Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Get out of the way,” Baby snarls. “I’m going to kill her.”

Rumi doesn’t move. She hasn’t moved since she collapsed onto the cool red earth, curled in on herself with her eyes squeezed shut as if ignoring reality will make it change. The argument behind her is proof that it isn’t working.

“I said no,” Jinu growls.

She wishes he wouldn’t. He should just let the others tear her apart.

It would be better than this.

“Fair enough,” Romance says, voice thrumming with barely-contained fury, “We can kick your ass too. I’m not exactly feeling picky at the moment.”

“Would you two just calm down and listen?” Jinu hisses.

Romance scoffs. “Right, because things went so well the last time we listened to you.”

“Not to me,” Jinu snaps. “Get your heads out of your asses and listen.”

There’s a long pause. In the silence, Rumi wonders how the three of them have so much energy. She can’t even open her eyes; how can anyone muster the will to fight here?

“Oh,” Baby says, and he sounds subdued now. “It’s. . . quiet.”

“Do you think. . ?” Romance starts to ask, but trails off before actually finishing the question.

“I don’t know,” Jinu answers. “Just. . . give me a minute and we'll figure it out, okay?”

Rumi doesn’t have the energy to decipher what they’re talking about. She wants to sleep. She feels so heavy.

Footsteps approach her, crunching over the dry ground. Rumi doesn’t move. Whatever happens will happen. She’s too tired to fight anymore.

“Rumi.” Jinu’s voice is low. Soft. Rumi almost flinches because it’s too gentle for this place; too gentle for her.

She doesn't answer.

Jinu sighs. She hears the sound of shifting fabric and a shadow falls over her, cutting off the red glow leaking through her eyelids. The darkness feels too safe; it makes her skin crawl.

“Rumi,” Jinu says again, “I’m going to pick you up now, okay?”

When Rumi continues to stay silent he follows through on his words, slipping his arms beneath her and hauling her up off the ground. Rumi doesn't fight it but she doesn’t help either, a limp weight in Jinu’s arms. Weight. Burden. She killed her mother and put her friends in danger. Put Jinu in danger. She’s a curse. Born wrong. Born a monster.

This is proof.

“Woof,” Jinu says, tone light in a way that sounds brittle and strained. “You've got a lot of muscle there, hunter. I guess that makes sense with how easily you swing that sword around.”

“Why are you carrying her?” Romance asks.

“Because she’s coming back with us.”

Baby and Romance start protesting at the same time, words overlapping and crashing harshly against Rumi’s ears. Jinu ignores them and starts walking.

“If you want to kill someone, you can kill me after we get back. Now get moving, I want to be at the base whenever Abby and Mystery scrape themselves back together.”

“ If they scrape themselves back together,” Romance mutters, barely loud enough for Rumi to hear.

Rumi can hear Jinu’s heartbeat where her ear is pressed to his chest, feel his breathing as his lungs expand against her body. She wonders if she has a soul. Maybe if she does she can ask Jinu to eat it. It sounds like the nicest way she could go now, the only way left to escape.

She tries to speak but no sound leaves her. Her throat feels raw.

“It’s alright,” Jinu tells her, holding her close. “You can rest for now.”

And Jinu betrayed her but Rumi can’t think of anything he could do to her that would be worse than what’s already happened, so she listens.

Rumi wakes to a room that isn’t her own. It's small and cramped, barely big enough to fit the cot she’s lying on, and the walls are bare save for a bipa that hangs beside her. Rumi looks at it for a long time, eyes tracing the instrument’s lines and curves in the low light. It’s old. It’s beautiful.

It’s easier to think about than everything that’s happened.

Rumi’s body still feels heavy but she discovers, as she gingerly sits up, that she can move again. The thin mattress beneath her feels strange and she reaches down to press her fingers against the bumps and lines beneath the fabric. Straw. It’s a straw mattress. A straw mattress on a pyeong-sang in a room with an ancient bipa hanging on the wall.

There’s an easy conclusion to draw from these things but she refuses to do so.

Rumi isn’t sure how long she sits there, fingers tracing the uneven mattress and eyes sightlessly locked on the bipa, before someone brushes aside the curtain that closes off the room. Rumi looks over. It’s Jinu, back to his false human form, gripping a chipped bowl in one hand and holding the curtain aside with the other.

Their eyes lock. Rumi stares into his like she stared at the bipa.

Eventually Jinu looks away, clearing his throat.

“You’re awake,” he says. “Good. I wasn’t sure where I was going to leave this if you weren’t.”

Rumi just watches him. It’s strange, seeing him here. It’s even stranger knowing that this is his room, this bare-bones space with few comforts and little light.

“It’s soup,” Jinu tells her after a moment. “Not good soup– nothing here’s good– but it should be edible at least. High bar, right?”

When she still doesn’t answer he slowly takes a seat on the edge of the bed. One of his thumbs runs over a chip in the bowl’s rim, back and forth in slow strokes. The soup looks thin and Rumi can’t identify the dark shapes floating in it. She’s not sure she wants to.

“Do you need me to spoon-feed it to you?” Jinu asks, raising an eyebrow. His smile is flirtatious but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Why are you disguised?” Rumi asks, and her voice is a raspy, barely-there thing. She couldn’t sing with this voice if her life depended on it.

Ha.

“What?” Jinu asks, taken aback, then, “Oh. I just. . . thought it might be less frightening to wake up to.”

“It’s fine,” Rumi says tonelessly. “I don’t care.”

Jinu nods slowly but doesn’t dismiss the glamor. His fingers fall still against the bowl. He holds it out to her.

Rumi's hands are shaking but she manages to take it without spilling. When she settles it into her lap and catches a glimpse of her reflection in the dark surface she wishes she hadn't. Her marks have spread over her face, stark against her skin and unmistakably demonic. Rumi had hoped she could make peace with that, but here she is. Damned like the rest of them.

Maybe she deserves to be, for thinking she was any better.

“I’m not hungry,” she says.

Jinu lets out a breath. “Just. . . try it? I know if I was channeling the kind of power you were and got cut off that abruptly I’d need all the strength I could get.”

Rumi stares at her reflection. She had been powerful, feeling like her soul was tied to every human in the country all at once. Like she could do anything. Like they could do anything.

She sticks the spoon in the soup just to blot out her reflection and shoves a bite into her mouth. She expects– well, she doesn't know. Slime? Rot? What would a demon consider not good, but edible?

Rumi swallows. Speaks.

“Miyeok guk?”

“It’s from a package,” Jinu tells her. “When demons smuggle human food down here it tends to be the non-perishable kind.”

Seaweed soup. That’s all it is. A familiar dish made sinister by poor lighting and even worse setting. Rumi takes another bite and feels her stomach start to rouse from the numb stupor the rest of her body is in; she’s starving. She wants to start shoveling the soup into her mouth but there’s something she’s even more starved for first.

Answers.

“Why?” Rumi croaks.

“I mean, we don’t exactly have electricity here so you’d be lucky if ice cream lasted an hour–”

“No,” Rumi says, “Why are you. . ?”

Helping me. Feeding me. Why save me from your friends? Why carry me here? Why let me sleep in your room? In your bed?

Jinu takes a deep breath. Lets it out slowly.

“Look,” he says, “I’m sorry things didn’t. . . that I didn't. . . I’m sorry for what I did. And what I said.”

He blows out a long breath, leaning back until he’s lying down on the bed, knees practically braced against the far wall in the tight space.

“And I know that’s not enough, not after. . . everything. You can kill me later if you want, but you’ll have to wait in line. I already told Baby and Romance they can have a go.”

Rumi tightens her grip on the spoon. It still feels like it could drop from her fingers in a light breeze. She’s so weak right now.

“Why don't you hate me?” she whispers.

Jinu blinks. Sits up.

“Hate you?” he echoes. “Why would I hate you?”

“Because– because we’re trapped here!” Rumi blurts, words scraping her throat on the way out but suddenly impossible to hold in any longer. “Because you were right not to trust my plan! Because I’m the one who was stupid enough to think the golden Honmoon would make exceptions instead of dragging us both down to rot with Gwi-Ma for the rest of eternity!”

Rumi claws for a breath and it comes out a sob. Tears run down her face, drip off her nose and chin and land in the bowl in her lap. The ripples obscure her reflection.

“You should hate me,” she whimpers. “I doomed us both.”

“Don’t say that.” Jinu’s voice is sharp. A hand closes over hers, steadying her shaking grip on the spoon, and the fingers are tipped with claws and the skin is shot through with dark stripes. Stripes that match her own.

“Don’t say that,” Jinu says again, voice softer. “You didn't do anything wrong. I’m the one who should’ve known better. I should’ve helped you, even if it scared me.”

Rumi shudders. Chokes on her own breath. “It wouldn’t have changed anything. We’d still be here.”

“It would’ve changed everything,” Jinu argues. “We could’ve been sharing responsibility right now instead of you blaming yourself for something that's not your fault.”

“It is my fault,” Rumi whispers. “I should’ve known this would happen. I should've known I couldn't be fixed.”

But Celine had always sounded so sure. Rumi had never doubted her for a second. Couldn't afford to doubt her, because if Celine was wrong. . .

Had Celine known this was possible? She must have. It was so obvious.

Except to someone who refused to believe her ward could be a monster like her father.

Clawed fingers curl beneath Rumi’s chin, tilting her face upward until her eyes meet Jinu’s golden ones.

“Of course you can’t be fixed,” Jinu tells her. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Rumi’s chest is tight. She snorts inelegantly, desperately trying to prevent snot from dripping down her face, but despite the disgusting sound Jinu’s expression doesn’t falter. He looks at her like he means what he says, like the two of them being here together isn’t empirical proof of the opposite.

Rumi kind of wants to kiss him but she’s worried she’s about to hack up a wad of ugly-crying-phlegm.

“It’ll be okay,” Jinu tells her. “We’ll figure it out.”

“You’re a really good liar,” Rumi sniffles.

Jinu’s smile is wry, but it reaches his eyes this time. He draws back his hand.

“I prefer to call it being hopeful. Now eat your soup before it gets cold.”

By the time Jinu leads Rumi out of his room she’s feeling, if not better, then at least less likely to topple over in a light breeze. That doesn’t make it any less nerve wracking to step out into what is clearly a common room of some kind and find herself facing two very annoyed-looking demons.

“Uh,” Rumi says tentatively. “Hey?”

Baby rolls his eyes. He’s sprawled out in what almost looks like a beanbag chair but is clearly as straw-filled as the mattress in Jinu’s room, picking at his claws and glowering in her general direction. Romance’s expression isn’t much better, arms folded as he leans back against the far wall of the room.

“Any sign of the others yet?” Jinu asks. It makes the demons’ glares shift to him instead.

“If there had been, they’d be here,” Romance drawls, slow and emphasized like he’s talking to a child.

“What happened to the others?” Rumi asks, and clearly that is the wrong thing to say because Romance immediately lets out a sarcastic laugh and Baby flips her off.

“They got killed by your homicidal bandmates,” Romance tells her, a bright smile on his lips that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Thanks for noticing.”

Rumi feels her chest squeeze. Sure, the Saja Boys were her enemies and she'd wanted to kill them herself, but she’d also spent time with them on and off stage and the thought of them just being gone is. . . strange. And she doesn’t know how they wound up in Gwi-Ma’s clutches in the first place, if whatever deal they made is really deserving of death.

But Jinu was asking if there's been any sign of them, so maybe no one actually saw them die? Maybe they’re just. . . missing.

“Remind me why we’re not killing her?” Baby asks. “I really want to kill her. I bet she tastes spicy.”

Rumi’s hands tighten into fists at her sides. Jinu lets out an aggrieved sigh and goes to put her now-empty soup bowl on the room’s rickety table, pulling out a chair and gesturing for her to sit.

“Ignore them,” he tells her. “If they were really going to try to kill you they’d have done it already.”

“Maybe I wanted her awake for it,” Baby mutters.

Rumi gingerly sits down. Jinu takes the seat next to her, bracing an elbow on the tabletop. He’s facing his bandmates– former bandmates?– with Rumi at his side, like they’re a united front. Like he’s telling the other two a fight with her means one with him.

“Still not hearing anything?” Jinu asks. Baby and Romance’s expressions shift, though Rumi can’t decipher what the change means.

“. . .nothing,” Romance admits, seemingly reluctantly.

“Zip.” Baby pops the p. “You?”

Jinu shakes his head. “We’ll have to go investigate. See what’s happening.”

“Investigate what?” Rumi asks, feeling like she’s missing something important.

For a moment none of the demons speak, exchanging loaded glances. It’s Baby who finally breaks the silence.

“You remember when you stabbed Gwi-Ma right in the firey fucking face?” he asks.

Rumi nods. That would be hard to forget.

“None of us have heard his voice since,” Jinu tells her. “We think he might be. . .”

He trails off, but he doesn't need to finish the sentence. Rumi’s eyes widen. Could it be true? Could Gwi-Ma really be gone?

Could she have actually done something right among all the wrong?

“I give it a week, tops,” Baby says. “It’s Gwi-Ma. He won’t stay down long.”

“I don’t know,” Romance murmurs. “With the amount of power she was channeling when she hit him?”

“Spend another few hundred years here and see if you’re still feeling optimistic,” Baby tells him. Romance bristles.

“Old man,” he snipes.

“Hopeless romantic.”

“Guys,” Jinu interrupts before they can really get going. “Focus.”

The Saja Boys act differently when they’re not onstage. Rumi knew that already, but this behavior is something else entirely. It’s like the Saja Boys who mocked her and her friends while remaining effortlessly in sync with each other were as much of a façade as their more public personas; like they were wearing masks under masks. Rumi wonders if this is their true dynamic or if it’s yet another act.

“What’s to focus on?” Romance asks. “We’re stuck. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Maybe,” Jinu allows. “Maybe not. No hunters have ever made a golden Honmoon before. Everything we know about it is theoretical.”

“So that’s why you won’t let us kill the hunter,” Baby drawls. “You’re hoping she can break it.”

Rumi’s stomach drops. She stands abruptly, chair legs shrieking against the floor as it’s shoved back.

“I won’t,” she snaps. “I won’t even try! ”

“And there’s your answer,” Baby mutters. “Can we kill her now?”

“You won’t even try?” Romance asks, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You've only been here a day and you slept through most of it. Will you still feel the same way in a month? A year? Ten? Stuck without your friends, with only us filthy demons for company. . .”

Rumi stiffens when a hand touches her arm, but it’s just Jinu. His eyes are concerned when he looks up at her. Is it real? Is he actually worried about her or does he just want to convince her to free him?

Is that why he kept her alive?

“Stop trying to freak her out,” he says, looking away from her to shoot Romance a look. “She’s having a hard enough time already. Don’t you remember your first day here?”

Romance mutters something and looks away.

“That’s what I thought,” Jinu says. “Look. You don’t have to like her, but it’s thanks to her we can all hear ourselves think right now. Can you at least agree that’s worth not trying to rip her throat out?”

Romance doesn’t answer. Baby slides a little further down in his not-beanbag chair, folding his arms.

“Starting to feel very unsafe here,” Rumi mutters sarcastically.

“For them, that was basically enthusiastic consent,” Jinu tells her.

Rumi slowly sits back down. For a long moment the room is silent.

“Fine,” Baby says, “We can keep her. But you’re feeding her and taking her on walks.”

Rumi makes an indignant sound but Jinu just says, “That’s fair.”

“She’s not using my brush,” Romance says. “I’m not cleaning a floor mat out of that thing every day. And she can’t borrow my clothes.”

“Who’d want to?” Jinu quips.

With the floodgates open, Baby and Romance start piling on house rules they want Rumi to follow. Some of them sound reasonable enough– asking permission before entering their rooms, no rearranging furniture in the common area– and some are insane, like telling her she'll have to hold it until they either escape or she dies.

“We can build a bathroom,” Jinu protests with a roll of his eyes.

“You don’t have a bathroom?” Rumi hisses.

“Welcome to the demon realm,” Baby says. “We hope you enjoy your stay.”

Chapter Text

Mira’s broken three punching bags and the only thing stopping her from breaking a fourth is the fact that she can't find any more spares. She’s considered breaking other things– furniture, windows, people’s bones– but every time she tries to throw something fragile across the room all she can think of is Rumi coming back to a destroyed apartment. Mira can’t do that to her. She can’t destroy their home.

Not any more than she already has.

It’s empty in here. Not just because Rumi’s missing, but because Zoey is missing too. Not physically, not like Rumi is, but in some mental or spiritual sense that almost feels worse. With Rumi completely gone Mira can pretend like she’ll be back any minute, walking through the door like nothing happened. But with Zoey. . .

Zoey’s quiet. She’s barely said a word since Celine left, hasn’t moved from her spot on the couch. Mira heard her crying earlier while she was in the gym, but by the time she made it back to the living room Zoey was silent again with only swollen eyes and red cheeks to show anything had happened at all. Normally when they’re faced with a problem like this Zoey is bouncing off the walls, brainstorming up a hurricane and writing down plans that will never work because there are no bad ideas! The fact that she isn’t scribbling in a notebook right now feels like watching rain fall upwards.

She isn’t eating either. Not unprompted. Which is why Mira’s cooking for both of them right now despite the fact that she’s the last one in their group who can be counted on for her nurturing spirit and her skills in the kitchen are mostly just pressing the thirty second button on the microwave.

“Ramyeon,” Mira says, dropping said food into Zoey’s lap and taking a seat beside her. “Eat it.”

Zoey picks up the cup and starts listlessly stirring the contents with her chopsticks. After a long moment of silence, she takes a small bite.

“Thank you,” she tells Mira, in a quiet voice that makes Mira want to shake her until whatever’s broken inside of her falls back into place.

It won’t help, though. They both know what’s missing and it’s not something Mira can replace with violence. She slurps down her noodles, watching Zoey pick at her own food, and once she’s swallowed the last bite she speaks up.

“You need to shower,” Mira says. “It’s been a day and a half and you still have your stage makeup on.”

Truthfully Zoey’s still wearing half her costume too, the same undershirt and skirt from the Idol Awards, but Mira’s going to let that one lie for right now. One thing at a time.

Zoey hums in halfhearted acknowledgement and rubs a hand over her eyes. There’s glitter smeared halfway down her face at this point and probably just as much on the couch.

“That wasn’t a yes,” Mira says. “I’m going to need a yes here.”

“Yes,” Zoey mumbles. She takes another bite of her ramyeon.

“Yes you'll shower?” Mira presses. Zoey’s eyebrows draw together.

“What?” she asks.

“Oh, for–” Mira cuts herself off. Tries to count to ten in her head. She will not yell at Zoey. She will not destroy this home more than she already has.

“Zoey,” she finally says, once she thinks she can speak without screaming. Her voice is tight. “I need you to snap out of this, okay? I need your help. I need your insane plans. I need your bubbly outlook and wildly unrealistic optimism.”

Zoey’s face crumples and Mira immediately realizes she's made a mistake. She backpedals, grip tightening on her chopsticks until she’s afraid they'll shatter.

“Never mind,” she blurts. “Never mind! Forget I said anything.”

“I just–” Zoey chokes, “I’m trying, okay? I’m trying! But I. . . I have no ideas. None! I thought Celine would be able to help but–”

She breaks off. Mira looks away. They both know how that went.

“And now I’ve got nothing,” Zoey whispers. “Nothing.”

“I’m sorry,” Mira says. “I thought. . . I’m sorry.”

Zoey sniffles, gaze dropping her cup, then downs the whole thing in a matter of seconds. She drops it onto the table before retreating back into her huddle of limbs, wiping at her eyes again.

“I just can’t believe it,” she mutters. “I didn't even know demons could have kids.”

“It might not just be Rumi,” Mira says quietly, glancing towards the wall of windows and the city outside blanketed in its golden threads. “Who knows how many half-demons there are out there? Or. . . were.”

“Rumi isn’t evil,” Zoey mumbles. “She didn't deserve this.”

Mira closes her eyes.

Rumi made the ultimate sacrifice to protect the world from demons. If the two of you refuse to honor that sacrifice then we have nothing more to discuss.

Those were the last words Celine said to them before she left the apartment. Before she left Zoey to slip into catatonia on the couch and Mira to her own blindingly furious demons.

“Ultimate sacrifice,” Mira scoffs. “Yeah, right. She didn't know what sealing the Honmoon would do to her.”

She’d seen it on Rumi’s face, the moment the golden threads had turned on her and started to drag her down out of the sky. Panic. Confusion. Rumi hadn't fallen onto her own sword; she'd tripped. She deserves to be rescued.

And then Mira can strangle her.

“Did you know?” Zoey asks dully. “Did you think. . ?”

“Of course not,” Mira says immediately. “Did you–”

“No,” Zoey says. “I wasn't thinking. If I had. . .”

She wouldn’t have done it. Neither of them would have. They would've stopped singing the second the Honmoon was whole again, before a single glimmer of gold could catch in the threads. And maybe that makes them selfish but Mira doesn’t care. If the golden Honmoon can’t tell the difference between friend and enemy it never deserved to exist in the first place.

“We could try beating up Celine,” Mira offers half-heartedly. “Maybe she knows something and she's just holding out.”

“Are you trying to help fill in the insane plans?” Zoey asks.

Mira shrugs. Yes and no. Yes because she’s pretty sure Rumi would forbid the idea if she were here and no because Rumi isn’t here and Mira wants to punch someone. Might as well be one of the few authority figures she’d allowed herself to trust after losing all faith in her own parents. Shows her right for ignoring the part of her that told her never to be under anyone's thumb again.

“How's Bobby been handling things?” Zoey asks after a long moment of silence.

“How’s Bobby handling the sudden vanishing of an up-and-coming boy band after we were seen vaporizing two of them live onstage, plus the disappearance of one of our group members?” Mira asks dryly. “It’s going suuuper well.”

Apparently Celine told Bobby that Rumi’s taking a mental health break, which Mira only learned when Bobby called her earlier with an update. He’s been telling the public this whole thing was a kayfabe-esque stunt to bring them the most exciting, collaborative Idol Awards ever, and that both groups are on a much-needed vacation. So far the Idol Awards organizers are backing him up, not wanting to be caught with their pants down. The longer both groups stay missing, though, the less the public are going to believe the cover story. Mira wouldn’t be surprised if there are already conspiracy theories going around, and like. . . they’re not wrong.

She can tell Bobby doesn't believe a word he’s saying to the cameras, lying through his teeth to protect them. From his tone when he relayed Celine’s story he doesn't believe Rumi’s really on a health break either. He didn't press her for the truth when he called, though, just asked for a demo of Takedown to help sell the cover story and told her he’s there for anything they need.

Anything at all, he’d said. I’ll drop everything to be there for you girls.

He’s a good manager. A good man.

They’re lucky to have him.

“We should give Bobby a raise,” Mira says.

“And probably a fruit basket,” Zoey adds.

Zoey pauses, then tentatively asks, “Mira?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you still think. . . all demons are evil?” Zoey asks. “Not half-demons, obviously. Just full ones.”

Mira swallows. She hasn’t been wanting to look that particular existential crisis in the eye.

“I don’t know,” she admits.

“Because,” Zoey continues, “Rumi’s mom was good, and she fell in love with a demon, so. . . maybe they can be good too.”

“We don’t know they were in love,” Mira corrects. There’s more than one way Rumi could have happened, after all. “And even if she loved him, he could’ve still been lying to her. Tricking her. Maybe he hid his marks until after she was pregnant.”

“But what if he didn't? What if he loved her too?” Zoey asks. “What if we just trapped half demons and good demons down there with the bad ones? With Gwi-Ma?”

“We already know we fucked up, Zoey,” Mira says. “Does it really matter just how bad?”

Zoey falls silent. Mira sighs.

“Alright,” she says, “Up. You’re going to the shower or I’m carrying you there. I’ll get you your pajamas, we’ll get a bunch of takeout, and we’ll. . . we’ll fix this. We’ll figure out a way to fix this.”

She doesn’t believe it, even as she says it. She doesn't think Zoey believes it either, but she still lets Mira drag her to the bathroom and clean away her makeup and help her brush out her hair. Mira isn't sure which one of them need it more.

We haven’t forgotten about you, Rumi, she thinks to herself, gripping the brush like a weapon as she teases the tangles out of Zoey’s hair. We’re coming. I have no idea how, but we're coming.

She ignores the part of her that whispers that Rumi might already be dead. A lone demon hunter in a world of nothing but demons. . . how could Rumi possibly fight against those odds? Can she even access her weapons down there? Is the air breathable? Is there food and water?

Three days to die of dehydration, her mind whispers. Six at most.

Shut up, she thinks viciously. It’s Rumi. If anyone can survive there, she can.

Mira just hopes it won't have to be for long.

Chapter Text

There’s no sun in this world.

Rumi sits atop the ramshackle building the Saja Boys call their base, legs dangling off the edge of the roof and eyes on the horizon. When she’d first stepped outside she’d thought it was just nighttime but a single glance upward had proven otherwise. There are no stars dotting the sky, no moon, just the golden strands of the Honmoon shimmering far above her. This land is a prison of perpetual twilight lit by the bars of its cage.

What lies below isn’t any less depressing. Miles and miles of barren land, cracked red earth interrupted only by dark jutting rocks and crumbling ruins. There are no trees, no plant life of any kind. If there are animals here Rumi sees no sign of them. Mist drapes over the land like a burial shroud.

It’s quiet. Unnaturally so. All Rumi can hear is her own breaths in the silence, still raspy in her tired throat.

And then footsteps behind her.

Rumi tenses but it’s only Jinu, steps sure and even as he crosses the roof to sit beside her. He lets out a sigh, brushing off his knees and adjusting his collar before joining her in staring into the distance.

“Thank you for not teleporting directly behind me,” Rumi says at length.

“You’re welcome. Not really how I want to find out if you can still summon your sword.”

Rumi frowns, looking down at her hands where they’re braced palm-flat against the roof. She doesn't think so. She can feel no connection to the world above, no connection to the fans. . . or to Mira and Zoey. After so many years of harnessing power with her voice and wielding the faith of others she feels naked without it. Exposed.

Vulnerable.

“Is it always like this here?” she asks, changing the subject.

“Oh, no,” Jinu tells her, “Usually the underworld is a hot tourist destination. You just happened to catch us during our season of ominous fog and gloom. Maybe try back next month.”

Despite herself, Rumi snorts. The corner of Jinu’s mouth ticks up in a small but genuine-looking smile.

“Seriously though,” he says, “Not much changes here. At least, it hasn't as long as I’ve been around.”

Rumi tries to imagine it. She remembers Romance’s words. How would she feel, staring out at this stagnant landscape for a month? A year? Ten?

. . .four hundred?

“I don’t know why,” Rumi says, “But I kind of expected the demon realm to have more, you know. Demons.”

“What, I’m not enough for you?” Jinu asks, smirking and raising an eyebrow. Rumi shoves at his shoulder and he doesn’t budge. Her limbs still feel weak.

“We’re pretty far on the outskirts right now,” Jinu says once he’s done teasing her. “Things get busier the closer you get to Gwi-Ma’s temple.”

“He has a temple?” Rumi asks. “Why am I not surprised?”

Jinu leans a little closer to her, shoulder-to-shoulder, his side pressed against hers. Rumi stops breathing for a moment.

Jinu lifts a hand, pointing a clawed finger out into the darkness. “You see that spot over there? That dark smudge?”

Rumi squints.

“I see a patch of slightly darker darkness?” she says tentatively.

“That’s the city,” he tells her, lowering his arm. He doesn't move away.

Rumi looks at the spot a while longer. It doesn't look like any city she’s ever seen, but then, she can barely make out anything at all.

“There are no lights,” she murmurs. There are no lights in the house below her either. Demons can see much better in the dark than humans can and Rumi knows she herself has better night vision than she should, but it still feels strange to see a city entirely dark.

Jinu lets out a breath.

“No electricity,” he says, “And nothing reliable to burn. The only lights here come from Gwi-Ma. . . or the Honmoon.”

“How do you build houses here?” Rumi asks. Jinu shrugs.

“Scavenged materials from the human realm, mostly. Sometimes you can find useful things in the wastelands too but it’s more dangerous.”

“More dangerous than getting sliced in half if you run into demon hunters?” Rumi asks. Her tone is half-joking but Jinu’s expression doesn't lighten.

“This is a big realm, Rumi,” he says. “If you lose sight of the city you might find yourself wandering the wastes for the rest of eternity. That’s what Baby thinks happened to whatever demons used to live here before he found the place abandoned.”

Rumi feels a shiver run down her spine. She makes a mental note not to take any late-night walks.

“Besides,” Jinu says, shaking his head and letting a smile touch his lips again, “Dying is a pain, but it’s not like it’s fatal.”

Rumi stares at him for a long moment.

“What?” he asks, then his eyes widen. “Oh. Oh, I guess you wouldn’t know.”

“Still don’t,” Rumi says flatly. “What are you talking about?”

Jinu shifts, pulling away so he can swing a leg back up onto the roof and turn to face her more fully. Rumi tries not to miss the warmth of him pressed to her side.

“Okay, how to explain this. . .” Jinu begins, pursing his lips. “You know how souls can exist without a body?”

“Well, yeah,” Rumi says, not sure where he’s going with this. “If they couldn't demons wouldn't be able to steal them.”

Jinu winces a little at that, but keeps going.

“Demons like me. . . like the others. . . we're souls bound to Gwi-Ma. When a human dies, their soul moves on to whatever comes next for them. But ours can’t. We always return here.” Jinu glances out over the barren land around them, then back to Rumi. “And unless Gwi-Ma consumes them, our souls eventually build new bodies.”

Rumi feels something cold settle in her chest.

“So. . . every time I killed a demon. . .”

“You sent them back here,” Jinu confirms.

Rumi sits with that for a moment.

For almost her whole life, she’d thought demons were soulless. Literally soulless, not metaphorically. She’d thought of them as empty vessels, bodies controlled by Gwi-Ma that felt no emotions and only acted on their master’s wishes. When she or her bandmates killed one, they felt nothing.

After meeting Jinu– after learning he’d once been human– she'd been forced to rethink that. She’d been hesitant in battle and probably would've gotten herself killed if Mira and Zoey hadn’t been watching her back. Eventually she’d let herself be placated by the thought that, even though the lives she was ending were real, she was at least freeing those cursed souls from Gwi-Ma’s control.

But she hadn't been. She'd just been handing them right back to him.

Oh, God. During the fight with Gwi-Ma she’d seen the vapor of destroyed demons being pulled towards his flames in twisted streams. Some had exploded without ever being touched by a weapon at all. Gwi-Ma had been consuming their souls, right in front of her. Rumi had watched it happen and she’d had no idea.

“What. . . happens to the souls he eats?” she asks, voice barely a whisper.

“I. . .” Jinu hesitates. “I don’t know. Not really. But I assume it’s something like what happens when we consume souls.”

“When you. . ?” Rumi begins, but Jinu holds up his hands to ward off the question.

“I do not have any human souls inside me right now,” he says. Pauses. “Unless you count mine.”

“But you have eaten them before,” Rumi says. Jinu gives her a helpless sort of shrug.

“Yeah,” he admits. “Under orders. But we don’t keep them. We just bring them to Gwi-Ma.”

“That’s not really better,” Rumi says. Jinu sighs.

“. . .I know. But the point is, souls aren't destroyed when we eat them. They stay inside of us, making us stronger, until our bodies are destroyed or we willingly release them.” Jinu looks away, back towards the city. “My theory? Gwi-Ma’s really just a regular demon like the rest of us, except he’s consumed thousands and thousands of souls.”

“So when I stabbed him. . . those souls might’ve been freed?” Rumi asks.

“And I’m really hoping when he scrapes a body back together he’ll be as easy to kill as the rest of us,” Jinu concludes. “It really is just a theory, though. Not like I could ever test it.”

“I hope it's true,” Rumi says. “I wanna kick him in the balls but when he’s a wall of fire they’re really hard to find.”

Jinu laughs, shoulders relaxing slightly.

“I kinda thought you might shove me off the roof for admitting the soul-eating thing,” he says. “Thanks for not doing that.”

“It’s not like it would've killed you,” Rumi sniffs. Then, “So. . . Abby and Mystery are dead, but they'll be back?”

“It might take them a little while, but yeah,” Jinu tells her. “Gwi-Ma definitely didn't have a chance to consume their souls since there was a sword in his face at the time.”

“You’re welcome,” Rumi says.

“Have I not thanked you for that yet? Thank you for stabbing my evil boss, Rumi. You’re definitely in my top three favorite demon hunters now.”

Rumi rolls her eyes and kicks at his foot. Jinu grins and kicks back.

She doesn't know how she feels about the thought of Jinu stealing human souls. Part of her wants to brush it off, to dismiss it as just something else Gwi-Ma forced him to do against his will, but there had been something almost. . . wistful in his eyes when he'd talked about them making him stronger.

She doesn't really want to ask. Whatever Jinu’s answer, they’re stuck with each other. He’s her guide to the underworld, the only demon here who won’t rip out her throat as soon as look at her. More than that, she likes Jinu. She doesn’t want to find out that her worst fears about him are true.

She runs a hand down one of her arms, over the marks she’s been hiding for so long.

“Jinu,” she says, “Do you. . . like eating souls?”

Jinu makes an uneasy sound at that and Rumi’s heart plummets.

“Look, it’s not. . .” Jinu waves a hand. “It’s not as simple as like or not like. Some things feel good even if you know they're wrong. Imagine chocolate bars were made of people and some guy was forcing you to eat them at gunpoint. There'd be some conflicting feelings there.”

Rumi pictures that. Struggles to stop picturing it. It’s a truly bizarre mental image and it feels a little stuck in there.

“Okay,” she says, “So. . . you like the feeling, but not where it comes from.”

Jinu nods.

“There’s a lot of things demon bodies crave that human ones don’t. I’m kind of surprised you haven't run into more of them, being half demon and all,” he says.

Rumi’s eyes narrow.

“Wait, what other cravings–” she starts to ask, but is interrupted by a shout from below them.

“Jinu!” Baby yells. “Stop making out with the hunter and get back down here!”

Jinu’s back goes ramrod straight, eyes widening, before he vanishes in a puff of demon smoke. Rumi leans over the edge of the roof, peering down just in time to see Jinu kicking Baby in the shin. Baby, in turn, drags Jinu into a headlock that he teleports out of, only for Baby to teleport after him and make another grab. If Rumi ignores the teleporting, the whole thing just looks like a couple of normal human guys roughhousing with each other.

She watches for another minute or so when an uncomfortable thought occurs to her.

Can Rumi. . . eat souls?

Chapter Text

“Alright,” Jinu says, both hands braced against the common room table as he addresses the room. “Here’s what we need to accomplish while we’re in town.”

As it turns out, he’d come up to the roof in the first place because he was supposed to be retrieving Rumi for a group meeting. She has no idea how long she was up there– the lack of sun or moon makes it difficult for her to track the passage of time– but apparently it was long enough for the three remaining Saja Boys to come up with the rough outline of a plan.

Baby is back on the not-beanbag chair, looking pointedly away from Jinu, but Romance has taken the seat next to Rumi at the table. Rumi’s decided that scooting her chair further away would show weakness but that doesn’t mean she’s comfortable with the proximity, or with the sideways glances Romance keeps sending her way. She can't read his expression well enough to tell what he's thinking.

“First, we find out what happened to Gwi-Ma. Romance, you’re the best at getting information out of people so that’s mostly going to be your job.”

“Flirt my way to success,” Romance says, sounding almost bored. “Got it.”

“Second, we need to get food for Rumi. Buying too much at once will be suspicious, so we’ll have to visit as many merchants as we can to spread it out.”

“That would be easier if we could all split up,” Baby drawls, eyes flicking to meet Rumi’s before he goes back to staring at the wall.

“We’re not having this conversation again,” Jinu tells him. “Rumi's staying with me, and that’s final.”

Rumi’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Excuse me?” she says, voice mild. “Does Rumi get an opinion?”

Jinu winces. Baby coughs something that sounds suspiciously like whipped.

“Sorry,” Jinu says, “Did you want to wander around the underworld’s capital city alone? Because we can make that happen.”

. . .no, that sounds like a nightmare.

“Couldn't I just stay here?” Rumi asks.

“Good idea,” Baby says, still not looking at her.

Jinu sighs. “You could, but Abby and Mystery might show up while we’re gone. Also, I kind of figured you’d want a say in what we get for you to eat.”

“Fair,” Rumi allows. “I think you’re overlooking the obvious problem here, though.”

She gestures at herself. She’d lost her jacket to Jinu’s imposter versions of her bandmates, leaving her in just her undershirt and shorts. While normally she'd have been worried about explaining her patterns to people now she’s worried about the opposite. She’s pretty sure a demon hunter won’t be welcome in a demon city, especially one who just trapped them all down here.

“We’ve got a plan for that,” Jinu tells her. “We’re going to disguise you.”

“We?” Baby echoes, one eyebrow rising. Jinu ignores him.

“It won't be perfect, but with a mask and something to cover up that outfit you should blend right in.”

“A mask won't make me stick out?” Rumi asks.

“A lot of demons wear masks,” Romance says. “Some of them are even physical.”

Rumi hesitates, but nods. The idea of a flimsy disguise being all that stands between her and certain death doesn't scare her as much as it probably should; she’s snuck around with her girls often enough that it almost feels normal.

“We’re all agreed on the plan then?” Jinu asks, looking to each of them in turn. Baby continues to ignore him for a long moment, then lets out a grudging sigh and a grunt that almost sounds like agreement.

“Great,” Jinu says. “I’ll lay out your disguise in my room, Rumi. You can get changed in there.”

Jinu turns, ducking through another curtain and out of the room. Rumi glances at the other two demons, but neither are looking her way.

“Mystery’s gonna be piiissed that Jinu’s borrowing his stuff,” Romance says.

“Dibs on telling him,” Baby replies.

After a moment, Romance’s eyes flick in Rumi’s direction again.

“Any chance you can teleport?” he asks her.

Rumi blinks.

“Uh. No?”

Baby makes a displeased sound and slouches further in his chair. Romance groans.

“Great. We’re gonna have to walk the whole way there.”

Rumi frowns. The city had looked pretty far away and she’s still in her high-heeled boots. Fighting and dancing in these is one thing, but hiking off-road through an oppressively hostile landscape for miles?

This is going to suck.

When Jinu steps out of what is apparently Mystery’s room the first thing Rumi notices isn’t the mask he's holding or the bundle of fabric under his arm. No, the first thing she notices is that Jinu’s taken off his durumagi. Her eyes flick between the jeogori he’s now wearing uncovered and the bundle of black fabric under his arm.

The pieces click together and Rumi feels her face flush. Romance lets out a low whistle.

“Already getting her to wear your clothes,” he says. “For an old guy you move fast, Jinu.”

Jinu’s relaxed demeanor tightens and he points the mask he’s holding at Romance like a threat.

“You are so lucky my hands are full,” he hisses, and escapes to his room. Rumi stands abruptly and follows him, ducking her head to try to hide her blush. If the wolf-whistle that follows her is any indication, it didn't work.

When Rumi slips into Jinu’s room she immediately realizes she’s made a mistake. The room remains just as small as it was before and, now that Rumi’s not on the bed, there’s even less floor space to share. Jinu looks at her, eyes wide, halfway through laying out the mask and durumagi on the bed.

“Uh,” he says, “I was going to–”

“Yes,” Rumi blurts, “I mean, no! I mean–”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll just–” Jinu says, flattening himself back against the wall and trying to squeeze past her. Rumi tries to press as close to the bed as possible but her knee knocks against Jinu’s and she starts to fall back, only for Jinu to catch her with one hand at her wrist and the other around her waist.

Neither of them move.

“Sorry,” Jinu says, “It’s– it’s cramped in here.”

Rumi’s eyes catch on Jinu’s fingers where they’re wrapped around her wrist. The sleeve of his jeogori’s ridden up and now she can see. . .

“The bracelet,” she breathes. “You’re wearing it.”

Jinu glances down like it’s the first time he’s noticed that, then abruptly lets go of Rumi like he’s been burned. He folds his arms, tucking his hands into his armpits like he’s hiding them from view.

“Yeah, I. . .” Jinu coughs. “I wore it to the Idol Awards. Which. Is weird, now that I’m saying it out loud.”

“You did traumatize me in front of millions of people,” Rumi agrees. “And then play the opening act for Gwi-Ma’s apocalypse.

“I’m going to get out of this room now,” Jinu says, and he does.

Rumi stands there, staring at the curtain Jinu disappeared through, until she stops feeling quite so much like there are bees inside her brain. She takes a deep breath, then turns to examine the items on the bed. The mask is a simple wooden thing with leather straps to tie it in place, old enough that the paint has started to chip but well cared for enough that the design is still clear. The mask has no mouth or nose, only two holes carved for the eyes. It’s painted an almost silvery white with shoots and swirls of pale pink and yellow running through it.

Rumi picks up the mask and carefully ties it in place. Then she slowly, hesitantly, picks up Jinu’s durumagi. It’s still warm to the touch from his body heat and as she slips it on she can smell Jinu’s scent clinging to the fabric. She has no idea what cologne he wears, only that it smells like wild roses and campfire smoke. Though on second thought, maybe the smoky smell is from his teleporting.

The durumagi is too big on her but in this case that’s a positive. It covers her more fully and helps to obscure her form. Her boots are still showing but there’s not much she can do about that unless she wants to walk to the city barefoot.

Rumi steps out of Jinu’s room and finds the common room empty aside from Romance. He looks up when she enters, giving her a once-over. Rumi starts to bristle.

“What?” she asks.

“Nothing,” Romance says.

From under the table he pulls a pair of sneakers, sensible and comfortable-looking. He sets them on the table.

“These should fit you,” he says.

Rumi looks at Romance, then the shoes.

“I thought you said I couldn’t borrow your clothes,” she says.

“Yeah, well.” Romance shrugs, then gives her a sultry smile. “What kind of gentleman lets a lady walk four miles in heels?”

“If this is your way of hitting on me, I’m not interested,” Rumi says firmly, even as she winces to imagine an eight mile round trip in these boots.

“Jinu’s not here,” Romance tells her, “And I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Rumi makes a disgusted sound. Romance tilts his head, the flirtatious grin sliding off his face like water, and after a moment he stands with a nod.

“Good,” he says, and turns to leave.

“Hold on,” Rumi says, raising her voice, “Was that a test?”

Romance waves a hand over his shoulder as he opens the front door. He doesn’t answer.

“Bastard,” Rumi grumbles. The sneakers are still sitting there on the table and, after a moment, she grudgingly wrestles her boots off before slipping them on. It’s a relief already and she hasn’t even started walking yet.

When Rumi exits the building she catches the tail end of the demons’ conversation. Jinu’s asking Romance what took him so long and Romance just runs a hand back through his hair and tells Jinu that perfection takes time.

“No one will even see you,” Jinu grumbles.

“Why won’t anyone see him?” Rumi asks.

“We’re disguising ourselves when we get close,” Romance says nonchalantly, like he hadn’t just been inside testing her loyalty like a sneaker-hawking catfish.

“There’s no telling how the general demon public feels about the Saja Boys right now,” Jinu sighs. “We were pretty popular for a minute there, but. . .”

He gestures above them at the golden threads of the honmoon. Rumi winces. Yeah, that would probably do it.

They walk in silence at first, the only sound their footsteps. The mist swirls and eddies around them, disturbed by their movements. Rumi’s range of vision is a lot smaller now that she’s down on ground level. She can understand how demons get lost out here.

“So,” Rumi says eventually, “I think at this point I should probably ask what your real names are.”

“Our real names?” Romance echoes.

“Yeah, you know. The non-stage ones?”

“They aren’t stage names,” Baby says bluntly.

Rumi blinks. “You’re kidding. Your name is actually Baby?”

Baby glances at her over his shoulder, then back ahead.

“When we become demons, Gwi-Ma takes our human name away,” Romance says. “None of us remember them. We get nicknames after that and eventually something sticks, but not everyone’s thrilled about theirs.”

Well that’s horrifying. Rumi looks over at Jinu but he’s focused on the path in front of them, face tilted away from her. Is that how Jinu knew Gwi-Ma could erase his memories? Because he’d already taken his name from him?

“Are you happy with yours?” she asks Romance.

He shrugs. “It could be worse. I could’ve gotten nicknamed baby. ”

“I will kill you in your sleep,” Baby says.

Rumi hesitates, but eventually says, “Is there. . . something else you’d like me to call you?”

Baby glances back at her again, for longer this time. He seems to be evaluating her, though for what Rumi has no idea. She has a mask on, after all.

“It’s fine,” he finally says, turning away. “If it actually bothered me I would’ve shut it down centuries ago.”

“I bet you can’t guess how I got my name,” Romance says, tossing Rumi a challenging look. Rumi raises her eyebrows at him, unimpressed.

“Because you flirt with everything that moves?”

A few paces ahead, Jinu snorts. Romance shoots an annoyed look in his direction.

“No,” he tells her, “That’s not it.”

“Did you have a really public and dramatic breakup when you first got here?” Rumi tries.

Romance makes an uncertain sort of noise.

“That’s not technically wrong,” he says, “But it’s not the full story either.”

“Then. . . what is?” Rumi asks.

Romance smirks at her. “I said I didn't think you could guess. I never said I’d tell you.”

Rumi takes a deep breath and reminds herself that she’s a mature adult who is above petty, childish drama and oh who is she kidding she’s definitely not.

“Jinu!” she calls. Jinu starts. “Why is he called Romance?”

“That’s cheating,” Romance hisses.

Jinu turns around, hands raised in surrender.

“Hey, I’m not getting in the middle of this one,” he says. “I’m too smart for that.”

“No you’re not,” Baby says.

“You’re definitely not,” Rumi agrees.

“If I agree with those two will you still keep my secret?” Romance asks. Jinu groans dramatically.

