#mama!bear reader

You were used to Celine’s paranoid anxieties. That had been one of the first things you had to accept when you began dating her.

She was overly cautious and highly protective. If she hadn’t heard from you in a while then her mind started filling with worst case scenarios. Maybe you got hurt, maybe you got kidnapped, maybe a demon got you while Celine wasn’t around. She wouldn’t relax until she heard your voice again.

At home she refused to go to bed until she had patrolled the perimeter of her own home, double-checking every room, every window, and every door to make sure they were safe. You teased her exactly once over it, and immediately felt guilty for it. If this is what Celine needed to feel safe at home, you weren’t going to judge her. You’d help her in whatever way you could.

Once the Sunlight Sisters fell apart with Miyeong’s death, her paranoia worsened. Miyeong’s death had been a jarring reminder of how fragile their lives were.

And what’s more? Suddenly it wasn’t only you she needed to protect, but Rumi too. Suddenly she was carrying the weight of protecting the whole world all on her own. She had become Atlas, carrying the Heaven’s on her shoulders. Even as Rumi got older, those worries and fears Celine carried didn’t ease.

Couldn’t rest.

The Honmoon was growing weaker with each passing year, there was only so much Celine could do to protect it, but one hunter was never going to be enough. More demons were slipping through; the cracks were deepening.

Her fears worsening.

You had lost track of how often you woke up to Celine fretting over you, as if she were afraid you had died. You had lost count of how often you would slip out of bed in the wee hours of the night and find your wife asleep on the floor, back to Rumi's crib, and her ssanggeom in each hand.

Sometimes you’d find her awake and standing over Rumis crib—and later bed—as she stood watch. “sojunghan saram,” she would whisper to the girl as she tucked a few stray hairs behind her ear.

There was one night in particular you still remembered clearly. There had been a presence over your body and fingers at your throat.

Jolting awake, you were met with a ragged Celine kneeling over you on the bed, fingers pressed to your pulse point on your throat. She was covered in bruises and still-bleeding cuts from the latest round of demons she had to fight off.

“You… you were so still,” Celine explained in a dreadful whisper as she pulled her shaking hand back. “I had to be sure.”

She’d already lost two of her closest friends, she couldn’t stand the thought of losing either you or Rumi too. She was paranoid, she was anxious, she had to make constant sure that you were okay.

And you couldn’t blame her, couldn’t bring yourself to even pretend to be annoyed.

You took her hand in yours and pressed a kiss to her bruised knuckles to show that this was real, that you were living, not a ghost, “I'm fine, we’re fine, nae sarang,” you murmured. You were here, and Rumi was sleeping soundly in he own room.

Crawling out of bed, you carefully led Celine out of your shared room. She didn’t make a fuss, didn’t argue as you made her take a seat at the kitchen island, only letting out a quiet, almost unnoticeable, whine when you let go of her hand and walked away.

The first aid kit was in the bathroom, it was sizable, bigger than you suspected most households needed, and was very well used. Tucking the metal box under your arm, you’d grabbed a wash cloth and then retrieved a bowl of warm water from the kitchen. You’d done this song and dance plenty of times, the steps second nature at this point.

You carefully washed the blood and dirt off of her with the damp cloth, watching the bowl of water slowly turn redder and redder. You poured it out and replaced it with fresh water three times before you were satisfied with the result.

Then began the slow process of finally cleaning out each wound made by demon claws and weapon. She was covered in so many gashes and scrapes, deep cuts and light scratches.

She never used to come home this injured when she had the others to watch her back. A few bruises, a couple of cuts. Nothing some band-aids and concealer couldn't fix. Now she came home each night like she'd dragged herself from war.

You never said anything on it. She was doing all she could, the work of three on the shoulders of one. If she came home more injured than she used to, then you'd kiss her bruises and wrap her cuts. You were just grateful she came home.

Each injury you took your time and care with, being as thorough as you could cleaning and disinfecting it before moving on to the next, staying as gentle as you could with Celine.

It was as you were wetting another cotton ball that Celine stiffened in a familiar way, bringing you to pause. To listen. Quiet footsteps, the gentle creak of floorboards. An even softer gasp.

“You should be in bed, little cub.”

Turning around, you were met with the sight of the small girl loitering around the corner, trying to be sneaky as she watched. Rumi had her teddy bear tucked under one arm, and her eyes were wide with fright as she peered at you two.

“…Is Celine going to be okay?”

Celine pushed past the pain to offer Rumi a strained smile, holding out a hand in a quiet invitation for her to come over. “I’ll be fine, Rumi,” she assured the girl who scampered across the room to latch on to her. “I’m far tougher than I look.”

Rumi nuzzled into her hand, eyes still wet with tears, mind clearly rushing over all the worst what ifs it could imagine after seeing Celine so hurt.

Like mother like daughter, you supposed.

They had done well up until now to keep Rumi away from this side of demon hunting. She could be told stories of hunts and fights, Celine and yourself could paint them as fantastical, heroic battles that one might see in her cartoons or read in a book. The kind of fights where the hero always wins and no one really gets hurt.

But you had both always made sure she never saw the aftermath of those fights, neither wanting to worry or scare her. She was too young to know just how dangerous fighting a demon could be. To see Celine covered in her own blood after each fight.

Well, so much for that now.

“Celine’s right, Rumi,” you hummed, kneeling down beside her. “She’s too stubborn to not be okay.”

She didn’t look too convinced, and you couldn’t blame her, so you switched tactics. “I’ve still got a lot of work with patching her up. Do you think you could lend me a hand?”

Rumi, always so eager to help, agreed immediately while asking what it was you needed her to do and promising to do her task well.

It was simple enough. An extra pair of hands to hand you things or to hold items steady for you. You were still doing all the work, but passing you fresh cotton balls and antiseptic was doing wonders at making Rumi feel useful, and hopefully at distracting her.

And Celine did her part of holding perfectly still as you continued to clean out the injuries, exhaling in slow, steady breaths, smiling over at Rumi, reassuring the girl over and over that she was fine, that she would be okay.

By the time you and Rumi had finished, Celine was cleaned up, stitched up, and wrapped up in fresh white bandages and over a dozen teddy bear band-aids.

Once completed, you’d hoisted Rumi up into your arms—letting out an exaggerated grunt and gasp as you teased her for getting to be so big, how she needed to stop growing—and propped her up on your hip. “I think that’s enough excitement for one night, cub. Let’s get you to bed.”

Of course Rumi argued and fought, still so worried for Celine, there was no way she'd able to just go to sleep.

So a compromise: she spent the night curled up between the two of you so she could make absolutely sure that Celine would be okay.

It was cute.

Of course, Celine continued to come home battered and bruised after each fight, and you continued to mend her wounds and tend to her aches each time.

But now the dynamic had shifted, just a little, as Rumi continued to worry herself into tears until you let her help take in whatever little way you could. That's all she really wanted; to help. To take care of Celine just like she took care of you and her.

There had been another incident, one that you swore up and down wasn’t half as serious as your girls claimed it was. Though your reassurances did little to help ease the paranoia and fear in them.

It had been late at night. Rumi, who was now eleven, had convinced yourself and Celine to take her to see a new animated film at the theaters—not that it took much convincing, that girl had both of you wrapped around her fingers—and by the time the movie was over and you two were walking home, the sun had long since set and the streets had become quiet.

Rumi was between you both, each holding one of her hands as you swung her between you, laughing, talking animatedly about the movie, the songs, the characters. She had stars in her eyes, and was probably running on a rather big sugar high. Neither of you had noticed the way she had faltered, or the odd, brief look flickering her face.

Celine had sensed it a few minutes later, an ominous shift in the Honmoon. She didn’t have to explain herself, she had contingencies for incidents like these.

So as she ran off to hunt, you had tightened your grip on Rumi’s hand and began a brisk walk to the nearest store you could find that was still open. It didn’t erase the danger, but it was safer to wait in a public space than it was to be alone in the streets when demons broke free.

Most of the stores were closed, it was hard to find somewhere that might have been open still. You wouldn’t lie; you were starting to grow worried, not that you would let it show.

You kept a brave face instead, assuring Rumi that everything was fine, that they weren’t in any sort of trouble. While Celine was fighting, it was your job to keep your little girl calm, to chase away the fear.

Rumi had whimpered, clinging to you like her life depended on it.

If she hadn’t let out a scream when she had, you never would have noticed the demon approaching. The creature was red and leathery, with a single bulging eye.

In an instant, it leapt off a dumpster at you.

You’d tackled Rumi, to the ground, shielding her with your own body as you dived away from the razor-sharp claws.

This was bad.

Celine was the hunter, not you. You couldn’t summon weapons from the Honmoon, nor did you have the kind of fighting experience that Celine had when it came to demons. At most you had a few self-defense lessons meant to deal with would-be muggers and a bottle of expired pepper spray in your purse.

Needless to say, you were grossly out of your depth here.

But you had Rumi at your side, and like fucking hell were you going to let anything happen to her.

The demon stayed crouched on the ground, looking up at you and Rumi like a child staring at a dead bug with morbid fascination. It said nothing, tilted it’s head and stared at them. Then the thing slowly smiled at you, full off too many teeth, full of too much malice.

You'd like to think that you threw some witty line at it, some kind of wisecrack as you angled your body to best shield Rumi. When it lashed out to punch and slash, you grabbed Rumi and threw yourselves the opposite way.

Keep your distance. Don’t let it get close enough to touch you. Just hold out until Celine found you. Those were the rules. Meant to keep you safe, meant to protect you.

Simple in theory, a lot harder in practice.

Lucky for you, the demon was as dumb as it was ugly. Making it easy to distract it, easy to evade it.

You continued to dance around it, dragging Rumi with you each step. At one point you managed to get enough distance to pull out your pepper spray and—with nothing more than a hope and a prayer that the bottle would still work—you managed to spritz it in it's bulging eye.

It may not have been half as potent as it should have been, but it still sent the demon screaming and writhing for a minute or two. Add in another minute of being dazed after you threw in a punch to the eye for free.

It was plenty long enough to give you and Rumi a running start as you fled.

Unfortunately, it was a tragic fact of life that you can never truly outrun a demon. Not when they have a cheat code known as teleportation.

You and Rumi had only made it to the end of the block before being cut off by a sudden cloud of maroon smoke appearing in front of you and a just as fast swipe of claws aimed at Rumi.

Without even thinking, you threw yourself over her.

You heard your sweater tear. Felt your skin tear, followed by the warm trickle of blood that began dribbling down your shoulder.

Thankfully, the demon didn’t have a chance to follow up.

There was the quiet sound of metal hissing through the air, and then the demon was gone like a cloud in the sky, and Celine had taken its place.

She stood before you, face glistening with sweat, her clothes torn, and her skin littered in new bruises and fresh cuts.

Her hands were on your face the moment her twin blades returned to the Honmoon, checking you and Rumi over with frantic worry.

She saw your bleeding shoulder and you saw her face twist from worry to terror and guilt.

Celine was talking to you—you could see her mouth moving, as her hand hovered over the injury, but you couldn’t heard the words over the roar in your ears.

It took a few seconds, you think, before the noise quieted enough for you to hear Celine's rushed and quiet apologies and self-flagellation over the injury.

“Jagiya, I’m fine. We’re fine,” you weren’t sure, but you hope you sounded more convincing than you looked.

Celine looked like she wanted to argue, but that was too bad for her, because you made sure that Rumi took priority.

She was sobbing against you, face pressed into your arm as your blood dripped onto her. Rumi was crying out apologies. If Celine was bad about blaming herself over you getting hurt, your cub was worse.

You got hurt protecting her, so it’s her fault you’re bleeding, Rumi had insisted between hiccups. She’s sorry, she’s sorry.

You ignored the ache in your bones as you pulled yourself free from Celine to drop to your knee, pulling Rumi into your chest. The only one to blame for you being hurt was the demon, and it was gone now. It had tried to hurt Rumi; it was only natural you’d protect her.

You kept whispering reassurances to her, trying to assuage her guilt and assure her that she wasn’t to blame.

The walk back home had been tense. Celine on high alert, carrying Rumi in one arm, her other wrapped carefully around you as if to shield you both. Rumi hiccupping between her sobs.

That was the first night that you found yourself sitting on the stool while Rumi and Celine fretted over you, cleaning out your injury and stitching you shut.

The injury would leave a scar. You didn’t care. To you it was a proud reminder of how far you’d go to keep your family safe.

A week later Rumi stubbornly demanded Celine train her.

And with that your own fears began to materialize: the inevitably that both of your girls will be putting their lives on the line to fight.

Your nights used to be spent patching Celine up. But now your evenings were the same; spent bandaging Rumi's cuts and icing her bruises.

You had hoped, deep down, that she would decide the training was too much for her, that she didn’t want to live this kind of life. Celine wouldn't force her into becoming a hunter if she didn't want to.

But Rumi took to her training like a fish to water. Just like with Celine, Rumi was single-minded in her focus, determined to accomplish whatever task she was given perfectly.

You just wished your cub wasn’t inheriting all Celine’s bad habits.

She continued to refuse to look at your scar with anything but guilt. Refused to stop blaming herself for your injury. As if there had been anything an eleven-year-old kid could have done to prevent any of it.

It was two in the morning when you carefully removed yourself from Celine’s hold and slipped out of the bed. The way she whined, trying to keep you against her even in her sleep, it was honestly adorable.

You kept your movements as quiet as possible so your wife could sleep as you approached the bedroom door, intent to only get a glass of water, nothing more.

Opening the door, you were not expecting to see Rumi.

She was slumped on the floor, back pressed to the wall across from your room. She was in her teddy bear pajamas, cradling her wooden practice sword, her head dipped low in a position that would guarantee neck and back pain come morning.

You quietly closed the door behind you and then knelt beside her, placing a careful hand on her shoulder. “Rumi,” you whispered, giving her just the slightest nudge.

Just like with Celine, the girl jolted awake with wide eyes, drawing her sword to fight.

And just like with Celine whenever she woke up thinking she was in a fight, you gently caught her wrist in a loose, nonconfining grasp before she could lash out, keeping your voice quiet for her, “It’s just me, cub.”

Rumi blinked away the sleep, chest heaving as she stared up at you in slow recognition. A moment passed before her face flushed in shame. “Sorry—I” she pulled her hand free, dropping it, and the sword, to her lap. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize for being startled.”

Rumi still wouldn’t look your way, staring at the closed bedroom door, at the wooden sword in her lap, her own twitching fingers.

Like mother, like daughter, you thought with a sigh.

“Come with me,” was all you said as you stood, slowly pulling Rumi to her feet too. She didn’t argue or fight you, the hall was no place for a conversation, and so you gentle guided her to the kitchen.

Before long you had her sitting beside you at the table, a mug of tea in her hands. Her eyes continued to dart left and right. Just like Celine always did.

“What were you doing outside our door?” you asked her, your tone wasn’t accusatory, just genuine curiosity and concern. Had she had a bad dream? She knew she could always come and wake you if she did—her becoming a teenager didn’t mean she was allowed less comfort.

Rumi kept staring at her tea, at the small ripples in the dark liquid that came with each slight movement. Then, slowly, she gave you a shrug as she continued to avoid your gaze. “Thought I heard something in the house.”

“And so, you decided to stand guard outside our room?”

There wasn’t a shrug this time, rather Rumi shrunk down on herself, as if worried she’d done something wrong. Her eyes flickered to your shoulder; your sleep shirt had left just enough of the skin exposed that she could see the beginnings of the scar she hated so much. A new rush of guilt and shame flashed across her face.

Reaching across the table, you rested your hand over hers. “Rumi, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

You felt like you’ve been telling her that a lot more often as she grew up. That constant fear, walking on eggshells, the worry that she’d disappoint you or Celine. Worried she’d make one wrong step and everyone would hate her for it.

You wished you could know how to help her better.

Rumi still avoided your gaze, “I’m just worried for you,” you told her. “Sleeping on the floor like that isn’t good for you.”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” Rumi defended. As if that made it any better.

Rather than say that; you just gave her hand a comforting squeeze. Rumi was too much like Celine for her own good, but at least that meant you had an idea of what to expect.

