Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

What they had defied labels. No, it strictly prohibited labels.

Labels are what fueled the disdain of Mira’s family against her unruly behavior. Labels are what got Zoey shoved into lockers in America. And labels are what led Rumi to believe her very existence had been a mistake her entire life.

So they didn’t call this—whatever it was—anything in particular. But it was nice, it was intimate, and it was genuine. Sitting on the couch tangled within one another watching one of Zoey’s carefully curated video collection of turtles that seemed to have no end. Curling up to fall asleep in one another’s arms atop Mira’s bed with less than modest clothing barely hugging their limbs. Sharing a heart to heart in the privacy of the bathhouse until their souls felt raw with emotion.

It was casual. It was erotic. It was fierce.

It was them.

It was everything Rumi could ever have dreamed of having with her girls, on all those nights she spent alone in her room, anxious eyes scanning over the growing patterns crawling over her arms like a disease, each day seeming stretch across more and more skin. Her nerves were only ever soothed enough to sleep by the promise of seeing those golden echoes in the Honmoon, her finish line to finally being normal. Being herself around the two people she adored most.

Of course that ‘self’ she had become after the Idol Awards was far, far from the one she had envisioned all her life.

She still had patterns. Though they spread further than they ever had, she found she didn’t mind them anymore. They were apart of her, she wasn’t herself without them. She understood that now. Of course there were certainly days she felt inclined to grab a turtle-neck first thing in the morning, old habits dying hard and all that, but all in all Rumi was elated to wake up every morning without the sagging weight of guilt sitting heavy on her chest.

And now that they were out, oh god how she could feel so much more. She could feel the sun kiss her skin when it was just beginning to peak its head above the horizon. She felt the drips of cold rain dribbling over her arms, the licks of the breeze on her midriff. Her skin could finally breathe again. She didn’t have to endure the blazing Seoul summers in multiple layers of clothing while forcing a smile. But best of all, now she could be touched.

And how Rumi adored the sensation.

She hadn’t known just how much her body had craved the feeling of warmth running over her skin by another. Flesh on flesh, soft and purposeful. It embarrassed her to admit just how much she’d reacted the first time a hand was ghosted over her arm to trace her patterns. Her girls had hugged her before sure, back before her patterns weren’t so bad that she could pass in short sleeves—but when Zoey had asked if she could touch her with intention, to feel her patterns, trace them, commit them to memory…Rumi hesitated for reasons she didn’t entirely know herself. Why should it be weird? she thought, it was surely no different than a touch from over fabric?

Oh god how wrong she’d been.

Her breath had hitched, entire body reacting to the raven-haired girls delicate touch. Like a coil had finally snapped after years of being pent up. Her patterns lit up like fireworks under the warm, slightly calloused fingertips. ‘Sorry! Are they sensitive?’ the maknae had hurriedly asked, hand retracting immediately as she interpreted Rumi’s reaction to be something negative.

‘N-no!’ The singer practically choked on her words trying to get them out as fast as possible, terrified at the thought of whatever this feeling was ending before it had even begun. ‘No, it’s fine…really, I’m just not used to it I guess,’ she really wasn’t in fairness. Celine had never been the physically affectionate type and given the woman trusted Rumi to be alone with no one but herself given her heritage, the half-demon had never received such displays from anyone. Rumi honestly hadn’t thought much of it herself…but Zoey was quickly making her rethink the last 25 years of her life.

‘Want me to do it again?’ A slight hint of mischief rested in the lyricist’s voice at the slight blush donning her companion’s cheeks, eager to help her bandmate cross that once gated hurdle. Her playful tone was lost on Rumi’s ears however who simply nodded, too transfixed by the anticipation of watching Zoey’s hand slowly and carefully come back into contact with her arm. Rumi let out a breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding as a feeling like fire was set upon her senses. She didn’t think something so mundane could ever feel so good. How could she have gone this long without knowing a joy such as this in her life. The maknae had giggled at her enthusiastic reaction, ‘Mira! The tiger likes pets!’ she’d bellowed to the other end of the apartment to summon their missing third.

It was a weird sight seeing the patterns she’d looked at with fear and disgust all her life be admired like some work of art. A part of her heart broke for her younger self, isolated in her feelings of hatred towards her own skin. If only she could have known that her best friends held no such feelings themselves. Only reverence, and a drive to show said reverence as much as they could.

Rumi’s eyes had struggled to stay open as her bandmates were relentlessly thorough in their praise of her patterns. ‘We have to make up for lost time,’ Mira had justified in her own brand of kind smugness, whenever Rumi seemed to be growing self-conscious under so much attention. ’Besides…you know you like it~’ she uttered, flattening her palm over the singer’s stomach without warning, feeling the girl’s breath shudder at the unexpected location. The visual had smirked, her case rested as Rumi’s attempt at a modest argument was her own undoing as only a whimper escaped her mouth, immediately erupting her cheeks into a sea of red as a foreign weightlessness situated itself in her belly just below Mira’s hand.

She remembered swallowing thickly as a want formed in her core, a heartbeat introducing itself between her legs, only causing her to blush harder and become a stammering mess under her two opposites’ practiced touch. Very practiced touch, mind you.

Rumi didn’t have experience in any of this. Actually scratch that, she had zero experience in it.

Her upbringing under Celine was the definition of sheltered; meanwhile, that all stood in drastic contrast of her partners’ own lives. Mira and Zoey both had a head-start on her, not just themselves individually but even together as an unofficial couple before Rumi joined them. They had years spent exploring one another’s bodies in ways Rumi couldn’t even begin to imagine—she really couldn’t, just the idea made her blush uncontrollably—in the their repertoire. Although, more sexually literate than her, bless their souls they had been so unbelievably patient with her. Always taking slow steps, always checking in, always making sure she felt safe and listened to. Making sure she was having fun instead of having a panic attack.

She couldn’t help but feel bad about it sometimes, like she was holding them back, but they assured her that wasn’t the case. That they wanted her when she was ready to be had, and they were more than comfortable to wait as long as it took, because she was very much worth it to them. She was worth the world to them—a fact they were always incredibly eager to remind her any chance they got.

They had all the time in the world. There was nothing to rush. No end goal. Just each other. And oh how Mira and Zoey had waited so long for Rumi to join them. They’d spent months if not years agonizing over ways to subtly adopt her into their relationship, afraid to scare her away but more afraid to pass up the chance of sharing what they had with her—however their leader always holding them at an emotional arms length had made it very difficult to even approach attempts. The duo had seriously began to consider if it was a hopeless cause…but now that the Rumi’s truth was out in the open, it was like an unspoken barrier had been shattered overnight. The trio were closer than they ever could have hoped to be together. Mira and Zoey’s full hearts had a place to rest; they couldn’t be happier to finally dote their love without restraint. Or be prouder of just how far their shy little popstar princess had come into herself—

“You’re doing so good, Ru,” Mira hummed against her, drawing Rumi back to the present. She felt Mira’s voice more than she heard it, spoken right over her collar bone as the visual’s nose drifted across her neck.

Mira smiled as she felt the half-demon’s pulse pick up beneath her. The singer let herself focus on that feeling of her lover’s voice against her skin, allowing it to ground her anxious thoughts as the trio were slowly inching over and over their personal record of intimacy with her. Which wasn’t incredibly far mind you, but by Rumi standards they were insanely proud of the progress she had made.

Only a month ago, just the thought alone of doing anything less than innocent with the others had her too flustered to speak, now here was in only her Huntr/x brand grey bralette and low rise boyshorts. The trio had learned the hard way about clothing when they tried to jump the gun the first time they’d gotten frisky with one another. The singer had basically went into a mental shutdown when her girlfriends had all but disrobed and looked to her expectantly to do the same. Zoey had gaped at her in genuine astonishment, ‘Rumi we’ve gone to the bathhouse like three times a week for the past two months, we know what you look like’ she attested, not in anger but innocent confusion at their leader’s sudden shyness.

‘This is different,’ Rumi had shaken her head, refusing to come out of hiding from behind her hands, heart pounding in her ears as the reality that everything to be offered would be out on display and expected to be touched—not just herself but the other two as well—without restriction or barrier…the thought alone sent her into a flustered spiral she didn’t know how to handle. She felt silly. She didn’t think someone her age should be getting so nervous about something the majority of adults did, but here she was trying not to cry under the anxiety washing through her. That was when her girlfriends realized just how sheltered, ‘sheltered upbringing’ had meant. The rest of that night had turned into a vanilla—very much clothed—cuddle session afterwards to coax her back into a state of calm. Rumi genuinely didn’t know what she’d done to deserve such spectacular women in her life, not a hint of annoyance nor impatience in either of their features as they lovingly reassured her not to worry, that it was alright if she wasn’t ready, that they wouldn’t expect anything of her until she was; and in the meantime they were more than happy to pet her pattens and whisper sweet nothings into her ear until they all eventually drifted off together in bed embraced by the soft iridescent glow of their adorably flustered leader.

