Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It would be so easy.

She ruminated on it often—just how easy it would be for them to see. There was hardly a moment when they weren’t together, hardly a moment where they weren’t reaching for each other—it would be... just so easy. 

Rumi hadn’t necessarily understood this, when she first met them. Of course, she was used to covering up the patterns when she was outside, and even mostly on the estate with Celine—but it’d never been vital to stay that way. Despite the shame that came with them, in her life before she met Mira and Zoey, they’d been... an unfortunate birthmark. Celine would look away if she saw them, but she wouldn’t ask her to cover up unless she’d been blatant about it. 

It wasn’t until they had been recruited officially, until they moved into the estate to begin their training, that Rumi realized she was going to have to up the secrecy. There could be no more slips, no more Celine turning away, and no more keeping her mind off the possibility of discovery—she couldn’t afford not to be diligent now. 

Until the golden Honmoon, she repeated it in her mind, just until the golden Honmoon.

(But, said a very logical voice, that might take years.)

Then Rumi better discreetly order more long sleeved shirts.

It was about six months into their training. Rumi had finally managed to catch up on the “friendly” relationship status that Mira and Zoey had seemed to have on the first day. It had taken a lot of work, a lot of confusion, and a lot of pillows shredded by her teeth in pure frustration.

Which brought Rumi to her next problem.

Actually being friends without revealing her life ruining secret.

The girls didn’t exactly rub it in her face, but it was hard for Rumi not to notice.

The closer they became with each other, the less clothes seemed to become important. That wasn’t to say they were stripping or anything, but the casual—goodness, she doesn’t even know what she should call it, she’d never really seen it before. They just—shared with each other. It’d started maybe two months into their formal training… Jackets, shirts, accessories—anything and everything that could be thrown on a body, whether it fit or not, was up for grabs.

Rumi tried, very hard, to understand. 

It’s just.

Why bother with something like that? Was this a step in normal friendships she’d just been oblivious to? Did people just give others their clothing for fun? Certainly it made sense when it had utility—jackets and gloves in the cold, maybe a hat when it was too sunny...

That’s the extent Celine and her shared clothing—and they were... What they were. Aunt-and-niece or however the media liked to think of it. Rumi felt it had become something more like mentor-and-mentee over the years. Well, a mentee that had memories of Celine kissing her band aids and trying very hard to get Rumi interested in her (subpar) bedtime story telling.

She pushed the thoughts away, squinting at her closet. 

Mira and Zoey just sort of walked into each other's rooms—barely a knock—before they were digging in each other's closets and drawers. Would Rumi be expected to do that too? Should she organize it so it might be easier for them?

...would it be awkward? An unspoken boundary was her room—one Zoey and Mira had seemed to be dreadfully curious about but respectful of—and she couldn’t imagine them being so carefree with the weight of that kind of... allowance. 

Rumi certainly wouldn’t be. Every time her band mates even so much as hinted at—what, trusting her? Opening up? Rumi felt like she immediately had to vacate the room and give them three to five business days until they felt better. It was easier to feign connection with a stranger, to allow all her media training to take over and act courteous, then it was to genuinely interact with the people she was going to save the world with. 

(Mira called this, when she didn't realize Rumi could hear her, ‘a truly staggering amount of emotional unavailability.’ Rumi called this ‘common sense.’)

Because she knew she had to do something (but did not necessarily know what that thing was or where to even start) she squinted again at her closet, harder this time.

Defeated, she pulled out her phone and word vomited into the search bar. 

It was less than helpful.

At a loss for what to do (but now understanding—thank you, internet—that teenage girls and young women do frequently share their clothes with one another) Rumi decided to formulate a plan using her unique skills. Which unique skills are those? Well.

Okay, so maybe she needed to do more brainstorming. 

Unfortunately for her, the summertime schedule didn’t leave much room to think. Combat training, dance practice, singing lessons, business classes—all an old hat, for Rumi—but now she had to do them with other people. The people she's going to save the world with. The people she absolutely one hundred percent has to get along with—no excuses.

It's. A learning curve.

“It’s cloudy today,” Mira noted with some relief. She was looking out window with a supremely peaceful expression on her face.

Rumi paused. She didn’t sniff the air, exactly but she also didn’t... not do that. “It’s only going to last another couple of hours... maybe we should get our outside training out of the way.”

“Did it say that on the forecast?” Zoey asked over her breakfast, scowling sleepily at her phone. It didn’t seem to matter when, what, or where Zoey woke up—she was always the exact same amount of drowsy/grumpy for about thirty minutes. 

(Rumi knew primarily because she had counted, out of sheer curiosity, and found that it was actually pretty consistent. The second after half an hour had passed it was like the grim and grumpy version of her had never existed at all—sometimes even her entire face changed! Bags? Gone. Skin? Suddenly perfect. Rumi wondered often if the Honmoon just liked her better then the rest of them.)

Celine eyed Rumi over her bowl of cereal. She, unlike the rest of them, got to eat sugar in the morning—even though she was like pushing fifty, had tons of past demon hunting and idol injuries, and was probably due an awkward doctor appointment or two. “Rumi gets feelings about the weather,” Celine noted absently, “she tends to be right about them.”

Rumi felt a flicker of pride. She’d never, not once in her life, been rained on when she hadn't wanted to be. When she was a kid, she called it her ‘supreme umbrella sense.’

Mira raised a fine, pink eyebrow. “Uh-huh.”

“It’s true.” She reached over and caught Zoey’s phone before she could drop it onto the floor, wordlessly sliding it next to her plate—which Zoey did not notice, because she was too busy dozing in her eggs. “I’m... very accurate.”