That being that you knew telling Rumi to stop it wasn’t going to work. She’ll just try to be craftier about her nightly sentry duties, sneakier about it—and the last thing you want is for Rumi to feel like she has to hide anything from you.

You had learned that the best way to handle the stubbornness of a Hunter was to find a compromise.

“Next time you feel like something’s wrong, like you did tonight, please wake Celine or myself. If there is some kind of threat, I don’t want to worry about you dealing with it on your own,” you told her. “And if you have to stand guard, at least bring a pillow or two so it’s more comfortable.”

That, at least, Rumi could agree to. Celine would have more experience handling any threat, and—if you insisted then she wouldn’t argue about the pillow.

A compromise, that’s all you asked.

Still smiling softly, you slowly pushed yourself up from the table. “Do you want to go back to bed, or stay up a little longer?”

“A little longer—but you can go back to bed, you don’t have to stay up with me,” Rumi said quickly, finally looking up from her cooling tea. “I don’t want to keep you up.”

“Lucky for you that I happen to want to stay up with you.”

 Rumi tried to argue, but the end result was inevitable, with the two of you curled up on the couch watching Culinary Class Wars on the television as the night hours slowly drifted by.

The two of you were still there at dawn when Celine padded out into the room, tired, clearly a little miffed to have woken up without you beside her in bed. But her sour expression had softened immediately when she saw Rumi curled up against you on the couch, sleeping soundly.

You smiled, a finger to your lips as you looked at her, your other hand gently threading through Rumi’s hair.

Nights like this proved to be a reoccurring thing with Rumi. It reminded you of how Celine used to anxiously watch over her when Rumi was little.

There were times where she’d pace aggressively around the house, like she was looking for something, hunting for something, but not even she knew what she was trying to find. If she wasn’t pacing, she looked ready to vibrate out of her skin.

Anxiety, you theorized. Celine’s paranoia rubbing off on her.

You had suggested seeing a doctor, if nothing else then maybe getting Rumi on anxiety medication could help her. But, unsurprisingly, Rumi was just as stubbornly against the idea as Celine had been when you had suggested the same to her years ago.

Like mother. Like daughter.

In all the best and worst ways.

So you handled this in the only way you could.

If you saw Rumi jumping at shadows, like a prey knowing it’s predator was lurking just out of sight, you’d bundle her up and sit her down with a drink, a treat, and let her vent.

Even if it didn’t make sense to you, even if it didn’t make sense to her, you let her get all the words for what she was feeling out.

Something was wrong.

Rumi felt like there were too many eyes watching. The sense that something was waiting. Her patterns would start itching and aching, and she would feel breathing on her neck.

There was a constricting, confining pressure in her chest that wouldn’t go away until she started moving, started searching.

You weren’t sure if anxiety was the right answer—but Celine assured her that the Honmoon didn’t so much as shiver the last time she had that rush of paranoia.

Still, Rumi didn’t settle, didn’t rest. Continued to pace the house in the dark of night when those watching eyes grew too much, continued to stand guard outside yours and Celine’s room when the anxiety got too much.

Continued to watch cooking shows with you on the couch until she finally relaxed and fell asleep.

Rumi was fifteen years old now. She was still training hard to become a Hunter, and had been working just as hard in her music.

You felt like you got to see her less and less as her time was consumed with lessons. It was all but set in stone now that she’d succeed as the leader of the next generation of Hunters.

You had mixed feelings about that.

Pride for all that your daughter has and was going to accomplish, for how strong and brave she had grown to be. But also fear; fear for her safety, her wellbeing. You didn’t want to see her to carry the same scars Celine had.

And you knew that deep down Celine felt the same.

It was shown in how, even after years of training, even when Rumi had long since learned to forge her own weapon from the Honmoon, Celine still chose to fight the demons alone. Telling Rumi that she wasn’t ready to fight—telling you that she wasn’t ready to make Rumi fight.

But you’ve lived long enough to know that fate rarely cares about what a person wants.

It’s been fifteen years. The Honmoon was barely holding itself together without the Hunters song to sustain it. The Sunlight Sisters had faded into obscurity by now, their music barely enough to keep the barrier strong. It was a miracle in itself that the Honmoon hadn’t completely shattered yet.

That didn’t mean it didn’t tear.

The Honmoon had crackled and shuddered so badly that Celine had feared it was going to break. The sign of a tear—one that both her and Rumi knew one Hunter alone couldn’t handle.

Rumi had begged and argued, she was a skilled fighter now, there was no doubt about it. Celine needed the help, regardless of what her pride said. Regardless of how desperately Celine wanted to not put Rumi in that kind of danger.

Ultimately, Celine had agreed. They didn’t have time to keep arguing, and as much as she hated it, she couldn’t fight this on her own.

That left you to wait for them alone at home.

It was an awful feeling.

It wasn’t as if you’d never been alone before while Celine was fighting demons. Back before Rumi was born, when the Sunlight Sisters still stood, you were often alone when the three went to deal with the demon incursions.

But back then you knew that they would be okay. Worried, yes, but you never doubted that they’d come home safe and sound.

Having both Rumi and Celine gone felt different. Filled you with so much more fear that it left you drowning in your thoughts.

What if something happened? Rumi’s never fought a demon before, her experience in combat came from sparring with Celine and nothing more. What if something went wrong and she got hurt? What if there were too many demons for them? What if you lost Celine? You couldn’t lose Celine. You couldn’t lose either of them.

Distraction, that’s what you needed.

It was already late into the night, and you tried to busy yourself with mindless tasks. Pacing was getting you nowhere, the house was already as spotless as it could be, so you did what you did best when you were stressed.

Cook.

They were going to be tired and hungry when they got home, you reasoned as you got to work. You needed to make them dinner. A celebratory meal for Rumi to congratulate her on her first real fight against the demons.

Rumi liked kimbaps. So, you decided you’d make some. But Celine liked bossam and bibimbap—you’d make that too, of course. And obviously there was all the side dishes you needed to make for them. Kimchi, ssamjang, maybe some seau-jeot if you had some shrimp. If not, some miyeok-guk would be good.

Maybe you were going a little overboard. But if you couldn’t stress clean, you sure as hell were going to burn all this nervous energy by stress cooking!

That way you could feel productive, you could keep your mind off the fight that Celine and Rumi were in the middle of, you could make sure there was something good for them to come home to.

Rolling up your sleeves and slipping on your apron, you got to work.

Across the city, where the Honmoon had been torn open, Celine and Rumi were fighting tirelessly, cutting down one demon after the other.

Spilling out from the rupture was a swarm of faceless demons. They crawled and climbed over each other in their mad bid to attack the pair of Hunters, filling the air with animalistic growls and snarls.

They were exactly how Celine had taught her; weak enough that a single blow from Rumi’s saingeom killed them. But the danger wasn’t in the individual, it was in their overwhelming numbers.

They were on a tightrope. One misstep from her or Celine and the hoard could overrun them.

But they were slowly pushing back, the swarm thinning by the minute. They just had to reach the tear, help the Honmoon mend itself, and the demons would be cut off.

Rumi grunted as she kicked one of the demons away, sending it careening into another group before pivoting on her heel and swinging her sword, cutting through three more in a single arc.

Celine had been right about this, too.

This was nothing compared to all her training.

At that thought, Rumi dared to look over to where her mother mentor was fighting further away.

Celine’s ssanggeoms cut through the air, bringing down one demon after the other, her movements as graceful as a stream. Each step she took, each swing of her ssanggeom carefully measured to use the least amount of energy without sacrificing the power behind it. A form of efficiency born only from years of experience.

Had Rumi not been fighting for her own life—and the lives of everyone this swarm would hurt if they failed—she would have deigned to just watch.

There was something enthralling about the way Celine fought. A kind of grace that made it seem less like a battle and more like a dance.

But this was certainly not the time, or the place, for that. Every second counted, and she couldn't afford to be distracted.

Another demon lunged for her, and Rumi turned, beheading it in a clean strike, watching the body dissolved into a maroon mist, as if it had never been there to begin with.

She tried not to think about it, about her own patterns, about whether she would dissolve in a similar cloud if she were killed.

They were nearly done.

Celine pulled the strings of the Honmoon and created a shockwave that took out the bulk of the swarm, Rumi had managed to cut through more demons, providing cover when Celine managed to reach the tear, keeping the faceless demons away from her.

The Honmoon glowed blue as she focused her energy into it, the rupture growing smaller and smaller until the strings reconnected—weaker than they should be, but closed once more.

As Rumi brought her sword down on one more demon, she felt it. Her body stiffening as a familiar sense of wrongness overtook her.

Home, something deep inside her urged.

“Celine,” her voice came out hoarse, strained, watching as Celine took down the last of the demons with a spin of her blades. “Celine, we need to leave. We need to go back. Now.”

 Home, home, home, her instincts screamed.

That’s where you were. Home. Alone.

In the back of her mind, she saw the puff of smoke, the flash of claws, crimson blood dripping down your shoulder as you curled yourself over Rumi.

They needed to get back home.

The beef for the bibimbap was marinating, the rice cooker was on. You had all your vegetables chopped up and divided into bowls. Cooking, focusing your attention on something tangible, had proved to help in keeping your mind off your worries.

You were proud of the meal you were making. All the favorite dishes of your favorite girls. Sure, you might have gone a bit excessive for just the three of you, but every little dish had kept your mind away from thoughts such as ‘Is Celine okay?’ ‘I don’t want Rumi to come home as tattered as Celine does’ ‘Please let them come home’ just that little bit longer.

It was while you were sauteing a pan of carrots that you heard the quiet footsteps behind you. There was only one person you knew who could move that quietly.

You allowed yourself to feel relief.

They’d come home sooner than you had thought—maybe the tear hadn’t been as bad as they feared, the demons not as dangerous. It didn’t matter the how, the why, all that mattered was that they were home.

Closing your eyes, you exhaled slowly, feeling the worry begin to ebb away. “Welcome home, aegiya,” you greeted.

But that fading worry turned ice in your veins when you turned around, because the being standing before you were neither Rumi nor Celine. It wasn’t even a human.

A demon.

This one had two eyes, it’s skin tight and red, glistening in a way skin didn’t, like a costume. It’s patterns glowing strongly under the fluorescent light.

It had the teeth of a predator—to long, too sharp, made to sink into muscle and tear—and claws like knives that could cut through flesh with ease. It was blocking off your exit out of the kitchen, cornering you in the room.

No, no, no! This was bad. They've never had a demon so bold as to invade their home before.

You couldn’t—Celine was nowhere near you. Busy fighting the influx of demons elsewhere in the city.

Rumi! Your brain screamed on instinct, you had to keep this from going after Rumi, you had to—no, she’s not here either. She’s with Celine, where she’s, ironically, safer.

You were the only one home.

You and a demon were the only ones here.

The demon seemed to have known that as well with the way it laughed, as if mocking you. You must have seemed like such easy prey when alone.

The demon lunged. You grabbed the pan off the burner and swung.

What followed was a reverberating scream as hot metal connected with its face, sending the demon reeling back. The smell of burned skin filled the kitchen.

You let out a hiss as the hot oil spilled onto your hand, pushing past the sizzling pain as you brandish the pan like a weapon. Sliced carrots and oil poured out of the pan and covered the kitchen floor.

The blow you delt it had only stunned the demon for a moment, unfortunately. It was on you again. You tried to dodge it; you tried to swing the hot pan at it again. But the creature had wised up to your tricks, knocking the attack aside to grab you by the wrist—

Hot pain coursed through you as your arm was sliced open.

You barely bit back the scream—maybe you didn’t hold it back at all—as you were wrenched to the side, the demon bringing you inches from its face, it’s mouth wide to take a bite.

You thrusted the pan upwards, jamming the hot metal into the demon’s mouth.

That proved far more effective than simply hitting the monster with the pan. It went stumbling back, clawing at its own face as it screamed in pain. Even with the pan gone, it still had the oil clinging to it.

This was your chance.

With the demon distracted by it's own pain, you made a break for it, running past the monster.

Keep your distance. Don't let it get close enough to touch you. Just hold out until Celine came home. Those were the rules. You just had to keep it occupied, keep it off you, until Celine came home.

Simple in theory.

So very much not simple in practice.

The floor was wet, slippery with the mix of oils, food, and your own blood dripping from your arm. One wrong step and your foot slid out under you, sending you careening to the floor—

With a harsh tug your fall came to a sudden stop, your face a breath from tile as the demon held you by your injured arm.

You only had a moment to even process what had happened before it was twisting your arm in its grip—you felt something in the limb go pop, blossoming with new pain—as it dragged you back up. Dragging you back to it.

With your free arm, you reached behind you blindly, grabbing one of the bowls and swung your arm back around to strike the demon.

It didn’t work. It caught the bowl with it’s own free hand and threw it across the kitchen. The sound of glass shattering filled your ears.

Moments later you were being thrown across the kitchen after it. Skittering across the tiles and shards of glass, your head connecting with the hard frame of the kitchen island with a resounding crack.

Dazed. You could see stars mixed with the growing dark spots in your visions.

For a moment you think you saw the Honmoon—glittering light threading across the ground. Pretty, you thought numbly. Like the staves of a music sheet. Just needed to put some notes in it and then it'd be a song. Maybe Celine could play its song. She plays such pretty music.

There was a dull throb in the back of your head and when you pulled your hand away there was a thick layer of blood on your fingers, sticky and wet.

Faintly, you knew that wasn’t a good thing, but your brain was playing ping-pong in your skull and for the life of you, you couldn’t think of why.

Claws wrapped around your ankle, cutting into the tender, fragile flesh and tendons, as you were dragged across the floor.

The jolts of pain helped you stay conscious even as the darkness at the edges of your vision began spreading. The demon had your leg in its hand, lifting you up, jaw unhinging as it leaned in to take a bite.

Something crashed in the distance.

Dark shapes surged into the room and onto the demon. There was a loud crunch as twin blades drove into it’s arm, cutting through meat and bone, forcing it to drop you.

No sooner had you hit the ground did another blur of a figure fly past you, knocking the demon back and tackling it to the ground.

“Get away from her!”

Oh. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Celine look so furious.

Something soft wedged itself beneath your head and shoulders, your new position helped ease the nauseating dizziness just a bit, but did little for the way your consciousness was flickering in and out.

“No, no, no!” Oh. That was Rumi above you. You think that was Rumi. She was really, really blurry, but you’d recognize that shade of purple and braid-shaped smudge anywhere. Why did she look so scared? “Celine! Her head’s bleeding really badly—what do I do?”

Bleeding? Silly cub. That wasn’t blood, that’s just the bibimbap sauce.

Rumi was staring at you, confusion mixing with her hysteria. Had you said something odd?

Your eyes flickered back down to where Celine was on top of the demon, you tried to focus on her, on her movements, but your eyelids were getting so heavy.

Faintly, you could still hear Rumi talking to you from above, but her voice had become just as blurry as your vision, muffled, like there were layers of water between her and yourself—

You awoke feeling stiff, confined.

To say that everything hurt would have been an understatement of monumental proportions. You could barely lift your arm without grimacing in pain.

“Don’t move! Please, don’t! You might tear one of your stitches!”

Stitches?

Groggily, you realized that confining feeling was because of all the bandages wrapped around you, and sure enough there were stitches beneath them. You almost felt like a mummy in that moment.

You blinked, slowly turning your head to the best of your ability, and then blinked again, willing your vision to focus.

Rumi was there, standing before you as you laid in your bed.

Her eyes were red and puffy; her cheeks soaked with tears. Her arm was sloppily bandaged up, there was a bruise on her left cheek, and a cut along her temple. She hadn’t come out of that fight unscathed, and your heart ached for it.

Your immediate instinct was to reach out and start fretting over her, to make sure whoever had bandaged her up had done a good and proper job.

But that would require you moving, and right now moving hurt.

“Are you okay, cub?” you settled on, your voice felt hoarse, your throat scratchy.

Rumi let out something between a sob and a laugh. “You’re asking if I’m okay?” she asked in disbelief. “You’re the one who almost—who almost—”

The words caught in her throat as she let out a whine, new tears building up and falling from her eyes as she all but threw herself onto you, burying her face in your chest, letting out a loud cry.

