#rumi angst

Rumi slammed through the exit door, sprinting down the alleyway without really seeing where shes going. Her chest hurts from all the running, shes been at it for almost an hour now, moving from building to building in the hopes of losing her pursuers.

Turning sharply, Rumi ducked behind a dumpster and crouched in place, holding her breath. She knows that if they find her here again, she won’t be making it far. Her leg still throbs from the earlier cut, and she still hadn’t managed to find anything to clean or wrap it with.

The door she just came from slams open again, she doesn’t bother looking. They’re always just that little bit too close, that little bit too fast, for her to find a good hiding spot. She just has to hope they give up when they can’t immediately see her.

Footsteps, so soft she almost missed them, start making their way down the alley towards her hiding spot.

Dont find me please dont find me I can’t run anymore please

The footsteps pause when they reached the dumpster. Rumi held her breath, hoping, praying that they’d leave her alone.

Whatever god cursed her with her birth marks must have chosen to give her a modicum of mercy, because the pair of footsteps slowly receded.

Rumi waits several seconds until she hears the door to the office shut. Letting out a sigh of relief, Rumi reached her hand out around the dumpster, starting to pull herself out.

Something impossibly strong grabs her wrist, yanking her harshly out from behind the dumpster. Pain flashes through her as shes slammed into the wall beside it, an arm at her throat pinning her there.

Rumi lets out a ragged gasp of pain, squeezing her eyes shut. She doesn’t want to be here, she wants to be back in the studio with Bobby, she wants to feel safe again.

The hand at her throat tightened harshly, making Rumi try to gasp as her eyes flew open, her hands jumping to grab at it.

“How are you affecting the Honmoon like that, demon?”

The girl holding her by her throat is wearing glasses, her cheeks flushed with the exertions of the chase. Under different circumstances, Rumi might’ve found her beautiful.

But right now?

Rumi’s never been so scared in her life.

“Answer me!” The girl shook her, her pink hair falling over her face from the aggressive movements.

Rumi tried to answer, but she couldn’t get enough air in her lungs to answer. A dry, rasping sound left her throat as she clawed weakly at the hand around her throat.

“Mira! She can’t answer if you’re choking her!”

A second girl, standing by the door with her hand on its handle, speaks up then. (Ah, so they’d used it to trick her.)

The girl holding Rumi, Mira, glances over at the dark haired one. “Zoey, if I let up at all, it’ll probably scream for help.”

Shes right, but Rumi won’t say it.

“She won’t. Because if she does,” Zoey pulled out two knives from seemingly thin air, making Rumi’s eyes widen in surprise and terror. “Then we just send her back to Gwi-ma!”

Well. There goes the “scream for help” plan. It sounds like they’ll just kill her if she tries.

Mira considers the idea for a moment, her grip tightening slightly and making Rumi gasp for breath, before she let her grip relax somewhat.

Rumi dragged in greedy breaths of air, still holding onto the arm attached to her throat. Zoey’s standing next to Mira now, balancing the knife on the tip of her finger as they waits for Rumi to catch her breath.

“L-look, I don’t have much money, but I’ll give you everything I promise!” The two look stunned for a moment, so Rumi keeps going. “I-I won’t tell the police or the tabloids anything, just please-“

Shes cut off by Mira slamming a fist into the wall beside her head, making her flinch in fear.

Mira slowly draws her hand back, glaring at Rumi as she does so. “Drop the act, or I will break your arm. Understood?”

Rumi tries to figure out what on earth she means. She isn’t acting, shes terrified right now! These two maniacs followed her from the bus stop, then chased her for over an hour across Seoul without a single cop somehow seeing them, before slamming her into a wall and choking her!

“I’m not acting, I swear! I’ll give you whatever you want just-“

Mira grabs her arm then, pulling it down in an angle. Rumi barely has a moment to register the movement before Mira’s knee comes up and pain explodes across Rumi’s arm.

She would’ve dropped to the ground if not for the hand around her throat, the same one that’s keeping her from screaming.

The pain is blinding, and Rumi is too distracted by it to notice when the tears first started falling.

