Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

January, Southern California. The internationally-acclaimed pop trio HUNTR/X makes their way halfway across the globe to accept an invitation to record an EP at a renowned American music studio, and the world watches. 

The plan is simple. Spend three months in a rented house in Santa Monica, take private vehicles to and from the studio, and rest when they’re able. After all, they just finished an extensive tour across multiple continents, and it’s time to get back to their roots — making music. They are a band, after all.

There’s no cell service on the jet that carries them from home to an airport in Burbank, but the second the wheels touch the ground, Zoey’s phone creates a symphony of notification sounds. Mira always reminds her that she can turn the ringer off, but she insists that it’s necessary, because otherwise how will she know if her favorite gamer starts streaming? (She’s made an entire character on Twitch: an unrecognizable username and profile photo to ensure no one knows she is the Zoey HUNTR/X.)

She swears she can smell the Californian air from inside. Zoey moves to look out the window as the jet rolls across the tarmac, and the Burbank airport is a familiar sight — whenever she does travel to see her family, it’s her choice of a gateway in (and out) of the country. The haze of smog in the distance is something she’s used to, so when she turns to glance at Mira and sees her wrinkled nose, she jumps into a defense. “It’s prettier over the mountain,” she insists. 

“I believe you,” Mira accepts, relenting her judgemental expression. “Hey, didn’t you say the beach is in walking distance from the house?”

Zoey nods enthusiastically. “I did say that.”

Instead of joining the chatter as usual, Rumi remains silent. She’s still comfortable in her chair when the jet comes to a stop, and her friends are already moving about the cabin. Rumi isn’t entertained solely by her thoughts, however. She’s staring at her phone, which Zoey is certain must be almost dead from her intense texting in the air. There’s wifi, but Mira and Zoey never use it. Rumi never uses it either, usually, so something must be wrong. 

An attendant opens the door of the jet, and the stairs are lowered to the tarmac. Zoey’s the first in line to exit, jumping with excitement. She needs her feet on the Californian ground, and she needed it yesterday — despite feeling at home in Korea, a piece of her will always miss what she had when she didn’t have to worry about a single drop of rain. She’s halfway down the stairs when Mira’s voice echoes behind her, calling out to the only person who’s still on the jet.

“Rumi?” Mira asks, getting her attention. “You okay?”

That’s all it takes for Rumi to stand up, sighing heavily in frustration. “Jinu,” she grumbles, urgently sending a text before putting her phone in her pocket. “They’re so infuriating sometimes.”

Mira opens her mouth to speak, but as she lands right next to Zoey at the bottom of the exit stairs, Zoey gives her intense eye contact that tells her to shut it. It’s no secret that Mira had never liked Jinu, but she exercises self-control, running her fingers through her pink hair, working out the tangles. 

“I can brush it for you later,” Zoey offers, and Mira nods.

“Maybe.”

Bobby arrived two hours prior on a different plane, and has spent said hours putting everything into order. He rushes across the tarmac, ready to greet them with a team of individuals who swarm the girls to ensure they’re picture-perfect for cameras that are surely awaiting. Even if the media hasn’t caught wind of the fact that they landed, fans are everywhere. They were reminded of that when they did a brief US leg during their recent tour, and were nearly cornered in a mall somewhere in New York by a crowd of people wanting photos. 

They’re prepared this time. The trio is well-dressed considering they just spent eleven hours in the air, and makeup artists touch up their blank faces as they make their way towards a black SUV designated for taking them to their rental house. Mira and Rumi are matching alternate sets — Mira in blue shorts matching the shade of Rumi’s hoodie, and vice versa with Rumi’s yellow sweatpants and the jacket Mira wears layered over a graphic t-shirt. Zoey’s the odd one out, donned in colorfully patterned pants and an oversized black shirt with “I <3 LA” printed annoyingly large across the front. She jumps in place in her sneakers on the tarmac, letting out all of the energy she bottled up on the jet. 

“You’ve got the next forty-eight hours off,” Bobby informs the trio as they walk with him towards the SUV they’ll be taking to their rental. “Use it wisely. Your schedule is fully booked starting Tuesday.” Zoey has a question, but Bobby has a premature answer. He looks at Rumi when he speaks. “Except for Rumi’s birthday. Twenty-four hours of whatever you want.”

Everyone on the HUNTR/X team is good at ignoring the few people that are crowding the vehicle, snapping pictures as the girls get closer. At some point, Rumi had pulled her phone back out, and she’s scrolling on it now. She makes eye contact with Bobby briefly, nodding in acknowledgment. “That sounds perfect. All I really want is a day off.”

“We can make that happen,” Bobby assures. 

They reach the SUV, and Zoey’s taking in the sight of her hometown while the other girls file into the vehicle through the back door that’s held open by someone dressed in black. She’s the last to take her seat, and she stares out the open window. Bobby peeks his head in through said window after the door is shut, sending them off with helpful information — “Your bags will be at the house, and I’ve already taken care of everything so there shouldn’t be any staff there to bother you.” He produces a trio of two keys on keyrings, and Zoey distributes them amongst the girls. “If anyone gives you a hard time, and I mean anyone…” Bobby moves his hands, gesturing with emphasis. “I will deal with them.”

“Thanks, Bobby,” Zoey chirps, a smile on her face. “See you Tuesday?”

“See you Tuesday!” Bobby nods. The SUV begins to pull away from the curb, and he waves as they pick up speed. Zoey looks back through the rearview and can see him climbing into another identical vehicle, likely headed to the same building if not somewhere nearby. 

The drive takes precisely fifty-two minutes, and Zoey’s restless by the time they arrive at the house. The last thing she wanted after a long flight was to sit in traffic, but good things come with patience, and she bides her time. Mira engages in light conversation until she ends up dozing off — Zoey doesn’t know how she does it, and curses her own oversight of acquiring dramamine before getting in the SUV. 

The nausea begins to settle the moment Zoey steps out of the vehicle. She’s immediately met with an ocean breeze, courtesy of a beachfront rental. The SUV fits perfectly in the driveway, but she doesn’t expect it to stay, because the three of them have drivers to take them where they need to go. 

The house is well-kept, with tall hedges shielding the windows from the street and flowers bringing color to the environment. The building itself is a stale white color, and Zoey can see through the windows that it’s the same on the inside. Despite the boring paint job, there’s an ornate tile pattern laid down on the walkway to the door, and elaborate light fixtures on either side of the wooden frame. The doorbell looks like it costs hundreds of dollars, and the knob is perfectly polished. The SUV pulls away, leaving the three of them alone on the front stoop. 

While Rumi unlocks the front door, Zoey peeks around the side of the house. She can barely see the horizon of the ocean over the tall fence, and she’s already itching to see the backyard that overlooks the beach. Bobby’s arrangements are perfect, and there’s not a soul in sight. No staff members, no professional greeting, not even Bobby himself stopping by to double-check that everything’s okay. The three bandmates visibly relax when they finally enter the house and shut the door behind them. 

“Nice,” Mira’s the first to speak, eyes scanning the house from where they stand in the entryway. It’s the only room that seems closed off, at least from what Zoey can see. The foyer is perfectly set up for managing people who enter and exit events, but none of them plan to host anything while they’re in town. This house is a safe space for the group, and they plan to keep it that way.

The only thing greeting them is a card on the white table by the door, which is noticed by Zoey after she tosses her keys into a small ceramic dish intended as a home for them. “Welcome to LA,” Zoey reads aloud while Rumi and Mira kick off their shoes. She follows suit, abandoning her own sneakers after she sets the card back down. “Very kind.”

Rumi’s the first to venture further than the foyer, pulling out her phone again and heading towards a stairwell railed off by glass panes and silver metal. Mira beelines for the kitchen, determined to check out the snack situation. Zoey takes in the house, looking around the space with wide eyes. The floor plan is as open as she imagined it would be, and the walls are the same white she predicted from her observation earlier. 

The entire place presents itself in a midcentury-modern style, and the only color comes from decor. The living room and kitchen are adjacent to each other, a wide archway behaving as a makeshift divider between them. 

Zoey examines the living room first. The sectional couch is burnt orange, the rug is oriental, and the coffee table is a natural slab of dark oak wood propped up on rock-like legs. It’s attempting to look like a part of nature, but Zoey thinks it fits right in with the rest of the manufactured furniture. The only thing that feels natural is the fern sitting on the mantle above a fireplace that’s surely rarely used — even in the dead of January, the central heat is all that’s needed. But even the fern is fake, making the Hunters the only source of life in such a place.

The best part about the living room is the view. On one wall, there’s a flat-screen television that rivals the one she has in her room back home. On the opposite wall are large floor-to-ceiling windows staring straight towards the waterfront, and Zoey breathes deeply as if she can smell the ocean spray from behind the glass. She’s envisioning spending countless hours on the couch staring at the water when Mira interrupts, calling her name. 

Zoey wanders into the kitchen as she’s summoned, bare feet traipsing across the patterned runner that’s under the archway. Her eyes take in the abstract art on the walls by the archway, square frames lined up in a perfect arrangement. Mira’s bright pink hair comes into view, and Zoey gasps in excitement at the sight of the breakfast nook tucked under a decorative chandelier. 

The kitchen is spotless and lively, with ribbons of gold folded into the marble countertops and a baby blue tile backsplash. The flowers in a vase on the counter are actually real — pink spray roses and baby’s breath compliment each other in a pitcher of water. The crown molding on the corners of the ceiling adds to the feeling of luxury, and the cabinets are full of clean dishes and snacks that may as well have been taken from their kitchen back home. Mira’s standing in front of the open silver fridge, and she closes it the moment Zoey appears in her peripheral.

“We’re totally stocked,” she informs. “They even got the bokbunja that you like.”

Zoey sits on a steel barstool and props her elbows up on the counter, dropping her head into her hands, fingers sitting on her own cheeks. “You mean, that you like. And you’re welcome, I asked Bobby to make sure he put it in here for you.”

It seems like a kind gesture, but it’s deeper than that. Zoey’s feelings for Mira developed the same way a monsoon sweeps in — slowly, then all at once. Ever since the rain started, she’s been unable to find adequate shelter. No matter where she tries to hide, the storm finds her, and it seems intent on making sure her heart is always flooded with affection. Everything Mira does draws Zoey in closer, from the way she laughs when they’re watching a comedy to the glare she gets in her eyes when something’s pissing her off. If Zoey had it her way, nothing would piss Mira off. She would take care of it for her, eliminating whatever threatened her happiness, ensuring every day is as good as it can possibly be. 

“You know me so well,” Mira remarks, standing on the opposite side of the counter from Zoey’s seat, hands finding the marble. “Do you want to check out the beach?”

“Uh, yes please!” Zoey nods enthusiastically. “I’ll see if Rumi wants to join.”

“Meet you in the backyard.”

Mira begins moving towards the back door, and Zoey heads up the stairs towards the site of Rumi’s disappearance. All of the doors are open, save for one, so Zoey deduces it must be Rumi’s bedroom of choice. She raises her hand and raps her knuckles on the wood, rocking on her heels as she patiently waits.

Rumi opens the door a moment later, lowering her phone from her ear to her chest. 

Before she can say a word, Zoey speaks. “Mira and I are going down to the water,” she says. “Come with?”

Rumi sighs, shaking her head. “You guys go ahead, I’ll catch up.”

She doesn’t say anything else, putting the phone back to her ear and closing the door. Zoey stands in the hallway staring at the wood until she wills her feet to move, heading downstairs towards the back door. It’s made of sliding glass, and it’s already ajar as a result of Mira’s recent exit. Mira stands barefoot on the wood porch, and she turns to look at Zoey when she appears by her side. 

“No Rumi?”

Zoey shakes her head, sliding the door shut behind her. “I think she’s on the phone with Jinu.”

Mira groans, dramatically throwing her head back towards the sky. She walks down two steps to the faux grass and crosses it to open the back gate. She holds it for Zoey, and they both exit to the paved pathway right outside. “I’m sick of Jinu, Jinu, Jinu.” She uses a particular tone when she repeats their name, and Zoey knows it means she’s upset, even if she won’t say it. 

“Same,” Zoey agrees. “I miss Rumi.”

The pair of them walk towards the water, kicking up sand as they go. The cuffs of Zoey’s pants drag the ground, but she couldn’t care less, fixated on reaching the water. She steals a side glance at her friend, noting how the color of her hair seems to complement the setting sun. 

For once, Zoey doesn’t have anything to say.