“I was so scared, you stopped moving—you were bleeding so much!” Rumi whimpered, clinging desperately to you. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry! I should have listened to you and Celine. I should have stayed here, if I had then you wouldn’t have gotten hurt!”

Slowly, carefully, biting back the hiss of pain, you raised your arm and rested it on Rumi’s back, gently rubbing small circles between her shoulder blades.

“If you had stayed with me, it’d be Celine in this bed instead.”

Between the tears she’d managed to explain to you that Celine had gone back out there—hunting down any straggling demons, fortifying the tear as best she could. She should be back soon, so don’t worry.

Was there anything she could get you in the meantime? Anything Rumi could do to make you more comfortable? Water? Tea? Were you hungry?

Celine had said you couldn’t have anything heavy since you hit your head hard, but she could make you some soup if you were hungry, some broth should be light enough.

Maybe it was the lingering effects of the concussion, but the mention of food had sparked a laugh from you, and an apology. “There might be some side dishes that survived, if you're hungry. Maybe the rice. But sorry I didn’t get a chance to finish cooking for you two.”

That had earned you a light admonish.

Who cared if you didn’t get dinner done? All they cared about was that you were okay! Don’t even worry about cleaning up the mess, she and Celine would take care of that. You just needed to focus on resting, on healing.

There wasn’t any kind of argument you could muster against her at that. So you didn’t. You just nodded your head and watched as the tension bled out of her.

You weren’t sure just how much time had passed after that. Rumi had insisted on staying at your side, and you couldn’t say no to her, not when you were sure that would only have her cry and probably panic. Eventually she had cried herself to sleep curled up against your side.

That was the position you two remained in when Celine eventually stepped into the room, her footsteps quiet, as if to not disturb you. She looked even more haggard than usual.

The moment her eyes met yours, that she saw you were awake, she was at your other side, sitting on the bed and carefully combing her nails through your hair. “Yeobo,” she whispered, her voice on the verge of breaking.

You smiled back up at her, catching her other hand and tilting your head so you could press a kiss to her bruised and bleeding knuckles. “I’m fine, we’re fine,” you murmured. All three of you were here and alive. Maybe a little banged up, but you would all recover.

Celine didn’t cry, not like Rumi had, but she dipped head down to press her forehead to yours, taking in a sharp, shuddering breath. “We’re fine,” she echoed.

It took several weeks before the final bandage had come off.

Any time Rumi and Celine weren’t spending hovering over you, they spent training. Rumi pushing herself harder and harder, both determined to not let something like this happen again.

Celine had told you one time, while Rumi was in the garden, practicing her sword swings, that it was Rumi who had dragged her back to the house that night. That Rumi had felt something was wrong.

If Rumi hadn’t, if she hadn’t gone running back to the house with Celine, you likely wouldn’t be here.

It was an instinct of some kind. Celine wasn’t sure exactly how it worked, but she suspected that Rumi might be able to sense the presence of demons. She wasn’t certain yet, and she didn’t want to bring it up to Rumi.

The girl had enough on her plate; Celine didn’t want to make things harder for her by adding demon powers to the mix of things Rumi would need to worry over.

“Sunlight Studios is going to officially start auditions for a new idol group next month. It's time for a new generation to take the stage,” Celine murmured as she rested her chin on your shoulder, watching Rumi practice through the glass of the sliding door. “I can’t hold off the demons by myself anymore, the Honmoon can't survive much longer on my voice alone."

A new generation.

That meant Rumi.

“She’s so young, I don’t want this kind of life for her,” you murmured.

Sure, Rumi may be fifteen, she may have grown into a skilled swordswoman. But you still saw that little girl carrying a teddy bear, the cub who’d come running to you with tears in her eyes over scrapped knees.

She was growing up too fast.

“She won’t be going into the fray immediately. The other Hunters will need to be trained. That could take a year or two before they’re ready,” Celine assured you, holding you tighter on her lap. “She’ll have people who can watch her back, protect her. Her fights wont end like mine do. They’ll do better than me. They’ll be better.”

You took a deep, steadying breath.

There was nothing you could say, nothing you could do, that would change this. You’ve all known this day would come, sooner or later. You’ve had just hoped it would be later.

“Promise me that whoever you select will take care of her,” you said, your voice firm. “I don’t care how good their voices are, how strong they are with the Honmoon. None of it matters if they won’t care for and be there for her.”

“Of course,” Celine murmured against your skin.

“And train them well, train them right,” you continued, fidgeting your fingers against hers. “Make sure they can keep themselves, and each other, safe.”

“I will.”

“And you have to—” you faltered with a groan, your body sagging. “I’m not ready for this. But, it’s Rumi. She’ll do what she does best and do better than anyone can predict.”

That earned a soft laugh from Celine. “That she will. She’s already leagues better than I was at her age. She’ll be fine.”

Despite your better judgement, you believed her.

Rumi was strong, she was brilliant, she was your brave little tiger cub. But she was no more little, and no less brave. And she was going to do what tigers did.

She was going to keep the world safe.

Yall can thank @weepingwillow-writes for this one <3

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You had been part of Rumi’s life for as long as she could remember.

Celine’s wife, you had helped to raise Rumi when Miyeong died. Celine loved her, of course she did, but she was busy. The sole remaining hunter, given the herculean task of protecting the Honmoon and overworld on her own. While she was gone late into the night to fight demons, to protect mortal souls, you’d be at home, tending to the home, watching over Rumi.

You were an anchor. For her. For Celine. And for Zoey and Mira when they eventually joined this dysfunctional family.

You were open, you didn’t hide your love behind cautionary words and wary looks. You were kind, you were supportive, you listened. You were there to provide comfort when the world felt too like too much.

And in moments like this, you were a much needed second opinion, a voice that spoke to from a heart full of love and acceptance, not a mind full of fears and stubborn beliefs.

It was the same old conversation.

Mira and Zoey had invited Rumi out to someplace; a bathhouse, the beach, a spa, the where didn't matter too terribly much. And as usual, Rumi had refused under the guise of shyness over showing skin, promising that ‘maybe next time,’ that always rang hollow.

Once the two were gone she was asking Celine again if she should tell them, grasping at her own arms through her sleeves. Once again, Celine was telling her that she couldn’t, that she shouldn’t. When the Honmoon is finally sealed, her patterns—any visible evidence of her parentage, any possible connection to demons—will be erased for good.

But no one could know of them before then. Not even Mira and Zoey, no matter how much Rumi might trust and care for them.

It was a conversation that had played on repeat for years.

You knew that Celine meant no malice by it.

She loved Rumi, that girl was her entire world, even if she was too emotionally constipated to ever say it to her. But she could be so, so blind to how much harm her need to protect could cause.

Needless to say; you were tired of this repetition.

Tired of Celine always telling Rumi to cover up as if she were something to be ashamed of. Tired of the defeated look in Rumi’s eyes at the end of it, tired of the tension that would hang in the air for the following days and the chasm between Rumi and her friends steadily grow as she put up more walls as a result.

Maybe you were coming in too late, but when you saw the flash of shame and guilt flicker across Rumi’s face, you stepped away from Celine and towards her.

“Do you want to tell them?”

Rumi shrunk back at your sudden question, wide eyes flickering from you to where Celine was still seated behind her desk. “Celine says—”

“I didn’t ask what Celine says, if I wanted her opinion I would have asked her” you interrupted with a soft tut—"Wait just a moment,” Celine began, before being silenced by a very pointed look from you—“I’m asking what you want. Do you want to tell them?”

Rumi stayed quiet, staring at the ground to avoid meeting your eyes.

Even though she were the one who’d broached the subject by asking, now that it had been flipped on her, now that they were asking what she wanted as opposed to her asking them what she should do, Rumi was at a loss for words.

How was she supposed to tell you how badly she wanted Mira and Zoey to know? How tired she was of lying to them every day? How much she wanted to stop hiding from them and just tell them everything.

How could she put to words how terrified she was that once that secret was let out that they would turn their backs on her?

As it were, she didn’t need to tell you any of that. You could see the war she was fighting in the pinch of her expression, the stiffness of her shoulders. The confliction, the want to be honest and the fear of the repercussions.

Your expression softened, and attempted a different approach.

“If the positions were reversed, if it were Celine who had these patterns instead of you, and she hid them from me for all these years,” you began, voice soft, waiting until Rumi raised her head to look at you to continue. “I’d be upset when she finally told me.”

Rumi flinched back when you said that, shrinking in on herself even more.

Upset. Hurt. Betrayed.

Why would she even think you’d have said anything differently? That you’d have felt any differently? Of course you would have felt so hurt, you’d feel so deceived. So would Mira and Zoey. They’d be devastated. They would hate her. They’d—

You placed your hand to stop the spiraling. “I wouldn’t feel that way because she has patterns,” you cut in, your voice still so soft, soothing, “I’d be upset with myself.”

“…Yourself?” Rumi echoed, the word feeling wrong in her mouth. Why would you be upset with yourself?

“Because that tells me that Celine kept it secret because she didn’t feel safe enough with me,” you answered in a quiet voice. “I would be ruining myself trying to figure out where I went wrong, what I did to make her think I would stop loving her so easily. I know the girls would feel the same.”

They loved Rumi too much, and blamed themselves too easily, not to.

“It’s not that simple,” Celine cut in, already rising from her seat. “It’s too dangerous, the risk if it goes wrong—”

“I’m only giving Rumi my opinion, that’s all,” You said in a pleasant tone that spoke monologues in undertone.

Arm still wrapped around her shoulders, you pulled Rumi against yourself. A comforting side hug on the surface, but with the way you had angled yourself to stand between her and Celine, you had instead created a protective wall Rumi. One that did not go unmissed by the two hunters.

“You’ve made your stance on the subject known, love. I’m just offering a second perspective on the matter," you continued, still smiling, as if the topic wasn't something so devastating. "Whatever decision Rumi makes on this will still ultimately be her decision.”

“This isn’t the same as giving your opinion on a music piece or an outfit Rumi wants,” Celine challenged back, “This is about the Honmoon, about demons, this would affect everything.”

“I’m giving my opinion on something that affects my daughters happiness.”

The word came out curt, but sharper than any blade the Honmoon might manifest. Unyielding as she stared Celine down.

Between you and Celine was now a wordless standoff. Staring daggers at the other, waiting for the other to say the wrong thing, for the other to back down. You could both be so painfully stubborn at times.

A few tense moments passed during the icy staring match before you turned to face Rumi, your expression now the epitome of warmth and love that you always showed her.

“Rumi, you in the mood for some bubble tea? Celine is going to be a bit busy, so why don’t we make it a little outing for just you and me?”

It was one of those questions where refusal was heavily discouraged.

Celine attempted to argue that but had bit back her words at your glare, helpless to do anything but mutter as you led Rumi out of that oppressive office.

It took little coaxing to bring Rumi to one of your favorite, cozy little coffee shops, taking a quiet corner booth away from the rest of the world.

You bought her bubble tea and her favorite pastries, and you waited. Let her talk about what she wanted for a while, let herself find her footing, find her comfort, before you brought the conversation back to the still open wound.

“You never did answer me,” you pointed out harmlessly as you sipped on your drink, relishing the brown sugar taste.

Rumi didn’t look at you, didn’t drink, she just kept tipping her cup from one side to the other, making the tapioca balls roll and float. As if that was more interesting, more appealing, than talking.

“Do I have to?”

“You don’t have to do anything.”

That was how you always were with Rumi. You never pushed; you never rushed.

You let Rumi take the time she needed to figure out her thoughts, her feelings, her words. Let her know that you'd always be there when she was ready, no matter how long it took.

Sometimes that was all a person needed.

Rumi’s shoulders hunched up, her head still lowered. “I…” she swallowed thickly, the words caught in her throat. “I…I want to tell them. I want to tell them so badly, because if I do, then maybe this weight will finally be gone.”

You nodded along, “I see. What’s keeping you from doing so?”

“What’s keeping me?” Rumi let out a sharp, bitter laugh when you asked that, as if the answer were the most obvious thing in the world.

For her, it probably was.

“Are you serious? You know what Celine is always saying," Rumi bit back a hiss as she said that, glaring hard at the table. "It’s dangerous. It's too risky. We're so close to sealing the Honmoon. If I tell them—”

Everything they worked for would be ruined if she told them. The Honmoon wouldn’t be sealed, it might even shatter under the strain. She’d lose the two people she loved the most.

Everything she’s ever thought of herself—all the flaws, all the mistakes, everything—would finally be confirmed.

There was something akin to heartbreak and devastation in her eyes when she finally raised her head, “I can’t ever tell them,” Rumi whispered, arms coming up to wrap around herself. “They’d never accept me.”

You frowned, your heart aching for her.

“If you ask me, I think you should give them more credit than that. I have a feeling they’d cherish you regardless,” you told her honestly. You'd seen the way the girls looked at her. they watched Rumi like she was the most important thing in the world. You couldn't see how that much adoration and love could turn into hate.

“They might be a little scared at first, it’s going to change their worldview after all. But loving someone means loving all of them," you leveled a look at Rumi, "and they love you.”

Rumi refused to meet your gaze.

So you continued. “They already know you, Rumi. Patterns don’t change who you are. They love you; they’ll still love you.”

“You’re only saying that because you have to," she muttered with a hoarse laugh.

“I’m saying it because it’s true.”

You reached out across the table to pat at her hand. "You know that I'll support you, no matter what you choose to do. Keep them hidden or show them for the whole world to see. I'll still be here for you no matter what."

"I know," Rumi said quietly, her gaze fixed on her untouched bubble tea. "I..."

Her words trailed off again, caught in her throat. Mountains of things she wanted to say but couldn't bring past the gates sealed by fear.

She didn't need her to say anything for you to understand.

“Just think about it, okay? Think about what you want," you asked her. "Like I told Celine, the final choice is yours, and yours alone. But I trust them, and I think you should, too.”

And you knew that Rumi trusted them. She trusted them with her life. With her heart. With her soul.

She just didn’t trust them with her fears.

Rumi was still avoiding your gaze. “…I’ll think about it.”

Your smile widened just a bit. A swell of pride in your expression. “Good. That’s all I ask,” you murmured, giving her hand a squeeze. “If you need, I’d be more than happy to be with you if you choose to tell them. If you think that’ll make it easier.”

Finally Rumi looked up at you, small and hesitant, like she was a young child again. “I’ll think about it,” she echoed, even quieter.

Everything after had gone by in a blur of chaos and pain.

True to her word: Rumi had thought about it.

Had thought and decided against it. Celine’s words of caution and fear outweighing everything else. And in return, she suffered for it.

The world tour had been a success. The surprise concert for Golden had been a disaster. A demon boy band appeared. The Idol Awards a was a catastrophe. Gwi-Ma nearly won. Rumi made a new friend, and she lost him just as easily. She almost lost Mira and Zoey. The Honmoon broke and was reforged.

But most importantly, Rumi was able to stand proud, no longer hiding. Her, Mira, and Zoey were finally able to just be. To love and to hold and all the sappy romanticism of young love.

You couldn’t have been happier for them.

Having them all together here for dinner, laughing and joking around the table as they ate, stealing food from each other’s plates, complaining and giggling. It warmed your heart.

“By the way Zoey, Mira, don’t be surprised if my mother tries running you both over with her wheelchair,” you warned them as you added more rice Rumi’s bowl. “She wasn’t exactly happy with what she saw during the Idol Awards. Her words for you two were, and I quote, ‘It’s on sight,’ Best to avoid her for a while.”

Zoey let out a sound that was half a whimper, half a whine. “But you know that wasn’t us.”

“She doesn’t know that. All she knows is that she saw her favorite grandchild get attacked on live TV. She’s out for blood after that. I had to talk her out of coming to Seoul that night; she was ready to put her cane to violent use.”

“Should have sicked her on the demons, Gwi-Ma wouldn’t have stood a chance,” Mira chuckled to herself as she said that.  “Can’t you tell her we made up?”

“You know she doesn’t let go of grudges; she’s still giving Celine the stink eye for the New Years Fiasco of ‘09.”

From beside you, Celine turned away, muttering something about how “Seventeen years over yaksik...she needs to get over it.”