“I’m surrounded by traitors on all sides!” he cries, clutching his chest and pantomiming a swoon. Then, after a moment, he straightens back up and opens his eyes. “But seriously, most demon names are pretty personal. I've known Baby for four hundred years and he still hasn’t told me how he got his.”

“And after four hundred years of annoying me, you’re not any closer than when you started.” Baby says.

“If he ever tells you, you have to tell me,” Jinu stage-whispers to Rumi. “I’ll do anything.”

“No way,” Rumi says. “A secret you’ve been after for four hundred years? It’d be way too fun to hold that over your head.”

“. . .and suddenly, telling little miss huntress is actually appealing,” Baby muses. Jinu lets out a betrayed squawk.

“Why do I talk to any of you?” he asks.

“No one else will tolerate you for long periods,” Romance says.

Jinu huffs, crosses his arms, and teleports a dozen yards or so ahead of them.

“I’m not walking with you anymore!” he declares.

“Finally,” Baby says.

Rumi lets herself fall quiet, digesting what she’s just learned. If Gwi-Ma can take away the memories of those he controls, why didn't he just remove Jinu’s memories of the deal he’d made with Rumi? Jinu would’ve been none the wiser and Rumi would only have found out after the betrayal had already happened.

Because he wanted to hurt Jinu, Rumi realizes. Because betraying me intentionally would be more painful than being tricked into it.

But why would that be more important than the success of his plan? Sure, Jinu had gone through with the betrayal anyway, but Gwi-Ma had thrown away a sure thing just to torture someone whose soul already belonged to him. Something feels off here, but Rumi can’t quite put her finger on what it is.

Well. At least she has a long walk to think about it.

Chapter Text

The demon city looks, to Rumi’s eyes, very similar in style to the cobbled-together building they left in the wasteland behind them. The outskirts are sparse but the houses cluster closer and closer together further in until they’re too dense for Rumi to see between. According to Jinu Gwi-Ma’s temple is in the dead center of the city, but right now the only sign of that Rumi can see is a scattered handful of structures that have been built using ancient arches and walls as scaffolding. The rest of the city's materials range in age and makeup, from modern-looking plywood sheets to lichen-flecked stone. The streets, such as they seem to be, are largely unpaved.

“Showtime,” Romance says as they start drawing close to the outermost buildings. In a puff of demonic smoke he’s suddenly a water demon with suspiciously un-scraggly hair.

“Water demon?” Baby asks. “Really?”

Romance flips his now-black hair over one shoulder and gives Baby a flat look.

“Like your choice is going to be any more inspired.”

Baby folds his arms.

“You don’t even know what I’m picking.”

“Akryung,” Jinu and Romance say in unison. Baby scowls, but sure enough when he transforms Rumi’s greeted by a familiar knobbly visage with lurid skin and teeth that would give a whole fleet of dentists lifetime job security.

Jinu leans over to Rumi and stage-whispers, “He’s self-conscious about not looking scary enough.”

“Laugh it up, loverboy,” Baby grumbles, “You’re up next. Good luck picking something that doesn't turn the hunter off.”

Jinu looks him dead in the now-bulging eyes and draws a mask out of his jeogori.

“Coward,” Baby says.

“Booo,” Romance agrees. “That is such a cop-out.”

Jinu ignores them and slips on the mask. His is painted jet black with an exaggerated red smirk and golden lines curving down from the corners of the eyes like gilded tears. Rumi wonders if he picked complementary masks for the two of them on purpose or if they were just the first ones he found.

“Remember,” Jinu says under his breath as they start to make their way into the city, “You can’t trust appearances here. If we get separated, even for just a minute, make sure it’s really me before following me anywhere.”

“I feel like we should've agreed on a codeword on the walk, then,” Rumi hisses back.

Jinu looks at her, golden eyes peering out from behind the mask, and lifts a hand like he’s tugging on a steam whistle’s pull cord. Rumi would bet anything in the world he’s mouthing choo choo behind the mask.

Rumi kicks him in the shin. Jinu swears, grabbing his leg and hopping for a couple of steps before recovering.

“Smooth,” Romance says.

“Shut up,” Jinu tells him, “Mira stabbed you in the back with a pen during the signing.”

“And I handled it with grace.”

It’s strange, seeing a city with no lights. Rumi keeps an eye on their surroundings as they walk further into the city, not wanting to be caught unawares. Demons look up as they pass but, true to what the Saja Boys told her, no one bats an eye at their appearances. Rumi even spots a few others with masks of their own.

“Does this city have a name?” she asks Jinu as they pass a small group of young-looking akryung playing jegichai. One of them fumbles the jegi and it bounces into the road. Baby scoops it up with the toe of his shoe and kicks it back.

“No. It doesn't need one,” Jinu explains, “Since there aren't any others.”

The possibly-teenage demons wave Baby over to play with them. Baby glances at the rest of their group, then ducks past Jinu.

“Meet me on the way back,” he says, and Jinu nods.

It doesn’t take long for the streets to get crowded. If there’s any sense to how the city’s laid out Rumi doesn’t understand it; the roads cross over each other and dead-end in alleys and ramp up to rope bridges slung between buildings. Consequently Rumi needs to watch out for potential collisions from all directions at all times, including up since sometimes demons will just drop off of rooftops. When one of them lands directly in front of her she startles and instinctively grabs Jinu’s hand. He stops walking momentarily, face tilting down to look at their intertwined fingers.

“I don’t want to get separated,” Rumi blurts.

“Right,” Jinu says. “Good plan.”

Romance mutters something that Rumi can’t make out over the layers of conversation around them, but then he leans closer and raises his voice slightly.

“Is it just me, or. . ?” he asks.

Jinu nods.

“It’s definitely more crowded than usual,” he agrees. “And. . . livlier, too.”

It just seems like a normal city to Rumi, albeit one full of demons, but she doesn't actually have a point of reference here. She’ll have to trust their judgement on this one.

“It's only going to get busier as demons recorporeate,” Romance says. “If they do. I’ll try to find out if anyone who got eaten by Gwi-Ma has come back.”

With that he slips away, moving through the crowd effortlessly before vanishing fully into it. Jinu squeezes Rumi’s hand before using it to tug her down the street to their left.

“Come on,” he says. “Market’s this way.”

The street ahead both widens and narrows, widening in the sense that the buildings are further apart and narrowing in the sense that the road becomes choked with stalls. Rumi’s grip tightens on Jinu’s hand to the point that she thinks her fingernails might be leaving marks because to call the market packed is an understatement and a half. Demons fill every square inch of the street, almost reminding Rumi of the crowds at a Huntrix concert in both volume and. Well. Volume. They’re all shouting to be heard over each other and the cacophony of noise is deafening.

“I have literally never seen this place so busy,” Jinu tells her.

“Oh no,” Rumi says. “They’re panic buying.”

Jinu groans. “Golden Honmoon means no more supplies coming in from the human realm. . . I should’ve seen this coming. This is going to be expensive.”

“I’d offer to pay you back but I'm guessing you don't use won here,” Rumi says. “Also, I think we can both agree you owe me after what you did to me, sooo. . .”

“Let’s just do this before there’s a riot,” Jinu says, and the two of them enter the fray.

Rumi’s bumped and jostled on all sides but her grip on Jinu’s hand keeps them from getting separated. She glances from stall to stall, intrigued by which human things demons consider worth selling. A stall selling batteries has a few demons literally frothing at the mouth to get their hands on the merchandise. Another stall, packed to the repurposed-rug roof with crates of all kinds of alcohol, has broken out in a bidding war. Jinu slows down and Rumi follows the direction he’s looking to a stand selling Saja Boys merch, which is significantly less crowded than the other stalls but is also the site of an impressive screaming match.

“This shit isn’t worth the width of your ass!” A demon with impressive horns and a jutting set of tusks shouts. “Get out of here and let someone with actual wares use the stall!”

The stall’s current occupant, a water demon of short stature and shoulders set in a hard line, yells right back.

“You saw the Saja Boys perform! If they couldn’t stop the hunters, none of us could!”

The horned demon scoffs. “And you feel better after falling for that false hope, do you?”

“Better than standing around with your thumb up your ass and complaining!” The water demon throws out a hand and points a clawed finger in Rumi’s direction. For a split second she tenses, thinking she’s been caught, but then she realizes the demon’s actually pointing past her to the stall on the other side of the street selling pens and notebooks.

“If you want to whine to something that’ll listen, go buy a diary,” the water demon snarls. “Now fuck off, you’re scaring away my customers!”

Jinu leans closer to Rumi.

“You probably want to get out of your costume, right?” he asks. “I think I know where to get some clothes that won’t have their prices hiked to the Honmoon.”

“You just want to see me in your merch,” Rumi grumbles.

“I can have more than one reason for doing something.”

They navigate over to the stall after the horned demon, thankfully, stomps off with a few parting curses. The water demon eyes them slightly warily.

“Interested?” she asks.

“Yes,” Jinu says, and the water demon relaxes. “Do you have any of the pajama sets?”

The water demon perks up.

“Yes, actually! We just got a shipment in before– well. Before.”

She ducks under her counter and comes up with a handful of different color choices, one in Saja-pink on black, one in Saja-pink on blue, and finally Saja-blue and Saja-pink on white.

“Just tell me what size you need,” the water demon says, “And feel free to mix and match the tops and bottoms.”

Rumi goes for black pants and a white shirt. Jinu gets a Saja tote as well– Rumi’s assuming to help carry the rest of their purchases– and once he pays in coins that Rumi is pretty sure are solid gold the water demon happily tucks the pajamas into the bag and hands it over.

“I couldn't help but hear your. . . discussion earlier,” Jinu says as Rumi takes the tote. “Did you really mean what you said? That the Saja Boys were our best chance?”

“Of course,” the water demon says, blinking her sunken yellow eyes. “They got closer to beating the hunters than anyone else I’ve ever seen. And, well.”

She glances around, lowering her voice slightly and leaning in.

“Between you and me– and I wouldn’t be saying this if we weren’t, well. Unobserved right now– doesn’t their music just. . . make you feel better?”

She straightens back up and hums a snippet of Soda Pop’s chorus.

“I hope they come back soon,” she says. “We could use something uplifting with. . . well. Everything.”

“Maybe they’ll put on a concert once things have calmed down,” Jinu says.

The water demon sighs. “I hope you’re right. You two take care, okay?”

Jinu nods. As they walk away Rumi presses her side to his so they can talk without being overheard.

“A concert?” she asks.

Jinu shrugs. “Why not? We've got nothing else lined up aside from trying to figure out how to open up the Honmoon.”

“It’s just. . .” Rumi hesitates. “I thought you only formed the Saja Boys to defeat us. Would the others still want to sing now that they don't have to?”

“I don’t know,” Jinu says, and there’s something in his tone that makes Rumi wish she could see his face. “I would. But I’m not sure the others still want to follow my lead.”

“They listened to you about coming into town,” Rumi says. “And, well. When you asked them not to kill me.”

Jinu nods in acknowledgement but doesn’t say anything else. They make their way over to a stall selling instant foods and, while they wait their turn in line, Rumi examines the selection and tells Jinu what she wants.

“The good news is,” Jinu says, eyeing the crowd around them, “It’s no longer going to look suspicious to be buying in bulk.”

Eventually they make it to the front of the stall. Rumi sets their bag down and Jinu sets about filling it, ordering Rumi’s choices and haggling with the merchant over prices. Rumi watches the exchange with curiosity but her attention is rapidly yanked away when she hears a scream cut through the noise of the market, a scream that sounds alarmingly like that of a child.

“No! Get away!”

Rumi whips around, letting go of Jinu’s hand. A small fissure has formed in the crowd as someone barrels through it, demons parting in a way Rumi hasn’t seen today. She darts forward, looking for the source of the cry, and sees a small child– maybe six at the oldest– running full-tilt through the crowd. She’s crying, tears streaming down her cheeks, and Rumi’s eyes widen as she realizes that the child is almost entirely devoid of patterns. Rumi could almost mistake her for fully human were it not for a few violet swirls on her forearm.

The kid runs for an alleyway and Rumi, without thinking, vaults up onto the roof of a nearby building so she doesn’t lose sight of her. The kid bursts out of the crowd and keeps going, with Rumi running along the rooftops to keep pace. She watches as the kid ducks and weaves around demons with cries of fear, only slowing down when she finds a gap between buildings to squeeze into and hide.

Rumi drops down off the roof a few yards away, taking a deep breath. Okay. Maybe she hasn’t thought this plan all the way through. Or at all. She’s separated from Jinu and that’s a massive problem but it’s also a problem for future Rumi. Current Rumi’s problem is how to approach this kid without scaring her even worse.

“Hey there,” she calls, trying to keep her voice soft and reassuring. “Are you alright?”

There’s no response from the little hidey-hole. Rumi takes a careful step closer.

“It’s alright,” she says. “I’m a friend. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

There’s a sniffle from the hole.

“Liar,” the kid’s voice says. “You’re a monster like the rest of them! You’re trying to trick me!”

Rumi hesitates. She glances over her shoulder. She doesn’t see anyone around– this little sidestreet seems more like an accident of construction than a legitimate route. She crouches and edges just close enough that she and the kid can see each other, but not so close the kid will worry she’s about to get grabbed.

“I understand why you’re so scared,” Rumi says. “You don't know where you are, right? Or how you got here?”

The kid scrubs at her eyes with her little fists. She doesn’t reply, but her scrunched-up face says everything.

Rumi takes a chance. She takes one more look around before reaching up and unhooking her mask.

“My name’s Rumi,” she says. “What’s yours?”

“Bora,” the little girl– Bora– whispers. She stares at Rumi, eyes wide, lips trembling. “Are– are you really Rumi Ryu?”

Rumi nods.

In a flurry of movement, Bora launches herself at Rumi, wrapping her arms around Rumi’s waist and toppling her backwards to land on her ass. Bora is trembling, sobs wracking her tiny form, and Rumi wastes no time in hugging the girl back.

“I wanna go home,” Bora whimpers. “I want my appa.”

“I know,” Rumi soothes, “I know. I’m so sorry. You’ve been such a brave girl, Bora.”

“A scary lady is chasing me,” Bora whines, her little hands fisting in Rumi’s– well, Jinu’s – durumagi. “She says she’s my eomma but appa says my eomma is the most beautiful lady in the world and that lady’s scary!”

Rumi’s heart clenches.

This girl– this little girl who can't be more than six– is half demon. Rumi’s not alone, and that's terrifying. How many other half-demons were dragged down here just like Rumi was? How many, like Bora, know nothing of their inhuman half?

One thing at a time. Help the person in front of you.

“Are you sure she’s scary?” Rumi asks. “You thought I was scary at first, until I took off my mask.”

Bora sniffles. “That’s different. I’ve seen your videos. You're not scary, you’re nice.”

“How do you know she’s not nice?” Rumi runs a soothing hand down Bora’s back. “The most important beauty is on the inside. Your appa might’ve meant she has a beautiful soul.”

Bora’s quiet for a moment, seeming to consider that. Rumi takes a deep breath.

“I’ll tell you what,” she says. “Let’s go meet that lady together. If she still scares you, you can come with me instead.”

Bora slowly nods against Rumi’s chest.

“I’m going to put my mask back on, alright?” Rumi says. “Then we can go find her.”

Bora holds Rumi’s hand tightly as they make their way back to the market. Before they've even reached the street Rumi can hear someone calling Bora’s name over and over.

“Over here!” Rumi calls. Bora squeezes Rumi’s hand as a demon pushes out of the marketplace crowd and comes running towards them, drawing to a stop a few yards away and staring at Bora with tear-filled eyes. Rumi understands why Bora’s scared; the demon has a mouth full of fangs, bat wings where a human would have ears, and patches of scales dotting her skin.

“Bora,” the demon says tentatively. “I'm so sorry I scared you, I just– I didn't think I’d ever see you again.”

Bora’s pressed close to Rumi, half-hiding behind her leg.

“You’re her mother?” Rumi asks.

The demon looks at Rumi for the first time. Before, she’d only had eyes for the little girl.

“Yes,” she says, “I– her father and I– I know I shouldn't have but he was so kind, and Gwi-Ma’s attention was focused elsewhere at the time. I didn't know the golden Honmoon was coming. I thought she’d live with him, up there, where it’s safe. ”

“What’s her father's name?” Rumi asks.

“Eun-woo,” the demon says.

Rumi looks to Bora. Slowly, Bora nods, confirming the woman is telling the truth.

There’s a part of Rumi– a very large part– that doesn't think that’s enough. Blood doesn’t make a family, or prove someone qualified to care for a child. Mira’s parents are proof enough of that. It doesn’t help that this woman is a demon. Whatever she’s learned about demons since meeting Jinu, none of it has changed the fact that Rumi’s instincts are telling her that this child needs to be protected from the woman in front of them.

The demon crouches, much like Rumi had earlier, and hums quietly. Then she starts to sing, a barely-there lullaby that Rumi doesn’t recognize. Bora seems to though, as her eyes widen and her grip loosens slightly on Rumi’s fingers.

“That's appa’s special lullaby,” Bora says.

The demon nods, tears spilling over as a wobbly smile touches her lips.

“I taught it to him,” she says. “I wanted you to have something from me.”

Bora lets go of Rumi’s hand. Slowly, tentatively, she approaches the demon woman. The woman doesn’t move, staying stock-still as Bora comes to a stop in front of her and reaches up to put a small hand on her cheek.

“Eomma?” Bora asks in a tremulous voice.

The demon nods.

“That’s me, gongju. I’m your eomma.”

Bora’s hand reaches up further, fingers running over the demon’s scales before reaching the bat-wings. She stares at them for a long moment.

“I like your wings,” Bora whispers. “They’re pretty.”

The demon’s lips tremble.

“Thank you, Bora. I like your pattern. It’s beautiful.”

Bora looks down at her arm, then back up at the demon. “It matches yours.”

The demon nods. Slowly, she opens her arms, offering Bora a hug. After a moment Bora steps into it, wrapping her arms around the demon’s neck, and the demon starts to cry in earnest.

“Thank you for finding her,” she tells Rumi. “I was so scared she’d get hurt.”

Suddenly, Rumi feels like an intruder in this moment. She’d convinced Bora to talk to her mother, sure, but she’d also been a hair’s-breadth away from telling the woman she didn't trust her. From taking her daughter from her and running off.

“It was nothing,” Rumi says.

The demon picks up her daughter and stands, rocking the girl back and forth and pressing gentle kisses into her hair.

“It's everything,” the demon says. “My name is Stellaluna. I live by the north gate. If you ever need anything– anything at all– you can come find me there.”

Rumi nods. The demon– Stellaluna– turns and leaves, still rocking Bora in her arms and holding her like she’s the most precious thing in the world.

Like she loves her.

Rumi takes a deep breath. Wipes under the mask as surreptitiously as possible. Jinu. She needs to go and find Jinu.

She makes her way back to the market and almost immediately runs headlong into a demon. This one is more humanoid, only marked out by his patterns and pale pink hair, and he reaches out to steady her before she can fall.

“Sorry,” Rumi blurts.

“No, that’s my fault,” the demon says. “I was in a rush and not looking where I was going.”

“So was I,” Rumi admits.

The demon laughs, and the sound is warm. He reaches up to rub at the back of his neck.

“Then we’re a matching set of fools,” he jokes. Then his expression changes slightly, turning more thoughtful. “Say, your voice sounds familiar. Have we met?”

Rumi resists the urge to curse and, more impressively, the urge to immediately and dramatically lower her voice to disguise it. That would be extremely obvious.

“I don’t think so,” she says with an awkward laugh. “I guess I just have one of those voices!”

The demon doesn’t look convinced. He opens his mouth to say something else but before he can someone drops down next to Rumi and takes her arm.

“There you are, Choo-Choo,” Jinu says. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Rumi makes a mental note to help Baby and Romance plot Jinu’s murder.

“Sorry, Janus,” she says in her sweetest voice. “I got turned around.”

The demon in front of her gives her a polite smile and a nod.

“Best of luck,” he tells her.

“You too,” she says, and lets Jinu pull her away.

When they’ve put some distance between them and the stranger Jinu leans close and hisses, “Janus? Really?”

Rumi sniffs. “Seemed appropriate for someone two-faced. And you started it, Choo-Choo.”

“Next time, you pick the code word,” Jinu says. “Why did you run off like that? I looked away for two seconds and you were gone!”

“Long story,” Rumi says. “I’ll tell you on the way back. Did you get the food?”

Jinu nods. “Let’s go find the others. One heart attack is enough for today.”

They walk in silence for a bit, focusing on navigating through the crowd. At some point– Rumi’s not quite sure when– their hands intertwine. Rumi grips Jinu’s fingers and remembers Bora clinging to hers like a lifeline.

“I think maybe,” Rumi whispers, “Possibly. . . maybe. . . I could help you break the Honmoon.”

“What?” Jinu calls, glancing over his shoulder. “I can’t hear you!”

“Nothing,” Rumi replies, raising her voice. “It doesn’t matter!”

It doesn’t.

It’s not like it can be done, anyway.

Chapter Text

“So, to summarize,” Jinu says, “No one's seen or heard anything from Gwi-Ma since the fight, demons that have been missing for hundreds of years are turning up with new bodies again, and apparently anyone with even a drop of demon blood in them has been pulled down into the underworld. Am I leaving anything out?”

Romance raises a hand. “How you convinced the hunter to wear our merch.”

Rumi, who had changed into the (annoyingly comfortable) pajamas once they got back to the Saja Boys’ home base, scowls.

“It’s not like I had a ton of other options!” she hisses. “Or has someone suddenly decided to share his apparently massive wardrobe?”

“And make Jinu jealous? Criminal,” Romance says.

Rumi’s scowl deepens and, fuming, she takes a bite of her canned peaches instead of replying. After all the walking today she’s starving but she knows she can’t carb-load like she desperately wants to, not if she wants to make the food they purchased last. So she’s cracking into a couple of canned goods and leaving it at that for now.

She wonders if Bora has enough to eat.

“Gwi-Ma will be back,” Baby says after a moment. He’s actually joined them at the table this time and is slumped over it, cheek resting on his folded arms.

“Are you just being a pessimist, or do you have an actual reason to think that?” Jinu asks.

“Think about it,” Baby says. “Demons are still reappearing. If Gwi-Ma was actually gone, what would tie them here?”

“Maybe you’re wrong about Gwi-Ma being what brings you back,” Rumi says around a mouthful of fruit. “Maybe it’s something about the land itself? I mean, seriously, what even is this place?”

Jinu frowns. “I’m. . . honestly not sure.”

“Don’t look at me,” Baby says. “I just live here.”

“I always assumed it was a pocket dimension,” Romance says.

Rumi takes another bite, chewing thoughtfully before she speaks again. “The way I was always told about our history, demons ran rampant over our world until the first hunters banished them with the Honmoon. The stories from before then don't mention them coming from another realm. Maybe this place didn't exist until the first Honmoon?”

“I don't know if it matters,” Jinu says. “The important thing is that it exists now, and we need to get out of here.”

“Well, I have a list of things people have tried already to break the golden Honmoon,” Romance says, leaning back in his chair. “Throwing things. Yelling. Throwing other demons.”

“I don't think any of those were on our list of ideas,” Jinu says.

“Right,” Baby grumbles, “Because the one person who might be able to do something is refusing to help us.”

Rumi looks away, tilting her can to check for any remaining peaches and, finding none, downing the remaining juice before setting the can down and standing up.

“I’m going to get some sleep,” she tells the boys. “I’ll be on the roof if anyone needs me.”

“You don’t have to sleep on the roof,” Jinu tells her. “You can use my bed. Demons don’t need sleep.”

“We don’t need sleep,” Romance repeats, changing the emphasis, “But we get. . . weird. . . if we don’t for too long.”

“Weird how?” Rumi asks.

“Depends on the demon,” Romance tells her. “Abby went two and a half weeks without sleeping once and constructed a whole new language. Baby and Jinu thought he was speaking in tongues.”

“I’ll be fine skipping sleep for one night,” Jinu insists. “We can figure out long-term arrangements tomorrow.”

They had, thankfully, gotten the more important stuff figured out already. Like the bathroom situation. Apparently some of them have experience with constructing outhouses, which is an unexpected perk to having been alive before indoor plumbing. Rumi isn’t exactly looking forward to using the facilities, but at least they’re there when she needs them.

Rumi should probably argue more about not taking Jinu’s bed, but she’s too tired to really be worried about being polite right now. She gives Jinu a small smile and a nod.

“Alright,” she says. “Goodnight. Or. . . whatever time it is.”

She doesn’t quite fall asleep as soon as her head hits the pillow, but it’s a near thing. In her dreams golden threads wrap around her wrists and ankles, puppeting her like a marionette. The more she tries to fight the tighter the strings get until Rumi is dancing in a puddle of her own blood.

She wakes with a dry mouth, sore muscles, and the knowledge that if she doesn’t brush her braid out soon her hair is going to start matting.

“–don’t understand you,” she hears faintly from the common room. Baby’s voice. “She was always using you. You do get that, right?”

“She thought she could fix me,” Jinu replies. His voice is low. “She thought I could be fixed.”

“Oh come on,” Baby scoffs. “Do you think for a second she'd care if the Honmoon dragged you down so long as it got rid of her patterns? That she’d try to rescue you? Maybe she’d have shed a couple tears, acted sad for a day or so, but she’d have forgotten about you in a week. We both know it.”

Jinu is silent. Baby presses on.

“You need to push the half-demon angle. Convince her that staying here is a death sentence for the others. Someone like her won’t be able to resist rescuing a bunch of helpless victims.”

“Rumi’s not an idiot,” Jinu says. “She already knows she and the other half-demons are living on borrowed time.”

“So guilt her about it.” Baby sounds exasperated. “If she won’t do it to save her own life, turn that hero complex back on her. Seriously, what’s wrong with you? Do you want to be stuck down here when Gwi-Ma gets back?”

“No,” Jinu says, “No, I just–”

“Just what?”

“I don’t want to manipulate her anymore!”

Jinu’s voice is loud. Rumi snaps her eyes closed, tries to steady her breathing in case one of them comes to check that she’s still asleep. The seconds tick slowly by.

When Jinu speaks, his voice is barely loud enough for Rumi to make out, even straining her ears. “You saw her after she got pulled down here with us. It. . . broke something in her. She needs someone she can trust right now.”

“. . .Jinu, I’ve known you for four hundred years and even I don't trust you,” Baby says. “Because I’m not stupid.”

“Shut up,” Jinu mutters.

“Seriously, I hate the guy but Gwi-Ma hit the nail on the head when he said you never do anything selfless. You just want the hunter to like you, right? That’s what this is? You think if she believes in you that somehow erases four hundred years of being an evil bastard?”

“I said shut up,” Jinu repeats, a little louder. “You sound like him.”

“Fine,” Baby says. “If you’re determined to play the hero, then think of it like this– if you get her to break the Honmoon, you’ll be saving her life. You don’t want her to starve to death down here, right? Then get her on our side. ”

Rumi hears the sound of a chair scraping back, then footsteps receding away. Silence follows. She doesn't know who got up and left and she isn't sure she wants to.

She presses her face into the pillow. It smells like Jinu.

It’s true. The half-demons staying here is a death sentence. Rumi knows that, deep down. And when it was just her who’d be paying the price she was willing to accept that, but now? Now that she knows Bora and who-knows-how-many others are trapped here too? It no longer feels like an acceptable loss.

But how many more people will die if the golden Honmoon is destroyed?

It shouldn't matter. It’s not really a decision. The golden Honmoon can’t be destroyed, so Rumi shouldn’t feel like she’s sitting behind the controls of a trolley and staring down two equally crowded tracks. The outcome is inevitable. She’s only torturing herself by thinking of what-ifs.

No hunters have ever made a golden Honmoon before. Everything we know about it is theoretical.

“Shut up,” Rumi whispers to her own brain. “Shut up.”

She lies there until she falls asleep again. Her dreams are even worse this time.

It isn't until Rumi’s halfway through what she thinks is a late lunch that she realizes what’s been missing this whole time.

“Hey,” she says to Jinu, breaking him out of his focus as he stares down at a notebook he’s supposed to be brainstorming in, emphasis on supposed to be. “Where’s the tiger and the bird?”

She can't believe she didn't notice their absence before now but, in her defense, she’s had a lot to be distracted by.

Jinu shrugs. “They’ll turn up eventually. You know how cats are, they like to do their own thing sometimes.”

Rumi nods slowly, accepting the answer. “You know, when I first saw the bird I thought it might just be a regular demon in disguise. Maybe even you. ”

“I’d be offended if I didn't completely understand,” Jinu says. “It’s the hat, right?”

“It’s the hat,” Rumi confirms.

“I should really just make Derpy a new one but that would be letting Sussy win,” Jinu says. Rumi snorts.

“Seriously? Those are their names?”

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you can think of a better name for the tiger,” Jinu challenges.

“. . .fair,” Rumi concedes. “How does a tiger even become a demon, anyway?”

“Oh, those two aren't demons,” Jinu says. “I don’t know what they actually are, but Gwi-Ma has no control over them and they can pass through the Honmoon, so. . .”

Rumi blinks. “Wait. They can pass through the Honmoon?”

Jinu nods slowly.

“Are you telling me that I could send a message to Mira and Zoey? ”

Jinu opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

“Yes,” he says, “That’s definitely a thing I was hiding from you on purpose and not just something I hadn’t realized until now.”

“This changes everything,” Rumi gasps, standing and starting to pace back and forth across the floor. “I can talk to my girls. They can talk to me. Derpy could even bring us supplies!”

Rumi pauses, then adds, “. . .supplies in waterproof packaging.”

Jinu looks. . . uncomfortable. His lips are pursed and his eyes are cast downward, but when he catches Rumi looking he quickly plasters on a smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “This is good. Good thinking, Rumi.”

Rumi frowns.

When she’d woken up for the second time Baby and Romance were already gone, apparently off to try to gather more information. It had been just her and Jinu. Until now she’s been able to bury the memory of the conversation she overheard but now it bubbles up again, filling her mind with doubt. Jinu really hadn’t thought of this solution before now. . . right? He wouldn’t put her and countless others in danger just to try to get Rumi to break the Honmoon?

I don’t want to manipulate her anymore!

How could we be together if we can’t tell your lies from your truths, Rumi?

“When do you think they’ll show up?” Rumi asks, instead of any of the other questions pressing at the back of her mind. Have they already? Did you send them away?

“As long as I’ve known them Derpy never wanders off for more than a week,” Jinu says. “So it shouldn't be too long. Are you sure it’s safe to send them to your bandmates, though? They won’t, you know. . .”

Jinu mimes swinging a blade and adds a swoosh sound effect that, despite everything, makes Rumi snort.

“Mira might,” Rumi admits. “But Zoey will probably hesitate long enough to see the letter. Derpy’s too cute to want to stab right away. Besides, you risked sending them to me. ”

“Well, yeah,” Jinu allows, “But that was different. Derpy was supposed to put the letter in your room and leave. Wait outside at a distance until you were ready to go. I should’ve known he’s too much of a sucker for pats to pass up an opportunity to meet someone new.”

“So if we tell him to just drop it off this time, you think the same thing will happen,” Rumi concludes. “Could Sussy deliver the letter instead? She seems. . .”

Rumi hesitates, trying to come up with a nice way to say this. She doesn't find one.

“. . .smarter,” she finishes with an apologetic wince.

“Oh, Sussy doesn't follow orders,” Jinu says. “You can try asking her but she’s never once listened to me in hundreds of years.”

Rumi raises an eyebrow. “Challenge accepted.”

Chapter Text

Waiting for Derpy and Sussy to show up is torture.

Rumi isn't good at sitting around doing nothing. She knows this. Mira and Zoey know it, and they aren't shy about saying as much to Rumi in loud groans and protests. And now, after three days in the demon world, the remaining Saja Boys know it too.

“Jinu,” Baby grumbles, “If she doesn’t stop pacing I’m going to kill her.”

Romance, who's been draped over the common room table watching Rumi with lazy back-and-forth flicks of his eyes, gives a neutral sort of hum. “I think she’s going to wear a hole in the floor.”

“You know she can hear you, right?” Jinu asks.

“Yes,” the other two chorus in unison. Rumi scowls.

“What?” she snaps, folding her arms and turning to glare at Baby and Romance. “I don’t see you two doing anything productive either!”

“Sure,” Baby says, “But we’re being unproductive and stationary.”

“Why don't we go for a walk?” Jinu asks with a sigh, snapping his notebook shut and standing with a stretch. He grabs Rumi’s shoulder and starts towing her out the front door.

“Hey,” Rumi complains, but doesn't actually fight him. Some fresh air– or at least, as fresh as air gets down here– actually sounds pretty good right now, and at least with Jinu she won't get lost.

Jinu lets go of her as they step out into the mists and the warm, dusky glow of the Honmoon. Rumi, who might secretly approve of this plan but isn't going to let that get in the way of complaining, pointedly rubs at her shoulder.

“Oh come on,” Jinu says, “I didn't grab you that hard. And I'm pretty sure you won't come back if Baby actually snaps and murders you.”

“I could take him,” Rumi mutters.

“Without your weapon?” Jinu asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t–” Rumi splutters, face heating up, “You don’t– how do you–”

“So you really can’t summon your sword anymore,” Jinu says, tilting his head to one side. “Interesting.”

Something in Rumi’s gut squirms. She looks away.

“Yeah, well,” she says halfheartedly, “I could still kick your ass.”

“You sure?” Jinu asks, and before Rumi realizes what’s happening her back’s slamming against the side of the house and her wrists are trapped in Jinu’s broad hands, pinned over her head. Rumi’s eyes widen. Jinu grins down at her like a stupid smug jerk.

Rumi swears and yanks at her wrists. They don’t budge. Cut off from the Honmoon and rationing her food, Rumi isn't as strong as she normally is. Jinu’s smile gets even wider and Rumi does the only thing she can.

She headbutts Jinu in the face.

“Fuck!” Jinu curses, letting go of Rumi so he can press his hands over his nose. He’s definitely not smiling anymore. “What the hell was that for?”

Rumi pointedly dusts off her shoulder.

“I was proving a point,” she says primly.

Jinu lowers his hands. There’s blood on his palms, smeared over his mouth. He licks his lips and Rumi feels something like hunger in the pit of her stomach.

“Alright,” Jinu says, “That’s it.”

This time when he lunges for her Rumi’s ready. She dodges out of the way, sweeping out a leg to catch Jinu’s own. He topples with a curse but evaporates into smoke before he can hit the ground, and though Rumi turns as fast as she can she still isn't quick enough to stop him from tackling her from behind. She hits the ground hard, the wind knocked out of her for a moment, and though she kicks and squirms Jinu manages to pin her face-down against the red earth with a hand on her wrists and a knee at her back.

“Stop thrashing around,” he growls. “You’ll just hurt yourself.”

Rumi falls still, panting, glaring over her shoulder at him.

“Asshole,” she says.

“I’m the asshole?” Jinu asks, sounding incredulous. “You broke my nose!”

“You’re fine, you big baby. And you started it!”

“You sound like a four-year-old,” Jinu mutters.

Rumi halfheartedly kicks a leg. It doesn't get her anywhere.

“Let me up,” she says.

“No,” Jinu says. “You’ll try to hit me again.”

Well, he’s not wrong. Still, Rumi scowls and repeats herself, tone turning to a demand.

“Let me up.”

“Are you seriously telling me the big bad demon hunter who sliced Gwi-Ma in half can’t get out of a simple pin?”

Rumi’s fists clench. So does her jaw. She looks away from Jinu, glaring at the horizon instead, and is surprised when the pressure holding her down starts to ease.

“Aaand that’s clearly a sensitive topic right now. My bad.” Jinu releases Rumi’s wrists and slides off of her, sitting beside her on the ground instead. Rumi gingerly sits up, wiping the dirt off the front of her Saja tee and pretending not to notice the blood now smeared on her wrists.

Jinu's blood.

“Sorry I broke your nose,” Rumi mutters at length.

“It’s fine. I’ve had worse.”

They sit in silence for a while, the only sound the two of them breathing. Rumi watches the mist swirl with each of her exhales.

“I mean. . . you probably could've gotten out of that,” Jinu says quietly, though it breaks the silence all the same. “If you tapped into your demon half a bit more.”

Rumi gives him a sideways glance.

“What makes you say that?”

Jinu shrugs. “Well, you’ve been relying on the Honmoon for strength most of your life, right? Trying to suppress your other half?”

“Of course,” Rumi murmurs. “Demonic powers come from Gwi-Ma. Feeding that side of me is dangerous.”

“Gwi-Ma has no hold over you,” Jinu says. “He told me so himself. Any power you have is yours and yours alone, Rumi.”

Rumi turns that thought over in her head. Her eyes wander back to the blood on her wrists. In the low light it looks almost black, but Rumi knows it isn't. Knows that Jinu bleeds just as red as she does.

“. . .I teleported once,” Rumi says quietly. “After. . . after your minions showed the world my patterns. I went to see Celine and–”

She breaks off. Swallows hard.

“It doesn't matter. But at the end I just. . . couldn't stand being there anymore. It hurt too much. And suddenly I wasn't.”

Rumi has the absurd urge to lick Jinu’s blood off her skin and starts scrubbing at it with her palms instead, smearing it thinner and thinner until it starts to clump up and dry.

“I thought I could only do it because of the Honmoon’s power, but maybe. . . maybe it was because the Honmoon was dying. Maybe that forced me to use my demon side instead.”

Jinu makes an uncertain sound. “I wish I could tell you. As far as I know there’s never been another half-demon hunter before. This is all new territory.”

He pauses, then adds, “It would be nice if you could learn how to teleport, though. Walking all the way to the city takes forever.”

Rumi snorts. “Oh, that’ll be a snap. All I have to do is recreate the worst moment of my life and I’ll be poofing around in no time.”

“It should be easier now that you’ve already done it once,” Jinu tells her. “That was the hardest part for me. As a human you think of yourself as an extremely physical being. Letting go of that is tricky.”

He gives her a wry smile. “I didn't figure out how to teleport until after the first time I died.”

Rumi looks at Jinu, then down at herself. What he’s saying makes sense. Her whole life Rumi’s felt trapped in her body, forced to cover up more and more of it as her marks spread and fearing that the taint ran more than skin-deep. Sometimes she’d lie in bed at night and imagine carving herself open to see if her patterns ran down to the bone. To see if there was anything human inside her at all.

Her body is a weight dragging her down. A prison she can never escape. It’s hard to think of it being as fluid as the mist drifting around them. As free as smoke.

But the feeling when she’d teleported away from Celine. . . in the midst of abject misery, a moment of release. A weight she hadn’t known she’d been carrying falling off her shoulders, only her shoulders were the weight and the weight was her body. A split-second of utter and complete freedom.

Rumi closes her eyes and tries to reach for that feeling.

Nothing happens.

She sighs as she opens her eyes again.

“It’s not working,” she says.

“Not yet,” Jinu counters. “We’ve got time to work on it. Maybe this’ll keep you from going stir-crazy until Derpy and Sussy show up.”

He stands, brushing himself off before offering Rumi a hand up.

“Come on. I bet if I push you off the roof it’ll kickstart your powers.”

Rumi still doesn't know how to tell how much time has passed here, but according to the others it’s day four when Abby throws open the door to Saja home base and storms in.

“Is everyone okay?” Is the first thing out of his mouth. “Is Mystery back yet?”

He scans the room, shoulders relaxing by degrees as he spots Jinu, Baby, and Romance. . . and immediately tensing again as his eyes land on Rumi, frozen with a bite of noodles halfway to her mouth.

“What the fuck?” Abby asks.

Jinu teleports between him and Rumi, hands held up placatingly.

“Okay,” he says, “Don’t freak out. There’s a super normal explanation for this.”

Abby leans to the side, peering past Jinu and staring incredulously at Rumi.

“Is she. . . wearing our merch?” he asks.

Rumi, very slowly, lifts her chopsticks to her lips and slurps the noodles up as quietly as possible.

“. . .yes,” Jinu says at length. “Is that. . . really your first question?”

Abby shrugs. “I mean, it’s obvious she got trapped down here when the Honmoon went golden and now she's living in our house. The only thing that’s not obvious is why she’s in that outfit.”

Rumi takes another slow bite of noodles. Abby continues to watch her without making any move to attack.

“It’s. . . obvious why she’s living in our house?” Jinu asks, sounding lost.

“Well, yeah,” Abby says, finally looking at Jinu just to level him with the most unimpressed stare Rumi thinks she’s ever seen. “You feel guilty about what we put her through and Baby and Romance are hoping she can break the Honmoon back open. Seriously, what’s with the outfit?”

“I needed a change of clothes and these were the cheapest option,” Rumi says around her mouthful of food. Abby throws his hands up.

“ Thank you,” he says. Then, “Couldn’t Jinu’s pets just get you some?”

“ Obviously we thought of that,” Jinu huffs, folding his arms.

“He didn't think of that,” Baby says, cutting Jinu off.

“I thought of that,” Rumi says.

“The point,” Jinu says loudly, “Is that we couldn't ask them yet, because they’ve been gone for a little while. But they’ll be back.”

“Have you tried putting some toys out?” Abby asks. “Derpy likes crumpled-up newspaper and Sussy likes shiny things.”

“I think I know my own pets better than you do, Abby,” Jinu growls. Abby just looks at him in a way that is more devastating than an argument could ever be.

“Riiight,” he says. “I’m going to go take a nap. Dying really takes it out of me.”

And with that he walks out of the room, leaving behind one bemused demon hunter, two snickering demons, and a red-faced Jinu.

“Does anyone in your band respect you?” Rumi asks.

“No,” Baby and Romance chorus.

“I hate all of you,” Jinu grumbles.

Rumi pulls the clips out of her hair and leaves them in a glittering pile outside. Derpy and Sussy show up an hour later.

“Traitors,” Jinu complains as Derpy butts his head against Rumi’s side. Rumi smiles, scratching Derpy under the chin before crouching to be closer to Sussy. She holds out the letter she wrote to Mira and Zoey.

“Hey Sussy,” she says. “Would you mind taking this to my friends? I would really, really appreciate it.”

“She’s not going to listen,” Jinu tells her. “She never listens to anyone.”

Chapter Text

“What if we put on a concert and bomb on purpose?” Zoey tries.

“The fans will probably think I put you up to an avant-garde performance art piece,” Mira groans from beside her. “And they’ll definitely notice Rumi’s missing.”

“We could disguise ourselves as a rival band and start stealing our own fans?”

“Would that count?” Mira asks. “I mean, it’d still be us.”

“Well, how about–”

Zoey’s interrupted by the shrill chime of the alarm. Mira heaves herself up off the floor, grabbing her phone off the couch and silencing the ringing.

“That’s time,” she says. “Let’s refill the Zoey tank.”

“I can keep going,” Zoey protests. “I have tons more ideas! Like. . . uh, like. . .”

Mira grabs her under the arms while she’s still stalled out and lifts her up off the ground, hauling her over to the couch and depositing her in her usual spot.

“Twenty ccs of turtle videos and two Melona ice pops coming up,” she says. “Gotta get that brain food in.”

This is, ultimately, the system they’ve landed on. The two of them brainstorm for an hour, batting ideas back and forth and examining them for even a hint of viability, and then they take a fifteen minute break to recharge. Zoey hates it. She hates feeling like she's failing Rumi, hates coming up empty-handed from her usually endless wellspring of ideas, and hates that Mira’s having to dedicate energy that should be going towards rescuing their friend to taking care of Zoey instead. So Zoey had a little bit of a breakdown. So what? No biggie! She's fine now! She’s showering and talking again and she only cries at night while Mira is asleep!

Mira flops down on the couch and holds out an ice pop to Zoey. Zoey takes it and starts frustratedly nibbling on a corner.

What she really hates is that this is working. Taking breaks, refreshing her mind, snacking. . . they haven't hit a solution yet, but Zoey hasn't burst into tears mid-brainstorm since Mira started setting timers and she will grudgingly admit that’s probably a good thing.

“Where’s the remote?” Mira asks. “I swear I left it right here.”

Zoey turns to search her half of the couch and that’s when she sees. . . it. She blinks. Blinks again. Glances suspiciously at her popsicle before tentatively speaking up.

“Uh. Mira?” she asks. “Do you also see a bird in a hat sitting on the back of the couch?”

The bird in the hat gives Zoey a look that seems pretty judgemental for a creature with no opposable thumbs, then hops down to peck at a folded piece of paper Zoey hadn't noticed before, nudging it forward across the couch cushions. Mira leans over Zoey’s shoulder.

“That’s definitely a bird in a hat,” Mira confirms.

“It’s got. . . a letter?” Zoey says. “I think?”

The bird fluffs its feathers and hops back, cocking its head at them. Zoey reaches out to pick up the letter, then almost drops it when the bird opens two more pairs of eyes.

“Ah! Demon bird in a hat!” she yelps.

“That’s impossible,” Mira says. “Unless. . .”

She lunges for the bird, which takes off into the air before she can get her hands on it.

“Get back here!” Mira shouts, grabbing a throw blanket to fashion into a makeshift net. “Tell us your secrets, demon!”

As she chases the bird around the room Zoey looks down at the letter in her hands. To Mira and Zoey, it reads in neat handwriting.

Rumi’s handwriting.

Zoey would recognize it anywhere after so many years of passing lyrics back and forth, leaving notes on the fridge, signing posters together at events. . .

“Mira?” Zoey calls. “I think this is from Rumi!”

Mira immediately stops chasing the bird and crashes over the back of the couch instead, pressing up against Zoey’s side so she can peer down at the letter.

“Holy shit,” Mira breathes. “You’re right. Open it, open it! ”

“I’m opening it!” Zoey yelps, very much opening it. Inside the letter is line after line of Rumi’s handwriting and Zoey and Mira are smooshed practically cheek to cheek trying to read it at the same time.

