Chapter Text
Rumi nearly drops the soapy plate in her hands when a shriek bursts through the penthouse.
“I know just the game for tonight!” Zoey squeals, “Let’s play Tag!”
Zoey’s snap back to reality stops Rumi’s cleaning trance; she’s been scrubbing the same spot for the past ten minutes. She quickly rinses the plate and sets it aside in realization. Zoey sits on one edge of the couch, arms raised and hands fisted with excitement. On the opposite side, Mira lays down with the latest HUNTR/X magazine in hand.
“Zoey, we just ate. Do you want me to throw up food everywhere?” Mira sighs in disbelief, lowering the magazine to glance at Zoey.
The mental image of Mira vomiting all over the penthouse is enough to make the half-demon recoil. She certainly wouldn’t like to clean up the aftermath. Rumi would much rather deal with Zoey’s energetic outbursts.
“Awww, okay, then… let’s watch the turtle documentary you promised me.” Zoey pouts, reaching for the TV remote.
Zoey crawls across the couch on all fours and plops down right next to Mira, who lifts her arm and sets her hand on her shoulder. Once she finds the right documentary, Zoey nuzzles her head on Mira’s chest before pressing play. The screen casts a blue hue on them, just like an aquarium would.
The first month after Gwi-ma’s defeat at Namsan Tower has been rather accommodating. Their shared sobs in the bath house reassured Zoey and Mira that Rumi meant no harm. Since then, a pattern of sorts took hold. Movie night every few nights, weekend bath house dips, and outings whenever they could—for instance, their favorite arcade, where Mira’s claw machine winning streak remains unbreakable. Countless plushies claim the empty spaces left on Zoey and Rumi’s beds.
Mario Kart? The girls’ recent fixation. Laughter, screams, and complaints fill the penthouse air where stillness once existed. Mira’s constant yells at Zoey for her targeted attacks mostly involve blue shells and clever-placed banana peels. Rumi would hold in a chuckle as her golden cup trophy flashes on the screen after yet another victory.
Rumi’s been so absorbed in her recollection that she doesn’t really notice. An invisible leash tugs on her, eventually forcing her to face the living room.
Mira’s thumb draws lazy circles on Zoey’s shoulder as she listens to her ramble on about sea animal facts, welcoming every word with a soft smile. The sharp glint in her eyes that she always carries is somehow softened. Zoey has her arm across Mira’s waist, cheek pressed on her chest like it’s glued. Whispers lead to tickles and end in playful shoves.
As the playful banter continues, Rumi watches them, slightly envious. She’d love to join in on the fun as soon as she can, but unfortunately, the pile of dishes in the sink aren’t going to wash themselves.
The black and pink duo seem to be entertained—both by the documentary, and each other. It becomes tough for Rumi to make out which has their attention more. Zoey and Mira continue alternating between watching the turtles on TV and sharing comments only they and the Honmoon know.
Rumi doesn’t mean to stare, but she does.
“Hurry up, you’re gonna miss the end!” Zoey urges, hand fanning the air.
“If you’re worried about the dishes, don’t. I’ll do them later,” Mira adds, “Now stop sulking and come sit with us.”
Rumi sighs, makes her way to their beloved couch, and takes a seat next to Zoey. The documentary is just what she expects—a never ending array of turtle shots and information. As more strange facts about the marine animal pop up, Rumi finds herself comparing the turtles to Zoey’s quirkiness. The connection amuses her more than the documentary itself, and a smirk tugs at her lips before she can realize it.
Moments later, credits roll on the TV. For Rumi, the documentary passed in the blink of an eye, since she’d joined about two-thirds in, but not for the other two girls. They stay cuddled on the couch with no rush to untangle from each other just yet, until Zoey slips herself from Mira’s arms and turns around, facing her.
“Can we play Tag now?” Zoey tugs the short sleeve of Mira’s shirt, reminding her of the promised game.
A game of Tag in their penthouse; fun, and slightly ridiculous, if anything. They’d be playing a child’s game at their big age. HUNTR/X, the world’s most recognized pop stars, running around like kids and chasing each other left and right. Rumi chuckles softly at the thought.
Suddenly, Celine’s mercy snakes its way into the half-demon’s mind. Her faults and fears were laid bare under the tree. All Celine ever asked was to hide them, but that night, she’d failed catastrophically. Guilt howled in the wind, and broken promises clung to Rumi’s blade with a weight so heavy it nearly defeated her. Despite the pleas that clawed deep at her heart, Celine didn’t yield.
