripped my sword tighter. My hand was practically itching to ignite it.
Come on, Kai… focus.
“Kai,” Nya warned through the comms, like she could read my mind.
“Ah, yeah, yeah,” I muttered, finally sheathing my sword. “No fire sword. But only because I wouldn’t want anything to prevent us from getting that Fangblade.”
“Or my son,” Garmadon added darkly.
I shot him a sharp glare. Your son? I thought bitterly. You’re the reason Lloyd is even in this mess. Every time he opened his mouth I wanted to punch him. Four arms or not. How were we supposed to trust this guy? He literally just tried to betray Sensei Wu back in the Underworld.
“There, the Serpentine must be in the inner core,” Wu said. “From here on out, we travel by shadows.”
“It’s the only way I know how,” Garmadon replied, moving ahead like he owned the place.
I hung back for a second, watching Garmadon’s four-armed silhouette against the glowing lava.
This feels like a trap.
He says he’s here for Lloyd, but how do we know he’s not just using us to get the Fangblades for himself? What if the second we find them, he turns on us? And why did he bring that kid, Davina? She looks at him like he’s some kind of hero instead of the guy who tried to take over the world.
I clenched my jaw and forced myself to keep moving.
Stay focused, Kai. We have to get the Fangblade.
But deep down, a nasty little voice in the back of my head kept whispering:
What if Garmadon is playing us all?
And what if I’m the only one who sees it?
We finally reached the inner core of the volcano. The heat was unbearable. Down below, the Serpentine were digging like crazy. And there, trapped in a rickety cage hanging over a pit of bubbling lava, was Lloyd.
“There’s Lloyd!” Jay pointed.
Before we could even make a plan, Pythor let out a triumphant hiss. “The third Fangblade is ours!”
Great. Just great.
We tried to sneak down quietly, but of course Pythor spotted us.
“Attack!” he shrieked.
Wu raised his staff. “Light as a leaf! Attack like there’s no tomorrow!”
The fight exploded around us. I tried to hold back — I really did — but watching Cole smash through snakes with his earth powers, Jay zipping around with lightning, and Zane freezing enemies left and right… something in me just snapped.
I drew my sword.
“Kai, the weapon is compromising our safety!” Nya warned through the comms.
“I will do what I must,” I growled.
I unleashed everything. Flames roared from my blade as I cut through the Serpentine like they were nothing. For a moment it felt amazing… until the volcano started shaking violently.
Pythor laughed as his Constrictai began tearing through the walls and floor. “Let’s get out of here. But not before we leave them with a parting gift!”
“Any minute this place is going to blow!” Jay shouted. “We have to get out of here!”
“Not without my son,” Garmadon snarled, leaping forward like a monster.
“Dad!” Lloyd screamed as the snakes lowered his cage dangerously close to the lava.
I watched Garmadon fight like a madman to reach him. He actually looks… worried? For a second I almost believed he cared. But then the doubt hit me again. This could all be an act. He’s probably just using Lloyd like he uses everyone else.
I shook the thought away and charged past them.
“The Fangblade is mine!”
“Kai, come back! It’s too dangerous!” Cole yelled. “The whole place is going to explode!”
“Then I better be quick!”
I sprinted up the crumbling stairs, eyes locked on Pythor as he tried to escape with the Fangblade. I hurled my sword with everything I had. It spun through the air and slammed into the Fangblade, pinning both weapons into the wall.
“Yes!” I shouted.
But Pythor couldn’t pull it free, and neither could I. The blade was stuck tight. With a final desperate yank, the sword came loose — sending the Fangblade plummeting toward the lava below. I slid down the collapsing stairs after it.
“Come on… why won’t my power unlock?!”
“Kai! Help me!” Lloyd’s terrified voice cut through the chaos.
That one scream hit me like a truck. Lloyd was crying out for help. And here I was, chasing a stupid golden sword while a kid — Garmadon’s kid — was about to die.
I froze.
What am I doing?
The Fangblade didn’t matter. Lloyd did. He did. He had a destiny. I couldn’t let him die just because I was jealous and obsessed.
“Forget it!” I shouted, changing direction. “This place is coming apart! Ninja GO!”
I spun through the collapsing temple, dodging falling rocks and bursts of lava. I grabbed Lloyd just as his cage gave way and carried him as fast as I could toward the exit. The volcano was roaring around us like it wanted to swallow us whole.
And then… something inside me ignited.
A rush of power surged through my body like nothing I’d ever felt before. My eyes glowed. Flames erupted around me as I blasted a path through the collapsing stone, carrying Lloyd to safety.
I did it.
I finally unlocked my True Potential.
We burst out of the temple just as the volcano began its final eruption. I carried Lloyd all the way back to the Bounty, breathing hard, covered in soot and sweat.
Everyone was waiting for us.
I had done it. I had unlocked my True Potential.
LLOYD POV
I don’t know how Kai did it, but he actually saved us.
The second we made it out of the collapsing temple, I ran straight to my dad and hugged him as hard as I could. I buried my face in his chest, not even caring that he had four arms or red eyes or anything. He was here. He was really here.
“Dad… is it really you?”
“It is, son,” he said, his voice rough but gentle as one of his hands rested on my back.
Cole let out a big laugh. “He’s going to be okay!”
Everyone cheered. For the first time in a long while, it actually felt like things might be alright.
Then I heard a girl’s voice behind me.
“You know, I asked him that same question when I first met him.”
I pulled back from the hug and turned around.
And I froze.
She was standing there next to Cole — a girl about my age with long brown hair tied in a messy ponytail and the most striking violet eyes I had ever seen. She looked a little dirty and roughed up, like she’d been through a lot, but she stood tall with this quiet confidence that made my face feel weirdly warm.
Whoa.
Kai was still talking, explaining how he unlocked his True Potential.
“I knew when I had to make a choice,” he said, looking right at me. “I wanted the Fangblade so badly… to prove I was good enough to be the Green Ninja. But then I figured it out. All my training wasn’t to become the Green Ninja. It was to protect him.”
Everyone turned to look at me.
“What?” I blinked. “What is everybody looking at me for?”
Nya stepped forward with a soft smile. “That means…”
They brought all four Golden Weapons and laid them in front of me. A bright green glow suddenly burst out from the weapons surrounding me. I felt a strange power rush through my body.
Sensei Wu’s voice was calm but full of meaning. “Lloyd is the Green Ninja. I had thought it would be one of you, but it was him the whole time. It all makes sense now. Not only have the four of you been chosen to protect the Golden Weapons… but also to protect the Chosen One.”
My dad’s expression darkened. “That means…”
“The battle lines have been drawn, brother,” Wu said sadly. “Sadly, our family has only become more divided. Brother versus brother… and now, son versus father.”
The air got really heavy. I didn’t know what to say.
Jay, being Jay, completely ruined the moment.
“So… what happened to the Fangblade?”
“Wow,” the girl with the violet eyes muttered, rolling her eyes. “Way to ruin an already sad moment.”
I couldn’t help it — I let out a small laugh. She was snarky. I liked that.
She must’ve felt me staring because she turned and looked straight at me. For a second, our eyes met. My stomach did this weird flip thing I’d never felt before.
I quickly looked away, my face burning.
Who is she?
And why did it feel like the entire volcano wasn’t the hottest thing I’d just seen?
Series Summary: Davina was found as a young girl with no memories in the Underworld and trained in secret by Lord Garmadon himself. When she returns to Ninjago with Garmadon and Wu, she joins the ninja as they face every major threat across the seasons. As Davina fights to protect the world she barely remembers, she slowly uncovers fragments of her lost past. Along the way, she grows from a guarded survivor into a true ninja… and finds herself falling in love with Lloyd Garmadon, the Green Ninja.
Chapter Summary: Lloyd is held prisoner by the Serpentine. Meanwhile, Davina climbs the Mountain of Madness with Garmadon and Wu. Davina arrives in Ninjago for the first time. Overwhelmed by the bright, colorful world she doesn’t remember, she stands beside Garmadon as he celebrates his return, while Wu watches her with growing suspicion.
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1981
Notes: Wow these first few chapters are going to be so short because I'm not doing the other ninjas POVs, would you guys like it if I did that? Obviously I'm not going to do every experience with them but I could throw in one or two. What do you guys think?
Masterlist
Last Chapter>>>
LLOYD POV
“Bring the boy!”
I heard Scales hiss as rough hands grabbed my arms and dragged me forward. God, I hate snakes… yeah, I definitely do now.
They shoved me toward Pythor, who was standing at the edge of the broken floor. The underground tomb was a death trap — the middle of the room had completely collapsed into a dark pit, leaving only a narrow, crumbling path along the walls.
“Oh! You’re letting me go?” I said, trying to sound braver than I felt.
“Only to fetch my dear boy,” Pythor replied with that slimy, fake-sweet voice of his. He yanked me closer to the edge. “Do step lightly.”
I really tried. I swear I did. But about halfway across the narrow ledge, the stone under my foot cracked and gave way.
My stomach dropped.
I lunged forward, scrambling and barely making it to the other side before the piece I’d been standing on plummeted into the darkness below.
Pythor’s glowing eyes narrowed. “Bring me the Fangblade and I’ll let you go.”
Easy for him to say.
The floor started collapsing even faster behind me. Spikes shot down from the ceiling like deadly rain, and arrows whistled out of hidden slots in the walls. I ducked and dodged, heart hammering in my chest.
I accidentally nudged an old staff that was somehow holding up part of the ceiling — big mistake. The whole thing started caving in even faster.
But I made it.
I skidded to a stop right where the Fangblade was supposed to be.
…it wasn’t there.
“It’s gone!” I blurted out.
“It’s gone?” Pythor echoed, his voice rising dangerously.
“Where is it?” Scales demanded, sounding way too impatient for a giant snake.
I turned back toward them, trying to keep my cool even though I already knew the answer to my next question.
“Do I still get to be freed?”
“NO!” Pythor and Scales shouted at the same time.
DAVINA POV
The climb was brutal.
My legs burned and my hands were scraped raw from grabbing onto sharp rocks, but I refused to slow down. Every time my foot slipped, I clenched my teeth and pushed harder. I wasn’t about to let Sensei Garmadon think I was weak. Not after everything he’d taught me.
We finally reached a small, flat landing. I leaned against the cold stone, trying to catch my breath without being obvious about it.
“I had hoped to reach the summit before the moon has risen,” Garmadon said, his voice low. “The Craglings never miss a midnight snack.”
“Craglings?” Wu asked, sounding confused. “What is this place? There’s no such thing in Ninjago.”
Garmadon gave a short, dark chuckle. “They’re a horde unlike any you’ve seen, brother. You as well, my little apprentice.” He glanced down at me. “Not all places exist to be found. Sometimes one must revel in the shadows to truly see the light.”
I didn’t fully understand what he meant, but I nodded anyway. Before I could ask anything else, the ground beneath us began to rumble.
The mountain itself seemed to come alive.
Huge rock monsters burst out of the stone around us — Craglings. Their bodies were made of jagged boulders, with glowing eyes and massive fists. They roared as they charged.
Sensei Garmadon and Wu moved instantly. They fought side by side, back-to-back, like they had done it a thousand times before. Their movements were perfectly in sync, spinning and striking with a rhythm I’d never seen from Garmadon before.
“Watch out, Davina!” Wu suddenly shouted.
I spun around just in time. A massive stone fist came swinging toward me. I dropped low, ducking under it like Garmadon had drilled into me during training, and yanked out my small dagger. I slashed at the creature’s leg with all my strength, chipping off pieces of rock.
The Cragling roared in anger.
I was breathing hard, heart pounding, but I stayed on my feet. I wasn’t going to be a burden. Not to Sensei Garmadon.
From behind me, I heard Wu say with a hint of nostalgia, “Just like old times.”
Garmadon answered without missing a beat, “Just like old times.”
I risked a quick glance at them. Even while fighting monsters, the two brothers moved together. I gripped my dagger tighter and focused on the next Cragling charging toward me.
Stay alive, I told myself. Prove you belong here.
***
The last Cragling crumbled into dust behind us. I was breathing hard, my arms aching, but we had won.
“The vortex back to Ninjago is just over that bluff,” Garmadon said, pointing ahead. “Please, you first.”
Wu stood at the edge of the swirling purple portal, looking down into it. He turned back to Garmadon with a sad but hopeful expression.
“Though we live in two different worlds, I still see good in your heart, brother.”
I felt a strange twist in my chest. Wu’s voice was so kind, even after everything.
Before I could process what was happening, Garmadon moved fast — faster than I expected. He kicked Wu hard in the back, sending him tumbling over the edge and into the vortex.
I gasped.
Wu’s hand caught the ledge at the last second. He hung there, staring up at his brother in shock.
“But I came for your help to save your son… Did you lead me here to destroy me?”
Garmadon stepped forward and pressed his foot down hard on Wu’s fingers.
“See you on the other side,” he said coldly.
Wu’s hand slipped, and he fell into the swirling portal with a cry.
Everything went silent except for the low hum of the vortex.
I stood frozen, staring at the spot where Wu had just been. My heart was pounding so hard it hurt.
“Master Garmadon…?” My voice came out smaller than I wanted. “Why did you do that? He said he came to warn you about Lloyd. He wasn’t trying to fight you…”
Garmadon turned to me, his four red eyes glowing with irritation. His voice was sharp and mean.
“Do not question me, girl. Wu is weak. He always has been. He would have slowed us down or tried to turn you against me the moment we reached Ninjago.”
I flinched at his tone, but I didn’t back away. I clutched my dagger tighter, trying to make sense of it.
“But… he seemed kind,” I said quietly.
Garmadon let out a low, bitter laugh. “Kindness is a chain, Davina. It makes you soft. I taught you better than that.” He stepped closer, towering over me. “If you want to survive in Ninjago, you cannot trust anyone. Not even him. Do you understand?”
I looked up at him. At the only person who had kept me alive all this time. The one who trained me when no one else cared.
Even if what he did felt wrong… he must have a reason. He always had a reason.
I swallowed hard and nodded.
“Yes, Sensei.”
Garmadon stared at me for a moment longer, then jerked his head toward the glowing vortex.
“Good. Now jump.”
I looked down into the swirling purple light. My stomach twisted with fear, but I pushed it down. I had survived the Underworld. I could survive this too.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped to the edge.
Without looking back, I jumped into the portal.
The portal felt like falling through ice and fire at the same time.
One moment everything was swirling purple darkness, and the next I hit the ground hard, rolling across grass and dirt. My head spun. The air smelled… different. Cleaner. Fresher. Not like ash and regret.
I pushed myself up on shaky arms, blinking rapidly as my eyes adjusted to the bright light. Real light. Not the dim, sickly glow of the Underworld.
There were trees, actual green trees with leaves that moved in a soft breeze. The sky above was blue, so blue it almost hurt to look at. Birds were singing somewhere nearby. Everything felt… alive.
I was still staring in stunned silence when I heard his voice.
“I’m back, Ninjago!”
Garmadon threw his four arms wide, his deep laugh booming across the clearing. It was loud, triumphant, and full of darkness. The same laugh he used when he crushed particularly strong mud monsters back in the Underworld.
He looked… happy. In a terrifying way.
I slowly got to my feet, still gripping my small dagger. My heart was racing, but not from fear of monsters this time. This world felt too open. Too bright. Too much.
“Master Garmadon…?” I said quietly, looking around. “This is Ninjago?”
He turned toward me, still grinning with all four arms outstretched. “Yes, my little apprentice. Welcome to the land I will one day rule.” His red eyes gleamed with excitement. “After all these years… I have finally returned.”
I swallowed hard. The grass felt soft under my feet. The sun was warm on my skin. It was beautiful… but it also felt wrong. Like I didn’t belong here.
Wu groaned as he slowly sat up a short distance away, rubbing his head. He looked dazed but unharmed.
I glanced between the two brothers. Garmadon was still laughing, clearly enjoying his dramatic return, while Wu watched him with a mixture of sadness and caution.
Everything felt overwhelming. The colors were too bright. The air was too sweet. And somewhere deep inside my chest, a strange ache started growing.
This was supposed to be home?
…Why didn’t it feel like it?
WU POV
Watching Davina look around at Ninjago made my heart hurt.
She stood a few steps away from Garmadon, eyes wide with quiet wonder as she took in the green grass, the warm sunlight filtering through the trees, and the distant sound of birds. Everything was new to her. The brightness, the colors, the gentle breeze. None of it existed in the dark realm.
She looked so small. So lost.
I could see the conflict on her face, awe mixed with unease. This world was beautiful, but it was also completely foreign to her. She had only known shadows, monsters, and survival. The light itself seemed to confuse her.
Garmadon stood tall beside her, arms crossed, laughing darkly as he proclaimed his return to Ninjago. He paid little attention to the girl’s visible discomfort.
I stepped closer to Davina, keeping my voice soft.
“Davina,” I said gently. “Are you alright?”
She blinked a few times, as if the sunlight was too much for her eyes, then looked up at me. For a brief moment, I saw something vulnerable in those violet eyes, something that tugged even harder at that elusive memory buried deep in my mind.
“It’s… really bright,” she murmured. “And loud. But not the bad kind of loud.” She paused, then added quietly, “It doesn’t feel real.”
My chest ached. How long had she lived in that eternal twilight? How much of her childhood had been stolen by darkness?
Garmadon glanced over at us, his expression hardening when he saw me speaking to her.
“Enough coddling, brother,” he growled. “She is not fragile. I made sure of that.”
I met his gaze steadily, but my words were still meant for Davina.
“You are safe here,” I told her kindly. “This is your home now, whether you remember it or not. And I promise… I will help you find your memories. All of them.”
Davina didn’t reply right away. She simply looked back toward the horizon, where the sun was beginning to set in brilliant shades of orange and pink colors she had likely never seen before.
For the first time since we left the Underworld, I saw a flicker of fragile hope in her eyes.
And with it, my suspicion only grew stronger.
Who are you, child? I thought. And why do I feel as though the answer has been hidden from me for many, many years?
Series Summary: Davina was found as a young girl with no memories in the Underworld and trained in secret by Lord Garmadon himself. When she returns to Ninjago with Garmadon and Wu, she joins the ninja as they face every major threat across the seasons. As Davina fights to protect the world she barely remembers, she slowly uncovers fragments of her lost past. Along the way, she grows from a guarded survivor into a true ninja… and finds herself falling in love with Lloyd Garmadon, the Green Ninja.
Chapter Summary: While hiding in the Underworld, ten-year-old Davina watches her mentor, Lord Garmadon, fight his brother Wu. With no memories of her past, Davina has survived by training under Garmadon. Now, she joins the two brothers on a dangerous journey through the Mountain of Madness. As they travel, Davina asks Wu about the world she cannot remember, while Wu grows increasingly suspicious about her. A new beginning awaits in Ninjago — but first, they must survive the darkness.
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1985
Notes: Okay so my plan is to mostly tell this story through Davina and Lloyd's POV however I might through in other POVs just to spice things up or show how those two will yearn for each other and be so stupidly oblivious about it. Anyway I hope you will stick around! Next chapter soon (Hopefully 🤞🤞🤞)
Masterlist
DAVINA POV
The Underworld was a place of eternal twilight, where shadows twisted like living things and the air tasted of ash and regret.
I watched from a nearby ledge as Garmadon fought an old looking man with a long white beard. I was only able to hear parts of what they were sayinging:
“You should’ve known better than to try and stop me,” Garmadon growled, his four arms still tense.
“I didn’t come to stop you,” the old man said, breathing hard as the last of the mud released its grip on him. “I came to warn you… to tell you— your son’s in danger.”
Garmadon’s red eyes narrowed. “Lloyd?”
He stepped forward and helped pull the other man to his feet, the hostility between them momentarily set aside. “What has Lloyd gotten himself into?”
“He has opened a can of worms I fear I will never be able to close.”
“You mean, we will never be able to close,” Garmadon corrected, his voice lower. “Get up. You can tell me more later. First we need to return home. How did you find me?”
“Traveler’s Tea. But I used it all and now have no way back.”
Garmadon was silent for a moment, then nodded grimly. “There is only one way to return to Ninjago. But to get there we must pass through the Mountain of Madness, and it is a long and dangerous road ahead.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
I couldn’t take it anymore, jumping down as silently as I could, moving how I had learned to survive — and fight — in this dark realm.
“Davina,” Garmadon said, his deep voice losing some of its usual edge. “I told you to stay hidden until the fighting stopped.”
“I did,” I replied, crossing my arms. “Mostly. You took longer than usual this time. I got tired of waiting.”
Garmadon let out a low sigh and placed one of his hands on my shoulder, guiding me closer. “Brother, this is Davina. I found her wandering the darker edges of the realm some months ago. She had no memory of how she arrived… but she was strong. Determined. I’ve been training her.”
I looked up at Garmadon. He never said anything about having a brother, turning my gaze toward the old man. “He’s been teaching me Spinjitzu basics and how to use the shadows to hide. I can already take down smaller mud monsters on my own now,” I proudly bragged.
His voice was soft when he finally spoke, “it’s nice to meet you Davina, my name is Wu.” Wu studied both of us carefully. “You’ve taken her under your wing… here, of all places?”
Garmadon’s four arms shifted uncomfortably. “She would not have survived otherwise. The Underworld does not show mercy to the weak… or the young.”
I wasn’t scared of Master Garmadon’s monster arms or red eyes. He was the only reason I was still alive. I looked between them and asked the question that had been burning in my chest since I heard them talking about leaving.
“Are we leaving now? You said if you ever found a way back to Ninjago… I could come with you.”
Master Garmadon looked down at me. Something strange crossed his face — not quite soft, but… conflicted. Like he was making a decision he didn’t fully like.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “You’re coming with us.”
My shoulders straightened. I felt a small spark of hope, but I didn’t smile too big. I knew better than to look weak. Instead, I fell into step beside him as we started walking, close enough to be safe but far enough that I could move on my own if I needed to.
We walked for a long time. The ground was cracked and glowed with weird purple lines. I kept my eyes moving, scanning every shadow the way Master Garmadon taught me.
***
The three of us began the long trek toward the Mountain of Madness. The ground beneath our feet was uneven and cracked, glowing faintly with unnatural purple veins of dark energy. I walked just behind Garmadon’s right side, my steps quick and silent, eyes constantly scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. I wanted to be alert, ready for anything. You had to be because letting your guard down here could be fatal.
Garmadon’s four arms swung with heavy purpose as he spoke, his voice low and rough.
“So what kind of trouble has Lloyd gotten himself into?”
Wu glanced at his brother, then at me. “Well, I’m afraid to say the worst kind. He’s re-opened the Serpentine tombs, and now that they’ve united, Pythor is trying to find the four Silver Fangblades to unleash the Great Devourer.”
Garmadon stopped mid-step for a fraction of a second. “The very snake that turned me evil?”
“Yes.”
A tense silence fell.
Garmadon let out a low, bitter chuckle. “Why would Lloyd open the tombs?”
Wu’s voice was heavy. “To be like you.”
The words hung in the air. Garmadon’s jaw tightened, all four fists clenching for a moment. I noticed and quietly moved a half-step closer to him, not out of fear, but out of habit — the same way I positioned myself during our training sessions when his mood shifted.
“I never wanted him to,” Garmadon muttered, almost to himself. Then, quieter: “Thank you for watching out for him.”
Wu gave a small nod. “Hmm. You may think of me as your enemy, but I was first your brother.”
Garmadon didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he glanced down at me, I met his gaze without flinching.
“Keep your eyes sharp, Davina,” he said gruffly. “The Mountain of Madness does not care who you are. If you slow us down, I will leave you behind.”
“I won’t slow you down,” I answered, nodding. “I’ve lasted this long here, haven’t I? Besides… you still owe me another lesson on shadow-stepping when we get a moment.”
Garmadon gave the faintest snort — almost amused. “We’ll see if you survive the mountain first, girl.”
The path ahead grew steeper, the air thicker with malice. Strange howls echoed in the distance.
My hand tightened around the small dagger and muttered under my breath, just loud enough for Garmadon to hear:
“…I’m not afraid of snakes.”
Garmadon didn’t smile, but one of his lower arms shifted slightly, positioning himself so that I was better shielded from the shadows on their left.
“Keep talking like that,” he said flatly, “and you might just live long enough to see Ninjago.”
***
The path had grown steeper and more treacherous with every step. Jagged black rocks jutted out like broken teeth, and the air grew colder, carrying faint whispers that sounded almost like voices.
Finally, we reached the base of a colossal, twisting mountain that seemed to pierce the dark sky itself. Purple lightning flickered silently along its peaks.
“We’re here,” Garmadon announced, his voice low and rough. “The Mountain of Madness.”
Stopped beside him, I tilted my head back to stare up at the imposing structure. Curious of what lies ahead of us.
“The only way back to Ninjago is… up there?” I asked.
Wu nodded gently, offering me a warm, reassuring smile. “I’m afraid so, little one. It is the only path that connects this realm to ours.”
Garmadon shot his brother a sharp glare, clearly displeased by the soft tone Wu was using with me.
I shifted her weight from one foot to the other, still gazing at the mountain. After a moment, I turned closer to Wu, my voice quiet but direct. “…What’s Ninjago like? I don’t remember anything about it. Everything before the Underworld is just… blurry. Like a dream I can’t quite catch.”
Wu’s expression softened even more. He crouched slightly so he was at my eye level, his voice kind and patient.
“Ninjago is a beautiful place,” he said gently. “There are green fields, bright cities, and oceans that sparkle under the sun. Children laugh and play in the streets. There’s warmth… and light. Nothing like this endless darkness.”
I listened to his every word and tried to picture it, but nothing came. My chest felt tight. “It sounds… nice. I don’t remember any of that. Not the sun, not the cities… nothing.” I glanced at Master Garmadon. “Master Garmadon says memories don’t help you survive here anyway.”
Garmadon grunted in annoyance, crossing two of his arms. “Enough chatter. The mountain does not care about your lost memories, girl. Keep your mind on the path ahead, not on foolish questions.”
Wu ignored his brother’s irritation and continued speaking to me with the same gentle patience.
“You may not remember it now,” he said softly, “but perhaps being back in Ninjago will help those memories return. And if you have family there… we will do everything we can to find them.”
“Family? I don’t remember having any. It’s just been me… and then Master Garmadon found me.”
Wu looked at me for a long time. His eyes got this weird, thoughtful look — like he was trying to remember something important. Like maybe he knew me… or someone who looked like me.
Garmadon noticed too. His face darkened into a scowl.
“Do not fill her head with nonsense, brother,” he snapped. “She belongs to no one but herself here. And she has survived because of my training, not daydreams of a world she cannot remember.” He looked down at me sharply. “Now start climbing, Davina.”
WU POV
I watched Davina move ahead of us, her small figure picking her way carefully along the narrow ledge with the quiet confidence Master Garmadon had drilled into her. She was far enough now that her sharp ears wouldn’t catch our words.
I met Garmadon’s glare calmly, but kept my voice low and kind when I spoke again — this time only to him.
“There is something familiar about her. I know you know that. Or you wouldn’t be helping her.”
Garmadon’s expression darkened further, all four arms tensing at his sides. The red glow in his eyes flared like smoldering coals.
“Enough,” he snarled. “We waste time with pointless talk. The worst is yet to come.” A low, menacing laugh rumbled deep in his chest, echoing off the jagged black rocks surrounding us. “If you want to reach Ninjago, we have to go now.”
I didn’t argue. I simply nodded once and fell into step a few paces behind them.
My gaze, however, kept returning to the ten-year-old girl walking just ahead of my brother. Davina moved with surprising alertness for one so young — her messy brown ponytail swaying with each step, one hand never straying far from the crude practice dagger at her side. Her violet eyes scanned every shadow as if the darkness itself might strike at any moment.
There was something about her that refused to leave my thoughts.
The shape of her jaw. The unusual violet tint to her eyes. The quiet, stubborn way she carried herself despite everything this cursed realm had thrown at her.
It tugged at an old memory — something faint and half-forgotten, buried deep in the years before the Serpentine wars, before my brother fell to darkness. I couldn’t place it yet, but the feeling was unmistakable.
She reminds me of someone…
I studied her more closely as we walked. Not Davina herself, perhaps — but someone connected to her. A face I might have known long ago. A family line whose path had crossed mine once upon a time.
Garmadon kept a deliberate distance from the girl — not cruel, but clearly not warm. He was her mentor, nothing more. A harsh teacher who had decided, for whatever reason, that this lost child was worth the effort of training.
And yet… he had chosen to protect her. To bring her with us.
My suspicion grew with every step we took toward the looming mountain.
Who are you really, Davina? I wondered silently. And why does the sight of you feel like looking at a ghost from a past I thought long buried?
The mountain rose higher above us, its peaks crackling with silent purple lightning. The whispers on the wind grew louder, colder.
I kept my eyes on the small figure ahead, my heart heavy with questions I knew I could not ask yet.
Notes: Honestly I don't know why I am making this but my siblings had started rewatching this show and it reminded me of my childhood so here I am writing a Ninjago story. As always if you guys have suggestions lmk!!!
Series Summary: Takes place after the Idol Awards before they all go to the bathhouse together for the first time (Then continuing on after they go)
Chapter Summary: Rumi is still learning what it means to be loved without conditions. Valentine’s Day approaches, the trio dedicates an entire long weekend to celebrating each other.
Masterlist
Last Chapter>>>
Word Count: 7876
Warnings: perfectionist qualities and a lot of fluff
Author Notes:
---- RUMI POV ----
After New Years, Mira and Zoey had shown me a whole new way of living. I didn’t realize the world could be so kind, so loved, that I could be so loved for just being me.
The first week of January felt like waking up in a different life. Mornings weren’t sharp with dread anymore. I’d open my eyes to the soft glow of our bedroom, Zoey’s arm slung heavy across my waist and Mira’s fingers threaded through mine. My patterns would shimmer faintly under the sheets—pink and warm, not angry or ashamed—and neither of them ever flinched. They’d trace the vines with sleepy fingertips like they were mapping something beautiful instead of something dangerous.
Zoey started leaving little notes on the bathroom mirror in dry-erase marker: “You’re perfect” with tiny hearts. Mira would make me coffee exactly the way I liked it and kiss my temple before I’d even said good morning. They never asked me to shrink. They never treated my patterns like a problem to solve. They just… loved them. Loved me.
But then came dance practice.
We were back in the studio for the first time since the New Year’s show—polishing choreography for the spring tour promo run. The mirrors were unforgiving, the bass from the speakers sharp in my chest, and Mira had created new moves for us. Mira was always amazing at dancing. So she is good. Demanding. Precise.
I was behind.
Not catastrophically. Not enough that anyone else would call me out. But I felt it—every half-second delay on the spin, every arm that didn’t snap quite clean enough, every time my foot landed a fraction late on the drop. My body remembered the steps, but my head was screaming.
You’re not good enough.
Celine’s voice, clear as if she were standing behind me.
You’ve trained your whole life for this. You should be getting everything right. Perfect. Or what was the point?
I pushed harder. Tried to lock in. But the more I forced it, the tighter my muscles got, the more my timing slipped.
Zoey was laughing through her own missteps, turning a wrong turn into a dramatic twirl and winking at me like everything was fun. Mira was focused but relaxed, hitting her marks with that quiet precision she always had, glancing over with a small smile when we locked eyes in the mirror. They were in their element—loose, confident, enjoying the grind.
I kept my face neutral. Smiled when they smiled. Laughed when Zoey made a joke about “needing more coffee to keep up with Mira’s legs.” I didn’t want to be the one who broke the mood. Not when they were finally looking at me like I belonged without question.
But inside, the voice got louder.
They’re going to see it soon. They’re going to realize you’re holding them back again. You’re not ready. You never were.
By the third run-through, my chest felt tight. My patterns dimmed, vines curling inward like they were trying to disappear. I missed the same transition twice in a row—footwork off, arm angle wrong—and the choreographer called a quick reset.
Zoey jogged over during the break, tossing me a water bottle. “You good, Rums? You’re quiet today.”
I caught the bottle, forced a grin. “Just focused.”
Mira joined us, wiping sweat from her brow. “You’re killing it. That last chorus lift? Clean as hell.”
They believed it. They really did.
And that made it worse.
Because I knew they were wrong.
I knew I was off.
I knew Celine would have stopped the music, made me run it alone until it was flawless, until my legs shook and my lungs burned and there was no room left for error.
But maybe that's what I needed. I would practice later, again and again.
“Thanks. Let’s go again.”
We reset. I pushed harder.
The next run was better—still not perfect, but close enough that the choreographer gave a thumbs-up. Zoey whooped and high-fived me. Mira squeezed my shoulder as we walked off the floor.
After I let them pull me toward the door.
But the voice didn’t stop.
They’re blind. Or they’re being nice. Either way, you know the truth. You’re not fine. You’re never fine.
I didn’t say anything.
I just held their hands tighter on the walk home, hoping the warmth of their palms could drown out the cold echo in my head.
---- ZOEY POV ----
By the time we got home from practice, the sky was already bruising purple outside the windows. Dinner time had snuck up on us—stomachs growling, legs heavy from hours of running choreography. The apartment smelled faintly like the cinnamon candle we’d left burning that morning, and the fridge was stocked with leftovers from last night’s takeout: spicy noodles, sesame chicken, those little veggie spring rolls Mira always orders extra of.
I kicked off my sneakers by the door and headed straight for the kitchen. “Who’s hungry? Because I’m about to inhale everything in sight.”
Mira groaned, flopping dramatically onto the couch. “Starving. But also dead. My quads are screaming.”
Rumi slipped in behind us, quieter than usual. She hung her jacket on the hook, toes curling against the hardwood like she was grounding herself. “I could eat,” she said, voice soft but steady. She smiled when she caught my eye—small, familiar—but something about it felt a little distant, like she was looking through me instead of at me.
I chalked it up to exhaustion. We’d all pushed hard today.
We reheated everything in the microwave, too tired to cook fresh. Plates clinked on the coffee table, chopsticks and forks scattered between us. Rumi sat cross-legged on the floor between Mira’s knees, leaning back against the couch while Mira absently played with her ponytail. I sprawled on the other end, legs stretched out, stealing spring rolls from Rumi’s plate just to make her swat my hand.
She laughed—light, real—but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She ate slowly, picking at the noodles, twirling them around her chopsticks more than actually bringing them to her mouth.
“You okay, Rums?” I asked, nudging her knee with my foot.
She looked up, blinked once like she’d been pulled back from somewhere else. “Yeah. Just… thinking about the choreo. Trying to lock in that last transition in my head.”
Mira leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You were solid today. We’ll get it tomorrow. No rush.”
Rumi nodded. “I know.”
She smiled again—same small curve of lips—and went back to her food. But her patterns were dimmer than usual. I almost asked again, but Mira caught my eye over Rumi’s head and gave a tiny shake—no, let her breathe.
We ate in a comfortable quiet after that. The TV hummed low in the background—some mindless cooking show neither of us was really watching. Rumi finished half her plate and set it aside, leaning her head back against Mira’s thigh. Mira’s fingers kept moving through her hair, slow and soothing.
Eventually Mira yawned so wide her jaw cracked. “Okay. I’m calling it. I’m wrecked. Bed. All of us.”
I stretched until my spine popped. “Same. My soul left my body somewhere around hour four of practice.”
Rumi didn’t argue. She just stood up, gathered the plates with quiet efficiency, and carried them to the sink. I followed, bumping her hip gently as I rinsed. She bumped back—automatic, affectionate—but her smile still felt a little far away.
We moved through the bedtime routine on autopilot: teeth brushed, faces washed, pajamas pulled on. Rumi changed into the oversized hoodie she’d stolen from me weeks ago, sleeves hanging past her hands. She looked small in it, soft, but there was a tension in her shoulders that hadn’t quite melted.
In the bedroom, Mira was already under the covers, propped against the headboard with her phone dimmed low. I climbed in on the other side, tugging Rumi down between us. She came willingly, curling into my chest while Mira spooned her from behind.
“Lights?” I asked, hand hovering over the switch.
Rumi nodded against my collarbone. “Yeah.”
The room went dark except for the faint city glow sneaking through the curtains and the soft pink shimmer of her patterns—quieter tonight, less bright.
Mira kissed the back of Rumi’s neck. “You were amazing today, baby. Even when it felt hard.”
Rumi hummed, a small sound. “Thanks.”
I pressed my lips to her forehead. “Sleep, okay? We’ve got you.”
She didn’t answer right away. Just tucked herself closer, one hand finding mine under the blanket, the other reaching back to rest on Mira’s hip.
I thought maybe she’d drifted off already.
But a minute later—voice so quiet I almost missed it—“I love you both.”
Mira squeezed her gently. “Love you more.”
I kissed her hair. “Love you most.”
She didn’t say anything else.
But her fingers stayed laced with mine, grip steady even as her breathing evened out.
I lay there in the dark, listening to them both settle—Rumi’s soft exhales, Mira’s deeper ones—and felt that familiar ache in my chest. The good kind. The kind that comes from knowing someone trusts you enough to let you hold them when they’re not sure they’re worth holding.
Whatever was quiet in her head tonight, whatever voice was whispering, we’d find it tomorrow.
---- MIRA POV ----
I woke up with that sudden, gut-punch awareness you get when something’s wrong before your brain even catches up. The room was dark except for the faint blue glow from the city bleeding through the curtains. My arm was still outstretched across the mattress where Rumi should have been.
Empty.
Cold sheets.
My heart lurched—hard, fast, like it had skipped a beat and was trying to make up for it all at once.
“Rumi?” I whispered, sitting up too quickly. The room spun for a second. The clock on the nightstand said 2:17 a.m.
Zoey was still out, face half-buried in the pillow, breathing deep and even. I shook her shoulder—gentle at first, then firmer.
“Zo. Wake up.”
She mumbled something incoherent, then cracked one eye open. “What time is it?”
“Two-something. Rumi’s gone.”
That woke her up fast. She bolted upright, hair wild, eyes wide. “Gone? Like—gone gone?”
I was already out of bed, yanking on the nearest hoodie—hers, too big, sleeves hanging past my hands. “She’s not in bed. Not in the bathroom. I checked.”
Zoey scrambled up after me, pulling on sweatpants. “Okay. Okay. Penthouse isn’t that big. We’ll find her.”
We didn’t bother turning on lights—didn’t want to startle her if she was just… somewhere. We split up without even discussing it. Zoey headed toward the kitchen and living room. I went the other way—down the hall toward the recording booth and the small private dance studio we’d converted from a spare room last year.
My bare feet were silent on the hardwood. Every shadow felt too long, every quiet corner too empty. My pulse was loud in my ears.
She’s fine. She’s just getting water. Or couldn’t sleep. She’s fine.
But the voice in my head wouldn’t shut up.
She’s been off since practice. You saw it. You let it slide.
I pushed open the door to the recording booth first—dark, empty, the mixing board cold. No light under the door to the dance studio.
I opened it anyway.
And there she was.
The studio lights were low—only the emergency strips along the baseboards and the soft glow from her phone propped against the mirror playing the track on loop. Rumi was in the center of the floor, barefoot, wearing just the oversized hoodie and shorts, hair tied back messily. She was running the choreography again. And again.
Her movements were sharp, precise—too sharp. Too hard. Every spin landed heavy, every arm snap cut the air like she was fighting something invisible. Sweat glistened on her skin, dark patches on the hoodie, strands of hair sticking to her neck. Her breathing was ragged, chest heaving, but she didn’t stop.
She missed the same transition she’d missed earlier—footwork off by a fraction—and cursed under her breath, low and vicious. Then she reset. Started over. Again.
My throat closed.
I stepped inside quietly. The door clicked shut behind me.
“Rumi.”
She startled—hard—whirling around like she’d been caught doing something wrong. Her patterns flared bright pink for a second, then dimmed fast, like she was trying to hide them.
“Hey,” she said, forcing a smile. Too bright. Too quick. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d run it a few more times.”
I crossed the room slowly. “A few more times.”
She shrugged, wiping sweat from her forehead with the sleeve. “Yeah. It’s fine. I’m fine. Just… couldn’t turn my brain off.”
I stopped in front of her. Close enough to see the tremor in her hands, the way her shoulders were locked tight, the faint shake in her legs from pushing past exhaustion.
“Baby,” I said softly. “You’re not fine.”
Her smile flickered. “I am. I just need to get it right. That’s all.”
I reached for her hand. She let me take it, but her fingers were cold, knuckles white from clenching.
“You’ve been running this for hours,” I said. Not a question.
She looked away—toward the mirror, toward the floor, anywhere but me. “Not hours. Just… a while.”
“Rumi.”
She swallowed. “It’s not fine. I know it’s not. I keep missing it. And tomorrow—today—Bobby’s gonna want to run it again, and if I’m still off, they’ll see it. You’ll see it. And I—” Her voice cracked. “I can’t be the weak link again. I can’t.”
I pulled her into my arms before she could spiral further. She resisted for half a second—stiff, like she didn’t deserve the comfort—then melted against me, face buried in my shoulder.
“You’re not the weak link,” I whispered into her hair. “You never were. You never will be.”
She shook her head against me. “I feel like I am.”
“Rumi. You can NEVER be a weak link.”
“No Mira. I have to get it right. I have to get it right. I have to get it right—”
Her voice cracked and splintered, the words tumbling out faster, tighter, like a loop she couldn’t escape. She drowned in them—repeating the phrase over and over, softer each time, until it was barely sound, just desperate breath against my collarbone.
My heart seized.
How could she think this?
How could that voice still have this much power after everything we’d built?
“Ru. RU! Hey, it’s okay,” I said, cupping her face, thumbs brushing the tears that wouldn’t stop. “It doesn’t have to be perfect right now. It’s okay.”
“No it should be perfect. She said it should be…”
I went still.
Rumi. My god.
The words landed like ice water down my spine. Not “I think it should be.” Not “I want it to be.” She said she said.
Celine.
Even now—months later, miles away, gone from our lives—Celine was still in the room with us. Still standing behind Rumi in the mirror. Still counting beats. Still measuring worth in missed steps and imperfect lines.
Her cries continued—quiet, broken sobs that shook her whole frame—as I tried to pull her even closer, arms locked around her like I could physically shield her from the echo.
“Baby,” I whispered, voice cracking despite myself. “Listen to me. Celine isn’t here. She doesn’t get to decide what perfect looks like anymore. She never did—not really. She just convinced you she did.”
Rumi’s fingers twisted in my hoodie, knuckles white. “But I can still hear her. Every time I miss something. Every time I’m not fast enough, clean enough, good enough. She’s right there. Saying I’m wasting it. Wasting you. Wasting everything.”
I shook my head slowly, pressing my forehead to hers so she had nowhere else to look but at me.
“She was wrong,” I said, low and fierce. “She was wrong about you then. She’s wrong about you now. You’re not wasting anything. You’re living. You’re breathing. You’re here—with us—after everything she tried to take from you. That’s not failure. That’s winning.”
Her sobs slowed, but the tears kept coming—silent now, sliding hot down her cheeks and onto my collarbone.
“I don’t know how to make her quiet,” she whispered. “I keep trying to outrun her. Practice harder. Be better. But she’s always faster.”
I swallowed the ache in my throat. “Then stop running.”
She blinked up at me, confused, lashes clumped with tears.
“Stop trying to outrun her,” I repeated softly. “You don’t have to be faster than a ghost. You just have to stop believing her. And when she speaks—because she will—we’ll talk back. Together. Every single time. Until her voice is so small you can’t even hear it over ours.”
Suddenly, arms wrapped around us. Zoey. “We’re louder,” she murmured. “We always will be.”
Rumi let out a long, trembling breath. Her body slowly softened between us—shoulders dropping, fingers unclenching, patterns warming again, vines uncurling like they were finally allowed to breathe.
“I’m so tired,” she whispered.
“I know,” I said, kissing her temple. “Then rest. Let us hold the weight tonight.”
She nodded—small, exhausted, but real.
---- ZOEY POV ----
The next few dance practices were… different.
Not perfect. Not flawless. But lighter. Sweeter. The kind of days that made the studio feel less like a battlefield and more like our playground again.
We started slow the morning after that 2 a.m. breakdown. Mira and I had already talked—quietly, in the kitchen while Rumi was still asleep—so we came in armed with a plan: no pressure, no stopwatch, just music and movement and each other.
Bobby wasn’t there that day. Just us, the choreographer (who we’d asked to go easy), and the big mirrored room. We cranked the playlist to our goofiest throwbacks first—old-school pop tracks we used to blast in the car when we were just trainees sneaking out for late-night drives. Rumi’s eyes lit up when the first beat dropped.
We didn’t run the tour choreo right away. We just… danced.
Badly, on purpose.
I did an exaggerated moonwalk that nearly took out a speaker stand. Mira attempted a dramatic hair flip and almost gave herself whiplash. Rumi—still a little quiet at first—finally cracked when I grabbed her hands and spun her into the dumbest, twirliest lift I could manage. She laughed—real, bright, head thrown back—and the sound bounced off the mirrors like sunlight.
“That was terrible,” she gasped, still giggling.
“Terrible is the goal,” I said, pulling her close again. “Terrible means we’re having fun.”
We spent the next hour messing around—freestyling over each other’s moves, stealing each other’s choreography mid-phrase, turning every mistake into a new step. Rumi started loosening up. Her patterns glowed brighter, slower and playful instead of tight and defensive. When she nailed a spin she’d been fighting the day before, she didn’t celebrate like it was a victory over herself—she just grinned at us, breathless and proud, like she was sharing the win.
By the end of that session we were all sweaty and stupid-happy, sprawled on the floor in a pile while the choreographer packed up, shaking her head and smiling.
“See?” Mira murmured, pressing a kiss to Rumi’s temple. “Told you we’d get there.”
Rumi leaned into her. “Yeah. We did.”
The next practice was even looser. We brought snacks—those little chocolate-dipped strawberries Rumi loved—and set up a picnic in the corner between runs. Every time someone landed something clean, we fed each other a strawberry like it was a reward. By the third one Rumi was laughing so hard she almost choked, and I had to thump her back while Mira wiped strawberry juice from her chin.
“You two are ridiculous,” Rumi said, but she was glowing—patterns shimmering soft pink, eyes bright.
“We’re in love,” I corrected, leaning in to lick the last bit of chocolate from her lower lip. “Ridiculous is just the side effect.”
She kissed me—slow, sweet, tasting like strawberries and relief. Mira joined a second later, turning it into something deeper, softer, three mouths meeting in the middle of the studio floor like we had all the time in the world.
We didn’t finish the full choreo that day. We didn’t need to. We left the studio holding hands, still sticky from fruit and still smiling.
The third practice was quieter—more focused—but the energy carried over. We ran the real tour set twice, clean and sharp, no notes from the choreographer except “That’s the one.” When we finished the last run-through, Rumi didn’t immediately critique herself. She just turned to us, chest heaving, and said, “We’re good.”
We were.
We were more than good.
We were us.
Afterward, the three of us lingered in the empty studio. Lights dimmed low, music off, just the sound of our breathing and the faint hum of the city outside.
I tugged Rumi toward me first, backing her gently against the mirror. She went willingly, hands sliding up my sides. I kissed her slow—deep, unhurried—tasting the salt of her skin, the faint sweetness still lingering from earlier. Mira stepped in behind her, pressing kisses along the column of Rumi’s neck, hands slipping under her cropped top to trace the glowing patterns across her ribs.
Rumi sighed into my mouth, melting between us. “You two…”
“Shh,” Mira murmured against her ear. “Just feel.”
I kissed her harder, tongue sliding against hers, while Mira’s fingers dipped lower, teasing the waistband of her leggings. Rumi arched, a soft moan escaping. I swallowed it, smiling against her lips.
We didn’t go further—not here, not yet. We just kissed. Slow, deep, lazy make-outs that tasted like sweat and strawberries and love. Hands roaming but gentle. Mouths meeting again and again—mine on Rumi’s, then Mira’s, then back to Rumi’s. Three-way kisses that blurred where one of us ended and another began.
When we finally pulled apart, breathless and flushed, Rumi rested her forehead against mine.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For making it fun again.”
I kissed the tip of her nose. “Always.”
Mira wrapped her arms around both of us from behind. “We’re just getting started.”
We left the studio hand in hand—three of us, glowing under the hallway lights, hearts full.
Practice wasn’t a punishment anymore.
It was joy.
It was us.
And we were going to keep dancing like that—together, laughing, loving, perfectly imperfect—until the whole world saw what we already knew.
We were unbreakable.
We were home.
We were Huntr/x.
---- MIRA POV ----
February 7, 2026. Exactly one week before Valentine’s Day.
We were sprawled across the hotel suite in Seattle after the show—still in half our stage clothes, makeup smudged, adrenaline slowly bleeding out into tired giggles and lazy touches. The room service cart was parked by the couch, half-eaten plates of fries and milkshakes abandoned. Zoey had claimed the middle cushion, legs thrown over Rumi’s lap, while I leaned against the armrest, Rumi’s head resting on my thigh.
We’d been talking about Valentine’s for days—quiet little plans whispered in green rooms, texted in the van, scribbled on napkins during late-night diner stops. Nothing concrete yet. Just the warm buzz of knowing we had three whole days off starting Friday.
Zoey sat up suddenly, eyes bright. “Okay. We need to lock this down. Valentine’s is next Sunday. We’ve got the whole weekend free after the Friday show. Three days. We each get one to plan something for the other two. No vetoes. No overthinking.”
Rumi tilted her head back to look at me, then at Zoey. “I like that. But… who gets actual Valentine’s Day? The Sunday?”
Zoey threw her hands up like she was claiming land. “Me. Obviously. Sunday is Zoey Day. I’ve got mood lighting, rose petals, a playlist titled ‘Zoey’s Valentine Takeover,’ and I’m probably gonna cry at some point for dramatic effect. It’s locked in.”
I snorted. “Absolutely not. Sunday is the big romantic day. Rumi gets it. She’s the one who grew up thinking Valentine’s was just another training day with extra protein shakes. She deserves the full heart-eyes, flowers, slow-dance-in-the-living-room treatment.”
Zoey gasped, clutching her chest like I’d stabbed her. “Excuse me? I can do slow dances! I can do flowers! I once bought a single rose from a street vendor and carried it around like it was a sword. That’s romance!”
Rumi burst out laughing, covering her mouth. “You carried it like a sword?”
“It was a weapon of mass seduction,” Zoey insisted. “And it worked. Sort of. The point is—I’m qualified for Sunday!”
I leaned forward, pointing at her. “You’re qualified for chaos. Sunday needs soft. Sunday needs gentle. Sunday needs someone who’s not going to turn it into a glitter explosion at 2 a.m.”
Zoey narrowed her eyes. “Glitter is romantic. It’s sparkly romance. You’re just jealous because your idea of romance is probably ‘cuddles and a documentary about penguins.’”
“Hey,” I shot back, “penguins mate for life. That’s peak romance. You’d probably propose with fireworks and a marching band.”
Zoey grinned wickedly. “And you’d hate every second of it because you’d be too busy calculating the fire hazard.”
Rumi was shaking with silent laughter now, tears in her eyes. “You two are fighting over who gets to spoil me. This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
Zoey pointed at her triumphantly. “See? Even she thinks I should get Sunday!”
I crossed my arms. “She thinks we’re ridiculous. Not that you win.”
Rumi sat up straighter, wiping her eyes. “Okay. Both of you stop. You’re both wrong.”
We turned to her at the same time.
She looked between us, soft but firm. “I don’t want to pick sides. And I don’t want either of you to feel like you lost. So here’s the compromise: Sunday—actual Valentine’s Day—goes to me. But not because I deserve it more. Because I want to plan something for both of you. Something quiet. Something that says thank you for every single day you make me feel like I’m enough. Friday can be Zoey’s chaos day. Saturday can be Mira’s cozy day. And Sunday… Sunday is mine to give back to you two.”
Zoey blinked. Then her face split into the softest, most ridiculous grin.
“You sneaky romantic,” she said, lunging forward to tackle Rumi into a hug. “You just stole the whole holiday and made it about us. I hate you. I love you. I’m crying.”
Rumi squeaked, laughing as Zoey squeezed her. “You’re not crying.”
“I’m emotionally crying. It counts.”