Zoey crumpled, body sagging against Rumi, burying her face into her shoulder.

“It’s over for us. We’ve lost our homemade cookies and handknitted scarves made with grandmotherly love privileges. This is a tragedy!” she complained, the words coming out muffled.

Rumi laughed, patting her head, “We’ll just have to put in extra effort next time she comes to visit. Show her how everything between us is okay now and that what she saw on the TV was just a misunderstanding.”

“Or show her how everything between us is more than okay,” Mira added, leaning over to press a kiss on Rumi’s cheek. “She can’t stay mad if she sees how much we love you. Can she?”

Laughing, Zoey reached past Rumi to lightly swat at Mira. “If she’s that mad at us over what some demons did. Imagine how she’d react if she learned what happened with Celine.”

She realized she had said the wrong thing immediately when a deathly silence fell over the table.

You were smiling oh so sweetly as you turned your attention to her.  “Zoey. What did Celine do?” you asked, your words perfectly mirroring the calm within the eye of a hurricane.

“Oh—um—”

“Nothing,” Rumi quickly cut in, her voice rising in pitch as she shared a glance with a suddenly very pale looking Celine. “Nothing happened.”

“It’s really nothing to concern yourself about. Just—Rumi and I are already working through it. No need for you to be involved.”

Oh. So something did happen.

No one dared to meet your gaze. One by one you looked at your girls, and each of them pointedly looked away. Finding the floor, the table, each other infinitely more interesting.

This wouldn’t do.

“Rumi.” She stiffened when you said her name. Your voice was calm, but firm, “Tell me. Now.”

A moment passed, the confliction evident on her face, the fight to stay quiet and the instinctual urge to spill everything. She looked to Zoey and Mira for a brief moment, desperate for help and found none.

Another moment passed.

And then Rumi caved.

There was a lot about that night after the awards that you did not know. Details they hadn’t told you at first for what you had assumed was because they were unimportant.

Details, it seemed, such as how Rumi had immediately sought out Celine after everything fell apart.

It became clear why they chose not to tell you about that particular event, you couldn’t blame them even if you weren’t happy with them.

No. Not them, your girls hadn't done anything wrong

You weren't happy with Celine.

“Rumi, I think you should take your girls home. It’s been a long day and you three should get some rest,” you said calmly as you turned to face Celine. “Celine and I are going to have a good, long talk, and not the kind you girls should have to hear.”

Celine was quick to respond, her voice strained. “They’re not done eating, you can't be asking them to leave while they're still eating."

“Girls, leave.”

"Girls, stay."

A beat of silence passed over them.

“Sorry, Celine,” Rumi said with a nervous smile as she grabbed hold of Mira and Zoey. Looking to you and then back to Celine, offering the pity of one facing a dead man walking. “You’re on your own with this one. Good luck.”

With that, the girls were gone in a puff of smoke.

Celine was hopelessly, irrevocably, disgustingly in love with how ethereal you looked in that knee-length summer dress.

She almost wanted to bundle you up and take you back home right then and there, just out of the selfish need to be the only one who got to look at you. But she held herself back, as difficult a task as it was, when she was painfully aware of every time someone paused to look at you. Besides, you’d be mad if she made you go home already.

It was a beautiful day out, and you had managed to convince her to take advantage of the nice weather to go on a walk alongside the river.

Even ignoring how jealous she could be over you, Celine had always been concerned for your safety and fiercely protective of you. She had to be, considering the life she lived. But now that you were pregnant, it had been dialed up to 11.

You weren’t going to say it wasn’t cute, because the way she fretted over you was certainly charming in its own way, but you really shouldn’t need to negotiate with her to go somewhere just because something might happen.

But, you had successfully convinced her that fresh air and warm sunlight would do you—and the baby— some good. And so here you were, walking side by side and enjoying a lovely day together.

Celine was dividing her attention between glaring at anyone who looked at you for a second too long and cradling you close to her side, her hand in yours or her arm around your waist, making sure to tug you closer every time someone brushed past you.

The walk was nice, too, you and her talking about simple things; a song you couldn’t quite remember the name of, a squirrel scurrying by on the path, the way one cloud looked like a face in the sky. Eventually, you found a bench facing the river to sit on for a short break.

“You’re beautiful,” Celine murmured, lips to your cheek. “Don’t know if I told you that yet, today.”

You smiled, tilting your head so you could give her a chaste peck on the lips in return. “You’re biased,” you countered.

She let out a soft, amused huff, “I’m not allowed to compliment my own wife? You’re cruel.”

Her arm quietly reached out, wrapping around your waist. Though you had no bump to show yet, that hadn’t stopped Celine from letting her gaze, and her hands, drift to your belly every chance she had. "Agi, your mama won't let me compliment her, isn't she so mean?"

Rolling your eyes, you lightly slapped her hand away. “If you’re going to keep calling me mean, then you lose belly privileges.”

Even if it was an obviously empty threat, it had Celine changing tunes quickly. Soon enough, the two of you were talking and laughing again.

People passed by as the two of you sat there. Joggers. Bikers. Couples. Groups of friends of all ages. It was nice to watch them go by.

Nice to just sit there with Celine, enjoying her presence, the moment. It left you feeling decades younger, like you and Celine were young twenty-something girls again, intoxicated with love and trying to figure out how to make it work.

“Look over there,” Celine whispered in your ear, gesturing lightly towards the river.

You followed her gaze, and found a warm smile form as a duck drifted lazily down the stream, followed closely by a gaggle of little ducklings. “Reminds me of how the girls would follow you around everywhere when they started training,” you chuckled.

It was still a fond memory of yours. Zoey had been completely taken with Celine, a mega-fan from the start; she hung on Celine’s every word as if it were a message from God himself. You swore Zoey would watch Celine as if the woman had hung the moon. Though months of training eventually did take away the rose-tinted glasses, she still looked up to Celine.

Mira had been a bit more…standoff-ish at first, too many bad experiences with adult figures in her life. But once she realized that Celine was different, that her mentor wasn’t going to dismiss her and cut her down at every chance, she had been quick to glue herself to the woman’s side, seeking any shred of parental affection while trying her hardest to pretend that wasn’t the case.

Both girls had clung to you and Celine like children, starved for affection, though you wouldn't realize until later that had been exactly what they were.

Of course, Rumi hadn’t taken it well, jealous girl that she was.

She saw too new girls invade her home and start to eat up all yours and Celine’s attention and affection, and she reacted poorly. If she wasn’t latching onto you and Celine tighter than before, throwing a fit and pouting, she was withdrawing into herself, pushing you two away since you were clearly happier with your ‘new daughters’.

Needless to say, it had been a rough first few months before Rumi came to accept that Mira and Zoey weren’t taking her place, taking her mothers away, that she wasn’t going to be loved any less just because their family had grown.

Your smile faded as you thought back to your cub, your hand coming to rest on your stomach. “…Have you heard from Rumi lately?”

The arm Celine had around you tightened just a little. “She…” a pause, and then a smile. You could tell it was forced by the tightness in the corners. “She’s been busy. It’s nothing you need to worry about; you know how she gets. Rumi just needs some time to process what’s going on.”

Time, huh…?

You know that Celine wasn’t wrong, and it had only been a week since the impromptu announcement. But that did little to ease your worries or the ache in your heart.

After all, this was the longest Rumi had ever ignored you for.

But forcing the issue wasn’t going to make things better. Cornering her and demanding answers was only going to make things worse. You just had to be patient, wait for Rumi to come to you on her own.

You hated waiting.

Suddenly, you were pressed into Celine’s side, her head resting atop your own as she held you. “It’s going to be okay, yeobo.”

Sighing, you melted into her hold.

“Is it okay if we head back home?” you asked quietly. Suddenly, you didn’t feel like continuing your walk.

Thankfully, Celine said nothing, just pressed a kiss to your temple as an answer.

It was early. Far too early.

But Celine awoke when she heard the telltale creak of weight on the floorboards of the house.

Her first thought was that it was you, having woken early to get a glass of water or to get a head start on breakfast. But, no, you were still fast asleep in Celine’s arms, tucked right up against her.

Intruder, her mind supplied, and in an instant, Celine was on full alert.

Careful not to wake you, Celine pulled away from you and slipped out of bed. You murmured, face scrunched up at the loss of warmth, the loss of contact. “I’ll be right back,” Celine whispered, stroking your cheek with a ghost of a touch.

She’d be back at your side before you awoke, but right now she had to deal with whoever it was who dared break in.

With footsteps as silent as death itself, Celine crept out of the bedroom and into the dark halls of the house. Searching for the intruder. She’d need to take care of them quickly, and more than that, she’d need to take care of them quietly. Quiet enough so that you could sleep through it all, blissfully unaware of the danger you had been in.

There was movement in the kitchen. The clatter of pans and utensils. Muffled voices. Multiple intruders, she noted. Not ideal, but still manageable.

Were they common thieves, thinking that this would be an easy house to rob? Or were it demons who felt brave enough to test their luck again? She would have thought they had learned by now that Celine’s house was a guaranteed execution for them.

Pausing at the corner, Celine felt the familiar hum of the Honmoon as one of her swords materialized in her hand. More noise from within the kitchen. Metal on metal, a growled curse. A shadow approaching.

The moment the intruder turned the corner, Celine struck.

“Hold on, I’ll grab band-aids from the ba—aaaah!”

An iron-tight grasp of the wrist, a sharp jab of a knee to the stomach, followed by an elbow right below the sternum. A quick twist and tug and suddenly—

—and suddenly Zoey was pinned beneath Celine, blade inches from her face.

Celine stared at her in shock. “Zoey?” she whispered as brown eyes stared back at her in a mix of fear and pain as she frantically nodded.

Her sword disappeared back into the threads of the Honmoon as she looked up. Across from her in the kitchen was Mira; she had one of the kitchen knives in a bleeding hand, having been about to throw it at Zoey’s attacker—aka Celine.

A moment passed as they simply stared at each other. Another moment, and Celine was on her feet, pulling Zoey back up.

“I am so sorry, Zoey. Are you okay?” There was no point in asking if she had hit her too hard; Celine knew exactly how hard she had struck the girl. “Here, sit down.”

Zoey waved her off, stumbling over to Mira as one hand cradled where Celine had kneed her, “I’m…I’m fine,” she gasped, slumping against her girlfriend. “Wow…I think you hit harder than you did pre-retirement.”

Celine coughed into her fist to cover the embarrassment. It was only because she’d always held back a little when fighting her girls; there was no reason to hold back against what she thought was a threat intruding on her home.

“What are you two doing here at…” squinting at the wall clock, she felt a wave of irritation start to seep in. “Four in the morning.”

Mira put the knife down, shrugging as she did so. “Well, Zoey really wanted to come over and make you two a surprise breakfast. I just came to make sure she didn’t burn your house down doing so.”

Leaning away from her, Zoey slapped a hand over her chest and gasped in betrayal. “How can you say that? I’d never! If anything, you’re the one who needs to be babysat in the kitchen. Speaking of, I need to go get you some band-aids, still.”

Celine followed her gaze back to Mira’s hand, still bleeding from what she could only assume was a cut she got while chopping the vegetables behind her.

“We have a box of band-aids in the bottom cabinet behind you, Zoey,” she said, stopping Zoey from running through the house and, potentially, waking you up in her search for medical supplies.

Saluting, Zoey immediately dropped down to a crouch, digging through the aforementioned cabinet before she produced the simple box, holding it up like she’d found some kind of treasure.

Celine moved to lean against the wall, watching the girl fret over Mira, cleaning the wound at the sink with tender care before applying the band-aid.

It was a sweet sight to watch; it reminded her of all the times you would fuss over her when she came back from hunting demons. The way you’d sit her down at the couch or table, cleaning her injuries, bandaging her up, scolding her for getting hurt, and then holding her close, thanking her for coming back.

Closing her eyes, she let those memories drift away. “While I do appreciate the thought, you two didn’t need to make us breakfast,” Celine said, pinching the bridge of her nose. It truly was considerate of them, but she would have appreciated it more if they had not woken her up thinking someone had broken in.

Though technically, they did break in.

“And let her cook breakfast herself? And before you start, you know she’d insist on cooking if you give her the chance,” Mira countered with a raised eyebrow. “Celine, we want to make her breakfast.”

Zoey nodded along, lips turned into a stubborn pout. “Besides, we’re making a whole bunch of things that, according to the internet, are good for pregnancies! Look! I bought a lot of eggs, and I found this recipe for rice porridge that’ll do wonders for morning sickness, and Mira was going to cut up some sweet potatoes—”

As Zoey continued to list the different foods she’d bought and brought to cook for you, Celine felt her agitation start to drift away. It was truly sweet of Zoey to do this, and her heart was in the right place, even if Celine would have preferred a warning ahead of time that they had planned it.

And…she wanted to be of help during your pregnancy. She and Mira both. How could Celine berate them for that?

“Okay,” Celine conceded. “So long as you two can be quiet, you can continue. I know she’ll be beyond happy with anything you two make her.”

Zoey’s entire expression lit up at Celine’s approval, and even Mira’s mouth shifted into a smile, offering a nod and the promise to be as quiet as they could be.

It was a slow process; even with Celine lending a hand and Zoey insisting she had watched enough cooking videos to know what she was doing, neither girl was well-versed in cooking. Several dishes required a do-over, and Celine had to preemptively turn off the smoke detector, otherwise the two would have set it off a dozen times between them.

But, they had finished just in time. By the time Celine came back, leading you to the dining room, the two girls had a plentiful breakfast spread laid out on the table.

You couldn’t help the small gasp you let out, bringing a hand up to cover your mouth as you stared at the food, and then at the two girls who were waiting in anxious silence, watching for your reaction, for your response.

“Did you two make all this?” you asked, and when the two nodded, you couldn’t even try to fight the smile. “Oh, girls, thank you. This was so sweet of you.”

You took a seat at the table, wasting no time to urge the others to do the same as you started filling plates for them. “All this looks delicious, it smells delicious. You two really outdid yourselves.”

Mira ducked her head away to hide the pink on her cheeks, “It really isn’t that big of a deal,” she tried to dismiss. “We just…followed a few recipes Zoey found online. Anyone could have made this.”

“It was really fun to make, too,” Zoey agreed, tilting her body to the side in a bid to block the mountain of dirty dishes in the kitchen just past the doorway. “Oh! Would you like some tea? Mira and I couldn’t agree on which one would be better for you, so we brought some bottles of rooibos and yuja-cha, I think there’s some corn silk tea, too.”

Before you could even answer, the young girl was already on her feet, rushing back to the kitchen to grab the drinks. Her eagerness to be of help was sweet. Both she and Mira were so incredibly sweet. Just what had you done in your life to deserve such kind girls?

It took no time at all for breakfast to devolve into laughter and smiles.

Jokes being tossed back and forth across the table, harmless bites at each other—Mira poked fun at Celine’s age more than a few times as they ate, and Zoey was very liberal in the questions she had for you and your wife, with what plans you had for the pregnancy, already adamant on seizing the title of the favorite sister.

The morning felt soothing; it was full of life. Like how it had been when you all still lived together during their training days. Breakfast together every day, a house full of laughter, full of life. You always did miss having the girls around after they moved out. This house never felt complete when it was just you and Celine.

But there was still an obvious absence in the room. An absence that, even with the joy Mira and Zoey brought, made your chest constrict.

“Will Rumi be coming over, too?” you asked after a bit, choosing to rip the band-aid off. You were careful to control your tone, to keep it pleasant, to not give way to your own worrying thoughts.

But it must not have been enough, Mira and Zoey exchanged a look, their smiles shifting into more awkward expressions.

“Rumi is…” Mira started, bringing a hand to the back of her neck. “We did invite her, but—”

“She wasn’t feeling that good,” Zoey jumped in, a little too loudly, her laugh a little too forced. “I mean, I think she just wore herself out a bit too much; she’s been working a lot more lately with patrols and practice. You know how she can get.”

That’s right. You knew exactly how she could get, and that’s why it bothered you so much.

Celine took your hand in hers from under the table and gave it a comforting squeeze while Mira slowly reached out for you.