After a few minutes of hyperventilating, Rumi slowly came back to herself. The first thing she notices is that she’s not being held by her throat anymore. The second is that her forearm is currently bent 45 degrees in the wrong direction.

But the third, and possibly most important, is the glowing blade pointing at her chest.

Rumi flinches, leaning against the wall as far back as she can. The blade stays pointed at her chest, and it takes several seconds for her to slowly look up towards the metal attached to it, following it with her eyes to the hands that had moment ago broken her arm.

Mira’s standing there, her eyes narrowed. Rumi risks a glance to the side, spotting Zoey talking into her phone while turned away from her.

Not wanting to risk angering her captors, Rumi huddles as tightly as she can into a ball, keeping her eyes on the blade in front of her.

Zoey finishes the conversation a few moments later, ending the call with a muted click. She turns back around as she slips her phone into her pocket, walking back over to where Mira and Rumi are.

Zoey’s giving Rumi an odd look, like shes some kind of mystery meat in a meal shes reconsidering. It reminds Rumi too much of how people reacted when she tried to produce music the first time.

She’d let her patterns show then. Hadn’t hidden her face from the public. She’d learned her lesson after the third time someone told her to her face that she should cover up more.

“Celine’s bringing the car around now. Shes already almost here, apparently shes been following us with the phone trackers.”

Zoey’s voice yanks Rumi out of her thoughts, making her flinch in surprise. The sudden movement makes her arm move, making her hiss in pain and causing more tears to fall.

She doesn’t notice the blade lifting away from her, but she does become uncomfortably aware of how close Zoey is when she crouches right in front of Rumi. Rumi flinches again, this time biting back the hiss of pain.

Zoey looks almost… concerned, which is laughable considering what she and Mira have been doing to Rumi.

Nodding to herself, Zoey stands back up, turning to Mira behind her. “Yeah, clean break. It’s not a fake blood pack, like you thought. Whatever she is, she isnt just a demon.” Zoey turns back to look down at Rumi, the concern now mixed with something Rumi can’t quite identify.

The sound of breaks squeaking draws all three woman’s attentions to the alleyway entrance, where an unmarked van pulls to a stop. No one gets out, but Mira and Zoey nod to each other.

Zoey crouches next to Rumi, reaching towards her before pausing at the way Rumi flinches. “I’m sorry, but until we know you’re not dangerous you have to come with us.” Her hand closes on Rumi’s upper arm, lifting her with more strength then her small body led Rumi to assume she had.

Shit. Bobby had told her that if ever someone’s taking her to a secondary location, they’re probably going to try to kill her. Opening her mouth, Rumi starts screaming.

“HE-“

A cloth is shoved into her mouth, cutting her off and choking her slightly. Zoey’s hand is still on her arm, keeping her from pulling back far enough to get away or pull it out.

Another woman’s standing in the alleyway now, gray hair mixed with black the only sign of her advanced age.

“Mira, Zoey, get her in the car now. We can worry about the broken arm when we figure out what she is.”

She speaks sharply, leaving no room to argue or ask question’s. Rumi tries to spit out the cloth, but Mira’s hand covers her mouth as the two young women march her towards the car.

The pain in her arm flares, drawing more pained tears from her eyes as she fights. But shes outnumbered, overpowered, and exhausted.

Rumi doesnt know when she passed out from the pain, or for how long, but the next thing she’s aware of is something tight cutting into her good arm.

Slowly opening her eyes, Rumi looks about. It appears shes in some kind of office, left laying on the floor. Sitting up slowly, Rumi becomes uncomfortably aware of the weight on her arm, and a quick glance confirms her fears. A manacle and chain are on her arm, attached to the floor.

Theres no telling how far they are from help, or if anyone would help if they were close enough. She doesn’t even know whos kidnapped her, or why.

Her left arm is wrapped now, bandages covering the broken bone. It still hurts, but not quite as badly as it did before.

The door across from her clicked, drawing Rumi’s attention as she curled into a tight ball. She squeezes her eyes shut as it opens, not wanting to see whoever would be hurting her yet.

It takes several moments before Rumi can force herself to open her eyes. She flinched when she sees the familiar pink hair and glasses. The unfamiliar part is the look of guilt on her face, but Rumi doesn’t trust it for a second.