I reached over and pulled them both into my lap, arms wrapping around the mess of limbs and laughter. “That’s perfect. Friday’s yours, Zo. Saturday’s mine. Sunday’s Rumi’s gift to us.”
Rumi settled against my chest, smiling small and shy. “Deal?”
Zoey kissed her cheek, then mine. “Deal. Valentine’s long weekend. Three days. Three loves. And Sunday is officially Rumi Day—where she gets to romance the hell out of us.”
I pressed my face into Rumi’s hair, breathing her in. “Best compromise ever.”
Rumi turned her face into my neck, voice soft. “I can’t wait to show you both how much I love you.”
Zoey kissed the top of her head. “We can’t wait either, baby.”
Outside, the Seattle rain tapped against the window.
Inside, we were already counting down to Friday.
Three days.
Three ways to fall in love all over again.
And one Sunday that was going to feel like the best gift we’d ever been given.
---- RUMI POV ----
The jet’s cabin was quiet now, just the low hum of engines and the occasional soft snore from Zoey, who’d finally drifted off with her head still in my lap. Mira was half-dozing against the window, fingers still loosely tangled with mine, her breathing slow and even. I should have been tired—exhausted, really—but my mind wouldn’t stop spinning.
Sunday. Valentine’s Day. My day.
I stared at the blank page in my notebook for so long the lines started to blur. Then I flipped to a fresh one and wrote at the top in small, careful letters:
Ideas. No pressure. Just feelings.
I underlined it twice.
Then I started scribbling—messy, half-formed thoughts that felt too big and too small all at once.
Breakfast in bed. I cook. Or try to. Pancakes maybe. Strawberries. Whipped cream. Feed them bites while they’re still sleepy and soft. Kiss syrup off their lips. Laugh when it gets everywhere.
I smiled at the image—Zoey dramatically pretending the pancakes were too good to share, Mira rolling her eyes but stealing extra bites anyway. Warmth bloomed in my chest.
I kept going.
Afternoon. For Zoey. Something outside. Not freezing. Somewhere alive. Colorful. Safe. Where we can hold hands and not worry about cameras or crowds. Where I can watch their faces light up without feeling like I have to perform.
Evening. For Mira. Quiet. Intimate. No rush. Just skin and breath and closeness. Something that feels like I want you without words.
My cheeks heated just writing it. I glanced at Zoey—still asleep, lips parted, completely unaware I was mentally undressing her in the most romantic way possible. Then at Mira—peaceful, strong, beautiful even in sleep.
I wanted Sunday to feel like coming home to them. Like every quiet moment we’d fought for. Like every time they held me through the dark and reminded me I was enough.
I wrote one more line at the bottom, heart pounding:
Make it feel like forever. One day at a time.
I closed the notebook. Tucked it away.
I didn’t have the full plan yet. Not even close.
But I had pieces.
Breakfast in bed—messy, sweet, ours.
A place full of color and wonder—somewhere we could walk hand in hand and just be.
And night—slow, deep, intimate. Something that makes them feel wanted. Cherished. Loved.
I leaned my head back against the seat, letting Zoey’s warmth and Mira’s steady grip anchor me.
I didn’t need it to be perfect.
I just needed it to be true.
---- ZOEY POV ----
Friday morning hit like the best kind of alarm clock: sunlight sneaking through the curtains, the smell of coffee already drifting from the kitchen, and the soft rustle of sheets as Mira and Rumi slowly woke up without me between them.
I’d been up since six. Couldn’t help it. Valentine’s weekend had officially started, and I was vibrating with it.
I stood at the foot of the bed, already dressed—black skinny jeans, the oversized red silk shirt I’d stolen from Mira’s closet (it looked better on me anyway), hair loose and messy in that intentional way, and a tiny heart-shaped pin on my collar that said “Chaos Coordinator.” I’d even put on the glitter highlighter Rumi pretended to hate but always stared at when I wore it.
The bed was a beautiful disaster: blankets tangled, pillows everywhere, Rumi curled into Mira’s side like she belonged there (because she did). Mira was the first to stir—eyes cracking open, blinking against the light, then focusing on me standing there like some kind of romantic ambush.
She smiled slow and sleepy. “You’re up early. And… dressed. And glittery.”
“Happy Valentine’s weekend, babe,” I said, grinning so wide it hurt. “Day one belongs to me. Rise and shine. We’ve got plans.”
Rumi made a small, confused noise and lifted her head from Mira’s shoulder. Her hair was a wild halo around her face, patterns glowing faint pink in the morning light. She blinked at me once, twice, then her eyes went wide.
“You’re… sparkly.”
“Glitter is romantic,” I said, climbing onto the foot of the bed and crawling toward them. “And today is my day to romance the hell out of both of you.”
Mira laughed under her breath, sitting up and pulling Rumi with her. “What’s the plan, chaos queen?”
I leaned in and kissed them both—quick, teasing pecks that turned into something slower when Rumi grabbed the front of my shirt and tugged me closer. When we finally pulled apart, they were both flushed and smiling.
“Breakfast first,” I said. “Then we paint.”
Rumi’s eyebrows shot up. “Paint?”
“Yep. Private art studio. Three canvases. All the paint. And—” I paused for dramatic effect—“glitter. So much glitter.”
Mira groaned, but she was grinning. “You’re going to cover us in glitter.”
“That’s the goal.”
Rumi laughed—soft, bright, the kind that made my chest ache in the best way. “I’m in.”
Breakfast was chaos in the best way: I’d made heart-shaped pancakes (they were lopsided, but the effort counted), strawberries, whipped cream, and coffee strong enough to wake the dead. We ate in bed, feeding each other bites, laughing when whipped cream ended up on noses and chins. Rumi licked a smear off Mira’s cheek. I kissed it off Rumi’s. Mira pulled us both down into a messy, syrup-sweet pile.
By the time we left the apartment, we were still a little sticky, still laughing, still stupidly in love.
The art studio was small, private, tucked in a quiet part of the city. The instructor had set up three easels, canvases, every color of acrylic paint imaginable, brushes, palettes—and three massive jars of extra-fine glitter in rose gold, silver, and pink.
Rumi’s eyes lit up the second she saw it.
We painted for hours.
No rules. No expectations. Just color and chaos.
I went full abstract—big, messy strokes, glitter dumped straight from the jar, turning the canvas into something that looked like a galaxy had thrown up on it (in the best way). Mira was more controlled—clean lines, soft gradients, but she still let me flick glitter at her when she wasn’t looking.
Rumi… Rumi surprised us.
She started careful—small, precise strokes, vines and stars in pink and gold—but then she let go. Paint on her fingers, glitter in her hair, laughing when she smeared a streak across my cheek. By the end her canvas was wild—swirling patterns that looked like her tattoos come to life, glitter catching the light every time she moved.
We left the studio covered in paint and glitter, holding hands, smelling like acrylic and joy.
Dinner was next.
I’d booked a private room at Mira’s favorite restaurant—the little Italian place with the exposed brick walls, candlelight, and pasta that made her hum every time she took a bite. Roses everywhere—red on the table, white tucked into the corners, petals scattered on the floor. Soft jazz playing low. Wine already poured.
Mira stopped in the doorway when she saw it.
“You remembered,” she said quietly.
I kissed her temple. “I always remember.”
Rumi squeezed her hand. “You deserve to be spoiled too.”
We ate slow—sharing plates, feeding each other bites of tiramisu, stealing kisses between courses. The candles flickered. The roses smelled sweet. And under the table, our hands kept finding each other—fingers laced, thumbs brushing knuckles, quiet promises in every touch.
By the time we left, the three of us were full, tipsy, glowing.
Back at the apartment, we didn’t bother turning on lights. We just fell into bed—still in our dinner clothes, still smelling like roses and wine and each other.
We had glitter in our hair, paint on our skin, and love in every breath.
And that was more than enough for day one.
I curled around Rumi from behind, Mira spooning her from the front, and whispered against her ear:
“Happy Valentine’s weekend, baby.”
Rumi smiled into the dark. “Best start ever.”
Mira kissed her shoulder. “Just wait until tomorrow.”
But tonight?
Tonight was glitter and roses and the three of us tangled together like we’d never let go.
And that was perfect.
---- MIRA POV ----
Saturday morning arrived soft and golden.
I woke up first, the apartment still quiet except for the faint sound of rain tapping against the windows. Zoey was sprawled across half the bed like she owned it, one arm thrown over Rumi’s waist. Rumi was curled into my side, face tucked against my shoulder, patterns glowing a gentle pink in her sleep.
Today was mine.
I’d been planning it quietly for days, and now that it was here, I felt a warm, steady excitement settle in my chest.
I slipped out of bed carefully, leaving soft kisses on both their foreheads, then headed to the kitchen. By the time they stirred, I had everything ready: a big wicker basket packed with blankets, cushions, their favorite snacks, and a thermos of hot chocolate. I’d even added a small bouquet of pink and white flowers I’d picked up yesterday.
When they finally wandered into the living room—Zoey in my oversized hoodie, Rumi in one of Zoey’s hoodies—they both stopped and stared at me standing there with the basket and a shy smile.
“Morning,” I said. “Today’s my day. Get dressed warm. We’re going on a picnic.”
Rumi’s eyes lit up. “A picnic? In February?”
“Indoor picnic,” I clarified. “I found the perfect spot.”
We drove just outside the city to a small, private conservatory I’d rented for the afternoon. Inside, it was warm and lush—tropical plants, soft mossy paths, a glass ceiling letting in the gray winter light, and a quiet corner I’d reserved with extra blankets and cushions already laid out.
Rumi gasped when we stepped inside. “Mira… it’s beautiful.”
Zoey grinned, bumping her shoulder against mine. “You went full soft-romance mode. I’m impressed.”
We spread out the blankets on the mossy floor, surrounded by ferns and flowering vines. The rain pattered gently on the glass roof above us. I unpacked everything: fresh fruit, sandwiches, little chocolate truffles, and the hot chocolate. We ate slowly, feeding each other bites, laughing when Zoey tried to balance a strawberry on Rumi’s nose and failed spectacularly.
After eating, we lay back on the cushions, tangled together. Rumi rested her head on my stomach while Zoey played with her hair. We talked about nothing and everything—silly tour stories, dreams for the year, quiet admissions about how much we’d missed just being together like this.
Rumi turned her face toward me, eyes soft. “This feels like peace.”
I brushed my fingers through her hair. “That’s what I wanted for you today. Peace. And us.”
Zoey leaned over and kissed me, slow and grateful, then kissed Rumi the same way. We stayed like that for a long time—warm, close, wrapped in each other while the rain fell outside and the plants breathed around us.
When the light started to fade, we packed up and headed home.
The second half of my day was for Zoey.
Back at the apartment, I’d already set everything up: the living room turned into a cozy gaming den with fairy lights, extra pillows, and blankets. Her favorite snacks were laid out—spicy chips, chocolate-covered pretzels, and the limited-edition energy drinks she loved.
Zoey’s eyes went wide. “You remembered my guilty pleasure lineup.”
I smiled. “Of course I did.”
We spent the evening playing video games—mostly silly co-op ones where we could scream and laugh together. Rumi was adorably terrible at shooters but fiercely competitive at racing games. Zoey kept trying to sabotage us both and failing because she was laughing too hard. I mostly watched them, heart full, occasionally joining in just to hear them cheer when I actually won a round.
After the games, we transitioned into movie night. We put on Zoey’s favorite comfort film—an old animated one she’d watched a hundred times. We dimmed the lights, piled under a mountain of blankets, and cuddled close. Rumi ended up in the middle again, head on my chest, Zoey’s arm around both of us.
Halfway through the movie, Zoey turned her head and kissed me deeply—slow, grateful, full of love.
When the movie ended, we didn’t move. We just stayed there—tangled, warm, content.
Rumi looked up at me, eyes shining. “This was perfect, Mira. Thank you.”
Zoey nuzzled into my neck. “You nailed it, babe. Soft, cozy, and all ours.”
I kissed both of them—first Rumi’s forehead, then Zoey’s temple—and held them closer.
“I just wanted you both to feel loved today,” I whispered. “The way you make me feel every single day.”
We fell asleep like that on the couch—wrapped in blankets and each other, hearts full, bodies warm.
Tomorrow was Rumi’s day.
And whatever she had planned, I already knew it would be beautiful.
Because it would be from her.
And that was more than enough.
---- RUMI POV ----
Sunday morning felt different.
Valentine’s Day.
My day.
I woke up before both of them, heart beating fast but steady. For once, there was no heavy knot of anxiety in my stomach. Just quiet determination and a deep, warm love that made my patterns glow softly under my skin.
I slipped out of bed carefully, leaving gentle kisses on Mira’s forehead and Zoey’s cheek, then went to the kitchen. I’d practiced this all week in secret. Pancakes (slightly lopsided but edible), fresh strawberries, whipped cream, and their favorite coffees. I arranged everything on a tray with the small bouquet of pink and white flowers I’d bought yesterday, then carried it back to the bedroom.
When I nudged the door open, they were both starting to stir.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” I said softly, standing at the foot of the bed with the tray.
Zoey sat up first, eyes lighting up like a kid on Christmas. “Rumi… you made breakfast?”
Mira blinked sleepily, then smiled that slow, warm smile that always made my chest feel too full. “You didn’t have to do all this.”
“I wanted to,” I said, climbing onto the bed and setting the tray between us. “Today is my day. I get to spoil you both.”
We ate tangled together under the covers—feeding each other bites of pancake, laughing when whipped cream ended up on noses and chins. Zoey dramatically declared my pancakes “the best in the universe.” Mira kissed the corner of my mouth to steal a strawberry and whispered, “Thank you, baby. This is perfect.”
After breakfast, I told them to dress warmly but comfortably. I didn’t say where we were going.
When we arrived at the large, modern aquarium on the edge of the city, Zoey actually gasped out loud.
“An aquarium?” She turned to me with wide, sparkling eyes. “Rumi… I’ve been talking about this for months?”
I nodded, feeling shy but happy. “I wanted somewhere beautiful and calm. Somewhere we could just walk and be together without any pressure. Just us and pretty lights and fish.”
Mira squeezed my hand tightly. “It’s perfect.”
Inside, the world turned soft and blue. We wandered slowly through glowing tunnels, surrounded by schools of bright fish, graceful jellyfish drifting like living stars, and massive rays gliding overhead. Zoey was in pure heaven—she kept stopping to point things out, tugging us closer to the glass, laughing delightedly when a curious fish swam right up to her face.
I watched them both—Zoey’s pure joy, Mira’s quiet wonder—and felt my heart swell until it hurt.
At one point, in the jellyfish room where the lighting was dreamy and ethereal, Zoey pulled me into a deep kiss. Mira joined us, turning it into something slow and full of love. We stood there surrounded by floating, glowing creatures, kissing like the rest of the world didn’t exist.
“Thank you,” Zoey whispered against my lips. “This is one of the best days ever.”
Mira pressed her forehead to mine. “You did so good today, baby.”
I smiled, heart racing with nervous excitement for what came next.
“Just wait till you see what I have planned later,” I whispered back, cheeks warm.
They both raised their eyebrows, intrigued, but didn’t push.
We spent hours at the aquarium—holding hands, taking silly pictures in front of the tanks, whispering little observations to each other. No rush. No schedule. Just the three of us moving through beauty together.
When we finally got home that evening, the second part of my plan began.
I asked them to wait in the living room while I prepared the bedroom. Soft lighting, fresh sheets, a few candles, and the new lingerie I’d bought just for tonight—delicate black lace with soft pink accents that matched my patterns perfectly. It made me feel exposed but powerful. Desired. Brave.
When I stepped out of the bathroom, both of them went still.
Zoey’s mouth actually fell open. “Rumi…”
Mira’s eyes darkened, voice low and rough. “You’re breathtaking.”
I walked toward the bed slowly, heart pounding. “I wanted tonight to feel like unwrapping each other. Like showing you both how much I want you. How much I love you.”
I climbed onto the bed between them.
Then I looked at Mira first.
“Tonight… I want you to have the first touch,” I said softly, taking her hand and placing it on my waist, right where the lace met my skin. “I want you to feel how much I trust you. How safe I feel with you. You always make me feel seen. Tonight, I want to give that back to you.”
Mira’s breath caught. Her fingers trembled slightly as they traced the edge of the lace, reverent and hungry at the same time.
“Rumi…” she whispered, voice thick with emotion.
I leaned in and kissed her deeply, then turned to kiss Zoey just as slow.
What followed was the most intimate night we’d ever shared.
Mira took her time with me—hands gentle but sure, exploring every inch of the new lingerie before slowly peeling it off. She touched me like I was something sacred and wild all at once. Zoey watched with dark, loving eyes, then joined in, kissing every new patch of skin they revealed.
I gave myself to them completely—no holding back, no fear. I came apart under their hands and mouths more than once, whispering their names like prayers.
When they finally let me touch them, I poured every ounce of love and gratitude into every kiss, every caress, every whispered “I love you.”
Later, when we were all spent and glowing, I lay between them—skin to skin, hearts beating in sync.
Mira kissed my shoulder, voice thick. “That was… more than I ever could have asked for.”
Zoey nuzzled into my neck, holding me tighter. “You made today feel like forever. Thank you, baby.”
I closed my eyes, safe and warm between the two people who had taught me what love really was.
“I wanted you to feel how much you mean to me,” I whispered. “Not just today. Every day. You saved me. You loved me when I couldn’t love myself. This was my way of saying… I’m yours. Completely.”
Tears slipped down my cheeks—happy ones.
They kissed them away, one after the other, holding me like I was the most precious thing in their world.
Valentine’s Day wasn’t about perfection.
It was about this.
About us.
About three hearts that had found their way home.
And as we drifted off to sleep tangled together, I knew one thing with absolute certainty:
This was only the beginning.
We had so many more days, weeks, and years to love each other.
And I couldn’t wait to spend every single one of them showing them exactly how much they meant to me.
Series Summary: Takes place after the Idol Awards before they all go to the bathhouse together for the first time (Then continuing on after they go)
Chapter Summary: New Years Eve has the girls excited beyond anything and not just for their comeback. What a way to bring in the new year!
Masterlist
Last Chapter>>>
Word Count: 5277
Warnings: Smut
Author Notes: Wow! It's been a hot minute hasn't it? I was feeling so busy the last month but today I finally sat down and wrote this so I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! I have an idea for chapter 20, however after that I have many different ideas so I will most likely be asking you guys for some help deciding, stay tuned!
---- MIRA POV ----
This morning’s run was purifying, the nice breeze hitting my face as my ponytail swung back and forth. Today was the day, New Year’s Eve, our first performance since the Idol Awards.
Once back at the apartment, I pushed through the door still breathing hard, cheeks flushed from the cold and the effort. The place smelled like coffee and cinnamon—Zoey must have been up early stress-baking again. The living room looked almost normal now: the Christmas tree was finally taken down yesterday (after Zoey lost the “keep it up until Valentine’s” argument), but the stockings were still hanging on the bookshelf because none of us could bear to pack them away yet.
Zoey was in the kitchen, wearing one of my old hoodies that swallowed her, hair in a messy bun, stirring something on the stove. Rumi sat at the counter, legs swinging, scrolling through her phone with that focused little frown she gets when she’s reading comments she shouldn’t be reading.
They both looked up when I walked in.
Zoey grinned first. “There’s our runner. You look like you just fought winter and won.”
“Feels like it,” I said, kicking off my shoes. “Cold as hell out there, but the air’s so clear. Felt good to move.”
Rumi set her phone face-down—good girl—and slid off the stool. She came straight to me, arms slipping around my waist, face pressing into the crook of my neck even though I was still sweaty and gross.
“You’re freezing,” she mumbled against my skin.
“You’re warm,” I countered, wrapping my arms around her anyway. I buried my nose in her hair—peppermint shampoo and that faint sweet scent that was just her. “Missed you two.”
Zoey turned off the burner and joined us, pressing against Rumi’s back so we became a three-person sandwich in the middle of the kitchen. “Group hug before coffee. Mandatory.”
We stayed like that for a long minute—Rumi in the middle, safe and held, Zoey’s chin on her shoulder, my hands splayed across both their backs. No words. Just breathing together. The kind of quiet that says everything.
Eventually Zoey pulled back just enough to look at us. “Okay. Game plan for tonight. We’ve got soundcheck at four, doors at seven, we go on at nine-fifteen. Bobby texted—red carpet starts at eight, but we’re skipping most of the press line. Quick poses, maybe one or two questions, then inside. After-party’s optional, but I vote we bail early and come home to ring in the actual new year just us.”
Rumi nodded against my chest. “I like that plan.”
I kissed the top of her head. “Me too. I’m not in the mood to smile for cameras longer than necessary.”
Zoey reached past us to grab three mugs. “Let's fuel up, nap if we can, get pretty, kick ass on stage, and come home to champagne and each other. Easy.”
Rumi lifted her head, eyes flicking between us. “Do you think… people will still be weird? About me? About us?”
The question hung there, small and honest.
Zoey set the mugs down and cupped Rumi’s face with both hands. “If they are, we handle it. Together. Like always. But tonight isn’t about them. It’s about us getting back out there. Showing the world we’re still here. Stronger. Together.”
I squeezed Rumi’s waist. “And if anyone says shit, I’ve got a very convincing right hook and Zoey’s got that terrifying stare thing. We’re covered.”
Rumi laughed—soft, a little shaky, but real. “You two are ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously in love with you,” Zoey corrected, kissing her quick and fierce.
I turned Rumi in my arms so I could see her face. “We’ve got this, Rums. You’ve got this. And no matter what happens out there tonight, you come home to us. Always.”
She nodded, eyes shining but steady. “Always.”
Zoey poured coffee—black for me, oat milk and cinnamon for Rumi, ridiculous amount of sugar for herself—and we migrated to the couch. Rumi curled between us like she belonged there (because she did), head on my shoulder, legs across Zoey’s lap.
We didn’t talk much after that. Just sat together, watching the snow fall outside the window, city lights starting to flicker on as the afternoon crept closer. My hand found Rumi’s, fingers laced tight. Zoey traced slow patterns on Rumi’s ankle.
Tonight we’d step back into the spotlight.
Tonight we’d sing, we’d dance, we’d show them we were unbreakable.
But right now—in the soft gray light of late December, wrapped in each other on the couch we’d fought so hard to make a home—this was enough.
More than enough.
---- ZOEY POV ----
Our cozy morning was amazing. Both Mira and I knew that Rumi needed a little comfort, despite the fact that she was trying to hide it—that long hug after Mira came back from her run was answer enough for us to have the morning to ourselves before all the craziness.
We didn’t rush anything. After the coffee and the quiet on the couch, we stayed tangled together for another hour. No big talks. No pep talks. Just breathing, soft touches, the occasional lazy kiss pressed to temples or knuckles. Every time Rumi’s patterns flickered a little brighter—like nerves trying to leak out—I’d squeeze her hand or Mira would press her lips to the back of Rumi’s neck until the glow steadied again.
Around noon we finally moved. Slowly. Reluctantly.
“Shower first,” I declared, standing and offering both of them a hand up. “All three of us. No arguments.”
Rumi gave a small, grateful nod. She didn’t say much, but the way she kept her fingers laced with mine the whole walk to the bathroom said everything.
The shower was warm, steamy, intimate without being frantic. We took turns under the spray—washing each other’s hair, rinsing suds down backs, trading soft kisses under the water. Rumi leaned her forehead against my shoulder while Mira massaged shampoo into her scalp, and I felt her exhale, long and shaky, like she was letting go of something heavy.
“You’re allowed to be nervous,” Mira murmured against her ear. “It’s okay.”
Rumi nodded, eyes closed. “I know. I just… don’t want to mess it up. For us.”
“You won’t,” I said, kissing the wet curve of her shoulder. “We’re Huntr/x. We’ve got this.”
She smiled—small, but real—and turned to kiss me properly, water streaming down our faces.
By two-thirty we were out, wrapped in towels, hair dripping. The bedroom looked like a war zone of outfit options: black leather pants, cropped jackets with silver hardware, the new stage pieces Bobby had sent over last week—edgier, bolder, with subtle pink accents that matched Rumi’s patterns without screaming “demon.” We’d agreed on coordinated but not matchy-matchy looks: sleek, powerful, unapologetic.
Rumi sat on the edge of the bed in her underwear, staring at the clothes like they might bite. Her patterns were pulsing faintly—nervous energy she couldn’t quite hide.
I knelt in front of her, hands on her knees. “Hey. Talk to me.”
She swallowed. “What if they still hate me? What if the second I step on stage, the comments flood back? ‘Nepo baby.’ ‘Liability.’ ‘Freak.’”
Mira sat beside her, arm around her shoulders. “Then we prove them wrong. Again. The way we always do.”
Rumi leaned into her. “I know. I just… feel it creeping in. Like it’s waiting for me to slip.”
I reached up, cupping her face. “Then let it creep. And we’ll face it together. You’re not slipping tonight. You’re shining. And we’re right there with you—every note, every step.”
She searched my eyes for a long second, then nodded. “Okay.”
We got dressed slowly, putting on our baggy clothes for the sound check, while packing our stage clothes.
Rumi stared at our reflection, patterns glowing steady now, no longer flickering. She reached for our hands—one on each side—and squeezed.
“I’m ready,” she said quietly. “I think.”
Zoey grinned, squeezing back. “Damn right you are.”
Mira kissed her temple. “Let’s eat something light, run through the setlist one more time, and then we go remind the world who we are.”
Rumi took a deep breath, shoulders squaring. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”
We walked out of the bedroom hand in hand—three of us, dressed to kill, hearts beating in stubborn sync.
New Year’s Eve.
First stage since the fallout.
First midnight of the rest of forever.
And no matter how the crowd reacted, no matter what the headlines said tomorrow.
***
The venue was buzzing even at four o’clock—techs running cables, lights sweeping across the empty floor, the faint thrum of bass testing the subs. Bobby met us at the stage door, arms wide, grin splitting his face like he hadn’t seen us in years instead of just a few days.
“My girls!”
“Hi Bobby!” we all said in unison, the words tumbling out like we’d rehearsed it. Rumi laughed under her breath, a small, nervous sound, but she stepped forward first to hug him. He squeezed her extra tight, the way he always does when he knows she’s carrying more than she’s saying.
“You ready to remind them why they fell in love with you?” he asked, pulling back to look at all three of us.
Rumi nodded, chin lifted. “We’re ready.”
Soundcheck started fast. House lights down low, stage lights warm and forgiving. We ran through the set in order—opening with “How It’s Done.” Rumi’s voice came in on the first verse, and it cracked—just a little. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but we felt it. Her patterns flickered, pink light stuttering under her skin like a bad connection.
She froze for half a second, eyes wide.
Mira and I didn’t hesitate. We stepped closer on either side—me on her left, Mira on her right—and each took one of her hands. Fingers laced tight. No words. Just the silent promise: We’ve got you.
Rumi squeezed back once, hard. Then twice—slower, steadier. A tiny nod. She took a breath, closed her eyes for one beat, and when she opened them again, the glow under her skin smoothed out. She finished the song strong—voice clear, raw, powerful. By the last chorus she was leaning into it, hair swinging, eyes fierce.
The rest of the set flew. Rumi didn’t waver again. Every time she glanced at us, there was a small, secret smile. Like she was saying, I’m okay. I’m here.
When we wrapped, Bobby was clapping from the side of the stage, techs giving quiet whoops. “That’s my girls,” he called. “Smooth as silk from here on out.”
We jogged down the stairs. Backstage green room was ours for the next hour—mirrors, makeup stations, racks of backup outfits just in case. Rumi dropped onto the couch first, exhaling like she’d been holding her breath since dawn.
Mira sat beside her, pulling Rumi’s legs across her lap. I knelt in front of them, hands on Rumi’s knees.
“You were incredible,” I said.
Rumi’s eyes were glassy, but she smiled—small, real. “I felt it slipping. But then I felt your hands…” She looked down at where our fingers were still linked from the stage. “It was like you reminded me I could breathe.”
Mira leaned in, pressing a kiss to Rumi’s temple. “We always will.”
We finished getting ready together for the red capet—touch-ups on makeup, last-minute hair fixes, slipping into our dresses.
By the time we were done, the mirror showed three women who looked unbreakable. Rumi stood between us, shoulders back, patterns showing steady and bright.
Rumi laughed—bright, free. “Let’s do this.”
We walked out to the stage wings hand in hand—three of us, hearts hammering, ready.
---- RUMI POV ----
The red carpet started at eight, but we slipped in through a side entrance a few minutes early, the three of us still riding the high from soundcheck. My hands were steady now, but my stomach twisted in that familiar knot—the one that had lived in me for months. What if they still see the monster? What if the lights hit my patterns wrong and the flashes turn into judgment?
Zoey squeezed my left hand. Mira’s fingers laced with my right. “We’ve got you,” Zoey whispered, her voice low and fierce. “Every step.”
I nodded, throat tight. “I know.”
The side door opened onto the chaos of the main carpet: velvet ropes, screaming fans, cameras flashing like a storm. Security parted the crowd for us, and suddenly we were in it—spotlights hot on our faces, the air thick with perfume and anticipation.
Bobby was waiting at the edge, giving us a quick thumbs-up. “Quick in, quick out. Smile, wave, one or two questions max. Then straight inside.”
We stepped onto the carpet together. The roar hit like a wave—cheers, chants of Huntr/x! Huntr/x! mixed with a few scattered boos that made my patterns flicker once, sharp and pink under the sheer fabric of my dress. But the cheers drowned them out. Mostly.
We posed for the first bank of cameras—me in the middle, Zoey on my left in her sleek black gown with silver chains draped like armor, Mira on my right in deep crimson that made her look like she could command the night. I kept my chin up, shoulders back, the way they’d taught me in those endless Celine drills. But inside, I was counting breaths.
A reporter from some entertainment site leaned over the rope, mic thrust forward. “Rumi! First public appearance since the Idol Awards—how does it feel to be back with the group? Any comments on the rumors that your… unique look was holding Huntr/x back?”
The question landed like a punch. My patterns pulsed hotter for a second. Zoey’s grip tightened, Mira’s thumb stroking the back of my hand in slow circles.
I looked straight at the camera, voice steady even if my heart wasn’t. “It feels like coming home,” I said, the words clear and calm. “Huntr/x is stronger than ever. And my look? It’s not a liability. It’s me. And I’m exactly where I belong.”
Zoey jumped in smooth as silk. “We’re here to perform, not defend. Tonight’s about the music.”
Mira smiled—sharp, protective. “And the fans who’ve had our backs. Thank you for that.”
The reporter opened her mouth for follow-up, but Bobby was already waving us forward. “That’s all, folks! Enjoy the show!”
We moved on—quick poses for the big outlets, waves to the fans screaming our names from the barriers. A few phones held up signs: We Love Rumi in glittery pink. My chest loosened, just a little.
By the time we reached the end of the line, the nerves had settled into something warmer—pride, maybe. Or just the solid weight of Mira and Zoey on either side of me.
Inside the venue, the air was cooler, the noise muffled by thick curtains. We paused in the dim hallway leading to the green room, the three of us catching our breath.
Zoey pulled me into a quick, fierce hug. “You were perfect out there.”
Mira kissed my temple. “Told you. Unbreakable.”
I leaned into them, patterns glowing soft and steady now. “I couldn’t have done it without you two.”
Zoey grinned, bumping her shoulder against mine. “Good thing you don’t have to.”
We walked the rest of the way hand in hand—three of us, dresses swishing, hearts full.
The stage waited.
We quickly went backstage to our dressing room and got dressed.
The door shut with a soft click, sealing out the roar of the crowd for a moment. The room felt warm, familiar—vanity lights glowing, our stage outfits already waiting on the rack like old friends. I didn’t feel the usual twist in my stomach. No knot of dread. No flicker of pink panic under my skin.
Just… calm.
Steady.
Zoey kicked off her red-carpet heels and stretched like a cat. “Finally. Those things are torture devices.”
Mira laughed, already unzipping the back of her gown. “You say that every time.”
“Because it’s true every time.”
I smiled—easy, real—and reached for my black top. The fabric was cool against my fingers, the silver hardware catching the light. No hesitation. No second-guessing. I stepped out of the red-carpet dress without a second thought, letting it pool at my feet.
Zoey noticed. She paused mid-zip on her own top, eyes narrowing playfully. “God Rumi. I will never get over how hot you are.”
My face heated up so fast. “Well. I- uh…”
Mira came up behind me. “Zoey! You’re right but not now, we don’t have the time.”
I turned my head just enough to kiss her cheek. “Come on girls, we got to get ready.”
Zoey grinned, stepping in front to help adjust the fit. “That’s my girl.”
Mira pressed a kiss to the back of my neck—right over the spot where my patterns curled highest.
We finished getting ready in comfortable silence—Zoey fixing my braid, Mira touching up my lipstick, me smoothing Zoey’s skirt and brushing a stray lash from Mira’s cheek. Every touch felt easy. Natural. Loved.
When we stepped in front of the mirror together, we looked exactly like who we were: unbreakable, unapologetic, in love.
Zoey slung an arm around my shoulders. “Ready to own that stage?”
I met my own eyes in the reflection—clear, certain. “Born ready.”
Mira took my other hand.
The stage manager knocked. “Five minutes.”
We walked out—hands linked until the wings, then releasing to take our marks.
The lights dropped.
The intro to “How It’s Done” rolled in—deep, pulsing, alive.
I stepped to the mic first.
My voice came out strong, clear, powerful. No crack. No doubt. The first verse poured out like it had been waiting for this exact moment. The crowd answered—singing back every word, phones up, lights waving like stars.
Zoey and Mira flanked me—Zoey’s harmonies wrapping around mine, Mira’s low runs grounding everything. We moved like we’d never been apart. Every glance, every brush of shoulders, every shared breath felt electric and effortless.
During “What It Sounds Like,” I took center stage for the breakdown. The lights washed pink over me, matching my patterns perfectly. I closed my eyes for the first line, not because I was scared, but because I wanted to feel it fully.
“We’re shattering the silence…”
The crowd roared before I even finished the phrase.
I opened my eyes, found Zoey and Mira already watching—grinning, proud, in love.
We finished the song leaning into each other—foreheads almost touching, voices blending seamless and fierce.
The rest of the set was pure joy.
We laughed through “Golden” when Zoey improvised a silly spin that almost took out Mira’s mic stand. We locked eyes during “Eclipse,” the three of us singing the final chorus like a promise. In “Unbroken,” the newest track, I ad-libbed a line that made the whole arena lose it—and Zoey whooped so loud the mic picked it up.
When the closer—“Afterglow”—hit its peak, I grabbed both their hands mid-chorus. We sang the last lines facing each other, the crowd a sea of light behind us.
The final note rang out.
Silence for one perfect heartbeat.
Then explosion.
We bowed—together—hands still linked.
Backstage, we collapsed against the wall in a sweaty, laughing heap. Zoey threw her head back, cackling. Mira pulled us both into her arms. I pressed my face into the crook of her neck, breathing them in—sweat, leather, joy.
“You were unstoppable,” Zoey breathed against my hair.
Mira kissed my temple. “We all were.”
I lifted my head, looking between them—my girls, my home, my everything.
I was smiling so wide it hurt.
Zoey cupped my face. “I love you girls.”
Mira pressed her forehead to mine. “Love you. Always.”
We stayed tangled like that—breathless, glowing, triumphant—until Bobby poked his head in.
“After-party in twenty. Coming?”
Zoey grinned, not letting go. “Nah. We’ve got better plans.”
Mira kissed me slow, then Zoey, then me again. “Midnight at home. Just us.”
I laughed—bright, free, full. “Best way to start the year.”
We walked out of the venue hand in hand—three of us, snow falling soft around us, city lights bright overhead.
The new year waited.
And for the first time, I wasn’t bracing for it.
I was running toward it.
With them.
Together.
Unstoppable.
---- MIRA POV ----
The cab ride home was quiet—snow still falling in lazy spirals outside the windows, city lights smearing gold and red across the glass. Rumi sat between us in the backseat, head on my shoulder, Zoey’s hand resting high on her thigh. No one spoke much. The adrenaline from the show still hummed under our skin, but it had shifted—sharper now, hungrier. Every time the car hit a bump, Rumi’s breath caught, and I felt the heat of her through the thin fabric of her coat.
We barely made it through the apartment door.
Coats hit the floor. Shoes kicked off. Zoey locked the door with one hand while the other yanked Rumi back by the waist, kissing her hard against the wall. I pressed in from the other side, mouth on Rumi’s neck, tasting salt and stage-sweat and the faint shimmer of her patterns. She arched between us, fingers digging into Zoey’s shoulders, a soft moan already spilling out.
We didn’t bother with the bedroom at first. Too far. Too slow.
Zoey dropped to her knees right there in the hallway, shoving Rumi’s leather pants down just enough. I held Rumi steady from behind, hands under her cropped top, thumbs circling her nipples through the fabric. Zoey’s mouth found her clit in one long, slow lick—Rumi’s head thunked back against my shoulder, a broken “Fuck—” escaping her lips.
I kissed the side of her throat. “Let go, baby. We’ve got you.”
She came fast—thighs shaking, patterns flaring bright pink, a sharp cry that echoed off the walls. Zoey didn’t stop until Rumi was trembling, oversensitive and gasping.
We carried her to the bedroom—half-walking, half-stumbling, clothes shedding along the way. By the time we hit the mattress, we were all bare, skin hot against skin.
Rumi shifted suddenly, rolling onto her side to face me. Her eyes were dark, pupils blown, lips swollen and glistening. She didn’t say anything at first—just looked at me like she was deciding something.
Then she pushed me gently onto my back.
“Stay,” she whispered, voice rough from all the moaning.
Zoey caught on immediately, grinning slow and wicked as she moved up beside me. “Oh, she’s got plans.”
Rumi didn’t wait for permission. She slid down my body, kissing a hot, open-mouthed trail over my collarbone, between my breasts, down my stomach. Every press of her lips made my skin jump. When she reached my hips she hooked her arms under my thighs, spreading me wide, and looked up at me with those dark, hungry eyes.
The first lick was slow, deliberate, tongue flat and warm from bottom to top. My hips jerked up on instinct. She hummed against me, the vibration shooting straight through my clit, and I groaned, head falling back against the pillows.
Zoey shifted higher, leaning over me. She cupped my face with one hand, thumb brushing my bottom lip, then kissed me—deep, possessive, swallowing every sound I made as Rumi worked me over.
Rumi’s tongue circled my clit in tight, perfect loops, then dipped lower to push inside me, fucking me with slow, wet thrusts before sliding back up to suck hard. My thighs shook around her head. I reached down, fingers tangling in her hair, not guiding—just holding on.
Zoey broke the kiss long enough to murmur against my mouth, “Look at her. Look how much she wants you.”
I did. I looked down and saw Rumi’s eyes locked on mine—intense, focused, completely devoted—while her mouth never stopped moving. The sight alone almost pushed me over.
Zoey kissed me again, harder this time, tongue sliding against mine in time with Rumi’s rhythm. Her free hand found my breast, rolling the nipple between her fingers, pinching just enough to make me gasp into her mouth.
Rumi added two fingers—curling them inside me, stroking that spot that made my vision white out. She sucked harder on my clit, tongue flicking relentlessly.
I broke the kiss with a choked moan. “Fuck—Rumi—”
She didn’t let up. Fingers thrusting faster, tongue working in perfect circles, eyes never leaving mine.
Zoey leaned down, kissing along my jaw, my throat, whispering filthy praise against my skin. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this. Coming apart for her. Let go, baby. Come on her tongue.”
That did it.
My back bowed off the bed, thighs clamping around Rumi’s head as the orgasm ripped through me—sharp, blinding, endless. I cried out—her name, Zoey’s, a string of broken curses—while Rumi drank me through every wave, fingers slowing but never stopping until I was shaking, oversensitive, boneless.
She finally lifted her head, lips shiny, chin wet, patterns glowing soft and satisfied. She crawled back up my body, kissing me deep so I could taste myself on her tongue.
Zoey met us halfway, turning the kiss into something messy and shared—three mouths, three tongues, no space between us.
When we finally broke apart, panting, Rumi rested her forehead against mine, as Zoey settled between Rumi’s thighs again. This time I slid two fingers inside her—slow at first, curling just right—while Zoey sucked on her clit. Rumi’s hips bucked, hands fisting the sheets. She came again, louder, back arching off the bed, my name and Zoey’s tangled together in a wrecked moan.
We gave her a moment—kissing her softly, stroking her sides, letting her catch her breath.
Then Rumi opened her eyes—dark, glassy, determined—and looked between us.
“I don’t want soft tonight,” she said, voice hoarse but sure. “Not anymore. I want… rough. I want you to take me. I know you guys want to. Don’t hold back.”
Zoey’s pupils blew wide. She glanced at me, then back at Rumi. “You sure?”
Rumi nodded, sitting up on her elbows. “I trust you. Both of you. Completely. I just… need it. Need to feel it. All of it.”
Heat coiled low in my belly, sharp and immediate. Zoey licked her lips, already nodding.
“Okay,” Zoey said, voice dropping low. “New rule, then. We’re doing traffic lights. Red—everything stops, right now. Yellow—slow down, check in, ease off. Green—fuck yes, keep going, harder, more. You say it whenever. We stop the second you say red. No questions. Got it?”
Rumi’s breath hitched. She nodded fast. “Got it.”
Zoey leaned in, kissing her once—slow, possessive—then pulled back. “What color are you right now?”
Rumi’s eyes were bright, fearless, and her patterns gave it away before she spoke. “Green.”
I grinned—slow, wicked—and rolled off the bed. “Stay right there.”
I crossed to the nightstand drawer—the one we didn’t open every night. Inside: the black box with the slim vibrator we liked for edging, the thicker ridged one, the harness and the curved silicone strap we’d bought months ago but hadn’t used in a while. I grabbed lube, too. Everything we’d need.
When I turned back, Zoey had Rumi on her stomach, wrists pinned above her head with one hand, the other spreading her thighs wide. Rumi’s patterns were blazing—vines curling over her ass, down her thighs, glowing green and then hot pink.
Zoey looked up at me, eyes dark. “She’s dripping already.”
I climbed back onto the bed, setting everything within reach. “Good girl,” I murmured, running a hand down Rumi’s spine. She shivered, pushing back into the touch.
Zoey kept her wrists pinned while I slicked the ridged vibrator and pressed it slowly inside her—watching her stretch around it, listening to the wet sound, the way her breath punched out. I turned it on low. Rumi moaned, hips rocking instinctively.
“Color?” Zoey asked.
“Green,” Rumi gasped. “More.”
I cranked it up a notch. Zoey leaned down, biting the back of Rumi’s neck—not hard enough to break skin, but enough to leave marks. Rumi cried out, body jerking.
I worked the vibrator in slow, deep thrusts while Zoey reached under to circle her clit with firm fingers. Rumi was shaking now, babbling—please, yes, harder, don’t stop.
When she came again, it was violent—whole body locking up, patterns flaring so bright the room lit pink, a scream tearing from her throat that echoed in my chest.
We didn’t let her come down.
Zoey flipped her onto her back. I strapped on the harness—thick, curved, black—while Zoey straddled Rumi’s face, lowering herself until Rumi’s tongue met her clit. Rumi moaned into her, hands gripping Zoey’s thighs.
I knelt between Rumi’s spread legs, slicking the strap, then pushed in slow—watching her take every inch, watching her eyes roll back. When I bottomed out, I paused.
“Color?”
Rumi’s voice was muffled against Zoey, but clear. “Green. Fuck me.”
I did.
Hard. Deep. Relentless.
Zoey rode Rumi’s mouth, grinding down, chasing her own release. I fucked Rumi through another orgasm—then another—until she was sobbing around Zoey’s clit, thighs trembling, patterns pulsing in time with my thrusts.
Zoey came next—head thrown back, a sharp cry, grinding down hard. Rumi drank her through it, hands clutching, desperate.
I pulled out only long enough to flip Rumi onto her hands and knees. Zoey moved in front, guiding Rumi’s mouth back to her—still sensitive, still needy. I slammed back in from behind, one hand fisted in Rumi’s braid, the other gripping her hip hard enough to bruise.
“Color?”
“Green—fuck—green—”
I fucked her like she asked—rough, fast, deep—until she shattered again, screaming into Zoey, body convulsing. I followed right after, grinding deep, coming with a low groan, hips stuttering.
But we weren’t finished.
Zoey grabbed her phone and turned on the countdown, the sound was low in the background—some New Year’s countdown special, 11:58. Two minutes.
Zoey pulled away from Rumi for a second, breathless. “One more. For all of us. At midnight.”
Rumi nodded, frantic. “Please.”
I grabbed the thick ridged vibrator again and pressed it inside her, turning it on high. As we flipped Rumi again. Zoey straddled her face once more, riding slow. I fucked her with the toy—deep, fast thrusts—while my free hand circled her clit in tight, relentless circles.
“Color?” I panted.
“Green—fuck—green—”
The announcer’s voice cut through: “Ten… nine…”
I cranked the vibrator higher. Zoey ground down, moaning.
“Eight… seven…”
Rumi’s hips bucked wildly, patterns exploding pink across the room. She was right there—teetering.
“Six… five…”
I leaned down, biting her shoulder. “Come for us, baby. Right at midnight.”
“Four… three…”
Zoey came again—shuddering, crying out, flooding Rumi’s mouth.
“Two… one…”
Rumi shattered at the exact stroke of midnight—back arching off the bed, a scream tearing from her throat as the room lit up with fireworks from outside. Her patterns flared blindingly bright, vines curling wild over her skin, body convulsing around the toy in wave after wave.
I came right with her—grinding against the base of my own hand, the sight and sound and feel of her pushing me over the edge for the third time tonight, a low, broken moan ripping out of me as pleasure crashed through every nerve.
The cheers from Zoey’s phone filled the room—Happy New Year!
We collapsed in a sweaty, trembling pile—Rumi in the middle, Zoey and I curled around her like we’d never let go.
Rumi laughed—breathless, wrecked, glowing. “Happy New Year.”
Zoey kissed her forehead, then mine. “Best one yet.”
I traced a finger down Rumi’s side, over the fading pink. “You were perfect. So fucking perfect.”
She pulled us both closer, voice soft and sated. “I love you. Both of you.”
Series Summary: Takes place after the Idol Awards before they all go to the bathhouse together for the first time (Then continuing on after they go)
Chapter Summary: Merry Christmas to the girls, bonding, being cozy, sharing gifts, and light sex. What else can you ask for?
Masterlist
Last Chapter>>>
Word Count: 5256
Warnings: Smut
Author Notes: MERRY CHRISTMAS/HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!! I hope you like this chapter, and I hope you had a great day (for those who celebrate)! I really enjoyed writing this chapter - hopefully you like it!
---- MIRA POV ----
The apartment smelled like cinnamon, pine, and the faint burn of too-many string lights plugged into one outlet. Zoey had declared war on minimalism three weeks ago (after we finally got to a good place again), and she’d won. Every surface was draped in garlands, the monster seven foot tree groaning under ornaments, tinsel, and enough twinkling lights to guide ships in a fog. Stockings hung from the bookshelf—three mismatched ones she’d sewn herself, because “symmetry is boring on Christmas.” Popcorn strings looped the branches like drunken halos, and a plate of half-eaten gingerbread cookies sat on the coffee table, casualties of our decorating marathon last night.
I watched from the couch, legs tucked under a blanket, as Zoey stood on a chair directing invisible traffic. “No, no, Rums—the star needs to be straight. Tilt it left. My left. Perfect. Now plug in the backup strand because this one’s blinking like it’s having a seizure.”
Rumi, perched on the arm of the chair, carefully adjusted the star for the third time. Her patterns shimmered faintly under the fairy lights—soft pink against the warm gold glow. She looked so focused, tongue poking out the side of her mouth, like this was a mission briefing instead of holiday decor. “Is this… normal?” she asked, glancing down at me. “Do people really put this many lights on one tree?”
Zoey hopped down, triumphant. “This is the bare minimum. My mom used to say if you can still see the green, you’re doing it wrong.”
“I still don’t think I’ll ever get used to your Christmas Zo,” Rumi states. “Celine and I… did small things: a plastic tree with one string of white lights. And the presents were mostly…” She trailed off, cheeks flushing. “Training gloves. Resistance bands. She said they were ‘practical gifts.’”
Whenever Rumi opens up about her childhood with Celine we either get mad or just sad, this was one of those times. Zoey looked horrified.
“Well it is a good thing you have us!” Zoey squealed, pulling Rumi down into a hug so fast the chair wobbled. “Come on, we’re not done yet. There’s still hot chocolate to spike, and I’m teaching you the sacred art of cookie decorating tonight. No pressure—just pure, excessive fun.”
Rumi let herself be pulled along, a small, bewildered smile tugging at her lips. “Alcohol in hot chocolate? Is that… allowed?”
“Allowed? Baby, it’s required.” Zoey shot me a wink over her shoulder as she steered Rumi to the kitchen counter, where mugs, marshmallows, and a suspiciously large bottle of liqueur waited.
I stayed on the couch for another minute, just watching them. The way Rumi’s patterns glowed a little brighter under the multicolored lights every time Zoey laughed. The way she leaned into Zoey’s side like she was still learning how to take up space without apologizing for it.
---- ZOEY POV ----
I couldn’t stop grinning as I pulled Rumi into the kitchen, her hand warm in mine, the fairy lights from the living room spilling golden streaks across the counters. The whole place still smelled like cinnamon and burnt sugar from the cookies we’d baked earlier—slightly overdone on the edges because Mira had gotten distracted kissing Rumi against the fridge, but who was I to complain? Imperfect cookies were the best kind anyway.
“Okay, Rums, operation Cookie Chaos starts now,” I announced, steering her to the island where everything was already laid out like a battlefield: cooling racks full of gingerbread people, stars, little trees, and one very suspicious demon-shaped cutter I’d impulse-bought online because it looked exactly like her patterns. Bowls of royal icing in every color, sprinkles, edible glitter, tiny candy eyes, chocolate chips, red hots, the works. Three mugs of hot chocolate steamed nearby, topped with ridiculous towers of whipped cream and extra marshmallows.
Rumi stared at the spread like it was a puzzle she hadn’t been given the instructions for. “This is… a lot of stuff.”
“That’s the point!” I bounced on my toes, already grabbing an icing bag. “We’re not just making cookies. We’re turning them into art. Masterpieces. Edible declarations of love.”
Mira wandered in behind us, a blanket still draped over her shoulders like a cape, looking amused and a little sleepy. “You’re really going all out tonight, huh?”
“Christmas Eve demands excess, babe. It’s in the constitution. Or my mom’s rulebook. Same thing.” I handed Mira a piping bag filled with white icing. “You’re on snowman duty. Rumi gets gingerbread duty.”
Rumi’s cheeks went pink.
I pressed a quick kiss to her nose. Flour dusted her cheek from earlier; I left it there on purpose. “Now. Watch and learn.”
I started with a simple gingerbread person, outlining it in black icing, then filling in a little red heart on the chest. “This one’s me. Obviously.” I added tiny sunglasses and a smirk.
Mira snorted. “Accurate.”
Rumi hesitated, then picked up a piping bag of light pink icing. She glanced at me, then at the cookie. Carefully—oh so carefully—she drew the curling vines she knew so well, adding little horns and a shy smile. Her tongue poked out again, the same focused look she got when adjusting the tree star or fighting a rift. It was the cutest thing I’d ever seen.
When she finished, she held it up like it might explode. “Is this… okay?”
I took one look and nearly melted. “It’s perfect. Look at that little smile. That’s you when you’re pretending you’re not happy but you totally are.”
Rumi ducked her head, but she was smiling for real now.
Mira leaned over, adding a tiny heart next to Rumi’s demon in red icing. “Teamwork,” she said softly.
We fell into a rhythm after that—messy, chaotic, wonderful. Icing everywhere. Sprinkles bouncing off the counter like confetti. Rumi accidentally squeezed too hard and got a blob of green on her nose; Mira licked it off without warning, making Rumi squeak and then dissolve into giggles. I snuck a candy cane piece onto Mira’s snowman and declared it “festive rebellion.”