The best part about loving Mira is the comfortable silence. Zoey likes to talk, but her urge to fill the silence isn’t as loud when the two of them are alone. And even when Zoey does talk, Mira always listens, even if she’s much quieter by comparison. 

When Zoey goes to bed at night and really thinks about it, she can imagine the way Mira would look dressed up in a white suit at an altar. Zoey herself would be in a white gown, preferably asymmetrical, definitely something with shimmer and sparkle. The reception would be outdoors, maybe somewhere with tall trees and stargazing potential, away from the noise of the city–

Comfortable silence is nice, but it hasn’t been silent. Mira’s been complaining about Jinu this entire time, and Zoey barely catches the tail end of her sentence before Mira sighs deeply, grabbing her full attention. 

“Zoey? Are you even listening?”

“Yes!” Zoey insists, maybe too enthusiastic. “I am definitely listening.”

Mira sighs, shaking her head. “We don’t have to talk about this. It doesn’t really matter.”

“Yes, it does,” Zoey nods, voice serious. “Your thoughts and feelings are valid.”

“I think Jinu’s annoying. And I feel annoyed.”

The conversation about Jinu is laid to rest as they reach the water, and Zoey immediately hikes up her pants to dip her toes in the water. It’s colder than expected, and she practically yelps.

“That water looks disgusting,” Mira raises an eyebrow, hanging back. 

Zoey looks around and begins to understand why Mira’s so hesitant to join her. There’s trash littering the ground, and the water is murky. Still, it’s the beach she grew up going to, and she’s unfazed by it. “It’s good for your immune system!” She waves her arm, attempting to beckon Mira closer. 

“I’m going to step on a needle,” Mira sighs, but she steps into the water with Zoey. Well, she steps in for all of two seconds before inhaling sharply and stepping backwards. It’s not a needle she’s hurt by — no, it’s the pensive stab of icy water. “Holy shit. How are you standing in that?”

Zoey shrugs. “It’s not that cold. You warm up to it.”

“There’s no way that water is warmer than thirteen degrees.”

Zoey kicks the water, spraying it up towards Mira’s bare legs. Mira yelps and backs up, before exacting her revenge. She does the same in return, but Zoey’s pants are barely hiked up, so the water threatens to drench the fabric. 

“Hey!” Zoey exclaims, stooping to use her hands as a wave rolls in. “Not fair.”

Despite expressing her frustration, Mira laughs. She takes a few steps back, avoiding the incoming water, and holds her hands up to shield herself from Zoey’s aquatic onslaught. “Okay, okay,” she surrenders, a smile on her face. 

Zoey turns to face the horizon, breathing in deeply, outstretching her arms to feel every bit of the breeze. She doesn’t step out of the water, soaking in every drop she can. “I missed this.”

Mira raises an eyebrow, eyes trained in the same direction. “I thought you hated it here.”

Zoey shrugs, seemingly indifferent. “I used to feel strongly about it when I was younger. I miss a lot of things now.” Her eyes shift to Mira. “Remember the last time we were in the States?”

“Boy, do I,” Mira rolls her eyes.

The memory is sour, but Zoey has a way of revisiting bad things in a good light. She laughs, envisioning Mira’s onstage blunder — her wide eyes under the stage lights when she blanked on the next verse, the way the harmonies layered over nothing for half a second. “It was kind of funny.”

“To you.” Mira’s eyes meet Zoey’s, and Zoey’s heart skips a beat. “You’ve never messed up lyrics like that–”

“Hey, there’s a first time for everything–”

“–during a live performance, no less.”

“I mess up all the time,” Zoey shrugs, still smiling. It’s hard not to when she’s around Mira — she hasn’t loved anyone like this, and she doubts she ever will. “It happens.”

“Yeah, in the studio.”

Zoey can’t argue with that. She spends her time in the studio fumbling over words until they fit together just right, tweaking the syllables and adjusting the tempo to ensure she hits all the beats. She prides herself on her ability to construct a dynamic song, but it doesn’t always come out perfect. There have been plenty of days in which Rumi and Mira take a break while Zoey finalizes her melodies, and there will certainly be more now that they’re gearing up for another EP. 

“Are you hungry?” Mira asks, facing the horizon again. The sun is slowly beginning to sink over the horizon, but Zoey feels more awake than ever. She slept on the jet, and it’s barely ten in the morning back home. Jet lag is one of her least favorite feelings, but her body has her back in adjusting timezones, so she’s guaranteed to feel better before their forty-eight hour timer is up.

Zoey nods, turning back to look at the house as an oncoming wave wraps around her ankles. “I could eat.” A beat, then she goes on: “Oh! Can you make that pasta? The one Rumi likes. Maybe it’ll get her out of her room.”

Mira nods. “Good idea. We can head back, I’ll get started on dinner, and you can figure out how to work the speakers in the living room.”

Zoey lets out an excited cheer and retreats from the water only to begin the walk back to the house. The cuffs of her pants are damp, and they continue to collect sand on the journey, but she isn’t bothered. They reach the back gate, and Mira opens it. Zoey enters first, and opens the sliding back door for Mira to enter, a beautiful unspoken trade. Zoey hangs back to use the faucet intended for rinsing, hiking her pants up again to avoid them from getting any wetter. 

“I’m going to change,” Zoey says when she enters the house, sliding the door closed behind her. “I’ll take the downstairs bedroom. The other one is bigger, anyway.”

“I’ll sleep wherever,” Mira shrugs. She’s never been particular about the arrangements when the trio stays anywhere other than home, and Rumi usually chooses first, so Zoey’s often the deciding factor between the remaining duo. 

Her bags are with Mira’s in the entryway, and she takes the one she needs, leaving the smallest trail of water droplets in her wake. Rumi’s bags are nowhere to be seen, so Zoey figures she came out of her room while they were down by the water and moved them. Speaking of Rumi, Zoey can hear her arguing on the phone while walking past the entrance to the stairwell. She wonders how long this Jinu situation will last, and if it will affect their efficiency in the studio. Then she shakes off the thought — Rumi knows what she’s doing, and she’s capable enough to settle whatever’s going on between her and her partner.

Zoey passes a closed door that she suspects is a storage closet of some sort, and stands in the next open doorway. The room she’s chosen is currently flooded with orange and pink hues of the sun threatening to dip under the horizon, and it bathes the pristine white bedspread. There are two doors against one wall, leading to a closet and a bathroom. While the main house is made up of hardwood floors, this room is carpeted, and it’s comfortable underneath her feet. “Hell yeah,” Zoey breathes to herself, rolling her suitcases over to the closet. 

Upon opening the door, she discovers that the closet is particularly small. If she wants to hang up all of the clothing she brought, she’ll need to ask Mira and Rumi what their closet situations are and barter for more space. 

That’s a problem for later. Zoey lifts one of the suitcases, laying it down onto the king size bed. She tugs at the zipper and carefully opens it. There’s a comfortable pair of pajamas right on top, and they’re practically calling her name — Zoey, put us on, imagine eating that pasta and sinking into the couch with your best friends. 

Who is she to deny comfort when she has the opportunity, especially when it’s heralded with unicorns on a pink backdrop? Sure, her travel outfit wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable, but she’s been wearing it all day. 

On second thought, maybe she should clean up first. Zoey’s gaze drifts from the pajamas to the door of the bathroom. She can’t put on the Most Comfortable Pajamas before washing the jet air off of her skin and out of her hair. She peeks her head out into the hallway, voice echoing down to the kitchen.

“Mira!” 

“Yeah?” Mira responds, loud enough for Zoey to clearly hear. 

“I’m going to take a shower!”

Mira shouts back, “You’ve got twenty minutes!”

“Heard!” 

Zoey closes her door and springs into action. Her shower record is seven minutes and twenty-three seconds, but her average shower is closer to the thirty-minute mark, so she’s going to keep an eye on the time. And what better way to do that than to play some tunes?

She has a small Bluetooth speaker in her bag that’s the pinnacle of portable music. She has a playlist of songs that she rotates through, but she’s also been working on a few demos, and she knows she can work a few things out if she tries. Zoey turns on the hot water, queues up the demos, and steps out fourteen minutes and four seconds later.

In the kitchen, Mira’s finishing up dinner. Zoey wanders down the hallway, hair in a towel, decked out in her famed comfortable pajamas. Mira comments on her outfit the moment she’s in sight, shoulders falling.

“Damn, I forgot mine.”

They have matching sets, and they coordinate wearing them. Rumi has the same set, but she’s not a fan the way the other two are. Zoey shakes her head, feigning disappointment that’s obviously fake.

“Better luck next time,” she says, reaching into the bowl of green salad Mira’s prepared. Her fingers are determined to find a cucumber, but Mira slaps her hand away.

“Hey,” she scolds. “Not yet.”

Zoey groans dramatically, and begins to retreat from the kitchen. “I’ll get Rumi.”

“Thank you.”

Luckily for Mira and Zoey, Rumi’s finally ready to face her friends. Zoey insists that Rumi leave her phone behind, eliminating her chance of becoming distracted by the device. It doesn’t take much convincing — Rumi appears to be as fed up with Jinu as her friends are. They veer clear of the topic during conversation over dinner, and it’s easy to talk about other things, because they’re finally able to discuss anything beyond music, fans, and the safety of the general public.

Somehow, the conversation loops around to sightseeing. It’s Mira and Rumi’s first time in California, so Zoey takes charge when it comes to the details. “We have to see the Hollywood sign,” Zoey insists. “And the pier, but it’s not far from here.” There’s a pause, and she continues. “Anything else?”

“You tell me,” Mira says, pushing her chair back. She stands to her feet and begins collecting the dirty plates sitting in front of each of them, stacking them together and tossing the silverware on top. “You’re the pro, I’m just here for the ride.”

Zoey stands up in turn and brings the empty salad bowl into the kitchen. There’s a small amount of pasta left on the stove, but it’s hardly enough for a full serving, so she scrapes it into the trash can by the dishwasher at the end of the counter. Then she puts the dishes in the sink, right on top of the plates Mira dropped in moments before. 

The trio ends up on the orange couch after they’re finished tidying up. Keyword tidying — the dishes are left unwashed, but the table is clear and the ingredients used are all back in their places. Rumi sits in the middle on the couch, Zoey and Mira to either side. The couch faces the large window, but it’s impossible to see the ocean now that night has fallen. 

“Sightseeing,” Zoey brings the topic back up. “I checked the schedule, and we have free time next Saturday between the studio and the press event. I think we can sneak away for a few hours.”

“What about the honmoon?” Rumi asks. It’s a genuine question, and a fair concern, but Zoey isn’t fazed.

“You saw it,” Zoey says. “We sealed it already. It’ll be fine.”

Rumi shakes her head, and Zoey can see the anxiety in her body. It’s something she’s always struggled with, but Mira and Zoey are good at supporting her, talking through whatever’s on her mind. If Rumi needs to talk about the honmoon, her fellow Hunters will always hear her out. 

“Zoey’s right,” Mira chimes in. “Besides, we’ll feel it if something’s off. When have we ever missed a tear?” Before anyone can jump in and remind her about the time they nearly lost everything, Mira rushes to continue. “That doesn’t count.”

“Please, Rumi,” Zoey presses her palms together, making a show of praying. “Just for one day. We don’t have to go far.”

Rumi thinks for a moment. Zoey would swear she could see the gears turning in her head, weighing out the options laid about before her. Then she sighs in surrender, and Mira lights up.

That’s all they really need — something fun to do, time alone with each other, and good laughs. While Zoey elaborates on her plans for a grand tour of Los Angeles, Mira and Rumi exchange a knowing glance and listen with endearing attention. 

+++

Tensions pick up over the following morning, so laughing will have to wait. Zoey can’t pinpoint the reason why things are off until Mira asks about Jinu in passing and Rumi remains avoidant. That’s all she needs to draw the conclusion that things are still bad between Rumi and her partner, and she says nothing of it. 

Zoey hates tension, and it’s even worse on a day when she’s supposed to be relaxing. She can hardly breathe in the stuffy air of the house — something’s off. Zoey doesn’t want to pry Rumi for answers, but her commitment to minding her business begins to diminish. At some point, Rumi goes for a walk to get some fresh air, but it still feels muddy inside.

The trio must have earned a miracle, because said tension only lasts for twelve hours.

The moment Rumi breaks up with Jinu, something shifts in the house she shares with her bandmates. The second she steps foot through the front door after the fated conversation, Mira’s gaze unpromptedly shifts to the entryway and Zoey sits up straight.

