Chapter Text
As long as she could remember, Rumi had always been starving.
It wasn't the normal hunger for food. No, her belly was always full of a warm meal and mouth tasting of something savory or sweet. Cabinets full of snacks and candy. Small treats littering the kitchen island. Celine’s security team’s pockets full of the strawberry flavored pocky sticks they swore Rumi wouldn't shut up about. Happily chewing them while holding onto the hem of their shirt with a giggle in her throat as they refilled small fingers.
No. That hunger didn’t leave her chest empty, skin itching for another to soothe, a longing for another parent’s words to be directed at her.
It didn't leave her starving to death yet alive with a persistent ache.
This hunger, this craving, was for love. And Celine used to give it to her freely. Fed her without restraint.
Gentle fingers weaving her hair back into a braid while telling her stories of her mother. Oh, how bright and young and beautiful Ryu Mi-yeong was. Celine said she would be just like her, and Rumi would giggle and say she’d try her best.
Playful sparring matches that left Rumi wheezing and knocking her shoulder against her mentor’s on the floor. Rumi’s mouth wide open as she panted while Celine didn't even look winded, eyes sparkling with suppressed mirth at her dramatics. The woman’s smile was wide and her words full of pride when she passed Rumi her water, poking her fingers into her side and telling her to remember to breathe and that the bottle wasn't going anywhere.
During the times when Rumi would crawl into Celine’s bed during dark nights and ask her if she could stay the night and protect her from dreams that weren't bright. The woman would hum and cradle her to her chest, fingers carding through her hair while talking about the plans of tomorrow.
Celine gave it to her so easily back then that Rumi thought it would never run out. That it wouldn’t have been cut down into portions that eventually soured and turned into fleeting rations after she started to grow into a long-dead ghost’s face.
Rumi had tried to ask for love again, to take such a robust slice, just once, when Celine hadn’t kissed her on the forehead before bed for a week. Instead, she was met with a muzzle that could only be unlocked by the key in Celine’s hands. The moments of the past now glimpses in time meant to fade into a fantasy.
As she grew taller and longer, babyfat slowly becoming an afterthought, Rumi learned that something deemed sacred, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity in storybooks, can have their magic taken away in a moment.
Celine had finished braiding Rumi’s hair minutes ago. A melody she didn't recognize was hummed from the woman’s lips as her fingers scratched her scalp. Rumi was slowly melting into the touch. Alarm bells were disarmed at a scratch just right behind her ear that had her understanding why dogs would thump their leg in tune to the stimulus.
It was calm, a peaceful moment, until Rumi’s head was turned to the side and Celine shattered it with her stare. There was a longing in the woman’s eyes. A haunting thirst that had Rumi locking up. Spine straightening and fingers curling. It was a gaze that was reserved for times when Celine would visit Mi-yeong’s grave or trace her finger along her mother’s picture.
Reminiscing. Recalling. Reevaluating.
It should've scared her. Did scare her for a moment. But Celine had finally unlocked her cage, braided her hair, and given her attention after weeks of nothing. Rumi wasn't about to let that go even as her stomach churned and her heart was in her throat when the woman leaned in.
It was a press of lips against her own. Soft. Gentle. Barely moving. Tangible. All the things she craved, yet it burned.
It burned because Rumi wanted Celine to sound soft again, like the mothers praising their children after class. It burned because she wanted Celine to have the gentleness to give her maternal hugs and ticklish kisses to her forehead before bed. It burned because everything she yearned for, to be given another chance to have, was given to her twisted and wrong.
That didn't stop her from accepting it anyway. The hunger would eat her alive if she didn't. Fed something spoiled once more because there was nothing else to eat. And maybe, just maybe, this would be the last time she would be given something so rotten.
Oh, how naive it was to think Celine would change.
The scraps become more frequent, muzzle off like before, but smaller in size despite how much they made her stomach churn and patterns spread.
Killing a demon without a mark, Celine would leave her own. Right on her shoulder or low on her neckline where Rumi’s high collared shirts would cover. Prying eyes unwise.
Dancing until her legs gave out, Celine was there to hold Rumi up. Hands low on her back with the tips of her fingers barely dipping below her leggings’ waistband, tracing a pattern only she knew. No one around to tell her no.
Stressed over photoshoots and interviews, Celine sat her on her lap in the various greenrooms. Whispering what to do and say while rubbing circles on the sides of her ribs. A gentle knock on the door released Rumi from the scalding hold, throat bobbing with her swallow.
Rumi was unraveling at the seams, but she needed to eat. Even if the hope for the hearty slices of the past became something of a delusion.
Rumi was seventeen when Celine pulled the last of her frayed edges apart.