“So the Honmoon made you a fortune teller as, what, a bonus?” Mira smirked. “What do I get? We all know Zoey gets the—”

Zoey straightened up immediately, suddenly wide awake and ready to go.

“—that.” Mira finished, rolling her eyes.

“I think these are just little quirks of humanity,” Rumi said, not suspiciously at all.

Celine sighed. She seemed to be doing that more often than usual lately. As she put down her spoon and checked her watch, her lips thinned. “Let’s hurry now, girls. I suspect you don’t want to be caught in the sun—how long now, Rumi?”

Rumi paused. (She didn’t sniff the air. Mira needed to stop looking at her weird.)  “Just after eleven.”

“You’ll still have to deal with some of it, then.” Celine nodded, her expression going a little absentminded. “I’ll get the extra strength sunscreen...” She rose from the table to do just that.

Rumi sighed, getting up and gathering Celine’s dishes. She had such a one-track mind sometimes. With her, it was always stuff like “here’s how you kill a demon,” or “you can’t kill demons sleep deprived, keep to your bedtime,” or “fighting demons with mosquito bites is dangerous and distracting, get back here and put on the bug spray right this second.”

She was seriously starting to suspect that Celine’s ‘parenting’ was framed through the lens of demon hunting so much because she didn’t know how to do much of anything else. It was kind of... sad. Not that Rumi didn’t understand, of course. Demon hunting was important. The only thing that mattered was ensuring that she and her fellow hunters-in-training were in peak performance mode—whether that meant slaying demons or, as Zoey liked to put it, slaying in the sound booth. 

“I hate when she makes us put on the extra strength sunscreen,” Mira grumbled. “She treats us all like small children except when she’s like—go kill that this, or, hey—go stab that! She literally told us ‘murder that demon pretending to be a single mother of three,’ yesterday.”

Rumi remembered that far too vividly. It turned out the ‘three’ were actually very tiny demons that were kind of awkward to kill. It was a morally confounding situation that left Rumi face down in her bed for four full hours after the fact. Only Zoey had seemed perfectly at ease with business as usual—throwing the tiny demons hard into surfaces and cheering when they bounced at least twice. That sight was just as unfortunately vivid in Rumi’s memory.

“I don’t know,” Zoey noted, “it’s kind of cute she has to find an excuse to be nice or express that she cares. Rumi’s the same way.”

Rumi paused over the sink. “I am not.”

“You are,” Mira and Zoey said together, not even looking at her, and then began discussing what they plan to do after training. 

“I’m not.” She said to herself quietly, channeling her indignation into scrubbing the bowl hard—only for it to crack and shatter in her hands.

It hit her later that day, as she wiped the sweat from her brow and adjusted the hat on her head—exactly which skill she could put to use. She smiled, humming as she ran through her stances during what was supposed to be a break time. Celine had not been happy about the shattering of her favorite cereal bowl. She’d even managed to look disapproving for a full five seconds instead of the usual two and a half. It went without saying that things had been rather dire.

Mira and Zoey squinted—in a somewhat annoyed manner—up at the sunny sky, unaware of Rumi’s eyes lingering where the light met their skin.

Celine had already taken care of the sunscreen. It was up to Rumi to do the rest.

Rumi threw the hat at Zoey (who screamed) before she could think too hard about it. “It’s gonna be sunny today, wear this, goodbye.” 

She pretty much bolted before Zoey could respond with anything other than a squawk.

“Thank you?” Zoey shouted after her, audibly confused. “Rumi, it’s literally so cloudy right now I don’t need this!”

Progress! Sort of!

Fifteen minutes later, when the sun was finally out, Zoey put the hat on—bewildered.

Thus began her new—well. Not game, exactly. Zoey was just the most willing to roll with Rumi’s eccentricities. If Rumi gave her something or did something that might have been—odd—then Zoey would simply accept it. If it was too much, Zoey would still accept it—but that acrid, panicked smell and that wider than usual smile would appear, and Rumi would know to pull back. She had yet to discover one of these stop signs from Mira, but she was determined and confident that one would appear soon.

Things quickly shaped up into routine.

Rumi—with a hat, visor, sunglasses, and (on one memorable occasion) an umbrella—giving things that made the day slightly less inconvenient to Zoey, who tended to be scared to death/confused by the onslaught.

Rumi couldn't help her nervousness, so even though she tried really hard to slow down the giving of clothing, things tended to go awry. More often then not she ended up tossing whatever was in her hands Zoey’s way and bolting in the opposite direction. She always had an excuse prepared when Zoey yelled out bewildered questions.

Training time. Chore time. Celine fell asleep on the couch again and needed someone to carry her to her bed before she hurt her spine and died. Things of that nature that clearly and obviously required Rumi’s immediate attention.

Did Zoey scream a lot when smacked in the face with a piece of clothing? Yes. Was her situational awareness improving? Also yes. Not only was Rumi helping protect Zoey from the sun, she was also (technically) making her a better huntress.

Plus, no matter how much Zoey wailed about heart attacks, shortening lifespans, and assassin's creed style stealth tactics (whatever that meant), she wore what Rumi gave her every time.

Mira opened a single eye from where she was lounging in the shade. “If you throw that scarf in my face I’m killing you.”

Rumi fiddled with it a little, trying to ignore the whole death threat part of what was just said. “Whaaat? I wasn’t going to do something like that...”

“Rumi. Zoey has been very vocal about you haunting the compound and chucking clothes at her. I think you’re totally traumatizing her, she keeps jumping at shadows—Celine thinks it’s good training for dodging hits or else I think you would have been scolded already.”