At one point Rumi looked up, flour dusting her lashes, pink icing smeared on her thumb, and said quietly, “We never did anything like this. Celine would’ve said it was a waste of time. Sugar makes you slow.”
I paused mid-pipe, heart twisting. “Well, she was wrong. Sugar makes you happy. And happy makes you strong.”
Rumi nodded slowly, like she was trying the idea on. “I think… I like happy.”
Mira reached across the counter, linking her pinky with Rumi’s. “Good. Because we’re keeping you in happy mode forever.”
When we finally stepped back, the counter looked like a war zone, but the cookies? They were ridiculous and beautiful. Hearts with our initials, stars with glitter, snowmen wearing tiny scarves, my sunglasses guy, Mira’s snowman with the rebellious candy cane, and Rumi’s demon smiling shyly in the center like it belonged there.
We plated the best ones (and a few ugly-but-charming ones because they had personality), grabbed our mugs, and retreated to the living room couch.
Rumi settled between us, cookie in one hand, hot chocolate in the other. She took a tiny bite of her demon cookie, eyes closing in bliss. “This is… really good.”
“Told you,” I said, smug. “Excess is superior.”
Mira leaned over Rumi’s shoulder, stealing a bite of the same cookie. “We’re eating art. Fancy.”
Rumi laughed—soft, real, the kind that made my chest feel too full. She looked at the tree, at the stockings, at us, then back at the plate of cookies. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For making this… mine.”
I pulled her closer, kissing her temple. “It’s always been yours, Rums. We’re just making sure you know it.”
Mira wrapped her arms around both of us. “Merry Christmas Eve, you two.”
“Merry Christmas Eve,” Rumi echoed, voice thick.
---- RUMI POV ----
The hot chocolate was still warm in my hands, the mug heavy and comforting against my palms. Whipped cream clung to my upper lip, sweet and sticky, and I licked it away as we shuffled back into the living room. Zoey led the way, her steps light and excited, like she could barely contain herself. Mira followed close behind me, one hand brushing the small of my back—gentle, steady, the way she always did when she knew I was still adjusting to all of this.
We collapsed onto the couch in a heap, limbs tangling without thought. I ended up in the middle, as always. Zoey on my left, Mira on my right. Our legs slid together under the blanket Zoey had dragged from the armchair earlier, the soft fleece trapping our warmth. I could feel the faint thrum of my patterns settling, pink light dimming to a soft glow beneath my skin, matching the golden twinkle of the tree lights.
Zoey reached for the remote on the coffee table, snagging it with a triumphant little noise. “Movie time. Classic. Die Hard or Elf?”
I blinked, tilting my head. “Die Hard is a Christmas movie?”
Zoey gasped dramatically, hand flying to her chest like I’d personally wounded her. “Rumi! We have so much to teach you.”
Mira leaned in from my other side, pressing a soft kiss to my temple. Her lips lingered just long enough to make my chest feel full. “We’ve got time,” she murmured against my skin. “All the time in the world.”
I took another sip of hot chocolate, the peppermint schnapps Zoey had added warming me from the inside out. My eyes were wide as the opening notes of whatever movie Zoey picked filled the room—something with jingle bells and snow and a lot of laughing. The sound wrapped around us like another blanket.
I looked between them—Zoey’s profile lit gold and red from the tree, her smile bright and unapologetic; Mira’s quieter gaze, soft and steady, already watching me instead of the screen. Then I looked around at the glittering chaos we’d built together: the seven-foot tree leaning slightly from the weight of too many ornaments, popcorn strings sagging under their own buttery glory, stockings hanging crooked on the bookshelf, the plate of our ridiculous cookies still sitting half-eaten on the table.
It was messy. Over-the-top. Loud in the best way.
And it was mine.
I’d spent so many years with Celine where Christmas was quiet, controlled, practical. A small tree. One string of lights. A single slice of strawberry cake eaten at the kitchen table while we reviewed training footage. Gifts were tools—new gloves, better bandages, a set of throwing knives once, wrapped in plain brown paper with no bow. Celine had called them “investments in your future.” I’d thanked her, always, because that was what you did. But I’d never felt… this. This warm, silly, overwhelming thing that made my throat tight just looking at it.
Zoey must have caught the shift in my expression because she paused the movie—right in the middle of someone yelling about needing a miracle—and turned to me. “Hey. You okay, Rums?”
I nodded, quick, but my eyes were stinging. I set the mug on the table so I wouldn’t spill it with shaky hands. “It’s just… a lot. In a good way. I didn’t know it could be like this.”
Mira’s arm came around my shoulders, pulling me closer into her side. Zoey shifted in, pressing against me from the other direction until I was completely surrounded—safe, held, loved.
“You deserve every ridiculous light and burnt cookie and cheesy movie line,” Zoey said softly. “And more. This is just the start, okay?”
I leaned my head against Mira’s shoulder, reaching for Zoey’s hand at the same time. Our fingers laced together over my lap. The tree lights danced across our skin—red, green, gold, pink from my patterns—and for once, the glow didn’t feel like something to hide. It felt like belonging.
“Okay,” I whispered.
Zoey hit play again. The movie started back up, but I wasn’t really watching. I was listening—to the way Mira’s heartbeat steadied against my ear, to Zoey’s quiet hum of contentment, to the soft crackle of the fake fireplace video Zoey had put on the TV earlier because “ambiance matters.”
I closed my eyes for a second, just breathing them in. Peppermint, pine, cinnamon, the faint trace of icing still on my fingers.
This was Christmas.
This was home.
And I was right in the middle of it—exactly where I belonged.
Here’s us tonight, tangled up and safe:
And the tree that started it all—proof that sometimes more really is more:
Merry Christmas, to the three of us.
The best one I’ve ever had.
---- MIRA POV ----
The movie credits rolled in a slow crawl of names and jingle-bell remixes, but none of us moved. The living room had gone soft and hazy—tree lights dimmed to a gentle pulse, the fake fireplace flickering on the TV, mugs empty on the coffee table next to a graveyard of cookie crumbs. Zoey’s head rested heavy on Rumi’s shoulder, her breathing slow and even. Rumi was still tucked between us, legs tangled with mine under the blanket, one hand resting on my thigh like an anchor.
The clock on the wall ticked past midnight.
Christmas Day.
I felt the shift before I saw it—Rumi’s fingers tightening just slightly on my leg, a small, deliberate press. Her patterns shimmered brighter for a heartbeat, pink light tracing delicate lines across her collarbone where her oversized sweater had slipped off one shoulder.
She turned her head first toward me, then Zoey, eyes dark and quiet in the low glow. “It’s late,” she whispered, but there was something else in her voice—something warm, wanting.
Zoey stirred, blinking sleepily. “Mmm. Bed?”
Rumi didn’t answer right away. Instead she leaned in, brushing her lips against Zoey’s cheek, soft, lingering. Then she turned to me, cupping my face with both hands, thumbs tracing my cheekbones. Her kiss was slow, deeper than the holiday pecks we’d been trading all night. When she pulled back, her breath was warm against my mouth.
“I want…” She hesitated, cheeks flushing, but her eyes stayed steady on mine. “I want to feel you. Both of you. Before we sleep.”
My pulse kicked hard. Zoey’s hand found Rumi’s waist, sliding under the hem of her sweater, fingers splaying across bare skin. “Yeah?” Zoey murmured, voice already husky. “Tell us what you want, Rums.”
Rumi swallowed, then leaned forward to kiss me again—hungrier this time, tongue brushing mine in a slow slide that made heat pool low in my belly. When she broke away, she whispered against my lips, “Bedroom. Please.”
We didn’t rush. We moved like we had all the time in the world—because we did.
Zoey turned off the TV, leaving only the tree lights to guide us down the hall. Rumi walked between us, hands linked with both of ours, the three of us moving in quiet sync. In the bedroom the curtains were open just enough for city lights to spill across the sheets. The air smelled faintly of pine from the candle we’d lit earlier.
Rumi stopped at the foot of the bed, turned to face us. She reached for the hem of her sweater and pulled it over her head in one smooth motion, letting it drop to the floor. Her patterns glowed softly, vines curling over her ribs, down her hips, shimmering pink in the dim light. She wasn’t hiding tonight. She was offering.
Zoey stepped in first, hands gentle on Rumi’s waist, pulling her close for a slow, deep kiss. I moved behind Rumi, pressing my lips to the back of her neck, tasting the faint salt of her skin. My hands slid up her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. She arched into the touch with a soft sound that went straight through me.
“Beautiful,” I murmured against her shoulder, kissing the delicate curve where neck met collarbone.
Zoey broke the kiss long enough to tug her own shirt off, then helped me with mine. Clothes fell away piece by piece—slow, reverent—until we were bare, skin warm against skin.
Rumi turned in our arms, reaching for both of us at once. She kissed Zoey first, then me, then back to Zoey, like she couldn’t decide and didn’t want to. Her hands roamed—down my back, over Zoey’s hips—needy but careful, like she was memorizing every inch.
We eased her down onto the bed together. She lay back against the pillows, hair fanned dark across white sheets, eyes half-lidded and bright. Zoey settled between her thighs, kissing a slow path up her stomach, while I stretched out beside her, claiming her mouth again.
Rumi’s fingers tangled in my hair, tugging gently. “Touch me,” she breathed. “Please.”
I slid my hand down her body, tracing the glowing patterns with my fingertips until I reached the heat between her legs. She was already slick, soft, ready. I circled her clit with slow, gentle pressure, watching her face—watching the way her lips parted, the soft gasp that escaped when Zoey’s mouth closed over her nipple.
Zoey’s hand joined mine, fingers slipping lower, sliding inside Rumi while I kept up the rhythm on her clit. Rumi’s hips rolled up to meet us, breath coming in short, needy pants.
I kissed her through it, swallowing every sound she made as we worked her higher. Her patterns flared brighter, pink light pulsing in time with her heartbeat. When she came, it was quiet but shattering—back arching, fingers digging into my shoulders, a broken little “I love you” spilling from her lips.
We didn’t stop there.
Zoey kissed her way back up, claiming Rumi’s mouth while I shifted lower, settling between her thighs. I licked into her slowly, tasting her release, feeling her thighs shake around my head. Zoey’s hands roamed—pinching, soothing, teasing—until Rumi was trembling again, chasing another peak.
When she came the second time, it was louder, needier, her whole body shuddering as she clutched at both of us, thighs clamping around my head, a raw “Fuck—” tearing from her throat.
And then she didn’t wait.
Rumi sat up fast—still panting, cheeks flushed, eyes wild—and pushed Zoey onto her back with surprising strength. Zoey let out a startled laugh that turned into a low moan when Rumi straddled her hips, hands planting on either side of Zoey’s head.
“Rumi—” Zoey started, voice wrecked, but Rumi silenced her with a kiss that was all teeth and hunger.
“I want to touch you,” Rumi whispered against Zoey’s mouth. “Please?”
Zoey’s eyes went wide, pupils blown. “Yes. Fuck. Yes.”
Rumi didn’t hesitate. She slid down Zoey’s body, kissing a hot path over her collarbone, between her breasts, down her stomach. When she reached the apex of Zoey’s thighs, she paused—just for a second—to look up at Zoey with those dark, determined eyes. Then she lowered her head and licked a slow, deliberate stripe from bottom to top.
Zoey’s back bowed off the bed. “Holy—shit—”
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. I just watched, heart slamming against my ribs, heat throbbing between my own legs. Rumi—our sweet, sometimes-shy Rumi—was devouring Zoey like she’d been starving for it. Her tongue worked in slow, firm circles over Zoey’s clit, then dipped lower, pushing inside, then back up again. One hand pinned Zoey’s hip to the mattress while the other slid up to cup her breast, thumb teasing the nipple in time with every lick.
Zoey was losing it. Completely. Her hands fisted the sheets, then Rumi’s hair, hips bucking up to meet Rumi’s mouth. “Rumi—fuck—right there—don’t stop—”
Rumi didn’t. She sucked hard, tongue flicking relentlessly, and Zoey shattered with a broken cry, thighs shaking, whole body jerking as she came hard against Rumi’s mouth.
I was so turned on I felt dizzy. My hand had slipped between my own thighs without thinking, fingers circling fast, chasing the edge just from watching Rumi take Zoey apart like that. The boldness in her—the way she didn’t ask permission, just claimed what she wanted—had me aching, dripping, desperate.
Rumi lifted her head, lips glistening, eyes glassy with want. She crawled back up Zoey’s body, kissing her deep, letting Zoey taste herself. Then she turned to me, crawling over Zoey to reach me, and pushed me onto my back beside her.
“My turn,” Rumi said, voice low and wrecked. She kissed me hard, letting me taste Zoey on her tongue, and I moaned into her mouth.
Zoey, still catching her breath, propped herself up on her elbows and grinned, dazed and delighted. “Look at you. Fucking fearless.”
Rumi just smiled—small, wicked, beautiful—and lowered her head to me next.
I lost track of everything after that. Just heat, hands, mouths, the three of us tangled and breathless and loved beyond measure.
When we finally collapsed—sweaty, trembling, sated—Rumi curled between us again, head on my chest, Zoey spooned behind her, arm draped over both our waists.
“Merry Christmas,” Rumi whispered, voice hoarse and sleepy.
I pressed a kiss to her forehead, still reeling. “Merry fucking Christmas.”
Zoey laughed softly against Rumi’s shoulder. “Best gift I’ve ever gotten.”
We stayed like that—limbs heavy, hearts full—as the first snow of the season began to fall outside, soft and silent, blanketing the city in quiet white.
Tomorrow there would be more presents, more chaos, more love.
But right now, with Rumi’s boldness still echoing through every nerve in my body, it already felt like everything we’d ever wanted.
And then some.
---- ZOEY POV ----
I woke up slowly, the kind of slow where the world feels soft around the edges and you’re not sure if you’re still dreaming. Sunlight filtered through the half-open curtains in pale winter stripes across the bed, catching on the faint pink glow still clinging to Rumi’s patterns even in sleep. She was curled against my chest, one leg hooked over mine, her face tucked into the crook of my neck. Mira was spooned behind her, arm draped over Rumi’s waist, fingers loosely tangled with mine across Rumi’s stomach.
Last night crashed back in slow, delicious waves.
Rumi—our Rumi—had been fucking incredible. Bold. Hungry. Completely unselfconscious. The way she’d pushed me down, straddled me, taken what she wanted with that focused, determined look she usually saved for fighting demons or adjusting tree stars… I still felt the ghost of her mouth between my thighs, the way she’d licked me like she’d been waiting her whole life to do it. I’d come so hard I’d seen stars, and then she’d turned that same fire on Mira, leaving both of us wrecked and blissful and stupidly in love.
I pressed my lips to the top of her head, breathing her in—peppermint shampoo, a hint of last night’s sweat, and that warm, sweet scent that was just Rumi. My heart did this ridiculous flip, like it still couldn’t believe she was real.
Mira stirred behind her, letting out a low, sleepy hum. Her hand squeezed mine gently.
“Morning,” she mumbled against Rumi’s shoulder.
“Morning,” I whispered back. I kept my voice low, not wanting to break the spell. “You awake enough to process how fucking unreal last night was?”
Mira’s quiet laugh vibrated through Rumi’s body into mine. “I’m still processing. She took charge like she’d been planning it for months.”
“Right? I mean—holy shit, Mira. Our girl went feral. In the best way.”
Mira shifted closer, chin resting on Rumi’s shoulder so she could see my face. Her eyes were soft, still heavy with sleep and satisfaction. “She was amazing. So confident. So… her. I’ve never seen her like that. It was beautiful.”
I nodded, throat tight. “I’m still kind of blown away. Like, I knew she was getting more comfortable with us, but last night? That was next level.”
We both looked down at Rumi—peaceful, lips slightly parted, lashes dark against her cheeks. One of her patterns had curled delicately over the curve of her breast, glowing faintly like it was dreaming too.
Mira kissed Rumi’s shoulder. “She deserves to feel that powerful. Every day.”
“Yeah,” I said softly. “She really does.”
That was when Rumi stirred. A small, contented sound slipped from her throat as she nuzzled closer into my chest. Her eyes fluttered open—dark, warm, a little hazy with sleep—and she blinked up at me, then over her shoulder at Mira.
“Morning,” she whispered, voice rough from sleep and last night’s cries.
“Morning, beautiful,” I murmured, brushing a kiss across her forehead.
Mira leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to the corner of Rumi’s mouth. “How’re you feeling?”
Rumi’s cheeks flushed instantly—pink blooming across her face, down her neck, even her patterns brightening a shade. She buried her face against my collarbone for a second, then peeked up again, shy but smiling.
“Good,” she said quietly. “Really good.”
I couldn’t help grinning. “You were incredible last night, you know that? Like… mind-blowingly incredible.”
Mira nodded, tracing lazy circles on Rumi’s hip. “Seriously, Rums. Where did that come from? Not that we’re complaining—god, never—but you were so… confident. So bold.”
Rumi’s blush deepened to scarlet. She bit her lip, eyes darting between us like she was debating whether to hide under the covers forever.
“I… um.” She swallowed. “I might have… looked some things up. For us.”
I raised an eyebrow, delighted. “Looked things up?”
She nodded, barely perceptible. “Online. Videos. Articles. Forums. I wanted to… know more. To surprise you. To make you feel good. Both of you.”
Mira’s expression melted into something so tender it made my chest ache. She cupped Rumi’s cheek. “Baby. You researched how to blow our minds?”
Rumi gave a tiny, embarrassed nod. “I wanted to be good for you.”
I laughed softly—pure joy—and pulled her closer, kissing her hard. “You were more than good. You were perfect.”
Mira joined in, kissing the other side of Rumi’s neck. “You’re always perfect. But last night? You owned us. And it was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Rumi let out a shaky little laugh, hiding her face again. “Stop, I’m gonna combust.”
“Never,” I said, tilting her chin up so I could kiss her properly—slow, deep, full of everything I couldn’t say with words.
Mira kissed her next, lingering, then me, then back to Rumi. We traded lazy, sleepy kisses—soft ones, hungry ones, sweet ones—until we were all breathless again, tangled tighter, hands wandering but gentle, just savoring the closeness.
Finally, when the room started feeling too warm and the daylight too bright, Mira sighed. “We should probably get up. Presents are waiting. And coffee. And maybe more cookies.”
Rumi groaned dramatically but sat up, stretching her arms above her head. Her patterns shimmered brighter in the morning light, beautiful and unashamed.
I reached for the pile of clothes we’d never got to put on last night—our matching Christmas pajamas, ridiculous and cozy and perfect. I tossed Rumi’s set to her first: red plaid pants and a long-sleeved top that said “Naughty & Nice.”
She caught it, smiling shyly. “These are still so cute.”
“Put them on,” I said, already tugging my own pants up. “We’re having a full Christmas morning in peak holiday attire.”
Mira pulled her top over her head, hair a mess, grin wide. “And then we’re opening everything under that ridiculous tree.”
Rumi slipped into her pajamas, the fabric soft and oversized on her frame. She looked at both of us—still flushed, still glowing—and her smile turned soft, real, unguarded.
“I love you,” she said quietly. “Both of you.”
I leaned over and kissed her again. “We love you more.”
Mira pulled us both into a messy group hug, pajamas crinkling, hearts thumping in sync.
“Merry Christmas, family,” she whispered.
And as we padded out to the living room—hands linked, still warm from bed and each other—I couldn’t stop smiling.
---- RUMI POV ----
As we padded out to the living room—hands linked, still warm from bed and each other—I couldn’t stop smiling.
The tree lights were still on, soft gold and red twinkling in the morning sun. Snowflakes drifted lazily outside the window, blanketing the city in quiet white. The coffee maker gurgled in the kitchen, and the air smelled like pine and yesterday’s gingerbread.
We settled on the floor in front of the tree, a nest of blankets and pillows. Zoey handed me my stocking first, eyes sparkling with excitement.
Inside was a small velvet pouch. I opened it carefully, and three silver rings tumbled into my palm—simple bands, each etched with something tiny and perfect: a star for me, a flame for Mira, and a sun for her.
“One for each of us,” Zoey said softly, sliding the star ring onto my finger. “So no matter where we are, we’re carrying a piece of the others.”
My throat tightened. I looked at the matching rings on their fingers—Zoey already wearing the sun, Mira the flame—and felt tears prick my eyes.
Mira’s gift was next: a small leather-bound journal, the cover embossed with a soft pink pattern that matched my patterns exactly. I opened it to the first page.
In her neat handwriting:
For the days you need to remember who you are.
We’re always here to remind you.
Love, Mira
I pressed the journal to my chest, blinking hard.
They looked at me expectantly, and I reached for the two small packages I’d hidden under the couch last night.
For Zoey: a braided cord bracelet with tiny beads in her favorite colors—deep emerald and gold—knotted with a small protection charm in the shape of a turtle. “So you’re safe when we’re out there,” I whispered, tying it around her wrist. For Mira: a small framed photo I’d taken last summer—the three of us on the rooftop, laughing, city lights behind us like stars. On the back, in my careful handwriting:
The night I knew I was home.
They both stared at their gifts like they were priceless.
Zoey pulled me into her lap, arms tight around my waist. “You’re too good to us, Rums.”
Mira joined, wrapping around both of us. “You’re everything.”
We stayed like that for a long time—tangled on the floor, trading soft kisses, fingers tracing rings and bracelets and skin. The kind of joy that settles deep and stays.
But when she opened the door, it was Bobby, holding two steaming paper bags from the best coffee shop down the block and a grin that said he knew exactly what kind of morning we were having.
“Merry Christmas girls,” he said, kicking snow off his boots. “Figured you’d be buried in feelings and wrapping paper by now. Brought caffeine and croissants.”
He set the bags down and pulled us all into one massive hug that smelled like fresh pastries, expensive cologne, and snow.
Bobby stayed for an hour—drinking coffee, stealing bites of yesterday’s cookies, teasing Zoey about the tree (“It looks like a holiday store exploded in here”), and quietly watching the three of us with that fond, knowing look he never quite hid.
When he left, promising to see us at the New Year’s event (AKA first real announcement for our comeback), the apartment felt quiet again. Warm. Ours.
We ended up back on the couch, me in the middle like always, Zoey’s head in my lap, Mira’s arm around my shoulders. The tree lights twinkled. Snow fell outside in soft, lazy flakes.
I looked at them—my girls, my home—and felt something settle in my chest, steady and bright.
Series Summary: Takes place after the Idol Awards before they all go to the bathhouse together for the first time (Then continuing on after they go)
Chapter Summary: Zoey and Mira take care of their girl, until she goes down a small rabbit hole, but Rumi is still strong, they all face this danger together.
Masterlist
Last Chapter>>>
Word Count: 5677
Warnings: Self-harm thoughts, gore, blood, death, angst (just a little don't hate me!)
Author Notes: Wow, holy writers block, this chapter took absolutely forever to write and I hope it all makes sense, I lowkey I have no idea if it does or doesn't (lol). I hope you all like it! Till next time!
---- ZOEY POV ----
The door to our apartment clicked shut behind us, sealing the city’s noise outside. The billboard’s glow still haunted my mind—Rumi’s ink sprawling across that massive screen, bold and unapologetic. But here, in the dim light of our living room, she was ours again. No audience. No judgment. Just us.
Rumi kicked off her shoes, her movements hesitant, like she was still carrying the weight of those strangers’ words. Mira and I exchanged a glance—silent, electric. We’d planned this without words the second Rumi’s smile cracked in that crosswalk. Tonight, we’d rewrite every inch of doubt etched into her skin.
“Bedroom,” I said, voice low, a command wrapped in velvet. Rumi’s eyes flicked to mine, wide and dark, a flicker of anticipation chasing away the shadows. Mira’s hand brushed the small of Rumi’s back, guiding her forward. I followed, my pulse already thrumming with the promise of what was coming.
The bedroom was our sanctuary—soft lamplight, sheets already rumpled from this morning’s lazy tangle. Rumi stopped at the foot of the bed, arms crossed like she could shield herself. Mira stepped in front of her, tilting Rumi’s chin up with a gentle finger.
“No hiding tonight,” Mira murmured, her voice a warm caress. “Those patterns? They’re ours to worship.”
I moved behind Rumi, my hands settling on her hips, thumbs tracing the sliver of skin where her crop top rode up. The ink started there—delicate, demonic vines curling over her hipbone, disappearing beneath the waistband of her jeans. My lips brushed the shell of her ear. “Every line’s a promise, Rumi. And we’re keeping it.”
She shivered, a soft sound escaping her throat. Mira’s hands were already working, tugging Rumi’s top over her head, letting it fall to the floor. The patterns spilled across her collarbone, down her arm, a map that begged to be explored. Mira’s eyes darkened, hungry but reverent, as she traced a fingertip along the vines curling over Rumi’s shoulder.
“God, look at you,” Mira breathed. She leaned in, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the pattern just above Rumi’s breast. Rumi’s breath hitched, her hands flexing at her sides like she didn’t know where to put them.
I wasn’t waiting. My fingers found the button of Rumi’s jeans, popping it open with a flick. “Off,” I said, tugging the denim down her hips, taking her underwear with it. She stepped out of them, bare now except for the art etched into her skin. The patterns twisted down her thigh, over her ribs, a demonic garden I intended to devour.
“Lie down,” I told her, nudging her toward the bed. Rumi complied, sinking into the mattress, her eyes never leaving us. Mira crawled up beside her, stretching out, her hand splayed over Rumi’s stomach, fingers tracing patterns that dipped toward her navel.
I knelt between Rumi’s legs, my hands spreading her thighs gently. I pressed a kiss to the shimmering pattern just above her knee, then another higher, following the path. “This one,” I murmured against her skin, “this line right here? It’s where I’m starting.”
Rumi’s hips twitched, a soft whimper escaping her. Mira leaned down, capturing Rumi’s mouth in a deep, slow kiss, swallowing the sound. I could hear the wet slide of their tongues, the way Rumi’s breath caught as Mira’s hand slid up to cup her breast, thumb teasing her nipple.
My mouth found the first bold stroke on Rumi’s hip, and I traced it with my tongue, slow and deliberate, tasting the faint salt of her skin. She was already slick when my fingers brushed her, a soft gasp breaking from her lips into Mira’s mouth. I didn’t tease—not tonight. I slid two fingers inside her, curling them just right, my thumb circling her clit as I followed the next pattern up her ribs with my lips.
“Zoey,” Rumi gasped, her voice breaking. Mira pulled back, her lips swollen, and shifted to straddle Rumi’s waist, giving me room to work. She leaned down, kissing along the patterns on Rumi’s arm, her tongue tracing the inky swirls like she was memorizing them.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Mira whispered, her voice raw. She shifted lower, her mouth closing over Rumi’s nipple, sucking hard enough to make Rumi arch off the bed. My fingers thrust deeper, matching the rhythm of Rumi’s ragged breaths, my mouth never leaving her. I kissed every line, every curl, every demonic flourish, branding her with my devotion.
Rumi’s hands found my hair, gripping tight as her hips rocked against my hand. “Please,” she panted, “I—”
“Not yet,” I said, lifting my head to meet her eyes. “We’re not done worshipping you.”
Mira grinned, wicked and soft, and slid down to join me. Her lips brushed the pattern on Rumi’s other thigh, mirroring my path. Together, we mapped her—tongues and fingers and whispered praises, turning every pattern into a place we’d claimed. Rumi’s moans filled the room, her body trembling between us, until she shattered, crying out our names as she came undone.
---- MIRA POV ----
We didn’t want to stop. I didn’t want to stop, it's like if we paused even for a second, Rumi might start doubting again, and none of us could bear that.
“That’s it Rums,” Zoey praised as she quicked her pace even more.
“Let go for us baby,” I whisper, working my way back up her body, making sure to stop and kiss every pattern I see.
Rumi could barely hold back as she screamed out our names as she hit her climax for the third? No fourth time. We held her through the aftershocks, trading lazy kisses, wiping tears she didn’t know she was crying.
After that, the days felt like a long, warm exhale.
We still touched constantly (hands linked on the couch, legs tangled under blankets, Zoey carrying Rumi to the kitchen just to kiss her against the counter while coffee brewed), but it wasn’t frantic anymore. It was steady. Safe. Like we were all learning how to breathe again.
Some nights we made love slow and quiet, whispering I love you into skin until someone fell apart in our arms. Some nights we didn’t; we just held each other, trading soft kisses and softer words until the dark felt gentle instead of heavy.
A few nights later, the apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the city outside and the rain tapping the windows.
Rumi was in the middle, always in the middle now, curled on her side with her head on Zoey’s chest and my arm draped over her waist, fingers laced with Zoey’s across Rumi’s ribs. The blankets smelled like us, like home.
Zoey’s heartbeat was steady under Rumi’s ear. My thumb traced idle circles on Rumi’s hip.
No one said anything for a long time.
Then Rumi whispered, so quiet I almost missed it, “Thank you.”
“What for?” Zoey asked, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
I squeezed her hand.
“Everything.”
We didn’t need to say anything. It was in the air, in the way we fit together, in the quiet certainty that tomorrow we’d wake up exactly like this.
Rumi’s breathing evened out first. Zoey followed a minute later, her grip loosening but never letting go.
I stayed awake just long enough to feel them both settle deeper into sleep, warm and safe and mine, ours, before my own eyes finally closed.
Just three heartbeats slowing into the same rhythm.
---- RUMI POV ----
I wasn’t sure what time it was when my eyes snapped open. The room was dark except for the faint city glow bleeding through the curtains, and the rain had turned into that soft, steady drizzle that makes everything feel heavier.
Mira’s arm was slung over my waist, her breath warm against my shoulder. Zoey was on her back, one hand resting on my hip like even in sleep she needed to know I was still there. I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to wake them. They looked so peaceful, so mine, and for a second I almost let myself drift back under.
But my brain wouldn’t shut up.
After twenty minutes of staring at the ceiling, counting the little cracks in the plaster, I gave up. Careful (so careful) I reached over Zoey’s body, fingers brushing the nightstand until they closed around my phone. I tucked it against my chest and eased myself free, sliding out from between them like I was defusing a bomb. They didn’t stir. Good.
I padded barefoot into the living room, curled into the corner of the couch, and pulled the throw blanket over my shoulders. Just a little scrolling. Just enough to tire my eyes.
It worked for maybe ten minutes.
Then the algorithm decided to punish me.
First it was clips from the idol awards (me smiling too wide, too desperate). Then the newest photoshoot. Then just photos of my patterns, zoomed in, circled in red, arrows pointing like I was evidence in a trial.
The comments were worse than usual:
nepo baby finally dragging the whole group down
they’re only keeping her around out of pity
mira and zoey deserve better than that thing
she’s the reason the brand deals are drying up
I knew it wasn’t true. I knew. The past few days had been proof (hands and mouths and whispered I love yous until I believed it in my bones). But the words still crawled under my skin like ants.
Then my phone buzzed. Actually buzzed.
Celine.
My stomach dropped. I stared at the screen until it nearly went to voicemail, then swiped answer and pressed it to my ear.
“Rumi?” Her voice was crisp, clipped, exactly the same as when I was twelve and she caught me trying to file down my claws in the bathroom after losing control.
“Celine.”
“Good. You picked up.” A pause, papers shuffling. “We have things to discuss. I spoke with Bobby and the brand team. The last photoshoot… it didn’t help. The optics are still poor. Sponsors are skittish about the… new direction of Huntr/x. They’re calling it a liability.”
She didn’t say “because you're a demon,” but I heard it anyway. She never had to say it. She’d been raised and taught me to be ashamed of the parts of me I couldn’t hide.
“There are still whispers,” she went on, softer now, like she was doing me a favor. “About your episodes. About the scars. About whether you’re stable enough to be the face of anything. People are saying Mira and Zoey are carrying dead weight.”
Each word was a scalpel. Precise. Practiced. She wasn’t yelling. Celine never yelled. She just… stated facts the way she’d been taught them.
“I know,” I whispered. My voice cracked on the second word.
“Good.” Another pause, almost as if she had just realized what she’d just said. “You need to fix your image, Rumi.”
The line went dead.
I sat there staring at the black screen until the tears came so fast I couldn’t blink them away. They slid hot down my cheeks, into my mouth, tasting like salt and failure.
My hands shook as I set the phone face-down on the coffee table. The room tilted. The old itch started under my skin (sharp, familiar, hungry). The bathroom was ten steps away. My kit was still in the false bottom of my makeup bag. Just one cut. Just enough to quiet everything.
I needed it to be quiet.
The bathroom light was too bright. Harsh white, unforgiving. I shut the door with a soft click and locked it, like a locked door could keep the noise in my head out.
My hands knew the way before my brain caught up. Makeup bag on the counter (zip, unzip, fingers sliding under the false bottom). The little velvet pouch was still there. Razor blades, antiseptic wipes, the tiny pair of silver scissors I’d stolen from a craft kit years ago because they were sharp enough.
I pulled the scissors out. They caught the light like they were smiling.
I set them on the edge of the sink and stared at myself in the mirror.
The patterns were glowing again. Not the soft shimmer they had when Mira traced them with her tongue, but angry. Pulsing crimson under my skin, crawling up my neck, over my collarbones like living fire. My eyes weren’t mine (yellow, pupils blown wide,).
Demon, the mirror whispered. Mistake. Monster.
Celine’s voice layered over it. Sponsors skittish… new direction… liability… dead weight.
I picked up the scissors.
My wrist looked so pale under the bathroom light. The veins stood out blue and delicate, like they were begging.
One cut. Just one. Just enough to make the noise stop.
Then I pictured it: Mira and Zoey waking up tomorrow and finding me curled on the tile, blood in the grout again. The way their face had crumpled last time.
They’d blame themselves. Again.
I can’t do this to them.
The scissors shook in my grip.
The patterns flared hotter, searing under my skin like someone had poured molten metal in my veins. A growl crawled up my throat that wasn’t human. My knees buckled. I caught the counter just in time, scissors clattering into the sink.
No. No no no.
Not now.
I bit down on my own arm to keep from screaming, tasted blood, felt the fangs I wasn’t supposed to have slice my lip.
I dropped to my knees, forehead pressed to the cool tile, nails digging into my palms hard enough to leave crescents. Breathe. Count. Don’t let it win.
Mira. Zoey. Mira. Zoey.
Their names became a heartbeat.
I don’t know how long I stayed like that (curled on the bathroom floor, fighting the thing inside me with everything I had left). Long enough for the patterns to dim from blazing red to a dull ember. Long enough for my fangs to recede and my vision to clear.
When it was over I was shaking, soaked in sweat, blood on my lip and under my fingernails.
But I was me again.
I left the scissors in the sink. I left the bag open like evidence.
I unlocked the door with trembling fingers and walked on wobbly legs back to the bedroom.
The walk from the bathroom to the bedroom felt endless. My legs were jelly, my lip still bleeding a little, the taste of copper thick on my tongue. The patterns had settled into a faint, exhausted shimmer, like dying coals.
The bedroom was dark and quiet. Mira was on her side facing me, one arm flung across the empty space where I was supposed to be. Zoey was sprawled on her back, mouth slightly open, soft little snores that always made me smile on better nights.
I couldn’t just crawl back in and pretend nothing happened. I couldn’t.
I knelt on the mattress, the springs creaking under my weight. My voice came out small and cracked.
“M-mira. Z-zoey?”
Mira’s eyes snapped open first. She sat up fast, hair wild, reaching for me on instinct. “Rumi?”
Zoey stirred, blinking groggily. “Baby? What time is it—”
I shook my head hard, tears already spilling again. I pointed toward the hallway, toward the bathroom, my hand shaking so badly it looked like a seizure.
Zoey was out of bed in a heartbeat, bare feet hitting the floor. She disappeared down the hall without a word.
Mira blinked awake slowly, rubbing her eyes like a kid. “Rums? Baby, what’s wrong? Bad dream?” She sat up, hair sticking out everywhere, voice still thick with sleep. “Come back to bed, c’mere—” She pulled me into her lap like I weighed nothing, arms locked around me, rocking slightly. “Shh, breathe, just breathe, I’ve got you. What happened?”
“I— I— I almost…”
I couldn’t finish. The words stuck behind my teeth like broken glass. I heard Zoey’s sharp inhale from the bathroom. Then the clink of metal (the scissors) against porcelain as she picked them up. The soft rustle of the velvet pouch. A muttered “fuck” under her breath.
She came back slower, silhouette filling the doorway. Even in the dark I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her fists were clenched around the scissors like she wanted to snap them in half.
“You didn’t,” she said, voice rough. “You didn’t do it. Right?”
The sleepy confusion on Mira’s face drained away in a heartbeat. “Oh,” Mira breathed, so small it broke me all over again. “Oh, Rumi…”
Zoey climbed back onto the bed, set the scissors on the nightstand (far away from me), and wrapped around us both from behind, chin resting on my shoulder.
Mira’s hand found mine, turned it palm-up, traced the half-moon marks I’d left with my own nails. “Hey, hey. You stopped yourself. You came back to us.”
“But I almost—” I tried again, choking on it.
“But you didn’t,” Zoey cut in gently. She pressed her lips to the bite mark I’d left on my own forearm. “You fought it. You won tonight, Rums.”
Mira cupped my face, thumbs wiping tears I didn’t realize were still falling. “You’re getting better. You proved it. You chose us. You chose you.”
I collapsed forward into Mira’s chest, sobs muffled against her sleep-warm skin. Zoey’s arms tightened around my waist, anchoring me from behind.
“We’re so proud of you,” Mira whispered into my hair. “So fucking proud.”
Zoey kissed the back of my neck, over and over, soft and steady. “You did the right thing, baby. You’re safe. You’re here. We’ve got you.”
---- MIRA POV ----
Rumi felt it first. She went stiff in my arms, her whole body locking up like someone had flipped a switch. The sobs cut off mid-hitch, her breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts against my collarbone.
“What is it, Ruru?” I asked, my voice still soft from all the comforting, but alarm was already creeping in. My hands tightened on her back, feeling the faint tremor under her skin.
Then I felt it too—the pink shimmering pulse of the Honmoon, thrumming through the bond like a second heartbeat. Urgent. Insistent. A call we couldn’t ignore.
“Demons,” Zoey whispered from behind us, her voice gone deadly calm. She was already moving, untangling herself from the pile of us with that quiet efficiency she fell into when shit got real.
“We have to go,” Rumi croaked, the tears stopping as suddenly as they’d started. Her face was still streaked with salt, eyes red-rimmed and swollen, but something fierce flickered back to life in them. The demon in her answering the call, maybe. Or just the part of her that refused to let the world burn while she fell apart.
I wanted to argue. God, I wanted to pull the covers over all three of us and pretend the Honmoon could wait until morning—until Rumi was steady again, until the bathroom felt less like a war zone. But that wasn’t how this worked. The Honmoon didn’t care about breakdowns or almost-relapses. Demons didn’t pause for therapy.
Zoey was already at the dresser, yanking open the hidden drawer where we kept the gear. The soft clink of silver charms, the rustle of reinforced jackets. She tossed Rumi’s hoodie toward the bed without looking—black, oversized, the one that hid her patterns when the world got too loud.
“Five minutes,” Zoey said, voice low but steady. “We gear up, we go. Rumi, breathe. You’re with us.”
Rumi nodded against my chest, then pulled back just enough to wipe her face with the heel of her hand. She looked small still, fragile in the dim light, but her jaw was set now. “I’m okay,” she said, like she was trying to convince herself as much as us. “I can do this.”
“You don’t have to be okay,” I told her, cupping her cheek, thumb brushing over the faint smear of blood on her lip from where she’d bitten herself earlier. “Just be here. We’ve got the rest.”
She leaned into my touch for a second, eyes fluttering shut, then straightened. The shift was visible—shoulders squaring, the exhausted shimmer of her patterns flaring brighter, more controlled. Pink light pulsed under her skin in time with the Honmoon’s call.
I slid off the bed, grabbing my own jacket from the chair. The leather was cool against my arms, grounding. Zoey was already lacing her boots, movements precise, but I caught the way her eyes kept flicking to Rumi—checking, always checking.
Rumi stood on shaky legs, pulling on the hoodie Zoey had thrown her. It swallowed her whole, sleeves too long, hood up like armor. She caught my gaze in the mirror across the room and managed the ghost of a smile. “I look like a burglar.”
“You look like ours,” Zoey said simply, stepping close to zip the hoodie for her, fingers lingering at the collar. Then softer, just for Rumi: “You sure you’re up for this?”
Rumi swallowed, nodded. “I need it. Need to… feel useful again.” Her voice cracked on the last word, but she didn’t look away.
Zoey didn’t push. Just pressed a quick, fierce kiss to Rumi’s forehead, then mine.
---- ZOEY POV ----
The rain had picked up again by the time we hit the street, cold needles against my face. The city smelled like wet concrete and ozone, the Honmoon’s pulse guiding us north toward the river district. Demons didn’t usually come this close to downtown, but when they did, it was messy.
Rumi walked between us, hood up, hands shoved deep in her pockets. She hadn’t said much since we left the apartment, but her breathing had evened out. The bond hummed with her—still raw, still tender from earlier, but steady. Determined.
I kept one hand on the small of her back, casual enough that it could pass for affection if anyone was watching, but really it was just to feel her there. Alive. Grounded. Mira walked on her other side, trying to lace her fingers with Rumi’s.
We didn’t talk about the bathroom. Not yet. That would come later, when the adrenaline faded and the quiet crept back in. For now, we had a job.
The rift was in an abandoned warehouse by the docks—pink light bleeding through cracked windows, the air thick with sulfur and rot. Two lesser demons already spilling out, all claws and hunger, shadows writhing like smoke.
Rumi stopped at the threshold, shoulders rising and falling in one deep breath. I felt the shift in her before I saw it—the way her patterns ignited under the hoodie, pink fire racing over her skin. Her eyes flashed yellow for a second, controlled this time.
Mira glanced at me over Rumi’s head. “Ready?”
I nodded.
Rumi stepped forward first.
The nearest demon lunged, all teeth and screeching fury. Rumi didn’t flinch. She raised her Saingeom. The impact sent a shockwave through the air—demon ichor splattering the concrete as she sliced clean through its throat.
The second one came at her from the side. I was already throwing my Shin-kals. Mira followed with a blow from her Gok-do.
But my eyes stayed on Rumi.
She was beautiful when she fought—ferocious and graceful, every movement precise. The patterns glowed brighter with each strike, like the Honmoon was feeding on her strength instead of draining it. She didn’t hesitate. Didn’t hold back.
The third demon broke from the shadows, faster than the others, barreling toward Rumi. Its claws gleamed wet in the pink light, aimed straight for her ribs.
Time stretched thin.
“Rumi—!” Mira’s shout cracked through the drumming rain on the tin roof.
Mira moved before I could. She threw herself between them, shoulder slamming into Rumi’s side, shoving her clear. The claws raked across Mira’s back instead—hot, ugly lines tearing through leather and skin. She hit the ground hard, rolling, a sharp hiss of pain escaping her teeth.
Rumi’s scream was raw, animal. “Mira!”
The demon reared back for another strike. Mira scrambled up, pain etched across her face, but her hand still hadn’t gone to her blade. She couldn’t. Not after last time.
I was already moving—chain whipping out, wrapping the demon’s throat, yanking it off balance. But Rumi got there first.
She crashed into it like a storm made flesh. Claws sank deep into its chest, pink energy crackling around her like lightning. She tore it apart in seconds—ash and smoke exploding outward, the stench of brimstone thick in the air. The other two faltered, sensing the shift in power.
I finished the last one with a brutal twist of the chain, feeling the neck give. Silence fell—only rain and our ragged breathing.
Rumi dropped to her knees beside Mira, hands shaking as she reached for the torn fabric of Mira’s jacket. “Mira—fuck, you’re bleeding—”
“I’m fine,” Mira gritted out, pushing up onto her elbows. Blood was already soaking through, dark against the black leather, but she forced a crooked smile. “Just a scratch.”
“Mira! That is not just a scratch!” Rumi protested, voice pitching higher with every word as she pressed closer to Mira’s side, like she could shield her from the truth by sheer proximity. “We have to get you back home.”
“I agree with Rumi,” I said, already shifting my grip under Mira’s arm to take more of her weight. The rain was still coming down in cold, steady sheets, soaking through every layer, but the sting of it felt distant compared to the wet heat of blood seeping through Mira’s jacket against my side.
We moved as one unit down the empty streets—me half-carrying Mira, Rumi hovering like a worried shadow, one hand always touching some part of her: elbow, wrist, the small of her back. No one spoke much. The only sounds were wet footsteps, ragged breathing, and the occasional hiss of pain Mira couldn’t quite swallow.
By the time we pushed through the apartment door, we were all dripping, leaving dark footprints across the hardwood. I guided Mira straight to the couch and eased her down. She sank into the cushions with a low groan she tried to turn into a sigh.
Rumi was already moving—frantic, efficient, disappearing into the bathroom and reappearing with the medical kit we kept stocked for nights like this. She dropped to her knees in front of Mira, unzipping the bag with shaking fingers.
“Shirt off,” she commanded, voice tight.
“Buy me dinner first,” Mira snapped back, the corner of her mouth twitching despite everything.
I couldn’t help it—I stifled a laugh, short and surprised, even as my chest ached at how forced Mira’s bravado sounded. Rumi went crimson, cheeks flaming under the tear-streaked dirt on her face.
“Come on,” she muttered, half-pleading, half-exasperated.
Mira exhaled through her nose, then carefully peeled off the ruined jacket and tugged her shirt over her head. The movement pulled at the wounds; she bit her lip hard enough to blanch the skin white. When the fabric came away, the damage was worse in the warm lamplight than it had looked in the warehouse shadows: three long, ragged gashes across her upper back and shoulder blade, red and angry, still oozing.
Rumi sucked in a breath. “You’re gonna need stitches,” she said, voice cracking on the last word. “Fuck.” She whispered it like a prayer, fingers hovering over the torn skin. “This will probably hurt like hell, but I’ve got to clean it first then stitch.”
I watched Mira’s face. For one quick second something raw flashed across it—fear, maybe, or just bone-deep exhaustion—before she straightened her spine, jaw locking.
“Do what you need to,” she said, calm as anything, like she was giving permission for someone to borrow her phone instead of sewing her back together.
Rumi nodded once, sharp and determined. She snapped on gloves with practiced snaps, poured antiseptic onto sterile gauze, and started cleaning. Mira’s shoulders tensed, muscles jumping under the skin, but she didn’t make a sound. Not at first.
I moved behind the couch, hands settling on Mira’s shoulders—gentle, just enough pressure to remind her we were here. Rumi worked fast but careful, wiping away blood and grit, flushing the wounds with saline. Each pass made Mira’s breath hitch, short and sharp.
When Rumi reached for the suture kit, her hands were steadier than they’d been all night. She threaded the needle with black thread, the motion so familiar it hurt to watch—another reminder of how many times we’d patched each other up.
Rumi finished by wrapping fresh gauze around Mira’s back and shoulder, securing it with careful strips of medical tape. Her movements were precise, almost mechanical, like if she focused hard enough on the task, she could keep the rest of the night from crashing back in. She stood, gathered the bloodied tissues and gauze, dropped them into the garbage with a soft rustle, then started tidying the medkit—zipping compartments, folding unused wipes, anything to fill the silence that had stretched thin and brittle between us.
Finally, when there was nothing left to organize, she whispered, barely audible over the rain still tapping the windows, “Mira… you didn’t need to do that.”
“Rumi, it’s fine. Just a scratch.”
“Just a scratch?” I couldn’t keep the edge out of my voice. “Fifteen stitches is not just a scratch.” My mind was already spiraling ahead to what-ifs: what if the claws had gone deeper, what if they’d caught an artery, what if we’d lost her out there in the dark and rain because she’d thrown herself in front of Rumi instead of drawing steel.
Rumi’s head snapped up. “I saw the demon! I had it under control!”
“No, you didn’t, Rums,” Mira shot back, sharper than she probably meant to. Her voice cracked at the end, pain and exhaustion bleeding through.
“I DID!” Rumi’s anger boiled over, loud enough to echo off the apartment walls. “Besides, you had your Gok-do out! Why didn’t you use it to block??”
Dead silence followed.
The question hung there, heavy and accusing. Mira’s face went pale beneath the drying blood and sweat. I felt the same cold twist in my gut that I knew was twisting in hers.
Rumi’s eyes flicked between us, confusion creeping in. “Wha—what’s with the silence, guys?”
I took a breath, steeling myself. “Rumi, there’s something we need to tell you…”
“Zoey?” Mira’s voice was small, warning.
“No, Mira. She needs to know. Or one of you is gonna get hurt worse than this time.”
“What?” Rumi’s voice cracked on the single word.
“Rumi, listen—”
That’s when we heard it: Mira’s breathing turning short, shallow, frantic. Her chest heaved like she couldn’t pull in enough air. Her hands gripped the edge of the couch so hard her knuckles bleached white.
“Stay with me, Mira…” I moved closer, hand on her good shoulder, grounding. “I’m sorry, but she needs to know. Ever since the Idol Awards… Mira’s had a hard time using… using her weapon near you.”
Mira choked out, “Zoey, I just need a little time. I’ll get over it.”
“Mira, I’m so sor—”
“Shut up, Rumi.” Mira’s voice broke, raw and ragged. “Don’t you dare say sorry, ’cause it’s me who should be apologizing.” She forced herself to sit straighter despite the pain, eyes locked on Rumi’s. “Rumi… I should have never turned on you that night. I was scared, and that’s no excuse. I saw you—eyes glowing, patterns blazing, claws out—and my brain just… shorted. I thought you were lost to it. I pointed the blade at you. At you. And I’ve carried that every single day since.”
The room felt too small, the air too thick. Rumi stared at her, blank for a long heartbeat, like the words hadn’t fully landed yet.
Then she moved.
She threw herself forward, arms wrapping around Mira’s neck, careful of the bandages but fierce, desperate. “Do you even have to ask?” she whispered, voice thick with tears. “Of course. Yes. Always.”
Mira’s arms came up slowly, like she couldn’t quite believe she was allowed, then tightened around Rumi’s waist. A shudder ran through her, and I heard the soft, broken sound she tried to muffle against Rumi’s hair.
I slid onto the couch beside them, pressing close, one arm around Mira’s shoulders, the other resting on Rumi’s back. We stayed like that—three bodies tangled together, breathing in the same ragged rhythm, the weight of that awful night finally laid bare instead of buried.
After a long minute, Rumi pulled back just enough to look at Mira, thumbs brushing tears from her cheeks. “You didn’t lose me that night,” she said quietly. “And you didn’t lose me tonight. You saved me. Both times.”
Mira let out a shaky laugh that sounded more like a sob. “I’m supposed to be the one protecting you, not the other way around.”
“You do protect me,” Rumi said fiercely. “Every day. You protect me from myself. From the comments. From Celine. From the mirror. You think I don’t know that?”
I squeezed Mira’s good shoulder. “We all protect each other. That’s how this works.”
Mira nodded, swallowing hard. “I’m still sorry. I’ll get there. I promise I’ll—”
“You already are,” Rumi interrupted softly. She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of Mira’s mouth, then another to her forehead. “We’ve got time. We’ve got each other. That’s enough.”
The rain outside had eased to a soft patter. The apartment smelled like antiseptic, wet leather, and the three of us—sweat, blood, and something warmer underneath it all.
I kissed the top of Rumi’s head, then Mira’s temple. “Let’s get cleaned up properly,” I murmured. “Shower. Bed. All three of us. No more fighting tonight. Not demons, not ourselves.”
Mira exhaled, long and slow. “Yeah. Bed sounds good.”
Rumi nodded against her shoulder. “Together.”
“Always,” I said.
We helped Mira up—slow, careful—and the three of us moved down the hall like one unsteady unit, hands linked, hearts bruised but beating in stubborn sync.
Tomorrow would bring new demons. New headlines. New doubts.
Series Summary: Takes place after the Idol Awards before they all go to the bathhouse together for the first time (Then continuing on after they go)
Chapter Summary: Morning after, the girls loving and being fully open with one another. BATHHOUSE time! Still with some angst (sorry guys).