The two regard each other for several seconds, neither willing to break the silence first.

Finally, Mira shifts, looking away for a second before glancing back. “Can you tell me something?”

Rumi doesnt move, not trusting herself to tell this woman whatever it is she wants to hear. After a few moments of silence, Mira shrugs.

“I’ll ask, and if you can answer me this’ll go a lot easier for both of us.” She says it like it makes any more sense. It’d probably help more if she’d say what she wanted to know, but Rumi’s not gonna say something that’ll get anything else broken.

“Are you a demon?”

Rumi blinks. She had expected a lot of questions, like her banking info, numbers for celebrity’s she knows, or even once Bobby’s personal number.

But a demon? Rumi doesnt even want to guess what that’s about.

Mira is watching Rumi intently, clearly waiting for an answer. Without unfurling herself or soeaking, Rumi shakes her head once.

A clear no.

Mira rubs at her eyes, as if trying to clean away some kind of lie.

It appears she still sees the same thing, if the way her mouth slightly tightens is any indication.

Several more seconds of staring at each other, Mira turns, walking away and out the door.

It clangs shut behind her, making Rumi flinch.

Rumi slowly puts her good arm around her legs, pulling herself into a ball. The tears start falling despite her best efforts, the fear, adrenaline, and everything else catching up finally.

__

Mira can hear the sounds of crying even through the door. It’s like a knife, stabbing into her heart with each choked gasp.

She messed up. She messed up bad.

If Zoey’s theory’s is at all correct, then not only have they been hunting a woman for the last hour, not only had Mira broken her arm, she had also helped kidnap her.

Whatever this girl is, shes having the worst day of her life, and now Mira’s sure she doesn’t know what a demon is.

All Mira can do now is hope Celine has some kind of plan.

By morning, the clips were everywhere. Not just the concert anymore—no, now it was grainy footage of last night, filmed from across the street, posted to TikTok with captions like “Huntrix caught chasing mystery girl???” and “This HAS to be the soulmate, right??”

You stared at the screen in numb horror as your blurred silhouette leaned against the brick wall, Huntrix standing a few feet away, faces carved in desperation. Someone had slowed the video down frame by frame, circling Rumi’s clenched fists, Mira’s trembling hands, Zoey’s shattered smile. The comments were a frenzy:

“omg she’s real” “look at their eyes—tell me that isn’t the bond hitting???” “if she rejects them I’m actually gonna scream” “DESTINY IS REAL GUYS”

Your stomach turned. Destiny. As if the whole internet was cheering for the one thing you feared most.

You hurled your phone onto the bed, breath shuddering. It wasn’t just you anymore. You couldn’t control it, couldn’t contain it. The story was too big.

And yet the bond hummed louder than any trending thread, reminding you that the firestorm outside didn’t matter compared to the wildfire inside.

Huntrix wasn’t handling it better.

Rumi hadn’t slept. She sat in the rehearsal studio at three in the morning, still in her stage clothes from the night before, staring at the mirror without seeing it. When the managers tried to coax her home, she only said one thing:

“She’s out there. And she hates us.”

Her voice had cracked on the last word.

Mira threw herself into practice, hours on end, pushing her body past exhaustion. Every missed beat felt like punishment. Every stumble a reminder of the look on your face when you told them you knew they’d destroy you. When she finally collapsed on the floor, chest heaving, her hands shook too badly to untie her laces.

Zoey couldn’t stop scrolling. She read every comment, every theory, every blurry screenshot until her vision blurred with tears. She thought if she memorized enough words from strangers, maybe she’d understand why you said no. But all it did was make the hollow in her chest deeper.

Their bond—the one thing that had always made them unbreakable—felt fragile now, stretched too thin without you in it.

__

You told yourself you should feel relieved. That maybe your rejection had worked. That maybe they’d back off.

But the truth was worse.

Everywhere you went, you felt them. Not physically, but in the tether that tugged under your ribs. The ache when they were hurting. The way your chest grew tight when you knew one of them was crying. The bond wasn’t just connection—it was reflection. You couldn’t shut it out. Their pain bled into yours like ink on paper.