They realized after that it would be less daunting if the others remained a bit more modest while Rumi was the one to slowly lose clothing, so the thought of intimate skin on skin contact didn’t send her over the edge. One could guess that after so many years of associating the feel of fabric against her flesh with safety, it was still subconsciously reassuring to her in one way or another. Less nerve wracking. Mira and Zoey’s clothes would surely join hers in a forgotten pile on the floor in due time, but for now they were more than happy helping her get comfortable with touch in less than explored places until she felt comfortable enough to reciprocate such intimacy herself without mentally glitching out.

Doing it on the living room couch with one of Zoey’s painstakingly curated lo-fi playlists softly playing through the TV also helped her nerves significantly more than in the quiet, impassioned intimacy of one of their bedrooms.

“Look at our girl…so pretty,” Zoey praised her, hands dancing over Rumi’s bare thigh. She sandwiched Rumi to the left, Mira to the right—each tracing the half-demon’s patterns with a comfortable laziness. “She’s glowing…” the lyristic praised, before a dry chuckle escaped her. “heh…literally~” she drolled watching the half-demon’s patterns ignite under her touch in a gorgeous swirl of iridescence and twinkling gold.

Rumi blinked at her words, glancing down at herself to find her skin alight. No, not just alight…alive. Yearning, and attentive.

Her breath hitched.

It shouldn’t have bothered her. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. But the questions still rattled in her mind… Why did it have to be now? Wasn’t she already asking enough of Mira and Zoey to wait so long for her, to take small step after small step with no discernible short term finish line…Why did she have to make the situation even more bizarre? What if her patterns only got brighter the more the trio went on? Harder to look at? Surely it had to be irritating, nauseating? Searing light scratching over her limbs like a hypnotic spiral making one dizzy. Why couldn’t she control it? Stuff it down until they were done, so the effort of having to look at her for too long wasn’t made even more arduous? The girls had waited so long for her to join their relationship, Rumi wondered if they were disappointed to find the one they had been yearning for so many years was someone like her? Someone they didn’t actually want…what a waste of their time…

Her breathing became faster as worry swelled into self-bitterness. She tried to swallow but found her mouth dry. She could only hope the other two didn’t notice. Wouldn’t put her on the spot. Stop everything to check on her again like some toddler in a crowded area, making sure she wasn’t overstimulated and on the verge of meltdown. This evening had been going so unbelievably well she didn’t want to ruin the mood now. Not when she was so close to finally giving them the version of herself they wanted to see. Had been waiting so patiently to see. They didn’t deserve any more frivolous delays.

“I think someone’s getting excited~” Mira leaned back to look Rumi in the eye, a warm smugness in her expression that held no hostility, only approval, clearly interpreting the singer’s elevated heartbeat to have a different meaning entirely. A soft finger caught Rumi’s lip, the visual’s thumb rolling over it lazily. “Still doing alright, jagiya?” she asked gently with an effortless tilt of her head.

Rumi nodded. Mira tsked her disapproval, eyes narrowing. Rumi swallowed the lump in her throat with more force than she cared to admit. “Y-yes,” she choked out, praying she sounded convincing to the human lie detector. She was telling the truth to Mira’s intended question…just lying about the unintended one. It didn’t count as shutting them out.

At least that’s what she told herself.

The pink-haired dancer snickered, leaning closer. “You sure about that?" she uttered, her chestnut eyes so intense it felt like they bore straight through to the back of Rumi’s skull. The poor girl couldn’t even tell if the woman was just teasing or trying to grill her for the truth but before any pitiful excuse could land on Rumi’s lips Zoey swooped in to unintentionally save her.

“Go easy on her Mira,” she elbowed the tallest’s arm playfully, “do you have any idea what it’s like being on the other side of you?” she attested from experience, reaching a hand up to brush a bit of magenta hair from her face. Mira chuckled, “fair enough,” she conceded couly; Rumi wasn’t so anxious that she was missed on the bravado which evidently swelled so much in Mira’s chest at the compliment that it bubbled up to her face to be worn like a prize. The dancer stole a deep kiss from the maknae. Rumi sighed softly, her shoulders dropping—the affection between her girlfriends putting her instantly to ease, quieting all those deprecating voices in her head.

She must have been staring because only when she blinked did she realize she was being hungrily stared down by her companions. She was also glowing again. Hard. “Enjoying the show~?” Mira purred, her voice a dark honey. Rumi turned scarlet, fumbling over her own tongue for an excuse before Zoey once again came to her rescue. “I think we’re making her jealous Mi-Mi,” she giggled. “Don’t worry Rumi, you’re too cute to be forgotten!” They were quick to each dive in for a turn kissing her.

Rumi adored how differently they kissed.

Zoey was always buzzing, like she was always trying to restrain herself from smashing their faces together with too much force. Seeping with unbridled, joyful energy. Meanwhile Mira took her time, let the intensity build slowly as the kiss progressed. Methodical and purposeful. The singer could have gotten lost in either of them for the rest of her life and died a blissful death but they pulled away too soon for pleasure.

“Don’t let her scare ya, I promise she won’t bite,” Zoey cooed mirthfully after they’d both had their turns getting a taste of their half-demon. “Unless you’re into that sort of thing. Which honestly you should be ‘cause she’s like REALLY good at it! Like actually the best!” the lyricist was always happy to gush about their girlfriend. Rumi found herself grinning at her shameless enthusiasm.

Mira grinned at the praise. “I know…” she said matter of factly, “but,” she let her words linger as her hand found Rumi’s lips again, tugging them gently in her grasp, coaxing her mouth open to press a thumb down on her tongue. Rumi had almost become lost in the butterflies such a sensation stirred in her stomach until Mira finished her thought—

“…I think Rumi might just take that title from me,” something in Mira’s voice broke her trance. Mirth? Admiration? The half-demon slowly realized where the visual’s gaze was...

At her mouth.

Zoey peered around to follow Mira’s line of sight before practically lighting up in excitement. “OH!” She squealed, “your fangs are out!”

Both she and Mira immediately felt the singer stiffen beneath them.

Shit.

The butterflies were replaced with a rock.

“What?!” Rumi gasped, louder than she’d meant to. Her voice sounded dry, as her hand flew to her mouth. She rolled her tongue around, and sure enough…

“Ah!” She hissed quietly, scratching the surface of her tongue with the little daggers that had entered her mouth without permission. There was that lump in her throat again. This wasn’t the first time her canines had elongated, but it had only ever happened once and Rumi had personally hoped it was a one time thing—

—It had been during the heat of battle against of particularly nasty group of demons who’d gotten a bit too close to her girls’ for Rumi’s liking. It had sent her into a protective fit of rage right then and there, the adrenaline coursing through her veins felt like fire; it had her slicing through their foes single-handedly. In the aftermath as they caught their breath, Rumi noticed a curious pain poking at her cheeks… Zoey and Mira had rushed to her side immediately as their leader dropped her saingeom with a deafening clatter, lungs heaving erratically as she begun to hyperventilate.
They were on her like moths to a flame, throwing her into a bone crushing embrace as they had begun to harmonize quietly together, something they always did to soothe one another. Rumi shakily joined them as their voices bound the trio together through the Honmoon, stilling her trembling legs and chasing her would-be panic attack away…and evidently, her fangs as well much to her great relief.

They hadn’t appeared again after that and Rumi had written the event off as a fluke. Some crazy burst of adrenaline clashing with her demon physiology or something. Demonic hysterical strength if you will. Rare. That single word was the important take away.

But now here they were again. Why, and why now of all times? When she was perfectly at peace with her bandmates, safe from any danger. Not now. Please not now, when she didn’t want to think harder about her body than she already was. Was being a living nightlight not enough, she needed fangs in her mouth too to be even more of a disappointing freak?

She tried to swallow down the panic stabbing her ribs but it just situated itself in her stomach like bile, refusing to leave. Especially not with her friends watching her with a growing concern which only heightened as they saw those patterns striping across Rumi’s skin shift from shining opal to a burning pink. Hot and volatile. Afraid.

“Hey, are you o—?”

Zoey’s question was cut short as Rumi squirmed out from their embrace and practically rolled off of the couch before standing up to attention a bit too quickly, a bit too rigidly. A practiced—defensive stance she knew all too intimately. Fake assurance.

