not my hands

I've never used this account before so... here we go.

Got inspired by one of the more chaotic-cute moments of Chaper 7 in the Hindsight fic by BigFigNewton @figbignewton.

i was working at a little cafe where I could deny service over bad behavior, harassment etc. & mask mandates had just ended a week before & already people were being weird about me still wearing mine—an N95, the kind shaped kinda like a duckbill.

so this man walked in, looked at me sooo scathingly, laughed at me, and said “damn. never known a woman to choose…practicality over looks.”

And I just said, “oh. you can go, you’re not getting a drink.” And he said, “what???”

I said, “sir, you just walked in at 6 am & called women impractical and me ugly in one sentence.”

Because it is confusing. It would almost feel easier if there was no love there at all. But sometimes there was love. In the way they tried to protect you. In the sacrifices they made. In the ways they worried about you, cared for you, wanted a good life for you.

And at the same time, there were still things missing.

Maybe comfort did not come in the way you needed it to. Maybe your feelings were not always understood, or noticed, or handled gently. Maybe you learned to keep certain parts of yourself quiet because it felt easier than trying to explain them.

That kind of hurt is difficult because it does not always come from cruelty. Sometimes it comes from people who loved you deeply, but did not know how to emotionally connect in the ways you needed. People carrying their own wounds, limitations, fears, or ways of surviving.

And you are allowed to acknowledge both truths at once.

You are allowed to recognize their love and still grieve what you needed but did not receive. Those things do not cancel each other out.

Forgiveness, for a lot of people, is not pretending nothing hurt you. It is slowly accepting that someone can love you and still fall short of understanding you completely.

That does not make your pain dramatic. It does not make them monsters either. Sometimes it just means everyone was trying with the emotional tools they had, and some of those tools were not enough.

And I think many people quietly carry guilt for still feeling hurt by parents they know tried their best. But being loved imperfectly can still leave wounds. It makes sense that it affected you.

At the same time, you do not have to stay trapped only in anger forever either. Sometimes healing looks like understanding that your parents were human before they were parents. People shaped by their own experiences, their own upbringing, their own emotional gaps.

That understanding does not erase your feelings. It just softens the sharp edges around them a little.

You deserved emotional safety. You deserved gentleness. You deserved to feel understood, comforted, and emotionally close to the people raising you.

And if they could not fully give that to you, it is okay to mourn it.

But I hope you also know this: the love you needed is still something you can experience in your life. Through other people. Through chosen family. Through the way you learn to treat yourself now.

The story does not end at what you did or did not receive growing up.

Mira and Zoey finding out post new Honmoon that Celine actually favors short sleeves, tank tops and the like. It's just well for a decade itw as easier to get Rumi to put on one of Celine's cardigans than it was to get her into her own long sleeve shirts and then it was a back up just in case.

Currently: While Celine has dragged Miyeong off for a walk in the garden—that’s going surprisingly well, odd comments about her height aside—Minji, Mira, and Zoey have helped Rumi down from her little PTSD moment, and started getting on the same page about all of the events that led up to the hospital fire.

The answer was yes on multiple levels. Celine was aware that Rumi and her opinion on whose the house was differed. On one hand - Rumi herself being the one to say that you took such care of her home that she sees it as yours is something deserving of warmth. On the other - it was Rumi's house and Rumi just giving that authority to Celine (especially with that panic attack earlier) was not comforting. Rumi's home and if she wanted to open it to guests- it was open. And Celine was still left scrambling to figure out how much Rumi had figured out,and hadn't in regards to the current times. Because it could be incredibly scatter shot. On one hand, Rumi had figured out that Ryu Miyeong and Minji Park were a couple before Celine had. Which, it was slightly blatant in hindsight. The last boyfriend - and someone there in the emotionally charged aftermath. After all, you didn't just call anyone for help after finding a dead body. Also after the hospital fire became known the two had been much less careful about hiding it. Priorities - Ryu Miyeong admitting that the two had been staying together for the past two nights and Minji Park just finding comfort in her lover's presence. Considering the other foot however - maybe a certain quiet discussion later on current social standards and expectations. Zoey and Mira could cover a lot... but the area in the Ven Diagram where Mira being raised in a presumably extremely conservative cult and Zoey being raised with an American as well as Korean social lenses apparently was hit and miss. "Not noticing" the slip ups probably would have been the better call in this situation. On a second level - Celine was needing to figure out if she should feel ashamed at the idea that the great Rumi thought the answer could possibly be no. Ryu Miyeong had been entirely correct earlier that she and Park Minji needed information. Putting aside all the reasons to want the two around - Celine had an ethical responsibility at the moment towards the two. If someone was dealing with... poltergeist was the English word, that was violently injuring them and the individuals presented no danger to herself, Celine would argue that she was obligated to at least help them find a hotel room that was surreptitiously in areas where the poltergeist was highly unlikely to be able to follow to continue doing the harm until the matter was resolved. Park Minji had only escaped death by demon activity by luck. And depending on how the demons were operating - they might realize they didn't get all the people who were asking questions. Especially if Park-ssi was consistent with having opinions enough to call off work to help Ryu-ssi.

Who in turn had called the police, and was somehow being cut off. Ideally that was entirely supernatural in nature - because the situation became so much worse for everyone if the demons had infiltrated into the computer network of the Seoul Police to the point of eavesdropping on the dispatch channels. For some strange reason - it might be considered that these two women fall under the category of needing sanctuary. It's not like the two were bringing any trouble that wasn't heading their way anyways. Also on purely tactical grounds... Yes. Park Minji was very simple. They needed someone that could help with injuries/assess if they needed to be taken to a hospital because no one wanted a second hospital being burned by demons. Also she was a witness to the known demon hotspot (six demons roaming a specific building absolutely qualified) - and they absolutely needed to pick her brain for all the information she could give as to whether they were dealing with something grown quickly by Gwi-ma or something that already preexisted. Because how was the cult able to locate which hospital Mira was to kidnap her? A question for Park-ssi and her partner Ryu-ssi. And the journalist... well, they already knew that there was something blocking the police from finding out about Mira's brothers death. (Murder implied illegality - the man had been summoning Gwima - protection of self and others fully applied in Celine's opinion.) Someone who could help them trace the operations of the demons would be immensely beneficial. And - lastly on a personal level Celine wouldn't be upset at the two staying for a little bit. Now that she knew that the two were not threats to Rumi but two very frightened individuals who were grasping at smoke because something had gone very very wrong. It would be wonderful to have people her own age to talk to that knew about events. Celine wasn't entirely sure what had been some of the subtext going on in the conversation with Ryu-ssi but the woman had listened. And Celine wanted to see more of the rock steady personality of Minji. Celine didn't mind being distant from others homes and buildings in the area, people could be exhausting. But those two - they already had the feel of people who wouldn't drain her so quickly. Also because there were three young adults in the building, one of whom was centuries away from all she'd known, one had been raised in a cult, and the last having to sort out Americanisms and other aspects out. Knowing when you were over your head was a virtue.