And it broke you.

Because you hadn’t asked for this, hadn’t wanted this. But it was yours anyway.

And part of you—God, part of you—wanted to run back. To stop the trembling in Zoey’s hands, to soothe the storm in Rumi’s chest, to untangle the knots strangling Mira’s breath.

But then you remembered your mother’s smile when she’d said “I found my soulmate.” You remembered your father’s silence. You remembered the sound of the door closing behind her.

And you hardened all over again.

No. You wouldn’t be fate’s puppet. You wouldn’t let them in just so one day they could leave, too.

__

The fandom was eating itself alive.

Half of them romanticized it—the destined girl in the crowd, the once-in-a-lifetime concert, the bond so powerful it broke perfection. Edits were already circulating: clips of Huntrix staring at you, slowed down, glittery captions reading “the moment everything changed.”

The other half raged.

If you really were their soulmate, why would you run? Why would you reject them? Threads were full of accusations—heartless, ungrateful, selfish. They didn’t know you, but they hated you anyway for daring to turn away from destiny.

And every time your name trended higher, you felt smaller.

That night, you sat on your bedroom floor, phone dark, the only light from the streetlamp bleeding through your window. You pressed your fists to your temples, trying to will the bond quiet.

For once, it almost worked.

Until a thought hit you so sharp it stole your breath.

What if you weren’t protecting yourself at all?

What if, by refusing them, you were the one breaking them the way your mother had broken your father?

Your chest caved as tears spilled hot and silent down your cheeks.

The bond hummed, aching and alive, whispering the same word it had since the night the lights dropped and three voices faltered on stage.

Mine.

But all you could whisper back, to the empty room, to yourself, to the universe that never gave you a choice, was the same word over and over, breaking you open until you shook with it:

“No.”

__

You researched it in secret.

The words sat heavy in your search history—soulmate bond removal ritual, surgery to sever tether, breaking destiny. Each click felt like a confession, like you were admitting just how far you were willing to go.

Most results were stories, whispers, warnings. Some claimed there were witches who could cut the bond, but the price was blood. Others said surgeons had tried—experimental, underground, brutal. All ended the same: agony, madness, death.

You stared at the glowing screen long into the night, your reflection warped in the glass. The thought of it gnawed at you—if it means being free, maybe it’s worth it.

But every time you let yourself imagine the knife, or the spell, or the darkness swallowing you whole, something inside you recoiled. Not fear of dying—no, that didn’t scare you. What scared you was the image of Huntrix finding out. The way Rumi would burn the world to ashes trying to get to you, Mira’s hands shaking as she pieced through the wreckage, Zoey begging whatever gods existed to undo what was done.

Even if you didn’t want them—you couldn’t stand the thought of being the one to destroy them like that.

So you slammed your laptop shut, tears streaking your cheeks. You wouldn’t cut the bond. You wouldn’t give in, either. All you could do was exist in the limbo between, half-alive and aching.

Huntrix wasn’t surviving the limbo.

Rumi’s temper was volcanic, spilling into everything she touched. She lashed out at rehearsals, snapped at managers, fought anyone who suggested she “move on.” Her leadership, once her anchor, was fracturing. Every second you weren’t beside her was another crack she couldn’t patch.

Mira went quiet, her voice measured to the point of breaking. She carried herself like a blade left too long in its sheath—taut, brittle, straining. She stopped laughing at Zoey’s jokes, stopped answering Rumi’s sharpness. Instead she drowned herself in silence, trying not to drown in the bond’s constant ache.

Zoey… Zoey cried. She tried to smile, to hold the group together, but the mask slipped more each day. Her livestreams were shorter, her laugh weaker. Fans noticed, commented: “Zoey looks tired lately” “Is she okay??” “She doesn’t seem like herself…”

None of them were themselves. They were just three shadows orbiting the absence you left behind.

You almost convinced yourself they’d stop looking. That maybe, with time, the bond would dull into something manageable.

But then it happened.

The next confrontation.