Within Rumi’s ruptured soul there was potential, a chance to reshape the jagged edges—
“You okay?” Mira’s voice tugs Rumi from her guilt-ridden memory.
“Yeah. Just, uh,” Rumi fumbles for a reply, “I didn’t know the temperature of a turtle’s nest determines whether the babies are male or female.” She finishes, hoping Mira doesn’t dig deeper.
“Interesting, right? If it’s warm, it’ll be a female and if it’s cold, it’ll be a male!” Zoey happily adds.
“So… Tag,” Mira turns towards Zoey, “Aren’t we too old for it?”
“Says the one who helped me build the biggest, most beautiful, most blessed blanket fort in human history last night!” Zoey counters, “Which is still up, by the way.”
“You know, I’m surprised you didn’t sleep in there. Were the plushies I helped you put inside not enough?”
“They were, but it felt empty without you guys,” Zoey admits, “And then you left as soon as it was done!” She glares at Mira, who raises an eyebrow.
“Yeah, but I came back and guess what? You were asleep on the couch.” Mira explains, gesturing to each spot while Zoey follows the scene in her head.
A beat passes. Not tense, but not exactly composed.
“I carried you to your room,” Mira adds, soft, warm, “Tucked you in and everything. Not that you’d remember.”
A subtle flush tints Mira’s cheeks. It comes out sweeter than she means to, sweeter than she’s used to. But she lets it linger, unashamed.
Rumi stares, again, stupidly fascinated by her bandmates’ exchange. Moments like these are something she’d never take for granted, especially since their comeback as HUNTR/X. As their leader, Rumi bears the weight of anchoring them, holding them steady and guiding them forward, but how could she disrupt the tender display unfolding in front of her? For once, she lets herself get moved by the flow. No steering, no directing, just simply watching her girls from the comfort of their couch.
Her girls. Such a short phrase, yet it carries years of happiness, struggles, and everything in between.
Time stretches like a rubber band, thick and heavy, until Zoey suddenly jumps into Rumi’s line of sight. She snaps the half-demon a smile too bright to ignore.
“Wait—new rules. You can only tag once, and first to get tagged is ‘it’ for the next round, got it? Rumi’s gonna be ‘it’ for the first round!” Zoey cheers.
Zoey skips to the elevator, leaving a trace of giggles. She smacks the button repeatedly, pushing aside the fact that its doors open with zero delay.
“Penthouse and the floors below!” Zoey’s excited smile disappears as the elevator doors slide shut.
“I knew she had something under her sleeve.” Mira groans.
She pushes herself off the couch, rises on her feet and follows Zoey’s steps, unhurried. Rumi watches Mira drag herself towards the elevator. Their gazes meet, somewhat apologetic.
“No teleporting.” Mira says, more suggestion than order.
Rumi sighs, lingering between annoyance and amusement. A small grin curls at the corner of her lips. Teleporting is off the charts, but is it really her fault she has the upper hand? Whatever her human side lacks, the demon makes up for it. After the elevator doors close, Rumi turns. A wall next to the kitchen calls out to her, so she walks towards it. She leans in, rests her brows on her forearm, and begins:
One.
Two.
Three...
Since the start of their hiatus, something in her shifted. The half-demon’s senses became incredibly enhanced, courtesy of the “evil” blood that turned out to be anything but. Rumi frequently overheard Zoey and Mira’s conversations, spotted Korean stalls and restaurants miles away—just by the faintest smell—and once ran nearly twenty miles on their gym’s treadmill without getting an ounce of fatigue. It left her wondering, and Rumi still wonders if it’s something permanent or just a half-demon phase.
Twenty-eight.
Twenty-nine.
Thirty.
The subtle scent of cherry blossoms brushes Rumi’s nose. She breathes it in, fairly eager. A speculation settles like a stamp on paper, muffled, but certain. The half-demon walks across the living room and presses the elevator button. Her heart kicks, the thrill of the chase spurring her on. Rumi enters the elevator, and finally, she descends.
“You think Rumi’s still looking for you in the Rec Room?”
“Let’s hope she is.” Mira replies, breathing heavily.
The black and pink pair race up the cramped service stairs, barely managing their escape. Its dim lighting adds to the challenge, covering the stairs in a dull glow. Mira’s sleeves occasionally hook on the rails and Zoey’s feet trample on hers every couple steps. The Honmoon rumbles and suddenly strikes like lightning, making them jump. It’s almost like Rumi’s trying to throw them off balance, but is it really her doing? If Zoey and Mira were fast, now they’re fast. Hearts threaten to burst out of their chests fast, but neither of them pay any mind to the wild hammering.
