Chapter Text
There is a thought running through Zoey’s head.
That, in itself, is not strange.
It is not a very pleasant thought.
Again, nothing unusual about that.
But the thought itself…
Well.
It’s been a long time since Zoey’s had to worry about whether or not one of her girls hates her, is all. And Rumi doesn’t hate her, she knows (but what if? What if? What if? What if?), but the thought, the fear (bone-deep bone-shaking bone-rotting) came knocking last night (the second, the second she opened her eyes and met hers), pounding, really, (the same way her heart did when she looked up and realized-) scaring off any other thought with all that noise, until Zoey finally, reluctantly, opened the door. It had shouldered past her, rough, unkind, stomping down the cluttered hallways of her mind, tracking mud everywhere and just adding to the mess. Zoey had followed, half a step behind (Always. Always half a step behind, always too late, always when it matters the most), trailing after it like a lost kid, like this wasn’t her own place, her own home, her own mind (when did it stop feeling like it? She can’t even remember, it’s been so long. Sometimes it feels less like a brain and more like a nest, a place for stray thoughts to land and rest.) It knew the way through her maze of a head better than she ever did – it found a rare, quiet place and made itself right at home, feet on the table and all. It hasn’t budged since.
It sits there, now, big and mean – bigger and meaner than any schoolyard bully. It doesn’t say anything, either. It knows it doesn’t need to, knows that nothing gets to Zoey quite as much as silence.
Over the course of the sleepless night, Zoey thinks about getting up, about reaching for a notebook and chasing those elusive lyrics, the ones that have been dancing away just out of her reach for weeks now, the ones she needs to figure out because this is, quite literally, what she’s here for. (She knows she’s no Mira, who comes up with hypnotic, show-stopping choreography with an ease she fears she, unfortunately, shamefully, always will be a little jealous of, and whose face – stunning, striking, show-stopping – has graced pages upon pages of magazines as the group’s visual. And she’s certainly no Rumi, either, no generational, awe-inspiring talent, no steady, fearless leader, no pretty, pretty girl. So, if her brain could let her do the one thing she’s actually good at – sometimes, and not nearly as much as she needs to be if they ever want to see the Honmoon turn golden – she’d really, really appreciate it.)
She thinks about losing some more braincells to the algorithm, about scrolling down endless threads dedicated to them, to her, and pretending she’s not brushing aside all the flowers, that she’s not just reaching for the thorns, all the ‘ugh, can’t believe Zoey did X again’, ‘why does she always have to do Y’, ‘poor Rumi and Mira, they look so uncomfy whenever Zoey does Z’.
She thinks about leaving her too large bed and coming to Mira, thinks about calloused hands and strong arms that always grow impossibly soft just to better hold her, about warm lips brushing breath-light kisses against her hair, her forehead, her cheeks, her mouth, anything Zoey is willing to give, and Zoey wants nothing more than to give her everything, has wanted to for so long it still feels a little bit insane to think Mira was just waiting for her permission to take it all and keep it, too.
She thinks about all those things, and does none of them. (That’s not exactly new, either, is it?)
The distractions wouldn’t work, anyway, not with the ghost of Rumi’s dark eyes haunting her every thought. As for Mira… Zoey has no doubt she could lose herself in her arms (and hadn’t she proven just that last night, letting time get away from the two of them, forgetting where they were and who they were waiting for, perfectly setting the stage for this mess of a situation?), but there’s a reason they’d decided to spend the night apart.
Well, ‘decided’ might be the wrong word. ‘Decided’ implies a discussion, doesn’t it? Some kind of exchange, something like a ‘should we?’, ‘maybe not tonight,’ ‘you’re right, of course, I don’t know why I asked.’ Instead, there had only been a look. Zoey remembers, vaguely, barely, a time when Mira wielded her looks like she would soon be wielding her Gok-do, a very effective way to keep people at arm’s length. And it had worked, too – for a time. But how long had Zoey lasted until those scowls and snarls couldn’t keep her away anymore, until the need to know more about the angry strawberry-haired girl grew too strong to heed the clear warnings? A month? Two? And how long until Mira had dropped her guard, slowly, haltingly, but oh-so willingly? Not long at all, that much Zoey remembers. But how long until Mira stopped bristling every time Rumi so much as brushed past her, or rolling her eyes every time their leader opened her mouth? Much, much longer.
But they had all grown past it, hadn’t they? Grown together, and grown something out of it, out of this early, misguided animosity and those painfully awkward silences, something fierce, and strong, and so impossibly good, something Zoey had dreamed of her entire life with a kind of desperate hope that she knows (because she’s been told so many times in a life she’d been all too happy to leave behind) could sometimes verge on pathetic. And fate might have helped, might have nudged them all together, but what they have, they have built with their own clumsy, inexperienced hands. The result might be wonky in some places, a little burnt and too-tender in others, but it’s theirs and so, so precious, and if they could survive Celine’s training, Gwi-ma’s attempts, and an Idol’s schedule, then they can survive themselves this.
She tells herself this, tells it to the thought still sitting at her table, too. It doesn’t look too convinced.
They can, she repeats. They will.
They will, because Rumi has promised, hasn’t she? (has she? Has she really?) She has. She has promised they’ll be alright, the three of them (is that what she said?) (Yes. Yes, of course, it is, what else could she have said, what else was there to say?), and so they will be, because Rumi promised, and Rumi always keeps her promises. (She does.)(She does.)(She does, but is that really what she-)
They’ll be okay.
They’ll be alright.
They’ll get through this, like they get through everything else – together.
(They have to.)
(They just do.)
The thought doesn’t leave, but Zoey does, shuts the door tight behind her as she goes. It can find its own way back. Zoey just needs to fix this, just needs to prove to Rumi that nothing’s changed, nothing’s broken (so what is there to fix, then, hm?), everything’s fine, and it will stay fine, because they’re ZoeyAndMiraAndRumi and Zoey can’t (won’t) imagine a world where that doesn’t mean everything.
She stares at the ceiling, at the latest shade of gray painting it. The sun is up – so is Rumi, then. Mira, too. Why isn’t she? Why is she still here and not there? Why is she alone and not with them? The loneliness of her bed feels unbearable, suddenly. What the hell is she waiting for?
Zoey stumbles out of bed, down the hallway, into the kitchen.
Zoey can’t imagine a world in which she could ever be disappointed to see Mira, either. If such a world even exists, then it can only be some kind of post-apocalyptic hellscape, the type only Gwi-ma and his demons could thrive in. And so, when her bare feet hit the cold tiles of the kitchen floor, and Mira turns at her hiss, Zoey doesn’t feel disappointed. Of course, she doesn’t. How could she? Why would she? This is Mira, after all. She sees her, and she loves her. (And if there is a world out there where that’s somehow not the case, where there is a Zoey, and a Mira, and no love, then it can burn to the ground for all she cares.)