“Rumi’s doing fine. Really,” Mira attempted. “She’s not…She’s just…” Clearly unsure of what to say, Mira let her words fade away, redirecting her gaze to her lap rather than meet your eyes.

Oh, you’d brought the mood down.

Taking a breath, you forced a wide, brilliant smile, “It’s okay. This was pretty big news, after all, I don’t blame her for needing some time to adjust,” you assured your girls with a gentle voice. “She will come by when she’s ready, and if that takes a while, that’s okay. Now, Mira—you think I didn’t notice how little you’ve eaten? You'd better be having more than that, you’re far too thin.”

Before anyone could protest, you were already piling more mixed-grain rice and eggs onto her plate, then doing the same for Zoey, telling her she needed to eat more, too.

Soon enough, the liveliness of the room had picked up again, courtesy of Mira and Zoey as they dove into one topic after another.

Recent goofs they had during events, or funny stories they had to share about interactions with fans and other groups. Celine nodded along, offering similar moments from her idol days, keeping the conversation going and keeping the mood light again.

You smiled and laughed along, though you couldn’t help but still feel that ache in your chest.

“The person you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please leave a message after the beep.”

You sighed as you listened, watching from the corner of your eyes as Celine directed Mira and Zoey through cleaning up their mess in the kitchen while you sat in the living room.

“Good morning, cub,” you said softly, fingers playing with the loose strings of the hem of your shirt. “Mira and Zoey stopped by; they said you weren’t feeling that well today.”

Pausing as the girls' laughter carried through the air, you watched as Zoey blew soap bubbles at Mira and got sprayed with water in return. A smile found its way to your face at the sight.

Returning your attention to your call, your smile grew more somber. “Would you like me to come by? I can bring some samgyetang,” you offered, knowing it was one of Rumi’s favorite soups. “…Please remember not to work yourself to the bone, I worry for you, after all.”

Another pause, it was so hard not to not say the things you wanted to. You needed to give her space, after all. You needed to let Rumi process her own emotions, and let her know the door would always be open for when she was ready.

Biting back a sigh, you leaned your head back to stare up at the ceiling. “Just let me know if you need anything, okay?” A slow breath. “I’ll hang up now, but remember to drink plenty of water and to not push yourself. Remember, Celine and I both love you.”

With that, you ended the voicemail and let your phone drop back to your lap. A greedy part of you was hoping Rumi would call you back immediately, but you knew she wouldn’t. Not yet, at least.

Another sigh, your hand fell to your stomach.

“I know this might not be the best first impression of your unnie, but she really is a wonderful, kind girl,” you promised in a quiet whisper. “You might not see it right now, but she’ll love you.”

Being told ‘we need to talk’ was never a good sign, no matter how long you have been together.

It was a terribly vague statement.

Usually a warning that something bad had or will happen. The preamble to a massive shift in dynamic, to some terrible news that would turn one’s life upside down.

And so, Celine hadn’t known what to expect when you had called her that afternoon, telling her that once she got home from work the two of you would need to talk. Celine had tried to probe for more information, but you had been a locked box, giving her nothing. Leaving her to anxiously fret and worry over what this conversation could be about for the rest of the day to try and figure it out.

The way you had acted when she returned home hadn’t helped. You had been anxious. Wringing your hands together as you avoided her gaze, asking her to come to the table.

A small, nondescript brown box was waiting for her. An inch and a half wide, just shy of three inches in length.

You nodded your head as you sat across from her at the table. “Go on,” you said softly, your hands clenched together at your lap. “Open it.”

The tension in the air was suffocatingly thick. An unseen sword dangling above them on a fraying string, one wrong movement away from coming down. Celine carefully removed the lid from the box.

Her breath caught in her throat.

The pregnancy test stared at Celine like an accusation.

Celine looked at it, and then raised her gaze to you, before dropping it back down to the test. Her mind was trying to do the math, trying to figure out the punchline.

You were pregnant.

Somehow, those three words did not make sense.

She understood it from a technical standpoint, but in the situation it felt nonsensical. You were pregnant. That’s what the test you had hesitantly handed to her said. You were pregnant. Three simple words that anyone should be able to understand.

But they felt so foreign. Incomprehensible. You simply couldn’t be pregnant. That just wasn’t possible. You were pregnant—there had to be some other meaning to those words.

And yet…

Celine found herself thinking back to these last few weeks, the way you’ve been behaving.

Lately you would wrinkle your nose in a grimace at the smell of Celine’s morning coffee. The way you would reel back and fight back a gag when you opened the fridge and got a whiff of the spicy kimchi you had made.

You had complained on and off about feeling more tired lately, about having dizzy spats, the occasional mood swings.

The signs were all there. Common symptoms for a pregnancy. So common that it had been easy for Celine to brush off as you simply being under the weather or stressed. Stress made more sense than pregnant.

But then she thought back to the other morning where she was woken by the sound of you retching in the bathroom.

She had gotten out of bed in seconds, filling her chest as she pushed the door open to check on you. “Jagiya?” she had called out softly as she looked around.

You were kneeling over the toilet, face flush and a thin layer of sweat rolling down your brow. “I’m fine, Celine, it’s—it’s nothing,” you muttered, trying to wave her off.

But it wasn’t nothing, and Celine was at your side on the floor in no time, rubbing slow circles on your back as you began heaving into the bowl once more.

You were coming down with something, you had tried to assure her, dismissing all these symptoms as a possible stomach bug. Something you had eaten the night before did not agree with you. Nothing serious, you said, something that would pass on its own.

And yet this damnable test you showed her was telling a different story.

Celine traced the raised letters on the test. Uncertainty and fear crashing through her like a wrecking ball. What was this supposed to mean? She had to be missing something, because you couldn’t be pregnant. You just couldn’t be.

“You’re…this…this isn’t some joke the girls put you up to, is it?” she asked, a quietness in her voice, she hadn’t figured out what to make of this yet. Hadn’t deciphered this riddle.

You shook your head.

“You’re pregnant,” Celine whispered, this moment still felt wholly unreal. “And it’s…”

The question died on her tongue before she finished, but the words she didn’t say were clear. It wasn’t a demand but a quiet plea.

It wasn’t as if Celine wanted to doubt you, wanted to think that you would… She knew you would never. She wanted to be happy about this news. But she had to be practical in a situation like this. Had to be rational.

The simple fact was; Celine did not have the anatomy needed to explain a pregnancy.

You reached across the table to rest your hand on hers, giving her hand a comforting squeeze. “It doesn’t make sense,” you agreed in a soft voice. “But I’ve only ever been with you.”

She believed you, of course. She would never doubt you. But that didn’t explain—

How were you pregnant?

Sensing her confusion, her fear, the Honmoon rippled. Enveloping around her like a comforting cocoon, like a warm whisper. Soothing to the touch, Celine could hear it chasing away her own doubts as it offered the answer.

Such a powerful force of magic, of divine spirituality. A protector from evil and—as it were—a creator of miracles. It took care of its Hunters in ways they never expected it to.

Because of the Honmoon, you were going to have a baby.

You and Celine were going to have a baby.

As the understanding and realization washed over her, so did the laughter that began to bubble out of her.

Her worries snuffed out by the rush of warmth in her chest. Of course, she should have known. The Honmoon could heal wounds, it could shield from demons, it made Hunters stronger. She shouldn’t be surprised it had the ability to create life.

In moments, Celine was on her feet and pulling you into a hug.

“We’re going to have a baby,” she whispered into your shoulder. Eyes already wet with tears. Thank you, Honmoon, she found herself thinking. “We’re going to have a baby.” It didn’t feel real. It felt like a dream.

Your arms wrapped around her in return, letting out bubbling laughter of your own. “We are,” you confirmed softly. “We’re having a baby.”

They stood like that for a moment longer before Celine pulled back, a wild panic in her eyes.

“We need to schedule a visit with a doctor; make sure you and the baby are both healthy,” she murmured, the gears in her head already moving, figuring out everything they needed to do.

Doctor visits were a must; she’d need to call down and have one set up immediately. They’ll need to baby proof the house, prepare the baby’s room. Celine would need to take over a lot of the household tasks; she didn’t want you to stress yourself out trying to cook and clean like you usually did. The most important thing you could do right now was to take it easy and rest.

Without warning, Celine had lifted you off your feet, cradling you in her arms with ease.

“Celine,” you yelped between bouts of laughter as she started walking towards the bedroom.

Celine smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Mandatory bedrest,” she said simply. “Knowing you, you’ve been on your feet all day. So we’re going to fix that.”

She pushed the bedroom door open with her foot and carefully laid you out on top of the sheets, ignoring the way you half-heartedly argued back, calling her ridiculous for it, but made no attempt to get out of Celine’s grip.

Moments later Celine was crawling up to lay beside you, her hand sliding up to rest on your stomach. It was too early to feel anything, too early for you to start showing, but she felt a rush of pride and excitement all the same.

That was her baby in there. Hers and yours.

Your hand came to lay across hers on your stomach, and Celine felt her chest explode with more love for you. If this were a dream, she didn’t want to wake up.

“I’ll invite the girls over tomorrow,” Celine murmured quietly. “Tell them the news. With how they are, they’ll be over the moon.”

You shook your head, rolling onto your side to face her. “Let’s hold off,” you said. “The ISACs are in a week, and they’ve been looking forward to participating all year. I don’t want to distract them from it with this.”

“You know they won’t call it a distraction.”

“I know, but…” sighing, you leaned forward to press your forehead to hers. “Let’s wait until after the competition.”

Celine was fine with that. If anything, waiting to break the news just meant she had a few more days of having you all to herself before the other girls get involved. That was something Celine was more than happy to have.

She smiled and pressed a brief kiss to your lips. “We can wait for however long as you want before telling them.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, and Celine pulled you closer to her. You let out a soft laugh as you hid your face in her collar. “I’m not sure how exactly we’re going to explain this to them, though. Hey, girls, wonderful news; Celine got me pregnant with the Honmoon. That’s sure to go over well.”

Celine laughed, “Maybe we’ll leave out the specific details of how.”

“You know that they’ll be asking them anyway.”

That she did. But right now she didn’t want to think about any of that. All Celine wanted to focus on were the soft silk sheets beneath her, and your warm body curled against her, and of the bundle of life you were carrying.

The sterile smell of antiseptic filled the air, mingling with the coupling gel and the quiet hum of the ultrasound machine. You were seated on the examination table, your fingers tightly interlaced with Celine’s as the doctor hummed beside you.

You could feel the nervous tremor in Celine’s hand, and gave her a light squeeze. “Hey, it’s okay,” you whispered to her, smiling softly. It was amusing to you how your wife seemed more nervous about this appointment than you were.

Amusing and cute.

Celine nodded weakly, forcing a tight smile.

This all still felt surreal, and though she was immensely happy, there was still an overwhelming storm of emotions. Rationally, she knew it was to be expected. Pregnancy jitters. She had them when Miyeong was pregnant, though never to this degree.

Your doctor looked up from the chart and offered the two a reassuring smile. “Congratulations. Based on your dates and scans, we estimate you’re around seven weeks, but we’ll confirm that with the ultrasound.”

“Seven weeks,” you whispered, glancing up at Celine who was looking at her with a mix of awe and adoration, her grip tightening on your hand.

“Before we get started,” the doctor continued, her tone gentle with what was clearly bound to be a series of routine questions. “I’ll need to go through a few basic questions in your file.”

You nodded along.

“Have you had any medical conditions or surgeries recently?”

“Nothing major,” you shook your head.

The doctors typed on her computer. “Allergies or medications?” again as you answered. “Have you travelled out of country recently?”

Celine brushed her thumb over the back of your hand. “We went to England for a few weeks two months ago,” she answered for you. “Work and family related. Our—our eldest was performing in York.”

The sound of more keystrokes filled the air, and then she looked at the pair. “No changes to your medical history?” you shook your head. “What about the father? I see he’s not listed anywhere.”

You froze. Your mouth opened slightly, but you couldn’t find the words.

Right, of course the doctor would ask about a father. A nonexistent father. It was an innocent question, necessary even, but—it wasn’t one you could answer.

Celine’s other hand rested on your arm, rubbing it gently. “There’s no father, I’m the other mother,” her words were perfectly clipped. The same tone she used at work with board members, professional and firm, but not sharp enough to be mistaken for being rude. “We used a sperm donor.”

It was your turn to watch your wife with awe as she easily maneuvered this precarious line of questioning. She looked so confident in the lie, tone brokering no room for argument.

The doctor gave a nervous cough; a mouse caught under the gaze of a wolf. “Right, I apologize, I should have phrased that better,” she attempted. “Do you know the donors medical history? If not, we can contact the clinic you used and retrieve it for you.”

“No need,” without letting go of your hand, Celine leaned away from you to pop open the flap of her bag and produce a stapled document to hand to the doctor.

It took you a moment to realize that it was Celine’s own medical history, reformatted and printed to appear as the records of an anonymous donor. Just enough information to appease a doctor without giving away that it’s hers.

You smiled, feeling your heart turn into a gooey mess as you realized just how far ahead Celine had prepared. You should have expected as much.

“We’ve kept certain information, including the fertility clinic we used, to protect her privacy,” Celine said, once more using that tone of hers that ensured the doctor wouldn’t try to fight back.

The doctor nodded, taking the documents from her, “Thank you, I appreciate you having this in advance. Now, just give me a moment to look over this, I want to make sure there’s nothing in here to worry about before we continue.”

As she began reading and typing, you kept your eyes on Celine.

“Thank you,” you whispered softly, leaning over to rest your head on her shoulder.

Celine nodded and tilted her head to rest against your own. “Of course, anything for you,” she whispered back.

A few minutes passed before the doctor was satisfied with the papers and turned back to the pair, rolling her stool closer. “Now that that’s all taken care of; let’s take a look at your baby.”

Heart pounding in your chest, you slowly laid down on the table and rolled your shirt up. This was the moment of truth, somehow far scarier than the litany of questions that preceded it.

Celine squeezed your hand in comfort, “It’s okay,” she whispered, repeating your earlier assurances.

The coupling gel was applied and made you flinch at how cold it was, but Celine’s soft whispers helped to keep you calm as the doctor began moving the wand across your stomach.

The screen beside you flickered to life. It was static at first, then, shapes, something a black space in the center of the fuzz and—

“There,” the doctor said softly, pointing. “That’s your baby. That little flicker you’re seeing…” the probe moved slightly, a faint sound filled the room. Rhythmic. Steady. A miracle. “That’s the heartbeat.”

You felt tears filling your eyes. The sound. That tiny, pulsing heartbeat. Suddenly everything was real.

Celine let out a low gasp, her hand trembling against your own, “That’s…that’s our baby,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I’ve never heard something so beautiful.”

Our baby.

You turned your head, bringing your joined hands up to press a kiss to the back of Celine’s knuckles. “Our baby,” you echoed, laughing and crying as you turned to rest your head against her hand. “Ours. Our little miracle baby.”

The doctor smiled warmly at the pair before returning her gaze to the screen. “Everything looks perfect for seven weeks. Congratulations to the both of you.”

Celine smiled at you, full of love and warmth, “You’re crying.”

“You’re crying too,” you laughed, pointing out the tears streaming down Celine’s own cheeks.

As the doctor printed a small strip of ultrasound images, Celine carefully cleaned the gel off you, her touch light and reverent against your belly. As she did that, you looked at her, really looked.

This was the woman you had fallen in love with all those decades ago when you were both young and dumb. The one who’d held you close when life got hard, who had never once made you feel unloved or unwanted.

You thought of all the nights she defied her own mentors to be with you, of how she stayed with you even when your relationship was outed to a world not ready for your kind of love. Who stayed with you even when her world own crumbled with the loss of her friends and the responsibilities thrusted upon her.

And now she was here, hand against your stomach, basking in the knowledge of the life you two had created together.

As the doctor returned, she settled back into her stool after handing you the printout. There were still more details to be ironed out.

A pregnancy at your age wasn’t without risks, and your doctor wanted you in for frequent checkups. A document was provided for recommended steps you would want to take for the rest of the pregnancy. Celine readily agreed, promising to look after you and make sure you didn’t strain yourself.