Rumi’s entrance happens at precisely eight thirty-seven in the evening. It’s dark in the house, and the living room is illuminated by colorful lamps. Mira and Zoey are stretched out on either ends of the couch, dressed in pajamas, basking in the restfulness of movie night. There’s a documentary playing on the television, but now that Rumi is back, the attention has shifted from sharks to the star of society.

“Is it over?” Zoey asks, curious as ever. 

“Finally,” Rumi groans, tossing her keys on the table by the door and kicking her shoes off.

Finally. Rumi and Jinu had been dating for nearly a year, and it was twelve months too long. Zoey doesn’t know anyone else with bipolar disorder, but she is certain their relationship would have earned a diagnosis — if the dynamic had been on the same medication as herself, maybe it would’ve lasted. 

“You were too good for them, anyway.” Zoey remarks, turning back to the screen. “Now you have no excuse for missing movie nights.”

Rumi sighs. “I think I’m going to sit this one out.” When both Zoey and Mira give her disappointed glances, Rumi shakes her head. “I just went through twelve months of mental tribulation. I’ve earned an off night.”

“Could’ve been a lot shorter if you gave it up the first time they lied to you,” Mira shrugs, words spoken quietly. Zoey bumps her shoulder gently. “Hey!” Mira exclaims, rubbing the point of contact. 

“Thirteen months,” Zoey corrects. “Didn’t you already celebrate your anniversary?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Mira interjects. “They were a complete waste of your time, Rumi. You can do better.”

“Yeah,” Zoey chimes in. “You’re hot, you’re fun, and you’re one of the biggest pop stars of all time.”

“You could be more fun,” Mira grumbles. There’s another gentle bump from Zoey against Mira’s shoulder, and another complaint: “Zoey-”

“Take your time, Rumi,” Zoey is as upbeat as ever. “We’ll be here if you want to join us later. You can pick the movie next time.”

Mira does her best to absolve her own comments. “What Zoey said. Fuck that guy, we’re happy to have you back.”

The tension Rumi’s carrying visibly eases — her shoulders relax, and she breathes a quiet sigh of relief. “Thanks, guys,” she says. “I just need a night to myself. I’m sure I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

Zoey doesn’t believe that for a second. The last time Rumi went through a breakup, it took her a week to consider leaving her room. This time around, Zoey’s ready to step up her game as a best friend. Still, she knows when it’s time to give her friends space, and now is one of those times. When Rumi sighs and turns to leave, Zoey sits quietly. 

She only speaks when she hears Rumi’s bedroom door shut, and she turns to Mira. 

“Do you have to give her such a hard time? You know she’s going through it right now.”

Mira sighs, resting her head on the back of the couch, eyes trained on the high ceiling. Zoey’s focus is on her friend. “Sorry,” she shrugs. “I didn’t mean to be rude, guess it came out wrong.”

“You could say that again,” Zoey says. 

There’s a moment of silence, and it lasts longer than is comfortable. Normally, Zoey and Mira are excellent at doing nothing together. There’s even a documentary still playing on the screen, coming to a close as it recaps the facts discussed in its hour-and-a-half runtime. The quiet provides ample thinking time, in which Zoey flips through the reasonings for why things feel awkward. 

There must be something Zoey doesn’t know, which she hates. Zoey prides herself on knowing everything — well, almost everything. If there’s a social gathering, Zoey knows where it is. If there’s an argument between friends or a breakup between lovers, Zoey has the details. And if there’s a secret crush, Zoey certainly has the experience under her belt to recognize it.

Her eyes light up with realization. “You like her,” she concludes, as Mira interrupts:

“I don’t like her.”

“Oh my god, you totally do!” Zoey’s beaming from ear to ear, like she’s uncovered the most well-kept secret of them all. She’s earned the right to be privy to Mira’s feelings, something she’s been working her way into for months. “I knew you were hiding something.”

Mira groans, covering her eyes with her arm before staring upwards again. “Yeah, hiding the most embarrassing secret of all time.”

Zoey shrugs, moving to lay her head back against the couch, mirroring Mira. There’s nothing interesting on the ceiling, though, save for the chandelier — Zoey doesn’t understand how the lack of stimulation is desirable. She’d rather stare at the rolling credits of the documentary, which she does. “I don’t think it’s embarrassing.”

“Probably because you aren’t the one dealing with it,” Mira responds.

That would be an apt analysis if it were true. Instead, Zoey’s reminded of her own secret locked away, something that no one knows. Being important enough to know about Mira’s feelings doesn’t necessarily mean the favor has to be returned — after all, Mira has no plans to confess her feelings to her crush, so why should Zoey?

“Yeah,” Zoey laughs, playing it off. Mira seems suspicious, but Zoey gets ahead of the situation. “I don’t like anyone,” she begins. “I miss it, though. It’s fun. I like the adrenaline rush.” Good save, Zoey. “Do you feel it when she walks in the room?”

Mira hesitates, and Zoey’s already jumping in again.

“Don’t say anything,” Zoey says. “Debrief?”

A debrief is something coined by the two of them, and it involves drinking heavily in order to “get the truth flowing”. The drink of choice is almost always the same. Mira’s favorite bokbunja has its own place in the kitchen, because Zoey’s hardly picky. That, and Zoey would give Mira whatever she wants. But Zoey can’t have Mira, so the next best thing is a debrief that gives her insight into the latest development.

“Okay,” Mira agrees. 

Zoey jumps up almost immediately. “Yay! Oo, do you want to move to my room?”

Mira finally sits up from the couch, and Zoey’s pleased to see that her energy levels seem to have shifted since her proposal. “Sure.”

Zoey walks into the kitchen, opening the fridge. The bokbunja is sitting in the door, chilled and ready to be put to use. She reaches for it and shuts the fridge after she’s acquired it, following as Mira starts to move down the hallway towards Zoey’s room. 

The door is ajar, because Zoey believes in keeping it open. She had a cat at one point, and while said cat has since passed, she’s used to allowing the animal access to her room at all times. Mira is the first in her room, and she flips the light switch to illuminate the dark space.

“These people really hate color,” Mira remarks, dropping down onto the bed. Zoey laughs in response, shutting the door behind her. 

Zoey’s the one who opens the wine bottle, but Mira earns first drink. Zoey hands it over, watching Mira’s lips meet the glass. “Take it easy,” Zoey reminds her, thinking about the last time they had a debrief.

The incident she’s speaking of is much more amusing in hindsight than it was at the time of happening. The two of them had been in Zoey’s room back home, knee-deep in a serious conversation about the logistics of bees flying, laughing so hard they were crying. Mira took a drink that ended up going down her windpipe. In an attempt not to cough the liquid all over Zoey’s bedspread, she ended up snorting it up through her nose, and it ended up in the same place regardless of her efforts. The event was definitely a result of the pair of them becoming much more inebriated than intended in a short time frame, and Zoey’s within reason to tease Mira about repetition.

Mira chuckles, clearly reminiscing just the same. It’s been a few months since said incident, and it only gets funnier as time goes on. She reaches out and touches the duvet carefully. “How much do you think they’ll dock from the deposit if I ruin this?”

Zoey laughs and takes the bottle, drinking. “It can’t be that expensive.”

“Twelve hundred dollar duvet coming right up,” she jokes. 

“Yeah, right,” Zoey laughs, handing the bottle back. “And the carpet? Fifteen–”

“Seventeen hundred,” Mira interrupts, taking her turn to drink and passing it over again. 

Zoey’s tone is dramatic when she speaks. “You’re drinking really fast, I’m concerned–”

“I’m taking it easy, I promise,” Mira says with a soft smile. 

Zoey takes a drink, never breaking eye contact with Mira as she does so. “I definitely believe you.”

“Come on, this is nothing like the last time.” She takes the bottle back from Zoey, pausing before taking another long drink. She hesitates, acting as if something’s wrong, like she might just run up the bill for the bedding. 

“Stop! It’s not funny!” Zoey can’t help but laugh. 

Both of them feel lighter already from the alcohol and the happiness — whoever said laughter was good medicine must have been in the room while the two of them were together.

The pair of them settle from their peals of laughter, Zoey clutching her stomach and Mira holding the bokbunja. Comfortable silence lingers between them, and it lasts for all of a minute before Zoey speaks up.

“So,” she begins, tone upturned to indicate curiosity. “Tell me about Rumi! How long have you liked her?”

“Years,” Mira groans.

Zoey’s heart sinks into her stomach, and she takes a long drink from the bottle. “Years,” she repeats, emphasizing positivity in her voice so she doesn’t betray her own emotions. “Why haven’t you said anything?”

“I don’t know,” Mira confesses. “I think I was too scared to tell her, and then Jinu came along, so it felt like a waste. I didn’t want to mess things up between all of us. I still don’t.”

Zoey understands that much. It’s the very same reason why she hasn’t said anything to Mira, and it’s the cause of regret now that she’s learned about her crush. 

Mira continues on, taking the bottle from Zoey and drinking. “I thought it would pass. All of my other crushes have.”

That sparks curiosity in Zoey. Are they drunk enough for her to press further? If there’s a flicker of hope that Mira’s felt anything for her, she needs to know. She searches for the right way to ask, and settles on: “Anyone of note?”

Mira thinks for a second. Then the seconds nearly stretch to a minute, and Zoey wonders if she said something wrong. But the silence gives way to a sigh, and another drink from the bottle, and Mira hands the bokbunja to Zoey. “I don’t think so,” she decides.

If Zoey’s heart had sunk to her stomach beforehand, it may as well be in her toes. “Oh.” Mira raises an eyebrow, and before it peaks on her forehead, Zoey’s rushing to say something else. “I mean, that’s a good thing, right?”

“I don’t know anymore.” Zoey hasn’t had another sip from the bottle yet, but Mira holds her hand out to take it back.

“Woah there,” Zoey laughs. “What happened to taking it easy?”

“I’ve earned this,” Mira sighs. Zoey relinquishes control of the bottle, and Mira takes a long drink. Zoey’s hyperfocused on her, beyond what a friend should be, but she hardly notices until Mira says, “This is ridiculous. I wish I could turn my feelings off.”

“I wish that was how it worked.” Zoey takes the bottle without asking for permission, drinking in turn. 

Mira seems curious. “Oh, really? Who’s caught your eye?”

“No one,” Zoey responds, much too fast. “I just mean, in general.”

Mira’s almost suspicious, and Zoey can’t let that happen. She racks her brain for anything to say, desperate to divert from the subject they landed on. 

“So!” She begins, cutting Mira off as she opens her mouth to speak. “Rumi. Are you ever going to tell her?”

Mira lays back on the bed, exhaling all of the tension in her body. “Should I? Feels risky. After all, we are in a band together.”

“So?” Zoey says. “Fleetwood Mac did that. Like, a lot.”

“And that worked out so well,” Mira’s tone drips with sarcasm.

 Zoey just shrugs, upbeat as ever. “I’m just saying. Who knows what’ll happen? That’s the fun of it.”

What is she doing? She likes Mira so much it hurts to think about it, but she’s practically convincing Mira to confess her feelings for someone else. It doesn’t matter that it’s Rumi, the same Rumi that Zoey secretly loved for years, the same as Mira. To be honest, Zoey hasn’t given much thought to the fact that her feelings have shifted between her fellow Hunters. It’s more complicated than she has time to think about.

It doesn’t matter, anyway. She can’t have Rumi the way she used to, and she certainly can’t have Mira. If Mira is brave enough to confront her own feelings, she may as well go ahead and confess. Zoey has hardly considered the possibility of spilling the beans, and she’s resolved to give up. Sure, she’s cheering Mira on in doing the very same thing she won’t, but it’s because Mira is probably better at this kind of thing.

Mira’s newly-revealed secret makes Zoey glad she never said anything about her own feelings. The closest Zoey can get to Mira without betraying herself is by taking care of her, and that works out just fine. When Mira was sick two months ago, Zoey was the one trying to replicate Mira’s soup recipes and bring her tea whenever she needed it. When the two of them haphazardly do their nails for fun on an off night, Zoey does Mira’s left hand for her. And when they have alone time and a bottle of bokbunja, Zoey longs to touch Mira in any way she’s allowed.

She hands the bottle back to Mira, freeing up her hands as if she knows she’ll accept her proposal.

“Let me brush your hair?” 

It’s an offer and a request, and it’s Zoey’s favorite way of demonstrating her care. It’s not an uncommon act, but it’s been a while since the two of them had the peace and quiet to sit down and let Zoey work out the knots in Mira’s long hair. On a rare occasion, Mira lets Zoey braid it after the fact. Zoey’s had enough to drink that she’ll ask once she’s worked out the tangles.