“I-I uh…” she stammered searching for an excuse, any excuse, but the pumping of her heart in her ears under the inquisitive gaze of her bandmates stalled her brain. “I’m….” The room felt like it was spinning, she didn’t recall telling her legs to begin moving backwards they just did. “Sorrygimmeaminute,” she fumbled out, turning to all but run to the hall bathroom before she could get a proper look at her girls’ reactions.

She slammed the door behind her harder than intended. Her palms fell to her knees as she heaved for breath as if she’d just run a marathon. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to focus on how hard her heart was thumping. With a swallow, she opened her eyes again, pulling herself into a stand. With effort, she lifted her head up to turn towards the mirror to inspect what her bandmates had seen…and the reflection which greeted her was so far removed of the image of herself, for a split second the woman hadn’t even registered that it was her own at all.

Her skin had become pale, and not the stage-fright kind of pale like it’d been on Huntr/x’s world premiere concert. Demonically pale. She was practically purple— patterns burning an angry pink and hollow purple that looked downright sickly. Like rotten wood that shouldn’t be handled lest it crumple in one’s grip, splintering flesh. Her arms gradually became darker, her hands slowly transitioning into a deeper violet tapering off in nearly black fingertips. At least where her fingertips should have been…her fingers narrowed out into sharp claws, elongating her hands by at least another two inches or so. A quick glance down confirmed the same for her legs and feet. They looked wickedly sharp, and even the thought of testing that sharpness sent a pang of anxiety through Rumi’s chest. Her claws hadn’t resurfaced since the night of the Idol Awards, and even then she’d been fortunate enough for it to only curse one of her hands…but now it was coming for all of her appendages.

What if these had sprouted while the girls were together? What if she hadn’t noticed the damn talons at the end of her hands before she tried to touch them? What if she’d hurt them…?

She blinked at the black dots assaulting her vision as her ribs felt as though they were squeezing her. And the ringing piercing in her ears didn’t help to encourage breathing regulation as she became acutely aware of how shallow her breathes were becoming. The tightness of her chest wouldn’t allow for anything very deep. She tried to look back at the mirror, to steel herself. Bore into her own eyes until she could force herself believe the tiny voice in her head telling her that everything was ok. That she was in control. But that proved to be her fatal mistake—

She flinched hard, as if brushed with something hot as burning yellow eyes stared back in greeting. Her gasp rang hard and dry in her throat as she staggered back and away from the reflective glass. Her pupils had a slight slit to them, like little ovals; they shuddered in her honey sclera as they took in the sight of themselves, like a cornered animal trying to size up its surroundings. Dangerous. Feral. The soft gold light emitting from them clashed aggressively with the lavender hue of her skin where it darkened at her scalp as her hairline gave way to something protruding out of her skull—

Rumi stopped breathing. Her body had simply forgotten how until the burn in her lungs willed her lips to suck in a pained breath. A hand she couldn’t recall telling to move reached up in disbelief to hover over the hard bone erupting out of her skin.Two horns curved straight out of her, long and smooth like they’d been there her whole life, though she could barely even feel them…which only terrified her more. Rumi had hardly even grazed a finger against them before her stomach felt sour.

She hunched over the sink, violently dry-heaving, stomach bucking as it gagged on nothing. She couldn’t hear anything above the ringing now. She couldn’t feel the floor under her feet as she staggered back.What was happening? some terrified voice echoed in her mind, small and distraught. She’d accepted her patterns, she could deal with fangs on a good day, maybe even claws if she really put her mind to it…but horns? How the hell do you get around demonic skewers shooting out of your head?

Smacking into the wall behind her finally brought Rumi back to an ounce of awareness as she vainly tried to cover her ears to block out that incessant ringing which threatened to draw away her consciousness. The black spots in her vision were back too now.

Of course patterns weren’t enough, of course she had to look like even more of a monster too. She couldn’t stomach looking back at herself—no, looking back at whatever that thing pretending to be her was.

She had to force her burning eyes away from the glass, she’d half passed the thought to shatter the damn thing but thought better of it. She was better. At least that’s what she tried to tell herself, but that little voice in her head—the one assuring her that she’d be alright, that if her fangs and claws had come and gone then surely this would too—was noticeably getting more and more quiet as only labored breathing filled her ears. It was as though she couldn’t get enough air into her body no matter how hard she gulped for it.

She needed to move, needed to run, but she couldn’t face her girlfriends like this. Couldn’t dodge their questions upon her exit, couldn’t ignore their pounds on her locked bedroom door on the off chance she managed to make it that far if she fled now. And how would they even react? To her? To this thing masquerading as their leader, the stunning pop princess of idol royalty looking more like something from a folk story used to frighten children into not staying out after dark. Rumi remembered back to the night of the Idol Awards again, when she’d finally gotten away from the stage to find her bandmates (her real band mates) staring at her with a horrified astonishment. Even though they had built back that bridge with many an assuring talk since then, Rumi’s memory of the fear in their eyes always underpinned every genuine promise of nonchalance her friends gave to her regarding her more demonic attributes.

She’d be lying if she said the image of Mira and Zooey holding their weapons against her didn’t come back to haunt her when her thoughts were left in silence for too long. Like a threat to her brain reminding her, ‘things could easily go back to that if you screw things up good enough.’ And that had only been at the sight of her patterns and claws…how could they possibly be expected to cope with goddamn horns and snarling fangs?

Rumi began to pace in circles, unsure of what else to do to calm down. She tried holding herself, a gesture used to typically calm herself, make her feel secure, but it only resulted in an immediate hiss of pain. She had clasped too tightly over her forearms, leading her claws to dig painfully into her skin for a split second. She grimaced, less at the pain but more in shock; then anger. She swore under her breath. She didn’t even have the luxury of pretending she could fucking comfort herself looking like this.

The half-demon then moved to clasp at her hair with the hopes that maybe curling her fingers around her scalp could calm her nerves but she only ended up letting out a startled yelp as her wrists bumped her horns and jerked her head back sharply and painfully, almost sending her flying backwards into the shower.

That was the last straw.

She growled in frustration, a gutteral, near-ancient sound rumbling out of her chest as worries to keep quiet from Zoey and Mira’s surely prying ears became forgotten. In that moment she didn’t care; all she felt was rage, impatience, fear. She lashed out at the first thing in her periphery, tearing the shower curtain to shreds like paper with her claws before grabbing the damn thing and ripping the rod out of the marble wall.

She grabbed the pole, clutching the thing with both hands and lifting it high over her head, angling to smash the sink in her fit of blind rage when a moment of clarity befell her as she caught a glimpse of…it in the mirror.

Her heart was pounding so hard she could no longer feel it as that beast stared back her. Wild and retched.

Another pair of horns were curving out of her head; lower—just above her ears, which had also sharpened to a point themselves. Her fangs had elongated and were notably curling out of her mouth, no longer constrained by her lips. Her bottom canines had also grown in length like sabers. The eyes boring back at her were dangerous, pinpricked slits floating in a sea of dangerous amber, almost orange in their intensity. It was remarkable that the wetness welling in them didn’t evaporate into steam from their heat. but Rumi couldn’t blink as she stared back at them. Couldn’t move.

Not until the delicate plop of a silent tear that had rolled down a lavender cheek splashed onto the smooth tile floor.

That finally snapped the tension coiled in Rumi’s body like a dagger through the ribs; she dropped the curtain rod with boneless arms, the thing clattering noisily behind her but was barely perceived by thrumming ears. The creature in the mirror scrunched its face in dismay as it fell to its weightless knees and out of view. She couldn’t see it anymore…but it was still very much there.

Rumi’s chest hurt; her lungs tried in vain to pull in air, sucking greedily to little avail. It was like a pillow was over her face.

She had to actively fight the rising bile in her stomach as angry hands found the hard surface of her horns. She wondered if she could push them back in? Could she just snap them off if she tried tugging hard enough? Or maybe her saingeom would do the trick? It was a ceremonial weapon yes, but it worked well enough on demons didn’t it? Surely it could saw through a half-demon’s bone? Rumi didn’t care how much it hurt, didn’t care how much blood there’d be, she just wanted them off, even if she had to rip them out by hand.

…But she could already see the disapproving crease on Mira’s brow, and the tears in Zoey’s eyes. She stopped herself for their sake.

But that nagging voice in her heart told her, briefly, that if the two girls weren’t currently in the apartment with her, if Rumi had the ample time to clean up the crimson evidence nothing would stop her, and she hated herself for that truth. She felt like a little girl again. A scared little girl locked in the bathroom, scrubbing and scrubbing at her patterns for hours as if she could erase them. But it only ever left her skin red and broken.

She rips her hands away from her horns in frustration. She hated this. Hated how weak she felt. She thought she had been getting better. Every time she thought she had built a steady foundation she found it to have been made of straw all along, to come crashing down every time. She was supposed to be a leader, but more and more did she seem to be the unsteady link which threatened to snap at any moment, threatening to bring down Mira and Zoey with her.