It was late when you left the convenience store, plastic bag of cheap food hanging from your wrist. The streets were half-empty, neon signs buzzing faintly against the night sky. You tugged your hood up, steps quick, as if you could outrun the tether humming faintly under your ribs.

But you didn’t even make it to your street before you felt it snap taut.

And when you turned, they were there.

Three silhouettes against the glow of a streetlamp.

Rumi’s eyes burned, fire and fury. Mira’s stare was sharp, unflinching, but trembling at the edges. Zoey’s tears already shone under the light, her mouth trembling like she’d been rehearsing what to say but lost the words as soon as she saw you.

You dropped the bag, your breath stalling in your chest. “No,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Not again. Don’t follow me.”

“You thought we wouldn’t?” Rumi’s voice was raw, almost a snarl. She stepped forward, each word heavy enough to crush pavement. “You think we can just pretend this doesn’t exist? That you don’t exist?”

“I didn’t ask for this!” you cried, fists clenched so tight your nails cut into your palms. “I never wanted any of it. Do you hear me? I never wanted you.”

Zoey’s sob broke the air like glass shattering. She turned away, covering her mouth, her shoulders trembling. Mira flinched, but didn’t move, her chest rising and falling too fast. Rumi froze, her fire collapsing into something hollow, something wounded.

“You’d rather die?” Mira’s voice cracked, sharp with desperation.

You froze.

Because somehow—she knew.

Her eyes locked on yours, wide and terrified. “You thought about it.” Her voice trembled, rising. “You thought about cutting it out. Didn’t you?”

The silence that followed was your answer.

Zoey’s sob turned into a wail. Rumi staggered like you’d struck her. Mira pressed a hand to her mouth, like if she didn’t, she’d scream.

“Don’t you dare.” Rumi’s voice shook for the first time. Not fire—pleading. “Don’t you dare even think about it again. If you—if you die, I swear I’ll—” She broke off, dragging her hand through her hair, furious at herself for faltering.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The bond thrummed between you like a wound ripped open, bleeding raw and unstoppable.

“I just want to be free,” you whispered, the words tasting like ash.

Zoey turned, tears streaking her face, her voice breaking on every word. “And we just want you.”

The tether yanked, brutal, undeniable. Your body ached with the weight of it, your soul screaming as their voices crashed over you.

But still—you shook your head.

And still—they didn’t move.

None of you moved.

Just four broken souls strung together under the hum of neon lights, bound by something none of you asked for, none of you could undo, and none of you would ever escape.

__

You didn’t sleep that night.

Every time you closed your eyes, you saw them under that streetlamp—Zoey’s face streaked with tears, Mira’s hands trembling, Rumi’s voice breaking for the first time. The bond thrummed like a fever under your skin, refusing to let you rest. It wanted them. It ached for them.

And you hated yourself for aching back.

Days blurred. You avoided the news, avoided social media, avoided the city streets where their faces screamed at you from billboards. But avoidance didn’t make the bond quieter. It only got worse. Like hunger. Like thirst. Like suffocating.

Meanwhile, Huntrix was imploding.

Rumi stormed out of rehearsals. Footage leaked of her screaming at a producer, her mic thrown so hard it shattered. Fans argued online—“She’s always been fiery” “No, something’s wrong with her.”

Mira started disappearing after schedules, vanishing into the night. Paparazzi caught her once, standing alone on a rooftop, staring at the city with her fists clenched until her knuckles bled.

Zoey… Zoey cracked on livestream. A fan asked if she was okay, and instead of her usual bright smile, her lips trembled and her eyes filled. She ended the stream without a word. The clip went viral.

And all of it was because of you.

You told yourself you weren’t responsible. You didn’t choose this bond. You didn’t want this destiny. But guilt seeped into every breath. You were their anchor—and their poison.

The breaking point came one week later.

You were walking home again, hood up, music blasting to drown the tether out, when a car screeched to a stop at the curb. A door slammed, and then—

“Enough.”

Rumi.

She stood in the street, chest heaving, eyes bloodshot. Mira climbed out after her, silent but steady, while Zoey lingered in the backseat, her tear-streaked face just visible through the glass.

You froze. “Go away.”