Mira opens her mouth, and for a moment, Zoey thinks she’ll decline. Instead, Mira sighs. “Okay, fine.” She hands out the bottle. “Put this on the dresser?”

Zoey takes it, standing up. She sets the bottle on the dresser before making a beeline for the bathroom. Her eyes scan the counter for the hairbrush, and she returns to Mira once she’s holding it. Zoey sits on the edge of the bed. “Turn around,” she instructs in a gentle tone. Mira obeys, putting her back to Zoey, reaching up to let down the hair that’s pulled out of her face.

Mira sighs in satisfaction when her hair is finally free to fully hang over her shoulders, slipping her hair ties onto her own wrist. Zoey waits until Mira moves her hair behind her back, and she reaches out with the brush.

Her own hair has never reached further than halfway down her back, but Zoey’s no stranger to taking care of longer hair. Her sister refused to cut hers except to get rid of dead ends, and she grew up braiding it for her before school. She runs the brush through Mira’s hair, working her way from the bottom up. There isn’t a sound in the room until Mira absentmindedly begins to hum. It’s a quiet tune Zoey hasn’t heard before, but it’s catchy enough for her to pick up on. While the brush works through the tangles in Mira’s pink locks, Zoey finds a simple harmony to hum in return. There’s no talking until Mira’s hair hangs straight and even, beautifully detangled and only slightly unkempt from the extensive travel day they’ve had.

“That’s a good song,” Zoey comments, putting the brush down and running her fingers through Mira’s hair to check for any missed tangles. “Where did you hear it?”

“It’s something I’ve been playing around with,” Mira responds. “I can’t decide if it’s worth putting work into.”

“I think we can definitely use it, at least for a chorus.” Zoey pulls Mira’s hair back, as if she’s going to put it in a ponytail. She doesn’t have any hair ties, however, because the two Mira had are still on her wrist. But before she can ask if Mira wants to keep her hair down, Mira’s speaking.

“Can you braid it?” 

Zoey nods immediately, forgetting Mira can’t see her, and her heart skips a beat at the request. It’s rare for Mira to let her braid her hair, and it’s never really been something that Mira asks for. Zoey’s the one who always offers, and she’s used to being declined most times. She’s learned that Mira’s hair acts as a sort of safety blanket, so any opportunity to touch it at all is understood as a sign of earning Mira’s utmost trust. 

“Yes,” Zoey says. She leans over Mira’s shoulder and holds out a hand. “Do you have a hair tie?”

Mira pulls one off of her wrist and passes it back. Zoey slips it on her own wrist and divides Mira’s hair into three relatively-even sections. She begins to work, expertly crossing the sections over each other, twisting the locks into a tight braid. She does it every day on her own hair before she puts it up in buns, and she’s helped Rumi with her hair more than once, so she knows what she’s doing. It has to be perfect for Mira, Zoey decides, and it is. There’s not a single dropped strand or mishap in intertwining them. When she reaches the end of Mira’s hair, Zoey keeps it held together with the borrowed hair tie.

“There,” Zoey says, sitting back. “All done.” She stands up to retrieve the bottle of raspberry wine from the dresser. The weight of it feels lighter by the minute, and she contributes to its emptiness by taking a drink.

Mira turns to face Zoey, reaching back to feel the braid with her fingers. “Thanks,” she says. Zoey expects her to get up and find a mirror, maybe the one in Zoey’s bathroom. But right now is different, because Mira’s comfortable enough to stay in the moment. 

It’s another moment of pride for Zoey, because she’s reminded that Mira trusts her enough to be herself. It should be a given by now, but Zoey’s insecurities have a way of affecting the way she thinks, and feeling appreciated by Mira is one of the reasons why she’s been in love with her for so long.

“So. Back to Rumi! That’s why we’re debriefing, anyway.” Zoey brings the subject back up, handing the bottle to Mira and sitting in front of her. “I asked if you were going to tell her, but I guess I didn’t ask if you want to tell her.”

Mira shrugs. “I don’t know. What would I say?”

It’s quiet for a moment, and the bottle is passed back and forth once. Then Zoey’s eyes light up, and Mira looks at her expectantly. She knows what it looks like when Zoey gets an idea.

Zoey explains without any prompting. “Why don’t we write a song? You’ve got that cool tune you were humming, and I’ve got plenty of lyrics I’ve never had a purpose for.”

Mira opens her mouth to protest, but closes in again, considering Zoey’s offer. “You know what? That might work.” She lays out the pros of creating a song, ticking the three points off her fingers as she goes. “It can be subtle, but also obvious, yet artistic. It’s genius.”

Zoey beams, taking the compliment she’s given. “Let me get my notebooks.”

She jumps up, heading to a backpack she’s left in the corner. It’s comically full of colored notebooks, each of them titled and numbered. When she unzips the backpack fully, they practically spill out onto the floor.

“Did you bring all of those?” Mira’s question is rhetorical.

“You never know when you might need to write a love song with your bandmate to confess her feelings to your other bandmate,” Zoey says. “Plus, this means we can finish it up faster.”

Mira shakes her head, sitting up. “I don’t want to rush it.”

“We won’t,” Zoey assures. She stands up from where she’s crouched by the backpack, notebooks stacked high in her hands. “But Rumi’s birthday is in two weeks, and that’s perfect timing.” She drops the notebooks on the bed and waves her arms wide, as if there’s a screen or a presentation in front of them. “I can see it now. A surprise live performance, new production, new costumes… it’s so exciting!” 

Her voice comes out just louder than expected, and Mira stands up to gently put her hand over Zoey’s mouth. “Shh,” she says, reminding Zoey that the house is completely quiet. Even though Rumi’s upstairs, her room sits right on top of Zoey’s. 

There’s a beat where they stand like that, and Zoey’s stunned by the sudden touch. It makes her heart skip a beat, and she can hardly move. Mira lets go quickly, and there’s another beat in which they do nothing but look at each other. For a moment, Zoey wonders if Mira would ever like her back. They’re close enough for either of them to lean in and kiss the other, but neither of them move forward. 

“This is a good plan,” Mira finally speaks, sitting back down. 

Zoey shakes her head to expel all the distracting fantasies she’s been crafting. She sits on the bed, putting enough space between herself and Mira to avoid a repeat of the intense longing she’s been suddenly afflicted with. “A great plan, even.”

She opens a notebook and begins flipping through it, scanning the pages for any lyrics that may jump out. Zoey’s thoughts finally settle, but just when she’s sure she has been set free from her rumination, Mira looks over her shoulder. 

It’s another moment in which Zoey could kiss her. All it would take is a turn of the head and the smallest closing of distance, all it would take is Zoey’s hands on Mira’s face to pull her in. The image flashes in the back of her eyelids, and she can smell the remnants of Mira’s perfume. She needs her more than she needs air to breathe. She wants to be Mira’s the same way she wants Mira to be hers. 

She could kiss her right now, but she doesn’t. Instead, Zoey turns the page of the notebook she’s holding and pretends to read. Mira peers over her shoulder until she decides to reach for a notebook of her own, returning to her sitting position beside Zoey and flipping through it independently.

“Oh yeah,” Mira says in approval, nodding her head. “We’re going to kill it.”

The two of them set to work. By the time the bokbunja is nearly gone, Mira’s confidence has begun to deteriorate. Zoey blames it on exhaustion, and Mira blames it on intuition (which Zoey is sure is anxiety disguised as a gut feeling).

“I’m not going to kill it. In fact, it’s going to be so alive that I’ll never be able to escape the embarrassment.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” encourages Zoey. “You’re cool, talented, award-winning, and everyone loves you.” She emphasizes: “Including Rumi.” 

“Not in that way,” Mira sighs. “I just know it.”

“I know you’re nervous, but it’ll work out!” 

“Easy for you to say,” Mira sighs. “You don’t have to deal with having feelings for a close friend. It’s horrible, every day.”

“Yeah,” Zoey says, taking a long drink. She could tell Mira everything right now, laying all the facts out in the open. Mira could decide if she wanted to give Zoey a chance before pursuing Rumi, or maybe she would talk to Rumi like she wants to. But Zoey’s learning how to exercise self-control, and she gets better at it every day. 

Zoey hands the bottle back to Mira, who takes it and swirls the small amount of remaining wine.

“Finish it off,” Zoey says. “You need it more than me.”

Mira doesn’t need convincing, throwing her head back to finish the bottle in one gulp. She stands up only to set the bottle down on Zoey’s dresser, and returns to flop down on Zoey’s bed and stare at the ceiling. There’s a beat of silence before Zoey joins her, angled in the opposite direction, heads close enough to hear the other if they were to whisper.

Finally, there’s the comfortable silence that Zoey likes so much. It’s odd to like silence. Growing up in a full household, Zoey was taught from a young age that when there’s a window to speak, she should take it. Being the middle child of five has its perks — for one, Zoey does well socially and finds it relatively easy to make friends. But there’s downsides, because her urge to please everyone stems from the fact that she played peacekeeper for so long. When the tensions in the house are low, Zoey’s able to snag a small amount of devoted attention from her parents. Now that she’s living her own life apart from her family, she’s learned to find peace in the quiet.

“What are you thinking?” Zoey finally asks, not moving her gaze from the ceiling. She’s finally tired enough to settle from the restlessness she felt coming off of the jet, and the wine makes her feel like she’s sinking into the bedspread.

“I’m thinking…” Mira drags out the word, as if sorting through her own thoughts. “I could use a hot shower, and a long night of good sleep.”

“Me too,” Zoey agrees, sitting up when Mira moves to stand. She remains on the edge of her bed while Mira moves to grab the bottle, planning to discard it in the kitchen before retiring. 

“I hate jet lag.” Mira’s statement is universally known — neither of them have ever met anyone who enjoyed being thrown across timezones. Mira drags her feet as she walks towards the door, Zoey’s carefully-done braid hanging down her back. There’s something off about the braid that Zoey only notices when Mira’s reaching for the doorknob, exposing the room to the hallway.

“Wait,” Zoey interrupts, standing again. She walks to Mira, who remains still as requested. Zoey reaches out for Mira’s hair again, fixing the small strand that’s sticking out. Only when she’s done does Zoey realize that the fix is unnecessary — Mira’s about to take down her hair anyway, and the action is only good for displaying feelings that Zoey wants to keep hidden.

Mira stares at her, and Zoey picks apart her expression. The seconds seem to stretch forever, but it’s barely a couple blinks of an eye before Zoey utters a cheerful “Goodnight!” She walks back towards her bed, sitting on the edge of it and reaching for a notebook. “I’ll go through these, and pull out anything we can use.”

“Sounds good.” Mira nods.

“Sounds great,” Zoey keeps her tone upbeat, polar opposite from Mira slowly wilting into unrelenting exhaustion.

“Love you,” Mira says, eyes hazy through the exhaustion and the wine. She lingers in the doorway, hands on the frame, eyes on her friend. If Zoey focuses too much on the scene, she thinks she can begin to feel herself unravel.

Instead of telling Mira everything right then and there, Zoey just smiles. “Love you too! See you tomorrow.”

When Mira leaves, Zoey lays back on her bed and exhales a sigh so loud that she momentarily fears it was heard from beyond the boundaries of her bedroom door. Despite the fact that Zoey usually sleeps with it open, Mira shuts it behind her because they’d been conversing with it closed. While Zoey would normally get up and open it, she decides to keep it latched, basking in her oasis of isolation.

Zoey’s never liked being alone. After joining HUNTR/X and moving out, she felt like she was on her own for months. Mira and Rumi made her feel at home, but their apartment didn’t feel like home — Zoey, who always shared a room with her sister, had to learn how to sleep by herself. There were trades to be made, though. In exchange for learning to be by herself, Zoey didn’t have to face the bullying from her brothers about her extensive notebooks or from her sister about her overly-decorated side of the bedroom. Even so, nostalgia often nags at her, reminding her what it felt like to be young and free. She always misses things more in hindsight, and being in California always brings back a wave of memories she’s purposefully shoved down.

Right now, being alone isn’t so bad. With the chaos of fame, she appreciates the quiet moments. It gives her space to socially recuperate, instead of leaving her overwhelmed and moody. The last thing Zoey wants to do is to be perceived as moody. Her medication keeps her stable, and her psychiatrist is nice, and Mira and Rumi always understand when she needs to take a step back for a few days.