She finds herself tilting her head to give a properly dirty look as it filters through her ears.

(It’s almost like another day at work, even if usually they’re begging college students to subside less on alcohol and energy drinks and more on foods that might actually help prevent vitamin deficiencies, not trying to keep them from killing themselves through blood loss, sepsis, or choking on their own vomit—no, actually, choking on their own vomit brings her back to alcohol.)

(Almost.)

Celine winces slightly, acknowledging the misstep, while Rumi flushes and stiffens.

“That is unimportant,” she says, which means she doesn’t know. While trying to plan some kind of… battle against the demons of Seoul.

Jesus. Minji is going to start screaming and never stop as soon as she slows down, isn’t she?

Then call her halmeoni and apologize for every time she ever thought her beliefs were silly.

“Try the other one,” Mira says.

Rumi, valiantly, tries again. “…I was not planning to leave until we had appropriate provisions, and the travel would take several days besides, so I would be largely healed by then?”

Minji points to her chair.

Rumi sits, and Zoey and Mira promptly engage her in conversation about travel times. Minji tunes out somewhere around, “The cars go how fast?”

It’s… difficult. She’s lost people before, she knows this feeling. The poking in the back of her head like when her father passed, every little thing reminding her.

And she’s been through mass casualty events before—car wrecks piled up, construction site collapses. She knows that feeling, too, like she’ll never get the blood off of her hands.

Both at once is hell.

Mingyu liked cars. Gyeonghui could cook like no one else. Seulgi ran every work event like the navy.

She has to force each sentence into the past tense. They don’t belong there. They’re not supposed to be. They’re supposed to be present, waiting, when she arrives back at work.

They won’t be.

How many open wounds does she have right now?

Minji couldn’t tell you.

Miyeong sits down and offers her a tired half-smile. Minji makes no attempt to return it.

“She’s nice, actually,” Miyeong says. “Celine.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Minji sighs.

Miyeong wraps an arm around her shoulder, pulls her close. She smells like motel body wash and flowers. Minji wishes she smelled like blood, but she lets her friend hold her up nonetheless.

"So we can leave at once!" Rumi sits up straighter, the dull throb from her injuries the only thing that keeps her from launching to her feet and marching out the door. "If it will just take a matter of hours to travel to Seoul, then there is no need for provisions! We will be back here to sup come evening!"

Modern travel was miraculous. And highly convenient!

"Okay, pendulum kinda swung too hard the other way." Zoey shakes her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. "We still need to, like, pack."

Rumi tilts her head confusedly. "...But you just said it is less than a day's journey. We can come back here just as fast. Packing should be unnecessary?"

Zoey makes a scrunched-up face, like she's trying to say 'yes' and 'no' at the same time. Mira is nursing along the last of her smoothie, not saying much; she had already admitted to not having much experience with travel ("evil cut family vacations aren't really a thing"), and Rumi suspects the- what was the word?- painkillers she took several hours past have worn off by now and her jaw is troubling her.

A horrible thought seizes her.

Did she ask a bad question?

"Here, perhaps this will help." Before she can apologize and take it back the honored shaman pushes off from the counter she's been leaning against and removes a folded piece of paper from the drawer (so much paper in this era...) and comes to the table.

Rumi's heart stutters as she watches her country unfurl amid the breakfast dishes. She knows...it has changed; what she learned during their car ride into town the day before (has it really only been a day?) still haunts the back of her mind like the scent of smoke that lingers long after a fire's been extinguished.

But here is Seoul, where Gyeongbok Palace stood shining and proud (was it still there?); here is the Han, a hooked blue line curving its way to the coast; here is Jeju, her home.

True, the colors are too bright, the paper too crisp, and...she is not sure of some of the city names or what some of the lines mean. But if she looks at it hard enough, focuses on the places and geographical features she does know, she can almost see herself back in her study, standing over a table with the children of the hanok crowded around as she gives a geography lesson.

She wondered what happened to them...if they were alright after Jinu-

The thought is leaden, and she forces herself from under it back to the present.

Mira is smirking at Celine. "You know only old people use these, right?"

Rumi blinks. They do? Wait...does that make her old? But Mira looks like it's funny so maybe it's a joke?

She is not sure she understands modern humor...

Celine is unruffled by the maybe-jab. "Being able to navigate via map is a useful survival skill. Unlike your phone, the mind does not run out of battery when you need it most."

"I have a solar charger!" Zoey pipes up, face un-scrunched.

Celine's eye twitches.

Ryu Miyeong pipes up. "Well, suppose the day is overcast. Maps are useful then!"

"Not that you know how to read one," Park Minji rouses herself enough to add, giving her friend a little nudge.

"...Okay, but! I can still appreciate their usefulness."

(Ryu Miyeong seems oddly determined to please the shaman, Rumi notes; likely just grateful for agreeing to open her home to them)

"Anyway." Before Zoey and Mira can reveal how their phones stay functional on cloudy days Celine's finger is tracing an imaginary line from Jeju to Seoul. "I know travel is faster now than it was, but the distance is still the same, as is our need for food and water. Plus it would be wise to bring medical supplies and a change of clothes or two if we end up staying somewhere overnight."

That makes sense. Rumi nods. The world has changed, but it also has not. Or perhaps it is people that have remained constant, beneath the technology and strange clothes and customs and jokes she does not understand.

A groan from Ryu Miyeong interrupts her musings before they can veer too hard into philosophy. "Shoot..." she turns to Park Minji. "We don't have a change of clothes!"

Park Minji gives her a flat look. "We are wearing yesterday's clothes which we slept in and you're just realizing this now?"

Perhaps she ought to take to keeping a small supply of clothing about in more average sizes—while she regularly donates to winter clothing drives and the like, it is always good to be able to give to those in present need, rather than asking them to wait or giving indirect aid.

On the other hand, recent events might not recur.

Celine waits until she’s trailing behind Mira and Zoey before she makes a quick note in her phone to keep track of the idea. Happy as she is that they’re comfortable enough to tease her, they don’t need any more ammunition.