Hey guys, it's Rumi! First thing’s first: the bird and the tiger are friends. Please don't hurt them.

“Tiger?” Mira asks.

The bird, now perched on the coffee table and leveling the two of them with what Zoey can only call a glare, starts to pointedly preen itself.

“Sorry,” Zoey tells it. “We've been a little stressed the past few days. We’re not usually this rude to guests.”

“Did she send a tiger too?” Mira asks. “Is there a tiger in here?”

“We would've noticed a tiger coming in, right?” Zoey asks.

Mira looks over the back of the couch. Her eyes widen.

“Son of a bitch,” she mutters.

Zoey lowers the letter and turns. Sure enough, there’s a massive blue tiger sitting on the floor behind them, tail swishing back and forth across the floor and face locked in a massive, toothy grin. With their collective attention now on it the tiger sits up, blinking its massive eyes before planting an equally massive paw on the back of the couch.

“Oh my goodness,” Zoey gasps.

“Zoey, no,” Mira tells her, but Zoey’s already reaching towards the paw.

“Toe beans,” she whispers.

“Claws, Zoey!” Mira counters, reaching out to grab her wrist.

“Rumi said it’s a friend!” Zoey argues, straining against Mira’s grip.

“Even friendly cats don’t like it when you touch their paws! And we don’t know for sure this is really from Rumi, it could be a trick.”

Zoey reluctantly abandons her new life’s purpose and looks back at the letter.

“It's definitely her handwriting though.”

“There’s plenty of samples of her handwriting online. It could be a forgery.” Mira reaches out, taking the letter from Zoey and examining it closely. “We have to be sure.”

Zoey thunks her chin down on Mira’s shoulder and picks back up where she left off.

The tiger’s name is Derpy and the magpie is Sussy (I figured Zoey would want to know). Despite how they look they aren't actually demons, so they can travel back and forth through the Honmoon. You can send a reply back with them and they’ll bring it right to me.

Now that that’s out of the way, I want you two to know that I’m alright. I hope you guys are too. I didn't mean to leave you like that, and I'm sorry we didn't get to talk about what happened at the Idol Awards.

Here the paper is warped and smudged, like Rumi wrote and re-wrote the beginning of the next sentence over and over. If Zoey squints she can make some of the overlapping attempts out.

I understand if–

It's okay if you–

You deserved better than–

And finally.

I love you both. I’m sorry I lied to you. You’ve been the best friends I ever could have asked for.

The paper crinkles as Mira’s grip on it tightens. When she speaks, her voice is thick.

“This is definitely from Rumi,” she says. “Who else would be trying this hard to reassure people who pointed weapons at her?”

Zoey reaches out and taps a nail against the page.

“Also, she's written here’s some things only we would know so you know it’s really me down here. Oooh, she brought up the chapstick incident!”

“It was one time and I was twelve,” Mira groans.

“I think it’s a cute story,” Zoey says, patting her shoulder.

The rest of the letter is. . . a lot.

Rumi gives an explanation of her half-demon heritage, which she had no way of knowing the two of them already received from Celine. She tells them where– or more specifically, who– she’s staying with, which makes Mira stand up and pace in circles for a good three minutes muttering about all the things she’s going to do to the Saja Boys if any of them dare to lay a finger on Rumi. She says that Gwi-Ma is gone, but will probably come back, and explains how demons can die without dying.

And she tells them there are other half-demons trapped down there with her, running out of food and living on borrowed time.

“Care package,” Mira says.

“Care package,” Zoey agrees. “How much stuff do you think Derpy can carry?”

“I think we won’t know until we try.”

Zoey’s quiet for a long moment. Then, carefully, she says, “She didn’t mention trying to open the Honmoon back up.”

“She didn’t have to,” Mira says. “We’ll send her some of your notebooks and see what she thinks.”

“Right,” Zoey agrees, “Only. . . she does know we want to rescue her, right? She doesn’t think we’d want to just. . . leave her down there?”

“If she doesn’t yet, she’s about to,” Mira says, jaw tight and eyes narrowed. “Now come on, we have a letter to write and a tiger to overburden.”

Chapter Text

Abby lets out a low whistle, eyeing the massive pile of supplies Derpy dragged in.

“Your friends really don't half-ass things,” he says, then glances at Rumi. “Jinu still sulking?”

“I’m not sulking!” Jinu shouts from his room. “I’m strategizing!”

“So that’s a yes, then,” Abby says.

“Big time,” Rumi agrees, taking a break from scarfing down snacks just long enough to breathe. “He’s been in there since Sussy took my letter to my girls.”

Abby hums, crouching down beside her and examining the notebooks spread out over her lap. He picks one up, flicking through the pages, and his eyes widen at the sheer bulk of handwritten text.

“They’ve been busy,” he observes.

“You have no idea,” Baby calls from the other side of the room. “Come read the list of things Mira’s going to do to us if we hurt her precious friend.”

Abby perks up, setting the notebook back down and crossing the room in a few easy strides. For a moment the only sound in the room is Rumi emptying her ninth bag of chips (she knows she should probably be starting with real food but she needs this, alright) and Jinu muttering unintelligibly to himself in his room.

“Rumi,” Abby says seriously, “Please tell Mira I hurt you.”

“Tell her I hurt you more,” Romance says.

“You two are pathetic,” Baby informs them.

Rumi cracks open a carton of banana milk and chugs it. Clean water is the one thing she was never at risk of running out of– apparently water demons can draw it out of the perpetual mist that hangs over these lands– but it tastes strange, like the tap water in a different country. Drinking something familiar again is a relief, and it’s not like Rumi can save these for later without any way to refrigerate them. Her girls were probably counting on that fact to force her to indulge.

Her girls.

Rumi isn't sure what she’d expected their return letter to say. Part of her had been afraid there would be no response at all. Yes, they’d fought side-by-side to restore the Honmoon and defeat Gwi-Ma, and yes, they’d hugged her just as tightly as they ever had before learning about her patterns, but they hadn't actually talked. It had been days of separation, of time for Mira and Zoey to meditate on what they now knew and reach conclusions that weren’t based on knee-jerk emotions. Maybe, with time to think about things, they’d realize they could never fully trust Rumi again. Maybe they wouldn't believe a word she wrote, assuming it was all just more lies meant to manipulate them into helping her. Maybe Celine had told them everything, and now that the Honmoon had sent Rumi down below with the other demons they all thought she was beyond saving.

Instead, Mira and Zoey sent a letter saturated with relief and love and a half-dozen notebooks filled with half-baked rescue ideas. Not only do her friends still believe she’s worth saving, they’ve actively been planning for it. Rumi has felt nothing but guilt for even considering breaking the golden Honmoon and meanwhile her friends have metaphorically been out shopping for hammers.

She loves them so much.

As soon as she’s done making up for lost time with carbs, Rumi carefully sorts through the rest of her friends’ care package. Aside from the food there’s also clean clothes, a hairbrush and hair ties, deodorant, and other assorted quality of life items. They even sent one of Rumi’s pillows. She buries her face in the soft fabric and breathes in the familiar scent of home.

Honestly, she could probably slip into a food coma right now, but she knows she shouldn't. Not only does she have things to do now that they’ve opened up a line of communication to the human world she also needs to tackle her braid. . . situation. Four days without brushing it out will not be kind.

She stands, stretches, and crosses over to the table where the Saja Boys are sitting. She sets Zoey’s notebooks in front of them, fanning them out.

“Let me know what you think,” she tells them. “You know more about the demon realm than we do.”

“And what are you going to be doing?” Baby asks.

Rumi holds up the hairbrush, spinning it between her fingers.

“I’m going to war,” she says.

Abby sucks a breath between his teeth.

“Good luck,” he tells her.

Rumi slips out the front door. Derpy and Sussy are sitting outside, Sussy happily organizing the pile of hairclips Rumi gave her and Derpy playing with a pile of crumpled-up newspaper. As Rumi watches he carefully selects a single balled-up sheet and starts to flatten it back out between his paws, laser-focused on the task. There’s a small pile of re-smoothed paper beside him.

“You are the strangest cat I’ve ever met,” Rumi informs him, ruffling his fur on the way by. He gives a low, rumbling purr.

Rumi clambers up the side of the building, perching on the roof and getting herself comfortable. Jinu’s been sleeping up here since giving up his room and his makeshift bed has been tidied, sleeping bag rolled up and set next to the spare pillow he’s been using. Rumi tries to give the space a wide berth; the whole point of going outside was to avoid getting loose strands of hair all over the Saja Boys’ stuff.

She undoes the tie holding the end of her braid together and slips it onto her wrist. Alright. Time to do this.

“Need a hand?” Jinu asks.

Rumi, very pointedly, does not look behind her.

“Done sulking?” she asks.

“I figure I can strategize and help at the same time,” Jinu tells her. Rumi holds out her brush and Jinu takes it, fingers just barely skimming her own before he draws away.

Jinu’s careful, supporting the bulk of her braid as he starts to brush out the ends so he doesn't wind up pulling on her scalp. Rumi closes her eyes. There’s an army of stylists back home that help Rumi maintain her iconic look and Mira and Zoey are always excited to play with her hair, but it isn't their hands Rumi feels the ghosts of right now. In her mind she is a little girl who never left her mother’s grave and Celine’s hands plait back the hair that is not yet long enough to be unmanageable.

“You ever think about getting a haircut?” Jinu asks.

“All the time,” Rumi murmurs.

Her fans love her iconic hair color. There are thousands of tutorials online of how to achieve similar results and heated debate over which brand of hair dye she uses, what ratios and combination. In truth her hair is as much a mark of her unnatural heritage as the stripes on her skin, just more easily hidden. Rumi wonders why Celine didn't make her dye it black or brown. How she could stand to touch it long enough to pull it back into a braid.

“You’re good at this,” she tells Jinu.

“I. . . used to help style my sister’s,” he says quietly. “I guess there’s some things you never forget.”

Rumi hums.

“Seems like your friends really want you back,” Jinu says after a moment. “I’ll admit, I’m kind of jealous.”

“Jealous?” Rumi echoes.

“They’re willing to tear down a wall between dimensions to rescue you. If I disappeared, I don't think anyone would care at all.”

Rumi opens her eyes. Below them, Derpy carefully slides a freshly-smoothed sheet of newspaper onto his pile.

Do you think for a second she’d care if the Honmoon dragged you down so long as it got rid of her patterns? That she’d try to rescue you?

She’d have forgotten about you in a week. We both know it.

“What about your friends?” Rumi asks. “The other Saja Boys?”

Jinu lets out a breath.

“No,” he says, “That’s not. . . we’re not like that. And I don't blame them. For demons, caring about others is just another weakness Gwi-Ma can use against you. You can never trust anyone else because it's only a matter of time before he forces you to betray each other. It’s kinder to keep your distance. To keep your guard up instead of handing out knives they can stick in your back.”

I’ve known you for four hundred years and even I don’t trust you, because I’m not stupid.

Rumi thinks of Romance testing her to see if she’ll pretend to be into him out of self-preservation. Of Abby’s first words after returning being is everyone okay. She thinks of Baby saying that if Rumi won’t break the Honmoon to save her own life they need to convince her it will save others, then trying to convince Jinu that he’ll be saving her.

“I don't know about that,” Rumi says. Then, “Anyway, Derpy would definitely miss you if you were gone, at the very least.”

Jinu laughs.

“You think so? It’s hard to tell. I’m not even sure he’s mastered object permanence.”

“He’s never been away for more than a week, right?” Rumi asks. “Sounds to me like he cares enough to keep coming back.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” Jinu asks. At Rumi’s nod, he leans forward until she can feel his breath on the shell of her ear. “The guys think I tamed them, but Derpy and Sussy just. . . showed up one day and never left. I have no idea what they see in me.”

He leans back and resumes brushing out Rumi’s hair with careful, gentle hands.

Rumi closes her eyes.

“I think I can guess.”

Near the north gate is, as directions go, not incredibly specific. It doesn't help that there are no stars or sun down here that Rumi could use to figure out where north even is, and without Jinu she’d have gotten lost a hundred times over by the time they finally make it to Stellaluna’s doorstep. As it is she’s hesitant to knock, unsure if they even have the right house.

“You’re not chickening out, are you?” Jinu asks. “Because you could’ve had the decency to do it before we walked all the way here.”

Rumi scowls and raps her knuckles against the door. She hears movement inside. Hushed voices. A moment later the door opens a crack and Stellaluna peers out at them.

“Oh, it’s you,” she says, eyes widening as she recognizes Rumi’s mask. She opens the door a bit further but not by much, eyes flicking from Rumi to Jinu. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Janus,” Rumi says. “Don’t worry, you can trust him.”

Stellaluna doesn't seem too sure, and given their earlier conversation Rumi thinks Jinu would probably argue too. Still Rumi presses forward, sliding her Saja tote bag off her shoulder and holding it out to Stellaluna.

“Here,” she says. “I don’t know what Bora likes, but hopefully some of these will be okay.”

Stellaluna hesitantly accepts the bag, and when she sees the food inside she lets out a quiet gasp.

“Are. . . are you sure?” she asks, even as her hands tighten on the bag’s straps. She glances at Jinu, lowering her voice to add, “From what my daughter said it sounds like you might. . . also need this.”

Rumi wonders if Bora told her mother who Rumi really is, or just enough that Stellaluna’s guessed she's a half-demon too. Either way the demon doesn't seem hostile or interested in blowing Rumi’s cover, just concerned for her well-being.

“It’s alright,” Rumi says. “No details, but I’m not in danger of running out. And if Bora wants anything specific, I can try to get it for her.”

Stellaluna nods slowly. With one last evaluating glance at Jinu she steps back, gesturing the two of them inside. It’s not a large space and it’s made even smaller by the clutter filling the room, nearly every surface covered by a seemingly random assemblage of objects. Rumi’s eyes skate over a nearby shelf– a rubber duck, a lightbulb, a novelty pen shaped like a syringe and stamped with the name of a hospital– and Stellaluna flushes.

“I’m a bit of a collector,” she admits. “Bora’s been having fun rearranging things at least.”

Jinu shuts the door behind them and Stellaluna goes to set the bag down on one of the few clear sections of a table in the middle of the room.

“It’s safe, gongju,” she calls.

A cabinet flies open and Bora spills out of it onto the floor. She takes a moment to dust herself off but once she's back on her feet she spots Rumi and runs across the room to hug her legs.

“Rumi!” she cries, and though Stellaluna shushes her she doesn’t react otherwise. She knew already, then.

“We have neighbors, remember?” Stellaluna reminds her daughter. “No shouting.”

“Sorry,” Bora says. “I got excited.”

Out of the corner of her eye Rumi can see Jinu shifting his weight from foot to foot. The mask hides his face but she can't imagine he looks comfortable. She wonders if this is reminding him of his own family.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Stellaluna says. “For this and for the other day, too.”

“I’m just glad I was there to help,” Rumi says, then, choosing her words carefully, “I’d want to help anyone in that situation.”

Stellaluna looks at her for a long moment, then her eyes flick to Jinu again. Rumi steps on his foot.

“Ow!” he hisses. Then, stiltedly, “I would also want to help. People. In that situation.”

Stellaluna looks unimpressed. Rumi doesn't blame her.

“I don't get out much,” she tells them, “And I haven't made any new friends recently, aside from you. I’m sorry.”

“That’s fine,” Rumi assures her. “Just, you know. If you happen to run into anyone who needs a hand, keep us in mind.”

“I will,” Stellaluna promises.

They stay a while longer. Bora shows them what she considers the most interesting pieces of her mother’s collection, which range from a tech deck to a mechanical calculator. She tells Rumi her home address and Rumi, in turn, promises to send her father a letter telling him Bora’s alright. Bora also informs Rumi, very seriously, about which kind of juice is her favorite and why maiasauras are the coolest dinosaurs.

“We’ll be back soon,” Rumi tells Stellaluna as they stand on her doorstep. “Hopefully with a letter from her father.”

“Thank you,” Stellaluna says. Then, after a glance over her shoulder, she steps outside and pulls the door shut behind her.

“You’ve already done so much for us,” she tells Rumi, “And I don’t want to ask for more. But. . . he won’t stay quiet forever. And I’m afraid of what will happen when he comes back. When he finds out about Bora.”

Stellaluna reaches out, taking Rumi’s hands in her own. They’re broad and scaly, tipped with claws and covered with dark patterns. They’re the hands of a mother who wants to protect her child.

“If that happens,” she whispers, “Could you take her? He can’t control you. Can’t take your soul whenever he wants. I want her to be safe.”

Rumi’s heart clenches.

“I promise,” she says. “I won’t let anything happen to her.”

Stellaluna squeezes her hands.

“Thank you. Stay safe, and stay well.”

With that, Stellaluna slips back into her house. Rumi presses her hands together and takes a deep, ragged breath.

“She’s right to worry,” Jinu says quietly. “Gwi-Ma will send demons after her child as soon as he realizes she’s here.”

“Not if I stab him in the face again,” Rumi tells him as she turns and starts making her way back down the street.

It’s less crowded than it was the other day, but that doesn't mean it’s not crowded. Rumi’s hand finds Jinu’s as they walk, weaving between demons and keeping their voices down.

“Maybe we should just put up posters,” Rumi says, eyeing the graffiti that marks the walls they pass. King was here. A firey form that can only be Gwi-Ma. I fought Huntrix and I didn't even get a t-shirt.

“Great idea,” Jinu says. “Let’s alert every demon in the city that there are half-human souls to claim.”

“How do they not already know?” Rumi asks. “If every half-demon in the world was pulled here. . .”

“At the same time as every demon, and when a bunch of older demons are reforming for the first time in centuries,” Jinu says. “Half-demons just look like demons in human guise. No one's going to give them a second glance as long as they don’t do anything too obvious.”

“How many of them are kids like Bora?” Rumi asks. “How many of them have no idea what’s going on? Where they are?”

“Stop it,” Jinu tells her. “You're already doing everything you can to help them. What-ifs won’t make you feel any better– trust me.”

Rumi watches the crowd around them. Demons of all shapes and sizes dressed in clothes from every era, bare-faced and masked and transformed to look human. She wonders how many of them she's killed before. How many are parents. Which ones do Gwi-Ma’s work gleefully and who is haunted by what-ifs.

“Jinu,” she says quietly, “He couldn’t watch all of you all the time, could he?”

If he could, children like Bora wouldn't exist. If he could, he would've known about Rumi from the very start, not just when Jinu discovered her.

“He can’t watch all of us all the time,” Jinu confirms, “But he could be watching at any time, and he keeps a close eye on you if you’re important to his plans. There wasn't a second he looked away while the others and I were fighting you.”

“So he saw it when I offered you the deal,” Rumi whispers.

Jinu’s grip tightens on her hand.

“I’m sorry,” Rumi tells him. “I didn't know.”

“How could you know?” Jinu asks. “It’s fine. It was my own fault.”

Rumi swallows. “Did he hurt you? For considering it?”

Jinu’s quiet for the length of three buildings.

“Stop what-ifing,” he says, and nothing more.

Chapter Text

“What do we think of this one?” Romance asks, holding up his arms and doing a slow spin to show off his latest choice of outfit. White slacks, a pale yellow button-down open past his collarbones, and a cardigan in a soft sherbet-orange. Rumi will admit it’s flattering, but so were the past seven ensembles he’s run past them. Rumi can feel her eye starting to twitch.

Jinu, on the other hand, is examining Romance like a secret agent decoding an enemy cypher. His focus hasn't waned even slightly as time's worn on.

“We’re getting there,” Jinu says. “The colors are right– we want light, sweet, and fresh– but does the cardigan feel like it’s straying too far into Baby’s territory?”

“Baby doesn't care,” Baby groans from where he’s lying facedown on the floor (and has been since outfit five). “Baby’s new territory can be leather jackets and spikes."

“So maybe a vest instead?” Romance asks Jinu, ignoring Baby completely. “I think I have one that could work.”

“Or you could just glamor something up like the rest of us,” Abby mutters.

“Sorry, are you in a rush?” Romance purrs, sickly-sweet. “Have somewhere to be?”

“I think you look perfect,” Rumi says, though secretly she thinks Jinu was right that this outfit’s closer to something Baby’s character might wear. “Let’s start shooting.”

Romance eyes her for a moment, then– to the groans of Abby and Baby– turns and heads back into his room instead of listening to Rumi.

“You just had to lie to him, didn't you?” Baby grumbles.

“What? I wasn't lying!” Rumi protests.

“Cut her some slack,” Abby tells Baby. “It’s not like she knows.”

Rumi’s eyes narrow. “It’s not like I know what?”

Abby holds up his hands to ward her off and Rumi does not notice his biceps flexing beneath his durumagi. At all.

“Not my story to tell,” he says.

Romance reappears in a tight cherry-print vest that hugs his waist and makes the button-down beneath look more billowy by comparison. Jinu snaps his fingers, nodding enthusiastically.

“That’s it,” he says. “That’s the one.”

“Finally,” Baby groans, peeling himself up off the floor and eyeing Romance’s final look. After a moment and with a puff of smoke he transforms into his human guise, now dressed in worn blue jeans and an oversized sweater patterned with pastel ice pops.

“Do I look cute and cuddly enough?” he asks flatly.

“Nails?” Jinu asks, and Baby rolls his eyes but obligingly holds up his hands to display nail polish that matches his shirt. Jinu nods in approval.

Abby stands from his chair with a stretch that Rumi does not watch before rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck.

“Alright,” he says, “Hear me out.”

When the smoke clears he’s in his human form. . . wearing nothing but a towel. Rumi slams her hands over her eyes but tragically there are gaps between her fingers through which she can still see Abby’s shirtless chest.

“Absolutely not,” Jinu says.

“It’ll be funny!” Abby protests. “I can wander in at the end of the video like I don’t know you’re filming. It’ll drive the fans nuts.”

“It’ll look staged,” Jinu argues, “And we can’t afford to have the humans questioning our authenticity right now.”

“You didn't care about authenticity when I was popping buttons and having mysterious breezes blow my shirt open.”

“Please no mysterious breezes,” Rumi whispers. There’s already not much of Abby being left up to the imagination right now.

“Besides,” Abby says, “We have to cover for Mystery not being back yet. If I come in like this and say I’m grabbing him a drink, fans will assume we were bathing together or in a sauna or something.”

“We’re going to be passing the camera around, Abby. One of us will just disguise ourselves as him between shots.”

“Dibs,” Baby says.

Abby heaves an exaggerated sigh but, to Rumi’s relief, glamors on some clothes. His floral button-down is still obscenely tight but at least Rumi’s no longer worried about mysterious breezes now that he’s wearing pants again. She lowers her hands.

“Alright,” Jinu says, getting to his feet and throwing on his own human guise. He’s kept it simple, just a new variation on his usual loose t-shirt and button down, but Rumi notices he’s left the bracelet around his wrist. “Let’s get the set together and get filming.”

The Saja Boys push three mismatched chairs together and, between one blink and the next, there’s a plush couch in their place. Baby cracks his knuckles and plants a hand against one of the worn walls, flushing the space with fresh paint and a window open to an ocean view. The doorways to the Saja Boys’ rooms fill out with actual doors instead of just curtains and the floor turns to thick, soft-looking carpet.

“Looking good,” Jinu tells him. Baby just shrugs and looks away.

“Let’s hurry this up,” he says. “I can only hold it for so long.”

Jinu picks up the phone Zoey sent them and sits himself down on the couch. Baby and Romance settle in on either side of him and Abby stands behind the couch with his arms folded over the back, showing off his forearms. Rumi turns on the three massive flashlights they’ve placed at various locations around the room and that final touch truly sells that the Saja Boys are sitting in a luxurious hotel room instead of a thrown-together building in the underworld.

Jinu counts them down, then starts recording.

“Hey everyone,” he says, offering the camera a heart-melting smile. “Sorry to disappear on you all. Our performance at the Idol Awards took more out of us than we were expecting, and the Saja Boys have been taking a little break.”

“We all have a new appreciation for how hard our sunbaes work,” Romance says, eyes wide with a sincerity that Rumi refuses to admit she’d fall for if she didn't know better. “It was an honor to work with such experienced performers, and we’re so glad you enjoyed our collaboration with Huntrix as much as we did. We've truly learned a lot from our time together.”

“Like how to take a punch!” Abby says with a laugh, reaching out to take the phone from Jinu. Now off-camera, Baby slips off the couch and disguises himself as Mystery, leaning against the wall behind Abby so he’ll be caught in the shot.

“Just kidding,” Abby says, “But seriously, didn't Mira do great with that stunt choreo? Killer work.”

Jinu snags the phone back, keeping it carefully tilted away from the now-empty end of the couch.

“Anyway,” he says, “We just wanted to give you all a quick update to let you know we’re always thinking of you. The Pride’s support means the world to us. We’ll be back soon, but for now just remember– the Saja Boys love you!”

They all pose and wave, smiling until the moment Jinu cuts the camera. As soon as he lowers it to his lap their side of the room is engulfed in smoke, the illusion of the hotel vanishing and Baby dropping his Mystery disguise.

“Did we get it?” he asks.

“We’ll see,” Jinu tells him. He waves Rumi over and she joins the others in watching the playback, scrutinizing the video for any dead giveaways of how fake the whole thing is.

The plan is this– using a phone and lights sent down by Mira and Zoey, they record a video to both support Bobby’s cover story and hopefully start splitting the fan base again. None of them know if it has any chance of working but it’s a small amount of effort for a potentially huge blow to the Honmoon, provided it even can be damaged now that it’s fully gold. The next step– a full recording and release of Your Idol– will unfortunately have to wait until Mystery returns, but they can start to build fan hype in the meantime.

“It looks good,” Abby says after they’ve re-watched the video for the sixth time.

“Send it up?” Jinu asks. The others nod. Rumi just stares at the screen, watching Jinu repeat to her again that the Saja Boys love you!

Demons can’t take just any human soul. They have to have some kind of foothold, a connection they can pull on, however small. That’s why they can’t just sneak up on a hunter and swallow their soul instead of fighting them, why a hunter’s faults and fears must never be seen is such an important rule.

It’s why a train full of people vanished beneath Rumi’s feet, leaving behind only the tinny sound of Soda Pop playing from an abandoned phone.

What they’re doing– actively promoting a demon boy band– goes against everything Rumi’s ever been taught. It’s not a step to be taken lightly. If they destroy the golden Honmoon it will free the half-demons trapped down here, yes, but it won’t stop at them. Rumi remembers how Jinu hadn’t quite been able to hide his longing for the power that came with swallowing a soul. She remembers Baby speculating about what hers would taste like, completely unprompted by Gwi-Ma whispering in his ear.

She thinks of how broken she felt after Mira and Zoey raised their weapons at her, and how when she confronted Jinu, she knows without a shadow of a doubt that he could have taken her soul.

Remember, the Saja Boys love you!

“I need a minute,” Rumi says, pulling away from the group and heading for the door. Leaving the glow of the flashlights for the perpetual twilight of the demon realm hits her like a physical blow, and when Rumi comes to a stop outside it’s with her eyes locked on the golden strands far, far above her. It’s daylight up there. Rumi knows it is.

But she can't see it.

Derpy pads over to her, bumping his head against her side. When she doesn't respond he makes an inquisitive-sounding rumble.

“I’m fine,” she tells him, not looking away from the sky.

She can hear the door open behind her. Close again.

“I told you I needed a minute,” she says.

Jinu approaches her slowly. He’s still in his human form, still has Zoey’s phone in one hand. Still has that bracelet hanging on his wrist.

He’d worn it to the idol awards.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Is it Baby’s Mystery impression? Because we can wait until he gets back if you think it was that bad.”

“What am I doing?” Rumi murmurs.

“Uh. Sulking?” Jinu guesses.

“No,” Rumi says, shaking her head sharply and turning to face him. “What am I doing? I’m supposed to be protecting people.”

Jinu stiffens. Not much, just the tiniest amount, but Rumi notices.

“You are protecting people. You’re saving the half-demons trapped down here.”

“By putting everyone up there in danger!” Rumi snaps. “You know what your music did to the people who heard it. I know. What am I doing helping you promote it?”

“It won’t be like that this time,” Jinu tries to reassure her.

Rumi scoffs. “Demons will just stop wanting to eat human souls?”

Jinu’s lips press into a thin line. Frustration leaks into his voice.

“What do you want me to say here? That there’s some perfect solution to all our problems, and I’ve just been hiding it?”

“That would be nice, yes,” Rumi grits out.

Jinu closes his eyes. Takes a deep, deep breath.

“Rumi,” he says, “I can't fix this for you. I want to, but I can’t. And do you know why?”

“Because it would be crazy of me to expect that of you?” Rumi guesses.

“No,” Jinu says, “Well– yes. But mostly it’s because you’re right to feel this way. Bad things are happening because of the golden Honmoon. Bad things will probably happen if you break the golden Honmoon. And bad things happened before the golden Honmoon too.”

Jinu holds out his arms in a huge, all-encompassing shrug.

“Bad things are going to happen, Rumi. You can’t change that. You either have to accept it, or keep fighting anyway.”

“It doesn’t sound like a great choice when you put it that way,” Rumi tells him.

Jinu sighs, lowering his arms. “It's not. But as someone who spent four hundred years watching Gwi-Ma destroy lives, never lifting a finger to stop him. . . I don’t want you to give up, Rumi. I think it would destroy you.”

He holds out Zoey’s phone.

“But it’s your choice. You can delete the video if you want. I won't stop you.”

Rumi looks at Jinu. Then she looks at the phone. She takes a slow, careful step forward. Then another.

Jinu doesn’t move. He just watches her with dark, human eyes.

Soon Rumi is toe-to-toe with him. Her eyes trail down over his face, his jaw, the line of his neck. She reaches up, gripping the collar of his button-down and pulling it out of the way.

“Rumi?” Jinu asks in a low voice.

Rumi leans in. Her mouth finds the crook of Jinu's neck.

She bites.

Her teeth break skin, savage and violent, and blood spills over her tongue. It tastes good, like Rumi always knew it would. Savory and rich. She bites down harder and Jinu grunts in pain, but he doesn't try to pull away. He just stands there and lets her hurt him.

Her whole life, Rumi’s known the way she feels about human blood isn't normal. She knows that she shouldn't want to lick Mira’s bloodied knuckles clean when she splits them open against a punching bag, should be able to wrap a cut on Zoey’s arm without feeling like she’s watching an ice cream cone melt. She’s never told anyone about her cravings, not even Celine. She didn't want to see the way she’d look at her if she knew.

And Jinu just lets her hurt him.

Finally, Rumi lets go. She takes a step back, licking the blood from her lips, and watches as Jinu’s skin heals in a matter of seconds. She feels dazed. Her whole mouth is warm.

There’s a lot of things demon bodies crave that human ones don’t. I’m kind of surprised you haven't run into more of them, being half-demon and all.

“Sorry,” Rumi says.

“It’s fine,” Jinu tells her, and he actually sounds like he means it.

Rumi wipes her mouth on the back of her hand. Licks away the smear of blood.

“I’ve never done that before,” she says.

Jinu didn't take her soul when he had the chance.

“You should send the phone,” Rumi says, turning away. “They’ll have to schedule a good time to release it, and the sooner they can do that–”

Arms wrap around her, pulling her backwards. Rumi freezes. Jinu holds her in a tight hug, face buried against her braid and body warm against hers.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he whispers into her hair.

Rumi swallows. She can still taste Jinu’s blood on her tongue. She squeezes her eyes shut and feels something wet roll down her cheek.

“I’m sorry,” she croaks.

“It’s okay,” he says.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m okay,” Jinu tells her. “You didn't hurt me. I'm alright.”

Rumi shudders. He tightens his grip around her.

They stay like that for a long time.

Chapter Text

Bobby isn't stupid.

Not everyone would agree with that, of course. He’s especially looked down on by other industry professionals. They see how much freedom he gives his girls and whisper to each other that Huntrix is running roughshod over him, that their popularity is in spite of his incompetence and if only they were managing Huntrix instead, things would be different. To them, Bobby is an airhead who’s only gotten as far as he has by coasting on his name. They think it’s only a matter of time before he screws up so badly that Huntrix finally drop him.

Bobby doesn't care what they think.

If his girls want breaks, they can take them. If they can't perform, they don’t have to. They can date who they want, when they want, and if any of his girls get married Bobby will be the first in line to congratulate them. He can take the heat from disappointed fans, can refund as many tickets as he needs to. He’ll hold his head up high and pretend he doesn't hear the way other managers talk about him behind his back, because their opinions don’t matter. Bobby refuses to be the kind of manager who destroyed him and his friends when he was younger. His first priority is, and always has been, the well-being of his girls.

He’ll do whatever it takes to protect them.

His cover story for the Idol Awards was a risk, and Bobby knew that going in. He’d gambled that the organizers would back him to save face, doing his best to tip the scales in his favor during the initial interviews with some pointed flattery about how brave they’d been to accommodate the performance and how well it had paid off. He’d lied through his teeth, gushing about how excited he’d been to see the whole thing come together and how much he and his girls had loved working with the Saja Boys, how the up-and-comers had more than earned their current vacation. He’d done it all knowing full well that he was building a house of cards, that a single breeze or tremor could send the whole thing toppling. If it falls, so does Bobby's reputation. He will take the blame for his lies and he’ll be glad to do it, so long as he can keep the consequences from reaching his girls.

Because Bobby isn't stupid. He doesn't know what really happened that night, but he knows it was no performance. His girls have always been a little strange and Bobby decided a long time ago that he would accept the things he doesn't understand about them with open arms. In that way, this is nothing new. It’s just the first time Bobby’s been forced to fully engage with their secrets instead of catching glimpses of them out of the corners of his eyes.

He knows something is wrong. Knows it deep in his bones. Celine told him Rumi’s taking a mental health break and Bobby had sensed something was off about that, his suspicions only confirmed when he’d spoken to Mira and she’d barely been able to contain her surprise when he’d told her Celine’s excuse. Mira herself had sounded worn-out, voice brittle in a way Bobby hasn’t heard from her in years, and he hasn't been able to get in touch with Zoey at all. It doesn't paint a good picture. Whatever really happened at the Idol Awards, his girls are suffering because of it. Bobby failed to protect them.

So he lies. He makes excuses. He keeps the media off Huntrix’s backs, because that is his job. His girls can call him at any time and Bobby will come running, but for now what they need from him is to be the shield between them and the world. He will get them the space and time they need, by any means necessary.

The only real threat to the tenuous peace Bobby’s constructed are the other major players– the Saja Boys. They can step forward at any time and denounce his version of events, and Bobby’s only human. The thought scares him. He wants to be brave for his girls but in the privacy of his own apartment, late in the night, he stares at the ceiling and imagines all the ways this could go wrong.

Which is why it completely blindsides him when, out of nowhere, Zoey texts him to say she’s in contact with the Saja Boys and they need Bobby’s help promoting their new single. Soon the Saja Boys are posting a short video supporting Bobby’s lies, and Bobby has to watch the thing on loop fifteen times before it fully sinks in that he. . . actually pulled this off. Somehow, despite his house of cards being a flimsy construction of bluffs and bravado, it’s still standing. The disastrous fall Bobby’s been bracing for isn't coming.

His girls also send him a fruit basket and tell him he’s getting five percent from now on.

Bobby isn't an idiot. He knows something is still wrong. He knows his girls are hurting and that they’re keeping secrets from him, and he knows what he saw onstage that night. Most importantly, though, he knows that his girls will reach out to him when they’re ready, and that he’s willing to wait as long as it takes for them to be ready to tell him the truth. Until then, he’s just happy they trust him to do what they need him to do.

Okay, he texts Zoey. Let’s do this.

No other questions.

Bobby’s job is to protect his girls, and he’s good at his job.

(he may have cried over the fruit basket a little)

Chapter Text

Rumi takes a deep breath.

Lets it out slowly.

She can be as formless as the mist that hangs eternally over these lands. She can be as free as the air. Her body is not a prison, and Rumi is not chained to it. All she has to do is let go.

“So what’s the deal with you and Jinu? Are you dating or what?”

Rumi yelps and swings a punch at the intruder before she’s even finished opening her eyes. Her fist hits solid muscle. Abby stares placidly down at her as she slowly registers who she just threw hands with.

“Ow,” he says tonelessly.

Rumi winces and draws her hand back.

“Sorry,” she says, then adds, “What is with you guys and sneaking up on me?”

“You learn to move quietly when you live here,” Abby tells her. “You gonna answer my question?”

Rumi pauses. Thinks back. Pulls a face.

“Why are you asking?”

Abby shrugs. “Just curious what happened while I was gone.”

“It’s none of your business,” Rumi tells him, and is shocked when Abby just nods.

“Alright,” he says.

He doesn't leave. Rumi glances between him and the house, then the open wastelands around them.

“I’m. . . trying to focus,” she tells him.

“I’m not stopping you.”

Rumi gives him one last look, then closes her eyes again. She is formless. She is free. She is–

“Well, what’s the deal with you and Mira?” she blurts, turning back to Abby. “Do you actually like her, or. . ?”

Abby shrugs again. “She’s cute. And I like a girl who can kick my ass.”

“Huh,” Rumi says.

“Yep,” Abby agrees.

They’re both quiet for a moment.

“You. . . really don’t seem like you’re mad at me,” Rumi says at length. Abby blinks.

“Why would I be mad at you?”

Rumi gestures wordlessly above them. Abby glances up, then back down.

“I really don't care about that,” he tells her. “Humans have a right to defend themselves.”

“Well, yeah,” Rumi says, “But. . .”

She only realizes after she’s already stalled out that she doesn't actually have anything to say. Abby looks at her, waiting patiently, and Rumi’s forced to end with a vague shrug.

“Look,” Abby says, “It wasn’t personal. I get that. It wasn't personal for me either.”

“You’re really not upset that you got killed?” Rumi asks.

“Wasn’t my first time,” Abby says. “Won’t be my last.”

Rumi goes back to staring at the fog. Okay. This isn’t the weirdest conversation she’s ever had. She takes a deep breath. She is formless, she–

“Got any tips on teleporting?” she asks. Abby makes a low sound of understanding.

“Oh,” he says, “That’s what you’re trying to do. Yeah, try picturing the air in your lungs dissolving your body from the inside out. That helped me when I first learned.”

Rumi nods slowly.

“Did you not ask Jinu for help?” Abby asks.

“I did,” Rumi says, “And he had some good advice, it just. . .”

“Feels like he’s been able to do it so long that he only remembers the major milestones?” Abby asks.

“Yeah, exactly,” Rumi says. “He remembers the before and after, but not so much the part with the actual practice. ”

“He’s not being a dick about it, is he?”

“No,” Rumi grumbles. “He’s been super patient and encouraging.”

Abby nods sagely. “What an asshole.”

Rumi could probably let the conversation end there and get back to practicing, but. . . she’s curious. A handful of days in the underworld have taught her more about demons than twenty-four years of training to fight them, and the longer she spends with the Saja Boys the more her initial impression of them fails to stand up to reality. Baby and Romance are, understandably, reluctant to open up to her, but Abby seems more willing. It seems worth a try.

“So. . . how long have you been a demon?” Rumi asks.

“Nineteen years,” Abby says, and Rumi chokes on her own spit.

“Nineteen years?” she coughs, and at Abby’s nod, “You’ve only been a demon for nineteen years?”

“I’ll give you a minute to process,” Abby tells her.

Rumi needs it. Nineteen years. That means that, within Rumi’s own lifetime, Abby was still human. It was a heavy enough blow to learn some demons used to be human at all, but at least with Jinu’s four-hundred-year buffer Rumi hadn’t had to contend with the fact that Gwi-Ma has been making new demons this entire time. Guilt seeps into Rumi’s chest. Nineteen years ago Rumi was five, and the Honmoon had long been weakened by the death of her mother. The two remaining Sunlight Sisters had done their best to keep up, but with Celine busy raising Rumi there was only so much they could do to keep the Honmoon from fraying. Rumi killed her mother, then she stole the attention of one of the only two people who could protect the world.

“I am so sorry,” Rumi whispers.

Abby just looks at her, expression unreadable, before reaching out to flick her forehead. Hard.

“Ow!” Rumi cries, hand coming up to cover the sore spot.

“It wasn't your fault,” Abby tells her. “It happened. I’m dealing. No big.”

“How can you say that?” Rumi asks incredulously. “Gwi-Ma stole your life from you!”

Abby shrugs. He stoops, scooping up a pebble from the ground, and hurls it into the mist in front of them. Rumi can track its movement by the trail it leaves in the fog long after she’s lost sight of the pebble itself.

“You know how I got my name?” Abby asks. Rumi hesitates, and he glances at her, then down at himself, then back to her.

“No,” Rumi says, disbelieving. “No way.”

Abby just looks at her.

“. . .really?” Rumi asks.

“Seems like a dumb thing to focus on, right?” Abby asks. “I mean, they’re great, but they’re not the only thing about me.”

He picks up another pebble. Hurls it even further this time.

“Even dumber thing to sell your soul for,” he says.

Rumi squints at him.

“You sold your soul to Gwi-Ma. . . for abs,” she says slowly, waiting for him to deny it. He just gives her a wry smile.

“Abs, pecs, and everything else. Wasn’t my smartest move. But I was depressed. I’d dropped out of college because I couldn't stand going out in public anymore and getting the treatments I needed would mean admitting to myself why that was. I was pretty close to ending it when I heard Gwi-Ma’s voice for the first time. I knew it was too good to be true. I knew there had to be a catch. But I couldn’t imagine anything being worse than the life I was already living.”

Treatments.

Oh.

Oh.

“Abby,” Rumi says softly, “That wasn’t dumb. It sounds like you were in a lot of pain.”

Abby just shrugs. Again. Like it really is no big that Gwi-Ma came to him in his darkest moments and whispered poisonous promises in his ear.

“Yeah, well. Gwi-Ma always gets his due. He gave me my ideal body, the one I'd never told anyone I wanted. And no one recognized me anymore. My family mourned their missing daughter. My friends saw me as a stranger. Maybe they would've rejected me anyway if they’d known the truth, but I never gave them that chance. Eventually the shame consumed me and I wound up here.”

“But. . . there was nothing wrong with you being a man,” Rumi says.

Abby gives her a sideways glance.

“There’s nothing wrong with you being born half-demon either, but you still felt enough shame about that to cover your whole body in purple zig-zags,” he says. “It doesn't matter if what you did was actually wrong. It just matters how you feel about it.”

Rumi looks away.

“Chin up, Rumi,” Abby says, smacking her on the back and making her stumble a couple steps. “I actually owe you one. Talking about it felt good, and without Gwi-Ma’s bullshit in my ear I actually don't feel half-bad about myself right now.”

“That's good,” Rumi tells him, and she means it despite the way her smile strains. Then, after a beat, she puts a hand to her back and doubles over.

“Oh no,” she groans, “The pain. I’m going to have to tell Mira about this.”

Abby laughs, grinning ear-to-ear as he lifts her off the ground in a bear hug and spins her in a dizzying circle.

“You’re the best!” he tells her. “Oh, I am rubbing this in Romance’s face!”

Rumi’s head swirls. She can feel the air in her lungs suffusing her body. Abby’s arms are tight around her body but her body is not a prison and Rumi is not chained to it.

Between one blink and the next Rumi is standing a dozen yards away, wisps of smoke still trailing across Abby’s chest. His jaw drops, eyes widening.

“Hell yeah!” he shouts, throwing up his arms. Rumi echoes him, throwing up her own.

“Hell yeah!” she repeats.

Abby starts to chant hell yeah over and over, running over to scoop Rumi up again and carry her inside on his shoulders. He has to crouch to make it through the doorway and Rumi can’t stop laughing. It only gets worse when she sees the trio of baffled looks aimed at their antics.

“Guess who just teleported?” Abby shouts at the assembled Saja Boys.

Jinu, who had looked halfway to scolding Abby, reacts to the news with a surprised and delighted smile. Baby just nods, confusion smoothing out as he processes the explanation, and Romance’s lips twist into a smirk.

“You’re going to brain her on the ceiling, genius,” he tells Abby. “Then Jinu will kill you again.”

“Not before Mira does,” Abby says smugly. “Rumi promised to tell her about all the terrible things I’ve done.”

Romance splutters. “What? No fair!”

“I am embarrassed to know either of you,” Baby says.

The curtain to Mystery’s room comes flying open. Mystery stomps out, his hair a mess and his clothes rumpled, and sweeps out a hand to gesture to the room. Then he puts a finger to his lips, turns, and goes right back into his room again, pulling the curtain shut behind him.

There is a long silence.

“When’s the last time you guys checked his room?” Abby asks.

Jinu groans. “Don’t say it.”

“He’s been here for days, hasn't he?” Baby asks.

Rumi presses a hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking with muffled laughter.

It happened. We’re dealing. No big, she thinks to herself. In this moment, she can almost believe it.

Chapter Text

It takes the combined efforts of both Abby and Baby to drag Mystery out of his room. At first when the two of them go in together Rumi thinks it’s overkill, but the resulting growling and cursing from inside quickly prove her wrong. There’s a series of thuds, something that sounds suspiciously like fabric tearing, and then a loud scraping sound as Abby and Baby reemerge holding Mystery’s legs. Mystery’s claws are dug deep into the floor and he snarls and kicks as his bandmates haul him into the common room. Rumi realizes, for the first time, that the scrapes and scratches on the floor in front of Mystery’s room might not just be from normal wear and tear. Or maybe they are, if this is what’s considered normal around here.

“At least he didn't bite anyone’s fingers off this time,” Jinu sighs, watching Abby and Baby struggle to pry up Mystery’s hands without getting clawed at themselves.

“Honestly, this is going better than I expected,” Romance comments.

“Ow! Fucker!” Baby swears, reeling back with a set of rapidly-closing claw marks on his cheek. “Jinu, you asshole, get over here and help!”