Teeth bit her lip, coaxing her mouth open to let Celine’s tongue in. Rumi let her mind wander to the choreography of the new dance she was learning when the muscle traced the inside of her cheek. Saliva dripped down her chin.
This was just routine. When the muzzle was unlocked and she was allowed to eat. Even though she craved something else entirely.
Celine would get handsy with her for a while and then Rumi would be free, carrying the love she craved in the tainted form of bruised lips and the taste of Celine’s wine on her tongue. Blackberry and plum this time. It was the least she could do. Celine wasn’t actually hurting her. Nothing physically painful anyway. Even though her skin crawled at her touch and she felt a pit grow in her stomach when a murmured “ Mi-yeong” reached her ears.
A kick there, a spin to a dip then. Breathe.
Wandering hands groped at her chest and waist, pressing her back harder against the chilled window of the living room. Celine’s mouth trailed down to suck a bruise on her neck. A practiced whine and shudder kept her in the clear.
One, two, three, and up. Hold the pose. Six, seven, eight. Release and repeat.
Hands underneath her shirt. Fingers unclasped her bra and palms pressed against her breast. A thumb and finger pinched and rolled pebbled skin—her cue to arch into the touch.
Pivot to the right. Don’t forget to sweep the leg. Crouch and pause. Look to the left and rise.
A knee knocked her legs apart while a hand trailed up her thigh, messing with the hem of her pants. Another slipped two fingers into her mouth, pressing down on her tongue as she sucked. Eyes closed to keep the tears at bay.
Too fast there. Run it again. Correct it.
She guided Celine’s hand to the small of her back, humming around the woman’s digits and keeping her close. A safe distance. Controlling what she could. If only it weren't inevitable to be futile.
Arms high. Left to right. Right to left. Flick them up before a slow release. Down and freeze.
Both hands, one with glistening digits in the light, abruptly unbuttoned her pants and dipped down into them. Wet fingers underneath cotton, pressing on sensitive flesh.
Hold for three and then fold at four.
Rumi’s hand shot out and gripped Celine’s wrist. The routine broken. “W-what are you doing?”
A breathy laugh into a slurred response. “Don’t be like that, Mi-yeong. Let me take care of you, unnie.” Celine pressed her harder against the glass, attempting to move again. Rumi kept her grip, albeit shakily. Loose and losing without pushing back. “It's the least I could do after you've been working so hard.”
Rumi breathed through her nose. Her head rested against the woman’s shoulder as tears soaked the fabric. Lipstick stained her neck red. “Don’t d- do this, Celine. P- Please don't do this. I’ll- You'll regret it. I’ll question why I’d still crave it, this rotten scrap to eat, even if it hurts just to be able to soothe the ache for a while.”
Celine’s answer was to guide her wrists into one hand above her head as the other went further south. Tongue and teeth. Blood and slick. Pain overshadowing a forceful pleasure.
Reset. Evaluate. Adapt. Break. Find a new rhythm.
Rumi stopped hoping for Celine to change, to give her the love she craved, starved for—whimsical and sweet and soft and everlasting—when the tears wouldn't stop falling that night. Red water flowed down the shower drain. Body clean yet skin raw. Purple patterns spread slowly like an American’s prolonged drawl.
The only love she’d get from the woman was already chewed up and reused. Spit out into a nasty morsel that Rumi accepted to keep the everlasting hunger at bay.
It was enough. It had to be enough this time, right?
Celine gave Rumi her last stale crumb the night before Mira and Zoey moved into the compound a year after she first tasted blackberry and plum. Locking the muzzle tight in the morning and taking the key with her.
Rumi clawed at the wretched thing when Celine gave up the tenderness she longed for, would die for, so easily to Mira and Zoey.
Hugs that didn't linger, hands that held instead of wandering, praises that were filled with approval instead of a sickening dread.
And they took it. Right from underneath her dripping maw as if they couldn't see her starving for it, dying for a scrap to eat, behind a smile too wide and a voice far too loud. That mantra played on loop in her head every time the urge she wanted to say it, to snatch what they were given so easily away, reared its ugly head.
Because if she couldn't have it then why should they?
“Our faults and fears must never be seen,” Celine muttered over and over again, sober with something akin to sorrow or revulsion or dare she say guilt in her eyes as the woman applied concealer to Rumi’s collarbone and neck. Covering up patterns and bruises alike. Rumi pressed her legs together tight and kept an arm slung over her chest. Forcing herself to swallow what was left of the bitter mouthful fed to her hours before.
“Repeat it to me,” the woman said softly, examining her handywork. Chest swelled as if she was holding weights instead of air. It was heavy regardless.