“It’s gonna get really cold in like, ten minutes,” she said, making the executive decision to ignore that. 

“Then use that for yourself. I don't need it.”

Rumi paused. “Um. I think you will.”

Mira sighed. “It’s summertime.”

“Yes,” agreed Rumi. 

“I think the sun is frying your brain.”

“There’s a lot of wind on the way.” Rumi squinted, turning on her heel—and then pointing at the approximate direction it was coming from. “From there!”

“So you brought me a scarf—something known for blowing away in the wind?” Mira smirked, closing her eyes and relaxing in the grass again. “You’re so weird.”

“Not if you tie it properly.” Rumi did not pout. Anyone who pointed anything like this out would be swiftly decried as a liar and a scoundrel. She cleared her throat and attempted to ignore the blanket amusement on Mira’s face. “Well, if you can do me a favor and hold onto this scarf for the next... seven minutes or so, I’d appreciate it.”

Mira sighed, and finally turned her head to fully look at Rumi.

Rumi’s stomach swooped. It felt odd to be able to stare down at her this way.

“You’re being serious,” she said, finally. Her hands moved from cradling her head down to settle on her stomach. Her expression was supremely judging.

Rumi did not go this far just to be denied. “Deadly.”

“Do you have crazy allergies or something?”

“No?”

“Then why are you afraid of a little wind? Trust that me and my immune system will battle the pollen menace fiercely.” She closed her eyes, clearly expecting Rumi to flee after being shut down.

“...and you called me weird.” Rumi grumbled. She looked down at the scarf. Maybe Mira was right and this was—not the best idea. She could always run back into the compound and give her something much better before the wind started to blow in earnest. Still, she couldn’t help but deflate a little. “Well, if you don’t want it…”

Mira opened a single eye again—before she sighed. “...give it.”

Rumi paused. “Really?”

“Well, I don’t know if I have as much faith in your fortune telling as Celine, but it couldn’t hurt. Besides, I’ve been too lazy to get up and grab myself a pillow.” Her hands twitched against her stomach. “Really, you're doing me a favor.”

Wordlessly, Rumi folded up the scarf—before pausing. Would it be odd to put it under Mira’s head for her? Yes, probably, but—

Mira hadn’t moved, her expression placid yet expectant. A light breeze had begun to rustle the grass, tickling her smooth, long face. Her chest rose up and down, long arms—slightly tanned by their abundant training in the sun—shifting slightly. Her entire body was dappled by the shade of the leaves belonging to the tree towering above them, fluttering every so often and making the golden light dance along her skin and clothes.

Looking at her, Rumi suddenly felt—dizzy.

Mira’s brows began to furrow as the moment lingered.

Rumi swallowed. With a gentleness she hadn't really expected of herself, she placed down the scarf beside Mira—an appropriate and precise three inches away. She imagined, for a moment, that she’d used all that gentleness to lift Mira’s head and slide the scarf underneath her hair—before she shook the thought from her head.

It was the type of thinking too silly for words.

“Call me if you need anything,” Rumi said. “I’m probably going to be outside for a while.”

“What about if you need anything?” Mira asked. “Where should I go looking?”

“I’ll probably be in the thicket. Or the forest. Or maybe near the apple trees.” Rumi smiled, sheepish. “I haven't really decided yet. But don't worry, I’ll be just fine.”

“Well, settle on one. I don't wanna walk to all three in a couple minutes when it turns out that I don't need this scarf.”

“The forest,” Rumi decided. “But—I don't think you know any of my favorite spots yet. Just yell for me at the edge, okay? I’ll hear you.”

“What are you going to be doing, anyway?” Mira drawled. Her expression had become—complicated.

“Climbing trees,” she admitted after a moment. When Mira snorted, Rumi defensively muttered, “It’s good practice... and it’s—” she struggled with the word. “Fun.”

“Don’t say it like I’ll hold it against you,” Mira snapped. 

“I didn’t,” said Rumi. “It’s just—embarrassing.” 

“Oh.” Mira reached out and swiped the scarf, she rolled over so her back was facing Rumi. “Okay… Sorry.”

Rumi, feeling as though she’d missed something (though, admittedly, she often felt that way with Zoey and Mira), smiled. “No worries. See you later.”

She started walking away—but couldn’t quite hold back the urge to look back, and was struck by the sight of Mira, who’d turned over to face her and was holding the scarf close to her chest. Her expression was—well it was hard to describe.

Their eyes met.

Mira flushed.

Rumi—confused—felt her face warm. Swiftly, she turned back and stalked deeper toward the forest. She needed to find a tree to climb immediately. Being in a higher elevation when the wind started to blow would surely cool her head.

After the—interaction with Mira, Rumi began to wonder if perhaps she should be… less heavy-handed in her efforts. She remembered the criticism Zoey had noted toward Celine and Rumi both—that they’d had to find reasons to care about each other. That obviously wasn’t true.

Celine—Celine did things for Rumi and the girls that didn’t—…

Rumi blanked. Well... She couldn’t think of anything right now, but Celine probably was totally normal about expressions of affection. She’d—she’d kissed Rumi’s band aids and read her bedtime stories! Those totally counted.

Satisfied with her rationalization, she then turned to her current problem.

Giving Zoey something without throwing it at her face and quote “totally traumatizing her” end quote.

A gift, maybe?

She toiled over it for a moment.

Yes.

A gift had a set etiquette.

There was no way she could possibly mess it up. It wasn’t exactly what Rumi wanted to do—was nothing like sharing her own clothes with them—but it would be a start, wouldn’t it? Could probably get her practicing in the right direction. All Rumi had to do was give Zoey something that she’d like—

Something that she’d like.