“Nah, you two are doing fine without me,” Jinu says with a smirk. “I’d only get in the way.”

Romance leans back in his chair and looks over at Rumi. “He doesn't socialize a lot. The Idol Awards would’ve taken a lot out of him even if he hadn't died.”

“That does explain why he started barking during the signing,” Rumi says. “Sort of.”

“Come on, man,” Abby grunts, holding Mystery’s arms behind his back as he snaps and snarls inches from Baby’s face. “You don't even have to talk to anybody. We just need your help with a recording, then you can go back to your fortress of solitude.”

“Should I leave?” Rumi asks. “Am I stressing him out?”

“You’re fine,” Jinu reassures her. “Just be ready to run if he breaks free and whatever you do, don’t let him get at your eyes.”

Rumi didn't get a chance to hear most of the Saja Boys’ encore Idol Awards performance. She’d caught the tail end as she made her way into the stadium, the music made even more eerie and strange as it echoed through the venue’s halls. There had been no security guards, no one taking tickets. No one selling merch or manning concessions. Everyone in the building had already mixed in with the concert crowd, spellbound by the Saja Boys’ singing. It had been like walking through the aftermath of an apocalypse as the sole survivor.

It’s a different experience this time.

Mystery had, eventually, stopped trying to maul anyone who got too close and grudgingly settled down to record. The common room is far from a recording studio and the battery-powered equipment Mira and Zoey sent is a lot more rudimentary than Rumi’s used to, but they have to work with what they’ve got and trust that her girls can make magic with it. Beyond that it’s really just a matter of getting enough takes to work from, and the boys are well on their way.

The song itself is. . . conflicting, for Rumi. It’s objectively good, even without backing. The lyrics are clever and well-structured. It’s a massive shift in tone from Soda Pop but Rumi knows the crowd must have been swooning just as much, if not more, than they’d been over the Saja Boys’ first hit. The lyrics are undeniably seductive even though Rumi knows their true meaning.

And that’s the part she’s conflicted about. Your Idol drips with Gwi-Ma’s influence, his presence in every phrase. You exist for me, children. I’m the only one who’ll love your sins.

It’s Mystery himself that sings the line that hurts the most.

“Don't let it show, keep it all inside. The pain and the shame, keep it outta sight.”

We are hunters, voices strong. Your faults and fears must never be seen.

“Baby, do you think we could get your part with a little more energy? I know you can hit it harder than that,” Jinu says, adjusting the settings on the microphone.

Baby gives him a flat look. His face has healed but his grudge is clearly still intact.

“I wonder why I could possibly be tired,” he says pointedly.

Rumi watches as Mystery reaches over and tugs on Jinu’s sleeve. Once he’s gotten Jinu’s attention he points over at the doorway to his room.

“Just one more run-through, then we’re done,” Jinu promises.

Rumi, who has been turning the lyrics over and over in her head, sits up a little straighter from where she’s been cozied up on the not-beanbag eating lunch.

“Wait a minute,” she says, “When Abby says I can be your sanctuary– is that a pun? Because of his name?”

Abby grins and folds his hands together like he’s praying.

“My body is a temple,” he tells her. “Literally.”

Abby. Abbey.

Rumi is going to scream.

“Clever, right?” Jinu asks. “Mystery really outdid himself on this one.”

“Mystery’s your lyricist?” Rumi asks, unable to fully keep the disbelief out of her voice but like. . . what else is she supposed to feel in response to that? The guy barks at people!

“We all pitch in,” Romance tells her, “But him and Baby are the best of us.”

“I help with synonyms and stuff when they need it,” Abby volunteers. “Oh, and I did the Latin bits.”

“You speak Latin?”

Abby teeters a hand back and forth. “I’m passable.”

“He speaks four languages,” Romance says. “Five if you count the one he made up.”

“Conlangs are cool!” Abby says, throwing up his hands.

“Alright,” Jinu says, sliding the mic to the middle of the table, “Let’s go again. Last time, so give it your all.”

Rumi settles slowly back into her seat, processing what she's just learned. These boys are just going to keep on surprising her, aren't they?

She closes her eyes and listens to them sing. Pictures Mystery and Baby hunched over a notebook together, with Abby offering alternative words and suggesting an opening chant in a dead language. Rumi feels a pang in her heart as she remembers writing Takedown with Mira and Zoey. It had been fun, at times. They made an objectively good song, just like Your Idol is. But the lyrics were double-edged and they’d been turned on her fully in the end, like Rumi had always feared they would. Music doesn't have to be kind to be good. It doesn’t even have to be good to be good.

But Takedown will probably resonate with people getting out of toxic relationships. Your Idol, for all its faults, is not without merit either. Villains have fans for a reason. The kind of obsession Your Idol depicts is, while not healthy, a comforting thought to a certain type of person. Rumi can see the appeal. To not only be accepted for your flaws but loved more because of them, to be embraced unconditionally, to give yourself up for something greater. . .

I will love you more when it all burns down.

Yeah. She gets it.

It’s funny how many different meanings a song can have. Like light through the facets of broken glass, something new in every angle.

Rumi gets a reply from Bora’s father the next day. The envelope he sends has a letter for Rumi, a letter for Bora, and a letter for Stellaluna. Rumi’s is short but heartfelt, thanking her for finding his daughter and for getting into contact with him. Rumi doesn't read the others. Her letter didn't tell her not to, but it still feels. . . wrong. Like she’d be intruding on something private.

They bring the letters alongside a package of Bora’s favorite juice, and Bora hugs Rumi for a long, long time.

As they step back out onto the street, Stellaluna presses a blue cabochon into Rumi’s hand.

“You should go for a walk,” she tells her. “By the east gate. It’s a great spot for couples.”

Rumi and Jinu don’t handle the assumption any better this time than the last, spluttering and protesting and managing to insult each other. Stellaluna watches the whole thing with a bemused look on her face that lingers in Rumi’s mind long after they leave.

Rumi managed to teleport across the open wasteland a few times on their way here, cutting their journey in half, but she’s still too new to the whole thing to want to try it out in the crowded city. They head to the east gate on foot instead, holding hands so they don’t get separated. The streets are more packed than ever. More demons freed from Gwi-Ma’s belly, Rumi guesses.

“It’s too bad we can't film here,” Rumi tells Jinu. “It'd be a great setting for Your Idol’s music video.”

“Maybe if releasing the track puts a dent in the Honmoon we’ll be able to show our faces here again,” Jinu says.

“Then we can give Mystery his masks back.”

“No, then we can sneak them back into his room and pretend we never touched them,” Jinu corrects. “He will kill us if he finds out we’re using them. Probably.”

“Are they. . . important to him?” Rumi asks, her free hand coming up to brush against the smooth side of hers.

“Let me put it this way,” Jinu says. “Before we officially formed the Saja Boys, none of us knew if he even had a face.”

The east gate opens to, of course, more of the same endless wasteland. Rumi and Jinu stand on the outskirts of the city and gaze out into the fog.

“It doesn’t seem like a great place for a date,” Jinu muses. “I mean, no more than any other patch of desolate wilderness.”

Rumi turns the cabochon over in her free hand– she’s still holding Jinu’s in the other– and watches the way the dim light of the Honmoon plays over and through the glass. There’s something here. She knows there is.

And then she spots it.

A few yards away, a small gleam. Rumi tugs Jinu forward and they stand together above another cabochon, lying on the cracked red earth. Rumi immediately starts scouring their surroundings and– there! Another glint of light from the ground!

“It’s a trail,” she whispers.

“Sure,” Jinu agrees, “But to where?”

“We’re going to find out,” Rumi tells him, and starts dragging him along by the hand.

They walk for a long time. They can’t teleport ahead to shorten the journey because the cabochons aren’t laid out in a straight line and losing the trail would mean having to start over from the east gate. Rumi still can’t tell time here but her feet are aching when their destination finally appears on the horizon, little more than a dark smudge at first but slowly resolving into more detail the closer they get. Jinu’s grip on her hand tightens.

“Holy shit,” he breathes.

There are hundreds and hundreds of people up ahead, all milling around a central building. Rumi catches something on the air as they approach, the scent of real, human food. Conversations in every language drift her way, though some peter out as their participants turn to watch Rumi and Jinu’s arrival. Rumi pulls up short, just staring over the crowd.

They all look human. All look like people Rumi could pass on the street without a second thought, if it weren’t for their patterns. Peeking out from under shirtsleeves, crawling up from beneath collars, twining around legs until they vanish into skirts and pants. Rumi sees an elderly man whose wrinkled face is lined with purple swirls, a young woman whose patterns are entwined with tattoos. Hair of every color in the rainbow and no way to tell if it’s dyed or not. Eyes that gleam gold, from the Honmoon above or from something else.

“Well,” Jinu says, “I think we found the other half-demons.”

Chapter Text

“What do we do now?” Rumi murmurs.

Jinu’s masked face tilts in her direction.

“How should I know?” he asks. “Saving people is your thing, not mine.”

Rumi rolls her eyes. “Why do I ever think you’ll be helpful?”

“Poor judgement?” Jinu suggests. “I mean, if you want a plan to steal all these people’s souls I could help with that.”

Rumi shushes him, reaching up to grab the back of his head and plant her other hand over the mouth-adjacent area of his mask. The half-demons around them have been shooting glances in their direction and one of them just stood up, leaving her circle of friends and approaching Rumi and Jinu with a wave and a grin.

“Act normal,” Rumi hisses in Jinu’s ear.

“I’m not the one acting like a freak right now,” he shoots back, voice only slightly muffled.

“Hey there,” the half-demon calls, drawing to a stop a couple yards away from them. “You're new faces. At least, I think you are.”

Rumi releases Jinu’s face and he straightens back up, rubbing at the back of his head. Rumi tries to follow her own advice and act normal but she’s having a hard time remembering how to do that right now.

The half-demon looks to be in her late teens. Her hair is a pale blue, though dark roots suggest to Rumi that it’s a choice instead of genetics, and she wears a tank top that exposes the patterns that have climbed down across both shoulders and halfway to her elbows. Her nails are painted with a chipped green polish and her accent is American.

“Hi,” Rumi says, “Yeah, we’re new. The masks were for the city, and, you know–”

“I know,” the half-demon says easily. “Name’s Harper. Nice to meet you.”

Harper holds out a hand. Rumi hesitates, not sure how to proceed here– does she give her real name? Does she take off her mask? She has no idea if any of these people know about hunters, much less that Rumi’s one of the three responsible for sealing them down here. Is it any less dangerous to reveal herself here than it is in the city?

Jinu steps forward and takes Harper’s hand before Rumi can come to a decision.

“Hey,” he says, “I’m-”

But Harper's moving, grip tightening on Jinu’s hand as she turns it over and examines it.

“Claws,” she notes, “Purple skin, two golden eyes– you’re a little more than half, huh buddy?”

Jinu splutters, pulling his hand back, and Harper lets it go without a fight. Rumi can see the humans around them tensing. Rumi holds up her hands and steps between Harper and Jinu.

“He’s a friend!” she promises. “He’s not going to hurt anybody!”

“I never said he was,” Harper tells her. “Relax. Everyone’s welcome here, so long as they play nice.”

Rumi lowers her hands slowly.

“Right,” she says. “Um. We’re here because we asked a friend of ours to point us in the direction of anyone who needs supplies? We've got a way to get them, and–”

“Oh,” Harper cuts her off, “You’re those people! You two are after Gardener, then. Follow me.”

“Gardener?” Rumi echoes, but Harper’s already turned and started walking away, threading her way carefully through the crowd. Rumi hurries to follow, Jinu right on her heels.

“You didn't think to disguise yourself?” she hisses to him under her breath.

“Oh, like you weren’t caught off-guard by all this?” he hisses right back. “You totally choked back there. Besides, it all worked out didn't it?”

They’re getting a few curious glances from the crowd, but the majority of people don't seem interested in the new arrivals. Rumi takes this opportunity to examine the crowd a little closer. Most are sitting on the ground, chatting in small circles, but on the outskirts of the group she can see children running around under the watchful eyes of adults. Many of the half-demons have bowls of food and Rumi’s brows crease beneath her mask as she realizes that a shocking number of them are eating what appears to be fresh fruit. As they near the building at the center of the crowd Rumi makes out a group of half-demons cooking together, their pots and pans warmed by pink flames cupped in other half-demons’ palms. Rumi’s nails dig into her own palms. Jinu can’t conjure fire but Baby can, and that’s how Rumi’s been heating her food down here. It makes sense that some half-demons would be able to do the same thing, like how Rumi’s figuring out how to teleport, but it’s still strange to see. She realizes, belatedly, that there are probably half-demons who can draw their own water from the fog too.

There are also, now that Rumi’s looking for them, other full demons dotted through the crowd. Some are with the group of adults watching over the playing children, a couple of water demons are washing dirty dishes and cleaning clothes, and Rumi even spots one demon helping an elderly man to walk by being a shoulder to lean on. The two have the same spiral-pattern markings and, though the demon looks far younger, he looks at the man with undeniably paternal eyes.

Oh, Rumi thinks, and imagines Bora all grown up while Stellaluna stays the same.

“He’s right through here,” Harper says, leading them around the corner of the house.

It is, in a word, more cohesive than the rest of the buildings Rumi’s seen down here, as if it was constructed all at once with materials actually meant for the task. The windows all match. The foundation is concrete. Rumi trails her fingers along the siding, then looks up and abruptly forgets about the whole thing because what they’ve just walked into is a hundred times more interesting than construction could ever be. Rumi comes to an abrupt halt. Jinu walks into her.

“What are you–” he starts indignantly, then breaks off.

As far as Rumi has seen up to this point, the environment in the demon realm never changes. There is no plant life, only barren red earth and black stone. No rivers, no canyons, no mountains. Nothing but flat, open wasteland. But here?

Here, there is an orchard.

“What the hell,” Jinu murmurs, walking up to one of the trees and placing his palm against the bark.

“It's nice, right?” Harper chirps from a few yards ahead of them.

“I have literally never seen anything grow down here,” Jinu says quietly. “How is this possible?”

“Don’t ask me,” Harper says. “I’ve never really been the outdoorsy type.”

The branches of the trees are laden with all kinds of fruit. It doesn't seem to matter if the fruit is in season or not, which Rumi supposes makes as much sense as any other part of this. As they follow Harper between the trees Rumi becomes aware of a soft humming and a pale blue light, both growing stronger with each step. When they finally make it to a clearing in the center of the orchard, they find the source of both.

A demon sits on the ground, cross-legged, hands braced against the earth. He’s humming, a song Rumi recognizes as the Sunlight Sisters’ Quiet With You, and with each note his patterns pulse with that pale blue light. It thrums in the air around them, sinks into the cracks in the ground beneath his fingers, and silk-thin threads of it climb up the trunks of the surrounding trees and light their leaves from within. It’s beautiful. Ethereal. Deeply, deeply strange.

“Gardener,” Harper calls softly. “There’s some people to see you.”

The humming stops. The light ebbs away. The demon stands, brushing himself off, and when he turns to face them Rumi can’t help but gasp.

“It’s you!” she blurts. “From the other day!”

The demon tucks a strand of pale pink hair behind his ear with a laugh.

“And it’s you. Can’t say I was expecting us to run into each other again,” he says. “Choo-Choo and Janus, right?”

Rumi feels the tips of her ears flush as Jinu muffles a snort. Harper looks between them.

“Oh,” she says, “I didn't realize you two had already met.”

“Neither did I,” Rumi tells her. “And, um. Those aren't our real names.”

“I figured,” the demon– Gardener?– says, “But you never know around here. Some demons pick the strangest things to go by.”

He steps forward and ruffles Harper’s hair. She makes an indignant sound, pulling away and flattening it back into place, but Rumi notices her smiling as she turns away.

“Thank you for escorting these two here,” Gardener tells her.

“Yeah, well, they’d have gotten lost otherwise,” Harper sniffs. “I’ll leave you three to talk. Later!”

She heads off between the trees. Rumi watches her jump to snatch a persimmon from a branch, the ripe fruit practically falling into her hand as she touches it.

“She’s a good kid,” Gardener tells them, watching her go. “Does her best to keep people’s spirits up.”

“How the fuck did you get trees to grow here?” Jinu blurts. Rumi elbows him.

“He means we like your orchard,” she says. “It’s lovely.”

Gardener laughs. He has a good laugh, Rumi thinks. Friendly and infectious.

“It's alright,” he says. “It’s an odd thing to see down here, right? But it’s easy enough once you know the trick.”

He brushes his fingertips over the trunk of an apple tree with a low hum, and Rumi watches faint lines of light twine through his patterns before sinking into the bark.

“An old friend of mine taught me,” he tells them, “How to create instead of destroy.”

“It's beautiful,” Rumi says, and she means it.

When she glances over at him, Jinu isn't looking at her. His head is tilted upwards, eyes lost in the branches overhead. Seeing the orchard had been shocking enough to Rumi, and she’s only been here a little over a week. How much more jarring must it be for Jinu, who has known this unchanging landscape for four hundred years?

“You really do sound familiar,” Gardener says. “Are you sure we haven't met?”

Rumi winces. Well, she was going to have to come clean eventually. At least she’s able to start small here, and Gardener seems to be fairly chill.

“Well, actually,” she begins, but that’s as far as she gets before Jinu catches her arm and starts to pull her away.

“Sorry, can we talk a minute?” Jinu asks, but doesn't wait for an answer before dragging her to the treeline. Gardener just watches them go, looking amused, before returning to the center of the clearing and beginning to hum again.

“What is wrong with you?” Rumi asks, snatching her arm back from Jinu.

Jinu glances over his shoulder at the other demon, lowering his voice.

“This doesn't seem strange to you?” he asks.

Rumi’s voice is flat. “No, Jinu. A magic orchard in the underworld where fruit from all around the world grows off-season, with no sunlight or water, seems completely normal to me.”

Jinu rolls his eyes. “Look, I told you, saving people isn't my thing. But luring humans in to steal their souls? That is. This guy has single-handedly drawn in hundreds of half-demons with a bunch of fake fruit trees. Trust me, there’s no way this ends well.”

“Fake?” Rumi echoes.

“Think about it,” Jinu says. “What’s more likely? That this guy has some kind of power no one’s ever heard of that he learned from a mysterious old friend, or that none of this is real?”

He. . . has a point.

To call a demon’s tricks illusions is a bit of a misleading term. When most people think of illusions they think of a simply visual mirage, and that’s not what demons do. The hearts the Saja Boys had blown into the crowd had been tactile, solid to the touch, and though Baby’s fake couch had been draped over a real framework Rumi knows the cushions would have squished under her weight and felt nothing like the simple wooden chairs beneath. Their illusions fool all the senses, not just sight, and the only limitation is their power and focus.

But that’s usually a pretty big limitation.

Baby had been tired just from transforming half a room for a few minutes. This orchard is huge, the fruit doesn’t vanish when removed from the area, and Gardener doesn’t even seem winded.

“If you’re right,” Rumi whispers, “Then this guy is really powerful.”

“ If I’m right?” Jinu repeats, sounding indignant.

“There are holes in your theory.”

“Like what? ”

Rumi lifts a hand, counting them off on her fingers.

“We both know older demons have been coming back. Maybe this power used to be more common. Also, if he’s this good at illusions, why would he reveal himself as a full demon instead of disguising himself as a half-demon? And if he’s just after their souls, why hasn't he taken any yet?”

“We don’t know that he hasn’t taken any,” Jinu mutters. “He could’ve picked off the ones no one would miss.”

Rumi reaches out and takes Jinu’s hand. He tenses.

“Jinu,” Rumi says, voice sincere, “Thank you for looking out for me. You were right to say something. And I appreciate you trying to protect the other half-demons even though it’s not your thing. ”

“That's not–” Jinu sputters. “I wasn’t–”

“And I’m not saying I trust this guy. We literally just met. But he deserves a chance, right? Like the one I gave you?”

Jinu looks at her for a long, long moment. The mask hides anything he might be thinking.

Eventually, he squeezes her hand.

“Fine,” he says. “But I reserve the right to say I told you so when this all goes wrong. I mean, I literally betrayed you after you gave me that chance, remember?”

“Trust me, not planning to forget anytime soon,” Rumi says, but she squeezes back.

Gardener is still humming when they step back into the clearing. Still that same Sunlight Sisters song. Rumi recognizes the chorus.

It’s so loud on my own, but it’s quiet with you.

Quiet with you.

Let me stay, let me stay, make me good as new.

Good with you.

Rumi’s mother wrote that song.

“Sorry about that,” Rumi says. Gardener opens his eyes, offering them a soft smile.

“That's alright. I was young once too.”

It takes a second, but the implication hits Rumi over the head like an anvil dropped off a skyscraper.

“That’s not–” she blurts. “We weren’t–”

“I don’t think she even knows how to kiss,” Jinu says.

Rumi turns on him. “Excuse me? I’m shocked you even hold hands before marriage!”

“Oh, so you’re telling me you managed to fit dates into your workaholic schedule?”

“You’re telling me you met a lot of people moping around down here?”

Gardener laughs, a deep belly laugh that echoes between the trees. Rumi can feel her ears flushing.

“Sorry,” he says, “I don’t mean to make fun. You just remind me of my wife and I, in the early days.”

“You’re married?” Rumi asks.

Gardener’s smile turns sad, and she immediately mentally kicks herself. Right. Demon. His wife has probably been dead for hundreds of years.

“I am,” he says quietly. “But that’s not what you’re here to talk about, is it?”

“No,” Rumi says, seeing the change in subject for what it is. “We came here because we have a way to get supplies from the human world. And to get messages out, if people have family to write to.”

“Ah, yes,” Gardener says. “Then you are the people I thought you were. I’ll admit I’m curious how you’re pulling that off, but I won't pry. Everyone’s entitled to their secrets.”

Rumi hesitates. That’s as good an out as any, but. . .

“About that,” Rumi says, and reaches up to untie her mask. “You should know– there’s a reason you recognize my voice.”

She lowers her mask and takes a deep breath. “I know this must be a shock, but–”

“Rumi?” Gardener croaks. He sounds more than shocked. Rumi nods.

“I promise, I’m not here to cause trouble–” she begins, but that’s as far as she gets. Gardener is up in an instant, closing the distance between them in two quick strides and reaching for her before she or Jinu can react.

And pulling her into a hug.

Rumi freezes. Gardener’s arms wrap tight around her and she can feel him. . . shaking. Shuddering, really, with each breath.

“Rumi,” he whispers. “Little Rumi. I can't believe it. I thought for sure she’d killed you too.”

He. . . 

What?

Gardener draws back but not away, reaching up to cup Rumi’s cheek. He’s crying, tears spilling down his cheeks.

“Oh, my Rumi,” he breathes. “You look just like your mother.”

Chapter Text

“Do I have a dad?”

Celine had known the question was coming, of course. It had only been a matter of time. But still, despite every time she's run this conversation through her head, she finds herself lost for words now that it’s actually here.

She focuses on her hands, on plaiting back Rumi’s hair with steady fingers instead of shaking ones. She is a hunter. Her faults and fears must never be seen.

“No,” she tells Rumi, and her voice is strong.

Rumi is too young to question the answer. She just goes back to humming as she works on her latest crayon masterpiece– Rumi standing between two taller figures, both holding her hands, both with long black hair. Rumi picks up a purple crayon and starts coloring her own.

“Do I have a father?” Rumi asks a year later, her tiny hand gripping Celine’s as they walk back to her car. “Missus Shin says everyone has a father and a mother, and it’s just that not everyone has a mom and a dad.”

Celine makes a mental note that it’s time to find Rumi a new babysitter. Maybe she should start taking Rumi on the road with her when she tours; it will help prepare her for her future travels and Celine felt uneasy leaving her behind anyway. She promised she’d protect Rumi. Anything could happen while she’s being watched by someone else.

She squeezes Rumi's hand tightly.

“You’re your mother’s daughter,” she tells her. “That’s what matters.”

“Okay,” Rumi says. She’s still too young to question it, but she won’t be for much longer.

“Am I a demon?” Rumi asks quietly, her tiny body curled up beneath the table where she’d taken shelter when the water demons burst in. Celine can’t answer at first, too winded from the fight. It’s harder, fighting on her own. She’ll do it though. For Rumi.

For Miyeong.

“You’re not a demon,” she tells Rumi, and gathers her into her arms. “Don’t ever think that. You’re a hunter, like your mother was.”

She forces her hands to stop shaking as she smooths them down Rumi’s back. Her faults and fears must never be seen.

Rumi calls her mom one night when Celine carries her, half-asleep, from the couch to her bed.

Celine holds the tears back until she puts three closed doors between them.

The patterns start spreading. Rumi asks Celine if hunters kill all demons.

Rumi is old enough to have figured out the truth about her father.

Celine still can't bring herself to say it out loud.

Celine is shaking. She can’t stop.

Rumi is gone.

Celine washes her hands in a convenience store bathroom, over and over. The soap smells like chemicals and the water pressure isn't strong enough. Celine is still bleeding. The mirror in front of her is still broken.

“It’s not fair,” she whispers. “It’s not fair. It's not fair!”

The water will not run clean.

Rumi was good. Celine knows she was. Good like her mother. Human like her mother. A source of pure light and joy. If only they’d been able to complete the golden Honmoon sooner, before the patterns had spread over Rumi’s whole body. Before it had been too late.

Celine sobs. There is still blood in the water. She gets more soap and scrubs again.

Rumi saved the world.

“It’s not fair!” Celine snarls.

But it’s what happened.

Rumi’s final human act was to complete the golden Honmoon. To defeat Gwi-Ma for good. If the Honmoon still took her after all of that, after all Rumi had sacrificed and accomplished, after how hard she’d fought the darkness inside of her her whole life. . . then there must have been nothing left of her to save.

Nothing left of the girl Celine raised.

Of Miyeong’s daughter.

An hour later, Celine steps out of the bathroom with steady hands and perfect eyeliner. She buys a box of bandages on the way out of the store so she stops dripping blood with every step.

She needs to go talk to Rumi’s bandmates.

Rumi’s sacrifice will not go unhonored.

Celine is shaking. There is blood on her hands.

“No,” she chokes out. “Miyeong, why?”

Miyeong doesn’t answer.

The demon is gone. Vanished in a cloud of smoke as soon as Miyeong threw herself in front of him. As soon as Celine’s sickle hit home with a horrible, gruesome squelch.

“I’m sorry,” Celine sobs. “I’m sorry. Please, just open your eyes– please!”

The baby is crying.

Celine has blood on her hands.

“The demon,” Celine whispers. “He did this. He got in your head, he– he was controlling you. He threw you in front of himself to save his own skin.”

Her hands are shaking. They are covered in blood.

The baby is crying.

Celine lets go of the sickle. It vanishes back into threads of energy, leaving behind the gaping wound in Miyeong’s chest.

“The demon,” Celine manages. “Gwi-Ma. He did this.”

She gets to her feet. Sways. She can’t touch the baby, not like this. Not covered in blood.

Not Miyeong’s baby.

“I’ll protect her,” she promises, though her words are barely coherent through the heaving sobs. “I’ll protect her. I will. You can rest easy, Miyeong. They won’t get her.”

She washes her hands over and over as the baby cries. Until she’s steady enough to hold her without fear that Rumi will fall from her numb fingers.

“It’s okay,” she soothes as she lifts Rumi from her crib. “It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.”

She is lying, but Rumi is too young to know.

Celine fails to keep her promise.

Twenty-four years later, Gwi-Ma finally takes Miyeong’s daughter.

But Rumi defeats him before she goes.

Chapter Text

Rumi teleports away.

It’s not intentional. She’d have to be thinking for it to be intentional, and she isn't. Behind her eyes there is nothing but roaring static, her chest tightening with so many different emotions that they cancel out and leave her numb. Her mask thumps to the ground as her fingers lose first grip and then form, and then Rumi’s a hundred yards away and stumbling backwards on feet that barely remember how to be solid. She loses her balance and hits the ground hard. She barely feels it.

The orchard stands in front of her, an impenetrable wall of trees. Somewhere inside Jinu has started shouting, but she can't make out the exact words. It’s just sound buzzing around her, like the static in her brain or the distant thrum of the crowd. Stimulus without meaning. Sensation her body can’t quite connect to.

Her palms are stinging. She must’ve scraped them during her fall.

The shouting stops.

A figure appears between the trees. Jinu. Or at least, it looks like Jinu. His mask is gone and his eyes are wide with concern, but when he takes a step forward Rumi can’t help but flinch back. He freezes mid-stride.

“Okay,” he says, voice soft enough that it barely carries across the distance between them. “I’ll stay over here.”

Rumi’s chest is heaving. She can’t get enough air.

“I’m going to sit down, alright?” Maybe-Jinu says. He moves slowly, settling to the ground, telegraphing his movements. Rumi watches him without really seeing anything.

“Take your time,” the demon with Jinu’s face tells her. “I’ll wait as long as you need.”

It’s a while, Rumi thinks. Before she finds her voice again. Before the static recedes enough that it’s no longer pressing through the backs of her eyes.

“Prove. . . prove it’s you,” she demands.

Jinu hesitates. Rumi’s heart pounds.

“I guess we burned choo-choo already. . . oh, I know.” Jinu reaches up, tapping a claw against the spot Rumi bit until it bled. Relief floods her and she barely manages to keep from collapsing to the ground.

“Where’s. . ?” she asks. Doesn't finish, but Jinu still gets the idea.

“I told him to stay there until you were ready.”

“Thank you,” Rumi whispers.

For a moment, neither of them speak.

“Is it okay if I–” Jinu starts, and Rumi’s words climb over his in her eagerness to reply.

“Please,” she begs.

Jinu doesn’t make her ask twice. He teleports to her side, holding out his arms, and Rumi falls into them with a sob. Jinu smells like wild roses and campfire smoke. His heart is loud and grounding under her ear.

“We don’t have to go back in there,” he tells her, rubbing a hand in soothing circles against her back. “We can just go back to the base and forget this ever happened. I can handle the whole supplies thing. You don't need to do this.”

“I thought–” Rumi’s voice cracks and she breaks off. “No. I didn't think. I didn't want to think about– about him. ”

Celine had never said outright that Rumi’s father was a demon. It had seemed like her way of coping, of not having to face what Rumi was head-on. To her, Rumi was always Miyeong’s daughter and no one else’s, and whenever Rumi would bring up her father Celine would insist he didn't matter. In a way Rumi had found it comforting, to know that Celine was determined to see the good in her despite her origins.

And in another way, it had been devastating.

If Rumi had thought about it, she would’ve known her father was down here. There’s no other place he could be. But like she said, she didn't want to think about him. Didn't want to think about the monster that had–

Because there was only one way Rumi could have come into being. She's known that for a long time. Her mother would never have willingly had a child with a demon, which leaves only one possibility. Rumi is a mistake born from violence and she killed her own mother.

On her fifteenth birthday, when she blew out her candles, she wished she’d never existed. That her mother could be here instead of her.

Rumi’s spent almost her whole life hating the man who made her. Trying to think of him as little as possible. Making herself into a demon’s worst nightmare and telling herself over and over that, like Celine’s always said, she is her mother’s daughter and no one else’s. And maybe that’s why none of what she’s learned since meeting Jinu had made her question what she assumed about her father, because Rumi has spent so long desperate to separate herself from him. Burying him has become a habit, a method of self-defense. Of course she didn't re-examine her beliefs about him. She doesn't want to believe anything about him at all.

And maybe he is evil. Maybe he’s the twisted monster Rumi has always known him to be, and Jinu was right about this whole thing being a trap. It feels easier to believe the worst than to allow herself to hope.

“I get what you meant,” Rumi says quietly. “About hope hurting.”

Jinu’s arms tighten around her, just slightly.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“It’s not your fault,” she mumbles into his shirt.

“I’m sorry anyway,” he tells her.

Rumi listens to the beating of his heart. For a moment, she wonders how it would feel if he swallowed her soul. Would she settle into his chest, held beside his heart forever? Would she feel safe tucked away inside his rib cage?

“Would you mind taking the lead when we go back in there?” Rumi asks. “I want answers but I don’t know if I. . . if I can. . .”

“If that's what you want,” Jinu agrees. “Are you. . . sure? I've never seen you this afraid to take something on before. Not even Gwi-Ma. Especially not Gwi-Ma. You just grabbed your sword and went charging in to stab him in the face.”

He pauses.

“Would it help if I found you a sword?”

Rumi snorts.

“No,” she says, “If he does turn out to be evil I might ask you to claw his eyes out, though.”

“I’ll round up the boys,” Jinu promises her. “We can sic Mystery on him.”

Rumi takes a deep breath. Lets it out slowly.

“. . .he was singing one of my mother’s songs,” she admits softly. “Celine told me she just brought that one to the group one day, fully-written, and told them she’d felt inspired. ”

It had been released as part of the last album the Sunlight Sisters ever recorded.

“You think that’s important?” Jinu asks.

“I don’t know. It was a popular song. All of their songs were.”

Rumi slowly extricates herself from the hug. She examines her palms. They’re indeed grazed, but the damage is superficial and they’re not bleeding. They just sting.

“Want me to kiss those better?” Jinu asks, and Rumi elbows him hard before standing up.

“Come on,” she tells him. “Let’s do this.”

Gardener is, as Jinu said, waiting back at the clearing. He’s fidgeting, one hand fiddling with the sleeve of his durumagi and one foot tapping at the ground, but when he notices them approaching he falls still.

“Hello,” he says, voice somewhat stilted.

“Hello,” Rumi replies.

Her hand is in Jinu’s again and she can’t quite remember how that happened. Maybe when she helped him up. His fingers tighten around hers and Rumi remembers to breathe again.

“I’m sorry,” Gardener says. “You don’t remember me. I shouldn’t have hugged you like that.”

“About that,” Jinu says. “How do we know you’re really her father?”

“I wish I could prove it, but I can’t,” Gardener admits. “The only one who could confirm I’m telling the truth is Miyeong, and. . . well.”

He swallows hard. The grief on his face looks real.

“How did you two meet?” Rumi asks. Gardener’s expression brightens, if only slightly.

“How else does a demon meet a hunter?” he asks. “On the battlefield. I was sent up against the Sunlight Sisters by Gwi-Ma, and your mother was the first hunter to kill me in nearly two hundred years.”

He laughs, quietly and to himself, as his fingers stray to his throat.

“She cut my head off while I was mid-threat. When I pulled myself back together again I was furious and insisted on going after her immediately. I told myself that I’d underestimated her, but that she wouldn’t catch me off-guard again. I cornered her while she was alone and thought I had her for sure– only to lose my head again. From then on it wasn’t about what Gwi-Ma wanted anymore. Defeating her became personal to me.”

“So you were enemies,” Rumi says.

“At first,” Gardener tells her, “But that changed over time. The more we fought the more I got to know her, and the more I got to know her the harder it was to think of her that way. To demons, hunters are the obstacles that keep us trapped down here, more concept than person. It’s easier to hate someone when you can pretend they’re all the same.”

That. . . hits uncomfortably home to Rumi.

Break you into pieces in a world of pain ‘cause you’re all the same.

She and her girls never used to think of demons as individuals. They were all just interchangeable pawns in Gwi-Ma’s army, emotionless vessels that could be destroyed without remorse.

Gardener sighs. “I think things truly changed when Miyeong’s mother passed away. It was sudden and unexpected– a car accident. She died on impact. I didn't know about any of that at the time, of course. I crossed through a weak spot in the Honmoon, expecting to fight as usual, only to find Miyeong mourning at her grave.”

He looks down at his hands.

“She was distracted. Vulnerable. Gwi-Ma was screaming in my mind, telling me to kill her, but I couldn’t. Not like that. So instead I just. . . coughed to announce my presence. Offered my condolences. I expected her to run me through, but she didn't. So I asked her what happened.”

“And Gwi-Ma just let that happen?” Jinu asks.

Gardener gives him a shrug and a crooked sort of smile.

“You know how he is. He thought I would snap at any moment and kill her. Kept urging me to do it. I talked to her for an hour with him shouting in my ear the whole time, but he’d never been easier to ignore.”

“And then?” Rumi asks.

“I walked her home,” Gardener tells her. “It was clear she didn't trust me, not then, but she was in such a bad place that she couldn't bring herself to care. I told her every stupid joke I could think of trying to get her to smile. And at the end of the night I told her I'd kill her for sure the next time we fought. Do you know what she said to me?”

Rumi shakes her head.

“That woman looked me dead in the eyes and said she was looking forward to it.” Gardener shakes his head, a smile on his lips. “Gwi-Ma was furious, of course, but I managed to convince him that I only let her go because I wanted to kill her in a fair fight. I think I half-believed it myself at the time. But after that night I always greeted her with a joke, and she’d draw out our fights so we could talk more. Then one day. . . one day I made her laugh, and for the first time since I’d been human, Gwi-Ma’s voice went silent.”

Jinu’s hand tightens on Rumi’s. She remembers, suddenly, what he’d told her the night he agreed to help her defeat Gwi-Ma. The stunned look on his face when he told her he didn't hear his voice.

“I froze up and stopped fighting. She nearly sliced me in half because she'd been expecting me to dodge. But she stopped, and then we were just standing there. Together.”

Gardener shrugs. “I know it sounds unbelievable. I couldn't believe it myself. And I don’t know for sure why it happened, but I think. . . I think it was because, when I made her laugh, I no longer felt the shame that had been haunting me since I became a demon. If I could make Miyeong happy, even just for a moment, then there had to be something redeemable about me. I couldn’t be as lost as I’d always believed. As Gwi-Ma had always told me.”

“How long did it last?” Jinu asks.

“Long enough for me to tell Miyeong everything. About the voices, about my deal with Gwi-Ma, about how I’d become a demon. When I told Miyeong I’d probably never see her again– that Gwi-Ma would devour me as soon as he managed to pull me back down– she refused to accept it. The Honmoon doesn’t protect demons from Gwi-Ma, so she used her power to create something else. A seal that would keep me hidden from him as long as she lived.”

Oh.

Oh no.

Rumi’s stomach clenches.

Hope hurts.

This is worse than anything she could have imagined.

“We were married in secret a year later,” Gardener says. “Then you came along. We were overjoyed. I built this house down here, far from Gwi-Ma’s temple, just in case things went badly when the other Sunlight Sisters found out. Miyeong was never worried. She told me everything would be fine.”

“And then– then she died,” Rumi chokes out. “I killed her.”

Gardener frowns, eyebrows drawing together.

“What?” he asks.

Rumi swallows. She’s squeezing Jinu’s hand so tightly she’s shocked she hasn’t broken anything.

“She died from carrying me. A few days after my birth,” Rumi croaks. “And when she died, your protection failed, and Gwi-Ma took you and–”

“Rumi,” Gardener interrupts, his voice firm in a way that she hasn’t heard from him before. “You did not kill your mother. Celine did.”

Rumi’s world stops turning.

“What?” she manages. She can’t have heard him right.

Gardener drags a hand down his face. His eyes are cast at the ground.

“She visited unexpectedly. Miyeong had been planning to tell her everything soon, once she’d recovered enough. She told me Celine had been calling her more and more often, concerned about how long the Sunlight Sisters had been on break and why Miyeong kept making excuses not to meet her in person. I wasn’t hiding my true form, and when Celine saw me through the window she kicked down the door and attacked me. I didn’t fight back. I couldn't. I couldn’t hurt someone Miyeong cared about so much. She backed me into a corner and even though I knew what dying would mean– that my soul would return to Gwi-Ma– I was willing to accept it. But Miyeong, as ever, refused to.”

He takes a deep, shuddering breath. Rumi isn’t sure she’s breathing at all.

“She threw herself in front of me. Celine wasn’t expecting it. She didn't stop in time. As Miyeong died her seal died with her, and I was dragged back to Gwi-Ma. I spent the next twenty-four years trapped inside of him, convinced that I’d lost both of you. That once Celine saw your hair she– she would–”

“She wouldn’t,” Rumi whispers. “She– she didn’t. You’re lying.”

Rumi killed her mother. The strain of carrying a half-demon child was too much and her mother died after giving birth to her. The timeline makes sense. It makes sense.

This doesn’t.

Celine loved her mother. She would never have done anything to hurt her.

(she didn't think she was. She thought she was protecting her)

(it was a terrible accident)

(it wasn’t Rumi’s fault)

“I know this must be a lot to take in–” Gardener begins, but Jinu cuts him off.

“Shut up,” he hisses. “Tell her you’re lying.”

Rumi isn’t breathing.

Her nails are drawing blood from Jinu’s hand. She can feel the wet heat.

“I can leave if you need space,” Gardener says.

“She doesn’t need space, she needs you to tell her you’re lying,” Jinu snarls. “So tell her.”

“I don’t. . .” Gardener's tone is uncertain.

“Celine adopted her after her mother died,” Jinu finally snaps. “So tell her the woman who raised her didn't kill her mother. Tell her you're lying.”

“Oh,” Gardener whispers. “Oh, Rumi.”

“Tell her!” Jinu shouts.

Rumi closes her eyes. She wants to be far away from here.

And suddenly, she is.

“What the hell,” Baby says in a flat tone of voice. “Where’s Jinu? Why do you smell like his blood?”

Rumi slumps back against the wall of the common room, sinking to the ground. Her whole body feels heavy. She’s never teleported this far before.

“Hello?” Baby says. “Earth to hunter?”

“Rumi?” comes Abby’s voice. He crouches down in front of her. Rumi stares through him. “Rumi, what happened?”

Rumi croaks something that’s trying to be a word. Even she's not sure which one.

“Not this shit again,” Baby grumbles. “She was catatonic for a while when she first got spiked down here. I thought we were past it.”

“Is it okay if I touch you?” Abby asks.

Rumi doesn’t respond.

“Put her in Jinu’s room,” Baby tells him. “It worked last time. The sooner she snaps out of it the sooner she can tell us what that dumbass did now.”

Romance’s legs appear behind Abby in Rumi’s field of vision.

“She doesn’t look so good,” he says. “Actually, she looks like she might pass out.”

And then Rumi does.

Chapter Text

“I'm fine,” Rumi says, clearly lying.

“Rumi,” Jinu says, very reasonably in his opinion, “You teleported fifteen miles and passed out on the floor.”

“I’m fine,” Rumi insists, standing on her tip-toes to try to smack another sticky note onto the wall. After a moment, Abby picks her up so she can reach.

“You've turned the wall of our common room into a murderboard,” Jinu says.

“It’s not a murderboard, and I’m fine,” Rumi tells him. Abby sets her back down and she immediately darts over to the table to grab more of the red string she’s been using to connect various pieces of paper.

Jinu pinches the bridge of his nose.

“It’s all good,” Abby tries to reassure him. “I've been spotting her in case she falls over again.”

“Again?” Jinu hisses.

“It only happened twice! I’m fine!” Rumi says.

“Abby already tried talking her down,” Romance tells him. “Didn’t work, obviously. We couldn't figure out a way to stop her short of tying her to your bed.”

“I was willing to try it,” Baby says, “But I got outvoted.”

Derpy butts his head against Jinu’s side, looking up at him with those huge eyes that always seem mildly concerned. Jinu sighs, lowering a hand to rest between Derpy’s ears and card gently through his fur.

“It’s alright,” he tells him. “You did good.”

Jinu had reacted completely appropriately when Rumi disappeared on him, which is to say he yelled at the demon who may or may not be her father, scoured the half-human camp and the surrounding area for any sign of Rumi, and generally freaked the fuck out. After realizing Rumi was well and truly gone, not just hiding on the other side of the treeline, Gardener insisted on helping Jinu search. Jinu nearly tore his head off for it because it was Gardener’s fault she'd run in the first place, and she’s so new to her powers that she could've sent herself a hundred miles into the wastes where Jinu would never find her body–

It had been. Stressful.

But then Derpy turned up with a note from Rumi telling him she was back at the base and was, apparently, fine. He supposes he should count himself lucky that only half of that was a lie.

Mystery– who has somehow been lured out of his room and is sitting on the floor next to Rumi’s apparently-not-a-murderboard– finishes scribbling something down in a notebook and rips out the page. He holds it up to Rumi and she takes it eagerly, eyes scanning over the words.

“This is great,” she tells him. “Oh, this fits perfectly here–”

She darts over to another section of the wall and tacks the piece of paper up. Mystery looks back down at his notebook with a faint smile and starts writing again.

Jinu’s eyes narrow.

He approaches the wall, examining the mismatched stationary pinned to it. Notebook paper, sticky notes, torn-off scraps of receipts. He can make out at least five different sets of handwriting, two of which he recognizes as belonging to Mystery and Romance. As for the content. . .

“You’re writing a song,” he realizes.

“It’s in early stages,” Rumi says.

Sussy pops her head out of the wall, a soft blue glow surrounding her point of entry. She’s holding a small stack of paper in her beak and, when Rumi reaches out, obligingly drops it into her palm.

“You’re dead to me,” Jinu tells her. Sussy gives him an unimpressed look.

“Jinu,” Romance calls, “You need to get your cat out of here.”

Jinu glances over. Derpy is eyeing the mess of paper on the wall with the kind of wide-eyed focus only he is capable of, and his tail is swishing back and forth on the ground. Jinu sighs and goes to usher him out of the house.

“No,” he says, “You can’t clean that.”

Derpy gives him a pathetic look, but at Jinu’s insistence he slinks out the door with an air of wounded dignity. Jinu will have to go pet him in a minute to make it up to him.

“So,” Jinu says, turning back to Rumi, “I assume this isn't a manic response to certain things we just learned?”

“Bobby’s dropping Your Idol tomorrow morning,” Rumi says, not looking away from the wall in front of her. “Soda Pop worked fast, so by tomorrow night we should know if we've put a dent in the Honmoon. Damaging it doesn't guarantee any holes though, so we should get another song together just in case we have to go further.”