Oh god…

Mira and Zoey…

What would they think? What would they do? How could she explain herself? Would they even care to listen? Was this the turning point to prove everything she’d feared deep down? That they only loved her so long as her demon was convenient?

She wrenched her eyes shut as if closing off the world meant her body wasn’t real. This skin wasn’t her own. She didn’t have to exist in it. She was still someone that could be loved and not some hideous monster. She felt lightheaded and her mouth went dry as hot tears flowed freely down her cheeks now. She hugged a body that didn’t belong to her, shrinking on the cold tile floor as she sobbed quietly.

“I’m sure she’s ok,” Zoey’s gentle voice drifted to Mira’s ear in assurance. The maknae noticed how the dancer was bouncing her leg, staring at the wall as if trying to burn a hole through it. In Mira terms, it meant she was stressed. “I know you wanna go in there, but we need to let her have space when she asks it,” she reminded her, sitting down next to her on the couch, their knees touching.

“She has space. With us,” Mira argued. They’d been making steady progress with Rumi—the singer’s walls, after years, were finally down…but now here she seemed to be slipping back into old habits again. Shutting them out. It got under Mira’s skin with an intensity she didn’t care to admit to. She tried to push down the sense of betrayal climbing up her spine, she knew it wasn’t fair to expect Rumi to be an open book immediately, but it still hurt nonetheless. After everything they’d been through at this point.

“Mira,” Zoey said with an uncharacteristic firmness. Her brows furrowed lightly above her brown eyes. It was a look that seemed to say, we’ve crossed a threshold of trust with Rumi, she wouldn’t break it now. Whatever this was, it wouldn’t be like the past. They needed to have faith in her, regrettably not one of Mira’s strong suits.

The dancer sighed, a heavy sound that seemed to move her entire body. “You’re right, I’m being paranoid,” she pinched the bridge of her nose, head bowed, no longer locked in a staring contest with the wall. Her cheeks flushed softly as a shame flickered through her for a moment, “sorry…” she uttered quietly.

“You just care a lot. It’s sweet!” Zooey offered, ever the optimist of the group, “a little intense sometimes, maybe, but we love that about you!” She smiled, giving her a chaste hug; she felt Mira smile against her cheek before she pulled away, her overwhelming confidence shaking for a moment.

“I…hope this wasn’t because we pushed her too hard,” Zoey continued, eyes peeling away to find more interest in the hem of her black shorts. “She can be so sensitive about so many things, I think I manage to set her off without realizing it sometimes…” she said, not as a diss to Rumi but to herself. She wished she could know better; she wanted to know better but she always had such a hard time reading people. Mira was so gifted at it it made her jealous sometimes. She felt like a failure for not being able to help where she was needed most. Why did she have to always be so intense—

A knee bumping her own stopped her thoughts.

“I think she’s just scared, Zo,” Mira silenced her internal worrying as if she could read her mind. Seriously how did she do that? “Scared and used to dealing with it alone. I doubt she even knows she’s allowed to ask for help, ” Mira stated more to herself to silence the doubt creeping into her skull like a shadow. Assure herself that Rumi was past her lies, that the way she was acting had nothing to do with keeping her and Zoey out, but rather with an insecurity inflected upon herself.

The awkward truth they’d come to terms with after heavy conversations regarding the events of the Idol Awards was that Rumi would never lie to purposefully shut them out, but rather out of self preservation. Was it still offensive that their leader didn’t trust them with the truth of her feelings? Undoubtedly. But her reasoning was understandable in some respects. Fear didn’t leave much room for rational decision after all. Especially when that emotion had dictated all your actions throughout your entire life up until that point.

“But she knows we don’t mind about all her demon quirks,” the lyricist rebuked, “that we never did…” added quietly, thinking of the aftermath of Takedown, a closed wound but still itchy nonetheless. Shame tinted her cheeks as the memory of a less than stellar reaction to such a volatile secret laid bare without warning. Poor instincts were allowed to call the shots in the wake of revelations, and all three of them were equally working to pick up the pieces. Progress was shaky, and very awkward at times, but it was steady. Rumi understood her bandmates didn’t mind her demon heritage at all, it could be said Rumi had bigger problems with it herself than either of them actually did; a fact the pop princess didn’t quite know what to make of. How she had struggled her whole life to accept the patterns which greeted her every morning since before she could remember had been done so easily by Mira and Zooey. It almost felt unfair. Rumi had always felt queasy ghosting her fingers over the dark purple marks and here were her girls actually approaching her to ask permission to touch them. To pet them. To kiss them. To worship them until they glowed so bright all the singer could do was cry to release the growing tension of her heart. The overwhelming feelings of being allowed to feel so openly. To be touched, to be seen. To be accepted. To be loved and cherished by her very favorite people in the world.

“She may know we don’t care, but that doesn’t mean she still doesn’t,” the visual pointed out to her girlfriend. “You still hide your freckles when we go out in public even if its on personal business.”

Zoey bit the inside of her cheek as she pulled away from Mira’s gaze, rubbing her neck.“Maj-a…” she uttered in bashful agreement.

“Shame doesn’t disappear over night, or over two months…” Mira noted. “But I feel you, it’s still frustrating. It’s like for every step forward we end up two steps back. I wish there was an easier way to make her see herself like we do,” her voice drifted off with a reserved sigh. Bless Rumi’s heart, but god the girl could be so dense sometimes. Mira remembered with a wry kind of fondness how she and Zoey had to outright have an intervention with the singer one night after nearly a month of fruitlessly trying to adopt her into their relationship to tell her plainly to her face how the two of them very much had a crush on her since the early days of Huntr/x and how the two of them had very much been explicitly flirting with her directly to see if she’d bite. And even then Rumi—poor, sweet, oblivious Rumi— didn’t believe them until Zoey finally snapped with frustration and just kissed the dumbstruck girl to prove their point. And even after all of that—after nights spent cuddling, and kissing, and groping, both her bandmates could tell Rumi was still reserving part of herself around them. Like something inside of her brain doubted their intentions as genuine, like she was just an experiment or a gimmick to keep their own relationship fresh. That they’d tire of her involvement eventually and go back to only one another. Oh how wrong she was and oh eager they were to prove her so.

A hand suddenly clasped over Mira’s own, bringing her back to the present. A small smile poked the corner of her lips as she squeezed Zoey’s palm.

“I love our girl but I’m amazed she doesn’t have whiplash with how much flies over her head,” that earned a chuckle out of the stoic singer, much to the maknae’s delight. She adored making her crack, and loved being one of the only people on earth with the ability to do so. “ I guess all we can do is be patient,” Zoey observed. Patience had never her strong suit, but for Rumi she was willing to try her hardest. Because Rumi deserved her hardest. Both her girls’ did. “Keep chipping away at that obtuse heart of hers by reminding her everyday how much she’s loved.”

Her voice ended softly as the pair locked eye. Tentative smiles found their lips before they found another in a delicate but tender kiss.

Just as they had begun to accept their state of waiting, adamant on respecting Rumi’s privacy, trusting that when the half-demon was ready she’d return to them for help, a shout from the hall sent them on high alert.

Both women slowly moved to a stand, eyeing another as if in a silent argument of whether or not to approach. But when a clattering sounded from behind the door, the decision was made for them.

The trip to the bathroom was brisk, only quickened when another shrill clatter found their ears. They were practically running.

“Rumi?!” They call for her. Mira got there first, not bothering to knock as she forced the door open half expecting it to have been locked and nearly staggering into the room with the unnecessary force. Zoey was quick behind her peering through the entry way.

The dark room was awash with a turbulent, purple glow which almost seemed to pulse with each pitiful whimper that escaped the hunched figure whom befell their eyes in the corner.

Rumi, knelt on the cold tiles, clutching into herself, shivering and keeled over as quiet sobs raked through her body. Despite her appearance—which at first glance admittedly took them by surprise before the concern for their friend quickly overpowered their shock— both of them couldn’t help but to find her looking so… fragile. Not some ferocious tiger waiting with raised hackles to pounce from the brush, but more like a lost little cub, abandoned in the forest. Afraid and lonely, crying softly to itself as it sought comfort and security.

The eldest and youngest, respectively, entered into the room without a word, stepping over the ruined rod and curtain lain torn to shreds at their feet with little acknowledgement towards the thing. They soundlessly approached the shuddering being they called their leader. Their friend. Their Rumi. It didn’t matter how much her demon overtook her, she would always be undeniably theirs.

They approached as one would a terrified animal, slow but purposeful, carefully considering every micro movement before the action was done to ensure the being wouldn’t be provoked into a panic and lash out in fear. The singer looked so delicate, as if she were made of glass which threatened to shatter at the slightest mishandling.