Masterlist
Last Chapter>>>
Word Count: 4257
Warnings: None
Author Notes: I'm sorry for taking so long to publish this chapter. So much has happened, EJAE's first single (ABSOLUTLY AMAZING), Halloween, and Golden getting 5 GRAMMY NOMINATIONS! WOW! Till next time ;)
---- ZOEY POV ----
Morning light spilled through the curtains, painting soft gold lines across the sheets. For a second, I didn’t move—just let myself breathe it in. The quiet. The warmth. The fact that both Mira and Rumi were still asleep beside me, tangled up like something out of a dream.
Rumi’s head rested against my shoulder, her hair a soft mess that tickled my chin every time she breathed. Mira’s hand was draped lazily over Rumi’s waist, her usual confidence replaced with something gentler, protective even.
I smiled. It was one of those moments that felt too fragile to disturb.
My brain started its usual morning chatter anyway—what time it was, if we should get breakfast, whether Bobby would tease us again if he found out we overslept. But under all that, there was this quiet hum in my chest. Peace.
Last night replayed in flashes—Rumi’s laughter, the glow of her patterns, the way she finally let go. The way we all did. I don’t think I’d ever seen her look that free before.
Carefully, I shifted, brushing a hand over her arm, tracing one of the faint pattern lines that still shimmered like a memory. She stirred a little, soft sound escaping her throat, and Mira mumbled something half-asleep in response.
“Morning,” I whispered, my voice barely above a breath.
Rumi blinked her eyes open, squinting at the sunlight, confusion flickering before she remembered—and then that shy little smile appeared. My chest squeezed at the sight.
“Hey,” she said quietly.
“Hey yourself.” I grinned. “How are you feeling?”
She paused, thinking. “Tired… but happy.”
“Good,” I said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “That’s exactly what we wanted.”
Mira groaned softly, finally waking up, and muttered, “If you two start being cute before coffee, I’m leaving.”
I laughed under my breath. “Yeah, yeah, morning grump.”
Mira stifled a laugh as she reached forward, her fingers brushing lightly against Rumi’s cheek as she tucked a loose strand of hair out of her face. The touch made Rumi blink up at her, half-smiling through sleep.
“Morning,” Mira said softly, voice still rough around the edges.
“Morning,” Rumi whispered back, cheeks pink.
For a second, it was just quiet—the three of us tangled in the blankets, sunlight painting gold on skin and sheets. My heart did this weird fluttery thing, and I had to look away before I started grinning like an idiot.
Mira caught my expression anyway. “Don’t,” she warned playfully.
“What? I didn’t say anything.”
“You were thinking something.”
“Maybe,” I said, fighting a smirk. “Just that you’re way too soft before caffeine.”
Rumi giggled quietly, her voice still hoarse from sleep. Mira’s mock glare didn’t last long; she gave up, leaning back on one elbow and smiling at both of us.
“Alright,” she sighed dramatically, “I’ll handle breakfast. You two make coffee.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Team effort?”
“Team effort,” Mira confirmed.
I glanced over at Rumi, who still looked unsure, but her hand found mine under the blanket. She gave it a small squeeze—like she was still testing what this new us felt like.
“Okay,” she said softly. “Team effort.”
---- MIRA POV ----
I stretched under the sheets, feeling the pleasant ache in my muscles from last night—a reminder of how everything had shifted, how we'd all let the walls crumble just a little. The room was bathed in that soft morning glow, and for once, I didn't feel the urge to jump up and take charge right away. No, this was... nice. Cozy. Almost too good to be true.
Zoey was already grinning like she'd won the lottery, her hand intertwined with Rumi's under the blanket. Rumi looked adorably rumpled, her patterns faintly pulsing in the light, like they were still catching their breath from the night before. God, she was beautiful like this—vulnerable, but not scared. Not anymore.
I propped myself up on one elbow, letting my fingers linger on Rumi's cheek a second longer than necessary. Her skin was warm, and that little blush creeping up? Yeah, it did things to me. Made me want to pull her close and forget about the world outside this bed.
But coffee. Priorities.
“Alright, lovebirds,” I said, my voice still gravelly from sleep. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, the cool floor grounding me. “If we're doing this team effort thing, I'm on breakfast duty. Eggs? Toast? Something that doesn't require actual skill?”
Zoey snorted, sitting up and running a hand through her messy hair. “As long as it's edible, Mira. We can't all be morning miracles like you pretend to be.”
I shot her a playful glare over my shoulder, but there was no heat in it. Truth was, seeing them like this—Zoey all soft and teasing, Rumi quietly glowing—made my chest feel full in a way I wasn't used to. Protective, yeah, but also... content. Like we'd built something real here, fragile but strong.
Rumi sat up slowly, pulling the blanket around her shoulders like a cape. She hesitated, then met my eyes. “I can help with coffee,” she offered, her voice small but steady. “If you show me how you like it.”
The double meaning hit me a second late, and I smirked, unable to resist. “Oh, I think you already know how I like it, Rumi.” Her eyes widened, cheeks flushing deeper, and Zoey burst out laughing beside her.
“Mira!” Zoey scolded through giggles, swatting at my arm as I stood. But she was smiling too, that easy, affectionate grin that made everything feel lighter.
I leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to the top of Rumi's head—her hair smelled like sleep and us—and then one to Zoey's forehead for good measure. "Come on, then. Kitchen's waiting. Let's make this morning count before the real world crashes in."
As I padded toward the door, I heard them shuffling behind me, whispers and soft laughs following like music. Yeah, this was good. Whatever came next, we'd face it together. Team effort, after all.
The hallway was cool against my bare feet, a sharp contrast to the warmth we’d left behind. I tugged the hem of the oversized T-shirt I’d grabbed from the floor—Zoey’s, technically—then pushed open the kitchen door.
Sunlight poured through the window over the sink, bouncing off the white tiles like it was personally offended by last night’s dishes. I winced. Okay, maybe we’d gotten a little distracted after dinner. A pan still sat on the stove, crusted with something that used to be garlic bread. I nudged it into the sink with my hip.
Behind me, the soft shuffle of footsteps. Rumi appeared first, blanket abandoned, wearing one of my old button-downs that hung past her thighs. The sleeves swallowed her hands; she kept pushing them up, only for them to slide back down. Cute. Distracting.
Zoey followed, hair twisted into a messy knot, already reaching for the coffee tin like it was a lifeline. “If I don’t get caffeine in the next three minutes, I’m legally dead,” she declared.
“Drama queen,” I said, but I was already filling the kettle. The hiss of water hitting metal felt grounding. Normal. Like we did this every morning and not just… this once.
Rumi quickly started helping make coffee too. The way she bit her lip in concentration—god, I could watch her do mundane things forever. Zoey caught me staring and elbowed me lightly.
“Focus, chef,” she teased. “Eggs aren’t going to scramble themselves.”
I rolled my eyes but opened the fridge. Eggs, half a bell pepper, some sad-looking spinach. Good enough. I cracked four into a bowl, whisking with more force than necessary. The rhythm steadied me.
Rumi set three mugs on the counter—mine the chipped blue one I refused to throw out, Zoey’s with the cartoon cat, and a plain white one for herself. She measured coffee grounds with careful scoops, tongue poking out just slightly. I wanted to kiss her again. Instead, I handed her the whisk.
“Want to stir?” I asked. “I’ll chop.”
She took it, fingers brushing mine. A spark. Nothing magical—just static, maybe—but it felt like more. She started whisking, slow at first, then surer. The eggs turned pale yellow, fluffy.
Zoey leaned against the counter, watching us like we were her favorite show. “You two are disgustingly domestic,” she said, but her voice was soft. Fond.
“Shut up and set the table,” I shot back, tossing her a dish towel. She caught it one-handed, grinning. I slid the chopped pepper and spinach into the eggs, folding gently. Rumi watched, head tilted. “You add the veggies after?”
“Keeps them from getting slimy,” I said. “Also, I’m lazy. Less dishes.”
She laughed—quiet, but it lit her whole face. I wanted to bottle that sound.
The kettle clicked off. Zoey poured water over the grounds, the rich scent blooming. She inhaled like it was oxygen. “Revival in progress.”
Rumi nudged the toast onto a plate when it popped, buttering with careful swipes. Her patterns flickered faintly under the sleeves—pale gold, content. Not flaring like last night, just… settled.
I plated the eggs, divided them between three. Zoey grabbed forks. We moved around each other without speaking, a clumsy little dance that somehow worked.
At the table, Rumi sat between us, knees brushing mine under the table. She took a bite, eyes closing like it was the best thing she’d ever tasted.
“Good?” I asked.
She nodded, mouth full, then swallowed. “Really good.”
Zoey reached over, thumb brushing a crumb from Rumi’s lip. “Told you Mira’s secretly a morning person.”
“Only when motivated,” I said, and kicked Zoey lightly under the table. She kicked back.
Rumi looked between us, something soft and wondering in her eyes. “This feels… normal,” she said quietly. “Like it could be every day.”
Zoey’s hand found hers on the table. Mine covered both. For a second, no one spoke. Just the clink of forks, the hum of the fridge, the quiet certainty that yeah—maybe it could.
---- RUMI POV ----
Once we cleaned and the kitchen was tidy, Zoey flopped onto the couch in the living room, patting the cushions beside her. “Okay, now that we're not total slobs—movie time? Or that show with the chaotic family? We need something light and fun.”
Mira followed, scanning the coffee table and then the side tables. “Yeah, let's do it. Where's the remote?” She started lifting cushions, her search growing more frantic. “I can't find the remote,” she admitted, tossing a throw pillow aside with a huff.
Zoey's eyes narrowed, but her lips twitched in amusement. “I'm actually going to kill you,” she threatened, lunging playfully to tackle Mira onto the couch, both of them dissolving into laughter as they wrestled for dominance.
I stood, heart full to bursting at their antics. But then inspiration struck, a way to turn this lazy vibe into something even better. “Hey, before you two destroy the living room,” I interjected with a grin, “what if we skip the screen and go to the bathhouse instead? Hot springs, steam, total relaxation. We deserve it after that breakfast feast.”
Zoey's head popped up from the pile of cushions and limbs, her face lighting up like I'd just suggested a treasure hunt. “For real? We get to take you to the bathhouse?”
“Well, I did promise, didn't I?”
“Hell yes!”
Mira extricated herself, breathless and beaming. “Wait, that's genius. Way better than vegging out here. Let's pack up—towels, oils, everything. This morning, just got upgraded.”
Their excitement bubbled over as we scrambled to get ready, and I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. These women, this life—it was everything I'd ever quietly hoped for, and more.
We moved like a single organism, three bodies in practiced sync. I grabbed the canvas tote from the hallway hook while Zoey darted to the bathroom for the good towels (fluffy, hotel-white, the ones Mira insisted on laundering with lavender pods).
It felt… nice. Easy. Domestic, almost. The kind of morning I’d never thought I’d have again.
I was just about to follow them into the kitchen when my phone buzzed on the counter. The name flashing on the screen made my stomach twist.
Bobby.
For a second, I hesitated. My heart started doing that uneven thing it always did when something big was about to happen.
“Hey, Bobby,” I said, trying to sound casual as I answered.
“Rumi! Good, you picked up,” he said, voice bright and businesslike as always. “Listen, just a quick heads-up before the internet does its thing—remember the photoshoot from a few weeks ago?”
I froze. “The one with the black tank tops?”
“That’s the one.” I could practically hear his grin through the phone. “They’re going live today—management approved the full set. No edits, no filters. Just you guys. It’s incredible, Rumi. The world’s gonna love it.”
My throat tightened. I pressed the phone closer to my ear. “Oh, okay.” I forced a laugh, but my palms were sweating. “I just wasn’t expecting it so soon.”
“Well, expect it now,” Bobby said cheerfully. “They go up in an hour. You should probably tell Mira and Zoey before they see it online. Proud of you, girls.”
Before I could respond, he hung up.
I stared at my phone screen for a long moment after the call ended. The background photo—me, Zoey, and Mira grinning after rehearsal—blurred as my mind spun.
The photoshoot. The one where I’d stood under those bright lights, arms bare, patterns glowing without a trace of makeup to hide them. Now it felt like my heart was climbing its way up my throat.
“Rumi?” Mira called from the kitchen. “Was that Bobby?”
I blinked, forcing a breath out. “Yeah—yeah, The photoshoots going public,” my voice cracking on the last word. It came out too loud, echoing off the kitchen tiles like a confession I wasn’t ready to make.
Mira poked her head around the corner, eyebrows knitting together. “What photoshoot? The one from last month?”
I nodded, but my mind was already spiraling back to that day. The studio lights are hot on my skin, the photographer barking directions and me in that damn black tank top, no sleeves, no cover-up.
My knees felt like jelly. I leaned against the counter, gripping the edge until my knuckles whitened. “It’s the one where... where we’re in the black tank tops. Bobby said they’re dropping unedited. In an hour.”
Zoey emerged from the bathroom, towels bundled in her arms, but she dropped them the second she saw my face. “Rumi? Hey, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I swallowed hard, the words tumbling out in a rush. “The patterns. They’re gonna see them. What if they think I’m... I don’t know, unstable? Or worse, what if they dig into why I have them? The comments are gonna be brutal.”
Mira was across the room in two strides, her hands gentle on my shoulders. “Breathe, Ru. In and out. You’re not spiraling now—you’re here, with us.”
Zoey wedged in beside her, wrapping an arm around my waist. “Those patterns? They’re you. Every swirl, every line—it’s your art, your history. And yeah, some people might talk shit, but screw them. The ones who matter? They’ll see the strength in it. The beauty.”
I let out a shaky laugh, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. “You make it sound so easy.”
“It’s not,” Mira said softly, pulling me into a hug that Zoey joined without hesitation. “But you don’t have to face it alone. We’ve got your back. Always.”
Their warmth grounded me, turning the panic into something smaller, more manageable. I nodded against Mira’s shoulder, breathing in the faint lavender from the towels scattered at our feet. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s... let’s just get through the morning. One thing at a time.”
The drive was twenty minutes of open windows and overlapping playlists. Zoey rode shotgun, feet on the dash, singing off-key to whatever indie track Mira queued. I sat in the back middle, knees between theirs, fingers laced with whoever reached first. Every time the car hit a bump, our thighs pressed closer; every time Mira downshifted, her hand left the gearstick to squeeze my knee.
We spilled out into the gravel lot still laughing at Zoey’s dramatic reenactment of Mira’s earlier pillow-throwing tantrum. The air smelled of pine and distant sulfur, warm and promising. Mira shouldered the tote; Zoey grabbed my hand; I grabbed Mira’s. The path to the entrance was dappled with late-morning sun, and our shadows overlapped on the stones, three silhouettes braided into one.
At the desk, the attendant barely glanced up before waving us through. Mira and Zoey moved with the easy confidence of people who’d done this before.
After getting into our robes, I trailed half a step behind. Walking into our private room, clutching my robe like a lifeline. In the cedar-scented changing room, they let their robes slip without hesitation, folding them once, tucking them into cubbies. I hesitated longer, fingers fumbling at the knot. Mira noticed—of course she did—and stepped close, pressing a soft kiss to my temple. “First time’s always weird,” she murmured. “We’ve got you.”
Zoey grinned, already twisting her hair up. “Think of it like skinny-dipping, but with better lighting and zero risk of fish.”
I laughed, shaky, and finally let the robe drop. The air hit every inch of me at once—cool, then warmer as we pushed through the heavy door into the springs. Steam rolled over us in a humid wave, carrying minerals and heat and the faint scent of eucalyptus someone had already opened. My skin prickled, alive.
Zoey stepped in first, a soft hiss escaping as the heat met bare skin. Mira followed, graceful, then turned to offer me her hand. I took it, heart hammering, and the water closed over my waist, my ribs, my heart—warm, weightless, perfect. The shock of it stole my breath, but not in a bad way; it was like the world exhaled and let me float inside the sigh.
We sank until only our faces broke the surface, three heads in a triangle, steam curling between us like incense. Zoey’s foot found mine under the water. Mira’s fingers traced lazy circles on my thigh. My nerves unraveled thread by thread, replaced by something vast and quiet. This was what they’d meant—this total surrender to heat and trust and skin.
“Ah! Wow. This feels amazing” I say sinking further into the tub.
“We’ve been saying that for years,” Mira calmly spoke.
Zoey then added, “Right? See what you’ve been missing?”
“Oh, yeah. I wanna come here everyday of our three-month hiatus.”
No one spoke for a long while after that; we didn’t need to.
“Rumi, I’m so happy you didn’t, like, die” Zoey said, breaking the silence.
“Wow, Zoey, way to be super literal. But same.” Mira said, “See Rumi this is that part where Zoey gets all emotional.”
I couldn’t help but smile until I turned to Zoey and saw her starting to cry.
“I just.. You guys just mean so much to me, and I don’t really know what I’d do without you. I mean, I love you guys so much.”
Our voices started to collide with each others, a combination of our sobs and ‘I love yous.’
Zoey moved first, closing the small distance between us. Her lips brushed mine, tentative, then sure—salt and minerals and the faint sweetness of maple syrup still lingering from breakfast. Mira’s hand slid from my thigh to the nape of my neck, guiding me gently until her mouth found the corner of mine, then Zoey’s, then mine again. We kissed in slow, overlapping waves—three mouths, one breath—water lapping at our chins, heat rising from skin and steam alike.
When we finally parted, cheeks flushed from more than the springs, Zoey’s gaze swept over me, soft and awed. “Rumi, you’re glowing.”
Fuck, I thought, the word blooming hot behind my ribs, equal parts wonder and want.
Mira’s laugh was low, almost a growl. She leaned in, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Careful what you start, love. We’ve got three months of mornings just like this.”
Zoey’s hand found mine beneath the surface, fingers threading tight. “Starting now,” she whispered, and pulled me under for another kiss, deeper this time, the water closing over our heads in a silent, shimmering promise.
My first time at the bathhouse, but already I knew it wouldn’t be the last. Whatever came next, we’d meet it the same way—together.
---- ZOEY POV ----
I was ecstatic. Mira and I wanted to make sure Rumi’s first time at the bathhouse was amazing — and we did!
As we left, skin still warm from the steam, we all wanted nothing more than to collapse onto our couch and do absolutely nothing. Naturally, that led to us chanting down the street, “Couch! Couch! Couch!” while doing ridiculous little dances that earned us a few amused stares from passersby.
“Three months of couch,” Mira declared dramatically, tossing her hair back like she was making a royal decree.
Rumi slowed, her gaze catching on a small group by the corner. Three girls stood there, clutching their phones, whispering excitedly to each other.
“Aw, look at them,” I said softly as I hugged Rumi’s shoulder. “They’re so cute.”
Rumi smiled, a little shy but warm. “You know, I feel like we got a nice little break.”
“Yeah,” Mira said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I definitely feel recharged.”
“Me too,” I admitted, still watching the girls. “I thought I wanted couch, but… I think couch can wait.”
Mira and I exchanged knowing grins — that was all the permission we needed.
---- MIRA POV ----
“Hi, everyone,” Rumi said as we approached the three young fans, her voice bright and practiced, the way it always got when she switched into idol mode.
“Rumi! Mira! Zoey!” The tallest girl squealed first, clutching a lightstick like it was a lifeline. The other two echoed her, a chorus of breathless excitement.
“Oh my gosh, I love you guys so much,” the shortest one gushed, eyes shining under the streetlights.
“You guys are too sweet,” I said, falling into the rhythm we’d perfected over years of these moments—smile, nod, sign, pose. Zoey’s hand brushed Rumi’s as she leaned in for a selfie, a tiny anchor in the swirl of adoration.
I’m not sure how long we spent talking to those girls—ten minutes? Twenty? Eventually we waved goodbye, and started walking back toward the main street where our van was parked.
That’s when we saw it.
The comeback photos. on the entire side of a fifteen-story office building, a digital billboard cycling through the new concept shots in slow, relentless rotation. Our faces stared down at the city—larger than life, airbrushed to perfection. My hair was sleek, my expression sultry. Zoey’s was sharp, almost defiant. Rumi’s was... different. Her patterns curl over her collarbone, down her arm, disappearing under the crop top in inky vines.
Rumi stopped dead in the crosswalk. I saw her face drop—the way her smile froze and then crumbled, the way her fingers curled into her palms like she could hide inside her own skin.
And that’s when we heard them. A couple lingering on the corner, heads tilted up at the building.
“Hey, have you seen their new design?” the woman asked, voice low but not low enough.
“Yeah,” the guy replied, scratching his jaw. “I’m not sure how to feel. On one hand they look good but these tattoos on Rumi…”
“Stand out,” the girl finished, and there was something in his tone—curious, judgmental, hungry—that made my stomach twist.
Rumi’s breath hitched. The light changed; cars started to move. Zoey grabbed Rumi’s wrist and tugged her across the street before anyone could honk. I followed, heart hammering.
We didn’t speak until we reached the alley behind the venue, the glow of the billboard still bleeding over the rooftops. Rumi leaned against the brick wall, arms wrapped around herself like she could peel the ink off her skin.
“They hate it,” she whispered. “They think I look—”
“They think you look like someone who doesn’t give a damn what they think,” Zoey cut in, stepping close. She cupped Rumi’s face in both hands, thumbs brushing the tears Rumi hadn’t let fall. “Listen to me. Your patterns? They’re not a mistake. They’re a warning label. ‘Handle with reckless abandon.’”
Rumi let out a wet laugh. I moved in on her other side, sliding an arm around her waist.
“You know what I saw up there?” I said, voice low. “The bravest, most beautiful girl. That’s not ‘standing out.’ That’s owning the whole damn skyline.”
Zoey leaned in, lips brushing the shell of Rumi’s ear. “Every line on you is a place I want my mouth later,” she murmured, just for us. “Every line is a map I’m gonna follow until you forget anyone else exists.”
Rumi’s shoulders shook—but this time with a different kind of tremor. She turned her face into Zoey’s neck, then mine, breathing us in.
“I just… didn’t expect it to feel so exposed,” she admitted.
“Then let us cover you,” I said, pressing a kiss to the ink peeking above her collar. “Not hide it. Claim it.”
Zoey grinned, wicked and soft all at once. “Come on. I now have lots of things to do later, so let's get home.”
Rumi exhaled, shaky but steadying. She straightened, rolling her shoulders back like she was stepping onto stage again.
Series Summary: Takes place after the Idol Awards before they all go to the bathhouse together for the first time
Chapter Summary: Aftermath of karaoke, make up between the girls or rather make out, amongst other things.
Masterlist
Last Chapter>>>
Word Count: 8238
Warnings: Smut, fingering, etc...
Author Notes: WOW! This was my first time writing smut so I hope you guys like it! See ya next time!
---- MIRA POV ----
It had been three days since karaoke. Neither Zoey nor I had seen or heard from Rumi. We’d leave trays of food outside her door, but every time, they stayed untouched. I’d peeked around the corner once, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, maybe see her curled up in her hoodie with her notebook, but the room remained stubbornly silent.
The apartment felt… wrong. Hollow. Even Zoey’s normally unshakable energy seemed muted, replaced with quiet worry that mirrored my own. Every creak of the floorboards, every distant car horn, made my stomach twist. I wanted to knock, to burst in, to beg her to talk—but every time I raised my hand, I froze. What if she hates us? What if she can’t forgive us?
Zoey and I had spent hours pacing, rehearsing the words we’d say if she came out, whispering apologies and half-formed confessions to each other in the living room. But now, sitting by the window and watching the city hum outside, it felt like nothing we did could reach her.
I sank to the floor, back against the wall, knees pulled to my chest. Zoey sat beside me, silent, her hand resting lightly on mine. “I don’t even know where to start,” she admitted softly.
I shook my head, hair falling over my face. “We messed up, Zoey. I knew we shouldn’t have… I should have stopped myself. Or you. I—” My voice caught, and I swallowed hard. “I just want her to be okay. I want her back.”
Zoey squeezed my hand gently. “She’s hurting. But she knows we care. We just have to give her the time she needs… even if it kills us to wait.”
I exhaled slowly, trying to steady the storm inside me. The thought of Rumi sitting alone in her room, feeling abandoned, made my chest ache. But Zoey was right. Pushing too hard might break the fragile remaining trust she’d started to build with us before.
I glanced at Zoey, her expression quiet but determined, and realized that no matter what happened, we weren’t giving up on her. Not now, not ever.
And maybe… maybe all we could do was wait. Wait, hope, and be ready to catch her when she finally decided to step out of that room.
---- RUMI POV ----
Three days. Seventy-two hours of silence. Three days of pretending I didn’t exist, of hiding under blankets, of shutting out the warmth and love that had been mine—once.
I hadn’t moved from my room, hadn’t eaten more than a bite or two, hadn’t even dared to peek outside the door. The apartment felt unbearably quiet without them, but the thought of seeing them, even for a second, made my chest seize. My throat burned with words I couldn’t speak, thoughts I couldn’t untangle.
My voice… it had come back once, for them, for me. In tiny, trembling bursts during karaoke, I’d let it out, let myself be heard, and it had felt alive. Powerful. Safe. Connected. And then I’d watched it all slip away—the laughter, the closeness, the trust I’d just begun to let myself feel—and I’d buried it again. My voice hid like I did, under blankets, under shame, under fear.
I could still hear their voices in my head, laughing, teasing, coaxing me to open up. And it hurt worse than silence. It hurt because I wanted that so badly. I wanted them. I wanted to be part of the warmth and the chaos and the love. But I’d seen them together, and the memory was a knife twisting in my chest. I’d never felt so small, so unworthy, so… invisible.
I pressed my face into the pillow and tried to shut it all out, tried to silence the echo of the music, the teasing, the kisses. But it followed me everywhere—Mira’s soft forehead kiss, Zoey’s bright grin, their arms around me in mornings that now felt impossibly far away. I hadn’t realized how fragile I was until it all broke, and now I didn’t know how to put myself back together.
Tears ran down my cheeks. Silent, hot, relentless. I hated that I’d let myself care this much. I hated that I’d hoped this much. I hated that I still missed them, still wanted them, still longed for their voices and their warmth in a way that made my chest ache.
I felt hollow. Empty. Small. And the more I wanted them, the more I thought they didn’t want me. Every step they might take toward me seemed impossible to reach. I couldn’t breathe without thinking of what I’d seen, of what I’d feared. And I couldn’t stop thinking about how I’d failed myself, how I’d lost my voice again, how I’d lost them—even if just for now.
I curled up tighter, pulled the blankets over my head, and let myself sink into the darkness. The apartment outside my door existed, but I did not. My world had shrunk to this tiny, suffocating room, and I didn’t know how to crawl back out.
Not yet.
---- ZOEY POV ----
I couldn’t take this anymore.
Rumi’s door was shut, a solid barrier between us, and my chest tightened at the sight. She wasn’t just hiding from me—she was hiding from the world, from herself, and from the tiny flicker of hope we’d been trying to nurture in her. I leaned against the hallway wall, feeling the cold press against my back, and whispered through the crack, “Rumi?”
Nothing. Not even the faintest stir.
“I’m not going anywhere, you know that, right?” My voice wavered slightly, filled with both fear and determination. “I just… I just want to talk. I want to be here with you.”
The silence that followed was deafening. I swallowed hard, my throat tight, heart racing. I wanted to push the door open, force her out, tell her she didn’t have to do this alone—but I knew that would only make it worse. She needed space, but the thought of leaving her like this hurt more than I could put into words.
I pressed my hand against the cool wood, feeling the faint vibrations from inside—maybe just the sound of her breathing, maybe nothing at all. “I can’t fix this for you, Rumi… but I can wait. I’ll wait however long it takes,” I whispered again, more to myself than to her.
My shoulders sagged. I had to step away before my panic spilled over. “I’m going to check in with Bobby for a bit,” I murmured, voice low, trying to steady myself. “I just… I’ll come back later. You know I love you, right?”
No answer. Only the door, shut tight, standing between us. My stomach twisted as I stepped away, the weight of helplessness settling over me like a storm. I left the hallway, leaving Rumi in her silence, praying she’d know we weren’t giving up on her—even if she couldn’t open the door just yet.
I passed Mira as I started to put on my shoes.
“Hey, where are you going?” she asked, her voice quiet, cautious.
“To check in with Bobby, or a walk, or something,” I muttered, forcing a shaky laugh. But the tears were already threatening to spill. My chest felt tight, like I couldn’t breathe.
“Mira… I don’t know what to do anymore,” I admitted, my voice breaking despite my best effort to stay composed. “But I’ll be back later, okay? I have my phone, so text me if she comes out. I’ll be straight back here. We can talk… we can figure it out together.”
I hesitated a beat, swallowing hard, then added, “Tell her everything you know… everything you think she needs to hear. I just… I can’t stand seeing her like this.”
Mira nodded, her own eyes glossy, and reached out, giving my arm a brief squeeze. “We’ll get through this,” she whispered, but I could tell even she was scared.
I grabbed my coat and headed for the door, heart pounding, throat tight. The hallway felt impossibly long, every step echoing in my ears. I just needed a plan, some way to help her, even if it meant leaving her alone for a little while.
The door clicked shut behind me, and the silence inside the penthouse stretched out, heavy and hollow.
---- RUMI POV ----
Zoey had tried to talk to me, but I couldn’t respond. That was probably two hours ago. My stomach growled, and I knew I should get something to eat. I pushed myself off the bed and made my way toward the kitchen, trying to be quiet.
I was almost there when I heard Mira’s voice behind me.
“Rumi.”
I stiffened, keeping my eyes forward. “I’m busy. I just want food. That’s it,” I muttered.
“You’ve been hiding for three days,” Mira said, her voice sharper now. “Do you know how worried Zoey and I have been?”
I spun around, irritation bubbling. “I don’t care!” I snapped. “Just leave me alone!”
Mira’s eyes narrowed, but her tone stayed calm, almost dangerously calm. “Hiding doesn’t fix anything, Rumi. It just hurts you more—and us, too.”
“I’m fine!” I shot back, starting to walk away, hands clenched. “I don’t need anyone checking on me, okay?”
Mira stepped forward, faster than I expected, and grabbed my arm. My stomach jumped. Her grip was firm but not painful, and suddenly we were inches apart, our faces so close I could see the faint lines of concern—and something else—in her eyes.
“Rumi…” she murmured, her voice low, intense. “Stop running. Just… stop.”
I tried to pull back, but her hand didn’t budge. My breath hitched when I realized how close we were. My heart was pounding, and part of me—the part I wasn’t ready to admit—felt heat crawling up my neck.
“I—Mira, I…” I started, faltering, caught between anger, frustration, and something dangerously alive simmering under the surface.
“Mira, please… let go,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, my eyes darting away from hers. My chest was pounding, my mind racing with every memory of the last few days—the confusion, the longing, the guilt. She hesitated for just a second, her hand lingering on my arm, then slowly released me. I immediately stepped back, taking a careful step toward my bedroom, needing space, needing air, needing to think.
“Rumi! Come on!” Mira yelled, her voice cracking with frustration and desperation. “WE LOVE YOU!”
I froze mid-step, my stomach twisting. The intensity of her words made my throat tighten. I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could even form a sentence, she barreled forward with the kind of honesty and rawness that left no room for walls.
“What—” I started, voice shaking, and then she launched into her explanation.
“Look, we wanted to have this conversation with you together, but we do, have for a while now. We wanted to bring you in, but with everything that’s happened, and it being so recent between Zoey and I, we just didn’t know the right time, and—”
Her words tumbled out in a rush, spilling over themselves in a way that was equal parts urgent and tender. My chest felt tight, my heart hammering like it might burst from all the emotion. I wanted to respond, to tell her I understood, to tell her everything I’d been feeling, but my body had other plans.
Before I could stop myself, before my brain could even catch up with my racing heart, my lips moved. I kissed her.
I didn’t even realize my feet were carrying me forward, closing the distance between us, until we were standing in the middle of the living room, pressed together, my hands clutching her shoulders as if holding on to her could somehow make sense of the chaos inside me.
Mira’s eyes widened in surprise for a fraction of a second, and then she melted into the kiss, her arms wrapping around me, pulling me closer. The warmth, the familiarity, the yearning—it was all there, and suddenly the fear that had pinned me in my room for days evaporated just enough to let me exist in this moment.
er voice was a soft gasp against my lips, “R-Rumi…” but I shook my head, cutting her off, letting the kiss speak the things my words could not. I needed this. Needed her to know I wasn’t running anymore. Needed her to see me.
And when we finally broke apart, faces inches apart, breathing uneven, hearts still hammering, I looked into her eyes and saw everything she had been trying to tell me—the love, the patience, the longing.
“I… I didn’t mean to—” I whispered, words failing me again.
“You didn’t have to say anything,” Mira murmured, fingers brushing a loose strand of my hair from my face. “I see you. I’ve always seen you, Rumi.”
For the first time in days, I felt the weight inside me lighten, even if just a little. Maybe, finally, I could start to accept that being seen didn’t have to hurt. That maybe I could let myself be loved, even by two people at once, even with everything so messy and new.
---- MIRA POV ----
When I saw her, everything inside me shifted. I’d stayed true to my word and texted Zoey, letting her know I needed a moment—but now, standing this close to Rumi, feeling her warmth, seeing the vulnerability in her eyes, I was so glad it was me here with her.
“So…” she said, her voice low, hesitant, almost a whisper. Her hands fidgeted at her sides, and I could feel the nervous energy radiating off her in waves.
I stepped closer, closing the space between us, and gently guided her toward the kitchen. My fingers brushed hers, and she didn’t pull away. I could see her body relax just slightly as we reached the counter. I quickly found a few things she could eat—something simple but warm. Her hands shook slightly as she held the plate, and I watched her, heart tightening with an ache I couldn’t fully name.
When she finished eating, she looked up at me, those deep brown eyes wide, searching. That look—hungry, cautious, wanting—made it impossible to hold back any longer. I surged forward, capturing her lips in a kiss that had been building for days.
Her lips met mine immediately, soft at first, then urgent, and she deepened the kiss, her hands tangling in my hair. I couldn’t resist, pulling her closer, feeling her press into me as if she’d been waiting for this too. Without thinking, I lifted her gently and set her on the counter, careful not to break the connection as we gasped for air, foreheads brushing, hearts hammering.
“Is this okay?” I asked, my voice husky, barely above a whisper.
“Yes,” she replied—faster than I expected, with a heat and certainty that made my chest tighten even more.
And just like that, there was no pause, no hesitation. Our lips met again, urgent and messy, hands exploring, breaths mingling, the kitchen fading away around us. Every ounce of restraint I’d held vanished, replaced with a need to show her, to feel her, to be close in a way that words could never capture.
I realized, in that moment, that this was what we had been holding back for, what all the stolen glances and gentle touches had been building toward. And now that we were here… I never wanted to let go. Though we were still missing one little thing… Zoey.
The kiss broke for just a fraction of a second, our foreheads resting together, hearts hammering. I was about to close the distance again when a voice cut through the haze of heat and tension.
“Hey… I’m happy this is happening, but… what happened to telling her together? Mira?”
We froze.
Zoey was standing in the doorway, one eyebrow raised, a small, amused grin tugging at her lips. Our cheeks flushed crimson—not just from the kiss, but from the complete and utter surprise of being caught.
Rumi pulled back slightly, her chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes wide. I tried to form words, but nothing came out, and all I could do was gesture vaguely between us, caught in the middle of the mess we’d created.
Zoey tilted her head, crossing her arms, though the teasing sparkle in her eyes betrayed her calm exterior. “Seriously, I walk in for like two seconds and find this? Not that I don’t like the view but wow,” her voice half-laughing, half-shocked.
Rumi’s lips parted, like she was about to say something, but the words stuck. I swallowed hard, feeling a mixture of guilt, excitement, and the thrill of the triangle dynamic we’d been dancing around finally breaking into the open.
---- ZOEY POV ----
My phone buzzed just as I was finishing my coffee with Bobby.
Mira: come home. Now.
No context. No punctuation. Just pure Mira energy.
I practically sprinted back to the penthouse, half-worried Rumi had finally come out of her room and half-worried Mira had set something on fire trying to make soup again.
The door swung open, and I stepped inside, already calling out, “Hey, what’s going—”
And then I froze.
OMG OMG OMG!!!!!
It’s happening!
I didn’t think I’d walk in on this, Rumi sitting on our kitchen counter lips on Mira’s. For a solid three seconds, my brain short-circuited. Then I blinked and said the only thing that made sense:
“Hey, I’m happy this is happening, but—what happened about together? Mira?”
I looked directly at her, taking a step forward. “Seriously, I walk in for like two seconds and find this? Not that I don’t like the view but wow,” I say laughing as I walk towards them.
“So… What exactly have we covered?” I ask looking up and Mira as we’re now side by side.
“Umm- not much, I told her we love her, all of her, and then things started to get fun,” Mira said, her voice coming back.
“Fun?” I echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, I can see that.”
Rumi’s face was the colour of a cherry blossom at this point, and Mira looked about two seconds away from combusting. I had to bite back another laugh just to keep it together.
“Okay, okay,” I said, holding up my hands. “Before either of you explode, let’s just… take a breath.”
Mira shot me a glare that could’ve melted glass. “Zoey—”
“No, no, don’t ‘Zoey’ me! You texted me to come home, remember?” I grinned, nudging her with my elbow. “You didn’t specify what for, so technically this is on you.”
Rumi groaned quietly, hiding her face in her hands. “This is so embarrassing,” she mumbled.
I softened a little at that, stepping closer. “Hey, hey, no. It’s not embarrassing,” I said gently. “It’s… kind of perfect, actually.”
Her hands dropped just enough for me to see the confusion in her eyes. “Perfect?”
“Yeah,” I said, shrugging. “You. Finally letting yourself feel something. Not hiding anymore. That’s pretty damn perfect to me.”
Mira smiled at that — a small, proud curve of her lips that made my chest warm.
“Besides,” I added with a smirk, “now I know why the kitchen’s been so quiet. Guess I missed the real show.”
Mira swatted at my arm. “You’re insane.”
“Mm-hm. And yet you love me.”
Rumi actually laughed then — soft, a little hesitant, but real. It was the first time I’d heard her laugh in days, and honestly, that sound was worth every bit of chaos.
I leaned back against the counter, looking between the two of them. “So,” I said, pretending to think. “Do we hug it out, talk it out, or…?”
“Have more fun?” Mira said, wrapping her arm around my waist.
“Only if it's okay with Rumi,” I reply, looking at her.
She swallowed hard, and then nodded her head rapidly, not trusting her voice.
“Alright. My turn with our pretty girl” I say pushing Mira slightly so I’m below Rumi. Mira just laughs as Rumi goes bright red.
Mira's laughter faded, and Rumi's breath came in short, shallow gasps. I moved even closer to Rumi, my hands gently cupping her face.
"Rumi," I whispered, my thumb gently tracing the line of her jaw. "You're so beautiful. I've wanted to do this for so long." Rumi's breath hitched as I leaned in, my lips brushing softly against Rumi's. It was a gentle kiss, I didn’t want to overwhelm her… yet.
As I pull away, I take a quick look at Mira while catching my breath. “Whose room?” I ask, my voice a little impatient, a little breathless.
“Yours,” Mira says, a teasing lilt in her tone, “but we’re going to have to move some of your stuffed animals. You cool with that?”
I glance back at Rumi, who’s standing there, still looking incredible—her patterns barely hidden, her expression a mix of nerves and curiosity. I swallow, my chest tightening. “Besides,” I murmur, letting my eyes linger on her for just a second longer, “all I really want is to make our girl feel good.”
Rumi steps off the counter, wobbling slightly on her feet. I catch her hand instantly, giving it a reassuring squeeze, and lead her toward my bedroom, Mira
following closely behind. Every step feels electric—her warmth radiates into my hand, her nervous energy mingling with my own.
I can tell she’s tense, so I guide her to sit on the edge of my bed, letting her legs swing lightly. Mira and I start tossing stuffed animals to the floor, laughing softly as they scatter across the carpet. “Sorry, guys,” I whisper, almost like an apology to the toys themselves.
Once everything’s cleared, I sit beside Rumi, letting the closeness settle around us. I brush a strand of hair from her face and press a light, lingering kiss to her lips. “Is this still okay?” I ask softly, searching her eyes.
“Yes,” she breathes out, and the word hits me like a wave of relief.
Mira moves closer, her hands gentle on Rumi’s shoulders. “Now, Rumi,” she says firmly but softly, “if we go too far or you don’t like it, we will stop, okay? No questions asked. Promise.”
Rumi nods, biting her lip nervously, her eyes flicking between us. The room is charged, a quiet hum of anticipation, and I realize that right now, it’s not just about us—it’s about making Rumi feel safe, wanted, and truly seen.
---- RUMI POV ----
Knowing that Zoey and Mira would go at my pace only deepened my love for them. Their patience was a soft anchor, steadying the wild flutter of nerves in my chest. The sensation of being pressed between them was intoxicating, their bodies molding against mine, our breaths weaving together in the heated air. It was as if the world had melted away, leaving only us—three hearts, three bodies, bound by trust and a hunger that simmered just beneath the surface.
Zoey’s lips found mine again, her kiss a slow burn, teasing and deep, pulling me into a rhythm that felt both safe and electrifying. My hands drifted to her hair, my fingers tangling in her wild, curly strands as she deepened the kiss, her tongue tracing the edge of my lips, coaxing a soft moan from me. The sound surprised me, raw and unguarded, but it only made her smile against my mouth.
Mira was behind me, her presence a warm, steady hum against my back. Her hands began to roam, fingers gliding over the curve of my hips, up the arch of my spine, then brushing the swell of my breasts. Even through my shirt, her touch ignited me, each caress a spark that set my skin ablaze. I gasped into Zoey’s mouth, my body arching instinctively into Mira’s hands, craving more of her warmth, her boldness.
Zoey’s fingers joined the dance, deftly unbuttoning my jeans, her palm pressing against the bare skin of my stomach. The heat of her touch was a promise, a pulse of what was to come, and it sent a shiver racing through me. Then her lips left mine, trailing down my neck in a slow, deliberate line of kisses, each one a wet, heated press that made my pulse stutter. I tilted my head back, my breath catching as her teeth grazed the sensitive skin at the base of my throat, a teasing nip that drew another moan from deep within me.
I turned to Mira, my eyes locking onto hers, my heart pounding with a mix of desire and uncertainty. This was my first time—my first time baring myself like this, body and soul. The weight of it was overwhelming, but not heavy; it was alive, electric, like a storm gathering inside me. Mira’s dark eyes shimmered with want, but there was a softness there, a reassurance that told me I was safe.
“Rumi,” she whispered, her voice thick with need, a low growl that sent a thrill down my spine. “We want you. All of you.” Her words were a spark, igniting something wild and untamed in me. I nodded, my body trembling with anticipation, my voice barely a whisper as I said, “I want this. I want you both.”
Zoey’s lips curved into a wicked smile against my neck, her breath hot as she murmured, “You’re so beautiful, Rumi. We’ve got you.” Her hand slid lower, fingers slipping just beneath the waistband of my jeans, pausing there, waiting for my signal. Mira’s hands stilled too, one resting on my hip, the other brushing a strand of hair from my face, her thumb grazing my cheek with a tenderness that made my heart ache.
I took a shaky breath, my hands reaching out—one finding Zoey’s shoulder, the other cupping Mira’s face. Their warmth grounded me, and a surge of courage bloomed in my chest. “Don’t stop,” I said, my voice steadier now, laced with a hunger I was only beginning to understand.
Mira’s smile was slow, almost predatory, and she leaned in to kiss me. Her kiss was different from Zoey’s—slower, deeper, like she was drinking me in, savoring every second. I melted into it, my body softening between them as Zoey’s hands grew bolder, easing my jeans down my hips, the cool air kissing my skin. The contrast made me shiver, and I laughed—a nervous, giddy sound that made them both chuckle, their voices low and warm.
Zoey’s lips returned to mine, hungrier now, her tongue teasing mine as her hands roamed lower, fingers grazing the edge of my underwear. Mira’s hands slipped beneath my shirt, her nails lightly scraping along my ribs, then higher, cupping my breasts with a boldness that made me gasp. My body was a live wire, every touch sending shocks through me, and I leaned into them, my nerves giving way to a reckless, burning need.
The air grew thick, charged with a raw, primal energy. Zoey’s kisses turned fierce, her teeth nipping at my lower lip as she pressed herself closer, her thigh slipping between mine, creating a delicious pressure that made my breath hitch. Mira’s hands grew more insistent, pushing my shirt up and off, her fingers finding the clasp of my bra. She paused, her eyes meeting mine, asking without words. I nodded, my chest heaving, and she unhooked it with a practiced ease, letting it fall away.
The vulnerability of being so exposed made my heart race, but their gazes—Zoey’s fiery, Mira’s reverent—made me feel powerful, desired. Zoey’s hands slid down my sides, her nails dragging lightly, leaving trails of heat. She dropped to her knees, her lips brushing the skin just above my hips, and I gasped, my hands flying to her hair. Mira moved closer, her body flush against my back, her lips finding the curve of my shoulder, her teeth grazing the skin as her hands roamed freely now, teasing and exploring.
“Rumi,” Zoey purred, her voice a low, sultry hum as she looked up at me, her fingers hooking into the waistband of my underwear. “Tell us what you want.” Her eyes were dark, glinting with mischief and hunger, and I felt a rush of heat flood through me.
“I…” My voice faltered, overwhelmed by the intensity of their touches, their closeness. “I want more,” I managed, my words raw, almost desperate. Mira’s laugh was soft, wicked, as she nipped at my earlobe, her hands sliding lower, joining Zoey’s in a slow, deliberate tease.
“Then let’s give you more,” Mira whispered, her voice a velvet promise. Zoey tugged my underwear down.
“God, Rumi, you’re beautiful,” Zoey said, her voice a low, reverent murmur, tinged with awe. “And wow, the patterns do go all the way down,” she added with a playful lilt, her eyes glinting with amusement, as if she’d won a private bet with herself. Her gaze traced the intricate tattoos that swirled across my skin, a map of ink that stretched from my hips to my thighs, a secret I’d kept hidden until this moment.
Heat flooded my cheeks, a flush of embarrassment mingling with the thrill of being so exposed. I turned red, my breath catching as I felt their eyes on me, drinking in every detail.
“Hey, knock it off, Zoey,” Mira said, her voice soft but firm, a smile curving her lips. “They’re amazingly beautiful, Rumi.” Her fingers began to trace one of the patterns on my stomach, following the curling lines with a tenderness that made my heart stutter. Her touch was deliberate, reverent, like she was memorizing me, and I felt a rush of warmth at her words, her gaze, her care.
Mira’s hand stilled on my abs, her fingers splaying out, pressing firmly to feel the taut muscle beneath my skin. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath in a futile attempt to calm the storm building inside me. My nerves were electric, my body humming with anticipation, and every touch felt like it could unravel me completely. Then, without warning, Zoey’s finger dragged slowly between my legs, a bold, deliberate stroke that sent a shockwave through my entire being.
My hips lifted off the sheets, a deep, guttural groan escaping my lips as my body reacted before my mind could catch up. That singular touch was enough to set every nerve alight, my core pulsing with a need I’d never felt so intensely. My eyes snapped open, meeting Zoey’s, her grin wicked and unapologetic as she watched my reaction.
Mira’s gaze sharpened, and she snapped at Zoey, though there was no true malice in her tone. “Zoey! We agreed to make her wait.” Her voice was a mix of exasperation and desire, her eyes flicking between us, betraying her own struggle to stay composed.
Zoey’s face flushed, but her sheepish grin only widened, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m sorryyyy,” she drawled, not sounding sorry at all. “I couldn’t help it. I needed to feel her—” Her words cut off as her gaze locked onto mine, her grin turning positively feral. “Mira… she’s so fucking wet.”
I felt Mira’s hand twitch against my stomach, her nails digging into my skin just enough to send a shiver racing through me. The slight sting made my breath hitch, and I found myself craving more—more of her touch, more of their intensity. I tore my eyes from Zoey to look at Mira, catching the way she bit her lip, her gaze fixed on Zoey’s damp finger, glistening in the low light. Mira’s breathing was deep, heavy, like she was teetering on the edge of losing herself entirely.
Sweet, sweet Zoey, ever the kindest girl, but with a devilish streak that made my pulse race. She lifted her hand slowly, deliberately, ensuring I tracked every movement. “Mira, baby,” she purred, her voice dripping with seduction, “how does our pretty girl taste?”
Mira didn’t respond with words. Instead, she gripped Zoey’s wrist with a sudden intensity, pulling Zoey’s finger to her lips and taking it into her mouth in one fluid, hungry motion. The sight of Mira tasting me—her eyes fluttering closed, a soft moan vibrating in her throat—stole the air from my lungs. My thighs squeezed together instinctively, the ache in my core growing unbearable, a pulsing need that made my entire body tremble.
I couldn’t look away, my breath ragged as Mira’s tongue swirled around Zoey’s finger, her expression one of pure, unfiltered desire. Zoey’s eyes darkened, her lips parting as she watched Mira, then flicked her gaze to me, her grin wicked and knowing. “Fuck, Rumi,” she whispered, her voice low and rough. “You’re driving us crazy.”
Mira released Zoey’s wrist, her eyes snapping open to meet mine, a fire burning in their depths. She leaned closer, her lips brushing my ear as she whispered, “You taste like sin, Rumi. And I want more.” Her words sent a jolt through me, my body arching toward her, desperate for her touch, her closeness.
Zoey didn’t wait for permission this time. Her hands were on me again, bolder now, her fingers slipping between my thighs with a confidence that made my head spin. She teased, slow and deliberate, her touch both torment and relief, drawing soft whimpers from my lips. Mira’s hands joined her, one sliding up my thigh, the other tangling in my hair, pulling just enough to tilt my head back. Her lips found my neck, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin, each nip sending sparks of pleasure-pain racing through me.
“Tell us what you need, Rumi,” Mira murmured against my skin, her voice a low growl that vibrated through me. “We want to make you feel everything.” Her fingers tightened in my hair, a gentle tug that made me gasp, my body arching into Zoey’s touch.
“I—I don’t know,” I stammered, my voice trembling with the intensity of it all. This was my first time, and the sensations were overwhelming, a tidal wave of heat and want that threatened to drown me. But I trusted them, trusted the way they held me, the way they watched me, their touches both reverent and ravenous. “I just… want you. Both of you. Please.”
Zoey’s laugh was low, wicked, as she pressed herself closer, her lips brushing mine in a teasing kiss. “Oh, we’re gonna take care of you, pretty girl,” she promised, her lips kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, then heading straight for my clit. Her tongue moved with a skill that made my hips buck, a cry tearing from my throat. Mira’s hands roamed lower, her nails dragging lightly across my skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. She kissed her way down my chest, her lips and tongue exploring every inch, her breath hot against my skin.
The room was a haze of sensation—Zoey’s and Mira’s mouths, their whispered words blending into a symphony of desire. My body was no longer my own; it was theirs, a canvas for their touches, their hunger. Zoey’s pace quickened, her fingers curling in a way that made my vision blur, my hands clutching at the sheets as I gasped their names. Mira’s teeth grazed my collarbone, her hand slipping between my thighs to join Zoey’s, their touches overlapping, relentless, pushing me closer to an edge I’d never crossed.
“Look at you,” Zoey purred, her voice thick with awe as she watched me unravel. “So fucking perfect.” Her free hand gripped my hip, holding me steady as my body trembled, my breaths coming in short, desperate gasps. Mira’s lips found mine, her kiss deep and consuming, swallowing my moans as their hands worked in tandem, driving me higher, faster, into a frenzy of need.
I was theirs, completely, utterly, and the thought only made me want more. My first time wasn’t just a moment—it was a fire, a reckoning, a surrender to the wild, beautiful chaos of being wanted, being seen. And as they pushed me closer to that edge, their touches grew hungrier, more desperate. My legs trembled, and Mira’s arms wrapped around me, holding me steady as Zoey’s tongue flicked out, teasing, testing, drawing a sharp cry from my lips.
---- MIRA POV ----
Rumi was a vision, a wildfire caught between us, her body trembling under our touches, her breaths coming in short, desperate gasps that set my own heart racing. Zoey and I had her pinned in the best way, our hands and lips mapping every inch of her, drawing out those soft, raw sounds that made my blood hum. I could feel her trust, her surrender, in the way she arched into us, her skin flushed and warm, her patterns a beautiful maze I wanted to trace forever. This was her first time, and the weight of that—her vulnerability, her courage—made me want to worship her, to make her feel everything.