Rumi felt a stone cold certainty. Suddenly, she knew exactly what she needed to do.

She set out in search of Celine—only to find her, once again, asleep on the couch—probably in the process of breaking her spine and dying.

Rumi panicked, carefully lifting her into her arms and walking to her room. “You have to be more careful!” She whisper-chastised. “The couch isn’t good for you!”

Celine’s eyes fluttered for a moment, but she stayed sleeping.

Rumi sighed. She'd just have to talk about her idea for Zoey when Celine was awake. Hopefully it’d be an easy sell. Rumi could always pull out the puppy dog eyes—though she doubted things would be that dire.

Slowly, with a lot of heart felt care—she reached out to actually hand Zoey a t-shirt.

Zoey’s expression spasmed, and she jerked backward, waving her arms in front of her face to swat away an article of clothing that was not being launched at her.

Rumi smiled.

Zoey narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “Is this a new trick?”

“It's a shirt?”

“Okay but it's usually not just a shirt,” she said. “Are you upgrading to actual pieces of clothes and warning me I should be on the look out for a t-shirt canon?”

“…do you want a t-shirt canon?”

“No!” Zoey shouted immediately, before pausing. “If I get to shoot it at Mira.” She paused again. “And you a couple times.” Another brief silence. Her nose wrinkled a little, and Rumi watched the freckles on her skin shift. “If I get to shoot it at anything even once, if I’m being fully honest.”

“I guess I can order one.”

“Great,” Zoey sighed. She looked up at Rumi through her lashes. “I get to shoot it?”

“Yes.” Obviously. Rumi was ordering it for her. It’d just have to be a second gift. “Anyway. This is for you.”

“Oh.” Zoey blinked. She carefully took the shirt from Rumi. “A yellow-bellied slider.”

Rumi nodded earnestly. “I photoshopped it holding a gun.”

“This is terrible,” Zoey said, with tangible awe. Her body vibrated as she immediately slipped it on over her tank top. She beamed, pulling at the bottom of her shirt to show off the design. “Mira is never gonna forgive you for giving me this fashion tragedy—and I’m never gonna take this off. They’re going to have to bury me in it.”

“I hope they do,” Rumi said, before pausing.

That.

That was.

That was an awful thing to say!?!?!

Zoey laughed. Rumi could not fully appreciate it because she was too busy needing an immediate escape.

Zoey did not notice this.

She actually—for some strange, inexplicable reason—decided to continue the conversation. “How did you know this was my favorite semi-aquatic turtle?”

Rumi cannot say: My demon heritage made it easy to accidentally eavesdrop on a phone call with your cousin where the main topic of discussion was your uncle’s old pet turtle.

“Um. Lucky, I guess.” She muttered sheepishly. Desperately, she tried to come with an excuse to flee. Unfortunately, for the first time in her entire life, she had neglected to consider an exit strategy. She’d just been too excited to actually give Zoey the shirt.

“Awesome,” Zoey said. Her voice had gone very soft. She was—looking at Rumi very strangely. Her brown eyes were big and warm, her lips tugged into a tiny, heart-stopping smile.

Rumi’s pulse jolted. Her stomach was churning. Her ears felt hot. She suddenly felt as though she could run ten miles and not feel the need to stop. “It’s nothing. I have to—”

“You don’t think I’m going to let you leave without a thank you?”

Rumi wondered why she felt like the gravity wasn’t working anymore. “A… thank you?”

“Of course,” Zoey insisted. She contorted her expression into something stern, lifting a finger. “When someone receives a gift, it’s only right to say thanks.”

“Oh. But…” Rumi managed to regain some of her lost coherence. “I wanted to give it to you. I don’t need any sort of…”

Zoey took a step closer.

Rumi blinked.

“I’m going to hug you now.”

“You are?”

“Yup.”

“Oh.” Rumi could feel sweat running down her back.

It was natural for friends to be close with one another physically. She remembered seeing other girls her age holding hands, hugging, cuddling, pressing their cheeks together as they peered down a books or toys or anything else of interest. For some reason, Rumi never included herself. It seemed—uncomfortable. Too close. If they were that close, then they might see—

“Okay,” Rumi breathed, despite—everything. “I don’t mind.”

Zoey’s eyes went heavy-lidded. She grinned—and the next moment the shirt Rumi gave her was pressed between them. Rumi was jarringly reminded of the fact that she was taller than Zoey, and that her friend used a very sweet smelling shampoo—a fruit. Pomegranates? It was almost too much, sticking in her nostrils and refusing to leave, yet Rumi couldn’t bear to turn her head away. There was also a—smell unlikely to be picked up by someone normal or human. It was—fizzy. Fuzzy. Sweet.

It made the hairs on Rumi’s arms stand up, her heart stutter—what was it?

Have I been struck by lightning? Rumi’s thoughts were distant. Or—am I being hugged by lightning?

Zoey pulled back. Her hands, for a brief moment, drifted from Rumi’s back, to her shoulders, and then down her biceps. They were featherlight, natural.

Rumi could not feel any of the places that her body had been touched.

“Thanks, Rumi.” Zoey said, satisfied. Rumi had the odd feeling she wasn’t talking about the shirt. “Maybe next time you can even hug back.”

Before she could say anything to that—Zoey was skipping away. She was probably off to show Mira her new shirt.

Rumi stayed in that spot for a couple more seconds, before turning on her heel and making a beeline for Celine’s office. There had to be a solo exercise she hadn’t mastered yet.

There had to be.