“Why’d you hide in there? It’s like the most obvious spot!” Zoey pants out the question, hand gliding along the railing during each step.
“That doesn’t matter, let’s just get this over with.” Mira frets.
Rumi walks out of the Rec Room, closing the door behind her. She catches a faint sound of uneven footsteps in the air. The half-demon thanks her improved hearing and inhales once more, deliberate this time around. Cherry blossoms brush her nose a second time. Rumi’s eye flashes a predatory gold. Iridescent patterns pulse with her heartbeat, quickening with the thought of pursuit.
The half-demon sets off, wasting no time. Rumi sprints down the hall at an inhuman speed, reaching the heavy door that leads to the service stairs in mere seconds. Fortunately, the door doesn’t stand a chance against her. She shoves it open, disregarding the pair of violet claws that make themselves known. Rumi starts her climb like a beast driven by merciless hunger, a caged animal let loose. Claws scrape against the stairs, marking them as her chest heaves with each sigh. The noise doubles down when something tumbles above.
A nervous laugh echoes. An agitated murmur follows.
“She’s getting close, Mira! We’re almost there, come on, come on, come on!” Zoey rambles, eyes wide, fearing for her life.
“Shit, shit, shit.” Mira curses, the pressure ultimately getting to her.
Just as the chase seems to be nearing its end, Zoey and Mira reach the exit. Mira grips the door’s handle with a greater pride than she’s felt in weeks. Zoey quickly glances over her shoulder, giving the stairwell one last check. Rumi’s nowhere to be seen. Mira pulls the door open, allowing Zoey to slip inside before following close behind. The door clicks shut, and luckily, it stays shut.
“Alright, now where’d Rumi count?” Zoey pants, dying to win the round.
Mira stands frozen, eyes locked on the nearest wall as if it would give her the answer she desperately needs. But her memory refuses to comply, and Rumi’s counting spot slips away like an elusive thief, vanishing just when she thinks she’s got it.
“You know where she counted, right?” Zoey asks, tone slightly accusatory as she notices Mira’s uncertainty.
“Kind of,” Mira replies, bracing herself for the blow.
“Mira, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Zoey starts, “Do you know how many walls there are—”
“Just touch all of them.”
“I like the way you think.” Zoey nods at Mira’s brilliant suggestion.
Without a second thought, Zoey turns around and skips toward the nearest wall as if she’s already secured the round. Mira has no other choice but to comply and follow her. Still, the half-demon lingers in the back of Mira’s mind like a catchy song. If they’d seen Rumi just a few minutes ago, where the hell could she be now? Did she double-back? Or worse, hide somewhere that wouldn’t cross their minds in a million years?
Mira stops. The penthouse suddenly feels like a reality show. Cameras in every corner, mics on their shirts, pretty much tracked to the bone. At this point, every wall is a threat, a risk willing to be taken. Mira struggles to remember where Rumi stood before the elevator doors closed. Was it the kitchen or the living room? The fact that they could run into the half-demon any time now makes Mira’s impatience skyrocket like a Mentos dropped inside a large Diet Coke.
“Wait.” Mira warns.
But Zoey’s arm is already stretching towards a wall, head filled with victory. Mira’s warning is futile, and Zoey certainly disregards it. Mira watches with dread she’s not sure she can handle anymore.
“Zoey—”
“Gotcha.”
Rumi’s breath lands warm and wet behind Mira’s neck, causing her to flinch. Before Mira can make a protest, she feels the half-demon’s hand on her shoulder, gesture forgiving, but decisive. Zoey hopes, begs, that the wall she’s reaching for is Rumi’s wall, the one she’s bet everything on.
But Rumi isn’t done, and Mira’s done hesitating.
Now ‘it’, Mira wouldn’t dare waste this opportunity for payback. Just as Rumi moves past her to sprint towards Zoey, Mira cuts in, grabbing the half-demon’s wrist. Instead of tagging her again, like Mira expects, Rumi simply looks over her shoulder. Their gazes mirror each other’s confusion, until Mira recalls the new rule: one tag only. Her imagined plans instantly crumble like a dry granola bar, and she’s bitten off more than she can chew.
In a swift maneuver, the half-demon pounces on the remaining target. The attack unfolds with such speed and precision that Zoey can barely gasp. Rumi’s stunt has her back pressed to a wall, one wrist held firmly above her head, the other inches short of the wall Zoey had raced towards. The one that could’ve assured her victory. The one that could’ve protected her from Rumi. The one Mira could’ve touched—if only she hadn’t stalled and forgotten Zoey’s rule.