“No.” Rumi’s voice was jagged. She stepped closer, every word carved out of desperation. “We’re done watching you run. Done pretending we can survive like this.”

Your throat closed. “You don’t get it. This thing—it ruins people. It ruined my parents, my family, my whole goddamn life. I won’t let it ruin me.”

Mira’s voice cut through, sharper than a blade. “And what about us? It’s already killing us. Do you think we’re fine without you? Do you think we sleep at night?” Her hands shook, but her gaze never wavered. “You’re not sparing us. You’re destroying us.”

Zoey finally emerged, clutching the car door like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Her voice cracked, but the words carried anyway: “I don’t care if it ruins us. I’d rather be ruined with you than whole without you.”

The tether yanked so violently it stole your breath. Tears blurred your vision.

And still, you shook your head. “I can’t. I can’t.”

Rumi’s face crumpled, fury collapsing into grief. Mira flinched like you’d stabbed her. Zoey sobbed outright, the sound cutting through you worse than any blade.

The bond howled.

Four souls stood in the wreckage of fate—three begging, one breaking—and none of you knew which would shatter first.

__

The quiet never lasted anymore.

Even when you found a secluded corner of the city—alone, hood pulled up, the noise of the world muffled to a faint hum—the bond still pulsed. It was like a heartbeat under your skin, a reminder you couldn’t scrub out no matter how many miles you put between yourself and them.

But tonight… it wasn’t just a pulse. It was fire.

You had been staring at the same torn page for nearly an hour. A scrap of information you shouldn’t have chased down, a whispered rumor from a back-alley sorcerer who didn’t even look you in the eye. “There are ways,” he had said. “Dangerous ways. Maybe not survivable.” His words echoed as you traced the messy ink sketch of sigils. A ritual that could cut the bond at its root. A surgery of the soul.

You told yourself you weren’t serious. That you were just… curious. That you’d never actually risk it. But your hands trembled as you read, and deep down, you knew the truth.

You were considering it again.

The second you let yourself imagine being free, the bond struck like lightning. Pain lanced through your chest so sharp you doubled over, clawing at the pavement as if you could rip it out. Your breath came ragged, the invisible thread between you and Huntrix glowing hot, sparking like a live wire.

And miles away, they felt it.

Rumi was the first to stumble, grabbing the side of the kitchen counter as her knees threatened to buckle. Mira gasped sharply, clutching her sternum, while Zoey’s glass slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor.

“She’s thinking about it again,” Zoey rasped, eyes wide.

The bond didn’t just hurt them. It screamed your intent—your reckless, desperate longing for escape.

They didn’t wait. They couldn’t.

By the time you staggered to your feet, Huntrix were there—three shadows that cut through the night like blades. Rumi’s voice was raw when it broke the silence.

“Tell me you’re not doing this again.”

Your throat tightened. You hid the crumpled paper behind your back, but Mira’s sharp eyes caught the movement. She snatched it before you could stop her, scanning the page, her face draining of color.

“Are you insane?” Mira’s voice cracked, not with anger, but something worse—fear. “This—this isn’t just dangerous, it’s—” Her hands shook as she held up the paper. “You’d die. Do you understand that? You would die trying this.”

You wanted to yell back, to defend yourself, but your voice came out small. “Maybe that would be better.”

The bond flared white-hot, like punishment for the words. All three girls flinched as if burned.

Zoey’s mask finally broke. Her voice was barely more than a whisper, raw and cracked. “Do you hate us that much?”

The question gutted you.

You shook your head, words spilling out in a rush. “I don’t— I don’t hate you. I hate this. I hate that I don’t have a choice. That every second, I can feel you in my blood, in my bones, and I can’t breathe without wondering if it’s real or just the bond choking me. I’m losing myself, and I don’t know how to stop it.”

Rumi’s hands curled into fists at her sides, but she didn’t move closer. She looked like she wanted to, like she was holding herself back by a thread. “You think we don’t feel the same? You think we asked for this?” Her voice cracked, breaking on a ragged edge. “We’re terrified every time you pull away. Every time you run, it feels like the ground’s splitting under our feet. And now—you’re ready to kill yourself to escape us?”

The words hung heavy, shattering the last of your defenses.