“Mira and I just got a few outfits, since we actually had clothes that we, y’know, might have the chance to get back to, but it’s definitely still enough to share,” Zoey promises, as if either Minji-ssi or Miyeong-ssi had hesitated for a moment at the promise of clean clothing. “Mira, what do you think, is she closer to my size or Rumi’s?”

As Mira and Zoey whisk Minji-ssi off in a whirlwind of fashion, Celine catches Rumi-nim leaning over towards Miyeong-ssi—and, well, the reporter had certainly proven much less aggressive than her first impression, but it would still probably be smart of Celine to keep an ear out.

She lets herself linger outside the doorway of the guest room, watching them down the hall from the corner of her eye.

“I do not mean to embarrass you,” Rumi-nim starts softly, “so, please, do not take this as an insult towards your intelligence—“

And Miyeong-ssi’s eyebrows are already climbing, in spite of the quiet earnestness of Rumi-nim’s tone.

“—but rather a statement of my own ignorance, as I have no knowledge of how widespread these ‘showers’ have become in replacement of the baths used in my time. Are you familiar with their use?”

Miyeong-ssi blinks, and some small part of Celine braces itself, protective, though of course Rumi-nim does not need her for that.

But Miyeong-ssi smiles, and there is not a hint of mockery or condescension. “I am, thank you.”

“There was some… disarray… after my first attempt,” Rumi-nim adds, her voice so low Celine had to strain to hear it. “If your knowledge is only theoretical…”

The humility and kindness with which she conducts herself makes Celine wish that she had understood half so much from the stories. After the awkwardness of teaching the great Rumi herself how to properly use a shower curtain, it echoes on like this: gently averting a problem before it could arise, even at cost of her own pride.

“Showers are very common,” Miyeong-ssi explains gently. “They have them in bathhouses now, even.”

She hates libel as a rule, but especially when it's aimed at someone like Rumi, such a kind-hearted and giving person (and yes, she would use 'person,' considering she was a better one than most of the ones Miyeong's met). The thought that someone could harbor such animosity towards her, enough to spread lies that all but buried the truth, made her want to hunt down every author of the niche dissertations and esoteric website and- do something.

But Minji's entire shift- so many of her friends- was gone because of actual demons and, like her friend, she didn't want anyone else to get hurt.

Kang Mira and Choi Zoey were safe, Rumi was far from a danger to the world, and there was a very nice mudang involved who seemed to be enjoying her company. That was enough. This would stay the best story she never wrote and she was fine with that. Still, she could fantasize about what she would do if, one day, she happened to find one of Rumi's detractors.

Punching someone in the nose would probably be a bad idea, considering she'd broken her hand when she tried out her ex's punching bag. But maybe she could still manage a roundhouse kick? Her teenage years weren't that long ago, right? And she'd almost gotten a blackbelt; that had to count for something...

"OOF!"

Musings on the merits of being an almost-blackbelt came to a screeching halt as Miyeong stumbled backward, rubbing her forehead where it'd knocked into the chin of the person she'd just walked into. Hard.

"Sorry about that," she groaned, blinking the stars from her eyes and gave a little self-deprecating chuckle. "Not really used to having to look out for-"

Celine was standing in front of her, a fresh pile of towels in her arms.

MIyeong was suddenly beset by stars of a different variety.

"-You."

Instantly, Miyeong wanted to kick herself. That was the lamest possible way to finish that sentence and, more importantly, not what she meant to say!

Why did she keep doing that she never did that she was always completely in control of her mouth why-

Celine lifted a brow, looking distinctly amused. "Well, since we just met this morning, I would expect not."

Miyeong blinked, brain crashing to a 404 error screen.

Was Celine...making a joke? About something she said? The hot hot gorgeous TALL shaman thought she was funny?!?

And she was smiling at her again.

The moment she was alone, herself and no one else, no one needing her to help them, it crashed over her, sending her to the ground.

It hurt.

She didn’t have better words than that. It hurt.

So she cried until the water ran cold, and then she cried some more.

She was a wreck when she finally turned the water off, from the tangled mess of her hair all the down to her slightly numb toes. But she didn’t have the energy to do anything about it.

Rumi’s stolen shirt was soft in the way that only brand new clothes had, easy to pull on, but the jeans she’d borrowed from Zoey had her nearly crying for no fucking reason.

Minji squeezed her sore eyes shut, jeans halfway around her thighs, and hiccuped at the sheer misery of it. All her friends were dead, and she had to put on pants?

Her head hurt and she was cold and all of her friends were dead and never, never coming back.

She fumbled at the jeans until she finally got them on, pausing against to wallow in the awfulness of having succeeded at that when nothing was supposed to be right, this petty little victory when there where demons lighting her fucking hospital on fire, and then breathed deep and slow until she trusted herself to open the door.

Rumi—strange, young-old, maybe-demon Rumi—found her first, expression soft with the kind of non-judgement Minji usually only saw in professionals. But that made sense, from the Joseon equivalent of a domestic violence advocate.

How pathetic, that she needed to be taken care of. This was her job.

(And everyone she worked with was—)

“I made tea,” Rumi said. “That is, green tea. If you would like some.”

“Thank you,” Minji said, wanting not at all to sit through a tea ceremony. She could hold it together. She could meet them where they were.

Rumi nodded. “It is on the back porch, if you would like. Or in the kitchen, with everyone else.”

Professional.

Minji laughed, the sound tired and broken. “Thank you. I—“

Words gave out. Pathetic.

She'd already set the table on the porch, tea and cups and linens (or, well, paper linens) and a box of the strange tissues that were applied to tears with religious regularity in this century (also made of paper; was there no end to what it was used for now?). Minji sinks gratefully into the chair Rumi pulled out and watches numbly as she pours two steaming cups.

She mumbles a tired 'thank you' as she takes it and sighs her way through a long sip, watching the flowers bob in the breeze. Not talking, but that is fine. Kyung-ja hadn't either, when she first came to the hanok, shaken speechless in more ways than one by her- well, by the time she sat down for tea on the porch, former husband.

Not like Jung-soon, who'd found relief and comfort in letting her thoughts flow unrestrained from mind to tongue. She told good stories. Kyung-ja, too, once she recovered.

And both of their children had been so sweet and bright and full of laughter...she can almost- almost hear them now, beneath the breeze and chimes hanging from the roof, and part of her almost expects to see them come around the corner any second.