Rumi replied instantly. The ache never fully subdued. “Our faults and fears must never be seen.” Celine‘s chest fell. She could almost hear the load of it all hit the floor.
The woman reached out before curling her fingers up and letting them fall to her side. “Go clean yourself up,” was all she said before she turned away. Celine could never look Rumi in the eye. Even after everything she’d given up for something so minuscule in return. “I… I need a moment.”
Rumi needed a lifetime’s worth, but she left anyway.
Was it to much to ask to be loved without a condition? To be given a meal instead of an empty plate.
The answer was almost a resounding yes. At every slam of Celine’s door when Rumi got too close she wanted to scream. When eyes stared above her head, looking Mira and Zoey in the eye, during group meetings, Rumi snarled behind the cage. At every scathing remark on just about anything she did had Rumi on her hands and knees, crawling with a gape in her torso while begging for anything to eat.
She’d take the nasty morsel even though she yearned for a hearty bite. The rotten scraps that left her sweaty and nauseous over the toilet, mouth open and ready to hurl again. The crumbs that left her patterns burning, lower region throbbing, skin rubbed raw underneath a soapy rag, just to lick it up.
But almost was just that, not quite a definitive answer; very near but not quite enough to be true. Because Mira and Zoey answered her silent call with a loud no in the form of their calm yet chaotic love. Picking the lock open and letting her feast on untainted pieces of devotion.
If Rumi ran out of her favorite snack, Zoey was already pressing a month's worth into her hands.
When Rumi felt under the weather, suddenly Mira was hacking up a fit while calling Celine.
At times when Rumi was slightly cold on the couch, warm arms were wrapped around her own while three pairs of legs got tangled below.
Hands, Mira’s, hugged her from behind as Zoey curled around her from the front. The mattress was soft beneath their bodies, the words shared between them were even softer. A giggle or gentle murmur occasionally broke the quiet. Their pajamas were slightly damp with sweat from the heat of their warmth.
She never asked outright. Never shared her grievances towards them. They didn't care. Giving without expecting anything in return. Forgiving without a reason.
Rumi cried tears of joy for the first time in over a decade the first time they told her that they loved her.
That aching pit, full and warm and soothed.
“Look at me. Why can't you look at me? Why couldn't you love me?” Rumi cried, patterns flaring, thoughts flying.
“I do!” was all Celine offered. Eyes to the ground. The sky. Anywhere but her.
”Not as the ghost of Ryu Mi-yeong. Not the idea of her. All of me! As the daughter she left behind for you to protect, and not as a replacement for you!” Rumi yelled, voice trailing off toward the end.
Why did you have to starve me of what I craved only to give me rotten pieces of it to eat?
Celine couldn't answer, pivoting the exchange to the honmon crumbling around them.
It was enough of an answer for her nonetheless. That didn't mean it hurt any less as she teleported away.
Muzzle broken and key down her own throat.
“Would we be your first kiss?” Mira murmured. Voice low and gentle as she leaned against her, pressing her back into Zoey.
The three of them were in the kitchen raiding the cupboards for sweets and snacks for movie night. A much needed staple to their routine after the Saja Boys and disaster at the Idol Awards. High-pitched giggles and snickers filled the room when Zoey somehow managed to wedge herself in a cabinet. Rumi and Mira had to pull her out when they realized she was stuck, and they’d landed in a tangle of limbs and hair on the floor.
Zoey ended up behind her, refusing to let Rumi go with a snort at the absurdity of it all, and Mira crawled up to straddle her lap, wheezing as she tried to calm down. Rumi wasn't fairing any better. Patterns pulsing wildly. Vibrant and bright as she held in a sneeze from laughing too hard. The two sets of perfume coating her skin weren't helping, but she didn't care.
If only this weren't the calm before the storm.
The first drop had dripped out from Mira’s mouth innocently enough when the three of them settled. Faces close and bodies warm, the air around them shared, crackling with energy. But it had Rumi wishing that she could say yes. Wishing she could say that it wasn't stolen from her. That she hadn't been coerced to give it up because of that insatiable hunger, slipping into the role she filled—the person she didn't want to replace—almost perfectly just to stop the gnawing ache any way she could.
“No… I’ve been kissed before,” she said, fists balling up Mira’s shirt. Frame trembling against Zoey’s solid one behind her. The storm was ready to break.
“Was it Jinu?” Zoey asked, her chin warm on her shoulder as ice ran up her spine. The droplets were falling. Heavy with gravity.
She could nod. Let the lie blanket the truth and keep the fragile peace. But they'd promised to stop lying to each other. Right after the battle when hands were held tight and relief rolled off them in waves. Zoey even made her pinky swear it. To stop guessing and assuming that the others would turn away at the slightest hardship. They were better than that. She was better than that.