The sight of Mira alone and Rumi-less, on the other hand… She’s allowed to be a little disappointed about that, she thinks – especially when she notices Mira’s eyes straying just a bit, casting for a familiar presence but finding only some more empty space. Zoey already knows the answer, but still, she asks:
‘Rumi’s still in bed?’
Mira’s eyes flicker back to the counter, back to the waiting kettle, then back to Zoey.
‘Seems so.’
Zoey nods, shuffles her feet. Cringes each time they venture outside their patch of warmed-up tiles. Waits. The second Mira starts to raise her arms, she’s on the move, stepping close to her love, closer, closer, until she can melt against her. God, Zoey thinks as the solid weight of familiar, trustworthy arms come to rest around her, I missed you so much. Which is silly – stupid, really – because they’ve only been apart for the night, a handful of hours, that’s all, but, well, Zoey’s always been a little bit silly, a little bit stupid when it comes to Mira – so why stop now?
They stay like that, just like that, for a little while. It’s so warm where their bodies touch, and so cold where they don’t. Zoey tucks her head deeper in the hollow of Mira’s collarbones. There, she inhales her sleep-warm smell and breathes out a question.
‘We’re gonna be okay, right?’
The innocent words hang in the air, kicking their little feet, begging for breath, and for a moment, Mira just lets them – but only for a moment.
‘Yeah,’ she says, quiet, gentle. ‘We’re going to be okay.’
And Zoey should be grateful for the reassurance – and she is, she is – but she needs more (she always does, always has, always will, just wants and wants and wants until there’s nothing left, nothing to give and nothing to take, until people have to push her away, because she’s too weird, too pushy, too much, and they don’t want what she has to offer, so just go away Zoey-) just a little bit more, and she’ll be done, she swears.
‘Promise?’
(God, she sounds so small, so weak. Same old Zoey, just begging for someone, anyone, to tell her that everything’s alright, and of course, mommy and daddy still love her, and of course, Rumi doesn’t hate her, and of course, Zoey didn’t ruin everything.)
(Please, please, please, tell her she didn’t ruin everything.)
‘Of course,’ Mira says.
And if both Mira and Rumi say they’re going to be okay (did she really-) then they’re going to be okay. (They’re going to be okay, they’re going to be okay, they’re going to be okay, and maybe, if she says it enough times, she’ll manage to convince someone.)
‘You’re right,’ Zoey says. ‘Of course.’
Mira hums. The vibrations curl into Zoey’s ear, reach her brain, and settle there, a much more welcome visitor. She shifts again, forehead rasping against the soft plaid of Mira’s pajamas. Slender fingers come up to her head, start playing with her hair. Nails scratch at her scalp, and she sighs out her pleasure against Mira’s heart. They start to sway together, slowly, gently, and it’s nice. It’s always nice when she’s with Mira. Doesn’t matter what they do or don’t do, say or don’t say. Zoey would like to think she could stay just like this, quiet and held, forever, but she knows it won’t be long before the urge to move and to say something takes hold of her. Still, she likes to think (hopes with all her heart) that it’s the thought that counts; Zoey just closes her eyes, and for the first time since last night, she rests.
This is how Rumi finds them.
Zoey feels her presence in the abrupt stillness of Mira’s body; the fingers tracing patterns, the chest rising and falling beneath her cheek – they all stop.
‘Hey,’ Mira says.
‘Hi,’ a rough voice answers.
Zoey doesn’t turn right away. Can’t, not just yet. In Mira’s arms, she is Schrödinger’s scaredy cat. (Yeah, yeah, she’s alive, sure, cool, great, whatever, but much, much more importantly, is she loved? Hated? Both, somehow?)
Once she opens her eyes, once she turns around, she’ll know for sure.
She just- needs a moment. Not long. Just a second – maybe two. Or three. Four?
Fiiiiiiii-
But unfortunately for her survival instincts, Zoey’s ability to look away from uncomfortable truths has got nothing on her inability to stay away from Rumi.
Turning in Mira’s arms, she barely even flinches at the spasming, clenching hands at her waist.
‘Good morning!’
The words are too loud, too cheery, all wrong. Zoey wants to reach out, grasp them tight, swallow them back down, but, well, if she were able to just take things back, they wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place, would they?
‘Good morning,’ Rumi murmurs.
She looks… hm. Zoey’s well aware that some people would kill to look like Rumi’s version of death warmed over, but it doesn’t do much to soothe the sudden pang of guilt. It might have been a lesser reason, but she hadn’t been lying last night – the last thing Rumi needs is more stress, more things to worry about, and lose sleep over.
Some more seconds pass, and Zoey is just about to open her mouth again, just about to say some variation of ‘hi’ again, when Mira, her knight in lilac flannel, steps in.
‘Want me to heat up some water for you?’
But Rumi rejects the offer with a shake of her head and a step toward the kettle.
‘No, no, I got it.’ A beat. ‘Thanks, though.’
Pressed against Mira, Zoey feels her shift, her arms winding tighter, just for a second, before they slacken and fall away. Zoey, adrift, drowning in the uncomfortable silence, flails around for a safe conversation topic.
‘Did you,’ she clears the squeakiness out of her throat, ‘did you have a good night's sleep?’
It’s a stupid question, really. Even if she hadn’t seen the bruises under her eyes, even with Rumi’s back turned to them, Zoey could tell the answer just looking at her shoulders.
She loves those shoulders.
If not for Rumi’s pretty hair, her kind eyes, and the lovely shape of her face, Zoey thinks they would be the most striking thing about her. They suit her, those shoulders. Firm. Solid. Reliable. Perfect for leaning against, one of Zoey’s favorite places to rest. But today, they’re struggling. Tense with effort, yet slumped, like the weight, for once, is too heavy even for Rumi to bear. Zoey wants to lay her hands on them, drape herself over that broad, strong back the way she’s done hundreds of times over the years. She doesn’t, though, knows she can’t, at least not today, no matter how determined she is to pretend everything’s okay.
(Ah, no. Not ‘pretend’. Everything is okay, everything will be okay, it’s just… Last night was a lot, is all. Growing pains are to be expected.)
Those shoulders lift up and down in a shrug.
‘Good enough.’ Then- ‘You?’
The question feels tentative, like Rumi’s trying it on for size, like this isn’t an interaction they’ve had countless times, like they’re right back to these first few awkward days of living together. And so, just like Zoey did back then, she takes it upon herself to fill the silence.