But they won't, the memory slams into her like a stick beating a rug, the calm that had settled over her shuddering off and into the air. They're gone.

There's a burning feeling in the back of her eyes. She knew that. She knew that. It's just...

It only felt like last week they were all sitting on this porch together, laughing over the ducklings the children had tried to sneak into the house.

But it wasn't.

Her hand clenches on the cup.

She knows, she knows, she knows, she-

She just saw them last week.

"You're a regular pro at this."

Rumi jolts back to the porch and the present. Minji is smiling wearily across the table. She nods politely. "Thank you. I...am not very experienced with the finer points of cooking, but have much practice with tea."

"I don't mean that." Minji glances at the cup. "But the tea is good." She tips her head, as if indicating the porch as a whole, the table, the two of them. "This. Helping people."

Rumi glances away, tucking a strand of hair behind an ear. She...never did get used to such compliments. "I very much enjoy it. It gives me purpose."

Minji nods, understanding. "You'd have made a good nurse." Then, before Rumi can respond to that (how does one respond to that?) Minji sighs and sits back. "Sorry if I'm kind of...out of it right now. Swear, I'm not usually this-"

"No!" Rumi reaches across the table to lay a hand atop one of Minji's. "It is alright. You have helped us a great deal today; it is an honor to return the kindness. And there is nothing wrong with accepting help from friends."

How many times had she sat on this porch, steam curling from cups of tea, and said those same words to another?

Minji sighs deeply. "Thanks. Again."

"If you want to talk," Rumi says, treading lightly. "If you think it will help, I can listen."

Minji doesn't say anything for a long moment, then leans back in her chair, face tipped towards the rafters and squeezes her eyes shut. "I can't believe they're all gone..." she whispers, the sentence hanging heavy in the air.

It wraps around the posts supporting the roof, twines through the rafters, and brushes away the wafting tendrils of steam, settling like mist around them.

Rumi squeezes her hand, hearing laughter and voices haunting the air.

Miyeong snorts at her self-censorship. Celine doesn’t react.

Mira wonders what it says about her that she feels more at nearly swearing in front of real adults than she does at talking like this about her recently dead brother. “The maximum that kind of spell can do is forty. I’d say Jaeho could probably get ten on a good day.”

(Not that their mother would have ever let him, of course. She never had the Kang taste for summonings, always wary of how they could go wrong, get out of control.

From her current perspective, Mira can’t help but agree.)

(She wonders what Jaeho sacrificed, where he did it. There weren’t any signs of a previous summoning in the living room when he brought her back, and he wouldn’t have wasted any time cleaning up after himself.)

“So we have a minimum of six enemies, and a maximum of ten?” Zoey asks, scribbling away. “How do we find them?”

She’s appointed herself their note-taker. So Rumi and Minji can catch up when they get back. It’s considerate of her.

“I can make talismans for that,” Celine says. “Hopefully, they’ll be clustered together. The scrolls all say that wraiths tend to stick to what’s familiar, though that might mean… Rumi-nim will be able to tell us for certain.”

Miyeong closes her eyes for a moment, leaning back from the table. Something about that idea—wraiths returning to the routines of their living counterparts—scares her. She doesn’t share, though.

“What about the banishment?” Mira asks. “Do you have cursed wine lying around?”

“I have shinkal,” Celine replies, which… makes sense for a mudang. Of course she would do things the right way, instead of feeding the wraiths hellwine.

(Mira’s only seen it a few times. It’s not pretty.)

But—

Who else is left to remember but Rumi?

“Who was the first person you brought here?” she asks, impulsively.

Rumi casts her a startled look, but swallows it behind her practiced calm only a moment later. It’s an odd way she has, a noblewoman straight out of a period drama in her diction and bearing meeting a punk college kid with her hair and tattoos. She doesn’t quite fit.

Minji doesn’t clarify her question—the point isn’t to get an answer, it’s to get Rumi to answer. A more specific question that might feel more possible to cope with than the one she’d offered Minji, sneaking the emotional processing in underneath.

“I was fifteen,” Rumi says, at last. “Chaeyoung was my maid. My father wanted me to have someone close to my age to interact with. She—I grew worried.

“She is—she was—I have never known anyone braver or more loyal. Nor anyone else willing to put the lady of the house to work on the linens, regardless of whether I asked.

I wouldn’t… I don’t know how to exist without her.”

It’s more an image painted in silences than in words, but Minji grasps enough. She nods, offers out her hand across the gap between them.

Rumi takes it. “I am sorry, I was meant—I intended to allow you to speak freely, not to make such a moment about myself.”

“That would be me,” Minji corrects. “Mostly because I’m so lost that knowing anyone is down here with me is enough kindness.”

Rumi laughs. “You deserve far more, Minji-ssi.”

“It helps to know I’m not alone in being without them,” Minji points out. “Besides, it’s important that your family be remembered.”

Rumi stares at her a long while and, paradoxically, her face looks far younger as it softens under their weight of grief—less some immortal memory and far more just another young woman.

“Then I will endeavor not to be alone with you,” she says, and Minji’s tired heart breaks a little more.

Zoey's shout from the kitchen catches on Rumi's ear and pulls her attention towards the door, setting aside for the moment her thoughts about last week the distant past.

She had left Zoey and Mira and the honorable shaman and Miyeong-ssi discussing plans for returning to Seoul and addressing the wraiths Jaeho had left behind. Weaponry was to be an expected part of the conversation and not something that merited eavesdropping (never mind Zoey's volume demanded effort to not overhear). But...hearing mention of a sword...in the house that used to be her own...

It caused something in her, a small hopeful something, to stir.

Was it possible...?

Part of her wanted to leap up and run to the kitchen, ask if the sword in question was what she dared not hope, but she remained seated, hand tight in Minji-ssi's; she was hostess, Minji-ssi her guest, and more importantly she'd promised to stay.

But...perhaps she was out of practice at masking her desires, because Minji-ssi glances towards the kitchen, then at Rumi. "How about we see what all that's about?" She asks, tipping her head towards the kitchen as she stands. "Not sure how much I trust Miyeong's judgment if swords are involved..."

She'll have to work on that, Rumi thinks to herself even as she nods and accompanies Minji-ssi inside. Lest she let on just how much she wants and show everyone what a selfish, horrible creature she is.