You tuned out of their conversation, your attention transfixed entirely on the small photo strip. That grainy black and white blur didn’t look like much on paper, but to you, it was everything.

The days following the appointment passed by in a kind of soft haze.

Celine had been slowly adjusting her schedule. Less time working at her office in the studio, more time working at home where she could be there with you. She’d taken to doing the grocery trips instead of you and handling more of your share of the household tasks.

You were stubborn, of course. Didn’t want to spend the entirety of your pregnancy on bedrest, and you were not going to let Celine take over both working all day and doing all the housework on her own. It had taken a bit of debating, but you two figured out a new division of chores.

They had a few meetings with their girls, phone calls mostly, a few visits at the tower to check in on them and give them some homecooked meals. Mostly brief interactions, carefully handled to not give away the good news too early.

Nights were spent with you curled back into Celine’s chest as you laid together in bed. Celine would keep her arm draped over you, her hand resting on your belly. She’d trace absent-minded, soothing circles with her thumb, hoping that the baby could feel how much she already loved them with just a touch.

Mornings were spent in the bathroom, with Celine at your side while you retched. She had taken to making you ginger tea each morning to help settle your stomach. You’d also taken a craving for miyeok-guk, which she was more than willing to make for you, too.

It had only been a handful of days, and yet everything felt different—was different.

Celine thought it rather funny. Years ago, when Rumi was still just a young child, the two of you had discussed the possibility of having another child. Parenthood had been unplanned, but raising Rumi had given them a kind of joy neither had expected.

But the timing hadn’t been right. Celine barely had time to be with the family she already had, days spent building a record label, trying to keep fans connected, trying to keep the Honmoon from falling apart. Her nights were spent fighting demons, repairing tears in the barrier. So little of it was spent with the you and Rumi.

As much as you both loved Rumi, raising her was a handful, it would have been unfair when Celine was not in a position to help as much as she would have wanted to.

And so, that thought had been pushed back further and further until it had been forgotten.

But things were different, now.

Celine wasn’t the one defending the Honmoon anymore, and Sunlight Entertainment was stable enough it did not need her constant supervision. It may be twenty years late, but that wish they’d made was coming true.

As the days bled into one another, it came time to watch your other children at the ISACs.

It had taken a lot of convincing to assure Celine that you didn’t need to be in a skybox for it. She had insisted it would be far more comfortable for you, but being so far above the stadium it would be harder for you to watch your girls, and harder for them to see you cheering for them.

Instead, you two were seated in the front row of the stadium. Celine was kept close to you, one arm wrapped protectively around your waist as the two of you watched the idols in the field have fun.

It was a long day. 50, 60, 100-meter dashes and hurdles. Relay walks. Long jumps, high jumps, gymnastics. Even with the stamina idols trained to have, by halfway through, they were left panting and exhausted. Well, most of them. You knew your girls enough to know that Huntr/x was faking it.

They won some events, threw others. You knew that probably frustrated the girls to a degree, but it would have caused more suspicion if they won all the athletic events. But you were proud of them for making it look like it took effort.

But even if they had to restrain themselves, it was obvious that your girls were having fun.

Mira had sent the crowd into a frenzy as she broke a new record for the javelin throw. The spear had flown through the air at a frightening speed and impaled deeply into the ground, just meters from passing the metal barriers at the opposite end of the field.

“She should have held back,” Celine whispered in your ear with a slight tsk.

You laughed, nudging at her slightly as you watched Mira get dogpiled by Zoey and Rumi in celebration. “Oh, let them have their fun.”

Of course, it was positively delightful to see Zoey decimate the other idols in breakdancing; the others were good, but they weren’t Zoey’s level of good. The lower body strength and level of precision she had was otherworldly.

By the time she was done, you could see other idols swarming to her for her to teach them. Which, of course, fans went crazy for.

The day was finished off with an archery contest, and following that was pure mayhem from both the audience in the stands and the idols in the stadium after Rumi was done.

You had watched with a fond smile, leaning into Celine’ hold as Huntr/x jumped on each other in excitement and delight as the announcer declared the winners of the event. Though they were a small group, they, as always, had shined brightly.

What came after was a small party to celebrate the end of the ISAC and their success.

Though ‘small’ was subjective. Despite only being you and Celine, your girls, they’d caused the wreckage of far, far more people.

In no time at all, your girls had inhaled all the food ordered in, leaving countless empty boxes of pizza and fried chicken left on every empty surface they could find.

Tables, counters, coffee tables. Anything that had space was soon taken up with paper plates, empty boxes, and, once their stomached were filled with food, empty soju bottles as the three started chugging down alcohol—you weren’t even sure where the bottles came from. Certain it was one of the three who had brought it.

You shook your head, laughing as you watched Zoey and Mira play tag throughout the house. “You’d think that they’d have burned themselves out after the ISACs.”

“It’s the second wind,” Celine said, pulling a blanket over Rumi, who had instead collapsed against the couch after a few too many drinks and seemed to be dozing away. “Let them run around a bit, they’ll come crashing back down soon enough.”

You nodded, carefully moving to stack the empty pizza boxes together for easier cleanup later. “I’m glad they’re enjoying themselves, though. They’ve earned it after the year they’ve had.”

The Idol Awards was just a few months ago, after all.

Things were still a little tense at times, especially between Rumi and Celine, but the wounds had begun to heal. You were glad that they were able to have something like today to cut loose and have fun.

Judging by the soft look Celine had on her face as she watched Rumi a few seconds longer before moving to collect the empty soju bottles and takeout boxes, you were sure that she felt the same.

Mira was, unsurprisingly, the best at handling her alcohol, something that became increasingly clear in comparison to the other two.

In contrast, Rumi was usually a mix of a very emotional drunk, or an incredibly sleepy one, as shown by how she was content to just curl up on the couch under the blanket Celine had laid over her.

Meanwhile, Zoey became far more excitable and rambunctious, eagerly jumping from one subject to another without making sense. All the while also losing her sense of balance; every time she tried to take a step, she wobbled and swayed like she was about to fall.

“Hey! Heeey!” Zoey exclaimed, throwing herself against you with such force that you’d gone stumbling forward, catching yourself on the island counter to keep from falling. Something that didn’t go unnoticed by Celine as she snapped her head in your direction in an instant.

“Didya know—” Zoey slurred, taking another large gulp from the bottle she was currently nursing. “Michelin stars are a scam made from a French tire company. Isn’t that just crazy?”

You offered a laugh, shifting slightly to help hold Zoey up, not trusting her to stay standing on her own feet with how badly she was swaying. “I didn’t know that,” you said with a warm smile. “How did a tire company get involved with the restaurant industry?”

“Cause that way they could trick drivers into driving longer distances! Then they’d need more tires!” Her giggle was unhinged and entirely endearing as she went into a tirade about the Great Tire Scam that was Michelin Star restaurants.

Halfway through, she stopped holding herself up, putting all her weight on you as she talked, probably not even aware of it herself. But it was getting harder for you to support her weight as she slumped over you.

Celine, though, was there to help in no time.

“Zoey, I think you’ve had enough for one night,” Celine said as she carefully pulled Zoey off of you and redirected her to sit on the island stool.

“Nonsense! I am perfectly able to chug some more!” Zoey argued, and thrusted the half-empty bottled towards you. “But you two haven’t drank anything yet all night. You need to join in, it’s a celebration, after all!”

You offered a smile and gently took the bottle from her grip and set it aside. “Thank you, but I’ll pass.”

“Awww, what about you, Celine?”

She shook her head as she moved to take her place beside you, her hand on your hip. “Someone needs to stay sober to keep you girls out of trouble.”

Zoey pouted and laid across the counter, “No fair! You two need to at least have one drink! Come on, please? Share a drink with me! You always share a drink with me!”

That last remark was pointed at you. A childish accusation.

You were gentle as you turned her down again, trying to soothe the growing drunken tantrum the girl was ready to throw.

With how loud Zoey was being, it was hard for the others to not notice. Hard for Mira to not noticed what was going on as she sat, slumped over, on a bean bag chair they’d pulled from Rumi’s old room.

It was a weird argument to have, she decided.

You and Celine could have put an end to it there and then just by having a sip of the soju. That’s all Zoey wanted; for you two to join in the festivities. Besides, it’s not as if either of you had made a sudden pledge of abstinence from alcohol.

You two were just being unnecessarily weird about it.

But then again, maybe Mira was just overthinking things, maybe she was just too drunk and imagining it, but you two have been pretty weird these last few days

She’d really noticed it during the ISAC whenever she glanced to the stands and caught sight of Celine. It wasn’t like she never fretted over you, but the way she was hovering over you had felt different from usual. Like you were some fragile thing that would shatter with the slightest bump.

Then there was how quickly Celine had moved to pull Zoey off of you, as if Zoey might hurt you just by dangling off you.

And now here you were, turning down sharing a drink with them, even though Zoey was giving you the kicked puppy look and pleading in a way that always had you conceding. Even when you were set on being the 'sober' one during their parties, you'd at least have a sip or two to appease her when she was like this.

“Sheesh, just have a drink,” Mira said as Zoey let out a long whine at being denied, and Mira just wanted her girlfriend to settle down. “Don’t know why you’re so against it tonight, not like you gotta worry about being pregnant or nothin’.”

She hadn’t meant anything by it, it was just an offhanded remark. But the way you and Celine both had gone rigid had her attention immediately.

Sitting up, Mira looked at the two of you. Really looked.

Celine was still hovering beside you, always at your side, like your own personal shadow. She was never one to be especially handsy, not in public, not even when it was just Huntr/x with them. She didn’t hide how much she loved you, but didn’t make it into a public display like Mira did for Rumi and Zoey.

And yet every time she saw Celine these last few days, her hands were always on you in some way. Always on you in one way.

Mira watched as Celine’s hand drifted, almost instinctively, further down towards your—

“No way.”

Maybe Mira was just a bit too drunk, maybe she was imagining it, maybe this was all a coincidence and meant nothing. But things were suddenly clicking into place.

“No. Way.”

Rumi half-pushed herself up from the couch. “Mira?”

Her gaze stayed on where Celine’s hand rested on your stomach. “No fucking way.”  You and her were looking at Mira like deer caught in headlights. “No fucking way, are you actually pregnant?”

Shocked silence hung in the air. No one moved, no one said a word, for a good long minute as the accusation settled.

Slowly, you gave her a guilty smile. “We were planning to tell you girls tomorrow.”

Just like that, chaos erupted.

“No way!” Zoey squealed, nearly falling out of the stool as she surged forward in an attempt to hug you, having to be pushed back into her seat by Celine before she could hurt herself. “I can’t believe it! Does that mean we’re going to be big sisters? This is amazing—Oh! No, you can’t have any of this!”

In an instant, she was out of her seat, despite Celine’s attempts to keep her in it,  and she began dragging all the alcohol bottles into her arms, regardless of if they were full or not. “You can’t drink, you’re gonna have a baby!” she exclaimed, stumbling towards the nearest trash bag to throw the bottles into.

You laughed, shaking your head as Zoey seemed locked in on her mission to clear out all the alcohol from your home, even if her coordination was abysmal at the moment.

Mira pushed herself to her feet, far steadier in her balance, but still a little off. “You’re serious?” she asked you, taking a slow step your way.

When you gave a nod to confirm, that slow step turned into a run as she pulled you into a hug. “I can’t believe it. You’re actually—congratulations!” Mira laughed, pulling away just enough so she could blindly reach out to Celine and drag her into the hug. “Congratulations to you both! How? How did this even happen?”

Celine let out a muffled cough, her ears turning red at the question.

“Magic,” you answered instead, patting Mira on the back. “The Honmoon lent a bit of a helping hand in the process.”

Mira snorted at the answer and looked over to Celine. “You’re going to need to give me details,” she said with a mischievous grin. “Who knows, one day my girls and I might be ready to have kids of our own, and if the Honmoon can help~”

“We’re not having that conversation,” Celine said quickly, still not looking at Mira. “…At least not here.”

“Hell yeah.”

Zoey continued to stumble, collapsing against the back of the couch as she reached for a bottle on the other side that was just out of reach. She made a few blind swipes before letting her arm hang limply over the cushions. “Ruuumi,” she dragged out. “You’re being too quiet. Come on, this is exciting news!”

You and Celine turned to follow her gaze, and were met with Rumi staring back at them with wide eyes.

She had pushed herself to fully kneel on the couch, her hands shaking as she gripped the couch. “You’re… you’re pregnant?” she asked, “You’re positive?”

“Eight weeks,” you confirmed as you began to approach her. “We’ve got ultrasound photos from our visit to the clinic last week, if you’d like to see.”

“I wanna see!” Zoey raised her hand immediately.

But Rumi’s gaze was flickering from you, to Celine, and then to Mira and Zoey, unable to stay on one spot for more than a second as she opened her mouth and struggled to find her words. “I…” she stammered.

And in an instant, Rumi was gone in a puff of purple mist.

You lowered your hand, feeling a sudden ache in your chest at how abruptly she had fled from you. “Oh. I…oh.”

The mood had sank. The excitement and thrill gone.

Celine approached you and placed a hand on your shoulder. “She’s drunk, the news overwhelmed her,” she offered. “Rumi just needs some time to process. I’ll check in on her when I drop the other two off at the tower later.”

You nodded. Maybe it was the hormones, maybe it was a mothers ache, but it didn’t make you feel any better about what had happened. It had hurt to see her disappear like that

Silence lingered after that.

No one really moved, no one saying anything. It felt awkward now to try and return to celebration. To continue laughing and cheering and probing you with questions.

“Soooo,” Zoey said after a long pause, cutting through the tension in a way only she could. “Does this make the Honmoon the baby daddy?”

It had been a couple of weeks since the announcement and things were still rather…weird. Some a good weird, some a bad weird. But mostly it was just weird.

Most notable was that Rumi’s mood over the situation hadn’t improved.

Not in the slightest.

There had been a lingering hope that the pregnancy announcement was just an alcohol-induced fever dream. That she’d imagined it and you weren’t pregnant. But, no. It was real. It was happening. You and Celine were having a baby together—and Rumi was not handling it well.

Mira and Zoey were thrilled to know you were having a baby. They visited you as much as they could, checking in every day to see if there was something you or Celine needed help with. Parenting books began to fill the penthouse as both girls began to prepare for what was doubtless to be a future of babysitting. They were determined to be the best big sisters a child could ask for.

But Rumi…

Absent didn’t even begin to describe it. She had been avoiding the two like the plague since that night.

Ignoring their calls, leaving their texts on read, disappearing whenever you or Celine tried to stop by the penthouse so that she was conveniently not there when they were. Always managing to slip away when she caught wind that they were on their way, ensuring that she was nowhere near them. If Celine tried to catch her after a fan event or in the studio during rehearsal, she was gone like the wind the moment she saw the older woman.

It was cowardly. It was childish. But Rumi didn’t know what else to do.

This whole situation left her with a sense of wrongness. An anxiety that wouldn’t go away no matter how hard she tried.

She tried to block out the sound of Zoey talking as she paced the penthouse kitchen, curling tighter in on herself on the couch, head buried deep under the hood of her pullover. Fingers tensing, curling, nails digging into her palms each time Zoey laughed, having to let out long, deep exhales to try and maintain some sense of composure.

“Bag of rice…baby of rice…” Zoey sung a nonsensical song, awkwardly cradling a heft bag of rice in her arms. She had even taped a smiley face to it to complete the image.

Rumi closed her eyes, tried not to picture an infant in her arms.

The elevator dinged, followed by soft footsteps as Mira came in, carrying an armful of grocery bags as she made her way to the kitchen. She said nothing to Rumi as she passed by, and the woman sank deeper into her seat.

When she spotted Zoey walking back and forth with her bag of rice, Mira let out an affectionate chuckle, giving her a kiss on the cheek as she wove around her. “What are you doing, Zo?” she asked as she placed the bags down on the kitchen island.

“Practicing,” came Zoey’s immediate response as she adjusted her grip on the rice when it began to droop a little too much to the side. “I’ve never held a baby before. I want to make sure that when it’s born I don’t accidentally hurt it when I hold it.”

By all accounts, it really wasn’t a bad thing to practice. None of them had ever held an infant before. Young kids? Sure. There had been plenty of kids and toddlers who ran up to them during fan events or public appearances and they’d hoist them up and hold them for the minute or two it took for their parent to come running.

But carrying a five-year-old was different from carrying a newborn.

“I think you need to support the 'head' a little more,” Mira commented as she looked over Zoey’s form. “It’s sagging a bit, that’d probably be bad for a baby’s neck.”

Zoey hummed, shifted her arm to hold up the ‘head’ of the bag a little better, earning an approving hum from Mira. “So, how’s your day been? You were out with Celine, today, right?”

Hearing her adoptive mother’s name, Rumi felt tension coil through her jaw, her body locking up as her nails sank into her own knees through the fabric of her jeans.

So long as she didn’t watch Zoey, she could ignore her practicing holding a baby. But she couldn’t tune out a conversation. Why couldn’t they wait for Rumi to leave before talking about the two of them?

Shrugging, Mira got to work putting the groceries away. “It was fine, all things considered. I mostly spent today helping Celine look into different classes for expecting moms,” she explained. Tossing Zoey a protein bar from the bag. “It’s been over twenty years since she’s last dealt with a pregnancy, right? Times have changed. You can’t imagine how many Lamaze classes there are—and did you know there’s pregnancy yoga, too?”

“Wild,” Zoey propped the bag of rice against her shoulder as she began tearing into the bar. “Isn’t it a bit early for any of that?”

“I mean, she’s like ten or so weeks in, that’s getting near the end of the first trimester, so it’s probably around the time she can start doing mommy yoga.”

“What would they even do during yoga? She’s got a baby in there, there’s no way she can do all the twisty poses”

“They do stretches and breathing techniques,” Mira mused, sorting some boxes before putting them in the cabinets. “Things that’ll make the pregnancy a little less uncomfortable, like strengthening pelvic and back muscles.”

Rumi closed her eyes, tried to block them out. Tried not to think about what they were saying.

“Wonder if they’ll let me join them,” Zoey mused, plopping into one of the island stools. “I want to do more to help them, but unless I follow them back to Jeju, there’s not much I’m going to do stuck here.”

“Yeah, I tried seeing if I could talk Celine out of it, but she’s pretty adamant about them leaving Seoul for the rest of the pregnancy,” Mira shook her head. “I can’t blame them for wanting somewhere more peaceful. Just sucks that they’ll be so far away, now. But if you’ve anything you want to send with them, you’ll want to do that tonight or catch them before their flight tomorrow.”

“…What…?” Rumi found herself asking.

Their flight…? Jeju…? What were the two of them even talking about. Celine, you—there’s no way you two were leaving. Right?

Mira and Zoey immediately looked to her, she wasn’t sure if the surprise in their eyes was because they forgot Rumi was there, or because they hadn’t expected her to pipe up at all during their conversation. But it didn’t matter, not to her.

She slipped off the couch and took a hesitant step towards them. “What are you two talking about?” she asked again, trying to force out the tremble in her voice. You and Celine were leaving. Leaving. That wasn’t—why? Why? When did this happen? Why hadn’t she been told before? Why was she only learning about this now?

You know why, her mind snapped back vehemently. She was the one ignoring them. It’d be hard for them to tell her anything when she never answered their calls or texts. But even knowing that, she couldn’t help but feel a sting of betrayal.

Mira glanced to Zoey, and then back to Mira. “They’re moving back to Jeju for the rest of the pregnancy,” she repeated, slower this time. “With how busy and stressful Seoul can be, and with how the paparazzi are going to be once they catch wind of the news; Celine decided that it’d be better to go back to the island.”

Slowly, Zoey placed that ridiculous bag of rice down onto the kitchen island, her eyes not leaving Rumi’s. “Celine’s just worried about her health, you know?” she explained. “It’s a lot less crowded, far more rural, and it’s just a calmer environment. I don’t think any of us want them leaving, but you got to admit it’s probably for the best that they go back to their home out there.”

They were right. Jeju Island is substantially more peaceful than Seoul was. Less air and noise pollution. Not as fast paced or as stress inducing. Safer, too, it’s smaller population meant fewer demons went out there.

By all accounts, it was a better place for you to spend your pregnancy, and even the first months or year after, than here in Seoul.

But…you and Celine were leaving. Leaving her. You were going to be so far away. Jeju Island was so far away. Out of her reach. Zoey and Mira wouldn’t be able to help you when you’re that far away.

Rumi felt her stomach turn into knots at the thought.

“If they’re that worried about her health, then they shouldn’t be having a baby in the first place,” Rumi muttered, glaring at the floor.

“Rumi.”

It was a talent, Rumi would usually say, in how Mira didn’t need to raise her voice, didn’t need yell, for her words to cut like the edge of her woldo.

But it was rare for her to use that tone on either Rumi or Zoey. She only used it when they crossed a line, and that made the cut go deeper. Made Rumi flinch back.

Arms crossed over her chest, she stared Rumi down, her gaze narrowed, a wordless warning that Rumi was now treading on thin ice. It made the older girl feel small under her hardened gaze, made her feel cornered.

Zoey took a hesitant step towards her. “Rumi, what’s going on with you?” she asked, her voice softer, like she was trying to coax a scared animal. “You’ve been acting weird ever since they announced they were having this kid.”

“And don’t try to say you haven’t. You’ve been blatantly ghosting them,” Mira added, her tone turning clipped. “Do you have any idea how worried you’re making them, acting like this? The very first thing they both asked when they saw me today was ‘Is Rumi doing okay?’”

Rumi curled her hands into fists, letting her nails dig crescents into her palms as though the stinging pain might ground her, even just a little. She hatedthe pang of guilt their words stabbed into her heart.

“Come on, Rumi; you promised. No more secrets. Not from us,” Zoey tried again, sinking the knife in deeper. “Talk to us, why are you so upset over this? What’s wrong?”

She kept her silence, kept her head down, as though if she glared at the floor hard enough, it might crumble beneath her and she could disappear from this conversation, disappear entirely from this world.

Rumi knew she was being a terrible girlfriend right by bottling her feelings up again despite promising to never do so again. She knew that she was being a terrible daughter in everything she’d done these last few weeks.

But the words wouldn’t come.

If she opened her mouth, she was sure it would only be more poison.

 “They’re happy about this,” Zoey continued with another small step. “We should be happy about this. They’re having a god damn miracle baby, that’s exciting news. And you get to be this bundle of joy’s big sister. They’re going to look up to you, idolize you, because you’re their sister, the coolest person in the world for them. Isn’t that exciting?”

It wasn’t. It really fucking wasn’t.

“I don’t want a younger sibling,” Rumi snapped back.

She was well aware that she sounded like a child right now. Like an only child throwing a tantrum after being told she was getting a baby sibling, that she was going to have to share her parents love and attention.

Mira and Zoey exchanged a glance. This wasn’t a conversation they expected they were going to have to have—but it was better that Rumi was doing this here, with them, and not saying any of this in front of you and Celine. God, they didn’t want to imagine how devastated you would look if you heard Rumi say any of this.

This was a monumental thing for the two of you. Despite all the laws of biology, you and Celine were having a baby together. They wanted to be happy and be there for you.

But Rumi was making this difficult.

But, they’d rather she say everything she’d been bottling up these few weeks to them rather than let that bottle shatter when she next saw you. Rumi could complain all she liked about what was going on to Mira and Zoey, they didn’t need to relay any of it to you or Celine.

If needed, they could even ask Bobby to get some therapist recommendations if they felt Rumi needed a professional to help her work through all these feelings she had about the pregnancy.

But what they were not going to do was let Rumi make you or Celine feel guilty for this pregnancy.

"Rumi," Zoey's voice was firm, now, but still gentle even as she reached out, taking hold of one of Rumi's hands in her own

She pulled her hand away from her with a snap, holding it close to her own chest, still refusing to look at either of them. “If Celine wanted a kid of her own so badly—”

“—A ‘kid of her own’?” Mira cut in, mouth pressed in a thin line. “Rumi, you are her kid. The two of them having another doesn’t suddenly mean you’re not going to be their child anymore.”

Mira just didn't get it, Rumi wanted to yell. How could she? Even if she was estranged, she was still her parents' daughter in the ways that mattered. Just like this kid will be for you and Celine.

You’ll be theirs in all the way Rumi couldn’t be. Flesh and blood. You’ll look like them. Have their eyes, their smiles, their laugh. All the little things that Rumi couldn’t. Because at the end of the day, she wasn’t there’s. Not truly.

"It's not like they went out of there way and planned this. This pregnancy was as much a surprise for them as for us,” Zoey continued gently. “They’re not replacing you, but that doesn’t change that they’re having this kid, plain and simple. Nothing you say is going to change that.”

She knew that. God did she know that.

But that wasn’t the problem here—why couldn’t they see the issue with all of this?

She curled in on herself, fighting back the tears as her frustration reached its boiling point. “But why her?” she demanded. Her shoulders were shaking, her voice cracking.

Mira and Zoey said nothing, but their silence was just as deafening.

The tears began to fall, now, as the fears she had been trying to push down began to surface. If they wanted another kid so badly, then fine, go and have one, but why—why did you have to be the one to carry it?

“What if—she’s not as young and a pregnancy is—” Rumi choked on her own breath, tugging at her braid, the pain in her scalp helping to keep her from completely collapsing. “Celine has the Honmoon making her strong, keeping her healthy. She doesn’t have that, she’s not a hunter. Something could…she needs to be okay—"

In that moment, suddenly everything made sense.

Mira closed the distance in seconds, arms wrapping around Rumi and pulling her into a tight hug. “She’ll be fine,” she promised. “There’s no way Celine is going to let something happen to her. They’re taking every safety precaution they can, that’s why they’re moving back to Jeju.”

Just as quick, Zoey was at her other side, joining the hug. “There’s been nothing to suggest any consequences to having this baby.”

"But—" Rumi let out a hiccup. "This isn't a normal pregnancy. What if something goes wrong? She’s at the age where a pregnancy is significantly high risk. What if she—”

“Celine isn’t going to let anything happen to her. Neither will we.”

Rumi buried her face in Mira’s shoulder, gripping the two like they were her sole lifeline as a raging sea threw her back and forth. “I want to be happy for them, I swear, but—”

“We know,” Zoey murmured, stroking her hair.

She wanted to believe them, wanted to trust them. But…she was a coward. As much as she might say she moved past the need to hide; when things got hard, hiding was all she knew to do.

It was why Rumi had been avoiding you for so long. She was terrified. Terrified that this pregnancy would hurt you, take you away. Terrified that she’d be forgotten now that you had a child that was truly yours.

She didn’t want to lose you or Celine in any way. And yet she was being a hypocrite and pushing the two of you away. Pretending it wouldn’t hurt as much if she was the one to dig the gap.

A stupid idea. But it was what she was clinging to.

Zoey and Mira didn’t push her for any more answers after that. They simply held her while she let everything she’d bottled up out.

It was the middle of the night and Rumi was stretched across her bed.

You and Celine were gone. Taken the first flight out to Jeju Island that morning. Mira and Zoey had seen them off at the airport, had invited Rumi to join, but she still couldn’t bring herself to bridge that distance. Stayed in her room the entire day, pretended not to see the texts you and Celine sent her.

The two of you would be settled in by now. Celine’s house in Jeju was always nice. A pleasant little home in the countryside.

Perfect place for peace and quiet. For training young Hunters without prying eyes. She wondered if her room was the same as when she left it. Wondered if you already felt better being away from the bustling city.

Celine was probably already drowning herself in work. Rumi doubted she’d take a break even now, be it from the paperwork and meetings that came with being a CEO, or from her duties as a hunter—retired or not. She was a workaholic.

Then again, so was Rumi. She'd spent the entire time Mira and Zoey were gone trying to distract herself by picking up some unfinished songs.

She made no progress beyond giving herself a headache, but she'd tried to bury herself in her work all the same, as if that might make her forget the world around her. Forget why you and Celine were leaving Seoul in thefirst place.

It didn't work. Nothing she did would let her forget.

Rumi let out a sharp breath, closing her eyes tightly.

She told Zoey she didn't want a sibling. Even if it wasn't wholly true...Fuck, that made her a terrible person, didn't it? She'd said so many terrible things to her and Mira about you, about the pregnancy.

She should be happy for you, for this. She wanted to be. So why couldn't she? Why couldn’t she just smile and tell you ‘congratulations,’ not think about the risks and dangers and just fucking be happy?

Rumi was a terrible daughter. Rumi hoped your new kid might be better than she was.

Her phone is in her hand, opened to Bobby’s social media account. She’d been absentmindedly scrolling through it all night, the cat photos and fan content he’d retweet usually helped to cheer Rumi up when she was feeling down, but not even the video of kittens playing was able to loosen the weight in her chest.

She paused her scrolling as her eyes landed on one of the photos he’d posted. A series of beach pictures from an outing they all took over the summer. They’d even managed to talk you and Celine into joining.

Most of the photos were of Rumi, Mira, and Zoey goofing off. Some beach volleyball, an ocean shot where Zoey was tackling Mira into the water. Rumi fighting for her life after a crab took hold of her hair and refused to let go. A photo of you and Celine laying together on a pair of beach lounge chairs.

Her eyes were on you. Her fingers pinching at the screen, zooming in, as she saw the blurred, pixilated scar along your shoulder.

She blinked, and suddenly she was eleven again, standing in a dark, empty alley, clinging tight to your hand as blood dribbled down your arm from the deep, violent gash across your shoulder. Terrifyingly deep, bits of skin hanging loose, your face losing color from the blood loss.

A demon crouched across from the both of you, smile full of too-sharp teeth, one hand soaked in your blood. Ready to finish the job.

Just as fast she was fifteen again. Standing in the middle of the kitchen in their Jeju home. You were on a floor covered in oil, glass, food, and blood.

Your blood.

Bleeding heavily from your head. From your arm.

Another demon holding you by a bleeding ankle, claws sinking in to the fragile tendons. Face burnt. Covered in blood. Your blood. Glassy eye filled with sadistic malice.

The phone fell from Rumi’s hand.

She was up in an instant, heart hammering in her chest. All she could see was your blood. Dark red, oozing. Too much of it. Far too much of it. Covering her hands, covering her floor. You laying unmoving and cold in a pool of red.

Her chest felt tight, her breaths short.

You were fine. You were going to be fine. She just—she needed to be sure. Had to be sure.

It was raining when Rumi appeared on your doorstep. A downpour, to be more precise. The water drowning out the magenta smoke that marked her arrival.

Rumi hadn’t had the foresight to get dressed before disappearing, had barely even thought to throw on slippers before she left the penthouse in with a literal poof. Her thin pajamas offered no protection, and soon she was soaked to the bone and shivering as she stood outside that familiar door.

But she didn’t care.

It meant nothing that she’s here, she just—she needs to be sure—she just needs to confirm that you’re okay, and then she’ll leave.

She didn’t even need to step inside. Wouldn’t need to be here for more than a minute or two. See for herself that you’re alive. Make sure there’s no demons, and then she’d leave. She didn’t need to—

Rumi couldn’t breathe.

Her lungs were empty, her throat sealed shut, and her head going dizzy. Dizzy from the suffocation. Dizzy from the fear. The nightmares. The dread.

You were okay. You were going to be okay. This wasn’t like back then.

…but how could she be sure that it wouldn’t be? How could Rumi promise that demons wouldn’t come after you again? That they wouldn’t take advantage of your new vulnerability?

They targeted you to hurt her and Celine. If they could hurt you again, hurt you for good…they’d take the opportunity, wouldn’t they?

Stop! Stop thinking! You were fine. You were okay. No one was going to touch you. Not again. Celine would make sure of it. Rumi was worrying over nothing.

She still had a key.

Neither you or Celine ever saw fit to take it from her after she moved from the house to the penthouse. But she rang the bell instead. Then, when no one answered, knocked. Kept knocking. Banging on the door until her knuckles ached.

Answer. Please answer—what if you weren’t home? What if you were lying on the floor, helpless, bleeding—

The door opened mid-knock and you were standing there, rubbing sleep from your eyes, a simple robe thrown over the pajamas you were wearing. If she squinted hard enough, she might be able to make out the beginnings of a baby bump beneath that oversized sleep shirt.