Rumi hadn’t even noticed their arrival until she flinched hard at the sensation of hands finding her skin, taking in a sharp gasp.

Fingertips gingerly brushed the base of her horns, from where they erupted out of her skull, gently stroking down her temple and towards her ear as its twin gently caressed her forehead as if to coax her gaze into lifting from its spiraling inner-focus.

The touches were slender and precise.

Mira.

She was always the first to approach. Zoey was quick to follow, as if the eldest’s example was a silent permission, a confirmation, of how to approach the situation. An impossibly soft hand fell on Rumi’s knee, little thumb stroking little circles over the angry patters there. If the searing heat from those marks were hurting the maknae she didn’t show it, didn’t falter in her silent assurances.

Golden eyes opened and shut again immediately as they welled with tears. Rumi’s instincts were screaming at her to run, to hide herself from her closest friends, her lovers, her entire world. Hide this monster from them that they didn’t deserve to see. Her patterns quaked with shame at the knowledge of her girls seeing her in such a hideous state, both physically and emotionally. And finally her heart plummeted knowing it was too late to refute anything, her true form was on full display to be gawked at with judgmental eyes.

She wanted to rip herself away from their touch but couldn’t will her body to move. The conflicting emotions rattled in her skull until they tired themselves out into the simple feeling of complete and utter despair. Rumi immediately broke under its weight. It was too much to process so her body simply refused to, opting to short circuit instead.

She cried.

The pair said nothing as she sobbed, and sobbed hard, her body spasming as she fought to take in uneven breaths. Tears of their own soon found their eyes as they felt their friend’s anguish. They deplored seeing her in such a state of grief that it physically hurt them; a pang of pain formed in the center of their chests at each little hiccup, each sniff trying to be as quiet as possible, like the sight of her was a bad enough offense that Rumi didn’t want to make it any worse by being loud.

They did what they could to soothe her aching heart. Mira stroked a steady hand down the length of Rumi’s spine in slow, soothing motions, as if to settle the violent quakes of her breathing. Zoey let her fingers trace the burning patterns over her shivering legs, making sure every inch got its share of attention. Maybe it was her imagination but they seemed to grow less hot the more she stroked them, as if her touch cooled their ferocity.

After a good while—none of them were perceiving time regularly enough in that moment to say how long or short it had been— the half-demon finally stilled enough to speak.

“They won’t go away,” Rumi’s voice was small, as if it had to fight to crawl its way out of her dry throat. The sound was so removed from the typical confidence the singer always carried herself with, even when frazzled, it was difficult to reconcile that it had even come from her at all. But in all fairness, what else could be expected now that the woman was slowly learning to lower more and more of her walls. It was a dissonant feeling for her two companions, the humility of being allowed to see such a vulnerable aspect of Rumi, holding onto that trust with both hands and an open heart enthusiastically, coupled with the pain of an aching chest at the sight of the half-demon crumpled up in utter dismay.

“I can’t make them go away…” her voice cracked as she spoke, shaking her head gently before she froze with fear, remembering how close her friends were to her right now and remembering the abominations jutting out of her head like knives that could very easily hurt them with little effort or intention on her part. “Th-they won’t go…awa—” her voice stopped as her breath hitched again.

“Shh Ru-Ru,” Zoey shushed her gently, tentatively reaching up to wrap her arms around her shoulders. Her cheek resting against Rumi’s ear; mindful of the horns but adamant to show she was unfazed by them. Rumi could hate them all she wanted but neither girl was going to allow the singer’s mind to conclude for even a second that they held any issue with them, nor any of her inhuman traits for that matter. “It’s ok, love. You’re ok~” the rapper whispered against her skin, her voice so impossibly soft and tender.

Rumi wasn’t expected herself to ease into the embrace as much as she did, tense muscles relaxing subtly, halting her mind for a few precious seconds, long enough to remember how to breathe. Her lungs thanked her.

“Your fangs have gone away on their own before, I’m sure these will too,” Mira consoled evenly, ever firm in her assurances. It genuinely did make her words hard to dispute with the weight in which she spoke. She’d always been gifted in that respect. If only the fans could have known the stonecold ‘bad girl’ of the group was the most emotionally mature of them all. They’d have a field day.

“We don’t know that!” Rumi’s voice quaked in sorrow. “What if they don’t?”

“Well I’m sure being anxious about it won’t help,” Mira observed bluntly, never one to beat around the bush.

“Yeah…it could be making it worse,” Zoey chimed leaning back to look her in the sad glowing eyes, arms still draped around her patterned shoulders protectively. The lyricist felt them reluctantly shrug.

“I guess…” Rumi mumbled, a swift wave of deep yellow, almost gold, washed over her patterns as if wiped by a hand. So fast it could have been missed in a blink. But Mira and Zoey felt their hearts lighten at the sight of it bit. Rumi’s demon markings had turned purple enough times for them to recognize it meant she was sad, or wallowing in a bout of self loathing, but they were just as, if not more familiar, with gold. She was embarrassed.

And that was always an easy opening for any one of them.

Mira snickered, the sound contained only kindness. “You’re just too damn good at spiraling,” she noted, affectionately tucking a lavender lock behind a pointed ear.

Rumi felt Zoey’s chuckle before she heard it. “That’s cuz she gives 110% at everything, even panicking!” the maknae hummed, giving the singer’s shoulders a teasing squeeze, rubbing her cheek against her temple again.

“Shut up…” Rumi uttered with a half-hearted despondence; she meant to come off disgruntled but couldn’t deny the tiny pang of levity which eased its way into her chest at her girlfriends’ jests. She sniffled again, wiping her eye with a clawed hand, and the sight of what replaced her delicate fingertips effectively clamped down on the last traces of gold to be replaced right back with that sickly purple.

She wrenched her hand away, fists clenching at her sides to rest her knuckles on the tile, as far from herself as possible. Like she could pretend her hands weren’t really attached to her body. They didn’t belong to her. Rumi felt her back tense. She couldn’t fathom how either woman hadn’t even made a comment on her appearance when it was all that occupied her thoughts. Didn’t question it, barely acknowledged it beyond Mira’s response to the singer’s ice breaker. It’s like they weren’t even sitting next to a demon at all. That lack of acknowledgment was like a thread being stretched in her chest with each passing second until it finally snapped.

“Aren’t you afraid of me?” she spat at them indignantly with curled lips—she regretted it immediately. She knew there was a better way to deal with her own self hatred than throw it back at the people taking time out of their night to sit on a cold bathroom floor with her. They didn’t deserve that. Didn’t deserve her—

“We’re afraid for you,” Mira said quietly, unshaken by the singer’s tone. “You know it makes us nervous when you just bolt like that!” she said a bit harsher than intended. Let us in. Why do you keep forgetting to do that? She refrained from saying aloud. “I care more about what’s going on in there, than what’s going on out here,” the dancer said strictly, brushing Rumi’s temple first before gesturing to the rest of her body respectively to accentuate her point.

The singer blushed, dry for a response to that.

“Do they hurt Rumi?” Zoey’s anxious question was barely a whisper on Rumi’s ears. The youngest unfurled her embrace to ghost a hand over the hard bone protruding out of their leader’s skull.

“No,” the half-demon admitted. “I don’t even feel them, but that’s worse. I can’t tell when it’s happening! Any of…this!” She spat the last of word out as if it were acid on her tongue, slitted pupils narrowing at the claws which replaced her delicate fingertips, her pale skin making her look practically undead. She wanted to clench her jaw in frustration but the sabers poking out of her mouth made it a challenged. She wanted to scream, to hit something again, find some kind of outlet for this pain in her chest. Claw at herself until her demon was satisfied with the blood she drew. She probably would have if her girls weren’t sitting with her…

A part of Rumi secretly wished they’d leave so she could—then that part immediately felt shame at the thought of wanting her favorite people to leave her alone. Her favorite people who wanted nothing more than to comfort her right now in her lowest point. Wipe her tears away. Console her. Love her for who she was.

Her patterns were a whirlpool of purple and angry pink at her shame, their color seeping over her limbs, and stirring the girl’s beside her to stiffen. The burning hues only shone brighter at their reaction. At the guilt of making her friends hesitate around her.

Another sob bobbed in Rumi’s throat before she could stop it. Her knuckles found her forehead as she hid her face from them again. Mira and Zoey were having none of it however. Mira’s poised hands found her wrist, and even when she pulled it down to rest over patterned knees the visual kept her grasp there, her subtle warmth was grounding as she made small strokes with her thumb over the agitated stripes swirling over the half-demon’s forearm. Zoey quickly found her clawed hand, sandwiching it between her own; palm up to let her fingers dance over the singer’s heartlines. She’d even taken a moment to intently brush over her sharpened fingers as if to say they were like every other part of Rumi that deserved appreciation.