Zoey is sinking back into her chair as they enter, visibly abashed by her exuberant outburst, but the honorable shaman is nodding pleasantly, clearly unbothered by what Zoey seems to think is a grave transgression. "Well, technically it's Rumi-nim's sword; I've just been safekeeping it. But-"

"It's here?" The words fly from Rumi's mouth before she can stop them, and now all four heads at the table are turned towards the doorway. Rumi knew she should bow and apologize for bursting in like that but…

Celine-ssi had her sword.

Far from being irked at Rumi's lamentable lack of manners, Celine-ssi actually looks pleased. Glows, like-

Like her father did the day he presented it to her.

"It's in my office. Would you like to see?"

Rumi's nodding before she even finishes.

Because the women and children of the hanok were lost to her, but she could at least reclaim some small part of her old life.

And while she did not doubt the honorable shaman's veracity, it wouldn't be true, it wouldn't be real, until the sword- her sword- was resting in her hands.

The tea is left to grow cold while Celine leads a small procession to her office, Zoey bouncing along since "there's no way I'm missing this!" and Mira keeping pace with a more sedate but no less eager enthusiasm. Miyeong-ssi and Minji-ssi bring up the rear.

Part of Rumi feels disgusting and selfish for doing this, causing them to break up their planning session to indulge her, but then-

Then they're in the room Rumi noticed her first night in the hanok, the one with the desk and strange large rectangle of black glass that looked like Mira's phone but larger.

Then Celine-ssi goes to a section of wood paneled wall and tugs, revealing a sort of closet.

Then Zoey whistles, eyes running over the contents before fixing on a set of golden-tasseled shin kal, and Mira's hand grips her wrist before she can reach out and touch.

Then Celine-ssi pulls down a long, flat box of polished wood, a tiger with sinewy muscles rolling beneath its coat leaping proudly across the lid, and holds it out to Rumi with a bow. "It is my honor, Rumi-nim, to return what is rightfully yours."

A dangerous concept for a demon, 'rightfully yours;' it signifies owning and wanting, satisfying all those most wicked impulses. But just this once she lets the thought go uncorrected.

Zoey is vibrating so much that she might as well be still. Mira isn’t sure that Celine is breathing. Rumi’s sword is so different from the gaudy ceremonial daggers and gem studded ritual knives her family favours favoured—and clearly, it has been lovingly cared for. The pommel’s gold inlay shines under the office light. Painted constellations and warding charms cover the freshly lacquered sheath. 

It radiates a quiet, regal authority. It reminds Mira of Rumi herself.

Rumi runs a hand along the engraved crossguard. Then she traces her fingers across the sheath. Equal parts pain and wonder flicker across her face.

She blinks, turns to Celine, and bows low. “Thank you, Mudang-nim. You have taken such wonderful care.”

Celine finally seems to exhale. “As I said, it is my honour.”

“ARE YOU GOING TO DRAW IT?!” Mira jumps at the explosion of sound. Zoey, mortified, slaps her free hand over her mouth. Mira squeezes her hand in reassurance. Rumi smiles at them—sword in hand, she looks hot lighter than she has since Mira met her. Rumi’s fingers twitch along her sword’s leather grip and she swallows, hesitant, and flicks her gaze between them.

Mira nods in encouragement. Sue her, she wants to see the cool sword as much as Zoey. 

She nudges Zoey and jerks her head at Rumi’s sword. “Well? Don’t keep us waiting!”

Rumi smiles again, still careful but… hopefully buoyed by them and not pressured, before looking to Celine.

“Please.” Celine gestures.

Rumi leads them all out into the yard in front of the tree. There is a newfound confidence to Rumi that was not there before, like she has reclaimed a missing piece of herself. Mira tramps down on the butterflies in her stomach.

Rumi turns to Celine, “Mudang-nim, will you sing for me?”

Celine wipes the surprise off her face and nods resolutely.  

(Mira and Zoey certainly look impressed, if maybe a little more with Rumi’s physique than her technique.)

She does know singing—she’d spent years as a trainee, even if it hadn’t gone anywhere in the end—and Celine’s voice is a gorgeous, perfectly clear soprano, carrying the lyrics of the old song straight into their chests.

It’s one that Miyeong expects Rumi would be familiar with, or at least wouldn’t struggle with, knowing the story—that of the bear-woman Ungnyeo, and how she outlasted the tiger to become human—a rather thoughtful choice on Celine’s part.

Or maybe just one of the usual from her repertoire. But Celine seems like the thoughtful kind.

Either way, she’s got more important things to do right now.

Minji is leaning up against her. She looks… ragged. In a way that Miyeong has never seen her before, not even on their worst days.

But this is a new kind of worst day. One where they don’t walk out and going home alone, see each other again the next time Miyeong happens to have a reason to bug someone over in Records or try to convince some idiot fresh out of their residency to actually give her a comment instead of pointing her to the hospital’s public faces.

Miyeong isn’t used to touching her, to being close to her without a desk between them. She isn’t sure if she’s supposed to hold her hand or put her arm around her shoulder or what—she just knows she can’t fuck this up.

“Are you alright?” would be a stupid question.

Instead, somehow, she ends up murmuring, “Do you want to buy a hairbrush?”

Minji startles, and looks at her askance.

Miyeong barrels on, the way she always does. “Your curls need… something, right? Something Celine probably doesn’t have? And I just—I go insane when I forget to eat and let my hair go to shit because everything else gets too much. They’re going to feed us, so I can’t help with that, but I can buy hair stuff when we go through that town again.”

Minji stares at her for a moment, silent, still, just long enough Miyeong almost thinks she’s fucked up entirely before she says, “Thank you.”

And leans over again to press her forehead on Miyeong’s shoulder.

you should also never ever unplug the air conditioner and stick a flashlight in the vent that blows air to see if we're in there. it's very bad, that place should not be checked

and whatever you do, if you've already made the mistake of unplugging it, don't remove it from the window for cleaning if possible. and whether it's possible to remove the unit or not, don't carefully disassemble the front panel, document where the screws go and plastic bits go, and open up the vent more to be able to get into it easily

as black mold, i'm an expert on this. you should heed my warnings: now, if you've somehow made the mistake of doing all of the above, you should not use warm water and dish soap to CLEAN the inside of the vent thoroughly. DON'T ever use a bottle brush to get into the hard to reach places. and certainly don't rinse and dry the cleaned area before carefully putting it back together

there's nothing wrong with us, black mold. we don't cause or exacerbate breathing conditions like asthma or other illnesses. it's cool, we're cool

furthermore, if you're capable of removing the window unit, DONT take a hose with the same soapy water and wash the portion of the window unit that sits outside the window and is therefore weatherproofed.

whatever you do, don't allow the air conditioner to dry before plugging it back in and turning it on again

and if you have a central air conditioner, you will definitely never ever consult a manual or sources online to perform a similar cleaning procedure on the cooling unit outside.