As we pushed her closer to that edge, our touches grew hungrier, more desperate, mirroring the need I felt burning in my chest. Rumi’s legs trembled, her thighs quaking against Zoey’s shoulders, and I wrapped my arms around her, holding her steady against my chest. Her heat, her scent, enveloped me, and I pressed my lips to her shoulder, tasting the salt of her skin. Zoey’s tongue flicked out, teasing, testing, and Rumi’s sharp cry pierced the air, a sound so raw it sent a jolt straight through me. My own breath hitched, my body aching with the need to see her fall apart, to be the ones to carry her there.
Zoey’s eyes met mine over Rumi’s trembling form, her grin wicked and triumphant as she worked her magic, her tongue relentless, drawing more gasps and whimpers from Rumi’s lips. I tightened my hold, my fingers digging into Rumi’s hips, grounding her as her body began to shake harder, her moans turning into broken pleas. “Mira… Zoey…” she gasped, her voice a thread of sound, unraveling with every flick, every touch.
“That’s it, baby,” I murmured against her ear, my voice low, thick with want. “Let go for us. We’ve got you.” My hands roamed her sides, one slipping up to cup her breast, my thumb brushing over her nipple, coaxing another shudder from her. Her head fell back against my shoulder, her eyes fluttering closed, her lips parted as her breaths became frantic.
Then it happened—Rumi came undone, her body arching violently, a cry tearing from her throat that was equal parts ecstasy and surrender. Her patterns pulsed, glowing brightly, god she is beautiful. Her hands clutched at me, at Zoey, nails digging into my arm as she rode the wave, her entire being trembling with the force of it. Zoey didn’t stop, her tongue slowing but still teasing, drawing out every aftershock until Rumi was a quivering mess in my arms, her chest heaving, her skin glistening with sweat.
I held her close, my lips brushing her temple, her cheek, whispering soft praises. “You’re so beautiful, Rumi. So perfect.” My heart swelled with something deeper than desire—pride, maybe, or love, at how she’d trusted us, how she’d let herself fall. Zoey looked up, her lips glistening, her eyes dark with satisfaction as she crawled up to kiss Rumi’s thigh, then her stomach, leaving a trail of soft, reverent touches.
But Rumi wasn’t done. Her eyes fluttered open, hazy and wild, and she turned her head to look at me, her gaze burning with a hunger that made my pulse stutter. “More,” she whispered, her voice raw, almost pleading. “Please, Mira… I need more.”
The words hit me like a spark, igniting something feral inside me. Zoey’s laugh was low, approving, as she propped herself on her elbow, her eyes flicking between us. “Our girl’s insatiable,” she purred, her fingers tracing lazy circles on Rumi’s thigh. “Give her what she wants, Mira.”
I didn’t need to be told twice. My hand slid down Rumi’s stomach, slow and deliberate, giving her time to change her mind, but her hips lifted toward me, a silent beg that made my throat tight. “You sure, baby?” I asked, my voice rough, my fingers hovering just above her core, feeling the heat radiating from her.
“Yes,” Rumi breathed, her eyes locked on mine, filled with trust and a desperate need that mirrored my own. “Please, Mira.”
I kissed her, hard and deep, pouring every ounce of my desire into it as my hand dipped lower, my fingers sliding through her slick heat. She was so wet, so ready, and the feel of her made me groan into her mouth. I started slow, teasing, circling her clit with a gentle pressure that made her hips buck, her breath hitching against my lips. Zoey watched, her eyes dark and hungry, one hand trailing up Rumi’s side, pinching her nipple just enough to make her gasp.
“Fuck, Rumi,” I whispered, my voice trembling with awe. “You feel so good.” My fingers moved faster, finding a rhythm that matched the frantic beat of her pulse, slipping inside her with a slow, deliberate thrust that drew a deep, shuddering moan from her. She was tight, warm, and so responsive, her body clenching around me as I curled my fingers, searching for that spot that would make her see stars.
Zoey leaned in, her lips brushing Rumi’s ear, her voice a sultry murmur. “You’re gonna come so hard for Mira, aren’t you, pretty girl?” Her words seemed to push Rumi further, her hips grinding against my hand, her moans turning into desperate cries. I added another finger, stretching her gently, my thumb circling her clit as I pumped faster, deeper, watching her face contort with pleasure.
Rumi’s hands gripped my shoulders, her nails biting into my skin, and I relished the sting, the proof of her need. “Mira,” she gasped, her voice breaking, her body trembling so hard I had to hold her tighter, my free arm wrapping around her waist. “I’m—oh God, I’m—”
“Let it happen,” I urged, my lips brushing hers, my fingers relentless now, driving her toward that edge again. “Come for me, Rumi. I want to see you fall apart.”
She did, spectacularly, her body seizing as a scream tore from her throat, her core pulsing around my fingers, her thighs shaking uncontrollably. Her eyes squeezed shut, her face a picture of ecstasy, and I kept moving, drawing out every wave until she was gasping, trembling, her body limp against me. Stars—she must have seen them, because I could see them in her eyes when they finally fluttered open, glassy and dazed, a soft smile curving her lips.
Zoey kissed her softly, then me, her lips tasting of Rumi, and I felt a rush of warmth at the connection between us. “You’re incredible,” I murmured to Rumi, my fingers slowing, slipping out of her gently as I pressed a kiss to her forehead. She whimpered softly, her body still twitching with aftershocks, and I held her close, Zoey curling up beside us, our arms entwining around her.
Rumi’s groan, low and raw, vibrated through me as I slowly pulled my fingers from her, the slick warmth of her lingering on my skin. Her body trembled in my arms, still quivering from the intensity of her climax, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her—flushed, breathless, and so damn beautiful it made my chest ache. Her patterns, those intricate patterns that curled across her skin, had pulsed bright white when she came, like a supernova trapped beneath her flesh, and the sight had left me speechless, my heart pounding with a mix of awe and desire.
She coughed once, twice, before clearing her throat, her voice a shaky whisper. “…Oh my God.” The words were soft, almost reverent, and they pulled a chuckle from both Zoey and me, the sound warm and shared in the quiet of the room. I leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Rumi’s collarbone, savoring the salt of her skin, the way her pulse fluttered under my lips. Zoey’s voice, sweet as honey, broke the silence, her head resting on Rumi’s other side.
“You are so perfect, Rumi,” she said, her tone laced with adoration. “Did you like it? You got a bit… bright.” Her eyes sparkled with that playful mischief I loved, and I could feel Rumi’s body tense slightly, her confusion palpable.
“Huh…?” Rumi’s brows furrowed, her voice hesitant, almost shy. “Bright…?”
I couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound low and warm as I traced a finger along the edge of one of her tattoos, still faintly glowing in the aftermath. “Your patterns flashed bright white when you came,” I teased, my lips curving into a grin. “You were like a flashlight, baby.” The image of her, radiant and unraveling, was burned into my mind, and I wanted to see it again, to make her glow like that over and over.
Rumi’s cheeks flushed a deeper red, and she let out a soft whine, her hands flying to cover her face in embarrassment. “Stupid patterns,” she muttered, her voice muffled but laced with a self-conscious laugh that made my heart twist. “No wonder my vision went white…”
Zoey giggled, tilting her head in that adorable way that always made my chest feel warm. “I think that was partially Mira’s amazing finger game,” she said, her tone teasing but proud, her eyes flicking to me with a knowing smirk.
I raised my hand in response, and Rumi’s gaze followed, her eyes widening as she saw the way my fingers glistened, dripping with her essence. Her face somehow turned an even deeper shade of red, and I could see the moment she considered swatting my hand away, probably to tell me to go wash it off. But before she could, Zoey’s hand shot out, grabbing my wrist with a playful urgency that made my breath catch. She spread my fingers apart, her eyes locked on the slick shine, and took a deep, deliberate breath, like she was inhaling Rumi’s very essence.
When Zoey’s eyes opened, they were dark, hungry, and her smile was slow, almost sinful. “You taste absolutely divine,” she purred, licking her lips, her voice sending a shiver down my spine. The sound that escaped Rumi—a soft, desperate whimper—made my core tighten, and I felt her body shift, her hips twitching as if her pussy clenched around nothing, still craving despite the mind-bending orgasm she’d just had.
The air was thick with tension, the kind that made my skin hum, but Zoey, sweet Zoey, didn’t give in to the fire I knew she felt too. She could have—God, I could see it in her eyes, the way she wanted to make Rumi melt again, to commit every taste, every sound to memory. But this night had already been so much for Rumi, her first time a whirlwind of sensation and vulnerability, and Zoey’s restraint was a testament to how much she cared.
Instead, Zoey slid down, snuggling into Rumi’s unoccupied side, her arm draping across Rumi’s stomach and landing on my hip, her fingers brushing my skin. Rumi was completely trapped between us, a half-demon caught in our embrace, and the way she relaxed into it, her body soft and pliant, told me she never wanted to escape. “C’mon, Ru,” Zoey said, her voice bright and warm, bubbling with excitement. “Let’s get some rest. Mira and I will pamper you in the morning, ‘kay? I have this really nice soap I only use for special occasions, but this is totally a special occasion, so I’ll let you borrow it.”
The pure, unfiltered joy in Zoey’s eyes made Rumi smile so hard her cheeks must have ached, and I felt a rush of warmth at the sight. Rumi’s exhaustion was palpable now, her body sinking deeper into the bed, the ache in her core still there but overshadowed by the comfort of being held, loved, surrounded. I grunted softly, my face still buried in the crook of her neck, half-covered by my own hair, the scent of her skin grounding me. I pressed another kiss there, soft and lingering, my heart swelling with something too big for words.
Rumi sighed, her voice barely above a whisper, soft and vulnerable. “…I love you both.”
The words hit me like a wave, and I felt Zoey’s hand tighten on my hip, her breath catching. Our voices intertwined, soft and sure, as we responded in unison, “We love you too.”
The moment settled over us like a warm blanket, the air still charged but softer now, filled with the quiet intimacy of shared breaths and tangled limbs. I shifted closer, my arm curling around Rumi’s waist, my fingers brushing Zoey’s as we held her together. Rumi’s breathing slowed, her body relaxing completely, but I could still feel the faint pulse of her tattoos under my touch, a reminder of the magic she carried, the magic we’d drawn out of her tonight.
My mind wandered back to the way she’d come undone, the way her patterns had flared, illuminating the room like a beacon. I wanted to see it again, to push her to that edge and beyond, to explore every inch of her until we knew her by heart. But for now, I let myself sink into the warmth of her body, the softness of Zoey’s touch, the love that bound us. Tomorrow, we’d pamper her, tease her, maybe even make her glow again. The thought made my lips curve into a smile as I pressed one last kiss to Rumi’s shoulder, letting sleep pull us under together.
Series Summary: Takes place after the Idol Awards before they all go to the bathhouse together for the first time
Chapter Summary: Mira and Zoey start to tease Rumi. Rumi gets confused about how she feels but ultimately comes into her element. No more hiding. Well maybe?
Masterlist
Last Chapter>>>
Word Count: 8505
Warnings: None
Author Notes: Wow!! #heartbreak, It'll be okay guys (maybe?!?) Who knows might get worse before it gets better. I really enjoyed writing this chapter and hope you guys liked it too!!!
---- ZOEY POV ----
I woke up to the soft sounds of someone singing—no, not just someone—Rumi. The lyrics were whispered, fragile as morning light, and from the few words I could catch, it was unmistakable: she was singing about Mira and me.
I froze for a moment, listening. Her voice wavered, raw and gentle, like it was touching something deep inside her, something only we could understand. My chest tightened, and I realized I hadn’t felt this… seen, in a long time.
Mira stirred beside me, burrowing closer without opening her eyes, mumbling something half-formed in her sleep. My hand instinctively went to rest over her waist, steadying both of us. Somehow, Rumi’s song made everything feel safer, like even the weight of the city outside couldn’t reach us.
I watched her from the couch, sitting there by the window, silhouette outlined by the pale dawn. She looked fragile and fierce all at once, pen in hand, murmuring words that didn’t just fill pages—they filled the quiet between us, filled the spaces we didn’t always have words for.
A line drifted through the room: “But your hands, they don’t let go, they don’t ask me to be whole.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. That was us. That was Mira and me, without her ever needing to say it aloud. My chest warmed with something heavy, something I hadn’t been brave enough to name. I wanted to go to her, wrap my arms around her, tell her she didn’t have to carry any of this alone—but I stayed, listening instead.
Every crack in her voice, every tremor in her melody, made me ache with admiration. She was giving herself permission to be messy, to be real. And somehow, in the gentle chaos of her song, I felt permission too—to feel, to care, to be unguarded.
I shifted slightly, careful not to wake Mira, and hummed softly along with her, matching her rhythm without her knowing. It was ridiculous and tender all at once. I didn’t know if she’d notice, but I didn’t care. This quiet communion—this song, these fragile words—was enough.
When Rumi’s voice finally faded into the low hum of the city waking up, I felt a strange kind of peace settle over me. Mira shifted against me again, sighing softly in her sleep, and I let myself stay still, letting the echo of Rumi’s words hang in the air like an invisible embrace.
I didn’t think. I just moved. Slowly, quietly, so the couch wouldn’t creak under Mira. My feet barely made a sound on the floorboards as I approached the window where Rumi was perched, pen still in hand, eyes fixed on the page.
Before I could second-guess myself, I wrapped my arms around her from behind. She froze for a heartbeat, pen pausing midair, and then relaxed into me, her body softening. Her head tilted back just slightly, brushing against mine.
“Zoey…” she whispered, but it was more surprise than protest, and I pressed a gentle kiss to the side of her temple.
“Shh,” I murmured, resting my cheek against hers. “It’s okay.”
Rumi let out a shaky laugh, almost a whisper, and I could feel her fingers tapping lightly against the notebook, still writing in tiny, careful strokes. I squeezed her a little tighter, just enough to let her know she wasn’t alone.
Then, the faintest sound—Mira stirring on the couch—broke the spell.
“Hmm?” Mira’s sleepy voice floated through the room. “What are you two doing?”
I pulled back just enough to grin at Rumi. “Nothing. Just… morning,” I said, shrugging with exaggerated innocence.
Mira blinked, sitting up slowly. “Morning,” she echoed, stretching her arms wide. Her eyes softened as she glanced between us. “Oh… I see how it is.”
Rumi let out a quiet laugh, hiding her face against my shoulder. I rubbed soothing circles along her back. Mira shuffled over to us, slipping between Rumi and me on the window seat. “I guess I’m part of the hug too,” she said, resting her head against Rumi’s other side.
Now we were a tangled little heap of warmth and soft laughter, sunlight spilling in over the three of us. Rumi’s pen was forgotten, her notebook resting open but ignored, as we all just sat there, connected in the way only people who truly care for each other can be.
“Not a bad way to start the day,” Mira murmured, and I nodded, feeling a quiet happiness settle into my chest.
Rumi sighed, finally looking up at us, her eyes a little teary but smiling. “Yeah… not bad at all.”
And in that simple, quiet moment, the world outside might as well have not existed. Just the three of us. Safe. Warm. Together.
---- MIRA POV ----
I snuggled a little closer into the warmth of Rumi and Zoey, letting myself fully wake in the comfort of their presence. There was something grounding about it, that quiet moment where the three of us just existed together, tangled in limbs and soft laughter.
Rumi nuzzled against me lightly, her pen still forgotten on the floor beside her notebook. Zoey pressed a kiss to the side of her head, and I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. “Morning,” I murmured again, this time a little louder, just to claim the moment.
“Morning,” Zoey whispered back, brushing a strand of hair from Rumi’s face.
I slowly disentangled myself, careful not to disturb the cozy heap too much, and made my way toward the kitchen. The thought of breakfast—something warm, something simple—seemed almost magical after the quiet intimacy of the morning. The sun was spilling into the penthouse, golden and soft, and I felt light, like the weight I’d been carrying for weeks was finally easing.
I started rummaging through the cabinets, pulling out eggs, bread, and fruit, and humming under my breath. The rhythm of chopping and stirring became its own kind of song, echoing softly in the apartment. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t perfection—just the ease of routine, the kind that comes when you’re surrounded by people who care.
From the hallway, I heard Zoey as she padded toward her room to get ready.
I cracked eggs into a pan, the sizzle filling the kitchen, and glanced toward the living room where Rumi sat on the window ledge, still rubbing sleep from her eyes.
“Breakfast’s coming,” I called softly, keeping my voice low so as not to break the fragile calm of the morning. “Come back when you’re ready.”
Looking back at Rumi, I know she won’t eat much, but I’ll make her a tea. She always accepts tea, even if she only takes a sip or two—it’s like a quiet truce with the world.
I fill the kettle and wait for it to boil, sneaking glances at her. She’s sitting on the couch, knees drawn up, hair falling in soft waves around her face. Her fingers trace absent patterns on the fabric of her sweater, and she doesn’t notice me watching.
When the water’s ready, I pour it over the tea bag, the steam curling up like a little invisible ribbon. Carefully, I carry the mug to her, keeping my steps quiet.
“Here,” I say softly, holding it out. “Chamomile. Thought you might like it.”
She looks up, startled, and blinks at me. “Thanks,” she murmurs, taking the mug. Her hands wrap around it, and I notice the way her eyes linger on mine for just a beat longer than necessary.
I sit down beside her, close enough that our shoulders brush. “You know,” I murmur, teasing, “if you keep sitting there looking like that, I might just have to—”
Before I can finish, I lean in and press a quick, soft kiss to her forehead.
Rumi freezes, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. The warmth of the gesture lingers, and for a moment, the room feels impossibly small.
“I—I…” she stammers, staring at me as if I’ve just upended her entire sense of reality.
I grin, letting the moment stretch just enough to make her blush, then pull back slightly. “Tea first, maybe?” I tease lightly, though my grin is all too knowing.
She swallows hard, still holding the mug like it’s a lifeline, and manages a shaky nod. Her cheeks are flushed, and she looks away, clearly stunned.
The kettle hums in the background, the city outside goes on, and yet all I can think is that for the first time today, Rumi seems completely caught off guard—and maybe a little curious too.
---- RUMI POV ----
I’m curled up on the couch, knees pulled to my chest, when I notice her moving around the kitchen. Mira. My heart skips, like it always does when she’s nearby, but I try not to think about it. She’s too… unpredictable.
“Here,” she asks, holding a steaming mug toward me. Chamomile. My favorite. My fingers wrap around it automatically, the warmth seeping into my hands.
“Thanks,” I murmur, my voice quieter than I intended. I glance up, and she’s sitting beside me now, close enough that our shoulders brush. My stomach twists, and I force myself to focus on the tea.
“You know,” she teases, leaning a little closer, “if you keep sitting there looking like that, I might just have to—”
Before I can even react, her lips brush my forehead. A soft, fleeting kiss that leaves me frozen.
I blink at her, mouth slightly open, not sure what just happened. My cheeks heat up instantly. What does that even mean?
“Uh… I—I…” My voice fails me. I feel like I’ve been shoved into a completely different dimension, one where Mira’s teasing grin is the center of gravity.
She pulls back just a little, smiling knowingly. “Tea first, maybe?” she says lightly, though the teasing in her eyes is impossible to miss.
I clutch the mug like it’s a lifeline, my fingers trembling slightly. My mind is spinning, heart pounding, and all I can do is nod, unable to look at her directly. I’m stunned. Totally, completely stunned.
I clutch my mug a little tighter, my thoughts spinning. Did she just…? I stare into the tea, trying to calm my racing heart.
That’s when Zoey strolls in, catching the faint change in my expression. “Hey… everything okay over here?” she asks casually. Her grin is playful, but light—like she’s just noticing something small.
“Y-yeah,” I stammer, heat rising. “Just… tea.”
Zoey raises an eyebrow, smirking just a tiny bit. “Uh-huh. Tea, huh?”
I turn my gaze back to my mug, hoping my face isn’t bright red. Mira is quiet, watching me with that calm, unreadable look, and I realize… that little kiss—just that one touch—has thrown me off more than I expected.
I take a careful sip of the tea, trying to act like nothing happened, but my heart is still thudding, and I can’t help sneaking a glance at Mira, wondering if she even realizes the effect she had on me.
---- ZOEY POV ----
Later, after breakfast, Rumi disappears to change. Mira’s cleaning up, humming softly. I lean against the counter, arms crossed, a sly smile on my face.
“You know,” I begin, eyes on Mira, “I was planning to be the one to tease Rumi first.”
Mira laughs softly, shaking her head. “She’s… fragile this morning. I just gave her a little comfort.”
Mira still had that smug little smile when I turned toward her, arms crossed, leaning on the counter. “So,” I said, tilting my head. “Forehead kisses now, huh? That’s your idea of being subtle?”
She shrugged, clearly too pleased with herself. “I didn’t see you stopping me.”
I snorted softly, trying to keep my expression flat and failing miserably. “I was still waking up! Besides,” I added, stepping closer, “you basically stole my move.”
“Your move?” Mira teased, raising an eyebrow. “What, kissing people into silence?”
I gave her a playful glare. “No. My move is the gentle distraction kind of teasing. You know, a whisper here, a smile there—get her to blush without even trying.”
Mira smirked, lowering her voice. “Oh, I think I did that just fine.”
I groaned, running a hand through my hair, half exasperated, half amused. “You’re impossible.”
She grinned. “And yet, you still like me.”
I opened my mouth to fire back, but she was already walking away, humming softly, ponytail swaying with each step. Yeah. Impossible was one word for it. Perfect was another.
By the time Rumi came back from changing, Mira had poured the last of the orange juice, and I was pretending not to watch her. Rumi looked softer now, rested but thoughtful, her notebook already tucked under her arm. She always had that look in her eyes—half here, half somewhere else, following the rhythm of a melody only she could hear.
“Hey,” I greeted, leaning casually against the kitchen island. “You planning to eat or just stare dramatically into the distance again?”
Rumi blinked, startled. “What? No, I— I’m eating,” she said quickly, grabbing a slice of toast like it was proof.
Mira smirked. “Sure you are. Just don’t get crumbs in your notebook.”
Rumi frowned at her, but it wasn’t serious. “I don’t do that anymore.”
“Anymore?” I echoed, grinning. “So you did at some point.”
“Maybe once,” she muttered, cheeks pink.
Mira and I exchanged a look over her head—one that said we were absolutely keeping that bit of information for later.
After breakfast, the penthouse fell into a comfortable rhythm. Mira was curled on the couch with her laptop, scrolling through something quietly. I lounged on the floor with my sketchbook, pretending to focus, but really, I was watching Rumi.
She’d claimed the window seat again, pen tapping against her knee, notebook open to a new page. Her brows were furrowed, lips moving silently as she tried to find the right words. It was like watching lightning build behind glass—quiet but charged, ready to burst into brilliance.
Her hand moved faster, writing line after line, humming softly between scribbles. I didn’t recognize the tune yet, but it already felt like her—delicate and determined all at once.
“New song?” I asked.
“Maybe,” she murmured, not looking up. “It’s… not done yet.”
Mira glanced up from her laptop, voice teasing but kind. “That’s what you said about the last one.”
Rumi huffed, but a tiny smile broke through. “That one wasn’t done.”
“Neither is this one,” I said, feigning deep thought. “At this rate, you’ll have a hundred half-finished songs before you finish breakfast.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t stop writing. “You two really like hearing yourselves talk, huh?”
“Oh absolutely,” I said immediately. “Especially when you blush like that.”
“I’m not blushing,” she muttered, ducking her head.
“Right,” Mira said lightly. “Just a little warm, huh?”
I laughed, the sound mixing with Mira’s, and Rumi groaned softly, tugging her hood over her head like she could disappear inside it. “You two are the worst,” she mumbled.
“Best,” Mira corrected. “We’re the best.”
The day drifted by like that—teasing, laughter, and soft sunlight spilling across the floor. Every time Rumi picked up her pen again, we quieted instinctively, letting her sink into her own rhythm. She wrote for hours, sometimes humming, sometimes just staring out the window with that distant, dream-heavy look. It wasn’t just her being creative again—it was her coming back to herself.
When she finally looked up, the sun was dipping low, painting everything in gold. Mira had dozed off, stretched across the couch, and I was half-listening to music with one earbud in.
Rumi’s voice broke the calm. “Hey… Zoey?”
I turned. She was looking at me, soft smile tugging at her lips. “Thanks,” she said quietly.
“For what?” I asked.
She hesitated, then shrugged. “Just… this. You and Mira. Letting things be easy again.”
I smiled back, warmth spreading through me. “You earned easy,” I said softly. “Besides, we like you. Even when you pretend you don’t like being teased.”
She laughed under her breath, shaking her head, and I caught that faint flush on her cheeks again.
A few hours later, I woke to the sound of pencil scratches.
For a moment, I didn’t know where I was—the soft glow from the window, the hum of the city lights—but then I spotted her.
Rumi was still awake.
She sat cross-legged on the window seat again, her hoodie pulled up, the city’s glow tracing the edges of her hair. Her notebook lay open on her lap, pages already filled with words. The candle beside her had long since melted down to a stub, but she didn’t seem to notice.
I blinked the sleep from my eyes and pushed myself upright, careful not to wake Mira, who was sprawled against me, one arm draped lazily over my waist. The clock on the wall was blinking 2:07 a.m.
“Rumi,” I whispered, voice hoarse from sleep.
She didn’t look up at first—just kept writing, lips moving silently as she read her own words. I stood and crossed the room quietly, the floor cool under my feet, until I was standing right behind her.
“It’s late,” I said softly.
Rumi startled a little, glancing over her shoulder. Her eyes were unfocused for a second before she blinked herself back into the present. “Is it?” she murmured, then reached for her phone. The screen’s glow lit her face, and she winced. “Oh. Wow. Yeah, that’s—uh, late.”
“Yeah,” I murmured, smiling tiredly. “Little bit.”
She laughed softly under her breath, closing the notebook with a small sigh. “I didn’t even notice the time. I just… couldn’t stop.”
“I know,” I said, stepping closer. I bent down, pressed a soft kiss to the back of her head, and felt her shoulders relax beneath my hands. “But you should. Come on—join us.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You and Mira?”
“Yeah,” I said, brushing a strand of hair from her shoulder. “Couch’s warm. Mira’s probably stealing all the blankets already.”
That got a small laugh out of her, tired but genuine. She set the notebook aside and turned toward me, her eyes softer now, sleep heavy on her face.
“You’re bossy when you’re half asleep,” she teased.
“And you’re stubborn when you’re inspired,” I shot back, grinning.
She sighed, then finally pushed herself up, stretching as she did. “Fine, fine. But only because you asked nicely.”
I reached out and took her hand—lightly, casually, but she didn’t pull away. Together we crossed the room, the city lights painting faint gold patterns on the walls. Mira shifted when we reached the couch, mumbling something unintelligible before settling again.
Rumi hesitated for half a second, then lowered herself down beside me. I tucked the blanket around her shoulders, and she leaned in without a word.
Within minutes, her breathing evened out, soft and steady. I let my eyes fall shut too, feeling the warmth of both of them—Mira against one side, Rumi against the other—and let the quiet settle in again.
The world outside could wait.
Right now, it was just us.
And that was enough.
---- MIRA POV ----
I woke to the soft glow of the city spilling through the windows. Zoey was still curled up on the couch, breathing slow and even. And Rumi—curled up right beside her, hoodie pulled over her head, hair spilling across her face—was asleep too, tucked against Zoey like she was part of a living, warm puzzle.
For a moment, I just stayed where I was, letting my chest warm at the sight of them so peaceful together. Then a thought nudged me: maybe I could go for a quick run, get some fresh air before the day started.
I shifted quietly, careful not to wake either of them, and grabbed my hoodie and shoes. Sitting down to tie my laces, I tried to keep my movements soft. But a sleepy voice stopped me mid-knot.
“Where are you going?”
Rumi’s eyes were half-open, still hazy with sleep. Her head tilted up just enough to look at me, eyelashes brushing her cheeks. My heart skipped.
“Just for a quick run,” I whispered, trying not to disturb the calm of the morning.
Her lips parted in a small, tired yawn. “Can… can you stay?” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
I smiled softly, leaning down. My fingers brushed a strand of hair from her face, and I pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Shh,” I murmured. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be back soon.”
Rumi let out a quiet sigh, snuggling a little closer into Zoey, and I could see her eyelids flutter as she drifted back into sleep.
I stood carefully, tugged on my hoodie, and slipped quietly toward the door, the morning air brushing against my face. Even in the quietest gestures, I felt connected to them both—warmth, trust, and a soft, unspoken love that made even a simple run feel like part of something bigger.
The cool morning air hit my face as I stepped outside. The streets were quiet, still shadowed in early light, the hum of the city far below. My legs loosened into their rhythm almost instantly, each step clearing my head, letting thoughts drift freely.
I ran past familiar streets, past the park where the sun was just starting to glint off the puddles from last night’s rain. Everything felt alive and new, but in a calm, gentle way—like the world had pressed pause just for a moment.
By the time I returned to the apartment, my hoodie was damp with sweat, cheeks warm and flushed. Pushing open the door, I paused, taking in the living room. And there they were.
Rumi was curled up on the couch again, hoodie pulled low, notebook resting at her side. But Zoey… Zoey was awake. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t even blinked much, just sitting there with her eyes fixed on Rumi. Her lips were slightly parted, a faint, soft smile playing across her face, the kind of look that made your chest ache a little because it was so full of quiet love.
I froze for a second, letting the moment stretch. Zoey’s gaze lingered, warm and reverent, and I could see Rumi stir slightly, still half-asleep, sensing the attention.
“Morning,” I whispered softly, letting myself step fully into the room.
Zoey’s eyes flicked to me briefly, just enough to catch my smile, then back to Rumi, completely caught in the glow of her. I felt my chest tighten in a familiar, quiet way, seeing the depth of what Zoey felt—so obvious, so tender, so real.
Rumi stirred, blinking sleep from her eyes, voice soft and unsure: “Did I… miss something?”
I crouched beside her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear without thinking. “No,” I said gently. “You didn’t miss a thing. Just… enjoy the morning.”
Zoey didn’t say a word, just shifted slightly, letting her gaze linger. And for a moment, everything slowed down—the city, the day, the world outside. It was just the three of us, warmth and love pooling quietly in the sunlight, and it felt like enough.
---- RUMI POV ----
The rest of the morning passed in a kind of hazy, warm blur. Mira and Zoey moved around the apartment with that easy rhythm I was still learning to recognize—the soft hum of routine, laughter spilling from the kitchen, clinking dishes, the quiet scrape of a pen as I doodled absentmindedly on a scrap of paper.
I sipped tea, watched sunlight spill across the floor, and let myself sink into the comfort of their presence. It was easy. So easy. So… overwhelming.
And then it hit me. The little things I hadn’t let myself think about before: Mira had kissed the top of my head earlier—just a soft, fleeting press of lips—and Zoey had done the same. Twice, I realized, in one morning.
My chest twisted at the thought. My heart thudded in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying. I didn’t… I didn’t even know what this meant. Liking someone? I had never had to navigate this before. Not like this. Not with people who made me feel like this—like I could be soft, like I could be messy, and it would still be okay.
I swallowed hard, staring down at my notebook, pretending to focus. But my mind wouldn’t stop asking the same questions over and over:
How do I even know if I like someone?
Do I like them the same way I like someone else?
Is it… romantic? Or is it just this… feeling of safety?
Every answer I tried to give myself seemed inadequate. The truth was simple and terrifying at the same time: I liked them. Both of them. And I had no idea what that meant. No idea how to navigate it. I felt dizzy with the possibilities and the complications.
I closed my notebook with a sigh, rubbing my eyes. My heart was still beating like a drum, memories of their soft kisses lingering in the spaces behind my eyelids. I wanted to be brave. I wanted to tell someone. But… how do you explain something that feels this new, this unfamiliar?
I pressed my palms against my face, trying to make sense of it. Maybe… maybe it’s okay not to have the answers yet.
For now, all I could do was breathe, watch them move around me, and let the warmth of their presence settle into my chest. Let myself feel it, even if I didn’t understand it yet.
Because some feelings didn’t need words. Not yet.
And maybe, in time, they would.
By the time afternoon rolled around, the nervous flutter in my chest had softened into something else—something lighter, like wings unfurling. Watching Mira and Zoey move through the apartment, laughing softly at small, meaningless things, I realized I didn’t want to just sit in the quiet anymore. I wanted to do. I wanted to show them the pieces of me I usually kept tucked away.
I tapped my pen against the notebook, thinking. Melodies, little sketches and motifs I’d been collecting for weeks, tucked in corners of pages no one else had seen. Tonight, I want to plan something fun. Something… us.
“Hey,” I said, sliding into the kitchen where Mira and Zoey were plotting out some snacks. “How about a night out?”
Zoey raised an eyebrow, her grin immediate. “A night out? You planning to drag us into some chaotic bar or—?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head, feeling a spark of confidence in my chest. “Something fun. Something we all like. Karaoke night.”
Mira’s eyes lit up instantly. “Karaoke? Really?” She leaned back, hands on her hips, clearly trying not to look too impressed. “You? Wanna go out?”
I flushed, but didn’t back down. “Yeah. I… I want us to have fun. You know get away from the past few weeks.” My fingers traced the patterns on my wrist, nerves and excitement battling each other.
Zoey tilted her head, soft smile tugging at her lips. “Really? Any chance we’ll hear some new Rumi songs?”
“Maybe,” I said, surprising even myself with the certainty in my voice. “I want tonight to be ours. Just fun. Just… us.”
Mira exchanged a glance with Zoey, that knowing smirk that said they were both thinking the same thing. “Well,” Mira said slowly, “if you’re serious, then I’m in. And Zoey?”
Zoey’s grin widened. “Count me in too. But fair warning—you might regret challenging us to karaoke.”
I laughed, the sound bright and free, lifting something heavy off my chest. “Good,” I said. “Then it’s settled.”
I realized, with a little thrill and a little fear, that showing them this part of me… might be the bravest thing I’d ever done.
---- MIRA POV ----
The apartment was buzzing with the quiet energy of anticipation. Rumi had disappeared into her room to get ready, and Zoey and I were left in the living room, sorting through outfits and swapping playful critiques.
I held up a black jacket, frowning. “Do you think this is too much for karaoke?”
Zoey shrugged, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Too much? Never. You’ll look amazing in anything. But you’re worrying too much, as usual.”
I laughed softly, shaking my head. “Maybe. I just… keep thinking about Rumi. About her suggesting this whole night out. She’s usually so quiet about what she wants. Seeing her excited about something—that she wants to share it with us—it’s… kind of adorable.”
Zoey leaned against the counter, watching me with that soft smile that always made my chest tighten. “Adorable, huh?” she teased, stepping closer. Her hand brushed against mine accidentally—or maybe not so accidentally—and I felt a spark run up my arm.
I looked up, heart skipping. “Yeah… adorable.” I swallowed and tried to focus on the jackets again, but Zoey’s eyes were holding mine, warm and teasing all at once.
“You know,” Zoey said softly, tilting her head, “I think she’s lucky to have you.”
I blinked, heat rising in my cheeks. “Me? Why me?”
Zoey shrugged, casual but meaning everything in her gaze. “Because you… you see her. You notice her. And she notices you too.” Her thumb brushed lightly over my hand, just enough to make me shiver.
I could feel myself smiling despite the blush creeping up my neck. “You’re pretty good at noticing things yourself,” I murmured, and Zoey laughed, low and musical, leaning closer until our shoulders pressed together.
“I guess we’re both lucky,” she said, voice softening, eyes sparkling. “But tonight… tonight’s about Rumi. I just want her to see us having fun with her.”
I nodded, feeling that warm, full-throttle kind of happiness settle in my chest. Watching Zoey smile like that—so gentle, so full of affection—made me want to pull her into my arms right then and there. But instead, I let the moment linger, letting her fingers graze mine, letting the quiet intimacy speak for both of us.
We finished getting ready in comfortable silence, punctuated with soft laughter and teasing remarks. Every time Zoey glanced at me, I felt a thrill, a kind of quiet certainty: whatever tonight brought, it would be special. Not just for Rumi, but for us too.
I was adjusting the strap of my bag when I heard the soft click of Rumi’s bedroom door. I glanced up—and froze for a heartbeat.
Rumi stepped out, and… wow. She looked like she had stepped right out of a music video. Her hair was pulled up into a high ponytail, sleek and bouncy, a playful change from her usual braid. Her makeup was subtle but striking, highlighting the curve of her cheekbones and the shine in her eyes. And her outfit… damn. The sleeveless top she’d chosen showed her arms completely, every pattern and line she’d worked so hard on now fully visible, unapologetic, radiant. She wasn’t hiding anymore. She was all of herself, bold and beautiful.
Zoey, standing nearby, blinked once, then her jaw dropped just slightly. “HOT!” she blurted out before either of us could say a word.
Rumi froze, hand hovering at her hip, a blush blooming across her cheeks. I couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from my chest—it was too perfect, too real.
Zoey’s face went red in an instant. “Shit—I probably shouldn’t have said that out loud,” she muttered, covering her mouth with her hand, eyes darting between Rumi and me.
Rumi huffed, covering her face with her hands but laughing anyway, the sound bright and nervous. “You’re ridiculous,” she mumbled, still peeking through her fingers.
I stepped closer, smiling, letting my eyes roam over her proudly. “You look incredible,” I said softly. “Seriously, every bit of you is… wow.”
Zoey leaned over, trying to nudge her playfully without touching too much. “I mean… damn. Look at you. That’s—” she faltered, flustered, “that’s art right there.”
The three of us burst into laughter, the apartment echoing with the warmth of it. Rumi’s blush deepened, but there was pride in her eyes too, that quiet, shining kind that comes when someone finally lets themselves be fully seen.
“Okay, okay,” Rumi said, tugging lightly at the hem of her top like she could hide a little bit—but we all knew she wouldn’t. “Enough. Let’s go before I change my mind.”
Zoey rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh, we’re going. And we’re definitely showing you off,” she teased, grinning.
I wrapped an arm around both of them, feeling a swell of happiness. Tonight was going to be fun, yes—but it was more than that. Tonight, we were together, and Rumi was finally letting the world see her patterns—her full, brilliant self—and there was nothing I could do but admire her.
---- ZOEY POV ----
The city lights blurred past the taxi window, but I wasn’t paying attention. My eyes were fixed on Rumi in the back seat, laughing at something Mira had said, her ponytail bouncing with every giggle. I could feel it in my chest—the sort of warm, full feeling that makes you want to reach out and hold onto a moment before it slips away.
We pulled up in front of the karaoke bar, a neon glow spilling onto the sidewalk. I hopped out first, holding the door for the girls. Mira grabbed my hand for a second, playful, and I gave her a quick squeeze back before letting go. Then Rumi stepped out, confident and radiant in the way she’d carefully built herself up for tonight. I could feel my breath catch just a little.
Inside, the place was buzzing, music spilling into every corner. But we didn’t want all that noise—no, we wanted our own little bubble. I walked up to the hostess and requested a private room. “Just us tonight,” I said, smiling over my shoulder at the girls. Rumi raised an eyebrow, pretending to look unimpressed, but I caught the slight twitch of her lips.
The hostess led us down a dimly lit hallway, and when the door to the private room opened, the world seemed to shrink just for us. Plush couches, a small stage, and a mic setup—perfect.
The first few songs were pure chaos—and pure fun. Mira grabbed the mic first, choosing an upbeat pop number that had both Rumi and me laughing before she even hit the first note. She danced across the small room like she owned it, belt out lyrics with confidence that had me clapping along and trying not to mess up my own off-key harmonies.
Rumi watched for a moment, smiling shyly, toes tapping against the floor. Then she joined in for the second song, a slower, sweeter tune. Her voice was tentative at first, barely above a hum, but it was unmistakably hers—vulnerable, expressive, and full of a quiet fire. Mira sang backup, throwing in little improvised harmonies, while I clumsily tried to match them, laughing at how off-rhythm I kept getting.
By the third song, we were all in sync, swapping lines, harmonizing when we could, laughing whenever someone missed a beat. Rumi’s usual nervousness faded with each note, her ponytail swinging as she swayed gently, eyes closed at times, really feeling the music. I couldn’t help sneaking glances at her, heart swelling with pride. She was… incredible.
Finally, after a few more rounds and a lot of laughter, Rumi set the mic down and flopped onto the couch, cheeks flushed from singing and excitement. She pulled her notebook out from her bag, tapping the cover lightly. “Okay,” she said softly, almost shyly, “there’s something I’ve been working on… a new song.”
Mira leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “Your turn to wow us, superstar.”
I nudged her gently, teasing. “Yeah, don’t hold back. We’re ready to be impressed.”
Rumi hesitated, her fingers tracing the edges of her notebook. Then, taking a deep breath, she opened it and looked between us. “It’s… kind of personal,” she admitted, voice low but steady. “I don’t usually share it before it’s done, but… I want you two to hear it first.”
Mira reached over, squeezing her hand. “We’re honored.”
I nodded, leaning in closer. “Seriously. We’ll keep it safe. No judgment, promise.”
Rumi’s lips curved into a small, nervous smile. She cleared her throat and began to sing, softly at first, the notes trembling with hesitation, but slowly finding strength as the words poured out. Her patterns, her feelings, her heart—everything she’d been keeping hidden—started to come alive in that tiny room, just for us.
And we listened. We leaned in closer. We cheered softly. We let her know, without words, that we were here, completely and utterly, for her.
---- RUMI POV ----
I gripped the notebook in my hands, fingers trembling slightly. The karaoke mic felt heavier than it should have, though I knew it wasn’t plugged into anything—it was just me, my words, and the two people I trusted most in the world. My chest tightened, and I swallowed hard, trying to steady my racing thoughts.
Mira and Zoey were sitting close, eyes on me, their smiles warm and encouraging. Their presence was both comforting and terrifying. I could feel my heartbeat in my throat. “Okay,” I whispered to myself, “just… just let it out.”
I opened the notebook to the page I’d been scribbling on, the ink still fresh, lines uneven but alive.
“I built my walls with steady hands, told myself no one could understand. But you… you saw right through. You stayed.”
My voice wavered at first, fragile like the early morning light, but I pushed through, letting the words find their rhythm.
“I’m tired of hiding the cracks in me, wearing these sleeves like apologies. But your hands, they don’t let go, they don’t ask me to be whole.”
A lump rose in my throat. I glanced at Mira—her hand brushing Zoey’s, a quiet anchor. And Zoey, eyes soft, gazing at me like she could see the pieces of me I didn’t even know were exposed. Their presence gave me courage, gave me permission to be completely me.
“If love is a risk, then I’ll take the fall, If I break, at least I gave it all. Don’t let me fade, don’t let me hide— I’m still here, I’m still alive.”
The words weren’t just lyrics anymore—they were me. Every fear, every hope, every quiet moment I’d kept tucked away. I could feel my voice trembling, yet growing steadier, stronger with each line.
“I thought my voice was gone, but you reminded me— it was only waiting.”
I let out a shaky breath as the last line hung in the air. Silence settled for a heartbeat, then Mira and Zoey both leaned forward, eyes glistening, smiles small but filled with awe.
“You… that was…” Mira started, voice soft, catching herself, “that was beautiful, Rumi.” Zoey didn’t even try to speak at first—she just reached for my hand, squeezing it gently. “You’re incredible,” she whispered. “Really incredible.”
My chest swelled, a mix of relief, fear, and something I couldn’t name. For the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel like I was hiding. Not behind words, not behind my hoodie, not behind anything.
I’d let them see me. And somehow… it felt like enough.
---- MIRA POV ----
I couldn’t stop smiling. Rumi had just shared a piece of herself that was raw, honest, and completely breathtaking. I reached over instinctively, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “You have no idea how proud I am of you,” I murmured, voice soft. “That… that was incredible.”
Zoey leaned closer too, eyes shining. “Seriously, Rumi. That song? Every word hit me. You’re amazing.”
Rumi’s cheeks flushed pink, and she glanced down at her notebook, fiddling with the edge like she could make herself disappear into it. “T-thank you,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Then, hesitating, she added, “I… I should, uh… go to the washroom.”
Before we could respond, she was slipping out of the private karaoke room, notebook clutched to her chest.
Zoey let out a quiet sigh, her hand lingering in mine for a moment before she shook her head, grinning. “I can’t even—she’s… wow. That song. And the way she just… opens up like that. It’s like watching her finally step out of her own shadow.”
I nodded, still grinning, though my chest felt tight. “Yeah. And you know what? She’s finally letting herself be seen. All those patterns, all those walls… she’s slowly letting them down. And she’s letting us in.”
Zoey’s gaze softened, her thumb brushing against my hand. “And it’s kind of… perfect, isn’t it? Seeing her realize she’s allowed to be herself. Allowed to love herself. Allowed to let us love her.”
I laughed softly, leaning back into the couch cushions. “Yeah. And honestly? I don’t think she’s going to stop surprising us anytime soon.”
Zoey’s eyes flicked toward the door Rumi had just gone through, a playful glint in her expression. “You know… I think she’s starting to accept herself more than she even realizes. And, well… maybe we’re helping more than we thought.”
I smiled, squeezing her hand. “We’ve been patient. We’ve given her space, support, and… love. And look at her. She’s blooming right in front of us.”
Zoey laughed softly, shaking her head. “Blooming, huh? Damn, Mira… that’s… exactly how I feel too. Every little piece of her I see—it just… hits me.”
I watched Zoey lounge on the couch, eyes glinting with amusement and something more, something raw.
I couldn’t resist. Not anymore. The tension had been building for days, simmering under every glance, every touch, every teasing smile. I leaned toward her, slowly, letting my hand brush against hers.
Zoey’s breath hitched when our fingers intertwined. I grinned, pressing closer until our lips met. Her eyes fluttered shut, and the kiss deepened instantly—hungry, heated, and utterly consuming.
Her hands slid over my back, pulling me flush against her, and I couldn’t help the low gasp that escaped me. The couch creaked beneath us, the small space suddenly electric. I pressed my forehead against hers for a heartbeat, then kissed her again, more insistently, letting the frustration and desire we’d held in for too long finally spill over.
Zoey’s lips moved against mine with the same intensity, hands exploring, teasing, and drawing out shivers I hadn’t realized I’d been holding in. Every brush of teeth, every whispered gasp, every quick inhale sent heat pooling low in my stomach.
“God, Mira…” Zoey murmured against my lips, and it was all I needed. I couldn’t stop myself, couldn’t hold back. I leaned in, pressing harder, letting the kiss grow slower, deeper, more intimate.
The world outside the room ceased to exist. There was just us—breathless, flushed, tangled together, and wholly caught up in the moment.
---- RUMI POV ----
I stepped out of the washroom, running a hand through my hair, trying to shake off the nerves from sharing my song. My chest still thumped with leftover adrenaline, sweat prickling at the back of my neck.
And then I saw them.
Mira and Zoey, sitting close on the couch, fingers brushing, lips hovering together. My stomach twisted, my heart both longing and panicking. My mind raced: Do they even want me here? Am I intruding?
I froze for a heartbeat—and that’s when it happened.
“Rumi?” Mira’s voice was soft, startled, like she’d just realized I was standing there.
Zoey’s eyes widened. “Oh… uh… hi.”
Their realization hit me like a tidal wave. They saw me. They know I’m here. I shouldn’t be here.
Before either of them could say another word, I spun on my heel. My chest ached, my thoughts a jumbled mess. I didn’t wait for their apologies, their reassurances, their soft, startled expressions. I bolted.
Feet pounding on the floor, I ran out of the karaoke bar, out into the cool night. My hands trembled, my chest heaving—not from running, but from the ache in my heart. I wanted to join them, to be part of whatever closeness they shared, but the fear, the jealousy, the feeling of being unwanted—it all pressed down on me, heavier than I could bear.
By the time I reached the street, the adrenaline had turned into a sharp ache, leaving me frozen for a moment under a streetlamp. My chest felt tight, my thoughts scattered. All the progress I’d made, all the steps I’d taken toward trusting myself and them… it seemed to vanish with each step I took away from the bar.
I hugged my arms around myself, watching the glowing windows from afar, and whispered bitterly to the night: Maybe they don’t want me. Maybe I’m not meant to be part of this.
And with that, I started walking home, heart heavy, hope tangled in confusion and pain.
I barely noticed the city around me as I hurried home, each step heavier than the last. My apartment door loomed ahead like a sanctuary I wasn’t sure I deserved. I fumbled with my keys, hands shaking, heart still hammering in my chest.
Once inside, I slammed my bedroom door behind me and twisted the lock. The click echoed too loud in the quiet apartment, a stark punctuation to the chaos in my mind.
I sank against the door, letting my back slide down to the floor. My knees were drawn up, arms wrapped tightly around them, as if the hug could shield me from everything I’d just witnessed. My chest tightened with the sting of envy, shame, and heartbreak all wrapped together.
They don’t want me. They don’t need me.
The thought repeated like a mantra, grinding against the progress I’d been making for weeks. I had started to accept myself—my feelings, my voice, my desire to open up—and now it felt like it had all been wiped clean in a single, shattering moment.
I buried my face in my knees, letting the tears come, hot and silent. Every time I’d felt warmth, safety, or belonging with them, it felt farther away now, slipping through my fingers. The room was dark, but even if it hadn’t been, I would have hidden from the world. From them.
My notebook sat on the desk, open to the page I’d been working on, my pen lying abandoned beside it. I didn’t have the strength to write. I didn’t have the strength to breathe right.
All I could do was curl up in my bed, lock myself in the darkness, and hope that maybe—somehow—the ache would dull with time. But deep down, I knew it wouldn’t. Not tonight.
---- ZOEY POV ----
The room went suddenly quiet the moment we realized Rumi was gone.
I blinked, my chest tightening. “Rumi?” My voice sounded small, uncertain, even to my own ears.
Mira froze beside me, her hands half-raised, like she’d been caught mid-thought. “She… she just left,” she whispered, panic edging her words.
My stomach dropped. Left? She can’t have just left.
I darted to the door, swinging it open and peering into the karaoke bar’s dim hallway. No sign of her. My heart began hammering, each beat echoing louder than the last. “Mira… we—what did we do?” My voice cracked, and I could see the color drain from her face.
Mira’s shoulders slumped, guilt written all over her. “I… I didn’t mean—Zoey, I just—” Her words faltered, like the sentence couldn’t hold the weight of what happened.
I ran my hands through my hair, pacing a few steps. “We didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean to—she looked so happy earlier! And now—” My chest tightened even more, the knot in my stomach twisting painfully.
“She saw us,” Mira whispered, voice barely audible. Her eyes were wide, searching mine, desperate for some kind of answer. “She saw us… before we could even—”
I stopped pacing, letting the silence hang, heavy and suffocating. She’s gone. She’s gone, and it’s our fault.
Mira grabbed my arm, gripping it tightly. “Zoey, we have to find her. Now. We need to fix this. We can’t just—”
I nodded, though my throat felt raw and my chest felt like it might cave in. “I know. I know. Let’s start by calling her, see if she answers.”
We both froze as our hands reached for our phones, but even that felt like a band-aid on a wound that was already too deep.
I couldn’t shake the image of her face—the way she froze, the way she backed away, the quiet, almost invisible ache in her eyes. The warmth and openness she’d started to show us—gone, vanished into the night.
“She’s so fragile,” Mira whispered, almost to herself, her voice shaking. “And we—Zoey… we just… we messed up.”
I swallowed hard, guilt twisting into panic. “We did. But we have to make it right. We have to. Before it’s too late.”
We stood there in the dimly lit karaoke bar, frozen for a moment, hearts pounding, realizing just how badly we’d hurt the one person we cared about most.
And worst of all? We didn’t even know if she’d let us back in.
We bolted from the karaoke bar, Mira practically dragging me toward the street. The city lights blurred as we ran, our footsteps echoing against the pavement.
“Where could she have gone?” I panted, glancing over my shoulder. Panic had herded itself into every corner of my chest. “She could be anywhere…”
Mira shook her head, hair whipping across her face. “No, Zoey… she has to have gone home. That’s the only place she’d feel safe after seeing… us.”