The half-demon exhaled shakily, trying to allow herself to become lost in their touches. Her chest still bobbing unevenly as air fought its way into her lungs between uneven breaths.

She swallowed thickly, finally managing more words. “I-I did hurt my neck hitting the horns though…” she couldn’t stomach referring to them as ‘her’ horns. They didn’t belong to her. She didn’t want them. They were an ‘other’ on her body like a cyst, a parasite. Her growing hatred for them was interrupted by infectious giggling however. She blinked up at the pair in confusion.

“Jagiya, how you can go around thinking you’re some fearsome demon is beyond me,” Mira drolled, a sly smirk on her lips which held nothing by endearment.

“Yeah, you’ve gotta be clumsiest demon I’ve ever known,” Zoey agreed through soft laughter. Rumi adored that sound. It was like a rope being extended into the pit she found herself in, offering a chance to climb up—granted with effort on her part—but a welcome assistance nonetheless. A promise.

Rumi flickered with gold as their laughter quieted down, her cheeks flushed hot as her glowing eyes dropped to the floor. Unsure of what to say, embarrassment at the evening’s turn of events fighting for dominance over her anxiety. She wished she could disappear, she half debated just teleporting to her room but decided against it. Mira and Zoey would just find her again, and probably be pissed off to boot. Something warm and fluffy sputtered in her curiously, at the simple thought that she couldn’t get away from her girls even if she tried. They would always find her.

A beat of silence hung in the air for a few moments.

“Tell us what’s going on in there,” it was intentionally not a question. Rumi always appreciated Mira’s directness. If her tone didn’t encourage her to speak then the tender hand returning to her shoulder blade certainly did. The singer focused on the little circles the visual made as she tried to put her rampaging thoughts into sensical words.

“I thought I was over this already,” Rumi said tiredly, she took a minute to continue. “After Namsan Tower…that’s the freest I’ve ever felt in my skin. It was amazing! I thought I’d left all my shame behind, I finally wasn’t afraid to have my patterns out.” She had been doing well. Their first trip to the bathhouse together had been nerve wracking to say the least, it was actually the first time she had properly seen herself since that night. She’d grown accustomed to showering with an averted gaze ever since she was young as to not have to look at her patterns for too long—but then, in the full lighting of the women’s jjimjilbang, trepidation crept its way over her heart at the sight of those marks stretching across her body further than they ever had.

However, before the feeling could consume her completely. She’d been interrupted by the very vocal and exaggerated swooning of her band mates at the stripes running across her body. Mira had likened them to the Kintsugi pottery her family collected when she was a child, but notably less stuffy and pretentious. Rumi remembered how that had chased away her insecurities before they could surface right then and there. And the girls had had a great time, but sometimes she couldn’t help but question if she had actually truly accepted herself, or if all the negative voices were just being drowned out. Inaudible but not actually gone. Waiting for words of acceptance and encouragement to die down to once again rear their ugly head.

“You’re still ashamed of your patterns?” Mira questioned her softly, not accusingly, just curious, her palm warm on Rumi’s shoulder as she continued rubbing circles.

“Not exactly…I mean, I’m comfortable in them…but some days are worse than others, you know?” Their leader admitted honestly. “I spent the better half of my life hiding them so strictly, it’s like I have these moments of clarity where I see how exposed my skin is and I have this instinct to cover up. I feel my stomach drop and my chest gets tight—”

Mira and Zoey listened intently, attuned to every word spoken and committing it to heart.

“It doesn’t last longer than a moment, and I know it’s dumb…but it still happens and it’s annoying,” she mumbled, hating to hear her own insecurities voiced aloud. She was used to them rattling around in her head, but not assaulting her ears. Hearing them audibly made them tangible in a way she didn’t enjoy. Like admitting them to herself made her fears real.

“Well after being raised by Celine of all people, no shit it’s going to take you a while to not hate your own skin,” Mira stated without a trace of levity given towards their mentor’s questionable parenting methods. Her and Zoey hadn’t directly spoken to Celine since the night of the Idol Awards, leaving the decision of how their relationship should proceed up to Rumi, who wasn’t ready to approach that topic just yet.

“I don’t mind how they look anymore, really,” the words felt weird on the singer’s tongue. They were honest but hearing them affirmed by her own voice was odd. Like what she felt in her heart was in dissonance with her mind. “But I could do without the glowing,” she huffed lightly, her patterns flickering gold as if to rub salt in the wound.

“Ha!” their visual barked, admittedly making Rumi jump a bit. “Well I think it’s only fair that we finally have a way to read you like an open book after you’ve kept up walls for so long,” Mira jabbed with a snicker, pushing their leader’s shoulder playfully.

“No more hiding~ now you’re shinin—” Zoey sang Rumi’s pre chorus, before being silenced by a golden hand to her mouth. The maknae giggled against the clawed palm, it shook Rumi’s whole arm. Small hands gently gripped a patterned wrist a moment later to pull it away, the other girl letting her.

“I for one am incredibly grateful to know how you’re feeling at any given moment,” Zoey declared. “You guys know I have the hardest time with body language so Rumi being a walking mood ring is a great shorthand!” she beamed excitedly.

“Did you know Zoey’s actually keeping a notebook cataloguing all the colors you make?” Mira asked smugly nudging their youngest’s shoulder with her elbow.

“You what?” Rumi gaped at their lyricist, a dark tinge to her cheeks as her patterns shined.

“Not in like a creepy, invasive science-experiment way! It’s just interesting!” Zoey assured a bit too loudly, obviously flustered by being put on the spot. She didn’t like sharing lyric ideas when they were still rough and the same applied for other scientific endeavors. “You guys know I love biology and there are currently no studies on the field of Rumi so somebody had to step up!” She argued. If she hadn’t been so flustered, the half-demon probably would have chuckled at Zoey’s brand of hyperbole that was just so…Zoey. She loved this weird little nerd so much sometimes it ached.

“She also loves your purring by the way, I think she tells me at least once a day,” Mira continued to put the lyricists under the spotlight, shifting to sit more comfortably on the ground, with her legs outstretched in front of the singer. Zoey mirrored her subconsciously, legs extended the opposite way behind Rumi. The girl couldn’t help but feel caged in by them but in a good way. A safe way. Like they were guarding her.

“How could I not??? It’s so freakin cute!” Zoey practically squealed, voice bouncing off the smooth walls around them.

Rumi’s patterns had stopped flickering and were now a permanent, rich honey. She looked like the sun in the middle of the afternoon. The memory was so embarrassing—

It had been an exhausting day of press events and interviews, and if the quiet serenity of their limo ride home that evening hadn’t lulled her into a state of comfort, then Zoey’s delicate strokes over her arm as the singer laid her head in the maknae’s lap absolutely did. Rumi remembered how her eyes had fluttered shut, contentment washing over her like that crisp blue which made its way across her patterns not unlike a waterfall. She began to hum softly as the tips of her girl’s fingers just barely brushed against her skin, ghosting over the buzz of her patterns as they glowed brighter under each touch. At least Rumi thought she’d been humming…

A snicker sounding from Mira had her shooting the visual a curious glance where she sat across from the pair on the other side of the vehicle, back to the driver as her arms rested comfortably over the entirety of the seat’s headrest. The eldest of the trio’s answer was silent, wordlessly gesturing to Zoey with a fond smile on her lips as she crossed her legs as if waiting for something to happen. Some kind of reaction from her. Rumi could feel the lyricist vibrating before her eyes found her face, bright pink under her blush with sparkles practically shining in her widened amber eyes. Her mouth hung ajar in a silent gasp, the same way it did whenever she watched cute baby tortoise compilations. She held still as if frozen in wondrous shock.

“What?” Rumi had asked in complete confusion.

“Dude, you’re purring!” Zooey beamed, the girl looked like she was about to cry with joy, while her companion just looked like she was about to cry with embarrassment. Rumi had immediately removed herself from the rapper’s lap and hide herself behind her hands the rest of the ride home, aggressively pressed against the door far away from human touch as possible, as Zoey only prattled on excitedly at this development.

In the present, sat huddled on the floor looking at her maknae who bore that same excited sparkle in her eye; Rumi rubbed her neck feeling put on display under their gaze. “It’s weird…” she winced out.

“Like it’s any weirder than Zoey’s sleep rapping?” Mira asked dryly.

“Hey, my bars are so hot not even sleep can cool them down!” the rapper defended with a proud smile. “And don’t try to pin this all on me,” she wagged a sly finger at the tallest of them. “Mira gets super turned on by your growling!” Zoey’s face broke into a shit eating grin.