As the minutes pass, Zoey digs into her own head. She sorts through her fondest memories of Mira, allowing herself the luxury of soft smiles, flushing cheeks, and quiet giggles. She’s evolved into a well-rounded adult, Zoey thinks — she’s capable of harboring secret feelings without embarrassingly spilling it all like she would have in middle school. No one has to know about the things that live in her mind, and she’s been finding confidence in her ability to keep her mouth shut when she should. Critics are everywhere, and she’s seen plenty of horrible headlines or posts in passing: Zoey dominates yet another interview, Zoey’s the most annoying member of the group, does Zoey ever shut up? Bobby does a good job of keeping it out of sight, drilling the girls on staying offline unless it’s necessary to post on social media.

Thoughts of Mira and her own self-identity swirl together in Zoey’s head until the thoughts are inseparable from one another. She fades in and out of sleep until she has the sense to move up in the bed and bury herself under the sheets. The moment her head hits the pillow, Mira moves to the forefront of her mind, and Zoey dreams about what love could look like.

Chapter Text

The breakup was supposed to be amicable.

Rumi does everything she’s supposed to. She waits it out, she keeps Jinu close, and she starts conversations in an attempt to repair the pieces that keep breaking. She gives them a hundred chances and then some, patient as ever, doing her best to keep everything held together. But it’s not enough to love someone — Rumi needs stability, and she can’t find it in Jinu.

Their relationship starts off beautifully, like all good ideas. Rumi successfully seals the honmoon with Mira and Zoey, and Jinu’s the reason why she lives to tell the story. There’s a month of silent mourning the loss of Jinu before they turn up on Rumi’s doorstep, delving into a story that she could hardly repeat if her survival depended on it. All she knows is that they came back to her, and she was reminded of something Celine told her in her youth — if you love something enough, let it go. If it’s meant to be, it’ll come back. That felt like fair enough reasoning for her to accept when Jinu asks her out on a date the following week. Zoey had been so excited to help her pick out the perfect outfit, and Mira had insisted on doing her makeup. The support of her friends made everything seem even more destined, as if it had been written in the stars. 

For just a moment, it feels like fate.

When Rumi is with Jinu, everything seems to fade away. Her world blurs out of focus, and they become all that she can focus on. It’s a good thing in some ways, because it reminds Rumi that she’s capable enough to care about working through the hard days. It’s not easy to find what she has with Jinu, and she’s loyal to the people she loves. But there’s a pitfall looming — Rumi risks losing herself in letting the world disappear, and existing in a space solely with one other person isn’t the best way to maintain the rest of the relationships in her life.

Jinu is romantic. They bring her flowers to every date for the first couple of months, bright lilies or cherry blossoms arranged in perfectly folded paper. They pick out date locations that no one else has ever taken Rumi to — stunning views of the city at night, restaurants that have been on her list for years, and successfully undercover trips to the movies. It’s a lot easier to go out in public when Rumi’s with them, as opposed to being with her fellow Hunters who are slightly more recognizable. 

There’s a lot to be said about the dynamic between the two of them. For starters, being with Jinu made her feel important instead of shameful when it came to her patterns. They were the first person to see her unclothed in a romantic context, and she can still remember how it felt to realize that they loved her for who she was. Well, most of the time.

Every time Rumi thinks she’s at her wits end, she remembers the first time Jinu told her they loved her. The two of them had been dating for just a month, and Jinu had taken her to the mountains. There was no cell service, no internet, and no distractions to worry about while they were cut off from the outside world. They stayed in a tiny cabin shrouded by greenery, and Jinu looked right in her eyes when they pulled her close and spilled the secrets of their heart to no one but Rumi and the air between them. She keeps the memory locked away in her mind, but the longer she loves Jinu, the more she’s convinced that her recollection has filtered the encounter through a lavender haze. 

It can’t last forever. They’re romantic, but love hasn’t been Jinu’s strong suit for the past few hundred years, and Rumi doesn’t know much more about it than they do. It’s why she’s trying so hard to keep the peace — both of them deserve love, even if it’s hard sometimes.

She’s done with the relationship nine months in, but it takes Rumi another season for her to come to terms with ending it. There’s something broken that can’t be repaired, and it slowly drains her until she has no more energy left to spend. But instead of viewing it as an opportunity for her to finally be free of the arguments that have been taking up precious time, Rumi feels like a failure for not being able to salvage what they had. She hates giving up, yet she can’t hold it all together, therefore the ground seems to crumble beneath her feet.

In hindsight, she doesn’t think she ever loved them more than she did when they were isolated from the noise of the world. But Jinu is different in private than they are in public, and Rumi values consistency. It’s hard to let go of something so familiar, which is why it takes so long for her to cut it off. Jinu should have been happy for her opportunity to travel to the States and work on the EP she’s been dreaming of, but instead they’re upset that she’s going to be away again. After all, she just got back from an international tour, and Jinu should be put first in some regard. She argues that her career has always come first, and that she told them that upfront, but they argue that undivided attention is a necessity in any strong relationship. Rumi retorts by saying that honesty is a necessity as well.

The arguments usually end there.

In lieu of rearranging her schedule to accommodate Jinu’s needs, Rumi goes to California with Zoey and Mira and takes a night off. Well, two nights off. She knows she needs to focus, because the girls need her, but she can’t stop thinking about the poor note she left off on when she last saw Jinu. They’d asked her if she’d want to take a vacation in the next few months, and she’d reminded them that the EP was just the beginning of another busy phase of life, and the conversation spiralled from there. Jinu had left in a mood so bad that Rumi would swear she could see fiery smoke steaming from their ears, head full to the brim with an unquenchable rage that she’s faced more than once. 

She faces it more when she’s with them, Rumi realizes. The banter between them used to be fun, but they both learned how to use their words as weapons, and Rumi doesn’t need any more skills to master. 

In the final days of their relationship, Rumi spends far too much time on her phone. It starts off slowly at first — longer text conversations to attend to, quarrels that go further in-depth than others they’ve had before. By the time the HUNTR/X jet lands in California, Rumi’s consumed by the tension growing between herself and Jinu. She hardly hears Mira’s voice getting her attention to remind her that she can’t sit on the jet and deal with this forever. 

Rumi misses walking to the waterfront with her friends because she’s busy reiterating her schedule so Jinu can try to find a time to visit. They won’t leave her alone until there’s a solid plan for them to see each other again, and it strains her nerves to a breaking point. That night while Zoey and Mira are laughing downstairs, Rumi’s in her room trying to salvage what’s left of her relationship. 

In the midst of it all, she hears Celine’s voice echoing in the back of her head. If you love something enough, let it go. If it’s meant to be, it’ll come back. 

Rumi knows this is not coming back when she finally gives up. Even so, it’s time to surrender, and Celine’s right — if she can’t trust it to survive the hardships of long distance and consistently hectic schedules, it’s not worth her mental health. She already has anxiety, and she doesn’t need any more of it.

She calls Jinu the following afternoon to start the conversation. Rumi tucks her hair out of sight and shrugs on a hoodie before leaving the house right before dark. She doesn’t want Mira or Zoey overhearing her conversation, because she knows they aren’t the biggest fans of Jinu, so she elects to walk up and down the paved path along the beach. 

There aren’t many people out after dark, and Rumi’s not afraid of the few that are. After all, she’s a Hunter, and she’s capable of defending herself — physically. The longer the phone call drags on, the more she’s subjected to emotional hurt, adding to the anxious ache that’s been living in her chest ever since she landed in Burbank. 

The breakup was supposed to be amicable, but something gets lost in translation. Instead of having a serious conversation about the possibility of taking some space away from each other, Jinu accuses Rumi of hiding things from them. It’s not necessarily untrue, because Rumi has a habit of keeping her flaws out of sight, but it’s also not necessarily her fault, because she’s doing her best to grow out of it. Still, they can’t come to an agreement on where to go moving forward, so Rumi’s the one who decides to end it. 

Leaving Jinu is the first thing that Rumi does for herself in months, but it doesn’t feel good. Despite knowing it’s better for both of them, she can’t help but feel guilty, and her anxiety is calling her selfish. If she truly loved them, she wouldn’t have left. Therefore, she must not have loved them enough — therefore, she’s selfish for dragging them along while all they did was love her. 

There’s no escaping the anxiety that consumes her right after Jinu hangs up the phone. If Rumi had her way, she’d be able to have such a conversation (argument?) in person, but the two of them are worlds apart. Now that it’s over with, maybe it’s for the better that they can’t see each other in person without embarking on a full day of travel. Separation will be good, Rumi tells herself. She silences all notifications from Jinu the moment the call is over, but there’s a nagging feeling that hangs around. 

To make matters worse, Zoey and Mira seem upbeat about the fact that they’re calling it quits. Rumi knew that her relationship was putting a strain on the bond between the three of them, but she didn’t think it was bad enough to warrant excitement in the wake of its destruction. It’s as if they knew she couldn’t do it, and they were just waiting around for her to admit defeat. She has felt weak before, and she’ll feel weak again, but why does it feel like her dignity has been stripped away? 

Rumi can have a sit-down conversation with her friends later. Right now, all she needs is time to herself in her bed, doing what makes her happy — watching cat videos until she can’t possibly keep her eyes open anymore. And that’s what she does. She falls asleep sometime before midnight with all of the lights still on, her phone in her hand, and YouTube on autoplay. 

Just like all of the other nights, the voice is there. Ever since the Hunters sealed the honmoon, Rumi’s been haunted by it in her dreams. It’s something that sounds like a friend, but is certainly a foe — she doesn’t know what it’s there for, but she knows what its goal is. It’s supposed to make her fearful, to keep her quiet, to remind her that she’ll always be made up of the shame she ran from for so long. She can’t escape it, only outrun it in a nightly cycle, so she spends her dreams trying to get away before it inevitably catches up. 

Rumi’s exhaustion is often not solved by sleep. The next morning is no different, but Mira and Zoey are there to save the day. The moment Rumi walks into the kitchen, still in her pajamas, she’s greeted by two friendly faces. In the presence of her fellow Hunters, the weight on her shoulders slowly begins to ease.

“Good morning!” Zoey says from where she stands by the toaster, awake as ever. She’s already dressed for the day, wearing one of the many cropped-shirt-and-baggy-pants outfit variants that she owns.

Mira seems much more Rumi’s speed. She’s sitting at the counter hunched over a cup of coffee, and she’s donned in a robe. “Morning,” Mira echoes in Rumi’s direction. “Any dreams?”

Oh, just being-chased-by-a-ghost-from-hell, the usual. 

“Nothing interesting,” Rumi answers, walking towards the coffee machine opposite the toaster. She opens the cabinet above it, expecting to find a mug, but she discovers a stack of plates instead. 

Zoey opens the cabinet above the toaster and retrieves a mug, holding it out to Rumi. “This kitchen layout doesn’t make any sense. It made Mira mad earlier.”

“I wasn’t mad.” Mira denies. 

“Frustrated, then,” Zoey decides. 

Instead of arguing, Mira drinks from her mug. Rumi pours her own, and finds the milk in the fridge. She likes her coffee sweet, and there’s an array of vanilla and caramel creamers to choose from. She picks the best of both worlds, mixing them until the shade of her coffee resembles light brown sugar.

“We should go to the studio today,” Rumi says when she sits down next to Mira. She takes a sip from her coffee, and Mira interjects. 

“How are you feeling?” Another sip. “If we need to take it easy today, we can.”

Rumi doesn’t want to be babied about her breakup. She would rather pretend like it never happened and wait for the sadness to pass on its own, silent and eventual. They’re in California to record an EP, not sort through Rumi’s shortcomings.

“We’re here to write music, not wallow around. Plus, it could be nice to get out of the house.”

There’s a moment of silence in the kitchen, and Rumi knows that Zoey and Mira can feel her own melancholy bleeding into the air around them.

Rumi rushes to speak: “I’m fine, I–”

Zoey cuts her off. “It’s okay, Rumi. You two were dating for a year, that’s a long time to love someone. If you want to talk about it…”

She doesn’t want to talk about it, actually. Talking about it means that Rumi really did fail, that she’s not capable of choosing the right person to love, and that she let both of them down. With every passing minute, she thinks about how much she doesn’t want to think about it.

“I’m fine, Zoey, really.” Rumi drinks from her coffee, and feels the eyes of her friends staring through her. She looks at either of them in turn. “What?” She reaches for her phone, determined to use the front-facing camera as a mirror. “Do I have something on my face?”

Mira takes over again, reaching for Rumi’s phone. She plucks it from her hand and sets it back down where it had been on the counter. Mira’s tone is level and her voice is tired, but Rumi and Zoey understand how her words are intended. “Let’s take the day and get some fresh air. Zoey wanted to show us around, anyway. We can call the label, push introductions to tomorrow, and let Bobby handle the rest.”