It turned out that Celine had plenty of exercise ideas, and was happy to show them to her. She’d even done proud nod #5 (Rumi’s favorite, because it usually included a pat on the shoulder and a smile). Unfortunately, Rumi still had not regained feeling in her body because of Zoey’s—attack. It saddened her greatly that she couldn’t fully appreciate Celine’s affection, but she channeled all of that into her single-minded focus on training.

“Rumi,” Celine interjected. She hesitated. “A clear head is vital when in the heat of battle. Though it may be… comforting for a huntress to lose herself to sword forms, it is important that she—remembers to find herself again.”

Rumi blinked. “Um.”

“Is there anything that is… bothering you…?” Celine tapered off as her expression morphed into something truly awkward. It appeared that she had lost the will to speak.

Rumi felt her eyes burn a little at the edges. She hurriedly wiped at them (pretending it was only sweat) and swallowed the lump in her throat. “I need to learn how to give hugs.”

Celine blinked, slow. Her face held no recognizable expression. “I’m… sorry?”

Rumi felt her neck warm. “Zoey gave me a hug earlier and I forgot to hug back.”

“And so…” She nodded. “I see the issue. Did you panic?”

“Yes.”

“A huntress must keep her wits about her even in the face of panic.”

Rumi nodded. “Yes, Celine.”

“That is not to say that panic isn't—natural. In such a situation, I mean.”

She felt—relief. “How do I stop myself?”

“You must overcome it. As with any other skill, this requires repetition to fully master.” Celine put her hands behind her back, walking back and forth—her sign that she was taking Rumi’s predicament seriously. “Do you think Zoey will hug you again?”

She winced. “It sounds like she expected the next one to be better.”

“Even more reason for consistent practice.” Celine declared, stopping her movements. She looked out toward the field with an admirable seriousness. “I have to admit I don't really understand any sort of complaint. Hugs from you have always been… nice.”

“Nice?”

She considered herself before settling on: “…Energizing.”

Rumi blinked. Took notice of the bags under Celine’s eyes. “Do you want a hug?”

“Yes,” Celine said, almost too quickly. “I mean. I would not mind it.” A moment passed, until she added on, too late: “For practice.”

“For practice,” agreed Rumi. “I was—I mean. I don't mind practicing with you—uh—more than once. Daily.” She was absolutely not going to admit the idea of regular hugs with her mot—her Celine—was a great idea without the need for simply practicing them. It was too silly and childish for words.

Celine (who was not her mom, who was her mentor) nodded seriously. Her ears were pink. She coughed up into her fist. “It’d be nice.” Then her mouth closed—she seemed to sit with those words for a while before she looked away and cleared her throat. “Let us begin.”

“Unnie,” Zoey began. They were all practicing basic hand to hand forms as a way to warm up. Celine would be there any minute to facilitate semi-serious sparring matches. “What’s your favorite color?”

“I don’t have one,” Rumi said, before automatically moving to correct her. She brushed her fingers against her shoulder and used her other hand to grip underneath her bicep, putting Zoey’s arm in a more relaxed position. “That movement needs to be less tense.”

Zoey suddenly seemed very dazed.

Rumi frowned. The sun would stay tucked away in the clouds for a good twenty minutes more—what could be distracting her…? Maybe she was embarrassed? Oh, she hoped Zoey didn’t feel that way. With forced casualness she carefully gave her some distance. It always felt terrible when Celine corrected her on something. She promised herself that next time she’d be more gentle.

“Okay,” interjected Mira, distracting Rumi from Zoey’s red cheeks. “Favorite animal?”

“I don’t think about animals,” said Rumi, pretending that her collection of stuffed bears did not exist. She paused. “Except for when Zoey mentions them.”

Zoey proudly puffed out her chest. Her yellow-bellied slider pointed a gun at all who dared to look.

“Okay,” said Mira, sounding—a little odd.

Rumi looked over, and noticed a slight furrow in her brow. Frustration or concentration—probably the latter, considering the routine that she was pushing herself through. “Oh. You’re overextending yourself.” She moved forward and carefully straightened Mira’s posture, one palm to the spine and the other pushing on the shoulder. “Careful. It can be dangerous to overreach.”

Mira worked her jaw. There was a flush on the back of her neck.

Zoey snickered. “Yeah, Mira. Don’t overreach.”

Mira looked over and raised an eyebrow.

Zoey cleared her throat, immediately chastised. “My bad.” She turned to Rumi. “Um.”

“Yes?”

“So. What… do you like?”

Rumi blinked. “In general?”

Zoey took a deep breath, pressing her palms together and pointing them at her. “Yes.”

“I like you guys.”

Mira and Zoey said nothing for a moment.

“Well,” said Zoey. “Obviously we like you too—”

Mira nodded, blushing and averting her gaze.

“—but we meant more…” She trailed off. “Um. Casual stuff. Hobbies. Favorite things.”

Rumi nodded. “Okay. Um…” Hobbies. She had those. “I like playing my instruments. And practicing sword forms. Also gardening.” She nodded to herself, satisfied—she was sure that they already knew these things, but didn't mind reminding them.

They made identical expressions of pure exasperation.

“Well,” said Zoey, who’d turned to Mira. “She does seem to like pranking.”

“I don’t want to get someone who makes no sound when she walks a prank kit.”

Zoey’s expression went grave. “We might have to make that sacrifice.”

“I make sound when I walk…”

“You, in fact, do not,” Mira said. “Celine is the same way. It’s gotta be like, genetic.”