Sussy pokes her head back through the wall, this time holding a cell phone in a colorful case. Rumi takes it, snaps a picture of her song-collage, and hands it back to Sussy, who vanishes back into the wall again.

“Riiight,” Jinu says slowly. He takes a couple steps backwards, leaning back against the wall beside Baby’s bean-bag. He glances up at Jinu, one eyebrow raised.

“I’m in on tying her to my bed if you are,” Jinu says under his breath.

“Kinky,” Baby replies, and Jinu feels his face flush as he kicks the beanbag as subtly as possible.

“I hate you,” he hisses.

Baby ignores him, pushing himself up off the beanbag with a stretch. Then he grabs Jinu’s wrist and starts to pull him outside.

“We’ll be right back,” he tells the others.

Romance leans back in his chair, eyeing them both with a carefully blank expression on his face. He doesn’t voice any protests, though.

“When you’re done, we need Jinu in on this,” he says. “We've got a couple good bars but no real melody.”

Baby waves a hand over his shoulder in acknowledgement, tugging Jinu through the door and closing it behind them. Derpy, who has apparently been pacing circles just outside, perks up when he sees Jinu. Baby lets go of Jinu's wrist and he steps forward to scratch under Derpy’s chin.

“Sorry,” he tells him. “Didn’t mean to make you feel left out.”

“So,” Baby says, coming to stand at Jinu’s shoulder. “What happened?”

Jinu glances at him sideways.

“Rumi didn't tell you?”

“She was light on the details.” Baby examines his nails. “She said you two found the other half-humans but, you know. I’m not stupid. Clearly she left some things out.”

Jinu sighs. He sits down, letting Derpy crawl half-into his lap, and sets about working his knuckles into that spot Derpy likes just behind his jaw. He can feel the cat’s low purr rumbling through his entire body.

“Would you trust me if I said it wasn’t anything you’d think is important?” Jinu asks.

“I don’t trust you to know what’s important to me or to tell me the truth about it,” Baby answers.

That’s about what Jinu figured.

“You ever hear of a demon named Gardener?” he asks. Baby frowns.

“I know a couple Farmers,” he says. “And a woman named Greenthumb.”

“But no Gardeners.”

“No Gardeners.”

Jinu frowns. “Gwi-Ma sent you up against the Sunlight Sisters a couple times, didn’t he?”

“Technically the second time was an accident,” Baby says, “But yeah.”

“Who else was on your team?”

Baby pulls a face. Blows out a breath.

“Fuck, okay, uh. . . Bride, Impact, Blight. Heavy hitters. Second time we had Bitter and Flush with us too.”

“Any of them have weird abilities?” Jinu asks.

“Weird how?”

“Making plants grow.”

Baby’s quiet for a moment, examining Jinu’s expression carefully.

“What’s this about?” he asks.

“The demon who’s been hosting the half-humans. He grew an orchard in the wastes in less than a week.”

Baby’s eyes narrow.

“That’s gotta be an illusion.”

“That’s what I thought too,” Jinu says, slipping a hand into his durumagi and pulling out a fresh green apple. He tosses it to Baby who snatches it effortlessly out of the air.

“They’re about fifteen miles away, give or take,” Jinu says. “It hasn’t disappeared.”

Baby turns the apple over in his hand.

“Either that’s the most powerful demon I’ve ever heard of aside from Gwi-Ma,” he tells Jinu, “Or this is real.”

Jinu slumps forward, burying his face in Derpy’s fur. He’s missing something here. He knows he is.

“You’ve never heard of a gift like this?” he asks. “Not even once?”

“I knew someone who could wither plants with her breath,” Baby says, “But no. Nothing like this. How’s this connect to whatever got little miss hunter in there all riled up?”

“I can’t tell you,” Jinu says.

Baby’s quiet for a moment.

“You’ve gotten really annoying since you met her,” he says at length. “Even more than usual.”

“I have literally stabbed you in the back before,” Jinu says. “Twice.”

“And I knew it was coming, because I know you,” Baby says. “I don't understand what you’re up to now. It’s making me nervous.”

“Maybe I’m done being up to things,” Jinu mumbles. “Maybe I’m tired.”

There’s a soft thump. Jinu looks up to see Baby’s taken his own seat on the ground and is tossing the apple between his hands absently.

“I’m gonna say it,” Baby says. “You found the half-humans. There’s, how many, hundreds? There has to be. I know a lot of demons who’ve made bad choices up top.”

Jinu shrugs. “Hundreds, yeah. And some are probably more human than half. A few generations removed.”

“Right,” Baby says. “That’s a lot of souls. The Jinu I know would be saying we should put on a show, gather those up, and start running shit down here as Gwi-Ma’s replacements.”

“And leave us cut off from the human world forever once Rumi and her friends find out,” Jinu says, annoyance creeping into his voice. “Right. Genius.”

“So I can’t accurately copy your devious mind, sue me,” Baby huffs. “My point was that ever since the Idol Awards you’ve been. . . different. Even before we got trapped down here. The others couldn’t tell, but I could. You were just going through the motions on that stage.”

Jinu doesn't answer. Baby sighs.

“We need you to actually try on this one,” he tells Jinu. “Everything you’ve been doing since then. . . it’s all been reactive. Get the hunter food so she doesn't starve. Send up a video when Zoey suggests it. Follow Rumi around like a lost puppy looking for the half-humans. It’s bullshit. You’re a schemer, Jinu. You always have been. So why aren’t you planning anymore? Don't you want this to work?”

“Of course I do,” Jinu snaps. “Is it so hard to believe I just don't know what to do? All of this is new territory! The golden Honmoon, Gwi-Ma being gone, working with hunters for once. . .”

Baby just looks at him. Jinu shifts uncomfortably. He can’t know. There’s no way he can know.

“You’re an idiot,” Baby says, which still doesn’t mean he knows anything.

“You keep telling me that,” Jinu grumbles.

Baby throws the apple at him and Jinu jerks upright, cursing.

“What the fuck?” he asks, indignant.

“You haven't been sleeping,” Baby says, and it's not a question.

Jinu laughs.

“What? Of course I’ve been sleeping. Why wouldn’t I have been sleeping?”

Baby folds his arms. “Because we finally don’t have Gwi-Ma hissing in our ears all the time. Because you think if you go to sleep you’ll get nightmares.”

. . .fuck.

“I’m fine,” Jinu mutters, looking away. “No one’s noticed aside from you.”

“You completely overlooked the fact that your pets could play fetch with the human world,” Baby says, “And that was two days in. This has been going on a lot longer, hasn’t it?”

“I’m going back inside,” Jinu says, disentangling himself from Derpy and moving to stand. Baby vanishes in a cloud of smoke and Jinu curses, hurrying to follow and appearing in a room full of faces turned to him.

“Whatever he said,” Jinu blurts, “It’s not true.”

“He said you haven't slept in two weeks,” Abby says, narrowing his eyes.

“That is definitely not true,” Jinu insists, and it’s not. It’s been three. Or maybe four. He hasn’t been keeping track. At first it was just that there was a lot to do to prepare for the Saja Boys debut, then it was because he didn't want to miss Rumi’s letter, and then–

Then it was what Baby had guessed. He finally has a clear head for once. Sleep means voluntarily letting himself fall back into the black abyss of his own mind, letting nightmares take him even in these precious moments of freedom.

It’s fine.

He’s fine.

“Jinu,” Romance says carefully, “Would you say I’ve been out-sleeping you the past few weeks?”

Motherfucker.

“You can’t make me,” Jinu says, immediately switching tactics. “None of you can hold me down long enough.”

“Oh,” Baby says dryly, “I think one of us can.”

Chapter Text

“. . .son of a bitch,” Jinu mutters.

Rumi scowls. “I can’t believe you wouldn’t just go to bed.”

“Oh, like you did after teleporting fifteen miles?”

“I slept!”

“Passing out doesn’t count as sleep, Rumi.”

“And you’re the sleep expert after not having had any for two weeks?”

Jinu growls. His grip on Rumi’s hand tightens and Rumi squeezes back, refusing to be outdone.

“Just close your eyes already,” she tells him.

“You first,” he counters.

“You’ll just teleport away as soon as I’m asleep!”

“So will you!”

Rumi groans, frustrated. The ceiling of Jinu’s room is not particularly interesting to look at but if she turns her head she’ll have to deal with the fact that the two of them are currently lying shoulder-to-shoulder in Jinu’s bed, hands linked, and she’s too busy being angry right now to let a stupid emotion like embarrassment get in her way.

“I can’t believe Baby did this to me,” she mutters.

“I can believe he did this to you,” Jinu says, “I just can’t believe he did it to me.”

Rumi feels something rising up inside of her. She fights to keep it down, fingers digging into the blankets and chest tightening, but it’s too late. The yawn bursts out of her.

“Ha!” Jinu snipes. “You’re going out first! You–”

His words are interrupted by his own jaw-creaking yawn.

“Yawns are infectious,” Rumi reminds him.

“I hate you,” he tells her.

They’re both quiet for a moment.

“So. . . you weren’t sleeping when we first met?” Rumi asks. How different is he normally, compared to this?

Jinu shrugs, his shoulder bumping against Rumi’s.

“I had too much to do. And I’m older than Abby and Romance; it doesn’t catch up with me as fast. Baby has them worried over nothing.”

“What’s seventy-six plus thirty-two?” Rumi asks him.

Jinu doesn’t respond.

“That’s what I thought,” she says.

“You tell me what the answer is, and I’ll accept your judgement.”

Rumi pauses.

“. . .remind me what numbers I said?”

“Demon powers aren't like drawing from the Honmoon,” Jinu tells her quietly. “They come from you. You can’t just burn that much energy and not give your body a chance to recover.”

“You teleported back here too,” Rumi reminds him.

“I’ve got a lot more experience than you.”

“Hypocrite,” Rumi mumbles.

“Takes one to know one.”

Rumi yawns. Jinu echoes it.

“. . .sorry about your hand,” Rumi tells him. It’s the closest she’s gotten to acknowledging what happened earlier and the closest she’s willing to get.

“It’s fine,” Jinu says. “I barely felt it.”

Rumi closes her eyes.

“I’m not sleeping,” she says.

“Neither am I,” he counters.

“Then I guess we’re stuck here, then.”

“I guess we are.”

Rumi wakes slowly.

The bed is moving beneath her, a gentle up-and-down that Rumi finds almost as soothing as the low, rhythmic thumping in her ear. Her eyelids flutter but they’re too heavy to lift so Rumi doesn’t even try. She just nestles down into her warm pillow and lets herself drift.

Jinu’s bed smells like him. It makes her feel safe.

“No,” Jinu whispers from somewhere nearby. “Stop. No.”

Rumi frowns. That doesn't feel like part of her dream.

Jinu whimpers. Rumi forces her eyes open. She’s staring at the bipa that hangs on the wall of Jinu’s room. That makes sense. This is where Rumi’s been sleeping. But where’s Jinu?

“I’m sorry,” Jinu gasps. “I’m sorry.”

The thumping in Rumi’s ear starts to speed up.

Oh.

Rumi pushes herself upright, untangling herself from Jinu. She’d been sprawled out on his chest, fingers still locked tight with his, and as she pulls away his hand grasps at empty air and his breath starts to shudder.

“Not again,” he chokes. His eyes are still closed. “Please. I’m sorry.”

“Jinu,” Rumi whispers. He doesn’t stir.

“Jinu,” she tries again, more forcefully this time, but Jinu’s only response is a soft whine as his hands start to grip at his sheets.

“Please,” he begs, “Please.”

Rumi has a horrible suspicion she knows what he’s dreaming about. She grabs Jinu’s shoulders, intending to shake him awake, but as soon as she touches him his eyes snap open and he grabs her wrists with a snarl.

She freezes.

So does Jinu.

“Uh,” he says. Blinks.

“Hi,” Rumi says.

Jinu swallows hard. Slowly, he lets go of her. Rumi draws her hands away with equal care.

“That. . . sounded like a hell of a nightmare,” she says quietly.

Jinu looks away. He scoots back a bit, sitting up and drawing his knees to his chest, putting distance between him and Rumi.

“Sorry,” he says.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” Rumi tells him, and Jinu breaks. He buries his face in his arms, curling into himself, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. If Rumi wasn’t looking right at him she wouldn’t know he’s crying.

Sound travels easily in this house. She knows that from experience. Has Jinu always cried this way, or did he learn to be quiet to keep the others from overhearing?

Rumi’s hands clench.

“Jinu,” she says gently. “Can I touch you?”

Jinu doesn’t respond, just continues to silently shake.

“I’ll stop if you want me to,” Rumi tells him. She scoots a little closer. Places a tentative hand on Jinu’s back.

He falls into her immediately, arms wrapping around her waist, face buried against her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he sobs. “I’m so sorry. ”

Rumi wraps her arms around his shoulders.

“It’s okay,” she lies. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

She doesn't know how long it takes for Jinu to cry himself out. By the end of things he’s just lying in her arms, breaths hiccuping only occasionally and whole frame boneless with exhaustion.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, but this time he sounds like he’s actually talking to her.

“It’s okay,” Rumi says, and it's the truth this time. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but. . . was it about your family?”

Jinu nods against her shoulder.

“I dream about it a lot,” he admits. “The day I left them.”

No wonder Jinu doesn’t like sleeping.

“I’m sorry,” Rumi tells him.

Jinu laughs, and it’s a broken sound. “It’s nothing I don't deserve.”

“It was one mistake you made four hundred years ago. I think you’ve suffered enough by now.”

“So did I,” Jinu murmurs. “That’s why I made the deal with Gwi-Ma to erase my memories. That’s why I hurt you and your friends and all those other humans. And that’s how I know I still deserve this. Because I haven’t changed. I’m still the kind of person who hurts others to get ahead.”

He sighs and his breath is warm against Rumi’s shoulder, even through the fabric of her shirt.

“I should want to remember them. If I was a good son, a good brother, I would. I’d be grateful just to see their faces, even if the dreams are always about the moment we were separated.”

Something about that phrasing makes Rumi pause.

“Separated?” she repeats. Separated. Not left.

Jinu doesn’t seem to realize what she's really asking, or maybe he’s just unable to keep from continuing now that the floodgates are open. “My sister just kept crying. She was too young to understand what was happening, and the guards were scaring her. My mother had to hold her back. In my dreams sometimes she breaks free and then the guards–”

He breaks off. Rumi’s mind whirls.

“Jinu,” she says slowly, “Are you telling me the palace guards separated you and your family? Guards guards. With weapons.”

“Yes,” Jinu tells her. “I was stupid enough to think the King’s invitation was for all of us. I brought my family with me to the gate. I made it all so much worse by giving them hope, only to snatch it away again.”

He sounds truly, wretchedly miserable, which is the only thing keeping Rumi from calling him an idiot to his face right now.

“That sounds a lot less like you leaving them and more like you being kidnapped,” Rumi says instead.

“Don’t. Don’t make excuses for me,” Jinu tells her.

“I’m not making excuses. I’m pointing out the obvious. What were you supposed to do, fight the guards?” Rumi blinks, suddenly realizing something. “Wait– was this even a job? Did you get paid? Or were you just locked up in the palace and expected to sing whenever the king wanted?”

Jinu doesn’t answer, but his arms tighten slightly around her waist.

“Jinu, this wasn’t your fault,” Rumi says, and she means every word.

“Of course it was,” Jinu argues, heat creeping into his voice. “If I never made the deal with Gwi-Ma I could've stayed with my family. I could’ve protected them.”

“You didn’t know the deal would only be for you!”

“I should have.”

“But you didn’t.”

Rumi shifts, taking Jinu’s face in her hands and looking him dead in the eyes.

“Are you hiding anything else from me about what happened?” she asks.

“No,” Jinu whispers.

“Then it wasn’t your fault,” she tells him, voice brokering no argument. “Do you hear me, Jinu? It wasn't your fault. ”

Jinu’s eyes well with tears, golden irises swimming in them before he blinks and they spill over down his cheeks.

“But–” he chokes.

“No,” Rumi insists. She brushes away a tear with her thumb. “It wasn’t your fault. And I’ll keep saying that until you believe it.”

Jinu tries to turn his face away but Rumi won't let him. She sees him. All of him. Four hundred years of suffering, of blaming himself for falling prey to forces he didn't understand. Four hundred years of desperate choices made under the thumb of a tyrant. Constantly watched, constantly under threat of punishment if he started to stray towards kindness. Unable to escape even in death.

Rumi presses her forehead against his. This time, when Jinu sobs, it isn’t silent.

“It wasn't your fault either,” he manages to choke out. “What happened with your mother– you were a baby. I can't believe you’ve been blaming yourself this whole time.”

“I thought– I thought the strain of carrying a half-demon child killed her,” Rumi admits. “I thought if I’d just been born different. . . born right. . .”

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Jinu says, “And I’ll say that until you believe it. Your mother wanted you, just as you are.”

Rumi sniffles. She’s crying too now, fat tears rolling off her chin and soaking into her shirt.

“I can’t believe– I can’t believe that–” she croaks.

“I know,” Jinu tells her.

“And I never even asked. I could’ve asked her what happened but– but I was so sure I was right. That she’d been keeping it from me because she didn’t want me to blame myself.”

“What were you supposed to do? Read her mind?” Jinu asks. “You made guesses based on what you knew. It isn’t your fault she didn’t tell you enough.”

“I don’t know how to feel about her anymore,” Rumi admits. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to be feeling. I know she loves me. She wouldn’t kill me when I asked her to.”

Jinu goes very still.

“When you. . . what?” he whispers.

Rumi closes her eyes.

“Forget I said that,” she tells him.

“You asked Celine to kill you?” Jinu asks. “When?”

After the Idol Awards. After you exposed me to the world. After my best friends, my family, pointed their weapons at me. After the Honmoon started to die, and it was all my fault.

Rumi holds her tongue. It’s the wrong move. Jinu’s expression becomes even more severe.

“It was my fault,” he whispers.

“No,” Rumi insists, gripping his face tighter. “You didn't make me lie to my friends. You didn't make me ashamed of what I was my whole life. The Idol Awards might have set me off but I–”

Rumi swallows. Forces the words through a tight throat.

“I’ve always felt this way. Almost my whole life. That I. . . that I should never have existed. That I should fix that mistake.”

“It wasn’t a mistake,” Jinu growls. “You were wanted. You still are. I want you here, Rumi. Your friends want you here so badly they’re willing to tear down the magical barrier you've spent six years trying to build. And Celine might be a fucked-up piece of work but not even she agrees that you shouldn’t be here. You deserve to exist, Rumi. And I’m glad you do.”

Rumi isn’t sure which one of them leans in first. Maybe it’s neither of them. Maybe they both feel the pull towards each other in the same exact moment, the need to press their words into the other's skin. Their mouths collide and it’s a mess because they’re both still crying, damp and uncoordinated and tasting like salt.

It’s the best kiss Rumi’s ever had.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she promises, one hand sliding into Jinu’s hair.

“You deserve to exist,” he says into her mouth, the words hot and alive on his breath.

It doesn’t last long. They’re both still exhausted. More so now, after everything they've talked about. Rumi feels raw inside, like she opened up her rib cage and scoured her heart with steel wool. But it’s a clean sort of pain. A healing one.

They fall asleep in each other’s arms, on purpose this time.

Neither of them have nightmares.

Chapter Text

When Rumi and Jinu finally emerge from his room, Rumi’s mouth tastes like the bottom of a shoe and her eyelashes are crusted with dried tears. Her hair is a mess, her clothes are wrinkled, and she’s pretty sure she drooled on Jinu’s shirt in her sleep.

“Morning, sleeping beauties,” Romance greets them.

“You look like you got hit by a train,” Baby comments.

Rumi ignores him, crossing the room to start digging through what remains of her care package. She grabs a box of her favorite cereal, sits on the floor, and starts shoving dry fistfuls of it into her mouth. That’s the bottom-of-a-shoe problem solved, at least.

“Morning,” she grunts.

She eyes the song collage. It’s gotten bigger since she and Jinu dragged each other to mutually assured destruction. She recognizes new additions from Mira and Zoey, along with Mystery’s surprisingly neat handwriting and Romance’s sparkly-gel-pen flourishes. It still seems a little scattered, though. They’re suffering an embarrassment of riches for which direction they could take the Saja Boys' next potential hit in. Soda Pop was cute and romantic so long as you didn’t understand the underlying meaning, while Your Idol was dark, possessive, and sexy. Do they return to bubblegum-pop form, or continue to push the envelope? Maybe weave in a theme of redemption to cap off what the world at large thinks was a literally showstopping performance of good versus evil?

Jinu sits on the table in the center of the room, folding his legs and eyeing the wall. He seems more focused this morning, but more than that, he seems a little lighter. He also has a serious case of bed-head that Rumi’s struggling not to find cute.

“Updates?” Jinu asks.

“Good news or bad news first?” Abby asks.

“Good news.”

“The good news is, Your Idol is topping charts. It edged out Takedown a few hours ago.”

“Let me guess,” Jinu says, “The bad news is it’s not doing any damage.”

“Golden waves as far as the eye can see,” Romance confirms.

Jinu waves a hand. “That’s fine. This was just our first attempt, and I’ve got plenty of other ideas.”

“Oh, you do?” Baby asks with a smirk. Jinu shoots him a glare that’s made slightly less effective by the bedhead.

“Not a word,” he warns him. “Abby? Notes.”

“You got it,” Abby says. He scoops up one of the notebooks now scattered around the room and plucks a pen from behind his ear.

“Let’s start from the beginning,” Jinu says. “The golden Honmoon. Impenetrable by demons, and self-sustaining– or at least, it’s supposed to be. Interfering with the fans hasn’t cut its power, so we can probably consider self-sustaining proven. It also caught anyone with even minor demon heritage, so it’s definitely a tighter net than ever before. Derpy and Sussy can still pass through, but since none of us have any idea what they actually are, that doesn't help us.”

“I thought you said you had ideas,” Baby says.

“Shut up,” Jinu tells him, “I’m laying the groundwork. Good ideas come from a good foundation.”

“But we all know this already,” Baby argues. Jinu gives him a flat look and gestures towards Mystery, who is currently sitting in the corner scribbling in his notebook. Rumi can't tell if he’s paying attention or not.

“He. . . probably overheard everything important while he was lurking around,” Baby tries, but it’s halfhearted.

“As I was saying,” Jinu continues pointedly. “Rumi and I recently found out that the Honmoon isn't the only kind of barrier a hunter can create. If our source can be trusted, a hunter once made a seal to protect a single demon from Gwi-Ma, a seal that was tied to her soul and hers alone.”

“Who's your source?” Romance asks. Rumi’s mouthful of cereal goes down like a lump of lead.

“Not important right now.” Jinu brushes the question off. “What’s important is that this means the barriers can be tailored to specific purposes. What if, instead of trying to weaken the golden Honmoon, we create a second barrier to interrupt it?”

“Like overlaying a mesh?” Abby asks.

“. . .I understood those words separately,” Jinu says. “Let’s just assume yes. ”

Rumi’s brow furrows and her chewing slows. It. . . makes sense. Derpy and Sussy can pass through the Honmoon, so they know non-demonic forces won't be stopped by it. Rumi and her girls also have experience shaping the same energy that makes the Honmoon into their weapons, so the idea of it taking a different form isn’t completely unheard of either. There’s really only one problem, as far as Rumi can see.

“It took us our whole careers to gather enough energy to turn the Honmoon golden,” she says. “Wouldn’t we need an equal amount of energy to pierce it, or maybe even more?”

“Plus Huntrix is down a member,” Baby adds. “Not sure those two can handle that much power on their own.”

Rumi bristles. “Of course they could! My girls are amazing!”

Baby rolls his eyes.

“You ever try building a chair with only two legs?”

“My girls are not chairs!” Rumi snaps.

Romance makes a choked sound.

“You’re thinking about this wrong,” Jinu says loudly, regaining their attention. “This is hammering a nail, not building a wall. We don’t need anywhere near the same amount of energy.”

“You sound pretty sure about that,” Abby comments.

“Think about it. If one human soul was able to protect one demon from Gwi-Ma, that means a smaller barrier needs less energy.”

“If the story’s true,” Romance hedges.

“Yes,” Jinu allows.

“And you think it is.” Romance makes it a statement, not a question.

“I’m reasonably sure, and we don't lose anything trying it,” Jinu tells him.

Romance leans back in his chair. His eyes are locked on Jinu’s face and his expression is so mild and pleasant that the hairs on the back of Rumi’s neck stand on end.

“I wanna talk to your source,” Romance says.

“No,” Rumi and Jinu blurt at the same time. Rumi almost chokes on her cereal and starts coughing until Abby leans over and thumps her heavily on the back.

“Thanks,” she croaks.

Romance is glancing between her and Jinu now, one eyebrow raised.

“Is this any of my business?” he asks.

“No,” Rumi says, because it’s not. “No offense, but we already told you the important part.”

Romance’s gaze flicks to Jinu, who’s hesitating.

“Jinu,” Rumi hisses. Jinu winces.

“Oh, this is not a great situation,” he mutters.

“Ro, just drop it,” Abby says. Romance ignores him.

“Why don’t you want me talking to your source?” he asks Jinu.

“I can’t tell you,” Jinu says.

“Bullshit.”

“I would prefer not to tell you,” Jinu amends. “I would actually really prefer you listen to Abby right now.”

Baby teleports to Rumi’s side in a soft puff of smoke, reaching over to steal a fistful of her cereal and popping it into his mouth like popcorn.

“Oh,” he says, “This is going to be good.”

“I can’t help you if you’re not honest with me, Jinu,” Romance says.

“Well, I don’t want to be honest with you because you haven’t been honest with everyone in this room. Which is fine, but sometimes there are consequences for that.”

Baby leans closer to Rumi. In a loud and obvious stage-whisper he says, “They’re talking about you.”

“Thanks,” Rumi says dryly, “I’d figured that part out.”

Other than that painfully obvious piece of info, she’s completely lost here. Jinu’s keeping her secret for now because Rumi is not ready to talk about having met the demon who might be her father, but why would that matter more to Romance than any of the other Saja Boys? And what secret could Romance be keeping from Rumi that would make Rumi okay with telling him the truth? She’s assuming that’s what Jinu means– that he’d only loop Romance in if Rumi was okay with it– but it’s possible there could be some other way to interpret his words that she just hasn’t figured out yet. She’s missing too many pieces here.

Romance scowls.

“I’m not telling her,” he says.

“That’s fine,” Jinu tells him, “But that means you’re not talking to my source.”

“This doesn't even matter,” Abby interjects. “We can just ask Mira and Zoey to try Jinu’s idea. Easy.”

“Well,” Jinu says, “There might be. . . one thing we have to deal with first.”

The room falls into a brief silence, interrupted only by the sound of Baby’s chewing.

“Gwi-Ma,” Mystery says quietly, the first word Rumi’s heard him speak since the Idol Awards.

“Man,” Abby groans, “How is he still ruining our lives while he’s dead?”

“He could be back already,” Jinu says.

“Right,” Baby grumbles around his mouthful of cereal, “Your little pet theory.”

“If the souls he consumed were really what made him so powerful, he might not be able to touch our minds anymore,” Jinu explains. “I mean, you said yourself that you didn't think he’d be gone more than a week, Baby.”

Romance stops leaning back in his chair, all four legs slamming into the ground with a loud cracking sound that makes Rumi wince. He’s up on his feet a moment later, heading for the front door.

“I can take a hint,” he says. “I’ll go shake some trees.”

“Romance–” Jinu tries, but Romance shuts the door between them before he can finish. Jinu frowns.

“You could follow him,” Baby says.

“Stop instigating,” Abby scolds him.

Jinu sighs, sliding off the table and walking towards his room.

“I’m. . . grabbing a couple things,” he says. “I need to talk to our source. Rumi, I’ll meet you outside if you want to come.”

Rumi hesitates. Does she want to come? Does she want to go with Jinu to talk to Gardener, the demon who might be her father, about the barrier her mother may or may not have made to protect him? The one that was only destroyed when Celine–

Rumi crams another fistful of cereal into her mouth. Baby’s eyeing her with interest but she does her best to ignore him.

“I’ll think about it,” she mumbles. Jinu gives her a small nod, then disappears through the curtain.

There’s a moment’s pause.

“I guess we should start taking all this down now,” Abby says, looking at the song collage.

Mystery growls loudly from the corner.

“. . .or we could leave it up,” Abby amends.

“Good call,” Baby tells him.

Chapter Text

Eventually the box of cereal runs dry and Rumi is forced to decide if she’s going with Jinu or not. There is no part of Rumi that wants to get within a mile of Gardener anytime soon, or possibly ever, but the idea of staying behind while Jinu goes to talk to him is worse. Rumi’s still horrible at sitting around doing nothing, and she mentally curses herself for having never learned how to relax as she grudgingly gets to her feet.

“Have fun on your date,” Baby says sarcastically as Rumi slips on her shoes by the door.

“Yeah, you two have fun,” Abby says, non-sarcastically.

Rumi gives them a tight smile and a wave, then steps outside.

At first she thinks Jinu’s left without her, and relief and apprehension mix queasily in her stomach. Then she looks up and sees legs dangling off the roof. Rumi’s quick to clamber up and perch beside Jinu, who’s looking at the horizon with absent eyes.

“Hey,” Rumi greets.

“Hey,” Jinu replies. “Good timing. I was just about to head out.”

He doesn’t move, though. Rumi glances at the horizon, then carefully lowers herself to sit shoulder-to-shoulder with him. She taps the side of her foot against his. He taps back.

“Romance let me borrow these shoes,” Rumi says after the silence has stretched for a long moment. “Right after he, like. Tried to test my loyalty to see if I was just using you?”

“Wait. Really?” Jinu asks, sounding genuinely surprised. Rumi nods.

“He cares about you,” she says. “All the boys do, I think.”

Jinu’s shoulders hunch. He looks away.

“I told you, we’re not like that,” he says. “We’re just. . . convenient allies.”

“You care about them,” Rumi points out, because it’s obvious he does. “Why can’t they care about you too?”

“Because I haven’t done anything to deserve it,” Jinu tells her. “And I’ve done a hell of a lot for them to hold against me.”

Rumi reaches over and quietly takes his hand. After a moment Jinu lets out a breath, shoulders relaxing, and squeezes her fingers.

“How did you all meet?” Rumi asks.

Jinu hesitates, but Rumi doesn't get the sense it’s because he doesn't want to answer. He looks too thoughtful for that. She lets him take his time, lets him choose his words as carefully as he needs to.

“. . .Baby’s older than me,” he finally says. “When I first became a demon Gwi-Ma liked to use me. . . use my voice. . . as a lure. Baby was strong, even back then, and he’d just learned how to wield fire. He and a team of a few others would put a ring of flames around the humans I lured in, and then. . .”

Jinu swallows. Rumi doesn't need him to go into detail; she can imagine the bloodbath that would follow with crystal clarity.

“Anyway,” Jinu says, “He’d talk to me afterwards, sometimes. He was the one who–”

He breaks off, suddenly. Lets go of Rumi’s hand and slips forward off the roof, landing easily on his feet on the ground below.

“Never mind. You don’t want to hear this story,” he says.

Rumi’s hand closes on empty air, warmth lingering on her palm. After a moment she follows Jinu down.

“Gardener’s place is that way,” Jinu says, “And if you try to teleport straight there you’ll probably black out again, so–”

“Why do you think I don’t want to hear this?” Rumi asks. Jinu winces.

“It’s. . . bad,” he admits. “I know you can guess what I’ve done for Gwi-Ma over the years, but the actual details are. A lot.”

“You’re not going to tell me you were eating babies or something, are you?” Rumi asks. Jinu lets out a shaky laugh.

“No. I never crossed that particular line.”

“I’m asking to know,” Rumi says gently. “If it’s too much, I’ll tell you.”

Jinu glances at her over his shoulder. He seems to weigh her words, evaluating their sincerity.

“. . .alright, fine,” he says. “But let's walk while we talk.”

He starts leading them away from the house, just simple walking for now instead of eating up the ground in bursts of teleportation. There’s no need to worry about them getting separated, but Rumi reaches out to take his hand again anyway.

Jinu kicks at a rock in their path. It skids off into the ever-present mist until it’s lost from view.

“Baby was the one who convinced me to eat my first soul,” Jinu eventually admits, voice barely above a whisper. “It was a man’s, I think. I don’t remember his face anymore. I just remember the screams around me as the other demons fed, and then. . . then Baby dragged him over to me.”

Jinu’s grip on Rumi’s hand tightens, like he’s worried about them getting separated after all. Losing her in the fog. Losing her in his own story.

“He was half-drunk on humans himself. Souls. . . blood. . . flesh. He told me Gwi-Ma wouldn’t let me sit on the sidelines forever, and since it would happen sooner or later anyway I might as well just. . . let myself enjoy it.”

He kicks another rock. Rumi listens to it skitter over the ground long after she loses sight of it.

“I did. Enjoy it, I mean. It was. . .” Jinu sighs. It’s caught between wistfulness and despair. “It was the first time since I became a demon that I actually felt good. ”

After Jinu’s warning, Rumi expected the revulsion she feels at the details of his story. She expected the anger, too, that burns like acid in her veins. Anger at Gwi-Ma, for forcing Jinu to use his voice to lure people to their deaths. Anger at Baby, for pushing a victim at Jinu and giving him his first taste for humanity.

But as she thinks about it. . .

“It. . . sounds like Baby was trying to look out for you, sort of,” Rumi says slowly. “Warning you that Gwi-Ma would force you into it eventually and giving you a chance to do it on your own terms.”

It’s fucked up. It’s so fucked up. But there it is.

Jinu hums in acknowledgment. “I felt disgusted with myself after, once I’d released the soul to Gwi-Ma. Baby told me it would get easier. He was right. And we were damned anyway; it’s not like we were getting out for good behavior.”

“So that’s how you became friends?” Rumi asks.

“More or less. He showed me the ropes and we had complimentary skill sets. We worked well together. It made sense to keep that going.”

It’s not a good story. It’s the foundation for four hundred years of carnage. And part of Rumi wants to flinch away from it, wants to tell Jinu she’s heard enough. She wants to tell him that what he’s done in the past doesn’t matter because he’s changed for the better, she knows he has.

But she’s not the one who can grant Jinu forgiveness. The only people who could are long, long dead.

“Are you good to teleport a mile or so ahead?” Jinu asks her.

It’s a startlingly mundane question, at least by her new standards, and it shakes Rumi out of her head a bit.

“Definitely,” she says, then, “Race you!”

She pulls free of Jinu’s hand, fingers already turning to smoke, and throws herself as far forward as she can without losing track of where she’s going. Despite her ostensible headstart by the time the soles of her shoes hit solid earth again Jinu's already three steps ahead, smirking smugly at her in a way that doesn’t meet his eyes.

“You've got a long way to go until you can beat me at this game,” he tells her.

Rumi huffs. Then she sucks down a deep breath and huffs again. She will not admit to being winded.

“Keep going,” she says, marching stubbornly past Jinu. “That’s how you met Baby. Now everyone else.”

Jinu grabs her hand.

“Wrong way,” he says, tugging her in a slightly different direction.

“Oh come on,” Rumi says, “There are barely any landmarks out here! How do you know?”

Jinu points upwards with his free hand.

“The Honmoon is shaped by the world above,” he tells her, “Landmarks included. You get a feel for it after a while, and as long as you can see the city it’s easy to get yourself oriented.”

Rumi glances up. She definitely can’t see what Jinu’s talking about, but then, she is used to seeing the Honmoon from the other side. The bumps and ridges in the golden threads above her are as alien to her as anything else about this place.

“I’ll take your word for it,” she says grudgingly.

They start to walk again, Rumi slowly catching her breath as they do.

“Technically, Baby and I met Mystery next. Probably. We think. Like I said, before the band we didn't even know he had a face. One masked demon who barely speaks is hard to tell apart from another, and he didn't really become a part of the group until after Romance, so we’re only mostly sure we knew him before then.”

“He really earned that name,” Rumi muses.

Jinu snorts. “Yeah, he’s one of the few demons where it’s no mystery how he got it.”

“That was terrible,” Rumi informs him, suppressing a smile.

“You set me up for it.”

“And I regret that deeply.”

Jinu squeezes her hand. Rumi squeezes back.

I’m still here. You’re still here.

“Honestly, Mystery just kind of. . . showed up one day and never left. I have no idea why. People burn him out. Maybe he just really needed a place to put his mask collection.”

“And. . . Romance?” Rumi asks tentatively. “How’d you meet him?”

Jinu purses his lips, eyebrows furrowing.

“He had. . . abilities I thought I could use,” he says slowly. Carefully. “He wasn't as good at hiding them when he first got here, and I figured him out pretty quick. I talked it over with Baby and we both worked on getting him to join us. Taught him the ropes, like Baby did for me.”

Abilities.

“Like Baby’s fire?” Rumi asks.

“More or less,” Jinu agrees.

“That sounds. . .” Rumi begins. Stalls out on the right word.

“Utilitarian?” Jinu suggests. “Selfish? I know.”

“No,” Rumi says, shaking her head, “You helped him, even if it wasn’t selflessly. How did you feel when Baby did the same thing for you?”

Jinu doesn't answer.

“Talking to you. . . it helped me,” Rumi tells him. “Even though the Saja Boys were trying to defeat us. Even though you were trying to learn my secrets for Gwi-Ma. It still fixed my voice, gave me someone to talk to who wasn’t afraid of my patterns. That doesn't stop being true just because it’s not the whole story.”

Celine sang Rumi lullabies and braided her hair.

Rumi shakes her head. No. Not right now. She won’t think of that now.

“My point is, Romance is the one who gets to decide how he feels about all that, and it seems to me like he still cares about you.”

Jinu doesn’t argue this time. He just sighs.

“I’m not a good person, Rumi,” he says.

“Maybe not,” Rumi says softly, “But you're good for me.”

They walk in silence past a crumbling pillar that juts out of the red earth like a broken bone. Rumi wonders what it’s doing all the way out here. Was it once a part of a bigger structure, or maybe some attempt at marking a path through the wastes? Was it worn down by time, or did something happen to it?

“Abby?” Rumi asks.

“He and Baby went on a few missions together. Baby brought him back to the house pretty quick after that.”

Rumi remembers seeing Abby carrying Baby, piggyback style, away from her and her girls.

“. . .yeah, that makes sense.”

“Are we–” Jinu starts. Breaks off. “So, no pressure, but. . . the kiss.”

Rumi swallows. Jinu’s hand in hers suddenly feels like an iron brand. This is fine. She can do this. She can have an adult conversation where she defines her relationship with a man she found immediately attractive, then hated, then trusted and was betrayed by and now trusts again, and who she made out with while crying, because apparently Rumi is a disaster in every way possible.

“Right,” she squeaks. “That.”

“Was it. . . I mean, obviously the circumstances were. . .”

“Yeah,” Rumi agrees. “But it was still, um. . .”

“Definitely,” Jinu says quickly. “I completely agree. But, you know, emotions were running high and. . .”

“Timing,” Rumi finishes for him. “It’s the timing.”

Jinu nods hastily. “The timing is terrible!”

They walk another few yards in silence.

“It’s still early, right?” Rumi asks. “We probably don’t have to hurry.”

“Definitely not,” Jinu agrees.

“And we’re actually alone for once.”

“There is no privacy back at the house.”

Rumi swallows. Then she stops walking, grabs the back of Jinu’s neck, and drags him down into a kiss.

Chapter Text

Bobby’s in the middle of trying to figure out if he’s the Saja Boys’ manager now or what when Celine storms into his office. This is surprising for several reasons. From least to most concerning, they are that hardly anyone ever visits Bobby’s office (he spends too much time in the field for it to be a reliable place to reach him), Celine specifically has only ever visited Bobby’s office once before in the full six years he’s been managing Huntrix (she usually prefers to meet over coffee), and, oh yes, Celine kicked his door in.

It’s not like Bobby isn’t used to this kind of thing with the girls and all, but it’s still startling. And now he’s going to have to replace the door.

“I’m going to have to replace the door now,” he says plaintively. “You couldn’t have knocked?”

Celine ignores him, storming up to Bobby's desk and shoving her phone in his face.

“What is this?” she demands to know.

Bobby blinks. Tries to get his eyes to focus on the screen that’s less than an inch in front of them. Celine’s phone is displaying the current stats for Your Idol, from number of plays to total ranking on the charts, which are admittedly the kind of thing he would be worried about himself if his girls hadn’t specifically asked him to promote this track. Bobby reaches up and carefully tries to lower Celine's phone, but it won’t budge.

“It’s the Saja Boys’ new single. You know, from their performance after the Idol Awards? The big collaboration with Huntrix?”

Bobby doesn't have high hopes that this will calm Celine down. Mostly because he thinks she was actually trying to ask something else, though he has no idea what that could possibly be. Sure enough, Celine’s eyes narrow further as she pulls her phone away, cold fury rolling off of her in waves.

Hooooboy.

Bobby tries not to shrink in his chair.

“Robert,” Celine says with the tone of a kindergarten teacher who has just found human feces in the middle of her classroom, “Why am I seeing your name attached to this?”

. . .ah.

“It’s not what you think,” Bobby tries to reassure her. “The girls are always my first priority. You know that. I’m not about to go signing on with anyone else.”

That had been what he was trying to resolve when Celine stormed in– no one in the industry seems to have any idea who the Saja Boys’ actual manager is, and Bobby can’t tell if this is supposed to be a one-time thing or not. If not, he’ll have to let the boys down gently, but that involves getting into contact with them and no one seems to have their contact details.

Except apparently his girls.

“Then why would you help release this?” Celine asks.

Bobby hesitates. Celine’s frown deepens.

“Robert,” she says warningly.

“It was a favor,” he tells her, because the last thing he wants is to redirect Celine’s anger at his girls. “You know how the industry is. Sometimes there’s quid pro quo.”

All technically true, if strung together in a way meant to imply something false.

“Who gave you the track? Where did they get it?” Celine asks.

Bobby frowns.

“The track is from the Saja Boys,” he tells her.

“Who specifically sent it to you?”

Zoey.

Bobby has that feeling again, that you don’t understand what’s happening around you feeling. That something is wrong and no one will explain it to you feeling.

“Someone on their team,” he lies. “Why does it matter?”

Celine turns away, starting to pace in front of his desk. She doesn’t answer him, just starts muttering to herself under her breath.

“They could have left a recording behind. . . the team released it to cover their absence. . .”

Bobby frowns, looking at Celine. Really looking. He’s never seen her like this before. Normally she’s completely composed, a calm counterpoint to Bobby’s own– admittedly sometimes manic– energy. Today though her whole body is tense, seemingly kept poised through sheer effort, and as she paces Bobby notices fine tremors in her hands.

She lied to him about where Rumi is.

“Celine,” Bobby says, rising from his chair and gesturing towards the couch in the corner half-occupied by a stack of boxes full of test merch, “Take a seat. I’ll make some coffee. We can talk.”

Celine looks at him with eyes like a deer in the headlights, like a burglar caught in a security guard’s flashlight beam.

“I– can’t,” she tells him. “I have another appointment I should be getting to.”

“Celine,” Bobby says again, as gently as he can, “I can tell you’re upset. Please sit down.”

She hesitates. Her eyes flick between him and the couch. She seems to actually consider his words for a moment.

But the moment passes.

“No,” Celine says, and the hard set is back to her shoulders. “I have work to do.”

And with that she leaves his office as quickly as she arrived, though thankfully a lot less violently. Bobby slowly sinks back down into his chair, listening to her footsteps recede, and eyes the door now hanging half-off its hinges.

He sighs and starts trying to look up a good handyman.

Chapter Text

The half-demon camp looks almost exactly the same as last time, but one glaring difference has Rumi slowing her steps before they’re even close enough to make out individuals in the crowd.

“The orchard’s bigger,” Rumi murmurs.

Jinu hums distractedly. Rumi glances over to find him staring off into the distance, his index and middle fingers lightly tracing his lips. He’s smiling.

“Jinu,” Rumi says, and gets another absent hum.

“Jinu,” she says again, a little louder, and this one gets through. Jinu jumps, whipping his hand away from his face and whirling around to face her.

“What?” he asks, then, “Yes. Hi.”

Rumi can feel the tips of her ears starting to burn.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“Yes,” Jinu blurts, a little too fast. “Are you?”

“I’m great,” Rumi says, slightly higher-pitched than usual. She had been fine, right up until seeing that. . . daydreamy, ooey-gooey expression on Jinu’s face. How is a girl supposed to focus with that memory now living rent-free in her brain?

She hesitates, then lowers her voice despite there being absolutely no one nearby to overhear.

“Was that. . . was I your first kiss?” she asks.

“No,” Jinu says, “Was I–”

“No,” Rumi says, shaking her head.

“Right.” Jinu nods. “Nothing new for either of us, then.”

The two of them are quiet for a moment.

“Who. . ?” Rumi starts.

“I don’t remember her name,” Jinu admits, looking away. “She worked at the palace and she liked my voice. I was drunk. It never happened again. And, uh. . . you?”

“Zoey,” Rumi tells him.

Jinu gives a slow nod. “That. . . makes a weird amount of sense.”

Rumi wonders who else Jinu has kissed. He’s four hundred years old; the list has to be as long as her arm. She can't really imagine him in a serious relationship though, not with how little trust he has for other demons. If he doubts that even the other Saja Boys care about him, dating must have been completely off the table. Apparently drunken makeouts aren’t completely unheard of for him though, so–

He was half-drunk on humans himself.

Rumi finds herself flooded with a host of conflicting feelings as she imagines Jinu and Baby, faces flushed and smeared with blood, leaning towards each other with hooded eyes.

“The orchard!” Rumi yelps, spinning away from Jinu to face the camp and firmly shoving that thought in the locked box in her mind she doesn’t open. “It looks bigger to you too, right?”