Rumi opens her mouth to protest, but Zoey’s jumping in. 

“Oh my god, yes! We have to go to the pier, but we should definitely start at the observatory and work our way back west. There’s a bunch of cool little shops I grew up going to… god, I wish it was the weekend so we could go to the farmer’s market in Burbank. They have-”

Mira interrupts. “Zoey?”

“Yes?”

“If you make an itinerary, we can get going.”

Zoey grins from ear-to-ear, mischievous. “I’m on it.”

Zoey disappears from the kitchen, heading down the hallway to her room, a sing-song chant following her: “Sightseeing, sightseeing, sightseeing!”

+++

Rumi almost regrets suggesting to go out — almost. As she brushes her teeth, she stares in the mirror and wonders if she looks different now that she’s not carrying around the weight of someone else on her mind. Even with the lifted pressure in her head, Jinu’s still haunting the smallest part of her brain, and she hopes it doesn’t last. 

She continues to remind herself that getting out of the house will be good. Zoey knows the city, there will be plenty of things to distract her from her sadness, and she won’t have to worry about a single thing.

Rumi decides to wear her favorite hoodie with her choice of pants, prepared in case she needs to hide her appearance in public. Surely Zoey won’t take them to a crowded place. As much as she loves the fans, she doesn’t have the energy to deal with conversations or photos today, and she doesn’t want to be unfair to the excitement they feel when they see the HUNTR/X on the street.

She meets Zoey and Mira downstairs. Zoey hasn’t changed her clothes apart from adding a jacket, but she has a bucket hat in her hand, presumably protection for when they’re out in public. Mira’s dressed in jeans and a sweater, and she’s put on her glasses and a ballcap to utilize her Clark Kent effect. They’re sitting on the couch like the night before, Zoey staring out the window while Mira scrolls on her phone.

“Ready to go?” Rumi says, standing in the archway. 

Zoey’s gaze shifts, and she sighs deeply. “We’re waiting on the driver.”

Mira puts her phone down. “The car will be here in fifteen minutes. 

Said fifteen minutes pass in silence. All three of them find themselves on their phones by the end of the waiting period, answering texts or sorting through locations on a maps app. Rumi’s the first on her feet once the fifteen minutes are up, restless to do anything other than resist the urge to revisit last night’s post-breakup text thread. 

“They should be pulling up soon,” Rumi says, encouraging the others to follow her in heading outside. 

Zoey and Mira push themselves to their feet. Mira tucks her phone into her pocket, but Zoey keeps hers out, typing furiously while the three of them walk towards the front door. Rumi is the one who opens it, and Mira’s the one who locks it behind them. The SUV pulls up just in time, and the driver steps out to open the back door for them. 

Zoey takes the middle seat, with Rumi and Mira on either side. She finally stops typing, but she keeps her phone out. The backseat is separated from the front cabin of the SUV by a divider, and Zoey peeks through momentarily. Rumi is too distracted staring out the window to catch their first destination, but as the vehicle pulls out of the driveway, she remembers Zoey insisting the observatory should be first. 

That will be nice, she tells herself. She’s never been to the observatory, and it’s in plenty of movies, most of which she’s never seen. Still, it’s an iconic location, and it would be cool to check it off her extensive list of sights she’s visited during travel. 

The drive is far too long for her liking. It’s just under an hour-and-a-half, and Rumi’s legs ache by the time they pull up to the observatory. In order to get up to the main building, the vehicle winds through the hills. At some point, lines of cars appear parked on either side of the road. People are hiking upwards, presumably towards the same destination, and many eyes watch the SUV pass.

Unfortunately for the band, the observatory is completely packed — the man directing traffic near the top of the hill keeps motioning for drivers to divert around the building due to its full capacity. The SUV is allowed to turn right towards the parking lot outside the observatory, but the rideshare line is full and cars are already circling the full lot, searching for empty spots. There’s a crowd of people outside, some of them sitting on the lawn, some filing in and out of the building, others looking out over the view of the city. 

Rumi overlooks the bodies milling about to look at the observatory. She’s seen a few pictures before, but it’s different seeing it up close. It’s a white building with two domes on either side, but she knows the main event must be in the larger dome that’s in the center. Rumi knows it must be interesting inside, but it’s almost underwhelming, and maybe it’s the fact that there’s so many people surrounding it. 

“Damn,” Zoey says. “I didn’t think it would be this crowded.”

“Are we getting out?” Mira asks, almost concerned. “I don’t know if I want to deal with all of this right now. If someone recognizes us, it’ll take forever to leave.”

Rumi sighs, tired of feeling cramped. “I’m with Mira,” she admits with reluctance. “We can say we saw it, since we’re already here.”

Zoey nods, disappointed but resolved. “Let’s just drive through. The next stop isn’t far, anyway.”

Isn’t far is a matter of perspective, because it takes twenty more minutes to make it to Hollywood. Rumi’s restless by the time they pull up by the curb on the Walk of Fame, and she wants to stretch her legs so badly that she’s losing her desire to keep a low profile. 

That is, until the buses of tourists keep passing their SUV, reminding Rumi just how public Hollywood Boulevard is. 

“Is this a good idea?” Rumi asks, following Mira and Zoey out of the car. She looks around the street as if searching for any eyes trained in their direction, and she hastily tucks her hair into her hoodie so it’s out of view. 

“It’ll be fine!” Zoey assures her with a nod, reaching out to help Rumi hide anything that would give away her identity. “Ooo, we should stop by Sticker Planet after this. It’s a small shop at the Farmer’s Market in The Grove, and it’s all stickers. It’s not far from here, either–”

“How far is not far?” Mira interrupts, suspicious. 

Zoey shrugs. “Twenty minutes?”

Rumi sighs deeply, not thrilled at the idea of even more time in the car. Sure, it was her idea to sightsee in the first place, but LA traffic is proving to be more irritating than she’d initially prepared for. 

Mira reads Rumi’s mind. “Let’s see how we feel after this.”

Zoey agrees to the proposal with an excited nod, and she grabs Rumi’s hand, tugging her down the sidewalk. “Nothing says LA more than Hollywood Boulevard. It’s disgusting, and it’s so iconic.”

Rumi can see the juxtaposition of fame and folly on the street in the form of stars embedded into sparkly pavement adjacent to trash cans that are overflowing. Zoey seems unfazed by the odor of human excrement and cigarettes, and if she closes her eyes, Rumi thinks it smells just a little bit like Broadway in New York. 

“Hollywood sign!” Zoey announces as they reach the intersection of Hollywood Boulevard and Franklin Street. She gestures with both hands, arms outstretched towards the sign, a bright smile on her face. “We could see it from the observatory if we got out, but this is fine too.”

“Wow,” Mira’s wearing a deadpan expression, but Rumi knows she’s appreciative of Zoey’s tour attempt. “It’s different from the movies.”

“Everything is!” Zoey says, starting to lead them westward towards somewhere else. This time, she lets Mira and Rumi follow behind her without any physical guidance. 

Rumi watches Zoey skip ahead in front of them, stepping on the stars and the sidewalk cracks alike. On the next block, Zoey stops, and points at the ground. 

They’ve made it to the intersection of Hollywood and Vine, and Zoey’s staring at one of the stars sitting politely in the pavement beneath their feet. “Ken Jeong,” she tells them. 

“Sick,” Mira nods with a small smile. 

Rumi pulls out her phone to take a photo, but Zoey’s ahead of the game, extending hers up towards the sky. 

“Get in the picture!”

Rumi and Mira position themselves in the frame so the camera captures the three of them with the star visible in the middle, the three of them sporting various expressions of smiles or wide-toothed grins. Zoey snaps a few images, throwing up a hand as a half-heart, a gesture that’s completed by Rumi while Mira offers two thumbs-up. 

Zoey puts her phone back in her pocket and jumps in place. “Okay, long walk, then we can go.”

She has a destination in mind, but Rumi and Mira come to a stop when she pauses in front of a small storefront. The doors are open, and cool air from the fans inside blows over the Hunters as they face whatever’s inside. When Rumi looks at Zoey’s choice of a detour, she sees a tourist trap decked out in “I <3 LA merchandise that matches the shirt Zoey wore when they landed in Burbank. 

“No,” Mira says, but she allows Zoey to gently push her towards the door. A quiet laugh escapes Mira’s lips when she rolls her eyes, entering the store. 

“Yes,” Zoey insists, drawing out the word in a sing-song tone. 

Rumi trails after them, looking around the shop while Zoey beelines for the shirts. While she flips through a rack of California flags printed on white tees, Mira turns a display of keychains, and Rumi picks up a snowglobe. 

The snowglobe has sand-like particles settled in it, as opposed to white that represents actual snow. It depicts the hill with the Hollywood sign, and when she shakes it, she remembers a gift she was given by a fan during a late December show the last time they toured the States. That particular snowglobe had held a small figurine of The State of Liberty, and the snow was white, traditional as ever. 

Rumi puts the snowglobe back on the shelf as Zoey bounces over, two hangers in her hand, shirts hanging off of either one. 

“Which one?” Zoey asks. 

The first shirt is a classic black “I <3 LA” tee that matches her own, and the second is a cheesy photo of palm trees with “HOLLYWOOD CA” written underneath in bold letters. Mira appears behind Rumi, and shakes her head.

“No.”

Zoey nods enthusiastically. “Yes.”

There’s a moment of silence, in which Rumi debates between siding with Mira or giving into Zoey’s insistence on immersing themselves in tourism. Rumi settles on the latter, sighing. 

“The first one.”

Zoey beams and disappears again, presumably to locate a shirt for both Mira and Rumi, obviously happy that it matches the one in her room.

The three of them exit the shop minutes later, and Zoey’s carrying the plastic bag that holds their newfound treasures. Along with the shirts, she acquired a few friendship bracelets and keychains — one of each is dedicated to Bobby, who’s also receiving a shirt just like theirs. 

“Okay, last stop,” Zoey promises as they continue down the street. “For real this time.”

Because they’ve made it this far comfortably without being recognized, Rumi lets down her guard. They trek their way down Hollywood Boulevard, headed wherever Zoey has planned. Finally, they arrive outside the iconic TCL Chinese Theatre. Zoey immediately jumps into a spiel about it, and Rumi focuses on the building while tourists file around them. 

“The Chinese Theatre has the largest IMAX auditorium in the world. This is where they host film premieres and special events, and they do tours. You can see movies here like any other theater, but we definitely don’t have time for that.” Zoey sighs while she takes in the sight, as if it’s refreshing to see something she hasn’t laid eyes on in years. “The last time I was here, I tripped on the stairs and spilled my popcorn all over the floor.”

Mira chuckles. “I can see it in my head.”

“It’s not funny,” Zoey says, but she’s laughing too. “I was eight.”

Knowing that Zoey hasn’t been here in so long makes Rumi wonder if it’s a good idea to surprise her in a few weeks. Surely they’ll have enough time to sneak away from the studio for a single showtime, especially if it’ll make her friend happy. 

Her friend. 

It’s been years since Rumi thought of Zoey romantically — well, she tells herself it’s been years. Ever since she decided that she wasn’t supposed to risk their relationship as Hunters for love, Rumi’s been putting it out of her mind. But now that she’s not thinking of how to keep Jinu happy, Rumi’s mind is open to other thoughts, and she’s remembering exactly what she felt in her youth.

Zoey and Mira both seem oblivious, which is a good thing. Rumi has enough anxiety and confusion right now, and she doesn’t need to drag anyone else into the middle of it.

Speaking of Zoey and Mira, they’ve drifted down the sidewalk, headed back towards the direction they originally came from. Rumi snaps out her trance at the sound of Zoey calling her. 

“Rumi!” Zoey shouts over the crowd, before she slaps her hand over her mouth. 

Her name is slightly too recognizable in the middle of Hollywood.

The world goes silent. All of the sudden, Rumi feels a dozen eyes shifting in her direction, and the sudden attention is enough to nearly knock her over. 

Mira’s the one person who isn’t looking at her, because she’s busy glaring at Zoey, who has a regretful expression plastered on her face. 

Everything’s silent, and then it explodes. Someone recognizes Rumi’s face despite her hair being out of view, and there’s a cacophony of Oh my god!– Is that?– It can’t be!– HUNTR/X! before Rumi’s being tugged in one direction by a growing sea of people and held tight by Mira in another. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Rumi says as she passes through the bodies. “We’re in a rush, so sorry.”

“Miss Rumi?” A small voice says from in front of her, and Rumi stops in her tracks to prevent from knocking down a child no older than eight. When he speaks, his Southern accent tells Rumi that he’s not from here, either. “Can I get a picture with you?” 