Rumi opened her mouth to protest many things about that statement—

“The family inheritance,” Zoey said, nodding. “Silent steps, fading into shadows, looking like that—” she gestured to Rumi somewhat spastically “—and being so totally hopeless.”

Rumi pulled a hat out of her crossbody bag and threw it at Zoey’s face—with maybe more force than necessary. “It’s gonna be really sunny in a couple minutes.”

Mira snickered.

Rumi pulled off the baseball cap she was wearing, shaking out her braid.

Mira made a (pathetically futile) run for it—and just like that, joined Zoey in facing random pieces of clothes thrown at her face.

Rumi popped her head in the living room doorway. “It’s gonna rain today.”

“The forecast said clear skies,” Zoey groaned. “You're telling me my phone lied to me?”

Rumi looked at her and arranged her expression into something appropriately sorrowful. “Yes.”

Mira yawned, leaning back into the couch. “Never have faith in anything.

It was still early morning, and the two of them were taking a moment together before they joined Rumi in training. This was a period of time that Rumi usually spent with Celine, practicing their hug of the day… Which inadvertently had a better effect on her aunt then caffeine. In fact, Rumi suspected heavily that they overdid the practicing today (a full ten seconds instead of the usual five) because Celine had thrown herself into work emails with a truly bewildering amount of cheer.

“Whatever. My heart is too full and my as—” She paused, looking at Rumi. “Um… my face is too fine to hear you.”

Rumi blinked. It had been incredibly obvious what she'd been about to say—why change her mind?

“Heart full of what?” Mira’s shot her a sly look. “Hamburger?”

Zoey’s head snapped toward her, expression indignant. “Hamburgers are delicious and that makes no sense!”

“Okay, American.”

“My citizenship was finalized last month!” Zoey pointed an angry finger. “You can’t destroy three years of residency!”

“And you can’t deny fifteen years of hamburger.”

Zoey screeched (a war cry?) and launched herself toward Mira teeth first.

Rumi sighed. “Celine said we can take the day off today, but if you guys want to spar—”

Instantly, there was about three inches of space between them.

Rumi nodded, satisfied. “I’ll see you girls at lunch.”

Zoey pouted. “You’re not gonna hang out with us?”

“It’s gonna rain,” said Rumi. “I’m going outside.”

“That seems counterproductive,” Mira noted.

“I love summer rains. And rains in general,” Rumi admitted. She felt—sheepish. Though she enjoyed her ‘supreme umbrella sense’ she’d often disregarded it when she was feeling… mischievous. “Have you ever tried climbing a wet tree? It’s—a challenge.” She grinned. “And then the creek nearby gets super huge and the frogs and salamanders all—”

Zoey perked up immediately. “Frogs and salamanders?”

“Yes.” Rumi nodded. “Plus, I like to—um…” She could not find a very good way to run around like crazy and throw herself off wet branches into the rain and use the Honmoon to make crazy splashes. “Do obstacle course training. It’s good practice, you know, for emergencies.”

“And it’s fun,” Mira said, knowing.

Rumi laughed, and for some reason felt her cheeks warm. “And it’s fun.”

Mira nodded. “Then obviously we’re going with you.” She cleared her throat. “If we’re invited, or whatever.”

Rumi blinked. She hadn't thought they'd want to but—well. “Of course you are.”

“We are?” Zoey asked, beaming. “Heck yeah! I have the cutest raincoat! And hat! Mira, you absolutely have to see them. They’ll melt your stone cold heart dead!”

“Sure,” said Mira, disbelieving.

“I’ll wait for you guys to change.” Rumi smiled. It was always nice to see them getting along—plus, they were going to join her! She didn’t really know how she’d avoid all the ‘not-human’ behaviors she got up to, but she was confident she’d think of something. “The clouds are already here, but it won’t start coming down for another ten minutes or so.”

Mira frowned. “You’re going in that?”

Rumi looked down at herself. She was wearing her training clothes—put on before the scent of rain had hit the air. Thankfully she wore dark colors today, or else she’d be a mess of grass and mud stains. “Yes?”

Mira continued to stare, expectant. “Are you kidding?”

“No?”

“Rumi. You’re going to get sick.”

Rumi considered this, then disregarded it. “No. I’ll be alright.”

“Why are you chronically allergic to me caring about you?” Mira snapped—before she paused, closed her eyes, and looked like she was praying for patience. The tips of her ears and nose had gone red. “…I mean. Chronically allergic to caring about yourself?”

“She’s both, probably,” Zoey noted. “Look—I think she even got a rash from the mention of it.” She reached out for Rumi’s arm—

Rumi jolted back before she recognized the playful look in her eye.

“I’ll be alright,” she blurted, ignoring the implication of—everything that was just done and said. “I do this every rainstorm—when I’m not doing my training inside, I mean.”

Mira and Zoey shared a determined look.

Rumi, oddly enough, began to fear for her safety.

Her instincts were proven to be as sharp as ever when she was dragged to her room and asked to show the contents of her closet.

Mira groaned. “Why do you have seven pairs of the exact same hoodie?!”

“One for each day of the week. And also they’re not the same,” protested Rumi. “That one’s described as eggshell, and this one—”

“They’re the same,” Mira said firmly. “If I—who am easily the best dressed of us—say they’re the same, then they are the exact same.”

Rumi opened her mouth—took in Mira’s fiery expression—and then sat back down on her bed. Probably best not to argue.

“Why are your clothes organized in a gradient?” Zoey asked, somewhere down in the blue greens.

Rumi, who’d reorganized her closet about nine times since the whole clothes sharing thing started, shrugged. “Seemed efficient. I don’t know.”

“Your jackets are plentiful—but not a single rain coat,” Zoey said. “How?”

“I like the rain.”

“But—Celine is the most overprotective parent to ever exist,” Zoey protested. “She threatened me about hugging you the other day.”

Rumi raised a brow.

“What?” Mira paused.

“Yeah, I don't know something about ‘a huntress cherishes gifts that are painstakingly practiced’ and also ‘if you make Rumi cry the next time you hug her the Honmoon can surely survive skipping a generation.’”

Rumi pretended she didn't hear that. Zoey was probably exaggerating. “She knows I like the rain.”

“Miss ‘put on sunscreen or a demon is going to get you’ hasn't insisted on a raincoat?” Mira asked, poking her head out of the closet. Her expression was genuinely disbelieving.

Rumi sighed. “She knows I—”

Both Mira and Zoey rolled their eyes.

“Well, she does.” Rumi muttered, petulant.

“Also,” Zoey began, “Where are the hats you terrorized us with?”

Rumi flushed. “You have them all.” She fidgeted. “Um. Some of them I would like returned please.”

“So you can throw them at us again? Pass.” Mira rolled her eyes and went back to perusing her closet—Rumi made a note of all the pieces she lingered on.

She deflated. “So I can wear them. Summer isn’t over and I really don’t want a sunburn or anything…”

“Wait,” Zoey froze. “They're all yours?”

“What gave it away?” Mira asked, raising a brow. “The fact half the time she took it off her own head and chucked it at your face or the fact that her name is embroidered on the back of all of them?”

Zoey glowered. “Mira, you're totally asking for it.”

“Asking for what?” Mira raised a brow, sly. “Hamburger?”

Zoey pointed a passionate finger. “I’ll eat you alive!”

“And I’ll tell Celine that I saw you hug Rumi again.”

Zoey immediately launched herself toward Mira to do extreme violence. This seemed to quickly be shaping up to be a somewhat concerning pattern of behavior—but Mira was laughing and fighting (flailing) back, so Rumi decided it was on of those friendship things she didn't understand. She opened up her mouth to threaten sparring practice again—only to find it had rapidly become unnecessary.

Zoey yelped.

Mira grunted.

They hit the ground, limbs tangling with each other and accidentally bonking their heads together.

Mira’s back was to the floor, her hips and legs twisted to the side—pinned down on the thighs by Zoey’s knees. One of her arms had been thrown back, smushed tightly against her cheek by Zoey’s firm grip on the underside of her bicep. Mira’s free hand was spasming awkwardly against the side of her stomach. Zoey’s freehand was buried somewhere in Mira’s pink hair, presumably just as awkward.

They froze.

Rumi could not see their expressions—but an unfamiliar smell was suddenly radiating from their bodies. The sensation it brought on reminded her strongly of eating peaches—feeling the fuzz brush against her fingers as she enjoyed something sweet. It also made her feel oddly… warm on the back of her neck.

“Um, girls?” Rumi interjected, sheepish for a reason she couldn't quite explain. “…are we still going outside?”

They scrambled off of each other, faces pink, and Rumi was struck with a sudden pang of disappointment. She chalked it up to being unable to play around with them like that without being irresponsible, and promptly moved on with her life.

“Okay. Well, clearly you're going to have to borrow one of my rain coats,” Mira said, once she’d regained her composure. Her face was a little flushed, and she avoided looking at anything for too long. “You're not going out in the rain without protection.”

Rumi flopped backwards on her bed, sighing. She stared up at her ceiling feeling weirdly—grumpy. Why couldn't Mira just take her at her word? Celine always caved at puppy eyes, so maybe she should try those…? No. The situation was not so dire. “Alright,” she grumbled. Whatever got her outside the quickest.

Zoey cheered, throwing herself onto the bed beside her and beaming. Rumi knew at once she wouldn't forget the sight of her there. “You can take one of my rain hats, Rumi!”

“It’s settled,” said Mira. “Wait in the front. We’ll change and then bring the stuff.”

Rumi shot them a thumbs up, grumpy and flustered—hiding away her face by turning her back towards the door.

It took her a minute to recuperate.

She sighed. “For saving the world,” she reminded herself. “And friendship. And dead demons. And also the rain.”

With those affirmations in mind, Rumi managed to trudge her way to the front of the house as she waited for her—friends. She was very aware of the fact that the rain would end in about an hour, and she'd already missed valuable obstacle course training time by being stubborn.

(Crazy puddle time. She was missing her crazy puddle time.)

Mira arrived first.

She was wearing a bright red raincoat over a thin black hoodie and a pair of dark jeans, with stylish yet practical brown boots. Despite the fact that the activity Rumi had planned literally amounted to jumping in muddy puddles and slipping of tree branches, she'd switched out her earrings to something that matched her outfit. She was wearing familiar puffy scarf—undone and tempting Rumi to reach up and adjust it. Once Mira realized Rumi was looking, she glanced away and began to button up her coat. Her sleeve pulled back, revealing an elegant, silver watch.

In the crook of her arm was a transparent raincoat—but Rumi’s eyes had not moved from her neck.

“That's my scarf,” she said, stupidly. She’d meant to make a comment about mud or something, poke fun at Mira’s chronic need to accessorize—but. That was her scarf. Mira had kept it. It was the one piece of clothing that Rumi hadn't seen since she'd started forcefully sharing.

“You gave it to me,” Mira said, unimpressed. “Along with two pairs of gloves, some sunglasses, and a visor that makes me look like a grandma.”

“Yes,” agreed Rumi. “I’m glad you like it. The scarf, I mean.”

Mira shrugged. “It’s well made.”