“Uh. . . yeah,” Jinu says. “Not by a lot, but. . . yeah.”

“How much energy do you think it takes to grow and maintain a tree down here? There has to be a limit to how many one demon could sustain.”

“I wish I could tell you,” Jinu says. “Baby says fire takes constant effort if you can’t feed it with something else, and it dies as soon as you stop. The trees didn't seem to start withering once they were cut off, but maybe it’s just slower with them.”

“I’m going to learn how it works,” Rumi promises herself, and starts walking towards the camp.

“Uh, Rumi?” Jinu says, catching her wrist and pulling her to a stop. “You forgot your mask.”

“No,” Rumi tells him, voice steady despite the way her insides are squirming. “I didn't.”

Jinu just keeps holding her wrist. His touch is warm.

“This is a terrible plan,” he tells her.

“They deserve to know,” Rumi replies.

“Maybe, but also, you could wait to tell them until after they all know you have exclusive access to the human world.”

“I’m not holding the ability to write to their loved ones hostage,” Rumi says indignantly.

“ I am,” Jinu counters. “If they hurt you, they aren’t getting Derpy and Sussy’s help.”

Rumi twists her arm, breaking Jinu’s hold on her wrist, but before his hand can go far she grabs it and gives it a squeeze.

“I’ll be fine,” she tells him softly.

Jinu sighs. “Remind me not to get involved with any more heroes. It’s stressful.”

She hears the shuffle of fabric behind her and when she glances back Jinu’s slipped on his own mask. She feels a pang of something like loss at no longer being able to see his face, but stuffs it down. It’s his choice to make. Rumi may have accidentally trapped these people down here but Jinu was trying to sacrifice them to Gwi-Ma on purpose– of course he wants to hide his face.

“Just promise me you’ll teleport away if things get dangerous?” Jinu asks her.

“I promise,” Rumi says, and squeezes his hand before she lets go.

Someone's already approaching them before they even make it within a hundred yards of the camp. Rumi can make out blue hair and dark skin– Harper. She takes a deep breath and forces herself not to slow down as the girl waves.

Rumi isn’t as put together as she'd normally like to be when meeting the public. She’s been able to take care of herself fine with dry soap and conditioner but it’s no replacement for an actual shower, and though she’s wearing her own clothes again they’re just a hoodie and sweatpants. She hasn’t been wearing makeup and, despite the fact that most of the half-demons bear marks of their own, she finds herself suddenly self-conscious of the patterns on her face in a way she hasn't been since Jinu held her face in his hand and promised her there’s nothing wrong with her.

“You could still put the mask on before she gets too close,” Jinu says under his breath.

Rumi steps pointedly on his foot, but it’s nowhere near as hard as she did at the signing and he doesn't so much as flinch.

“Hi there!” Harper calls. “New faces or– oh. Oh my God. ”

“Hi,” Rumi says, a little weakly, and waves.

Harper is on them in a matter of seconds, circling her and Jinu in a way that reminds Rumi uncomfortably of Derpy circling a wad of crumpled paper.

“Oh my God,” Harper says again. “Oh my God. You’re Rumi Ryu!”

“Yes,” Rumi says. “Look, I’m sure you have a lot of questions–”

“I knew it! Oh, Yuki is going to eat her words about this!”

Rumi’s thoughts grind to a halt. She opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

“You. . . what?” she asks.

Harper's circled her again and Jinu’s whole body is tense, his masked eyes tracking Harper's every move. Rumi glances over her shoulder and– oh. Harper’s looking at her braid.

“I got up early to watch the Idol Awards live because I was really hoping Huntrix– sorry, you– would perform Golden, and then I saw your squiggles and I knew you were like me.”

“Squiggles?” Rumi echoes. She’s never heard them called that before.

“Right, you guys use the word patterns,” Harper says, completing another circle of Rumi and this time– thankfully– coming to a stop in front of her. “Sorry, that’s just what my dads always called mine. Anyway, when you showed up here I totally knew it was you from the braid, but Yuki said you were probably just a fan copying the hairstyle. I am so rubbing this in her face.”

Despite her nerves, Rumi feels her expression melting into a genuine smile. She loves their fans.

“Well, it’s great to officially meet you,” she says, holding out a hand. Harper grins and takes it, shaking it enthusiastically.

“You too! Man, this whole thing has been a nightmare but this almost makes it worth it.”

Aaand there go the nerves again. Rumi winces.

“About that,” she says carefully, “You should know that I–”

“That Huntrix is actually a group of demon hunters who sealed us all down here?” Harper asks. “I know. Well, I didn't know before this– I didn't even really know much about demons, let alone that hunters existed– but we’ve been stuck down here for over a week and we haven't had a lot to do aside from talking. Word got around.”

“Oh,” Rumi says faintly.

“Don’t worry,” Harper says, “I assumed you guys didn't actually mean to. I mean, you're half-demon too. No way you did this on purpose.”

“I didn't,” Rumi says, “But that’s not an excuse. You have every right to be angry at me.”

“I’m way too excited to be angry,” Harper tells her. “That’s. . . not a totally universal feeling, though.”

Jinu steps forward, putting a hand on Rumi’s shoulder.

“Do you know a lot of the people here?” he asks.

“Sort of!” Harper chirps. “I appointed myself main greeter on day three, I think? Just to give myself something to do. So I’ve met a bunch of the others. ”

Jinu’s voice is calm, but heavy. “Do you think they’d hurt Rumi?”

Harper shakes her head, blue curls bouncing around her.

“No. Even if they're angry, it’s like I told you the other day– everyone’s welcome here as long as they play nice. Gardener only has like, two rules, and the first one is no violence. ”

Rumi tries not to twitch at the mention of the demon who might be her father.

“What’s the other rule?” Jinu asks.

“No climbing the trees,” Harper promptly informs him. “Which is fair, because they're probably a pain to fix.”

“Harper,” Rumi says quietly, “Can you spread the word that we’re working on a way to get everyone out of here? And that we can get people supplies from our world, and send messages too. I know it doesn’t make up for everything, but. . .”

Harper grins and gives Rumi a jaunty salute.

“Yes ma’am!” she says. “I’ll start getting a list together, I know some people are running low on meds and stuff and my dads are definitely freaking out so if you could get an email to them or something that would be amazing. ”

“Thank you,” Rumi says. “We. . . we have to talk to Gardener, but we’ll check in with you before we go.”

Harper nods, bouncing on the balls of her feet, and gives the two of them a huge wave before running off back into the thick of the camp.

“Talk to you soon!” she calls.

Rumi takes a deep, shaky breath.

“That actually didn't go completely horribly,” Jinu says.

“Yeah,” Rumi says faintly. “Now we just have to actually walk through the camp. And talk to my. . .”

“Yeah,” Jinu agrees. “I have a lot of questions for him.”

“Me too,” Rumi whispers.

She closes her eyes. Counts to ten. And pushes forward.

Chapter Text

They find Gardener on the edge of the orchard this time, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and hands streaked with dirt. He’s dug a shallow hole in the earth and is placing something inside it as they approach, burying it in rusty-red soil before covering it with his hands. Rumi watches his patterns begin to light up, just like they did last time, and threads of energy start to sink into the ground. A tiny green shoot breaks out between his fingers, veined with glowing blue lines, and quickly sprouts leaves as it starts to climb higher. A handful of inches. A foot. Soon it rises past Gardener’s head, then Rumi’s, then Jinu’s. Branches split and swell, bark thickens and ages, and flowers bloom before bursting forth in full fruit. Apricots. Gardener’s grown another apricot tree.

Gardener sits back on his heels, drawing his hands back and wiping his brow. He’s breathing heavily. Rumi watches the rise and fall of his shoulders and wonders if he’s been sleeping, or if this is all he does.

“Neat trick,” Jinu says.

Gardener turns to look at them, eyes widening in recognition.

“Rumi. Jinu,” he says, rising to his feet. There's dirt smeared across his forehead. “I wasn't sure you were coming back.”

“We’ve got questions,” Jinu tells him.

Gardener smiles.

“By all means, ask away. I’m an open book.” He spreads his hands in a loose, expansive gesture, then pauses and looks down at himself. “Or maybe a weathered signpost would be a better comparison. I promise there are some moments I’m less down-to-earth. ”

Rumi refuses to laugh at that. She also refuses to believe this man could’ve won her mother over with puns.

“But first,” Gardener says, looking to Rumi with a soft, sad smile, “I would like to apologize for how we left things last time. I’m glad to see you’re alright.”

“It. . . was my fault for teleporting away like that,” Rumi admits, looking down at her shoes. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

Okay, so she isn't sure how she feels about this guy yet but she’s not an asshole. Jinu told her how scared Gardener seemed to get when they couldn't find her; the least she can do is apologize for that.

“It's more than alright,” Gardener tells her gently. “I gave you a lot of upsetting information all at once. Anyone would have been overwhelmed. I’m just grateful you thought to send this young man’s guardian spirit with a message.”

“My. . . what?” Jinu asks.

“Wait,” Rumi says, “You mean Derpy?”

“Is that his name?” Gardener asks, eyebrows rising. “Unusual, but I suppose it suits him.”

“Why did you call him a guardian spirit?” Jinu asks.

Gardener’s brow furrows. “Because. . . that’s what he is. Did you not know?”

Rumi and Jinu exchange a glance. With the mask on she can’t read his expression, but his eyes are narrowed slightly and his hand has strayed to the bracelet on his other wrist.

“What exactly is a guardian spirit?” Rumi asks, turning back to Gardener.

“You’ve seen statues at shrines, yes? That’s more than likely where. . . Derpy. . . came from. Those statues represent spirits, and those spirits bestow blessings and protection on those who visit them or those they are asked to protect. It’s rare that they allow themselves to be seen, though, and rarer still that one would choose to accompany a demon. I've only ever heard of one other; a demon blessed by a spirit of luck. A magpie.”

“That. . . is also Jinu,” Rumi says. “The magpie’s name is Sussy.”

Gardener blinks.

“Huh,” he says, half to himself. “Someone must have really wanted to make sure you were taken care of.”

. . .oh.

Oh.

Rumi’s eyes widen.

“Jinu,” she says quietly. Carefully. “When. . . did Derpy and Sussy show up, exactly?”

Jinu doesn’t answer right away. When Rumi looks at him, his face is tilted downward and his knuckles are white where he’s gripping his bracelet.

“Maybe. . . five years after I became a demon?” he guesses. His voice is unsteady. “But if they can be invisible. . .”

They could’ve been around longer, Rumi finishes in her head.

Gardener looks between the two of them, expression turning to a wince.

“I’ve. . . done it again, haven’t I?” he asks. “Do you need me to. . .”

He gestures towards the thick of the orchard.

“I’m fine,” Jinu says, head snapping up.

“Are you sure?” Gardener asks. “Because I really don’t mind giving you space–”

“The seal that protected you from Gwi-Ma,” Jinu interrupts. “How did it work? How was it created?”

Rumi, mentally, decides that she will not be taking shit from Jinu in the future about shoving her feelings down and focusing on work. Not that she has ever done that. Or will admit to having done it. The song collage on the common room wall was important and tactical.

Gardener gives Rumi a look, expression seeming to ask her if he should really ignore what just happened and allow the switch in topics, and Rumi just gives a helpless sort of shrug.

“Well,” Gardner says slowly, “I’m sure you both know how the Honmoon works, right?”

“Suuure,” Rumi says in a slightly higher pitch than usual.

Jinu folds his arms.

“At this point I’m just assuming we know nothing and everything we’ve ever been told is a lie,” he says, like a well-adjusted person.

Gardener closes his eyes briefly, but pushes forward. “Through song and performance, hunters are able to unite souls and forge their energy into a single purpose. This is how the first hunters created the Honmoon, as well as their weapons.”

“Okay,” Rumi says, “So we did know that.”

“But that energy can be used to make other things too,” Jinu presses, “Right? Like the seal that protected you.”

“Exactly,” Gardener says, “But also, not quite. My seal was powered by only two souls– mine and Miyeong’s. It was the same principle, just on a much smaller scale.”

That’s why the seal broke when Rumi’s mother died. Not just because she'd created it, but because she’d been half its source of power. The Honmoon had started to unravel long before Huntrix had truly lost half their fans; with a loss that sudden the effect would be near-instantaneous.

“Two souls, concentrated entirely on protecting one demon,” Jinu murmurs, tapping a knuckle against his chin. “And that was able to overpower Gwi-Ma’s thousands. So piercing the Golden Honmoon. . . that should be possible too.”

Rumi has a sudden, extremely uncomfortable thought.

“Wait,” she says, holding up a hand. “Wait. Hunters connect to the souls of others and wield their power. Demons can’t take souls without a prior connection. Gwi-Ma has taken thousands of souls and uses their power as his own. . . hunters and demons use the same kind of techniques. We just apply them differently.”

Rumi swallows. There’s one more thing she needs to say, a question she’s had almost since arriving here and hasn’t known how to answer.

“Jinu,” she says quietly, “Why wouldn't Gwi-Ma erase your memories? Why wouldn't he erase the memory of our deal? He could've guaranteed himself victory, could've had an army of demons with no memory of ever having been human, no reason to show mercy. So why didn't he? ”

Jinu’s eyes widen behind his mask.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Oh, fuck. ”

Why would the success of Gwi-Ma’s plans have been less important to him than Jinu’s suffering? Because he needed him to suffer, needed all demons to suffer. Hunters connect souls through music and performance; Gwi-Ma connects souls through pain and shame.

“That’s how he’s so powerful,” Jinu whispers. “That’s how he controls us, speaks in our minds, watches us. And that’s how he loses his grip on us too. When Gardener stopped feeling worthless. . . when I felt hope. . . he couldn't control us anymore. It was that simple this whole time.”

Jinu turns sharply away, hands coming up to fist in his hair.

“It was that simple,” he repeats, voice turning harsh and desperate. “Four hundred years. . . and I just let him control me.”

“You know it’s not that simple,” Rumi says quietly, putting a hand on his shoulder. Beneath her fingers, beneath the layers of fabric he’s wrapped in, his frame is taut as a guitar string ready to snap.

This is just your demon talking. You have to fight it!

That’s not how it works!

“Jinu,” Gardener says. “Rumi. Sit with me. There’s something I’d like to show you.”

Rumi hesitates, glancing between Jinu and Gardener. Gardener lowers himself to sit on the cracked red earth and looks up at them with patient but expectant eyes.

Jinu doesn’t relax, but he does glance back at Rumi before slowly taking a seat. Rumi’s left holding only empty air, fingers curling loosely into her palm. After a beat, she joins the two of them, folding her legs and looking from one demon to the other.

“Changing the way you feel about yourself is difficult,” Gardener tells them. “Emotions follow their own kind of logic, divorced from reality. Altering them takes real, concerted effort, and above all else, time.”

The smile he offers Rumi is small and sad, but there’s a strength to his voice.

“Your mother taught me that,” he says. “After she freed me from Gwi-Ma, I felt lost. There was no voice in my head but my own anymore, yet when I was alone, my shame would creep back. Shame for the things I’d done, the people I’d hurt and killed. It was debilitating. There were days when Miyeong was away and I couldn’t bring myself to leave my bed. I would just lie there, lost in despair.”

Gardener reaches down, easing his fingers into the soil and beginning to open up a small hole.

“When Miyeong found out, she asked what she could do to help me. I told her there was nothing; that I deserved to suffer as I had made others suffer. Will your suffering help them, she asked me. Will it bring back the lives you took? Erase the pain you caused?”

Gardener draws a small paper packet from within his durumagi. He shakes it out into his hand until three small seeds rest on his palm. He holds them out in the center of their circle.

“She took my hand. Lead me outside. Gave me a seed. If you’re so tired of destruction, she told me, try creating something instead.”

Rumi reaches out, carefully taking one of the seeds. Jinu does the same. The seeds are tiny, pale brown in color, and weigh almost nothing.

“From then on, whenever my mind was clouded with self-hatred I would go out to the garden we shared. I never fully found peace with myself, but tending to living things helped me to focus on something outside of that struggle. I don’t know if it will do the same for you, but I hope so.”

Gardener folds his own seed into the dirt. Light spills out of his fingertips and a small plant quickly sprouts up from the soil, tiny bell-blossom flowers glowing blue-white. Lilly of the valley. Delicate and beautiful against the red earth.

Jinu looks at Gardener, then the flower. Rumi still can’t see his expression. Slowly, he reaches down to nestle his seed into the ground in front of him. Rumi copies his movements.

“Press your palm to the earth,” Gardener says gently. “Focus on the seed. It doesn’t care what you’ve done. It doesn't know guilt or pain. It simply is– and if you share your energy with it, it will grow into something more.”

Rumi closes her eyes.

How could we be together if we can’t tell your lies from your truths, Rumi?

She takes a deep breath.

When the Honmoon is sealed, all demons will be gone from this world, and so will your patterns.

Lets it out slowly.

You think you can fix the world? You can’t even fix yourself.

Rumi pushes, releasing energy into the soil the same as she’d released her breath.

Of course you can’t be fixed. There’s nothing wrong with you.

Rumi feels something latch and hold, a tenuous connection like she hasn’t felt since being cut off from the Honmoon. Her eyes fly open. A tiny bud has burst up between her fingers, quickly splitting off leaves and swelling into bloom. Her patterns are glowing, shimmering every color of the rainbow, and her flower’s hue shifts in response in an ever-changing mosaic.

Jinu gasps beside her. Rumi turns to look and sees him cupping his hands carefully around his own small lilly of the valley, its blooms stained a pale lilac that reflects in his eyes.

“I told you,” Gardener says. “It’s easy enough once you know the trick.”

A droplet of water runs along the curved edge of Jinu’s mask, splashing down onto the leaves of his flower. Neither Gardener nor Rumi mention it.

“It’s like. . . how I feel when I’m creating songs with my girls,” Rumi says quietly. “It doesn’t fix how I feel about myself, but. . .”

“Creating something,” Jinu murmurs, his voice thick. “Yeah. Maybe it’s worth a try.”

Chapter Text

Mira groans loudly when she returns to the living room and sees Sussy handing yet another piece of paper to Zoey.

“You two are still passing notes like teenagers?” Mira asks, crossing over to sit heavily on the couch. “It’s been hours.”

“Mystery and I are having a very important conversation about strategy,” Zoey tells her, lifting her chin defiantly.

“Oh?” Mira raises a sharp eyebrow. “So it’s cool if I read all those, right?”

Zoey squeaks and gathers up the loose notebook paper scattered around her, clutching the pile defensively to her chest.

“No!” she yelps. “I mean– of course that would be okay, but it’s a lot of writing, so it’s probably better if I just summarize, right?”

Mira’s eyebrow climbs higher.

Ever since they started working with the– barf– Saja Boys to try to craft their next big hit, and more specifically since Zoey found out that Mystery is apparently still willing to talk to her despite her stabbing him in the face, they’ve been exchanging notes almost nonstop. Sussy has amassed so many rhinestones in exchange for prompt delivery that the pile is almost as big as she is, and she added some of Rumi’s hair clips to it while Mira wasn’t looking. Mira looks from the pile to the bird and Sussy gives her a six-eyed glare that seems to dare Mira to call her on it.

Whatever. Mira has bigger fish to fry.

“We might have a truce with them right now, but Mystery is still a demon,” Mira reminds Zoey. “The eat your soul kind? Remember?”

“Of course I remember,” Zoey says, indignant. “But they are helping us, so, you know. Why not give them a chance? Besides, Rumi seems to think we can trust them.”

“Rumi has no choice but to trust them,” Mira corrects, “And of course they’re helping us. We’re their only way out of there. That doesn't mean they won’t turn on us as soon as they get what they want.”

Zoey gives her a considering look. Mira scowls.

“What?” she asks.

“Sooo. . .” Zoey says, “I guess you figured out where you’re landing on the whole are demons still evil thing?”

“This isn't about all demons. Just them.” Mira folds her arms. “They stole our fans, destroyed the Honmoon, and they’re really, really annoying.”

“Mystery’s really not that bad once you get to know him a little,” Zoey tells her. “And it turns out he’s easier to talk to when you don’t have to look at him being all. . .”

She waves a hand in a gesture that Mira assumes is meant to indicate whatever Mystery is usually being. To Mira it just looks like Zoey is trying to swat a particularly energetic fly, but she gets the idea.

“So you think he’s trustworthy?” Mira asks.

Zoey shrugs helplessly.

“I’m not sure. I asked him what he’s going to do if we can get him back up here and he said get a soundproof room with blackout curtains and a king-sized bed, so it sounds like he doesn’t plan on world domination? Or if he does, that at least his demands won’t be hard to meet.”

“You said you were talking strategy with him, right?” Mira asks. “Anything new?”

“Well, he did explain Jinu’s plan in a little more detail.” Zoey sits up a bit, flipping through her stack of notes before settling on a longer one. “Apparently it’s based on some story they heard about a human protecting a demon from Gwi-Ma, and he and Rumi are off investigating if it’s true or not.”

“And the rest of them? What are they doing to help?”

“Mystery, Baby, and Abby are holding down the fort, and Romance is out looking for Gwi-Ma.”

Mira nods slowly. She wonders why Romance, of all of them, is the one looking for the demon king. Also, wouldn't they cover more ground if Abby and Baby were out there looking too? Mystery, clearly, is too busy flirting with Zoey to bother helping, but the other two don't have any excuse to be lying around.

Stupid Abby. Lying around. Reclining back with his shirt unbuttoned and his abs glistening, stretching his arms over his head so his muscles flex and ripple–

Mira pinches herself. Hard.

“You know,” Zoey says thoughtfully, not having noticed Mira’s lapse in focus, “If we think it would only take one of us to bust through the Honmoon, we could always do a solo concert with some of our early work. But I totally have a plan for if we need it to be the two of us– we use Celine's excuse about Rumi being on a mental health break and put on a special concert to support her. Maybe try to start a hashtag that fans can use to send Rumi supportive messages? I feel like she’ll need them when she gets back up here.”

“That’s actually a great idea,” Mira says slowly. “If we can’t hide Rumi’s absence, we emphasize it instead.”

“I wish we could start organizing it now,” Zoey groans. “Stupid Gwi-Ma. Always getting in the stupid way.”

“Tell me how you really feel,” Mira says dryly, though the corners of her mouth threaten to twitch upwards.

A simultaneous ping from Mira and Zoey’s phones cuts through the room, announcing to them both that someone’s taking the elevator up to their apartment. Derpy, who’s been curled up at the foot of the couch occasionally twitching in his sleep, sits bolt upright at the sound. Mira tenses and sees Zoey doing the same. Aside from Bobby, visitors to their apartment are rare, and Bobby has his hands full dealing with the Your Idol drop right now. There’s no way he was able to make time to visit.

“Did you order delivery or something?” Mira asks.

“No,” Zoey says. “Did you?”

Mira shakes her head. She knows, logically, that there can be no demons coming for them right now, but that doesn’t stop her from bracing for the worst as she picks up her phone and taps through to the elevator’s security camera.

She did not brace anywhere near enough.

“Shit!” Mira hisses, dropping her phone like it burned her. “It’s Celine!”

Mira looks at Zoey, and then the two of them examine their living room with fresh eyes. Giant blue tiger. Magpie with six eyes in a tiny hat. Notebooks and paper scattered around the room detailing potential lyrics and melodies and, most incriminatingly, plans to destroy the golden Honmoon.

They spring into action in unison.

As the elevator draws ever-closer, Mira and Zoey tidy everything away. They shove notebooks and papers under couch cushions; throw a blanket over Derpy so he looks like a new, lumpy ottoman. Sussy, seeming to sense a hostile atmosphere, sinks down through the table and out of sight.

“What is she doing here?” Zoey hisses.

“I don’t know,” Mira says lowly, “But we need to get rid of her without making her suspicious. Pretend we’ve come to terms with what happened and we’re fine leaving Rumi down in the underworld. Celine can not find out about the plan.”

“You’re worried about me giving us away?” Zoey asks. “Mira, you have a very honest face when you hate someone!”

Before Mira can counter that, the elevator dings. She and Zoey quickly straighten up, turning to face the opening doors with the most innocent expressions the two of them can muster. Zoey has a fistful of remaining notes hidden behind her back and Mira’s fingers are instinctively twitching for her glaive.

Celine steps through the doors before they’re even fully open. Luckily for them she seems distracted, her attention locked on her phone in a way Mira’s never seen from her before.

“But seriously,” comes a tinny voice from Celine’s hand, “Didn’t Mira do great with that stunt choreo?”

Mira and Zoey exchange a quick glance.

Uh-oh.

“Hi Celine!” Zoey chirps, smile bright and forced. “What brings you here?”

Celine’s voice is level and heavy.

“Girls,” she says, “We have a problem.”

Internally, Mira bristles. They’ve had a problem this entire time. Celine’s the only one who doesn't consider Rumi being trapped in the demon realm to be a problem. Of course this is why she finally bothered to show back up; not to apologize or offer to help them rescue Rumi, but because she’s worried about her precious Honmoon.

“The Saja Boys video?” Mira asks, thinking on her feet. “We've seen it already. Not sure why you’re worried. It's clearly AI.”

“Yeah,” Zoey agrees, quickly catching on, “The light sources are totally wrong for a hotel room, and the waves on the ocean? So fake.”

Celine frowns, finally looking up from her phone. Mira holds herself expressionless under that sharp gaze, falling back on skills she hasn’t truly needed since she was still living with her parents. Your faults and fears must never be seen came as naturally to her as breathing, slotting in perfectly with don’t let them see they hurt you. If Mira could hold herself together in the face of criticism when all that was on the line was her pride, she can hold herself together for Rumi.

“AI,” Celine repeats slowly.

“Whoever managed the Saja Boys must be stalling for time trying to find them,” Zoey blusters, waving the hand that isn’t clutching her notes from Mystery. “They even left themselves a backdoor with the Saja Boys saying how tiring it was to perform. That way it won't be weird if they release a statement later saying they’re retiring!”

Celine frowns, looking between them and her phone.

“I thought–” she starts, then sighs. Mira relaxes minutely when Celine gives a small nod. “Of course. AI. What else could it be?”

Behind Celine, a blue circle of light blooms on the wall as Sussy peeks through. Mira makes direct eye contact with the bird and slowly, pointedly, shakes her head. Sussy rolls her many eyes but obligingly retreats.

“Don't beat yourself up about it,” Zoey says, hand waving yet more enthusiastically. “These fakes are getting really good! They’re hard to spot if you don’t know the signs.”

“Is that all you wanted?” Mira asks, and mentally kicks herself when Celine gives her an evaluating look. Damnit Zoey, she does not have an honest face! She is stone! She is a vault of secrets!

“You two seem to be doing better,” Celine says softly.

Mira’s nails dig into her palms. The bite of pain helps keep her from leaping over the back of the couch to strangle Celine.

“Yeah,” she says, voice flat, “We’re doing great.”

“We’re sorry we were so, you know, rargh the other day!” Zoey chirps, leaning in front of Mira to interrupt Celine’s line of sight. “We were both really tired after everything that happened and it was a lot of information, but you were right! Rumi sacrificed herself to save us. How could we call ourselves her friends if we don’t, uh, honor that.”

“That’s. . . good to hear,” Celine says slowly. “I understand how a loss like this can affect people, and I don’t hold our disagreement against either of you. Denial and bargaining in the aftermath is to be expected.”

The last time they saw each other, Mira threatened Celine with her glaive while Zoey desperately tried to hold her back.

“Thanks,” Mira says tonelessly. “It means a lot.”

It means a lot.

Celine’s lips part but she hesitates before actually speaking.

“Have either of you left the apartment at all?” she finally asks. “We could go out for coffee. Get you some fresh air.”

“Can we take a rain check on that?” Zoey asks. “Mira and I were actually in the middle of something.”

“Facials,” Mira says. “Stress is bad for your skin. We’ve been breaking out like crazy.”

For a moment, Mira almost thinks Celine is disappointed by their answer, but all she does is nod.

“Alright,” she says, “But we’ll have to meet sometime soon. To discuss Huntrix’s future, and how to handle. . . what happened. I’m going to make sure you two are taken care of, no matter what. Rumi would want that.”

And we're going to take care of Rumi, Mira thinks, like you refuse to.

“Sounds good,” she says out loud.

“I’ll text you about scheduling something,” Zoey tells her. “You should go get some rest in the meantime! Do some self-care. It really helps.”

Celine nods again before turning and heading for the elevator. She hesitates in front of the open doors though, one hand keeping them from closing as she glances back at Mira and Zoey over her shoulder.

“She’d be proud of you,” Celine tells them. “For staying strong.”

And with that, she steps into the elevator and vanishes from sight.

Zoey collapses on top of Derpy like a pile of wet noodles. Derpy makes a low mmrping sound and pokes his head out from under the blanket.

“That was so scary,” Zoey groans. “Why was that so scary?”

“Because Celine still holds a lot of sway in the industry,” Mira says quietly. “If she finds out about our plan, she could throw a lot of roadblocks in our way.”

“I'll write to Mystery and let him know things just got more complicated,” Zoey mumbles into Derpy’s back. “Just as soon as I can move again. Aaany minute now.”

Mira runs her hands back through her hair, pushing it out of her face, before grabbing a pen and a spare scrap of paper.

“It’s fine,” she says. “I've got this.”

She doubts the Saja Boys really need more motivation to defeat Gwi-Ma, but in the interest of lighting a fire under their asses Mira has a few more things to add to her prior list of threats. She hates feeling so useless. Celine’s interference might be pushing up their deadline but Mira already couldn’t wait to pull the trigger on a concert; she needs to do something. She needs to help.

She needs Rumi here, back home, where she belongs.

Chapter Text

Romance is still out by the time Rumi and Jinu get back.

“He’s missing out,” Abby says, examining a piece of paper as he leans back in his chair, “Mira sent an updated list of super painful threats. Man, I can’t wait to get up there.”

“Should we be worried?” Rumi asks. “I mean, we were gone for hours, right?”

Did Romance find Gwi-Ma? Did Gwi-Ma eat him? Or maybe someone figured out who Romance really is behind the disguise and they hurt him. Maybe Romance needs their help, needs to be rescued.

“He’s sulking,” Baby says. “We’ll be lucky to see him at all in the next three days or so.”

“Because of me?” Rumi asks softly.

“Of course not,” Jinu rushes to reassure her.

“Yeah, he doesn’t care enough about your opinion for that,” Baby agrees unhelpfully. “It’s Jinu he’s pissed with.”

“Baby,” Jinu hisses.

Baby gets to his feet with a stretch.

“Just give him some time,” he says, turning and heading for his room. “He’ll get over it. Eventually.”

“Uh,” Rumi calls, “We actually have something really important we need to–”

But Baby’s already pulling the curtain shut behind him.

Jinu sighs.

“Anyone else in here angry at me?” he asks.

“I’m chill,” Abby says.

Mystery either agrees or he's too focused on the pile of paper around him to care. Rumi can make out the bright scrawl of Zoey’s favorite pens from here; maybe they’re still working on lyrics together?

“Baby’s not wrong,” Jinu tells Rumi after a moment. “Romance does this sometimes. He’ll be back soon.”

“I guess I have to take your word for it,” Rumi says quietly.

If one of her girls ever dropped off the face of the earth for three days. . .

But these aren't her girls. She has to remember that. And despite Rumi’s firm belief that the Saja Boys do all care for each other, it’s clear that their time spent as demons has drastically changed what they consider to be dangerous. Romance doesn’t need to eat and won’t die from a lack of sleep, and even if something does kill him he’ll still turn back up eventually. The only real threat to him is the possibility of being devoured by Gwi-Ma, and now that they know killing Gwi-Ma would release him even that’s probably less of a concern. Wandering off for days on end just plain isn’t as big of a deal for them.

But Rumi can’t help but worry when Romance is still missing by the time she goes to bed.

Rumi wakes to a hand over her mouth, stifling her instinctive cry as her eyes fly open. Romance, looming over her in the dark, shushes her.

“I’m moving my hand,” he tells her in a low voice. “Don’t freak out.”

Rumi narrows her eyes, but she doesn’t scream when he draws his hand back. Just fixes him with a scowl.

“You couldn’t have just tried knocking like a normal person?” she hisses.

“I wanted to talk to you privately,” Romance says, “And you know how sound travels in here.”

Fair point. Rumi sits up slowly. Romance is perched on the edge of Jinu’s bed, watching her with a deliberately blank expression on his face. She can’t get a read on what he’s feeling. Is he angry with her? Nervous?

. . .hungry?

Romance stands before she can follow that thought any further, holding open the curtain and glancing pointedly back at her.

“Come on,” he says. “I know someplace private.”

Rumi frowns, but slowly climbs out of bed. She pulls on her shoes– the shoes Romance gave her– and follows him as quietly as possible.

“If this is some kind of loyalty test again. . .” she warns lowly. Romance rolls his golden eyes.

“No. I figured you’d punch me if I tried that again.”

“Good call.”

Romance doesn’t use the front door, just poofs through it with the soft thump of teleportation displacing air. Rumi takes a deep breath and follows. She finds Romance standing a few yards from the house, gazing up at the roof. Even before Rumi looks she knows what she’ll find up there– Jinu, sprawled out asleep.

She'd offered to let him sleep with her again tonight, but. . .

“He said he wanted to be up there in case you came back,” Rumi whispers. “So you could talk to him, if you wanted.”

“I don't,” Romance says, and turns and walks away.

They walk in silence for a while, accompanied only by the sound of their shoes against the ground. Rumi starts to breathe a little easier once they’ve put some distance between them and the house, no longer worried about waking the others, but that’s when she starts to get nervous about what Romance wants. She still can't get a read on him. Baby said he isn’t mad at her, just Jinu, but Baby says a lot of things. Not all of them are true. Besides, even if Romance is only mad at Jinu. . . hurting Rumi would probably be an effective way to get back at him.

Rumi doesn't think he would, but still. She hasn't survived this long by not preparing for the worst.

Eventually Romance comes to a stop at what almost looks like a broken down shrine. There’s one of the damaged columns that Rumi’s seen dotting the wastes at one end and a smattering of paving stones half-buried in the red earth, all around a worn stone structure that could be an altar or just a bench. Romance either sees it as the latter or doesn't care that it’s the former, taking a seat on one end of the carved stone.

Rumi hesitantly sits as well. She runs her fingers over a stone relief that could have once been a tiger.

When Romance speaks, he says something so unexpected Rumi isn't sure she heard him right at first.

“Thanks,” he tells her. “For coming out here.”

Rumi swallows. Her fingers press harder against the stone.

“No problem,” she says. “I get that privacy is. . . tricky, back there.”

Romance hums in agreement. Then he lets out a breath.

“Look,” he says, “I’m not angry at you. I’m angry with Jinu. He’s known you, what, a month? And he’s choosing you over me?”

“He didn't choose me over you,” Rumi protests.

“Yes he did,” Romance insists. “One of us was coming out of that argument hurt. He decided he wanted it to be me.”

Rumi isn't sure how to respond to that, so she doesn't. After a moment of silence the tension drops from Romance’s frame.

“Sorry,” he says. “I told myself I wasn’t going to bite your head off.”

“You’re really upset about this,” Rumi observes quietly, though it isn’t new information for either of them.

“Wouldn't you be?” Romance asks. “How would you feel if Mira ditched you for me or Abby?”

“I’d be pretty sure she’d been kidnapped and replaced with an imposter,” Rumi says slowly.

“. . .yeah, good point,” Romance admits. “I guess it’s on me, then. I should've seen this coming.”

Rumi swallows. She tries to think about this from Romance’s point of view. He doesn't know why Rumi wants to keep Gardener a secret, just that Jinu’s keeping information from him at Rumi’s request. Rumi, who got them all trapped down here, who Jinu protected from Romance when she was defenseless. Who Romance felt the need to test just to make sure she wasn’t using Jinu.

“I’m sorry,” Rumi tells him. “It’s just. . . there’s something personal I’m dealing with right now, and–”

“The source is your dad, right?” Romance asks. Rumi chokes on her words.

“What?” she coughs, then, strained, “Why would– why would you think that?”

“Come on,” Romance says, “A hunter using her own soul to protect a demon? That’s a love story if I’ve ever heard one.”

In hindsight, that. . . is pretty obvious.

“Wait, so. . . if you figured it out, why are you upset with Jinu?” Rumi asks. “Weren’t you just mad because he wouldn't tell you who our source is?”

“I’m angry because it feels like he’s pulling away from us,” Romance tells her. “From me. You’re not stupid, Rumi. I know you’re not. A guy gets into a new relationship, starts ignoring his friends. . .”

“It’s not like that,” Rumi promises, but Romance’s expression doesn’t lighten.

“The worst part is, I can’t even blame him,” he mutters. “You’re good for him. I can tell. He likes himself more when he's with you. You don’t know how it feels, realizing he always could’ve been better but we just. . . weren’t good enough to bring that out of him. We weren’t worth it.”

The words sit heavy between them.

Romance is the second-youngest of the Saja Boys, apparently. Rumi’s not sure how young, but she knows Jinu took him under his wing and taught him how to survive down here. Jinu says he’s done things that mean none of the boys can ever truly trust him, and Baby at least seems to agree.

I’ve known you for four hundred years and even I don’t trust you, because I’m not stupid.

Rumi knows a little something about not being able to trust the people closest to you. How hard it is to approach that idea, even just in your own mind. When she hid her patterns from Mira and Zoey she never thought of it as a lack of trust in her girls, she just thought of it as the way things had to be. That Rumi had to keep half of herself a secret because she was wrong, because she wasn’t good enough.

If Jinu is incapable of change, then any betrayals are just how he is. There’s no sense in taking it personally, because it isn't. His cruelty isn't a reflection on you, or even really him, and as long as you keep your expectations low it won't even hurt that much.

It’s kinder to keep your distance. To keep your guard up instead of handing out knives they can stick in your back.

Is that something Jinu taught Romance? Where did Jinu learn it? Baby? Gwi-Ma?

“I. . . think you’re looking at this wrong,” Rumi says carefully, selecting each word with the same weight and consideration as she would while writing a lyric. “It’s not that you weren’t worth it, or that I’m better for him than you are. It’s more complicated than that. You and Abby, Mystery and Baby. . . you’re the reason Jinu didn't completely lose his ability to connect with other people. To care about them. Maybe I’m what’s pushing him to change, but you’re the only reason he survived long enough for us to meet.”

Romance looks at her. Really looks at her. Rumi tries not to squirm under the intensity of his gaze.

“What?” she asks self-consciously.

“You really mean that,” he murmurs.

Rumi looks away.

“It’s okay if you don’t believe me,” she starts, but Romance cuts her off.

“It’s not really a matter of belief with me,” he says. “Remember that breakup I told you about?”

Rumi nods.

“I got cheated on,” Romance admits. “And I found out my ex never really had feelings for me, she just liked my face. It made me start doubting everyone around me. Did anyone actually care about me? Were they liars too?”

He reaches up, pressing his fingers to his temple.

“Then. . . Gwi-Ma. He told me he could make it so no one would ever be able to lie about their feelings for me again. Obviously I accepted. Turns out, humans lie a lot. About everything. I hated them, and I hated myself for still hoping I could find someone who’d actually care about me. Eventually I wound up down here.”

That. . . explains a lot. Why Jinu wanted Romance to join him in the first place. Why Romance, specifically, would have been a good pick to talk to Gardener. How he’s able to get accurate information out of people, and why flirting comes so easily to him. If you always know the truth about someone's feelings it’s easy to gauge their reactions and tailor your behavior accordingly.

“Thank you,” Rumi says softly. “For telling me.”

“You can see why I didn't want to, right?” Romance asks. “It works better when people don’t know what I can do. You’ll be able to choose your words more carefully now, like the others do.”

“How about I just try to tell you the truth from now on?” Rumi asks. “At least for the important stuff.”

It's the smallest, slightest change, but the corner of Romance’s mouth ticks upward.

“Deal,” he tells her.

Rumi’s quiet for a moment.

“I have to ask,” she finally says. “When Mira says–”

“Oh, she definitely hates me,” Romance tells her, “But that’s not everything. I hate you is true, but all I feel for you is hate isn't. She also lied about not finding me hot, but I’m assuming you knew that. And I think anyone with eyes can see she’s attracted to Abby.”

“Speaking of,” Rumi says, “Apparently she sent a new list of threats. Abby said they’re pretty graphic.”

Romance sighs, his smile turning dreamy.

“What a woman.”

Chapter Text

Rumi manages to get another few hours of sleep before the so-called morning rolls around. This time, instead of being abruptly woken by one of the Saja Boys grabbing her face, she surfaces gradually into a syrupy sort of consciousness. She’s aware of voices in the common room long before she’s awake enough to understand what they’re saying, and she slips from dream to reality in a seamless blur. She has a feeling her dreams were complicated and involved but by the time she opens her eyes she’s already forgotten everything about them.

It takes her a minute to realize the common room’s gone silent.

She steps out of Jinu's room into a surprisingly somber atmosphere. The Saja Boys are scattered around in their various favorite seats, usually a recipe for lively banter and semi-benevolent bullying, but aside from a halfhearted wave from Abby when he sees her enter the boys all seem to be in their own little worlds. Mystery is gripping a notebook and a pencil but is making no move to combine the two, which is probably for the best given that the pencil seems to have snapped a while ago. Baby is motionless in his beanbag, hand braced over his mouth and eyes locked on the far wall. Romance has his fingers steepled in front of him, thumbs occasionally tapping together, and Rumi notices absently that the movement seems to be falling in time with Abby bouncing his knee. Only Jinu is fully reactive to her presence, and even he seems a bit subdued.

“Morning,” he greets her.

Rumi opens her mouth. Hesitates.

“Did I. . . miss something?” she asks.

Jinu’s smile is devoid of humor.

“Oh, you know. Just catching the boys up on some of what we figured out yesterday.”

. . .oh.

Yeah, that would probably do it.

“I am so unbelievably pissed right now,” Baby mutters, not looking away from the wall. “Does anyone want to fight me? I wanna fight someone.”

He pauses.

“I want to kill someone.”

Mystery slowly raises a hand.

“No,” Jinu says sternly, “No one's killing anyone. We don’t have time for that.”

“How about Gwi-Ma? Can we kill Gwi-Ma?” Romance asks.

Jinu gives him a look. “Do you know where Gwi-Ma is?”

“I have. . . leads,” Romance says vaguely.

“So, no.”

Rumi attempts to start getting herself breakfast as quietly as possible.

“Does this even help us?” Abby asks. “Knowing the problem doesn't help if we can’t fix it. Ro, do you know if any therapists ever got dragged down here?”

“I tried therapy once,” Baby says. “Wasn’t for me. Therapist tasted good, though.”

“We don’t need to be pinnacles of mental health,” Jinu tells them. “We just need to not feel worthless and doomed while we’re kicking Gwi-Ma’s head in.”

“That does sound like it would make me feel a lot better,” Abby muses.

Rumi, now holding a small pile of food in her arms, edges over to Jinu.

“Should I leave to give them some space?” she asks under her breath, “Or can I try to cheer them up?”

Clearly she wasn’t quiet enough because Baby finally breaks eye contact with the wall to glare at her. “Try me with that positive thinking bullshit and I will rip your fucking face off.”

“. . .I was going to start suggesting some plans,” Rumi says dryly.

“I think we’re still a ways out from the planning stage,” Jinu tells her. “Especially if that overreaction was anything to go by.”

“I’m fine,” Baby growls. His claws are starting to draw blood from his own cheek.

Jinu lets out a long, heavy sigh.

“Alright,” he says, “Anyone who needs to beat the shit out of someone, outside. No maiming and no killing.”

The majority of the Saja Boys disappear at that, and before the smoke’s even cleared Rumi can already hear snarling and swearing from outside. Abby alone is left at the table, and Jinu straightens from where he’d been leaned against the wall with a sigh.

“I’ll be back,” he says. “Someone has to enforce the no killing rule.”

And then he’s gone too. Rumi just looks at the door for a long moment, listening to the muffled sounds of violence behind it, then slowly deposits her pile of snacks onto the table and takes a seat next to Abby.

“Does that–” she starts.

“All the time,” Abby answers.

“And do you. . ?”

“It’s surprisingly cathartic. I’m just not feeling it today.”

Rumi nods slowly and unwraps a protein bar. There’s a loud thump against the side of the house.

“. . .I noticed Jinu only said he’s enforcing the no killing part of the rules,” Rumi says at length.

“Oh, someone’s getting mauled. My money’s on Romance.”

Rumi makes it halfway through her pile of food by the time the rest of the Saja Boys come limping back inside. She can smell blood right away, heavy in the air, and she takes her next bite of breakfast with maybe a bit more force than necessary. Mystery settles back into his corner, hair sticking up in odd places and blood smeared around his mouth. Baby, for his part, snaps his dislocated left shoulder back into place before collapsing onto his beanbag with a contented sigh. Romance, when he takes his seat, has a hand pressed over one of his eyes and blood dribbling lazily between his fingers.

“Are you guys okay?” Rumi asks instinctively, eyebrows coming together.

“ Waaay better,” Baby drawls, flashing her a thumbs-up. Mystery echoes the gesture. Romance pulls his hand away from his face, blinks the blood out of his eyelashes, then throws Rumi a wink.

“Peachy,” he says.

“Okay,” Jinu says, retaking his spot against the wall, “Now we can talk about plans.”

“I meant it when I said I have leads on Gwi-Ma,” Romance tells them, “But probably not the kind we want. I couldn't find anyone who knew him before he got his wall of fire makeover, so that’s still unconfirmed, but I did talk to a demon who was around before the first Honmoon went up. Gwi-Ma ate her pretty soon after and she’d been stuck inside him ever since.”

“Anything interesting?” Jinu asks.