Mira let the paper fall to the ground, her voice trembling as she stepped forward. “If you tried this—if you really went through with it—we’d feel it. Every second of you tearing yourself apart, we’d feel it too. You wouldn’t just die. You’d take us with you.”

Your knees went weak. You hadn’t thought of that. Or maybe you had, but you hadn’t let yourself believe it.

Zoey knelt in front of you, her hands hovering inches from your shaking ones, not daring to touch. Her eyes were wet. “Please. Don’t make us watch you destroy yourself. If you hate the bond, fine. But don’t hate us enough to leave us like that.”

The silence was suffocating. You couldn’t look at any of them. Couldn’t face the brokenness in their eyes.

The crumpled paper at your feet seemed to glow under the streetlight, a cruel little reminder of how far you were willing to go.

And for the first time, you didn’t feel anger. You didn’t feel defiance. You just felt… tired.

When you finally spoke, your voice was barely there. “I don’t know how to live like this.”

Rumi’s breath hitched, and her control snapped just enough for her to step closer, her voice breaking as she whispered back. “Then let us figure it out with you. Please.”

__

The mornings had grown dull. You weren't able to walk home from the other night, so Huntrix had to bring you back to your apartment themselves. A rhythm of pills rattling in a bottle, swallowed dry with coffee, masking the ache in your chest. It wasn’t healing—it was numbing. If you kept the bond quiet long enough, maybe you could forget it existed.

The Huntrix girls weren’t blind to it. They saw the way your reaction was always delayed, how your voice carried a brittle edge like glass about to break. But being in your vicinity for longer than a few minutes was a big enough step for them for now.

Zoey was the first to call it out. “You’re… overdoing it,” she murmured one night, her gaze sharp as she spotted the half-empty pill bottle in your bag. “That stuff isn’t made to fix what we have. You’re just… hurting yourself more.”

“I’m fine.” You said it flat, sharp, the way you always did. A reflex.

Mira didn’t buy it either. She leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. “You think numbing it makes you stronger, but all it does is drag us down with you. The bond—” she hesitated, jaw tightening, “—it’s not a wound you can bandage. It’s alive. And you’re starving it.”

Her words clawed at something deep, something you didn’t want to admit: that she was right. That you could feel the bond rotting beneath the pills, its connection to them weak and brittle like a neglected flame.

Rumi was gentler, her tone soft as if speaking to a cornered animal. “We don’t want you to suffer alone anymore.” She didn’t step closer, though you knew she wanted to. “Even if you hate us for it… even if you never forgive this bond, let us be there. Please.”

And for the first time, you almost let yourself believe them. Almost.

That night, curled in bed, the pills still on the nightstand untouched, you let yourself imagine what it might be like to stop fighting. To lean into the warmth instead of resisting it. To trust, even if only for a moment.

For a heartbeat, the bond hummed quietly—steady, peaceful. You felt their distant presence, and instead of suffocating, it almost felt like… comfort.

Maybe—just maybe—you could learn to live with this.

But hope was cruel.

It hit without warning. A violent snap that split your ribs apart from the inside, as though the bond itself had grown claws and was tearing you open. You gasped, clutching your chest, the sound of your own ragged breath drowning the room.

Your vision blurred. The medicine you’d forced down your system hadn’t weakened the bond—it had poisoned it. Every neglected moment, every suppressed flare, every refusal to answer when they called had built into this rupture. And now, it wanted repayment.

Somewhere distant, you felt them—Rumi’s desperate panic, Zoey’s sharp fear, Mira’s furious denial—but it was all swallowed by the searing pain that spread through your body.

The world tilted, your knees buckling. The floor rose to meet you, and you barely felt the impact. Only the fire, and the hollow thrum of your heart fighting against the bond.

Darkness crawled at the edges of your vision, heavy and consuming.

Your lips moved, the words nothing but a whisper, but heavy enough to shatter the silence.

“If I can’t escape them… then maybe I’ll just fade away.”

And then—black.

lolol

hope yall enjoyed the chapter!!

pt 3 here

and i finally got my buy me a coffee up and running again

anything in general helps- Buy me a coffee <3

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