It also clashed horribly with Mira’s otherwise well put together outfit.

Rumi’s large, open smile wasn't something that could be helped.

Zoey walked in—hair askew in a bright blue shiny waterproof bucket hat and matching raincoat. The yellow buttons were done haphazardly, and Rumi itched to move forward and correct them. She was wearing smooth looking waterproof pants and comically large yellow rainboots. She had not seen the need to accessorize herself with anything other than a ring or two on her hands, which were holding the bright yellow twin of her own hat.

“Your heart has totally been melted, huh?” Zoey grinned at Mira. “Did it skip a beat? Are you ready to swear your everlasting devotion to me?”

“No,” said Mira, clearly lying.

“You're both ridiculous,” Rumi decided, pleased. They’d dressed thoughtfully, and cutely, and Rumi had absolutely been planning on throwing mud at them for ‘training.’ She wasn't going to throw mud now, which was a new development she was surprised to find she wasn't especially disappointed by.

“Not exactly the compliment I was expecting, but I’ll take it.” Zoey grinned and winked.

Right. Compliments.

“And you're both super cute,” said Rumi, “if that wasn't already obvious.”

“You gotta give a girl a compliment every once in a while!” Zoey jabbed her in the side with a finger, which Rumi had graciously decided not to dodge. “You’ll give her a complex otherwise!”

Rumi nodded seriously. She’d ensure she remembered that.

Zoey beamed, hurrying forward and lifting the hat. “Now, let me crown the princess!”

“Of rain?” Mira asked.

“And bucket hats!”

Rumi smiled, inclining her head.

Though her eyes had fluttered closed, she could hear Zoey’s heartbeat momentarily sputter and speedup—like an old engine that needed to be revved a couple of times before it got going. This was something that was becoming… somewhat common in regards to Zoey. Rumi wondered if she was making her nervous somehow and felt—bad.

Zoey pulled away, and when Rumi opened her eyes she found her friend was still smiling. And that the peachy scent was back. “Your highness,” she said, in the snootiest accent she could manage.

“What does that make you, a court jester?” Mira muttered.

“I’m obviously her brave, loyal, and super hot assassin.”

“Of course,” Rumi said, placating, before not being able to help herself: “The bells on your hat are clearly for disguise.”

Zoey released a truly pitiful sounding whine.

Rumi blinked, lips parting slightly.

Mira was not so affected by what she'd just heard. “What are you, a dog?”

Zoey batted her eyelashes—opening her mouth to say something Rumi knew in her bones would be absolutely heinous.

Mira, likely sensing the same thing, surged forward to hand Rumi the raincoat.

Rumi stared and—felt a lump rise in her throat.

Mira sighed, likely misunderstanding her hesitation. “Just put it on.”

“I really don’t need—”

“I’m just letting you borrow it,” Mira continued, as though she hasn’t heard her. “So you have to give it back to me when we get inside.”

Rumi furrowed her brow. What…? Hmm. Was that how this sharing clothes thing was supposed to work? Was Rumi supposed to be demanding her things back a long time ago? She knew that Mira understood the social concept better than herself, and decided the best thing to do was act like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Alright,” she agreed, easy. The raincoat was a little bit big on her, but otherwise alright. It made awkward noises when she moved that she foresaw becoming annoying, but for now she could stomach it.

Mira’s expression—slackened. “You’re wearing it?”

“I did just put it on,” Rumi said, amused. Whether or not she’d keep it on was another matter entirely.

“Well, you’ve been fighting me on it the entire morning—of course I’m surprised you finally caved.”

“Because I don't need one,” she said, “but if you want me to wear it, I will.”

Zoey snickered. “A noble sacrifice.”

Mira shot her a withering look.

Rumi decided to ignore this. “Alright. Ready, girls?”

Zoey grinned, grabbing a couple of umbrellas out of the umbrella stand. “Absolutely one-hundred percent ready.”

Mira nodded, determined.

Rumi twitched. “Are you serious?”

They blinked, confused.

Rumi sighed. “And you both tried to scold me…”

First she went to Mira, reaching up and fixing the scarf. She undid the lazy way it was tossed around the neck, carefully pulling one end and twisting it until she could wrap it around her properly and ending in the front. She repeated the motion with the other end before crossing the two ends and tucking them under the loop. Rumi absentmindedly adjusted the tightness before stepping back, nodding in satisfaction.

Then, she turned her eyes on Zoey.

Zoey meeped.

Rumi ignored this, surging forward and beginning to undo the yellow buttons of the raincoat. She methodically and carefully buttoned them back up, the knuckles of her fingers brushing against the light sweatshirt Zoey had been wearing underneath until she got all the way to her sternum—pausing when she felt and heard the stuttering of a heartbeat.

She blinked, eyes flickering up from her hands to Zoey’s face.

Rumi decided that leaving one button undone was not much of a sin, and pulled back. “Okay, let's go.”

“Wait… she gets to have you button up her coat? Would I have got that too?”

“Don't complain! She did the scarf thing for you!”

“The rain is coming down hard,” Rumi said, ignoring them. “And loudly! I’m going to start running for the creek!”

“Wait—”

“You can't just—”

But Rumi was already throwing the door open, forcing laughter out of her mouth and leaping into the rain.

“Rumi, wait! Seriously? Don't leave without us!” Zoey yelped, hurrying to follow her.

“You're both going to get sick!” Mira shouted afterwards, following them outside with an open umbrella.

Rumi, hummingbird heart fluttering in her chest, made the executive decision to ignore those words too—but… For the first time since she'd met Mira and Zoey, pretending not to hear them had never been so hard.