My stomach sank at the thought. Safe? After us?
We reached the penthouse, bursting through the door and up the stairs two at a time. I could barely catch my breath. “Rumi!” I called, voice cracking. “Please, just talk to us!”
Mira fumbled with her keys, her hands trembling as we finally reached the apartment door. When she twisted the lock, my heart dropped. The living room was quiet. Too quiet.
Then—her bedroom door. Closed.
My stomach knotted as Mira and I exchanged a horrified glance. She’s here.
I gently knocked. “Rumi? It’s us. Please… can we talk?” My voice sounded small in the silent apartment.
No answer. Not even a whisper.
Mira pressed her hand to the door, fingers curling slightly. “She’s not answering…” Her voice was tight, shaky. “I think… maybe we just need to give her a little space.”
I leaned against the wall, guilt gnawing at me. “Space? Yeah… but… she’s probably hurting so much.”
“She’s always been strong, Zoey,” Mira said softly. “But even strong people need time. We can’t force this. We just… have to wait.”
I sank to the floor beside the door, heart hammering, listening. The faint hum of the city outside was all that answered us.
I swallowed hard, voice barely audible. “We’ll wait, Rumi… we’re not going anywhere.”
Mira crouched next to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “We’ll give her space. But when she’s ready, we’ll be here. We promise.”
We stayed like that for a long while, sitting in the quiet apartment, the weight of our mistakes pressing down—but also the fragile hope that she might forgive us, in time.
Series Summary: Takes place after the Idol Awards before they all go to the bathhouse together for the first time
Chapter Summary: More recovery between the girls. Zoemira couple shit + Rumi meeting an old friend, and her finally starting to accept what and how she feels.
Masterlist
Last Chapter>>>
Word Count: 7031
Warnings: None
Author Notes: Hey guys! So I know it's been a hot minute since I've posted and I appreciate your patience. Things have been so busy lately, so my updates will be taking longer to come out (sadly) but here you go I hope you enjoy reading this chapter!
---- RUMI POV ----
I woke with my mouth dry and my body heavy, like I’d slept in stone instead of sheets. For a moment I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the muffled hum of the apartment. No nightmares, at least. Just the dull ache in my chest that hadn’t gone away.
I pushed myself upright slowly, careful not to let the dizziness swallow me. Food felt impossible, but tea… tea I could manage. Something warm, something quiet.
The hallway floor was cool against my bare feet as I padded toward the kitchen. The apartment still smelled faintly of eggs from yesterday, and I grimaced. My stomach turned. No, definitely just tea.
I had just set the kettle on the stove when the front door opened, a rush of morning air slipping in with it. Mira stepped inside, flushed from her run. Sweat dampened the edges of her shirt, her ponytail sticking to her neck, cheeks pink from the chill.
She froze when she saw me, like she hadn’t expected me to be awake.
“Rum,” she said softly, pulling out her earbuds. Her breath still came a little fast. “Hey. You okay?”
I nodded, though my throat felt too tight to answer right away. My patterns shimmered faintly across my wrists, pale and thin, almost invisible.
“You’re up early,” I managed at last, wrapping my hands around the counter to ground myself.
Her lips tugged into the smallest smile. “Couldn’t sit still. Running helps.” Her eyes flicked toward the kettle, then back to me. “Tea?”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “Couldn’t do food.”
Mira hesitated, like she wanted to press but didn’t. Instead, she crossed the kitchen, grabbed two mugs from the cabinet, and set them down beside me.
“I’ll have some with you then,” she said.
And something about the casualness of it—the with you—made my chest ache all over again.
A few minutes later, the kettle hissed and clicked off, but Mira was already there, moving with that steady efficiency of hers. She poured the water into two mugs and slid one across the counter to me without a word. I watched the steam rise, curling like something alive.
I wrapped my hands around the ceramic, letting the heat seep into my palms. My chest ached, but the warmth spread through me anyway. “Thanks,” I murmured.
Her lips curved, not quite a smile, but close. “Always.”
We drank in silence at first. The kitchen was too still, sunlight spilling weak and pale through the blinds. I kept waiting for the questions, for her to push, but they never came. Mira just stood there, leaning against the counter across from me, her own mug cradled in both hands.
When my eyes flicked up, I caught her watching me. Not like Celine did—measured, judging—but open. Like she was memorizing me just to make sure I stayed.
“What?” I whispered, shifting under her gaze.
She shook her head slightly. “Just making sure you’re really here.”
Something in me stuttered. I swallowed, looking down into the tea. “I… am.” The words were thin, shaky. Not a lie, not the truth either.
Mira set her mug aside and crossed the small space between us. I froze, but didn’t move away. She rested one hand on the counter near mine, her presence steady and solid. Close enough that I could feel the faint heat radiating from her skin, smell the sharp mix of morning air and sweat clinging to her from the run.
“You don’t have to say anything,” she said softly. “I just want you to know you’re not invisible. Not to me. Not ever.”
Her fingers brushed against mine on the counter, so lightly I almost thought I imagined it. But the touch sent a jolt through me anyway, my patterns flickering to life beneath my skin. Pale pink, barely there, like a secret.
I clenched my mug tighter, but her hand stayed close. “I don’t know if I can believe that,” I admitted, my voice splintering.
“You don’t have to believe it yet,” Mira said. Her voice was low, certain. “Just… let me show you.”
I looked at her then, really looked. The sweat dampening a few strands of her hair. The way her eyes softened when they landed on me, no matter how much anger or fire she carried everywhere else. She wasn’t asking me to perform, or to fix myself. Just to exist in this moment, with her.
The lump in my throat swelled. Without thinking, I let go of the counter and curled my fingers into hers. Her hand was warm, calloused from training, but her grip was careful, steady. She didn’t squeeze too hard, didn’t pull—just anchored me.
The silence stretched, but it wasn’t empty. I leaned against the counter, my shoulder brushing hers, and for once I didn’t move away.
“Maybe I want to believe you,” I whispered.
Her thumb traced gently over my knuckles. “Then that’s enough for right now.”
The warmth of her hand bled into me until I realized my patterns were glowing faintly where our skin touched. Soft, iridescent, barely visible under the morning light. I didn’t pull away. Not this time.
Mira didn’t rush me. She never did. Her thumb kept brushing my knuckles in that slow, steady way, like she knew I needed something to hold onto but couldn’t ask for it out loud.
The world felt softer like this—just the two of us in the quiet kitchen, the scent of tea curling between us. My chest still ached, but it wasn’t crushing me. Not with her standing this close.
“You’re trembling,” she murmured after a while, almost like she wasn’t sure if she should say it.
I hadn’t realized it until she pointed it out. My shoulders gave a small shiver, and I hated myself for it, but Mira didn’t pull away. She shifted just slightly, closing the distance. Her arm brushed against mine, and then—carefully, deliberately—she let her hand rest against my back.
Not pushing. Just there. A steady warmth right between my shoulder blades.
I let out a shaky breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. The patterns under my skin flared softly again, faint pink ripples spreading across my arms before dimming to almost nothing. Mira noticed—I knew she did—but she didn’t say a word.
“You’re safe,” she whispered instead. “Right here. With me.”
I bit down on my lip, hard, trying not to break. The words pressed against me like a balm and a wound at the same time. My vision blurred, but no tears fell. Not this time.
So I leaned, just slightly, letting my forehead rest against her shoulder. Mira stilled, and then—so slowly it made my chest ache—her arm slid around me fully. A hug without pressure, without expectation. Just her warmth, her heartbeat steady against my ear.
We stayed like that. A silence that wasn’t silence at all. Just breath, and warmth, and her.
Eventually, I pulled back, though it felt like leaving something safe behind. Mira didn’t stop me. She just searched my face, her eyes sharp but soft, like she was trying to memorize me again.
I cleared my throat, my voice scratchy. “I should… get ready.”
Her lips curved into the faintest smile. “Alright.” Her hand lingered against mine for one last moment before she let go. “But Rumi? …Don’t shut me out today.”
I swallowed, my throat thick, and nodded. “I’ll try.”
The words were small, but I meant them. And from the way her expression eased, Mira knew it too.
---- MIRA POV ----
“Rumi? …Don’t shut me out today.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them. I prayed they didn’t sound as desperate as they felt in my chest. For a heartbeat, I thought she wouldn’t answer, but then—soft, hesitant, fragile—she whispered, “I’ll try.”
That was more than enough.
My chest loosened, my throat burned, but I didn’t let it show. I just gave her the faintest smile, held it steady, and then let her go when she pulled back. Watching her walk away toward her room, a part of me ached to follow—to keep her safe, to keep her close. But I knew better. She needed space. She needed to feel like it was her choice.
So I finished my tea in silence, savoring the warmth, grounding myself the way I’d just tried to ground her.
When I finally pushed myself off the counter and padded back to my room, Zoey was just stirring. She stretched across the sheets like a cat, hair mussed, eyes barely open. She looked so unfairly gorgeous like that it made me pause in the doorway.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” I said softly, affection curling through my voice before I could rein it in. One of the girls of my dreams, tangled up in my sheets like she belonged there.
A small grunt was all I got in return.
I chuckled, shutting the door behind me as I crossed to her. “You know you talk while you sleep? Woke me up this morning.”
Her eyes shot open, indignant but playful. “Hey!” She started laughing, voice raspy and warm. “I was really tired.”
“I know, love,” I teased, sitting down on the edge of the bed and leaning closer, my smirk deliberate. “You had a great workout last night.”
Her cheeks flushed at the memory, but she didn’t look away. “Yeah… but then you left.”
There was a soft pout in her tone, a flicker of sadness she couldn’t quite hide. It hit me right in the chest.
“Sorry, baby.” My voice gentled as I brushed a strand of hair from her face. “I just couldn’t lay still. Needed to move.”
“I know,” she murmured. Just two words, but they hit harder than anything else could. She knows me. God, she really does. The way no one else ever has. And I know her, too. The thought made me want to kiss her until morning blurred away again.
Instead, I smirked and tapped her arm lightly. “Alright, Rumi’s getting dressed, and I came in here to change—which means you need to get up too.”
Zoey groaned dramatically, pulling the blanket tighter around herself like a child. “Bossy,” she mumbled, but her eyes sparkled.
I leaned down anyway, my lips brushing her cheek, lingering there a second longer than necessary. “Up,” I whispered against her skin.
She smiled, that soft, sleepy smile that made my stomach flutter, and finally began to sit up.
Zoey swung her legs over the edge of the bed but made no effort to move faster than a snail. She rubbed her eyes, her hair sticking up in every direction. I couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out.
“You know, at this rate, Rumi will be ready, dressed, and halfway through a book before you even stand up,” I teased, rifling through my drawer for clean clothes.
Zoey shot me a look through the mess of her hair. “Excuse you. Some of us are delicate in the mornings.”
“Delicate?” I smirked, tugging on a fresh tank top. “That’s funny, considering you kept me up half the night. Nothing delicate about you then.”
Her mouth fell open, scandalized, before she grabbed the nearest pillow and chucked it at me. I caught it easily, laughing.
“You’re impossible,” she grumbled, but there was a blush creeping across her cheeks that she couldn’t hide.
I tossed the pillow back onto the bed and shook my head. “And you’re slow. Seriously, do I need to dress you too?”
Zoey gasped dramatically and snatched one of her shirts from the floor, wadding it up before throwing it at me. This time, I didn’t catch it—on purpose. It bounced off my shoulder, and I raised my hands in mock defeat.
“Fine, fine. Keep your clothes to yourself,” I said, grinning as I pulled on my joggers.
Zoey stuck her tongue out at me, finally slipping her shirt over her head. “See? I can move fast when I want to.”
“Yeah?” I shot her a playful look as I laced up my sneakers. “Prove it, then. Beat me to the kitchen.”
She narrowed her eyes, recognizing the challenge instantly. “You’re on.”
Before I could even stand, she darted past me, barefoot and laughing. I shook my head, chuckling as I grabbed my hair tie. God, these girls. They made even mornings like this feel alive again.
---- ZOEY POV ----
I skidded into the kitchen like I’d just won gold at the Olympics, arms raised high over my head. “And the crowd goes wild!” I declared to absolutely no one, panting with triumph. “New record holder: Zoey freaking—”
The victory speech died in my throat the second my gaze landed on the living room.
Rumi was curled up on the couch, half-buried in shadows. Hoodie pulled low, hair falling forward like a curtain, a turtleneck layered underneath. Too many layers. Way too many. It wasn’t cold in here. Not even close.
My chest sank. I knew what that meant.
All the fire drained out of me at once, leaving something heavier behind. Something that pressed right under my ribs. I lowered my arms slowly, suddenly aware of how loud my own heartbeat felt in the silence.
“Hey,” I said softly, ditching the playful tone in an instant. “Morning, Rum.”
She glanced up, just for a second—long enough for me to catch the glassiness in her eyes—before she dropped her gaze back to her sleeve. “Morning.”
One word. Small, quiet. Her patterns didn’t glow. Didn’t shift. Like they were buried deep under fabric and fear.
I leaned against the counter, watching her shrink into herself. Part of me wanted to storm over, tug off every layer, and remind her she didn’t need to hide from us. But I knew better. If I pushed, she’d only retreat further.
Still, it hurt. God, it hurt to see her folding herself up so tight, like she was ashamed of even existing.
And then I noticed it.
The way her chest rose and fell—short, sharp, uneven.
Shit.
I was at her side in an instant, sliding onto the couch. “Hey, Ru.”
She didn’t even look at me. Her breathing quickened. My own pulse spiked.
“Ru?” My voice was steadier than I felt. After a few deafening moments, she finally turned her head, eyes wild, lost.
“Come on. Breathe with me, okay?” I said, reaching for her hand. I squeezed gently, grounding her, but the first few breaths still stuttered out too fast, too shallow.
So I shifted, guiding her hand up to rest over my chest, right above my heart.
“Here. Match me,” I whispered. I exaggerated a slow inhale, then let it out. Her palm rose and fell with the rhythm of my heartbeat.
And slowly—so slowly—her breathing began to steady.
“That’s it, baby. Just like that. In and out.”
Her chest eased. The panic loosened. The trembling softened.
“You’re safe,” I whispered, brushing against her shoulder as I leaned closer, wrapping her in a light, protective hug. “I’ve got you.”
And that’s when I heard Mira behind us.
“Rumi.”
Her voice was low, careful, and it settled over us like a shadow.
---- RUMI POV ----
I didn’t… I don’t want to hide. Not really. I tell myself that as I stand in front of the only mirror in my room, the cold glass reflecting more than my face. It shows the raw math of everything I’ve been trying to keep tucked away — the pale lines that crisscross my forearms like a map I’m ashamed of, the faint bruises that haven’t quite faded, the soft violet ghost of a pattern under the skin that still flares in the wrong light. I pick apart the reflection with my eyes and it feels like looking at someone else’s photograph: the same mouth, the same hair, and a body that has kept a ledger of every night I thought I couldn’t survive.
I fumble for the hoodie — the one with the little holes worn into the cuffs where the fabric has thinned over time. It’s old, forgiving, familiar; the sleeves swallow my hands and never ride up, never threaten to show what I’ve been so good at hiding. Under it I pull on a white turtleneck, the kind that feels like a small armor if it covers enough. I tell myself the layering will be enough, that if I can control what anyone sees, maybe I can control what I feel.
I try to steady my breath, try to braid calm into my fingers, and for a sliver of a second I believe I’ll make it — that I can walk into the living room, sit like everyone else, be small and safe and ordinary. But the mirror’s image keeps following me, trailing like a shadow: the memory of Celine’s voice telling me to hide, the whisper that I am a mistake she had to manage, the old echo in my head that says if they saw the real me they’d recoil.
So I come out cautious, turtleneck high, hood halfway up, shoulders hunched as if I can fold inwards and become less visible. The couch looks safe; the fort of blankets Zoey and Mira built seems like the right kind of distraction. But the moment I settle, the weight in my chest escalates — a pressure that runs behind my eyes and makes my fingers tremble. I am trying, I tell myself. Trying to be normal. Trying to breathe.
Then Zoey’s voice cuts through the fog. Bright, ridiculous, impossibly warm: “Kitchen champion reporting for duty.” It should be a silly thing. It should be nothing.
My first instinct is to vanish. To melt into the fabric of my hoodie and become air. I start to shrink back, a practiced reflex — because withdrawal is safer than confession.
But she doesn’t let me. She watches me. Not with the curiosity I dread, not with horror, but with something steadier, softer. She sees me. Knows me. Knows the difference between the person on stage and the person here curled on the couch. And for a breath that feels like a miracle and a verdict at once, I realize she knows all the things I’ve been hiding without being told.
I try to make myself disappear anyway — the old habit of pretending I’m invisible — and fail, because Zoey has already crossed the space between us. I feel exposed and strangely relieved. Seeing her watch me, not turn away, is its own kind of dangerous honesty.
Zoey’s hand was still on mine, steady, grounding, her heartbeat pulsing under my palm where she’d placed it against her chest. I clung to that rhythm like it was the only thing tethering me here. My breaths had slowed—not normal yet, but close enough that I didn’t feel like I was drowning anymore. Just barely keeping my head above the surface.
“You’re safe. I’ve got you,” Zoey murmured again, her voice warm and low, every syllable wrapping around me like a blanket. Her forehead brushed mine for a fleeting second before she pulled me into a side hug, and for a moment I let myself believe her. God, I wanted to believe her.
But shame still gnawed at me, sharp and restless, burrowing into every thought. The mirror. The scars. The patterns. The bruises that hadn’t healed. All of it replayed behind my eyes until it felt like I was wearing the evidence of my failure on my skin. Hidden, but screaming.
That’s when I heard the floor creak behind us.
“Rumi.”
Mira’s voice. Firm, not loud, but it cut through me anyway. I froze, my fingers curling tighter into Zoey’s hoodie like maybe, if I held on hard enough, I could disappear into her instead of facing Mira’s eyes.
I told her I wouldn’t shut her out today. I promised. But this—this wasn’t what I meant. I didn’t want to talk about it, couldn’t even find the words. How do you explain hating yourself so much you can’t stand your own reflection? How do you explain wanting to vanish and not even knowing how to ask for help?
My thoughts spiraled, heavy and wild, until Zoey’s voice cut through again—sweet, coaxing, pulling me back. She shifted just enough to look me in the face.
“How ya feeling now?”
Her question cracked something open in me. My throat was tight, but I forced the word out anyway. “Better. I think.”
I met her gaze, then Mira’s just behind her, and what I saw in both of them almost unraveled me completely. Love. Acceptance. Peace. Things I’d never really had. Things I never believed could be mine.
That’s when the first tear slipped free. Just one at first, hot and silent against my cheek. Then another. And another.
In an instant, Zoey was hugging me again, and Mira knelt down on the other side, folding herself around me too. Their warmth pressed in from both sides, steady and unshaking, and I felt myself collapse into it like I’d been holding my breath for years.
“I’m sorry,” I choked out, the words trembling like they’d been waiting too long to be spoken.
“Hey, Ruru…” Zoey’s voice broke, gentle and sure, brushing against my ear. “It’s okay. What you’re feeling is okay.”
I sat like that for what felt like forever, suspended between their arms, their words, their presence. Until guilt wormed its way back in, sharp and cruel. Everything clicked into place all at once: why was I doing this? Why was I making everything about me when both of them had their own battles, their own scars? Why was I so broken that I couldn’t stop needing?
“Why am I crying?” My voice cracked, angry this time, as I scrubbed viciously at my face. “I’m so sick of crying.”
Mira’s arms tightened around me from behind, her cheek brushing the back of my shoulder. “Love, what can we do?” she asked softly, almost like she was afraid the question itself might break me further.
“I don’t know…” The words felt small. Empty.
Zoey’s hand slid down my arm until her fingers threaded through mine, holding me steady. “Hey, Ruru. We just want to help. I know we can’t relate to what you’re going through, and I’m so sorry you’ve been doing it alone… but please, let us in.”
Her voice cracked on that last part, and something inside me finally caved. I nodded so fast my head spun, words spilling out before I could stop them.
“Thank you.”
I sat between them, pressed in on both sides, and for a while it was easier to breathe. Harder too, but easier. I couldn’t stop the tears, no matter how much I hated them, but Mira and Zoey didn’t flinch away. They didn’t tell me to stop. They just stayed.
I almost believed that was enough.
---- MIRA POV ----
God, walking in on Rumi like that—her breaths sharp and uneven, her body curled in on itself—while Zoey’s voice wavered between steady and breaking, was bone-chilling. It felt like watching someone drown while the person you love most is already in the water trying to pull them out.
I wished Rumi could see herself the way Zoey and I do. Not fragile. Not broken. Just… luminous. Even when she thought she was hiding, even when she buried herself under layers, she still lit up every corner of the room for us.
“Ru?” Zoey’s voice was softer now, coaxing.
“Hmm.” The sound was tiny, muffled, but it meant she was still here with us.
Zoey brushed her thumb over Rumi’s hand, grounding her, then whispered, “We’ll always be here for you. No matter what. You know that, right?”
Rumi nodded, eyes glistening but not spilling over yet. “I know, I do. But it’s just… I’ve carried things for so long, alone. It’s hard to let people in. Like Dr. Han said—I have lots of walls up.” Her lips trembled, but her gaze didn’t waver when she finally looked at us, really looked at us. “I guess it’ll just take some… time.”
The quiet stretched, heavy and fragile, before she glanced between us with those dark, storm-tossed eyes.
“And that’s okay, Rumi,” I told her, my voice steady even though my chest ached. “Time’s something we’ll give you. As much as you need.”
Zoey squeezed her hand tighter. I leaned in closer. And for a moment, all three of us just breathed together, the silence shifting from jagged to gentle.
The rest of the day moved slow, and for once that was a blessing. No rushing, no weight of battles waiting outside the door. Just us, drifting around the apartment together.
Rumi made tea again, Zoey fussed over the honey like she always did, and I leaned against the counter watching them bicker over how much was too much until Rumi laughed—a small sound, but real. It was the kind of laugh that cracked something open in my chest.
Later, we sprawled across the couch. Rumi curled up between us, hoodie still pulled tight but her head resting on my shoulder, Zoey tracing gentle circles on her leg through the fabric. We put on some movie none of us paid much attention to, too wrapped up in the quiet comfort of simply being together. Every so often, Rumi’s patterns flickered faintly under her sleeves when Zoey’s hand lingered or when I brushed her hair back. She didn’t pull away.
And that—God, that felt huge.
We ate dinner together, something simple, and the conversation wasn’t heavy like it had been. Zoey told a ridiculous story about her first crush, Rumi rolled her eyes and teased her until her cheeks burned, and I just sat back soaking it all in. The sound of them, the warmth of them, the way the three of us could just… exist in the same space and not feel broken by it anymore.
It wasn’t perfect. Rumi still had shadows in her eyes sometimes, still tugged at her sleeves when she thought we weren’t looking. But she also leaned into us more than she pulled away. Zoey’s smile came easier. My heart didn’t feel so tight.
Different from before, yes. But better. So much better.
At some point, Rumi drifted off, head heavy against my shoulder, her breathing slow and steady. I tilted my head to rest lightly against hers, brushing my thumb across the back of her hand. On the other side, Zoey leaned in so close her breath tickled my ear.
“I like this,” she whispered, voice barely more than a sigh.
I turned my head a fraction, meeting her eyes. “Me too.”
She hesitated, then grinned softly. “We don’t have to, like… tell anyone. Or put a label on it yet. But it can still be ours, right? Just for us?”
My heart squeezed. God, Zoey always knew how to say exactly what I was thinking. “Yeah,” I murmured, warmth curling through me. “Ours. No pressure. No rush. Just… us.”
She reached across Rumi’s sleeping form and laced her pinky with mine under the blanket, a secret promise tucked between the three of us.
For a while, we sat in silence, soaking in the hum of the city outside, the rise and fall of Rumi’s breathing. Then Zoey’s eyes flicked down at her, mischievous spark returning.
“You know,” she whispered, “I bet she likes us too.”
I snorted quietly. “Zoey.”
“What? I’m serious! The way she blushes when you touch her hair? Or when I make her laugh too hard?” She wiggled her brows. “We could totally test it out. Tease her a little. See how she reacts.”
I rolled my eyes, but my lips tugged into a grin I couldn’t hide. “You’re terrible.”
“You love it.”
“Maybe.”
We both looked down at Rumi, her lashes fanning against her cheeks, her lips parted in sleep. My chest ached with something deep and tender, the kind of feeling that scared me as much as it thrilled me.
“Okay,” I whispered. “Maybe we’ll tease her. Gently. When she’s ready.”
Zoey’s smirk softened into something sweeter. “Yeah. When she’s ready.”
By the time night settled in, the three of us were tangled up on the couch, lights dim, the city humming faintly outside the windows. And for the first time in a long time, I let myself believe this—us—could really last.
---- ZOEY POV ----
It wasn’t perfect. Rumi still had shadows in her eyes, still tugged at her sleeves like she could erase the things she didn’t want us to see. But she leaned into us more now—let us hold her, let us keep her close—and that was everything.
Watching her drift off against Mira’s shoulder, I felt this weird ache in my chest. Relief, love, something heavier too. For once it wasn’t me carrying everything alone. It was us, all three of us, and that thought filled me up so much I almost couldn’t sit still.
I kept sneaking looks at Mira, too. The way she brushed her thumb over Rumi’s hand so gently, like she was afraid she might break her. The way her eyes softened when they landed on me. It was too much, and never enough at the same time.
This thing between Mira and me—it didn’t need a name. Not yet. It was just ours, like a secret tucked under our ribs. Something warm, steady, and terrifying in the best way.
I imagined the future—us teasing Rumi, seeing her blush, maybe realizing she wanted this too. But even if it took a while, even if it never happened, I knew one thing for sure: I’d never let either of them go.
By the time night settled in, the three of us were tangled up on the couch, lights dim, the city humming faintly outside the windows. And for the first time in a long time, I let myself believe this—us—could really last.
Mira shifted closer, her arm draped over both Rumi and me, pulling us in like she could fuse us together. “Zo?” she whispered, voice low and heavy with sleep.
“Mm?”
“I love you.”
My heart stuttered. I wanted to freeze time right there, but instead I let a sly grin creep across my face, even as my eyes closed.
“Sorry,” I murmured, feigning drowsiness. “Must’ve dozed off for a sec—what’d you say?”
Mira groaned, half-annoyed, half-laughing. I yawned wide, selling it, and felt her squeeze me tighter, with a muffled, “You’re impossible.”
And then we drifted, all three of us tangled together on that couch, wrapped in warmth and steady breaths, like maybe everything really could be okay after all.
---- RUMI POV ----
I didn’t remember falling asleep. One moment I was curled against the couch cushions, Zaoy’s arm warm across my ribs and Mira’s steady breathing in my ear; the next the room was soaked in shadow and the only sounds were the faint, sleepy snorts of my girls—little life-clauses that somehow made my chest unclench. I smiled before I even knew why. God. This was confusing. Could you feel this much for two people at once? Could your heart be big enough to hold both and not break?
Something small and bright caught my eye. Two yellow dots, like tiny suns, pinned in the dark. At first my foggy brain supplied shapes from memory—streetlights, camera LEDs—but the dots moved. Slow. Curious. Derpy.
Of course it would be Derpy. Jinu’s ridiculous, oversized-eyed cat—that same wide, judgmental stare he used to get when I missed a cue on stage. For a second we just stared at one another, like two old fools recognizing an ancient joke. Then Derpy turned and padded off, tail high like he had somewhere important to be. He glanced back once, as if to make sure I was following, and then he hopped lightly toward the balcony.
A million stupid questions ricocheted around my skull at once: Why is he here? How? Where’s Sussie? They did not wait for answers. I slipped my feet into my running shoes, the sudden need to move a match to the way my chest was loosened by the warmth of sleep and the sight of them. I followed.
They took me through Seoul like ghosts leading the living: across alleys that smelled of fried food and rain, under neon that hummed like a tired heart, past the city’s sleeping elbows of light. Derpy threaded through feet and shadows with the confidence of someone who owns more than one plane of existence. Sussie—white, silent—appeared and disappeared in the edges of my sight, feathers of moonlight in motion. Without exactly deciding to, I found myself climbing toward Namsan Tower.
I nearly turned back at the foot of it. I didn’t want to be here. Not tonight. Not where memory had teeth and where the air would remind me of the stage, the award, the headlines. But curiosity is a stubborn animal. It nudged me forward until I was inside, the observation deck a hollow that fit my footsteps.
I lost them for a breath—Derpy was under a seat, Sussie invisible—but then I saw the stage. Empty. Except for a microphone standing like a question. And then Derpy appeared at my feet with the microphone’s cable clutched in his mouth like a dog with a prize. He dropped it at my feet and sat back, very pleased with himself.
“No, Derpy,” I muttered, laugh-prickle at the back of my throat. “I haven’t sung since—” The thought of the awards prickled my skin; my throat tightened. I looked up at the tiger-faced mural at the back of the stage, and for a second the room folded into something thinner, like paper. I thought I saw him then—part of him, or the memory of him—easy to mistake when your head is a soft place.
Then the sound found me: a line of melody, one voice threading into the hollow.
Time goes by and I lose perspective
Yeah, hope only hurts, so I just forget it.
I felt, more than saw, presence. Not quite Jinu—less solid than that, like the echo after a bell has been struck—but his voice was him, flattened and true, and it carried. It carried shame and daring and the stupid, reckless kindness he’d always had.
“No way this isn’t happening.” The phrase hung and then, there he was—or a version of him—sitting on the wing of the stage, silhouette rimmed by sodium light. My name on his tongue made me both ache and flare.
“JINU?” My shout broke, small and raw.
He sang on, as if my call were part of the song. When the space opened for me to take a line, I did. My voice came out raw, rusty from disuse, but it came. Notes skated across my teeth and landed, not where I wanted them but they landed.
I wanted to do twenty things at once: apologize, explain, beg. “Jinu, I’m so sorry for everything that happened to you—” The words stumbled out, useless and tripping in my mouth.
“Ohh, Rumi… come on,” he said, half-laugh, half-scold. The sound was more affectionate than I deserved. “I know, I know.”
His eyes—memory or ghost—caught mine, and in them I read the same fierce impatience he had always worn like a favorite jacket. “Now be real with me, there’s not much time. This song, ‘Free,’ it’s not just about us.”
“What do you mean?” My whole body wanted the easy escape: perform, smile, be the flawless idol everyone demanded. Not this raw thing.
“Really, I see the way you love those two girls.” He didn’t bother pretending it was a question. My face went hot as a lantern. Heat rushed into my cheeks that I couldn’t scrub away. “See. I guessed right.”
“I hate when you do that.” I spat the words, because sometimes anger is armor.
He just smiled, that crooked, exasperating smile. “Rumi?”
I looked at him—the shape of what he used to be—and the answer inside me felt messy and immediate. “Don’t waste anymore time. Figure out what you really want.”
“But I don’t know what to do—”
“Yes you do.” His voice was gentle and merciless at once.
“Wait, Jinu—” I reached out for him, for the certainty of the past, for the easy map of what I once thought I knew. But as quickly as he’d gathered into being, he thinned at the edges, light folding where flesh should be. He faded like a note that ran out of breath.
Alone in the hollow after him, the stage felt enormous and stupid. The microphone cable coiled at my feet, a near-comic lifeline. Derpy blinked up at me, very pleased, as if we’d both done something brave. Sussie perched on the railing, the city a scatter of stars below.
My chest was an ache and a soft, dangerous thing—hope, maybe, or the echo of it. Jinu’s words vibrated in my bones like a warning and a gift both. Figure out what you want. The question wasn’t only about them—about Mira and Zoey—but about whether I could let myself want at all.
I stepped off the stage, the cold night air a slap. I pulled the hoodie tight as if it would hold the shape of me together. My voice was a thinned scrap when I whispered into the dark, into the empty seat where Jinu had been: “I’ll try.”
When I slipped back into the penthouse, dawn was just beginning to brush pale light against the curtains. The city hummed below, soft and faraway, and the kind of quiet that never quite existed in Seoul had settled in our walls.
The girls were still where I’d left them—curled together on the couch, Mira’s head resting against Zoey’s shoulder, both their faces slack with sleep. My chest pulled tight at the sight. They looked so peaceful, so safe. I didn’t want to disturb that.
So I moved quietly, shoes off, steps careful on the floorboards, and settled near the window with nothing but the faint city glow to keep me company. For the first time in months, maybe longer, my head didn’t feel like a warzone. Jinu’s voice was still echoing there—gentle, insistent, impossible to ignore. Don’t waste any more time. Figure out what you really want.
I pulled a notebook from under the coffee table. My fingers hesitated over the cover, the way they always did, like the page was going to bite. But then, without forcing it, I uncapped a pen.
Words came first—messy, scrawled, half-poem, half-confession. Nothing polished. Nothing pretty. Just pieces of thoughts stitched together by ink. Phrases about shadows and light, about wanting too much and not enough, about laughter like safety nets. About them.
And then melodies started tugging at me, small and fragile but persistent. I hummed under my breath, soft enough not to stir the couch. My voice cracked here and there, but I let it. Perfection wasn’t the point anymore. The point was something. Breathing. Creating. Living.
I jotted down chords in the margins, crossed them out, replaced them with better ones. A rhythm built itself in the tap of my heel against the rug. The silence wasn’t silence anymore—it was the start of a song.
Every so often, I’d glance over. Mira twitched in her sleep, brow furrowing like she was chasing something in a dream. Zoey’s arm tightened protectively around her, even half-asleep. It made me smile, even as my pen kept racing.
By the time the first real beams of sunlight cracked across the floor, I had three pages of lyrics, messy scribbles that only I could read. My throat was raw from whisper-humming, but I didn’t care. For the first time in forever, I felt like me again.
And sitting there with ink on my fingers, my girls safe in arm’s reach, and a new song beating quietly in my chest, I realized maybe Jinu was right. I didn’t need to have it all figured out yet. I just had to start.
The notebook lay open on my lap, pen hovering midair. I stared at the blank line until my chest ached. Then, without really thinking, the words tumbled out.
“I built my walls with steady hands,
told myself no one could understand.
But you… you saw right through.
You stayed.”
The lines looked shaky, uneven, but they were real. I mouthed them under my breath, humming a low melody. Too soft, too fragile. I adjusted the rhythm, tapped it out with my knuckles against the window ledge until the cadence clicked.
I scribbled underneath, half-lyric, half-note to self: hold last word — slow, break voice here.
A small laugh slipped from me. God, it felt good. Like breathing without coughing. Like sunlight on skin after weeks of rain.
Another verse clawed its way out, sharper than the first:
“I’m tired of hiding the cracks in me,
wearing these sleeves like apologies.
But your hands, they don’t let go,
they don’t ask me to be whole.”
I paused, chewing on the cap of the pen. Too heavy? No—honest. That was the point. My throat burned, but I sang the words softly, almost a whisper. The melody caught, trembling but true.
A chorus bloomed in the margins before I could stop it:
“If love is a risk, then I’ll take the fall,
If I break, at least I gave it all.
Don’t let me fade, don’t let me hide—
I’m still here, I’m still alive.”
The pen shook in my fingers. Tears blurred the ink until the words bled at the edges, but I didn’t stop. I kept writing, filling line after line with half-songs, pieces of myself I’d buried.
Not every lyric worked. Some rhymes fell flat, some chords didn’t fit. But for once, I didn’t cross them out with anger. I let them sit there, mistakes and all, because at least they were mine.
From the couch, Mira stirred, murmuring something I couldn’t make out. Zoey’s hand shifted protectively across her waist. My chest tightened again, but this time in a good way.
They were here. I wasn’t alone.
I bent back over the page and whispered the last line as it came:
“I thought my voice was gone,
but you reminded me—
it was only waiting.”
And when I set the pen down, I realized my hand was steady
Series Summary: Takes place after the Idol Awards before they all go to the bathhouse together for the first time
Chapter Summary: Everything comes out, Rumi is scared of what Zoey and Mira will think about her, when all they want to do is protect her. Zoey and Mira have a heated moment.
Masterlist
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Word Count: 5273
Warnings: Rumi's thoughts of death, some angst, some smut (you know the usual)
Author Notes: OMG!!! This chapter took foreverrrr! I hope you like it! I am sorry but I'm back ta school now and I went away for the weekend and this chapter was so close to being done earlier but I wanted to make sure it was just right for you guys.
---- RUMI POV ----
We sat like that for a while.
My patterns now calm, soft and pale, like morning light barely peeking through curtains. The storm inside me had quieted, though the ache lingered, heavy but bearable. Zoey’s arms still held me from behind, Mira’s cheek still rested against my hair, and for once I didn’t rush to pull away.
Eventually, Zoey’s stomach betrayed her with a soft growl. The sound startled all of us, and Mira gave a weak laugh that cracked the silence. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to loosen something in my chest.
“Okay,” Mira said gently, brushing my hair back from my face. “Let’s get you something to eat. We’ll make something simple. Sit down, eat, breathe.”
I let them guide me—Zoey’s hand steady at my back, Mira fussing like I might topple over. The kitchen smelled faintly like coffee from earlier, and Mira busied herself with eggs while Zoey poured water into a glass and set it in front of me like it was holy.
I stared at the glass for a long time before I finally lifted it. The water was cold, grounding.
We sat at the small table, plates slowly filling between us.
The eggs had gone cold by the time Mira finally spoke again. Her fork traced absent circles in her plate, like she was stalling. Zoey kept glancing at me, worry in her eyes, like she was holding something sharp she didn’t know how to place down.
“Rum,” Mira said at last, her voice careful. “Do you want to talk about it… Celine I mean.”
“Not really… But if it will help me, us, everything, then yeah…”
“So she told us about you. About the Honmoon. About… everything.”
I pressed my palm against the table, trying to steady the faint glow of my patterns. They pulsed, restless, as if they already knew what was coming. “Then just say it.”
Zoey glanced at Mira, then back at me. Her words came slowly, like she was afraid they’d shatter me: “She said, once the Honmoon is turned golden… the marks will fade. So will your demonic nature.”
Mira’s breath caught, anger flickering in her eyes. “She admitted it, Rum. That she made you hide. That she made you ashamed.”
“She never looked at you like her daughter,” Zoey whispered.
I stared down at my untouched plate, my fork clattering softly as I let it go. “She looked at me like I was a reminder, right?” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
“That’s exactly what she said.” Zoey’s voice broke a little. “She told us you reminded her of your father. That she tried to love you, but part of her never stopped seeing him. The demon who—” Zoey faltered, shaking her head. “The one who hurt her. Who betrayed your mother.”
I pressed my nails into my palms. Mi-yeong. My mother’s name still felt like something sacred, something stolen from me.
“She told us about Mi-yeong,” Mira said softly. “How much she loved her. How she promised to love you, too. But her grief curdled into fear. Into shame. And it spilled onto you.”
I wanted to cover my ears, but the words had already burrowed in.
Mira’s jaw tightened. “Rum, she admitted to us that she found you hurting your…” she couldn’t finish the sentence.
The kitchen blurred. I blinked hard, but the tears stayed pressed behind my eyes. “Yep.” My voice was raw, unfamiliar.
“She said it started when you were eleven,” Zoey whispered. “You promised you’d stop”
“Well jokes on her right?” I ask bitterly trying not to let my tears fall, “guess I was good at pretending with her too.”
“Rum…”
“Then at fifteen, she found a letter you wrote her… for if you didn’t make it.”
“Have a couple of those” I whispered
“You what?” Mira said her tone was sharp. “For who?”
“Celine, Bobby… You two” I said that last part as quietly as I could but they both still heard me. Zoey's hand flew up to her mouth and Mira just looked at me.
We sat in silence for a few minutes after that.
“Okay we’re going to circle back to this after” Mira said finally.
“And after the Idol Awards—” Zoey’s breath shuddered. “She said you begged her to kill you.”
Silence. Heavy, suffocating.
Shit… They knew everything… everything!
I couldn’t breathe. My chair scraped back as I stood, pacing to the sink, gripping the counter until my knuckles went white. “She told you that?” My voice cracked, jagged. “Of course she would. The one moment where I was nothing but a monster. The one moment she can hold over me forever.”
“She didn’t say it like that,” Mira said quickly, standing too. “Rum, she said she told you she loved you. That she refused.”
“But she didn’t accept me,” I snapped. “Not all of me. Not enough.”
The glow under my skin flickered wildly, violet fighting with pale pink, until finally it sputtered out into something barely visible, like dying embers.
“She said she needs time,” Zoey said softly. “That she knows she failed you. But… that you’re not alone. That you have us.”
I shook my head, laughing bitterly. “She’s right about that. I’m not alone because of you two. Not her.”
“Rum…” Mira’s voice cracked. “We just need you to believe us. That you matter. That you’re not a burden. That you’re loved.”
The words lodged somewhere deep inside me. And before I realized what was happening, my throat closed up, and tears spilled over—slow at first, then faster, hot and unchecked.
I hadn’t even noticed I was crying until Zoey stood and pulled me into her arms, Mira circling around to hold me too. Their warmth surrounded me, steady and unshaking, and I crumbled into it, my sobs muffled against Zoey’s shoulder.
For once, I let myself break.
---- MIRA POV ----
“Celine, Bobby… You two.”
The way she said it—quiet, almost ashamed—split something open inside me. My ears rang, my pulse spiked, but I forced my face to stay still. I wanted to slam my fist into the table, shout at her, demand why the hell she’d think we’d want letters like that. But she was already fragile, already breaking. If I let my anger out now, it would only shatter her further.
So I swallowed it, hard. I bit down until my jaw ached.
Zoey’s hand flew to her mouth, stifling a sob. Me? I just stared at Rumi, every instinct screaming to stop the conversation right there. To tell her don’t you dare ever talk like that again.
But I couldn’t. Not yet. If she was finally letting these pieces out, I had to let her. Even if each word gouged deeper into me.
“We’ll circle back to this after,” I heard myself say, my voice steadier than I felt. My heart was hammering, begging to scream not after, now. But I pushed it down. For her.
And then Zoey said it. The Idol Awards. The thing I prayed wouldn’t come out of Celine’s mouth. The way Rumi begged for death.
Rumi’s chair scraped, her voice cracked like glass, and I moved without thinking, standing when she did, ready to catch her if she crumbled.
But then she said it—spat it like poison—“Not enough.”
Not enough. That word rang in my head like a curse. I wanted to shake her, to scream that she was more than enough. But instead, I stayed close, breathing with her, grounding her in every way I could without smothering her.
Her glow sputtered, dimming into embers, and I felt my chest ache at the sight.
Then Zoey, brave and trembling, told her she wasn’t alone. Told her she had us.
Rumi laughed bitterly, but when she cried—when those tears finally fell—it wasn’t Celine she leaned on. It was us.
Zoey wrapped her first, arms strong but shaking, and I circled in too, pressing my cheek to Rumi’s hair. I held on tight, like my grip alone could stitch her back together.
And when her sobs broke open against Zoey’s shoulder, I knew—no matter what it cost—I’d never let her believe she needed letters like that again.
We stayed tangled together until her sobs dulled to shivers. My shirt was damp where her face had pressed, and Zoey’s arms around both of us had gone slack, trembling with the effort of holding steady.
Finally, Rumi let out a shaky breath, the kind that feels like it drags everything out of you. Her glow was soft again—barely there, pale pink and flickering like morning light through glass. She wiped her cheeks roughly with the heel of her hand and whispered, “Thank you. Both of you. For not… letting go.”
Zoey’s breath hitched, and she kissed the top of Rumi’s head. “Never,” she whispered.
“Not ever,” I added. And I meant it more than I’d ever meant anything.We sat back at the table, the eggs stone-cold, the water half-drunk, but it didn’t matter. Rumi sat between us, small in a way I hated seeing, but alive. Present. Herself.
I let a beat pass, then forced the words out. “Rum… those letters.” My voice was careful, but my chest ached with the weight of it. “Could we… see them?”
Her eyes snapped up to mine, wide and wounded.
Zoey’s voice was softer, almost apologetic. “I… I want to see too. Just to know. Please?”
Rumi’s hands curled in her lap, restless. “You don’t. Trust me, you don’t want to read them.” She laughed weakly, bitterly. “They’re ugly. Messy. They sound like someone who gave up. You shouldn’t have to—”
“We want to,” I cut in, firm but not unkind. “If you trusted us enough to write our names on them… then trust us enough to read them.”
Her mouth opened, closed. The glow at her collarbone flickered faintly, unsure. She shook her head, muttering, “It’s just… not something you should want. Not from me.”
Zoey leaned in, catching her hand, squeezing. “We want all of you, Rum. Even the messy parts.”
Rumi’s eyes glistened, fresh tears threatening. For a moment, I thought she’d shut down again. But then she let out a long, ragged sigh and whispered, “Fine. They’re in the top drawer of my desk. In the old lyric notebook.”
Zoey’s fingers tightened around hers like she’d been handed something precious. My stomach twisted—I wasn’t sure I wanted to see those words, but I knew I needed to. We both did.
“Okay,” I said gently, brushing a strand of hair from Rumi’s face. “Not right this second. But soon. Together. We’ll read them together.”
She gave a faint, almost imperceptible nod, then dropped her gaze to the table, hiding behind her hair. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
---- ZOEY POV ----
The rest of the morning slipped by slow, in that dreamy way where time doesn’t matter. We never really moved far from the couch—just shifted around, trading places in a pile of blankets and each other’s arms. Rumi leaned against me most of the time, still a little hungover, her head heavy on my shoulder. Mira curled at her other side, fingers threaded through hers like she was daring her to ever let go.
I couldn’t stop looking at them. My girls. My family. Every breath, every small laugh, every tear I’d seen that morning… it all sat in my chest like something fragile and golden.
Rumi shifted, pressing closer into me, and I lifted my hand without thinking, tracing the faint shimmer of her patterns along her forearm. The light stirred instantly, soft and pink under my touch, blooming like morning sunlight on water.
Her breath caught. Just a little sound, barely there. But then another came, softer, breaking out of her throat as I traced higher. My heart stuttered. I kept my touch gentle, slow, more curious than bold.
Her glow responded with each pass, flickering brighter, dancing beneath her skin like it knew me.
“Zoey…” she murmured, not quite a protest, not quite anything else.
And then Mira laughed, low and teasing. “Careful, Zo. You keep doing that and we’re going to have to leave you two alone.”
Heat flared up my neck so fast I thought I might combust. “Mira!” I shot her a look, but she only grinned, wicked and knowing.
Rumi made a sound that was half-groan, half-laugh, burying her face in my shoulder like she could hide there forever. Her patterns flared bright at the edges before softening again, fading back to that calm pink glow.
“See?” Mira said, nudging us both with her knee. “You’re glowing like a lantern. She’s basically got you wrapped around her finger.”
Rumi peeked out at her, eyes still glassy from everything, but her lips curved in the smallest smile. “Maybe I like it that way.”
That one sentence unraveled me completely.
---- MIRA POV ----
“Maybe I like it that way,” Rumi said, voice so soft it almost got lost against Zoey’s shoulder.
Zo’s whole face went pink, and I couldn’t resist. “Oh, you sure did last night when I carried you.”
Rumi’s head shot up, eyes narrowed in pure confusion. “Wait—what? What are you talking about?”
I smirked, leaning back in my chair just enough to look smug. Teasing her was like breathing sometimes, especially when it cracked through that guarded shell. “You don’t remember? Figures.”
Her patterns pulsed with irritation, little sparks of violet flickering in the pale glow, and she turned to Zoey for answers. “Zo? What’s she talking about?”
Zoey bit her lip, her cheeks still flushed, and leaned in close enough that her lips brushed Rumi’s ear when she whispered, “You kissed her.”
The reaction was instant. Rumi went rigid, her whole face flaring crimson. “I—what?!” She shoved back just enough to look between us, utterly horrified. “I kissed—you?!”
I grinned, letting her squirm for a second longer. “Relax, Rum. It was just a little one. Barely even counts. You were half-asleep and clinging to me like a koala.”
“That doesn’t make it better!” she blurted, burying her glowing face in her hands. The pale pink of her patterns flared bright enough to light the space between her fingers, betraying just how flustered she really was.
Zoey giggled beside her, looping her arms tighter around Rum’s waist. “It was cute though. Honestly? I think you meant it.”
Rumi groaned, muffled against her palms. “You two are the worst.”
I softened then, reaching over to tuck a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. “Or maybe the best. Depends on how you look at it.”
And just like that, the red on her face deepened, but this time… it wasn’t all embarrassment.
The teasing faded into something quieter after that. The three of us piled onto the couch, half tangled in blankets, half tangled in each other. Rumi curled into Zo’s chest like it was the only safe place left in the world, her patterns glowing faintly whenever Zoey’s fingers traced them. I watched them both, listening to the little hum Rum made every time Zo hit a spot that made the glow stutter brighter.
Zoey was smiling like she’d been handed the universe. I couldn’t even tease her for it—because the truth was, I felt the same way.
Hours slipped by like that. We didn’t move much. We didn’t need to. My hand stayed loosely linked with Rumi’s, and Zoey kept murmuring little nothings into her hair, and slowly, slowly, Rum’s breathing shifted. Steady. Heavy. Her patterns dimmed until they were barely there at all, like sunlight hiding behind clouds.
“She’s out,” I whispered.
Zo nodded, pressing a soft kiss to Rum’s temple. “Poor thing. She’s exhausted.”
We exchanged a look, then carefully pried ourselves free from her grip. It was harder than it should’ve been—she clung even in her sleep—but together we managed to guide her down the hall to her room. Rum mumbled something half-formed when we tucked her in, but she didn’t wake. Zoey brushed her hair off her forehead, her eyes so full of love it made my chest ache.
We stood there a long while, just watching her. The rise and fall of her chest. The way her hand twitched like she was still holding ours.
Finally, Zoey tore her gaze away. “I don’t want to leave her like this.”
“We’re not,” I said, softer than I meant to. Then I glanced at the little desk tucked in the corner, where a worn leather notebook sat on top of a stack of papers. “But… we could learn more. She said she had letters. Things she never told us.”
Zo followed my gaze, biting her lip. “Her notebook?”
“Yeah.” I moved before I could talk myself out of it, crossing the room, opening the drawer of her desk, and picking it up. It was heavier than I expected, like all that pain had soaked straight into the pages. “If she’s not ready to read them with us, maybe… we can start here. At least we’ll understand.”
Zoey hovered near me, hesitant but curious. “Do you think she’ll be mad?”
“Maybe,” I admitted. “But sometimes love looks like knowing the things she’s too scared to say out loud.” I opened to the first page, my throat tight. “Ready?”
Zoey nodded, sliding close enough that our shoulders brushed. “Ready.”
We sat on the edge of Rumi’s bed, her quiet breaths in the background, and began to read.
The pages blurred as we read, not because the ink was messy, but because the words themselves cut deeper than any blade. Rumi hadn’t just written down her pain—she’d written it like she was speaking to us. Letters never sent. Confessions she’d buried in paper instead of voices.
Her handwriting wavered in places, like the pen shook in her hand.
Mira. Zoey. If you ever read this, it probably means I couldn’t tell you in person. I don’t want to scare you. I don’t want you to think I don’t care about you—because you’re the reason I’m still here. But I need you to understand why I do the things I do. Why I hurt myself.
Sometimes it feels like I’m split in half. There’s the part of me that laughs with you, sings with you, breathes because of you. And then there’s the part that believes I don’t deserve any of it. That part is louder. That part tells me I should bleed, because bleeding makes sense when nothing else does. If I can feel pain, it means I’m still here. Even if I don’t want to be.
After fights with demons, I get hurt more than I should. And the truth? Sometimes I let it happen. I don’t dodge. I don’t fight back. I let the claws catch me, because part of me believes I deserve it. I patch myself up in silence. Pretend I’m fine. But sometimes the cuts burn so bad I cry myself to sleep. Other times, I don’t even cry. I just… dehydrate until my lips crack and I still won’t drink water because I don’t think I should feel better.