“Rumi?” you seemed shocked to see her here. Had every right to be shocked, Rumi thought guiltily, she had avoided you so thoroughly for weeks.

But your voice wasn’t accusatory, wasn’t demanding to know why she was here, to explain herself.

It was gentle, a quiet worry that made Rumi feel even worse. Made her feel like a child who had a nightmare again. “Rumi, aegiya, what’re you doing here?" Are you okay?” you raised your hands as though to cup her face, but stopped yourself. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

Bloodless. Bruiseless. You were okay. Rumi couldn't see a single injury on you, couldn't smell a speck of blood. You were here, untouched, unharmed. You were safe.

So why didn’t Rumi feel any better?

Shoulders sagging, feeling her throat tighten up, Rumi let out a small, pathetic whimper. “…Eomma…”

Nothing more needed to be said. You pulled her out of the rain and into the house, into your warm arms, uncaring of how wet holding her like this made you. Rumi desperately latched on to you as she began to cry.

You stretched as much as you could, feeling your spine and joints pop.

The hammock you had convinced Celine to get was comfortable, it really was an excellent addition to her already lovely garden. From here, you only needed to raise your head just a bit to see your cozy little house, the newly cleaned bird bath and feeders, and the countless flowers that Celine meticulously cared for.

A common saying you’ve heard was that the more you talked to plants, the better they grew. If that were true, it would explain why Celine’s flowers always thrived. Rarely was she not humming or singing to them while she was tending to the garden.

Sighing, you closed your eyes, letting your head fall back to the patio pillow of the hammock.

You could hear the leaves of the maple trees fluttering in the breeze, already turning a beautiful shade of red in preparation for fall while also providing a pleasant cover of shade.

It was such a beautiful, perfect day.

“There you are,” a familiar voice carried with the breeze, followed by a tender caress to the cheek. “Are you awake?”

Your eyes fluttered open, blessed to be greeted by Celine’s face looking down at you.

Unable to help yourself, you reached up to press a hand to her cheek, reveling in how she turned her head to kiss your palm. “My, my, you are a sight for sore eyes,” you cooed. “I must be dead, how else would there be the most beautiful angel standing over me?”

Celine laughed, though you noted with satisfaction that there was a blush across her cheeks. “You’re certainly putting on the charms today. You’re not up to something, are you?”

“Didn’t know I needed a reason to flirt with my wife,” you teased back before glancing past her in search for a missing figure. “Where’s Rumi hiding?” That girl was always right behind whenever both you and Celine were outside, never wanting to be far from either for too long.

“Taking a nap. Someone bought her too much candy, and so she got a sugar crash.”

You pouted at her accusation. “Hey now, I bought the candy for myself,” you defended. “How was I to know the little cub was going to sniff out my hiding place like a bloodhound and eat half the stash?”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t have left your stash somewhere a child can reach.”

“Then she’d just be climbing furniture to get to it like she does with her favorite cereals,” you countered, earning a laugh.

“I suppose, but I still blame you for the sugar rush she got,” Celine said without any real heat. Her smile was soft, gentle, as she grabbed the hand that still rested on her cheek, pulling it away and holding it in her own, her thumb tracing the lines of your palms.

Her touch was always warm, soft as the grass beneath them, every touch full of unspoken love and adoration. Your hands were softer than hers, lacking the callouses born from years of sword fighting, lacking the innumerable faint scars that cut across her own palms and knuckles. She stared at your hand like it was the most perfect, wonderful thing she had ever seen.

You were looking at her the same way.

“Would you like to come up and sit?” you offered after a bear, gesturing to the hammock you were in with your other hand.

Celine pulled her gaze from your hand, her eyes darting from the hammock to you, then back again. “There’s no room.”

A mischievous smile made it’s way to your face. “Yes, there is,” you chirped back. Rather than move, you simply raised your arm out, a simple invitation. “Come here, yeobo.”

She does.

As graceful out here as she was on the stage, Celine raised a leg and moved slowly as she climbed into the hammock, careful and precise with each movement she made.

You were having none of that.

Smile widening, you reached out to grip Celine by the waist and tugged. With a squeak the melted into a laugh, Celine tumbled right onto your chest, her face just above your own.

The way she called out your name after was equal parts scolding and endearing.

“Complain all you want, Celine,” you teased, one hand remaining on her waist, the other running up and down her back with only the faintest of touch, “but you can’t tell me you don’t think this is nice.”

She muttered and whined in response, turning her head away from you as if that would hide her blush.

Undeterred, you closed the distance; your lips brushing first against her cheek with a light, purposeful, almost kiss, then further down to the sharp line of her jaw.

When Celine turned her head again, you met her halfway, mouth soft, lingering, and unhurried against her own. Fitting your lips together, devouring Celine like nothing else in the world mattered, with the kind of languidly as if the one moment would last an eternity.

One of Celine’s hands came up to cup your face, pulling you deeper into the kiss while the other hand grabbed a fistful of your shirt.

There was no rushing, no claiming. Just you, Celine, and this one moment.

As were all things, the kiss came to an end, with Celine pulling away to stare down at you, her face flushed, hiding herself into the crook of your neck. “You really are a charmer today,” she murmured.

“Only ever for you.”

Celine nuzzled deeper into you, and you smiled warmly, adoringly, down at her.

The hand on her back stopped, fingers splayed out over her spine to hold her against you. The hand on waist moved, coming up to her head to run your fingers through her hair in slow, soothing motions, feeling just as much as hearing Celine preen under your touch as you played with the dark strands of hair and scratched at her scalp. She smelled like the freshest of lavenders and vanilla, a scent you would never grow tired of.

You stay wrapped up in each other for a while longer, limbs tangled, looking like one person instead of two, for a while longer. The birds sang their song high above, the breeze blew softly, sending the maple tree branches creaking and the leaves rustling. Ever so often a splash of water sounded from the fountain.

All of that paled in comparison to the soft sounds of Celine breathing against you, the feeling of her chest rising and falling in gentle rhythms.

You wanted to stay like this forever.

Didn’t want this perfect, peaceful moment to ever end. There was nothing else you could want right now.

Well, no, that wasn’t entirely true, and you knew it.

Right now, there was one more thing that you wanted—and lucy you, that missing piece came to you.

“Not fair!”

Rumi’s loud, still sleep-heavy voice cut through the quiet, breaking the peace of the moment.

You cracked an eye open to see the little girl pouting beside the hammock, staring up at you and Celine like your committee some grand treason.

Celine hummed a soft laugh as she pulled herself from you, “Rumi, you’re supposed to be taking a nap.”

“I don’t wanna,” she said with all the stubbornness of a five year old. “It’s not fair you two get to be up there. I wanna be on the hammock, too!”

You had a feeling that it was less the hammock that she was upset about, and more who was in the hammock.

“I don’t know, cub, the hammock is already pretty full,” you said, drawing out your words in a teasing tone. When Rumi’s lower lip stuck out in a familiar pout, you had to hold back a laugh.

“Luckily, it seems,” you continued playfully, not wanting to drag out her suffering for too long, “you’re just the right size to add.”

The way your cubs face lit up when you said that had your heart bursting with love.

Immediately Rumi made to try to climb up on her own, though her arms and legs were too short to do so. It didn’t stop her from grabbing the hammock and trying.

Celine stopped her with a laugh as warm as summer. “Calm down, Rumi, I’ll help you.”

Shifting on top of you, Celine reached down to pick Rumi up, murmuring a “up we go,” as she lifted the girl up into the hammock.

No sooner had Celine let her go had Rumi nudged herself between you and your wife, letting out a pleased mrrp sound once she was comfortably sandwiched between the two of you.

You and Celine shared a look before quietly laughing.

Carefully wrapping your arm around them both, you felt your chest flutter again as Celine lowered herself, head resting against your collarbone, her own arm draped across Rumi.

It took no time at all for Rumi to drift back off to sleep, nuzzling deeper into your chest, holding tight to Celine’s sleeve. Not long after Celine joined her, quiet snores and soft breathing reverberating against you.

The hammock wasn’t intended to hold three people, and though it was a tight fit, you wouldn’t have had it otherwise. This moment was perfect.

Curled up here under the warm fall skies with the two most important people in your life— you were want for nothing.

Motherhood hadn’t been something you ever planned on, it certainly hadn’t been a topic you and Celine ever discussed. Celine was too busy with her career as an idol, her duty as a demon hunter, to ever consider starting a family. You never had any real interest in it either.

After a while, you had figured becoming parents just wasn’t something the two of you would ever be.

Then Rumi came into your life, and everything changed for the better.

It was laughable how easily that little girl had melted your heart. The moment Celine had placed the baby into your arms was the moment Rumi had you permanently wrapped around her finger. All it took was her staring up at you with those big brown eyes and for her to give you that happy little giggle, and it was over for you.

Celine hadn’t been any better.

It was clear to anyone who looked just how much she loved Rumi. She caved to every request that little girl made.

Did she want to go to the teddy bear museum? Celine was cancelling everything on her schedule and taking her to Seogwipo. Rumi wanted visit a live performance for one of her favorite shows? Celine was getting tickets, no matter how short notice. Anything and everything, Rumi was going to be spoiled rotten by Celine.

But more than that, she wanted to protect Rumi. Protect her in every way she could—

You should have known that would be a problem.

There was plenty that you and Celine argued over. The best flavor of ice cream, whose turn it was to do the dishes, Celine's perpetual habit of working herself to the bone and how when she said “I’m fine” she was lying through her teeth.

The most heated were the arguments around her belief that the ‘faults and flaws of a hunter could never be seen’. A belief ingrained in her by her mentors to protect oneself and protect the Honmoon.

Generations of bullshit is what you liked to call it.

Love and life, joy and wonder, it was found in the imperfections. Flawless was boring, it was hollow. You can’t feel connected with—you can’t relate to—something that has no flaws.

And yet no matter how much you argued with Celine on this, she refused to budge.

It was the belief that sustained the Honmoon for centuries, that had to mean something. It’s what kept them safe for generations.

You should have expected that belief would be the source of the troubles that would come. That when that purple mark curled around Rumi’s arm, that mantra Celine clung to would become a poison.

Suddenly it wasn’t Celine just trying to protect Rumi from the monsters of the world, but trying to protect Rumi from herself. From her own blood. Her need to protect shifting from that of love to that of fear.

Demons were something to be feared. Demons were evil. Demons were unfeeling, they only brought pain and miserly. Demons were something that Rumi couldn’t be associated with no matter what.

You should have seen it coming. Should have known that kind of lecture was going to be harmful when the one being lectured had demon blood in her veins. Eventually the bottle will crack.

It was Saturday when it happened. A mild spring afternoon.

Celine had taken Rumi to the cemetery to visit her mothers grave earlier that day. It was an important tradition between the two; time that Celine could spend to visit one of her closest friends, and time Rumi could spend learning more about her mother.

Though it was strange. Rumi had seemed quieter when they had returned, and you had not had a chance to ask Celine if something had happened before your wife had to leave. A workplace emergency with the record label she had recently started.

At first you had thought you’d give Rumi space. She was still so young, she was still learning how to process all her emotions. But when an hour passed and you had yet to see or hear of the girl, you had started growing concerned.

“Rumi?” you called out, checking her room—not in there. She wasn’t outside, you would have seen her running past.

Strange. Rumi wasn’t the type of kid to run off somewhere without telling anyone, but she wasn’t the type to become so quiet she might as well have been a ghost, either.

You were about to call and double-check that Celine hadn’t taken her with when you heard a soft sob emanating from the bathroom.

That—that wasn’t good.

Approaching the door, you gave it a light knock. “Rumi, are you in there?” you asked softly, listening intently you could hear a choked sound and a quiet whimper. The alarm bells were starting to ring in your head. “Sweetheart, are you okay?”

No response.

“Rumi, I need you to talk to me, or I’ll be coming in.”

Waiting a breath, you counted to five and then tested the doorknob. Unlocked. You pushed it open.

You weren’t expecting to see Rumi sitting on the bathroom floor.

She had a scrub pad in one hand, and the skin on her arms was an angry, raw, blistering red where those small patterns curled. Her face was wet with tears, and her eyes wide with guilt and terror when she saw you standing in the doorway.

The bathroom door shut behind you, and in an instant you had dropped to your knees beside the young girl, reaching out to her. Your motions were slow and telegraphed. “Rumi, what happened?” you asked, keeping your voice soft; she was already scared, you didn’t need to add to it.

Rumi flinched from you. “I… I thought I could wash them off,” she confessed with a hiccup, her grip on the pad shaking.

“Wash them off?” you echoed.

She nodded, her shoulders trembling—from the physical pain or the emotional, you didn’t know. “If I—if I can get rid of them, then I won’t be a demon,” her voice came out with a tremor. “I won’t be bad, I won’t be—”

The rest of her words broke into choked sobs. Dropping the scrub pad, Rumi began to scratch and claw at the patterns with desperation.

Your heart shattered for the girl.

Immediately, you pulled her into your arms. “Oh, sweetheart, no,” you murmured into her hair as you held her, feeling her tremble and shake in your grasp.

Tiny hands tentatively gripped at your shirt, scared of the closeness and terrified to let go all the same as she buried her face into your shirt, wetting the fabric with her tears.

You held her like that as time passed on, her cries all that echoed in the small room while you gave her murmured assurances and comfort, rubbing her back in gentle motions and combing your fingers through her hair as you let her cry.

Maybe it had been minutes, maybe it had been hours before Rumi’s sobs began to slow and quiet into soft breaths.

“Rumi,” you murmured after a while, feeling her tighten her hold on you. “Why do you think these patterns will make you bad?”

Moments later came an even quieter voice, “Celine… she says demons have patterns and—and demons are bad. They hurt people,” Rumi explained quietly. “I have patterns, that means I’m one of them.”

“Did Celine say you were?”

There was that waver to her voice again, the warning that she was on the brink of crying again. “She says we need to get rid of them, that we need to seal the Honmoon so they’ll go away—” a hiccup. “—doesn’t that mean she thinks I’m a demon, too?”

Oh…Celine… what have you done?

You were going to have a good long talk with her about this tonight. You should have been sterner with her, voiced your concerns more loudly. Even if Celine never meant to make Rumi feel like she was the same as the demons Celine fought, the demons Celine warned of; what she had said had been just as damaging. Perhaps more so.

That meant it was up to you to undo the damage she had done.

“You want to know what I think of these patterns?” You asked softly, still combing through her hair, letting your nails lightly trace down the back of her neck.

Rumi pulled back to stare up at you, eyes but wide and wordless, still red from the tears, but waiting for your answer.

You could see the sliver of fear in her expression, too, the expectation that you might say something similar to what Celine would have. To double down on how terrible they are, how important it is for Rumi to get rid of them.

Well, lucky for her, you are not your wife.

“I think they make you look like a tiger,” you smiled at her, watched that fear turn into curious confusion.

“A tiger?” Rumi repeated, filled with uncertainty and hesitant hope.

Smiling, you tapped her on her little nose. “A tiger,” you confirmed, your smile growing softer. “You know what tigers do, right? They protect people. I look at your patterns and I see a brave little cub who’ll grow into a powerful tiger.”

Your words may as well have been magic for how Rumi began to relax in your lap, her tears starting to dry up. “I—I want to be a tiger, not a demon.”

“You already are, sweetheart,” you told her, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re already my brave, strong tiger cub.”

After that, you carefully cleaned her up; wiping her face clean of the tears and covering her arms in aloe to help with the abrasions she gave herself.

By the time you had hoisted her off the floor, her mood was far better than when you had found her.

And, well…

You had been planning to spend the afternoon baking cookies. You’d certainly appreciate the help of a tiger to scare away any would-be thieves.

Rumi certainly seemed excited at the idea, ready to show the world that she was a tiger.

Even as she grew from child to teen, and then to adult; the nickname stuck.

It didn't matter if the patterns spread, it didn't matter if Celine's worries grew louder and Rumi continued to hide them. They didn't change anything, not for you.

She was always going to be your tiger cub.