pieces in a whole

In a small room designed with sweet dreams and sleeping girlfriends in mind, the sight was startling, and Rumi disliked it immensely.

At first she liked it. Pulled out of sleep slowly and groggily, her eyes fluttered open and she thought, Whoa. Aquariums are beautiful. But then a beat passed, and Rumi shifted under her blankets, and it occurred to her slowly and terribly that she was not in an aquarium. She was in bed, with her sleeping girlfriends, in a room that was supposed to be dark and was decidedly not.

From her right, Zoey shifted against Rumi’s arm and made a small, unhappy noise, burying her face unintentionally into the source of the glow—Rumi’s arm.

Rumi’s arm and the rest of her body.

Okay. That’s not good. Why the hell was she glowing? It was—she stole a glance at the clock—four in the morning and her patterns were radiating a color she had never once in her life seen before. Should she panic? She hadn’t had a nightmare, and a bad sort of glow was a violent pink color, yet her current glow was actually a pretty nice color, all blue and gold like an ocean flecked by sunlight. Pretty, sure, but it was bright, and at four in the morning? At four in the morning a bright light beaming through the room was always bad.

Maybe she should panic.

Mira groaned, and Rumi froze, her eyes darting quickly to the left side of the bed where she rested. She took in Mira’s scrunching features, bathed in golden blue, and swallowed roughly. Please don’t wake up.

She held her breath. Slowly, Mira’s face relaxed, and with a sigh she softened against Rumi’s side again. With an exhale, Rumi turned her attention back to the light-streaked ceiling.

When she’d sang the lyrics “gonna be gonna be glowing,” she’d meant it metaphorically, not… whatever this was.

Alright. Just breathe. That’s what had worked to calm her down enough to dull her patterns before, right? Breathing.

As quietly and still as she could, Rumi closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. She exhaled softly; inhaled; exhaled; inhaled. It worked to make her sleepy, and after a long, long lull of time, she exhaled once more and opened her eyes again to find it hadn’t worked to do much of anything else.

If anything, the glow had gotten worse.

“What the—?” she breathed, but snapped her mouth shut when Zoey groaned again, unlatching from Rumi’s side. Heart thrumming once more, breathing exercises all for naught, Rumi stiffened and braced herself for the inevitable annoyance.

It didn’t come. Instead, Zoey rolled onto her side and sunk into the bed, sighing softly and relaxing back into sleep.

Slowly, the heartbeat in Rumi’s ears stuttered into silence.

Great. Your glowing scared off Zoey. Frantically, right side feeling colder by the second, Rumi racked her mind for ideas. If breathing didn’t work—because of course it didn’t work, why would calming down work if you were already calm, genius?—then she needed another strategy. What was making her glow in the first place? What emotion was she feeling? Right now, other than panic, she felt…cozy. A little longing, because she wanted Zoey back, but she had Mira’s long legs entangled with her own and a very comfy blanket on top of her. So then what? The glow had gotten worse when she’d relaxed a bit. Content? Was it content-ness? Was she feeling…too content? That was possible. She didn’t typically feel this sense of serenity and belonging. It was a new, unique feeling, being wrapped in the quiet presences of her girls at night, one she was still getting used to.

That had to be it. She was too relaxed—too happy—and she needed to stress herself out so the patterns would go back to their normal state.

Does that mean my patterns’ normal state is anxious? she wondered.

It means your normal state is anxious. Now shut up and think about something terrible, she hissed back at herself.

Right. Okay. She pressed her lips together and thought hard. What’s stressing me out lately? Oh! Tomorrow she had a meeting with Celine about—ah, scratch that, actually. Bobby had insisted he attend that alone, and Rumi didn’t have to go anymore. Well, that was fine. She had more to stress out about. Like…their comeback! …Except that wasn’t for another two months. Alright, fine. How about interviews? You have none. Hiatus. The fans? Surprisingly well-behaved after a month of no content. Her patterns? Well, aside from the glowing, for once there was no problem with them. That just left room for worrying about—worrying about…about—

Her mind sputtered and clanked and fell silent. Empty. A terrible realization dawned on her.

Do I have nothing to be stressed about?

“Rumi,” Mira mumbled. “Why do you look like you’re about to shit the bed?”

Rumi’s eyes snapped open and every muscle in her body locked.

A bit louder, sounding a bit more concerned, Mira said, “…Are you about to shit the bed?”

“No!” Rumi yelped, definitely a bit louder than necessary when Zoey muttered and squirmed again. Lowering her voice, face red, she hissed at the ceiling, “No, Mira. Ew.”

The bed creaked as Mira shrugged. “Happens to the best of us.”

The sentence hit her about ten seconds after it was uttered. The humiliation was punted out of her, and in its place came bafflement, and, turning her head to look at Mira, she found herself face to face with the beautifully illuminated woman in question.

“I’m sorry?” Rumi said.

Mira’s face softened. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you implying you—?”

“What’s wrong with you?”

Rumi opened her mouth. Closed it. In the midst of acting like a startled fish in a softly glowing aquarium, remembered her current dilemma and flushed red.

“You know what the problem is,” she hissed.

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“Fine. Tell me anyway.”

Rumi fixed her eyes firmly on the ceiling, scowl tight enough for her head to hurt. Despite her indignation, she couldn’t force anything but a mutter past her clenched teeth. “I’m glowing.”

“I can see that.”

“Exactly.”