Rumi looks at Mira, who’s shaking her head. But Zoey’s nodding, and the conflicting directions cause Rumi to stumble over her answer. 

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, addressing the child. “We’re in a rush, we have to go.”

There’s a beat in which the child just stares at her, disappointed, and Rumi has to pull herself away from the scene. She doesn’t let people down — she always signs the poster, takes the selfie, and participates in the conversation that’s initiated by fans. This is their one-time exception on stopping, because it was never supposed to happen, and Rumi feels sick to her stomach hearing the groans from people who are actively changing their minds about how they perceive her.

Luckily, their driver seems to sense the setback. He pulls up to the curb, having waited in the area while the Hunters explored the street. He gets out to open the door, shielding them from the phone cameras that are held up in their direction. 

Before the door closes, Rumi hears someone grumbling about how rude they are to not have stopped for them. After all, they streamed HUNTR/X for thousands of minutes last year, therefore they must be obligated to a minute of attention. Rumi’s urge to climb back out of the vehicle and give into the crowd is immense, but Zoey and Mira are taking their seats next to her, and she doesn’t want to cause even more of a scene.

As they depart from Hollywood, Zoey faces disappointment. “Sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “I didn’t mean to ruin Rumi’s off day.”

Rumi takes her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It wasn’t ruined, I promise.”

+++

Before heading back towards Santa Monica, the trio stops at a restaurant in Brentwood. It’s not somewhere that Zoey’s been before, so they decide to try something new, and discover it’s not worth revisiting. The Hunters take a moment to catch their breath outside the restaurant before they get back into the car, and Rumi feels like she could use a nap now more than ever.

One more stop, she tells herself. For Zoey.

Somewhere along the hour-long drive, the sky becomes overcast. Rumi’s aware of Zoey’s excitement at the idea of taking them to the pier, and silently hopes for her friend’s sake that the weather holds out. 

Unfortunately for Rumi’s manifestation attempts, the weather seems determined to call off the rest of their final stop. The SUV is headed down Pacific Coast Highway towards the pier when the bottom drops out. Rain pelts the windshield and obscures the view of the sandy beach from the road. Zoey sighs loudly in disappointment, shoulders heavy.

“Aw, it never rains,” she complains. 

Mira’s there to cheer her up, nudging her shoulder. “There’ll be other days,” she promises. “We got to see everything else, anyway.”

Rumi stares out the window, suddenly pulled into a trance of dissociative thought. Jinu haunts her again — they keep doing that, regardless of whether or not she wants them to. With each passing moment, she contemplates if she made the right decision — was it wise to do something for herself, or did she just toss away a year’s worth of work over a misunderstanding?

She does her best to reassure herself that she wouldn’t have considered leaving so many times if it was meant to last forever, and it helps a little. She wants to reach for her phone and see if Jinu’s said anything, but she resists the urge, knowing that it’s a one-way ticket to getting sucked into deeper dissociation.

Rumi trusts herself. She can handle a breakup, but her last one wasn’t serious enough to warrant anxiety like this, so she’s learning new things.

She’d rather reflect on the first relationship than this one, so she goes back in her mind in order to remind herself that she is capable of love without invisible stipulations. Rumi can still imagine lying in bed with her lover, gazing at her with a feeling that was different than what she had with Jinu. 

She feels it for her fellow Hunters, but that’s different too. She doesn’t have to second-guess herself around them, because they know her as well as they know themselves, especially now that she’s not hiding away an important part of her identity. Mira and Zoey have accepted her with open arms, and nothing has changed between them, save for the room they’ve made for Rumi to fit her truths into. 

She doesn’t feel shame about her patterns anymore, and it has everything to do with Mira and Zoey. Rumi shifts her gaze from where she’s staring at the window to look at her friends sitting next to her: Mira looking out the opposite window, Zoey staring out the same side. 

Rumi can hear the rain more clearly when the vehicle slows down and pulls into the driveway of the house. The three of them file out of the backseat and head up towards the front door, Mira and Zoey moving with urgency to get out of the storm while Rumi lags behind. 

She doesn’t mind it — in fact, it’s almost peaceful. If she closes her eyes, she can envision the anxiety washing off of her in a way a real shower won’t do. Rumi is the last through the door, and she locks it behind her before she leaves her sneakers against the wall by Mira and Zoey’s.

Speaking of Mira and Zoey, both of them beeline for the couch immediately. They sink into it, Mira maintaining her posture while Zoey fully lays down against the corner of the sectional, taking a minute to rest without the motion of being in the car. 

“We can start the movie soon,” Zoey says. “First, I need food, and a long shower.”

“I second that,” Mira says, closing her eyes for a minute. “I don’t know how anyone tolerates driving around in that traffic.”

Zoey shrugs, silent for once as she rests. It’s now that Rumi figures she remembered to take her dramamine this time. Finally, Zoey sits up, looking towards Rumi who’s lingering in the archway between the living room and the kitchen. 

“Movie tonight?” Zoey asks, checking in despite already sharing her plans. 

As much as she wants to socialize, Rumi can still feel the weight of anxiety in her stomach, and it’s enough to make her sick. She doesn’t want to let her friends down again, but she knows that giving herself grace in her need to be alone will be better in the long run. If she pushes herself, she risks ending up in a mood, and the last thing she wants to do is take out her frustration on Mira or Zoey. 

“Sorry guys,” Rumi says, finding it hard to make eye contact with her friends. “I hate to say no, I don’t want you thinking I don’t want to hang out. I’m just processing everything, and–”

“You don’t have to apologize, Rumi,” Zoey assures. “We understand.” 

The tension in Rumi’s body immediately begins to resolve, and Mira’s soft smile only helps ease her concerns. 

“What Zoey said,” Mira agrees.

“Thanks,” Rumi says. It seems she’s apologizing and thanking an awful lot these days, but she can’t seem to shake the habit, so she gives in where it feels necessary. “I’m going to my room, but my door is always open if you need anything.”

Well, it’s not physically open, but it might as well be. Rumi doesn’t lock her door — she keeps her secrets behind it, accessible to those who dare to pry. She doesn’t mind being open, but she certainly doesn’t mind being closed off, because she’s done it for so long. 

She’s been doing better lately, and she’s proud of it. 

Mira and Zoey let her dismiss herself, and Rumi turns to head up the stairs. She needs her pajamas, a comfort movie, and a good cry. 

Once she’s in her room, she presses her back to the closed door and takes a deep breath. She resists the urge to check her phone, tossing it onto the bed and making her way to the bathroom to wash her face. The cold water brings her back to her senses, and by the time she’s changing out of her day clothes, the tension she’s been carrying around begins to ease.

Her favorite pajamas are a mismatched set of an oversized cotton shirt and drawstring pants covered in various cats, and once she’s finally comfortable, Rumi settles back in her bed and sinks into the duvet. She reaches for the television remote that’s on her bedside table, and turns it on.

The screen lights up. Rumi has no idea what she’ll watch, but she’s greeted by the sight of every streaming service that exists, so the world is her oyster. As she scrolls, the sound of rain outside and the depth of the mattress threatens to prematurely lull her to sleep.

Her anxiety has another plan. Instead of allowing her to relax, Rumi is suddenly bombarded by thoughts. It tightens in her chest, causing a pain that’s impossible to ignore, whispering insecurities into her ear. It might as well be from the depths of the earth, like all of the bad parts of herself and Jinu intertwined to–

Rumi sits up with a start, feeling the dreaded shift that isn’t just her own emotions. There’s a small flash of red from outside, and she knows something has rippled the honmoon. She can feel the waves from here, and it only magnifies her anxiety. 

“Rumi?” Zoey’s voice calls up the stairs, and it’s evident from the concern in her tone that she feels it, too. 

Rumi doesn’t take the time to change. Instead, she jumps out of bed and hurries downstairs, heading straight for the foyer where she’s left her sneakers by the door. She laces them up as quickly as possible, shaking her head.

“What’s going on?” Rumi asks, looking up at her friends from where she’s crouched. She returns to her full height while Mira slides open the back door, and the three of them exit in a hurry. The sand is still damp from the rain earlier, and it clings to Rumi’s pajama pants.

“No idea,” Mira says. “It’s like it followed us here.”

There’s five dreaded demons on the beach, momentarily illuminating in the dark. Rumi’s saingeom appears, lighting up the side of her face when she holds it at the ready. In her peripheral vision, she can see her fellow Hunters on either side of her, weapons flashing as they materialize, ready as ever.

“Let’s do this,” Zoey says, poised to strike. 

“Yeah,” Mira returns, before leading them forward. “Take ‘em out.”

The three of them, donned in their pajamas, approach the scene. They know what they’re doing, because it’s not the first time they’ve dealt with unexpected tears, and it certainly won’t be the last. It’s only unfortunate that it happened in the dark — the only light is emitting from their weapons, save for the initial flash that has since disappeared. 

The way the Hunters move is comparable to a dance. They’ve memorized all of the steps and spins, and they’ll know them until the day they die, even after they’ve spent their time as Hunters and pass down their knowledge to the next trio.

Rumi lands the first blow, and the demon she hits does their best to return the favor. She ducks when they lunge at her, prepared to strike where they land, feeling a surge of success as they vanish in a puff of smoke. Zoey’s right behind her before she moves away, taking advantage of having distance between herself and their foes. 

There’s an unspoken understanding about the positions they fall into. Mira targets a demon when they go for Rumi, kicking them hard. Instead of losing their balance, they shuffle back on the sand. There’s no time for them to counter — she targets them with her gok-do, and watches them disappear. 

Zoey covers the outside of their formation, throwing her shin-kal to take out a demon that’s trying to escape by running along the waterfront. It’s good to know there are some that are cowardly enough to disobey direct orders — it means the trio’s reputation precedes them, and she likes the sound of that.

Closer inside the invisible circle they’ve created as battle grounds, Mira parries to the right. She’s inches away from pressing her back to Rumi’s as they rotate around each other, engaging in easily solvable quarrels with a demon each on either side. Rumi eliminates the larger of the two with a swing of her blade, and Mira brings her glaive down on the head of the last demon. 

It happens so fast that Rumi barely registers swinging her saingeom before the three of them are alone on the dark beach. They catch their breaths as the chaotic scene becomes still, processing the event. 

It’s light work to clear out the demons this time, but there is an unsettling feeling that falls over the trio after it’s over. It doesn’t matter that the tear happened now that it’s been handled, but it does matter why it occurred at all, and Rumi knows she’s not the only one wondering if this will be a new routine.

“Good job,” Zoey affirms when they put their weapons away and relax the slightest. Rumi remains on edge, hyperaware of her surroundings now that they’ve dealt with their first technical issue since landing in California.

This is exactly what she was afraid of, and why she brought it up earlier. The honmoon has been particularly quiet since they sealed it, but Rumi’s always maintained the anxious thought that closing it permanently is too good to be true. This proves her fears right, and does nothing to help the fact that her emotions have been overwhelming since the jet landed.

The three of them trudge themselves back up to the house, and Rumi sighs with disappointment in realizing that her comfiest pajamas are now covered in sand. She shakes off before she goes inside, taking off her sand-filled sneakers and leaving them outside the back door to avoid bringing the beach inside.  

There’s no conversation between the trio making it inside and finding their way back to their respective rooms. Zoey has the only downstairs room, but Mira lingers back for a minute, so Rumi goes upstairs alone. She changes clothes the moment she gets back to her room, choosing her secondary pajamas.

While the other ones are self-admittedly cool, these are still comfortable. It’s a matching long-sleeved set made of dark blue cotton, and there’s a drawstring tie on the pants, which she twists into a neat bow before crawling back into bed. 

This time, she remains sitting, staring out of the dark window as if she’s anticipating another flash to indicate another impending fight. Now that it’s happened once, she finds it hard to rest — last time they dealt with tears, they were constant. Even though the circumstances are different, her mind is telling her it will be the same as before.

No, she tells herself. It won’t be, because she accepts who she is now. Their increasing difficulty in maintaining the honmoon last year had stemmed from her own secrets, and now that she’s been able to find confidence in her identity, things have been much better.

It’s the anxiety talking, she’s sure of it. She just has to remember to let it pass, instead of giving it the time of day it certainly doesn’t deserve.

Rumi takes the next thirty minutes to let down her hair and brush it out in the bathroom mirror. As normal as it feels to walk around with it braided, it’s impossible for it to be like that all of the time. She’s used to the time it takes to maintain it, because she’s been committed to growing it out as long as she can remember. Since it's been so long, she has no plans to cut it at all. 