‘Good! That’s good,’ she nods, her chin coming down like a gavel, the movement decisive in a way Zoey herself never really manages to be. ‘That you slept well, I mean. I didn’t. Sleep well, that is,’ she continues talking, God knows why. ‘Or, at all, really.’
‘Sorry to hear that,’ Rumi says, switching the kettle on.
She certainly sounds like it. Or maybe she just sounds tired. Zoey hates that she doesn’t know for sure, hates that this morning, for the first time in years, she feels like she’s right back to not knowing Rumi.
‘It’s okay,’ she says, but the words get swallowed by the crackling of the kettle.
The rumbling noise fills every inch of space between the three of them, surrounds them, traps them right where they are. Her muscles tense and release, itch with the need to fidget, and soon enough, she surrenders to it, tugs on her shorts, on her shirt, on her hair, digs her nails in the flesh of her poor thumb, still sore and tender from yesterday’s abuse. Tries not to lean back into Mira too much. Fails.
Then, the roaring stops.
The ensuing silence breathes with them, with Zoey and Mira both, while Rumi pours the boiling water into some half-forgotten mug, pretty flowers and clumsy bees crowding the ceramic even though the silly Californian bear sits sadly in its usual spot. (Even though Rumi loves that bear, even though it’s washed and dried, and her favorite, so what’s wrong with it now? Why won’t she use it? She loves it, doesn’t she, and it’s right there, so why won’t she just-)
‘Did you call Bobby already?’
The question bursts the bubble, brings Zoey right back down to the real world. She’s not sure she’s grateful.
‘What?’ she asks, voice pitched high. ‘Why?’
‘To tell him,’ Rumi calmly reminds her. ‘About you two.’
Ah. Right. That.
‘Not yet,’ Mira replies.
‘Well, I suggest you don’t wait too long, then.’
‘We won’t,’ her girlfriend assures.
‘And you’ll need to call Celine, too.’
Zoey can’t quite hide her wince. It’s one thing to tell their friend-shaped, round-faced manager about them, it’s another thing entirely to confess the truth to their hawkish mentor – just the thought has her breaking out in a cold sweat.
‘Can’t we just send a text?’
‘Zoey.’
Mira doesn’t look particularly amused, but she does look fond, and so Zoey decides to bravely forge onward.
‘I know, I know, but- What if we call Bobby, and text Celine, hm?’ At Mira’s raised eyebrow, she hurries to continue. ‘Hear me out, hear me out! You know how busy she is. Don’t you think she’d prefer a quick text over some- some silly, useless meeting? I think she would! And you know what? I think she’d be grateful, too, I really do.’
‘Do you now?’
‘Sure do!’ The exaggerated nod kind of hurts her neck, but it’s worth it for the slight upward tick of Mira’s pretty lips. ‘Think about it: she doesn’t waste her time, and we don’t have to look her in the eyes and tell her we broke the rules. Everybody wins! Doesn’t that sound nice?’
‘It does,’ Mira easily agrees. Zoey beams. ‘But,’ Mira adds. Zoey droops. Too good to be true. ‘As much as I would love to live in a world where Celine doesn’t kill us for telling her over text, we both know we don’t.’
‘Do you really think she would kill us?’ Zoey worries.
‘No,’ Mira concedes. ‘But she’d be disappointed.’
And they both know that there’s not much difference where Zoey’s concerned. She tries to ignore the fact that, text or in-person meeting, Celine definitely won’t be pleased with them, but the thought looms large anyway.
She turns to her Rumi, to her leader, lips shaping well-worn words before she can think twice (or even once).
‘What do you think, Rumi? Call or text?’
‘Zoey,’ Mira says, warns, and it’s not a reproach, not quite, but it sounds as close to it as it gets.
Before Zoey can reply, though, before she can wave her question away, yank her foot out of her mouth for the hundredth time this morning, Rumi answers.
She doesn’t turn around to look at them while she does it, though, just keeps stirring her tea, the spoon barely rasping against the sides of the mug. She doesn’t raise her voice, either. Zoey hopes it’s because she knows that she doesn’t need to, that Mira and Zoey will always listen when she speaks. (That all they’ve ever wanted is for Rumi to just speak to them.)
‘I don’t know, Zoey,’ Rumi says. ‘It’s your relationship. Your decision. Not mine.’
The air grows still.
For a blessed moment, so does her mind. It doesn’t last long. (It never does.)
Yours. Not mine.
Yours. Not mine.
Yours. Not mine.
Oh.
Right.
Of course.
She’s not sure why the words strike her so hard, right in the diaphragm, leave her breathless and nauseous. It’s not like Zoey doesn’t know, like the thought – the truth – hasn’t been stuck in her throat like a lump of cold rice for the past five years.
Because the love between her and Mira – as vast and all-consuming as the one they feel for their girl, but undeniably, ruefully different…
The truth is that love was only able to grow thanks to Rumi’s heart-shaped absence.
If it sounds awful, imagine how Zoey’s felt for the past five years.
It’s just-
Look.
Rumi is a great deal of things. Amazing singer. Fantastic performer. Fierce leader. Peerless hunter. Also, something of a dork.
Truly, she’s the friend Zoey had been waiting for her entire life. But Rumi’s also ‘no fault, no fear’ Celine’s prized pupil. She’s about as likely to open up and talk about her feelings as… well, Celine. And Mira and Zoey really do try not to ask for more than she’s willing to give them, though sometimes, it’s true, they just can’t help but try to peer over those thick walls of hers.
But back then, back when they were training to be the best K-pop act of their generation, knowing that failure was simply not an option, no pressure, or anything, they had rammed against those walls over and over again, until all they had left were bruised shoulders and each other. Because while Rumi might patiently correct their stances or offer notes on their singing for hours on end, reassure them that their presence here was not a mistake, that the Honmoon had picked them for a reason, and that it was only a matter of time until Celine would deem them ready to take the stage and slay demons– sometimes, it just hadn’t been enough. Sometimes, all Zoey and Mira had wanted to hear was, ‘Yeah, I get it,’ or ‘I understand,’ maybe even a ‘I feel the same way.’ Honestly, back then (honestly, even now) an ‘I feel-’ of any sort would have been nice. Instead, they’d gotten patient smiles, encouraging nods, and placating looks when they messed up a move, struggled to hit a note, had to watch Celine and Rumi leave on hunts because Mira and Zoey just weren’t ready yet, sorry, girls.
And so, in those rare moments where it would be just the two of them, two little fish looking around and wondering just how the hell they’d managed to land themselves in this ocean-sized pond, they would let each other in. It had been an awkward, and at times, painful process, but when Zoey had looked into Mira’s unguarded eyes and seen that exact same terror staring right back at her for the first time, she could have cried she was so relieved. And Mira had felt the same, she knows.