“He used to have a lot less control over the demons under him. No nagging voices in anyone’s heads, no being able to peer through their eyes. He still had claim to their souls and he could still summon them at will, but compared to the Gwi-Ma we’re used to he was a kitten.” Romance tilts his head, bloody fingertips tapping against the table. “She said he gained those abilities maybe. . . fifty years or so before the Honmoon? Which I guess explains why he ate all the demons old enough to remember. He didn't want anyone knowing he wasn't always so powerful.”

“The first Honmoon was fragile,” Rumi says quietly. “It got stronger with the development of technology, like the radio. The more people our music could reach, the more souls the Honmoon could unite. It must’ve been the same for Gwi-Ma. He needed a certain number of souls before he could get inside people’s heads.”

“The question is,” Jinu says, “Will he get his connections back immediately once he pulls his body together, or will it take time to build them up again?”

“The human souls he lost are gone for good,” Baby points out, “So that's a huge blow already.”

“Maybe the reason none of us have been hearing his voice is that he can’t psychically neg us anymore,” Abby suggests. “Maybe he is back already but he’s too weak for anyone to recognize.”

“He’d have to walk a fine line,” Jinu murmurs. “Think about it. Do we know any demons who actually like him? If he showed up in a physical body most of us would beat him to death. He’ll want to start consuming as many souls as possible to gain back his power but if anyone realizes who he is, he’ll get ganged up on and killed. Maybe even devoured himself.”

“Dibs,” Baby says.

“You can’t call dibs on eating Gwi-Ma,” Romance tells him.

“I just did.”

“Gwi-Ma can’t claim souls without a connection to them, not even demon souls,” Rumi says. “And we know how to block him now. What we really need to do is to free as many demons from his control as possible, whether he’s back yet or not.”

“Why do I feel like I know where this is going?” Baby asks the ceiling.

“Music connects people,” Rumi says. “And maybe you’re not as popular with the demon crowd as you used to be, but. . . the Saja Boys still have fans down here.”

Mystery perks up. He points a bloody claw at the wall of paper and string.

“Exactly,” Rumi says, grinning at him. “It’s the perfect plan! You just need the right song, something to lift demon spirits and inspire them to let go of the past and look towards the future.”

“Murder is okay,” Baby lilts in a sing-song voice. “Love yourself.”

Rumi frowns at him.

“You’re not helping,” she says.

“I’m being realistic,” Baby counters. “Even young demons like Abby have a lot of baggage. Listening to one song isn't going to change that.”

“Maybe not,” Jinu says quietly, an intense look settling over his face, “But maybe we can do more than that.”

“What, like an album?” Abby asks. “Wall’s big enough for it, I guess.”

“If you’re tired of destruction, try creating something instead,” Jinu murmurs, seemingly to himself. Then he looks up, eyes burning into Rumi’s.

“A festival,” he announces. “The Saja Boys headline, but we build up as many other activities as possible. We find demons who like to cook and get them fresh ingredients, find artists and get them supplies. We set aside time for other performers– singers, sure, but not just them. Anyone with an act can apply. We get masks for people to paint, set up games to play. Make the underworld feel alive for once.”

Abby lets out a low whistle.

“Oh,” he says, “I’m here for this.”

“Karaoke,” Romance says. “We need karaoke.”

Jinu nods. “Absolutely.”

“Face paint,” Abby throws in. “Masks are good and all but what’s a festival without a face painting booth or three?”

“Definitely,” Jinu agrees.

“Booze,” Baby says. “Lots of booze.”

“I will consider that suggestion,” Jinu says.

Mystery gets to his feet, padding over to the table and tugging at Romance’s sleeve. He nods towards the doorway to Romance’s room.

“What are you–” Romance starts, but then his eyes widen. “Oh. You’re thinking costumes?”

Mystery nods.

Rumi can feel herself starting to get excited. This could actually work. A big event to shake up the underworld, to break demons out of their old mindsets and get them to engage with life anew. They can help them reconnect with passions they’ve left behind or inspire them to take up new ones, to grow beyond the mold of Gwi-Ma’s soldiers. It won’t fix everything, but like Jinu said, the demons don’t need to be pinnacles of mental health. They just need to believe there’s hope for the future.

“This is going to be a lot of work,” Jinu says, “But I know you guys can do it.”

“One question,” Abby says, “This is going to be a lot of demons. Where are we hosting this?”

Jinu’s smile turns wicked, and Rumi’s heart flutters.

“Oh,” he says, “I can think of a recently-abandoned place with a massive crowd capacity.”

Romance’s voice is practically a purr. “Gwi-Ma’s going to hate this.”

Jinu puts a hand on the table and looks around at the rest of them, eyebrow cocked. Rumi reaches forward and places her own atop his. Abby and Romance quickly follow, with Mystery joining a moment later.

Baby sighs heavily, but gets up out of his seat and joins them at the table. His hand lands atop the pile.

“At least it’s not crazier than your demon boy band idea,” he tells Jinu.

“This is going to be so good,” Abby says.

Chapter Text

Whatever Rumi was expecting Gwi-Ma’s so-called temple to look like, it wasn't this.

Jinu was right about the potential crowd capacity. This place is huge. Standing at the center of the space Rumi can barely make out the buildings that surround it, too much distance and fog between them. It’s clear no one wanted to build too close.

“I’ve never actually seen this place empty before,” Jinu murmurs.

Rumi glances at him. His eyes are fixed on the massive dais in the center of the space, though his mask obscures his expression.

They’re alone here. Entirely alone. Despite Gwi-Ma’s absence the space still feels stiflingly oppressive, and Rumi can feel a chill crawling across her skin like she’s being watched. It’s a lot of space to leave abandoned, but Rumi doesn’t blame the demons for wanting to stay as far away as possible. For hundreds and hundreds of years this has been a temple to pain and suffering.

It’s long past time to change that.

“I’m thinking. . . this place could use some flowers,” Rumi says softly.

Jinu huffs a laugh.

“We’re going to have to be careful setting up,” he says. “People will notice pretty quick. They’ll have questions.”

“So, posters first then,” Rumi says. “Abby and Zoey should have some designs ready by the time we get back. If we can’t do it in secret, we can at least get people to want to help.”

“Romance will have our preliminary list of contributors by then too. We might be able to get things moving by the end of the day.”

Rumi hesitates.

“Did you two, uh. . .”

“He called me an idiot for sleeping on the roof last night,” Jinu says, “Which is about as close to forgiveness as I think we’re going to get.”

“I’m sorry you got caught between us like that,” Rumi tells him.

Jinu’s still looking at Gwi-Ma’s empty throne.

“It’s not your fault,” he says. “Or anyone's, really. We’ve all got baggage.”

Finally, he turns to look at her.

“So. Where do you want to put the flowers?”

Rumi smiles behind her mask.

“Okay, so I’m thinking flowers along the pathways along with some lanterns, and then if Gardener says yes to teaching we put him. . . over there?”

“We should make that the activity area then, and put the food stalls on the other side so the scents aren’t competing.”

“Right,” Rumi breathes, eyes widening. “I didn't even think of that. I’m not used to not having the best senses out of everyone around me. Wait, will the lanterns be a problem too?”

“Not if they’re just along the pathways. That should leave plenty of dark space in between for people to duck into if they get overwhelmed.”

Rumi flips open her bag, pulling out the measuring wheel and chalk they brought with them.

“Alright,” she says, “Let’s figure out how many stalls we can fit. We still have a lot of stops to make.”

They tell Stellaluna about the festival first, away from Bora, in case she thinks it’s too dangerous for her daughter to go and doesn't want her knowing about it. Rumi can’t just leave without saying hi first though, and she lets Bora spend some time showing her the tricks she's learned to do with the tech deck since they last saw each other. She rolls the tiny skateboard along the patterns on Rumi’s arm as if they’re city streets.

“You know, my friend Zoey can skateboard,” Rumi tells her. “She’s really good at it.”

Bora nods. “I know. I’ve seen her.”

Zoey likes working skateboarding into just about any music video she can feasibly justify. She’s told Rumi and Mira that, back before she found the confidence to actually sing the lyrics she scribbled in her notebooks, skating had been her only escape when things got too stressful at home.

As long as I had my wheels, I was free.

After they leave, Rumi traces her fingers over her patterns and feels like an open road.

Gardener is so overwhelmingly enthusiastic about the festival that Rumi thinks he scares Jinu.

“Anything you need,” Gardener promises them. “Anything.”

He’s looking at her when he says it, and Rumi gets the feeling he’s talking about more than just teaching other demons how to grow flowers.

Rumi still doesn’t know how she feels about him. The reality of Gardener is not enough to fully banish the specter that’s been haunting Rumi for most of her life, the demon that assaulted her mother and made Rumi a monster. Talking to Gardener, being around him at all, hurts like pressing on a broken bone. How different would Rumi’s life have been, if he’d been able to stay in it? They haven't known each other long, but in that time Gardener has expressed nothing but understanding and kindness towards her. It feels like a betrayal to want that. Like Rumi is betraying Celine.

She doesn't know how she feels about Celine either.

Gardener sits with them as Rumi and Jinu set themselves up on the edge of the half-demon camp and start handing out what replies they've received from the human world so far. They're mostly print-outs of emails but a few people managed to get their letters in before Rumi and Jinu left this morning, though those are all purely local. The international mail that was sent out probably hasn’t even arrived at its destinations yet.

Knowing the logistics doesn’t make Rumi feel any better when she has to let someone down, though. It’s harder still when she doesn’t speak their language, has to pass her words through a translator like she’s abdicating responsibility. Every time she watches a hopeful face leave empty-handed her heart breaks a little more.

Having Harper around helps, though. When Rumi handed her the email from her dads Harper dragged her into a hug with exuberance that rivaled Zoey’s, and she put herself in charge of handing out medications without even being asked. Rumi’s been watching that head of blue curls zip around the camp, and every time Harper doubles back to grab more supplies she’s grinning so wide it has to hurt.

Rumi’s been receiving her fair share of glares too, of course, and more than once she’s spotted half demons muttering angrily to each other while staring in her direction. With Gardener at her side, though, none of them have been willing to approach her. It seems like they respect him too much to start screaming at her in front of him.

“How do you think I should make the announcement?” Rumi asks, once her bag is empty of paper and supplies. “Or. . . do you think you should do it?”

She looks to Gardener. Gardener, for his part, strokes his chin slowly and seems to really think the question over.

“Well, with the language barriers it's going to take a while for the news to circulate anyway,” he says, “And I have nothing but time to check in with people. You two, on the other hand, have a lot to get done.”

They really, really do.

“We’ll be back tomorrow, so just tell anyone if they want to sign up for an act they can do it then,” Rumi says. “And if anyone wants a booth, they can apply for that too.”

Gardener nods as he stands, offering her and Jinu a hand up. Rumi hesitates, but after a moment she takes his hand. It’s warm, and of course covered in dirt, but Rumi finds she doesn't mind that part.

Jinu stands on his own, and the corner of Gardener’s mouth quirks up.

“Thanks for your help,” Rumi says.

“Of course,” Gardener tells her. “I’m just glad I didn't make anyone cry this time.”

Rumi huffs, an almost-laugh. Laughter is good medicine, but broken bones take time to heal.

“We better get going,” she says, taking a step back. Gardener nods.

“I’ll see you both tomorrow,” he promises.

Rumi turns, with Jinu falling into step beside her. She walks a few yards. Five. Ten.

Her footsteps slow.

Like ripping off a band-aid, she thinks, and turns and runs back. Gardener, who had apparently been watching them leave, has no time to react before Rumi is barreling into him and pulling him into a hug.

“Thank you,” she says again, but quieter this time. Just for the two of them. “Thank you.”

Gardener is warm, and his hug doesn’t fit her like any she’s had before. Gardener is broad, tall, and Rumi can hide in his embrace in a way she hasn't been able to in Celine’s for years. He smells like flowers and fruit, like dirt and growing things. He holds Rumi like he’s afraid to squeeze her too tightly but even more afraid to let her go.

“Anything you need,” Gardener promises again, voice soft. He is not talking about the festival.

Rumi looks up at the Honmoon for most of their walk back.

“You know,” she says to Jinu eventually, once she can speak around the lump in her throat again, “I was kind of surprised when I found out you’re not the main lyricist for the Saja Boys. I’m not sure why. Maybe because you talk so much.”

Jinu snorts and aims a half-hearted kick at her shoe.

“Hey, I contribute,” he says. “But you’ve seen how many notebooks Mystery can fill in a day. If I wanted to compete with him for volume I’d have to stop sleeping again.”

“Don’t you dare,” Rumi warns, and kicks back at him. He mists out of range, reappearing a few yards ahead of her. She sticks her tongue out at him.

“You know what I like the most about you?” Jinu asks. “Your maturity.”

“Hey, I was working up to a serious question!” Rumi tells him. “I was going to ask what you think the next Saja Boys song should be about.”

Jinu’s quiet for a moment, letting Rumi catch back up to him. He tilts his head back, looking up at the Honmoon. His eyes are pools of gold and his hair is gently gilded with the light.

“Freedom,” he says. “I think it should be about freedom.”

Chapter Text

Zoey buries her face in Derpy’s fur as she wraps her arms around as much of the tiger as she can manage. He’s warm and soft and rumbles contentedly as she curls her fingers into his fur and gives him scritches.

“Who’s a good boy?” she coos. “You’re a good boy! Yes you are!”

He’d deserve the praise anyway, but he’s especially earned it tonight. He’s been hauling supplies down to the demon realm since late afternoon and by now it’s nearly midnight. Zoey'd asked Mystery if Derpy and Sussy can eat food and he said he doesn't think so, which is the only thing keeping Zoey from spoiling the big cat with treats right now. Pats and scritches are going to have to do.

“I can't believe he and Sussy hang around with Jinu,” Mira says from somewhere beyond the blissful expanse of Derpy’s fluff. “He’s an asshole even for a demon. They deserve better.”

Derpy huffs, the sound loud in Zoey’s ears. While she can hear Derpy’s breaths she can’t make out a heartbeat accompanying them, which would be worrying if Derpy didn't seem completely unbothered by that fact. Zoey’s just chalking it up as normal for him.

“Sounds like someone wants to keep them,” Zoey says, voice slightly muffled but hopefully still understandable. “Does that mean you’re changing your no pets vote?”

“They can comprehend human speech. They’re not pets.”

“You wouldn't be saying that if you could feel how soft this good good boy is, yes you are, you’re a good boy and you’re so fluffy–”

“And my vote’s staying the same,” Mira interjects. “We tour too often for it to be fair to any pet we’d adopt.”

Zoey groans. She knows that, of course, but that doesn't make it easier to accept. Huntrix has partnered with more than a few animal shelters over the years since animals make a great addition to any music video and the publicity helps adoption rates. Zoey hasn’t once left one of those shoots without desperately trying to convince her bandmates that they have to take this one little guy home, look at their little face, how can anyone say no to that little face–

But they’d either have to leave their pet behind while touring or drag them along on the trip. As much as Zoey loves critters she can’t justify forcing one to bounce from place to place with them. She knows how that feels.

But.

“You didn't say you don't want to keep Derpy and Sussy, though,” Zoey points out. “And if they’re technically not pets. . .”

Mira sighs.

“. . .I still can’t believe we’re doing this,” she says eventually. “Helping a bunch of demons throw a blow-out party?”

“It’s a strategic party.”

“Yeah, but. . .”

Mira trails off. Zoey leans back, blinking a couple times to readjust to the light of their living room before looking over at her friend. Mira has settled on the floor a yard or so away, her back against the couch and one knee drawn to her chest. She’s propped her elbow casually against her knee but the way her fingers are clenching and unclenching betrays her inner turmoil.

Zoey leans forward to whisper in Derpy’s ear.

“Sic ‘em.”

Derpy immediately perks up, padding across the floor and throwing himself bodily into Mira's lap. Mira makes a surprised sound as she’s suddenly drowning in tiger and, despite her halfhearted attempts to push Derpy away, she winds up pinned beneath his fluffy bulk. Zoey giggles and scoots closer, rubbing Derpy’s back and enjoying the way his purr vibrates through both of them.

“You wanna talk about it?” she asks Mira.

Mira groans.

“Well, considering that I’m trapped under an eight hundred pound cat now I don’t think I have much of a choice.”

Zoey kindly decides not to point out that Derpy would absolutely leave if Mira just asked. Mira leans forward, folding her arms over Derpy’s back and resting her cheek against them.

“. . .you said you thought the hardest part about learning to fight demons was remembering that they're not people, right?” Mira asks, but it’s not really a question. They’ve had this conversation often enough that they both know the answer, and it’s clearly just Mira’s way of leading into something.

Zoey nods anyway.

“That was never my problem,” Mira admits quietly. “I mean, was it nice to have you and Rumi reminding me that demons were soulless, emotionless monsters? Yes. But I still would’ve been able to fight them if they weren't. I’m not. . .”

Mira hesitates, eyes narrowing as she searches for the right words. Zoey reaches out and puts a hand on Mira’s shoulder, willing to wait as long as she needs.

“. . .I’m not a good person,” Mira finally says. “I thought I’d gotten better, that now that I had an outlet I was. . . fixed, or something. But I still want to hurt people. And there’s a part of me that hears that demons are people and is like. . . who cares?”

Mira groans, flopping face-first into Derpy’s fur and covering her head with her hands.

“Which is a shitty thing to think. It should matter to me. But honestly, if we didn't need to defeat Gwi-Ma before we can rescue Rumi and the other half-demons I wouldn’t give a fuck about trying to break Gwi-Ma’s control. I’d be fine with letting him and his minions rot down there.”

Mira’s fingers twist into her hair, gripping it so tightly her scarred knuckles go white. Zoey winces. It looks painful.

“Hey, no,” Zoey says softly, reaching out to try to gently coax Mira to relax. Mira’s hands release their grip under Zoey’s touch but the tension doesn't leave, a familiar kind of forced stillness falling over her frame. It’s a stillness that says I don’t want to hurt you, and I’m afraid if I move I will.

“You’re not a bad person, Mi-Mi,” Zoey tries to reassure her. “Or, if you are, then so am I. I’m struggling with all this too. It’s a lot of new information to deal with! I still wasn’t even really done processing the fact that demons exist, and I’ve had years for that one.”

“It’s not the same thing,” Mira tells her. “You’re upset because you just found out that the demons we’ve been killing are people. That’s the objectively correct reaction. My problem is that I’m not upset and I should be.”

“. . .I knew,” Zoey says quietly. So quietly that Mira lifts her head, eyebrows furrowing as she looks at Zoey.

“What?” she asks.

“I knew. I knew they were people,” Zoey says. Her hands are still resting on Mira’s. She closes her eyes. “I mean– how could any of us not know? There was no way they were emotionless puppets. The way they interacted with each other when they thought no one was watching. . . and sometimes they’d look so scared, right before they were destroyed. I saw all of that and I just. . . ignored it. Because it was easier for me if Celine was right and they were all just monsters.”

Mira’s hands are moving. She takes Zoey’s in return. Squeezes them too gently.

“So, yeah, like I said,” Zoey whispers. “If you're a bad person, I am too. Worse, maybe, because at least you’re honest about your feelings. You’re. . . really strong, Mira. I admire that.”

She doesn't mean physically, though of course Mira is. She means. . .

Zoey bounced between the two halves of her family for most of her life. She never fought it. She went where she was told when she was told, let her parents use her as the human rope in their game of tug-of-war. She never wanted to hurt one of them by choosing the other, but so many things were choosing in disguise. She couldn't ask to go see the remaining Sunlight Sisters in one country when she was scheduled to be in the other. She missed friends’ birthday parties by being halfway across the planet, fell in and out of touch with her classmates so often that eventually no one knew her in more than passing. Zoey lied about the dumbest things, like whether or not she’d already seen a movie or tried an activity, just so her parents wouldn’t keep jealously trying to poach Zoey's firsts from each other. Before Huntrix, Zoey was less of a person and more of a toy to fight over. She had hidden so much of herself that she barely existed.

Mira wasn't like that.

Mira’s parents demanded perfection and Mira refused to give it to them. She stood confidently in herself, as she was, and wouldn’t bend to fit the mold they tried to push her into no matter how badly it hurt. For her strength she was called a problem child, too willful, too much. Zoey thinks she’s perfect. Has since the moment they met.

Eagerness to please. Maybe a little too eager.

And because Zoey hadn’t wanted to rock the boat– hadn’t wanted to question Celine and seem ungrateful for the chance she'd been given, hadn’t wanted the others to think she was choosing the demons over them– she’d buried the part of herself that saw the way demons acted and knew they were more than puppets. She’s a coward. She forced herself to believe something she knew wasn't true just because it was easier.

“Well, I admire your stupidly big heart,” Mira mutters. “You let people in so easily. It scares me. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt either,” Zoey whispers.

They sit there for a long time, holding hands over a glowing blue tiger.

“You can't. . . force yourself to feel things you don’t,” Zoey says at last, opening her eyes again. “So you don't automatically have sympathy for demons. So you want to fight people sometimes. So what? If anything, I think you’re nicer than I am. I try not to hurt people because I’d feel guilty; you try not to hurt people because it’s the right thing to do. ”

“And now I officially know we need to get some sleep,” Mira says dryly, “Because there is no way you just called me nicer than you. I swear you've met me before.”

Zoey squeezes Mira’s hands. Doesn't let her brush this off with a joke.

“I mean it,” she says. “You’re not a bad person. I won't let anyone lie and say you are, not even you.”

Mira closes her eyes.

“I’m glad I met you,” she says quietly. “You and Rumi. You make me feel less. . . like a monster.”

“It's either none of us or all of us,” Zoey says.

She wonders which it is. And if it really, truly matters.

Chapter Text

The two main goals for today are simple– get most, or ideally all, of the stalls set up, and iron out the festival’s logistics. The posters Abby and Zoey designed have been spread all over the city, so that’s publicity taken care of, and if they actually want to have things ready by the date they set in ink they need to finalize acts and vendors by the end of the day. As a result, Abby and Baby are tackling setup while Jinu, Romance and Rumi handle auditions and applications.

(Mystery is back at the base, ostensibly so he can write and rest before the festival but mostly, Rumi suspects, so he doesn't realize she and Jinu have borrowed a pair of his masks)

The process so far has been. . . interesting.

The people Romance suggested don’t need to be vetted, for obvious reasons, but that only cuts the list down so much. They’ve been interviewing candidates for hours now, the three of them sat like a panel of judges at a folding table near the temple's central dais, and Rumi keeps thinking she's seen everything the underworld has to offer only to be proven woefully, woefully wrong. Among more traditional acts like singing and dancing (and even slight of hand and ventriloquy) they’ve had a demon with the ability to detach and reattach limbs, a collection of extremely classically-trained thespians who specialize in reenacting historical events they personally lived through, a demon whose powers of flight are less impressive than the fact that she uses actual wings to do so, two separate demons with telekinesis, and a demon who can just straight-up turn into a bear.

“So that’s not a glamor?” Rumi clarifies in a hushed aside to Jinu.

“No. That’s shape-shifting.”

“Right. And the difference is. . ?”

“Glamours fool the senses, shapeshifting is real.”

“Which is an important distinction.”

“It is.”

“And do we think. . . turning into a bear can take up a full time slot?”

Jinu’s expression is hidden behind his mask, but Rumi can feel the look he’s giving her.

“Great point. Why don’t you go ahead and tell the demon who can turn into a bear that she can’t participate.”

. . .they approve the bear-demon, who turns out to be named, of course, Bear.

The potential vendors are slightly less strange, but only slightly. They have a number of excellent cooks come and demonstrate their skills and Rumi has to abstain from more than one’s cooking because some of what they’re using as spices are doses of poisons that would be fatal to any non-full demon. Cooks in particular seem to be interested in the festival because of the promise of fresh ingredients, but they’re far from the only ones itching to get their hands on supplies. Artists of all varieties bring examples of their work, including one demon who is bouncing with excitement about possibly getting new batteries and ink for their tattoo gun and has four other demons in tow who host some of their favorite pieces. Then there are the demons who come, not to offer any particular talents, but because they’re just interested in being general staff. They do need people for things like running games and behind-the-scenes coordination, and once Romance checks them out they generally get approved pretty quickly.

Two such demons stand out. One Rumi recognizes as the water demon who’d run the Saja Boys stall in the market and another, taller water demon who seems to be near-constantly holding back tears.

“Is it true?” the shorter of the two water demons asks them, leaning over the table and lowering her voice. “Are the Saja Boys really going to be performing?”

“Definitely,” Rumi tells her. The second water demon promptly bursts out sobbing.

“I’m sorry,” they blubber as their friend pats them on the back, “I’m just so excited to see them again!”

“There, there,” their friend soothes. Then, to Rumi and the boys, “I promise Jelly can still work while crying.”

Rumi’s seen this kind of reaction from more than one fan before, so she just nods and makes a note next to Jelly’s name that they should try to assign them work that's. . . waterproof. At the very least, no electronics involved.

“You can praise me for my restraint at any time,” Romance says under his breath as Jelly’s friend escorts them away, rubbing their back and speaking to them in indistinct platitudes. “It was so tempting to drop my glamor just to see what would happen.”

“A tsunami, probably,” Jinu guesses, then calls forward the next person in line.

“We need to make a decision,” Jinu says, staring at the song collage that has devoured an entire wall of the common room and started to spill over on the sides. “We’re never going to finish this on time if we don’t.”

“I still say Eat Shit, Gwi-Ma has legs,” Baby drawls.

“This isn’t about him,” Jinu says.

“He is literally the entire reason we’re throwing the festival,” Baby counters.

Jinu sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Look,” Rumi interjects, “You’re not wrong to think a song like that would help some people. I mean, I’ve seen your lyrics for that one and they’re. . . definitely cathartic. But Jinu’s right too. This isn’t about Gwi-Ma. It’s about getting out from under him and reclaiming your lives.”

“I told you, some bullshit piece of fluff isn’t going to fix anyone,” Baby says, scowling. “We’re all a bunch of fuckin’ disasters. No one with more than two brain cells will buy positivity.”

“Not sure how many demons that would actually rule out,” Romance mutters.

“Babe, I get what you’re saying,” Abby tells Baby, “But no one thinks we’re gonna bust up Gwi-Ma with another Soda Pop. That’s not on the table.”

“Then what is?” Baby asks. He gestures towards the wall. “We’ve got enough material for eight songs up there and I hate all of them.”

Mystery’s head snaps up, his grip on his notebook tightening. Baby sighs.

“Withdrawn,” he mutters grudgingly.

“Do you think,” Abby says slowly, “That the reason you’re having a hard time writing a song about a better future. . . is because you can’t picture one for yourself?”

Baby rolls his eyes.

“What, and you can? ”

“Sure,” Abby says. “Easy.”

“I’m already living it,” Jinu says quietly.

“Anything’s better than being stuck with Gwi-Ma,” Romance says.

“Well, good for you,” Baby mutters. “Whatever. Just write the song without me.”

Rumi frowns, troubled. Why can’t Baby imagine a better future? If they can just defeat Gwi-Ma then–

Uh.

What. . . would Baby do after that?

Rumi will get back to her girls. Back to her life. She’ll be free from the pressure of trying to create a golden Honmoon and from the need to keep charging the old one. Huntrix will be able to exist without the fear that one missed note, one flop of a song, will doom the planet. And she and Jinu will finally be able to spend some time together without the looming threat of Gwi-Ma over their heads. They’ll just. . . be.

And Baby? Baby, who seems to care about the other Saja Boys and not much else, who was already gleefully killing when Jinu first met him four hundred years ago? By now Rumi thinks she can trust the other Saja Boys not to hurt any humans if they set them free, but she’s not too sure about Baby. She remembers the argument she overheard between him and Jinu, how bitter he’d sounded over Jinu’s attempts to be a better person. Baby doesn’t seem happy the way he is, but he doesn't seem like he wants to change either.

Maybe he could hold himself back from killing, if it meant he could stay with the others. Maybe he’d play nice so Mira didn’t have a reason to stab him in the face and send him back down here. But for Baby, that wouldn't be freedom. It would be a changing of the guard.

Refuse to change and be alone. Be with the others and lose his freedom.

Rumi’s frown deepens.

She’s been avoiding thinking about it, putting it off as a later problem, but fixing things is more complicated than just returning the half-demons home. There are good demons here, Rumi knows there are. Demons who wouldn't hurt anyone without being forced to, demons who refused Gwi-Ma’s orders and were devoured for it and who are only just now getting a chance to live again. But there are others who won’t hesitate to kill if given the chance, who see humans as food and nothing else. How are they supposed to tell those two groups apart? How can Rumi trust herself to know the difference when she’s been wrong about so, so much?

Jinu sighs, running a hand back through his hair.

“Let’s sleep on this,” he says. “First thing in the morning, though, we pick our theme. I expect everyone to come to the table with a concrete idea by then.”

Quietly, Rumi makes a decision. After everyone else is asleep, she’s going to talk to Baby.

Alone.

Chapter Text

Even Jinu takes his own advice for once and actually sleeps on their meeting. Despite his old-fashioned sensibilities he and Rumi slept together last night, side by side, and Rumi can’t help but feel guilty now when she slips away once he’s drifted off. It’s not like this will take long though, she rationalizes, and she’s pretty sure Baby will clam right up if anyone else knows about the two of them talking. It would be too much like a public concession, and he’s too prideful for that.

Rumi’s fully expecting to have to pull a Romance but she’s let off of that particular hook when she steps into the common room and finds Baby still awake. He’s sitting on the central table, one knee up and arm braced against it, staring unblinkingly at the song collage. When he speaks, he doesn't look her way.

“Is this the part where we pour our hearts out to each other and you fix me?” he asks.

Rumi opens her mouth. Closes it.

“I just. . . wanted to talk to you,” she says.

Baby finally turns to look at her, head lolling lazily back and eyes dragging over her from head to toe.

“Yeah? You think that’ll help?” he drawls. “Go ahead. Give me your best shot. What magical, inspirational speech do you have lined up in that pretty head of yours?”

Rumi frowns.

“I’m just trying to help,” she says. “You don’t have to be a jerk about it.”

Baby snorts. It’s not a nice laugh.

“This is how I am. Take it or leave it. You’ve already got everyone else on your strings; be happy with four out of five and just go back to sleeping with Jinu.”

“Wha– I don’t have anyone on strings,” Rumi splutters, ignoring the way her cheeks start to burn. “Are you serious right now?”

Baby lifts his hand in a halfhearted wave, but doesn't bother lifting his arm from his knee.

“Hey, I get it,” he says. “You want a guilt-free hookup, so you feel like you need to fix your new boytoy’s friends first. That way he gets to keep his pals but you don't have to worry about what we get up to when you’re not looking. Personally I think you could’ve cut a lot of the legwork by just giving Jinu an ultimatum– he would've dropped us for you in a heartbeat. But I guess that can’t be your first option if you wanna feel like a good person, huh?”

Rumi takes a deep breath. Okay. So Baby’s definitely choosing violence tonight. Awesome. Well, joke’s on him. She can be the bigger person here. She can be such a big person.

“You're an asshole,” she tells him. Baby grins, fangs flashing dully in the dark.

Whoops.

“Welcome to my point,” he says, “Glad you could make it. Look, I know how to play the game, alright? I’ll sing whatever schlock the rest of you put together, I’ll act happy, and I won’t cause problems. But you’re no Gwi-Ma. You won't be able to get in my head so easily.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Rumi says, struggling to keep her voice low. “I just wanted to ask if you’re okay.”

Baby blinks lazily at her in a way that is both too similar to Derpy and wildly alien. Derpy's never looked so cold and closed-off. He may be the tiger, but between the two of them Baby’s clearly the predator.

“First Jinu,” he says, “Then Abby. Then you got your hands on Romance. You find their shame, get them to open up, and tell them everything’s going to be okay. Whatever they need to hear– it wasn’t your fault, you have nothing to be ashamed of, you can still be better. Manipulation is manipulation, sweetheart, whatever team you’re on. I’m not judging, but I’m also not interested. So just drop it already.”

Bigger. Person. Bigger person.

Rumi crosses over to the table. Grabs a chair. She turns it around and sits in it backwards, folding her arms over the back and giving Baby a level glare.

“You really can’t wrap your brain around the idea of someone being nice with no ulterior motive, can you?” she asks.

“Someone? Maybe,” Baby says. “You? Definitely not.”

Rumi bristles.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re not nice. Don’t get me wrong– you’re good at faking it. You even fooled yourself. But you’re as selfish and desperate as the rest of us. You’re not kind to people for their sake, you do it because you’ve spent your whole life so paranoid that you're a monster that you’ll do anything to prove you're not.”

“Yeah? Well you’re scared to put in the work to be a better person, so you’ve convinced yourself they don’t exist,” Rumi counters.

Baby makes a sound like a buzzer, holding up his arms in an X.

“Wrong,” he says. “I’m just happy the way I am and don't feel the need to change that.”

“Oh, bullshit,” Rumi hisses, throwing up a hand. “You’re the most miserable person I’ve ever met!”

“I wonder what the common denominator in your observations is,” Baby says dryly.

Rumi ignores him.

“The other Saja Boys are the only people left that you care about,” she says. “They’re all you care about, period. You’re terrified of losing them. That’s why you can’t stand the idea of them becoming better people, that it’s something they want and not something I’m tricking them into. Because you don’t think you can change, and you don’t want to get left behind.”

“Oh, fuck off with your high and mighty bullshit,” Baby growls. “You’re just as fucked up as I am. So are they, even if you don't want to admit it. We're all monsters. Killers. You enjoyed slaughtering demons, didn't you? It made something inside your chest just purr. And you didn't have to think about that because it was the right thing to do, but what happens now that you’ve been forced to acknowledge we're all people? You think you’re just going to be able to quit? Admit it; you already miss the fighting. The death. You've got as much of a taste for it as any of us.”

Rumi swallows.

Her sword carves easily, satisfyingly through flesh and bone. The sound is gloriously wretched. The demon manages a last choked cry before their form falls completely apart. The smoke smells like blood.

Rumi grins and whirls around, eyes bright as she searches for her next target.

Rumi can taste the memory of Jinu’s blood on her tongue.

“I’m better than you,” Baby says, “Because at least I’m honest about what I am.”

He turns away, back to the song collage.

“Go back to bed, hunter,” he tells her. “I’m gracious enough to pretend this conversation never happened. Take the out.”

“You’re right,” Rumi murmurs, and Baby whips his head back around to stare at her, looking startled.

“I. . . what?” he asks.

“I said you’re right,” Rumi repeats, a little louder. “I like hurting people. It feels. . . good.”

Baby stares at her, golden eyes wide.

“. . .okay,” he says, “I can admit this isn't where I saw this conversation going.”

“I wanted to ask if you’re okay. If you know what you’re going to do after all of this is over,” Rumi says. It feels like her mouth is ahead of her mind, like the words are forming before her thoughts have a chance to catch up. They feel true, though, as she speaks them. Right. “And that. . . was selfish. Because I want to know what I have to prepare for. Because. . . I don’t know what I’m doing after this either.”

Rumi looks down at her hands. At the patterns snaking over her fingers, her palms, up along her arms. Since Gardener– since her father taught her how to use her energy to grow plants, to create something beautiful with the side of her she’s only ever known as destruction and pain, her patterns’ hue has started to shift. They haven't disappeared, not by any means, but the purples are fracturing into different shades so slowly as to be almost imperceptible. She follows one of the lines up her arm and watches it fade from indigo to almost pink, dusky blue to something nearly green.

“You're right,” she admits again. “I like hurting people, just like you do. So if you can’t be happy holding yourself in check. . . what hope do I have?”

She closes her hands into fists, hiding her nails away against her palms. They like to turn to claws now, sometimes. Like when she sank them into Jinu’s hand and made him bleed.

“But I think we can be,” she says. “Happy, I mean. I don’t think we need to hurt people. We have our friends. . . our family. Isn’t that enough?”

Baby huffs.

“We’ve established that I don’t have anyone,” he says. “I told you, Jinu would’ve bailed on us in a second if you’d asked him to. And when your bandmates decide I’m too violent to allow up top, the others will cut their losses. I’m not worth spending eternity down here.”

“And that’s where you’re wrong,” Rumi tells him. “About Jinu, and the others too. He was convinced none of you actually cared about him, that he wasn’t worth caring about. That’s why you feel like he would’ve left you. He would’ve. But only because he thought no one would miss him.”

“Bullshit,” Baby says, but he’s not meeting Rumi’s eyes.

“Why’d you bring Abby in?” Rumi asks. “Jinu told me you were the one who did it. And, I mean, he’s definitely strong, but I met a demon today who can literally turn into a bear. If strength was all you were looking for, you had plenty of other options.”

“I like him.” Baby rolls his eyes, glaring up at the ceiling instead of her. “This isn't some big conspiracy. You don't have to try to trick me into admitting it. I liked him, so I brought him home. What’s your point?”

“Does he know that?” Rumi asks. “Because as far as I can tell, Abby’s basically a dosa dog. If you really think he’d be fine leaving you down here alone you’re either an idiot, or you know he has no idea what he means to you.”

Baby doesn't respond. Rumi gives him some time, but when he makes no move to break the silence she sighs and stands.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” she tells him. “At least try to get some sleep tonight, okay?”

Baby flips her off. Rumi rolls her eyes and pads back into Jinu’s room.

He stirs as she lies back down, eyelids opening into golden slits.

“R’mi?” he mumbles. Rumi curls into his chest and the way Jinu settles an arm around her shoulders feels almost instinctive.

“I’m okay,” she tells him. “Go back to sleep.”

They meet early and metaphorically bright the next morning, and Jinu’s quick to call them all to order.

“Alright,” he says, “This is it. We’re eating, sleeping, and breathing this song until it’s finished. So– where do we start?”

Rumi can't help but sneak a glance at Baby, holed up in his not-beanbag chair and looking like he very much did not get any sleep. His face turns in her direction and their eyes meet for just a moment before he’s rolling them Honmoon-wards.

“Whatever the rest of you want,” he says.

“We want you to be happy with this too,” Abby tells him. “So you're not an optimist. That doesn’t mean we’re leaving you behind on this.”

Baby’s arms are folded casually, hands tucked against his sides, but from where Rumi’s sitting she can see the way Abby's words make his claws dig into the fabric of his durumagi.

“Besides,” Romance says, “We’re trying to reach as many people as possible with this. That includes grumpy old bastards like you.”

Mystery stands up. Rumi watches as he crosses over to the center of the song collage, assuming he’s got something new to pin up. . . but she’s surprised when he turns to face the table instead.

And speaks.

“I’ve got it,” he tells them. “I figured it out last night.”

Rumi’s caught between shock that Mystery’s actually talking to them and concern that he overheard her conversation with Baby last night. Shit, she knew she should’ve taken things outside.

“Well shit, man,” Abby says. “Lay it on us.”

Mystery sets his notebook on the table and starts to flip through it.

“Words matter," he says. "I’ve been trying so many for this– escaping, breaking free, taking flight– but they were all wrong. Too clean. Too perfect.”

He stops on a page and tears it out, turning to pin it dead-center in the collage. Rumi didn’t get a chance to make out what it says; she doesn't think the others did either. 

“We’ve all been through hell,” Mystery says quietly. “We’re all broken. We’re all a bunch of fuckin’ disasters.”

Baby twitches as Mystery uses his words from yesterday, but doesn’t speak.

“This is the word for us,” Mystery whispers, and steps away from the wall.

In the middle of the wall, in the middle of the piece of paper, in Mystery’s handwriting and in stark black ink, is a single word.

Crashout.

The room is silent for a long moment.

“Yeah,” Jinu finally says. “Yeah. That’s the song.”

Chapter Text

When Jinu confiscates a Baby’s fifth bottle of booze, Rumi thinks she’s about to witness a murder.

“Oh come on,” Baby growls, “It’s just vodka.”

“No drinking before the performance means no drinking before the performance, Baby. I said those words in that order and that’s what I meant,” Jinu snaps, setting the bottle down in front of Derpy who immediately starts awkwardly pawing at it in an attempt to line it up with the other four bottles. He knocks three of them over in the process and has to start painstakingly righting them again.

Baby rolls his eyes and leans so far backward in his folding chair that Rumi’s genuinely surprised he doesn’t fall.

“This is our debut all over again,” he groans. “Rumi, do us all a favor and pull the stick out of his ass.”

Romance is eyeing the slowly growing pile of bottles. “How were you not clinking like a coin pouch the whole way here? And how many more of those are you hiding?”

“Wouldn't you like to know?” Baby drawls.

“Jinu, buddy,” Abby says, crossing over to Jinu and slinging an arm around his shoulders. He uses that leverage to swing him away from Baby and towards the tent’s closed flap, and (presumably) coincidentally towards Rumi. He lowers his voice. “We’ve got four hours until we're going on, and that’s assuming no delays. You can’t already be at a nine; we need you at like a six, max.”

“But–” Jinu starts to protest, craning his neck to try to look back at Baby, but Abby gives his shoulders a visible and pointed squeeze.

“Look man, I’ve got him handled. I promise I won’t let him hit the bottle too hard. But for now, maybe you could. . . go get some fresh air?”

“I need to be here in case something goes wrong,” Jinu argues.

“You don’t,” Abby corrects. “Someone does, but someone doesn't have to be you. We’ll all take turns monitoring, alright?”

He pauses.

“You, me, and Romance will take turns,” he amends. Behind him, Rumi sees Baby lift a hand like he’s considering flipping Abby off, but then his expression shifts and he just waves in a gesture that seems to say fair enough.

(Mystery is still too busy hiding behind Derpy to acknowledge anything that’s happening)

Jinu frowns. Rumi decides to speak up when it looks like he’s going to keep arguing.

“Things have really started to kick off out there,” she says. “Shouldn’t we take a look around to see if this is working? And to make sure nothing’s going wrong?”

Event organization isn't her thing; there's a reason she and her girls rely so much on Bobby and it’s not just because of his sparkling personality. Jinu, though? Putting this together seemed to come naturally to him, like he’s as much in his element behind a spreadsheet as he is onstage. It’s only now, now that everything’s in motion and there's nothing left to plan, that he seems to truly be feeling the pressure. Maybe giving him something to do will help.

“ Great point, Rumi,” Abby says, and nudges Jinu in her direction. “You two go. We’ll hold down the fort.”

Rumi takes over from Abby and grabs Jinu’s hand, towing him towards the exit. She glances over at Mystery– he’s still not looking at them– and surreptitiously pulls out her mask. Jinu gives her a pathetic look before grudgingly digging out his own.

“This is bullshit,” he mutters as she pulls him through the tent’s flap, both of them slipping their disguises on. “I’m not at a nine. I’m being normal.”

Rumi wisely elects to keep her mouth shut at that.

The tent they’ve all been holing up in is technically equipment storage. It’s set up close to Gwi-Ma’s dais-turned-public-stage, tucked in the structure’s shadow, but it’s far enough away from the designated crowd space that the two of them are alone when they step outside. Rumi scans the area, then looks up at the stage. She can just make out an ursine shape from this angle, prowling around to surprising enthusiasm from the crowd.

“Huh,” Rumi says. “It looks like Bear’s pretty popular.”

A water demon in a staff shirt– Jelly, Rumi remembers his name is– starts hustling past them, peeling waterlogged pages up off a wet clipboard and examining their bleeding text. He pauses when he sees them though, perking up at their familiar masks.

“Hey boss!” he greets. “And other boss! Bosses. Acts are going smoothly! We had one fight over turn order but, uh, she broke it up.”

He nods up at the stage. Bear roars and the crowd cheers.

“Good,” Jinu says, all traces of nerves gone and voice smooth and confident again. “You’re doing great, Jelly. Keep up the good work.”

Jelly’s eyes, predictably, well with tears at that, and he clutches his clipboard to his chest and gives them a beaming smile.

“Thanks boss!” he manages to choke out. “It’s just. . . so nice to see everyone so happy. . . thank you for letting me be a part of this!”

He starts sobbing and Jinu reaches out to awkwardly pat his shoulder.

“You’re. . . welcome,” he says.

Jelly drags an already-soaked sleeve over his face, sniffles, and gives Jinu a damp salute.

“Alright, back to work!” he says. “Talk to you soon, boss! And other boss!”

He scurries off, shaking yet more tears off his clipboard before going back to paging through the act list. Rumi realizes, belatedly, that she’s smiling behind the mask.

“We probably should’ve had his copy laminated,” Jinu notes.

“We have plenty of extras printed out. It should be fine,” Rumi tells him.

They skirt the edge of the crowd and make their way towards the stalls. Rumi can’t help the way her smile widens when she sees the strings of lanterns lining the paths, the flowers beneath lit warmly by the flames. Gardener did a great job with them, and though they won’t last long down here without anyone giving them energy for now they look beautiful and healthy. She and Jinu pass a trio of young-looking demons who seem more fascinated by a cluster of bright sunflowers than anything else the festival has to offer.

“This is insane,” Rumi hears one of them hiss. “Flowers. Here!”

“I heard the guy who grew them is teaching other people how to do it,” another one chimes in.

“You’re kidding. Can. . . can all of us do this? It’s not some special talent?”

Rumi loses the thread of the conversation as she and Jinu move further down the path.

“Sounds like Gardener’s getting some more students,” Jinu observes.

“We should check in on him too. See how he’s doing,” Rumi says.

“We might have to wait in line,” Jinu says dryly.

Romance’s staff recommendations didn't need to be vetted so despite Rumi having interviewed many of the demons working the stalls tonight she’s still struck by some stand-out surprises. A demon with six arms is running a game stall, shuffling cups around at blinding speeds and challenging any passersby brave enough to face him to guess which one hides a ball. Rumi watches him beckon a kid who can’t be more than twelve to the front of the crowd he’s garnered, watches the way the kid’s jaw sets in determination as he stares down the colorful cups. When the kid makes his selection the six-armed demon makes a big show of asking if he’s sure, if he’s really sure, and as he lays on the theatrics Rumi watches him slip surreptitious fingers under the cup’s back rim.