Right before Rumi can curl up under the blankets on her bed, there’s a knock at the door. She doesn’t hesitate in crossing the room with the goal of seeing who it is. When she opens it, she sees Mira standing there, arms crossed, sleepiness visibly weighing on her. 

She looks peaceful, albeit ready for bed. She’s in her pajamas, bunny slippers on her feet, hair fully let down and brushed out the same as Rumi’s. 

“Hey.” Rumi greets.

“Hey,” Mira echoes back, voice overlapping. “Can I come in?”

Rumi nods, opening the door further. Mira walks through the doorway, and Rumi closes the door behind them. Before she can say anything else, Mira’s explaining her presence. 

“I wanted to say I’m sorry,” she says. “I feel like I’ve been weird lately.”

Rumi walks over to the bed and climbs up onto it, sitting with her legs crossed. The television screen is still on, albeit abandoned. She pats the duvet in front of her, a silent invitation for Mira to join her, which is accepted. Rumi only speaks once Mira’s settled. “What do you mean?” 

Mira sighs, and exhales whatever tension she’s been holding in her body. “About the breakup. I should’ve been supportive, but I sounded judgmental. I wanted to say that it isn’t what I meant. You’re capable, and I just missed you.”

Rumi smiles softly. “I missed you, too. And it’s okay. I get it, I should’ve been spending time with you guys instead of wasting time on a useless relationship.”

Mira shakes her head. “It wasn’t useless,” she assures. “You discovered a lot about yourself. It was your first relationship, anyway. That always happens.”

It isn’t Rumi’s first relationship, actually, but Rumi can’t get into that. She promised her ex-lover that things would stay quiet, because they both have something to lose if it gets out. Plus, it only lasted two months, and it was years ago. It doesn’t matter at this point. 

“Yeah,” Rumi says, not divulging any further information. “It was definitely a learning experience, I’ll say that.” A moment of comfortable silence falls over the two of them, before Rumi sighs and goes on. “You seem tired. I don’t want to keep you up.”

Mira shakes her head quickly, almost urgent to deny her concerns. “No, I’m good,” she assures. “I’d rather talk to you.”

Rumi doesn’t know about Mira’s feelings, and tonight is not when she finds out. She can tell there’s something on Mira’s mind, but Rumi has enough thoughts cartwheeling through her own head, so she decides not to press for answers unless Mira wants to supply them. 

She doesn’t, so Rumi takes advantage of the free space. “Can I ask you something?”

Mira nods, waiting for Rumi to continue. 

“Why didn’t you like Jinu?”

It’s a valid question. It makes sense why Mira wouldn’t like them now, but she was an avid anti from day one, and used to remind Rumi how they were the one who exposed her to the world when she was still keeping her secrets close to her heart. Sure, that much was true, but there was more to their relationship than what had happened before they got together. 

“They weren’t good enough for you,” Mira says decisively. “They held you back from your potential. That performance of Golden was amazing, and we went on tour after that, and then we blanked.” She shrugs. “I’m glad we’re here now, so we can make music like we used to. I think I just miss how things were before you had someone else taking care of you.”

Rumi considers that. Mira seems intent on reminding Rumi that she misses how things used to be, and knowing that Mira’s attitude revolved around Rumi’s absence makes sense — before she started seeing Jinu, the lives of the three Hunters were intricately intertwined. Once Rumi officially became Jinu’s girlfriend, she subconsciously took a step backwards to make room for someone else. Mira and Zoey drifted closer together as a result, and it was something Rumi herself had noticed over the months. 

“I get that,” Rumi says. “You and Zoey have gotten so close, I don’t know how to match it. I feel like we used to fit together like three pieces of a puzzle, but some of the sides have changed.”

“We still fit,” Mira promises.

Rumi smiles softly, nodding. “Thanks, Mira. Everything’s been so hectic lately, I’m ready to get back into the studio with you guys and make something we’re proud of.” She sighs. “It’s been long enough.”

Sometimes, for just a minute, Rumi is allowed to blame herself for the relatively inactive year HUNTR/X has had. Sure, they’ve done an international tour, but they haven’t put out any singles, and the conversation surrounding it on the internet keeps getting louder and louder.

Rumi reaches over for the television remote, and turns the device off. She rises to her feet, eyes on Mira. “Don’t go anywhere, I’m going to brush my teeth. I don’t want to have to get up again.”

Mira nods, resting back against the pillows. By the time Rumi comes out of the bathroom a few minutes later, Mira’s found a blanket to cover up with. 

“This was in the closet,” Mira says. “I can put it back, your room’s cold.”

Rumi shakes her head. “That’s what blankets are for.”

She takes a moment to plug her phone in — it’s been abandoned since she got to her room the first time, and she doesn’t plan on checking it now. At least, beyond scrolling through the home screen, which she does while hovering over her bedside table.

“Your hair looks nice like that,” Mira says, interrupting her focus on her phone. Rumi can hear the exhaustion in Mira’s voice, and blames the pink in her cheeks on the same thing. 

Rumi’s smile is soft, like the blanket Mira’s wrapped in. Rumi finally collapses on the bed next to her friend, exhaling deeply. 

It’s nice having company. Rumi tends to forget how much she overthinks when she’s alone until someone else is with her, and the anxiety is ever-present but so much quieter. In the silence after Rumi lies down, Mira sits up. 

“I should go to bed,” Mira decides. “I’m about to doze off, and I know you need some space..” Mira straightens up the pillow behind her, swinging her legs off the bed to stand. “Let me know if you need anything?”

Before Rumi can register the word leaving her tongue, it echoes in her ears. “Stay?”

She regrets her suggestion immediately, because Mira’s composure shifts. She freezes, staring at Rumi as if she may have misheard the invitation, but she doesn’t say anything. 

Instead of letting the awkward silence drag on, Rumi adds, “If you want.”

That’s good, she thinks. It puts the ball in Mira’s court, and emphasizes her own desire for company. Rumi knows she’d sleep much better with someone else’s weight in the bed next to her, and Mira’s already here, so the offer seems fitting. 

Still, Mira seems to hesitate. 

Why is it awkward? Rumi has known Mira for a long time. They practically grew up together — finishing school, figuring out where they fit in the world, learning to sing and to protect and to love. Right now, for just a moment, they feel like strangers, and Rumi can’t decide why that is. 

Finally, the moment of awkward tension collapses into the standard comfort Rumi feels around Mira, and she wonders if she made it all up. Her anxiety has been getting to her lately, so it’s not irrational to assume that it’s affecting her personal relationships. Her trust has been swayed now that she’s had to let go of someone who knew her inside and out, but Mira isn’t like that. Mira is here to stay. 

“Okay,” Mira says. Only then does she return to the position she’d been laying in before, right beside Rumi. Her eyes never leave her friend, and she’s looking so intently that Rumi considers Mira may be able to read her mind. 

What would she say if she could? Mira has expressed her dislike for Jinu, and while they already talked about why, Rumi knows that her own thoughts would be the last thing Mira wants to see. 

Still, there’s something to be said about vulnerability. Rumi has been learning that she’s allowed to share all aspects of herself, and she’s sure it’s something she’ll be relearning all of her life. Before the past year and a half, Rumi was taught to always cover up. There was a goal she was working towards, and things could only be set right once it was accomplished. Even in accomplishment, Rumi finds that being drilled on privacy has affected the way she approaches nearly all of her relationships. She knows Jinu could sense when she was lying by omission, and she learned to watch her tone, keeping her secrets where she needs to. 

She’s still reminding herself she doesn’t need to. No one has to understand how she was raised, where she came from, and why she exists as some sort of anomaly. Zoey and Mira are all she needs, anyway, and they accept her truths as she’s willing to confess them. 

Mira’s still looking at her like she can see straight through her, and it sends a small shiver down Rumi’s spine. She’s used to feeling watched — that sort of thing comes with being in the public eye a lot. But she’s not used to being analyzed by someone close to her, especially not one of her fellow Hunters. 

“What are you thinking about?” Rumi asks, voice barely a whisper. 

“I’m wondering what I’ll dream about tonight,” Mira says. “You and Zoey, what I’ll make for breakfast tomorrow, or the soon-to-be renowned Walk of Fame incident.”

Rumi groans, putting her hand over her face. “Too soon.”

Mira’s chuckle is quiet, and it makes Rumi feel at home. Isolating herself when there’s conflict of any kind is a habit of Rumi’s, but being with someone else reminds her what it feels like to lean into community instead of living in her head. 

“I’ll probably dream about the studio,” Rumi says, staring at the ceiling. 

That’s a lie. Rumi will certainly dream about the same voice that’s been haunting her. She’s interested to know if it’s changed at all since they’ve finally had to deal with a tear, because she only became afflicted by it as a sort of evil restitution for protecting the world.

“Oh yeah,” Mira remembers. “You get those weird anticipatory dreams.” She pulls the blanket tighter around herself. “Maybe you’ll get some insight into what we should write.”

“That’s not how it works,” Rumi criticizes, but she’s smiling.

Mira’s eyes tell Rumi that she wants to talk more. She obviously has something on her mind, but Rumi can’t tell what it is, and she doesn’t ask, because Mira jumps ahead of her.

Her voice is low and quiet, betraying her exhaustion. “What do you want for your birthday?”

“I think I said all I want is a day off,” Rumi recalls, lying on her side to face Mira. 

“We had a day off today.” Mira reminds her. “What do you really want?”

Rumi thinks for a second, and sighs. “I don’t know. You know I’m horrible at asking for things. I’m just happy you guys are here with me.”

“Well, yeah,” Mira says with a smile. “Where else would we be?”

Rumi averts her eyes momentarily, still thinking, thoughts swirling around like always. Zoey and Mira could have left her when they found out the truth about her lineage — it had been over a year since they found out, but she still worries, because that’s all she does. 

“Thank you,” Rumi whispers, finally making eye contact with Mira. It’s unspoken that both of them are willing to fight sleep in order to enjoy the other’s company as long as possible. 

Mira raises an eyebrow. “For what?”

“For everything.” 

“Okay, you’re starting to scare me,” Mira says with concern, but she chuckles quietly to ease the pressure. 

“Sorry.” Why is it so hard to make eye contact? “I just want you to know how much I care. We’ve been distant lately, and there’s so much going on, and I know it’s my fault.”

Mira reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind Rumi’s ear, and Rumi’s eyes finally meet hers. Rumi trusts her enough to let her see her in this state, open and free, long hair falling over the edge of the bed while she’s focused on Mira. 

“It’s not your fault,” Mira whispers when she withdraws her hand, holding the blankets close again. “And we can’t do anything about it now, just move forward.”

Rumi shakes her head. “The tear, it was my fault. I can’t stop thinking about it.” It being her recently-surrendered relationship, still fresh on her mind. “I know I shouldn’t listen to the whispers, but the anxiety is getting to me.”

“We’ll make it through,” Mira promises. “All you need are some good laughs and an outlet to let out your emotions. Until then, we can fight. It’s what we’re good at.”

Rumi doesn’t remember anything between Mira’s reassurance and waking up in the middle of the night, barely aware enough to see Mira sleeping peacefully next to her. The exhaustion forced them both to surrender before their conversation came to a close, and Rumi reflects on their younger years, when the Hunters would stay up talking until they couldn’t get another word out.

It’s the voices that wake her — it always is. Rumi chooses to clear her head by going outside for a breath of fresh air. She keeps her hair down and her guard up when she heads downstairs and slips out the back door, standing right outside and taking a deep breath. 

The air smells like the ocean, and the hum of cars passing on Pacific Coast Highway echo behind her. The cool breeze on her face helps ease her thoughts, and the whispers fade into the background. She takes her time to catch her breath, repeating affirmations to herself in the quietest tone. Then comes the timed breaths — four seconds to inhale, seven seconds to hold, eight seconds to exhale. 

Rumi doesn’t time her absence from the house, but it can’t have been more than fifteen minutes. When she finally feels settled, she wanders back inside, closing and locking the door behind her. 

She tiptoes up the stairs, maintaining the silence in the house. She makes it back to her room without making so much as a sound, but she discovers that she’s disturbed someone despite her efforts. Mira, who was sleeping peacefully curled up in Rumi’s blankets, has since disappeared.

That’s fine, she can be alone. She’s done it before, and she’ll do it again — it seems to be a theme of her life, like she’s fated to end up on her own no matter what she does. Rumi crawls under the blankets, fights with the nausea building in her stomach, and falls asleep humming a tune to ward off the whispers.