So, they would sneak out of the compound and into each other’s bedrooms at night. So, they would linger at the bathhouse and take the long way back. But they would always, always come home to Rumi, because even then, they’d known that no matter how scared they might be, they could never let her face it all alone. Not because fate, or the Honmoon, or even Celine had told them to, but because it was Rumi, and they were Zoey and Mira, and that was that.
It had all become kind of a moot point, anyway, because after a while, they did nail that move, and hit that note, and finally, finally, they could go out with Rumi and hunt down Gwi-ma’s goon squad. So they stuck together, the three of them, the way they were meant to (when Rumi let them), and it had felt good, and it had felt right, and Zoey had figured that this was all a thing of the past.
And then, New Year’s Eve happened.
Waking up to Mira, looking so lovely in Zoey’s tiny childhood bed, pink strands everywhere, drool on the lumpy pillow, the prettiest thing Zoey had ever seen. The memories of the previous night had swam by, and she’d blushed, dizzy with disbelief, that it had finally happened, that it had happened at all. She’d held her breath at fluttering eyelashes, hope and dread like man vs. alligator in the pit of her stomach, stared into brown eyes and knew, just like she did back then, that they felt the same, scared but unable, unwilling to look away, desperate to be seen despite everything.
So they had kissed again, and again, and again, until fear got the message and quietly slipped out the back.
It hadn’t been until they were holding hands in the backseat of the car bringing them to the airport that Zoey had dared to voice the obvious.
‘We need to tell Rumi. About us.’ Then, because she couldn’t help herself, because she had to know, had to make sure- ‘There is an ‘us’, right?’
And Mira had squeezed her hand and said,
‘Yes, there is. And yeah. We do.’
And then, they just… didn’t. Not for lack of trying, though maybe, admittedly, for lack of trying all that hard.
But as bad as the sneaking around had been, the guilt had felt worse. Still does. Over hiding their relationship, sure, but mostly, because Zoey had been horrified to realize that when Rumi would still refuse to accompany them to the bathhouse, or leave early or come home late because of a meeting, she’d feel a sick little thrill of relief, and Zoey’s no stranger to self-loathing, but over the past two months, the two of them had become thick as thieves. She had just- wanted to kiss and touch and hold her girlfriend, the girl she’d been in love with for years, the girl she never thought she’d ever get to call hers. Was that really so bad? To want to keep her girlfriend all to herself?
But Zoey knows the answer to that question and doesn’t argue, doesn’t deny the truth the way she has for the past five years, doesn’t say anything to Rumi besides,
‘Ah, I guess you’re right. Sorry. We’ll figure it out, right?’
‘Right,’ Mira murmurs.
And after that, well, there’s not much more for Rumi to do than nod, grab her mug, and walk away. Again.
They call Bobby first. They don’t tell him right then and there, of course, because they know he deserves better than that, deserves better than to learn that two of his charges have unionized to make his busy life even busier over the phone, and loathe as Zoey is to admit it, so does Celine. She just wishes the prospect wasn’t so terrifying, is all, the inevitable result of years of being told again and again that they could not afford any mistake, both onstage and off, that they had to be, for all intents and purposes, perfect. And everyone knows idols, especially perfect idols, don’t date. That’s the number one rule, the Big One, and not only did Zoey and Mira break said Big Rule, they broke it together. Zoey would argue that that’s not as bad, that in fact, it’s the better option, certainly better than bringing a stranger in their lives – and god, just the idea sends a shiver down her spine. Sure, she might drool over a cute boy on TV or get a little crush on the cute waitress, but those are just bite-sized daydreams, ultimately harmless, and most importantly, meaningless. She already has Mira and Rumi in her life – what could she possibly need anyone else for?
But anyway, Zoey’s well aware that Celine won’t care much about her excuses for why ‘this whole thing is fine, actually, if you really think about it’, because Celine, as a rule of thumb, does not care much for excuses, period. Celine does not care much for rule-breaking and disrespect, either, which is bound to make their little meeting all the more, ah, fun. Said little meeting has been arranged by Bobby, who will also be in attendance, because if she and Mira are to jump off this particular ledge, they might as well try and hit two birds on the way down. Unfortunately, because they couldn’t-slash-wouldn’t tell him anything about this ‘kind of important but not that important, or well, no, okay, it is actually kind of important, but it’s nothing bad! Or, well, not bad-bad, just-’ thing they wanted to tell him about, all three of their presences have been requested despite Zoey’s cringing stammering that that wasn’t necessary.
And so, not even one full day after ‘your relationship, not mine’, Rumi sits right next to them on the backseat of the car taking them straight to what is sure to be the dressing down of a lifetime. It’s been a while since Zoey’s felt this much dread during a car ride – namely, since the infamous 2008 Disneyland extravaganza. That divorce-inducing trip, or at least, the ride back home, had been just as silent, due to her parents finally deciding that they had nothing left to say to each other, for good, this time.
This is different, though, she reminds herself. Aside from all the guilt and the vague feeling that everything that is about to happen will be entirely her fault, of course. Yes, aside from that, this is completely different because this is temporary. She just needs to survive Bobby’s disappointment and Celine’s disapproval, and that’s- that’s fine. That’s doable. She can do that, just sit there and look down and try not to cry – at least, not until tonight, when she will be, hopefully, back in Mira’s arms.
Until then, she’ll keep her mouth shut (for once), stuck in the middle between her two better halves, and try to make herself as small as possible. It doesn’t quite work. Despite her best effort not to fidget, her elbow bumps into Rumi’s crossed arms once, twice. She stammers out an apology and tries not to think about how, just two days earlier, Rumi would have just nudged her right back. That’s okay, though, because this too is temporary. In the meantime, she huddles closer to Mira, resists the urge to reach for her always warm hand, and takes as much comfort as she can from the tight press of their thighs.
Traffic, for once, is pretty painless, and they arrive at the headquarters with a few minutes to spare. (Maybe Celine will take their relative punctuality into account and go easy on them and tell them they did nothing wrong and that they have her blessing, and actually she’s always been rooting for you two crazy kids? Or maybe she’ll just consider that being on time is the least they could do since they were the ones asking her for a meeting. Whatever. Let a girl dream.)
Zoey ducks out of the car with a quick nod and a strained smile to their driver, crosses the marble floors, and steps into the elevator without protest, and just a healthy amount of trepidation.