It is a lot of elbow grease and definitely not just spraying a can and waiting. Especially do not use the ones that are self rinsing via the natural condensation of water around the coils where all you have to do is let the foam settle a couple hours before turning the unit back on. These foaming cleaners are also terrible to use on the removable air intake vent covers. You definitely do not just have to spray the opposite side of all the trapped shit on the plastic mesh and let the foam push it off. Also that stuff on the cover is great for you and your air conditioner.

Hyeonseo checks the wound efficiently, removing the soiled bandages.

For once, she doesn’t press any of the issues she could press. Just tells Celine to air the wound out while she has the chance, and that she’ll rebandage it later.

The fox is delighted to be freed from the confines of her blazer and buttondown. Celine just hopes it won’t try to convince her to become a nudist—she might really go mad that way.

It huffs and mutters an admission that, given her lack of fur, clothes are sometimes necessary.

This is her last win for the afternoon.

Celine’s focus is poor as she attempts to work, her brain filled with static. Everything she does feels wrong.

Every turn of phrase in an email reminds her of Jeonghui’s etiquette lessons, leaving her on the brink of puking and the fox writhing in frustration.

Every whisper of her damned tails is a reminder of how she’d made Soyi feel as if she had to put them away, ratcheting up her and the fox’s frustration with their eomma her.

Every glint of sunlight through the window has the fox begging to go outside and play with their kit, as clearly this work nonsense isn’t working.

But Celine was raised right, and that means getting things done once she commits to them, and not being weak.

It’s the first time she’s really said it. She can’t call it new, not really—not after that confrontation with the stranger gumiho—but… every step down into it feels new and strange. Uncomfortable.

Hyeonseo sobers as she settles onto the edge of the desk, frowning as she studies them—her—whatever. “So it is two of you in there?”

Celine shrugs, looks away. “Mm. There’s never any… amnesia, nothing like some movie. When you’re talking to the fox, I’m still there, I’m just… letting it take charge.”

(the fox snickers at letting, lightly nudging her with an imaginary snout.)

“Were you always…” Hyeonseo trails off with a vague gesture.

Celine shrugs, shakes her head. “Soyi isn’t. And she thinks I just—I need to be better at accepting it.”

She shuts her mouth before she starts whining, looking away.

Hyeonseo hesitates for a long moment, before reaching out again, her fingers brushing Celine’s. “Can I… Could I look? At your soul?”

“If you think you could get a read.” Celine has been halfway invisible since they were kids—far too used to hiding away her many faults and fears to let herself be seen so intimately with any ease.

(But, then again, now that dark and empty place in the center of her has been made full again.)

(The thought sends a shiver down her spine.)

“I think I could,” Hyeonseo says, like she suspects the same.

Quietly, Celine reaches out to take her hands, breathing over the fear, reaching out into the Honmoon and back into herself, ignoring the pain of her shoulder and the ache in her chest and the fox in her head. Calm. Steady. For Hyeonseo.

Hyeonseo hums, softly, plucking a thread and—

Theirs has always been a harmonic frequency.

“Oh,” she whispers. “You’re so bright, Celine.”

Her fingers brush that ache in Celine’s chest, and they are so warm, and the fox murrs and pulls them forward and—she keeps her eyes closed and does not look.

“It’s like scar tissue,” she whispers, tracing the rough edge of Celine’s soul. “You tried… God, you had your soul ripped apart. They—your soul, Celine, I—“

Hyeonseo pulls herself together enough to level Celine with a flat look. "Someone needs to. God, Celine, how could they do that to you?"

The feel of Celine's soul, edges rough and jagged with memories of pain, lingers around her own like smoke, and she keeps picturing- or trying to picture- the moment when it happened. She couldn't have been much older than Rumi...

It makes her want to drag Jeonghui back from the afterlife to kill her again.

Celine sighs, tails whisking mildly around their ankles. "They were helping me," she says quietly, with a furtive glance at the door (this isn't for Rumi's ears. Or Soyi's). "I was to be a Hunter, and they couldn't very well train a demon."

Hyeonseo wants to argue back that yes, they could have, we're going to train Rumi, that there's no excuse in this or any world for ripping out a child's soul, that nothing as bright as her intact soul could be irreparably wicked, but Celine's flexing her injured shoulder again, the rent from Jeonghui's spear rolling with the muscles, rippling with reminders of that night.

She swallows her protests. She's had her own traumas, after all; sometimes...you need to tell yourself it couldn't have been any other way, and ease the crushing weight of should-have-beens.

She'll drag their mentor across the coals some other time.

Hyeonseo presses the heels of her palms into her eyes, releasing a long furious breath, and runs her hands along her scalp. "Okay then, so you said Soyi said you needed to...'accept it?'"

Celine nods, drumming clawed fingers against the desk.

"...But you already have the bead back?"

"It apparently takes more than that," Celine says. "Embracing or...merging, I suppose." She shrugs. "Something like that. Soyi's been helping."

Hyeonseo lifted a brow, asking how that was going (she could guess though)

Celine shrugged; clearly very 'meh' progress. "I’m…stuck,” she admitted, almost like the words hurt. “I don’t know how to do what Soyi says I need to, but I can't go on like-" she gestures vaguely at her ears and tails. "-this."

“I mean, I’m cool with it. And Rumi doesn’t mind.”

Celine shot her a ‘you know what I mean’ look then went back to fiddling with a Post-It.

Hyeonseo hummed, studying Celine and turning her words over. Merging...well, that explains a lot; from what she's seen of the 'fox' side of Celine- a happier, somewhat more carefree side less concerned with human norms of conduct- it's not the sort of thing Celine would want to risk having trickle in to her human demeanor.

"Did Soyi say anything else? About ‘accepting it?’ Like how or…anything?”

Celine shrugged. "If she said, I don't remember." She grimaced at her forgetfulness. "It's...been a long week."

"Damn right," Hyeonseo huffed, standing from the desk. "Have you checked the archives?"

"They have nothing," Celine said, shaking her head.

So it was go to Soyi who neither of them was on great terms with for info or nothing. Great.

But she’d gone up against worse odd. And…Celine needed help, and she wasn’t about to abandon her. Not again. "How about you go take a Rumi break? I can finish the email."