Rumi trained her eyes to the floor. They should clean it more often. Patterns rippled and lit up the room in a deep blue. A dustball highlighted silver in the corner. “No, it wasn't him.”
Mira rested her head against her own, hands coming up to cradle her face. Guiding Rumi to look at her and speaking in a way that made her want to shatter. “Who was it?” Mira chuckled slightly. “We won't be mad at them. Just curious is all. Who wouldn't want to kiss you anyway?”
If only that were true.
Her tongue felt like lead in her mouth and her eyes watered. But she forced the name past her lips even as the syllables came out cracked. Broken. Just like her. “Ce- Celine.”
You could hear a pen drop at the silence that followed.
Mira stopped shaking in mirth, Zoey’s grip loosened from behind, and Rumi tried to reel in the tears already falling down her face.
No one moved. No one spoke. And that scared the shit out of her.
Rumi’s mouth opened before she could register the disbelief, shock, and slowly bubbling rage in Mira’s eyes and Zoey’s tears on her shoulder. “I- it was my fault. I- she was still grieving my mom, and I…”
Was dying for attention. Was starved of love. Was willing to take her mother's place to be given anything even if it slowly killed her on the inside.
“How old were you, Rumi,” Zoey squeezed her back against her chest suddenly. Like she could hold Rumi’s burdens for her if she tried. The question was a beacon of clarity through her haze. “How long ago did she start?”
“I needed that. Thank you,” Celine mumbled after pressing a kiss to her jaw. Squeezing her tighter against her taller frame. Lipstick stuck to the baby fat of her cheeks, nose, and forehead. Maternal affection if lips didn't linger and eyes didn't wander.
“You’re welcome,” Rumi giggled from the ticklish feeling of the wax, skin and patterns crawling uncomfortably like spiders on her chest.
“… she’s a girl born with talent. A bright future ahead of her,” one of Rumi’s dance instructors said to Celine.
“That’s great to hear.” The woman’s hand was low on her back, fingers digging into her hip as Rumi smiled through the pain. Soaking in the praise so rarely given to her. This was enough. “She only learned from the best. Came from the finest.”
“It'll feel nice. I promise,” Celine said, mouth hovering over the junction where Rumi’s shoulder met her neck, hands an iron grip on her arms. “Don’t you trust me?”
“Of course I do, but-,” was all she could get out before lips wrapped around her skin and sucked hard. A sharp breath her only friend. Celine lied, but she wasn't going to correct her. Not when this was her meal for the day.
“You look more like her more every day,” Celine’s gaze traced her from head to toe, looking mildly annoyed at the patterns peaking out from under Rumi’s sleeve. The woman’s stare felt like knives in her skin. Leaving her defenseless in only her flesh. “Cover those up,” Celine said, letting her touch linger on her shoulder and a press of lips to her cheek in her wake as she passed. “Be good for me, yeah?”
Rumi tugged down her shirt. The kiss felt like a slap to the face; the comment the balm.
Rumi’s legs felt like jelly and her stomach burned as she pressed her face into a pillow, the fabric wet from her tears and sweat. Celine was panting into her ear from behind, fingers buried deep inside. Blackberry and plum lived on her tongue now.
“So beautiful, unnie. You can give me one more, yeah?”
Rumi only cried harder when Celine started to move again. She didn't know how to get her to stop without sacrificing that rotten morsel, and that scared her more than letting it happen.
A choked sob was her answer. She could better recount the times Celine did do anything to her than when she didn’t. She tried to say something, anything, but her lips refused to move other than to let out a sob.
Rumi’s answer seemed to be enough regardless. Zoey murmured sweet reassurances in her ear while Mira traced her cheeks. She’d try again when she could see, when the tears stopped falling and the storm passed.
Eventually, Rumi managed to tell them all of it, and within that week, paperwork to dissipate Huntr/x from Celine and transfer power over to Bobby was drafted along with a restraining order served to her that same month.
Celine didn’t even try to fight it. No questions of why this was happening or who was responsible were asked when page after page was read to her by Huntr/x’s representative. Only simple hums of acknowledgment and some queries for confirmation as the woman signed her signature on dotted lines. Already knowing that this was a mercy only Rumi could still give even after everything.
That couldn't be said to be the same for Zoey and Mira. Fists already pulled back as they entered Celine’s office minutes after the last bit of paperwork was signed and tucked into a briefcase. The shut and locked door muffling the cracking of bones and pained pleas. Apologies said far too late and hollow.
Rumi held and wrapped split knuckles that night. Letting two pairs of damaged hands hold and put her soul back together as she cried.
Missing pieces of herself finally finding themselves back to her.
Hunger, finally oh so graciously subdued.