The room Bobby has booked is pretty small, downright claustrophobic, though, admittedly, that assessment might have something to do with what’s about to take place between these four walls. Their manager stands from his seat as they come in, usual smile firmly in place and a twinkle of curiosity in his ever-bright eyes.
‘Hi, girls!’
‘Hey, Bobby.’
His grin dims at their tepid greeting, but Zoey’s more focused on Celine. Their mentor stares back, sitting quietly at the table. Her gaze trails from Zoey to Mira, to Rumi.
‘Girls,’ she murmurs.
‘Celine.’
Their heads dip into a quick bow. When they look up, Celine is still staring. The silence drags for one, two beats too long until Bobby, an empath, sets out to ease the brewing tension.
‘Right,’ he starts with an overenthusiastic clap. ‘How about you girls grab a seat so we can get started? I tried to set up this meeting as soon as possible,’ he continues as they settle at the table. ‘I do apologize for the short notice, though,’ he adds to Celine. ‘I know just how busy your schedule can get, so I really appreciate you taking the time to be here.’
‘Of course,’ she says, gently waving off his deep, still-seated bow. ‘I will always find time for any issues pertaining to HUNTR/X. Speaking of…’
Zoey gulps as those eyes swivel back to her, the sound cartoonishly loud in the quiet room.
‘What exactly did warrant today’s meeting? Is this about the new album? Any issue you’d like to bring to our attention? ’
‘No!’ Zoey bursts out, desperate to dispel that idea. ‘No, no, no, no, the album’s going great! Just a few tweaks here and there, and we’ll be good to go!’
She grins, bright and wild and definitely too wide, but she just can’t seem to stop, even as it verges on painful the longer it goes on. And since no one on her side of the table seems too interested to fill the ensuing silence, it goes on for a while.
‘Well, that’s great news! Thank you for your hard work, girls.’
Bobby’s beaming smile is so effective, you could almost miss the nerves lining his shoulders.
‘Ah, no, thank you for your supp-’
Celine cuts her off.
‘Then, why are we here, Zoey?’
Her voice is flat, her eyes are stern, yet neither is unkind. They spell out a simple demand – get on with it.
Zoey takes in a deep breath and resists the urge to put her thumb to her teeth.
‘Because we thought you should know that we…’ She exchanges a glance with her girlfriend, feels a hand resting on her thigh, and grabs onto it as tightly as she can. Mira, of course, squeezes right back. ‘We’re dating,’ Zoey says. ‘Have been for the past two months.’
A long beat, then-
Bobby clears his throat and asks, words threaded with confused suspicion.
‘When you say we’re dating, you mean…?’
The question strikes her as odd, though valid, she supposes.
‘Me and Mira. Or, no - Sorry, Mira and I are. Dating.’
The confirmation lands with a splat, right there on the table for everyone to see. And yet, as the seconds pass, Celine’s and Bobby’s eyes drift, not to the truth, but to Rumi.
They stay there for a while, even as Zoey continues to stammer out an explanation.
‘We’re sorry for not telling you. We should have told you sooner, we know, but we just- We didn’t want you to-’
And just like she did that night, Mira steps in and tells the simple truth. (She always makes it look so easy – maybe she can teach Zoey someday.)
‘We didn’t tell you, because we didn’t want you to tell us to stop. And we won’t, so. Don’t bother.’
That, at least, gets Bobby to look their way again. She’s not sure that’s a good thing. Celine’s eyes don’t budge. She’s not sure that’s a good thing, either.
‘Look, girls, I don’t like it any more than you do,’ and to his credit, he does look pretty sorry, ‘but your contracts-’
‘Bobby,’ Mira interrupts, ‘with all due respect, screw the contracts.’
‘Mira,’ Zoey mutters.
‘No,’ she insists. ‘I get why the no-dating clause is there. I mean, you’re right, I don’t like it, but I do get it.’ Her hand tightens around Zoey’s, the only hint of nervousness she lets slip, out of sight from anyone else but her. ‘But we’ve been dating for almost two months now, and no one has suspected a thing. I mean, the only reason you know is because we just told you, and we’re only telling you because-’ and here Mira, sure-footed Mira, stumbles. ‘Because you deserve to know,’ she finishes quietly.
Soft-eyed Bobby opens his mouth, but Celine gets there first.
‘Did you know about this?’
It takes Zoey a second to realize the question is, of course, directed not to them, but to the person Celine’s been staring at so intently for a while now. Rumi, for her part, keeps her eyes trained on the window the way she has since they took a seat at the table.
‘I,’ her voice comes out slowly, one careful word after the other, ‘became aware of the situation only recently.’
‘I see.’
And whatever it is that she sees, it doesn’t bode well for them, because when Celine finally looks their way, Zoey’s sure that’s not a good thing. The look in her eyes… It’s not angry, not really – Zoey doesn’t think she’s ever actually seen her get angry. Frustrated, yes, disappointed, for sure, annoyed, on some occasions, but never angry.
Actually, that’s a lie.
There was that one time – one of their first hunt just the three of them, right before their debut, when Mira and Zoey had limped back to the compound, half-dragging a nearly unconscious, heavily bleeding Rumi. She’ll never forget that night – both the hunt itself and the ensuing dressing down after the two of them admitted they had faltered when faced with a dokkaebi parading as a human child. They had known demons possessed the ability to shapeshift, of course, but back then, they hadn’t realized – hadn’t understood – just how real their counterfeit humanity looked. Their hesitation had almost cost Rumi her life, and Celine had made sure they never made the same mistake twice.
Her eyes don’t look like they did back then, incandescent with fearful fury. Today, they look cold – tip-of-the-iceberg cold.
Mira’s fingers twitch around hers.
‘Is there anything else we need to know?’
‘N-No,’ Zoey answers, trying and failing to hide the shiver running down her spine. ‘I mean, I don’t think so.’ Then, shaking her head, ‘No. Just this. Nothing else.’
‘Hm. Bobby,’ Celine says, and their manager startles, glancing between all four women, before snapping back to her. ‘Would you mind setting up a meeting with HR? Try to arrange something with Ms. Nam, if you can – I trust her to be discreet about this.’
Next to her, she feels Mira go tense. Zoey can relate. ‘Discreet’ about what? The fact that they’re now dating, and will continue to do so? Or the fact that they’ll be forced to end things? They won’t, though. Right? They love each other, they’re not harming anyone, and this would break them – yes, them, because for all her doubts and insecurities, Zoey knows Mira feels the same way, loves her the way Zoey loves her, if only because if she didn’t, she wouldn’t have agreed to be with her in the first place, wouldn’t have put the group and their friendship with Rumi at risk if she felt even a fraction less than Zoey does.
But if push comes to shove, if Celine makes them choose, their relationship or the Honmoon, their relationship or Rumi?
The slender bones of Mira’s fingers groan in her grip.
Rumi’s promise echoes in her head (and oh, now she remembers, huh?). She won’t let Celine make them choose, won’t let anyone tear them apart, because Rumi promised, and Rumi always keeps her promises. (She does.)(She does.) (She has to, because if she doesn’t-)
‘What- what should I tell her?’
Where Bobby’s voice wavered, Celine’s stare does not.
‘That a romantic relationship between two employees has come to light and new NDAs should be drawn up.’
What does that mean, Zoey wants to ask, wants to scream, aside from the obvious?
‘Alright. Anything else?’
Even Bobby seems unsure. Zoey sends him a trembling smile. It’s going to be okay, she wants to say, but she doesn’t know that, doesn’t know anything anymore, aside from the fact that she’s terrified that coming here, telling them, is the biggest mistake of her life.
‘That will be all,’ Celine says, voice flat and devoid of any hint about what’s in store for them. ‘Thank you. You may go, now.’
And Bobby does go, though not before sending them one last worried look on his way out. Celine holds her tongue until the door shuts quietly behind him, and not a second more.
‘Well then,’ she says. ‘I don’t think I need to tell you how exceptionally foolish you two are being, do I?’
Zoey cringes. Mira bristles.
Here we go.
‘You might not like it,’ Mira starts, ‘and you might not approve, but that doesn’t make it, or us, foolish.’
‘You’re right,’ Celine agrees. Zoey and Mira exchange a look, one hopeful, the other wary, both startled by the rare admission. That is, until Celine adds, ‘I don’t like it, and I certainly do not approve. You might think that what you’re doing only impacts the two of you, that your actions are, somehow, free of consequences for everyone else, but I guarantee you, you are wrong.’
‘We-’
‘You are Hunters,’ Celine interrupts, and Zoey feels that capital H in her goddamn teeth. ‘You should know better than to put your own needs above the team or, indeed, the fate of the entire world. Need I,’ she continues, raising her voice as Mira opens her mouth to defend them, lips trembling with outrage at the accusation, ‘remind you that you two took a sacred oath before the seonangdang? That you two swore to dedicate your lives to the Honmoon, to protect it and nurture it with all that you are?’
‘No, Celine.’ Mira’s low voice quivers with effort not to bark out her rebuke. ‘You don’t need to remind us, but thank you so much for the offer. We know our duty, and us being together will never change that, no matter how selfish you might think we are.’
Celine’s lip part to let a retort out, but this time, it’s Zoey’s turn to interrupt.
‘You say Mira and I shouldn’t be together because of our oath, but surely we’re not the first hunters to fall in love, right?’
‘No, you’re not,’ Celine, after a pregnant pause, finally agrees. At this point of the conversation, though, Zoey knows better than to trust the too-easy assent. ‘So tell me, then, what will happen when the two of you get in a fight?’
‘We won’t,’ Mira immediately replies, the answer as automatic as it is earnest.
‘Of course, you will,’ Celine chides, wholly unsurprised by the quick reply, ‘and frankly, the fact that you somehow think you won’t is yet another sign of how reckless this entire endeavor is.’
Zoey feels a familiar prickling in her cheeks, a burning in her eyes. She tries to hold the tears back, knows they won’t do anything to help this mess – but this whole thing feels so unfair! There’s nothing for them to say or do, because Celine will never approve of anything that could ever put their mission in jeopardy, will she? She’s going to demand they break up, and they’ll have to pick between the Honmoon and each other, and Rumi will- She’ll be-
‘Friends fight, too,’ Rumi says, quietly, but firmly, because Rumi always keeps her promises, and even though Zoey knows this, even though she’s never doubted this, not really, she can’t quite stifle her gasp. ‘We’ve certainly had our fair share over the years,’ their leader continues, ‘and it’s never stopped us from fulfilling our duty. Remember when we started training? Remember how many arguments you had to break up? And even now, we disagree about things. We get tired, and cranky, and say things we don’t mean. But every time, we work through it, or agree to disagree, or let things go, because we know that none of it matters, not really. Not when there is the Honmoon to protect and Gwi-ma to defeat. We know this, we remember this, because you taught us to. Zoey and Mira might fight,’ she concedes. ‘They probably will. But I trust them to put the Honmoon first, because they were hunters before they ever were-,’ she falters, lips spasming around the word, inarticulate in a way she rarely allows herself to be, to let others see. ‘-lovers. And if you can’t trust them, then trust me to remind them. Please.’
It hurts to hear that final word. The weight of it doesn’t belong on Rumi’s tongue, but on their own, though Mira probably disagrees, probably thinks that the word doesn’t belong anywhere near this conversation in the first place. And maybe she’s right. Maybe they shouldn’t have to beg and plead their case to be allowed to be together. Maybe it should be none of Celine and Sunlight Entertainment’s business. Wouldn’t that be nice?
But they have to, and it is, and like always, Rumi takes it upon herself to remind them of the harsh reality of things even as she shields them from the worst of it. As much as she hates it, as much as she hates herself for accepting it, Zoey, as always, is grateful. One day, she thinks, one day, we’ll pay her back for everything she’s done for us. One day, she swears, we’ll be the ones she can lean on.
(One day – but not today.)
For a long time, Celine and Rumi look at each other, serious, solemn, altogether unreadable. Zoey knows better than saying it out loud, knows that this is capital-T Taboo subject territory, but in this moment, the two of them have never looked more like a mother and her daughter to her. It’s in the set of their brow, maybe, or the tilt of their head, or the tight line of their lips. Whatever it is, Zoey knows that somehow, this conversation is no longer about Mira and her, not really.
Celine proves her right one last time, just a few seconds later.
‘You two are free to go,’ she says, simple and without a glance in their direction.
But it’s not that simple, is it? Not to Mira.
‘We’re not leaving this room until you- you allow us,’ and the word leaves her mouth like pent-up bile, ‘to stay together.’
‘This matter,’ Celine replies, calm and steady now in a way that seems designed to infuriate Mira, ‘is between me and the leader of HUNTR/X. Leave us, now.’
‘That’s bullshit. This isn’t Rumi’s issue to deal with, none of it is. She shouldn’t have to-’
And isn’t that what Rumi herself had said just yesterday morning? That it’s their relationship, not hers? Maybe she’s changed her mind. Or, more likely, maybe the line’s just too blurred between friends, teammates, and leader. Maybe it’s never about what Rumi wants, but about what needs to be done. Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Whatever the reason, Rumi’s hands only clench tighter around her responsibility – self-imposed or not, does it matter? Did it ever? – and gently pulls it from Mira’s desperate grasp.
‘Mira,’ and for the first time in what feels like days, years, lifetimes, she looks at them – well, one of them (and she’s not jealous, right? Right? Because that would be pathetic, and she’s not pathetic, is she? Never have been, never will be, and certainly not pathetic enough to be jealous of her own girlfriend because their best friend has finally deigned to look in her direction but not at her, no, no way, never, that would be so pathetic, right?) – and offers a slight nod. ‘It’s okay. I’ve got this. Don’t worry.’
In many ways, Mira isn’t like Zoey, isn’t happy just following Rumi’s orders even when she doesn’t fully understand them, isn’t always ready to just nod and do as she’s told, no matter how she might feel about it. But she also knows that she can trust Rumi to speak up on their behalf, to have their best interest at heart, and always, always, to protect them – in this one, specific way, Mira is very much like Zoey. Still, it doesn’t make it any easier for her to walk away and leave Rumi behind. Somehow, her reluctance only makes Zoey love her more. That’s my Mira, she thinks, that’s the girl she fell and keeps falling in love with, strong, and brave, and too stubborn for her own good. It’s a nice, though wholly unnecessary reminder.
So if Mira can’t bring herself to do as Rumi asked her to, Zoey will just have to help them both.
‘Come on,’ she says, gentle as can be, rising from her seat and tugging on the clammy hand she’s still holding. And when Rumi finally looks at her, brown eyes dark with an exhausted kind of gratitude (did she get any sleep last night? She looks so tired still), Mira’s clenched jaw and runaway eyes seem almost worth it.
They step out of the room, the sound of their retreating footsteps neatly absorbed by the thick carpet. The door shuts behind them, and once again, they are alone. They should probably… Actually, Zoey has no idea what they should do. Check in with Bobby? Go home? Wait for Rumi? She knows they have something to do – some rehearsal or recording or something, but the thoughts stumble around her head like a bunch of drowsy toddlers.
Next to her, Mira stands, the long lines of her body so tense Zoey’s shoulders hurt just looking at her.
‘It’s not fair,’ she whispers to the empty corridor.
Zoey doesn’t bother to ask what exactly about this whole mess isn’t fair, because the answer is a big, fat, everything.
‘I know, baby,’ she says instead. ‘I know.’
‘They’re making a mistake. You know they are.’
Celine’s voice is quiet, soft, not quite gentle, but in the dark depth of her eyes, there is no more sharpness to be found – only something tired, defeated, and sorry, like she already knows how this is all going to end.
‘Maybe,’ Rumi breathes, and the meek answer is the strongest defense and the weakest betrayal of her the girls she can muster right now. ‘But what’s done is done. There’s no going back, I don’t think.’ No, not for those stubborn, steadfast girls.
But Celine remains unconvinced. Rumi doesn’t know whether to be grateful for her lucidity or frustrated that this day, this week, this mess can’t just be over already.
‘And if the relationship comes to an end? If it turns ugly? If they go from being two bandmates in love to bitter exes forced to work together? To fight together? It would be a disaster. We simply can’t afford it,’ she concludes, and though she’s right about that, she’s not right about everything.
‘It won’t come to that,’ Rumi assures. ‘To any of that. You know it won’t.’ Anyone who has ever met these two would know, Rumi doesn’t add, but now, here comes the hard part, the part where Rumi holds out her own heart with a trembling hand and lets it drop to the ground with a pathetic-sounding splat.
For a single breath, she holds her searing resentment in her mouth, lets it burn her tongue, imagines spitting it out, and letting the whole world see. Instead, she swallows it back. It hurts all the way down, but she’s had worse – she’s about to get worse. ‘Let them be together, Celine. You know as well as I do that nothing good will come from keeping them apart, and to be honest, I don’t think you could keep them apart, even if you tried. You heard Mira, they won’t let you. They need each other.’ And nothing else. ‘The Honmoon needs them together.’
Still, Celine resists. Still, she persists.
‘No, what the Honmoon needs is you three living in harmony, not- this, not the two of them together, and you being…’ A sigh, short and hard, as if to make for the violence of whatever word was about to come out of her mouth. ‘Look, whether they’re in love or can’t stand each other, it creates an imbalance. I’m sorry, but I genuinely don’t think anything good can come from this. I really don’t.’
Well, neither does Rumi, but you don’t see her standing in the way of true love and her own never-ending heartbreak, do you? And now, the frustration wins. Now, the resentment rushes back up. And still, she can’t afford to show it. She must choke on it, drown in it, even as it refuses to kill her, all for the sake of the Honmoon, all for the sake of two tragically loveable girls. But when she opens her mouth, it’s only the latter that sits heavy on her mind.
‘Actually,’ she starts, slowly, haltingly, like her own mouth is begging her to reconsider. ‘There- there is something.’ She swallows. Tastes bile. Keeps talking. ‘They… They haven’t asked me to go with them to the bathhouse in a while. Not- Not for the past two months or so.’ Not since Burbank, California. Not since New Year’s. Not since- ‘Them being together, focused on each other… It lowers the risk of them finding out.’ And who cares about the rest, right? ‘So, you know. It might be for the best.’ For them. For the fans. For the Honmoon. ‘All things considered.’ Except her heart. ‘If you think about it.’ The way she’s been forced to for the past few days.
That gets Celine’s attention, because of course, it does.
‘They haven’t?’
‘No.’
‘I see… That’s- hm.’ A considering look crosses her eyes. She tilts her head, unruly black and white strands sliding over her shoulder. ‘But even so, this doesn’t change the fact that this relationship is a powder keg, regardless of whether it’s because fans find out or they break up on their own.’ A sigh, then, quietly, ‘But I will take this into account.’
Rumi already knows what the verdict will be, though – between avoiding a possible scandal or certain doom, Rumi knows which one Celine will always choose.
‘Okay,’ she says anyway. ‘Thank you.’
And then it’s just them, Celine and Rumi, the way it had been for half of her life.
‘How have you been?’ she asks, partly to turn the page, yes, but also, out of genuine interest.
‘Well enough,’ Celine answers, finally relaxing in her chair – as much as she ever allows herself to relax, in any case. ‘I have been rather busy these past few months, though nothing too interesting, I’m afraid.’
‘And the garden? There’s been so much wind these past few days. I was worried.’
Celine smiles, small and warm, and Rumi lets some of the tension stored in her jaw melt at the sight.
‘The garden is doing just fine, though, I’m sure I’ll have quite a lot of weeding to do when things finally slow down. I confess I haven’t spent quite as much time tending to it as I would have wanted. Oh, that reminds me,’ she says, bending down to retrieve a bag Rumi had failed to notice tucked under her chair. ‘I brought you this. I figured you girls must be running low by now.’