“That was an accident! I swear!” Rumi whipped around to their visual, practically drowned out by golden glow. She had only growled once but that was more times than she would have liked. It was during a misstep in dance rehearsal, her paces weren’t on beat which left her foot opened to getting crushed by Mira’s perfectly timed steps. The singer clutched at the pain, hopping on one foot as a rumbling growl echoed out of her throat. Rumi hadn’t even realized she’d done it until her gaze met Mira, who simply stood there in shock, face as pink as her hair as the track blasted on the speakers forgotten. “Did you just…growl at me?” she uttered, like she didn’t even believe the words leaving her own mouth.

“What? What are you talking about?” Rumi furrowed her brow, returning her foot to the ground.

“ Oh she absolutely did just growl at you!” Zoey had helpfully stated from where she sat on the sidelines; she wasn’t in the verse they’d been rehearsing so she was more than happy to munch away on saeukkang crackers as she watched them work and was oh so delighted in show unfolding in front of her. It was rare sight to get Mira flustered and she was committing every hue that painted her face to memory. But she didn’t hold a candle to Rumi, who had looked like she’d stopped breathing as she ran out of the room after folding under the awkwardness of the situation.

“I don’t know what happened, it just slipped out,” Rumi didn’t think she’d apologized over something as much as she did that day but shame still held heavy over her heart for doing something so inhuman, so feral towards her friend, especially over something so meaningless.

Mira only hummed at Rumi’s defense, that languid way which sparked butterflies in singer’s stomach. “Guess we’ll just have to find a way of slipping it out of you again that doesn’t involve messing up my choreo,” she uttered, drifting an intentional hand over the half-demon’s throat. She chuckled, feeling the girl swallow hard at the suggestive promise.

“Oh and her fangs! Don’t get me started on her fangs!” Zoey was all but fangirling now, grabbing Rumi’s arm and shaking it excitedly before she realized what she was even doing. The half-demon blinked as she was jostled roughly. “Look don’t take this the wrong way Ru-Ru because I know it’s what got you all fight or flight mode just now but I was SO worried that last time was a one time deal!” she gushed, “I may or may not have stayed up all night that day thinking about them!” the maknae was maybe over sharing a bit too much but the gold which shimmered through her friend made it so worth it.

“They’re not fun,” Rumi rebuked, shaking her head disparagingly, “I feel like I’m gonna choke on my own mouth every time I talk,” she crumpled, her patterns quickly flaring with pink shame again. “I can’t even close my mouth all the way,” she lamented, trying not to cry again as she could already feel how her jaw was beginning to get tired from being unable to relax.

“Maybe you just need something to close your mouth on~” Zoey uttered suggestively, leaning forward purposefully into Rumi’s bubble until their foreheads just barely touched, eyes undeterred under the burning amber which met them. One could have argued they shone with an even greater ferocity than the half-demon’s own.

Rumi only blushed and hid her face in her hands again. Too scared to move her head with Zoey so close and run the risk stabbing her with a horn. Mira laughed kindly kissing her temple, deep and slow as a lazy hand drifted over her lower pair of horns just above her ears. Rumi was surprised at the shiver it caused, not because it felt weird but because it felt…good?

“Sorry Rumi, not to make you feel unspecial but you just have to accept that we’re actually bigger freaks than you’ll ever be,” Mira bragged into her ear.

“Yeah all this,” Zoey hopped on, gesturing exaggeratively to their little demon’s quirks, “is the only way you’ll ever stand a chance balancing us out,” she said with a puffed chest. Rumi peaked up at the pair, who were now gazing wantonly at one another, buzzing in a silent conversation, a connection the singer wasn’t attuned to, before they turned simultaneously to cast that same expression towards her. Their Rumi. Their little freak, so to speak because apparently by comparison, the two of them wore the ’big’ freak pants in this relationships.

The singer hid her gaze again in her fingers again, though not entirely out of shame this time.

Her girls’ caught a smile tugging at her lips.

“What?” they questioned her curiously, hopeful at the soft shudder of blue in her patterned shoulders with every soundless little giggle which escaped her.

“Nothing just…heh,” the corner of Rumi’s mouth was crooked into a grin when she came up again. “For years Celine always told me that you two would never accept my demon side. I think she’d have an aneurism to learn you’re both turned on by it,” she said dryly. Her bandmates broke out into boisterous laughter, Rumi gently chuckled with them quietly, still afraid to be too loud, too intrusive, but easing slowly.

“Hey I’m just saying, maybe your mom was onto something when she met your dad,” Zoey observed, freckles beaming through the blush on cheeks.

“Yeah, maybe Celine was just jealous all these years,” Mira hummed.

“Please no conspiracy theories right now,” Rumi begged so a tired shake of her head. It exhausted her enough to try and find the reasonings behind the way she was, she didn’t have the energy to devote into speculating why Celine was the way she was as well.

“Oh and don’t forget you can see in the dark with those crazy-ass eyes! I’m sure that comes in handy for midnight trips to the kitchen!” Zoey buzzed.

“The whole teleporting through smoke thing is absolutely handy with how much you forget your phone at the studio,” Mira added.

“Ok, ok, I believe you guys…” Rumi stopped them, beginning to feel a bit warm in the face from their gassing of traits she found to be less than positive.

A beat of silence passed before Mira broke it. “But you don’t believe it,” she observed with her trademark sternness.

Rumi shook her head. “What you’re describing, these things about me. Yeah they’re…useful…I guess. But…they don’t sound like me! I don’t sound like me—I don’t look like me!” she uttered. Her girls were silent, letting her speak her mind. Get everything out of her system. “I look at that… thing in the mirror and I don’t see myself. And that terrifies me so much,” she forced her voice to stay even, “it’s like how can I tell myself the version of me I want to believe in even exists, if I can’t see it in front of me? If it seems like it’s getting further and further away?” She mourned.

“What ‘version’ do you believe in?” The dancer inquired severely.

“I-I don’t know…” Rumi began slowly, rubbing her neck. “Someone…normal?” that was out the window, a bitter part of herself acknowledged. It always was. From the day she was born. “Someone…I can enjoy looking at, and be happy to see staring back?”

“Well newsflash unnie, nobody’s reflection is exactly what they want to see,” Zoey was fast to argue with a roll of her neck. “Except Mira’s maybe. But she’s the exception not the standard,” Mira hummed in agreement to the obvious fact. “I don’t think anyone looks in the mirror and loves every part of themself. But that doesn’t mean those parts aren’t lovable,” the maknae said, her fingers flirting over the ridges of Rumi’s horns. She ate up the delightful shivers running through the singer’s spine at her touch but held her tongue to comment on them. Now wasn’t the time…even she could recognize that.

“Mira and I will just have to make sure to love those parts twice as hard for you until you can learn to do it yourself,” she finished with a wide smile, holding a clawed hand in her own and bringing it to her face. She felt Rumi tug in her grip, as if to get away before her talons could meet the lyricist’s impossibly soft flesh. The duo heard their third stop breathing as her palm made contact with Zoey’s cheek, horrified to move. Horrified to hurt her. She felt ill at the sight of those near charcoal claws settled way too close to their youngest’s chocolate eyes, looking back at her with absolute trust as she stroked the back of Rumi’s knuckles.

The singer wanted to cry out, to whimper; scared to pull away and risk blinding her and equally scared to remain where she was but then…she blinked. Had Zoey always been this warm before? she questioned. This soft? Had she always been able to feel every centimeter of skin that came into contact with her own? It was as though her body had gained some new sense of clarity she hadn’t possessed before through her demon. She hadn’t realized how much her shoulders had relaxed as she became lost in the sensation, until Mira took hold of her other hand to do the same against her slender jaw. Rumi could feel every vein pulse beneath her palm as it willed the dancer’s jaw to move before she spoke.

“You’re not alone Rumi . So don’t handle this alone. Let us help carry the weight with you,” the visual pleaded. “We’re here for you, and we always will be. Through bad hair days or demon shit, nothing is gonna keep us away from you.”

“You’re stuck with us! No refunds!” Zoey stuck her tongue out as she dropped Rumi’s hand to through her arms around her again, Mira joining a moment later.

The half-demon could feel their heartbeats against her side, and was painfully aware of how in sync they were with their own. As if the two girls at her side were perfect puzzle pieces to be attached to her own. A lump formed in Rumi’s throat as she wormed her arms out of their embrace to return the gesture. They hugged, as tears fell from the half-demons eyes; not hot this time, but rather like cooling rain relieving a drought. Her heart wasn’t so heavy anymore.

“Thank you,” she said after a good while, soaking in sensation of their love. Her voice rough and exhausted, “both of you.” She wiped her eye when they had finally pulled apart, too swept up in emotion to even notice the state of her hands—

“Hey, igeo bwa!!” Zoey squealed, startling both her girlfriends. Rumi looked to her before the younger woman suddenly ran a rough hand through her hair over the top of her head.