The cup, when he lifts it, contains a ball, and the child is gifted a clearly hand-crocheted bumblebee as a prize.

“Romance really found some good ones,” Rumi says quietly, watching the kid clutch the stuffed animal to his chest and run excitedly over to an older demon who, presumably, is his guardian, at least down here.

An unsettling thought occurs to her and she frowns. She assumed the kid is one of the half-demons, but the half-demons have mostly been sequestered away and the general demon public shouldn't be used to them being around. Yet no one in the crowd seems to find a child’s presence to be unusual or notable in any way.

“Uh. . . Jinu?” she asks, leaning in close and lowering her voice. “Did Gwi-Ma ever. . ?”

She doesn't want to finish her sentence. Luckily, Jinu doesn't make her. He tilts his head, following her gaze, and makes a sound of understanding.

“Not that I know of,” he tells her, “Though let’s just say it. . . definitely wasn't for ethical reasons. I think he just finds little kids annoying.”

Rumi nods slowly. That’s a relief, sort of.

“So then, why isn't anyone more surprised to see children running around?” she asks. “Do they just assume it’s a glamor?”

And if that’s the case, why was the demon running the stall so kind to someone he doesn't think is really a kid?

Jinu gives Rumi a long look, though she can't tell what kind it is behind the mask.

“Sometimes it’s nice to pretend,” is all he says, which could be an answer to any of her questions, even the unspoken one.

Rumi bites her tongue, just hard enough to feel the shape of her teeth and the give of her muscle.

“. . .so Baby was definitely letting you take those bottles, right?” she asks. “He could've fought way harder.”

Jinu rolls with the subject change. “Sure, but I also could’ve broken the bottles. It was in his best interests not to escalate.”

“So he was goofing around,” Rumi concludes.

“He was trying to drive me insane,” Jinu counters.

“I don’t know,” Rumi says, tapping the side of her shoe against Jinu’s, “Maybe he was just trying to break the tension. How bad were you before you guys debuted?”

“Okay, you of all people do not get to criticize me for this,” Jinu says, pointing a finger in her face. “Little miss release a new single the same night our world tour ended. I almost called off my whole plan because I thought you would work yourself to death before we could kill you.”

Rumi swallows a snort. She refuses to let Jinu think he’s funny. “Mira and Zoey were so pissed at me for that. . . they called me a workaholic and said I don't know how to relax.”

“They’re right,” Jinu says without hesitation, like the traitor he is. “I mean, I know these aren't the best circumstances, but you’re tense all the time and you practically start vibrating out of your skin when there’s nothing for you to do.”

“That is not true!” Rumi protests. “I've relaxed in front of you before!”

“Passing out doesn’t count.”

Rumi huffs. She wants to fold her arms but she's used to holding Jinu’s hand in public now so they don't get separated and she doesn't want to let go. She flips her braid instead.

“Well, it’s not like you’re any better.”

“Of course I am,” Jinu says, running a hand back through his hair. “Half of how I got under your skin was how cool and unaffected I am.”

“Okay, one, you are literally the furthest thing from cool I can think of,” Rumi snaps, poking Jinu in the chest with her index finger. “And two, your whole I couldn’t care less thing is so clearly an act. I don't know how I ever fell for it!”

“Centuries of practice,” Jinu says quietly. Behind the mask, his eyes flick away. “Fake it ‘till you make it. If you act like you don't care. . . maybe eventually you’ll stop.”

. . .ah.

The fingers of Rumi’s free hand curl into her palm. She casts about for something to say. She imagines Jinu’s expression behind the mask, thinks it must be a wry, self-deprecating smile and a tightness around his eyes. She can't know for sure though. Suddenly, violently, Rumi wants to rip away their disguises, to break the physical barriers that remain between them. Jinu is opening up to her. Baring his soul. Her instinct is to return in kind no matter how disastrous the consequences.

But like Jinu showed, there are other ways to take off the masks.

“I’ve always been racing my patterns,” she admits. “The more I hated myself the faster they spread, and the faster they spread the more scared I got. I pushed up Golden because they’d reached my neck. Mira and Zoey needed a break– they deserved a break– but I released the song without even asking them first. I told myself it was for the Honmoon, that I was just trying to protect everyone, but really. . . I was just trying to protect myself.”

After a moment of silence, Jinu squeezes Rumi’s hand. She squeezes back.

“It’s never too late to change, right?” Jinu asks. “Let’s. . . have fun. Play some games. We’ve got time.”

“Yeah,” Rumi says softly, a smile touching her lips. Then, glancing over at the six-armed demon, “Maybe not this one, though.”

“Definitely not this one,” Jinu agrees, following her gaze. “I don't think either of us are cute enough for him to rig it in our favor.”

“You know you don't have to win a game for it to be fun, right?” Rumi asks.

“There’s a competitive ring toss booth over there.”

“I will destroy you.”

Jinu wins the ring toss by a narrow margin but Rumi takes first in the balloon-pop straight after. They go on like that for a while, neck-and-neck as they dart, laughing, between stalls. They start competing to see who can win the biggest, most obnoxious prize, and Rumi claims victory when she presents Jinu with a stuffed tiger half as big as she is.

“No,” Jinu argues, holding up his hands and ineffectively trying to ward Rumi off. The corners of his eyes are crinkled behind the mask. “I don't accept it! It doesn't count if I don’t accept it!”

“Accept the tiger or perish!” Rumi cries, and Jinu does the mature thing and bolts away, laughing like a maniac.

“Coward!” Rumi calls after him, grinning behind her mask as she gives chase.

Rumi moans in unabashed enjoyment as she tears off a bite of her dak-kkochi, the chicken practically melting in her mouth.

“So good,” she groans, licking the sauce from her lips.

They got the skewers from a demon Rumi is actually pretty sure she’s killed before– something about their distinctive horns struck her as familiar, but not familiar enough to have been from the audition process– and they’re sitting on top of an archway to eat, far enough up that they can take off their masks without being seen. Jinu has placed his grudgingly-acquired tiger beside him and their smaller prizes are arranged on its back, like ducklings riding their mother to safe harbor.

Rumi had been worried about the potential consequences of other half-demons ingesting food with poisonous seasonings but Jinu’s solution to the problem had been pretty elegant, not that she’s ever telling him that. Apparently food aversions are common for demons due to their stronger senses, so Jinu was able to ask the vendors to post a clearly visible list of their ingredients without raising any eyebrows. It’s a real two-Sussies-one-rhinestone situation; half-demons can eat safely, and full demons are able to make informed decisions about what they want to try.

It’s funny, how helping one group of people can help another.

“. . .you know, I thought I was enjoying mine,” Jinu says mildly, raising an eyebrow and glancing between Rumi and the skewer he’s holding, “But if that’s what enjoying something looks like, I haven’t enjoyed anything in at least fifty years.”

Rumi throws her own now-empty skewer at him and he bats it away off the edge of the arch.

“You don’t even need to eat!” she says around a mouthful of chicken, not even bothering to swallow before she starts in on her second skewer.

Jinu watches her with an odd expression on his face, and when she finishes stripping her stick clean he slowly holds out his own half-eaten dak-kkochi. Rumi swallows.

“Oh, no,” she says, “That’s yours, I can’t–”

“Just take it,” Jinu says. “I just wanted a taste.”

Rumi hesitates, but when he tips it further in her direction she snaps and accepts the skewer. It doesn’t occur to her until she’s already finished and licking the sauce off her fingers to wonder if this counts as an indirect kiss.

“We should probably head back to the tent soon,” Jinu says. He’s looking away from her, gazing out over the festival with a soft look on his face. The lights from below limn him in warmth. “We can visit Gardener first though, if you want.”

Rumi nods.

“I hope the others have had a chance to get out and enjoy this,” she says. “Well. Maybe except Mystery, he seemed pretty overwhelmed.”

“He’s just getting mentally prepared for the show,” Jinu tells her. “It’s funny– I’ve seen the guy fight ten demons three times his size without flinching, but if those same ten demons are asking for his autograph suddenly he starts getting twitchy. Then you put him onstage and he seems like the most confident man alive.”

“Masks,” Rumi says quietly, tracing her now-clean fingers over the face of her borrowed one.

“Masks,” Jinu agrees with a nod.

“We should get these back to him soon.”

“We need to get them back to him soon.”

Jinu was right to put Gardener’s lot far away from the food vendors; Rumi can smell flowers on the air long before she can see them between the other stalls. They pass a demon with claws the size of Rumi’s hand delicately holding a paintbrush and instructing a small group of students on watercolor techniques.

“You can only control so much of where the paint wants to flow,” he tells them in a voice like tectonic plates, “But that makes each piece unique. Just because a painting doesn't look the way you pictured it in your head does not make it a failure. Relax your need for control, and you will find joy in these small surprises.”

Two stalls down, a demon with flames wreathing both of her hands and so many earrings she jingles as she moves wails on an anvil with a massive hammer and occasionally holds up a blade to her onlookers for inspection. Rumi remembers her audition. Her partner sits nearby, whittling an intricate wooden figurine with a knife forged by those flaming hands.

That’s when Rumi starts to hear something familiar. Something extremely out of place. She hastens her steps, tugging Jinu along behind her until she turns a corner and finds the karaoke booth.

“What the fuck,” Rumi breathes, because there is a small crowd gathered around a water demon pouring his heart out. . . to one of Zoey’s singles, an early one she wrote before Huntrix was even formed and only released at Mira and Rumi’s encouragement.

“Well, I guess that answers that,” Jinu says. “The boys and I were wondering if anyone would touch the Huntrix stuff with a ten foot pole.”

Then, seemingly by way of explanation, “The machine came with pre-programmed songs and deleting all of yours would've been a lot of effort for no reason.”

“Whitepoint, ignition bang,” the water demon screams, slightly off-key, to mixed cheers and boos. “Kaleidoscope in my brain!”

Collidescope. Rumi remembers putting together the lyric video for the song; they’d all helped to go through Zoey’s notebooks from high school and scan the original pages, as well as some of her more thematically appropriate doodles. It had been low-budget but effective, and more importantly it had been a bonding experience for the three of them in their early days as a group.

She hums the song under her breath as they leave the stall behind for the small open space designated for Gardener. He sits, as expected, in the middle of a thick cluster of flowers and demons, voice lifted enough to carry to the edges of the group as he talks them through how to give life instead of taking it.

“This might be difficult for any of you who are used to producing flame. You’ll have to be especially careful of how you direct your energy or it will naturally flow into the channels it has carved over time and practice.”

Rumi doesn't stray any closer, content to watch for the time being, but after only a moment Jinu nudges her and gestures towards the edge of the crowd. Rumi frowns. She isn't sure what Jinu’s trying to show her.

Then one of the arkyungs at the edge of the crowd turns in just the right way and he goes from vaguely familiar to distinctive in an instant.

“Is that Baby?” she hisses. “And– wait. The one next to him. . .”

“Abby,” Jinu confirms under his breath.

Baby looks bored and disinterested, as usual, but the demon with broad shoulders and an even broader forehead that Rumi now knows is Abby in disguise is hanging on Gardener’s every word. As she watches he presses his fingers into the earth and closes his eyes, and his glamor doesn't hide the way his patterns light up in pale pinks and shimmering blues. When he draws his hands away there is a single, delicate forget-me-not blooming from the earth.

Gardener is patient. He speaks to his students in a low, reassuring voice until every one of them has successfully done something, whether that something be growing a flower or simply not starting a fire. Rumi isn't sure how long they stand there before Gardener finally calls for a break.

“You’ve all been wonderful students,” he tells the assembled demons. “Thank you for allowing me to teach you.”

The demons slowly disperse, but Abby and Baby linger where they’re seated when they see Jinu and Rumi approaching. Rumi gives them a little wave. Gardener greets her and Jinu with a tired but genuine smile.

“Hello you two,” he says. “Enjoying the festival?”

Jinu’s head tilts as he looks between Gardener and the collection of prizes Rumi is forcing him to carry.

“What gives you that idea?” he asks mildly.

“Seems like things are going well for you,” Rumi says, gesturing at the flowers filling the area from stall to stall. “You don't have to do this all night if it’s too tiring, though.”

Gardener waves a hand. “Compared to the orchard this is nothing. Besides, a lot of demons find this unbe-leaf-able if they don't see someone else do it first.”

“I knew it,” Baby pipes up, startling Rumi. “That’s you isn't it, Blight? The haircut’s new but the puns are just as shitty.”

Gardner glances over at Baby. His smile ebbs like a tide going out, and his eyes– always just a little sad around the edges– grow heavier.

“It’s Gardener now,” he says, “But yes. That used to be my name. And is that you under that glamor, Baby?”

“You two know each other?” Rumi asks, eyebrows rising behind her mask.

Baby leans back on his hands, crushing a stray dandelion. “We went on a few missions together. Blight was a fuckin’ menace before he disappeared. And now he’s. . . this zenned-out motherfucker. Did you leave your balls behind in Gwi-Ma or what?”

Gardener leans forward and puts a hand on Baby’s knee. The gesture surprises Rumi but it seems to surprise Baby even more, if the way he goes entirely rigid means anything.

“It’s good to see you doing well,” Gardener says.

Rumi thinks Baby would probably have preferred it if Gardener just stabbed him instead. He bristles, teleporting away in a rush of red smoke.

“Uh,” Abby says, scrambling to his feet, “I should go make sure he’s– yeah.”

He offers Gardener a quick but sincere bow.

“Thanks for teaching me,” he says, and teleports off after Baby.

Gardener sighs.

“I’m starting to think I’m the problem,” he says, lowering his hands to his lap.

“No, pretty sure this one’s on Baby,” Rumi tells him. Privately, she suspects Baby would hate to see any demon he used to know becoming kinder and gentler. Gardener must be his worst nightmare.

She moves to sit next to her father, careful to disturb as few flowers as possible. Jinu has to let go of her hand to keep from dropping their prizes as he joins her on the ground.

“So,” Rumi says. “You and Baby used to know each other?”

“In passing,” Gardener confirms. “Gwi-Ma sent us out together occasionally. Baby was actually fighting alongside me the first time I met your mother.”

Rumi tries to picture it and struggles. Oh, she can visualize Baby fighting just fine, but Gardener? Despite him being open about having once been a warrior, it’s hard to imagine the Gardener she knows raising a hand to anyone. Even the way he described his fights with her mother sounded more like a man reminiscing about a first dance than a demon recounting battles.

There’s another reason her mind shies away from the image, though. Miyeong wasn't the only Sunlight Sister, and imagining the three of them fighting means imagining. . .

Rumi shakes her head. She digs into the pile of prizes in Jinu’s lap and pulls out a small stuffed bat, holding it out to Gardener.

“I don’t know if Stellaluna and Bora are planning to come by,” Rumi says, “But if they do, could you give them this?”

Gardener wipes his earth-stained hands on the front of his durumagi and accepts the toy with care and reverence.

“It would be my honor,” he tells her.

“I think we could probably give Bora at least six more of these,” Jinu says, looking at the pile.

“Hey, no giving away my gifts!” Rumi scolds him.

“Oh, but you can give mine away?”

“Like you weren't thinking of Bora when you picked that one out.” Rumi folds her arms with an exaggerated huff. “You act all stuck-up but you’re a pushover for kids. Admit it.”

Gardener chuckles and Rumi abruptly remembers herself.

“I feel like I’m intruding,” he says, sounding too amused to mean it. “Would you two like me to leave?”

“No,” Rumi blurts.

“We’re fine,” Jinu agrees.

Gardener tucks the little bat inside his durumagi, golden eyes still sweeping between Jinu and Rumi. Rumi knows, logically, that with the mask on there’s no way for Gardener to see she’s blushing. Somehow she feels like he does anyway.

“The energy of youth,” Gardener says wistfully, half under his breath, and Rumi feels her ears burn.

“Right!” she yelps, standing abruptly, “We just came by to check in on you, and we've checked now, so– you should enjoy the rest of your break!”

Jinu starts trying to wrangle their prizes again so he can stand. Gardener, for his part, gives Rumi a painfully fond smile that sticks somewhere under her ribs.

“If Baby asks,” he says, “Not that I think he will, but if he does. . . tell him he’s free to visit me at any time. I may have left my balls behind, but I’m still capable of sparring if he wants someone who can keep up with him.”

Rumi nods.

“One last thing,” Gardener says, and reaches into his durumagi. He takes Rumi’s hand and presses something small and hard into her palm, folding her fingers around it.

“I found these when I was looking through my supplies for tonight. I don’t recommend trying it anytime soon, but. . . something to work towards.”

Curiously, Rumi peers down at Gardener’s gift. It takes her a moment to identify it, but once she does it’s unmistakable. She remembers her time in the hunters’ graveyard, remembers careful hands plaiting back her hair and seed pods on the ground, the way they crunched and popped between her curious fingers. She remembers these small, dark seeds, their smoothness against her skin.

A Black Locust tree. That’s what this seed will grow into. The same as the guardian tree that watches over her mother’s grave, and all their fallen hunter sisters.

Rumi closes her fingers tight around the seed again, afraid to drop it. She swallows.

“So you know. . .” she starts. Trails off. Gardener nods.

“I hope I can visit her again, someday,” he says softly. “I never did get to say goodbye.”

Rumi takes the offering for what it is. Jinu’s managed to get their prizes into a manageable state again and the two of them head back towards the tent that, theoretically, should contain the other Saja Boys.

“Really hope Baby isn't off moping somewhere,” Jinu mutters.

“I’m sure Abby’s got him,” Rumi says, and she means it.

The Saja Boys are, in fact, all present and accounted for when they get back. Jinu launches back into manager mode as soon as he’s put his and Rumi’s prizes down– conspicuously placing the giant tiger next to Derpy, Rumi notices, who immediately starts trying to groom the thing. This disturbs Mystery, who'd been curled up into Derpy’s side, and as he grudgingly sits up Rumi notices him clutching a familiar piece of fabric.

“Is that one of Zoey’s shirts?” she asks, though she's not sure why she bothers. The odds of Mystery owning a bright yellow crop top with Nyan Cat on the front seem slim.

Mystery’s grip on the shirt tightens.

“Two of my masks are missing,” he says in a low voice.

. . .ah.

“As long as Zoey’s okay with it,” Rumi says, holding up her hands in surrender. Mystery just looks at her for a moment– at least, she thinks he does– before burying his face in the shirt again and taking a deep breath. Rumi tries really, really hard not to judge.

“Mystery!” Jinu calls, and Mystery groans in frustration. “Warmups!”

As Mystery grudgingly joins the group, Rumi takes a seat beside Derpy, who is still enthusiastically grooming the stuffed tiger. She reaches out and places a hand on Derpy’s head. Part of her wishes Sussy were here, for whatever luck the spirit can give them, but it’s actually a good thing that she isn't. Jinu put her in charge of keeping an eye on the festival from above, watching for any signs of trouble, so her being here would mean something's gone wrong.

Still.

“We’ve got this,” Rumi tells Derpy as the tent starts to fill with the sound of the boys warming up. “Performers don't need luck, anyway.”

Time passes. The boys finish warming up and start running lyrics and choreo, offering each other feedback and making tiny adjustments. The longer they practice the more relaxed they all seem, more like the Saja Boys that Rumi once thought she knew– one unit, one force, so in sync it’s like they can read each others’ minds. Only now Rumi actually does know them, understands the parts that make up the whole, and she sees all the little details she hadn't before. The way Jinu directs the group with full confidence his friends will follow, how even Mystery lets Romance fuss over his hair and makeup with only minimal growling, the way Abby rests a supportive hand on any shoulder that stops moving long enough. Before, Rumi hadn’t known just how remarkable Baby’s easy cooperation was, but now that she’s seen how stubborn and bitchy he really is watching him fall into line seems like a miracle. The Saja Boys are not one, they are a whole. Rumi understands the difference now.

“Break a leg up there,” she says when the time comes for the boys to queue up and for her to join the crowd.

“I plan to,” Baby tells her as he brushes past.

Abby high-fives her on the way by.

“We’re gonna kill that stage!” he cheers.

Romance blows her a kiss, and Rumi rolls her eyes. Mystery just gives her a nod. Jinu, for his part, hesitates on the tent’s threshold.

“See you after the show?” he offers.

Rumi wraps a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him down into a kiss. It’s a quick one, but Jinu still looks dazed when she cuts him loose.

“After the show,” Rumi promises.

The crowd has swelled twice as large as before, maybe even larger, and Rumi’s already let herself be swallowed by it before she realizes that this is her first time alone in a crowd of demons like this. She has no sword, no backup, and somehow. . . she is unafraid. The twisted demonic features that used to fill her with hatred are familiar now. The yellow eyes of water demons seem expressive instead of bulging and grotesque. Rumi hears demons laughing and her first instinct is not to defend herself, but to feel joy in turn.

A demon bumps into her and Rumi stumbles, only for another to catch her by the arm and steady her on her feet.

“Sorry!” the first apologizes, single eye wide. “Are you okay?”

Rumi laughs.

“I’m great,” she says, and means it.

A hush falls over the crowd when a figure teleports to the center of the stage. Jinu raises his head, golden eyes sweeping over the crowd, and though Rumi knows there’s no way he can see her from here she could still swear they pause on her for just a moment before moving on.

“I’d like to thank you all for coming out tonight,” Jinu says, voice carrying over the silent crowd. The demons seem spellbound by his voice. Rumi feels halfway there herself. “I know there have been a lot of big changes lately. Some of you have bodies for the first time in hundreds of years. Some of you are seeing friends you thought you’d lost forever. And all of us have clear heads and no more shackles on our souls.”

A murmur goes through the crowd. Jinu waits it out easily, expression betraying no impatience.

“Tonight was the demon realm’s first festival. Tonight, flowers bloomed here. Tonight, I am telling you– all of you– that we do not have to go back to the way things were. No matter what happens. From now on, you choose who you are and what you want. No one else.”

He pauses, letting his words settle. Then he relaxes his posture, just slightly, and lifts a hand.

“The boys and I put a little something together for the occasion. We hope it resonates with you. Whoever you are, whatever your story, join us in crashing out!”

The stage fills with smoke. Despite having seen the rehearsals already, despite knowing the lyrics and the choreography, Rumi still finds herself holding her breath. Is this how Bobby feels, watching her and the girls perform? She feels elated and nauseous at the same time. If anyone boos, she is going to punch them.

Jinu’s voice comes from within the smoke, loud and sharp.

“One two three four!”

As the first notes of Crashout start to play, the smoke clears. Cheers ring through the crowd as the Saja Boys are revealed, and Rumi is grinning like an idiot behind her mask. The boys have discarded their roles for this performance, leaning into the honesty of Crashout’s lyrics, and their final outfits are a beautiful and chaotic mess onstage. Abby is entirely shirtless, Baby’s all leather and spikes, Romance looks like he stepped straight out of the seventies and Mystery. . . well, turns out the vest and arm-warmers thing was an active choice on his part. Who knew?

Jinu hasn't made any drastic changes to his style, though he’s in darker colors than usual to flatter his marks. The only piece that doesn't match is the bracelet around his wrist.

Crashout is a harder sound than Soda Pop, but less menacing than Your Idol. Parts are sweet, parts are rough and raw, and when Baby takes center stage for his solo Rumi feels it like a bassline in her chest.

“Welcome to rock bottom! Population: just the worst! They say there's nowhere to go but up from here, but I'm trying this jackhammer first. Got no grand delusions of betterment, this is where I’m meant to be. But I’m fucked up on my own terms now, there ain't no strings on me!“

“Fuck yeah!” someone shouts from somewhere behind Rumi.

She can feel the crowd’s energy building and it almost feels like the touch of the Honmoon; a sensation so painfully close to familiar that she feels tears building in her eyes. She laughs, chokes on it, cheers as Romance nails a piece of choreo that he’d struggled with in practice until Abby took him by the hands and guided him through it. She mouths the lyrics, then thinks fuck it and just sings along because the crowd is so loud that no one will hear her anyway. It is glorious noise. It is every emotion at once. It is the parts and it is the whole.

And then it’s over.

The final chord rings out. The Saja Boys hit their final pose. The crowd erupts into cheers and screams, applause and tears.

“I mean,” a demon in front of her says to their friend, shouting to be heard, “It’s no turning into a bear, but I guess they’re alright.”

“Goodnight everyone!” Jinu calls.

“See you fuckers at the after-party!” Baby yells.

And the Saja Boys teleport away in a cloud of smoke.

Rumi starts to weave her way through the crowd, heading towards the storage tent they’ve been using. Her cheeks hurt from smiling, but she can't stop. Maybe this was stupid. Maybe this whole thing was a waste of time and resources, and it’ll be no protection to any of these demons when Gwi-Ma comes back. But even if that does turn out to be the case, Rumi can’t bring herself to regret it. She saw kindness tonight. Openness. Joy, the joys of creation and community and of just being able to yell fuck at the top of your lungs and have everyone around you understand. For tonight, at least, the underworld is a better place.

“Rumi!” someone shouts, and Rumi comes to a stop, looking around for the source of the voice. She finds him when he calls her name again; a figure in black robes with the brim of his hat tipped down over his eyes.

Jinu.

“Hey!” she calls. “You were great up there!”

“I know,” Jinu says. He closes the last yard between them and grabs her wrist, pulling her away from the tent and towards the edge of the crowd.

“Come on,” he says, “Before someone recognizes me.”

Rumi laughs but lets him pull her along.

“What, afraid of getting mobbed by your adoring fans?” she asks.

“No. We just have something we need to discuss privately.”

Rumi blinks. Swallows.

Privately?

She and Jinu haven’t really. . . defined things yet. Which is fine! They both decided to wait until things settle down a bit to actually choose labels for whatever this is, and things haven’t settled down so that can’t be what this discussion is.

Right?

Jinu pulls her out of the crowd and through the stalls, out into the city proper. The city’s quiet tonight, almost everyone congregated in what was once Gwi-Ma’s temple, and after the roar of the crowd the silence is an almost tangible thing. Rumi takes a deep breath, starting to slow her steps, but Jinu doesn’t stop.

“Just a little further,” he says.

Rumi frowns, stumbling slightly as he tugs her forward.

“Jinu–” she starts, but is interrupted by the raspy cry of a bird.

Sussy.

Rumi doesn't think. She acts on instinct, twisting her wrist to break Jinu’s grip and scrambling to put distance between them. Jinu stops dead in the middle of the road, still facing away from her, and Sussy swoops down to land on the cobblestones in front of Rumi. She caws at Jinu, over and over, feathers fluffed up in agitation and eyes narrowed.

“Jinu,” Rumi says slowly, “Where did I get my shoes?”

Jinu doesn’t move.

When he sighs, it isn’t Jinu’s voice.

“I’ve always hated that stupid bird,” Gwi-Ma says.

Chapter Text

Rumi's first instinct is to draw her sword, which is how she knows she needs to run. She has no sword, no Honmoon at her fingertips, no bandmates backing her up. All that stands between her and Gwi-Ma is Sussy and, though Rumi means no disrespect to the guardian spirit, Sussy is an eight-ounce bird. Rumi isn’t loving their chances here.

But if they can escape. . .

Gwi-Ma lured Rumi away from the festival for a reason. If he’d started a fight in the crowd, if he’d revealed his true identity, every demon in sight would have turned on him. All Rumi has to do to gain the upper hand is make it back to the party. Easy.

In theory.

Rumi shifts her weight slightly, preparing to run, and Gwi-Ma tilts his head. A moment later the street around her explodes with heat and light, fire leaping up on all sides to pen her in with the demon king. Rumi squints, the sudden brightness too much after spending so long in the twilight of the underworld, and keeps her eyes on Gwi-Ma despite how he’s become a blown-out smudge of black against a wall of searing light.

“Oh no,” Gwi-Ma says, “You aren't leaving just yet. We have too much to discuss.”

Rumi blinks the spots from her eyes.

Why isn’t he attacking?

He could’ve lit her on fire if he wanted to, could’ve cocooned her in flames and watched her burn. The fact that he didn't means he wants something from her, something she can only give him if she’s still alive. She needs to stall, at least until she can center herself enough to teleport out of here. Rumi swallows hard.

“Stop wearing Jinu’s face,” she snaps.

Gwi-Ma smiles. It isn’t the way Jinu smiles, doesn’t look right on his lips, and his eyes are flat and cold like a dead thing. It makes Rumi’s skin crawl.

“I’m sorry,” he purrs, “Would you prefer this one?”

He takes off Jinu’s hat, letting it dissolve between his fingers, and smoke blurs the edges of his form before Gardener emerges from the cloud. Rumi grits her teeth. Her father’s expressions have never been anything but warm and gentle, nothing like this predatory sneer.

“I guess not,” Gwi-Ma says, smug smile unfaltering.

“What do you want?” Rumi asks. Her fingers flex; she knows without looking that her nails have turned to claws. I am not my body, this is not an anchor, let the air in my lungs dissolve me from the inside out. . .

The air in her lungs is dry and acrid, crackling like the flames around her.

“What do I want?” Gwi-Ma echoes. “I want what I’ve always wanted. Freedom. And you, little hunter, are going to give it to me.”

Rumi bursts out a hysterical laugh.

“Uh, no,” she says. “No I’m not.”

Come on, come on. . . just teleport out of the circle. Just a dozen yards, that’s all! It should be easy!

But it isn't.

It’s the flames, Rumi realizes. Despite her knowing logically that she can pass through them without harm, her instincts still see the fire as something dangerous. Maybe that would be less of a problem if she hadn’t been burying her demon side her whole life, but as things stand she’s only barely begun to practice using her powers. Instincts are all she has here.

But maybe. . .

“Denial,” Gwi-Ma says. “As expected. You’ve spent your whole life denying what you are, what you want. Has it ever helped? Has denying the truth ever–”

Rumi turns and hurls herself into the wall of fire.

The heat is all-encompassing. The pain is unbearable. And as every part of Rumi instinctively flinches away from that pain, she feels her body finally break apart and lurch through space. There’s a dizzying moment of relief, a slip of the rope. Then Rumi tumbles to the cold cobblestones, her skin razor-raw, her breaths scouring her lungs.

But she’s through the fire.

She gives herself no time to recover, just rolls to her feet and starts running. Her eyes are full of tears and the world is blurry around her, but a familiar raspy cry draws her attention to a small dark shape leading her through the streets. Sussy. Rumi stumbles after the bird, breathing half-formed thank-yous that even she can't make out over the roaring in her ears.

And then she skids to a stop because there’s a figure in the street in front of her. Rumi wipes the tears from her stinging eyes– Jinu. It’s Jinu.

Or not Jinu.

“Rumi!” Jinu exclaims. Rumi takes a step back. Jinu’s eyebrows draw together. “Rumi? What happened?”

Sussy lands on Jinu’s shoulder. Rumi’s breath comes out of her in a rush.

“No time to explain,” she says, forcing herself forward. She presses a hand to Jinu’s shoulder and pushes him back. “We need to run.”

Jinu’s eyes widen, locked on something behind Rumi.

“You aren't going to leave me again,” says a little girl’s voice, “Are you?”

Rumi snarls, whirling around. Gwi-Ma’s taken the form of a child, a child who– judging by Jinu’s reaction– is Jinu’s sister.

“How dare you,” Rumi growls. That innocent little face splits in a smirk.

“How could I not, when he makes it so easy?” Gwi-Ma asks, still using the child’s voice. “He knows this can't be real, but that doesn’t matter. Seeing this face still makes him ashamed.”

Jinu cries out. Rumi watches, horrified, as his patterns light up with the same hue as Gwi-Ma’s flames. He falls to his knees, claws digging bloody furrows into his own arms, breath shuddering in his chest. Sussy squawks in alarm.

“Pathetic,” Gwi-Ma says.

Rumi lunges, claws extended, aiming for Gwi-Ma’s eyes. She feels herself make contact, feels something pop and blood run slick and hot between her fingers, but then Gwi-Ma’s body turns to smoke as he escapes her attack. He reappears a few yards away, back in Jinu’s form, one hand pressed to his eye and blood oozing down his face.

“You were surprisingly eager to attack a child,” he grits out.

The air smells like smoke and blood. Like every fight Rumi’s ever had.

“It wasn’t your fault, Jinu,” Rumi says.

“You should’ve known better,” Gwi-Ma counters.

“They still loved you,” Rumi insists.

“And how did you repay that?”

“He’s an evil asshole and you shouldn't listen to him!” Rumi shouts.

Gwi-Ma laughs.

“Do you know how many lives you’ve taken, Jinu? I do. And I know how much you enjoyed it. Four hundred years of selfishness, of cruelty. It’s who you are. You’ll never be anything else.”

“You are to me,” Rumi whispers.

Sussy worries at the shell of Jinu's ear with her beak. Jinu’s patterns are still burning bright, his body still shuddering. His head is hanging, hair obscuring his face.

“I am so,” he rasps, voice barely audible, “So sick of your fucking voice.”

His claws dig harder into his arms. His patterns start to shift, burning violet at his fingertips like they did when Gardener taught him how to grow flowers. The color spreads, traveling up through his marks, flushing out the pink of Gwi-Ma’s fire until not a trace remains. Jinu’s head snaps up. His eyes are bright. His fangs are bared.

He rushes Gwi-Ma.

Jinu is fast. Rumi knows this, she has firsthand experience after all, but in their fights Jinu had mostly ducked and dodged and only occasionally taken a swipe at her. Now he is a whirlwind of claws and teeth, each strike drawing blood, each blow sending Gwi-Ma stumbling back a step. When Gwi-Ma tries to teleport away Jinu stays right on top of him, rhythm barely interrupted, fury unabated. It is vicious, and it is beautiful.

And then it stops.

Gwi-Ma is on his back on the ground. Jinu is crouched over him, hand raised, claws poised to strike. His arm trembles. His eyes are wide.

Gwi-Ma’s hand is lodged in his chest.

“No,” Rumi gasps. Sussy, flying overhead, gives a cry of alarm. Gwi-Ma smirks with Jinu’s lips and twists his arm, and Jinu’s body explodes into smoke.

“You’re terrible at playing the hero,” Gwi-Ma says, “But if you’re so determined to save someone, you can save me from my hunger.”

He opens his mouth, leaning into the dispersing cloud of smoke, and Rumi–

Rumi doesn't think. She just acts.

She doesn't have the words for what she does next. It isn't reaching out. Rumi’s hands don’t move. Still, she feels like she’s grasped something, something somewhere between the threads of the Honmoon and Jinu’s hand in hers. She pulls, or maybe inhales, and there’s resistance but it snaps easily under the pull of her gravity. Something hits her in the chest, or maybe the head, or maybe nowhere at all, and Rumi takes the blow-that-isn’t-a-blow with a swallow-that-isn’t-a-swallow and then–

Bliss.

Rumi stumbles, reeling. She feels made anew. Aches she didn't know she had are gone, her burns are healed, her body feels warm and light. She feels like she could fly again, like the touch of the Honmoon but effortless and a hundred times more. She feels giddy and half-drunk. She feels like the strongest person in the world.

Gwi-Ma is sitting up slowly, still wearing Jinu’s face. It’s set in a scowl. Rumi doesn't like looking at it.

“Look at you,” Gwi-Ma says lowly. “How far you've fallen.”

Rumi doesn’t feel like she's fallen. She feels like she’s on top of the world.

She feels like she knows how to defeat Gwi-Ma for good.

“You’re just like any other demon,” Gwi-Ma says as Rumi fishes through her pocket. “Just like me. That craving for souls, for power, is a part of you that you can’t deny. You want more. You always will. But to get it, you need me. ”

“I really, really don’t,” Rumi says, and pulls the seed Gardener gave her from her pocket. Her chest is light. Her fingertips are humming with energy.

She slams her fist into Gwi-Ma’s chest and pushes.

Light blooms from her hand, so intense that Rumi has to squeeze her eyes shut. The glow still shines orange-bright through her eyelids. She hears a cry, then the cracking and creaking of bark splitting and swelling. She feels the cobblestones beneath her feet buckle and warp. She stumbles, her hand braced against the bark the only thing keeping her upright, and still she continues to push. She doesn't stop until her chest aches, until the power has gone from a torrent to a drip, until her legs give out beneath her and she falls to the ground.

When Rumi opens her eyes, Gwi-Ma is gone, and the branches of a Black Locust tree hang high above her. It’s an oddly familiar sight, even like this.

Sussy swoops down, landing on Rumi’s forehead.

“Hey,” Rumi whispers. “I’m okay. Everything’s. . . okay.”

She hears the sound of footsteps approaching but she’s too tired to move.

“What the entire fuck,” Romance says.

“I told you we should’ve hurried!” Abby tells someone.

Rumi sees Derpy approach out of the corner of her eye, laying down beside her and putting a huge paw on her chest. Rumi can barely feel it, which is. . . probably fine.

Baby’s face swims into focus as he leans over Rumi, scowling down at her and snapping his fingers.

“Hey,” he says, “No passing out yet. What the fuck happened and where the fuck is Jinu?”

“Baby, heeey,” Rumi says. “Quick question. How do you. . . get a soul. . . back out?”

And then the darkness claims her.

Chapter Text

Rumi awakes on a hard surface and opens her eyes to see four faces peering down at her.

“Finally,” Baby says, “Tell us what happened. Now.”

“Are you feeling okay?” Romance asks.

Abby holds up a brightly-colored plastic bottle. Rumi recognizes the brand.

“Here,” he says, “I asked Mira for this. It’s got electrolytes.”

Rumi blinks. Blinks again. She recognizes her surroundings as the common room of the Saja Boys’ base, but. . .

“Am I. . . on the table?” she asks.

“We tried putting you in Jinu’s room but Derpy kept trying to climb in after you and there is not enough room for him in there. We had to compromise,” Romance says, gesturing downwards.

Rumi sits up slowly and peers over the edges of the table– sure enough, Derpy’s situated beneath it, tail flicking back and forth on one side and head poking out on the other. Sussy’s sitting on top of him, preening her feathers with a single-minded intensity.

Abby takes Rumi’s hand and presses the drink into it. Rumi looks down at it for a long moment, then starts unscrewing the top.

“I’m going to kill all of you,” Baby snarls.

Abby slings an arm around Baby’s shoulders and pulls him in close. Baby squirms, face twisting in a scowl, but Abby just pats him on the back and makes a shushing sound.

“Relax, babycakes,” he says. “She’ll tell us in a second. Let her breathe.”

Rumi takes a sip of the drink. It tastes like strawberries; Mira’s least favorite flavor in the mixed pack she gets. Rumi likes it just fine, so she usually winds up drinking them so Mira doesn't have to.

Fuck, she misses her girls.

Mystery, who’s just been standing silently at Rumi’s shoulder, silently holds out a yellow bundle of fabric. Rumi hesitates, but after a moment she accepts the shirt, tentatively lifting it close to her face. It smells like Zoey.

It smells like home.

“Okay,” Rumi says, letting out a breath and lowering the shirt to her lap. “Okay, uh. . . how much do you guys know?”

“Fucking nothing,” Baby snaps.

Romance takes a seat in one of the chairs, bracing his elbows against the table and resting his chin in his hand.

“We went back to the tent after the performance,” he tells Rumi. “Jinu was waiting for you to show but you never did, and then Derpy started freaking out and trying to drag us all somewhere. Jinu ran off ahead, the rest of us figured it was just Derpy being Derpy–”

“I didn’t,” Abby corrects. Romance rolls his eyes.

“The rest of us, minus Abby, figured it was just Derpy being Derpy. By the time we showed up you’d taken up spontaneous botany and the whole alley smelled like blood.”

“And Gwi-Ma,” Baby growls.

“It just smelled like fire to me, man,” Abby says.

“I’m telling you it was him. Mystery agrees with me!”

“Mystery could’ve been growling for any reason.”

Rumi clears her throat and all eyes in the room snap back to her. She swallows. Tightens her grip on Zoey’s shirt.

“You're right,” she tells Baby. “Gwi-Ma was there. He pretended to be Jinu to lure me away from the festival and I. . . I didn't realize in time. I let my guard down.”

Baby throws up his hands.

“I fucking told you!” he says.

Frowning, Abby releases Baby from his hold.

“Did he. . . take Jinu?” he asks.

Rumi hesitates. Abby’s face is nothing but open concern, Romance is watching her with careful eyes, and Baby is scowling at the floor in a way that can’t quite hide the furrow between his eyebrows. Mystery, for his part, looks fairly blank, but Rumi can see him flexing his fingers against his leg like a cat kneading its claws.

“No,” Rumi says, “Jinu is– uh. I think he’s. . .”

She swallows. Her next words come out about an octave higher than normal.

“He might be. . . inside of me?”

The room is silent for a long moment.

“Biting my tongue so hard right now,” Romance says. Abby shoots him a look.

“Low-hanging fruit, man.”

“You ate Jinu?” Baby asks, staring at Rumi like he’s not sure who she is anymore.

“I didn’t mean to!” Rumi protests immediately. “I don't even know how I did it, I just– Gwi-Ma killed him and he was going to eat Jinu’s soul and I panicked. All I could think about was how I couldn't let him take Jinu, and. . .”

“And you ate him,” Baby finishes.

Rumi swallows. She looks down at her hands, one holding the drink and one holding Zoey’s shirt.

“Yeah,” she says, voice small. “I did.”

She wants to feel sick to her stomach. She wants to feel as bad physically as she does emotionally. She ate Jinu’s soul, and what’s worse, she enjoyed it. She enjoyed it so much. In the middle of a whirlwind of panic and pain, swallowing Jinu’s soul brought her peace. It brought her joy. Even now, now that the high’s worn off, her body feels stronger. Lighter. She feels good.

She wishes with all her heart that she didn't.

Rumi should be hurting right now. She wants to hurt. She deserves it. She shouldn’t be sitting here feeling so good when Jinu–

And she knows now. She knows what it feels like to take someone’s soul. She can never go back and unknow it. How can she ever face her girls again? How can she look them in the eyes and say she’s not a monster, that she’s still the same Rumi they’ve always known? She’s not. She never will be again.

And, oh fuck, Celine–

“Thank goodness,” Abby sighs. Rumi blinks. Looks up. None of the faces around her seem angry; even Baby just looks frustrated instead of the blinding rage Rumi deserves.

“I wanna be mad at you so bad,” Baby groans, “But better you than Gwi-Ma.”

“What happened with him?” Romance asks. “Did he run off, or–”

“Sorry,” Rumi blurts, interrupting, “You did hear me, right? That I ate Jinu?”

The boys exchange looks.

“Yeah, we heard you,” Abby says gently. “It’s all good.”

“He’ll be fine once you let him back out,” Romance says. “No harm done.”

Rumi turns desperately to Baby. Surely he can be counted on to yell at her.

Baby just raises an eyebrow. “Oh for fuck’s sake, are you really expecting a bunch of demons to lecture you about eating souls?”

Mystery pats Rumi on the head. Twice. Rumi splutters.

“I– I don’t– I hurt Jinu!”

“So’s everyone else at this table, sweetheart,” Romance says. “The rest of us have killed him before. Step up your game.”

“It was one time and it was an accident,” Abby says.

“But– but what if I do it again?” Rumi hisses.

“You won’t,” Abby says reassuringly.

“Not unless he asks real nicely,” Romance says, and Abby smacks the back of his head.

“Rumi,” Abby says, “Not only was it an accident, but if you hadn’t done it, he’d be stuck in Gwi-Ma right now. This was the best outcome.”

“Speaking of,” Baby drawls, “Gwi-Ma. What happened?”

When Rumi hesitates another moment, Baby rolls his eyes and bangs a hand against the table.

“We don’t have time to massage your wounded ego here, hunter. Tell us. Now.”

“Baby,” Abby scolds, but Rumi swallows and nods. Right. Mission first. Feelings later.

“I, uh,” she starts, “I had kind of a crazy idea? I don't know if it actually worked or not, but. . . I wasn't really thinking straight so I just decided to try it. Demon souls re-form their bodies after a while, so killing Gwi-Ma wasn’t an option. I guess I thought that maybe if the soul was, uh, stuck in something else. . . something that was using the energy that would be going towards making a body. . .”

“Did you turn Gwi-Ma into a fucking tree?” Baby asks.

“Maybe?” Rumi says.

Baby drags a hand over his eyes.

“How the fuck. . . how do we even check that?” he asks. “Just knock on the trunk and ask if Gwi-Ma’s home?”

“The tree would normally die down here without energy, so. . . I guess we just wait and see?” Abby proposes. “If he is stuck in there he’ll keep feeding it.”

“How did you even survive long enough to try something that insane?” Baby asks. “Gwi-Ma should’ve flame-broiled your ass ten seconds in, but it looks like your clothes are the only thing that caught any heat.”

“He wanted me alive,” Rumi says quietly. “He kept trying to explain what he wanted but I, uh. Wasn't really listening? I’m pretty sure he was going to try to use me to break the Honmoon. It’s weird, though– he used fire to trap me at first, but after I escaped he just. . . stopped.”

“Actually, that kinda makes sense,” Romance says. “You weren't that far from the festival when we found you. If he’d started throwing fire around, people would've noticed.”

“Take his chances in hand-to-hand with you and Jinu or face every demon he’s ever screwed over,” Abby muses. “Yeah, I know which pick I’d make.”

Mystery touches Romance’s shoulder, then nods towards the door. Romance blinks, then his eyes widen slightly.

“Oh,” he says, then, “Good point. Someone should go guard the tree. Make sure no one fucks with it.”

“Not it,” Baby says.

“I’ll do it,” Abby volunteers. “Mys, you in?”

Mystery nods. Abby leans forward, clapping Rumi on the shoulder.

“You did good,” he says. “And good luck getting Jinu out.”

Rumi frowns, pressing a queasy hand to her chest. She doesn't know if she’s imagining the feeling of something warm fluttering inside her rib cage. She hopes she is.

She hopes Jinu is alright.