“You were so close,” Rumi taunts, “Too bad the round’s over.”
Three ragged breaths even out, steadying from the game that hooked them deeper than they’d like to admit. Mira mumbles something intelligible and Zoey scoffs, flustered. She wriggles herself free from Rumi’s grasp, almost proving she could’ve escaped with a bit more effort. She shoots a glance at her, half admiration, half complaint.
“I want a rematch!” Zoey’s hand snaps up, revealing her vote without a care.
“You teleported, didn’t you?” Mira asks, somewhat suspicious.
Mira scans Rumi carefully. Sharp eyes roam from head to toe, checking for any signs of demon metamorphosis, hoping to find the smallest flicker of inhumanity in her. Mira’s inspection turns out futile. Rumi’s patterns are dull, and not a single fang or horn is visible.
They’re certain that Rumi chased them earlier. Perhaps she switched back in an instant and the odds weren’t in their favor. Or maybe she lied and teleported. Yet the black and pink duo stand firm, defeat forgotten as the game engraves itself on their minds, begging for a rematch. Adrenaline buzzes under their skin, aching for more.
“I didn’t teleport,” Rumi says, shaking her head with a hand on her hip, “Now, do you want that rematch or not?”
Mira huffs through her nose, eyes narrowed in frustration at their loss. If it isn’t for Zoey’s pleading look, she’d insist on the rematch tomorrow night.
“Fine, but just remember, it’s my turn now.”
A playful tension dangles in the air like a kite, ready to be pushed and pulled until their craving fades.
Each round of Tag blends seamlessly into the next, becoming an endless loop of near misses and planned ambushes. Rumi holds the highest number of wins. In other words, Zoey and Mira have lost every single round, victory nothing but a pipe dream.
Zoey’s previous suggestion to team up with Mira hasn’t been any better. Counting in different spots each round has yet to give them the upper hand. If anything, it only made the game twice as complicated. The new locations mix with the old ones, and the black and pink pair can only do so much with their half-made strategies that force them to improvise.
Letting Rumi be ‘it’ first was probably their biggest mistake. The one tag rule, once a simple addition, now stands taller than their penthouse. In spite of everything, neither wants to admit that it might’ve not been the best idea to begin with.
The atrocious imbalance in the score makes Mira wonder how long they’ve been stuck in this one-sided loop, falling for Rumi’s tricks over and over again. At this point, turning the tables on her seems as distant as the moon. Mira eyes the living room wall clock. Its hands aim north, marking past midnight like bold lipstick.
“How about we continue tomorrow?” Mira proposes.
“What—no! Mira, listen, this strategy will work. Trust,” Zoey replies, refusing to surrender.
“Zoey, we’ve been playing for hours. It’s past twelve.”
“Yeah, and? Another round won’t hurt, plus you’re ‘it’ again,” Zoey shrugs and points a finger at Mira.
A pleasant silence stretches like gum, briefly dismissing the mayhem from the most recent round. Mira steadies herself before voicing a suspicion.
“Rumi’s gotta be cheating.”
The bother hangs in the living room. It settles between the couch pillows, across the stacked HUNTR/X magazines laid on the coffee table, in the shadows beneath them, on the lights above them, along the insanely tall windows, across the lengthy halls…
“What?! Rumi’s not cheating, she said it herself!” Zoey quickly denies.
“But she’s won every single round! How are you sure she hasn’t?” Mira snaps, voice laced with impatience.
Mira fidgets with her arms crossed and scans around the living room, quietly wishing for Rumi to turn herself in. The half-demon has them chasing something as far-fetched as hugging the Sun or drilling down to the Earth’s core. It’s both infuriating and impressive.
“I’m sure ‘cause I trust her! She wouldn’t cheat—at least in this game.”
“So she has cheated before,” Mira says matter-of-factly.
“More like someone cheated for her, but it’s a long story,” Zoey spares herself the explanation, “Aaanyway… how come you haven’t tagged me yet? You’re usually pretty competitive.”
Playing against the two of them several rounds ago would’ve made the game more dynamic, but right now, claiming the win with Zoey exceeds the tempting bragging rights of a solo victory.
“Two’s better against one, even if the one has the agility of a thousand tigers. We’re a team. Might as well see it through, right partner?”
The black and pink duo share a smile—not just in agreement, but as the start of a solid, solid plan.