She could almost see the fox shove itself back in the proverbial driver's seat as Celine nodded and hurried to stand. "Thanking Hyeonseo."

Hyeonseo nodded back, fighting a grin. "Any time, Cece."

She gives herself thirty seconds to think of that feeling again, finding the brightness in Celine where before it had always been so dim and then realizing it was still carved apart down the middle.

Her fucking soul. They’d convinced themselves that it was right to take her soul from her—hell, even more than Jeonghui, she wants to bring back Insuk and give her the painful death she deserved. How dare she die peacefully? How dare she escape all of her monstrosity?

Hyeonseo presses the heels of her hands into her eyes to fend off tears, sick to her stomach, and gets up from the desk.

There is work to be done.

When their mentors wanted to keep something from the three of them, there were a few places they used.

First, their bedrooms, but Celine has taken those for herself and Rumi, so she’s probably found whatever secrets might’ve been leftover.

Second, the high shelf in the kitchens, which makes Hyeonseo even more angry in retrospect. Of course Celine always knew that was off-limits to her.

Third… this very office.

She taps her way along the floors like she had at sixteen, Miyeong by her side, until she finds the right floorboard. Stomps on it, and catches the loose end quickly.

The old safe is still there, and she still remembers the code.

All it holds are a pair of old photos. The backs are labeled with names and dates. They’re photos of Seongmi, the third of that trio and the first to die. One with her family, before she defected, probably the only one she had, and the other with Jeonghui and Insuk.

They’re just teenagers in the photo. Innocent children. The careful, old-fashioned hand on the back tells her they’d just met the week before.

Hyeonseo barely resists the urge to rip it into shreds.

What would Seongmi have thought of the monsters they became, she wonders, before she throws shut the stupid safe.

She checks the shelf next, the only one Celine hasn’t really touched—a few trinkets; a key she pockets, just in case; a box that is now empty, though she vaguely remembers it holding… something. She and Miyeong had been so hypnotized by that box that they’d nearly gotten caught in here.

Finally, starting to get annoyed, she checks the walls.

She can remember this even less than the floorboards, but she swears there’s a trick to one of the panels, if she can just—

The door slides open, Soyi poking her head in. “What is all that tapping?”

The panel slides open in a flutter of cobwebs before Hyeonseo can say something to nudge Soyi back out the door (she hadn't even thought she was being that loud...damn gumiho hearing). She's at her side in an instant.

Not when she’d seen those chains.

But Hyeonseo does not answer. And, eventually, she steps on a loose floorboard and becomes swiftly distracted by lifting it up and examining what lies below.

So distracted that she does not reply when Soyi politely asks her what she might be reading.

There isn’t much else in the room, just dust and cobwebs. Soyi does her very best to be patient, watching Hyeonseo’s face pale as she reads, but there is only so long she can wait.

Finally, simply, she looks over the woman’s shoulder.

Day 95 - It tried to rally, like a disease that worsens before it's cured; we are accustomed to ignoring it, fortunately. Instead we discussed sunnier topics: we both agree that 'Celine' will be a nice name for it.

Soyi realizes what she’s reading on seeing the name.

The Hunter drops the book, startled, to stare up at her, and she finds that she’s growling.

“Soyi-nim,” she starts, softly.

“This was what you came looking for?” Soyi can feel her tails flicking around, filling the small space, kicking up dust clouds. “A guide to torture?”

“Celine said she couldn’t find anything in the archives,” Hyeonseo replies, standing. Her hands twitch with readiness. “They—you didn’t tell her how—“

“I didn’t tell her?” Soyi echoes, blood rushing in her ears. She was right not to trust this woman.

“Well, I don’t know a damn thing about re-merging souls!” Hyeonseo snaps, and it’s enough for her to take pause.

To take in how pale the Hunter is, even in such dim light.

“I don’t know anything,” Hyeonseo whispers, blinking rapidly.

Soyi withdraws her claws, her ears, her angry tails, and bites her lip to steady herself. It’s not as though she knows much either. The only gumiho she knew who’d turned human had done so willingly, and far from her—and she’d only known one auntie who’d chosen to come back again.

But Soyi seems even more loath to touch it, and Celine needs help. And Hyeonseo has let her down enough times in this lifetime.

It’s… nice. Quiet. Not nearly as exhausting as working, though Celine can’t do much of anything with her injury, especially not since Rumi can see it, given her lack of shirt. So she talks her through what weeds to pull and where to water, and the fox pretends not to notice when Hyeonseo and Soyi appear.

But Celine knew her break would only be so long when she came out here.

“Alright, Rumi-ya, time to water ourselves,” she says, and Rumi giggles at her phrasing, taking her hand to head for the house.

“Snack time!” she declares, and then begins to sing a little song to herself.

Hyeonseo starts to sing along. Something about her seems… lighter, maybe, or at least steadied.

Celine raises an eyebrow at her and she grins. Definitely something good.

Humans, the fox decides, are strange. What good could’ve possibly come from the office?

Soon enough, they’re all settled with drinks and cut fruit laid out of the table between them—the fox insists they have some, Celine lets it takes what it likes—and Hyeonseo says, “I wanna poke your soul some more.”

“What?” Rumi yelps.

Celine rolls her eyes. “She means look at it.”

“Oh,” says Rumi. “Like you did when I got that fever?”

“Mmhm,” Celine agrees, ignoring how Soyi and Hyeonseo’s eyebrows have shot up. She’d been terrified out of her wits with how odd Rumi’s symptoms were. But it had, thankfully, just been a matter for antibiotics.

“We’re pretty sure Celine’s kinda sick too,” Hyeonseo says, recovering admirably. “So I have to examine her to see if I’m right or not.”

Rumi’s eyes get wide, and Celine cringes. This is why she does her best not to let Rumi know when she’s sick.

“And then she won’t have to sleep all day anymore?” Rumi asks, hopeful.

She'll have to stock up on vitamins. And maybe get a flu shot this winter. Anything's better than the fussing they're promising.

(the fox is proud and does not like to be seen as incapable, but it still grumbles at Celine; this is what a skulk is meant to do, doesn't she see?)

(Celine thinks she needs to try to explain the concept of 'burden' to the fox)

(though...maybe by flu season she wouldn't need to)

She grasps Hyeonseo's hands where she's holding them across the table, once again breathing out slowly as she quiets her mind, tugs on the Honmoon, and lets the kitchen fade from around her as she feels Hyeonseo caressing her soul.

"I just can't get over how bright it is," she murmurs, fingers stroking tenderly, wonderingly. "It really is beautiful, Cece."