And as Celine walks around the table and proffers a bag bursting with the fragrant tangerines of her childhood, Rumi’s life, for one shining, golden moment, seems untouched by any revelations and realizations.
‘Oh,’ she breathes, accepting the bag with both hands and a helpless smile. ‘Thank you so much, Celine. You really didn’t have to.’
‘No, I did not,’ Celine agrees, ‘but I did want to, so.’
‘Thank you,’ Rumi repeats, looking up at her with crinkling eyes.
‘You’re very welcome, Rumi,’ Celine says, voice soft and low and fond, and it’s… nice. It’s so nice, this moment, a sweet little treat after these few bitter days. But Celine opens her mouth once more, and just like that, the treat melts on her tongue and leaves only a sour aftertaste in its trail.
‘And how have you been lately?’
In an ideal world, the question would be harmless. Honest, simple – considerate, even. A genuine sign of concern. But this world, Rumi’s world, is not ideal. Far from it. In Rumi’s world, her mother had the bad idea to fall for a demon and his tricks, the terrible idea to have his child, and the worst idea to keep it, too. And so, in Rumi’s world, when Celine asks her how she’s been, it is an honest inquiry – considerate, even. A genuine sign of concern, too. But it is not simple. Far from it. Especially today of all days.
And so, perhaps in an ideal world, Rumi would be honest. Perhaps, if she lived in such a world, she would be allowed to say, the girls I love don’t love me. They love each other, but they don’t love me. Not like I do. They broke my heart, maman. They broke my heart, and I didn’t even know. Perhaps she would even be allowed to fall into Celine’s arms, bury her face in the neck that had been visited by so many of her tears once upon a time, seek comfort in the familiar smell of the woman who raised her, and sob the truth out in her childhood’s favorite hiding spot.
Alas.
This is Rumi’s world, and so she says, dutiful as ever, ‘The patterns have spread.’ Funny, how simple that statement is. You’d never think that she’d spent the past couple of nights biting her pillow to try and muffle her screams while shame applied its vicious brand against her skin, over and over, and over again. Funny, funny, funny that. ‘Not by much,’ she clarifies, as if that matters, as if that makes it any better. ‘Just a little,’ she says, as if it’s not yet another sign of her weakness, her sickness, her true nature. And then, because she can’t help herself, because she can think of nothing else to say- ‘I’m sorry, Celine.’
Celine doesn’t say it’s okay, that it’s going to be okay, doesn’t say it’s not Rumi’s fault, doesn’t lie to her face, and for that, Rumi tries to be grateful. She really, really does. Instead, Celine sighs, quiet but deafening in the still room, eyes fluttering shut for a single heartbeat.
‘When did this happen?’
Rumi hesitates, settles for, ‘A couple of days ago.’
Celine only nods – it’s nothing she didn’t already know.
‘I see. Do we need to alter your costumes again?’
‘I- Maybe. Yes.’
‘Hm. It might be time to switch to full jackets, just- just in case.’
Right. ‘Just in case’. ‘Just in case’ Rumi fails again. As if that’s not a given by now.
‘Okay,’ she murmurs. ‘I’ll ask Bobby to arrange something with the stylists.’
‘Alright. But Rumi,’ Celine says, and Rumi braces herself against the warning that is sure to follow, the reminder to be careful, to be aware of all things at all times, to have only one fear – the discovery of her shame and deceit. But Celine merely asks, ‘How are you doing?’
Rumi stares, uncomprehending, and so Celine clarifies.
‘Have you been sleeping lately? Eating correctly? I understand the past few days might have been rather difficult for you, given the… situation.’
The uncharacteristic hesitation barely registers. How could it, when all Rumi can think about is the way Bobby and Celine had stared at her earlier, the look in those eyes she had tried so desperately to avoid. She flushes at the remembered embarrassment, the reminder that her love had been so obvious to everyone and their mother-figures, that her heartbreak doesn’t even belong to her and her alone.
‘I’m- I’m fine, Celine,’ she mutters. She stares at the carpet beneath her shuffling feet, the whorls and lines printed on the thick fabric, a much easier sight to stomach than whatever memory is currently haunting Celine’s eyes.
‘Are you sure?’ Her guardian insists, for some unknown, seemingly cruel reason. ‘I would… understand if you weren’t.’
The words, slow and halting as they are, curdle in the air long before they reach Rumi’s ears. What is that even supposed to mean? That Rumi’s love sickness is so obvious, even Celine would cut her some slack about it? That Rumi looks so tired, so obviously unwell, that even she would understand if Rumi wanted to talk about her countless flaws and fears, just this once? Well, Rumi might be lovesick, she might be tired, and she might be unwell, but she will not be weak. Not anymore.
‘I’m sure,’ she replies, and turns ever so slightly toward the door.
‘Alright,’ Celine sighs. ‘Well, I’m here, if you ever want to talk. You do know that, don’t you?’
She used to – years ago. Back when Celine was the center of her world and its frontiers, back when talking to Celine was as easy and natural as breathing. When exactly did it end, she wonders?
‘Of course, Celine. Thank you, Celine.’
‘Right. Well, I suppose I should be letting you go.’ There is a strange reluctance in Celine’s voice, then, like fingers still tangled in Rumi’s sleeve. ‘I know you have a long day ahead of you still.’
‘I do, yes. Busy, busy day. You know how it is.’
Her smile is weak, and makes little attempt to reach her eyes.
‘That I do. I hope we can see each other again soon. Maybe for a quick lunch?’
‘That would be nice, sure.’
‘Then it’ll be arranged. Goodbye, Rumi.’
‘Goodbye, Celine.’
Rumi offers one last bow, made deeper by her eagerness to get away from Celine’s soft eyes and knowing questions, and leaves the room.
The heavy bag crinkles in her tight grip, fat tangerines digging in her chest as she strides down the hallway. She takes comfort in the weight of them, the way she can feel each small, round body pressing into the firm flesh of her torso, the soft, muted scent wafting from their bright, though skin.
They’ll be delicious, Rumi knows, sweet and tart and sour. They always taste better when shared, Celine used to say, and she’d been right, too – like always. How many tangerines did they split, in their garden, in the kitchen, in the back of chauffeured cars? And how much better did these little quarters taste when they came from Celine’s hand and not her own?
And how many tangerines did she split with the girls, after a training session, before a concert, patrolling the streets? How much better did these little quarters taste when paired with Zoey’s sticky smile, Mira’s grateful eyes?
Rumi doesn’t want to learn the taste of lonely tangerines, but she might have to, anyway.