Mira—I know you’d notice if I asked for help. You’d sit me down, force me to breathe, and I don’t think I could handle the look in your eyes if you saw how weak I really am. Zoey—you’d hug me until I forgot what pain felt like, and I’d want to stay there forever. But I don’t deserve that kind of comfort, not when I’m half what I am. Not when I remind Celine every day of the man who ruined her. She looks at me like I’m him. And maybe she’s right. Maybe I am.
So I write letters instead. For you. For Bobby. Even for her. In case I don’t make it. In case one day the part of me that wants to leave wins. I don’t want to leave you guessing. I don’t want you to think I didn’t love you. Because I do. I love you so much it hurts worse than the cuts, worse than the fights. And if I can’t say it out loud—if I can’t stay—then…
Thats when i couldn’t take anymore, I wasn’t going to torture Zoey like this. I closed the notebook and came back to reality, Rumi’s cute little snores, Zoey's faint sobs echoed through the air.
“She really thought that…” Zoey’s voice cracked, trembling. “She really thought she wasn’t enough. That we’d hate her.”
I reached for her hand without thinking. She gripped mine hard, like she was trying to anchor both of us.
“We can’t let her feel like that again,” I whispered. My voice was steady, but inside I was shaking. “She has to know. She has to know she’s more than enough.”
Zoey nodded, tears finally spilling over. “We’ll tell her. Every day if we have to.”
We sat there on the edge of Rumi’s bed, holding onto each other, while she slept inches away—oblivious to the storm she’d left tucked between those pages. Her patterns glowed faintly under her skin, soft and pale, like morning light barely hanging on.
And I thought, God, Rum. You’ll never have to wonder if you’re loved again. Not while we’re here.
---- ZOEY POV ----
We stayed by Rumi’s side until her breathing evened out, soft and steady. Her notebook sat closed between us like it carried the weight of another world, but she didn’t stir, didn’t even twitch. Just the faintest flicker of pale light beneath her skin, proof that for now she was calm.
I brushed a strand of hair from her face. She didn’t even flinch. Relief settled over me like a blanket, but so did exhaustion. She needed rest more than anything.
Mira’s eyes flicked to mine, and I could tell she was thinking the same thing. Quietly, carefully, we eased ourselves off the bed, Mira tugging the blanket higher over Rumi’s shoulders before we slipped out of her room. The door clicked softly shut behind us.
The hallway felt heavier without Rumi between us, like silence had teeth. Mira rubbed her arms, and for once she looked tired, like the weight of holding us together had finally sunk in.
I wanted to hug her. I wanted to tell her how grateful I was that she was here, that she always seemed to know what to do when I froze. Instead, the words that tumbled out were clumsy, quiet:
“So… Rumi’s kiss.”
Mira tilted her head. “What about it Zo?”
I bit my lip. My pulse jumped. “You know? On a scale from 1-10 how shocked were you?.”
Her eyes widened slightly, then softened, and she let out the faintest laugh. “Oh.”
I swatted her shoulder gently. “Don’t ‘oh’ me. I saw your face. You were for real shocked.”
“Of course I was shocked,” Mira admitted, her smile turning almost shy as she sat on the couch. “I didn’t expect her to… and I definitely didn’t expect you to just stand there watching like it was the hottest thing you’d ever seen.”
Heat rushed to my face as I sat down too. “Okay—guilty. But can you blame me? You, her… it was—” My words knotted, and I buried my face against her shoulder. “It was really hot, okay?”
Mira chuckled, her hand threading through my hair. “So you did like it.”
“Liked it? Mira, I’m still thinking about it,” I mumbled against her. “I think I’m going insane.”
She pulled back just enough to search my eyes. There was something sharp there now, something daring. “Then let’s be honest,” she whispered. “You kissed me too, Zo. When we were outside. And I haven’t stopped thinking about that.”
My breath caught. “You… you liked it?”
“Liked it?” Mira smirked, leaning in until her lips nearly brushed mine again. “I wanted more. I still want more.”
That was all it took. I surged forward, kissing her like I’d been holding back for weeks. She kissed me back immediately, hungry and sure, pulling me into her lap until I was straddling her, my hands tangled in her hair.
The kiss deepened fast, heat sparking low in my stomach. Mira’s grip on my waist tightened, dragging me closer, and I couldn’t stop the small sound that escaped my throat. Her lips curved into a smile against mine, like she’d been waiting to hear it.
“God, Zo,” she murmured between kisses, her breath hot against my lips. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this.”
“Then show me,” I whispered back, breathless.
And she did.
Her mouth claimed mine again, harder this time, like she wasn’t afraid of breaking me anymore. My body pressed flush against hers, every inch of me humming, alive. We didn’t care about control anymore—we let it get messy, desperate, raw.
By the time we finally pulled apart, both of us were flushed, gasping, our foreheads pressed together.
Mira’s smile was wrecked, her lips swollen. “Guess we’re past the point of pretending.”
I laughed, shaky but real, and kissed her again, softer this time. “Way past.”
And for once, it felt good to be messy.
---- MIRA POV ----
Zoey’s lips were still warm against mine, her breath quick and uneven, her hands tangled in my hair like she never wanted to let go. I didn’t either. Not anymore.
For so long, I’d told myself not to cross that line—not with her, not with Rumi between us, not when our whole world was already so fragile. But sitting here, with Zoey straddling my lap, her eyes wild and soft at the same time, I couldn’t lie to myself anymore.
I wanted her.
Her mouth parted under mine, and I took the invitation, deepening the kiss until she whimpered into me. That sound shot straight through me, and I couldn’t stop my hands from sliding down her back, gripping her waist tighter, pulling her flush against me. She gasped, her nails catching on my shoulders, and I smiled against her lips.
“Zo…” I breathed, tasting her name like it was something forbidden and sweet all at once.
Her forehead pressed to mine, her eyes dark and blown wide. “Mira… I don’t want to stop.”
The way she said it—like a confession, like a plea—knocked the air right out of me. I cupped her face, brushing my thumb over her cheek. “Then we won’t.”
The words came out steady, but inside I was shaking. Not from fear—never that—but from how much I’d been holding back.
Zoey surged forward again, kissing me harder, hungrier. Each press of her lips stole the ground out from under me, until I was nothing but heat and ache and her. My hands slipped under the hem of her shirt, tracing the warm skin of her back. She shuddered, a small, broken sound escaping her throat.
“God, Zo,” I whispered, trailing kisses down her jaw to her neck. “You’re driving me insane.”
She tilted her head back, giving me more, her hands fisting in my hair. “You started it,” she panted, laughter mixing with desire.
“Yeah,” I murmured against her skin, sucking lightly until she moaned. “And I’m not stopping now.”
Her hips shifted against mine, a desperate, unthinking move, and my breath hitched. The air between us crackled, charged, like we’d stepped into something bigger than either of us could control.
I flipped us before I realized what I was doing, pressing her down into the couch cushions, braced above her. Zoey stared up at me, flushed, chest heaving, lips swollen from my kisses. The sight alone almost undid me.
“You’re beautiful,” I said, voice low, raw.
She reached up, tugging me down until our mouths crashed together again, messier, needier. Every kiss tasted like confession, like years of restraint finally snapping. My hands roamed her sides, her stomach, memorizing every inch I could touch.
Zoey arched beneath me, breathless. “Mira…”
The sound of my name on her lips—pleading, reverent—was enough to make me lose myself completely.
And I let it happen.
I kissed her like she was the only thing holding me to this world, like I’d burn without her. And when her hands tugged me closer, wordlessly begging me not to stop, I knew I wouldn’t.
Not tonight. Not ever again.
Zoey was under me, flushed and trembling, her lips swollen from my kisses. Her eyes met mine, wide and unguarded, and for a second I just stared at her—at the girl I’d fought beside, laughed with, cried with.
And now wanted in every possible way.
Her fingers slid under my shirt, tentative at first, then bolder when I didn’t stop her. The heat of her touch against my skin made my breath catch. I kissed her again, slower this time, savoring the taste of her, the way her mouth moved against mine like we’d been doing this for years.
“Zo,” I whispered, my voice rasping. “You’re sure?”
Her answer was immediate. “Yes.” She dragged me back down, kissing me with a hunger that left no room for doubt.
That was all I needed.
I let my hands wander, exploring the soft curve of her waist, the dip of her hip. She arched into me, a small sound escaping her throat that nearly undid me. I kissed down her jaw, her neck, savoring every shiver, every sharp inhale she gave me.
When I tugged at the hem of her shirt, she lifted her arms without hesitation. The fabric hit the floor, and I froze, drinking her in. Zoey squirmed under my gaze, cheeks pink, but she didn’t look away.
“You’re gorgeous,” I said, unable to stop myself.
“Mira…” she whispered, pulling me down again, and the way she said my name—breathy, desperate—was better than any prayer.
I trailed kisses down her chest, her stomach, slow enough to make her writhe. Her hands found my hair, tugging, guiding, begging without words. I wanted to give her everything, every part of me I’d been holding back.
Her body trembled under my touch as I kissed lower, tasting every inch of her. Her gasps filled the quiet room, shaky and broken, and I realized with a jolt that I loved this—loved being the one to unravel her like this.
“Breathe, Zo,” I murmured against her skin. “I’ve got you.”
She did, but it came out ragged, her hips bucking when I touched her where she needed me most. The sound that tore from her throat when I finally gave her what she wanted nearly set me on fire.
Her nails dug into my shoulders, her head tipping back against the cushions, her mouth spilling my name like it was the only word she knew. I moved with her, steady, coaxing her higher, until she was falling apart in my arms.
Her release hit fast, hard, her whole body tensing then shuddering. I held her through it, pressing kisses to her collarbone, her chest, whispering, “That’s it. That’s my girl.”
When she finally stilled, trembling and breathless, I kissed her lips again, soft this time. She smiled against my mouth, dazed, glowing, and pulled me down to lie with her.
We tangled together, skin to skin, hearts racing in the same rhythm. Her fingers traced idle patterns on my back, and for once, there was no fear, no hesitation. Just us.
“I think I’ve been waiting for this forever,” Zoey whispered.
I kissed her temple, my chest tight in the best way. “Me too.”
“I know that you are going to blow this out of proportion, but if Rumi joins us I think you might die” I say laughing.
“MIRA!”
And for the first time in a long time, I let myself believe in something good.
Series Summary: Takes place after the Idol Awards before they all go to the bathhouse together for the first time
Chapter Summary: Aftermath of Rumi getting drunk and Mira and Zoey going to see Celine.
Masterlist
Last Chapter>>>
Word Count: 7122
Warnings: hangover (throwing up, headache, etc…), implied past SH (kind of) and thoughts of suicide
Author Notes: OMG! So I was away this weekend and my friends trailer but I literally could not stop writing so this is what happened, I know lots of pain right now but it will get better!!! Rumi will feel loved and seen in these next chapters don't worry.
---- ZOEY POV ----
Mira carried Rumi down the hall like she weighed nothing, bridal-style, her expression unreadable. She pushed Rumi’s bedroom door open with her foot and set her down carefully, pulling the blanket up over her shoulders. For a second, Mira lingered—brushing hair from Rumi’s face, the tiniest touch of her fingers on Rumi’s temple. Then she turned away, shoulders tight, like the moment had burned her.
I was waiting in the hall.
When Mira stepped out, I caught her wrist before she could storm past. Her eyes snapped up to mine, sharp, like she was ready for a fight. But I wasn’t about to fight her. Not about this.
“I can’t wait,” I said, my voice low, almost trembling.
Mira froze. “What?”
“I can’t wait to tell her,” I pressed on. My chest ached with it, the words clawing their way out. “When she’s in a better space of mind—when she’s ready—I want her to know. That I love her. That I love you. Both of you. I can’t keep it bottled up anymore, Mira. Not after tonight.”
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. For a long moment, she just stared at me, torn between anger and something softer she didn’t want to name.
I let her wrist go, but I didn’t back away. “She deserves to hear it. All of it. And so do you.”
Mira’s throat worked as she swallowed, her gaze flicking back toward Rumi’s door, then to me. Something wavered in her expression—fragile, dangerous, like a secret on the edge of breaking.
But she didn’t argue. She didn’t run.
And that silence, that stillness, was enough to keep me standing there, waiting.
Her silence stretched too long, every second pressing harder against my ribs. I thought she’d pull away, shut me out again. But then Mira finally spoke, her voice quieter than I’d ever heard it.
“You make it sound so easy,” she whispered. “Like love is just… something I can give without breaking.”
My breath hitched. “It doesn’t have to break you.”
Her jaw clenched, but her eyes softened when they finally met mine. “I do love her. I’ve always loved her. Even when I was angry, even when I wanted to scream… it never stopped. And you—” she hesitated, almost choking on the word— “you’ve been there for me in ways I didn’t realize I needed. I don’t know how to make sense of any of it.”
I stepped closer, close enough that the warmth of her body brushed mine. “Then don’t make sense of it. Just let it be what it is.”
For a flicker of a second, she let me see it: the truth she tried so hard to bury. Her shoulders eased, her eyes shimmered like glass about to crack.
“I’m terrified, Zo,” she admitted, voice breaking.
“So am I,” I breathed, “but I still want it. I still want you. Both of you.”
Her breath caught, and then—finally—her hand slipped into mine, fingers threading tight, grounding us both. It wasn’t a full confession, not yet. But it was enough.
Her hand stayed in mine, warm, trembling slightly. Neither of us spoke for a moment. Just breathing, just existing in the quiet outside Rumi’s door.
I gave her fingers a squeeze. “Let’s just… sleep, okay? No more thinking tonight. Just sleep.”
Mira’s gaze searched mine, cautious, almost wary, like she expected me to take the words back. But when I tugged gently, she followed.
We slipped down the hall together, silent, our steps careful as if not to disturb the fragile thread between us. In my room, I didn’t bother turning on the lights. The city glow through the curtains painted everything in soft blue.
I slid under the blanket first, holding it open in invitation. Mira hesitated for a breath, then climbed in beside me, stiff at first until I curved against her side.
Her body was warm, solid, grounding in a way I hadn’t realized I needed. I tucked my head against her shoulder, arm draped across her waist. For once, she didn’t resist. She exhaled slowly, then pulled me closer.
No words. No confessions. Just two girls, clinging to each other in the dark, waiting for morning.
And for the first time in days, I felt like maybe—just maybe—we’d make it through this.
---- RUMI POV ----
My head was pounding. Not just a dull ache—more like someone was splitting it in half with a hammer. My mouth felt like sandpaper, my stomach a churning mess. Yeah. Classic hangover.
I groaned, pushing myself up from bed. The room spun, tilting like a broken carousel. My legs wobbled as I stumbled toward the door, hand braced against the wall just to keep myself upright.
Halfway to the bathroom, I glanced toward Zoey’s room—habit, maybe, or instinct. The door wasn’t shut all the way. A sliver of morning light leaked out, and when I leaned closer, I froze.
Through the gap, I saw them.
Zoey and Mira. Wrapped up together beneath the blanket, bodies pressed close, arms tangled in a way that wasn’t just comfort. It was… intimate. Real. Mira’s head rested against Zoey’s, her usually sharp, restless face softened in sleep. Zoey’s arm curled around Mira’s waist like she belonged there.
Something cracked open inside me.
For a second, the nausea faded, replaced by something sharp and aching. Not jealousy—no, it wasn’t that. It was want. It was warmth. It was the deep, dizzy realization that they were mine. Both of them. Or maybe I wasn’t allowed to say that yet, but it didn’t matter. I wanted them. I loved them.
And seeing them like this? It didn’t scare me. It didn’t feel like being left out. It felt right. Like a puzzle piece clicking into place, even if it stung to admit it out loud.
A groan ripped through me before I could stop it—my stomach deciding now was the time to revolt. I barely made it to the bathroom, dropping to my knees over the toilet. My body shook with each wave, the sour taste of last night coating my throat.
I pressed my forehead to the cool tile, panting, tears stinging my eyes—not just from the hangover, but from the weight in my chest.
Zoey. Mira.
God, I loved them both.
---- MIRA POV ----
I woke slowly, caught in that rare, fragile haze between dream and day. The first thing I felt wasn’t the light spilling in from the curtains, but warmth. Zoey’s warmth. Her arm was still draped across my waist, her face buried against my shoulder like she’d decided, at some point in the night, that I was her pillow.
I didn’t move. Couldn’t, really. For once, my body wasn’t tense or braced for the day ahead. It was… peaceful. Which, for me, felt unnatural. Dangerous, even. But with Zoey breathing soft and steady against me, I let myself melt into it.
After a while, her lashes fluttered. She blinked up at me, hair wild, eyes still half-closed. “Morning,” she mumbled, voice raspy.
“Morning,” I whispered back.
She smiled—sleepy, crooked, the kind of smile that slipped right past my guard and lodged itself deep in my chest. I had to look away before I lost myself in it completely.
“You’re warm,” she said, nuzzling closer like she didn’t care about personal space at all.
“And you’re clingy,” I muttered, though I didn’t exactly push her off.
“Guess we balance each other out then,” she teased, and I rolled my eyes, but my lips betrayed me with the ghost of a smile.
We stayed like that for a few more minutes, wrapped up in something that felt dangerously close to perfect, until I decided I needed to move. If not for me, then for Zoey. For Rumi. “I’m gonna make breakfast,” I said quietly, easing out of her arms.
Zoey groaned and flopped onto her back, eyes closing again. “Fine, but don’t burn anything.”
“I don’t burn things.”
“Mhmm.” She smirked, but didn’t open her eyes.
I slipped out, pulling the door open carefully so it wouldn’t creak. The air outside was cooler, quieter. I padded down the hall toward the kitchen, already running through what we had left in the fridge. Eggs, maybe. Toast. Something light.
That’s when I heard it.
A retching sound. Harsh. Raw. From the bathroom.
I froze, heart thudding.
Rumi.
The sound came again, a miserable gag followed by the flush of water. My chest tightened, and before I even thought about it, I was moving.
The bathroom door was half-closed, so I pushed it gently open.
Rumi was slumped on the floor by the toilet, hair sticking to her cheeks, skin pale and clammy. She glanced up at me with bleary eyes, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Yeah, I know what you’re gonna say,” she croaked, voice hoarse. “That I shouldn’t have… that I need to take better care of myself. That drinking was a dumb idea. Save it, Mira. I already know.”
Her attempt at sarcasm was thin—like tissue paper, like it could rip with one more breath.
I leaned against the doorframe, crossing my arms, though the urge to drop to her side was nearly overwhelming. “So you know, huh?”
She gave a bitter little laugh, then winced and pressed a hand to her head. “Congratulations. Gold star for me. I know. Doesn’t make me feel any better.”
I studied her, trying to decide how hard to push. She looked so… fragile, even in her defiance. Like if I said the wrong thing, she’d crack in two.
“You think I came here to scold you?” I asked finally.
Her eyes flickered up, uncertain. “Didn’t you?”
I shook my head slowly. “No. I came because I heard you. Because I care.”
She blinked, as if the words didn’t make sense to her. Her lips parted like she wanted to argue, but nothing came out. Instead, she dropped her gaze, shoulders sagging.
“Careful, Mira,” she mumbled, a weak attempt at humor. “Say things like that and I might start believing you.”
That stung. Not because it was cruel, but because it was honest.
I crouched down, lowering myself to her level. “Then believe me.”
Her eyes finally met mine, glassy and tired, but something flickered there—a spark of something I couldn’t name.
And for a moment, neither of us said a word. Just sat there, the silence thick with everything she didn’t think she deserved to hear and everything I wasn’t sure how to give. I wonder if she remembers last night…
The kiss.
---- ZOEY POV ----
I padded down the hall, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. The apartment was quiet, but not the good kind. The kind where you know something’s off. Then I heard voices—low, careful—from the bathroom.
I slowed, stopping just shy of the doorway. Mira’s voice drifted out first, steady but softer than usual.
“…You think I came here to scold you?”
There was a pause, then Rumi’s hoarse voice, tired and raw. “Didn’t you?”
My heart twisted.
I leaned against the wall, listening as Mira’s tone dropped even gentler. “No. I came because I heard you. Because I care.”
Silence. For a moment, I thought Rumi wouldn’t respond. Then she let out this shaky little laugh that sounded like it hurt her throat. “Careful, Mira. Say things like that and I might start believing you.”
I peeked around the corner. Rumi sat crumpled on the bathroom floor, her hair a mess, her face pale and blotchy from crying or throwing up—or both. Mira crouched in front of her, not touching, but close. The look on Mira’s face nearly undid me: she was hard steel on the outside, but her eyes were nothing but open, raw fear and love.
“Then believe me,” Mira whispered.
Rumi’s eyes lifted, glassy and exhausted, and for a second—just one second—I saw her falter. Like she wanted to give in, let herself lean into Mira’s words. But then she pulled back into herself, hugging her knees tighter.
I pressed a hand to my chest. Watching them like this—it made me ache. Ache because Rumi deserved to feel this cared for, ache because Mira finally let her guard down, ache because I loved them both so much it physically hurt to stay quiet.
But I didn’t step in, not yet. They needed this. So I stayed just outside the doorway, listening, trying not to let the tears sting too hard behind my eyes.
After a few minutes I couldn’t take it anymore. Standing there, watching them without saying a word—it felt wrong, like I was intruding on something sacred. And maybe I was. But Rumi was mine too. Ours. I couldn’t stay in the doorway forever.
So I pushed forward, bare feet padding softly against the floor until I was there in the light with them.
“Rum…” My voice cracked.
Both of them looked up at me. Rumi’s eyes were red, half-hidden behind her messy hair, and Mira’s were sharp but wet at the edges, like she’d been holding herself together with wire.
Rumi sniffed, scrubbing at her face with the back of her hand. “Yeah, yeah, I know what you’re gonna say too.” Her words came out half-sarcasm, half-surrender. “Don’t drink again, take better care of myself, let you guys in… I get it, okay?”
God, that broke me. The way she said it, like she expected us to be disappointed. Like love only came in lectures.
I sank down onto the floor beside her, ignoring the ache in my knees, and wrapped my arms around her shoulders. She was stiff at first, resisting, but then she collapsed into me, like she always did when she was too tired to keep her walls up.
“I wasn’t gonna scold you,” I whispered into her hair. “I just… I just wanted to hold you.”
Her breath hitched, and for a moment she didn’t answer. Then she muttered, muffled against me, “You and Mira. You’re too good to me.”
I tightened my hold, catching Mira’s eyes over Rumi’s head. For once, there was no fire between us. Just the same ache, the same fear, the same love mirrored back at me.
“We’re not too good for you,” I said, voice low but firm. “You deserve us. Every bit of this. Even when it’s messy. Especially then.”
Rumi’s fingers curled weakly into my shirt. She didn’t argue. She just leaned heavier into my chest, like she wanted to believe me but didn’t quite know how yet.
The bathroom was small, too small for all three of us, yet somehow we fit. Mira crouched on one side, her hand brushing Rumi’s knee, steady but gentle. I had Rumi pressed into my chest, my chin resting against the top of her head. The three of us formed this shaky circle of warmth and exhaustion, steam still clinging faintly to the mirror from when she’d run in here earlier.
No one spoke. Just the sound of our breathing. Rumi’s, uneven and heavy. Mira’s, low and measured, like she was trying to anchor us both. Mine, ragged because holding everything in had me trembling.
Then it happened.
At first, I thought I was imagining it. A faint shimmer across Rumi’s skin, barely visible in the light. But when she shifted, Mira gasped softly.
“Zoey… look.”
I pulled back just enough to see.
Rumi’s patterns—the strange, beautiful marks etched across her body—were glowing. Not brightly, not like fire or neon, but a soft, tender pink. Like the inside of a rose petal catching dawn. The light pulsed faintly, in rhythm with her heartbeat.
She hadn’t noticed. Too lost in her haze of pain and exhaustion, eyes half-shut, clinging to us because it was all she knew to do.
But Mira and I—God, we noticed. And for a moment, neither of us could breathe.
“Mira…” I whispered, barely holding back the awe. “Is this—?”
“I don’t know,” she said quickly, though her eyes never left Rumi. “But it’s happening because of this. Because of us.”
Rumi shifted again, burying her face in my neck with a soft, tired hum, completely unaware she was lit up like some kind of miracle.
The glow spread faintly across her arms where our hands touched her, blooming brighter wherever we held her the closest.
“She doesn’t even see it,” I said, half in wonder, half in fear.
Mira’s jaw clenched, but her voice softened. “Then we’ll see it for her. We’ll hold her until she does.”
And so we stayed there—three bodies pressed together on the cold bathroom floor—while Rumi’s patterns glowed with that gentle, impossible pink.
Like proof she was still here. Like proof she still belonged.
---- RUMI POV ----
It took me a few minutes to realize something was… off. My head still pounded, my mouth tasted like hell, and all I wanted was to stay curled between my girls and never move again. But Mira kept staring at me, eyes wide, unblinking. Zoey too.
“What?” I muttered, my voice rough. “Do I look that bad?”
Neither of them answered. Zoey just brushed a strand of hair out of my face, and Mira’s hand tightened against my knee like she didn’t dare let go.
Confused, I shifted and finally caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror.
I froze.
The faint pink glow ran across my arms, delicate and alive, tracing every mark, every line of the patterns I’d always thought were ugly—like scars, like proof of something I never asked for. But now… they were lit up. Soft. Beautiful.
My stomach dropped. “Oh no…”
“It’s not bad,” Zoey said quickly, as if she could hear the panic in my chest. “Rumi, it’s… it’s beautiful.”
I shook my head, tears stinging my eyes. “No. No, this—this only happens when my emotions are all over the place. When I can’t control them.” My voice cracked, spilling raw and broken. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to drag you into this mess again.”
“Rumi.” Mira’s voice cut sharp but steady. Not scolding—firm, grounding. “Stop apologizing for existing.”
But I couldn’t stop. The words clawed out anyway. “You don’t get it. Every time this happened before, Celine would… she’d scold me. Tell me I was too emotional. Too unstable. That glowing like this was dangerous, reckless. That I had to bury it down, or else I’d ruin everything.” My chest heaved, my voice breaking. “So I tried. I tried to keep it buried. But I can’t. Not with you. Not when I feel—”
Zoey cupped my face, making me look at her. Her eyes shone, fierce and wet all at once. “Don’t apologize for feeling, Rum. You think we don’t want this? You think we don’t want you—messy feelings, glowing patterns, all of it?”
Mira leaned closer, her forehead pressing briefly against mine. “This isn’t something to fear. It’s proof you’re still here with us. Proof you can still feel.”
My throat burned. I wanted to believe them. But Celine’s voice still rang in my ears: Hide it. Control it. Don’t let anyone see what you really are.
I broke then. The words, the glow, the way they held me—it was too much. My body shook with quiet sobs I’d been swallowing for years.
Mira’s voice cut through my tears, sharp and low, like a blade dragging over stone. “We’ll talk about her later.” The venom in her tone made me flinch. She didn’t just sound annoyed—she sounded furious. “She doesn’t get to keep a leash on you anymore. Not after everything she’s done.”
I froze. My tears stuttered in my throat. Everything she’s done? Mira couldn’t know. Not all of it. I never told them everything Celine said, everything she did. I thought I’d hidden that. But hearing Mira now, the way her voice cracked like she’d seen behind the curtain… it made something twist inside me.
Zoey’s hand smoothed circles on my back, steady but fierce in its own way. “Celine doesn’t get to define you, Rum. Not then, not now, not ever again. We’ll make sure of it.” Her voice was softer, but her eyes burned with the same protective fire.
I blinked at them through blurry eyes. They looked so different—Mira’s anger simmering like fire under ice, Zoey’s warmth steady and burning bright—but both of them were pointed at me. Protecting me.
And I couldn’t stop the thought from creeping in: How much do they already know?
---- ZOEY POV ----
Rumi’s eyes darted between me and Mira, too sharp for someone who’d just been crying. The pink glow along her skin softened, then flickered like a candle losing air.
“What do you mean?” she whispered, her voice catching halfway between fragile and demanding. “What do you know?”
My throat closed up. I hadn’t expected her to call us on it—not now, not while she was still shaking in our arms. Panic spiked, words tumbling out too fast, too broken.
“I—uh—I didn’t mean—it’s not—Rumi, we just—” My voice cracked. Mira gave me a sharp look, but even she didn’t step in this time.
Rumi’s gaze narrowed, the glow along her markings deepening, shifting. That soft pink bled into violet, darkening, pulsing with the rhythm of her breath. It wasn’t the warm light from before—it was raw, unsettled.
My heart hammered. “Rum, hey, listen to me,” I said quickly, my hands squeezing her shoulders. I tried to keep my tone calm, but inside I was unraveling. “Now’s not the time. Not like this, okay? There’s… stuff we do need to tell you. About—” I hesitated, the words idol awards and Celine clawing at the back of my tongue. “But you’re not ready. And that’s okay. You don’t have to be.”
Her lip trembled, and the glow burned brighter purple. “Not ready? What— Are you hiding things from me?”
I shook my head furiously, terrified at how small and betrayed she sounded. “No—no, Rum, it’s not like that. We’re not hiding anything to hurt you. We just… we want to protect you. That’s all.”
I glanced at Mira, silently begging for backup, but my chest already felt heavy with guilt. We were keeping things from her. And she knew it.
And her light made it impossible to pretend otherwise.
“Protect me?” Rumi’s voice cracked, loud and jagged, echoing off the tiled walls. “That’s what Celine always said too! ‘I’m protecting you, Rumi.’” She laughed—harsh, humorless. “And you saw how that worked out!”
The glow across her markings flared brighter, a deep violet streaking up her arms, pulsing with each shudder of breath. My stomach dropped. This wasn’t just sadness anymore—it was the edge of panic, of rage, of hurt clawing its way out.
“Rum—” I reached for her hand.
She ripped it away like my touch burned. “Why won’t you tell me. Why lie!” Her eyes darted between us, wide and glassy, her chest rising too fast. “You say you care about me, but you’re keeping something from me. You think I can’t handle it. You think I’m too broken.”
Her words cut straight through me. “That’s not true—”
“Don’t!” she snapped. “Don’t say it’s not true. I can see it in your faces. I can feel it.”
Her patterns surged one last time, a bright flash of violet that seemed to throb in sync with her heartbeat—then she shoved past us, stumbling into the hall. We scrambled after her, but she was fast, fueled by raw adrenaline.
“Rumi, wait!” I called, but she was already at her door.
The slam shook the apartment. A second later, the sharp click of the lock dropped into place.
I stood frozen, staring at the wooden barrier now cutting her off from us. My hands shook as I pressed them against the doorframe, as though somehow that would make her feel me there.
“Rum?” My voice cracked, breaking into the silence. “Please…”
No answer.
Only the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.
---- RUMI POV ----
The second the lock clicked, I staggered back, my breath coming in ragged bursts. My arms burned—no, not just burned, ached. The violet glow of my patterns pulsed sharp and heavy, like someone had pressed hot iron into my skin. Every beat of my heart sent another jolt of pain, threading up my shoulders and across my chest.
I tore my hoodie off, tossing it aside, and yanked my tank top over my head. The white fabric clung against my skin, already damp with sweat. At least this way I could breathe, at least I didn’t feel so trapped.
But the glow didn’t stop. It never stopped when it got this bad.
I dug through the mess on my desk, fingers trembling until they closed around the nearest notebook. The cover was bent, the pages already full of scribbles, crossed-out words, lyrics that would never see the light of day. I didn’t care. I needed something. Anything.
The pen scratched furiously against the page. Words poured out faster than I could process them:
You’re a burden.
They’ll leave you.
They’re lying.
You ruin everything.
The more I wrote, the more my hand cramped, the harder the letters dug into the paper until the tip of the pen nearly tore through. But at least it kept the storm out of my head, at least for a second.
From the hallway, I could still hear them—Zoey’s voice, soft and pleading, Mira’s sharper, steadier, trying to keep her calm but cracking around the edges.
“Rumi, please open the door.”
“Rum, we’re right here. We’re not going anywhere.”
I pressed my palms to my ears, notebook balanced against my knees. Their voices only made the ache in my chest worse. I wanted them close, but the thought of opening the door—of them seeing me like this—made my stomach twist.
“Just stop,” I whispered to myself, pressing the pen so hard it snapped, ink bleeding across the paper like a wound. “Just stop, just stop…”
But my patterns pulsed again, violet light cutting across the dimness of my room, a reminder I couldn’t escape what I felt. Not even from myself.
Ink bled down my hand, dripping onto the page, smearing the words into a black blur. My chest heaved, every breath shallow, shaky. The violet glow in my patterns flared again—too bright, too sharp.
I pulled my knees to my chest, rocking slightly, trying to drown out their voices.
“Rumi, please…” Zoey’s tone cracked like glass. “Don’t shut us out. Just open the door, okay? We can talk, we can—”
“Rum.” Mira’s voice was firmer, the weight of command woven into it. “I’m giving you a choice. Open the door. Let us in.”
I pressed my forehead to my knees, squeezing my eyes shut. If I stayed small, if I stayed quiet, maybe they’d give up. Maybe the storm inside me wouldn’t spill all over them.
Silence stretched, broken only by their muffled breathing beyond the wood. My notebook slid from my grip, thudding against the floor.
Then Mira’s voice cut through again, steel wrapped in desperation.
“Rumi. If you don’t open this door right now, I swear to god—I will.”
I didn’t move. Couldn’t. My body felt like stone.
There was a long pause. The air in my lungs turned heavier, colder. And then—
CRACK.
The door burst open, the wood splintering as Mira shoved through, shoulder first. The frame groaned, giving way under her force.
I flinched hard, shielding my face instinctively from the sudden rush of light, the sudden presence of them. My patterns blazed, purple washing over the room in frantic bursts.
“God, Rumi…” Mira’s voice was low, but trembling. Not angry—just terrified.
And behind her, Zoey gasped, hand flying to her mouth as her wide eyes found me curled on the floor, ink-stained, trembling, glowing like I was breaking apart from the inside.
---- MIRA POV ----
The door gave way with a sickening crack, shards of wood scraping across my shoulder as it swung open. I stumbled forward, breath ragged, heart hammering like it was trying to break free from my chest.
And then I saw her.
Rumi, crumpled on the floor, arms wrapped around herself, her notebook tossed aside and bleeding ink across the pages. Her patterns glowed an angry purple, lighting the room in uneven flickers like a broken neon sign. She looked small, fragile, but at the same time untouchable, like if I reached out I’d burn myself on all that pain spilling out of her.
God, I wanted to scream. Or cry. Or both. Instead I dropped to my knees in front of her, forcing my voice soft even though it shook.
“Rumi… baby, it’s okay. I’m here. We’re here.” My hands hovered, desperate to touch but terrified to push her further away.
Zoey slipped in behind me, quiet but present, her breath hitched in her throat. I felt her eyes on us, just as broken.
Rumi finally lifted her head. Her face was streaked with tears, her hair sticking to her damp cheeks, her pupils blown wide like she was teetering on the edge of something dangerous.
But her voice—it wasn’t shattered. It was sharp. Clear. Cutting right through me.
“Tell me what happened.”
I blinked, thrown off. “Rum—”
“The truth.” Her patterns pulsed brighter, violet light rippling across her skin in jagged bursts. Her gaze pinned me in place, demanding. “You’re keeping something from me. Both of you.”
The words ripped something open inside me. I wanted to tell her to breathe, to calm down, to let me hold her until the storm passed. But instead, I just sat there, my throat closing up, my chest aching with the weight of the secret I swore we’d wait to tell her.
And still—her eyes didn’t leave mine.
My throat felt like it was lined with glass. I wanted to give her everything right there, every answer she was begging for, but one look at her trembling hands, the wild flicker of those purple patterns crawling up her arms—I knew it would crush her.
“I want to tell you,” I whispered, my voice breaking against the silence. “God, Rumi, I do. But not like this. Not when you’re like this. It’s not the time.”
Her stare cut into me like I’d betrayed her twice over. She shook her head, strands of her hair sticking to her damp face. “That’s what you always say.”
Her hands pressed against her ears suddenly, trembling, her words turning to quiet mumbles—disjointed, raw, wrong.
“—they’re right, I’m nothing—just a mistake, shouldn’t be here—”
The sound gutted me. It wasn’t her. It was the voice she always fought against, worming its way out of the shadows in her mind, poisoning her.
“No—hey, Rumi, stop.” My voice cracked, my hands finally daring to hold her shoulders. “That’s not you. That’s not your voice.”
But she just shook harder, rocking like she was trying to drown it out.
Zoey suddenly gasped beside me, her composure shattering like glass under a hammer. Her hands trembled at her sides, nails biting into her palms.
“We saw Celine!”
The words burst out of her, sharp and uncontrollable, cutting the room in half.
Rumi froze. The mumbling cut off. Her head snapped toward Zoey, eyes wide, pupils blown as if the single sentence had ripped her reality apart.
“You… what?”
The glow of her patterns shifted, flickering between purple and a sickly pale pink, like her heart couldn’t decide whether to break or hope.
---- ZOEY POV ----
I couldn’t breathe. Watching Rumi like this—it was like every bone in me had been hollowed out. Her patterns pulsed purple, sharp and jagged like cracks in stained glass, and she was mumbling things no one should ever say about themselves. Things I’d kill to tear out of her head if I could.
Mira was trying—God, she was trying so hard. Her voice low, steady, holding Rumi in place even when Rumi looked like she wanted to disappear into the floor.
“I want to tell you,” Mira said softly, her hands gripping Rumi’s shoulders like anchors. “But not like this. Not right now. It’s not the time.”
Rumi’s head snapped up. “Not the time? It’s never the time with you!” Her voice cracked, high and broken, before tumbling into more frantic mutters. She pressed her palms to her ears like she could block it all out, rocking where she sat.
“—useless—wrong—shouldn’t even be here—”
My chest constricted, panic clawing at my throat. I couldn’t take it. Not hearing her like that, not seeing her sink deeper while we just stood here choking on secrets.
Mira held on, whispering, begging her to hear her instead of whatever voice was slithering through her head. But I could see it—Rumi wasn’t hearing her. Not really.
And all I could think was: If we keep this from her, if we wait any longer, it’ll destroy her. It’ll destroy us.
My mouth moved before my brain caught up, my fear shoving past everything Mira just said.
“We saw Celine!”
The words tore out of me like a scream.
The room went silent.
Rumi froze. Her muttering cut off mid-breath. Her wide, wet eyes locked on me, like she’d just heard the world’s cruelest joke.
“You… what?”
Her patterns flickered violently, purple bleeding into pale pink, confused, broken, fragile.
And in that instant, I knew there was no turning back.
Rumi’s eyes went glassy, wide but not angry. Just… sad. A sadness that felt heavier than yelling ever could. She blinked once, slow, like she was trying to process, trying to hold herself steady while the floor shifted under her feet.
“I…” My throat locked up. I wanted to be strong, to have answers ready, but instead all I managed was silence. Silence that stretched too long.
Rumi hugged her arms around herself, like she was trying to hold herself together. Her patterns flickered purple, faint but enough to make her wince, and I hated how helpless I felt watching it.
“You saw her,” she whispered. “Celine. And she told you… things. Didn’t she?” Her gaze darted between me and Mira, searching, desperate. “How much?”
Her voice cracked, and I flinched.
“My childhood? What she did to me? Or… or the nights I didn’t think I’d make it?” She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. “Did she tell you about the awards? About that night?”
The words made my chest cave in. Mira and I had sworn we’d wait, that we’d tell her when she was ready—not like this. Not with her begging us through tears.
“Rumi…” I stepped forward, even though my legs felt like stone. My hand hovered near her arm but didn’t touch. I wasn’t sure if she’d shatter from it or cling to it. “She did tell us things, yeah. But—” My voice cracked, and I forced the words out. “None of it changes how we see you. None of it. You’re still you. Our Rumi.”
She looked at me then, really looked, eyes shining and wet, and the sight made my stomach churn with guilt.
“You should’ve told me,” she whispered. “You should’ve told me the second you saw her.”
I swallowed hard. “You’re right. We saw her yesterday and we were going to talk with you, but we were scared. Especially when we came home last night, Rum. Scared of hurting you more, of saying it at the wrong time. We thought we were protecting you…” My voice trailed off, small and broken. “But maybe we were just protecting ourselves.”
Her face crumpled, lips trembling as if she wanted to argue, but no words came. She just sat there, shaking, patterns glowing faintly against her skin like her heart was too loud to hide.
Before I could stumble over another half-formed apology, Mira crouched down beside me, her hand steady where mine shook.
“She’s right, Rumi,” Mira said softly, her voice threaded with that quiet firmness she always carried. “We didn’t tell you because we didn’t want to make it worse. Not because we don’t trust you, or because you’re weak, but because—” she swallowed, eyes glinting sharp with regret— “because we were terrified of losing you if we said the wrong thing.”
Rumi’s gaze snapped between us, her lips parting like she wanted to scream but no sound came out. Her patterns glowed brighter, bleeding from purple into a jagged, restless pink, sparking like the colors couldn’t decide which way to go.
“Don’t you get it?” she choked out. Her voice cracked so hard it almost didn’t sound like her. “That makes it worse. You’re both sitting here holding the pieces of me, and I— I don’t even know what you know about me anymore.”
She lurched to her feet, stumbling back until her shoulders hit the wall. “I can’t— I can’t breathe.” Her hand clutched at her chest, patterns flickering wildly across her skin.
Mira stood instantly, reaching for her, but Rumi flinched away, pressing harder into the wall like she could vanish into it. Tears blurred in her eyes, and her voice broke on a whisper.
“Please… please make it stop.”
The words gutted me. Not angry. Not demanding. Just desperate. Like she was drowning in her own skin.
Mira’s jaw tightened, her hand still hovering in the air. “Rumi…” she said, low and unshakable, though I could hear the cracks beneath it. “We’ll get through this. Together. You are not alone. Not ever.”
But Rumi shook her head, trembling so hard I thought she’d shatter right in front of us. Her patterns pulsed violently, like her body couldn’t contain the storm inside.
And all I could do was stand there, helpless, watching the girl I loved beg the universe to turn her pain off.
---- RUMI POV ----
The room was spinning. My chest was too tight, every breath a scrape against my ribs. Patterns burned across my skin, violet and sharp, like electricity under my veins. They hurt. God, they hurt. I pressed my palms against them as if I could smother the glow, but it only made the sting worse.
“I can’t—” My voice cracked, brittle. “I can’t breathe. Please, make it stop. I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want to feel like this.”
Mira stepped forward, reaching out, steady like always. “Rumi, come here—”
But I staggered back, shaking my head hard, like the movement alone could shut her out. “Don’t. Don’t touch me. You can’t fix this. I’m… I’m broken, Mira. I always have been. She told you, didn’t she? Celine told you everything.”
The words tumbled out faster than I could stop them, sharp and desperate. “That I ruin things? That I drag everyone down? That I don’t know how to be normal, even for a second?” My throat burned, but I kept going. “You know now. You know what it’s like in my head, and—” My voice broke into a jagged whisper. “I can’t stand it. I can’t stand you looking at me like that.”
The pain flared again, hot and brutal across my arms and chest, and I nearly screamed from it. My patterns pulsed violently, purple streaking like bruises under my skin.
Then Zoey’s voice cut through, softer. Unsteady but gentle.
“Rumi… would it be okay if I held you?”
I froze. My whole body shook, my lungs still clawing for air. No one had ever asked me that before—not like that. Not like I had a choice. My throat trembled, no words came out, but my head dipped the tiniest bit, like my body decided for me.
Zoey moved slowly, carefully, like she was scared I’d vanish if she came too fast. And then her arms slid around me from behind, pulling me against her chest. The fight drained out of me all at once, my knees buckling, and she caught me, lowering us both to the floor.
“I’ve got you,” she whispered, breath warm against my ear. “I’ve got you, Rum. Just breathe. Take a deep breath with me, okay? Count to ten.”
Her chest rose and fell against my back, steady, patient. I forced air into my lungs, shaky at first, then again, a little deeper.
“One,” Zoey said softly.
I whispered it back. “One.”
We counted together, breath by breath. By the time we reached ten, my patterns had dulled from violent purple to a dim, flickering pink. The pain didn’t vanish, but it stopped clawing at me so hard.
That’s when Mira moved in again—slower this time. She crouched and leaned down, wrapping her arms around my shoulders, pressing her cheek to the top of my head. The weight of her hug folded me in, safe between them both.
My head was tucked under Mira’s chest, Zoey’s arms locked tight around me, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the storm in my body finally started to settle.
The storm in my chest still rattled, but softer now. My breaths weren’t knives anymore—more like shallow waves trying to find the shore. Zoey’s arms stayed tight around me, grounding me every time I felt myself slipping again, while Mira’s hug from above was like an anchor, keeping me from floating away.
Slowly, the searing purple light etched across my skin began to dim. It flickered faintly, then bled into a pale pink, softer and lighter until it almost vanished. Barely there, like an iridescent shimmer only visible if you looked close enough. The pain dulled with it, fading into something that just ached instead of burned.
“You’re okay,” Zoey whispered, her voice so steady it didn’t even sound like hers anymore. “You’re safe. We’re right here.”
Mira’s cheek pressed against my hair. “Rum, listen to me. You’re not broken. You never were. I don’t care what she said or what you’ve been through—you’re… you. And that’s enough. More than enough.”
Something cracked in my chest, but this time it wasn’t sharp or jagged—it was… relief. A tiny piece of me daring to believe her.
“You don’t have to carry this alone,” Zoey added, her breath shaky, but her words certain. “Not anymore. We’re not going anywhere. Not now, not ever.”
The tears that came weren’t violent this time. They slipped quiet and steady down my face, soaking into Mira’s shirt, into Zoey’s arms. My body sagged between them, limp, exhausted, but no longer fighting.
“I…” My voice shook, barely a whisper. “I want to believe you.”
Mira’s arms tightened around me, her voice low but fierce. “Then do. Just a little. Start there.”
Zoey nodded against my shoulder. “And if you forget, we’ll remind you. As many times as it takes.”
I closed my eyes, letting their words sink into the cracks. For once, I didn’t push them away. For once, I let myself stay in the warmth, pale pink glowing faintly over my skin like proof that maybe—just maybe—I wasn’t completely lost.
here is the link to their post: https://www.tumblr.com/herdolcezza/791973486751055872/drunk-and-carried
Series Summary: Takes place after the Idol Awards before they all go to the bathhouse together for the first time
Chapter Summary: Some Zoemira angst + Rumi feeling bad, then a talk with Celine, more Rumi angst, more Zoemira and then Rumira!!
Masterlist
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Word Count: 11,657
Warnings: Talk of self harm and suicide, drinking, plus a few kisses (hehe)
Author Notes: OMFG!!!!! I hope you guys love this chapter cause I lowkey couldn't stop writing it! So I'm going away with My best friend this weekend so I'm not sure when the next chapter will be out but I hope this long one makes up for it! Till next time! ;)
---- ZOEY POV ----
The three of us stayed curled together on the couch. Rumi didn’t stir once, breathing soft and steady against Mira’s shoulder. Mira held her like she was something fragile, precious, and I couldn’t look away.
But no matter how warm it looked, the bad feeling in my chest wouldn’t go. It gnawed at me, sharp and restless. What if she’s keeping secrets because she’s in danger? What if we’re already too late?
My brain wouldn’t stop. Every possible worst-case scenario crashed over me until it felt like I was suffocating.
Finally, I slipped off the couch as quietly as I could, bare feet padding across the floor. I made it to my room and shut the door, heart racing, before pacing tight circles in the dark.
The silence was worse here. It gave me nothing but my own thoughts to chew on.
The door creaked. Mira slipped inside, careful, leaving it ajar so Rumi wouldn’t wake.
“Zo,” she said softly, eyes shadowed but sharp. “What’s going on with you?”
I rubbed at my arm, unable to meet her gaze. “I just… I can’t stop thinking about it. Something’s wrong with her. I know it.”
Mira sighed, stepping closer, voice steady. “You’re not the only one worried. But you—you carry it like the world’s about to fall apart.”
“Maybe it is.” The words came out harsher than I meant.
Her eyes searched mine, steady and intense. “Zoey… you’re shaking.”
“I can’t help it,” I snapped, then faltered, lowering my voice. “I’m scared. Not just for her. For us. For…”
My chest tightened. Don’t say it. But the words slipped out anyway, raw. “For what’s happening between us. All of us”
Mira stilled, like I’d cracked something open in her too.
“You think I don’t feel it?” she asked, barely above a whisper. She stepped closer, heat radiating off her. “You think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me? Or Rumi?”
My breath caught. “And the way you guys look at me,” I whispered back, my throat dry.
She exhaled, frustrated, dragging a hand through her hair. “We shouldn’t. You know that, right?”
“I know.” My voice broke a little. “But knowing doesn’t stop it.”
I look up at her hoping a small part of her will lose control, even though it might mess things up, mess everything up, but at least we’d be doing it together.
“You keep looking at me like that,” Mira murmured, voice low and dangerous, “and I’ll do something we can’t take back.”
The room shrank, pulled tight around us. My pulse thundered. “This is dangerous,” I breathed, but I couldn’t make myself step back. My lips curled into something between a challenge and a plea. “That’s why you like it, isn’t it?”
Her silence was answer enough.
The weight of it pressed between us, thick and hot. I swore if either of us leaned forward even an inch, everything would shatter.
Instead, Mira reached out—slow, deliberate—and her fingers brushed my arm. The lightest touch, but it sent sparks ripping through me. She let her hand linger, her restraint breaking just enough for me to feel how badly she wanted more.
“Go to bed, Zo,” she whispered, voice shaking with something she was barely holding back. “Before we both do something we regret.”
I stood there long after she left, trembling, my skin burning where she’d touched me.
Sleep was impossible.
Because nothing about this was safe anymore—not my feelings, not Rumi’s secrets, not whatever had just caught fire between me and Mira.
---- MIRA POV ----
I slipped back into the living room, careful not to make a sound. Rumi hadn’t moved. She was still curled into the corner of the couch, lashes dark against her cheek, lips parted just slightly in sleep. Peaceful. Untouched by the storm twisting in my chest.
I sat on the edge of the armrest, watching her breathe. I should have felt calmer here, with her safe and warm, but instead the weight in me only grew heavier.
Because Zoey was right—something is wrong. I can feel it in my bones. But what scared me more wasn’t danger outside our walls. It was what I felt inside them.
I pressed the heel of my hand to my temple, closing my eyes. I’d never thought I’d feel this way. Not about Zoey. Not about Rumi. Definitely not about both of them.
The realization alone made my chest tighten like I’d broken some unspoken law. We’re already dealing with enough—Rumi’s past, the nightmares shadowing her, the secrets she won’t share. The last thing we need is me complicating things with feelings I shouldn’t have.
Because this isn’t simple. It’s not like sneaking looks at Zoey until my pulse stutters, or the way my body burns when she stares back like she’s daring me to lose control. And it’s not just the way I can’t stop wanting to shield Rumi, to hold her the way I did tonight and never let her go. It’s both. At once.
I drag my gaze back to Rumi, soft in the moonlight. She doesn’t know. She’s never known—Celine made sure of that. Love was never part of her training, never allowed in her world. She wouldn’t even understand what it means if I told her.
What am I supposed to do—hand her this mess of a heart and ask her to make sense of it, when she’s still trying to make sense of herself?
The thought nearly breaks me.
I glance toward the hallway, toward Zoey’s door. My skin still tingles where she brushed too close, where I almost gave in. The memory of her words echo: This is dangerous. That’s why you like it, isn’t it?
She wasn’t wrong.
I rub my arm, restless. Dangerous doesn’t even begin to cover it. Whatever this is—it could ruin us. All of us. And still, when I look at Rumi’s sleeping face and think of Zoey’s fire, I know I’m already in too deep.
And there’s no way out that doesn’t hurt.
The hours bled together in silence. I didn’t dare move from the couch—Rumi’s head still rested against the cushion where I’d shifted her, hair falling across her cheek like a curtain. She looked so small, so untouchable, like if I breathed too loudly she might shatter.
I should’ve slept. I needed sleep. But my mind wouldn’t let me.
Instead, it kept replaying Zoey’s voice, sharp and worried: If Rumi can’t tell us what’s going on, maybe we should ask someone else. Celine.