Mira touched Rumi’s arm, fingers cold, and trailed them along her patterns. “What does blue mean?”

“I don’t know,” Rumi admitted quietly, relaxing against her touch. “Maybe…happy.”

Mira paused to caress a thicker pattern, and the room glowed a little brighter. Rumi’s face burned hotter, although from what she was suddenly finding it hard to figure out.

“Why is it bad that you’re happy?”

“It’s not. I just—it’s bad that I’m glowing. It woke you up.”

Mira laughed quietly. “Your huffing and puffing woke me up. Not the glowing.”

“My—what?”

Zoey groaned and the bed dipped. “Girls?” she slurred.

“Hi, Zo,” Mira said, as Rumi finally gave up her pride and smushed her heating face into the mattress. “How are you liking the new ambiance?”

“Pretty,” Zoey yawned, “but loud. Why’s she huffing and puffing? It woke me up.”

Mira’s cackle cut off when Rumi’s fist made contact with her shoulder. “Ow!”

“Rumi,” Zoey mumbled, dropping her chin onto Rumi’s side to peer over her at Mira. “Don’t punch Mira. It’s like a brick hitting a newborn giraffe.”

It was Rumi’s turn to laugh, then—but the sound cut off sharply as her patterns brightened and the room lit up more.

Zoey ooohed. “Whoa. What’s with the glowing?”

“She’s happy,” Mira, the traitor, said.

“No I’m not,” Rumi protested, whatever for.

“But she’s not happy about it,” Mira conceded.

Zoey squirmed in closer, trying to get a look at Rumi’s face. “Aw. Why not? It’s pretty, like an aquarium.”

Mira hummed approvingly. “It is like an aquarium.”

Slumping against the bed like a puppet with its strings cut, Rumi muttered, “I’m not an aquarium. Aquariums in bedrooms will wake people up at night.”

“Not true,” Zoey said. “Don’t you know nightlights? Nightlights help people sleep.”

“Yeah, Rumi.” Mira took her hand off of Rumi’s arm and poked her. “Don’t you know nightlights?”

Rumi swatted her away. “I know them! But—but—” She broke off with a frustrated noise, and Mira’s face softened.

“Your glowing won’t wake us up,” she promised. “Even if it did, I’d be happy to wake up to you having good dreams.” She scooted forward and wrapped an arm around Rumi’s side to pull her in closer. Snuggling into her collarbone, she mumbled against her skin, “Plus, I’m scared of the dark anyway.”

“No you’re not,” Rumi mumbled.

A pair of arms wrapped around Rumi from behind, and she felt Zoey’s warm breath against her neck as she murmured, “You don’t know that. Maybe we both are, but we were too afraid to say anything.”

“Yeah, right,” Rumi said, but her resolve was crumbling and it showed in her weakening voice. Hearing it, Mira leaned up to kiss her softly on the nose, and Rumi crossed her eyes to follow her, eyelids growing heavy.

“We don’t make fun of you for sleeping with that Teddy bear,” she yawned, “so don’t make fun of our nightlight, okay?”

“Not your nightlight,” Rumi mumbled, her eyes closing. Both of them snuggled in closer despite the massive bed and the unbearable glow of Rumi’s skin, and with a soft, unwelcome smile, the blue behind her eyelids glowed brighter.

Celine: having the same mannerism isn’t proof of anything

Miyeong: she has that one weird ass braid only you find cool I have never seen anyone like this hairstyle

Celine: you have a braid!!

Miyeong: a normal one!

Rumi realizing her hair poof thing is just a quirky hairstyle Celine likes and not at all something related to her mom

Third sister: she has a sword like you

Celine: that’s irrelevant and has no basis whatsoever

Third sister: okay true but she’s also giving off pathetic loser girl energy which is exactly what you are so counter that

Celine: I’m not a loser-

suddenly every mask is broken every tell revealed as he wars with the fact that he wants both outcomes. he wants to be good for ilya and let him do what he wants but he also wants so bad to win and have ilya acknowledge him as champion. for ilya to be both impressed and proud of him while also wanting to be unquestionably good for whatever ilya needs ruins his whole game because now they’re betting with the only currency that means anything to them anymore.

he’s fidgety and too fast at responding when ilya tries to tease. bouncing his knee but slowing it down to shove down an obviously hidden smile before he half-schools it and his leg speeds up even faster before he can press his ankles almost painfully into the legs of the chair. he’s still remarkably good at the game and gets hands that have ilya bargaining for a proper 3rd party dealer next time they play so shane can have no chance of tampering the deck, but his cold strategy has been ruined now that there’s a restless adrenaline running through his veins at the prospect that ilya might be holding his legs open and biting his thigh in that one nice spot in just a few minutes or about what ilya might do with him in just those same minutes (will he be rougher from all the build up of the losses? will he be kinder bc he knows shane just lost? will they make it to bed? make it to the couch even? bent over the dinner table or on the hardwood floor? will shane even be allowed to cum? where will ilya come? will shane need to beg for it?) but unfortunately all the possibilities of how ilya might take him does, funnily enough, take up the same space in his brain that the card counting does. he only realizes the two cannot coexist when he thinks there’s been 4 kings played and then one flips from the deck and ilya is shoving his chips into the center while shane looks on at his (now) near useless hand.

the group chat was blowing up earlier thinking about the repercussions the shane v troy dynamic.

this is the aforementioned chris pratt tiktok that did make me lol thinking about ilya: