Work Text:
It’s the way they light up when she’s stressed, sometimes even going through the thick clothes that she wears just to cover them up. When they stretch out like branches on a tree to the sunlight, covering her like vines. She thinks the mirror makes it worse, but she can’t stare away, her eyes just widening as she stumbles, yet still unable to tear them away.
They hear the commotion. She knows they did. Which makes it worse because she’s trapped. She looks to her balcony and in that split second she thinks of running - she’s done it before - but she can’t today, today she’s just tired. Too tired to hide or too tired to live she isn’t so sure.
Her claws are out too, threatening to slice through the floorboards. Fuck.
Then they’re there, Mira first, Zoey not far behind.
“Rumi, are you okay?”
But Mira uncharacteristically says nothing.
She knows.
She knows she knows.
In another second, Zoey will too.
Don’t look at me. I’m a mistake. Please don’t look at me.
“Rumi, you’re glowing?” Zoey steps closer, eyes blown wide. Rumi shuffles back.
“D-Don’t.”
Zoey steps forward another, before Mira’s hand comes out to stop her.
“When?”
One word. All it takes to break her. One word from Mira, and the honmoon shifts around her, a faint red glow mocking her existence. No. Not like this.
“I’m sorry.” She thinks her finger tips hurt more. It’s better if they don’t see it. It’s better they don’t. No. They shouldn’t. It hurts. Why is it hurting? It’s hurting.
“Rumi.”
“I’m a demon you can’t-”
“You’re hurting yourself!” Zoey this time. Rumi doesn’t know the last time Zoey sounded like this, so broken, so panicked, so confused. Then Mira’s hands are on her and she tenses. She’s going to die. Mira’s going to kill her for being a demon. Oh fuck why is her- she’s-
She hears it before she sees it. The sound of Mira’s breath. One deep intake. She’s hurting Mira. Fuck she’s hurting Mira. She’s hurting Mira.
“It’s okay Rumi.” When did Mira’s voice get so soft? “I’m okay.” So warm? “It’s okay.” Her knuckles feel nice. “You’re okay Rumi.”
She feels the soft fabric of Mira’s shirt against her head, the pads of Mira’s on her hair and it feels nice. It shouldn’t feel nice. Demons don’t get to feel nice things. Demons don’t deserve to-
“Stop thinking.” Mira whispers low, fingers digging a little harder into her hair, scratching her scalp. Then she feels another pair of hands on her back, hands starting to release her braids.
She tries to fight it, she shouldn’t, but Zoey’s hands are on her hips, her voice low, broken, pained. “Please.”
It’s a shaky breath to take, but Mira’s there, hands over her own, thumb running over her knuckles, heartbeat against her ear. And Zoey’s never been this quiet before, but she is now. But now when she cries, when she’s as silent as she can be, when Mira’s hand leaves her head, Rumi can only assume she’s holding Zoey too.
She’s strong for both of them.
Her hair is unbraided little by little by their maknae, and the air in her room stills with a twisted sense of intimacy.
“I’m sorry.” Rumi whispers, digging a little harder into Mira’s hand. “You shouldn’t even…be here. I’m a mistake.”
“Don’t say that Rumi.” Zoey scolds, and Rumi hears it, the cracked voice, the tired edges of her usually cheerful tone.
“But I’m a demon. And demons are monsters they don’t deserve to-”
“Rumi.”
Rumi tenses.
“We’ll talk about this later.”
Later?
Later?
They were going to make her wait for her execution they were going to kill her they were going to make her wait to catch her off guard to think she’s safe and is she safe what is she talking about this is Mira and Zoey they won’t hurt her but she’s a demon she found out she’s a demon Celine said they’ll-
“Breathe Rumi. Breathe.” Mira whispers softly, holding Rumi’s face in her hands. Her eyes staring back, usually so sharp, filled with something softer now. Rumi sees it, the anger, the desperation, the hurt, but it’s not the only things. Trust. Worry. Comfort. Home.
Mira’s voice is steady, holding the fractures of Rumi’s heart in her soft words and even softer hands. “Nothing is going to happen to you.”
Rumi chokes on a sob. “You…you’re not mad?”
Mira exhales, “I am.” And fuck it stings. Of course she’s hurt what are you talking about Rumi? You revealed you’re a demon. But Mira’s voice is there, settling like a warm cocoon. “We have a lot to talk about after this, but I’m not leaving you,”
Where’s the hatred in her eyes that Celine talked about?
Why is not there?
There’s a shuffle of movement and then Zoey is there too, in her vision, and she’s proven right, the usual spark in her eyes dulled, cheeks still streaked with drying tears. I’m sorry. She’s never been this still. This quiet. But when she reaches out, her touch familiar, grip resolute.
“We’re not leaving you.”
You should though. Rumi thinks. Because she’s a demon. A mistake. What they swore to destroy. They should hate her. They should push her away. They should have acted like Celine said they would. Should have wanted to kill her. And now it’s worse. Because they didn’t. Because she spent her whole life running, when the answers were right here. That she betrayed them and they still…love her.
“Thank you.”
“You’re still you…still Rumi.” Zoey murmurs, fingers moving to Rumi’s shirt and tugging it slightly, tightening as she looks down. “Still my unnie. And still someone I love…” Zoey smiles up at her, eyes wet again and the words undo Rumi like she hadn’t spent all her life with these walls up only to have 2 of the people that should hate her love her anyway.
She swallows thickly, the glow on her skin flickering and retracting, as if content to finally retreat, like it had done it’s job. Mira’s thumb traces slow against her cheek, and maybe for once, Rumi let’s herself believe that this maybe isn’t the…end.
“I thought you’d hate me…” She whispers.
Zoey shakes her head, “Don’t say that.” She curls into Rumi’s side, like she always does, and Rumi’s fingers twitch to hold her hips like usual. Normal. Before they found out you were a demon. “You’re still our Rumi. Our leader.”
“We don’t hate you.” Mira finishes for Zoey.
A shuddering breath escapes Rumi. They love her. And they don’t hate her.
Mira presses her lips to the crown of Rumi’s head as Zoey places one on her cheek.
“We’re family. This doesn’t change anything.”
“Maybe except the fact that I have a lot of explaining to do?”
The laughter is enough.
“That. Later.”
For the first time, she thinks she can breathe.