I’d wanted to shut it down. I had shut it down—or at least tried. But the thing about Zoey was, she had this way of pulling the truth out of me even when I fought it. And the truth was clawing at me now.
Because she’s right.
Rumi’s hiding something. The weight of it sits in every silence she doesn’t fill, every time her eyes go glassy like she’s somewhere else. And if she won’t tell us… someone has to.
Celine.
The name alone sent a chill crawling through me. I hated the idea of handing any of this back to her, hated that she might still have some hold over Rumi after everything. But if Celine knew what was haunting her, if she had the answers Rumi refused to give—then what choice did we have?
I dragged a hand down my face, exhaling slow. Zoey would push for it again. I could see it in her eyes. And this time, I wouldn’t be able to stop her.
My chest tightened. Because agreeing with Zoey meant admitting two things I wasn’t ready for:
That we were already in too deep. And that we might not like what we find.
I shifted closer, tugging the blanket higher over Rumi’s shoulder. She murmured something soft, but didn’t wake. I brushed a strand of hair from her face before I could stop myself, fingers lingering a second too long.
God, what are we doing?
I thought of Zoey again, the fire in her eyes, the way she looked at me like she could see every crack in my armor. Her words burned in my head: This is dangerous. That’s why you like it, isn’t it?
Maybe she was right. Maybe I did like it. But that didn’t change the fact that it scared me—scared me because I wanted them both, and that want was going to tear me apart.
Still, one truth settled heavy in my chest as the night stretched on.
If Celine had answers, then we needed them. Even if it meant reopening old wounds. Even if it meant risking everything.
Because the not knowing—that was the real danger.
And I couldn’t protect them from shadows forever.
---- ZOEY POV ----
Sleep wasn’t happening. Not after everything. Not after Mira’s voice whispering in the dark, “Before we both do something we regret.” Not after the way her hand had lingered on my arm, searing through me long after she walked away.
I tossed, turned, gave up.
So I grabbed my notebook. The one I always kept tucked under my bed for nights like this—nights when my brain refused to shut off, when the only way to quiet the storm was to spill it into lyrics.
The pen moved fast, almost frantic.
Fragments.
Half-rhymes.
A chorus about fire and danger and wanting something you shouldn’t.
I lost track of time—minutes, hours—until the edges of the page blurred and the only sound was the scratch of my pen and the faint rhythm I tapped with my free hand. The world outside the words didn’t exist.
At least, not until the door creaked.
I looked up, startled. Mira leaned against the frame, arms crossed, hair a little messy like she hadn’t slept either. Her eyes were tired but sharp, locked straight on me.
“We’ll do it,” she said. Her voice carried no hesitation, no wiggle room. Just steel. “We have to talk to her.”
I blinked, pen frozen mid-word. “Wait—what?”
“Celine,” Mira clarified, stepping into the room. “We’ll talk to her. We need to.”
It hit me, sudden and heavy. My chest tightened. “Mira…”
“Now, Zoey,” she said, steady and unflinching, “we may not like what we find out. But we need to be there. For Rumi. To know how to help her.”
The way she said it—soft but unshakable—broke something in me. Relief, fear, gratitude all tangled up until I couldn’t hold still.
I dropped my notebook, bolted up, and threw my arms around her. Mira stiffened for half a heartbeat before wrapping me back, warm and grounding in a way that made my throat ache.
“Okay,” I whispered fiercely against her shoulder, then pulled back enough to meet her eyes. “Okay, I’ll set up a meeting!”
For the first time all night, Mira let out a tiny laugh—quiet, almost disbelieving—but it was real.
And in that moment, with the weight of what we were about to do pressing down on us, I realized something terrifying.
We weren’t just crossing lines with our feelings anymore. We were crossing lines with Rumi’s secrets, too.
And there was no going back.
---- RUMI POV ----
Morning crept in slow, golden light spilling across the penthouse floor-to-ceiling windows. My eyes blinked open, groggy, and for a second I didn’t know where I was.
Then I felt it.
Warmth. Steady, breathing warmth pressed against me on both sides.
Mira’s arm was draped across my waist, heavy and protective, her fingers curled just slightly into the fabric of my shirt like she was holding on even in sleep. Zoey’s head rested near mine, hair tickling my cheek, her hand tangled loosely with my own.
I froze. Not in fear—no, something stranger than that. Something I couldn’t name.
I looked at them, their faces soft and unguarded in the morning light, and my chest tightened. Mira, all strength and steel even when she was resting. Zoey, all restless fire and tenderness hidden under her wildness.
My girls.
The thought came unbidden, reckless. My girls.
But what did that even mean?
Love. I didn’t know what that word really was. Celine never taught me about it—it wasn’t in her lessons, not in the rules she raised me under. Hunters didn’t have time for it, not when survival came first. And before… before Mira and Zoey, the only time I’d brushed close to it was Jinu.
Jinu had been different. Dangerous in a way that pulled at me. He’d made me feel alive, reckless, like maybe the darkness inside me wasn’t all something to be afraid of. But it wasn’t the same. With him it had been sparks and shadows. With them—
With Mira and Zoey—it was… warmth. Safety. Like they saw every broken piece of me and didn’t look away.
But was that love? Or just me clinging to the first people who hadn’t left?
I didn’t know. I wasn’t sure I ever would.
Still, lying there between them, I let myself breathe it in. Mira’s steady heartbeat at my back. Zoey’s fingers brushing against mine with every tiny twitch in her sleep.
Maybe I didn’t know what love was. But this—whatever this was—felt like the closest I’d ever come.
And that terrified me.
The longer I lay there between them, the tighter my chest felt. Mira’s warmth pressed against my back, Zoey’s hand still tangled with mine—like they were holding me in place without even realizing it.
I wanted to stay. God, I wanted to stay. But something inside me buzzed with restless energy, a voice whispering that I had to do something. Something to give back. Something to prove I wasn’t just this fragile, broken thing they had to hold together.
Carefully, carefully, I eased Zoey’s hand out of mine. Mira’s arm shifted when I moved, but I slipped free and tucked a blanket over them both before either could stir. They looked so peaceful I almost regretted moving at all.
Bare feet silent on the hardwood, I padded into the kitchen. The morning light caught in the steel and glass, and I suddenly felt very small standing there. My hands hovered uncertainly over the countertops, like I wasn’t sure what to do with them.
Cooking. That’s what I’d do.
I hadn’t in ages—Mira always took charge in the kitchen, or we ordered takeout, or someone decided eating out was easier. Me? I’d let that skill fade, locked away with so many other parts of myself.
But now… maybe my girls would enjoy it. Maybe they’d smile, maybe it would make this morning feel normal. Warm. Safe.
I pulled my hair up into a ponytail, out of habit more than anything. The simple act steadied me. Then I opened cupboards, found ingredients, let muscle memory guide me. Eggs. Rice. Vegetables. Simple, but filling.
The rhythm of chopping, the sizzle of the pan—it grounded me. My body moved like it remembered even if my mind didn’t. For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn’t thinking about demons or secrets or the shadows creeping up behind us.
I was just… cooking breakfast. For Mira. For Zoey.
For us.
And even if I wasn’t sure what love was, even if the word felt too big and too heavy for me to carry, this—this act, this small offering—was the closest I could get to showing them what they meant to me.
The rice steamed soft, the eggs folded golden, and the vegetables brightened with just the right sear. I plated it all carefully, hands trembling only once or twice. It wasn’t perfect, but it looked… good. Warm. The kind of breakfast that might make them smile when they woke.
I set the plates aside, letting the food cool while the quiet of the penthouse pressed around me. For a moment I just stood there, arms crossed, hoodie tugged tight around me like armor.
Then I realized—I didn’t need it anymore.
With a slow breath, I pulled the hoodie over my head, leaving me in just a simple tee. The morning air kissed my skin, cool against places that had once been hidden away.
My hands hesitated at the hem of my sleeves, at the soft tug of the bandages wound around my arms. They’d been there for so long it felt strange, unnatural, to imagine myself without them.
But I wasn’t broken anymore. Not in that way. One by one, I unwound the strips of fabric, watching pale skin reappear, faint lines marking where old wounds had been. Healed now. Scarred, but healed.
I flexed my fingers, tracing the smoothness where pain used to be. It felt like shedding something heavy, like maybe I was finally allowed to breathe.
For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel the urge to hide. Not from Mira. Not from Zoey. Not even from myself.
The breakfast waited, cooling on the counter. My arms, bare and unbound, felt lighter than they ever had.
And yet, deep down, I couldn’t shake the whisper: They’ll see. They’ll ask. And then what?
I tied the bandages neatly, setting them aside on the counter.
I wasn’t sure if I was ready for their questions. But at least for this morning, I’d given them something. Something soft, something whole.
Something of me.
---- MIRA POV ----
The first thing I noticed was the smell.
Warm, savory, familiar—but out of place. Cooking. Actual cooking. My brain lagged, caught between sleep and wakefulness. I did most of the home-cooked meals. But it smelled good, really good, so obviously Zoey wasn’t cooking.
I stirred, eyes heavy, cheek still resting against Zoey’s hair. It took me a second to realize the weight missing from my other side. My heart skipped.
Rumi.
That absence alone jolted me more awake than the scent ever could.
I blinked fully open, tilting my head just enough to see across the room. And there she was. At the table, back straight, arms resting on the surface—bare. No hoodie, no bandages hiding her.
The sight froze me. My breath caught sharp in my throat. My pulse rattled against my ribs.
Her arms.
I wanted to look, to take in the details of her skin, to know if the healing matched what she told us—or what she never said out loud. My gaze skimmed too fast, trying to memorize what my heart wasn’t ready for, but before I could take in more than a glimpse, she moved.
Quick, almost nervous.
She pushed away from the table, chair legs scuffing faintly against the floor, and headed for us.
Panic flared. I let my body go slack, eyes squeezing shut in an instant. My chest rose and fell slow, steady, feigning the rhythm of sleep.
Her footsteps padded closer, soft, cautious. I felt her presence before she even stopped. Her shadow spilled over me, cool and fragile. She lingered.
Her breath hitched faintly, like she was bracing herself.
“Hey,” Rumi whispered, voice gentle, warm in a way that made my chest ache. “Wake up, breakfast is ready.”
I stayed still. Pretending. Even though every muscle in me ached to sit up and pull her into my arms. To tell her I saw her. That I knew.
But I didn’t. Not yet.
Instead, I held to the performance—breathing slow, loose, like nothing had shifted. Watching her from behind closed eyes, every nerve lit with the truth I wasn’t supposed to see.
When her shadow moved away, I shifted. Let my lashes flutter open, slow, heavy, like I was only just stirring. A stretch, a soft groan, the whole act.
Beside me, Zoey stirred too, still tucked into my side.
“Morning,” I mumbled, nudging her gently with my shoulder. “Come on, Zo, up. Smells like… actual food.”
Her head lolled against me, messy hair covering her face. “Food?” she croaked, voice rough with sleep.
“Yeah,” I said, forcing a lightness into my tone that I didn’t feel. I rubbed her back, coaxing her awake. “Breakfast.”
Zoey groaned, dragging herself upright as I followed. I blinked hard, like I was still shaking off dreams, but my gaze found Rumi again.
She was already retreating to the table, sliding back into her chair with that quiet grace she carried when she didn’t want to be noticed. She picked up the small plate she’d made for herself, movements deliberate. Careful. Her portion was small, like she was afraid of taking too much space—even here, in her own home.
“Rumi… breakfast,” I whispered under my breath, but it slipped out audible enough that Zoey caught it.
“Huh?” Zoey muttered, blinking fast. Her eyes went big as she rubbed them, yawning wide.
I looped an arm around her shoulders, steadying her, grounding her. But my heart was elsewhere—at that table where Rumi sat alone, eating in silence, like she hadn’t just crossed a line she’d been holding onto for so long.
It hurt. God, it hurt to watch.
“Come on,” I murmured into Zoey’s hair, squeezing her hand. “Let’s not keep her waiting.”
We both pushed up, sluggish from sleep, and I tried to play casual, like this was just any morning. But I couldn’t stop my eyes from lingering—on Rumi’s bare arms, on the reality of what she’d let us glimpse for half a second.
She had taken the bandages off.
And I didn’t know if that was a victory, a wound, or something in between.
The three of us sat around the table, plates warm, steam rising faintly between us. It should’ve felt normal, cozy even. Rumi had cooked. That alone was enough to make this morning feel… different.
Zoey immediately dug in, humming exaggeratedly as she shoved a bite into her mouth. “Oh my god,” she said around a mouthful, eyes wide. “Rum, this is so good. Like, ridiculously good. Why don’t you cook more?”
Rumi gave a tiny shrug, stabbing at her own plate with deliberate care. “Haven’t really felt like it. Plus Mira is amazing when it comes to this stuff.” Her tone was casual, but her shoulders curved inward a little, like she wasn’t sure if she should be proud or embarrassed for even trying.
“Well, you should,” Zoey insisted, mouth still full, leaning over to nudge me under the table with her knee. “You’re giving Mira a run for her money and this is like, ten times better than takeout.”
I smiled faintly, though my fork had barely moved. My eyes stayed on Rumi instead of my plate—the faint flush creeping across her cheeks, the way she tried not to look directly at us. Her arms moved freely, bare in the morning light, and I couldn’t help but notice how much better her scars looked. The angry red was fading, the edges softening into pale lines. They were healing. She was healing, at least on the outside.
But the sight twisted something in me. Because I remembered why they were there in the first place.
The cruel words Celine had carved into her—not physically, but emotionally. The way Rumi used to come home from rehearsals with her head low, knuckles white from holding it all in. The punishment disguised as “discipline.” The way she was treated like a weapon instead of a girl. I had patched Rumi’s wounds before, both literal and not, but nothing made my blood boil like knowing Celine was behind so much of her pain.
That was why Zoey and I were doing this. Why we were lying. We had to face Celine, dig into her lies, and figure out the truth—for Rumi’s sake. To stop letting the past strangle her future.
For a few minutes, the only sounds were forks clinking, Zoey’s little noises of approval, and the distant hum of the city bleeding through the penthouse windows.
“So… Rumi, how are you feeling?” Zoey asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.
Rumi’s fork paused, then lowered. “Better… I guess,” she mumbled, but after a beat she lifted her gaze to us. Her voice steadied, just a touch louder. “Things have been better than usual, honestly. You guys… your help, it means a lot. Thank you.”
The words landed heavy in my chest. I could tell she still wasn’t okay—not completely. But this was something. A crack of light through the dark she carried.
“Anyway.” Her tone shifted, sharp, the subject dropping before it could stick. Classic Rumi. “So what should we do today?”
Zoey and I traded a glance.
“Uhhh, Mira and I have an errand to run,” Zoey said carefully, trying for casual. “It shouldn’t take long, Ru.”
“Yeah, it’s for Bobby,” I added quickly, the lie slipping out smoother than I expected. I knew we promised no lies between us, but what choice did I have? If she knew the real reason—that we were going to Celine—it would shatter her. And she was just starting to feel a little better.
Something in her expression shifted—small, but sharp enough that I felt it like a knife. Her lips pressed together, and she gave a slow nod. “Oh… okay.”
Shit.
Zoey leaned forward instantly, her voice soft, a sweet smile plastered on her face. “Hey, if you don’t want to be alone, we told Bobby he could swing by and check up on you. Just hang out a little.”
Rumi forced a laugh, shaking her head. “You make it sound like I need babysitting.”
“You don’t,” I said quickly, leaning toward her, trying to ease the sting. “But we just… we don’t want you to feel alone. Plus, we’re only a phone call away if you need anything.”
Rumi’s eyes flicked between us, searching. For what, I didn’t know—maybe the truth beneath our words, maybe proof that we weren’t leaving her behind. Finally, she dropped her gaze back to her plate, fork tracing slow circles in the food she wasn’t eating anymore.
And the silence that followed was louder than anything.
---- ZOEY POV ----
By the time we left the penthouse, my stomach was knotted so tight I thought I’d be sick. Mira didn’t say much as we walked—she never does when she’s bracing herself—but the tension radiating off her was like static. The closer we got, the heavier it felt.
Celine’s office sat at the end of the hall, the heavy oak door looming like a barricade. I pushed it open first, Mira trailing just behind me.
The scent hit instantly: lavender polish, sharp incense. Once, it used to calm me. Now it clung to the air like a disguise.
Her office was always immaculate. Books aligned with surgical precision. Folders hidden behind polished cabinet doors. Even the sunlight through the tall windows looked staged, slicing the carpet into sterile, white rectangles. It was curated calm. Cold, untouchable.
The walls bore no family photos—only us. The Sunlight Sisters in glossy frames: staged candids, promotional posters, snapshots from our first tours. And Rumi. Always Rumi. Bowing. Smiling. Winning.
But this time, the perfection was cracked. A ceramic mug, half-drained, leaned precariously on a notebook. An uncapped pen lay forgotten on the desk’s edge. And scattered across the polished wood were photographs—real ones, not curated, not staged. Faded edges. Curling corners.
I stepped closer, throat tight.
Rumi as a newborn, swaddled, her face scrunched like she was already stubborn about being seen. A toddler gripping a stuffed rabbit mid-laugh. A little girl in pigtails, a training uniform too big for her, fists wrapped in cloth. Ten years old, feet planted, eyes steel. Always being molded. Always being watched.
I gripped the back of a chair until my knuckles whitened.
Mira didn’t sit. She stayed standing, arms crossed, chin high, her jaw set like stone. I lowered myself into a chair instead, back stiff, palms pressed to my knees to stop them from trembling.
Celine stood behind her desk, but she wasn’t the same woman I remembered. Once, she’d filled a room with authority, untouchable in her poise. Now, she looked… smaller. Her clasped hands clung to each other rather than steadying her. Shoulders curved inward. Lines carved deep into her face. Tired—not just physically, but in her bones.
The silence pressed in, sharp as glass. The clock ticked, slicing time into unbearable pieces.
I forced myself not to look back at the baby photo. It hurt too much.
“You probably know why we’re here,” I said at last, my voice steadier than I felt.
Celine’s jaw locked. She gave a small nod, eyes flicking between us.
“We’re here to talk about Rumi,” Mira cut in, already impatient.
“Rumi needs help,” I said. “She needs to feel surrounded. Loved. To know she isn’t broken.”
“That she doesn’t have to hide who she is, or prove her worth,” Mira added, her voice sharp as a blade.
Celine fidgeted with her fingers, then stilled. Her gaze met Mira’s, and for the first time I saw something hard in her eyes.
“So she told you everything,” she murmured.
“No,” Mira shot back. “Not everything. Just that you told her to hide. That—”
“She told us you believed her marks would disappear,” I interrupted, trying to soften the blow. “Is that true?”
“Yes.” Celine’s voice dropped. “Once the Honmoon is turned golden, the marks will fade. As will her… her demonic nature. It has to. For her. She’s afraid of herself.”
Mira’s breath caught, fury rising. “Of course she’s afraid. You taught her that. You made her hide, made her ashamed. You never looked at her as your daughter.”
“That’s not true.” Celine’s voice wasn’t loud, but it silenced the room. She rose slowly, eyes glistening, then turned to the window. “I loved her. I tried to give her a dignified life. To protect her.”
“Then why make her carry that silence?” I whispered. “She’s spent her life hating herself because of it.”
Celine’s lips parted, and then—barely above a whisper: “Because she reminded me of her father.”
The words landed like stones.
“I loved her,” Celine continued, voice trembling. “From the moment I held her. But part of me never stopped seeing what he took from me.”
She told us about Mi-yeong. About the bond they’d shared. About the betrayal she still carried. The demon who seduced her. The promise she made to Rumi’s mother—to love the child. To stay.
Her story poured out: Mi-yeong’s death, the violet mark on Rumi’s arm, the grief curdling into shame, into fear. By the time she finished, tears ran down her face unchecked.
Mira’s fists were clenched white. “You think she chose this? That she asked to be born? You failed her.”
Celine collapsed back into her chair, broken. “I do love her. But I feared what she carried. I feared him.”
Mira’s voice cut like glass. “Well, your fear left her starving herself. Barely sleeping. Pretending we don’t notice her nightmares.”
I touched her arm gently. “Mira…”
But Mira wasn’t finished. Her voice shook as she unleashed it: “A few days ago, we found her on the bathroom floor. Do you know what that looked like? Seeing her so pale, whispering she couldn’t take it anymore, nails plunging into her arms so hard they caused scars?”
I closed my eyes. The memory seared itself in again.
“She didn’t call for you,” Mira went on, harsher. “Not once. Because she thought you’d rather she disappear.”
Celine froze, breath hitching.
“She doesn’t believe you love her,” Mira’s voice cracked, breaking at last.
Celine trembled. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. She bowed her head, shoulders sinking under the weight of the truth.
“She what—” Her voice splintered.
“She hurt herself,” I said. Too harsh, but true.
“Not again…” Celine whispered, so faint I almost thought I imagined it.
Mira and I whipped our heads toward her. We had both heard it.
“What?” Mira demanded.
Celine’s eyes shone. “It started when she was eleven. I found her once. She promised to stop. But at fifteen, I found a letter stashed in her room for me if she ever… And then at eighteen, she almost…” Her words broke.
“After the Idol Awards,” she whispered. “She came to me. Her demon had taken over. She begged me to kill her.”
Silence fell like a blade.
---- MIRA POV ----
“She… she wanted to die?” The words barely left me. My voice cracked into something small and ugly.
My knees buckled, and I crumpled into the chair I’d sworn I wouldn’t sit in. Just minutes ago, I’d stood tall, strong, righteous. Now I was nothing but a trembling mess of bone and breath. Zoey’s eyes flicked to me, worry plain in her face, but I couldn’t look back.
The panic in my chest clawed at me, sharp and wild, like it wanted to rip its way out. Petrified—that was the word. Not the kind of scared that makes you run, but the kind that roots you in place, hollowing you out from the inside.
“What did you say?” Zoey asked Celine, her voice strangled.
I couldn’t breathe. The thought of Rumi lying there, cold and lifeless, the warmth gone from her eyes—the very idea froze my blood. A world without her wasn’t a world I could stand in.
“I said no. Of course I did,” Celine whispered. “I told her I loved her. But… I couldn’t accept all of her. I still can’t. Not yet. I—”
Her voice faded, and something inside me snapped.
I raised my head slowly, meeting her gaze through a blur of tears. I didn’t let them fall. Not yet. My voice came out jagged, torn from somewhere deeper than anger.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I whispered. “She wants to die. And you still can’t tell her she matters to you?”
Celine flinched as if I’d struck her. Her hand pressed against her chest like she was trying to hold herself together. She didn’t argue. Didn’t deny. She just sat there—silent, guilty, hollow.
“I need time,” she said at last, so soft I almost missed it. “But I know she’s not alone. She has you.”
My throat closed up. Rage and grief twisted together, choking me.
“And if we hadn’t been so understanding?” I snapped. My voice shook, but I didn’t care. “She’d be dead by now.”
“Or with Gwi-Ma,” Zoey murmured.
The name alone made bile rise in my throat.
“I’m sorry…” Celine’s voice cracked. And maybe she meant it. Maybe she really did.
But I didn’t care. Sorry didn’t erase the scars. Sorry didn’t take back the nights Rumi cried herself to sleep thinking she was unlovable.
I stood so fast the chair scraped back against the floor, the sound sharp and ugly. My nerves felt raw, exposed, every heartbeat too loud in my ears.
“You don’t deserve her forgiveness.”
I stormed out, the door slamming behind me with all the weight I couldn’t put into words.
The hallway spun around me, air catching in my lungs like it didn’t want to stay. I braced my hands against the wall, trying to breathe, trying not to collapse.
Then Zoey’s voice. Soft, steady, but firm. She stepped into the doorway, watching me unravel.
She turned back to Celine “you should’ve told all this to her,” she said quietly. “Not to us.”
And with that, she shut the office door, leaving Celine behind. She turned to me, and I realized my hands were still shaking.
The walls felt like they were closing in, every breath tight and shallow. My palms pressed against the cold plaster, fingers clawing for something solid. But nothing steadied me. I couldn’t stop shaking. My chest burned with every ragged inhale, the air scraping like glass in my throat.
“Hey,” Zoey’s voice cut through, quiet but steady. Not sharp. Not accusing. Just there.
I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping she wouldn’t see me like this. Not her. Not anyone. But then her hand touched my arm, warm and grounding, and all the fight drained out of me.
“Mira, look at me,” she said.
I did, reluctantly. And her eyes… god, her eyes didn’t carry the judgment I expected. Only concern. Only care.
My lips trembled. “She wanted to die, Zoey.” The words slipped out, broken. “And Celine—she just—” My throat closed, strangling me, but Zoey’s hand tightened on mine.
“I know,” she murmured. “I know.”
She guided me away from the wall, down onto the bench lining the hall. My knees barely held, but she didn’t let go until I was sitting, my hands limp in my lap.
“You can’t hold it all in like this,” Zoey said softly. Her tone wasn’t commanding—just steady, like an anchor against the storm inside me. “You’ll tear yourself apart.”
“I can’t stop seeing it,” I whispered. “Her face. When we found her after the fight. The way she—she looked at us like she didn’t want to be here anymore.” My chest hitched. The tears I’d held back in Celine’s office finally blurred free, sliding hot down my cheeks. “And I keep thinking… what if we’d been too late?”
Zoey reached out and wiped one away with her thumb, gentle, like I’d break if she pressed too hard.
“But we weren’t,” she said. “We were there. And we’ll keep being there. For her. For each other.”
Her words didn’t fix the ache, but they quieted the panic, just enough for me to breathe again. Just enough to remind me that the weight wasn’t mine to carry alone.
I leaned forward, pressing my forehead against Zoey’s shoulder, and for once, I let myself break.
Zoey’s arm slipped around me, holding me steady. “We’ve got her,” she whispered. “And I’ve got you too.”
And somehow, those words were enough to keep me from falling apart completely.
---- RUMI POV ----
The apartment felt too quiet once Zoey and Mira left. I’d waved them off with a tight smile, told them I’d be fine, but as soon as the door clicked shut behind them, the silence pressed in like a weight I couldn’t shake.
I started with the dishes. They were still piled high from breakfast, the remnants of crumbs clinging stubbornly. Scrubbing each plate felt… necessary. My hands moved mechanically, the warm water grounding me in a way that nothing else could. I rinsed, dried, and stacked. One. By. One.
Then the counters. Dust and crumbs seemed to have multiplied while I wasn’t looking. Wiping down every surface, lining up jars, folding the kitchen towels just so. I hummed softly, a little tune I didn’t even recognize, letting the rhythm of cleaning fill the empty spaces.
Laundry next. The pile in the corner of my room looked insurmountable at first, but the scent of detergent and the weight of wet clothes in my hands… it was calming. I folded everything with care, stacking shirts by color, socks in neat pairs. I imagined it would make everything in my life feel a little less… chaotic.
And yet.
Once everything was done, I sat on the edge of the sofa, my fingers still damp from the last towel. The apartment gleamed. Spotless. Perfect. And I felt… nothing.
I didn’t know what to do now. My chest ached a little—the dull, persistent reminder of the bruises I’d tried to hide from the girls. The sting in my wrists, the soreness in my legs… it all whispered that I wasn’t as fine as I wanted everyone to believe.
I stared at the sunlight spilling across the floor, shifting slowly as the day moved on without me. My mind felt empty, but also too full—too many thoughts bouncing around, none of them landing.
So I just sat there, folding my hands in my lap, letting the quiet stretch around me. The apartment smelled clean, my body tired from moving, my heart… still too raw to make sense of anything. I didn’t cry—not yet—but I felt like I was holding back a storm, one that wanted to tear through the neat little world I’d made for myself today.
I whispered to no one, “What do I even do now?”
I stood slowly from the sofa, every muscle protesting, and decided—maybe a shower would help. Just a few minutes of warm water, letting it wash over me, let me exist somewhere outside my own head. I needed… something.
The bathroom was steamy before I even turned on the hot water, and the tiles were cold under my bare feet. I leaned against the edge of the tub for a moment, letting the heat of the water trickle down my arms, my shoulders. I closed my eyes, inhaled the faint scent of shampoo, tried to feel… nothing.
For a few minutes, it worked. My thoughts quieted, and the world outside the glassy curtain of the shower became just… warmth and water.
But then the voices came back.
Soft at first, like distant whispers I could almost ignore. And then louder. Scraping at the edges of my mind, repeating doubts, fears, accusations I hadn’t thought I still carried. You’re weak. You can’t protect anyone. You deserve this.
I gripped the sides of the tub, knuckles white, trying to remind myself it was just in my head. Just in my head.
I couldn’t.
The water felt hot enough to burn, but it didn’t matter. The whispers twisted into shrill echoes, pounding against my temples. My chest tightened, my stomach curled. Every rational thought I had tried to anchor myself with dissolved under the tide of them.
I stumbled out of the shower, wrapped myself in a towel, and padded into the living room. The sofa looked soft, safe, inviting. I collapsed onto it, burying my face in a cushion, trying to control my breathing. I counted in, counted out.
Slow. Calm. Everything is fine.
But nothing was fine.
My heart pounded like a drum I couldn’t stop. My hands shook, my legs twitched. The voices wouldn’t stop. They circled me, taunted me, clawed at every ounce of resolve I’d built in the last few days. I tried to stay calm, I really did. I tried to tell myself it would pass. But the rational part of me was buried under the storm.
I curled up on the sofa, knees to chest, clutching the cushion as if it could hold me together. My body felt like it belonged to someone else, a stranger, trembling and panicked. And I couldn’t—no matter how hard I tried—I couldn’t silence the chaos inside my own head.
I wanted Zoey. I wanted Mira. I wanted Bobby. I wanted Celine (ironic huh). I wanted anyone who could make the voices stop, but I was alone.
And that, more than anything, made me feel like I was falling.
Pushing myself up from the sofa, pacing back and forth across the living room. Each step felt heavy, but movement helped—if only a little. I traced the edge of the rug with my toes, circled the coffee table, then back again. I needed… something normal. Something that felt like me before everything went sideways.
I finally made my way to my bedroom, rifling through drawers like a robot on autopilot. Teddy bear PJ shorts—soft, faded at the seams, comforting. A light pink off-the-shoulder top that smelled faintly of laundry soap. A cardigan, slightly oversized, that always made me feel safe, cocooned. I changed slowly, deliberately, focusing on the familiar textures against my skin, the way the cotton and fleece fit around my body. It should have helped.
It didn’t.
I padded back into the living room, curled up on the sofa, pulling the cardigan tighter around me and hugging the cushion against my chest. I wanted the normalcy of pajamas, the softness, the routine to make the world quiet again. But the voices didn’t care about comfort.
They surged louder, sharper now, circling me like vultures. You’re fragile. Pathetic. No one can help you. They echoed and twisted, clawing at every thought, every small attempt I’d made to stay grounded.
I pressed my face into the cushion, trying to breathe, trying to convince myself it was just in my head. But every inhale felt like a lie, every exhale barely enough to keep me from collapsing entirely. My legs curled under me, trembling. My arms wrapped around the pillow tighter and tighter, trying to hold myself together.
The sofa beneath me was soft, the room smelled faintly of detergent and my favorite lotion, but it didn’t matter. The voices had taken over. And no matter how tightly I held the cushion, no matter how much I reminded myself that I was safe, I couldn’t stop them.
I didn’t even notice when I started crying.
I just lay there, letting the chaos spin around me, hoping—praying—that someone would come back soon.
Then the elevator dinged.
“Rumi!” a voice called out.
Bobby.
I froze. My limbs felt heavy, glued to the sofa cushions. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. The soft rustle of his footsteps on the hardwood grew closer, and I could hear the concern in his voice before he even reached me.
He knelt down in front of the sofa, eyes scanning me quickly, almost instinctively, like he was checking for signs I couldn’t hide—bruises, scratches, cuts. Relief flickered across his face when he didn’t find any. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”
Looking into his eyes, I realized I couldn’t lie. Not to him. Not anymore.
“No. I’m not okay,” I admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not okay in here.”
I tapped my head lightly a few times, the gesture small but desperate, trying to give shape to the chaos swirling inside me. My fingers lingered on my temple, then slid down as I wiped at my nose, feeling a sting of tears I wasn’t sure I could stop.
“I feel like I’m losing my mind,” I whispered, the words tasting like defeat.
Bobby didn’t respond right away. He just stayed there, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his presence, but careful not to crowd me. Then he gently reached out, placing a hand near mine, but not touching until I gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “Hey… you’re not alone, Rumi. Not for this. Not ever.”
I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it impossible to speak. The voices inside my head were still screaming, relentless, but the sound of his calm voice, steady and real, felt like the smallest crack of light in a room that had been too dark for too long.
“I… I just… I don’t know how to make it stop,” I admitted, curling into myself more tightly.
Bobby nodded, slowly, understanding without judgment. “Then we start small. We breathe. We sit together. You don’t have to fix it all at once.”
I wanted to believe him. I wanted the chaos to calm just from his words, but the voices clawed still, and my hands shook as I pressed them against my face. But for the first time in hours, I let someone see me like this.
And that… that was the tiniest kind of relief.
Bobby stayed kneeling in front of me, calm and patient, like he wasn’t in a rush to be anywhere else. His voice softened.
“Alright. Listen to me, Rumi. Just focus on my voice, okay? We’ll take it slow.”
I nodded, though my chest was still tight, my hands trembling against the cushion I clutched.
“Good,” he said gently. “Now—breathe with me. In through your nose. Ready?”
I inhaled shakily as he counted, his tone steady, like he was anchoring me. “One… two… three…” My chest burned with the effort, but I held it as he instructed, then let the air out, slow, as he counted again. We repeated the rhythm, over and over, until the frantic racing of my heart began to ease
When my breaths finally stopped hitching, Bobby shifted slightly closer, lowering his voice. “Alright. Now look around. Tell me five things you can see.”
I blinked, forcing my gaze around the apartment. The lamp on the side table. My favorite blanket draped over the arm of the sofa. The coffee mug I’d forgotten to put away. The cardigan sleeve bunched against my wrist. Bobby’s steady eyes watching me.
“Good,” he encouraged. “Four things you can touch.”
I reached out slowly, grounding myself in the sensation. “The cushion. My cardigan. The floor under my toes. And…” I hesitated, then reached for his hand. “You.”
His fingers squeezed mine lightly, no pressure, just a reminder that I wasn’t alone. “Perfect. Now three things you can hear.”
“The hum of the fridge,” I said softly. “The city outside. And… your voice.”
His smile was faint but reassuring. “Two things you can smell.”
“Shampoo… and detergent.”
“And one thing you can taste?”
I licked my lips, swallowing. “Mint… from my toothpaste earlier.”
“Exactly.” He nodded, brushing his thumb across the back of my hand once before letting go. “See? You’re here. You’re safe. The voices aren’t in control.”
It wasn’t magic. The voices were still there, but quieter now, dulled. For the first time all day, I felt like I could breathe without breaking.
An hour passed like that—quiet conversation, stretches of silence where Bobby just sat with me, grounding me again when the chaos threatened to swell. By the time I leaned back against the sofa, my eyelids heavy, the storm inside my head had faded to a murmur. I wasn’t whole, not yet, but I wasn’t drowning anymore either.
Then Bobby’s phone buzzed on the table. He frowned at the screen, stood, and stepped a few feet away before answering. His voice was low, but urgent. When he hung up, he came back, guilt written across his face.
“I’ve got to go,” he said quietly. “They need me right now. But—” He stopped, kneeling down again to meet my eyes. “I’m not leaving if you’re not okay on your own. Say the word, and I’ll stay.”
The thought of being alone again made my stomach twist, but I didn’t want him to choose between me and whatever was pulling him away. And… I was okay. Fragile, but okay.
“I’ll be fine,” I whispered. “You helped. Really. I can do this.”
He searched my face like he wanted to argue, but then nodded slowly. “Alright. But I’ll check in. Soon. Promise.”
As he left, the apartment grew quiet again, but it wasn’t the crushing, suffocating silence from before. I pulled the cardigan tighter around me, curled into the sofa, and whispered to myself what Bobby had taught me.
“I’m here. I’m safe. I can do this.”
And for once, I almost believed it.
Now the apartment felt calm for a moment—too calm, like the world had tricked me into forgetting the storm. I curled up on the sofa, clutching my cardigan, letting myself pretend I was safe. I was safe.
Then my phone buzzed.
Hey Rum, going to be out for a little longer. Be home as soon as we can. Love you!
Zoey.
A small relief warmed me, and I typed back quickly.
All good.
Letting the text sit there, a lifeline. And then it hit.
They hate you. They don’t want to be around you.
The whisper clawed into my skull, sharp and relentless. My stomach dropped, my chest tightened. I pressed my hands to my temples, trying to push the words away, trying to will the voices to stop. But they only grew louder, harsher, crueler.
I shook my head violently. No. Stop. Please stop.
And then my gaze fell on the side table.
The bottles. Wine, lined up like they were daring me to touch them. The world narrowed until all I could hear was the screaming in my head and the soft, sinister invitation they represented.
knew—I knew—I couldn’t stop if I drank. I couldn’t not until the voice disappeared. But this was unbearable. Sharp, hot, cutting through every rational thought. Every nerve in my body screamed to do something. Do anything to make it stop.
My hands hovered over the bottles. Trembling. Shaking. I wanted to throw them across the room, smash them, anything—but I couldn’t move. The whispering, the screaming in my head, was like fire, burning my skull from the inside out.
I whispered to myself, barely audible, almost choking: I don’t want to. I won’t. I can’t. Please… just stop.
The pain of listening was worse than anything else I’d felt today. Every second stretched like a knife twisting. I thought about drinking, about the relief it could bring, the quiet it could give—but the truth was sharp and undeniable: once I started, I couldn’t stop. I would lose myself entirely.
So I pressed my face into the cushion, shaking. My fingers clawed at the fabric. I rocked slightly, trying to ride the wave instead of surrendering to it. Every nerve burned, every thought screamed, but I couldn’t give in. I wouldn’t.
Please… make it stop, I whispered again, and then louder, almost crying. I’ll do anything else. Anything else. Just… stop.
The bottles sat there, dark, as if they were calling my name, I couldn’t fight it anymore…
---- ZOEY POV ----
We’d been walking for what felt like hours, aimlessly, through streets that all looked the same. The air was warm, the late sun bleeding gold into the pavement, but I couldn’t feel it. My chest was tight, still replaying every word from Celine’s office, every flicker of guilt I saw on her face, every tremble in Mira’s voice.
Mira hadn’t said a word since storming out. She was pacing ahead, shoulders stiff, jaw clenched. I could tell she was seconds away from shattering.
I pulled out my phone, thumb hovering, before finally typing a quick message to Rumi:
Hey Rum, going to be out for a little longer. Be home as soon as we can. Love you!
My chest ached as I hit send. She’d probably brush it off, send some goofy emoji or a thumbs-up like she always did when she didn’t want us to worry. But the thought of her sitting alone in that apartment while Mira and I were out here—god, it felt wrong.
I shoved the phone back in my pocket and caught up with Mira. “Hey,” I said softly, but it cracked halfway. “You need to stop before you burn a hole in the sidewalk.”
Her pace faltered, but she didn’t look at me. Her hands were shoved deep into her jacket, tight fists.
“You can’t carry this alone, Mira,” I pressed. “You’ll drown.”
Finally, she turned, eyes sharp, wet. “What else am I supposed to do, Zoey? Just—act like it’s fine? Pretend I didn’t hear Celine say Rumi wanted to die? Pretend that doesn’t destroy me?”
Her voice rose with each word until it broke. I felt the heat of it, the desperation clawing out of her. Something inside me snapped.
“I’m not asking you to pretend,” I shot back, louder than I meant to. “I’m asking you to let me in. Because I can’t—fuck, I can’t stand by while you tear yourself apart like this.”
She glared at me, but her lip trembled. “Why do you even care so much?”
And that was it. The dam burst.
“Because I love you!” I yelled, the words ripping out of me like they’d been waiting for years. “Goddamn it, Mira, I love you! I love Rumi, I love you, I love both of you, and I don’t care if it’s fucked up or messy or if it ruins everything. I can’t undo it. I can’t stop it. I’m sorry I fell in love with you, you and Rumi, okay? But it happened, and I can’t do shit about it—”
Mira froze. Her whole body went still, eyes wide, lips parted. “…You what?” she whispered.
My hands shook. I wanted to run. Instead, I stepped closer, chest heaving. “You heard me.”
For a moment, silence. Just her staring at me, like the world tilted under her feet. Then she laughed—broken, disbelieving—and her tears spilled over.
“You’re such an idiot,” she choked out. “Because I—” Her voice cracked, raw. “I love you too. I love both of you. And I’ve been hating myself for it, because it felt wrong, because I thought it would destroy everything we’ve built. But fuck it—fuck all of it. I don’t care anymore.”
Her fists unclenched, and suddenly she was in my arms, gripping me like I was her anchor in a storm. I held her just as tight, burying my face against her shoulder, both of us shaking.
It was messy, it was too much, it was everything. But in that moment, I didn’t care.
“I’ll do anything,” Mira whispered against my hair. “For you. For her. For us.”
“Same,” I breathed. My throat burned, but I meant every word. “Anything.”
We stayed like that, tangled together in the middle of the empty street, not caring who saw.
Because for the first time, the truth was out. And it was ours.
We stayed locked together in the middle of the street longer than we should have. The world blurred past, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. It wasn’t until a car horn jolted us that Mira flinched, pulling back just enough to glance around.
“Come on,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “Not here.”
She grabbed my hand, fingers trembling but firm, and tugged me down a side street. We ducked into a little alley behind a closed café, the kind of quiet corner no one ever paid attention to.
The moment we stopped, Mira spun toward me again. Her eyes were glossy, cheeks streaked, lips parted like she was on the verge of another breakdown.
But instead of breaking, she surged forward.
Her mouth crashed against mine, desperate, fevered. It wasn’t graceful—it was teeth, breath, the taste of tears, the sharpness of everything we’d been holding back. My back hit the brick wall and I gasped into her kiss, clutching her like she’d vanish if I let go.
God, it hurt. It healed. It was everything all at once.
When she finally pulled back, her forehead pressed to mine, we were both shaking, gasping for air.
“This is insane,” Mira whispered, a laugh breaking through her sob. “We’re insane.”
“Maybe,” I breathed. My thumb brushed a tear off her cheek. “But it’s real.”
Her hand slid up into my hair, holding me there like she never wanted to let go. “We can’t tell her yet,” she said, quieter now, steadier. “Not until we figure out what this even means.”
I nodded, though every part of me wanted to run to Rumi right now and spill everything. “Then we figure it out. Together.”
Mira kissed me again—softer this time, lingering, like a promise.
And in that tiny, hidden corner of the world, it didn’t matter how messy, how dangerous, how impossible this was. All that mattered was her, was Rumi, was us.
---- RUMI POV ----
The apartment was too quiet. Too still. I hated it.
Zoey and Mira had gone out hours ago, promising they’d be back later. I told myself it was fine. I told myself I could handle being alone.
I couldn’t.
The bottle on the counter mocked me. Just one drink, I thought. Just one to take the edge off, to drown the echoes of last night’s nightmare still clinging to me.
But one drink became two. Two became three. And somewhere between three and I lost count, my body slumped against the couch, staring at nothing, the room spinning.
That’s when the knock came. Light at first. Then firmer.
“Rumi?” Bobby’s voice. Steady, cautious.
I groaned, trying to sit up straighter. “Door’s open.”
He stepped inside, his tall frame filling the entry. The moment his eyes landed on me, the glass still in my hand, the three empty bottles on the table, his expression fell.
“Shit.”
I laughed. It came out cracked, sharp, ugly. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m fine.”
“Fine?” He closed the door behind him and crouched near the couch, lowering himself to eye level. “Rum… you’re slurring.”
“So what?” I muttered, waving him off. “Slurring doesn’t mean broken. I already am.”
Bobby’s face tightened, but he didn’t argue. He just… listened.
And suddenly, the words spilled out. Too many, too fast. Like the alcohol had loosened the locks I’d kept on them for years.
“The nightmares don’t stop, Bobby. They never stop. Every time I close my eyes, I see blood. I see her face. I hear screaming. And sometimes it’s me screaming. Sometimes it’s Zoey. Sometimes it’s Mira. And I wake up—” My voice cracked. My throat burned. “—I wake up praying it’s not real, but it feels real.”
He shifted closer, slow and careful, like I might shatter.
“And it’s not just the nightmares.” My laugh was hollow, bitter. “You know what I’ve thought, more times than I can count? That maybe everyone would be better off if I wasn’t here. If I just… disappeared. No more chaos, no more danger, no more… me.”
My chest heaved, tears hot against my cheeks before I even noticed them falling.
Bobby reached for the glass in my hand. I didn’t fight him when he took it, setting it out of reach. “Rum…” His voice was rough now, breaking. “You can’t… you can’t talk like that.”
“It’s the truth,” I whispered.
He pressed a hand to his forehead, eyes darting toward the door. Then he pulled out his phone, typing fast before lifting it to his ear.
“Zoey? Mira?” His voice sharpened, urgent. “Get back. Now. It’s Rumi. She’s—she’s not okay.”
I closed my eyes, leaning back into the couch, shame and relief tangling in my chest like barbed wire.
And for the first time, I didn’t try to hide it.
---- MIRA POV ----
The café was quiet, just the soft clink of dishes and the murmur of voices around us. Zoey had been scrolling on her phone, looking calmer than I’d seen her all day. I was finally starting to breathe again. Finally thinking maybe we could handle this.
Then her phone buzzed. Bobby’s name lit the screen.
Zoey answered casually, her lips twitching into a faint smile. “Hey, checking in? Don’t worry, we’ll—”
And then it happened.
Her voice stopped. The color drained from her face so fast it made my stomach drop. She sat up straighter, clutching the phone tight like it was a lifeline. “Wait… what? Bobby—say it again?”
My pulse spiked. “Zo?”
She turned to me, her eyes wide, wet, scared. I’d never seen her scared like that.
“She’s not okay,” Zoey whispered, though the words weren’t for me. They were an echo from the phone, Bobby’s voice spilling through the receiver, harsh and desperate.
My heart stuttered. Not okay. Not Rumi. No—no, no, no.
“Tell her we’re coming!” I nearly shouted, half-standing from my chair. “We’re coming now.”
Zoey didn’t need me to say it twice. She grabbed my hand, her grip iron, and bolted for the door, pulling me with her. Chairs scraped, people stared—we didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was getting home.
The street blurred around us as we ran. My lungs burned, but the panic in my chest was worse, heavier, crushing.
“What happened?” I demanded as we sprinted. “Zoey, tell me—what did Bobby say?”
Her voice broke as she answered, breathless. “She’s been drinking. Too much. He said… she said things.” Zoey’s hand shook in mine. “Bad things.”
My throat closed. Images I didn’t want clawed into my mind—Rumi alone, hurting, drowning in herself.
“No.” I shook my head violently, tears stinging my eyes. “She promised. She promised.”
Zoey didn’t answer. She just ran faster, dragging me like she could will us home by sheer force.
Every step was a prayer. Please let her be okay. Please let us get there in time.
By the time we burst through the door, my chest was on fire, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might break out of my ribs. Bobby stood there in the living room, jaw tight, arms folded like he was holding himself together. One look at his face and I knew it was bad.
And then I saw her.
Rumi sat slouched on the couch, an empty glass still clutched in her hand. Her eyes were red and swollen, her cheeks streaked from old tears. But now… nothing. Her face was blank. Hollow. Like someone had carved her out and left her sitting there, numb.
The sight of her nearly dropped me to my knees.
“She’s been saying things,” Bobby muttered, barely glancing at us. His voice was low, heavy with frustration. “I tried to talk her down but—” He shook his head. “She’s not fine.”
I could barely hear him. My entire world narrowed to Rumi.
Her gaze flicked up at us. For a second, nothing. Just those empty eyes.
And then, like a switch flipping, her whole face lit up. “You’re here!” she cried, scrambling to her feet and stumbling forward.
Before I could move, she launched herself at Zoey, arms wrapping around her like she was afraid she’d vanish.
“Zo, you’re so pretty,” she babbled, voice thick with drink but spilling over with a strange, desperate joy. “You’re—God, you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Do you know that? You’re… you’re sunshine. You’re everything. You make me feel…” Her words trailed off into a sloppy laugh. “So lucky. So lucky you’re mine.”
Zoey froze, torn between breaking and holding her. Her arms came around Rumi tight, like she was scared to let go.
My jaw clenched. The anger still sat heavy in me, white-hot—anger at Celine, at myself, even at Rumi for hiding how deep this went. But seeing her like this, trembling and spilling love through slurred words, I couldn’t stay rooted. I crossed the room in three strides and gently pried her away from Zoey.
“I’ve got her,” I muttered, more to Zoey than anyone.
Rumi blinked up at me, dazed, smiling that fragile smile.
Without thinking, I scooped her up into my arms, bridal style. She was light—too light—and her head dropped against my shoulder with a soft sigh.
“You’re not heavy,” I whispered, my throat raw. My arms tightened around her. “You’re not heavy at all.”
But inside, the fire burned. I wanted to scream. To rage. To shake her and make her see how much she mattered, how close she was to tearing everything apart. But I didn’t. Not now.
Right now, I just held her.
I adjusted my grip on her, trying not to let my hands shake. “Alright,” I said softly, forcing steadiness into my voice. “It’s time for bed, Rumi.”
Her head lifted a little from my shoulder, eyes glassy but warm. She blinked at me like she was seeing me for the first time. Then, with this lopsided grin, she whispered, “Mira… you’re soft. And you smell nice.”
I felt the breath leave me in a sharp, unsteady laugh. God, she had no idea what she was doing to me. I tilted my head down, brushing a strand of her hair back. “Okay, princess,” I murmured, letting the word slip out before I could stop it. “Let’s get you to bed.”
But when I met her eyes—wide, hazy, and unbearably vulnerable—I froze.
She leaned forward suddenly, closing the small space between us. Her lips pressed against mine, full and unhesitating, a kiss that stole the ground right out from under me.
For one second, I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. It was real, the taste of her, the warmth of her mouth, the sheer weight of everything I’d been holding back.
And then, just as quick, her body went slack in my arms. Her head dropped back onto my shoulder, unconscious, the kiss broken as if it had never happened.
I stood there in the middle of the living room, holding her close, my lips still tingling. My chest was a storm. Anger, fear, love—all colliding in ways I didn’t know how to untangle.
Carefully, I adjusted my hold and whispered against her hair, “You have no idea what you just did to me, do you?”
Then I started for her room, carrying her as though she might shatter if I let go.
---- ZOEY POV ----
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. All I could do was watch.
Rumi’s words—slurred and clumsy but dripping with that raw honesty she could only seem to manage when she was drunk—hit Mira like a punch. “Mira… you’re soft. And you smell nice.”
Mira froze, the faintest pink dusting her cheeks before she forced a careful smile. “Okay, princess. Let’s get you to bed.”
And then it happened.
Rumi leaned up and kissed her. Fully. Bold, messy, real. I swear I felt the air spark between them. Mira’s eyes went wide, her whole body locked up, but she didn’t pull away. Not for that brief, stolen moment.
My heart slammed so hard it hurt. Watching them—it was like every secret thought I’d buried, every dream I’d been too afraid to admit out loud, had just walked into the room and made itself real.
And then, as quickly as it came, it was gone. Rumi sagged against Mira, unconscious, lips parted like she’d just burned herself out. Mira stood there, trembling, holding her like she was glass.
I pressed a hand against my chest, trying to keep myself from exploding. God, it was hot. Too hot. I’d thought about it, of course I had—fantasies that curled in the back of my mind when I let them. But seeing it? Seeing Rumi kiss Mira like she belonged to her, and Mira nearly shatter from it? It was more than fantasy. It was truth.
I wanted this. All of it. Both of them. Messy, tangled, complicated—it didn’t matter. They were mine. And I was theirs.
Mira whispered something against Rumi’s hair before shifting to carry her, bridal style, toward her room. I stayed rooted, my throat tight, every nerve in me buzzing.
For once in my life, I was speechless. But inside, I knew. There was no pretending anymore.