The singer raised her shoulders. “Zoeeeyyy—“ she began to whine about the maknae messing up her meticulously braided hair before realizing…

Her breath stilled in her throat.

She ran her palm across her forehead.

The horns.

“They’re gone…” she breathed, as if she’d been holding her breath for hours. Her hands combed through her head. Nothing. Like they were never there. Even her skin had softened back to its usual hue, her fingers were fingers again. She choked out a laugh pulling her girls back into a bone crushing hug. “They’re gone!” New tears flowed freely, cool and comforting, as if chilled by the icy blue blush coursing its way across her patterns, replacing the angry magenta as its suffocating hold slipped.

“Aw man already…” Zoey lamented, “they were hot!”

“Freak,” Mira uttered with a light smirk.

“Freak,” Rumi echoed, a smirk of her own poking onto her wet cheeks.

“Like you weren’t thinking the same thing!” she accused the group’s dancer with a mischievous smile.

“Ya! Can we maybe not manifest my horns coming back, please?” Rumi asked apprehensively.

Zoey sighed dramatically, falling until Rumi’s lap with a hand over her head as if fainting under duress.

The singer let her, smiling down at her.

“Oh well…at least your fangs are still there a bit,” she said practically sticking her hand into Rumi’s mouth to inspect the sharpened canines still apparent. They weren’t obsessively long as they just had been, and her bottom row was all but gone, but they were still a bit longer than average. Short enough to miss at a glance if you weren’t looking, but deliciously long enough if you were. The half-demon sputtered around the rapper’s fingers in mouth, shaking her head free of them.

“Hey, but when they do come back,” Mira circled back, not missed on the frown upon the singers’ face at her choice of ‘when’ instead of ‘if’, despite both of them knowing this surely wasn’t the last time they would appear. “You come to us. Ok?” She paused severly, eyes refusing to let Rumi go.

“Yeah, no solo Rumi mope sessions on the bathroom floor! This is a multi-mope household, understand?” Zoey declared from below, looking impossibly cute as she folded her arms across her chest and furrowed her brow.

Rumi sniffed, thankful to find a finger wiping at her cheek rather than a claw. “I love you guys.” It was agreement enough for them.

“We love you more!” her girls said in tandem, both of them kissing either one of her cheeks at the same time. Rumi giggled, her patterns flickering a lovely swirl of iridescent. Like the Honmoon had licked over her flesh.

“Sorry if I killed the mood so suddenly,” she mumbled, rubbing her neck as her gaze turned away. “I was really getting into it this time too,” she admitted.

Zoey wagged her eyes to that. “Wanna pick back up where we left off then?” she crooned eagerly, sitting up again until she was level with the singer..

Rumi gawked at her. “Isn’t the vibe kinda weird now?” she winced, shame flickering lightly over her patterns. Surely the heat of the evening had been extinguished by the trauma consultation of the past half hour, she thought.

“Rumi, when are things not weird with you, ampeom?” Mira said with her own brand of dry fondness, nothing but mirth in her eyes. “Mood is kind of a stupid concept anyway,” she shrugged dismissively. “ If you’re in the mood to do something you should just do it. You know how many times Zoey and I have done it in the limo?”

The singer almost choked. “O-our personal limo? The one with the driver on the other side of the glass!?” she gaped.

“Pshh,” the rapper waved her hand, “the glass is tinted, it’s fine,” she dismissed evenly. Rumi had to wonder just what other places the two of them had ‘gotten into it.’ She felt her patterns sizzle. God she really could be oblivious sometimes couldn’t she?

“Hey—” Mira roused her thoughts. They locked eyes before the visual gestured to the gold creeping over her limbs with a knowing smirk. “So? Do you want to?”

Rumi felt the shift of the room in real time as her bandmates looked at her like ravenous wolves. Wired and ready to pounce on command.

Golden slowly but surely overpowered her body. The half-demon darted her gaze between them, before slowly nodding her head.

“Nope!” Mira shot down all too happily, her eyes never leaving Rumi’s face. “We have to hear that sweet voice say so~” her voice was pure syrup. The singer felt it in her core, fighting to suppress a shiver.

Rumi sighed reluctantly. “Yes…yes I still want to try it tonight,” she murmured hoping that would suffice.

“Try what?” It was Zoey’s turn to be cruel as she cast a knowing tilt of her head. Of course it didn’t suffice…her girls loved to torture her too much after all.

“Do I really have to say it out loud?” the singer all but groaned.

“Yes!” They agreed in unison, Zoey buzzing with unbridled excitement as Mira simmered with calculated suavity. Rumi could practically feel their heat.

“I want to try…um,” her gold deepened, shining hard and bright which did little to encourage her tongue to work. Her companions only ate up the sight, loving every moment of the singer quite literally wearing her heart on her sleeve, after years spent trying to decipher her thoughts like a code. Her chestnut eyes fell down upon assuring hands which had moved to clasp over her own, in silent reassurance, patiently giving her space and the time to gain her voice back, instilling her confidence.

“S-sorry this is hard,” Rumi stammered feeling her cheeks become warm at how lame she sounded right now.

“You’re doing great, aegiya!” Zoey encouraged, her features warm as she gave her hand a squeeze.

“Take all the time you need~” Mira all but purred, fingertips stroking over her patterns.

Rumi took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I want to try… I want to try going all the way with you both…?” her statement curved at the end as if she herself didn’t exactly know what it meant. But her girls’ beamed happily regardless. So, so proud of their Rumi.

Zoey all but squealed, gripping her right back into a bearhug. Rumi was going to have to start charging her for her chiropractor at this rate.

Mira leaned back and stretched her arms as if preparing to run a race, a promising look in her eyes as she stared right into Rumi’s soul. The half-demon gulped. Zoey felt her tense and giggled, “you’ll do fine. All you gotta do is sit back and let us pamper you ok?” She hummed, helping the girl to her uneasy feet.

“And try not to get stuck in your own head,” Mira quipped, rising behind them. She smirked proudly at the flicker of red across the singer’s face.

“I’ll do my best,” Rumi said with a quiet determination letting herself be led out of the room by their youngest’s eager hand. The dancer sauntered behind them languidly.

“Don’t worry you’ll be too busy getting lost in how awesome we’re about to make you feel~” the lyricist promised. “Mira and I have a bet on if you’ll purr or growl when you co—”

“Zoey!” Rumi huffed, pushing the maknae away with a striped palm to her grinning face. “Eugh!” she gasped in surprise not moment later when she felt a wet tongue lick her hand, retching it away to wipe on her briefs.

“Get used to that,” Mira chuckled into her ear, her hands finding the half-demon’s waist, slowly taking in the view of her girls. “Zoey’s very good with her tongue~” she couldn’t wait to eat the shiver raking through Rumi’s spine.

“Hehe! But you’ll get to know all about that yourself soon enough~” Zoey purred, though she halted a bit as she could already see Rumi’s mind begin reel at the mental image of such a promise. “I-If we get that far, I mean!” she added quickly with a wave of her hand. “Whatever you’re comfy doing tonight, k?” she smiled that sweet smile that always melted the singer’s heart as she rolled up on her toes to plant a kiss on Rumi’s nose.

She could have melted, nearly did but something on her mind was itching to come out. “Um….one more thing?” she started hesitantly, her girls glanced back at her with soft concern. Rumi took a deep breath, “could we…maybe try it on my bed?” she asked quietly. Mira and Zoey had thought keeping to the couch was best to soothe her nerves when in reality the reason their little half-demon was so uncomfortable with the idea of the prior couple’s bedrooms is because some part of her mind felt she was invading their territory. Infringing on their relationship. Trespassing. It held over her head like an anvil waiting to drop. If the trio were serious about being a trio, and especially after so much laundry had just been openly washed on the bathroom floor, then maybe doing it in her space this time would put her at ease.

She watched a twin set of eyes light up in a swirl of shining pride and delicious sin, and stifled the urge to laugh.

“Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygoshhmygoshohmygoshhh!!!!!” Zoey all but screamed as she raced to the living room to grab her phone, “I gotta get my playlist!”

Rumi and Mira both looked after her with an endearing grin. “Oh, this should be good~” the dancer hummed darkly as her hands squeezed around the shorter girl’s waist to pull her back flush against her chest. Rumi shuddered. Despite her more demonic traits being dormant, she realized her sense of touch was still very much heighted. She could feel each swell of the girl’s lungs behind her, the pulse of her heart and the lilt of her tongue as she leaned down to nip at her ear excitedly before leading the way back to their leader’s bed.

This was going to be a very, very long night.