Celine focuses hard on the feel of her brushing her soul and not how hearing that had her throat growing tight.

She migrates to the scar tissue. The light feels thicker there, the pewter half-light of an overcast late-afternoon sky, at once too dim to see by but too glaring to be of use. And it's tender; even though Hyeonseo keeps her touch light, Celine has to stop herself from flinching as she prods and probes and searches and studies.

It's been decades...why does it still hurt?

"It's still sore, isn't it?" Hyeonseo whispers as Celine's grip tightens a hair, reading her thoughts.

Celine wants to say 'no,' but...lying always was hard to Hyeonseo, even when she wasn't ghosting around her soul.

"Like an injury that didn't heal right..." Hyeonseo says, more to herself than anything. She traces down a line- a seam?- where the ever-present ache feels especially sharp and cold, a thread of shadow amidst the dazzling light.

She knows that ache; she's used to it. So much so she didn't question why it was still there, even as her soul felt more whole than she ever remembered.

Hyeonseo hums, like she's found something she expected, rests her fingers atop Celine's soul so the warmth from them seeped through like liquid sunlight, as much a hug as if she'd thrown her arms around her, then withdraws.

When Celine opens her eyes Rumi's staring at her, and she can see a thousand questions bubbling in her like over-aerated champagne.

While her lack of progress on her work sits under her skin with an uncomfortable buzz, Celine doesn’t even manage to get back into her office and groan over the keyboard again before it’s dinner time, which of course means bath time, and then Rumi is insisting on extra-long story time starting immediately, so she won’t have to stay up late, and Celine—realizing how shaken her kit must’ve been by the past few days—can’t stop herself from giving in.

By the time she kisses Rumi’s forehead and slips out of her room, Celine’s brain is nothing but exhausted mush, regardless of it only being eight o’clock.

And then she won’t have to sleep all day anymore indeed.

The fox decides that it would rather sleep in bed than face-down on her computer keyboard, and Celine doesn’t have the willpower to fight.

She wakes early—and cold, her tails having battered the covers away. More pressing, perhaps, is the odd soreness in her chest, as if she’d stretched a muscle too far.

Or like she’d let someone play with her wreck of a soul.

Ugh. She hopes this is the useful kind of soreness.

Celine sighs and rises, stretching physically—or at least attempting to, in spite of her shoulder. Ugh.

Well, she supposes, at least she doesn’t hear Rumi rattling about. They might be able to have some discussion of whatever Hyeonseo had started thinking.

As if on cue, her ears twitch—a door slides open, little feet patter down the hall, and then… her own door squeaks, slowly, just a crack, and a small eye is pressed up against the gap.

“Rumi-ya, good morning, how are you feeling?”

“Good! I’ve been thinking lots about what we talked about yesterday”

Rumi babbles off all the theories and thoughts she has mustered, imagination and dream taking equal place amongst what she could remember of what she understood.

Celine smiles to herself at Rumi’s passion, the fox bleeding in as some of her tails curls around and bring the two closer together.

She had always loved Rumi. There had just always been restrictions on how she had allowed that love to be shown.

///

In the kitchen, Soyi is lost in thought contemplating the same subject as Rumi.

As a Gumiho, she knows much about souls, yet had realized yesterday there was so much more she didn’t know.

Or perhaps just different ways of looking at it.

For one, she’d learned that hunters saw souls slightly differently than Gumiho did. Used different means to interact with them.

There had been a million questions from Rumi, and it was clear that the young girl already had a simple, basic understanding of the Hunter’s model with which she wielded her curiosity.

Soyi had already been slightly missing some context when they had started, and while each answer brought some understanding, each new question further widened the gap.

Somewhere along the way, something had been said that caught in the net of her subconsciousness. While she can’t figure out what it is, she can’t let go of the feeling either.

Like knowing you’ve forgotten to bring something on a trip.

So there she is, mulling over the hours of Rumi’s question’s and their answers, again.

“Soyi-nim, you seem tired, is there anything i can do to help?”

Hyeonseo’s words snapped her out of her idle thoughts. She hadn’t even heard her enter. Blinking and taking in her surroundings, Soyi realizes she has been staring off while standing over the food she took out to prepare.

Shaking her head, Soyi declines. “Hyeonseo-nim, my daughter does not trust you near a cooktop much less a knife, and I have no reason to feel otherwise”

Hyeonseo decides not to fight the insult in favor of pushing the point she came to make.

“You know, when we were taught about Gumiho, they never mentioned accelerated healing. And Celine is still nursing her wound, yet yours was worse and practically disappeared overnight”

She steels herself.

“Eomeonim, if you are hiding your wound with your shapeshifting, you really should take time to rest and let it heal underneath”

Perhaps she steeled herself too hard.

Hyeonseo fights the part of herself that wants to remind the demon exactly what a predator is, bowing in apology. “Of course.”

“I didn’t need any shapeshifting for that, anyway,” Soyi says, still snappish. “Just a shirt.”

She raises her arm, stoping when it’s about halfway up with a hiss, and now that Hyeonseo is looking, she can indeed see the cloth folding a bit oddly around the bandages.

Strange, how prideful old women are all the same. It reminds Hyeonseo deeply of her own mother.

Celine’s footfalls are quiet, but she can’t yet control the shushing of her swaying tails against the floor. Hyeonseo knows Soyi hears her at the exact same moment she does, returning her focus to the food.

“Good morning, Celine, Rumi-ya,” Hyeonseo says. She never thought she’d find her heart warmed by the sight of a part-demon child wrapped in a gumiho’s tails, but here she is.

(Once upon a time, though, she hadn’t believed in demons, either.)

Tuesday, she thinks. She has to be gone on Thursday. It would’ve been better if they could’ve planned the night before, she doesn’t know if they’ll be able to figure out how to do what they need in just two days, or if Celine will be stable enough for her to leave right after.

But that feeling of Celine’s soul. That cold line. She doesn’t know if she can just leave it. Doesn’t know if Celine would survive her leaving it.

But… much as prideful old women are all the same, so are mothers and daughters. Hyeonseo casts a critical eye at her Celine is sitting Rumi down at the table, and she knows exactly what Celine would say if she mentioned her worries:

I’ll be fine.

Just chilling

honmoon

bonus

mira: but ms. celine said we have to wait until after dinner

zoey: but I want em now!!!

rumi: dont worry I’ll tell ‘er

celine in her office: fuck everything

do you think she’s read skpomdtihh